Lt. Ro Laren grunted as she lowered herself to a crouch, then lifted upward smoothly with an exhalation of breath, the weight bar heavy on her shoulders. Dressed in a pair of skintight shorts cut off at mid-thigh and an abbreviated top that left her arms, shoulders and midriff bare, her skin glistened in the bright light, perspiration darkening her garments. Around her in the gym, a few other members of the crew were also working out, but for the most part, the large room was relatively empty. That was how the Bajoran liked it. She didn't have to worry about keeping an eye on anyone and no one kept an eye on her. Of course, now that the secret of her identity was out, it really wasn't necessary that she disguise the fact that she used Starfleet methods to work out with, but old habits died hard. 
Lately though, she mused as she lowered the bar and stretched out on the nearby weight bench, grasping the bar above her head, I don't work out to try to keep my mind off being lost in the Delta Quadrant and my secret. Now I work out to try to keep my mind off B'Elanna.
Not that thinking about the dark-haired, feisty chief engineer was unpleasant in any way ... quite the opposite, in fact ... but thanks to a spat of interruptions and demands of duty, it was also becoming exceedingly frustrating. Ro consoled herself with the promise that, with any luck, it would be resolved soon. If she was just trying to occupy herself on her day off until B'Elanna was finished with her shift, then that was only to be expected.
Ro wasn't entirely sure what would happen this upcoming evening, but she expected that it would be a hell of a lot more fulfilling than returning to her empty bunk every night as she had done for so long.
She blew a limp strand of dark hair off her damp forehead and pulled down on the bar, working on her upper body strength. She wondered if the Klingon appreciated a well muscled body, then decided that she must, because B'Elanna had one of the finest toned bodies Ro had ever seen ... or touched ... though granted, those glimpses and touches had been fleeting and continually interrupted by one thing or another. The thought of that body sent a chill of desire and anticipation through her and with an effort, she drew her mind back to the matter at hand, knowing that the gym was not the place to let her thoughts wander.
That would be perfect, she noted with chill amusement. Pull a muscle or two and be unable to do anything at all should the opportunity arise. That would be just the thing the two women needed to get their physical relationship off to a good start.
She breathed slowly, forced to correct herself as she continued her work out. She knew that this was not going to be merely a physical relationship between the two of them. It was going to be an deeply intimate one and she had to admit it frightened her to a certain extent. That was something she didn't like to acknowledge too often ... that she could be frightened by anything, particularly after growing up in a Cardassian interment camp on her home planet of Bajor that had been occupied by the brutal and vicious invaders. She had faced all sorts of deprivation in the early part of her life, had seen her mother die of hunger, and had watched her father tortured to death for sport right before her eyes. The Cardassians thrived on fear, and so, she learned not to show it early on in her life.
But this, she allowed reluctantly, actually scared her. The Cardassians could only brutalize her, attempt to break her body and spirit. B'Elanna, at this point, with only the slightest of effort, could totally break her heart.
Ro wondered if the Klingon knew it.
"Lt. Ro."
Ro almost dropped the bar across her throat and barely managed to ease it back onto the hooks. She had been so involved with her thoughts that she hadn't even noticed the approach of the slender dark-skinned Vulcan now standing over her ... not a good display from a security officer who was under Lt. Commander Tuvok's direct supervision.
"Sir," she said, sitting up. She reached out for a nearby towel and mopped off her brow, draping the towel around her neck. "Did you want me for something?"
Tuvok raised an eyebrow slightly. "Actually, Lieutenant, I noticed that you were working out. Are you off duty?"
Ro didn't frown, but she wanted to. That she was working out was obvious and if she was working out, then it was also obvious was that she was off duty. Stating the obvious was not the sort of thing a Vulcan would do. Particularly this Vulcan whom she had come to know and respect greatly over the years. He was the only person on the ship who had known her true identity from the beginning and kept that confidence for six years.  She wondered what was going on with him.
"Yes," she said, for lack of anything more intelligent to say.
"I do not wish to interrupt, but I am in need of conditioning in the art of T'kai and I require a partner."
Ro raised an eyebrow. T'kai was a Vulcan martial art, rarely practiced but one she was familiar with. In fact, Tuvok had taught her the practice not long after Voyager had been lost in the Delta Quadrant, providing the isolated woman with her only real socialization and recreation for the first couple of years. It might have saved her sanity and though it had been some time since she had jousted with the security chief ... as time went by, she had developed other acquaintances and alliances devoid of any Starfleet connection ... she was more than glad to acquiesce.
"Thank you, sir. I would ... appreciate it."
