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  Part 3

  Captain Kathryn Janeway gently laid her hand mirror back on her dressing table, fighting off the urge to smack it down, just to hear it break. It had been late in the second shift when Tuvok had alerted her to the Borg ship; they had all already put in a long day: checking systems, scanning files, and running diagnostics; in short, making sure the Voyager was fit after her incredible duplication and near destruction, her constant run-ins with the Kazon and the Vidiians. Now, after nearly twenty hours on duty, the fatigue was setting in. She knew she would be late to her own meeting, but it had taken her a few minutes to calm her anger. To assuage her fear. To face her guilt. Guilt. She had sent them, no one else. On a fool's errand? Perhaps. Torres, who needed the experience of command. Paris, who was chafing under the yoke of routine. Hudson and Simms, good soldiers, who just needed a chance to do their jobs once in a while. Hudson. Simms. Paris. Torres. "NO. I will NOT put these names in the captain's log as 'Missing, presumed dead,'" she said softly, fiercely, aloud. "Tuvok, report." "The Borg ship is cruising at warp factor 5.8, in a heading that is roughly perpendicular to our previous course. Their systems appear to have been in a low energy state, thus deceiving us into believing they were harmless," said Tuvok. "Intentionally?" queried Chakotay. "Based on your own report, I would doubt it, Commander. The Borg seem to have been in a hibernative state," replied Tuvok. "I do not believe they attempted to fool us on purpose." "Weapons, Mr. Kim?" No response. Kim sat staring past Janeway at the smearing images of the starfield outside the window, lost in thought. "Mr. Kim?" repeated Janeway, gently. Nothing. "Harry!" she urged. Kim started. "Yes, Captain?" Janeway glanced around the room, gathering up their attention, touched at their concern. Carey and Hamilton, looking uncomfortable. Kes and Neelix, tired and unhappy. Tuvok, impassive. Chakotay, guilty. Kim, grim. "We will get them back," she said simply, emphasizing every word. "Whole. Unassimilated." "Captain, I have an idea," said, of all people, Kes. "But it may be dangerous." B'Elanna shrugged--a quick, angry jerk of the shoulders. "Klingons don't celebrate birthdays," she retorted. "But you were raised in a human colony. Didn't you--" He actually broke off the sentence at a glare from her, one so hot it would have done credit to a supernova. "It's not important, Tom. Drop it, all right?" While she kept her voice low, she practically spat the words. He studied her thoughtfully, wondering if she had any idea how much information her face could give out at times. While her motivations were sometimes obscure, her emotions were an open book--she'd never mastered the careless mask he wore as a matter of course. Just now, her face was all tense angles and bitter lines, and it made something twist in him. I want to make her smile, he realized. He'd always loved her rare, flashing smile. "No," he said slowly, "I don't think so." She actually growled, low in her throat, and flung herself up from the floor to begin pacing the small space available again. His reaction to the unconscious grace and power of her movement startled him, and he had to swallow before continuing: "Forget Sandrine's. We'll have your party right now, right here." She came to an abrupt stop, whirling to face him. "Are you out of your mind, Tom? We've been taken prisoner by the Borg! They've already taken Hudson to be 'assimilated'"--her fists clenched--"and we're stuck in here, just waiting for them to come do the same thing to us! And you want to have a stupid party??" She would remind him of Hudson, whose face he had been trying very hard to push out of his mind. Junior officers, he knew only too well, were his responsibility, and it was one he was growing to hate. But just now he couldn't help Hudson--and there was B'Elanna. "You have a better idea?" "Don't you understand? We're going to die!" "Maybe." He shrugged, grateful for the casual mask that concealed his bone- deep fear. "Maybe not; Captain Janeway has a pretty good track record for rescues. She got us out last time, didn't she?" B'Elanna's body untensed slightly; the captain's name was almost a talisman for both of them. Almost. "That was last time. What makes you think she can pull it off again?" "Whether she can or not, there's nothing we can do about it." She growled again, and he went on hurriedly, "Look, B'Elanna, we've got no weapons. We don't know how many Borg are on board, or if any of them are guarding this door, or the layout of the ship--and besides, both of us are hurt. Unless you've got some technological trick up your sleeve--you don't, do you?" "I can't disassemble my communicator and turn it into a bomb, no." "Then I'd say we're stuck. Either we're going to be rescued, or we're not. If we are, then there isn't any point in our sitting here worrying." "But if we're not," he went on before she could interrupt, "then I can't think of a better way to spend the time we've got left than in celebrating your birth." 