Title:  Conflicting Emotions: A Coda
Author:  Julie Evans (Juli17@aol.com)
Series:  VOY
Rating:  PG13
Codes:  P/T
Summary:   After B'Elanna returns from the Malon 
freighter, she and Tom talk in her quarters.  A short coda 
to "Juggernaut", set immediately after the episode.  

Disclaimer:  Star Trek and its characters are the property 
of Viacom/Paramount.  I am borrowing them for fun only, 
not profit.

Notes:  This story can be archived to the ASC, PTF, BLTS 
and PTC archives.  All others, please ask the author for 
permission.


"Conflicting Emotions:  A Coda"
by Julie Evans 

By the time I finally made it to B'Elanna's quarters I 
half expected she might already be asleep, which is why I 
let myself in after I pressed the announcer once and got 
no answer.  Despite our relationship, I'm not in the habit 
of walking into B'Elanna's quarters unannounced, unless I 
have a good reason, or a dozen roses in my hand.  But I 
had to see her, even if it was only to see that she was 
peacefully asleep.

She wasn't asleep.  She was sitting on the couch, her legs 
crossed beneath her and her wrists resting lightly on her 
knees, and her eyes closed.  She didn't look exactly 
peaceful or particularly relaxed; in fact she was frowning 
slightly as if she was intensely concentrating on 
something that was eluding her.  But even with the visible 
tension in her body there was no doubt about it.  She was 
meditating.  Or trying to.

And she must have sensed my presence even if she hadn't 
heard—or simply hadn't acknowledged—my beep or my 
entrance, because as the door slid shut behind me she 
slowly opened her eyes.  

I suppose I had a small smile on my face at that moment, 
probably a pretty bemused one.  It's not every day—heck, 
it's not any day—that I come upon B'Elanna meditating.  
And my smile was elicited in part simply from seeing her 
sitting there clean and scrubbed, looking fresh and 
beautiful despite the physical ordeal I knew she'd been 
through on the Malon freighter.  And most of all, looking 
safe and sound.

Her eyes narrowed in that way B'Elanna has when she feels 
defensive about something, or is trying to protect some 
inner feeling of vulnerability, so I guess I was 
definitely smiling.  "Don't say anything," she warned.

I didn't say anything, certainly not that she looked 
completely delectable sitting there curled up on the couch 
in her satiny indigo nightgown with her shapely arms and 
legs bared.  She looked at me for a long moment and slowly 
closed her eyes again.  I walked around the coffee table, 
and my nose collided with the stream of smoke that wafted 
from the incense bowl in the center of the table.  I 
thought the stuff was pretty noxious when she first became 
fond of it several months ago, but I'm getting used to it.  
In fact, I suppose it's now completely imprinted on some 
region of my brain that holds all the smells and sights 
and sounds that will forever make me think of B'Elanna.

I sat down next to her, close enough that our bodies were 
near but not quite touching, and I turned sideways so I 
could look at her, bending one leg under me.  I draped my 
arm along the back of the couch over the burgundy afghan 
that she sometimes wraps herself in if she gets chilly 
while she's scanning through engineering reports or 
reading one of those infamous Klingon "romance" novels she 
likes.  I stared at her profile for several seconds, at 
the gentle ridges that defined her forehead, at the way 
her lashes brushed softly against curve of her cheek, at 
her slightly turned up nose, at her full lips pursed right 
now in concentration, at the slight jut of her small 
stubborn chin—

"Tom…"

Her tone was mildly exasperated, but not angry.  And I 
know B'Elanna.  If she didn't really want me there, she'd 
say so in no uncertain terms.  "Am I bothering you?" I 
asked.

She opened her eyes and looked at me.  "It's a little hard 
to concentrate when you're staring at me like that."

