Part Two -----  Trials Four: Shadow's Trials: Case Closed
TerriTrek@aol.com
See Part 0ne for Disclaimers, Warnings, etc.
***********************

Tom Paris was seated at a messhall table alone when Harry Kim arrived for dinner. It was 
the first time in days that the foursome were going to risk Neelix's cooking for the evening 
meal. It was Tom's idea. He thought Malista needed to get out more socially instead of 
retreating to her cabin or Harry's. 
The ensign frowned slightly as he approached. "Where are Malista and B'Elanna?" He was 
a few minutes late himself. He'd expected all three of his friends to be waiting for him.
Paris grinned and shrugged carelessly as he set aside the data padd he'd been reading while 
he waited. "I don't know. I guess they're both late."
Kim's frown deepened as he seated himself. "Strange. Malista is always on time. Wait a 
minute!" he exclaimed. "Wasn't today the day they were going to try out one of Natwick's 
battle simulations?"
 When the Engineering staff had completed the last of the replacements of a multitude of 
power couplings, Captain Janeway had authorized extra hours off duty as a reward for all 
their hard work. B'Elanna Torres and Malista Shadow had decided to use some of their 
time off to work out together on the holodeck in a combat training exercise.
"Yeah, so? You think they forgot the time?" the lieutenant asked. He'd expected no less. 
B'Elanna tended to lose track of everything when her interest was engaged---at work or at 
play.
Harry looked worried. His brow furrowed as he glanced at his chronometer. "That could 
be it, I guess." He didn't sound very convinced.
"Harry, what's wrong? Surely, you don't think---" 
Before Paris could finish the thought, Kim slapped his commbadge. "Computer, location 
of Crewman Shadow?"
"Crewman Shadow is in Sickbay," came the bland reply.
Kim bolted from his seat and was out the door before Tom could get to his feet.  "Harry!" 
He sank back into his chair, his unruffled demeanor belying a sudden twinge of concern. 
"B'Elanna would *not* hurt Malista," he muttered under his breath.  But it wouldn't hurt 
to make sure. He slapped his own commbadge. "Computer, location of Lieutenant 
Torres?"
"Lieutenant Torres is in Engineering."
Now Paris was frowning. Why had she gone back to work after her time off? He hadn't 
heard of any crisis in her department. She tended to try to bury herself in work when she 
was upset. Maybe Harry was right. There might be a reason to check up on the two 
women. He got to his feet and strolled toward the exit.
************
Ignoring the startled glances of his crewmates, Harry Kim was all but running by the time 
he reached Sickbay and burst through the doorway. He skidded to a halt in a manner more 
commensurate with Tom Paris' famous last minute entrances than his own more proper 
Starfleet behavior. His eyes darted quickly around the room, checking each biobed for 
occupancy.
"Can I help you, Ensign?" the Emergency Medical Hologram inquired sarcastically as he 
stepped out of his office. "Or did you just stop by to catch your breath before the next leg 
in the race in which you're obviously participating?"
"Where's Malista? Crewman Shadow?" Kim panted, slightly out of breath.
"Harry?" Malista popped up from behind a console in the surgical bay. "Is something 
wrong?" She looked perfectly fine, though puzzled by his urgency. 
He sighed with relief. "No. It's just the computer said---you were in Sickbay."
"And here she is. What a remarkable coincidence!" the doctor exclaimed. "Now that we've 
established that we're all here, would we all like to get back to work?"
Kim shot him an impatient glance. "I thought she was hurt. She was working out with 
Lieutenant Torres today."
The doctor nodded understandingly. "I can see why you might be concerned. However, I 
am an excellent physician and I believe I can say with some assurance that if Malista had 
been injured I would have repaired the damage by now. She has been in Sickbay for the 
last two hours."
Harry's surprised brown eyes flashed back to the young woman. "That was a short 
workout." It wasn't quite a question.
She didn't meet his eyes, but returned to working on the panel before her. "Yes. We didn't 
spend a lot of time in the holodeck."
Kim drew nearer, until he faced her from the other side of the console. "What happened?"
She shrugged and recalibrated the spanner she held with great attention to detail before 
returning it to her kit. 
Now he knew something was wrong. He'd had a bad feeling about the whole idea the 
moment that Torres had mentioned her plan to join Shadow in the training simulation. 
While Malista and B'Elanna might be friends off duty, their temperaments were very 
different---almost polar extremes. He had suspected that might cause some problems when 
Torres had offered to tutor Malista in self-defense, but hadn't been able to talk B'Elanna 
out of the idea. 
When upset, Malista tended to withdraw and become quieter. When B'Elanna was upset, 
she tended to get aggressive and loud. It was not an ideal teaching situation. Especially not 
when Torres was Shadow's immediate superior in the chain of command. 
"Malista?" Harry said coaxingly, quietly. "What happened?"
"Nothing." She reached down to pick up her tool box and set it atop the console. "I've 
finished, Doc. That should take care of the glitches in the surgical field projector. I just ran 
a final diagnostic of the system."
Kim came around to stand beside her and took the heavy case from her hand.  
"Harry," she protested, "I can carry it."
"You can," he agreed amiably, but determined to have his way. "But you won't. Not when 
I'm here to carry it for you." He knew very well that she lugged her heavy toolbox all over 
the ship during the course of her shift, but his good manners were too ingrained to let her 
do it in his presence when his hands were empty.
She beamed a smile at him as if he'd just handed her a bouquet of flowers. "Thank you." 
He'd noticed it before. The smallest courtesy from him pleased her out of all proportion to 
the deed. For some reason, that worried him.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the doctor was making a face. And some people 
thought he wasn't real?  He became more human every moment of his existence in 
Malista's opinion. "Good night, Doctor. Let me know if you need anything else repaired. 
And as for my lessons, I've almost finished studying human anatomy and I've been 
working on learning the emergency procedures. I'll find some time to practice them, I 
promise."
The doctor smiled at her, pleased with regaining her attention. He was more pleased and 
pleasantly surprised when she kissed his cheek affectionately as she passed him. That was 
the second time she had done that. His hand went to his cheek wonderingly as the couple 
exited. He enjoyed having her as a student. She had the proper respect for his abilities. She 
was quickly becoming his favorite crewmember----next to Kes, of course. Which reminded 
him that he wanted to talk to Kes about spending less time in airponics and more time in 
Sickbay. She was neglecting him---her duties.
Harry was determined to find out what had happened between Malista and B'Elanna. He 
wasn't going to let a simple misunderstanding get totally out of hand---not this time. Never 
again.
********************
Paris was approaching Engineering when Torres barreled out of the doorway at full speed--
-almost ramming speed, but he sidestepped quickly and prevented a collision. "Whoa!" He 
held up a hand, waving it lazily in her line of sight. 
She stopped dead in her tracks and glared at him. "What?!" Her chest was heaving, her 
breathing labored as if she'd been exerting herself physically. 
He raised his eyebrows. "You're late for dinner," he said mildly, trying a polite, friendly 
smile. Torres automatically labeled it Smile Number Four on the Torres Scale of Paris' 
Expressions ---polite, friendly, slightly concerned---it reached his eyes, but didn't convey 
his feelings.
"Don't *start* with me, Paris!" She stormed away, leaving a wake of tension behind her 
that he could follow like a path back into the Engineering Department. Several faces were 
staring out at him. Most noticeably Joe Carey, who jerked his head at Paris as if telling him 
to follow Torres then rolled his eyes heavenward as if making a plea to an unseen deity.
Tom followed, but at a slower pace. His longer legs made it easy for him to trail just 
behind her, though she was moving more quickly.
They rode the same turbolift to deck six. Still without speaking, she charged off to 
Holodeck One, where the Sandrine's program was running. He hesitated in the corridor, 
trying to decide if now was the best time to talk to her, or if she preferred to be left alone.
His decision was made for him when she stuck her head out into the corridor and snapped, 
"Well? Are you coming or not?" Without waiting for an answer, she ducked back inside 
and went to find a drink and a table---in that order.
"Thank you for that gracious invitation, Ms. Torres," Paris murmured coolly. Lazily lifting 
one eyebrow, he ambled toward the entrance. He took it as a good sign that she actually 
*wanted* to talk to him. Though he'd begun to open up to her more often, it was still a rare 
occurrence for her to let her guard down with him.
By the time he joined her at 'their' table, she already had their favorite drinks waiting and 
was drumming her fingers impatiently on the table. Fortunately, except for the ever present 
holocharacters, the two of them had Sandrine's all to themselves.
He spun the chair around and eased down onto it with his customary grace, resting his 
folded arms along the top of its back. He put his chin on his forearms and just regarded the 
chief engineer objectively as he waited for her to speak---or explode. She was seething. He 
wouldn't have been terribly surprised to hear molten lava was bubbling through her veins. 
He was amazed there was no steam escaping from her ears.
"What happened?" he asked calmly. 
"Harry was right. It was a mistake to try to work out with Malista!" she snapped. "I should 
have known she'd be hopeless!"
"What happened?" he repeated in the same unruffled tone.
"She wouldn't *fight*!" Torres was outraged. Her tone invited him to enter into her 
feelings.
Paris frowned. "I thought it was a self-defense program. Isn't fighting the whole purpose 
of the exercise?"
"Exactly." B'Elanna nodded decisively. "But she wouldn't. She wouldn't attack. All her 
moves were purely defensive! She kept backing away!"
"I assume you pointed this out to her?" he asked mildly. 
B'Elanna got louder. "Yes!  She quit! She left the holodeck!! She wouldn't fight back!!!" 
She waited for his response, eyes narrowed as she tried to read his thoughts.
"Just walked out?" Tom raised an eyebrow. His voice was getting quieter with each 
rejoinder. 
"Yes!" Torres replied indignantly. She found herself lowering the volume of her own voice 
to match his.
"Didn't argue with you?" Tom's voice was soothing. She didn't remember noticing before 
how soothing his pleasant tenor was. 
"Exactly." Torres' voice had returned to its normal tones. 
"Hmmm."
"What's that supposed to mean, Paris?" She sounded accusatory. "Are you taking *her* 
side?"
Tom batted his blue eyes at her with exaggerated innocence. "Me? Would I do that?" he 
asked softly.
Torres growled under her breath. "Yes. You would! But you shouldn't! You should have 
seen her---she wouldn't even fight back at all until she was cornered!"
"Disgraceful," he said, curling his upper lip in scorn. His voice was almost a whisper. A 
contemptuous whisper. 
"Well, it is!"  She was gratified that he was finally agreeing with her, but not entirely 
convinced of his sincerity. She took a long cold drink of her synthale. "What kind of 
fighter is she? I'd hate to be on an away mission with her. If fighting was called for, she'd 
go hide behind a tree or something and wait for someone else to do her fighting!" 
She knew she was exaggerating wildly as she spoke and waited for Paris to contradict her 
so she could argue him to a standstill.
"You think she's a coward?" he asked impassively. He seemed genuinely curious to hear 
her opinion. He wasn't reacting the way she'd expected. It was throwing her off.
"I didn't say that." B'Elanna's temper had cooled to the point that she was aware she was 
being unfair. "When she fought, she fought well. She just waited too long to start. I'm 
sure if the danger was a real one, she wouldn't be so hesitant," she temporized. 
"I don't understand her! What's the matter with her? After what happened to her on Huldon 
III, I'd think she'd be full of rage! She should be able to use it! Tap into it to give her 
strength!"
"Maybe she used up all her rage---when she killed the Cardassians who raped her," Tom 
ventured cautiously.
B'Elanna shrugged. "She did say she was afraid to fight. Afraid to lose her temper. But 
when her own life is in danger? That's totally unreasonable! It's irrational!!"
"On the holodeck, she knows in the back of her mind that she's not really in danger. If the 
safeties are on. She didn't fight back---at all?" Tom inquired, seeking clarification.
"Well," Torres hesitated. "She did help me when I was outnumbered---but if I hadn't been 
so distracted by her failure to act, I wouldn't have needed her help," she added defensively.
"So she fought for you, but not herself," Paris clarified, looking thoughtful. His left hand 
went up to tug at his earlobe.
She nodded, not sure what he was getting at. She was surprised to feel relatively serene. 
Usually when she really lost her temper as she had this time, it would take hours---
sometimes days---for her to regain her emotional balance. She stared at Tom as she became 
aware of the role he'd played. "You sneaky----"
"What did *I* do?" He was all hurt innocence now. His lower lip almost, but not quite, 
coming forward in a pout.
"I don't know, but when I figure it out I'm going to---"
"B'Elanna, what are you talking about?" Paris straightened, instantly alert. If she was 
going to take another swing at him, he wanted to be ready to duck. Or grab her. Or 
something.
She paused for a moment to assess her own condition. "I've calmed down."
"I noticed," he replied. His eyes were solemn, but a hint of a smile teased at the corners of 
his lips.
"How did you *do* that?" she demanded.
"How did I do what?" he asked. His smile widened.
"Calm me down?!" She sounded outraged.
"I didn't calm you down. You calmed yourself down. You just needed to vent a little. You 
aren't particularly angry at Malista. You're mostly frustrated because things didn't work 
out the way you planned and you're not sure why. All I did was listen." 
There was something good to be said for being in a relationship with someone less volatile 
than herself. Now that she thought about it, he really *hadn't* done or said anything 
manipulative. 
"Maybe I'm getting better at controlling my temper?" she speculated, looking to him for 
confirmation. 
"Maybe," he said thoughtfully. "Of course, I didn't actually go into Engineering and 
conduct a body count---"
She sent him a sour look. "I yelled---but I didn't hit anyone---or anything. This time."
"Very good. Keep it up and I'll nominate you for the Poldax Peace Prize next year," he 
teased.
"Don't you *dare* make me laugh," she warned. "I'm still furious." She wasn't. It was 
getting harder every moment to hold onto her irritation.
"*Make* you laugh? Make *you* laugh?" He sounded incredulous. His right hand flew up 
to cover his heart. "B'Elanna Torres, I am shocked and appalled that you would so misread 
my character. I would *never* try to 'make you' do anything you didn't want to do! That 
would violate the very nature of our relationship."
"Shocked?" she repeated skeptically.
"And appalled," he added virtuously, pursing his mouth into a prim look that was totally 
out of character for the roguish pilot.
Her smile was fighting to get free. "Right."
