Can you break your fingers by punching a metal door?

Question:

i know u can fracture something in them..but can u break them?
i dont wanna try or anything i was just wondering..

Answers:
Michelle, please, ask a serious question

A fracture is a break

depends how strong u are, i'm sure a weak girl wouldnt be able too, but if u dont squeese ur fist too hard, and leave ur fingers a little loose and punch it full force then yeah.

You can easily break your fingers or any of the numerous bones in your hand by smashing your fist against a hard surface. Your finger bones are actually very delicate.

Yes of course.
Fracture means the same as break, btw

Sure you can. You already answered your own question when you say you KNOW you can fracture something in them. As many others here has already told you. a fracture is a break. A bone will break if smashed with full force into a hard surface.

First a fracture is a broken bone.

I worked in upstate NY high schools for 11 years as school nurse and I referred about 5 kids a week to their docs for hand fractures after their punching lockers. Yes,you absolutely can break or fracture your fingers or hand by punching anything metal like a locker or a wall,or door. If you or a "friend" think you have get to your doc, hand fractures don't heal well by themselves.

YES

The Match, part 9

Harry Kim emerged from the doctor's office in sickbay, his eyes alight with curiosity.

"Where are the commander and Ventriss?" he asked.

"Callisthenics," replied Tom shortly, walking over to the computer console and checking the progress of Harry's search programme.

"More callisthenics?" said Kim wonderingly. "****. Everyone's been saying how great it is that the commander takes so much time to help Ventriss. Especially when Ventriss is such an asshole, you know?"

"Yeah," muttered Tom, not looking up. "Well, even assholes get sick, Harry."

"Right," said the ensign, not looking the slightest bit daunted by his friend's scowl. "How's the programme going?"

"Actually, I think it's just finished. But I can't work out what these results mean. This is one complicated programme, Harry."

"Yeah," said the ensign, shouldering Tom aside so that he could examine the results himself.

Tom didn't like the perplexed look on Harry's face as his fingers ran over the keyboard. What if there *were* no answers to his questions?

Five minutes later, there had still been nothing from Harry except the occasional snort. In the end, Tom couldn't stand the waiting any more and demanded, "What? What's with the ******* snorts?"

Kim looked up startled, as if he had forgotten that the other man was present.

"Sorry Tom. But this is quite complicated. Very complicated, actually. You see these data streams here?" Harry gestured with his fingers. "Well they intersect with this…"

"I don't want to know what it says," Tom snapped in frustration. "I want to know what it *says*!"

"Okay, okay," said Harry quickly, making placatory gestures with his hands.

The pilot glared at him when nothing more was forthcoming.

"I could be on Risa with the Delaney twins right now, you know," Harry added with slight sullenness. "It's my afternoon off. And I've spent it in sickbay, unlike some people who were actually supposed to be on duty here. Besides, you stink. It doesn't seem very fair to me that one of us was on duty and got laid, while the other one wasn't and didn't."

"Sorry," said Tom, grinning at his friend, his sudden temper gone as soon as it had arisen. "I'm just kinda keyed up here. I need answers. Anyway, the Delaneys have been hanging out with Childers a lot lately. Ever since he made that pudding thing - you know, the disgusting mess with those little raisins…"

"Answers, Tom, answers," Harry reminded him with exasperation.

"That's what I'm waiting for Harry!" Okay, maybe he didn't need to shout quite so loud.

Kim gave him a hurt look and turned back to the console. "I'm not entirely sure," he said, "but it looks to me like nobody stole information from your files at all. The trail indicating theft and the eventual destination of the stolen data has been forged."

"But that doesn't make sense," said Tom, stunned. "Chakotay had the programme. I was able to examine it in some detail while we were - er - using it. The holographic Tom Paris was very realistic. Too true to life to be the result of some lucky guesses and good programming. Besides, Cha's not that good of a programmer."

"I'm not saying that information didn't go out of your files, Tom," said Harry, shaking his head, "I'm just saying that it wasn't stolen."

