Just Between Tears
G. L. Dartt
Captain Kathryn Janeway of USS Voyager rolled over in the night, reaching out for the warm body that should have been next to her, but wasn't. Forcing herself awake, she blinked and sat up, looking around the dimly illuminated bedroom with concern. Head tilted slightly as she listened, the soft hum of the warp drive was a constant hum beneath the sound of her respiration. Beyond that, she could hear no movement in the ensuite which was set just off the bedroom, or in the outer living area. Frowning, she rolled out of bed and retrieved the pink terrycloth robe draped over the lounge at the far end of the room.
As the auburn-haired captain pulled it on over her compact form, she looked out the open door and across the living area, spotting a scenario that had become all too familiar the past few days. Seven of Nine, Voyager's Borg astrometrics officer and Janeway's spouse of almost a year, was sitting in the corner of the sofa, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them almost as if she was hugging them, the blonde narrow features sorrowful as they gazed out at the passing stars. She was wearing an oversized, blue terrycloth robe which made her seem small and very young in the darkness. Curled up in a rust ball on the cushions at the Borg's feet, the couple's Irish Setter, Jake, remained close to his mistress, just as he had with unswerving devotion since Seven had been hurt.
And Seven was deeply hurt, Janeway thought ruefully. A week or so earlier, the young woman had believed she had found her mother in the form of a Borg drone unexpectedly rescued from a shuttle crash. It had been very hard for the young woman to move past all the resentment and pain that being assimilated as a child had formed deep in her psyche, as well as the difficult adjustment of being with a parent again after all these years. Seven had adapted well, however, and in the end, had even been looking forward to a future which included her mother as a very important part of her life.
Except it had all been a lie.
'Erin Hansen' had turned out to be an alien seeking refuge from the Borg and had the natural ability to camouflage itself as a person whom Voyager and its crew would have welcomed and protected. When the deception had been uncovered, Seven had been devastated, and now, three days later, she still suffered profoundly, barely eating, unable to sleep, having no interest in returning to her daily routine. Janeway supposed that the alien lifeform had only been acting as its instincts and culture demanded, but there was a part of the captain that would have gladly given into her more primitive, baser side and slain the alien for this hurt caused her beloved. Instead, she had let it return to its home, as the enlightened, compassionate parameters of Janeway's Starfleet ideals and personal beliefs dictated.
Janeway allowed that being compassionate was a hell of a lot easier when one was not so personally involved.
Quietly, the captain moved across the room, her heart aching as she wished she had some way to make this better for her partner. Jake lifted his head at her approach, ears pricked and Seven, who noticed the dog's shift in position, turned her head to look at her partner. Once more, Janeway was struck by the sheer, uncomprehending pain in the young woman's pale blue eyes, the expression reaching in and squeezing the captain's heart as if in a vise. A glint of starlight reflected off the metallic implant framing Seven's left eye and Janeway was reminded of how deep the scars still ran within her partner, the most important of which weren't even visible.
"Hey," she said softly as she reached down to run her fingers lightly along Seven's porcelain cheek. "I woke up and you weren't there. I missed you."
"I could not sleep," Seven responded in her precisely modulated tones. "I did not wish to disturb you so I came out here."
Janeway nodded. "Do you want some company?" she asked, expecting to be rebuffed as she had so many times in the past few days. "Or would you rather be alone?"
Seven hesitated, then lowered her eyes. "I do not wish to be alone," she admitted in a softer voice. "Please, stay with me, Kathryn." It was a distinct change in the Borg's attitude and Janeway was surprised, yet heartened by it.
"Gladly, love," Janeway said as she positioned herself in behind the young woman, Seven helpfully leaning forward. The captain wrapped her arms tightly around the Borg as Seven slid down on the couch, her head and shoulders supported by Janeway's chest. Sorrowfully, the captain nuzzled the long blonde hair, hugging her partner as close as she could. For several moments, they snuggled together in silence, the starlight falling soft over their bodies.
"Darling," Janeway said quietly, with the greatest of care. "Is there anything you would like to talk about? Sometimes that can help."
"No," Seven said, shaking her head slightly as she settled closer against her spouse and Janeway knew she had to be satisfied with that.
Though every instinct in the older woman wanted to 'fix' this, wanted to find a way to take the burden from her beloved's shoulders and put it onto her own, she restrained herself. She had learned ... painfully ... that her innate desire to throw herself at a challenge with the intent of immediately solving it sometimes caused more heartache than the initial problem did. At the moment, additional hurt was the absolute last thing she wanted to cause her beloved. So she schooled herself to patience and tried to be there for Seven as much as possible, granting the young woman the space and time to adapt to this, yet always ready to show her all the support she could. It had been a difficult lesson to learn, but as she grew older, Janeway hoped that she was becoming wiser as well.
Still, it was amazingly difficult to stand by and force herself to do nothing. In a way, it would have been easier if Janeway had been responsible for the betrayal, for this pain, because then, Seven would have a focus and a target for her residual anger and hurt. Instead, on several levels, this had nothing to do with the captain at all, and that made Janeway feel useless in a way that she had rarely felt before.
"Do you think she is still alive?" Seven asked finally, after another long period of silence.
Janeway, who had been on the verge of drifting off, forced herself awake once more, not entirely sure who Seven was referring to and worried that she had actually missed some of the conversation.
"I don't know," she replied honestly after taking a few seconds to work it out who Seven was talking about. "You once said to me that your parents' thoughts were your own in the Collective. Were you speaking in general terms, or did you really know for sure?"
Seven inhaled slowly. "I would like to believe that I knew they were there," she said in a soft, tentative voice. "But it was irrelevant which of the multitude of voices belonged to what drone. There was no need for a parent and child relationship in the Collective, so one did not exist." She paused. "It is possible that Erin Hansen died in the initial assimilation. Many did."
Janeway closed her eyes. "I'm sorry," she replied quietly ... helplessly.
Seven swallowed convulsively. "I wish to know, Kathryn. I try so hard to remember anything that would be relevant to that time ... but I cannot."
The Borg grew tense against the captain and Janeway tightened her embrace, brushing her lips over the top of her partner's head.
"It's okay," she said soothingly.
"It is not," Seven responded bleakly. "I know that my father is most likely dead, killed when the Queen's sphere was destroyed in the collapsing transwarp conduit, but I want to know what happened to my mother."
A multitude of objections, protests and countering arguments rose in Janeway's throat, but in the end, she swallowed them all back. Instead, she put as much compassion in her voice as she could.
"How?" she asked.
There was a silence as Seven contemplated the question, her body stiff in the captain's arms, and then abruptly, she seemed to collapse, slumping heavily against her spouse.
"I do not know," she whispered, voice breaking. "Even if I could somehow connect with the Collective to discover if she still exists, if somehow, I could pinpoint her location within the Borg, it would be an impossible task to rescue her." She turned her head, pressing her temple against the captain's lips. "Voyager could not be risked in such a way." She paused and added in a softer tone, "I could not risk you in such a way."
Janeway swallowed hard. "Annika," she said huskily, with complete and utter sincerity, "if there was any hope at all ... if there was the slightest opportunity for us to retrieve your mother, then we would do it in a heartbeat. I would do it in a heartbeat. Please believe that."
"I do," Seven said sadly. "But there is no hope."
Janeway winced. "There is always hope, my darling," she said softly. "It's merely impossible at the moment. Who knows what the future will bring?"
Seven considered that. "I think," she said in a very small voice, "I would rather have no hope than to live with the constant thought that my mother is a drone and I cannot help her." She shifted in Janeway's arms, rolling so that her side was against the captain's front and she was facing the back of the sofa, drawing her knees up so that she was in a semi-fetal position. "It hurts, Kathryn," she added painfully. "It hurts so much."
"I know," Janeway said huskily, resting her hand on the young woman's cheek, pulling her head closer to her chest. "I'm so sorry, love."
She felt tears, hot and wet, spill onto her neck where Seven had buried her face, the larger body shaking against the captain and Janeway held her as close as she could. Yet, despite the sobs, the captain actually felt a tiny ray of light pierce the darkness. She had been afraid that Seven had shut down completely in recent days. This was the first time the young woman had cried since the deception had been uncovered and Janeway considered the possibility that these tears were a sign that Seven was ready to begin the healing process, that she was starting to mourn and move on.
Janeway could only hope so.
She didn't know how long her partner wept, only that it eventually eased and Seven gradually relaxed. After a bit, Janeway realized that the young woman had actually fallen asleep in her embrace, exhausted by the past three days and the outpouring of emotion that she had finally been able to release. The captain knew that this was far from over, but she did want to believe that perhaps a corner of sorts had been turned. It was unlikely that Seven would ever be the same, but that was to be expected.
She continued to hold her spouse, watching over her as she slept, the hours passing in silent vigil there on the sofa. At the other end of the couch, Jake also remained on guard, head resting on his front paws, his brown eyes soft and warm as he regarded the two Humans he adored, his voiceless, steady support an absolute constant. Hours later, the captain raised her head as the lights came up and the voice of the computer sounded softly in the other room, announcing the beginning of day watch. Seven stirred, her eyelashes matted with old tears and she had to force them open. Her pale eyes were dark with confusion and echoed pain as she sat up, looking at her spouse beside her.
"I fell asleep," she said, uncertainly.
"Yes, you did," Janeway responded reassuringly, reaching over to run her fingertips down the Borg's cheek, still stained from her sorrow. "I think you needed to. You haven't slept much recently."
Seven stared at her, searching her face. "You did not sleep."
"No," Janeway agreed, with a gentle smile. "But it's hardly the first time I've pulled an all-nighter ... and for far less pleasant reasons that watching over my beloved. I'll survive."
Seven hesitated, then leaned forward and pressed her lips gently to Janeway's. "I do love you, Kathryn," she said softly, against her partner's mouth. "Thank you for staying with me."
"I'm always going to be here," Janeway promised. "That will never change."
Seven took a breath. "You cannot make such a promise," she said intensely, almost with anger before her eyes lost their blaze and lowered as she gentled her voice. "But I realize what your intent is, and I accept it for that reason."
Janeway kissed the smooth brow, but said nothing more, knowing there was nothing she really could say. Instead, she hugged Seven tightly, and then reluctantly released her. "I have to get ready for duty," she said with honest regret.
"I know," Seven said, and stood up. She reached down and helped Janeway to her feet, the captain suddenly feeling the aches of having remained in one position for so long with the Borg lying on her. Seven supported her until she had regained her balance, embracing her closely. "I too, wish to return to duty."
Surprised, Janeway looked up into her narrow features. "You know there's no hurry. You can take as much time for yourself as you want. The ship is fine and we've entered a sparsely populated area of space."
"I know," Seven replied. "But it is my regular off-duty rotation tomorrow so I should at least finish the work I have disregarded until now in preparation of that. Nor is it logical to remain in my quarters indulging in emotional displays which serve no purpose."
Janeway inhaled slowly. "Darling, don't try to suppress what you're feeling," she said, slightly concerned. "It's okay to hurt."
"Yes," Seven said and remarkably, she managed a bit of dry humor. "However, I can hurt and work at the same time. It is ... more efficient."
Despite herself, Janeway smiled faintly, as well. "I do agree that sometimes work can help. Occupying your mind with things other than your problems can make some things easier."
"Perhaps," Seven allowed quietly. She leaned forward and kissed Janeway again, lingeringly. "But I shall not know until I try."
"No, you won't," Janeway agreed gently, and let her go as the Borg headed for the bedroom.
But her face was worried as she watched her partner walk away.
Ro Laren woke amid the stark confines of unfurnished crew quarters, lying on a thin sleeping pad spread over the hard deck. Next to her, the slim, muscular body of the ship's security chief, Tuvok, radiated warmth and she eased away from him, resting her head on her linked hands and staring up at the ceiling thoughtfully. The burning grip of the Pon farr fever that had held Tuvok ... and by willing extent, herself ... was finally over, the fading echoes of their shared desire sliding into memory.
Ro inhaled slowly and wiggled slightly, checking out her body. Aside from a little soreness from having remained in somewhat awkward positions for too long a time as minds melded, she felt remarkably strong and healthy. Indeed, she had experienced far greater physical repercussions after lovemaking bouts with her current lover, the Klingon, B'Elanna Torres. Obviously, another common misconception the Federation had about the Vulcan time of mating had no choice but to fall to reality.
She glanced over, hearing the steady respiration of the Vulcan and she wondered if he was awake.
"Ro Laren," Tuvok said quietly, his voice calm in the darkness. "You have my gratitude. You have saved my life. More importantly, you have helped save the life of my wife and contributed your life force to the new child she now bears."
Ro's breath caught in her throat. She thought she had sensed a new spark when all four minds had been joined, crossing the distance of space between the Delta Quadrant and Vulcan to unite in a single, solitary bond of love and joy. For one wild second, she had thought perhaps she was the one who actually conceived ... before common sense reminded her that Vulcans and Bajorans were not genetically compatible enough to create offspring without medical intervention. It had been a profoundly moving experience and she knew that Tuvok was simply not saying this to be kind ... as if Vulcans would ... but rather meant it literally. Somehow, while T'Pel and Tumak, Tuvok's cousin on their maternal side, provided the actual physical genetic material, Tuvok and Ro were also instrumental in creating the proper elements in allowing the fetus's life to begin.
It was an insight into the Vulcan mating process that outsiders were simply not privy to, a blend of psychic and physical joining that created new life ... a new life that was part of all of them in essence. It had been the most incredible thing she had ever experienced.
"I've never been a mother before."
"Nonetheless, you were a part of it," he said calmly. "As indeed, you are now a part of our family. I welcome you, 'cousin'."
Ro smiled faintly. "Thank you," she said as she sat up, resting her arms on her knees. She felt a quicksilver touch, like a silken cord still attached to the base of her mind and she considered it carefully. "Tuvok, are Tumak and I bonded?" she asked carefully. "I still feel what seems to be a link of sorts to him."
During the mindmeld, she had learned much about the surrogate who had been chosen to serve as Tuvok's replacement on Vulcan. Tumak was, in his own way, quite charming, highly intelligent with a sense of humor that was surprising to find in the stoic people. Indeed, Ro had been exposed to the depths contained within all the Vulcans within the link, the kindness and strength of Tuvok, the warmth and sweetness of T'Pel. But that didn't mean she was ready to be betrothed to Tumak and join the family in body as well as this brief union of mind.
Tuvok lifted a brow. "You and he shared something very intimate," he allowed. "But the bond is temporary unless both of you make a deliberate attempt to strengthen it." He paused and seemed amused. "I do not believe Tumak is interested in waiting for a volatile Bajoran female situated thousands of light years away. Of course, you have your own romantic entanglements that must take priority."
Ro exhaled. "B'Elanna," she said quietly, thinking about the feisty chief engineer with whom she had become recently involved. Who, she could even admit to herself, that she could now love and need in a way that she had never loved or needed anyone else before. "I wish she could have experienced this. I think if she had any idea what this was like, she would have accepted Vorik in a heartbeat, rather than beat the hell out of him."
"Perhaps," Tuvok allowed, with a touch of humor. "But I should point out that, if Lt. Torres and you are joined, you may be required to discuss this with her in the future. Honesty is extremely important in dealing with your mate."
Ro looked at him with surprise. "Tuvok, I understood what the protocols regarding outsiders were. I went into this with full agreement of them. While I love B'Elanna dearly, I'm not blind to her faults, particularly when it comes to her sense of discretion. Besides, this has absolutely nothing to do with her."
Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "That is appreciated, Lieutenant, but if she is to truly be your chosen one, she must know what your personal responsibilities will be should we be unable to return to the Federation within the next seven years."
Ro inhaled slowly. Vulcans did tend to think in the long-term, possibly because their lifespan was so much greater than the average Federation species, almost two and a half times that of a Human or a Bajoran, for example. Of course she would be expected to repeat as surrogate in seven years time if necessary. To think otherwise would be ... illogical. If she and B'Elanna were still together at that time, then certainly the Klingon would need to know why Ro had to seclude herself in the security chief's quarters for three days.
"All right," she said. "I'll tell her." In truth, it made her feel a little better, knowing she would be able to discuss this incredible experience with her lover. She would just have to make sure that B'Elanna was fully cognizant of the importance of its confidentiality. Without Tuvok's permission, of course, it would have been completely impossible. She glanced at him, wondering about his courtesy, which was not entirely logical.
Ro narrowed her eyes. "Tell me, Tuvok, is this an aspect of being a 'cousin'? You now have leave to advise me on my love life?"
"It is my responsibility as the elder member of our family unit here on Voyager," he told her, somewhat dryly. "To see that you have access to a logical and experienced opinion. After all, I have been successfully married for several decades."
She took a breath, letting that go for the moment and changed the subject. "How do Vulcans handle same gender relationships during this time?" she asked curiously. "Obviously the point of it all is to create offspring ... something that is somewhat difficult to do in purely biological terms if both participants are of the same gender."
He quirked an eyebrow. "Pon farr comes upon every Vulcan every seven years after they become adults, and bonding is not limited to opposite genders," he noted calmly. "Males who are bonded to one another, because of their loss of emotional discipline, generally require intervention from a third party who is willing to bear their child. Females can usually manage without a third party by utilizing a device containing the proper genetic material." He paused. "I understand the preparation is handled quite logically. It may be one of our greatest cultural taboos to admit to outsiders that we are uncontrollably ruled by hormones and instincts once every seven years, but we have learned to handle the necessity as best we can, in as precise a manner as we can."
"Of course," she said dryly. How else would it be handled? It was only because Tuvok had found himself amid a large group of illogical and emotional aliens that he was forced to undergo the experience alone. It would have cost him his life and Ro felt a sweet sense of relief and not a little exhilaration sweep through her. Tuvok was safe and she had not let him down when he needed her most. And that, more than anything, was something she could take away from this situation and keep it with her for all her days.
