CHAPTER 2 - REALIZATION
~~~~They say,"Brandy, you're a fine girl
~~~~What a good wife you would be
~~~~You could steal a sailor From the sea.
Tom Paris walked back into Mroki's bar two days later. It was
the middle of the day, and he was thankful that the 'women of the
evening' were probably still in bed sleeping off their activities
from the night before. Tom scanned the room for a familiar
figure, but only saw a few men scattered through the barroom. A
flash of movement then caught his eye. He saw a small hand
searching the top of the bar for something. Moving near the bar,
Tom noticed that a sonic resonator was lying on the floor.
He picked up the tool and placed it in the questing hand, at the
same time keeping a firm grip on it himself.
B'Elanna was surprised to find that the instrument she had been
searching for had been placed in her palm. Grasping it tightly
she pulled it towards her but whoever was holding the other end
wasn't letting go. Someone was going to wish they didn't play
these silly games, she vowed. The half-Klingon popped her head
up above the bartop and encountered a familiar sparkling pair of
blue eyes. Eyes she had been dreaming about since she last saw
them. Her anger was forgotten
"Tom!" she shouted.
"Need some help?" he asked, his eyes lit with mischief.
"Not unless you know anything about refrigerant coils and
resonators," B'Elanna grumbled.
"Sorry, not really. But I could pass you the tools you need.
Consider me your nurse and you can be the surgeon."
B'Elanna dropped back down out of sight. Gathering the various
tools that were strewn across the bar, Tom joined her on the
other side, taking her non-comment as a yes.
"Weren't you working on this last time I was here?" he asked
seating himself cross-legged beside her. She had her head
halfway inside the unit she was trying to repair.
"Yeah. Damn thing is so old, it's a wonder it's still
operational." She held out her hand. "Sonic wrench."
Tom sorted through the tools, selected the correct item, and
placed it in her waiting palm.
She took the wrench and began tightening a loose nut. "They
don't even make the tools to repair this particular cooling
device anymore," she explained. "I had to adapt current
technology to work on this antique."
"Sounds like you are pretty resourceful. Not everyone could do
that."
B'Elanna ignored the compliment. "Why did you come back, Tom?"
she asked not daring to look at the man lest she reveal that she
might care too much.
"What do you mean?"
She tightened a connection inside the refrigerant unit before the
turned to face Tom Paris. "Did you come back because you felt
sorry for me? Or because you expected to see Alini and found me
instead?" {Am I just a diversion until she wakes up?}
"I came to see you, nothing more. I couldn't give a damn about
Alini, and I don't feel sorry for you, B'Elanna. When I was here
the other night I really enjoyed your company. I was hoping to
have a chance to talk to you again."
"Hhrrump!" B'Elanna turned and stuck her head back into the
refrigeration unit.
"Really, B'Elanna. I went back to the ship after I left you that
night, and all I could think about was you." He placed his hand
on her shoulder and pulled her back.
{What was that old Earth expression about punching oneself? Or
was it pinching? Was it possible that what he's telling me is
true?}
Alini chose that moment to stroll into the tavern, traces of
sleep were still evident on her heavily painted face. Padding
over to the bar to retrieve a warm cup of Palmatic tea, she
overhead voices from the other side below the countertop.
Peering over, she was surprised to see the handsome blonde
stranger she had seen in the bar a few nights ago. She was even
more surprised to see that once again he was talking with
B'Elanna.
"I'm telling you the truth, B'Elanna. I'd really like to speak
with you again. Do you think that we could go some place, just
me and you, and talk?"
"Talk?"
"Promise--just talk."
The quiet ones always want to 'just talk.' Then the talk leads to
other things, Alini mused.
"I found a nice little cafe--well as nice as it gets in Malac.
Will you come with me and join me for dinner? I hate to eat
alone."
{I bet there are a lot of things you hate to do alone, stranger--
and I'd be glad to keep you company.} Alini thought, trying to
finger comb her hair to look more presentable.
"They may not serve me."
"I've already spoken with the proprietor. They'll be no
problem," Tom assured her.
It had been a long time since she ate anywhere but Mroki's. Her
stomachs were already growling, and she knew that if she ate at
the bar they were serving volmo soup today, which she hated. With
that as incentive, it didn't take much for her to decide.
"Thanks, Tom. I'd like that."
His face broke into a wide smile. B'Elanna couldn't help but
smile back, his happiness was contagious. "Then let's go."
Alini stepped back from her eavesdropping post when she heard the
sound of movement below.
Rising up to his full height, Tom reached down to help B'Elanna
up.
"Give me a minute to take care of the tools and run upstairs,
then I can leave."
Tom nodded and watched her gather her tools together. She
carefully placed them in a square tool kit before she exited the
bar through a side door.
B'Elanna ran up the stairs, and quickly unlocked her door.
Opening the trunk, she pulled out a scarlet red top with the
short sleeves that exposed her belly-button, a tight pair of
black slacks, and a well-worn pair of black shoes.
She hoped that Tom wouldn't notice how many times the pants had
been repaired since she had left the Academy. The right knee had
been patched twice and the side seam on her left hip had been
sewn up so many times she had lost count, but they would have to
do. They were the best she had.
Running a comb through her hair she wished she had some of that
scent Trini wore. Trini was one of Mroki's girls whom B'Elanna
liked the best. Occasionally, the young prostitute would talk to
her when no one else was looking. None of the others bothered.
Though inside her stomachs were doing cartwheels, B'Elanna tried
to appear confident as she descended the stairs to the bar.
Pushing open the door and entering the bar she almost turned
around and went back up the stairs, but when she caught sight of
Tom waiting for her she knew she was doing the right thing. He
was smiling at her as if she was the only one in the world.
"You look lovely," Paris said when he finally found his voice.
B'Elanna froze in place. The last person that told her that she
looked lovely had been her father. Perhaps that was why she
still kept Tobey with her?
"Er...thanks." She had never learned how to return a compliment
gracefully--probably because she had never received many.
She's embarrassed, Tom realized. How odd and refreshing to see a
Klingon, or a half-Klingon, at a loss for words. "Are you
ready?"
B'Elanna nodded.
"When will you return?" the bartender called out. "What shall I
tell Mroki?"
The side door opened again and this time a tall, large woman with
blue-gray hair artistically piled on her head entered the bar.
She was dressed in a dramatic floor length, emerald green caftan
that billowed around her.
"Tell me what?" the woman asked in a loud voice. If there was
one thing Maroki wasn't, it was subtle.
Alini, who had kept her eye on what was transpiring, settled back
to enjoy the fireworks.
"I was asking B'Elanna what time she'd be coming back to the
bar," the bartender explained politely. He didn't want to
receive the brunt of his employer's famous wrath.
"Coming back?" Mroki asked turning to face B'Elanna. "Coming
back from where exactly?" The fireworks smouldered.
Tom stepped forward between the two women. He smiled broadly and
extended his hand to the owner of the bar. Mroki placed her
chubby hand in his. Gallantly Paris brought her hand to his lips
and brushed her knuckles with a kiss.
"You must be Mroki," he gushed. "B'Elanna has told me so much
about you. About how you came to her aid when no one else would."
"Why, y--yes," the bar owner stammered, flattered by the
attention that the handsome young man was paying her. Fireworks
fizzled much to Alini's disappointment.
"Do you realize how many extra hours B'Elanna works simply
because she appreciates what you've done for her?"
How did he know? B'Elanna thought.
"B'Elanna is a wonderful employee. She's a hard worker," Mroki
admitted. She'd admit anything if he would just stand here and
talk to her.
Paris flashed her another winning smile. "I told B'Elanna that
any employer that was that kind wouldn't begrudge her the
opportunity to go out for a change of scenery and a bite to eat."
{You exploiting, manipulating madame.}
"Oh, of...course!" Mroki looked beyond the man that had tied
himself so expertly and so quickly around her little finger.
"B'Elanna dear, you take all the time you want. You deserve it.
And here..." Mroki reluctantly reached into the robe and withdrew
a small change purse. Opening it, she removed several luma and
passed them to the half-Klingon. "...buy something nice for
yourself. For *yourself* mind you," she repeated,"and not for
that ship of yours I let take up space in my warehouse." Mroki
focused her attention back on Tom wagging a finger which was
encircled with a large golden ring in his face. "And you see
that she minds."
"Yes, ma'am," Tom chirped.
"Now be off with you," Mroki admonished. "And have a good time."
B'Elanna marveled at the handful of luma Mroki had given her.
With what she had already saved, this would allow her to purchase
some more items for her ship.
"That's for you," Tom reminded her.
"But..."
"No buts" he countered, and offered her his arm. "I promised
Mroki"
B'Elanna clasped his arm with her hand, pleased with the muscles
she felt beneath Tom's sleeve.
Alini couldn't help but be amazed at what had just transpired.
It wasn't everyday a man could sweet talk Mroki. In fact, she
couldn't ever remember it happening. This blond god of a man was
too good to be wasted on the bar's fix-me-up girl, the prostitute
decided. In fact, he was too good for any one but herself.
