some fun along the way doing the things I was interested in."
She smiled ruefully. "Yes. Your father does sound a lot like mine. He
expected every one of his children to be the best at everything and he
didn't accept excuses. He thought all we had to do was try harder and
we should be able to anything. It seemed to work for him, but not for
us."
A reminiscent smile lit her usually solemn features. "Andy and Spiro
were supposed to be doing a home schooling course on repairing and
building farm equipment, but I took the lessons too. Andy used to let
me work on the machines if father wasn't around. And in return, Andy
helped me with the housework and Spiro did the gardening. Until papa
found out. The whole family got into an uproar. Papa accused the three
of us of conspiring behind his back. He said I wasn't acting like a
real woman or I would leave men's work to the men. Spiro and Andy were
upset because he accused them of acting like women and of spoiling me.
Demetrios tried to calm everyone down, but then---That's when we got
the message that Giorgios and Stephanos had been killed. And the next
day, I ran away and joined the Maquis---" She sighed heavily.
She burst into tears, turning to bury her head on his shoulder. He let
her cry without interruption for as long as she needed. When the sobs
began to subside, he pressed a handkerchief into her hand. "How do you
feel?"
She mopped her face as she considered her answer. She gave him a
twisted smile. "Broken."
"It's when you feel broken that you can clear away all the old rubble
and begin to build again. You're not alone. We're all building a new
life on Voyager, Sis. Some of us just had to clear away the ruins of
our pasts before we could begin again."
She hugged him tightly. He was beginning to feel like a teddy bear, by
the time she sat back. This time her smile was more genuine, tinged
with relief at having a huge burden removed from her soul by his
intervention. For the first time in a long time, she felt a slight
twinge of hope lighten her mood. She knew her recovery from trauma and
anxiety wasn't over, but she'd made a beginning. And he was still
there. She hadn't scared him away. And if Tom hadn't run, maybe Harry
wouldn't either?
Paris cleared his throat to regain her attention. "Malista, your
father loved you, but he tried to make you fit into a box of his own
design. When you didn't fit, he tried to force you to fit. You were
smart enough to get out. At least it didn't take a major disaster like
Caldik Prime to get you to go your own way. You've come so far. Don't
let him push you back into that box after all this time."
"I don't understand."
"You *aren't* to blame for being attacked---not when you were
thirteen. Not on Huldon III. And not now. Not on Voyager. So tell me
about what else is going on." He turned his hand in hers to clasp her
fingers lightly. "Then we'll see if we can put a stop to it."
She raised her eyes and searched his face. Whatever she was looking
for, she evidently found it and her expression softened with trust.
"All right. Do you want to sit down?"
"Only if we both promise to stay seated. This jumping up and down is
making me motion sick," he whined.
She smiled at that highly unlikely possibility. "Promise." When they
were seated comfortably, she began. "The day after the night Harry and
I made up---Full Moon Night---there were a lot of rumors flying around
the ship. Everywhere I went people were asking me questions. Some of
them weren't very nice about it."
"I told you---"
"I know," she interrupted. "Empty wagons rattle. I tried to ignore it,
but I wasn't ready for that much public attention. It's strange to
know that everyone is talking about you. But that wasn't the main
thing. Some of the Starfleet crewmen---they started saying things."
"Things like?" Tom asked, eyebrows at attention.
"Things more direct than rumors or questions. Like did I think Harry
could---do I have to get specific?" she asked plaintively.
"How specific did *they* get?" inquired the pilot uncomfortably.
"Very."
"Then don't. Save the details for your complaint to Security." He made
it sound like filing a report was a foregone conclusion.
"Tom---"
"Malista." His blue eyes were stern. This was not a negotiable point
as far as he was concerned. "Go on. Was it just words?"
"At first. They *looked* at me, too. I mean, more than just looking.
Leering. Like they were imagining---"
He held up a hand. "Yeah. I can imagine. Go on. What did you do about
it?"
"After a few days of me ignoring them, most of it stopped. Except for
two men in particular. I tried to avoid them, but I couldn't always.
Sometimes we'd share a turbolift, or I'd pass them in a corridor, and
they'd say things under their breath to me. Ask me if I wanted
to---call out to me---tell me they---I can't talk about this," she
sighed defeatedly. "It's just too embarrassing."
"I assume as time went on, they didn't give up. Did they touch you?
Threaten you?" Paris' voice seemed deeper, angrier, colder.
