All usual disclaimers. Wrote it for my friend Nik to cheer her up. The poem was one of her favourites. Big thanks to Kelly for doing her best to edit my muddle. Hope you enjoy and would love comments. Paris the Pilot "Have you heard about Neelix's new competition?" Harry asked excitedly, yanking a chair out from under the table and sitting on it. "Yeah," said Tom, glancing up from the breakfast he was staring at. "I think its a great idea - the crew and the Berians are all very excited about it. Bet, you can't wait to enter..." "I'm banned from entering..." "What?" "Well, its quite simple," interrupted Neelix, who had been eavesdropping as usual. "Who would dare compete against Voyager's pilot?" he said gesturing and setting down Harry's unasked for breakfast at the same time, leaving an interesting splatter effect. "Thats great! I've got a chance now!" Harry rubbed his hands together and did his best imitation of a gleeful leer. "Huh?" Tom asked, obviously not listening. There was an awkward silence for a moment and then Tom looked up and smiled at Harry's wondering expression. He dredged up a good copy of usual smile and airy manner, "Well, since I've already been declared the best, by default... sure." and he winked at Harry as Neelix fumed. "Mr Paris, that was not what I meant at all..." Neelix threw up his hands. "Ah.. there's smoke coming from the kitchen..." Harry interrupted. Neelix went bustling off and Harry and Tom both burst into laughter as they heard him shrieking deprecations in the kitchen. "So, what is this?" Harry said, gesturing back to the greenish coloured soup that was sitting in front of them. They quickly settled back into their usual breakfast banter, finding normality in the familiarity of paying out Neelix's cooking. A little later, when Tom was more relaxed, Harry asked casually, "So, how did it go with B'Elanna?' "How did you?.. . that obvious huh?" "Afraid so - nothing else puts you in such a slump." "So much for keeping a low profile. " he paused and then continued, almost grimly, "I don't know Harry, just when I think things are going well, something petty comes up and we start arguing all over again." "Ready to give up?" "Never!" Paris said with uncharacteristic fervor. "I've got seventy light years give or take... she'll come around eventually." Tom's com link beeped. "Paris here" he replied. "Lt. could you please report to the shuttle bays. The thermal storms are making it increasingly impossible to use transporters and the pilots are having difficulty with navigating through the fluctuations." "On my way." He smiled ruefully at Harry and moved off. He gave the waiting pilots a quick run down on techniques for these kind of conditions. To be fair, none of them had originally trained to be shuttle pilots. Finally he said, "I'll take the first shuttle down and you can all watch my trajectory and follow my pattern of descent... Okay?" "Engineering want to take a load down, priority," someone offered. "Tell them we're ready to go," Tom replied, "I'll go prep the shuttle." They loading a pile of crates aboard. "Any passengers?" he called. "Just me Lt.,' said an all too familiar voice. "Good morning Lt. Torres," he said in return, finding a relaxed voice from somewhere. She sat down in the passengers seat and handed him a cup of steaming hot chocolate, "I heard we interrupted your breakfast," she said easily. He smelled it appreciatively, "Peace-offering?" he asked, without thinking. 'Shit' he thought and glanced apprehensively across at her. Surprisingly she just smiled, "If you like," she said easily. Paris stared at her in surprise. 'What is she up to?' was his first thought and then he mentally kicked himself for being so paranoid. He made a perfect departure from Voyager despite the tumult in his stomach. He glanced at her, opened his mouth and then closed it again. She was working on an engineering tricorder and studiously ignoring him. They had a few minutes before reaching the atmosphere and its storms so he spent the time sipping on his steaming drink. "Thank you," he said, "...for the drink." "Sure." She didn't even look up. "So..... how did you sleep last night?" He really wished he could take back that question - how had she interpreted it? "Fine." Short, clipped and non-committal. Famous Paris charm again. Why couldn't he have inherited something else from his father - his punctuality for instance or maybe even his irritating attention to detail.... "B'Elanna," he tried, "I think we..." "I should check that the cargo is still stabilized before we enter the atmosphere," she interrupted. She stood up and moved towards the back of the small shuttle area. 