The BLTS Archive - Repercussions by kamaquis (deck9section12@yahoo.com) --- Dedication: To LA for her bd. The premise? That Tom and B'Elanna have an anonymous sexual encounter pre-Maquis. Just a little note: The sex in the story is consensual, but is my interpretation of Klingon sex (and thus, as Birca has pointed out to me, it is sex that most Terrans would not have - especially with an unfamiliar partner). If that worries you or makes you uncomfortable, please skip the sex. I have no wish to offend. I think you'll enjoy the rest of the story even without the sex. Thanks: to Birca and Dasia for betas. I am in their debt. I suppose it is unsightly to beg, so let's leave it that feedback is very welcome. :) Please do not post anywhere else without asking. --- Using the mirror behind the bar, B'Elanna Torres watched the blond male on the other side of the room. Like her, he sat alone. Twenty minutes ago she'd moved from the table she'd been sharing with Seska and Jonas to a stool at the bar. In her usual direct way, Seska had urged B'Elanna: We're heading out soon and who knows when we'll set down again. You've got that stupid rule about not muddying up your life with "relationships" with the people you work with – so maybe you better not waste any more time sitting here. You should be letting off some steam in one of the backrooms places like this always have. Usually B'Elanna didn't let Seska goad her into things. But it had been a long time since she'd been with someone and it could be a long time before she'd be planet-side again. So here she sat. The music was loud like it was in every bar she'd ever encountered. The few couples out on the small area questionably called a dance floor looked like they were one step away from lying on that floor and just doing it. Using the full length reflective surface behind the bar she'd made a circumspect study of the available males. The Terran sitting alone along the back wall nursing his drink was definitely worth another look. The low lighting in the bar couldn't mask his fairness or dark blond hair. She wanted to rake her fingers through his hair, twist those golden locks around her fingers and brush her lips against that absolutely delectable smooth forehead. A taste for unadorned foreheads was undoubtedly a weakness she had inherited from her mother. His shoulders were wide – not quite a warrior's - but very respectable for a Terran. He wasn't barrel-chested as were so many Klingons; his chest was broad and tapered to his hips. Aside from the physical there was the fact he would never know her temper. They could live in the moment. She needed to learn to live in the moment; she didn't do that nearly as often as she should. Add the fact she'd never seen him before and never would again, and he was a damn near-perfect package. She definitely found him attractive, but she needed something more. His gaze caught hers in the mirror and her heart tripped a beat when he didn't look away. --- Tom Paris had been watching the woman at the bar as she discreetly sized up every male in the room. She was taking some lucky man to bed, if he'd read the signs correctly. And he knew how to read the signs correctly. Her assessment of the available males had given him considerable time to observe her for himself. He'd watched her finish her first drink and sip slowly at her second, her posture straight as she surveyed the room once more. She was slight but exuded strength and power. He kept his gaze steady as she reestablished her perusal of him. With their eyes nowlocked in the mirror, she didn't look away when he met her interest. He liked that. Keeping his gaze locked on her reflected one, he left his table and came towards the bar. Placing both elbows on the scarred surface of the bar, he asked her reflection, "So. . . do you like what you see?" B'Elanna eased back and turned toward him. "Maybe." There was a smoldering desire in his eyes as he turned to face her and she got her first up-close look at him. Oh my, definitely more than maybe. A crooked grin lit up his face. "What's your name? "No names." "Ah, a woman of mystery." Extending an open hand toward the floor he asked, "Dance?" "No." "Can I buy you another drink?" he asked as he took the seat next to hers. "No." "No dance. No drink." His eyes swept over her in a bold look. "What am I to do with you?" he inquired in a low, sultry tone. "Its more like what I am going to do with you," she responded as she slipped off her barstool and into the small space between them. Tom tried to gauge if she was under the influence of the alcohol. Her footing was solid as she stepped toward him. An electric charge singed him as she moved into the space between his thighs. She slipped her arms around his waist and every place her body touched his tightened in breathless anticipation as she leaned in to kiss him. Keeping his eyes half-opened, his lips met hers. But once they touched, he closed his eyes and submerged into pleasure. As their kiss ended, he leaned back slightly, hoping he would be the one. He wanted more; he wanted everything the brunette had to offer. "Do you play rough?" The question caught him off guard. He paused briefly before he admitted, "I've played rough before." "Want to play that way again?" "With you?" If that was the way she wanted it, he was willing. "Most definitely." With his response she struck off the last condition on her list. "But are you sober enough to make that kind of decision?" he inquired. "Most definitely," B'Elanna parried. She finished her drink and motioned to the man behind the bar. "There are rooms available here. I'll get one." "You don't waste any time." "I don't have a lot to waste," B'Elanna countered as she snatched up the entry