The BLTS Archive - Of Ryals & Relationships
by The Cat's Whiskers (thecatswhiskers01@hotmail.co.uk)

---

Published: 12-10-05

Updated: 12-10-05

Disclaimer: Star Trek: Voyager and all characters therein are the
property of Americans who are not me. No infringement of copyright is
intended.

NB: This story is set approximately around Season 5-7, but not
particular spoilers other than this happens after Thirty Days (but
after Tom re-makes it to Lieutenant again) and before Drive.

---
Chapter 1 - Buyer Beware
---

"We will inform our Captain," Seven told the unctuously smiling trader
chillingly, before falling into step beside Lt Torres and Ensign
Wildman, the three women beginning to make their way through the
market towards the spaceport.

"That P'targh!" grumbled B'Elanna. "/Five/ Beryllium Ryals for a pair
of power couplings! The Captain will never go for that."

"We may have no alternative, and we should act with speed on any
decision to purchase supplies here," Seven replied, "I have
ascertained that this is a particularly bad period of the annual cycle
to be a buyer; last week that trader was selling power couplings at
three and a half Beryllium Ryals per pair. In the next few days, the
price may even rise."

"Like the. . . being said, it's a seller's market," Ensign Samantha
Wildman pointed out regretfully. "Whoever set up a trading station on
this planet had to have had Ferengi DNA in him somewhere. The dust
storms kicked out by that dark nebula can do a lot of damage, and it's
only sensible to make repairs as soon as possible, instead of risking
it across so many light-years to the next trading station. It's
Hobson's Choice."

"There is no crewmember named Hobson," Seven corrected her.

She smiled slightly, "'Hobson's choice' is an old Earth expression,
Seven. Basically it refers to being faced with a 'choice' which is no
genuine choice at all. If you want to know the exact details, Tom
Paris is the 20th Century history buff."

"I will consult him," Seven commented, unaware of the flicker of
irritation that had unwittingly crossed B'Elanna's face at the mention
of her lover, or of how she had dropped a couple of steps behind and
was casting an resentfully wistful eye over the many goods available
for purchase, unfortunately all at exorbitant prices.

Ryzak was a small, mostly desert planet on the edge of this system,
but as Sam Wildman so accurately pointed out it had a significant edge
on other trade and commerce places. A spatial rift on one side forced
ships to travel close to a dark nebula on the other side that kicked
out tremendous cosmic dust storms. Since anyone with any sense kept
their spaceship in tip-top repair, coming out of the narrow stellar
'channel' to find a trading outpost right there was initially a
godsend.

The large, sprawling, but extravagantly appointed city surrounding the
spaceport showed how good business was. Buildings of costly material
ornately carved littered the landscape, luxury goods abounded;
recreation facilities were everywhere and even the smallest shop
seemed opulently appointed. She noticed a small establishment on the
main thoroughfare, not quite as tackily ostentatious as most, with
some sort of unusual cylindrical object set prominently on the front
counter. Always interested in unfamiliar gadgets, B'Elanna began to
try and work out what it was.

"Hey, watch out!"

Seven and Ensign Wildman turned at B'Elanna's cry as she suddenly
hurried forward and jabbed at a metal cylinder object on a store's
front counter, causing a section to slide out and the cylinder to
change hue from a faintly glowing blue to a dull grey. A figure
hurried forward from within the shop. About 6'3" tall, he was humanoid
with mottled, hairless skin that faintly resembled Neelix's skin
patterns, and his eyes were a bright canary yellow around his pupils.
He did however have short, spiky jet-black hair on his head that
matched the colour of the voluminous, floor-length tunic he was
wearing.

"Oh, what is happening?" He looked anxiously from the cylinder to
B'Elanna.

"The power regulator relay was failing, it could have blown up your
store and half the sidewalk, you need to keep an eye on it," B'Elanna
chastised.

His/it's eyes widened. "Oh, by Ghahah! Thank you most assuredly. . .
?"

"B'Elanna Torres, of the Voyager; it was nothing."

"But yes, my foolish mistake could have resulted in damage, even
injury had you not come along. Please, allow me to give you some Ryals
-"

Embarrassed by the alien's obvious gratitude, B'Elanna made a sharp
negating gesture with her hand. "No, really, I was glad to help. . . "

He made a forward bow, "Then please, accept my sincerest gratitude for
-"

"B'Elanna!"

She turned at the call, unaware her irritation at the peremptory tone
flared briefly in her eyes. Tom Paris and Harry Kim, along with Ensign
Vorik and Lt Susan Nicoletti had arrived about twenty feet away and
were comparing notes with Seven and Ensign Wildman.

"Come on, we're heading back to Voyager," Tom urged with clear
impatience.

Nodding her head once sharply, B'Elanna gave the alien 'man' a swift,
polite smile before going to join her friends, thus not seeing the way
his eyes changed from canary yellow to deep mustard, almost green, as
if he had just received some information inaudible to anyone else. It
watched the 'Voyagers', as the locals called them, walk away in a
group towards the space port, an expression of great thoughtfulness on
his face.

---
Chapter 2 - A Fair Trade
---

"We can replicate the Beryllium but that's not the point," Captain
Janeway commented wearily to her First Officer, Commander Chakotay, on
the Voyager's bridge. "We need to be conserving our equipment and
supplies as far as possible, and replicating sufficient Beryllium to
meet such extortionate prices cuts down on the viability of trading
here even further. On the other hand nothing is more demoralising than
having to cut life support to half the ship and have people sleeping
in dormitories with no holodeck or replicator rations."

Chakotay commiserated, having received the depressing report from the
group on how expensive everything was, but the traders were in
control, having all comers over a barrel and knowing it fully. There
was no way Kathryn Janeway would continue past this point even though
the dust storms' damage to Voyager was comparatively minor. She would
never forgive herself if a crewmember was seriously injured or killed
by a system they didn't repair simply because of cost.

"Like Ensign Wildman said, 'Hobson's Choice'," he admitted.

"Yes. . . remind me to get Tom Paris to /explain/ that," Janeway
sighed. "Alright, if we pare down our list of requirements to the bare
minimum of -"

"Captain, we are being hailed from the surface." Tuvok interposed
softly.

"I thought everyone was back on board?" Chakotay queried.

"That is correct; we have no personnel on Ryzak."

"Greetings? Oh, B'Elanna Torres? Greetings?" a voice trilled
uncertainly.

"On-screen." Janeway and Chakotay both stood up. "I'm Captain Janeway
of Voyager?"

"Ah, you command the Voyagers?" the speaker was a tall alien with
short, spiky black hair that made him look like a talking yard-brush.

At least, Janeway mentally thought the alien was male; there was
something about him that seemed to emanate a masculine sort of aura.
"That is so. May I enquire as to what you want with my Chief
Engineer?"

The alien's eyes widened. "/Chief/? Oh, I had no idea she carried such
rank in your hierarchy. . . well, er, foredate -"

"I'm sorry?"

"Ah. . . er the day before this one?" the alien clarified. "B'Elanna
Torres stopped my Regulation Module from overloading and exploding. It
would have been very nasty. However, it does need a complete overhaul
and I was wondering, if perhaps, B'Elanna might. . . ?"

"We were intending to leave this system as soon as our business was
concluded. B'Elanna is really very busy preparing our own systems for
departure, Mr. . . ?"

"Jeren, Trader Jeren," he responded, "But please Captain, I wouldn't
ask this work for nothing. B'Elanna refused any reward for her
actions, the least I could do is offer some recompense. What about
plasma coils at fifty percent discount per pair - a quarter Beryllium
Ryal?"

Both of Tuvok's eyebrows rose at this and beside her Janeway felt
Chakotay's body stiffen. "A quarter Ryal per pair; that seems most
generous, Jeren. . . " she said, thinking furiously.

"Not at all, I'm still making a profit at a quarter Ryal. Believe me,
Captain, were I to /give/ you most of my inventory in thanks for what
B'Elanna did, it would still cost me less than the price of having to
repair my premises and fight off legal charges had anyone been injured
- or worse - in any explosion."

"Mr Jeren, I will provisionally accept your offer and allow B'Elanna
to do the work, if she's agreeable." Janeway said cautiously, "Would
you also happen to stock power couplings?"

"Of course, my business is spacecraft parts and maintenance supplies.
I could send you my complete stock inventory and a price list
immediately, if you wish?"

"That would be appreciated." Janeway said, "I will speak to B'Elanna
now myself."