She remembered speaking with B'Elanna once, about how her greatest fear was that she would let down her crewmates and her captain eventually; that indeed, it was inevitable. B'Elanna had replied that, while everyone else believed in Ro, she still needed to believe in herself. The Klingon had explained that it required a leap of faith from the Bajoran, but when it finally happened, Ro would know it immediately because a crucial part of herself that she hadn't even realized was missing would suddenly appear. Ro decided that she finally understood her lover's words now because she was now filled with a sort of confidence, an internal fortitude that she had never before experienced. She wondered how she had ever managed to exist before without it.
She smiled. "I wonder what's happened on the rest of the ship while we were ... indisposed."
He tilted his head, glancing out the large port windows, that loomed above them. "I must conclude, since the starfield shows that we are still in the Delta Quadrant, the proposed warp coil option was no more than a false alarm," he noted. "And certainly, though we have privacy seals on our communicators, we would still have heard any red alert or call to battle stations."
Ro nodded and rolled to her feet, padding unselfconsciously naked over to the computer console that was set against one bulkhead. Unlike the furniture, this was a part of the ship and could not be moved. Behind her, Tuvok also rose smoothly to his feet and joined her. The Bajoran felt the warmth of his body as he stood just behind her, looking over her shoulder. She brought up the internal ship communication taking place over the past two days, as well as the official logs that had been placed in the computer for anyone to see.
Ro caught her breath as she scanned the readout regarding the eventual fate of the warp coil project and the revelations about the alien who had come on board the vessel. "Poor Seven," she noted sadly. "This must be so hard for her."
"Indeed. I was aware that we had rescued a Borg drone but I did not know it was Erin Hansen. Or rather, that it was believed to be Erin Hansen. Seven is undoubtedly experiencing considerable distress in the aftermath of such an experience. Hopefully, the captain will be able to assist in this trial that Seven must undergo."
Ro had only really grown close to the Borg in recent months, but she liked and respected her a great deal. She was also aware that Tuvok had a paternal interest in the young woman. She could only imagine what it must be like for Seven to have thought that she had found her mother, only for it to be a complete lie. Ro turned her head to look at Tuvok and was suddenly, acutely, conscious of their nakedness and of his closeness, her body reacting in a physical manner that was Bajoran rather than Vulcan in instinct. He raised his head, as if sensing her abrupt disquiet and quickly moved away, walking around the console to the controls set on the other side.
"I suggest that we resume our duties now."
"I think that's probably a good idea," she agreed. "Do you want the ensuite first or..." She trailed off, not knowing the proper etiquette for this post-coital stage of Pon farr.
He quirked an eyebrow. "After you, Lieutenant."
She dipped her head and moved toward the bathroom, gathering up the clothes which had been scattered about the room three nights earlier and after carefully removing the pips and insignia, stuffed them into the nearest unit to be cleaned. She retrieved the neatly pressed uniform that materialized on the tray and tucked it beneath her arm, pausing at the door of the ensuite to look back. The security chief had remained by the computer console, going over the rest of the departmental reports that had been downloaded during his absence from duty. Ro took a final, lingering look at his slim, muscular form, at the broad shoulders, muscled stomach, and trim hips, her eyes raking him up and down with a purely aesthetic appreciation in this most unusual set of circumstances.
"I will probably never get another chance to say this, Tuvok," she said quietly, yet with an unmistakable touch of humor threading through her tone. "But I want you to know that you were a very considerate and accomplished lover, Pon farr not withstanding. Thank you."
He raised his head to look at her, seeming somewhat off balance at the admission. "Thank you," he said finally in the sort of tone that indicated that he was unsure if that was a proper response or not. He inhaled. "You ... exceeded the level of mere adequacy as well."
She nodded, understanding that it was as reasonable a response coming from him as she could expect, considering the situation and what they were discussing, especially now that the grip of the uncontrollable, hormonal drive had been sated. She smiled quietly to herself and went into the ensuite where she showered and dressed in her uniform, feeling once more like an officer of Voyager.
It came to her that, had this not worked, or had she refused to accept this challenge, she would now be chief of security for Voyager. It had initially frightened her and it was ironic that now, after all she'd been through, she possessed a certainty that she could handle that responsibility easily. She wondered what that meant for her future aspirations or if it really meant anything at all. She discreetly left Tuvok's quarters without requiring any sort of farewell from him and headed for the security department. She was surprised to find Lt. Davis, the officer she had left in charge while she and Tuvok had been indisposed, chewing out one of the newest members to join the department. Lt. D'Vor was the sort of young man who always tried his very best ... yet for some reason, always managed to find a way to mess things up. Ro wasn't certain he'd be able to work out in security and from the scene she intruded upon, it appeared that he was proving it yet again.
"What's going on?"
Startled, the beefy blond figure of Davis straightened, his square features reddening.
"It's a matter of a security breach, sir."
D'Vor, perhaps hoping that the arrival of a senior officer would get him off the hook, attempted to appeal to her.
"Lt. Ro, I was put in charge of inventory," he said defensively. "So when I noticed that some of our equipment was still out, I sent a memo over to engineering to get it back."
Ro immediately felt a tingle of alarm shoot through her. The only security equipment currently in the possession of an engineering officer were the surveillance devices Vorik had needed to monitor Tuvok's last stages of Pon farr. As the only other Vulcan on board, he was required to accept the security chief's katra upon his death. As it turned out, thanks to Ro's intervention, the young engineer hadn't needed to perform that role, but if it became general knowledge that Vorik was using security equipment, someone might figure out what it had been used for ... panic flashed through the Bajoran. She had vowed to uphold the cultural protocols that the Pon farr ritual had demanded, regardless of personal cost. To know they could be violated by something so stupid as an ensign not paying the proper attention enraged her.
"Ensign D'Vor," she began in an icy tone and his face went pale as he realized he would receive no sympathy here. "I placed a class five addendum on that invoice. Did you willfully ignore that?"
"Class five?" he echoed faintly. "I ... uh, I guess I didn't see it."
"You didn't look, you mean," Ro said. Her dark eyes raked him up and down scornfully. "Ensign, what goes on in security is to remain in security. It is not for public consumption and certainly not to bandied about the ship at large, as a general memo to another department most certainly will. We are the ones responsible for the safety of this vessel and its crew. In order to do that, we must keep the faith with those we deal with as we expect them to deal with us. Confidentiality has just as large a priority in our department as it does in the medical department. Violating a class five seal is a court-martial offense. Can you give me one reason why I shouldn't bring this to the attention of both Tuvok and the captain?"
She did not show how much she was hoping to hell he would. The last thing she wanted was for this to go any further than it already had. He stiffened to parade attention, eyes forward, shoulders back.
"No, sir," he said in a low voice. "I made a mistake and I accept the consequences of it, sir."
The fact that he was obviously scared to death, the perspiration beading on his forehead did not negate the fact that he had given precisely the correct answer. In fact, it helped his cause tremendously because any attempt to defend himself, any reach for an excuse to justify his actions, would have finished him. And possibly her as well.
Ro inhaled. "What's the status of the equipment?"
Davis frowned. "It's still sealed in the room on deck seven."
She dipped her head. "Cancel the memo," she ordered. "Attribute it to an accounting error. I'll take care of the equipment." She glared at D'Vor. "As of this moment, Ensign, you are on half rations with the other half to go to the department kitty. You will serve double shifts for the next three days, and you will do a complete audit on every piece of equipment this department has. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir!" he said smartly, and obviously he did, realizing she was keeping the punishment within the ranks and not kicking it upstairs. His tow-headed features were pale with relief as he swayed slightly. He knew how close it had been. Had the equipment room been breached, this would have been a matter for the captain, and the consequences would have been far more dire.
"Davis," she added as she headed for the door. "Try not to be too ham-handed when you cancel the inter-ship request."
"I'm on it," he promised.
She could only hope so as she sprinted for the turbo-lift.
Seven of Nine desolately entered data into her work console in the astrometrics lab and implemented the scans for the upcoming sector of space, correlating it with the charts she had already created from memory months earlier. Her readouts revealed a few spatial anomalies that hadn't been included in the original charts had either been newly formed or overlooked by the Borg. She dutifully added them to the updated charts that would eventually be sent to the bridge to aid in the helm's navigational projections.
As she did, she reached up and brushed a tear away from her eye. For so long, she had been completely unable to cry, but now it seemed as if she was always on the verge of breaking down into sobs. Neither state was comfortable and she wondered how long it would be before she achieved any sort of balance. She realized she hated the alien for putting her in this position, for taking the solid foundation from beneath her feet and destroying it so casually. Every step she took felt as if it was undermined by the rubble, shifting treacherously under her. The only slightly positive thing she could find in this whole situation was that she normally worked alone in astrometrics, so her obvious uncertainty and pain was not placed on display for the crew at large as it would were she posted to the bridge. Still, it had been a difficult shift to carry out, and she wondered if her spouse had been correct in her implication that perhaps the Borg was not quite ready to return to duty.
Seven knew that Janeway was desperately worried about her, but at least her partner wasn't trying to force Seven into behaving differently than how the Borg felt like behaving. It showed Seven that Kathryn was honestly attempting to let her find her own way in this, yet still be as supportive as possible. Seven appreciated it, recognizing the distinct change in attitude by her spouse. Yet there was also a part of the Borg who wished that Janeway had some magical process which would make this whole situation just go away ... that somehow the captain could simply cause the Borg to forget everything that happened so she could move on with her life. It was so easy in the Collective, Seven thought, to put all feelings aside as irrelevant and not have to concern herself with any of them. Unlike how they possessed her now, making it difficult for her to think, to work, to react ... to properly return her partner's love and affection.
She wondered how long it would be before she could.
She had to pause, as from nowhere, a sob caught in her throat. Apparently, she had been incorrect. She could not work and hurt at the same time ... not efficiently. She discovered that she had just been standing there for several minutes, her hands still on the console as she stared bleakly at it. With an effort, she finished up her final task and then stood quietly, not knowing what to do next. It was just so hard to concentrate, to keep her mind on what she had to do.
She glanced around, then logged off and left astrometrics. She wasn't sure where she was going or what was drawing her, but when she looked up, she realized she had just entered cargo bay two. It had recently been altered to become an arboretum. The emerald grass, growing lush beneath the artificial illumination that mimicked the Terran sun, was spongy beneath her feet and she stepped gingerly on it as she walked. Other crewmembers were present, enjoying this small slice of planetary nature, but no one bothered her as she strode rapidly across the lawns. She found the door set discreetly behind some bushes and accessed it, entering the warm, humid atmosphere inside which was tinted with a greenish glow emanating from the Borg alcoves.
This had been her space when she had been Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct to Unimatrix 01, when there had been no doubts or fears, just the constant, unceasing voices and the solidified assurance that every moment held a task and that task was to be done for the good of the Collective. She swallowed as she mounted the dais, regarding the alcove that had been shut down after she lost the abdominal implant and no longer required a regular regeneration cycle.
She touched the construct, running her hands over the dark technology, the hard metal, dripping with conduits and tubing. She remembered coming here just after she had discovered that the Borg had taken away her ability to have children, and falling upon the equipment in a mindless rage, destroying one alcove completely and part of another. Only this last remaining alcove had been salvaged, and she gazed at it now with unusual longing.
She rested her left palm against the plate where she would have been attached during the regeneration cycle via the abdominal implant, the conduit removing any excessive toxins from her body and replacing it with energy, pure and unsullied from the throbbing power of the ship's warp core. In the Collective, it also removed any doubt, any lingering wisps of emotion that might have escaped the smothering power of the hive mind, and left the drone with a certainty and rigid perfection of the Collective purpose.
Two writhing silver tubes erupted from the back of her hand, shooting forth to mesh with the plate, seeking out the connections to assimilate into with but a thought. Of course, with the alcove shut down, there would be nothing for the tubes to draw in, but activating it would be so easy, Seven thought. Simply press here, and there, and once more she could embrace the power of the Borg, no longer be plagued by these disruptive and harmful emotions. A small, logical part of her pointed out that such desire was a fantasy, that it would be technically impossible with all she had been through, to attempt to regenerate once more. It would also be dangerous, the technology overwhelming her humanoid systems, disrupting the uneasy balance achieved between flesh and cybernetics.
But oh, not to have to feel anymore, she cried silently. To not hurt so deeply that it seemed like death was preferable, to not feel so betrayed that every breath was like a dagger stabbing into her chest.
To not feel emotion, her intellect agreed dispassionately. To no longer want or need anything or anyone.
Including Kathryn, her heart cried in outrage.
Seven's breath caught and she closed her eyes, pressing against the cold surface of the alcove, the various edges and points digging into the different parts of her body.
To not love Kathryn? her heart hammered at her. To take away the happiness felt every time our body is embraced by those loving arms?To be unable to feel the warmth of love that fills our body with strength and purpose? To give that up for no other reason than not to hurt ... a temporary imposition that will eventually pass? To surrender the ties of friendship and affection developed for B'Elanna and Naomi and Tuvok and all the rest of this new Human Collective to which we now belong, simply because this period of time had grown difficult to bear?
Her heart was scornful, ashamed of her weakness. This was unacceptable, no bargain, no equal exchange. To live and love meant that one also had to feel pain. The two went together no matter how much one pursued the former while too often finding the latter. But it was fair, because the moments of happiness could overcome any amount of pain, if only one drew upon the strength of them. It was simply a matter of being willing to try, no matter how hard it was.
Seven felt tears sliding down her face and she realized that this too, was part of the Human equation ... that sorrow was required to appreciate joy. That growth of spirit was often painful but the success was an end onto itself. Deliberately, she withdrew her assimilation tubules and stepped back from the alcove. There was no sanctuary here, just the deceptive sterility of no emotion, the cost disguised but all too real once the veil of confusion was cleared away.
Seven had experienced enough deception. She would not indulge in it for her own purposes.
Breathing deeply, she sank down onto the dais, leaning against the post that was laced with circuitry along its height. She closed her eyes, blanking out the harsh, angular Borg construction and the eerie illumination of the alcove. The air smelt musty, of silicone fluid and oils that permeated the room with its hint of Borg cubes and pale drones. The whisper of a breeze brushing over her face had no place in this environment of stillness and cybernetic achievement.
Seven frowned and opened her eyes, realizing suddenly that the door had not closed entirely, held open slightly by a twig which had somehow become lodged in the sill. Along with the brief glimpse of the park outside, the rich scent of growing things spread through the small room, fighting back the dead air, defeating the dank section of Borg memory with its vibrant freshness. Then, buzzing through the opening, came life in the form of one of the new bees that had been added to the limited ecosystem, flying directly to Seven and landing on her hand, no doubt seeking out the only other living thing, animal as it was, in this new environment it had discovered.
She regarded the creature silently as the bee crawled over her palm, exploring this unusual flower, seeking out any trace of pollen. The creature had been genetically altered to remove its sting, but otherwise, it was just as nature had created. An impossible marvel, Seven mused, aerodynamically incorrect and overburdened, yet still able to fly on wings of transparent membrane as it danced from flower to flower with grace and purpose, fulfilling its function in the delicate balance of life. Its fat black legs were dusted with yellow and some of it brushed onto her skin, soft and whisper light.
It would die if left here, she thought. That was the defining line between these alcoves and the park. Here was only an empty and ultimately meaningless purpose. Out there was life, with all its pain and joy and promise, needing only to be experienced to define itself.
Carefully, she placed her other hand over the insect, trapping it in the temporary prison of her grip as she stood up and carried it through the door that hissed opened at her approach. She used her toe to nudge aside the twig so that the door could seal solidly once more, and enforced the seal with Borg encryptions. Opening her hands, she released the insect and watched as it flew away, buzzing into the artificial twilight instituted a few months earlier, the illumination slowly lowering to simulate the setting sun. Seven took a deep breath, realizing that the alpha shift was long over and the beta shift had already begun, and her spouse was undoubtedly wondering where she was.
It is time to go home, she decided.
B'Elanna Torres frowned as she read a interdepartmental memo, requesting that equipment signed out by Ensign Vorik, one of her engineers, be returned to the security department as soon as possible. It occurred to her that there had been a great many things going on in engineering while she had been occupied with adapting what had turned out to be a fake, Borg transwarp coil. Only now was she beginning to catch up on it. It was bad enough that Vorik had requested leave in the middle of the project, but when the captain had granted it without so much as a quibble, the Klingon hadn't known what to think. Now, there was a memo that made no sense to her at all.
What the hell would Vorik be doing with security monitoring equipment?
She noted on the roster that Vorik had still not returned from his accorded leave. Inquisitiveness grew thick and strong within her. She decided that the Vulcan must have been tapped by security for some covert operation, though why and what for, she had no idea. Something was going on because her lover, Lt. Ro Laren, had been locked up with Tuvok in his quarters for three days, while their communicators were sealed with a high-level classification ban. B'Elanna didn't think that was ordinary operating procedure, but she also knew that the security section didn't quite function the way other Starfleet departments did. Security had always incorporated a code of silence and intrigue around its operations, even when all that was involved was something mundane like the annual departmental reports, or some kind of tactical planning to train their officers. However, such annoying traits were willingly tolerated by the other crewmembers because they were always aware that security was the first line of defense for a starship's crew. The attrition rate was the highest per capita than any other section of the ship. If they wanted to shroud their protocols and procedures with mystery, other departments simply accepted the idiosyncrasy, no matter how silly they might consider it.
The Klingon burned with curiosity. An unrepentant information hound, with an inherent need to know everything that was happening on her vessel, B'Elanna found this too intriguing a puzzle to pass up. She wondered if she could get Ro to reveal anything once the Bajoran was back to regular duty, then realized that the woman had kept her own identity secret for six years. Ro would not reveal anything she thought she shouldn't, so it was highly unlikely that B'Elanna would be able to mine any pertinent data there.