"The first few times *could* have been accidents. At least that's what
I told myself. They'd brush up against me as they passed. A hand would
graze my hip or my breast. There was nothing I could say without
looking stupid. They'd just claim it was an accident and I'd look like
an hysterical fool. That was about the extent of it, until---" She
sighed heavily. She picked up the sunglasses from the table and began
to play with them. It gave her something to do with her hands.
He ducked his head and caught her eyes. "Come on, Sis. Tell me. It's
good practice for when you tell it to Tuvok."
This time she didn't let him get away with the implication. "Tom, I
can't file a report."
"Sis, you can't NOT file a report." He immediately frowned. "That
doesn't sound right. You know what I mean. You tried ignoring it. They
won't be ignored. You told them to take a flying leap at a warp coil,
right?"
"Not exactly," she admitted. "I told them to leave me alone, but they
kept saying I was playing games. That a woman who looked like
me---That I really wanted them. "
"Oh," Paris nodded sagely. "A *real* pair of dimwits. 'No' means
'maybe' and 'maybe' means 'yes'. These dimwits have names?"
"Why do you want to know?" she asked suspiciously.
"Not so I can beat them to death. Or even half to death. Though I'll
admit, the idea has some merit," Tom answered, keeping his voice
light, his face impassive. He should have known she could read him too
well to be fooled.
"Tom, this is one reason I didn't want to tell you---or Harry. I've
had a taste of freedom now. I don't want to find myself caged again!
Even for my own protection!"
Tom eyed her speculatively. "Think about that, Sis. Do you really
think that would happen? Knowing me? Knowing Harry?"
Her voice faltered. "I don't know. It happened with my family.
It
happened with Niko. I don't want to have to go back to staying in my
quarters every moment I'm not on duty, and being escorted everywhere
when I'm out of my quarters."
"Malista, you didn't need me or Harry to do that to you. You did it
all by yourself." Tom watched the impact of his words strike her and
realization dawned in her eyes to be replaced by something akin to
horror.
"Oh, Zeus. You're right. I did." She blinked back tears. "I did it to
myself. The Maquis, especially Gerron, have been escorting me
everywhere when I'm not with you or Harry. And I've hardly left my
quarters at all for weeks. I am so---"
"If you say stupid, I may hit you," Paris threatened mockingly. "One
more time, Sis: You are NOT stupid. Don't say that again or I won't be
held responsible for what I'll do. I understand why you reacted that
way. You fell back into a safe pattern of behavior when you felt
threatened. That's natural. You have a right to be angry at those men
for making you feel threatened. Get angry with them. Not yourself.
Harry and I will help you. One of us, or both of us if you want, will
go with you to file a report. And we won't blame you. We want to help
you, not make you feel guilty. Now, can we tackle one more topic?"
She nodded slowly, unsure what he was going to bring up next, knowing
only that it would make her uneasy to deal with it.
"What's this all about?" His hand reached up to lightly touch the
tightly twisted hair piled on top of her head. His finger stroked her
cheek.
"What do you mean?" She was genuinely puzzled.
"Pulling your hair up into the Bun of Steel style that even Capt.
Janeway abandoned. Frowning all the time like you just tasted Neelix's
leola root stew. Giving up on wearing makeup during duty hours. Are
you trying to look unattractive?" Paris inquired.
She flushed with embarrassment. "Yes. I thought if I was doing
something to attract attention, that maybe it would go away if----"
"Did you take that Gawaine and the Loathely Lady story a bit too
seriously? You want to look good for Harry---at night. But you want to
look hideous---or as close as you can get---during the day when other
people can see you? To keep you safe from their attentions?"
"I guess that might be where I got the idea," she confessed
reluctantly. "Being attractive hasn't exactly been a positive
experience. I attract people I don't WANT to attract---except for
Harry. I can't seem to stay invisible on this ship any more. I thought
that if I made myself ugly, people would ignore me or leave me alone."
"Did it work?" he scoffed.
"Not very well," she conceded.
"Never work," he commented lazily. "Even a blind man would find you
attractive. Your voice is like warm honey. You have a sweet, gentle
character. Your insides are as lovely as your outsides. And for those
fortunate enough to see you, you are what my mom used to call
'beautiful to the bone'. The only way you're going to look
unattractive enough to prevent anyone from wanting you is to disfigure
yourself surgically or something drastic like that. I don't think the
Doc would do it and I'm certain Harry wouldn't appreciate it. Your
behavior lately has confused the hell out of him, you know. You've
hurt him. You won't talk to him and he's afraid it's all his fault."
