The Dash

Author: Riz
Summary: Voyager is in possession of technological knowledge that endangers a fragile truce.

Disclaimer: 'Star trek: Voyager' is a registered trademark of Paramount Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended. This fanfiction written by 'Riz' falls under the fair use clause of copyright law. No profit is made from its production or distribution.

(03: Small Reprieve)

In a flurry of particles, a cup of dark coffee appeared on the surface of the replicator. The auburn haired woman in front of it grasped the cup swiftly. Kathryn Janeway had returned to her own quarters as soon as her shift had ended, craving a new cup of solid caffeine. A melodious chirp greeted her on her way back towards the glass table with the coffee. It was the chime, and someone was waiting at her door. She called out to that person.

"Come in."

Her eyebrow lifted skeptically when she saw Tom Paris striding into her dimly lit quarters. His presence at this hour did not bother her, but he had to be one of the last crewmen she had presumed to come visit her. Tom Paris noted she was not wearing her uniform jacket, only the plain turtleneck with the pips.

"Captain, is this a bad time?"

Sure enough, he did not mean to impose in any way. His aquamarine eyes darted along her quarters to assess her current activities, but it were his ears that noticed the soft melody of classical music, a violin playing in the background. Vivaldi he thought, but he could not be all too sure. Kathryn's expression softened somewhat.

"Not at all, Tom."

Her voice had taken on a kindly tune. She wanted the man to feel welcome and at ease. A whiff of bitter aroma reminded her of her manners; she motioned at her cup of coffee.

"Can I get you anything?"

Tom took a few lazy steps into the room. He did not take time to weigh a decision, even in the captain's presence his simplicity would have to do. Besides, he was off-duty. Blurting out the first remarkable drink that came to mind, he beamed while watching her put her cup of coffee on the table.

"If you don't mind. Papalla juice would be nice."

"Papalla juice?"

Tom's superior officer frowned as she turned to replicate the drink. She did not ask any further questions as she was curious about the drink herself. The name sounded slightly familiar, but she could not remember whatever she associated it with. She soon handed him the odd beverage that had materialized before her. Tom smiled and elaborated.

"Red - my favorite. It comes in all sorts of varieties and colors. I absolutely loved this when I was a kid. Probably more than Naomi Wildman does now. I once accused my father of tampering with our replicator when it kept making the purple one. Of course, the old man was not amused. Soon urged me to take healthier drinks. As if I had a serious drinking problem, instead of a carbohydrate one anyway. I switched to milk."

Kathryn smiled lopsidedly, his naïve quirkiness was never lost on her. She was only glad she had pleaded to free him from the clutches of the penal settlement in Auckland. Down in his heart she knew he had still been a good man, buried underneath that layer of bitterness. Letting him come along for the ride, she had seen him take on her inclination towards change. Tom Paris had turned into a fine lieutenant and charming man. She amusedly shook her head before they both settled on her couch. Stars racing by the viewport as Voyager flew at warp speed.

"So, lieutenant, what's on your mind?"

She figured a person like Tom Paris would not set foot in her quarters without a valid reason. Their friendship, though pleasant, was not like that. Tom took a sip and exhaled blissfully, sinking back into the durable Starfleet material of the couch. It was still cool from vacancy.

"I was craving the company I guess. Harry has been working the gamma shift you know. Besides, I felt sociable this evening."

"-So you came to see me?"

"Well. Uh.. Yeah! Is that so hard to believe, captain?"

He pursed his lips and noticed the auburn haired woman next to him cross her arms. It was not necessarily hard to believe, she thought. She did not mind Tom's company, in fact she appreciated it. He continued imperviously.

"Anyway, you and Chakotay left the holodeck before I was done. You still owed me a drink, captain."

The chief helmsman had an air of boyish mischief around him. His favorite, shockingly red drink did not help bits. Good chance he himself had been the one to introduce the sugary juice to Naomi Wildman. Kathryn half complimented him with a gracious wave.

"In any event, you managed to seize the opportunity to come and collect your beverage. I suppose our score is settled, no?"

She took a sip of her own addictive drink, relishing in the warm aroma and bitterness of flavor against her lips. This substance only got better by the cup. Tom's drink on the other hand was cold, odorless and filled with fructose, but richness in contrast did not matter as long as he was as contented with it. In fact, she was not even all that sure she really had owed him anything. The sanguine man listened intently to the music as the tempo of the violin sped up rapidly, until reaching its culminating point. The exuberant tones were washing over the other instruments like a tidal wave. Captain Janeway's sense of taste is distinguished. While he preferred calling on the tunes of jazz he could not help but acknowledge the inspirational masterpieces of what appeared to be the ancient baroque. As if reading his thoughts, she commented for him.

"Vivaldi. I felt like lifting the tension a little."

She was not a telepath, but still a born mind reader. It was habit of her to answer unspoken questions. It often made him, and no doubt others, feel more at ease. The captain's eyes noted his satisfied, curled lips and the lieutenant nodded appreciatively. Before long he realized what 'lifting the tension' had meant. Bridge duty after the break on the holodeck had made her discomforts obvious enough.

"We'll outrun the Nibek, captain."

His tune was slow and untroubled. As was his state of mind concerning the business right now. Janeway knew she must have had dropped a hint of worry and quickly managed to vanquish it by seconding that statement.

"Probably so, lieutenant".

Her voice sounded resolute, but also unwilling to journey through all the possibilities right now. Tom decided to let the opportunity to talk about it slide. It took him a few nips of the fruity drink to collect all of his bustling senses again and sit back up straight against the couch.

"Sure thing. You have to admit captain, you do have the best pilot in the entire delta quadrant."

The captain gazed up at her pilot through dark eyelashes, a matter-of-factly statement in her mind, and undoubtedly true. She drew nearer to the blond haired male, lowering her voice, letting out a playful cynic whisper.

"Something tells me you're not talking about ensign Jenkins."

His, to some extent, endearing sheepish laughter was all the answer she needed to verify her statement.