Tom felt the pit in his stomach yawning wider. All along, he had been acting from the premise that the commander had raided his files, with the knowledge or connivance of the doctor. But if that wasn't true, then there was another player involved. Someone whose role and motives were entirely opaque to him. And Chakotay had played with his holographic pilot, not even realising the modifications and improvements that had been made. Perhaps wanting nothing more than to knock the smirk off a Paris lookalike, after all.

Unless the answer had been in front of him all the time.

Tom began to shake his head in growing fury. "I'm betting," he said slowly, "that the information was sent from sickbay. Oh don't bother looking, Harry, you won't find anything other than the leak, and you only found *that* because the consequences of it were too clear to hide entirely. But I know who did it. And I'm gonna ream that bald ******* bastard a new holographic asshole."

Tom was consumed with anger. Harry was gaping at him but he shoved the ensign aside from the console and began to work furiously. "Computer," he barked while he worked, "what is the location of the EMH?"

"The EMH is in holodeck three," replied the computer.

"Tom, what are you doing?" asked Harry in some trepidation.

"Actually, it's what you're doing, Harry," said Tom, calling up programmes and entering commands. Finally, he turned to look at his friend, who had his usual wary look when he knew he was about to be dragged into a Paris escapade.

"I'm not doing anything, Tom," he said, backing slowly away towards the sickbay exit.

"Nothing too serious," said Tom, his cheerful voice at odds with his manic grin. "Just a little diagnostic on holodeck three. You see, there's no one in there Harry. Just a bunch of holograms. Someone left a programme running. Very careless of them. How were you to know the EMH was in there?"

Harry paused in his backward scramble, his face indignant. "What, I would be too stupid to check if the EMH wasn't in there when one of those damn opera programmes is running?"

"Ah, but it's not going to be an opera programme running," said Tom, his fingers working at near light speed now, the air of Voyager's pilot at his best, making course changes with amazing precision and operating at an almost instinctual level.

"Done!" he shouted in triumph. "Codes, Harry."

"No ******* way, Paris," said the ensign, but it was weak and they both knew it.

"It has to be *now*, Harry," pleaded Tom, his eyes on fire with a sort of desperate glee.

Harry groaned. "Run diagnostic," he instructed the computer. "Authorisation Kim alpha gamma seven. What have I just done, Paris?"

But he got no answer for at least a minute, with Tom collapsed on the computer console in fits of laughter. Not even shaking him could get a coherent word out of the pilot.

"If you don't tell me right now, I am going to report this to Commander Chakotay," hissed the ensign.

"Alright, alright," said Tom through his giggles. "The holodeck is locked down in diagnostic mode. Nobody gets in or out. The safeties are off line. The computer won't respond to commands, verbal or otherwise. Not even the doc's programme can get itself transferred out of there. And at this very minute, the doc is a special guest in Programme Torres 42."

"What - what's that, Tom?" asked Kim, his dismay evident in his clear young eyes. But Tom was laughing too hard to speak any more.

With an exclamation of disgust, the ensign pushed his helpless friend on the floor and tapped up the programme descriptor on the screen.

"A Klingon orgy?" he asked in disbelief. "What happens at a Klingon orgy?"

"All I know," hiccuped the pilot, "is that they start out with Klingon pain sticks. And that it goes down hill from there."

Harry was confused. "But he's a hologram, Tom. He won't actually feel anything."

"Who needs him to feel anything?" asked Tom, holding his sides. "Just think of the *indignity* of it all!"

After a few more seconds, Harry started to laugh as well. Maybe it would be worth the loss of replicator rations and confinement to quarters that would inevitably follow when the captain found out.

They were still laughing five minutes later when Tuvok commed Paris and asked the pilot to meet him in transporter room two.

"Sure, commander, what's this about?" inquired Tom, exchanging puzzled looks with Harry.

"You are required for an away mission to Calliston 3. No special gear will be needed," replied the Vulcan, his voice giving nothing away as usual. "Meet me there in five minutes."

"That's a bit odd," said Harry. "You weren't on the original mission list."

Voyager had been in orbit around Calliston 3 for two days now, while Tuvok and Neelix oversaw the collection of food and other natural resources to replenish the ship's dwindling stocks.

