Starve.Org White Noise Usenet Archive: "NEW VOY. Guerdon. 78/86 (R) P/T, C, S, J; A/U"

Title: Guerdon: Homefield
Author: D'Alaire M.
Part: 78/86
_______________________________

A tap, a slide, a clink and a shuffle.

B'Elanna was getting through her meal quickly again.

Like the lunch the day before, breakfast the next morning was
incredibly delicious, but relatively formal and eerily silent.
Halfway through it, B'Elanna promised herself she would never complain
about a noisy, chatty meal again. The gossipy Moira and cheerful Tom
had been replaced with two mute adults eyeing each other on occasion
but otherwise unexpressive. Everyone else was focused on their meal
or, from time to time, the centerpiece. The only words spoken were at
the beginning of the meal were to compliment Carol's cooking.
B'Elanna said so, too. She'd been a child at her grandmother's house
the last time she'd enjoyed a breakfast as much.

She did not, however, enjoy the quiet, particularly knowing how that
family could be, and especially without the comfort of a rumbling
engine or beeping systems beneath her. Only the clinks of silverware
and the occasional brush of fabric could be heard. It only added to
her unease there.

Occasionally, she caught Tom looking at his father and vice versa.
Somehow, their eyes never met. Both men's expressions were
unreadable--which B'Elanna knew well enough wasn't a good thing on
Tom's part. The night before, they had gone straight to sleep and
were up late and hurrying that morning, so they hadn't been able to
talk. But she knew something was bothering him. Had he and his
father argued? Had he gotten one question too many? He pretended not
to be bothered by the guests, but she could see how they subtly wore
on his patience after a while.

At last, the meal ended, with more compliments to the cook, who soon
took her leave to start straightening up the kitchen. The siblings
all relaxed with their coffees, leaning back in their seats, visibly
more at ease...for the moment.

"I meant to ask you, Tom," Owen started, "if you got your business
yesterday settled adequately."

Tom shrugged. "It was just a list of parts sign offs. It was fine,
thanks."

Owen's lips turned up as he considered his son again. "Must be quite
a change for you, having your own command. Outside the Federation
border, too, you must be up against a great many challenges."

Tom felt his bristles rise while his arms unconsciously crossed. His
father was on to something--likely, a bug the Hoppers had put in his
head the night before. "Actually, Dad, it's pretty boring most of the
time. But we manage to miss the occasional planet when we're trying
really hard."

B'Elanna snorted before she could think better of it. Tom still loved
to bring that up, probably because it had scared the hell out of him.

"I'm not making the observation to be flip, Tom," his father replied.
"I'm glad to see you've been able to rise above the circumstances you
had brought upon yourself, handle some real responsibility again."

"Actually," Tom told him, coffee cup still in hand as a grin twisted
his mouth, "getting the captaincy was accidental. I was scammed for
it over a pass five at dabo. I was pretty drunk that night."

Moira and Kathleen stood at the same time and took their dishes away
to the kitchen, abandoning B'Elanna.

"Why must you start this, Tom?" Owen said slowly.

Leaning back in his seat to cross his legs, Tom shrugged. "I'm not
lying."

The older man sighed. "You'll have to overcome your sarcastic
amusements if you're to lead with any long-term success, son."

"Lead *what*?" Tom asked. "I sit on a bridge and steer a tradeship.
It's not like I do anything important out there."

B'Elanna blinked a stare Tom's way. He was amazingly good at
understatement. Even with his sisters, he didn't go into an eighth of
what he did on the Guerdon, but stuck to joking about the stations and
some of their mishaps. Now, he seemed to want his father to believe
he was just an over-ranked pilot.

"Not important?" Owen returned. "Once again, Tom, you neglect to see
that your position, however inconsequential here, makes you
responsible for *lives*."

"And once again, Dad," Tom returned, "you conclude too much about too
many assumptions."

B'Elanna looked at the entrance to the dining room. Now she knew why
the others didn't try to talk at the table, if that was any indication
of a typical conversation.

"Had you remained here and faced your many issues instead of running
away, perhaps I would have less to assume."

"Or maybe more," Tom replied.

Just as B'Elanna was crunching her napkin onto her plate, Moira leaned
in around the corner. "Could the resident engineer help us in here--
right now? I think that stupid reclamator's going to send us back
chunks this time."

B'Elanna gladly grabbed her plate and followed the younger sister
back. Rolling her eyes when she came into the kitchen, she nodded
quickly to Moira's apology and asked, "Is this how it was before?"

"Save the volume, yes," Kathleen told her, taking her dish.

"That's just an after-dinner mint in there," Moira agreed.

