Tom Paris was bored. Really, really bored. A few close friends might have recognised the pout and glazed eyes and been scared. Really, really scared.
He glanced idly at the controls, momentarily contemplating some really tricky flying. A glance back at the Commander, sitting stony-faced in the captain's chair, quickly quelled that thought.
The vision gave him another idea. It was an idea of which the Commander might also disapprove. But he couldn't actually do anything about it. Tom smiled a small, evil smile. Then he cleared his throat.
Certain most of the eyes on the bridge had flickered towards him, if momentarily, he made his next move. Running an apparently idle hand through his short hair, he spoke up.
"Are you having a good shift, Commander?"
"Excuse me?" was the measured response.
Tom was aware that he was probably attracting sidelong glances. So far, the shift had been absolutely routine, and the current combination of bridge crew was not exactly conducive to light hearted chatter.
"A good shift. Passing a few hours together on the bridge of Voyager. You know."
"Fine, Lieutenant."
"Don't you think it's interesting that you're in command, but I'm always pushing your buttons for you?"
There was something that sounded like a choke from the ensign at the side of the room. Tom looked over in feigned concern.
"Are you okay, Ensign White?"
There was a muffled noise that he pretended to take as an assurance.
"That's good. Wouldn't want you to come down with something while you were on duty. Of course Commander Chakotay could handle it. He's very good at handling things."
This time the choke came from behind him, and he rapidly identified it as Harry. 'Good work, Har,' he mused. 'Picked up earlier on in the game than I expected.'
A very rigid Chakotay finally spoke.
"Anything on the sensor array, Ensign Kim?"
It was a needless comment, which couldn't lead to anything after the inevitable negative. Tom was satisfied he was getting to him.
"There it is again," Tom exclaimed in mock wonderment. "Always got your fingers all over the pulse, Commander."
There was a long silence. Tom knew it was Chakotay's move. When it came, he was disappointed at its lack of subtlety and planning.
"Could you try to the keep the conversation to a minimum, Lieutenant?"
"Are you ordering me not to speak on the bridge, Sir?" he snapped back, sounding shocked. "You are aware that a stressful work environment tends to significantly decrease the quality of performance?"
"Just try to keep it professional, Paris."
Another obvious comment. Tom nearly groaned. Chakotay needed a lot of training.
"It is professional. I've merely been pointing out your very impressive attributes." 'Let him find an answer to that,' he challenged.
"Ah. Are you evaluating me? For the Captain, perhaps?"
Much more promising. The man was learning.
"Oh, no. Not for the Captain. It's something of a hobby of mine." With that comment he knew that no one on the bridge was paying much attention to their job any longer. He spiced it up a little, invited response. "Besides, why would I be doing crew evaluations? Isn't that your job, Commander? Shouldn't you be evaluating me?"
He waited with baited breath. That was a hell of an opening. Chakotay could end it right now, or start playing on his own terms.
"I've already made my decisions about you, Lieutenant. I've been watching you for a long time."
Tom almost grinned, before wavering. That was kinda ambiguous. It could go either way. He wanted to bring this out in the open and finish it off with a bang. There were only a few minutes of shift left. If he waited much longer, he'd have the change over crew as an audience as well. In fact, there was one now, coming in to relieve Harry.
He bit his lip thoughtfully, heard the turbolift open with a couple more crewmembers, and said, "Really? You must know an awful lot about me. Hmm, what colour are my eyes?"
There was a moment of silence. Tom knew Chakotay was considering whether he really wanted to finish this thing, and the replacement crew was wondering just what had been happening on the bridge.
Finally, he answered, "Blue."
It was succinct, obvious, and not particularly incriminating. Tom made a final strike.
"What colour are my underwear?"
There was absolute, shocked silence.
Tom handed over the conn, before turning to face a slightly wide-eyed Chakotay.
"Don't know? Well," he raised his eyes in time to see the Captain stalk onto the bridge, "we aren't on company time any more. Wanna find out?"
He batted his lashes ridiculously, before strutting to the turbolift.
With several pairs of bright eyes focussed on him, Chakotay choked out, "Your bridge, Captain," before striding off just fast enough to catch the 'lift before the door slid closed.