The BLTS Archive- Dead Turkey Singing
fourth in the Festive Occasions series
by Sasscat Bu-to-y (fitchett@netaccess.co.nz)

---

Disclaimer:  Paramount own Cap'n Kat and her Helmboy, without a doubt.
I'm just letting them play around a little.

Author's Note:  Thanks, as always, to Zeborah for idea-bouncing, and
to Laura/Ellen for the recipe Paris uses for Thanksgiving pies.  This
is... the fourth Festive Occasions story; the others are available by
e-mail.  And sorry this is so late...

(c) Sasscat Bu-to-y 1998

---

"Paris to Janeway."

Kathryn tapped her commbadge absently, eyes glued to the Engineering
report on her screen.  "Uh huh?"

There was a slight pause, as if Tom were trying to cope with the idea
of his captain saying 'Uh huh'.  After a moment he continued, "Well,
B'Elanna got caught up in Engineering, and she'll be there for most of
the rest of the day..."

"Oddly enough, Tom," she said dryly, "that is the sort of thing a
captain tries to make herself aware of."

She could almost hear him grin over the comm channel.  "Yeah, well, I
was wondering if you'd like to help me cook the turkey instead."

Kathryn snorted softly.  "*Me*?  Cook?  You obviously haven't been
listening to Chakotay's New Earth stories - actually, shouldn't
Chakotay be helping with the turkey?  Since he's the one who'll
actually be sharing it with you, not to mention the interests of a
decent meal."

"I think I was just insulted," Tom said lightly.  "Sorry, Captain, but
for some reason Chakotay's definition of vegetarianism doesn't include
roasting dead birds."

"I thought you were making a soy turkey," she objected.

"Yes, but if I said that it wouldn't be as funny."

Kathryn rolled her eyes and smiled.  After a slight pause she heard
Tom's voice again, "So, will you give me a hand?"

She hesitated on the verge of telling him she hated to cook, and let a
small smile play across her lips.  "I'll be down in a few minutes.
Just give me a chance to finish up here."

"Thanks, Captain.  See you then."

"Janeway out."  She skimmed over the rest of the report and filed it
away for later review, then stood and stretched before heading out of
her ready room.

"Deck two," she ordered as she stepped into the turbolift, and spent
the journey to the mess hall wondering how the hell you made a soy
turkey, anyway.

"Glad you could make it," Tom said as she walked in from the corridor.
His jacket - yellow-green, not uniform - was draped over a chair near
the kitchen part of the mess hall, and as she came closer she could
see why.  The burners on the stove were turned up high, and the
kitchen was hot.  "Thought you were going to be holed up in your
ready room until the pies were half cooked anyway."

"And miss a chance to make a fool of myself in front of one of my
officers?  Don't be ridiculous," she said with a smile.  "--Pies?
What happened to the soy turkey?"

"'S in the storeroom," Tom shrugged.  He was wearing his brown
trousers, she saw, and a short-sleeved golden-brown t-shirt that
showed just a tuft of chest hair.  "I finished it quicker than I
thought I would.  You don't have any objection to pies, do you?"

"Not at all."  Kathryn regarded the ingredients spread over the bench,
by the stove.  "Pumpkin or apple?"

"Both, of course.  You can start by mixing this in with the flour."
He handed her a tray supporting a small pile of fat cubes, and pointed
her towards the flour bowl, further away from the heat of the stove.

"Yes, sir.  ...How?" she added.

"*How*?"  Tom shook his head.  "Here, I'll show you.  First, wash your
hands."  He wiped his on a tea towel as he crossed the kitchen, then
took the tray from her.

She complied, and wiped her hands on the same tea towel as she walked
back to join him.  "I am yours to teach."

Tom had tipped the pieces of fat into the bowl, and they lay scattered
over the flour.  "Put your hands in," he instructed.

"It's slimy," Kathryn protested as her fingers encountered the fat.

"Of course it's slimy; that's the fun of it.  Squish the fat into the
flour.  No, not like that."  Tom regarded her in exasperation.  "Don't
*push* the fat into the flour, *squish* it."

"Thank you, that's most precise," Kathryn said dryly.

"Like this."  Tom moved behind her and brought his bare arms around
her, breath tickling her cheek as he leaned over her shoulder.  His
hands covered hers and tilted them until they faced each other, then
guided them in collecting a small handful of fat and flour, and
squishing it between her fingers.

"Oh," Kathryn said stupidly, conscious of his body pressing into her,
"*squishing*."

His breath danced on her cheek as he laughed.  When her hands stopped
moving he twisted a little, to look at her without taking his arms
away.  "'Re you okay?"

"It's just, you're a little... close for comfort," she said, clearing
her throat slightly.

"Oh."  Tom hastily removed his arms and stepped back.  "Sorry."

