A/N: Next to no fics with this pairing. I don't know why. Icheb's so adorable and Tom is just, well, Tom. Nothing graphic here, but I'm still making it T for some innuendo.

1969 Comaro

"You find pleasure in repairing primitive machines?"

"I always felt like I was born for the twentieth century."

Icheb stared at Tom's oil stained jeans that were sticking out from underneath the vehicle. He couldn't see how anyone would want to do this on their off time. There was no favourable outcome.

Metal clanged and Tom grunted. "I guess an ex Borg, such as yourself, would find more enjoyment enhancing the astrometric sensor array."

It certainly was a better use of his time, but Seven had encouraged him to make friends. Recreational activities, she told him, was a favourable method.

"I thought both of us were going to be involved in this activity."

"Well then, get off your rear and get over here. Pass me the vice grips."

Icheb looked around the hazardous environment. Sharp metal objects hung from walls, screws and tools littered the floor. There was no process, no organization. Fulfilling Tom's request was certainly going to be challenging. He bent over a rectangular box filled with dozens of oddly shaped tools. It was inefficient having so many different designs. How could anyone ever find what they were looking for?

"The large silver one that looks like it has a set of teeth."

Icheb thumbed around and picked up the largest tool there. If by "set of teeth" he meant a continuous sequence of jagged edges, then this was definitely it.

"Is this the one?" He slowly slid the tool under vehicle and a palm reach out and touched it.

"This is a saw Icheb."

Icheb looked back in the box and passed him another.

"That's the one. Okay, let's get your hands dirty. Take these grips and slide yourself in here."

Icheb paused for a moment and then rolled up his sleeves. He lied on his back feeling the cold concrete against his neck. Slowly, he nudged himself sideways and into shadow. There really was no room to move. The metal above him was only inches from his face. He nudged in further and stopped when his arm touched Tom's.

"Come a bit closer, the nut is here."

Icheb looked over Tom's bare chest and at the mechanical part he pointed at. He raised the vice grips over Tom, holding his arm high so their skin didn't touch. As he turned the vice grips, his arm muscles fatigued and he let his arm drop, feeling the sweat and engine oil on the lieutenant's chest. Tom's lungs expanded and retracted under him. He was breathing heavily.

"A bit tighter."

Icheb put a little force into the turn, his arm shook. When it just wouldn't turn anymore, he stopped. Tom slid a finger down the oily backside of the vehicle and then grazed Icheb's cheek with it.

"There. You're officially a grease monkey."

Icheb returned Tom's grin with his own. Tom moved closer, his body pressing against Icheb's. The lieutenant's soft lips grazed his chin, and Icheb quickly shifted his head back, giving Tom a look of calm uncertainty.

"I-I'm an idiot." Tom faced the bottom of the vehicle and sighed.

Icheb didn't mean to pull away so abruptly. It was just an automatic reaction to something unexpected. He stared at the lieutenant who's spirits looked shattered. Humans needlessly overcomplicated everything. One of Seven's sayings that he was now starting to understand.

Icheb lightly smiled. "When we're done with these repairs Tom, perhaps, you could help me enhance that astrometric sensory array."

Tom made a humoured grin. "I could go for a change of scenery."