"So what are you going to do about it?" he inquired after a moment.
"Do about what?" She took another sip of her drink. This time she enjoyed the taste.
"What are you going to do about Malista? Are you two still on speaking terms?"  He sighed 
sorrowfully. "I was just getting used to the four of us being friends again."
"Don't be an idiot! Of course, we're still friends." Pause. "I hope."
"How bad did it get?" he asked with a slight wince.
"She was distracted. She wasn't paying attention. She got killed twice---and it was her 
fault I was almost killed once! And the sim only ran for thirty minutes." Torres' reply was 
muffled by the cup in front of her lips. She was disgusted by the defensive whine she 
could hear creeping into her words. She was gazing at her cup rather than at Tom.
"Oh," he drawled. 
That was all he said, but she could tell he was disappointed in her. Of course, if he'd 
*said* any such thing, she could have argued with him. She decided it was unfair of him 
not to give her the opportunity to do so. But she magnanimously determined to forgive him 
anyway. 
Blissfully unaware of his good fortune, Paris continued to regard her with raised 
eyebrows.
"I told her she was acting like a scared teeka cat. And she accused me of being *hostile*!" 
Torres was incensed as she recalled that moment. In a way, she'd been pleased that Malista 
had enough intestinal fortitude to lash out at her at all---though she hadn't done it until she 
was on her way out of the holodeck and had yelled it from a safe distance. 
Tom's jaw dropped melodramatically. "You're joking! How could she *say* such a 
thing!"  
Her eyes narrowed and her chin came up. "I am not *hostile*!" she seethed in an extremely 
hostile manner. It was the same response he'd received from her when he'd dared to accuse 
her of exactly the same thing on another occasion.
"Of course not!" Tom replied, stretching out his hand to pat her arm. "The entire crew 
knows that you are the sweetest, most even-tempered, amiable, reasonable----"
She snatched her arm away. "Paris---" she admonished. Her hands clenched.
"Yes, my beloved B'Ella?" He batted his sandy blond eyelashes at her.
"You're laying it on with a cargo loader!" He was so outrageous. He could defuse her 
anger with a blink of those blue eyes and a flash of those white teeth. Most of the time.
With a scapegrace grin, he said, "I know. Is it working?"
She finally let her own beautiful smile escape. He was absolutely audacious, not even 
pretending to be ashamed at being caught in the act. "Yes. Keep it up. I need you to flatter 
me and build up my ego until I can face apologizing to Malista for losing my temper."
"That's my beautiful B'Ella," Tom cooed fawningly. "Did you know that in a poll taken 
among the ship's crew you were voted Maquis Most Likely To---"
He was interrupted as Harry and Malista walked into Sandrine's. Harry was in the lead, 
holding Malista's hand and towing her along behind him. She seemed reluctant and her 
body language screamed that she was trying to minimize herself. 
Harry, on the other hand, seemed larger and more determined. His jaw was jutting out. 
Rather militantly, he approached the table, seated Malista, and pulled out a chair for himself 
before speaking. "No one is leaving this room until this thing is settled," he declared, 
tossing a mutinous scowl at B'Elanna as if he expected opposition or resistance from her.  
Torres couldn't help but be impressed with his bravery. Malista had been good for Harry 
Kim. A few months ago, Harry would never have been so confrontational with the half 
Klingon.
"What thing?" Tom asked, blandly feigning ignorance.
"This thing between Malista and B'Elanna," Harry clarified. "Last time the arguments got 
way out of hand and we all stopped communicating. This time we're going to talk this out 
before it becomes a major problem."
"Is that the way you feel, Sis?" Tom asked. He couldn't help thinking of his conversation 
with the EMH. He wondered if something wasn't simmering just below the surface of 
Malista's usual icy cool exterior. Something that was bound to blow---sooner or later. He 
just hoped that when it did, he'd be there to help her. To help Harry pick up the pieces.
She looked up, her green eyes almost pleading. "I'm sorry, B'Elanna," she blurted. "I 
know I was---"
"*You're* sorry?" Harry yelped indignantly. "She yelled at you!"
"I deserved it," Shadow replied in a shaky voice, trying to mollify him without upsetting 
Tom or B'Elanna. A problematic task in the best of circumstances and totally impossible at 
this point in time. 
"No, you didn't," Torres said, jumping in just before Harry could say the exact same 
words. "I'm sorry, Malista. I shouldn't have gotten---" She clenched her teeth and shot a 
defiant glance at Tom, then at Harry---"hostile."	 
Tom made a visible effort. He clenched his teeth to refrain from commenting and 
maintained a straight face. 
Harry started to speak, but was stopped by a sudden sharp pain in his shin. Tom had 
kicked him! His eyes flew toward his friend. Tom extinguished his protest with the ice in 
his blue eyes and a finger placed vertically on his lips. Harry got the message. 
Shut up. Now. This is their problem. Let them handle it.
"I understand. You were frustrated because I'm so inept," Malista replied.  She looked 
miserable---and somehow smaller than usual as if she were drawing herself in---to reduce 
the size of the target she made as she sat there?
That impression made Torres extremely uncomfortable. She felt like a bully. She didn't like 
the feeling. "You're not inept," B'Elanna replied, her manner softening. She hadn't 
thought the younger woman would take the incident so much to heart. B'Elanna wouldn't 
have. "You weren't fighting back. You don't seem to have any fighting spirit. Didn't you 
ever get into fights as a kid?"
"No, never," Malista replied, startled at the very idea.
"Never?" Now it was B'Elanna's turn to be astonished. "Why not?"
"Why would I?" It was as if the two women were speaking different languages. 
B'Elanna frowned and looked to Tom for help in making her point. He shrugged and 
remained silent, tossing the hoverball back into her court. 
She looked back toward Malista. "Didn't any of the other kids ever call you names? Make 
fun of you?"
"Yes, but I never got into any fights. My brothers did though. They took care of me---
watched out for me," Malista smiled for a moment. The smile faded as she remembered the 
loss of her older brothers. 
"You *never* had to fight for yourself?" Torres said once more. "I was an only child. I 
was fighting other kids by the time I was five." Tom slipped his arm around her shoulders, 
lending silent support. She leaned into his touch, unconsciously nestling comfortably 
against his side.
Malista looked horrified at the thought. "If I'd ever gotten in a fight, my father would have-
--I would have been in big trouble. I was my father's little princess. Girls were *not* 
supposed to fight---or do a lot of other things. He had very old fashioned ideas. I never 
went anywhere without at least two of my brothers escorting me." Harry scooted his chair 
closer to hers and took her hand in his, stroking her palm.
"At least you had a father around to care," Torres retorted. "Mine left when I was five. 
That's one reason I got into fights. That---and this." She rubbed her ridged forehead. Tom 
squeezed her shoulder. She looked up at him smiling weakly. 
"I don't know," Shadow said sadly. "It depends on if you think it's worse to have known 
your father's love for sixteen years---and then have it ripped away from you. When I 
joined the Maquis, he told me I was a fool. That it wasn't our fight. The Cardassians 
weren't bothering our colony. I told him I was going anyway to keep the Cardies away 
from my home. He told me---that as far as he was concerned, he no longer had a 
daughter."
Torres felt a shock of pity for the other woman. At least she had grown up not expecting 
anything from her own father. To have it all, and to lose it---that might indeed be more 
devastating. B'Elanna could only vaguely miss the things she'd never had and wonder 
what might have been. Malista, on the other hand, knew exactly what she'd lost. "If we get 
home, maybe he'll have changed his mind---he must have missed you---" B'Elanna offered 
the only comforting thought she could think of. Tom knew what was coming and braced 
himself to hear it again.
Malista shook her head. "No. He never changes his mind once it's made up. After---after 
Huldon III, I called him. I told him what had---what they'd done to me. I begged him to let 
me come home." Her voice broke. Harry turned her toward him and let her hide her tearful 
face on his shoulder. She was trembling with the effort to control herself. She hated losing 
control in front of other people, even her closest friends. This failure to control her 
emotions was just another failure to add to the long list of her failures she carried in her 
mind.
Kim finished the story for her. "Her father told her she didn't have a home there any more. 
That she had chosen the Maquis over her own family so she could stay with them. But like 
Tom told you, Malista, the Voyager crew is your family now. You belong here. With us. 
You always will." He stroked and patted her back, holding her tightly until he felt the 
tension in her body ease. 
Torres had to swallow hard to clear the lump from her throat. She'd had no idea. It was no 
wonder that at one time Shadow had considered suicide to be easier than living in exile. 
She gulped again. 'Klingons don't cry,' she told herself. 'At least not in front of anyone 
else.' She gazed up at Tom, communicating with him wordlessly. She didn't know what to 
say. How to make them all feel better and get them back on solid ground emotionally. That 
was more in his line of expertise. Her brown eyes sent him a plea for help that he couldn't 
and wouldn't ignore.
His own azure eyes were suspiciously bright, but his voice was light and smooth as he 
said, "So you were your father's little princess, as long as you did exactly what he said, 
right, Sis? Sounds familiar. I, myself, was the Crown Prince and Heir Apparent of the 
Paris Clan. And I said 'Crown Prince', not 'Clown Prince', Torres," he added quickly as 
if anticipating a smart remark.
Shadow made an effort to pull herself together and sent a sympathetic smile in Tom's 
direction. For once, Torres was happy to have Paris inject a lighter note. So was Kim.
 "The Crown Prince?" queried Harry, obligingly feeding Tom a line to hang his tale on.
"Of course. I haven't told you the Legend of the Paris Patriarch?" He barely waited for 
Harry's negative answer before beginning to weave his spell, drawing them all in with his 
body language and the melodic flow of his voice. "Once upon a time, in a quadrant far, far 
away, there was born the founding father of the Paris family dynasty named Eugene Owen 
Paris the First. My great-great--I forget how many greats---Grandfather who decreed that 
every male child of the Paris Dynasty would bear the name Eugene. Unfortunately, for 
those of us who have to bear it," he muttered discontentedly in a quick aside. 
"Having no head for business and no skills whatsoever, Eugene the First made his fortune 
by letting himself be shot into space as a so-called pilot in experimental ships that were 
basically computer-controlled. Since he wasn't *entirely* stupid, he made sure he held 
important patents for certain applications stemming from the test flights he made. Having 
accumulated vast wealth and power, Eugene, that wise old patriarch, decided that the only 
possible career path his descendants should be allowed to follow would be one that led 
them into space exploration." 
Paris waggled his eyebrows significantly. "*Deep space* exploration, if at all possible. 
This allowed him to be a great social benefactor by helping to reduce the surplus population 
in the Terran System, and had the added benefit of keeping his beloved family members 
thousands of light-years away from himself and, of course, his fortune as well..."
Malista was caught up in his outrageous story, listening with fascination, a smile teasing at 
her lips and lighting her emerald eyes. Sometimes she envied Tom his ability to charm and 
entertain.
"How many generations is this story going to cover before we get to your role?" Kim 
asked quizzically, pretending to look at his chronometer.
"Harry, Harry, Harry! You interrupted the flow!" Paris rebuked. "This recitation is like an 
epic poem. It can't be stopped and started. Now I have to begin again from the beginning." 
He made it sound like a chore, but one which he would welcome as his duty to his family 
honor.
"No, thank you," Torres said firmly. She placed the fingers of one hand over his lips for 
emphasis.
The Crown Prince and Heir Apparent of the Paris Dynasty endeavored to look aggrieved. 
"I'd like to hear it, Tom," Malista said kindly, patting his hand.
"No, she wouldn't," Harry contradicted. "She's just being polite." 
Malista frowned reproachfully at Kim. He grinned at her and reclaimed her hand, tugging it 
away from Tom's and kissing it before clasping it between his own palms.
His purpose accomplished, Paris was content to let the matter drop. For the most part.  He 
kissed Torres' hand as he captured it in his own. "Maybe we should form our own club?"
"What kind of club?" Harry asked.
"A club for people with lousy fathers. Harry, we don't want you to feel excluded so  we'll 
make you an honorary member. You can be our token person with a *normal* childhood." 
He ignored Harry's snicker. "Now for a name," Tom rubbed his chin as he contemplated 
his choices. "How about the Sorry Sires Society?"
Malista tried not to wince.
"The Fraternity of Foul Fathers? Or should it be Federation---Naw, that sounds way too 
official."
Torres shut her eyes, sighed, and shook her head.
"Despicable Dads Dynasty?"
Harry grabbed his throat and pretended to choke.
"Pathetic Papas Party!"
The trio groaned in unison. "You're getting worse," B'Elanna moaned. "Isn't there any 
way to get you to give up on this?"
"One way," Paris replied, leering at her cheerfully.
"Later, Helmboy! If I'm not mistaken, and I never am, the four of us should be at the 
circus practicing right now." Torres stood and pulled him up. "Let's go get changed. We'll 
meet you in---oh, about fifteen minutes."  She started pulling Tom toward the door.
"Fifteen minutes?" Harry called. "You two getting slower in your old age?" Malista simply 
smiled.
Torres and Paris each smirked as they left Sandrine's. In fact, it was more than thirty 
minutes before they joined the other couple---and they seemed inordinately smug and self-
satisfied when they did so.
************************
Harry looked up from the padd in his hand to give his eyes a rest. So he rested them on 
Malista, who was sitting at the other end of the couch, her back angled into the corner of 
the couch as she concentrated fiercely on the padd in her own hand. He could tell she was 
concentrating because the pink tip of her tongue had made its appearance in the left corner 
of her mouth. He must have made some sound of amusement because she looked up.  
"What?"
He crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out sideways.
She tossed a pillow at him. "You! Don't make fun of me. The doctor is already threatening 
to do some kind of case study. He calls it aberrant behavior."
"Aberrant? If he wants to study aberrant behavior, he should talk to Chell. Or Ensign 
Golwat," Kim scoffed.
She grinned. "I don't think their behavior is clinically defined as aberrant for Bolians. Just 
for humans."
"Better he than me," the ensign replied, thinking of a particular bit of scandal concerning 
Chell and his love life with Golwat that was making the rounds of the ship. "What are you 
reading?"
"First aid procedures for humans. It's hard going from a two-dimensional drawing to a 
three-dimensional model. I'm having a hard time visualizing what the instructions mean. 
