Just Between
Arrivals & Departures
G. L. Dartt
Placing the last of his clothing in the carryall bag, Paris sealed it up and took a final glance around his quarters. After serving on Voyager for almost seven years, he was about to start a new position on another ship. The USS Enterprise, a state-of-the-art, Sovereign-class vessel was under the command of Captain Jean-Luc Picard, probably the most famous captain still on active duty. It was a much larger, more powerful vessel than the Intrepid-class ship Tom had been helming, the opportunity promising a bright future for someone who had been such an utter disaster when he was younger. Drummed out of Starfleet after lying about his responsibility for a tragic accident that had killed his wingmates at Caldik Prime, Paris had been imprisoned for his subsequent actions with the Maquis. He had been with the outlaw band of freedom fighters for only a month or so before ending up in a New Zealand penal colony where Captain Kathryn Janeway had eventually contacted him, wanting his help in capturing his previous companions in the Maquis resistance cell. He had agreed to assist the formidable woman for no other reason than to secure an early release from the security facility.
While in pursuit of the Maquis ship, Voyager had been swept up by a tetryon-based displacement wave created by an entity known as the Caretaker, and flung 70,000 light-years away into the Delta Quadrant. A significant portion of the Starfleet crew had been killed, and Janeway had been forced to make an alliance with the very Maquis she had been hunting. The captain of that ship, Chakotay, had become her first officer, and Paris, skilled in navigation, had been assigned to the helm, his rank in Starfleet reinstated by the captain for the duration of their return to the Federation.
Tom had learned a lot about himself in the perilous journey back to the Alpha Quadrant. Now that they had finally returned, he knew it was time for him to take the next step in his life. New orders had been issued to him from Starfleet Command, upholding his reinstatement, promoting him to senior lieutenant, and assigning him to the very vessel he had fantasized about serving all those long years ago at the Academy. To be a part of the legendary crew who manned the Federation's flagship was the cumulation of all his hopes and dreams. Yet, even as he stood here on the verge of a bright future, he was keenly aware of the part of him that would miss Voyager desperately.
As well as the people with whom he had served.
He glanced down at the bag lying on his bed, amazed that something so small could hold everything that had comprised his life for the past seven years. Everything he wanted or needed had been packed, and the rest could be broken down into component elements, to be sent through the recycle setting of the replicator for the energy.
He swallowed hard, surprised to find that his chest felt full and a little appalled for being so sentimental. This wasn't his nature, he told himself firmly. He was a rolling stone, a free spirit. A shooting star that always needed to be traveling to new places and fresh situations. Yet, the fact remained that this ship had been as much a home to him as he had ever experienced, while the rest of the crew became closer to him than his own family. It was very difficult to leave.
Not that he could stay even if he wanted to, he reminded himself sharply, annoyed at the maudlin emotions roiling his stomach. Voyager was to be dry-docked, undergoing a complete overhaul to bring her up to current Starfleet operating standards. While they had been lost and alone in the Delta Quadrant, the Federation had fought a war, changing considerably during the bitter conflict. Where once its primary motivation had been diplomatic, intent on scientifically exploring the space it held, it was now far more militaristic, more aware of the enemies that surrounded it, with more emphasis on deep space exploration to extend its territory, and less ready to use diplomatic solutions to appease those who would threaten it. The technological advances in weapons, shields, and navigational systems of the past few years had been tremendous, and according to Starfleet Command, Voyager lacked the necessary requirements to return to active duty immediately.
It could take a year or more to refit the Intrepid-class vessel, while her crew, the band of brave explorers who had literally gone where no one in the Federation had gone before, were dispersed throughout the 'Fleet, taking on a variety of new positions in an organization that had suffered greatly from losses in personnel during the fight against the Dominion. There had been little delay in assigning the new posts, though if any officer felt the need to take leave to acclimate, such a request would have been granted without question. The helmsman decided that he would rather report to the Enterprise immediately than take the chance he would find himself in an argument with his father about his choices regarding his professional life. He remembered well how Owen Paris had interfered with a previous posting Tom had won on the flagship. Once he was settled as a member of the Enterprise crew, then he would avail himself of his accumulated leave and visit his family. He had missed his mother and sisters greatly while in the Delta Quadrant.
He took a breath and picked up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He knew he wasn't the first to decide to get on with his life, nor the first to depart Voyager. Currently docked at the Bajoran space station, a considerable number of the crew had already left the ship: from Maquis who were ready to get back to their civilian lives to Starfleet officers making other arrangements to return to their home planets since Voyager would be traveling directly to Earth once it left DS9, to those, like Tom, who were anxious to start their new lives on other ships and stations. He wondered if there would be enough crewmembers left to man the vessel on its final journey, or if Janeway would be required to take on new crew just long enough to get her the rest of the way to Voyager's home port.
It seemed a somewhat anticlimactic finish to what had been a most remarkable experience.
Tom inhaled sharply as he stepped out into the corridor. This would be the last time he would be exiting these quarters, he thought, and again, he had to swallow hard against the lump that persisted on forming in his throat. He railed at himself, knowing that this would pass, and soon he would be so busy learning how to fly the new Sovereign-class vessel that he wouldn't have time to miss Voyager. But for this last walk to the aft docking port where he would exit the ship, memories and thoughts of the past surrounded him like ghosts, dancing mockingly along the bulkheads and decks as he passed.
He hesitated as the door directly down the corridor slid open, and Voyager's chief of engineering stepped out. Lt. B'Elanna Torres was part Klingon, part Human, and all woman, feisty, quick-tempered, dark-haired, dark-eyed and eminently beautiful. Tom and she had shared a tempestuous and volatile romantic relationship for a year, and even now, long after they had ended it, his heart still hurt when he saw her. The engineer was accompanied by her current lover, Ro Laren, a tall, slender Bajoran with a darkly brooding nature and a constant hint of danger that lingered in the flash of her gaze. Tom supposed B'Elanna found that wonderfully exciting and attractive, in a way that she had not found with him.
He would be the first to admit that their breakup was primarily his fault. He had been too casual with her heart, too quick to ignore her needs for his own hobbies and recreational pursuits. At one point, he had thought she was dead, and rather than wait the prescribed time Klingon culture demanded, rather than wait to see if it was, in fact, true, he had found himself in the arms and bed of another. When B'Elanna returned, not dead after all, and well within the prescribed mourning period, she had been unable to forgive his perceived infidelity and they had parted ways. It was only then that he realized the true depth of his love for her, and how foolish he had been to let her slip away.
It couldn't be undone, however, and now, as he walked toward her, he wondered if he would ever have another chance at finding someone so special, and if he did, would he have learned enough to do it right the second time around?
"B'Elanna," he greeted, proud that his voice didn't indicate his current emotional state. "Lt. Ro."
"Hey, Tom," the Klingon said. Ro dipped her head briefly in acknowledgment of his greeting. "This is it, huh? You're on your way to the Enterprise?"
"Yeah," he admitted. "I wanted to get there early, become a little familiar with the ship before we leave DS9. Our departure is scheduled for 0900 tomorrow."
B'Elanna smiled, tilting her head. "You are taking this seriously. You didn't even drink at the party last night."
"The last thing I want to do is meet Captain Picard with a hangover."
B'Elanna nodded, and he realized that she was a little ill at ease, though he wasn't entirely sure why. He swallowed his pride and allowed a little of what he was feeling to show in his eyes.
"I'm going to miss you."
Her eyes lightened. "I'll miss you, too, Tom." She reached out and touched his arm. "No matter what else, you've been a good friend, and I don't have too many of those."
"You, too, B'Elanna." He raised his arms and to his great gratification, she stepped into them, wrapping her own arms around his waist and hugging him back fiercely.
"We had some good times, didn't we?" he said huskily into her ear.
"Yeah, we did," she said, drawing back to look in to his eyes. There was no love in her gaze, but her expression held honest affection and fondness, and he counted himself lucky that, at least, that much of their relationship had survived.
"The best of luck with Utopia Planitia," he told her, referring to the shipyards orbiting Mars, where she had been assigned. "Try not to get into too many arguments with your superior officers."
Her smile widened. "I can't make any promises. You watch yourself in that big ship. It'll be a hell of a lot harder to maneuver with the Enterprise than it ever was with Voyager."
He laughed, recognizing the underlying tone that indicated she wasn't just talking about the helm or the ship's maneuverability. "No, I don't suppose it will." She stepped back and his arms ached momentarily for the loss. He nodded at Ro. "Good luck to you, as well," he offered, managing a graciousness he was far from feeling. "I understand you're heading for Starfleet Command?"
Ro inclined her head. "To upgrade my rating in Starfleet Tactical Training." She paused. "But I may have a few other options to explore. I haven't decided anything yet."
"I'm sure that whatever you decide, you'll do well," he said, unable to imagine any area where the formidable woman would not find herself capable. She had hidden her identity from the crew of Voyager for six years, but when it finally came out, she had wasted little time in becoming an indispensable Starfleet officer for Captain Janeway. A part of him resented it, and her, with an intensity that startled him. Another part though, admired it greatly, and wished that he was equally as quick to adapt, suspecting he would need it in his new role.
He paused, long enough for the moment to become a bit awkward, and then nodded.
"Take care of yourselves," he said lamely.
"You, too, Tom."
"Good fortune to you, Lt. Paris," Ro said, with what seemed sincerity.
He offered them a final smile and walked away, blinking rapidly. Suddenly, he couldn't wait to get off the ship and on with his life. But he had promised to make a few more stops, and he requested the turbolift to take him to deck six where Lt. Harry Kim, the ship's operations officer, answered the door of his family quarters. The dark-haired man was holding his young son in his arms, and Tom smiled, dropping his bag onto the deck as he reached out for his 'nephew' while the youngster gurgled and laughed, leaning into his 'uncle's' arms.
"Hey, big fella," he said, hugging the little boy as he walked into the quarters. "I'm gonna miss you, buddy."
"He'll miss you, too," Megan Delaney said, coming over to hook her arm in her husband's. Both she and Harry had matching expressions on their faces, one that combined happiness for their friend at his new opportunity, and sadness at this parting of ways.
Tom looked at his friends soberly, Little Harry wiggling in his arms. When he had first arrived on Voyager, he had been a pariah, dismissed as a necessary evil by most of the crew in their pursuit of the Maquis. Harry Kim had been the first, and for a long time, the only, person who had offered his friendship. Megan had offered her friendship, as well, in the early years, even when he had been at his most boorish. It had meant a lot to the young man, and Tom was afraid that he hadn't always been able to convey that to either of them during their years on the starship.
"I can't stay long. I just wanted to say good-bye."
"You'll do all right on the Enterprise." Harry reached out to slap him on the shoulder. "Hey, it's the flagship, buddy, the Big Time."
Tom smiled. "You're not doing so bad yourself. The Starship Design Section at Starfleet Headquarters is nothing to sneeze at. Will you guys be living in San Francisco?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah, we're hoping to get a place near the bay, If not, we'll look for something up the coast and I'll commute. Megan will be able to do her research from home."
The young woman retrieved their son from Tom's embrace. "You'll be sure to visit us the first chance you get."
"I promise." There was another awkward pause and he thought that he was rapidly getting his fill of them. "I uh, have to stop by and say good-bye to the Doctor."
Harry forced a smile. "He'll appreciate that, though don't be surprised if he doesn't let on."
"That's for sure," Tom said. Another hesitation, then Harry dipped his head and stepped forward. Tom hugged him, the pair slapping each other on the back. "Take care of yourself, friend. You won't have me looking out for you anymore."
"You mean, you won't have me looking out for you." Harry looked sheepish, as if embarrassed and surprised by the depth of emotion he was feeling.
Tom knew that he certainly was, and again, he felt the need to get moving. This was far harder than he had anticipated.
"I gotta go," he said, his voice a little ragged. "As soon as you can, send me your new address."
"We'll do that," Megan promised. She kissed him on the cheek. "Be well, Tom."
He got a final snuggle from Little Harry, then picked up his bag. Out in the corridor, he had to surreptitiously wipe some moisture from his face, after first making sure there was no one else around.
