Summary: (Paris, Torres, Seska) Set during their first few months in the Delta Quadrant, B'Elanna has to separate fact from fiction with respect to Tom Paris. Rated PG-13
Author's Notes: This story was inspired by Delwin's VAMB Secret Summer 2015 prompt. However, she asked for a Harry story… and Harry just refused to get into this tale. So I put the halt on this one and regrouped, and wrote her The Buddy System, which is all Harry, all the time. But this is her bonus VAMB gift…
I have to acknowledge Dalaire's Guerdon for giving me reference points in the DMZ and her wonderful maps, which lead me to my own copy of the Star Trek Star Charts.
Also, I don't take a word of Pathways to be canon. Not. A. Word.
As usual, all the thanks go to RSB, Delwin, and Photogirl1890 for betaing. They make my thoughts actually something other people might actually like to read.
Revelations
Stardate 48411 – Between Caretaker and Parallax
"Where did all this crap come from?" Seska picked up a small sliver bowl from its place atop a pedestal. "This, for example. What the hell is this?" She held the bowl out towards B'Elanna, who snatched it away and put it back in its place.
"Who the hell knows? But I'm sure Starfleet will want a full accounting of all this crap, so I'm trying to not mess it up and keep the plants alive."
"Well, you've always been good with plants."
B'Elanna sighed as she watched Seska wander around her room, seeming to memorize every detail. I guess this is my home… for now.
Her first glimpse at her new 'home' had occurred twelve hours after the Val Jean had been destroyed. B'Elanna had found herself standing in these quarters, her meager possessions stuffed in a bag slung over her shoulder. She'd set the duffle, her 'bug out bag,' on the bed, slowly removing the contents. On top was Toby, the last thing she'd put in there. She pulled him out and looked into his scratched, plastic eyes. Long ago she had made it a habit to place him in the bag every morning. Just in case she had to leave in a hurry.
It was paying off right now.
After setting him on the pillow, she had reached back into the bag and pulled out her change of clothes and a set of night clothes. She stowed them in the dresser, making a mental note to restock the bag once she could replicate more clothes.
That had only left two items in the small bag. She picked them up, both slightly faded pictures in simple frames. One was of her grandmother, her father's mother. It had been taken in the older woman's kitchen. Grandma was standing behind her, her arms draped around B'Elanna's shoulders. Their heads were right next to each other, and B'Elanna could see the faint resemblance she bore to the older woman… if you didn't focus on the ridges.
The other photo was of B'Elanna and her parents, before the divorce. They were in a park, surrounded by the greens and browns of Kessik. Her father's arm held her mother close. B'Elanna, only about three, was distracted and not looking at the camera. She was much more fascinated by the toy in her hand.
She had placed the photos back into the bag and, after a moment, Toby too. Who knew when she would need to leave in a hurry again?
"My quarters didn't come with crap, just furniture." Seska's words snapped B'Elanna back into the present.
"I think mine were supposed to be guest quarters. There was a PADD with a 'Welcome to the Starship Voyager: Please Enjoy Your Stay' brochure on the table when I first got here. I don't think the Starfleet crew has a twisted enough sense of humor to do that on purpose."
Seska laughed. "No, only Chakotay is that twisted. Could you imagine if our ship had been the one to survive? He would have been one hundred percent behind making a 'Welcome to the Val Jean' brochure."
B'Elanna snorted and began quoting the imaginary document. "'Don't worry about that smell, it just means that Chell has clogged the latrine on C-deck… again.'"
Seska snickered. "Prophets, these Starfleet types would not have lasted a day on our ship. They would have been lost without their replicators and holodecks…" She suddenly paused, her eye catching something. "Is that a tea set?" she asked as she approached the shelf that lined the wall.
B'Elanna nodded. "It is. Just in case we have an urgent need for tea, I guess."
Seska picked up one of the cups. "This useless crap isn't even secured! The first time we're attacked, it's all going to go flying."
B'Elanna shrugged. "I wonder if when it breaks, I'll need to requisition a new decorative tea set."
Seska shook her head, setting the cup back down. "These people. Anyway, ready for dinner?"
"Sure, let's go make good use of the replicators while we still have the energy."
B'Elanna headed out of her quarters, Seska on her heels. "What do you mean by that?" the older woman asked.