Maybe I should go to the holodeck and create a holocharacter to practice on?" she asked 
doubtfully. 
"You don't have to do that. Use me."
"What?" She stared at him blankly.
He set his padd down on the end table and stretched out on the couch. "Use me. I volunteer 
to be your practice partner. I'm tired of reading anyway."
"Harry, do you know what you're letting yourself in for?" she asked timidly.
"No. What?" He didn't seem deterred by her question.
"You get to be a body."
"Well, that works out. I've got a body," he replied genially.
Shaking her head, she came to kneel on the floor next to him. "I mean a dead one---or 
almost dead. I'm trying to learn to do cardiopulmonary resuscitation manually."
"Manually? Why? Why not just use a cardiostimulator?" 
"Harry," she said with exaggerated patience, doing an admirable impression of the 
Holographic Doctor, "there might not be a cardiostimulator available. What if we were 
stranded somewhere without access to a medkit or sickbay? The doctor says a good field 
medic should not be dependent on technology, but be prepared to treat patients in any 
situation, no matter how primitive."
He made a face, looking properly abashed by the reprimand.
She giggled and stroked his cheek affectionately. "I asked exactly the same thing." 
He shook his fist at her.  
She kissed it. 
His eyes lit. He reached out to pull her closer. 
She pushed him flat on the couch again. "Stay still."  She consulted the padd, reading 
intently. "Now, pretend you're unconscious."
He obediently closed his eyes and began to snore---loudly.
She thumped his arm lightly. "I said unconscious---not sleeping."
"Sorry." He didn't sound sorry, and he stifled a smile, but he did stop snoring.
She put the padd down and placed her right hand on his chest. She began feeling around 
his rib cage. When she strayed too far down his side, he started to laugh. "You're 
tickling."
"Harry!"
"Okay, okay. What are you looking for?" 
"I'm supposed to find the tip of the xiphoid."
Kim opened one brown eye and peered up at her. "The what?" 
She gingerly poked his sternum. "I think that's it. It would be easier to tell if you weren't 
wearing this lumpy shirt." Her fingers traced the raised pattern of the material. 
"It's not a *lumpy shirt*," he protested indignantly. "It's a genuine embossed Tarkalian 
tunic!"
She wrinkled her nose at him. "Trust me, Harry, it's lumpy. And to tell the truth---" she 
paused, considering her words.
"What?" The glint of humor in his dark eyes encouraged her to go on. 
"It's ugly," she replied rapidly, carefully watching for his response to her daring.
"It's what?!" His eyebrows flew up exaggeratedly. He couldn't believe she'd said that. It 
was one of his favorite shirts. It was comfortable. It was---unique.
"It's ugly," she repeated flatly. "That color's not good on you. It makes you look---
sallow."
Harry gazed down at the brownish yellow-green material. "It does? I didn't know that. 
Tom gave it to me, you know."
She sighed. "No wonder. It would look even worse on him. Forget the shirt. I shouldn't 
have mentioned it. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
Harry's feelings weren't hurt. In fact, he was pleased she felt comfortable enough to tell 
him the truth. For a change, she wasn't telling him what she thought he wanted to hear. 
They were making progress. Maybe it was time to step up their level of physical intimacy. 
Just a small step? Tom had advised him to push---just a little.
"Well, if the shirt is in the way---" He sat up and pulled it off over his head then tossed it 
onto the back of the couch. He stretched out again, carefully not noticing Malista's wide-
eyed stare. "Okay, Malista---find the---whatever you were looking for. The 'lumpy shirt' is 
out of the way." He closed his eyes and waited.
She gulped. She'd never seen Harry half-naked before. In all their physical encounters, all 
their clothing had stayed in place---more or less. And the lights were on full illumination! 
She hesitated. But then curiosity and longing blended together and gave her the courage to 
experiment. 
She placed her fingers gingerly on his collarbone and trailed them down over his smooth, 
muscular chest, stopping for a moment to explore the shape of his well-defined pectoral 
muscles. She was fascinated by his warmth. The warmth emanating from his skin seemed 
to send a wave of heat through every pore of her own body. Harry was striving to keep his 
breathing regular and even.  
Her palms fluttered lightly over his ribs and skimmed back up to his sternum enjoying the 
tactile pleasure of smooth golden brown skin over hard muscle. One hand lightly circled his 
left nipple which stiffened responsively. Harry bit back a moan as her other hand found his 
belly button and a fingertip caressed the rim before dipping inside. "You have an innie," 
she whispered. 
"Mm-hmmm," was as coherent a reply as he could manage.  He was fighting the urge to---
he was fighting all kinds of urges! This was the first step to intimacy. Letting her explore, 
to get comfortable with his body.  He didn't think Malista was ready for anything more---
not now. 
But gods, this was killing him. He hadn't thought lying still could be such an effort. He 
couldn't restrain a low moan as her hand lightly traced a pattern of sensation down the 
center of his chest. It almost seemed to burn everywhere she touched---and some places 
she didn't.
His moan startled Malista and she jumped back to reality. Cardiopulmonary resuscitation. 
Right.   
"Sorry, Harry. I took a little detour." Her voice sounded strange in her own ears.
"I don't mind," he said, sounding slightly choked. "You have wonderful hands."
She pulled her wonderful hands away from their fond exploration of his body and forced 
her mind back to her purpose. She located the xiphoid easily now and measured the two 
finger widths to find the correct location for the heart massage. Getting off the floor, she 
knelt next to him on the couch and put her hands and arms in the proper position. She 
pushed gently on his chest. "Five compressions to each lung inflation," she said under her 
breath. 
"Lung inflation?" Harry queried, opening his eyes to watch her. She looked so studious as 
she concentrated. He wanted to kiss the little frown between her eyebrows until it 
disappeared, then work his way down... 
"Mouth to mouth resuscitation," she said. She pushed down four more times. "Close your 
eyes. You're not supposed to be conscious---or even breathing, for that matter."
"Yes, ma'am." He shut his eyes and forced his muscles to loosen.
She placed her hand under the nape of his neck and tilted his head back, muttering the 
instructions to herself as she did so. "Airway opened." She pinched his nose with her 
fingers and placed her lips over his. She pretended to blow. After a few more rehearsals, 
she was sure she had the process memorized correctly. She was about to tell Harry so, 
when his arm snaked around her and he pulled her down atop him. Caught off balance, she 
sprawled across his body and wound up nose to nose with him.
"What are you doing?" she asked breathlessly.
"You just saved my life," he said, smiling up at her tenderly. "I have to find some way to 
thank you."
She wriggled, trying to get enough purchase to sit up away from him. It didn't work. It 
had a different effect altogether. On both of them.
Unaware of making a conscious decision, his arms tightened around her. She stopped 
moving. Beneath her, she could feel every heated, hard---and hardening---muscular inch of 
his body pressed firmly along the length of hers. Her breath caught as she fell into the dark 
eyes that mesmerized her so easily. 
She wasn't sure where this was leading, but she trusted him. She slowly settled into his 
hold, allowing him to mold her against him as if she were made of molten wax. 
He tugged on the nape of her neck and brought her lips down closer to his. "Turnabout is 
fair play. Let me give *you* some mouth to mouth, Malista. " 
When he finally released her lips to nibble at her neck and jaw, she whispered, "Harry, I 
don't think that kind of mouth to mouth is what the doctor had in mind. But I like it." Her 
giggle caught on a gasp as his hands cupped her behind and pulled her more tightly against 
him. She blushed and dropped her face into the curve of his neck, torn between excitement 
and shy misgiving.
"Um-hmm," he murmured, finding her earlobe and worrying it gently with his teeth. She 
moaned as she felt his warm breath tickle her ear. It was an effort to remember to breathe 
herself as she felt that warmth course throughout her body. Her blood felt superheated as a 
blush seemed to sweep her from head to toe.
One hand stroked up her back, finding its way beneath the hem of her shirt, tugging it 
upward till it caught under her arms. That strong, silken touch caressed the smooth satiny 
skin on her back as her bare stomach rested against his. Her hands were kneading and 
stroking his shoulders and neck as she gave herself over to the purely physical pleasure of 
skin against skin, rubbing her cheek against his upper body, feeling his hands exploring 
the curves and contours of her body.
He kissed her again. She felt lightheaded. His fingers slid under the waistband of her 
shorts....
And she stiffened in alarm, her breath catching in her throat. 
He stopped his movements, leaving his hands in place as she lifted her head to face him. 
"Harry." She made a visible effort to relax, but he could still see the remnants of panic and 
resistance in her green eyes. She dipped her head down and tried to kiss him again.  
He evaded her lips and shook his head. Withdrawing his hands from her body, he quickly 
straightened her clothing and gently rolled her off of him and onto the couch beside him. 
He tucked her into his side and embraced her, holding her still when she tried to move 
away, flushing with embarrassment and shame. 
"Malista, don't move. Let me get my breath." His voice sounded strained.
She stilled obediently. "Harry, I'm so sorry," she moaned. "I don't mean to be a tease or 
to---"
"I know." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. She hugged him more tightly, almost 
desperately. 
After a few minutes, Harry's breath---among other things---was more or less under 
control. "Malista, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to rush---"
"You aren't. It's my fault. I don't know why---I just can't---It's like a warning klaxon 
goes off in my head---"
Harry chuckled. She raised her head to stare at him. "An intruder alert?" he asked, brown 
eyes sparkling with humor.
Her mouth fell open in astonishment. "You're *joking* about it?"
"Malista, if I don't laugh, I may very well cry," he said playfully. "It's okay," he added as 
he read the dismay in her eyes. She wasn't ready to find anything amusing in this situation. 
"I promise you, frustration is not fatal. We'll live. We just won't enjoy it for a few 
minutes."
She dropped her head back onto his shoulder. "I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing." He sounded almost stern. "I was the one who started it. If I have to 
live with being frustrated, it's my own fault."
"But it's not fair! To you," she said. "You shouldn't have to---"
"Shh." He stroked her hair and soothed her with his own calm acceptance. "Calm down. 
Being with you, touching you---it's enough. For now. There's no rush. I meant what I 
said. I'll wait. For you, I'll wait as long as it takes. The best things in life are the ones 
worth waiting for. There's an old Italian saying, 'He who can wait, obtains what he 
wishes.' My mother told me that one when I was waiting to get my first assignment after 
graduating from the Academy. She was right, too."
She sighed and nestled against him. Her hand rubbed his bare chest rhythmically. The 
warmth and closeness was almost hypnotic. Being with Harry, listening to him breathe, 
feeling his heartbeat beneath her palm. He wanted her. More than that---he cared for her. It 
was so reassuring to know that. It was so peaceful. Her eyes were half closed, she was 
floating between waking and sleeping. 
"Slut!"  
She heard the word so clearly, she was sure it had been spoken---but it wasn't Harry's 
voice. And it wasn't hers. It was her father's. It was her father's voice that she heard. 
She jerked out of Harry's arms, sitting upright so abruptly she fell off the couch onto the 
floor. Startled, he jumped up as well.
She scrambled to her feet. 
"Malista, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. I have to go." She was frantically gathering up the padd and the other 
belongings she'd brought with her to his quarters this evening. 
"Malista, it's not nothing. What is it?" He caught her arm as she headed for the door. "Talk 
to me! I want to help!"
She twisted out of his grasp. She wouldn't meet his eyes, but attempted a smile. It was a 
grotesque imitation of the doctor's efforts and totally unconvincing. "I said it's nothing. I'll 
see you tomorrow, Harry." She darted away before he could formulate another sentence.
Harry frowned at the closed door. "What the hell---?"  He kicked the couch viciously. 
Hurting his foot, he collapsed on the floor and stared at the door once more. He didn't 
think going after her would be helpful at all. At least not now. Harry shook his head in 
confusion and despair and flopped onto his back to stare disconsolately at the ceiling.
 
************************
Malista was waiting for Chakotay in his office. She'd sent a message to the terminal in his 
quarters asking him to meet her there after he'd had breakfast. She leapt to her feet as he 
entered and stood there silently. She was trembling and she was chewing her lower lip, 
ignoring the fact that it was already torn and bleeding.
"I'm off duty today," she explained as she plopped down in the armchair. 
That explained why she was out of uniform. She was wearing the baggy green jumpsuit 
she'd worn on the Maquis ship. That she hadn't worn since she'd begun seeing Harry 
Kim. It was wrinkled and at least a size too large, but still didn't conceal that she had lost 
some weight. Her shoulder-length hair was brushed forward, almost concealing her face. 
Which seemed to be the point. Her eyes were reddened, from lack of sleep or from crying 
or both.	
Chakotay wondered if she understood herself that she was hiding again. Hiding her figure, 
hiding her face, hiding her attractiveness. And what else? Chakotay took a deep breath. He 
could sense this wasn't going to be easy---for either of them.
"I hope you don't mind, Commander---"
"Not at all. You said you were going to be on time this week, Malista. By my reckoning, 
you're two days and seven hours early," he said lightly. "What's the problem?"
She was bouncing her foot up and down, as if she was too nervous to sit still. She clasped 
her hands in front of her, wringing them. "I haven't been sleeping too well."
"Is this something new?"
She hesitated. She flung her hands out and grasped the arms of the chair, squeezing tightly. 
"Not exactly. But the dreams are. New, I mean. Before---I just couldn't sleep. Now---last 
night, I heard a voice. But I was awake. When I heard the voice, I mean. 
I was awake. And then I had this dream."
"What did the voice say?"
"Just one word." She closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see his reaction. "Slut."
"Did you recognize the voice?" 
She hesitated before answering. "It was my father's voice."
Chakotay didn't speak. He couldn't think of anything to say.
"Then I had this dream," she repeated.
"A nightmare?" he asked gently.
Her breathing was audible and ragged. "Not exactly. It was more like a---I don't know. 
Maybe it was a memory."
"Do you remember the dream?"
"Yes." Her voice was shaky. Her eyes met his, then darted away and back again. She 
couldn't maintain eye contact. One hand tugged restlessly at her collar. The other clutched 
the chair arm as if it were a lifeline keeping her in touch with solid reality.
"Do you want to talk about the dream?" he asked. No answer. A pause. "How did it make 
you feel?"  
