Title: Outstretched Arms
Author: KayTrek (KayTrek@Yahoo.com)
Rating: NC-17
Codes: Paris/The Doctor
Archive/Post: In no particular order, VSPS,
ATPS, The Tom Paris Dorm, Paris Nights, The Valkerie,
ASC/EM, anyone else please ask first

Disclaimer:  Star Trek and everything related is owned by
Paramount/Viacom, this is just a not-for-profit fun fic.

For Jeanette and the Dorm.  Thanks, as always, to
CatHeights for her revisions and insight.  Any remaining
errors are mine alone.

SUMMARY:  The Doctor offers Tom Paris an unusual
form of therapy.

WARNING:  violence, possible non-cons. sex

Spoilers:  The final season P/T arch, Real Life and Blink of an
Eye episodes

Outstretched Arms

"Mr. Paris," the Doctor began, as he reached out to touch Tom
on his shoulder.  "I'm sure that she didn't mean to hurt you . . ."

"Fuck off, Doc!" Tom snarled, pulling away from the holographic
arm.  "I don't care how many times you and the Captain and Harry
and Chakotay say it, she did.  The kid isn't mine!  Hell, I stood
up to those damn Klingons for her and that kid.  I stopped her
from messing around with her DNA!  And for what?"

"I know, Tom."

"You don't know shit, Doc."

"Then tell me."

"What do you care?"

"What makes you think I don't care?" the Doctor responded
in a kind tone, his arms crossed as he observed the pilot, who
was obviously in great pain.  It was his duty as a physician to
heal that pain, whether physical or psychological.  He had
promised himself he would offer outstretched arms to crew
members in distress.  Besides, it was his duty as a friend to help
Tom deal with this disaster.

"You're a HOLOGRAM, Doc, you aren't EVER going to
have kids!  So spare me the mock sympathy!" Tom roared,
slipping off the exam table to pace in agitation.

"I've had children," the Doctor shot back, hurt that Tom could
suggest otherwise.

"What, your fucking holographic family?  That weird sojourn
on that sped-up planet?  Those don't count, Doc!  Make-
believe, not yours, not your DNA, your seed sent into your
wife's body to start the next generation . . . " Tom trailed off,
fighting tears as he stared at the sickbay wall, lost in thought.

"Is that what is bothering you, Tom?  That you won't be having
another little Paris to carry on the family line?  Afraid to
disappoint the Old Man?" the Doctor shot back in a nasty tone.
He didn't want to hurt Tom more, but sometimes a festering
wound had to be lanced to be healed.

And a dark, nasty corner of the Doctor's matrix hated Tom
at that moment for not granting neither his holographic children,
nor his adopted son, Jason, the same status as Tom's hoped-for
flesh-and-blood one, the one lost to him now that B'Elanna had
admitted her daughter couldn't possibly be Tom's.

"Fuck you, Doc!  You don't have a father already planning his
granddaughter's Starfleet career!" Tom spat, turning again to
renew his verbal attack.

Poor Tom, still concerned what his father will think.

"Maybe I should," the Doctor replied, advancing suddenly
on Tom.

"You should what?" Tom said, his tirade halted by the Doctor's
puzzling response.

"Fuck you," the Doctor replied, and pulled Tom's head against
his in a bruising kiss.
"Get off!" Tom yelled, trying to push the hologram away.

"No," the Doctor replied. His hand grabbed Tom's arm firmly.

Struggling uselessly against the hologram's superior strength,

Tom gasped when the Doctor called for a medical override of
the sickbay doors. "You've lost your holographic mind!" Tom
snarled, still trying to pull away, as the Doctor grabbed his other
arm and forced Tom's back against a wall.

"On the contrary Tom, I know just what I am doing," the Doctor
replied, a dark glint in his eye.  "I am tired of you punishing
yourself for things that are not your fault, and punishing everyone
around you.  You think it is your fault the child isn't yours?  It's
not -- it's no one's but B'Elanna's and her un-named lover, the
one too cowardly to come forward and face you.  So you make
the rest of us hurt as badly as you, because you won't let us help

"Fuck off. You can't begin to know how bad I hurt."

"Oh really.  You are the one who just reminded me I can't have
a child, not a flesh-and-blood child like yours.  YOU still have
a chance to have a child with another lover, I never will . . . no
matter how long I live, and I am sure to outlive you and everyone
else on Voyager.  Now who is in the more hopeless position?