'Oh, man,' Tom thought to himself, 'did that come out as corny as I think it did?"' Evidently so, because her mouth actually twitched. "If that was a line, Tom, it wasn't too bad." She paused, then sat. "You know," she said almost conversationally, "I've always thought that being a prisoner was something to worry about. I've never understood why everyone tries to calm me down when it happens--Chakotay, Harry, Tuvok, you..." Tom glanced pointedly at the cell's limited confines. "Self-defense," he assured her dryly. That got a real smile, even if was a little weak. "Honestly, B'Elanna, laughter can be a defense against a lot of things. Want to give it a try?" She took a deep breath, then nodded slowly. "All right. But Tom, I--don't really know much about these things..." "That's okay," he assured her. "I do. Now, if we were holding this on Voyager, it'd be in some terrific holodeck setting, surrounded by all your friends and lots of presents and food. Since we're not on Voyager, we'll have to use our imaginations. Pretend we're in Sandrine's..." She looked a little dubious, but apparently did so. "Now, instead of your uniform, you're wearing a long, sweeping red silk gown. It's sleeveless, but you're wearing matching gloves--and ruby earrings, too." "You don't think I'm a little overdressed?" "Hey, it's your party. Now, the neckline is--here --" "Tom!" He just grinned. "Shh, I'm creating. There's music playing--" He named one of her favorite songs-- "and Neelix is catering. He's actually produced some good stuff this time; maybe he replicated it. Everybody's here, of course--the captain, Chakotay, Harry, Kes, Tuvok, the Doctor, and everybody else you know. Now, what would you like first? Food, presents, dancing?" "Presents," she said with a grin of her own; Tom almost lost the thread of his story at the sight of it. She really is beautiful when she smiles... "Presents, right. Let's see--the captain is first." He pretended to unwrap an imaginary box. "Ah! Free poker lessons. You'll be able to beat anybody on board in less than a week." "From Carey--that cyrionic converter you wanted so badly two days ago." At her look, he added, "B'Elanna, the whole ship could hear you yelling at Carey about that thing." She shrugged unrepentantly. Tuvok's gift came next. "Hmmm--one thousand, six hundred and three pieces of logical advice." He waited a beat, then-- "All of which you are entitled to ignore completely." She actually laughed out loud, but quieted with curiosity as he gave the next name. "Chakotay." He paused for effect, then announced: "A Terran eagle, carved from blue Alatiran marble." Her jaw dropped. "How did you know about that??" she demanded incredulously. He answered with smug silence and an amused smile, and she shook her head in sheer disbelief. "Okay, keep going." And he did, going from person to person, sometimes at her prompting, sometimes at his own. Most of them were funny, like Harry's "temporal compressor-- for when the captain wants you to do a six-hour job in three hours." Or the Doctor's punching bag-- "so you don't give him extra business." Or the note from Seska, promising to wait at least a week between attacks-- "so you have time to get everything fixed before it gets shot up again." Some were simply nice thoughts, like the plant from Kes. Some were both, like Neelix's gallon of replicated chocolate ice cream. By then she'd learned not to ask how he knew these things--he wasn't about to tell her that he'd known it was her favorite because he'd been eavesdropping on Chakotay. But as he went down the list, watching her carefully, her body relaxed completely, and her laughter came often and sincerely. She truly was enjoying this. Come to think of it, so was he--thoughts of the Borg were easier to push away while he listened to her laugh. Tom was feeling very pleased