"Dammit," he growled to himself. "I've got to get out of here." Yet, he knew the worst was yet to come.
He still had to say good-bye to the captain.
Captain Kathryn Janeway stood near the docking port and unobtrusively shifted her shoulders beneath the new version of uniform she was wearing. It was still Starfleet issue, of course, but quite different from the thin red and black outfit she had worn for the past seven years or so. The tunic was heavier, black offset with grey, quilted padding on both shoulders, while the sweater beneath, denoting the ship's department, wine-red for command crew, seemed of a lighter material than the previous slate-blue version. Four gold pips glinted at the collar, indicating her command rank, and she thought the trousers were just a bit thicker than her old ones. It seemed a rather generic type of design, but then, that made sense considering the Federation was recently at war. Probably someone at Starfleet Operations had determined that making it difficult for a Dominion sniper to differentiate between officers at a distance, particularly when it came to rank and department, might be a good idea when it came to walking around on the front lines.
It should have been exhilarating to be standing here wearing the new uniform, docked to the very station Voyager had departed from seven years earlier, but it wasn't. Instead, Janeway felt sore, bone-tired, and vaguely disgruntled as she waited by the aft docking port on deck six. This had been designated as the ship's departure area, from where various members of the crew were leaving the Intrepid-class vessel for the last time. The past couple of days had left Janeway feeling decidedly melancholy, the sense that while everyone else was going on to new and exciting things, she was being left behind, discarded, as if no longer necessary to anyone. Nor was that sense of loss diminished after spending most of the day issuing formal farewells to people with whom she had been as close as family for the past seven years. She hadn't realized how difficult it would be to give her best to people who had served her with distinction and honor in the most trying of circumstances, while a secret part of her wished desperately that she could call them back, tell them not to go, that this was all a mistake, and they could stay on Voyager after all.
She became aware of a pair of ice blue eyes scrutinizing her from a few feet away, and she glanced sideways at her astrometrics officer, annoyed by the intense surveillance. Seven of Nine, late of the Borg Collective and now wearing the uniform of a Starfleet lieutenant, was on hand to represent the departmental heads, particularly a science section that had been denuded by the transfers and resignations of so many crewmembers. Tall, with blonde hair pulled back in an austere bun, her narrow features enhanced poignantly by metallic implants left over from her time as a drone, Seven was a formidable woman. Her demeanor was one of precision and formality, her attitude encompassing a supreme confidence in her own abilities and little patience with others who refused to show competence.
Yet despite all that, Janeway knew the warm and caring woman that lay beneath the ice-queen exterior, possessing an intimate familiarity with the officer that no one else on the ship was privy to.
But then, no one else on the ship was married to her.
"Captain," the Borg asked softly, so softly that the others in the area could not hear her. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Seven," Janeway said crisply, raising her chin authoritatively. The pale orbs did not waver in their intensity, however, and the captain let out an exasperated sigh. "Really."
Only because they were in public did she let it go. Otherwise, Janeway was sure that Seven would persist in having the captain tell her all her problems, needing to understand the unease she was detecting in her partner. Not that Janeway necessarily disagreed with such communication with her spouse, but now, she just didn't want to talk about it. It seemed ironic to her that she had spent so much time leading up to their return reassuring Seven on how wonderful it would be, only to find the reality of it to be less than what she anticipated. Or perhaps it was just the events of this day. She wanted this duty to be over with so she could return to her ready room and get back to the familiar task of running her ship.
You mean, get back to all the paperwork that you still have to do? her little voice reminded her sardonically.
The captain had forgotten how many documents and forms were required when transferring and releasing crewmembers. It wasn't something that she had been required to deal with for the past seven years, but now it seemed that when she wasn't bidding farewell to someone, she was filling out reports and transmitting them to Starfleet Command, making sure everything was properly prepared for their official return to Earth.
At this point, she was starting to miss the relative tranquility of the Delta Quadrant.
She lifted her head as Tom Paris strode down the corridor toward her, a carryall slung casually over his shoulder. Close behind him, the ship's counselor, Kes, and Lt. Neelix, natives of the same sector Voyager had been transported to seven years earlier, also carried their meager belongings in Starfleet emblazoned bags. A surge of annoyance swept through Janeway and she forced it down, not allowing it to reach her face. Other starship captains had not wasted any time in recruiting from the valuable pool of starship officers that crewed Voyager. Perhaps, under similar circumstances, she would have done the same, but it didn't mean that she had to like it. She was particularly piqued by Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Enterprise-E, who had not only arranged the transfer of Lt. Paris before Voyager had even known for sure they would be able to return, he had also sent personal offers to several other officers, including Kes and Neelix, as soon as his ship had docked at DS9.
Of course, Janeway was aware that she and her starship no longer needed a crew. Voyager was headed for a dry-dock in the Utopia Planitia shipyards, and during the year it would take to refit the vessel, Janeway planned to accept one of the administrative positions offered her by Starfleet Command. She should be pleased that her crewmembers were going on to bigger and better things, that they were considered valuable personnel to Starfleet, even those that had initially been Maquis. Still, the presumption of the other captains aggravated her. It was as if Voyager were dying, and the rest of the vessels were circling like vultures in the desert, snatching at whatever they could acquire from the corpse of the grand ship that had dared travel into the deepest, most inaccessible part of the galaxy.
It was certainly not how she envisioned her vessel's triumphant return, but then, she also allowed that fighting a war with the Dominion had not been what anyone else had envisioned either. At the height of the conflict, just prior to the Romulans making an alliance with the Federation, Starfleet had been losing 1700 officers a day, and the holes left in the command structure were of the type that cadets fresh out of the Academy simply lacked the ability to fill. A starship that no longer required a crew of experienced and seasoned officers, making them available to be recruited, was something no captain worth their pips could afford to overlook.
"Captain," Tom said, pausing in front of her. He straightened to attention, shoulders square in his new uniform, his chin firm, the intent gaze level. "Permission to disembark, ma'am."
She held the stare, a muscle jumping in her jaw. The young man had been a special project of hers, Janeway granting him a second chance at the life he had mishandled so badly when he had been much younger. He had faltered a few times in the seven years he had served on her ship, but overall, he had fulfilled the potential she always believed he had. Besides that, she had grown to honestly like the brash young man, seeing in him elements that others, less perceptive, had missed.
"Permission granted," she said, her voice husky. She held her posture a few seconds more, then abruptly relaxed it, reaching out to hug the young man. Surprised, Tom returned it, bashfully pleased and overwhelmed.
"It was an honor to serve you," he said quietly, drawing back. His blue eyes were bright, shining with a suspicious moisture. "You've given me so much. I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you."
"Serve Picard as well as you have served me," she said, gripping his arm tightly. "Do us all proud, Lt. Paris."
"Aye, Captain," he said, his smile a little tremulous. He dipped his head and made his farewells to Seven who returned them graciously, before taking a moment to speak quietly to Commander Chakotay. The first officer and the helmsman had a history of acrimony, but it had developed into respect and grudging admiration on both sides over the years, and their good-byes were sincere.
Janeway turned to face her other two crewmembers. Both natives of the Delta Quadrant, Kes and Neelix had been the first friends Voyager had made after arriving at the Caretaker's array. Both had asked to accompany Janeway and her crew on the long journey home, and now it was time for them to find their place in this new quadrant. Neelix, a Talaxian male with a short, stocky build, his spotted features framed with tufts of blond hair, had moisture shimmering in his golden eyes, unquestionably upset by having to say good-bye. He hadn't wanted to leave, but when Janeway found out he had been offered a position on the flagship, she had advised him to take it. After all, what position would she have him fill? Return home with him to Indiana to serve as her personal cook?
"You'll do fine on the Enterprise, Ensign," she assured him, patting him on the shoulder. "It's the pride of the 'fleet and Picard is a much honored and decorated captain."
She resisted a sigh. In truth, it was better that Neelix had ended up with Picard whose experience would enable him to make the best use of a Talaxian so far from home. There were now captains in Starfleet that Janeway didn't even recognize, some of whom were barely older than Tom Paris and Harry Kim.
"If you don't mind me saying so, Captain," Neelix said huskily. "Voyager is the real pride of Starfleet and you're the best captain I know."
Flattered beyond measure, Janeway smiled. "Thank you, Neelix."
"I wish I could stay with you."
"I know, but with Voyager undergoing a refit, I won't have a ship for a while. But I promise that when I do, I'll make sure you have every opportunity to join my new crew. I'll issue a request for the transfer personally."
He beamed. "Thank you, Captain." He hesitated, and then stepped forward and hugged her tightly. "I'll miss you."
She patted his back, torn between amusement and sadness. It was certainly not protocol for an ensign to be this familiar with his captain, but then, Neelix was far from being an average ensign, and what they had gone through together was far from average circumstances.
"I'll miss you, too, Neelix. Take care of yourself."
He nodded and moved away, going over to say good-bye to Chakotay and Seven. Janeway knew that, earlier in the morning, the Talaxian had made a special trip up to the bridge to say good-bye to Tuvok, a gesture that had greatly pleased the Vulcan security chief, though of course, he refused to show it. He gravely wished Neelix well on his future and had even gone so far as to promise to 'visit' if he were ever in the vicinity of the Enterprise. Janeway knew, as she left the Vulcan holding the conn, that the security officer was just as dissatisfied with the crew's departure as she was, in many ways.
She felt her heart twinge as Kes paused before her. The slender blonde woman was a few centimeters shorter than the captain, and Janeway always felt a sense of affection sweep through her when she was near her.
"Somehow this doesn't seem fair," she said huskily. "We just got you back."
The Ocampa were a short-lived species, their lifespan covering only nine years, and Kes was barely two when Janeway first met the calm, serene female. The captain had developed a maternal bond with Kes, and delighted in watching her grow and explore her potential, her psychic abilities finding opportunity to develop during the many adventures they had faced in the Delta Quadrant. In Voyager's fourth year, those abilities had evolved to the extent that Kes was forced to leave the ship, and Janeway had been heartbroken to see her go.
A year later, the Doctor had requested that they build a medical assistant for him, and they had based the holographic matrix on Kes's personal profile. Unknown to them, Kes had left behind a part of herself, an essence of who she was, and they had tapped into that somehow while creating the hologram, who took the name of Sek. Eventually, Sek became the ship's counselor, and when an infuriated and greatly aged Kes had returned, seeking that missing part of herself, the pair had melded, two halves becoming whole, two individuals with different experiences merging to create a single being. Now, Kes was also Sek, looking as young as that first day they had met, and Janeway knew she would miss her desperately.
"This is something I must do, Captain," Kes said quietly, her tone melodious, like a soft breeze in the leaves. "It’s where my path leads."
"I hope that it will lead you to Earth before long," Janeway said, embracing her gently. "You have to promise to visit me every chance that you get."
Kes smiled, an enigmatic expression in her luminous eyes.
"I'm sure that we will see each other sooner than you expect." Her small hands rested lightly on Janeway's forearms where they squeezed gently. "Time will pass quickly and you’ll have much to do in your new position."
Janeway grinned crookedly. "I don't even know exactly what that new position will be. I don't suppose you'd care to give me a hint?"
Kes tilted her head. "My abilities are not what they once were," she said, her tone equally as playful. Janeway knew that when the two beings had merged, Kes's formidable and uncontrollable neural powers had disappeared for the most part, almost as if they had been burnt out by the overwhelming energy it had taken to undergo the transformation. "But I'm sure that whatever you decide, you will succeed at it with the same skill and compassion you have displayed in your command of Voyager."
"I suspect I won't have as fine a crew working for me." Gently, Janeway released the younger woman. "Good-bye, Kes. Take care of yourself. Take care of Tom and Neelix as well. They'll probably need it."
"I'll keep an eye on them," Kes promised.
She offered the captain a final smile before moving over to say farewell to Chakotay and Seven. The first officer was obviously saddened to see the young woman leave, but Seven was cool and reserved in her parting words, and Janeway stifled a small flare of irritation. Unlike most of the senior staff, Seven had not known Kes at all, arriving on the ship just as the Ocampa was departing, but she had been good friends with the holographic Sek. The Borg had not seen their merging as a combination of two incomplete parts, but rather as Kes replacing Sek; essentially destroying her.