Of course, the Klingon was very conscious that she was not supposed to pursue this. So much of security was on a 'need-to-know-only' basis and other crewmembers were expected to stay out of it. On the other hand, B'Elanna told herself, they had commandeered one of her engineering team and to a certain extent, that made it her business. Obviously, Vorik could no more say anything about it than Ro would, so B'Elanna knew she would just have to find out what was going on some other way. She had no intention of ever passing on the information, of course ... she just wanted to know for her own personal satisfaction. She had the highest respect for the sanctity of Starfleet security. Heck, she was dating one of them, wasn't she?
She tapped into the computer and started tracing Vorik's movements over the past week or so, ever since he had left the transwarp coil project. It wasn't anything particularly involved on her part, just a simple inquiry to the computer to ask where on the ship he had been at such and such a time. Purely a low level request for information that was readily available to anyone who took the trouble to ask. She was surprised to discover that for the most part, Vorik had remained in his quarters, though at the start of his leave, he had spent two days in an area on deck seven. Puzzled, she pulled up a schematic of the ship and pinpointed the location, discovering it was an auxiliary room next to the quarters of the Security Chief. Around the same time Vorik returned to his own quarters, Ro Laren had isolated herself with her superior officer. Obviously it was connected in some way, but B'Elanna could not figure out how.
On a subconscious level, she knew she wouldn't be nearly so interested if Ro hadn't been involved. Nor would she be giving this little mystery a second thought if her lover had been around to occupy her attention. But now that the extra duty with the transwarp project had ended, engineering was operating at peak efficiency. Without the Bajoran to spend her off-duty time with, B'Elanna had managed to catch up on all the little tasks and paperwork. She was bored. When B'Elanna was bored, she naturally turned to something that offered a challenge. Uncovering the details of a security operation seemed just the thing.
She checked the duty roster again, surprised to discover both Tuvok and Ro Laren had returned to regular duty. She wondered if the monitoring equipment that Vorik supposedly had taken possession of was in that auxiliary room next to Tuvok's quarters. It wouldn't hurt to check it out, she decided, and if she didn't find anything, well then, she'd just put it down as a mystery she couldn't solve and go look up Ro. Perhaps now that the security operation was over, she and the Bajoran could spend some real quality time together.
But first, she would check out that room.
The corridor on deck seven was quiet as she tested the door leading to the auxiliary storage room. It refused to open at her initial attempt at entry and it required her engineering command code to override the lock. Inside, she found a simple pallet in the corner, a single chair and a plain table which supported a monitor and other equipment. All the surveillance gear was shut down and she examined it curiously, wondering what Vorik had been monitoring.
She reached out to activate it and run a playback when the door hissed open and Ro Laren stepped through the entrance. Caught red-handed as it were, B'Elanna decided that the best defense was a good offense.
"Hello sweetheart," she said, spreading her arms. "Are you all finished with your extra duty?"
Ro did not budge. "What are you doing here?"
B'Elanna lowered her arms and crossed them over her chest. "Engineering received a memo regarding this equipment," she said with what she hoped was appropriate innocence. "I was just ... ah, returning it for Vorik."
"I see," Ro said. She moved past the Klingon and began to gather the equipment, putting it back in the carrying cases. "Thank you. I'll take care of it from here."
"Okay," B'Elanna said, tilting her head slightly. Ro seemed fairly short with her but that was to be expected, considering that she had been caught messing about where she wasn't supposed to be. She tried for a winsome expression. "I don't suppose you can tell me what it was used for?"
Ro didn't answer right away, continuing to work, and B'Elanna decided that she was going to ignore the question, which was probably what she was supposed to do. The Klingon was considerably surprised when the Bajoran abruptly paused, taking a deep breath as she turned around and looked at B'Elanna directly.
"This was a need-to-know operation," Ro Laren said, in a very serious tone.
B'Elanna shrugged. "Sure," she said, figuring that would be all she would get and astonished to have received that much.
Ro continued to stare at her darkly. "Tuvok has authorized that you need to know," she said, surprising B'Elanna even further. "I will demand before I tell you anything, that you give your solemn oath that this cannot go any further. You have to swear it on your honor, B'Elanna. This is about Vulcan cultural restrictions of the highest level."
B'Elanna blushed. "Okay," she said, reminded pointedly of her penchant for gossip and how much aggravation it had caused on occasion. "I know I haven't always been the most ... discreet person in the past, but I promise, I can keep a secret when I have to."
Ro looked down at the deck. "The reason Vorik had this equipment was to monitor Tuvok in the last stages of his Pon farr," she said quietly. "In order to be ready to take his katra upon his death."
B'Elanna was floored and she felt her heart leap in her throat. She knew what Pon farr was, had even experienced it to a limited degree. She also knew what an extremely delicate cultural taboo she had just stepped into and not for the first time, decided that her chronic nosiness was going to get her in real trouble some day. She was keenly aware that Tuvok would never have allowed himself to become the spectacle that Vorik had, that he would rather die in isolation than allow others to know of it ... except, of course, he was still alive. She had seen his code back on active status in the computer.
"Obviously, Vorik didn't need to take Tuvok's katra," she said, tentatively. "He's not dead."
"An alternative method was invoked to save his life. A surrogate was utilized."
B'Elanna raised an eyebrow. "A surrogate," she said, wide-eyed. "You mean someone mated with ...." She trailed off as she realized where Ro had been the past three days. "Kahless!" she howled. "Are you telling me you slept with him?"
Ro blinked, obviously taken aback at her decibel level. "There was actually very little sleep involved."
"How could you do that?" B'Elanna said, feeling her heart spasm painfully. "How could you betray me like that?"
"Excuse me?" Ro said, staring at her as if she had lost her mind. "What are you talking about?"
B'Elanna clenched her fists. "I can't believe this," she said raggedly. "You cheated on me! You know how I feel about infidelity!"
Ro was astounded. "First of all," she said in clipped tones "This has nothing to do with 'infidelity'. Secondly, Tuvok was going to die and that was an unacceptable outcome so a plan was put in motion to save him. He's a fellow crewmate and a friend. I can't believe you're upset because he was saved."
B'Elanna was furious, her upper lip drawing back over her upper teeth in a snarl. "Why didn't you tell me when the decision was made?"
"Because you weren't involved," Ro said logically. "If you had been suitable, then yes, you would have been briefed on the situation beforehand. The protocols regarding this are strictly defined if anyone cares to look them up. Secondly, the plan was put in motion when the captain's initial plan failed. I hardly had time to tell you, even if I could ... which I wouldn't because of the delicate nature of the operation. Despite that, however, Tuvok believes that if you and I are going to have a future together, then you have to know what will be expected of me seven years from now if we're still in the Delta Quadrant."
"A future?" B'Elanna repeated, outraged. "Do you really think I can forgive you for this."
"Forgive me?" Ro replied, baffled. "For what?"
"You fucked another person and you don't think you've done anything wrong?" B'Elanna spat, tears stinging the back of her eyes, which she refused to let fall.
That finally sparked the Bajoran's anger, her dark eyes glowing daggers, her face setting into a glacial fury. "I mated with Tuvok," she corrected coldly, "because if I hadn't, he would have died. I did not go to him because I wanted to be with him rather than you. I did not look to him for 'comfort' because I was hurt or lonely or trying to hurt you. This had absolutely nothing to do with us at all."
"How can you say that?" B'Elanna cried. "I love you."
"So what the hell does that mean?" Ro responded sharply. "That I'm supposed to stand by and watch a crewmember die because you have some kind of hangup over how I had to save him? That I'm supposed to ask your permission about how I go about performing my duty as a crewmember of Voyager?"
"It was my right to know," B'Elanna repeated stubbornly.
"In what way?" Ro asked icily. "You didn't have any contribution to make to this operation. The fact that I happened to be saving the life of a friend and a mentor ... the fact that I was able to save the life of a man I respect greatly ... was merely a bonus and something that I could only be profoundly grateful for. I am certainly not going to apologize for that."
B'Elanna paced about the room, glaring at the Bajoran. "Why did you have to do it?"
Ro was exasperated. "There were only three people on this vessel capable of carrying out this operation; you, me and Seven of Nine. You and Seven weren't suitable for a variety of reasons, so I accepted the responsibility. You seem to think you have some say in how I choose to carry out my duty. You don't, not professionally or personally. You certainly wouldn't let me tell you how to run engineering!"
"I don't have to sleep with anyone to run engineering!"
"Damn it, B'Elanna," Ro replied furiously. "This is not about sleeping with someone."
The Klingon stopped, stared directly in the dark eyes. "Did you enjoy it?" she demanded. "Isn't that what you've always wanted from him?"
"What?"
"Did you come?" the engineer demanded coarsely.
The Bajoran's eyes blazed black ice. "Yes, I achieved physical release. Several times. It was an amazing experience ... particularly when T'Pel conceived. It was also a joyful and surprisingly loving encounter and the Vulcans welcomed me as part of their clan, accepting my help even though I was Bajoran." She stared at the Klingon with a touch of loathing. "Why? Would you have preferred that I be incapable of feeling anything at all when exposed to something that wonderful? Or perhaps you would rather it had been some kind of vicious rape as so many common myths believe? That I was now in sickbay recovering from some horrific experience? Would that have made this easier for you to accept? That I had been brutally assaulted rather than being able to participate in a life affirming experience?"
B'Elanna was brought up short by the questions, blinking as she considered them. "I ... no, of course not.". She took several deep breaths, trying to control herself. She wanted to smash something. "But if it didn't mean anything ..."
"Of course, it meant something," Ro interrupted her harshly. "It meant everything. I was able to save the lives of two people, one of whom I care about dearly. And furthermore, I was able to assist in creating a new life for their family. That I was able to do this for Tuvok after all he's done for me is something that greatly honors me. You, of all people, should understand that. I was also able to succeed when the captain relied on me to conduct this mission when she couldn't. You should also know what that means to me. But all you seem to want is to make this something tawdry and crass. You haven't taken the time to find out anything about it, yet you still presume to judge me on my actions."
The Klingon was stymied, aware that she had misread the situation, but her pride prevented her from backing away. "I deserve to be part of whatever personal decision you make."
Ro stared at the infuriated Klingon. "It wasn't a personal decision. The best qualified person just happened to be me, and regardless of what benefit I personally received, it was done for reasons of crew safety and preservation. Why are you trying to turn this into something it isn't?"
"How would you have felt if I had been the one to do this?" the engineer argued, trying to turn it around on the Bajoran.
Ro spread her hands. "I'd have been pleased that a solution had been found," she said with what seemed honest bafflement. "Of course, I would have stood outside the door to make sure you didn't beat the hell out of him like you did Vorik, or change your mind in the middle of it like you did at the Academy, but after it was over, I would have honored you for doing your duty and saving a crewmember's life. How else would I react? Certainly not like this."
B'Elanna's outrage burned up her spine. "You wouldn't have had to stand outside the door," she said hotly. "I would never have walked out on Tuvok."
"Yet, apparently, you expected me to," Ro said, and now it was achingly clear to B'Elanna that the proud Bajoran was as hurt as B'Elanna initially thought she should be. Ro turned away for a moment, taking several deep breaths, obviously trying to calm herself, and then finished packing the equipment with agitated motion. "You wouldn't be acting this way if I had taken a phaser blast for him, B'Elanna. You wouldn't be attacking me if I had donated blood or an organ to allow him to live. What the hell makes this so different?"
B'Elanna searched for the answer to that. "You were intimate," she said finally, somewhat lamely.
Ro raised her head. "Tuvok and I have been 'intimate' for six years," she reminded her acidly. "He was the only person who knew who I was. He was the only one I could be myself with ... at least until I told you. That's as intimate as you can get." She slammed the lid of the carrying case down and turned to the Klingon. "B'Elanna, intimacy isn't about sex. Only the young and foolish think mashing your genitals together somehow grants two people a sacred bond. Love and commitment really comes from here, and in here." She touched her chest, where her heart was, and then, her forehead. "My body is my own, B'Elanna and how I utilize it in carrying out my duties is completely my decision and mine alone. Let's be very clear on this; I'm with you because I want and choose to be, not because I'm unable to resist some hormonal attraction I might be experiencing in regards to you. My friendship with Tuvok, and what I had to do to preserve his life, does not lessen what I feel for you. But obviously it lessens what you feel for me. When you finally grow up and are ready for a real relationship rather than some conception of one you picked up out of a teen holoprogram, then you give me a call."
She picked up the cases and went to go by B'Elanna who reached out and wrenched her around. "Don't walk out on me," B'Elanna hissed.
Ro glared at her. "Torres," she said in a dangerous tone. "You want this to be about you because it gives you an excuse to be 'wronged' just like it did with Tom when he thought you were dead. I think you enjoy being cast as the 'victim' in some perverse way. You play the role even when you have to create it out of thin air, but one of these days, you're going to realize it doesn't fly with a lot of people, including me. If you want to make a problem where none exist, then you can do it without my involvment."
"You should have told me."
"I just did. Despite every Federation protocol regarding this, despite the captain's decision that this was to remain between the participants involved, despite your reputation as the 'mouth of the ship', I did tell you. Because Tuvok suggested that our relationship was strong enough to warrant such confidentiality. It's a pity he was wrong."
Caught by a sudden, overwhelming surge of anger, B'Elanna swung at the Bajoran and the next thing she knew, she was face down on the deck, Ro pinning her with a knee in the small of the Klingon's back.
"I have never, nor will I, in any situation, raise a hand to you in anger," Ro said, her voice shaking with a deep and emotional outrage and B'Elanna knew she had gone too far with this child of the Cardassian interment camps. "If you ever try to hit me again, then anything that might have been possible between us will no longer exist. I am no one's punching bag, not even yours. Remember that."
Then she was gone and B'Elanna was slamming her fists into the deck, weeping with anger and the unmistakable sense that she may have crossed a line over which she might not be able to retreat.
Janeway blinked sleepily as she regarded the padd she held in her hands. She was in her ready room, her chair angled away from her desk as she attempted to catch up on some reports she had let slide the previous week. It seemed that the night with no sleep was starting to catch up to her. Wearily, she rubbed her eyes with her forefinger and thumb, pinching the bridge of her nose as she tried to draw on the internal store of energy that had served her so well in the past. The chime to her door sounded and she carefully schooled the irritation out of her voice.
"Come in."
She heard the door hiss open as she made a few final entries in the padd, and then she swung her chair around to regard her visitor. It was Tuvok, immaculately garbed in his uniform, his dark-skinned features once more displaying infinite calm and wisdom.
"Oh, Tuvok," she said, her voice breaking.
Without saying anything else, she dropped the padd on the desktop and rose from her chair, skirting the desk and reaching out to him. He stiffened slightly as she embraced him, but he did not move away, merely tolerating it patiently until she had regained some composure. She smiled widely as she looked up into his face, feeling her cheeks ache with the expanse of it and couldn't decide what she wanted to do next. She wanted to hug him again ... or shake him for scaring her so badly but instead, she forced herself to take a step back, affording him the personal space that he required.
She exhaled audibly. "It's so good to see you, old friend."
He quirked an eyebrow. "I am ... gratified to see you as well, Captain. I trust my department was not unduly affected by my absence, but I did wish to let you know personally that I am once more resuming my duties."
She regarded him, shaking her head slightly. Just like that, his expected demise, and the circumstances surrounding it, were carefully filed away and not to be discussed again. It was to be as if absolutely nothing had happened.
"I can't tell you how pleased I am to have you back," she managed quietly.
He dipped his head, but his dark eyes were shadowed and somehow, she thought he understood all that she was feeling, and that she was aware of the toll this had taken on him, even if it didn't show.
"I trust," she added, not completely able to contain her curiosity, "that Lt. Ro was able to ... assist you?"
He hesitated. "Lt. Ro ... performed her role adequately," he admitted, in the sort of tone that indicated that was as much as she was going to get about that particular subject.
She swallowed the irrational giggle that rose in her throat, knowing it sprang as much from sheer relief as any humor that might have been found in the situation. "I'm glad to hear that." They regarded each other for a second, then she lowered her eyes and moved briskly around the desk to resume her seat. "I don't know if you're aware of what went on in your absence."
"I have familiarized myself with the logs prior to returning to duty," he said. He tilted his head slightly. "I am regretful to hear of the situation with Seven and the alien. Has she recovered from that revelation?"
Janeway felt her smile disappear, the reminder of all that was going on with her partner descending upon her like a shroud.
"Not yet, Tuvok," she admitted. "She's so unhappy, can't sleep, barely eats ... I don't know what would help her at this point. At least, she returned to work this morning. I suppose I should take that as a good sign, but she looked so sad when I left her in astrometrics."
"What you doing to alleviate her suffering?" His words were bland, the glint in his eyes was not.
She eyed him narrowly, thinking that she picked something up from the sheer evenness of the question. "Believe it or not, my old friend, I've been trying very hard to do absolutely nothing beyond just being there for her."
"Indeed?" She could tell he was honestly surprised beneath that impassive mien. "I had not thought you could acquire such wisdom in the short time I was absent."
She shot a dark look at him. "I have learned from past mistakes," she said, somewhat acidly. His observation had been so carefully devoid of sarcasm that she knew it was absolutely laden with it. God, it felt good to be sparring with him again, she decided with wry pleasure as they fell easily back into their previous relationship ... just as if there had never been a fear that they might not be able to interact this way again. "I just want so much to help her. It's unbelievably hard to stand by and do nothing."
"It is logical to accept that there may be nothing you can do," he reminded her gently. "Your current approach could be exactly the correct one. Seven may need to come to terms with this circumstance herself, without any 'assistance' you may wish to impose upon her."
"I get it, Tuvok," she responded dryly. "In the past, my attempts to 'fix' things sometimes did as much damage as the original situation caused."