card the barkeep had tossed onto the counter. --- His fingertips barely brushed the small of her back as they walked down the hall, but the slight pressure from them sent delicate shivers down her spine. She scanned doors for the symbol that matched the one on the slim entry card she held. In the hall's dim light, she almost walked past the door that matched her card. Catching her off-guard, the man pressed her against the wall and kissed her deeply. Slipping his hands to her hips he pulled her snug against the lower half of his body. She pressed against him and gave him a slow grind with every intention of arousing him. She wanted him to want it as much as she did. The indication was there; he was already lengthened and hard. Tom tried to remember they were in the hall and not alone. Her boldness stirred his daring. He kissed her again and combed his fingers in her hair. Fisting his hands in her dark tresses, he gave a strong tug. How rough did she want it? She didn't go back in the direction he was pulling; instead she leaned into him, increasing the tension on her hair. She moaned into their kiss. She was so small compared to him, and even though he strongly suspected she had Klingon blood, he worried that he might unintentionally hurt her. He loosened his grip, letting his fingers rake through her hair and then trailed his hand down her arm and snagged the card from her. As a sound of protest escaped her, he slipped the thin access pass into the door's slot. When the door irised open, he backed her in, his hands secure on her waist. "Lights on thirty percent," Tom ordered. The ceiling lights emitted a low glow confirming the room's only purpose. There were two obvious choices: a bed or a chair. Tom registered distaste at the condition of both. It wasn't an option to lay her down or place himself on that bed. It was obvious housekeeping was non-existent. A thin, dingy sheet was bunched across the mattress. Who knew who or what had used it last – and what residue had been left behind? The chair was basic and more suited for tie-me-up, tie-me-down activities. With their height difference he didn'tsee much use for it. B'Elanna pulled his attention back to her as she tugged his shirt loose from his pants. She slipped her hands underneath the loosened material. Fingers fanned over a firm midriff and roamed over his ribs. She continued upward, enjoying the sensation of his smooth, warm skin. The man grabbed the back of his shirt, pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. Tawny gold hair dusted his upper chest. He raised a hand and lifted her face to his. He drowned her in a kiss as his fingers caressed the underside of her breast then sought the rise of her nipple through her clothes. More, she cried inwardly. Starting at his wrists, she ran her hands upward, curling her palms around his upper arms, the muscles solid and defined. B'Elanna retraced her movement and this time leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She pressed her palms in the flat space between his shoulder blades. His forehead bumped against hers and the smoothness of it turned her blood to fire. She rubbed her forehead crest against him as hot arousal consumed her. Her fingers curled on the flat plane of his back and she raked her nails downward. Instinctively Tom jerked his head back and arched away from the burning score of her fingernails. Reaching behind, he grabbed her arms and pulled them down. He seized her wrists and jerked her hands behind the small of her back and held her tight. "Guess this is some of the rough stuff, huh?" he growled. She answered with a growl of her own and attempted to pull her wrists free of his grasp. Each effort she made tightened his grip. He spun her around and pressed her back to him. Re-establishing his hold on her wrists with one hand, he lowered his head and whispered in her ear. "You have entirely too much clothing on." He quickly pulled open her vest and shirt and slipped his hand underneath. He cupped a breast as his thumb teased her nipple. Soft. Women's breasts were always so incredibly soft. Continuing his heated exploration under her shirt, he released her wrists and threaded his fingers in her hair. Grasping a handful, he tugged, pulling her head back, exposing her throat. He sought the warm curve of her neck; the vibrations of a low growl hummed beneath his lips. Touching her had made him rock hard and he thrust against her, briefly losing himself in the moment. He rocked against her again, the soft curve of her backside pillowing his hard-on. He ached to feel her surround him, to feel the sultry, velvety depth of her body envelop him. Tom undid her pants and slid his hand inside. Forging a path down her abdomen, he pressed his hand between her thighs. He stroked her while holding her secure against him. She moaned as her heated arousal coated his fingers. The world receded; only this man and his touch existed. His fingers played - seeking, finding, pleasuring. B'Elanna leaned back as she gave herself over to the sensations and relinquished the control she usually kept. Soft cries escaped her. His whisper was warm against her neck, urging her, "That's it. Let go. . . ." "There," she gasped as he stroked. His fingers stayed and drove her over the edge. She trembled in his arms and he forced himself to give her a few seconds to regain her senses. He desperately needed to be inside her. Urgency rode him hard. He wanted her up against the wall. Now. He wanted those brown eyes to watch him as he gave her more pleasure and claimed his. Tom tugged at her loosened pants, sliding them past her hips and down her legs. Scooping the tops of her boots, he pulled as she stepped out of them. He gripped her arms and walked