Title: Sympathy Author: Julie Evans Email: Juli17@aol.com Series: VOY, Scenes From a Marriage Rating: PG Codes: P/T Summary: B'Elanna isn't very receptive to sympathy, so Tom finds a way offer it in a manner she will accept. Set approximately two weeks after the events in "Lineage." Another vignette in the "Scenes From a Marriage" series. Disclaimer: Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount/Viacom. I am borrowing them for fun only not profit. Archiving: Okay to archive to ASC, PT Collective, and BLTS. All others please ask author for permission. Sympathy by Julie Evans "B'Elanna?" Tom got no answer to his call as he walked into their darkened quarters. He'd expected to find her here since her shift had ended three hours before his half-shift in sickbay. Then he recalled that she had mentioned meeting Chakotay for dinner in the mess hall. They'd probably talked awhile-- Tom halted as he saw the sliver of light shining from under the bathroom door and realized that B'Elanna was home after all. He smiled and started pulling off his uniform jacket as he walked toward the bed. He stopped abruptly again, with his jacket sleeves still caught halfway down his arms behind him, when he heard a noise from the bathroom. The muffled sound was halfway between distress and annoyance, and a sharp curse followed. In Klingon. Tom frowned and jerked his jacket off his arms. He left it on the floor where it fell, and strode quickly into the bathroom, speaking his wife's name as the door slid open. "B'Elanna..." She was crouching over the toilet with one hand clutching the rim, and the other resting on her abdomen, where her pregnancy was beginning to show. It was obvious that she'd just thrown up. The doctor had added a standard anti-nausea ingredient to B'Elanna prenatal regimen, designed to combat the "morning sickness" both human and Klingon women sometimes experienced in early pregnancy. But he'd warned that her uniquely hybrid system might not receive the full benefit, and that she might still experience occasional bouts of nausea. It hadn't happened yet, but clearly it was happening now. B'Elanna looked up and spared him a brief glare as he moved toward her. Then she clamped her lips together, swallowed heavily and turned her attention back to the toilet. Tom quickly wet a washcloth and knelt down next to her, placing a hand gently on her back. She immediately shook it away. He waited a moment and reached for her again, but she had stopped heaving enough to hiss, "Don't!" Tom pulled his hand back as she glanced up at him and then quickly away. She spoke again, a low plea through clenched teeth, "Please." He wondered if she'd added that soft "please" because of the events that had almost torn them apart recently, and was sure she had. To his mind it was over and resolved, but he knew B'Elanna still felt some lingering guilt about what she'd nearly done. She glanced up at him one more time, her expression a mix of irritation and supplication. He wanted to stay, but he knew she hated being weak or ill, and especially hated anyone, even him, seeing her in that condition. He also knew she didn't want his help right now, just his understanding. He pressed the wet washcloth into her hand, ignoring every instinct that urged him to do more as he felt her hand tremble slightly against his. Then he rose and left. When she came out of the bathroom ten minutes later he'd changed into his sweats and was settled on the couch with the television on and a padd in his hand. She was wearing her indigo nightgown, looking freshly scrubbed and a little pale as she circled the bed. He wanted to get up and hug her, but instead he simply edged over on the couch in an open invitation. She walked over and sat down next to him, letting out a soft, almost inaudible sigh. Tom flipped off the television with the remote she had designed, and set aside his padd. His navigation reports could wait until tomorrow. They were only a day behind, not a bad pace for him. B'Elanna's gaze was on the coffee table as he spoke. "Are you--" "I'm fine," B'Elanna said shortly. Then she looked at him again and her gaze softened a little. "Really. It was just something I ate." "What did Neelix serve tonight?" Tom asked. He'd replicated a ham sandwich in sickbay since he hadn't wanted to take the time to stop by the mess hall for dinner. Taking a shorter break between shifts allowed him to get home that much earlier. "I didn't ask what it was," B'Elanna said. "It actually tasted better than usual, but lately some things haven't agreed with me." Tom looked at her curiously, but didn't say anything. "It's happened a couple of times in engineering," B'Elanna said a little grudgingly, answering his unasked question. "It's