of the lake, rearranging the mud there with the toe of her boot. It
gave her something other than Tom to focus on.
Paris took a deep breath that almost ended in a gasp of surprise as he
felt those 'instincts' Chakotay had spoken of kick in. He suddenly
knew, without knowing how he knew, that this or something like it had
happened to Malista Shadow before.
He stopped about six feet behind her. He didn't want to invade her
personal space again without her permission. That didn't seem to be
working. It was up to her to make the next move. Before he could think
logically and argue himself out of speaking, he said the first thing
that came into mind. "Who didn't believe you last time? Who made you
take the blame the last time?"
Her head snapped up, she darted a quick, disbelieving glance at him,
then refocused on the mud. "My father. My brothers."
"Are we talking here about Huldon III?" he calmly queried. "Or before
that."
"Before that," she mumbled.
"How long before?" He moved a step closer.
"When I was thirteen," she whispered.
He took another step closer so he could catch her words. His hands
automatically lifted towards her, wanting to touch, to hold, to
comfort. He forced them back down by his sides. He could try to
persuade her with words, but he wouldn't use physical means of
persuasion. It would make them both too uncomfortable.
"You were---raped---at thirteen?" he croaked, somehow ashamed, but not
surprised, that his voice broke in his horror at the thought.
"No," she shot back, her voice gaining in volume, as if having made
the decision to tell him had strengthened her in some manner.
"Not---quite."
Her gaze trailed away to the colorful sails on the boats on the
holographic horizon. "I started a real growth spurt when I was twelve.
I was growing taller very quickly. And I was getting---" She made a
helpless gesture toward her breasts.
"You were developing?" Tom offered. He detected a little gasp of
surprised laughter. "Hey, I had older sisters. Granted, I didn't pay
much attention, but even I remember all the angst they went through
when they suddenly sprouted---Never mind. You were saying?"
"Let's just say I was beginning to look very womanly. I probably
looked older than my age because of it," Malista speculated, not
sounding happy about the idea. "Any way, I grew very quickly and my
coordination wasn't really keeping up. So my father gave me permission
to take dancing lessons. I started walking into town once a week for
lessons from a woman who worked with our circus in the sideshow
sometimes. She was an exotic dancer, but she'd learned all kinds of
dancing and gymnastics and she thought lessons might help me with
coordination, flexibility. You know."
"I bet you were a great dancer. You still are." Once or twice, Tom had
come to the holodeck early and caught her dancing alone as her warm-up
for their workouts, but she'd refused to share her dancing with anyone
and stopped as soon as anyone arrived.
She sent a half smile over her shoulder at him. "I was enthusiastic,
at least. I loved it. I loved music. All kinds of music. Singing was
wonderful, but I *loved* the dancing. All kinds of dancing. It was
almost as good as flying. When I was dancing, I felt so free! I
wanted to learn every dance Mariza knew. I told my father I wanted to
be a dancer when I grew up." Her face saddened.
"Let me guess," Tom said. "He said you couldn't. Why? Did he bother to
give you a reason?"
She nodded. "I wasn't good enough. I was too tall. I'd never make any
money at it. All kinds of reasons. Well, I was a good student. Mariza
taught me everything---ballroom dancing, jazz dancing, ballet, all
kinds of dancing from many different worlds. She taught me some
gymnastics routines as warm-up exercises. And all kinds of dances,"
she repeated. "Some were very athletic and acrobatic and others were
very controlled and graceful. At the time, I just thought of the
dances as---exercises. Fun exercises. It was a way to let me feel in
control of my body, my muscles. I just threw myself into every dance,
not thinking about what other people would think if they saw me."
"Uh-oh. Do I take it she taught you some of her 'exotic' dances?" Tom
already had a pretty good idea how her father would have reacted to
that. Especially if Malista was wearing the appropriate costume for
each dance.
"Yes." A mischievous grin flashed toward him. "Did I mention Mariza
was half Orion and half human?"
The image that leapt to mind took Tom's breath away. "Oh, my." It was
inadequate, but all he could manage. The temperature in the holodeck
suddenly seemed much higher. He tugged at the v-neck of his black
tee-shirt.
"Yeah. That's what all the men thought. But at the time, I didn't
think of the dances she taught me as being suggestive, or sexy. I
mean, I was only thirteen. I hadn't even really noticed boys then. I'd
had enough of the male of the species just dealing with my father and
five older brothers. I was totally outnumbered after my mother died."