Seven had not liked the situation or the restored Kes, and made no secret of the fact. Janeway had tried to get her spouse to be more amiable to the Ocampa, but Seven had remained stubbornly resistant to all her partner's entreaties. She was probably pleased to see Kes leave, the captain thought darkly, then decided that she had better not pursue it, just as the ship's counselor had suggested on more than one occasion Even though Janeway and Seven were married, it was not required that they hold the same opinions on everything, not even regarding their circle of acquaintances.
But Janeway couldn't help thinking that Seven had deprived herself of getting to know a most wonderful and remarkable being, and that the two women could have been fast friends if only Seven had allowed it.
Taking a deep breath as the three officers picked up their bags and left the area, Janeway watched as they moved through the open airlock and down the docking umbilical where they stepped into the corridor leading to the rest of the station. A large, circular, rust-colored door of Cardassian design rolled shut behind them, cutting off Janeway's last glimpse of her crewmembers, and the captain inhaled sharply, brushing a hand down over her face as she composed herself.
"These farewells certainly aren't getting any easier," she said idly.
"No," Seven agreed in an odd tone, raising her head as she saw the next group of departing officers enter the area. "They are not."
Alerted by the tone, Janeway followed her gaze, and her stomach did a little flip, aware that her partner was about to experience the most difficult farewell she had ever had to face.
Naomi Wildman, the ship's first child, dashed across the deck and flung herself into Seven's arms, wrapping her small arms around the Borg's neck tightly.
"I don't want to go," she wailed, tears streaming down her face. "Please, don't make me go, Seven, please?!?"
Seven of Nine held the little girl in her arms tightly, hugging her comfortingly. Over the youngster's shoulder, she could see Samantha Wildman, along with her husband and her other daughter, approach the departure area. Greskrendtregk Wildman had been left behind on DS9 when Voyager had departed all those years ago, and had no way of knowing that he would not see his wife for seven, long years, or that when she returned, she would be accompanied by two little girls: one, his daughter, Naomi, the other, a child of the Borg, rescued by Captain Janeway and adopted by Samantha Wildman as her own. Both children had been born on starships and had never known any other kind of life. It was to be expected that Naomi would be apprehensive and reluctant to leave the only home she had ever known to live on the space station.
The little girl and Seven had bonded in the time they had spent together on Voyager, with Seven finding a sort of kindred spirit in the child as they grew as close as sisters. Saying good-bye to her was something Seven had been dreading since she discovered her vessel's return to the Alpha Quadrant was imminent. It took all her vaunted discipline not to give into her feelings. To not burst into tears, thereby humiliating herself with a helpless emotional display.
"Naomi Wildman," she said, her voice lacking much of its normal precision. "I am aware that this is difficult for you, but we both knew this day would arrive."
"I know, Seven," Naomi whispered in her ear, not loosening her grip one iota. "But I want to stay with you on Voyager."
"I will not be staying on Voyager," Seven reminded her gently. "The captain and I shall be leaving it once we return to Earth." She paused. "Naomi, our journey together is complete, and now a new journey begins for both of us."
"Don't you love me anymore?" Naomi demanded through her sobs, unaware of how the words slashed directly across the Borg's heart.
"I shall always love you, Naomi Wildman," Seven told her sternly, drawing back to consider her young friend's tear-stained face. "That shall never change, not even when we are unable to inhabit the same vessel. I promise, whenever I am near DS9, I shall visit you. Of course, you are always welcome to visit me and Kathryn wherever we choose to live."
"I'm scared, Seven," the child said in a soft voice.
"I understand," Seven said gently. She was peripherally aware of the captain and Chakotay taking Samantha and her husband aside, speaking with them quietly as the Borg had this private good-bye with her friend, but her focus was primarily on the child, blocking out most of everything else.
Mostly everything.
Her eye was caught by the forlorn figure of the other child, Mezoti, who was also leaving Voyager to live on DS9. Unlike Naomi, the girl was made of sterner stuff when it came to farewells, but then, like Seven, she had been part of the Borg Collective, maintaining a certain type of discipline that most children her age simply could not display. Yet, Seven knew that a cool and casual demeanor could sometimes hold great fear and unhappiness. Only too familiar with hiding behind such a mask when she had first come on board Voyager, she knelt, keeping her left arm tight around Naomi.
"Mezoti, come here."
Slowly, almost shyly, the other girl came over to where Seven and Naomi were. The Borg reached out and wrapped her other long arm around the slender form, hugging her to her. There was a hesitation, almost a sense of surprise from the girl, but with only a little reluctance, she hugged Seven back.
"I know you are afraid, as well," Seven said to her, glancing at Naomi before returning her focus to the narrow face of the Pendari. "Unlike Naomi, you do not have a great deal of experience dealing with Federation beings, but Naomi will assist you." She dipped her head and met the wide blue eyes of her young friend, intending her to understand. "You will assist her, correct?"
Naomi, tears ceasing as she realized she was not as alone in her apprehension about what she would face as she had believed, nodded. "I will," she promised seriously.
"B'Elanna and I personally supervised the installation of your alcove into the Wildman's quarters on DS9," Seven added to Mezoti, doing her best to reassure her. "You will not have any problem adapting to your new surroundings."
"Yes, Seven," Mezoti responded quietly, her dark eyes unhappy.
Seven swallowed hard. "I shall miss you both, very much. I will think of you constantly, but I know that you will succeed in this new venture. You are both competent individuals, and if you work together, there is nothing that you cannot overcome." She managed a small smile. "If we have learned nothing else on Voyager, that is the one lesson we must retain."
Mezoti nodded somberly and Naomi hugged Seven again.
"Good-bye," she whispered.
"Good-bye, Naomi," Seven said, her heart shattering. "Good-bye, Mezoti."
The girls slipped away from the Borg and Seven took a long inhalation, taking a second to compose herself before rising to her feet. She linked her hands behind her back and kept her face impassive as Samantha took a few seconds to bid the Borg farewell.
"Thanks for everything, Seven," the biometrics officer said. "It was a pleasure and an honor to serve with you."
"You were a most adequate crewmate." Seven felt frozen, as if a layer of ice had encased her insides.
Greskrendtregk looked shocked at the abrupt words and cold demeanor, but Samantha smiled compassionately, understanding perfectly what the Borg had meant. "Visit us anytime, Seven," she said, patting Seven on the arm, before looking around for her offspring.
Naomi was standing before a kneeling Captain Janeway, who was refusing the return of the pip she had given the child a year or so earlier.
"I may not be in command of Voyager for much longer, Naomi," she said kindly, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she regarded the youngster, "but you'll always be my Captain's Assistant."
"Thank you, Captain," the child said. She paused, shot a glance at the Borg astrometrics officer, then leaned forward, lowering her voice confidentially, though everyone in the vicinity could easily hear her. "You'll take care of Seven, won't you? She isn't familiar with Federation beings either."
"The absolute best care," Janeway promised her gravely.
Naomi smiled, then leaned forward and hugged Janeway. "Good-bye, Captain."
"Good-bye, sweetling," Janeway said. "We'll miss you."
Seven concentrated very hard on taking one breath after another as the Wildmans left the ship, heading for their living quarters and new lives on DS9. There was a moment of silence, as Seven refused to look away from the point in the hull she had fastened her gaze upon, then, as if from a great distance, she heard Chakotay clear his throat.
"That seems to be it for our transfers, Captain," he said, regarding a padd. "I can handle any of the paperwork still required, if you'd like." He paused, shooting a glance at Seven which she refused to acknowledge, before returning his attention to Janeway. "I hear some really good restaurants have moved into the Promenade. Maybe you should think about trying one for dinner."
"We might just do that, Commander," Janeway said, a note of gratitude in her voice. "In the meantime, have Harry relieve Tuvok to cover the beta shift." She reached out and touched Seven's elbow briefly. "Lieutenant?"
Seven started a bit at the touch before obediently following the captain from the departure area. The two women didn't speak as they took the turbolift to deck three and walked to their quarters where they were greeted by their Irish Setter, Jake, his fringed tail wagging happily at their return. Janeway knelt to pat him, scratching him behind the ears while Seven moved behind the kitchenette counter, resting her hands on the butcher block counter top.
There the Borg paused and looked out the near viewport, staring blankly at the worker bees and space-suited station personnel working about the area. Across from where Voyager was berthed, little workpods swooped around the other two ships docked to the pylons that descended gracefully from the spoked wheel that comprised DS9. One was a Bolian freighter that had experienced damage in a plasma storm, currently being repaired by one of the station's engineering teams. The other was the massive and oddly militaristically designed Enterprise-E, the Sovereign-class vessel. Magnificent even while docked, it radiated power and authority in every line of its gleaming, metallic silver hull. Voyager undoubtedly looked like a toy when compared to it, and Seven wondered if Tom, Neelix and Kes had already made their way over to it, or if they were still on the station.
She inhaled sharply when arms encircled her waist, the body of her partner pressing warmly against her back.
"Talk to me, love," Janeway requested huskily.
Seven inclined her head, putting her hands over Janeway's.
"I do not like these changes," she said in an icy voice, displaying the brutal honesty that was more in keeping with how she had been when she had first arrived on Voyager, rather than the more moderate tones she had developed during her time on the ship. "They are unacceptable."
Janeway made a small sound in her throat, one that might have been amusement, but was probably just agreement. "I don't like them very much, either."
"I wish we had not returned." Seven knew she was being irrational, and that it might hurt Kathryn, but she needed to say it anyway. "I wish we had remained in the Delta Quadrant."
Janeway squeezed her tightly, and then released her hug, slipping her hands to Seven's hips and urging her to turn around. Her face was serious as she looked up into the young woman's distressed expression. "It will get better, my love. Right now, we're just suffering the pains of separation and adjustment."
"Is that what Kes told you?" Seven said waspishly, regretting it as soon as it left her mouth. "I am sorry, Kathryn," she added immediately, before the captain's face could change. "I do not know why I said that."
"Because you're upset at Naomi and Mezoti leaving," Janeway said quietly, pointing out the obvious. "You want to strike out at something, even when you know it won't help."
The Borg swallowed hard. "But I should not strike out at you. I know you are upset, as well." She studied her partner's elegant features sadly. "It was most difficult for you to say good-bye to Mr. Paris and Neelix and Kes."
The captain did not deny it. "It was, but there's not much I can do about it." She reached up and cupped the Borg's cheek. "That's part and parcel of returning home, darling. Not just the joy of arrival, but the inevitable pain of saying good-bye to all the people who have been our family. We knew it would be hard."
"I did not realize how hard." Seven drew her partner into her arms and cuddling the compact form under her chin. They stood in silence for a while, holding on tightly in the privacy of their quarters and the knowledge that here, they could be vulnerable to each other in a way they could not afford in the rest of the ship. "I love you, Kathryn. I am very glad that you are the one person I do not have to say good-bye to. I do not believe I could survive that."
Janeway lifted her face, reaching up with her hand to the back of Seven's neck, bringing her head down to her where she kissed her fiercely. "Never," she promised firmly, when they parted. "You'll never have to say good-bye to me."
Seven kissed her again, tightening her embrace and wanting this moment to last for eternity, because so long as she was in her spouse's arms, anything that might hurt her seemed very far away, unable to breach the shield their love formed around her. But not even they could remain embraced forever, and eventually, Janeway drew away.
"You know, I think Chakotay had a good idea. Why don't we dress up and eat out tonight?" The captain shot Seven a bit of an imploring look. "You and I really never had much of a chance to 'date'. I think I'd like to be able to show off my spouse to the inhabitants of DS9."
"Indeed?" Seven considered it, her spirit lightening at the tone of her partner's voice. Obviously, the captain was trying hard to lift the dark mood which had befallen the couple and it behooved the Borg to help that along, if she could. "What would you choose to wear?"
"Ah, now that's a bit of a quandary," Janeway remarked, heading for the bedroom as Seven followed her. "My navy dress?"
