Author's note: My gift for RSB for the inaugural Deck Nine exchange. The prompt was: Tom makes B'Elanna a holodeck program. What is it? Why? Could take place any time during or after the series. Many thanks go to Sareki02 and Photogirl1890 for their always invaluable advice and editing skills! My stories would be much lower quality without their input.
This chapter makes references to season 1's The Cloud.
Newly reinstated Lieutenant (junior grade) Thomas Eugene Paris stared at the empty holodeck grid in consternation. Three weeks into their little "detour" to the Delta Quadrant, and he'd finally snagged his first two hour block of time to do whatever his heart desired. He'd been waiting his whole life to have free rein in one of these things - holodeck use by Academy cadets was strictly limited to academic research and physical training exercises, and entertainment wasn't exactly a priority on the Val Jean or at the penal colony.
But now that he had the holodeck, he didn't have a clue what to do with it. He'd started simple - a coffee shop in San Francisco that he'd frequented as a cadet. But one look around the eclectic but cozy interior nearly had him running for the door - too many memories of people he wasn't ready to think about. Next was Italy - when he was thirteen, he had spent a month at Lake Como with his parents and sisters. It was one of the last family vacations of which he had happy, uncomplicated memories. But, no, too many things he didn't want to dwell on there as well. He'd saved both programs, thinking he might want to take a look at them again sometime in the very distant future. Tonight, though, he just wanted to have some fun.
And then it hit him - Chez Sandrine! He'd wasted many an hour there during his physical training semester at the Academy, working on his pool game. After a lifetime of being paraded in front of Starfleet bigwigs and alien diplomats, the down and out nature of the little tavern had held a lot of appeal for a young cadet newly outside the sphere of his father's influence. He called up the interior of the building using Federation records, and looked around at his creation. Hmm. Granted, he'd been pretty inebriated the last time he'd been there, but the place was a lot… dingier than he remembered.
It didn't take long for Tom to jazz it up - he added well-polished wood accents to the walls, patched the torn felt on the pool table, adjusted the sconces to mimic soft candlelight. There still wasn't any life to the place, though. The real Sandrine's had a host of regulars (some more unsavory than others) as well as a continually changing population of cadets and university students that wanted an "authentic" (read "no synthehol") French experience. If the 'Fleeters didn't all think of him as a hopeless fuck-up, and the Maquis didn't think of him as a despicable traitor, he might have been able to invite some real people. But since that wasn't going to happen, photonic ones would have to do.
Within a few minutes, he had a variety of characters spread throughout the room - some stock holograms, some pool sharks on whom he could practice his rusty skills, and a few people he remembered from the real Sandrine's. Even the old proprietor Marthe was there. She had been nearly as run down as the original bar, unfortunately, and her interest in him when he had still been a relatively fresh-faced cadet had always creeped him out a little. So he'd cleaned her up as well, and rechristened her Sandrine. Pathetically, he programmed the whole lot to know and admire him. You are one sad sack, Paris.
In for a penny, in for a pound, was the next thing he decided - if he was going to sink so low as to program himself a bar full of friends, he might as well make himself a more… intimate companion. It had been a long year in prison, after all, and it's not like he'd gotten any during his brief stint in the Maquis, either. Besides, Sandrine's had that room upstairs - it would be a shame to let it go to waste.
And just like that, Voyager's computer produced him a date. She was a little generic looking, in Tom's opinion - a statuesque blonde with big blue eyes and curves in all the right places. Her skin looked soft, and her lips were full, but something about her expression was… cold. And it wasn't just that the ship hadn't given her a personality subroutine yet.
"Computer, reduce height by… ten centimeters. Shorten the hair. Make it around chin length, wavy, and dark brown - nearly black. And brown eyes, too." Tom circled the projection. Better, but not quite there yet. "Uh… alter the skin tone to more of an olive complexion. And I want an athletic build. Lean, but fit." Yes, this was definitely more of what he was looking for. But there was something just a bit off. Something about the forehead - it was too small, or too smooth, or… Oh. Shit.
Tom pursed his lips as he considered that he had just created a holographic all-human version of Voyager's brand spanking new Chief Engineer - a hologram he was planning on ravishing in very short order. There was no question B'Elanna Torres was an attractive woman, but apparently his subconscious found her even more fascinating than he realized. This was not a good idea. She'd broken Joe Carey's nose just for questioning her expertise. God only knew what she'd do to Tom Paris, universally loathed traitor, if she discovered this.
A few quick commands produced a suitable substitute - halfway between the original woman and his Torres' near-clone. A few more commands, and "Ricky" was helplessly, hopelessly, in lust with him. He felt a twinge of regret as he took the final version upstairs, half wishing he'd kept the previous iteration. But there was a reason it was strongly discouraged to make holographic versions of people you knew in "real" life - how awkward would the next briefing be if every time he looked at Torres he thought of this? It crossed his mind that he could bring the actual B'Elanna Torres here, but he laughed at himself before the thought could even finish forming. He was quite sure Voyager's Chief Engineer was more likely to go on a date with their hairy new cook before she'd even deign to give the Senior Conn Officer the time of day.
When he returned downstairs with his holo-date a respectable interval later, he felt strangely empty and unsatisfied. Clearly, it wasn't just physical companionship he was missing. He gave a deep sigh as he looked around the program. Nearly an hour left, and the truth was, he was ready to shut it back down. It just wasn't very enjoyable without someone, a real someone, to share it with. And it would likely be months, if not years, before any of the crew would be willing to be seen with him that way. But… maybe having at least a friend here would make it better.
"Computer - what's the current location of Ensign Harry Kim?"
A few days later, when hopelessly upbeat, naive Harry, (who stubbornly insisted on seeing the best in everyone - even wretched, cynical ex-cons), invited members of the crew to join them at Sandrine's - they came, much to Tom's surprise. The Captain had even shown up. And it had been fun. Even when Torres called him a pig. Of course, outwardly, he'd frowned and pretended offense. But what he'd really been thinking was: Lady, you don't know the half of it...