Distant Shores - Marco Palmieri [41]
“Isn’t he?” Neelix asked.
“He’s such a pig.”
“Eat your dinner, B’Elanna,” Harry said.
“And no one seems to notice it. Everyone forgives him because he’s so… so charming. He smiles and everyone does whatever he says.”
“B’Elanna, we have ten minutes before we have to go back on duty. I, for one, would like to have some warm food in me.” Harry was doing his best to make sure that was true, spooning up soup and swallowing as fast as he could. “And, you know, he is my best friend, so give me a break.”
“Ah,” she continued, ignoring her fish sandwich. “But would he be your best friend if you weren’t on Voyager? Under any other circumstances, would a guy like him and a guy like you become so close?”
Harry stopped eating and considered the question. Finally, he said, “Well, no, possibly not. But there’s another question you should ask.”
“What?”
“Under any other circumstances, would you and I have become friends?”
The question had flitted through B’Elanna’s mind a half-millisecond before Harry had asked it. “Well, you have me there, Starfleet.”
Harry snorted. “You haven’t called me that in a couple years. Ah, Maquis, it takes me back to the good old days.”
“What was good about them?” All she remembered about the first few weeks of their life on board Voyager was stress and fear. Despite what the captain and Chakotay claimed now, B’Elanna was convinced that no one had truly understood what was going on. The shock about the truth of their situation had only settled in slowly over a period of weeks and months. No one had trusted anyone else and the two crews, Maquis and Starfleet, had only grudgingly shuffled toward an accommodation, one group becoming more rigorous, the other loosening up on unnecessarily strict policies.
“We had bigger replicator rations.”
“If we had kept that up,” B’Elanna said, “we’d all be fat.” And dead in space, she added mentally. No way the warp core could have continued to meet the demand. Everyone had eaten a lot those first few weeks-a response to stress, probably. “You want to stay trim so that Libby will recognize you when we get home.”
Harry rolled his eyes, then replaced his spoon in his bowl. B’Elanna knew she was the only person allowed to talk about Libby, and only ever in a slightly mocking manner. The thought of his lover mourning and, likely, moving on nagged at Harry and she felt it was her job to occasionally remind him that Libby might still be, if not waiting for him, then unattached. “Fine,” Harry said. “I’ll stop eating if you’ll start.” He poked her sandwich with the tip of his finger. “It’s stone cold.”
“I like them cold.” She took a bite and talked around the mouthful of food. “Mmmmm! Delicious.”
“Yuck. Thanks, B’Elanna. There goes the rest of my appetite.”
Sniggering, a thought struck the engineer: Is there anyone who I have as much fun with as Harry? The answer was, of course, no. So, she wondered, why are we just friends? Why isn’t there something else going on here? Why don’t we… She looked over at Harry, who was staring off into the middle distance, absorbed in the hustle and bustle of the dining room, half-listening to a half-dozen conversations around them. He must have sensed her attention because he turned to look at her. “What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said.
“I don’t believe you. What is it?”
“Nothing,” she said. “I was just thinking about something.”
“What?”
I was just thinking that whatever you are to me, whatever I am to you, we’re not that thing to each other. I was thinking that kissing you would be like kissing my little brother if I had a little brother. That you’re probably thinking about Libby and I’m not thinking about anyone at all in particular….
“Tom!” Harry called out and waved as his friend entered the dining