AN: And it just keeps on coming, a relentless thread that invades every waking hour. Coldplay is starting up on its own. I find myself at the computer in the wee hours of the morning, scratching out notes that i thought up in dreams.

They ended up on Holodeck Two, which was the only holodeck not occupied. B'Elanna had briefly entertained the thought of going to her quarters, and then rejected it wholesale. The entire incident was just too close, and she didn't want to be within shouting distance of a bed in the presence of Vorik, even if she could kick his ass with one had tied behind her back. No, holodecks were safer. She programmed a café, a quiet meadow, and then a crowded bar all in quick succession, and rejected them all. Finally, Vorik leaned over her shoulder, which was no problem for him since he was considerably taller, and punched a few commands into the pad. "I come here often to meditate. It is a neutral place."

B'Elanna frowned. He had correctly interpreted her unwillingness to be in an intimate situation with him. That didn't speak well for her outer façade, or her theory on Vulcan obliviousness to emotion. In fact, she had no idea why she had formed that theory—based on her experience watching Tuvok and the captain, the Vulcan tactical officer had Janeway pegged, often before Janeway had even spoken. Had Vorik studied her with equal care? B'Elanna didn't know how to think about that, so she chose not to. Perhaps there was nothing to her thoughts at all. She simply nodded to Vorik, and he preceded her into the holodeck.

Vorik's thoughts were in turmoil, and he was relieved that he had been able to choose the setting. B'Elanna might as well have been stripping him naked in front of the crewmembers in the Mess Hall. He wasn't aware that any of them had been able to hear, but the matter of the pon farr was so profoundly private that he was stunned that she could speak of it with such freedom. And yet, he wanted to know what she had to say. No one had ever spoken to him like this. All of these things were shrouded in mystery, in shame and humiliation, and no one spoke of them. Ever. Except B'Elanna Torres. The temple vista surrounded and soothed him, its familiarity gentle and sopophoric on his troubled mind. He felt her come up behind him, looking around. "What is this place?"

"It is a temple. The original is in the city where I grew up on Vulcan." He reached out for a glowing canister of incense, burnished to a bright gold in the dying suns of the twilight. "I came here often when I was… younger." What had he intended to admit to her? Had he not bared his soul enough to this woman? Sighing softly, he gestured to a mat on the floor. "Please, sit, and continue your thoughts."

She did sit, after a moment of staring into the middle distance, and he kneeled stiffly opposite her. B'Elanna's mind flashed, for a betraying moment, back to his flowing grace during the kali'fee—that is, until she sent him sprawling. He moved like he belonged in the battle, just like some people were only graceful while swimming or dancing. When he walked, his movements were carefully controlled, but stilted—hardly graceful. She shook her head, not wanting to dwell on it, and attempted to recapture the broken threads of her thoughts from the mess hall. Vorik just waited patiently, as the sun fell below the horizon, and B'Elanna could faintly see the sliver of what looked like a large moon on the horizon. "Your sister planet is beautiful."

Vorik softened perceptibly. "Most off-worlders think T'Khut is a moon."

"What does the name mean?" She couldn't help herself. She was being drawn in to conversation with Vorik, and his gentle manner was disarming her in exactly the way she had intended to be on guard for. He gazed at her calmly, and she wondered if he knew again what she was thinking.

"She is the Watcher."

The silence stretched between them, silence that B'Elanna became desperate to fill. She struggled to focus on what she had been thinking, and then how to redirect the conversation. Small talk had never been her strong suite, and this small talk seemed to be looming rather larger than its name implied. But after a tense moment, Vorik unexpectedly came to her rescue. "Please. You were telling me how the pon farr made you… feel. You must understand that this subject is simply not discussed among my people. But I must admit that if you are willing to share your experiences, then I would be fascinated to hear them."

She took a deep breath. "I was telling you that I felt… that I had been stripped of control, of all that made me who I was." A throaty chuckle escaped her. "And then I thought how ironic it was that I would reference this uniform as a symbol of that control, but then I guess that it's sort of appropriate." She sighed, and stretched out on the ground, reaching to access all of the experience that she could. "And I fell. I just… collapsed under the pressure of the wave. It took me over, and I couldn't resist it." Her hands slid around her stomach to clutch at her ribs, the discomfort of the experience still nearly overwhelming. "I tried, I fought. And I failed. Completely." She fixed Vorik with a serious look, and he tilted his head slightly toward her, listening intently. "I wanted to kill you. If I had… I would not have been able to live with myself."

Suddenly, overwhelmingly, she wanted to reach out and touch his hand. Between the thought and the action was a wall that was as solid as granite, the exact color of her pride. Instead, she tucked her hand behind her head to cushion it against the hard clay floor. But the thought stayed with her, intense and unfulfilled. He had been as helpless as she, following the ancient dance of his people. He had chosen her, among all the women on the crew, as the one he wanted for a mate. And she had utterly humiliated him for it.