Tuvok led the way to the ring where they could grapple. The other crewmembers in the gym did not make a rush to surround the area as spectators, but there was a definite shifting for better lines of view from their various vantage points. Ro dropped her towel in the corner and shook out her hands, loosening up a little. This martial art was not a matter of strength so much as it was of speed and reflexes, both of which she excelled at, making her a good opponent for Tuvok who, despite his slender build, had all the advantage of his Vulcan heritage. He had grown up in high gravity and thin atmosphere, his physiology boasting copper-based blood that metabolized oxygen better than Human or even Bajoran hemoglobin did.
Ro balanced lightly on the balls of her feet, waiting for Tuvok to indicate he was ready. He did with a slight incline of his head. Of course, a real opponent would come without warning, but this was a sparring match only and not the real thing. The Vulcan opened with a standard attack, a feint to the left, then a snap to the head that Ro easily parried. She bounced a little, moving smoothly into the familiar patterns and motion of the match. Even though it had been a while, the reflexes remembered and as long as she didn't think about it and allowed her body to react instinctively, it was a simple matter of block and thrust, of feint and attack, like a dance between two beings who were perfectly attuned to each other.
Perhaps that was what clued her in that something was not quite right. It was one thing to spar with different opponents, but when it was with only a certain person over a long period of time, one got to know his moves as well as one's own, and it became even more of a dance. So the differences now, subtle though they might be, gradually became apparent to her. The pattern that Tuvok normally applied to this interaction was simply not there. It was ragged, a little too slow at times, a little too fast at others.
She wondered if he was attempting something new, trying to catch her off guard. Tuvok did not like his people to get too comfortable. Did he somehow feel that she had gotten lax over the past few months since the revelation of her true identity? Certainly, she had not been focusing all her attention on security, her other abilities having been brought to the captain's attention that resulted in Ro being tapped for bridge duty on more than one occasion. In fact, when Tom Paris had been kidnapped recently, she had taken his post, covering the helm. She had even been requested to change uniforms from the shoulder band of operations gold to command red, the same color she had worn on the Enterprise all those years ago. Did he think she was no longer dedicated to her role in security?
Or was something else involved? Had he heard the rumors of her relationship with B'Elanna Torres? Did he think she was allowing herself to become too distracted lately, not paying enough attention to her duties?
The doubts spurred her on to greater effort, parrying a blow from him and counterattacking with a double kick that connected, snapping the Vulcan's head back. She didn't know who was more surprised, her ... or him. He stopped dead, a dark expression appearing on his face, one that shocked her, then the impassive mask was back and gingerly, he touched the emerald blood oozing from his forehead.
"Sir," Ro asked anxiously. "Are you alright?"
"I am ... undamaged, Lieutenant. I had believed my reflexes had become ... less than adequate recently and this merely confirms it."
"Why, Tuvok?" she asked, moving closer so no one could hear. "What's wrong?"
He looked at her and though Vulcans were not know for their warm demeanor at the best of times, Ro had never experienced such an icy stare as she did then. It surprised and worried her even further.
"Nothing is amiss, Lt. Ro. I appreciate your concern and your agreement to spar with me this day."
He slipped through the ropes and dropped lightly to the floor, picking up a towel from the stack folded neatly on a table next to the ring. He dabbed at the cut over his eye that was already coagulating, the green staining dark on the white terrycloth, and strode purposely for the exit. She would have called after him but that would have embarrassed them both ... if Vulcans were subject to such an emotion. The thing about dealing with Vulcans is that they rarely had different motivations behind what appeared. If he did not wish to speak with her, then he would not, and calling after him would accomplish nothing.
She rested her hands on the top rope, staring after him in bemusement before she became aware that she was a target of some scrutiny as well. Self-consciously, she moved away, going over to her corner where her towel was crumpled. She picked it up and slipped through the ropes, depositing it in a nearby recycler and retrieving a fresh one that she used to wipe the perspiration from her arms and shoulders. As abbreviated as the bout had been, it had still been a good workout and it had more than tired her out. Any further exertion would be counterproductive at this stage.
She picked up her bag and headed for the locker room where she showered and changed into a simple, off-duty, cream-colored tunic with dark pants. She brushed out her short, collar length hair and donned a red band to hold it back, then left the area, carrying her gear in a small bag that had a gold insignia of Starfleet Command on the side. The captain had presented it to her without fanfare a few weeks earlier when the memo came down for Ro to change department color. At least, Ro's roommate had told her it was the captain who had dropped it off, along with a padd containing the memo and an authorization for extra replicator rations to cover the switch of uniforms. A duly impressed Ensign Dorado had stared measuringly at the Bajoran for a long moment, before quietly going about her business. 
