Dedicated to Deb O'Keeffe, for helping me (Cheile) and her 
encouragement.

First Glance, part 2 - True Terror
by Cheile and Laci Torres


        Kathryn Janeway was terrified.
        Her crew taken captive by the Maquis terrorists, being tortured, she 
was sure, for any information, when really, she was the one who knew 
everything---which meant she would be next....
        The door opened.  Daren and Kathryn both turned.  It was the Maquis 
commander.  He had a familiar glint in his eyes.
        "Daren, I’ll take care of the information routing.  You may go."
        Ensign Daren left.  Kathryn had been foolishly hoping that he would be 
allowed to stay.  Then she wouldn’t be so afraid.
        The door closed behind Daren.  The Maquis commander stepped toward her, 
until he was face to face with her.
        "All right," he said.  "I want to know why you were hunting us down."
        Kathryn refused to speak.  She wouldn’t tell him anything.
        "Tell me."
        Still, she wouldn’t speak.
        "You know, you’re a lot different than most Starfleet captains."
        "Just because I’m a woman?" Kathryn demanded.
        "She does have a voice.  I mean, I have never seen a Starfleet captain 
with such fiery spirit--or beauty."  His hand reached up to touch a 
lock of her hair.
        She jerked away.
        "Why don’t you tell me your name and we’ll go from there?"
        "Tell me yours," Kathryn shot back.
        "I asked you first."
        She wouldn’t show this Maquis her fear.  "Kathryn Janeway."
        "Kathryn?" he repeated slowly.  "Irish?  You must be, with all that 
auburn hair."
        "Don’t call me Kathryn," she said angrily.
        "You can call me Chakotay."
        Chakotay.  It suited him.
        "Now--Kathryn, tell me what you know, and maybe I won’t hurt you, 
because believe me, I don’t want to.  But I will if necessary."
        "Torture me all you want," Kathryn snapped.  "I’ll not tell you 
anything."
        "Tell me what you know," Chakotay said, advancing on her.
        "No."
        "Tell me."
        "No."
        Without warning, he reached over and ripped her uniform jacket open, 
tearing at the sleeves until it came loose.  He flung it aside.  Then he 
ripped away the turtleneck, flinging that aside, too.  Finally, he took 
the tank top between his fists and rent the fabric, baring her to the 
waist.
        Truly terrified now, Kathryn tried to struggle away, even though escape 
was futile.  She struggled until she no longer could.  Then she stopped, 
her wrists bruised, her heart pounding and her eyes wide, as she stared 
at Chakotay.

        Chakotay watched her struggle against the wrist bands.  Finally, she 
stopped.  Her eyes were huge, staring at him with a mixture of anger and 
terror.  Her wrists were now developing bruises from her struggling.  
Her bared breasts heaved as she took in deep breaths.
        "Are you willing to talk now?" he asked.
        "What are you going to do if I don’t?"
        In seconds, he was next to her, his face inches from hers.
        "Don’t make me lose my temper.  You don’t want to see me if I do."  As 
he spoke, one hand wandered along her shoulder, then down to cup a 
breast.  She jerked away.  "Don’t you dare touch me," she said icily.
        "I’m the one in control, Kathryn, not you.  Remember that."  He 
squeezed, not roughly, but enough to make her wince.
        Kathryn struggled to hold back tears as a sick feeling welled up in her 
stomach at his touch.  She tried to pull away, but there was nowhere for 
her to go.
        "So beautiful," Chakotay murmured, his hand caressing her cheek, 
brushing his thumb across her lips.  "What secrets do you hide behind 
that icy front, Kathryn?  Are you as cold inside as you are out?"  His 
hand drifted back to her breast.  "Or can the right touch bring forth 
the passion you keep locked within?"  He began a teasing touch that sent 
an odd shiver through Kathryn.  She wished he would--*what* was she 
thinking?!  Again, she pulled away.
        His grip tightened slightly, causing her to cry out, then he let go, 
his hand drifting down to stroke her backside briefly before he stepped 
away.  Reaching up, he unlocked the wrist bands and motioned to the 
clothes.  "Put that on.  I’ll send Moira down later with a change of 
clothes for you."
        Once she had pulled the turtleneck on and situated it so nothing would 
be revealed, Chakotay called for Daren, who took her down to the 
castle’s dungeon, but now served as the brig.  Pushing her into a cell, 
Daren then activated the forcefield, then left.

*

        "All right," Tom said as he was dragged into a small room.  "You can 
let go of my hair now.  I’m not going anywhere."
        "Damn right, you’re not going anywhere, Paris."  Torres released him 
only to engage the locks on the door.  "Computer, lights."
        The lights came on and Tom breathed a sigh of relief.  He wanted to see 
what he was up against.
        He turned--and the sight took his breath away.
        *She’s beautiful*, was his first thought.  Her raven-dark hair was 
short.  Her dark eyes were flashing fury.  Her brow ridges were the 
distinguishing feature of her heritage.  What had Chakotay said her name 
was?
        She wasted no time in locking his wrists into the bands attached to the 
beam above his head.  When that was done, she turned a glare upon him.  
He merely grinned back.
        "Don’t bother with your charm, Paris.  It won’t work on me."
        "Nothing wrong with trying."
        "What is that supposed to mean?"
        "What do you think it means?" he said glibly.
        Her eyes darkened and she lashed out at him with a fist.  He barely 
ducked in time.  "Hey watch it!  I’m helpless, remember?"
        "Yeah, right," she snorted.
        "Tell me your name.  Chakotay didn’t even introduce you before he told 
you to get me out of his sight."
        She shot him another glare before answering.  "B’Elanna.  B’Elanna 
Torres."
        "B’Elanna," Tom repeated.
        "Don’t even think about it."
        "As you wish--‘Lanna."
        The shortened form of her name struck a chord in B’Elanna’s heart.  No 
one had ever called her Lanna before.  And no one had ever repeated her 
name with such tenderness in his voice.
        She slowly raised her gaze to his.  The tenderness in his voice was 
reflected in his cerulean blue eyes.
        Tom watched her.  The strangest look had come into her eyes when he’d 
called her Lanna.  Her eyes met his with that same puzzled, confused 
look.  Then without warning, the fury returned.
        "Damn you!" she screamed at him.  She lashed out with both fists, and 
Tom had no time to avoid her blows.
        The first punch landed in his stomach, followed by a second.  He was 
gasping for breath, when another blow caught him on the side of the 
head.  The pain exploded in his head as merciful blackness overwhelmed 
him.

        Cavit paced the confines of his cell.  This was a nightmare.  Captured 
by the Maquis terrorists, headed by Commander Chakotay, of all people!  
He knew the stories--how he murdered innocent Cardassians, for no 
reason.  It sickened him to think what he would be doing to Captain 
Janeway.  She was tough, Cavit would grant her that.  But how could she 
possibly hold up, against the power and strength of that Indian bastard?  
And once he’d defiled and killed her, Cavit knew he would be next.
        He had to escape.  He had to.....

        The next morning, Scott, one of the guards, found Cavit dead in his 
cell.  He had slit his wrists.

To be continued....

Legal B.S.  The main characters, Cavit and Stadi belong to Paramount, 
the story, Daren, Scott, Moira and Tiernan belong to us.  Copyright 
1997, by Cheile and Laci Torres.  Comments can be sent to 
cheile@hotmail.com or lacileigh@geocities.com