her backwards toward the wall. Pressing the length of his body against hers, he kissed her, her contentment a tangible thing as she melted in his arms. He felt a trace of pride that her climax had put her in this state. Tom unfastened his pants and shoved them down. Her hand seized him and he closed his eyes as, unable to stop, he pressed into her hand. Shuddering, he pulled away and grasped her thighs, hauling her up as she gave a small jump. Her thighs embraced him, holding him tightly to her. Her moist heat pressed against his aching cock. Shifting her slightly, he guided himself inside her. He gasped as she enveloped him, tightly encasing him. Ridges. He hadn't been prepared for the ridges deep inside her that intimately caressed him. The unexpectedness of it was electrifyingly erotic. He shut down the urge to greedily use her; to let her amazing body satisfy him without further thought. There was more pleasure to be had if he took her with him. A savage thrill kicked through B'Elanna as the Klingon within her stirred. Tonight was the only time she'd be with him. She could be herself; let her Klingon side emerge. Acting on instinct, she stiffened her legs, pushing him from her. Uncertainty registered in his eyes. Smiling, she challenged, "If you want me – take me." The physical test between them would prove if he was virile and strong and worthy of her, even if it was for just this one night. His brief bewilderment disappeared and he flashed an answering grin. With her caught against the wall, he gripped her hands and pressed them above her head. She twisted free and he struggled to re-establish his hold. She was surprisingly strong and it was challenging to restrain her. Adrenaline coursed through him at the exhilaration of subduing her. With a low groan he lunged. Using the weight of his body and the thrust of his hips, he forced her thighs farther apart and pushed himself deeper into her. Tom flexed his hips and angled each stroke to sensually glide along her clit. He was rewarded with her hitching breath. Release shimmered just out of his reach, temptingly close. B'Elanna had never been this willing to show her Klingon side before. The Terran had proven to be an ideal blend of passion and strength. She was sure he couldn't know that he was claiming her as a mate would. It was something she had never expected to experience. As she neared another flash point, sounds of pleasure escaped her. The sensation became bottomless; a wave that drew back and twisted her under. There was nothing to hold on to but him. This time he released her hands when she pulled. B'Elanna wrapped her arms around his neck and held on as she came. She tightened around him, holding him deep inside her. Tom's knuckles scraped against the wall as his fingers responsively curled and he cried out as his own climax claimed him. Tom emerged slowly from the haze that always followed great sex. The scratches she'd given him on his back burned, but considering how he felt now, it was more than a fair exchange. He leaned against the woman, keeping her in place and savoring the connection he still held within her body. He let out a slow sigh. "Well, that was worth the price of admission." "What does that mean?" "It's an old Earth saying. . . and speaking of which. . . is there some Terran mixed in with the Klingon?" Tom inquired as he lazily ran his finger over her trio of forehead ridges and then down the slope of her nose. As he touched the tip of her nose, she tried to nip his fingertip. "It's a good thing I'm not full Klingon, I'd have broken you," she chuckled as she loosened her legs from around his waist and he slid from her body. Tom held his breath. Being inside a woman was so perfect and the moment of disconnect always took a second or two of adjustment. "You could have tried," he smiled as he helped ease her legs down. Evidently she still wanted to remain a woman of mystery and he'd never know exactly what kind of hybrid she was. She moved away from him and gathered her clothing. Kneeling to retrieve her boots, her eyes strayed to him. Totally missing a grab for her boots she admired the view as he pulled his pants over strong calves, up long, firm thighs and over an incredibly firmly rounded ass. Unaware he was being watched Tom secured his pants and turned to look for his shirt. "You stationed here?" Seeing her again someday held a lot of appeal even if she wouldn't tell him her name. "No, I'm flying out." B'Elanna found securing her clothes was taking some time. She felt relaxed and sated and her fingers weren't in any hurry. "Too bad. We likely won't meet up again in the craziness of the demilitarized zone." Still bare-chested, Tom pulled her in for one last deep kiss. Her partially-covered breasts pressed against his chest, tantalizing him. Sliding both hands down from his waist to cup his backside and hold him to her, she agreed, "It is too bad." It surprised her that she almost meant it – but it could never be more than what it had been. She released him. Unless a man stayed a friend, he would end up a disappointment. He would walk away from her someday and she didn't take that kind of risk. Tom grabbed his shirt and headed for the door. "Take care, Brown Eyes," he said as he stepped over the threshold and left her. --- Tom neared the docking stations. Vessels sat berthed awaiting the return of their crews or for departure clearance. His mind remained in the backroom of the dingy bar. He wished he'd found her sooner. Wished he'd tasted more of her skin. Tom shook his head. It wasn't like him to want to go back for seconds after an anonymous encounter like that. The ground shook beneath his feet as an explosion startled him out of his reverie. Tom looked over