Ro could tell that her status was undergoing a change in the rest of the lower decks from the way people were starting to act around her, and the way they looked at her when they thought she wouldn't notice. Of course, she'd also be getting that kind of subtle observation if she had merely gotten involved with B'Elanna, but the two incidents together were serving to make her the target of far more attention than she was comfortable with. She just wasn't sure what she could do about it. She definitely wasn't going to curb her interest in the chief engineer ... not after having come this far and opening herself up this much ... nor was she entirely adverse to the professional changes. Despite her tempestuous career, where every change seemed to be profoundly life-altering, she had entered Starfleet with the desire to do well. That desire remained very much a part of her and deep inside, she took pride in the fact that her potential and abilities had come to the fore, whether she had intended them to or not.
She dropped off her bag in her quarters, noticing that her roommate who worked the gamma shift was in bed, asleep, snoring lustily. She quickly departed, finding herself wandering through the ship. The only problem she had with Voyager was that it was so small. An Intrepid class vessel, it was designed for courier missions and quick covert operations, not really intended for deep space exploration at all. Unfortunately, that's exactly what Voyager ended up doing once it was stranded 70,000 light years from the Federation. The ship had been forced to undergo some profound changes over the six years it had been out in the Delta Quadrant, but it was still difficult for crewmembers who were off duty during quiet stretches of space to find things to occupy their time.
The two holodecks were undoubtedly in use at the moment, and the ship did not host extensive labs and libraries where she could quietly pick up some extra duty. In fact, such areas were generally covered during the alpha shift to the extent that any extra body was an intrusion and not assistance at all. On deck eight, there was a park which had been designed for the new children who had been born on the vessel recently, but a great many of the crew also found it a favorite place to be. At this time of the day rotation, it would be crowded with beta and gamma shift crew getting a taste of sunshine, artificial as it was, and the very real smell of growing plants and trees.
She missed the Enterprise most, at times like this. The huge Galaxy-class ship had boasted several arboretums, two of which were respectable parks indeed, along with miles of Jeffries tubes and rooms where a person could find a little solitude for themselves if desired. Of course, Ro was attuned to traveling through space as part of her nature ... she wouldn't have been admitted into Starfleet otherwise ... and was not anti-people in any way, but every so often, she liked to be alone with her thoughts.
She turned the corner and nearly collided with Seven of Nine who was pushing a antigrav cart. The Borg brightened as she saw her.
"Lt. Ro Laren." Before Ro could even return her greeting, Seven had deposited four, brightly wrapped gifts in her hands. "I am behind schedule. You must take these to my quarters and place them on the bed, except for the blue one which you must place on the night stand. I will speak with you at the party for the captain this evening. Thank you."
Astounded, the Bajoran stared after Seven as the Borg hastened away. She knew her mouth was probably open but the sheer unexpected nature of the encounter had left her unable to do much about it. She glanced down at her arms loaded with boxes and tilted her head.
Well, she thought dryly. At least I have something to do now.
 
Captain Janeway tried hard to concentrate on her work and finally manage to succeed. It helped that nothing served to cool the ardor like the dry, impersonal departmental reports and eventually, she was able to forget it was her birthday and the rather wild thoughts the last three gifts had inspired. She was actually startled when the chime to her door sounded and a glance at the chronometer revealed it was 1300 hours. She wondered if her crew was making a deliberate effort not to bother her that day, since it had remained so quiet and she raised an eyebrow. 
"Enter."
She caught her breath as her spouse entered, pushing an anti-grav cart covered with a snow white table cloth, fine china and crystal, with two silver domes covering what could only be a specially prepared meal. A bouquet of roses had been placed in a shimmering vase, making up the centerpiece and a greenish bottle of wine was stuck proudly in a silver ice bucket.
"Oh, my," Janeway said with astonishment.
Seven guided the cart up the short flight of stairs to the upper level, avoiding the edge of the steps as the antigrav field allowed it to flow up the angle. She positioned it next to the couch and looked back at the astounded Janeway with a faint smile.
"Lunch," she announced calmly. Dazed, Janeway rose to her feet and moved around the desk, mounting the short flight of stairs almost without noticing, feeling as if she were doing a bit of floating herself.
"This is incredible," she said as she reached out and captured the Borg in a warm embrace, looking up at the young woman's pleased face. "You're incredible. You are making this the best birthday I've ever had."
"Better than last year?" Seven offered quietly, looking down at her with luminous eyes.
Janeway smiled tremulously. "You're so thoughtful, my love."
Seven leaned down and kissed her very gently. "I am glad. It is my goal to make each of your birthdays better than the one before."
