Janeway stood under the shelter of the spreading tree, huddling in her thin shirt and shorts as water descended from the heavens. Though it remained pleasantly warm, the captain was disgruntled that the one time she had decided to take a long walk outside, it had promptly started to rain. No, actually, rain was far too kind and gentle a word for it. This was teeming down in sheets, pouring down in absolute buckets, cascading like a waterfall to drench the landscape. She glowered as she felt her hair plaster itself to her scalp, a thin stream running down the back of her neck and trickling down her spine. At this point, she must be doing a fairly good impression of a drowned rat and the worst part about it was that it was clearly a temporary shower, with blue sky not too far distant, sunshine actually sparkling off the rain to create a glorious rainbow arching over the forest. 
Janeway's companions, in contrast, were far more appreciative of this natural display, splashing happily through the puddles forming on the ground in obvious belief that the rain was simply not soaking them enough. Yet, Janeway could not find it in herself to condemn the situation entirely. Seven's slate blue t-shirt clung to her torso, delineating every bit of flesh beneath, nor would the captain ever object to that bright, happy expression on the young woman's face. Jake's long, red hair, on the other hand, would take absolutely forever to dry out, and Janeway had no intention of letting him back in their quarters until he had.
"Join us," Seven urged, gesturing to Janeway, indicating she wanted the captain to come out from under the tree to face the full fury of the shower.
"I think not," Janeway demurred darkly, sticking to her meager shelter.
"It is fun, Kathryn," Seven insisted. She came over, and before Janeway knew what she was going to do, or could otherwise raise an objection, the Borg had picked her up over her shoulder and carried her over to the nearest large puddle, dropping her inelegantly into the deepest part.
Captain Kathryn Janeway sat in the middle of a spreading pool of water, her arms crossed over her chest, her legs spread out at odd angles, glaring absolute daggers at her spouse. Seven looked back, completely unrepentant, her eyes bright, her face alight with a laughter she could not, or did not know how to, express. Jake sat on his haunches, also regarding the captain with his tongue lolling, jaws parted wide in a doggy grin. Finally, the sheer absurdity of her position struck Janeway, and she started to laugh. Deeply, fully, from the very pit of her stomach, absolutely howling at the sight she must be presenting.
Waiting until the bout of mirth had mostly subsided, Seven plopped down beside Janeway in the puddle, and splashed her whereupon, the captain splashed her back and before she knew it, they were wrestling around happily in the water and the mud. The Borg took great care not to overpower the smaller woman until finally, their wrestling turned to an embrace and there, completely oblivious to anyone passing by ... though in one coherent moment, Janeway did consider the fact that probably no one else would be silly enough to be out in the rain ... they made love joyfully. For once, Jake did not try to interrupt. He merely wandered over to the shelter of the tree that Janeway had vacated, and collapsed, resting as his mistresses indulged in their favorite form of play under the clearing skies and pouring rain. 
Afterward, hand in hand, Janeway and Seven walked back to the ship, not speaking, merely sharing the secret smile that lovers do. Jake bounded energetically around them, dashing here and there, absolutely thrilled to be loose in an entire world filled with unfamiliar sounds and smells. By the time the trio had made it back to Voyager, the shower had finally ended and the sun was out fully, steam rising from shimmering pools as their clothes dried stiffly upon them. When they ascended the ramp and entered the lower deck, Jake abruptly divested himself of his excess moisture by shaking furiously, re-soaking his people, as well as the unfortunate member of the skeleton crew who was monitoring the traffic in and out of the ship.
Janeway decided that it would take weeks before all the mud that was currently being tracked into the carpet in these lower deck corridors could be removed. Then she decided that she had other things to worry about as she noticed that Seven's shirt was still semi-translucent. She frowned and commandeered the Starfleet tunic from the crewman who was not so discreetly ogling the Borg. The young officer, now clad only in his undershirt, carefully kept his eyes forward as he informed the captain that most of the crew had the sense to come in out of the rain long before now ... though he didn't express it in quite those terms ... and were only now straggling down to go outside once more.
It did not occur to Janeway that her own attire was somewhat less than authoritative until she returned to their quarters where the odd looks she had been receiving from the various crewmembers they passed in the corridors suddenly became clear. The reflection staring back at her from the ensuite mirror was not the slightest bit flattering in any way, shape or form.
"Honestly, Annika, I'm completely losing all my credibility with this leave," she complained to Seven after she had changed and dried her hair. "How can anyone respect a captain who drags in looking as if she was wrestling an alligator in the mud?"
Seven flicked an eyebrow at her as she worked on the dinner she had started, already having changed in a dry pair of shorts and a new t-shirt while Janeway had been in the ensuite. Her hair was still damp, but hung loose around her narrow features, and Janeway thought she looked exquisite. But then, she always did, the captain mused as she perched on the stool on the other side of the kitchenette counter.
"You looked much better today than when you returned from the Barellan prison," the Borg pointed out logically and smiled faintly. "Besides, you were not wrestling 'an alligator', you were wrestling with me. Many of them are envious of you."
Janeway blushed. "I didn't realize you were aware of that." She accepted the glass of white wine Seven offered her. "That others wish they were the ones involved with you, I mean."
"I understand that certain members of the crew are attracted to me," Seven said, slicing up vegetables and chicken protein for a quick stirfry. "Of course, it is only in a superficial, physical way. No one else has ever taken the time to know me that well, and certainly no one else can love me as you do."