He raised an eyebrow. "That is ... a most astute self-discovery. I am impressed."
"Thank you." She sighed. "She just seems to have no hope anymore, Tuvok. It's as if any shred of it has been killed in her. She's just going through the motions."
"Then obviously, she must find a way to hope again," he said slowly, trying to work through this emotional turmoil which normally he would disdain, finding it quite illogical. "But she must be the one to find it, Captain. It is not the sort of thing you can create in concrete form and present to her in a package."
"I would if I could," Janeway said glumly. Yet, as she said it, a little light sparked in her mind. Hope in a package? For some reason, that sounded like a good idea to her, but she wasn't about to share it with her friend. For one thing, she hadn't thought it out completely, and for another, she didn't want him to talk her out of it. Instead, she regarded him brightly, offered him a smile and changed the subject. "I need to speak to you about Lt. Ro. What will happen now?"
He looked vaguely confused. "I am not certain I understand the question."
She spread her hands. "Surely you can't expect her to stay in the security department."
He stared at her. "Why not?"
"Because," she said delicately, "Of what happened between you."
He blinked. "She saved my life, Captain. If it is now required that a person leave security every time a life-saving technique is performed on another, then I'm afraid I will not have many crewmembers left in my department by the end of this duty shift."
Janeway opened her mouth to respond, changed her mind about what she was going to say, thought about that for a moment and finally succeeded in only looking baffled. "Tuvok," she said, finally, slowly, "I'm not trying to pry, honestly. But I have to believe that you shared something very personal with her. I would think it would be difficult to work together after that."
He raised an eyebrow. "Of course, we shared something deeply personal and private," he agreed. "As we did the entire six years previous to that. Her sharing her true identity with me was a profound trust and certainly it did not prevent us from working together before. I hardly see where my sharing this particular trust with her will prevent us from working together in the future." He paused, regarding her steadily. "I believe I understand. You are applying Human morals and emotional overtones to the situation where they simply do not exist, Captain. Please, do not insult Lt. Ro's professionalism in such a manner. After all, she is not Human either. Her sense of discipline and purpose has, over the years I have known her, reached an almost Vulcan level and is certainly not fraught with the emotional digression that another might indulge. In truth, she was the perfect choice for this very difficult task."
"Okay," Janeway said quietly. "I see I misunderstood the situation. I'm sorry. I was just going to say that if she no longer could operate in security, then I was going to place her in command operations."
He raised an eyebrow. "Indeed." He paused, thinking about that. "Certainly, I would not wish to hold her back if such an opening was made available, Captain. I believe that she would seriously consider that kind of position should you offer it."
She nodded. "Then, I will, Tuvok. Ro's a remarkable officer. I would hate to see all that potential command ability go to waste."
"I will point out that you are not the first captain to think so." His voice was very dry. "What makes you believe you will be able to convince her when others before you have been unable to guide her to the desired course in her career?"
Janeway felt another smile spread over her face.
"Do you really want me to answer that?" she asked with amusement. "I might sound immodest."
He held up a hand. "It is unnecessary. You are Captain Kathryn Janeway. Of course you will succeed when all others have failed."
"So glad you agree," she responded sweetly. She wondered if all Vulcans were this sarcastic or if it was only Tuvok when he was at his most keen with her. He certainly kept her wits sharp and the thought that she might have lost this interaction, stuck a needle deep in her heart. Thank god for the Bajoran and her willingness to dig deep enough to discover what no other outsider had taken the time to find out about Pon farr. Definitely, a reward was in order, the captain thought. She would offer the lieutenant the post in command operations and see what happened.
Tuvok rose to his feet. "It is time I resumed my duty. The department requires a certain rededication to their craft. It has slipped during my recent ... distraction."
Janeway managed not to wince in sympathy for those unsuspecting security officers. "I'm sure they'll be glad to have you back to your old self," she said diplomatically.
"No," he said, just before he left. "They will not."
Janeway laughed and picked up the padd she had been perusing before she had been so happily interrupted by her security chief. As she did, she realized how glad she was that she didn't have to tell Seven, on top of everything else, that Tuvok had died. She had initially held off indicating anything to the young woman about what he was going through, hoping that somehow she would find a way to fix it. She hadn't exactly made plan 'A' work, but fortunately Ro Laren had come through with plan 'B'. Her spouse didn't need to know the details, just that things had worked out all right in the end.
Reminded of her spouse, she raised her head. "Computer, locate Seven of Nine."
"Seven of Nine is in astrometrics," the computer responded evenly.
Janeway sighed, wondering how Seven was doing, but resisted the urge to contact her over the comm badge. It would do the Borg little good to be hovered over at this point, though Janeway desperately wanted to go down to deck six and see her. Instead, the captain deliberately settled back to work, spending a few hours finishing up the reports she had begun earlier. Once that task was complete, she took a break, making her way up to the ready room's upper level and pouring herself some coffee. As she sipped it ... grimacing a bit because she had made it rather than Seven ... she regarded the stars, her mind pulling out the flash of inspiration which had occurred to her while she had been speaking to Tuvok, and examining it carefully from all sides.
Was there any possibility that this would make things worse for Seven? she asked herself keenly. That was the most important pitfall she had to avoid or she would simply have to forget the whole thing, chalking it up as nothing more than a bad idea. She went over it several times, determining that while it might not make things better, it was highly unlikely that it would make things any worse. Satisfied with that, Janeway drained her cup and set it on the low coffee table. Then she descended the short flight of stairs and moved briskly out onto the bridge where she crossed over to where Lt. Harry Kim manned the operations station. The dark-haired young man glanced up at her approach. His level eyes were curious at the captain's expression, as well as a little wary. Immediately, Janeway modified her expression to impassiveness. It would not do for him to think she had any ulterior motive in what she was about to say.
"Mr. Kim."
"Captain," he responded politely. "May I help you?"
"Actually, I was going to help you, Lieutenant," she said quietly. "When was the last time you and Megan had an evening out?"
He flushed, grinning. "Too long, Captain," he admitted. "Having a baby is a full time job." He paused, appearing worried suddenly. "Has my work been affected...??"
She held up a hand to forestall his query. "Not at all," she assured him. "I just wanted to let you know that Seven and I are more than willing to make it possible for you to take a night off."
He looked at her blankly. "How?"
"We'll babysit, of course," she said brightly. "In fact, tonight would be a really good time since both Seven and I begin an off-duty rotation tomorrow morning."
He blinked, and then a smile slowly spread over his face. "That would be great, Captain," he said, obviously stunned at the offer, but very pleased that she would make it. "I'll talk to Megan and let you know before the end of the duty shift."
"Excellent," Janeway responded. "I'll wait to hear from you."
Pleased, she returned to her ready room and went back to work. She loved it when a plan was being put into action ... even when she shouldn't necessarily be making the plan in the first place.
Tuvok carefully positioned the chair beneath the windows, satisfied that he had finished refurbishing his quarters. He paused as he heard the door chime and turned, tilting his head slightly.
"Come in." An eyebrow lifted as Ro Laren appeared in the entrance. She moved into the room, the door sliding shut behind her with a quiet hiss. Her motion was jerky and agitated, obviously a sign of some deep, emotional distress.
"Lt. Ro," he offered evenly.
She stared at him and took a deep breath. "I don't know who else to talk to about this," she said, her voice uncertain.
"Indeed. What is this about?"
"I told B'Elanna about ... what happened the last three days."
"I see," he responded, allowing his face to become vaguely thoughtful. He eyed her narrowly. "Is this to be an emotional display?"
"Yes," she admitted.
He dipped his head and sat down cross-legged on the mat, lighting the meditation lamp.
"Proceed," he invited.
Ro clenched and unclenched her fists as she began to walk around the room, her nervous energy making her seem as if she was ready to fly apart. Tuvok's dark eyes followed her steadily, fascinated by the random nature of her movement.
"She's gone insane, Tuvok," she explained, clearly trying to understand something that was giving her a great deal of difficulty. "I told her about what happened and she twisted it all around, trying to turn something that was wonderful and decent into something that was dirty and tawdry! She talked to me like I was some kind of collaborator, sleeping with a Cardassian soldier to get special favors!"
"Lt. Torres is a most volatile individual," Tuvok offered calmly. "Her background is not as extensive as yours. She may lack a context in which to assess the situation."
"That doesn't give her the right to treat me like I'm dirt because of how I saved someone's life," Ro said, her proud features twisted painfully and he thought he might heard a sob rise in her throat before she managed to force it back. She turned and faced him, breath coming hard. "Damn it, Tuvok, she made me feel like I was trash."
His eyebrow rose to half-mast. "She is young," he pointed out rationally. "And the young are very defined in what they believe is right and wrong. It is only through life experience that one learns that most things are rarely so straightforward."
"I don't understand," she said, which he rather thought was unnecessary because it was obvious. Her dark eyes were bewildered and further more, they were hurt, shimmering on the verge of tears. Ro Laren was not the sort to indulge in tears often ... or to his knowledge, ever ... and he was vaguely disquieted. "How could she even think that I would try to cheat on her? It was like she didn't trust me at all, like she had never trusted me. Why would she even begin to believe that this was something sexual and not about saving your life?"
"Did you ask her?"
"She said ..." Ro began, swallowed hard, and continued. "She implied that I wanted to be with you for my own reasons."
His eyebrow raised to full mast, somewhat uncomfortable. He searched for the words to comfort her, having little success because of his past disinterest in Humanoid romantic interaction. "Why would she believe that?"
"I don't know," Ro said, throwing up her hands. Her voice had risen considerably above her normal speaking tone, though he did not think she noticed it. "It's almost like she wants this to be something it isn't. I can't make her listen when I try to explain to her what it was really about."
"When certain individuals arrive at a conclusion," Tuvok noted, "particularly one based purely upon an immediate emotional response, it is difficult for an alternative view to be presented to them that they will accept or try to understand. It takes time for them to realize that their initial view was incorrect."
She stopped, hands on her hips, staring at the deck. "What am I supposed to do, Tuvok? She made me feel as if I've done something wrong."
He frowned slightly. "I am uncertain, Lieutenant. You, of course, are the only one that truly knows the motivations behind your actions. Do you feel you have behaved dishonorably? Do you regret anything you have done in the past week?"
"No," she said stubbornly, crossing her arms over her chest as her eyes raised to meet his, anger once more taking dominance in their flash. "I saved your life. I'm never going to apologize for that. B'Elanna has no right to think that just because we're lovers, I have to answer to her in matters of duty and responsibility."
He brought his eyebrow down. "An unnecessarily aggressive assessment of the situation."
"Actually, I do regret one thing," she said, her face set and angry. "I regret telling her. It was none of her damned business in the first place and now it'll probably be all over the ship. What were you thinking, Tuvok?"
"Now, you disparage Lt. Torres, unduly," he advised her, raising a hand to calm the outpouring of fury. "Do not believe that because she is normally free with information that she reveals everything she discovers. I have known her to be quite discreet when required."
She stared at him. "Are you kidding?" she said, in blatant disbelief. "You wouldn't believe some of the things she's told me ... including incidents with the captain and Seven that no one should know."
"No doubt," Tuvok reminded her. "But, I can assure you, there are things that she knows that do not go out to the crew at large, including much about the captain and Seven."
"Then how do you know about them?"
His lips did not quirk in amusement, but they considered it. "Because Seven has, at times, been as free with her information to me, as she has to her friend," he told her. "Much of it is information that I do not wish to have regarding the captain and her spouse." He shuddered imperceptibly. "Fortunately, Vulcans have the ability to delete unnecessary data from our memories as need be."
Ro threw up her hands, obviously not really listening to him as she stalked about the room. "I just have no idea where this is coming from. I never knew Klingons thought like this. I thought that of all people, she would respect and understood what I had done. Instead, she wants to make it about sex, like you and I had snuck off for a little R&R in the cargo bay or something."
"Lt. Torres does have a distinct Human influence in her upbringing. They are often ... impractical about matters of the heart."
Ro turned and stared at him. "The captain is Human. She's very practical."
"Captain Janeway is ... unique," he revealed. "Which is why she is a Starfleet captain. But when it comes to matters of love, she too, can react in a most illogical way."
"If you say so," Ro said doubtfully. "This has nothing to do with 'matters of love' anyway. If I had gotten killed while saving your life, B'Elanna would be proud. She'd be unhappy, but she'd still be proud when she found out about it. But because I do something life-affirming, she makes it sound like I'm a Cardassian sympathizer. I just don't understand her."
"That is apparent," Tuvok noted. "Nor, do I suspect, does she truly understand you. But then, new relationships are often a journey of discovery. The question you must ask yourself; are you willing to pursue it until you do reach a state of mutual understanding, or do you wish to terminate it?"
Ro stood by the windows, head bent, her fists clenched. "I don't know," she said finally. "I love her, Tuvok, but I can't be something I'm not for her. I can try to meet her halfway ... but not if she's going to punch me in the stomach every time I do."
"And what are your expectations of her?"
She looked at him. "I don't understand what you mean."
"What do you want from her," he said patiently.
The Bajoran's jaw shifted, showing how her teeth were clenched. "I want ... I expect her to respect me as a professional, to understand what my duties and responsibilities are, to accept that I will carry them out as I see fit, without interference."
"What do you want from her personally."
That took longer to answer and he waited calmly, the flame from the lamp flickering fretfully before him, casting shadows about the room and across the woman's angular face.
"I want her to trust me," Ro said finally. "I want her to believe in me as much as I believe in her abilities and not look for reasons to doubt how I feel about her."
"Then you must tell her that."
Ro seemed to slump suddenly, her hands dropping to her side, unclenching to lie limply against her legs. "She won't listen," she said softly.
"Perhaps not," the Vulcan said. "But you must tell her in any event. It is up to her as to what she will do with that information."
"I don't think it's that easy, sir."
"No," he agreed calmly, raising an eyebrow. "I never said it would be easy."
Seven of Nine stepped inside the door to the captain's quarters and immediately knelt to pet Jake who had bounded over to her, his tail wagging furiously. She scratched behind his ears, patted him firmly on the head and informed him as to what an adequate pet he was. He responded with a rather sloppy swipe of his tongue across her face before she could avoid it and sighing, she distastefully wiped the slobber away as she stood up.
Kathryn came out of the bedroom, still dressed in her uniform, though her feet were covered with fuzzy red slippers. The combination looked vaguely disturbing, but Seven could not put her finger on why, exactly.
"Hello, darling. Did you need to work late to catch up?"
"No," Seven replied honestly, if somewhat embarrassed by it. "I ... lost track of time."
Janeway blinked, surprised, but chose not to comment on such an unusual admission by the Borg. Instead, she moved over to the replicator. "Well, since it's my turn to make dinner tonight," she said lightly, in a tone that Seven thought sounded a little forced. "Do you have any requests?"
Seven shook her head. In truth, she was still not particularly hungry and decided that she had better not reveal the fact that she had skipped lunch. "Whatever you prepare will be sufficient."
Janeway shot her another sharp look but again, apparently decided to let it go. As she programmed in the selection, Seven went into the ensuite and washed her hands and face before removing her blue-and-grey biometric outfit to change into a t-shirt and some pants that she normally utilized during Velocity games. She left her feet bare as she returned to the dining area in time to sit down to the dinner the captain had just finished placing on the table.
It was browned rice with a flaky fillet of pink salmon on the side; a simple dish that even Janeway could replicate without difficulty. It was fairly bland, of course, lacking the addition of Seven's more adventurous spices, but the Borg discovered she was in the mood for bland, attempting to establish a sort of quietude within herself since she could not make all her roiling emotions settle down completely. As the couple ate, Janeway doggedly engaged in a rather one-sided conversation about her day, responded to periodically with a few words of two or less syllables from Seven, who was listening with only a fraction of her attention.
Whatever revelations Seven had discovered in the Borg alcove seemed fleeting now, and insubstantial, hard to keep hold of. Seven wondered if perhaps she was trying too hard, that her need to achieve some sort of resolution with what she had experienced was preventing her from seeing the real solution to her sense of disconcertion and detachment.
"Then Chakotay stripped off his uniform and ran naked about the bridge," Janeway concluded. "If Tom hadn't shot him dead with his phaser, I don't know what would have happened."
Startled, Seven looked up, frowning at the captain. "What did you say?"
Janeway smiled. "Just making sure you were still with me. You seem a million light-years away."
Realizing she had drifted further than she had intended, Seven blushed. "I am sorry, Kathryn," she apologized. "I was ... thinking of other things. I did not mean to ignore you."
Janeway waved her hand, brushing it off. "It's alright, darling," she said gently. "It's perfectly understandable." She took a breath and leaned forward, linking her fingers on the table in front of her. Her blue-grey eyes assessed the plate in front of the Borg. "I realize that you need to eat far less than I do," she added, "but I've noticed lately that you're eating even less than that."
Seven felt a spark of irrational anger. "I am eating adequately."
"I don't agree," Janeway said in that reasonable tone she assumed whenever she was determined to make Seven do what she wanted. "I expect you to finish what is on your plate, then I have a dessert that I know you're absolutely going to love."
Seven placed her fork on the table, none too lightly, the sound of metal impacting with wood making a distinct clink in the quiet. "You do not need to monitor my nutritional intake," she said sharply. "You are not my mother."
She was immediately horrified at what she had said, having no idea where it had sprung from, and then realized that she was deceiving herself. Of course she knew exactly where it was coming from. She found it difficult to look at her partner, shame rushing hot through her.
But Janeway had not reacted, beyond a slight tightening around her eyes. "No," she said with great kindness, "I'm not your mother, Annika, but I am the person who loves you and worries about you and will demand that you take care of yourself, just as you demand it so often of me."