"Sorry."  I probably didn't sound very apologetic for 
devouring her with my eyes as if I'd been terrified I 
might never see her again.  "But I'm just glad to see that 
you're okay."  And that I meant sincerely.  I'd been 
worried as hell.  Not that I'd shown it on the bridge, 
beyond the standard "our crewmates are in deep shit again 
but we'll get them out of it at the last second like we 
always do" mild look of concern that was considered 
acceptable.  After all, we're Starfleet officers and no 
matter how bad the odds are we don't show fear or anxiety 
because we're trained to believe that we are going to win.  
Even when we sometimes lose anyway.  And even if those 
"crewmates" we might lose are now our friends, and lovers—
our family.  So while the freighter was careening toward 
the "O" star, and B'Elanna and Neelix were stuck in the 
control room where we couldn't get a transporter lock on 
them, I maintained my façade of composure and concentrated 
on the task at hand, my hands and mind performing my 
duties by sheer instinct.  And all the while my heart was 
in my throat, almost choking the breath out of me.  When 
Harry finally announced that B'Elanna and Neelix were 
safely aboard—at the very last second of course—even as I 
was watching the Malon freighter begin to break up and 
explode into the star, my knees felt weak.  I was 
incredibly grateful that I was sitting down.

The disturbing direction of my thoughts must have been 
reflected in my expression, because B'Elanna reached out 
and pressed her hand lightly over my knee, and pulled my 
attention back to her.  I held her gaze for several 
moments, my mouth opening slightly, then closing when I 
couldn't find the words to say what I was feeling.  She 
knew.  We'd both been through this before.  Maybe it was 
one reason certain Starfleet brass had argued in the past 
for a regulation against any and all fraternization on 
starships, as if a regulation could keep humans and other 
social species from forming emotional attachments to each 
other, or make us suddenly dispassionate in the face of 
the pain or death of those we've come to care about.  As 
if anyone or anything could regulate love.  Well, maybe 
the Vulcans could follow such a regulation, but I think 
even they'd be pretending sometimes.

I cleared my throat and finally managed to say something 
to change the subject, to relieve the tautness in my chest 
and the heavy silence between us.  "So, is it working?"

B'Elanna understood my meaning.  She glanced at the 
incense bowl and frowned.  "Tuvok seems to think 
meditating will help me control my…emotions."  She leaned 
back and uncurled her legs and pushed the coffee table 
back several centimeters with one foot, her expression 
frustrated.  "Yeah, sure.  It hasn't worked so far."

I dropped my hand from the back of the couch and let it 
rest against the curve of her neck and shoulder.  Her 
muscles were tight, but she'd been tense for several days, 
ever since the incident in engineering when the doctor had 
provoked her into breaking his camera, and Chakotay had 
ordered her to start seeing Tuvok for "anger management" 
sessions.  At least she didn't push my hand away.  "Well, 
I guess today was a bad day that got worse," I said 
quietly.

"Yeah."  She spoke somberly, and leaned her head back and 
closed her eyes for a moment.  I noticed the deep shadows 
under her eyes, and realized that she looked exhausted, 
not surprising after spending the better part of the day 
in the noxious atmosphere on the Malon freighter and then 
undergoing radiation treatment in sickbay.  But B'Elanna 
wasn't one to admit when she was tired, or hurting.  I 
pressed my fingers against the base of her neck, gently 
massaging her warm skin and tense muscles there.  She 
relaxed into it for a moment.

"So, are you okay, B'Elanna?"

She raised her head a little to look at me.  I curled my 
fingers into the soft hairs at the base of her skull, 
still gently massaging as she nodded.  "Yeah.  It was just 
another pleasant experience in the Delta quadrant."

I smiled at her sarcasm.  "And I told you not to have fun 
over there."

Her mouth quirked a little at my teasing.  "I guess I 
should have taken your advice."

My own smiled faded.  "You did.  Thank you for that."

She looked at me, obviously confused.

"For being careful," I said.  "For taking care of yourself 
and getting back here alive."

"Oh."  She frowned a little, then a flash of anger crossed 
her features, and some other fleeting emotion.  Maybe 
regret.  She sat forward suddenly, dislodging my hand from 
her neck, and pulled her legs up, wrapping her arms around 
her knees.  "Sure.  I only had to kill one person, and 
that's not such a big deal, is it?"