"Except for B'Elanna," Janeway said, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them. She kicked herself mentally as Seven glanced at her quizzically.
"B'Elanna is not attracted to me," the Borg corrected in a puzzled tone. "I was the one attracted briefly to her breasts. Do you not remember?"
Janeway smiled. "Of course, I do," she said mildly. "That's what I meant."
If Seven didn't know about the engineer's attraction to her, then it was all to the better. In fact, it would be best if Janeway just forgot about it herself and how she found out. After all, it wasn't as if B'Elanna would ever attempt anything as long as Janeway and Seven were together, and it was beneficial in that it gave Janeway fair warning that she'd better treat her wife well. The constant knowledge that there were plenty of others who would be more than glad to take over the job if she wasn't up to it, kept her on her figurative romantic toes.
"Kathryn, please try this," Seven requested, offering the captain a slice of vegetable that Janeway did not recognize. It was a pale yellow, almost resembling a potato but not quite, its flesh solid and of a crispy consistency. Obviously a root vegetable of some kind.
Carefully, the captain nipped it from her partner's fingers, chewing it slowly. As she did, she felt a contented warmth settle within her. It had been so long since they had been able to be quietly domestic like this, and it was like returning to a much loved place.
"It's good," she mumbled around the slivers in her mouth. "Nutty, like almonds."
Seven looked satisfied by the comment. "I think so, too. Biometrics discovered it on this planet. It is perfectly safe for Human consumption, but that does not always mean it will be acceptable in taste."
"Well, I like it."
Seven nodded. "I will add it to the stirfry. I understand that it maintains its flavor while cooked, but it will be interesting to discover if it is altered by the other flavors, or if it instead, alters the taste of the other ingredients."
Janeway tilted her head as she studied Seven quietly. Her partner looked as if she was conducting an experiment of the utmost importance, a chemical combining of elements to create a new and previously undiscovered compound. At the same time, the Borg's face had a quiet glow of enjoyment, the joy of creation filling her eyes. It made Janeway feel privileged to be able, not only to witness it, but to somehow share in it, and she waited until Seven had finished slicing the rest of the vegetables before leaning over and kissing her.
"I love you," she whispered.
Seven's pale eyes glowed warmly. "I love you, my Kathryn."
Janeway smiled and watched as Seven scooped the vegetables up and added them to the chicken sizzling in her wok. "You know, I've been thinking," the captain began.
"Should we be worried?" Seven interjected, and then immediately appeared startled at what had just issued from her lips. "I am sorry, Kathryn. It is my standard response to B'Elanna when she begins a sentence with that phrase. I did not mean to use it with regards to you."
Janeway waved it off, amusement lightening her eyes to more blue than grey. She was well aware that the relationship her wife shared with the chief engineer was considerably more ... 'aggressively playful' than what they had.
"I've been thinking," she started again, paused and eyed Seven expectantly. The Borg's lips twitched, knowing she was being teased, but she didn't say anything. "We should hold your birthday party this week."
Seven looked immediately intrigued. "Yes?"
Janeway nodded. "In fact, I'd like to combine it with a sort of ... 'welcome to the ship' for our expected additions."
"A baby shower," Seven noted accurately ... and somewhat surprisingly.
Janeway sipped her wine. "Would you mind combining them?"
Seven considered it and shook her head. "I believe that it is an efficient way to hold both celebrations. In fact, we could also combine it with the 'blowout' that is customary at the end of shore leave."
Janeway paused, her wineglass halfway to her lips. She knew what a 'blowout' was, of course; the last night of full ship-leave celebration, usually including certain drunken adventures that would be told for weeks afterward in various Jeffries tubes and messhall booths. It was something that had been celebrated on every starship since Starfleet launched its first, and always hosted by the captain, even when one was not the party type. But i had been so long since Janeway had participated in one that it simply hadn't occurred to her that of course, she would be expected to host one now.  No doubt, her crew was already discussing it, which was possibly how the Borg had heard about it.
"Did you have anything in mind? For the type of party you want it to be?"
Seven stirred the food frying in her wok, looking a trifle pensive. "Do you know what a 'barbeque' is, Kathryn?"
Janeway blinked. "Yes, I do." My, Seven was just full of surprises this day, wasn't she? "They were a common form of social interaction in the agricultural park where I grew up. In fact, I can't think of a weekend in the summer months when we didn't attend one at someone's house."
For a second, those lazy, humid Indiana evenings came back to her, with the scent of smoke and the murmur of good friends gathered around a picnic table, the flavor of a juicy, marinated steak filling her taste buds. For the children, there were games and races as well, which a young Kathryn frequently won. The very rare times that Admiral Edward Janeway had been home to attend the events with his family, were memories that Kathryn numbered as her most fond.
"That is how I wish to celebrate my birthday," Seven said, satisfied that her spouse knew what she was talking about. "With a barbecue on the beach. I think it would be an appropriate type of celebration to complete our leave."
"There might be insects or bad weather," Janeway warned.
"Acceptable parameters," Seven responded easily. "I understand they add to the experience."
Janeway raised her glass. "Then darling, a barbecue is what you shall have. I'll talk to Chakotay and Neelix about what preparations need to be made. It's a good idea to combine them all. That way, it can be savored fully rather than splitting our attention between two or more parties."
