All the Action
I.
"Eight ball, corner pocket."
"Corner pocket?" Janeway repeats, her tone a little mocking.
"Captain, you should have more faith in your officer," Tom announces brashly, then saunters to the far side of the table.
"Faith? I would think it enough I had compassion, agreeing to play him double or nothing for holodeck time he's already lost to me."
They're the last crewmembers left in Sandrine's, everyone else having called it quits after the Captain handily won the previous game of pool. Tom wasn't ready to call it a night yet, though he's surprised he was able to convince an obviously reluctant Janeway to hang around for another match.
"A generous gesture," Tom rejoins, "if one that will prove a tactical error."
"We'll see," she says evenly, and watches with an air of detachment as he lines up his final shot.
The Captain's right to be confident. She's clearly better at pool than Tom is and it doesn't help his odds that the eight ball has been no friend of his tonight. But Tom's life has taught him to capitalize on people counting him out too early in the game. He sinks the eight ball neatly in the corner pocket, managing to make a difficult shot look effortless as the ball quietly thuds, then disappears into the table.
"Well," the Captain says, managing not to sound surprised, "I guess the win is yours, Mister Paris. My holodeck time for the next two weeks now belongs to you."
"Keep it," he shrugs, turning away from her and putting down the cue stick. It normally feels good to win - he does so like to win - but now it feels odd, feels wrong, depriving this woman of any remaining luxuries.
"You won fair and square," Janeway shakes her head, sounding decidedly wary.
Tom has only his own reputation to blame that someone would be suspicious of his kindness. He tries not to let it sting, the knowledge that Janeway lets him fly her ship, has made him senior staff, but doesn't quite trust him personally.
"Alright," he says, deciding to change tactics. "I'll take the holodeck time. . . But I'll use it to run this program. Feel free to join me, if you're up for a bit of pool."
"So eager to push your luck again?" she asks, her eyes narrowing as she considers him.
"All due respect, ma'am, but I've wasted an entire lifetime pushing my luck. If I enjoy Sandrine's, it's because I have trouble sleeping, and frankly, there's better company here than in my quarters."
She doesn't say anything to this uncharacteristic confession. Merely looks at him like she's deciding something before giving him a simple nod. "Good night, Lieutenant," she tells him politely, and turns to make her exit. "As you have the early shift tomorrow, I expect you won't remain much longer."
"Good night, Captain," he responds dutifully. Then adds, after a pause, "sweet dreams."
She freezes for a moment at his last words, her hand hesitating as it reaches for the panel that will cause the exit to appear. It's a hesitation that's almost nothing and yet Tom spots it, because he's watching her every move.
The arch materializes, the bright light of Voyager's corridor incongruent with the smoke-filled shadows of Sandrine's, and Janeway disappears into the brightness, the doors sliding silently shut behind her.
"Looks like you're alone again, Tommy boy," he says with a flourish, and slowly begins racking the balls again.
It's still early, and by his estimation, he has about seventy-five years to kill.
. . . . .
II.
"We're too close, Lieutenant."
"I promise you, ma'am, we're not."
"While I have full confidence in your piloting skills, I have zero desire to participate in my Chief Helmsman's joyriding. In case you haven't noticed, we don't exactly have shuttles to spare."
Tom swallows the first, smartass reply that comes to mind. Feels his jaw get a little tighter as he reminds himself who he's with. The person he's supposed to be now. "I'm aware of that, Captain. I also understand that the whole point of this outing is to get clear readings of the magnetic field, and as I'm sure you're aware, we won't be able to do so from any farther out."
The Cochrane shakes again, and Janeway grips her armrest as she divides her time between glaring at him and reading the panels in front of her. She shakes her head, "the distortions are only going to get stronger ahead. You won't be able to compensate for them if we're this close."
"Wonna bet ?"
The insubordinate challenge slips off his tongue before he can stop it, and then it's as if he can see the words hanging in the air, floating above his head like the little bubbles in those ancient Earth comics he collected as a kid. Always with your fucking big mouth, Paris.
