Trials 03 Torres' Trial

by Terri Zavaleta

  not ever. I don't seem to have very good luck with relationships. I'm

  not exactly a good luck charm, you know."

  That sounded very familiar---unfortunately. "Well, how about

  right this minute? You want to think up some names to call Harry?

  I'll help get you started. We can do it alphabetically."

  She chuckled, teetering on the verge of tears. "Oh? For

  example?"

  "A---Aldebaran serpent, B---Belzoidian flea, C---Caldorian eel,

  D---Denebian slime devil---"

  "Tom. Stop. I don't want to call him names."

  "It might make you feel better."

  "I don't think so. I'd probably just make you mad saying things

  like D---Dark Angel. That's how I used to think of him---not that I

  ever told him that. I thought it would embarrass him." She rubbed her

  cheek against his shoulder, squeezed his hand, and sighed. "Why

  couldn't I have fallen for you? Lord knows, you're the handsomest man

  I've ever seen. And there are a lot of women on this ship that are

  interested in you! You could have a harem---if any of them was

  willing to share."

  "Good looks are highly overrated," he replied shortly. "Do you

  have any idea how many fights I've gotten into---that started with

  some wise guy calling me 'pretty boy' or something similar? It began

  in kindergarten and continued before, during, and after prison," Tom

  said with a hint of bitterness.

  "Sorry. I always thought it must be nice to be really

  attractive. I guess there are drawbacks."

  "What? What's that supposed to mean? You're beautiful!"

  She sniffed her disbelief. "Yeah, sure."

  "You are! Hey, Sis, would I lie to you?"

  She tilted her head at him skeptically. "Tom, I've always known

  I was plain looking---just average. You look like a prince in a fairy

  tale."

  "You're shortchanging yourself. You're very pretty. And I'm

  considered something of an expert on the subject."

  She shrugged.

  "You're as bad as B'Elanna about accepting a compliment

  gracefully!" he scoffed.

  She frowned thoughtfully. "How do you tell the difference

  between a physical attraction---and love?"

  "You picked me to answer that one? I have no idea. I've had

  problems with that question my whole life. Sometimes I wonder if I

  wouldn't have been better off if I looked more like my dad's family,

  instead of my mom's. The Parises, as a rule, are tall, impressive,

  dignified---but not---'pretty'---just average looking," he said

  contemptuously.

  She shrugged. "I used to think if you were beautiful enough,

  people would always try to make you happy. Too many fairy tales, I

  guess."

  "I've heard that it's better to have something like a good character

  to keep people with you when your looks are gone," he remarked

  sardonically.

  "You do have a good character. You're kind, and supportive, and

  compassionate. A great big brother and a genuinely nice guy. Even

  though you try to hide it. You're a wonderful human being. It's just

  that the first thing people notice about you is that you're good-

  looking. Why *didn't* I fall in love with you?" she repeated,

  frowning up at him in puzzlement.

  "An appalling lack of good taste?" he asked, flashing a grin at

  her.

  She smiled back then suddenly started to giggle. He stared at her.

  "Oh, Tom," she crowed delightedly. "I just figured it out. I know why

  you've always looked so familiar to me!"

  "Why? We never met before Voyager." He was frowning slightly.

  "Did we?"

  "No. But I used to have a picture on the wall of my bedroom when

  I was a little girl---"

  "If you say it was the frog prince, I may slug you, Sis!" he

  threatened, shaking a fist at her.

  "No. It was a picture of a little girl asleep in her room.

  Sitting on the edge of her bed, watching over her with a big sword,

  was her guardian angel. That's who you look like!"

  He looked at her skeptically. "Angelic? Me? I think I can see

  Harry as the angelic type but---the angel looked like me?"

  She giggled again. "Well," she drawled. "It would look exactly

  like you---if you were built like George Natwick! He was a very

  brawny guardian angel! You're my bright angel! Even though you aren't

  as muscular."

  Paris tried hard to look offended.

  "My oldest brother Stephanos gave me that picture. He said I was

  going to need a tough guardian angel." Her smile suddenly dropped

  away. "I guess he was right. But that may be the reason why I didn't

  think of you---romantically. I think I needed you as a brother. And

  you needed me as a sister. Besides, B'Elanna already had your heart

  by the time we met."

  "Yeah. Anyway, the two of us are so screwed up---it would be

  like two people with only one leg each trying to walk normally by

  leaning on each other. Two cripples trying to make one whole person."

  Tom was serious.

  "You aren't as screwed up as I am," she stated flatly.

  "What? Is this a contest? You want to compare flaws?"

  She put her free hand around his waist and leaned into him,

  offering comfort. " So what's wrong with you and B'Elanna, my dear

  older brother?"

  "Nothing."

  She made a scoffing sound.

  "No, really. It's just---I need to talk to her about a few

  things and---I don't know where to start," he said hesitantly. "Or

  how much I should tell her."

  The comm system chirped. "Torres to Paris."

  "Go ahead."

