Be Careful What You Wish For

by Barbara Watson

  “Do we know each other?” she asked, a bit embarrassed.

  Tom just smiled. “We did once, a long time ago. I used to be a regular here...a few years back.”

  The woman smiled, “Ah, forgive me, Cherie, but we have so many cadets come though our doors...”

  At that moment, Tom Paris felt very, very old. “Of course,” he said, a little chagrinned, before recovering his composure enough to order two glasses of wine. Clearly Sandrine had made a bigger impression on him than vice versa, he thought. But he wasn’t the same young man he had been in those days. Tom decided to take her lack of recognition as a compliment. Maybe that Tom Paris was really gone forever.

  Still, B’Elanna knew that she was watching a telling moment in her husband’s life. She wasn’t sure for a second how he would take Sandrine’s not recognizing him. She got her answer quickly. Almost instantly, she watched the ghost of Tom Paris get up and head for the door. Her husband, the ‘new and improved’ version of the man, sighed deeply and began to relax. He knew now that he could visit his old haunt without being haunted. It made them both more comfortable.

  The Doctor and Seven arrived exactly on time, not a surprise from Voyager’s most precise couple. Tom noticed that the two were growing more and more relaxed together, Seven developing an almost casual posture while holding his arm, the Doctor looking less self-conscious than he had on their previous ‘dates’. For her part, B’Elanna was glad to see Seven in a more relaxed outfit. For the moment, at least, she seemed to favor tailored slacks and bulky sweaters to her impossibly tight one-piece suits. Seven’s hair was also changed, pulled back in a less-severe ponytail instead of the tight twisted bun. The Doctor was wearing a turtleneck sweater and blazer, a look that definitely suited him. (B’Elanna couldn’t help but notice the subtle flap built into the jacket’s arm—no doubt to make the mobile emitter less obvious.)

  “Mr. Paris,” the doctor said as he approached the table. “I see you’re uncharacteristically punctual tonight.”

  Tom rolled his eyes at the sarcasm. “Doc, you’re going to have to get used to calling me Tom when we’re off duty. I know some people might view that as a term of endearment, but I promise not to take it that way.” B’Elanna just shook her head.

  She complimented her friends on their casual dress. “Doctor, I like your new look. And you, too, Seven. That sweater is very flattering.” B’Elanna suspected the men at the table might have preferred the old outfit, and she wanted to give as much positive reinforcement to her friend as possible.

  “Thank you,” Seven offered sincerely. “I have found this attire to be less—conspicuous. And infinitely more comfortable.”

  No doubt, B’Elanna thought, saying instead, “It suits you.”

  Neelix arrived on the arm of a young Orion woman, but excused himself when he saw his friends. “Thank you for the directions,” he said as he stepped away. “You were certainly very helpful.” Tom noticed the way Neelix’s ‘guide’ put her hands on her hips and pouted as the Talaxian walked toward their table. Clearly the woman had hoped his request for ‘directions’ was a euphemism for something more lucrative. Tom was glad to see some of the seedier sides of Marseilles life hadn’t changed. It gave the city character.

  Neelix seemed oblivious. “Very friendly place!” he said as he sat down. “And wasn’t that young woman the loveliest shade of green.” Tom just looked at B’Elanna and smiled. One day he’d tell his friend about the reputation of Orion women, but for today he’d preserve the illusion. Besides, his attention was now drawn to the couple walking through the doors.

  It was the way they walked that first caught his attention. The man’s arm was around the woman’s shoulder, and she leaned into him, with her arm around his waist. The sight was both shocking and absolutely right. And long overdue from Tom’s perspective. He reached out to touch B’Elanna’s hand, and subtly nodded in the direction of the door. His wife looked at their friends, then squeezed her husband’s hand. This might be a momentous night after all.

  It was at that point that Tom realized something was up. There was no way—considering the very delicate nature of the hearings they had just witnessed—that the captain and commander would let themselves risk being seen in such a compromising posture with so much on the line. Tom knew this meant a deal had been struck, the Maquis’ fate already determined. And, he suspected from the calm confidence Chakotay was exuding, that B’Elanna and the others were probably out of danger. But at what cost, Paris wondered.

  When they approached the table, Janeway and Chakotay didn’t bother to pretend they were anything other than a couple enjoying an evening with friends. “Thanks for joining us,” Chakotay said as he held a chair for Kathryn. He motioned for a waiter as he took the seat next to her. “What’s everyone drinking?” he asked.

  “You’re in France, Chakotay,” Tom chimed in. “Home of the best vineyards in the quadrant. I recommend the Chateau St. Martagne, anything earlier than 2313.”

  Chakotay had trouble reconciling the beer-swilling Tom Paris with the wine connoisseur seated at the other end of the table. A man of many talents, he knew. Chakotay placed the order, then took a look around. “Somehow I don’t think that’s what you were drinking the last time we were here, Tom,” he said casually. Paris looked a bit uncomfortable, which hadn’t been his friend’s intention. “I guess we’ve both come a long way since that night,” Chakotay said, turning it into the compliment he’d intended.

  “Just don’t try to corrupt my virtue this time,” Tom said, deciding he had been overly sensitive. He filled in the missing pieces for the rest of their friends. “I was just an innocent pilot sitting at the bar over there, minding my own business, when this persuasive Indian showed up and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. ‘Join the Maquis,’ he says to me. ‘See the galaxy.’” Looking at B’Elanna, Tom then turned back to his friend. “I owe you for that one,” he said jokingly, but knowing it was true in the best of ways.

  Chakotay smiled. “Any time.” At that, a young waiter arrived with the wine, and enough glasses for everyone in the group. As soon as they were filled, Chakotay raised his and made a toast. “To good friends. We’ve come a long way together. May this be only the beginning of our journey.”

  The group shared his toast, and all but the Doctor sipped from their glasses. Seven and B’Elanna’s eyes raised almost simultaneously. “This isn’t synthehol,” B’Elanna said, her eyes blinking quickly from the kick of the real wine.

  “Bite your tongue!” Tom teased. “You’re in France, B’Elanna. They don’t allow the fake stuff here. You might want to take it easy, though. I don’t want to have to carry you home,” he suggested.

  His wife only laughed. “Tom Paris, the day I can’t drink you under the table is the day I give up my hyperspanner for an apron.” They laughed, but Tom was skeptical. He wasn’t proud of his reputation for being able to handle his liquor, but he knew B’Elanna—who hadn’t even had the ‘fake stuff’ since before her pregnancy—would be surprised at the jolt real spirits could have. He’d keep an eye on her, he thought. Just in case.

  After a few hours, the Chateau St. Martagne was having an effect on all of them—except the Doctor, who was suddenly longing for the holographic Sandrine’s, where he could at least mimic his friends’ drinking with holographic wine. As it was, he would be their ‘designated pilot’, even though none of them was flying anything but a transporter this evening. He’d monitor their speech patterns and make sure no one embarrassed himself. Not too badly, anyway.

  They had changed seating arrangements several times as some couples got up to dance and friends moved to start conversations. For the moment, the women were sitting together at the far end of the table watching as Chakotay and Tom had an animated conversation about which ship would win in a drag race, the Delta Flyer or the Liberty. Neelix and the Doctor were deep in discussion over 24th century fashions, comparing and contrasting their preferences in casual clothing. Surprisingly, it was Seven who st
arted the women’s next conversation.

  “Lieuten—B’Elanna, have you noticed that your husband’s eyes change color? Some days they are a deep azure blue, yet other days they are almost a soft pale gray.”

  B’Elanna was just tipsy enough not to notice that Seven had made such a keen personal observation about Tom’s body. Instead, she could only agree. “Yeah. It’s kind of nice, isn’t it? I wish sometimes he was in science—those blue uniforms would really highlight his eyes.”

