Oxygen

by JBHart

Three simple words, Tom.

"Play something melancholy, Harry. Something with a lot of minor notes."

Tom plopped onto Harry's couch, but he didn't drop by to listen to his friend play a beautifully executed Mozart concerto. He needed company. His burden was just too heavy to be borne alone.

Harry laid the clarinet in his lap. "Let me guess. B'Elanna's still upset with you."

Tom detected a hint of apathy. "Just play."

"No, we're not going through this again. I haven't had one solid practice session all week because of your listless moping and the fact that for some reason you have to come to my quarters to do it. So out with it. What's happened now?"

Tom dropped his head on the back of the couch and studied the ceiling panels. How could he put it into words? "I don't know, she's just…changed somehow. We go out, we have dinner together, but as soon as things start to warm up between us she shuts down. She's the one who admitted she loved me the other day—we were close to death at the time—but I know she meant it. How am I supposed to build a relationship with her when she keeps slamming the door in my face?"

"First, stay out of the doorway."

"Funny Harry. You're a real comedian."

"I'm serious. You know she's been stressed out lately about the warp manifolds. You're not the only one who's noticed a change in B'Elanna. She even has Vorik on edge."

Tom lifted his head. "Really?"

"I swear I saw him walking the corridor yesterday muttering to himself."

"No wonder I'm having problems then," Tom replied. "It's not me. It's her."

"I wouldn't go that far, but yes, I believe she's feeling a lot of pressure from the technical problems she's having in engineering." Harry picked up his clarinet, and his face lit up with a sudden idea. "Y'know, sometimes when I'm stressed, I get out my clarinet and play, or I listen to soothing music to help me unwind. Why don't you take her to the opera?"

"The opera?" Tom's forehead wrinkled in disbelief. The idea sounded a bit too dry. "You want me to fall asleep? That would make a big impression."

"Not just any opera. A Klingon opera. I've been helping the doctor develop one that would just suit your needs."

"I didn't know he was into Klingon opera," Tom said. "Which one is it?"

"Aktah and Melota."

"Aktah and Melota? Harry! Anything but that! I saw that show when I was a kid. Had nightmares for months. Slept with the light on until I was twelve."

"It is robust, I'll admit, but if you want to make an impression on B'Elanna, then you should do something completely selfless for her."

"Selfless, huh?"

"Completely."

Tom frowned with the thought. He wanted B'Elanna badly enough to walk barefoot over hot coals, which right now sounded much more inviting than putting himself through Aktah and Melota.

He decided quickly. B'Elanna's love was worth the risk.

"I'll do it."

"That's the Tom Paris I know."

That night, as soon as the holodeck opened onto the opera house program, Tom's first impulse was to grab B'Elanna, lead her to the mess hall, and treat her to a nice quiet dinner. He wasn't ready for a dark and smoky opera house jam-packed with Klingon warriors in full battle garb.

"Oh, this'll be good," B'Elanna said in reverence. "They've just come in from battle. I can smell the blood." Mesmerized, she stepped into the throng, and then turned. "You coming in?"

Tom forced a smile on his face and stepped over the threshold. He drew a deep breath of air, and with it came the rank odor of blood, sweat, and alcohol. He gagged.

B'Elanna's face took on a look of concern. "We won't stay if you're not feeling well."

"No. No, B'Elanna. I'm fine," Tom said, though his stomach had cinched up into a knot. "Let's stay and enjoy ourselves."

She smiled and started to lead him through the throng. "Watch your step!"

He hopped over a dark puddle that was spreading across the floor.

It's only a holographic image, he thought. It's not real blood.

He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the thick, deadly stench of the atmosphere and the growing discomfort in the pit of his stomach. This night was for B'Elanna. As long as she was having a good time, he refused to complain.

As they moved through the crowd to find their seats, B'Elanna shoved some of the warriors aside, eliciting growls of either disapproval or appreciation, Tom couldn't tell. He only knew he didn't like it. His fists clenched, and he eyed the warriors, hoping that he wouldn't have to take them all on before the night was over.

One of them, Tom could have mistaken for a full grown targ. The ugly brute was just as hairy and smelled just as bad. "An aggressive woman!" the warrior announced. He raised his voice so B'Elanna could hear. "Enchantress! What is a vigorous female like you doing with this scrawny human?"

He swiped a meaty arm, knocking Tom into a throng of bystanders. Tom scrabbled to get untangled. By the time he freed himself, B'Elanna had whirled on the hairy warrior, her face hardened with anger, her eyes narrowed. "What did you say to me?"