'Who knew you could avoid someone in a couple square meters of space?' Tom thought moodily. Then he had to set u p the computer to relay his path back to the waiting pilots and concentrate as they were buffeted from every direction. He soon found the current of the storm, as he liked to call it, and began instinctively predicting its ebbs and flows. They descended the last couple of kilometers in a long curving path which was barely rocked by the tempests outside. "Flight path, received by Voyager" she reported. "That last shift with the currents was brilliant," she said neutrally. "How did you do it? - I was watching - you barely glanced at the computer predictions." Tom glanced at her, surprised at her interest and tried to explain. "It was a natural storm, and natural storms usually have a purpose, something driving them." "But even the sensors can't pick out the fluctuating cold and warm spots in an air mass like this," she interrupted. "The shuttle is only light.." he explained, wondering how she could carry on a normal conversation after their arguement last night. He was scared to look at her face and see the same remotely polite expression she had adopted after the Pon Far incident so he concentrated on the piloting and kept his eyes straight ahead as he explained. "If you touch the controls lightly you can feel every slight lift and settling and compensate accordingly. I configured the sensors on voyager to record the highs and lows according to the slight movements of the shuttle. That should get the other pilots an idea of the shape of the air mass..." he trailed off. "Show me?" she asked. At this, he glanced over at her - she was staring intently at the read outs, her face animated with curiosity. He smiled - that was B'Elanna all right. The Cosmos could be melting around her and she would still be curious. So he called up the map and traced their path down for her, describing how each different movement of air had felt beneath his hands. "In a way.." he concluded wistfully, "these shuttles are a lot harder to fly than the old gear stick planes - those controls were so sensitive it was like the air itself was shifting in your hands." "So, you've flown the old planes?" "It was an experimental project at the Academy one summer.." he trailed off. "Ah" "I didn't hate the Academy so much after that." There was silence for a moment. "There's another pocket of storm coming," he said suddenly for no reason other than he didn't want to lose the momentary camaraderie they had found. "How can you tell?" "There's a ridge of hot air near the top and its pushing the colder winds they're we're flying through at the moment slightly up at us. Here look..." He switched the scanners to heat sensing and she saw the swirling bodies of air all at slightly different temperatures, a fluctuating mass of different colours. "Would you like to fly through this?" "Never adverse to learning something new.." she said. He surrendered the controls and stood up. "Oh damn," she exclaimed when she misjudged an air pocket and the shuttle got bumped around a bit. Tom got tumbled back out of the cockpit area and landed flat on his bum. B'Elanna looked back and started laughing at his indignant expression. He frowned and then as she bit her lip to try and stop laughing so much he grinned and gave into his own rueful laughter. But his laughter ended uncomfortably before hers and he looked at her almost wistfully. "How did you end up in a good mood?" he asked honestly, "Last night really knocked me about..." he railed off, trying not to sound accusatory. B'Elanna didn't look back at him, still sprawled on his butt, she looked straight ahead, focusing on her flying. "After we argued, I went back to the Holodeck and fought my way through 13 levels of my exercise program." "A personal best?" Paris just couldn't resist. "Yeah," she said smiling - he could tell by the momentary relaxation in her neck and shoulder muscles. "I'll have to try it sometime..." "Either that or play a couple of hours of pool," she quipped back. Tom laughed and finally pulled himself off the floor, standing unsteadily as the shuttle craft continued to rock, buffeted by the increasing winds. He came and looked over her shoulder at the readings. "A little gentler," he admonished. "You need to treat her like a lady.... May I?" He adjusted a couple of the headings, just slightly and the craft softly leveled out. He sighed in satisfaction and sat back down. "You love to fly." It wasn't a question. Paris just shrugged. She smiled. "Those sensor readings straight ahead - what do you think - another patch of turbulence?" He studied the monitors. "I'm not sure what it is.. bank away - we're landing just over there anyway". He talked her through a very gentle landing. "I'm learning all those secret pilot tricks," she said mischievously, "soon you'll have no secrets from me!" Tom did not know quite what to make of her in this jovial mood. "B'Elanna..." "Ho, anyone in there?" Someone was banging on the exterior of the shuttle. Quickly B'Elanna popped the doors. "Nice flight folks?", a green ridged head pooped his away around the doorway. The Berians were a humanoid form, just of a green variety. Already the number of twentieth century style "Little Green Men" jokes on Voyager were becoming nauseating. "Greetings," B'Elanna proffered in return. "Lts Torres and Paris. "They exited the shuttle into harsh sunlight and a landscape of rampantly lush greenery. Plants twined around the buildings and spread into the distance as far as the eye could see. "My compatriots," the alien said expansively, gesturing at some ATV's trundling towards them are supposed to meet your engineer - I was actually hoping to steal the pilot and chat about this coming competition... which of you...?" "I'll get the engineering equipment," said B'Elanna dryly, "he's the one you're looking for!" Paris