She didn't answer. She was biting her lip again. She stopped when she tasted the metallic 
flavor of fresh blood on her tongue as a cut reopened. Her index finger flew up to her 
mouth to check the damage. Harry didn't like it when she---
"Malista?" He reclaimed her attention. His brown eyes were warm with compassion. "How 
did the dream make you feel?"
"Terrible. Hopeless." Her voice broke. The tears were not far from the surface, but she 
seemed to be fighting them off. "Dirty."
Chakotay pushed a box of tissues across the desk to sit within easy reach of her hand. 
"You want to tell me about it?"
"No. Not really. But I'm afraid---" She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to squeeze 
the tears away. Trying to pretend they didn't exist. If she didn't acknowledge them, then 
they might go away. A shaky sigh escaped her. "I'm afraid you'll think I'm crazy. I'm 
even more afraid that if I don't tell someone about it, I'll have the same dream again. Or 
something worse."
"Sometimes it helps to talk about it. Maybe I can help you put it in perspective."
"Do you believe dreams have meaning, Commander?" Her voice was filled with dread or 
hope. He couldn't tell which.
"Some of my people believe in vision quests, which are similar to dreams. These vision 
quests provide information and guidance for making choices about the direction your life 
should take. Is that the kind of dream you had?" 
She was shaking her head before he finished. "No. I dreamed about my father. About 
when I contacted him---after---" She bit her lip again, flinched at the sharp pain, and 
covered her damaged mouth with the tips of the fingers of her right hand. She blotted the 
blood away with a tissue.
"After Huldon III?" Chakotay supplied. 
She nodded vigorously, relieved she didn't have to say it aloud again.
"Is there any reason that you can think of that may have caused you to dream---"
"We were talking about it yesterday." The words burst out. 
"We?"
"I was telling B'Elanna about it. About what he said when I called him. When I told him. 
Did I ever tell you?" 
Chakotay shook his head. He'd never asked. He knew that it was at that time she had 
stopped using her family name of Petrides and adopted her Maquis code name of Shadow 
as her surname. He hadn't felt a need to know the specifics, and she hadn't volunteered the 
information so he hadn't asked. 
"I told Harry. And Tom. At different times. And yesterday I told B'Elanna." She twined 
her fingers in a tress of her ebony hair and began to twine it around her hand, pulling at it, 
but ignoring the pain she caused herself. It seemed to help her focus and continue so 
Chakotay noted it, but didn't mention it.
"Would you like to tell me?" he offered.
She nodded. "I didn't tell them everything he said," she confessed. She looked at him and 
paused as if waiting for his reaction to that revelation. Would he be mad at her sin of 
omission? She knew from their days in the Maquis that Chakotay had a strict code of 
honor, one that didn't include lying to his friends. His warm eyes and impassive 
expression comforted her somehow. 
"You can tell me what you want to, Malista. This is all confidential. You know that. I 
won't share anything you tell me with anyone. Not without first getting permission from 
you." He felt she needed that reassurance so he gave it freely. Not for the first time.
"I told him---my father---that I'd been captured by the Cardassians. That I'd been their 
prisoner. Before I could even think of---how to tell him the rest---he asked me." In her 
distress, she couldn't sit still. She was fidgeting, her hands moving restlessly, fiddling 
with her hair, grasping at the chair, at her own arms. "He asked me straight out, 'Did they 
rape you?' What was I supposed to say, Chakotay? I couldn't deny it. Was I supposed to 
lie to my father?" She didn't wait for his response. She rushed on.
"I couldn't lie to my own father. He would have known I was lying anyway. So I said yes. 
They did. And he looked at me for a second---I swear, it was no more than *one split 
second*---and he said 'I have no daughter.' I tried to argue with him. I begged him. I told 
him I was sorry. I told him I wanted to come home. That he was right. I never should have 
left home. I never should have joined the Maquis." Her tears were blinding her. She 
scrubbed at her face with the heels of her hands and wiped her hands on the legs of her 
jumpsuit. Chakotay came around the desk to stand next to her chair. He put a hand on her 
shoulder, hoping to give her some solace.
"Then he said 'You have no home here. You've lost your chastity. You're *damaged 
goods*! No respectable man will marry you.' He called me---a slut. He said I had chosen 
to leave my family and join the *Maquis scum*. He said I'd made my bed so now I could 
lie in it with the other---sluts---who ran with the Maquis. He wouldn't even let me talk to 
my brothers. But they probably wouldn't have wanted to---" She buried her face in her 
hands and wept. It was a helpless, hopeless release of grief and despair and loss. 
'Maybe the first she'd ever allowed herself,' the first officer thought. She'd been carrying 
this burden alone. For years.
After a few minutes, when the sobs began to subside, Chakotay knelt next to her and put 
his arms around her, giving her ample opportunity to resist or move away if she recoiled 
from being touched. He didn't know what else to do. His action seemed to be appropriate. 
She leaned against him as if drawing on his strength. 
She finally raised her head. He put several tissues in her hand, tactfully moving back to his 
chair, not looking at her as she mopped her face and blew her nose. 
He waited. 
He waited, his eyes on his desk, until her breathing slowed and became more regular and 
she'd regained her composure. He looked up and his eyes caught and held hers with the 
force of the conviction she could read there. "Malista, your father was wrong. I wish I 
could do something to totally remove the memory of his words from your mind. I can tell 
those words hurt you terribly. They are continuing to hurt you, because you allow it. Your 
father was wrong. You cannot continue to allow his words to control your life and your 
feelings."
"But Chakotay, my whole life---until I was sixteen, my father loved me. I threw it all 
away. The Cardassians took my whole life away when they---"
Chakotay wasn't prepared to give in on this point. He knew counselors were supposed to 
be objective. Perhaps he wasn't as objective as he should be to deal with her, with this 
situation, but he knew beyond any doubt that this was a crucial cusp in Malista's life and he 
prayed the Spirits would give him wisdom and the right words to say.
"What happened on Huldon III was NOT your fault. You joined the Maquis because you 
believed that it was the right thing to do. When you were hurt, when you needed him most, 
your father let you down. He pushed you away because you didn't meet his standards for 
the perfect daughter. That was his choice, not yours. His mistake. You were a victim of the 
Cardassians. You didn't choose to be raped."
"But Chakotay, didn't I tell you---I *volunteered* to go with the Cardies---"
"Trying to save your friends. You thought you could keep the Cardassians busy until the 
Maquis rescued you." 
"I was so dumb!" she cried. "So stupid! I didn't even have much of an idea of what to 
expect. What they would do. I was just scared stupid! But it will never happen again. I will 
*never* let anyone do that to me again!"  The glittering fury sparking in her green eyes 
disturbed him. He wasn't sure what it meant or at whom it was directed. It made him 
uneasy.
"Malista, you didn't choose what happened to you. The blame for what happened belongs 
to those who did it. You were an innocent victim. If your father was too blind or prejudiced 
to see that---" He couldn't think of the words to convince her. 
"But he was right about one thing," she said bitterly. "I am damaged goods. Everyone 
knows it too."
Chakotay sighed. Here it came. The culture clash. He'd known it was going to come up. 
He found it ironic that he would be the one to advise someone on such a subject. He hadn't 
had much luck resolving the clash between himself and his own father with regard to the 
same type of cultural differences. "Malista, I know that in the culture of your homeworld, 
chastity is very important---"
"It's not important. It's crucial. There is no marriage for a woman who is not a virgin," she 
explained. "No honorable man would *marry* such a woman."
"That may be true on your homeworld, but it isn't true in every culture."
"Chakotay, I'm may be stupid, but I'm not *that* stupid! I know that," she snarled. "I 
know it in my head. But that's not me! I'm not---marriage material. Not any more."
"So what are you going to do about Harry Kim?" Chakotay asked, watching her carefully 
and noting how she cringed at the mention of the young man's name.
Her lips trembled as she attempted a smile. "I'm going to enjoy our relationship as long as 
it lasts. And if we ever manage to make love, I'm going to do my best to enjoy it and give 
him pleasure. I'm going to make him happy for as long as I can.  And when he leaves 
me..." Her voice cracked. "When he leaves me, I'll try to learn to---no, I *will* learn to 
live without him---somehow."
"What makes you think he'll leave you?" Chakotay had to ask. She made it sound like a fait 
accompli. As if there were no other *possible* outcome.
She almost managed a laugh, but it was more of a sob. "Because men like Harry Kim---
don't have to settle for--- He's an honorable man. He's also young. He may want to 
experiment sexually with a woman like me, but eventually, when he's older and he's ready 
to start a family, he will want to marry---and it won't be me. He'll find someone else---
someone more---more worthy---"
"Malista---"
She shook her head obstinately. "Chakotay, I'm a realist. Or I'm trying to be one. I don't 
*deserve* someone like Harry. For some reason, right now, he's attracted to me. He likes 
me---he's fond of me and wants to spend time with me. I'm happy with that. I'll *be* 
happy with that---as long as it lasts."
"Did you ever think that this might be the reason you have a block about making love with 
Harry?" 
"What?" she asked breathlessly, frowning her confusion.
"Maybe you're not comfortable with sexual intimacy, because you feel you should be 
married before you take that step," the first officer suggested.
She grimaced. "Chakotay, you weren't listening. He knows what happened. I've been 
honest with him. He knows I'm not a virgin. Harry doesn't *want* to marry me."
"Are you so sure?" Chakotay couldn't believe she was so damned stubborn under that quiet 
exterior. "It may not be an issue with him. That may be why he's never brought up the 
subject. You know that he's not a virgin himself."
"Men never are," she said cynically. "Isn't it odd how that double standard has survived 
for centuries? Especially in backward colonies like Helios. Do you think it's because my 
people are Greek? Or because they're farmers? Tradition bound. Oh, it doesn't matter why. 
It's still true." She looked exhausted. She rubbed her forehead as if her head ached. "Can I 
go now?"
Chakotay frowned at her. He was depressingly aware that nothing he had said seemed to 
have helped her at all. Nothing he'd said had made a dent in her low self-esteem. He gave it 
one more try. "Malista, Harry is showing every symptom of being a man who is in love 
with you."
"He's never said so. Harry is a very kind person. He wouldn't want to lead me on." There 
was a hint of bitterness in her tone. "It's not his fault. I don't expect him to want more than 
I'm willing to give. For Harry, there is *nothing* that I'm not willing to give to him, but 
I'm not sure he understands that. And I won't push *him* for more than he is willing to 
give me. I want his happiness. The cost to me---doesn't matter." She seemed to be sincere. 
 
Chakotay didn't know what to say to that. He wasn't one hundred percent sure he was 
reading Harry Kim correctly. Harry was a relatively young man, inexperienced in many 
aspects of life and sometimes difficult to analyze. It was possible the ensign *wasn't* 
deeply involved on an emotional level. Stymied, the first officer tried to think of something 
else to persuade her to change her view of herself and her situation. If she wouldn't listen 
to him....
"Malista, have you talked to Tom about this? Any of it?"	
She looked puzzled. "No, not really. Why?"
"You should. I've heard his relationship with his father---wasn't the best. Something else 
you two have in common. You might learn something from him. He might have some 
advice to offer. And no one knows Harry as well as Tom. Think about it. All right?"
"All right. I have some time off this morning. I think I'll go back to my quarters and try to 
get some sleep. I think now I'm worn out enough that I won't even dream." Her mouth 
twisted in an ironic smile. She took a moment to compose herself. She walked out into the 
corridor and the door slid closed.
 Chakotay felt saddened by the practiced ease with which she'd assumed her mask of cool 
control. The first officer had a definite feeling there was a lot more she wasn't telling him. 
It was like working in the dark wearing a blindfold and earplugs. He could tell she'd 
agreed just to placate him. She had no intention of confiding further in Tom Paris or 
anyone else. She'd slammed the walls around herself firmly into place and was denying 
everyone entry.
Chakotay slumped in his chair. He was worn out emotionally himself. He began to go over 
his options. He needed to enlist some help. He was grateful that the doctor had already 
scheduled a conference to discuss Malista Shadow and her treatment. With him. And with 
Tom Paris. In two hours. They were to have met three days ago, but other problems and 
scheduling conflicts had forced a cancellation of the original appointment. The first officer 
hoped the delay hadn't allowed a bad situation to worsen beyond all hope of a remedy.
Chakotay wondered how much he *could* help Malista Shadow. Without violating 
confidentiality, how much could he tell anyone? She wouldn't confide even in him 
completely. The doctor had some pieces of the puzzle, he had others, and Tom---who 
knew how much he knew? Who ever knew what was going on behind that smart ass 
facade? Certainly not Chakotay. Paris still seemed to raise his shields the moment Chakotay 
opened his mouth. And sometimes when he didn't. Sometimes all it took was a look from 
the first officer to provoke that reaction. 
This was going to take some finesse. And involving Paris---if Malista was emotionally 
volatile, then Paris was the wild card in the game. Or was that Harry Kim's role? Spirits, 
he wished they had a trained counselor on board! 
*************************************	
"You're stalling," B'Elanna Torres accused.
Tom Paris jerked guiltily as he toyed with the food on his plate. "Yeah," he admitted 
reluctantly. "I must look pretty rough around the edges if Neelix is trying to force feed me 
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches again. I should never have told him about comfort 
foods."
The chief engineer lips upturned into a fond smile. "Yes. You do look pretty rough. Are 
you all right?"
Tom eyed her trying to judge how hard a time she was going to give him. "I just don't 
want to go to this meeting. That's all."
"Why?" She cupped her chin in her palms, resting her elbows on the table as she studied 
his solemn expression.
"Why what?"
"Don't answer a question with a question," she growled, echoing one of his favorite 
complaints about Malista's style of conversation. "You know what I mean. You told Harry 
you were going to talk with the Doc and Chakotay about the next step in counseling 
Malista. So?"
"So what?" He quickly snapped his arms down to cover his ribs as she feinted a punch 
toward them. "Sorry." He picked up half his sandwich and took a small bite. 'Stalling for 
time again, Tom?' he asked himself. 'Yeah,' he answered himself. He chewed slowly. 
Very slowly. 
B'Elanna waited, showing no signs of impatience except for the slight crease of a 
beginning frown between her brows. She reminded him of a hunting cat, waiting for its 
prey to make a move. Silently. 
Staring. 
Silently.
'Oh, that's not fair!' Tom thought. 'I can stand anything---but silence.' He smiled feebly in 
Torres' direction and reached for his cup. She smacked the back of his hand. 