The warrior grabbed her upper arm, pulling her to him. "I said, you need a real male!"
Tom launched at the Klingon. Gripping the warrior's shoulder, he yanked him back. "Pig! Let go of my girlfriend!"

The warrior laughed, low and menacing, showing rows of sharp, crooked teeth. Now he didn't resemble a targ at all, but a mountain. He cocked back a rock-hard fist.
B'Elanna's eyes widened. "Computer! End—"

But that was all Tom heard before the rock smashed into his face.

Tom sat still on the biobed as the doctor ran a protoplaser over the cut under his eye.
"This should teach you to use one of my holoprograms without speaking to me first," the doctor said. "I could have warned you about the safety protocol's propensity to malfunction during that particular program."

"What causes the malfunction?" Tom asked.

"Something about the algorithms used to make the baritone notes in the title song."

"We didn't get that far into the program."

"Nonetheless, the bug exists. Mr. Kim is working on a solution for me.

Tom looked at B'Elanna who stood by holding his hand. "Remind me to have a talk with Harry about this."

"You're free to go," said the doctor, putting away his instruments. "Just remember to steer clear of angry Klingons. They're highly unstable to begin with, let alone when they're agitated on bloodwine and ale." He caught B'Elanna's stare. "Present company accepted of course."

B'Elanna turned to Tom, rolling her eyes.

When the doctor went into his office, Tom spoke. "Sorry about the date, B'Elanna and about missing the opera, but I want you to know how much I appreciate you laying that guy out for me."

"Don't mention it. Haven't had a real brawl in a while. I needed the outlet." She smiled, and it was a genuine smile. "I had a good time."

"Really? I'm happy things worked out for you."

She moved in front of him and draped her arms around his neck. "It was sweet of you to go through all that trouble just to please me. You must care for me a great deal."

"I do."

"I love you, Tom," she said, and she gazed at him with those soulful brown eyes, her lips parting in invitation.

He moved in to kiss her—for surely now all was right between them—but she shifted. Lifting her chin, she pressed her lips to his forehead. When she pulled back, he couldn't read her expression.

"B'Elanna…"

She gave his cheek a gentle, final caress. "Goodnight Tom."

She exited the sickbay without another word.

Tom stared open-mouthed as the door to sickbay swished closed. Did she want him or not? He slid down from the biobed.

The doctor came back. "Ah, Mr. Paris. Since you're still here, you can help me with the inventory."

"I was just—"

"You're shift begins in thirty minutes anyway." The doctor held out a PADD.

Tom relented. Maybe a mindless task like counting hypo sprays would take his mind off things. "Why not, I've got nothing better to do," he muttered. He took the PADD and turned it on.

"I don't mean to pry," the doctor began, "But I noticed that things seem to have cooled off a bit between you and Lt. Torres."

"No they haven't."

The doctor put a gentle hand on Tom's shoulder. "I know what you're going through, Lieutenant. I too have experienced unrequited love."

Tom shook him off. "There's nothing unrequited about it. She loves me. You were in your office when she said it. Don't give me that look. I know you were listening."

"Very well," The doctor admitted. "So she did, but I sense a change in her feelings. A slight drop in her blood pressure, a slowing of her pulse…"

Tom glared at him. "I get the picture."

"Might I recommend something for you to try?"

Tom pretended to be interested in the inventory list displayed in the PADD.

Undeterred, the doctor continued, " I believe you were on the right track in taking her to the holodeck."

"Is that so?"

"Mmm. Except you used the wrong holoprogram. You should take her out in that '57 Chevy of yours."

Tom grinned. "So you liked the '57?"

"One word: Magic. Danara—" the doctor's voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "Dr. Pel—kissed me for the first time in that car. I'll treasure that moment forever." He leaned closer. "Did you know that the burnt orange flecks in her eyes were the same hue as the soil on Mars?"

"I didn't know that," Tom said. "By the way, Doc. Did I ever mention that you forgot to top off the tank? Mars is 70,000 light years away from here. You used up a lot of gas."

The doctor's look soured. "Just as I suspected You don't appreciate what I'm telling you. That vehicle is enchanted. I believe Lt. Torres will respond to it, but I can't force you to take my advice."

Tom frowned. "Why do you want to help me all of a sudden? You usually poke fun at B'Elanna and me for being together."