went back inside to help her unload the engineering crates. B'Elanna was standing over ones of the crates, staring blankly into space, or so it seemed. "B'Elanna?" "Tom.. about last night..." she began, still not meeting his eyes. "I heard that you were looking for me and I wanted to at least explain...." "Finally." Tom didn't realize he had said that out loud until her head snapped up. They were interrupted by a crash outside and deprecations as the ATV's ground to a halt. The Berian whom they had talked to before, stuck his head around the corner again. "come on then..." "B'Elanna...I'm ..." Tom stood his ground, ignoring the stubby green alien. "It doesn't matter Tom..." she said organizing the crates. "But.." Tom almost stepped backwards at the flare of temper in her eyes. "Paris.." she warned. "Not now." She lifted one crate and almost hurled it over to the entrance of the shuttle. His own temper quickly rose to match her. "When then Torres? You can't avoid it for ever!" He turned and strode angrily out of the shuttlecraft. Let her pick up her own supplies he muttered to himself, she was bloody well stronger than him anyway! "This way, this way my friend..." This alien reminded him way too much of the Ferengi, Paris thought sourly and then stopped, shocked at his own lack of charity. "Woah, calm down' he told himself. 'You knew about the Klingon temper in advance and if you can't keep your big mouth shut...' He took a couple of deep breaths. "Raviollia, ne'estra venient..." Tom frowned in bemusement, was the translator playing up? "Come with me..." Tom's hand was grasped and he was hauled into a grubby looking ATV. The alien still muttering, some in English and some in babble was tinkering happily with the half assembled controls. Tom looked at them in distaste then out the window where B'Elanna was loading her crates into the shiny ATVs. She was deep in conversation with a long skinny green alien. "Captain?" Paris tapped his communicator. "The Berians have met the shuttle craft and have... ah... requested that I accompany them to see the competition craft. The information for the other pilots has already been uplinked and Lt. Torres is travelling with the government officials to the city." "Does B'Elanna..." Paris couldn't fail to notice the slight stress and question inherent in the Captain's use of Lt. Torres' first name, "... have all the equipment she needs?" "I 'm not sure Captain.. you'll have to ask her." Pairs trailed off, not wanting to sound rude but not willing to go and talk to the woman who was loading crates and talking as if she hadn't just all but called him a P'Tak and tried to attack him. The ATV took off with a lurch. "Sorry Captain," he yelled over the overwhelming engine noise, '..we're moving." The hanger, despite Tom's morose predictions after the state of the ATV, was spotless and he gasped at the first sight of the exterior lines of the ships that they would be flying. The Berians had sent copies of the control panels and simulations so the pilots could familiarize themselves for the competition, but none had included pictures of the actual ship. How could a people with so little personal aesthetic grace and land vehicles that resembled lumbering beetles, build ships that were the ultimate in aerodynamic perfection? "Can I try one?" he asked automatically, jumping out to have a better look. The Berian laughed. "I recognize that juertleuyt look friend," he said, still chucking, "come and meet everyone and then you may fly treiisuid to your hearts content. "Treiisuid? Is that name of the ships?" Paris asked eagerly. "No, its more of a word for the yreuty..." he tried again at the lack of comprehension, "for the sky, the broad expanse, the cold clear, light filtered, lonely sharp..." the Berians voice trailed off and his wildly gesturing hands stilled. 'I don't think it translates," he said soberly, sadly. "... Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpled wing In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding..." Paris quoted, an old favorite poem springing quickly to mind. The Berian smiled. " ...smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding..." he repeated, as if tasting the words, "... come inside," tugging on his hand again. After meeting a veritable ensemble of green coloured aliens, and listening to several strict lectures on the idiosyncrasies of the craft in real atmosphere, Tom was finally allowed to sit in one while a Berian took it out. She sprung off the ground like a spring filly and then curved upwards in a slow climbing guide, the engines gaining power with altitude until you could feel the coiled muscles off the ship, almost begging to be set free. Tom's hands itched for the controls which were two malleable hand held sensors only loosely attached to the rest of the keyboard. He knew the feel of them from the simulator but none of the simulators could copy the tempestuous and unpredictable wind conditions of the atmosphere. Pairs noted with amusement how reluctantly the pilot handed over the controls. But only for a moment- after that he understood. He wasn't prepared for the extreme sensitivity of the craft. It took him a couple of seconds to realize you could not fly this technological avian like a boxy shuttle craft