And do you see me whining over it?" the Doctor snarled, leaning
into Tom's face.

Tom spit in his face.

"You can't stop pushing, can you Paris?  Can't stop pushing
everyone until they turn away from you, can't let anyone care
about you. Well, I'll give you the pain you are looking for!"

The Doctor pulled Tom away from the wall and threw him
onto a biobed.

"Get off!" Tom screamed as the Doctor pressed in from behind,
having used a holographic field to pin Tom to the bed.

"Oh, no, Tom, I'm going to give you what you really want.
Can't have Chakotay, he was pining for Janeway, and now
Seven.  Can't have Harry, can't use your best friend like that.
You know better than to approach Ayala or Dalby.  Can't bring
men like that home to your father, if he would accept you
bringing one home at all. Settle on B'Elanna, because at least
she would give you the pain you crave. Well, I'll fill your craving
on both counts.  I'm a man, and I'll give you pain . . . and you
don't have to worry about taking me home to Dad because I'm
only a hologram. "

"Gods, yes!" Tom groaned, suddenly pushing his ass up against
the Doctor's body, not surprised to feel a holographic erection
against his butt cheeks.

"Is this what you really want, Tom?" the Doctor snarled,
knowing Tom couldn't see the tears in his eyes.

"Fuck me Doc. Fuck me! Make the pain go away for a little
while," Tom moaned.

"Oh, don't worry, Paris, I'll give it to you," the Doctor said in
the same tone, while lines of pain and remorse formed on his
face.  He roughly pulled Tom's pants down, took a tube of
ointment off a tray to use as lubricant, and then altered his
holographic program to erase his pants and produce an
enormous erection.  Uncircumcised, he noted with a bemused
fragment of his mind, as he took the ointment and thrust two
fingers roughly into Paris' rectum.

"Oh, God, yes, like that, Doc. Please, please fuck me. Do me
hard.  Make me forget," Tom moaned, twisting as the fingers
roughly fingered him open.  The Doctor quickly added a third
and fourth finger, scissoring, and then withdrew to spread the
lubricant briefly on his erection.  He leaned up against the bed,
pressed his penis against Tom's anus, and quickly thrust home.
Tom screamed.

The Doctor pulled back slightly, his holographic appearance
fluctuating as conflicting subroutines fought for dominance.

"Did I hurt you?" the Doctor whispered hoarsely, appalled at
his rough treatment of the pilot.

"Fuck no, Doc, push!  Get moving.  I'm dying here," Tom
moaned in a low voice, his body writhing sensually beneath
the heavy form covering him.

His subroutines unlocking, the Doctor thrust hard into Tom and
pulled back to push again, even harder, quickly finding a rhythm
that had Paris moaning and pushing back against him.  Too soon,

Tom climaxed and collapsed beneath him.

A small portion of his programming realizing the correct response
was to fake a climax himself, the Doctor did so and then pulled
away from Paris.  He looked at Tom in dismay. He lay boneless
and bruised and covered in sweat on the sickbay bed.

The Doctor shuddered in disbelief at what he had just done,
while another part of his matrix recognized that he had given
Paris just what he wanted. He had put Tom's demons at bay
again, at least for a little while.

"Doctor?  Is everything o.k.?" Chakotay's voice came suddenly
over the intercom, startling them both.  "Sickbay is under a

"Yes, Commander, everything is fine," the Doctor replied,
straightening up and using his holographic matrix to restore
his usual spotless appearance.  "I was just giving Mr. Paris
. . . some personal assistance."

"I'm sure he appreciated it, Doctor," Chakotay replied
in a warm tone.

"Oh, he did, Commander, he did.  I'm sending him back to
his quarters to rest now," the Doctor replied, watching as Paris
struggled to pull up his torn pants.

"Thanks Doc," Tom replied after the channel closed, not
meeting the Doctor's eyes.  The Doctor just nodded and
waived the pilot towards the doors, which he had just released.
He didn't trust himself to speak.

As Tom left, his back straight, his demeanor, for the moment,
calm, the Doctor considered revising his policy of outstretched
arms towards the crew.  He may have bought Tom Paris a
moment's peace, but he knew he had fractured his holographic soul.