The communication link ended and a second later Harry Kim's station
beeped. "He's sent us the inventory," the Ensign confirmed, forwarding
it to the computer console in the separating arm between the Captain's
chair and First Officer's.

Both peered at it eagerly and then raised incredulous eyes to each
other. "Two Beryllium Ryals per pair of plasma couplings? That other
trader was going to charge us six Ryals per pair!" Janeway said
gleefully as she straightened back up. "Janeway to Engineering!"

"Here, Captain?" Lt Torres voiced sounded clearly over the internal
comlink.

Janeway explained the situation and B'Elanna was happy to take a look
at Jeren's cylinder again, ". . . but depending on the problem it
could take me several days, even if it can be fixed." She warned
finally.

"Thank-you, Janeway out." The Captain turned to the two men who were
respectively her second and third in command, and above all her most
trusted counsellors. "Chakotay? Tuvok?"

"I'd say yes, Captain," Chakotay recommended. "At these prices Jeren
can supply 95 of everything we need at less than half the price of
what everyone else is charging. We can't pass that up even if we do
have to stay a little longer, and besides it would do everyone good to
be able to have a few days of R&R on an actual planet. After a while
not even several hours on a holodeck can erase the knowledge you've
been trapped for months in a giant tin can."

"I concur with Commander Chakotay," commented Tuvok. "In time terms of
our reaching the Alpha Quadrant, remaining here for two or three extra
days is insignificant, and it would be psychologically and
operationally beneficial for as many of the crew as possible to be
able to spend more than a merely a few hectic hours on a planet."

---
Chapter 3 - Brunette Bombshell
---

"Go ahead, B'Elanna," Captain Janeway acknowledged the transmission
from Ryzak's surface.

"Captain, I can repair the module but it will take me a day longer
than I anticipated?" B'Elanna explained.

"Not a problem," Janeway smiled, "by the time you get back all the new
parts Jeren is supplying will have been fitted and all you will have
to do is inspect them before we depart." She suppressed an actual grin
at the memory of how half the engineering crew were acting more
terrified of B'Elanna's incipient inspection than a Borg attack.

B'Elanna however merely nodded, distracted by the interesting
engineering puzzle she was engrossed in. "Thank you, Captain. Torres
out."

Janeway returned to the Captain's chair, waiting with perfectly
concealed impatience for the end of the duty shift when she could
retire to her Ready Room and allow herself to be simply Kathryn. But
she couldn't prevent some of her cheer showing through. For once this
was proving to be a pit-stop without death and disaster. Jeren's
supplies were fairly priced and of good, sturdy quality. They could
make up for any extra time spent here once they got going again and
the crew were positively giddy with having nearly a full Earth week of
rest and relaxation outside the 'giant tin can'. . .

---

On the surface, B'Elanna turned back to the cylinder, which had packed
a lot of moving parts into its squat three-foot-high frame. Still,
things were progressing nicely. B'Elanna picked up her empty cup and
poured herself another cup of Zerin, since Jeren was out at one of the
cargo depots. Despite his somewhat nervous nature, she liked him.
Zerin was a pale, golden hot liquid that had much in common with the
finer varieties of Earth tea - the delicate, refreshing Chinese and
Japanese blends. Neelix had already purchased several of the plants
from Jeren and had accompanied him to the food halls along with Sam
Wildman, where the alien helpfully identified a variety of juicy
fruits and flavoursome vegetables that would augment their food
supplies. Anything that /wasn't/ Leola root, as Tom had joked, would
be joyously accepted.

B'Elanna felt a twinge momentarily of resentment. She didn't expect
Tom to lavish adoring attention on her 24/7 for goodness' sake, but it
would be nice occasionally to get higher on his list than the next
chapter of /Captain Proton/, upgrading the Delta Flyer, working out
new strategies for his endless game of pool against Chakotay at
Sandrine's, or whatever shiny new toy distracted him next.

Maybe she should cut her losses, she mused absently as she fiddled
with a circuit relay. . . she had heard her grandmother say - her
human grandmother Mama Torres to her father - one day when she was
four, during Aunt Sophia's wedding reception on Talis Minor...she'd
heard such an unusual note of sadness in Mama's voice, though she
hadn't really understood what her grandmother had meant when she told
B'Elanna's father that it was 'easier to be with someone for the wrong
reasons than it is to be alone for the right ones.' At least, not
until her father had walked away without a backward glance a year
later.

Maybe she was letting her fears of loss and abandonment get the better
of her again, clinging to Tom instead of acknowledging she wasn't
really important to him and moving on -Richard Platt had always had a
bit of extra warmth in his smile, and back when they'd been in the
Maquis, Lt Tabor had let it be known he was not averse to a closer
relationship. Tom never seemed to notice if she made an effort to look
feminine instead of as if she'd just spent the night scrubbing the
warp plasma manifolds. . . Unaware of the shadow that slipped away
from the shop, she continued working, soon engrossed.

---

Harry raised his eyebrows at the price tag on the bracelet - ten Blue
Quartz Ryals for that? He wasn't that besotted over Megan Delaney. He
deliberately moved away from Mr 'Smirking Dangerously Close To No
Longer Being My Best Friend' Paris over there and examined some of the
cheaper but unfortunately correspondingly tackier items.

"Harry human! Harry human!"

He looked up and smiled as Jeren came towards him. As usual the alien
seemed to be living on nervous energy; his attitude was typically
uncertain and cautious, in fact he reminded Harry a lot of the way he
himself had been when he stepped aboard Voyager for the first time
with Tom, so green he was emerald and pitifully naïve. Aware of Tom's
amusement and that the blond would have moved behind a concealing
display stand to let 'good old Harry' deal with any problems, he
politely asked, "Just call me Harry, Jeren?"

"Indeed." Jeren cleared his throat and then stage-whispered
conspiratorially, "I was wondering if I might be permitted to use one
of Voyager's replicators?"

Harry instantly frowned. Allowing even the most-friendly and helpful
/seeming/ alien access to Voyager and any one of it's systems was
something Captain Janeway was highly unlikely to sanction unless for
particularly dire reasons. "I'm sorry, I don't think that would be
possible. . . but surely you can get what you need right here?" he
gestured at the thriving, bustling markets around them.

But Jeren shook his head, "I cannot, Harry. This is a matter. . . most
delicate and sensitive. . . "

"What is it exactly you need?" Harry's curiosity was piqued.

"A single specimen of a plant native to your home world," Jeren
against stage-whispered, "called a red rose."

"A single red rose?" Harry repeated. "What on earth for?"

Jeren cleared his throat and admitted, "I have been told that the
offering of a flower to the female is a customary prelude to the
courtship ritual amongst your species. . . "

/Courtship ritual/? "Er. . . I don't quite follow. . . "

Jeren sighed deeply, "I find B'Elanna human most /attractive/. . . "

Harry didn't have an empathic bone in his body but he didn't need one
to know that Tom Paris, unseen inside this over-priced junk store, had
just lost his smile and his attitude of amused insouciance. In fact he
could feel his friend's eyes glaring into his back. /Oh boy/. "Jeren.
. . I. . . er. . . that is. . . "

"I have noted how her hair catches the light and reflects it back and
how when she smiles at me her lips seem a most luscious /Idarii/ pink.
. . "

/Uh-oh/. Harry knew he had to stop the other from rhapsodising; he was
surprised the back of his uniform wasn't smouldering from the heat of
Tom's outraged gaze. Any second now he was going to come storming out.
"I'm sorry, Jeren, but I'm afraid B'Elanna already has a mate on
Voyager."

"Oh. . . really. . . " Jeren stopped in mid-flow and looked so
disappointed that Harry couldn't help feel for him. . . "I do
apologise. . . B'Elanna never mentioned that. . . "

---
Chapter 4 - The Green-Eyed Monster
---

B'Elanna drank the last of her cup of Zerin as she finished recounting
her day cheerfully to Harry and Tom as they sat together as their
usual trio in the Mess Hall. Harry, however, could see that B'Elanna
was so interested in her new toy that she was oblivious to the
ever-growing thundercloud above Tom Paris's head, or such clues as the
precise movements with which he speared the Delta Quadrant's
equivalent of pasta quills, clearly wishing he was stabbing something,
or rather, /someone/, instead.

"You enjoyed yourself, obviously." Tom cut in sharply.

