Chapter Text
JANEWAY: I know you're upset, Lieutenant, but when you're in a room with me you check that attitude at the door, understood?
JANEWAY: End of discussion, Lieutenant. At fourteen hundred hours, we'll resume a course for the Alpha Quadrant. Is that clear. Is that clear?
PARIS: As a bell.
[Bridge]
KIM: Captain, this is Tom we're talking about. We're not going to open fire, are we?
JANEWAY: As far as I'm concerned, he forfeited his status as a protected member of this crew the second he launched that shuttle.
[Bridge]
TUVOK: Two. One.
JANEWAY: Fire.
Very slowly, Janeway turned her gaze from the viewscreen to the bridge crew, giving all her strength to maintaining her command mask. “I’ll be in my ready room”, she said tonelessly, her voice even more gravelly than usual. Chakotay glanced at her but the steely grey eyes dissuaded him to follow his captain.
Once in her ready room, Janeway went straight to the sofa under the window and in a rare uncontrolled gesture, punched it with all her might before crumbling on it and burying her face in her hands. It shouldn’t have happened. It should never have happened. Death was always senseless, but this death… This was one she would never recover from, because she had given the order. Seeing Kovin’s shuttle exploding on the viewscreen had been painful. Seeing the Delta Flyer with Tom Paris on board being pulverised by the two photon torpedoes changing into a ball of energy was simply unbearable. The fact that they had found no organic remains, no traces of Tom or Riga’s bodies, didn’t mean they had escaped. Tuvok had confirmed that with that much energy, they would have been blasted into atoms, undetectable on their scanners. When her father, Justin and herself had crashed, at least she had been able to try and save them. This time, there would be no lifeline. It was over. To think she had told the Doctor they had all been responsible for Kovin’s death, and that remorse would prevent it from happening again. Hah!
Her stomach hurt, her back was in knots, and it took all her will to keep from curling up into a ball and wailing like a child. She took a deep breath. It hurt. She tried again, and opened her log.
“Captain's log, Stardate 52179.4. I have to report-“
Her voice broke, and she pressed the delete button. Another deep breath, a slight shake to remind herself of the fact that she was the captain, and she tried again.
“Captain's log, Stardate 52179.4. I have to report the death of Lieutenant Thomas Eugene Paris, who was aboard the Delta Flyer”. She paused. One day, her logs would be read by Starfleet. One day, Admiral Eugene Paris would hear of his son’s death through her logs.
“On a mission to save the Monean ocean. We shall mourn the death of a fine officer and a fine pilot.”
She was usually gifted with words, but this time, words failed her. She switched her log off, and turned toward the stars. It was all her fault, from the very beginning. She had wanted to play the white knight saving the errant youth from his destiny. She had gone and gotten Tom Paris from the penitentiary colony, with the absurd idea that she could do something for her old mentor, Tom’s father. And then she had stranded her ship in the Delta Quadrant. And now, she had killed him, as surely as if she had fired a phaser at him. If she had left him in New Zealand, he would still be alive.
Remembering the way they had parted, Janeway felt even sadder than before. She had effectively told him to shut up and do what he was told. She didn’t allow herself any tears, though. She couldn’t. She had to go and see B’Elanna. Janeway shuddered at the thought of facing the angry Klingon. Usually, she was more than a match for her chief engineer’s fiery temper, but right now, she felt depleted. She forced herself to stand up and chastised herself for her moment of weakness. She was the captain. She had no time for emotions. Sentimentality was failure. She could not break. She had to bring her crew home. Her crew, without her best pilot. She had seen the look of pain and reproach on Harry’s face, and she dreaded the one on B’Elanna’s.
She went to the bathroom to splash a little cold water on her face and repair her hair and make-up, and exited her ready-room, back straight, shoulders back. She was responsible. She was guilty. She had to face the consequences. She would break later.
“Deck 11”, she barked at the elevator, her voice rough with unshed tears.
When she arrived in Engineering, she found B’Elanna and Seven in the middle of the room engaged in a pitched battle, with the other members of the engineering team pretending to be very busy ignoring them.
