The BLTS Archive - Protestations of Innocence
by melanie (melanie@skynet.ca)

---

Note: Since there apparently is no official decision on the number of
shifts or their duration, I've chosen 3 shifts, Alpha ( 07h00-15h00 ),
Beta ( 15h00-23h00 ), and Gamma ( 23h00-07h00 ).  Thanks for those
whose input helped me devise this schedule.

Thanks: To Stephane for his "get rid of this, this, and this" and
being right about everyone one of the cuts; DangerMom for betareading
with a thoroughness that amazed me; and PJ in NH for finding things
DangerMom and I missed and taking the time to read my story even
though she's lucky enough to actually have a life.  Thanks.

Disclaimer:  The usual: theirs, not mine, wish they were, but they're
not, etc., etc., don't sue.

---

Ensign Freddie Bristow slowly withdrew from his spent lover and rolled
over onto his back, drawing her head to his sweat slicked chest.

"We really should--" Ensign Harper started to say, but he silenced her
by exerting slight pressure on the nape beneath his hand.

"No one will catch us," he assured her in a sigh as she tipped her
face up to his.  "Voyager is hanging motionless in space in the middle
of nowhere.  Why would anyone have reason to come here?  Or the other
transporter room for that matter?   And with the doors 'stuck,' we'll
have plenty of advance warning if anyone tries to come in here."  He
gave her what would have been a dazzling smile had he possessed more
energy.  "Trust me."

She drew slightly away and lifted a hand to trace his handsome
features.  "But I am still on duty, Freddie.  What if someone does
think Transporter Room One is just the place they have to be right
now? They'll come in and find--"

"No one's going to come except..." He leered at her and she instantly
knew how he was going to finish that statement.  She stuck her tongue
out at him and tried to roll away.  He followed her.

"Freddie, we can't."

"Gee, I thought we just had."

"I'm serious!" she insisted, flattening her hands against his chest to
push him off her.  "We tempted fate two days in a row and won, yes,
but that doesn't mean our luck's going to hold out.  Besides, you
really need to go shower."

He began nipping her earlobe, something that never failed to distract
her.  "You really don't want me to go.  Now calm down.  No one's going
to find us.  Even if someone did come in, they wouldn't see us back
here."

She jerked her lobe away from his teeth.  "Freddie, they'd start
looking for us.  I'm supposed to be on duty.  Anyone coming here would
know that.  Or at least know there's supposed to be *someone* here.
So they'd start looking for that someone or step behind the console to
use it themselves and they'd find us, buck naked on the floor.  Living
dangerously on occasion's okay, but I don't want to press my luck.  If
you still want to play later, I'm off duty in a couple of hours.  Come
to my quarters then."

"But I have to be back on duty for Gamma shift," he whined.

The transporter console seemed to whine in sympathy.  Harper
disentangled herself from her lover and got to shaky legs to attend to
the call.

"What is it?" Freddie asked, forgetting his previous cajoling.

"Emergency medical transport," she answered, tapping out the commands
to answer the request.

He leaned closer, saw the point of origin of the request, and shook
his head.  "I wonder what she did to him this time."

She turned away from the console and began to hurriedly dress.  "I
still think everyone's overstating their... ferocity.  I mean if those
two inflicted all of the injuries everyone says they do to one another
they'd spend half their time in Sickbay.  Besides, maybe *he* did
something to *her* this time.  You ever think of that?"

"Doubtful he could manage it.  She's half-Klingon."

This statement was only the prelude to a long line of grumbling about
Tom Paris from Bristow.  He went on and on and Harper was completely
dressed again and finger combing her hair by the time he had finished.

Everyone knew Freddie Bristow was no fan of their Chief Pilot, but of
recent months he had not had much to say about the man.  It was as if
he finally had let go of his resentment towards his former rival for
the affections of the Chief Engineer.  Freddie's suddenly renewed
anger towards Paris piqued her curiosity.  Almost as much as her
curiosity about was roused as to what had just happened between
Freddie and herself.  They had been discretely involved for weeks and
nothing like the events of the passed few minutes had ever occurred
before.

"Freddie?"

"What?" he grunted, dressing himself now, his mood thoroughly broken.

"Is there something you want to tell me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you ran in here, not ten minutes ago, fiddled with the doors
to fake a malfunction, and pretty much raped me on the floor."

His head snapped up.  "I didn't--"

"Okay, I *was* willing enough, yes.  But still... It wasn't that long
ago that we last... You know.  It's not like you've been off on an
Away Mission for weeks and have had to abstain or something."

Not meeting her gaze, he zipped up his uniform jacket.  "Maybe I was
just really in the mood or something."

"Yes, but there was something else.  You barely said anything to me.
You just came in and--"

"Look, if you're not interested in--"

"I never said I wasn't interested.  I'm just finding it strange,
that's all.  You seemed... distracted.  Like you were using me and sex
to get your mind off something."

"You're being ridiculous."

"No, I don't think so."

"You are."  He attempted to push past her, but she grabbed one of his
arms.  "And what's happened between you and Paris?"

His eyes leapt to hers and he went white.  "What the Hell's that
supposed to mean?"

"I hit something, didn't I?  You said you'd only be working Alpha
shift today, but it's almost the end of Beta now.  Where were you
before you came here?  Did you see Paris?  Did you two have a fight or
something?"

He jerked his arm away.  "No, I did not see Paris."

As he called for the doors to unseal then stomped out, she found she
did not believe him.

---

"Mr. Tuvok, you had better get down here!" was all the EMH had said
when he had frantically called up to the Bridge moments earlier.
Before the Security Chief could ask what was wrong, the link had been
broken.  He and Chakotay had exchanged looks, then the human had
shrugged his permission for Tuvok to rush to Sickbay as ordered.

Many scenarios ran through Tuvok's mind as the turbolift seemed to
take twice as long as usual to reach Deck Five.  Engineering had been
experiencing no end of problems lately after their almost too-close
encounter with a never-before-seen -- and hopefully
never-to-be-seen-again -- stellar phenomenon eight days earlier.  Crew
from all over the ship had been drafted to help repair the cascade of
failures and glitches that had ensued.  There never was any warning
when these problems would appear or where.  The record so far was
fourteen minutes without something somewhere going bang, fizzle or
pop. Naturally, everyone was on edge and paranoia was rampant.  There
was this momentary fear that struck everyone before they touched
anything. "Is this going to explode in my face?" they would wonder.
So far there had been only minor injuries, but that was "so far."
Everyone was waiting for something major to happen.

Though he was loath to admit it, even to himself, he had qualms about
boarding this turbolift.  Normally, he would have chastised himself
for being illogical for feeling fear that the lift suddenly would send
him plummeting to his death far below.  These were not normal
circumstances however.  Apprehension was to be expected given their
uncertain situation.  But he was a Vulcan the third in command of this
ship.  He could not and would not give into fear.  His upbringing and
position aboard would not permit it.

One deck above his destination, the lift stopped and the Captain
entered.

"Captain, the Doctor--"

Turning to face the doors the moment she was inside, she nodded.

"He contacted you also?"

Again she nodded, still not looking at him or speaking.

"Captain, are you unwell?"

The doors chose that moment to open at Deck Five so Tuvok never
received his answer.  They strode down the corridor to Sickbay, each
very much in their own thoughts.  Whatever the Captain was thinking
was a mystery to him, but for himself, his thoughts were once more on
why the EMH had commanded them to appear.  On the Bridge, they had not
felt any explosions nor had they received any reports from Engineering
of any major accidents so he did not think the evident emergency was a
case of someone dead or dying.  Even if there were, why would his
presence be necessary?  Unless it was Vorik who was dying and the
Vulcan ritual involving the passing of the katra was in order.  What
they found inside the Doctor's domain made his green blood run colder
than the thought of Vorik dying and Tuvok having to carry his essence
around in him until they reached Vulcan.

To the right side of the biobed in the surgical bay, Neelix was
hovering and handing the Doctor instruments whenever he needed them.
Under the medical arch was the reason why the Doctor needed the
instruments. Someone was lying there, unmoving.

What could be seen of the patient appeared unscathed.  The legs
sticking out from the closest end of the arch were bare and the feet
unshod. Tuvok squinted a little as he and his superior came forward.
There was a dribble of something on the side and bottom of his foot.
His eyes moved up.  Whatever it was had splashed down both of the
male's legs, too.  'Something red like the smears all down the front
and sleeves of Neelix's tunic,' he thought, eyes shifting from the bed
to the garment's garish design.

Instinctively, he knew what the "something" was.  Blood.

Tuvok's eyes returned to the patient.  Now at a better angle, he
could identify him as Tom Paris.  A large, bloody lump marred the
ensign's high forehead.  That lump, large though it was, could not
have been the source of the blood on Neelix.  There could not have
been enough blood from so small a cut.  The smears of drying blood
around Tom's mouth and nose was the more likely source.

"Mr. Paris will be fine," the hologram insisted, not looking up from
what he was doing through the opening in the left-hand side of arch.
"He has a concussion from the head injury and three broken ribs.  Two
of the ribs punctured his left lung.  The other narrowly missed his
heart.  If Mr. Neelix here had not found him, he might not have made
it."

The Talaxian, who appeared on the verge of tears but was holding them
at bay with force, became subject to the hard gaze a the Vulcan in
full Security Chief mode.  "What happened?"

"I don't know," the cook/morale officer whispered, eyes never leaving
Tom.  "He was going to take over doing the meals for me tomorrow so I
could have some time off.  I went to his quarters to drop off the
menus I'd prepared when I found him on his sitting room floor."  His
voice dropped to a level so soft he had to strain to hear it.  "There
was blood everywhere.  I thought he was dead until I heard him
choking."

"He was alone in his quarters?"

"I didn't see anyone, but I didn't check too closely.  I thought it
was more important to get Tom over onto his back and his head up so
the blood wouldn't choke him anymore and get him here.  Not much of a
future Security Officer, I know."

"Sometimes it is far more necessary to stay with the victim, than to
search for the perpetrator," he forgave.  "You did the correct thing,
Mr. Neelix."  He looked to the Doctor.  "When will Mr. Paris be ready
to answer questions?"

"Let me at least finish saving his life before you start grilling
him," the hologram snapped.

There was silence for a moment.

He sighed.  "Tomorrow morning.  I'm almost finished repairing the
damage to his lung.  Once that's done, I'll have to mend his ribs and
build up his blood.  He's lost a lot.  He'll be weak for the next day
or so until his blood is back to normal levels.  Give him some time to
rest."

"I will need to speak with him the moment he is conscious."

"He didn't do this to himself?"  Janeway whispered the question.

"Impossible," the EMH snorted.  "The trajectory's all wrong.  Why
would you think he'd done this to himself?"

She shook her head, refusing to answer.

Tuvok, frowning a little at the Captain, addressed his remarks to the
other two in the room.  "Until he wakes, I will begin by searching his
quarters for clues to the identity of his assailant.  Mr. Neelix, when
did you find Mr. Paris?"

"I'm not sure of the exact time," the Talaxian responded.  "I didn't
ask the computer.  Not long ago though."

"They beamed here at 20h58," the EMH supplied.

Tuvok turned to the hologram.  "Mr. Paris was working here for only
half a shift, correct?"

The EMH frowned.  "Originally it was to be a half-shift, yes, but I
changed it before he arrived and put him down for a full shift.  I had
things we needed to accomplish.  Not that most of it got done.  I
ended up sending him to his quarters 20h32 anyway.  He was totally
distracted.  Kept trying to convince me to let him take off early
because he was 'tired' and 'thirsty.'  I should have examined him with
a tricorder then and there, but I didn't.  When he transported here
with Mr. Neelix, the scans I did indicated he was very dehydrated.
Still, I would have sent him to his quarters much earlier if I had
done the scans.  This might not have happened."

"You do not know that, Doctor."

"Maybe not," he conceded and continued before Tuvok could form his
next question.  "Anyway, it takes him about two and a half minutes to
get to his quarters if he doesn't meet anyone along the way to delay
him and--"

"How do you know the precise amount of time?"

"Because I once had to call him back from his quarters right after he
had left here and it took him that long to return here.  He came in
here grumbling he had just stepped through his door when I called him.
So, Commander, since he apparently was so tired, he was not moving at
his usual speed and would need more time to get there.  Maybe even
double, so figure almost five minutes to his quarters.  That would be
20h37 that he stepped through his door.  So there are roughly twenty
minutes that are unaccounted for."

At Neelix's frown, the EMH did the math for him as he continued to
operate.  "20h32: Mr. Paris leaves here.  20h58: you two were
transported here.  It is approximately five minutes to his quarters.
That would be 20h37 so from 20h37 to 20h58 is twenty-one minutes.
Given the amount of blood he's lost, I'd say between five and seven
minutes is the most time that could have elapsed between the injuries
occurring and you finding him.  Therefore something occurred during
those few minutes between his leaving here and the attack that
resulted in this outcome."

Tuvok nodded and looked at Neelix.  "Five to seven minutes elapsed
time minus whatever amount of time you were with him before calling
for transport."

"Mere seconds," the Talaxian supplied quite hastily.

Unable to resist turning the screw when he saw one, the Doctor made an
observation while he removed one of his hands from the opening in the
arch to reach for another instrument Neelix held.  "You're saying you
think Mr. Neelix did this to Mr. Paris?"

Neelix immediately stammered out a denial that Tuvok waved away.

"It is doubtful you would be capable of such an act against Mr. Paris,
Mr. Neelix," the Security Chief stated.

"Of course not," Neelix agreed.  "Tom is my friend."

"I was not referring to your bond of friendship, Mr. Neelix.  Even the
closest of friends are capable of injuring or even killing each other
under certain circumstances.  I was referring to the placement of the
injury."  He gestured to the view of Tom's injuries currently showing
on the wall display.  "The trajectory the Doctor mentioned earlier.
You are much shorter than Mr. Paris.  You could not have inflicted
injuries at such an angle.  Perhaps someone five to eight centimetres
taller at least could have, not one of your height.  Doctor, do have
any idea what weapon was used?"

Evidently finished with the operation, the hologram sighed and stepped
back away from the table, setting aside his instruments.  He reached
for a hypospray and applied it to Tom's neck, then triggered the arch
to retract, exposing Tom's near naked form for all to see.  Through
the drying blood and red gold hair that liberally covered his chest,
they could see, slightly off-centre of his heart, a large bruise that
was forming.

"Right now, I can't be sure," the Doctor answered.  "I'll have to
clean him up and take a good look at his chest to be certain.  But a
blunt object definitely.  Given the wound's shape, it might have been
a fist, though I cannot be positive it was or the size of it.  The
shape of the final bruise will tell a lot about the weapon or fist,
but I'll have to scan the skin for an exact impression.  Once the
swelling goes down a little, then I'll perform the scan.  Maybe an
hour from now."

"Amount of force needed to inflict such a blow?"

"To result in these injuries?  Considerable force, if it was a fist.
A very strong person could do it easily.  Someone weaker could manage
it, but only with the right weapon."

"Did you see anything in Mr. Paris' quarters that might qualify as the
weapon, Mr. Neelix?  Anything you had not seen there before or that
was out of place?"

The male being questioned thought for a moment then shook his head.
"There was nothing out of the ordinary, Commander.  Except for the
blood--"

As he said the word, the Captain made something between a gasp and a
cry.  No actual words were said and she never moved in the slightest,
but every eye in the room was on her, except for those of the
unconscious patient at whom she stared at fixedly.

"And him on the deck," Neelix finished, still distracted by the
Captain's odd reaction.  "Everything else looked the same as always.
Lived in as he calls it."

"Somewhat disorganized."

"Just the bed really.  It was unmade.  He was only in his underwear.
I figure he must have been in bed or getting into it."

"You said he was in the sitting room area."

"He must have got out of bed to answer the door for whomever attacked
him."

"All we know, Mr. Neelix, is that Mr. Paris was found in his sitting
room in his underwear and his bed was disarranged.  We cannot
hypothesize as to his movements prior to your finding him.  It is
equally likely that his bed was never made after he arose last."

"But he had that meeting with the Alpha shift Conn staff in his
quarters at 05h45," the cook insisted.  "I know he did because some of
them came into the Mess Hall for an early breakfast and some coffee to
wake them up.  Tom would have made his bed before they arrived, or at
least tossed the blankets back over it so it looked semi-neat."

Tuvok nodded shortly.  "But prior to their arrival he had been on duty
for over half of Beta shift and all of Gamma yesterday.  I was with
him for most of both of them.  And this morning, while he was supposed
to be sleeping, he had to work three-quarters of Alpha shift on the
Bridge when this problem with the propulsion system arose once more."

