Trials 03 Torres' Trial

by Terri Zavaleta

  Paris' form of address. "Why didn't you ask her?"

  "I did!"

  "You asked her why she never got angry?"

  "No," he said hesitantly. "I sort of hinted around."

  "Argh!" she shouted, bouncing to her feet and beginning to pace.

  She'd reached the limits of her patience. "How can two people be so

  stupid!!!!" It sounded like a war cry.

  "Me and Malista?" he asked resignedly.

  "No! You and me!" she retorted.

  "What? Why are you stupid?" Harry gazed up at her in

  befuddlement.

  "I've been doing the same thing with Tom," she announced. "I

  wanted him to talk to me---so I either interrogated him till he ran

  and I got mad at him---or I 'hinted around' then got mad at him

  because he didn't get the hints! Fortunately, I haven't gone quite as

  far as you did in my stupidity! Or he's a little less vulnerable than

  Malista---or better at deflecting my anger. He should be. He's had

  enough practice."

  "So what do we do now?" Harry said dejectedly.

  "Tell me something, Harry. Have you ever seen Tom lose his

  temper?" She couldn't resist the temptation.

  "No. Why?"

  "Never?"

  He frowned at her. "What do you mean? Oh, he gets upset,

  angry--- when he's irritated, he smirks, and gets louder. I can't say

  I've really seen him *lose* his temper," Harry said. "I think he

  worries about losing control."

  Torres raised an ironic brow. "Sound familiar?"

  Harry closed his eyes and collapsed back on the couch.

  "Malista. I expected her to react the way you do---not the way Tom

  does. If I can understand Tom, why didn't I understand Malista?"

  "Good question. They have a lot in common. Your hormones

  probably interfered where Malista was concerned. But let's get back

  on the subject. We were discussing the things you said to her---we've

  covered suicide and anger. Now, tell me why you were jealous and

  accused her of using you for sex! I thought you offered to teach her

  about sex! When you were stranded together on Dynos Six?"

  "I did---but maybe I didn't know---didn't think---what the

  consequences would be," he mumbled. He opened his eyes and stared at

  the ceiling.

  "What consequences? I thought you two were---getting along fine!

  She was always kissing you and---was that the problem? You didn't

  like the public displays of affection? You decided you didn't want

  her after all? She wasn't a good student?" She goaded him

  deliberately.

  He sat straight up and glared at her. "NO! The problem is she

  was a very good student---I'm just a lousy teacher!" The moment the

  words escaped him, he turned away from her, breathing hard as he

  tried to get his fury and chagrin under control.

  B'Elanna subsided, thoughtfully massaging her temples as she

  tried to think of what to say to that admission. "Harry," she began

  tentatively. She reached out to touch his shoulder, but he jerked

  away from her hand.

  "You can see why I couldn't talk to Tom about this!" His voice

  was choked. "Malista is totally inexperienced! She was starting to

  trust me. To---want me---at least it seemed like it. I couldn't

  decide if she really wanted ME---or if she was just---curious. And if

  we did try---What if I---what if she didn't---I'm not very

  experienced myself. What if I did something---What if I made it

  *worse* for her?"

  'Oh, Kahless,' Torres thought, 'why did I ever start this

  conversation?

  I know a Klingon's life is meaningless without challenges---but this?

  Is this some kind of test? A warrior's trial?'

  She took a deep breath. "Harry, if you care about her---and she

  cares about you---the two of you will---find a way to make it work."

  She rolled her eyes at the inadequacy of her own words. "You need to

  talk---to her! And as for talking to Tom---I think you might be

  underestimating him. He'd never hurt you by making jokes about---

  about something like this. If you had questions about---sex---I'm

  sure Tom would do his best to give you good advice---Tom wants you

  both to be happy. Or you could try talking to the doctor---no, maybe

  not."

  Harry's shoulders straightened. He turned slowly to meet her

  eyes. "Do you think she would---Would Malista even listen to an

  apology?"

  Torres sent him an encouraging smile. "I think so. You won't

  know until you try. She still cares for you. I know that much. She's

  very confused and hurt right now. You need to be honest with her. If

  you start by telling her how you feel, she might be willing to tell

  you what you want to know."

  'Thank you, Chakotay,' she thought fervently as she recycled to Harry

  the advice the first officer had given her.

  Harry's expression lightened, his dark eyes glinting with hope.

  "Thanks, B'Elanna. You're a good friend."

  She got to her feet. "Well, I think you have enough to think

  about---and I need to start following my own advice. I'll see you

  tomorrow."

  He gave her a quick hug before walking her to his door. "I'm

  going to think of a special apology for Malista. I can't stand

  another day of this---silence."

  "Good for you!" she said. When the door slid closed, she headed

  back to Sandrine's to find Tom. Malista and Harry would have to work

  out their own problems. She was through playing Miss Fixit---except

  in Engineering, of course. She wanted to have a talk with Tom. A long

  talk---so maybe not tonight---but soon.

