Disclaimer: Paramount own all things Star Trek, I own this laptop, and this is what happens when the two things collide.
Code: T/7.
Rating: R
Archiving: Please ask first.
Constructive feedback welcome.
Any feedback or other comments should be sent to ralst31@yahoo.com
Notes: I sat down tonight with the intention of trying to write the second part of 'Appreciating Paris', but for some reason this kept popping into my head instead, and as I vaguely remember someone writing a challenge to do with the proposed wedding of B'Elanna to that bloke who drives the ship I thought I'd post it. Its only short, but let me know if its worth continuing or not.
Parts 1 to 2
19 Sep 2000
Part 1
"A what!"
"A hen night," said an eager Neelix, "I spoke to Tom this morning and he said that as your wedding is in five day I should start preparing for his bachelor party."
"His what?"
"His bachelor party, I thought he would have told you about it."
"No he didn't." B'Elanna wasn't sure what this was all about but she knew already that she didn't like the sound of it.
"Well apparently its an old human custom, a man just before his wedding, has a last night of fun with his male friends before he takes on the responsibilities of married life." Neelix seemed to almost glow with pride as he spoke of the impending marriage, he was a man who genuinely cared about the people around him, and the thought of a wedding on Voyager had him nearly overcome with excitement.
"Yeah well that sounds great," B'Elanna dismissed, what she really thought was that it was just another of Tom's excuses to go out and have some fun, "but what has that to do with hens or me?"
"Well I got to wondering, if there is a special night of celebration for the husband-to-be, what about the wife." A spotted hand shot out and pointed towards B'Elanna, just in case she had forgotten that she was the intended bride. "So I looked it up in the Federation database, and came up with the idea of a hen night."
"Okay, I still don't see where hens come into it."
"Errm, I," Neelix looked around slightly puzzled, "I don't really know where hens come into it either," he scratched his head but then shrugged his shoulders dismissing the problem, "but that's not what's important."
"So what is?" B'Elanna urged trying to hurry the conversation along so she could get back to engineering.
"Your party."
"What party?" B'Elanna was beginning to feel a headache building. "Your hen night party." Neelix seeing the look of barely suppressed annoyance quickly carried on hoping he could impart his enthusiasm to the young woman. "A man has a bachelor party and a women has a hen night, both are events where the soon to be married get together with their friends of the same gender and erm well have fun."
"Have fun?"
"Yes exactly."
"I don't think so." B'Elanna turned and began walking toward the exit.
"But its tradition."
"Not mine." She called over her shoulder.
"But, but, I've already sent out the invitations."
B'Elanna stopped and whirled round to face the smiling Talaxian, her face was suffused with anger and if you looked closely, not something that was advisable at that particular moment, you could almost see steam rising from her ears.
"You did what?"
"I sent out the invitations." Neelix realising that he may have made a mistake tried to placate his friend. "I only sent out five, just to the people you work closest with."
"Who?" This was definitely a demand and not a mere question.
"Well the Captain,"
B'Elanna sighed, if the Captain had already been invited there was no way she could get out of it without seeming rude, and if there was one thing she didn't want to do that was to upset or seem to snub the woman who had given her this chance six years ago and stood by her ever since.
"Ensigns Wildman and Carroll, Lieutenant Shaw and Seven."
B'Elanna had been slowly nodding her head until he came to the last name.
"Seven!" Putting her hands on her hips she got up real close to where the now sweating Talaxian was standing. "What on all the moons of Jupiter made you invite her?"
"You work closely together."
"We argue closely together you mean."
"Seven seemed pleased at the invitation."
"Huh!" She shot out. "How could you tell the ice maiden was pleased? Did she actually crack a smile or something."
"Now B'Elanna you know Seven's."
"Fine" she interrupted "just tell me what I have to do to get this thing over and done with."
Neelix finally relaxed and smiling began to explain to the morose Klingon what exactly constituted a hen night.
"Its a party Seven."
"So what purpose do the hens provide?" Questioned the former borg.
"There aren't any hens." The doctor let out a sigh, even though he didn't actually breath he found that a sigh was sometimes the only response to the confusion that was the Voyager crew.
"So why is it called a hen night?"
"I'm not sure Seven, its just what its called."
The young woman was less than happy with that answer but seeing the behaviour of the hologram knew that any further probing was useless at this time.
"And my function at this occasion would be?"
"Seven its a party." The doctor was beginning to wonder if he was suffering a feedback loop in his holomatrix. "You've been to parties before, you just try to enjoy yourself."
Seven gave him a slightly disgusted look.
"Well Okay, just try and not fight with the guest of honour then."
"I will comply, whether or not Lieutenant Torres also chooses to refrain from entering into an altercation I am unable to verify." The doctor realising he'd just got the borg equivalent of 'I won't start it if she doesn't', decided to quit while he was ahead.
