Chapter 21—2375

Ensign Tom Paris was typing on a PADD and listening to the music on his jukebox when the doors to his quarters slid open unexpectedly, allowing entry to one half-Klingon chief engineer. "Well, this is a surprise," he quipped, glancing at the chronometer as she headed for the replicator, noting that it was barely 1630. She had rarely been leaving Engineering before the early morning hours lately.

She turned and grinned at him, another surprise. "We just finished the modifications," she informed him, then frowned at the replicator. "Damn. Out of rations."

"Use mine," Paris offered automatically, not getting up from his chair. She knew his codes. After retrieving her order from the replicator, she crossed the room, seating herself on Paris's lap before turning to kiss him. He tasted the warm raktajino on her mouth. "Want to celebrate finishing the modifications?" he asked.

She arched her eyebrows. "What did you have in mind?" she asked.

He grinned. "I was thinking dinner on the holodeck, but if you had something else in mind…" he let his voice trail off.

"Dinner sounds like a good start."

"How am I for rations?"

"You have enough." She adjusted herself slightly on his lap, giving a contented sigh as she leaned back against him. No wonder; it was probably the first time she had given herself to relax in the last few weeks. He snaked an arm around her waist and kissed the top of her head before returning his attention to his PADD. "What are you working on?" she finally asked.

"I'm writing a letter to my father for the next datastream," he replied. It was the first letter he had written to Admiral Paris since his time in the brig. "I've actually been thinking about him a lot lately. Tomorrow would be the six year anniversary of the last time we saw each other face to face—and those weren't the best of all circumstances." It had actually been at the end of his trial, as the guards escorted him to the shuttle waiting to take him to Auckland. "I wanted to let him know about Colonel Paris's book, since he was the one who first told me about him."

"How was the book?"

"It was good," he said honestly. "Thank you again for it. You can borrow it sometime if you want."

"That's okay," she replied automatically, no surprise to him. Her choice of reading material ran along the lines of technical manuals and Klingon romance novels. "Was he the man you thought he was?"

"Not exactly," Paris replied thoughtfully. "If anything, he was even more larger than life than the stories from my father. He started with literally nothing—no parents, no home, no right to hope or dream for anything—and despite those difficult circumstances, he not only made something of himself, he made something amazing of himself. I can't help but feel a little bit inadequate after reading about it."

"I don't know," Torres said thoughtfully. "I see a lot of similarities between the two of you."

He smiled ironically at her words. "If by similarities, you mean complete opposites, then yes. My father's an admiral, I had a supportive mother and sisters, went to the right schools, and still managed to screw everything up."

"I meant your life here on Voyager," Torres corrected. "You started with a lousy reputation, and, honestly, a lousy attitude, but you rose above that and became a respected member of the senior staff. Everyone on this ship owes their lives to some of your more heroic—and idiotic—acts. You even have your own record for the books," she pointed out, referring to his flight at warp ten.

"I've had some help," he said with a grin, leaning forward to give her a kiss.

She rolled her eyes at the compliment. "You're a good man, Tom. Do you think I'd be wasting my time with you if you weren't?"

"Guess not," he said with a roguish grin. "You'll just have to stick around to keep me honest."

"Right," she said dryly. "So what are we doing about dinner?"

"It's your celebration. You pick."

She thought about it for a minute. "How about, in honor of Colonel Samuel Thomas Paris, that Mars program you have? The one with the automobile?"

"The '57 Chevy?" he asked with a grin. They haven't used that program in awhile, after he started working on the Camero, but the Chevy had definite advantages over the Camero—namely, a larger backseat.

"Yeah," she replied, returning his grin. "We can replicate a picnic."

"Sounds good," he murmured, leaning in for another kiss. He decided that B'Elanna had a point—no matter the number of impressive things that Colonel Sam Paris had done in the course of his life, he wouldn't trade lives with him for a second. He liked exactly where he was now.