Janeway deepened the kiss, even as she was aware that they were still on duty. But this day only came once a year, after all. Would it be so bad if she allowed herself to enjoy this, to fully indulge in the gift her spouse was granting her? She knew that Seven must be truly enjoying the opportunity to give this day to her. The Borg was always so pleased whenever she managed to surprise the captain. In fact, Seven just flat out enjoyed celebrating birthdays far more than the average person did ... perhaps because she had missed so many of her own as a Borg drone. This area of space was relatively remote, with few nearby systems that could pose a threat to the ship, which was at optimum performance. Even the crew was back to a regular routine and Janeway allowed that perhaps she could afford a little lapse in her attention to duty at this time, where she might not be able to otherwise.
Seven released her reluctantly when their lips finally parted. "It is time to eat. I believe that you will enjoy it."
"I'm sure that I will," Janeway responded dryly, still feeling bemused by the gesture.
She took a seat on the couch as Seven deactivated the cart's antigrav system, the unit gently settling to the floor, and making it the perfect height for the captain to consume her meal. Seven took her place in the offsetting chair and lifted the silver domed covers from their meal; marinated grilled chicken breasts on a bed of spiced rice. The bottle of wine was properly chilled and Janeway quirked an eyebrow as Seven poured out the clear liquid. Again, the thought that she was on duty crossed the captain's mind and deliberately, she shoved it to the side.
"How many people have you involved in your plans?" Janeway asked after taking a bite of her meal. It was absolutely delicious and she closed her eyes briefly in appreciation.
"The command staff. Of course, the entire crew shall no doubt find the opportunity to attend the party tonight."
Janeway paused, her fork halfway to her mouth, suddenly suspicious. "But that's not a birthday party. It's to celebrate the arrival of our newest crewmembers."
Seven quirked an eyebrow. "Kathryn, the crew will no doubt be glad of the opportunity to wish you their best, regardless of what the party is for. Would you deny them that?"
Janeway exhaled slowly. "No, I don't suppose I could." Her face softened. "But I was hoping to skip the better part of the festivities and spend this evening alone with you."
Seven reached over, grasping her hand. "That is why I have made a point to seek you out during the day. I will not have you to myself this evening, but for this lunch break, you belong to me."
Janeway felt the corner of her mouth curl up. "And how long do you intend this lunch break to be?"
Seven pinned her with a significant look. "As long as is required." She paused. "That is Commander Chakotay's gift to you, taking command for the rest of the afternoon. It would be prudent for you to seal the ready room door."
Janeway's breath caught in her throat as she realized what the young woman was saying.
"Seven," she began. "I don't think..."
"Kathryn," Seven interrupted. "Eat your lunch. Afterward, we shall see what happens." She quirked an eyebrow. "You would not wish to disappoint Chakotay by not accepting his gift, would you?"
Janeway eyed her, deciding that Seven was becoming entirely too quick at trying to manipulate her into doing what the Borg wanted. She would have to curb that ... but not today. Today, she would accede to her spouse's wishes and she cleared her throat obediently. "Computer, seal the ready room, authorization Janeway, omega red, one, one, blue, nine." She arched a brow at Seven. "Am I going to regret this?"
Seven considered it. "Not at all."
Janeway had to content herself with that and to be totally honest, she was actually intrigued by it, wondering exactly what her partner had in mind. After the light lunch, Seven passed her another gift, and Janeway took a breath, feeling far too undeserving of the largess which was being bestowed upon her.
"How did you manage this?" she asked as it occurred to her that all these presents would have required a great many replicator rations. Carefully, she removed the card.
Seven hesitated, as if suddenly unsure of something that until now, she had not really considered properly. "I utilized certain research techniques to provide a surplus of resources that were applied to the final project." 
Janeway paused, put the still unopened card on the table, folded her hands neatly in front of her, and pinned Seven with a blue-grey laser gaze.
"Meaning what, exactly?" the captain said, injecting a low note of command in her voice. She recognized immediately that Seven was trying to cloud the issue.
"I arranged to play pool with various crewmembers in the holodeck on separate occasions." Seven raised an eyebrow. "None of them are as good at the game as you are, though apparently, they were unaware of the fact that I am."
Janeway knew that her mouth had dropped open. "You hustled crewmembers for replicator rations?" she asked in astonishment.
Seven brightened. "Is that the proper term? Yes, I 'hustled' them."
"Seven," Janeway said sternly. "Gambling is against regulations."
Seven blinked, obviously startled. "It is? But all the crew does it. Even Chakotay had invested rations in certain 'pools' on the lower decks."
Janeway inhaled deeply. "Let me rephrase that. I'm not supposed to know my crew gambles and that's difficult to do when I'm enjoying the benefits of my spouse's ill-gotten gains."
Seven looked offended. "They were not 'ill-gotten'. It is the plan you described to me when you taught me to play pool ... I did not indicate how much I knew about the game until a person had challenged me to a match, thinking me an easy opponent. At that point, I would display my true skill and defeat them, thus winning the replicator rations."
