Summary: B'Elanna muses (and converses!) on the bridge of Voyager while the Captain makes her speech. Set during "Caretaker".

This is the second story in the new "Preludes" Series.

Disclaimer: Paramount Chiefs. Really. Paramount reigns.

Rating: G

Notes:

"Our primary goal is clear..."

I have the urge to snort with disgust, but I’m on the bridge of Voyager, and my urge is swallowed along with the bile trying its best to conquer me. Over the past two days I’ve heard enough of:

‘This is my ship’, ‘he’s a member of my crew’, ‘*I* decide’. Fine, now we’re stuck here in the Delta Quadrant for 75 years, with little hope of making it home before my hair turn completely white.

We all listen to her speech, filled as it is with orders to join and bond and be loyal, with the hope - to get home, and our goal - to find a way home. My eyes find something on the spotless deck of the bridge to keep me riveted, but I glance surreptitiously at where Harry is standing at Ops. I almost laugh, suppress that urge too as I take in his comically eager expression the way he listens to her.

I imagine I’m talking to him as I think of the events of the past few days. I feel slightly uncomfortable being in Starfleet uniform, at being in uniform at all. I haven’t felt so restricted in years. There’s an itch just below the collar of my turtleneck, right at the spot where the new Maquis pin is clipped on. Again, I resist the urge to scratch. I had looked at it early this morning, and wanted to laugh. It’s them and us. If anything concrete signified the difference between Starfleet and Maquis, it's these damned pins. Crewman Torres. That’s me. Not cadet, not ensign. Crewman.

"We’ve made friends here..." Janeway’s voice drones on.

Okay, Starfleet, let me say this while I’m listening to her and looking at you, you with your black hair and eager eyes:

I’m angry, Starfleet, angry. Yesterday, I was even madder, and ready to break her nose if Chakotay hadn’t stopped me. Okay, not break her nose exactly, but I came pretty close to letting my Klingon genes assert themselves with customary force and explode when she pranced around the bridge giving orders. There I was, hands flailing, eyes blazing, nostrils flaring, and advancing on Chakotay:

Chakotay’s arm collided with a thud against my chest as he stopped me in mid-track. I was incensed, Starfleet. I was about to watch our only hope of getting back, turn to cosmic dust. The array turning into an array of sparks.

"She’s the Captain," Chakotay said in that soft voice that sometimes infuriated me more than it was designed to still the savage heart. It was his don’t-mess-with-me voice, with a look in his eyes designed to shrivel you.

Now, you know Chakotay. No, wait, you don’t know Chakotay, seeing this is only our second day as a joint crew. Now Chakotay is my Maquis leader - or was, until yesterday. You have to understand this guy, Starfleet. He’s the strongest man I know, tough to the bone, scary even, if you just looked at him. He’s a man who killed Cardassians without blinking an eye. Chakotay looked at me as if he could kill me. What do you think? A rebel in rebel clothing sounding suddenly so Starfleet. I was ready to fly at her, see? He didn’t defend me, Starfleet. I guess I don’t need defending. I can take care of myself. I’ve always taken care of myself.

I saw something yesterday, mad as I was. I was outraged that she could strand us all here, with one word, Starfleet, one word. We’ll probably often hear her say: "Fire!" from now on. But Chakotay, he got all protective over her. Like she needed protecting. That’s something I noticed. When he speaks to me, or any of the other Maquis on the ship - even Seska, his voice is strong, militant, like he’s still in the Badlands fighting his ass off. He speaks to her, and his voice is different, maybe softer, even deferring. Okay, he is the new First Officer, and like us, he has to take orders from her. That’s Chakotay, who took orders from no-one until now. He’s fawning, Starfleet. I get this sick feeling in my stomachs just looking at him looking at her. He’s hardly known her more than three days, I can tell you. But the way that no-nonsense Chakotay, who wouldn’t think twice of decking any Maquis who stepped out of line, looks at Kathryn Janeway, it sure is something different.

The captain’s voice breaks into my thoughts, and I look at her. I feel this funny churning in my stomachs again, as though I can sense that something must explode soon. Like a queen she stands on the bridge just behind the pilot, and she gives that little sad half-smile.

I hope no one could hear the way I growl. I think of the people in engineering, especially that man: Joe Carey, commissioned Starfleet officer. I shudder. I have to work with that weasel?

The captain speaks:

"Mr Paris, set a course... for home."

"You’re just jealous, Maquis," Harry said to me later in the mess hall.

"Hey," I growled, about to grab his jacket front and pulling him closer, "just tell me when you want your nose out of joint."

Harry backtracks quickly, his hands raised in front of him in a gesture of surrender. Maybe he thought I’d really do it. My growl must sometimes be worse than my bite. I watch his eyes. They get that look in them that makes me think he wished he were somewhere else right now. But Harry decides to be brave.

Growl...

