TRIALS FOUR: Shadow's Trials By Terri Zavaleta (TerriTrek@aol.com) VOY - Trials Series - P/T, K/f Rated PG-13 for adult themes DISCLAIMER: Everyone knows (or everyone who counts) that Paramount owns the Star Trek Universe and its characters. This is my own work written as an outlet for creativity and not for profit. Special thanks to the PT Collective (y'all know who you are) who created the characters of Ethan Simms, Mikel Hudson, and Janine Lamont. Other characters you don't recognize are my own invention. Thanks to my beta readers Janet, Tracy, Deb, Chris, and Cheryl (especially for the 'groovy' hint!). And to PJ for endless nagging (excuse me---encouragement! ;P ) which prompted me to be quick about it. Or as quick as I could be in the face of a double attack by REAL LIFE and WRITER'S BLOCK. And to Ann whose advice was not new, but well- timed. Please do not distribute my work without my permission. TRIALS FOUR: Shadow's Trials, Part One ************* It was the day after the night that, thanks to Ensign Ethan Simms, came to be known as Full Moon Night---though the term was actually meaningless on a starship traveling through space. That didn't matter. Everyone knew exactly what he meant. The Security Officer had dubbed the preceding evening with this title because of the sudden rash of wildly inappropriate and otherwise fascinating behaviors that had gone on---the kind of behaviors that on Earth used to be blamed on the presence of a full moon. These behaviors had resulted in Ethan and his partner, Mikel Hudson, being responsible for taking several crewmen into custody at the very beginning of their usually quiet third shift duty period with charges and counter-charges being tossed back and forth among the participants. Several crewmembers had also been seen coming and going from Sickbay under suspicious and/or noteworthy circumstances which added to fuel to the rapidly spreading flames of gossip. The ship's grapevine had never been presented simultaneously with so many juicy tidbits to mull over. First, there was the whole Malista Shadow/Harry Kim situation. It seemed that, contrary to the odds in the betting pool, Shadow and Kim were back together again and seemed closer than ever which pleased some and displeased others who'd taken an interest. In addition, it appeared that there was no truth to one of the wilder rumors---that Tom Paris had caused the rift in his best friend's relationship by attempting to start his own harem--- beginning by recruiting Malista Shadow and B'Elanna Torres. The trio of Shadow, Torres, and Paris had been exercising on the holodeck---not engaging in sexual games. It was a circus program and they intended to demonstrate their new acrobatic skills at the next ship's talent show. They'd been wearing robes when entering and leaving the holodeck because they were wearing tight, revealing costumes appropriate to the setting and physical activities. Many people salivated at the thought---but refused to specify which member of the trio they were fantasizing about---if they weren't envisioning any combination or all three. The juiciest item of interest concerning the reconciliation dealt with the involvement of Ensign George Natwick. The original rumor was that the ensign had made an unwelcome move on Malista and that Harry Kim had come to her rescue---only to be beaten into unconsciousness by Natwick, who was in turn beaten into unconsciousness by Lt. Tom Paris. The source of this particular bit of reporting, known for flights of fancy, was immediately discredited by other witnesses who stated that Natwick went looking for Kim, rather than the other way around, and that at the time Malista was nowhere in view. It was also hard to credit that George Natwick, the massively muscle-bound Security Officer who taught self- defense classes, had been beaten into unconsciousness by anyone! Much less that the easy- going Tom Paris had done so---unassisted. Another twist on the story was that Natwick had attacked Kim at the request of Malista Shadow, who had subsequently been attacked herself by B'Elanna Torres in retaliation and that both women had wound up in Sickbay. Yet another version had the self-defense instructor attacking Tom Paris---no reason given---and being subdued by Malista, B'Elanna, and Harry who all ended up in Sickbay. This one was so farfetched it merited little attention and got no betting action at all. When the facts, according to the arresting officers, Mikel Hudson and Ethan Simms came out, the story was much less interesting, but still provided a lot of room for speculation for the bored crew of Voyager. When, why, and how had George Natwick gotten involved? What had he been doing alone with Malista in her quarters for approximately forty-five minutes? Where there was smoke, there was sure to be fire. Something must have been going on! Why else had he left her quarters and gone looking for Harry Kim apparently with murder on his mind? And now that Harry Kim and Malista Shadow were a couple once more, what about George Natwick? How in the name of Titan's ten moons had Tom Paris (of all people!) managed to not only pin Natwick, but subdue him, until his arrest? And emerge unscathed from the encounter? The pilot was known for being quick with a quip---not with his fists. Still, there was speculation that he might have learned a few tricks in prison. Which provoked a whole other topic of debate. Another item of much discussion was the arrest of the ship's librarian, Diane Russell on charges of assault. The idea of the shy, tiny woman knocking Freddie Bristow down (and adding insult to injury by kicking him) was so amusing that it was almost impossible to believe. It seemed so out of character, that many talebearers insisted that she had taken the blame for Aron Dalby, the hot-headed former Maquis and the new love of her life. Neither Aron nor Diane would comment and Freddie Bristow had decided to maintain an uncharacteristically low profile. He couldn't be found off duty, and was all but unapproachable on duty. He was, however, noticeably subdued and not interested in the pursuit of the fairer sex at this time. The gamblers began a pool on when he would begin a new chase---and who his next amorous target would be. They had to have *something* to bet on! ************* "Everyone's staring," Malista hissed under her breath. She'd tried to avoid the messhall completely for breakfast that morning, but Harry had insisted that they'd done nothing wrong and to hide away from public view would just cause the speculation to increase in geometric proportions. "Don't look at them," Harry said with an amused smile. It felt strange to be the bold one of a pair. He was usually the quiet one who followed. He tugged on her hand, drawing her closer and slipping his arm around her waist. "Just look at me." She followed his instructions and found her green eyes ensnared in his dancing dark ones. He was smiling at her. Her own nervous expression melted into a smile. She'd rather look at him than anything or anyone else on the ship anyway. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she trusted him to lead them to the table where Tom and B'Elanna were waiting. He made it without a misstep---almost a miracle, considering he wasn't watching where he was going. She was so beautiful he found it hard to take his eyes off her. And never more than when she smiled just for him. Of course, it wasn't terribly surprising that he didn't trip. It's impossible to trip---when you're walking on air. Kathryn Janeway smiled indulgently at the pair, before turning her attention back to her badly needed coffee. Chakotay raised an inquiring eyebrow in her direction. They both had gone a little short on sleep last night. It had been the beginning of the third shift when they'd been called to Sickbay and then to the brig in order to deal with the---consequences-- -of Full Moon Night, which had taken some time as well. "Yes, Commander?" the captain said dreamily as she savored her morning caffeine fix. Her expression was that of deep satisfaction. Her coffee was her one real indulgence and she tended to make it last as long as possible. "Nothing, Captain. Just thinking---how long do you think the peace will last this time?" His brown eyes were twinkling, though he kept a straight face. Her appreciation of coffee had an almost sensual affect on her. He half expected her to purr after each sip. She suppressed a smile. "Until the next full moon?" "Or until the next romance goes awry?" Chakotay added, nodding toward the isolated corner table. Freddie Bristow was trying to blend into the wall as he manfully struggled to eat his breakfast while pretending he didn't know that many of room's occupants were staring at him---and that those who weren't staring were talking about him. The young man was in for a rough few days. His physical bruises had been healed in Sickbay last night, but the embarrassment of the emotional beating he'd taken had, temporarily at least, subdued his youthful exuberance and egocentrism. The captain hastily set down her coffee cup, before a tremble of laughter could cause a spill. "Do you think he's finally learned a lesson? Or do you need to schedule him for some counseling?" Chakotay's face took on a pained expression. "Captain, perhaps at the next friendly planet we find, we could attempt to recruit a qualified ship's counselor?" She raised an eyebrow at him. With a sigh, she drained the last drop of coffee from her cup and studied its emptiness pensively, almost mournfully. "Would you like another cup of coffee, Captain?" Chakotay teased. She sent him a reproachful glance as she got to her feet. "Don't tempt me, Commander." "With coffee?" he asked, a shade too innocently, his dimples deepening. She narrowed her eyes at him as if sighting him with a weapon. "Let's get to the bridge." He got to his feet and followed her without another word. His eyes, though, brimmed with mischief---and something warmer. ************************ It was a very long duty shift for those who'd stayed up till the early hours of the morning. B'Elanna Torres was not the type to be pumped for information or teased so she was left in peace to pursue her stated goal of making the Engineering Department one hundred percent efficient. Harry Kim and Tom Paris spent their shift on the bridge under the watchful eyes of the captain, the first officer, or both, so there was no opportunity for others to get at them in order to seek facts or express opinions. Malista Shadow, on the other hand, was assigned to Maintenance and Repair and, therefore, was out and about the ship carrying out her duties---which made her the most obvious source of information. And the most obvious target for the innuendoes, prying questions, and unsought advice offered by other crewmembers. It was unfortunate that she was also the least prepared of the foursome for dealing with that kind of public pressure. Some questions were idle curiosity, not meant to be taken as unkindly. Others were direct, pointed, and malicious. She didn't know what to say. She wasn't assertive enough to confront them and tell them to leave her alone. So she tried ignoring them, hoping if they got no response they'd leave her alone. She withdrew---mentally and emotionally, when a physical retreat was impossible. Approaching her immediate supervisor, Malista waited to be noticed and then spoke. "Lt. Torres? I finished the realignment of the forward sensor arrays. Could I have my next assignment now?" The half Klingon looked up quickly, mildly startled and concerned. The formality in the young woman's manner didn't surprise Torres. They were on duty. It was the usual professional approach. What caught Torres off guard was Crewman Shadow's total neutrality. Crewman Shadow was no longer smiling as she had been at breakfast. In fact, Crewman Shadow had no expression at all. The carefully blank look that was turned toward the Chief Engineer reminded Torres forcefully of the defensive Malista that she'd hoped had been banished for good. "What's wrong?" B'Elanna snapped. Shadow stared at her dispassionately. "Nothing, Lieutenant. Could I have my next assignment, please? I don't mind working alone," she added, hoping she wasn't being too pushy and that Torres would take the hint. Malista had never been so conscious as she was at this moment of the difference in rank and the fact that this woman was her immediate supervisor. She didn't want the chief to think she was trying to take advantage of their off- duty friendship. B'Elanna frowned at her. She growled under her breath as she noticed the two of them were attracting stares from others in the section who'd just 'happened' to wander into the area at this particular time. The growl startled Malista into widening her eyes, but she remained silent. "Are the idiots getting to you?" Torres said, more loudly than necessary. There was a sudden flurry of movement as everyone within earshot quickly got busy and pretended deafness. No one wanted to draw the chief's wrath down on his or her head. She'd been in a good mood all morning. The staff preferred for her to stay that way. It made life in Engineering less nerve-wracking. Torres continued to meet Shadow's eyes unflinchingly, demanding a response. "Well?" The taller woman swallowed hard. "It's just---everyone's staring. And asking questions." For someone who had managed to remain practically invisible among the Voyager crew for three years, the sudden interest in her every move was difficult to deal with. She could count the number of her friends on her fingers and have a few left over. It was unnerving to think everyone on the ship was talking about her, watching her. It made her extremely self-conscious. B'Elanna scowled. No one had bothered *her* with such silliness. Of course, it didn't occur to her that no one would dare. Shaking her head, she checked her datapadd for the status of repairs. "Okay, Malista. Go to Shuttlebay One and go over the power coupling relays in the shuttles. They were low priority since we haven't been using them. And don't forget to inspect the couplings in the consoles there." Shadow nodded with a hint of a grateful smile. "We've almost finished with the power coupling replacements?" she ventured. "Yes," Torres replied vehemently. "I think we'll be through by end of Beta shift tomorrow. And Kahless knows, it's taken long enough!" She waved a hand in dismissal and returned her attention to her console. Just the words 'power couplings' were enough to cause her to grimace. Replacing the defective parts had been a massive undertaking. Malista picked up her tool kit and some replacement power couplings and went to Shuttlebay One---where only two crewmen were on duty---and they would be too busy to talk to her. She knew that Torres had just done her a favor. She appreciated it very much. Malista was able to stay out of sight, and hopefully out of mind, for the remainder of her shift. ************* It took some persuasion to lure Malista to the holodeck later that evening, but Tom insisted they all had something to celebrate. He used his brotherly powers of persuasion---in other words, he complained, whined, and tried to make her feel guilty for turning down his invitation until she gave in. She had a sneaking suspicion that B'Elanna had told him she was upset by the public attention she was receiving. Shadow decided Tom wanted the ship's gossips to get used to seeing the four of them together and get it out of their systems. Malista did manage to choose a corner table and deliberately sat with her back to most of the crowd. After an hour, she was finally beginning to relax and look around the club to see what everyone else was doing that evening. Jenny and Megan Delaney approached their table. Tom stiffened. Last night, he'd almost lost his temper when Jenny had told him and Malista about the rumors concerning their relationship. Earlier in the day he had apologized to her for his brusqueness the night before. Now he was wary of Jenny's occasional tactlessness, afraid she would be careless of Malista's vulnerability. B'Elanna placed a restraining, reassuring hand on Tom's wrist, but eyed the twins suspiciously herself. They weren't by any means her favorite people. Harry took Malista's hand in his and rubbed his thumb across the base of hers soothingly. "Malista---" the twins said in unison. They stopped and exchanged a glance. Jenny continued alone. "We wanted to apologize for hurting your feelings last night. We thought you should know about the gossip, but we didn't mean to---" "It's all right, Jenny. Megan. I shouldn't be so---sensitive." Harry squeezed her hand in a show of support. He'd heard the rumor himself a few days before it had come to the ears of Malista, Tom, and B'Elanna. He'd had sharp words with the 'friend' who'd told him that Tom was engaged in a three-cornered affair with Malista and B'Elanna, and asked if that was why Harry was no longer friends with any of them. Last night, after being dismissed from Sickbay, Harry had spent a couple of hours reassuring Malista that he hadn't believed a word of it---or been hurt by the talk which seemed to be her major concern at that time. "Could we talk to you a minute? In private?" Megan added. The twins considered Malista a friend and were relieved she was prepared to forgive them. "Sure." With an apologetic glance at her companions, Shadow got to her feet and followed the two Starfleet officers to a deserted corner of the bar. The watching eyes of other crew members made note of their progress. The Delaney twins always attracted attention, in part because of their remarkable good looks. The long copper-red hair and lovely features would have been attractive on any woman. But when there were two? Sensory overload. It was almost impossible to tell which was which this evening. For a change, they had dressed identically, wearing violet blouses and navy slacks. Their hair style was the same and even their expressions were similar. They were both determined to help Malista Shadow. They'd unintentionally been responsible for causing her pain when she'd been nothing but a friend to them. They couldn't live with that on their consciences. As soon as the three had settled onto the barstools, Megan whispered, "What did George Natwick do?" Shadow stiffened. "Why? What did you hear this time?" Her face gave nothing away. The sisters exchanged glances again. Their communication with each other bordered on telepathic. They often didn't need words at all. "We heard he followed you when you left the holodeck---and then the two of you went to your quarters." "And he stayed there for forty-five minutes. Then he went looking for Harry Kim and tried to take his head off with one punch!" "And Tom stopped him and he was arrested and then you and Harry showed up together in Sickbay thirty minutes later. And no one pressed charges for anything so he was released," Jenny finished the synopsis in a rush as her breath ran out. Shadow eyed them appraisingly. "That's all?" "You don't want to hear the details, trust me," Megan said, laying a hand on the taller woman's arm. Malista sighed. "No, I suppose I don't." "So exactly what did George do? Did he get out of line like he did at the Cinco de Mayo party?" Jenny demanded. Malista licked her lips, which felt suddenly dry. "Why do you want to know?" Jenny and Megan traded indignant looks. "Because if he did, we want to help you get even with him!" they chorused. "I warned him after that dance that he'd better leave you alone or we'd make him sorry," Megan added. Shadow was moved by their championship, but not sure how much she wanted to confide in her friends. The Delaneys were not known for their discretion. The three of them had become friends when the twins had taken her under their wings and done their best to teach her how to flirt and socialize with men. "Malista, did he---hurt you?" Jenny asked. "I know you might not want to tell Harry---" "No!" she protested. "George didn't---he didn't---" She gulped. "I did." She winced at the painfully embarrassing memory. Megan and Jenny stared at her. Lowering her voice to a whisper, Shadow leaned closer. "I tried to seduce him. I wanted him to teach me---you know." Jenny and Megan stared at her. Malista shifted uncomfortably. "It was all right---at first. But after a while--- when he was- -- uh, kissing me and...I called him---Harry." The twins flinched. "Oooh," they groaned in unison, wearing identical expressions of dismay. "Major mistake." The other woman nodded. "Tell me about it," she moaned. "That ruined the mood---and George told me no." "He didn't---" said Jenny. "He wouldn't---" Megan said. They thought that over for a moment as Malista fanned herself with a napkin, trying to cool off her blushing cheeks. She couldn't meet their eyes. "That rat!" Jenny seethed. "What?" That was not the reaction Shadow had expected. Her eyes rounded. "He rejected you!" Megan exclaimed indignantly. Malista frowned. "Well, actually, I'm kind of glad he did. I don't think Harry would have liked it if----" "And he hit Harry!" Megan added, knowing that would be a sore point for her friend. That comment relit the smoldering embers of Shadow's anger. "That's true. He did. And George promised not to tell anyone what happened---but he told Harry I was doing stupid things!" "That man is such a VOLE!" Jenny declared vehemently. "And he HIT Harry!" Malista reiterated, getting into the mood now. She could have forgiven Natwick for telling Harry to go to her---it had sped their reconciliation. But no one was allowed to hurt Harry! Not and get away with it! "You have to get even with him," Megan announced. "Revenge is a moral imperative," Malista agreed. "But how?" Megan and Malista looked at Jenny who had fallen silent. Her eyes were narrowed and her mouth pursed as she pondered the form of revenge that would fit the crime. A wicked smile slowly crept across her whole face. "Oh, I have the best idea." With some trepidation, Shadow asked, "What do you think I should do?" "We, Malista. *We* are going to get Natwick," Delaney corrected. "Jenny, remember, he sort of did me a favor---I don't want to hurt him! He could have taken advantage---" "Oh, posh!" the redhead said scornfully. "We won't really hurt him. The best revenge is the one where they're hoisted on their own picard." Megan's expression went blank. Malista took a split second to process that remark then said, "I think the expression is 'hoist on his own petard'." Jenny focused on the brunette's face. "What? That doesn't make sense. What's a petard? It makes sense if it's picard. You know, like the captain of the Enterprise. He's not big, but believe me, he's tough! If you made *him* mad, he would hoist your---forget it! It doesn't matter. Computer, location of Ensign Natwick?" "Ensign Natwick is in Holodeck One." The trio spun and looked around Sandrine's. Sure enough. There he was. Natwick was sitting alone at a table on the opposite side of the room. They hadn't noticed him. He was glaring at the beer in his hand with a sullen expression that didn't welcome anyone to join him. "Oh, good," Jenny purred. "We'll start tonight." "Start what?" Malista asked cautiously. "Megan, remember what we did to Darok Pahkt at the Academy?" Her twin nodded. Jenny continued, "You don't have to do a thing, Malista. Megan and I will take care of everything." "Somehow I don't feel reassured by that, Jenny. What are you going to do?" Megan smiled. "Don't worry about it, Malista. You can trust Jenny." "I can trust Jenny to do what? I don't want George seriously hurt---physically or emotionally. And I don't want to be responsible for anyone else winding up in the brig!" Shadow protested. The Delaney sisters each patted one of her hands soothingly. "We owe you one. And Delaneys always pay their debts. Don't worry about it, Malista. All *you* have to do," Jenny explained, "is smile." "Smile?" "Yes," the elder twin replied. "Megan and I are going over to talk to Natwick and when he looks your way, I want you to smile at him." "Just smile?" she repeated dubiously. "Your sweetest smile," Megan corrected. "And if he asks you if you're out to get him, you deny it. With a smile. An icky sweet smile. Smile every single time you see him." "I don't understand." Malista eyed the pair indecisively. "You promise you won't do anything---rash?" Jenny and Megan batted their violet eyes at their tall friend. "Would we do that?" they chorused. "Yes!" Shadow exclaimed. "That's why I'm worried about it!" Megan pouted. "Darn, Jenny! She knows us pretty well." "Oh, come on, Malista! The best revenge is when you make them do it to themselves. We work best behind the scenes. We can be insidious." "Like with Freddie Bristow," Megan sighed contentedly. Malista's green eyes widened. "Freddie Bristow? *You* set him up? Is that why Diane Russell---" Two enigmatic smiles beamed her way. "Just smile sweetly every time you catch George looking at you. That's all you have to do," Jenny instructed. With an uncertain frown, Malista nodded and returned to her table. "What did they want?" Tom demanded as soon as Malista was in earshot. "To apologize," Shadow answered, reseating herself between Harry and B'Elanna. "They did that while you were sitting here," he argued. "Tom," his 'sister' said calmly, looking directly across the table and catching his eyes with a compelling stare. "What?" he muttered defensively. "Stop it. I know you got upset with them last night---" Torres snorted. "That's an understatement!" It had been the first time she'd seen Tom get close to really losing his temper---a cold state of fury. The thought of his transformation from easy-going charmer to icily furious terror still chilled her blood. Paris grimaced at her before returning his attention to his 'little sister'. "I don't like the way---" "They're my friends, Tom." Malista seemed to feel that settled the matter. She held his eyes with her own until he gave in with a sigh. Harry said nothing, but shifted uneasily in his seat. He wasn't terribly comfortable with the idea of Malista associating with the Delaneys either. The twins had actively encouraged her to date other men, causing Harry to suffer agonies of jealousy. And they had persuaded Malista to wear skimpy outfits! Not that Harry minded when they were worn for his viewing alone, but..... Paris opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and closed it again. "Okay. But don't expect me to like it when someone hurts you," he said finally. His eyes drifted toward Harry Kim purposefully. "When *anyone* hurts you." The ensign met his best friend's eyes squarely. "I don't plan on hurting her again, Tom. Or letting anyone else hurt her either." B'Elanna Torres clicked her tongue. "Both of you are getting carried away with this topic of conversation. Malista is a big girl. She can take care of herself." "That's right. I can. From now on, I intend to handle my own problems. So now, can we *please* change the subject?" Malista pleaded, shooting a distressed glance from one man to the other. "Okay," Paris said with a teasing smile. "As soon as you tell me what the Delaneys really wanted!" There was a hint of implacability in his eyes that made Malista wonder how anyone could fail to see the steel core of determination behind the surface patina of cordial charm. Malista lifted her chin defiantly. "They're going to help me get even with George Natwick." Harry and Tom traded glances. "I thought we settled this last night---" Kim began. "Good," B'Elanna stated firmly. "Natwick's an even bigger pig than you used to be, Paris!" She smiled to take the sting out of the remark. Tom gave up and shrugged. He didn't particularly like Natwick himself. He didn't feel any urge to warn or defend him. "Well, if anyone can take him down a peg, it's the Delaney twins. They make a fine art of it. Trust me, Harry, you NEVER want to get either one of them mad at you, much less both of them." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Tom frowned him down. Protecting George Natwick wasn't worth risking upsetting Malista and B'Elanna. The Delaneys wouldn't do any permanent damage---except maybe to Natwick's ego. Besides, they could manage to keep themselves out of the brig while exacting their revenge. Probably. Most likely. Well, maybe. If Jenny didn't get carried away. This time. Shadow glanced toward Natwick's table. Jenny and Megan were seated there on either side of him, talking away earnestly. He looked across the room at her. Malista obediently smiled as sweetly as she knew how---until a frowning Harry Kim slid his arm around her waist and turned her to face him. "What are you doing?" "Following directions," she said innocently. "Jenny said all I had to do was smile at George. So I did." "I'd rather you kept your smiles for me," Kim grumbled unhappily, only half joking. "You're the reason I *can* smile," she whispered, her green eyes studying his face as if to memorize each feature. Harry started to lean in for a kiss, but stopped when Tom cleared his throat. "We need to talk about these Public Displays of Affection, Mr. Kim. PDA's are non-regulation," he complained with brotherly disapproval. "And that's my sister you're mauling." "Mauling?" Malista exclaimed. She made a face at Tom. "Don't exaggerate. And mind your own business." "You're a fine one to talk, Mr. Paris!" Kim retorted, his eyes going to Tom's arm which was around B'Elanna's waist, his hand absent-mindedly caressing the curve of her hip. "I think you're both in need of help," Torres commented, catching Tom's hand with her own and placing it on the table. "Mental help." Malista gazed idly around the holodeck. Commander Chakotay entered Sandrine's and crossed her line of sight as he went to the bar to get a drink. "Oberon," Malista Shadow announced with a satisfied smile, directing the remark to Paris with the waggle of one eyebrow. "Oberon?" Harry Kim said disconcertedly. His inquiring look at B'Elanna Torres showed she was just as perplexed. Tom Paris, on the other hand, was frowning. He followed Malista's look and ran a skeptical eye over the first officer. "Oberon? Naw, I don't see it. He's three feet too tall, for one thing." "I'm not talking about a physical resemblance, although," Malista paused, "maybe the part about the angelic face is on target." Tom rolled his eyes dramatically. "I think you've got angels on the brain, Sis. You're seeing them everywhere. First me, then Harry---now Chakotay?" he added dubiously. "Angelic? With a *tattoo*?" He exaggeratedly shuddered his distaste for the idea. "What are you two talking about?" Torres demanded. "Sorry, B'Elanna. It's just a game Tom and I were playing when we first met. We were trying to match each crewmember up with a literary figure. We didn't make it through the whole list yet," Shadow explained. Harry grinned. "Yeah, I'm Gawaine." He squeezed Malista's hand. Torres tilted her head to one side curiously. "I take it that's a compliment? Who's Gawaine?" "King Arthur's nephew and a Knight of the Round Table," Harry replied. He'd had to do a database search to refresh his memory, but he didn't plan to admit to that. "And who am I?" the half-Klingon inquired pointedly. As he recalled the answer to her question, Tom's eyes widened and he stared at Malista, stalling for time. "Sis? Did we think of one for B'Ella?" He shook his head subtly. "Actually, you thought of two," she remarked with mock innocence, batting her long black eyelashes at him. Tom narrowed his eyes at her lack of cooperation. "Oh, yeah? I don't remember---and you'd better not either!" She lifted her chin at him mutinously. "Why not?" "Because if you do---I'll tell Harry---the *truth* !" he threatened in an ominous whisper. Harry and B'Elanna exchanged patient looks. They had no idea what Tom was talking about---but that had never stopped him before, or even slowed him down that they'd noticed. Malista tried to look properly horrified. "The truth? Oh, Tom, you wouldn't?!" "Oh, wouldn't I?" Tom chuckled evilly, rubbing his hands together, and twirling an imaginary mustache. "Harry, you wouldn't believe the names this woman was calling you- --just yesterday!" Malista's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open as she fought a grin. "You are such a liar!" she accused. "Don't listen to him, Harry! He's the one who was calling you names!" Tom looked indignant. "I did not! She was so mad at you she even started going through the alphabet! A for Aldebaran Serpent---OW!" He jumped as Torres elbowed his ribs--- again. "B'Elanna! Ribs are bones! Bones crack and break, you know?" he whined. "Big baby," she sniffed. "Stop changing the subject and answer the question. Who did you come up with for me? Or should I ask?" The last question was directed at Shadow. "The Dragon Lady of K'ruth BoTaz?" "Didn't think of that one." Tom pretended to be considering the legendary witch-like character of Klingon folklore. Malista smiled gently. "Well, when he was mad at you---" "Malista!" Tom protested. He reflexively snapped his arms down to protect his ribs and flinched away as Torres turned a threatening scowl towards him. "I guess that one didn't count," Shadow concluded, sharing a smile with Harry as she relented. "We finally decided that since Tom is Harlequin, you must be Columbine." "Who?" Torres attention shot back to Malista. "On Earth, in the theater, there are certain traditional characters. Harlequin was a comedic character that wore multi-colored tights---lots of bright colors. Columbine was the dancer that was Harlequin's sweetheart," Malista explained. "And you move very gracefully---like a dancer." B'Elanna nodded, unsure how to respond. She didn't deal with compliments well, but Tom had persuaded her that it was rude to argue when she was given one. She seemed to be considering the idea. After a moment, she said, "Okay. I'll accept that for now. Tom is a clown. That sounds about right." A hint of mischief danced in her brown eyes. "I'm a dancer. Harry is a knight in shining armor. What about you, Malista?" "Hey, that's right, Sis!" Paris exclaimed. "We never got one for you!" She raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought I was Madame DeFarge." She made knitting motions with her hands. "Guillotine!" she cackled, sounding like an old crone. Tom sent her a disapproving frown. "That was a joke. Hmm. I'll have to give this one some thought. What do you think, Harry? What literary figure does Malista remind you of?" "Aphrodite?" he offered, covering Malista's hand with his own as he gazed at her face with a gentle smile. "She's Greek---and beautiful," Harry elaborated. She could feel herself blushing furiously. "Harry!" Kim appreciated her modesty, especially since Malista snuggled up against him to hide her burning face in his neck. She was making a habit of that. One that he actively approved of. He kissed her cheek since it was within reach. He loved those high cheekbones. "Naw," Tom drawled disparagingly. "Malista's got arms." Harry and B'Elanna traded puzzled frowns. Shadow sat up and grimaced at him, sighing with exasperation. "Tom, that's Venus---the Venus de Milo," she elaborated to Harry, who nodded. Given that hint, he recognized the reference. "Everyone knows that Venus and Aphrodite are the same person," Paris objected. "Oh, come on! You couldn't tell that to the Romans and Greeks! Forget that. I don't want to argue," Malista demurred, eager to turn the conversation away from herself. "But just think about this one---if Chakotay is Oberon---does that mean Captain Janeway is Titania?" she inquired just a trace too innocently and bit her lip to contain her smile. Tom, who had just sipped his syntheholic beer, choked and spluttered into his mug. He rapidly set the drink down and coughed to clear his throat. B'Elanna 'helpfully' slapped him between the shoulders, almost laying him out across the table in the process. He shot a reproachful look her way. "What's so funny?" Shadow asked artlessly. "It seems reasonable to me." "I was just thinking," Tom panted, "of Midsummer Night's Dream. If Janeway is Titania-- -How about Neelix as---" "Bottom," Shadow supplied in unison with Tom, then dissolved in giggles. She leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table and hiding her face in her hands as she tried to regain control---and get that image out of her mind. Harry placed a hand on her back and patted it gently. He missed the allusion, but beamed a smile at her. It was a relief to be with her and to see her happy again. "He already has the mane," Tom spluttered, holding his ribs as he wheezed. "Oh!" gasped Malista. "Don't tell Neelix! You'd hurt his feelings!" "And with those ears---Tuvok as Robin Goodfellow!" They met each other's eyes and shook with laughter again. Torres was shaking her head. Paris could get so silly sometimes---and now he had a partner in silliness. She didn't know what the two of them were going on about, but she was glad Tom was having fun. The last two weeks had been stressful for all four of them and strained their friendship with Harry almost to the breaking point. Harry and B'Elanna waited patiently until the other two recaptured their control. It took a few minutes. But they now had an inkling of how Tom had felt when the two of them had frequently gone off on conversational tangents about engineering problems---leaving Tom to sit on the sidelines until he could rejoin the discussion when it returned to less esoteric subjects. Malista finally straightened, wiping tears from her cheeks with her index fingers. "Well," she said, "at least Titania is better than your *first* suggestion for Captain Janeway." "What did he say?" Harry asked curiously. "Medusa!" Malista announced scathingly. "Now that's an interesting comparison, Mr. Paris," said Kathryn Janeway dryly. She had approached unnoticed and was standing two feet behind Harry and Malista, hands on her hips. "Would you like to explain the similarity?" Tom Paris could have kept it under control---maybe---if not for the look of absolute horror on Malista's face. Shadow didn't know the captain well and didn't recognize the teasing note in her voice. She was afraid she'd just gotten herself and her 'big brother' into deep, deep---trouble. Malista threw a frantic, contrite look at Tom, her mind racing as she tried to frame an acceptable apology. The pilot burst into helpless laughter, waving a hand at Janeway to indicate she should join them. Janeway walked around the table to stand next to Paris, shaking her head as she raised a quizzical eyebrow at him. Kim jumped to his feet with alacrity and pulled an empty chair over for her. She seated herself between Paris and Kim and waited politely for Tom to be able to speak again. Torres grinned. She could tell the captain was in a playful mood and ready to twist the knife. She and Tom were well-matched in wit and humor and it was always amusing to watch them square off. When Harry reseated himself, he gave his attention to reassuring Malista with a smile that the captain wasn't really upset. "Medusa?" the captain inquired softly and deliberately. Tom sobered. "It was meant as a compliment, Captain," he said earnestly. His most ingratiating smile---had no effect. "Oh, I'm sure it was." Her expression was totally deadpan. She nodded slowly, one hand reaching up to her red brown tresses. "I never thought my hair was particularly snake-like, Mr. Paris. Or was the reference to other aspects of my physical appearance?" "No, ma'am!" Tom snapped formally. "The reference had to do with---The Look---Captain Janeway, ma'am!" He was suddenly a caricature of the model junior officer addressing his captain. The only thing Tom didn't do was stand to attention. "The Look?" she repeated, imitating his emphasis. "Elaborate, Lieutenant." She raised one eloquent eyebrow. This was bound to be good. Tom's blue eyes were sparkling. "Captain," Malista began hesitantly, but stopped when Harry squeezed her hand and Janeway shook her head slightly. "He got himself into this, Crewman Shadow, let him dig his own way out," the captain advised kindly. Torres made digging motions behind Tom's back, indicating the hole was getting deeper. Kim grinned. Shadow tried to hide her anxiety. She was still somewhat in awe of the captain. She had only spoken to her once before in an off duty situation. Now she had insulted her to her face! Paris ostentatiously ignored the other three, all his attention centered on the captain. He gave her his most sincerely, honest expression. He overdid it perfectly, with the ease of long practice. "Captain, as you well know, The Look is a skill taught in Starfleet Command Training to ensure instant obedience to every order. Or another way to describe it---" He almost lost his composure again as his sense of humor tried to escape, but he choked it into submission, and continued in 'lecture' mode. "The Look, when properly given---in the excellent and exemplary manner in which *you* perform it---is capable of freezing a man in his tracks---and causing his blood to run backwards in his veins! That is what brought the Medusa reference to mind, Captain Janeway, ma'am!" Janeway mouth twitched as she fought off a smile. "The Look---as you call it---doesn't seem to have a noticeable effect on you, Lieutenant," she said speculatively. Paris nodded sagely. "Well, Captain, you could say I have built up a certain tolerance for The Look---an immunity---due to my family background. With all those Admirals and Captains running loose at family reunions...." "Running loose? That sounds disrespectful to me, Lieutenant," Janeway commented. "Sorry, Captain." The scapegrace grin was back. "The Medusa thing---it's part of a game." "Would someone like to explain the rules of the game to me?" she asked. "We're identifying the crew with literary figures," Tom explained. "So I'm---Medusa?" Kathryn mused. "Actually, Captain, we'd just decided you were Titania," Torres interjected. "Whoever that is. And Neelix is Bottom." She was pleased, but amazed when Janeway laughed. Evidently the captain caught the reference. Torres decided she needed to spend less time reading technical manuals and more time on literature. "We thought of it because Malista proposed Chakotay as Oberon," Harry explained. "Really?" Janeway asked, seeming intrigued by the notion. She sat forward and gazed at Shadow curiously. "What made you think of that?" Malista kept her gaze fixed on the table. "I-I was thinking of---he---Oberon was supposed to have the gift of insight---into men's thoughts. As a counselor, he sort of shows that he does and he---" "Has an 'angelic' face," Torres finished, with a smirk. All five of them ostentatiously turned to stare with exaggerated interest at the Commander who was standing at the bar conversing with Tuvok. Chakotay noticed. He resisted the spontaneous urge to check the condition of his uniform, and raised an eyebrow, tilting his head inquiringly. The captain waved a dismissive hand, so the first officer turned his attention back to his conversation with the Vulcan. He made a mental note to ask her later what was going on and why he was suddenly the object of attention. "Angelic?" Janeway murmured. "That isn't the word that I would have used to describe him." "Really?" Tom said impudently. "What word---would you use, Captain?" "Actually, I used the word bear-like." She speared him with her gray eyes. Unfazed, Tom quirked an amused eyebrow at her. "As in grizzly---or as in teddy?" She sent a quelling glance in his direction and promptly changed the subject. "Who else have we decided on? And who's left? Are you writing these down?" When the captain played a game, she entered into it wholeheartedly. The others enjoyed her joining in and none of them noticed how subdued Malista Shadow had become. She was experienced at fading into the background. All it took was smiling, nodding, and murmuring agreement often enough to keep others from noticing she wasn't really participating. Saying nothing was often the easiest way to avoid saying the wrong thing. ***************** After a morning of working on the aft sensor arrays, Lt. Susan Nicoletti accompanied Crewman Malista Shadow to the Security Office during their lunch break. Malista had asked Ensign George Natwick for workout programs for practicing her self-defense training. She'd hesitated to pick them up as promised because she felt awkward about facing him again alone. Nicoletti, her occasional partner in working Maintenance, had volunteered to go with her. She didn't trust George Natwick as far as she could throw the warp core and she wanted to be sure he wouldn't try anything. There were several good reasons why Nicoletti was occasionally referred to as Mama Bear, though never to her face. Natwick looked up from his terminal as they walked in and stood before his desk. His eyes made a quick inspection of Shadow and her attitude. Malista remembered Jenny Delaney's orders and smiled sweetly at him. His eyes narrowed. "Can I help you?" His voice was totally professional, but his intent was hard to read. He never took his eyes off Malista Shadow and ignored Sue Nicoletti as if she were invisible. "Yes, Ensign. You told me you had some self-defense workouts that I could borrow for use in the holodeck." Her tone was thoroughly business-like. He stared at her for a moment. "Oh. Yeah, uh, sure. Let me find them," he faltered. He began to paw through the desk drawer and produced three data crystals. He got to his feet and extended them toward Malista. As he dropped the crystals into her palm, his hand brushed hers and he captured her hand for a moment. "Are you all right?" he said in an undertone, ignoring Nicoletti's frowning surveillance. His brown eyes scanned her face as if trying to see beyond her polite mask of professionalism. Shadow tugged her hand free. "I'm fine, Ensign Natwick," she replied evenly. "Thank you. Is there anything I need to know about the programs?" He seemed to shake himself out of a light trance and dropped his eyes to the desk. "The numbers of each program indicate the difficulty level. One is the beginner program. As the numbers increase, so does the difficulty of the simulation---number of opponents, types of weapons---that kind of thing." Malista felt a wisp of her black hair escaping its anchor and reached up to push it back into place. Natwick's eyes darted to her hand and traced its movement, almost as if he expected her to pull a weapon on him. Shadow darted a glance at Nicoletti. Sue shrugged. She didn't know why the Security Officer seemed so edgy. Natwick reseated himself behind the desk, still staring at the women suspiciously. "Let me know if you need help with the programs." "I will. Thank you." Shadow turned to leave, but halted when he said her name. "Malista? I'm sorry about---you know." Her spine stiffened. She cast a look at him over her shoulder, but didn't turn. "What? For hitting Harry?" she asked scathingly. Natwick scowled. "He had that coming for the way he treated you. No, I meant---" His brown eyes went to Nicoletti again. "I meant I was sorry I said anything to him. I didn't intend to hit him. I was a little off balance emotionally at the time. When I saw him, I just-- -lost my temper. Something I haven't done in a long time. I didn't really intend to hurt him. I'm sorry. No hard feelings?" Nicoletti was watching the exchange impassively, but her mind was spinning. If she didn't know better, she would think George Natwick had serious feelings for Malista Shadow--- but was also afraid of her for some reason. Or at least concerned about her reaction to his behavior. That was a first. When not on duty, Natwick was known for going his own way, without regard for anyone's feelings or opinions. His was the original lone wolf personality. Malista, remembering Jenny Delaney's instructions, smiled as sweetly as she could manage. "Of course not, George. Why would there be any hard feelings?" The words were innocently spoken, but coupled with that smile---rang false in Natwick's ears. As they were meant to, though Malista wasn't really aware of that. As the door slid closed behind Nicoletti and Shadow, the ensign began to analyze the possible plans of attack Malista might use to take her revenge on him. Without trying hard, he'd come up with twenty-five different scenarios before the end of his shift. ***************** B'Elanna studied her surroundings. "This is it?" she asked sharply. "Not exactly," Tom replied. She watched as he lazily leaned forward with an outstretched hand and switched on the--- What was it he'd called it? Oh, yes. A radio. Some idiot started crooning stupid questions. 