his shoulder in horror as several buildings behind him lit up, the windows and doors grinning evilly as flames consumed everything inside. Screams carried on the evening breeze, but then were quickly drowned out by the pounding arrival of more arsenals. The ground heaved again in response and nearly knocked Tom to his knees. Klaxons screeched as people running from the destruction pushed against him. He stepped out of the way of the panicked crowd. Climbing onto nearby stacked freight, Tom scanned for the brunette. The overhead lighting had become one of the casualties of the devastation. In the thickening smoke it was impossible to distinguish individuals. Smoke stung his eyes and he realized there was nothing he could do for the woman he'd left behind. Tom jumped off his perch and ran toward the docking berth of the Liberty as the ground heaved again. As he neared the ship, its captain called out to him. "Collins, get to the conn. Our other pilot hasn't returned yet. Get us ready to leave as soon as I give the order." Tom moved to the helm and initiated the clamping release and preflight procedures. Chakotay looked over his shoulder at Tuvok. "Who else hasn't made it in yet?" "Kellen and Torres are on their way; all others have returned." "Your post is this hatch. Seal us down the second they board." Heading for the bridge, Chakotay continued his orders. "Malay, get to engineering until Torres gets here. I want clear of this planet as soon as the rest of the crew boards, Collins." "Aye, Captain," Tom answered, unconsciously slipping back into Starfleet training. "Ayala, report." "I'm reading a Cardassian ship at five hundred kliks. There was no demand to stand down or yield before they started firing." The disbelief evident in his voice Ayala added, "They can't know the Maquis are here and that we were -" Chakotay cut him off. "Right now it doesn't matter why they are doing this. Send the coordinates to the helm so we can get out of here without crossing their path. Have those shields ready." Tuvok entered the bridge. "All crew members are present." "Get us out of here." With steady control, Tom eased the ship away from the continuing brutal assault on the planet. Using the conn's scanner he swung around and avoided the flight paths of less experienced pilots who sought escape. It was like dodging an asteroid field as panicky pilots flew erratic paths. In their haste to escape, some flew directly into others. Despite the chaos he marveled at the forty-five-year old ship's superb response. "The port. . . ." Words failed Ayala. Chakotay activated the small viewcom in his command chair. The city was in flames, visible even from their location as the Liberty cleared the atmosphere. So many people. So little chance for escape. He didn't doubt the Liberty wouldn't have cleared the site in time if many of his crew hadn't already been on board in preparation for departure. "I'm receiving a transmission from the Striker. The Tokola clipped another vessel and received significant damage. The Striker is evacuating Tokola's crew. They request cover in case the Cardies swing their way." "Tell them we're on our way. Collins, position us at the Tokola's bow," Chakotay ordered. Tom placed the Liberty in a defensive position near the Maquis ships. The Cardassian warship filled the corner of the bridge's viewscreen as it flared bombardments on what little remained of the port city. "The Cardassian ship is changing course. Its moving into position to fire on the retreating ships!" "What's the status on the evacuation?" Chakotay demanded. "Twenty-three per cent complete." "Damn. The Tokola is an easy target and that makes the Striker and us vulnerable." Tom looked over his shoulder, "Chakotay, I know that class of Cardassian ship. It has a flaw. The injector is susceptible to backwash; disrupting it will shut them down temporarily and corrupt their targeting system. They'll get a double shadow on their scanners and they won't be able to do anything until they get it re-set. If we advance on them now before they have a chance to move in and strike at us we can shut them down." "I've never heard this," Chakotay said skeptically. "Where did you hear it?" Tom glanced at his sensors. He didn't want to tell Chakotay. He knew where it would lead. "I just did," he hedged. "Not good enough. Hold your ground. Ayala, contact the other ships and see what kind of arsenals they have." Tom looked at the sensors again. Calculating the rate of the evacuation, the turning radius of the Cardie ship, and Chakotay's order to stand, they had no chance. If he remained quiet and withheld how he had acquired the knowledge regarding the Cardassian ship, he risked all their lives. There would be more death at his hands. Only this time it would be for withholding information, not risk-taking. Once more, Caldik Prime was raising its ugly, bloodied head. "Chakotay. . . I've read the Starfleet report on that class of ship." He took a deep breath and admitted, "A classified report." "How did you get your hands on a classified Starfleet report?" "I'm Tom Paris." He added hesitatingly, "Admiral Paris' son." The background noise quieted as Tom continued. "Cardassians don't have small resistance-sized fighter ships. They didn't realize they were leaving their ships open to the kind of sabotage that smaller, more maneuverable ships can do. We can jam them up. Buy everyone time." Chakotay paused briefly. "Do it then," he ordered. "Ayala, notify the Striker and Tokola of our plan. And share Paris ' Cardassian ship knowledge with them." As he gripped the arms of his chair Chakotay knew his choices had been limited. If they stayed where they were, three Maquis ships and their crews would be destroyed. Abandoning