Chapter 3: Familiarity

As Tom exited the turbolift, he ran directly into Chakotay. The younger man cursed and backed up.

"I'm sorry, Chakotay. I wasn't paying any attention to where I was going." Paris bent to pick up the PADDs he'd knocked from the Commander's hand.

"It's okay. I wasn't paying attention myself." He eyed the Lieutenant, who was out of uniform, with interest. "I don't suppose you're going to see the Captain, are you?" Neither man lived on this deck. Both knew without question what the other was doing there.

"I am, indeed." Tom looked at him, trying not to show the dread he was feeling. "Trying to pry her out of her quarters for dinner." Chakotay whistled and Paris cringed. This was not a good sign.

"Good luck, my friend." Chakotay's voice lowered, and he looked around. "I just tried to get her to have tea with me, and she practically shoved a boot in my back to get me out of her quarters." Tom shook his head, and looked at the PADDs he'd handed back.

"What was the pretext, duty rosters?" Chakotay blushed and nodded.

"Well, I'm going in solo. Let's hope I have better luck." Paris smiled and Chakotay shook his head.

"I hope you do. For her sake. And for your safety." The Commander patted him on the back, as he called for the lift. This didn't make Tom feel any better, but he also knew that he had a better time reading Kathryn than the Commander did. It wasn't that Chakotay didn't understand her, exactly. It was just that he didn't quite know when to stand his ground, and when to run. Tom was often amused by the results. "Just remember there's no shame in retreat," Chakotay called as the lift doors closed, and Tom waved.

Walking to Kathryn's quarters, he contemplated how much his rapport with the Commander had changed in the last two years. When Tom and Kathryn first got back from the planet, Chakotay was suspicious of him and often raised concerns to Janeway in private. Matters weren't helped when, after a long and painfully boring meeting, Paris had told Janeway a series of dirty jokes in the turbolift- only to belatedly realize that he'd accidentally pressed his comm badge, broadcasting the entirety of their conversation to the bridge. Chakotay had been furious, and had marched into the Captain's ready room at the first opportunity to tell her that their friendship was eroding her authority, that rumors were beginning to spread like wildfire about the exact nature of her relationship with her helmsman. Janeway had, in turn, bit the Commander's head off, and he returned to the bridge to seethe in his seat behind Tom for the remainder of the shift.

Tom hadn't commed her that night, but she'd shown up at his door, proceeding to pace a hole in his carpet. He hadn't wanted to insert himself in the middle of her relationship with her XO, but didn't know what else to do given that she'd come to his quarters.

"Kathryn, what's wrong?"

"Infuriating. Galling. Insubordinate bull shit." She didn't even seem to be talking to him, and continued to pace as she muttered. "Where the hell does he get off?"

"Kathryn," he said, as she continued to pace. "Kathryn, stop!" She wheeled around on him, hands on her hips. "Look, this isn't really about you. Chakotay just. . . Doesn't like me. More precisely, he doesn't trust me. And he's wrong about all that, but at the end of the day, he only wants to protect you."

"By picking my friends for me? It's ludicrous!" She was pacing again, and he felt himself getting dizzy watching her. "Even if he was right about you- which clearly he's not- it's not his place to choose my friends. It's not his job to tell me who I can and cannot speak to."

"No, but it is his job to make sure the crew respects you, to make sure your decisions don't adversely affect the workings of this ship." She spun around on him, and he knew immediately that this was going to go horribly wrong.

"Are you really defending him? He attacked your character!" Her face was red, and she was letting loose her anger in a way she never did on the bridge or even in her ready room.

"I'm not defending his opinions. Obviously, he's wrong and they're your choices to make anyway. I'm just pointing out that his concerns are coming from a good place. A loyal place." She dropped her hands from her hips, and for a brief second Tom thought he was in the clear.

"Well, I'm glad you think so. You can keep him company in that loyal place." And with that, she'd stormed out of his quarters. It was their first genuine argument. She didn't speak to him off-duty for three whole days, and even on the bridge her words were spare. When she asked for a status update or called a course correction, she'd done so in an icy tone. Harry looked like he wanted to hide under his console, and even Chakotay had shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

On the second day, Chakotay had found him the mess hall at dinner. "I take it the two of you had an argument?" His voice wasn't entirely kind, and Tom had responded to the sentiment with a steely glare before returning to his tray.

"Not that it's any of your business, Commander, but you would be correct. I made the mistake of defending your behavior, and now I'm in the dog house, too." Chakotay softened but nevertheless eyed Paris a bit suspiciously.