Leaving her vantage point, Alini moved closer to the pair like a
lioness stalking her prey.
B'Elanna, noticing the approaching whore, gripped Tom's arm
tighter. She wasn't about to let Alini sink her fangs into him--
that was her job she decided {Where did that come from?} B'Elanna
hurried him towards the outside door before Alini could lay
claim.
Exiting the tavern, the pair almost knocked over Ken Dalby, a
member of the Maquis crew, who was entering the bar.
"Paris, so this is where you've been hiding?" Dalby asked
stepping back to avoid being trampled. "I thought Chakotay was
looking for a new pilot with as much time you've been off the
ship recently."
"He knows I still come back to the Liberty at night, Dalby," Tom
spat. "What I do during my waking hours is no one's business but
my own."
"If you say so." Ken Dalby didn't look convinced. "But the
Cap'n didn't look too happy earlier when no one knew where to
find you." Dalby didn't care very much for the young hot shot
pilot, and enjoyed ribbing the man. Everyone else on board was
serving because they had a personal stake in the outcome of the
Maquis rebellion. Ken knew that the only reason Tom Paris was on
board was because of some debt he owed Chakotay.
Tom hurried B'Elanna past his crewmate. "Let *me* worry about
Chakotay, Dalby," he spat just pulling B'Elanna outside, "and you
mind your own business."
Alini noticed the exchange and slinked across the barroom. When
she neared Dalby she wantonly pressed herself up against the new
guest. "Having problems, Uliz? What can Alini do to make it
better?" The words dripped like honey from her ripe lips--honey
laced with poison if you listened carefully. Ken Dalby's hearing
was never very good.
Ken felt the warmth of her very female body against him. The
feel of the beautiful woman's generous breasts pressed against
his chest made him weak in the knees. "U-Uliz?" he stammered.
"My n-name isn't Uliz."
Alini ran her painted fingers through Ken's chestnut-colored
hair. "Consider it a compliment," she purred. "Why don't we get
you a drink and you can keep me company over there?" Alini
gripped his arm possessively pointing to a table at the back of
the room.
"S-Sure." Who was he to turn down an invitation from a beautiful
woman?
Stopping by the bar, Alini procured a tongue-loosening double
Risan whiskey and then led Ken to their table. Placing the drink
in front of him, Alini curled up beside the man, affording him an
unobstructed view of her abundant cleavage.
She waited for him to take several mouthfuls from the glass
before she began to interrogate him. "Who was that man?"
"What? Who?"
"The man that you spoke to when you came in," she reminded him.
"The one that upset you."
"You mean Paris?"
She nodded. "Yes, Paris."
Dalby swallowed a large mouthful of booze at the mere thought of
the man. "He's just some hot shot pilot our captain picked up."
Alini placed her hand on Dalby's meaty thigh and squeezed. "I
thought he seemed...um...oh...familiar in a way," she lied trying
to coax out more information that she could use to her advantage.
"He's familiar all right. He has so much Starfleet brass in his
family it's a wonder they don't rename Starfleet "Paris-fleet,"
Ken snorted.
"Brass?" She pouted pretending not to understand the term. Over
the years plying her trade Alini had learned that acting dumb
sometimes paid off very well.
"Yeah. His whole family's made up of admirals 'n commanders.
His daddy's one of 'em. 'Parently Admiral Paris had groomed his
only son to follow in his illustrious footsteps, but Tom Paris
screwed up." Ken snorted and drank from the glass again.
Alini urged him on. The story was starting to get better. "So
what happened?"
"Our *top gun pilot* caused an accident that killed three other
cadets shortly before he left the Academy," there was no doubt by
the way he emphasized the words "top gun pilot" that Ken despised
the man. "First Paris blamed it on an equipment malfunction.
Later they found out he had lied. An investigation pointed to
pilot error and Starfleet cashiered his sorry ass out of the
service. Damn, I would have loved to have seen the look on his
old man's face when he heard the news about his precious son."
Dalby laughed cruely.
"What happened after?"
"Not much I guess. Rumor has it that Paris just dug into the
family fortune and drank himself from bar to bar until the Cap'n
found him on some little planet. He bailed Paris' butt out of
some prison."
"Fortune?" Alini was suddenly even more interested in the pilot.
"Along with all the Starfleet officers in the family--the Paris
clan is stinkin' rich," Dalby admitted throwing back the rest of
his drink.
{Hmmm, handsome, powerful, gallant, and best of all RICH! Doesn't
get any better than that! This kind of information deserved a
reward.}
"Tell me something about yourself, and then we'll see if Alini
can do something *special* for you," she purred.
Ken Dalby grinned.
* * * * * *
B'Elanna, gripping Tom's hand, followed the tall man down street
after street, neither of them exchanging any words. She could
tell the encounter at the bar with his crewmate had upset Paris
from the way his jaw was clenched and she hoped his anger would
soon pass
The encountered with did produce one thing. She now knew his
last name and it explained a lot. He was one of the Starfleet
Parises--the one that had gotten into trouble. She had always
wondered what his version of events from his past might be.
They were getting further and further away from Mroki's place and
had turned onto a wide avenue that was lined with shops, places
to eat, and what passed on Palmat as trees--stumps of petrified
wood that stuck up out of the ground. Testament of what had once
been a thriving forest over a millennia ago. This was the nicer
side of Malac B'Elanna had only heard about. The pair walked
down the street for several minutes before Tom came to stop in
front of large colorful building. Flags flew in the dry breeze
and several different articles of clothing hung in the shop's
window. Tom steered her toward the building, but B'Elanna hung
back. Turning, he faced her and noted her look of concern.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
Tom sighed and looked past her trying to collect his thoughts
before he again focused on her upturned face. "Yeah, I'm all
right. I'm sorry I wasn't better company," he flashed her a
half-smile of apology. "It's just that Ken Dalby gets under my
skin sometimes. The walk helped let off some steam."
"Why didn't you tell me, Tom?" B'Elanna wasn't going to let this
drop so easily.
"Tell you?" He didn't understand the question.
She folded her arms across her chest and stood her ground. "Tell
me you are the pilot that I was talking about when we first met?"
"Oh, that." Tom shrugged and ran his long fingers through his
hair to expel some nervous energy. "I guess, I simply wanted you
to like me for me, and not because I was a pilot." And I didn't
want you to find out anything more about me, and make this more
complicated that it has to be, he finished the thought silently.
"I do like you, for you." Which was true--his past didn't really
matter to her.
He smiled at hearing her say those words. Tom didn't realize just
how much it mattered to him that she liked him, until that
moment. "I'm glad. You don't know how much that means."
B'Elanna had a feeling she did, she felt the same.
His mouth curled upward and his blue eyes twinkled. "Ready to go
in?"
"Do we have to do this?" B'Elanna asked.
"I promised Mroki. Haven't you heard the saying: Don't look a
gift horse in the mouth?"
B'Elanna's flashing eyes challenged him, but Tom simply ignored
her. He gripped her hand in his and pulled her along behind him
and through the store's front door.
"Tom, really, I could use that money better for my ship,"
B'Elanna argued even after they were inside.
"This time we'll worry about you, next time we'll shop for your
ship," Tom remarked.
{Next time? Was there going to be a next time? What do you know
that I don't?}
B'Elanna stood beside him as Tom fingered his way through a rack
of lightweight dresses and stylish but practical pant suits.
Every once in a while, he'd stop and pull out one of the frocks
for closer inspection. If he was satisfied with it, he'd place
the item in B'Elanna's unwilling hands. It wasn't long before
she had several articles of clothing piled in her arms.
An observant clerk noticed the pair and approached them. Spying
the ripples on B'Elanna forehead, she made an instinctive
circular motion with her left hand. Quickly, before she could
drop her hand, Tom smoothly clasped it with his own.
"Madam," he remarked. "Your establishment is exquisite. My
companion and I are quite amazed with the quality and variety of
your merchandise." Tom's face broke into a wide, welcoming grin.
"Can you be so kind to direct us to a changing area where my
friend can try on a few things?"
The clerk was captivated by the handsome stranger and soon forgot
her initial superstitions. She nodded once and cheerfully
directed them to one of the shop's changing rooms.
"But, Tom, I really don't need anything," B'Elanna argued. Paris
ignored her protests and pushed her toward the appointed room.
"When was the last time you bought anything for yourself?"
"Well--ah--" B'Elanna stammered. "It was...no well maybe it was
when..."
"I thought as much. It's not that what you're wearing isn't
becoming. It is. But it's time for something new and you
deserve it. Now get in there and starting trying these things
on. And I want to see everything," he instructed. "And I won't
take no for an answer. Now shoo!"
B'Elanna growled and slipped into the changing area. Hearing the
growl, Tom replied with a chuckle--a growl was certainly worth a
thousand words...words, epithets, threats... He loved it!
One by one, B'Elanna tried on each of the dresses and in turn
modeled them, albeit unwillingly, for Tom. He rejected two of
the collection immediately noting that the yellow stripe and pink
print, didn't compliment her complexion.
In the end, he selected two items which B'Elanna had to concur
suited her very well: a coral colored, gauzy pant suit and a
solid cream colored sun dress.