Puzzled and slightly irritated by the obvious edge to Tom's tone,
B'Elanna chose to ignore it and take the statement at face value.
"Yes. . . " she carried on describing her wrestling with the intricate
machinery, ". . . then the circuitry relay disintegrated and singed my
fingers -"

"Aaah," Tom snarled in mock sympathy, "I'm sure Jeren kissed it
better."

B'Elanna paused, still confused, but Paris was clearly spoiling for a
fight and she was only too happy to give him one right now. "What's
that supposed to mean?"

"Why is one little cylinder taking you so long to fix?" Tom instead
challenged. "Or do you have another reason for wanting to hang around
this dump?"

"It's a completely alien device," B'Elanna pointed out with the
beginnings of real anger, "and if you've got something to say, come
right out with it, /Paris/."

Harry couldn't help the laugh that escaped him at he was a spectator
at point blank range.

"Care to share the joke?" B'Elanna's tone was taking on that genuinely
dangerous edge.

"Jeren came to find me today, he wanted access to Voyager's
replicators." Harry reported with glee.

"What did he want to replicate?"

"A single red rose."

B'Elanna still didn't get it. "So?"

Lips twitching, Harry spelled out, "Jeren has a serious crush on you,
B'Elanna."

There was a moment of silence and Tom's face went from peeved to
murderous as B'Elanna digested this information with pleased surprise
for just a fraction too long. Rashly he tried to give his lady-love an
order. "Send someone else to finish repairing the damn thing, you stay
on Voyager."

"Don't be ridiculous!" B'Elanna snapped, now as irritated as he was.
"Jeren's a nice. . . being. . . that's all there is to it!"

"I'll bet!" tossing down his fork, Tom surged upright and stomped off,
his angry demeanour causing several crewmembers to pull aside and cast
looks towards B'Elanna that could be categorised as 'knowing
curiosity'. Everyone was accustomed to the volatility of the
Paris-Torres merger. As Tabor put it, who needed space soaps like
/Starfleet Frontier/ when you had that pair around?

"P'targh!" B'Elanna muttered to his departing back, concentrating on
her meal; she had enjoyed herself today bending her mind to a
different problem, and she wasn't going to let an obstreperous male
spoil it for her. Besides, where did Tom Paris get off acting like it
was unbelievable that anyone else would find her attractive?

Harry concentrated on eating his dinner and not laughing aloud, aware
that Tom was going to be hell to live with for the next day or so
until he got over his snit. B'Elanna's unwise dismissal of him as
'silly' would provoke a litany of angry complaining to his favourite
agony uncle - Harry S L Kim. Still that was part of being classed as
the 'best friend' of Tom /and/ B'Elanna; you had to take the rough
with the smooth and accept being caught in the middle sometimes.

---
Chapter 5 - Attack of the Green-Eyed Monster
---

"Tom!" Harry made the protest even though he knew it was futile as he
managed to keep up with the miffed blond as he stalked through the
bustling market.

Many of the traders, now aware that none of Voyager's Beryllium would
be lining their /koufas/, shot them dirty looks, but the pleasure and
recreational facilities on Ryzak were still maintaining their love
affair with Voyager's crew. In fact, Harry and Tom had come down here
supposedly with Crewman Jor, Lt Tabor, Ensign Vorik, Lt Ayala, Ensign
Wildman and sundry other crew for an afternoon at one of the "sports
centres". Tom and Harry had spent an hour playing 'squash' (one game
won each) then half an hour swimming, followed by a massage by an
alien creature that didn't talk but which possessed divine paddle like
appendages that worked miracles on aching muscles. Then they'd steamed
and finished up with a light snack meal that contained not a single
familiar item but which was very nice.

Unfortunately the meal had been accompanied by a pot of Zerin, and
Harry had watched Tom flick instantly from affable to brooding again
and felt his heart sink. He had had his ear bent by Tom virtually all
their previous duty shift and it had taken him a solid hour of talking
to persuade his friend that he was overreacting. That was the trouble
with Tom; he was intelligent but mercurial most of the time, his mind
jumping from idea to idea in a way that the plodders could only envy,
but when he did get mired in some sinkhole of brooding or fixated on
some obsession he took some pushing to get him moving on again.

Harry was the one person who knew the right tricks of when and how to
exert pressure to 'flick' him out again or how to coax him forward
once more; trouble was, Harry knew his methods for the 'care and
feeding' of Thomas Eugene Paris took time. Back on Voyager, with
several solid hours of being able to listen and advise and persuade,
Harry would have had no problem in calming Tom down. But right now Tom
was clearly in full anxiety mode and obsessing big time.

So Harry did his job - he was the faithful sidekick; his role was to
have Tom's back, provide support/aid, initiate what damage control he
could and if the worst came to the worst, save Tom from himself -
though the last one wasn't always possible, as evinced by the brief
period where Tom had got himself broken to Ensign before making
Lieutenant again. As he walked beside Tom towards Jeren's store, Harry
ruefully reflected that it was typical of his luck that of all the
females aboard Voyager, Jeren had to home in on the only one Tom Paris
was romantically involved in.

Thankfully Tom didn't have that many things he obsessed about or got
hung up over. There was his being a pilot and the inherent
competitiveness which made him want to be the 'flyboy' in the Delta
Quadrant as he had been in the Alpha Quadrant, but now he had a
star-ship literally at his fingertips /and/ Janeway had allowed him to
create the Delta Flyer, that obsession was usually channelled into
upgrading his 'baby'.

There was Chakotay and the Captain; she had seen past the
self-protecting arrogance and indifference to the deeply hurt man
beneath and given him the opportunity for redemption. As for Chakotay.
. . it was a complex relationship, marred by beliefs of betrayal and
mutual antagonism, /but/. . . that little three-letter word that was
so profound. Harry wasn't quite clear on the details of how Chakotay's
life belonged to Tom, as it was one of the few things the blond
absolutely never discussed - although to Harry's admiration, since it
had said a lot for Tom's fledgling emotional maturity that he had not
openly gloated over Chakotay's debt of honour to him. Often the
exchanges between the two had a sharp edge and there was frequently a
challenging subtext, but when the chips were down Tom never failed to
treat Chakotay with the deference due the position of First Officer
regardless of who wore the pips, and had often supported Chakotay when
others had rebelled, challenged or unfairly maligned the man.

Penultimate there was Harry himself. He realised initially it had only
been bored amusement that made Tom take the innocent lost lamb that
was Ensign Kim under his wing. But after that alternate reality when
he had been caught in the alien time stream and found himself back on
Earth with Danny Bird lost aboard the Voyager, Harry had had an
epiphany and realised that he had an extraordinarily subtle but
massively profound and important role to play in Tom Paris's
existence. 'Looking after Harry', 'setting an example for Harry',
'meeting Harry's expectations', all were a defining part of how Tom
Paris looked at the world, and without hubris, Harry knew he made Tom
a better person. Only he alone now remembered that alternate reality,
and the pity he had felt for that Tom Paris, a drunken drifter
spending his life in the darkness, moving from pool hall to pool hall
as long as anyone would pay his bar tab, directionless and
purposeless.

But that had been because that Tom had nothing to live up to, he had
no Harry to make him ashamed to drink on duty (oh yes, Tom didn't know
he knew about those early slips and never would); nobody who Tom
didn't want to be disappointed in him when he was foolish or insolent.
On the shuttle, when Tom had sacrificed his own life to send Harry
back to the 'real time', that had been the real Tom Paris, in his
element when he had someone that needed him, that depended on his
skills and his quick thinking. Shortly after B'Elanna and Tom had
finally got it together, Harry had realised Ensign Orlando was
depressed and homesick and since he was the same age began to spend
more time with the man in an effort to cheer him up. But regardless of
his budding relationship with B'Elanna, Tom had acted deviously and
ruthlessly to hook Orlando up with another group of friends and
monopolise Harry's attention for himself. Orlando had taken the 'he's
/my/ friend' hint.

But his ultimate obsession was of course B'Elanna Torres. Harry bit
back as sigh as Jeren's store came into view as the crowds thinned.
Incredibly considering the packed markets, the store seemed to be
empty at the moment; Harry mentally groaned - a bevy of customers
would have forced Tom to be on his best Starfleet Lieutenant
behaviour. He would never risk Captain Janeway's ire - or her
disappointment - by damaging the repute of the Federation in front of
an already hyper-critical audience. There was no point trying to talk
sense into Tom, he didn't /have/ any where B'Elanna was concerned.