"Nothing is *his* fault!" she stated indignantly.
"Oh, please! Don't tell Harry that!" Paris groaned. "He's died twice
and come back. You tell him *that* and he really will develop
delusions of godhood!"
Malista couldn't believe she could giggle at that jab. "Tom, you know
what I mean."
He sobered. "Yes, I do. But I also know that Harry loves you. He wants
you to be healthy and happy and he's willing to help you in any way he
can. You're being very cruel to keep shutting him out."
Her jaw dropped as she was presented with an entirely new point of
view. "I wasn't shutting him out!"
"No, you were protecting him. Isn't that what you said you didn't want
him to do to you? You didn't want to tell him what was going on
because you thought he'd blame you, or smother you with protection.
You didn't give him a chance. You just shut him out. You've really
hurt him, Malista," he concluded solemnly. "He's afraid he's going to
lose you. And you're important to him, whether you believe that or
not."
"Tom, I didn't know. I wasn't sure how he really felt. I didn't think
that he--" She bit her lip.
"You thought it was just hormones? Oh, come on, Malista! If it was
hormones, he wouldn't still be waiting to---you know. He'd have taken
you up on your offer to 'just do it' a long time ago. Harry is
emotionally involved." Paris rolled his shoulders, trying to ease some
of the tension building there and at the base of his skull.
It was crucial that she understand this point. He spoke slowly and
emphatically. "There is a difference between a healthy love and
protectiveness and one that's carried to extremes the way your father
and brothers did. Yes, Harry wants to protect you, but he is not such
a control freak that he expects to wrap you up and store you in your
quarters for safekeeping---like Niko Dishon did. There's a healthy
balance that can be found if you both work at it. But that means you
have to talk to each other, be honest with each other, and work it out
together. This business of shutting him out of parts of your life just
isn't going to work. Especially not here on Voyager. The ship is too
small." He glanced down at her.
She was staring calmly and thoughtfully at her fingertips. If Tom
believed her, didn't blame her, then it was likely that Harry would
feel the same way. The two of them agreed more than they disagreed
about anything important. Maybe she wouldn't lose him after all. Maybe
there was a chance she could keep Harry a while longer. Maybe.
"Malista?"
She looked up at him and smiled. "I was just thinking I need to bake a
lot of gingerbread men and baklava to soften Harry up for all the
apologizing I need to do."
"Oooh. Can I have the leftovers?" he teased boyishly, relieved to
leave heavy emotionalism behind.
"Yes. If there are any." Catching him by surprise, she suddenly threw
her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly once more. "Thank you,
Big Brother. How did you ever get to be so wise?"
He couldn't speak for a moment. He hugged her back, relaxing for the
first time in---he checked his chronometer---forty-five minutes?
They'd run the gamut of emotion in forty-five minutes? Wow.
He cleared his throat. "You'd be surprised the things you learn in
prison," he responded.
She squeezed more tightly. "Don't feed *me* that line of felgercarb!"
She giggled against his shoulder.
"Acck! Sis, if you strangle me, I can't feed you anything," he
protested automatically.
She released him and sat back to study his face. "Tell me something.
Why do you care so much? I'm not *really* your sister. You didn't have
<
br /> to get this---mixed up in this mess I call my life. Why?"
"I told you I have two older sisters? Neither one of them is in
Starfleet. They didn't have to fight family tradition because when I
was born I became 'Owen Paris' son'---which meant that he didn't need
to hope they would carry on the family name. Anyway, by the time I
left for the Academy, they were both out of the house, going to school
or working on their careers. I loved them, but I didn't get to spend a
lot of time with them. I had hoped that when we were a little older,"
Tom stopped as his voice almost broke. He cleared his throat again. "I
was kind of looking forward to being 'Uncle Tommy', you know? But I
may never get that chance in the Alpha Quadrant."
Her eyes were sad for him, and for herself. "You may never get that
chance in the Delta Quadrant either, Tom."
He shook a finger at her. "Never underestimate my best friend, Harry
Kim. You may be in for a surprise or two. Sis? Harry said he told you
he loves you. And you didn't answer. How *do* you feel about him? It's
not just---hormones for you, is it?" He studied her expression
carefully as the question sank in and she mulled it over before
replying.
"I feel---I guess I sort of feel like Oliver Twist," she mumbled
wistfully.
Anyone else would have asked what she meant, but Tom had recommended
that she read the book. He knew intuitively exactly what she referred
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