with himself--until B'Elanna looked up at him, and asked slyly, "So Tom--what are you giving me?" B'Elanna's mischievous smile faded when she saw the seriousness in Tom's eyes. She'd expected another joke: some facetious, offcolor remark. Something typically Tom. But his face was so solemn, so gentle, as he considered her question, she found herself wondering if she really knew this man at all. 'When did I stop thinking of him as a 'guy'?' she thought to herself. When did he become a man to me, a desirable one? She stopped that line of thought immediately. It wasn't easy, with him studying her so closely. "I don't know," he said at last. "So many things come to mind--but I've already given you what I most wanted to." "And what's that?" she laughed, trying to lighten the moment. "This smile," Tom said, reaching out to trace the curve of her lower lip with his thumb. At the touch of his hand on her face, B'Elanna felt an electric jolt run through her, lips to hips to toes. After that first moment, she pulled back-- he did, too. But not before they each knew that the other had felt it too. That moment of shared desire. Oh God, B'Elanna, say something. Anything! "So, umm--you're a cheapskate after all." "What?" Paris was understandably bewildered. "My own smile is all you're giving me for my birthday? Surely you can do better than that." Tom grinned wolfishly. "As a matter of fact, I can. Hmmm," hummed Tom, leaning back and closing his eyes. "What to get B'Elanna for her birthday. What to get, what to get, what to get. A phaser with her name engraved on it? No. A brand new hoverball, personally autographed by Q? No. A vial of antidote for Neelix's latest creation? No. Well, maybe." With his eyes still closed, he reached out and took her hand. "I'll have to think about it. I'll let you know. Now rest. We've got some serious partying to do when we get back." "Go ahead, Kes," said Janeway, trying not to let her surprise show. "Neelix and Harry have been explaining to me what it means to 'bluff', Captain," she said. "I find it an odd idea. Promising to do that which you really have no intention of doing at all. The concept is totally unknown to my people." "Yes, I should say so, in a society of telepaths," responded Chakotay. "But these people, these 'Borg', they aren't telepathic, are they? Towards us, I mean. Mr. Tuvok says they 're in a weakened condition. They are running away from us, aren't they? Perhaps they could be 'bluffed' into returning our hostages." "Captain," continued Kim, "we've analyzed their weapons systems. Their main weapons array seems to be damaged. Their transwarp superdrive appears to be off- line. Other than that, we just don't know. With their collective lifestyle, we don't even know how many of them there are, or the status of their life support." "Captain," ventured Tuvok, "Voyager is no match for a Borg cube, even in a damaged state. If we engage them, it must not come down to a firefight. Unless, of course, they drop out of warp and lower their shields." "But that, Mr. Tuvok," replied Janeway, "is all we need, isn't it? Maybe, just maybe, we can make them do it."

  Part 4

  Simms jerked awake with a start. Lieutenant Paris still sat in the same place, but Lieutenant Torres had stopped her pacing and was seated beside him, her eyes closed, her head actually on his shoulder. Hudson, you should have lived to see what I'm seeing right now, he thought, with a soft sigh. How the mighty are falling. "Shh, Simms," Paris murmured, not moving at all. "How am I supposed to sleep with you two making all this noise?" said Torres quietly, also not moving. "I thought you were asleep." "I think you've got a thinking problem." The peaceful moment died as the sound of footsteps approached. All three leaped to their feet. "Tom, we can't just wait here while they take us one by one! We have to do something! Anything! We'll just grab them and--" One by one, two by two... "No, B'Elanna, wait..." An idea took shape in Tom's mind. "What?" "I want you to kiss me," he said, catching her arm. "WHAT? Now?!?" "Just play along. Simms, watch for your chance." Tom pulled her to him, holding her shoulders with both hands, and kissed her. B'Elanna felt a rush of emotions. Anger. Embarrassment. Insult. And...something else? Yes, desire, she couldn't deny it. That, more than anything, caused her to put her hands flat on his chest to shove him off. She heard the forcefield disengage. B'Elanna broke away