Disclaimers

Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Pairing: Torres/ Seven
Summary: Tom and B'Elanna make a bet. Who will bed the Ice Queen?
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Author's Notes: Star Trek is the property of Paramount.
Author's E-Mail: ralst31@yahoo.co.uknospam
(When mailing, please delete "nospam"!!)

Shore Leave
Part I

by RalSt

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

Iranic Prime was a dump. The air was too hot; the people too cold. Litter covered the streets, and the politicians spouted nothing but garbage. So naturally, Janeway chose it as the ideal location for shore leave. I believe the woman has a problem with enjoying herself, and instead of keeping it to herself, has included the rest of the ship in her misery.

Being the Chief Engineer, I wrongly supposed I'd be exempt from the week long vacation, especially considering the mountain of repairs that need to be performed after our latest run in with the Borg. But no. In her demented wisdom our great leader has decided that I need to relax and enjoy myself more. I can't argue with that, but what I can, and did, argue over was her assumption that I could get any rest on this godforsaken planet.

She being the captain and me a lowly lieutenant, she won. Or rather, she'd pulled rank and ordered me planet side. Kahless! Sometimes I truly despise that woman.

"Come on, Lanna, cheer up.” Tom was smiling far too much, and his pearly white teeth provided a perfect target for my fist. But I controlled myself; if for no other reason than the fear of being confined to one this planet's gaols, and having to spend even more time here.

"Go away Paris.” Having to listen to his annoying prattle was bad enough when we were dating, now that stupidity has been put to an end I've no intention of allowing his auditory bombardment to continue.

Tom just shrugged, his interest in me only peripheral to the thought of getting some woman to bed down with him for the night. As I watched I could tell he'd rated his chances with me as non-existent and was surveying the other holiday makers for an easier target. First his gaze came to rest on a plain looking ensign from Earth sciences, who I happen to know is a tiger in bed; although not from personal experience, I hasten to add. It would seem Tom hadn't caught on to that bit of gossip, as his eyes soon continued their trawl of the available talent to rest on the shy but attractive form of Tal Celes. Here he paused, a smile tugging at his lips, until his view of the young crewman was obscured by another figure.

Like me, Seven, had been ordered by the captain to attend shore leave, and like me, she was loathed to be here. The tall blonde had taken one look at the surrounding area and given the command to beam her back aboard Voyager. Unfortunately for her, Janeway had been in the transporter room and belayed her order. I couldn't help but smile at that; if I had to suffer I didn't see any reason why she shouldn't. Determined to make the most of a bad situation, Seven, had obviously decided to continue her work while planet side; which brought her into contact with Tal Celes, and to the attention of Tom Paris' libido.

The grin that had been barely evident on Tom's face blossomed into a smile of almost demented glee. I couldn't believe it. The idiot was actually contemplating trying to bed the Ice Queen. He was either stupider than I'd thought possible, or he truly believed the gods were shining down on him. Not that I didn't understand the attraction; you'd have to be blind not to. But I was realistic enough to know that Seven would never succumb to his, or anyone else's, lusty overtures.

"You don't stand a chance, helm-boy.”

His smile dimmed, but his eyes never left Seven. "I wouldn't bet on that, Lanna.”

"Oh, please,” my outburst drew the eyes of nearly all those around us, including the statuesque blonde. Her disdainful regard was just more proof to me that Seven would never let her hair down enough to bed anyone; least of all a philandering space jockey, like Paris. "Even I'd have more of a chance with her than you would.”

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

"What are you talking about?” Sometimes Tom can be annoying, but most of the time he's a lot worse.

He turned his back on the others, making sure the rest of our conversation couldn't be overheard. "You'd love to get your hands on her; admit it, you've had a thing for the borg ever since she joined the ship.”

"Don't be ridiculous.”

"Ridiculous? Fine, if you say so.” He began to turn, but I knew he wasn't finished. "You wouldn't stand a chance anyway, not against me.”

I'm not a stupid woman. Sure, I've done stupid things, and rushed headlong into situations without thinking them through, but I'm not stupid. Tom was playing me; reverse psychology for the under five's, no less. I could see right through it. He knew I could see right through it, but I still went headlong into it like a targ in a china shop. "I'll bet you anything you like I can get to Seven before you.”

"A wager?” He is smugness personified. "I'd hate to take your money.”

"Fat chance.”

"Okay, then how about two months worth of replicator rations to the first person who gets the Ice Queen in the sack?”

"No problem.”