Janeway made a mental note to ask for volunteers to do the actual cooking of the replicated raw meat, though she suspected that they wouldn't have much trouble finding any. For some reason, unfathomable to her, there were a great many people, particularly male, who loved to slap animal flesh, simulated or not, on a grill and cook it, even though they would not be caught dead preparing any kind of other meal from scratch. She supposed it hearkened back to Humanity's primitive roots, and the hunter/gatherer instincts. Her mind began to tick over the requirements that would be on the equipment and food replicators for such a party, and happily realized that this was actually the most cost effective way to hold a celebration for this many people all at once. She wondered if that was why Seven had chosen it. 
"Kathryn," Seven said, interrupting the captain's train of thought.
"Yes, darling?"
"Set the table."
"Yes, darling."
As she hastened to obey, she was amused that only in here, could she be ordered to perform manual tasks, and in such a presumptuous tone. But then, the captain decided, that's what spouses were for. To keep one solidly connected to what was most important, as well as keeping one's priorities absolutely straight.
 
The sun was setting low over the water as Voyager's crew gathered on the beach, the smell of barbequing food and that unique odor of burning coals wafting over the crowd as they partook of the grilled steaks, hamburgers, hot dogs, and pieces of chicken. Picnic tables, constructed from odds and ends found in engineering, groaned under the bowls of various salads, platters of corn, mounds of fruit and notably, a gigantic cake, all of which were surrounded by the shimmer of stasis field to keep out insects ... though not the crew who disabled the fields easily to serve themselves before reactivating the protective barriers. 
Many crewmembers played in the surf, swimming and splashing in the clear, salt water while others lay on the white sand, soaking in the last rays of honest sun they would see for what would probably be some time. This last night of full ship-leave promised to go out in proper style, and the mood was very festive and happy, the leave having accomplished exactly what it had been intended to do. The crew was fully ready to tackle whatever the morrow might bring, completely replenished by this time granted them by their benevolent, and much loved captain.
Tonight, they would party long and they would party hard because they knew unquestionably that it would be a while before they would be able to do it again, and it was all the more sweet for just that reason.
Seven of Nine found a large hunk of drift wood and sat down, a plate of grilled chicken breast and salad on her lap, a bottle containing reddish, carbonated liquid resting in the sand by her feet. She was dressed in blue shorts, sandals, and a grey t-shirt with the Starfleet Academy logo embroidered on the breast, while a wide-brimmed hat shaded her eyes from the sun. Occasionally, someone passing by would wish her a boisterous 'Happy Birthday' to which she would reply in a politely grateful manner, observing with amusement as they inevitably staggered off. The brown bottles, determined to be as necessary for such an event as the charcoal fuel, were in great profusion amidst the crowd, filled with something called 'beer', and retrieved from large, ice-filled containers that seemed never to empty entirely.
Seven had chosen a soft drink known as 'cream soda' instead, not liking the yeasty flavor of the ale the one time she had tried it. She remembered well the last time she attended a birthday party, how she had mixed wine with various, large samples of junk food. She spent the rest of the evening throwing up most of it, much to her dismay and her partner's bemusement. Seven had decided afterward that there could be absolutely no question as to the extent of Janeway's love and devotion to her spouse. That night, the captain of Voyager alternately held Seven's head as she vomited, comforted her when she wasn't, and the few times the Borg was unable to quite make it to the waste disposal unit, Janeway cleaned up the resulting mess without complaint.
Seven had no intention of putting herself or her partner through that ever again.
The Borg could see the distinct form of her captain much further down the beach, as Janeway and others set about discovering if a brightly colored plastic disc could be fired fast enough and far enough so that it could somehow escape the speed and accuracy of the couple's Irish Setter. So far, Jake had retrieved every throw in record time, even those which had ended up in the water, bringing it back promptly so that these biped beings would try again. Seven, meanwhile, was content to sit on the log, eat her meal and watch the rest play, feeling quietly happy in a way that seemed to start from some bright spot deep inside and radiate ever outward.
She raised an eyebrow as B'Elanna Torres came over, and sat down beside her.
"Hey, 'Nik," she greeted.
"B'Elanna." It had been awhile since the engineer had used the diminutive of her name. She wondered why ... and what had changed so that B'Elanna was utilizing it once again.
"This was a great idea of the captain," the engineer mused, taking a long swallow from her beer. "You can tell her I told you that."
"Can you not tell her yourself?" Seven asked curiously.
B'Elanna grinned, showing slightly pointed teeth.
"I don't want her to think I'm being presumptuous. The water's a heck of a lot deeper than that swimming hole was."
Seven allowed herself a faint smile, remembering the incident in question. She glanced around. "Where is Ro Laren?" she asked, wishing she hadn't as soon as it left her mouth. It occurred to her belatedly that perhaps there was a reason the two women were not together.
"She's getting us some food," B'Elanna said, unperturbed. She lifted the three unopened bottles of beer she held in her other hand. "I secured the beer."
"Of course." That made perfect sense. Seven hesitated. "Why did you not acquire any for her?"
B'Elanna nudged her, shooting her a grin. "That was actually a good one," she complimented. "You might develop a sense of humor after all, Borg."
"Considering I learned most of my humor from a Klingon, I am not sure that is advantageous."
