Trials 04 Shadow's Trial

by Terri Zavaleta

  "But, Tom, she's taken training in self-defense! She should know how

  to---"

  "She does. That's how she tossed Harry. And she made a very good job

  of it, too."

  "Then why didn't she *use* those fighting techniques?" The frustration

  was bubbling out of the engineer now. Hers was an analytical mind. Her

  failure to correctly analyze and correct Malista's problem made her

  feel inadequate and inefficient.

  "Maybe because she had time to think about what she was doing.

  Sometimes if you second guess yourself, you forget your training. When

  she threw Harry, she reacted instinctively, because he caught her by

  surprise while she was in a dangerous situation---or thought she was."

  Tom's brow furrowed. "That's not the most important question. Why will

  she fight for others, but not herself? I think I've figured that one

  out."

  "You have?"

  He set his glass down on the bar. "Yes. She won't defend

  herself---because she doesn't think she's worth fighting for. She has

  no problem with risking herself for others though, because she thinks

  they are worth dying for---and if it costs her something, it's no loss

  to anyone."

  "How do you know?" Torres examined his face intently. For a moment,

  she didn't think he was going to answer.

  "Personal experience." His voice held a razor's edge of bitterness and

  another emotion she couldn't identify.

  Torres wanted to reach out to him, to hold him---but she was afraid he

  would shrug her hand away. "Oh, Tom."

  He rested his elbows on the bar and hid his face in his hands, his

  fingertips rubbing small circles on his temples. "Not exactly a death

  wish. Sort of like what she said on the holodeck---the night she---"

  He didn't want to say it. Torres would know he meant the night Shadow

  had attempted suicide. "Sometimes you think it might just be easier to

  be dead."

  Since that night, B'Elanna had wanted to ask him about a statement

  he'd made to Malista, but the opportunity had never presented itself

  before. "Tom, you said you had seen that look in the mirror. That you

  had thought about killing yourself. More than once. Was that true?"

  "Yes." He dropped his hands onto the bar and turned his head slowly to

  gaze into her eyes. His mask had completely disappeared. His feelings

  were too strong to be hidden. The memory of past anguish was clearly

  written in the blue depths of his eyes for her to see. "I did think

  about it. When your life is so out of control, when you're so unhappy

  that---it even crosses your mind---even for just a moment, that it

  would be easier to be dead than to have to deal with the guilt

  or---whatever---that's when you need to go running, screaming for

  help. Or decide to go ahead and get it over with."

  Torres struggled to breathe around the lump in her throat. "And you

  got help?" She couldn't resist the urge to touch him any longer. Her

  hands found his and clasped them tightly. She was relieved when he

  squeezed her hands in return.

  "Not exactly. I ran a good bluff---too good for my own welfare," he

  confessed. "I didn't *look* like I needed help---so no one offered. I

  had too much pride to ask for help. Paris pride. I was afraid they'd

  say no anyway. But then I always had to learn things the hard way, I

  guess. I found out I had enough stubbornness and enough determination

  not to let my---not to let *anyone else* count me out."

  He curled his lip, the derision aimed at himself. "I'm the only one

  who can tell me that it's time to give up. And I was contrary enough

  not to give in and let *them* win. Them being everyone who told me I

  couldn't do anything right. That I would never amount to anything.

  That with one lie, one falsified report---I'd thrown away any chance I

  had at a good life. I told myself that I wasn't ready to admit they

  were right and if I killed myself, I'd never be able to prove them

  wrong. I couldn't even convince myself that if I did kill myself

  'they'd be sorry'. It had a certain attraction---punishing others by

  killing myself---but then I realized that 'they' had already walked

  away from me. They might not even notice if I ceased to exist. So the

  only one I would hurt would be me---oh, and maybe my sisters. And

  Sandrine. She'd be disappointed in me. So I managed to hold on until

  things got better---or at least eased up some. My uncle used an

  expression that I thought about a lot: When you reach the end of your

  rope, tie a knot and hang on!"

  He smiled ruefully at that. "It worked in a way. But that doesn't

  matter now. I got past that. Lessons learned the hard way are the ones

  that stay with you. I got by with the help of some good books that

  gave me hope---good friends like Harry and you, and good fortune in

  the person of Kathryn Janeway who gave me a chance and then her trust.

  I got a second chance---and this time I *won't* blow it." His azure

  eyes showed his conviction and determination to make that statement

  come true.

  "I know you won't," she replied calmly, when she could speak at all.

  That single flat statement of fact reassured him more than if she'd

  made a lengthy speech. "But what about Malista?"

  "I'm really worried about her, B'Ella."

  She felt the tightness in her chest ease as he used his pet name for

  her. Maybe he wasn't furious with her after all. Maybe she hadn't

  damaged their own relationship beyond repair.

