This is not really a sequel to The Morning After, but more of a 
prequel.  Hope you like it.
The usual disclaimers apply.  Paramount owns all things Star Trek, I 
am only borrowing them for a while.
Maquis or Not, Here I Come
            by
      Vicki Reid
     Tom Paris entered the hidden Maquis base camp for the first 
time, and searched the faces around him for any that were familiar.  
Caldick Prime, though two years ago, was still fresh in everyone's 
mind.  Even in the Maquis, people had heard of Caldick Prime, and 
most people wanted to avoid him.  Paris could never decide which was 
his worst mistake in the whole mess--the accident, lying about it, 
or confessing.
     When approached by the Maquis recruiter, Tom hadn't hesitated 
for a moment to join their fight.  In the Maquis, he would be a 
pilot again, and he knew he could fly circles around the best in 
Starfleet.  Also, he was angry at the world, and himself in 
particular; he needed a good fight, and the Cardassians were worthy 
opponents.  The fact that his father was an Admiral in Starfleet 
added a little spice to the venture.  Another big incentive was that 
the underworld in Marseilles was becoming a little too 'hot' for 
him, as too many thugs wanted a piece of his hide.  But if he were 
absolutely honest with himself, none of these reasons were why he 
joined the Maquis.
      Living in the seamier side of Marseilles had taught him many 
things, the types of things never taught at Starfleet Academy.  
Casually scanning the camp, Tom learned more with his eyes than most 
people did with a tricorder.  *She has to be here,* he thought to 
himself.  *Chakotay's ship and crew are based here, besides, I can 
'feel' her.*
      His eyes were drawn to the other side of the cavern, and his 
heart began to pound in his chest.  Paris was surprised she couldn't 
hear it, feel it even from across the cavern chamber.  No longer 
casually scanning the chamber, he located the person he most wanted 
to see--the real reason he joined the Maquis--and stared intently at 
the slight form whose carriage and shape were completely 
recognizable to him, even from the back.  She turned and once again 
her exotic beauty took his breath away.
     B'Elanna Torres was working on the phase inducers on the multi-
phasic field generator.  Scowling intently at the parts in her 
hands, her mind wandered from her task.  She had heard from several 
sources that He had joined the Maquis.  *Surely Chakotay would not 
let Him be assigned to this base,* she thought, remembering the last 
time she had seen Him.
     Lost in memories, both good and bad, B'Elanna was annoyed when 
one of her crewmates asked, "Are you finished with the generator, 
B'Elanna?"
     The hapless crewmate saw the rage mount in her eyes, and 
realized he had not been paying enough attention to her.  Everyone 
knew not to interrupt the Klingon engineer shen she was engrossed in 
thought--especially about Him.
      Before she could do more than growl deep in her throat, she 
felt a firm, gentle hand on her shoulder.  Taking a deep breath, she 
said, "Sorry, Jarron.  No, I'm not done with the generator.  Give me 
ten minutes and it's yours."
      After Jarron left, Chakotay said, "You've heard."
      B'Elanna's stricken brown eyes stared into his.  "I'm sorry, 
B'Elanna.  There was nothing I could do.  He's just too good a 
pilot--even after Caldick Prime."
       "I had hoped it was only a rumor," she managed to say at 
last.
       Chakotay promised, "I will do all that I can to keep him away 
from you."
       Feeling eyes staring holes in her back, B'Elanna stiffened 
and slowly turned, knowing exactly what she would find.  Brown eyes 
met icy blue, and her heart stopped.  Almost against her will, 
B'Elanna began slowly walking toward the tall, sandy-haired pilot.  
He met her halfway.
      "B'Elanna," he said, in that annoying flirtatious manner of 
his.  "Beautiful as ever."
      "Tom," she whispered.  "Why are you here?"
      Paris shrugged.  "The Maquis need pilots, and I have some 
heavy duty creditors."
      "Still the mercenary, I see," Chakotay sneered.
       Never taking his eyes from B'Elanna's face, Tom replied, 
"Nice to see you, too, Chakotay."  To B'Elanna, he asked 
sardonically, "So you think you need a protector?"
       For her part, B'Elanna did not know whether she should bite 
his face or wipe his sardonic smirk off his face with her fist.  "I 
don't need protection from the likes of you," she snarled.  "I can 
take care of myself."
       "Yeah, right," Tom laughed without humor, rubbing his jaw in 
remembered pain.  "Just like my last shore leave from the Exeter, 
when you had your roommate's Klingon lover give me your message to 
get lost.  With his fist."
       B'Elanna was still off balance emotionally, and Tom's 
nearness prevented her from thinking clearly.  "What are you talking 
about?" she managed to stutter.
        "You remember K'roq," Tom answered.  "Big, mean-looking guy.  
Packs a powerful wallop.  Don't worry, B'Elanna.  I got the message.  
Then and now.  I'm not here for you, only the latinum."
        Hating herself for her weakness in fleeing, but refusing to 
let him see her cry, B'Elanna turned and ran, his words wounding her 
deeply just as he had intended.
        Chakotay watched the younger man with narrowed eyes.  "That 
was uncalled for, Paris," he said frigidly.
        Tom's eyes were cold, as cold as the blue ice of Earth's 
Artic Circle.  "Easy for you to say, Chakotay.  It wasn't your jaw 
K'roq fractured in three places."