no big deal." Tom nodded. B'Elanna would have simply slipped into the nearest lavatory and taken care of it, and then returned immediately to her work, determined to avoid any notice or fuss. "The doctor said it would pass in a few weeks, so it shouldn't bother you much longer." He reached over and picked up the cup from the coffee table. "This might help. It's herbal tea. Neelix's special blend." And one of his more successful creations in B'Elanna's estimation, Tom knew. B'Elanna took the cup from his hand and inclined her head toward the table. "Crackers too?" "Yep," Tom said. "Whenever I had an upset stomach as a kid, my mom would have the tea and crackers out in a second." Especially if his stomach was as empty as B'Elanna's must be right now. "Hmm..." was B'Elanna's only response as she took a cautious sip of the tea from the cup cradled in her hands. She gave Tom a sidelong look. "My mother's remedy was a cup of blood wine." Tom's lips quirked. "Well, I can replicate that if you'd prefer." B'Elanna shook her head quickly. "No, thanks. Tea is just fine." She settled next to Tom. "Television tonight?" Tom brought the television out from the cabinet where they kept it once every week or so, sometimes when Harry or someone else with an interest came over, and sometimes when it had just been a long day and he had little compunction to do anything more constructive. Sometimes B'Elanna joined him, or she worked on her engineering reports while he watched. "I guess it was one of those days." "Uh huh," B'Elanna said with feeling, apparently in full agreement. "What were you watching?" "You sure you want to know?" he asked. B'Elanna gave him a suspicious look as she reached forward and took a cracker from the plate. "Probably not." Tom grinned at her sardonic tone. Several months ago he had discovered twentieth century "cultural programming" on a network called PBS. They'd checked out a couple of the science shows like "Cosmos," with their antiquated though in some cases surprisingly foresighted theories, and the natural environment shows like "National Geographic." Then Tom had come across another type of later twentieth century programming called "cable," and he'd found one program in particular that fascinated him. He flipped the television on, and a rugged blond man appeared on the screen. B'Elanna groaned. "And today," the man said in a heavy Australian accent, "I have here one of the most venomous snakes in the world." He held up a wriggling black snake. "One bite from this fellow and the gig is up, mates. It takes great dexterity and composure to handle this bugger with my bare hands--" "Or great stupidity," B'Elanna said dryly. Tom smiled. Despite her derision, he knew the show amused B'Elanna. She enjoyed repeatedly pointing out the fine line between courage and stupidity, though he thought she had a sneaking admiration for the crocodile hunter's audacity. "Idiot," B'Elanna muttered, as the crocodile hunter thwarted the snake's quick lunge at his throat. Or maybe not. But she tolerated watching it, though she'd made him promise not to recreate any of the silliness on the holodeck, safeties or not. He'd agreed, though he'd told her that it would be a great disappointment to Harry. "Want me to find something else?" Tom had a pretty large collection of old television programs stored in the remote's datachip now, and his offer was sincere, but B'Elanna just shook her head and snuggled a little closer to him. "This is fine." They watched the show for several minutes, though Tom's attention strayed to B'Elanna periodically as she sipped the tea and ate most of the crackers. Her lips twitched a couple of times at the crocodile hunter's antics, though more often she rolled her eyes. When she finished the tea, she set the empty cup on the coffee table before he could take it. Then she stretched, and curled her legs up on the couch. "Tired?" he asked. "No," she replied. Then she yawned. "We can go to bed if you want." B'Elanna shook her head. "Finish watching this," she said, as she stretched out on the couch. She settled on her side and dropped her head on his lap. He waited until she was comfortable, and then he draped his arm over her waist, letting his hand rest against her slightly protruding belly. In response she slipped her arm over his, and linked their fingers together. A water-thrashing scene on the television caught his attention. He watched the action for a couple of minutes and when he looked down at B'Elanna again her eyes were closed. He brushed a strand of hair from her face with his free hand, and let his fingers linger against her warm cheek for a moment. "Thanks." He started a little at the unexpected murmur of B'Elanna's voice. "For what?" "For