"Ouch!"
"Stop stalling. Talk to me." She sighed. Loudly. "Tom, why don't you want to go to the 
meeting? You've been telling me for days---weeks---how worried you are about Malista! 
Isn't this your best chance to do something about it?"
"B'Ella, I just---"His words died as he took in the compassion in her beautiful brown eyes. 
He couldn't lie or make up a story. Not with those eyes looking at him with that 
expression. He reached for her hand and clasped it between his, finding comfort in the 
thrill of warmth that spread through him every time he touched her. He found himself 
marveling again at the miracle that had led to the two of them finding each other. In the 
Delta Quadrant of all places. Who would have ever thought....
"Talk to me, Tom," she urged him earnestly. "I'm listening." As he hesitated, she
made an educated guess. "You're worried about dealing with Chakotay?"
He exhaled noisily, relieved that he didn't have to find the words that would express his 
thoughts without offending her. "Yeah."
"And you're afraid you won't know what to do to help Malista? You're afraid you'll screw 
it up?"
"Yeah." The word came out more easily this time. His eyes widened at her perception.
"I've got news for you, Hotshot. You don't know everything. And no one---except you-
expects you to always have the answers and solve all the problems you know about." 
A hint of a sheepish smile tugged at his lips. "Here I thought I had you fooled.  How long 
have you known I'm not omnipotent?"
Torres sighed again, this time with a hint of exasperation at his attempt at humor. "And 
you're afraid Malista or Harry or both will get hurt? And blame you?"
"Sort of. Hey, you're getting good at this stuff," Tom said with a relieved grin. To him, it 
felt as if she had removed a mantle of solid deuterium off his shoulders. He wasn't in this 
alone. This was something that had always been missing from his life. A willing partner to 
help bear his burdens. Whether he wanted her to, or not. Okay, so there was a down side 
as well. 
Torres grinned wryly, bringing her free hand up and placing it atop their clasped hands. 
"I'm learning. And I'm not good at 'this stuff'. I'm just getting better at reading you." She 
raised her eyebrows. "Of course, reading you is light reading. Sort of like reading a 
holocomic."
"Hey!" he protested automatically, knowing very well she was joking. 
"Tom," she said gently. She waited for him to get serious and leaned forward to ensure she 
had his complete attention. "Malista's problems are *not* your fault. Chakotay and you 
and the doctor are all working toward the same goal. Teamwork. Don't take on blame and 
responsibility that aren't yours."
"Now why does that sound familiar?" Tom mused aloud, his brow crinkling.
"Because you said it to Malista. And to me. And probably to Harry at some time or 
another."
"Oh! I knew I'd heard it somewhere." His smile came more naturally, more easily.
"And as for Chakotay? Remember to *listen* to what Chakotay says---not to what you 
*think* he's going to say. Don't read between the lines or overanalyze." Torres knew that 
Chakotay and Paris had found some mutual respect for each other in the last few months, 
but their relationship was still somewhat uncomfortable. For both of them. Especially when 
dealing each other outside the well-defined parameters of their assigned duties.
She was confident that they could work out their differences, though she wasn't optimistic 
enough to believe they would ever be the best of friends. She was hoping for a simple 
friendship, hopefully with a degree of affection or fondness, but she knew it would take 
time. 
The two men were just too different in attitude and experience to find common ground 
easily. She was hoping to be that common ground. Or perhaps Malista could create one. 
She didn't really understand why Tom was so worried about the younger woman. She 
hadn't attempted suicide again. It didn't seem likely that she would. Maybe they were 
blowing the whole problem out of proportion? 
Paris checked his chronometer. "Got to go, B'Ella." He got to his feet, his expression as 
composed as always, but she could see beyond his mask now. He was still nervous and ill 
at ease though he covered it well. Most people would have been totally fooled.
A few months ago, she would have been one of them.
"Not without a goodbye kiss," she commanded. She still wasn't terribly comfortable with 
public displays of affection and felt no need for them to provide her with a sense of 
security. But she was aware that Tom seemed to need that kind of reassurance. And if he 
needed a demonstration of the seriousness of her feelings for him, then she would provide 
it---and anyone who objected could go tickle a targ! 
"Right here in the messhall in front of the whole crew?" Tom tried to sound horrified, 
though he couldn't contain the delighted grin that lit his azure eyes. B'Elanna was a private 
person. He knew that she was doing this for him. It made him feel truly connected to her. 
And it let him know that she wasn't ashamed of him or their relationship, a bit of comfort 
that he appreciated right now.
She narrowed her eyes at him demandingly. "Right here. Right now. One kiss, 
Lt. Paris. That is an order." She stood next to him, not quite leaning against him. 
"But I outrank you," he purred in her ear, then leaned back to study her reaction to his 
show of resistance. 
"Oh." B'Elanna had been waiting for an opportunity to try a human feminine tactic she'd 
observed, but never employed before. She'd always thought it was silly. The time seemed 
right. Her moistened lower lip came out just slightly and she looked up at him, widening 
her brown eyes. To her pleased surprise, it worked. The last iota of icy coolness in the blue 
eyes melted away.
Tom couldn't believe it. His eyes lit with joy. She was flirting with him! Pouting? Risking 
looking silly? In public? 
Well, sort of. There were only a handful of crew members present and they were trying 
desperately to find their lunch edible so they weren't paying much attention. The pilot's 
relationship with the chief engineer was old news by now.  
The alarm on his chronometer signaled, demanding his attention again. "B'Ella, we're 
going to finish this later," he whispered. He bent and captured her mouth for a quick but 
thorough kiss.  
"Promises, promises!" she grumbled as he exited the messhall almost at a dead run, unable 
to wipe the smile from his face. She resumed her seat and made a face at the contents of her 
tray.
************************************
The doctor had made use of his holoemitter to attend the meeting in Commander 
Chakotay's office which afforded more privacy than Sickbay could offer. He was seated 
next to the first officer when Tom Paris strode into the room, with a bright smile that was 
just beginning to fade. It faded more and more quickly as he neared the table, giving way to 
a polite, controlled curve of the lips. 
Chakotay indicated the vacant chair across from himself. Paris sank into it without 
speaking. The three of them studied each other for a moment, each one wondering which 
of the others would begin.  
Predictably, it was the Emergency Medical Holograph.  "Shall I begin?" Without waiting 
for a response, he went on. "Our primary goal is to develop a plan of action that will enable 
us to facilitate Malista's integration into the gestalt of---"
"What?" Tom asked. "Doc, do you think we can skip the lecture? We all know what the 
problem is." He kept his eyes focused on the EMH.  
"I think Paris---Tom---is right, Doctor. Let's just get right to the point," Chakotay said.  
His eyes were also fixed on the holodoctor. "What do we need to do to help Malista? Have 
you defined the problem and come up with a course of treatment?"
The doctor frowned. This was not going as he'd planned. He'd made copious notes to 
prepare for this conference and these two had already derailed his presentation. "The 
problem should be defined---"
Tom cleared his throat. "We already know the problem. Malista was raped by the 
Cardassians five years ago and abandoned by her family as a result. Now she's stuck in the 
Delta Quadrant. Doesn't that sum it up pretty well?"
"That is an oversimplification," the doctor protested.
"I'd like to keep it as simple as possible, Doctor," Chakotay suggested firmly. "Neither 
Tom nor I are professional counselors or psychologists. We'd like to hear your 
recommendations in layman's terms. If you can handle that?"
The doctor was miffed. "Of course I can handle that," he sniffed. He fiddled with his padd, 
trying to condense a meticulously prepared four hour lecture into succinct layman's terms 
that would be comprehensible to these---amateurs.
For the first time since Paris had entered, the lieutenant and the commander looked directly 
at each other. The blue eyes glinted with a hint of unholy glee at the first officer's 
cooperation in flustering the EMH---something Tom alone had not been able to do with any 
great success in three years. The brown eyes met his with a deadpan expression that gave 
nothing away, but Paris somehow knew nevertheless that Chakotay shared his amusement. 
Just for that moment, it put the two of them on the same side. 
Paris felt the tautness at the base of his skull ease somewhat. Maybe this wouldn't be so 
bad after all? He snapped back to attention as the doctor finally began to speak once more.
"In my opinion, the physical and psychological effects of the initial trauma have been dealt 
with," the doctor announced. "Malista has moved past the fear of intimacy on a physical 
level---at least with certain individuals."
"Can you give us an example, Doctor?" the first officer inquired ingratiatingly. "We don't 
have your expertise and training."
Paris almost choked on a laugh at the smooth line of snake oil the commander was laying 
on to soothe the EMH's hurt feelings.  It seemed that Tom was not the only officer to have 
an occasional memory lapse concerning the true nature of the doctor. If he was only a 
computer program, then there were no feelings involved. If he was more than a program, 
and Tom was beginning to agree with Malista's theory that he was, then the balm Chakotay 
was expending would improve the medico's morale and ensure his cooperation. 
The first officer shot a quelling, but not hostile, glance at the pilot. Tom subsided and went 
into listening mode, his arms folded loosely across his chest as he lounged back in his 
chair.
The doctor's eyes lifted from his datapadd. "She has evidenced---" He seemed to make a 
further effort and slipped into more informal language. "She no longer has a general fear of 
being touched. I have made a point of observing her interactions with other crewmembers, 
particularly Mr. Paris and Mr. Kim. And in addition to allowing them to touch her and 
occasionally initiating physical contact with them, she kissed me," he added.
"She kissed you?" Chakotay seemed mildly surprised, eyebrows rising.
"On the cheek," the EMH clarified and hastened to add, "There was nothing improper---"
"Of course not, Doctor," Tom interrupted hastily, doing his best to suppress a snort of 
laughter. "That would be unethical between a doctor and patient."
The doctor flung a poisonous look at the pilot and returned to the topic of conversation. 
"Malista's problem is no longer physical. It is social and emotional. Her background and 
life experiences have not prepared her for life in a closed society such as we have 
developed here on Voyager. As a coping mechanism, she has compartmentalized her life to 
a certain degree and functions very well within the parameters of her duty assignments. It is 
when she is outside the chain of command that she fails to understand her role."
"I've noticed that," Chakotay commented. "When we discovered she was working double 
shifts, the captain and I ordered her to socialize more with the crew. We thought that would 
help her feel that she fit in here. Unfortunately---"
"She didn't know how," Tom finished.  "I don't understand how she got to this point, 
Doc. I mean she's twenty-four years old. How can she not know the simplest things about 
how to get along with other people?"
The doctor was pleased the two men were ready to listen to him and it showed in his smug 
expression. "Malista was the only daughter of a large family. She had five brothers and 
evidently her father was a very authoritarian, controlling person. Malista never attended 
public schools. She and her brothers were home schooled on the family farm by 
correspondence course which also accounts for a lack of social development. From what 
she told me in the interviews I conducted with her after her suicide attempt, she was never 
allowed to make an important decision for herself. They were all made for her. Any attempt 
to make her own decisions was dismissed and her opinions belittled. The outcome was that 
she learned to rely on others for guidance and fails to trust her own judgment. Her family 
seems to have smothered every attempt at achieving independence under the guise of 
keeping her safe from harm. I suspect there was another trauma that occurred in her 
childhood that might account for the zealous over-protectiveness she ascribed to her family, 
but she has been unwilling to discuss her background any further."
"So you're saying her family controlled her until she joined the Maquis? And then her 
friends and the leadership in the Maquis controlled her?" Chakotay summarized. "And after 
she was raped and her family made it clear she couldn't come home, Niko Dishon took 
over---until he was killed. And now she has no one in control? And she doesn't know how 
to deal with the unaccustomed freedom?"
The doctor nodded. "Basically, everyone Malista has ever been close to has either been a 
Protector or a User---her terms, not mine. The Protector tells her what to do and nurtures 
her, setting limits on her behavior that make her feel secure and protecting her from others 
outside the relationship. The User makes demands on her to fulfill a certain role, which is 
also another way of setting limits, but gives her value. She is needed and valued for what 
she can do well. Mr. Dishon acted as a facilitator for the chain of command on Voyager and 
evidently combined the two roles. She knows how to deal only with those roles on an 
interpersonal level. There has never been any middle ground. Malista refuses to interact 
with anyone who doesn't fit those roles. She withdraws or tries to ignore their existence."
"Whoa, Doc!" Paris growled. "Are you saying she's never had friends? Never had anyone 
who *didn't* tell her what to do? I'm sorry, but I don't think so. She's not---"
"Mr. Paris,"  the EMH interjected, "you didn't let me finish. As I said, Malista has 
compartmentalized her life in an effort to allow herself to feel in control. This pattern was 
established long ago. All her life, her role in her environment has been defined by her 
usefulness. She *expects* to be used and manipulated---for her own good. In return, she 
hopes to be protected. To achieve this, she tries her best to ingratiate herself with her 
protector or protectors. You may have noticed that she is compulsively conscientious in her 
work. The fact that she was working double shifts and overtime is perfectly consistent with 
her mind set and her deep seated need to be needed. If you don't need her, in her thinking, 
then she becomes expendable. Or disposable."
Confident that both men were giving him their full attention now, the doctor continued, "To 
please others, she tries to win favor by using her domestic skills such as crocheting and 
cooking, or in performing as she did in the family circus. But there are evidently limits to 
what she will do. Her willingness to please her protectors does not extend to the exchange 
of sexual favors. This may stem from a fear of intimacy, or it may be because she was well 
indoctrinated in cultural mores which do not allow for premarital sex. It could be a 
combination of these factors. She did tell me that at one point, Niko Dishon sought a 
relationship of an intimate nature, but she refused. She says she liked him, but didn't find 
him attractive in that sense.  Mr. Dishon evidently accepted her rejection of his advances, 
but it may have been a contributing factor in his allowing her to isolate herself in her 
quarters on Voyager when she was not on duty." 
Paris' words held a bitter edge as he asked, "So where do I fit into this equation, Doc? 
Does she see me as a User----or a Protector? Or both?"  
Chakotay noted the subtle body language clues that told him that the pilot had braced 
himself as if for a blow. His eyes darted from the young man to the EMH. He wanted an 
answer to that question himself. Tom Paris had been the one person on Voyager to reach 
out to Malista Shadow, something that the first officer was grateful for---even as he 
despised himself for not being there for her as well.
