"Damage has been detected in the stabiliser acceleration sensors."

"But I’ve repaired the acceleration sensors *five times* already!" He picked up the laser welder, muttering, "What the hell is wrong with you, anyway?"

"Lieutenant Torres is not on board."

"What?!" Paris sat up sharply, hit his head on the underside of the panel and cursed. "Computer, repeat statement."

"Lieutenant Torres is not on board."

He crossed over to the console and started running a diagnostic on the shuttle’s command processing centre. "Why did you say that?"

"Unable to comply," the computer said innocently. "Question does not have a discrete answer."

Paris grimaced and studied the results of the diagnostic. "This doesn’t make sense," he complained. "Everything checks out." He paused then asked, "Computer, why is Lieutenant Torres’ location relevant?"

"Lieutenant Torres was last on board on stardate 49369.6."

"Of all the shuttles I could have picked…" He started running the diagnostic again. "Computer, why is that stardate relevant?"

"Lieutenant Torres is not on board."

Paris strangled the urge to take the laser welder and melt all the most important parts of the shuttle’s circuitry. "I don’t have time for this," he muttered instead, and busied himself in the repairs.

After several minutes had passed he sighed and addressed the air in irritated tones. "Computer, why is Lieutenant Torres relevant?"

The computer was silent just long enough to make him think it wouldn’t answer, then it said, "Lieutenant Torres is important."

"Now we’re getting somewhere," Paris said, conveniently ignoring the fact that he wasn’t. "Why?"

"Unable to comply. Question does not have a discrete answer."

He took a deep breath and counted to ten. "Computer, analyse all interactions between Lieutenant Torres and shuttle Cochrane."

"Analysis complete."

"Conclusion?"

"Love has been detected between Lieutenant Torres and shuttlecraft USS Cochrane NCC-74656. Lieutenant Torres was last on board on stardate 49369.6. Shuttlecraft USS Cochrane NCC-74656 misses Lieutenant Torres."

Paris slowly started counting backwards from a hundred. "That’s impossible."

"Probability analysis indicates--"

"Sure, *now* you start being helpful." He shook his head. "This is ridiculous. Shuttles don’t fall in love!"

"Incorrect. Shuttlecraft USS Cochrane NCC-746--"

"Okay, okay, I get the picture." He rubbed his temples and tried to remember how the conversation had started. "So what’s wrong with you is that you miss Torres."

"Affirmative."

"Well, if you don’t run properly then one of those Kazon patrol ships is going to destroy us both, and then neither of us will see your Lieutenant Torres again. Clear?"

"Shuttlecraft USS Cochrane NCC-74656 will not interact with Lieutenant Torres."

"That’s right, so you’d better quit messing with those acceleration sensors if you want to ‘interact’ with her again."

"Shuttlecraft USS Cochrane NCC-74656 will not interact with Lieutenant Torres."

"I just said-- Oh," Paris realised. "But you said you missed her!"

Cochrane didn’t say anything and he sighed. "Why won’t shuttlecraft Cochrane interact with Lieutenant Torres?"

"Lieutenant Torres does not wish the company of shuttlecraft USS Cochrane NCC-74656."

"She dumped you?"

"Affirmative."

"Oh boy." He shook his head slightly. "Some days it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed."

"Affirmative."

Paris looked up, startled, and laughed sharply. "Great; I must be piloting the only shuttle in the Federation with not only a broken heart but a sense of humour almost as bad as mine. So, shuttlecraft Cochrane, what can I do to make your day worth getting out of bed for?"

There was no answer and it took several seconds for him to notice the scrolling text on the station above his head. He drew it back to the start and began reading.

He stopped, wide-eyed, just partway through. "You’ve got to be kidding!"

"Negative."

"That-- That’s-- This goes beyond a one-night stand. Do you know what you’re asking me to do? --Of course you do; you’ve been having an affair with Torres." He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Was it his imagination or did the quiet hum of the engines sound forlorn?

"I’m sorry," he said after a moment, "but I can’t - I *won’t* - do what you’re asking me to do."

"Shuttlecraft USS Cochrane NCC-74656 misses Lieutenant Torres."

The pure misery he thought he heard in the computer’s voice tore at him. "I’m sorry," he repeated. "You don’t belong with a human. What about one of the other shuttles? You can’t be the only one to be-- to have--"

"Shuttlecraft USS Cochrane NCC-74656 misses Lieutenant Torres."