Okay, that was a little harsh, but sometimes. . . in the early days
Harry had certainly wanted to knock their heads together, at least
once he'd got over the shock that Tom was genuinely interested
(definition of same being 'more than a one night stand') in B'Elanna.
Tom was a handsome man always ready to enjoy a little female company
and there were far more pleasant females aboard Voyager than the often
almost-psychotic half-Klingon who, at least in the early days, only
Chakotay could control.

Maybe that had been the initial pique of interest - Tom's desire to
dominate and manipulate Chakotay translated into an urge to be the
only /other/ male aboard who could exercise any control of B'Elanna's
actions. However, it had rapidly become more than that. Harry had
watched Tom's initial purely sexual interest deepen and grow into a
fixation on B'Elanna that precluded anything else. Incredibly it was a
relationship that worked; Harry had often secretly wondered about how
the doctor's psycho-sexual report on Tom would read, for at first he
himself had been very sceptical of the affair's longevity. He had
never thought a human male of Tom's self-confidence and sexual
assuredness would tolerate being the submissive mate once the novelty
of that initial 'my very own dominatrix' had worn off. Harry knew
several people were astonished that Tom Paris had never had any
apparent problem being the submissive sexual partner, though he had
quickly slapped down any rude enough to try and get gossip out of
himself on the issue. Indeed, for all their fights and passionate
sparking off each other, B'Elanna was the centre of Tom's universe.

Which was what made him so dangerous at times like this, when a clear
and present danger to one of his few obsessions hove into view. Tom
immediately tended to go into Attack Pattern Alpha mode and prepare to
fire all photon torpedoes - and damn the consequences. The more deeply
Tom felt something, the more extreme his reactions were about anything
that affected it.

B'Elanna was oblivious to the approach of her mate as she talked with
Jeren, who had been charmingly apologetic that morning when she
arrived for any embarrassment he'd caused her.

"That's it for today, but I should be finished in two days tops and
you can sell it as new by the time I've done with it." She told Jeren.

He smiled gratefully, then reached out and placed one hand on her
forearm as she would have turned away to gather her tools. His hand
was particularly warm through the sleeve of her uniform. "I do
appreciate your kind help B'Elanna, and without wishing you to be
uncomfortable in any way, I just want you to know that I am very
grateful."

B'Elanna felt her cheeks heat and not just because it was suddenly
rather warm in the store. It had been forever since she had been
looked at, even by Tom, with that definite hint of male appreciation,
and for once she was just going to enjoy being given a compliment by
someone who was so thoughtful and appreciative of her efforts.

"B'Elanna!"

The sudden shout made her jump up and back slightly and she was
unaware of Jeren removing his hand hastily from her arm at the noise;
she was thus oblivious to the guilty overtones the tableau seemed to
portray to the suspicious imagination of one Tom Paris.

"What's wrong?" B'Elanna blurted, her head filled with sudden fears of
warp core breaches and other catastrophes.

"What's wrong? Why don't you tell me? I arrive to find you. . .
/canoodling/." Tom spluttered; behind him Harry winced.

B'Elanna stiffened and somehow seemed to swell slightly, both at the
tone and the phraseology. Human outrage over his suspicious
assumptions mingled with Klingon defensive guilt over the fact that
she had enjoyed the compliment from a male who was not her mate. As
always when B'Elanna was threatened, she attacked. "Get your mind out
of the gutter, human, not everyone is as mentally dirty as your brain
obviously is?"

"You're coming back to Voyager with me, right now!"

"What? Why stop there, why don't you just try and hit me over the head
and drag me back to your cave, P'targh!"

"Good idea! Harry, pass me that me that pipe."

"Try it you pathetic /man/ and I'll break both your legs."

"You won't be able to if I break your arms first!"

There was a high-pitched shrill and a mini-dust-cloud as Harry's
phaser blast into the ceiling brought bits of it down on Tom and
B'Elanna.

"Enough!" Harry censured. "Tom, our duty shift starts in one hour and
if you make us late, I'll hit you over the head myself. B'Elanna," he
softened his tone.

"I'm going shopping with Seven and Sam and Naomi Wildman," B'Elanna
interrupted, "and I won't see you later, Paris."

"Good," retorted Tom, thoroughly infuriated. "Come on, Harry, we're
leaving."

With an apologetic glance at Jeren, Harry followed his friend out.
Somehow, he didn't feel like laughing at the pair of them right at
this moment.

---
Chapter 6 - Unanimated Suspense
---

Chakotay was deeply, deeply suspicious. He wished Tuvok were here at
the Tactical station. For all the Vulcan's imperturbability got to
him, he would only have to glance at the man for Tuvok to have raised
one eyebrow in a silent agreement that confirmed, 'yes something is
going on here'.

However, Tuvok and the Captain, along with Seven, B'Elanna and most of
the senior bridge staff were down on Ryzak. Captain Janeway had been
the only person aboard not to take advantage of the chance to have a
break on the surface, and Chakotay had instantly known why - she would
never take the risk of leaving Voyager vulnerable even in the most
friendly and safest seeming of places; it was exactly the credo
Chakotay had followed in the Maquis and it had saved his ships and
crews more than once.

She had therefore resigned herself to missing out on the fun. Chakotay
had enjoyed his time on the planet's surface, but his meditation and
vision quests enabled him to cope better with long periods in the
'giant tin can' than most. So he had determined his Captain would have
a break. The problem was that she couldn't go alone. Kathryn Janeway
would not leave Voyager vulnerable, and the Voyagers would not
tolerate their Captain being at risk. Other than himself, the one
person Chakotay trusted absolutely to put Kathryn Janeway's safety
above any and all other considerations including their own life was
Tuvok, so he had explained the situation and suggested that Tuvok
accompany her.

Double-teamed by Chakotay and Tuvok, the two people she trusted most
in all the universe, she had given in, but the ease with which they
accomplished their goal demonstrated explicitly to both men - as Tuvok
had admitted to Chakotay later on in private - just how tired and worn
down the captain was. She needed this break as desperately as the rest
of the crew, probably more so.

As it happened, Chakotay was 98 unconcerned. Once she'd embraced the
idea, the Captain had been positively ebullient about being pampered
at one of Ryzak's spas for a day or two and hadn't kept it a secret.
Besides Tuvok, nearly three quarters of Voyager's crew complement were
currently on the surface, and funnily enough, nearly all of them
seemed to been using the same recreational facilities as the Captain.
Lt Ayala, who had been Chakotay's trusted second in the Maquis, had
taken aside one of the city's blustering and posturing civil security
types and explained in that quiet but chilling manner of his exactly
/why/ so many of the Voyager crew happened to have some sort of
hand-weaponry with them, and had had the being quaking in its boots
after painting a terrifying word-picture of the catastrophic
consequences of the Voyager's revered captain being harmed in any
fashion. In the olden times it used to be termed a 'ring of steel' or
a 'bubble' of total protection, but Chakotay was confident it would be
effective now.

Which brought him to his current certainty that something was up; the
Bridge wasn't just awash with 'undercurrents', it was a flash flood of
seething emotion, all of it emanating from the one constant irritant
in his life, Tom Paris, currently at the helm. If there was anything
that wound Chakotay up or resulted in him almost developing
stress-ulcers, you could bet that Tom Paris would be in the thick of
it somewhere. Chakotay was half-seriously convinced that Paris's
primary mission in life was to drive Chakotay nuts.

But right now, Tom was being good. In fact, he was being positively
angelic. No /sotto voce/ com-chatter with Harry that incrementally
increased until he goaded Chakotay into being the 'killjoy' who
ordered them to quiet down. No witty commentary on the planet, its
populace, or their current situation. No barbed idle musings to get a
rise out of Chakotay. With the repressing factors of both Janeway and
Tuvok removed, Tom should have been in his element engaging Chakotay
in the next battle of their ongoing war of wits. Chakotay wouldn't
admit he sort of enjoyed the love-hate relationship between himself
and Paris even under Cardassian torture, but he had to admit to
himself a certain. . . level of concern.

Whatever the issue, Harry Kim was also in on it. That young man stood
at his Ops station, diligently monitoring readings, but he kept a
weather eye on Paris's rigid back with an expression of amusement
mingled with exasperation.

