Face Forward, a Star Trek : Voyager adventure,
following the episode "Faces" (1995) by Sue Castle. No infringement intended. Rated R.
It had been a long ten days since they had been rescued from that hell
hole of a prison. The nightmares were lessening, the odd and frightening
mixture of
He'd been by to see B'Elanna a few times, but
it felt so awkward. She was gradually regaining her mixed Klingon/Human
appearance as the Doc's treatments took effect, and her strength was returning
as well. But she seemed uncomfortable around him. Whenever she looked at him it
was almost as though she had to steel herself to do it, as if he brought back
painful memories that she didn't want to face. Hell, he could understand that.
The sight of a fragile, Human B'Elanna holding her
fiercely beautiful Klingon self, watching her die in
her own arms, still played havoc with his mind. It must be so much harder to
take when she was the one who had lived through it.
He sat very still in the darkness, willing away the night terrors as he
had for so many months in prison. Gradually his limbs stopped trembling, and
his muscles relaxed. As he settled back into the bunk, he tried to empty his
mind and allow himself some much-needed rest. His hands unclenched,
unconsciously curling around her shadow arms, as they had in the bunkroom. The
final hazy thought flitted through his mind that she had been surprisingly
attractive as a full blooded Klingon, then he drifted into sleep.
She stared into the small mirror hanging over the sink in her commode,
feeling the bumps on her forehead with a slight grimace. She certainly looked
normal, at least, normal for her. Dark eyes stared pensively back at her, and
she suddenly shook her head. She had seen herself as a full Klingon,
thanks to that bastard and his little hand mirror. But she had never seen
herself with a smooth forehead, what she'd wanted for so long as a child. She
had been too weak at first to even think about asking for a mirror, and then
the treatments had begun and the transformation had started. The only person
still alive who had seen her as a Human, besides Chakotay,
was Tom Paris. And she didn't want to talk about it with Chakotay.
He'd look at her with those liquid, understanding dark eyes and she would lose
her train of thought. Besides, it was really Tom that had been with her, seen
all of her reactions, lived through hell with her.
At the thought of him, she closed her eyes and turned away from her
image. She had figured him out, she had thought, all bluster and testosterone
like any other hotshot pilot. But he hadn't been, not there. He'd tried to
deflect the guard's attention from Pete, had protected her in the tunnels, had tried to make her feel better about her appalling
cowardice. And he had been so gentle with her, holding her hands and talking
softly with her when she needed that kindness. Since they'd been back on
Voyager, he had visited her in sickbay a few times, but he seemed so
uncomfortable. He'd shift from one foot to the other, and he didn't seem to
know what to do with his hands. She supposed he felt embarrassed at not being
able to help her, and she knew he felt guilty about Pete's death. But she had a
deep-down feeling that it was she who was making him feel so strange. He must
have been so repulsed by her Klingon self, and the
whole situation had been so bizarre. No wonder he didn't even want to talk to
her. She dropped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, aware of the familiar
conflict inside her. Part of her understood his discomfort and sympathized
completely. The rest of her wanted to slap him until his ears rang for being
such an idiot. She sighed and shifted restlessly. B'Elanna versus Torres. So
what else was new.
"It is *not* a stupid idea, Torres!" Tom heard the frustration
edging his voice into a near-whine, and winced. He hated it when he got that
little-boy sound in his tone. Added to his bright gold hair and big blue eyes,
it always made other people react to him as if he was a five year old throwing
a tantrum. B'Elanna certainly looked at him that way.
He growled a little at her and she shook her head in disbelief.
"Why don't you stick to steering the damned thing and let me do the
thinking? It's not your strong suit." She ignored the effect her nasty
comments had on
"I don't claim to be a genius, damnit, but
if you would simply listen to what I'm *trying* to tell you, I think we can squeeze
another eight percent out of the-"
*crack*
B'Elanna looked at her
stinging knuckles, then down at
Janeway was having a hard
time believing any of this. Torres had been so good for so long - she cut off
that train of thought. B'Elanna had undergone an
extremely strenuous several days of, essentially, torture, and her mental state
was apparently more unstable than she'd thought. And
"Well, at least she didn't actually *break* his jaw, Captain." Chakotay's soft voice was carefully devoid of amusement.
"No. The Doctor was well able to treat him. And she came immediately
to me to take responsibility for her actions." She paused for a moment.
While her first officer was hiding it well, traces of anxiety were showing in
his dark eyes. "I relieved her of her duties for three days, Chakotay. After all, Mr. Paris is physically all right, and
he refused to press any charges against her. Which he would have been quite
justified in doing."
"Maybe he felt like he deserved it?" The lilt of laughter was
there again, and she felt herself responding to it unwillingly.
