Third story in the trilogy: THE PAINTED LADY Veronica Jane Williams xkhoi@iafrica.com The third and final segment of the Eiger Sanction Trilogy. ******* For those of you who wanted to know just what it was that Tom gave B'Elanna at the end of What's in the Cave? DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns Voyager, Tom and B'Elanna, but not my Painted Lady. Rating: G THE PAINTED LADY They walked slowly back through the dark cavern to the original cave entrance, Tom holding B'Elanna's hand, and bending low where their heads would have touched the roof of the cave. She was clutching the object in her other hand with some rather fierce possessiveness. When they reached their cave opening, they straightened up, just outside the cave, where the light setting was now normal holodeck daylight. Then B'Elanna could see the object clearly, the light of the sun reflected off it. She held it on her palm: "It's very, very beautiful, Tom," she said with awe in her voice. "You're sure you didn't replicate it?" she asked slyly, just knowing how outraged he would sound. And he did. "What, and ruin my reputation for being artistic and creative?" "Okay, you made this. And when did Tom Paris find the time to make such a beautiful pendant?" "You wouldn't want to know, sweetheart," he said as he bent down to secure the crampons on his boots, then hers as she studied the pendant. It was circular, made of glass, the feel of it surprisingly strong. Tom probably reinforced the glass that it wouldn't break. About 4cm in diameter, with a thin gold rim, and attached to a long gold chain. Carved and exquisitely painted on the surface of the glass, a very delicately looking, very beautiful butterfly. Stained in breathtaking, finely executed colours. She touched it with her fingers, so lightly, as if it would break any second. It had a strangely diaphanous look, as if she could feel the gossamer softness of its wings, and see right through the delicately coloured patches. The upperside of the wing, almost black at its apex, had white spots. The rest were a shade of burnished orange, with white spots scattered, and two yellowish spots towards the head of the butterfly. The hind wings were an orange brown, also with black spots scattered over them. Even attention was given to the antennae. The sunlight danced on the shiny pendant, reflecting its colours spectrum-like against the ice-covered rocks behind them. B'Elanna turned the pendant over and noticed that the butterfly was identical on that side. How on earth did Tom do this? she thought. And how much time did he spend on it? It was the most beautiful thing she ever possessed. She almost cried as she realised the significance of the butterfly, and that particular one. "What is it called, Tom?" she asked him when he straightened up and looked at her expectantly. "Do you like it?" he countered her questioned. "Like it? I love it!" she said and kissed him on the cheek. He was securing the ropes through the carabiners on her harness. "It's a smoother ride down, B'Elanna." "Tom..." "Yeah?" "I asked you a question. This butterfly has a name, surely?" "Oh, yes. It has a name. It's called the Painted Lady," he said at last. "I can see why. You seemed to have captured the colours so beautifully. They appear as though they were splashed on her wings. See, now I think of the butterfly as her." "It is 'her', sweetheart," he said again. "And it has a tale to it?" "Ready?" "Tom!" "Yes, there's a legend, B'Elanna." He looked in her eyes, briefly touched her forehead, then proceeded the descent from the mountain. "And it has some significance for you?" she asked again, like an excited child now, prodding an unwilling parent. "Yes, B'Elanna. Now are we going to freeze here, or abseil down as quickly as possible?" She'd ask him about the legend as soon as they got down, and this time she wasn't going to complain about the cold. She can freeze for all she cared, but Tom's reticence made her all the more determined that he tell her. And tell her, he would, even if she had to bribe him. "I'm not going to let it rest, Tom," she said as they traversed the first thirty metres down, Tom abseiling as if he were born to it. For a while they concentrated on digging in their crampons, Tom working the belays to give her rope, let her dangle a bit, then lunging down fifteen metres pulling her almost fifteen metres up the cliff face again. "I'll kill you!" she screamed when she realised he was below her. "Okay, it's your turn now. Hold on to the rope, the carabiners can take the weight, loosen your crampons from the ice, push your body away from the face and jump!" he ordered. She did, and landed next to him. She looked at him and smiled. "Next time we come up here, I lead." "There'll be a next time?" "Sure, if only to beat you to the top." "You're on!" The first thing she did when they reached the bottom, was: "Now will you tell me?" "Let me get you out of your gear first," he parried, as he started removing their crampons, the boots, the harnesses. Then they put their own Starfleet issue boots on. The temperature had also changed. How did he do it? She wondered. It was warmer. There was a tiny alcove to which they walked, and they sat down there, Tom holding her close to him and rubbing her hands. Then he started: "There was a boy who visited the same place every summer. It was beautiful, with fields as far as the eye could see. That one summer the boy went to the fields to play, he was fascinated by all the butterflies he saw. There were hundreds of them, mostly of the orange-browns. He was particularly fascinated with one butterfly he decided to call the Painted Lady. The boy tried to catch the butterfly, but he was never successful. She darted from flower to flower, spreading and fluttering her russet wings gently as she landed on a flower petal. He reached out his palm, then the Painted Lady would take fright, and fly off. Every day the boy went to the field, hoping to catch her. Once she almost landed on his palm, and he smiled, but the smile died as the Painted Lady flew away again. The boy never gave up. Until one day, she fluttered toward him, and hovered gently above his open palm, and she landed. Her wings spread, then held her wings above her, almost in readiness to move again. The boy was happy, and he smiled. When the Painted Lady moved off again, he knew she would come back. So he went again and again, and everytime she stayed longer on his palm. She became less and less afraid of him. He brought his palm closer to his face and spoke with her: "You are no more afraid of me." But the next day when he went back, all the butterflies were gone. He saw many lie dead in the long grass. He was very sad, because his Painted Lady was not there. But he stayed, then saw her. She fluttered toward him, and landed on the ground next to him. He saw her wing was damaged, or looked damaged. She lifted slightly again, and landed on his hand. It was as if she said to him. "I'm all right." And the boy said to his Painted Lady, "I know you are." She flapped her wings as if in salute, then flew off again. But the boy knew that she would always come back to him. Because she knew she would be safe with him." There were tears in B'Elanna's eyes as she asked quietly: "What happened to that boy, Tom?" Tom held her very close to him, lips against her forehead. He closed his eyes, felt the sting of tears, then said: "He grew up, sweetheart and met his Painted Lady. *********************************** THE END Really. Veronica Jane Williams xkhoi@iafrica.com Some feedback would be appreciated. Thanks!