The couple strode quickly into the ensuite and opened the doors leading to their walk-in closet, the extra space appropriated from the guest quarters next door during their journey. Several containers took up far more space than Janeway and Seven required for their limited selection of civilian clothing, and the Borg was grateful that they had expanded when they had. Otherwise, some of the souvenirs and mementos she had accumulated over the course of their marriage would have been discarded for the sake of living space.
"This," Seven suggested, taking a sapphire outfit from the rack. "This is the dress you wore in the Beta Quadrant when we went out to dinner with Tazna Jade." She paused, knowing that Janeway had been jealous of the Beta Quadrant native and wanting her to feel better about wearing the outfit rather than associating bad memories with it. "You made her look like a Kazon in comparison."
"Oh, my," Janeway said, obviously pleased and flattered as she accepted the garment from her spouse. "I didn't think you even knew what a Kazon looked like."
"Species 329," Seven said promptly. "The Collective considered them unworthy of assimilation."
"I stand corrected," Janeway laughed as she carried the dress into the ensuite. "What do you plan to wear?"
"I shall replicate something," Seven said, rather daringly since she was not known for spending rations on personal items. But then, rationing was no longer something they had to worry about, now that they had returned to the Alpha Quadrant. "It shall be a surprise."
"I can hardly wait." Janeway looked at her, her eyes more blue than grey. "Tonight will be much better than the day has been, darling."
"Yes," Seven agreed, nodding as she scanned the selection in the pattern buffer.
After all, she thought bleakly, keeping her thoughts from showing on her face, it couldn't get much worse than having to say good-bye to Naomi and Mezoti.
Neelix entered the cavernous lounge that comprised Ten-Forward, the Enterprise's center of recreation, where the crew came to socialize. Beside him, Kes looked around intently, her eyes bright, her diminutive pose one of eagerness and expectation. It was quiet, undoubtedly because the ship was currently docked at DS9 and most of the ship's personnel were finding their entertainment elsewhere. Only a few people remained scattered at the tables near the outer hull where viewports loomed, showing the tapered shape of Voyager docked at the other pylon. Behind the bar, which stretched along one end of the room, a dark-skinned woman was polishing glasses, and she looked up at their entry, her deep eyes assessing the new arrivals with remarkable presence.
"Mr. Neelix," she said in a calm, cool voice. "Please, join me."
"Are you Guinan?" Neelix asked, stumbling a little over the pronunciation of the name as he approached the bar, holding out the padd he had been given by Commander Riker, the ship's first officer.
He had been instructed to report here as soon as he had finished settling into his quarters, and if it wasn't what he had been expecting when he accepted the transfer, he did hope that this was where he would be assigned while on the Enterprise. It was a familiar type of area, and while many might consider it beneath the dignity of a Starfleet officer to perform this kind of work, he knew it was the best and quickest way to get to know both the ship and the crew.
"I am Guinan." She took the padd from him with a grace that left him feeling awkward. "I'm not sure if Commander Riker told you, but I require an assistant. With over seven hundred crewmembers to keep happy, you can imagine that this part of the vessel becomes quite crucial to the smooth functioning of the vessel. I was thrilled to discover that I finally had access to a Starfleet officer who could truly appreciate the position."
Neelix took a deep breath, expanding his chest. This was far better than he could have hoped. He had expected to be assigned to ship operations, or perhaps engineering, where his limited experience in Starfleet would have seen him doing menial tasks like cleaning out plasma vents or crawling around Jeffries tubes. To be able to work in this elegant and very large social area was exactly what he needed to feel comfortable immediately.
"This is Kes," he said, belatedly remembering the presence of his companion. "She's the new assistant ship's counselor. We served together on Voyager."
"So, I've heard," Guinan said evenly, reaching over to offer her hand. "Welcome, Kes. I trust that Counselor Troi has been showing you around?"
Kes accepted the hand, grasping it tightly. "She has. It's such a large ship with an incredibly varied crew. I'm looking forward to all the challenges that lie ahead."
Despite the innocuousness of their conversation, Neelix was struck by the notion that the two women were taking each other's measure in some odd way, continuing to hold hands as they stared intently at each other. It was odd, but the thought didn't stay with him long, seeming to slip beyond his grasp almost as quickly as it had crossed his mind.
"You'll do," the older woman said finally.
Neelix wasn't sure what that meant, but he was glad that the two seemed to be getting along.
"What would you have me do first?"
Guinan drew down her brows, almost as if she had momentarily forgotten he was there, and then offered him that ageless smile again as she released Kes's hand. "Help me set up. The captain's arranged a little reception to welcome the new crewmembers coming on board, as well as to celebrate the promotion of three of our officers. How good are you at making drinks?"
"Food preparation is more my specialty," Neelix admitted. "From scratch, of course. In the Delta Quadrant, we couldn't rely on replicators so I was responsible for providing meals for 150 crewmembers."
"You're a chef?" Guinan asked, obviously pleased. "This just gets better and better." She raised a hand and gestured toward the large, crew-sized replicators set unobtrusively behind the bar. "Help yourself. We'll need finger foods for approximately five hundred people at any given time this evening."
"Five hundred?" It came out in a bit of a squeak.
"Neelix, just allow for a Prixin celebration and triple everything," Kes suggested, her voice calming him as it always did.
"Right," he said, his heart rate slowing. "Good idea."
As he availed himself of the replicator, impressed by the enhanced speed, selection and power that these boasted in comparison to Voyager's more limited units, he was only vaguely aware that Guinan and Kes had fallen into an intense and private conversation. He was certainly far too busy to wonder what two women, who had never met before, could possibly find to discuss so seriously or at such length, and when he looked up again, he was surprised to see that Kes had left unnoticed. Guinan was across the room, preparing a food area where his dishes were undoubtedly supposed to go. When the woman turned to move toward him, he was surprised at how smoothly she walked, almost gliding, as if her feet weren't touching the deck beneath the long robe she wore.
She reached out and selected a cheese ball from the platter he was still filling. Others, covered with stasis wraps, were stacked neatly to one side of the preparation area. She chewed it slowly.
"Very good," she complimented. She tried a few other delicacies, including the ones specific to the Delta Quadrant, and nodded when she was finished. "Excellent, and far better than any replicated hor d'oeuvres I've come across. They say an army operates on its stomach. I believe the same is true of Starfleet. You're going to make a welcome addition to the Enterprise, Mr. Neelix."
"Monitoring the morale of the ship was an important part of my duties on Voyager," he offered, feeling better about himself every moment. "Scheduling celebrations and making sure everyone had enough to eat was sometimes pretty important."
"It would be in that situation," she agreed and smiled gently at him. "Well done, Mr. Neelix. Now, if you'd help me carry these over to the serving table, you can consider yourself relieved of duty. You are one of the guests of honor, after all."
Neelix glanced at her uncertainly. "Would it be all right if I continued to work? I think ... it would be easier for me to fit in ... at least, immediately." He concentrated on arranging the platters on the buffet. "I'm not really familiar with Starfleet etiquette..." he added, trailing off.
She paused, looking at him steadily with what seemed great compassion in her eyes. "All right. If you want to use the camouflage of serving to blend in, I'm certainly not going to object."
"Thank you," he said. How had he managed to fall into such a lovely position with such an understanding superior officer? He made a promise to whatever Talaxian gods he had ignored most of his life that he would burn a candle in their honor. He glanced at her. "By the way," he added curiously, "What should I call you in terms of rank? I didn't catch that when we were introduced."
"Oh my, I'm not a member of Starfleet," she told him, seeming amused at the idea. "What would I do with a rank?"
For someone without a rank, however, he noted much later when the crew began to assemble and the party began in earnest, Guinan was certainly someone who received a great deal of respect on this ship. Neelix had enjoyed his time on Voyager tremendously, finding it far superior to any other lifestyle he had previously known, but he had also been aware that the crew regarded him with a little less acknowledgment than perhaps he felt his contribution deserved. He had concluded that it was a result of a culture which used replicators as their main source of nutrition, believing that perhaps the Federation members considered food preparation a primitive and not very advanced skill. Now, however, observing the way this crew interacted with Guinan, he realized that theory could not be true. When she spoke, people immediately stopped what they were doing to pay attention, and even the captain, a tall, slender bald man with remarkable presence, made an obvious display of listening to her intently.
Neelix was astounded. He was even more disconcerted, though vastly pleased, when Guinan took the time to introduce him and revealed that he was the creator behind the finger foods that everyone seemed to raving about. His spotted skin turned a bright pink as he received the praise that washed around him and Captain Jean-Luc Picard personally welcomed him on board, telling him with apparent sincerity, what a valuable addition he was going to be to the Enterprise.
It was a distinct difference from begging to be taken along by Captain Janeway and company all those years ago, from scrabbling for every bit of respect that he received. He had been very grateful to the crew of Voyager just to allow him to be a part of their journey.
Now he wondered if he had ever been accepted by a great many of them at all.
"You've made quite an impression, Neelix."
Startled out of his thoughts, he looked up to see Tom Paris leaning against the bar. The young man had an expression on his face, one that at first glance might have seemed cocky, almost arrogant, but for the first time, Neelix recognized it for what it truly was, an attempt by Paris to hide his inner uncertainties and fear. Rather than being angered at such a display, the Talaxian realized he was saddened at how many times he had misunderstood Tom's attitude over the years.
"They're getting the benefit of seven years of education," Neelix pointed out with a small smile. "After all, it was the palate of Voyager's crew that suffered through all my miscues with leola root and trying to make pizza."
Tom laughed, relaxing a little. "It was a hell of a learning experience, for all of us."
"What will you have, Tom? I'm still learning how to make the drinks this crew seems to prefer."
Tom took a breath. "Give me a Kazon Kicker. Might be nice to get a little taste of home." He faltered as he realized what had just come out of his mouth. "My God, did I really say that?"
Neelix began to assemble the ingredients for the requested drink, making a mental note to use synthehol rather than the real brandy the original recipe called for. It would not do for Tom to overindulge his first night on board, especially since he was nervous enough to do just that. Neelix, Kes and Tom were the only ones on board who really knew what the others had gone through in the past seven years, and it was important that they look out for each other.
"I wouldn't worry about it," he offered as he slid the purplish-tinged intoxicant across the bar. "It was our home, and quite a good one. Voyager kept us safe across two quadrants and through more adventures than most of the people here will ever experience."
"You have a point there," Tom said, taking a healthy slug of his drink. He made a face, obviously recognizing the substitution, but he didn't say anything. Apparently, he understood what would be best for him as well.
Both men looked up as another figure joined them, and Neelix smiled as Kes placed her empty glass on the bar.
"Another?" Neelix offered.
"Please," the young woman said, somewhat breathlessly. She looked around the room. "So many people. It's hard to believe that this ship holds almost eight hundred crewmembers."
"It'll take some getting used to," Tom agreed.
"Increases the fun," Neelix noted idly as he refilled the Ocampa's glass with fruit juice. "But it also increases the potential trouble."
"Speaking of trouble," Tom offered, frowning as he looked across the room. "What's she doing here?"
"Who?" Neelix craned his neck as he attempted to follow Tom's gaze through the seething mass of people.
"Ro Laren just walked in."
Startled, Neelix finally managed to get a glimpse of the Bajoran's slender form, slipping with some intent through the crowd, toward the area at the end of the bar where Enterprise's senior officers had gathered. She moved as if she were stepping on unsteady ground, a keen sense of alertness surrounding her, and Neelix was struck by the sudden thought that the ex-security officer was hunting.
The question was for what? Or whom?
Janeway tucked her arm into Seven's and smiled as the two women strolled along DS9's Promenade. Her partner was wearing a plum dress, similar in style to the blue dress Janeway had given her for her birthday, and the color tended to bring out a rosiness in Seven's cheeks that other colors did not, just as it had when she'd worn her biometric outfit of the same shade. Her appearance made her seem like the young, carefree woman she might have been had the shadow of the Borg Collective not touched her life, and Janeway found that her breath kept catching in her throat every time she glanced at her. The Borg had let her hair down, her eyes bright as she looked around intently, and much of the icy demeanor she normally displayed had been left behind along with her uniform.
