As he leans on the bar, Tom glances in his bottle, seeing the reflection of the two guards that have been tailing him ever since he left his temporary quarters. They obviously think they're being clever by keeping their distance. Idiots! It's a blatant waste of time anyway. He's not going to do anything even vaguely off-base, not when he's this close to freedom. That Janeway must have some pull in the Justice Department to have arranged the deal she offered him, especially given how hard Starfleet are cracking down on Maquis. Going public was a double-edged sword. To gain recognition, the Maquis pinned a major target on themselves.
Mentally shrugging to himself, he drains the rest of the bottle and leaves it on the counter. Funny, having real alcohol again after six months enforced abstention wasn't as good as he expected. Probably just as well. It wouldn't look good if he turned up on the Voyager tomorrow with a hangover. He walks out of Quark's and onto the promenade. It's busier than he remembers, but considering the last time he was here was when the Cardassians pulled out, it's not surprising. All his old friends have probably long since moved on.
"Tom Paris!" a voice sounds from behind him.
Then again. Tom whirls around to see a face he wasn't sure he'd ever see again. "Nerys?"
"You sound surprised?" Kira smiles as she steps up to him.
"It's been a while," Tom replies as they hug briefly. He runs an eye over her as they part. "Looking good, Nerys. Or should I be calling you Major now?" he says as he takes in her insignia. "Quite a step up in the world."
"Well, it comes with the job. You can't be Executive Officer of a space station and still hold Lieutenant's rank, can you," she says just a little proudly.
"Keeping Starfleet on their toes, huh?" he grins. "Can't think of anyone better suited to it."
Kira's expression becomes enquiring. "How have you been?"
Tom gives her his stock answer. She doesn't need to know the gory details. "Same old."
"Tom, I know what happened to you. When I heard that you'd been captured on Altair Six, I prayed to the Prophets for it to be just another rumour."
Tom sighs as he looks at her. He should've known she'd find out. "I was expecting my luck to run out eventually. It was just a matter of when."
"It shouldn't have happened at all if you ask me." She narrows her eyes slightly. "Sometimes I wonder about Federation justice."
Tom just shrugs in response. Politics and justice rarely mix, even in the vaunted United Federation of Planets.
Kira can tell that he's not comfortable with the subject, so reluctantly moves on. "So what are you doing on the station? An early parole?" she fishes.
"Sort of. Seems Starfleet have this little problem they need fixing and I'm the best qualified for the job. After I'm done, they're cutting me loose."
"This little problem doesn't have anything to do with the Voyager does it?"
Tom smiles. "Nothing gets past you does it."
"Not on this station."
"O'Brien to Kira. Is there a problem, Major?" Kira's commbadge cuts in.
Her eyes drift to one side as she gives it a quick tap. "No problem, Chief. I'll be down in three minutes." She taps it again to break comms and looks apologetically at Tom. "Station business I'm afraid. I'm covering for Commander Sisko while he's back on Earth."
Tom quickly connects the dots. So it was Nerys who gave Janeway use of the office. "The Devil's work is never done," Tom jokes.
Kira struggles to avoid grinning as she rolls her eyes. "It's been too long. Do you want to stay here for a while when the Voyager returns?" she asks him. "We need to catch up properly."
Back in his cell, Tom had often thought about where he could go when he was released, the common dream of prisoners all over the galaxy. Bajor's supposed to be quite a beautiful world. He'd like to see it without the chains of occupation around it. "Sounds like fun," he replies. He could do worse than hang around with Nerys for a while. A lot worse. "I've thought about relocating to Bajor, maybe you can give me some advise on where to go?"
Kira is surprised, but pleasantly so. "I'll do that. It's good to see you again, Tom."
"Likewise. You take care of yourself."
Kira nods, takes a couple of steps back, then turns around and strides briskly into the crowd.
Well, at least one of his friends is still here. Maybe he could use her new contacts to get himself a job planetside. There's just one obstacle to clear first though. If he doesn't make himself useful on the Voyager, his release could well be revoked. And while his sentence wasn't harsh, his new plan for the future doesn't include spending the next two a half years behind bars.