"I stink of ***," moaned Tom, running for the sickbay bathroom, stripping as he went. Two minutes later, he burst back into the main medical area, running towards the door.

"Look, Harry, can you mind the store here?" he called as he ran. "We don't want to let the doc out too soon, and it's not as if you would have got the twins to Risa anyway."

Kim looked doubtful but resigned. Tom knew that Harry wouldn't want their game with the EMH to finish before the two-hour diagnostic was up, since they were likely to get punished for it anyway.

"Um, mind the store?" the younger man asked, guessing at its meaning but wanting to make sure.

"Just a bit of vid slang, Har. It means: when Ensign K'Lann arrives, give her a cup of tea. The replicator is pre-set with the right blend. Oh, and duck."

"Duck?" Tom heard the puzzled tones but the swish of the door behind him prevented him from having to answer.

"Paris to Chakotay," he said into his com badge while he made his way to the transporter room, careful to avoid the more crowded corridors. Old habits die hard.

"Chakotay here," came the commander's voice. He sounded out of breath.

"How are the callisthenics going?" the pilot asked.

"Just fine Tom. No injuries. Brad is being a little less clumsy today. If that's what you wanted to know."

Tom could hear the amusement in the other man's voice.

"No," he said. "Well, yes, actually, but I also wanted to know whether you approved a change to the away mission roster?"

All amusement was gone now. "No, I haven't authorised a change. Why?"

"I've just been called up for last minute duty. I beam down in five minutes. It seemed a bit - unusual - that's all."

"Who?" asked Chakotay. There seemed to be a wealth of meaning in the word.

"Tuvok," replied Tom, his heart starting to race a little as he neared the transporter room.

"I see," said Chakotay carefully. "Understood. Remember away team policy and report in every hour."

"Don't I always?"

"Do you really want me to answer that, lieutenant?" came the amused response.

"Um, no?" said the pilot.

"Report in one hour. If you don't, well, let's just say that violation of away team procedures will not be tolerated. I will be standing by."

A lot can happen in an hour, thought Tom. But at least Chakotay had been warned.

Squaring his shoulders, Tom walked into the transporter room and faced Voyager's chief of security. "Tuovk," he said with a polite nod.

Wordless, the Vulcan handed him a large sack and a datapadd listing edible flora. Great. After going two rounds with Chakotay in the boxing ring (and half out of it), he now had to climb trees and pick fruit? That reliable Paris luck. He grinned despite himself. It would still be better than what was going on in holodeck three.

"Are you ready, lieutenant?" asked Tuvok.

"Sure," said the pilot, favouring the Vulcan with an annoying grin and a wink.

"Energise," was Tuvok's only response, and Tom found himself standing in a grassy knoll, breathing fresh air for a change, with the scent of blossoms and something he couldn't identify on the breeze. He took deep breaths, grinning inanely at Tuvok and letting some of the tension slip out of him, despite his uncertainty about what was going on here. If Tuvok knew what Chakotay had done, then that was that, and there was nothing Tom could do about it except pull his phaser and send the Vulcan home to his ancestral spirits a little earlier than the universe might have planned. He sighed. It was a beautiful day.

Except that he wasn't the one pulling the phaser.

Tom eyed the Vulcan expectantly.

"Mr Paris, please take off your com badge and place it on that rock over there," instructed the security chief.

"Isn't that a violation of Star Fleet regulations?" Tom asked with a cocky grin. A whole hour until Chakotay expected him to call in. Yep. A lot could happen in an hour.

Tom watched without visible emotion as Tuvok removed his own communicator and placed it on the rock next to his.

"Walk," commanded the Vulcan. He was never one for chatter at the best of times.

"Which way? Where?" inquired Tom. "What's going on?"

It had been a crazy day. At least, with Ventriss and the others, it had been people he didn't like. Didn't admire. But Tuvok?

The Vulcan gestured to the left with his phaser and they set out, Tuvok always a careful distance behind and covering Tom with his weapon. After they had walked for about half a mile through pleasant forest surroundings, tall trees and alien bird calls all around them, the pilot started to wonder whether this wasn't some crazy exercise drill. Maybe it was his turn for callisthenics, Vulcan style.

