"Stay over." (Paris/Torres)

Author's Note: This story is a sequel to "Are you sure?".

/

B'Elanna had a lot of practice sliding out from under Tom's arm while he was asleep. If there was one thing the Maquis had taught her, it was stealth. (Two things, really. The second one was to be careful whom she trusted, though in a way, she'd known that since she was twelve.)

She tiptoed around the room, picking up her clothes by the red strips of emergency lighting over the bed. She shivered all over as she wriggled into her underwear. Tom kept his quarters several degrees colder than she did; the only warm place was usually in his bed. She would have liked to stay there, but at times like this, she could inevitably hear Maxwell Burke's drawling voice in the back of her mind: "You're not gonna be one of those girls, are you? First they stay the night, then they start bringing their stuff over, and before I know it, their hair products are all over the 'fresher and I can't breathe without choking on perfume."

Even worse was her mother's voice, that guttural Klingon accent roughened with years of hard-earned cynicism: "Has he made his intentions clear, or is he merely playing with you? Don't get your hopes up, daughter. A man like that will only break your heart."

Or her father's weary sigh over a campfire, which was worst of all: "They warned me I didn't have the constitution to live with a Klingon … "

In the daytime, she could tell those voices to shut up, but at night, they were one too many for her.

She was just pulling on her singlet when a real, live voice from the bed behind her made her freeze in place.

"Hey, Bee … you don't have to go," Tom murmured. "Stay over."

She turned around. He was lying propped up on one elbow, patting the side of the bed she had just left empty. The red light strips outlined his bare arms and chest, as well as his tousled blond hair. She couldn't see his eyes, but she knew they'd be half-lidded with sleep. There was a vulnerability to him in moments like this that no one ever got to see in the daytime. She still couldn't believe how much she liked that.

"Seriously?" Her voice came out sharper than she intended. She made an effort to lower it. "I mean … you don't mind?"

"Why would I mind?" he asked innocently. "I'm sure the replicator can manage a spare toothbrush."

"Oh, you know … " She perched on the edge of the bed with her best casual shrug, still ready to jump up and escape at the first opportunity. "This is the first warning sign, after all. Before you know it, I might start bringing my stuff over, and my hair products will be all over your 'fresher. And I've got Klingon waves, so let me tell you, it takes a lot of product for my hair to behave itself like this."

Tom sat up, crawled over to where she sat, and wrapped his arms around her from behind. She leaned back into his warmth instinctively. She must have been even colder than she'd realized.

"I like your hair," he said, his breath stirring the soft strands as he spoke. "Whether it behaves itself or not. And you can leave your things here anytime."

"Good to know, Flyboy," she said to Tom, pulling him down with her until they both landed on the bed. "I'll keep that in mind. Now c'mere."

The singlet flew off again, landing in a far corner of the room, and soon enough so did her bra and panties. Before long, cold was a distant memory as B'Elanna fell asleep in the circle of Tom's arms.

It wasn't what her mother would consider making his intentions clear, but it was just what she needed tonight.

As for Max, let him choke on his own hair products for all B'Elanna cared.