Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me, the story does. Thanks.

Credits: Ann and Sorcha asked for me to write some P/7 during the first stage beta of One Word. As they are loyal, hardworking, and extremely persuasive, I gave in. They also beta-ed it.

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Seven put down her--ray gun--and turned to see Lieutenant Paris coming up beside her.

"Computer, end program."

He grinned a little at Seven's raised eyebrow.

"I promised Harry I would wait to do 'Chapter 6: The Maw of Death' when he got off-shift."

Seven nodded.

"But--I have another hour here--are you busy?" He didn't look at her when he asked.

Seven tilted her head.

"Another sailing lesson?" she asked, and Tom grinned again, though she saw the edge in it. Over the last two weeks, since the termination of his relationship with Lieutenant Torres, she had become more and more attuned to his various moods. The Captain would have been pleased. Seven merely considered it adaptation. It was difficult to deal with Tom without being aware of these shifts in his emotional equilibrium and, through trial and error, Seven had come to understand that if she wished to continue spending time with him, she would have to learn to adapt her conversation to his present mindset.

Though she was still unsure why sailing on Lake Comono was a sensitive issue for him. She discarded the suggestion and viewed the bare holodeck walls.

"Perhaps something else," she suggested.

He turned to view the holodeck with her, and his arm brushed hers.

"Anything you particularly want to try?" he asked finally.

"I do not know." She glanced at his face, then crossed her arms. "I do not often spend time in recreational pursuits."

"Then why do you?"

It was a question Seven had asked herself several times, and had as yet found no answer. Over a month ago, she had first participated in Lieutenant Paris' Captain Proton program, and since then had joined him and Ensign Kim on the holodeck with the designation 'Constance Goodheart'.

But the holodeck recreation she remembered most--intensely--was a night only a two weeks ago, after the termination of Lieutenants Torres and Paris' relationship. She had found him in the corridor. Lieutenant Paris had been--in an uncertain mood, though Seven had been unable to identify the cause at that time. At her suggestion, he had decided to spend some time in recreation on the holodeck and had invited her to join him. Though he had been quiet most of the evening, he had taught her to sail, and she had noted, while engaged in this activity, his mood had improved.

"I find it helps my interactions with the crew."

And it did...in a roundabout way. Most recently, she had been able to engage in what could be considered 'trivial conversation' with Ensign Delaney on holodeck programming and its parameters as applied to Captain Proton. The Captain, who had overheard her, had been warm in her congratulations that Seven was finally interacting with the crew socially.

Seven was aware, however, that her social skills were, at best, extremely poor.

"I have an idea." She glanced at Lieutenant Paris, who was smiling suddenly. "Have you ever seen the ocean?"

Seven tilted her head.

"I have seen many saline-based bodies of water that you would term 'oceans'."

"Post-Borg, Seven."

"Then my answer is no, Lieutenant Paris."

He nodded.

"All right, we have a winner. Computer, run program Paris Alpha One."

Under her feet was suddenly shifting substance that her heels began to sink into. She looked down, trying to regain her balance and found that her heels slid out from under her. Before she could make a sound, Lieutenant Paris caught her neatly under the arms.

"Sorry, Seven--I forgot about your heels." Easily, he righted her and then thought for a moment. "Computer, add two beach chairs to scenario."

When they had materialized, Tom led her across the shifting substance and gently sat her down and took the chair beside her. Before she could speak, he picked up one of her feet.

"Hmm. This isn't going to work." He studied the narrow heels critically.

"I am comfortable in my normal shoes, Lieutenant Paris."

"Okay." He lifted his head, still holding her foot. "We're going to try this one more time--Tom. You have no problem calling me Captain Proton in the scenario."

Seven frowned.

"In the holodeck during a simulation, you explained to me that it was necessary for the integrity of the program for me to refer to you as 'Captain Proton'."

"And it is necessary for the integrity of my off-hours that you use my first name." He pulled the other chair closer and perched on the edge, her foot in his lap, as if he'd forgotten he held it.

