Past Becomes Present
Prequel to A Wrinkle in Time. We met six years ago. More like you ran into me, Flyboy, spilling everything I owned on the floor. I helped you pick it up and took you out for a meal afterwards to say sorry. Some nocturnal entertainment, you mean, just so you didn't have to go and visit the Admiral. T for mild language, adult themes.
First Contact: Tuesday 30th March 2365
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" A furious ball of energy demanded.
Ex-cadet B'Elanna Torres stood with her hands clenched into fists, resting them on her waist so she didn't strike the man currently and oh so casually scooping up the sum total of her life. Legs slightly apart, she swore in Klingon under her breath as he reached for yet another item to gently place in the carton. Then he looked up at her, blue eyes twinkling and a mischievous grin on his perfectly proportioned lips. The fact he didn't respond to either her outrageous anger or heritage confused the young half Klingon enough to cool her ire ever so slightly.
Rolling her eyes B'Elanna couldn't help thinking, that's the whole reason I'm leaving this wretched place. People take one look at me and make judgements before I open my mouth. Then they expect me to go all Klingon and defend myself with my fists. This guy should be running the other way at warp speed with the expression on my face. So why the hell isn't he?
"I can see you must have had ol' Sneezy for survival, Cadet," the blonde teased with a lop-sided grin. His warp core blue eyes continued to shimmer with unbridled playfulness as he looked up at her from his position on the floor.
"What?' B'Elanna demanded, not quite comprehending his comment.
Barely a minute ago, he'd come around the corner, in complete silence and not watching where he was going. The man was stronger and heavier than he looked, forcing B'Elanna to stumble under the onslaught of the sudden body contact. She'd managed to remain upright, only he'd knocked the box with every item she owned to the floor, scattering the contents in a three metre radius. Without another word he knelt down, retrieved the upturned crate and started collecting her belongings with practiced ease. Stunned, B'Elanna Torres stood mute and watched with astonishment.
He must be wondering why I don't get down on my hands and knees to help him, came the internal Klingon snarl. That portion of her heritage reacted to this man as she'd never responded to another being in her life. In truth, it frightened her, bringing out the very worst of her genetic inheritance. There's no way I'm lowering myself to his level. He needs to prove himself before I'll move a finger to help. After all this is all his fault.
A PADD currently held aloft in his hand, he threw it into the box carelessly, earning in him a deep frown for treating her equipment so carelessly. Then he had the tenacity to chuckle at her expression. "You're lucky you know."
"Lucky?" B'Elanna asked, somewhat confused. This wasn't going quite how she anticipated.
"Commander Zakarian's class would have been a breeze to pass." With that the man in his mid twenties finally stood, looked around as he wore a self satisfied expression when the floor offered no other items. He towered over her petite frame. It was only then B'Elanna Torres realised he was in a Starfleet Lieutenant's uniform of the command stream. "I'm not sure you would have liked The Admiral's class. Not many of us did."
Equal parts intrigued and irritated, B'Elanna challenged, "I bet you still did well."
His smirk changed to something inscrutable, yet he offered sadly, "B minus."
"The Admiral had it in for you?" B'Elanna enquired, watching a complex set of emotions cross the man's face before his eyes shuttered and he became lost to his melancholy thoughts. Feeling the deprivation of his joviality, Torres nostrils flared. Two sensations hit her at the same instant. Sadness that her words had wiped the lighthearted smile from his face and the unique odour that was him. Neither circumstance had ever occurred to her before, which only brought her Klingon nature, and famous temper to the surface.
"I don't think I could have done anything to meet that man's expectation," he responded sadly before she could fire off a sarcastic response to her mixed and confusing emotions. "Come on, Cadet," suddenly the devilish smirk was back which put B'Elanna's rising animosity on hold. Picking up her box, he looked around, once again ensuring he'd retrieved all her belongings.
"How did you know I had ol' Sneezy as my survival Professor?" She asked, not moving a muscle.
That elicited a full bodied laugh from the Lieutenant, as he shifted her box to one hip. "Only Zakarian uses that old text," he explained, starting to move down the corridor. If B'Elanna wanted to hear the rest of his explanation, she'd need to follow, and follow she did. Of their own accord, her legs moved to take up a position beside him. "Cadets have more trouble deciphering the twentieth century language than learning the concepts of basic survival within this book."
