The patrons of the bar were completely oblivious of the fight that had taken place a few hours earlier. In truth, it was a fairly regular occurrence when ships were in port and no more attention was paid to it than when ships weren't in port. The barkeep merely swept up the shattered glass and replaced the broken furniture from the seemingly unending supply in the back room. The bar was open again in less than an hour as if nothing had happened and it did not take long to fill up again. At a dimly lit table, a young man in a Starfleet uniform sat hunched over his drink, staring gloomily at the stains marking the surface around his mug, looking for some sort of answer that could rarely be found from such things. 
Neelix inhaled deeply as he spotted him, and crossed the room, winding his way artfully through the crowd, careful not to jostle anyone's arm. He had been in countless similar dives in his life and he knew that tempers were generally on a knife edge in such a place. Depression hovered like a cloud over the rest of the patrons, staring blankly as if waiting for something, though if asked, they were unlikely to be able to explain what they were waiting for.
"Mr. Paris," Neelix offered when he reached the table. "May I join you?"
The fair-haired helmsman looked up, staring at him with a distant air as if not recognizing the Talaxian, taking in the tufts of yellowish hair framing spotted features that most resembled a Terran wart hog and golden eyes that regarded him worriedly.
"Sure," he said shortly, without much interest.
Neelix sat down and waited as the bartender approached.
"What'llyahave?"
"I don't suppose you have a Cirrellian Silver wine?" Neelix asked hopefully. A blank look was his only response and he sighed. "A mug of your house ale, please."
The bartender grunted and wandered away, no doubt in search for the requested drink. Neelix hoped that he would return sometime within the next hour, leery of displaying his money. He would gladly give it to any thief of course, knowing that it could be easily replicated, but he was also aware that sometimes thieves got a little carried away and acted out the threat before actually uttering it. Besides, old habits died hard and he didn't like to show what he carried unless he had to. 
Paris, by contrast, seemed to have lost any common sense that he might have acquired in the past about displaying wealth. He had piles of coins scattered all over the table, presumably to allow the bartender to pick them up at will whenever he returned with the next round. It made it tremendously easy for Paris to be shortchanged of course, but the Voyager crewmember seemed not to care.
Neelix saw the bartender approach with a tray and he dug his money out of the pouch at his waist, passing the alien two coins and receiving no change. As a member of Voyager, he shouldn't care. As a Talaxian trader who knew the value of a credit, he was outraged, but he wasn't about to start any trouble.
Paris laughed sardonically, reading the Talaxian's expression correctly as the bartender left. "It's only money."
"That doesn't mean I can't get upset at being overcharged." Neelix sipped at his ale, wincing at the faint trace of sour aftertaste to it.
"How are you enjoying your leave?" Tom asked. His tone was dull, more a show of politeness and to start a conversation than because he wanted to know.
"It's an ... interesting station," Neelix noted diplomatically.
"What, this?" Paris blinked, looking around. "It looks like every other station I've ever been in."
Neelix regarded him worriedly, aware that he and Paris had never been the best of friends. In fact, a good part of their early interaction was tinged with jealousy on the Talaxian's part, afraid that the helmsman held a certain romantic interest in Neelix's paramour at the time, the Ocampa, Kes. As it turned out, Kes and Neelix had drifted apart, then she evolved into a higher plane of existence, leaving Voyager. Paris, in the meantime, began a relationship with B'Elanna Torres. When the chief engineer, along with Seven and Chakotay, was transported to the Alpha Quadrant, the crew had believed them dead. Paris had mourned, moved on, and found solace in the arms of another ... all in the space of three months. B'Elanna never forgave him for it and their relationship terminated, even though the young man had done his best to mend the rift between them. That had been some time ago and the Talaxian had grown to at least, respect the helmsman.
"You look so unhappy, Tom," Neelix offered. "Can I do anything to help?"
"Ah, Voyager's morale officer," Tom noted sarcastically. A lock of fair hair fell over his forehead boyishly but his blue eyes were bleary, and his face sagged. For an instant, Neelix was able to see into the future, to what the man would look like several decades hence ... and it wasn't appealing. "Aren't you off duty?"
"That doesn't mean that I can't offer help to a friend when I see him in distress."
"Are we friends?"
"I've always thought so," Neelix answered honestly. "At least, once we got to know each other." He folded his hands in front of him and granted the helmsman his full attention. "What's wrong, Tom?"
Paris grunted. "A better question is what's right?" He took a gulp from his glass, the smoky liquid a faint blue in the dim illumination. His eyes grew distant, as if looking back at other times ... better ones. "I suppose you've heard the latest?"
"Regarding?"