I think I might have told a lie when I said I wasn't stupid. I'm sure if you look the word up in the Federation database one of the definitions would be: To try and woo an emotionless former Borg, who thinks you're incompetent. It doesn't help that I've been in a foul mood for months and can't seem to remember how to be nice to people. Shit!

Our happy little group of vacationers begin to separate, presumably with the intention of exploring this dump of a city we've been forced into. I could save them all the trouble and summarise the place's attractions; namely the piece of dirt we were standing on, that would eventually be the site of our return to Voyager, but it's best they find out for themselves.

I notice that Seven seems uninterested in searching for local colour, and is instead concentrating on a data padd she has smuggled to the surface. It's what I would have expected from her. Poor Tom, he's standing by her side, desperate to gain her attention and suggest a romantic little walk through the enchanting back streets. It'll never happen. For one thing, Seven would think wandering empty streets illogical and a waste of her time; secondly, the streets here aren't enchanting, they're dusty and smelly. I wonder what I'll do with all those extra rations?

Just as my imagination gets carried away with the possibilities of extra hours spent in my favourite holo-fantasy, I remember the bet isn't just about Tom striking out. Damn! I have absolutely no interest in sleeping with Seven; she's cold, emotionless, arrogant and more annoying than the captain and Paris rolled into one. So what if she's droolably good looking; I'm not that shallow.

"Lieutenant?”

"What!” Oh God, the Ice Queen cometh. "What is it Seven?”

"Do you plan to try and seduce me with as much ineptitude as Mr Paris?”

"What?” Oh God, I want to die.

"His attempt was both unoriginal and overly confident. While at the same time he was vague and extremely indirect.” She paused, and I could tell she was searching that Borg memory of hers for the proper procedure or something equally as machinelike. "If you wish to win your bet, I would suggest you try harder.”

"He told you about the bet?” Maybe his atoms got cooked in the transport or he's suffering from early senility.

"I overheard you make the wager.” She looks down at me with ever ounce of her supposed superiority. "Borg hearing, remember?”

"It's rude to listen in on other people's conversations.”

"It is far ruder to wager about tricking someone else into bed.”

She has a point; a very good point. "What do you plan to do about it?” If she takes this to Janeway we'll probably end up in the brig for a year.

She doesn't answer for a minute and I begin to feel even more uncomfortable than before; something I'd thought impossible. "Nothing.” With a nod she turns to leave, but before my mind can start going over the ramifications of this latest disaster, she turns to look directly at me. "I do hope your attempts to win the bet are better thought out than Mr Paris'.”

Huh? She still expects me to try and win? That's crazy. Perhaps she's suffering from sun stroke. "Seven?”

In two quick strides she is standing in front of me, her head cocked slightly to the side, as if awaiting an order. "Yes Lieutenant. Do you wish to begin your attempt at seduction now?”

"No.”

"Then why did you call me back?”

"I just wanted to make sure you were all right. No headaches or nausea?” She looked okay, but then she always looks good.

"I am fine, Lieutenant.”

"How can you be fine? You've just stood there and told me you overheard Tom and I betting about who would be the first one to get you in bed, and instead of calling security you're acting as if nothing's wrong.” She is so damn infuriating. "You should be calling me names and threatening to end my career. What the hell is wrong with you?”

"Nothing is wrong with me, Lieutenant.” She looks over at Tom, then back at me, and I can tell she's reviewing her options. "The bet you made with Mr Paris was juvenile and reprehensible, but I have long wished to experience the sexual act, so have decided to 'go along' with your wager.”

"Go along with? You can't do that.” The woman is worse than emotionless, she's demented too. "I won't even bother to mention the moral implications of letting yourself be the object of the bet, as we're both on shaky ground there; but how the hell are either of us supposed to seduce you if you know what we're doing?”

"I would suggest you use your imagination, Lieutenant.” With that, she walked away.

Use my imagination? This situation is so twisted I can't help but smile. The Ice Queen has practically laid down a challenge and whereas losing the bet to Tom would be beyond aggravating, failing to meet Seven's challenge would be utterly unthinkable. My God, I've got to get her into bed. Help!

"B'Elanna?” Tom's voice is hushed, a prelude to more secrets. "Are you okay? What did Seven say to you?”

"She knows about the bet.”

"What!” It's weird to find out our reactions are the same. "You told her?”

"No!” I punch him lightly in the stomach. "She overheard.”

"Shit! The captain will kill us.”

"No she won't.”