"I'm doing this for the crew, Mr. Paris. My medical assistant is more efficient when he isn't moping around sickbay absent-minded and constantly misplacing my diagnostic tools."

"Point taken," Tom said, putting the PADD on the biobed. "Okay Doc, I'll try it." He turned to leave.

The doctor tapped his shoulder. Tom looked back.

"First, the inventory," the doctor said, a look of concern crossing his face. "Or perhaps we should run a diagnostic on your memory engrams."

"No Doc, I don't need a diagnostic." Tom took the PADD again.

"Inventory," said the doctor.

"Inventory. Got it."

The doctor shook his head, then turned and went back into his office.

As Tom began his work, the doctor's idea took root. That '57 was a charmer. B'Elanna just might respond to it. "Yep," he said. "She just might do the trick."

About an hour before his date with B'Elanna, Tom was in the holo-garage wearing his shop overalls and feeling more than a little depressed. He had come across a problem while tuning the '57's engine and still had his head under the hood when B'Elanna stopped by early.

"What's the matter?" she said as she walked over to him.

"Aw, the carburetor's shot, see?" Tom straightened and held the greasy part in his hand. "I can't get a replacement part until tomorrow."

"Why not just replicate one?"

"This is the nineteen fifties, B'Elanna. You can't just replicate things whenever you want them. You have to buy them. I usually get my engine supplies from Henry's Auto Parts, but they're not open on Sundays. Who knows? He might not have the part in stock. That could set us back a week." He put the carburetor on a workbench cluttered with antique tools, and wiped his hands on a greasy cloth. "Besides, I don't even know if I'll have the money. When I stared up the holodeck this time, the computer told me I just got laid off at the plant."

"You're taking this program a bit too seriously, don't you think?"

"In order to grasp the concept of twentieth century North American culture, you have to live it. I Love Lucy's coming on in a little bit, we could stay in and watch TV tonight.
"I can't. I came here to tell you I'm working overtime, so I'll have to cancel our date. Rain check?"

She didn't look disappointed.

Tom leaned against the car. "B'Elanna. I'm just kidding around. I'm not stuck on the Drive-In idea. We don't even have to use this program. We could go to Tahiti instead. We can do whatever you want. I just want to see you. I miss you."

"I miss you too." She moved closer, lifted his chin, and kissed him. This time on the lips.
He placed his hands on her waist and pulled her closer to deepen the kiss. When she complied, his heart beat a little faster.

She broke off and gazed at him with that strange expression again—the one he didn't understand. "I love you, Tom."

He smiled. "I'll never get tired of hearing that."

She stiffened suddenly and pulled back, waving a hand at the Chevy. "I'd better not keep you. Looks like you've got a lot of work to do."

"B'Elanna, don't leave," he said. "I need to know what's going on. Why don't you want to be with me anymore? I thought you loved me."

"I do, Tom. You just—" She shook her head. "Good luck with your internal combustion vehicle."

She rushed out of the garage.

So it came to pass that Tom Paris sat alone in the mess hall that evening, chasing food around his plate with a fork.

"Now what's all this?" Neelix said to him. The Talaxian was his old chipper self as he stood beside Tom's table drying a glass. "You're sitting here, alone, and Lt. Torres is sitting over there—alone."

Tom didn't have to look up to know that B'Elanna sat at a window table working on engineering calculations with a cup of coffee by her elbow. "Neelix," he said. "It's best you don't get involved."

"Funny. That's exactly what she said."

"Yeah, well, you should take that advice then."

Neelix was quiet for a moment; he dried the glass more thoughtfully. "Um, Mr. Paris, I have a treat for you. that's what I really came over to tell you. I've been working on a new menu item, and I want you to be the first to try it. I'll just take this away…" Neelix scooped up Tom's plate in one hand. "What would you say to a steak au poivre tonight? Hmm?"

Tom brightened. He hadn't had steak in ages. "Sounds terrific."

"Come with me," Neelix said, glancing around. "I don't want anyone to know I've been working on this until I've perfected the flavor, but I believe it's nearly there."

Tom followed Neelix into his kitchen, and there in a corner was an intimate candlelit table.

"Table for two," said Tom.

Neelix waved his hand. "There's something lonely about a dinner table with only one chair. Have a seat."

Tom sat. Neelix came back with wine glasses.

"Two glasses."

Neelix shrugged. "I feel the same about wine glasses as I do about chairs."

He set them on the table and disappeared again.

