What might have (should have) happened had Vorik appeared, say,
five minutes later than he did...

Disclaimer:  Paramount owns characters and stuff; the only thing
that's mine is the alteration from the original story line.
 

        "You must help her," Tuvok insisted to Lieutenant Paris, who
found himself in one of the most awkward situations of recent memory.
He almost protested, but then thought better of it, and allowed his facial
expression to speak for itself.
        Chakotay and Tuvok shuffled off to allow him and B'Elanna their
privacy as he approached her, sitting against the rock face, curled into a
tortured ball of muttered, half-lucid curses. They don't train you for this
kind of thing at Starfleet Academy, he thought wryly.
        "Look, B'Elanna," he began. "I realize this is a pretty bizarre
situation... Probably not what either one of us would have wanted, but-"
        "Tom," she interrupted, even now frustrated with him, "be quiet."
She held a quivering finger to her lips for emphasis before dragging him
by the hand into the trees.
 

        Chakotay scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt.  Try as he might,
he absolutely could not escape from the sounds of passion in the making,
less than fifty meters from where he and Lieutenant Tuvok stood waiting.
He could hear the two of them loud and clear, and it sounded like they
were enjoying themselves very much, in a Klingon sort of way. In fact, it
was beginning to have an effect on him, he realized, as part of him began
involuntarily straining at the seams of his godawful climbing suit.
        An especially loud snarl--it had to be B'Elanna's--reached their ears,
lasting much longer than Chakotay would have predicted.  Dammit.  He
was going to go through a little pon farr of his own in just a minute if he
didn't get the hell out of here.
        "Tuvok," he said, clearing his throat, "why don't we move a little farther
away, and, ah, allow the lieutenants their privacy?"  He began moving.
        Tuvok protested.  "Sir, I would advise against moving any farther away
from Lieutenants Torres and Paris.  We ought to stay in hearing range in case
they are in need of assistance."
        "Assistance?"  Chakotay nearly decked the other officer before he
realized that Tuvok was referring to other problems that might arise--the
Sikari, some wildlife attack, or whatever else.  Still, Paris's yelp coming from
the trees did not make Chakotay any less resolved to get out of there.
        "Tuvok, I am about to make that an order.  Now come on."
        Tuvok held up a hand, cocking an ear to the trees.  Silence had
descended. "It would appear that Lieutenant Paris has completed his... duties."
        Both officers discreetly checked their chronometers.
        Chakotay cleared his throat.  "Well, at least they were efficient about
it.  Let's give them a couple more minutes and then go check on them."
        "Agreed."
        Thank goodness that was over.  Chakotay still felt the need to relieve
himself in the bushes, but he stood his ground now; he felt sure that the
Vulcan would not be sympathetic.
        To hell with it, decided Chakotay, you can't deny your biology.  If
anything, this most recent of adventures had taught them all about that.
He moved to the nearest batch of leafy vegetation.
        He stopped in mid-stride when he heard Paris howl once again.  
Groaning, Chakotay buried his face in his hands.  "Not more," he moaned.
The voices were even louder now.
        "Just a moment," Tuvok said.  "Commander, I am hearing one female
voice, and two male voices.  There is another individual present."
        "What the hell?"  Privacy or not, Chakotay decided they had better move
in now before someone got hurt in more than just a playful manner.
 

        As Chakotay and Tuvok were checking their watches and debating their
course of action, Tom was busy catching his breath. It was maybe the fastest
ride of his experience, but from Tom's point of view, the last five minutes had
by far been the most glorious of his life.  He looked at B'Elanna's face above
him (the two had been vying for the upper position, and in the end she had
triumphed).  Her breath was still heaving and hot from their exertions.
        He disengaged himself as slowly as he could and still keep her in his
arms.  The feeling of her well-toned muscle and smooth, naked flesh beneath
his hands was, quite honestly, amazing.  He had always been attracted to
athletic women, but B'Elanna by far overshot any of his past lovers, even as
quickly as they had--well, as she had finished with him.  "And she's ashamed
of her Klingonside?" he wondered silently.
        Tom rolled them both onto their sides, wincing at what might be a
cracked rib or two.  He kissed her softly, and was about to tell her that they
ought to slow it down next time and enjoy it even more, when he heard the
whine of a transporter.  He felt himself suddenly shoved away from B'Elanna
and into the bushes.
        "Hey!" he shouted, thinking at first that it was B'Elanna who had pushed
him.  He couldn't have been that bad!
        A well-placed kick to the other half of his already injured rib cage made
him realize that the fully-clothed and flaming-from-the-ears figure above him
was not his lover but the raging Ensign Vorik, come to retake his "mate."
Paris, by contrast, was a little spent, had already sustained a few injuries,
and was buck-naked except for the sock on one foot.
        "She is my mate!" snarled the Ensign.
        Paris couldn't help responding, "Not now she isn't."  He just had time to
grab his pants from the ground nearby before Vorik seized him by the
shoulders and threw him to the opposite side of the clearing.  He landed with
a thud painful enough to make him holler, his head bouncing against the
stone of the ruins behind him.
        He looked to B'Elanna for help, but she was busy scrambling to replace
her own torn clothing.  And spitting and fuming and cursing in both Klingon and
Federation standard.
        "Ensign, what do you think you're doing?" Tom demanded, trying with his
hands to cover his most vulnerable parts.
        Just then, Chakotay and Tuvok appeared behind Vorik, grabbing him
before the young Vulcan could advance again.  "Let me go!!  I must defend
the honor of my mate!"
        Chakotay rushed to keep the half-dressed B'Elanna back as Paris
truggled to his feet.  "I'll defend my own honor, you little arrogant-headed
petaQ!" she snarled.
        "I will have her!"
        "No, you won't, Ensign," said Chakotay loudly.  "Both of you stop it."
        "Commander," Tuvok said, "I fear we may not be able to stop them."
        "Tom, didn't you do your job right?" Chakotay demanded.  "I thought
sex was supposed to calm down the pon farr-sufferer."
        "It is," confirmed Tuvok, with one eyebrow raised toward Paris.
        "Dammit, don't look at me!" Tom snapped.  "I've already...  I did what
you told me to, okay?"
        Vorik tried to break free of Tuvok's grip.  "You're not finished yet,
human!"
        "The hell I'm not!"
        "Lieutenant Paris," said Tuvok, "I must inform you that Vorik has made a
formal challenge to you, according to Vulcan tradition.  Fighting him will free
him from his own pon farr."
        "So if Tom says no, Vorik dies?" Chakotay questioned.
        To Tom's chagrin, Tuvok nodded solemnly.  "Now wait just a minute," he
protested.  "I've already... helped B'Elanna.  Somebody else can take care of
Vorik, as far as I'm concerned!"  He glanced over to his left, where B'Elanna
sat huddled in a ball, trying to collect herself.  Not exactly his idea of post-
coital bliss.
        "That has already been attempted."
        Grabbing a piece of someone's clothing to hold in front of himself for
modesty, Tom was angry enough to consider punching Vorik now.  But he had
hit his head pretty hard; it looked to him like he was going about warp six with
no starship.  "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to fight him."
        Chakotay came to his aid.  "Tuvok, can't we just sedate Vorik and take
care of the rest on Voyager?"
        "Without communication to Voyager, we have no access to any sedative."
        "Do you have some kind of vendetta against Tom I never knew about?"
        Suddenly, Vorik broke free of Tuvok's grasp and rushed at Tom, who was
too light-headed to dodge the oncoming assault.  Vorik slugged Tom across
the jaw, landing his fist there with a very loud smack.  Managing to stay on his
feet, Tom raised his head back up as quickly as possible, butting the crown of
his head on Vorik's jaw. To his satisfaction, Vorik grunted with the pain of impact.
        The next thing Tom knew, he had landed at Chakotay's feet, having
been tossed like a rag doll once more.  "Tough luck, Paris," he thought before
he blacked out altogether.

