Fifty-five minutes later, B'Elanna reclined on her side of the bed and waited patiently for her husband to wake. It took the Doctor half an hour to prepare the neurogenic interface, fifteen minutes to have Seven inspect it, and another ten to fix a big, ugly, green plasma burn on Vorik's arm.

Vorik. The last person she wanted to see before they transported to their quarters. What had gotten into him earlier? She was fairly certain that all the fires she had put out that morning were his doing.

Enough about Vorik. Upon hearing her husband stir, she decided that she definitely had more important things to think about.

"Computer, lights fifty percent," she murmured.

Tom stretched, yawned, and twisted toward his side of the bed, shaking off the last vestiges of his drug induced slumber. Then, he froze in place, as though remembering everything he had done earlier.

After a long moment, he finally asked, "You know what really bothers me about this whole mess?"

"No, what?"

He slowly turned back to her. "I still didn't get breakfast."

"Peanut butter on toast?"

His eyes dilated. "Forget the toast, I'd rather cover you in peanut butter and eat you all up." He reached for her…

B'Elanna fell off her side of the bed and scurried towards the table.

"I'm kidding," Tom said at full volume. "I'll take some toast."

She quickly threw some bread in the toaster and decided that she needed to just calm down. Why was she so anxious?

And why was she making him a sandwich?

Tom pulled himself out of bed and moved towards the viewport, his eyes on his own wobbly feet rather than the stars before him. He crossed his arms over his chest and she said nothing as a particularly bad tremor wracked his body. His muscles tensed and a small, pained noise escaped his throat. He was trying so hard to control himself. She appreciated it.

"It's ready," she said softly. She slinked away and hoped he could eat without her distracting him.

Tom approached the table, focused only on her and barely concealing his appetite. He picked up the toast and nibbled a little…

He put the toast back on the plate.

"What's wrong?"

"My stomach is growling like crazy," he told her. "But... I just can't eat."

B'Elanna thought she understood. She stepped towards him, but he retreated towards the couch. It was beginning to feel like a game of cat and mouse. Like a 'Tom and Jerry' cartoon, he would say. When he sat down, he leaned forward and cradled his head in his hands.

She sat down next to him, wanting to reach out and…

"B'Elanna, don't."

"Don't what?"

"Pity me. That's what."

Pity him?

B'Elanna wasn't sure how to respond. "Is it wrong to want to comfort you?"

He pushed himself off the couch and stumbled out of her reach. She didn't want to play anymore so she didn't follow.

"Listen." He laughed nervously and turned to face her after a rather pathetic attempt at controlling the shakes. "I don't think any mental link is going to help me."

"You're not thinking clearly," she countered.

"What I need right now is a good fuck. That's it," he told her. "Forget all that crap about being linked or bonded or whatever the hell they call it. We're not Vulcans, we don't have to play it their way."

It was then that she realized why the Doctor wanted to keep them in sickbay. The Doctor may have been suspected of being a voyeur, but one thing was certain: Tom was terrified and the Doctor knew it. This was what he wanted to prevent.

"But what if the Doctor is right?" She stood up to emphasize her point. "I don't want to take that risk, do you?"

"Then why aren't we in sickbay right now?" Tom crossed his arms to enforce his.

B'Elanna stopped herself short of calling him an idiot. She couldn't argue with someone who was being irrational. She remembered her experience with the Pon Farr; the urges associated with the condition. The drive to mate was imperative. Maybe he was right. She certainly had no urge to bond with anyone when she went through it.

She glanced over at the device on the nightstand, and hoped to Kahless that Tom was correct, even though she had a nagging suspicion that he was wrong. She would keep the device as a back up plan for when his antics failed.

She crossed the deck and met him eye to eye. "Very well," she said coolly. "You're on."

"B'Elanna!" he roared when she bit him on the face.

She pushed him towards the bed, not giving him a second to think about what just happened.

When he got past the shock of what she had done, he returned the favor and devoured her. With an unrelenting kiss, he spun her around and pushed her backwards onto the bed, never allowing more than a centimeter between their bodies. The moment he had her pinned beneath him, she tried to flip him over.

It didn't work. He had a damn good hold on her wrists and his legs were in such a position where it was impossible to move him.

Then, in one swift move, he let go of her wrists and yanked her pants and underwear to her knees.

B'Elanna took the opportunity to maneuver herself into a defensive sitting posture. Never had he taken control like this. She always led the way in the bedroom.

But, not always... not since…

Her apprehension returned, full force. She hated the feeling of being bound up with her own clothes.

Tom looked confused. "Are you alright?"

She dared not tell him to stop.

But he'd given her an opportunity to regain control so she took it. She lunged at him, pushing him clear onto his back with a loud 'oof'.

