fluid, graceful movements. At the moment, he more closely resembled a
Tarkellian Tiger, silken steel muscles rippling under velvety azure
fur as it stalked its prey. His cheeks were reddened as he flushed
with the heat of his wrath. His usually expressive blue eyes were
cold, blank. He looked absolutely---dangerous.
She felt her own heartbeat accelerating---but not with fear or
anger. Her own anger had melted away in fascination at Tom's reaction
to the confrontation at Sandrine's.
He stopped at his quarters, and without asking, punched in the
code and towed her inside. He stood in the center of the room for a
moment. Finally, he absent-mindedly released his hold on her---almost
as if he'd forgotten he'd been holding onto her---and stalked over to
the viewport, glaring out at the stars as if the very sight of them
offended him. His hands hung at his sides, fists clenched, knuckles
whitened. Every muscle in his body seemed to have locked into a
posture perfect position reminiscent of Starfleet protocols for
coming to attention.
"Tom?" she ventured cautiously.
His jaw worked for a moment---as if he was going to speak. He
shook his head as if the effort to say anything was beyond him. She
hesitated, unsure whether touching him was a good idea or not. She
decided to try it. Touch was an important part of communicating with
Tom. It always seemed to comfort and settle him.
She slipped an arm lightly around his waist. He welcomed her by
placing his hand over hers to hold her arm in place. His hand
tightened painfully on her fingers. "Tom?" she whispered. "Are you
okay?"
"No," he said, almost inaudibly.
"What's the matter? Can I help?"
"You are helping," he said. He reached behind him and pulled her
around in front of him. He took both her hands in his. "I'm just so--
-angry. Maybe you should leave." His jaw tightened, his teeth
clenched causing his neck muscles to tauten.
"Why?"
He shook his head, a tremor ran through his tense body as he
fought for control of his voice, his body, and his emotions.
"Are you going to throw a tantrum?" she asked curiously, a hint
of a smile in her dark eyes.
He dropped her hands and faced the viewport again. "I want to,"
he retorted tersely. With clenched fists, he leaned against the
bulkhead. He was holding himself so rigidly, his muscles quivered
with the strain.
She frowned at him. She didn't understand this kind of anger. He
wasn't doing---anything. She'd have been hitting something or
throwing things by now.
"How dare they?" he muttered.
"What?"
"How dare they do this?" he said, his volume increasing two
decibels. He spun to face her. The flush of temper had faded, leaving
him bleached white, the finely shaped bones of his face standing out
in stark relief against the darkness behind him. The ice in the blue
eyes had thawed---consumed by blue hot flames that danced like sparks
from a chemical blaze. "How could those vicious, mean-mouthed,
ignorant, babbling, blockheads start a story like that---About you?
About Malista?"
She felt as if she was about to witness a flash flood. She
prepared herself for a sudden torrential onslaught of earsplitting,
furious words. To her complete surprise, his voice became quieter and
more controlled---it was a deadly combination --- positively
venomous. He wasn't seeing her at all. His eyes were intent on
nothing ---except perhaps an inner vision that she couldn't share.
Though she knew the words and anger were not directed at her, she
felt a chill run up her spine.
"How could anyone be so malicious---so *vile* as to start a
rumor like that? Me? I'm fair game. There's nothing they can say
about me that hasn't been said before---but Malista is an innocent!
You should have seen the look on her face when she heard---And you!
How could they possibly think---How many times have you saved this
ship?! Saved their stinking lives?---If I find out---If I find out
"To deliberately hurt someone--- I'm used to it. I've been a
target before---but to hurt you---to involve Malista---to twist the
truth--- when she's already in such pain! She's never hurt anyone on
this ship!---I will rip them limb from limb. If I find out. If I find
out who started this rumor, Tuvok will never find enough *pieces* to
figure out what happened to them." It was a promise. His upper lip
curled up in a feral sneer. He was focused on an invisible opponent,
his eyes appeared to be calculating exactly where and when he planned
to strike---or how he could hurt that person the most.
"Tom!" B'Elanna's shocked brown eyes met his. She seized his
shoulders and shook him. She was frightened by his intensity. She
knew---intellectually---that he would never hurt her---but the
glacial, deliberate nature of his threats scared her. She was used to
a red hot rage---one that flared up hotly and quickly ---dying out
nearly as fast as it flared up. This cold, implacable rage was
something she didn't understand. He seemed to still be somewhat in
control. She decided then and there that she did NOT want to see him
lose his temper. *Ever*. "Tom, calm down. You're overreacting."
As she shook him and broke his concentration, Tom's mind came
back from far away---from a lonely and desolate place to which it had
traveled. "B'Elanna?" He was bemused by her presence and her
expression.