  ***********************

  Looking forward to a long, cool drink and a chance to finally

  relax, B'Elanna walked into Sandrine's and a solid wave of

  apprehension and avid curiosity radiating from those present hit her

  in the face like the slap of a wet towel.

  Torres was beginning to feel she was definitely being tested---and if

  she could identify who was behind the conspiracy to try her patience

  with one trial after another---they wouldn't live long enough to

  correlate the data.

  All eyes were fixed on the Delaneys' table. Tom Paris and

  Malista Shadow were sitting there. Tom got to his feet, his usual

  fluid grace missing, his body taut as a bowstring. His attention was

  fixed on Jenny Delaney. The redhead was tossing her hair back and

  glaring up at him defiantly. Megan looked dismayed.

  Torres looked at Malista for her reaction. The younger girl seemed to

  have crumpled in on herself. She was hunched in her chair, arms

  wrapped around her midsection, cringing as if she'd received a

  painful blow. Her eyes were wide open---and horrified.

  B'Elanna scowled fiercely. There went all hope for a peaceful

  drink! She shoved her way through the onlookers and marched up to

  Tom's side in time to hear Jenny remark, "I didn't make it up, Tom!

  As a friend, I thought you'd want to know! I'm just telling you what

  everyone's saying!"

  Torres touched Tom's forearm and was surprised when he flinched

  slightly. "Just what is everyone saying, Jenny?" she asked, with a

  fierce glower at the redhead.

  Tom looked down a
t B'Elanna. His blue eyes were opaque, a cold

  cadet blue. "It seems that we've---the three of us---" he indicated

  himself, Shadow, and Torres, "have been seen leaving the holodeck in

  our robes. Five times in the last two weeks."

  Torres didn't get it. "So what?" She glanced at Malista.

  The younger woman looked up at her with stricken eyes. Tears

  brimmed in her eyes. "I'm sorry, B'Elanna. I didn't know---I never

  thought---Oh! I can't believe ---I'm so sorry!" She jumped to her

  feet and ran for the exit, pushing her way through the crowd that had

  gathered.

  Unnoticed in the confusion, Ensign George Natwick followed her.

  Furious, and having no other target, Torres started for Jenny

  Delaney. "What did you say, Delaney?"

  Tom snaked an arm around her waist and, using his strength and

  B'Elanna's momentum, spun her in a circle away from her target,

  holding her tightly against his body and putting himself between

  Torres and the Delaneys. She snarled up at him, but didn't try to

  pull away. She wouldn't risk hurting Tom to get to Jenny. It wasn't

  worth it.

  "It's gossip, B'Ella. Hitting Jenny won't change anything," Tom

  said bleakly.

  "And like she said, she didn't start the story---she was just letting

  me know it was being said."

  Megan Delaney had the good sense to grab her sister and

  disappear into the crowd while Paris was distracting Torres.

  "What gossip?" B'Elanna demanded, searching his eyes for a hint

  of feeling.

  Paris jerked a hand toward the gathering of spectators watching

  with avid interest. "Let's talk somewhere else?" Without waiting for

  an answer or even looking at her, he loosened his grip on her and

  turned them toward the exit. The crowd parted to let them through.

  ***********************

  Natwick didn't have to go far to find Malista Shadow. She hadn't

  made it past the Observation Lounge, two doors down from the

  holodeck. She had collapsed on the couch against the wall, her arms

  wrapped around her waist. She was rocking back and forth, tears

  silently streaming down her face. Natwick had never in his entire

  Starfleet career felt so helpless. This was something strength,

  training, and skill couldn't fix. She looked---desperately,

  frantically unhappy. She was mumbling something under her breath. He

  couldn't make out the words.

  "Malista?"

  She didn't respond. If anything, the mumbling increased in

  volume. Natwick could at least tell that she wasn't speaking in

  Standard. He would guess it was Greek. He would have felt more at

  ease if it had sounded like cursing. It sounded like a mournful

  litany. He moved away from the door and eased himself down onto the

  couch next to her. She ignored him.

  "Malista," he said, a little more loudly. Still no reaction---so

  he touched her shoulder.

  She jerked to sudden awareness and frantically scrambled away

  from him as far as she could. The arm of the couch stopped her mid-

  flight as she crashed into it with her side. The impact seemed to jar

  her from her trance. Her green eyes lit on him with recognition.

  "George?" she whispered huskily.

  "Yeah. Are you okay?" His brow furrowed with concern as he took

  in her chalky complexion, the feverish brightness of her eyes.

  "George," she said again, this time with a hint of relief. She

  strove to smile politely, but failed miserably. "Did you hear what

  they said?"

  "No. What did they say?" He was relieved she was talking to him.

  He had an idea what she was upset about---he did hear most of the

  ship's gossip. He didn't understand why a few stupid comments would

  upset her to this degree.

  She bit her lip---hard---not for the first time. A drop of blood

  appeared.

  "Malista!" George took her hand in his and shook it. "Don't!

  You're hurting yourself!"

