Disclaimer: Paramount, et cetera, though with this particular piece, I think that um... well, if you give me an excuse to remove this from the net, I won't exactly hate you.
Ratings: Having no idea how the American ratings system
works, I'm going to bung a "PG-13" on this, close my eyes and hope.
I don’t think it has anything to do with me, to be honest. I don’t think I want to discuss it.
No, I just don’t think this particular topic belongs in the public forum. Or that it’s my role to speculate. Two young people meet, they fall in love, it should be their business, not the rest of the quadrant’s.
To be honest, I don’t think Tom’s going to like it very much either. I can’t see him opening up to someone under these circumstances. Authority figures aren’t typically Mr. Paris’s first port of call in a storm. Not to mention that we’ve all had a very long day.
Good luck with the idea though. My advice is talk to B’Elanna
and try not to get Tom on the defensive. When he’s on the defensive
he can be… well, on occasion he can be quite adversarial.
Yes, I am speaking from experience.
B’Elanna. B’Elanna Torres.
I’m warning you right now, right at the outset that I’ve just had a
really long day. A really long day. Well, lets just say
that it involved Neelix and Seven and Paris and a warp core and my shower
and… Alright, I’m just warning you. So. I'm
ready now. Ask away.
You want to talk about WHAT???
God, I’d love a drink. You having one? No? Alright, well, suit yourself. I’ve had a long day. Tom Paris, by the way. Yeah, nice to meet you, too. So we’re going to do this, huh? I’m ready, 100%. Lay it on me. Shoot, as they say. What is it you want to talk about?
Shit. Listen, do you mind if I have another drink? Thanks. Yes, I know this is my second since I got it, I’m not a complete idiot. I mean, shit. I mean, where do you get off, anyway? God, we’ve only known each other two minutes and already your coming on like some puritanical fucking neo-Cardassian interrogation officer obsessed with--
Okay, what is *that* look supposed to mean?
Chakotay told you I’d get defensive? *Chakotay* told you I'd get defensive? You-- Hang on… *Chakotay* told you I’d get defensive? *Chakotay*. As in, big guy, tattoo, square shoulders, funky hair? We are talking about the First Officer here, aren’t we?
*Chakotay* told you I’d get defensive.
Right, well then, listen *buster*. Just humour me for a moment here. Just bear with me while I ask a question that’s probably, you know, screamingly obvious, but to which of course the answer just happens to escape me.
What the hell does *Chakotay* have to do with any of this?
This should be between B’Elanna and I-- not the Captain, not Tuvok, not Harry, not Nicoletti or Neelix or Henley or anyone else on the ship. Not even Freddy Bristow. *Certainly* not the world’s most over-buffed, over-opinionated and under-socialized First Officer. Right?
It’s no secret that we didn’t get along in the Maquis.
He wasn’t Lieutenant Tom Paris in the Maquis. He was just Tom Paris. Tom Paris, a mercenary and a drunk.
Popular? No. No, forget it. He had a few sycophants, but no friends. No real friends. He didn’t make an effort to get close to people. That’s an understatement, really. I’d say with a fair amount of certainty that he’d have kicked his own mother in the teeth if she’d made a single move to reach out and help him.
Hell of a pilot, though.
I saw him fly the Telsan Nebula in 6:42 before his ship got taken by the Federation.
Hi, can I come in?
Megan Delaney. And you are Mr--?
Oh god, whatever, I am so over enigmatic, you have no idea. Anyway, forget the name. I’m here for the sake of accuracy. It’s high time I joined this little discussion. You’re floundering along on your own getting nowhere. I’ll tell you why, too. You made the classic blunder. Yes you did, the *classic* blunder. You’ve got no idea what’s really going on. That’s because you went to the source looking for information. Of course Chakotay and Tom Paris aren’t going to tell you the no-holds-barred truth, it’s--
Oh, honestly, is that what they've been saying?
You really have no idea at all, do you.
Alright, it goes like this--
Oh, you’re *not* talking to Megan Delaney are you?
Why? Why? Because she’s the most notorious gossip on the ship is why.
Well brace yourself. You’re about to turn this whole thing into a circus.
You’re not talking to Megan Delaney are you?
Why? Why? Oh come on, she’s the worst gossip on the ship. I’m serious. She’ll come out with some weird story she heard down at Sandrine’s that she’ll swear is the truth and it will end up being something like… how Crewman Geron is having Neelix’s secret love child or something. Tuvok’s pon farr bonded with Carey from Engineering.