Tom thoughtfully makes his way to the upper level and walks alongside the windows, noting as he does so that his two shadows have followed him up. As he nears the far end of the promenade, he catches a glimpse of the ship he'll be boarding tomorrow. The engineering hull is hidden, but the saucer section can be seen peeking out from behind the pylon like a curious child. Actually it's more like an arrowhead than a saucer. The sleek styling looks good. Someone on the design team must have had a head for aesthetics for once.
Samantha Wildman picks her way through the maze of corridors, looking for a place to eat after her long journey from Earth. For some reason though the gods are conspiring to hide all the cafes and bistros from her. It's starting to look like she'll find the Lost City of B'hala before she uncovers so much as a donut. Looking in the opposite direction as she turns a corner, she doesn't see the figure in front of her until she collides into it. "Oh I'm sorry, please excuse me," she apologises hurriedly as she stumbles backwards a little.
Tom scowls at first when he feels himself being shoved. He turns round, prepared to tell whoever it is where to go jump, until he sees exactly who his assailant is. A pretty thing with shoulder length blonde hair tucked behind her ears at the sides, the cerulean stripe across her shoulders indicating either a scientific or medical profession in the Fleet. That's another thing he's missed while serving time - the women. The only female for miles had been the Governor, and she must have been at least eighty. "It's okay," he dismisses laconically, "no damage done."
Samantha takes in the appearance of the man. He's wearing a mostly all black ensemble with the exception of a white t-shirt underneath his jacket, marked by odd looking symbols. So he doesn't work here, unless he's off-duty of course. But maybe he lives on the station anyway? "I'm sorry to impose," she starts hesitantly, "but could you tell me where I might find somewhere to get a bite to eat? My stomach is starting to forget what food feels like inside it." The aforementioned stomach chooses that moment to growl for emphasis, Samantha reddening slightly at the sound. "As you probably just heard."
Tom smiles slightly at her quip. "Sure! You have to be on the lower promenade. There's a..." He pauses for a moment. "Tell you what, why don't I take you there?"
"Oh! Okay, thank you." There'd been a replicator on the runabout that brought her here, but she rarely got around to using it. Not wanting to look a fool in front of the Captain, especially on her very first senior posting, she'd memorised as many of the Voyager's specifications and operations as she could. The intensive studying resulted in her often forgetting to eat. "So, are you stationed here?" she asks, making small talk as she follows the man down to the lower level.
"No, just passing through. I'll be on another ship tomorrow," he answers after a beat, keeping the statement vague but technically true. Nothing like telling people you're an almost ex-con to make them run a mile in the opposite direction. Tom thinks about taking her back to Quark's, the greedy little runt owes him a favour or two. Looking at her though, he isn't so sure it's the right environment. "So what are you in the mood for? Fast or fancy?"
Samantha considers the question. Fast sounds good at this stage, the faster the better. But considering she'll be eating from the replicator again for the next two weeks, why not treat herself? "Hmm, fancy I think." She nods after a beat, affirming her decision.
"Fancy it is then." Tom looks briefly about the promenade, hoping the place that he's thinking of is still in business, then smiles as he sees the familiar sign of Terin's set back slightly from the other establishments. "Just over here." Placing a light hand on her back, he guides her through an open doorway into a small, but classy looking restaurant. "You'll love this place," he says quietly so as to not disturb the other patrons. "They make the best authentic Bajoran cuisine this side of the planet."
A young, earnest looking Bajoran man approaches them and Tom immediately gets down to business. "Hi. Could you let Kel know that Tom Paris is here," he tells the waiter, "and... to bring out his finest makalra." The waiter seems a little unsure, but moves through another door, presumably into the kitchen. Tom turns back to his companion. "I hope you don't mind me ordering for you? Makalra's one of the best dishes on the menu."
"No, of course not. I'm sure it will be wonderful." It's actually a relief to have her meal chosen for her. Having no real clue about Bajoran cuisine, she'd have been ordering blind.
"A lot better than anything Quark could serve up at any rate," Tom agrees.