"Then he came here to work half a shift," the EMH sighed, clearly
remorseful.  "That explains why he was half asleep.  And I accused him
of having been out at the poker party I'd heard was being held last
night."

"I do not think he has been to his quarters since sometime during the
first half of Beta shift yesterday, Mr. Neelix," Tuvok continued.  "It
is quite possible that when he was called out of bed then, he did not
take the time to tidy his quarters.  I know when he left me during
Gamma shift, he said he was going to have to run to his quarters to
make the meeting.  So you see, Mr. Neelix, it is entirely possible the
bed was unmade from yesterday."  He gestured to the black silk boxers
Tom wore.  "His being thus attired could indicate he was changing his
clothing when the assailant entered.  Or there could have been other
reasons. Nothing may be assumed in an investigation, Mr. Neelix.
Everyone and everything is suspect until an explanation is discovered
and proven to be the truth."

Neelix nodded, chastened.

"I will start by examining his quarters and tracking his movements
from the time he left here until you found him, Mr. Neelix.  If both
you and the Doctor could have your reports on this incident on my desk
as soon as possible?  Including a chart of your own movements.  As a
matter of form of course."

"I was here," the Doctor informed him, apparently affronted with the
implication he was a suspect and needed to justify his whereabouts at
the time of the incident.  He almost stomped over to the replicator
for the bowl of water and cloths that were lying in its slot.  Over
his shoulder, he called out: "And no, I don't have an alibi.  No one
came in to see me.  I was in my office, compiling a report on Mr.
Paris' most recent medical exams."

"Mr. Paris was ill?"

"Not that kind of medical exam," he retorted, returning with the bowl
in one hand and the cloths in the other.  "Training type of exam.  In
possibly a year, year and a half, he should be ready to try to qualify
to be a nurse, if he keeps up with his studies.  He passed his last
test with flying colours amazingly enough.  Didn't seem to be paying
attention during his lessons, but I guess he was."  The bowl hit the
instrument tray next to the biobed with a clink, some water slopping
over the rim.  "And even if I had an alibi, Commander, I wouldn't need
one.  Mr. Paris may be annoying beyond all tolerance at times, but I
would not react to that annoyance by physically injuring him.  That
would only mean I'd have to fix him up and have to spend even more
time in his presence, listening to him complain about being here and
being even more annoying.  Kind of defeats the purpose, doesn't it,
Commander?"

"I don't have an alibi either," Neelix declared, "but I don't have any
reason to hurt Tom.  He's one of my best friends."

"And your movements, Mr. Neelix?" Tuvok asked, not swayed by the
declaration of loyalty.

"I went straight from the Mess Hall to Tom's then we came here.  I did
speak with a couple of people, none of them on Deck Four though.  I
went straight from the turbolift and down the corridor to Tom's
quarters." He gestured helplessly.  "I can't prove I didn't do this to
him when I got there nor can I think of anyone who could have done
this."

"Regardless, Mr. Neelix, someone did.  Your reports on my desk within
the hour, gentlemen."

Both males nodded.

"Good.  Captain?"

Janeway did not furnish the permission to "carry on" that he was
expecting.  Her eyes were riveted on the damp cloth the doctor was
using to swab Tom's blood stained chest while carefully avoiding the
huge bruise.

"Captain?"

Her eyes slowly shifted to Tuvok.

"Do you concur with my decision to search Mr. Paris' quarters now?"

Nodding, she turned back to Tom.

"Someone will have to tell Lieutenant Torres about this," Neelix
murmured.  "I think she's in or on her way to Engineering.  I saw her
from a distance as I was going down the corridor to Tom's quarters.
Poor thing.  She looked so nice in her short black dress and those
high heels of hers.  A little drab in the choice of colour, but
still.... She got all dressed up and never had the chance to see him.
She was just turning to go down one of the cross corridors when I saw
her.  I heard her talking over the comm to someone.  Rather loudly.
Whoever it was probably didn't need the comm to hear her, she was so
angry.  Something about something they'd just fixed for the eleventh
time and it having gone wrong again already and she'd be in
Engineering ASAP."

"May I suggest you wait until Mr. Paris is conscious and has had a
chance to make his statement before telling her," the Doctor
requested.  "There's nothing she can do here.  And her finding out Mr.
Paris was assaulted only will distract her from her work and possibly
endanger some of the crew who have expressed a dislike for Mr. Paris
in the past.  Whether any of them did this to him or not, she'll react
as though they had."

"I agree," Tuvok added.  "Lieutenant Torres may attempt to find the
person who did this to Mr. Paris when she hears of this and thereby
complicate my investigation.  This stays between the four of us then.
Neelix, how did you get Mr. Paris here?"

The Talaxian raised his eyebrows.  "Beaming of course.  I know it was
risky with all the problems we're having but there was no other way I
could get Tom here by myself, let alone in time to save his life.  I
thought it was worth taking the chance."

"Good, then no one else has seen him.  Let us keep it that way.
Understood?"

The males nodded.

"Captain?"

She nodded and slowly left Sickbay.

When she was gone, Neelix and the EMH sent each enquiring looks.

"She's taking this hard," Neelix observed.

"Yes," the Doctor agreed in confused voice.  "Very hard.  She's not
usually this emotional.  Mr. Paris has been injured numerous times
before this without her having this sort of reaction."

"You are correct, Doctor," Tuvok concurred, eyes narrowed in thought
as he stared at nothing.  "She was like this when she joined me on the
turbolift at Deck Four."  He turned to the hologram.  "When you
contacted her to come down here, did you tell her why you needed her?"

"No, I said precisely the same thing to her that I said to you."

"I see," he said though he really did not.  'Why was she so upset
then?' he wondered.  He had known her a long time and knew her moods.
The emotional turmoil she appeared to be going through was so plain
anyone just meeting her for the first time would have recognized it as
such. 'What happened between her leaving her Ready Room, with a scowl
on her face and anger in her step, in the middle of Beta shift and her
boarding the turbolift not quite half an hour later at Deck Four?'  He
paused. 'Deck Four?  What was she doing there anyway?'

"I want to know who did this and why," he told the other two after a
long silence.  Tuvok stepped closer to the biobed and visually
inspected the wound.  "I think you are correct in saying the blow
might have been struck by someone's fist, Doctor.  The bruise does
seem to be consistent with that form of blow.  Let me know when you
can tell me more."  He stepped back from the biobed.  "I am going to
inform the Commander of this incident."

"You don't think the Captain is capable of handling this right now,"
the Doctor said in a voice that showed he agreed with him.

"No, I do not.  We need to formulate an explanation for your calling
me down here.  I was on the Bridge at the time and others present
heard what you said."

---

After outlining the situation regarding Tom to Commander Chakotay in
the Captain's Ready Room, Tuvok immediately headed for his office.
The First Officer was left to spread the word to the Bridge staff that
the Doctor's urgent summons was about his suspicions someone had been
pilfering Sickbay supplies and wanted Tuvok to investigate.  His story
would go that Mr. Paris had returned to Sickbay just then and admitted
he had rearranged the storage room and the EMH had insisted he
immediately put everything back the way it had been previous.  That
story would explain away Tuvok's having been called to Sickbay and Tom
Paris' not being seen for a while.  Chakotay, not Tuvok, was to
disseminate the information because, as with any investigation, time
was of the essence.  Until Tuvok knew what had prompted this attack on
Mr. Paris, he had to proceed under the assumption there could be more
such incidents.  Thinking such, he summoned his best security
officers.

While he waited for them to arrive, he reviewed the EMH's preliminary
report and Neelix's full one, both having been sent to him only
minutes after the three had parted company.  The Doctor's contained
nothing new.  Mr. Paris remained stable yet unconscious.  The swelling
still had not subsided enough for him to determine the exact
dimensions and shape of the blunt instrument, though it was looking
more and more like it had indeed been a fist.  Nothing more was known.
Neelix's report was not much better, but it did furnish Tuvok with a
small clue.  A brief, almost afterthought that the Talaxian had
included in his recitation of the facts was a note that he had
thought, emphasis placed on thought, he had seen Vorik walking around
the far bend in the corridor.  But he could not say without a doubt
that it was the young Vulcan engineer. The uniform was right as were
the haircut and colour, and the erect posture.  "But," he emphasized,
"I could have been mistaken."

He wondered if the budding Security Officer *was* mistaken.  On his
way from Bridge, he had gone over in his mind the list of crewmembers
who might have a grievance with Tom Paris.  Five years ago it would
have been easier to make a list of those who wished Tom Paris ill.
Now, after all the strides Tom Paris had made in winning over the
crew, the situation was reversed.  True, some still did not like him
too much, yet most did like him enough to not want to do something
like this.  But it was obvious there was at least one person who did.

'But Vorik as Mr. Paris' attacker?' he thought to himself.  With Mr.
Neelix saying Vorik possibly had been in the area at the time of the
attack, Tuvok had no choice but to place his fellow Vulcan at the top
of the list of those who needed to be questioned.

The door chimed just then and Tuvok's four best entered to be briefed
and sworn to secrecy.

---

"What's with her?"

Jenny quickly glanced back over her shoulder.  Her twin was
approaching from down the corridor.  Not acknowledging Megan, she
returned to watching the woman marching away from them in the opposite
direction.  Seven of Nine hiked the strap of her tool kit back up the
left one of her bone-snappingly straight shoulders and disappeared
around a corner.

Megan stopped beside her motionless twin.  "Jenny?"

"Damned if I know," the other Delaney shrugged.  "All I did was try to
make conversation."

Her sister's auburn brows lifted and a knowing smile crossed her lips.
"Uh huh."

"Hey!  I'm serious.  I was very polite and nice just like I said I was
going to try to be to her."

"So what did you say then?"

"I don't know.  Just shooting the breeze.  Or trying to anyway.  I
asked her how she was today and what she was doing on Deck Four."

"Like that?  Like she didn't have any right to be here?"

"No, I didn't say it like that.  I was just trying to be friendly.
Inquiring about her day.  That kind of thing.  How was I supposed to
know she'd go ballistic?"

"Ballistic?  Miss Ice Cube?  No way."

"Yeah.  She glared at me, muttered something about 'Ensign Paris,' and
everyone telling her she's rude and callous when we're worse, then she
left."

"What's this about Tom?"

"I don't know, but I'm glad I'm not him, that's all I can say.  When
she said his name, she had that same look Great-Aunt Beryl wore that
time she caught Great-Uncle Riordan in bed with her sister."

Megan's eyes widened.  "I wonder what Tom did to bring that on."

"Don't know, but I'm sure we can find out.  Want to go find Tom and
see?"

"Probably not a good idea.  I bumped into Vorik a while ago and he
asked if I'd seen Tom.  I hadn't so he said he'd go to Tom's quarters
to see if he's there.  You know it's a real pain not being able to
trust what the computer says.  Even something as simple as asking it
where someone is ends up being a treasure hunt.  Just a minute ago, I
asked it where you were and it said you were on the Bridge, Cargo Bay
One, and on the port nacelle."

Jenny laughed.  "Yeah, I've been using it as a surfboard."

"Very funny.  Poor Vorik was looking for Tom and we couldn't make
heads or tails of the answer the computer gave him either.  I hope he
finds him."  She leaned conspiratorially close. "I don't know what's
up, but he actually looked... agitated.  I know Vorik's young in
Vulcan terms and isn't as disciplined as Tuvok, but he honestly looked
upset."

"He's not going squirrelly or something, is he?  I heard Vulcans can
do that and take everyone else around them with them when they go."

"No, I don't think that's what's going on.  Someone else would have
noticed him acting weird.  Besides, Tuvok seems to keep an eye on
him."

"Whatever's up with Vorik, us talking to Tom's obviously out then.
Let's go get something to eat."

---

Leaving his officers to their assignments, Tuvok went to examine the
scene of the crime.  The moment he stepped into Tom Paris' quarters,
he had to subdue his reaction to the dull red stain on the grey
carpeting and the much smaller smear on the edge of the coffee table.
He was a veteran security officer.  His had been the distasteful task
of investigating incidents such as this and worse before so why was he
feeling like this?  And what was he feeling?  Shock?  Certainly.
Anger at whomever was responsible for this probably unwarranted
attack?  Yes, that too.  Anger at himself for having failed in his
duty to protect from harm all aboard Voyager?  Yes, again.  Worry over
his friend?

At this question he stopped.  Tom Paris was an undisciplined
troublemaker at times, but he could be a fine officer at others and
he--

He pushed the introspection aside so he could concentrate on his duty.
Trying to understand Tom Paris and how he, Tuvok, regarded him was
something for another time.  After he had captured the ensign's
attacker certainly.

The search for clues did not take long.  Though the Chief Helmsman's
quarters were rather spacious when compared to those beneath him in
position on the ship, there was not a lot of territory for Tuvok, his
tricorder and the rest of his scanning equipment to cover.  He found
plenty of evidence of people who had been there other than Tom Paris
and himself.

For starters, there were fingerprints, stray hairs, and skin flakes
from the ensign's closest friends.  Since they constantly were in and
out of his quarters as one would expect, he thought nothing of finding
traces of them.

Same with that left by the Alpha shift Conn staff.  They had been here
that morning for their weekly meeting.  The conference room they
typically used currently was affected by the ship-wide glitches and
was of a temperature low enough for Neelix to hang meat in there if he
ran out of room in the storage bay.  There was little chance anyone on
board would forget that particular meeting any time soon.  It had been
intended to last an hour so everyone who was working their normal
shift could have fifteen minutes to get to their stations by the start
of Alpha shift at 07h00.  But the meeting had gone on for three hours
when the doors to the ensign's quarters -- along with every other door
on Deck Four -- had jammed and refused to budge until Engineering had
intervened.  The DNA of Vorik, the engineer who presumably had been
the one to free them, also was present.

The lack of organic remnants the tricorder did not recognize dashed
Tuvok's secret hope that there was some unknown intruder aboard and
he, she, or it was responsible for what had occurred.  It was going to
be hard on the crew if it turned out one of their own was responsible
for something so horrible.  Morale would plummet and he and the
Captain would be taxed with the job of meting out suitable punishment
for the guilty party.  But an alien could be forcibly removed from
Voyager and handed over his/her/its proper authorities for punishment,
thus saving them the problem.  But that was not going to be the case
by the look of it.  They were going to have to deal with one of their
own over this.

He referred to the list names that corresponded to the freshest of the
DNA traces presence in the quarters.  If Neelix was correct and Vorik
had been in the vicinity at the time of the attack, he could not have
entered the quarters.  Evidence of him was present yet was hours old.
That did not completely disqualify him as a suspect.  There was
nothing that demanded the injury had to have occurred precisely where
Mr. Paris had fallen.  Conceivably, he could have met his attacker at
his quarter's door, an argument ensued, and the main injury inflicted.
Ensign Paris would have stumbled backwards, possibly tripping and
turning as he fell.  That would explain the head wound and the
location of his body.

'A rather public attack,' Tuvok frowned, 'even during the final hours
of Beta shift.'  He would have to discretely scan the corridor to test
his theory.  Only it would have to be done as he was leaving.  Going
out now, before finishing here, would be running the risk of being
noticed exiting then re-entering Tom Paris' quarters.  No one had seen
him enter the first time, but there were no guarantees it would be so
the second time as well.

DNA tracing was not a precise science.  As it was, Tuvok could narrow
down the list of those who had left their genetic calling cards within
the past two hours.  The Alpha shift Conn staff were eliminated this
way.  They had been there in the morning, hours earlier.  And he
crossed off himself because he was certain he had not blacked out and
done this in the midst of some sort of psychotic episode.  Someone
would have seen him leave the Bridge if he had for starters.  So that
left seven DNA traces to be explained.

That of Lieutenant Torres was a simple explanation.  With her ongoing
relationship with the ensign, it would be natural they would know each
other's access codes and feel free to come and go as they pleased,
whether the other was there or not..

She so discounted, that left the traces of Seven of Nine and Mr.
Neelix on the carpeting and those of Ensign Freddie Bristow and
Lieutenant Joe Carey on Mr. Paris' uniform to justify.

'Five suspects,' he thought, 'if I include Vorik on the list.  Better
than the ship-full with which I started.'

Sitting on the foot of the rumpled bed, he closed up his tricorder and
performed a final sweep of the area, this time using only his own
senses.  He was certain he had found all of the clues there were to
find here.  He would have to conduct his scans of the corridor then
start tracing Ensign Paris' movements.  Everyone who had come into
contact with him would have to be questioned, starting with those
whose DNA had been left behind in these quarters.

