“You create holo-novels like Lieutenant Paris,” guessed Seven, “with yourself cast as the hero,” and Harry didn’t even blush, because who hadn’t done that?

“Take a drink,” he said with a grin, and waited; Tom‘s guess was predictable (“You dress up in women’s clothing”), and Harry had a rejoinder prepared (“Don’t project your fantasies on me, Paris”), and B’Elanna’s was, er, imaginative, but Harry had never even contemplated using the sonic shower like that; the Delaney sisters both struck out but left Harry blushing, which he supposed was a point to them, and Ayala cheerfully took a shot as he surrendered his guess (something anatomically incorrect combined with a clarinet, and the very thought of all the keys made Harry shudder).

“He knits,” said Janeway from the lamentably open door, and as Harry nearly fell off his chair she added, “but I promised not to tell what he does with the needles.”