Seven felt tears sting her eyes. Kathryn was trying so hard to be patient and supportive, and all Seven could do was respond like the child she did not wish to feel like, but had, ever since 'Erin Hansen' had come aboard Voyager. She did not like this sense of uncertainty at all, but could think of no way to stop feeling it.
"I am sorry, Kathryn," she said softly, sadly. "I did not mean to become angry with you."
"I know," Janeway responded quietly. She paused, her face intent as she searched for the proper words. "You're going through a really rough time right now, darling. If you need to bark at me once in awhile, then I'm certainly prepared to take it. God knows, I've snapped at you enough times in the past for things that had absolutely nothing to do with you at all."
"It is ... inefficient," Seven said, profoundly annoyed at herself as she picked up her fork again and prodded fretfully at her salmon.
Janeway did not comment, watching the young woman as Seven took a mouthful of the fish, forcing herself to chew it thoroughly before swallowing. Then, the captain sighed a little and looked down at her own plate, empty but for a few grains of rice dotting the porcelain surface.
"Do you have any plans for this evening?" she asked finally. "I mean, would you object to helping me with something?"
Seven swallowed another mouthful of her meal. "What do you require my assistance for?"
"Lt. Kim and Ensign Delaney want to have a night out," the captain explained. "I told them that we would be glad to watch Little Harry for them while they're gone."
Despite herself, Seven felt somewhat intrigued, raising an eyebrow. "Indeed," she said, unaware that her voice had lightened perceptibly. The captain raised her eyes, studying her keenly and Seven scooped up another forkful of rice with a renewed appetite. "When?"
"Sometime after dinner," Janeway explained. "We just need to watch him a little bit before he goes to sleep. Lt. Kim assured me that he'll have eaten by the time they bring him over ... which is fortunate, considering Megan breast feeds," she added dryly.
"Will we be required in the future to do such a thing when we have children?"
"Do what?" Janeway responded blankly. "Have the children monitored if we decide to go out?"
"Breast feed," Seven corrected.
Janeway regarded her oddly. "I hadn't thought about it."
"I will research it."
The captain took a deep breath. "Thank you," she said. "That would be ... helpful." But she did not sound like she entirely meant what she said. Janeway frowned briefly. "Darling, I know things have been profoundly disruptive during the last two weeks, but you seem a little ... off kilter, tonight. More so than you should be, even taking into account all you've been through lately."
Seven regarded the fish on her plate and carefully fished a sliver from the salmon with her fork. "This afternoon," she admitted quietly, "I seriously weighed the advantages of being Borg and what it would require to become one again."
Janeway blinked, obviously rocked by that. "And?"
Seven raised her eyes to meet the anxious gaze. "Feeling nothing seems attractive to me now," she tried to explain, aware that it was hurting her spouse to know that she had actually considered such a thing, yet unable to keep from revealing what had prompted her to go to the cargo bay. "However, I also realize it would be an extreme solution to my problem. It would cost me far more in happiness than any pain it could remove."
Janeway took a moment to respond. "It would," she said finally, huskily. She got up and came around the table, kneeling next to Seven, looking up into her face. "Darling, I can't say I'm thrilled to know such an option ever crossed your mind, but I also know you've never felt this hurt or betrayed before." She rested her hands on the Borg's leg. "I guess I can understand how you could consider it. I'm glad you decided that no matter how much it hurts, feeling emotion is still better than feeling none at all."
Seven bent her head sadly. "I am sorry that telling you about this hurt you, Kathryn. Perhaps I should not have shared it with you. I did not, after all, choose to become Borg again so it was irrelevant that I considered it so briefly."
Janeway shook her head. "If you told me, it's because you needed to," she said softly, understandingly. "Annika, I know you have to work this out for yourself. I may not like where the process takes you, but this is a path that you have to travel on your own without my pushing you. Just know that I'm right there beside you, whenever you need me."
"I know," Seven whispered, reaching up to stroke her partner's face. "Thank you for that, Kathryn." She leaned forward and rested her forehead against Janeway's. "In any event, perhaps that is why I seem 'off' this evening. I find that rather than reacting ... naturally, I am very conscious of what I am doing as a Human instead of a Borg. I am sure it will pass."
Janeway took the opportunity to kiss her gently. "I'm sure it will, too. All things do ... even this pain."
Seven did not get a chance to respond, the door chime interrupting her and causing both women to look over at it with surprise. "Oh," Janeway said, in a somewhat odd tone. "That must be Little Harry." It was as if, Seven noted, the captain had suddenly remembered something and was now regretful of it.
Megan Delaney was profuse with her thanks as she stepped inside. Seven was struck by the fact that the young ensign sincerely meant it. Apparently, both she and her husband were thrilled to be handing their offspring over to the care of the captain and the Borg. Seven found that difficult to understand and she raised an eyebrow as Harry Kim staggered through the door, burdened with three bags, two quite large and stuffed full of supplies, with a smaller one that was hooked over his arm.
"How long are we supposed to look after the child?" she asked Janeway in a puzzled tone. Then she realized her spouse had an look on her face that indicated that she didn't quite know what was going on ... an expression that Seven was simply not used to seeing in the captain.
"Here are all the things you need to babysit, Captain," Harry said, shoving the bags into Janeway's arms, forestalling her reply to Seven. "We'll be back to pick him up at 2230. You know, we can't thank you enough for this."
"He's fed and changed, and should go to sleep very soon," Megan informed the couple in the next breath. "His diapers are in the blue bag along with his nappies and wipes. The yellow bag has some extra bottles of expressed milk in case he gets hungry before bed, along with some changes of jammies. His favorite blankie is in the small bag and his teddy bear is with it. He needs both to go to sleep."
Seven frowned, trying to decipher these instructions, not understanding half the terms the young woman had used. She wondered if the captain knew what a 'nappie' was and what it might possibly be used for. Then Megan was handing the baby to Seven, undoubtedly because the captain had her arms already loaded with the supplies. Gingerly, the Borg hefted Little Harry between her hands, holding him away from her body as she regarded him with bemusement. He had grown much larger than the last time she had seen him, and seemed far more animated than the baby she had held at the captain's birthday party ... as if there might actually be a real personality in there rather than merely what was required to be a living organism. The baby looked back at her measuringly, and then suddenly broke out in a toothless smile, reaching out to her, his tiny fingers seeming to beckon to the Borg in some strange way.
Lt. Kim and Ensign Delaney quickly disappeared from the quarters and in the aftermath of their departure, the quiet broken only by the baby's happy gurgles, Janeway and Seven shared a look of uncertain trepidation. Seven took a deep breath, and refocused her attention on the child dangling happily in her grip.
She was quite unprepared when a thick, white liquid was suddenly expelled from him to splash wetly down the front of her t-shirt and onto the deck.
Tom Paris strolled into the messhall, feeling a trifle peckish and wondering if Neelix was on duty. The Talaxian native had gone back to working as the ship's cook and morale officer after a stint in security and in engineering, though Tom wasn't completely sure what the complete story was behind his return. The one thing the young man did know was that the food had improved significantly since the small, stocky alien had returned to his kitchen. He wasn't sure why but he was suitably grateful for it. No matter how good a replicator was programmed, it could not compare with meals carefully prepared from fresh ingredients, not to mention how the savory odors tended to enhance the dining experience.
The difference between art and mechanical preparation, the helmsman decided, something he was only now learning to appreciate.
Neelix was present behind the counter and his golden eyes lit up as he saw Tom.
"Mr. Paris," he said brightly. "What can I get for you today?"
"Well, what's the featured dish?" Paris responded. He always had the option of the replicators, of course.
"Leola root stew," Neelix offered proudly.
Tom hesitated and the alien held up a finger. "I know," the Talaxian added. "But I've been able to adapt it specifically for Humans. Why not taste it and then you can decide."
Tom nodded. "Fair enough," he agreed amiably. He gingerly accepted the spoonful that Neelix offered, letting it rest on his tongue before chewing. "Hey," he said with a certain amount of surprise. "That's not bad at all."
"Shall I fill a plate?" Neelix queried invitingly.
Tom spread his hands. "Please," he said. He took a tray and the necessary utensils before acquiring some of the crusty bread from a wicker basket. Neelix handed him the plate and with another grin at the Talaxian, the tow-headed helmsman wandered over to a nearby table, sitting down with his back to the windows, facing the door. He was halfway through his meal when B'Elanna Torres stormed into the messhall.
And 'storm' was the correct term, the helmsman thought uneasily. After sharing a romantic relationship with the engineer for a significant period of time, he had become fairly adept at reading the young woman's moods. B'Elanna had a dark scowl on her face, her eyes glinting with the disturbing sort of light that indicated anger and frustration. He started a little when those eyes focused on him and as she stomped toward him, he wondered what he had done now.
"I need to talk to you."
"Uh, sure," he said, indicating the seat across from him. He looked around, suddenly aware that the messhall was somewhat quiet this time of day ... not the sort of situation that would prevent B'Elanna from making a scene. Not that a crowd had ever prevented the Klingon from flying into a rage.
"What's up?" he asked weakly.
She stared at him, and for a moment, he thought she was going to hit him, and then realized it was just her expression. She wanted to hit something, he knew and unobtrusively edged his chair back, ready to dodge if necessary.
"You're not my first choice," she told him bluntly. "But Seven's all strung out over the aftermath of that alien pretending to be her mother, and Harry's all caught up with his new kid. Chakotay and I don't really talk since ... well, we don't talk much anymore. The captain's busy with Seven and the Doctor's an idiot."
Tom noticed a glaring omission in her list of confidants and had the foresight not to suggest that perhaps her current lover, Ro Laren, might be a good one to talk to. He had a sudden idea as to what this might be about ... or at least, who exactly was causing the Klingon's agitation.
"Okay," he managed quietly. "I'm glad to listen."
She stared at him for another moment, clearly debating the merits of speaking with him and he waited, trying to maintain a compassionate expression on his face.
"I need to ask you a question," she said finally.
"Shoot," he said.
"When you cheated on me, how did you justify it to yourself?"
Anger rose in him, defensive outrage, but with an effort, he forced it back, knowing somehow that this was not about him, but rather about someone else. He inhaled slowly. "You were dead, B'Elanna," he said quietly. "And it was killing me. I needed something ... anything to make me feel alive again. Jennifer was there, and ... one thing led to another." He paused. "I knew about the Klingon protocol about waiting a fourth of the duration of the relationship in order to do honor to the fallen, but I ... decided it didn't matter. I'm sorry." He eyed her keenly. "But you already know this."
She broke eye contact with him for the first time. "What if," she asked with some difficulty, "you had waited the requisite time, and then I returned?"
He frowned, trying to work through this. "I guess it wouldn't have been a problem then," he said tentatively. "And we would have gotten past it."
"No," B'Elanna said with conviction. "It still would have been a problem for me and we wouldn't have gotten by it."
"But..." he began, then subsided, confused.
"I know," she said unhappily. She sat there with moisture making her eyes shine and he realized she was really hurt. She took a deep breath. "I would have left you anyway," she admitted. "I just used that Klingon protocol as an excuse."
Tom considered that. "Because I cheated?"
"Because you didn't love me," she responded hotly.
He frowned. "I did love you," he said with his own touch of anger. "The entire time. I've never stopped." His voice cracked a little at the end and he regretted letting that slip.
She stared at him and abruptly, her face softened. "Okay. I think I knew that." She swallowed convulsively. "I guess the real reason is that I didn't love you ... not enough."
"Uh, listen," he tried, very conscious of this being such a public place. "Do you want to continue this somewhere a little more private?"
She looked away. "No," she said stiffly. "This is fine. It's pretty quiet now and ... it's okay."
He prodded at his meal uncertainly. "So what's this about?"
"I can't tell you," she said, surprising him profoundly. Usually too much sharing was the Klingon's natural instinct. "But I need to know how, if you loved me, you could do something like that."
He felt confused, unhappy. He thought they had discussed it before, but then, he realized they hadn't. They had fought about it, yelled at each other, but never really talked about it reasonably. He wasn't entirely sure they were going to now, either but perhaps enough time had gone by to allow them to try.
"It wasn't about us, B'Elanna," he said slowly, trying to explain. "Not really. It had absolutely nothing to do with how I felt about you. Jennifer and I ... it was just a spur of the moment, two people reaching out to one another, one hurting and the other to comfort. You weren't a factor because everyone thought you were dead, but it didn't change how much I loved you. It certainly wasn't that I set out to hurt you. It really had nothing to do with you at all."
B'Elanna glowered. "People keep saying that, but I am involved."
Tom regarded her evenly. "No," he said with a firmness uncharacteristic of him. "You weren't, other than the fact that your death was why I was hurting. Don't get this confused with me sleeping with her because I was tired of you, or because we were fighting or because I didn't want to be with you or because I wanted to get back at you in some way. It was just ... how it worked out." He trailed off helplessly, knowing that if B'Elanna didn't want to listen, he couldn't explain it. It was the sort of thing one either accepted or didn't.
She rested her chin on her hand and for the first time, her shoulders seem to relax.
"Am I so easy to disregard?" she asked sadly.
He was startled. "It's not that at all, B'Elanna," he told her. "Hell, you're the first thing I was thinking about. But sometimes a person does something they think is best for them and any hurt it causes is completely and honestly unintentional. It's hard, but it's something that you have to accept." He reached over and covered her hand which was resting on the table. "I don't know what Ro ... what prompted this. But I want you to know ..."
He stopped, staring at her. This was his one great chance he knew. His opportunity to be all he wanted to be for the Klingon, maybe even be able to win her heart once more. He could be strong and wise and comforting, providing her a needed shoulder and a haven against all that hurt her in a way that he hadn't managed when they had been together. Perhaps, everything that had happened between them could finally be put into the past and they could start again. He had never wanted anything more in his life than to do what he had to in order to win her back right at this moment.
He swallowed hard.
"The way I look at it, B'Elanna, there's really only one issue here," Tom said finally, instead of every suave, persuasive thing crowding his mind. He even managed a calmness he was far from feeling as his stomach churned unpleasantly. "And it's not if you're right or not. It's not even about what actually might have happened here. The real issue is; do you want to let whatever it is make you throw everything away, make you walk away from everything you're feeling, make you want something or someone else? Or is your love enough to work past it? You couldn't with me, all those months ago and I just have to live with that. Can you with her?"
B'Elanna stared at him, eyes burning once more and Tom tensed, wondering if he was going to have to defend himself from a Klingon assault that would undoubtedly leave bruises, and not in a fun way, either.
"You're right," she said flatly. "That is the question."
She abruptly got up and left the table, heading for the messhall exit. Stunned, Tom sensed the presence of another moving closer to him, the stocky form of Neelix appearing next to him, looking down at him with a compassionate expression on his speckled, tufted features.
"That was a good thing you did, Mr. Paris," he said quietly and Paris realized the Talaxian had been hovering just out of the perception of the duo, but clearly listening to everything that he and B'Elanna had said to each other.
Tom stared bleakly after the departing Klingon.
"Yeah?" he said without enthusiasm. "So why does it feel so bad, then?"
Neelix considered it. "Because you know in your heart, that either way, you would have lost," he said with sincere empathy. "If B'Elanna is able to work this out with Ro Laren, then you have no chance. And if she had refused to try, and had possibly let you back in her life, you'd always be left with the shadow of Ro Laren looming over you, never knowing if B'Elanna truly loved you ... or if she was just settling for you instead of who she really loved."
Tom swallowed, and there seemed to be a little excess moisture in his eyes though he refused to let it go beyond that. "You're right," he agreed huskily. "That's all it would ever be."
He blinked furiously and looked down at the table. With an effort, he forced a smile.
"You know, Neelix, I wanted to tell you, this is really good leola root stew. I meant to ask you what exactly got you back into the kitchen again? I thought you had transferred to engineering."
Neelix looked at the helmsman closely but was apparently willing to allow the change in subject as he took a seat in the chair B'Elanna had vacated. "Helping Seven cater the captain's birthday party was a very educational experience." He folded his hands neatly in front of him, his golden eyes pensive in the subdued lighting of the messhall. "To be honest, Tom, I missed the social aspect of being here in the community center of the ship. It just wasn't the same in engineering. I've always wanted to contribute to Voyager, Tom. That's always been my goal, but I didn't feel I was doing that as the ship's cook, particularly after the food replication system was brought back fully online. So I kept looking for a place on the ship where I could fit in."
Tom toyed with his fork. "Listen," he began guiltily, "I know I was pretty loud about your cooking before, about how ... I didn't like it much. That wasn't very fair to you. I certainly never tried to cook myself so who the hell was I to complain?"
Neelix waved it off. "Apologies aren't necessary, Lieutenant. I take some responsibility for not being able to figure out why people didn't like my creations. Instead, I preferred to blame you all for being too conditioned to the blandness of replicated meals and just not able to appreciate real home cooking. But now that Seven has helped me out with various ingredients and understanding the Human palate, I feel I can make a real contribution to the crew's comfort and enjoyment in a way that I can't in engineering or security."
"Well," Tom said, honestly. "I'm glad you're back behind the counter. It isn't just the food, Neelix, you give this place a personality that it just doesn't have when a person is grabbing meals from a replicator."
"Thank you, Tom. That means a lot." The Talaxian's eyes shifted and he inclined his head. "Speaking of personalities, there's one who I think could use some cheering up."
Tom followed his gaze, looking across the messhall at Ensign White who had just entered the messhall. Head down, the young woman went directly to the counter, retrieved a plate, filled it with a small potion, and moved over to a table in the corner where she sat down by herself. She seemed almost diffident, as if afraid to attract attention to herself, and the helmsman realized he hadn't seen the young woman around lately. Originally, a very outgoing personality, White had been one of the crewmembers who had conceived when an odd 'fever' had swept the ship. No one knew who the father had been, but it was obvious that he had no interest in offspring because she had decided to bear it herself and raise it alone. Unfortunately, she lost her unborn son in the eight month and many didn't know how to talk with her about that tragedy, particularly those who considered it partially her own doing because she had insisted on remaining at her post when all the other pregnant women had taken sanctuary in the center of the vessel. As time went by, the gregarious young woman had become more and more isolated. Where once she had been one of the crewmembers in the middle of any social event, now she haunted the edges, looking wan and uncertain.