"Our chief engineer," Tom said, bitterness weaving through his tone. "And Tuvok's assistant."
Neelix had heard about Lt. Torres and Lt. Ro, but so many rumors circulated in the lower decks of Voyager, it was hard to sift through what was true and what was mere speculation.
"I understand that B'Elanna and Laren are friends."
"Friends. Yeah, friends." There was a curl to his lip, half sneer, half rueful despair. "We used to be friends, B'Elanna and me. Now she can't stand the sight of me."
Neelix handled that one with care, adopting a tone of complete objectivity. "Old news. People move on."
Tom nodded bleakly. "I don't get it, Neelix. For six years, no one even acknowledged the woman existed until she finally reveals she's actually Lt. Ro Laren of the USS Enterprise. The next thing I know, she's moving in on B'Elanna, she's becoming buddies with the captain, she pulling helm duty... The woman is just flat out replacing me, Neelix." This last was said in a sort of wonder, the bewildered cry of a child who doesn't quite understand what was going on but knowing it hurts desperately.
"You aren't giving yourself enough credit, Tom," Neelix said, a touch anxiously. This was worst than he had thought. Tom hadn't just had his pride damaged, he was actually losing his self confidence. "You're still the best pilot on the ship ... maybe even in the quadrant." As the confused gaze focused on him, Neelix presented his most sincere expression. "You're certainly the best I've ever seen in my experience. Who else could have pulled off the triple tactic we used to defeat those robot cruisers?"
Tom shook his head miserably. "Ro ran the simulations in the holodeck. That's why they even tried it in the first place."
"But who did Janeway have at the helm to carry them out for real?" Neelix pointed out intently. "There's no one else she would have trusted for that series of maneuvers. Yes, Ro is being groomed as your backup, Tom. The captain has to create backups for the key positions on the ship wherever she can, but you're still the man she goes to, to guide the ship. Everyone knows that. In fact," Neelix added with a certain amount of inspiration, "why do you think those three tactics performed in sequence is now being called the Paris Gambit?"
Tom blinked. "It is?" he responded in total astonishment.
"Everyone's calling it that," Neelix said, embellishing freely now. "I understood that it is a Human custom to name such a tactic after the first person who performs it successfully."
In truth, he had never heard anyone call the desperate actions Voyager had been required to undergo in order to escape destruction from the weapons of three unmanned, computer controlled vessels as anything but 'insane' or 'suicidal'. But he also knew that all it would take was one person to start the ball rolling and he had every intention of being that person. He promised himself that he would start referring to the whole incident as the Paris Gambit as soon as possible.
Besides, Paris was looking quite differently than he had when Neelix had entered the bar. The Talaxian chalked that one up on the positive side of the morale ledger.
"Well, hell," Tom said, after a moment. "That deserves a drink." He signaled for another round and the bartender scurried over, knowing a good customer when he saw it, bearing another round of the same, even though Neelix was not even half done with his first. The proprietor deposited the drinks and scooped the coins off the table, hurrying away as if afraid the Starfleet officer would suddenly start counting his change.
Tom raised his glass and Neelix hastened to do the same.
"To the Paris Gambit," the Talaxian said boldly.
"To the damned fine ship that let me pull it off."
"To Voyager," they declared together.
They both swallowed, Neelix managing not to gag on the inferior liquor and their mugs hit the table at the same time with a muffled thud. Tom smiled and Neelix burped.
"You know, you're right, Neelix," Tom said, a lot more genial now. "B'Elanna and I would never have worked out. We're just two totally different people. In fact, I'm glad someone else has to be the one to deal with all that Klingon temper. I hope Ro and her are real happy together."
Having been witness to a couple of the arguments the two women had shared in the messhall, Neelix had his doubts but certainly, stranger things had happened. Look at the captain and the ship's resident Borg, for example. No one would have imagined that relationship in the beginning ... including Janeway and Seven of Nine.
A couple of rounds later, both men were a great deal more relaxed but the bar was becoming more and more crowded as the evening wore on, the noise growing more pervasive. The Talaxian knew that the odds of possible trouble developing had increased considerably.
"I think I'll head back to the ship." He blinked owlishly at Tom. "Walk me back?"
Tom hesitated, then shrugged. "It's not like this place is worth spending that much time in."
They got to their feet uncertainly, Tom leaving the remaining coins on the table as a tip, which the bartender was quick to pounce on before any of the other patrons decided to use them for their own tab. In return, the burly alien cleared a path for the Voyager crewmembers to the door which Neelix appreciated. Neither of the men were too steady at this point and some of the lifeforms did not look like they'd move voluntarily at a politely worded invitation.