"No, it's...  I mean, we're both adults," Kathryn said, finding the
flour bowl extremely fascinating all of a sudden, though her hands
still didn't move.  "We should be able to let ourselves be alone
without..."

"Without wanting to jump each other's bones?" he suggested wryly.

She laughed slightly and smiled as she turned to face him.  "Perhaps
not exactly the words I'd have chosen, but yes, something along those
lines."

"Well, I promise I won't let you take advantage of me," Tom said
solemnly.

"You're such a gentleman," Kathryn said dryly.  Tom laughed and tipped
an imaginary hat at her.

"Always, m'lady.  And as such, I'm willing to wait however long it
takes.  The pies, however, need to be finished today, so..."

Kathryn waved a flour-covered hand at him.  "All right, all right.  I
don't see you doing anything."

"I just made an entire soy turkey!" he protested.  "Oh, fine.  Um...
I'll do the stuffing."  He disappeared briefly to collect the turkey
from the storeroom, and put it on the bench next to where Kathryn was
working before vanishing behind her again for ingredients.

"*That's* the turkey?" she asked skeptically.

"Yeah," he said when he reappeared with something green and leafy in
his hands.  "Is there something wrong with it?"

"It's *tiny*!" she laughed.  It was rather small, little over ten
centimetres long.

"It's only for two people," he pointed out.  "Besides, you're not
supposed to say that.  You're supposed to tell me it's the biggest,
most magnificent one you've ever seen and you didn't know I had it in
me."

Kathryn decided a change of subject would be expedient right about
now, and provided one.  "How'd you persuade Neelix to give up his
kitchen for the day?"

Tom snorted, "Take a guess," before disappearing behind her again.

"Morale," she smiled, rolling her eyes.  "What is *that*?" when he
returned with another something, this time dark purple and vaguely
furry.

"Neelix offered these for the stuffing, and you know how hard it is to
refuse him."  Tom sighed melodramatically.  "I swear, he picked the
spiciest--  Anyway, I managed to find something edible, they just
don't look incredibly appetising."

"I'll say," Kathryn agreed, eyeing the purple... whatever... with a
suspicious look.  "Are you sure it's not just mouldy cabbage?"

"Oh, thanks.  Just the image I need in my head while preparing it for
consumption.  No, it's not mouldy, and no, it looks *nothing* like
cabbage."  He regarded her with patient amusement.  "How anyone can
be so ignorant of such... *basic* skills is beyond me, it really is."

"Watch it, mister," she warned him, then pulled her hands out of the
bowl and shook them, scattering flour over both of them, though it was
less noticeable against his golden t-shirt.  "How's that?"

Tom glanced inside the bowl at the pea-sized fat and flour blobs, and
nodded.  "Good.  Now we need to add water, a teaspoon at a time.  The
jug's in the cooler."

Kathryn crossed the kitchen, wiping her hands on her trousers, and
entered the cooler.  Immediately she felt the temperature difference;
heat still scoured her back, but the air on her face was lightly cool.
She savoured it for a moment before locating the jug and taking it
back to her bowl.

She looked at it blankly for a moment before remembering, "Teaspoon."
Tom stopped chopping tiny purple squares and reached behind her ear.

"You really shouldn't leave these lying around," he admonished her as
he pretended to pull it out of her ear with a flourish.  "Neelix would
have a fit."

She failed to suppress a smile and took the teaspoon from him.  "Show
off.  How do I do this?"

"Just tip the water in, a teaspoon at a time, and mix it in with," he
glanced around briefly before finding and handing her "a fork."

Kathryn nodded and began, pausing only to wipe the sweat off her
forehead.  It wasn't long before a soft sound penetrated her brain.
Humming.  She looked up from the mixture and asked, "What's that?"

Tom looked startled and stopped chopping again.  "What's what?"

"That song you're humming."

"Thanksgiving song," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in
the world.

"There *aren't* any Thanksgiving songs," Kathryn argued.

"Yes, there are."

"No, there aren't," she insisted.

"Yes, there are.  Listen."  Tom took a breath and then launched into
song:

                  "Partying night,
                   Boisterous night,
                   All is loud,
                   All is bright,
                   Round yon innocent turkey they sat
                   Holy dinner so tender and fat:
                  'Rest forever in peace
                   While we eat you with gravy and cheese.'"

He finished with a flourish and smirked at her.  "See?  Thanksgiving
song."

Kathryn had been giggling all through it, and now she doubled over in
laughter, clutching her teaspoon.  "That is *not* a Thanksgiving
song," she insisted when she could speak again.

"Sounded like it was about Thanksgiving to me," Tom said, folding his
arms and staining the sides of his t-shirt purple.

"You made it up on the spot," she accused, but he shook his head.