Tuvok was about to rise when a sliver of indigo silk peeking out from
a fold in the comforter caught his eye.  Curious, he stretched out a
hand to peel back the thick bed covering.  A negligee.  Clearly not
the ensign's unless Mr. Paris was secretly a cross-dresser.  Releasing
the comforter, Tuvok looked about him carefully.  Now that he was
looking for them, he found signs of Lieutenant Torres everywhere.  In
the refresher, a gold and black uniform, neatly folded and waiting for
someone to collect it.  On the bathroom counter, a hairbrush with a
few black strands poking out of its bristles.  Abandoned under a
chair, two high heeled shoes the same shade of red as the dress he had
seen her wearing to the holodeck the night before their current
engineering problems had begun.

'They had appeared so happy that night,' he thought.  'Now Tom Paris
was lying in Sickbay.'  A few weeks ago, he had overheard the ensign
confronting a crewwoman who was upset over an ended love affair.  Now
some of those words came back to him.  "Life's unfair," he had told
her.  "Just when you think things are perfect, Life kicks you in the
teeth and laughs at you."

Shaking his head to clear it, he slung his case over his shoulder and
rose, the remaining tricorder in his hand set for active scan.  Anyone
seeing him in the corridor would assume he had been pressed into
service by Engineering and that was the explanation for the kit bag
and the tricorder in the hand hanging nonchalantly at his side.  That
was his hope anyway.

Stepping up to the door he had sealed behind him when he had entered,
he tapped out a command.  The doors opened and he stepped out, turning
to surreptitiously to see they resealed once he was in the corridor
and to scan the doorframe.  As the two pieces of metal alloy slid to,
he caught a glimpse in the full illumination of the quarters the blood
on the carpet and table edge.  The sense of revulsion returned.

By the time he had walked along the corridor, first in the direction
in which Mr. Neelix had said he had seen Vorik, then back and along
the path the Talaxian claimed he had taken, Tuvok felt his tricorder
had enough information to sort through and returned to his office.

---

Ensign Pablo Baytart stepped into the turbolift to find a scowling
Lieutenant Joe Carey already there and glaring at the floor.  After
calling out his destination, he shot Joe a look.  "The carpet offended
you somehow?"

Joe shook his head then refocused his gaze on his fellow passenger.
From the look on his face, it was obvious he had not even sensed the
turbolift stopping at Deck Five, one deck below where he himself had
boarded, or Baytart's having joined him.  "What?"

"Never mind.  Rough day?"

Engineering's second-in-command turned his face from the pilot's and
nodded.  "Yeah," he said in an angry voice, "real rough."

"Still haven't tracked down the source of the glitch--"

The turbolift shuddered to a halt and they were plunged into darkness.

"I'll take that as a 'no.'"

"Just great."  There was the sound of a combadge being slapped.
"Carey to Engineering."

"Torres here," came back the distracted and angry voice.

"What are you doing down there?  I thought you were going off duty for
a while."

"Ashmore can't hack being in charge.  Where the Hell are you?"

"Stuck in a turbolift with Baytart.  What's Ashmore doing in charge?
Vorik--"

"Had to go fix something elsewhere.  Ashmore doesn't remember where."
By her emphasis on the last sentence, it was clearly directed at a
quite probably cowering Ashmore.  "Vorik was supposed to be going on a
break because you were supposed to be coming right back here."

"I had to go to the aft photon torpedo launchers.  When I got out of
my shower, I checked to see how far everyone had progressed with the
repairs and saw the alarm going off so I went."

She shouted to one of their fellow engineers, demanding to know why
she had not been told of any alarm.  The answer came back that they
had not registered any alarm.

"I can't help what you did or did not register down there.  There
certainly was one going off when I got there.  There wasn't anything
actually seriously wrong as it turned out, just a simple repair, but
with the alarm you'd have thought all Hell was breaking loose."

"Well, while you've been playing with alarms on Deck Four, we down
here on Deck Eleven have been swamped.  See if you and Baytart can fix
it yourselves or climb out of there.  We can't get to you right now.
Torres out."

Pablo sighed audibly.  "She's in a lovely mood today.  Maybe when we
get out we should go see if Paris can go down to Engineering and
sweeten her up a bit."  He was joking -- to a degree anyway -- but Joe
did not laugh and agree as he normally would have.

"Feel free to track him down, if you like.  He was on his way to his
quarters when I saw him.  Excuse me if I don't join you.  I've had
quite enough of Mr. Thomas Eugene Paris for the day, thank you very
much."

The younger man frowned through the darkness though Joe could not see
him.  "You two have a fight or something?"

A click signalled the opening of the Engineering repair kit Joe had
had slung over his shoulder when Baytart had entered nearly drowned
out Carey's response.  "Yeah, a biggie."

"What happened?"

A wrist lamp clicked on and Joe pointed it towards the control panel
before him.  "We had it out a few minutes ago.  He was pissed off that
I ruined his romantic evening with B'Elanna a while ago and I'd had
just about enough of hearing about their relationship and how they
rarely get to spend an evening together."  The light swung wildly as
the anger of the moment regained its hold on him, causing him to
abandon his examination of the controls in favour of complaining to
his fellow captive.  "Damnit, they're lucky to even be able to see
each other.  Do they ever think of those of us who can't even see
their loved ones? Can't sneak off for a moment or two alone like they
do?  Can't arrange secret picnics in the Jefferies tubes like they did
last month? Can't--" His voice broke and he cleared his throat.
"Can't fall exhausted into bed next to their mate and just have that
sense of knowing the other person's there, being able to cuddle with
them, even though you're too tired to do anything else?  Do they ever
think of us when they're complaining that they're too tired from
overwork to go on their dates?"

"It must be hard on you," Baytart murmured sympathetically, "you being
so far from your wife and sons."

"Yeah," the sad voice answered.

"So you had a shouting match with Paris about it, huh?"

"Something like that."  The light bobbed as he slung the kit across
his body.  "I can't do anything from in here.  We'd better get out and
climb up to the next deck and prise the doors open.  Just in case the
lift decides to fall or something."

---

Almost an hour after Tom had been beamed to Sickbay, Tuvok walked away
from Vorik's quarters frowning in his mind though not on his face.
The younger Vulcan had been ordered to keep their conversation in
utmost secrecy and the Commander knew he would do so.  What had him
confused were the results of that conversation.

Before leaving Tom Paris' quarters, he had done his best to
double-check Neelix's report of Vorik's possible presence near there
at the time of the assault.  Since the DNA trace had indicated he had
been at the bend in the corridor as Neelix had said, though not near
Tom Paris' door since that morning, Tuvok was almost willing to cross
him off of the suspects list.  Almost, but not quite.  Right now
Vorik's was the only name other than Neelix's that he had for certain.
He was not going to give him up just yet.  Not until someone better
came along at least.

With the malfunctions that were running rampant all over the ship,
trying to conduct what might be an attempted murder investigation was
proving to be difficult.  The internal sensors he would have used to
find out who had been where at the time of the assault and thereby
identify the assailant were hit and miss.  They said that, yes, there
had been a couple of individuals in the corridor at the time, but
could not identify them other than their respective positions.

Abandoning the direct route, he had tried an indirect one.  He almost
had found the information he sought when he had discovered first hand
that anything coming from the ship's computer was unreliable.  What he
wanted suddenly had stopped and one of Neelix's leola root fondue
recipes had begun.  Using logic, he had closed out the entry and
opened up the fondue recipe, expecting to find the rest of the
information. Instead he had found someone's rather explicit personal
log entry, the first few lines of which would have sent a less
controlled individual than Tuvok into the nearest cold shower.  Giving
up hope of using the computer to assist him, he notified Ops of the
latest problem with the computer and headed for Vorik's.

'If Vorik had attacked Ensign Paris,' Tuvok had reasoned to himself,
'asking him point blank if he had committed the crime was going to be
futile.  "Vulcan honesty be damned," as Mr. Paris would say.  A Vulcan
able to commit such a crime would be capable of prevarication if it
suited him.'

Broaching the subject had been a far simpler matter than he had
expected however.

"I was asleep, Commander," Vorik had told his guest once Tuvok was
inside the quarters.

"Engineering is overworked.  I was told Deck Eleven was in chaos this
past shift."

"I was only there for part of it, but yes, it was when I was there,
sir."

"You were working elsewhere?"

"Yes.  A minor rupture in a conduit."

"We did not feel it on the Bridge.  When was this?"

"Slightly over two hours ago.  I cannot be positive as to the exact
time it occurred, but I can be as to the time it was repaired.  20h17.
Lieutenant Torres inquired of the computer as to the time."

"For her report?"

"No, she was planning to take a couple of hours off and wanted to be
certain someone was scheduled to be on duty to oversee Engineering.
She did not say what her plans were.  However, if I were to make an
hypothesis, I would say they involved Ensign Paris."

"And why do you say that?"

"When I saw her later, she was hurrying down the corridor from the
direction of his quarters and was dressed in a manner that would not
have been conducive to her returning to work.  Specifically, a short
black dress with very high, black heels."

"I see.  When was this?"

"20h55."

"You are that precise?"

"At 20h52, I stepped onto Deck Four--"

"So precise again?"

"I was on a short break and was on my way to see Mr. Paris when I
checked the time so as to be certain he would be off duty and in his
quarters.  I had heard someone say he was to be working a half shift
on Beta so I felt certain he would be in his quarters, resting, given
all of the shifts he has worked within the past twenty-four hours.
With the internal sensors such as they are at the moment, I did not
trust them when they said he was in the corridor heading towards his
quarters.  I was double-checking the time since I thought he should
have been off duty and in his quarters, if not in bed, sometime
earlier than then."

"Did you see him then?"

"No, Commander.  I was approaching the bend in the corridor just short
of Mr. Paris' quarters when I noticed one of the computer panels in
the corridor wall was malfunctioning and stopped to investigate.  That
took approximately two minutes.  Then I informed Engineering that
there was a more to the malfunction than I could repair with the tools
I had with me and was instructed to go to Phaser Maintenance and
handle a situation there and someone else would attend to the
malfunction."

"So then you went to see Mr. Paris and--"

"No, I never did see him.  I was needed immediately in Phaser
Maintenance so I planned to find him later.  In addition, Seven of
Nine appeared to have just left him when I first arrived--"

"Did you actually see her exiting his quarters at some point?"

"As I was rounding the curve of the corridor, just before I noticed
the malfunctioning panel, I saw her appear exiting his quarters."  He
frowned.  "She appeared somewhat... angry.  That is why I paused,
reconsidering seeing Mr. Paris at that particular juncture, and
because of the pause, I noticed the panel out of the corner of my
eye."

"You think Seven of Nine was angry?"

"Yes.  The set of her features.  Her stride.  Her posture.  It all...
How have I heard it phrased?  'Screamed anger.'  As she went down the
corridor, I could see her back and shoulders relax to a degree.  As if
she was slowly suppressing the emotion."

"Do you have any idea why she was angry?"

"No.  She was walking in the opposite direction.  To have spoken to
her, I would have to speak rather loudly, and the panel caught my
attention just then."

"You actually saw her exit Mr. Paris' quarters?"

"I did not actually see her walk out and the doors close.  The angle
of the corridor was wrong for me to have observed that as I came into
sight too late.  Given her general position, however, and the angle at
which she was walking when I first saw her, I feel confident in
extrapolating that as her starting point."

"And when did Lieutenant Torres appear?"

"Sometime after I began to assess the problem with the panel.  When I
had finished, she was just starting to turn down another corridor."
He had named the corridor intersected at a right angle the corridor he
had been standing in, and which was almost half of the distance
between his own stated position and the door to Tom Paris' quarters.
It had been the one Neelix had said he had seen Lieutenant Torres go
down so that corroborated Neelix's story and his own at the same time.
"I heard her voice, Commander.  That was why I looked up.  She was
speaking very loudly to Ensign Ashmore about the fluctuations in the
warp core injectors.  We have fixed them numerous times today and she
was angry that they were giving us trouble yet again.  Ensign Ashmore
remarked that they had worked for over an hour this time and she
questioned that and asked what time it was.  He said 20h55 and she
agreed with him that it had been over an hour yet it felt like longer.
She said she was on her way down to Engineering to retry what they had
done earlier.  At that point her voice became unintelligible."

"Did you see from where she was coming?"

"Down the corridor."

"I mean, was she anywhere near Ensign Paris' quarters?"

"She already had passed them when I saw her.  You may ask Mr. Neelix
though.  I believe he was in the corridor also, but some distance
beyond Lieutenant Torres.  I only caught a glimpse of very vivid
colours but I do believe it was the tunic he had been wearing earlier
in the day.  May I ask the purpose of your inquiring as to my
whereabouts, Commander?"

"Ensign Paris worked most of Alpha shift on the Bridge and I noticed
he was rather distracted.  I became concerned.  The last time he was
in such a mood, he was plotting mischief.  With the amount of work
there is for everyone to do at the moment, I would like to head him
off at the pass, as he would say."  'It was not a lie,' Tuvok later
would rationalize.  'Mr. Paris *had* been distracted and mischief was
what he *had* been up to the last time he had been distracted.'

"I have not seen Mr. Paris since this morning when I released him and
the Alpha shift Conn staff from Mr. Paris' quarters therefore I cannot
comment upon his behaviour since then."

"I see.  I have to ask you not to discuss our conversation with
anyone."

"You do not wish Mr. Paris to know you are on to him."

Not commenting on Vorik's statement, Tuvok had stood there for a
moment then turned to leave the quarters only to turn back, as if
having finally decided to ask one more question that.  "May I ask what
is your current opinion of Mr. Paris?"

"He is a capable officer and I have often heard many say he is a good
friend and quite knowledgeable where social situations are concerned."

"May I also ask what was so urgent that you wished to speak with him?"

Vorik had shifted a little.  It had been a very minor movement, one
most would have missed, but Tuvok had been watching for it.  Seeing it
had confirmed his suspicion that there was something Vorik was holding
back from him.  "It was a personal matter, Commander, and had nothing
to do with any mischief Mr. Paris might be planning."

"A personal matter?"

"Yes, Commander."

"Perhaps I can assist you with it since you were unable to see him."

"Thank you, but no.  I think I have resolved it on my own, Commander."

With that totally ambiguous and more than a little suspicious answer,
Tuvok had left, mulling over Ensign Vorik as a suspect.  'Phaser
Maintenance was on Deck Four, same as Tom Paris' quarters,' he
remembered.  'And he had been in the area of those quarters; the fact
both he and Mr. Neelix had seen B'Elanna Torres in the same general
vicinity at roughly the same time substantiated that.  But how could
he have attacked Ensign Paris without leaving any trace of himself?
If he was innocent, why then had Vorik been going to see Tom Paris?'

Tuvok stepped into the turbolift and called out for Deck Four, intent
on going to Phaser Maintenance to verify Vorik's story.  'What would
Vorik's motive have been if he were guilty?  When he had answered the
question concerning his opinion of the pilot, his answer had seemed
honest enough and not tinged with any lingering anger or resentment
towards the man.  But if that was the case, why was he so
uncomfortable talking about his reason for wanting to see him?  What
motive could he possibly have for hurting Tom Paris in the first
place?  The two of them always seemed to have co-existed amicably.
With the noted exception of the time Vorik had tried to take B'Elanna
Torres as a mate.  Even after that, the then-Lieutenant and Ensign had
come to some sort of a truce. It had taken weeks, but it had happened.
And if Vorik had been the attacker, why had he have held back?  As a
Vulcan he easily could have killed a human, even a strong and agile
one like Tom Paris, if he caught him unawares as the scene and the
Doctor's statement of Mr. Paris' exhaustion would suggest.'

He exited the lift and strode down the corridor with an air of
purpose.  His mind however had his body on autopilot while it
continued to think over Vorik's statements.  'Was there any validity
to Vorik's hypothesis that Seven of Nine had been exiting Mr. Paris'
quarters when Vorik came upon the scene?  Mr. Neelix's statement
regarding B'Elanna Torres and her civilian attire corroborated Vorik's
assertion she was in the vicinity also, but Mr. Neelix had said
nothing about Seven of Nine. True, if Vorik was telling the truth,
Seven of Nine would have been behind the Talaxian so he could not have
seen her.   Conceivably, she could have gone to the Ensign's quarters,
they left and been down the corridor passed the corridor Mr. Neelix
had used to reach Mr. Paris' quarters.