Finally, when there seemed to be no end to their forced march in sight, Tom stopped and said, "No further till you tell me what's going on."

Tuvok regarded him steadily for a moment, and then nodded briefly. "This should be far enough."

Tom sank to the ground gratefully, leaning against a huge, ancient tree and studying the ageless-looking face of the alien in front of him.

"Am I under arrest?" he asked finally, when the Vulcan didn't seem disposed to say anything.

"Not precisely," said Tuvok. Tom was starting to get the impression that the security chief was at a loss for words, uncertain how to proceed. He couldn't remember that ever happening before, and became even more worried.

Trying not to let it show, he said, "Then what, precisely?"

"Mr Paris, what I am about to say to you must be kept strictly confidential. This is a priority one security situation, code alpha. No exceptions. Total secrecy."

Tom shook his head, stubbornly. "I have no secrets from Chakotay," he replied. It wasn't true, of course, but Tuvok didn't need to know that.

"Commander Chakotay is already apprised of - aspects - of the situation," said Tuvok.

"Not good enough," said Tom. "Unless you're prepared to shoot me."

Tuvok pocketed his phaser and sat down next to the pilot, his bearing still ramrod straight.

"I apologise for the phaser, lieutenant," he said stiffly. "But it was necessary that you follow my instructions without lengthy discussion. It seemed the safest way to silence you."

"Since when do I argue orders?" demanded Tom, conveniently forgetting all his past interactions with this man.

When Tuvok said nothing but quirked a very expressive eyebrow, the pilot conceded the point with a brief gesture. "Okay, but I'm still not going to keep a secret from Chakotay."

"This is code alpha, lieutenant, and you have no choice," said the Vulcan.

"You are not stupid, Tuvok, there is *always* a choice. You know that. You said as much to me in sickbay a month ago. The Maquis way or the Starfleet way. To rat or keep silent. To remember or forget. Voyager is full of choices."

"Very well," said Tuvok. "There is no disputing the logic of your position. Perhaps I should have said that there is a right choice and a wrong choice. And as your commanding officer, I am telling you which is which."

Tom shrugged. "Chakotay outranks you."

"On top-level security matters, I report directly to the captain," pointed out the Vulcan.

Tom said nothing further but began to pluck small flowers idly, raising them to his nose and inhaling their delicate scent.

"You have not scanned those flowers to ensure that they are not harmful to humans," said Tuvok. Vulcan or no, Tom could hear the exasperation in his voice.

"No, I haven't, have I?" he said, tone conversational. He extended a handful of the small flowers to Tuvok. "You see, Tuvok, it's all about trust."

The Vulcan made no move for a moment, watching Tom carefully, before taking the offering and raising it to his nostrils. The pilot watched him as he breathed deeply.

"Most pleasant," he said, laying the flowers aside. "Very well. I take your point, lieutenant."

Tom settled back against the tree to listen.

"We are in a unique situation out here, so far from home. No civilian government. No Star Fleet Command. No military police. No back-up of any kind. As a result, we have had to forge a unique community, and special bonds to hold it together. The official chain of command is, as you must realise, only one of those bonds."

Tuvok paused for a response and Tom nodded politely.

"Everyone focuses, to some extent, " continued the Vulcan, "on the merging of Star Fleet and Maquis crews. The modification and adjustment of Star Fleet regulations to Maquis custom. The relationship between Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay as the pinnacles of two pyramids. But there are more adjustments, balances of power if you like, than the obvious ones."

Tom actually relaxed a little. It didn't sound like this was about the hooch and punishment scenario at all. Chakotay's life, perhaps, was not really on the line.

"It might surprise you to learn, lieutenant, that you have been recommended for three code alpha commendations by Captain Janeway," said Tuvok.

Tom sat up straight in astonishment. Secret commendations? For what?

Before he could splutter out a request for details, the Vulcan was already continuing in his deep, sonorous voice. "Your main contribution to the survival of Voyager is not, in fact, as Chief Pilot but as assistant medical officer."