B'Elanna grimaced. She had been assigned to Engineering about a day after she had gotten her quarters. Chakotay had come by and handed her a PADD, stating that she would hold the rank of 'crewman' and have a yet to be determined position in Engineering. It also held the specifications for the uniform she would need to replicate.
She had stared at the PADD, looking at the ugly yellow and black uniform. The day she had left the academy she thought she had left all this bullshit behind. The rules, the regulations… the uncomfortable and unflattering uniforms.
But no. She had now spent two duty shifts in Engineering being talked down to by Lieutenant Carey. He had treated all the Maquis engineers like they didn't know a plasma regulator from a self-sealing stembolt. But it was clear to B'Elanna the man had never had to 'make do' in his life, and as a result was still running the ship like he could just comm the quartermaster the next time they needed a spare part.
B'Elanna turned half around to answer Seska's question. "It's just that once that idiot Carey accepts what I've been telling him about the power grid, we're going to have to start turning off nonessentials. I'd say he's going to finally see the effects of the problem in just a matter of days."
Seska furrowed her brow. As they reached the lift she reached out for the call button. "Maybe I'm glad I didn't get assigned to Engineering."
"Well, we could use some actual engineers down there..." The lift arrived and they stepped in. "Mess hall's on the second deck, right?" B'Elanna asked.
"I think so. Computer, deck two."
As the lift began to move, B'Elanna leaned against the wall, tugging at her collar. "I hate this stupid uniform. Whoever thought that turtlenecks were a good idea should be drug out into the street and shot."
"In a turtleneck." Seska replied, waggling her eyebrows. B'Elanna chuckled as the door to the lift opened. Seska continued. "Seventy fucking years on this ship in a turtleneck… Prophets save me."
"And me, while they're at it."
The pair was laughing when they entered the Mess hall and made their way over to the replicators. B'Elanna still wasn't completely used to having access to one of these again. On the Maquis ship they'd had mostly rations and sometimes some fresh food they cooked in the galley. But the replicator had been for parts only… and water when things got really bad.
Her first day on the ship she had found herself paralyzed by indecision. There were thousands of options. She could have probably spent a week just scrolling through them. After five minutes of just standing there, staring at the replicator, she had grown frustrated. What the hell was wrong with her? So she had closed her eyes and took a deep breath… and the pictures she had just been looking at floated to the surface of her conscious thoughts. She was seven again, wrapped in her grandma's arms, the smell of pancakes filling her nose. She could almost feel a light kiss on her cheek. The peace that the woman had always brought to her had momentarily returned and B'Elanna had known what she would eat: banana pancakes.
Since then, B'Elanna had taken a new approach to the replicator. She would close her eyes, take a breath, and then choose the first thing she thought of. Today that was… a turkey sandwich. She shrugged. Evidently her subconscious was not too adventurous at the moment.
Retrieving her meal, she looked over at Seska's hasperat. Sometimes the woman was literally a walking Bajoran stereotype. B'Elanna was scanning the crowded mess hall to see who they could sit with when she heard her 'name'.
"Hey, Maquis! We've got a seat here!" Harry Kim called out.
"Maquis?" Seska repeated in a harsh whisper.
B'Elanna shook her head. "It's fine. Come on." As they approached Harry's table, B'Elanna noticed a tall blond man sat in the seat across from Harry, a piece of pizza on his plate. B'Elanna had seen him around but didn't really know him. She vaguely recalled that he had been made chief conn officer.
"Well, Harry, I'm not confident about this pizza, but…" He glanced up as they approached. "Oh. Hello, Seska," he said, the derision clear in his voice.
"Paris."
There was a pause as Seska and Paris exchanged an icy stare. B'Elanna looked over at Harry, who shared her confused expression.
"You know, I think I'm going to sit over at that table that just opened up. Come on, B'Elanna."
As Seska walked off, B'Elanna gave an apologetic shrug. "Maybe next time, Starfleet?"
"Yeah, next time."
B'Elanna turned and hurried over to the table Seska was already sitting at. "That was rude," she said, setting down her tray and taking her seat.
Seska eyed B'Elanna for a moment. "Oh, you don't know about Paris, do you?"
B'Elanna furrowed her eyebrows. "What do you mean, 'know about Paris'?"
A grin crossed Seska's face and her eyes flickered over to the blond man before returning to B'Elanna. She leaned forward, and whispered conspiratorially, "Well, it was a couple of months before you joined the Maquis. Chakotay picked him up in a bar on Podala. He was supposed to be some kind of fantastic pilot, but all I know is he was drunk off his ass when he first came on board."
Seska paused as she took a bite of her food, so B'Elanna cut in. "Well, he must be an okay pilot, they just made him chief conn officer, after all."
Seska sneered. "It's probably just because his daddy is an admiral. You know how these Starfleet types are. Anyway, the man was a total pig. You have no idea what it was like being stuck on a ship with him. He tried to sleep with everyone that had breasts… and a couple who didn't. And he would not stop antagonizing Chakotay."
"Really?" B'Elanna asked, casting a look back over at Harry and Paris. They were both leaning forward on the table, quietly discussing something.
"Yeah. So I told Chakotay to get rid of him. That I was sick of how disrespectful he was of our cause. But Chakotay was hesitant. He was still stuck on the idea that he was an amazing pilot. But after another week of his antics, he agreed that we could all use a break from Paris. So Chakotay brought us back to the base at Nivoch and sent Paris out to get supplies."
Seska took another bite of her food and leaned in closer. "And surprise, surprise, a Starfleet ship was basically waiting for him as soon as he crossed the border. Tell me that's not coincidence."
B'Elanna slowly chewed her sandwich and mulled the story over. "You think he was a spy the whole time?"
Seska shrugged. "I don't know. All I know is he never believed in our cause. If he wasn't working for Starfleet, he was just in it so he could pay off his bar bills. And I don't know which is worse."
B'Elanna didn't know which was worse either. She'd risked everything for that cause. The thought that she might have sacrificed herself for someone like that, made her a little sick to her stomach.
Why is Harry befriending that man?
=/\=
Stardate 48678 – Between State of Flux and Heroes and Demons
"So, it'll be about an hour until they can come and get us."
B'Elanna grunted in acknowledgment, her focus still trained on the matter injector in her hand. About an hour ago, the shuttle had suddenly shuddered and then dropped out of warp. While Paris had sent a distress call to Voyager, B'Elanna had started tracking down the problem. A quick set of diagnostics had led her to the matter injection system.
Within forty-five minutes she had the system strewn about her on the floor, trying to locate exactly why it had stopped functioning. Paris had busied himself trying to get in contact with the ship and looking for a place to hide themselves until either Voyager could pick them up… or B'Elanna got the engines working again.
In any case, their quest for trilithium was effectively put to an end.
A shuffling sound came from the direction of the helm. "So, have you fixed the problem?"
Does it look like I've fixed it? "I've tracked it down to the matter injector. I think it's clogged, but shuttles aren't stocked with the tool I need to unclog it."
"Why aren't they?"
B'Elanna sighed. Now that Paris had made contact with the ship and set them down on a moon that would effectively hide them, it looked like his attention was now squarely focused on her and her engines.
"Because typically these things don't clog. That is, if you have a dependable deuterium supply, which Starfleet does. I'm guessing the deuterium we got wasn't pure, and that's why it clogged."
Tom nodded. "So maybe we should start carrying… injector decloggers on shuttles?"
B'Elanna slowly raised her head, meeting his eyes. "They aren't called 'injector decloggers'."
Tom sat back, crossing his arms. "Well, then what are they called, Lieutenant?"
B'Elanna narrowed her eyes. "Flush resonators."
She turned her attention back to the device she had crafted out of spare parts and a phaser. The idea was that if she could jury-rig a flush resonator, maybe she could shake loose whatever was clogging the injector and they could get back to work.
"So, if you can't fix the problem, what are you doing?"
"I'm evidently playing a game of twenty questions," she snapped, as she placed the injector in the middle of her assemblage of parts.
"Hey, I just need to know what's going on. I am the ranking officer here."
B'Elanna's head snapped up. She was a bit surprised by Paris' tone. He was typically so… flippant. So to hear him take a serious tone... it was strange. But that didn't mean B'Elanna liked being talked to like that. Especially by him. "Well, sir, I'm trying to build my own 'injector declogger thingy'."
Paris chuckled.
And now we're back to flippant.
"When we write the memo to the captain about including these things on the shuttles from now on, can we called them 'injector declogger thingys'?" Paris' snickering increased with each word he spoke, reaching a full laugh by the time he was done.
And despite herself, B'Elanna found she was smiling as well. "You can include whatever you want in your memo, just don't sign my name to it."
Paris was still laughing as B'Elanna turned her attention back to her work. All she had to do was turn on the rigged resonator, then reassemble the injector assembly, and then see if the computer's diagnostic would allow her to turn back on the engines.
Easy. They'd be back underway in no time.
She connected the final two wires and hoped for the best.
But what she got was an ear piercing whine, followed by the injector starting to rattle around, first subtly, and then more intensely, before it flew across the cockpit in the direction of Paris. B'Elanna yanked the wires apart and spun around, taking in the wide eyes of one Lieutenant Paris.
"I'm guessing it wasn't supposed to do that," he said, gently rubbing his ears.
"No." What had just happened? Maybe the waves from the resonator had been out of phase and she had inadvertently created constructive interference. Maybe if she separated the source and the receiver more…
"Uh, Torres?"
She looked up. Paris was standing above her, the injector proffered in his hand. "I think it's cracked now."
She snatched it away from him. There was indeed a long crack now running down the side of it, either from her resonator or the injector's impact with the wall. She huffed and launched the now damaged beyond repair part across the shuttle, enjoying the 'thunk' it made when it came in contact with the bulkhead.
Tom had returned to his station and sat down. "You know," Tom began, "we could also keep spare injectors on the shuttles."
B'Elanna, still on the floor, leaned against the nearest wall. "I could really do without you telling me how to do my job right now."
"What do you mean, 'your job'? The shuttle was stocked to regs. You couldn't foresee this."
"But I should have!" B'Elanna slammed her fists into the deck. "The captain made me chief engineer instead of Carey because I was used to improvising and living on the edge. We got bad deuterium all the time on the Val Jean. I always had problems with the injectors. I should have changed the shuttle stocking guidelines!"
B'Elanna took a deep breath. Calm down! she scolded herself. Paris was still sitting there, looking slightly off put by her sudden outburst.
Well, you just got your first taste of B'Elanna Torres.
B'Elanna knew how she came off. This was the first time she had been in close quarters with Paris for an extended period of time. She had eaten a few meals with him… but that was because of Harry. Harry liked Paris and B'Elanna liked Harry… thus she had ended up in the occasional social situation with the two of them. But if she was perfectly honest with herself, she never let her guard down around Paris. Seska's words about the pilot would bounce around her head whenever they were together.
Seska.
Just the thought of that name made her feel sick. Why did B'Elanna still have doubts based on some crap a Cardassian spy once told her? Paris had never been anything less than a decent officer… well, outside that incident on Banea. And the creeps he'd created for the Sandrine's program…
"I understand."
The words snapped her out of her thoughts. "What?"
Paris shrugged his shoulders. "I understand feeling like you always have to prove yourself. I mean, I didn't exactly get this job based on my exemplary service in Starfleet."
Maybe he does understand. B'Elanna busied herself dismantling the makeshift flush resonator. Why did Paris leave Starfleet? What happened during his short stint with the Maquis? Was he the person that Seska had described?
Well, we still have at least half an hour to kill... "Can you tell me what happened?"
Paris' chair creaked as he spun around. "What?"
"I… I've just heard rumors about why you left Starfleet. And what happened in the Maquis." She placed the phaser back in the weapons locker before facing Tom. "I'd just like to hear it from you. I mean, not that you have to tell me. You barely know me, after all."
She half expected Tom to tell her to mind her own business. That's what she would have done, after all. But when she glanced up at him, she recognized the sad expression of one lost in unpleasant memories.
She knew that face all too well.
"No, I can tell you. Although I'm sure you've heard most of it already." Paris kicked his feet up onto his console and leaned back. "Well, it was about two years after I graduated from the Academy. I had just made Lieutenant and everything seemed to be going my way. But then…" he paused, and purposely looked away from her. "I crashed a shuttle. And the three other officers on board... Well, when my commanding officer asked me for my report as to what happened, I lied. I blamed the whole thing on one of those officers I had just killed."
B'Elanna looked up at that. She had heard this part, that he had killed people and lied about it. So at least that much was true.
"So, I was in the clear. But… it was my fault. And I couldn't live with myself. My conscience ate at me day and night… until I had to confess. Of course, if I had just told the truth in the first place… maybe things would have been different." Tom paused for a moment, and B'Elanna could have sworn she heard his voice catch. "But because I lied… well, let's just say they don't take the fact that your conscience eventually made you tell the truth into account much. And nothing was going to bring them back."