They staggered out onto the promenade that was thronged with people out for an evening's entertainment. Neelix took one look at this and ducked into the nearest access corridor, the route taking them out to the docking section. Even though it was still quite some distance to the service section where Voyager was being overhauled, there was much less traffic here and the two men were able to stroll in relative comfort through the loading bays. Neelix had fallen into a sort of sleepy contentment, concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other. It took several strides before he realized that Tom was no longer walking with him and he bumbled to a stop, turning back.
Paris was standing at a loading platform, staring at the large viewport that looked out onto the rest of the ship which was docked to this particular port. His face had gone absolutely white and Neelix wondered if the young man was pausing in order to be sick.
"Tom?"
Violently, Tom gestured at him to be quiet and he faded back into the shadows as Neelix stumbled back to join him, confused, but still aware enough to know something was up. As he moved closer, he realized that suddenly, Tom was completely and coldly sober, staring at the viewport with cold eyes and a face set in stone.
"It's one of those ships," the helmsman said.
"What ships?" Neelix asked, baffled.
"Just like the ones that attacked us," Paris muttered, his eyes darting about. "Don't you recognize the configuration?" 
Neelix blinked. "I never actually saw them. At least, not before they were in pieces. I was in engineering the entire time. Are you sure?"
"I don't forget a ship I've helped blow up," Tom remarked grimly. "The question is, what's one of them doing here?"
Neelix frowned. "Maybe this station is controlling them? They are robot ships, aren't they?"
"Maybe," Tom agreed. He swallowed. "We need to tell the captain."
Neelix nodded but before he could add anything else, from the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a motion. Startled, he turned and an energy beam struck him in the chest, setting every one of his nerve endings on fire. Odd lifeforms approached, looking like thin streaks of charcoal dressed in ruby uniforms the color of Human blood. One stood over him as the Talaxian lay on the deck, twitching while Paris shuddered uncontrollably a few feet away, also a victim of the nerve beam.
Neelix tried to focus his gaze, staring up to see yellow eyes glowing eerily in the smudged features, then the being raised its arm, having reversed the weapon so that it could bring the butt down onto the Talaxian's head.
And Neelix knew nothing more.
 
Janeway sat in bed, knees drawn up, her eyes sweeping across the snowy page of her book, but the words did not stick with her, the meaning of them darting away with her unable to connect them together to form coherent sentences. She finally gave up, sighing as she leaned back against the pillows while her book splayed on her stomach, her head falling back as she fixated on the ceiling. She had disdained a shower for a nice long bath, soaking for a good half hour before retiring here to the bedroom, but it really hadn't cured her restlessness. Out in the living area, she could still hear Seven moving around, no doubt finishing up some tasks that had slid while she had been covering engineering the past week or so. 
It occurred to Janeway that the only person who might possibly work harder than the captain on the ship was Seven herself. And at the moment, Janeway didn't think that was such a good thing. When did the work stop and the living begin? Or were their lives always going to be nothing more than duty and responsibility? When would they be able to live for themselves?
Janeway had to answer her own question with the possible answer of 'never'. Because if they didn't find a way back home, if Voyager was required to take the entire 23 years to travel the remaining distance to the Alpha Quadrant, then it would probably be too late for Janeway to bear children. And no matter what angle she tried it from, Janeway and Seven were the one couple on the ship who couldn't afford to divert their attention. At least, the captain couldn't. It was hard enough to balance command and a spouse, with Seven doing her very best to help. Children lacked that adult adaptability. They could not understand being neglected for the sake of the ship, did not appreciate that mommy was also needed by 150 other people, would never comprehend being pushed aside for the sake of something greater.
Janeway knew that without question. Because, forty years after the fact, there was still a part of her that ached profoundly, unable to fully accept that Starfleet had been more important to her father than his wife and children. There was no way Kathryn would allow a child of hers to be hurt in the same way.
She swallowed hard, her eyes stinging as she wished with all her heart that she could find a way around this, if not for herself, then for the woman she loved. Because Seven did want children. Janeway saw that every time the Borg interacted with Naomi or when she witnessed the light in the Borg's pale eyes when she spoke of the new additions arriving every day on the ship.
Janeway blinked back the tears as she heard Seven enter the bedroom, raising her head. The Borg glanced at her in passing on her way to the ensuite and hesitated, turning around to take a second, longer look. Then, without saying anything else, Seven reversed her course, moving to the captain's side of the bed, perching on the edge and gathering Janeway up in her arms, book and all.
"Oh, Annika," Janeway whispered, pressing her cheek against Seven's as she wrapped her arms around her partner's neck. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for today, I'm sorry for disappointing you ... I'm just so damned sorry for everything."