        That was not the last word, however.  Vorik had forgotten to account for
the opinion of his prospective mate.  B'Elanna had by now returned to her
normal self, and seeing what was happening, lost her temper again.
        Just as Vorik was about to kick Tom once more for good measure, she
grabbed the presumptuous ensign by the shoulder and flipped him around so
that he fell on his back and had to catch his breath.
        "You insolent, arrogant, stupid little Vulcan," she seethed.  "If you want
a fight, then I'll give you one!"
        With Vorik still in a pon farr-induced haze, it took less than fifteen
seconds for her to get him down for the ten count.  While unsteady on her
feet, she nonetheless managed to keep her balance as she caught her breath.
Chakotay reached out to steady her.  "B'Elanna, are you all right?"  The glare
she gave him was furious, but to his relief, it was not sex-crazed.  "Tuvok," he
said, "check on Vorik."
        "Janeway to Commander Chakotay."
        "Captain!  Thank goodness."
        "Are you all right down there?  We lost communication with you."
        "Ensign Vorik must have disabled the comm link before beaming down to
the surface," surmised Tuvok.
        Chakotay nodded.  "We're all alive, Captain, but three of us are in pretty
bad shape.  Requesting a direct transport to sickbay."
        "Permission granted.  I'll meet you there; I can't wait to hear all about
it."

        The next thing Tom knew was the soft hum of sickbay, currently being
interrupted by an argument happening somewhere off to his right.  He cracked
an eye with a mind to help, but then realized that he still had no clothes on.
In fact, someone had been so good as to remove his remaining sock.
        With his only form of shelter the arch of the biobed over him, he shut his
eyes again and kept very, very still.  Maybe this would all just go away if he
didn't move.
        "Just look at what you've done, you ignorant, stupid little Vulcan,"
B'Elanna was shouting.  "You have absolutely humiliated me!"
        "I regret any actions I have performed which have caused you
discomfort," was Vorik's monotone reply.  Well, at least those two were back
to normal.
        "You might have killed Lieutenant Paris"--Tom winced at her calling him
by his title--"and you caused an enormous incident that this entire ship will be
talking about for months."  He winced again to hear that she thought of the
latter as the worse fate.
        The Doctor mercifully intervened.  "May I remind the both of you that this
is a sickbay, not a boxing ring?  I want you both confined to your quarters for
the next twenty-four hours.  No buts, Lieutenant.  I refuse to have either one
of you doing any more damage to Lieutenant Paris, each other, or anyone else
on this vessel.  Understood?"
        Someone had the good taste to drop a blanket on top of Tom so that
the view wasn't quite so... revealing.  It was about time.
        Vorik had already consented and left the sickbay when Tom finally
opened his eyes.  B'Elanna, on the other hand, seemed about to protest
when they  made eye contact.  She turned a shade of bright red, stammered
her agreement, and left the room moving faster than she had in the mines.
        The Doctor appeared in his field of vision.  "Congratulations, Mr. Paris!"
he said.
        "What?" Tom mumbled.  He could tell he had a split lip and one or two
loose teeth.
        "You have sustained three broken ribs, a mild concussion, several mild
bruises and contusions, and... a broken clavicle.  I wish you good fortune!"
        "Doc, shut up before I program some injuries to your mouth."
        "Touché!  Merely extending my best wishes.  Now, can you raise your
arms above your head?  Let's get to work on those ribs."
 

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