I really didn’t like the caustic way she said that.  I'd 
been able to glean part of the story from the 
communications between the freighter and the bridge all 
day, and the rest of the official version I heard while I 
was still on duty there after B'Elanna and Neelix had been 
taken to sickbay.  I'd wanted to be in sickbay when she 
returned, but wouldn't you know that today was the one day 
I didn't have secondary medical duty, and wished I did.  I 
laid my hand over hers.  "You did what you had to do, 
B'Elanna."

"Maybe."  She didn't sound entirely convinced.  "Maybe I 
could have done something different."

"You tried to talk to him," I reminded her.  "He just 
didn't want to listen to reason.  So you had to bash his 
skull a few times—"

B'Elanna shoved my hand away from her knee, where it had 
been quite comfortable.  "That's not funny, Tom.  I didn't 
want to kill him!"

I wasn't trying to be funny, actually, though maybe I'd 
worded that badly.  "B'Elanna, I didn't say you did—" 

She didn't let me finish.  "The Malon exploited him, 
turned him into that…that…"

"Mutant?"  That time I was being a smart-ass and B'Elanna 
glared at me, and stood up.  "From what I hear he took the 
job by choice," I pointed out.  "And obviously he suffered 
for it, but maybe he should have fully considered the 
consequences."

"That's beside the point."  She crossed her arms across 
her chest, in that mutinous self-protective way she has.  
"The Malon were are willing to do that to their own kind, 
Tom.  Did you know that seven out of ten core workers die 
of radiation poisoning?  And the Malon don't care.  They 
just use them, then leave them for dead.  His life—his 
family—everything—it was gone, and he was left alone, 
already as good as dead.  It's no wonder he was so angry."  
She frowned.  "I understood how he felt."

Okay, that sort of annoyed me.  B'Elanna and I were 
looking at this from two different perspectives, but I 
damned well didn't care.  Maybe the guy had reason to be 
angry, but I couldn't muster up a whole lot of sympathy 
for him, considering his intended plan and all his 
potential victims.  My concern right now started and ended 
with B'Elanna.  "Great, so you identify with him, 
B'Elanna?  Even though he was willing to kill you, and 
everyone else on that freighter, in the entire sector, 
just to get some sort of revenge?"  I knew my own voice 
sounded irate now.  I took a deep breath.  B'Elanna had 
been through enough today.  "Okay, so the Malon are jerks, 
and they're willing to treat their own people horribly, 
and to abandon them to their fate, but there has to be a 
better way to rebel against the unfair…"

My voice trailed off as a thought occurred to me then, and 
I leaned forward, scooting to the edge of the couch and 
putting myself pretty close to B'Elanna, who was standing 
with the back of her legs against the coffee table, 
probably seconds away from telling me to get out of her 
quarters.  I looked up at her, pretty sure my thought was 
right.  "Is this just about that core worker, B'Elanna?  
Or is it about the Maquis?"

The combative expression on her face froze for a moment, 
and my question was enough to give her pause.  And I have 
to admit my heart fell just a little.  I'm not sure 
B'Elanna will ever get over what happened to the Maquis, 
and even I hadn't completely understood the significance 
of their loss for a long time.  I'd known she had friends 
among them, but that their deaths would so devastate her—
that had taken me by surprise.  It took me a while to 
realize that B'Elanna had felt an acceptance among the 
Maquis, a place to belong and to be herself, that she'd 
never felt before in her life.  Until Voyager.  And though 
I didn't expect her to forget the Maquis, or her regret 
over their deaths, I wondered how much time would pass 
until all her friends here were enough to make up for the 
loss.  Until I was enough.

"Maybe it is."

Her voice almost startled me, I was so lost in my own 
sober thoughts for a moment.  My eyes locked with hers and 
we looked at each other for several seconds.  "Maybe the 
way the Malon treat the core workers did remind me of the 
way the Federation treated the Maquis," she admitted.  
"But that's only part of it, Tom."  She frowned.   "The 
anger that core worker felt, and the way he let it 
completely take him over, it was too much like looking 
at…" I thought she was going to say "myself", but she just 
squeezed her arms tighter against her chest, almost 
hugging herself.  Her eyes on me were dark, but not with 
anger now as much as regret.  "I just wish he hadn't made 
me kill him…"

I reached out then and gripped her hand, deliberately 
insinuating my fingers between hers.    "I know you didn't 
want to kill him, B'Elanna.  And I'm sorry you had to go 
through that, but you did the right thing.  You didn't let 
your anger take over.  You tried other options, then you 
took the only choice that was left, to save yourself and 
everyone else."  I squeezed her hand gently.  "If it means 
anything, I'm proud of you."

