The unedited, un-beta read incomplete totally weird, part three of Tom’s Chest Hair Fiasco by Laura Michelle (lhale@niu.edu) and Amanda (jefflvr47@aol.com)   "Ensign, what are you doing?" Jennifer Delaney spun around, from her position on the transporter pad. She looked at Seven. She looked past Seven. She calculated her odds and decided death was preferable to getting caught. She was dead if B'Elanna caught her. She was dead. "You won't get his hair! She'll kill me! She'll kill me!" With that Jennifer threw herself bodily towards the door. Seven found this to be rather queer behavior for an individual. Seven's natural instincts took over and she pursued the Delaney sister for scientific reasons. "Jennifer Delaney! Stop where you are!" Jenny turned, wide eyed, and stared in shock at Seven of Nine. "SEVEN! Help me! You've got to help me hide it!" "You are behaving erratically." "Help me!" "Why do you require assistance?" "Because...I've got it! She's gonna kill me!" "You are being unclear." "She'll kill me!" "Who will kill you?" "B'Elanna!" "Why would Lieutenant Torres kill you?" "Because of got it!" "To what are you referring?" Slowly, Jenny pulled out the folded napkin, slowly unfolded it. "This." "What is 'this'?" "It's...it's...Tom Paris's chest hair." Seven's head came up, and she stared at Jenny Delaney in shock. Or, at least, the closest to shock she ever came. "Excuse me?" "Tom's chest hair. B'Elanna gave it to me. She's crazy!" There was a long moment of silence, and Seven frowned at the Delaney twin, "Then this hair belongs to Ensign Paris. It should be returned." "Excuse me?" Seven snatched the napkin from Jenny's hand, "It should be returned," she answered. Jenny reached toward Seven to retrieve the napkin, still contemplating death. She was relatively sure that Seven would return the hair, which made no sense to her. It might make sense to Seven and take the problem off her hands, but Jenny wasn't taking any chances. "You cannot have it back, Ensign." Seven said as her hand made contact with the napkin. Jenny didn't care. She smashed her heel down on Seven's toes, HARD. Seven started falling down slightly but quickly righted herself. She then grabbed the once again fleeing Ensign. She did a Vulcan neck pinch. The Delaney went down for the count. Seven then tossed the Ensign over her shoulder. Jennifer was in for a couple of bruised ribs. "Computer Location of Ensign Paris." "Ensign Paris is in Sickbay." Seven proceeded on her quest to return the hair. B'Elanna Torres stepped out of the icy cold shower and wrapped herself in the nearest towel. Unfortunately, it smelled all over of Tom. She breathed in the scent of it, then quickly tossed it aside and stepped back in to the shower. The water was, if possible, even colder. B'Elanna was still frustrated. There was a certain lover boy who needed to be beaten for being overly sensitive. "Ensign Paris!" Tom stopped in the doorway leading out of Sickbay. Tom turned to see Seven of Nine marching down the hallway, a napkin in one hand, Jenny Delaney slung over the opposite shoulder. "Seven? What the hell...?" "Jennifer Delaney had something of yours; I thought I should return it." "Something of mine?" he echoed. She held out the napkin, and Tom's eyes widened, "MY CHEST HAIR!" The Doctor came into view. "Seven, what did you do to Ensign Delaney?" "Tuvok has been looking for her. She beamed Harry with a chair." "I have come to return the Ensign's hair." "That was nice of you Seven," the EMH replied. "What, pray tell is he going to do with it though?" The subroutines starting working at their mighty fast speeds again. The doctor fell laughing to the ground. "What is wrong with him?" Seven looked at the doctor. A look of disdain crossed her face. "This is not his normal behavior." "sub routine. buried sub routine." The doctor was wheezing with laughter. "Chest hair. funny." The Doctor bellowed with laughter. "Can't help it." "Alright then. Ensign, take back you chest hair. I am sure Lieutenant Torres needs it." Seven was about to hand it to Tom, then turn around and leave when the Doctor spoke. "He can't have it. He'll try to reattach it. It's against - " the doctor rolled onto his side trying to calm himself enough to speak again. "Star Fleet regulations for men to reattach their hair." Seven looked at the Doctor. Tom looked at the Doctor. "That is absurd," Seven remarked. Tom smirked. "If you cannot, will not reattach it to Ensign Paris, I will." Tom took a step back. "WHAT?" Both the Doctor and Tom Paris stared at her, now completely serious. The Doc rose quickly, "It's against regulations," he stated. "It's my hair!" Tom retorted. "The Borg have a way to re-attach your hair, Ensign. It was assimilated from Species 5947." "I will have to inform the Captain," the Doctor began. "Computer, deactivate EMH," Tom ordered. The Doc turned to him with an outraged expression, only to disappear. Tom turned back to Seven, "What's this way you have to reattach my hair?" Seven held up a small silver tube, "It is called...super glue." "That's IT!" B'Elanna Torres sprang from the shower, wrapped herself in Tom's blue flannel robe. "Computer, location of Lieutenant Paris!" "Lieutenant Paris is in Sickbay." "Then it damn well better be empty," she muttered, and hurried off to find him. "How...how's it going?" "Be patient, Ensign Paris, this is a delicate procedure." "So...how's it going?" Seven sighed. "It is going...well." He grinned, "Great bedside manner, Seven." "As you are aware, the Doctor has been something of a tutor in humanity to me. No doubt that my 'bedside manner' is an affect of his teachings." Tom chuckled lightly, and she frowned at him, "Have I said something amusing?" He grinned, "More than you know," he agreed. She leaned over his chest, stuck another hair on, "This is the last one-" It was then that B'Elanna Torres walked in to Sickbay. It was a very irate, very turned on, very grumpy B'Elanna with wet hair who entered Sickbay. Her vision registered a Tom Paris sans shirt with Seven leaning over him. The irate, turned on, grumpy B'Elanna morphed into a irate, turned on, grumpy, jealous B'Elanna. "Lt. Torres. Please stay across the room. This is not as it appears to be." B'Elanna took a step towards Seven. Seven slammed the little gray squeeze bottle into Tom's reddish gold chest hair and backed up a step. Tom yelped in pain. "Oh, it isn't? You aren't the doctor. You can't touch him. He's mine. Ask Janeway. I willed him to Neelix in my will. The Captain authorized it. It is recorded in all the proper places. He's mine." "B'Elanna? Neelix? That isn't fa- " "Shut up Thomas!" Seven and B'Elanna snapped at him in unison. "Lt. You are over reacting here and - " "Look, Seven, if Tom had wanted his chest hair to grow back he could have asked me. That silly regulation about chest hair doesn't apply to him as he belongs to me." B'Elanna tossed Tom a smile and sauntered across the room towards him. Seven circled away from her. Tom looked like a little kid. He then finished off the look by whining "But B'Elanna - " "Shut up Tom. Anyway, I can authorize for him to grow it back. First though, this thing, " B'Elanna yanked the gray tube off from the chest hair it was stuck too, "has got to go." Tom rolled over and off the bio - bed. "B'Elanna," Tom whined. "That hurts. I thought you liked my chest hair. Please stop damaging it." "Lt. Torres, Ensign Paris cannot belong to you. It goes against the grain of all the principles of the Federation that you yourself purport to uphold." "Seven?" B'Elanna whispered in a low deadly voice. Seven looked at B'Elanna. B'Elanna approached Seven. Seven backed up. B'Elanna breathed deeply. Seven ran out of the room. She was so freaked out by B'Elanna's behavior that she skipped the sway of the hips thing. In fact, she fell over and broke on of the heels on her shoes in her haste to leave. She almost transported herself out of there when B'Elanna let out a snarl. With Seven gone, B'Elanna turned her attention back to her helm boy. She smiled. "Computer, replicate one five ounce bottle of Rogaine for me." The computer beeped confirmation that the order had been finished. B'Elanna walked over to retrieve the bottle. Tom peeked over the bio-bed to look at B'Elanna's lovely backside. He then ducked back down when B'Elanna turned around. Tom yelped as B'Elanna hauled him onto the bio-bed "Be gentle," he whispered. B'Elanna squeezed the bottle, squirting its contents on to the hairless spot in the middle of Tom's chest. He yelped again, and she scowled questioningly at him. "It's cold," he whimpered. "Since when did you become Harry Kim?" she demanded, and squirted a little more. Tom bit his lip to keep from yelping again. And then...she began to MASSAGE... B'Elanna lifted her head and looked into Tom's cerulean blue eyes. "Computer, beam all occupants of Sick bay except for myself and Ensign Paris to Holodeck one. Activate a quarantine field for all of sickbay after that is done. Torres Authorization Alpha - Sigma - Ro - Kahlass." "Oh shit," Tom whispered. B'Elanna straddled him, continuing to massage the Rogaine in to his chest. He wondered if the directions instructed her to rake her fingernails against his skin taking him to an exciting new universe of pain.     "You know," she purred, "according to the instructions, friction is a good way to get this stuff to work." "Friction?" Tom repeated, his voice raising several octaves. B'Elanna nodded, leaned down, and began to nibble his ear, "Friction." "B'Elanna," Tom said between really deep breaths of air. "When did you get a doctorate in follicle stimulation?" B'Elanna moved her lips off Tom's ear long enough to whisper, "You know those six years between getting kicked out of the academy and joining the Maquis? I was Klingon hairstylist." Tom's breathing became coarser and harsher as B'Elanna's attempts at generating friction started became more heated. He couldn't just lie there, could he? Bludgeoned by his Klingon tigress' exotic mating gymanstics."Let's see," he thought, synapses blurred by the roar of testosterone. Somewhere in the swirling hot tub of his mind, he remembered a dance. Yeah. A dance. Looking eye to eye with Laura Amanda McKenzie's budding---oops. "How *does* she do that? She must be double jointed..." and back to the dance. Where did he put his hands? He knew where he *wanted* to put them but that would have sent him straight to the admin's office so...Right. Authoritatively, he place his hands on her hips, anticipating their momentary journey to warmer climes. There. Now I can... B'Elanna's tongue presently plunged in his inner ear began a slick and slippery trek to regions that would have sent *her* to the admin's office. Panicked, Tom looked around. He couldn't let his turned on half Klingon she-woman eat Rogaine. It might be toxic. And where would that leave them? Turned on, poisoned and racing naked around sickbay hunting for an antidote. Captain Proton to the rescue! He hastily moved his hands from her hips, reaching for a napkin on a nearby tray. Oops. Missed. He and B'Elanna hit the floor. It hurt like hell. The Holo Doc snapped back in to being on Holodeck One, and quickly surveyed his surroundings. The Delaneys and Harry Kim all lie on the floor, looking none the worse for wear. So where was Tom Paris? For that matter, where was Seven of Nine and B'Elanna. He tapped his comm badge, "Doctor to Sickbay. Mr. Paris, are you there?" There was a muffled groan, and then the sound of a hand smacking a comm badge, and the line went dead. The Doctor frowned, "I wonder if I should go and check on him...he sounded quite ill." "Doc," Harry Kim murmured, waking up. The Doctor hurried over, "Yes, Ensign?" "Whatever you do...DO NOT go check on him. Just trust me, you'll regret it." "Of course I'd regret it," The doctor mumbled. "They've turned me off, asked me to disobey the rules of the federation, and rewritten laws today. I can just see what they'll do next. It doesn't matter. I must go back. I have things I must do." Harry Kim looked at the Doc as if he had lost his mind. Harry staggered over to the EMH. Poor Harry was still suffering from having been beamed on the head with a chair. "Please, Doctor. No. I don't want you to die today." "I am sorry Ensign. I must. Computer Transfer my program to sickbay." "Unable to comply with your request." The Doctor stomped his foot. "Why the heck not?" "Medical Quarantine is in effect." "Oh," The EMH said. He then sat down to wait out the two-crew men who were clearly having more fun then he was. Back in sickbay, Tom was trying to remove the clothing that was still on Ms. Torres. His progress was being impeded upon because the woman of his desires was trying to set him off earlier. She was in a mood to take things fast. Tom wouldn't have minded fast. He would like fast about now too. He just needed to get her clothes off. "Damn, but you can wiggle." Tom told B'Elanna as another snap eluded him when her mouth bent to lick one of his little male nipples . Hours later... Tom lie contentedly, B'Elanna in his arms, staring up at the ceiling of Sickbay. She snuggled a little closer, and he smiled; oh how he loved this woman. She leaned over, stroked his bare chest with her fingers, and then giggled. "What?" he asked, smiling down at her. She wrapped a few strands of his chest hair around her fingers, "Your hair is back." His grin grew wider, "Well...I guess friction worked, then."   The End