Tom was ashamed, both of himself and of the crew. He knew that no one had meant to deliberately cause harm to the young woman, but it was clear that a sort of cruelty had been perpetuated on Ensign White. Perhaps it was just the mentality that believed that if they ignored something, eventually the unpleasantness would go away and not bother them, but it was a shortsighted approach. He had thought better, both of himself and of his crewmates He looked at Neelix.
"I think," he said deliberately, "that I could use seconds, Neelix. And if you don't mind, I think I'll find some prettier company than you. No offense."
"None taken," Neelix responded, grinning.
Tom returned the grin, then got up and went over to the table in the corner. The young ensign looked up as he stopped beside her chair.
"Hey," he said. "I stopped by for lunch, but I just hate eating alone. Mind if I join you?"
Her green eyes lit up and he felt a warm spot inside of himself suddenly appear, growing and filling the empty dark space which had existed in him for so long.
"Please," she said.
He smiled as he sat down. Perhaps, he thought, some things just worked themselves out as they were supposed to.
Eventually.
Seven gasped, staring wide-eyed at the child clutched in her hands.
"Did you see that, Kathryn?" she said with profound wonder in her voice. "It came out his nose."
Caught between disgust and laughter, Janeway dumped the bags on the floor and grabbed a soft cloth from one of them, wiping the child's face gently before ineffectually dabbing at the front of her partner's stained shirt. Little Harry began howling at the top of his lungs, the noise like the buffeting of a red alert.
"What do I do now?" Seven asked anxiously, pulling the child closer to her as she ignored the wetness spreading over her front, wrapping one arm around the little boy and using the other to pat him gently on the back.
"You're doing fine darling," Janeway told her, somewhat unconvincingly, as she continued to try to clean up the vomit. She wondered if all babies were this messy. Little Harry hadn't even been here ten minutes and already the quarters looked like a disaster area. "Maybe you should walk around with him a little. That might quiet him."
Obligingly, Seven began to stride rapidly about the living area of the quarters.
"Slower," Janeway instructed as the baby's crying echoed in her ears and made them ring. She hastily rearranged the furniture to give themselves more floor space, shoving the coffee table under the dining table, and pushing the chair back to the wall. She wondered if the child was somehow reaching some subsonic range that she was previously unaware, and was then convinced of it when Jake, who had been crouched suspiciously next to the bedroom door since the child's arrival, abruptly started to howl. It was a long, mournful cry to the heavens, his head raised, snout pointed high.
"Jake!" she yelled, trying to be heard above all the noise. "Be quiet!" It had been such a simple plan, she thought glumly, when she had thought of it in the ready room. How had it dissolved into chaos so quickly?
Little Harry promptly stopped crying at the captain's bellow as did Jake. The baby stared curiously at the Irish Setter with big eyes, his head turning as he tried to keep the animal in view. Seven slowed her pace considerably and Janeway's eyes narrowed as she discovered the Borg was jiggling the baby slightly.
"Why are you doing that?" the captain asked anxiously.
"Doing what?"
"Bouncing him like that? I don't think that's a good idea if he's ill."
"I do not know." Seven turned a concerned gaze to the captain and stopped her motion. "You should contact the Doctor," she added in an urgent tone.
Janeway nodded. "That's probably a good idea." She touched her comm badge. "Janeway to sickbay. Doctor, I need you in the captain's quarters immediately."
"On my way," the Doctor's smooth tones replied.
Within seconds, the sparse, trim form of the Emergency Medical Hologram had materialized in the middle of the room and was looking inquiringly at the captain.
"Please state the nature of your medical emergency," he said, and then raised an eyebrow when he saw Seven with the baby. "What's going on here?"
"We're babysitting Little Harry," Janeway explained. "He's ill."
The Doctor drew out a small probe and ran it over the child who was fascinated by the glowing gold tip of the device and the humming noise it produced, attempting to grab it as the Doctor deftly kept it out of his reach.
"He seems perfectly fine to me, Captain," the Doctor remarked after a moment of checking his tricorder readings. "What seems to be the problem?"
"He vomited, Doctor." Janeway was concerned.
"And?" the hologram asked encouragingly.
The captain stared at him. "Isn't that sufficient?"
His brows drew down. "Not for a baby," he explained. "Spitting up is what they do. It gives them something to occupy themselves with until they're old enough to ask for the keys to the shuttle."
"I do not think you are taking this seriously enough, Doctor," Seven said sharply.
The Doctor glanced at her and his face softened. "Seven, I assure you, there's nothing wrong with Little Harry there." He reached out and rearranged the position of the child a little in the Borg's arms, and then patted him on the head and her on the back. "You have to realize, everything is brand new with him, including all his digestive organs and they don't always work as smoothly as one would like. But by the same token, Human babies are remarkably tough. He can spit up a few times and while it's mildly unpleasant for him, trust me when I say it's far more disturbing to you." He retrieved another clean cloth from the bag gapping open on the floor and draped it over Seven's shoulder. "Here, this should intercept any further output."
"So you're saying it isn't indicative of illness?" Janeway crossed her arms over her chest.
The glance the Doctor threw her way was far more condescending than the look he had bestowed on Seven. "Honestly, Captain," he said in an irritatingly tolerant tone, "babies spit up all the time. In fact, all sorts of liquids are expelled by them from various orifices in a variety of ways. Didn't you take that into account when you agreed to babysit?"
The captain, who was not about to admit her true motive for borrowing Lt. Kim's offspring, frowned with foreboding firmness at him which, for the first time, seemed to have absolutely no affect on the hologram. He merely smiled back at her as if she were an Academy cadet who had just gotten every question in the surprise pop quiz completely wrong.
"Captain," he added patiently. "If he seems to have trouble breathing, if he turns an odd color, or if the vomiting persists over a long period of time, then by all means, call me immediately. But if he just spits up occasionally and then continues on, perfectly happy as he is now, then I think you can handle that particular crisis with a clean cloth and some warm water."
"Thank you for your assistance," Janeway said icily.
"Anytime," he responded with a smirk in her direction, unperturbed by her tone. He promptly dematerialized in a sparkly haze.
Janeway looked at Seven who was regarding her with a mix of dismay and accusation. "Do you not know how to look after a baby, Kathryn?" the Borg asked pointedly. "Why did you volunteer us to babysit?"
Janeway opened her mouth to respond, hesitated, and then frowned. "Granted, I don't have a lot of experience in this area," she admitted. "But how hard can it be?"
Seven's expression was not particularly sanguine about this feeble attempt at reassurance but she did not say anything else. Instead, she turned her attention to little Harry who was currently focused on the starburst implant on the Borg's right cheek, trying unsuccessfully to pry it off her so that he could play with it.
"Please, cease your efforts at attempting to remove my implant," she told him firmly.
He regarded her with a solemn expression, then promptly grabbed for it again.
"Kathryn?"
"Here, let me take him," Janeway said, retrieving him and the cloth from her partner's arms. "You go clean up a bit."
"Thank you," Seven said as she relinquished her hold on the child. In the exchange from one woman to the other, he grabbed two fistfuls of the Borg's long, blonde hair and determinedly did not let go, chortling happily. "Kathryn!"
"Just a minute," Janeway said, feeling very much overwhelmed. It never looked this difficult when other people did it. Wasn't mothering supposed to come naturally to women?
It took about five minutes for the two women to carefully, and with extreme gentleness, separate little Harry from the Borg. Even then, he ended up with several long strands of blonde hair clutched triumphantly in his fists. Seven shot him a bemused look, and then headed for the bedroom to change her shirt. Harry watched her go, seeming a trifle forlorn, and then looked at the captain who was holding him. The two contemplated each other warily for a few seconds before he screwed up his face and began to cry, tiny tears streaking his cheeks.
Seven immediately appeared in the doorway, her shirt in her hands and her torso fully exposed. Her features were profoundly worried.
"What did you do to him?" she demanded.
"Nothing," Janeway responded in exasperation. The captain frowned at Little Harry who had stopped crying as soon as Seven appeared and was now regarding the Borg intently. Janeway knew he was far too young to be doing anything of the sort, but the rapt absorption on his face as he looked at Seven was remarkably similar to what a much older male would possess in the event the young woman had suddenly appeared in similar dishabille.
"Quit ogling my wife," the captain muttered warningly to him. On the other hand, Janeway decided, perhaps he was just hungry and thought a mid-evening snack was about to be served from that magnificent display of mammary glands. "Seven, get dressed please," she instructed dryly.
"Yes, Kathryn," the Borg replied, looking at her oddly before disappearing back into the bedroom.
Little Harry turned his head to Janeway with a baleful expression, clearly holding the captain responsible for the disappearance of Seven and she returned the gaze with her best command glare. He looked vaguely startled, then gurgled and abruptly lurched forward, administering a rather resounding head butt to her chin. She hugged him even as she winced and gingerly moved her jaw, determining if anything was chipped or broken. Nothing appeared to be and she focused her attention back on him barely in time to see his fist, complete with a pip from her collar, on his way to his mouth. She forestalled that in the nick of time and found a blanket, spreading it over the floor. Then she plopped him down in the middle of it, sat cross-legged opposite him and wondered why she felt so completely exhausted after only twenty minutes.
"Kathryn?" Seven said, joining her once more. "Perhaps you should change as well. If 'spitting up' is to be an expected habit, you would not wish to be dressed in your uniform."
The captain nodded. "That's a good idea. Try to keep him from destroying the rest of the ship while I'm gone."
Seven favored her with another odd look which Janeway did not respond to as she wearily got back to her feet and went into the bedroom. She changed into a shirt and trousers, returning to the living room in time to see Seven trying to pry little Harry's fists away from Jake's furry red ear. From the way the dog was yelping, Janeway did not think Seven was having much success because she also had to keep the Irish Setter from snapping at the child ... not that he was a bad tempered animal at all, but he had to be in considerable discomfort. Seven had a firm grip on the dog's muzzle with her Borg enhanced hand, preventing him from moving his head much, as she clutched Harry with the other arm. She clearly required at least one more arm.
"Here," Janeway said, leaping into the fray. Holding the dog, which allowed Seven to free her hand, Janeway was surprised when Seven abruptly used it to tickle Harry on his tummy. Harry gurgled happily and let the dog go, grabbing onto Seven's hand instead.
"Where did you learn that?" Janeway asked as soon as she was able to release Jake who immediately scooted from the room, undoubtedly to hide under the couple's bed until the unwelcome visitor was gone.
Seven quirked an eyebrow. "When I want you to let go of something," she reminded her. "Tickling your stomach is a fairly efficient way to accomplish that. I hoped that he would react in a similar fashion."
Janeway blushed. "You rarely want me to let go," she responded as she sat down on the sofa.
"That is true," Seven replied evenly as she returned her full attention to the young boy, obviously fascinated by him, even though all he was doing was sitting in the middle of the blanket, examining Jake's long red hairs in his fist. The Borg instinctively intercepted them as he started to transfer them to his mouth, and used a cloth to clean his hands. Afterward, she allowed him to play with the mesh on her left hand which he had no hope of removing.
As Seven became involved with the baby's antics, Janeway watched her, delighted to see the hint of strain and hurt disappear from the Borg's face as if it had never been. Instead, the young woman's face was full of wonder and rapt attention, a sort of astonished pleasure in her eyes. Janeway felt entirely too smug, satisfied that her plan was progressing very nicely indeed. She was startled when the pale blue eyes rose to meet hers, pinning her in place.
"What are you planning?" the Borg asked suddenly, in a deeply suspicious tone.
Janeway widened her eyes, contriving to look innocent.
"Why do you think I'm planning something?" she asked with feigned wounded outrage and not a little bit of real panic that her partner had become that good at reading her.
"Your expression," Seven remarked calmly. "You always look that way when you are carrying out some complicated attempt at social interaction. 'Matchmaking', for instance." She paused, and looked thoughtful. "Who on the ship is currently unattached that you think should be?"
"You are completely off base, Seven," Janeway told her and decided that she had better work on her poker face in the future. Clearly, she was slipping. "I gave up matchmaking, remember?"
"Then why do you look like that?" Seven persisted, idly rolling Little Harry back and forth on his back as he laughed and cooed beneath her hand resting on his tummy.
Janeway opened her mouth to respond, hesitated, and tried not to smile. "I'm just glad to see you ... well, a little happier than you have been lately."
Seven looked surprised. "I am happier," she said, obviously astounded. "How is that possible?"
Janeway slipped off the sofa and onto the floor, next to the Borg and the baby. She reached down and picked up Harry who screwed up his face, ready to protest before smoothing it out as Janeway handed him to Seven. The Borg lifted him up carefully, looking at the captain with some confusion.
"I think, darling," Janeway explained softly, "that right now you're having a hard time finding any hope in life. I just wanted to show you some. That's what you're holding in your arms right now. Hope for what lies ahead, hope for ourselves, hope that no matter what has happened in the past, if we work hard enough, it can be better for the future."
Seven stared at her, then looked at the happy baby who was busily playing with the Borg's facial implants. His dark eyes were wide and he had that engaging toothless smile on his face that seemed to claim that he was currently in the best place in the universe and had no real interest in going anywhere else.
"Now, I'm not saying that we're going to run out and have a child, just to alleviate your sorrow," Janeway told her, resting her hand on Seven's shoulder as she looked at this tableau, her face soft and vulnerable. "That would be unwise. But I wanted to remind you that this hope does lie in our future. But it's not enough to just tell you, you have to be able to hold it close to your heart, to believe in it with all you are. I promise you it will happen. I may never be able to give you your mother, Annika, but one day, I swear, I will give you our child. And god willing, we will never hurt our children the way our parents hurt us. That is the real hope of a better future."
Seven took a breath, a slow shuddering inhalation that seemed to relax every muscle in her body. "I think," she said slowly, as a tear slipped quietly down her cheek ... a tear which was captured by a tiny hand and promptly tasted. "That I understand what you are trying to say."
Janeway felt tears well in her own eyes, but she did not let them fall as she saw the person she loved smile widely at the baby she held tenderly in her arms. Knowing that another step had been taken by her spouse in this most trying of times.
Ro Laren studied the padd she held in her hand without actually seeing what it was she was attempting to read. The security section was quiet, most of the on-duty people in other parts of the ship. Across the lounge, Ensign D'Vor worked quietly at his console, going over the inventory with an exacting precision that indicated the reprimand still stung harshly. Both security officers looked up as the door hissed open and B'Elanna Torres stalked in.
D'Vor looked at the engineer, shot a glance at Ro, and then decided that it was time he took a break. Without saying a word, he got up from the workstation, carefully skirted the Klingon and darted out the door. Ro took a slow breath, regarding the other woman evenly.
"I assume this is personal, as opposed to a professional visit."
"It always is," B'Elanna said with a touch of hardness to her face. "That's the problem, I think. You can separate the two. I can't."
At least she was composed, Ro thought as she got up from the sofa. She linked her hands behind her back.
"I'm not going to discuss what happened with Tuvok," she said deliberately. "That remains a matter of confidentiality and this area is not secured."
"I understand," B'Elanna said coldly, which made Ro vaguely uneasy. B'Elanna was not known for her cool. Hot tempered, hot blooded, feisty and forward, that was who the Klingon was. Ro had known that going in. So why was she still surprised by it ... and thrown off guard when B'Elanna decided to be reasonable at other times? The Bajoran had no idea.
"I'm here to talk about us," the Klingon concluded.
Ro quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, is there an 'us'?" she remarked, and wished she hadn't. But she was hurt too and it made her less cautious than she would be otherwise.
B'Elanna flinched, and looked away. "Do you want there to be?"
Ro hesitated. "Yes," she said softly. "I do." She drifted closer to the Klingon, not necessarily close enough to touch her, but close enough so that at least there wasn't several strides between them.
B'Elanna's dark eyes met hers. "It hurts me that you would ... ever be with anyone else," she said. "Regardless of the reason. I can't help how I feel."
Ro nodded. "All right," she said. Her jaw quivered slightly. "I'm not going to apologize for what I did, how I did it, or why I did it. However, I am truly sorry that it hurt you. You have to know that it wasn't intended to affect you in any way at all."
B'Elanna nodded but it was obvious that she still didn't like it and Ro sighed.
"B'Lanna, I'm a security officer," she tried. "I'm prepared to sacrifice my body in whatever fashion it takes to get the job done. Be it throwing it in front of the captain to take a blast for her or 'lending' it to Tuvok until he is free of his ... difficulty."
"I don't think Starfleet would demand this," B'Elanna said darkly.
"Maybe not," Ro allowed. "But honor and necessity did." She paused, studying the Klingon. "B'Elanna, you have to realize that to me, my body is nothing more than a tool. I've used it to achieve my own ends long before I was in Starfleet. How did you think a Bajoran would escape a Cardassian internment camp and reach the Federation, anyway? Have you any clue what it took to get from there to here?"
B'Elanna's head came up, her eyes wide and shocked.
"Never wanted to think about that, did you?" Ro prodded sharply. Then she looked down at the deck and softened her tone. "I've made my peace with the things I did to survive long ago, B'Elanna. I worked with Federation counselors for years. Otherwise I wouldn't have even made it into the Academy, let alone managed to graduate. Some of the things that I've seen and done aren't the sort that is talked about in the civilized inner systems, but they still happened. Your not liking it can't, and won't, change it."
B'Elanna seemed to have trouble finding her voice. When she did, it was far softer than Ro had ever heard from her before.
"I'm sorry."