Samantha looks interested at his mention of the name. "I heard some of the crew here talking about a Quark's. They seemed to speak quite favourably of it."
Tom is dubious. "I'll admit the place is livelier than the last time I visited it, but I wouldn't exactly give it a five-star rating. Trying to deal with Quark is like fighting a war of attrition," he comments wryly. "Trust me, you're much better off here. Kel looks after his customers properly."
Samantha nods to herself at his explanation. Wow, lucky escape then.
Tom glances around impatiently, but sees the waiter hurriedly returning to them. "This way, sir, ma'am." The waiter leads them to a private table in an alcove at the back of the restaurant. "Chef apologises for the delay, but the makalra will be ready soon."
"No hurry," Tom says. He stares after the Bajoran as he races off to take someone else's order. Kel must be training up someone new. Facing his companion again, Tom pulls out a chair for her to sit down.
"Thank you," Samantha tells him genuinely at the uncommonly polite act. She looks around the restaurant after she sits. Most of the tables are occupied, so there must be something in what he's told her.
"You're welcome, milady," Tom says with a smile on his face. He moves around the table to face her, then pauses. "You know, it seems a shame for you to dine alone. Makalra is always an experience best shared." If she wants to eat alone, Tom won't force the issue, but he can't help fishing. He could spend the rest of the evening playing Follow the Leader with his two shadows, but dinner with an attractive woman is a much more inviting prospect.
Samantha looks at him, her eyes widening slightly at the implication. "Are you asking to be my date?"
"Do you want this to be a date?" Tom answers without missing a beat. He looks into her eyes, hoping she'll say yes.
She chuckles, but then goes quiet when she sees he's deadly serious. "Well..." She blushes again under his gaze. "I, er..." She glances at other tables - most of which seem occupied by couples - and takes a deep breath. "Okay, why not," she answers quickly, a little unsure, but kind of flattered by the attention.
Tom smoothly sits down opposite her. "So, may I ask what a vision such as yourself might be named?"
She looks down self-consciously. "Samantha," she says, risking a look up at those blue eyes again. She notes the eloquent tone of his voice, actually finding it rather charming despite the slight cornball nature of the line.
"Samantha," Tom repeats approvingly. "A good name. I could see myself getting used to saying it."
She absently pushes a stray strand of hair back over her ear as her eyes cast downwards again. When exactly did she get this skittish around men? Alright, so she's never been the extrovert to start off with, but this is crazy. She feels like a teenager all over again. She realises - and not for the first time - exactly how much her last relationship took out of her. "So what might your name be?" she asks after a short pause.
"My name's pretty mundane by comparison. I'm a plain and simple Tom I'm afraid. There're quite a lot of us about."
"There's nothing plain about Tom," Samantha answers in all seriousness. "I like that name."
Tom raises his eyebrows slightly as if in surprise. "Really? Then perhaps we can find more things we like about each other before the night's out," he follows up, his voice sounding more intimate.
"Perhaps," she admits, her voice so quiet as to be almost inaudible, even over the muted ambiance of restaurant chatter.
Ezri Tigan sits alone, looking at the menu without really taking any of it in. Coming here was a bad idea, the latest in a long line of bad ideas. Seeing all the couples in the room talking intimately is only reinforcing how pathetic her life truly is. She can count the number of social engagements she's had this past year on one hand. And she's certain they were offered out of pity. Nothing she does matters, in any part of her life, socially or professionally. She knows it and more importantly everyone else knows it.
She thinks back to her experience in Commander Sisko's office just a few short days ago. His face had been impassive, but she could tell what he was thinking. "I've been going over your personnel file, Ensign. It appears that our station isn't proving to be the ideal environment for you to excel in," Sisko told her diplomatically. "And I've formed the opinion that you'd perhaps be more appreciated onboard a starship. What are your thoughts on this?"
Her thoughts? She'd asked for permission to speak freely which was granted, Sisko steepling his fingers together as he studied her. "I'm getting the feeling that I've displeased you, sir. And if that's the case, I... I would like to know so that perhaps I can strive to improve myself and the job I'm doing here." Confessing her insecurities was a desperate pitch that probably wouldn't change a thing, but she had to make the attempt.
