TRIALS THREE: TORRES' TRIALS
By Terri Zavaleta
Disclaimer: Paramount owns the entire Star Trek Universe and all the
characters within it---except for the ones the fans have created.
This story and Shadow and Dishon are mine. Ethan Simms, Janine
Lamont, and Mikel Hudson are inventions of the PT Collective. This
story is for fun, not profit, and its purpose to provide an outlet
for creativity.
****************************
TORRES' TRIALS
by Terri Zavaleta
Chief Engineer B'Elanna Torres of the Federation Starship
Voyager was not in a very good mood. She wasn't even sure she'd
recognize a good mood. It had been over six weeks since she'd had one
that lasted more than twenty minutes. That was when she'd decided to
stop seeing Tom Paris socially. Though they'd since mutually decided
that had been a mistake, things still weren't quite the same as
before.
She peered through a microscope at a burned, melted piece of
material and muttered several Klingon curses and epithets under her
breath. It was at times like these she was glad that no one else in
Engineering spoke Klingon. That meant she didn't have to censor
herself.
"There's nothing left to look at!" she grumbled, sitting back in
her chair.
Lieutenant Joe Carey looked up from his work at a nearby
console, unsure if she was addressing him or continuing her
monologue.
She waved a hand at him. "Nothing. I can't tell a thing from
looking at the power couplings after they've fused. We're no closer
to solving this than we were two weeks ago."
The problem had first come to their attention with a minor
disaster. From evidence pieced together by Carey, a power coupling
had fused, causing a short which caused a power converter to overload
which in turn ignited a plasma leak---all of which resulted in a hull
breach in Cargo Bay 1---resulting in injury to Crewman Gerron,
Crewman Shadow, and Lieutenant Tom Paris, and causing the death of
Crewman Niko Dishon. Since that time, power couplings all over the
ship had been giving up the ghost at a higher rate than was normal
for obsolescence to be a factor.
Two weeks later, B'Elanna Torres and her crew were no closer to
solving the riddle. It annoyed her. And her frustration with being
unable to resolve the problem, resulted in her bad mood. She sighed
deeply. Her mind had been hashing and rehashing every possible
technical foul-up that could cause failure or overload in the power
couplings. She was fresh out of ideas. So was the rest of her staff.
She glanced carelessly at the chronometer, then snapped to
attention. She had a date with Tom Paris in less than thirty
minutes. She'd gotten busy and lost track of time---as usual.
"Carey, think of something! The power couplings are critical!"
"Working on it, Lieutenant," her chief assistant replied calmly,
used to such outbursts by now. He returned his attention to his own
station.
She dashed out of Engineering, heading straight for her
quarters. She could use a little relaxation with the charming
helmsman of Voyager. Kahless knew she needed to get her mind off
those lousy power couplings! And her relationship with Tom was the
only positive note in the last six weeks. They were growing closer,
getting to know each other beyond the superficial. Or at least she
hoped they were.
Sometimes she felt that Tom was holding her at arm's length,
letting her get only so close---but not too close. Except physically.
Physically, they were very affectionate with each other. And very
compatible. Though they hadn't taken the physical side of their
relationship too far. Each of them was half afraid to become
intimate---it would change their relationship irrevocably.
Torres wasn't sure how to interpret his behavior. It was as if
Tom was distancing himself from her emotionally, but wanted her
physically close. Sometimes she even felt he was using displays of
affection to distract her---to keep her from getting too close
The idea bothered her. Maybe she should talk to him about it?
Again.
**********************
Walter Baxter was standing outside Cargo Bay One looking
distressed when Ensign George Natwick came striding by on his way to
work out in the gym. Baxter needed advice from someone and Natwick
was the only one in sight. Slight help was better than no help at
all. "George! I need to ask you something."
"What?"
"Listen, I know you're kind of a friend of hers so you might
know---."
"Get to the point, Baxter. I want to work out before I start my
new class this evening," Natwick growled, restlessly flicking his
towel at the wall.
"Well, Malista Shadow came into the Cargo Bay a little while
ago, and she seemed to be fine. She was working on a cargo lifter one
minute, the next minute I turn around and she's sitting on the floor
crying. I don't know what to do. I tried to talk to her, but she just
ignored me. Who should I call? Sickbay? Commander Chakotay? He's been
counseling her. The captain? Who should I call?"
"Baxter, you just don't have a clue. Don't you listen to the
ship's gossip? It's Beta shift right? He should be off duty by now."
Natwick slapped his commbadge. "Ensign Natwick to Ensign Kim."
"Kim here. Go ahead." From the background noise, Harry Kim was
in the turbolift.