Back in the changing area for the last time, B'Elanna was going
to put the slacks and top on that she had worn in back on, but
touching the soft fabric of the sun dress, she changed her mind
and opted for that instead. When she stepped out and saw the way
Tom's eyes lit up she knew she had made the right choice. If
only her worn sandals were in better condition, B'Elanna mused,
but shrugged the thought away and approached the pilot. Her old
shoes would have to do.
Placing the pant suit on the counter, B'Elanna waited for the
clerk to tally up the purchases, when Tom placed a box in her
hands.
"What's this? B'Elanna asked.
"Open it up," he urged with a grin. "And find out. Consider it
my little present to you."
Quizzically, she pried off the lid, to reveal a pair of flesh
colored heeled sandals that would compliment either outfit.
Trying them on, she was pleased to find that they fit perfectly.
The supple leather-like straps formed to her feet like they had
been made specifically for her. "Tom, they're lovely, but you
shouldn't."
"Humor me, B'Elanna. I'm not taking no for an answer."
B'Elanna flexed her foot, the sandals felt very comfortable.
"It's a good thing, that I like them, or you might have a fight
on your hands," she relented. Tom grinned and instructed the
clerk to conclude the purchase.
Exiting the shop with packages in hand, the pair wove their way
up the street pausing at various kiosks until they stopped in
front of a red and white trimmed building.
Tom took a step forward toward the building's front door when he
realized that B'Elanna wasn't following him. He turned to her
and saw the look of uncertainty on her face.
B'Elanna felt uneasy. What seemed to be a good idea at Mroki's
now didn't seem so great. She had noticed the clerk make the
sign to ward off evil--in other words *her*, even though Tom did
a good job covering it. Any time she had entered any of the
shops or cafes in the neighbor where the bar was located she felt
unwelcomed, particularly when the Palmat citizens made that
curious circular motion with their hands. It made the reception
she had received on Kessik IV and the Klingon home world seem
almost cordial.
"I told you before I talked with the owner, B'Elanna. You don't
have to worry about not being welcomed."
"I don't know," she hedged and bit her lip nervously.
"He's a Telkian," Tom explained. "Have you ever seen a Telkian?
She shook her head.
"They have a ridge that begins at the tip of their nose, goes up
their forehead where it splits and forms a curly-Q on each side."
Paris traced the pattern on B'Elanna's face, his finger lightly
touching her own ridges.
Standing there before him, she was mesmerized. The touch of his
finger against the raised crests sent a feeling through her body
that she had never felt before. It was scary and exciting at the
same time.
Tom gratefully noticed the change or her attitude. She seemed
more at ease. "Can we go in now?"
She nodded numbly, not trusting herself to speak.
Entering the elegantly appointed restaurant, the Telkian that Tom
told her about greeted them warmly, escorted them personally to a
table in the center of the dining room, and handed them menus.
Seeing the crisp white tablecloths and sprigs of wildflowers that
adorned the table, B'Elanna was very glad that she had opted to
change her clothes.
Tom noticed that B'Elanna was overcome with the reception they
had received and with the splendor of the furnishings inside. It
had probably been a long time since she had dined in such a nice
place. He was very glad that he could do this for her.
"I hope you didn't mind being seated next to the fountain?" Tom
asked and indicated a small geometric-shaped fountain that
spouted streams of water at random from various locations. It
looked like it had been assembled by fusing large clear crystals
together. It was the central attraction of the room, and it was
stunning.
"It's wonderful, Tom. I had only heard about this section of
town, but I've never been here. I'm glad you brought me."
"Mroki's been keeping you too busy. You need to get out every
once in a while."
B'Elanna nodded. "How'd you find it this place?"
"Just by chance." That was true. He found it when he was in
search of a job in which to earn a little bit of extra money
while the Liberty was being repaired. "Are you ready to order?"
he asked, knowing that she had yet to peruse the menu.
B'Elanna grinned guiltily and opened the large menu. Looking it
over, she was very glad that the description of the items also
included translation into Federation Standard. Even so, some of
the dishes didn't seem to translate very well. Just what was
braised muscle of shingle anyway? Would anyone really eat ripe
flesh in anemic sauce? Some of the items though did sound
familiar to her. B'Elanna was tempted to order the Gidean
specialty Roscato which consisted of a wild rice, fresh
vegetables, and fish served with a spicy sauce, but when she
noticed the price for the meal she chose something far less
costly. Closing her menu she waited for Tom to make his
decision.
Tom looked up at her. "All set?"
B'Elanna nodded.
"Good. Me too." Looking across the room, he waved his menu.
The movement caught the eye of a Telkian waiter who promptly
returned to their table, his fingers poised above his order PADD.
"I see you've decided. What'll you have, plutec?"
Plutec? She'd only heard a few of the women in the bar referred
to by such an esteemed name, like when the liquor merchant was
trying to sweet talk Mroki. It caught her off guard for a
moment. "Um...the...um... looks good."
The waiter began to enter the order into his PADD. "Is that all?
he asked looking up at the half-Klingon.
B'Elanna nodded.
"Wait right there!" The Teklian's fingers froze at Tom's
outburst. "I didn't bring you here for you to eat just a salad!"
"But that's what I want!"
"You can't be serious! Just a salad?"
"I said I wanted a salad," B'Elanna insisted in a loud voice.
"Your kidding?"
"What do you mean?"
Have the brine salad if you want to, but if you really are
hungry, please order something else. I can't tell you how many
women I've ever known that may not have eaten for a week and
could cheerfully devour one of everything on the menu. Because
of their vanity though they order a bite of vegetation and a
swallow of water and proclaim that they are full."
"I'll *have* the brine salad!" she repeated, this time in a
louder voice. The other patrons in the restaurant stopped eating
and looked over to their table to see what was going on.
"Wouldn't you rather have the Roscato? It's suppose to be a
house specialty. Waiter, please bring us two servings of Roscato
and a bottle your best wine. Then, if you have room for the
brine salad after you have desert, you can order it." With
flashing blue eyes, Tom dared her to refuse.
The waiter not wanting to be present a moment longer than
necessary, made note of the order in the preceding small moment
of silence, collected the menus, and quickly left the table.
"Tom."
"What?"
"If you were a Klingon what you did could have been construed as
a proposal of marriage!"
Paris' eyes widened, he had no idea.
A small smile spread over B'Elanna's face when she noticed Tom's
stunned reaction. "Relax, Tom, I'm only half-Klingon."
The pilot swallowed down a lump in his throat. "So I'm only
half-committed to marriage?
B'Elanna's smile turned into a laugh. The diners returned their
attentions to their meals, satisfied that a fight wasn't going to
break out.
"You didn't really want the salad, did you?"
"No. Not really," she admitted. Paris returned the smile.
"Just don't let that happen again, or you might find yourself
engaged," she warned. "My cousin, K'Karn, on my mother's side
would defend my honor at all costs."
"K'Karn?"
"He's my clan's bat'leth champion."
{Bat'leths. Sharp, dangerous, and above all deadly.} "Well,
I'll be more careful what I say in the future," the pilot
promised. "But it'll be difficult. I've never been one to think
before I speak."
"Sounds like something we both have in common."
"Guess so." Tom looked pensive. Just when he had almost
convinced himself that he could think of B'Elanna Torres as a
momentary distraction, she'd say something that would endear her
all the more to him. Something that would make it all that much
harder to say goodbye when the Liberty left Palmat.
The Telkian waiter returned with a bottle of wine and two long
stemmed goblets on a tray. Pouring a little wine in one goblet
he passed it to Tom, who swirled the amber liquid in the glass
and then brought it to his lips and sipped at the liquid. The
pilot nodded at the waiter signifying his acceptance of the wine,
and the Telkian filled the other goblet, passed it to B'Elanna,
and then replenished Tom's glass.
Seeing how quiet Tom had suddenly become, B'Elanna decided that a
change the topic would be a good idea. "I like this place.
Particularly the fountain," she commented bringing the goblet to
her lips. Taking a sip, she savored the fruity concoction. "I
didn't even know there was a fountain in Malac; it adds a lot of
character to the room."
"It's refreshing. Almost makes your forget how dry it is
outside," Tom remarked.
"With the abundant groundwater resources, it's surprising you
don't see more of them," B'Elanna replied. "Then again, the good
citizens of Palmat aren't really found of water."
"What do you mean?" he asked. Tom would have thought that with
as dry as the planet was, water from any source would have been
almost revered.
B'Elanna took another taste of the wine before she replied.
"Well, water that they pump directly from the ground seems to be
okay, but the few areas of open water that exist they avoid like
a plague."
"Why's that?"
"The only reason I can figure is that as far as I know, they
can't swim--not a stroke."
"not surprising, I guess."
"No, it's not. In fact, most suicides and murders on Palmat are
a direct result of drowning. If the authorities suspect that a
suicide or a murder has occurred, they go to these areas of open
water and drag the bottom for the body. Most times they're
successful."