'Are the stars out tonight? I don't know if it's cloudy or bright---' B'Elanna reached out and snapped the radio off. "What did you do that for?" Paris complained. "It was ridiculous. Of course the stars are out. They're always out. If he'd look up, he'd see them---" The lieutenant slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. "B'Elanna, it's a song! Not a science class!" He sighed deeply. "Come on. Lean back. Relax." He dropped his hand on her shoulder and pulled her back against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. "And do what?" she asked impatiently. "What kind of program is this?" Tom fought off another sigh. He'd bet a week's worth of replicator rations that the Doc hadn't had this much trouble with Denara Pel. "It's a leisure program, B'Elanna. You don't have to fight anyone, or scale anything, or chase something around in circles. You just sit here in this wonderful classic 1957 Chevy and look at the stars. And listen to some mellow music. Or enjoy the view of the colony below. Or---cuddle a little. Or a lot. Don't you *ever* just sit still and do absolutely nothing?" She pulled away from him and stared at him. It was *not* a happy stare. He decided his words were getting in the way more than they were helping. He tried letting his eyes speak for him. His blue eyes had a way with words. When his mouth didn't interfere. After a moment, she relaxed against him again, turning to rest her back against his muscular chest, her head lying on his shoulder. "All right, I'll *try* your *leisure* program." She paused. She tilted her head to look up at him, "But it's going to get boring, if this is all there is to it----" He fastened his lips onto hers. Her objections melted away in the sizzling sensations aroused by his kiss. Oxygen deprivation forced a brief intermission. "There is something to be said for relaxing," she purred. "Turn the music back on." He obeyed. "Now kiss me, Lieutenant Paris." Her smile was predatory. "Yes, ma'am!" He obeyed. With enthusiasm. ****************** Every day it seemed to get worse. The comments, the sly digs, the looks---especially the looks. Conversations stopped abruptly or made sudden detours in topic when she came into view. Malista was beginning to dread getting out of bed and reporting for duty. She felt half of the Alpha shift had nothing better to do than to try to pump her for information about her relationships with Harry Kim, Tom Paris, and B'Elanna Torres. Those who weren't curious, were judgmental and wanted her to feel the weight of their disapproval. She hadn't had to deal with so much attention since---since Huldon III. At that time, she'd been so physically and mentally traumatized that she'd hardly noticed the stares and whispers. And when she had been in a condition to do so, Niko Dishon had been there to run interference. She missed Niko and mourned his death. They hadn't had much in common, but he'd always been there. For five years, he'd protected her, shielded her, and even fought for her---to keep other people away. To keep other people from hurting her. It seemed that everywhere she went, someone was talking about her. She would walk into a room or out of the turbolift and everyone would stare. She didn't know what to do when that happened, so she tried to pretend she didn't see them, didn't hear them. She didn't answer their greetings, didn't speak to anyone. She stopped wearing makeup on duty and screwed her shoulder-length hair into an unflattering bun on the nape of her neck, trying to make herself as unattractive as possible, hoping to avoid attention. It didn't work. She didn't need makeup to draw attention to her good features. With her hair pulled back, her classical bone structure and wonderful pale gold skin were more easily admired. She tried her best to disappear into the crowd and go unnoticed but, for the first time in her life, she couldn't achieve anonymity simply by wishing for it. ***************** "I can't believe her attitude!" The exclamation came to Tom Paris' ears as he rounded the corner of the corridor on his way to Engineering. The unseen speaker was working in the Jefferies tube that he was passing. "Since when does being with the Senior staff give you the right to put on airs? She won't even speak to us common people any more. Who does she think she is? Some kind of princess?" The complainer went on, encouraged by a mumble from her companion. "Well, I can tell you I'm not going to speak to her either. She thinks she's fooling anyone? She's sleeping her way to the top. Everyone knows that." Tom directed a scornful glance at the hatch as he passed by. He detested gossips. If he'd thought it would do any good, he would confront them. But he'd learned from bitter experience that a confrontation just gave them more ammunition to lob---and sometimes a new target. He wondered idly who they could be talking about. Senior staff? The only women on the Senior staff were Captain Janeway, B'Elanna Torres, and Kes. It couldn't be Janeway. She was the top of the chain of command---no reason to 'sleep her way to the top'. Kes? Some people didn't like her because they found her telepathic abilities frightening, but---no, he didn't think it could be her. B'Elanna? Most people gossiped about her temper, not her private life. And anyway, her relationship with him wouldn't help her gain a promotion. It didn't add up. Paris shrugged. Some people could find insult in any behavior. Maybe B'Elanna or Kes had ticked someone off. A little gossip wouldn't do any harm. He decided to ignore it. If he'd lingered a little longer, he would have solved the mystery of the identity of the object of discussion. The second person in the access crawl way finally gave his opinion. "I think she's intimidating. She towers over me and the way she looks at me with those cold green eyes---I've seen warmer expressions on statues!" His partner laughed as they went back to work. "Well, if Harry Kim wants to cuddle up to an overgrown marble sculpture---it's his loss. Now if he wants a real woman---" "You'd volunteer for that duty? I knew you were interested in him for yourself." ************************** Torres was nowhere in sight when Tom Paris entered Engineering. He caught the eye of the nearest engineer and asked for her. Susan Nicoletti pointed up to the second level. Paris thanked her and started for the lift. A sudden flurry of loud Klingon epithets drifted downward from above---not falling gently on anyone's ears. Tom's eyebrows rose and he hurried to the lift. Now he knew why everyone else in the department had found work to do on the lower level. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the open access panel in the bulkhead. When he got closer to the source, he could identify the epithets as being directed at a recalcitrant lubricant container that was oozing slimy liquid all over the chief engineer's hands. It was quite evident from the appearance of the container that ---probably in a fit of pique---she had squeezed it much too tightly, forgetting the strength her Klingon heritage afforded her. The seams had burst. Hearing his footsteps, she turned a glare in his direction. "Don't-you-dare-laugh!" she rapped out vehemently. She felt self-conscious, inept, and embarrassed to have him or anyone else see her make such a silly, clumsy mistake. She was just glad that no one else was working in the area. Widening his eyes as much as possible, Paris shook his head silently. He saw a cleansing towel resting on a table nearby and handed it to her without comment. He deftly scooped up the container and placed it in a small trash receptacle---without getting a speck of lubricant on himself, of course. Torres thought it was resoundingly unfair that Tom Paris always looked so perfectly groomed and elegant. And even when he didn't, he always looked good. At times, she felt like a disheveled mess standing next to him. Slightly mollified by the lack of teasing, she wiped her hands clean. When she finished, he extended a hand towards her. Eyes slightly narrowed, she placed her small hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. "Well?" She was certain he wouldn't be able to resist a comment. She was braced for it. He crooked a long, slender finger at her. She frowned and took a step closer. "What? Have you lost your voice? The ship couldn't get that lucky." His brow wrinkled in a distressed expression. At times he looked about four years old. This was one of those times. His blue eyes looked---piteous. "Tom, what's the matter?" She was beginning to be concerned. His eyes darted around to be sure they were alone. He crooked his finger at her again. She took another step closer and stretched on tiptoe to incline her ear to catch his whisper, "I think I hurt myself." She stared at him, brown eyes rounding. "What? How?" He leaned closer and whispered even more quietly, "You told me not to laugh. I think I hurt myself trying not to." He put a small whimper in his words. For a split millisecond---she bought it. Then his meaning sank in. He began to chuckle at the expression on her face as she stepped back and clenched her fists. She could feel herself flushing as her temper swiftly soared. "You---!" She couldn't think of an epithet strong enough. She took a swing at him. Tom was no fool. He was ready for her reaction. He ducked back---just enough so that her fist missed his jaw by a centimeter. "Now, Torres, watch your temper!" he said soothingly. She advanced on him, still glaring. He stopped retreating---for good reason. His back was to the wall. Torres couldn't believe he was still grinning---Smile Number Seven---the goofy grin that said his sense of humor had been unexpectedly tickled. She was almost nose to nose with him. He still hadn't lost that grin. She was trying to hold onto her annoyance, but that grin and those admiring blue eyes were getting to her. "What are you smirking at, Helmboy?" she snarled. "You. You look cute when you're dirty, B'Elanna," he said simply. There was no retreat, no hiding in his expression. He reached out a tentative hand to wipe a small splotch of lubricant from her cheek. "Klingons do NOT look *cute*," Torres stated emphatically, trying not to let him see how thoroughly the compliment disarmed her. Or the effect his slightest touch had on her equilibrium. He shook his head slightly. "Maybe Klingons don't---but you do." He suddenly looked thoughtful. "Remind me to introduce you to my mud pie program. It could be fun. Childish, but fun. And you'd look---cute." Now Smile Number Five took over---the wicked smile that invited you to follow him right into mischief. "Cute?" she repeated. His eyes surveyed the room once more. They were out of sight, if not out of hearing of the others in Engineering. He leaned forward and brushed a teasingly light kiss across her lips. "Definitely cute." "I'm not playing in any mud, Paris!" "Too bad. Wiggling your bare toes in the mud is a lot of fun." He waggled his eyebrows at her. "And cleaning up afterwards---" "Did you come up here to make me lose my temper? Or was there a reason that you came to Engineering?" She felt better. It was nice to know she couldn't intimidate Tom or scare him away with her flash of temperament. It made her feel more secure in their---friendship. "Actually, I wanted to help you check the navigational deflector. It's begun giving false readings or producing some kind of echo effect....." They settled down to work. ************************** Chakotay checked his chronometer again. She was definitely late. This was a first. Since he'd begun counseling sessions with Malista Shadow, she'd always been prompt. He slapped at his commbadge. "Commander Chakotay to Crewman Shadow." There was a pause--just a bit longer than usual---then the reply. "Shadow here." "Crewman, did you forget your appointment with me?" the first officer asked patiently. "No, sir," she replied rapidly. "I'm on my way. I'm---running a little behind schedule. Sorry." "Chakotay out." He frowned thoughtfully as he seated himself at his desk. It had been almost a week since Malista had met with him. He hoped she would be more forthcoming this time. He'd had the feeling at their last session that she wasn't being totally honest with him. They seemed to have hit a roadblock of some kind in her counseling sessions. He couldn't help her if she wouldn't cooperate. He busied himself with a personnel report as he waited for her arrival. About twenty minutes later, more than thirty minutes late for her appointment, Malista Shadow entered Chakotay's office. She was in uniform and still carrying her toolkit. Chakotay glanced up and studied her appearance. There were signs that the young woman was tired---the faintest hint of purplish semicircles under her eyes, her hair escaping from the loose ponytail lying on her back. She was good at hiding her feelings. If he hadn't known her for years, he would have missed the signs himself. She also seemed on edge as she made her way to the seat across from him. "Malista," he said by way of greeting. He waited. Patience was a definite virtue for a counselor. She attempted a smile, but it wasn't convincing. "Commander, I apologize. I got busy repairing a---" She hesitated. Frowning, she went on, "I'm sorry. My mind just went blank---oh, a computer relay in the ship's library. Russell's had several problems with the consoles. We're trying to adapt to some of the new replacement parts we got on Dynos Six. I seem to have been spending a lot of my shift there lately. I, uh, lost track of time." Chakotay nodded silently. He waited. His silence increased her nervousness. "Was there something in particular that you wanted to talk to me about today, Commander?" She forced herself to sit back in the chair, striving to appear relaxed and at ease. The first officer's silence stretched on. He watched as she began to drum her fingers on the arm of the chair---only to stop abruptly when she noticed what she was doing. She flashed a look at him as if caught in an indiscretion, then caught her lower lip between her teeth and began to gnaw on it. "Chakotay?" The word was almost a plea. Finally. She was ready to drop the facade. "Malista, what's going on?" She slumped forward, resting her hands on the edge of the desk. "Oh, Chakotay," she sighed wearily. She raised her eyes to meet his. Tears began to gather, but she blinked rapidly to hold them at bay. "Is it Harry?" The first officer deliberately chose the least likely problem. He wanted to get her started talking, hoping that once started she would continue. She shook her head, chewing her lower lip once more. She took a deep breath. "Harry is--- the best thing that ever happened to me. He's just so---" Words seemed to fail her. "So he's not the reason you look worn out? The reason you were late today? The reason you look so miserable?" the first officer prodded. "No. It's just that when---since Harry and I made up," she said unhappily, "a lot of people have been---commenting. They're talking about us----about me." "And what are they saying?" "Gossip. I don't know. I don't want to know!" she wailed. "Half the time they stop talking when I get close enough to hear them." "Then how do you know they're talking about you?" She tossed him an exasperated frown and jumped to her feet, beginning to move restlessly around the room. "The way they look at me. Everywhere I go---they stare. They don't talk to me. They just---watch me. Like I should be on a slide under a microscope! And the ones who do talk to me---talk AT me!" "How many people are we talking about? The whole crew?" "What? What does that matter?" She was puzzled and angry at the same time. "I'm trying to get an idea of the extent of the problem," he explained softly. "You think I'm lying?" she accused. He shook his head. "I didn't say that. Until recently, you've kept yourself fairly isolated. Now that you're begun interacting socially with the crew, you should expect to feel a certain lack of privacy. I think you might be exaggerating..." "I am not! Chakotay, you don't know---the things they say---" "Why do you listen?" he asked reasonably. "Do you value their opinions?" She stopped in her tracks and pivoted slowly to face him. She leaned her fists on his desk and leaned down to push her face within six inches of his. "No. I just want to be left alone. I want everybody to leave me alone! I want everybody to mind his or her own business. What do you expect me to do? You and Captain Janeway ordered me to socialize! So I socialized! Now I'm tired of it!" Chakotay raised his eyebrows, and still in his quiet voice, replied, "You're going to be on this ship for a very long time, Malista. Part of being a member of the Voyager family is taking the bad along with the good. It's a small community---so we take care of each other. But because it's a small community, we also know each other's business. And sometimes that can cause some pain and a lack of privacy. Most of these people are well-meaning. Give it time. The furor will die down. They'll find something else to talk about." She straightened and moved away from him to the center of the room. Her eyes closed as she tried to gather her thoughts. "Okay. Fine. So I'll get used to it. Is that what you're telling me?" She came back to her chair and sank into it, elbows resting on her knees, head in her hands. "In a way. You need to develop a thicker skin. Maturity comes when you realize you can't please everyone. You have to pick and choose those you want to please and you should start with yourself." He didn't think she was listening so he tried a different tack. "Do you have too much time on your hands?" Her head jerked up at that. He could have sworn he detected a twinge of apprehension. "What do you mean?" He folded his arms and watched her silently for a moment. She began to fidget. "I simply meant that you had been working two shifts for some time. Now that you're working only one---" His dark eyes zeroed in on her. "I thought you might have more free time than you want." "Why? What do you think I should be doing with my extra time?" "Giving Neelix cooking lessons?" She grinned at that. Chakotay raised his hands, palms up. "I thought you might like to take another class. Maybe do some cross-training. Have you thought about that?" She sank back in the chair and eyed the ceiling for a moment. "I wondered about maybe--- do you think the doctor would train me as a field medic?" Chakotay nodded. "I think that can be arranged. May I ask why?" "Sometimes Sickbay gets really busy. And if Tom can't be spared from the bridge, it's just Kes and the Doctor---and if the computer went down----" She made a gesture with her hand. "I just thought I could be useful. My father said I wasn't smart enough for medical school, but maybe I could at least learn first aid. Or I'm big for a woman and I'm strong. I could help the injured get to Sickbay." The first officer was perturbed to read between the lines and see the lack of self-esteem underlying her low expectations of herself. "I'll talk to the doctor about arranging your lessons. Malista, is something else bothering you? Something other than curiosity and gossip?" He was picking up on something he couldn't identify---a source of uneasiness in her that set off a small sensor alert in his mind. She folded her arms across her chest, a defensive gesture she seemed to have picked up from Tom Paris. "What makes you ask?" "Malista, you're supposed to be telling me what's bothering you," the first officer chided gently. "That's the purpose of these counseling sessions." "You told me I needed to learn to handle my own problems," she reminded him. "That's what I'm trying to do. You told me I needed to become independent and self-sufficient--- not depend on someone else to rescue me or protect me all the time. Are *you* trying to take Niko's place now?" "Malista---" Chakotay broke off, pausing to rethink his words. He hated having them quoted back at him out of context. "There's a difference in becoming too dependent on others and being too independent to ask for help when you need it. Everyone needs help occasionally. I just meant you shouldn't make a habit of it." She was gnawing on her lower lip again, a sure sign of anxiety or distress. She nodded. "Do you have a problem you need help with?" he asked after giving her a moment to think it over. She shook her head. "No. Not now. I'm not sure. Maybe." She almost smiled. "Great. I'm back to comprehensive answers." She ignored his questioning look at that comment. "Chakotay, let me think about it. Maybe I'm blowing the whole thing out of proportion. If I find I need help---I'll let you know." Chakotay wasn't satisfied. He could tell there was something serious bothering her, but evidently she wasn't ready to discuss it. "All right, Malista. See you next week? Same time?" A glint of mischief peeked out of her green eyes. "No. Next week, I'll be on time. I swear." He smiled. ********************* Diane Russell, ship's librarian, put down her mug and glanced from one man to the other. "I don't understand why you're so worried about Malista Shadow. She and Harry are back together again. Isn't everything right with her world again?" "She was crying last night when she left his quarters," Gerron stated flatly. "That's the third time this week." Dalby scowled at the young man. "Yeah? You're sure, Tem?" "Of course, I'm sure. I passed her on my way back from the Holodeck," the young Maquis said with a trace of exasperation. "Her eyes and nose were red. I know what a woman who's been crying looks like." Dalby's eyes narrowed. "She's a nice kid. If he's just using her---" Diane took his hand in hers and shook it a little to focus his attention on her. "Aron, I've seen her with him at Sandrine's. She always looks fine. She seems happy to me." The older Maquis' eyes softened as they rested on the woman he loved. "Diane, you weren't one of us. You don't know Malista Shadow very well. She's very good at pretending everything is all right. She hides herself, but she's vulnerable. I don't want anyone taking advantage of her---not even a Starfleet officer!" Gerron nodded. "I might be the youngest Maquis chronologically---but Malista is definitely the youngest in---other ways," he mumbled. "She may act like she's happy when she's with him, but you just take a look at her when she's on duty. She doesn't hum or sing any more. She always did that when she was working. She freezes up. She looks---grim. Whenever *he* isn't around to keep her in line." "I don't know why you're so sure that he's the problem. It could be something or someone else. Harry Kim has always seemed like a nice man to me," Russell protested weakly. She'd occasionally helped him with research, but she didn't know the Operations Officer well. She didn't feel as if she could speak in his defense with any authority. It was hard to know what some men were capable of---behind closed doors. The image of Lon Suder crossed her mind and she shivered. Aron Dalby, concerned, leaned forward and put his arm around her shoulders. "Are you okay?" Diane smiled up at him. Others had told her that Aron was a hotheaded, ill-tempered, uncontrollable troublemaker and that it was a mistake to get involved with him. She had given him a chance and found that those advice-givers didn't know the real Aron Dalby. Maybe he could be all those things, but he could also be sweet and protective---with her. Another example of how public and private persona didn't always match up in the eyes of the beholders. "I'm fine," she murmured. "I was just thinking---no one knew what Lon Suder was capable of---until he murdered Frank Darwin. Maybe Harry does have a darker side---that no one knows about." "What can we do about it?" Gerron asked. Dalby looked at his young friend. "Nothing. Now. But if and when Malista asks for help-- --" "Why wait?" the young Bajoran demanded. He'd dated Malista one evening as a favor to Megan Delaney. He'd even kissed Malista goodnight. A platonic kiss. There was no chemistry between them. They'd had a good time, though she really wasn't his type. Megan was his type, if she'd ever notice... "Because right now she'd defend him---no matter how he's treating her when they're alone together," Dalby explained. "If she's pretending nothing's wrong, she's trying to protect him---or she's accepting his treatment of her." His tone sharpened. "Did you see any bruises?" "Aron!" Diane protested. "I think you're both jumping to conclusions. There are several explanations for why she'd be crying---" "Name one," Dalby challenged. "She could be crying about losing Niko Dishon. He was her best friend for years and some people grieve for a long time. Or she could be upset because she's homesick---or all those stupid rumors about her having an affair with Tom Paris." Diane's face pinkened as she added the final excuse. "You have a crush on him, don't you?" Dalby said, drawing his arm away. "Harry?" Diane asked, feigning innocence. "Tom Paris!" Diane dimpled as she gently insinuated her arms around his waist, ignoring his slight resistance. "I did. Past tense. Tom's a very attractive man. But he was never more than friendly---with me. I got over my crush on him---the day you asked me out." "Really?" the Maquis said skeptically, hoping to be convinced. "Uh-huh." She frowned as she rested her cheek on his shoulder and gazed up at him thoughtfully. "Tom Paris? The name sounds sort of familiar. Remind me? What does he look like? The only face I can remember is yours." Dalby growled at her under his breath, a promise to be kept later in a less public locale. She did not tremble with fear. Gerron Tem sighed, feeling a little lonely. He liked Malista Shadow. And she was Megan Delaney's friend, as well as a fellow Maquis. He planned to keep an eye on Shadow---and on Harry Kim---just in case. **************************** Harry Kim got into the turbolift and found Tom Paris there, already on his way back to the bridge after his lunch break. Paris noticed Kim's irritated glance at him. "What? What are you looking at?" "It's all your fault, you know," Kim said sourly. "What?" The lieutenant crossed his arms with exaggerated patience, waiting for his friend's accusation. "What did I do now?" "You suggested a reading list for Malista," the ensign complained. "All your favorites you said. And she wants to read every one of them because you suggested it. Heaven forbid she skip a single one of your recommendations!" "She wanted to catch up on what she's missed. Her colony didn't have an extensive library. So what?" "So now she keeps reading these wonderful works of literature that *you* suggested---and crying her eyes out! To Kill a Mockingbird? Tom, it's a tearjerker!" Harry scowled at him. "It took me twenty minutes to calm her down when she got to the part where---" "Hey, she wants to read great literature! A lot of it is depressing!" Tom explained. "Those people lived in depressing times. The only non-depressing stuff is children's literature and she's already read Carroll, Milne, and C.S. Lewis." "Tom." "Harry. Okay, you want a little relief? I'll tell her to switch the order on the list. Let's see," he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling as he searched his memory. "I'll tell her to read The Adventures of Tom Sawyer---no, that's got a funeral scene and Muff Potter on trial. How about Ivanhoe--? No. I've got it---Little Women---no, wait. Beth dies. Harry, there aren't any good stories without tragedy!" Paris grumbled. "Unless you want her to read Vulcan literature. I'm sure Tuvok----" "No, thanks," Kim said hastily. Paris smiled smugly as the turbolift doors opened onto the bridge. ************************* The Maquis had joined the Starfleet crew, but there was still a sense of camaraderie from shared experiences that bonded them. Word quickly spread among them that Malista was struggling somehow. Though she knew them and they knew her from serving with them on the smaller ship, she couldn't really say many of the Maquis were actually friends. But she was one of them---so they silently closed ranks behind her. Her fellow Maquis were accustomed to her silence and lack of social skills, so she began to use some of them as shields. She didn't want to walk the corridors alone. Someone might speak to her, and she wouldn't know what to answer. Without a deliberate plan or a word being spoken about the reasons why, she found herself sitting with them in the messhall during her lunch break. Or one of the Maquis was suddenly going the same direction whenever she went from one place to another. She was escorted to her destination---and they didn't expect conversation from her or ask embarrassing questions. The Maquis had a tradition of accepting others--- no questions asked. It was as if the Maquis had designated themselves her bodyguards and were standing between her and the Starfleet crew. Sometimes Malista felt like a Kalinthian Beetle---whose shell had been ripped away, leaving the tender tissues exposed to danger. She didn't know how to deal with this. And she had to deal with it alone. If she told Harry or Tom---she didn't want to think about their reactions. And if B'Elanna---no! She had caused quite enough trouble for the three of them. She would have to deal with this herself. She wasn't a child. It was time---and past time---for her to learn to handle her own problems. It might be easier if she could get a good night's sleep. Lately, that had been impossible. Three or four hours of sleep a night seemed to be all she could manage. She sighed tiredly and threw all her concentration into her work. There was always something that needed to be done to repair or maintain Voyager. ********************* The chief engineer was afraid she was losing her memory. She'd been so positive---Torres studied the computer screen with a scowl. She scrolled back through the log of repair requests. She hadn't imagined it. There it was---a request to check the environmental controls in the airponics bay. And the slight malfunction in the Science Lab's spectral analysis unit. And the need for adjustments to the gravity controls of the ecosystem sphere needed for the Biology Department's experiments. All three of the assignments were still listed as unassigned and uncompleted. Then why had the repair teams she sent out just reported that all three assignments had been executed before they got there? B'Elanna shook her head. She knew Engineering had been thrown into turmoil with the problem of defective power couplings. She hadn't thought she'd lost her grip on the reins to this extent. Reaching down, she tapped a few keys and marked those repairs completed. She checked the list and called her repair teams to give them new assignments. One thing was for sure, there was always something that needed to be repaired or maintained on this ship. She'd just have to be more careful about logging them to avoid wasting time. ********************* Harry had just finished his shift. He couldn't wait to get to Deck Four. He hadn't seen Malista all day. It was strange, but he missed her. He'd seen her less than twenty-four hours ago. He'd walked her home from Sandrine's and spent several long and pleasurable minutes kissing her goodnight just inside the doorway of her cabin before calling it a night. He shook his head. He couldn't believe how quickly he'd adapted to having someone to--- to be with. To care for. To love? The thought occurred to him that with Libby, it had taken him over a year to reach this level of comfort. Like a fond memory, he put Libby from his mind. He'd finally managed to say goodbye to her. He wished her well. But his future was here. On Voyager. With Malista Shadow. He felt a wide smile breaking across his face as he stepped into the turbolift. "Deck four." It was uncommonly quiet. He became aware of others in the turbolift. No one was talking. That struck Harry as odd. For some reason, he subconsciously had the impression that there had been a conversation in progress when he entered the lift. Ensign Dharn, a Maquis from the Geology Dept. was staring at him. Frowning and staring at him. Kim raised his eyebrows. "Something wrong, Dharn?" "What could be wrong, Kim?" There was a note in the other man's voice that almost seemed surly. "I don't know or I wouldn't have asked," Harry said shortly. The turbolift arrived at Deck Four. "And right now, I don't care." He stepped out, leaving Dharn and his annoying attitude behind. He'd forgotten about the whole incident before he even reached Malista's cabin. He hit the door signal, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for her to answer. He heard a faint response. "Come in." The door slid open and as Harry stepped into her living area, he was hit by the most amazing aroma---his mouth began to water reflexively. "Malista?" he called. "What is that?" "You're early. I haven't had time to change or put on makeup. Don't look!" She appeared in the doorway to her sleeping area. She was wearing black knee-length shorts and an emerald green tee-shirt that matched her eyes. Her cheeks and chin were lightly dusted with a white powdery substance. Her shoulder-length ebony hair was caught up in an untidy ponytail. She looked about 18 years old. "You look wonderful. You always do. Something smells good." Kim sniffed the air again. "I hope you're talking about the moussaka." "The what?" Harry asked, smiling puzzledly. "Moussaka," she replied, coming forward to kiss him quickly on the lips. He caught her chin and framed her face with his hands. "Moussaka?" he repeated. He lightly brushed her cheekbones with his thumbs. "Does that explain the flour on your face?" "No," Malista smiled impishly. She turned her head from side to side, kissing his palms. "The flour is because of the gingerbread I'm still mixing. We're having that for dessert." "Gingerbread? For me?" Harry was deeply touched. He'd told Malista that one of his fondest memories of his grandmother had been making gingerbread with her. He pulled Malista closer into a hug. Gingerbread was one comfort food Neelix hadn't attempted--- yet. Harry hated to think how Neelix' version of gingerbread would taste. For a brief moment, she rested her head against his shoulder. She returned his hug, squeezing him tightly, almost desperately. 'As if she doesn't want to let go,' he thought. He drew back and tried to look into her eyes. She evaded his glance and stepped back. "Come on, you can help me roll out the gingerbread and cut them out." "Them? Really? We're making gingerbread *men*?" Harry was distracted for a moment. "Oh, wait, weren't we supposed to meet Tom and B'Elanna in the messhall for dinner?" She peered into a mirror and removed the last traces of flour. "We didn't have firm plans, did we? I made more than enough moussaka. If you like, you can invite them to join us. *If* you're willing to share your gingerbread men with Tom. You know he has a sweet tooth," she teased, meeting his eyes at last. Nothing but amusement and affection showed in hers now. Harry shook his head at her audacity in teasing him. She was opening up to him---he could only think of the analogy of a rosebud in bloom. She was blossoming, her petals unfolding as she learned to reach out to him, to Tom, to B'Elanna. She had been closed off from everyone for so long. He set aside the little twinge of disquiet that made him think she wasn't being entirely open with him and hit his commbadge. "Kim to Paris." "Go ahead." Tom's pleasant tenor came through the commlink. "Tom, I know we didn't exactly have dinner plans----" Kim began. "I thought we were meeting at the messhall?" Tom queried, his voice muffled momentarily. It sounded like he was moving around as he was speaking, his voice gaining and losing volume. "Tom, where are you?" "In my quarters. Changing clothes. Why?" Kim exchanged smiling glances with Shadow. "Do you think you and B'Elanna could bear to give up one of Neelix' meals? Malista has been cooking---" "Sure!" Paris interrupted rapidly. "I wouldn't want to hurt my sister's feelings by turning down her invitation." "Yeah, sure," Harry agreed. "So you'll bring B'Elanna?" "Be there in fifteen minutes!" "Don't you want to know what's on the menu?" Malista called out. "Just promise me there's no leola root, Sis, and I'll be a happy man!" Tom replied. "See you in fifteen minutes, Tom!" "Paris out." ******************** Later that evening, Tom and B'Elanna walked into Sandrine's arm in arm. It had become a common sight. Chakotay waved them over to his table. Paris stifled a sigh. He liked the first officer. Okay, so he had *grown* to like and respect the first officer, but there were times---especially when he was with B'Elanna---that Paris didn't particularly want to spend time with Chakotay. Chakotay was alone. Paris seated B'Elanna and went to get their drinks from the bar along with a refill for the commander. As he set the tray on the table and pulled up a chair, Chakotay and B'Elanna were discussing ship's gossip. "I haven't heard anything," Torres was saying, "but I've been out of the loop with supervising double shifts in Engineering for the last few weeks." Chakotay turned to Tom. "Have you noticed anything unusual, Tom?" It still gave the pilot a slight start to hear the first officer call him by his first name. "Not really. I did hear some gossip being exchanged about someone 'sleeping her way to the top'---but then that rumor has been around since the dawn of time." The commander frowned. "Who were they talking about this time?" Tom thought for a moment. "Sorry. I can't remember. I just heard it in passing. I think I had the impression they meant Kes or B'Elanna---but I don't know---hey, I didn't say it!" he added defensively as Torres turned a scowl upon him. "Oh, yeah. They said something about the Senior Staff. And I thought---maybe they didn't mean---I'm sorry. I didn't really pay much attention. Gossips are NOT my favorite people." B'Elanna slipped her hand into his. She understood that statement very well. Tom Paris had been a favorite target of most of the gossips on this ship from the beginning of his posting to Voyager. In fact, until she had gotten to know him better herself, she had believed many of the false rumors about him. Tom squeezed her hand gratefully, not taking his eyes from Chakotay's. Chakotay noticed the silent offer of support and its acceptance. He felt it was a good sign. He sighed. "Crew evaluations and promotion recommendations have been on everyone's minds lately. Maybe that's the source for that rumor. It could have been about anyone." "So what's got you worried?" Torres asked. Chakotay raised an eyebrow. "Without being obvious about it, take a look around this room." Paris and Torres did exactly that, taking note of those present and their activities. There was nothing unusual going on---a pool game, a card game in one corner, most people sitting together as couples or small groups, talking and drinking. "I don't get it," Torres said impatiently. Paris nodded slowly, looking at Chakotay. "Oh. I do. B'Elanna, look at the composition of the groups." "Comp---what?" B'Elanna stood and revolved, slowly staring at each table in turn. So much for subtlety. She plopped back in the chair and glanced from the pilot to the first officer. "So what? Male, female. Mixed groups. What are you getting at?" Paris sighed. Sometimes his love could be astonishingly narrow of vision. Unless the matter in question involved a technical or engineering problem. "B'Elanna, the Maquis and the Starfleet crews aren't mingling. The Maquis are all at those tables to the right of the bar. The 'Fleeters are all to the left and in the center." "What's going on, Chakotay?" she demanded. "I don't know. I was hoping you did. It was too much to hope it might be something simple, I guess," he said, sipping his syntheholic beer. "I've noticed increasing tension the last couple of weeks. But no one's talking. I can't get a straight answer out of anyone. I'd hoped you might have heard something." "I'm too busy to hear anything," Torres snorted. "And they're busy talking about Paris---- not to him!" "Hey!" Tom protested reflexively, but subsided when she shot him a smile. "I'll figure it out eventually," Chakotay stated. "So what have you two been up to? I haven't seen you in the messhall for dinner for the last couple of nights." "Malista has been doing the cooking. And, oh, Chakotay, what you have missed! Have you ever had moussaka?" Tom patted his flat, muscular stomach for emphasis. The first officer smiled wryly. "No, I don't believe I have. What is it?" "A Greek dish. Ground lamb with sliced eggplant. And we had rice pilaf and fried zucchini, with gingerbread men for dessert." Tom licked his lips as he reminisced about his latest repast. "Gingerbread? Is that part of Greek cuisine?" Chakotay asked. "No, but it's Harry's favorite," Torres replied. "And what did *you* have for dinner, Commander?" Her brown eyes snapped with mischief. Chakotay grimaced. "Pleeka rind stew. Again." "Aw," Tom groaned with mock sympathy. "Too bad." "I may have a talk with your 'sister', Mr. Paris. It may be bad for morale if the crew finds out how well she cooks and that they aren't invited to share the meals," Chakotay teased. "She could at least invite me." B'Elanna sniffed. "I don't know what the fuss is about. Anyone can cook. It's not that hard." Chakotay sputtered into his beer. "B'Elanna! That from you---of all people!" Sensing a good story, Tom closed in. "Oh? There's something I need to know?" "No!" B'Elanna said with a threatening glance at her commander. "Yes," he corrected. "Tom, you're looking at the only Starfleet cadet in Academy history who managed to burn----" Torres surged to her feet and flounced away with a searing glance over her shoulder at both men. She headed for the bar. Chakotay and Paris exchanged glances. "Oops?" "She's on a short fuse," Chakotay commented. "Any idea why?" "I'm not sure. Overwork? She has been working awfully hard. I tried to get her to relax, but---" Tom shrugged. "Or jealousy?" the first officer speculated. Tom squinted at him. "I beg your pardon? Jealousy? Now, wait just a minute, Chakotay--- " He stopped as Chakotay held up a placating hand. "I don't mean you've given her reason to be jealous. Think about it, Tom. You're bragging about someone else's cooking and I start to tell a story that makes her out to be a lousy cook." "You think she's jealous----of Malista?" Tom was incredulous. That would never have occurred to him. "Just think about it. B'Elanna is very competitive----" "No, really?" said Tom with heavy sarcasm. "I never noticed that!" Chakotay's patience held. "Malista can cook. B'Elanna can't. Malista can knit. B'Elanna isn't good at that kind of thing either. Malista doesn't lose her temper. B'Elanna blows up easily. If she thinks you're comparing them---maybe she feels---inadequate." "That's ridiculous! I've never said or done anything to---Let's just see about that!" Tom said indignantly and strode over to the bar. Torres pointedly ignored him, keeping her eyes on her drink. "We need to talk," Tom said flatly. He was not going to take 'no' as an answer. Torres ignored him. "Fine. If you want to talk here," Tom's volume increased as he went on, "then we'll TALK HERE WHERE EVERYBODY CAN HEAR---" Torres stabbed him with a glare as her hand flew up to cover his mouth. Satisfied that he was silenced, she spun on her heel and strode out of the holodeck, leaving it to him to follow---or not. Paris was right behind her all the way to her quarters, neither of them speaking. She stalked into her living area and turned to face him, hands on hips. "You wanted to talk?" "Yes," Paris snarled, his easygoing charm had been left behind in the holodeck. "I do want to talk. You want to tell me what the hell *that* was all about?" "What?" she snapped. "We seem to be having a good time, then Chakotay starts to tell a joke that might make you look bad---and all of a sudden you're in some kind of Klingon snit! That's what! Where's your sense of humor? What's the problem?" "I am NOT in a Klingon snit!" she seethed. "Then what do you call it?" he asked sardonically. "Heaven forbid, we should use the wrong terminology!" "What's that supposed to mean?" She pounced on his words. "Are you making fun of my limited vocabulary?" Paris was thrown by the sudden turn. "What?! *Now* what are you talking about? If you're going to change subjects in midstream, Torres, the least you could do is signal!" "What?" It was her turn to be mystified by his mixed metaphor. "What are you talking about?" He brought his long, slender fingers up to massage his temples. "I have no idea," he said, helplessly. "Do you think maybe we could manage to argue about one thing at a time here, Torres?" "I'm not the one who wanted to argue," she retorted snippily. "You're the one who wanted to talk. So talk." She folded her arms across her chest in unconscious imitation of one of his favorite gestures. He clenched his jaw to restrain his first impulsive reply. "I want to know what just happened. Did you get mad because Chakotay was going to make fun of your cooking?" She couldn't decide what she wanted to answer to that question. She compromised. "Maybe." He rolled his eyes. "Stop that!" she snapped. "Now what?" Paris said with exasperation. "Stop making fun of me!" "How did I do that?" He was honestly confused. "You made a face---like you're humoring me." "B'Elanna, I am NOT humoring you. I have NO idea what's going on here, but I do know that much. Now---what is the problem? You can't cook? Is that what upset you?" She bobbed her head up and down, not trusting her voice, then lifted her chin and glowered at him defiantly. He stared at her. "So? What is it you're waiting for me to say? Am I supposed to *care* that you can't cook?" She dropped her eyes to the floor, unsure of how to state her concerns without appearing foolish or petty. "Tell me what my next line is, Torres. You seem to be writing your own script here---my lines and yours. Am I supposed to scream with horror and say 'You can't cook---then I'm out of here. Goodbye, Sweetheart.' ? Is *that* what I'm supposed to do?" The words ground out between clenched teeth. Her head almost lifted. He took it as a nod. "Tough. I'm not saying it. If you want to get rid of me, you're going to have to find a better excuse for dumping me," he said bitterly. Her head flew up, her eyes seeking his. "Dumping you?" "Isn't that what you want?" Paris said, surprised he could speak at all with a lump the size of a baseball in his throat. "No!" She crossed the distance between them in a heartbeat and seized his forearms. "Tom, no!" She couldn't find words either. She gazed up at him, but just looking at him wasn't enough. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly to her body. After a hesitant moment, his arms came up tentatively and tightened around her. Tom felt exhausted by the abrupt swings in moods and emotions. "What just happened here, B'Ella? I don't understand. Help me understand. I can't conceive of how we got from joking in Sandrine's to talking about breaking up in less than twenty minutes." She was amazed at how sensitive he was---and aghast at how easily he expected her to walk away from him. She rubbed her face against the well-defined muscles of his chest and mumbled, "I got in a Klingon snit?" She felt a rumble of relieved laughter under her cheek. "Yeah, I guess so." His hand came up to stroke her hair, pressing her closer to his body. "Tom." She squeezed him tighter, possessively. "Yes?" "I'm NOT letting you go. I'm NOT dumping you. I'm NOT letting you get away from me- --never." The repetition reassured him of her seriousness. "Okay. Now that we have that settled, maybe we can talk---and argue about the same thing at the same time?" They moved to the couch and sat down, arms around each other. "I'm sorry," she blurted. "I overreacted." "So did I. I've got to learn to stop expecting the worst," Tom said ruefully. After a moment, he cautiously added, "Chakotay thought you might be jealous." "What?!" "That's what * I * said," he stated sagaciously. B'Elanna subsided. "He might be right. He usually is. At least when it comes to me." "Really? You're jealous of Malista? I don't understand. Why?" She studied the toes of her boots as she answered. "I've been thinking about it for awhile. It's not just the cooking. I guess I could learn to do that---if I wanted to---if you wanted me to. It's a lot of things." "A lot of things like what?" he prodded gently. "She's so tall and elegant-looking. She moves flowingly---all smooth movements and easy elegance---like you. Maybe it's because you're both so tall. I feel short and clumsy next to her." "Funny. She wishes she was shorter---and graceful like you. She told me she feels like a gawky, hulking monster sometimes. Especially when she stands next to you." "Really?" B'Elanna found it hard to believe. "Yes. You know she's still not convinced she's attractive at all. That's why I have to be careful when I tease her. She's insecure. If you listen for it, she puts herself down all the time. She's not very sure of herself---in any way." Torres considered that for a moment. "She always *looks* so sure of herself. It's hard to believe she's not totally confident and in control. You're saying she runs a good bluff--- like you do?" Tom nodded ruefully. "If you watch her eyes carefully, you can see through it. Most of the time. Anything else on your list?" "She's better on the trapeze than I am," Torres grumbled. "She's been doing it since she was four years old, B'Ella," he said reasonably. Having no good response for that argument, Torres abandoned that subject with alacrity. "She can cook," B'Elanna mumbled. "I managed to set fire to Starfleet emergency rations." "You're kidding?" Paris grinned. He couldn't resist. The Starfleet emergency rations were supposed to be absolutely foolproof. She rammed a small fist lightly into his ribs. "Ow! Okay. So you can't cook. Why do you need to? We can go to the messhall. Or I can cook. Or we can replicate food. OR we can hint around for invitations to dinner with Malista and Harry. They're easy." "You don't mind that I can't cook?" She hated to admit she was less than competent at anything. Especially something so simple, so basic a survival skill. "B'Elanna, I don't understand why it's supposed to matter." She peered up into his face. He seemed to be sincere. His eyes flashed angrily as he recalled something else she'd said. "And what was that crack you made about your limited vocabulary? I never said that---or thought anything like that." She abruptly found his hand on hers to be a fascinating sight. "When you and Malista talk sometimes you use words and expressions---" Her meaning broke through the fog of his confusion like a beam of sunlight and he nodded. "Oh. Oh, I see. B'Elanna, how do you think I feel when you and Harry take off prattling about some warp engine component or some technical aspect of the ship's design that I know nothing about?" "Dumb?" she ventured. He grinned. "No. Maybe I should, but I don't. I feel bored. It isn't my area of interest. You give me a ship---any ship---and I'll fly it---very well, if I do say so myself. But don't ask me to build one. You give me an emergency and I'll figure out how to repair what needs fixing, because I have to---but don't ask me to do routine maintenance. And Malista loves that stuff. She'd do nothing but tinker on equipment all day and every day if you'd let her. Everyone has different interests. I don't expect you to share ALL my interests. I don't share all of yours. But we can still respect each other and spend time together." "I just felt---you have so much more in common with Malista---" "Yes. We do have similar interests in literature, poetry, and music. Sure, I want to spend time with her. I enjoy her company and talking about those things. And sometimes I might want to spend time just with Harry---doing guy things. Mostly I want to be with you." "I'm glad." "But as for comparing you and Malista---I wouldn't do that. I know---I hate that feeling myself---the feeling that I'm being compared to someone else and that I'm never going to measure up," Tom murmured. His arms tightened around her. "Your father?" She gazed up at him sadly. "Yeah, but right now I was thinking of---Chakotay," he finished reluctantly. "Chakotay?" She seemed surprised. "Who does *he* compare you to?" His brow crinkled as he stared at her. "Not him. You. I thought you might be comparing me to Chakotay----" He broke off as he read her expression. "No?" "Tom, you're two very different people. I admire Chakotay. I respect him. I may have even entertained some fantasies about him now and then----" "Really? Yuck. He's not your type at all. Mine either for that matter." She thumped his arm. "I'm not joking. But you're right. Chakotay and I would drive each other crazy." "Oh, yeah. Unlike you and I," Tom said snidely. "We don't. You've been good to me---and for me." She cleared her throat. "I don't want to make comparisons either. I'm interested in you because of who you are---not for who you aren't. And, in a strange way, I like it that you won't let me get away with anything." "For example?" "My Klingon snit?" She smiled at him reluctantly. "If you'd left me to it, I would have brooded my way into a full blown tantrum---and somehow it would have been all your fault that I lost my temper." "I could say the same thing to you." Tom rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. "You don't let me get away with hiding any more. You force me to confront or at least express my feelings, instead of just joking about everything. At least when I'm alone with you." He was becoming uneasy with the seriousness of their conversation, but there were a few things he'd been wanting to tell her and he didn't want to let the opportunity pass by. "You know I don't understand why you were concentrating on all the things you *don't* do well? You should list all the talents you do have." "What do you mean?" "You were comparing yourself with Malista only in the things she does better than you do. If you're going to do comparisons---be fair. Also list the things you do better than she does." With a smile, she relaxed into the curve of his arm. "For example?" He began to enumerate her virtues and skills. It took some time. Especially since she volunteered to demonstrate some of them. Very successfully. ******************** Malista's life had fallen into a pattern. She worked her regular shift, spent most of Beta shift with Harry---or Harry, Tom, and B'Elanna---then had several hours to kill before she would be worn out enough to sleep soundly. Getting some work done seemed like a good idea and during third shift not that many people were awake. She envied those who slept peacefully. As she came around the corner, she stopped so precipitately she almost left skid marks with the heels of her boots. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped forward. There was no way to avoid them---the two men she'd hoped to elude for as long as possible. Their shift assignment had changed and she hadn't known. They were in a direct line with her destination---Shuttlebay One. She was in a public corridor. They wouldn't dare do anything to hurt her. So she would try to ignore them. Crewman Paul Castelle, Engineering, was working on a malfunctioning commpanel in the corridor. Lieutenant Laro Longoria, on an errand from the Biology Lab, had stopped to talk to his friend. The conversation ended abruptly as Malista came into view. The two men ran their eyes up and down her body as she approached. Longoria 'accidentally' moved to block her path, while ostensibly speaking to Castelle. "You know I used to think Niko Dishon was one lucky man. After he was killed, I thought maybe I'd have a chance at his 'private stock', but I guess I'm out of luck, huh, Paul?" "We don't have enough to offer, Laro. Some people are ambitious." She side-stepped to the left, trying to get past. Unsuccessfully. They were being much more persistent this time. It was the fourth time this week that the two men had found an opportunity to confront her. Ignoring them didn't seem to make an impression on them. "I wonder how much good it does to 'ingratiate' yourself with the Senior Officers. Do you think we should try it, Paul?" "No, Laro. I don't think *we* have the bodies for it! But it might get someone else a promotion. You think?" He licked his lips, smacking them, as he leered deliberately at Shadow. She sidestepped to the right. Castelle 'accidentally' blocked her path with the open commpanel. "Does Harry Kim know you're just using him? Or does he even care? Come on, Shadow. Tell us your secret. You've got three---no, make that four of the senior staff eating out of your hand. Is that some kind of Maquis trick?" "Don't forget the captain, Paul. She was sitting with them at Sandrine's the other night. Our girl here is scoring big points with the command team. How do you do it, Shadow? One at a time or in groups?" he snickered. "When does your promotion come through?" "I don't know what you're talking about," Malista said tersely. "Excuse me. I have to go." Her features were frozen, her tone icy. Her problem with these two seemed to worsen at every encounter. They'd limited themselves to verbal insults----so far. Their insults were just variations on the theme they'd been harping on. She didn't meet their eyes, but took another step forward, bringing her elbows up to use, if needed, to push past them. She was going to get past them and away from them. She would not back off this time. With insulting slowness, Longoria moved aside. He left barely enough room for Malista to squeeze between Castelle and himself without touching them. As she took a step, he deliberately brushed a hand across her hip. He'd never been quite so blatant about his sexual advances before. She darted away, getting away from them as quickly as possible---but not before she heard them laugh contemptuously behind her. She arrived in the shuttlebay and set her toolbox down on the deck next to the Cochrane. She jumped, startled, when Ensign Ethan Simms appeared in the open hatchway of the shuttle. "Hi, Malista." Simms looked up from studying the padd in his hand and greeted her with a friendly grin. He'd been grinning even more often than usual since he and Janine Lamont had been seeing each other. The Security Officer took note of Shadow's pale face. "Are you okay?" She tried to return his smile. "Fine. Can I help you with something?" She knew the ensign from her time working in the Security office. Though basically a shy man, given any hint of friendliness Ethan was as irrepressible as a puppy and almost as hard to ignore. He'd never seemed to notice that he had been doing all the talking in their cordial conversations during the slow shift periods in the Security Office. Maybe she felt comfortable with him because, as long as Malista had known him, he'd only had eyes for Ensign Janine Lamont. Other women didn't seem to exist for Ethan- --at least not as women. Just as fellow crewmembers. It had been a comforting indifference that made her less uneasy in his presence. "No, I was just checking the shuttle's weapons locker. Routine check. This is the last one." Simms couldn't hide the concern in his Kelly green eyes. He was trained to be observant and he was observing that Malista Shadow looked distracted---and though her expression gave little away---Ethan thought she looked unhappy. "What are you doing here? I thought you were working Alpha Shift?" It was the beginning of the Gamma Shift, just after 2400 ship's time. Those working the Alpha Shift would normally be sleeping at this time. She avoided his eyes, kneeling and opening her toolkit. "Just a little overtime. Don't you change shifts next week?" she asked, hoping he wouldn't notice the abrupt change of subject. "Yeah. Mikel and I go back to Beta Shift," Simms agreed. He still couldn't put his finger on it, but his intuition was telling him something was wrong. It was evident from her body language that Malista Shadow didn't want to talk about it. He'd learned a lot about interpreting body language from Janine. He gave a mental shrug as he examined her once more. "Well, I'll see you." "Good night," Shadow responded. She slid under the shuttle and opened an access panel. ******************** Harry Kim cast a quick glance around the messhall. "Tom." "Yeah, Harry?" Paris raised his eyes gratefully from his contemplation of the blue and green concoction on his lunch tray. Maybe, if he didn't look at it? He placed a forkful into his mouth, careful not to let it cross his line of vision. He chewed and swallowed. "Not bad. The texture's pretty good. It's edible if you just don't see it." Kim leaned in and spoke in an undertone. "Tom, is it my imagination, or are we getting some nasty looks from the Maquis who are here?" Working on another bite, Paris let his eyes wander around the room as he chewed and swallowed. "It's not your imagination," he stated matter-of-factly. "Now the question remains: Who are they looking at? You, me, or us?" Harry's brow creased as he thought that over. "Wouldn't the proper question be, why?" "Harry, Harry, Harry. If you know who, it goes a long way toward telling you why--- usually," he tacked on. "Okay, let's find out who. I'm going to leave the table and we'll identify the object of their disregard. You want some coffee?" Kim shook his head and tried a bite of his own lunch. He tried not to make it obvious that he was watching the Maquis as Tom crossed the room to get his coffee. It was him. They were all staring at Harry Kim. Not one Maquis had followed Tom's progress. He looked up as Tom rejoined him at the table. Tom's eyebrows rose. "It's definitely you, old buddy. What have you done to get the Maquis ticked off at you?" "Nothing," Harry protested. "That I can think of." Tom frowned. "No one has said anything?" "No. But come to think of it, I've been getting strange looks for the past week or two--- maybe longer than that." "Maybe B'Elanna knows. She hears most of the gossip," Tom suggested. "I'll ask her tonight. You two are coming to dinner?" Harry asked. "Malista is cooking?" Tom verified and grinned as Harry nodded. "We'll be there with bells on. Then we have to get to Sandrine's for the pool tournament." "Tom," Harry asked hesitantly. "Have you noticed that Malista doesn't seem to want to go anywhere any more? I mean, we work out on the holodeck three times a week in the circus program, but other than that---" "I thought you liked spending time in her quarters or yours?" Tom teased. "You don't have to worry about PDA's there!" Harry felt himself flushing, but he couldn't get upset with Tom. He did enjoy spending private time with Malista. Too much of their courtship had taken place in the forum of the ship's public areas such as Sandrine's for Harry's comfort. Harry Kim had never been as social as Tom Paris. Something of a homebody, he enjoyed having dinner alone with Tom, B'Elanna, and Malista in her quarters or his. After dinner, Tom and B'Elanna sat and talked with Harry and Malista or left for Sandrine's to play pool. Harry sometimes practiced his clarinet while Malista listened appreciatively or read. Sometimes Malista tinkered with repairing something while Harry read or worked on the computer terminal. They were enjoying each other's companionship and getting to know each other on many levels. With one notable exception. Paris snapped him out of his reverie. "Harry, we have five minutes to get back to the bridge. Eat up!" Harry did as he was told. ********************* Jenny Delaney snagged Malista's arm and dragged her into a side corridor. "There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere!" "Why?" Shadow looked down at the redhead. "And why are we hiding?" Jenny's eyes were sparkling. "Because it's time for step two in our plan to get George Natwick." "Step two? What happened to step one?" Malista asked, blinking in confusion. "Did I miss something?" She'd been so distracted by other problems, she'd all but forgotten the plans for revenge being hatched by the Delaneys. Now that it had been brought back to her attention, she wasn't sure if she wanted to go through with it or not. Jenny stuck her head out into the main corridor and ducked back into hiding. "Now, all you have to do is just walk down this hall. Do you know where George's quarters are?" "No, why?" "It's the third door on the right. Just a second." She glanced down at a small device in her right hand. "Jenny, why am I---" A red light appeared on the device. "That's Megan's signal. I'll explain later, Malista. Now, don't ruin everything. Just walk by George's quarters. Casually. He's on his way. When you get to his door, stop. When he comes around the corner from the turbolift, smile at him and then start walking again," Delaney whispered. "Go!" She pushed her friend out into the main corridor. Not knowing what else to do, Malista followed directions. She didn't have long to wait. George came around the corner, his steps slowing as he saw her standing there. She smiled at him and started to move past him. "Malista? Were you---looking for me?" he asked, sounding and looking almost wistful. It was an expression that contrasted wildly with his normal self-sufficient demeanor. Malista almost panicked. Jenny hadn't told her what to do if he spoke to her! Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she turned to face him with the smile still in place. "No, George. I wasn't looking for you. Is there some reason I should be?" "I guess not," he said impassively. She turned and continued on her way to the turbolift. She needed to talk to the Delaneys about this. She'd been so preoccupied with other matters, she'd almost forgotten they were plotting against Natwick. The ensign stepped toward the door to his quarters. He halted and studied the door suspiciously. He was a well-trained Security Officer. He quickly found the signs that the manual lock had been tampered with---just as Jenny Delaney had planned. She walked around the corner into view and greeted him with a friendly smile. "Hi, George." She appeared to notice his attention to the door controls. "Is something wrong?" she asked innocently, widening her blue eyes. *********************** Harry pushed his chair back from the table with a groan. "Malista, you're going to be the death of me! Tom's already teasing me about gaining weight! I'll have to replicate a larger uniform if you keep feeding me like this!" She flashed a grin at him as she cleared the plates away. "I didn't force you to have seconds---or was it thirds?" He smiled guiltily. "I never tried dolmades before. How did you get the replicator to--- you're a miracle worker. That has to be the explanation. But you didn't eat very much yourself." "I tend to sample as I'm cooking. By the time it's ready, I'm not very hungry." She returned to the table, intending to get the rest of the dishes. He snagged her waist with one hand and pulled her into his lap. She giggled and slid her arms around his neck. In what had become their own private ritual, he cupped his palm around the nape of her neck and tugged her face down to his for a kiss. "Mmm. B'Elanna was right---as always. Tall people will bend for shorter ones," Harry murmured, nuzzling her neck. "Given sufficient motivation," she whispered, nibbling at the rim of his ear. She felt lighter than usual in his arms. "Have you lost weight?" he asked, trying to keep his concern from showing. She shook her head, avoiding his eyes. "I've worked off a few pounds on the trapeze. Don't want to look chubby when you're wearing tights." After a moment, she asked, "Are you ready for dessert?" She hopped off his lap and took the rest of the dishes to the reclamator. He groaned again. "I don't think I could eat another----" "I made baklava," she called. One of his favorite desserts. He would make room for that. "Maybe later?" Kim got to his feet and stretched before moving toward his music stand and picking up his clarinet. "With coffee?" "I thought you were stuffed?" she teased as she came in and settled on his couch with a padd in hand. "I am. But you put temptation in my path! Forget Aphrodite! I've changed my mind. I think you're more like Circe---an enchantress." He looked up and caught her gazing at him with rapt intensity. "What?" She shook her head, smiling. "Nothing." "No, really. Why are you looking at me like that?" She shrugged. "I don't know. How am I looking at you?" She dropped her eyes shyly to the padd in her hand. He put the clarinet down and came to sit next to her on the couch. He took her hand in his. "Like you're trying to memorize me?" "Oh, but I have to memorize you, Harry. I don't have any pictures of you to look at when you aren't around." She still didn't meet his eyes. He pretended to consider that. "You could always download my service record picture," he suggested. "Harry, do you know how stuffy you look in that one?" she protested, wrinkling her nose at him. She tried to back away from him. He grasped her wrist to keep her near. "Oh, I do, do I? And how would you know that, Crewman Shadow? Have you been sneaking a peek at my service record?" She bit her lip as she nodded. He brought one thumb up to free her lip from its trap between her teeth. "Really? Why?" He was intrigued. "Harry." She was blushing. "Malista," he crooned, smiling broadly. "To tell you the truth---promise not to tell Tom? He'd never stop teasing me about it." His smile widened. "Sure." "I sort of had a crush on you and I got your service record picture---just to look at." She giggled at his astonished countenance. "I know it was childish and silly, but---the first time I saw you, I thought you were very good-looking. Even if that picture does make you look stuffy. I still think you're the handsomest man on the ship." He chose to ignore that ego-building exaggeration. "When?" "When what?" "When did you have a crush on me?" Harry'd had no idea she'd been interested in him at all before Tom had brought them together. In fact, he'd had the impression she didn't like him at all. In hindsight, he decided it was her shyness and self-consciousness that had made her appear unfriendly and standoffish. She tugged her wrists free and brought her hands up to cover her reddened cheeks. "Oh, probably since the second day the Maquis were on Voyager." And of course, he hadn't noticed her at all. "And you didn't know I existed till Tom befriended me." "I must have been blind," he marveled. "No. Just not ready to pay attention to anyone," she said softly. "I saw your service record picture too," Harry replied, not wanting to stay on that topic. Tom had told him repeatedly that Libby was a forbidden subject---at least until Malista was more secure in her own relationship with Harry. "Really? When?" "At the staff meeting when the captain found out you were working two shifts." He thought he saw a flash of guilt in her eyes, but dismissed the idea. She couldn't still be feeling guilty about that piece of deception. That was months ago. "Oh? And what did you think?" she asked coyly. "You weren't smiling at all. You looked stern and forbidding. Scared me half to death," he lied boldly. She smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "Liar. You don't scare that easily." He snatched her hand and kissed her palm. "Remind me and we'll get Tom to take a flattering picture of the two of us. Two pictures. One for your quarters and one for mine." A fleeting shadow crossed her expression, but before he could question her, she pushed him toward the music stand. "Practice, Harry. Practice. You have a concert next week." "Yes, mother," he whined boyishly. He began to play as she settled down to read from the padd. Or at least she was reading every time he looked up from his music. *********************** The doctor looked up as Malista Shadow came through the doorway of his office. "Crewman Shadow, Commander Chakotay tells me you are interested in training to be a field medic." "Yes, sir." She was standing at attention. The hologram indicated the chair opposite his. She sat down. "It will require hours of study and practice, Crewman. Are you willing to make that kind of commitment and effort?" His brusqueness could easily be mistaken for unkindness, but Malista had spent quite a bit of time in Sickbay---as a patient and working on the equipment. She was accustomed to his direct manner and dry wit and not intimidated by him---at least not much. "Yes, sir." He nodded approvingly and held out a padd. "Since our crew is predominantly human, we will begin by studying emergency procedures for the treatment of humans. This will give you information about human anatomy and first aid procedures. I will work with Lieutenant Torres to schedule time for you to work in Sickbay so that you may learn to operate the specialized equipment. If an emergency should arise, you should report here for duty. Unfortunately, this ship seems to experience uncommonly frequent emergencies resulting in traumatic injuries." She looked over the information on the padd, then glanced back up at him. "Thank you, Doctor. Kes tells me you're an excellent instructor." The EMH gave a pleased, slightly embarrassed smile. "She did? Well, of course, she did. I am. My programming---" The doctor missed Kes, his first friend. The Ocampan had been spending less and less time in Sickbay as she pursued other courses of study in various ship's departments in an effort to satisfy her endless curiosity. "I don't think it could be just programming, Doctor. I think part of it is your personality," Malista said thoughtfully. "I am a hologram. I don't have a personality," the doctor announced decisively. Shadow chuckled, "Trust me, Doc. You have a personality. And you're developing a sense of humor. In fact, you remind me of my Uncle Dionysus." "Really? Dionysus?" He seemed to be trying the name on for size. Her lips curved upward as she reminisced. "Yes. He was my favorite uncle. He was a very compassionate man, but many people thought he was forbidding. He frowned a lot, you see." The doctor's brow creased. "Do I do that? Frown? I was not aware of it." "Maybe you should smile more, Doc. But only when you mean it," she added hastily as he peered at his reflection in the polished surface of his desk and stretched his mouth experimentally in a wide, insincere grin that was far more scary than reassuring. The Doctor turned his attention back to her. He studied her appearance for a moment and then said, "Crewman Shadow, your uniform appears to be too large. Have you been losing weight or is there a flaw in the replication system?" She immediately distracted him without answering the question. "Have you heard about my holoprogam? The circus?" "Yes. Kes tells me you and Mr. Paris are going to perform in the next talent show." "I've been getting a lot of exercise there. You know, any good circus needs a ringmaster. In our circus at home, that was my Uncle Dionysus. I was just wondering if you might consider being the ringmaster---the master of ceremonies." "Yes. Yes, of course. I would make an excellent master of ceremonies. I'll find a proper costume in the databanks. Thank you for asking me." Malista got to her feet. "I have to get back to work, Doc." She held up the padd. "I'll get to work on this right away." Recalled from his daydreams of glory as a ringmaster, the doctor nodded briskly. "Of course. When you're ready for another assignment, contact me. I'm available twenty-four hours a day, you know." Malista darted an assessing glance at him. There didn't seem to be any underlying meaning to his words so she smiled at him again. "Bye, Doc." He'd already dismissed her from his mind. He was busily accessing the computer's databanks for information on circuses. *********************** Voyager, as always, was on the lookout for replacement parts or the raw materials with which to create their own parts. According to the starcharts obtained from the Travelers, there were three uninhabited planets in the next system that possessed lush vegetation that would allow the Starfleet crew to stock up on edible plants, fruits, vegetables, and seedlings. Janeway had ordered long range scans of the uninhabited planetary systems which they were approaching. "No humanoid life signs were detected," Ensign Kim reported. "In fact no signs of life at all except for vegetation." "If the planets are as fertile as the Travelers suggest in their report, I'd think someone would have colonized them by now," Chakotay stated. "There was no sign of colonies or space travel. But we did find these," Kim leaned forward and punched a control. The viewscreen sprung to life showing a number of small objects floating in space within the system. "They appear to be artificial satellites of some sort." "Possibly monitoring devices," Torres chimed in. "We received some telemetry from the nearest one, but we haven't been able to make any sense of it." "Some kind of warning buoy?" Lieutenant Tuvok speculated. Paris sent him a disbelieving smile. "Not necessarily. It could be someone is thinking about colonizing these worlds and sent out preliminary probes to gather information." Tuvok raised an eyebrow at the younger man. "An optimistic theory, Mr. Paris, but one with no factual basis." Tom snorted and leaned forward to respond. The captain caught his eyes with hers and the gray steel convinced him to settle back in his chair and await developments. "Keep working on decoding the telemetry, Mr. Kim. I would like to know if we're trespassing before we reach the system and begin harvesting food," Janeway instructed. "Anything further? No? Dismissed." As the rest of the staff filed out of the briefing room, the first officer lingered. Janeway glanced up at him. "Did you have something to discuss, Commander?" "Yes, Captain," he sighed, "but in private." She gestured to the chair next to her as she reseated herself. He sank into his chair and tried to decide how to begin. "Is something wrong?" she asked. "I haven't brought this to your attention before, Captain, because I wanted to find out how serious and widespread the problem is. But I've been having difficulty doing that," Chakotay paused. "It seems there has been a resurgence in tension between the two crews." Janeway's eyes rounded. "Really? I thought we'd gotten past that---after we were marooned by the Kazon on Hanon IV." Chakotay shrugged. "There are still a few hard heads, but basically you're right. Most of the ill feeling had subsided or been worked out. It's experienced a recent revival." "Why?" Janeway was concerned. She cast her mind back over the events of the last few weeks and could think of nothing that should have polarized the crew. "That's part of the problem. No one is talking. To anyone," the first officer elucidated. "The Maquis have----withdrawn from their easy, social relationships. They seem to be watching the 'Fleeters as if they expect an attack. The last time I saw them react this way was when we were in Cardassian space." "Do you think it might have something to do with the crew evaluations and promotions lists we've been working on?" Chakotay shrugged. "I don't know. I suggest we hold off on scheduling the evaluation meetings and announcing the results. It might help ease things a bit. But whatever the cause, the tension has been steadily rising for the past few weeks." "And you have no idea what set this off?" Janeway was puzzled. "No one's talking to me, either. In fact, they're watching me, too. Trying to see what I'm going to do about it. Don't read me wrong, Captain. They aren't actively hostile. They just aren't friendly. And the Starfleet personnel aren't talking either. It seems to be about ten of the Starfleet crew who know what is going on and are somehow involved. In whatever. The others are puzzled, but neutral. It makes for an interesting ambiance in the common areas of the ship," Chakotay added wryly. "I hadn't noticed," Janeway confessed regretfully. "Maybe I need to spend more time socializing." That reminded the commander of the question he'd forgotten to ask before. "Yes, Captain. You did seem to be enjoying yourself at Sandrine's the other night with Tom Paris and his crowd. Would you mind telling me why everyone at your table was staring at me?" To his mild surprise, the captain flicked a grin at him as she remembered the occasion. "Oh, yes. It seems that Tom and Malista invented a game. The object is to identify every crew member with a literary figure. We'd just been discussing the character Malista had chosen to represent you." The grin was now reminiscent of a Tom Paris smirk. Chakotay winced in anticipation as a few ideas of their possible choices for him popped into his head. "And?" "Oberon." She waited for recognition to set in. The light slowly dawned. "The character from Shakespeare? The fairy king?" His voice became progressively louder. "Why?" Janeway's grin widened. "I was hoping you'd ask. Other than 'A Midsummer Night's Dream', other references to Oberon credit him with having the gift of insight into men's thoughts. Malista thought that was appropriate because of your----counseling duties." She was beginning to splutter. Chakotay knew she hadn't reached the punchline. "And?" "And though he's only three feet tall---he has an---angelic face!" At the expression on her first officer's 'angelic face', Janeway succumbed to laughter, falling back in her chair and holding her sides. Chakotay looked bemused. "Angelic face? Me? She thinks *I* have an angelic face?" He grinned at the captain. "Angelic. That's not the word I would have used to describe myself." "That's what * I * said," Kathryn burbled, watching as his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I said bear-like---if you remember? When I was guessing about your animal guide." "Grizzly bear?" the first officer asked impishly. His dimples flashed. Janeway gasped, "That's what *Tom* said! Grizzly or teddy?" Chakotay groaned as she laughed again. "I don't think I want to hear the rest of the conversation, Captain. Unless---" He eyed her speculatively. "Captain, what character did they assign to you?" She sobered in a heartbeat. "I beg your pardon?" She was stalling for time and he knew it so he pressed his advantage. "Captain? What literary figure did they choose to represent you?" She stood and pulled her uniform into perfect alignment. "Commander, don't you have work to do?" She was frowning, but her gray eyes were twinkling. "I'll take that as a challenge, Captain," Chakotay responded. He headed for the door. "And Chakotay?" He paused as the door slid open. "See if you can find out the reason for this unrest?" "Of course, Captain." ********************** Malista Shadow answered the summons to Megan Delaney's quarters and found the twins and Susan Nicoletti waiting for her. Megan insisted on getting refreshments served before she would allow Jenny to begin her first report on the results of their plan to get even with George Natwick. Megan finally settled on the couch next to Malista and nodded at her sister. "Finally," Jenny said with a pout. "You wouldn't believe it! We got him! Boy, did we get him!" "I don't understand," Shadow said. "All I did was walk by his quarters and smile. What was the point of that?" "Oh, I did all the hard work," Jenny scoffed. "After you left. He noticed the door---" "What about the door?" Nicoletti interrupted. "I fiddled with the lock." "She made it look like someone---Malista---had entered his quarters without permission," Megan explained. Malista was aghast. "He could have reported me for breaking and entering!" "But he wouldn't," Jenny said. "That's what I was counting on." 