"You defended me?"

"Yep. But I don't know that I'll be doing it again. I got nothing out of it, and I haven't exactly enjoyed the consequences." Tom's voice was bitter, but something about the way he said it made Chakotay think the young man didn't quite mean it. He slumped down in the chair next to Paris.

"I'm sorry she's angry at you." Tom wasn't sure it was sincere, but gave the man credit for trying. He shrugged, and Chakotay winced. When the Commander had begun asking the Captain questions about Paris in her ready room, she'd shrugged in exactly the same way. The mannerism reminded him of Paris, and the silent sign of their shared closeness set him off. He'd put things harshly, and then she'd responded in kind.

"Look, Chakotay. You're wrong about me. I'm not who you think I am. . . Who perhaps I once was. But I don't. . ." Paris threw down his fork and rubbed his face. He looked exhausted, and Chakotay began to genuinely feel guilty. "I can't say that I blame you for worrying. Nor can I fault you for trying to protect her." Tom didn't look at Chakotay, just shook his head as he looked at his mostly untouched food.

"And you said as much to her?"

"Yep." Paris lifted his eyes to him. "And then she stormed out of my quarters." Chakotay decidedly felt like an ass now, and he hated the fact that Paris was making him feel guilty, without even trying. Would it be so hard for Tom to be the self-centered traitor Chakotay thought he was? Was that at all asking too much?

"I can talk to her."

"Oh, no thank you, Commander." Tom shook his head. "No offense, but you're the last person I need putting in a good word for me right now." Chakotay tensed, and Paris looked at him evenly. "You know what I mean. You're not exactly high on her favorite person list either at the moment."

"True." Chakotay sighed. "So, what do we do?"

"Wait." Tom shrugged. "And when she gives us the chance, apologize for being idiots."

"And what of the fact that we weren't being idiots?"

"Do you really think that matters in the grand scheme of things?" Chakotay couldn't help but laugh, rubbing his face as Tom had done moments earlier.

"I guess you're right."

"So then we wait," Tom picked up his fork again as Chakotay stood to leave. "See you on the other side, Commander."

Standing outside of Kathryn's door now, Tom silently laughed at the memory. He and Chakotay had been uneasy companions then. And even afterward, Chakotay entertained a fair amount of suspicion toward him. But these days, especially since Tom had started dating B'Elanna, Chakotay began to like him, trust him. He even sought the younger man out for counsel when Janeway had chosen to keep Seven of Nine aboard Voyager. It had all been complicated, and Kathryn had shut both of them out for a time. But things had settled down, even if everything was different now than it had been before.

Chiming Kathryn's door, Tom stilled his thoughts. "Come," he heard from the other side of the door. He cringed. How did she manage to sound angry just saying one word?

"Hey," he said flashing her toothy grin as he entered. She was sitting at her desk reading something, and she didn't look up at him at all.

"Mr. Paris." Her voice was cold, and he wasn't sure what to do. He stood in awkward silence. "Is there something I can do for you, Lieutenant?" He swallowed his fear, reminding himself that death was probably painless. And even if not, you only have to die once.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, there is." She still didn't look up. "Have dinner with me. I have a few hours reserved on the holodeck, and some rations to spend." Her eyes stayed on the PADD in front of her, but her eyebrows now drew together in frustration.

"As you can see, I'm relatively busy, Tom. I don't have time for dinner."

"Kathryn, the work will be there when you get back. It always is." She finally looked up at him and he dropped the smile he was wearing, instead looking at her sincerely, affection in his eyes. "We've hardly spent any time together lately, and I miss you." At this, she sighed. Tom had become even more patient since he took up with B'Elanna. Dating a Klingon took wherewithal; the ability to withstand worse than she was throwing at him now. Kathryn hated his newfound serenity. Or at least, she did in moments like this.

"Tom, it isn't that I don't want to see you." He smiled. This was a start. "But I really don't have time to go to the holodeck. Can't we just replicate something here?" Dinner in Janeway's quarters would mean replicating food that she didn't eat, while she sat silently reading reports.

Fat chance, Tom thought.

"Nope. I have a new holoprogram I've been working on, and I want to try it out with you."

"Shouldn't you try it out with B'Elanna?" There was something about her tone that Tom didn't appreciate, but he refused to allow himself to be baited. If he got angry, he would leave her quarters, and she would return to working. Which was exactly, he knew, what she wanted.

