After I finished "A Few More Small Repairs", I was so sick of P. and T. that I swore I was going to take a week off.  And then Janet commented that she had been fond of the ending of the original, skewed-chronology version, "A Few Small Repairs", which expands on Tuvok's promotion dinner and the scene following and was cut from the rewrite.  She got me thinking about those "3 days" (apparently between the "DoH" and "Revulsion" episodes) Tom refers to during the scene, and the next thing you know the challenge to expand on some more time between episodes was too great to resist.  So I began this the next day.  This story was not completed until 12/17/97.

     Janet, if this comes out well, thank you again for the inspiration.  If it fails to live up to expectations, you didn't have a thing to do with it.  I would be remiss if I did not give Janet credit for the title and thank her for coming up with it.

     I would very much welcome your constructive feedback to Jen2777@AOL.COM.  The standard disclaimer applies:  Paramount/Viacom own the whole Star Trek thing.  I'm just borrowing for enjoyment and not profit.


Warp Core Blues
Voyager, P/T, Episode Extension genre, First-Person (B'Elanna's) POV


***


     I paused in front of the doors to the briefing room, just out of range of the point at which they would slide open, and put my hand against the wall to steady myself.  I wasn't sure I was up to this.  Whether it was the lightheadedness that followed tri-ox treatment, apprehension about the Captain's inevitable request for a post-mortem report, or the idea of meeting a certain blue-eyed conn officer again, I wasn't certain.

     I said no when the Doctor asked me this morning if I had noticed any lingering tri-ox effects:  dizziness, lightheadedness, tingling in the extremities, rapid heartbeat.  I hadn't noticed any during my forced day off following treatment.  No such discomforts had interrupted me as I lay on my couch with the door locked, agonizing over the previous days' events.

     When I was studying to be an engineer at Starfleet Academy, dumping the warp core was an eventuality none of us idealists ever believed we'd have to resort to.  Come hell or high water, *I* wasn't ever dumping any core of mine, I'd promised myself.  Well, the real world contained things like uncontrollable tachyon particle leaks and 150 lives to answer for.  At that point it hadn't taken hell or high water, only Tom Paris's insistent grip and his voice in my ear.  With the authorization of "Torres Omega-phi-nine-three" the hatch in the ship's underbelly had opened and out went my warp core, ripe pickings for the Cataati salvagers who tractored it off.  Not before sending an antimatter pulse back through the Cochrane's particle beam and blowing it to microscopic fragments, of course.  And leaving Tom and me tethered to each other in EVA suits, slowly dying from oxygen deprivation.

     Some Day of Honor.  God, how I hate that wretched holiday.  I'm plagued by Murphyesque rotten luck every year, but the low point of my twenty-five miserable Days of Honor was definitely watching Tom Paris share my slow suffocation from a neighboring EVA suit.  I was *positive* we were going to die.  So certain that as I watched Tom drowsing a few feet from me, I  thought about all the things I regretted in life, the foremost of those being a wish, a pipe dream, a longing deep inside of me that I'd barely begun to acknowledge I had.  "Tom," I had said, in our last moments of consciousness as our oxygen supply dwindled, "I have to tell you something.  I have to tell you the truth.  I -"

     "Are you all right, Lieutenant?"  A hand touched my shoulder, and I was startled out of my reverie as two of the bluest eyes I've ever seen in my life met mine.  He strayed into optical sensor range and the doors slid open on a briefing room full of inquisitive senior staff members.  I slipped out from under Tom's arm, muttered an affirmative under my breath, and slunk into my chair.  My heart pounded so hard I thought it must be audible.  Captain Janeway downed the last of whatever passed for coffee and opened the briefing.

     "Good morning everyone.  I think a little updating is in order, for everyone's sake.  Tom, B'Elanna, welcome back."  That smile was like the gold stars in elementary school.  Such a seemingly inconsequential thing, but you would be willing to risk life, limb, and reputation to earn it.

     "To update you on our current status," she continued, "we were able to reach an agreement with the Cataati.  Our warp core has been returned to us in exchange for a thorium-manufacturing technology Seven was able to share with them.  As I'm sure you're aware, B'Elanna, we are currently at all-stop with the warp core held in a tractor beam.  We've been waiting for the two of you to return to duty before attempting to reinstall it."