'Mama Bear' Nicoletti began to frown disapprovingly. "Anyway, just about the time he was wondering what you'd been doing in his quarters, innocent little me came along and sympathized with him," Jenny continued. "Remember, at Sandrine's we told him that you were planning to get even with him. He's been looking for some kind of trick from you. And since we warned him, he's not expecting anything from us. Misdirection," Megan added. Jenny made a face at her sister. "Don't break my flow with flashbacks. Okay, where was I? Oh, yeah. He noticed the lock had been tampered with. I was ready to offer all kinds of ideas about what you might have been up to, but George had a few of his own. He actually went and got a tricorder and scanned the door for booby traps before he opened it!" She and Megan laughed. Shadow smiled uneasily. Nicoletti's frown deepened. "And then he spent forty-five minutes going over his quarters---inch by inch, searching for the trick or tricks you'd pulled!" Megan chortled. "What kind of tricks?" Shadow asked blankly. "He checked the bed---to be sure you hadn't short-sheeted it or removed the supports---and all the other furniture for that matter! Even the ceiling tiles and lighting fixtures! Then I batted my eyes and said that if I was going to play a joke on someone I'd do something to the soap. He ran the tricorder over every single item in his quarters! Even his clothing! In fact, he thought of stuff WE never thought of, right, Meg?" Jenny's laughter began to subside. "I still don't get it. What did he think I'd done?" Megan and Jenny exchanged glances. Some people just didn't have a prankster mentality. "Switching his dentifrice with his hair cream. Trick soap that stains the skin or contains an irritant. Shampoo laced with dye. Fixing his plumbing fixtures to leak or reverse pressure or change temperature," Jenny enumerated. "Sabotaging his environmental controls, changing the gravity setting in his quarters, scrambling his replicator, rigging the lighting controls, causing his alarm to go off every hour---" Megan added to the list, breaking off when she and Jenny noticed that Nicoletti and Shadow appeared to be appalled rather than amused. "What?" Jenny exclaimed defensively. "We didn't DO those things. We just let him think we might have---sorry, that *you* might have. He checked for every single one before he gave up. I bet he didn't relax for hours though." "Maybe days," giggled Megan. "Jenny, this has to stop. I don't want you to do anything else to George," Shadow stated. "I was mad at him at first---especially for hitting Harry---but Harry doesn't hold a grudge. He says it's a guy thing. But, I don't want George hurt---or upset. He really sort of did me a favor when he turned me down---you know." Jenny and Megan sighed in unison. "But part three of the plan---" "I agree with Malista," Nicoletti commented. "I think you should stop now. You had a little fun at Natwick's expense. That's enough." "But why---" "Because I think he really does care for Malista," Sue declared. "You could seriously hurt his feelings if you keep this up." "What?" Shadow stared at her friend in surprise. The idea that Natwick might be seriously attracted to her had never even crossed her mind. She still had trouble believing Harry found her attractive. Nicoletti kept her eyes on the twins, trying to impress them with the seriousness of the situation. "I think he likes you. Given some encouragement from you, he might fall in love with you. It's not fair to use that as a weapon against him for a joke." "I don't know what to say. I never meant to---" "I know you didn't, Malista," Sue added soothingly. "You didn't lead him on---at least, not after that one night----well, never mind. Don't worry about it. Just be no more than polite and I'm sure he'll get over it. In time." Jenny and Megan traded glances and came to an agreement. "Okay, Sue. No more jokes." "He might get over it faster, if someone else went after him," Jenny suggested coyly. "Don't you think, Sue?" Nicoletti felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. Megan's eyes rounded. "I didn't think you liked him!" "I don't---didn't." The lieutenant shrugged. "He's changed. Malista had a good effect on him. She softened him up. Made him think about the feelings of other people." "So are you going after him?" Jenny inquired. "I'm thinking about it," Nicoletti declared defiantly. "Any objections?" Her three friends shook their heads slowly. Malista smiled. "I think I need to talk to George though. And tell him I'm NOT going to do anything to him." Jenny snorted. "I don't know if he'll believe you. Not after the way we set it up. He'll think you're trying to lull him into a false sense of security." "You won't tell him it was all OUR idea?" Megan protested. She didn't want reprisals coming back at them when they least expected it. Paranoia was not a comfortable lifestyle. "No, of course not," Shadow said soothingly. "Sue, would you go with me to see him tomorrow?" "Sure." The two of them got to their feet and left. "Rats," Jenny muttered. "I had another really good idea, too." "Save it for next time, Jen. There's bound to be someone else who will tick us off soon enough," Megan said consolingly. "True enough," her sister replied. With an evil smile she murmured, "It's never wise to cross a Delaney. We Irish can hold grudges like nobody's business." "Well, we could go ahead and plan what we'll do to whoever our next victim will be," Megan suggested. "It wouldn't hurt to plan ahead. It will save time." The two exchanged wicked grins and got out a datapadd. ********************* It was the middle of Beta shift. B'Elanna Torres was gleefully writing her final report concerning the completion of Engineering's last major project, the replacement of faulty power couplings in almost every system in the ship. Tom Paris was at loose ends. He had finished dinner and was on his way to Holodeck Two to run some flight simulations he'd been working on. He needed to test them for himself and classify them according to level of difficulty before beginning to teach the next round of his piloting course. "Lieutenant Paris?" The voice came from behind him. Tom stopped and turned to see Ensign Ethan Simms approaching. "Hello, Ethe. What's up?" "I was looking for you," Simms said, his face flushing, then he ground to a halt, as if considering his words carefully. From the look on the young ensign's face, he had something to say---and Tom had a feeling he didn't want to hear it. That look reminded Paris of others he'd received---that usually preceded a reference to either Caldik Prime or Tom's prison record. He'd seen that look more times than he cared to remember. "You found me," he replied casually. Paris' mask of politeness descended and his body stiffened, aware of a slight twinge of disappointment. He hadn't expected his past to be an issue with Ethan Simms. He'd thought they'd moved beyond that with their shared experiences on Voyager had created a positive relationship between them. Tom considered Ethan a friend---and he'd thought it was mutual. Paris' courteous, but suddenly distant, smile threw Simms off balance. "Lieutenant?" he said cautiously. "Yes?" The pilot waited patiently, bracing himself mentally for what was to come. "Could we talk? I mean, could I buy you a drink at Sandrine's? I want to ask you a question," Simms said hesitantly. "I mean, if you have the time? I'm on my lunch break." Tom felt himself relaxing slightly. So it wasn't the usual thing? Tom told himself he was being overly suspicious. Maybe Ethan just wanted some advice on his relationship with Janine? Well, he could make time for that. "Sure, Ethan," Paris replied. "I have a few minutes." Simms waited until they were seated and had taken the first sip of their raktajinos before speaking again. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, Lieutenant," he began. "Tom. I'm off duty." "Tom, I don't want you to think I'm being nosy---" Paris studied him cautiously. "Ethan, I won't know what to think, if you never finish a sentence. Come on. Out with it! Is this about the betting pool? You want me to settle a bet?" Ethan's fair complexion turned rosy in an instant. "No, sir! I mean, I wouldn't ask about your, uh, personal life just to settle a bet!" "I heard you and Mik really cleaned up!" Tom teased. "Betting that Harry and Malista would get back together. Smart move." Simms cleared his throat. "To tell you the truth, I have a question about Malista---Crewman Shadow---but I don't want to---I'm not sure if I should bring this up. I don't want to make trouble, so I didn't say anything to Lieutenant Torres, but I thought you might know if there's any reason---" Tom's humor evaporated in an instant. "What about Malista?" he said tersely. His protective instincts surged to the surface at the mention of her name. The younger man held up a placating hand. "It's not about the rumors---the ones about you and her and Torres." Paris lounged back in his chair, forcing himself to at least appear relaxed. "So what is it about?" "Do you know if Lt. Torres assigned---Is Malista supposed to be working overtime?" Ethan blurted. The pilot raised an eyebrow at him. "I mean---well, the thing is---Last week I was down in the shuttlebay---and Malista was there working on one of the shuttles. She said she was putting in a little overtime." "So? Everyone does that now and then," the lieutenant commented. "But that was when I was working Gamma shift," Ethan explained. "I mean, she's assigned to Alpha shift. If she was going to put in overtime, wouldn't that be during the beginning of Beta? Or the end of Gamma, just before her Alpha shift started?" Paris nodded slowly. "Yeah. That does seem odd. Maybe she had insomnia?" Paris occasionally suffered from insomnia himself. It seemed a logical supposition. Simms shrugged and stirred his raktajino. "Was that all? Or was there more to it?" Paris asked, trying to interpret the other man's expression. The ensign sighed and put down his mug. "I don't know if I should mention it, Lieutenant, I mean, Tom. I may be wrong. I might be seeing things that aren't there, you know? Sometimes Security men do that. It's part of our training---being ready to prevent trouble before it starts." Paris leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and gazed at the younger man intently. "Ethan, nothing you can tell me will hurt Malista. I know the kind of gossip you've probably heard---" He waved a hand to dismiss Simms' protest. "On a ship this size, gossip is a fact of life. The problem is sorting the fact from the fiction. The fact is this: As far as I'm concerned, I've adopted Malista Shadow as my sister. That's the way I think of her. We're not romantically involved. If anything, she's falling in love with my best friend, Harry Kim. If there's anything I can do to help her, I want to know about it." Ethan looked Tom straight in the eye. "I don't know if it means anything, but when I saw Malista in the shuttlebay, she seemed upset. She tried to pretend everything was fine, but--- I don't know exactly what I mean. She's pretty good at hiding her feelings most of the time, but I'm a trained observer and she was---rattled. She seemed nervous. She jumped a foot when I came out of the shuttle." Paris opened his mouth, but Simms continued, "I know. She's always nervous around men. But she was never nervous around me before---at least not after the first couple of weeks on Voyager---after we'd spent some time together in the Security Office. And she was very antsy in the shuttlebay, but she wouldn't talk to me or tell me why. I didn't think much of it at the time, but the more I think about it---Like I said, it may be nothing, but she's so---" He gave up on words and shrugged. "She always looks like she's sure of herself and in control, but it's just a front. She seems so---defenseless." Paris dipped his head in acknowledgment. "I know. That's why I've tried to help protect her. But she's trying to handle things on her own now. She hasn't been confiding in me." "I just thought I should tell someone. In case there is something wrong. She couldn't be sleeping much. She was around a lot last week during Gamma shift. I noticed---because I checked," Simms concluded, getting to his feet. "Thanks, Ethe." Paris stood and slapped the young man on the shoulder. "I appreciate your concern. Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it. You're a good friend. To me and to her." To Tom's amusement, Simms blushed a fiery red. "I felt like I kind of owed you one, sir. If it wasn't for you, Janine might have gotten tired of anonymous love letters and gone after someone who wasn't afraid to come right out and talk to her," he confided. A bark of laughter escaped Tom. "Ha! That's what you think, Ethan. Don't tell her I told you, but Janine had your number from the time Voyager left DS9! You never had a prayer of escaping!" "Really?" He hoped the lieutenant wasn't kidding him. It was too good to be true---that Janine had wanted him as much as he had wanted her. "Really." Tom watched as Simms grinned and flew out of the holodeck as if doing an impression of Hermes. The pilot shook his head. Had he ever been that young? Sometimes he didn't think so. He sighed, then slapped his commbadge. "Computer, location of Crewman Shadow?" "Crewman Shadow is in her quarters," the bland voice replied. "Is Crewman Shadow alone? Who's with her?" "Please restate a single question." Paris sighed his exasperation with the computer's single-mindedness. "Is Crewman Shadow alone?" "No." Tom frowned. "Computer, list all occupants of Crewman Shadow's quarters." "Crewman Malista Shadow and Ensign Harry Kim." Tom thought for a moment. He didn't want to interrupt anything. "Computer, notify me when Crewman Shadow leaves her quarters." "Confirmed." The pilot proceeded to Holodeck Two to run his flight sims. Simulations were exciting and challenging---without risking death or injury to others in case something didn't go as planned. He loved increasing the level of difficulty. Most of the time when he got to do any challenging piloting, there was too much going on to really take time to enjoy the thrill of it. This was going to be fun! **************** Malista Shadow was no more than five feet from the door to her quarters when her commbadge signaled. "Paris to Shadow." She froze for a moment. It was almost 0100. Why would Tom be calling her now? An emergency? "Shadow here," she replied cautiously. "Malista, come to Holodeck One, will you?" He didn't seem upset. "Why? It's late, Tom. I was just going to bed," she said and tried to do a convincing yawn. "Really? And where were you going to sleep? I know you're not in your quarters," he stated flatly. "Or Harry's." She didn't have an answer. "I'll be right there." She turned back to her cabin to leave her toolkit before making her way to the holodeck. Sandrine's was running. The holodeck characters were the only ones keeping Tom Paris company. He was sitting at the piano, idly picking out a tune when she came in. He took one look at her face and knew her shields were up---full strength. There was no point in a frontal assault. He'd have to find another approach. Maybe a sneak attack? A flanking maneuver? "Malista, come look at this," he invited, keeping his tone light and pretending there was nothing unusual about his summoning her to the holodeck in what was essentially the wee hours of the morning for them. He gestured to the sheet music on the piano. She approached slowly and seated herself on the bench next to him. "I thought you didn't read music," she commented as she scanned the sheet. "I don't. The Delaneys played the recording of the music for me. I learned it by ear. The sheet music is so I can learn the words. You want to try it?" he asked casually. He began to play. She listened, following the up and down pattern of the notes on the music to give her eyes something to focus on. She didn't read music either. She would have said she 'read at' music. She began to hum the tune. Malista frowned as she read the words. "What is this, Tom?" He smiled wryly. "It's from a musical play. Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella." "Cinderella? The fairy tale? What are you doing with this? And why would the Delaneys--- " Tom paused and grinned at her. "Actually---" "Oh, no," she said quickly. "What?" he replied with faux innocence. "They want *you* to sing it with them?" Hopefully. He shook his head, still grinning. "Then I don't---" She broke off at the glint in his blue eyes. He nodded. "Oh, no," she repeated. Paris turned his attention back to the keys and started playing once more. "I don't sing in public." He slid a sidelong glance at her. "I don't," she said more emphatically. "I do *not* sing in public." He kept playing. "This is where you come in." "Except I'm not going to." The tune was catchy. She knew she'd be humming it for days. "I won't sing at one of Harry's concerts either." He said nothing. He kept playing. After a few moments, she said. "Tom." He turned his head. "Yes, Malista?" "Why? Why Cinderella?" He grinned once more. "I was waiting for you to ask." She swatted his arm lightly. "So tell me." "It seems the members of Voyager Drama Company want to try their hand at a musical. This is one of the simplest to produce. And the music is surprisingly easy to sing," he added. "IF you have a voice---and an ear." "I don't sing in public," she reiterated. "You said that." "I got the feeling you weren't listening," she replied tartly. Tom winked at her. "Gosh, Malista, you don't think they're offering you the lead, do you? What an ego!" She frowned. "That song is Cinderella's. If they aren't offering me the lead, why are you bothering me with this?" He raised his eyebrows. "Have you ever heard the Delaneys sing?" Her frown deepened at the apparent non sequitur. "No, not really. Well, sort of. But we were all so drunk at the time---" "The blue stuff?" "Yeah." She winced as she remembered the aftereffects of the alien hard liquor from a planet called Dynos Six. "My first and last drunk. So what about the Delaneys and their singing?" Tom considered his words. "Let's just say---you don't want to hear them sing when you're sober." "What?" She chuckled. "They can't be that bad." Paris rounded his eyes. "Oh, yeah, they can. I mean, they start out all right, but then they sort of---lose the tune? Or maybe it's that they change keys----without warning. And singing is one of the few things they *don't* seem to do in unison. Unfortunately." "And they want to do a *musical*?" Tom threw his hands in the air then dropped them to his knees. "The way they explain it--- it almost starts to make sense." Malista half smiled. She'd begun to relax, intrigued by the twins' latest ploy to relieve the tedium of the voyage home. "I can't wait to hear this." "They want to play Cinderella. Both of them," he added to forestall her next question. "It's supposed to save time for costume changes. Jenny will play the peasant Cinderella and Megan will play Cinderella at the ball. Or vice-versa. I think they're still fighting that one out." Malista bit her lip. She could almost hear that argument raging. "They want to play the lead in a musical, but neither of them can sing?" "Their latest brainstorm is that you'll stand backstage and sing and they'll be in front of the audience lip-synching." Tom tried to hide his own amusement and make the sisters' argument sound convincing. "Why not use a recording?" she inquired skeptically. "You know, that's just what I said," Paris replied with exaggerated sweetness. "They said it would be more authentic to have live music." "More *authentic*? When they're *pretending* to sing?" Shadow gasped, trying not to succumb to hilarity. "Are they planning on keeping this a secret?" "I think that's the idea," Tom sniggered. "And guess who they want to play Prince Charming's part?" Malista's smile widened. "You? I told you that you looked like a prince in a fairy tale!" she crowed. "Uh-huh. But I'm not going to do it! And since I wouldn't agree to *play* the prince, I'll be singing for---Freddie Bristow." Shadow began to giggle. "Freddie? Do they realize that the one who plays Cinderella at the ball has to kiss him?" Paris raised one eyebrow. "That may be another reason why they're still arguing over who will play which part," he said thoughtfully. "Why can't he sing for himself?" "Totally tone-deaf. Couldn't carry a tune with an antigrav unit." Paris began to laugh. She joined him for a moment. As her giggles subsided, she shook her head. "I can't believe those two. Are you going to do it?" Tom waggled his eyebrows at her. "That depends on you, Sis." "Why?" "I told them I would---if you would." She punched his shoulder, less lightly this time. "You rat! You know they'll be positively pestiferous until I agree to do it." "And no one can be more persistent than those redheads," Tom agreed amiably. "Besides it's partly your fault. You're the one who called them off before Jenny got to implement her full plan to get revenge on George Natwick. All the synergy of scheming and plotting had to be invested in something. Just be grateful it's something as harmless as performing in a play. Pardon me, a 'musical' play." "Do they really think they can keep my singing for them a secret?" She couldn't believe that anyone would seriously believe a secret of that nature could be kept private on a ship as small as Voyager, especially during a performance. "Naw. They don't care. They've dragged me into listening to the score of every musical they've ever fantasized about performing. Now they've made up their minds and want to do this play in the worst way. And heaven help anyone who interferes! I think it's a childhood fantasy or something." Tom began to play once more. "So you might as well give in gracefully right now and learn the songs." "Songs? How many?" "Four. They cut one for the sake of time. Come on, try this one!" After a couple of false starts, the two of them managed a satisfactory duet performance of 'Ten Minutes Ago', the waltz number from the scene in the ballroom. "See, that wasn't so bad," Tom stated. "It's easily in your range and it's catchy." "I still don't think it will work," Shadow complained, then was caught off guard by a tremendous yawn. "You've lost weight. You have circles under your eyes. You have to be on duty in less than six hours. Sis, why aren't you sleeping?" he asked gently. "Why aren't you?" she asked defensively. Tom shrugged and played a sad sounding tune. "I'm worried about you." Her eyes dropped. "I'm okay." "I want you to be better than okay," he said, gently tugging on her wrist and bringing her into the circle of his arms for a hug. She leaned into him for a moment, then straightened, keeping his arm on her shoulder as she began toying with his long, slender fingers. "You