so he abandoned all the sacred Federation flying lore and listened to the feel and movement of the ship as he had done with old biplanes and single engine light craft for those glorious few months back at the Academy. The ship was beautiful to land as well: she pulled easily out of a dive and settled easily on the ground. Pairs sighed as he stepped out. Soon he was bustled back into the ATV for the trip back to his shuttle craft. "Will they let me fly again?" The Berian, whose name he had finally worked out was Raviollia, grinned. "Yeah probably." "Returning to base Captain," he reported from the shuttle craft. Lt. Torres had apparently already returned on one of the earlier shuttle craft. "How was your flight Lt. Paris?' "Indescribable Captain..." his hands tightened as if the controls were there in front of him. "I felt like a bird soaring through the atmosphere.. I want one!" Janeway laughed over the comlink. 'Thinking of trading up Voyager Paris?" she teased. "Well..." he played along. "I'm sure Lt. Torres would love to hear what you picked up about their technology - she came back raving about their generator systems." "I'm sure she would, Captain." Paris winced as he heard, too late, how rude he was being again. 'Sorry Captain." "Back to base Lt.," she said neutrally. Back in the shuttle bay with a sibilant hsss, but Paris couldn't help but remember how the Berian ship had landed like a bird settling lightly onto the ground as if for a slight breather. He logged out the shuttle and then called a meeting of the available pilots - he had an idea for how to improve their training for the competition, now only 60 hours away or so. He replicated some old fashioned joy stick games and was soon enjoying the sight of furrowed brows hunched over flickering screens while they frantically tried to control the joysticks. Harry rolled up after his shift to try the new training techniques. He had a gentle touch, Tom noted - he'd probably do okay in those ultra sensitive craft. The day of the competition rolled around all too soon. Paris had barely left the simulators in the holodeck except to sleep and the to-be pilots were all getting a little shirty with his endless list of last minute instructions. He had no idea how the pilots were going to go - they were competing against Berian youngsters who had also never flown the state of the art ships being used for the competition. He had only seen B'Elanna once in a corridor and she had stopped as if to speak and then hurried on. He'd shrugged, hurt by the fact that because of a tiny little tiff they could no longer even maintain the business like work related chatter they'd had on the trip down, but he couldn't find the words to change things. The Berians laid out a sumptuous feast. Several of the pilots tried to quickly change their minds about the competition - they were required to fast, but Paris steered them resolutely off to the preparation rooms. As he headed back to the table, the Captain called out, "Over here, Paris!" Anyone else would have looked like a dissolute Roman at an orgy lying back on the couches they had been offered, but the Captain still managed to look dignified and... well formidable. Torres was on her left side, in deep conversation and apparently competition with a group of Berians as they sculled flasks off strange coloured liquids. She looked around wildly and saw Tom standing there. "Come and join us Lt..." she called, laughing a little and definitely indicating that she was *very* relaxed. He thought about it for a moment, then called out, "Maybe later Torres," and turned to walk off. To his surprise she jumped up and followed him. "Come on Tom.." "Don't you think we have an argument to resolve first?" the anger which had been simmering for the last couple of days prompted his candor. "What here? In front of everyone?" she flung her hands out in a dramatic gesture and Tom stepped back to avoid them. That calmed him down a little. A scene in front os most of the crew was not a good idea. He looked at her and smiled. "you're drunk!" "Klingons don't get drunk." "Okay then, you're half drunk." B'Elanna actually laughed at that. "Come on Paris," she chuckled, "come and meet my friends. " She leaned in close, 'They may look like Broccoli, but they're actually really nice!" she said in a conspiratorial whisper. "I've got to contact the pilots." "Well, hurry up," she leaned against him. "Um.. Paris to Harry." "Tom?" "Just wanted to check that everything was okay." "Yeah.. they're assigning us to our crafts now. They're amazing Tom.' "Yeah.." Tom was snapped out of his reverie by a snigger from Ensign Vertok from Security who was walking past. "Shit." he whispered to himself. Then to the very relaxed woman leaning on him. "Come on Be, lets get you sitting down again." "Huh?" asked Harry through the communicator. 'Ah...nothing. Good luck Harry and pass my best wishes along to the other pilots." "Okay, but you'd better explain later.." "Bye Harry." "So, how are the pilots going to go?" she asked in a slurred voice as he settled down beside her and took a flask from one of the Berians. "Oh,.... this is Jier, Kilim and Servcyo... they designed those avian ships you've been raving about all over Voyager. Well?' "Huh?' "The pilots? I'm deciding whether to lay a bet." "I have no idea Lt.," he replied. "Ah... come one Paris, relax a little... Oops, I forgot..." she giggled. He stiffened. 