Huh? He got commendations for cleaning dirty test-tubes?

"It might also surprise you to learn," said Tuvok, "that the doctor's programme now controls 75% of Voyager's main computer."

"What?" demanded Tom.

"It is another of Voyager's balances of power, lieutenant. Over the past four years, the EMH has penetrated and assumed control of three-quarters of the ships' systems. That includes the communications system, hence the necessity to leave our com badges well out of range while conducting this conversation."

"I don't understand," said Tom, convinced that he was going to wake up and he'd still be in Auckland or on Akriteria perhaps, suffering the hallucinations of drug-induced dreams.

"We have made our last stand in main engineering," explained Tuvok. "We have completely locked the EMH out of those systems. So long as we control the main power source, the balance is maintained. The doctor needs us to fly and maintain the ship of course. It's really a question of who is giving the orders."

"I don't believe this," muttered Tom.

"Vulcans do not lie, lieutenant. In fact, given the Maquis situation, the EMH, and various other security-restricted issues, there is rarely a day in which Captain Janeway is fully in command of Voyager. She finds the situation most - trying."

"How do I fit into all this?" the pilot demanded, struggling to assimilate Tuvok's words to the reality of Voyager as he had understood it.

"Operation Paris is a code alpha operation," said the security chief. "Your appointment as assistant medic to replace Kes was no random act. A careful psychological study was made of all crew members and the EMH, before deciding on the most appropriate choice.

"Essentially, the EMH remains a holoprogramme, though he is now self-aware and is an AI tapping into a large number of computer systems. But the basics of his programming remain. He wants to help and heal, and to do it in an irascible way. Those features are fundamental to his design. He is not really interested in taking over the ship or extending his power base further, but he wanted more ability to manipulate events, to carry out his perceived role well beyond the confines of sickbay and the treatment of physical ailments. The danger, in logical terms, is that he might go too far, or that he might grow weary of his role and become more interested in actually controlling the programmes from which he draws power and information. He might, in fact, grow into something else altogether."

"I don't understand. How does having me as assistant medic do anything other than make him hate humans more than he already seems to do?" asked Tom, still bewildered.

"You know your twentieth-century trivia, do you not, Mr Paris?"

"Yes," said Tom warily.

"Then think of it in these terms. For an electrical circuit to work, to do its job safely, it has to be earthed. To put it simply, Mr Paris, you earth the EMH. You annoy him. You challenge him. You fascinate him. Sometimes you even outwit him. And you never fail to entertain him. Operation Paris is one of the principal ways in which we tie the doctor to his original programming, keeping him interested in and fulfilling his original functions. Though Captain Janeway might not agree, it seems that the doctor finds fighting with you preferable to running the ship. Given the parameters of personality and programming involved, it is all quite logical."

"You mean, I'm getting paid to be annoying?" Tom demanded in outrage. "The captain *wants* me to be annoying?"

"Consideration was given to naming the project Operation Asshole," conceded the Vulcan, his distaste evident. "But it was felt that that would reflect badly on the command structure when we eventually return to the Alpha Quadrant and report to Star Fleet Command."

"Let me guess, that project name was suggested by Commander Chakotay?" Tom sighed wearily. Was there anyone on Voyager who wasn't manipulating him in some way or another? How could his lover keep shutting him out like this, even if it was a code alpha situation?

"Actually, no," said Tuvok. "Commander Chakotay, while aware of the basics of our problems with the EMH, was not apprised of this particular operation. It was felt that his sexual and emotional interest in you made it unlikely that he would maintain objectivity, or be able to keep you entirely in the dark about it."

"Why didn't you just ask me to do it?" said Tom in a small voice. Did nobody trust him not to **** things up?

"It was felt that you would be more successful in the role if left unapprised of its nature," replied the Vulcan. "We have noted a 20% increase, for example, in your annoyance of the doctor, each time Captain Janeway has asked you to tone it down and be more co-operative. But do not alarm yourself. You will still annoy him, even if you are a little more self-conscious about it. I don't believe that you will be able to help yourself."

Tom closed his eyes as he contemplated what was happening in holodeck three. He had just made the most powerful person on the ship very, very angry.