want to talk about it?" Tom asked. His free hand tinkered with the piano keys. "What?" "Malista," he growled warningly. "Talking about it won't help," she retorted. "How do you know until you try it?" Paris replied reasonably. His eyes were sincere and tender. He'd dropped his mask of unconcern for her. She felt something cold that had taken up residence in her heart begin to melt in the blue hot warmth of those eyes. She missed her older brothers fiercely. She was so glad Tom had adopted her. "Talking can't change facts, Tom. It can't change the past. But thank you...for caring." Tom scowled at her. "Come on, Malista. Don't shut me out! It might help. Talk to me." "How am I supposed to handle my own problems, when every time I turn around you're looming over my shoulder? I don't want you getting in trouble because of me." "What kind of trouble?" "Tom, I know you. If I tell you that someone hurt my feelings, you're going to want to do something about it!" "And what's wrong with that?" he demanded. "Sometimes you'll just make the situation worse. There are some things I need to work out. I need to learn how to stand up for myself. Not hide behind you or Harry---as tempting as that thought might be." Paris frowned and stuck his lower lip out in a dramatic pout. "Why not?" "Because I said so," she said, glowering at him. "Is there anything I *can* help you with?!" he exclaimed with some exasperation. She eyed him askance for a moment. "Maybe. You have a lot of experience with women, don't you?" He stiffened, then consciously forced himself to relax. She wasn't being judgmental. She must have a reason for asking. "I wouldn't say 'a lot', but I have some experience. Why?" He wasn't sure why it felt funny to tell her even that much. She sighed. "I'm worried about---sex." She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye to read his reaction. Tom blinked. "Oh. Uh....what about it?" He looked so discomfited she almost felt like giggling. "Harry and I haven't---you know. We've been working up to it---in stages," she reported reluctantly. "Malista!" Tom interrupted, his eyes widening as he suddenly recognized why he felt so uncomfortable in this discussion. "I don't think I can talk to you about this. About almost anything else---but not this." She stared at him blankly. She'd become accustomed to talking to him about all kinds of disquieting topics. He'd always helped her. It had never been a problem before. "Why not?" She was too surprised to feel hurt or rejected. "You're my *sister*!" Tom exclaimed. "It's just way too weird! I can't talk with you about---*sex*! " With the emphasis he gave the word, Malista half expected him to spell it rather than say it. She stared at him with a befuddled frown. "Tom, you *do* remember," she asked, "that I'm *not* actually your sister?" His jaw dropped for a split second, but he recovered quickly. "Of course," he replied nonchalantly as he regained his composure. "I remember that." She didn't believe him. She bit her upper lip to prevent a smile from breaking free. "Are you sure?" Paris winked at her. "Brat! Stop picking on me. Come on. Tell me the problem. Just don't get too---specific, okay?" He shook his head. He couldn't believe the situations he got himself into. The Paris luck? She ducked her head. "I wasn't planning to. It's just---I want Harry. Really, I do. And he wants me. I think. No, I know he does." She blushed as she thought of the evidence he had given that led her to that conclusion. "So what's the problem?" Paris paused. When she didn't respond, he ventured a guess. "Huldon III?" She nodded mutely. "Are you having flashbacks?" "N-no," she stammered. "Not exactly." "Then what?" "It's just that when we get to---this is embarrassing. Don't look at me," she commanded. "Yes, ma'am." He obediently turned his gaze to the piano keys and concentrated on trying not to say anything stupid that might drive her back into her shell. "Well, we start kissing and, uh...." She stopped to clear her throat. "But when we get to a certain point....uh..." "What point would that be?" Tom inquired, sneaking a peek at her. She glowered at him, caught between anger and self-consciousness. "At the point when articles of clothing start getting in the way," she muttered. "Oh. Go on." Paris tried not to let his imagination supply any unwanted details. For a moment he honestly had forgotten that she wasn't his younger sister and the idea of her with a man---even if the man was Harry--- He refused to think about it. It made him uneasy. He knew too much about almost everything that could go right or wrong in a relationship. Being a reformed rake was hell on the nerves. "Well, about the time we reach that point, I---freeze up. No matter how hard I try to stay relaxed and, uh, focused---I freeze up. And Harry notices---" "I should hope he would!" Paris said indignantly. "Tom! I can't tell you about this if you're going to---" "All right! All right!" he said placatingly. "I'll shut up. So you freeze up and then?" "And then---we stop," she said, sounding disappointed and confused. "I tried to tell Harry we should turn off the lights and---just do it! But he wouldn't listen to me!" "Malista!" He was shocked. He knew she was inexperienced, but hadn't expected this level of naiveté. Her face turned sullen. "I told him I didn't mind. I expect a little physical pain---or at least- --I don't know. I guess I'm a little scared. But I'm tougher than I look. I can stand pain. I'm not afraid of that. Why can't we just----do it and get the first time over with? I'm sure it would be better after that. I guess. Wouldn't it?" Tom's hands flew to the sides of his head, the heels of his hands pressed to his temples. He rocked back and forth on the bench as he tried to come up with something constructive to say. When he thought he finally had a grip on himself, he began cautiously, "Malista?" She was frowning resentfully at his histrionics. "Malista, what did Harry say when you told him to---uh, just---whether you were ready or not?" "He said that maybe I could handle the pain or fear, but he couldn't handle *causing* me pain or fear," she replied softly. She felt a lone tear trickle down her cheek. Tom sighed his relief. He hadn't underestimated his best friend. He untangled his fingers from hers and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Malista, maybe you're trying to move ahead too quickly---" "That's what Harry said. Harry says we should take our time. But, Tom, I don't *want* to take too much time," she moaned. "I'm afraid----" His arm encircled her shoulders once more. "Afraid of what, Sis?" "I'm more afraid of losing him---than of sex," she mumbled. He shook her. "You're not going to lose him. Why should you?" "Because men want---he wants---if I can't---what if I can't *ever*---" Tom cupped her chin in his palm and turned her face up to his. "Malista, you're scaring yourself for no reason. You're rushing things. You're still recovering from a traumatic---" "How long will I be recovering, Tom? It happened five years ago. When will I ever be normal?" she begged, her tears overflowing and spilling down her cheeks. Paris could feel his own eyes filling. "I don't know, Sis. I can't answer that one. But you're working on it and you're getting better every day. Remember, your feelings were on pause for most of those five years. You weren't dealing with the problem then. You were just hiding from it. Recovery takes time. Give yourself some. You can wait to have sex---make love until the time is right for you. There's no rush." "But Harry---" "Harry will wait," Tom stated calmly. "If I know Harry Kim, he doesn't want to have sex with you. He wants to make love with you. There's a difference. Believe me, I know. But you only get *one chance* at a first time. And to make love---both people have to want it--- not just be willing to endure it. When the time is right for you---you'll know. And so will Harry." Her green eyes mirrored her confusion and a desperate hope to believe he was right. "It may take---months," she gulped. "How many cold showers can he stand? How long will he wait?" "As long as it takes," Harry Kim said slowly and emphatically as he came to stand beside her. His hand cupped her cheek as she gazed up at him with wide eyes. His dark eyes captured hers, sending a message of love and understanding as clearly as if he'd written it on the wall. "I have a high tolerance for cold showers. It's a well-known Kim family trait." She blinked back her tears and smiled lovingly up at him. "How long---" Tom began grouchily. "I came in about the time you remembered she wasn't really your sister," Harry taunted, his dark eyes never leaving Shadow's. "I thought you were doing pretty well, so I let you handle it." "Thanks a lot," his friend muttered, the blue eyes promising retribution at some later date. "Harry, I---" She stopped, at a loss for words, and bit her lower lip. "Stop that. It makes it harder for me to kiss you properly without hurting you," Kim protested gently, using his thumb to lightly pull her lip free of her teeth. She moved out of Tom's light embrace and got to her feet. Harry pulled her into his arms. "Oh, Harry. I'm sorry. I should have talked to you---" She wrapped herself around him. "Sometimes it's easier to talk to your brother," Harry murmured. "I understand that." "Actually, Tom ambushed me," she said, sending an accusing look over her shoulder at her 'brother'. "Or I wouldn't have talked to him either!" "Yeah? He's good at that. Come on, Legs. Let's get you back to your quarters. We all have to be on duty tomorrow---oops! Later this morning," he corrected. "Legs?" she echoed. "Legs?" Tom questioned sardonically, as much to relieve the tension as to tease them. "Legs," Harry repeated. He directed his eyes to Shadow's long, shapely legs. She pulled away from his hug and frowned at him with mock anger. "I do not want a nickname that comes from a body part!" They bickered amiably on the subject of nicknames as they left. Paris shut down the program and started for his own quarters, smiling tiredly. A thought struck him. 'I never did ask her why she was working two shifts again. Oh, well. I'll get to that some other time. And how the hell did Harry know where to find us? Shouldn't he be asleep by now? Doesn't anybody on this ship ever behave the way you expect them to?' ******************* "Carey to Lt. Torres." B'Elanna took her attention away from the warp core console to answer the hail. "Torres here. Go ahead." "Lieutenant, did you say you wanted the navigational systems on the Cochrane repaired?" "Yes. They were damaged on the last away mission. Why? Is there a problem?" she snapped impatiently. "No, not exactly," Carey replied. "It's just that the work's already been done. And the anodyne relays in Shuttlebay Two have already been repaired as well." He had been assigned to those two projects as soon as his shift had begun. "Just a second." B'Elanna got the padd containing her prioritized list of repairs and checked it. "Joe, I don't understand it. I only made this list yesterday! It can't possibly be outdated. Okay, never mind. I must have forgotten I gave that assignment to someone else. Neelix is reporting a problem with environmental controls in the messhall. Go check that out then report back here." "Acknowledged." B'Elanna studied the padd with a scowl. She was usually so organized, but this had happened more than once lately. There must be a better way of keeping track of the completed repairs. She'd revamped her record-keeping system a week ago, but the problem persisted. Malista Shadow passed her through her field of vision. B'Elanna's eyes narrowed in suspicion that quickly became a certainty. "Shadow!" she called. Malista came to stand in front of her, gazing down at the chief engineer. "Yes, Lieutenant?" Torres studied her carefully. "If you're going to work overtime, Crewman Shadow, I expect you to file reports on assignments completed. Promptly." Shadow's eyes darted away for a moment then returned to meet B'Elanna's gaze with a shuttered expression. "I beg your pardon, Lieutenant?" "And you should," Torres agreed. "I don't appreciate your failure to update the repair log. You're supposed to note the time and date you complete the work, Crewman. It allows the computer to keep track of the need for routine maintenance and schedule it at appropriate intervals." Shadow didn't speak. Anything she said would be tantamount to a confession ---or a denial. And she didn't want to lie to her superior officer---not to mention to her friend, B'Elanna Torres. She swallowed hard and waited. She didn't know how Torres would react to her flagrant disregard of the captain's orders that she was only to work one shift. She certainly didn't want to have to face the captain again on the same issue either. This time she'd be all alone. Last time, at least Niko had been there to lend silent support as she faced the captain's reprimand. B'Elanna's regard softened. She was becoming adept at reading the emotions behind the mask. Becoming closer to Tom Paris had taught her that necessary skill. "Malista, I'm not angry---exactly. Other than making me think I was losing my mind, there's been no harm done. Your work has always been excellent." Shadow cleared her throat. "Thank you, Lieutenant." "However," Torres added before the taller woman could relax. "I don't want this to happen again. If you're having trouble sleeping, find another solution. If you're bored---maybe I can help with that." Malista smiled tentatively. "I wouldn't exactly say being bored was the problem." "I heard you got some workout programs from Ensign Natwick," Torres said. "I could use a good workout. You want a partner?" Shadow's smile widened. "Yes, ma'am. I haven't tried any of them yet." "Fine. The captain wants the Engineering staff to enjoy some time off on a rotating basis. Let's make that a date. Tomorrow? Around 1400?" Malista nodded her head in agreement. "And Malista? Next time you repair something---enter it in the log. And you only work your assigned shift. Is that clear?" "Yes, ma'am. Uh..." B'Elanna looked up at her. "There may be a few more things I should log, Lieutenant," Malista said. She reached past Torres and started marking off the other assignments she'd 'unofficially' handled. It was quite a list. ********************** Ensign George Natwick was sitting alone at a table in the messhall when Sue Nicoletti and Malista Shadow approached him, trays in hand. "May we join you, George?" He looked wary, but nodded. There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence as they settled in and prepared themselves for a brave undertaking---eating Neelix's valinck tuber casserole, a greenish-brown substance with an unappealing gelatinous consistency. Malista poked her portion gingerly with a fork. It quivered. She wrinkled her nose and shuddered. "The good news is: it didn't crawl off the plate," Natwick summarized sardonically. Malista glanced up to find his brown eyes studying her dubious expression with a hint of amusement. She hesitantly smiled. "If that's the good news...." "You don't want to know." He returned her smile with one of his own. It changed and softened his somewhat menacing appearance. Sue Nicoletti cleared her throat. Both pairs of eyes darted toward her. "George, we wanted to talk to you. Clear up a misunderstanding." She looked significantly at Malista, hoping the younger woman would remember her lines. "Uh, yes. George, somehow a rumor got started that I was going to---uh----" All amusement faded from his face. "Get even with me?" Malista nodded quickly. "I'm not. I wanted you to know that. I didn't break into your quarters either. I heard someone say you thought I had. I also heard that you were---" "Anticipating an attack?" he supplied expressionlessly. She winced. "Yes. I'm sorry. I was angry at you---for hitting Harry. But I should never have let---anyone think I was going to do something. I didn't mean to make you---" "Paranoid?" Again he finished her sentence. "Don't worry about it, Malista. Security Officers are frequently paranoid to some degree or another. So? Friends?" He extended his hand. She smiled with relief, grasped his hand and shook it. His eyes met hers intently as if he was trying to read her thoughts. He didn't release her hand. His thumb caressed the palm of her hand. "Sickbay to Crewman Shadow." Malista gently tugged her hand free and slapped her commbadge. "Shadow here." The EMH's voice came through the commsystem. "Crewman, if you're free, please come to Sickbay. I have an opportunity for you to practice your healing skills." "I'll be right there." Smiling regretfully at Sue and George, she got to her feet. She made a move to pick up her tray, but Sue waved her away. Malista walked briskly out the door, accompanied by Crewman Gerron Tem, who had, coincidentally, just finished his lunch and felt the need to go to Deck Five. Natwick's eyes followed her until she was out of sight. "You've got it bad," Nicoletti commented neutrally. The ensign jumped as if he'd forgotten she was there. "Sorry?" "George, she's in love with Harry Kim. I don't think that's going to go away any time soon." The big man flushed. He fixed his gaze on his lunch. "I don't get it. Why *him*?" She sighed. "I don't know. He's attractive, I suppose. Though I've always thought of him more as brother material myself." Natwick looked at Nicoletti carefully, as if seeing her for the first time. "There's no accounting for tastes, I guess. If it weren't for Kim, I might have---no, maybe not. I've never been good at relationships." "Maybe you never tried one with the right person?" Sue suggested, flirting with her hazel eyes. It might be too soon, but then again, why not plant a seed? "Maybe." Natwick smiled. ********************** "Ms. Shadow, do you have some scientific rationale that leads you to believe that protruding the tip of your tongue out of the corner of your mouth will in some manner facilitate the healing process or increase your efficiency?" the doctor asked curiously. Malista smiled and quickly withdrew the offending member. "No, Doctor. It's a habit. I always wind up sticking my tongue out when I concentrate. Or biting my lower lip." The doctor nodded sagely. "I will note that under nervous habits in my aberrant behavior index." Joe Carey snorted. "If that's your idea of aberrant behavior, you need to get out more, Doc." He shook his head and smiled his thanks at Malista as she put the last touches on healing the cut on his hand with the dermal regenerator. The doctor checked her work and gave Carey his dismissal. The engineer jumped down off the biobed and departed to finish the job he'd started in Engineering. "You're doing very well, Ms. Shadow. You learn quickly. I also noticed you have a light touch." "Thank you, Doctor." She hesitated as she turned toward the exit. "Was there something else?" The doctor's study of human behavior and habits had included extensive research on nonverbal clues. He had deemed this necessary since the members of this particular crew seemed reluctant to ask for his help in a direct manner. In fact, for some reason he found unfathomable many of them seemed to do their best to avoid him altogether. "If you have some time, I'd like to talk to you---about something personal," she said, casting a nervous glance at the floor. "Of course. Step into my office, Ms. Shadow." "Could you call me Malista?" she requested as they seated themselves on opposite sides of his desk. He was gratified by the request. He was not on a first name basis with many of the crewmembers. "Malista, what did you wish to discuss?" "Doctor, what do you know about treating the traumatic effects of rape?" The doctor was clearing his desk as he spoke. "As you may know, I am programmed with information from two thousand medical reference source materials, as well as with the experience of forty-seven Starfleet medical officers. I am certain that I can answer any question you may have---Malista." When she didn't speak, he raised his eyes. As he watched, a single tear trickled down the young woman's cheek. Since he had been activated, he could not recall seeing such a desolate expression in the eyes of any crewmember. He was swiftly reminded that she was not asking about an objective case study. She was asking for help with a personal tragedy. Her mouth worked as she tried to formulate words. She couldn't. Another tear fell. Then another. She impatiently dashed the tears away with her fingertips. "Malista," the doctor sputtered, "I apologize. I don't mean to sound callous or indifferent. I've never been asked to deal with this particular problem---and I will admit that bedside manner is not my greatest strength. If you'd prefer to talk to Kes---" "No! It's all right. I promised myself I wouldn't cry," she said, angry with herself. "You have every reason to cry," the doctor corrected in a softer voice. "You have been injured. It is an injury that can't be healed instantaneously. I am sorry." The tears were rolling freely down her cheeks now. "I don't think I ever cried about this before," she sighed, her voice strangled. "I mean, it's not like it does any good." The Doctor came around his desk and supplied her with a box of tissues. With some hesitancy, he brought his hand up and awkwardly patted her shoulder. Studies showed that such contact was perceived as supportive and comforting in situations of stress. He was so obviously uncomfortable in dealing with a crying woman, Malista almost found it in herself to feel amused. She took a deep breath and managed to shut off the flow of tears. She reached up and captured his hand, rubbing it lightly across her cheek. "Thank you." "You're quite welcome. Any time," the doctor said, regaining his seat and leaning forward, elbows on his desk. He arranged his features in what he hoped was a sympathetic countenance. "Are you ready to talk about it now?" She blew her nose and cleared her throat. "I think so." ********************** Malista was on her way from Sickbay back to Engineering. For the first time in a long time, she was alone. The corridors were deserted. She stepped into the turbolift. Crewman Paul Castelle was the only occupant. He was going to Deck Fourteen. She almost stepped right back out again. He grinned at her insolently, making a mockingly inviting gesture with his hands. Holding her head up high, she moved to the far side of the turbolift, as far away from him as she could manage and said, "Deck Eleven." The turbolift began to move. "Still playing hard to get?" His voice was challenging, provoking. "No one believes that game, Shadow. Everyone knows you're dividing your time between Paris and Kim---and now maybe Gerron? You must be something really special. What do I have to do to get on your list?" She swallowed hard. "Leave me alone." It wasn't said with much conviction, but it was all she could manage to say around the solid lump that seemed to have materialized in her throat. She dropped her eyes and stared at her boots, but watched him using her peripheral vision, alert for any move towards her. His eyes roving over her with undisguised lust, he opened his mouth to say something else, but the lift doors slid open at that moment. Head down, she stepped out and quickly started walking away. She plowed right into someone coming the other way. Her eyes flew up as she bounced off a massive chest and tumbled backwards. It was Ensign George Natwick. With the quicksilver reflexes of a Caldorian cougar, he pounced forward, catching her upper arms, and pulling her upright again. He set her on her feet, holding on until she regained her balance. He was frowning with misgiving as he noticed her distraction and her pallor. "Malista, are you all right?" "George," she breathed his name, as if relieved to recognize him. She almost achieved a smile before her lips began to tremble. She bit down on her lower lip to force it into stillness. Without conscious thought, her eyes darted apprehensively over her shoulder in the direction of the turbolift. "Are you all right?" he repeated, slowly releasing her arms. He wasn't sure how steady on her feet she actually was. She didn't look good. Her color was off and she looked on edge- --as if any sudden movement might startle her into headlong flight. With an effort that was visible, she resumed her air of calm control. "I'm fine," she said, with a nervous, unconvincing smile. "Excuse me." She stepped past him and moved away on slightly unsteady legs. Natwick's face was shuttered as he tried to fit the puzzle pieces together. She looked positively traumatized. If Harry Kim was playing games with Malista again---He slapped his commbadge. "Computer, identify the occupants of turbolift one, during its last stop on Deck Eleven." "The occupants of turbolift one were Crewman Malista Shadow and Crewman Paul Castelle," the bland voice replied. Natwick pushed the call button for the turbolift as he mulled that over. His expression was not pleasant. ********************** Harry Kim was working in the ship's library doing research on the type of energy signature emitted by the probes to see if it correlated with any information they'd been given by any of the races they'd encountered. He wasn't sure why, but he'd become aware that Diane Russell, the ship's librarian, was eyeing him with a frown of disapproval which disconcerted him. It was rather like being glared at by a cute, fluffy, blonde kitten. She was normally shy, but not unfriendly. Kim tried a polite smile as she brought him the padd he'd requested. She didn't return it. "Is that all you need, Ensign?" Her tone was totally cool and professional. With a bemused expression, Harry nodded and returned his attention to the task before him. Approximately an hour later, he put the padd down. He was getting nowhere---at the speed of light. There was no correlation