The doctor shook his head. "No, Mr. Paris. Tom. I'm not making myself clear. *You* are 
the exception that provides us with an opportunity to reach Malista and help her. 
I asked her about your relationship with her and she has talked about you quite often when 
she has spent time in Sickbay. You are the first person in her life to ever simply be her 
friend. The fact that you wanted nothing from her, surprised and delighted her." 
The EMH practiced his 'sympathetic smile' once more. It was improving with practice. "In 
addition, you have many interests in common, such as music and literature and you 
encourage her to indulge herself and to talk about her hobbies. It seems her family did not 
share her interests and demeaned their importance. Her natural inquisitiveness and desire to 
learn was ridiculed. They made her feel as if she were strange or unnatural for not being 
more like them. She has told me that you have always treated her with respect, as an equal. 
You discussed matters with her but let her make her own decisions, and supported her 
without trying to impose your will on her. You make suggestions rather than giving orders. 
She trusts you. You opened a door in the walls that she had constructed around herself as a 
defense. "
The pilot appeared to be having trouble taking in what was being said. The doctor noted 
clinically the young man's heart rate was up, as was his temperature. His face was 
distinctly flushed and his eyes were also showing signs of the presence of unusual levels of 
moisture. 
Paris dropped his eyes to study his hands as he cleared his throat. He sniffed and tried to 
pretend Chakotay wasn't present. "So, Doc, what about Harry?" He was proud of himself. 
His voice didn't quaver or break.
"Mr. Kim also represents a disruption in the pattern, in a most positive way. To speak 
metaphorically, you opened the door in the walls of her defense mechanisms. He has 
invited her to come outside the walls and join him. Currently, I would say she is hovering 
in the doorway, in a manner of speaking. Of course, your relationship with Mr. Kim has 
smoothed his path considerably. Malista trusts you, so by extension, she was prepared to 
trust him. It is unfortunate that their relationship suffered a setback. Malista's improvement 
was also hindered."
"Yeah," Tom sighed tiredly. "I told him that." 
Chakotay sat forward and regained the EMH's attention. "So what do you recommend, 
Doctor?"
"As I mentioned previously, Malista has two major difficulties---social and emotional. Mr. 
Paris and Mr. Kim have been instrumental in assisting her in dealing with her socialization 
and have done an admirable job of it. Emotionally, however..." the doctor's voice trailed 
off as he studied the datapadd he held once more. "Whether Malista is dealing with her 
emotions in a healthy manner is something I've been unable to ascertain. I have tried to 
question her about the source of her stressed behavior but she has not been forthcoming."
"I thought you said she'd overcome her fear," Tom protested.
The doctor threw an exasperated glance at the pilot. "Fear of any kind is not overcome in 
one step. It is a process. In addition, fear of intimacy is not the only emotion she is dealing 
with. She has a great deal of repressed rage as well."
Tom eyed him dubiously. "She doesn't seem all that angry to me. I thought her main 
problems were being frightened of people and afraid of abandonment."
The first officer was impressed, not for the first time, with the lieutenant's insightful 
understanding and compassion for Malista Shadow. "Just because she doesn't show the 
rage, doesn't mean it doesn't exist." 
The doctor nodded. "Yes. Exactly. She is in denial. She doesn't wish to deal with her 
feelings so she has repressed them. Tried to pretend they don't exist. And blamed herself 
for the reactions of others. By taking on their guilt, she can maintain the fiction that *they* 
have done nothing wrong. Unconsciously, she sees herself as the guilty party and seeks to 
punish herself. Many trauma victims tend to withdraw from those around them---and then 
feel abandoned because they have isolated themselves. Unless she can recognize her anger, 
direct it properly, and let it go, she cannot heal herself emotionally. By hanging onto the 
hurt and anger, she has, so to speak, allowed a festering wound to go unhealed."
 "She seemed to be doing all right for awhile," Paris commented. "Something happened 
after she and Harry made up and it has nothing to do with Harry as far as I can tell. Some 
other factor has come into play. Do you have any idea what or who set her off?"
"No," the doctor sounded extremely frustrated. "She is under some kind of pressure, but 
she refuses to discuss it. Her defense mechanisms were functioning adequately even with 
the ongoing difficulties of Voyager's situation. She reached a limit of sorts when Crewman 
Dishon was killed, which is why she attempted suicide. She is no longer suicidal, and has 
developed some sense of being connected to the crew thanks to Mr. Paris' very deftly 
helping her past that crisis. She's has enlarged her circle of acquaintances to include several 
other crewmembers, both male and female. She even managed to maintain her equilibrium 
under the duress of the break in her budding relationship with Ensign Kim. Something else 
is at work here. Something that hits close to home. Something very personal that her 
battered self-esteem has trouble dealing with. Or that endangers her sense of well-being."
"The last straw?" Chakotay quoted. Tom nodded, recognizing the reference.
The EMH blinked as he searched the database mentally. He nodded abruptly. "Very good, 
Commander. The cumulative effect of many levels and types of stressors are bringing 
Malista Shadow to a crisis point."
"Great," Tom snapped. "So she's coming to a crisis. What do we *do* about it?"
"We try to make her feel safe and secure," Chakotay replied. "We try to get her to talk 
about what's going on so we'll know what to do."
"She must let go of the past," the doctor said emphatically. "Whatever problem or problems 
she is dealing with presently, its severity has its roots in her past. The walls must come 
down."
"What you're saying is: the harder she tries to keep everything pushed into a corner of her 
mind, the more the pressure is building up?" Paris speculated. 
"Correct. Something is going to give way. The repressed emotions must find a healthy 
outlet before an emotional breakdown occurs. If that happens, she could become a danger 
to herself or others," the doctor concluded.
Paris' voice was choked. "Suicide?"
"Possibly. Though I don't think so. She has moved past that stage. There is a possibility 
that she may express her rage through violence directed at others."
Paris shook his head. "No. I don't believe that. Not Malista. She wouldn't hurt anyone."
"Unless she's cornered," Chakotay muttered. As the lieutenant's eyes flashed to him, he 
continued in a conciliatory tone. "Anyone will fight when cornered. As she did on Huldon 
III."
"That's different," Paris protested, his mouth suddenly dry. "Those were different 
circumstances. She's safe on Voyager. No one is going to hurt her."
"Are you sure?" Chakotay argued. "She's been awfully upset and defensive for someone 
who feels safe. She's been acting like someone who's being persecuted. If someone is 
pushing her into a corner, she may lash out. With serious consequences for everyone 
involved. If she can't handle whatever it is by herself, she needs to confide in one of us so 
we can take appropriate action."
"So what are we supposed to do? Should Harry or I try to be with her all the time? How do 
we *make* her feel safe? How do we get her to confide in us?"  The lieutenant was on his 
feet now. He couldn't sit still and deal with the churning agitation he felt in the depths of 
his stomach.
"Paris, calm down," Chakotay chided. His brown eyes had grown cold even as the 
younger man's eyes began to burn as a blue hot flame. Anger? Or fear? "I know you're 
concerned----"
"I can't deal with this, Commander! I'm not a doctor or a counselor! I'm just a damned 
good pilot!" He placed his hands flat on the table and leaned on them to keep them from 
shaking as he confronted the first officer. "Flying. That's what I'm good at. When it comes 
to emotions---I'm in over my head here! Can't you talk to her? You're the first officer. It's 
your job--"
"You mean *you* don't want the responsibility!" Chakotay flashed back at the taller man. 
"Well, tough!! Because want it or not---the responsibility is yours, Paris! You were quick 
to call a life boon when you saved my life in the Ocampan cave! You said I owed you my 
life. But you never heard of the other side of that coin, did you? Haven't you heard that if 
you save someone's life, you become responsible for that person and everything he or she 
does!? Well, you saved Malista's life---and now you have to accept the responsibility for---
"
"Of course, I don't want that kind of responsibility! In case you haven't noticed, I don't do 
feelings well, Commander! I'm not good at this! And who are you to talk about dodging 
responsibility? She was under your command on your ship for two years! What did you 
ever do to help her? She's been here on this ship for three years---you're the first officer! 
You're in charge of the duty roster and you didn't even know she was working double 
shifts! Yeah, you were doing your part!" Tom lashed out.
Chakotay's features hardened, but he refused to recoil from the truth or to make excuses 
for his failures. "You're right."  
Paris was taken aback by the first officer's honesty and lack of hostility. He dropped back 
into his chair and stared at the older man.
The commander continued, his jaw clenched so tightly it was hard to know how he could 
formulate words at all. "I did fail her. I thought that Dishon had everything in hand. I only 
made a half-hearted attempt to ask her if she was okay. I let her get away with stone-
walling me. I didn't really reach out to her. After Huldon III, I was too busy being a 
Maquis leader, planning raids. Even on my ship, I just left it all to Dishon. On the surface, 
everything looked fine. I told myself that she was just a private person. That her personal 
life was none of my business. On a small ship like that. Can you imagine? That's probably 
why she doesn't trust me enough to confide in me fully as her counselor." The first officer 
suddenly looked defeated and depressed as his eyes met the pilot's unflinchingly.
"Chakotay," Paris began, not knowing what he was going to say until the words came out 
of his mouth. "You can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped. If she'd ever asked 
you---"
"She didn't have to ask *you*," Chakotay replied harshly. "You volunteered. You reached 
out to her. And I tried to warn you away from her because I thought you were playing 
games. And you saved her life. You saw the warning signs I was blind to. I owe you an 
apology, Paris---Tom. I know if you confront Malista, you'll wind up paying an emotional 
price. I'm sorry. But I don't think anyone else on this ship has a better chance of getting 
her to open up."
"I got into a relationship with her as a friend. Just a friend! I didn't expect to have to deal 
with something like this! What am I supposed to do?!" His last words were almost a plea. 
Catching himself, hearing his own words and his agitated tone, he stood, stalked away, 
and leaned against the wall with his arms folded tightly across his heaving chest as he 
fought to regain his composure and emotional balance.
The doctor's gaze had been bouncing between the two men as if watching a hoverball being 
slammed back and forth. Silence fell as both Chakotay and Paris tried to get themselves 
under control and decide where to go from this point. Unpalatable truths had been spoken 
and hung in the air like an unpleasant odor. 
The first officer was the first to speak. "Paris---Tom. Sit down. Please," he added when it 
appeared the young man was going to pretend deafness, or possibly leave. "I'm sorry. 
This is not easy for any of us. I know when you befriended Malista, you had no idea what 
you were getting into. You couldn't know how desperately she needed your friendship, or 
how much she was going to come to depend on you. On us. I care about her myself and 
would help her if I could, but she's already made it clear that she won't tell me everything. 
I don't know why. Maybe I remind her too much of her father. You may be the *only* one 
who can reach her. Get her to open up and let go of whatever it is she's holding onto. But I 
promise you, you aren't in this alone. The doctor and I will help all we can in letting you 
know what to expect. We all need to work together."
"Damn," Paris muttered almost inaudibly. "That's exactly what B'Elanna said." He slunk 
over to the table and reseated himself without looking up.
Chakotay raised one eyebrow. "Really?"
Tom nodded. "She also said Malista's problems aren't my fault and I'm not responsible for 
solving her problems for her. Not all by myself, anyway."
"*I* could have told you that," the doctor stated. He didn't understand why the lieutenant 
and the commander shared a chuff of laughter at his remark, but he was pleased the 
emotional outbursts had been dealt with so they could move on to more practical 
considerations. "Now," he went on, "Shall we discuss our methodology? In therapy, it's 
sometimes referred to as 'Let's get naked together' ---"
"I'm not getting NAKED with my SISTER!" Tom refuted reflexively and adamantly.  
The doctor rolled his eyes. "Figuratively, not literally, Lieutenant. It's a metaphorical 
expression. It means you share your pain, which lets her know that she is not unique in her 
suffering. Therefore, she feels more comfortable and shares her pain. The common ground 
you find provides a basis for discussion. Many support groups are founded on this 
principle."
"I don't know if I can do that. I wouldn't know what to say," he mumbled, feeling his 
inadequacies sharply.
Chakotay interceded again. "Tom, whatever it is that you've been doing has obviously 
been working. You might have to drop some of your own defenses and let her see your 
pain before she'll share hers with you. And that's going to hurt you. I'm sorry for that. But 
I think your instincts have served you well in helping her so far. Don't start second 
guessing yourself. You'll handle each problem as it comes up. You can't plan exactly what 
you're going to say, because you don't know what she's going to say. Think of what you 
would want someone to say to you---what *you* would need to hear. Trust your 
instincts."
Paris swallowed hard and nodded, somewhat reassured by the first officer's confidence in 
him.
 The doctor cleared his throat to regain their attention once more. "Now, shall we discuss 
other methodologies?"
*************************************
"He said what?" Harry huffed with disbelief.
Tom sighed. "He said Malista feels insecure because you're not----"
"Not dominating enough?" Kim shouted. "I don't believe this! This is the 24th century! 
What's the matter with you? I don't want to---"
"Harry, he didn't mean you have to treat her like a slave!" Tom interjected.
"Then what did he mean?!" the ensign demanded.
"Maybe I chose the wrong word," Tom sighed. Harry's reaction didn't surprise him. Not 
much. Actually, not at all. "What he means is, that Malista has been feeling insecure about 
her relationship with you---you do remember what insecure feels like, don't you, Harry?" 
He couldn't resist the sly dig. 
Kim dropped dejectedly into the armchair opposite Paris.  "This is all my fault, isn't it? 
Because I got jealous and insecure because of Freddie Bristow and went nuts and----"
"That's only part of it," his friend said soothingly. "She has a lot of emotional issues to 
work out. The Doc and Chakotay and I discussed your role in helping her. What we came 
up with is that you're doing a great job as it is---just by being yourself. I told you that 
before. You're a great guy and you've been very good for Malista."
"If I'm doing so great, why is she so scared when I'm not with her? Why won't she talk to 
me? How can I make her feel more secure?" Harry's brown eyes were pleading with him. 
'As if *I* have all the answers,' Tom thought. 'What did I do to deserve this?'  
He took a deep breath and fought off a minor panic attack of his own.  "Harry, Chakotay 
thinks it might help if you---acted more proprietary with Malista. Not domineering. More 
like assertive. Just---I don't know. Possessive?"