     "Yes, Captain.  Carey and I have detailed a reinstallation procedure," I responded.

     "First, could you provide a status report on the ship's systems?"

     "Yes, Captain," I replied, sinking a little lower in my seat.  "Impulse engines and thrusters are now on line.  Tractor capability and helm control are at optimum.  The warp drive is locked down in preparation for reinstallation.  The core itself has been stabilized, and its thruster and alignment systems verified.  As far as the Cochrane is concerned, we currently have seventy-nine percent of the parts and materials aboard to fabricate a replacement."

     Captain Janeway nodded.  "Very efficient performance.  Your engineering staff are to be congratulated."

     Except for the Chief Engineer, who spent yesterday on her butt catching up on what the hell went wrong.  "Thank you, Captain."

     "And now your plans for reinstallation of the warp core."

     There are several prime reasons for not jettisoning the warp core of a starship.  For starters, of course, it disables your power systems and cripples your ship.  Secondly, the act of dumping the core can create serious problems with your structural integrity field.  And thirdly, it is a bitch to reinstall.

     "Yes, Captain."  I cleared my throat.  It was difficult to address a command crew with varying levels of technical knowledge.  I hoped nobody would get their shorts in a knot.  "As you know, reinstallation of the core is actually a threefold process.  The first step, neutralizing and stabilizing the core, has been completed.  The second step is reinserting the core into the core housing.  The third is reconnecting it with the warp drive system and bringing warp engines on-line.

     "Step two will involve the combined efforts of engineering and helm control.  The core thrusters and stabilizers have to be used to maneuver it into position and dock it with the ship.  Helm control will have to compensate for variances in the core's alignment and be ready to get the ship away from it if we have to abort.  Once the core's docked, internal systems will take over, drawing it into position and locking it there.  The third step will be confined to engineering and will consist of manually bringing systems on-line, one by one."

     "Can you detail your manpower and equipment requirements?"

     "I'd like to request Lieutenant Paris for helm control.  Lieutenant Carey will coordinate the crew's efforts from the science lab.  And I'll perform the docking procedure from the ops station on the bridge."

     The Captain held my eyes for a moment.  I wondered if she had noticed the flush that crept into my cheeks at saying Tom Paris's name, or if she was aware of the heated discussion between Joe Carey and me with regard to who actually had the task of bringing the warp core in.  His disagreement with my decision made this harder, but it was *my* ship, *my* screwup, and I was responsible for fixing it.

     "Thank you, B'Elanna.  Reinstallation of the warp core is our primary focus, and you'll have the resources you need.  You can continue the procedure as soon as you're ready.  If  there are no further questions, you are dismissed."

     The senior staff began to stand up and move out of the briefing room.  Tom hesitated and looked like he might be waiting for me.  I frantically tried to come up with a diversion.

     "B'Elanna, may I speak with you for a moment," the Captain said as she picked up a datapad.  Not the diversion I had in mind.  Tom took the hint and left, and I faced the Captain with my hands clasped behind my back, ready for a photon torpedo up my nacelle.  The corners of Captain Janeway's mouth twitched.

     "At ease, Lieutenant."

     "Captain, I spent yesterday reviewing the reports on our attempt at opening the transwarp conduit.  I've already outlined the plans for a sensitizing subroutine in the  monitoring system to detect the type of fluctuations which caused the problem.  I'm also developing a safety protocol to prevent surges in the emitter matrix."  I shook my head, angry at myself.  "I should have made the connection between the tachyon levels and the surge-"

     "I thought you were supposed to be resting yesterday."

     "The calculations weren't strenuous, Captain."

     Captain Janeway held up a hand.  "I'm not here to criticize your handling of the situation, B'Elanna.  The analysis shows that no individual is to blame.  What happened was an accident."

     I couldn't convince myself of that.  My mind refused to accept the idea of a disaster I couldn't have seen coming.

     "I *am* here to criticize your treatment of Seven.  She's no more responsible for what happened than you are.  Your handling of her as a part of your crew was unnacceptable.  You're not an ensign, you're the Chief Engineer of this starship.  You have more people reporting to you than any other officer at your level on board, with the exception of Tuvok.  You have to set an example of equal treatment."  She sighed.  "B'Elanna, the engineering staff has come to follow your lead.  When you fail to treat Seven as a member of your team, so do they.  That's a situation I can't have."