"Have you read it," B'Elanna understood his sentiments. She'd spent hours pouring over the text, only to find her classmates had found a modernised copy in Federation standard and not shared the fact with her. Once again her nostrils flared as she tried to swallow her rising aggression at the perceived insult. Once again her olfactory senses distinguished his sent from those surrounding them. It was an odd and unsettling experience.
"In it's original, English format," he responded, eyes twinkling. "It actually loses something in the translation and ol' Sneezy knows the Cadets that cheat." Watching the reactions of the woman at his side, the Lieutenant sighed. "Let me guess, no one bothered to tell you about it."
"No," came the succinct answer. B'Elanna barely managed to contain the growl that built up with her anger.
Once again that deeply amused laugh that wasn't aimed at her but at the situation, filled the air. "Your classmates probably did you a favour, although they didn't know it at the time."
"Maybe," B'Elanna said, watching the Lieutenants profile. He extruded an unique aura, unlike anyone else Torres had ever met. For a few seconds she forgot about her crumbling world and felt, well, normal.
"You don't have to answer this, Cadet," the Lieutenant's tone suddenly turned serious, "what's with the box?"
"I'm not a Cadet," she offered.
"That uniform tells a different story," he stated gently. "Second year's the worst. We lost a lot of really promising Cadets in my class. Good people who couldn't take the righteousness and rigamarole of Starfleet's exacting standards. Sometimes I wondered if I could breathe under all the rules and regulations."
"But you did," confusion laced B'Elanna's expression as she tried to understand him. He seemed to know exactly how she felt. That, like the other sensations this Lieutenant brought out in her, confused and frightened her. It seemed she ocellated between rage and fear while he compelled the best and worst of her character to be expelled.
"Didn't have a choice," once again that sad smile that didn't reach his eyes, but dulled the colour to a stormy almost grey. "Service family. I was brought up with Starfleet protocols and procedures. Would have broken Dad's heart and disappointed my sisters if I dropped out. They've all made Lt. Commander before their thirtieth birthday."
"Tough act to follow," B'Elanna genuinely felt sorry for the man walking at her side. It seemed his family issues rivalled her's, but for very different reasons.
"I am expected to beat it, as the only son," he frowned, stopping dead in the middle of the hallway.
Grinning at the self mocking remark, B'Elanna's seldom used caustic wit rose. "Looks like you're well on your way, Lieutenant. You can't be more than twenty five and have two gold pips on your collar already."
"I only got the second one today," he grinned, recognising her humour. "That's one promotion for every second year since I graduated. Now I have a month's furlough before joining my new ship as Chief pilot and second officer and no reason to avoid spending some of my leave with my family."
"Tough position to be in," B'Elanna agreed, holding in her mirth. It was far to close to her own situation, in reverse. She had nowhere to go, no career and only her engineering skills to recommend her to potential employers.
"I'll do you a deal, Cadet," he smiled in response to her teasing. "You give me a reason not to go home and I'll give you a hand moving out of your dorm room."
"What exactly does that entail, Lieutenant," B'Elanna requested, her emotions on edge, wondering if this experience had all been a ruse. A way to use her as other's had attempted in the past.
"Let's dump this box at my apartment, it's on campus and then go out for dinner," he suggested easily. Before she could protest, Tom Paris smirked and looked down into her warm chocolate eyes. They'd changed subtly over the course of their conversation. She was about to run, but he had the trump card. "When my dad calls in the morning, I can say I went out to dinner with a friend from the academy."
"What excuse will you use tomorrow night?" B'Elanna asked cautiously.
"Tomorrow is a whole day away," he grinned. "I'm sure something will come up by then. So, Ex-cadet, what do you say? Willing to brave my company so I can make up for spilling the contents of your life all over the floor?"
Nodding, B'Elanna fell into step beside him as they made their way out of the administration building and across a grassed area. Cadet Torres last official act had been to resign her position formally. She could guess why the man at her side had been required to enter. Quarters for service personnel were on the edge of the campus and apportioned from this location. The Lieutenant's temporary apartment, if it could truly be called that, was a single room, suitable for infrequent and expedient habitation.
"I know it's not much," Tom snickered at her reaction, placing her box on the couch. He'd seen many just like it on shore leave. The truth be told, it was better than Ensign's quarters, which were shared with another junior officer. Only once he'd reached Lieutenant junior grade was he allocated a private room.