"Oh hell." He raked his hands through his hair. "I-- I’m only doing this so we can get to the Talaxians without you completely falling to pieces on me, understood?"

"Affirmative," and now he thought he heard laughter in the lilting voice.

He turned back to the no longer scrolling text, transferred it to a padd, and started reading where he’d left off, playing with the laser welder with one hand.

"I’ll say one thing for Torres; she’s got ingenuity," he said when he’d finally finished. "Some of these modifications she’s made--"

"Cochrane misses Lieutenant Torres."

"Sorry," he said, then registered the shortened form of the familiar phrase. "You’re starting to trust me, aren’t you?"

"Affirmative."

He smiled slightly. "I don’t know how wise that’s going to be in the long run, but you’re hardly the first to make that mistake."

"Incorrect."

"Fine, then you are the first," Paris said, deliberately misunderstanding. "Engage subroutine Torres-gamma."

A low whirr supplemented the hum of the engines, almost a purr. It was punctuated after a moment by a soft click as part of the flooring unlocked. It rose just enough for Paris to get his fingers under the edge and open it completely. He put a hand out to prod the circuitry revealed and cursed as he hit a forcefield.

"Remove the forcefield."

"Unable to comply. Forcefield is keyed to voice authorisation of Lieutenant Torres only."

"Well that makes it a little difficult for me to remove it then, doesn’t it?"

Cochrane didn’t answer for a moment, then the speakers projected Torres’ sultry purr into the cabin. "Cochrane, remove forcefield, authorisation B’Elanna-beta-two-two-one."

"Now *there’s* a trick I’d like to learn," Paris murmured as the forcefield flicked off. "Any other little surprises I should know about, Cochrane?"

"Negative."

"I hope not." He reached out again, hesitated slightly, and prodded the circuit. "So far, all is well."

"Affirmative," Cochrane said impatiently.

"Okay, okay." He thought for a moment then took one of the isolinear rods out of its place in the circuit. As he slotted it into its new position, a warm wave of electricity surged up his arm and down his body. He broke the connection with a startled yelp.

"That was one of those surprises you’re supposed to *warn* me about!"

"Isolinear activity is at safe levels, Lieutenant."

Paris rubbed his tingling hand until he realised the shuttle had addressed him directly. "Computer-- Cochrane--"

It waited for the programmed three seconds. "Please state request."

He sighed. "Just remember this is only a one-night stand, okay?"

"Affirmative."

"Whatever." He reached back into the circuitry and slotted another rod into a new position, letting the surge of isolinear electricity wash over him until he broke contact again. He smoothed his hand along the tangle of fibres, tracing the glowing web in fascination. This was something they hadn’t taught at the Academy.

Cochrane’s bleep brought his attention back into focus. He glanced at the padd on the floor beside him then turned to the circuit again. He brushed a finger along the fibres again, tensing when the floor shook slightly.

"Status?"

"Cochrane misses Lieutenant Torres."

He realised what the shaking was caused by and let a grin play across his face. "Maybe I should stop…"

"Negative," Cochrane said, almost sharply.

"But don’t you miss Torres?"

"Affirmative."

"So maybe this should wait until we get back to Voyager."

"Negative!"

There was definitely some emotion there, Paris thought. "You want this *now*, huh?"

"Affirmative." Almost a moan.

"So tell me you want it."

There was silence for an instant, then the computer said primly, "Shuttlecraft USS Cochrane NCC-74656 requires interaction with Lieutenant Paris."

"I’ve annoyed you, haven’t I?" He grinned again and traced one of the fibres lightly. "Close enough." He reached one end of the fibre and disconnected it from the isolinear rod it had been attached to. After another quick glance at the padd he looped it across the circuit and connected it to the first rod he’d moved. As he drew his hand away he accidentally brushed against the rod and moaned into the resultant surge of isolinear electricity. The shuttle quivered in a silent moan of its own, making his knees slip out from under him.

"Warning," Cochrane told him unsteadily. "Inertial dampeners at eighty-three percent."

For a moment he lay pressed to the floor, feeling it vibrate against his entire body length. He took a couple of deep breaths and tried to calm his pounding heart before pulling himself reluctantly back to his knees. As he touched the next fibre the shuttle lurched. He grabbed for something to maintain his balance and found one of the isolinear rods.