Tom dropped his chin in his hand and drummed his fingers on the table, his suspicions growing—then solidifying when Nat "King" Cole's voice crooned "Unforgettable" over the pipes.

Tom glanced up when someone new entered the kitchen. And for a moment, B'Elanna's face was like that of an angel—bright with curiosity—until she saw him, then the wonder vanished, and so to Tom's discouragement, did the light in her eyes.

"Welcome to Chateau de Neelix," Neelix announced in an attempted French accent. "The very first grande table in the delta quadrant."

B'Elanna glanced at Tom and shrugged. Neelix' good mood was something neither of them wanted to destroy.

"You're just in time, Mademoiselle. Allow me to take your coat."

"Neelix, I'm not wearing a coat," B'Elanna replied.

"I see. Then please have a seat." He pulled out the empty chair.

B'Elanna sat across from Tom.

"If you'll excuse me," Neelix said. "I'll go get the wine."

"Looks as though we've been had," B'Elanna said.

Tom grinned. "Looks as though I'm not the only one who thinks we make a great couple."
B'Elanna sent Tom a quick uncomfortable smile.

"What's wrong, B'Elanna? Last week you were so hot for me. That break we took together in the Jeffries Tube—"

"I'll admit that was nice."

"Nice?" Tom said. "It was heaven! what happened to that incredible woman who couldn't wait to get her hands on me? What did I do wrong? I thought we had a great thing going."

"Grenache Rose," Neelix announced when he reappeared at their table. "From the Gigondas region of France's Rhone Valley. The flavor in this wine is wonderfully sweet. Reminding me of this young couple sitting before me tonight."

Tom shot him an impatient look. "Just pour the wine."

Neelix poured the wine and waited for Tom to taste it. Tom quickly sipped and nodded, then Neelix filled both glasses, giving him an obvious wink before he left.

"Morale officer," Tom said. "The captain needs to give him something to do. He certainly isn't improving our morale."

"Speak for yourself Tom. I appreciate a little attention now and then." She sipped her wine.

"You're acting as if I've been ignoring you."

"I wouldn't say you've been ignoring me, in as much as ignoring us."

Tom gaped at her. "Ignoring us? What in hell is that supposed to mean?"

She waved a hand in dismissal. "Never mind. Let's just relax and enjoy the dinner. Neelix put a lot of effort into it."

"No B'Elanna, it does matter. We can't just be friends anymore. I need you. Haven't I proven that lately? I do everything I can think of to get this relationship going, and you just blow me off. You admitted you loved me the other day, but now I'm starting to think it was the lack of oxygen talking and not you."

Neelix, who had appeared at the table with bundles of silverware in his hand said, "I'll just get the salad."

"How foolish of me!" B'Elanna retorted. "You're absolutely right, Tom. It was the lack of oxygen. No woman in her right mind would ever admit to loving you!"

"Nothing like a near-death experience to enhance the libido," Tom remarked. He topped off the insult with a sip of his wine.

B'Elanna stopped cold. Apparently she had even stopped breathing because after a few seconds, she drew in a sharp breath. "Egotistical Pig!"

She stood and in one swift movement, grabbed the huge silver bowl from Neelix's hands and dumped the Leola root salad on Tom's head.

"I don't know what I ever saw in you!" B'Elanna stormed out of the kitchen.
Neelix steepled his hands and nervously drummed his fingers together. "I take it you'll skip the dressing?"

After the fiasco in the kitchen, the only place on the ship where Tom felt safe from B'Elanna and himself was in the Astrometrics bay. It was dark in there and somehow, being surrounded by alien technology—something so far removed from his current problems—was comforting to him. He sat on a crate and sulked.

"Lt. Paris."

Tom looked up. Seven had just walked in.

"Hello Seven. I thought you wouldn't be back for a while, and I just had to get away from everyone. You can go about your work. I promise I won't get in your way."

"Your presence is irrelevant." Seven went to the console and began her work.

"Story of my life," Tom said with a sigh. "Alright, I'll tell you what happened."

"I did not inquire."

"B'Elanna and I had a fight, and I've tried everything to get her to take me back. Nothing works! I'm afraid I've lost her before we even had a chance to be together."

"Are you speaking of copulation?"

Seven was so intuitive for a Borg. Tom let out a dry laugh. "In a way…but it's a little more complicated than that," he said. "You remember when B'Elanna and I went out in the shuttle to retrieve the warp core?"