Seven hugged her tight, stroking the captain's hair soothingly.
"It is all right, Kathryn. Please, let go of this. If not for yourself, then please, let go of it for me."
If only she could, she thought. "Oh, god, hold me."
"I will, Kathryn," Seven promised intently. "I always shall." 

The Borg held the captain, sheltering her in the warm comfort of her strong arms. It was all Janeway could do not to break down and cry and it took a while before she had composed herself.

"Why do I have to do everything the hard way?"
Seven drew back, looking down into Janeway's eyes.
"It is your nature, Kathryn, no more and no less. You do not truly feel an accomplishment is worthy unless it was difficult to win ... even if you must create the difficulty yourself."
"The rocky road," Janeway agreed ruefully. "Dad always said I wasn't happy unless I was taking that one instead of the easy path."
"I believe he was correct." The Borg kissed her tenderly. "It is part of who you are, Kathryn, and we both must adapt to it."
"Was this what you married me for?" Janeway asked whimsically.
Seven tightened her embrace. "I married you because I love you with all that I am. Because I would rather be with you in the most difficult of times than be without you in the easiest."
"I don't deserve you," the captain whispered.
"Of course you do," Seven remarked in a no-nonsense tone. "You and I are the most suitable match there is on this vessel. Do not underestimate that."
Janeway smiled. "I'll try not to."
"I must shower and prepare for bed," Seven said then, searching her face. "I will be back shortly."
"I'll be waiting," Janeway promised as she released her after one more hug.
The captain lay back against the pillows, bringing the illumination down with a softly uttered command, knowing that Seven could navigate quite nicely without it. A multicolored glow from the docking lights of the station came in through the viewport above the bed and Janeway linked her hands behind her head, contemplating the odd shadows it created on the ceiling.
She glanced over as Seven entered the room, devoid of clothing, the remaining implants the Borg boasted, shimmering silver in the night. The young woman's body was supple though Janeway thought perhaps that Seven looked somewhat more lean than she should ... not surprising since they had all been stretched rather thin lately. As the Borg slipped under the covers next to Janeway, stretching out on her back on her side of the bed, the captain made a mental note to see that her partner increased her dietary intake.
She reached out with her hand, entwining her fingers with Seven's, connecting physically to the woman she adored and felt herself finally relax. Inhaling slowly, she felt love and tenderness for the young woman flood her being, filling her with strength and hope for the future.
She forced herself to acknowledge that Voyager was only an hour or so away from being back to 100%, including the completion of all the necessary renovations to transform the ship into a generational vessel. Six of the babies had been born, all healthy, all bringing joy and delight to their parents. The crew, despite the lack of classier amenities, had found Balleyport Station to be the sort of rough and rugged frontier atmosphere that put a cockiness in their stride, and a jaunty air to their attitude after returning from their leaves. Perhaps it was time to let go of the past. Voyager was about to start a new existence. It was time she started anew, as well.
She inched closer to Seven who obligingly inched closer in return. Now their sides were pressed together and Janeway could feel the long length of her partner warm against her. Seven's thumb gently rubbed the back of her hand, circling softly, the metal cool, yet pleasant on her skin. To her surprise, she discovered that just this light touch from Seven was arousing her. Her nipples hardened beneath the thin sheet resting over them, abruptly sensitive to the linens.
"You're incredible," she said softly.
A pause.
"Thank you," Seven responded politely.
Janeway laughed, low and husky.
"You're welcome."
Seven's thumb trailed down to Janeway's wrist, curling inside to stroke the pulse point lightly, stepping up the caress with the corresponding increase of the captain's heart. Janeway could not get over how electric the Borg's touch was, how easily Seven could make her tingle with anticipation and desire. She wondered if she provided the same thing for Seven, if the young woman ever found herself on duty, doing something mundane and tedious, and her thoughts would turn to her partner and making love? Janeway remembered all the times when she had been sitting on the bridge or in her ready room during a quiet moment ... or even a not so quiet moment ... and suddenly, she could almost taste her partner's essense lingering in her mouth, smell the Borg's fragrance as if she were standing right behind her, feel the touch of her body against her own. It could almost be frightening in its intensity, in how easily it could distract the captain from the matter at hand.
It was exhilarating though, Janeway thought, sighing slowly as Seven rose onto her side, bringing her right hand over to trail lightly over Janeway's stomach, her fingertips tracing around her navel sensuously, stopping just short of tickling her. Such moments made life far more precious, immediate ... and certainly more invigorating.
"Kathryn," Seven murmured, her lips close to the captain's ear.
"Yes, darling?"
"May I touch you?"
