Turbolifts, when they fail, make a uniquely identifiable sound. It is the sound, Kathryn thinks now, of inevitability. The overhead lights flicker, die, and come back online at the one-quarter brightness indicative of backup generators at work, and this, exactly this, is why Kathryn has so far in her career made a point of not drinking on the holodeck while in command, even off-duty. Because in space, there's no telling when one might become trapped with one's senior staff.
She wouldn't say that she is drunk, per se. And Tom seems perfectly at his ease, though she has long since learned that how Tom seems is no indicator of his sobriety. But then she looks to her left, to where Harry, with his wide eyes and his gin and tonic buzz, seems to be regretting every decision he's made this evening since uttering those fateful words, if you'd care to join us, you'd be welcome.
She doesn't take this personally. In his place, she, too, would fear what might come out of her mouth while stuck in a turbolift, inebriated, with her commanding officer.
She shoots a dark look at Tom. Careful, it warns.
I'm always careful, his eyes protest.
Praying to the gods of starship malfunctions for serenity, Kathryn slaps the palm of her hand against her combadge and barks, "Engineering, report."
"It's just the turbolifts, Captain," B'Elanna responds. "We don't know what happened, yet, so I don't have an ETA for you."
"Just the turbolifts," Tom mutters.
"I am in a turbolift, Lieutenant, so I would appreciate your urgent attention to this matter," Kathryn says.
"Yes, ma'am," B'Elanna answers vaguely, and then the comm line goes dead.
"Well," Tom says.
"She's… like that, when she's focused," Kathryn offers. "Or so I'm told."
An awkward silence descends over the group. Until Harry, in what can only be a fit of nervous hysteria, suggests, "How about a game?"
He pitches a 'getting-acquainted' game he claims to have played at the Academy. They'll each take turns asking each other questions, and if the ask-ee refuses to answer… well. Well, if they refuse, then… that's their prerogative.
"So, Truth or Dare," Tom says. "Without the dare."
"No!" Harry protests. "No, no, nothing like that, it's just a getting to know you game, like, like an orientation game…"
"It's Truth or Dare," Kathryn says resignedly. It shouldn't surprise her that this is what would come to mind, Harry being such a recent graduate. He probably thinks it's a safe choice. Safer than some others, certainly, though she can't imagine Harry, of all people, playing—
"That's not all we played at the Academy," Tom winks, as though reading her mind.
Serenely, she steps on his foot as hard as she can. "Go ahead, Harry. You go first."
I'm serious, she tries to reiterate with the force of her stare.
Tom scratches his chin. It's just Harry. It'll be fine.
Kathryn, lowering herself to sit cross-legged on the floor, pinches the bridge of her nose at him in sincere disagreement.
By unspoken consensus, they ask the only most absurdly innocuous questions anyone participating in this hallowed tradition has ever posed. For instance: "Um. Favorite color?" Kathryn asks Harry, while Tom smothers a laugh.
"Okay. If you had to bunk with someone, like, say artificial gravity goes out and deck seven's evacuated for a week, who would you pick?" Harry asks Tom a few turns later. And Tom—either indeed less sober than he appears or else simply in the mood to court danger—glances over at Kathryn, who flushes.
"Please do not speak of such things aloud in a broken turbolift," she tells Harry. "Our luck out here so far, that'll be next."
"It hasn't been so bad," Harry objects. Sweet, earnest Harry. Her skepticism must show on her face, because he adds, "Really, Captain. Voyager is—you've made this ship our home away from home. We all believe in you."
She doesn't know what to say to this. Blames the whiskey for the emotion that wells up inside her, the impulse, which she obeys, to take Harry's hand and squeeze it lightly. He looks pleased, if a little flustered.
Tom comes to their rescue. "All right, all right. Captain: what's your favorite movie?"
Harry frowns. "Movie? Don't you mean holonovel?"
"I certainly do not," Tom says, scandalized. "But speaking of which, remember that one—"
"I like silent movies," Kathryn interrupts meaningfully. "Ones that are silent."
Harry looks between them with more suspicion than she would've credited. "O…kay…."
"Movie night!" Tom declares. "A movie night is very definitely in our future. Kids these days and their holosuites, unbelievable."
Harry continues to stare, and frankly, Kathryn can't blame him.
"You can tell him," she sighs.
"Finally!" Tom explodes. "I've said all along you're being too—"
"Wait. Did you two know each other? Before?"
"It's only been—," she starts to argue, then pivots, seizing the opportunity not quite reveal everything yet. "Yes, we knew each other before."
"And you told me not to invite her to sit with us!" Harry accuses Tom.
Wait. What? "Why would you do that?" Kathryn asks, feeling oddly put out by this.
"Okay! That, Harry, I would call that a mischaracterization. What I actually said is that captains don't sit with the lower deckers. Did I use her name? Did I say: Harry Kim, do not under any circumstance invite Kathryn Janeway to join us?"
"I mean," Harry says, baffled, "yeah. Basically that's what you said. You said that if she wanted our company she would ask for it."
And that, actually, makes sense. Leave it to Tom to hear her request for discretion—just while she sorts out the crew! Many of whom personally object to Tom specifically!—and take it to the absolute limit. "You're hopeless," she says, but fondly.
"I would've said 'devoted'," Tom agrees.
Suddenly, and with an almighty lurch that does not immediately feel like deliverance, the turbolift car heaves itself back into motion. They blink under the full-strength lights.
"Well, that wasn't so bad," Tom says.
"Do I still get a 'movie night'?" Harry asks.
"Of course!" Tom cries, throwing his arm around Harry's shoulders. "And you know," he adds for Kathryn's benefit, dropping his voice to a stage whisper, "people didn't go to the movies just for the movies."
"What did they go for?" Harry asks. Sweet, earnest Harry.
"Popcorn," Tom and Kathryn say, together.