"So Seven I think its time for your next check up." The doctor stated waving his hand towards the nearest biobed.
"Unfortunately I am now due in astrometrics." Seven crisply replied before striding out of sickbay.
"Never fails." The doctor commented happily before heading back to his office.
To be continued....probably
Part 2
"It's all your fault."
"What?" Smiled an amused Tom Paris.
"This!" Stormed the half-klingon waving her arms about encompassing everything in the room, especially herself.
"Starfleet living quarters are my fault?" Tom asked in the most serious voice he could muster under the circumstances. As those circumstances happened to involve a fiery warrior trying to put on a pink frilly shirt his effort wasn't very successful.
"Don't get smart with me fly boy," B'Elanna moved towards him in a threatening manner, "I'm talking about this floozy's work shirt you say I have to wear." With that she tugged at the offending article causing the various layers of pink lace around her neck to float up and hit her in the nose.
On seeing this the bright red ensign made a mad dash for the bedroom hoping to escape the scene before doubling over in fits of not very manly giggles. It was, he thought, one of his better jokes, convincing B'Elanna that traditionally all human females wore a special ceremonial outfit to their hen nights. She had at first been sceptical as no one, not even Neelix who had researched the occasion thoroughly, had mentioned anything about special clothing, but with Harry providing corroboration to the story she consented to go along with it. Of course that had been before she'd seen the costume Tom and Harry had cooked up. In all her life the klingon had never seen so many frills in one place, not only was the article a haven for lace from across all four quadrants, but it was the most insipid colour of pink imaginable. The horror didn't stop there, the trousers that were to accompany the eyesore of a blouse were of a pitch black, a colour that the klingon strongly approved of, but were made from an unyielding fabric that due to the fact they were 'traditionally' worn snug, or as B'Elanna thought two sizes too small, meant she could only breath with the greatest effort and concentration.
B'Elanna stood in the middle of her quarters, her blood slowly being squeezed from her lower extremities, as her eyes began to bulge dangerously from their sockets. The outer manifestations being secondary to the volcanic changes that were happening inside the woman, a temper, which at the best of times was only kept in check by the thinnest of restraints, was now exploding. Luckily for the ensign B'Elanna's main target at first was the garment that had assaulted her dignity. This gave the helmsman just enough time to rush from the bedroom with a holo-camera he had 'borrowed' from the doctor.
"Say cheese!"
B'Elanna looked up just in time for Tom to catch her growling face in the imager, before he turned on his heels and ran for the door.
"Paris!"
The only thing left of the man was his trailing laughter.
Captain Janeway rounded the corner leading to her chief engineers quarters, just managing to avoid an oncoming Tom Paris, who was running like a three-legged giraffe towards the turbolift.
"Walk Mr Paris."
Tom almost tripped himself as he attempted to slow his frantic pace, then still fearing a rampaging klingon tried walking at warp speed, nearly dislocating his hip in the process.
Arriving at B'Elanna's door the Captain was greeted with the sight of the other woman struggling to run out the door, only her motion was seriously hampered by trousers that only allowed movement in three inch increments. The enraged woman's progress was further aggravated by the pink rag that was knotted about her head, although her hands were doing a good job of stripping the offending article from her body and leaving it shredded in her wake.
"B'Elanna."
"Grrrrrr," came out of the remnants of the pink fabric.
"Lieutenant!" Snapped Janeway.
Through the roaring blood in her ears, and thanks to her inner sense of preservation, B'Elanna made out the sound of her none too happy commanding officer.
"Captain?"
"Do you require assistance Lieutenant?" Now that the growling had stopped the Captain was able to take in the absurdity of the scene, and while hiding a smile gave up a small prayer for Mr Paris.
"Yes, if you wouldn't mind Captain."
All the time the engineer was being untangled from the shirt there was only one thing on her mind, the death of one Thomas Eugene Paris.
While uttering a feeble explanation to the Captain and excusing herself to get changed into loose fitting black trousers and a deep maroon shirt B'Elanna had managed to come up with six ways of killing the ensign, although she had yet to formulate one for which she wouldn't come under immediate suspicion, but given time.... B'Elanna smiled for the first time since putting on the pink shirt, 'Oh Tom you messed with the wrong woman,' she thought.
On seeing the face of the woman who exited the bedroom Kathryn sent up another prayer for Mr Paris, theirs wouldn't be a marriage it would be a homicide waiting to happen, she contemplated whether, as the ships commanding officer and a friend to the two people involved, she should forbid them to marry or even talk to each other. No, getting involved in the romantic lives of her crew was not something she wanted to set a precedence for.
"Ready B'Elanna?"
"Oh yeah I'm ready." Replied the blushing bride-to-be. Prayer number three left the engineers quarters along with the two women.
To be continued .....