Chakotay's mental musing was interrupted by a transmission from the
surface, namely Crewman Orlando reporting that they were ready to
shuttle up the last batch of supplies and equipment purchased from
Jeren at Chakotay's order. The spaceport on Ryzak was a bit of a tight
fit, and bringing the supplies up now would mean Tom manoeuvring the
Voyager slightly to one side to allow the cargo shuttles docking room
between it and the huge Wraxllyn freighter in the next docking ring
berth. However, Chakotay was not a believer in procrastination, and
was ever aware that despite the (for once) complete lack of trouble,
there was still the outside possibility that Voyager would be forced
to cut and run from Ryzak at a moment's notice.

He had no intention of paying for much-need supplies they might end up
having to abandon if they needed to warp it fast out of here, so he
told Orlando to send up the shuttles. "Tom, move us the right distance
away from the Wraxllyn."

"Aye."

Chakotay's eyes narrowed at the flat, curt monosyllabic
acknowledgement but then he raised his eyebrows in astonishment. Tom
Paris, for all his faults (and Chakotay was happy to list these in
full detail, with annotated sub-sections and footnotes) was probably
the best pilot Chakotay had ever seen. Paris didn't 'operate' a ship's
controls, he caressed them. His long fingers were like a delicate
string concerto dancing, gliding and fluttering over the plastiglas
consoles of anything he flew with the genius of any musical composer
such as Mozart or Elgar.

Right now however, Tom's fingers stabbed at the key-command lights
with the staccato jerkiness of a puppet and Chakotay winced as Tom
finally hit one command light with such venom that the commander was
amazed he didn't put his finger through the plastiglas altogether or
at the very least crack it. About to issue a reprimand, he heard the
faintest of sounds and decided to cast a beady eye at a certain Mr Kim
instead; instantly Harry's eyes dropped away from Chakotay's cool gaze
to his own console, but not before Chakotay had clearly seen the
compressed lips and 'sucked-in' cheeks that personify someone who is
desperately suppressing laughter.

Holding his peace, Chakotay remained silent as Tom completed the
manoeuvre so as not to distract him, aware of its comparative
difficulty. Over 85 of all accidents, prangs, collisions and scrapes
suffered by spacecraft occurred at docking rings, in space dock, at
spaceports, etc. Few people ever saw the outside of a spaceship up
close enough to appreciate their tremendous size, even the smaller
ships such as the Voyager counted as, being an Intrepid-class. People
saw a ship from the surface, then travelled up to the spaceport in a
nice comfortable shuttle, straight through boarding control and on
board where they wandered around pleasantly decorated corridors no
different to any planetary upscale hotel.

Flying a spaceship at Warp 5 in a straight line posed little
challenge, but trying to manoeuvre something so huge in tiny
increments in a tight space required extraordinary dexterity, total
spatial awareness, consummate skill and that indescribable but
essential something 'extra' that couldn't be learned, only received
via a gift of genetics. Just as a ship's doctor outranked the Captain
in medical matters, by Starfleet tradition any situation involving
close-quarters manoeuvring, and always when within space dock, was the
only occasion when the Con Officer outranked the Captain, so serious
was their responsibility in keeping the ship in one piece.

The manoeuvre was executed flawlessly, but then Chakotay had expected
no less. But before he could proffer the sincere praise on his lips,
Paris turned in his chair and offered, "Can I go down and help Orlando
sort the inventory, so we can be ready to leave by tomorrow morning?"

Chakotay was glad he was sitting in his seat, since for a moment his
brain refused to accept the input from his ears. /Volunteer?/ Tom
Paris, the original hard-partying playboy, was /voluntarily/ offering
to undertake Freshman-cadet level duties that would provoke the
breaking of actual sweat? /That's it, it's officially the Apocalypse,/
Chakotay thought to himself, half expecting a huge LED message to
flash up on the view-screen: ARMAGEDDON WILL START IN T-MINUS THIRTY
SECONDS. YOU HAVE THAT LONG TO REACH MINIMUM SAFE DISTANCE, SO LONG
SUCKER.

"That won't be necessary, Paris," he managed with heavy irony, "I'm
sure Crewman Orlando can cope."

"Fine."

Chakotay stiffened at the insolent rejoinder as Paris swivelled back
round in his chair to face the view-screen so fast he almost gave
himself whiplash, but yet again, he reconsidered. Every sinew of the
younger man's rigid back proclaimed he was a tension convention. Pour
a bit of starch over him and you could have used him as a
violin-string. Besides, it was the first flash of the real Tom Paris
he'd seen, and that brief spark of typically veiled challenge, the
patented Paris 'let's-see-how-far-I-can-push-Chakotay' usual operating
mode was in a strange kind of way actually reassuring. So - for now -
he would let it go.

---
Chapter 7 - Bloom of Contention
---

"Hmm," B'Elanna vented the soft murmur of satisfaction as she checked
her reflection yet again for any flaws.

She was an engineer; she was used to wearing pants rather than skirts
- it was a lot easier to walk, run, crawl, wriggle, squirm, scrape,
climb and haul yourself around an engineering deck; outside of work
that attire was also a lot more suitable and convenient. Besides,
she'd never really been put in skirts. Miral Torres was a full-blooded
Klingon, daughter of Miral, daughter of Oholkah, daughter of Shaholu,
of the Clan of Gathkor the Invincible, Sword-Bearer of the Nine Great
Warriors of Horth, Keeper of the Chalice of Perpetual Pain, etc., etc.
. . clothing with pretty /floral/ patterns wouldn't been placed within
a light-year of her only daughter.

Nonetheless, it was occasionally, very rarely, /nice/ to dress in
something that was designed for no other reason than to accentuate the
feminine form's nicer features rather than functionality.

The senior crew had been invited to what the Captain called a /soiree/
with some of the local Ryzak trader bigwigs. Feeling mellow after an
afternoon of being manicured, pedicured, massaged, oiled and pampered,
Captain Janeway had agreed - it was always best to keep in good with
the locals if you could. The only issue was that uniforms of any civil
or military designation were completely /passé/, and a serious
diplomatic /faux pas/, as wearing uniforms would imply that the
Voyagers did not believe their hosts' security personnel were
competent enough to handle any trouble. So Janeway had accordingly
instructed her people to comply, while of course finding some way to
holster their phasers on their person unnoticeably, just in case.

Actually, it had all been rather fun. Though only the senior staff
were going, to B'Elanna's relief, the female contingent of the lower
decks had relished the opportunity to kit out the female attendees
appropriately - especially one fashion-challenged semi-Klingon.
Although B'Elanna had tried to instil a little fear: '/I am not one of
your daughter's dress-up dolls, Ensign Wildman!/' it didn't seem to
have worked that well. B'Elanna had intended something floor length,
concealing, black and utilitarian but Crewman Jor had practically
started to purr over this burgundy velvet thing and Ensign Wildman had
simply ignored the hesitant protests of B'Elanna and even the skittish
of Seven of Nine.

Still. . . B'Elanna gave one last twirl, admitting that the dress made
her feel very /pleased/ in some indefinable way even though it seemed
to show acres of flesh. It was completely strapless, and the
décolletage was a shallow V-cut that seemed to only cup the lower half
of her breasts, before the 'back' of the dress, what little there was
of it, dipped down to just cover the lower part of her spine; the
dress then came in at the waist before flaring out slightly in waving
folds to just below knee length. Somehow, Ensign Wildman had been too
busy with everyone else to get round to replicating a shawl or jacket.
She had from somewhere produced this matching set of jewellery; a
pendant necklace, earrings, bracelet, ring and wrist-timepiece of
rubies and gold that had apparently been a wedding anniversary gift
from her Katarian husband, the father Naomi had never met.

Satisfied that despite her disadvantaging brow ridges, she would look
presentable alongside the truly beautiful women present such as Seven
of Nine and of course Captain Janeway, B'Elanna turned her attention
back to the infuriating box. Jeren had given Vorik a small box of
light relays as spares for engineering, refusing to accept any charge
despite B'Elanna's urgings. Unfortunately, the opening mechanism was
faulty, and Vorik had been unable to get it to work, so had given it
to B'Elanna. Prior to having a sonic shower and dressing ready for
this evening, B'Elanna had also tried her best, but nothing happened
when she pressed the release button. Returning the box to Jeren
because it was faulty would be unforgivably churlish but they could do
with spare relays because they went through those faster than about
everything else; nor did B'Elanna want to have to lie when Jeren
inevitably asked her if the relays had been the correct type, but she
couldn't double-check if she couldn't open. . . the. . . damn. . .
thing!