B'Elanna mimed being shot in the heart by an arrow, and fell over onto the sand. Dressed in a white t-shirt and blue, denim shorts which had a ragged hem, her feet bare, she lay on her back and regarded the Borg with bright eyes. "Two zingers in one breath. Can I survive it?"
"Is Lt. Torres bothering you, Seven?" Ro Laren asked as she finally arrived, burdened by two plates loaded with steaks, corn and several types of salad. Carefully, she sat down on the spot B'Elanna had vacated, somehow managing not to let anything spill. Her slender form was clad in a black bathing suit over which, a light, short-sleeved shirt protected her back from the sun. Her dark hair was held back by a red headband.
"If I say yes, will you arrest her?" Seven asked her hopefully.
"Yes, Lt. Ro," B'Elanna offered from her nest in the sand. "Will you arrest me?" She leered as she spoke, and Seven decided that the engineer could do with some lessons from Kathryn in the art of looking wanton while still appearing elegant.
"No," Ro told them both. She nudged B'Elanna's side with her toe. "Are you going to just lie there, or do you want to eat?"
"I'll be good," B'Elanna promised, sitting up and accepting the plate from the Bajoran. She turned so that her back was to the security officer, leaning comfortably against the log between the Bajoran's legs. Seven noticed that Ro did not object to this somewhat familiar positioning, and the way they exchanged offerings of food, urging each other to try the various flavors, was interesting indeed.
"So here's where the real party is at," Harry noted cheerfully as he dragged over two folding chairs, accompanied by his wife. Megan was holding their plates. When she sat down, she passed the less burdened one to Harry before proceeding to attack her own, literally inhaling the food. Seven watched with undisguised fascination, never having seen anyone eat like that, not even Kathryn at the height of her nanoprobe outbreak. The Borg wondered if it had anything to do with the young woman being pregnant.
"Hi, Starfleet," B'Elanna offered in a friendly tone. "How's married life treating you?"
Harry beamed. "Couldn't be better. Did you know, we can feel the baby move now?"
Seven noted that the young man had seemed to have gotten over his initial shock at finding out he was going to be a father, and no longer had that pinched, panicked expression that he had worn so often in the early days of Operation Newborn. In fact, it was true that marriage seemed to agree with him; his dark eyes brighter, his white flash of smile wider ... as was his midsection, Seven noticed ... his disposition even more pleasant than his original demeanor. Seven was happy for him, and she took a second to remember that hesitant, stammering young man who, despite his inane crush on her, made an honest effort to reach out and be a friend to a frightened, lost Borg drone.
We have all evolved greatly in the past few years, she thought to herself.
Uncertainly, Tom Paris drifted over, and when B'Elanna didn't leap up and promptly go elsewhere, he sat down as well. Seven hoped he didn't think that meant anything about the engineer's current opinion of him. It was obvious to the Borg that the Klingon's good mood could be directly attributed to the attention Ro Laren was paying to her.
The Doctor and Sek came over to join them, both holograms dressed in matching outfits of colorful, flowered shirts and white shorts. Seven wondered if they had planned it that way, or if the holographic emitters only provided a limited selection of wardrobe to each hologram. They weren't eating, of course, but they were more than glad to add to the conversation. Neelix, Samantha Wildman, and Naomi were the next to arrive, the Talaxian dragging over a large ice chest so that the group rapidly gathering around the Borg, would not run the risk of going thirsty. His gesture was loudly and enthusiastically praised, particularly by B'Elanna.
Finally, Janeway made her way into the group, striding up the beach with Tuvok on her left, Chakotay on her right, just as it was meant to be in some unfathomable way. The captain cheerfully accepted the plate someone offered her, and sat down on the log that Seven had yielded to her partner so smoothly that it was doubtful anyone noticed. As the Borg settled cross-legged on the sand at her partner's feet, next to B'Elanna, she felt the captain's fingers linger briefly at the back of her neck in acknowledgment, and Seven smiled faintly before involving herself with the technical conversation that the engineer and Harry were sharing between their intake of corn and hamburgers. 
There was no longer any need to get up for refills. A few crewmembers maintained the four barbeques, but it seemed that everyone else had settled into a circle that radiated outward from the captain and senior staff in the center. Food and drink was passed hand over hand to whoever requested it, the occasional spill accepted with good-natured grace, and cheerful jibes at the one who had fumbled it, while the conversation rose and fell, always lively, powered by the very tasty meal and the foamy ale. Seven ate as much as she could, far more than she ever had before, trying a little bit of each dish, including Neelix's leola root salad.
As the Borg started on her third helping, she discovered that Janeway was cheerfully matching B'Elanna bottle for bottle in beer consumption. The empties did not stack up, of course, being disposed of in a portable disposal unit that dematerialized them to their component molecules. These were reabsorbed as energy to power the unit, but the young woman was able to note the number of times her spouse seemed to be opening a new bottle. While the other shifts would have almost another full day in which to recover, the alpha shift, which was handling Voyager's liftoff at 1500 hours, really needed to watch their liquid intake this night. Seven resolved to keep a closer eye on her spouse.
Later, Seven was led to the table with the big cake that boasted twenty-six candles, the tiny flames flickering in the low sea breeze as the entire crew sang 'Happy Birthday' to her, albeit, several weeks late.  She was amused to note that Janeway's uneven tenor was comfortably lost in the chorus of voices as she took her seat.
"Make a wish, Seven," Naomi told her with the air of a professional.
"I shall," Seven promised, smiling faintly at the little girl. She obediently closed her eyes, waited the requisite few seconds, then inhaled before using her breath to extinguish every flame. There was an outburst of applause and cheering, then Janeway offered her a knife which Seven used to cut the chocolate, cherry-filled, whipped cream cake into segments that were distributed to all the various crewmembers who still had room for it.
Then, as people ate their cake, the ten pregnant women were urged to another table where they opened presents the crew had bestowed upon them. There was no need to get them baby supplies since the ship would provide them, but crafty individuals in the various departments had provided things like homemade toys and things for the decor of the baby's room, while the other crewmembers had provided the ration slips for the raw materials. No one was left out, everyone was pleased, and Seven was struck by how much Voyager resembled a small village community rather than a starship. It was a far cry from the sterile environment of the Borg Collective.
At this moment, she did not find it inefficient at all.
The evening wore on, the sun setting in a spectacular array of golds and reds, almost as if the planet had arranged it somehow to say farewell to its temporary visitors. Stars began to appear in the sky, which darkened to a deep navy, and Seven found herself by a large bonfire, Naomi Wildman curled up next to her as more flickering fires dotted the night down the beach. Nearby, crewmembers with various musical instruments were staging an impromptu sing-along, the raucous sound reaching Seven's ears through the cooling air. Ordinarily, the Borg would have been intrigued to join such an interaction, but for the moment, she was content to stay where she was, Naomi's head resting on the Seven's lap as the little girl drifted off to sleep. Jake was also asleep, curled in a ball, his back warm where it touched Seven's leg. A few yards away, at a table where a card game was going on, Naomi's mother and Neelix talked and laughed with others over their play.
Across the fire, Tuvok and Vorik sat quietly, the two Vulcans meditating serenely upon the flames that were consuming the silver driftwood. Seven knew that was their favorite form of relaxation, but she did wonder, as they stared into the element, if perhaps any feelings ever stirred within them. Something deep and primal, existing long before the evolution of intellect and logic. She sensed it stir within herself, and she studied the sensation with suitable fascination.
Seven looked up a little while later as Ensign Wildman came over. "She's down for the night, is she?" the science officer asked with a smile, kneeling next to the Borg and stroking the strawberry blonde hair of her daughter.
"I believe so," Seven responded in a low voice, the small form of her friend heavy, and seemingly boneless where it leaned against her.
"I think we should get the little one off to bed," Neelix said, his gold eyes seeming to gleam in the firelight. Seven assisted the Talaxian in picking the child up. Naomi, obviously worn out by the day's events, barely stirred as she was lifted into his muscular arms.
"Thanks for watching her, Seven," Samantha said.
"You are welcome," the Borg responded, watching as they disappeared into the darkness, heading for the path cut into the cliff which led back to the ship. For a moment, an unmistakable desire came over the Borg to take care of her own precious lifeform, to hold her and love her and when the day was over, carry her home and tuck her lovingly into bed where she would be safe and warm. Seven stared mournfully into the night before the warm arms of her partner enfolding her drew her back to where she was.
"What's wrong, my darling?" Janeway's low voice asked in her ear, the husky trill that never failed to fill Seven with the most wonderful of feelings, even as this time, it came accompanied by the boozy scent of beer and a distinct slur. The captain had come up unnoticed, stepping over the log that Seven had been leaning against, and embracing the Borg from behind as she sat down.
"Nothing is wrong," Seven said with an aching heart.
"Oh, I don't agree," Janeway insisted quietly. "Tell me." Apparently alcohol did not inhibit the captain's intuitive abilities. Seven wondered briefly at that.
Seven hesitated, glancing around to note that except for the Vulcans across the fire who were paying absolutely no attention to the two women at all. No one else was in earshot, and she allowed herself to relax into the embrace.
"Sometimes," she said softly, "I regret the decisions we have made."
"Like waiting to have children?" Janeway guessed with remarkable accuracy. Seven wondered if this 'beer' somehow bestowed the one who imbibed with some greater cognitive abilities. Certainly, she had assumed alcohol dulled the senses of the regular individual prior to this ... but of course, she reminded herself, the captain was far from a 'regular' individual.
"How did you know?"
"I came to find you, and saw your face when Neelix and Samantha took Naomi to bed." Janeway kissed her partner's temple gently. "Darling, we can always talk about these things. Nothing is ever set in stone. If nothing else, that's the lesson we have to take away with us from the virus, and its effect."
"Yet, we must wait," Seven allowed sadly. "Despite how wonderful this week has been, it is not the norm for us, Kathryn. We spend most of our existence in the Delta Quadrant, as we have in the weeks leading up to this, occupied with duties and responsibilities that fill our every moment. That is our life, yours and mine. It would not be fair to bring a child into it."
"No," Janeway said, hugging Seven closely. "It wouldn't, darling. As much as I would like to find a way to disagree with you, I can't. That's the reality."
"But sometimes ... that reality hurts," Seven whispered.
"I know, my love," Janeway told her.
"I know."
 
Janeway was not entirely sober as Seven finally steered her back to their quarters, the captain having no choice but to admit that to herself. She consoled herself with the thought that she was nowhere as intoxicated as she had been the night before her wedding. As if that was a good thing, her little voice noted mockingly. 
"I am beginning to think that perhaps I should not let you go out," Seven noted wryly as Janeway missed a step, and the Borg had to move quickly to straighten her before the captain collided with the counter. "I do not believe you can handle your liquor."