     A few years ago I would have been so insecure about being right I would have started arguing in self-defense.  Now I'm still just as insecure, but I've learned there's only one correct response to that kind of statement if you intend to keep your position.

     "Yes, ma'am."

     "I'm going to assign Seven to work with Harry Kim on updating the astrometrics lab.  You'll certainly have to work closely with her, and bear in mind she may very well be assigned to you in the future.  I expect you to treat her as you would any other member of this crew and set an example for the junior crewmembers."  She locked eyes with me.  "'Borg' remarks and uncalled-for dismissals will not be tolerated."

     "Aye, Captain."

     "Dismissed."  The Captain probed me with her eyes, then went back to the datapads.  I fled.

     As usual, my inability to control my emotions had gotten me into hot water.  Seven triggered an exaggerated version of my response to my mother in me.  The Borg wanted to erase who you were as an individual, chew you up and spit you out as something more acceptable to them.  'Your distinctiveness will be added to the collective.'  My entire life I've struggled against people who wanted to add me to their personal collectives - my mother, who wanted to bury the human side of me, and everybody else, who wanted to eliminate my Klingon traits.  I haven't often liked who I am, but I wished that for once somebody could just accept my distinctiveness as it was and not try to improve upon it.

     The only person I've ever met who truly seems to be able to do that is Tom.  *He* won't let me forget that I'm half-human, half-Klingon.  He's determined to make me play with bat'telhs and celebrate the Day of Honor, painsticks and all.  And yet he's the one to bring up Christmas and fairy tales and all these other human traditions I missed out on.  He's probably still angry with me for not finishing the program he put so much effort into.  And for calling him a pig, again.  And maybe even for going and blurting out that I loved him.  He doesn't handle emotional closeness too well, either.  Putting him under the pressure to respond was probably enough to chase him halfway to the Alpha quadrant.

     I arrived in Engineering.  Soon I was going to fill that big void where a warp core was supposed to be.  The place was deserted except for Carey and Vorick.  When we reinserted the core this compartment would be depressurized, so the entire engineering staff was going to have to operate from the science lab.

     "We're ready here, Chief," Carey said.  "All systems locked down and control rerouted to the science lab."

     "Acknowledged."

     Carey interrupted before I could say anything else.  "Ensign Vorick, report to the science lab."

     Vorick hesitated, then nodded and obeyed.  Odd.  Engineering belongs to Carey during his shift, but when we're working together he never issues commands or dismisses people like that in front of me.  Apparently he wanted a moment with me.  Alone.

     I crossed my arms and said, "Lieutenant, if this has to do with our discussion this morning, I thought I made it clear the matter's closed"

     "Permission to speak freely, Chief."

     I rolled my eyes.  "We're the same rank, Carey, you don't have to ask me that."

     "Torres, in the three years I've served under you, I've never questioned any of your decisions.  I'm only questioning one now because it's the first time I've ever had any doubts."

     It took three years' worth of self-control and respect for my relationship with Carey not to break his nose again.  "Do you have doubts about my ability to dock this warp core?"

     "No.  I have doubts about the motivation behind your duty assignment."

     "Because you're the alternate choice?" I asked.

     "Because you've selected a less qualified and recently injured crewmember for the job."

     Once I was capable of speech again, I said, "I ought to put you on report for insubordination."

     "Why won't you?"  The question surprised me, and I didn't readily have an answer.

     "Because you know I'm right," Carey answered for me.  Before I could get out any of the expletives that were forming, he continued.  "Because you know what I'm telling you is the truth.  And that it wouldn't be *honorable* to discipline me when I'm doing my job as your second in command and telling it like it is."

     "Damn it, Carey!" I exploded.  "This discussion has nothing to do with honor!"

     "I think it has everything to do with honor.  Misguided honor.  The reason you insist on beating yourself over the head for what happened and carrying out the hardest part of the reinstallation when you're not the most qualified.  You're allowing your personal hangups to come before making the best decision for Voyager and her crew."

     I turned and drove my fist into the bulkhead.  It was that or Carey's face.  Rage boiled up so white-hot inside of me that all the self-control I possessed wasn't enough.  Carey didn't so much as flinch.

