Expelling Demons

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Star Trek: Voyager

Copyright: Paramount

Thick white streams of smoke curled up from the censer on B'Elanna's nightstand, making her eyes water and her nose itch. It smelled like her childhood. She could almost see her mother charging through the house and wafting the smoke through every room the day after her father had left. It smelled like the temple school she had been packed off to at age twelve, where they made her eat the still-beating hearts of targs and held bat'leth practice at five hundred hours in the morning. It also smelled like family prayers when she was small, pretending to see pictures in the smoke, her mother's low rough voice intoning prayers to Kahless and the names of their ancestors. That was the memory she had meant to recapture, a time when the world had made sense to her, when she had known wht was right and what was wrong.

She made a restless move to get up and extinguish the smoke, but fell back onto her pillows. She still felt like a wet noodle; even taking the few steps across her room seemed like too much of an effort. She swore.

The door beeped, sending a jolt of tension through her. If it was the Captain trying to butter her up again, she had another think coming!

"Come in," she barked.

It was Tom, with a vase of white lilac blossoms and a smile. She relaxed.

"I've come to visit the convalescent," he said, placing the flowers, already in a glass vase, on her bureau drawer. "I'm told these have a relaxing scent ... but I see you've already got one." He sneezed. "Not that I find it relaxing. Doesn't that set off the environmental controls?"

B'Elanna laughed. "The Captain asked me the same question, actually."

"Let me guess. Is it Klingon?"

B'Elanna grimaced, only half in earnest. "Yeah, I know ... the longer we're on this ship, the more I'm turning into my mother."

"And that's a bad thing because ... ?"

He sat down at the edge of her bed, close enough for her to give him an affectionate punch on the arm. He punched back,grinning, completely unfazed by her Klingon side once again. It was one of the many things she loved about him.

"B'Elanna," he continued, in a more serious vein. "Are you still ... you know, mad about Krell Mosett?"

She groaned, sat back and closed her eyes. "Way to ruin the moment, Tom."

"I'll take that as a yes. You do realize that I fought tooth and nail for him to be allowed to save your life? I even got into a shouting match with Chakotay. Losing you ... I couldn't handle it. I was prepared to do whatever it took. Do you blame me for that too?"

B'Elanna felt torn. She was touched by the look of pain in Tom's blue eyes, which he couldn't hide even by turning his face away. Their accustomed communication was either joking banter, outright bickering or Starfleet talk; it was rare that one of them admitted aloud what they truly meant to each other. She pictured him pacing around the briefing room like a blond tiger, throwing up his hands, going nose to nose with Chakotay until the Captain firmly ordered them apart. Fighting for her life. But on the other hand ...

"I feel dirty," she growled, pulling her gray blanket up to her chin. "That - Cardassian killed hundreds of patients in those goddamned experiments of his! I'm alive because of their suffering and you people had no right to operate on me without my permission!"

Tom shot up out of his bed. "Are you out of your mind?" he snapped. "You were dying, B'Elanna! Excuse me for disregarding the finer points of ethics in order to save the life of the woman I love!"

"At least I'd have died with honor!" She hauled herself up, putting her pillow between the headoard and her back, swatting away Tom's hand when he tried to help her. As soon as it was out of her mouth, she realized it was a very Klingon thing to say - but for once, she was not ashamed.

Tom took a deep breath and visibly pulled himself together, the word 'honor' perhaps reminding him to look at the situation from her point of view. "Well, look at it this way," he said wryly. "You can still do that. Preferably decades from now in a quick phaser fight, not unconscious in a bio-bed with some bug-like alien sucking the life out of you."

He reached for her hand, tentatively, as if she might slap him. Instead she let him take hold, squeezing back with all the strength she had left.

"We all care about you," sid Tom softly. "The Captain, Chakotay ... me, obviously ... even your terrified minions down in Engineering." They exchanged eye rolls. "I'm sorry we didn't respect your wishes. I know how you feel about Cardassians. But the Doctor deleted the Krell Mosett hologram and every file in our database concerning him ... so I can guarantee you, this won't happen again."

"Well, what about the next time we run into a non-humanoid sentient being?" she challenged. "He is the best xeno-biologist we know."

"Then we'll just have to use the second-best," said Tom, smiling crookedly, "And hope he or she isn't another death camp doctor."

B'Elanna sighed, exhaling anger. She pictured it as incense smoke, curling out of her mouth as if she were a dragon, then floating away. She took a deep breath; the sharp scent of the incense was fading to something gentler, something that recalled smooth marble floors and soaring columns. Tom's hand was still holding hers, warm and solid, as familiar as her own.

"Remind me to apologize to the Captain," she said sleepily. "She was in here just now ... the way I yelled at her, I'm surprised she didn't haul me off to the brig."

Tom chuckled. "I thought so. She told me you were clearly feeling better."

"Go away, Tom. I'm getting sleepy."

"Your wish is my command, noble warrior."

He kissed the tip of her nose, then her lips, stood up and left the room with a final breezy salute. The sweet smell of his lilac blossoms mingled with the heaviness of the incense, making her eyelids droop and her healing body relax into the sheets. Her last thoughts before falling asleep were, Huh. I guess the demons cleared off after all.