Ro shrugged. "Not your doing," she said calmly. She folded her arms over her chest. "B'Elanna, you're right when you say that I make a definite line between what I do as a Starfleet officer, and what I do as someone's friend, or as someone's lover. But this is who I am. This is who I've always been. I've never tried to hide that from you."
B'Elanna sat down in a chair by one of the conference tables, her hands lying limply on the flat surface as she stared at them. Ro's heart twitched a little and quietly, she took a seat opposite the Klingon. There was a silence, stark and painful, and then the Bajoran reached over and touched B'Elanna's hand with her fingertips, a glancing brush, nothing more.
"So what do you want to do?" she asked. "End it between us?"
Another pause, then a very quiet 'no' came from the Klingon.
Ro didn't close her eyes in relief, but the emotion still spread through her, stronger than she would have imagined.
"All right, then," she said, her voice shaky. "I guess we should figure out where we go from here."
"What if I don't know where that is?"
Ro nodded. "I don't either," she said gently. She brushed her fingers across the Klingon's knuckles again. "But maybe we can work it out together. What do you want, B'Elanna? What is it you're looking for?"
B'Elanna lifted her eyes, looking at the Bajoran for a long time, searching her face. "I want ... I want what the captain and Seven have," she burst out finally. "I want a love that just goes on and on, no matter what happens. I want someone who knows and cares about me as much as they do each other. I want someone that I can love and know they'll never let me down. I thought it was you who could give me that, but now I'm not so sure."
Ro stared at her. "You want a fantasy," she responded, not unkindly. "Lanna, that sort of relationship just doesn't happen out of the blue. Nor is it something I or anyone else can give you. The type of relationship the captain and Seven have takes a lot of time and work and heartache and struggle and both people have to achieve it together."
She held up a hand as B'Elanna started to respond, forestalling what the Klingon had been about to say.
"Don't tell me that it didn't happen that way for them, because it did," the Bajoran said with certainty. "It had to. We might not have seen all the stumbles or been privy to all the anguish they went through, but it was there. Because that's life and how you get that kind of relationship in the first place. It's compromise and apologies and being too damned stubborn to walk away when the going gets tough. It's fighting and arguing and making up and never letting go because as much it hurts sometimes, it hurts far more not to pursue it." She leaned forward and caught the younger woman's eye, making the Klingon focus on what she was saying by the sheer intensity of her gaze. "B'Elanna, we don't have that kind of relationship because we're just starting out. We haven't put anywhere near that kind of work and energy into it yet. It won't happen overnight or in a month or whenever. It just happens because of everything else two people go through together."
B'Elanna looked stubborn and crossed her arms over her chest. "You don't know anything about them."
"Neither do you," Ro pointed out. "Not really. All anyone else ever sees is what they choose to let us see. The little bit of pain that we might witness, like when Seven ripped apart the Borg alcoves or when the captain was walking around like a zombie when she thought she had lost Seven, is only the surface of what truly went on. Only they know what really happened between them. And I bet if you asked, it would be stuff that lesser beings simply could not have survived. They are both strong people and it's a damned good thing, because I doubt they would have gotten this far if they weren't."
The Bajoran took a breath, squaring her shoulders. "In the end, it has absolutely nothing to do with us," she added. "Their relationship is their own. We have to decide what kind of relationship we're going to have. Until now, we've been dancing around it."
"I've asked you to move in with me," B'Elanna pointed out resentfully.
"Yes," Ro responded pointedly. "And why do you want me to move in with you? Convenience?"
B'Elanna opened her mouth to respond, then stopped. Some of the heat left her gaze.
"That is the reason I gave you, isn't it," she said quietly. She shook her head. "You're right, I'm talking commitment and I don't even have the guts to tell you how I really feel about you." She stared at her hands sadly.
Ro dared to cover those hands with her own.
"I don't think either of us have been entirely open with the other," the Bajoran said gently. "B'Elanna, I care a lot about you. I told you my body is nothing more than a tool, and that's true. But whenever I'm with you, I'm not just offering you my body, I'm offering you my heart. That's not something that I give up easily."
B'Elanna nodded. "I know," she responded. "I ... maybe I wanted this to be about betrayal, because that's what I expect all the time. Even when it's not really there."
Ro considered that uncertainly. "Why?" she asked finally.
B'Elanna shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe because of my father's leaving, the way my mother and I get along. It's ... I know it's not anything like you went through, but..."
"No," Ro interrupted. She tightened her grip on the Klingon's hands. "Listen, B'Elanna, whatever your past has done to influence you ... it's valid, you know? This isn't a contest where my pain is somehow more 'real' than yours. I'm sorry if it ever seemed as if I was making light of what you've been through or dismissing as being not as important as mine."
"You haven't," B'Elanna said. She managed a bit of a smile as she squeezed Ro's fingers in response. "But I think we can both agree that my dad walking out on my mom and me is not the same as how your dad ... left you." She rubbed her thumbs idly over the back of the Bajoran's hands. "I think sometimes that I've been so busy blaming others, including my parents, for my life not working out the way I want that I forget it's up to me to make it work. My mother didn't make me drop out of the Academy, I chose to do that. My dad didn't force me into fighting with the Maquis, that was my choice." She lifted her eyes. "Tom sleeping with Jennifer didn't make me dump him. I decided I wasn't getting from him what I wanted and just used that for an excuse."
"And now?" Ro asked softly, staring at her.
"Now, I'm scared," B'Elanna whispered. "Now I want to be with you all the time and it terrifies me to need anyone that much. So I look for reasons to get upset ... to push you away just to see how fast you'll go."
Ro inhaled slowly. "I don't want to go, Lanna," she responded quietly. "But I'm scared of this, too. You have to take that into account when you're ... pushing."
B'Elanna nodded. "Okay," she said. "So what do two people do when they're terrified of what's happening between them?"
"Only two choices," Ro said. "Run as fast as we can in opposite directions..."
"Or hang on to each other as tight as we can until we get through it," B'Elanna finished for her. Her eyes were soft and becoming moist. "I know what I choose."
Ro found it difficult to swallow past the lump in her throat.
"Me, too," she whispered.
They stared at each other for a few moments, holding hands tightly ... perhaps to keep from bolting until this moment had ended.
Finally, B'Elanna took a deep, shuddering breath.
"So," she said with forced casualness. "You have to play 'surrogate' seven years from now."
Ro nodded. "If we're still in the Delta Quadrant," she said. She paused. "B'Elanna ..." She stopped, trying to find the right thing to say. "I realize this bothers you, but you have to understand, I made certain commitments to both the captain and Tuvok. If I can't honor promises made to them, how could you ever expect me to honor any commitment I might make to you?"
B'Elanna swallowed. "I guess, if you put it that way, I couldn't," she allowed. She released her grip on the Bajoran's hands reluctantly. "What now?"
Ro linked her fingers together, feeling like her insides were threatening to spill out and unsure how they were planning to make that transition. "I don't know," she said quietly.
"I know I want to be with you," B'Elanna said simply. "Even when it hurts, I want to be with you."
Ro nodded. "That's how I feel," she admitted quietly. "You drive me crazier than anyone I've ever met. You can make me so angry with just a word ... and make my whole universe seem brighter with just a look. No one else has ever made me feel this way, Lanna. I don't know if that's enough for you, but it's true."
B'Elanna looked away quickly, but Ro could see the moisture in the Klingon's eyes.
"It's enough," she whispered. "For right now, it's enough."
That was sufficient to make the Bajoran's eyes sting and she swiped at them quickly with her hand.
"I've never seen you cry," B'Elanna said suddenly, looking back at her.
Startled, Ro blinked, forcing back the tears. "I ... ah, don't," she said shakily.
"Why not?"
"Because," Ro began, hesitated, then dropped her gaze. "It's something that I stopped when I saw how much pleasure the Cardassians took in it. I ... got out of the habit."
B'Elanna looked stricken. Reaching over, she touched Ro's cheek with her fingers, warm against the Bajoran's skin. "I'm sorry," she said huskily. "I thought ... it seemed like you didn't care enough to cry. Guess I got that one wrong, too. Damn."
Ro found it painful to look directly at her, suddenly.
"It's not your fault," Ro said in a low voice.
"Yeah, this one is my fault," B'Elanna said. "I assume things about other people, based mostly on what I've been through. Because of that, I overreact. I have to learn that how I would react to something, or the reasons behind what I do ... like not crying ... isn't why other people do things."
Ro looked away. "That's just ... how people are," she said, trying to maintain her composure. "We all make assumptions based on where we've been."
"But if we want to get where we're going," B'Elanna suggested quietly, "maybe we have to change that."
Ro stood up abruptly, moving away from the table and over to the lounge area, taking the darts from the board there. She didn't really know what she was doing, only that she felt extremely vulnerable and that she didn't like feeling that way, hoping that motion would somehow give her some space to figure it out. She took her mark and began to peg the darts at the board, acutely aware of the other woman's eyes studying her keenly, though she refused to look over at her.
"I think that maybe we should have dinner tonight," the Bajoran suggested, grasping desperately for a sense of control, attempting to organize her life again. "Sort of start all over."
Then, B'Elanna was catching the Bajoran's arm in her hand and forcing her back against the bulkhead. Ro was profoundly startled, not even having seen the Klingon get up and realizing how distracted she was to have allowed B'Elanna to get that close without any of her natural defense mechanisms kicking in.
"No," B'Elanna said, her body pressed full length against Ro's, "we don't have to start over from scratch." Then she kissed her as gently and sweetly as she had ever kissed her lover. "But I hope I've also learned enough from all this to know you're not ready for what we were really talking about. Not yet."
Ro found it difficult to breathe, mesmerized by the dark eyes so close to her. "No?" she said weakly.
"No," B'Elanna said. "I think you're absolutely right. We still have a long way to go." She brushed her lips over Ro's once more, then released her. "Will you come by my quarters after your duty shift?" she added with an unusual formality.
Ro paused. "If you want me to," she said.
"I do," the Klingon remarked quietly and Ro found herself captured by those dark eyes.
B'Elanna continued to stare at her for a long moment, then finally nodded her head, as if satisfied with something. Abruptly, she was gone and Ro Laren leaned against the bulkhead, wondering what the hell her lover had just discovered that remained a complete mystery to her.
Seven glanced over at her spouse as the door slid shut behind Little Harry, who had just been picked up by his parents. Both Lt. Kim and Ensign Delaney seemed pleased to have been able to spend some time without the presence of their child and, after having experienced the chaos one little being could create, Seven could readily understand why. Yet, the way little Harry had cuddled into her body when it was time for bed, the peacefulness of his face after he had fallen asleep in her arms, made a warmth spread through her that still lingered. She thought she comprehended the balance that parents faced ... that no matter how stressful and inconvenient looking after a child was, it was more than worth it in the end simply by loving their offspring.
Janeway, however, was looking more frazzled than ever. It occurred to Seven that perhaps the captain required a great deal of adaptation to children if this rather abbreviated experience did this much damage to an otherwise impervious command mask.
"Kathryn?" she said inquiringly as Janeway took a seat at the kitchenette counter, looking around at the shambles of their quarters with a dazed expression. "Are you all right?"
"How do they do it, Seven?" Janeway asked. "How do they manage to look after him, all the time?"
Seven was amused.
"I am sure they have developed an efficient manner in which to operate with the inclusion of a child," she said dryly.
Janeway shot a look at her, then closed her eyes and smiled a little herself, as if realizing she was allowing herself to be overwhelmed. "I guess I have a lot to learn about kids."
Seven moved closer, resting her elbow on the counter as she looked down at her spouse. "We both do," she said softly. "But we shall learn together."
Janeway leaned against her. "That sounds good," she said softly. She smiled. "You know what else sounds good? Bed. That kid exhausted me. We can clean up tomorrow."
Seven nodded. "That would be acceptable."
She followed Janeway through the bedroom into the ensuite where they undressed and prepared for bed. Before long, Janeway was tucked up against her spouse, fast asleep, her head resting heavily on Seven's shoulder. The oblivion of slumber was a far more elusive quarry for the Borg, and eventually, she eased away from her partner and rolled out of bed. Pulling on her robe, she went out to the living area where she took a seat on the sofa after removing some spattered cloths and a bag which should have been returned to Lt. Kim along with the other two. She wrapped her arms around her knees, and stared out at the passing stars, not trying to think about anything in particular, just simply being as the hours passed. Jake slipped from behind the kitchenette counter where he had taken refuge and jumped up on the couch, wrapping around her feet, his furry body keeping them warm as he sighed and went back to sleep.
It was approximately two o'clock in the morning when Janeway wandered out of the bedroom, rubbing her eyes like a child, yawning widely. Without saying anything, she pushed Seven forward and slipped in behind her, leaning back against the couch and pulling Seven back down across her lap, the Borg's back supported by the arm of the sofa.
"There is no need for you to be awake," Seven protested mildly as she settled against her spouse's chest, resting her head under the captain's chin. Jake was forced to wiggle further down on the cushions, though he went without protest. He liked it when his people cuddled on the sofa with him.
"Hmm, I know," Janeway said sleepily. "But if you're going to be up, then I need to be up, too."
Seven closed her eyes, feeling Janeway's arms encircle her shoulders and upper body, hugging her close.
"Thank you," she whispered. "I do not wish to disrupt your sleeping habits."
A soft chuckle sounded in her ear. "Darling, I have no sleeping habits. I thought you knew that by now."
"You cannot make me believe that staying up all night to watch over me is good for you."
"This time isn't about me," Janeway told her with certainty. "It's about you and what you need." She brushed her lips over Seven's temple. "I'm just surprised that you aren't more tired."
Seven lifted a wry eyebrow. "You mean you are surprised that your plan with Little Harry did not return everything to normal once more."
There was a pause and Seven wondered if the captain was going to deny it. Instead, she heard another rusty chuckle from her spouse.
"Well, you can't blame me for trying," Janeway said lightly. "I had hopes."
"Yes," Seven remarked. "You always do."
She sighed and lowered her head so that she could feel the warmth of Janeway's upper chest against her cheek, bared by the open neck of her robe which also revealed the small cleavage. Seven rubbed up and down against the smooth skin, enjoying the sensation. "Have you ever completely lost hope, Kathryn?" she asked quietly.
Janeway was quiet, obviously considering the question carefully. "Once or twice," she admitted finally. "Remember the void? How I withdrew?" She tightened her hold on the young woman, hugging her tightly. "When you returned to the Alpha Quadrant and I thought you were ... gone forever. That was the worst it ever got. All my hope was gone and there was absolutely nothing left of me."
Seven reached up and put her hand over the forearm across her chest, slipping it beneath the large sleeve to feel the soft skin and fine muscle. "But this cannot be 'fixed' with a single incident as it did with me returning to you from the Alpha Quadrant ... not even with you showing me our future in the guise of Little Harry."
"No," Janeway replied quietly, with a slight apology in her voice. "You're right, darling, it can't. Only time will allow you to make some kind of peace with this. It will take little steps, each one barely noticeable until finally, it just won't hurt so much."
"It is hard for me to imagine such a time," Seven said sorrowfully.
"I know," Janeway whispered. "But please, trust me in this, my love."
Seven swallowed, thinking about it. "I will try."
"That's all anyone can ask of you," the captain said gently. "Including yourself." They snuggled together for another unmarked space of time, and then Janeway nuzzled the Borg's head. "I do have a piece of good news for you."
Seven raised an eyebrow. "Tell me," she invited. Good news had been in short supply lately.
"I know you were worried about Tuvok's Pon farr,."
Seven tensed, concerned. "Yes."
"Well, it's all over with, and he's fine now," the captain informed her. "There's nothing to worry about ... at least, not for another seven years but by then, of course, we'll be back in the Alpha Quadrant."
Seven blinked, considerably surprised. "That is good news. I am pleased to hear it." She paused. "How was he able to adapt?" She wasn't entirely sure of all the intricacies involved with the Vulcan 'time of mating', but she did know that Tuvok's life had been at great risk.
Janeway inhaled slowly and the young woman knew she was not going to answer the question. "Annika, Pon farr is an extremely private and personal aspect of Vulcan culture," the captain said finally. "And is not generally discussed with outsiders, which, despite how much we care about Tuvok, is what we are. In any event, it's not important that you know the details, nor are they relevant to you. It's enough to know that it's been taken care of."
Seven worked it out to its obvious conclusion. "Suppose it had not been 'taken care of'?" she asked, frowning slightly.
Janeway rested her chin on the Borg's head. "Then I would have the extremely sad and onerous duty of telling you that he had died," she said softly. "I'm so very, very glad I did not have to inform you of such a thing this evening."
Seven caught her breath as she considered that. "You are correct," she said, her voice shaky. "I am glad you did not have to tell me such a thing either." She felt tears sting her eyes. "That would have been ... too much."
"Yes," Janeway responded, hugging her tightly. "It would have been. For both of us, I think."
Seven snuggled closer. "Kathryn?" she whispered.
"Yes, darling?"
Seven hesitated. "Were you really required to uncover the alien's deception?" she asked in a very small voice.
Janeway seemed to start abruptly beneath the Borg and she didn't answer immediately, obviously trying to find a way to answer that. Seven did not think there was an answer, but she still needed to ask the question. Though why she needed to ask it, she wasn't sure.
"I don't know," Janeway said finally, her voice husky and edged with tears. "I could give you all the flowery words about truth and how important it is not to live a lie, Annika ... but, sometimes that's not as simple as it seems."
She shifted position so that she could look into Seven's face and the Borg turned her head, wrapping her arms around the captain's neck. Janeway's eyes were intent and sincere, a soft blue with the under-shadow of grey, moisture glinting at each corner as Seven regarded her, their faces mere inches apart.