"What a waste, to live in a land so hot and dry and not to know
the pleasure of swimming," Tom commented. "Whatever do they do to
keep themselves clean? Not that all do." He remembered that
some of the residents of Malac looked unkempt and dirty.
"Well there are a number of sonic shower facilities scattered
throughout the city. Mroki even owns half interest in one of
them. I'm sure she makes a profit from it that a Ferengi would
envy.
Tom chuckled.
"Some of the more wealthy citizens have their own. Other than
that--your guess is as good as mine."
"I don't think I'll hazard a guess. It's probably a good thing
we have our own sonic showers on the ship," Tom noted.
"How are the repairs coming along?" B'Elanna asked taking another
sip from her goblet.
"Slow."
B'Elanna was glad to hear the news. The longer the repairs took
the more time she'd have with Tom.
"The ship's engineer is having a problem with the port nacelle--
the frequency won't stabilize."
"Has he tried recalibrating the injection ports?"
Tom shrugged. He had no idea.
"Or if that doesn't work, he should try flushing the warp lines,"
she continued.
"I'll tell him. You really do know your stuff, don't you?"
B'Elanna smiled slightly and blushed. "That's what Professor
Nakot told me--too bad that the rest of the instructors didn't
see it."
Tom slapped his hand on the table. "So that's why you look so
familiar! You were at the Academy!"
B'Elanna's bright smile fled. "Yeah, for a while, but it was a
mistake for me to even apply to Starfleet. During my whole time
there, it was one argument after another. I can't tell you how
many professors I had run-ins with."
"Your last name is Torres," he stated when realization dawned.
B'Elanna nodded. "How'd you know?"
Tom laughed. "Actually, I've seen you before, even though it was
indirectly. I just didn't make the connection before."
"Where did you see me?"
"It was about four or five years ago, it was during my senior
year at the Academy. I had gone to deliver one of my assignments
to my instructor--Professor Zuta. Did you ever have Zuta?"
B'Elanna shook her head. "Nope, I was due to have him in my
third year, but I was gone by then."
"You weren't missing much. Very dry little man, it was a
challenge to stay awake during his lectures. He could make sex
with a Kl...um...well. He was dull and let's leave it at that."
B'Elanna noted the slip of his tongue but chose to ignore it.
She was more interesting in what he was going to tell her about
Zuta. "Continue," she prompted.
"Yeah...um...oh, yes--Zuta. When I entered his office that day,
he was having a discussion with a friend of my father--Captain
Konchak. Zuta asked me to wait while he finished, knowing I was
well acquainted with the Captain, he kept on talking. They were
talking about this upstart of a cadet--a cadet named Torres..."
B'Elanna's eyes opened a little wider.
"This cadet had the nerve to challenge some of her engineering
professors' tried and proven theories," Paris continued.
"They were probably speculating how long it would be before I'd
be booted out of the Academy." B'Elanna drank deeply from her
goblet trying to cover her reaction to both Tom's tale and her
suspicions.
"No," Tom replied. "Captain Konchak asked who this Cadet Torres
was. Zuta called up your holoimage on his computer. I'll never
forget Konchak's remark."
B'Elanna froze, expecting to hear the worst.
"He turned to the Professor and said 'so that's the one who
should be teaching the class'. The Captain then informed him
that Picard had already expressed interest in the cadet's
talents."
"I--I don't believe it!" B'Elanna exclaimed.
"It's true," Tom insisted. "Of course the main reason I remember
all this was because of the holoimage that was displayed. Back
then your hair was shorter--about to here." He leaned across the
cable and touched B'Elanna's neck just below her ear. "You were
dressed as a cadet then, but I remember you."
"Maybe you remember me because there weren't that many Klingons
in Starfleet," B'Elanna surmised, contemplating the wine that
remained in the glass. How could he possibly remember what she
looked like back then if it wasn't for that? Freaks were easy to
pick out.
Again Tom extended his hand, this time placing his index finger
against her chin. Tilting her face up he looked into her velvety
brown eyes.
"No, B'Elanna. The reason why I remember all this so well, was
that I was struck by your beauty."
B'Elanna tried to turn her head to avoid his scrutinizing gaze,
but Tom wouldn't drop his hand.
"I found you fascinating then, and even more so now that I've
gotten to know you. Perhaps it is fate that allowed me to find
you in this corner of the universe." Tom dropped his hand but
continued to focus on the woman before him.
Shutting her eyes, B'Elanna tried to steady her emotions. No one
could consider her beautiful she thought, especially not someone
so handsome as Tom. Fun to be with maybe? But beautiful?
Hardly.
"B'Elanna," he beckoned
She opened her eyes again and looked at the pilot.
"I mean it, B'Elanna. I think you're beautiful and someday I
hope you'll see it too."
At that tender moment, the waiter arrived with their meals
interrupting their intimate discussion.
In silence, the pair ate their Roscato looking up from time to
time at the other as if trying to gauge the other's thoughts.
{Was he telling the truth?}
{Does she believe me?}
{Dare I hope that I've found someone that can love me, and I
him?}
{Can she overlook my past?}
{How long can this last?}
Unanswered questions that needed to be answered, if there were to
be hope for the future.
After the meals were finished, the pair quickly left the cafe
hand in hand. Tom steered them back the way they had come.
Strolling along the street, they stopped from time to time to
examine different kiosks--there was a small shop which sold
scarves, one which sold jewelry, and another that specialized in
a variety of leather products. Neither wanted their time
together to come to and end, but both knew they had
responsibilities they couldn't ignore. As the twin suns began to
set, they turned away from the shops, entering the side road they
had taken before.
Retracing their path, they ultimately reached the point in their
journey where Tom would have to turn to the right and go back to
his ship, and B'Elanna would take the left to return to the bar.
It was at this point, where a large stone wall followed the edge
of the small lane before it emptied onto another main street,
that they stopped.
"It's getting dark," B'Elanna observed.
"Yeah, I need to be returning to the ship. They'll be expecting
me."
"I should be returning to the bar as well. The refrigerant unit
probably has stopped working again, but I wish it didn't have to
end," B'Elanna admitted.
Tom guided her away from the other people walking along the
street and towards the stonewall.
Tom nodded. "It doesn't have to, not now. The ship will still
be in port for another two weeks."
"Then you have to go," B'Elanna replied sadly. Two weeks seemed
so short.
"Yeah, I know. I promised the Captain." Tom stepped closer to
her.
B'Elanna stood her ground tilting her head up to meet his gaze.
"Your promises mean a lot to you."
"Yeah, I guess. It would have been dishonorable if I had left
them," the pilot explained. "Honor--that's something that
Klingon's value."
"Above all else," B'Elanna added. She swallowed down a lump in
her throat as Paris encroached upon her personal space. She
licked her lips nervously as he got even closer. Noticing the
trail of sweat that coursed down his temple and over his fair
cheek, she longed to lick that too.
Taking the initiative, Tom placed his hands on her upper arms and
pulled B'Elanna toward him. She didn't resist, but he could
sense her anxiety in the way she quivered beneath his touch.
Nostrils flared in an effort to capture his scent. It was an
exhilarating, heady experience. No other man she had known
before had affected her this way, especially in such a short
period of time. B'Elanna had an overwhelming urge to attack him,
bite him, and taste every square centimeter of his flesh. Her
breath caught in her throat at the very thought. She wanted to
not just smell his scent but to engulf herself in it. To become
one with...
Bending over her Tom pressed his mouth against hers. The
pilot's mouth explored new territory, searching, teasing, and
savoring the red ripe lips. Like a connoisseur of fine wine, he
languished, taking the time to appreciate every nuance. He
reveled in the fullness of her lips and how they trembled beneath
his own. Tom's arms encircled B'Elanna's body and pulled her
into a clutching, desperate embrace--like a drowning man who
finally found the sweetest oxygen to breathe.
Parting her lips, she allowed him access and he didn't
disappoint. His probing tongue entered her mouth and she tasted
him. Her human side forced the Klingon half from knocking him to
the ground and ripping his clothes off. The Klingon half vowed
that before this man left Palmat, he would be hers.
B'Elanna purred with pleasure spurring Tom on. His hands
explored her back and he pushed against her in an effort to taste
as much of her mouth as was possible, oblivious to the world
around him.
"Hey, Tom!" A voice called out. When no reply was forthcoming,
the owner of the voice tapped the pilot on the shoulder. "TOM
PARIS!"
Pulling away from B'Elanna, Paris looked up, mouth lax, puzzled
by the interruption.
Geron, a young Bajoran Maquis, was standing beside the pair; his
arms crossed in front of his chest. "The Captain's looking for
you, Paris."
"For me?" Tom looked at Geron. B'Elanna, lips swollen, turned
away to avoid the young man's gaze.
"He sent me out looking for you over an hour ago. Apparently
your commbadge isn't working. He needs you back on the ship,
something about them reinitializing the helm controls."
"Ah...right. I'll be right along."
"He said *now*, Paris."
"I heard you. I'm right behind you."
Tom twisted around and gripped B'Elanna by the shoulder. "I'll
be back. It's a promise."
B'Elanna reached up and covered his hand with her own and
squeezed. Then he was gone.
