Title: A Whisper to a Scream, part four Author: Judith Medina Email: odogoddess@aol.com Size: 17K Rating: R Codes: A, F; C/T Teaser: Set just after Faces, B'Elanna is set on enjoying her new-found - though short-lived - 'humanity'. That Annoying Author's Note You Can Ignore: Okay! I penned this fanfic and it was zine-published first season, just after the episode "Faces", so it's a tad dated, but (hopefully) still interesting. It came about as a response to subtle clues in the complex relationship Torres and Chakotay seemed to have early on; a teasing one of complete understanding and complete respect for each others strengths...and weaknesses. There was also a foreshadowing of the attraction B'Elanna is shown to have for him, which she has since transferred to a man, IMO, more in keeping with her fiery temper and background: Tom Paris. And I feel the P/T relationship stands a good chance at the long haul. But this story was written first season... remember? DISCLAIMER: This non-profit material was produced out of love for Star Trek: Voyager and is not intended to infringe upon the Star Trek copyrights of Viacom, Paramount Pictures Corporation, nor those of any other legal holders of Star Trek copyrights, in this or any other universe... ---------------------------------- A Whisper To A Scream by Judith Medina (OdoGoddess@aol.com) It was actually four days from the primary DNA infusion in which B'Elanna experienced her first symptom of change. She had spent two days with vague feelings of unease which she concluded were caused by stress rather than an indication of any physical response to the infusion procedure. Most of it stemmed from the fact that Chakotay worked more than his usual shift and they barely saw each other. The third day she'd come down with a fever which had made her feel tired and out of sorts. Chakotay had stayed beside her, brought her endless cups of tea and sponged her heated cheeks and arms to make her comfortable. His calm ministrations had been as soothing as his presence. They had made love more than once that day, despite her condition. Or maybe because of it, she decided later, since the fever was so obviously an indication that the great and irrevocable change approached. The next morning, she'd woken with a start to slap away an intruder's hand which turned out to be Chakotay, who was gently tracing the tender ridges which had sprouted on her forehead, literally overnight. Her entire face ached and her teeth felt as if they did not fit together quite right. "Please don't touch me," she told him, then stilled at the deeper, more resonant sound of her voice. Momentarily transfixed with intermixed fear and shame and an inexpressible sense of loss, she'd touched her face, closed her eyes and utterly refused Chakotay's efforts to comfort her as she wept. =/\= * * * =/\= * * * =/\= "So I take it Lieutenant Torres will be back to speed sometime in the next two days? I'll be glad to have her back in Engineering." Captain Janeway's tone was off-hand, this datum merely something to be tucked away after being relegated to the orderly filing system she maintained in her own mind. Chakotay bristled at this presumption, about to speak and suggest to the Captain that after a harrowing mission in which B'Elanna had been physically changed and upon her return being made to change again, and worse, being made to change into something she did not wish to be, might require rather more sensitivity than a quick and ill-considered return to duty, when another voice beat him to it. "Captain, if I may point out," the Doctor's pedantic voice essayed from the terminal interface which was his customary position during these senior staff meetings. "Lieutenant Torres will likely require more time off than merely that in which to complete the infusion procedure. She has, after all, undergone a quite radical physical change which placed great mental as well as physical stress upon her, not just once but twice, in a very short period of time. Placing her so quickly back on duty is ill-advised." Janeway considered this without expression, then she nodded, "Noted, Doctor. However, I surmise the Lieutenant prefers to keep busy rather than brood over matters. Still, I am not insensitive and I will leave the matter up to her. If she feels she needs more time, I will, of course, provide her with it. And if she'd rather get right back to work, I will accommodate her." The Captain turned to Tuvok, "Now, Mr. Tuvok, if you would be so kind as to provide the senior staff with your evaluation of this, our second encounter with these Vidiians..." =/\= * * * =/\= * * * =/\= She appeared much as she had when he'd first met her, Chakotay realized as B'Elanna stalked out of her cabin's bathroom. Her stride was familiar, graceful and predatory. The extra-muscle layers were also back, he noted, able to since she only wore a robe, having obviously enjoyed a hot shower. Wisps of steam rose from her collarbones, the wet skin gleaming in a manner which he found incredibly arousing. "I...I came to tell you...you, uh...don't have to return...quite so, uh...soon, B'Elanna..." His throat caught on anything else he might have wanted to say. Chakotay had intended to inform her that Lieutenant Carey had completed a warp core re-alignment and