the Striker and Tokola to save the Liberty wasn't his style, even if part of him acknowledged it would have been acceptable by Maquis standards. The final choice had meant putting his faith – and his crew's – in a man who had shown poor judgment before. They quickly covered the distance to the Cardassian warship. Paris pulled the Liberty in tight to the larger ship's outer hull. He skimmed them along its ochre underbelly. Chakotay could see the seams on the ventral plates and knew they were barely fifty meters from the ship. The Liberty glided under a rise in the hull. Rotating the Maquis vessel to its side and hanging there momentarily, Tom dropped the Liberty into a crevice of the ship, lining up with the larger vessel's injector coil. "In position," Tom reported. "Do it," ordered Chakotay. Tom fired the propulsion and sent the Liberty 's backwash into the injector. He quickly pulled the Liberty away, scorching burn marks onto the ship's hull. The Cardassian ship shuddered then slowed. The warship harmlessly rotated with no control. Smaller ships escaped past the powerless warship. Tom didn't make eye contact with anyone but overheard a muttered, "What do you know," from Ayala. "Head for the Striker and Tokola." Chakotay ordered. "What's the status on the evacuation?" "It's at seventy-four percent." "Kellen, take the helm and return us to a defensive position off their bows. Seska, you've got the chair. Get us out of here when the evacuation is complete." Chakotay rose from his seat. " Paris – come with me." Tom reluctantly left his post and followed Chakotay down the short corridor to the small ready room. Once inside Chakotay grabbed his arm and slammed him against the wall. "You son of a bitch!" "I know I lied to you. I wanted to get away from the name, Chakotay." "That's not all you wanted to get away from, is it? Two things come to mind with the name Paris – the line of admirals and Caldik Prime." Tom hated this. He hated the part of his life that followed him around like a black hole, sucking all the light out of every thing he touched. "I wanted another chance." "At what price to my crew?" "I answered everything you needed answered to get this position as pilot." Tom's temper flared. "You grilled me – you had to know I was Starfleet-trained by the answers I gave you. You know I'm good. You saw how I handled the Liberty . And I gave you the information you needed to sabotage the Cardie ship. No matter what's happened in the past, I'm worth something to you now." "I don't like being jerked around. I expect the truth from my crew." Tom's voice lowered, "Look around. There are plenty of other screw-ups in the Maquis. I'm not the first; I won't be the last." Chakotay let the statement slide. "You'll toe the line here, Paris . I'm the captain. You lied to me and that's never good. But I'll give you a chance. You prove your worth and we'll let things stand as they are." Chakotay released his hold on Tom, but gave a warning, "You've lost a lot of ground with me, Paris." "My heart breaks." Chakotay leveled a deadly stare at the younger man. "Don't push it, Paris . Don't push it. Return to your post," he ordered and left the room. Listening to Chakotay's receding footsteps, Tom ventured, "Well, you found me in a bar and the name Tom Collins should have tipped you off to something." --- "Made it back alive, I see," Kellen said as he turned the conn back over to Tom. A pilot who witnessed the kind of flying Tom Paris had just executed had one of two reactions – jealousy or admiration. Kellen leaned toward the latter. "Yeah." Tom inwardly shoved aside the rebuke Chakotay had given him and turned to pilot talk. "Tell me about the engines. They aren't spec – too much punch for a ship this age." "That would be the handiwork of our engineer, Torres." "I haven't met Torres yet. He's one hell of an engineer from what I felt through the helm. The engines fired like a charm." "He is a she. B'Elanna Torres. You'll need to tread lightly. If you think Chakotay packs a punch, watch out for Torres' Klingon temper." "Klingon, huh?" Tom settled back and wondered if he could be lucky enough to have found the woman from the bar. --- Tom leaned against the entryway to engineering and crossed his arms over his chest. Look who's here. He smiled at knowing she was safe and considered the tantalizing possibilities promised by her presence on the Liberty. There wasn't a lot of privacy on small ships like this. But where there was a will, there was a way. With a silent chuckle he realized his reflection was captured on the screen of the op station behind her. Willing her eyes to meet his, he continued watching her. "Move. You're blocking the doorway!" Tom glanced as a female Bajorian elbowed past him. The commotion caused B'Elanna to glance up. She froze when she saw his reflection. Tom gave her a big smile. "Like what you see, Brown Eyes?" "Ghuy'Cha'," she swore and quickly moved toward him. "Get out of here." "What's the problem?" Tom stood up straight. B'Elanna stepped closer to him and lowered her voice, "It was a one-time thing. It meant nothing. Now go away." "Look, maybe now isn't a good time to talk and, I guess, it's not a good place either." B'Elanna cut him off. "Get out of here. Go. . . wherever it is you belong." His own anger stoked, Tom returned her glare. "I'm Tom Paris and I'm your pilot now. I came down here to let the person in charge know she is one hell of an engineer." Tom turned to leave, but stopped and swung back to grab her arm before she left the doorway. Leaning in he heatedly whispered, "And she's one hell of a woman too." Releasing her arm, he walked away. He could understand Chakotay kicking him over his concealed identity. Tom had