Janeway closed her eyes. She had hoped that Seven had forgotten that little conversation, intending it only to be facetious. Or perhaps she was just upset that Seven had gone ahead and done it without her, even as she knew that it would be totally inappropriate for the captain to be 'hustling' ration slips from her crew. Could she really blame Seven for taking what she had said at face value?
"Who were your vict--- opponents?" Janeway asked finally.
"Lt. Paris, Ensign Hickman, Lt. Ayala and Lt. Baxter."
Janeway blinked. All those crewmembers were known to be remarkably 'lucky' when it came to games of chance or exhibitions of skill over the years ... some might say, suspiciously so. For Seven to have outmaneuvered them as she so clearly had, said a great deal about her natural cunning and it made Janeway look at her with a fresh perspective.
"How much did you win?" the captain queried.
Seven contrived to look innocent and mumbled something. Obviously she had some sense of shame about this anyway.
"Excuse me?" Janeway persisted.
Seven dropped her eyes and told her.
Janeway felt a little faint. "My god. You must have cleaned them out of every ration they owned. I didn't think there were that many unused ration slips on the entire ship."
"They are not unused now. A great many went to finish paying Harry Kim for the damage Jake did to his quarters. The rest I allotted for your birthday, and Naomi's which will arrive in two months."
"Why did they bet so much on a single game?" Janeway asked, somewhat dazed. She had wondered why she was no longer being garnished two or three replicator rations a day by the main computer. She had assumed Harry had not been as luxurious in his tastes as she had first thought.
"They did not merely bet on the games I played with them. They would also bet even more against me in subsequent games against my other opponents." She looked confused. "It was as if they were unable to believe I was capable at playing the game at that level over a long period of time. It was most interesting."
"Indeed," Janeway said, feeling a bit of pride at her spouse's ability glow her chest though she endeavored not to show it in her eyes. Regardless of her personal feelings, she still needed to be clear on the protocol regarding the situation. "Seven, I don't want you to gamble when you play pool anymore."
Seven seemed unperturbed by the request. "I will not."  She paused. "No one will play with me now."
Janeway stared, then started to laugh. "I'll just b---" she began, then amended it to, "I suspect not."
Seven looked at her, her pale eyes wide. "Will you play with me again, Kathryn? I like playing pool."
"Of course, darling. Anytime you want." But Janeway made a mental note not to make any wagers with the young woman.
Seven nodded. "I am glad. We have not had much chance to play games together in recent months."
"No, we haven't. I miss our recreation time in the holodeck. We're going to have to start scheduling it in again."
"But not today." Seven nodded at the still unopened gift. "Kathryn?"
Janeway followed her gaze and smiled. "I'm getting to it," she replied and finished opening the card. She read the verse out loud in a quiet voice, smiling faintly. "I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith, I love thee with a love I seemed to lose smiles, tears, of all my life? --- and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death." She glanced at Seven who blushed faintly. "No addition?"
"It seemed to be an adequate verse for the gift," Seven said. "It required no addition."
Janeway nodded thoughtfully and proceeded to unwrap the package. Inside, the captain discovered a delicate wooden box that, when opened, played a clear and sweet melody. Listening closely, Janeway identified the song which had accompanied Seven down the aisle at their wedding, and had also been played for their first dance as a married couple. The tune evoked the most wonderful memories for the captain and her chest grew full, as if unable to contain all she was feeling at the moment.
"Shall we dance?" Seven invited, holding out her hand as she pushed the cart aside, tucking it out of the way in the corner. With a word, she lowered the illumination in the ready room.
Bemused, charmed, a bit overwhelmed, Janeway accepted the hand and allowed Seven to guide her out to the cleared space on the upper level. She fit comfortably into her spouse's arms and she tried to remember the last time she had the opportunity to dance with the Borg. She couldn't, which meant it had been some time indeed, and that was a real shame because dancing had been something they both enjoyed a great deal.
"I have missed this," Seven remarked after awhile.
"Oh, darling," Janeway responded quietly as they swayed together. "So have I."
It made the captain realize how many of the little things had fallen by the wayside recently, even as both women made a concentrated effort to reach out to the other during the more stressful times. Now, dancing in her beloved's arms, holding her and being held, Janeway wondered how she could have let this particular interaction ever slip away. In this haven of the Borg's embrace, the demands of duty and proper protocols were gladly let go for the moment and the captain found it easy to immerse herself fully in the sensation of being with Seven, of this celebration of music and movement.
"I'm surprised the pattern of the music box was in the replicator data banks," Janeway said after a few moments of sheer bliss.