  "Tom, can I come in the holodeck or is this a bad time?" She

  must have found herself locked out by the privacy lock and she hadn't

  wanted to override it without an invitation.

  "Come in," Malista answered, smiling up at Tom.

  "Computer, lift privacy lock for Lieutenant Torres," Tom said.

  The arch appeared and B'Elanna strode in, taking in the

  atmosphere and the couple on the bench. It was apparent that Malista

  had been crying. "Are you sure I'm not intruding?" she asked,

  hesitating.

  "No. Of course not," Shadow replied, sparing a weak smile for

  her friend. "Tom and I were talking. Come join him for the sunset.

  He's done a great job programming it."

  B'Elanna eyed their attire. "I assume you started off at the

  circus and moved on to this program."

  "Yes. She still won't let me be the catcher," Tom said, putting

  a hint of a pout into his voice. To his surprise, B'Elanna comforted

  him with a kiss on the forehead. He flashed a pleased smile at her.

  This was a first. Usually she didn't like public displays of

  affection and if there were any, he initiated them.

  "Maybe you can be the catcher when you grow up," Torres offered

  with false sympathy. She'd noticed that her brief kiss had rated a

  Number Eight Smile. She'd have to do that more often. If he enjoyed

  being kissed in front of others, she could learn to accommodate him.

  Malista giggled. "I've got to go. I might let you be the catcher

  next time. You're too heavy for me anyway." As she stood up, Tom

  swatted her behind in a brotherly
gesture of reprimand and affection.

  "Don't rush off on my account," Torres said. "I didn't mean to

  interrupt."

  "No, it's okay. We'd finished our talk. I want to get a shower

  and get to Sandrine's."

  "You're going to Sandrine's?" Tom asked.

  "It's about time, don't you think? You're the one who forbade me

  to hide in my quarters as a problem-solving technique. Besides, I

  want to talk to George Natwick about something. Is Sandrine's public

  enough, B'Elanna?"

  Torres nodded. "I think so. Just keep your eyes on his hands at

  all times,"

  she cautioned, only half-joking.

  "Whoa! Wait a second! Sis, if you start dating George Natwick,

  I'll disown you! That muscle-bound nitwit---"

  Malista stuck her tongue out at him. "You can't disown me.

  Remember? It's in the fine print---no returns, refunds, or exchanges.

  You're stuck with me as a sister."

  Torres sat down next to Tom on the bench, thrilled as his hand

  sought hers instinctively. That reflexive seeking of her touch was

  somehow reassuring. It spoke of his feelings for her more loudly than

  the silence that troubled her.

  "Maybe we'll see you at Sandrine's in a little while," Tom suggested.

  Malista frowned at him. "Only if you promise to behave. Oh, and

  Tom, when I said you couldn't tell anyone---I didn't mean B'Elanna.

  You can tell her if you like. Maybe she can help us figure it out.

  See you later."

  "You can tell me what?" Torres asked as they watched the arch

  disappear behind Malista Shadow. "Help you figure what out?"

  "Harry Kim," Tom replied with a heavy sigh. He lifted her hand

  and rubbed it against his cheek as if seeking comfort.

  ***********************

  Harry Kim was sitting at the bar in Sandrine's nursing a beer.

  He'd parked himself on a corner bar stool so it would be less obvious

  that he was there alone. Looking at the four walls of his cabin had

  become so oppressive, he couldn't stand it any more. He had to get

  out of there and he had nowhere else to go. He was trying his best to

  be invisible and succeeding fairly well just by sitting quietly in an

  out of the way spot, not calling attention to himself.

  Since Malista had approached him in the messhall, the tide of

  public opinion had swung back in his favor. At least, at this point,

  he wasn't being cast as the villain who'd broken her heart. Other

  crewmembers had resumed speaking to him. Except for Tom and B'Elanna

  who hadn't had the opportunity. Yet.

  Harry almost choked on his beer when Malista Shadow strolled in.

  She was wearing a tightly fitting emerald green jumpsuit. Her

  shoulder-length hair was swept up, braided and wrapped around her

  head and she wore a coronet of blue and white flowers like a crown.

  She didn't seem to notice the stares of appreciation she received

  from the men present. She was looking for someone in particular.

  Jenny and Megan Delaney waved her over to their table. They were

  sitting with Paul Bloorden and Trent Salaka.

  Malista didn't join them, but she did stand there for a moment

  and talk to them, looking perfectly at ease though surrounded by a

  crowd. She glanced around the room and her eyes lit on Ensign George

  Natwick who was sitting alone at a table in the corner opposite and

  the farthest distance from the bar. Malista went over to his table.

  Harry couldn't believe his eyes---but he couldn't tear them away

  from the unlikely pairing either. She had a date at Sandrine's---with

  George Natwick!

  Malista asked George if she could join him. His eyebrows went

  up. He belatedly got to his feet and held out the chair for her. "You

  want something to drink?" he asked, waving a hand at the holographic

  waitress.

  Malista smiled. "A beer would be nice. Thank you."