"Cadet's honour.  Made it up yesterday," he added, and she started to
laugh again.

"*Anyway*," she said lightly, turning back to her bowl, "what were we
talking about?"

"Um...  I was teaching you how to add water to flour.  Before that...
moldy cabbage and your lack of basic life skills.  And I thought *I*
was a 'Fleet brat," he snorted.

"What about before that?" Kathryn said hopefully.  "We must have had
an intelligent conversation at *some* point..."  Tom was shaking his
head, and she sighed.  "Then what were we talking about?"

"The size of my turkey," he said blandly, and she pulled a face.

"O-kay then...  You know, I always imagined you calling it your Eiffel
Tower," she added thoughtfully.

Tom snorted, tried to hold back his laughter, and failed.  Shaking his
head, he commented, "I'm not even going to *ask* why you were thinking
about what I might call it."

"Good.  --So, do you?"

"I plead the fifth," Tom said immediately.  "Why do all the women on
this ship have such sick minds?"

"You mean others have asked?" Kathryn said with a raised eyebrow.
"Wait, we did have an intelligent conversation.  Well, we didn't," she
added, measuring another teaspoon of water, "but we were going to."

"We were?"

"Yes, we were.  I was going to tell you how proud I was of you for
making this effort with Chakotay--"

Tom pulled a face.  "I think I preferred it when you were teasing me
about what I called my--"

"--And *you* weren't going to dodge the issue," she finished sternly.
"Is it that hard for you to accept a compliment?"

"Not at all, Captain," he said lightly.  "In fact, Megan Delaney was
commenting just the other day on the size of my ego--"

"*Tom*."

He glanced away, jaw tensing briefly before he forced himself to relax
and look back in what was vaguely her direction.  "I-- don't know," he
said quietly, eyes fixed on her flour bowl.  "I suppose I'm just used
to people not meaning what they say to me."

She silently cursed everyone who'd dared hurt this precious young man,
and laid a hand on his bare arm.  "Anytime you need to talk," she
reminded him.

"I know," he nodded, and forced a smile.  "As long as I don't dodge
the issue and take advantage of you, of course."

That reminded her of how he'd tried to dodge the issue before.  "You
*do* call it your Eiffel Tower?"

He blinked for a moment, trying to follow the leap in topic, then
smiled.  "How about I tell you when you have a right to know?"

"Blackmail," Kathryn accused.

"Bribery," Tom corrected.  "Just because I said I'd wait, doesn't mean
I won't try to speed up the process."

She snorted and tapped the fork on the side of the bowl.  "How's it
look?"

He peered over at the moistened balls and nodded.  "Now roll them into
one ball and wrap it in waxed paper."

"God, this is so *primitive*," she complained as she looked round for
the paper.

"Isn't it great?" Tom agreed exuberantly.  She shot him a sharp look,
but as far as she could tell he was completely sincere.  What a scary
thought.

She found the waxed paper and brought it back to her bench, tipping
the contents of her bowl onto it and squishing the lot into a big
ball.  "There," she announced, quickly wrapping the paper around it;
"now what?"

"Put it in the cooler," Tom instructed.

She obeyed, lingering in the cold air for a few minutes before she
shivered violently and decided to come back out.

"Damn, it's hot," she cursed as she left the cooler.

"Take your jacket off," Tom said without looking up.  "Neelix didn't
design this kitchen with Starfleet uniforms in mind.  I'll close my
eyes if you want," he added when she hesitated.

Kathryn poked her tongue out at him then pulled her jacket off.  She
crossed into the main mess hall and dumped it on a chair.  As a second
thought, she pulled off her turtleneck as well and ran a hand through
her hair.  Much better.

Tom was leaning against the bench, a hand innocently over his eyes,
and she poked her tongue out at him again.  A thought struck her, and
she hesitated.  Then, mischievously, she walked up to him and kissed
him.

She'd intended it to be a small teasing kiss, but the instant her lips
met his, Tom jerked away.  He pulled his hand away from his eyes and
stared briefly, drinking in the sight of her with mussed hair and a
tank top.

"I take it you didn't mean that," he said when she didn't move.

Kathryn bit her lip.  "No.  I just--  You were--  *Dammit*," she said
savagely, pinching the bridge of her nose.  She took two steps back
and looked at the floor, more to compose her thoughts than any real
distraction from the sight of him in that golden-brown t-shirt.  "I'll
send B'Elanna up from Engineering.  She's probably a better cook than
I am, anyway."

"You don't have to do that," Tom said.  He crossed the steps she'd
just taken and grasped her arms.  "We're both adults, remember?  You
shouldn't have to run and hide just because I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot," she said sharply.  "It's not about you, Tom.
Well, all right, it is about you," she added realistically, "but only
in an about-me sort of way."