"It was not. Mr. Kim made it. He is very good with wood boxes. Do you remember the one he gave me for my previous birthday? It is on my nightstand."
Janeway blinked. "I do." She also remembered how annoyed she had been with the young ensign at the time for remembering Seven's birthday when she had been completely unaware of it. Which also led her to thoughts of the subsequent incident when she had thought Seven was dead, and convulsively, Janeway tightened her hold on her spouse. Seven returned the embrace, as if understanding what had caused the captain's discomfort.
"I love you," Janeway said huskily. "So much, my darling."
She felt Seven's lips brush over her hairline.
"I know," Seven assured her. "I love you, too. I am so happy to be married to you, Kathryn, to be able to share my life with you ... it is a gift you have given me that I shall always treasure."
That served to remind Janeway that finally, things were completely fine in her universe and if it didn't last for very long ... because they tended not to, in the Delta Quadrant ... then at least, they had this particular moment. She was slightly dismayed by the knowledge that at one point in her life, she would have carelessly wasted such an opportunity, thinking it was more important to attend to routine duty than the very real love she felt for her partner.
Older and wiser, she decided, and closed her eyes, allowing the Borg to guide her around the room. After all, wasn't that the whole point of this celebration of having managed the passage of one more year?
Smiling, she snuggled closer to Seven and let go of the last of her reservations.
 
Seven of Nine nuzzled her spouse happily, holding Kathryn firmly in her arms as they danced quietly to the song from the music box. So far, her plans for the captain's birthday had gone exactly as intended and furthermore, Janeway was being completely agreeable to it all. It made the Borg realize how much her spouse had changed in the time she had known her, how much more accommodating and loving Janeway had become over the two years they had been together. It was such a short time, yet in many ways, it was a lifetime. 
Because until Seven had met Kathryn Janeway, she had not had a life, she had merely existed as a Borg drone. Now she had everything and the thought made her hold the other woman even closer to herself, enjoying the familiar way the captain fit against her body, appreciating the way they were able to move together in such exquisite balance. Love is exponential, she thought wonderingly. The more she shared with Kathryn, the more she received in return and the more she had to give again. Love was all. Not the striving for biological or technological goals, but for this single, emotional perfection.
She wondered if there was a way to convince the Collective of that? Or even Humanity? History decreed that it could not be done, but certainly, hope demanded that one continue to try, if only by example.
Seven didn't know when the song had ended, when the device had finally wound down, requiring more manual inducement to begin again ... she only knew that they eventually stopped moving and stood in the center of the ready room, gazing at each other. Kathryn's face was soft, shy, the command mask completely stripped away as if it had never been, her eyes warm and blue, with just a hint of grey to make them gentle. Seven felt the captain raise her hand, press her fingertips lightly against her cheek. They trembled and Seven felt her heart thump almost painfully in response. 
"Kathryn," she began, whispering.
"Shh," Janeway breathed. "I just want to look at you."
So Seven remained still, her eyes searching that beloved face, memorizing for the millionth time, every plane and angle, every curve and dimple, every pore and line of porcelain skin and classic features. And when the waiting was almost more than she could bear, Janeway tilted her head, her fingers pulling Seven down with the lightest of touches, and they kissed, sweetly, barely brushing lips at first, then growing gradually deeper as with the most natural of instinct, their breath, their hearts, their souls, completely joined as one.
"Sometimes," Janeway murmured after an eternity had passed, "I wonder how I ever managed without you."
"You would have managed," Seven responded quietly. "You are very capable."
"I'm sure," Janeway agreed in a low voice. "But managing a life and living it to its fullest are two totally different things. In fact, they can be a universe apart. You bring such joy to my existence, Annika. You bring me all the things that make life worth living for in the first place. If I don't say it enough, then please, always remember it. You are my heart."
"And you are mine," Seven whispered. "Survival is insufficient. Loving you is quintessential."
She buried her face in the soft, auburn hair and held on with all she was, which the captain seemed glad to allow, clinging to her in return, so close it was hard to tell where the Borg left off and Janeway began. Finally, finally, they released each other, not quickly, but because not even they could remain upright, holding each other forever ... though for a while, they did their best.
"I know Chakotay is covering me, love," Janeway said as they both retired to the couch. "But what about your duties?" The two women had arranged themselves so that the Borg was in the corner, supported by the armrest and the back of the sofa while she in turn, supported Janeway, her left arm wrapped warmly around her back. It occurred to Seven as the captain curled up against her, that if someone were to walk into the ready room at that moment, they would not find Janeway to be her usual, formidable, commanding self at all. Indeed, it seemed that only Seven was allowed to see this vulnerable, soft and tender side to the woman cradled in her arms.