     "That's what I question, Chief.  I *question* the fact that for the first time since I've known you, you're putting something ahead of your responsibilities."

     I fought to get my breathing under control.  My anger scares me because it becomes its own entity, almost a physical personification.  I could feel it shaking me as if it were a tiger that had me by the scruff.

     "You don't carry this title," I ground out.  "This title *makes* me responsible."

     "Only to handle situations to the best of your ability as Chief Engineer.  Not to predict every possible outcome from a random set of circumstances.  And don't forget- I filled in for you for two days.  I learned how hard it is to be on the receiving end with Captain Janeway.  I know how she makes you want to meet her expectations so badly that you feel like shit when you don't.  But even the Captain knows this wasn't your fault."  

     I remained silent, and Carey continued.  "Do you think after three years I can't tell when you're not at 100 percent?  I have simulator time on this, plus I have the dubious distinction of actually having done it.  And I haven't had any recent close encounters with death.  We have a greater potential for success working as a team.  Don't throw it away by trying to play the lone ranger.  Even if you do succeed it's not going to erase the guilt you're heaping onto yourself."

     "Lieutenant Carey."  I swallowed hard and resisted the urge to reach for the wall again.  "Report to the science lab and coordinate reinstallation as planned.  Dismissed."

     The muscles in Carey's jaw worked.  I almost wished he would challenge me.  At that point my self-control hung by such a thread I would have relished the opportunity.  The thought of losing the commission I'd longed for my entire life wouldn't have stopped me.  Instead he turned wordlessly and headed for the door.

     "Carey."  He stopped, his back to me.

     "You'd still follow my orders," I said, "despite your objections?"

     "You're the chief," he replied with a twinge of bitterness.  "I gave you my opinion.  Now I have to stand by your decision, right or wrong."

     What was honor?  I'd asked myself that question many times, with more than a twinge of bitterness, and still the answer eluded me.  Was it honor to fix what you held yourself responsible for screwing up?  Or to admit that you weren't the best person to do it and concede the job to a subordinate?  Which was weakness, and which was strength?

     "Carey, belay that order," I said with a deep sigh.  "Report to the bridge.  You'll be responsible for docking the warp core with the ship.  I'll coordinate from the science lab."

     "Yes, ma'am."  As he turned to go I rubbed my aching forehead and called to him once more.

     "Carey?"

     "Yes, Chief?"

     "If you screw this up, I'll personally put your butt in a sling for a month."

     I thought I heard a smile in his voice as he replied, "Yes, ma'am," and walked out.

     I was left alone.  This was the first time since coming aboard Voyager that I'd seen engineering completely still and empty.  My footsteps echoed in the silence as I performed the rituals of verifying door seals and making sure there was no loose equipment to be sucked out when we depressurized.  I actually found a hydrospanner tucked beneath a console and had to smile.  It probably belonged to me.  I dropped it in a tool drawer and locked it.  Wouldn't want to lose a hydrospanner, now.

     I paused on my way out.  Empty and silent as engineering was, it would have looked  like a tomb to most people.  To me it was like a cathedral.  Soon it was going to have its icon back.


     The Captain accepted my change of assignments without comment, as did my engineering staff.  From the science lab's modified console, I depressurized engineering and opened the hatch in Voyager's underbelly that exposed the core housing.  Our shields were down; they had to be for performing close-up work like this.  Our proximity alarms were disabled for the same reason.  We were unshielded from anything that hit us and would have to rely on vigilant observation to make sure nothing did.  Most of the ship was empty and silent as a crypt.  You do this kind of thing with the majority of your crew evacuated to escape pods, just in case.

     I have a certain morbid interest in disaster analysis.  An acute knowledge of the physical consequences of failure is an extremely powerful motivator to succeed.  I knew that a collision could cause a rupture in the core, spilling precious warp plasma out into space.  The only way to repair it would be to do an emergency EVA and manually seal it off.  It would be like defusing a live bomb in zero gravity.  I also knew there was a very small but finite possibility of the worst-case scenario happening, a collision above a certain critical velocity.  If that happened, the textbooks said a plasma explosion would result.  What they left up to my overly graphic imagination was that the blast would surge up that relatively unprotected shaft deep into Voyager's infrastructure, blowing a hole the size of a shuttlecraft in us and vaporizing the surrounding compartments over three decks.  If we were lucky, that would be the extent of the damage.