"No. I want to try it out with you." He clasped his arms behind his back and looked at her expectantly.

"You aren't going to leave until I agree to go with you, are you?" She put down the PADD, leaning back in her chair.

"Highly unlikely." She sighed again and stood up.

"I should have taken you up on your offer to bust you down to Crewman."

"Maybe. But then you wouldn't be enjoying a lovely dinner with me on my rations." He smirked.

"Please." She snorted. "Your rations are mostly ill-gotten. It wouldn't affect you if I changed your title back to 'Observer.'"

"You're just mad you didn't win the last betting pool."

"Officially, I know nothing about the last betting pool. And I certainly didn't enter it." She looked around. "Do you see my jacket anywhere?" His brow furrowed at her question.

"Kathryn, you don't need it. You're not going to dinner in uniform." She looked at him for a moment, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Let me get this straight. You want me to take time away from my work to go to dinner with you on the holodeck and you want me to change first?" She was getting angry again, but something about her tone told Tom he had a shot.

"Well, I broke the warp barrier. Impossible things have happened before." She huffed, and walked past him.

"Yes, and we all know how that went." She moved into the bedroom, calling behind her as she went. "Just give me a minute." She stopped, turning around. "I don't suppose you have any directions on how I should dress?" He shrugged, sitting down on her couch.

"Something comfortable. Something for dining, strolling. Nothing too strenuous."

"You know what fits that description perfectly- my uniform!" She disappeared into the bedroom, and he didn't respond. When she returned, she was wearing a blue dress with black heels. The dress was a thin, organic material, flattering in its simplicity. It had short sleeves and a scalloped neck, and it fell just below her knees. He smiled.

"You look absolutely lovely." She smiled despite her frustration. Tom frequently gave her compliments, but she could tell he genuinely meant them, and she appreciated the attention. "We even coordinate." He was wearing black pants and a light blue dress shirt that had long sleeves.

"So we do."

"Ready?" He asked, moving towards the door.

"As I'll ever be." He offered her his arm and she gracefully accepted it as they stepped out into the corridor. Their friendship had become an accepted phenomenon among the crew, and they no longer worried about hiding their familiarity. As they walked toward the turbolift, she felt her mood improve. After he called their destination, they stood silently for a moment. "Thank you for doing this, Tom."

"Oh? I thought I was disturbing you from you work." She knew from his voice that he was ribbing her. "I thought I was a bother and I deserved to be demoted all the way down to Crewman." The lift doors opened, and they navigated their way down the corridor.

"Oh, that's all true, too." He laughed. "But despite your being a bother, you're really quite delightful. And I appreciate that you're willing to risk life and limb to drag me out to dinner."

"Well. . . I almost turned back at one point." They stopped in front of the holodeck and he called up the program manually. "You really are quite terrifying sometimes, you know." She didn't respond, instead waiting for him to finish with the interface. When he was done, he nodded and once again took her arm as they walked through the doors. He heard her breath catch in her chest and saw her mouth fly open in surprise.

"Oh, Tom. It's Paris! How beautiful." It wasn't contemporary Paris, that was clear. There were automobiles and signs for the metro, and in the background, far removed from them, stood the Eiffel Tower. "Obviously this is before the Third World War. When is it? Mid tweny-first century?" Her curiosity was kicking into overdrive, and he smiled at the characteristic way she began to analyze data and ask questions. Even on the holodeck, she was an explorer.

"It's the end of twentieth century, kind of. I used various data sources to adapt an existing program of Paris to this period. But given the nature of the records, some things are harder to delineate when it comes to end of the twentieth century versus the beginning of the twenty-first." He scratched his head, and sounded frustrated here. Kathryn smiled. No matter how detailed and researched the program was, Tom would be plagued with the smallest historical inaccuracies.

"Well, either way, it's truly beautiful. What part of the city are we in? Is this the fifth arrondissement?" She looked around, trying to get her bearings.

"No, the fifth is over there, where the Eiffel Tower is. This is the fourth." He pointed down the street from where they were. "Down that way and over is Notre Dame." He'd modified the program to be in early summer. The evening air this time of year was refreshingly cool, but not chilly. A breeze gently moved Kathryn's dress as Tom continued to point out landmarks.

"Delightful. So what are we seeing first?" Tom looked at her, slightly aghast.

"Kathryn, we're not sight seeing. We're here to eat dinner. All of this," he waved his hands, "is just a lovely backdrop to the evening." She shook her head, incredulous. Only Tom Paris would spend endless hours perfecting historically accurate sights and sounds, just to call it 'backdrop'. He shrugged. "You can come here whenever you like and poke around. But at the moment, we're heading to dinner."