Tom took a breath and let it out again.  "O-kaay..." he said slowly.
"I think that made sense."

"Oh, shut up," she said, but she was grinning again.  "So, what do I
do now?"

"In about ten minutes you can start making the filling for the pie.
For now..."  He shrugged as he let go of her arms and moved back to
the bench.  "Read reports?"

"Unfortunately," she said dryly, "I seem to have left my reports in my
ready room."

"Well, I could make another suggestion on how to kill ten minutes, but
I don't think it would be very well received right now."

"One track mind," Kathryn snorted.

Tom raised an eyebrow at her.  "And who kissed who just now?  Never
mind," he added before the conversation got too out of hand.  "You can
make a start on washing the dishes."

"Oh, fun," she muttered.  "I think I hate washing dishes even more
than I hate cooking.  Can't we just put them in the replicator to
recycle?"

"You didn't tell me you hated cooking," Tom frowned.

She shrugged slightly as she put the utensils in the bowl, and the
bowl on the fat tray.  "I wanted to help.  And I knew you wouldn't let
me if you knew I didn't want to."

"So you wanted to do something you didn't want to," he summarised.

"Ye-es.  It sounds stupid when you put it like that."  She picked up
the tray and carried it over to the sink, ignoring the appreciative
glance Tom was trying to hide.

"It *is* stupid.  No, I take that back," he said after a moment's
consideration.  "It's very sweet.  And strange.  But I've come to
expect that from you."

"Shut up," she said without rancour.  "Is there a tap here somewhere,
or does Neelix fill it with buckets?"

"You wanted primitive..." Tom teased.

"No, *you* wanted primitive.  Tap?"

"Certainly, Captain," he said innocently, tapping out an odd rhythm on
the bench.

"Thomas Eugene Paris--"  She stepped back as he came over to point it
out to her.  "Thank you.  So, how long do you think this is going to
take?"

Tom leaned back against the bench's inverted corner, between the sink
and the turkey.  "You want to get back to your reports, don't you?  I
don't believe this.  Here I am, doing my best to entertain you, and
you'd rather be holed up in your ready room reading *PADDs*!"

Kathryn laughed and flicked some water from the tap at him.  "That's
not what I meant, Tom Paris, and you know it.  Now behave, or I'll
start using your middle name."

"You don't play fair," he complained.  "You know I hate that name.  I
don't know anything you hate... except time paradoxes, and you know
what an expert I am when it comes to temporal mechanics," he added
sarcastically.

"There's cooking," she pointed out.

"I can't use that; you're already doing it.  Same for washing dishes.
This isn't *fair*!" he protested, laughing.

"I guess you'll just have to settle for being at a disadvantage then,"
she said smugly, then added, "Thomas *Eugene*."

Tom pulled a face to rival any two-year-old's, and threw a piece of
stuffing at her.  "Some compassionate captain you are... wait, I do
know something you hate."

"Oh?"  Kathryn forced a light tone, turning to face him as he prowled
a semi-circle around her.  "And what might that be, Thomas Eugene?"

Tom stopped on her other side, then stepped towards her, so close she
instinctively took a step back.  He backed her up this way until she
hit the other branch of the bench's L-shape, and gave a mocking feline
smile.  "Someone else being in control," he said challengingly.

She never had been able to refuse a challenge.  Kathryn lifted her
chin to look him in the eye defiantly.  "I can handle anything you
throw at me, Thomas *Eugene*."

His eyes flashed for an instant and he put a hand on either side of
her, further trapping her against the bench.  "Is that so?"

"If you think you can handle me," she retorted, resisting the urge to
lean away from the heat in his eyes.

"I can handle anything you throw at me," he mimicked.

She arched an eyebrow at him.  "Prove it."

For the first time, *he* kissed *her*.  She felt his arms encircle
her, pulling her towards him; his tongue gently parting her willing
lips; the slow growth of his desire until he was moaning softly.
/Someone else being in control.../  Oh, no, she didn't hate this at
all.

His hands slid down her back, and further, to lift her onto the table.
He felt for the edge of her tank top, exploring her mouth insistently.
Suddenly he drew back.  "Kathryn..."

She sat still for a moment, then sighed.  "Dammit, Tom, how do you
intend to take advantage of me if you keep *stopping*?"

"Damned if I know," he said, forcing a smile and taking a step back.
"I don't think I'll bother next time."

She ran a hand across her face and closed her eyes for a moment.  Then
she snorted, which quickly transformed into full-scale laughter.

"What?" Tom said immediately.

Kathryn shook her head, still laughing, until she'd calmed herself
down enough to speak.  She looked into his eyes and admitted, "I sat
on the turkey."

---

continued in the fifth story in the Festive Occasions series 'All I Want for Christmas'