from Tom, but he held her firmly by the shoulders. One Borg entered, pointing his phaser directly at her. "You will now be assimilated." "We are a pair," announced Tom. "You must take us together, or we will both die BEFORE we can be assimilated." That being said, he promptly ignored the Borg, firmly turned B'Elanna's face up, closed his eyes, and kissed her again. Tom heard the whir as the Borg adjusted the focus of its eyepiece, paused, and refocused again. Yeah, thought Tom, I thought this would interest you. Never seen humans do this before, have you? There came a thud, then another. Both Lieutenants turned to see the Borg down, dead or unconscious, Simms with its weapon in his hand, already through the portal. "Good thinking, sirs." Tom released B'Elanna, thinking, 'Oh, boy, Thomas. Are you ever about to get "smacked".' B'Elanna said nothing, but turning on her heel, she charged through the portal. For the moment, at least, they were free. The trio, with Simms in the lead, weapon in hand, had made it farther into the Borg ship than Paris thought possible. The Borg didn't seem to be aware that they had escaped yet, but he was sure that was bound to change any minute. He caught up to Simms and B'Elanna as they came to a stop. B'Elanna was studying a nearby monitor intently. "What?" asked Paris. "Look at this," she said, indicating the monitor. It appeared to be some sort of diagram. But when Tom took a closer look at it he realized it was a layout of the ship. B'Elanna pointed excitedly at one area. "I think this is their engineering section. If we could get control of it..." Paris didn't bother to vocalize his thoughts that it was bound to be guarded. She would know that already. It was, simply, their only choice at the moment. "We need more weapons," he said. "I've got that covered, sir," spoke up Simms quietly, motioning them back into an alcove. Paris peeked around him to see two Borg approaching. They seemed unaware of the trio in their path. Simms shot them before they had a chance to register their presence. Hurrying forward, Simms gathered their weapons and turned to hand one each to Paris and Torres. B'Elanna cocked an eyebrow at Tom. "You were saying?" Shrugging, Tom said to Simms, "Good job, Ensign." Bowing grandly to B'Elanna, he said, "After you, Lieutenant." B'Elanna rolled her eyes as she headed down the corridor, Paris and Simms on her heels. Simms, bringing up the rear, grinned. It was almost worth being trapped on a Borg ship, he thought, to watch the byplay between Lt. Torres and Lt. Paris. They had gained entry to the Borg ship's engineering compartment. There hadn't been any guards, which had puzzled them, until Paris commented that perhaps it just never occurred to the Borg that an attack might come from within. Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, they took full advantage of the opportunity. In no time at all, they had sealed the entrance to Engineering and incapacitated the few Borg who had been there. It didn't take B'Elanna long before she had the Borg systems figured out. "What do you think?" B'Elanna asked, turning to look at Tom. The expression in his eyes was frank, although his tone was light. "I think we can remain in control of this ship for maybe ten minutes before the Borg break the roadblocks we've set up in the system and regain control. Let's hope Voyager is right on our tail." Simms, who had been playing gopher for the lieutenants for the last few minutes, stood back and watched them. He wasn't sure how they had done it, but somehow Paris and Torres had managed to give them a fighting chance. They worked well together. He wondered if they had any idea how well they worked together. He sincerely hoped they got the chance to find out. B'Elanna bent over the control panels, ready to begin the programs to slow the Borg vessel. Still, doubt tugged at her thoughts. "Tom?" she asked, too preoccupied to remember to call him by his last name. "What's the matter? Is there some problem?" "No. But there should be." Paris raised a puzzled eyebrow. "What do you mean?" "The Borg are one of the most technologically advanced species known to the Federation. They've annihilated dozens of Starfleet's finest vessels. It looks like I can just tap into this system and slow the Borg vessel. But it can't be that easy, Tom. That's what's wrong here. It's--too easy." Tom sighed, crossing his arms across his chest. "Trust you to find the dark cloud around the silver lining, B'Elanna.