'And there was the problem of the fact Mr. Paris had been beamed into
Sickbay wearing only his underwear and given the placement of his
uniform on the deck, near his bed, Mr. Neelix appeared to be correct
in assuming the quarters' resident had been on his way to bed.  Why
would he have invited Seven of Nine into his quarters while in that
state of undress?  B'Elanna Torres, certainly.  It was nothing she
would not have seen before.  Even Mr. Kim or the Doctor would have
been admitted. Perhaps even himself, Commander Chakotay, or Mr. Neelix
would have too.  But Seven of Nine?  That was unlikely.'

The doors Phaser Maintenance loomed before him and he stopped.  Seven
of Nine would have to be questioned once he had finished here.

It took him only a brief "I was told Ensign Vorik was here" for the
crewwoman on duty to give him the entire story of Vorik's visit.  Few
people came through Phaser Maintenance on any given shift unless they
were in the midst of a battle and/or malfunctions needed repairing.
Since they were motionless in space and lightyears from the nearest
inhabited planet or ship that might be a threat to them, she was bored
and needed zero prompting to "talk Tuvok's hind leg off" as he had
once heard the Captain say in a similar situation.  Within the two
minutes, he had verified Vorik's story, but it took another three
before he realized she had no further information of use to him and he
able to extricate himself from her clutches.  Once free, he went off
in search of his next suspect: Seven of Nine.

---

"So, Mr. Paris," the Doctor began to his unconscious patient, "it
looks like the swelling's gone down enough. Let's see if I can figure
out what someone hit you with."

Conducting the scan, a portion of his programme went through the
process of taking a reading and waiting for the analysis while the
remainder thought about his medical assistant.  He felt horrible at
how he had treated his assistant prior to his attack, especially the
groundless accusations of shirking of duty that he had thrown at him.
Even before he had heard Tuvok's explanation for Tom Paris' both
physical and mental exhaustion, he had regretted them.  He liked Tom
Paris, not that he ever would admit it to anyone, Tom himself in
particular.  It pained him greatly to now see him in this state.

The EMH glanced towards the closed door only three strides away.  On
the other side of that door, he knew, was Ayala, one of Tuvok's best
officers.  The Security officer had arrived here not long after his
superior had left.  Immediately, he had approved of the Doctor's plan
to move the patient out of the main medical bay, where all and sundry
who entered could have access to him, and into this private recovery
room where Ayala could control access to the one and only door.  Here
the patient would be safe if his attacker returned before Tuvok could
catch him or her.

'The results of this scan will greatly aid in that,' he thought,
surfacing from his reverie to check the final analysis.  'It *is* the
impression of a fist.  So it wasn't premeditated or they would have
had a weapon at hand instead of using... a hand.'  He already had
thought this would be the case and was glad to see hard evidence to
support his conclusion.  'But such a small hand...?  There *are*
plenty of people aboard with small hands.  And not merely females
either.  Some of the males were at the same disadvantage.'

He snapped his scanner shut.  A follow-up report to Commander Tuvok
was in order.  It was a pity he could not contact him directly for
fear of letting whomever Tuvok currently was interrogating or anyone
else within earshot know they had found Mr. Paris and were on to the
assailant.  A report sent to the Security Chief's office was going to
have to suffice.

---

Tuvok found his next quarry, Seven of Nine, in Cargo Bay Two.  She was
working at her terminal.  "Seven of Nine.  May I speak with you?"

"Certainly, Commander," Seven nodded.

He waited until he was an arm's length from her before making his
opening remark.  Deciding how to approach her on this subject had been
a simple enough decision.  She still was a Borg drone in many ways. A
straightforward questioning would achieve better results than any
attempt to trick her into saying something she wished to hide.  "Have
you seen Mr. Paris today?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"I am not certain of the precise time.  Sometime before 21h00.  Of
that much I am certain.  I met Miss Wildman in the turbolift at that
time and checked the time with the computer.  Normally she is in bed
at this time, however damage to the environmental controls in their
quarters means she cannot go to bed until they are repaired."

"Where did you see Ensign Paris?"

"I first saw him when he was in the corridor five doors down from his
quarters."  She named a corridor that intersected the one in which
Tom's quarter's door lay.

'One corridor beyond the one down which Neelix and Vorik had seen
B'Elanna Torres turn,' thought Tuvok.  'If the Doctor is correct and
Mr. Paris *did* go straight from Sickbay to his quarters, he must have
taken that corridor to get to his own.  Unless he had gone the long
way around for some reason, it was the corridor leading to the
turbolift that he must have taken up from Deck Five.'

"Was he alone?" Tuvok asked.

"Ensign Bristow was with him when I called out to Ensign Paris.
Before I signalled Mr. Paris that I wished to speak with him, they
seemed to have been having a heated argument about something.  They
must have finished it or postponed concluding it as they parted
company and Mr. Paris came down the corridor to his quarters where I
met him at the door."

"I see.  How did Mr. Paris seem when you saw him?"

"If you mean physically, his appearance was normal.  There were no
external indications of physical problems.  Mental, however, I am not
so certain.  He did not sound very pleased to see me, nor did he sound
at all well."

"What do you mean?"

"Normally his voice has to it what I have heard described as 'a
pleasing tenor.'  When I spoke to him, his voice was rough."  She
frowned a little.  "And he coughed intermittently throughout our brief
discussion."

"His manner was normal for him?"

"He was short with me.  He claimed he was exhausted.  That might
explain his curtness."

"And your reason for going to see Mr. Paris?"

He had expected Seven would have answered his question truthfully so
her hostility was unanticipated.

"Commander, why are you asking me these questions?  Has something
happened to Ensign Paris?  Or has he done something and is in need of
an alibi?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"You are questioning me about when and where I last saw him and what
we discussed.  The logical extrapolation would be he either has been
harmed and you are attempting to discover if I am the guilty party or
he has done something and is in need of an alibi.  Which is the case,
Commander?"  She straightened her posture a little.  "Am I a suspect,
accomplice, or alibi witness?"

He gave her the same line he had given Vorik regarding Tom Paris
possibly being up to mischief.

"I see, Commander.  Mr. Paris appeared to be up to nothing more than
going to bed when I arrived.  As for what we discussed, it is a
personal matter," she professed, unknowingly quoting Vorik.

"I see.  If you will please keep our conversation between us?"

"Of course, Commander."

Dissatisfied, he left the company of yet another suspect he could not
cross off the list.

As he walked down the corridor, he mulled over whether or not he was
on the correct trail or was instead getting further and further away
from the guilty party.  'Seven of Nine did say Tom Paris had been
coughing as they were talking,' he thought.  'Coughing is a natural
reaction when a lung has been punctured.  It is the body's way of
attempting to empty the lungs of the fluid that would be leaking in
and drowning them.  Is it possible I am on the right track and those I
have questioned so far are telling the truth?  That they did not harm
Mr. Paris, but someone else had before their meeting him?  How long
prior to his actual collapse could his injuries have been sustained
and he still have been able to function normally?  The Doctor only
estimated the timeframe for the injuries having occurred, not his
mobility during that time.  He never said if the collapse would have
been instantaneous.'

In the past, Tuvok had seen seriously injured people do incredible
things, only to expire once whatever they had been trying to
accomplish was completed.  Before he proceeded any further from the
most likely suspects he had to have this question answered.  A quick
trip to Deck Five was in order if he was to receive an answer and be
certain neither he nor the EMH were overheard.

Only, when he arrived, he found he need not have worried about being
overheard.  The EMH was alone in his office.

"Catch anyone yet?" the hologram asked expectantly.

"Five suspects."

"Five?  Who?"

"Mr. Neelix, though that seems unlikely.  Misters Carey, Bristow, and
Vorik, and Seven of Nine.  All either were seen in the area around the
time of the attack or left DNA traces behind in the quarters or on Mr.
Paris' uniform."

"It is *possible* they could have, but I think Mr. Carey's hands are
too big."

Tuvok frowned at this apparent non sequitur.

"My report?  On the imprint left behind by the weapon?  I sent it to
your office."

"I have not been to my office."

Sighing, the Doctor outlined his findings.  "It *is* possible, I must
warn you," he summed up a minute later, "that what I sprayed on the
wound to force the swelling to go down enough for me to take the scan
could have distorted the actual size of the impression.  It is not
unheard of and the molecules that are the source of that smell--"

Tuvok rattled off the technical term for the engineering sealant
compound then the names of those who so recently were exposed to it.

"Each of your suspects plus Lieutenant Torres.  Interesting."

"Yes.  You were saying about the molecules and the impression?"

"Hmm?"  He surfaced from his musings.  "Oh, yes.  As far as I know,
there isn't any data on the interaction between that compound and what
I used."

"So you cannot compensate for any discrepancy?"

"No.  So if it was not to clarify something in my report, why'd you
take time out of your investigation to come down here?  Mr. Paris
remains asleep and under guard in the private room."

"I wanted to ask if you are firm in your assessment of the length of
time prior to Mr. Neelix bringing Mr. Paris here that Mr. Paris'
injuries could have occurred.  Specifically, I need to know if it was
possible he was attacked elsewhere and was sufficiently mobile to be
able to return to his quarters and carry on a conversation with
someone before finally collapsing."

The Doctor looked at him then of into space, considering.  "There is a
*slight,* very slight  possibility.  I never put anything past Mr.
Paris.  Why are you asking?"

He related Seven's contention Tom Paris was well when she had left
him, but he had had a cough.

"He was dehydrated so that might explain the cough, Commander.  And
now that you mention it, I do remember him coughing a little.  I put
it down to the environmental controls in the storeroom being a bit off
and dust getting in his throat.  I know he was dehydrated -- either
that or the dust could explain the cough."  He paused, thinking.  "Or
it could have been that virus some of the crew contracted on our last
shoreleave. That had a cough as one of the symptoms.  Mr. Paris never
came into direct contact with the source of the virus, but he did help
me treat them.  It is possible that before we eradicated it, the virus
had mutated enough for Mr. Paris to have picked it up from the
patients. Since he's not showing any other symptoms, it would have to
be a very mild case."

"Or it could have signified he had blood building up in his lungs."

"Yes, that would produce coughing too, Commander.  Obviously, there
are any number of explanations.  But to answer your original question,
yes, it is conceivable the person that hit him did not hit him hard
enough to fell him then and there.  He or she could have hit him hard
enough that the ribs broke and a bout of coughing could have forced
them farther into his lung, causing his collapse.  It would have to be
a very violent cough though.  I'm sorry to say, if that was the
scenario, I would have to revise my estimate on how strong the person
was that inflicted the blow.  A slightly less powerful individual
could have accomplished this."

"So any of my suspects then?"

"Yes.  The males certainly could and Seven of Nine.  Back to the
drawing board, Commander."

"Yes.  Contact me directly if you have any further reports."

"But if you're with someone...?"

"Tell me you're reminding me not to be late for my physical.  That
will sound innocuous enough."

"All right.  Where are you headed now?"

"To find Mr. Bristow."

---

Tuvok had never liked Ensign Freddie Bristow and the feeling clearly
was mutual.  It was nothing specific, just a case of a personality
clash. That made Tuvok's questioning of his suspect difficult.  The
instant he had entered and approached the ensign's duty station,
Bristow had tightened up.  Inquiring as to his earlier whereabouts and
Tom Paris only made him more hostile.

"I went to my quarters, showered, then went to Transporter Room One to
consult on a matter with Ensign Harper who was on duty there.  Since
you clearly already know I saw Paris or would not be asking, yes, I
saw him.  Why?"

Tuvok fed him the line about Tom Paris being up to something.

"Well, he certainly wouldn't be looking to me as an accomplice," he
muttered, returning to his work.  "It's no secret he and I don't get
along.  He took offence at my being interested in Torres at one point.
Like he's any better."

The last was a whispered aside yet Tuvok heard it.  "You do not think
he's worthy of Lieutenant Torres?"

Bristow glared at him.  "I don't give a damn, sir.  If she wants to
waste her time with a loser like him, that's her business.  She could
do far better, but is willing to date beneath her?  Fine.  Let her.
I'm not the only one who dislikes him either, Commander, so don't give
me any sour looks.  Talk to Joe Carey.  He looked ready to kill him
earlier."

"When was this?"

"Just before I saw Paris in the corridor."

"Where were they?"

"In the corridor outside of a turbolift."  He named the area and
turbolift shaft number.  "I was minding my own business, just walking
down the corridor on my way to see Ensign Harper and Paris suddenly
yells my name.  I stopped and turned to see what he wanted and I saw
Carey down the corridor, glaring at Paris' back.  Don't blame Carey.
Paris can be the most self-righteous bastard at times.  He certainly
was today."

"And what was he feeling 'self-righteous' about today, Mr. Bristow?"

"Matters that were none of his business.  Is there anything further,
Commander?  I have a lot of work to do."

"Just one more question, Ensign.  Where did you last see Mr. Paris?"

"Going to his quarters.  Ask Seven of Nine.  She saw us together.  And
she saw me leave and was alone with him after that.  If anyone did
anything to him, talk to her.  She either did it or knows who does.
Excuse me, Commander."

Tuvok did not dismiss him; he merely left the room.  The superior
officer did not call him on this breach of protocol.  He was too
preoccupied by this new direction the investigation was taking.
'Seven of Nine?' he wondered.  'Certainly she couldn't have done this,
could she?  She was physically capable, yes, but beyond that?  If she
had done this, it must have been an accident.  Only if it had been an
accident, she would have informed the Doctor the instant it became
obvious Mr. Paris was injured.  Would she not have?'

Shoving his confusion to one side, Tuvok went to see Ensign Harper to
verify Ensign Bristow's statements before he did anything else.  The
ensign hardly could have been described as "helpful."  Other than
concurring that he had been there earlier, she had nothing she wanted
to add.  Tuvok was certain she was hiding something, her demeanour
told him as much, only she would not elaborate.

Many unanswered questions still in his head, Tuvok was forced to leave
her.  He was starting to regret both his decision to conduct this
investigation unofficially and the relaxation of protocol between the
ranks on this ship.  On any other ship not in their situation, there
would have been less familiarity, less of a feeling amongst everyone
that they all were equals and had the right to refuse to answer a
superior's questions, even if they were overly personal in nature.
Any other crew would not have dared talk to him with what bordered on
disrespect and disobedience as those involved in this inquiry had.  Of
course, they did not know it *was* an inquiry.  They merely thought he
was being nosy and felt they had every right to refuse to respond to
his intrusive questions.

'Once I have all of their statements,' he decided, 'and I still have
not uncovered the guilty party, then I am going to have Lieutenant
Torres told -- and restrained if need be -- and announce a formal
investigation.  Then I will get some results.  Until then... On to
Lieutenant Carey.'

---

Tuvok was growing tired of hearing the same story over and over again:
"Yes, I saw Tom Paris.  With all due respect, Commander, what Tom and
I discussed is of no else's business.  Ask x, y, or z.  They were
talking to him before (or some cases, after) I was."  His unofficial
interrogation of Joe Carey followed this line, but he was not prepared
for the name of the person Carey told him to talk to.

"I was in the turbolift on my way to check on the aft photon torpedo
launchers.  There was an alarm going off.  Anyway, the lift stopped at
Deck Five and Paris got on, mad as anything.  I don't know what he and
the Captain had been arguing about, but it must have been choice.
I've seen Paris lose his temper before, only nothing like this.  Maybe
she found out about whatever he's up to and chewed him out over it.  I
don't know and frankly don't care.  I'd really rather not have to hear
his name for a while, if you don't mind.  Thank you."

The Security Chief found himself being abandoned by yet another
suspect.  This time he was not as upset by that fact.  The shock at
hearing of Captain Janeway's possible involvement in this case had his
mind a little numb.  It stayed that way as he verified Carey's
statement of his earlier destination -- the crewman at the aft photon
torpedo launchers almost as anxious for someone to talk to as the
crewwoman in phaser maintenance had been.  Only once he was in front
of the Captain's quarter's doors did the fog begin to lift.  'There is
a simple explanation,' he assured himself.  She would give it to him
and he would move on to the next suspect.

But his memory of her mood and the look on her face in Sickbay made
him wonder.  If she was somehow a party to all this or worse was the
guilty party, ship's morale would plummet to an all time low.  How
were they to punish her?  She was the Captain.  Attempted murder was a
serious offence.  Unless it had been an accident or there were
extenuating circumstances, she would be in serious jeopardy,
professionally as well as personally.  Time in the Brig or confinement
to quarters would have to follow if guilt could be ascertained.  That
would make Chakotay Captain, temporarily or permanently, and himself
First Officer.  Where would they be without her to lead them?  The
Commander was a good First Officer, but a Captain?  His personality
was not forceful enough to master the position, in his opinion.  The
crew did like him, but not as they loved the Captain.  This was
quickly becoming one of his worst nightmares come to life.