  She gazed at him blankly. He touched a finger to her lower lip,

  wiping the blood away. He showed the splotch to her. "Oh," she

  sighed. She shook her head, tossing her hair back over her shoulder,

  bunching it with one hand, then releasing it as if she didn't know

  what to do with it.

  "What's wrong?" he asked quietly, taking her hand in his. Few

  people would have recognized him in this frame of mind. Compassion

  was not a word associated with Ensign George Natwick.

  Her voice was thick, her eyes dropped, as she said, "The gossips

  say that Tom and B'Elanna and I---that we're having an affair! The

  three of us!"

  "And are you?" He'd heard of stranger things. At least these

  three were all human. The idea of a trio didn't shock him.

  It obviously did shock her. "No!" She snatched her hand away

  from him. "We were using my exercise program---we wear tights---

  that's why we always wear robes when we leave the holodeck! We

  aren't---we never---Tom is like a brother---I never---" she

  spluttered.

  "Calm down," he requested impassively. His lack of emotional

  response reassured her somehow. "People talk. On this ship, there's

  not much else to do. You know it's not true---so what do you care

  what the dimwits say?"

  She thought about that for a moment. "But it's not true. They

  shouldn't--- they don't even know---"

  "Malista, you're a very private person, right?"

  She nodded, her eyes huge as she gazed at him---as if she were

  drowning and he were offering a life-saving rope.

  "It makes you uncomfortable for people to talk about you?"

  She nodded again.

  "Well, you can't stop them from talking. Get used to it. Is that

  really what you're worried about?" He frowned at her, sensing there

  was another layer to her anxiety.

  "I don't want this---talk---to hurt Tom---or Ha---B'Elanna!" she

  blurted.

  "Why should it?"

  Her eyes widened even further. He hadn't thought it possible.

  "But, George, he's---she's a very jealous person! She isn't going to

  like people saying things like ---about Tom---You know he---" She let

  a gesture finish the sentence. "She'll be very angry!"

  He noticed her slips and permitted himself a small smile.

  "Malista, you're forgetting---she knows the truth. If there's nothing

  going on with you three---"

  "There isn't!" she insisted vehemently.

  He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay. Then she

  knows it. She won't be mad at you."

  She drove her fingers into her hair and pulled at the coronet of

  flowers till it came loose then threw the flowers onto the table

  nearby. "Why am I so stupid? Every time I get close to someone they

  get hurt! Tom and B'Elanna were just being kind---being my friends---

  and look what it got them! The scandal of the ship! I can't be

  friends with them any more! Everyone's whispering and sneaking

  looks---oh, damn it! Why didn't I just die at Huldon III? It would

  have saved everyone so much trouble!" She didn't cry. Her tears

  seemed to have dried up. The look of quiet desperation was back. Her

  eyes were wild.

  It made Natwick u
neasy. Counseling was not his area of

  expertise, but he knew he should try to turn her thoughts to

  something positive. "There are a lot of people who'd be very unhappy

  if you had. Like Tom Paris. B'Elanna Torres." He hesitated, then

  added, "Harry Kim."

  At the mention of the Ensign's name, she covered her face with

  her hands. "Oh, George, I made such a mess of everything. Poor Harry.

  I expected too much of him. I can't---I couldn't--- maybe if I had---

  And now this rumor---He'll think Tom--- his best friend---if I could

  stop the rumors---I could save their friendship---but how?" She

  broke off in confusion, lost in thought for several moments.

  Natwick cleared his throat. "Malista, if there's anything I can

  do to help---?" He stopped. He didn't know what he expected her to

  say---but it certainly wasn't what she did say.

  "George," she said, slowly dropping her hands from her face and

  tilting her head to slide a considering look in his direction.

  That glint in her eyes made him nervous. His palms started to

  sweat. He'd never seen that particular look in a woman's eyes before.

  He didn't know what it meant.

  She gathered all her courage and knelt on the couch next to him.

  Her hands came out to grip his muscular upper arms. "George, you're

  something of a ladies' man, aren't you?"

  His eyes narrowed warily. "Yeah, sort of. Some women think so,"

  he drawled. "Why?"

  "I want you to do me a favor," she said, peering into his eyes

  with intensity. She slid her hands from his arms, up his shoulders,

  and around his neck.

  "What kind of favor?" he asked suspiciously.

  She smiled---a Mona Lisa smile, mysterious---seductive. "I've

  never had sex---made love with anyone. I want you---to teach me how

  to make love to a man."

  Ensign George Natwick gulped.

  ***********************

  Tom Paris kept a firm hold on B'Elanna Torres' waist as he all

  but hauled her along, forcing her to step quickly to keep up with his

  long, ground-eating strides. Though he was taking her with him, she

  wasn't sure he knew she was there. Usually so polite and considerate,

  he didn't seem to notice it was an effort for her to match his pace.

  She'd never seen him so---upset. She wondered if this was how he

  looked when he was angry.

  When he moved, he usually reminded her of a dancer---all smooth,