She'd returned to drawing patterns in the mud with the toe of her
boot.
She took a deep breath. "But someone else saw me dancing. And it gave
him ideas. He was a salesman visiting the colony. He was watching
through the window of Mariza's studio. She caught him at it once and
made him go away. Then a couple of days later, he followed me when I
started home."
Paris wanted to tell her to stop. He wanted to close his eyes so he
wouldn't have to see the expression of pain on her face. He did
neither. He *really* didn't want to hear this. But she needed to tell
it, probably the first time she'd ever told it. He clamped down on his
feelings, keeping his neutral mask in place with an effort that
bleached his knuckles white as his hands clenched into fists.
"Looking back, he wasn't very bright about how he--- Maybe it was his
first time to try something like that. Or he thought I wouldn't
object. He waited till I got outside of town and then he approached
me. I was so stupid!" Her voice broke on a sob. "He called out to me
and asked me to stop. And I did! Can you believe I was so *stupid*?"
Tom took another step closer. He was within arm's reach now, waiting
for her to turn to him. If she would. He wanted to be there to catch
her if she fell---figuratively or literally. But, at this moment, as
she was lost in memories of the past, he had a hunch that his touch
wouldn't be welcomed.
It was up to her this time. *She* had to reach out to him. If she
would. Or could. He would be there when she was ready.
"He kept talking about how he was lost and needed directions, while I
stood there like an idiot and let him get close to me. Then he grabbed
me and dragged me behind some trees off to the side of the road. He
tried to kiss me, and he started tearing at my clothes, and I couldn't
breathe, and he knocked me d-d-down---" The tears were runnin
g freely
down her cheeks as she stammered to a stop. She gulped. "Then the
next thing I knew, my brother Giorgios was pulling him off me. He and
Stephanos and Demetrios were going into town for some supplies when
they heard me scream. Funny, I don't even remember screaming."
She shrugged. "Demetrios held me and helped me cover myself with his
jacket, while Stephanos and Giorgios beat the man---half to death. I
was afraid they weren't going to stop. I thought they were going to
kill him. Right there. They might have, but the constable of the
village came and arrested the man. I was screaming and crying
hysterically. My clothes were torn, my skin was scratched from his
nails, my nose and mouth were bleeding. The boys were all cursing and
shouting. The man was---there was blood all over---"
"Malista." The quiet voice called her back to the present. It was an
effort for Paris to prevent the revulsion from showing in his voice.
He didn't want her to think it was meant for her.
"I don't even remember hearing about how he was punished. I didn't
testify at the trial. No one would tell me anything. They didn't want
to upset me." She threw off the memories as if shrugging a cape off
her shoulders. "I used to laugh and smile at people all the time. I
wasn't always a 'Stoneface'---an 'Ice Princess'. Until I learned what
smiling at the wrong person could cost me."
Tom grimaced. He hadn't realized she knew the names she was called
behind her back. He had hoped she hadn't heard them and been hurt by
them. "It wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong."
Her mouth twisted. "He said---I smiled at him. Demetrios told me. That
man told the constable, that I smiled at him. That's why he--- After
that, I never went anywhere without one or more of my brothers or my
father. Never. And I never took another dancing lesson."
"Your father blamed you?"
She nodded as she raised her hands to wipe at the tears on her cheeks.
"He said the dances were obscene. The studio shouldn't have had a
window. That I must have done something to---to entice---to make the
man think I would---wouldn't mind what he wanted to do to me."
"And you believed him?"
"Of course," she said, lifting a hand, palm upward. "He was my father.
He wouldn't lie to me. He loved me. He wanted what was best for me."
"No, he didn't," Paris contradicted. "He imprisoned you. How was that
best for you?"
"He wanted to keep me safe," she argued.
"But he didn't teach you how to fight back? To protect yourself?"
"No. He said that's what I have---had brothers for. And a husband when
the time was right." She made a sound that was half laugh, half sob.
"Little did he know, huh? That it was never going to come up? But he
predicted it anyway! He said if I went with the Maquis that I'd regret
it. That I'd be attacked again and my brothers wouldn't be there to
help me. He said only sluts ran away from home. When they were in
heat. I didn't know then what he meant, but I found out. Oh, did I
find out." A sob tore its way free from her throat. Her hands flew to
cover her mouth as if to suppress any others, prevent their escape.
"It wasn't your fault!" Paris persisted.
"I *must* have done something. I'm just so stupid---"
"Stop that!" Paris snapped. "You are not stupid. Who told you that
you're stupid?" She didn't answer. "Let me guess. Your father. Why?