  While waiting for her drink to be delivered, Natwick's eyes

  roamed appreciatively over her body. "You look good tonight," he

  said.

  'Trust George to be direct,' Malista thought, sitting stiffly in

  her chair, trying to hide her discomfort. "Thank you, George. I

  wanted to ask you something."

  "Sure." The waitress set her beer down in front of her. "What do

  you want to know?"

  She placed her hands flat on the table and pondered how to say

  it.

  Natwick's eyes slid toward the bar. "You trying to make Kim

  jealous again?"

  "What?" She froze. "Is he here?" Her eyes widened like an

  Andorian antelope caught in the targeting light of a phaser rifle.

  She didn't turn to look for Harry.

  "Okay," Natwick said with a smug look that turned calculating.

  "So that's not it. You're not trying to make him jealous. Did you

  want me to beat him up for you?" He held up his arm and flexed his

  right bicep---it was an impressive sight.

  She blinked appreciatively. "No." He was dressed in his

  customary off-duty attire---sweat pants and a thin tank top that did

  nothing to disguise the large, well-defined, muscular build that he

  was so proud of. He had reason to be proud. He was built on a grand

  scale--- and many admiring eyes followed his every movement as if he

  were a piece of living sculpture.

  "You wouldn't be the first woman to ask me for a favor like

  that," he commented dryly.

  "I wouldn't use you like that," she protested softly, stretching

  a hand across the table to touch the hand next to his glass.

  He seemed surprised and pleased by her response. "Maybe I should

  stop guessing and let you tell me what you wanted to ask."

  She drew her hand back and grasped her beer mug with both hands.

  She took a sip, then cleared her throat. "Actually, it was B'Elanna's

  idea that you would be the one to ask."

  She'd surprised him again. He looked half puzzled and half

  suspicious. "Yeah? I didn't think she liked me."

  Malista wasn't going to touch that one. "She respects you as a

  professional."

  That much was the truth. "We were talking about anger and how to use

  it."

  He nodded. She took it as encouragement to go on.

  "Any way, I was asking her how you're supposed to---fight---to

  defend yourself without losing control of your temper." She waited

  for him to respond.

  "Is that why you were never aggressive in the self defense

  class?" he asked. "You were afraid of getting out of control?"

  She cleared her throat again and fiddled with her mug. "Yes. I

  don't know how much you know about my---my past---" she began,

  dismayed when her eyes began to fill with tears. She couldn't cry---

  not here! Not with Harry thirty feet away! And not in front of George

  Natwick! She blinked rapidly and paused, striving for control. Tears

  had come far too easily in the last few days. She'd cried more in the

  last month, than she had in the five years preceding it.

  George reached across the table and took her hand in his,

  squeezing it reassuringly. His brown eyes were amazingly

  understanding. "You don't have to tell me, Malista. I know."

  "You do?" Shock drove the tears away.

&nb
sp; "Sure. I always check into my students' backgrounds when I start

  a class. It helps avoid problems."

  Her lips tremble as she smiled. "So you knew why---"

  "I knew why. I'd hoped that taking my class would help you deal

  with it." He was speaking now as a professional. "You did manage to

  learn some aggressive techniques. I know from personal experience."

  He released her hand and sat back in his chair, rubbing his stomach.

  She flinched. It was a reminder that she'd struck her instructor

  in the midsection with a pipe, knocking the wind out of him and

  dumping him on the floor. "I'm sorry about that, George," she said

  breathlessly, apologizing for the first time since the incident.

  He grinned at her impudently. "No, you're not."

  She grinned back at him, eyes twinkling. "No, I'm not," she

  agreed. "You deserved it."

  "Maybe," he agreed noncommittally. There might have been a spark

  of admiration in his eyes as he gazed at her. "Now to get back to

  your question?"

  "How do you keep yourself from going berserk in a fight? How do

  you maintain control of your anger?" she asked earnestly.

  "Practice."

  She frowned at him and sighed her exasperation. "That's what

  B'Elanna said. But how do you practice without hurting anyone?"

  "Come on, Malista. Think about it. The holodeck," he said. "You

  practice with holographic opponents. They can't get hurt. You start

  out easy and work your way up to more complicated scenarios. I have

  several programs designed to do just that. You want Cardassian

  opponents?"

  She shuddered. "No. Not to start with. Could you help me set it

  up?"

  "Yeah." He gazed at her analytically. "Tell me something?"

  "All right," she said cautiously.

  "Are you and Kim really through?"

  She swallowed hard. "Yes. I think so. Yes. We are." She closed

  her eyes, trying to clamp down on her emotions.

  He reached over and patted her hand soothingly. "Sorry. I'm not

  very good with small talk. I just want you to know---when you're

  ready to go out with someone else---I'm interested."

  She gulped, unsure how to respond. One thing about George

  Natwick, you always knew where you stood with him. He was interested

  in her and had let her know it---with all the subtlety and tact of a

  Tellarite on a tear.

  "George---I'm not ready for that---with anyone." She touched the

  flowers she wore on her head and gazed at him with a hint of