"I do not understand."

Tom sighed, absently rubbing her foot. Seven did not pull away.

"My rank is not who I am, Seven. I'm a Starfleet officer--"he grinned then, "--by the grace of the Caretaker, but before and after and in-between I am always Tom. My rank is not my identity. It's just an extension of who I am."

Seven regarded him blankly.

"You are always Lieutenant Paris."

Tom shook his head sharply.

"No. There were many years I was simply Tom Paris, before and after I got a rank." Tom thought for a minute, and she traced the internal arguments on his face. "This is hard to explain--when you were in the Borg, you were Seven of Nine--well, you still are, but we call you Seven, correct?"

She nodded.

"You were your work--you were Borg. I am not Starfleet, I am more than what my work makes me." Tom fingered the toe of her shoe, and Seven darted her eyes to his fingers briefly before bringing them back to his face. "When I am not on-shift, when I am not behind the Conn, I am Tom. When I'm off-duty, I'm Tom." He sighed softly and shook his head. "I'm explaining this badly."

"It relates to the concept of individualism, does it not?"

Tom's head came up sharply.

"Yes."

She considered his argument, and then merely looked at him. Her blank expression must have been apparent.

"Okay, let's compromise." He squeezed her ankle for emphasis. "Just use Tom off-duty when you're with me. Then, at least for a few hours, I can be just who I am, not what I am. I'll try to find better arguments later." He gave her heel a tap, then seemed to realize what he was doing and began to put her foot down, flushing. "Sorry, Seven. I didn't mean--"

"You have not yet come to a solution regarding my heels, Lieute--" she thought over the little lesson and frowned slightly. "--Tom."

And was rewarded with a smile that made her blink. She'd never seen him smile at her like that before and was surprised with an unexpected feeling of pleasure.

"Are you comfortable without shoes?" he asked, then shook his head sharply. "Never mind, I've seen your medscans, you can't place your feet flat, can you? And I don't think it would be very comfortable to walk on your toes for the next hour." He thought about it for a minute. "Larger heels that would keep from sinking in the sand--would that be acceptable?"

She considered it.

"Yes, Tom."

He smiled again.

"Computer, add one pair of women's shoes--oh hell, I don't even know what to call them." Her blank look must have told him she had no better idea. "Computer, display a visual database of women's shoes, size--" he looked at her foot carefully "--eight, sandals with heels."

He left to read the console, and Seven watched him frown over the readings.

Moments like this were rare for Tom Paris, as Seven had learned. Moments where he wasn't thinking of Lieutenant Torres, and Seven now could accurately hypothesize when one of those thoughts broke the surface of his mind.

She had learned much about Tom Paris over the last three weeks. She found herself curious to learn more.

She also knew that whatever had happened between them, it had not been to their mutual satisfaction. Lieutenant Torres' behavior over the last two weeks had been erratic, and Seven, to her own surprise, found herself avoiding Engineering whenever possible.

"Here you go, Seven." Tom sat back down, carrying by flimsy leather cords a pair of heeled shoes. He took his seat and lifted her foot, carefully removing her normal shoes, before putting the first one on and beginning a complicated lacing procedure. At her curious glance, he shrugged.

"I want to keep your feet secure--it would hurt like hell if the laces came loose and your feet fell out." Quickly, he finished and placed her foot on the sand. Seven flexed her sole slowly. It felt--unusual--for her foot to be exposed, but the shoes seemed to be secure.

When Tom finished the other foot, he stood up, extending his hand.

"Ready?"

She nodded slowly and took the offered hand. Despite the fact she gained her balance within a few steps, she did not relinquish his support. Nor did he seem inclined to allow her to.

"Closer to the water," he said softly, and Seven followed his lead, until cool, liquid waves brushed her bare toes.

"What planet is this on?" Seven asked, observing the rhythmic water movements and trying to find the computer controlled pattern.