been angered but he understood it now that he'd calmed down. But her? He hadn't misled her in any way. They'd enjoyed what each other had offered. The ship was full of loose screws as far as he could tell. But she was one hell of a desirable screw, even if she was angry with him. --- Would the night never end? B'Elanna turned once more onto her back and stared in the darkness toward the ceiling. Sleep was eluding her for the second night in a row and she knew why. She kept busy during her shift and her mind was occupied with her engines. But in the quiet of the quarters she shared with Seska, thoughts of the blond pilot made it impossible to sleep. She was caught fluctuating between erotic flashbacks of their encounter at the bar and deep annoyance at finding out he was on the ship. When she had first met him, the lighting had been low and she hadn't been able to determine if his eyes were blue or grey. But in the well-lit engineering the searing blue of them had been startling when she had stepped up to him. Even his show of temper and the grip on her arm had carried an unintentional spark. She didn't need this. She'd avoided this for years. B'Elanna turned on her side in frustration. She'd revealed more about her sexuality than she ever had before. Until those moments with him she had never let sex turn into the vigorous match Klingons enjoyed. As passionate memories of the feel of him, the strength of him, called to her, she pushed them away. She had to talk to him. She needed to lay down the ground rules if. . . since he was part of the crew now. It was her rule; no sex with crewmembers. B'Elanna heard Seska rustling in her bunk. It was annoying to know she was awake too. Everything was annoying. And it could all be blamed on Tom Paris. Seska rolled over, thoughts flowing non-stop through her mind. She would go down in history. Her name would be forever remembered and celebrated for centuries. She would be a hero. The chance of a lifetime had fallen into her hands: Tom Paris. After months as an undercover operative in the Maquis, she would deliver priceless intelligence to the Cardassian Union. A Maquis pilot. And not just any Maquis pilot - but a Maquis pilot who was the son of a Starfleet admiral. The political ramifications would be far-reaching. Seska smiled at the thought of all the delicious implications of Tom Paris' capture. In the capable hands of the Cardassian Command the revelation of an admiral's son, deep in a Maquis cell, would imply the resistance's illegal actions were sanctioned by Starfleet. The United Federation of Planets would take a hard hit as members would question Starfleet's involvement in the skirmishes in the demilitarized zone. The UFP would conduct one of those official inquiries they were so fond of. They'd pontificate and bog down in the sound of their own voices. The end result: Starfleet's reputation would tarnish under the charge of duplicity. Captured Terrans had paid a price before, including Owen Paris. In a delightful twist of fate now his son would also pay – and wasn't that a special torment? For the father to survive the same torture his son would experience? To know first-hand the pain the implanted Cardassian device would inflict. To know there was no escape. No pleading or begging would end the pain that would ride a fiery trail through the skin and muscles, and go bone deep. All inflicted at the whim of an enemy. "The domination and destruction of the spirit" - every Cardassian knew that was the purpose of the implant. Would the thought of what his son would suffer at Cardassian hands drive Admiral Paris to his knees, pleading with his god to spare his son? The thought was well worth the loss of sleep. --- B'Elanna had finally found Paris alone in the empty mess. She'd been looking for him. She couldn't afford another sleepless night. "You haven't told anyone about the bar," she said impulsively as she approached his table. "Oh, you're talking to me today." At her answering scowl, Tom relented. He'd had his fill of frustrating dreams of soft skin. If he wanted a shot at easing his unanswered need for her, he'd have to stand down. As she turned on her heel, he called out, "No, wait. Why would I? Why would I tell anyone about what happened between us at the bar?" "It's just. . . ." Tom kicked out the chair across from him in an invitation for her to join him. She pulled it out a little further and finished what she had come here to tell him. "I have this rule – no relationships." "It's not unheard of to steer clear of a relationship with a fellow crewmember." B'Elanna didn't correct him; her rule applied to all men. Tom continued, "It can complicate things. But what we had was so. . . strong. Is one time enough for you?" Barely waiting for her response, Tom rubbed the back of his neck and admitted, "Because I don't think it is for me." B'Elanna wouldn't tell him that he was the reason she was here now and not spending another sleepless night in her bunk reliving their experience in that little back room. Tom reached across the table towards her hand, intent on touching her and again igniting the spark between them. He knew words; he knew touches that could sway women. He'd always found seduction a very enjoyable sport. Especially in this instance when he still burned for her. As she jerked her hand away, Tom leaned back in his seat. A setback, this was definitely a setback. But there were plenty of carnal tricks up his sleeve. "The Liberty has a pretty diverse crew. How did you end up here?" B'Elanna couldn't believe she was considering answering him. Stars, he was like an addiction. If it wasn't his amazing forehead, it was his sky-blue eyes, his dark blond hair, or the honey in his voice drawing her