B'Elanna Torres was reading from a PADD while half-sitting, half-reclining on a small bed in the quest cadet quarters she shared with Siobhan Patel when the door chimed. "Come in," she replied automatically.

The door slid open to reveal Tom Paris, still in his flight suit from a few hours before, looking as if he hadn't rested at all since then, which he probably hadn't. After the pilots had brought their crafts back in at the conclusion of a three hour practice, he had immediately discussed their performance with the squad's commanding officer, then relayed the information to the other pilots so they could discuss ways to improve before the next morning's session. Meanwhile, the engineers had run their own analyses of the sensor data they collected during the practice and begun making necessary repairs and improvements. "If you're looking for Siobhan, I don't know where she it," B'Elanna informed him with a slight frown on her face. It was late, and they all needed a chance to rest before doing everything again the next day.

"I know," Paris replied, sitting on the empty bed across the small room. He rubbed his face in his hands before opening his eyes to study the engineer. Her boots had been kicked off under the bed, her uniform jacket discarded in a heap next to her. She was clad in her trousers and tank top, her body twisted in what appeared to be an uncomfortable position, but he really didn't know how flexible Klingon spines were; maybe it was comfortable. Long tendrils of hair had worked their way out of her braid, and he had to resist the temptation to cross the room and smooth them away from her face. In his current fatigued state, he was sure he didn't have the self-control to stop there. He pushed aside that thought and addressed her earlier comment. "I know where she is, and you probably won't see her until tomorrow morning at breakfast. I came to talk to you."

"I already handed in my report on Addison's shuttle," Torres replied automatically. "So where's Siobhan?"

"Ensign Meyer's apartment. I saw your report; it looks good. I didn't come about that."

"Who's Ensign Meyer?"

"One of the range officers. They'll be playing sleep-over all weekend."

"Oh," Torres replied, slightly confused. She didn't see how Patel could have the energy for any sort of romantic tryst after the long day they had just had, with two more long days coming before heading back to Earth. "I didn't know she was dating anybody."

Paris chuckled. "I don't know if I'd call it dating. That implies some sort of emotional interaction. Siobhan likes to keep emotion out of the equation. She has all sorts of intimacy issues." He shrugged. "I've never asked, she's never explained. All I know is that neither she nor Ensign Meyer are expecting anything more than sex."

"Oh." Torres frowned again, trying to fit that into what she knew about the older engineer. "Siobhan didn't strike me as the type to be so flighty."

"I wouldn't call her flighty," Paris replied, leaning back on the narrow bed to rest his head against the wall. "She knows exactly what she's after, and she makes sure that whoever the guy is knows as well. She stays away from any situation where anything more might be expected. Usually works out for both parties involved. There are quite a few guys who would love to have one night or one weekend with a centered, self-confident, intelligent gymnast with a cute British accent."

Torres eyed him from across the room. "Including you?" she asked, too fatigued to care that it might sound like she was jealous.

Paris snorted. "No, we've never been more than friends. I prefer a bit more of a challenge," he added, giving her a suggestive wink. "But it's why Siobhan and Ryan don't really get along, and part of the reason why none of us can stand Locarno."

"How's that?"

He yawned, suddenly aware of the fact that he had been moving non-stop since classes that morning. "Sorry. Anyway, second year, Ryan really had it bad for Siobhan, and probably asked her out twenty times, but she just turned him down flat each time. Like I said, she doesn't like emotional involvement, and he was already involved. He tried to shrug it off, but seeing her picking up random guys at the bars finally got to him, and the night we had found out that we were accepted to Nova Squadron, there was a lot of alcohol involved, both said things they didn't really mean, and they haven't been the same since. And then third year, after Locarno made the squad, she misjudged him, thought he'd be okay with a one-night stand, but he turned it into a production at Nova Squadron practices, and when she finally told him to stop, that it wasn't going to happen again, he told Gial, one of our friends, that they slept together."

"So?" she asked, wondering what the Bajoran pre-law student she met once had to do with anything.

"Siobhan and Gial both have their own little unique set of issues, but they both really like each other—as in, will probably end up married someday, if they can ever get over whatever it is that's holding them back. Everyone who has spent time with the two of them together knows this. I don't know what Locarno thought he was doing by telling Gial they had sex—he probably already knew—but Siobhan was really embarrassed by it, so much so that she would leave the room if Gial entered. She was furious with Locarno for sinking that low, and I find it hard to be friends with a guy who would do something like that. Anyway," he said, changed the subject, "now that I've revealed the personal life of three of my closest friends, what I really came here to tell you is that I made an appointment to talk to my father on Monday."

"You made an appointment?" she asked, making a face. "He's your father, can't you just talk to him?"

"I figured that since we're going to be discussing Starfleet business, it should be in a professional setting," he replied. "How's your letter to your mother coming?"

"I was just proofreading it when you came in," she replied and a sigh. "I still don't know if I'm saying the right things."

"Can I see?" he asked holding out his hand, but she didn't pass the PADD over.

"It's personal," she replied, a bit of an edge to her voice.

He gave her a smile that failed to reach his eyes as he dropped his hand to his lap. "I was hoping you said something that would help me figure out what to say to my father." His voice was annoyingly casual.

Although she was frustrated at his persistent façade of disinterest, she let it go, too tired to get into an argument that night. "Not unless your father is a militant Klingon woman, and you spent the last year running the decathlon and fixing slower-than-light crafts," she replied, trying to match the casual tone in his voice.

"Well, he's a Starfleet Admiral, and I'm a constant screw-up, so I guess not." There was no use trying to emulate that light tone; he had mastered it years ago.

"Just talk to him. Tell him what's going through your mind," Torres advised. "When I was trying to figure out how to start my letter to my mother, Sito said that it didn't really matter what I say, that my mother would be happy just to hear from me." She gave a short laugh. "I don't know if that's true, but I'm sure your father would appreciate the fact that you were discussing this with him, even if you don't agree in the end."

Paris sighed, rubbing his face again. "I just want him to think I'm doing something right for once. I wish he could be proud of who I am, not who he wants me to be."

Remembering the light look in his father's eyes when she ran into him earlier that day, Torres softly replied, "I'm sure he is. You just need to give him a chance to say it."

"I'm tired of waiting for that chance to come up," Paris retorted as he stood. "I should get going. We have a long day in front of us tomorrow, and there's going to be a group of first-year flight students just waiting to be impressed by the Nova Squadron squad leader. I can't disappoint my audience. You never know how many attractive young ladies will be watching."

"Tom," Torres said, stopping him before he exited through the door. "Why do you do that? Why do you say things and act like you don't care what other people—what I—think about you, when clearly you do?"

He stopped and stared at her for a minute before responding. "Because, Torres, I can't let myself care about what you think of me." He turned and left the room.