'Mmm, I thought you were already touching me, my love," Janeway smiled, bringing her hand up to run her knuckles along the Borg's jaw, feeling the full lips brush over her cheek. 
"I wish to touch you further," Seven admitted, her fingers trailing lightly in the warm valley between the captain's breasts, circling around them carefully as if afraid to touch them, though Janeway knew better. The gentle caress was delightful and the captain shifted, wanting more.
"I want you to touch me further," Janeway whispered, snuggling a bit closer. "My sweetness, I want you to touch me all over for the rest of my life."
"You call me so many 'pet names'," Seven noted quietly, kissing softly along the line of the captain's throat as she eased over on top of the smaller woman, supporting much of her weight on elbows and knees but still pressing down pleasantly on Janeway's body.
"I do," Janeway agreed softly as she slid her arms around Seven's neck, tangling her hands luxuriously in the blonde hair, running her fingers through it. "Do you mind?"
"No, they make me feel special," Seven told her. "Should I develop one for you?"
Janeway chuckled huskily. "I think how you say my name is special. It sends chills up my spine."
"Kathryn," Seven said obligingly, the emotion wrapping around it like the glow of a hearth after coming in from a winter's night, and Janeway shivered from the sheer sensation of it. "My Kathryn."
"All yours," Janeway whispered. "Forever."
"Darling," Seven tried experimentally, kissing her gently.
Janeway smiled. "That's nice," she murmured. "I like how you say that."
"Sweetheart."
"That's good, too."
"Baby."
Janeway wrinkled her nose. "No, I don't think so."
"Love muffin."
"Oh, no!" Janeway was firm with her denial.
"Kitten?" Then almost immediately, Seven corrected herself. "No, that term is insufficient. Tigress, perhaps?"
Janeway growled and nipped at the Borg's nose.
Seven smiled faintly. "So few apply to your personality. Is that why you limit yourself to only a set number of appellations for me?"
Janeway pursed her lips. "I never really thought about it."
"I shall contemplate pet names for you, until I arrive at one which is suitable."
"You do that," the captain responded with humor.
Seven's nose brushed over Janeway's as her face remained close, her breath flowing over the captain's lips, warm and fresh, and Kathryn raised her head slightly, capturing the full lips, kissing her spouse with just a hint of passion.
"I do adore you, Annika," she whispered against those lips.
"I love you, my Kathryn," Seven replied, kissing her again. "I always will."
Another kiss, warm touches, sweet exchanges of the most gentle sort.
"I could do this all night."
"And have," Seven noted.
"And will again."
They both smiled and kissed again as Seven settled a little closer onto the captain, her weight still not oppressive to Janeway. Rather, it was comforting, protective, making Janeway feel secure beneath this slender, warm body. Janeway ran her hands gently down the sinuous back, fingertips tracing the dual implants set at the base of the spine, then over until they were resting on the Borg's hips, stroking the point of bones lightly, then along the hollows of the woman's trim buttocks.
"Annika?"
"Yes, Kathryn?"
"Make love to me?"
"Immediately, Kathryn. My beautiful, beloved Kathryn."
 
B'Elanna Torres felt weariness tug at her as she stepped off the turbolift on deck nine, but there was satisfaction as well. The last of the repairs were finished, the final renovations were done and Voyager had been detached from the umbilicalus supplying her power and atmosphere. The work crews from the station had disembarked ... not before insulting at least three members of Voyager's engineering team profoundly with several lewd suggestions ... and once again, the vessel was powered up, ready to launch herself into the beckoning reaches of space where she belonged. Her energy levels stood at one hundred percent, her cargo bays fully stocked with supplies and her transformation to a generational ship complete. And finally, her chief engineer, who had fretted and cursed and demanded and howled during the entire process could take her moment to rest. 
She blinked as she saw a form next to her door, the slender woman sitting on the deck, her back against the hull, arms wrapped around her drawn up knees.
"Laren?"
Ro Laren jerked slightly, as if she had been dozing and gracefully got to her feet, uncoiling her tall frame like a cobra rising to strike. It sent a chill of delight through the Klingon.
"Hello," the Bajoran said quietly, blinking in the lights of the corridor which were lowered to half, indicating night watch.
"Were you waiting for me?"
"Yes," Ro said. "I was hoping I could ... well, spend some time with you."
"That would be great," B'Elanna said, just as if she wasn't about to fall over with exhaustion. Her adrenal glands did their best to compensate, sending a flood of hormones and natural stimulants through her body. "Come on in."
She keyed the entrance to her quarters, Ro following as she went inside. The engineer unfastened her tunic, slipping it off her shoulders and tossing it onto the bed.