Sisko at least had delivered the bad news gently and didn't look happy at doing so. "Ensign, I'm sure that you could do well somewhere in the service, you have the intelligence, but unfortunately it's not going to be here." Rising from his seat, he'd moved around the desk to stand in front of her, officer to officer. "DS9 can be a foreboding place at the best of times, and with the recent developments regarding contact with the Dominion, it could get even more foreboding. I need to know that I can rely on the ability of every man and woman on this station if the situation should turn volatile. But in your case I don't know that I can."
Ezri had been crestfallen. She'd tried her best, but had suspected for some time that she was letting Doctor Bashir down, no matter how kind and patient he was with her. As it was she'd been reduced to delivering PADDs around the station. To have it all confirmed in no uncertain terms though.
"Believe me, Ensign, I know what it's like. First assignment after graduation, you're eager to please but a bundle of nerves, afraid that you'll do something wrong."
She could only nod.
"The trick is," he continued, "not to let that fear take over. Alright, you've made a few... mistakes. But learn from them. Don't let yourself be buried under the weight of every failure. Use that experience to become a better officer."
Gathering what was left of her dignity, Ezri swore to herself that she wouldn't lose her composure in front of the Commander, no matter what. She was going to leave this office with her head held high, not in a blubbering mess. "Sir, thank you for being so honest with me, sir."
Sisko looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. "There's a ship currently docked which is scheduled to leave soon on a search and retrieval mission. Its CMO has requested more personnel for his team when they return. If you're willing though, I can make the transfer arrangements right now. I think the mission would be good experience for you, plus it'll give you a chance to settle in."
Ezri acknowledged the logic, but couldn't help feeling discarded. Not that she showed it. "I'd appreciate that, sir."
The meeting was over. After the formalities had been dealt with, he extended a hand. "Good luck, Ensign."
She shook it weakly, but no platitude in the galaxy could have made her feel better at that moment, no matter how genuinely it may have been intended. "Thank you, sir. I'm sure I'll need it." For a moment, Sisko had looked as if he wanted to say something else, but then let her leave without further comment.
By the following evening, most of her belongings had been transferred to crew quarters aboard her new posting. Ezri had returned to her old room only once to collect a few personal trinkets. It looked so bare, as if no-one had ever lived there. Goodbyes were exchanged with her work colleagues, but it all seemed hollow, as if it didn't make the slightest difference to any of them. It probably didn't.
She looks around the restaurant at all the happy faces. She's never felt happy here. How can anyone stand to live here? Just looking at the ugly Cardassian architecture is enough to make her skin crawl. Why did she come to this place? She's lived off her replicator for a year, why is tonight so different?
Deep down inside herself, she knows why. Because tonight is her last night and for some reason she feels the need to be around people, to connect with the lives of everyone on this station in a way she couldn't before. She glances at the couple two tables over, the woman laughing at some joke the man must have made. She can observe, but she isn't connecting. She's just alone, as she's always been. Ezri almost cries out in frustration. She might as well not exist. Maybe she should leave before someone she knows walks in and reaches the same conclusion.
I know I saw him come in here, Zane thinks to himself as he searches the tables. He was going to leave this until later, but when he saw the Captain's new advisor walk into the restaurant, he couldn't resist. Eventually he spots his quarry sitting with a young blonde Ensign at a back table. Good taste in women, as usual, he muses as he reaches the table. "Mr Paris!"
Tom mentally curses the sudden interruption. The timing couldn't have been more rotten, Sam was just starting to warm up to him. Looking up, he notes the number of pips and stands, relieved that he didn't shoot his mouth off. "Good evening, Commander," he says cordially, making sure that his expression remains neutral.
"Please sit," he says, pulling out the spare chair and parking himself on it temporarily. Paris returns to his seat as requested. "My name is Zane Cavit. I'm going to be the Voyager's XO and I just wanted to introduce myself now before we get underway. It's likely to be a busy morning tomorrow, so I may not get the opportunity before we leave dock."