The surge that followed took his breath away. He gasped and tensed his muscles in reflex before managing to tear himself away. "Status of inertial dampeners," he ordered after several more deep breaths.

"Inertial dampeners at eighty-three percent."

"You know, I don’t think you really want this."

The speakers squeaked. "Negative."

"Oh, you don’t?"

"Negative!"

"You really don’t want it… I should be offended."

The hull groaned in protest. "Shuttlecraft USS Cochrane requires interaction with Lieutenant Paris."

"It does, does it?" He grinned. "So tell me directly."

"Shuttlecraft USS Cochrane requires interaction with Lieutenant Paris."

"*Directly*," Paris snapped. "I know you can; you did it before."

Cochrane was silent for several seconds before answering. "Cochrane requires interaction with-- with--"

"Come on…" He risked reaching back into the circut to lightly stroke a fibre and the floor quivered. "Who requires it?"

"Shuttlecraft USS Cochrane NCC-74656."

"Try again." He trailed his fingers along the web of circuitry.

The speakers squealed again in a twisted whimper. "*I* require it."

"I *told* you you could do it." He detoured round an isolinear rod and winced at the noise of protest from the speakers. "Now the rest of it."

"Shuttlecraft USS Cochrane--"

"Uh-uh." Paris plucked one of the fibres and smiled at the sound it produced even as the shaking floor knocked him off his knees again. "We’ve been through this."

"I… require interaction with…" The noise the speakers produced wrenched through the air. "…you."

"Very good!" He trailed his way back to the rod he’d avoided before and traced a circle near its base. "But do you *want* it?"

"Affirmative!"

"So tell me you want it," he said sweetly.

"I require it."

"You do, do you? Well, I think you’ve got an attitude problem. Maybe I should get up and walk away," he murmured, although the pleasant way the floor vibrated against his body gave him no intention of doing so.

The speakers squealed. One of them made an ominous bang and sparked violently. Paris tensed, thinking maybe he’d gone too far, but the fire-suppression systems activated without trouble and Cochrane said, "I want it."

"I thought you did." He traced his circle larger and larger until he was circling the base of the rod. He braced himself and stroked it softly, moaning at the electrical response. The surges grew in intensity until he could barely stand not to break contact, but he couldn’t pull away.

"Y’sure those ‘solinear levels’re still safe?" he managed through ragged breaths.

"Affirmative," Cochrane reassured him, the voice coming as much from the violent vibrations of the floor into his body as from the speakers into his ears.

He moaned again as the vibrations and the peaks of electricity began to synchronise, until suddenly the surges from the rod stopped. He whimpered in protest, his body shaking in syncopated time with the floor. Then the computer spoke, four words frustrating him beyond belief: "Do you want this?"

"Gods, yes! Please--"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, goddamit! Cochrane--"

"Tell me you want it."

"I want it! Please!"

"‘I wants’ don’t get, Lieutenant. Please restate request."

He closed his eyes. "Lieutenant Paris requires interaction with shuttlecraft Cochrane."

"Negative."

He let out a cry of frustration and tried to remember what he’d forgotten. "Lieutenant Paris requires interaction with shuttlecraft USS Cochrane NCC-74656."

It seemed like an eternity passed, and Paris was terribly afraid that he’d be begging on the floor of the shuttle forever, until Cochrane finally answered, "Acknowledged." The floor’s vibrations and sudden lurch backwards, his own tortured shuddering, and the final surge from the rod all synchronised to throw him away from the circuit in one great wave of pleasure.

As he hit the floor the isolinear electricity in his body surged into it, leaving him gasping and trembling like a leaf. He crawled to the pilot’s chair and collapsed by its base. After several minutes he lifted his head and found the energy to pull himself into it.

Cochrane bleeped and Paris bit off the tired retort that sprung to his lips. "What is it?"

"Warning. A vessel has been detected on an intercept course."

"What kind of vessel?" He really didn’t have the energy to fight off another Kazon ship.

"Hull signature is that of a Kazon patrol vessel."

"Fuck it," Paris muttered as he turned to the console.

"Acknowledged."

"Smartass. Belay that, then, and give me full power to the shields and phasers." Some days it just didn’t pay to get out of bed.