Janeway waved that off with an elegant hand.
"Piffle."
Seven arched an eyebrow. "'Piffle'?" she repeated, baffled.
"It means, I can handle my liquor just fine," Janeway said as she fell, rather than sat, down on the couch. "I've been doing it since that night in a haunted house when I was young, and I'll do it until I'm old and grey. I can certainly out drink you, my lovely Borg."
"An efficient word," Seven complimented as she went to the replicator, and materialized a glass of ice water along with something the captain didn't recognize. "To mean all that."
"Are you making fun of me?" Janeway asked as her partner came over to her, regarding the small white capsules that Seven had deposited in her palm with great suspicion. "What's this?"
"B'Elanna suggested them," Seven told her. "In lieu of the Doctor's assistance, this is supposed to be effective in forestalling the inevitable results of intoxication. They are considered to be a 'natural' remedy."
"Really?" Janeway asked skeptically.
She would have preferred a hypospray that would remove the intoxication entirely, along with the resulting aftermath, but the Doctor had stated rather stiffly to anyone who would listen that if the crew was determined to indulge in such a display, they would just have to suffer the consequences without his help. Somehow, Janeway thought he had been utterly sincere with what he said, and she really didn't want to test the theory by confronting him about it. Sighing, the captain tossed the capsules back, and took a long swallow from the ice water, then another, finishing it thirstily.
"More, please," she asked meekly, holding her glass out to her partner.
Seven's eyes narrowed. When Janeway suddenly became meek, it was usually time for Seven to become a little nervous, but she retrieved more water from the replicator without a word. Janeway drained this glass only slightly quicker than the first before offering it once more to be refilled. Seven regarded her for a long moment before she went back, this time replicating an entire pitcher which she placed, along with the glass, on the coffee table. She sank down to the couch beside the captain. 
"Do you want to continue our conversation, darling," Janeway offered, feeling quite mellow suddenly as she sipped at her water slowly. She wondered what the hell had been in those capsules.
Seven glanced at her. "Which one?"
"The one we were having before Chakotay interrupted us, and dragged us over to the sing-along," Janeway reminded her partner. She didn't think she would forget that longing, wistful expression she had seen on her partner's face anytime soon. It had driven deep into her heart like a dagger, and she would give up her life to be able to take such sorrow away from the young woman.
A shadow crossed Seven's eyes. "There seems little to discuss," she said with a cool indifference that Janeway knew was completely feigned. "We both agree that our lives are such that children are not an option for us now. It is inefficient for me to indulge in emotion over a situation that cannot be changed."
"Whether it's efficient or not, you still feel what you feel." Janeway blinked. Suddenly, it seemed impossible to keep her eyes open, and stubbornly, she forced her eyelids apart, pressing her glass against her forehead, the shock of the cold revitalizing her momentarily. "I want you to know that it's okay to regret what can't be, once in a while. Talking about it might help you feel better about it."
"I do not see how," Seven said, her tone gentling somewhat.
"Sometimes it's just enough to know that it is a feeling that is shared." Janeway found she was leaning toward Seven, which was not that out of the ordinary for her except for the fact that it was entirely without her volition. She had never felt as limp as she did right this second, and she carefully placed her glass down on the coffee table.
"You regret our inability to have children now?" Seven asked with what seemed surprise.
"Yes, darling, I do," Janeway mumbled, swallowing to moisten a intensely dry mouth. She abruptly realized she was lying on Seven's lap all of a sudden. "I can't seem to sit up."
There was a pause, then a bit of a rueful sigh from the Borg. "I think that perhaps your day has caught up to you," Seven said with just a hint of dry humor as Janeway felt the young woman's hand stroke her hair gently. "Much as it did Naomi."
"That's not it," Janeway protested, and felt the room spin as the Borg carefully heaved her upright, the captain barely able to move as Seven carried her into their bedroom. "It's the damn capsules. What was in them?"
"Nothing harmful. I made sure of that before I replicated them. However, B'Elanna did mention that they may make certain people ... less energetic."
"Now you tell me," Janeway muttered, wanting to be outraged, but lacking the energy to do so. "For someone with an eidetic memory, it certainly is selective at times."
"She also said that the effect would be in direct proportion to the amount of liquor imbibed. Since you can no longer remain erect, I think we both know what that means."
"That you're enjoying this entirely too much?" Janeway said and groaned as Seven dropped her onto the chaise lounge opposite the bed. It was so odd. Her mind continued to work perfectly, but her body felt like a generator that's power source had finally ran out. "Oh god."'
"Perhaps you could explain to me why a captain who prides herself on her self-control and appearance would drink so much?" Seven asked with honest curiosity as she lifted Kathryn's legs into the air, first one, then the other as she removed the captain's sandals.
"Because," Janeway said, swallowing hard as her legs thudded heavily onto the chaise. "The captain must always share the crew's blowout."
"It is part of the 'tradition'?" Seven guessed dryly. The Borg regarded Janeway's bared feet with an expression of displeasure. "You have sand all over your feet and lower legs. It shall shed onto the sheets, and be very uncomfortable if it is not removed."
"What do you suggest?" Janeway responded waspishly, and then regretted it immediately as Seven promptly picked her up again. "Oh no."