He braces for the verbal lashing he's more than earned; keeps his eyes glued to the panels in front of him as long he can stand the silence. That's only about three beats - patience has never been his strong suit - and when he pivots slightly to make eye contact with Janeway, she's giving him a look that could melt the terminium alloy right off a photon torpedo casing.
"You better put your piloting where your mouth is, Mister Paris."
Not the response he expects, but as the woman sitting next to him has been a constant source of surprises during their short tenure in the Delta Quadrant, Tom is more than happy to roll with it. "Aye, aye, ma'am."
The shuttle shakes and whines occasionally, but no damage is done and the ride proves pretty exhilarating. The Captain's expression has even morphed into something like contentment.
Her new cheer could simply be that they've accomplished what they set out to do, but Tom suspects it's more than that. After all, there are more than a dozen officers back on Voyager who are qualified to be sitting in her shuttle seat; nothing about this mission requires the presence of her and those four pips.
Not that Tom begrudges her the outing even a little. He just files it away as 'terribly interesting,' the fact that Kathryn Janeway enjoys a bumpy ride.
"Scans complete. Let's head back in, Tom."
"Permission to take the scenic route, Captain?"
Janeway's eyes sparkle and the right side of her mouth tugs up. She sits back a little in her seat as she says idly, "I suppose we have the extra time."
He doesn't make the mistake of voicing a reply. Only smiles down at the helm and goes about making their ride home as eventful as he can.
. . . . .
III.
"Do you have any other concerns?" the Captain asks him, and Tom hesitates a moment, giving a glance to Tuvok before he shakes his head.
"Not at this time, Captain. . . Is there anything else?"
Janeway gives him one of those long, reflective looks Tom has come to dread, then she smiles diplomatically at the other occupant of the office. "Tuvok, would you please give us a moment?"
The Vulcan's only acknowledgement of the polite order is to silently rise from his seat in the Captain's ready room, nodding to Tom before he departs. A Vulcan acknowledgement of respect if ever there was one, but Tom is happy for any affirmation he can get at the moment.
"Tom," the Captain begins again, "is there something you'd like to talk about? We're off the record... "
He squirms a little in his seat and weighs conflicting impulses. There is something that he'd like to discuss with someone, but Janeway isn't exactly the first person he turns to with his personal problems. Too bad he doesn't have the option of going to Harry, or even Kes…
"I'm a little… concerned. About the crew's view of me. After this is over."
"I sympathize," she sighs, sounding sincere, "but when all of this is done and your crewmates realize it was all in the line of duty, things will go back to normal. They'll recognize that your behavior was actually quite honorable - given the bigger picture."
Tom smiles sadly, his blue eyes filled with memories the likes of which Janeway will never understand. "I would like to think you're right, Captain. Unfortunately my experience tells me that people will forgive a lot of things with greater ease than they forgive deception… The reasons behind the lies don't really make a difference."
"Maybe that's true," she allows softly, and leans across her desk, her hand coming to rest a few centimeters from his. "And yet… I'd wager that the trust and respect you've earned from your peers will overcome any hurt feelings."
"I'm sure you're right," Tom replies, with a cheerful confidence they both know he doesn't feel.
. . . . .
Tom's grateful to be back on Voyager. Thrilled, just for starters, to be far from the awful smell of that Kazon ship. I mean, would it really kill them to take a sonic shower now and again?
Still, he wishes his first lunch back on the ship included Harry's company. And as he digs into Neelix's midday offering with uncharacteristic zeal, he tries not to look up when his crewmates (alone or sometimes in groups) slow as they pass his table, if never saying a word to him.
Just like the good old days, he thinks angrily, when Ken Dalby makes a point of shooting him an icy look. No, honestly, don't thank me. It's all in a day's work, Ken.