I can see Harry gets that flash of fear in his eyes. It goes away quickly, then he gets brave again. He saw what I did to the doctor in that Ocampa hospital.

"What’s wrong with Chakotay working together with the Captain?" he asked. "They are supposed to. You know that, Maquis."

"I saw him first, Starfleet."

"Come on, Maquis, it’s the nature of their work."

I pull Harry closer again, perhaps none too gently. I clench my jaw. "Chakotay accepted me," I tell him, grinding every word just for effect, "when no one else would." Harry drops back in his chair, expelling a sigh of relief.

I smile, thinking of all the narrow escapes we had on the Hawk with its retard engines. "Be creative, B’Elanna" was his order just before we were whisked here. Give me this ship’s warp core, and I’ll show Chakotay creative. That warrior saved my life more times than I can remember, but mostly, he helped straighten me out with his absolute no-nonsense brand of ‘straightening out’. So I tell Harry:

"Yeah. Yeah, he’s my mentor."

"I don’t like that smile."

"Take it any way you want to, Starfleet." I lean forward over the table as I spit out the words. Harry’s hands go up again.

"Oh, great Kahless! Grow up, Starfleet! You’re looking at a half-Klingon, half-human misfit, Academy drop-out, Maquis! What do you expect?"

I can see Harry is as green as the day he was born.

The palm of my hand connects with the surface of the table. I want to hide my face somewhere from the embarrassment of displaying my fierce outburst. I can see their eyes on me. They think this half-Klingon is about to overturn the table, or worse, pull Harry up and throw him across the room. It’s what they expect, isn’t it? To see a Klingon lose control. So I force myself to be calm, although I don’t feel calm. My insides are boiling.

"Harry, either you’re over-optimistic, or you’re dumber than I thought."

"Maquis, only you can speak to me like that. What does it tell you?"

"You’re my friend?"

"You got that right, B’Elanna," and he stamps his fist on the table. I try not to laugh, Harry looked too comical when he said it that way.

"Who are you? Mr Starfleet-fresh-out-of-the-Academy Kim, do you think it’s easy for me to fit in and make friends?"

"You should try, Maquis."

Now my hands work: edge of one hand beating into the palm of the other. Old quirk of mine.

"Fine, explain this: I feel like breaking Joe Carey’s nose. He’s forever letting me know - "

"Well, not in so many words, but he’s in charge in engineering. You know what? I could get that warp core to operate at peak efficiency in half the time it takes Joe Carey to do so."

If I can’t be allowed to work at the kind of frenetic, ‘I’ll get it done yesterday’ pace I’ve always worked on the Hawk, I think I’ll go stir crazy. Already Joe’s frustrating the hell out of me. But I don’t tell Harry that. Who am I? Just a Maquis with little hope of getting anywhere unless I fight my way there. And maybe, just maybe, I can get there without breaking someone’s nose.

"What do you think? That Starfleet Lieutenant is too slow."

"But thorough, I’ll wager you."

"I’m supposed to make a concession to that?"

"You should, Maquis, you’re on a Federation vessel - "

I ball my fists and grind my teeth.

"Don’t... remind me, Starfleet."

"Look, B’Elanna, I’m your friend. We were both almost killed by the Caretaker. We survived, you and I. If it doesn’t mean anything to you, it means a lot to me. Now, are you going to sit here and sulk all by yourself, or are you coming with?"

"Where are you going?" I ask quickly, trying not to look too eager.

"The holodeck, for some fun in the snow."

I hate the cold, but I don’t tell him that. I hope he doesn’t see the way I shiver slightly just thinking about ice and snow.

"I’ll stay here, Starfleet."

Harry’s mercifully still at the stage where he accepts ‘no’ for an answer.

"Fine, then stay." I want to laugh at the way he stood at attention when he said that. "You’ll have to get along with everyone eventually," he said, his voice filled with resolve, "including the Captain, Joe Carey, and my friend, Tom."

"I heard of him."

"No doubt. He has a reputation a mile long, right?"

"He’s full of himself."

Harry rolls his eyes.

"And how do you know that? Oh, don’t answer. You heard." Harry, now standing, leans with his hands on the table, his face close to mine. I wonder he should be so brave. His eyes seem to blaze. "You don’t know him, Maquis. He’s very likeable."

"Hey, Starfleet, are you trying to hook me up?"

"If only so I can see some sparks fly. Coming?"

"No, I’ll stay."

*****

I feel slightly bereft after Harry made his exit. So far, other than my old comrades, he’s the only friend I have. Friend? I’ve known him only a few days, and already he qualifies as my friend. Not that I asked, he qualified himself. Now that’s Harry-I-choose-my-own-friends, Mr Optimist, who hopes his girlfriend will still be waiting for him when we get back.

Still, for all that he’s so green, he’s the only one so far who’s refused to back off.

"We were sick together, Maquis. We came through those tunnels together. We have something in common."

