Seven of Nine - Christie Golden [31]
She had muttered under her breath, cursed aloud, yelled, and once even banged a tool furiously against the casing. Vorik was right. Such displays of temper would not make the repairs go faster nor increase their efficacy.
But they made her feel a little better.
She took a deep breath, held it, and counted to ten before sliding back out.
"Sorry," she growled.
"An apology is not necessary. I was merely-" "Well, merely don't, okay?" Her voire rose and to her horror the last word caught on an unexpected and certainly unwelcome lump in her throat.
Tom. What's wrong? What have I done?
Vorik cocked his head and scrutinized her. She glared back, blinking rapidly. Damn it, she was not about to break down in front of this Vulcan who" You have been working steadily for three hours, twenty-seven minutes, and nine seconds," the Vulcan observed. "May I respectfully request that we take a break? I would like to buy you a cup of raktajino."
I'Vorik, I thought we-" "And listen. I perceive that there is something on your mind."
Torres softened a little. "That's awfully kind of you, Vorik, but-" "Kindness is only a portion of it," continued Vorik.
"Your hostility and frustration is affecting your performance as head of Engineering."
That made her smile a little. Trust a Vulcan to be practical above all else. Her neck and shoulders were beginning to ache from the strain of working 'in such cramped quarters. Maybe it was time for a cup of icy raktajino.
"You're on."
As she sipped the cold, strong beverage in the mess hall, she listened to Vorik make small talk. Vulcan small talk was something entirely different from the human variety. It was chock-full of information and delivered in a cool, clipped manner. Yet nothing that Vorik imparted was of any real consequence, factual though it was, and she found that the steady drone of an unemotional voice was quite soothing. He was more perceptive than he let on.
She was aware that Vorik knew that whatever it was that was going on between her and Tom was not going on right now. With a slightly sick feeling in her stomach that had nothing at all to do with the strong dose of caffeine it had just received, Torres acknowledged that probably everybody knew. It was a small ship, as she had told Tom before.
But she just couldn't figure it out. Ever since the Skedans had come on board, Tom had been ignoring her in favor of "showing our guests around." One guest in particular, a cute little big-eyed female, seemed to command a great deal of his attention. She growled into her raktajino. Lieutenant Tom Paris certainly had a reputation as a ladies' man before they had begun-seeing each other? Dating?.
B'Elanna couldn't even come up with an appropriate term but she'd never thought he'd turn into some intergalactic cradle-robber, dropping her for a teenaged talking kangaroo, cute and big-eyed as it might be.
In the end, she made small talk herself. She wasn't about to share her worries with Vorik or anyone else.
She would keep them close like something rare and
'100 precious, as she had kept secrets and fears all her life; in her heart for her and her alone to see, to take out and examine on the long nights when she couldn't sleep.
The bracing beverage and the twenty minutes or so of shop talk helped.
By the time Torres and Vorik rose to return to Engineering, Torres had made her decision.
To hell with Tom Paris. She loved him, yes, and he knew it. If that wasn't enough for him, if he was witting to let whatever they had-and damn it, it was good-slip between his fingers, then that was his decision. She'd faced her demons by telling him. She had peace, of a sort, in her heart. B'Elanna Torres, half-human, half-Klingon, fully welcome