"Kim, you're needed in Cargo Bay One. As soon as possible."
"Needed for what?"
Natwick replied, "Malista's down here and pretty upset
according to Baxter."
"Be right there! Kim out." He must have rerouted the turbolift.
He was at the Cargo Bay doors in less than two minutes.
Baxter and Natwick were still standing in the corridor. Natwick
handed Kim a box of tissues he'd procured from a nearby storage
facility. "You'll probably need these, little one," he said and
walked away with his usual strut.
"Thanks, George!" Kim stared with surprise at the tissues. Just
when he was ready to write Natwick off as a Neanderthal, insensitive
jerk---he'd do something thoughtful---then he'd ruin it by taking a
potshot at Kim. Who could figure this guy out? Aw, who wanted to!
Harry brushed by Baxter and into the Cargo Bay. He found Malista
sitting cross-legged on the floor near the outside bulkhead. She was
rocking back and forth, her face covered by her hands, as she cried
silently, sobs racking her body. She was facing the patched place on
the bulkhead. The exact place where a hull breach had caused the
death of her best friend, Niko Dishon, and had almost killed Malista,
Tom Paris, and Gerron.
"Malista," he said softly, to announce his presence and avoid
startling her. She didn't respond. Harry let himself down on the
floor next to her, slipping his arm around her back. As soon as he
touched her, she threw her arms around him and rested her head on his
chest as she sobbed. The hand on her back patted gently. With the
other hand, he presented the box of tissues. She seized a few and
began mopping her face and blowing her nose.
After a few minutes of this, the tears slowed to a trickle. She
tried hiding her face behind her shoulder-length hair. "I must l-l-
look awful," she stuttered soggily. "And I g-g-got your uniform all
w-w-wet!"
"That's okay. Now, want to talk about it?" Harry said calmly.
She closed her eyes. "Not really. I think---it all just caught
up with me. Niko--- I don't think I even cried for him before. When I
came in here---"
"The first time since the accident?" Kim prompted gently.
"Yes. I know it's been almost two months---"
"Time doesn't matter when it comes to grieving," he said. "A lot
of people can't or don't react at the time of the death. They're in
shock or having to cope with other things. When you lose someone you
care about---any little thing can remind you---and all of a sudden,
you feel just as bad as when it first happened."
She blinked up at him, her dark green eyes glistening like rain-
He smiled faintly. "I've been through it myself. When my
grandmother died.
She was very special to me. Two years after her funeral, I walked
into a bakery and caught the scent of gingerbread---and I wanted to
cry because I knew she'd---that's when I finally realized--- she was
really gone. She wouldn't be making gingerbread men with me any
more." His own eyes were filling with tears. One spilled over and
trickled down his cheek.
Malista caught it on her finger and wiped it away. "Thanks,
Harry. I appreciate your sharing that with me. I'm glad I'm not the
only one with delayed reactions."
"It takes time," Harry said. He almost smiled as she made an
impatient noise. "I know. You've heard that from Tom---and Chakotay--
-and B'Elanna---and me---but that doesn't make it less true. There's
some truth to the saying that time heals all wounds. Just take your
time. You've had a lot of adjustments to make. But remember, you
don't have to face everything on your own. I'm here if you need me.
Tom will help you---whether you want him to or not, since he's
appointed himself your older brother. And if you need a woman's
touch, B'Elanna or Captain Janeway or Kes would lend you an ear. Just
stay away from the Delaneys and their advice," Kim warned mockingly.
He hadn't been happy with the Delaneys since they had aided and
abetted Malista in a plan to drive him insane with jealousy---and
done a damned good job of it, too. He got up and helped her to her
feet.
"Oh, gosh. What did Baxter tell you when he called you?" she
asked, suddenly realizing from her stiffness how long she must have
been sitting there.
"I think you scared Baxter," Harry teased, slipping his arm
around her back as they walked toward the exit. "Actually, he didn't
call me. Natwick did."
"George Natwick?" She was dumbfounded.
Harry held up the box of tissues. "He even provided these.
There's evidently more to the man than just muscles. You know, I
think he really likes you." He watched carefully for her reaction.
He knew it was silly for him to feel---jealous--- but---somehow he
couldn't help it. It wasn't the first time he'd felt jealous of this
woman. He'd never been this jealous or possessive with Libby. He was
beginning to wonder what was wrong with him.
Malista's eyebrows rose then fell into a frown. "If George
Natwick likes me, he has a funny way of showing it. First he scares
me out of my mind, then he tries to embarrass me to death at that
party---I don't think so, Harry." She almost never contradicted
Harry. Somehow it made him feel better. She looked down self-
consciously as they passed Baxter on their way out into the corridor.