"But you don't intend to be here all that often," B'Elanna retorted, crossing arms over her chest defensively. Small it might be, but he didn't need to share. Rooming with another cadet had been the bane of her existence.
"Nope," he responded. "I'm going to get out of this uniform, then we can explore the Wharf area. It's one of my all time favourites. We'll be able to catch the sunset over the water if we leave soon. I've missed that, being in space the last two and a half years."
Suddenly feeling apprehensive, B'Elanna wondered how to get out of this situation. Not that she had anywhere to go and little money to spare. Taking in a deep breath, she prepared to run. Only his smell hit her, as did the meaning of being able to distinguish an individuals sent.
I'm in trouble, B'Elanna suddenly panicked. The room felt constricting and she had to flee before he came near her.
"Hey," Tom felt the sudden change in atmosphere. "Look, if you want to leave, I won't stop you. You really are doing me a big favour by hanging around."
Caught, B'Elanna's eyes became round. She looked like a deer trapped in oncoming headlights. Her heart's pounded in her chest, she felt all three lungs on the verge of hyperventilating and her stomachs threatened to rebel.
"Crap," Tom swore under his breath. Rushing across the room, he grabbed her and hauled her to the couch. Placing her head between her knees helped with the rapid breathing. "You need to draw in slow breaths and exhale even more deliberately."
"What, you're a doctor now," B'Elanna heard the tension and fear in her tone.
"That would be my eldest sister," Tom teased easily. "You can't grow up in a household with a potential doctor and not learn a few things. That's it," he encouraged, "use that sardonic humour you've shown on me. I really don't mind being the but of your jokes, if it brings out a smile."
"Does anything except avoiding your family bother you?" B'Elanna fumed. She knew the question was neither fair nor appropriate the moment it exited her mouth.
Shrugging, he continued to watch her carefully, kneeling at her feet. A strange, puzzled look crossed his face, as if he was trying to figure her out. Giving up, he sat back on his heals.
"Does anything not bother you?" Tom parried. That brought B'Elanna's eyes up to meet his. "The real reason I asked you to share a meal," he confessed, "I didn't think you had anyone to turn to or anywhere to go. We're not so different, Cadet, for very different reasons."
"B'Elanna," she gulped, offering an olive branch. Not quite understanding why, she trusted this man. "My name is B'Elanna Torres."
"Tom Paris," he held out his hand. "It's nice to finally be introduced to you Ms. Torres. Now, how about you replicate something other than that uniform, on Starfleet of course, and we can get out of here. I'm sure I'm as eager to blow this place as you are."
Nodding, B'Elanna waited until he collected his clothing and disappeared into the apartments personal hygiene area, before shrugging out of her backpack. There was a dress she'd acquired in her first semester, when she'd been dating Max Burke. It was the dress she'd been going to wear the night she intended to let him seduce her. Only B'Elanna found out all the weeks of caution hadn't been for nothing. Max only wanted the bragging rights of being the first Cadet to bed a Klingon. If she'd had sex with him, it would have been all over campus the next day and B'Elanna would have felt completely humiliated. Since then, she'd ignored every overture, turned down one date after another and generally learnt to distrust the male population.
Closing her eyes and hating herself, B'Elanna knew that situation was about to change. Her Klingon half had caught his sent. He'd proven his strength and courage. So far, he seemed honourable. Tonight, she expected him to act as a perfect gentleman. So far, nothing in his demeanour gave her any apprehension.
It's me, she suddenly came to the blinding realisation, that's bothered by Tom. His sense of humour, his honesty and his smell. I've never been affected by anyone in such a Klingon way and I don't like it. It's hard enough having to fight myself day in and day out. Adding a sexual attraction into the mix is driving me mad. The last curse my mother hurtled at me, before I stepped on the transport for Earth, was not to get involved with a human male. Finally I understand the voracious appetite Klingon women have for sex. I just wonder if Tom realises what he's started.
AN:I'm not abve begging. Please tell me what you think. I'm hoping to finish his story before dealing with Moments in Time, which will take place in the moments afte A Wrinkle in Time and go through to Threshold. I have a very special idea for that episode, but more on that later.
I'm working on Acts of Courage. That story will be completely diffferent although with a Paris/Torres romantic undertone. It's taking a lot of research as I want to get some of the details correct, especially with regards to crew number, rank and roles. The importance will, eventually, I hope, com through in the story.