that if she desired some extra time off- duty he could readily give it to her. Instead he found B'Elanna stepping up to face him, utterly unconcerned with his temporary insensibility. In fact, she seemed amused. She was. Throughout the day she had found herself moving with ease again, with confidence. Her body felt like it was once again her own, rather than a strangers. She knew this body. Suddenly, she found herself filled with a yearning to know his again...in this body. She snatched up his hand, smelled his palm deeply, which action caused a flood of memories for the suddenly aroused Commander of their first time together. It was what she intended, he realized; a way of reclaiming what her new-old body declared by its very configuration. Then she was in his arms. "I want you, Chakotay," B'Elanna intoned with dark sensuality. Commander's voice faltered as she began to open his uniform with quick, efficient fingers. Those self-same, now roughened fingers administered a harsh caress along his torso, slipping down to encircle him and making him groan. "B'Elanna..." "I want you, Chakotay," she repeated thickly, taking his hand and bringing him down to his knees in her living area, sinking down on the floor, then hauling him down atop her, half his uniform still on. The air in the room was cold, the floor colder, their position was not entirely comfortable and the tips of his boots dug small whorled tufts into the carpeting, but neither of them noticed these facts until much, much later. =/\= * * * =/\= * * * =/\= "Good to have you back, sir." Lieutenant Carey's voice sounded completely sincere, although privately B'Elanna had doubts as to its authenticity despite the fact that she nodded her thanks for the gesture he'd probably made out of politeness. _Well, what do you expect? You broke the man's nose, for goodness sake!_ She snorted derisively, still unconvinced that her little off-hand cuffing could have broken Carey's nose. It broke when he fell because he was too uncoordinated to stop the fall. This was her belief in the matter, if anyone had asked, but no one did. The rumors regarding her temper had grown amazingly in the short time the Maquis had been aboard the starship. This was little surprise, since among the Maquis, the rumors of her temper and her fighting ability were legendary and only partly due to the nickname which they'd learned the meaning of and which Chakotay had quickly taken to using at odd and private times. _Relampaga, eh, Chakotay?_ She smiled slightly, a little sad now as she recalled the way he'd said that right before her first tryst with him. They hadn't bothered waiting until they reached the Badlands in their Maquis ship, merely going to a dark corner of the cargo bay and never minding that any passing Maquis could hear... or watch. It had been wonderful. He had been wonderful. Was that because they'd nearly died that day or because she truly felt more for him than she cared to admit, she wondered. _And you've almost died now twice since coming to this Quadrant. Well, if the bloody Caretaker didn't kill me with his manipulations and the diseased Vidiians didn't kill me with their damnable phage, then there's a reason for all I've been through. There's a reason to my survival._ "What the hell could that be," she murmured now under her breath. "What the hell could what be, B'Elanna?" The amused voice made her turn with a start and she was faced with the all-too-Human face of Tom Paris, randy pig of a Lieutenant. _Just look who's saying the engine's overheated...!_ Her face flushed, although with her Klingon complexion, the increased blood flow did not register. "What do you want, Paris?" She asked now between gritted teeth. His toothy smile dimmed slightly and he sighed. "I just dropped in before my shift to wish you a welcome back, but I guess you're busy." He turned on his booted heels and began to stride out of Engineering. As he turned the corner, B'Elanna was suddenly visited with the image of the man who had endured capture with her, even tried to fight off a Vidiian who took her back to the barracks in the grubby mining compound and more important, listened to her fears and tried to calm her when she'd been frightened and sick and faced with the prospect of imminent death. _Why do I do things so...abruptly?_ She sighed now as well and took off on a trot after him. "Lieutenant!" She hailed as soon as she got around the corner, ignoring the curious looks from the Engineering crew who stopped momentarily to see what had made her shout. This was partly because most thought she was yelling at Carey and were expectantly waiting for one of their typical full out, shouting thrash- meets which occurred with dreary regularity in the Engine room. For a brief moment, which she would analyze later in the privacy of her room, B'Elanna Torres scolded herself for allowing her reputation to grow in this negative manner. _After all the times Captain Janeway's warned you about your indiscretions..._ Paris stopped in his tracks, surprised by her shout as much as by the expression on her face as she stepped up to him. An uncertain smile half-hovered over his mouth as he nodded and responded in a kind and quieter tone of voice. "Lieutenant...?" To his further surprise, he suddenly realized that B'Elanna's expression was not one of entreaty, but of regret. She was oddly breathless when she reached him and despite himself, he reached out both hands and steadied her. The fact that he'd never done so before except in the Vidiian mining compound when they'd both been Human did not enter his mind. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asked her gently. She shook her head. "I'm fine, I'm just..." She stopped, suddenly at a loss for words. _Just like before, B'Elanna, as inelegant and ineloquent as ever._ "It's just I wanted to say thank you, Tom. For what you said down on the moon, for helping me, and... and that, that I'm glad we both made it out of there." The shy smile that punctuated this rambling statement completely undid Tom's resolve and he smiled broadly and brought B'Elanna to him for a quick, close hug, a gesture of friendship so completely unconscious and unabashed in its execution that despite her surprise she could not help but respond with a brief tightening of her own arms. When he released her he slid his hands down to her own and gripped them tight. His whisper was equally tight. "I'm glad, too." Then he let her hands go, flashed her a boyish grin, and turned on his heels, headed for the turbolift. =/\= * * * =/\= * * * =/\= As B'Elanna left Sickbay from her final infusion session, Tuvok approached her in the hallway, his dark face as impassive as ever. She had not seen him since her arrival on the ship nearly ten days ago and he looked the same as always. B'Elanna suspected he would look this self-same way when she died of old age still striving to get this ship and it's remaining crew or their descendants back to the Delta Quadrant. She rarely let the thought bother her, but suddenly the passage of time grew enormously in the space between herself and Tuvok in this otherwise deserted corridor of a ship which was over seventy-five years from home. It was a return voyage she would not be likely to complete, but which was merely a delay in the life of the man who stood in front of her and she blinked to clear her somewhat dismal thoughts. "Tuvok. It's good to see you again," she said politely, even inclining her head in the approved Vulcan fashion. He followed suit, although his expression did not change. "It is equally gratifying to see you, Lieutenant." He extended a computer disc to her which she simply looked at for a moment. It was something out of character for the Vulcan Security Chief to give her anything unless it was some form of work and she did not feel at all up to a supplementary job right now. He did not pull his hand back, simply explaining, "It is from Mr. Durst." This had the opposite reaction from what the Vulcan intended, causing B'Elanna to withdraw even further and he frowned now. "Is something wrong, Lieutenant?" "Durst?" Her voice was dry and tight. "Yes. As Chief of Security, part of my job entails seeing to their personal effects," Tuvok patiently replied, becoming aware of what was causing the young woman's reluctance. In this case, it was the irrational fear of touching something which had belonged to a dead man which plagued B'Elanna, he knew. It was a groundless if understandably humanoid reaction caused by their own fear of dying. Of course, as a security officer, he had come to learn that those humanoids with little or no fear of death were those which seemed to cause the most trouble of all to their fellow men and women and added now without a pause in his mental ruminations, "Mr. Durst's memorial service took place during your recuperation, one week ago. He left instructions that this be given you on the event of his death." He angled the disc up closer to her eye level and she finally closed her fingers around it, taking it, although she did not examine it yet. She merely nodded at Tuvok. "Thank you, Tuvok," then she shrugged. "I'm sorry." The Vulcan tilted his head. "For what are you sorry, Lieutenant?" "I'm sorry Durst is dead," she replied simply, feeling completely inadequate in her ability to truly explain the magnitude of feelings which swept over her, but also unable to simply let the moment pass. The man was dead and dead because of her. She did not know why she felt this way, but knew with a rock-solid certainty that it was so. It was also something she would never tell another soul despite the fact that the feeling would continue to haunt her at odd times throughout her entire life. Tuvok seemed to take this with equanimity; he merely assumed this was yet another example of the humanoid predilection to express regret over their own mortality by solemnizing another's death. So he simply nodded and responded, "As am I. He was an able crewman." Tuvok turned back and headed down the hallway to the turbolift at the end of it, fully intending to notate his daily log, assign shifts for his department for the upcoming two weeks and then submit his daily report to the Captain before turning in for evening meal which he was fully expecting to be hot mushroom soup a-la-Neelix and a cup of herbal tea, as the Talaxian cook had cheerfully informed him earlier in the day. Therefore, he did not notice B'Elanna still standing in the hallway as if rooted to the spot, clutching the disc with a troubled look on her face. =/\= * * * =/\= * * * =/\= 2B cont'd