A thought occurred to him as he tried to assimilate all this information. "So who *did* want to call it Operation Asshole? It can't have been the captain. Who else knows about this?"

"Our struggles with the EMH take place on a strict need-to-know basis. In this case, we needed Lieutenant Torres' computer skills to prevent the doctor from extending his programme into the engineering systems. So far, she has been completely successful. The name was her suggestion, although I am not entirely convinced of her seriousness in putting it forward."

"So why tell me now?" Tom demanded angrily. "And why not tell Chakotay, if you're telling me?"

"Yes, I would like an answer to that question as well," came a soft voice from behind them.

Tuvok was too late in going for his phaser. Tom knew that there was a huge smile on his face when he turned to regard the impassive countenance of his lover, leaning casually against their tree and covering Tuvok with his phaser.

"That will not be necessary, commander," said the Vulcan, looking pointedly at the weapon.

Chakotay shrugged and lowered the phaser, although Tom noted that he did not put it away.

"You changed the away mission roster without my permission, Tuvok," said the commander coldly. "And bridge systems noted that your com badges remained stationary from the moment you beamed down, despite the mission imperative of gathering fruit and wild vegetables. A quick scan revealed that they were no longer attached to Star Fleet uniforms. I became - curious - as to the reasons for these violations of away mission protocol. It seems that you have some explaining to do."

"How much of it did you hear?" asked Tuvok, no reaction discernible from his Vulcan features.

"All of it," said Chakotay flatly.

"You must have become - curious - very quickly, commander," commented the Vulcan.

"Yes, I did," said Chakotay.

"Very well, I will answer your question," said Tuvok at last. "Lieutenant Torres has designed sophisticated monitoring equipment for us, from her base in engineering, much of it from original Maquis designs, I believe. From time to time, we are successful in quick raids on sickbay systems. The doctor usually shuts us out within microseconds, but we recently learned that he had developed an interest in certain - needs - of Lieutenant Paris."

Tom flinched. He knew at once that this was going to be even more humiliating than his recruitment for Operation Asshole. He felt Chakotay's heavy hand settle on his shoulder in a comforting gesture. Ignoring Tuvok, he rubbed his face gently against the commander's fingers. The Vulcan was hardly in a position to put him on report.

"It is my belief that the sophisticated programme of the EMH views Mr Paris as something of a - er - a pet. One that talks back to its master and occasionally tricks him, but a pet nonetheless. He has made it his self-appointed task to care for your needs, Mr Paris, including your emotional, psychological, and sexual needs."

Tom groaned and started to lick the commander's hand. Why not let Tuvok feel a little of his own discomfort?

The Vulcan cleared his throat before continuing, clearly looking away from the spectacle in front of him. "I am surmising that the doctor was responsible in some way for bringing about your present relationship with Commander Chakotay. Although I do not know exactly how he did it."

Tom groaned again. This was all starting to make horrible sense.

"It might also interest you to know that, sixty seconds after you were brought to sickbay on the night of your attack, the doctor's programme invaded and took complete control of the observation deck systems, a part of the ship that he had not bothered with in the past. He was too late to retrieve any data on the attack, however, as the perpetrators had already removed all traces. You might be reassured, though, to know that you can enjoy the benefits of the observation lounges in perfect safety from now on. Any assault on you would result in instant retaliation by the computer."

"That's good to know," said Chakotay softly.

Tom just shook his head. And he had thought that *Chakotay* was his most dominating protector on the ship! While all that time, the doctor was letting Chakotay hurt Ventriss and the others, dealing out the sort of justice that would make people think twice before harming the pilot. But he wouldn't have let it go too far, would he? How much of the Hippocratic Oath was still left in the core programming of this bizarre AI? How could Tom, or any of them, possibly trust or co-exist with a creature so alien to them, so unpredictable? Not to mention more ornery than B'Elanna on a bad day.

A sudden memory sprang into his mind, of the doctor looking at him oddly in his Woden get-up, every inch the angry god, saying: "I would never have hit you. Under any circumstances." And his own response: "That's easy to say now." How could they really be sure what this computer programme would do? On the other hand, when he thought of how it must have been that night on the observation deck, was the human conscience any more reliable than an artificial one?