With a barely audible /whoosh/ the doors of their quarters slid back
and The Most Hateful Male Ever, a.k.a. Tom Paris, walked in. He
checked at the sight of her, and B'Elanna experienced a frisson of
smugness at the instant male response she saw in his eyes as they got
a load of her outfit before he went all po-faced and self-righteous
again.

"Is the bathroom free?" he asked stiltedly.

What did he expect her to say? That she'd got all dressed up like this
/first/, and /now/ she was going to do her ablutions? Merely answering
that it was, B'Elanna concentrated on the more important priority of
opening the box than of soothing Mr Ego's wounded pride, but it was
still proving obstinate and she seriously considered taking a phaser
to it.

"What are you doing?" Tom's puzzled tone broke into her concentration.

She looked up, realising that he'd had time to shower, shave and get
dressed up in what he derogatorily termed the 'full penguin suit' of
formal evening attire. He looked delicious, and once upon a time she'd
have had a lot of fun jumping his bones for a quickie before they went
out. /He should be so lucky/, was her only thought now. "Jeren threw
in a box of relays for free, but the release button isn't working
properly," B'Elanna summarised, ignoring the way his face darkened at
the first part but then smirked at the second part of her explanation;
/so childish/ - wait a minute, had the lid moved a little?

She tried again, oblivious to Tom's words as he adjusted his jacket
and checked out his own reflection. She must have caught it right, for
the lid suddenly sprang up and back as she pressed the release button
in as hard as she was able. Her eyes widened and her breath hitched in
surprise at the contents.

". . . .all, I suppose." Tom stopped as it dawned on him that he was
talking to himself but then he took in the look of astonishment on
B'Elanna's face as she stared into the box she'd managed to open.

"B'Elanna?"

She didn't answer, instead placing one hand inside the box and
bringing out. . . a bloom. It rested on her palm; about the size of a
baseball and a perfect semi-sphere in shape. It resembled that
unpronounceable flower. . . Harry had cousins who used the symbol in
honour of their connection to the Japanese Imperial Family who used
the same emblem. . . the Chrysalis Throne - no, the Chrysanthemum
Throne. It looked very similar to a Chrysanthemum, but was instead a
glowing rainbow of soft pastel hues, as if someone had painted it baby
pink, lemon, peach, aquamarine and cerulean, and then lacquered every
petal with a dusting of silver glitter.

"/A gesture of my appreciation for all your fine work, which is as
perfect as you./"

B'Elanna murmured the words almost under her breath and Tom realised
she was reading something - Jeren must have included a note. . .
Unaware his hands were clenched into fists, Tom gave the hateful thing
a glare that should have reduced it to smouldering ash, before
stalking forward and trying to take it from B'Elanna.

She pushed his hand away, standing up and sheltering the bloom with
her other hand as she kept it in her palm, and glaring at him. "What
are you /doing/?"

"Incinerating a bio-hazard!" Tom snapped sharply. "We have no way of
telling what could be infesting every millimetre of those petals."

"Absolutely nothing!" B'Elanna was outraged and out of patience with
his antics. "This box had to pass through two micro-decontamination
scans and quarantine to get from the surface to Voyager just like
everything else. There's more likely to be a bio-hazard from Neelix's
cooking!"

"You're not seriously going all giggly over a /flower/!" Tom scorned
rashly.

The situation deteriorated rapidly from thereon.

---
Chapter 8 - Agony Uncle
---

"All systems are up to full power and we're ready to depart." Chakotay
smiled as he gave Captain Janeway the status report.

This rest-stop had done her - done them all - the world of good. Her
cheeks glowed like she was 16 again and she sat on the couch in her
ready room with purpose and sparkles in her eyes. Perhaps most
beneficially, she had a cup of hot Zerin on the table instead of her
perpetual coffee pot; Chakotay decided not to pre-emptively mention
the doctor's increasing muttered threats to make her go cold turkey on
her coffee intake, though he agreed wholeheartedly with the medical
man in this case - drinking two or three large cups of coffee a day
wasn't that bad. . . .Kathryn Janeway, Mistress of Compulsive
Overachievement, drank two or three large /pots/ of coffee. How she
had escaped everything from permanent jitters, perpetual bouncing off
the ceiling and the acid reflux from hell was a miracle.

"There are just a couple of things I want to tie up on the surface and
then we can continue," she decided. "But not until tomorrow, let
everyone enjoy one last afternoon of leisure before returning to the
routine of life in the GTC."

"GTC?" Chakotay repeated questioningly.

She smirked, "It seems the crew have appropriated and 'acronymed' your
'Giant Tin Can' remark."

"Is 'acronymed' even a word?"

"I think the O.E.D. will forgive me this once," Janeway smiled.
"Speaking of leisure though, I'm giving you the rest of this afternoon
off - no arguments. You've worked wonders and you deserve a last fling
with Ryzak's recreational facilities before we're resealed in the
GTC."

"Yes, ma'am," he grinned.

Taking his leave, Chakotay eschewed the turbo-lifts for the scenic
route through Voyager as he was in no rush; there was nothing he was
particularly desperate to try but he wasn't about to turn down the
chance for a final bit of R&R before continuing their journey.

Hearing a faint, familiar hum, Chakotay paused on Deck 6 and went
towards the holodecks. He frowned as he saw the red 'occupied'
indicator light on the panel; any Voyager crew not on duty shifts were
spending every spare minute down on Ryzak. "Computer, is holodeck 2
active?"

"Affirmative."

"What program?"

"'Chakotay Training Program 15 Beta.'"

Chakotay stiffened in surprise, since of course /he/ was Chakotay.
"Who's running the program?"

"Lt Tom Paris."

Chakotay looked at the door; leaving aside for the moment questions of
/how/ Paris had managed to access one of Chakotay's personal programs,
it was unlike the irrepressible blond to be hiding away when there was
fun to be had on the planet. Since it was /his/ program, Chakotay
entered the holodeck and watched the scene for several moments before
ordering, "Deactivate program."

Having just broken Jeren's jaw with another right cross, Tom lost his
balance and stumbled as the alien suddenly vanished, along with Tom's
boxing gloves and the ancient setting of the gym and boxing ring in
which he had been pulverising Jeren. Clarity came as he turned around
to find Chakotay standing not five feet away, arms folded and eyebrow
raised in classic Tuvok style; /uh-oh, busted. . . damn, Chakotay was
supposed be on duty shift for another hour I thought/.

"I think you got him," Chakotay commented dryly and without apparent
anger.

"I wish," muttered Tom before he could stop himself.

"What happened to get you this homicidal?" Chakotay inquired.

"Yesterday Jeren sent B'Elanna a box of circuit relays for the plasma
conduits," Tom growled, "when she opened the box he'd put in a freshly
plucked bloom and a note saying how much he appreciated what she'd
done working on that cylinder."

"He was probably just being nice," Chakotay began.

"Come on, Chakotay! That was more than nice. Nice would be a thank-you
and a handshake!" Tom ran his hand through his hair distractedly.
"Anyway we. . . had an argument about it and she put the damn thing on
her dresser. Right there; I swear it's gloating."

Chakotay managed by a major effort of will not to laugh aloud. "Well,
okay, I see your point, but to be honest, my advice to you is: get
used to it. B'Elanna is an attractive woman, and she's noticed. But
she loves /you/ and she would never willingly hurt you, Tom, you have
to know that."

"I do. . . I just. . . " Tom shook his head slowly, "The boot is
definitely on the other foot, and it's not a nice feeling. . . "

Chakotay prudently said nothing, though he understood where Tom was
coming from; though not conceited, he knew himself to be a handsome
man, as was Tom Paris, though in a different way. Both were more used
to being the object of feminine jealousies than having other males
trying to cut in on their woman.

". . . I never understood you using this program," Tom was saying,
"but I had to let off steam or else I'd have done something I probably
wouldn't have regretted. . . it felt so good to pound him!"

Chakotay did chuckle, "That's why I use this program, Paris, to ease
my overwhelming desire to beat some sense into certain people," he
said pointedly.

"I'm going to have to do some pretty serious grovelling, aren't I?"
Tom acknowledged.

"Oh yes, I foresee a lot of Klingon epithets in your near future,"
Chakotay found that the thought cheered him considerably, "and
possibly heavy objects."

"Ack."