He attempted to gain the upper hand again, but she wouldn't have it. She managed to pin him to the mattress and held both his hands above his head.

He tried to say something, but only a whimper escaped his mouth.

She let go of his arms and, mirroring his actions, pulled his uniform past his hips. Her jaw involuntarily dropped when she got a look at his excessively engorged cock.

That had to hurt.

And she was certain that gawking at him wasn't going to help. She quickly closed her mouth and, before she could do anything else, he scooted towards the headboard. He hugged his knees to his chest defensively, as she had done.

"Easy, Tom." She pulled her uniform top off. "I'm not stopping." She quickly finished undressing herself, unwilling to let him continue in his agony.

When she was done, she guided him out of his accordion position for easy access. He didn't resist. But she could tell that it took him every ounce of control not to; he was so completely exposed.

She leaned in to kiss him, remembering their conversation earlier: he didn't want pity or comfort. He wanted…

With a sudden burst of energy, Tom Paris flipped his wife onto her back and began to fuck her senseless.

xxx

"Have you heard anything about Tom yet? Rumor has it he contracted the Tarkalian flu."

Tuvok looked at Neelix. He hadn't eaten in literally four days, not since Neelix delivered the bowl of plomeek broth the bridge. That was the only thing keeping him from skipping lunch and going straight to his quarters to meditate.

He didn't want to think about Lieutenant Paris anymore, but others persisted in asking about him. Illogical, since the Tarkalian flu was not contagious between species. But that was the official disinformation Captain Janeway had fed the crew to protect the privacy of everyone involved.

"Mind if I sit down?" Neelix pulled out the chair in front of him.

"You're going to regardless."

He sat in the chair, leaning in to whisper. An illogical mannerism since Vulcan ears could pick up sounds that other humanoids couldn't. "You seem preoccupied."

"Mr. Paris is coping as expected."

Neelix kept his voice low. "You can stop the veiled phrasing. I know what's going on."

Tuvok waited for an explanation.

"He came in here last night looking for a little pick-me-up and left his data PADD behind."

"You read it?"

"I did. I must say, he's a brave man for doing what he did."

Tuvok lowered his eyes back down to his salad. "Mr. Neelix, you should be made aware that it is highly improper for me to be having this conversation with you."

"Then you really did accept his help?"

"I do not wish to discuss it."

"Do you think B'Elanna will be able to help him? I mean, the Vulcan in the story died, didn't he?"

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Neelix..." Tuvok placed his fork next to his plate, summoning all the control he possibly could. He stood, deciding it best to resume his duties to keep his mind off what he did to Tom Paris. To do otherwise would be illogical. The fate of the Lieutenant was no longer under his control.

Neelix stood to block him. "Someone once told me that Vulcans never lie because they're really bad at it. I think it might have been Tom, actually."

"Your point?"

"Just that I don't think 'coping' is an accurate word for what's going on, is it?"

"Mr. Neelix, this conversation is over."

"You're trying to make it seem less serious than it really is."

"Even if I were..." Tuvok glanced around cautiously, "the mess hall is hardly the place to discuss it."

With that, Tuvok stalked out of the room and into the corridor.

Neelix followed at his heels. "Well, I don't think ignoring the problem is going to make it go away. You passed on a condition that's alien to him and just left him in the care of his wife and a holographic Doctor that barely knows anything about it."

Tuvok stopped in his tracks. In sickbay, he meditated the guilt away, but Neelix had a way of making his emotions resurface. He found it very disconcerting. "How do you know what the Doctor knows about it?"

"Well, I can tell you that it certainly wasn't his medic that thought to look up the story of the Vulcan prince."

Tuvok turned to face Neelix. "You did?" He cocked his brow, waiting.

"Well!" Neelix looked indignant. "It wasn't me. I have too many things to worry about than to be meddling into the affairs of others."

"Are you suggesting that Mr. Paris was set up?"

"Shhhhh!" Neelix motioned wildly for him to keep it down. "You know, for a Chief of Security, you're not very subtle."

Tuvok sighed deeply. "Are you suggesting that someone else tampered with his data PADD after he left?"

Neelix nodded affirmatively.

Tuvok's eyebrow crawled further up his forehead. "Who?"

xxx

Tuvok made his way to Engineering, careful not to break into a run for fear of drawing unwanted attention to himself. When he entered, the person he wanted to speak with was carefully monitoring a Jeffries tube while Icheb efficiently worked fusing wires.

Seven glanced at Tuvok, but continued, unfazed. "May I help you with something, Commander?"

"Forgive the intrusion, Seven. I wanted to know, the neurological interface is channeled through your alcove, correct?"