"Yes, sir." She saluted him, and they both laughed. Slowly, they plucked their way down one of the larger streets of the quarter. They paused outside a bookstore, a vendor of first editions and rare publications, and Tom waited while Kathryn's eyes took in all the wares. They continued their stroll, the sounds of automobiles and Kathryn's heels on the cobblestone punctuating the comfortable silence that settled between them. When they reached a larger intersection, Tom looked to Kathryn.

"There are a lot of restaurants on this block. Looks like as good a place as any to stop for dinner." She released his arm, turning to him.

"You mean you haven't designed one specific place for us to go?"

"No, ma'am. We can go anywhere you want. Just name the place." The amount of detail he must have put into the program was staggering to Kathryn, but she began to lead the way down the block. They passed an Italian place, and Tom wasn't surprised when she kept going. What kind of person goes to Paris and then eats Italian food? They passed a small café, though Kathryn stopped briefly to pet a dog that was sitting happily at a table with its owner. They continued on, turning the corner, and as Tom suspected, Kathryn here stopped. A few meters ahead there was a bistro. A busy place, but one where the music wasn't loud and the linens were white and crisp. She looked over at Tom to suggest going there, but then she saw his face. He had clearly expected her to choose this place, and something about that made her feel contrary. She tugged him forward, passing the bistro as he looked at her with interest.

"Nope. That's not our place. Let's keep going." He smiled ruefully, realizing what was going on, but allowed himself to be easily pulled forward by her. "Let's go there," she said, pointing across the street. It was a small place, and seemed more of a bar than a restaurant. Everyone at the tables outside appeared to be in their twenties, and Tom could clearly hear the place's music from all the way across the street.

"Are you sure, Kath?" He eyed her with suspicion.

"Yep. That's my choice." She dragged him across the crosswalk when the signal turned, and then they stood outside peering through the window.

"There don't appear to be any open tables in the dining room," he said, scrunching his face.

"We could change that," she pointed out, and his look told her that wasn't an option. What was the point of losing yourself in the holodeck if you constantly fiddled with the illusion? "Alright, then let's sit at one of those tables by the bar." They found seats and procured menus. Tom wisely chose not to comment as Kathryn took a second to get into the elevated chair that went along with the high table. He failed to suppress a smirk, however, and Kathryn shot him a quick glare. Both were interested to learn that the offering of food and drinks had a small Brazilian influence; Tom picked out a nice bottle of wine, and Kathryn began searching over the food options.

"Why don't we just get a few things and share," he said finally, after she'd debated the options for several minutes.

"Perfect," she replied, and sipped her wine. Tom left the food up to Kathryn's choice, and after they placed their order, they sat comfortably together, listening to the music and watching people. She turned back to him after a moment, and realized he was staring at her. "What?"

"Your hair. I really like it." He pronounced it as though it was serious business, and she tucked a strand behind her ear.

"You said that when I first cut it." She drank her wine, looking around the bar again.

"I know," he waved his hand dismissively, "but I'm sure you didn't listen to me when I said it then." She pursed her lips, knowing that he was right. She'd been so nervous about the change after she cut it. She didn't listen to Tom or anyone else when they'd said it suited her. Still, Tom was the only one she'd let herself prattle on about it, too. He was amazed at how self-conscious she was about her looks, not that she often gave herself the freedom to admit it.

"You know," she said pensively, her eyes returning to him. "I brought this dress with me when I came aboard Voyager. It never fit before. My mother bought it for me, and I didn't try it on before I packed it. The first time I did, it was too loose." He looked at her and fought the urge to roll his eyes. He knew that she was nervous she'd gained weight. She hadn't said as much; she didn't allow herself the freedom to express trivial worries like weight gain when there were real worries like low dilithium levels and problems with the warp core. Still, he knew it bothered her, and sitting across from him now she looked decidedly frustrated. He put down his wine and took her hand across the table. He was completely serious.

"Kathryn, you look amazing. Better than you ever have. Which is entirely frustrating as someone whose job it partly is tell you that you're not getting enough rest and drinking too much coffee." He wouldn't tell her that she thought she'd been too thin before, that she was more attractive now. But he would reassure her; attempt to sooth her worries. She looked away from him, about to dismiss his compliments. His grasp on her hand grew tighter, and he pressed on. "Truly. You look beautiful. And I'd rather you didn't, because now every time you beam down to some trade negotiation with an alien dignitary with questionable manners, it makes we want to grab two compression rifles and Chakotay. The two of us stand there on either side of you, just to make a point." He finished with a lopsided grin, but the genuine irritation in his voice was what pushed her over the edge. She started to laugh, dropping her face to the hand he was still holding. He laughed, too, and then withdrew his hand as their food arrived.

