Author's Note: Wrote this ages ago, but was inspired to post it after reading Ronda Sexton's piece "I'm Just an Ensign".
Well, inspired by the Sexton piece and a glass or two of riesling. Cheers to you Harry [lifts glass].

The Seven-Year Bet

Standing on the bridge as Janeway enters the turbolift, Kim smiles at her until the lift doors begin to close.

"Next time, Harry. Next time. Until then, keep up the good work."

The last thing she sees before the bridge vanishes from sight is Harry's expression morph into a questioning look.

As she makes her way to the holodeck, she nods to passing crewmembers with all the erectness of her position.

Captain Kathryn Janeway. Their fearless leader and moral compass.

When she enters Sandrine's, the program is smoky and filled with lecherous drunks. The worst among them being the pilot who currently runs the program under privacy lock.

"Captain Janeway," he greets, standing up from his shot at the pool table. "Can I buy you a glass of wine? Perhaps a brandy?"

Glaring at him, she crosses her arms in front of her.

"Pay up, you bastard."

"I beg your pardon, Captain?"

She sighs heavily, considering what method of torture to use on him if he stalls this any longer.

She has a soft spot for Paris. Always has. But she hates mooches, and if he tries to dodge her one more time, she's going to have to disembowel him.

"Pay up, Paris. . . I handed out promotions again today, and for the fifth time in a row, Harry wasn't on the list. Which means you owe me one month of replicator rations."

He puts the pool stick down, looking at her with disbelief.

"You really didn't promote him?" he asks.

"Nope," she responds coolly.

"But he saved the entire ship five months ago. We all would have died if he hadn't changed the timeline."

She stands unmoved, staring him down until he deflates.

"Here," he says sadly, handing her a PADD.

"Why thank you, Ensign. I'll use them well."

He ignores the dig at his new rank, having finally stopped cursing himself over the wager it stemmed from.

It's one thing to bet about Harry, but she's surprisingly cutthroat when it comes to poker. He thought the thing with Moneans was a decent forfeit; better than being in the hole another month's rations.

Until he realized she was willing to shoot him down just to put on a good show for the crew.

He meets her dark smirk with a rueful headshake.

"I still can't believe you're so quick to sell him out like this every year. The kid worships you."

"And what about you? You're his best friend. Yet every year you place the same bet that causes me to keep him an Ensign."

Paris shrugs, already considering their next bet.

"You won't be able to bring yourself to do it next year," he warns. "He's going to actually rip out his own eyes and give them to someone. Maybe breastfeed a dying crew member to keep them alive."

"I'll take that bet, Paris," she calls over her shoulder, as she moves away from the pool table. "But only because you're such an easy mark."

Picking up his the pool stick again, he looks at her somberly.

"You have no idea how much it costs to keep a Klingon supplied with sex toys. . . I'm not even sure how she broke the last one."

She shrugs, unsympathetic.

"I'm sure it isn't nearly as much as it costs to keep Chakotay supplied with ball gags."

Exiting the holodeck, she smiles at passing crew. Mentally counting all the rations she's yet to siphon from Paris at Harry Kim's expense.