'You forgot," he prompted icily. "... I have to apologise to you first.... cos.' I was a... a... P'tak.. well, maybe not that bad - I'm not sure you can even correctly call a Klingon a P'Tak." Tom had never, ever, among the many strange and unpredictable things she had done, ever heard B'Elanna ramble. I was sure I heard you call me Be before, I like that.." he continued. "...Oops, here comes the Captain - don't let her know how sloshed I am!" "Its too bad really Paris," she giggled leaning back a little to pat him familiarly on the chest, "I could really get some things off my mind... but you wouldn't believe them anyway cos.' I'm so drunk." "We could at least make up?" he suggested, taking a swig off the glass he had been holding all this time. "Okay - I'm sorry Tom...Tommy... hey, lets dance." Paris looked up startled, sure enough - the Berians had introduced the next stage of their version of the Roman orgy. . "Ah... Tom?" "How's your head B'Elanna?" "The Doctor was *not* sympathetic." "Thanks for getting me home last night and..." "It was nothing Torres." "How did the competition go?' "You haven't heard?" he asked, smiling a little as he remembered her snoring gently against him as everyone else watched the huge screen set up in the Banquet room. "I've only just crawled out of my quarters." "We should take some of that alcohol back to the Alpha quadrant," he joked. 'Don't ever mention it again, " she groaned. "You on duty?" "Just finished." "Good, I've got an hour before I start. Breakfast?' "Lunch?" "Whatever." They sat in a secluded corner in the mess deck. "So what's up Torres?" "You could make this a little easier for me," she admonished him. "I'm sorry Be," he said, taking one of her hands. She flushed slightly but didn't move away. "The one thing I really remember about last night was promising that we would talk about this today. I wanted to do it straight away. I didn't want to go another week without talking. Even if we are only friends.. its not as if I or even we get along with heaps of people on this ship...' He open his mouth to agree. "No, let me finish - I'm already smarting with the memory that I got drunk rather than be honest with you so let me do it now." She took a deep breath. "I freaked out on our date Tom - I didn't change my mind or the way I feel - I just freaked out. It mattered to me - that you turned up... And I was late, Tom thought guiltily. ..... that you had liked what I'd planned.... ......Tom winced at the one. Why had he suggested it should work better in *his* holoprogram? That * he* had an idea. He never even gave her a chance to show him what she intended. ..... that you respected me as much even though I'd agreed to date you... He opened his mouth to protest and then thought about their past relationship and winced , again. ..... and a million other stupid little insecurities that I didn't want to show. Not to mention losing my temper." "I was at fault too B'Elanna," he admitted. " I was scared that I would suddenly be boring, that it would a disaster... and that you'd think I was just chasing you with no serious intentions." "I wasn't finished'" she said but she wasn't frowning as much. "And then I stormed out because I was furious but you made me feel as if I was making a big deal about nothing. You always manage to make your version of events sound so reasonable!" She was getting tense again, but Tom refused to let go of the hand that was balling itself inside his. "Well, this time you were right," he interrupted, "I was being an arrogant pig and I apologize." B'Elanna opened her mouth and closed it. Tom resisted the temptation to lean across and kiss her. "Good." she said finally. "I'll remember that next time I feel like yelling at you." "Yell all you like," Paris said grinning, "I love your temper!" "Flirting already," she sighed. She pulled her hand away and sat up even straighter. "Shall we try again?" There was no uncertainty in her tone - straightforward and brisk as always, but he read it in her clenched hands and tightening around her eyes. "I wasn't going to give up," he said grinning. She eyed him thoughtfully, "I didn't think you were.... but the second date might be even worse than the first." "So, we both have some things to work through - we'll help each other out." he said, trying to sound nonchalant. Or was he trying not to? Temper flared briefly in her eyes but she still spoke evenly, if a little quickly. "I don't need your help - I don't want to need you." "I've never known a woman who needed anyone less" he said, grimly. She was nonplused. But only for a moment. "Did that come out all wrong - I meant..." He interrupted her. "But B'Elanna I don't want you to *need* me- I want you to *want* me. There's a huge difference." She smiled slightly, unpredictable as always, and he wondered at the thoughts that flashed across her face. "Now, if this was that bad movie you wanted me to watch - we'd kiss and the world would end happily ever after about now!" "God forbid," "Tom groaned, but he was grinning also. 'Seventy years with sweet compliance... how boring! ... Well... it would have... ouch!"