After a moment, he spoke, but his voice was rough around the edges. "What you did was the only honorable path you could follow. I gave you no choice. You rejected me as a mate, and the ritual was played out. If I had been killed, no one would have faulted you for it." His full mouth quirked in a tiny smile that B'Elanna was sure she was hallucinating. "Indeed, at the last, I did not expect you to stop."

B'Elanna was stunned, not certain if she had heard right. "What?" She sat up, her attention fully on him now, and he acknowledged the shift in their dynamic with a delicate out-thrusting of his chin.

"The ritual challenge ends, almost always, in death. If you had been Vulcan, I would likely be dead." He spoke readily, his eyebrows raised, and she was again reminded of a puppy, but horribly now. Her brow creased in pain, and she felt queasy, for a culture that would betray such a bright young man so completely. Would Tuvok had stood by and watched her murder her junior officer? She couldn't imagine him doing such a thing, but yet, could he have prevented it? And yet Vorik had intended to challenge Tom, and Tom would have been cut down in an instant. Was Vorik tacitly admitting that he had been prepared to kill Tom to win her? She looked down to see that her hands were shaking. He saw, and took her hands in his, unthreateningly. Surprised, she allowed him to. They sat for a moment in a silence that B'Elanna did not need to fill. His body heat was intense, and it soothed her, washing through her hands and wrists and up her arms. Finally, a thought filled her that could not be silenced.

"All these years I thought Klingons were so violent… I had absolutely no idea that Vulcans kept such a terrible secret."

"It is often a… hard discipline. I have much to learn, B'Elanna." His voice was fragile, and she squeezed his hand, glad that she had not had to break through her own wall to touch him. "I never intended to be so far from my studies, and my teachers. I wanted to ask you if you would help me with a part of them."

She smiled at him then, certain he was joking. "I didn't do so hot with the first Vulcan ritual, Vorik. I'm not sure what I can do for you."

He raised his eyes to hers, deep and uncertain. "I was hoping that you would consent to teach me how to fight."

Unbidden, his graceful sweeping back-kick came flying through her mind, and a curious slow-motion vision of his lanky and powerful body, untrained but full of potential, in their blurred and bloody battle on a now-distant planet. She realized that in all her time spent with him, those few brief moments were the only moments she had truly felt blood-lust for him. Dangerous, but intriguing. She eyed him carefully, and decided that her answer would depend on how he answered her next question. "Why?"

He contemplated her carefully, seeming to realize how much was riding on her answer. Suddenly, B'Elanna felt like one of her own Starfleet instructors, pushing and judging to the limit. She was uncomfortable with that comparison, but she had to know. Vorik let go of her hands, slowly, and templed his fingers against his lips. "I lack discipline. That you were able to prevent my death at your own hands, though you clearly wanted it, shows me that your discipline is superior to mine. I wish to learn. Will you be my teacher?" His half-hidden face was a stoic mask, but she could tell how much his confession had cost him. Vorik never hid his face when he spoke. If he could observe her, she could do the same to him.

"How do I know you don't want to learn just so you can beat me in a fight?" But she was smiling, and they both realized with considerable surprise that she had agreed. He dropped his hands to his knees with a near-blank expression that bordered on relief.

"I have told you the truth of my motives. If you choose to teach me the techniques that will lead to your defeat, then that is up to you." Perhaps it was just the candlelight, but B'Elanna could have sworn that his eyes were sparkling. She nodded.

"Alright, Vorik. You've won your point. Meet me back here at oh-five hundred hours tomorrow. Wear something loose fitting." He nodded, and then rose, and took her hand again to help her stand. She came up to his shoulders, and her mind was already racing, adjusting for height and weight differentials. He was fast, but his aim was off, and he was going to have to learn that the hard way. She looked around her to find that the sun had completely set, and the chill desert wind was cresting from the valley below the temple. She shivered.

"Changeable weather."

"Vulcan is a difficult planet." She turned instinctively to him, a lost, raw quality in his voice that she had never heard before. "Yet not a day goes by that I do not wish to be home." Looking up into his eyes, she connected with the stark loneliness there on a visceral level. He returned her gaze, and she found herself wondering for a moment, what it would have been like to have accepted his offer. And then she knew she had spent way too much time in his company.

"Good night, Ensign. See you tomorrow." She turned and walked out, feeling unaccountably like she was abandoning him. That was a foolish thought, and she knew it. But she could feel his dark eyes on her even as she crossed the threshold of the temple and walked out into the corridor. She did not dare look back.