'Remain calm,' he counselled himself.  'All there is right now is
suspicions.  No solid evidence against her.  Do what you advised Mr.
Neelix.  Wait for evidence before rushing to judge.'  Nodding to
himself, he pressed the announcer.

The doors opened before he had removed his hand from the touchpad and
the man he secretly hoped would not become their new Captain emerged
from the quarters, shaking his head.

"I wanted to tell her Engineering finally had propulsion safely back
online," he whispered.  "With what you told me how about she was after
seeing Tom, I thought hearing some good news might snap her out of it.
It didn't.  She's too depressed."  He looked back through the still
open doors.  "I can't understand it, either.  She's never been like
this when he's been hurt before.  I can't explain it."

"I think I may be able to, Commander.  Come to my office at the end of
shift.  I will update you on my progress or lack their of."  With a
nod, he took his leave of the Commander and stepped inside the dimly
lit quarters, eyes on the woman seated listlessly in the recliner.

"I wondered when you'd get to me."  Her head was tilted away from him
yet somehow she had known who it was approaching her.

He stopped two metres from her.  "If you knew I would wish to speak
with you, Captain, perhaps it might have been better if you had come
to me rather than wait for me uncover your name in the course of my
inquiries."

"Have you ever done something you've instantly regretted?" she queried
in a detached voice.

"Yes."

"I have numerous times," she continued as though he had not spoken.
"Most recently, a few hours ago.  I saw Tom then.  But you already
know that, don't you."

"Yes.  Lieutenant Carey remembered seeing you in the corridor when Mr.
Paris boarded the turbolift."

She nodded resignedly and was silent.

Slowly, almost tentatively, he moved closer to her chair, closing the
distance between them.

"I didn't mean it," she suddenly blurted and he froze.  "I mean, I did
mean it, just not how it came out."

"How what came out?"

She did not seem to hear him.  "Then only minutes later, I'm called to
Sickbay and there he is.  My first thought?  I thought he'd tried to
kill himself.  I honestly thought that.  Kill himself all because of
what I'd said."

"And what did you say, Captain?"

The woman's pain-filled eyes focused on him and her mouth opened only
no sound emerged.

"Captain, this is an attempted murder investigation.  If it was not
attempted murder, then at the very least an argument that evolved into
an unpremeditated attack.  Either way, I need to know all of the facts
and you seem to be withholding your share of them.  Your refusal to
explain yourself does arouse my suspicions that you may be involved."

She appeared to shake off her lethargy at the idea she might somehow
be a suspect.  "I didn't hurt him!"  She averted her eyes.  "At least
not physically."

"Then tell me the entire story and allay my suspicions.  Start with
why you asked the Doctor if Mr. Paris' injuries were self-inflicted."

Tuvok had to admit defeat after five minutes of cajoling, threats, and
everything short of ordering her to tell him the truth.  Finally, the
Captain furiously insisted she had not attacked Tom and flew into her
bathroom, locking the door behind her.  In a rare moment of weakness,
Tuvok dropped the chair nearest him and sighed heavily.

When they returned home, he was going to spend an extended leave with
his family then request a posting on a ship crewed by Vulcans.  Humans
and their unpredictable moods were becoming too much for him.  Yes, it
would be dull when compared to the mischief, mayhem, and other
assorted disasters-in-the-making, but dull sounded most satisfactory
right now.

Slowly resuming his feet, he cast a glance towards the closed bathroom
door, debated overriding its lock, but dismissed the idea.  She was
too stubborn to be forced into confessing anything, especially in this
current mood.  Instead, he would go to his office, brief Commander
Chakotay on the status of the investigation, and try to piece together
what he already had.  If he had nothing concrete by the morning, then
he would go public with the investigation and confine all of the
suspects to the Brig or quarters until he had the confession he
needed.  All he would have to do is find some way to keep B'Elanna
Torres in check. 'Perhaps a sedative,' he mused as he exited Janeway's
quarters.  He would have to ask the Commander's opinion when he met
with him later.

---

"What is the cause of the commotion?" Vorik asked two of his fellow
engineers as he took a seat next to them at their table the next
morning.

The eyes of his colleagues, along with those of everyone else in the
Mess Hall, were on the rather large crush of people around Neelix.
The crush was so large in fact, the cook had had to move out from
behind the serving counter and to a corner of the Mess Hall so others
could collect their breakfasts.

"Where have you been?" Boylan and Jarvin chorused.

"In my quarters, sleeping, then working in the Jefferies tubes.  Why?"

Boylan leaned closer to him.  "Everyone's sure Neelix knows more than
he's telling."

"More about what precisely?"

"You really are out of the loop, aren't you?" Jarvin tsked, shaking
his head.  "It's all over the ship by now.  You must be the last to
know. Neelix and Tom Paris were beamed to Sickbay last night.
Emergency Medical Transport," he emphasized.  "Neelix is trying to
dismiss it as being nothing.  Paris supposedly hit his leg on a table
and Neelix overreacted, thinking Paris had broken it.  His leg, not
the table. Anyway, both of them beamed to Sickbay.  Neelix does tend
to be melodramatic and a bit overprotective at times, but like that?
No way."

Boylan took up the tale.  "And Tuvok's been acting suspiciously, going
around asking questions.  It all seems perfectly innocent.  He claims
he thinks Tom's up to something and he's trying to find out what and
stop him before he pulls whatever.  He keeps telling everyone he talks
to that they're to keep things quiet.  'So Mr. Paris will not find out
I am on to him,' he claims.  Something happened to Paris and Tuvok's
trying to find out who did it without letting anyone know it.  Of
course, now everyone knows.  Except you and now you know."

"I see.  I find I am not hungry after all.  If you will excuse me?"
He deposited his untouched tray in the recycler and hurried out of the
room.

"What as that all about?"

Jarvin shrugged and stared down at his meal.  "Probably took a good
look at this slop Neelix is calling breakfast and decided working
himself to death was preferable."

"What is this anyway?"

"Don't know.  At least it doesn't taste as bad as it looks."

---

A freshly showered Tuvok had barely settled into his office chair
before the door chimed.  After checking to see the evidence of his
night's work on the Paris case was not showing on any padds or
screens, he bade the visitor enter.  Vorik stepped through and stopped
before the desk.

"Yes, Ensign?"

"Commander, I have heard some disturbing talk and wish to discuss it
with you."

"Yes?"

"It concerns Mr. Paris.  Some crewmembers say he was 'on death's door'
and you were attempting to discover who had placed him there.  Is this
true?"

"May I ask why you think he has been injured?"

"There is talk, all over the ship apparently, that Tom Paris was
beamed from his quarters to Sickbay last night and you are
investigating, trying to find who did it."

"May I ask who told you this?"

"Everyone in the Mess Hall was talking about it."

"Then that was the reason for your questions last night?"

"Is that also is the rumour?"

"Yes.  If it is true, then I wish to explain myself more completely
than I did last night."  His eyes shifted to a point a few centimetres
from Tuvok's left ear.  "It is very embarrassing therefore I had hoped
to keep the matter private.  One of the female crewmembers made what I
believe was a sexual overture towards me and I was going to Ensign
Paris for advice."

"I see.  You could have come to me, Ensign."

"Yes, I could have.  However, I chose Ensign Paris instead as he is
human, and is reputed to have had much experience with human females.
If I am perplexed by something uniquely human, I often request
clarification from Mr. Paris.  His explanations tend to be most
satisfactory."

"This is true, but after you decided he might not be in the proper
mood for any conversation, why did you not ask me?" he prodded,
guessing by Vorik's agitation that he was nearing the root of the
actual embarrassment.  "I could have instructed you on how best to
dissuade her attentions if they are romantic overtures."

"Because...  Because I find myself not wishing to 'dissuade' her."

Tuvok stiffened in a near mirror of Vorik's posture.  "I see."

"I know it is illogical to find myself experiencing such... feelings,
but they appear to be there.  I hoped Mr. Paris would be able to tell
me my interpretation of her intentions was erroneous and I could
relegate this situation to the past."

"Ignoring your own... feelings?"

"Yes.  I was certain once Mr. Paris had explained to me I was
incorrect, then I would find I was incorrect about them as well.  Does
this explanation suffice?"

"Yes."  Tuvok nodded, though to himself he still wondered if it was
the truth.  'It has to be,' he thought.  'No Vulcan would admit to
something like this if it were a lie.  Would he?'

"May I ask what Mr. Paris' condition is?"

"He was well the last time I saw him."

"Thank you."

"You are dismissed."

Alone again, Tuvok turned his thoughts to how they entire ship could
have found out about the Emergency Medical Transport.  When they had
met here last night at the end of Beta shift, Commander Chakotay had
updated him on what still was inoperative.  The Ops console on the
Bridge was on the list so there was no way anyone working at Ops could
have registered the Emergency Medical Transport and spread the word.
Ayala had replaced him at Tactical when Tuvok had gone to Sickbay and
later had been replaced himself when Tuvok had brought him onto the
team of his best who were helping him with his investigation.  So
Ayala could not have told anyone.  That left only one possible source
from which this rumour could have sprouted.  He was about to go test
this theory when the door chimed once then Seven of Nine strode in and
parked herself before his desk.

"Commander, I have heard-"

"You have heard the rumours regarding Mr. Paris and the motivation
behind my questioning of you last night and now you wish to revise
your statement."

Seven blinked widely and shifted her stance.  "That is correct,
Commander.  I take it then that I am not the first to have come here."

"No, you are not.  What do you wish to clarify?"

"I wish to inform you that I left Mr. Paris in the same condition in
which I found him."

"I see.  And what occurred during your visit?  Do you wish to clarify
that as well?"

"I had questions about some reading I had been doing.  It was of a
personal nature and Mr. Paris was not in the mood to answer my
questions.  That is all.  What is Mr. Paris' condition?"

"He is well."

She nodded and swept out, apparently under the misapprehension she no
longer was a suspect after the brief statement she had made.
Unfortunately, she remained as much as she had previously.   The same
had to be said for his next two visitors.

"Commander, I--"

"You wish to amend your statement regarding your argument with Mr.
Paris," Tuvok guessed.

Joe Carey blinked.  "How'd you know?"

"Continue."

"Well, uh, you see... Tom and I were arguing, yes, but it never became
physical.  He was just letting off some steam.  That's all."

"Letting off some steam about what precisely."

"He was mad about something and I was a part of it and was there.  He
was venting, Commander.  That was all.  He was really mad.  And he
looked exhausted, too, and you know his temper comes closer to the
surface when he's tired."  He frowned.  "And I don't think he was
feeling too well either actually."

"What do you mean?"

"He was looking paler than usual and had this cough."

"I see."

"But that was all that happened, Commander.  He yelled at me a bit
then stormed out of the lift and down the corridor.  I haven't seen
him since.  Honest."

"And you never touched him, in any interpretation of that word?"

"Well, yes, I did 'touch' him.  But just on his jacket.  No punches
thrown or anything -- just a grab of his jacket.  I was mad too, just
not punching mad."

"I have a witness who says you looked prepared to kill."

"I was mad.  Not homicidal."  And he obviously was angry again for he
whirled around and was out of the room in three seconds flat.

Coincidentally, that was the length of time between the doors shutting
and the chime sounding.

'Who has not been here yet to revise their stories?' Tuvok wondered,
mentally reviewing the list of suspects and ticking off those who
already had presented themselves and their amended alibis.  "Enter."

The doors opened.

"Ensign Bristow."

Freddie stepped inside and rubbed the back of his neck.  Finally, he
dropped his hand and met Tuvok's eyes with the most serious look the
Vulcan had ever seen him give anyone.  "I didn't do it."

"Did not do what specifically, Ensign?"

"Paris.  I didn't put him in Sickbay.  I don't like the guy that's for
sure, but I didn't attack him.  I'm not that stupid.  He spends far
too long in those Klingon martial arts holoprograms of his.  Anybody
would have to be insane to try to take him on.  Especially if B'Elanna
Torres heard about it later.  If by some miracle they survived Paris,
she'd rip them apart.  Everyone knows that.  But I just wanted it on
record that I didn't do it."  He turned to leave.  Tuvok's voice
stopped him before he had gone half a metre.

"Now, would you also care to clarify what you and Mr. Paris did
discuss?"

He did not turn.  "We were having a disagreement about a personal
matter that was none of Tom Paris' business.  Nor any of yours since
it is not relevant to whatever happened to him."

Tuvok tried for a few minutes with little success to corner him into
revealing the secret.  Finally he abandoned that for the moment.
"Would you care to explain what you and Ensign Harper really were
doing in Transporter Room One then?"

"I don't know what you mean, Commander.  I told you we were consult--"

"When I spoke to her, she was uncomfortable when asked why you were
there.  Her explanation, while sounding credible, barely, was
delivered in such a fashion that it undermined itself even as she was
delivering it.  So I ask you again, what were you doing there?"

"We were discussing a personal matter that does not concern anyone but
us."

"I do not think that is quite the truth either, Ensign.  However, from
now on, you two will confine your 'discussing' to off duty hours."

Bristow made another stab at leaving.

"And am I correct in assuming you and/or Ensign Harper are the reason
word of Mr. Paris' injuries became common knowledge?"

He did not respond.

"I thought as much.  At a later date, you, Ensign Harper, and myself
will discuss this further.  For the moment, you are dismissed."

As Bristow rushed out, Tuvok sat back in his seat.  All of his
suspects had come to assert they were not the guilty party.  'All
except Neelix and the Captain,' he corrected himself.  Pondering the
question of whether those two would make an appearance as well, he
leaned his head back and closed his eyes, deep in thought.  He still
could not shake the feeling he was on the wrong track.  It was as if
he was missing something, something that was staring him in the face
and he was blinded to it.

---

The EMH looked from the readings on the tricorder to the ones over the
biobed and half-smiled.  "Doctor to Mr. Tuvok."

"Go ahead," his disembodied voice responded.

"The patient is waking."

"Commander Chakotay and myself are on our way."

Less than two minutes later, the two males were stepping into the
small room where Tom Paris lay.

"Any moment n- Ah, Mr. Paris.  Welcome back to the land of the living.
You've been saved yet again by my amazing--"

"Doctor, if we may?"

The EMH frowned at the First Officer's interruption.

Ignoring him, Chakotay assumed the chair next to the now-conscious
patient's bedside.  "How do you feel, Tom?"

The blue eyes tiredly shifted from the ceiling to him.  "Achy."

"You were hurt pretty badly.  The Doctor says if Neelix hadn't found
you when he did, you would have bled to death."

The eyes found the ceiling again and closed.

"Can you tell us who your assailant was, Mr. Paris?" the Security
Chief asked, getting to the heart of the matter.

Tom said nothing and after thirty seconds, Chakotay touched the
patient's shoulder, thinking he must have fallen asleep.  Then he
opened his eyes opened again.

"Tom, we need to know who attacked you.  Tuvok's tried to find the
person who attacked you, but so far he has no definitive evidence
pointing at any one of them as being the guilty party."

"Who do you suspect?" he asked the Security Chief.

"I would prefer you told us what you remember instead, Mr. Paris,"
Tuvok responded.  "Since you are the only one who actually saw who
attacked you only you can--"

"I don't remember any attack."

"What is the last thing you do remember?"

"Leaving Sickbay.  Doctor--" The last word degenerated into a wracking
cough that had Tom doubled up, facing away from his audience.

The hologram held Tom's head up with one hand and a glass of water to
Tom's lips with the other.  He pulled the latter away after the
patient had sipped only a small amount.  "A little at a time, Mr.
Paris," he advised.  "What did you want?"

"I want to know when can I return to my quarters."

"Mr. Paris, you need to rest.  I performed major surgery on you only
last evening.  You'll need at least another twenty-four to forty-eight
hours to recuperate."

The patient slowly and painfully pushed himself to a sitting position,
his legs dangling over the side of the biobed nearest the Doctor.  "I
can do that in my quarters."

"But--"

"Is there any medical reason that I have to convalesce here?"

"Well, no."

"Then I'm going to my quarters."

"But--"

"I think that is an excellent idea," Tuvok interrupted.  "Perhaps
being in his quarters will jog his memory.  I will retrieve clothing
for you if you will wait here, Mr. Paris."

The Vulcan was out of Sickbay before the Doctor could form an
objection.

---

"Remember anything, Mr. Paris?"

Tom shook his head, eyes skipping over the newly cleaned patch of
carpeting where he had lain, bleeding to death only hours ago.  Tuvok
personally had seen to the cleaning in the wee hours of the morning
when he had been unable to sleep and thought being here might permit
him to better evaluate the problem.  "No, Tuvok," Tom denied in answer
to Tuvok's question.  "If you two will excuse me, I'd like to go back
to bed."