  "She was doing so well and getting comfortable with herself and the

  crew. Something else is going on. Something that's been eating at her

  for weeks. She won't talk about it. Harry hasn't got a clue. When

  she's with him, she's determined to act like everything is fine. She

  seems happy when they're alone together. She doesn't want to go out

  among the crew to socialize. It's like she's afraid of someone. Or

  something."

  "I know. She's been distracted and upset, but she never shows it when

  Harry's around. She seemed tense. That's why I thought if I could get

  her to fight--- A good hard workout always makes me feel more relaxed.

  I was trying to help her."

  "You went about it the wrong way." Paris sighed heavily. "The Doc

  thinks she's avoiding confronting her feelings of anger. You just

  tried to push her into it, in a way. It didn't work though. It's not

  your fault. She doesn't---communicate too well. It makes it easy to

  misread her."

  Torres felt guilty. She'd caught a glimpse of Malista's face when

  she'd realized the whole scenario had been a holographic trick and

  knew the younger woman felt B'Elanna had betrayed her trust. Though

  she hated to admit to being wrong, this was the second time she'd made

  a misstep with her relatively new friend.

  "I know. I'll apologize---I'd do it now, but I think she's too upset.

  I'm not as good with people as I am with engines. Maybe it wasn't such

  a bright idea to use you and Harry as images. I thought that would

  make her more likely to fight. And it did. She's very protective of

  you both, you know."

  "I know. I wish you'd talked w
ith me about this. And by the way," he

  added striving for a light touch, "why did you program *me* to get

  clobbered? I'll have you know, I'm pretty good in bar fights. I should

  be. I had enough practice between leaving Starfleet and joining the

  Maquis." It was a weak joke, but the best he could do at the moment.

  She tried to smile. "If you didn't get 'clobbered', she wouldn't fight

  at all. I thought she'd get caught up in the commotion and enjoy

  herself. I did."

  "Not everyone enjoys the thrill of combat, B'Ella. Confrontation and

  fighting---exhausts me more than it exhilarates me. Malista is the

  same way, I think. She turns her hostility inwards. I do at times.

  Your way of dealing with your feelings is probably healthier. At least

  you get them out and do something about them. Malista keeps stuffing

  them down inside her. I don't know what to do about her. Neither does

  Harry. He's really upset that she won't talk to him about what's

  bothering her, but he doesn't want to pressure her. He's afraid he'll

  just make it worse. And he may be right." Paris shook his head, then

  winced as if he regretted it. "Ouch. My head still hurts. The doctor

  thinks it's psychosomatic. I wish I could give this ache to him. I'd

  show him psychosomatic!"

  She released his hands and went around to stand behind him. She placed

  her small, strong hands on the base of his neck and began kneading the

  tight muscles there. "Maybe Harry can get her to talk tonight. Now

  that I've got her all stirred up, she may be in the mood to talk to

  him," she said regretfully. "Don't worry about it. Let those two take

  care of themselves for now. You may be worried about her, but I'm

  worried about you. You need to take better care of yourself, Helmboy!"

  "Mmmm. Feels good," he murmured drowsily, smiling slightly at her use

  of the nickname bestowed on him by the Lady Q.

  As she felt his tension lessen, her curiosity got the better of her.

  "Tom, did you really learn to break security codes in prison?"

  "No, but when I say I learned it in prison, most people change the

  subject and don't ask more questions. Another defense mechanism.

  Sorry, B'Ella. It's a habit." He sighed contentedly, feeling muscles

  he hadn't known were taut loosening under her ministrations.

  "To tell you the truth, I learned to crack codes at a much younger

  age. When I was a kid, my dad's favorite punishment was grounding me.

  For one thing, it kept me from doing anything to embarrass him in

  public. Which I did quite often for one reason or another---usually by

  accident. Being sent to my room got to be practically a continual

  punishment between the ages of eight and fifteen. Almost every

  weekend, I wound up restricted to my room."

  "You had security code lockouts on the door of your room?" Torres had

  never heard anything so outrageous. To treat a child like a hardened

  criminal?

  "Naw," he chuckled. "That wasn't it. You have to understand---sending

  me to my room wasn't exactly a good punishment. I *liked* my room too

  much. I spent lots of time there. As I got older, I found out that

  if I went to my room and didn't make much noise, people would leave me

  alone---forget I was even there. I remember crying in my room when I

  was a kid, hiding out there. I'd keep the door locked and read or play

  games. When my father grounded me, he'd put my computer on security

  lockout so I couldn't do any of the things I liked to do. But---"

  "But you figured out how to get around his lockout codes?" Torres

  smiled at the thought of a rebellious boy breaking into his own

  computer. He was becoming so contented, he was beginning to droop.