Did you make another career choice he didn't approve of?"
"I wanted to be an acrobat or gymnast. He said I was too tall. Then I
thought about being a doctor. He said I couldn't pass the entrance
exams. That I wasn't smart enough." She still refused to look at him.
"He was wrong. He lied to you. I've seen your test scores. The doctor
showed me your records. Your intelligence level is above average.
Borderline genius." There was no room for argument with the pilot's
flat statement. "You're smart enough to do anything you want to do."
"No, there must be a mistake. That couldn't be true. My father---"
"He was wrong about a lot of things, Malista. He wanted you to stay
home on the farm with him, right? So he would say anything it took to
keep you there."
She shook her head, fists clenching at her sides. "No. He wouldn't do
that. He loved me. He wouldn't lie to me. He loved me!"
"He manipulated you. He used your guilt and shame over being attacked
to control you." Tom's voice remained level and unemotional. "Then
when you finally rebelled against him and joined the Maquis, he
disowned you. That's not love. That's control. You have a right to be
angry with him. What he did was wrong."
She began to tremble with the effort of staying on her feet. She spun
to stare defiantly into his eyes, taking a step back to increase the
distance between them and almost tumbling into the water.
Paris tried to catch her, but she stumbled away from him, out of his
reach.
Her chin was quivering, her eyes full of tears that she refused to
release. "Stop saying those things! You don't know what you're talking
about! You're saying my father didn't love me! But he did! I know he
did!"
Tom Paris now had a new understanding of the word 'heartache'. His
heart literally ached with sympathy for her pain. "I'm not saying he
didn't love you, Sis. I'm saying he didn't know how. He loved the
person he wanted you to be. But he didn't want you to grow up. He
loved you, but *he* messed it up. His fault, not yours."
"How would you know?" She was still resisting the truth, denying it,
though she could see it now laid out before her as clearly as a
starchart. She needed more from Tom Paris before she could allow
herself to believe he spoke the truth. She needed some proof that he
wasn't just stealing a trick from her book and telling her what she
wanted to hear.
"Because my father and your father probably have a lot in common," Tom
replied sadly. It was so hard for him to talk about his father. He
inhaled deeply, hoping he could get it out before his throat closed
completely. "I could never please my father either. And it took me
years to discover that it wasn't about *me*. I don't think I really
accepted that until---until I wound up in the Delta Quadrant. With
Captain Janeway's help and Harry's friendship and trust, I found out I
wasn't the general screwup everyone expected me to be."
He paused as he tried to measure just how much detail he needed to go
into for her to understand what he meant. "My problems with my father
were all about *his* expectations. It didn't matter what I did or how
well I did it. He didn't want me, the real Tom Paris, as his son. He
wanted to create me in his own image. He was so busy trying to shape
and mold the son he wanted, he never got to know the son he actually
had. And, who knows? He might have actually *liked* me, if he'd ever
let me just BE me. Does that make sense?" He could detect the
sympathy in her eyes. He'd reached her. Now if she would just apply
what he'd said....
"Yes, Tom, it does." For t
he first time since they'd come to the
holodeck, she moved toward him rather than away from him.
She placed her hand on his, then looked away at the boats so she
wouldn't have to meet his eyes as she continued. "My father wanted me
to become the perfect farmer's wife. Especially after my mother died.
I took over the household duties, even though I was terrible at
them---except for cooking. I wanted to be out in the barn, fixing the
machinery, repairing the equipment. I always was an engineering type."
She paused and shrugged. "If I had gone into medicine, I probably
would have worked in the technical end. You know, inventing or
repairing equipment. I was always persistent and curious. I wanted to
learn how to perform every act in the circus. In addition to
performing on the trapeze and high wire, I apprenticed with a
different act every season. My father didn't mind that. He said it
kept me busy and out of mischief. But I also wanted to learn the
technical side of farming, how to work on the machinery. So I made a
deal. My youngest brothers, Androcles and Spiro were put in charge of
repairs but they weren't good at it or very much interested either. My
father told them if they would just apply themselves---"
"That sounds familiar," Tom remarked. "That's what I heard every
single grading period. No matter how good my grades were. If I could
get a 95, why couldn't I get 100? If I got 100 in all but one subject,
he only noticed the one I missed. Finally, I just gave up trying so
hard. If I wasn't going to please him anyway, I decided I should have
Trials 04 Shadow's Trial Page 34