The BLTS Archive - Fallen From Grace
by Sasscat Bu-to-y (fitchett@netaccess.co.nz)

---

Disclaimer:  Paramount own Janeway, Paris, Torres, Voyager et al, but
apparently not the skill of consistency.  Since they're kind enough to
lend us their toys, I shall forgive them.  For now.

(c) Sasscat Bu-to-y 1998

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Slash slash parry thrust.  Parry parry slash slash.  Paris grunted
slightly as a rapier darted through his guard and cut a thin line of
red along his shoulder, where the black cloth had been torn and hung
loosely over the rest of the sleeve.

The pain brought fresh adrenaline and he redoubled his attack,
dispatching the holographic opponent and whirling round a marble
corner of the inner castle to face the next one.

He stopped short in surprise.  "Freeze program.  What the hell are
*you* doing here?" he demanded angrily.

Janeway's eyes were fixed on his shoulder.  "You turned the safeties
off."

"Only partly," he said, glaring at her.  "Now, what the hell are you
doing in my private program?"

"I came to talk to you," she said softly.

Paris leaned against the wall, unimpressed, sword hanging loosely from
his hand.  His eyes were feverishly bright, and the all-black costume
he was wearing accentuated the paleness of his face, so that he looked
sallow and frail.  Or maybe, Janeway thought with a pang of guilt,
she'd done that to him herself.

"Oh, let me guess," he said sardonically.  "You heard about what
happened with B'Elanna and thought you'd offer some words of captainly
wisdom.  Well, thanks, but no thanks."

Janeway looked slightly surprised.  "Actually, I came to talk about
the incident with the Moneans.  What happened with B'Elanna?"

"I'd call it a little more than an *incident*, wouldn't you?" he
retorted, standing straight again.  "What happened was that B'Elanna
lost no time in rubbing it in, I talked to her about it later, we
fought, we broke up.  Don't say it was just another fight," he added
as Janeway opened her mouth.  "Things have been falling apart for a
long time now.  We don't talk about things.  I didn't even *realise*
what she was doing to herself, we'd grown so far apart.  And then
there was that leech, and--  And she didn't visit me.  Harry was the
one who pestered you for long enough to be allowed to visit me.  Do
you know what that feels like?  Of course not," he answered himself.
"When was the last time *you* were in a jail, apart from to rescue
*me*?"

Janeway was silent for a long moment after his outburst, then ventured
carefully, "I find it hard to imagine B'Elanna deliberately 'rubbing
it in'."

Paris launched himself away from the wall and started walking down the
corridor, slashing at a tapestry savagely.  Janeway turned to follow
his journey past her as he spoke.

"I suppose you would, at that.  I'm sure she *meant* it teasingly, but
the fact that she could have known me so long and still say something
like that was enough to convince me that any chance we had at a
relationship was over long ago."  He was silent for a moment, looking
at the floor thoughtfully, then brought his head up and snapped out a
command to the computer.  A long narrow sword, much like his own,
materialised on the floor at Janeway's feet.  "Pick it up," he said,
with a jerk of his head.

She bristled slightly at his tone.  "I beg your pardon, Mister Paris?"

He advanced back down the corridor towards her, eyes blazing with
intensity.  "If you're going to be here, you might as well join in.
Pick it up."

She had no illusions about his meaning, and shook her head.  "I'm not
going to fight you, Tom."

"The hell you aren't," he snapped, circling her until he was back in
his original position.  Janeway stepped back so that the sword was
once again between them.

"Give me one good reason why I should."

"I can give you plenty," he said.  "When Seska stole that transporter
technology and Chakotay went after her: insubordination, unauthorized
use of a spacecraft, and conduct unbecoming an officer.  Hell, the
entire senior staff has disobeyed a direct order at one time or
another!  As for the Prime Directive... I could list the times you've
broken it yourself, but we'd be here all *night*."

Janeway stood unmoved.  "Those were all different circumstances.  You
can't compare--"

"Stardate 48644," he snarled, cutting her off.  "Tuvok, B'Elanna, and
others disobeyed your orders by downloading the Federation library -
stealing Starfleet property - and trading it with an underground
faction of Sikarian society for a spatial trajector matrix that would
get us home, thereby breaking the Prime Directive.  I think that
counts as conduct unbecoming an officer, too, wouldn't you say?  Now,
Captain, do you recall how you *punished* them for those infractions?"

He waited for her answer.

---

Janeway hesitated, eyes slipping away from his.  Finally she said
softly, "I didn't."

"You didn't.  Now, would you mind explaining to me exactly how those
are different circumstances."  He waited for a few seconds.  "No
answer?  I didn't think so.  In that case, Captain, why don't *you*
give *me* one good reason why I shouldn't cut your throat right here
and now."

"The safeties are on," she said without hesitation.  Paris lashed out
with his sword, slicing deeply into her cheek.  Janeway gave a cry of
pain and lifted her fingers to the burning wound.

For a moment Paris looked a little taken aback himself, then his face
set.  "Only partly," he reminded her dangerously.  "Pick it up."

Janeway swallowed at the look in his eyes and slowly bent to pick up
the sword on the ground.  She held it in a defensive position as she
rose, not wanting to be caught out again.  Thank God for Academy
Tactical Training.

Paris attacked immediately, with a flurry of savage blows that sent
her staggering backwards.  "So, what with all these cases," parry,
thrust, "of senior officers," thrust, parry, "getting nothing more
than a slap," slash, dodge, grunt, "on the wrist," a fresh line of
blood welling up on her face, "I have to wonder," he paused for a
moment to catch his breath, barely defending himself from her
offensive.  The tip of her sword grazed his chest, scoring a line
of dotted blood that made him gasp.

Crimson blood trickled down her face, mingled with sweat and stray
strands of hair.  Paris grunted slightly and redoubled his attack,
forcing her further backward as he continued, "What makes them
different?"

"Believe me," Janeway gasped out, blocking a particularly savage
thrust that left her arm numb, "I had no intention of discriminating
against you.  I *didn't*," she insisted as he gave a bitter laugh.

"Then *why*?" he demanded, and she didn't have an answer for him.  Not
one she could actually tell him.

"I'm sorry," she said instead, sweat making her cuts sting.  Paris
made no reply, but forced her back another few steps.

Suddenly her back hit something, a pillar.  She barely blocked his
thrust, straining with the effort before managing to force his sword
down.

But now she was trapped against the pillar, Paris too close and that
angry intensity still in his eyes.  "I can't go back on my decision,"
she said.

"I'm not *asking* you to," he snapped.  "I just--"  He closed his eyes
tightly before shaking his head.  "Why did you come here?" he asked
when he looked at her again.

"I needed to know how things were between us."  She struggled for a
moment to find the right words.  "I needed to know... if I'd ruined
our relationship."

"Relationship," Paris repeated, and waved her silent when she tried to
amend her answer.  "Don't worry, I know what you mean.  But..."  He
looked at her, eyes finally still.  "You can't have a relationship
without trust," he said quietly.

Janeway watched him leave.  She absently brushed her hair from her
face and made a small sound of pain as it tracked through her open
cuts.  Putting a hand on the pillar, she slid to the cold floor,
gasping as her hair swung back onto her face to aggravate the wound.
Only then did she let the tears fall.

---

The End