"Can I get you something?"
"No, thanks," Ro said softly.
B'Elanna eyed her curiously. The Bajoran looked just as tired as the Klingon had felt.
"Bad day?"
"Don't even ask," Ro said ruefully.
B'Elanna grinned wryly. "Well, have a seat, relax a little. I'm going to change."
As Ro found a chair next to the table, B'Elanna went into the ensuite, trying not to skip. She showered quickly, using the sonic setting, then looked over her somewhat limited supply of perfume before choosing one to apply to her pulse points. She selected a nightgown and drew a robe on over that. The robe was very sensible, terrycloth, fluffy and pink, reaching down to her ankles. The nightgown was short and wickedly black, softly silken against her skin.
B'Elanna figured she had it covered no matter how the rest of the evening developed though the butterflies that were flailing around in the pit of her stomach told her exactly how she wanted it to go.
She took a breath and straightened her shoulders, returning to the outer room. Ro was sitting quietly at the table, her elbows resting on it, her dark eyes distant as she played idly with a small statuette B'Elanna had picked up on a planet lightyears back. The Bajoran's shoulders were slumped, head bent and B'Elanna had to resist the urge to reach out and stroke the back of her neck as she passed. Instead, she took a seat opposite Ro and regarded her expectantly.
"You want to tell me about it?"
A faint smile ghosted over the woman's face. "There's ... nothing to tell."
B'Elanna tilted her head slightly. "No?" she prodded ever so gently.
"Perhaps a better statement would be that there is nothing I can tell."
"I can be discrete." Ro's dark eyes fixed on B'Elanna's with blatant disbelief and she blushed. "Honestly, I can."
Ro shook her head. "Sorry, B'Elanna," she said with sincere regret. "I'd tell you if I could but it's a security matter."
B'Elanna shrugged. "Okay. Is there anything you can tell me that might make you feel better for sharing?"
Ro inhaled slowly, looking thoughtful. "I had the opportunity to speak to the captain about ... well, about the things that were bothering me."
B'Elanna looked interested. "Really? Did it help?"
Ro nodded. "A little. She couldn't really say or do anything that would absolve me of anything, of course, but at least, I think we know where we stand with one another." She smiled gently at the Klingon. " You were right. Thank you."
B'Elanna wasn't sure how she should take that one, or even if she should pursue it. She supposed it was enough that the other woman did seem more relaxed when speaking of the guilt that remained after having betrayed the trust of her previous captain. She folded her hands on the table in front of her.
"I'm glad." Her eyes met Ro's and for long moments, they sat staring at one another. "I guess ... that makes things easier for you to be on the bridge now." It wasn't what she wanted to say, but it was the only thing she could think of to break this sudden, electrified silence between them.
"Probably," Ro agreed faintly. "Or when we go to lunch with Seven, and the captain happens to be there."
"She really likes you, you know."
"Seven?"
"Yeah, her too, but I meant the captain." The engineer knew she was babbling a bit at this point but as long as she was, she wouldn't suddenly leap across the table onto the unsuspecting Bajoran. "She teases you and she only teases people she likes."
"I didn't know that."
B'Elanna swallowed hard and with an effort, forced herself to continue.
"Would you like to play some chess?"
To B'Elanna's surprise, she and Ro had found a mutual pleasure in playing Three-D Chess, a game which seemed uncharacteristic of the personalities of either woman, yet presented an interesting challenge for them both. Ro's game was tactically precise, always plotted several moves ahead while B'Elanna tended to play at breakneck speed, intent on causing as much damage as she could to her opponent in the hopes that sheer attrition would win the game. Sometimes, much to Ro's chagrin and B'Elanna's glee, it did.
Ro dipped her head, looking at B'Elanna from beneath her lids.
"Actually," the Bajoran said, her voice suddenly low and silky. "I would like very much to kiss you right now."
Startled, shocked, B'Elanna felt a twinge around where her secondary heart rested quiescent in her chest. Her primary one was pounding so hard, she was afraid it would thrash its way out of her chest.
"All right." How she managed that casual tone in that moment, was something that would forever remain a mystery to her.
She rested her palms on the table, the surface smooth and cool beneath them as Ro go up and came around the table. Carefully, Ro leaned down and covered B'Elanna's mouth, her lips warm and questioning against the Klingon's.
B'Elanna resisted for as long as she could, not sure why other than the fact that she was still hesitant about scaring the woman away. Then her lips parted and she kissed the Bajoran back greedily. To her gratification, Ro did not pull away. Instead, she reached down to B'Elanna's shoulders, gripping them, urging her up out of the chair. The engineer was quick to accede to this slight encouragement, standing up to be enfolded into the Bajoran's arms, their lips never losing contact. B'Elanna wrapped her arms around Ro's waist, fitting her body against the uniform clad woman as tightly as she could. Unbidden, a growl rose from her throat and she forced it back with an effort. 