She looked at me silently, her lips pressed tightly 
together, and several conflicting emotions crossed her 
features.  "Of course it means something," she finally 
said, her voice soft and husky as she twisted her hand and 
threaded her fingers in mine, gripping my hand tightly.  
"And you're right.  He didn't give me a choice."  She 
shrugged once.  "Besides, it's done now."

I doubted that it was "done", since that sort of thing 
tends to stay with you for awhile.  And those sort of 
things stay with B'Elanna for a long while.  I tugged on 
her hand and she let me pull her back down onto the couch.  
She sat down right next to me and let her head drop to my 
shoulder as I slipped my arm around her.  I pressed my 
cheek against her hair, catching the clean scent of her 
shampoo, and just held her close.  B'Elanna's tolerance 
for that sort of comfort is limited, so I wasn't surprised 
when she pulled away after a minute, though not very far 
away, since my arm was still around her.  

"I guess I've been a little testy lately, haven't I?"  She 
said, rhetorically.  "And the Malon just added to it."

"A little testy?"  I said teasingly.

B'Elanna eyebrows rose.  "After the doctor yanked my chain 
the other day—"

"Yanked your chain?"  I repeated incredulously, grinning 
just a bit.

B'Elanna's lips quirked, even while she said 
admonishingly.  "You've had a horrible influence on my 
vocabulary."

"At least I've had some influence on you."

B'Elanna looked at me closely for a moment, and I wondered 
if I'd sounded a little petulant.  "I know I shouldn't 
have lost my temper with the doctor, but he just wouldn't 
give up."

I shrugged.  "The doctor should have known better than to 
provoke you."

"Well, Chakotay thought I was being unreasonable, and 
maybe I was."

"I like you unreasonable, " I told her easily, a smile on 
my face.  "It keeps things lively." 

B'Elanna gave me a searching look.  "Good, because I don't 
think this meditation stuff of Tuvok's is going to 
suddenly turn me into a different person."  She glanced at 
the incense bowl, with its little plume of smoke wafting 
ever upward.  "I guess I just am who I am."

"I love who you are, B'Elanna," I said softly.  I pressed 
my hand over hers where they were clasped together in her 
lap.  "I don't want you to be different."  My lips quirked 
again.  "And I sure as hell don't want you to turn into a 
Vulcan."

B'Elanna snorted.  "I don't think there's much chance of 
that, no matter how many sessions I have with Tuvok.  It's 
more likely I'll turn him into a Klingon."

I laughed.  Truthfully, I could see B'Elanna really trying 
Tuvok's patience.  I really don't want to know the details 
of their sessions, beyond what B'Elanna chooses to tell 
me, but I would love to watch that part.  After all I've 
successfully tried Tuvok's patience a time or two myself.  
If trying a Vulcan's patience was an art form, I'm sure I 
could excel at it.  

I turned B'Elanna's hand in mine, stroking her palm with 
my thumb.  "I told you once that I'm not afraid of your 
Klingon side."  And I had meant it, though even while I'd 
encouraged her to accept her Klingon side, I hadn't 
realized myself how much turmoil both her mixed heritage 
and her anger caused in her.  I'm not afraid that B'Elanna 
will hurt me, she's never really tried, not even during 
our most furious arguments.  And the incidental injuries 
of our sometimes over-enthusiastic lovemaking don't count.  
And as far as words go, I'm more than capable of giving as 
well as I get.  It wasn't that.  "But you do scare me 
sometimes."