"Contact me if you remember anything.  Commander, may I see you in my
office?"

"In a minute," he responded.

With a nod, Tuvok left them alone.

Chakotay's eyes remained on Tom.  "We haven't told B'Elanna anything
about this, Tom.  She's been stuck in various Jefferies tubes since
sometime last evening.  The rest of the crew knows something happened,
but for now, we've told them a story about your injuring yourself on
the table over there and Neelix overreacting.  Some seem to believe
it. Some don't.  So far though, B'Elanna doesn't seem to have heard
the rumours.  We figured if the truth got out, she'd be after everyone
who ever said a bad word against you from Day One.  Hopefully, you'll
be left alone to rest.  Call me if you need anything or anything comes
back to you."  He squeezed Tom's shoulder and smiled encouragingly at
him. When he received no acknowledgement of the sympathy, he removed
his hand and followed along after the Vulcan.

He stepped out into the corridor expecting to see at least one
security officer there to guard the door, but there was no one.
Frowning, he debated whether or not to stay to protect Tom himself
until the security he assumed were on the way arrived.  After a
minute, he knew he could not remain there forever and struck off for
Tuvok's office.  By the time he arrived there, he had worked up a fine
head of steam.  "Would you care to explain what you think you're doing
leaving Tom unguarded?"

Seated behind the desk, the Vulcan gave him his most emotionless look.
"It is intentional, Commander.  I believe one of two things will
occur.  One, the assailant will attempt to finish what he or she
started--"

"You're going to use Tom as bait?!"

"Or two, Mr. Paris is lying to us, he does know the identity of his
assailant, and is determined to resolve this incident himself, either
by taking revenge, which does not seem likely given his demeanour at
the moment, or by both of them agreeing to forget this ever happened.
That I believe is the more likely.  Mr. Paris is not one for
confronting problems.  He prefers to pretend they do not exist or do
not affect him.  Given Voyager's status in the Delta Quadrant, Mr.
Paris' transferring to another ship is impossible, so physical
avoidance of his assailant is not an option.  However, avoidance of
the issue that resulted in this incident is."

"So you think he'll what?  Go to see someone who only hours ago almost
killed him?

"Or have him or her come to him, yes."

"This is crazy."

"Mr. Paris does tend to act in an irrational fashion at times, yes.
But I do believe this is the most logical conclusion to make, given
his established behaviours."

"But the internal sensors still can't be trusted.  If he does leave or
someone comes, how will we be sure of who it is?  Or even why they're
there?"

Tuvok gestured to the cannibalised combadge attached to a mass of
components on his desktop.  "I made a slight alteration to Mr. Paris'
combadge when I brought it and his clothing to him in Sickbay.  The
combadge he now wears is linked to this one.  Both are independent of
the ship's computer therefore less likely to be affected by our
current crisis.  Whatever is said in the presence of his combadge will
be relayed to this one."

"But what if Tom's attacker doesn't say anything or Tom doesn't call
him or her by name?  Then how will we know who it is?"

"I have inserted a small proximity detector into his combadge.  It
will identify any one close enough to it."

"How close?"

"Within a metre."

"So he has to be within arms reach of his attacker?  That's suicidal."

"It is the best that could be done.  Monitoring his quarters would be
a waste if he left them.  This was the only option."

Chakotay sighed heavily and thought for a while, eyes focused on the
combadge set-up before him.  "He can't hear us, right?"

"No."

"I feel like this is wrong.  I know, if you're right and he does know
or someone does try something, then we need to know who it is, but
eavesdropping--"

"If you would prefer, Commander, I can handle this matter and make my
report once it is resolved."

He thought about this for a moment then shook his head.  "No.  I want
to be here.  How are we going to get to his quarters or wherever in
time if there's trouble?"

"The transporters are in working order according to the Engineering
logs."

"Let's hope they stay that way."

"Agreed."  Tuvok reached for a padd and scanned the display.  "Early
this morning I was making a chart of the movements of Mr. Paris and
everyone connected with this case.  It is imprecise due to the fact it
relies heavily on the word of those who also are suspects or are
witnesses for the suspects.  I see one thing I did not expect to see
and would not have noticed had it not been thinking about the
Captain's odd mood.  I remembered two years ago when she was feeling a
little low and how Mr. Paris and Mr. Neelix used some tricks Mr. Paris
learned somewhere in his murky past to let themselves into the
Captain's quarters and leave her something to cheer her up."

Chakotay accepted the padd and looked it over.  "I remember it, but I
don't see your point."

"Time index 20h59."

"Tom already was in Sickbay by then," he argued, not checking the
padd.

"Yes, but see who was at his quarters at 20h59."

This time Chakotay looked at the padd.

"She and Lieutenant Carey say she met Mr. Paris on Deck Five.  If so,
why is her DNA in the corridor outside of Mr. Paris' quarters,
especially on the exterior doorframe and touchpad?  Why did the door
register her override code being input at 20h59 and the doors
opening."

"But that doesn't mean Kathryn was returning to the scene of the
crime."

"Not if the scene of the crime was the corridor on Deck Five where
Lieutenant Carey saw them, no."

"I don't buy it.  He's like a little brother to her, a son even at
times.  She's been plenty mad at him before and never struck him.
Remember the time on the water planet?  She was furious with him, but
she didn't hit him.  Demoted him and tossed him in the Brig, yes, but
no fists."

"Perhaps it was an accident and she was coming to apologize," he
suggested.  "Or an impulse.  Regardless, she was at his quarters'
doors, she did open them using her code, and she had to have seen
inside and seen blood.  I can tell you from having seen it myself, the
blood was visible from the doorway.  When the doors opened, she must
have seen it and realized something had occurred.  That would have
stopped her short of entering the quarters and would explain her
appearance and demeanour when she boarded the turbolift I was taking
to answer the Doctor's summons."

"I don't want to believe it."

"Neither do I, but the evidence does seem to fit."

"But you're missing a piece to the puzzle.  There's no trace of her
DNA on his uniform or him."

"That is the reason for this trap, Commander."

"At least tell me your people are close by to swoop in to protect him
if need be."

"They are."

"Good.  Forgive me if I say I hope we won't need them."

---

"Captain?"

Kathryn's emotion-filled eyes jerked to the EMH as he emerged from his
office to join her in the main area of Sickbay.  "Tom?" she whispered.

"In his quarters.  He awoke about twenty minutes ago and insisted upon
returning there to rest.  I did not like it, but I had no medical
objections to fall back on," he informed her, shrugging.  "And Mr.
Tuvok was very much in favour of Mr. Paris' decision.  That I found
suspicious, but I don't know quite what to make of it.  What's you
opinion of this investigation?"

When she did not respond immediately, he continued talking.

"Do you think any of his suspects actually could have done it?  I keep
thinking: yes, Commander Tuvok found recent DNA samples from
Lieutenants Torres and Carey, Seven of Nine, Ensigns Bristow, and Mr.
Neelix.  And Ensign Vorik was seen in the area.  True, some of them do
have hands small enough to fit the fist impression that was left, but
I still doubt his theory someone basically 'tapped' him and only later
did his coughing force the shards of ribs into his lungs.  It's much
more probable someone hit him good and hard and he collapsed almost
immediately.  Now, he accepts the obvious explanations for Lieutenant
Torres' DNA being present.  And I think he wants to accept Mr. Neelix
is telling the truth too.  Why then couldn't the others be telling the
truth as well?  I can't picture any of them doing this to Mr. Paris. I
mean, what motives could they have?  Any one of them has some motive
Mr. Tuvok has not discovered or he has yet to uncover the actual
assailant.  Don't you agree, Captain?"

Instead of commenting, she turned on her heel and dashed out.

Not for the first time, the Doctor told himself as soon as this latest
plague of problems was over, he was going to order her to a week's
worth of R and R on the Holodeck or the first planet they came to
suitable for shoreleave.  'She's coming close to cracking up,' he
thought, though he planned to use more technical terms when the time
came to order her to rest.  'Hopefully this investigation will be
wrapped up by then.'

---

As the doors closed behind his "guests," Tom carefully lowered his
aching body into the nearest chair.  Unbidden the memories of
yesterday's Hell came to him.


"Mr. Paris, this is completely wrong!" the EMH shouted at him.
Grabbing up a container, he shook it at Tom, mindless of the sloshing
contents inside.  "How often am I going to be wanting methyl curitate?
In all the time you have been my assistant, how many times have I
asked you for methyl curitate?  Twice.  Twice in over a year."  He
reached passed Tom for another container.  "And how many times have I
asked you for trinuclide dioxypalate?  On a weekly basis.  So keeping
that in mind, does it really make sense to have what I almost never
use in the most accessible place while what I always use in a back
corner?  No."

He slammed them down onto the nearest shelf.  "Weren't you listening
to a word I told you before I sent you in here?  I want this place
better organized, not worse.  If you'd spend more time concentrating
on your duties--" His glare strengthened as Tom tried and failed to
suppress a yawn.  "And less time out at all night poker games, you'd
be doing something!  Now get out of my Sickbay and go to bed.  The
next time you come here, you'd better be awake and ready to work or
I'll be looking for another assistant.  One who knows enough to get
some sleep when he's not on duty and won't be constantly trying to
make trips to the replicator when he should be working."  As he said
the last words, he practically shoved Tom out of the storeroom and
Sickbay itself.

Too tired to storm back in there and deliver either an explanation of
his exhaustion or his thirst and hunger, Tom shuffled off down the
corridor towards the nearest turbolift.  His mind was focused only on
getting back to his quarters and the bed he had left all too soon the
day before.  So preoccupied was he, he practically ran over the
Captain when they both rounded the same corner from opposite
directions.  Both stopped dead in their tracks.  He because his head
suddenly was swimming and he needed to brace an arm against the
corridor wall to remain upright.  She because she had found the
unlucky one she sought.

"There you are," she pronounced with barely suppressed anger.  "I have
been looking for you.  I've been catching up on Away mission reports
from the last planet we visited.  I hadn't had the chance to read them
thanks to these ship-wide problems.  Care to guess which reports I'm
up to, Ensign?  Those of your Away Team.  Did I or did I not tell you
specifically not to interfere with the Ahotagaa culture?  Yes, some of
their practices are strange or unfair where the Grey Robe caste were
concerned, but everyone was told to respect them and avoid all contact
with the Grey Robes.  What do you do?  You not only abandon your Away
Team, but you directly disobey my orders and their customs and talk to
the Grey Robes.  Damnit, didn't you learn anything from the incident
with the Moneans?  Do I have to confine you to the ship every time we
meet a new culture?  Do I have to throw you back into the Brig for
another thirty days and hope the message gets through that thick skull
of yours this time?"

Dizzy spell passed and rising anger banishing the exhaustion, he
straightened and glared back at her.  "If you'd read *my* report you
would have found out that I was following my orders to the letter.  We
were almost finished our job when I saw a Grey Robe child nearly fell
off a cliff.  My Away Team had their tasks well in hand and didn't
need me there to babysit them.  However that child *did* need me.  She
would have died if I hadn't helped her down off that cliff and back to
her parents.  And yes, I did talk to them.  I couldn't do anything
else but talk to them when the parents and everyone else in their
party surrounded me.  And yes, I did tell them the Ahotagaa told us
not to talk to any Grey Robes that we might see and they were most
curious as to why.  Apparently the story the Ahotagaa gave us about
the Grey Robes not wanting to interact with outsiders was a lie.  The
Grey Robes may have slightly different culture, but they certainly
aren't the xenophobes the Ahotagaa want outsiders to believe they are.
They're a kind people who would love to get to know outsiders, but for
some reason the Ahotagaa won't let them.  So I called the rest of the
Away Team over when they'd finished their task and we talked to the
Grey Robes for a while.  That's all in my report."

He leaned a little closer to her, blue eyes angrily flashing.  "If you
had taken the time to listen to me back on their planet when I tried
to tell you about it, maybe you wouldn't have been so surprised when
you read our reports.  But no.  You were too busy being wined and
dined by the Ahotagaa leaders and flirting with them to take time to
listen to anyone."

"I was not flirting with them!"

"You were so, but who cares about that now?  What matters is you're
mad because yet again I didn't act like the dutiful and obedient
automaton you seem to want me to be.  You keep expecting me to be so
grateful to you for rescuing me from prison that I should act just
like your devoted little slave, never thinking for myself, never doing
anything unless you've told me it's okay first."

"I do not!"

"You do so!  If you don't believe me, ask Seven.  You treat us both
alike.  You tell us and everyone that you want the two of us to be our
own people, not be what others have branded us as -- a traitor, an
ex-con, an ex-Borg drone, whatever -- but you don't mean it.  When we
take some initiative and think for ourselves, you slap us down.  You
know what, Captain?  I for one had enough of that when I was growing
up.  I don't need that from you or the Doc or anyone else and I'm not
going to take it any longer.  If you're as dissatisfied as the Doc
with my job performance on this ship, then maybe you should just dump
me off on the next planet we stop at."  Not giving her time to
respond, Tom stalked two metres down the short corridor and to the
doors of the turbolift. "Or maybe I'll save you the trouble and just
remove myself from the situation--" Turbolift doors opened and he
stepped inside.  "Might as well since everyone seems to think I'm the
problem.  Deck Four."

The doors had shut and the lift begun to rise the one deck up to his
destination before he realized he was not alone.  Joe Carey was there,
staring at him, stunned.

"What?" Tom barked at the engineer.

"I can't believe you spoke to her like that.  She's the Captain.  She
can bust you down to crewman or worse if you keep it up.  You really
want to spend another thirty days or longer in the Brig?  Speaking on
behalf of the Engineering section and the rest of the ship in general,
we'd really appreciate it if you'd continue to be free to see a
certain Chief Engineer.  She was miserable when you were the Brig and
made the rest of us likewise before you finally got out. "

The doors opened, but Tom ignored them.  Instead he advanced on the
other man in the lift.  "And what difference does it make if I'm
incarcerated or not?  I never get to see her anyway."  He grabbed
Joe's uniform front in a grip so tight, the man wearing it thought the
nearly indestructible material might rip.  "Or if I do get to see her,
it's only to get interrupted five minutes later by one of her
subordinates who calls her away to handle some problem a first year
Engineering student could solve."

"Tom, it was a problem with the tricorder we were using to diagnose
the problem," Joe protested, knowing precisely the incident to which
the irate man was referring.  "It made it appear to be more serious
than it was.  I'm sorry your evening with her was ruined, but she had
ordered us to inform her if anything serious happened as we thought it
had.  When we'd figured it all out, she did go try to resume your
evening together.  At least when she put those red heels of hers back
on she said going back to the holodeck."

"Please disembark or state another destination," the ship's computer
requested.

Joe disentangled himself from Tom and brushed passed him and off the
lift.

But their argument did not seem to be over.  Once Tom had joined him
in the corridor, the pilot continued his tirade.  "Only when she got
back to the holodeck, it was almost twenty minutes after our time was
over and I'd gone back to my quarters.  She at least came there," he
admitted, "but the evening was as ruined as her dress."

Engineering's second-in-command closed his eyes.  "The grease."

"Yes, the grease.  Where the Hell she found grease, I don't know and I
don't care, but that dress was one I gave her as a present.  It and
the shoes cost me a month's worth of replicator rations and the dress
was ruined thanks to your tricorder problem."

"Tom--"

"That night was supposed to be special, Carey!  I'd been planning it
for weeks.  All of you knew that.  I remember telling *you*
specifically that nothing less than a warp core breach was to
interrupt us that night.  Then you and your problem come along and
ruin everything."

"But she did come back.  You two had the rest of the evening
together."

"Oh, yeah.  Some evening.  She comes into my quarters, looking like
she'd gone three rounds with a muddy targ and ranting and raving about
her staff's incompetence.  Really romantic.  It took me over an hour,
two week's worth of water rations, and all the bubble bath I'd
replicated for her last birthday to get her relaxed again.  Care to
guess what happened after that?"

"Tom, I'm not Seven.  I'm not really interested in the particulars of
your love life."

"Oh, Seven would have been plenty bored if she'd been disobeying the
Captain and observing us again.  B'Elanna fell asleep in the bathtub.
Our romantic evening ended with her asleep in my bed and me searching
the refresher's files to find some way to boost its cleaning abilities
so it would be able to remove the grease without damaging the dress
further.  The kind of romantic evening romance novelists write about."