"That still doesn't explain why you decided to bring Tom down here and explain things now," said Chakotay, his voice still devoid of any emotion. Tom struggled to pay attention.

"Mr Paris' actions over the past two months have indicated a growing suspicion of both the doctor and the senior command team," said Tuvok. "He has also been acting suspiciously himself. Were you aware, commander, that Mr Paris and the EMH faked a containment field lock down in sickbay, falsified a holorecording, and have committed other joint violations of regulations? The captain and I agreed that it was becoming too dangerous to keep him in ignorance of what we need from him in relation to the EMH programme."

"No, I wasn't aware of those things," said Chakotay.

Tom snorted, and the hand on his shoulder tightened briefly.

"I had my suspicions," the commander added with quiet dignity.

"I require an explanation of those incidents, Mr Paris," said Tuvok, "and the means by which you became aware of the EMH's extracurricular activities."

Tom looked over at the Vulcan briefly, and then up at the man whose privacy and possibly more would be exposed by his answers.

"No," he said flatly. "You want my co-operation with the doc. And you want me to forget that you pulled a phaser on me and kidnapped me, not to mention taking me off duty without assigning a replacement? Then we wipe the slate clean. No more questions about the past. We deal."

It was amazing but not surprising to see which of those points captured the Vulcan's attention.

"Sickbay has been left unattended?" asked Tuvok. "That was most remiss of me. But the doctor was not scheduled to be absent during this duty shift."

Tom grinned. "Let's just say that he's on holodeck three at the moment, finding out what happens when pets attack."

"Your interest in frivolous twentieth-century vids is of no relevance here," said Tuvok, clearly ignoring both Tom's hilarity and the commander's confusion.

"Don't worry, I left Harry in charge. Right about now, he'll be discovering what happens when a 300 pound Borellian with two stomachs gets the flu."

Tom's smirk must have reassured Tuvok in some way, because he nodded shortly and suggested that perhaps a clean slate might be the best way to proceed after all. "None of our actions can bear overly close scrutiny in this matter, perhaps," he said, looking pointedly at both the commander and the pilot.

Chakotay's smiling mask could have been read as agreement or disagreement, Tom wasn't sure.

"Cha?" he asked quietly.

The big man looked down at him and the smile became softer, more genuine. He rubbed Tom's shoulder, and said, "I think I'm overdue for a long chat with the captain. Her exclusion of me from the full details of the EMH situation is something that we need to rectify." Tom felt momentarily sorry for Janeway, in spite of everything. It must be incredibly frustrating to share her ship with at least two other people who wielded power equal to her own if not greater.

"Indeed," said Tuvok. "I have always thought so."

Chakotay looked over at him in surprise. "Do we need to get her down here?" was all he said.

"We have concentrated on making the captain's ready room as surveillance free as possible," said Tuvok. "All our EMH strategy meetings take place there. But if it is possible to be 100% certain rather than 95%, it would seem a wise precaution."

"Tuvok to Janeway," he added.

"Janeway here," came a tinny voice that seemed to be emerging from Tuvok's ear.

"I would appreciate it if you could join us on the surface as soon as convenient."

"Understood. I'll be there in five minutes," came the response.

Tom and Chakotay shared a bemused glance before addressing their questioning gazes at Tuvok.

"I have a subdermal communicator located inside my left ear," explained the Vulcan. "I had it installed when the integrity of the ship's communications system was compromised."

Taking one look at Chakotay's face, Tom ventured, "I don't think I need to stay for your discussions with the captain. Besides, there's something I need to take care of on the ship. Sooner rather than later."

"We have not yet finished our business, Mr Paris," objected Tuvok.

"Do you want a royally pissed doc on your hands?" asked Tom, very aware that he hadn't told them what he'd done yet.

"I see," said Tuvok. "You have played some childish prank on the EMH?"

"Let's hope *he* thinks so," laughed the pilot nervously.

"Beam him up, Tuvok," ordered the commander, leaning down to swipe a quick kiss across Tom's lips.