"Ensign Jennifer Delaney is covering my shift in astrometrics."
"You really did have this all planned, didn't you?" Janeway said wistfully, looking up into Seven's eyes. "And I didn't even remember your birthday."
Seven frowned and hugged her closer. "Do not be regretful," she demanded quietly, brushing the fingers of her right hand over the captain's cheek. "This is not a competition between us, nor is it designed to make you feel guilty in any way. Kathryn, I enjoy doing these things for you. Please, accept the love with which they are given."
Janeway smiled and turned her head to kiss the Borg's fingertips. "Sorry, darling. Sometimes I forget how to be gracious. I do appreciate all that you're doing for me, all that you have planned. No one's ever made such an effort for my birthday before."
"Your previous lovers were flawed," Seven noted calmly.
Janeway laughed. "Perhaps they were. I guess that's why I didn't marry any of them."
'It is fortunate. It would have been ... inconvenient for us to deal with a previous marriage once we fell in love."
Janeway blinked, seeming vaguely intrigued by the idea. "So even if I had been married to Mark before Voyager was lost in the Delta Quadrant, you think we still would have fallen in love?"
Seven lifted a brow. "How could we not?"
Janeway took a moment to absorb that. "Perhaps you're right," she allowed contentedly, her head falling to rest in the nook of Seven's neck and shoulder. "Even then, we would have found each other."
Seven was glad Kathryn agreed.
"So was the music box your last gift? The poem is now complete."
Seven hesitated. "The poem is complete," she agreed.
She felt Janeway nuzzle into her neck, kissing it gently.
"That sounded like a hint," Janeway noted, her voice heavy with humor. "There are more gifts, aren't there? How many more?"
"You will have to discover that on your own."
"You're not going to tell me?"
"Why should I?" Seven was honestly curious.
"Maybe I could persuade you," Janeway muttered, kissing a line up to the Borg's ear, nibbling at the lobe. "I can be very persuasive."
"Ah, I understand." And indeed, she did. Janeway did not really wish to know the answer to her question, she merely wanted to pretend she did, under the guise of making love to her partner. Seven was certainly agreeable to that but she knew that she was required to put on a show of reluctance, a pretense of needing to be convinced.
"I do not think you can be that persuasive," she added obligingly.
"Believe me, once we go back to our quarters, I'll persuade you."
Seven drew back, raising an eyebrow as she regarded her. "Why return to our quarters? Why not persuade me here in your ready room?"
Janeway paused, a surprised expression on her face. "Here? Oh, no, darling. That would be ... inappropriate."
"It is your birthday," Seven said, dropping her tone as she offered up her own form of persuasion. She pulled the woman closer, resting her hand on Janeway's stomach, rubbing gently through the tunic and sweater. "The door is sealed, thus preventing anyone from 'catching us'." She kissed Janeway softly, passionately. "We have yet to make love in the ready room. You have considered it an 'impossible' location but in truth, this is a perfect opportunity to 'cross it off our list'."
Janeway looked halfway convinced, uncertain, yet intrigued at the same time. "Now I know how you enticed those poor boys into playing pool with you. You're becoming far too good at this."
"Does that mean you agree?" Seven whispered.
Janeway shivered in her arms and the Borg wondered if her partner was finally surrendering to that wilder side of herself, the side of Janeway that came out at such unexpected times, yet never disappointed either of them.
"I do have fantasies," the captain admitted reluctantly. "Fantasies that involve you and me and that desk ... but, Annika, we can't."
"Are you sure?" Seven prodded, nibbling along the woman's jaw, to her ear, which she kissed warmly. "Tell me your fantasy."
Janeway swallowed audibly. "Well, it involves our 'accessory'."
"Indeed. Continue."
"You're absolutely incorrigible," Janeway accused her.
Since Seven had also accused her partner of that on many occasions which the captain did not deny ... indeed, rather seemed to take pride in such an assessment ... Seven accepted it the same way.
"Your fantasy? You, me, the ready room, an accessory...."
Janeway tilted her head back to look at her for a moment, a faint pink staining her cheeks. "I ... uh, would be at my desk, working on reports," she explained in a low voice. "It would be late at night, into the gamma shift and you would suddenly appear. You would be completely naked but for the accessory and ... well, obviously ready. Things would progress from there. Oh, god," Janeway said, closing her eyes. "I can't believe I'm telling you this."
"Kathryn, I love you," Seven whispered in her ear as she eased her hand under the captain's tunic at the v near the neck, pleased when Janeway did not object. "I want to share everything with you. Tell me the rest. You are working late, and I appear wearing our accessory and nothing else. Where would I appear?"