"Tom?" She peered up into his eyes, searchingly. The cool,
controlled Tom Paris was beginning to emerge as he gave her his full
attention, his anger sublimated by concern for her obvious distress.
"Yes, B'Ella? What's the matter?" He grimaced as a twinge of
pain shot through his forehead, a reaction to stress and tension.
"Are you okay?" He raised a hand toward her face to cup her cheek.
She took his hand and led him to the recliner, pushing him
gently onto it. He cooperated easily in an effort to please her, his
body relaxing into the welcome support of the chair. He tugged on her
arm, pulling her down beside him. She snuggled into his side as his
arm automatically encircled her shoulders. She propped herself up on
one elbow, still staring at him worriedly. "Tom, are you all right?"
He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. "I'm sorry, B'Ella. I
shouldn't let myself get so---worked up." He used his free hand to
rub his forehead. "I get such a tension headache when I---" He
stopped and forced himself to think before he spoke. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" She rested her head on his shoulder, leaning into
the curve of his neck and inhaling the spicy scent of Tom mixed with
the tangy sweet citrus smell of his aftershave. She worked her
fingers around the top three buttons of his shirt, slipping them out
of the holes and loosening the neckline.
"I shouldn't lose my temper," he muttered. "I'm sorry I barked
at you. You know I'm not---"
"You d
idn't bark at me," she murmured, resisting the temptation
to take a little nip of the soft, warm skin of his throat. "Would you
like to tell me what---upset you so much?"
The stress and tension of his wrath had taken a toll on his
body. He felt exhausted. Her question, however, snapped him out of
his lethargy. "What? I didn't tell you?"
She shook her head. Her hair tickled his cheek.
"Damn," he said in disgust. "There's a rumor going around the
ship that you and Malista and I---are a trio. And that the reason
Malista and Harry broke up was because Harry didn't want to share---"
He was beginning to tense up again. She propped herself on her
elbow and looked down at him. She used her index finger to stop his
lips. "Tom. Calm down." Her hand went up to massage his temple,
stroke his hair.
He stared at her, perplexed by her serenity. "B'Elanna, what is
wrong with you? Why aren't you as enraged about this as I am? I
thought you'd be---I don't know---"
"Furious? I am." She ran her finger up the side of his face and
meticulously traced his cheekbones, then his eyebrows before trailing
her fingers down his throat.
"You don't look it," he murmured, moving into her touch as he
became distracted.
"You were furious enough for both of us. Since we can't stop a
rumor or trace it back to the source---it's kind of pointless to get
so upset anyway."
He felt a red tide of heat rushing into his cheeks. "Yeah.
Listen, I'm really sorry---" He turned his face away. He hated losing
control---and to have done it at Sandrine's---and in front of
B'Elanna Torres! "I should have---I'm sorry if I've embarrassed you.
I'll be fine. If you want to leave, I understand---"
B'Elanna grabbed his chin and forced him to look her in the eye.
"Thomas Eugene Paris, you have not embarrassed me. Is that clear?"
she asked sternly.
A flicker of amusement crossed his face. "Yes, Ma'am!"
She loved the way he said that---polite, respectful but with an
underlying hint of impudence. "How many times have you seen me lose
my temper?"
Tom's eyebrow furrowed as he thought that one over. "I have no
idea, Ma'am. I can't count that high without a calculator. Or did you
mean just today?"
"Exactly. So don't apologize for losing your temper." She took
her courage in both hands and plunged onward. "When two people care
for each other, they have to expect to take the good with the bad---
tempers and all."
Tom's breath caught in his chest. It was the closest B'Elanna
had come to verbalizing her feelings for him. He brought his hand up
to cup her cheek. "You are not only beautiful, but wise."
She almost sloughed off his compliment---as she usually did.
This time she decided not to. "Thank you." She received her reward
for good manners immediately.
Tom's eyes lit, his face suffused with joy. Smile Number Ten!
Pure delight! She would love to see that smile every day. "You're
learning, Torres!"
"Don't push your luck, Paris!" she growled, with mock ferocity.
"So now that you've calmed down, what do you really want to do about
the rumors?"
"What can we do?" he asked bitterly. "Malista was shocked. She's
so innocent. She's hurt that anyone could think she'd betray you---
Harry. And that's how she would see it. I don't want to know what
Harry's going to think when he hears them. He was jealous already---
when he hears the rumor that I'm the guy who stole his girl---and
that I've evidently included her in my harem---That's the end of our
friendship! I'm going to lose them both. Because of a stinking
rumor."
She bent down and captured his lips with her own. When they
stopped for breath, she leaned back and said, "Tom, Harry's your best
friend. Do you think he'll believe those stories? He knows it isn't
true."
"You can't count on that, B'Ella. He was so irrational and
jealous that he broke up with Malista over nothing!"
