[Extra Warning: Violence between two people of different sexes. Some people aren't comfortable with Male on Female (or visa versa) violence, and some people may think I'm being too PC but whatever.]
B'Elanna pulled her arm back, shot it forward and struck Tom Paris square in the face. Somehow, though, his face wasn't quite where she thought it was. Her knuckles hit him inches below where she was aiming, sending him backwards all the same. She tried to sit up, still feeling less than steady, but not nearly as weak and dizzy as she had when she was standing up.
Suddenly, Paris was back in her line of sight. She didn't have time to do anything before she found his hand closed over one of her wrists. He slammed her back down against the bio-bed, reaching for her other wrist with his free hand. She squirmed beneath him, trying to stretch her arm out of his reach, imagining the kind of hurt that came with having a broken limb touched.
Grabbed and squeezed, for that matter.
When his fingers closed around her broken wrist, agony shot through her arm and her blurry vision flickered red. She was vaguely aware of a scream emitting from her throat, everything external secondary to the pain she was feeling.
And he wasn't letting go.
He was looking at her with a confused expression on his bruised face, but he wasn't letting go.
She thrashed around, trying to kick or knee her way free.
That only made him hold tighter.
She stopped moving. Aware she was still screaming and unable to stop, she tried to communicate her situation to him, tossing her head towards her right arm. That made her vision blur again, but at least it alerted him to what he was doing.
His eyes landed on her wrist and his grip loosened substantially. The agony subsided, but the pain remained.
"Let go," she ordered between clenched teeth.
"Don't hit me," he responded, actually managing to look wounded at her request.
"Okay," she lied.
Well, it wasn't really a lie. She wasn't going to hit him with her hand.
He let go and she drew her wrist away from him, wincing. She glared up at him.
"What did you do to the Doctor?" he asked, glaring back at her with just as much anger.
"What Doctor?" she retorted.
While he regarded her face with fury, he wasn't watching her legs.
So, she arched upward and caught him in the groin with her knee.
He let go of her other wrist instantly, a guttural sound escaping his throat.
She shoved him away from her and he rolled of the bio-bed. She couldn't resist the smugness that came over her when she heard the thud as he landed. That was twice he'd interfered with her. Damn straight he deserved it.
He deserved a number of other things, too.
But, she didn't have time.
B'Elanna sat up, unimpeded this time. She felt remarkably better, though nowhere near completely recovered. Sitting up was a battle against gravity.
But Sickbay was not spinning.
It was a little out of focus, but it wasn't spinning.
As long as it wasn't spinning, she could manage.
She needed to find something to suppress the remaining effects of the sedatives. The first thing that entered her mind was the so-called 'upper' she'd occasionally had to take to get through life back when she was still making an effort at the Academy. She climbed carefully off the bio-bed-on the side Paris was not lying on-and stood up slowly.
The world tilted a little, and she grabbed the edge of the bio-bed until it righted itself. She walked purposefully toward one of the consoles, stepping over the patients on the floor.
The thought occurred to her that without the sedative laden air, the patients would probably be awakening pretty soon.
Most of them were Starfleet.
She had to hurry.
She wouldn't have time to treat her wrist, but a painkiller certainly wouldn't hurt. First, though, she would clear her system of the sedative.
Hurriedly, if clumsily, she filled a hypospray with the narcotic. She raised it to her neck and was just about to inject it when a voice stopped her.
"Torres," said a very pissed Tom Paris.
She lowered the hypospray, turning half way around.
He was standing, if a little gingerly, and aiming a phaser straight at her.
Looking very much like he wanted to shoot her.
Where the hell had he gotten a phaser?
It didn't matter.
What mattered was he had a phaser, she didn't, and he was very mad at her.
He started walking towards her. She lowered the hypospray against her thigh, contemplating what she should do now.
Before her eyes, Paris tripped over one of the patients on the floor. He stumbled forward, landing on his hands.
He never lost his grip on the phaser, springing back up, wincing as he did.
She injected the narcotic into her thigh merely seconds before he grabbed her. She innocently dropped the hypospray to the ground.
He looked like he wanted to kill her. He settled for shaking her.
Which sent her world spinning again.
The bad thing about that particular narcotic was that it took a while to work.
He let go and she wavered, finally clumsily dropping to the floor.
She watched his feet for a bit, while he stood at the console doing something on the keypad. She finally looked away, down at the floor, which was moving in circles.
It was still rocking when he hauled her to her feet and shoved her toward the exit.
She almost fell, wishing the upper would do its job faster.
"Where are we going?" she asked, not really expecting him to tell her.
"Away," he growled, catching her shoulder when she stumbled again, as they walked out the door.
Behind in Sickbay, Captain Kathryn Janeway began to stir.
Part 52 | Index page