the tea and crackers," she said, her eyes still closed, and her words a little indistinct. "And the sympathy." He knew hadn't fooled her, but B'Elanna thanking him for sympathy? He smiled and stroked her hair. "My pleasure. Next time we can give the blood wine a shot." B'Elanna snorted lightly, a sound Tom took as dissent. "Love you," she said, her voice fading into a whisper. "Me, too," Tom returned softly. The crocodile hunter shouted at a particularly aggressive kangaroo, trying to shoo it away. Tom watched the kangaroo throw a kick in defiance, then he looked at B'Elanna again. He should probably rouse her and go to bed before she fell into a deeper sleep. But he wasn't that tired, and he felt pretty comfortable at the moment with her head on his lap, the crazy antics of the crocodile hunter going on in front of him, and the stars passing by at his back, as incongruous as those factors of his contentment were. Tom shifted slightly and glanced out the window. B'Elanna and he had taken advantage of the location of the couch to do more than watch television, several times. Their daughter might well have been conceived right here under the stars. He smiled, thinking the possibility very fitting. They probably wouldn't be making much use of the couch for that particular activity after she was born, at least not until the captain approved the extension they'd requested into the vacant quarters next to them. That had been B'Elanna's idea. She wasn't a brilliant engineer for nothing. There was just enough space to install an adjoining doorway in the wall near their bed. The quarters next door were smaller, but the expansion would give them the plenty of room as the baby got older. And if there were more babies. They were thinking a bit ahead, but Tom knew it might be many years before they got back to the Alpha quadrant. And while he looked forward to some aspects of their eventual return, he didn't really care how long it took to get there. Right now B'Elanna and he were making a good home right here, for as long as it might last. A memory from his childhood came suddenly to him. When he'd been about six he'd spent almost a month in close quarters on a space station with his parents and sisters while his father had been on assignment at an extended conference. He'd missed his own bedroom and had asked his mother when they were going home. She'd told him that a home was no more than the people in it. That answer hadn't exactly mollified him at the time, but he'd finally come to understand how true it was. B'Elanna stirred, and Tom felt a tiny ripple across her belly. His daughter was kicking, as if to demand his attention. A small, delighted smile lifted his lips. He'd felt her move a dozen times over the past couple of weeks, and it had sent a thrill through him every time, as it did now. He'd been stunned when he'd first found out that B'Elanna was pregnant, but that shock had been quickly replaced by elation. Now he felt an almost serene sense of certainty about becoming a father--as if another piece of his life was moving perfectly into place--just as he'd felt when he'd married B'Elanna. Tom recalled another conversation he'd had with his mother when he'd been around seven or eight. He'd informed her with a child's conviction that he was never going to get married. After all getting married involved a *girl,* and who wanted anything to do with girls anyway? She'd told him that he might change his mind one day, when he found a girl who was just right for him. To please his mother he'd conceded that it was possible, *if* she was just right--if she liked all the things he liked, and did whatever he said, and was always nice to him. He'd imagined that the perfect girl would simply be an extension of him. When his mother had asked him mildly if he planned on contributing anything, he'd declared that he would protect her and take care of her, the way heroes did in fairy tales. He'd thought that was pretty considerate of him. When he'd finished his narrative his mother had smiled with affectionate amusement. Then she'd patted his head, and she'd gently told him that he would grow up some day. He hadn't reflected far beyond those narrow views, as a teenager, or for years to follow. After he'd left Starfleet in disgrace, he'd used his natural charm and his roguish reputation to attract women, the one ability in which he still had total confidence. He'd portrayed himself as some sort of tragic hero burdened by his past, and had let them bolster his self- esteem by putting him on a pedestal, short-lived as that always was. Tom looked down at his sleeping wife. From the first moment his charm hadn't worked on her. She hadn't seen him as any kind of hero, but luckily she