"Tom, I'm sorry, but--"

Tom's voice dropped a full octave and  its volume halved.  "When the
source of these problems has been tracked down and dealt with I plan
to have that evening with her.  If I hear even one peep out of you or
anyone less than the Captain herself, they'll have to answer to me.
Got it?"

Speechless, Joe nodded.

"Good."

Walking off down the corridor, Tom sensed Carey glaring at his back.
He regretted losing his temper with Joe, especially since he knew the
man was just doing his job and sometimes that meant he had the right
to have first claim to B'Elanna's attentions.  Only that evening was
supposed to have been special.  Tom finally had worked up the courage
to broach the subject of marriage with her, and her being called away
then coming back angry and tense had negated his plans.  'The next
time, however, there are not going to be any interruptions if I can
help it,' he vowed, taking a calming breath.  'Then I'll apologize to
Joe and explain why I was so mad.'

The calm he had mustered at this thought vanished as he approached the
intersection of the corridor down which he was walking and the one in
which his quarters lay.  Walking through the intersection was a man he
had wanted to see.  He had hoped to do so later, after he had rested
and was ready for yet another confrontation, though now would have to
do. "Bristow!" he shouted and the fellow ensign stopped in his tracks
and looked at him.

"What?"

Coming abreast of him, Tom stopped too.  "You and I have to talk."

"Can't it wait?  I'm busy."

After a glance in all directions to see they were alone and Joe Carey
was far enough down the corridor not to hear them, Tom spoke.   "I
know about you and Harper."

Bristow stiffened.  "What about Harper and me?"

"I know you two are seeing each other."

"And what makes you think that?"

"I saw the two of you yesterday.  In the Jefferies tubes.  You want me
to tell you the section?"

A hostile look was the only response.

"Frankly, you should count yourself lucky it was only me who saw you
two and not Tuvok.  He was with me at the time, but I managed to
distract him so he didn't notice you two.  If he'd seen you, you two
would have been in so much trouble, even your legendary charm couldn't
have got you out of it."

"So I'm supposed fall down on my knees and thank you?"

"Hardly, Bristow.  What you are going to do is pick between them."

"Between whom?  Tuvok and Harper?  No contest."

"Between Harper and Dorado.  I overheard her not three hours later
telling Brooks that she had a date with you later and Brooks wasn't to
tell a soul and to cover for her if anyone asked.  Something about you
wanting to keep your relationship with her a secret.  Poor girl thinks
it's some kind of Romeo and Juliet thing.  All terribly romantic.  She
doesn't even suspect Harper's in the picture too.  I hadn't heard
through the grapevine that you were dating Harper or anyone for that
matter.  Did you give her the same 'let's keep things secret' line or
was that just a one time interlude between the two of you?"

"What's it to you, Paris?"

"They're my friends, Bristow.  They're both very nice girls and don't
deserve to be treated like this.  It'll break their hearts when they
find out they aren't the only one.  And don't think they won't find
out eventually.  It's a small ship.  Everyone finds out everything
sooner or later."

Bristow snorted derisively.  "You of all people are lecturing me on my
behaviour?  That's rich.  Tom Paris, male slut of Voyager, never met a
woman he didn't like, a lot.  You're lecturing me on dating one woman
at a time."

"My reputation was greatly exaggerated, Bristow, and I've never dated
more than one woman at a time.  Never.  Just remember this
conversation later, when Harper and Dorado have found out about your
extracurricular activities with the other."

"And when's that going to be?"  He grabbed Tom's uniform front in much
the same manner in which Tom had done to Carey only moments earlier.
"As soon as you tell them I'll bet?"

Applying pressure to two points on each of Bristow's wrists, Tom
forced the other man to relinquish his grip on the cloth.  "I'm not
going to tell either of them, anything," he hissed, tossing the wrists
aside and ignoring the way the other man instantly began rubbing the
feeling back into them.  "As I said, it would break their hearts.  No,
you're going to have to do the gentlemanly thing for once in your life
and chose one of them to concentrate on.  Just let the other one down
gently.  That's the only fair thing to do."

Had Seven of Nine not been coming down the corridor just then and
called out his name, Tom was sure Bristow would have continued the
argument, maybe even going to blows.  Seeing they were about to have
company evidently convinced him now was neither the time nor place for
that and he departed with only a glare at Tom.

Approaching each other from opposite direction, Seven reached Tom's
door a moment before he did.  "I'm tired, Seven," he groaned and
coughed a little as he keyed the door to open.

"My questions are important, Ensign," she insisted.

"Two minutes," he rasped, entering his quarters and immediately
crossing to the replicator.  "Water.  Room temperature," he ordered
from the device.  The instant it appeared, he gulped it down.  "Two
minutes, Seven."  The glass was set back in the slot with a clink and
he repeated the order and downed that too.  "Two minutes," he at last
repeated, "then I'm going to bed whether you're still here or not."

She had entered immediately behind him and now stood in the centre of
the sitting room.  "I want to discuss some reading that I have been
doing, Ensign."

"Seven, I am tired.  If you want someone to talk to, go find Neelix.
He'd love someone to talk to."

"But Mr. Neelix is not currently in a sexual relationship with anyone
and you are.  Though he could remark upon sexual frustration.  I have
no data on the frequency or his sexual encounters, but I do on that of
yourself and Lieutenant Torres.  Therefore, since my research
indicates you two have not been able to engage in sexual activity
since these malfunctions started, it is you I must ask for
clarification of the information on sexual frustration.  Is it really
as powerful a force as the literature claims or is it exaggerated?
And can the same be said for sexual intercourse when it finally is
resumed?"

"Get the Hell out!"

"But--"

"Out!"

"Ensign--"

"Now!  Or I'll call security!  And I'll tell the Captain you're spying
on us again."

The doors swished shut behind her retreating form and all was quiet.
Setting his alarm for 06h30, he stripped off his uniform and was about
to slide into bed when the soft sound of the doors alerted him to the
entrance of another visitor.


And it was just such another alert that dragged him back to the
present before he could relive the pain of what had followed.  Not
rousing from his chair, he turned his head to see who it was this
time.

---

The spies in the Security Office had lapsed into tense silence.
Chakotay valiantly had attempted to protest the Captain's innocence.
Tuvok informed him they had to table the discussion until later, when
all of the facts were in.  The First Officer had not liked this idea
though Tuvok's telling him to save it for later or they might miss Mr.
Paris' attacker returning had silenced him.  For a long while, they
had heard nothing.  It was doubtful the attacker would announce him or
herself when he or she entered.  It was far more likely he or she
would somehow let him or herself into the quarters to surprise the
victim and finish him off. Therefore they needed to be quiet and
listen for the soft sounds that would signal the perpetrator's return.
Eventually, their vigil was rewarded.

"What do you want," Tom sighed heavily after the doors had swished
open and someone presumably had entered.

"I want to talk," the Captain explained, plaintively.

In the Security office, Janeway's First Officer nearly dropped the
glass in his hand he was so shocked and her Security Chief leaned back
in his chair and met the other male's eyes with resignation.

"I think I said all I wanted to say, Captain," Tom was saying and
apparently he had risen and begun to walk away from the Captain if the
eavesdroppers accurately were interpreting the quiet sounds they were
hearing.  "I'm tired.  Please leave."

There were more footsteps on the carpet then Janeway's voice became
more audible to them.  Clearly she had moved closer to Tom Paris.
"But I haven't.  Please, Tom.  We need to talk about what happened."

"I don't want to--" He broke off in a coughing fit and a groan.

"Tom!"

"Let go of me!"

One of them backed off a few paces, though it was unclear which.

"Please, Tom.  You had major surgery only hours ago.  You can't go on
as though you're one hundred percent when you're not.  Here, let me
get you some water."

"I don't want any water.  I want to be alone."

"Tom, please."  It came out as an almost sob.  "Tom, I'm so sorry
about--"

"I don't want to talk about it!"

She evidently did as she refused to permit the matter to drop.
"Afterwards, I thought about it.  I even went to Seven."

The spies frowned at each other, confused.

"We ran into each other actually.  When I was coming here.  I never
was specific about why I was asking, I never mentioned your name or...
anything, but she echoed everything you said."

There was silence for a moment and when her voice came again, it was
louder as if she once again had invaded his personal space.

"Tom, I'm sorry.  I was wrong.  I've treated you horribly and I'm
sorry."

Taking that as an admission of guilt, Chakotay headed for the door of
the office.  He planned to go to Tom's quarters to perform the
distasteful task of arresting the Captain.  And he would have done it
too had it not been for the male whose actual duty it was to carry out
such a task telling for him to remain where he was.  About to object
further, Chakotay whirled around and was stopped in his tracks by
Janeway's next words.

"After I talked to Seven," she told Tom in a whisper, "I came here to
apologize for what I'd done only you weren't here.  All that was here
was the blood on the carpet and on the table edge.  And then the
Doctor called me to Sickbay and all I could think of was you'd tried
to kill yourself because of what I'd said."

She broke down completely then and for many minutes, this was the only
sound to be heard.  Then Tom spoke in a soft and equally emotional
voice.

"I'm sorry too," he whispered.  "I still mean everything I said, but
I'm sorry I yelled at you.  And that you got scared.  I was tired and
thirsty and the Doc had just finished reaming me out about not
stocking the storeroom shelves just the way he wanted and.... You just
came along at the wrong time and I lost it.  I'm sorry."

"I don't know what's got into me," she disapproved, sniffling.  "I'm
not usually all weepy like this."

A soft rustling sound was heard, then an ear-piercing squeal followed
by silence.  Once they had recovered their hearing, the pair in the
office became alarmed.

"Tuvok?" Chakotay groaned.

The Security Chief was hunched over the set up on his desk, tapping
out commands on the touchpad controlling it.  "There was feedback.  I
can neither find the cause not tap into the combadge."

"Did they hear that?"

"I disabled the receive function on the combadge I gave him so no,
they did not hear the unless it was on their end to begin with."

Chakotay ran around the desk and used the iffy internal sensors to
check Tom's vitals.  "He seems to be okay.  We still should get down
there." While he did not like the idea, the Captain still was a
suspect despite her strange conversation with Tom in which she
alternately cleared and incriminated herself.  Tom's own
less-than-fearful manner towards her also was confusing.  'He could
just have be thinking what she'd done was a one time thing and he had
nothing to fear from her,' he thought. 'That would explain his
relatively calm manner.  Hopefully he's right.'

Together the males rushed towards the doors.  They did not open.

"Engineering clearly hasn't found the source of the malfunctions,"
Tuvok said in something very close to anger.

"Chakotay to Engineering."

"Whatever it is, Commander, we're already swamped down here," Carey's
frazzled voice answered over the din of orders and instructions
everyone seemed to be shouting to one another.

"Tuvok and I are trapped in his office."

"How are you otherwise?  Environmental controls okay?"

"So far, yes."

"Then frankly, Commander, your situation's the least of our worries.
We have forcefields activating all over the ship.  Environmental
controls are yo-yoing.  We'll get to you when we can."

"Are the transporters online?"

"Yes, but they're in use transporting people out of the Mess Hall.
The gravity's off in there and the environmental controls are failing.
You'll have to sit tight where you are.  Carey out."

Tuvok tapped his combadge and called for the Security officers
assigned to the Paris case.  Each responded and offered the same
apology.  Though the four of them were secreted an empty quarters near
Tom Paris' quarters so they would be ready at a moment's notice to
respond to Tuvok's order to go protect the pilot, they were unable to
go the few metres down the corridor.  "We're sorry, Commander," Ayala
apologized on their behalf, "but we're stuck here.  The doors to this
room are open but there is a forcefield in place.  We're trapped.  We
tried beaming out, but transporters are--"

"All in use on more urgent matters, I know.  Tuvok out."

"What about the rest of Security?" Chakotay suggested.

"About to try that, Commander."

None of them were able to escape from wherever they were either.

"We have to find someone," grumbled Chakotay impatiently, "or Tom
might end up right back in Sickbay."

Tuvok turned to him and almost smiled.

---

Meanwhile, the two in Tom's quarters had not heard the squeal their
eavesdroppers had.  Tom was continuing the pacing he had been doing
along with the disrobing.  His grey turtleneck followed the flight
path the uniform jacket had taken only moments earlier.  It gently hit
the wall of the bedroom with a whisper of sound.  That was very unlike
the clatter the uniform jacket with the combadge attached had made.

"You've had a bad two weeks," Tom excused.  "We all have had a rough
time of it."

She touched his bicep.  "You most of all.  Who did this to you, Tom?"
she whispered, saying the words that would have gone a long way
towards Tuvok crossing her off of the suspects list had he heard them.

"I don't remember," he lied, shying away from her hand.

Her grey eyes followed him as he began scooping up the clothing strewn
about his bedroom and straightened his bedcovers.  "Tom, you're lying.
You always avoid looking me in the eye when you're lying."

"I'm tired, Captain.  I want to go to bed."

"Who are you protecting, Tom?  Why are you protecting them?  The
Doctor told me who Tuvok's suspects are, Tom.  Since he did not
mention it, the Doctor must not know I'm one them."

Aghast, Tom stared at her.

"Because I saw you in corridor and Joe Carey saw me."

"Who else does he suspect?" He took an anxious step towards her.
"Who?"

She ticked off the names on her fingers.  "Me.  Joe Carey.  Vorik.
Bristow.  Seven.  Neelix."

"Neelix?"

"Because he found you.  Tuvok's not crossing off anyone who had
contact with you immediately prior to your attack.  I'm not quite sure
how the Doctor escaped being lumped in with the rest of us, but he's
been excluded nonetheless."

"How'd he come up with his suspects if he's been keeping what happened
quiet?"

"DNA.  Either he found it here or on your uniform.  Or someone saw
someone with you like Joe Carey did with me."  Her eyes narrowed as he
turned away, thinking.  "Tom?  What's going on?  What are you
thinking?"

"Nothing," he dismissed, heading for the bathroom.

"You're lying again."  She followed him as far as the bathroom door
and watched him wash his face.  "I was watching you as I told you who
Tuvok had as suspects.  You didn't react to any of them."  She paused.
"That's because none of them was the one who hurt you," she whispered,
a light beginning to peek through the clouds.

Tom's eyes were blue chips of ice as they met hers in the mirror over
the sink.  "Drop it, Captain," he snapped.

She did not.  Her vision went inwards as she considered the situation.
While she was thinking, the Doctor rushed in, phaser in one hand,
medkit slung over the opposite shoulder.  He was almost disappointed
to find he had no use for either.

"What are you doing here?" Tom demanded.

The truth came out, either due to the EMH's confusion or because he
felt it was the best tack to take.  "Security was unable to come
protect you," he concluded.

"So you came instead?  To protect me from whom?  The Captain?"

"If necessary, yes."  He met the Captain's eyes.  "I was only just
informed you were a suspect," he reproached as if she should have
informed him herself of her status in this investigation.

"I don't understand why Tuvok's got it in his head that she's suspect
material.  She's not the one who did this so both of you just leave."

"You were right, Doctor," Janeway blurted out.  "None of Tuvok's
suspects did it.  I told Tom who they were and he didn't so much as
bat an eyelash in surprise."

The phaser lowered.  "None of them?"

"None.  They were the only DNA traces here, right?"

"I told you to drop it, Captain," Tom repeated angrily.  "Drop all of
this and leave."

"Yourself and Vorik were either seen in the vicinity or with Mr.
Paris," the EMH answered her.  "Carey, Seven of Nine, and Bristow left
DNA traces here.  They were the only fresh ones left behind.  Other
than Lieutenant Torres of course," he added for accuracy.

Suddenly, all of the pieces of the puzzle no one had been able to fit
together slid into place for the Captain and she had the horrifying
answer to this mystery.  And Tom Paris knew she had it if any
inference could be made from the strangle hold he had on the towel he
had just used to dry his face.

"There was someone Tuvok discounted because she's always here," she
whispered to Tom, "whether you're here or not.  Someone who anyone
would expect should not have had any reason to hurt you, Tom."

"Don't," Tom warned, taking a step towards her.

"B'Elanna.  She's strong enough to do what happened to you.  She has a
small enough fist to fit the imprint.  And she's the only person on
this ship that you would protect with this much anger.  She hurt you,
didn't she?  Didn't she?"

The moment of indecision Tom experienced was enough to convince her
she was right.

"What happened, Tom?" she asked in her most maternal tone.

"Nothing happened," he growled down at her from his superior height.
"Neither you nor Tuvok has any evidence against her so just drop it."

She was not intimidated.  "Tom, shielding her isn't right.  If she
hurt you--"

"She didn't.  I don't remember anything that happened so leave it
alone."