B'Elanna stared at me, her expression confused, clearly 
not sure what I meant by that.  She started to pull her 
hand away from mine, but I didn't let go.  "I'm not afraid 
your anger will hurt me, B'Elanna," I told her, and then I 
smiled with intentional smugness.  "I can handle whatever 
you can dish out."  Then my expression sobered.  "But I 
can't stand to see it hurting you."  And I'd already seen 
it happen, more than once.  "So if Tuvok's meditation 
techniques help at all, then I think you should keep 
trying."

B'Elanna accepted my words, maybe because I meant them 
wholeheartedly.  "Well, it doesn't look like I have much 
choice anyway," she said after a few moments, and she 
actually didn't sound too put out about it.  "And maybe it 
will help a little," she admitted.

"Good."

"Though that doesn't mean I won't still have a temper."

I smiled involuntarily.  "No kidding."

"So you don't mind if we still argue about every little 
thing?" she asked dryly.

"Well, we don't argue about every little thing," I said 
slyly.  "Just most of them."  I pressed my hand tighter 
into her lap and raised my eyebrows, giving her a 
significant look.  "Besides, we always make up 
so…satisfactorily after."

The meaning of my drawled words was clear to B'Elanna.  
Her lips curved upward and her hand tightened over mine.  
"Just…satisfactorily?" she asked, sounding vaguely 
insulted.

"Make that spectacularly," I corrected without hesitaton, 
since it was the complete truth.  

B'Elanna smiled, mollified.  "I don’t guess that will 
change—the fighting or the making up—if you keep insisting 
on hanging around."

"Oh, I plan to keep hanging around for a long time," I 
told her, in case she had any real doubts.  I leaned over 
then and kissed tender skin at the corner of her mouth, 
then whispered with my breath grazing over her lips, "A 
very long time."  She moved her head slightly, brushing 
her lips against mine and we kissed slowly, lips and 
tongues stroking gently, until I pulled away.  

I still had one arm draped over her shoulders, and my 
other hand was clasped in hers, as I looked at her a 
little regretfully.  "You look tired.  You should probably 
get some sleep."  I didn't ask if she wanted me to leave, 
or to slip into her bed with her.  We were in her 
quarters, and she'd let me know.

"Actually, I'm still feeling a little wound up from 
today," B'Elanna said, flexing her shoulders a bit, giving 
me a sideways look.  "I think I still have a little excess 
tension I need to dispel."

I squeezed her shoulder lightly, kneading the taut muscles 
there, and looked down at her.  "You do feel a little 
tense," I concluded.  I met her smoky gaze expectantly, 
fully willing to offer my services to help her release her 
excess tension.  "What can I do to relax you?"

She smiled, then twisted sideways on the couch and slung 
her leg over mine so that she was pressed up against my 
side.  Then she slid her hand into the neckline of my 
regulation t-shirt, and curled her fingers against my 
chest.

I skimmed my hand up her side, sliding my palm slowly 
along the satiny material of her nightgown where it hugged 
her curves, until I closed my hand gently over her breast, 
stroking lightly.  "Are you sure you're not too tired?"

She answered my question by sliding up and over me, and 
straddling me.  She insinuated her hand further into my 
shirt, stretching the cotton material to its limit, and 
she pressed her slightly parted mouth firmly against mine.  
I liked her answer.   

I fisted my hands in the folds of her nightgown and 
slipped it up over her, while she wrestled my t-shirt with 
one hand, and unfastened the waist of my pants with the 
other, pulling downward.  I've never known a woman who 
could get my clothes off faster than B'Elanna.  Not that 
I'm not complaining about that, and nowadays there's no 
other woman I even remotely want ripping my clothes from 
me.

Sometimes we make love leisurely, but most of the time we 
are much more…unrestrained.  This time it was somewhere 
inbetween.  And despite all she'd been through in one day, 
B'Elanna had some energy reserves left.   Suffice to say, 
as we came together on the couch, it was intense and 
satisfying, if not the full on fierce encounter we 
sometimes engage in.  And there was comfort in it, the 
kind B'Elanna is more willing to accept.  Not just the 
comfort of kissing and stroking, of breath mingling, and 
of the physical joining that lets two bodies—two souls—
merge briefly.  But the comfort that lingers afterwards in 
the mere touch of warm skin against warm skin, the simple 
embrace of another that reminds you in the truest sense 
that you're not alone. 

