"Heed the well. May the Lord who watches all watch over thee. May God's heaven be your blanket as you softly sleep."(15) XV. My first thought, coming to, was wondering why things just didn't come simply in the life of Thomas Eugene Paris. Obviously, someone had decided I was getting along altogether too easily -- it was never quiet for long before something happened to pull the rug out from under me. Very gingerly I opened my eyes. A part of me wanted to stay in the dark where it seemed safe, but of course it was no safer here than outside so I blinked hesitantly, trying to adjust to the dim light of the room's interior. The lights were at maybe a quarter illumination; not enough to drive the shadows fully away, only to bathe the room in a soft glow. Someone's quarters, I realized fuzzily, although there was a thick layer of dust permeating the furniture and tabletops. Huh. Whoever lived here was as bad a housekeeper as Dice and I were. I tried to think clearly, but Harrington's hypo had left me feeling slightly numb, mildly disoriented, and unfocussed, and Mitch's later blow hadn't eased the headache any -- in fact, I suspected he'd broken my nose. By craning my neck -- I was lying on my right side, having been dumped onto the couch -- I could see that while my legs were free (after all, what was I going to do, get up and leave?) my arms had been bound tightly. The strip of material I had been gagged with was sour in my mouth, and my throat ached for water. In addition, the dust in the air tickled my nose, causing me to sneeze repeatedly and furthering my miserable plight by cause fireworks to explode in my head. In all, I reflected, using a phrase I'd heard my dad use many a time, I was not a happy camper. As I searched for both my commbadge and repulsor chair and saw neither, I didn't bother to curb the anger and frustration that were growing, didn't allow myself to slide into the weary, passive acceptance I'd come to know so well. Instead, I allowed myself to be furious. How *dare* they do this?? How *dare* they?? How did I do this to myself? At first when I realized we were stranded out in the Delta Quadrant, I was overjoyed. Extended parole, I guess it was. But that wore away altogether too quickly, for although I'd seen it as a chance to start over, a new look on life, a fresh start....I soon discovered that no one else felt that way. My newfound paradise, I discovered, was only a more cramped version of my personal hell. The only thing that had changed was the scenery, and that the confines grew ever tighter. But working in close quarters with people allows you the chance to know them as they really are. After the first year it became easier....walking alone didn't bother me, I didn't jump at every shadow so much, wasn't always watching for the person waiting for you to drop your guard. So as Starfleet and Maquis came to trust each other, they also began to trust me, the Observer. It was a little longer before I came to trust either of them, moving past my small circle of Harry and Kes to smile easier, laugh genuinely, and redevelop the sense of unity I'd not had for so long. Yet it seemed there were a few who still harbored quite a bit of resentment. Sighing and suggesting he get a life hadn't improved Mitch's demeanor any; I decided to use a new line the next time I winded up in a situation like this. Though, come to think of it, I'd never quite been in a situation like this before. Bitter and/or jealous crewmates, yes, jealous and evidentally 'spurned' women, no. Sasha Harrington. I just didn't get it. I didn't even know her -- which was evidentally her complaint. Now, I'd heard all manner of complaints from women, but as of yet Sasha Harrington was the only one to express her dissatisfaction in such a....forceful way. I sighed, ignoring the musty taste of the gag and wishing someone find me, or they would do whatever I was here for and be done with it, suddenly I was so very tired I didn't care which it was. Stop it!! I jerked my head up. Stop it, Paris. I'd warned myself not to allow passiveness to override my senses and I'd let my guard slip already. But there was nothing to do except wait. I didn't know I'd dozed off until I was roughly shaken awake by Sasha Harrington. Her green eyes flashed as they locked with my blue ones and she glared contempously. Frustrated at couldn't even smirk at her -- I'd learned that that *really* ticked women off, so I was a bit disappointed I couldn't use it -- I adopted my I'm-a-stoic-Vulcan look and gazed at her calmly. Or at least I tried to be calm. No telling when her big Maquis friend was coming back, or just what he planned to do once he got here. "Wake up, Paris," she growled -- B'Elanna could take lessons from her, she was really quite good. If it hadn't hurt so bad, I would have tried smirking with my eyes just to show her I was alert. But it did hurt, so I settled for a glare to match hers. "Well," she smiled, "that's a little better." She leaned over, checking the bonds on my arms and the gag before straightening and nodding her satisfaction. "It's almost a pity," she mused. Here it comes, I thought. I'd watched enough bad-guy movies to know what was going to happen. Villainess reveals evil plans, delaying long enough for the hero to be rescued and use the information against her. That I could do....right? She continued, unfortunately with no hint of insanity in her voice, "almost. But in the end, we'll both have what we want." That didn't seem very likely for one of us, I decided. She was distracted as a noise clattered from somewhere, and a moment later Shelan Mitch entered my line of vision. Sweaty, dusty, and obviously ticked. I tried not to groan aloud. "We need to go, now," he said without preamble. "Is the shuttle ready?" Harrington demanded. "Yeah. So's Voyager." What were they going to do? Leave me here? "Well, get him and let's go," Harrington hissed. Huh?? When did the villains take the hero with them? As a hostage? I had enough time before Mitch's fist descended to form one last thought to hold me through: B'Elanna, I love you. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything.