A Slice of Diversion
C/P, AU-ish, PG-13 (Jul '03)
With a frustrated sigh, he dropped the padd back onto his chest.
He stared at the gray ceiling above him, at the gray wall in front of him, and tried to stretch his legs on the not so comfortable bunk. Starfleet brigs weren't exactly built for luxury though, so he pulled his legs up to fit them easier, and sighed despondently again.
The weight of the data padd on his chest was a reminder of the promise he'd made to Harry earlier. The promise that he would finish the letter he had started, that he wouldn't give up. Yet, the painful recollections the forced isolation brought forward forced him to close his eyes in denial and heave in another stifling ragged breath.
What was Harry kidding about? Tom knew it was no use trying to explain the situation to the Admiral. No amount of one-sided communication via the data stream would help this relationship. His father...simply had never understood why Tom felt the way he did.
He'd never tried to.
How could he explain in a letter while sitting in Voyager's brig 40,000 light years away from Earth, something he had failed at when he was living in the same house with the man?
How could he explain what the sea, the water, and the exhilarating, breathtaking moistness of the air did to him?
Maybe you could blame it on the sand, his brain sputtered.
Tom felt a rueful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Oh yeah, the sand. He surely had been fixated on it for a long, long time, hadn't he?
He opened his eyes a crack and turned his head to look through the shimmering forcefield that served as the barrier between him and the rest of the galaxy-a constant reminder of his current predicament. The lone security officer, Ensign Gennaro this time, was sitting at his post, leaning against his console, and leisurely reading something from a padd in his hand-apparently oblivious to his charge inside. It seemed it was down time even for Tuvok's guys. Tom turned his eyes back to the ceiling and closing his eyes and breathing slowly, reluctantly allowed his mind to bring the mental vid screen on.
Yes, he could still remember the sand. Could still remember how it would slip through his small, excited fingers as he threw fistfuls at his sisters, both older and bossier, and then dive, giggling, into the same to evade the airy missiles they threw at him in revenge.
Or how the level of dampness in a mound helped achieve just the right consistency when building magnificent sandcastles at the beach.
Or how it smelled so fragrant and wonderful-like soil dampened by lazy drizzles of rain-as the waves surged forth and retreated with the call of the winds and bubbly froth lapped happily at his bare feet.
The fine slippery soft granules of sand, so familiar, so comforting, on those long solitary treks along the shores, as he sought out slick, exquisitely shaped starfish and comb jellies, and then sat for hours looking at the strange, beautiful animals.
His first realization that it was the water not the sand that fascinated him hit when he went sailing for the first time.
He had grown up reading the myths and stories of sea ship captains all throughout his childhood, but his first chance to try it out for real came when he joined the Academy. His path was already chosen. He knew Starfleet was to be his destiny; the Admiral had made it clear many years before that the sea was not to be his life. But that didn't matter to Tom. If it couldn't be his life, it would be his passion.
His first year buddies had planned a fortnight of white-water rafting at Tuolumne during their first semester break. There was a scattering of well-placed nude beaches all around the area and being seventeen and full of hormones, Tom was more than excited to check them out. Everything was going just as planned until one weekend when the guys decided to take a detour and ended up on a sailing trip around the eroded cliffs and sea caves of Anacapa's small beautiful island.
That's where Tom fell in love with the sails.
The serenity of the gently rising and falling waves. The diving and ascending clusters of seagulls. The smooth sailing of the boat, which though aided by modern navigation equipment still made him feel closer to the sea than anything else.
From that point on, he came back to the sport every weekend, and by the end of the year, he was as good at it as he was ever going to be. His sailing never interfered with his flying. The Admiral was right. Flying was his life. But sailing brought him pleasure of a completely different kind. Where flying filled him with boundless energy and soaring exhilaration, sailing brought him peace.
The shuttle accident which stripped him of his uniform, and his brief stint with the Maquis which put him into prison, robbed him of any possible opportunity to revisit that peace again. It seemed the Delta Quadrant didn't have the magnificent oceans that Earth had, or if so he hadn't seen them. Voyager had no time for recreation. Captain Janeway was on a personal quest to reach home at all costs, and as quickly as possible.
Tom opened his eyes and stared at the bleak gray ceiling again. Well, that wasn't entirely true, was it? They had taken shore leave on a lush green planet only two months ago. The reason he couldn't remember too many positive things about that particular vacation was because he had had another major fallout with B'Elanna over her engines, and that had soured his mood. Even the sight of the swimming trunks-clad muscular backside of the First Officer diving into the clear blue lake hadn't saved his mood completely. In fact, if he remembered correctly, it had only served to make him more frustrated than before.
Damn. If Chakotay had known he was thinking of anyone other than B'Elanna, he would've throttled him. Tom knew how protective the commander was of the half-Klingon. He wouldn't have stopped to ask who it was Tom was secretly fantasizing about; he would've just grabbed his neck and kicked his shins. Repeatedly.
Tom shook his head in regret. Peace. That's all he'd wanted.
Monea had reminded him of that peace.
Here they were, five years into their journey into the Delta Quadrant, with him not having seen even a single damn M-class planet with a decent sized water body a la the good old Earth's Pacific Ocean, when they come across this giant ball of water floating in space. It was immense, it was unbelievable, and it was majestically beautiful.
Tom was enamored. He knew others would probably think him crazy for falling in love with a floating ocean in space, but he didn't care. From where he was sitting, they were all missing out on something deeply important, just like the Admiral had. He was proud of what he'd done, even if it had gotten him in the brig, and he knew he would do it again if the need arose.
His stomach growled and that brought him out of his reverie. Where the hell was Neelix? The brig had no chronometer, and his voice commands were disabled so he couldn't ask the computer for the time, but his internal body clock told him it was way past lunch. What was going on? Had the captain ordered Neelix to torture Tom further by delaying the delivery of food as well, on top of keeping leola root stew as the sole item on the menu? God, two weeks of eating that bitter pulp of culinary displeasure had numbed his taste buds to near paralysis.
Tom picked up the padd and stared at it, then turned his head to look outside the forcefield again, and nearly dropped the padd on the floor in surprise.
Ensign Gennaro was no longer at his post. Instead, in front of the security console, now stood the civvies-clad, arms-folded-on-the-chest figure of nonchalant First Officer.
Tom blinked once, and then blinked again, to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him by showing him the delusional visions of one who had been in his thoughts only a few minutes ago. When his eyes refocused, the vision was still there and now had a hint of a self-satisfied half-grin on the corners of those full lips. Tom frowned and carefully sat up on the bunk. Why was Chakotay smiling? As soon as the thought crossed his mind, the grin vanished and the First Officer's expression smoothed out, leaving only the nonchalance behind.
"Uh, Commander?" Tom queried.
"Paris." The Commander nodded at him.
Tom nodded back through the barrier. "Where's Gennaro?"
The First Officer stepped up to the panel outside the threshold and punched a code, and Tom watched as the forcefield winked out. "I asked him to wait outside for a while."
Tom's mind puzzled over what the man was doing here. This was the first time he was seeing his CO in the last sixteen days since he had been confined to the brig. He stared as the commander stepped into the brig. "Um, why?"
"It's lunch time, Tom." Chakotay looked down at him, a slight smile on his face. "I hate having a chat with someone while Security records every word of my conversation as if I am planning a mutiny."
Tom raised his eyebrows and stared at the commander with suspicion. Chat? Why did Chakotay want to have a chat with him? He flicked a finger in the direction of the security camera placed at the far right corner of the cell. "It seems you forgot one pertinent detail, Commander."
The First Officer shook his head. "It seems you underestimate me, Mr. Paris. I cleared all with our Chief of Security as well."
Tom's eyes widened further. Tuvok was in on this? Whatever the heck 'this' was. Was Chakotay here on official business? Were the off-duty clothes just a deception? His eyes went up and down the long-sleeved white shirt and close-fitting dark pants his CO had donned and an embarrassing flutter started in his stomach.
Yessir, such a nice attractive deception too, his brain muttered in vain.
Shut up, Tom silently told the brain.
He marveled at his ability to not show any outward sign of discomfort at his disconcerting mental battle, but his eyes narrowed at the close scrutiny he was getting from Chakotay. His superior officer was looking at him closely, a speculative look in his eyes as he watched the mask slip back on Tom's face, and Tom swallowed as Chakotay leaned forward, almost conspiratorially, and whispered into his ear.
"Hungry, Tom?"
Tom blinked, slightly bewildered by the commander's decidedly strange behavior. "Uh, yeah." Why was Chakotay asking whether he was hungry or not? What had he planned with Tuvok? And where the hell was Neelix with his lunch? God, he was starving.
"Good." Chakotay smiled and pulled out a padd and another small object from his pants pocket. He pressed a few panels on the padd and leaned down. "Move over," he told Tom, and as the pilot shifted on the bunk, Chakotay placed the object on the cleared space. Tom realized it was a tiny data chip, and as he watched, the commander punched another button on his padd and with the familiar whine of the internal transporters, an object shimmered on top of the chip.
Tom blinked as he stared at the large-size round-shaped serving dish covered with a shiny round raised lid. A strangely familiar feeling hit him and he raised his eyes to look at his commanding officer.
"Chakotay?"
"Open it." Chakotay urged him with a nod.
Tom removed the lid and was immediately assaulted by the deliciously nostalgic, gut-wrenching aroma wafting up from the large cheese encrusted pizza. He stared incredulously at the spectacle and even as his stomach growled in sympathy, he looked back up at his commanding officer with a questioning expression, his hunger momentarily forgotten.
"Commander?"
Chakotay smiled at him. "Neelix told me when I went to get lunch that you were asking for pizza. I thought you deserved a break from leola root."
So had the captain decided to loosen the noose around his neck, or was the commander countermanding her orders behind her back now? Chakotay must have seen the doubt in his eyes because he held Tom's gaze for a long moment and then threw a light grin in his direction.
"I consider it my duty as the First Officer to make sure our Chief Pilot doesn't go nuts eating only leola root for the whole month he's stuck in the brig." Chakotay kept his tone easy, trying to make light of the situation, as he sat down on the edge of the bunk next to the pizza tray. "It would be no good to have a half-crazed pilot return to the helm, now would it?"
"You didn't have to, y'know." Tom couldn't help but feel his insides turn warm suddenly. Damn, it was just a pizza. Why then was his throat tightening all of a sudden? He blinked and resisted the urge to break the hold those brown eyes had on his to look down at his toes. But it wasn't just the pizza, a voice said inside his head. Yes, the pizza was a great gesture, but it was the first time someone had reminded him he was still the Chief Pilot on the ship.
"Yes, I know." Chakotay seemed to sense the change in his mood and frowned at him, waving impatiently at the pizza. "Are you going to eat this now or are you going to let this absolutely mouthwatering masterpiece, that I programmed especially for you, get cold and go to waste? I thought you were hungry," he demanded in mock-accusation.
That seemed to rouse Tom out of his sappy mood.
"A masterpiece, huh? Well, let's see." He grinned at his superior as he picked up a large slice of the pizza and took a deliberate bite. As his teeth sank into the crispy thin crust, and the taste of the melted cheese, the pepperoni, and the olives broke onto his taste buds, his eyelids fluttered shut in bliss. Oh yes. It was the most heavenly combination of tomatoes, green peppers, mushrooms, and curling-at-the-center wafer crisp crust he'd ever tasted in his life. And as he chewed and swallowed a large portion of the crispy chicken and sausages set between sheets of browned cheese, he found it impossible to stop an appreciative hum from escaping his throat.
"God, this is great. Where did you come up with this recipe?" He sighed as he reached for another piece but when he looked up at Chakotay, he realized the commander was again watching him closely. He stopped halfway through. "What? Aren't you gonna have any?" he asked.
Tom watched as Chakotay blinked and seemed to come out of some deep entanglement of inner thought-though whatever he was thinking must have been really pleasant, if the openly content smile on his face was any indication.
"What?" The commander looked at him. "Oh no. I've already had Neelix's equivalent of mushroom soup in the messhall." A wistful look passed across his face. "He didn't quite get the taste and consistency right though."
"Then have some of this," Tom offered gallantly, as he crunched on another wholesome, cheesy slice.
"I can't, Tom." Chakotay grinned. "It has meat."
That stopped Tom again, this time in mid-bite. "Oh. Then why did you replicate one with meat? I can eat vegetarian too."
"But you prefer the one with meat." Chakotay shrugged. "I checked your replicator records. Chicken and salami with mushrooms and a smattering of beef sausage slices."
Tom resumed his chewing and swallowed his bite. "Oh yeah, I almost missed the salami. It's nearly hidden inside the mountains of mozzarella." He smiled. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," Chakotay replied. "As I said, you prefer meat, and this was for you."
"Well, if you aren't gonna have any, don't mind if I glut on this totally and completely." Tom leered at the pizza.
The only answer he got was a low chuckle as Chakotay settled himself comfortably against the wall, and turned his attention to the padd in his hand, letting Tom do as he pleased.
The pizza was so good that it almost distracted Tom from thinking too much about the circumstances that had brought it onto his table-or brig bunk, to be exact. It wasn't until he was more than halfway through the dish, and the fire of hunger in his stomach was more or less doused, that he allowed himself to think of what was happening.
As he ate, he threw furtive glances in the older man's direction and found him deep in thought-dark eyes fixed on the data padd, strong thumb scrolling the text on the display by quick flicks on the panel-but relaxed at the same time. There was a comfortable air about the man; no worry lines marred his smooth skin, and no frown detracted from his peaceful aura. Tom knew all about how it usually went with Chakotay. He had seen the commander stressed out way too many times in the last few years and had developed a silent link that let him stay tuned to the man's many moods. To others the commander may have seemed composed at all times, but Tom could tell when he was tense and when he was not.
Then again, most others hadn't perfected the art of getting under Chakotay's skin as thoroughly as Tom had.
He thought about why Chakotay had shown him this much-craved gesture of compassion at this point. It was so damn timely. He knew he was going nearly crazy being holed up like this. He was so mad at everyone: at the captain for having such tunnel vision that she refused to look at anyone else's point of view, at Chakotay for not even having enough faith in him to argue the reasons for his incarceration with her, at B'Elanna for showing up to see him only three times in the last sixteen days, and then running off within ten minutes to tend to her precious engines, and at Harry for forcing him to face the issues with the Admiral when he clearly wasn't ready for that.
Finally, he was angry with himself for being such a complete fuck up that he had to take every good thing that happened in his life and botch it. He was pissed off at the whole damned quadrant and he didn't know how to let them all know what he really thought of them. And just when he was this close to losing it all, when he thought he was going to absolutely explode, here comes Chakotay to open the lid of his coffin a crack, just so a little more oxygen could sneak through.
Just so he wouldn't totally suffocate in this stifling confinement.
Tom looked at Chakotay again and wondered what Tuvok's part was in all this. What kind of game were they all playing? Were they keeping tabs on him through the security camera? Was the Doc writing papers on psychological behaviors of demoted former lieutenants who got thrown into the brig for insubordination? He had so many questions that he needed answered, but he realized he didn't have the strength to lay them down in front of anyone right now. Especially not in front of the man who had just gone out of his way to bring him comfort food while he was in the brig as a show of goodwill.
Instead, Tom took what he thought was the easier way out by broaching a subject that seemed safer.
"You didn't tell me where you came up with the recipe for this," he asked as he smacked his lips and rubbed his stomach in contentment.
Chakotay looked up from the padd in surprise as he peeked into the dish which now only had a slice left. "That was fast."
"I was very hungry."
"So it seems." The commander smiled. He looked at Tom a moment, then lowered the padd to his lap and turned his attention fully to him. "I didn't. The wife of one of my father's friends gave the recipe to my mother on our first ever trip to Earth. I've just tried to program it into the replicator as best as I could over the years."
"That must have taken some real effort."
"It did but it was worth it." Chakotay smiled. "Then again, I've been trying since I was thirteen years old, that was when I first tasted the original version."
That perked Tom's interest. "Really?" He quickly made the connection. "That first ever trip you took. You didn't see Earth until you were thirteen?"
"No. I hadn't seen much of anything until then. That was our first family trip off of Dorvan." A faraway, nostalgic look passed the older man's eyes, as old memories returned. "Ours was a very settled-in-one-place kind of life. All our family was on Dorvan so there was never any reason to visit anyone offworld."
Tom smiled. "You were lucky." His tone suddenly became soft without realization, to match the changed mood. "We moved around so much from the time I started to walk, that by the time I was thirteen I was sick of family vacations."
Chakotay shook his head as he looked into Tom's eyes. "It was just the opposite for me. I was excited beyond all comprehension."
"I can just bet. Where did you stay on Earth?"
"A lot of places." He looked at Tom and then the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. "One of our longest stays was in Tahiti."
Tom's eyes widened as visions of the longest white beaches and the most gorgeous blue waters filled his mind's eye. "You're kidding."
The commander grinned. "I'm serious. They had a beautiful ocean-front lodge in Taravao. You could walk out of the living room's front doors and down the steps right onto the beach. Twenty steps forward and you reached the waves. It was amazing."
"I love Tahiti," Tom said aloud, a wistful sigh forming in his throat, and he smiled in sweet recollection of holidays spent in happy times. "The beaches are awesome there. No wonder you were so excited."
"I fell in love with the beaches," Chakotay confirmed. "I spent the whole vacation lying on the sand, getting the tan of my life. The sunshine was hot and absolutely wonderful."
Sand. Beaches. Sunshine. Tom stared at his CO and realized they had more in common than he had ever realized.
"Sounds nice." He grinned, his tone light. "But any more tanner, and you'd be unrecognizable."
"I was for a while. I got sunburnt a lot." Chakotay shook his head, amused. "Once it was so bad, my father came back from one of his expeditions and refused to take me to the med facility for the regeneration treatment, because he thought I deserved the peeling skin. But of course, my mother intervened. My siblings made too much fun of me though."
"Ouch. That sounds painful."
"It was," Chakotay agreed. "I was sore for days after that."
"I meant the siblings making fun of you." Tom grinned.
The commander chuckled at the pilot. "I sense a kindred spirit in you, Tom."
Tom raised his eyebrows. "You sense right."
The commander looked down at the padd in his lap, his tone suddenly turning husky with memory. "It was mostly the water that I loved. The sea mesmerized me." He paused to look at Tom. "The crash and retreat of the waves always seemed to calm me." His voice low, he looked up into the pilot's eyes and Tom felt an uneasy flutter begin somewhere inside him. "Is that what it does to you?" Chakotay asked softly.
In the silence that ensued, it suddenly occurred to Tom that he had been set up-by a master. All that talk of pizzas, and beaches and the sunshine and the sand, Tom realized, it was all a way of getting him to talk to the commander. Just as one sweeping slide of the wave washes the shells and scallops off the beach and back into the depths of the sea, Chakotay's obviously well-prepared discourse swept the fuzzy softness that had begun to warm Tom's heart with the visit, and replaced it with the old, cold suspicion.
The pilot looked down at his hands, his teeth gritting in anger that felt too familiar, too tedious, and contemplated the situation. So, this was only Counselor Chakotay checking up on the dysfunctional inmate, huh? What a perfectly accommodating but bogus way to make home in your poor, aching heart. Bring comfort food. Talk sweet. Act as if you fucking care. All the while taking side notes within your perfect XO's mind to post into said delinquent's psych profile. How fucking convenient.
Tom looked up at Chakotay, his mouth already curling in contempt, in readiness, to lash out with something sharp and cutting at the man sitting in front of him, and stopped at the look on his CO's face. The older man looked strangely confused, a little shadow of trouble circled his eyes, as he stared at him with an odd expression on his face. An expression, which he didn't even realize, was on his face until it was too late. By the time he brushed it off and smoothed out his features, Tom had already seen it.
It was the length of time he had taken to answer the question, Tom decided, that's all. Chakotay had asked him a question and Tom hadn't answered it, that's why Chakotay looked confused. What else could it be?
But why did the brown eyes look so unsure then? As if he was puzzling over Tom's behavior, as if he hadn't really anticipated his every move, as if he hadn't really prejudged his reactions, and was just curious of the effect his own words would have on the pilot.
As if this wasn't really an official visit at all-only a personal one.
Except that wasn't really true was it? Didn't Chakotay tell him he had "cleared all" with Tuvok? That suggested he'd had a talk with the Security Chief about this visit and had discussed the official parameters of the counseling mode used.
Didn't it?
Suddenly, Tom wasn't very sure.
All thoughts of snapping at the commander drained out of his mind. Instead, he realized caution was the watchword of the hour.
"Nah," he drawled, an impish smile on his face, as he made light of the question asked, mentally urging the big man to call him on his falsehood. "I just liked to look at the naked girls."
Tom watched as Chakotay blinked and stared at him for a moment. His heart raced as he silently felt his grip on the situation tighten with the seconds ticking by. Do it, yes do it, he silently urged the First Officer, say out loud what you really think of me. But as he watched in transcendent amazement, a mischievous grin appeared on the corners of that lush mouth as the First Officer looked at the pilot indulgently.
"Skinny dipping in Little Hawaii, Tom?" The commander chuckled, and as Tom felt himself sag with half wonder, half relief, he knew that somehow the reins had been snatched from his hands.
He felt his eyes pinned to the dimples around Chakotay's mouth and even as he realized he had now entered uncharted territory-for he had no idea where Chakotay was coming from-he still couldn't stop the answering grin from breaking on his own face. "You too, Commander?" he asked, his eyebrows waggling, and his mind racing back to reminisce over all the leisure spots he had explored as an Academy Freshman.
"Who didn't?" Chakotay shrugged. "You should be more surprised if I hadn't."
Well, today was a day for surprises. Chakotay showing up in the brig to treat him with the pizza from heaven. Chakotay talking to him about his family. Chakotay discussing skinny dipping spots around San Francisco. If this was indeed an official visit, it was of a completely outlandish nature.
"Those hot springs were too good, ya know." Tom continued the prattle, strangely enjoying his part in it. "You don't find the equivalent of those anywhere in the Delta. Not even the lakeside trip we took on Volkon II had anything close to the feeling you got from those places on Earth."
"Nor the sights," Chakotay sighed in agreement.
"The steaming pools," Tom recalled.
"The waterfalls," Chakotay mused.
"The slippery rock edges." Tom smiled.
The First Officer looked at him. "The fair-skinned, light-haired, gorgeously-tanned beauties of California." Chakotay's eyes turned smoky, as if reminiscing over a fond memory. "I always had a soft spot for those."
"And I for the dark-skinned ones," Tom blurted out as he looked into the First Officer's brown eyes. Didn't matter if they were guys or gals, he added silently.
There was something untraceable, something new, hot and dangerously sizzling, in the older man's gaze and Tom felt his heart skip a beat as he broke the hold those eyes had on him and slid his own down to stare at the pizza dish. His gaze jumped from the cold pizza to the older man's large bronze hand lying next to the dish and he suddenly felt his face turn hot.
The fingers were thick but long, and beautifully shaped, the nails carefully manicured and almost luminous in their whiteness. Even as Tom fought to take control of his breathing again, silently berating himself for blurting out things in front of the older man, for even thinking such idiotic thoughts in his presence, he couldn't help but affirm that Chakotay had beautiful hands.
Strong, gentle, capable. Beautiful, dark-skinned hands.
The sound of the First Officer clearing his throat took him out of his trance, and he blinked before he looked up at him, hoping his face wasn't as flushed as he felt inside. If anything, the older man looked just as uneasy-teeth worrying a full lower lip as dark eyes darted from Tom's face down to the floor and back up again, and Tom reckoned that was something to be grateful for.
"Aren't you going to eat this last slice?" Chakotay finally asked.
Tom breathed in deeply and said. "No, thanks. I'm full now."
Chakotay nodded as he dug the data chip from under the pizza dish, covered the dish with the raised lid, and placed the chip on top of the dish. Again, he tapped some buttons on the padd, and with a whir, all traces-scraps and crumbs included-that the pizza from heaven had been there dematerialized from the brig.
The commander got up from the bunk. "Well, Mr. Paris. I think that was time well spent. You needed that break but now I must go get dressed for my afternoon shift on the bridge." He gave the younger man a hesitant smile.
Tom nodded, still not trusting his voice, his heart hammering inside his chest, and watched as Chakotay turned and walked out of his cell. Tom stared as with a flick of the panel, the forcefield came back on. "Commander," he called out before the other man could turn again.
Chakotay halted and looked at him questioningly.
Tom swallowed. "Thanks, a lot, for the pizza." He smiled. "That was the best pizza I've had in a long time. You're a good cook, Chief."
Chakotay grinned back. "You're welcome, Tom. I'll see you soon." And with that, he walked out of the brig, the door sliding shut behind him.
It was just a show, Tom repeated to himself. Just a First Officer checking up on the newly demoted ensign. Just the ship's de facto counselor questioning the prisoner. Nothing more.
Tom slid back down on the bunk again and Ensign Gennaro walked back inside, taking his post behind the security console again. Tom ignored the curious gaze the security officer leveled in his direction and stared back up at the ceiling again, recalling the point in his conversation with the commander when he had stumbled.
Chakotay had mentioned his preferences for light-haired, fair-skinned California beauties. And Tom-like a prize idiot, mesmerized by the twinkle in the older man's dark eyes holding his own captive-had blurted out his own liking of dark-skinned ones.
Nice show, O Counselor of mine, Tom repeated silently.
And that's when it occurred to him.
"Shit," he cursed softly. He scrunched his eyes shut, feeling his face turn hot again, as he took in a staggering breath.
Yes, Chakotay had mentioned the light-haired, fair-skinned beauties.
But he hadn't said anything about them being female at all.
The End