"Earth. It's the Pacific, in California, near San Francisco." He turned them so another wave soaked her toes. "Near the Academy, actually." Tom surveyed the area critically. "Harry wrote it soon after he came on the ship."

"Ensign Kim is a skilled holoprogrammer." A thought was trying to make itself known to Seven, but it had not yet fully formed. "The temperature of the water is warm."

"Its late afternoon, early evening. It's warm this time of day. Did you expect it to be cold?"

Seven paused, considering.

"I did not expect anything, L-Tom. I was making an observation."

"So much for idle banter." He stepped back, giving her a speculative look. "Why are you here, Seven?"

She hadn't expected his change of emotional equilibrium and could not find an answer.

"I know why Harry hangs over me constantly. I know why the Captain suddenly switched the duty roster for me so as to have minimal contact with B'Elanna. I even know why Chakotay--and God help me, I thought he'd be the last person to ever do anything for me--has the habit of stopping by the Messhall and having lunch with me. I don't know why you, however, seem to be participating in the 'make Tom feel better' campaign." The blue gaze was back on the water, fixed on an insignificant point on the horizon.

Seven took a short breath before responding.

"I--enjoy the time we spend together."

Tom blinked.

"You what?"

Seven considered her answer carefully, aware that she had been asking herself the same question.

"The time I spend with you is--easier, than spending time with other crew members. I do not feel a need to--engage in what the Captain refers to as casual conversation. You do not expect me to--" she stopped, looking for the words.

"No pressure," Tom told her. She nodded.

"Why do you choose to engage in activities with me, Tom?" she asked. It had been a question that only recently she had begun to be curious about. Tom sighed softly, shaking his head.

"Same reason, I guess." He stepped into the water, and she watched it dampen his boots to the ankles. "You don't try to make me feel better. But you do, anyway."

Seven examined the semantics of that little speech and her eyebrows drew together.

"I do not try and succeed despite that?"

"Yes." He took her elbow gently. "Come into the water."

Tentatively, she stepped in, and her toes were instantly submerged. The water was warm.

Like the hand that touched her arm. She glanced down to see his Captain Proton trousers were getting damp from the motion of the water, then lifted her head to view his face.

"Why does my presence make you--feel better?" she asked. Tom started a little, looking at her.

"I don't know. I haven't thought about it." He looked back out on the water, but Seven did not think he was looking at anything in particular. "I think--at least part of it, anyway--is that you don't know me very well. I don't feel the same judgement, I guess."

"I have known you for over a year, Tom," she answered. He shook his head, a little grin lifting the corners of his mouth. It did not, to her unpracticed eye, seem to contain amusement..

"That's not what I meant. I mean--everyone on Voyager knows me as Tom Paris, Admiral's son, ex-con, ex-Maquis, ex-Starfleet--you get the idea. All the titles are mine, you know, plus an extra Lieutenant tossed in afterward. You never met me as any of those people. You just know me."

"You?"

"The person I am now. You don't have any leftover prejudices or expectations because of who I used to be."

"The past is irrelevant."

Tom glanced at her in surprise.

"Not always." He glanced down at the water curling around their ankles and then began to lead her out further. The warmth swirled up around her knees. "The past shapes you, makes you who you are, what you become. It is you, in a way."

"Because I was Borg, I will always be Borg?"

Tom turned on her, frowning.

"No, Seven. You're human who was once a Borg. There's a difference."

"Should I still be expected to act Borg even though I am not? Should the crew worry whether I shall choose to assimilate them?"

His eyebrows jumped.

"No. Because that's not who you are anymore."

"Then I do not know you because I did not know who you were then--are you still any of those--designations?"

The edge was back in his smile.

"Admiral's son."

"But the others--you still wish to be those designations?"

Tom stiffened.

"No."

"And I no longer wish to be Borg." She paused, remembering their earlier conversation. "I understand now why you wish for me to call you Tom."

Startled blue eyes met hers.

"You'll never stop surprising me, Seven."

There was an unexpected warmth that statement gave her, and she lowered her head to watch the waves against her feet.

>The End