"Possessive? I thought that's what started this whole thing! I got jealous and possessive!"
"No, Harry. Not necessarily jealous. Not like you don't trust her. Not accusatory. She's 
always far too ready to take the blame for anything and everything as it is," Tom 
complained, wishing he could make Harry understand. "Okay, make it proprietary. Act 
more proprietary."
"What's the difference?" Kim asked plaintively. 
"Proprietary means---well, more like 'You are my woman!'," Paris replied. "You know. 
With people you don't know, or aren't interested in, you behave very politely. You don't 
try to tell them what to do because you don't care what they do. It's sort of that idea. She 
needs to know you care about her. She has to see a difference in the way you treat her---
and the way you treat every other woman on the ship." 
Harry gazed back at him blankly. "What? I'm too polite? Is that what you---"
Tom sighed. "Okay. For example: the way you treat B'Elanna. You're B'Elanna's friend, 
but you don't tell her what to do, not just because you'd fear for your life, but because it 
isn't your place to interfere. But with Malista, she's given you that right---the right to offer 
an opinion or disapprove. So just do it. Encourage her to argue with you. You know, get 
her opinions and make sure she knows she doesn't always have to agree with you. Boss 
her around a little, but lovingly! And don't push too hard."
"Libby would never have---"
Paris flinched and winced with melodramatic exaggeration. 
"I know," Kim said. "I shouldn't bring up her name. But if I'd tried to treat Libby as 'my 
woman', she'd have had a fit!"
Though he'd never say a word to Harry about it, Tom had always had a sneaking suspicion 
that Harry's relationship with the other girl wouldn't have survived Harry's maturation 
process. From what Tom had read between the lines when Harry had talked about her, 
Libby sounded like a controlling wench. She was the one who'd begun making plans for 
their future together. As Kim had matured and become more self-confident, she would 
have had a harder time getting her own way. But of course, Harry didn't want to hear that. 
Certainly not now.
"Libby was a very secure young lady from what you've told me. Malista isn't. She needs 
some reassurance that you're sincere. When she's convinced you really care about her and 
she feels more self-confident, you can ease off on the proprietary stuff---if you want. For 
now, you want to make sure she knows you're committed to her. And you expect that 
commitment from her."  He studied Kim's reaction carefully. "You *are* committed to her, 
aren't you, Harry?"
"Of course, I am!" the ensign snapped exasperatedly. "I told Malista I wasn't going to walk 
away from her. I told her the night we kissed and made up that I thought I was falling in 
love with her. I wouldn't lead her on if I wasn't serious. Why would you even ask such a 
question?"
The pilot exhaled noisily, a sigh of relief. "The doctor said that maybe Malista needs more 
than---words. A tangible sign or symbol." He waited hopefully for Harry to pick up on the 
broad hint.  
Kim's eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. "More than words? Like what?"
Tom gave up. If Harry didn't get that rather unsubtle hint, he obviously wasn't thinking 
along the same lines. Paris didn't want to push his best friend into a commitment he wasn't 
ready to make. It would just end in disaster. 
Tom tried a smile. It was a weak attempt. "You know what they say, Harry. Actions speak 
louder than words. Just try to act like Malista is your choice. Let her know that. In public. 
In front of other people. That you care about her and will take care of her. If you make her 
feel like she's been *claimed* by you, she may begin to believe it's true. And then maybe 
she'll feel safe enough to tell you what's been bothering her."
Harry had the definite feeling he'd missed a cue somewhere. "Tom---"
The lieutenant got to his feet, faking an energy he didn't feel and hoping to effect a quick 
exit. "Harry, how would you like to try a couple of my private holoprograms. I brought 
this one----"
*************************************
Harry couldn't believe Tom had loaned him this holodeck program. It was one of his 
favorites and he usually kept them private. But then, Tom wanted Malista to be happy and 
relaxed. If this program could manage to relax the perpetual motion B'Elanna for more than 
thirty minutes, then it should work for the much more easy-going Malista.
"What did you say this is?"  Malista asked curiously. Her first impulse had been to pop the 
hood and take a look at the strange vehicle's inner workings. She'd restrained her 
engineer's curiosity as Harry seated her inside on the cushioned seat.
"It's a 1957 Chevy. It was a land vehicle. Predating flitters and skimmers," the ensign 
replied. He turned on the radio and adjusted the volume control so the music would be 
suitable for background as they talked. "The music is supposed to set the mood for a little 
romance. It's from the same time period as the vehicle, more or less. It's something called 
Doo Wop according to Tom."
"Doo Wop?" she echoed. "That sounds like the noise the drive belts of the cargo loaders 
make when they aren't aligned properly. The music is pretty, but the lyrics don't make 
sense. 'Are the stars out tonight?' The stars are always----"
"Malista," Harry interrupted. She quieted immediately and looked at him with an expectant 
smile. "Lean back. Yeah, right here. That's it. Perfect. Comfortable?"
She nodded, snuggling into the curve of his arm along the back of the seat. The music was 
soothing. Even if the lyrics didn't make much sense. The twinkling starscape above them 
was beautiful. Even if it wasn't moving.
After a few moments of absorbing the atmosphere, Kim began to use his free hand to 
stroke the silken curliness of her shoulder-length hair. Casually, he lifted her hair, angling 
the tilt of her head so he could gain access to her throat. He nuzzled his way up and down, 
finally tucking his nose into the nape of her neck. She giggled at the feel of his warm breath 
tickling the sensitive skin. "What are you doing?"
"Sniffing your shampoo. Or is it a body lotion?" The murmured reply came as lips nuzzled 
and nipped, tasting and teasing. "Mmm. What is that scent? It's so familiar. I love it. It 
makes me crazy. Sweet. So sweet."
"Vanilla," she gasped breathlessly. One hand came up to squeeze his shoulder as if she 
couldn't keep her hands to herself any longer. She let her hand travel up the curve of his 
neck and entangled her fingers in his thick hair, massaging his scalp gently. She enjoyed 
touching him.
"Oh," Harry replied, inhaling deeply. "No wonder I like it. It reminds me of the cookies 
my mom used to make. Sugar cookies. Lots of vanilla."  His lips trailed kisses up the 
column of her neck, stopping to nibble at her earlobe, flicking it with his tongue. "You 
taste like cookies too. My sweet sugar cookie. Positively edible." She could feel his mouth 
smiling against her neck. He nipped at her skin playfully. Her uniform would hide the 
marks. If she wanted them hidden.
"Cookie?" she gasped. "Well, as nicknames go, it's better than---" Her breath disappeared 
completely, lost, along with her train of thought, in the sensations he was creating with his 
lips and tongue as he found and caressed the throbbing pulse in her throat. 
"*My* Cookie," he affirmed, drawing back to study her expression with solemn brown 
eyes. "Don't let me scare you, Malista, but being with you, kissing you, makes me feel---
territorial. Possessive. That's it. I feel possessive." Well, I never claimed to be subtle or 
tactful, Harry thought. And the more direct, the less the chance for misunderstanding.
Her green eyes widened, but she didn't look alarmed. "You do?" She blinked. "What 
exactly does that mean?"
Harry smiled slowly, sensually. "Well, I won't throw you over my shoulders or drag you 
to my quarters by your hair," he drawled. Though the idea did have a certain appeal to him 
on some levels. "But I do feel a need to tell you that you are *my* Cookie---and I don't 
share."
"Harry---" She tensed apprehensively. He wasn't feeling jealous again, was he? 
"I just want you to know that you are mine," he said, stroking her cheek, then cupping it in 
one hand. "And, vice-versa."
"Vice-versa?" Her voice was barely a whisper. A smile was tugging gently at her lips as 
she melted bonelessly into his arms once more.
"I am yours," Harry clarified. He took her right hand and placed it gently against his 
cheekbone, nuzzling his face into her palm. "And I hope you don't plan on sharing either."
"Oh, Harry, you are an angel," she sighed as he swooped towards her for an impassioned 
kiss. It felt like he was setting his seal upon her. Marking her as his. It felt wonderful. Her 
hands cupped his cheeks then slid up and around his neck, drawing his body closer. Those 
were the last words spoken in the holodeck for some time.  
*************************************
On the star chart, the planet was identified as Four One Seven Three Eleven Red.  Of 
course, Megan Delaney immediately dubbed it FOSTER.  She hated numeric names for 
planets, an odd quirk in one who specialized in Stellar Cartography, but one of her pet 
peeves.
Food gathering missions were now a common duty for all the crew. Almost everyone 
volunteered to take a shift, if only for the opportunity to set foot on real soil and breathe 
real, unrecycled air. It was a refreshing chance to forget about the trials and limitations of 
life aboard a starship. And to forget about personal problems for a while.
The climate of Foster was mild and sunny. The food gathering crews were scattered around 
an area of approximately one hundred kilometers, collecting various berries, tubers, and 
plant samples. All samples collected had been subjected to rigorous tests for nutritional 
value and biochemical compatibility with the digestive systems of the various races aboard 
Voyager before the harvesting began. 
The fruit trees on this planet were extremely large. The smallest was over thirty meters high 
with branches that spread like a canopy over the lake next to it. The trees surrounded the 
lake. They evidently required copious amounts of water. The leaves were a bluish green, 
the branches sturdy and thick with rough bark. The purplish fruits were similar to a pear in 
shape, a peach in texture, but an apple in taste. 
Harry Kim studied the grove of trees as he approached from the transporter site. He and 
Mikel Hudson were carrying four sets of antigrav boots that would allow them to reach the 
tops of the trees and pick the fruit which didn't grow lower than ten meters above the 
ground. 
"These are going to be very popular with the crew---the human crewmembers, at least. 
Unless, of course, Neelix finds a way to cook them with leola root," commented the 
Security Officer. "Yuck!"
Kim shot a rueful smile at Mikel. "Don't even mention leola root or pepper sauce," he 
pleaded. "We just have to tell Neelix we prefer our fruit raw." He stopped at the base of the 
tree and looked around for the other members of his team. "Where are Malista and Tom? I 
swear this is where we told them to wait."
Mikel shrugged. He pushed a forelock of dark brown hair back away from his eyes. He 
squinted in the sunlight that seemed so much brighter than the artificial ship's lighting and 
hoped he wouldn't burn---or, even worse, freckle. He felt the light dusting of golden 
freckles across his nose and cheeks made him look far too young and unsuitably boyish for 
a Security Officer. In an effort to counter the effect of the freckles and the upturned nose, 
Mikel attempted to maintain a serious demeanor while on duty in an effort to look 
professional, if not intimidating. Intimidating was usually beyond his ability. 
A leaf drifted down and fluttered past Harry's line of sight. He tilted his head back and 
gaped up---and up---and up---at Malista Shadow!
She'd climbed the tree!  She was at least twenty-eight meters above the ground! Harry 
suddenly had trouble drawing breath. 
A cloth food sack was hanging from one shoulder, her long legs were wrapped around a 
branch about two feet in diameter, and she was using both hands to pick the fruit and place 
it in her sack. Harry cringed as she stretched out full length over empty air in order to reach 
a particularly succulent piece on another branch.
"Malista!" he shouted. "What are you *doing* up there? I told you to wait for the anti-
gravs! You're going to fall!"
She was so startled by his yell, she lost her balance and almost made his words a prophecy 
come true. She grabbed for the branch with one hand and clenched her knees more tightly. 
When she'd regained her composure, she gazed down at the ensign with a disarming smile. 
"Harry, I was doing fine until you scared me! The Greek people have a saying, 'He that 
will have the fruit, must climb the tree.' Besides, I like to climb trees. And I was careful," 
she tried to reassure him, touched by his distress on her behalf, but not convinced it was 
justified. One thing she was absolutely NOT afraid of was heights.
"How could Tom *let* you do something so dangerous!?" Harry exclaimed with an 
annoyed grimace. He had trusted his friend to take care of her while he was gone---and 
Tom let her put herself in danger! He frowned fiercely. "Where *is* Tom?" he called up to 
Shadow.
She bit her lip to stifle a grin. Silently, she raised one hand and pointed to her right---and 
up. And up. 
There was Tom. Even higher in the tree than she was---maybe forty meters above the 
ground. Unlike Malista, he wasn't picking fruit or even pretending to be doing so. He was 
stretched out, face down on a wide branch, his arms and legs carelessly dangling limply 
over either side. His food sack was folded up under his cheek and he appeared to be 
napping. 
Harry heard a snorting gasp, and turned to find Hudson unsuccessfully smothering a 
laugh. At Kim's glare, Hudson dropped to the ground and gave fervent attention to 
strapping on his antigrav boots.
"Harry?" 
Kim looked up again. It was so high it made his neck hurt to tilt his head back so far.
"This sack is getting full. When you get your boots on, could you bring up a couple of 
others? I think---"
"I think you should come down from there. Slowly," Harry said, straining *not* to make it 
sound like an order. He knew if it did, she would obey him, and he didn't want to take that 
heavy-handed an approach. That just wasn't him and it wasn't the role he wanted to fulfill 
in her life.
"But, Harry, I can still reach a couple of dozen---" Malista began.
"Malista, please? You're making me very nervous," the ensign announced edgily.
She hesitated for a moment as if torn, then argued tentatively. "Harry, this isn't even as 
high as the trapeze or high wire! And I'm holding on. I'm not being careless," she insisted 
apologetically. Unfortunately, she was trying to use logic and rational argument on a man 
who was beyond it at the moment.
His jaw tightened. "When we work out on the holodeck, the safeties would catch you if 
you fell. What if you fall from up there?"
"You mean you wouldn't catch me?" Shadow teased mischievously, studying his reaction 
carefully. 
"Malista!" 
"Aw, Harry, don't get your knickers in a knot!" Tom called down drowsily. "She's 
perfectly safe. As long as she holds on. We didn't feel like waiting for you to get back with 
the antigravs. Besides, tree climbing is a human tradition. Especially if there's something in 
the tree to eat that makes it worthwhile. Didn't you ever climb trees as a kid?" He yawned 
mightily as he blinked sleepily down at his best friend.
Kim grudgingly let it go for the moment and sat down to don his own boots. He would 
have a few choice words to say to Tom Paris later---in private! It was all very well for Tom 
to say Malista needed to be encouraged to be more daring and open, but some things were 
just reckless. Paris should have more sense. And if anything happened to Malista Shadow-
--
Hudson, anti-grav boots in place, got to his feet, grabbed a couple of extra sacks and hit 
the controls. He floated to eye level with Malista, carefully dodging tree branches on his 
way up. He hovered there for a moment, surveying his surroundings. He noticed that 
Shadow looked increasingly uncomfortable as he drew closer. She tensed, almost as if she 
expected him to say or do something hostile. 
The ensign wouldn't have claimed to be a friend of Shadow's, but he had become a 
friendly acquaintance when she'd been working third shift in the Security Office. More 
friendly on his part than hers, but still.... Her reaction was a little out of line. He made a 
mental note to ask Ethan Simms what was up. His partner usually knew what was going 
on. People tended to talk to him easily.
Hudson's dark brown eyes met Malista's with a hint of gentle concern. "He's just worried 
about you. Don't get mad at him if he doesn't express it well." His was the voice of 
experience objectively offering amicable advice.
She smiled at him tentatively and exchanged her full sack for one of his empty ones.  
"Thanks. I know."
Hudson floated down and gently deposited the fruit on the ground beneath the tree, then 
levitated up among the branches and began to fill his own sack. He discreetly kept his back 
turned toward Malista as Kim drifted up to join her, anticipating a showdown of some kind 
between the two.
As soon as their eyes were on a level, Kim opened his mouth to reprimand her for 
carelessness. Malista didn't want to argue with Harry. With unaccustomed boldness born 
of a buoyant mood, she grabbed his collar to pull him close and captured his mouth in a 
lingering kiss, nibbling on his full lower lip as the ensign cooperated fully and with 
enthusiasm. He was enjoying the fact that she was the one initiating the display of 
affection. It was the first time in a long time that she'd done so. 
She let go of his collar and ran her fingers up his neck to card them through his thick black 
hair. She kissed him just behind the ear before returning her attention to his mouth. 
"Hmmmm. This is nice. Oh, Harry, you have the most wonderful lips---"
"What have I told you about PDA's, Sis?" Tom complained dramatically. He snapped up to 
a sitting position with a careless grace that made Kim cringe for his friend's safety. 
The pilot wasn't even using his hands to hold on! Kim hoped that Paris was aware of the 
precariousness of his perch. He almost wished Torres was here. Tom might listen to her if 
she urged him to be more careful. Maybe. More likely he'd have the Chief Engineer 
climbing trees as well. 
"It wouldn't *be* a Public Display of Affection if *you* had the sense and good manners 
to keep your eyes closed," Malista remarked scornfully as she drew back and studied 
Harry's face fondly, searching for any hint that he was truly upset with her.   "No one else 
can see us up here." She ran the tip of her index finger along Harry's lower lip playfully. 
Tom yawned robustly once more, this time stretching his arms high over his head then 
rolling his shoulders. "Details, details. What about Mikel? He's a Security Officer. At any 
given moment, he could snap on the restraints and take you both into custody!"
"Mikel is *not* looking, sir!" Hudson called over his shoulder, not bothering to hide his 
grin since no one could see his face. "I see nothing! Absolutely nothing!"
"Good judgment, Ensign! Keep up the good work!" Paris retorted pompously. He 
stretched up a lazy hand, snagged a piece of fruit, and dropped it into his bag. "That's 
one," he announced smugly.
"Thank you so much, Lieutenant," Mikel replied with mock gratitude. "It's always my goal 
to perform any and every assignment to the best of my ability and satisfy my superior 
officers---and even the not so superior ones!" He knew the helmsman well enough to know 
he wouldn't take offense at the wisecrack. He was right. Tom snickered his appreciation of 
the witticism, but didn't reply to it.
Harry Kim hovered on a level with Malista, fascinated by her impish smile as she listened 
to the exchange. She didn't seem upset that Harry had reprimanded her for climbing the 
tree. In fact, it seemed to please her. She also appeared to enjoy the mock arguing with 
both Tom and Harry. She darted a quick glance at Harry to gauge his reaction, as if she 
wanted to find out if he was seriously angry with her defiance of his request for her to 
climb down. 
He had the feeling that if he frowned at all, she would immediately give in and let him take 
her to the ground to don her anti-grav boots. But he also had the feeling it would be like 
caging a wild bird just as it was about to take flight. He took it as a good sign that she 
hadn't immediately yielded to his opinion. Maybe she was beginning to trust in him enough 
to disagree with him.
Of course, she'd had Tom's permission to climb, so maybe she was just trying to make 
them both happy. Now there was an idea that seemed doomed to failure! Harry gave her a 
reluctant grin, snatched another kiss, and set to work. Sometimes a guy couldn't win. And 
when he couldn't, it was smarter to give in. For the time being. Besides, Malista was more 
relaxed than she'd been in days and seemed to be having fun.
He didn't want to think about it right now. He wasn't going to risk upsetting her again. He 
still hadn't figured out for sure what had upset her the last time. Nevertheless, he made 
sure he stayed close enough to grab her if she lost her balance.
"Two," said Tom. Another piece of fruit plopped into his sack. He yawned again.  
"Don't strain yourself, Paris," Kim taunted.  His friend sniffed and ignored him. Malista 
chuckled under her breath, eyes darting from one man to the other as she waited for the 
next volley.
************************
Mikel Hudson didn't have to go looking for Ethan Simms to ask him about Malista 
Shadow. Ethan came looking for Mikel. And found him sitting at the desk in his quarters 
downloading a novel from the ship's database. 
After he'd finished his temporary assignment as a fruit picker, Hudson had been invited to 
join Paris, Kim, and Shadow for an impromptu picnic in the shade of the fruit trees beside 
the lake. He'd spent time socially with Paris and Kim before so he was familiar with their 
humor and easy manner, but he'd been caught offguard by the change in Malista Shadow. 
When he'd known her in Security during their duty shifts, he would have described her as 
cold, distant, and professional. Behind her back, she'd often been referred to as The Ice 
Princess. She didn't make small talk. In fact, he could hardly remember hearing her say 
more than two unnecessary words. 
After Ethan Simms had befriended her, as much as she'd let him, the coldness had eased 
up a little. At least to the point where she appeared to acknowledge Hudson's right to exist 
on the same ship by giving him a civil smile whenever she saw him. But usually only if she 
saw him with Simms. He had concluded that she didn't want or need friends so he'd been 
polite, but made no overtures to deepen the relationship or get to know her better. 
Seeing her with Paris and Kim, had been a revelation. She fit right into their
comfortable companionship, her sense of humor surging to the forefront as she used her 
agile wits to defend herself and Harry Kim from Paris' playful barbs. And when Harry 
Kim had evidently experienced a slip of the tongue and called her 'Cookie', she'd giggled! 
She'd actually giggled. And then giggled again when Kim refused to explain the reference 
to Paris who'd pouted for at least five minutes, claiming the pair were ganging up on him 
and spouting a playful diatribe on the subject of disloyal sisters and traitorous best friends.
Until that precise moment, Hudson had never really noticed that The Ice Princess was 
remarkably pretty. Beautiful, in fact---when she forgot herself and that others were 
watching her. And she certainly knew her way around a replicator! The lunch had been 
plentiful and astoundingly tasty. Paris had frequently bragged on her cooking skills to 
anyone who would listen. It was wonderful to find out from first hand experience that he 
hadn't exaggerated.
Commander Chakotay had wandered by and was promptly challenged to a tree climbing 
contest by Tom Paris. When Paris revealed that he had no intention of climbing himself, 
that he wanted Shadow to act as his proxy and race Chakotay up the tree, Ensign Kim 
objected loudly. The contest was called off forthwith.
Malista protested that she thought she could win. Harry Kim frowned his disapproval---
and that immediately settled the issue as far as she was concerned.  It also provided Paris 
with fodder for facetiously badgering Shadow about her browbeaten status and ribbing 
Kim about his secretly domineering nature. Shadow entered into the argument in defense of 
Kim. Paris eventually retired from the lists, smiling smugly at both of them. Hudson had a 
feeling there was a subtext to that whole topic of conversation, but he didn't have the key to 
decode it so he'd decided not to worry about it.
Chakotay had departed to check on the other food gathering teams, shaking his head over 
the pilot's scandalous suggestions for sporting events other than tree climbing that could be 
incorporated into the harvesting activities. The berry toss, the tuber dive, the tree vault, a 
seed expectoration contest....they all sounded messy and a few of them rather dangerous to 
Ensign Kim, although Shadow encouraged Paris to reveal his wildest flights of fancy and 
occasionally topped them with one of her own.
Hudson had sporadically entered into the repartee, but mostly he sat back and enjoyed 
listening to the other three. Eventually, the conversation had turned to literature, not 
surprisingly considering it was an avid avocation for both Paris and Shadow. They were  
remarkably well read and the two of them, joined by Kim had dived into a detailed 
discussion---or debate---about a story called "A Tale of Two Cities" by someone named 
Dickens and the concept of self-sacrifice as opposed to enlightened self-interest and the 
greater good.  
Hudson had found himself pondering which point of view he would take and their 
conversation about the novel had inspired Mikel to read it. That was what he was 
downloading when his partner walked into his quarters.
"Hi, Ethe, what's up?"
His friend looked faintly anxious, which was unusual enough to capture Hudson's full 
attention. Simms hadn't worn that expression since he'd finally confessed to writing 
anonymous love letters to Janine Lamont.
Mikel paused the computer and sat up straight. "What's the matter?"
"Uh, Mik, I sort of have this problem..."
"Sit down. Tell me about it." 
Simms sat---but not still. He moved restlessly, seeming at a loss for words. 
"What's the matter, Ethe?" Hudson leaned toward his friend, trying to read his expression.
"I'm trying to think how to say it."
Hudson pushed the annoying curl of brown hair off his forehead with a sigh of 
exasperation. "Just say it. Always works for me."
Simms sighed. "It's not my story to tell. Someone told me about a problem, a friend of 
mine is having and I'm not sure how much I'm supposed to tell anyone else. It's sort of a 
privacy issue." He raked his fingers through his own auburn curls. "How do I decide how 
much to tell?" 
"I assume you want to tell me?" 
 His friend nodded.
"Then tell me anything. I can keep a secret. Discretion is my middle name. Mikel Discretion 
Hudson. Who's got a problem?"
"Malista Shadow." 
Hudson raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Now there's a coincidence, Ethe. I was 
thinking about her today and wondering what's going on with her. I planned to ask you 
about it."
"The food gathering parties?"
"Yeah. I was working in the same group with her, Kim, and Paris. We had a picnic lunch 
together afterwards."
Simms brow puckered. "Did she say anything?"
"Anything like what? About what?" Hudson queried. "After she got used to my being 
there, she seemed fine. But there was something---something I couldn't quite put my finger 
on. Something lurking in the back of her eyes."
Simms nodded. "I know exactly what you mean. A haunted look. That's how I felt when 
we were working Gamma shift and I ran into her in the shuttlebay. Except now I know 
why she was so---antsy. Someone's been harassing her."
"Harassing her? How?" Hudson was mildly surprised. It wasn't a common problem on 
starships, but then Voyager wasn't exactly the usual starship either. "We are talking about 
sexual harassment here, right? You don't mean Kim---"
"No!" his friend denied hastily. "Somebody has been making suggestive remarks, sending 
her messages on her terminal, maybe even getting physical. Physically threatening."
"Has she reported it?" 
"No."
"Why not?" Hudson demanded.
"I'm not sure. Diane wasn't sure who was doing it. Gerron got Malista to tell him about the 
computer messages, but she didn't let him see them. She's just been deleting them as they 
came in. Diane is sure it's Starfleet personnel that are picking on her. The Maquis are upset 
about it. They've been keeping an eye on Malista, but they haven't been able to pinpoint the 
source of the trouble." Simms seemed seriously disturbed at the idea. "Gerron told Diane 
that Malista gets real  jumpy around the Starfleet men. Almost all of them."
Hudson nodded. "I noticed that. When I approached her today, she acted like I was going 
to hit her---or insult her."	
"Maybe because someone else has?"
"But not me! And not *all* the Starfleet guys! Why would she expect it from the 
'Fleeters?" Mikel asked somewhat indignantly.
"Maybe because some of them have done something? Or because she's Maquis?" Ethan 
conjectured. At Hudson's questioning look, he continued. "She may think no one would 
take her claim of harassment seriously. In the last few weeks, there have been some stories 
floating around---you know, about the Maquis women. Their sexual appetites." Ethan 
flushed to the roots of his dark auburn hair.
Hudson suppressed a smile. "There are always those kinds of stories. But do you mean 
that someone has been talking about Malista specifically? I don't believe it could be true. 
She doesn't have a roving eye. And if she's supposed to be some kind of sex fiend, what 
about the last three years? Or did whoever started this talk claim to have an explanation for 
why she just turned into one?"
If anything, the younger man's flush deepened. "I heard some of the talk, Mik. It's really 
nasty. There's a malicious edge to it---not like the usual idle talk. They say she and Dishon 
were---you know. That he kept her fully occupied. Dominated her. And when he died---
she went looking for a new owner. Someone who could advance her career. Somebody 
has been spreading the story that Malista went after Tom Paris to try to get on  the captain's 
good side. And when that didn't work because of Torres, she made a play for Harry Kim. 
That she'd do anything to get in good with the Senior Officers."
"Come on! Wouldn't she go after Chakotay instead of Paris? He's the top male officer. 
Naw. I don't buy it. I don't think she has that much guile or ambition." Hudson snorted. 
"I didn't say I believed it," Simms protested. "I said that's what someone has been feeding 
the rumor mill."
"Somebody with a grudge against Malista?" Hudson said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. 
"George Natwick?" Ethan guessed, then answered his own question. "Naw, I don't think 
so. It's not George's style. If he was going to bother to insult you, he'd do it to your face, 
not start rumors behind your back."	
"Someone using Malista to hurt someone else?" Hudson hypothesized.
"Like Harry Kim?"
"Or, more likely, Tom Paris. There are more people who still don't like him. The morons. 
Some people would require brain surgery to change their minds about anything." Hudson 
turned back to his computer terminal and canceled the download. "Let's see if we can 
narrow down our field of suspects. You said you suspected something was going on when 
we were working Gamma shift and you saw her in the shutt