Tom smirked at her from across the table. "I won."

"But--" She was still staring at the table, trying to figure out what had gone wrong.

"Captain, I’ve been beating you off and on for almost a *month* now."

"That was different," she protested, then stopped herself.

"You think I didn’t know you were hustling me?" Tom shook his head sadly. "I’m disappointed, Captain. You have no faith in my skills as a con-artist. I’ll take my week’s worth of replicator rations now, if you don’t mind." He put his cue down and took a sip of his drink expectantly.

Kathryn blushed. "I-- I’m a little short right now."

"Short?" Tom stared at her for a moment then chortled. She began to wonder if that was really synthehol he was drinking. "Why did you make the bet if you didn’t have the rations?"

"Because I needed the rations," she said. "Besides, you weren’t supposed to *win*!"

"Well," Tom drawled, leaving his glass on the side of the pool table and sauntering around to stand in front of her, "I guess we’ll just have to think of a suitable… forfeit."

She shivered as his eyes raked over her body. No, that definitely wasn’t synthehol. "Did you have anything in mind, Lieutenant?"

He put a hand on the table on either side of her, effectively trapping her in place. She could feel his breath like a soft paw on her face. "Mmm, maybe. Did you?"

Kathryn swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. She was caught in his eyes’ tractor beam.

Tom laughed suddenly and backed off. "Can’t think of anything? Neither can I. I’ll have to get back to you." He strolled towards the door and paused, one hand on the post. "Don’t worry," he called, raking his eyes over her again, "I *will* collect."

She sank against the pool table, shaking suddenly. Thank goodness they’d been the only ones in Sandrine’s tonight, she thought vaguely. That… *exchange* was the last thing she needed floating around the gossip mills.

=/\=

She strode onto the bridge the next day and paused in front of her seat, half-listening to Tuvok’s status report and thinking that at least Tom had the grace to look mildly abashed. She nodded at Tuvok and continued into her ready room, planning to go over some reports.

B’Elanna had some ideas for some modifications to make to the warp systems to relieve stress on their dilithium crystals, and she got so caught up in the details of the mechanics involved she barely noticed when the door chimed, but gave an absent, "Come in."

"Captain - I’m not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Not at all, Lieutenant," she said with a smile, tossing the padd onto her desk. "Take a seat."

Tom perched himself on the offered chair. "I’d just like to apologise for my behaviour last night, Captain. It was unprofessional and completely out of line."

"It would probably help your case somewhat if you looked in the least repentant," Kathryn pointed out, "but apology accepted, nonetheless."

"Thank you." He flashed her a grin and rose. "Of course, I’m still going to make you pay that forfeit."

Tom was gone before she could answer, leaving to wonder exactly what tortures the man had devised. For some reason, she found it difficult to concentrate on the Engineering report after that…

=/\=

It was several days before Kathryn found herself back in Sandrine’s, nerves frayed from a week of mischevious smirks on the bridge and turbolift comments designed to frustrate her. So it was that when Tom approached to challenge her to another game, she shook her head. "Not until I’ve paid the forfeit from the last one." He wouldn’t take the rations; she’d tried that the day before and he’d teasingly accused her of welching on her debts.

"I guess I’ll have to think of something quickly, then," Tom said with a mournful sigh, and she nodded with an air of forced politeness.

"I guess you’d better."

He darted a look at her, almost shyly, and fidgeted with his cue. "I-- I’d like to watch you sleep."

That got her full attention, and she blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"No, it’s stupid. Forget it," Tom said quickly, looking away.

"No, that’s all right. I mean…" What did she mean? "I was just… surprised," Kathryn finished.

"You think I’m weird, don’t you?"

Absolutely. "Maybe a little," she said diplomatically. "Tom, it’s your forfeit. I don’t mind."

Tom looked shy again and leaned his cue against her table. "Should I come to your quarters?"

"Unless you plan to do this in the mess hall…" That got a laugh out of him, and she smiled. "Twenty-two hundred okay for you?" She waited for his nod, then picked up the cue he’d abandoned. "Then let’s play some pool, shall we?"

=/\=

2200. The door chimed, right on time, and she gave her hair one last irritated brush-stroke before padding out of the bathroom. "Come in."

Tom stopped just enough inside to let the doors close and looked around approvingly. "Nice place."

"Captain’s privilege." He turned to look at her and stared slightly. It was with a shock that Kathryn realised he’d probably never seen her with her hair down before, and he’d certainly never seen her in pink satin. "Is there something wrong, Mister Paris?" she asked to tease him a little.

"Not at *all*, Captain." The tone of his voice made her wonder if there was going to be a repeat of the night in Sandrine’s, but Tom reined himself in. "Tangles?"

It was several moments before she realised he was talking about her hair, and that she was still carrying her brush. "A few. I’m thinking of cutting it short."

"Oh, don’t do that." Tom blushed slightly at his earnestness and assumed his usual tone. "If it’s short, how will you keep it in the bun of steel?"