"Don't lie to me, Tom.  She attacked you for some reason and now
you're protecting her."  Her anger was rising with every denial from
Tom.  "I know you love her, but refusing to identify her as the one
who--"

"And I will keep refusing until you promise to forget this crazy idea
of yours and leave us alone!"

"I can't do that, Tom.  If she was able to do this to you once, she's
able to do it again.  Next time, she might just kill you."

"She won't--"

"What happened? She's lost her temper with you before and never done
anything like this."  A look of horror came over her features.  "That
we know of," she whispered to herself.  "Has she, Tom?"  She demanded.
"I know you have a medkit of your own.  I came in here one day when
you were repacking it, remember.  Did you fix up whatever damage she'd
done to you so no one ever would know what she'd been doing?"  The
horror returned.  "Has she been hurting you on a regular basis, Tom?"

"No, she has not!  Yes, I have a medkit of my own.  It is for
emergencies and when B'Elanna and I... get a bit Klingon.  And yes, I
have used it on occasion."

"And how often have you had to go to the Doctor because the
instruments in the kit have been inadequate?"

"A few," he begrudged.

"Doctor?"

Stunned, the EMH stared at Tom for another moment or two, then he went
to Tom's desk to use the computer to call up the pilot's medical file.
Even after he had narrowed down the injury list to those sustained
during the approximate length of time Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres
had been dating, the list was long.

"According to my notes, there have been seventeen incidents in which I
have had to heal your injuries and had filed them as inadequately
explained injuries."  He turned to the Captain.  "But even if she had
been the one who hurt him yesterday, she wouldn't have just abandoned
him, lying there on the carpet, bleeding to death.  No matter how mad
at him she was, she would have seen he was hurt and immediately called
for medical attention for him."  He considered what he had said.  "Of
course it is possible she was preoccupied and didn't know he was hurt
badly. Mr. Paris and Lieutenant Torres are the only ones who can
answer that."

She gave Tom an imploring look.  "Tom, tell me I'm wrong.  Tell me who
really attacked you."

"I don't remember," he stubbornly repeated.

"Please, Tom, I know you're lying.  Just tell me the truth, good or
bad, and we'll deal with it."

"All you have is an hypothesis, Captain.  You've already admitted
Tuvok can't find enough evidence to pin this on anybody.  Without my
testimony, the odds are slight any one will ever be charged with
anything.  And I will keep telling you that I don't remember
anything."

"Tom--"

"You know it's totally possible that I did it to myself somehow and
the guilty party stands before you."

The Doctor had to object to this.  "Mr. Paris, there is no way you
could have inflicted your injuries.  The trajectory is all wrong and
your fists are too large to match the imprint your attacker left.
While I do find it highly unlikely Lieutenant Torres would injure you
to such a degree, she does possess fists small enough to match, though
she is too short for the angle at which the fist had to have made
contact."

The Captain shook her head.  "Remember what Neelix said in Sickbay?
He saw B'Elanna in the corridor wearing a short black dress and high
heels at the time of the attack.  I know that outfit.  I saw it once.
Those are very high, stiletto heels.  They give her more than enough
height to get the angle right.  Why was she all dressed up if not to
come see you, Tom?"

The man glared at her.  "So she was in high heels and she came here.
She was out of fresh uniforms, her refresher's on the blink, and she
remembered she'd left one here.  She put on the only clean outfit she
had and came to get her clothes.  So what?"

"But the uniform's still here.  I can see it right now, laying in the
refresher over there."

"So she was called back to Engineering before she could change.  Tuvok
can't have anyone who saw her hurt me or he'd have arrested her by
now.  As for not having done this to myself  -- maybe I was on the
holodeck just prior to being hurt.  Maybe I got hurt and asked the
computer to beam me to Sickbay and ended here instead thanks to the
glitches."

"Mr. Tuvok has numerous witnesses who admit to having seen you, in
here, only minutes prior to Mr. Neelix discovering you," the Doctor
informed him.  "True, you could have beamed from here to the Holodeck
and back again, but it would have meant you had been injured almost
immediately upon entering the holodeck.  And with the problems
Voyager's having, I doubt you would have been so foolhardy as to risk
using the transporters merely to get to the Holodeck faster than you
would have walking.  Then there is the problem of you being in your
underwear when Mr. Neelix found you.  Why would you have gone to the
Holodeck like that?  Or why would you have taken the trouble to
disrobe when you returned here from the Holodeck when it would have
made more sense to remain dressed and go to Sickbay on foot?"

"The logistics might be difficult," he granted, "but they are
possible.  If they're possible, I can't very well insist charges be
pressed against someone when it might very well turn out to be me
who's the guilty one.  So if there are no charges, you two and Tuvok
need to go find something else to occupy your time.  I'm sure the
Delaneys are up to something right now.  Why don't you go find out
what it is?"

"We cannot just forget about this, Mr. Paris.  You nearly died."

"But I didn't, did I?"

"Tom," Janeway tried in her most calming tone, "if B'Elanna did do
this to you of all people, then what's to stop her from doing it to
someone else?"

"If B'Elanna did this then it had to have been provoked."

"Let's drop the 'if she did this.'  We know she did it and you know
it, too."

"You suspect, but you don't know or you wouldn't be here.  You'd be
wherever she is right now, arresting her."

Janeway gave him her patented stare.

"Fine.  If you wish to labour under a misconception, that's your
business.  But don't you dare mention one word of this to B'Elanna or
anyone else or I'll deny every word."

"Tom, B'Elanna needs help.  For her to do this to you--"

"If she did this, Captain, I would have brought it on myself.  Maybe I
said something I knew I shouldn't have but did anyway.  Maybe I was
too tired so my reflexes weren't what they usually are and couldn't
block her punch.  Maybe she didn't even realize what she had done.
Maybe she left so fast and was so angry that what she'd done never
even registered.  Maybe a lot of things."

"That *is* what happened, isn't it?  What could you possibly have said
to her to make her treat you like this?"

"I am only suggesting one line of thinking, not saying that's what
happened because it didn't."

"Mr. Paris, what she did...." The Doctor searched for the words to
express what he wanted to say.  "It amounts to abuse.  She needs
serious help if she's been abusing you.  Serious help for her and
protection from her for you or she just might kill you next time
whether she's meaning to or not.  Captain, I suggest you have
Lieutenant Torres taken into custody.  Commander Chakotay should join
Mr. Tuvok in counselling her to--"

"You try to arrest her and I'll--" In his anger, Tom dropped the
pretence and stopped talking in terms of "if she had done it."  "Look,
she didn't mean it!  She lost her temper, yes.  Because of all of
these problems we're having lately, everyone is on edge.  B'Elanna's
just a little more so than others since she's the Chief Engineer and
everyone's looking to her for solutions and she has none.  It's
frustrating for her.  Voyager's her baby.  Not knowing what's wrong
with her is driving her crazy.  You know what that's like, Doc, what
it's like not being able to diagnose a patient's illness and treat it
so it never comes back."

"This is not quite the same situation, Mr. Paris."

"Yes, it is, except if you can't diagnose and treat a patient, usually
only that patient will die.  If B'Elanna can't diagnose and treat
Voyager, all of us will die.  Your patient's dying would be hard on
you, but all of us dying or having to abandon ship before it can kill
us that would be far worse for B'Elanna.  This ship, her position as
Chief Engineer, they are so important to her.  More important than
anything."

"More important than even you, Tom?" the Captain interjected.  "What
she did to you--"

"She loves me.  She'd never intentionally hurt me!"

"That is what most victims in abusive relationships say, Mr. Paris,"
the EMH argued.

"Abusive?!  B'Elanna is not abusing me.  It was an accident."

"Once is an accident, Mr. Paris."  He consulted the medical file that
he had left open on the computer screen.  "Fourteen broken clavicles.
Twenty-seven broken ribs.  Two broken arms.  Two concussions."  He
looked at Tom.  "I could go on, but I won't.  I will say, however,
that those are only the injuries I know about.  I have no accurate
record of the any you may have healed yourself, but I am certain there
are more. None of these injuries were accidents despite your attempts
to discount them to misadventures on the holodeck or clumsiness."

"She's half-Klingon and I won't discuss our personal life with any of
either of you.  It's none of your business."

"It becomes our business, Tom, when you're found lying on your
quarters' floor in a pool of blood," the Captain informed him.
"B'Elanna maybe half-Klingon, but while a full blooded or half-Klingon
could survive her tempers and the physicality of your relationship,
I'm worried you won't.  You're just human, Tom."

"And what about everything that's happened to her, huh?  You want to
catalogue all the injuries she's incurred on me.  Well, what about the
ones to her?"

The EMH shook his head.  "She has sustained her fair share, yes, but
nothing of the magnitude of yours or frequency."

"Only because her bone structure's a little stronger than mine.  She's
been right there with me when most of these injuries have happened.
If her mother weren't Klingon, you'd have been treating B'Elanna just
as often as me, if not more."

The Captain laid a hand on Tom's shoulder.  "But she is what she is,
Tom, and we have to deal with what is happening.  If things keep going
as they are, she might actually kill you next time."

"Admittedly, our sex life can get a bit... enthusiastic, but it could
never get that--"

"But we aren't talking about your sex life this time, Mr. Paris," the
Doctor interrupted.  "From what you said, she came through the door to
your quarters, you asked her about her day and she exploded, you
ending up right there, bleeding to death."  He pointed to the place
where the stain had been on the carpet.  "She's had a frustrating few
days, yes, but she had no right to take it out on you, verbally or
physically."

Tom shook off Janeway's hand.  Until now his gaze had been a mixture
of pleading for understanding and of frustration at not finding it.
Now it was one of cold fury.  "B'Elanna is my mate and I am hers," he
bit out, looking at each of them in turn.  "Through bad, good, and in
the between.  I knew what I was getting into when I started seeing her
and I accepted that willingly.  I refuse to listen to you accuse her
of horrible things like this.  I know her.  I know what she's like.
She loves me and would lay down her life for mine and I for hers.
She'd never intentionally hurt me and that's the end of this
discussion."

Not for the Doctor obviously.  "But she did--"

"It wasn't *intentional!*  I provoked her.  I know not to ask her
about her day or say anything work related when she has that look on
her face.  I know Engineering has had a monstrous few days.  I should
have kept my mouth shut, but stupidly I didn't.  So this is my fault.
Not hers.  I brought the anger to the surface.  Not her."

"Mr. Paris, listen to yourself.  'You did this.'  'You did that.'
*She* hurt *you* yet you're trying to take all the blame for it,
trying to assume total responsibility for *her* actions.  She is a
separate person from you.  She--"

"She's my mate," he said in a low voice.  "She isn't a separate
person.  She's an extension of me and vice versa."

"But she still has free will of her own.  She has to be held
responsible for her own actions.  No one else, not even her mate can
take that from her.  Whether you want to hear it or not, she needs
help before her anger gets the better of her again and she kills you
or someone else. You know that.  Are you going to help us help her?"

"If she needs any help, I can give it to her.  I understand her.  You
don't."

"Tom, you cannot do this alone," insisted Janeway.  "You two have been
a couple for over a year now and look at everything your file says has
happened to you already.  You are not part of the solution right now.
Nor are you part of the problem.  I do not know quite what your exact
role in all this would be called, but you *are* the victim certainly."

"Victim!"

"That is what one calls the person who is on the receiving end of
abuse."

"She's not abusing me!"

"Everything fits the criteria."

"We're a bit... passionate in our sex life and you--"

"Passionate is what you two were when those aliens were experimenting
upon the crew months ago and Tuvok caught you two on the upper level
in Engineering.  'Savage' is the word I'd use for this."

"Whatever word you want to use, both of us are.  It's not the case
that one of us is forcing the other to do anything we don't want."

"And what happened to you last evening?  Did you want that?"

"That was a different matter entirely."

"But connected none the less."

"You don't understand," he almost whined.  "The two *aren't*
connected.  You're taking one incident and combining it with others
when you shouldn't be.  What happened yesterday and other injuries
from the past are *not* related except in your minds.  I know how Our
relationship is and it is nothing like what you are trying to equate
it with."

He sighed angrily.  "Yes, we sometimes get over-enthusiastic and
something gets broken or someone gets a little hurt.  And, yes, there
are times we should be supplying earplugs and sedatives to Deck Nine,
Section Twelve.  But none of that is abuse.  Bluntly put, it's rough
sex.  There.  I admit it.  By many humans' standards, we're kinky
since physical pain sometimes does place a part in our sex life.  But
we are consenting adults and can choose to do whatever we want.  What
we may do from time to time given our moods doesn't belong in the same
category as what happened last night.  If you want to call last night
abuse, fine. But don't try to connect it to all those injuries the Doc
just rattled off and claim they show a pattern of abuse because it
won't hold up."

The EMH attempted to interrupt.  Tom would not permit it.

"Some of them were sustained when B'Elanna wasn't even on the same
deck!  They were done when I was up to what Tuvok delightfully terms
'mischief.'  Of course I couldn't have admitted how I'd really been
hurt because I'd be incriminating myself."

He crossed his arms, defiance radiating from him.  "So if you want to
chew B'Elanna out over last night, something I'm willing to bet you
anything she doesn't even remember because she was so preoccupied
talking to Ashmore about some recurrent Engineering problem, go right
ahead.  Send her to more counselling sessions with Tuvok or Chakotay.
Just don't try to get her for more than last night or you'll have a
fight on your hands.  And you can guess which side I'll be on."

Some of Tom's argument seeped through the Captain's anger.  "Fine,"
she at last begrudged.  "We will concentrate on the incident of last
night alone.  But you will have to tell her exactly what happened,
including how closely you came to dying.  You're right in saying she
wouldn't believe us if we told her, but she will believe you.  And
she'll be expected to double her weekly sessions with Tuvok and start
seeing Chakotay once a week as well."

Tom clearly wanted to object.  Then he thought better of it.  The deal
she was proposing was going to be difficult on both B'Elanna and
himself.  He knew how devastated she was going to be and how it was
going to kill him to be the one to inflict such pain on her.  However
it was better than the alternative Janeway no doubt had in mind if he
refused -- B'Elanna being brought up on charges and all of his past
injuries treated as a pattern of abuse thus sustaining the charge
despite his objections.

"I'll tell her, but only if we keep this quiet," he counter-proposed.
"Right now no one outside of you two, Neelix, Tuvok, and Chakotay
actually know what happened to me--"

"And the Security team Tuvok has helping him knows.  I don't know how
much he told them.  Ayala certainly knows since he was the one
guarding you in Sickbay. "

"Then you find out who knows what, Captain, and get them to agree to
keep quiet.  That's the deal."

It was the Captain's turn to chafe under the details of the agreement.
At last, she nodded and stuck out her hand.  Tom was just shaking it
to seal the "gentlemen's agreement" when the doors flew open and for
the second time, people brandishing weapons burst in.  Chakotay's
phaser wavered first, then Ayala's then Tuvok's.  None of them
holstered their weapons until the deal Tom and the Captain had forged
and why had been fully explained to them.

Needless to say, Chakotay was disbelieving at first, but acceptance
came in time.  Tuvok, and to a degree Ayala, were dissatisfied with
the resolution to the case, yet had to accept it as Janeway had given
her word and Tom was going to hold her to it.

Ten minutes later, everyone left, Tuvok taking his defective combadge
with him at Tom's insistence.  The pilot had not been pleased when he
had guessed the method by which Tuvok had been monitoring his quarters
and known to send the EMH and later themselves, armed and ready to
attack.  The group then left him, alone and scowling, both over their
high-handed tactics and what he had to do as soon as B'Elanna arrived
in answer to the messages he had sent to her workstation and quarters'
computers after she had failed to answer her combadge.  Thankfully
for all concerned, she still knew nothing of his recent trip to
Sickbay, as she had been working alone in various Jefferies tubes over
the past day and a half.  Apparently no one aboard was brave or stupid
enough to risk telling her the rumours of his problems for fear they
just might be the one she lashed out at first.  For once, B'Elanna
prickly reputation was working in their favour.  Things were going to
be hard enough without her coming through his doors with preconceived
ideas as to what had happened to him and who was responsible.

It was a long twenty minutes later that she did arrive, dishevelled of
hair and clothing.  Without waiting to be let in, she opened the doors
herself and tiredly walked toward where he sat in an armchair.  She
settled herself in his lap, head on his shoulder, and he savoured the
moment before starting to fulfil his end of the bargain with the
Captain and the others.  He knew once he had, a moment like this would
be a long time in coming.  So he held her tight, pressed a kiss to her
brow, then began to bring her world crashing down around her and his
own with it.

-------

fini?