  "What were you grounded for?"

  "You name it, I probably did it at one time or another. I had many

  varied interests," Tom said ruefully. "Climbed the highest tree in the

  neighborhood. Swam in irrigation canals. Tried to fly off the roof

  using a bed sheet for wings. Trust me, that wasn't a good idea! I

  also tampered with the holographic programming in the Youth Recreation

  Center. Played doctor with the neighbor's daughter. Got in fights.

  Took stupid dares. Took *lots* of stupid dares. Went for a joyride in

  my father's skimmer. Got caught---"

  His eyes suddenly snapped open. He couldn't believe he'd almost told

  Torres that he'd gotten caught peeking through the bedroom windows of

  the Vulcan Embassy when he was twelve. He'd done it to settle a bet

  with a friend. Which they had never settled to their mutual

  satisfaction---because his friend wanted hard evidence of Tom's

  claim---and Tom's camera had been confiscated by the Vulcan

  authorities, much to his chagrin.

  B'Elanna suppressed a laugh. She could easily imagine the kinds of

  mischief Tom had gotten into as a boy and the kinds of mischief he

  wouldn't want to tell her about. She preferred to speculate about his

  pranks, rather than consider his statement about how much time he'd

  spent crying in his room. "Those don't sound like serious crimes to

  me. Most kids pull stunts like that at some time or another."

  "Maybe. But I was a *Paris*---I was supposed to be serious-minded,

  obedient, and goal oriented. You know, if my father ever found out how

  much serious hacking I did while I was grounded---When I was eleven, I

  once got into the Starfleet Academy files! Aw, he'd never have

  believed it. He didn't think I was smart enough to do that much

  damage. He mistook lack of motivation for lack of intelligence." He

  reached up and took her hand and walked her around to stand in front

  of him, between his knees. "Enough about that. Thanks for the neck

  rub, B'Elanna. Now, can I return the favor?" He dropped his hands on

  her shoulders and pulled her towards him.

  The doors to Sandrine's swung open and several crewmembers wandered

  in, chattering and laughing. Their brief moments of privacy were gone.

  Tom's polite facade descended like a curtain, veiling his eyes and his

  feelings once more as his public persona made its reappearance as

  automatically as he breathed.

  "Why don't we go to your quarters and replicate some tomato soup? You

  told me it was comfort food. Maybe it will help your headache."

  B'Elanna said, stepping back and pulling his arm around her waist as

  he stood.

  "Now there's an offer I can't refuse," Tom retorted with a hint of a

  twinkle in his eyes. "Promise not to burn it?"

  B'Elanna growled at him. He growled back.

  "Tom, don't growl," she admonished. "You're much better at---purring."

  Her wicked brown eyes flashed. His blue eyes widened. He smiled.

  **************************

  The EMH raised skeptical eyebrows as he checked the readout on the

  scanner. "You came to Sickbay for *this*?" he asked, miffed at having

  been interrupted while conducting his research. If not for Malista

  Shadow's anxious presence, he might have been even ruder to the young

  Ensign and dismissed him out of hand.

  Harry Kim felt himself flushing. He'd finally agreed to stop by

  Sickbay on the way to Malista's quarters, because that seemed the only

  course of act
ion likely to pacify her. She seemed to be convinced he

  must have at least a fractured skull.

  Before Harry could formulate a response to the doctor's acrid comment,

  Malista leapt to his defense. "He could have a concussion. Are you

  sure he's all right?" Her tone bordered on hysterical. "He hit his

  head. On the floor of the holodeck. I don't know if the safeties were

  on or not."

  The doctor, taken aback at her uncharacteristically adamant tone,

  handed her the scanner. "If it will reassure you, check the readings

  for yourself." He traded looks with Ensign Kim and nodded

  apologetically. Now he understood why they'd come here. He'd been

  treating the wrong patient.

  Having verified for herself that Kim had not suffered an injury, a

  relieved Malista handed the scanner back to the doctor and leaned

  tiredly against the biobed next to Harry's legs. He slipped his arm

  around her and pressed her head against his shoulder, his eyes still

  on the doctor.

  Flicking a switch, the doctor surreptitiously ran the scanner over the

  young woman. "How are you feeling, Malista? Any after effects from the

  probe?"

  Her eyes opened to mere slits. "I'm all right. My head aches and I'm

  still seeing spots now and then."

  "I would suggest you get some rest, then," the EMH stated. He filled a

  hypospray and held it to her neck. "This analgesic will help. I've

  also included a mild sedative. Perhaps you should check back with me

  in the morning, before you report for duty."

  She nodded as Harry slid off the bed and steered her toward the door.

  The EMH made a note in her file before returning to his research

  project concerning the probes and their effects. He thought he had a