"He may be irritating, but in this case he was right. And he
*didn't* deserve to be knocked unconscious, Chakotay."
He acknowledged the gentle reprimand, and straightened his own face.
"Will this be the end of it, do you think?"
"I don't know," she returned slowly. "I think, perhaps,
they will have to make their own peace." She settled against her desk,
looking at him seriously. "We don't know exactly what passed between them
down there, and we probably never will. But it affected both of them. At times
like these I really wish we had an effective ship's counselor."
He nodded agreement, and they both fell silent, each wrapped in their own
thoughts.
He was lying on his side, the tension lines in his face wiped away in the
relaxation of sleep. His hair tumbled slightly over his high forehead and his
lips were barely parted, showing a glimpse of teeth. One hand lay curled beside
his cheek, and he presented a picture of deceptive innocence. Her eyes followed
the long, smooth line of his legs under the cover, and she drew a silent breath
of appreciation. She had noticed in a detached sort of way that Tom was
startlingly attractive, but had dismissed him as being "pretty" and
conceited. Looking past the facade, she saw the strength in his features,
remembered the way he had hovered over her, and his quick reactions in the Vidion prison. Her gaze traced the curve of his shoulder,
along his slender throat, to the sharp jaw and full lower lip. Slipping past
his aristocratic nose, she was startled to meet crystal blue eyes staring back
at her. He hadn't moved a muscle, and she blushed suddenly, painfully,
wondering how long he had been awake. At least it was dark and he couldn't make
out her reaction to being caught looking.
"B'Elanna." It was barely a whisper.
"What are you doing in my quarters?"
She didn't move from her seat beside the bed. "I came," this
was harder than she had expected it to be! "I needed to apologize."
Her voice sounded odd, sort of choked.
"For what?" He hadn't moved either, almost as if he was afraid she would bolt.
"For hitting you earlier today. It was ... uncalled for."
"Hurt, too." The grin in his voice didn't match the intent look
in his eyes, and she squirmed a little under his steady regard.
"I could say you provoked me." She felt a little defiant, but
wasn't quite sure why. At her changed tone, he sat up in the bed and leaned
against the wall. The cover fell to his waist, and she found herself distracted
by the fine, thick curls covering his chest. He didn't notice her sudden
fascination, caught up in indignation at her remark.
"That's not true, and you know it, Torres! If you had been listening
instead of spoiling for a fight, you wouldn't have taken everything that came
out of my mouth as a personal insult and we could have-oof!"
She cut off his stream of words by the simple expedient of pinning him to
the bunk and covering his open mouth with her own. Shock kept him immobile just
long enough for her to shift both of his hands in hers, clasping them above his
head. Lifting her face from his, she observed his cloudy expression with some
satisfaction.
"You talk too much,
It certainly wasn't a problem at the moment. His brain was frozen with
shock, although he couldn't say the same for other portions of his anatomy.
With a start, he realized that she had him completely pinned. He wriggled,
trying instinctively to escape. Since that unfortunate incident shortly after
arriving at the penal colony, he had a horror of being helpless. The sheet
slipped even further, and she saw that he slept nude. The unexpected sight
caused her muscles to tense in reaction, and he yelped softly at the strength
of her hands around his wrists. The small sound brought her glance to his face,
and she was surprised to see fear in his wide eyes. They had darkened to
sapphire with a combination of fear and arousal, and she found herself
fascinated by their depth and clarity. His teeth were clenched, and she finally
realized that she was hurting him. Her grip instantly softened, but not enough
to allow him to escape. All of her hunting instincts were up, and he was the
unwitting prey.
The light in her nearly black eyes was almost feral, and he could feel
the heat of it on his face. He felt lightheaded. It was all happening so
quickly, and the feelings were so intense that he felt his control slipping
like water through his fingers. He clenched his fists, tightened the muscles
along his frame until he nearly bucked her off, but she rode him easily. The
brush of her hair along his chest as she lowered her face to his throat nearly
undid him, but he concentrated on each sensation, trying to break the
experience into manageable bits, trying not to be overcome by the reality of
her actions. She smelled sweet, faintly spicy, and he expected her to kiss him.
Instead, she ran her teeth lightly up the side of his throat, nibbling and
licking the sensitive skin until she coaxed a moan from deep within his chest.
At the sound, she chuckled lightly, then suddenly
flashed upward to bite him along the jaw, under the ear. The sudden pain
shocked him from his sensual stupor, and he cried out in protest.