The captain was feeling quite spectacular herself. Not normally one for dressing up, she was conscious of the fact that she could clean up reasonably well when she tried, and the dress she wore, along with the silver wedding chain and dangling earrings, set off her eyes and hair perfectly. She was very conscious of the admiring looks cast in their direction from various humanoids, mostly male, but also including a significant number of females, and felt herself preen under the attention.
The restaurant they chose was a recent addition to DS9's Promenade. This sector of space had always been considered a part of the Alpha Quadrant's frontier, a territory which bordered that of the Cardassian Empire, and thus boasted a bit of a wilder reputation than most Federation-allied deep space stations possessed. With the recent victory over the Dominion, a more upscale set of merchants had begun moving in, their shops and stores providing a more extravagant consumer experience than the typical Ferengi bars, Klingon kiosks and Bajoran pushcart merchants the station's inhabitants had become accustomed to. Because of a timely warning by their Emissary to refuse membership into the Federation, Bajor was prospering, having remained neutral through the war, even though it had been located near the center of the conflict.
Janeway wasn't sure if this indicated Bajor was becoming a power in the quadrant, or if it was merely a phase as they benefited from the increased traffic to the sector, but for this evening, it allowed the captain to escort Seven to the most elegant restaurant she had seen in well over seven years. The maitre d' guided Seven and the captain to seats next to a window which gave an unobstructed view of the wormhole, clearly one of the better tables in the establishment. She wondered if the couple had merely been fortunate in their timing, considering how crowded the restaurant seemed to be, or if the management had decided that the two women looked so spectacular, placing them in a position of prominence would be good for business.
For the sake of her ego, which wasn't stroked this way very often, Janeway decided on the latter.
She looked across the snowy tablecloth at her companion, the subdued ambiance of the room touching Seven's narrow features gently, granting the young woman a softness that the stark illumination on a starship just couldn't provide. The metallic implants framing the young Borg's left eye and adorning her cheek appeared more like jewelry than harsh reminders of her time in the Collective, and her ice-blue gaze was warmed by the candlelight's flickering flame. The captain felt a tug at her heart, a pleasant pang of love and adoration that filled her chest, and she reached across the table top, entwining her fingers with Seven's.
“You're absolutely lovely,” she said, huskiness edging her tone.
Seven smiled, her eyes seeming to widen and become bluer.
“Thank you, Kathryn,” she said. Her gaze assessed her partner in turn. “Yet, you are the most beautiful person on the station,” she added in the sort of matter-of-fact tone that she would use in saying that the tablecloth was white or that the station was large, a certainty set in stone that made Janeway blush with pleasure. She stared at Seven appreciatively, then became aware of a presence hovering next to them and squeezed Seven's fingers gently before withdrawing her grasp.
The Bajoran waiter, unobtrusively awaiting a break in the conversation, cleared his throat and presented the women with the wine list. Janeway glanced at hers, noting that the restaurant favored local varieties, though wines from all over the Federation were available. Fortunately, she had, on occasion, spoken with Ro Laren at length about what was the best Bajor had to offer.
“I think a spring wine from the Kendra Province,” she said, looking up at Seven. “Darling, perhaps a Bajoran coastal wine for you?” Suspecting that the young woman would probably choose a seafood dish.
Seven dipped her head. “Acceptable.”
Janeway glanced at the young man. “A carafe of Jerrado Vineries '49 and one of Lorit Vineyards '52, if you have any on hand.”
Something like respect edged his gaze. “Of course.”
He left, giving way to more waiters who filled their water glasses and placed a fresh bowl of bread sticks on the table, before leaving behind two elegantly embossed menus. In a civilization where food service was primarily automated and replicator-based, it occurred to Janeway that the presence of all these people indicated they were in a very high-class establishment, indeed, the sort that would undoubtedly deduct a respectable chunk out of the captain's monthly credit allowance.
Fortunately, a check before leaving the ship revealed that Starfleet had been quick to restore the accounts of Voyager's crew, depositing seven years of back credit in them. Even those Maquis who had wasted little time in leaving the ship to resume their civilian lives had been acknowledged for their years of service to the starship with a transfer of credits to the station's largest bank.
Janeway, despite her casual disregard toward currency that was common to those raised on Earth, was aware that for the ex-members of her crew choosing to remain on the fringes of the Federation, those funds might mean a significant difference in how they started their lives over. To her, it was just another example of how Starfleet was quick to look after its own, even when its 'own' wanted nothing to do with it.
“Kathryn?” Seven was regarding her over her menu, a faint frown on her face. “What are these numbers next to the list of dishes? Do they refer to the size of the portions?”
Janeway, who had been woolgathering, studied the prices on her own menu and received an unpleasant jolt, her casual disregard abruptly giving way to the canny sense of fair exchange she had developed in countless negotiations for goods and services over the past seven years. But she didn't want to spoil the mood by bringing up something so crass as money so she swallowed back her first response.
“No, darling. It's a rating on how good they are.” She realized her mistake immediately, of course, but by then it was too late to amend the statement.
Seven lifted a brow. “That will make it easier to gauge the quality of the dishes described. I should logically order the selections with the highest rating.”
Janeway swallowed hard, doing some calculations, but another glance at her partner reminded her that Seven was worth every credit this evening might cost and decided not to worry about it. After all, they weren't just paying for the food, but for the dining experience.
“Of course, Annika,” she assured her partner. “Choose whatever looks best to you.”
Seven smiled and resumed her perusal of the menu while Janeway took a deep breath and looked around. How many times, before being lost in the Delta Quadrant, had a friend or lover escorted her to a similar establishment for special occasions and she hadn't appreciated it? Not the expense involved, not the care taken in preparing the ambiance, not the work it required to provide a dining experience where the customer could feel pampered and indulged simply by sharing food. Not the simple opportunity to have such an evening out in the first place. Now, she absorbed everything into herself, from the murmur of conversation from the other diners, not requiring a translator for a change because most were speaking Federation standard, to the delicate fragrance of fresh flowers on the table to the layout of polished silverware on the table. It was so achingly 'normal' that she almost wept. The poignancy of sharing it all with Seven, for whom most of it would be new and unusual, almost overwhelmed Janeway.
“Kathryn?” Seven studied her with a touch of anxiousness. “You seem disturbed.”
Janeway smiled tremulously, reaching across to touch her fingertips to Seven's. “Not at all, love. I'm not disturbed, at all ... quite the opposite. I'm concentrating very hard on being home again, though of course, that's not why I brought you here. I should be focused on you, instead.”
Seven lifted a brow. “I believe I understand,” she said finally, after examining the captain's words from all angles. “It is fine, Kathryn. I am glad that you are enjoying your return.”
“I don't want to miss a minute of it.” Janeway offered a crooked smile, touched by ruefulness. “It's difficult when I look around and see people taking all of this for granted. I want to shake them, and tell them that it could be lost in an instant if they aren't careful. Yet, they're exactly who I was seven years ago, unconscious of the advantages and benefits available to me, not noticing how fortunate I was to live in the society I did.” She glanced around at the decor that did not completely disguise the Cardassian design of the station itself, built by Bajoran slave labor. “Perhaps it's not so much a factor here, where the memory of the Occupation remains fresh and the Bajorans still savor their freedom won so dearly, but it hurts me to think of how complacent those of us in the Federation are about the advantages we possess. How complacent we seem now, even after a war that could have taken it all away.”
She looked back at Seven, wondering if she really understood at all, especially since her experience prior to Voyager was of being part of the Collective mind and, before that, only the dimmest memory of her first six years with her parents. Seven tended never to take anything for granted, and Janeway hoped with all her heart that would never change for her spouse, that Seven would always understand and appreciate how precious certain things were that others accepted as merely their due.
“I'm being unduly maudlin,” the captain added, deprecatingly.
“No, Kathryn,” Seven assured her, her eyes warm as she observed her. “You are trying to reconcile what you have known for the past seven years with what you can expect in the future, as well as to be properly appreciative of it.” She paused. “This may pass.”
Janeway nodded ruefully. “You're right, it probably will. I'll become comfortable in my life again, and gradually become less conscious of the little things I was deprived of for the past seven years. But I want you to promise me, darling, that if I ever forget where I've been and become oblivious to all the blessings in my life, you'll promptly give me a swift kick in the area of my anatomy that needs it the most ... the part I'm sitting on.”
Seven raised an eyebrow. “I do not believe that would ever be an acceptable course of action,” she said with a faint smile, “regardless of how nonchalant about your surroundings that you become. But I do promise to remind you periodically of how much you have to be thankful for. Of how much we both have to be thankful for.”
“Thank you, darling,” Janeway said, returning her smile with a brighter one. They regarded each other for a few moments, the captain finding it all too easy to become lost in Seven's eyes. It took an effort to tear herself away as she belatedly noticed the approach of another waiter. She made another, swift scan of the menu, and by the time he arrived, she had made her choice.
“The Bajoran veldbeast with baby potatoes and button mushrooms,” she said, handing him the menu. “Katterpod beans rather than the carrots.”
He hesitated. “You are aware that the veldbeast is prepared in the traditional manner as stated in the menu,” he responded with the faintest hint of warning. “Not from a station or starship replicator.”
Clearly, he had identified her, not only as a Starfleet officer from her bearing, but also as someone who had originated on or near Earth. Most people were familiar with the typical central Federation citizen's aversion to eating animal flesh, a belief that most outer worlds and species did not, nor could not, afford to share. He certainly did not want an incident over cultural differences to spoil the evening for any of them, and was doing his best to avoid it if his customer was oblivious to what 'prepared traditionally' meant.
She smiled, acknowledging his prescience, which was a sign of a good waiter who had to cater to many species and cultures. “Make it blue rare, seared in the gravy and mushrooms, sprinkled with a little more chufa powder than usual.”
The waiter smiled with approval and dipped his head in acknowledgment of her familiarity with the veldbeast preparation method, accepting that he had been mistaken in his initial assessment of her. Of course, what he could not recognize was that Janeway had been raised in a Traditionalist family. She might not have liked certain aspects of such a lifestyle while growing up, but when it came to food, her taste buds had developed a decided preference for original preparation rather than replication. Yet, she had only learned to truly appreciate the distinction when Seven had acquired a propensity for cooking from scratch, and rescued the captain from the horrific creations that Neelix had come up with in Voyager's messhall. Not to mention Janeway's own inept programming of the replicator buffer patterns.
“The Salt Sea Selection,” Seven requested coolly, handing him the menu gracefully. The dish she ordered was a combination of delicacies, offering a wide selection of fish and crustaceans from Bajor's oceans that were greener than Earth's. Janeway congratulated herself on her knowledge of her partner's tastes.
Janeway was also impressed with Seven's aristocratic and refined demeanor in what were clearly unfamiliar surroundings. Seven gave the impression that she had been dining in elegant restaurants her entire life, offering no hint that she had ever been through anything but the most civilized experiences. Even the waiter, who probably came across it often while working in such a facility, responded to it as if in the presence of royalty, bowing slightly in the Borg's direction.
Janeway exhaled slowly, feeling happiness permeate every pore, chasing away the shadows on her soul that had formed after a day of farewells to friends. It was extremely difficult to hang on to the past when the future looked so wonderful, particularly when it would be centered on the lovely being across the table.
Seven of Nine regarded the platter placed before her, pleased at the large variety of choices offered. Even if she did not like everything on the plate, it was inevitable that she would like some of it and that was the best she could hope for in such alien surroundings. She glanced surreptitiously at Janeway, picking up her fork when the captain did so, and tentatively spearing a morsel from the side. She didn't think Kathryn was aware of how much Seven took her behavioral cues from the captain in unfamiliar situations, but then, she had become very subtle in her acclimatizing techniques over the past three years. Initially, her social gaffes had both amused and humiliated the captain As Seven grew more into her lost humanity, she grew increasingly uncomfortable with the former, and honestly regretful of the latter.