Ro finally broke away, breathing harshly as she rested her forehead against the proud, Klingon ridges of B'Elanna's brow.
"I don't know if this is the right time or place, but  I want to be with you tonight."
B'Elanna smiled, feeling desire flash hot and thick along her nerve endings.
"We'll make it the right time and place."
Ro looked at her, and abruptly kissed her again, covering the Klingon's mouth demandingly, passionately. B'Elanna did growl this time, turning it into a moan and she wormed her hands between them, working at the fastenings of the Bajoran's tunic until she was able to peel it over the woman's shoulders, the jacket dropping to the floor where they kicked it away. Ro's body was warm through the thin layer of sweater and the Klingon tugged at the garment where it was tucked into the waistband, freeing it so that she could run her hands underneath to the soft skin of the Bajoran's torso.
"Oh, yes," Ro groaned, tilting her head back as B'Elanna kissed and nipped along the line of her throat, finding the soft skin at the base where the Klingon pressed her lips over the pulse point there, feeling an echoing throb inside her, building with each flutter beneath her mouth.
The Bajoran pushed B'Elanna away slightly and the Klingon resisted briefly until she understood that Ro was attempting to untie the cord holding the engineer's robe. Then she helped, fingers fumbling at the knot until she finally snarled and ripped it apart, quickly shedding it and slipping out of the robe.
"Stop," Ro demanded and confused, B'Elanna did so, freezing before her.
The woman's eyes were dark, hot as she raked the Klingon up and down with a burning gaze.
"Very nice," she complimented, and B'Elanna was so glad she had chosen the nightgown she had.
Ro pulled her sweater off over her head, strands of her dark hair flying awry as static electrified them and B'Elanna found it difficult to breath as the woman's muscled shoulders, stomach and chest were revealed. Ro was still clad in the Starfleet issued bra and in the center of each mound, two hard little knots had appeared, poking proudly through the thin material. B'Elanna groaned and reached out to the Bajoran, crushing Ro against her as she sought out the lips that were also seeking out hers. Ro's hands were firm on the Klingon, not hesitating as she caressed her through the silken nightie and B'Elanna did not know how she could survive this. She could not remember wanting anyone so much as she wanted Ro Laren this moment.
She unhooked the woman's bra, pulling it off and forced herself to take a few seconds to appreciate the woman's small, yet wonderfully shaped breasts. She was startled as she realized that there were ridges of some sort that rippled up from the brown circle of each pinkish areola for about five centimeters, looking vaguely like the ridges on the bridge of Ro's nose only without the two off-shooting bone spurs. Intrigued, the Klingon carefully reached out and stroked them, discovering they were flesh and not cartilage, bumping her fingertips over them before following the tapered path to circle each hard nipple.
Ro made a sound, deep in her throat. "That feels so good."
Encouraged, B'Elanna bent forward and traced the short ridges with her tongue, discovering they were as sensitive as the velvet soft skin at the tips of the woman's breasts and she was reminded that Ro was not Klingon or even Human, that her physiology would be different. So far, the differences were wonderful.
Ro tangled her hands in the Klingon woman's hair, pulling B'Elanna's face tighter to her body and she gasped as the engineer gently raked her teeth over the sensitive skin, careful not to break it.
"It's been so long," Ro moaned.
B'Elanna suddenly felt most of her trepidation leave her. Seven was absolutely right, she thought dizzily. Making love with Laren would be perfect. She lifted her face and smiled gently at Ro who smiled tentatively back, not sure what had happened to suddenly take the knife edge off the Klingon's desire, but aware somehow that it was not particularly bad, her eyes growing gentle in the dim light.
Lovingly, B'Elanna drew the woman close and kissed her, sweet and slow, deeply and devotedly, her hands moving tenderly over the woman's back, slipping her hands beneath the waistband of Ro's pants to cup her buttocks. She breathed deep as a certain, intoxicating musk reached her nostrils, and knew she had succeeded in fully arousing the other woman. She could feel Ro's sensitive hands move over her body, finding the pronounced bone ridge that made up her spine, the knobs terminating at two spurs at the bottom, the Bajoran's fingers digging in firmly to rub the muscle around them.
B'Elanna gasped and knew that the Bajoran must have done a little preliminary research herself. Few non-Klingons knew how to massage that particular area to cause that type of stimulation. In fact, not all Klingons knew how to do it ... especially in the way it was stimulating B'Elanna. Another growl rose hard and deep in her throat.