     Of course, none of that was going to happen on *my* shift.  I tried to forget that I had said the same thing about the act that got us here in the first place.

     "Carey, are you ready up there?" I asked.

     "Awaiting your orders, Chief."

     "Paris, are you prepared?"

     "Ready at the helm, Lieutenant."

     Carey sounded as relaxed as if this was nothing more than a simple power transfer.  Tom projected his usual breezy confidence.  I wished I felt like either one of them.

     "Acknowledged."  I took a very deep breath.  "Releasing tractor beam.  Core proximity: 52 meters.  Carey, it's your show."

     "Aye, Chief."  I pictured the viewscreen on the bridge showing a core's-eye view of Voyager's underside.  Carey would access the thrusters and stabilizers within the core and use them to match its attitude to that of the housing.  "Engaging lateral thrusters."

     I could only imagine Carey tilting and rotating the core in space.  All I knew was that he was keeping it in one place while he did it.

     "How's my alignment, Chief?"

     "Point-eight-five degrees off declination.  Recommend using ship's thrusters to compensate."

     "Compensating," Tom responded.  The relative position indicators on my readout responded to the minute movement of the ship.

     "The alignment is now point-zero-nine degrees off.  This is probably as close as we'll get."

     "Roger," Carey replied.  "Engaging forward thrusters."

     "Proximity forty-nine meters," I reported.  "Alignment has increased to point-two-two degrees off," I continued with a frown.  'Forward thrusters on the core must be unbalanced.  Paris, I need you to compensate."

     "Aye, Lieutenant."  He did a good job of keeping the strain out of his voice.

     "Still point-two-two degrees off," I said.  "Proximity twenty-nine meters."  This was the critical moment.  Point-three degrees out of alignment was the maximum safe limit for this operation.  I had to call abort before twenty meters closure if I was going to give Tom a chance to maneuver the ship away from the core.  Do you gamble the alignment won't slip anymore or go through the tedious process of aborting, retractoring the warp core, and starting the whole nerve-wracking approach again?

     "Your call, Lieutenant?"

     "Hold position, Mr. Paris.  Alignment point-two-five degrees off.  Proximity twenty-three meters.  Twenty meters.  Alignment point-two-eight degrees.  Proximity fifteen meters."  I started to sweat.  I wondered how much of a safety margin the engineers had built into the point-three degree tolerance.  If it were me, I'd have built in a great big one.  I hoped they thought the same way.  The bridge seemed to be holding its collective breath.

     "Alignment holding at point-two-eight.  Proximity ten meters."  I paused.  "Five meters.  Alignment point-two nine.  Three meters, two,- "

     "Contact!" Carey exclaimed.  I felt the kind of relief I imagined you'd feel when trying to decide which wire was the trigger wire on a bomb.  That giggly, weak-kneed, near-hysteria that would overcome you after you'd cut one of them and discovered you were still there.  I thought I heard a whoop from the bridge, and Captain Janeway cut in over the comm channel.

     "Excellent work, people.  Well done."

     "Thank you, Captain.  Good piloting, gentlemen," I replied.  "Taking over from here."  I revelled in finally being able to do something.  "Switching to installation drive.  Drive mechanism activated."  Although I couldn't see it, I knew the drive mechanism within the shaft was now pulling the warp core the rest of the way in.  "Computer, prepare to activate core lockdown protocol, authorization Torres-gamma-five-four."

     "System enabled," the computer responded.

     "Computer, engage lockdown."  I felt a slight vibration as the most powerful mechanical coupling mechanism developed by Federation technology mated the warp core to Voyager's internal support structure.  I confirmed the lock on my display.  "Sealing warp core hatch."  I engaged the seal and sagged against the console.  Around me, the engineering staff was wiping brows and loosening collars.  The green tone in Vorick's skin was noticeable absent.

     "Repressurizing engineering and surrounding compartments and restoring environmental systems," I continued in a more relaxed tone.  Once pressure and oh-two levels were up to normal, I was glad to announce, "Warp core reinsertion complete, Captain.  Returning to engineering to put the warp drive back on-line."