His mood perks up when he sees B'Elanna walk in, padd in hand, and he throws her a little wave. She nods back stiffly, if after a hesitation, and when she gets her food she walks back out with it as if she doesn't have time to stay.
He pushes his tray away, feeling his mood hit rock bottom. He's still hungry - starving, actually - but lunch with all his 'buddies' in the mess hall no longer particularly appeals.
He's about to stand up when someone sets a bowl in front of him, steam slowly dancing up from the white ceramic vessel. He looks up warily, surprised to see the Captain slide into the seat across from him.
"Tomato soup," she tells him, her eyes on her own lunch. "Hot. Plain. No frills."
It's a kind gesture. No less so as Janeway is getting her own fair share of heat for leaving Chakotay out of the loop on this Jonas thing, and sitting with Tom is certainly not going to help her in that department.
"I - Thank you," he says quietly, and clears his throat to get the words out.
"No need," she tells him, and forks a bite of her own lunch.
A debt's a debt, her expression seems to say, but neither of them make an issue of it.
They quietly finish lunch together, crewmembers slowing to stare at them but never offering greeting.
. . . . .
IV.
"Captain," the EMH greets cheerfully, "to what do we owe the honor of your voluntary presence in sickbay?"
The Doctor has just returned from treating a broken leg on deck four, and at his characteristically dry greeting, Janeway favors Paris with a moody look as she says, "I'm not here in an official capacity."
"She lost a bet to me," Tom supplies, and Janeway rolls her eyes.
"And the terms of your wager were what, exactly?" the Doctor demands haughtily.
"Confidential, I'm afraid."
And at Janeway's brusque reply, the EMH looks to Paris who shrugs, "don't look at me, Doc… She outranks me."
The Doctor harrumphs his way into his office, and Tom smirks as he goes. The Captain shakes her head, her eyes smiling even as she does.
"Tell the truth. You didn't just want my company while you run lab results - you also wanted to vex the Doctor."
"You mean by showing him how easy it was for me to get you in here, when doing so is basically impossible for him?"
"Well," she hedges, "it helps that you're not waving a tricorder in my face."
"That can be arranged," he teases, and then pretends to cower when she glowers at him.
"So are you going to tell me how you did it or not?"
"Did what?"
"Tom."
"I can't give you all my secrets, ma'am. If I did, how would I win the luxury of your banter here, in this delightful land of infections and unexplained rash?"
"You'd find a way," she grits, and Tom starts to laugh, watching as she begins to fume.
"You're going to torture me until I tell you, aren't you?"
"Yes," she nods. "Now. Please. Tell me how you got poor Harry to do that."
"Easy," Tom shrugs, "I used Seven."
"Seven?" she prods, curiosity dipping into worry.
"I told him that Seven kept having some kind of memory about a nursery rhyme from her childhood, but it was too fuzzy to recall anything besides that it was about a girl named Mary."
"And that's how you got him to sing "Mary Had a Little Lamb" in the middle of the mess hall?"
"Yep," Tom winks. "The hardest part was getting Seven to stay quiet during the setup, but once I held it out as a lesson in humor, she agreed."
"Was she at all amused?"
"Not in the slightest," Tom chuckles, and the Captain throws back her head, laughing so loudly that it makes the Doctor smile inside his office.
. . . . .
V.
"Did I miss anything?" Tal Celes asks, breathless from rushing from Astrometrics.
"Um, not really," Billy Telfer replies. "Well, besides the Captain's speech, the entirety of the gift exchange, and Golwat vomiting into one of Neelix's plants. So, basically, you missed about everything."
"Wait, I thought Chakotay said no more synthehol at Prixin after last year's fiasco. Did Golwat not get the memo?"
"Oh, she did. But she also got three glasses of Neelix's synthe-free, 'Talax-inspired Eggnog.' "
"Eww."
"Yeah, apparently there are some things even a Bolian stomach can't digest."
"Is she okay?"
"Embarrassed. But I'm sure someone will make a bigger fool of themselves in the what's left of the party and no one will remember the unfortunate end met by the poor, potted fern."
