Prompt 26: "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." (Seven & Paris)

Episode: "Someone To Watch Over Me"

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"Hey, uh, Seven … I kind of owe you an apology."

Ensign Tom Paris sidled into Astrometrics and leaned against the railing with what he hoped was a suitably remorseful look on his face. He was used to walking into rooms with angry women in them, and was fully prepared to be snapped at or even ordered out of the lab. What Seven did, however, took even him by surprise. She looked up from her star chart with a look of confusion and said: "For what?"

Damn. Either she was suffering memory loss (which, on this ship, could mean serious trouble), or she was being passive-aggressive (unlikely), or she honestly didn't understand what he had done wrong … in which case, he'd have to explain it to her. Nothing like spelling out exactly why someone should be mad at you before trying to calm them down.

Seven had looked so hurt last night at the Kadi ambassador's party. It was the Doctor she'd been upset with, but Tom knew he deserved his share of the blame. Probably the larger share, if he was being honest; the Doctor was almost as innocent as Seven when it came to the dating game. She couldn't have known that the ambassador would try to grab her, or the Doctor cheat on the bet by asking her out himself. She must be feeling completely in over her head right now.

"I made a bet with the Doctor about your personal life," he blurted out. "I was trying to get back at you for spying on me and B'Elanna, but I went too far and crossed a line. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

Comprehension dawned on Seven's face. "The wager … I see. And whose idea was it?"

"Yeah, it was mine. The Doc – I swear, he really did mean for the lessons to help you. The bet was just because I pushed him into it. Me and him, we get a bit competitive sometimes. It's what happens when you stick two oversized egos into one Sickbay."

That last was something B'Elanna had said to him once – yelled at him, to be exact – but the more he thought about it, the more he had to admit it was true. He and the Doctor had a lot in common: a reliance on sarcasm, a fear of confinement, a father (or programmer) who was disappointed in them, a deep-seated need for approval … and last, but not least, a weakness for strong women, which was how they had gotten into this situation to begin with.

"I am not angry with you, Ensign," said Seven, with hardly more inflection in her voice than the ship's computer.

"You're not?"

"It would be futile."

"Uh … how so?" Should he be relieved or worried? Since Seven's expression didn't soften the slightest bit, he had a feeling it was the latter.

"Your behavior over the past eighteen months has consistently demonstrated that your offer of friendship when I first came on board was insincere. I have learned not to expect anything from you so as not to be disappointed."

That knocked the wind out of his sails as nothing else could have done.

Insincere. People had been accusing him of that in one form or another for years, and it was true that he'd told several massive lies that had come back to haunt him. But after doing his damnedest for four and a half years to turn his life around, it was hard having that old accusation thrown back in his face.

"Now hang on just a minute! What do you mean, the past eighteen months? Last night wasn't okay, I get it, but what else did I ever do to you?"

"You constantly refer to me as 'our drone' and similar epithets. You mocked me along with Ensign Kim when you saw me fall ill after drinking alcohol. You have no regard for the victims of the Collective, and claim instead that death would be doing them a favor."

Listed one by one like that, in her flat accusing monotone, the evidence was damning. How enhanced were her audio processors, anyway? If he'd known she was in earshot, he'd never have said any of that out loud. Most people on board knew him well enough to take his remarks with a grain of salt, but Seven of Nine wasn't most people, and he should have considered that. He hadn't meant it seriously, anyway. He didn't mean half the things that popped out of his mouth … and that, of course, was part of the problem.

"It's just … the Borg make me nervous, okay?"

"As they do me."

"Yeah … and when I'm nervous, I got a bad habit of talking out of my ass. I mean … "

"I understand the idiom," said Seven, wrinkling her nose.

"Right. It's something I'm working on. Along with insubordination." He pointed to the single pip on his collar with a self-deprecating shrug.

"Does that mean you do not consider me a mindless automaton?"

Her eyes meeting his were anything but mindless; they were vulnerable in a way none of her Borg manners could disguise. She had looked just like this after the Caatati representative had shouted at her, and Tom had honestly meant to be her friend. After Caldik Prime, he knew all too well what it felt like to have everyone distrust you. He'd gotten distracted soon after that by tumbling head-over-heels into his relationship with B'Elanna, but he'd always meant to follow up on his offer to Seven. He hoped it wasn't too late.

"I don't," he said, in answer to her question. "I swear."

"And will you accept my apology," she asked, "For intruding on your and Lieutenant Torres' privacy? I never would have done it if I knew how inappropriate it was."

It was exactly what his angry self from yesterday would have wanted to hear, but he wasn't angry anymore. "Apology accepted."

Social protocol done with, she went back to monitoring her scans, which he took as his cue to leave the lab.

He was halfway out the door when she spoke again, almost too quietly for him to hear.

"The two of you are fortunate."

Tom felt a rush of blood to his head (and other places) as he remembered everything between him and B'Elanna that Seven must have overheard over the past few weeks. "Yeah … don't know about her, but I am."

"I do not know if I could ever achieve that mutual acceptance with anyone."

What a Seven-like way of putting it, he thought. Stiff and formal, but totally on point. B'Elanna wasn't shy about calling him on his mistakes, but she did love him just the way he was: botched service record, snarky attitude, family baggage and all. He still didn't know what he'd done to get this lucky. As for her, he felt the same way; nothing about her, either her anger or her depression, could make her any less beautiful in his eyes. Mutual acceptance was about right.

"You'll find it, Seven," he said. "Don't worry. Someday, someone's gonna thank their lucky stars for the day they met you."

"Not someone on Voyager, I know that much."

I wouldn't be so sure …

Tom bit his tongue just in time. If she didn't know yet that the Doctor's photonic heart was hers for the asking, that Harry still blushed when he got teased about her, or even that Chakotay's eyes followed her silently around the bridge, he, Tom, would not be the one to tell her.

He'd learned his lesson about privacy, after all.