Then all hell broke loose.
"Yellow alert, all hands, prepare for immediate departure." Chakotay's voice came over the comm badges, Ro's on the floor, still attached to her tunic and B'Elanna's which she had laid on the table, along with her Maquis insignia, prior to entering the ensuite earlier in the evening. "All command staff, assemble in conference room one. Lieutenants Ashmore and Ro to the bridge."
There was a list of other names required to go to certain other areas of the ship where they were not normally posted, but it was lost in the string of Klingon oaths that burst from B'Elanna's lips. The curses were not necessarily in keeping with the image of a Starfleet chief engineer but they were matched quite nicely by the more lyrical tirade the Bajoran was uttering. Ro snatched up her sweater and tunic hastily as B'Elanna dashed for the replicator, keying in the uniform replacement command and stripping off her nightgown in a rush. It was not exactly how B'Elanna had wanted to first display her naked form in front of the other woman but chances were, Ro was fully occupied with getting her sweater back down over her head and yanking on her tunic and thus, not even looking.
B'Elanna felt like weeping as she grabbed the neatly pressed uniform, complete with undergarments that had materialized on the shelf. Trying hard not to think about what she was being deprived of, she pulled it on, wondering where the hell she had left her boots. Ro paused on her way out the door to hand them to her.
"Another time," she promised and kissed B'Elanna quickly, her lips bittersweet on the Klingon's.
Then the Bajoran darted through the exit and biting off a final, bitter curse, B'Elanna followed her, catching up to her at the turbolift which silently carried them up to deck one, neither having or wanting the ability to speak at the moment.
Both of them wondering why all the gods and prophets seemed against them.
 
Epilogue

 
Seven watched grimly as the conference room viewscreen displayed a recording of what had happened dockside with Paris and Neelix, the station's holo-imagers picking it all up though, until the shift change had gone over it, no one realized there had been a crime committed. She glanced over at the captain who was sitting at the head of the table. Janeway's face was like stone, her eyes, twin chips of solid granite. Obviously, the captain had recognized the species who had attacked and captured the Voyager crewmembers. And though they were not any species that the Collective had ever assimilated, Seven had dealt with them harshly in a Barellan prison months earlier.
Now it seemed, they were actually behind the previous attack on Voyager.
"They're called the Spurnge," Stationmaster Twimm said, his face suddenly appearing as the station log completed the scenario showing the aliens scooping up Paris and Neelix, bearing them to their ship and requesting an immediate launch. "Believe me, if we had know of their activities or that there was bad blood between you all, we would have kept a live monitor on both your vessels rather than just an automated one."
"We described the attack we experienced," Janeway said coldly.
"You said those were computer-controlled vessels," Twimm responded defensively. "I told you I didn't know anything about that. The Spurnge don't use robot ships. You might not be able to pick up their lifesigns with traditional sensors, but they still man their vessels ... sort of."
"Explain," Seven said then, intrigued.
"Their operators are integrated with their ships ... sort of a direct mind-to-machine link. They're nasty business, Voyager. Chances are, they're heading back to their sector of space with their trophies and it's complete suicide to go after them. You'd better chalk this one up as a bad deal, all around."
"I can't," Janeway said flatly. "They have members of my crew and I intend to get them back."
"Your funeral," Twimm said with a regretful shrug. "We've downloaded all the library files we have on the Spurnge, finished all the fee transfers and now Voyager is clear for immediate departure."
"Thank you," Janeway said, then hesitated, softening. "You've treated us fairly and honestly, Stationmaster Twimm. That's about all we can ask out here in the Delta Quadrant. Continued success to you."
"And to you, Kathryn Janeway, though I doubt that's what you'll have, going after the Spurnge in their own space. We probably won't be crossing paths ever again."
The viewscreen went blank and Janeway regarded her senior staff gravely. There were two empty chairs, conspicuous in lieu of the absent crewmembers who normally sat in them.
"Commander Chakotay, inform Lt. Ro that she'll be covering the helm until further notice," the captain said firmly. "Lt. Torres, Lt. Nicoletti will be returned to engineering to fill the void Neelix has left." She paused, looking at each senior officer in the eyes, making contact with them, solidifying the bond they all felt. "We'll get Tom and Neelix back. You can count on it. Prepare for immediate pursuit of the Spurnge vessel. Let's do it, people." 
The command staff quickly got to their feet and headed for the door. As they did, Seven was surprised to hear a muttered comment from B'Elanna that would forever puzzle her.
"I just knew Paris was responsible for this somehow."

​

The End

On to JB26