wasn't looking for one. She'd made him earn her notice and respect, step by honest step. Throughout their evolving relationship, as semi-antagonists, then friends, then lovers, they'd disagreed more often than they'd agreed. There had never been a time when she'd hung on to his every word, and he knew there never would be. His lips quirked. Marriage hadn't changed *that* much. There were still dings in the walls from the things she sometimes threw at him when they argued--though the only thing she'd ever actually hit him squarely with was Toby, and he knew there was nothing wrong with her aim. While marriage might not have changed their obstinate personalities, it had closed a lot of their distances. In fact, the couple of days right after they'd found out about the baby had been the only time in their nearly six month marriage that there had been a real emotional rift between them. They'd become almost complacent to that point, as if they'd assumed that getting married had immediately solved all their problems. It hadn't, but this time they'd healed their break more quickly and completely than they ever had before, and that was an achievement. Tom brushed his hand over his wife's hair. He'd never had a hard time loving B'Elanna, but for a long time he'd had difficulty finding the right balance, being with her without smothering her--and it often took little for her to feel smothered--yet not being oblivious to her own efforts to become more a part of his life. He knew his tendency to emotionally detach when things got strained between them had kept him from reaching out at critical moments, from seeing what he didn't want to see, even recently. So often when she'd pulled away, he'd given her the distance she'd seemed to want with little protest, and she'd done the same to him in return. Marriage had made them better at intimacy, but even now it wasn't always easy. Tom's lips curved at the irony. He'd once assumed that when it was "right" it would automatically be easy, but he should have known he'd never been one for the easy way. B'Elanna was completely her own person; in fact he couldn't imagine anyone less an extension of him. She was far from the docile and agreeable woman he'd long ago envisioned, and now he wondered how he'd ever believed he would have settled for so little. His eyes focused on the empty teacup. She also didn't need him to take care of her--much as he sometimes wanted to--though she occasionally let him get away with such small gestures. It was only in the most vulnerable moments that she openly let him know he filled a space in her no one else had, or could. But he'd take each of those moments any day over all the blind adoration he'd imagined as a youth. Tom looked up at the television screen for the first time in several minutes. He'd missed the end of the show, and the credits were rolling as he turned it off with the remote. He watched the screen go dark, and gazed past it at the near wall by their bed, where a doorway would probably lead to their child's--or children's--room one day. Then his eyes moved to the dresser in the alcove beyond the bed. On top was a small pile of baby blankets, waiting to be placed in the cradle they'd already picked out and planned to replicate in the next couple of weeks. Propped on one side of the blankets was Toby the targ, the expression on his furry face one of ironically fierce gentleness. On the opposite side was the small, scruffy teddy bear he'd had since he was a toddler, and who had traveled with him into Starfleet as part of an old accepted tradition. No matter how many times his course had been altered since, his steadfast stuffed companion had come along too, shoved into more duffels and drawers and corners during his life's journey than he could now even remember. He looked down at B'Elanna again, curled on her side with her head comfortably nestled on his lap. The angles of her face were softened in sleep but still etched with the strong, luminous beauty that had struck him the first time he'd laid eyes on her. He wondered idly what his mother would think if she could see him at this exact moment, settled contentedly with his beautiful, self-reliant wife, their hands clasped over her belly where their child was growing, here in this home they were making together. Not this physical space they were sharing right now-- that would change eventually, as it did in life--but the home they were creating with each other and with their daughter that was independent of place, the kind of home in the heart at which his mother had always excelled. His mouth curved into a soft, wistful smile. Maybe she'd think that he was finally growing up. ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ the end.