What do you think we should do about it?" "Well," she answered slowly, "right now, I think the best thing to do would be to keep going with our plan. We don't have many alternatives, do we? But stay on your guard, Tom. There's more to this than we know, I'm sure of it." Paris nodded, readying his phaser. The unearthly hum and grind of the Borg vessel seemed ominously louder around them. Torres took a deep breath, then punched in the code. And they were plunged into darkness. The darkness inside a space vessel, windowless, surrounded only by black space, is infinite. B'Elanna felt her stomach lurch in terror, and she reached out blindly. Her hand brushed against something warm--she gasped in fright before realizing that it was Tom's face. Paris reached up and took her hand in his own, holding it close to his chest. "That's not promising, is it?" "Maybe--maybe we actually shut them down," Torres said. But she couldn't quite believe she'd been so successful. Instinctively, she drew closer to Tom. He slid an arm around her shoulders; B'Elanna was surprised at the touch, but welcomed it all the same. Just because this is damned scary, she told herself. But there, in the dark, without the sight of him to distract her, she was aware of so many little things about him--the warmth of his skin near her own, the soft woodsy smell of his skin, the sound of his breathing, smooth and controlled, no doubt by force of will. What is happening to me? she wondered. And then there was no time to wonder about anything at all. "Did you hear that?" Tom whispered--and then clutched her tightly as a red light pierced the darkness. Red light from what should have been the eyes of a Borg. His metallic voice rasped, "The biological life forms found the simulated vulnerability. Time elapsed was under estimate. Pair theory still unproven. Further tests required." "Rats in a maze," Tom snarled. B'Elanna turned his face toward her own, resting her hand on his cheek. "Don't lose your head now, Paris. We've got to stay sharp. Okay?" In the dim gleam of the Borg's light, Torres could just make out the expression in his eyes as he nodded. "You're right. I'm sorry--" "Further tests are required," the Borg rasped. "The tests will begin now." A test! The whole thing had been a simulated test. Paris seethed, his anger coming to a boiling point. Only B'Elanna's hand on his arm held him back. "Sirs?" Simms' uncertain voice echoed in the darkness. "Easy does it, Ensign," soothed Paris, who longed for the feel of the weapon back in his hand, but it had evidently been as simulated as everything else around them. They were all startled when the lights abruptly came back on. Paris turned at B'Elanna's sharply indrawn breath. She stood staring at a nearby table. On it lay Hudson, whom they had not seen since the Borg had dragged him out of the cell. He was strapped down on a table being prepared to be Borgified. He couldn't seem to speak, but his eyes pleaded with them. Paris stepped forward, saying the first thing that popped into his head. "You mustn't assimilate him!" "Tom," B'Elanna's voice whispered, her hand tightening on his arm, "I think Hudson's a simulation too." "Are you sure?" Paris asked suspiciously. "How do we know? What if he isn't and that really IS Hudson lying there?" She had no answer for him. He was right. They would have to play this out. Her hand moved to his unconsciously. He clasped it tightly. The Borg turned to look at Paris and Torres, addressing them as one. "He will be assimilated. He will become part of the Collective." Swallowing his fear and anger, Paris repeated, "You cannot assimilate him. He is necessary to the pair. We will not allow his assimilation." Tom spoke forcefully, surely. The Borg, however, ignored him and moved to proceed with the assimilation. Before either Tom or B'Elanna could stop him, Simms had darted forward and inserted himself between the Borg and the prone Hudson. The Borg's weapon centered on Simms. Of one mind, Paris and Torres both moved forward to stand protectively in front of Hudson and Simms. Slowly, the Borg's weapon lowered. It addressed Paris and Torres. "You would risk your existence for another?" Its eyes moved to Paris' and Torres' clasped hands. Paris raised their clasped hands. "We are joined," he stated. "These two," he indicated Simms and Hudson, "are important to us." The Borg was suddenly very still, as if processing this information. Tom squeezed B'Elanna's hand reassuringly. The Borg seemed to receive further instruction through his link with the Collective and stated, "The test will proceed. They will be assimilated." "State the purpose of the test." B'Elanna addressed the Borg as if requesting information from a computer. "Define the parameters." "The joined entities will be tested to verify the supposition that they are invulnerable to assimilation. The first phase is complete. Test subjects accomplished task jointly