"When I finally realized that a deception was being perpetrated on us, my darling, all I could think of was that you were alone with her. I was terrified. All I wanted was to get to you and make sure you were safe." She cleared her throat, blinking a bit. "But I've wondered many times since if I could have found a better way to deal with it. If I could have made the revelation a little easier for you to hear. I guess I'll always regret rushing in there with a full security team with phaser rifles at the ready. Despite how everything turned out, I do not believe that the alien had malicious intent toward us, or in particular, you. I think we could have arrived at the truth in a less ... traumatic way." She took a breath, measuring her words. "But darling, you still would have needed to know eventually. She wasn't your mother, no matter how good a facsimile she was. It wasn't real and the longer it went on, the harder the inevitable revelation would have been."
Seven searched her partner face, studying her eyes, the shading of color which revealed far more about the captain than the Borg thought Janeway realized. The captain returned the scrutiny, her expression compassionate and sincere. Finally Seven dipped her head, lowering her gaze, accepting the truth of it, as hard as it was.
"I think," she said quietly, "that a part of me regrets that it did not go on longer. I was just beginning to comprehend what having a mother was like."
Janeway reached up and tangled her hand in Seven's hair, pulling her head to her so that she could press her lips against her forehead. "I know. I'm sorry, darling. I wish ... damn ... I just wish things could have turned out differently."
Seven exhaled and rested her head on the captain's shoulder. "So do I," she said sadly. "But it is as you say, Kathryn. If wishes were horses, then we would all be riding." She hesitated. "We are not riding."
"No," Janeway agreed sadly. "We're not." She drew the Borg closer, running her thumb lightly down the young woman's cheek.
Seven could hear the captain's heart beating steadily beneath her ear, and for the moment, she allowed herself to become lost within its comforting rhythm. It soothed her in an odd way and she wondered if this feeling was similar to the one she had felt when the alien had sung her to sleep, when she had believed her to be her mother. She decided it was not, but there was still a sense of peace and serenity in being here with Kathryn that could not be denied, even in all her hurt.
She inhaled, smelling the warm fragrance of her partner, the familiar scent of female and faint perfume, of flesh and skin, feeling it ease something hard and sharp inside her, dulling its edge. Carefully, she pressed her lips to the smooth plane of the captain's upper chest where it showed through her robe, and then to the hollow of Janeway's throat.
"Mmm, Annika?" Janeway whispered.
Seven raised her head, covering Kathryn's mouth with her own, tasting the familiar flavor of her, wanting her so desperately all of a sudden, and then just as abruptly, feeling the hurt overwhelm her again. She pulled away, dropping her face to the side, tears rising to slip down her face.
"Shh, darling," Janeway soothed, reaching up to brush the moisture away with her knuckles. "It's all right."
"I ... do not understand," Seven responded, confusion and pain filling her. "One second I feel one thing, and the next, I feel something else."
"Tell me," Janeway requested tenderly. "What do you feel?"
"I ... want to be with you so much," Seven said, trying to explain. "But then, it hurts and I do not want to be with you. It is very odd and disconcerting. I do not like feeling like this."
"Easy, love," Janeway told her. She kissed her softly. "I don't think staying out here is doing any good." She kissed her again, a sweet touch against the Borg's lips. "Please, come back to bed with me," she urged quietly.
Seven regarded her uncertainly for a moment, and then nodded briefly. She untangled from the captain and rose from the couch, waiting until Janeway got up as well. She accepted the captain's hand in her own as her spouse led her into the bedroom where she remained passive as the captain removed her robe. In bed, Seven rolled over onto her stomach, facing away from her spouse, still feeling restless, but not wanting to return to the living area.
"Why do I feel this way?" Seven asked plaintively as the captain snuggled up to her, her body warm and sweet against her skin. She exhaled slowly as Janeway lightly drew her nails down the Borg's back, scratching lightly.
"Because that's the thing with bodies," Janeway said quietly. "Sometimes they just make their own demands, no matter what you're feeling emotionally or spiritually. I think your body wants and needs a physical release, Annika, but your mind is troubled because you can't return pleasure at the moment ... you simply have nothing left inside to give anyone else right now. It's confusing and you feel guilty because you believe it's not fair to demand pleasure while being unable to offer it."
Surprised, Seven blinked and looked over her shoulder at her spouse. "Yes. That is exactly how I feel."
"It's perfectly all right," Janeway whispered, bending down to kiss her cheek. "I'm going to take care of you, my darling. I'm going to make love to you and I don't want or need you to do anything in return. I just want to give this gift to you and it would please me so much if you can accept it." She slid her hand down to Seven's buttock, stroking it gently, sensuously.
Seven sighed. "I do not know if I can," she said honestly. "I have never felt like this before."
Janeway nibbled along the Borg's shoulders, pressing her leg between Seven's, parting her thighs, making the young woman bend her knee. "If you want me to stop, just say it," she promised. "That's all you have to do, love and I'll stop immediately. But I do think this will ... if not make you feel better ... then maybe relax you a bit."
Seven inhaled slowly. "Proceed," she whispered.
Janeway ran her hand slowly over her partner's body, soothing even as she carefully intended to arouse. Her fingertips were light over the soft, smooth skin of the Borg's back, massaging languidly, then sliding down to Seven's buttocks, kneading them gently. She didn't try to hurry, didn't try to press her attentions, just stroked the lean, lanky body with great tenderness. If Seven became aroused, that was fine; if she didn't, that was fine as well. Janeway would go with whatever Seven needed.
After a while, she slipped her hand down to the juncture of Seven's legs, touching the Borg gently from behind and invoking a tiny gasp. There was little moisture yet, so Janeway fondled her spouse with the most delicate of caresses, allowing the young woman to adapt to her touch. She decided that she would not continue this if the Borg's body showed no indication of cooperation, but before she had even finished the thought, the wetness was generated, spreading with every brush of her fingers over the tender flesh.
"Kathryn," Seven whispered, quiet into the night.
"I'm right here, darling," Janeway murmured, kissing her neck and ear. "Do you want me to stop?"
"No," Seven responded. "I ... it feels good."
She sounded vaguely surprised and Janeway nuzzled her lovingly.
"It's okay to feel good," she reassured her. "Just let your body feel what it feels. It knows what it wants."
She could feel the little nodule swell beneath her fingers and slowly, Seven began to undulate against the fingers, rubbing against them in a counter motion to Janeway's touch. Before long her breath was a sob and suddenly, she jerked spastically, her body quivering.
"Kathryn," Seven breathed once into the night, and she shuddered again, arching, before finally easing her taut frame from beneath the warm weight of the captain.
Then she rolled over to curl up around Janeway who welcomed her lovingly into her arms. Seven buried her face into her spouse's neck, the captain feeling the warm wetness of the Borg's tears against her skin. The older woman stroked the long hair soothingly, muttering nonsense words of comfort and love. For a second, Seven trembled, and then slowly relaxed. Within moments, she was fast asleep, her head resting on Janeway's shoulder. Well satisfied with that outcome, Janeway brushed her lips over the smooth forehead, settling down against her partner to follow her into slumber. Any lingering arousal that the captain might have been feeling herself, was easily discarded as she cuddled happily into that warm body.
When morning watch came up, Seven remained in the bed, quiet in her slumber, and Janeway smiled as she rolled off the mattress to pad naked into the ensuite where she took care of a few biological necessities. Seven did not stir, even when Janeway crawled back into bed and wrapped herself around her spouse. The captain was profoundly grateful that they both were pulling off-duty for the next two days. She decided that they both probably needed it and she allowed herself to doze off. When she woke a second time, Seven was draped all over her, her head and arm resting heavily on the captain's stomach, still asleep. Janeway smiled, deciding that if her plan of borrowing Little Harry did not completely ease Annika's pain or if making love to her had not provided anything more than a physical release, then combined, at least they seemed to have allowed Seven to recapture the serenity of sleep. Considering how little the Borg had managed since this whole situation began, it was long overdue.
Janeway yawned, wondering if she needed to catch up on some herself. She reached down and lazily tangled her fingers in the Borg's hair, holding her spouse's head to her warmly. Seven stirred briefly, shifting to a more comfortable position, but did not open her eyes. Instead, she settled even closer to Janeway. The captain smiled, more than glad to be used as the young woman's pillow. She did wonder if they were going to spend the whole day in bed, a sinfully indulgent prospect, and she felt a gurgle in her stomach as her body plaintively inquired if it was going to be fed in that event?
Seven obviously heard the rumble beneath her cheek and she shifted again, inhaling deeply as she opened her eyes.
"Sorry, darling," Janeway murmured.
Seven didn't respond, merely kissed her way up to the captain's breasts where she settled her head and closed her eyes once more, undoubtedly assuming that she wouldn't be disturbed by any gastronomical complaints there. Janeway's smiled ruefully, stroking the blonde hair tenderly.
"Believe it or not, I have to get up," she said apologetically.
Seven uttered a sound of protest, hugging her Human pillow tighter to her.
Janeway laughed huskily. "What about this," she offered persuasively. "I'll replicate some breakfast and we'll have it here in bed."
"A real breakfast?" Seven mumbled.
"Meaning?" Janeway asked, though she suspected she had a good idea.
"No chocolate or whipped cream," Seven clarified.
"A real breakfast," Janeway promised. "Omelets and toast so we'll have crumbs all through the sheets and none on your head."
Seven considered it, then reluctantly released her. "Very well."
Janeway obligingly rolled out of bed for the second time that morning and disdaining the need for her robe, she headed for the replicator. One thing she did do reasonably well was breakfast and she filled the tray with food, requiring two trips before she had all the supplies carried back into the bedroom. Seven had fluffed up the pillows and reclining against them, the two women fell upon their meal hungrily, consuming the fluffy western omelets, the whole wheat toast, the home fries and back bacon, along with the juice, milk and, for Janeway, a steaming mug of coffee. The captain was glad to see that Seven consumed her fair share, though when the Borg caught Janeway noticing, she pulled an admonishing face at her, making the older woman chuckle softly.
Later, bellies full, they placed the trays on the floor and settled back against the headboard, Janeway sipping her coffee while Seven leaned against her, her head resting on the captain's chest.
"That was ... acceptable," the Borg remarked, stroking the captain's rounded stomach idly.
"Quite acceptable," Janeway agreed with a smile, taking a second to kiss the top of her partner's blonde head. "And not too many crumbs in the bed, either."
There was a pause. "Kathryn, may I ask you a question?"
Janeway's smile widened. "Darling, you can ask me anything, anytime," she said. "You already know that. So anytime you offer one with that sort of preface, I have to believe it's a question I'm probably not going to like, correct?"
Seven hugged her. "Not necessarily. I have no difficulty asking hard questions whenever it is the proper time to do so. It is the questions where I am not sure of your reaction or that are not particularly important, that I preface in order to find out if you wish to hear them. This type of question can wait if you are not interested in a 'philosophical discussion' at this time or if you do not wish the 'mood' altered by a question you would rather not contemplate."
"Ah," Janeway said, rather liking the distinction her spouse had made and realizing how accurate it was. "All right, I'm certainly not adverse to a little discussion at the moment and if I don't like the particular topic, I'll let you know. Ask your question."
"My moth... the alien questioned me about you. Since the being's behavior was based on what it absorbed through thoughts and emotions from others around it, then what prompted it to ask about such an issue had to come from one of us. Since I know I am not concerned by this, it must have originated with you."
"I ... see," Janeway said slowly, wondering if it was too late to change her mind about hearing the question. "What's the issue?"
"Do you feel that the difference in our ages prevents us from having a stable and long-term relationship?"
"Oh, boy," Janeway said and took another sip of her coffee. It was bad enough when the alien had pointed out the captain's doubts in the conference room in front of Chakotay and B'Elanna. She hadn't thought that the imposter had also brought it up with Seven. "Darling, that's not an easy question to answer."
"I did not think it would be," Seven remarked. "Hence my prefacing it."
Janeway nodded. "Fair enough." She inhaled slowly, trying to organize her thoughts so that what she said would be clear and make sense. "Annika, I love you utterly. There's absolutely no question of that in my mind, nor should there be in yours. I believe that we will be married for as long as it is humanly possible for two people this much in love to stay together. But yes, there are times when I am reminded of our age difference and I worry that perhaps it will become a problem one day."
"Why?"
"It's not so much a matter of the difference in years as it is the difference in our life experiences," the captain explained. "I have lived through certain things in my life that you have yet to be exposed to, and sometimes, those experiences can separate people if they go through them at different stages in their development."
"They will not separate us," Seven said with absolute certainty.
"All right," Janeway replied, smiling faintly. "Then there's the cultural conditioning I have that you don't."
"Explain."
"Sometimes darling, you react to certain experiences as a child. As if it's all brand new and wondrous and completely overwhelming. When that happens, I'm put in mind of all you missed in your life, of the growth of mind and spirit that you have yet to achieve, and I feel that perhaps I am somehow taking advantage of that innocence."
"Ah," Seven said dryly. "If I were cynical and dour, it would be much easier for you to feel I was at your maturity level."
Janeway chuckled. "Something like that," she admitted. "Don't get me wrong, darling, I love it so much when you discover something new and you react with such childlike joy. It renews me. But in our culture, it is frowned on for an older person to ... involve themselves romantically with a younger person, because the implication is that the older person is using the younger person's inexperience for their own selfish pursuits. It is wrong for an adult to take advantage of a child."
"I am not a child," Seven pointed out. She hesitated, obviously thinking about what the captain said. "Do you think of me as a child?"
"No," Janeway said. "But, in some ways, unquestionably, you are still childlike in certain of your actions. Sometimes that disturbs me a little ... not in terms of you doing anything wrong, but in questioning as to whether I'm doing something wrong. I wonder if by becoming involved with you, I've prevented you from doing all the things that every young person gets to do as they become a fully mature adult." She swallowed, a muscle jumping in her jaw. "You've gone from your parents to the Borg to me, Annika. Sometimes I worry that it means you haven't had the opportunity to see and do all there is to do, to be completely on your own."
Seven was silent for awhile and Janeway patiently sipped her coffee, waiting for the young woman to finish processing this in her own way.
"The concern is irrelevant," Seven decided finally. "I do not wish to be with anyone but you, regardless of how many new places I go, regardless of how many new people I meet. You are the only one I love and the only one I shall ever love in this way. Furthermore, I know in my heart that you would never prevent me from doing anything, or going anywhere, that I might wish, no matter how much it might hurt you personally to support it. So you are not allowing your greater life experience to keep me from acquiring my own. In fact, because of your support, I may have the opportunity to experience things that otherwise, I would be hesitant to try. As for the other, while I may display more childlike behavior on occasion than you do, there are still things about you that are childlike as well, including your stubborn insistence on not accepting medical care when you need it."
"That's not childlike, Annika," Janeway corrected dryly. "That's childish."
Seven lifted her head to regard her for a moment, a glint of amusement in her pale eyes, and then lowered her head back to the captain's chest. "Very well," she said, allowing the distinction. "Of course, all of this is balanced by the fact that even as this concerns you, there is a part of you that appreciates my lack of life experience. Not just how I react to new things, but the fact that you are the only person that I have loved this way. You like that, not only were you my first lover, but that you are, and will be, my only lover. It is a source of pride to you."
Janeway was put on the spot by that one. Not only was it completely true, the fact that Seven was aware of it embarrassed her somewhat.
"I will ... admit," she allowed quietly, "that I do like the fact that I'm the only one you've ever been with. Just so I don't suffer from any comparison, if nothing else."
Seven kissed the warm valley between Janeway's breasts. "Kathryn, if I had a million lovers, you would still be my favorite and the best," she assured her.
Janeway laughed. "Thank you," she said. "I think."
"Has your concern been laid to rest?"
Janeway kissed her spouse sweetly. "It's an irrational concern, my love," she said softly. "I've always known that or I would have refused to become involved with you in the first place. But those are also the hardest kinds of doubts to get rid of completely, so the chances are, you will continue to be who you are and I will continue to be who I am, and whenever it comes up, I'll just have to get by it, like I always have. But I am glad we discussed this. I promise you, I will not let it affect our relationship."
"That is sufficient," Seven agreed. She hesitated. "I am sorry if I allowed the imposter to create a problem where none existed."
Janeway put her cup down on the nightstand next to the bed and wrapped her arms around her spouse, hugging her tightly. "Darling, as long as we can talk about things, there will never be any problem, real or imagined, that we can't work out together," she told her with utter sincerity. "All right?"
"Very well," Seven responded, returning the embrace. "I shall remember that."
She kissed her partner deeply.
"Always," she whispered.
Epilogue
Seven of Nine curled up on the couch in the dark living area, watching the endless night through the large window. From the bedroom, she heard the distinctive sound of her partner rolling out of bed and padding barefoot across the floor. A minute passed and then a sleepy Janeway was slipping onto the sofa, snuggling up to Seven's chest and resting her head on the Borg's shoulder. She had brought a blanket with her, and it draped warmly over both women as Janeway sighed and went back to drowsing in Seven's arms.
There would come an evening, Seven knew, when her thoughts and emotions would not drive her from the comfort and warmth of her bed to sit out here in the lonely hours that preceded dawn. Would not keep her from her sleep as she tried to work out all her doubts and fears about what had happened and might in the future. Eventually, she knew she would learn to accept this experience and place it in its proper perspective, allowing it to have no more affect on her than it should as she returned fully to the life it had so profoundly disrupted. But until then, she would spend each silent vigil out here, trying to make sense of what had happened and come to terms with it. And while she did, she knew her partner would come out to share it because Janeway absolutely refused to let Seven face this alone, even when she couldn't do anything to help.
Smiling faintly, the Borg drew the blankets up about Kathryn's shoulders, brushing her lips across her forehead and holding her close to her.
Finding her own sense of peace with the tears she had shed and those that would yet fall, knowing that no matter what else happened, she would always have this one woman at her side to brush them away and offer what comfort she could.
For this moment, it was enough.
The End