"Anything else?" she sighs, and Billy watches as she loads a tray with an inhuman amount of food.
"Well, about two minutes before you walked in, Paris propositioned the Captain. It looked like he did anyway - he was whispering and I couldn't hear from so far away."
"No," Tal manages to gasp despite a huge chunk of bread in her mouth.
"The senior officers have been playing poker for the last half hour - openly gambling, might I add - and after Commander Chakotay lost everything but his uniform, he went to grab himself a consolation drink. It was just Paris and the Captain sitting there." He adds, his voice even more hushed, "as I said, he was whispering, but whatever it was made her flush crimson before she shook her head and smacked him on the arm. If that's not flirting, I don't know what is."
"I don't believe it!"
"I'm telling you-"
"Ugh," she moans. "I believe you. It's just that working this new shift rotation means I miss all the good stuff at parties." She takes another massive bite of food and whines dramatically, "I hate it."
"Sorry," he offers, not at all convincing.
"Hey, wait a minute. What about Torres? What's Tom doing hitting on the Captain when he's got a girlfriend?"
"Tom, huh? You guys on a first name basis now?"
"He's said hello to me in the corridor twice this month."
"Well, you and all the other Paris junkies might be in luck. Torres kicked him to the recycler this week."
"Again?"
"Rumor has it for good."
"She'll take him back," she says, and then throws an appraising look over at Paris. "I would."
"I don't get it! What is it with everyone and Tom Paris? Even the Captain is chummy with him, not a year after she demoted him."
"Careful there. You sound a little jealous."
"Well what's the difference between that guy and me, aside from that famous last name of his?"
"You mean besides killer cheekbones, several centimeters of height, charm for days, and blue eyes that make me think of Risa's oceans?"
"That was a rhetorical question," Billy shoots back, and Celes pauses to swallow another mouthful of food.
"Sorry," she shrugs, not all convincing. "Hey, look. They're playing again."
"Shucks, we must have missed something. I can't tell what's going on."
"Looks like the Captain doesn't have enough chips left to match Tom's bet."
"What are they saying? Can you can hear them?"
"Shut up already," she hisses, "then maybe we can both hear them."
"I think you should go for it," Chakotay smiles at Janeway. "You owe it to the rest of us to take Tom down."
"Well, Tom" Janeway says, sitting back in her chair, "would you accept something as collateral? Not that I'm going to lose to you, mind you."
"I'm sure we could work out the terms of your loss," Paris smirks back over his cards. Then, upon reflection, offers, "in fact, I believe the idea I raised in our conversation a few minutes back would be an acceptable forfeit."
Except for Telfer and Tal , no one seems to notice the color rising in Janeway's neck, and as Paris smiles at her mischievously, Chakotay continues in encouragement. "Come on, Captain."
"Poor, naive Commander," Tal whispers to Billy. "He has no idea."
"Sorry, folks," Janeway demurs, and rises from her chair. "I'm afraid that the pot is getting a little too rich for my blood."
"You're going to just let me have the whole pot without a fight?" Tom goads her, and the Captain scratches her eyebrow, smiling at him as she appears to pick her words in front of the crowd.
"Maybe someday I'll change my mind about that particular gamble," she says. "But not tonight."
"Congratulations," someone says to Tom a moment later, and the pilot smiles politely. "We hear the Captain has a long history of losing bets to you."
"She's lost some," he admits, Telfer and Tal both watching with open interest as the Lieutenant's eyes follow Janeway through the crowd and out of the mess hall. "Though in hindsight, I rarely win with Captain Janeway when the stakes get high."
The crowd disperses with scattered, disappointed murmurs, and Paris manages to excuse himself, looking a little less cheerful than he did a few minutes earlier.
Celes crosses her arms and declares to a still gobsmacked Billy, "I have to get off beta shift."
"Definitely," Billy concurs immediately. "You're missing all the action."
. . . . .