"Drop it," Carol told them both. "I'd rather do without the editorial
page."

Dutifully, the sisters held their tongues and got back to helping
clean up. B'Elanna peered over at the darkened reclamator.

"Oh no," Moira told her with a smile. "I was lying this time. It's
fine." She pointed at the cheese and bread on the table. "We can
seal that for the preserver, though."

Grudgingly, B'Elanna went to it. Suddenly, the airy, pleasant
atmosphere of the household had been exchanged with blame and
sarcasm. When Tom said he and his father didn't get along, she had no
idea it was like... B'Elanna sighed. It was everything she knew when
she last knew her mother--save the bitter humor, which was actually
more annoying. B'Elanna knew Tom's methods. He was toying with his
father, trying to irk him more. *Why* he was didn't register at all
with her.

<So much for just letting them see him and ask their questions.> But
she should have known that wouldn't happen. Owen *was* a little too
pointed in his observations about Tom's business, then distant when
Tom seemed to need reassurance. She couldn't tell sometimes if the
man was pleased or not; apparently, Tom had trouble with it, too.

"Maybe were you to make yourself available to better guidance, this
'tired argument' would not be necessary."

Owen was heading in. B'Elanna felt her shoulders tense, especially
when the now predictable response came.

"Yeah, discussing this more is going to do a lot of good. I obviously
can't get this right on my own."

They came fully into the kitchen now, each handing their plates off
when Kathleen held out her hands. Everyone else otherwise looked down
to their work or to each other. B'Elanna scowled at them all. For
all their liveliness elsewhere, the Paris women certainly weren't
about to get involved in that conversation, though they clearly were
listening to it. Worse, the men hardly noticed them now.

"Have I mentioned how anxious I am to dangle from the line again after
finally getting loose of it?"

"Rather that than never try to fulfill your responsibility, even in
the face of your potential."

"*Your* potential sounds more like it."

Growling to herself, B'Elanna went to the coat hanger for her jacket.

Carol turned when she heard the door open. "Where are you going,
dear?"

"I don't need to listen to any more of this," B'Elanna answered and
walked out.

Hearing her, Tom slumped a little and gave his father a hard look. He
pointed it down soon after, though, sighing to himself. A moment
later, he turned and left the kitchen again to grab more from the
table. His sisters came out soon after.

"Great job keeping it cool," Moira admonished him quietly.

"Well, we at least kept it together for Mom's party," Kathleen added
dourly.

"I thought we'd all be adults here this time."

"Why would you expect them to change, Moira, when nothing was resolved
before and nothing's going to be now?"

"To hell with all of you," Tom muttered. Dropping a pile of utensils
on the tray Moira was carrying, he strode down the hall and
disappeared.

Moira swore between her teeth.

When the front door shut several seconds later, Kathleen simply
shrugged. "See you in four years."

- - - - -
.

He didn't go far, just to the park, just far enough to take a breath.
He tried to remind himself that he didn't have to deal with that
anymore. He sure as hell didn't put up with that much crap from
anyone else--but then, he'd managed to earn the respect of the
community along the border--such as that community was. They knew
him, they trusted him to follow through as best he could, and they
left him alone otherwise. That his father refused to see any of
that...

But Kathleen was right. Nothing had changed. Maybe he *was* acting
up per the usual, but his father still took every opportunity to play
gain the lead over him, took every chance he could to lecture him.
Tom was long done with lectures. He'd been through too much to have
to listen to that.

How often had he come to that park with similar thoughts?

Slowly, he turned and started back to the house. His sisters had to
leave soon, anyway. He should at least say goodbye to them. He
didn't last time.

<"Moira, Kathleen, both of you to your rooms."

"But why?"

"What did *we* do wrong?"

"You followed him, for one, and though you
wisely backed out before any real trouble came
about, your brother has to learn that his errors
of judgment don't just affect him.">

Tom took a deep breath, feeling his face grow hot in the cool, misty
air. He might as well have been thirteen again.

- - - - -
.

"You expect me to sell my ship, knuckle down and--do *what*,
precisely?"

"Perhaps redevelop the talent you know you have, for one."

B'Elanna almost turned right back around. Only the sight of the
admiral sliding on his uniform tunic and pocketing a PADD held her in
the foyer.

"However, I do wonder why I imagine I might convey any sense to you,
when you can return nothing but sarcasm."

"Maybe revise your approach and we'll see how far your sense goes,"
Tom said. Standing in front of the fireplace, his arms crossed and
eyes set straight, he had long dropped that sarcasm and went straight
to annoyance. "But let's start with this: I am *not* giving anything
up to suit anyone but myself."