  Kathryn had her own thoughts on that subject. “I don’t know. The Doctor’s eyes are deep brown and he looks great in blue. Of course, I was always partial to the red uniforms. I’m going to miss those old singlets.” She sounded wistful. Then a thought hit her. “Though, I have to say, B’Elanna, I did love the Maquis look. All that suede and leather.” The three women practically sighed at the same time.

  B’Elanna got a very distant look on her face. “That’s what Tom was wearing the first time I saw him,” she said, her mind wandering back to some wine-induced memory from long ago. “He had this orange shirt and a brown suede vest, and these pants that were just tight enough that they left very little to the imagination....” Her voice trailed off for a moment, and her friends went with her in their minds. “Of course, Chakotay didn’t look too bad in leather, either.”

  Kathryn would have blushed had she been sober. Instead, she just smiled. “I know. But I think I prefer him in linen. When we were on New Earth, he had this one tan striped shirt. He used to wear it while he was woodworking. It would cling to the muscles on his back when he’d work up a sweat. I used to make excuses to come in from the garden when he wore that shirt.”

  Seven was feeling a little left out of this conversation now, since the Doctor was fairly limited in his wardrobe while aboard Voyager, and her own experiments in dressing him were so recent. She thought instead of his other qualities. “The Doctor sings to me,” she said out of nowhere.

  B’Elanna frowned. “Ugh, opera!” she groaned. “Actually,” Seven said, “I do enjoy the arias, but I prefer the 20th century ballads. My particular favorites include the brothers Gershwin, and someone named Tormé.”

  B’Elanna was surprised at what she was about to admit. “Tom’s got a great voice, too. He likes to sing to me in the shower.”

  Seven’s expression turned quizzical. “How can you hear him if he’s in the shower?” she asked.

  Kathryn and B’Elanna just looked at each other. B’Elanna was intoxicated enough to answer. “Because I’m in the shower with him, Seven. More often than not we shower together.” At this comment, Seven looked confused—and Kathryn looked wistful. Almost at the same time, and for very different reasons, the three women sighed.

  Seven’s mind now wandered a bit. Clearly there were many activities that could have sexual overtones that she had never considered. She would have to give this some consideration...

  Kathryn’s thoughts were a bit more sentimental. She had to admit she envied B’Elanna. What must it be like, she wondered, to have the luxury of living with and openly enjoying the man you were in love with? It had been so long since she’d had that kind of casually comfortable relationship with her ex-fiancée Mark. Afterward, she’d spent her time cloistered in her quarters on Voyager, unable to express her deepening feelings for the man that had taken Mark’s place in her heart. Even now, sitting in this bar with her closest friends, the man she loved only a few meters away, she knew that kind of daily relaxation was still far from her grasp. Until Chakotay was cleared—or punished—there was no way for them to even make the simplest plans for their future. It was some small comfort that there would at least be a future for them.

  When that future finally came, she made a mental note to conduct her own experiments with the acoustics in her shower...

  B’Elanna was also musing about the object of her affection. She was keeping careful track of the days since she had given birth. Four weeks, three days. Only eleven more days to go. This was the first time in over three years that she and Tom had abstained for so long. And, while there were some things they could enjoy in the interim, their play was infinitely more complicated as they dealt with her lactation, sleep deprivation, and wildly-fluctuating hormonal levels. Not to mention living with their in-laws and the stress of the hearings. Chakotay was right, she knew. There was no way she could imagine having to leave Tom and the baby at this point—no matter how willing she was to face the consequences of her actions as a Maquis. And, as she gazed at the two men laughing and joking at the other end of the table, she knew in her gut that they would see to it that she didn’t have to. At another time in her life, their impulse to protect her would have made her angry. Right now, however, it made her appreciate them all the more.

  She also found herself appreciating the way that navy blue vest looked on the tall blondish man she was now staring at. It definitely brought out the blue of his eyes. Maybe she could get away with only six more days...