"Oh, come off it,” his voice is raised and sweat has begun to bead on his forehead, "you know Janeway practically worships at her feet. She'll skin us alive for daring to suggest we get in Seven's panties before her.”

I can't help but laugh. He's right, Kathryn is so besotted with our Borg she'll probably court-martial whoever wins the bet. "Seven's not going to tell her.”

"Yeah, right.”

"It's true. Apparently our little Borg is just as interested in finding out who'll win this wager as we are.”

"She does understand what we're betting about, right?”

"Yes.” He looks as bewildered as I feel. "She's more than willing to be seduced, but only if we do it well.”

"Is this some kind of joke?”

"If it is, she's pulling it on both of us.”

"Damn.” Tom's smiling now and I know he thinks Seven's as good as his. "I think I'm going to enjoy shore leave.”

As he walks off I can't help but feel a smidgen of pity for the man; no matter how willing Seven is to be seduced, there's no way she'd fall for any of Tom's lines; the woman has too much self respect. The only reason I'd succumbed to his charms all those years ago was through a raging case of Klingon hormones and zero opportunities aboard Voyager; even then I'd known I was selling myself short. Not that Tom's a bad guy; immature, vain, and self centred, maybe, but not bad.

Having rated my competition's chances at nil, I then turn my attention to my own, which I will admit aren't looking any better. In the past I've tended to be the one who was seduced, albeit willingly, not the one doing the seducing. Chat-up lines and romantic prologues to a roll in the hay are just not my forte; even if they were, I doubt Seven would fall for the normal type of routine.

Hadn't that been one of her complaints about Tom's approach, that it was unoriginal? So I guess I can rule out any proven technique, not that I could think of any off-hand. What else did she say? Oh, yeah, over confident, vague and indirect. Well at least I'm not over confident, actually I'm getting the strong feeling that I don't stand a chance in hell. So to sum up, I have to find a way that is original, precise, and direct. Piece of cake.

'Hey Seven, lets commandeer that vehicle, park over by the brown pool of water masquerading as a lake, take all our clothes off and set the Iranic Prime record for most orgasms in an hour.'

Argh! This is a damn stupid bet and I refuse to have anything more to do with it.

"Do you wish to ask me to dinner as well, Lieutenant?”

"Shit!” Oh, God, please tell me I only said that bit about the orgasms and lake inside my head. "Don't sneak up on me like that, Seven.”

"I apologise, Lieutenant, I didn't realise you had turned off your auditory functions and were thus incapable of hearing me approach.” Forget sleeping with her, I'd much prefer wiping that look off her face with my fist. "Lieutenant?”

"Did I ever tell you you're extremely annoying and I'd love to put you over my knee and whoop that Borg stuffiness right out of you?”

"Not in so many words.” Why the hell is she smiling, I didn't even know she could smile. "Although your approach gains weight for originality, I must inform you that I have never been aroused by the idea of sadomasochism. So perhaps you should try another angle.”

"Wha'? I didn't mean, I don't. I...” God, now I'm blushing. "Go away, Seven.”

"Very well, Lieutenant, but do I take that to mean you do not wish to have dinner with me?”

"Yes!” It would suit me just fine if I never had to look at her porcelain complexion ever again, the bet be damned.

"Very well, in that case I will accept Mr Paris' invitation, even though it was rather annoyingly put.”

"What?” I'm saying that word far too frequently. I know I said the bet be damned, but I can't let helm-boy just run off with my rations. "I'll have dinner with you.”

"I did not ask you to dinner, Lieutenant, I merely tried to ascertain whether you intended to ask me.”

Bury me in semantics and call me Ethel, she's doing this on purpose, I know it. "Fine, Seven, I'm asking you to dinner.”

"That is it? No promises of candlelight or romantic music?” I can see she's amused, and it just makes me angrier.

"No. You, me, food. That's it.” I don't know if it's my Klingon side, or not, but right now I just want to throw her on the floor and ravish her senseless; I so cannot stand all this game playing. "If you're real lucky, I'll deign to sleep with you afterwards.” Take that, Ms Perfect!

She still looks amused. "I must say, Lieutenant, you're method is strikingly dissimilar from Mr Paris'. I find that I cannot decide which of you has made the most valid request; both being equally dismal. Therefore, I think it only fair that the three of us dine together.”

"You have to be joking.”

"I do not joke.”

"Fine.” It'll be worth it just to witness Tom crash and burn.

"Seven o'clock, the Mezzanine.”

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