"That doesn't surprise me, son" the admiral replied, reigning in his
remaining ire. "Nevertheless, I hope we will be able to speak more
agreeably when I return. Your mother doesn't deserve to have to go
through this again." He almost said more, but finally closed his
mouth and left the room. "Excuse me, B'Elanna," he said politely,
moving around her to pass through the door.

"It's about damned time," Tom said under his breath and gave up his
place at last. Seeing B'Elanna's glare point at him that time, he
blew a humorless laugh through his nostrils. "Are you going to have a
chunk now, too?"

"Inviting everyone today?" she asked.

He rolled his eyes. "Have at it."

"Not that I'd *like* to give you the satisfaction right now," she
stated, "but you could *try* not to denigrate yourself just for the
pleasure of pissing him off. Why are you making yourself look like an
idiot when you claim to want his respect?"

Her start surprised him, but he shook his head and turned his eyes
toward the window. "It's the same damn crap in another career."

"Eighteen stations along the route and I've never once seen anyone
make you drop your hand," B'Elanna countered.

"He's not a station hack, he's my father. And it's not as if he's
trying to get what he needs from me. He wants to see what he *wants*
to see, to run me down into his gully again so I can get back to
failing to be the best and the brightest."

"Your father doesn't have to *try* to do *anything*. You gave up your
control on the first response--then *invited* him to pursue you again
and again. No wonder you two never get anything solved!"

Tom's eyes narrowed. "Since when did you become a family counselor?"
he demanded.

"Since the day you asked me to come 'see yours' for a while," she shot
back, "and the minute I had to listen to you two run each other down
with me sitting right there! I might as well have been an extra
chair, for all you cared about how everyone else at the table felt.
That's not like you, Tom. --Or I thought it wasn't. Obviously, I'd
made some assumptions of my own."

Tom froze; his breath halted and his expression fell. Seconds passed
as he watched her hold her ground. His eyes turned down first, then
diverted to his old brown coat, which was slung over the banister in
the hall. His mother had sent it to be mended. It must have been
delivered while he was out. He walked over to it and snatched it up
by the collar, then faced her directly. "I need to get out of here,"
he told her. "I need to walk."

B'Elanna blew a cheerless laugh. "More walking?"

"I have to get away from here, get my head straight. I can't think
when everything around me reminds me of fighting." Holding her stare,
he added, "You want to come with me, B'Elanna?"

She first felt "no" on her teeth, but seeing his need behind his
invitation, she assented with a blink and said, "I'll grab my jacket."

"Grab the list, too. We can shop a little, shorten tomorrow's
work."

"Fine."

As she disappeared up the stairs, Tom slid his coat on and went back
to the kitchen. "Mom, we're going out. We'll be back later."

Carol looked around. "Where are you going?"

"Just out, walking, whatever."

"Just walking?" she asked carefully.

He snorted. "We're not going back to Ulinas for another few days."

Carol assented with a tilt of her head. "When will you be back?"

"Do you have dinner planned yet?"

"Not yet."

"Then sometime after dinner." He offered his mother a little smile
and a compromise. "You want to meet us? Maybe Sills' Grill?"

Tempted, she raised a brow at the thought, but shook her head a moment
later. "No, you two go ahead. Your father plans to come home at four
and I should make something." She waved away his responsive
expression. "We have more plates in the air than yours, sweetheart.
He was gone for two weeks and..." She smiled, uncharacteristically
sheepish, "Well, maybe I should be the one to make an effort."

Tom nodded, getting the hint. "See you later."

- - - - -
.

"Well, I'll be! You're the last person I ever thought I'd see again!"

"Such as I am," Tom grinned, shaking the hand of the lieutenant who
stopped them along the walk outside the Academy grounds.

"How are you, Tom?"

"Well," Tom replied and introduced B'Elanna to him. "Perry and I went
to the Academy together."

B'Elanna nodded and said hello, but otherwise stood aside.

"What have you been up to?"

Tom chose the short version. "I've been captaining a tradeship near
the Kalandra Sector."

"I'm almost jealous," Perry smiled. "It must be great to be able to
walk in your own shoes, call your life yours."

Tom grinned. "Yeah, it is."

Only when Perry had said goodbye and good luck did Tom sigh and look
over at B'Elanna, who had followed the man with her eyes. "A near
stranger and it's so simple to know everything I have," he thought
aloud. "But I get around my father and I suddenly think I'm some
loser again, even while I know better."

B'Elanna looked up at him, but said nothing.

"I'm being an ass today," he said, knowing better than to condescend
her with a question.

B'Elanna pursed her lips. "And some," she said honestly.

"I apologize."