     "Acknowledged, Lieutenant.  Excellent job, all of you.  Janeway out."

     The Captain happily issued the order to release the rest of the crew from escape pods as we trooped back to engineering, and on the bridge they began testing out the shield and proximity alert systems.  We met Carey at the door.

     "Good job, Carey," I congratulated him.  He shook his head.

     "I was nearly out of spec on the alignment," he chastised himself.  "I was almost sure you were going to have to call abort-"

     "Don't beat yourself over the head about it," I interrupted.  "Someone wise once told me you're not responsible for predicting every possible outcome from a random set of circumstances."  Carey gave me a sidelong glance.  "You couldn't have predicted the warp core's forward thrusters would be off balance."

     "Yes, Chief.  I'll bear that in mind."

     I verified that the pressure and atmosphere in engineering were equalized, then deactivated the seal and stepped inside.  Being the first one in the compartment wasn't going to save anybody if I was wrong, but the chief engineer should still precede her staff into a repressurized space.  It was the principle of the thing.

     There, looking as at home as if it had never left, stood my warp core.  I resisted the urge to stroke it and moved to a console.  I supervised the opening of plasma conduits and the adjustments of magnetic constrictors with the unmindful glee of a kid opening Christmas presents.  We watched the warp core thrum into glowing life as if it were a brightly-lit Christmas tree.  As soon as it did so, I realized how exhausted I was.  I was so anxious about the warp core reinstallation I hadn't eaten in eighteen hours.  Low blood sugar combined with residual tri-ox effects and adrenalin let-down, and I sat down right on the steps because I knew I was going to fall on them if I didn't.

     "Chief!"

     "I'm fine, just give me a minute."  I put my head in my hands.  Pinpoints of light prickled behind my closed eyelids.  I felt a hand grip my arm and another one push my head lower.  The prickling cleared and I managed to look up.  My whole damned staff was staring at me.  I dragged myself to my feet.  I felt as if I'd been dangling from a rock face by my fingernails instead of standing at a console all afternoon.

     "Okay, show's over.  Carey, brief Nicolleti before alpha shift ends.  I'll be in my quarters if you need me."

     "Should you go to Sickbay, Chief?" Carey asked.

     "I don't need a doctor, I just need some sleep."

     I forced myself to stride purposefully through the doors and down the corridor.  I waited impatiently for the turbolift doors to open.  I looked forward to sagging against the lift's walls.  The doors opened to reveal- Tom Paris.  God, of all people, of all the times.  We looked at each other, mutually shocked.  I finally nodded, stepped in, and said, "Deck Five."

     The lift obediently moved.  I struggled to keep upright.  Tom shifted from foot to foot next to me and I wished the lift would move faster.  We've had a lot of conversations in lifts, and I prayed Tom wasn't contemplating one now.  All at once he seemed to make up his mind.  He opened his mouth to tell the computer to halt turbolift and turned towards me-

     The doors opened on Deck Five.  I gave Tom a quick nod and was almost to my quarters before the lift doors shut on him, leaving him as speechless as he'd been when I warned him to be careful what he wished for.  I darted into the solitude of my quarters, engaged the door lock, and flopped on the bed, my heart hammering as fast as if I'd just raced up El Capitan in record time.

     What was I thinking?  What did I expect?  That he was going to tell me he loved me in return?  Who was I kidding?  There couldn't possibly be a chance between the gorgeous, hotshot pilot from a prominent Starfleet family and the short, dark, half-Klingon of dubious ancestry and even more dubious credentials.

     Why did I have to go and say those words?  Serving with the Maquis and Starfleet weren't without their dangers, and I'd thought about how I'd face my own death many times.  Never did any of my renditions have me going all sappy and blurting out my deepest, most hidden feelings for the resident heartthrob, some tall, blond, blue-eyed hunk half the starship wanted to get in bed with.  I turned over and buried my face in my pillow.  If only they weren't true.