Her lips covered his again, swallowing the cry, and her tongue invaded
his mouth, mimicking the stronger actions sure to follow. One of her hands
clasped his wrists firmly, although he was no longer fighting her, and the
other ran the length of his chest, tangling in the damp curls, before slipping
along his side to curl around his flank, urging him closer. He arched into her
embrace, lost in her heat, ravaging her mouth as she had ravaged his. Their
bodies, seeking one another, were frustrated by her uniform, and she finally
let go of his arms. He drew her tunic off swiftly, tossing it carelessly aside,
before nearly tearing the jumpsuit off as well. She fumbled with her boots,
toeing them off frantically, and he slipped her camisole and panties off
one-handed, anxious to maintain his hold on her waist, almost as if he feared
she would disappear. They were operating on instinct now, desperate to be next
to one another. It had been nearly two years for him, since his fiancee had decided she didn't want to wait for a convict
to get out of prison, and not counting the nightmare he had lived through
there. It hadn't been quite as long for her, but with Chakotay
it was more like coming together with a friend, without this mind numbing need.
Finally they faced each other on the soft linen of his sheets, and a little
of the frantic urgency subsided. He framed her face with his long, slender
fingers, lightly carressing the hollows under her
cheekbones, the delicate ridges of her forehead. She tried to shy away then,
but he wouldn't let her, looking into her eyes and smiling sweetly. He followed
the trail of his fingertips with his lips, and she relaxed under his
ministrations. Gradually, the relaxation was replaced with an echo of the
earlier tension, and her own hands began to move,
restlessly following the corded muscles of his arms, along the sweat-slicked
shoulders, following the line of his back to the curve at the top of his
buttocks. His legs entertwined with hers, and she
moved gracefully atop him. The urgency grew with each new touch, his hands at
her breasts, her fingers burrowing along his chest, their hips moving together
with controlled force, legs braced against the onslaught. The ending, when it
came, took them by surprise with its force, and her cries mingled with his.
She lay bonelessly sprawled along his larger
frame, and he inhaled deeply, enjoying the peace of satiation. She lifted a
hand to lightly trace the welt along his jaw where she had marked him as hers.
"You smell good." For a moment he thought he'd spoken aloud,
then realized that the words had come from the sleepy woman nestling her face
into the curve of his neck. He couldn't help the sigh that escaped.
"Well, you *feel* good." He was nearly asleep himself. "Bella."
Her head rose slowly. She was trying to glare at him, but the effort
wasn't exactly intimidating. "What did you call me?"
He focused with difficulty on her frowning face. "Bella.
Means 'Beautiful' in Italian." She was looking at
him like he'd lost his mind. "My Grandma was Italian. And it fits." Not
giving her a chance to argue, he slipped his arm around her and drew her down
into a comfortable position beside him on the bunk. Snuggling against her back,
pillowing her head on his arm, he moved her hair away from the nape of her neck
and gently kissed her. "Suits you."
She was silent for a moment in shock. Beautiful?
*He* was the beautiful one. She was, well, too *bumpy* to be beautiful,
especially to a full Human. Sexy, maybe, she had a strong body and men had
wanted her for that, but beautiful? "Tom?"
Soft chuffing sounds were the only reply she got. His body was completely
relaxed in sleep. She lay there for a long time, thinking about what had just
happened. What she had just initiated, and how he had made her feel. The one
thing she didn't think about was *why*. She wasn't quite ready for that yet.
He tried to make it to sickbay without anyone noticing. Of course, it
never worked that way when you wanted it to.
"Hi, Tom! What's the
hurry? You aren't on duty for another ... wow. What happened to your
face?"
Harry's innocent questions were slowing him down. If he didn't answer him
the young Ensign might ask someone who *knew* what a Klingon
lovebite signified, then B'Elanna
would really work him over. But if he didn't get to sickbay before some of the
more seasoned space travellers saw him, he'd be
equally fried. Taking the easy way out, he grabbed Kim's arm and hustled him
along with him down the corridor.
"It's nothing, Harry. Just a bruise the Doc didn't get to after
Torres, um, decked me yesterday. But I haven't had breakfast yet, so I'm in a
hurry to get to sickbay." All the talking was making his jaw hurt.
"If you're in such a hurry, why are you walking so funny? Not
exactly *fast*, I'd say-"
"Harry! I'm in a hurry, okay? Just go get breakfast and I'll ...
explain it all later."
Kim looked a little hurt by his friend's brusque tone, but shrugged it
off. Tom got into snits every once in a while, and it couldn't have been very
good for his ego for B'Elanna to coldcock
him without even straining. He waved good naturedly as
Tom moved painfully toward the infirmary.
Entering the galley, he saw B'Elanna taking
breakfast alone at a far table. Quickly gathering some hot cereal and juice, he
made his way across the room and stood by her chair.