"You are fortunate that I am Borg," Seven informed her as they went into the ensuite. "I do not think an ordinary Human could take care of you properly."
"I'm not so sure a Borg can either," Janeway said peevishly, and then shrieked as she was inserted under a shower where the temperature was not particularly warm.
"A cold shower will grant you a momentary alertness," Seven informed her as she began removing Janeway's clothes after the fact, stripping off the flowered blouse and tan shorts.
Shivering, teeth chattering, leaning weakly against the wall, Janeway just glared at her partner as Seven removed her own clothing and stepped under the spray herself ... but only after altering it so that it was a much more pleasant temperature.
"I don't think you like me when I'm drinking," Janeway said, the revelation coming to her like a bolt from the blue.
"I always like you," Seven corrected as she unceremoniously scrubbed the captain down. "I do not necessarily like how drinking makes you act, however. It makes you ... inefficient."
"That's me," Janeway noted as Seven pulled her out of the shower stall, and leaned her up against the sink counter. "Inefficient as hell. However do you put up with me?"
"It is a 'dirty job'," Seven said, toweling her partner off briskly. "But someone has to do it."
"You got that phrase from someone else," Janeway accused as Seven dragged her back into the bedroom.
Seven put the captain into the bed and drew the blankets up over her. "Tuvok mentioned it once."
"Tuvok?" That would not have been Janeway's first guess. She lay in the bed, looking up at the ceiling, and to her horror, decided she couldn't come up with the necessary determination to close her eyes. "Annika?"
"Yes, Kathryn?" Seven said, moving close to her under the sheets, and it seemed that her voice had softened considerably. Janeway felt her soft lips brush over her temple, and she sighed.
"I can't close my eyes."
"Yes, Kathryn," Seven assured her, wrapping her up in a warm embrace. "You can."
When Janeway woke up the next morning, the sunshine, streaming into the bedroom through the window above her head, stabbed into her eyes like twin points of ice picks, and she wondered if perhaps she had not closed her eyes at all. Though she knew she had slept ... or was unconscious ... for a considerable amount of time just from the fact that the last thing she remembered, it had been dark outside the ship.
"Annika?" Her voice was rusty, barely audible.
"Yes, Kathryn?" Calm, cool, infinitely patient, and very close by.
"You know the hangover cure B'Elanna recommended?"
"Yes, Kathryn."
Janeway attempted to swallow, and failed utterly. "It didn't work." She bit off each word individually.
There was a pause.
"How unfortunate."
Janeway moaned. It was entirely too early for understatements of that magnitude.
"Annika."
"Yes, Kathryn?"
"I'm on duty now, aren't I?"
"In fifty-three point six minutes, yes."
"I have to get up, don't I?"
"Is that a rhetorical question?"
"Please, don't answer a question with another question."
Janeway blinked as the face of her partner abruptly appeared in her view, looking down at her with a rather noncommittal expression.
"Yes, Kathryn," Seven told her not unkindly. "You must get up."
"Oh, god."
Seven sighed. "Do you want me to call the Doctor?"
Janeway debated for long minutes. "Do you think he would do anything for me?"
"You are the captain," Seven pointed out. "In addition, I do hold a certain influence with him."
A muscle in Janeway's jaw jumped briefly.
"If I have a treatment he refused everyone else, then it would be ... unacceptable," the captain said finally, with not a little dismay. "Besides, it's tradition to be required to suffer after a full-ship leave."
"Indeed," Seven said, in the sort of tone that let Janeway know how little the young woman thought of that convention.
"Sometimes, appearance is everything, Annika."
"Of course." Seven did not look convinced.
"Annika," Janeway whimpered. "I don't feel good."
Seven inhaled slowly. "What can I do?"
"I don't know." Janeway wondered if she possibly sounded as pathetic to her spouse as she did in her own ears.
Seven, predictably; "I shall research it."
Janeway felt the bed move as Seven rolled out of it, and she swallowed convulsively. She waited, trying to think of anything but how her stomach felt or how her head felt or how the room was yawing wildly about whenever she moved her eyes in even the slightest fashion.
When the Borg returned, she urged Janeway up into a sitting position, and presented her with a glass full of some reddish thick liquid.
"What is this?" Janeway croaked, looking at it warily.
Seven hesitated. "You do not want to know, Kathryn," she said with great sincerity.
The captain peered at her spouse narrowly, and it occurred to her that for the brutally honest Borg to dissemble like this meant that Janeway probably did not want to know. She finally nodded, and steeling herself, drank it, trusting implicitly that her partner would never do anything to hurt her. Though the stuff was possibly the most vile concoction she had ever tasted, Janeway managed to choke it down, and for some reason, keep it there even though it was a close thing for awhile. She was amazed however, when her nausea subsided almost immediately, as did did her headache and her dizziness.
"I think I'm hungry," she said, wonderingly.
Seven looked satisfied. "Acceptable. Prepare for your shift while I make breakfast."
Later, feeling considerably more like herself as she left the bedroom dressed in her uniform, Janeway sat down to the table and regarded the plate Seven had placed in front of her, piled high with scrambled eggs, back bacon, home fries and toast with butter. That pretty much took care of her required grease intake for the next year, she thought wryly, feeling her arteries slamming shut in anticipation, even though that sort of thing had actually been defeated medically, centuries earlier.  Certainly, it should be sufficient to cut through any alcohol remaining in her system. She scooped up a forkful of eggs gingerly, slowly chewing this first bite to determine if she was actually going to be able to eat after all. When nothing particularly bad happened, she took another, along with some toast, her appetite improving steadily, much to her surprise. 