     If only I hadn't seen the side of Tom that was so different than the one that created losers like Gaunt Gary and possessed a hair-trigger "resist authority" response.  The Tom Paris that reassured *me*, of all people, that I was strong and brave in the Vidiian prison and had the decency not to take advantage of me even when I was so pumped up with pon farr I was begging him to.  The one that dragged me along through the Argala habitat when I wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and succumb to hypothermia.  The one who taught me how to rock-climb, who could make me feel safe 300 feet off the ground with nothing but a length of rope to catch me as long as it was his hands held it, who put his free time into doing a lot better job on my Day of Honor program than I could have ever done, who's asked me to dinner and to share holodeck programs time and again even though the answer had always been no.

     The real question was, did I love Thomas Eugene Paris?  Yes.  I had to admit it to myself.  Just thinking it gave me as much of a physical rush as saying it to him had.  I loved him.  We couldn't continue avoiding each other for what might amount to a seventy-year-plus journey.  And I couldn't deny what it had taken a near-death experience to wring out of me.  I hadn't screwed up my courage only to have it evaporate now, I resolved.

     Which meant we had to Talk About It.  Which led to the burning question- what if he didn't feel the same about me?


     The next day began with a bang when I woke up twenty minutes late, still in my uniform.  This time, at least, the emitter heads in my sonic shower held up, and I took the time to wolf down a replicated breakfast so I wouldn't find myself on the floor again.  I was running late to engineering, late to the morning briefing, and late to my scheduled appointment with the Doctor.

     "How are you feeling, Lieutenant?"

     "Great.  Fine.  Good as new."

     "Mmmn hmmm.  Anything you want to share with me?"

     "What do you mean?"  I feigned innocence.

     "Any *lightheadedness*, any *dizziness*, perhaps?"

     He crossed his arms and peered down his nose at me.  One of the few social deviations I haven't gotten a handle on is the ability to lie.  I couldn't even lie to a hologram, for heaven's sake.

     "Okay, maybe a little."

     "Mmmn HMM.  Enough to practically put you on the floor, it would appear."

     "All right," I said indignantly, "who ratted?"

     "My sources will remain anonymous.  Over the past three days, you've suffered severe oxygen deprivation, tri-ox treatment, extreme stress, and an apparently profound lack of appetite.  You're in need of a mild sedative, rest, and food, in that order."

     "You forgot, I already had a day off."

     "Obviously it wasn't enough.  You're getting another one now."

     "Doctor!"

     "Want to make that two?"  His eyes blazed at me.  I bit my tongue.  "I see, you're willing to be reasonable.  I'm administering a mild sedative.  You're under orders to return to your quarters.  No datapads allowed," he added, giving me a glare.  "I'm augmenting your replicator rations and programming in a suitable selection of choices which I'll expect to see you select from.  Don't make me pay you a housecall."  He gave me a hypospray.  "I will, however, release you to attend the promotion dinner for Lieutenant Tuvok the Captain told me about."

     "Goodie," I muttered.

     "Sweet dreams, Lieutenant."

     "Wait'll I get my hands on your emitter," I promised myself as I stomped out the door.

     The rest of the day passed uneventfully for me, for obvious reasons.  I surprised myself by actually sleeping for four hours straight.  And I discovered that the Doctor's meal choices somehow managed to include several of my favorites.  I had pizza with the works for lunch and napped again afterwards.  I had to admit I was surprised at how much better I felt as I changed uniforms for the dinner.  Strong.  Determined.  Ready to face enemy phaser fire.  Or Tom Paris.  I vowed to settle this thing with him *tonight*.

     The closer I got to the messhall, the more my courage wavered.  As I walked through the doors and saw Tom there with Harry, Captain Janeway, Chakotay, and Neelix, it completely evaporated.  Now if it was phaser fire I'd had to face...

     The guest of honor arrived and we sat down to one of Neelix's better efforts.  I concentrated on the food and didn't say anything.  One look into those blue eyes and I could feel myself turn into a tongue-twisted wreck.  Maybe this wasn't the night to resolve things.

     The dinner was one of the few times the entire senior staff had gotten together for a meal, and it really was enjoyable.  The conversation eventually turned to the inevitable humorous anecdotes, and Harry started in on a prank he and Tom had pulled on Tuvok.

     Tom often doesn't try or even want to be the life of the party, but he's so good at it that usually someone presses him into it.  He delivered as always, leaving everybody in stitches.  Everyone except me.  I took the chance just to watch him while he was being Mr. Entertaining.  I loved to watch him laugh, to see him really hoot, to see the real Tom Paris really happy.