End Chapter 2
Click here to transport to Chapter 3 - Commitment
~~~~They say,"Brandy, you're a fine girl
~~~~What a good wife you would be
~~~~You could steal a sailor From the sea.
Tom Paris walked back into Mroki's bar two days later. It was
the middle of the day, and he was thankful that the 'women of the
evening' were probably still in bed sleeping off their activities
from the night before. Tom scanned the room for a familiar
figure, but only saw a few men scattered through the barroom. A
flash of movement then caught his eye. He saw a small hand
searching the top of the bar for something. Moving near the bar,
Tom noticed that a sonic resonator was lying on the floor.
He picked up the tool and placed it in the questing hand, at the
same time keeping a firm grip on it himself.
B'Elanna was surprised to find that the instrument she had been
searching for had been placed in her palm. Grasping it tightly
she pulled it towards her but whoever was holding the other end
wasn't letting go. Someone was going to wish they didn't play
these silly games, she vowed. The half-Klingon popped her head
up above the bartop and encountered a familiar sparkling pair of
blue eyes. Eyes she had been dreaming about since she last saw
them. Her anger was forgotten
"Tom!" she shouted.
"Need some help?" he asked, his eyes lit with mischief.
"Not unless you know anything about refrigerant coils and
resonators," B'Elanna grumbled.
"Sorry, not really. But I could pass you the tools you need.
Consider me your nurse and you can be the surgeon."
B'Elanna dropped back down out of sight. Gathering the various
tools that were strewn across the bar, Tom joined her on the
other side, taking her non-comment as a yes.
"Weren't you working on this last time I was here?" he asked
seating himself cross-legged beside her. She had her head
halfway inside the unit she was trying to repair.
"Yeah. Damn thing is so old, it's a wonder it's still
operational." She held out her hand. "Sonic wrench."
Tom sorted through the tools, selected the correct item, and
placed it in her waiting palm.
She took the wrench and began tightening a loose nut. "They
don't even make the tools to repair this particular cooling
device anymore," she explained. "I had to adapt current
technology to work on this antique."
"Sounds like you are pretty resourceful. Not everyone could do
that."
B'Elanna ignored the compliment. "Why did you come back, Tom?"
she asked not daring to look at the man lest she reveal that she
might care too much.
"What do you mean?"
She tightened a connection inside the refrigerant unit before the
turned to face Tom Paris. "Did you come back because you felt
sorry for me? Or because you expected to see Alini and found me
instead?" {Am I just a diversion until she wakes up?}
"I came to see you, nothing more. I couldn't give a damn about
Alini, and I don't feel sorry for you, B'Elanna. When I was here
the other night I really enjoyed your company. I was hoping to
have a chance to talk to you again."
"Hhrrump!" B'Elanna turned and stuck her head back into the
refrigeration unit.
"Really, B'Elanna. I went back to the ship after I left you that
night, and all I could think about was you." He placed his hand
on her shoulder and pulled her back.
{What was that old Earth expression about punching oneself? Or
was it pinching? Was it possible that what he's telling me is
true?}
Alini chose that moment to stroll into the tavern, traces of
sleep were still evident on her heavily painted face. Padding
over to the bar to retrieve a warm cup of Palmatic tea, she
overhead voices from the other side below the countertop.
Peering over, she was surprised to see the handsome blonde
stranger she had seen in the bar a few nights ago. She was even
more surprised to see that once again he was talking with
B'Elanna.
"I'm telling you the truth, B'Elanna. I'd really like to speak
with you again. Do you think that we could go some place, just
me and you, and talk?"
"Talk?"
"Promise--just talk."
The quiet ones always want to 'just talk.' Then the talk leads to
other things, Alini mused.
"I found a nice little cafe--well as nice as it gets in Malac.
Will you come with me and join me for dinner? I hate to eat
alone."
{I bet there are a lot of things you hate to do alone, stranger--
and I'd be glad to keep you company.} Alini thought, trying to
finger comb her hair to look more presentable.
"They may not serve me."
"I've already spoken with the proprietor. They'll be no
problem," Tom assured her.
It had been a long time since she ate anywhere but Mroki's. Her
stomachs were already growling, and she knew that if she ate at
the bar they were serving volmo soup today, which she hated. With
that as incentive, it didn't take much for her to decide.
"Thanks, Tom. I'd like that."
His face broke into a wide smile. B'Elanna couldn't help but
smile back, his happiness was contagious. "Then let's go."
Alini stepped back from her eavesdropping post when she heard the
sound of movement below.
Rising up to his full height, Tom reached down to help B'Elanna
up.
"Give me a minute to take care of the tools and run upstairs,
then I can leave."
Tom nodded and watched her gather her tools together. She
carefully placed them in a square tool kit before she exited the
bar through a side door.
B'Elanna ran up the stairs, and quickly unlocked her door.
Opening the trunk, she pulled out a scarlet red top with the
short sleeves that exposed her belly-button, a tight pair of
black slacks, and a well-worn pair of black shoes.
She hoped that Tom wouldn't notice how many times the pants had
been repaired since she had left the Academy. The right knee had
been patched twice and the side seam on her left hip had been
sewn up so many times she had lost count, but they would have to
do. They were the best she had.
Running a comb through her hair she wished she had some of that
scent Trini wore. Trini was one of Mroki's girls whom B'Elanna
liked the best. Occasionally, the young prostitute would talk to
her when no one else was looking. None of the others bothered.
Though inside her stomachs were doing cartwheels, B'Elanna tried
to appear confident as she descended the stairs to the bar.
Pushing open the door and entering the bar she almost turned
around and went back up the stairs, but when she caught sight of
Tom waiting for her she knew she was doing the right thing. He
was smiling at her as if she was the only one in the world.
"You look lovely," Paris said when he finally found his voice.
B'Elanna froze in place. The last person that told her that she
looked lovely had been her father. Perhaps that was why she
still kept Tobey with her?
"Er...thanks." She had never learned how to return a compliment
gracefully--probably because she had never received many.
She's embarrassed, Tom realized. How odd and refreshing to see a
Klingon, or a half-Klingon, at a loss for words. "Are you
ready?"
B'Elanna nodded.
"When will you return?" the bartender called out. "What shall I
tell Mroki?"
The side door opened again and this time a tall, large woman with
blue-gray hair artistically piled on her head entered the bar.
She was dressed in a dramatic floor length, emerald green caftan
that billowed around her.
"Tell me what?" the woman asked in a loud voice. If there was
one thing Maroki wasn't, it was subtle.
Alini, who had kept her eye on what was transpiring, settled back
to enjoy the fireworks.
"I was asking B'Elanna what time she'd be coming back to the
bar," the bartender explained politely. He didn't want to
receive the brunt of his employer's famous wrath.
"Coming back?" Mroki asked turning to face B'Elanna. "Coming
back from where exactly?" The fireworks smouldered.
Tom stepped forward between the two women. He smiled broadly and
extended his hand to the owner of the bar. Mroki placed her
chubby hand in his. Gallantly Paris brought her hand to his lips
and brushed her knuckles with a kiss.
"You must be Mroki," he gushed. "B'Elanna has told me so much
about you. About how you came to her aid when no one else would."
"Why, y--yes," the bar owner stammered, flattered by the
attention that the handsome young man was paying her. Fireworks
fizzled much to Alini's disappointment.
"Do you realize how many extra hours B'Elanna works simply
because she appreciates what you've done for her?"
How did he know? B'Elanna thought.
"B'Elanna is a wonderful employee. She's a hard worker," Mroki
admitted. She'd admit anything if he would just stand here and
talk to her.
Paris flashed her another winning smile. "I told B'Elanna that
any employer that was that kind wouldn't begrudge her the
opportunity to go out for a change of scenery and a bite to eat."
{You exploiting, manipulating madame.}
"Oh, of...course!" Mroki looked beyond the man that had tied
himself so expertly and so quickly around her little finger.
"B'Elanna dear, you take all the time you want. You deserve it.
And here..." Mroki reluctantly reached into the robe and withdrew
a small change purse. Opening it, she removed several luma and
passed them to the half-Klingon. "...buy something nice for
yourself. For *yourself* mind you," she repeated,"and not for
that ship of yours I let take up space in my warehouse." Mroki
focused her attention back on Tom wagging a finger which was
encircled with a large golden ring in his face. "And you see
that she minds."
"Yes, ma'am," Tom chirped.
"Now be off with you," Mroki admonished. "And have a good time."
B'Elanna marveled at the handful of luma Mroki had given her.
With what she had already saved, this would allow her to purchase
some more items for her ship.
"That's for you," Tom reminded her.
"But..."
"No buts" he countered, and offered her his arm. "I promised
Mroki"
B'Elanna clasped his arm with her hand, pleased with the muscles
she felt beneath Tom's sleeve.
Alini couldn't help but be amazed at what had just transpired.
It wasn't everyday a man could sweet talk Mroki. In fact, she
couldn't ever remember it happening. This blond god of a man was
too good to be wasted on the bar's fix-me-up girl, the prostitute
decided. In fact, he was too good for any one but herself.