She had never heard the part where he turned himself in… I suppose that doesn't make for good gossip.
Paris had still not continued speaking. Needing to fill the silence, B'Elanna asked the obvious. "So, that's when they kicked you out?"
"Wouldn't you?"
B'Elanna thought about it a moment. "Yeah, probably. But… we all fuck up."
Paris let out a harsh laugh. "Well, I wasn't done fucking my life up."
B'Elanna stowed away the last parts of her failed apparatus. "You view the Maquis as part of your fuck ups?" She knew a defensive note had crept into her voice.
Evidently he heard it too. "No, not the Maquis themselves…" he backpedaled. "I mean… Look, it turns out that after you've killed three people and lied about it… just confessing doesn't fix everything." Paris rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I was drinking a lot then. So, for most of my time with the Maquis… I wasn't myself. I was a drunken asshole. I…" He bit at his lip. "I didn't know how to deal with everything. So whatever you heard about me back then was probably true."
So Seska had been at least partially telling the truth?
Having taken a seat back at her station, B'Elanna rested her feet on the edge of the console, her knees tucked up towards her chest. She chose her next words carefully. "But… you weren't a spy for Starfleet."
A loud guffaw erupted from Paris. "A spy for Starfleet!? Where did you hear that one?"
B'Elanna really didn't want to reveal Seska as her source. "I just heard that when you crossed the border back into the Federation, a Starfleet ship was waiting for you."
Tom paused. "Well, that's partially true. What actually happened was I was chased across the border by a Galor-class warship. Even once I crossed into Federation territory, they were still hot on my trail. So I looked for the nearest Starfleet ship, because, well, Federation prison sounded better than a Cardassian internment camp."
B'Elanna couldn't really argue with that. But that didn't really explain everything. "If you weren't a spy, then why the hell did you decide to help Voyager find us?"
Paris blew a long breath out of his lips. He momentarily met her eyes. "B'Elanna… Have you ever been in prison?"
The question caught her off guard. She'd once ended up in 'the drunk tank' after having gotten in the middle of a brawl. But she knew that wasn't what he meant. "No."
He looked away from her again, staring out at the stars. "I was sentenced to eighteen months. I was fourteen months in when Captain Janeway approached me, saying that if I helped her out, that maybe I could get out early." He paused, picking imaginary lint from his pants. "It wasn't that the penal colony was terrible. I mean, it's the Federation after all. But…" He paused, and turned to face her. "I needed to be free."
"At the cost of my freedom." The words were out of B'Elanna's mouth before she could stop them.
"Yeah… I…" he paused, but maintained eye contact. "I'm sorry."
It hit her, just how bad a judge of character she could be sometimes. She had believed everything Seska had to say… about everything. That fucking Cardassian had won her over years ago, with her silver tongue, always telling B'Elanna just what she wanted to hear. She remembered how Harry had questioned Seska, particularly after she had been so rude to Tom. Harry saw through her in an instant. And Harry saw the good in Tom.
Here Tom was, trying to turn his life around, being open and honest with her… while she hadn't even given him a decent chance to prove himself. It was time to change that.
"Like I said, we all fuck up."
Tom let out a wry snort. "And I'm the master. So… that's it. That was my life before Voyager. As you can see, I'm basically the only person who is thankful that we were tossed out here."
B'Elanna shook her head slightly. "No… some days I'm thankful too."
"You are?"
She nodded, slightly. "I feel guilty for abandoning the Maquis, when things are still so bad. But… there was a point in my life when I dreamed of being in charge of the engine room on a Starfleet ship." She smirked slightly. "And now I am."
Tom smiled at her. "You are, and you're damn good at it."
"You're not too shabby of a pilot, Tom."
"Flattery will get you everywhere, Lieutenant."
B'Elanna rolled her eyes, the moment broken by Tom's flippant comment. She glanced at the time. Still at least another twenty minutes until Voyager would pick them up.
"So, you want to play cards?" Tom had evidently also felt the end of the moment. "Gin, maybe?"
"I don't know how to play that game," she confessed.
"Don't worry," Tom smiled as he rose and headed to the replicator. "I'll teach you."
Fin