"So. . . The moral of the story is that your life would be easier if I gained obscene amounts of weight and perhaps shaved my head." She dug into the dish closest to her, scooping up food to put on Tom's plate.

"It would make Chakotay's life easier, too. And Tuvok's." He drained the last of the wine into her glass. "Really, it's not so much to ask."

"I'll take it under advisement, Mr. Paris." Tom looked at her to reply, but then his face lit up with surprise.

"Hiya," he said, looking past Kathryn's head. She swiveled her chair around to see B'Elanna standing a few meters away from them, the holodeck's arch behind her.

"I'm sorry," the engineer said awkwardly, "I saw that you were on the holodeck, Tom, and came to say hello." Kathryn felt inexplicably like she'd been caught red-handed at something, but forced a smile on her face as she watched her Chief Engineer sputter her explanation. "I didn't realize I was interrupting."

"Nonsense," Kathryn said with a cheer she didn't feel. "You should join us." B'Elanna's eyes darkened with something and Tom arched an eyebrow at her. It was a warning look, and Kathryn caught it just before it disappeared from his face.

"No, I've already eaten." B'Elanna's voice was pleasant now. Too pleasant. "You two enjoy the evening."

"Good night, B'Elanna." Tom called, and the Klingon nodded to them and left. For a minute, they were both silent and Kathryn frantically searched for a topic of conversation. "I'm sorry about that," Tom said, before she could fill the silence with something that had nothing to do with what just transpired. "Don't take it personally. It's not about you." Tom forked a piece of cheese but didn't move it to his mouth. "I'm not even sure that it's about me, really."

"I'm sorry if your having dinner with me causes problems for your relationship." She'd meant it to sound supportive, but it came out melancholy. He looked pained and reached for her hand again.

"Kathryn, you're one of my closest friends." His voice sounded angry, but she knew it wasn't directed at her. His features softened. "I suppose you know about B'Elanna's parents, her father?"

"The basics," Kathryn confirmed, digging into her meal again.

"With her background, I'm prepared to be supportive. Patient." The softness faded and he suddenly looked resolved. "But one mistake I've never made in my life is to apologize to a lover for having friends. She's just going to have to learn live with this, and if she doesn't, that's her problem, not mine."

"Her problems are your problems." She eyed him as she said this, before looking quickly back to her plate.

"I suppose you're right about that. But there's still only so much I'm willing to compromise." Kathryn looked at Tom and realized that beyond becoming more patient, Tom's relationship with B'Elanna had also made him more comfortable in his own skin. He was caring and compassionate, but he wasn't willing to be pushed around. By B'Elanna or anyone else.

"What?" he asked, and she realized with embarrassment that she was staring.

"You. You've changed." He looked at her doubtfully, but she ignored him. "In a good way. You're wiser now, I think." He smiled softly, but couldn't resist needling her just a bit.

"Not the same man who once read you tales of Klingon sex, eh?" Her heel connected with his shin under the table and he cursed in French. They both smirked.

"I was going to ask you to translate the lyrics of the songs that are playing, but it would be my luck that it would be something horribly inappropriate." He strained to hear the music, and then closed his eyes before looking at her sheepishly.

"Actually, this song does appear to be about sex. Specifically, the singer's encounter with two sisters." He closed his eyes again, and felt himself turning red as he started to laugh.

"Tom Paris, how can you possibly program such filthy music into a place you're taking your Captain." She shook her fork at him, and bits of food flew off, falling onto her lap.

"First, of all, you're not my Captain at the moment." She glared at him, but it was a playful glare that she didn't mean. "And second," he drawled, "you're the one that picked the place with the filthy music. I expected you to go to that charming bistro across the street that was playing Beethoven when we walked by." Her glare fell, and she laughed, putting her napkin onto her finished plate.

"I know you did. But that's exactly why I couldn't pick it."

"You always have to do the unexpected, don't you, Katie?" She ignored the dig and smiled sweetly instead.

"If it's at all possible."

"Well then," he said, picking up his glass, "to the unexpected." She raised her glass to his, clinking it softly.

"May we never cease to surprise each other."