"To deck 11, corridor 7," added the pilot.

As Tuvok gave the commands, Chakotay gave Tom's shoulder another squeeze and said in a low growl, "Don't forget. 22.00 hours or I come looking."

Tom gave him a huge grin and wondered which way would be more fun, as the forest and sunshine of Calliston 3 dissolved around him, to be replaced by the harsher artificial lighting of a Voyager corridor. He materialised right outside Holodeck Three, and commed Harry instantly.

"Paris to Kim," he said.

"I'm gonna get you Paris," screamed the voice from the other end of the link. "You are gonna pay and pay and - I don't know - pay some more!"

"No time for that," hissed Tom, "cancel the diagnostic. *Now* Harry."

"**** you Paris," roared the infuriated ensign.

"Do it Harry, please," he moaned.

Seconds later, the control panel by the door assured him that the diagnostic cycle was cancelled and he could enter.

Heart beating loudly in his ears, Tom stepped through the doors onto the glowing grid pattern of the holodeck, surveying the dishevelled figure that stood there clutching its mobile emitter.

For a moment, the doctor was a vision of naked and battered flesh, dripping blood from several wounds, before his matrix shimmered and he was once again the usual impeccable figure in a blue medical uniform.

"Mr Paris, how delightful of you to join me." Tom had seldom heard anything more menacing in his life. "Would you like to give me a reason why I shouldn't see you busted down to crewman and assigned permanently to warp core cleaning duties? God knows, I would be very grateful not to have to look at your face ever again."

Tom closed his eyes and prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice for Voyager. He opened his mouth and began to sing the aria 'Che Gelida Manina' from 'La Boheme'.

By the time that he was finished, it was very clear that the doctor's grievances were forgotten. He was capering around like a mad man in excitement, chortling and exclaiming, "you sing! You really do sing!"

Holographic fingers grasped his arms and danced him round the holodeck. "You have a beautiful voice, lieutenant. And you sing with such passion, such fire. We are going to have so much fun. You will need more off-duty hours, of course, but leave that to me. At last, a live singing partner. Now my talents can be more truly recognised by a peer."

"Ah, doc, human vocal chords, remember? I'm gonna need some down time," he protested feebly.

"Nonsense, I'm a doctor, aren't I? That's what regenerators are for. You leave it to me."

And the EMH waltzed Tom around the holodeck, chortling with glee, as the lieutenant tried to paste an expression of joy on his really rather despondent face.

******************************.

Captain Janeway finally caught up with Lieutenant Paris at dinner in the mess hall that evening. She slid into the chair opposite his, smiling broadly while he toyed with his meal. It was unappetising as usual. Not that the triumphant face opposite was much more palatable.

Remember our agreement, lieutenant?" she inquired with evident delight at his discomfort.

"Actually, ma'am, I…"

But before he could finish his sentence, the captain interrupted to say, "Where is Commander Chakotay this evening?"

"He's in his - our - quarters." Yes. That felt good to say. Very good. He and Chakotay were an official and acknowledged goddamn couple.

The captain's smile got bigger, if anything. Oh no.

"You agreed, lieutenant, that if you ever settled down with someone, you would be the first to volunteer for Voyager's new male pregnancy programme. Family is so important, isn't it? And we need more children on board. Lots more."

Tom felt himself go pale. His stomach roiled.

"I didn't - I couldn't…" It trailed off into a low moan.

"Commander Chakotay tells me that he wants an even dozen of children," said Janeway, her eyes on fire with laughter. For her, this was clearly even better than coffee. "I've already discussed it with him."

Damn the bastard! *When* would he stop hiding things from Tom?

"Report to sickbay at 0700 hours tomorrow for impregnation," ordered Janeway, standing and turning to go, her shoulders shaking.

"Captain," he called desperately as she moved to leave.

"Yes, Tom?" she asked, her smirk huge.

And for the third time in as many months, Tom Paris threw a bowl of leola root stew.

The End.

Well yeah, you could. Best get your little brother to demonstrate for you.

Can you break your fingers by punching a metal door?

Health Resources