The BLTS Archive - Epiphany Falling seventh in the Festive Occasions series by Sasscat Bu-to-y (fitchett@netaccess.co.nz) --- Disclaimer: Paramount own the characters, I just write the stories. Happy birthday, Ellen! :) (c) Sasscat Bu-to-y 1998 --- It was scary sometimes how in sync they were, Kathryn thought as she watched Tom walk up the corridor, bare moments after she herself had arrived outside B'Elanna's door. Then she looked at his uniform and thought, maybe not. She was wearing civvies, herself: a soft cream dress with a matching jacket, and, of course, the necklace Tom had given her for Christmas. She fingered it even as she smiled at her own sentimentality. "Waiting for me?" he teased as he reached her. "Hoping I wasn't going to ring the chime and be answered by you in B'Elanna's dressing gown," she shot back. Tom made a face. "That was low. Well, shall we?" He gestured towards the door and Kathryn obligingly pressed the chime. B'Elanna answered within seconds, and fully clothed, too, in a plain red dress. That beat her own record, Kathryn thought wryly - but Tom was the one who actually said it. Kathryn shot him a dirty look and he shrugged, slightly defensive. "Well, it's true." "It's okay, Captain," B'Elanna said. "I've been meaning to apologise for, um, overreacting the way I did. Oh-- come in," she added belatedly. "Anyway, I had no right to act the way I did, and I think you were more embarrassed than I was." She laughed a little forcedly as she led them to the dinner table. "That's okay," Tom said casually, sitting down. "We got away with it on the bridge." Kathryn choked slightly, cheeks flaming. B'Elanna just stared. "I'm kidding, B'Elanna," Tom reassured her. "Would I do a thing like-- Don't answer that," he said hastily. "Would the *captain* do a thing like that?" Kathryn kicked him under the table. B'Elanna looked between the two of them a moment longer, then relaxed. "I guess not," she conceded. Kathryn didn't know whether to laugh or kick Tom again, but luckily he changed the subject before she did either. "So, what's for dinner?" he asked innocently. "Any galette?" "Any what?" Kathryn asked, slightly bewildered. It didn't sound like a Klingon word. "Galette," B'Elanna repeated. "It's a special kind of cake for Epiphany--" "That's today," Tom explained, "and the cake's the coolest thing. There's a little figurine inside and the person who finds it gets good luck for the rest of the year." "And I didn't make you any," B'Elanna finished, glaring at him. "Of course not," Tom said, slightly ruefully. "B'Elanna's very private about her religion," he continued, undeterred. "In fact, she wouldn't even let me direct a Nativity play for the crew--" "You only wanted to direct because you were automatically disqualified from playing a wise man or the Virgin Mary," B'Elanna retorted. Tom poked his tongue out at her. Kathryn discreetly hid a smile. Well, they were *almost* getting along... They kept up the small talk as they dug into their meals, although Kathryn did notice B'Elanna close her eyes and mutter a quick prayer before eating. The meal was delicious; vegetable biryani, Kathryn's recipe, but cooked far better than she could ever have done herself. She was enjoying it so much that she finished it quickly, and leaned back in her chair. Tom was looking much more at ease in B'Elanna's company, and Kathryn decided that it was time to make her escape so they could spend some time alone, as B'Elanna had requested. Besides, it *was* late. "I'd better head off to bed," she said casually. "I'll see you two tomorrow." Tom practically leapt from his chair. "I'll walk you back to your quarters." Damn. "That's really not necessary," she said, knowing it was futile but trying anyway. "You should stay..." "That's okay," Tom said determinedly. "I want to." Kathryn shot B'Elanna an apologetic look. Torres shrugged, saying better than words, /give him time/. "Tonight was lovely," Kathryn said aloud. "We'll have to do this again sometime." "Sure," B'Elanna said. "Have fun, kids." Kathryn briefly considered poking her tongue out but decided not to sink to Tom's level. "Yes, mother," she said instead, and joined Tom at the door. "See you tomorrow," Tom said awkwardly. Kathryn waved, then they left. "You should have stayed," Kathryn muttered as they walked to the turbolift. Tom shrugged noncommittally. "I wasn't hungry." Kathryn let it drop. "Deck two," she told the computer. They walked quietly to the door of her quarters, then stood there for a moment. "Come in," Kathryn invited. "Why?" Tom asked. The question was too unexpected for her to think of an answer. She could only look at him dumbly and say, "I beg your pardon?" "Why?" he repeated. "For coffee, or... something else? It's late, Kathryn. I need to know what you want from me." She'd have been offended, but he'd been right about her motives. She threw caution to the winds and looked him up and down. "Well, we could... go for three nights..." "I don't think that would be a good idea--" "Don't you think that's my decision to make?" Kathryn retorted, aware she was getting defensive but not quite sure how to stop it. "Honestly? No. Kathryn..." He smiled gently. "You're not ready for this, no matter what you think. And - quite frankly - neither am I. Look, it's late, and we both need to get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning." "Wait a minute," she said as he started to leave. "You're *rejecting* me?" "No!" Tom took her gently by the arms. "Listen, you're not thinking clearly right now--" "I'm not drunk, I'm not under stress, I'm not in Pon farr," she reeled off. "*Why* wouldn't I be thinking clearly?" "I intoxicate you," Tom said, straightfaced, then grew serious again. "Don't argue with me, Kath. It's not going to happen; not tonight, not any night soon." Kathryn straightened slightly. "I see," she said with forced calmness. Tom sighed. "No, you don't. Kathryn--" "I'll see you in the morning," she interrupted, not wanting to listen anymore. She walked into her quarters before he could answer, clinging tightly to the remains of her pride. After a moment she unfastened her necklace and flung it across the room with shaking hands. There was a clunk as the pearl hit something solid; idly, she wondered if it was damaged, and was slightly amused to find she didn't care. So much for sentimentality. --- continued in the eighth story in the Festive Occasions series 'A Different Kind of Gratitude'