3 days. star trek voyager. tom/b'elanna. he's spoken in riddles before, thinking there would be a better time. truth is, there is none.

i know places we can go babe

coming home, come unfold babe

the high won't fade here, babe

no, the high won't hurt here, babe

(Day 1)

I'm glad the last thing I'll see is you.

He's seen all kinds of pretty things in his relatively short life, taking on many shapes; be it a nebula, a 20th car or a woman, he thought he'd seen it all.

And then, there was B'Elanna Torres; B'Elanna and that half-smile of hers burned on his retinas forever, and in that moment before death, he found that nothing could ever compare to the sight of her.

He still sees her when he closes his eyes, still hears her breathing loud over the comm and her shaken I love you ringing in his ears even long after they were beamed aboard Voyager.

Tom. Come on, open your eyes.

"B'Elanna?"

"Ah, Mr. Paris. I see that you are awake. How are you feeling?" The Doctor is his chirpy, smug self as usual. The tricorder bips too loud and the lights flash too bright, and Tom half-listens to the Doctor telling him about his medical condition, when all he wants to hear about is B'Elanna.

She's still sleeping. She's strong but she didn't have the training to be this long out in space. It's going to take her a little longer to recuperate.

She's lying in the biobed next to his, her face serene. He tries to shake the dizziness away as soon as he's on his feet, but he can't help being drawn to her, as always. She looks almost at peace when she sleeps, as if the storm has been cleared, only if for a little while.

"She kept talking."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I told her she was wasting air, but she wouldn't listen. She kept talking to keep me awake."

(Well, for once she should have listened to you, Mr. Paris.)

His fingers itch to touch her, make sure she's still here but he feels like he has no right; and it would only raise questions (the Doctor sure loves gossiping).

There are things you share and some you don't. What happened out there is something he wants to keep for himself, cherish the memory of it, whatever happens next.

"I'm glad she didn't."

(Day 2)

She wakes up somewhere around 0300 hours, feeling disoriented and alone. "Welcome back, Lieutenant," the Doctor says and all she wants to do is throw that damned chirping tricorder against a wall. But she doesn't.

"Where is Tom? Is he—"

"Lieutenant Paris is fine, B'Elanna. He woke up a few hours ago and since his vital signs were acceptable, I sent him to his quarters so he could further rest."

She tries to mask the relief on her face but she's afraid she doesn't succeed. "Can I go, too?" she asks hopefully.

When she's finally released from sickbay and back in her quarters and away from prying eyes, she finds that she can't sleep.

She should know better, but she replicates a steaming cup of raktajino anyway. She sits on her couch, draws her knees to her chest; she wraps her fingers around the mug and shivers from the cold. "Computer. Raise the temperature by five degrees."

Acknowledged.

Still feeling cold, she grabs the blanket next to her and throws it around her shoulder, and settles back on the couch. She watches the stars drift by, the quiet hum of Voyager's engines familiar and comforting.

I'm glad the last thing I'll see is you.

The vacuum of space and Tom Paris. She's known for some time now, felt it in her chest as if her ribcage was too tight every time he was near. She couldn't breathe then.

She can't breathe now.

The mug forgotten on the coffee table, she sheds her uniform on her way to bed; she will pick it up in the morning.

The red overhead light does little to soothe her; she tosses and turns in her bed until she grabs a clean uniform, and finds herself standing in the turbolift and on her way to Engineering.

(she avoids walking by his quarters, though.)

When the doors close behind her and she's faced with the warp core (such a magnificent sight), she feels relieved, somehow.

It's going to be a long day ahead, but she's glad for the distraction.

(Day 3)

It starts rough and he does his best to keep up with her. He's never been the rough type with women, but B'Elanna likes it and he's more than happy to oblige. They roll around in bed, wrestling and trying to assert dominance and she laughs, and he decides it's the best thing he's ever heard in his life.

(call him a romantic, he won't mind.)

Not for the first time though, he wonders who she really is; the Chief Engineer, the human part of her who's always trying to be in control of both herself and Voyager's engines, or the passionate Klingon woman he's in bed with, but then he realizes she's none and both at the same time.

It slows to a tender embrace, even as she bites on his fingers after it's over. She groans in satisfaction, low in her throat and it seems like it rumbles all the way to his chest as they kiss. He presses his forehead against hers, the faint ridges against his smoother skin but he doesn't mind; it's always been part of who she is and he's always wanted to run his lips against them anyway.

"I love you, B'Elanna." He's spoken in riddles before, thinking there would be a better time; truth is, there is none.

He thinks he has a bruised rib, but that's okay. There's something in her eyes, deep and unaltered, that tells him it's all worth it.

It's always been.

—end