Chakotay to Paris.

Tom Paris moaned and reached over to where his comm badge sat on the bedside table. He slapped it irritably and snapped, "Paris here, what?" A split second after he said it, he thought he probably shouldn't have, but oh well.

Do you have any idea what time it is?

"Uh, too early?" He could hear muffled giggling in the background and he dropped his head back onto his pillow. "Tell me I'm not on bridge-wide?"

It's thirty minutes past the beginning of your shift, Lieutenant. You're late.

Janeway's voice. Yep, he was on bridge-wide. "I'll be right there, Paris out." Tom hopped out of bed and dressed quickly. This was the third time he'd overslept this week. Too many late nights with Harrry down at Sandrine's. Or with the Delaney sisters elsewhere. Chakotay had threatened to put him on report if it happened again. "Third strike, you're out, Paris," Tom quoted the first officer glumly as he pulled on his boots and charged out the door.

He ran smack into a young science crewman who was passing outside his door. They both tumbled to the ground. "Oh gosh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. Here, you okay?" he asked, getting up and extending his hand to help her to her feet. The pretty blonde gathered the padds she'd been carrying and pulled herself up.

"I'm fine, Lieutenant. Sorry about that." She smiled at him and walked on. Paris grinned and catalogued her face for later. He was free Saturday night. Maybe she'd like to accompany him to Sandrine's. But no time for that now, the bridge was waiting!

Tom got there in record time and assumed his station. "Sorry I'm late," he apologized. Janeway gave him a long-suffering smile and Chakotay fixed him with a look. But no one else commented and business proceeded as usual aboard the Starship Voyager.


Tom Paris manned his post until 1200. Nothing very interesting happened that day; they'd catalogued a few new stars, one anomaly, and bookmarked a nearby M-class planet for a possible resupplying point when they got close enough to it. He was relieved early because the Doctor had insisted that he come in for a follow-up appointment.

Three days ago, Tom had been involved in a minor accident while working on the Earhart, Voyager's aeroshuttle. The hangar had become flooded with chroniton radiation, but fortunately it seemed to have had no adverse affects on the ship or the pilot. But the Doctor wanted to make absolutely sure and Janeway had agreed that it was better safe than sorry.

As the EMH scanned him over with the medical tricorder, Tom chatted with Kes about everything under the sun. As expected, the Doctor proclaimed him fully healthy. Tom smiled in relief and hopped off the biobed. He bid farewell to the Doctor, who said a vague goodbye as he turned his attention to some vials on the table.

He waved goodbye to Kes and she waved back with a bright smile. But she stopped midwave and gave him a funny look. Tom turned back to her and asked, "Kes? What's wrong?" She shook her head absently. "Nothing. I just got a weird feeling... I don't know." Her smile came back and she gave an apologetic shrug. "I doesn't matter, I'm sorry." Tom shrugged and waved again on his way out the door.

Tom mentioned Kes' funny turn to Neelix when he stopped by the mess hall for lunch. The Talaxian handed his leola root stew across the counter and said, "You know Kes has some telepathic ability. Maybe she sensed something about you, something that'll happen soon."

"What, like dying?" Tom said sarcastically as he tucked in to his stew. When Neelix didn't immediately laugh or respond, Tom glanced up at him. The cook looked thoughtful. "Neelix? She can't do that, can she?"

"I don't know, Lieutenant. I just don't know."


After lunch, Tom did some fine-tuning on the Earhart's navigational controls until Harry Kim got off duty as well. Then they walked down to Sandrine's together. They were off to continue their ongoing pool tournament, which Harry was losing badly. Best out of thirty games, and so far the score was 15-5, Paris.

"I don't understand how you keep doing that," Kim muttered as Tom sank the eight ball in the left side pocket, winning their first game of the night. "You're ridiculous."

"Practice, Harry. Loads of practice," Tom smirked as he chalked his cue. Harry rolled his eyes and racked the balls for a second game. Tom heard a new batch of officers come through the doors and turned to see who they were. B'Elanna and Tuvok were among them and Tom waved them over. "Tuvok, B'Elanna! Join us. Championship game, what do you say? Harry's losing anyway." Kim made an annoyed noise, but made no move to disagree.

The engineer and the tactical officer agreed and the game commenced. Tuvok stated from the start that this game would not be all that difficult for him, as it was simple geometry. B'Elanna agreed. It's only vectors, how hard can it be? It proved to be more difficult than expected for Torres. She lost first to Tuvok, then to Harry, much to Tom's amusement and Torres' chagrin. Tom, of course, beat Harry, which meant that Tuvok and Tom were the last ones standing for the final challenge.

"The ball will start here," Tuvok predicted, pointing with one long finger, "ricochet off this end," he gestured to the far end of the pool table, "and the left side before knocking the fifteen ball into the left side pocket and coming to rest in the corner pocket." Tom laughed, because that was ridiculous, no one could call a shot like that.

Tuvok very calmly took up his cue, positioned himself, and knocked the cue ball into the thirteen ball, which followed the exact flight pattern Tuvok had delineated. Tom's jaw dropped. Tuvok said smugly, "I believe this makes me the champion, Mister Paris." Tom Paris, for once in his life, was speechless.


After that completely humiliating run at the pool table, Tom bowed out of the rest of the night in favor of maybe getting some decent sleep for the first time this week. When he entered his quarters, he had a message waiting for him. From Chakotay, he saw. Which meant that it was trouble. He opened it reluctantly and read the note. "You've gotta be kidding me!"

He ran out into hallway and ran right into the man himself. "Chakotay!" The Indian man raised an eyebrow at the angry outburst and Paris backed up. "Commander," he started again, more politely. "What is this?" He brandished the padd accusingly.

The first officer took it and glanced over it. "Oh. Your curfew." He made as if to go past Tom, but Paris stepped in his way.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Apparently you haven't been getting enough sleep lately. Making it mandatory for you to be in your quarters by a certain hour ensures you get plenty of rest." Chakotay smiled that annoying little smile that made Tom just want to clobber him.

"But a curfew? For crying out loud, Chakotay, I'm not twelve!"

"Then try acting like it!" Chakotay snapped, side-stepping around the conn officer and disappearing down the hall.

Seething and cursing to himself, Tom stalked back into his quarters. His instincts said to run, to get out of his quarters and do something crazy, just to prove to Chakotay that he didn't tell Thomas Eugene Paris when to go to bed. "You're not my father," Tom ground out at the door.

But his body had different ideas and Tom realized that yes, he really did need to get some sleep. So, grudgingly, he did just that. He got ready for bed and slipped between his sheets a good three hours earlier than he had on any other night that week. He settled contentedly and sighed. He'd get revenge on Chakotay tomorrow.


Chakotay to Paris.

"Huh?"