in. She even found the freckles on the back of his hands inexplicably engaging. Since she wouldn't permit herself to physically indulge in him again, maybe she could at least treat herself to a little time with him. A pure unadulterated-no-need-for-an-excuse way to look at him and soak him in. "I believe in the cause," she answered. "The Federation betrayed the people out here when they signed the treaty with the Cardassians." "No, I meant how did you end up on the Liberty ?" "I was on another ship when I met Chakotay. I felt comfortable with him right away and liked his command style. He has a strong moral compass and he's not bogged down by rules. It just so happened he needed an engineer - so I came over to the Liberty ." Tom let his thoughts on Chakotay go unspoken. "And you've been making raids? Attacking the Cardassians?" "Raids, assaults, sabotage. Whatever it takes. We've been keeping the Cardassians back on their side of the border – or trying to - which is more than Starfleet can claim. The Cardassians should have no right to planets that have been held for generations by others no matter what some agreement made in a backroom somewhere says." "Is it more than that for you?" "What do you mean?" "You're part Klingon." At her slight nod at his statement, Tom leaned in across the table. "The glory of battle. The chance to prove your worthiness as a warrior. There's an adrenaline rush to battle." "I've. . . never considered that a part of it. I tried Starfleet." Her admission startled her as much as it seemed to surprise him. "It didn't take. The rules were stifling. This fits me better. I'll make a difference out here or take as many Cardassians as I can with me before I die." Tom eased back in his chair. He hadn't realized before how much younger than him she was – maybe by three or four years. But he saw it in her face now with her talk of death. He doubted she had seen anyone die despite her words. It changed a person. He'd seen it up close. It had changed him. Still, her dedication to her cause was obvious. Had he ever had that kind of fervor for anything besides flying? He respected her commitment. There was much to admire – as well as desire - about B'Elanna Torres. She saw intensity smolder in his eyes and knew something had shifted in him. She needed some air, some distance. She got up and went to the kitchen's counter intending to put some space between them and pour herself a cup of coffee. Tom followed her and boxed her in by the counter. "Let me kiss you." "This is a bad idea." B'Elanna realized she hadn't said no. "No, it's a great idea. Let me prove it." Tom swooped in and zeroed in on her soft lips. He felt her hand settle in between them at the center of his chest and thought she might push him away. Instead she possessively grasped the front of his shirt. "Come back to my quarters," he whispered near her ear and sent breath-stealing tingles to the base of her spine. "Kellen is at the helm until the end of shift. We'll be alone." "Tom. . . ." She'd never said his first name before and Tom found he liked it. Encouraged, he continued, "We'll make love however you want it – Klingon or Terran." Nuzzling kisses trekked along her forehead ridges. "I can show you how to make love slowly. Let me teach you, Brown Eyes." His words were undermining her resistance as his lips found hers again. She was losing ground. In a last ditch effort she broke the kiss and protested, "My rule. . . ." Tom whispered against her lips, "You're Maquis. There are no rules." He took the kiss deeper, feeling her capitulation as she pressed herself to him and moaned. He held her tightly. His. She'd be his again and he'd tear down any new walls she erected afterward. " Paris !" They both startled. Carefully looking over his shoulder so B'Elanna was kept from view, he answered. "What is it, Seska?" "Report to Chakotay." The two stared each other down across the mess. "Now," she ordered. "Wait for me outside." With an angry look, Seska turned, the door shuttering closed behind her. B'Elanna angrily brushed past Tom. "I told you this was a bad idea." Tom grabbed her arm, stopping her. "No, it'd be a bad idea for you to go out that door before I do." All he could do was try to salvage the opening he had made with her. "I'll com you later." "Don't bother." It was clear her walls were up again and he'd have to scale them later. "Wait a minute and then leave." Tom released her arm. He took a second as he neared the door and gave B'Elanna a quick look over his shoulder. Assured she was still concealed in the shadows, he activated the door. As soon as he exited the Bajorian started down the corridor with a smirk on her face. "So who were you nibbling on?" Tom used his size and height and corralled her into the bulkhead. "You'd be wise to keep your wrinkly little nose out of my business." She shoved him away from her and headed down the passageway again. Following on her heels Tom added, "I don't know what Chakotay sees in you. You've got evil stamped all over you." Seska bit her tongue. He'd be gone soon and, she inwardly sneered, wasn't it just too bad he hadn't gotten laid before he left? Chakotay was sending Paris on a solo mission to rendezvous with another Maquis ship and deliver a cache of weapons. She had already contacted Cardassian Command with the coordinates through an encoded message in the waste energy from the Liberty 's propulsion system. She'd received praise at the revelation that Admiral Paris's son would be the Maquis at the shuttle's conn. Within hours he would be under the control of the Cardassian Union and once this annoying game between the Maquis and Cardassia was resolved, her place in history would be revealed. --- A ship appeared on the