Janeway undoubtedly thought that Seven had become more evolved in her socialization, but in truth, she had just become better at imitating what Kathryn did without the captain noticing. Of course, since Janeway was a cultured and most accomplished woman, Seven was aware that she could do much worse at finding a role model for teaching her how to make her way in Federation culture.
She could have looked to B'Elanna Torres, for example.
Seven adored her friend utterly, but even B'Elanna would be the first to admit that social niceties were something that did not particularly interest her. Normally, such things would not have interested Seven either, but with Janeway choosing to accept an administrative position for the year Voyager was dry-docked, the Borg understood there would be a certain amount of duty required of her where diplomacy would be called upon far more than Janeway's technological, exploratory or militaristic skills.
Seven was determined that she would not do anything to make Janeway think she could not support and share in her new role in Starfleet. If that meant developing an entirely new set of priorities in her behavioral patterns, then she would accomplish that. She had been Borg, after all. Adaptation still had to be mastered, regardless of how a culture was assimilated.
“How is it?”
Surprised, Seven glanced up at her partner. “Kathryn?”
“The seafood,” Janeway clarified, gesturing slightly with her fork. “Do you like it?”
“It is very good.” On Voyager, even when making dishes from basic foods, those ingredients usually materialized in the replicators, and there was a distinct difference from fish-flavored protein and the real thing derived from creatures that lived in the sea. She speared another morsel, raising her fork. “Would you care to try some of it?”
She paused when she detected a slight drawing away in her partner's body language, a tightening around the captain's eyes, and did not reach across the table with her utensil as she had initially intended.
It seemed that the hint of withdrawal was unconscious on Janeway's part, the captain glancing down as she sliced a small piece from her steak. “Thank you, darling, but no. It's probably not a good idea to mix veldbeast with seafood.”
Seven considered it carefully. The combining of similar flavors had never bothered Janeway when the Borg had previously offered her samples from her plate. Therefore, logically, she concluded it was the surroundings that inhibited the captain from accepting the proffered bite. The Borg filed away the concept that in certain, public places, one did not feed another from one's plate. Indeed, when she glanced around, she saw that no one was eating as she was accustomed. They were far more subdued in their gestures, and as they spoke, far more precise in how they ate.
She wondered, curiously, if they were enjoying their meals. It seemed a shame that such food, assuming it was all as delicious as her own choice, could not be savored completely. Then she thought about a time she and the captain had invited B'Elanna for dinner, and how the Klingon had gone into raptures over Seven's attempt at preparing Talaxian chowder utilizing Federation ingredients; an experiment that had proven a most unexpected success.
Janeway had laughed heartily, and the stoic Ro Laren had been blushing faintly at her lover's enthusiasm by the end of the meal. Obviously, deriving such sensual pleasure in food was not completely acceptable in all dining experiences.
“What are you thinking?” Janeway asked softly, regarding her with a faint smile. “You look amused.”
Seven quirked an eyebrow. “I was remembering when I served Talaxian chowder to B'Elanna; how much she enjoyed it. I do not believe such obvious approval would be appropriate in these surroundings.”
Janeway chuckled. “It was barely appropriate in our quarters,” she said, obviously remembering the incident quite well. “B'Elanna wasn't just eating her meal, she was making love to it.” She glanced around. “But you're correct, it wouldn't be the type of behavior appropriate for a place like this.”
Seven seized the opportunity for clarification. “Why not, Kathryn? I do not mean B'Elanna's behavior necessarily. I comprehend why such extravagant displays of enjoyment are only acceptable in the company of close friends, but why is everyone here so serious and restrained in their gestures?”
Janeway picked up her glass, sipping her wine slowly as she considered the best way to answer that. Seven waited patiently, nibbling at something that vaguely resembled Terran shrimp, using her fork though it would have been far more efficient to utilize her fingers while consuming them.
“I guess it comes down to etiquette, Annika,” the captain explained finally. “Which, admittedly, can be a slippery set of rules when it comes to different species and cultures. Starfleet has established a code of behavior by which all officers are expected to conduct themselves in public settings, and it's very similar to what you're seeing here. Incidentally, if B'Elanna had joined us for dinner tonight, I assure you that she would be acting just as everyone else is in here.”
Seven found that difficult to believe and Janeway chuckled again, obviously reading Seven’s thoughts in her face.
“There are reasons for those classes you took regarding the conduct in dealing with civilians, as well as the diplomatic strategies of adapting to your surroundings. Depending on the circumstances, you might be required to consume your food while hanging upside down from a trapeze set over the table, but when in doubt, you should act...” Janeway trailed off, seeking the right words. “With dignity and precision.” She eyed her partner favorably. “You should have no trouble with the code ... you come by it quite naturally, particularly this evening. You're as elegant as anyone I've ever seen.”
Seven did not argue with the captain's assessment of her grasp of social behavior, but she was pleased that Janeway considered her demeanor acceptable in these surroundings. They finished the rest of their meal quietly, but with shared pleasure, frequently exchanging warm gazes and glancing touches of their fingertips. Seven discovered that such dignified restraint enhanced the experience, making her far more aware of every subtle gesture and look by her partner, which grew more sensual as the meal progressed. By the time the waiter had cleared their dishes and served the coffee and dessert, she was acutely sensitized to Janeway and knew exactly how this evening would end. In an encounter that Seven looked forward to with keen anticipation.
It was with considerable disappointment that she greeted the appearance of a uniformed Starfleet officer who approached their table.
“Captain Janeway?”
Janeway blinked, looking up at the ruggedly handsome man who sported the insignia of a commander, three pips on the gold collar that indicated his position in Starfleet Operations.
“Yes?”
“I'm Commander Michael Patterson of Starfleet Command,” he said, regarding her evenly. “Admiral Paris's assistant. I do apologize for interrupting your meal, but I've been trying to contact you for the past two days. With the departure of the Enterprise tomorrow, I didn't dare wait until the morning to convey the Admiral's personal good wishes for your return.”
Janeway recovered quickly. “Of course, Commander. Please, join us. I owe you an apology. I was aware that someone on the Enterprise was attempting to contact me, but unfortunately, I've been quite busy in the past two days. This had been the first opportunity I've had to take a moment away from my vessel.”
What she really meant, Seven knew, was that Janeway thought it had been Captain Picard attempting to reach her for a private meeting, something she was avoiding assiduously in the event she conducted herself in a fashion that was not up to Starfleet standards. But Janeway was not about to admit that to this man, whoever he was. Seven studied him with a slight bit of wariness. There was something about the name that struck a chord in her and she set about tracking it down in her eidetic memory.
“You must be Seven of Nine,” he said, reaching over to offer his hand as he took a seat on the chair that had magically appeared, provided by one the hovering waiters who were quick to see to their customer's wishes, hopefully before he could make the request. They also provided him with a fresh cup of coffee. “I've heard a great deal about you.”
“Indeed,” Seven said, bemused as she shook the man's hand. She had not thought Admiral Paris was that familiar with her, and then she abruptly remembered where she had encountered the commander's name, immediately regarding him with an increased curiosity. Phoebe, Kathryn's younger sister with whom Seven had corresponded since Starfleet had secured a method of communication with Voyager in the Delta Quadrant, had mentioned a Starfleet officer named Michael Patterson quite often, and in a most intriguing fashion. This must be the same man and if what Phoebe implied about him and his feelings were correct, this was someone that Seven would undoubtedly come to know quite well in the future.
He was tall and broad shouldered, approximately the same age as Kathryn, with dark hair and eyes a most remarkable shade of jade green. His face was kind, and Seven thought that this was a person she could like, though she wasn't sure why she thought that. Perhaps Phoebe's description of him had unduly prejudiced her in his favor. She wondered what Kathryn thought of him, unsure why Janeway did not mention their personal connection, and then decided that it was probably some unspoken etiquette having to do with them both being in Starfleet. She filed that away and vowed not to speak of the personal connection either.
“Why would Admiral Paris send you all the way to DS9?” Janeway studied him with that evaluating gaze.
Patterson looked vaguely embarrassed. “He sent me to the Enterprise to represent him when the flagship escorted you into port, but when you didn't arrive at the expected coordinates outside Earth's system, Picard came directly here, not taking the time to drop me off. My next task will be to look for transport back to Earth.”
Janeway laughed. “Somehow, that doesn't surprise me, considering how our slipstream trip went. Nothing went wrong exactly, but nothing went quite right, either.” She paused. “Would you care to travel with us, Commander? I could certainly use an extra body. We've been practically picked clean of personnel.”
He nodded. “Thank you, Captain,” he said, with what seemed honest gratitude and no little relief. “The only other thing I could find going that way within the next few days was a Bolian freighter.”
Janeway held up her hand. “Say no more.”
He frowned, his green eyes narrowing. “Are you really in difficulty, Captain? I could arrange a crew—”
“I exaggerate,” she assured him, becoming serious. “We won't be able to do anything in the way of scientific research on the way back, of course, and we'll be running very lean, but for a trip through Federation space to Earth, we should be able to manage.”
“I'm sure that after the past seven years, you are able to manage most anything, Captain.” He paused. “I can't tell you how much I admire you. Your exploits in the Delta Quadrant should be required reading at the Academy, and I've made that recommendation to the admiral.”
Seven thought so too, but she did think he was being a bit obsequious in his manner. Of course, he had his own reasons for getting on the captain's good side, or at least, he did according to Phoebe. Perhaps he was merely trying too hard. Seven watched him with fascination, wondering what he possessed that had so attracted one Janeway and was now engaging another to the point where Kathryn was at her most gracious and charming, laughing freely at his comments about certain members of Starfleet Command, her hand resting companionably on his forearm.
“In any event,” Patterson said finally, looking at both women somewhat ruefully, “I've interrupted your dinner long enough, and I must apologize again. With your leave, Captain, I'll report to Voyager.”
“I'll let Chakotay know you're on your way,” Janeway said, smiling as he stood up. “We're aiming for a departure as soon as our warp manifold is replaced and our engines are back online. I expect that will be either late tomorrow or the next morning.”
“Thank you, Captain.” He offered a polite farewell to Seven, and left the restaurant.
“What a charming man,” Janeway said, regarding the Borg genially. “It's such a relief to meet someone in Administration who actually has a sense of what it's like on the frontier and what Voyager actually went through.”
“You like him?” Seven was curious.
Janeway took a few seconds to consider that. “Yes, very much.” She tilted her head. “Why? Didn't you?”
“He is quite acceptable,” Seven allowed, which Janeway would know meant that the Borg had found him charming as well. She was quite pleased that Kathryn liked him, knowing it would relieve Phoebe considerably. She still wasn't entirely sure why the artist had professed concerns about how the captain would receive him, but now she could assure the younger Janeway that those worries had been unjustified.
“He knew a great deal about you.”
Janeway paused, shooting the Borg a sharp look. “He did, didn't he?” She thought about that. “Hmm, someone who actually prepares himself before tackling a duty. He must have immersed himself in Voyager's logs before being dispatched to greet us. That's very admirable.”
Seven didn't think that he had received his information about Janeway from ship logs, but she did not say anything. After all, Kathryn would know better what did and did not motivate a Starfleet officer in his actions, so she shrugged mentally and picked up her fork to eat her dessert. In any event, the mood had been broken somewhat, and it seemed all there was left to do was finish their dinner and return to the ship.
Janeway raised her hand, attracting a waiter.
“Yes, ma'am?”
“Could we have the damages?” Seven wondered what that meant.
“Already taken care of ma'am, by the gentleman who just left.”
Janeway blinked, obviously taken aback. “Indeed,” she said slowly. “Thank you.”
“Will there be anything else?”
“More coffee, please.” Janeway looked at Seven as she demolished a piece of chocolate cheesecake. “The night's still young, darling, and there's a little club just a few doors down the Promenade from here.”
“Yes?” Seven wondered what Janeway had in mind.
“Possessing a very large dance floor,” Janeway elaborated, smiling gently.
Seven smiled back at her.
Perhaps the mood had not been broken at all ... merely delayed for a more intricate form of interaction that would lead them to the same eventual end to the evening. Seven could only hope so.