Leaving her vantage point, Alini moved closer to the pair like a
lioness stalking her prey.
B'Elanna, noticing the approaching whore, gripped Tom's arm
tighter. She wasn't about to let Alini sink her fangs into him--
that was her job she decided {Where did that come from?} B'Elanna
hurried him towards the outside door before Alini could lay
claim.
Exiting the tavern, the pair almost knocked over Ken Dalby, a
member of the Maquis crew, who was entering the bar.
"Paris, so this is where you've been hiding?" Dalby asked
stepping back to avoid being trampled. "I thought Chakotay was
looking for a new pilot with as much time you've been off the
ship recently."
"He knows I still come back to the Liberty at night, Dalby," Tom
spat. "What I do during my waking hours is no one's business but
my own."
"If you say so." Ken Dalby didn't look convinced. "But the
Cap'n didn't look too happy earlier when no one knew where to
find you." Dalby didn't care very much for the young hot shot
pilot, and enjoyed ribbing the man. Everyone else on board was
serving because they had a personal stake in the outcome of the
Maquis rebellion. Ken knew that the only reason Tom Paris was on
board was because of some debt he owed Chakotay.
Tom hurried B'Elanna past his crewmate. "Let *me* worry about
Chakotay, Dalby," he spat just pulling B'Elanna outside, "and you
mind your own business."
Alini noticed the exchange and slinked across the barroom. When
she neared Dalby she wantonly pressed herself up against the new
guest. "Having problems, Uliz? What can Alini do to make it
better?" The words dripped like honey from her ripe lips--honey
laced with poison if you listened carefully. Ken Dalby's hearing
was never very good.
Ken felt the warmth of her very female body against him. The
feel of the beautiful woman's generous breasts pressed against
his chest made him weak in the knees. "U-Uliz?" he stammered.
"My n-name isn't Uliz."
Alini ran her painted fingers through Ken's chestnut-colored
hair. "Consider it a compliment," she purred. "Why don't we get
you a drink and you can keep me company over there?" Alini
gripped his arm possessively pointing to a table at the back of
the room.
"S-Sure." Who was he to turn down an invitation from a beautiful
woman?
Stopping by the bar, Alini procured a tongue-loosening double
Risan whiskey and then led Ken to their table. Placing the drink
in front of him, Alini curled up beside the man, affording him an
unobstructed view of her abundant cleavage.
She waited for him to take several mouthfuls from the glass
before she began to interrogate him. "Who was that man?"
"What? Who?"
"The man that you spoke to when you came in," she reminded him.
"The one that upset you."
"You mean Paris?"
She nodded. "Yes, Paris."
Dalby swallowed a large mouthful of booze at the mere thought of
the man. "He's just some hot shot pilot our captain picked up."
Alini placed her hand on Dalby's meaty thigh and squeezed. "I
thought he seemed...um...oh...familiar in a way," she lied trying
to coax out more information that she could use to her advantage.
"He's familiar all right. He has so much Starfleet brass in his
family it's a wonder they don't rename Starfleet "Paris-fleet,"
Ken snorted.
"Brass?" She pouted pretending not to understand the term. Over
the years plying her trade Alini had learned that acting dumb
sometimes paid off very well.
"Yeah. His whole family's made up of admirals 'n commanders.
His daddy's one of 'em. 'Parently Admiral Paris had groomed his
only son to follow in his illustrious footsteps, but Tom Paris
screwed up." Ken snorted and drank from the glass again.
Alini urged him on. The story was starting to get better. "So
what happened?"
"Our *top gun pilot* caused an accident that killed three other
cadets shortly before he left the Academy," there was no doubt by
the way he emphasized the words "top gun pilot" that Ken despised
the man. "First Paris blamed it on an equipment malfunction.
Later they found out he had lied. An investigation pointed to
pilot error and Starfleet cashiered his sorry ass out of the
service. Damn, I would have loved to have seen the look on his
old man's face when he heard the news about his precious son."
Dalby laughed cruely.
"What happened after?"
"Not much I guess. Rumor has it that Paris just dug into the
family fortune and drank himself from bar to bar until the Cap'n
found him on some little planet. He bailed Paris' butt out of
some prison."
"Fortune?" Alini was suddenly even more interested in the pilot.
"Along with all the Starfleet officers in the family--the Paris
clan is stinkin' rich," Dalby admitted throwing back the rest of
his drink.
{Hmmm, handsome, powerful, gallant, and best of all RICH! Doesn't
get any better than that! This kind of information deserved a
reward.}
"Tell me something about yourself, and then we'll see if Alini
can do something *special* for you," she purred.
Ken Dalby grinned.
* * * * * *
B'Elanna, gripping Tom's hand, followed the tall man down street
after street, neither of them exchanging any words. She could
tell the encounter at the bar with his crewmate had upset Paris
from the way his jaw was clenched and she hoped his anger would
soon pass
The encountered with did produce one thing. She now knew his
last name and it explained a lot. He was one of the Starfleet
Parises--the one that had gotten into trouble. She had always
wondered what his version of events from his past might be.
They were getting further and further away from Mroki's place and
had turned onto a wide avenue that was lined with shops, places
to eat, and what passed on Palmat as trees--stumps of petrified
wood that stuck up out of the ground. Testament of what had once
been a thriving forest over a millennia ago. This was the nicer
side of Malac B'Elanna had only heard about. The pair walked
down the street for several minutes before Tom came to stop in
front of large colorful building. Flags flew in the dry breeze
and several different articles of clothing hung in the shop's
window. Tom steered her toward the building, but B'Elanna hung
back. Turning, he faced her and noted her look of concern.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
Tom sighed and looked past her trying to collect his thoughts
before he again focused on her upturned face. "Yeah, I'm all
right. I'm sorry I wasn't better company," he flashed her a
half-smile of apology. "It's just that Ken Dalby gets under my
skin sometimes. The walk helped let off some steam."
"Why didn't you tell me, Tom?" B'Elanna wasn't going to let this
drop so easily.
"Tell you?" He didn't understand the question.
She folded her arms across her chest and stood her ground. "Tell
me you are the pilot that I was talking about when we first met?"
"Oh, that." Tom shrugged and ran his long fingers through his
hair to expel some nervous energy. "I guess, I simply wanted you
to like me for me, and not because I was a pilot." And I didn't
want you to find out anything more about me, and make this more
complicated that it has to be, he finished the thought silently.
"I do like you, for you." Which was true--his past didn't really
matter to her.
He smiled at hearing her say those words. Tom didn't realize just
how much it mattered to him that she liked him, until that
moment. "I'm glad. You don't know how much that means."
B'Elanna had a feeling she did, she felt the same.
His mouth curled upward and his blue eyes twinkled. "Ready to go
in?"
"Do we have to do this?" B'Elanna asked.
"I promised Mroki. Haven't you heard the saying: Don't look a
gift horse in the mouth?"
B'Elanna's flashing eyes challenged him, but Tom simply ignored
her. He gripped her hand in his and pulled her along behind him
and through the store's front door.
"Tom, really, I could use that money better for my ship,"
B'Elanna argued even after they were inside.
"This time we'll worry about you, next time we'll shop for your
ship," Tom remarked.
{Next time? Was there going to be a next time? What do you know
that I don't?}
B'Elanna stood beside him as Tom fingered his way through a rack
of lightweight dresses and stylish but practical pant suits.
Every once in a while, he'd stop and pull out one of the frocks
for closer inspection. If he was satisfied with it, he'd place
the item in B'Elanna's unwilling hands. It wasn't long before
she had several articles of clothing piled in her arms.
An observant clerk noticed the pair and approached them. Spying
the ripples on B'Elanna forehead, she made an instinctive
circular motion with her left hand. Quickly, before she could
drop her hand, Tom smoothly clasped it with his own.
"Madam," he remarked. "Your establishment is exquisite. My
companion and I are quite amazed with the quality and variety of
your merchandise." Tom's face broke into a wide, welcoming grin.
"Can you be so kind to direct us to a changing area where my
friend can try on a few things?"
The clerk was captivated by the handsome stranger and soon forgot
her initial superstitions. She nodded once and cheerfully
directed them to one of the shop's changing rooms.
"But, Tom, I really don't need anything," B'Elanna argued. Paris
ignored her protests and pushed her toward the appointed room.
"When was the last time you bought anything for yourself?"
"Well--ah--" B'Elanna stammered. "It was...no well maybe it was
when..."
"I thought as much. It's not that what you're wearing isn't
becoming. It is. But it's time for something new and you
deserve it. Now get in there and starting trying these things
on. And I want to see everything," he instructed. "And I won't
take no for an answer. Now shoo!"
B'Elanna growled and slipped into the changing area. Hearing the
growl, Tom replied with a chuckle--a growl was certainly worth a
thousand words...words, epithets, threats... He loved it!
One by one, B'Elanna tried on each of the dresses and in turn
modeled them, albeit unwillingly, for Tom. He rejected two of
the collection immediately noting that the yellow stripe and pink
print, didn't compliment her complexion.
In the end, he selected two items which B'Elanna had to concur
suited her very well: a coral colored, gauzy pant suit and a
solid cream colored sun dress.