"I have an eidetic memory. It is quite efficient."

"There we were. Floating in the vacuum of space, lost! Sharing a single oxygen tank. We were this close to death Seven, and she told me she loved me. It was the single most beautiful moment of my life, and I nearly had to die to get it. I wish I could go back to that moment and retrace my steps, find out where everything went wrong." He dropped his head in his hands and groaned.

"It is simple. You are merely involved in a miscommunication."

Seven's emotional detachment had a clarifying effect. Tom lifted his head. "I am?"

"I will explain. There are vast differences between Borg culture and the culture of this vessel. I am not as empathetic as this crew would prefer me to be. It will take me quite a while to adjust to the intricacies of your verbal communication techniques—"

"Tell me about it! Sometimes I wish we simple life forms could communicate as well as the Borg. I would at least know what B'Elanna was thinking."

"I agree. Developing an in-depth understanding of Lt. Torres' thought processes would help us both in our interactions with her," Seven said. "But that is not my point."

Tom looked up at her. His curiosity piqued. "Spill it, Seven. I've tried everything."

"When the Borg discover a new and viable species, we assimilate them, absorbing their culture, their knowledge…their very essence. The Borg become stronger as a result. But the process is mutually beneficial to the drones, for they in turn receive the Borg's knowledge, their technology, their protection…in effect, they become more than what they were, making both species stronger as a cohesive unit."

"In other words," Tom said, leaning forward, hazarding his best possible guess. "In a relationship between two people there's got to be some give and take. Is that what you're trying to say?"

Seven lifted a brow. "Precisely."

"I've thought about that. Believe me. I've given B'Elanna everything. Flowers, music, dinner…I even offered her a night out in my '57."

"What is a fifty-seven? Is this similar to a Borg designation?"

"Never mind! I'm at my wit's end here."

"Apparently." Seven gazed at him with unblinking clarity. "The answer is obvious. She has expressed in words her desire to raise the status of your relationship. she is looking for reciprocation."

"What?"

"Tell her you love her."

"But Seven, I've told her so many times. I've—" He stopped as the realization hit him. Hadn't he? Surely he couldn't have missed something so simple, so painfully obvious. But that was it. It had to be.

He jumped up. He would kiss Seven right now if only he could be sure that her Borg defense mechanisms wouldn't kick in and lay him out flat on the deck. He settled for a grin. "You're right! You're absolutely right. I never said the words! I am an egotistical pig! Thanks Seven!" He bounded for the doors.

"I believe the proper response is 'you're welcome'."

Tom stood outside B'Elanna's quarters and very nearly pounced when the door came open in answer to his chime.

"What? No flowers?" B'Elanna said as soon as she laid eyes on him. She closed the door.
Tom put up a hand, stopping the closing mechanism. The door reversed itself.

"Remind me to fix that," she said, and she turned away.

"B'Elanna, hear me out."

"I've heard enough from you, and frankly, I don't care to listen anymore." She kept her back to him and folded her arms.

"I came to apologize."

B'Elanna turned and eyed him suspiciously. "For what?"

"For being a—how did you put it?—an egotistical pig."

"Oh that. You can't apologize for something you're born to."

"That's low!" he said, then he bit back his pride. He would finish what he came here to say, even if she didn't want to hear it. "But I deserved it. I know I've been wrong about a lot of things lately."

He moved closer to her and pried at her locked hands just to hold them, but she resisted. The struggle nearly broke his momentum. Damn it, she's stubborn! Why does she have to be so strong too? When he finally had her hands in his, he looked into her eyes. They sparkled. She was smiling.

He smiled too, from relief. "B'Elanna…"

"What is it, Tom?"

He dropped down to one knee for effect and gazed up at her. "The other day, you made me the happiest an in the delta quadrant. You told me you loved me."

B'Elanna jerked back trying to pull her hands away. "Let go of me!"

Tom held on firmly. "But I was a fool."

She stopped struggling, and her brows drew together.

"I was a fool," Tom continued, "because I had taken your words and kept them to myself. I hid them away in my heart because I had never felt such happiness. I didn't want to let them go."

"What are you saying?"

"What I should have said all along. I love you, B'Elanna."

"Say it again."

"I love you."

She dropped down in front of him and cupped his cheek in her hand. "It's about damned time!" she threw her arms around his neck and crushed her lips to his.

He swept his arm around her waist, pulling her comfortably against him. Three simple words had just bought him the universe.

Now this, Tom thought, is communication!