he could find. He stood and stretched, stifling a yawn behind his hand. He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head to identify its source. Russell was sitting behind her desk working on her computer terminal. She flickered another frowning glance his way, then ignored him. Harry was mystified. He had almost become accustomed to the looks he was getting from the Maquis crew, but Diane was Starfleet. Then he remembered. Diane was involved with Aron Dalby, who was Maquis. The thought occurred to him that this might be his opportunity to find out why the Maquis were angry with him. Before he could formulate the question, the door slid open and Malista Shadow walked in---accompanied by Crewman Gerron Tem. It was the first time in weeks that Kim had seen her when she was on duty. He vaguely noticed that she had taken to confining her shoulder length hair in a tightly controlled bun and was wearing no makeup, but he was most disconcerted by the restrained expression she wore. He wondered if she and Gerron had been arguing just before their entrance. Gerron's demeanor was unfriendly, bordering on hostile, as he recognized the Operations Officer. In the split second that it took for Malista to become aware of Harry's presence in the library, her whole attitude changed. At the sight of him, her eyes lit up, her rigid posture eased, and her free hand reached for his in a manner that spoke of a familiar custom and absolutely no fear of rejection. "Harry." He couldn't resist. Ignoring Russell and Gerron, he took her hand and leaned in for a quick kiss. "You won't report us for a PDA, will you, Diane?" Kim joked. He and Tom had made a running gag out of referring to that particular regulation---and breaking it, or at least pushing it to the limit, as often as possible. He looked at the librarian in time to catch a quick exchange of glances between her and Gerron. The ensign looked at the Bajoran. His mood seemed to have improved as well. Kim didn't understand it, but he didn't really care that much about either of them or their mood swings. He turned his attention back to Crewman Shadow, who was still holding his hand. He hadn't expected to see her for hours. Their paths usually didn't cross while on duty. This was a pleasant surprise. "Harry, you wouldn't believe---the doctor called me to Sickbay and let me use the dermal regenerator on Joe Carey. He cut his hand on an access panel. Doc said I did an excellent job. He says I have a light touch and I'm a quick study." She sounded positively thrilled with the compliment. "He's right, but I could have told you that." He smiled at her proudly and then added, "I'm glad I ran into you. I was going to leave a message on your terminal." "Why?" Malista asked. Out of habit, her free hand came up to lovingly brush back the stubborn lock of hair that persisted in falling down in Harry's face. He grinned and caught her hand, pressing his lips to the inside of her wrist briefly as a thank you. "Tom and B'Elanna can't make it to the circus tonight. Something about the navigational deflector acting up again. Do you want to cancel? Or should we practice without them?" "We'll practice without them. I have a few other tricks to show you. You haven't seen me do my high wire act yet," she said, smiling as he flinched apprehensively. "I wonder if we should make the safety net bigger?" he muttered thoughtfully. "Harry!" she wailed plaintively in a rare moment of disagreement with the ensign. "If you make it any bigger, we won't be able to walk around the tent at all!" "I'd love to see your circus program," Russell remarked unexpectedly. Malista looked at her blankly. "Really?" She never expected others to share her interests. In fact, she'd been astounded at the way Tom, B'Elanna, and Harry had thrown themselves into participating in the program. "When I was a little girl, I saw a circus on Kelonius III. I thought it would be a wonderful way of life," she explained. "Would you mind if Aron and I---and Gerron came by to take a look? We wouldn't interfere---" "Oh, no! That's fine. If you really want to. The four of us are planning to do a trapeze act at the next talent show. Maybe you three could find another act you'd like to perform. Neelix said that maybe we could make it a circus theme if others were interested," Malista said, her green eyes sparkling like emeralds. She was flattered and thrilled that someone else was taking an interest in her favorite program. "About 1900?" Russell nodded. Malista's eyes flashed to Gerron. He nodded as well. "Well, I'd better get to work. Which console went out this time, Diane?" "I'll see you all later then," Harry said and squeezed her hand before he left to resume his post on the bridge. As she went to work, Malista began to sing happily under her breath, "Ten minutes ago I met you...." Gerron and Diane Russell regarded at each other thoughtfully. ************************ "I can't believe this." Tom Paris' voice reflected his self-disgust. Torres sniffed unsympathetically. "I tried to tell you---" "You know, Torres, it's very annoying when people say 'I told you so'," Tom informed her sourly. "Given your accident prone nature, Mr. Paris, I would assume you would be quite accustomed to that particular annoyance," the doctor noted acerbically as he passed the dermal regenerator over the helmsman's left arm once more. "I am *not* accident prone!" he protested acidly. "Was it my fault the hydrospanner slipped---" "Yes," B'Elanna replied succinctly. "If you'd held it properly---the way I told you---" "All right," Tom conceded ungraciously. "If I had done it your way, I wouldn't have received a life-threatening injury. Are you happy now?" The doctor couldn't resist interjecting. "I would hardly call a three inch gash in the musculature of your left forearm life-threatening---" "Who asked you?" It was obvious Lieutenant Paris was in a petulant mood. B'Elanna folded her arms and glared at him. "Don't take it out on the doctor because you missed dinner." The doctor nodded as comprehension came to him. "Ah, low blood sugar---along with the loss of blood---and dignity. That would account for the irritability---" "I'll show you irritability---" Paris began. He stopped himself and made an effort to control his rising crankiness. B'Elanna was right. The hollow feeling in his midsection probably was a contributing factor to his bad mood. At least there was something he could do about that. "Are we finished here, Doc?" He started to slide off the biobed, but remained seated when the doctor spoke. "Actually, Mr. Paris, there was a matter I wished to discuss with you," Doc said, with a dismissive look towards Torres. "A confidential matter." Torres shrugged. "I'll go down to the messhall and see what Neelix still has available. Don't be too long." As she left the room, the doctor pulled up a stool and sat facing Paris. "Lieutenant, I am aware that since Crewman Shadow's---Malista's attempted suicide, you have been assisting Commander Chakotay with counseling her." "That's right. What about it?" "I assume you are still in a position to share confidential information with Commander Chakotay? And you are privy to Malista's---history?" The doctor was working hard on developing 'tact'. Kes had told him resolutely and repeatedly that it was important in perfecting a good bedside manner. Tom didn't like the direction this was heading. He sat forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he studied the doctor's expression. "Yes. Malista gave Chakotay permission to discuss her---treatment with me. And she has told me about her past. Probably more than she's told anyone else. What exactly are you getting at, Doc?" The doctor had been nodding with each statement the pilot made. "Very well. There was a suggestion of a slight conflict in my programming concerning the ethics of sharing information with a third party concerning a doctor/patient communication. But since you are considered family by the individual involved and she has previously---" "Doc, get to the point!" Tom snapped impatiently. "What's wrong with Malista?" The EMH held up a placating hand. "I'm getting to that. Malista asked to speak with me this afternoon. She wanted to get some information about dealing with the traumatic aftereffects of rape." Paris took a deep breath. He concentrated on breathing for a moment. He was afraid to ask the next question. "Were you able to help her?" The doctor frowned. "I was able to reassure her that she'd suffered no permanent *physical* damage as a result of---the incident." "What?! Why didn't she *already* know that?" Tom was angry and confused. "She was raped five years ago!" The doctor looked mildly disgusted. "Evidently the quality of health care provided by the Maquis was not up to Starfleet standards. Or perhaps the physicians did not take time to reassure Malista at the time. Or if they did, she was suffering from shock and did not understand what was said. Whatever the cause, the result is that she had no real idea to what extent she'd been physically damaged by the Cardassians. She said she'd never asked before because she didn't think it would matter. Now that she and Mr. Kim are--- considering intimacy, she decided she had a need to know. She felt comfortable enough with me to inquire into her status---as a potential sexual partner and mother." "Mother?" Tom gulped. "I didn't say she was pregnant, Mr. Paris. I merely assured her that there is nothing wrong with her reproductive system. Any physical damage due to trauma was repaired quite efficiently. She is perfectly capable of engaging in sexual activity, becoming pregnant, and bearing children in a normal manner. If she chooses to do so. We also discussed birth control measures." Tom was beginning to get a headache. "So she's healthy. Now she knows it. That's wonderful. What's the problem, Doc?" "The physical damage is only part of the equation, Lieutenant," he said with admirable composure. "Emotionally?" "Emotionally, I'm afraid, she has refused to give herself permission to deal with the whole issue. She seems to have a pattern of avoidance behavior." "I've noticed," Paris sighed. "I'm glad she at least felt safe enough with you to ask for information. It's hard for her to trust men, you know. So what do we do about it?" "I understand her fear of men. In part, it is the result of early indoctrination by her family and the cultural customs with which she was raised. These teachings seem to be the source of some conflict between what she was taught and her personal experience and its effect on her emotions and value system. The fact that I am a holoprogram may have eased her mind. I am completely objective. She seems to fear being harshly judged by subjective standards." The EMH scowled his disapproval of such an attitude. He returned his gaze to the lieutenant. "As for what 'we' are going to do about this situation, I plan to talk to Commander Chakotay about this. Malista has never given herself permission to feel the emotions she experienced---or should have experienced at the time of the trauma. She repressed her anger, shock, and fear. They are just beginning to surface. Repression and denial seem to be her normal pattern in dealing with her inner conflicts. In fact, I believe she has dealt with the shock and fear to some degree. But there are indications that she has *not* resolved a great deal of anger. Again, because she hasn't given herself permission to get angry. She doesn't seem to feel entitled to her feelings so she has not dealt with them constructively." "What should I do?" Tom asked worriedly. "I'm sure the commander will confer with you after I give him my findings. Until then," the doctor said, "Continue to be supportive. Malista appreciates your concern. Her difficulty in dealing with her personal problems has been exacerbated by Voyager's situation in exiling her from her family. You have helped meet her need for a family." "Is there anything else I need to know? Anything I can do?" "I don't want to understate the seriousness of the situation, Mr. Paris," the doctor said, wearing his most solemn expression. "She has not dealt with her anger. As you may know, anger that is repressed usually takes one of two forms. Anger turned inward leads to depression, which she has already demonstrated when she attempted suicide. You successfully blocked that path to dealing with her anger. For the time being. But now she has to find another way to release these feelings. If she doesn't find a healthy way to let go of her past, of the trauma..." His voice trailed off, as if he were reluctant to continue. "What?" Paris demanded. "You said there were two forms of repressed anger?" The doctor's brow creased in a ferocious frown. "There is a possibility that she could become violent. Subject to fits of temper, possibly murderous rage." "Not Malista," the pilot said, his jaw clenching as his whole being rejected the idea. "She wouldn't hurt anyone." "I said it was a possibility, Mr. Paris," said the EMH gently. "Not a certainty. I hope that Malista will find a way to express her anger and let it go. With your help, my help, and that of Mr. Kim and Commander Chakotay. I thought you should be aware of the situation. She needs to give herself permission to feel angry and express that anger. If the opportunity should arise..." "I understand." Tom got to his feet, and clapped a hand to the EMH's shoulder. "Thanks, Doc. I'll keep you advised and talk to Chakotay as well. I appreciate your help. Let me know if there's anything I can do. Anything at all." "Why, you're quite welcome, Mr. Paris." The doctor smiled. He'd been practicing his smile in the mirror. It still needed work, but it looked more natural now. Or at least not quite as scary. As Tom neared the exit, he half turned. "Doc, I noticed you aren't calling her Crewman Shadow. Why is that?" "She asked me to call her Malista," the EMH replied matter-of-factly. Tom grinned. "In that case, call me Tom. It's all in the family, you know." "Thank you, Tom. Good night." The doctor was strangely pleased at the idea of being asked to address members of the crew on a first name basis. It made him believe that he was successfully fitting into the Voyager family. However, it did make deciding on a name for himself more of a priority. He frowned thoughtfully. Paris went to find B'Elanna. He just hoped for the sake of his stomach and his mood, he could find an appetite again. ************************ Aron Dalby took another glance around the big top. He grinned in affectionate amusement as he caught a glimpse of Gerron's expression. The young Bajoran had never seen a circus and was duly impressed with his surroundings and with the performance of Malista and Harry Kim as he watched them working out high above them on the trapeze. Diane was watching them as well. "I told you I didn't think she had a problem with Harry." Aron nodded, slipping his arm around her waist. "I know. But if Kim's not the problem, who is?" "Whoever it is," Gerron said grimly, "It's a 'Fleeter. We're on the same duty shift and I've managed to be around to escort Malista and check up on her. Every time we pass a 'Fleeter, she tenses up." Diane's organized librarian mind processed that. "Every time? Every Starfleet crewman?" she prodded. The young man thought about it. "Just the men." "All the Starfleet men?" He tried to remember specifically. "Not Paris. Not Simms. She likes him. Not even Natwick." "What do you mean she tenses up?" Gerron looked irritated. "What do you think I mean? She acts like she's expecting to be attacked. Her face gets all closed in. She gets jumpy. Like she thinks they're going to---to grab her?" Dalby nodded his agreement. "With Malista, it wouldn't necessarily have to be a physical thing. She gets just as panicky if someone goes at her with words if she can't get away from him. Somebody is---was giving her a hard time. But whoever it is---he's a coward--- or they are. They've stopped since the Maquis have been keeping our eyes on her. Or at least no one has caught them at it." "That narrows the field of suspects," Diane said. "Now, how can we find out who's been harassing Malista?" "What about Simms?" Gerron asked. "What about him?" Dalby responded. "He's a Security Officer. He could find out. They may keep records on 'Fleeters who've been reported for---" "He's a 'Fleeter himself," Dalby objected. Russell poked him in the chest with her index finger. "So am I. Don't be a bigot, Aron. Ethan is a nice man. Gerron said Malista's not afraid of him. They're friends. She might talk to him." "So you think we should tell him what's been going on?" "I'll talk to him if you like. I don't think it would do any harm," Diane suggested. Dalby reluctantly agreed. "And I'll put the word out to the Maquis to lay off being so obviously protective, but keep their eyes open---and to watch Malista's back. Maybe we can catch them at it---whoever's bothering her." "Wow!" Gerron exclaimed, his jaw dropping. The other two followed his gaze in time to see Malista complete a perfect triple somersault and latch onto Harry's forearms in midair. "I wonder if I could do that," Diane mused aloud. She totally missed Aron's expression of anxiety at the idea of his beloved risking life and limb. He'd faced armed Cardassian troops with less trepidation. ************* The door signal and the door sliding open occurred almost simultaneously. Tom sat up so abruptly he tumbled off the couch, landing with a thump and an indignant growl. B'Elanna managed to stay on the couch as she rose to her feet and immediately began tugging her disarranged clothing into proper order. Harry Kim stood just inside the doorway and blushed. He'd entered these quarters so often in the past without bothering to wait for a reply. It hadn't occurred to him that Paris might not be alone. "I'm sorry, Tom. B'Elanna. I didn't think---I didn't realize it was so late---" Paris waved away his explanation as he scrambled up and sat down on the edge of the couch. "What's up, Harry?" Knowing his friend, Kim wouldn't have come to his quarters at this hour unless it was urgent. Kim hesitated, hovering indecisively between staying and leaving. Torres pushed her hair out of her eyes and made an effort to comb it with her fingers. "Harry! Sit down!" she ordered as she reseated herself on the couch close to Tom's side. The ensign sank wearily into the armchair facing the couple. "I wanted to talk to you about Malista." Torres sighed. "Do I need to leave again?" She didn't sound resentful. Just tired. People problems were not her forte. She reached up and finger-combed Tom's hair into a vague semblance of order. He kissed her wrist as it came within range. She slapped his arm reprovingly with a sidelong glance at Harry. "Not unless you want to," Harry replied. "Maybe you could suggest something." "What's up, Harry? Did you guys practice without us?" "Yeah. I just took Malista back to her quarters. I think she's tired enough after that workout to get some sleep tonight." Harry studied his fingertips as if he'd never seen them before. Torres and Paris exchanged glances, but decided to wait for Harry to tell them what was on his mind. "Do you know what's going on?" the young man blurted. "She won't talk to me. She pretends everything is fine. But she's losing weight. She hasn't been sleeping. She looks-- -I don't know---scared? Whenever I'm not with her. And I can't be with her all the time. She won't tell me what's wrong!" Torres stretched out her hand and patted his arm sympathetically. "Calm down, Harry. I know one reason she wasn't sleeping. She was working two shifts again." "What?" Paris and Kim said in unison. Torres rolled her eyes. "Don't you two start talking in tandem. It's bad enough the Delaneys do it all the time. I found out she was working during Gamma shift. She was sneaking a look at the repair list before she went off duty, then prowling around during the third shift working on the assignments. For a while, I thought I was losing my memory. I put a stop to it though. She should be sleeping better now." Paris was shaking his head in disagreement before she finished. "You treated a symptom, not the problem, B'Ella." He turned his eyes toward Harry. "She hasn't talked to me about this. There's something going on. I don't know what. The doctor said----well, let's just say that he and Chakotay and I are supposed to meet tomorrow to talk about the next step to take to help Malista." "Tom, what is it? What can I do?" Harry was almost pleading. Paris started to speak, but obviously thought better of it before the words escaped his lips. He shook his head. Torres frowned at him. "Tom, give him a hint here. I know you can't tell him what Malista says in her counseling sessions, but surely you can give him a clue!" The pilot's glance bounced between his two best friends as he considered how much he could say without inflicting injury to one or more of the four of them. "Okay," he said finally. "Harry, one of the problems is that Malista is very insecure. She was anyway, but when you and she started seeing each other, she seemed to be---snapping out of it. But then---Freddie Bristow happened." "And I got jealous and threw a fit!" Harry supplied. "And broke up with her," Torres finished. "Which made her even more insecure," Paris added. "But, Tom," Kim protested, "I've apologized for all that. For jumping to conclusions, for hurting her feelings. She's forgiven me. At least, she says she has." "Harry, if she said it, she meant it. That's not the point," he explained patiently. "The point is that she was beginning to trust you. And you let her down. You accused her of using you. You accused her of chasing other men. Of being unfaithful to you." He shook his head sorrowfully. "You broke her trust in you. I don't mean to make you feel guilty or anything, but it's like she was coming out of her shell and you scared her right back in. Now it's going to be twice as hard for her to break free." Kim's face paled. "What can I do? How can I make it up to her?" Torres got to her feet and came to sit on the arm of his chair. She slipped a comforting arm around his shoulders. "Starfleet, you didn't do it on purpose. You were feeling insecure yourself---" "B'Elanna, that's no excuse! I feel like I kicked her when she was already down. Tom, what should I do?" "Harry, you're doing a lot of things right. You're taking it slow with her. Encouraging her without pushing too much. One thing I've noticed though is that she never wants to disagree with anyone. Especially you. She cares about you. She's afraid of losing you. She's also afraid of confrontation. She needs to learn that you can disagree with someone without it getting out of hand," Tom suggested. "Let her know that you don't mind if she doesn't always agree with you. Maybe B'Elanna and you and I can role model that for her. We don't always agree, but we don't get mad or abandon our friendship because of it." "She's always acting like each time she sees me, it's going to be the last time," Harry admitted. "Do you think she really expects I'm going to just walk away? I'm in love with her!" "Have you told *her* that?" Torres asked. At his blank look, she continued. "She's not a mind reader, Harry. How is she supposed to know what you think if you don't tell her? If she's as insecure as Tom says, she may need to hear it. And hear it often. I think Tom's right." She looked at Paris, her hand going up to stroke his cheek. "You are right. I listened to her today. She does run herself down. I counted at least three times when she called herself 'stupid'." "She's not stupid," Harry protested. "I know that. Tom knows that. You know that. But I don't think Malista knows that," Torres replied. "I also noticed that every time someone mentions the words 'Starfleet Academy', she flinches. And sometime soon after that the topic of her 'stupidity' comes up." Paris and Kim studied her with something akin to amazement. Torres shrugged. "I noticed the correlation. Some of the Maquis have kind of a chip on their shoulders about not having attended the Academy. With Malista, it's more like she thinks she'd never have passed the entrance exam. I tried to ask her about it. She won't talk to me either. She's not as comfortable with me as she is with you." "I've been giving that some thought, too. She's never had a female friend before, B'Ella. Her mother died when she was a kid and she was raised with a father and a herd of older brothers. She's not sure how to relate to women. That's great, isn't it? She doesn't know how to talk to women and she's afraid of men." Paris stifled a yawn. "Harry, you keep on doing what you've been doing. Being yourself. Your kind, supportive self. Don't push her too hard for information. I'll talk to Doc and Chakotay tomorrow and let you know if there's anything else you can do to help. And I'll do some snooping. As many gossips as we have on this ship, you'd think someone could tell me what the real problem is." "We're going to help Malista, Harry," Torres reassured the young man. "I have an idea or two of my own. She needs to be less passive. Maybe I can help her with that. I'm planning on working out with her in some of Natwick's self-defense exercises in the holodeck." Kim tried not to let his trepidation show as he protested, "B'Elanna, that might not be such a great idea---" Torres shrugged. "It can't hurt. She and I might do a little female bonding while we're getting our adrenaline flowing." Paris and Kim exchanged doubtful glances. "We're in this together, Harry," Tom said. "We'll find a way to help Malista through this. To help both of you." Harry Kim went to his quarters, his mind greatly relieved. Temporarily. End of Part One, Trials Four: Shadow's Trials AUTHOR'S NOTE: (This is where I broke the story---it's not really a good place. It's just that this is where I hit 100 pages. :D