• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 702 0

corridor. The rehearsal had gone pretty well, though he was finding Lauren’s flirtations… But that was unfair. She hadn’t flirted with him, not exactly. She was just one of those kinds of girls who had to touch people when she talked to them. She and Michael were a couple… more or less. Clearly, the girl was attracted to Tom and was trying to figure out what she wanted to do about her feelings. While he didn’t wish to flatter himself, Tom had seen this sort of thing happen enough times to know the signs. He sighed. If only there was a chance Harry was still awake, he would drop by for a chat. For someone who had been involved in precisely one relationship, his friend had remarkable insights about the best things to do in these circumstances. And not just the best thing to do: the right thing to do.

The turbolift door opened and B’Elanna Torres stomped out, Tom’s presence obviously barely registering on her. She wore an expression he recognized: frustration. Against his better judgment, he said, “Hey, B’Elanna.”

She stopped in her tracks, spun and regarded him warily. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Good to see you, too,” Tom replied through gritted teeth, stepping into the car. “And good night!”

“No, wait, Tom,” B’Elanna said, holding the door open with her arm and shaking her head. “It’s been a terrible night. The matter-antimatter intermix chamber has been acting up and I’ve been down in engineering all night trying to track down the problem.”

“But no joy.”

“No, none,” she sighed. “And I have to be back on duty in five hours, so I’m a little on edge.”

Tom felt the knot in his gut unkink a loop or two and he wondered what it was about this woman. No one could wind him up the way she did. “Sorry to hear that. I know what you mean. I have to get up in…” He looked at the chrono in his padd. “Yeah, five hours.”

B’Elanna muttered something about “Real job,” but Tom decided to let it pass. “Thanks for coming down and setting up those lights. It’s been a big help.”

“How are those working for you?”

“Pretty good,” Tom said, aware that they were having a conversation while B’Elanna held the door open. What if someone was waiting for the car? “Most of the time. We’ve had problems with getting the right intensity when we narrow the focus. I know you showed Neelix how to do that, but he can’t seem to get it right. Maybe you could come down and show us again?”

“Well, sure, I’ll try to fit that in between my morning massage and the visit to the spa.”

“Hey, don’t be snotty. It was a simple request. If you have time, you have time. If you don’t…”

She shook her head and rubbed her eyes, but did not release the door. “Sorry, sorry. Again. I’ll see what I can do. Like I said, a crappy night.”

“I know how you feel. Mine wasn’t so great either.” He nodded back down the corridor. “Rehearsals.”

“Who lives down there?”

“Lauren MacTaggart.”

“The redhead?”

“That’s her.”

“On my corridor?”

“Since forever apparently.”

“I had no idea.”

Tom saw a strange look in B’Elanna’s eye, but didn’t know what to call it. Surprise? “Does it matter?” he asked.

She shook her head, but she stared at him. “Not a bit.”

“Okay. Well, then good night.”

“Good night.” B’Elanna continued to stare up at him and he continued to stare back until, finally, he pointed at her arm.

“Arm,” he said.

“What?”

“Arm. The door.”

“Oh. Right.” She withdrew her arm. “Sorry. Good night.”

The doors slid shut and the car asked him where he wanted to go. Tom stared at the spot where B’Elanna’s face had been for several seconds before he answered.

Two hours before curtain, in the midst of frantic last-minute preparations, Tom’s combadge beeped. He expected the call to come from one of the crewmen who had volunteered to help set up chairs, then failed to show up, but instead it was Joe Carey. Surprised (since Joe was neither in the cast or crew), Tom cautiously asked, “What can I do for you, Joe?”

“Uh, nothing,” Joe replied. “For me. In fact, I’m calling for B’Elanna.”

An icy chill crept down Tom’s back: his overactive premonitory sense at work again. “Why?