“What’s the meaning of this?”, she asked firmly, coming to stand near the two combatants who were by now rolling on the floor. Seeing that neither Seven nor B’Elanna had any intention of stopping their brawling to attend to her, she bent down and grabbed B’Elanna’s shoulder. Janeway, however, was no match for a Klingon in a rage, and she found herself being backhanded and thrown to the ground a few meters from the two women. As she gingerly tried to stand up, Ensign Vorik quickly came to her aid while several other crewmembers attempted to separate the two brawlers.
“Do you need the Doctor, Captain?”, he asked.
“I’m all right,” replied Janeway mechanically, as she rubbed her cheekbone turning rapidly black and blue. Once on her feet, she turned towards the two women who were now standing and glaring at each other, each held by two crewmembers.
“Lieutenant Torres. Seven. In my ready room in ten minutes.”
She stalked back towards the door, leaving behind her an uncomfortable silence. She waited to be back in the turbolift before she sighed heavily. She had wanted to comfort B’Elanna, maybe to apologise to her in an indirect way. Now she would have to discipline her. As for Seven. Of course, strictly speaking, Seven was not Starfleet, and therefore not exactly under her command. There was no question, however, that in matters of ship’s discipline, she had to be reprimanded like any other crewmember.
Janeway sat in her chair behind her desk, staring the two wayward young women down. She let them stand at attention long enough that the silence became heavy with unsaid admonishments. Finally, as B’Elanna started to fidget, she broke the tension.
“What were you thinking?”, she asked in a chilly tone.
“That p’taq attacked me,” muttered B’Elanna sullenly.
Janeway raised an eyebrow. She would rather be anywhere else than administering a dressing down. Like in her quarters, mourning her conn lieutenant. “Oh, really? Unprovoked? Seven, would you care to comment on that?”
Unusually for her, Seven did not meet her eyes and kept staring at the wall behind Janeway.
“B’Elanna Torres said something… Unacceptable. And she did not listen to the truth about said matter.”
“Whatever she said, Seven, there is no excuse for assailing her. And Lieutenant Torres, there are other means of responding than getting into fisticuffs. ” Janeway’s voice was dangerously low.
“She said you had murdered Lieutenant Paris, Captain. I pointed out you had not. You had given him every possible warning and you were not the one who fired the torpedo.”
Janeway gulped and resisted the impulse to moisten her lips with her tongue.
“Enough. Seven, go to Cargo bay 2 and stay there until I order otherwise. B’Elanna, you’re confined to quarters for three days. Dismissed!”
The two women pivoted on their heels and started for the door. They were almost out of the room when Janeway called B’Elanna back.
“B’Elanna, a moment, please.”
The chief engineer came back to stand before the desk, a sullen look on her face. Janeway stood up and went to the sofa, motioning for her to follow and to sit down beside her. The half-Klingon still staring at her lap, Janeway reached out and took B’Elanna’s hands in hers.
“B’Elanna, I’m so sorry about Tom. I know how much you must be suffering. I… I lost my fiancé in a shuttle accident twenty years ago and… And it still haunts me.”
B’Elanna finally looked her captain in the eyes: “Then why did you do it? I know he was in the wrong, but… Why?”
“You know it shouldn’t have happened, B’Elanna. You know that was never the plan. All we wanted to do was divert his torpedo. The blast wasn’t supposed to reach the Delta Flyer.”
“But it did, didn’t it?” replied B’Elanna flatly.
Janeway nodded, lowering her head. There was nothing more to say.
“Dismissed, Lieutenant.”
B’Elanna stalked out of the room, and Janeway buried her face in her hands. After a few minutes, she hit her com badge and asked Tuvok to her ready room.
When her security officer arrived, she didn’t bother to stand up, and he came to where she was sitting. Lifting her eyes towards him, she said quietly: “Tuvok, I want you to start an official inquiry preliminary to a court-martial.”
Tuvok’s right eyebrow rose: “A court-martial, Captain?”
“Yes – I have to be held accountable for Lieutenant Paris’ death.”