Harry smiled at the man, grateful that he'd been concerned enough for
Malista to seek help.
"Where are we going?" Harry asked as they turned around the
corner.
"To my quarters," Malista said. "I have to---clean up. I'm not
going to be seen in public looking like this."
Harry studied her expression suspiciously. "How do I know this
isn't part of some nefarious plan to get me alone? In your quarters?
Alone?"
"You said alone twice," Malista pointed out.
"I was using repetition for emphasis," Kim explained kindly. Tom
Paris' sense of humor was definitely rubbing off on him.
"Oh."
"Well?"
"Well, what?" she asked.
"Well, is this part of some nefarious plan to get me alone in
your quarters so you can take advantage of me?" Harry elucidated.
She wrinkled her nose at him. "No."
"Why not?" he demanded, trying to look crushed.
She checked the chronometer on her wrist. "Because we're
supposed to meet Tom and B'Elanna in fifteen minutes."
"No nefarious plan?" Harry said with exaggerated disappointment.
"No. Not in only fifteen minutes," she added. "My nefarious
plans usually take several hours to play themselves out."
Harry perked up. "Really?"
Malista entered the keycode to her quarters. "Why don't you go
get out of uniform and meet me back here in ten minutes?"
"But when---?"
"After dinner?" She smiled at him mischievously. "Once we leave
Tom and B'Elanna to their own devices, we can continue with life
lesson number---three?"
"Oh, yes! Ten minutes, ma'am!" Harry dashed out of sight.
Malista looked once more at her chronometer. "Yikes!" She dashed
for the shower.
***********************
Tom Paris was exactly on time---as usual. B'Elanna Torres was
running late---as usual. She greeted him at the door of her quarters
wearing her maroon robe, hair brush in hand. "I'll just be a minute.
Come in and sit down," she said quickly, as she retreated to her
dressing area.
Tom noticed with amusement that she was barefoot. She had cute
toes. He wondered idly if she ever painted her toenails. He strolled
in, taking his time as he toured her living area with his eyes. True,
he'd been in her cabin before---a month or so ago, but without
B'Elanna's nearness to distract him, he was capable of noticing more
details. A stone statue on the table---that was new. He sat on the
couch and examined it more closely. Some kind of predatory bird. The
carving was exquisitely detailed in blue Alatiran marble. The
feathers looked as if they would be soft to the touch, the eyes of
the bird alert---quite an accomplishment for the artist. "Where did
you get this?" he called out.
"What?" she answered, her voice slightly breathless as she
searched frantically for her other shoe under her bed.
"The carving of the bird," he speci
fied. "It's beautiful."
"Oh, it was a birthday gift from Chakotay. It's an eagle, a
Terran bird."
Now he remembered. He'd overheard Chakotay talking with Janeway
about his gift for B'Elanna, but he didn't remember seeing it before.
It must have been longer than he'd thought since he'd been in her
cabin. "Did he replicate it?"
She appeared in the doorway, every hair in place, wearing a red
vee-necked tee-shirt, matching casual slacks, and sandals. "No, he
replicated the marble then did the carving himself."
"You look---great," Paris said, running his eyes over her. He
looked back at the carving wistfully. He should have known that
anything Chakotay did for B'Elanna would be a work of art---or a
labor of love? "It must have taken him a long time. I wish I had some
artistic ability like that."
She came forward and stood beside him. "Did you ever try it?"
His eyes darkened, as if a half-forgotten memory was pulling at
him mentally. "No, I never tried carving. I did try drawing---" He
stopped and she could almost see him change gears---to stop himself
from sharing something hurtful. "Somehow, my teachers didn't
appreciate my drawings of nudes!" he joked. "Especially since one or
two of them were my models---without their knowledge or consent, of
course! What I hadn't actually seen---I made up."
She thumped his arm. "And how old were you?"
He frowned thoughtfully. "Ten? Maybe twelve."
"You started early," Torres commented. She swallowed her
disappointment at the sudden turn of the conversation. She'd thought
for just an instant that he might actually tell her something---
personal. But he seemed determined to keep her at a distance---
figuratively, if not literally.
"Let's just say I was inspired," Tom said with a smile.
It was what Torres privately referred to as Smile Number Two.
Polite, friendly, but with no real warmth---and it didn't go beyond
his lips to the rest of his face. She stifled a sigh of impatience.
She hated this retreat that he made whenever she got close to the
real Tom Paris. She didn't know how much longer she could pretend she
didn't notice. Or even if she should keep up the pretense. How long
would they have to know each other before he would open up?
Paris could tell she was getting impatient. He didn't know why.