under projected time limits. Further testing is required." "Define parameters for the next phase of testing," ordered B'Elanna. "Test subject is not authorized to access that information. Testing will proceed." Without much difficulty, the Borg moved Paris aside forcefully. B'Elanna, who had a moment longer to prepare, stood her ground. Paris rose from the deck to where the Borg had tossed him to see B'Elanna struggling with the Borg. The Borg was quickly overpowering her. Tom leaped forward, knocking B'Elanna aside and stood face to face with the Borg, mere inches from it. Paris was angry. He had had enough of this. "Go ahead. Shoot me. Kill me. Assimilate me. Whatever you plan to do, just do it and stop playing these games." "Tom, no!" Paris heard B'Elanna's plea but ignored it. He stared at the Borg. "We possess something you will never have. It's called humanity. Compassion. It's what binds us together." Paris' voice contained a hard edge that B'Elanna had never heard before. To her amazement, the Borg actually stepped back from Paris. "That is irrelevant," it said, but did Paris detect just a note of uncertainty? He pursued it. "Is it? Why do you assimilate other beings? Isn't it because you want more knowledge? Because you're curious? If you assimilate us, you take away our humanity. That spark that makes us each uniquely special. You can't assimilate that. Leave us unassimilated and let us teach you about humanity." "You will be--" "Yeah, yeah," Paris waved a dismissive hand. "Assimilated. I know. Don't you guys know any other big words?" Suddenly tired, he turned his back on the Borg and looked at Hudson, Simms and lastly, B'Elanna. Giving her a weary smile, he said, "We tried." B'Elanna came to stand beside him. She surprised Tom by placing her arms around his waist and leaning into him. Paris obligingly wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She tipped her face upward, as if awaiting a kiss. Tom bent his head to press his lips on hers, but before their lips met, he heard her whispering softly to him. "Simms still has his weapon. Apparently, it wasn't part of the simulation. Remember, we got ours later, after we left the cell." Reluctantly abandoning her lips, he peered past her shoulder to where Simms stood behind her, still guarding Hudson. Simms gave him a slight thumbs up. Nodding to Simms imperceptibly, Paris bent back down to B'Elanna. "Ready?" She nodded slightly. Not knowing if they would survive what would happen in the next few moments, Tom couldn't resist. He gently brushed his lips against B'Elanna's. Sweetly. Tenderly. To his amazement, this time she returned his kiss with some passion of her own. Reluctantly, he pulled away. Meeting her eyes, he saw her acknowledgment that she was ready. Simms was ready when Paris and Torres threw themselves to one side. In one smooth movement, he had the weapon out and blasted the Borg. It went down like a sack of rocks and didn't move. Simms whirled to shoot out the controls which he hoped were the ones controlling the simulation. Seconds later, the simulated Engineering room disappeared around them and they were back in their former holding cell, with a few minor differences. The dead or unconscious Borg still lay on the floor, and behind Simms lay Hudson. The real Hudson. The forcefield barring the portal was, surprisingly, inactivated. Helping him sit up, B'Elanna asked, "Are you all right?" "I think so," Hudson replied. With their assistance, he climbed to his feet. Simms led the way to the door, peering out cautiously. "Looks clear," he said, glancing over his shoulder at the others. "Sirs?" Paris and Torres looked at Hudson inquiringly. "Sirs, how do we know this is real? That it's not another simulation?" Hudson had verbalized the obvious fear. Shrugging, Paris said, "Right now it's the only game in town. We may as well play it out and see where it gets us." They exited their unguarded holding cell, still not knowing if any of this was real or a simulation and proceeded down the corridor. Suddenly--terribly
--BOTH Simms and Hudson blinked out of existence. The corridor itself dissolved away to reveal what B'Elanna could only assume was a holodeck. A Borg stood before them. "Damn it! Where's Simms? When did they separate us?" Tom's frustration was palpable now. "I don't know. I'm starting to wonder if this hasn't been a simulation since we came aboard." Torres realized even as she said it that this could mean--Not Tom too? Her blood ran cold as she thought that she might have just snuggled up to a Borg hologram--but Paris grabbed her hand and asked quietly, "What's Harry Kim's favorite song?" "What a Difference a Day Makes," B'Elanna said. "What's Chakotay's favorite meal?" "Mushroom soup. Okay, we're still legitimate." Throughout all of this, the Borg watched them dispassionately. The pasty skin over his face remained motionless, almost statue like. It was faintly