Back in the changing area for the last time, B'Elanna was going
to put the slacks and top on that she had worn in back on, but
touching the soft fabric of the sun dress, she changed her mind
and opted for that instead. When she stepped out and saw the way
Tom's eyes lit up she knew she had made the right choice. If
only her worn sandals were in better condition, B'Elanna mused,
but shrugged the thought away and approached the pilot. Her old
shoes would have to do.
Placing the pant suit on the counter, B'Elanna waited for the
clerk to tally up the purchases, when Tom placed a box in her
hands.
"What's this? B'Elanna asked.
"Open it up," he urged with a grin. "And find out. Consider it
my little present to you."
Quizzically, she pried off the lid, to reveal a pair of flesh
colored heeled sandals that would compliment either outfit.
Trying them on, she was pleased to find that they fit perfectly.
The supple leather-like straps formed to her feet like they had
been made specifically for her. "Tom, they're lovely, but you
shouldn't."
"Humor me, B'Elanna. I'm not taking no for an answer."
B'Elanna flexed her foot, the sandals felt very comfortable.
"It's a good thing, that I like them, or you might have a fight
on your hands," she relented. Tom grinned and instructed the
clerk to conclude the purchase.
Exiting the shop with packages in hand, the pair wove their way
up the street pausing at various kiosks until they stopped in
front of a red and white trimmed building.
Tom took a step forward toward the building's front door when he
realized that B'Elanna wasn't following him. He turned to her
and saw the look of uncertainty on her face.
B'Elanna felt uneasy. What seemed to be a good idea at Mroki's
now didn't seem so great. She had noticed the clerk make the
sign to ward off evil--in other words *her*, even though Tom did
a good job covering it. Any time she had entered any of the
shops or cafes in the neighbor where the bar was located she felt
unwelcomed, particularly when the Palmat citizens made that
curious circular motion with their hands. It made the reception
she had received on Kessik IV and the Klingon home world seem
almost cordial.
"I told you before I talked with the owner, B'Elanna. You don't
have to worry about not being welcomed."
"I don't know," she hedged and bit her lip nervously.
"He's a Telkian," Tom explained. "Have you ever seen a Telkian?
She shook her head.
"They have a ridge that begins at the tip of their nose, goes up
their forehead where it splits and forms a curly-Q on each side."
Paris traced the pattern on B'Elanna's face, his finger lightly
touching her own ridges.
Standing there before him, she was mesmerized. The touch of his
finger against the raised crests sent a feeling through her body
that she had never felt before. It was scary and exciting at the
same time.
Tom gratefully noticed the change or her attitude. She seemed
more at ease. "Can we go in now?"
She nodded numbly, not trusting herself to speak.
Entering the elegantly appointed restaurant, the Telkian that Tom
told her about greeted them warmly, escorted them personally to a
table in the center of the dining room, and handed them menus.
Seeing the crisp white tablecloths and sprigs of wildflowers that
adorned the table, B'Elanna was very glad that she had opted to
change her clothes.
Tom noticed that B'Elanna was overcome with the reception they
had received and with the splendor of the furnishings inside. It
had probably been a long time since she had dined in such a nice
place. He was very glad that he could do this for her.
"I hope you didn't mind being seated next to the fountain?" Tom
asked and indicated a small geometric-shaped fountain that
spouted streams of water at random from various locations. It
looked like it had been assembled by fusing large clear crystals
together. It was the central attraction of the room, and it was
stunning.
"It's wonderful, Tom. I had only heard about this section of
town, but I've never been here. I'm glad you brought me."
"Mroki's been keeping you too busy. You need to get out every
once in a while."
B'Elanna nodded. "How'd you find it this place?"
"Just by chance." That was true. He found it when he was in
search of a job in which to earn a little bit of extra money
while the Liberty was being repaired. "Are you ready to order?"
he asked, knowing that she had yet to peruse the menu.
B'Elanna grinned guiltily and opened the large menu. Looking it
over, she was very glad that the description of the items also
included translation into Federation Standard. Even so, some of
the dishes didn't seem to translate very well. Just what was
braised muscle of shingle anyway? Would anyone really eat ripe
flesh in anemic sauce? Some of the items though did sound
familiar to her. B'Elanna was tempted to order the Gidean
specialty Roscato which consisted of a wild rice, fresh
vegetables, and fish served with a spicy sauce, but when she
noticed the price for the meal she chose something far less
costly. Closing her menu she waited for Tom to make his
decision.
Tom looked up at her. "All set?"
B'Elanna nodded.
"Good. Me too." Looking across the room, he waved his menu.
The movement caught the eye of a Telkian waiter who promptly
returned to their table, his fingers poised above his order PADD.
"I see you've decided. What'll you have, plutec?"
Plutec? She'd only heard a few of the women in the bar referred
to by such an esteemed name, like when the liquor merchant was
trying to sweet talk Mroki. It caught her off guard for a
moment. "Um...the...um... looks good."
The waiter began to enter the order into his PADD. "Is that all?
he asked looking up at the half-Klingon.
B'Elanna nodded.
"Wait right there!" The Teklian's fingers froze at Tom's
outburst. "I didn't bring you here for you to eat just a salad!"
"But that's what I want!"
"You can't be serious! Just a salad?"
"I said I wanted a salad," B'Elanna insisted in a loud voice.
"Your kidding?"
"What do you mean?"
Have the brine salad if you want to, but if you really are
hungry, please order something else. I can't tell you how many
women I've ever known that may not have eaten for a week and
could cheerfully devour one of everything on the menu. Because
of their vanity though they order a bite of vegetation and a
swallow of water and proclaim that they are full."
"I'll *have* the brine salad!" she repeated, this time in a
louder voice. The other patrons in the restaurant stopped eating
and looked over to their table to see what was going on.
"Wouldn't you rather have the Roscato? It's suppose to be a
house specialty. Waiter, please bring us two servings of Roscato
and a bottle your best wine. Then, if you have room for the
brine salad after you have desert, you can order it." With
flashing blue eyes, Tom dared her to refuse.
The waiter not wanting to be present a moment longer than
necessary, made note of the order in the preceding small moment
of silence, collected the menus, and quickly left the table.
"Tom."
"What?"
"If you were a Klingon what you did could have been construed as
a proposal of marriage!"
Paris' eyes widened, he had no idea.
A small smile spread over B'Elanna's face when she noticed Tom's
stunned reaction. "Relax, Tom, I'm only half-Klingon."
The pilot swallowed down a lump in his throat. "So I'm only
half-committed to marriage?
B'Elanna's smile turned into a laugh. The diners returned their
attentions to their meals, satisfied that a fight wasn't going to
break out.
"You didn't really want the salad, did you?"
"No. Not really," she admitted. Paris returned the smile.
"Just don't let that happen again, or you might find yourself
engaged," she warned. "My cousin, K'Karn, on my mother's side
would defend my honor at all costs."
"K'Karn?"
"He's my clan's bat'leth champion."
{Bat'leths. Sharp, dangerous, and above all deadly.} "Well,
I'll be more careful what I say in the future," the pilot
promised. "But it'll be difficult. I've never been one to think
before I speak."
"Sounds like something we both have in common."
"Guess so." Tom looked pensive. Just when he had almost
convinced himself that he could think of B'Elanna Torres as a
momentary distraction, she'd say something that would endear her
all the more to him. Something that would make it all that much
harder to say goodbye when the Liberty left Palmat.
The Telkian waiter returned with a bottle of wine and two long
stemmed goblets on a tray. Pouring a little wine in one goblet
he passed it to Tom, who swirled the amber liquid in the glass
and then brought it to his lips and sipped at the liquid. The
pilot nodded at the waiter signifying his acceptance of the wine,
and the Telkian filled the other goblet, passed it to B'Elanna,
and then replenished Tom's glass.
Seeing how quiet Tom had suddenly become, B'Elanna decided that a
change the topic would be a good idea. "I like this place.
Particularly the fountain," she commented bringing the goblet to
her lips. Taking a sip, she savored the fruity concoction. "I
didn't even know there was a fountain in Malac; it adds a lot of
character to the room."
"It's refreshing. Almost makes your forget how dry it is
outside," Tom remarked.
"With the abundant groundwater resources, it's surprising you
don't see more of them," B'Elanna replied. "Then again, the good
citizens of Palmat aren't really found of water."
"What do you mean?" he asked. Tom would have thought that with
as dry as the planet was, water from any source would have been
almost revered.
B'Elanna took another taste of the wine before she replied.
"Well, water that they pump directly from the ground seems to be
okay, but the few areas of open water that exist they avoid like
a plague."
"Why's that?"
"The only reason I can figure is that as far as I know, they
can't swim--not a stroke."
"not surprising, I guess."
"No, it's not. In fact, most suicides and murders on Palmat are
a direct result of drowning. If the authorities suspect that a
suicide or a murder has occurred, they go to these areas of open
water and drag the bottom for the body. Most times they're
successful."