peripheral edge of Tom's scanner. "Computer, identify the ship at heading 02.04." ::The vessel is a Cardassian patrol ship:: "You are out of your territory, Cardies. That's not a good sign," Tom muttered to himself. He kept the shuttle on a regular flight path, although his fingers itched to kick the shuttle into warp. "Computer, list the patrol ship's capabilities." ::A Cardassian patrol ship is typically manned with a crew of five. It is armed with defensive shields, a phaser bank, eight plasma torpedoes, and can reach warp 7.7:: "Well, that's quite a bit more firepower and faster than us." Tom watched as the Cardassian ship followed directly in his wake. No doubt about it, they were interested. A voice broke in across the com. "Unidentified shuttle, you have violated Cardassian space. Shut down your engine and prepare to be boarded." "Kiss my thrusters," Tom said as he punched his smaller ship into warp. Tom wasn't sure where he'd head - there was no convenient asteroid field, no space traffic to use as interference, and they had more warp. But being captured by the Cardassians with a hold of illegally acquired Cardassian weaponry was not an option he cared for. He tapped a panel, sending a distress signal in Maquis code. The illumination from the patrol's tractor beam cast a violet glow through Tom's shuttle as it missed the small craft's bow. "Close, but you haven't caught me yet." With full concentration Tom used all the tricks he had learned at Starfleet as he attempted to elude their tractor beam. But they were gaining on him and with the lessening distance between them he feared it was only a matter of time before he was snagged. Then he felt it. The tug and jerk backwards that meant he was caught. A new voice came over Tom's com. "Cardassian patrol ship, this is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the U.S.S. Enterprise. Disengage pursuit. We have secured the vessel you are chasing." "U.S.S. Enterprise, the shuttle is ours. We claim the right to detain the Maquis ship and its occupant." "I might agree with you if you were not in Federation space. In your haste to pursue the Maquis ship, you apparently mistakenly crossed our border. This is a Federation matter now and we will handle it," Captain Picard spoke with authority. "Captain Picard, we acknowledge your interest in this event. But in the name of peace and the treaty between our two peoples, I would request you release the Maquis pilot into our custody. He has violated our laws and we declare preeminence in determining the punishment for his crime." "I will not relinquish any occupants into your custody. The matter is closed." Picard's pronouncement was met with silence. Tom could imagine the discussion on the Cardassian bridge. They knew he was Maquis. They wanted him. But the Enterprise was larger and the Cardassians were in Federation space. They had no choice unless they were prepared for an interstellar incident. "U.S.S. Enterprise," there was a slight pause, "we will return across the border. Thank you for your assistance in this matter." To Tom's ears it sounded as if the last sentence had stuck in the cobra-neck's craw and had been painful to expel. Tom watched the Cardassian patrol ship change course and leave. A deep baritone voice rumbled through the com, "Shuttle, you are under Federation jurisdiction. We are tractoring you in and order you to disarm and lay all personal weaponry out of your reach." Tom knew the strength of a Galaxy-class ship's tractor beam. There was no hope of breaking free. "Computer, when will the shuttle reach the Enterprise ?" ::One minute and seventeen seconds:: "Computer, maintain shields and begin audible countdown when ten seconds from docking with the Enterprise ." ::Affirmative:: With certain hands, Tom removed the helm's housing. Lying on his back he slid under the console and tore components out of his way, tossing them aside. Finding what he sought, he removed it and scooted out from under the conn. Tom stood and tossed the isolinear chip into the air and caught it. It held all the flight recordings from this shuttle. It would reveal Maquis hiding stations, prior flight paths and a history of Maquis transmissions that Tom had no personal knowledge of. "My bargaining chip," he said with a touch of irony. With it and the Paris name, whatever punishment the Federation wanted to throw at him would be lessened, if not reduced to just-for-show probation. ::Ten...Nine...:: the computer commenced its countdown. Tom gripped the tiny component in his fist and paused. Slowly opening his fingers he let it drop to the deck. Without stopping for further thought, he stomped down hard and ground it under his boot heel. It was a jolt to discover he was choosing the Maquis. But he couldn't turn her in. ::Six...Five...:: Kicking the broken, minute pieces, he scattered them in different directions across the floor of the shuttle. "Good luck putting that back together." As the computer completed its countdown, there was a slight bump as the shuttle settled in the bay. Glancing through the viewport, he watched wistfully as the bay doors closed out the star field. He'd be going away for a long time. Tom adjusted the phaser at his waist then held his hands clear of it. As the shuttle hatch opened, the first security officer to board was Klingon. Phaser drawn, he growled at the sight of Tom's weapon. "You were instructed to disarm." "I'm Maquis," Tom said. With a grin he added, "There are no rules." --- The End --- p.s. Did you know the drink Tom Collins was at its inception part of a hoax? Wikipedia it. J The things you learn when you do a little research. p.s.s "The domination and destruction of the spirit" quote is from "Mosaic" by Jeri Taylor.