"Mind if I join you?"
She swung around at the soft voice, then relaxed
when she saw it was just Harry, no Tom in sight. For an instant an ancient
ditty about Tom, Dick and Harry played through her mind, but she forcefully
shut it out. She couldn't quite conceal the smile, though, and Harry remarked
on it.
"At least you look like *you're* in a good mood today. Not like
Tom." Pausing to swallow a bit of the strange cereal, one of Neelix's concoctions that seemed like a cross between grits
and wheat flakes, he continued, oblivious to her suddenly intent gaze.
"Guess the Doctor missed something after you, er,
hit him yesterday." He risked a glance at her, but she seemed to be listening
with attention, not getting angry. Heartened, he finished another bite and
smiled at her. "He had a pretty big bruise covering the side of his jaw,
must have hurt to talk, and he was in a big hurry to get to the Doc-" To
his intense surprise, B'Elanna suddenly pushed her
chair away from the table and left without a word. "but,
he said it was okay..." Harry's voice trailed off, and he looked sadly
down at his rapidly cooling breakfast. Some days he just didn't understand his
friends.
"I trust you are completely recovered from your little contretemps
yesterday, Mr. Paris?" The Captain's dry tone didn't help the blush that
swept over Tom's fair skin. One of the curses of being a
blonde.
"Yes, Captain," he managed, trying hard not to shift in his
seat. Too many muscles were stretched from unaccustomed exercise, and he really
didn't want to broadcast to the whole bridge crew that he had gotten laid the
night before. There was no telling what B'Elanna might
do if she thought that he was in any way crowing about last night. Not that he
was completely sure about what *had* happened. She hadn't been there when he
had woken up in the early hours of the morning, and if it hadn't been for the
tangled sheets and the lingering scent of her on his pillow, and on his body,
he would have suspected it of being a particularly satisfying erotic dream.
"B'Elanna?"
Chakotay's voice sounded
somewhat incredulous.
"Anxious to get to sickbay this morning,
Tommy?" She practically spat the words in his face.
"Why in such a hurry? Was it so damned bad that you couldn't wait to erase
all the evidence?"
Captain Janeway was watching both of them with
her jaw slightly agape. Chakotay had a stunned
expression on his face, and Tuvok was coming from the
Security station, ready to intervene if she attacked him again. For his part,
Tom could only stare at the enraged woman holding him by the throat. Finally,
he managed to croak, "I didn't want to embarrass you!"
Her grip relaxed fractionally, and he was relieved to feel the heels of
his feet touch the deck again. Closing his eyes for an instant, he missed the
swing of her head as she pulled his face to her level again. The pain seemed
sharper this time, not masked by the passion as it had been the previous night.
He reared back with a stifled curse, one hand raising
to cover the new welt on the tender, recently regenerated skin of his jaw.
"You don't." Her growl made the fine hair on the back of his
neck tingle, then she released her hold on his
uniform, patting his chest lightly to settle the fabric, lingering for a bare
moment. He caught his breath, and she smiled in satisfaction.
Turning to the Captain, who was regarding her quizzically but making no
move to intervene, she drew herself up to attention.
"I beg your pardon, Captain. Mr. Paris and I had something to
straighten out."
"Perhaps you should use the ready room." It was almost a
command, but more a query. One of Janeway's
fine brows arched, and her firm lips quirked up at the corner.
"No, Captain. I think we have it all settled." Janeway looked from the determined woman, looking more Klingon than Human at the moment, to the tall, fair man
behind her, who appeared rather dazed. A bright red weal in a perfect bite
pattern blazed at the side of his face, and he looked oddly happy. The Captain
inclined her head once, and addressed B'Elanna.
"Since you have settled this ... disagreement satisfactorily, I see
no need to maintain your banishment from Engineering." Her tone became
even more noticeably brisk. "I'll expect a report on those reconfiguration
models in two hours."
"Yes, Captain." B'Elanna strode
smartly from the bridge, leaving Tom to stare after her. Chakotay
cleared his throat meaningfully, and Tom blinked, recalled to his surroundings.
Abruptly, he sank into his seat and stared at the viewscreen.
"Do you need to go back to the infirmary, Mr. Paris?" Tuvok's calm voice interupted his
thoughts, and he raised a hand to touch his jaw lightly.
"Probably better not, Tuvok. She'll just
-- bite me again." His voice sounded faint even to himself.
"And it looked like she enjoyed it."
Harry looked at each of the bridge crew in turn, and shook his head. It
might take awhile, and who knows how long it would be before they got home. He
should have long enough to figure it out. But one of these days, he *would*
find out what the heck was going on.
Maybe.
end