"If you are referring to the one Lieutenants Paris and Torres are using to cure your Pon Farr, then you are correct."

There have been many times when Tuvok appreciated Seven's ability to bluntly factual, and there have been many times when he wished she would be quiet. This was one of those times.

"I was told you would be monitoring their link. Have you been?"

"I have been diverted temporarily by a series of minor malfunctions in this Jefferies tube. It has been challenging considering I am also expected to double as Chief Engineer in Lieutenant Torres' absence."

"Has there been any evidence of sabotage?"

"No. Only clumsiness. This was clearly Ensign Vorik's doing. I've been told by several crew that he had been giving Lieutenant Torres problems all morning. I had given him one last chance after the Doctor mended a plasma burn on his arm. After he did this, I relieved him of duty for the rest of the day."

Tuvok nodded, remembering that he himself had been distracted by the other Vulcan's carelessness enough to let Tom Paris wander off alone with his wife. It was a miracle they made it to sickbay. He pressed his comm badge. "Computer, locate Ensign Vorik."

::Ensign Vorik is in the mess hall.::

Tuvok allowed himself a sigh of relief. Vorik was not in the cargo bay tampering.

Tuvok considered that Neelix had no solid evidence to prove that Vorik had set Lieutenant Paris up. It was all circumstantial. Neelix had read something over Mr. Paris' shoulder, went to go clean up a mess in his kitchen, and then, afterwards, had read the same data PADD with something entirely different on it. Mr. Paris had likely put it there himself. The fact that Vorik desired to bond with Ms. Torres years before and happened to be in the mess hall that night only served to feed Neelix's paranoia.

It was a closed case. The only thing left to do was to physically verify Vorik's location and leave him alone.

"Can I assist you with anything else, Commander?"

"No. Thank you, Seven. You have been most helpful." Tuvok left engineering, still having no one to blame but himself, yet relieved that the Lieutenant's plan would go unhindered.

xxx

Seven times. Once for every year those pain-in-the-ass Vulcans had the luxury of living without Pon Farr.

If only we had seven years between cycles, B'Elanna thought, at least Vulcans knew when to expect it.

B'Elanna had pulled Tom into the shower with her, set it to cold, and hoped she would at least get a few minutes to come up with a better plan.

"B'Elanna..." Tom shivered when the cold water hit his back. He braced himself against the tiled wall and looked down at both of their naked bodies. He was still painfully erect with no relief in sight, and she…

Tom's eyes went wide when he saw her blood trickle down the inside of her leg and into the drain. "You're bleeding. Oh, no..."

B'Elanna caught a glimpse of the guilt in his face when he turned away from her to hug the shower wall.

"I'm Klingon, I can take it." Her voice was flat and absent of honesty.

Rightfully, she could tell he wasn't buying it. After a few moments of getting no reaction, B'Elanna could hear his breath catch and then…

He was crying. Tom was crying.

And she hadn't a clue what to do. If she tried to hold him, she knew damn well what would happen and, obviously, that plan wasn't working. Painfully not working. His condition seemed to be stagnating at best, and sometimes it felt like he was getting worse.

"Hey, Tom..." She reached out to put a hand on his shoulder anyhow, but he shrank away from her. His knees buckled and he slid down the wall into a fetal position. He still wept as though it were the only thing left to do.

Maybe it was.

She didn't like that thought at all.

But one thing she had in common with Tom is that they both knew there were always alternatives. She considered that for a moment, and realized something that she should've figured out from the very beginning…

Tom was trying to protect her. He knew that she would have tried to take his place. She would have convinced the Doctor to let Tuvok meld with her instead. She would have reasoned that they knew what to expect with her. She would be the only 'logical' choice. The Doctor would have bought it.

She backed off from him and reached for her towel, not caring that she would stain it. Wrapping herself, she stumbled out of the bathroom and went for her comm badge. Still not sure what would result in her calling the Doctor, she made her choice. He would at least agree that they both needed medical help at this point.

"Torres to the Doctor." She hated the sound of her voice at that moment. Desperate. Frightened.

::Lieutenant, is there are reason why you two haven't even touched the neurogenic interface that Seven was kind enough to provide?::

"Save it, Doctor. We don't need to be talking about this over an open frequency. Could you come to our quarters, please."

There was a long pause, and then…

::I have a better idea, how about I beam you both back to sickbay where you belong?::

The words were harsh, but there was nothing abrasive in his tone. The Doctor was hearing her loud and clear.

But she didn't want to go to sickbay.

B'Elanna began to count back from ten, hoping to regain some composure. When she reached the number seven, she whipped her comm badge across the room. It smacked right into the picture of her and Tom on their honeymoon and knocked it to the floor.

It was the last thing she saw before the transporter took her.