And there's a tap on my knee
Bring up your seat back please, she says
But I know she means
If you feel like dancing
dance with me

Two

The next day, Chakotay was going through some of the latest crew evaluations in his office when the door chime heralded the arrival of a worryingly jaunty Tom Paris. The lieutenant came in holding a PADD, walking as if he'd fitted springs to his regulation boots and with a barely-disguised grin on his face. Chakotay ignored it for as long as he could, which amounted to not very long at all.

"All right," he sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Spit it out. What's got you so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?"

"I," said Tom, pausing for effect, "have discovered your secret talent."

Chakotay frowned. "Not this again. This is neither the time nor the-"

"You've been holding out on us, Commander."

"I really haven't."

"Oh, I think you have."

Chakotay sighed. "Lieutenant-"

"I can't believe you didn't tell me about this. It's exactly the kind of thing we need for talent night! There's no way I can let it go now I know about it."

"I'm as much in the dark as I was a moment ago, Paris."

"I only found out about it myself last night," Tom went on. "Something B'Elanna said."

Chakotay frowned. "B'Elanna told you something about me? B'Elanna Torres?"

Paris had the good grace to look apologetic. "She was drunk at the time, so…"

"You got Torres drunk?" Chakotay said, astonished. He'd seen B'Elanna drink greater men than Tom Paris under the table without even breaking a sweat. Not to mention the fact that he'd once personally heard her vow to blow Paris out of an airlock if he tried so much as giving her a funny look. What was she doing drinking with the man?

"It was an experiment," Paris explained. "I have this theory that what you see when someone's drunk is the real them. I wanted to see if she had a softer side."

"Yeah?" Chakotay said, wondering how Tom hadn't had every bone in his body pulverised. "And how did that work out for you?"

"Well…" Tom said. "I'm reassessing some of my assumptions. Regarding my theory."

"Right."

"Either that, or she doesn't have a softer side. On the other hand," Paris added, brightly, "she got even worse at cards. So bad that she found herself owing me. Quite a lot, actually. But I decided to cut her some slack if she helped me out with just a little bit of information."

Chakotay's internal certainties quivered slightly.

"She helped you out… with information. About me," he said, slowly.

"Got it in one, sir," said Paris. "So, why don't you tell me all about you and… salsa?"

Chakotay felt his jaw go slack. "What?"

"Salsa. Specifically, of the Cuban style. The dance, that is, not the sauce." Paris lifted the PADD he was holding and read directly from the screen. "'A style of salsa dancing favoured on the Earth island of Cuba and her environs, first popularised in the 1970s. It was originally also known as 'casino style', for the social dance halls in which it originated.'" Paris lowered the PADD, crossed his arms and raised one eyebrow expectantly.

Oh no. She wouldn't have. "Tom, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I think you do, Commander. Few years back? Girl you met at the colony on Aretaries III?"

Chakotay cleared his throat. She did. She damn well did! "Not ringing a bell, Paris."

"Long few weeks, B'Elanna said. Your whole team holed up at that lonely outpost, ready and expecting a Cardie attack but not knowing when it was going to come. Had to keep a low profile, a lot of stress and pent-up anxiety, that kind of thing. Needed to find some way to blow off steam, really, right? Enter a cute waitress of Cuban descent who took a shine to you, cue a few evening dance lessons to pass the time, not to mention certain other activi-"

Chakotay raised his hands, cutting Paris off. "Ahh! Stop. Stop!"

Paris was triumphant. "Come on, Chakotay! This crew could do with a bit of Latin heat, don't you think? I'm telling you, it's perfect!"

Chakotay stood. "Absolutely not. Paris, that was years ago."

"So? B'Elanna says you were a natural. And she says she knows for a fact you kept it up even after you and this woman parted ways."

Chakotay rubbed a hand over his face. He was going to kill Torres for this. "B'Elanna is mistaken. And even if she wasn't, the answer would still be no."

"Well, it might be too late for that," said Tom, putting his hands behind his back.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know how fast news travels on this ship…"

Chakotay narrowed his eyes. "It seems to when you have anything to do with it, yes. Are you telling me that somehow the crew is under the impression that I am going to be on the playbill? Dancing?"

Tom shrugged. "You wouldn't want to disappoint the audience, would you, Commander?"

Chakotay put his hands on his hips, exasperated. "Tom, it's out of the question. OK? Even if I were inclined to - which I am most definitely not - talent night is less than two weeks away and I don't even have a partner."

"Ah ha!" said Tom, whipping out the PADD from behind his back again and thrusting it in Chakotay's direction. "Now, that one's easily solved. Here is a list of the crew members willing to learn how to dance salsa cubana with you. Jenny Delaney paid me a day's replicator rations to be at the top of that list, by the way. I'm not saying you necessarily want to go in that direction, but let me tell you, she knows how to move and those legs-"

Chakotay shot Tom a look venomous enough to stop him dead before casting a glance over the list. He had to scan through two pages to get to the end of it. He passed the PADD back and shook his head. "Tom, this is out of the question. There's no way I can dance with a subordinate crew member, it would be extremely inappropriate."

"I thought you might say that," said Tom. "But that still gives you two options, doesn't it? Kes, or the Captain."

"I can't dance with Kes," Chakotay said, his mouth skipping ahead of his brain.

"There you go then," said Paris. "Decision made. The Captain it is."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Why not? Paris, you really are beginning to try my patience."

"I don't get what the problem is," Tom shrugged. "You and the Captain - you're friends, right? That's perfect! Friends dance! And you know as well as I do that the crew would love to see the Captain let her hair down. I bet she'd enjoy the chance to do that too, don't you think?" Tom looked at him thoughtfully. "Unless… There's some reason… why it wouldn't be a good idea for you two to-"

"No. Yes. I mean –" Chakotay pinched his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and took a breath. "Yes, we're friends. But the answer is still no, Tom, and if you can't see why it's a ludicrous suggestion, then you really are even more of an idiot than I already think you are. I've wasted enough time on this conversation already. Get back to your post - that's an order. Who's flying the ship, anyway? Harry Kim?"

Chakotay waited until his door shut behind Paris and then he spoke into the air.

"Chakotay to Torres."

"Torres here."

"I think you and I need to have a little talk, don't you?"

[TBC]