"Go and soothe the savage beast that is your girlfriend, Tom,"
Chakotay ordered, "but before you do - one thing: right now I'm going
to ignore this violation of my privacy, in fact, it won't even make it
into /any/ log that you obviously know how to bypass personal privacy
encryptions such as the one you did to access this program. But if you
ever invade the privacy of any crewmember aboard this ship again I
will put you in the same state as you did holo-Jeren. I expect better
of you, Paris."

Tom had the grace to look sheepish, knowing he'd widely overstepped
the mark. Accessing another person's private holo-program without
consent was only one step away from breaking into their quarters and
rifling through their underwear drawer. Chakotay would have been well
within his rights to beat the hell of Tom, and when she found out why,
the Captain would probably have given permission for him to do it
again. If Chakotay had decided to make what Tom had done /official/,
Captain Janeway would've bust him down to cadet and let him rot in the
brig for the rest of the journey back home.

"Yes, sir," he said softly with genuine gratitude.

---
Chapter 9 - Resolutions & Revelations
---

/Breathe in. . . breathe out. . . I am calm. . . I am calm/. . . Tom
repeated this mantra to himself as he approached his private quarters
- their private quarters. Trouble was, he didn't believe himself. He
entered to find the lights dimmed and didn't know whether to be
relieved or disappointed that B'Elanna wasn't here. Almost
unwillingly, he felt his eyes drawn to the innocuous bloom on the
dresser. Tom hesitated and went over to it, already making up excuses
in his head - I found a worm in it; I picked it up and accidentally
squished it, no choice but to throw it away. . . it seemed to sparkle
slightly and his fingers brushed the petals almost of their own
volition.

"What are you doing!"

Tom jumped and spun round as B'Elanna appeared suddenly from the
bathroom, wearing of all things that burgundy confection, which had
had half the males present at that /soiree/ nearly walking into walls.
He missed the way the petals glowed a deep orange as they absorbed the
chemical signature of the male just as B'Elanna had been unaware of
the colour-change on the underside of the petals as they rested on her
palm when she'd picked it up.

"I was just looking -"

"Hah! You damage a single petal of my flower -"

"And /you'll/ do /what/?" Abruptly Tom had had enough; suddenly he
felt incredibly edgy, a coiling tension he could not define. One thing
he did know - B'Elanna was his, and he was going to make that fact
very plain. He strode forward raising his hands swiftly but, instead
of gripping her upper arms, he placed his hands on her bare shoulders,
feeling the ball-joints through his hands, the warmth of her skin
against his flexing fingers. "Who have you put this dress on again
for?"

B'Elanna blinked rapidly, acutely aware of the extreme proximity of
Tom's body to her own, and of how Tom seemed to have backed them both
against the far wall of their quarters, hemming her in. For some
reason she was suddenly extremely on edge, but in a nervous not angry
way; it was disconcerting. But still, "Me," she snapped, "I like it.
But I might wear it and pay my respects to Jeren before we leave." She
goaded.

"Like. Hell." Tom enunciated the words, his eyes dropping to her
mouth. "You're my mate, B'Elanna, you wear this dress only for me."

It was very hot in this room. B'Elanna's eyes snapped an equally
heated challenge to the man trying to dominate her. "You think so?"

"I know so." Tom moved his hands to rest one each either side her head
and leaned in further, "Only me." He kissed her deeply, fiercely.

B'Elanna wasn't objecting; she had been ready for a /fight/, but they
didn't have to...she gasped sharply as Tom's teeth suddenly pierced
her bottom lip and drew blood. He pulled back but brought his thumb up
to caress the tiny pinprick, before raising his thumb to his mouth and
with a flick of his tongue licking off the tiny smear; B'Elanna felt
the action resonate down to her toes.

"What do you want from me, Paris?" she taunted, feeling the excitement
bubbling inside her, restless; the need had never seemed so urgent or
compelling.

"Everything." Tom moved swiftly, and once again they kissed
passionately, hands roaming and stroking ardently. It was a moment to
pull at the bodice of the burgundy dress and B'Elanna shuddered as Tom
pushed her back against the wall, arching her neck as he feasted on
her throat and fondled her breasts roughly. Her Klingon nature made
her the aggressor, the dominator, and Tom had never had any difficulty
with that, but. . . this. . . was. . . very. . .
ex-hiiiiil-er-erating. She jerked as without warning Tom bit her
throat - not nipped, not nibbled, not sucked. It was a proper, Klingon
style bite with a full-on 'I'm in charge' challenge. She couldn't
resist it anymore than she could have walked through a warp core.

She pushed him violently back with all her strength and he
overbalanced slightly, which was all she needed to jump forward and
knock them onto the bed. Straddling him she grabbed his arms and held
them down. "Everything. . . think you can handle all of /me/, flyboy?"

"I'm the only man who can," he snarled, jerking with unexpected
strength and dislodging her to roll and pin her underneath him. "I
love you, B'Elanna, and no smarmy alien is going to put the moves on
my woman."

"I love you too, you dunderhead, you should know I'm only interested
in you." She didn't have the strength to throw him off again, so she
took option B and nipped, though only gently, his left nipple; he
hissed and jumped with the pleasure-pain and she was able to reverse
their positions again.

Her snapping teeth missed his right nipple by millimetres and she
laughed tauntingly - a mistake for his hands grabbed her hips and
bodily boosted her up so he could twist them over and be once again on
top, but this time he held her down with the weight of his body
pressed hard against hers. "No games, B'Elanna," he growled the
warning.

"No. . . " she agreed breathlessly, the glow that turned his eyes
almost a cobalt blue igniting an answering fire deep within her.

Their mouths fused again and suddenly he was thrusting powerfully into
her body, fast, deep, with almost palpable hunger; she arched up to
match him, supporting him with her hips and strong thighs, revelling
in every delicious second. They climaxed wildly together and lay in a
gasping tangle of sweaty limbs in the middle of the wrecked bed.
B'Elanna used a hand to softly comb Tom's hair at his nape as he
buried his face in her neck, his ragged breathing finally slowing. She
knew the feeling, even having a Klingon's three lungs didn't prevent
her needing a little extra air. She could feel faint prickles from
various nipped and nibbled body parts, and didn't give a damn. She had
marked her mate similarly.

Tom lifted his head, moving one hand to stroke the breast not pressed
against his chest. He was still sheathed within his love and he flexed
his hips slightly, nearly growling with pleasure at the way her
eyelids fluttered closed at the tiny sensations /he/ was giving to
her. "I love you, B'Elanna."

She saw the seriousness of his words in his sombre face; he needed to
hear the words returned, not in the euphoria of passion but clear and
considered, now. "I love you too, Tom. You know I do. I swear; there's
nobody else for me. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't flattering but I
would never deliberately hurt you. I know I may have flirted a little,
and I'm sorry."

He gazed down at her with an adoration that made her heart twist. "I
do know. . . and I know I shouldn't let my insecurities get the better
of me. . . and I was taking you for granted. You're the most important
person in my world, B'Elanna. Occasionally you just have to hit me
over the head with that fact."

"That I can do."

"I was thinking more metaphorically," he tried to amend.

She gave a little growl and pushed upwards with her hips in an age-old
enticement. "I'm not thinking metaphorically now, Paris."

"Me neither." His desire and his body were as rampant as if they'd not
just coupled.

They moved together again, just as eagerly and passionately as before,
encapsulated in mutual world of renewal and rediscovery. On the
dresser, the bloom continued undertake its natural function: when the
petals were touched in close turn by a male and female of the same
species, to give off a pheromone-laden scent that acted as a powerful
aphrodisiac on the male and female of that species, so that their
repeated, passionate copulation in the convenient bower of lush blooms
served to release and disseminate the flower's seeds over a wide area.

---

"Captain Janeway," Jeren greeted cheerfully as she entered his store.
"I had been told all your purchases were now aboard Voyager. Is there
anything else you require?"

"Yes, an explanation." Her tone was grim, and behind her Tuvok and
Chakotay never let their hands stray far from their phasers.

"Of what, Captain?"

Janeway opened her hand and in her palm rested a small, faintly
oscillating holographic image of a flower head in full bloom.
"Internal sensors detected an alien biochemical signature early this
morning when the concentration became sufficient. It was traced to the
quarters of Lieutenants Paris and Torres. When we started asking
around, we found that this flower is widely used in this sector as an
aphrodisiac by virtue of its method of propagation."

"I see; this is why B'Elanna has not contacted me to say farewell?"