        As his eyes followed the pilot as Paris strode off in cold 
anger, Chakotay thought, *That does not sound like B'Elanna.  She 
always fights her own battles.*
       Paris was appalled at himself.  When he accepted the 
recruiter's inducements to join the Maquis, Tom had no intention of 
hurting B'Elanna; he just wanted to see her again.  But when he had 
seen her, all of the old anger boiled to the surface.  *H--l,* he 
thought.  *I don't even know 'why' she had K'roq deck me.*
       The next few weeks passed without major incident.  Paris 
piloted a variety of Maquis ships between bases, no real missions as 
yet until he proved his piloting skills.  After the first few 
encounters to test his resolve were met with cold anger, most Maquis 
left him alone, correctly assuming that Tom Paris was a very 
dangerous young man.
        Tom took to harassing B'Elanna with his eyes, staring until 
her eyes met his and then slowly looking away.  The intensity and 
frequency of those soul shattering stares began to fray at 
B'Elanna's never calm nerves.  Everyone close to her knew that she 
had strong feelings for the sandy-haired pilot, but no one could 
tell if it was love, hate, or a mixture of both.  B'Elanna wasn't 
sure herself.
        Chakotay was just about to take steps to end the situation, 
when B'Elanna was viciously attacked while working on yet another 
field generator, which was then destroyed by the assailant.  
Cradling her gently in his arms, while feeling her head, and 
gingerly seeking possible skull fractures, Chakotay asked, "Who did 
this to you, B'Elanna?"
        "Tom," she whispered, before lapsing into unconsciousness 
again.
         Enraged and almost out-of-control, Chakotay handed 
B'Elanna's still form to Jarron.  "Get a medic to look at her head," 
he ordered.
       Paris was preparing for his first mission, destroying a 
hidden weapons depot on a small moon circling a Cardassian colony 20 
lightyears from Cardassia Prime.  As he began to run a systems check 
on the helm controls, Chakotay burst into the cockpit, and slammed a 
fist into Tom's unsuspecting face.
       Jumping angrily to his feet, Tom raged, "What the h--l was 
that for, Chakotay?"
       "B'Elanna."
        Clenching his fists tightly, Paris said, "I am really 
getting tired of B'Elanna sending others to do her dirty work.  If 
she has a problem with me, tell her to deal with me face to face."
        "That would be a little difficult right now," Chakotay 
retorted.  "She is in the infirmary."
        "The infirmary?" Tom asked, clearly puzzled.  "What 
happened?"
        "She was attacked . . ." Chakotay began.
        Paris grabbed the older man's tunic front, and pulled 
Chakotay within inches of his own face.  The Maquis captain had 
never seen Tom Paris so enraged.  "What happened, Chakotay?" he 
demanded, between tightly clenched teeth.  "Who hurt B'Elanna?"
        When the older man did not answer, Paris shoved him away 
impatiently, and said angrily, "Never mind.  I will find out for 
myself. And then . . ."
        Paris was out of the ship and halfway across the hangar 
cavern before Chakotay caught up with him.  Ignoring the crowd 
gathering around them, Chakotay gripped Tom's arm tightly and said, 
"I am not going to let you anywhere near her, Paris."
       In a quiet, deadly voice, Tom said, "Let go, Chakotay.  I 
would hate to have to rearrange your face for you.  B'Elanna might 
not find you quite so handsome then."
       Something in Paris' voice and bearing warned Chakotay to back 
off.  The older man began to wonder about Tom's guilt; he seemed 
much too enraged by B'Elanna's injury to have inflicted it himself.
        Slowly releasing Paris' arm, Chakotay told him, "B'Elanna 
said you attacked her."
       The blood drained from Tom's face.  "B'Elanna accused me?" 
Paris asked in a dead voice.
        "Let me through!"  Both men heard the anger in her voice, 
and turned to face her.
        Slapping Tom's face, she said, "You sniveling, cringing, 
cowardly excuse fro a human 'petaQ'!  Attacking me from behind."
        Paris grabbed her hand before she could hit him again.  "I 
am not the coward here, B'Elanna," he retorted.  "I do not need 
protectors like K'roq and Chakotay.  I have always dealt with you 
face to face.  You have not.  So don't call me a coward."
        B'Elanna was bewildered by Tom's accusation.  "Jarron said 
you attacked me."
        "He was wrong and so was Chakotay," Tom stated.  "I have not 
touched you since my first shore leave from the Exetor was cut 
short."
        By now B'Elanna was thoroughly confused, and the head injury 
she had sustained did not help.  "But . . ." she began.
         Losing patience, Tom grabbed her and said, "If I were a 
coward, would I dare do this?"  He kissed her long and hard until he 
felt her body melting into his.  Pulling back, he touched her cheek.  
"Remember it, dream about it until we meet again, 'tIqwIj'."
        Without another word, Tom Paris strode away from her on his 
first mission with the Maquis, neither one knowing he had been 
betrayed, and would soon be captured and imprisoned by the 
Federation.  Still feeling the tingling on her lips from his kiss, 
B'Elanna vowed in her heart, *It is not over between us, Paris.  
Destiny will keep bringing us together, this I know."