Trials 04 Shadow's Trial

by Terri Zavaleta

  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 shivere
d.

  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