While the captain was eating, Seven went into the bedroom and prepared for her own day, the first part of which would be spent in astrometrics before making her way to the bridge to assist in the liftoff. Janeway glanced around the room, absorbing the way it looked with the sun streaming in the windows, the way it actually seemed like a home on Earth, rather than the small living quarters on a starship it really was, imprinting it on her memory to take with her on those dark times in space. Jake was stretched out on his side in a patch of sunlight, obviously content not to move ever again. It occurred to Janeway that he would possibly miss the chance to go outside more than any of them.
She glanced up as Seven joined her, her breakfast a lot smaller and less dense than Janeway's; cereal and milk, along with a small glass of juice. But then, the Borg did not require replenishing the energy drained away by too much liquor and the two tiny little capsules that Janeway should never have accepted. Which led the captain to thoughts of the previous night, and what they had been discussing prior to the 'remedy' taking effect.
"Darling, about last night?" she said regretfully. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to finish our talk."
Seven shrugged minutely. "It is irrelevant."
"No," Janeway said, reaching over and capturing her partner's hand in her own, looking at her intently until Seven's pale blue eyes had met hers. "I hate that you're unhappy."
Seven squeezed the captain's fingers lightly. "I am not unhappy, Kathryn. Being with you is wonderful. We just have so much love for each other that at times, I simply wish for another to share in it. I know that one day, you and I shall expand our family unit and until then, I will be patient, and very happy to be able to share my life with you."
Janeway studied her closely. "Honestly?"
"Have I ever lied to you, Kathryn?" Seven asked curiously.
Janeway smiled wistfully. "Not to my knowledge, darling. I hope that you never feel the need."
Seven did not answer. Instead, she raised the captain's hand to her lips, kissing the palm gently.
Janeway smiled fondly, and returned to her meal, finishing it quickly now as she sensed time slipping away from her. She carried her empty plate over to the recycling unit, then dashed into the ensuite to clean her teeth before rejoining Seven in the living area. The Borg had just filled the silver thermos with coffee at the counter, and turned to hand it to her spouse.
"Have a good day, Kathryn."
Janeway wrapped her free arm around the Borg's neck, pulling the blonde head down as she kissed her soundly. "You too, my love. I'll see you at liftoff."
The bridge was unnaturally quiet when the captain entered, even though it had the full complement of alpha shift personnel. As Janeway trotted down the stairs and took her seat in the command chair, she glanced over at Chakotay. She firmed her jaw, sternly refusing to laugh when she saw how her first officer was sitting very carefully, almost as if he was afraid his head was about to drop off his neck and fall to the floor where it would promptly roll to where Tom Paris sat huddled at the helm, displaying the most distinctive shade of green Janeway had ever seen. At ops, Harry was half hunched over, as if trying to keep his intestines where they currently were, while B'Elanna manned the engineering station, her eyes lidded, her compact form boneless in her chair.  Apparently, her remedy did not work any better on her than it had the captain.  Ro Laren looked slightly better as she covered the science station, but the Bajoran's eyes seemed somewhat darker than normal, and her motion lacked the refined grace she normally displayed.  Only Tuvok maintained his natural demeanor at his tactical position.
"Good morning," Janeway said clearly ... and loudly.
Bloodshot eyes centered on her, and she was quite sure murder was being contemplated at the moment. She grinned faintly at Chakotay and quirked an eyebrow.
"I suspect the next leave will have to be staggered, rather than ship-wide."
"I think," he said slowly in a barely audible voice, "that's a good idea."
Maybe I should contact Seven and have her get up here with a supply of her hangover cure, Janeway thought idly. She decided instead, to wait until just before liftoff. If her bridge crew had not recovered most of their sensibilities by then, she would order the Doctor and Sek to do a run through engineering and the bridge to administer a medical solution. Yet, she didn't regret her decision to allow the full leave. If any crew needed and earned it, it was definitely Voyager's.
She flipped her monitor around and initiated the process required to take off, drawing in the data needed to once more get her ship back into its natural habitat, the clean vacuum of deep space.
"All hands," she said on the ship-wide communication band. "Secure stations for final stage of Condition Blue. Prepare to return to space."
 
Captain's Log: Kathryn Janeway recording 
Voyager has resumed course to the Alpha Quadrant and my crew is fully recovered from their leave. I am pleased to report that the productivity on many of the Operation Newborn projects has increased to the point where the week's setback has in fact, decreased to that of only a few days. Apparently, the period of rest & relaxation has more than paid for itself. The crew's morale is high, and I no longer sense the strain that preceded our temporary deviation from our routine.
There has been a certain amount of resentment from the crew directed to the Doctor for his lack of assistance on the day immediately following our celebration, but he seems unaffected by it. As he has said, it is not his place to deprive the crew of learning the hard lessons of life, and perhaps he is right. The next time, they ... and I ... shall be more circumspect about our tolerance for enjoying ourselves.
In truth, I do not think we will forget any of the things we've leaned here in the Delta Quadrant, regardless of how harsh, or how pleasant they turn out to be. From what we are taught, we grow both as individuals and as a crew, and so we shall continue to look forward to whatever lessons lie ahead.

The End

On to JB23