"It wasn't exactly nothing. Remember, I talked to Harry this
evening. A lot of it was Harry over-analyzing everything to death and
---a lack of communication. When I left him, he was trying to think
of ways to apologize to Malista. I think if she accepts his apology,
that will put an end to the rumors," Torres said, slightly diverted
from the conversation as she gazed admiringly at Tom's aristocratic
profile. Her fingers were making little circles in the red gold curls
of hair peeking from the top of his shirt.
"That tickles!" he protested, capturing her hand in his own and
kissing her palm. "As for settling the rumors---Naw! They'll probably
just say that the four of us---"
His words were cut off by the return of B'Elanna's lips. She
explored the shape of his mouth as if mapping new territory. "Tom.
What a bunch of idiots choose to talk about doesn't interest me very
much. You think we can discuss the rumors some other time? If at
all?"
"Hmmm," he murmured. His eyes suddenly flew open. "Malista!"
He sat up so abruptly he almost knocked B'Elanna off the recliner.
"What happened to Malista?"
Torres gazed at him blankly.
"She was at Sandrine's. What happened to her? She didn't come
with us. Did she stay there?"
"I don't know."
"Computer, locate Crewman Malista Shadow." He was pacing the
floor now. He couldn't believe he hadn't remembered to check up on
her---to reassure her.
"Crewman Malista Shadow is in her quarters," the computer's
smooth tones replied.
"She'll be all right, then," Paris said, smiling gently at
Torres as she came to stand beside him once more. "I'll talk to her
in the morning."
It was fortunate for Tom's peace of mind that he stopped his
inquiry there. He didn't think to ask if Malista Shadow was alone.
***********************
George Natwick wasn't sure what he'd gotten himself into. He'd
followed Malista because she was distressed---and Paris had been too
distracted to notice and do anything about it. He hadn't expected to
be propositioned. Not that it hadn't happened before---it was just---
it had never---he'd never been propositioned by a virgin before. He
didn't think he'd had sex with a virgin---since he'd been one! And
that was years---and years ago!
He'd seated himself on the couch in Malista's quarters when
she'd excused herself to wash her face and change into "something
more comfortable". It was so cliche---but then she probably wouldn't
know that. He'd thought the tight green jumpsuit she was wearing
looked comfortable. Maybe it wasn't---but it certainly had elevated
his blood pressure. George glanced up as she appeared in the doorway
of her bedroom. For a moment, he couldn't breathe.
She looked---beautiful. She'd taken her hair down and loosened
her braids. Her shoulder-length hair waved down to teasingly frame
her blushing cheeks. Too timid to wear provocative lingerie to set
the scene for seduction, s
he wore very short black shorts, displaying
her long, shapely legs. The blouse---white with green embroidery---
was the same one she'd worn to the Cinco de Mayo party at the resort
a few weeks ago. The elastic of the neckline encircled her upper
arms, leaving her neck, shoulders, and the upper curves of her
breasts bare and---touchable. Now, as then, George felt a strong
desire to caress that lovely expanse of skin---with his hands---or
his mouth.
He got to his feet. She approached him tentatively, a smile
tugging at her lips as she took in his reaction. Innocent as she was,
she could tell her appearance pleased and excited him. They stood
facing each other for a moment, looking each other over
appreciatively.
George raised his hand toward her waist. She didn't flinch away.
He pulled her toward him. She came easily to rest against him. The
smile wavered as his head dipped toward hers. His lips brushed across
hers, careful not to hurt her lip where she'd bitten it.
She hadn't expected such gentleness. Not from George Natwick.
From his appearance and his usual style of interacting with women,
she'd expected---she didn't know what she'd expected. She hadn't
thought about---it hadn't occurred to her that she'd be doing this
with anyone but---She gritted her teeth and tried to concentrate on
the physical sensations of the moment. She didn't want to think---not
now. And certainly not about Harry. If she thought about Harry---
she'd never be able to go through with this.
George was trailing kisses up her silky throat. His hand came up
to cup her breast. He felt her tremble. He paused. She didn't move
away or protest. He nipped at her earlobe. She liked that. She made a
humming noise as she inhaled a shaky breath. He did it again.
"Mmm," she murmured. She slid her arms around his waist and
nuzzled his neck. His other hand went down to stroke her hip and pull
her more firmly against him. She leaned in to his warmth and
hardness, reveling in the contrast between her body and his---
hardness/softness, silky bare skin/hair-roughened skin. Her hands
stroked his back as she tried to work herself even closer to him. She
gasped as he sucked her earlobe between his lips and nibbled at it,
feeling his warm breath in her ear and caressing her skin. She sighed
with pleasure, her words almost inaudible, "Oh, Harry."