Story Title: "Without Words" Author: Julie Evans (Juli17@aol.com) Synopsis: How Tom "tells" B‘Elanna he loves her. Rated PG13 and set after the end of the 4th season. Disclaimer: Star Trek and its characters are the property of Viacom/Paramount. I am just borrowing them for fun, not profit.   She eavesdropped shamelessly. "They‘re just words." "Words he hasn‘t said yet." "The words don‘t always mean much. The guy I thought loved me at the Academy said them all the time." "Lucky you." "Yeah. He said them every day, when he left our apartment, when he came home, after we...afterwards. "Love you, babe". The words rolled off his tongue. Even when he was sleeping with someone else behind my back, he was still saying them." "Oh." "The man I really loved, who really loved me, he brought me little gifts "just because", he held me when I was sick, and I mean puking, he even wrote a poem for me once, a silly one, but I still have it. And he hardly ever said the words, but it didn‘t matter." "What happened?" "Life happened, things we couldn‘t control, that eventually separated us." "That‘s sad." "He loved me, and that will never change. It‘s the feeling that counts. If the feeling is there don‘t worry about the words, just enjoy the gift you‘ve been given." "I will." She watched the two women, still conversing quietly, leave the Mess Hall. A few moments later, her food barely touched, she followed.     He was surprised. "B‘Elanna, what are you doing here?" "I switched shifts with Joe." He looked pleased. "Why?" "I just wanted to be here tonight...with you..." His eyes glowed. His fingers brushed softly across her cheek. Her hand touched his throat and trailed down, lightly skimming the snowy white edge of his open shirt, resting on the sprinkling of soft hair. Blue eyes held brown for a long searching moment. "Gentle tonight?" He knew. He always did. Tonight it wasn‘t the tigress who wanted to pounce, but the kitten who wanted to be stroked. Their lips met, softly grazing, gently sucking. Their hands caressed, in languorous strokes, as their clothing floated down, article by article, gathering at their feet. He lifted her and carried her to his bed, spreading her before him. Then, slowly, he cherished her with his hands, worshipped her with his mouth, adored her with his eyes. Without speaking, he told her. Their bodies merged, tenderly, awash with fluid heat, and he lifted her to inexpressible heights, then caught her as she fell, and held her in a warm cocoon of dazed contentment. Without saying, he showed her. That night, like all the others, without words, he loved her.   The end.