     "And just when he thought it was over," Tom was saying, "when he went back to his quarters and ordered a cup of Vulcan tea, the replicator says-"

     "Live long and prosper!" Harry finished in unison.  Even Chakotay was wiping tears from his eyes.  Tuvok looked like his uniform was strangling him.

     As the laughter died down, Captain Janeway finished up with describing how the first time she met Tuvok, he dressed her down in front of four Starfleet admirals.

     "Of course," she added, "He was right."  She stood and joined him at the other end of the table.  "Over the past nine years, I've come to appreciate Tuvok's insightful, and unfailingly logical, counsel.  Tuvok, in recognition of your outstanding service as Chief Tactical and Security Officer, I'm awarding you the rank of Lieutenant Commander."

     We all applauded as the Captain pinned another pip on his collar.  Tuvok's acceptance speech had all the qualities of a fine one- brevity and a funny ending.

     "As a Vulcan, I share the following sentiment," he concluded, raising a hand in the characteristic Vulcan salute and looking Tom right in the eye.  "Live long, and prosper."

     I dropped my napkin on my tray and stood.  Across from me, Tom followed suit and lifted his glass to make a toast.  Perfect timing.  Amidst the congratulations I clapped Tuvok on the shoulder and beat a hasty retreat, all visions of courage and victory over the weaker half of my nature disappearing.  What a chicken shit.

     Quick footsteps followed me out into the hall.

     "B'Elanna!"

     I turned around.  Tom smiled at me self-consciously.  We both laughed a little at the absurdity of the situation.

     "This is ridiculous," he began.  "It's been three days and we haven't said a word to each other."

     "I know, I know, you're right.  We have to talk."  Here it comes.

     "About what you said to me.  About-"  Tom swallowed noticeably.  "Being in love with me."  I tried to look at the floor, the ceiling, his left shoulder, anywhere but those devastating azure eyes.  "Look, I realize you were suffering from oxygen deprivation and we were literally seconds from death, so- I know you probably didn't mean it."

     Was that resignation, or hopefulness, that I heard?  He was giving me the out.  All I had to do was affirm what he was saying and I wouldn't have to risk rejection, wouldn't have to risk what would happen if we invested ourselves in this and it didn't work out.  A couple of words or even a nod of the head would end the agonizing.

     "No, I meant it," I said, before my brain could counteract what my mouth was doing.  "But I don't expect you to reciprocate- really."  What I mean is it'll hurt less if I can convince myself of that.  Tom stared at me the same way he had in the suit.  As if those eyes were going to pull me in and I was going to get hopelessly lost.  "You can just forget that I said it," I blurted, my mouth now getting a little carried away.  "In fact," I said with resolve, "let's just forget that I said anything-"

     "Shut up."

     Normally I would have been angry.  Normally I would have had to restrain myself from breaking the nose of any man who said that to me.  But in this case it was Tom who said it in a breathless voice, and it was Tom who gripped my hands and pushed me back against the wall, and Tom's eyes that were only inches away, and Tom's lips that fastened onto mine...

     "Ah, Lieutenant Paris."

     Tom held onto the kiss so hard that he drew me along with him when he spun around towards the Doctor's voice.  Was this some holographic form of revenge?

     "I was just leaving," I managed to croak.  "Lieutenant."

     I made record time on the way to my quarters.  When the doors slid shut behind me I leaned on them and exhaled.  Although I could hear the Doctor talking to him, I felt Tom's eyes on me all the way down the corridor.  And oh how I wanted to feel his hands and his lips on me again too.

     I sat on the edge of the bed until my pulse returned to normal.  Then I got up and went in the bathroom.  I don't own a lot of toiletries.  It was easy to find what I was looking for.  It was the only scent I own, something I bought at one of the trading posts Voyager stopped at in a moment of weakness.

     The merchant described it to me as intoxicating.  I inhaled the fragrance.  Klingons have a heightened sense of smell, which is a good thing and a bad thing.  It smelled like I had always wanted to look.  I hoped the merchant was right, because I had a hunch...

     I touched the scent to my wrists and behind my ears and sat back down on my bed.  I didn't have to wait long for the door to chime.



***


the end