Ro Laren squeezed between two Enterprise crewmembers and made her way to the bar, near where Captain Picard and Commander Riker were holding court. She very carefully did not look their way, concentrating her attention on the woman behind the counter. Guinan glanced over, appearing unsurprised at the Bajoran's appearance. A smile lifted the corners of her full lips.
“Ro Laren,” Guinan said, in a louder than usual voice. Ro managed not to flinch, knowing it was quite intentional. The bartender could, if she so chose, sidle up to a cat on the prowl without it even noticing. She was merely drawing the focus of the surrounding crewmembers to the woman's arrival.
“Guinan,” Ro said, speaking calmly, though not without a certain sense of apprehension in her stomach. She hoped she could pull this off. “I came by to see you before your ship left. I didn't want you to think I had forgotten you.”
“Not at all,” the bartender said, gliding from behind the bar to embrace the Bajoran. “I am so pleased to see you again.”
Ro was conscious of other crewmembers approaching her, Geordie LaForge, with whom she had shared a most astounding adventure where they had both been out of phase, Dr. Beverly Crusher, the ship's CMO, and Deanna Troi, whom Ro did not particularly like, but had learned to respect during her time on the Enterprise-D. The Bajoran felt crowded, uncomfortable, but she stood her ground, realizing that the oppressive atmosphere worked in her favor. Troi was a Betazed, and highly empathic. Ro's unsettled emotions would add verisimilitude to the performance.
“Captain Picard was very pleased to hear of your survival,” Deanna said, resting her hand on the Bajoran's arm. Ro hoped she was picking up the proper amount of dismay and aggravation from her.
“Was he?” Ro responded, a touch coolly.
“Very much so, Ensign,” Picard said, joining the circle around the Bajoran.
“Lieutenant,” Ro corrected immediately. A few people looked a little uncertain at that. One did not normally correct a captain in public like that, nor in that tone of voice.
“Of course.” Picard's expression did not change. “Have you considered my offer to resume the helm position?”
From the corner of her eye, Ro was conscious of Paris, Neelix and Kes staring at her. Tom, in particular, looked very uneasy at this last from the captain, and the Bajoran resisted the urge to smile.
“I'm afraid the answer is still no. I have no wish to serve under you ever again.”
“You think you'd do better on Voyager?” Riker asked, immediately stepping in, and Ro decided that he must be involved with this as well. That relieved her. It would be far easier to wrangle with the first officer than it would be with Captain Picard.
“Voyager is being dry-docked.” she said, allowing the same hint of insolence touch her tone. “In the meantime, Janeway is giving me the opportunity to pursue a career in command. Here, I'd always be the one who 'betrayed the captain'. With her, I have a chance to actually become a first officer.” She regarded him superciliously. “I may end up with your job, Riker.”
The people around them were becoming disturbed at the way this conversation was going, recognizing that there was a hostility being generated but uncertain where it was coming from or what was causing it.
“To be a first officer, you must be capable of trust,” the bearded bear of a man said coldly. “You've proven time and again that you aren't, either giving or receiving it.”
That one stung, but Ro knew it was probably necessary to make this as real as possible.
“At least I try to do what's right.” She knew how to stick a needle in as well. “The Cardassians were a real threat all along and too many in Starfleet just looked the other way, until it was too late. When did you finally figure out the Maquis knew the real enormity of the danger that everyone was facing, Commander? When the Dominion and the Jem'Hadar arrived? Let's face it, if it weren't for people like you and Picard always taking the pacifist stance, the Federation never would have been threatened by the Founders.”
“Ro, let me buy you a drink,” Tom Paris said suddenly, stepping between the two officers who, by this time, were glaring at each other. “For old time's sake.” He turned to Ro, putting an arm around her shoulders and trying to draw her away. “Are you insane?” he hissed in her ear. “Why are you doing this?”
Ro appreciated her ex-crewmate's attempt to defuse the situation. Tom was the last person she thought would attempt to drag her out of an awkward situation, but then, Voyager's people looked out for each other. Just like family. She truly regretted what she had to do next.
“Let go of me, Paris.” Elbowing him soundly in the ribs, she twisted away from him as he bent over, breath exploding from him in a loud expulsion of air. She was peripherally aware that Kes had her hands on Neelix's shoulder, undoubtedly to keep him from interfering.
“Enough,” Picard said, and the crowd was dead silent. Crusher and LaForge looked as shocked as it was possible for two people to look, while Troi looked baffled and upset. “Obviously, you haven't changed as much as I'd hoped, Ro Laren. I hate that I keep making the same mistake, that I keep wanting to give you another chance, but I've finally learned my lesson. Number One, get her out of here.”
Riker's hand closed cruelly on Ro's arm, and as he firmly escorted her from the room, the Bajoran had a sudden qualm, the thought that perhaps she had gotten it completely wrong. The expression of humiliation and anger on her face was not completely feigned, and she clenched her teeth as he pulled her into a nearby conference room.
Immediately, he let her go.
“Well done, Lieutenant,” he said, regarding her with a half-smile on his face. “Don't worry, this room is secure.”
“Think everyone bought it?” She rubbed the back of her neck as the tension eased from it.
“You were very convincing.” Riker paused and smiled beneath his beard. “In fact, you almost convinced me.”
She quirked an eyebrow, returning his smile faintly. “Thanks. You were rather good, yourself, Commander. Sometimes, I wonder if half the appeal of covert operations is the play acting. Maybe we should have gone into theater rather than Starfleet.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgement of the comment, and then sobered. “Have you discovered a way to get close to Janeway?”
Ro nodded. “I have a few options. I wasn't kidding about her wanting me on a command track, and I'll probably be able to use that to remain near her as an assistant. Every first officer requires a stint in administration, and if it's true she's headed groundside, I can point that out to her. She should take it from there. She doesn't fail very often when she puts her mind to something.” She paused. “Do you know when and where Section 31 is going to make a grab for Seven?”
“They might not have to,” Picard said gravely, entering from another door. Both Ro and Riker straightened instinctively at his appearance. “My most recent information informs me that one of the admirals currently in Starfleet operations is closely connected to Section 31.”
Ro blinked. “Which one?”
Picard frowned. “I don't know. Finding that out will be part of your job. There seem to be several persons in high places that have taken an unusual interest in Janeway, where her career goes next, and what her partner will be doing in the meantime. Whoever he or she is, they'll undoubtedly wish to keep both women close by where they can be monitored. They can find out all sorts of information from Seven quite legitimately.”
Ro hesitated. “Is that so bad? I don't mean that people would try to interrogate and hurt Seven to get information, but that Starfleet would use any information she might have to try to protect the Federation from the Collective. I think I've come to know Seven quite well, and she'd be more than willing to assist Starfleet against the Borg in any way that she can.”
“The trouble with Section 31 is that they perceive others as being motivated by the same things they are. They won't necessarily believe that Seven is being fully cooperative.” Picard linked his hands behind his back and started to pace a bit. “There's been an indication that they think she's an advance scout sent by the queen to infiltrate the Federation, to gather advanced tactical data that the Collective could then use to assimilate the Federation.”
He stopped, facing her directly. “Ro, we know the Collective is adaptable. Starfleet didn't even know there was a queen until we encountered her during the Borg's temporal incursion against Earth. Going back in time to assimilate the Federation before it even existed was quite an innovative idea. It has a lot of people running scared in the upper levels of Command, believing that the initial information on the Borg was all wrong. After the way the Changelings infiltrated Starfleet, they're also quite sensitive to the idea of other enemies using the same tactic to soften us up for destruction. Seven becoming a Starfleet officer was actually quite disturbing to some of them.”
“What do you believe?” She stared at him pointedly.
“I've encountered the queen,” Picard said flatly. “I believe what I read in Voyager's transmissions, that she was an aberration in the Collective's evolution, and once Seven destroyed the programming designed to bring her back, then the Borg returned to the hive mind it once was, concerned only with their need to exist. It's clear that they were hit hard by this Species 8472, and it will take centuries before they're a threat to the Alpha Quadrant. By that time, we'll be ready to deal with them in a way that doesn't include genocide, which seems to be the first idea everyone leaps upon when it comes to dealing with the Borg.” He paused. “I have more reason than most to hate and despise the Borg, but taking this young woman apart, using her to totally exterminate the Collective, is not what the Federation and Starfleet are, or should be, all about.”
Ro fretfully rubbed the ripples on the bridge of her nose. “This is all speculation. What are the facts?”
Picard nodded in approval of her cutting away the external extrapolation. “Section 31 exists. Certain admirals in Starfleet Command are either members or are strongly influenced by their power. Seven of Nine is a viable weapon for creating a preemptive strike at the Borg and they'll do everything they can to extract every bit of information about the Collective from her down to the molecular level, regardless of whether she has it or not. There is also some question about Janeway. They want her kept close to Earth for some reason, not back in space.” He paused. “Voyager, because of its incorporated Borg technology and the slipstream drive, is actually more enhanced than many of the ships currently serving active duty. They really don't need to refit her. There was no good reason to take her away from Janeway at all.”
Ro blinked. “You know this for certain, sir?”
Picard looked grave. “I know nothing for certain any longer, Lt. Ro. That's the most disturbing and damaging thing that Section 31 does; it makes a person see conspiracies everywhere. It undermines the very trust and belief officers need in both Starfleet and each other to operate at our best. That's why this disease must be cut out of the organization.”
“I understand, sir.” She hesitated. “Thank you for trusting me with this.”
Picard straightened his shoulders. “You're a formidable element to toss into the mix, Ro. That gives us an advantage they won't know about.”
She took a breath. “I will be honest, sir, I'm far less interested in destroying Section 31 than I am in protecting Janeway and Seven. Just so we're clear on that.”
Picard raised his brows, a small smile playing about his mouth. “That's always been the real difference here, Ro. Section 31 sees the Federation as being the most important thing they must protect, and don't care who they hurt to do it, including innocents. We realize that it's the innocents who make up the Federation that are the most important, and if they're harmed to protect an idea, then the entire concept of the Federation itself is lost.”
“Yes, sir.” Ro paused. “I won't let you down.”
Picard held her gaze. “I know.” He dipped his head and left the room.
Riker cleared his throat. “You should probably wait a few minutes. Let people think he really ripped into you.”
“I understand.” Ro eyed him. “Uh, Riker?”
“Yes?”
“I can't apologize to Paris for knocking him flat. I don't suppose you could, I don't know, keep an eye out for him while he gets used to being on the Enterprise.”
“Take him under my wing, you mean?” Riker looked vaguely surprised.
“He can come across as a real jerk sometimes,” she warned, “but underneath, he's a good guy, and one hell of a helmsman. It would do him good to have a senior officer in his corner.”
“I promise.” Riker regarded her with an odd expression on his face. She wondered what he was thinking, but she didn't ask. “Are you sure you aren't after my job?”
“Not at all, Commander,” she said uncomfortably, and quickly changed the subject. “I have to make sure I'm properly upset before going back out there, particularly if Troi is in the vicinity.” He nodded and made his exit, leaving her alone as she filled her thoughts with every incident she had ever been through where she had been made to look foolish, or humiliated, or frightened. Having spent the initial portion of her life in a refugee camp and the rest of it as an 'outsider' in the Federation, it wasn't hard to find a multitude of memories to draw upon, and by the time she made her own exit from the room, she was on the verge of tears, which of course, she refused to let fall.
She was dismayed when she discovered Tom, Neelix and Kes outside in the corridor, obviously waiting for her and looking concerned for her well-being.
Having to slam Paris soundly into the bulkhead as she shouldered past them made it even more important that Riker fulfill his promise to her.
She was really going to owe Tom by the time this was all over.
“Do you know how much I love you?” Janeway whispered to Seven as she led her around the dance floor, the two women swaying gracefully to the music surrounding them.
A live band, comprised of members that hailed from various worlds in the Federation, united to provide a lovely and romantic version of a song by one of Bajor's more famous composers. The captain wondered if the gravimetric emitters of the room had been adjusted slightly. She honestly felt as if she were dancing on air as she was held within the strong and adoring embrace of her spouse.