Okay, maybe that's a little quixotic, but in those moments 
afterwards I feel it.  I was feeling it then, as B'Elanna 
lay sprawled over me, our legs still entangled, and her 
cheek resting against my shoulder, while I was trying to 
catch my breath as usual.  After a couple of minutes of 
laying there content in that blissful feeling, I touched 
her cheek, brushing back a strand of soft, slightly damp 
hair.  "B'Elanna?"

She shifted a little, repositioning her legs around mine, 
and her cheek rubbed against my chest as she made herself 
more comfortable.  "Hmmm?"

From her barely audible murmur I could tell that she was 
already half asleep.  I smiled a little, figuring that 
we'd just taken care of whatever excess tension, and 
energy reserves, she'd had left.  But I wanted to say 
something before she was completely unconscious.  
"B'Elanna.  About what you said earlier today…"

She murmured again almost inaudibly at my brief pause, in 
acknowledgement that she was listening, I hoped.  I 
couldn't see her face, cradled as it was against my chest, 
but I brushed my fingers through her hair again.  "You 
said it was always going to be you against the galaxy."  
My fingers touched her cheek.  "But it's not just you, 
B'Elanna.  Not anymore.  I hope you know that."

She didn't move or speak for a moment, and I figured she'd 
fallen asleep and hadn't even heard me.  Then I felt her 
lightly touch my other hand where it was still hanging 
limply over the edge of the couch.  Her fingers closed 
over mine and she pulled my hand up and pressed it 
securely against the small of her back, where I could feel 
the dampness of our recent exertion against the smoothness 
of her skin.  Then I felt the soft rush of her breath 
brush across my chest as she whispered, "I know."

I lay there for several minutes with a small contented 
smile on my face, one hand splayed over her back holding 
her closely against me, the other hand tangled lightly in 
her hair, and wondering as I sometimes do how I'd managed 
to get so lucky.

Maybe B'Elanna isn't an easy woman to get along with—okay, 
there's no maybe about it.  But then I'm no prize in that 
area either.  She'd tell you that, or the doctor, or 
Tuvok, or Chakotay.  There's a nice long list of people I 
can irritate with regularity.  And I've got my own 
unresolved issues and conflicting emotions, and not a few 
demons from my past that still haunt me from time to time.  
I'm no great catch, that's for sure.  The fact is that 
B'Elanna and I may be the only two people on this ship who 
can manage to put up with the other on a continual basis.  
And I know a lot of our fellow crewmates think that all we 
do is fight, and then engage in make-up sex.  Harry's 
teased me on that score, even though he knows me, and 
B'Elanna, maybe better than anyone else on this ship does.  
But even he doesn't know everything about us.  There's a 
little more to our relationship than others can see, but 
those private moments nobody knows about, they stay 
between B'Elanna and me.  Maybe it's not always easy for 
us, and maybe it never will be, but someone once did say 
that nothing good is ever easy.  And, despite the rough 
moments, when it's good—which is more often than people 
might think—it's very good.

I shifted a little on the couch, and B'Elanna didn't move.  
I could tell from her dead weight on me—slight as it was—
and from her soft even breathing, that she was sound 
asleep.  I don't really fit well on B'Elanna's couch since 
I'm so tall, and I knew I'd feel cramped if I stayed there 
all night.  I could have roused her long enough to get us 
to the bed, or even carried her there (no doubt to her 
annoyance the next morning).  But I didn't want to disturb 
her.  Maybe her sleep would be deep enough that she 
wouldn't dream about the awful day she'd had.  And even if 
it was bound to give me a crick or two, how could I 
complain that a beautiful, passionate woman who loves me 
was curled naked over me, her arms circling my shoulders, 
and her cheek burrowed against my chest?

I moved just enough so she would be caught between me and 
the back of the couch if she should shift in the middle of 
the night, then I pulled the afghan down and draped it 
over us.  Then, with my arms wrapped securely around her, 
I closed my eyes.   And, feeling pretty damned content and 
not at all uncomfortable after all, I fell asleep.
 

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The end.