No of course he hasn’t! Jeez, no-- that was an example. That’ll be exactly the kind of thing she says.
God, Megan Delaney. I remember last year, she chased me from one side of the ship to the other, wouldn’t let up, it was like hiding out from a one woman Gestapo for almost six months.
Gestapo. Um, a Terran military organisation. Sort of circa World War II.
Oh he did, did he? *I* chased *him* all over the ship. This, from a man who stood outside my quarters for three hours every afternoon for three weeks, and--
Hey! She had Harry's clarinet! I *HAD* to wait, I was trying to get it back for him. God. She *had* the thing for *three weeks*! Three hours every day, for *three weeks*--
Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?
Alright. Here it is. As far as *I'm* concerned, there's only one person
Tom Paris wants in his bed. It’s the one person he can’t
have, too, which makes this all very interesting.
No, not the *Captain*--
Well, okay, if you think you'll need me--
Neelix? Do you really think I'd barge my way in here just to tell you Tom has a crush on *Neelix*? Flex your brain. Think higher up the command structure.
What do you mean, I've been "invited here on the off chance my testimony will be relevant"?
No, not *Tuvok*.
I'll talk about anything--
*Harry*? What are you, *blind*?
And B’Elanna’s closer to Chakotay than anyone on the ship. The two of them eat together, socialize together, they’ve probably rolled round in the hay together too, in their time.
So you see, the answer to the question ‘Why is Tom Paris fucking B’Elanna Torres?’ is pretty brutally simple.
Tom Paris is fucking B’Elanna Torres because it’s the closest he can come to fucking Chakotay.
Oh, this is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about. You take a perfectly innocent love story and subject it to speculation and back-stair gossip and innuendo and the whole thing ends up… taudry. Suddenly B’Elanna and I are romantically involved and Paris is a raving homosexual.
No, I’m not going to talk about Megan.
No, I am the last person Tom Paris has a... "secret crush" on.
No, I'm not interested in hearing what *you* think.
? ? ?
! ! !
Watch for Paris's reaction. If it's true, he'll sort of clam up, and not speak--
Oh-- that's it. That's *it*, I'm gone. I am *out* of here--
--and probably, like, *run* out of the room--
Megan, you absolute--
--start calling me names--
I will *so* get you for this--
--or, you know, start threatening me--
Look, why would *I* be attracted to the First Officer? It's absurd. He's a... a... a walking monolith, for God's sake. I mean, a cute butt is one thing but you can't just substitute a tattoo for a personality and expect no one to notice, can you?
Or roll his eyes and try to make it into a joke--
Note, I am no longer threatening Megan.
Note, I am pulling up a chair.
Note, I am talking.
Note, I am not running out of the room.
And note, I am answering the question of Chakotay, and my alleged interest, hopefully *once and for all*.
Firstly, right. Firstly, I’m straight.
Secondly, if by some bizarre and unlikely chance say a blue moon or the wind changes or I’m possessed or it’s alcohol induced or whatever-- if my taste should happen to stray from it’s gourd and, you know, move on down to the other side of the street, and *then*, if some even more unlikely circumstance were to arise and I somehow ended up with my eye on Chakotay, well, I can tell you in no uncertain terms-- and let me phrase this crudely enough so that even Megan should be able to get my meaning--
--if I wanted Chakotay, really wanted him, *I wouldn’t have any trouble getting him, thank you*.
The need for some… weird surrogate would never arise.
End of story.
End of story, Megan.
You’re lying, Tom.
Tom Paris when he's lying?
Let me think now...
He'll fall silent. He has the silence of indignation down to a fine art. Or he'll just up and leave. Or go on the attack, you know, swearing and blustering. Or humour. If you corner him, though, he's awfully good at coming up with realistic sounding explanations--
That's it. That's *it*.
You and *you* and *YOU* can all stop pressing your nose to my window. Regardless of how much the idea of my having sex with the First Officer might turn you on-- it is *never* going to happen.
What do you mean, you don’t see it? How can you not see it? Immediately the topic comes up Chakotay goes into denial, sheer denial, and Paris enacts a *classic* Paris-lying-to-save-his-butt routine, then claims that he’s not interested in men, but that if he were, oh, if he *were* he’d have absolutely no trouble getting a leg over the First Officer. And *then* he says that by the by doesn't Chakotay have a cute butt, and isn’t the idea of he and Chakotay in a grind a turn on after all?
I think I’ve made my point, don’t you?
*I* don't. Tom?
No fucking way.
What? Megan Delaney? When did you start talking to her?
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