  “What about you, Seven?” she heard Kathryn ask. The question brought them all back to the topic of the noble men of Voyager. “Have you...explored the more intimate aspects of your humanity yet?” This was a difficult question for Seven to answer considering her one brief attempt to experiment with intimacy—an attempt that had included a holographic version of a certain first officer. Of course, she had only chosen Chakotay because he was attractive, unattached (or so she thought) and reasonably familiar to her. And because he wasn’t the Doctor. That would have been too risky if things hadn’t worked out.

  “I have made some preliminary studies,” Seven answered her captain honestly. She found herself looking at the Doctor as she continued. “I believe I require more research, however. In fact, B’Elanna, I was wondering...” she wasn’t sure she was drunk enough to ask the next question. But she decided to continue despite the risk of embarrassment. “You are very familiar with the additions that have been made to the Doctor’s program. I understand he has experimented with...intimate contact himself. I was just wondering...”

  B’Elanna decided to put Seven out of her misery. “Let’s say he is just as equipped for intimacy as the next man. More so, if you keep in mind that he made those additions to his program himself.” This led all three women to a rather interesting mental image. Kathryn and B’Elanna instantly struggled to shake off the thought. Seven, on the other hand, seemed intrigued.

  It was at about that point that the men glanced over and saw the women looking a bit dreamily in their direction. “I’m getting the distinct impression, Chakotay, that they haven’t been talking about the refit of the warp engines.”

  His friend laughed. “You don’t think they’re comparing notes, do you?” he asked.

  “They’ve had a lot of wine,” Tom said, as he smiled back at B’Elanna. His acknowledgement of her stare pulled her out of her daydream, and she laughed before turning back to continue her conversation. Tom just shook his head. “Eleven more days,” he said to himself.

  “What was that?” Chakotay asked.

  Tom just shook his head. “Nothing,” he changed the subject.

  “Something’s different about you, Chakotay. Care to tell me what’s going on?”

  Chakotay’s expression changed. Tom wasn’t sure why, but he knew there was a newfound sense of peace about his friend. About to face the music for some fairly serious charges, the man sitting across from him exuded freedom and calm. “Tom, there comes a point when you finally know the answers to questions you’ve asked yourself for years. Once you get those answers, there’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.” That sealed it, Tom knew. The man had cut a deal. There wouldn’t be any surprises for him in tomorrow’s verdict.

  “B’Elanna’s never going to let you get away with this,” he said.

  Chakotay just smiled. “Sure she will. You’re going to help her.”

  Tom was unconvinced. “Does Kathryn know?” he asked.

  Chakotay’s expression gave only a hint of the pain that question evoked. “Sh
e knows that I’m doing what I need to do. She knows I don’t want her to try and stop me. And she knows I love her.” His last words were quite an admission considering the tenuous nature of the men’s friendship.

  Tom had always felt a grudging respect for Chakotay, even during their days together in the Maquis. That respect had now grown into full-fledged admiration. Tom wished he’d had his friend’s courage after his own mistakes at Caldik Prime. Only when he was much older did Tom learn the incredible freedom that came from being unafraid of taking responsibility for one’s actions. Sometimes, he now knew, it was the internal prisons that were the most confining. Chakotay sensed the change in Tom’s mood and asked a question he’d always wondered about. “Do you ever wish I hadn’t come looking for you in this bar so many years ago?” The question was easy for Tom to answer.

  “I used to. While I was sitting in that cell in Auckland, thinking about how easily I seemed to find new ways to screw up my life. I was sober for the first time in a long while, and there was nowhere to run to get away from myself.” Tom was looking down into his now-empty glass, and made a mental decision he wouldn’t have any more wine tonight. “I knew you and the rest of the crew would think I’d run out on you. Hell, you expected me to screw up, so I don’t think I was any great disappointment to you. But I didn’t want B’Elanna to think...” Chakotay noticed that Tom was unconsciously fingering his wedding ring as he continued. “But look how things have turned out for me. I’m married to the most beautiful, talented woman in the galaxy; I’m someone’s father and someone’s son. If it meant any of that would go away, Chakotay, I’d live every single moment over again without changing a thing.”