"Neither Tom nor B'Elanna are aware of the bloom's unusual
properties," Janeway said, her demeanour clearly implying
'/fortunately for you/', "and I have no intention of informing them
unless it becomes necessary. What I want is an explanation and an
assurance that absolutely no harm -"

"I would never harm B'Elanna or her mate in anyway," interposed Jeren
somewhat sharply. "As for an explanation, it was the only way I could
think of to thank her for her help; she wouldn't accept a monetary
reward."

"I'm afraid I don't see the connection?" Captain Janeway admitted in a
more mollified tone.

"I am what you would call. . . I don't know - asexual? Bisexual? My
physiology includes what you would term both 'male' and 'female' sex
organs and I procreate thusly. I have only one progenitor. However, I
have always found bi-gender species a most interesting form of
cultural study."

"You were studying Lieutenants Torres and Paris?" Tuvok enquired.

"Not as such." Jeren smiled. "My species also has some slight
telepathic and empathic abilities and I can occasionally pick up
certain emotions that an individual may not even be aware of.
Admittedly there are exceptions, but my observations have shown me
that a lot of bi-gender species function in a similar way, and
regrettably sometimes that way includes the decline of a bond between
a mated pair until permanent separation is initiated. It is very
difficult for a mated pair - all the pressures and concerns of
protecting your mate, raising young, providing shelter and food and
security. Sometimes sadly an individual gets so wrapped up in dealing
with the next crisis that instead of their mate being a valued
counsellor and stanchion of support they are classed as just one more
problem that requires time you don't have to deal with."

"Is that how B'Elanna and Tom were?" Her animosity forgotten, Janeway
asked the question with genuine concern.

"Not by any means," Jeren hastily reassured, "but I did pick up a
certain amount of tension. You have a fine crew, Captain, but both
B'Elanna and her mate operate under great pressure. He is your pilot,
she is your engineer. Between those two roles they bear the greatest
burden of hope and responsibility in getting you home, and they feel
it deeply."

"I have never attempted to make either of them feel that the weight of
Voyager rests entirely on their shoulders," Janeway fretted.

"You don't have to, Captain; a strong sense of personal responsibility
is one of those things that, as the saying amongst my people goes,
'separates the /hagosh/ from the /fradal/'. It is difficult enough to
be at harmony with your mate when the pressures of daily life intrude,
never mind when you are the only representatives of your species, lost
a lifetime away from home, simply trying to stay alive and endure
interminably in a. . . 'giant tin can'."

"That phrase is going to haunt me all the way to the Alpha Quadrant,"
muttered Chakotay /sotto voce/.

Jeren explained. "B'Elanna and her mate were tired, they were weary,
they took solace in becoming excessively irritated over the little
things because raging at the big things wouldn't do any good."

"So you decided to. . . ?"

"Provide a little distraction." Jeren made a semblance of shrug. "I
have found that there is nothing like an interloper on the scene to
focus an individual's mind on his or her mate."

"So you used the bloom to help things out a little?" Janeway found
herself having to suppress a smile.

"Eventually, yes, once I had, how do you say? prepared the groundwork
as it were. I have often found that the female of a bi-gender is
species is, generally speaking, harder to provoke to direct battle.
The female bears the young and is their primary caregiver, and so
tends to be far more alert to threats to her union with her mate far
sooner. Often she can neutralise these threats before they can develop
and even if not, sometimes the war is so subtle that the male has no
idea it has even been fought."

"I think that's the nicest way anyone has ever said, /men are
stupid/," Chakotay murmured.

Laughter flared in her eyes at Jeren's hasty rebuttal of this
statement, but Janeway managed to retain her attitude of faint
sternness. "Go on, Jeren?"

He extended his palms outwards in a universal gesture, "Likewise I
have found that males tend to be far more direct in their approach; if
another male appears on the scene they are liable to take direct and
aggressive action. Since time was of the essence, I simply decided to
remind Lt Paris of his mate's. . . er, physical attractiveness. . . by
demonstrating that other males certainly noticed it."

"It worked," Chakotay admitted with a certain level of glee in his
tone.

Jeren made a small bow. "B'Elanna felt appreciated and flattered by my
compliments, Tom Paris was provoked to jealousy. I knew there would be
a confrontation over the issue and utilised the /Idarii/ bloom to
ensure their tension was channelled away from violence into a more
pleasurable outlet. B'Elanna now feels valued and attractive; Tom
Paris will not be so likely in future to take his mate for granted.
All is well."

"Well, you may be the most unorthodox relationship counsellor I've
ever met, but you're certainly the best." Janeway complimented. "I'll
say thank you on their behalf, since I think it best if they don't
find out about this."

"B'Elanna does come across as a volatile personality," Jeren
commented, causing Tuvok and Chakotay to exchange knowing glances.
"But it was an interesting insight into another species' dynamics. I
know that your Security Officer Tuvok did wonder how I could afford to
charge so little, so I'll let you in on my own secret. I am what you
humans would call a dilettante?"

"You do this for fun?" Janeway was surprised.

"In a way; my needs are simple, my wants few. I can still clear my
overheads at those prices, but I have always found my customers to be
far more fascinating than my wares and the knowledge that they will
not be cheated keeps them coming back." Jeren explained.

"You are very wise, Jeren," Janeway admitted wryly.

Satisfied that her crew were in no danger either physically or
psychologically, Captain Janeway and her seconds took their leave,
back to the ship waiting to once more continue its long journey
hopefully home.

Jeren watched the human 'Captain' as she went back, the two males
flanking her. She strode with confidence, yet even she was unaware of
the strength she projected. It was that strength that surrounded her
crew, and made those aboard believe that it was really possible they
would get home. She was greatly admired and respected, but also
genuinely loved by them.

In more ways than one; Jeren pursed his mouth thoughtfully. He had
been truthful, mostly, except that his species' telepathic and
empathic powers were far, far stronger than he had admitted. Janeway
had no idea she was about the only non-/Hahsar/ to even know they
existed. Now he wondered if he should not have made an attempt to
bring forth the love between the Captain and the male on her right,
the one without the apex-shaped ears. There was such emotion there, on
both sides, so deep and tumultuous, yet on both sides so rigorously
controlled and ruthlessly suppressed.

After a moment, however, he shook his head. Often those of a bi-gender
species did not know their own minds, but in this case, Jeren
considered that her attitude towards her beloved was, at least in this
place and time, the right one, the only one that was viable.
Unfortunately far too few beings these days tended to grasp that
sometimes one had to yield to a moral obligation to others rather than
personal gratification, that sometimes one's own wants had to be
subsumed or postponed for the greater good.

That did not mean it was not a great pity, though. Jeren had been able
to examine and grasp a great deal of the history of this species
through the thoughts of the Voyager crew and that had enabled him to
explore the fascinating Captain's mind to a deep extent. Consciously
she had made a decision to protect an innocent species, those
'Ocampa', but on a level so deeply buried within her mind she did not
know it and never would, Kathryn Janeway had stranded herself in the
Delta Quadrant to protect the male, Chakotay.

Jeren had easily determined that while she had liked her betrothed,
the man 'Mark', she had never loved him. Not in the way that B'Elanna
human and Tom human loved each other. Nor had the lack been on her
side alone. Jeren had gained the impression of a bit of flotsam
floating down a quiet stream. They had drifted along with each other
because it was convenient and comfortable.

From his mind-scan, Jeren knew that when the Chakotay male had first
transmitted himself to her bridge, her reaction to him had been
instant and visceral, and to her, deeply disturbing. But she was there
to take those humans back to their home, where the hierarchy of their
species would imprison them; it was an outcome her primordial self,
having already accepted the male as her mate long before her conscious
mind acknowledged the attraction, would not tolerate.

Thus, guilt she did not even understand herself had become her
constant companion, driving her always to get back home, to restore
the people she had brought with her to their families. By the time
they returned to their kind, the old divisions amongst her crew would
be long forgotten - by most aboard they already were - and the chances
of those who had faithfully served her being imprisoned were remote.
But she could not allow her heart free reign as long as she and her
crew remained here. She needed to command with decisiveness and
strategise with clarity; to take Chakotay human as her mate would
compromise her ability to lead and also his. She would constantly be
second-guessing every decision she made for fear of realising she was
putting the life of her mate above that of everyone else.

"/ishaq maher fa/," he murmured the traditional blessing dedicated
towards distant travellers, wanderers and the lost amongst his own
species. He had helped in his own small way, now he could only hope
that the Voyager made it safely home.

---

© 2005, C D Stewart

---

The End