"Undoubtedly," Tom replies as he wonders what Cavit's intentions are. Well at least he's in friendly surroundings. If the guy causes a scene he'll be out on his ass, regardless of rank. Kel will make sure of that.
"I realise you're only going to be with us for a short time, but I hope that our association can be a productive one." Zane glances behind himself to make sure the table is indeed private. "Unofficially, Mr Paris, I'd like to shake your hand and say 'Nice right hook'," he continues a little more quietly. "Officially of course I must assert otherwise. I hope you have a pleasant evening." There's a slight approving smile on his face as he nods at them both and starts to take his leave.
Huh? Out of all the things Tom was expecting him to say, that wasn't one of them. Since his court-martial, the Fleeters he's crossed paths with have usually gone out of their way to stick the boot in. He'd dismissed Janeway as the exception to the rule, but the exception appears to have just doubled. What's going on?
The interruption proves to be somewhat of a mixed blessing for Samantha. She has to admit, the meal Tom ordered is pretty good. And the man himself? He's said all the right things at all the right times, the perfect gentleman. She had just been slipping into a nice mental place when the Commander's arrival jerked her back to reality. As much as she's liking all this, it doesn't feel right. They've just met, it's too fast. As Cavit takes his leave, she quickly stands up before he can move too far away. "Sir?"
The XO stops and turns to face her. She nervously walks forward a couple of steps, extending her hand. "Samantha Wildman, sir, Chief Science. I've been assigned to the Voyager as well."
He thought he'd seen her before somewhere. "Good evening, Ensign," Zane says pleasantly, quickly shaking her hand, aware that some of the diners have stopped to stare now that they're in full view. "Please, don't let me interrupt your meal any further. Hopefully we'll be able to talk further tomorrow."
"Yes, sir!" Samantha says as the Commander walks away once more. It's only then that she notices everyone is looking at her. It feels like everyone anyway. Turning all known shades of red, she bolts back to her seat. "I'm sorry, I'm really really-"
"It's okay," Tom says, holding a hand up to stop her apologising. "I don't think anyone noticed."
Samantha groans to herself as she picks up her drink, wishing it was a tad stronger.
Ezri stares across the small alcove. She shouldn't be surprised, from what she's heard half the crew are out on the promenade tonight. But for two of them to be here? Not just in the same room, but almost within reaching distance? She swallows, then slowly rises to her feet. History may repeat itself anyway, but if she doesn't even try? Feeling her feet move almost of their own accord, she's by them in just a few steps.
"P-Pardon my intrusion," she interjects politely. "I couldn't help but overhear that you're going to be serving aboard the Voyager?" Ezri clasps her hands behind her back, trying not to look as nervous as she feels. "I've been posted there as well, I... I thought I'd come over and say hello." She berates herself though as soon as the words are out of her mouth. How desperate for company does she want to sound?
Tom almost swears out loud. Is this a conspiracy? Did someone summarily decide that the convict shouldn't get to have too much fun tonight? "Hello," he says glibly, fixing a pleasant but not too inviting expression on his face. And goodbye, he adds to himself.
Ezri glances at the man the Commander addressed as Mr Paris. He looks a little frustrated and she can't say she blames him. What is she doing? Two's company, three's a crowd. That's what they say isn't it? Some concepts are universal.
Samantha though smiles at the newcomer. "Really? It's good to meet you. I'm Samantha, I'm going to be Chief Science," she replies just a little too enthusiastically.
Ezri was about to slink away when the blonde woman spoke to her. "Oh I heard. That's great news, it really is. Um... I'm Ezri, medical staff." She holds out her hand which Samantha takes.
"Why don't you join us?" she suggests, gesturing to the spare seat the Commander vacated. "We should get to know each other, being crewmates."
"Are you sure?" Ezri asks, her voice wavering but full of hope.
With Sam's invitation out in the open, Tom finally sees any chance of a romantic evening go sailing up the swanee. "Sure! The more the merrier." Neither of them notice the resigned tone of his voice. Well, there's always tomorrow, he thinks, trying to look on the bright side though not completely succeeding. Maybe I should've taken her to Quark's after all.