The bun of-- Was that what they called it? She shook her head with a smile and resumed the task of trying to unknot her hair. "I’m sure I’ll think--" grimace "--of something."

"Here, let me." Tom took the hairbrush with gentle fingers and guided her to the couch. "My sisters always used to have terrible problems with their hair."

"And turned to you?"

"Are you kidding? Who do you think put the gum in their hair in the first place?"

"You certainly know how to reassure a woman," she said dryly.

"I try my best," he said in a matching tone, but the gentle pressure on her scalp made her aware of the practised ease with which he was untangling her hair. "Almost done. You had most of the worst out already."

She relaxed into his skillful hands and sighed contentedly. "I always hated my hair."

"Why? It’s beautiful," he protested, sweeping it clear of her neck to gently massage her shoulders. She was reminded suddenly of a planet light years distant, with a different officer and little hope of returning to Voyager. She shifted around to face him and forced a smile.

"I thought you wanted to watch me sleep, not listen to me moan about my hair problems."

Tom looked at her quietly then smiled back. "Into bed with you, then."

"In your dreams," she retorted, moving towards the bedroom. Tom followed her, smiling as she slipped between the sheets.

"Pleasant dreams, Captain."

"I’d wish you the same, but…" Kathryn shrugged. "Are you really planning to stay awake all night, just to watch me sleep?"

"You’ve caught me," Tom said, straight-faced. "Actually it was just a pretense to get me into your quarters. Chakotay’s coming round in the middle of the night; I’ll let him in then we’ll mud-wrestle all over your floor."

She laughed and settled back into the pillows. "Goodnight, Tom. Computer, fifteen percent illumination."

"Goodnight, Captain." He smiled gently as the lights dimmed and she closed her eyes.

A moment later she opened them. "I don’t think I can fall asleep while you’re watching me."

"I’ll go out into the other room, then, and come back in a bit."

"Thank you." She smiled and closed her eyes again. After several seconds she mumbled warningly, "Tom."

"I’m just going."

Pause. "*Tom*."

"I’m going, I’m going!" Footsteps on carpet.

"Tom, I mean it." Silence. "I know you’re there."

"How do you *do* that?"

"Air displacement."

"Uh huh. Fine, I’m going."

This time he really was gone, and she relaxed, snuggling into the sheets. Tonight there were few reports for her to worry about, no alien conundrums and no spatial anomalies. It wasn’t long before she began to drift off.

=/\=

Tom crept back in after quarter of an hour, figuring that if the captain still wasn’t asleep, maybe he could help. She was, and he smiled down at her gently before brushing a wisp of hair from her face. "Sweet dreams," he repeated in a whisper, and quietly found himself a chair.

=/\=

Kathryn stirred as a mouth brushed over hers. She smiled and caught it with her own lips, drawing the kiss into something more, something hungrier. Mmm, this was the way to wake up. She let out a small sigh as his lips drifted away. "Oh, Mark…"

A quiet intake of breath, silence, and carpeted footsteps retreating. She opened her eyes and frowned at the ceiling. Mark and Earth were on the other side of the galaxy, she was on Voyager, and that meant that the man staring out her window at the stars was… "Tom."

"Captain." He managed to make that one word sound more formal than a Bolian ambassador giving a speech.

"I’m sorry--" she started.

"No, I’m sorry. I was out of line." He was silent for just long enough to make her open her mouth, but not so long that she could get a word in. "I should go."

"Tom, wait." She struggled out from under the covers and half-ran into her main room in time to see the door shut after him. "Tom!" Chasing the helmsman down a corridor in her nightwear probably wouldn’t send a very good message to the crew, she thought glumly, sinking into the couch. She jumped up again at a sharp prick and saw the hairbrush lying abandoned beneath her. She picked it up and sat down again with a sigh. Dammit.

She toyed with the hairbrush for a moment, then flung it across the room angrily. She strode back into her bedroom and picked up her commbadge. "Janeway to Paris." Silence. "Janeway to Paris. Dammit, Tom, I know you can hear me!" For once she didn’t care if anyone was listening. "Paris, this is the captain. Pick up that commbadge right now or you’ll be spending the rest of the trip working in deuterium maintenance."

Still silence. It was, she had to admit, quite possible that he’d simply turned his commbadge off. Damn, damn, damn; what the hell was she supposed to do now? "Computer, locate Lieutenant Paris."

"Lieutenant Paris is in holodeck two."

Bursting into Sandrine’s in her nightwear probably wouldn’t send the right message to the crew, either. It was at times like this that she wished she didn’t have to worry about what kind of messages she was sending. What kind of message-- She strode to her computer terminal and switched it on.

***Authorization: Janeway 0-0-47-5-1 ***Distribution: Lt. Thomas Paris ***Subject: don’t even think of deleting this, Paris.

Now, if only she could work out what on Earth she wanted to say…