eerie, and B'Elanna realized she was clutching Tom's hand a little harder. "What do you want now?" she demanded of their captor. "What does this mean, to be an inseparable pair?" Damn, Tom thought. He'd been hoping that they'd accept his bluff at face value. He'd lived on the wrong side of the law long enough to know that lies are always best kept simple. Still, he could bluff with the best of them, couldn't he? "It means that we are not to be divided." "Biological life forms are not conjoined. The Borg are conjoined. Biological units are separate." "We're not joined the same way you are, thank God," B'Elanna sighed. "We are joined by choice." "But it is just as inseparable as your joinings. You cannot separate us, or assimilate without assimilating the joining," Tom added. The Borg's voice grew even more metallic, if this were possible. "Alien connections would be disruptive to the network." Paris fought hard to keep himself from grinning. The bluff was working! However, the smile died unseen when he heard the Borg speak again, to the countless minds surrounding them. "Pair theory testing will continue now." The Borg reached out, too swiftly for Tom even to move, and shoved B'Elanna roughly across the room. Enraged, Paris began to charge him--and ran straight into a steel wall that hadn't been there before. He was enclosed in a tiny cell now--alone. Although he'd been scared ever since they came to the Borg vessel--any sane man would be--Tom had never let himself panic. Now, though, terror was dangerously close. What were they doing to her? "B'Elanna!" he shouted, more in horror than with any hope of being heard. And yet, she was still close. "Tom! What are they doing?" Paris realized that Torres was just on the other side of the thin wall--he noticed that, like other Borg compartments, the walls had thin gaps between corners. Not that it would do them any good--half an inch wasn't nearly enough to work with--but he could hear her better in the corner. "They've called my bluff," he groaned, going walking over to the tiny crack. "They've actually separated us to see what will happen." "And when we don't die--" B'Elanna sighed, leaning against her own wall. She could just see a little of Tom's uniform and sandy hair through the crevice, and focused on that to keep her from feeling utterly isolated. "It was a good try, though, Paris. I have to hand it to you." "Nice to hear that." "Hear what?" "That tone in your voice--what is it? Hmmm, if I had to put a label on it, I'd call it respect. Far cry from our early days, wouldn't you say?" Tom's voice was light, teasing--but for the first time, Torres realized that their earlier conflict had hurt him. She knew now how desperately he wanted respect, how he'd fought to earn trust after his colorful past. In those early days, he'd seemed so bullheaded--how could she not have seen how vulnerable he really was? "You're a good pilot and a good officer, Tom. And for what it's worth, I think you're a good man. I do respect you. I have for a long time. I wish I'd told you sooner." Paris, to his own astonishment, realized he was blushing. He hadn't expected her to take him so seriously, but it felt damn good to finally be taken seriously again. "I--thanks, B'Elanna. I wish I hadn't acted like such a pig for so long; then you might have had reason to tell me sooner. And, for what it's worth," Tom felt his mouth go slightly dry; was he actually going to say this? Get over it, Paris! What have you got to lose? "For what it's worth, B'Elanna--you're an amazing woman. I can't think of anyone whose respect means more to me." There was a long, quiet pause; Tom swallowed hard, surprised at how moved and confused he felt. Desperate to lighten the moment, he blurted out, "I mean, I'd hate to have you start telling the crew I'm a terrible kisser." "That's not the kind of respect you meant," she replied. "No - it's not," Tom sighed. There was another long pause - then B'Elanna said slowly. "You're not a terrible kisser." "Neither are you," Tom replied. He glanced over at the tiny crevice in the wall. There wasn't enough space for him to see her, really, but maybe, "B'Elanna, put your hand up to the wall here, in the corner." Torres frowned, but did so, and gasped as she felt Tom's fingertip brush her own. One small touch, and it electrified her as even their earlier kisses had not. Those were forced by the moment. This - this moment of contact - was real. She leaned her face against the cool steel that separated them. "Thank you," she whispered. "What for?" Tom asked, his own voice strangely hushed. "For my only birthday party." She brushed against his fingertip with her own, cherishing this one small touch they were allowed to share. Then, suddenly, she jerked her head back from the wall. "Wait, Tom, I've got it!" "Got what?" Paris said, surprised by the sudden change in tone. "A possible way to get us out of here," she replied.