Janeway inhaled deeply, seeming to relax in Seven's arms as they settled back against the couch, the Borg finding the soft swell of the captain's breast and squeezing it gently.
"You would be behind my chair. I'd only become aware of you when you reached around and touched my breasts."
"Like I am doing now?" Seven asked, chafing the bump that had appeared beneath her palm. The layers of clothing were limiting, yet, at the same time, provided their own source of pleasurable friction.
The captain's voice very soft now. "You'd be using both hands. I wouldn't be able to move. I'd just sit there, too shocked to object as you opened my tunic."
Seven noted that her spouse's had closed her eyes, her head falling back onto the Borg's shoulder, her lips parted as she sipped air through them. The Borg took the opportunity to kiss the soft spot just behind Janeway's ear as she left the captain's breast and unfastened the Starfleet tunic down the front until it fell open to reveal the blue-grey sweater. Reaching down to where it was tucked into Janeway's trousers, she hesitated briefly, then tugged the hem out, pulling it up so that she could put her hand on the captain's warm skin beneath.
Janeway gasped a little at the contact and Seven spread her fingers across the swell of the captain's abdomen.
"Then?" the Borg prompted quietly, rubbing Janeway's belly in slow, sensual circles. "What would we do next?"
Janeway swallowed again. "I would briefly object and you would tell me to be silent. For some reason, I would be compelled to do so, unable to speak as you lifted up my sweater and unfastened my undergarment, so that there would be less restriction to what you were doing."
Obligingly, Seven did so, finding the fastening at the front of the captain's bra and releasing it so that it fell away. The captain was still dressed of course, but things were much roomier now and Seven was able to run her fingers over Janeway's nipples, teasing them, alternating between them as they grew hard beneath her touch.
"Then you would pick me up and lay me over the desk, kicking the chair out of the way," Janeway whispered, almost purring now, her respiration deep and shaky. "I would be face down on the desktop and you would pull down my pants, exposing me. You would touch me then, slipping your fingers into me to see how ready I was ... god, I would be so ready, darling ... so very, very wet ..."
Seven slipped her hand down to the waistband of the captain's trousers, slipping beneath them. Janeway shifted, angling her body toward her partner, drawing up her knee so that it remained upright as she turned sideways. This allowed Seven to worm her hand under the captain's undergarments to the juncture of her legs where she discovered that indeed, Janeway was very, very moist. The captain whimpered as Seven touched her, the Borg's fingers moving over the hard little bump she found there, rubbing it as best she could within the confines of the uniform pants. 
"Then you would ... spread my legs and I would feel your ... the wonder wand press against me ... it would feel so big from this angle ... and you would push it inside me ... and you would start to ... oh, god, Annika ... go inside ..."
Seven suspected that would be as much of the fantasy as she was going to get at this time but it was certainly enough to provide her with a clear picture of what Janeway would want should they ever manage to carry out such a scenario. She filed it away in her eidetic memory and concentrated on slipping her fingers into Kathryn, careful not to force too hard though she had to contend with the limited movement. She managed to get two fingers into the tight channel and she curled them toward the top of the pelvis, finding that smooth spot which she began to flex against gently, using her thumb to manipulate the hard little nodule outside. It wasn't the most comfortable position and without question, her hand would become cramped if she continued this for very long but fortunately, she didn't have to, the captain responding immediately. Apparently, the fantasy Janeway had been envisioning had served to arouse her greatly and it took very little time before she was shuddering, seeking out Seven's mouth and groaning into it, the sound muffled by the desperate kiss as her arms wound tightly about the Borg's neck.
Seven held her close as her partner shook helplessly, then finally, as Janeway relaxed, the young woman cradled her spouse gently with her left arm. The fingers of her right remained buried deep in the heat and wetness, and Seven flexed them every so often, just to make the captain twitch.
"Heavens," Janeway murmured when she had finally regained a bit of composure. "How do you convince me to do these things?"
Seven kissed her sweetly. "You do it because you love me."
And also because Janeway enjoyed the illicitness of it tremendously though the captain would never admit that. For some reason, though Janeway always pretended that it was the Borg who somehow forced her into such behavior, Seven ... and anyone who had ever encountered the captain .... knew for a fact that the formidable little redhead could not be forced to do anything she didn't want to do. At least, not and get away with it unscathed afterward. But the Borg allowed the small deception, understanding that it was part of who Janeway was, that she needed to be 'coerced' by Seven on occasion. In any event, Seven enjoyed it as well and she was glad that they could now 'cross off' the ready room from their list of places on Voyager where they had made love.
Of course, Seven also knew that the very next time Janeway was working late, the Borg was going to utilize a site-to-site transport to fulfill the captain's fantasy for real. Whether the ready room had been 'crossed off' or not.