Sick. All I remember is waking up in that sterile room, and wanting to get away. I almost killed the doctor. It’s my instinct telling me the doctor was a threat. Then I wanted to attack Harry too. I didn’t, because somehow, his words calmed me down. His was only the face in that alien world that was familiar.

We escaped, my Klingon genes enabling me to cope better with the illness and the conditions of the narrow tunnels. He wanted some of mine when he became too weak to move.

"Believe me, it’s more trouble than it’s worth," I tell him when we stopped for a while to let him rest.

We had something more than our disease in common, I found out.

Sneezy.

"I left before they kicked me out, Starfleet."

"Why?"

"Don’t you know? Didn’t you see me almost killing the doctor at the hospital? I wanted to attack you too. I have one hell of a temper, Starfleet. Not a good disposition to have when you’re a cadet, and no one listens to your ideas."

"You never know."

"How would I? I didn’t stay long enough."

Yeah, we were sick together, we both knew Sneezy, and now we are both in Starfleet gold. That makes Harry Kim my friend. No, correction. It’s not fair to Harry: I like him, he’s young, full of spirit, has a boundless enthusiasm, and he accepts me, regardless of how fierce I appear. That’s why he’s my friend.

I am aware - I can feel the hair in my neck bristling - that I appear to scare the crew. They are afraid of me. They look at me as if I’d bite them any minute. Was that my smile that appeared like a scowl? I tried to smile at Mr Rollins, Starfleet officer, and all he did, was nod his greeting.

"One day at a time, Maquis, we have a long way and a long time to go. You have a lifetime in which to make friends."

I give a shudder. Fine, B’Elanna, smile at the next person who walks by. That’s your good attempt for the day. Tomorrow he’ll smile back at you and say he’s your friend.

A young ensign - I think I heard someone call her Samantha - passes my table. I smile at her. She smiles and nods. I feel good. A smile costs nothing. I should do it more. How difficult can it be?

*****

"Hey, Maquis, care to join us?"

Harry. Again. With his other new friend. Red of command. I thought Harry had gone to the holodeck. I get up, the room is suddenly too small.

"Later," I tell him. I give a furtive look in Tom’s direction before I leave the mess hall hastily. I’ve seen his smirk...

I wish I could just whack it off his face. I’ve already heard he’s made a play for one of the twins...

Who’s going to take a second look at a half-Klingon, half-human woman who scares everyone off? I’ll be sure to keep a lock on my hearts should I be in any danger of losing it, which I doubt will happen here. Already Chakotay... already Chakotay’s eyes turn soft when he’s near her. I wonder if he’ll still be the kinder, older brother who kept me in line whenever I stepped over it. It’s too soon to tell, really. Right now, Flaming Chakotay and Icy Janeway look set to complement one another: Flamin' Ice. What a combination: hard-ass, no-shit Cardie-killing Maquis rebel in Starfleet red with hard-ass, no-shit Maquis hauling captain in Starfleet red. She'll be doing the dealing and he'll be saying 'Aye'!

I wonder if he'll fight my cause. I can hear him say:

"If I fight your cause, B'Elanna, it will be because I believe in you."

Maybe he'll do so if Flaming Chakotay can separate himself long enough from Icy Janeway.

Maybe I'm just being unfair to Chakotay. He is the most decent man I know.

He trashed our vessel to save Voyager. Chakotay would never do anything ill-considered. He must have known he’d lose his command to Kathryn Janeway, Starfleet Captain assigned to capture us.

"Consider yourself captured, Maquis," Harry said that to me in the Ocampa hospital.

Trust Harry. He does have a sense of humour. He didn’t have a weapon when he said that.

We are captives, Starfleet. No matter how we look at it, no matter how many years we’ll be here in the Delta Quadrant, no matter how beautiful the friendships we’ll forge here. It is the Captain’s job to turn us in - when we get home.

But I digress. It a human thing. My half-human side thing. That Tom Paris, Harry’s other new best friend, smiles and smirks altogether too much. I wonder if he’s hiding something. Chakotay called him a mercenary who’d do nothing for a cause. Maybe I shouldn’t believe Chakotay, and just let my instinct tell me what I need to know.

Okay, what I need to know: can he be trusted? The captain gave him a field commission, AND made him Chief Helmsman. She must have faith in him. Now, how about the Captain having faith in me? Would she trust me with Voyager’s engines?

She trusted Tom Paris.

I guess... I guess if I want her to trust me, I’d have to earn that trust. Did Paris earn his? One day soon maybe, I’ll know.

Right now, that pilot just irks me.

Yet, I find it strange thinking of him as I make my way to engineering.

He has strong hands.

Definitely.

I should know. He lifted me from that damned hole on Ocampa like I weighed nothing.

Definitely strong hands.

That’s the first and only thing I’ll concede about Tom Paris for now.

***

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