"What a waste, to live in a land so hot and dry and not to know
the pleasure of swimming," Tom commented. "Whatever do they do to
keep themselves clean? Not that all do." He remembered that
some of the residents of Malac looked unkempt and dirty.
"Well there are a number of sonic shower facilities scattered
throughout the city. Mroki even owns half interest in one of
them. I'm sure she makes a profit from it that a Ferengi would
envy.
Tom chuckled.
"Some of the more wealthy citizens have their own. Other than
that--your guess is as good as mine."
"I don't think I'll hazard a guess. It's probably a good thing
we have our own sonic showers on the ship," Tom noted.
"How are the repairs coming along?" B'Elanna asked taking another
sip from her goblet.
"Slow."
B'Elanna was glad to hear the news. The longer the repairs took
the more time she'd have with Tom.
"The ship's engineer is having a problem with the port nacelle--
the frequency won't stabilize."
"Has he tried recalibrating the injection ports?"
Tom shrugged. He had no idea.
"Or if that doesn't work, he should try flushing the warp lines,"
she continued.
"I'll tell him. You really do know your stuff, don't you?"
B'Elanna smiled slightly and blushed. "That's what Professor
Nakot told me--too bad that the rest of the instructors didn't
see it."
Tom slapped his hand on the table. "So that's why you look so
familiar! You were at the Academy!"
B'Elanna's bright smile fled. "Yeah, for a while, but it was a
mistake for me to even apply to Starfleet. During my whole time
there, it was one argument after another. I can't tell you how
many professors I had run-ins with."
"Your last name is Torres," he stated when realization dawned.
B'Elanna nodded. "How'd you know?"
Tom laughed. "Actually, I've seen you before, even though it was
indirectly. I just didn't make the connection before."
"Where did you see me?"
"It was about four or five years ago, it was during my senior
year at the Academy. I had gone to deliver one of my assignments
to my instructor--Professor Zuta. Did you ever have Zuta?"
B'Elanna shook her head. "Nope, I was due to have him in my
third year, but I was gone by then."
"You weren't missing much. Very dry little man, it was a
challenge to stay awake during his lectures. He could make sex
with a Kl...um...well. He was dull and let's leave it at that."
B'Elanna noted the slip of his tongue but chose to ignore it.
She was more interesting in what he was going to tell her about
Zuta. "Continue," she prompted.
"Yeah...um...oh, yes--Zuta. When I entered his office that day,
he was having a discussion with a friend of my father--Captain
Konchak. Zuta asked me to wait while he finished, knowing I was
well acquainted with the Captain, he kept on talking. They were
talking about this upstart of a cadet--a cadet named Torres..."
B'Elanna's eyes opened a little wider.
"This cadet had the nerve to challenge some of her engineering
professors' tried and proven theories," Paris continued.
"They were probably speculating how long it would be before I'd
be booted out of the Academy." B'Elanna drank deeply from her
goblet trying to cover her reaction to both Tom's tale and her
suspicions.
"No," Tom replied. "Captain Konchak asked who this Cadet Torres
was. Zuta called up your holoimage on his computer. I'll never
forget Konchak's remark."
B'Elanna froze, expecting to hear the worst.
"He turned to the Professor and said 'so that's the one who
should be teaching the class'. The Captain then informed him
that Picard had already expressed interest in the cadet's
talents."
"I--I don't believe it!" B'Elanna exclaimed.
"It's true," Tom insisted. "Of course the main reason I remember
all this was because of the holoimage that was displayed. Back
then your hair was shorter--about to here." He leaned across the
cable and touched B'Elanna's neck just below her ear. "You were
dressed as a cadet then, but I remember you."
"Maybe you remember me because there weren't that many Klingons
in Starfleet," B'Elanna surmised, contemplating the wine that
remained in the glass. How could he possibly remember what she
looked like back then if it wasn't for that? Freaks were easy to
pick out.
Again Tom extended his hand, this time placing his index finger
against her chin. Tilting her face up he looked into her velvety
brown eyes.
"No, B'Elanna. The reason why I remember all this so well, was
that I was struck by your beauty."
B'Elanna tried to turn her head to avoid his scrutinizing gaze,
but Tom wouldn't drop his hand.
"I found you fascinating then, and even more so now that I've
gotten to know you. Perhaps it is fate that allowed me to find
you in this corner of the universe." Tom dropped his hand but
continued to focus on the woman before him.
Shutting her eyes, B'Elanna tried to steady her emotions. No one
could consider her beautiful she thought, especially not someone
so handsome as Tom. Fun to be with maybe? But beautiful?
Hardly.
"B'Elanna," he beckoned
She opened her eyes again and looked at the pilot.
"I mean it, B'Elanna. I think you're beautiful and someday I
hope you'll see it too."
At that tender moment, the waiter arrived with their meals
interrupting their intimate discussion.
In silence, the pair ate their Roscato looking up from time to
time at the other as if trying to gauge the other's thoughts.
{Was he telling the truth?}
{Does she believe me?}
{Dare I hope that I've found someone that can love me, and I
him?}
{Can she overlook my past?}
{How long can this last?}
Unanswered questions that needed to be answered, if there were to
be hope for the future.
After the meals were finished, the pair quickly left the cafe
hand in hand. Tom steered them back the way they had come.
Strolling along the street, they stopped from time to time to
examine different kiosks--there was a small shop which sold
scarves, one which sold jewelry, and another that specialized in
a variety of leather products. Neither wanted their time
together to come to and end, but both knew they had
responsibilities they couldn't ignore. As the twin suns began to
set, they turned away from the shops, entering the side road they
had taken before.
Retracing their path, they ultimately reached the point in their
journey where Tom would have to turn to the right and go back to
his ship, and B'Elanna would take the left to return to the bar.
It was at this point, where a large stone wall followed the edge
of the small lane before it emptied onto another main street,
that they stopped.
"It's getting dark," B'Elanna observed.
"Yeah, I need to be returning to the ship. They'll be expecting
me."
"I should be returning to the bar as well. The refrigerant unit
probably has stopped working again, but I wish it didn't have to
end," B'Elanna admitted.
Tom guided her away from the other people walking along the
street and towards the stonewall.
Tom nodded. "It doesn't have to, not now. The ship will still
be in port for another two weeks."
"Then you have to go," B'Elanna replied sadly. Two weeks seemed
so short.
"Yeah, I know. I promised the Captain." Tom stepped closer to
her.
B'Elanna stood her ground tilting her head up to meet his gaze.
"Your promises mean a lot to you."
"Yeah, I guess. It would have been dishonorable if I had left
them," the pilot explained. "Honor--that's something that
Klingon's value."
"Above all else," B'Elanna added. She swallowed down a lump in
her throat as Paris encroached upon her personal space. She
licked her lips nervously as he got even closer. Noticing the
trail of sweat that coursed down his temple and over his fair
cheek, she longed to lick that too.
Taking the initiative, Tom placed his hands on her upper arms and
pulled B'Elanna toward him. She didn't resist, but he could
sense her anxiety in the way she quivered beneath his touch.
Nostrils flared in an effort to capture his scent. It was an
exhilarating, heady experience. No other man she had known
before had affected her this way, especially in such a short
period of time. B'Elanna had an overwhelming urge to attack him,
bite him, and taste every square centimeter of his flesh. Her
breath caught in her throat at the very thought. She wanted to
not just smell his scent but to engulf herself in it. To become
one with...
Bending over her Tom pressed his mouth against hers. The
pilot's mouth explored new territory, searching, teasing, and
savoring the red ripe lips. Like a connoisseur of fine wine, he
languished, taking the time to appreciate every nuance. He
reveled in the fullness of her lips and how they trembled beneath
his own. Tom's arms encircled B'Elanna's body and pulled her
into a clutching, desperate embrace--like a drowning man who
finally found the sweetest oxygen to breathe.
Parting her lips, she allowed him access and he didn't
disappoint. His probing tongue entered her mouth and she tasted
him. Her human side forced the Klingon half from knocking him to
the ground and ripping his clothes off. The Klingon half vowed
that before this man left Palmat, he would be hers.
B'Elanna purred with pleasure spurring Tom on. His hands
explored her back and he pushed against her in an effort to taste
as much of her mouth as was possible, oblivious to the world
around him.
"Hey, Tom!" A voice called out. When no reply was forthcoming,
the owner of the voice tapped the pilot on the shoulder. "TOM
PARIS!"
Pulling away from B'Elanna, Paris looked up, mouth lax, puzzled
by the interruption.
Geron, a young Bajoran Maquis, was standing beside the pair; his
arms crossed in front of his chest. "The Captain's looking for
you, Paris."
"For me?" Tom looked at Geron. B'Elanna, lips swollen, turned
away to avoid the young man's gaze.
"He sent me out looking for you over an hour ago. Apparently
your commbadge isn't working. He needs you back on the ship,
something about them reinitializing the helm controls."
"Ah...right. I'll be right along."
"He said *now*, Paris."
"I heard you. I'm right behind you."
Tom twisted around and gripped B'Elanna by the shoulder. "I'll
be back. It's a promise."
B'Elanna reached up and covered his hand with her own and
squeezed. Then he was gone.
End Chapter 2
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