She watched him for a few seconds, watched his steady gaze hold hers,
his body remain straight and still to wait for her. "Accepted," she
said at last.

Looking over the wall at the pristine grounds, he touched her hand and
gestured that way. For some reason, crossing through there out of
their way seemed like a good idea. She showed no resistance, and so
he offered her another apology in a small grin aimed her way. "I
don't know why I do it. It just...I just fell in there, like I fell
into a bottle, like I fell into...the Guerdon." He laughed. "I can
be so lazy."

"Careless," she corrected.

He took the word for all it meant, as it did mean a great deal more
and was indeed more correct. Just being on Starfleet Academy grounds
was enough to remind him how much. "Yeah. I can be that."

"But the opposite is what I know about you," B'Elanna added. "And you
know that and your crew knows that. Why can't your father know that?"

Tom thought about that for a minute, slowing their pace nearly to a
stop. "Maybe I don't want him to find fault in that, too. I wouldn't
be surprised if he did."

"So that'd be his opinion, which has nothing to do with what's really
happening out there, what you know you are." A moment later, though,
she shrugged. "Then again, maybe I shouldn't criticize, considering
what I've been dealing with, with my father--and now Mother."

"There's no sense in comparing diseases," Tom said. "Besides, you're
right that it was rude of us--of me--at breakfast. I shouldn't have
piped up in front of everyone like that."

"Your mother and sisters are pretty used to it," B'Elanna observed.

Tom laughed quietly. "They aught to be. I mean, Dad and I didn't
fight a lot when I was growing up, not until the last few years and
especially after the court martial. Mom tried to patch things up,
tried to get us together, but there was just too much built up, and we
were too pissed off to see straight." Shaking his head, Tom looked
dolefully across the lawns. "And here I am, an adult, a captain, on
my own, and I'm acting just like I did before I left, like some damned
hurt kid. Just like before, all we seem to be able to do is bring out
the worst in each other, when all we want is the best."

Crossing the central mall and through the line of Boothby's old elms,
they found a bench in the cool, filtered sun. B'Elanna pulled out the
list and re-categorized it according to location. The Guerdon's age
forced them to have parts procured or replicated at several auxiliary
sites. Energy and space were naturally being saved for newer and more
common ships of the day. While she worked, Tom leaned back, crossing
his legs and peering unobtrusively over her shoulder.

A sound caught her attention, then, making her glance up and across
the bright green lawn. She lowered the PADD and straightened. Tom
looked out, too.

A group of cadets was crossing the lawn, jostling and laughing,
teasing and carrying on. One of the girls snatched a young man's PADD
and sprinted off, laughing all the while. He set off on a chase,
determined to catch her.

Tom touched B'Elanna's hand. She turned hers over and closed her
fingers on his.

Watching them disappear around the path, he softy recited, "What deep
wounds ever closed without a scar? The hearts bleed longest, and but
heal to wear that which disfigures it; and they who war with their own
hopes and have been vanquished, bear silence, but not submission..."

B'Elanna's eyes turned to him, but his gaze remained fixed on the
grass where the cadets had been, lost there between quick blinks. Tom
still knew quite a bit of that canto, still quoted it from time to
time, often to himself when he didn't think anyone was listening.
Hearing the words, she could see him among them, on the green,
jostling and laughing, so free and so totally himself--so she had
thought. She would never have imagined that young man had all the
tension and insecurity that she had, only in his own way.

"I still wonder," Tom quietly continued, "where I'd be now if it
hadn't happened--the accident. Where she'd be, too, but mainly me."
He paused, blinked. "And then I feel like a jerk for being glad
sometimes it *did* happen, because I wouldn't sacrifice what I've had
to fight for, what I've had to learn--everything I've gained. Would I
have fulfilled my expectations any more if I'd stayed on that track?
I know I'd have fulfilled *his* goals eventually, but would I have
been satisfied with *me*? I was having a good time then, but I wasn't
really happy. I knew I didn't have my own life and I didn't like
that. Cass always wondered why I kept buckling in when I hated doing
it."

"You wanted him to be proud of you," B'Elanna answered. "You still
do."

His lips turned up. "I guess I shouldn't have expected it, though."

"Nothing is what we expect, Tom," she said softly. "And the more you
press it to come as you want it to, the more it hurts when you don't
get it."

He thought about that. The cadets' laughter still echoed across the
yard, though he couldn't tell where they were anymore. "How do we get
anything right, then?"

"There's a difference between working for what you want and expecting
it to happen just because you're worked for it. You of all people
know how that goes."

Tom sighed through his smile, pulling her close to his side in a warm
embrace. Turning his head, he kissed her temple. "Yeah, I do."

- - - - -