“I believe so,” Seven remarked softly, her cheek pressed lightly against Janeway's temple. “It is precisely one fraction of a micro-unit less than how much I love you.”
Janeway chuckled. “Less?”
Seven drew back to smile at her. “I loved you before you loved me. You were undecided when I already knew how much I required having you in my life.”
“Ah,” Janeway muttered, her competitive edge pricked slightly. “I'll have you know I was drawn to you the instant I saw you step out of the alcove on the Borg cube. I knew you were destined to be mine.”
“It certainly took much effort on my part to convince you of it,” Seven noted dryly.
“I'm a Starfleet captain, darling,” Janeway said primly. “I had to make it a little difficult for you to win me.”
“A little?” Seven repeated in a disbelieving tone, and Janeway made a face at her, brushing her nose lightly along the line of Seven's. It would be inappropriate, of course, to passionately kiss her spouse on the dance floor, at least, in this club, but she did enjoy the game of seeing how close they could get without touching their lips together.
Seven seemed to enjoy it as well, closing to within a fraction of a millimeter, her warm breath washing over Janeway, before deliberately moving her head away to place her cheek against the captain's temple once more. Janeway exhaled with blissful contentment, snuggling into the Seven's leonine neck, her lips touching the hollow of her throat as she felt the pulse flutter beneath them.
Sometimes it frightened Janeway when she considered the depth of her feelings for Seven of Nine. She had been in love before, of course, and had even been engaged to be married on two occasions, but until Seven, she had never been willing to give so much of herself to another person. Even then, it had required her to lose her memories, struggling to reconcile the person she had been with whom she expected herself to be, discovering in the process how much she had held back in her previous relationships, and initially, from Seven as well.
Janeway had always sworn that she would never become involved with a person under her command, but Seven had defied that conviction, had forced her to step out of that mindset until Janeway finally understood that there would be few accomplishments in her professional life equal to the love she now cherished. Furthermore, Janeway had learned that she needed someone she could work with, someone who understood why she commanded. She needed someone who complimented her as a captain, not someone she shoved to the side while she pursued her professional goals.
Someone like Seven.
She could feel Seven's fingers pressing on the small of her back, bared where the dress dipped down to the base of her spine, the metal cool against her skin. She lifted her head as she felt a sudden pulsation, a throb that rippled pleasurably through her back muscles and directly to her groin, highly sensitized to any hint of vibration by Seven's Borg-capped fingertips.
“Annika,” she said warningly, yet still delighted by the daring of her partner.
Seven looked innocent, as if she had no idea what the captain was talking about. “Kathryn?”
“Very funny.” Janeway gave her waist an unobtrusive squeeze. “Save it for when we return to the ship.”
Seven smiled, but her fingertips did stop the provocative vibration. “Perhaps, we should return to Voyager now.”
“Hmm, perhaps you're right,” Janeway agreed, regarding her with smoldering intensity. “As much as I love dancing with you, it does serve to inspire the most amorous thoughts. When we dance in our quarters, it's far more convenient to take the next logical step.”
Seven's lips brushing lightly over Janeway's cheek as she put her mouth next to the captain's ear. “I wish to make love to you, Kathryn, now and for the rest of the evening.”
Janeway felt her pulse speed up as her breathing developed a sudden hitch. “Oh my.” She allowed Seven to maneuver them through the other dancers until they reached the perimeter, then hooked her arm warmly within Seven's. “Lead on.”
They had not managed to exit the club before the captain was hailed by a loud, insistent voice.
“Kat! Kat Janeway!”
Janeway felt the hair go up on the back of her neck.
Oh no, she moaned silently to herself. Anyone but him. Only one person persisted in calling her that, no matter how much she had grown to dislike it and informed him of it repeatedly.
Pasting a smile on her face, she turned around, Seven drawn with her, though she clearly did not understand the sudden tension in the captain's form. A tall, broad-shoulder man bulled his way through the crowd toward them, a much younger woman trailing in his wake. They were both dressed in the latest fashion, while an expression of boredom and dissatisfaction seemed permanently etched on the girl's face. Janeway noticed that the male was still quite handsome in a ruined sort of way, with silver touching his temples. Yet that dark, wavy hair displayed a line that had the slightly artificial look of genetic resequencing to restore what nature had initially determined should be bald. His eyes were the same, deep, penetrating blue, and while his body hadn't retained much of the musculature he had enjoyed in his youth, he didn't look soft or overindulged, although she knew he was less concerned with pursuing a physical lifestyle and more with his own creature comforts.
“God, I heard your ship was back,” Cheb Packer said, grabbing the captain in a bone cracking embrace that tore her grip away from Seven's hand. “It's so good to see you.”
“It's good to see you,” Janeway said neutrally, once he had put her down. She took a breath and motioned Seven to come near her. “May I introduce Seven of Nine.”
“Well, hello, Seven of Nine,” he said, his voice changing, becoming immediately predatory as he bent over to kiss her hand. As he straightened, his eyes moved over Seven's form in a way that caused fury to flash quick and hot through Janeway, requiring an effort to not react in a manner unbecoming a Starfleet officer. She noticed that Seven's face had developed that closed, haughty Borg look, the same one she assumed whenever she was uncomfortable or ill at ease with a situation.
Janeway wished she had brought a phaser, or better yet, had not responded to the hail in the first place. “Seven,” she said, managing an even tone as she put her hand on her partner's arm. “This is Cheb Packer. We knew each other when we were much younger.”
She thought Seven's eyebrow would shoot clear off her forehead. “Cheb ... Packer?” The young woman raked him up and down with a combination of interest and some disbelief. Undoubtedly, she was remembering well Janeway's discussions about this man who had been the captain's first romantic involvement when she had still been in her teens.
“Kat's being discreet,” Cheb said, with what he undoubtedly thought was suaveness, showing quite a large expanse of dental array. “She and I were much more than mere acquaintances.” The sheer insinuation in his tone made the heat rise in Janeway's cheeks, embarrassment now warring with her fury. She wasn't upset at the fact that she had been involved with him, but the way he spoke of it made it seem as if it had been nothing but the most casual, and tawdry of encounters for him.
“And you are?” Janeway said stiffly, not wanting to pursue that line of conversation. She looked at the sullen young woman who was standing slightly outside their reunion.
Cheb glanced at the girl as if having forgotten she was there. “Oh,” he said somewhat dismissively. “Of course, where are my manners? This is Cheryl Lynn, my wife.”
Janeway managed not to change expression. Good god, she thought distastefully, she's young enough to be Cheb's daughter. In fact, she's probably the age of Chandra, Cheb's oldest girl by his first wife, Cathy Martin. They had a son, too. What was his name again? And how many marriages did this make now? Four? Five? Heaven only knew how many times he had been married while Voyager had been in the Delta Quadrant.
She wondered what the couple was doing on DS9, and then realized it probably had something to do with Cheb's business. Mark Johnson had once said Packer would have been a traveling salesman in another time and place, having an innate ability to talk people into things they didn't really want. Certainly, Cheb had talked Janeway into taking him back on more than one occasion, and she had found it somewhat ironic that he had ended up doing just what Mark had suggested after being refused entrance to Starfleet Academy. Cheb had hooked up with his father's company, a shipping firm that operated a line of freighters leased to anyone with cargo to ship quickly to places where many other firms would refuse to go. Becoming quite successful, her former boyfriend had traveled around the various sectors, selling the advantages of using the Packer Shipping Company to many different species regarding their transporting needs. Eventually, he had risen high in the organization, and would probably end up one day taking his father's place on the board of directors.
“A pleasure to meet you,” Janeway said, reaching out to shake her hand, greeting her with far more graciousness than she had Cheb.
“Thank you,” the young woman replied with total disinterest. She was very blonde, artificially so, very thin, and quite unimpressive in her demeanor.
“This is Seven,” Janeway introduced again. “My wife.” She put a certain amount of emphasis on the last, a distinct warning shot across Packer's bow.
He didn't notice, of course, and she really should have known better. Though he had displayed a keen intellect while young, he had always lacked a certain sense of perception about his surroundings, probably because he was far too immersed in himself and his own needs. It was possibly that very trait which had caused him to fail to make the cut at Starfleet Academy, and certainly, when Janeway had finally figured it out, it had put the final nail in the coffin of their on-again, off-again relationship.
“Your wife?” he responded, with a certain amount of disbelief. He stared at Janeway with rude appraisal. “Honestly, Kat, I'm impressed. I never would have thought you'd be that daring in your old age. I always thought you would end up with that dry old lump, Hobbes Johnson. A good old traditional girl right to the end. This astonishing beauty isn't your type, at all.”
Janeway didn't know what to be more offended by, or for whom. It was hard to believe that three such different people, Cheb, Mark and herself, had grown up in the same small community in Indiana on Earth. She settled on forcibly reining in her temper and pinning Packer with her best level ten glare. Unfortunately, he had always been quite immune to it, perhaps because he had known, and manipulated her quite easily when she had been very young and a great deal less secure in herself. He had been the first one she had ever loved in a physical way, and that gave him a certain conceit about her that she truly regretted he had ever acquired.
“Seven and I have been married for more than a year.”
“Really,” he repeated, an odd tone in his voice, obviously misunderstanding her anger. He smiled at Seven. “The contract should be ending quite soon, then?”
He laughed, a vague attempt to make it a joke, but the way he regarded Seven quite speculatively, as if the young woman would indeed be free to pursue other options soon while he had every intention of being her most obvious choice, absolutely infuriated the captain. The worst part was that Janeway didn't even think her spouse would understand what he was implying. Limited term marriage contracts were quite common in the Federation, the shortest and most common requiring a renewal at the end of two years to maintain the legality of the union, and for some, it was a logical and sensible arrangement. With Janeway and Seven, the two women hadn't even bothered to discuss such an option while preparing to be wed.
Seven of Nine looked Cheb Packer up and down coolly, as if he were some alien bug which had landed on her during an away mission and she was trying to decide whether to dissect it, or merely squash it.
“Kathryn and I did not consider such an inadequate form of joining.” Her tone was edged with glacier profundity, surprising Janeway, not only at Seven's comprehension of what Cheb had been talking about, but with the incipient fury rising behind the words. “We were married in the traditional manner, for eternity.” She paused, and added with a decidedly disparaging tone, “Perhaps your inadequacies prevent you from finding a life partner rather than the series of temporary liaisons you have settled for.”
“Inadequacies?” he repeated stupidly, looking vaguely stunned as if the Borg had just struck him hard across the face.
“I am aware of your many shortcomings when it comes to copulation,” Seven said with her customary blunt and brutal honesty.
Janeway wanted to sink through the floor. Cheryl Lynn snorted laughter as if in agreement and Cheb, he turned white, then red, then white again, his features twisting into an ugly mask of something very uncivilized. Janeway knew that he was just the sort of insecure person who would take such a comment to heart, one of the few remaining males in the Federation who considered his worth measured by what he possessed rather than who he was, refusing to acknowledge his inability to differentiate between lust and love, between real emotion and what was only superficial. He went from woman to woman, making each one and himself more and more miserable as he grew older, thinking in every instance that this would be the right one and instead, choosing more inappropriately every time.
Seven couldn't have said anything more devastating to his self-esteem if she had deliberately set out to do so from the beginning.
“Seven,” Janeway began warningly.
“I don't know where you get your information from, lady, unless it's from your 'wife'.” He said the last in a disdainful tone that was meant to slice deep into Janeway's psyche. “But obviously she neglected to mention what a failure she was in the sack. She didn't even know what to do when I first had her. I had to teach her everything and even then, she never got much good at pleasing a man.”
Janeway knew she had to stop this before it got any worse. Certainly, she had been insulted far worse by far better individuals than Packer, but she suspected that while Seven would have managed to ignore a verbal attack on herself, she would not overlook one directed at Janeway. The captain thought furiously, trying desperately to come up with a way to hustle her spouse out of here.
Then it got worse.
“You were inept then, and undoubtedly incompetent now.” The Borg's analytical authority cut far deeper than outraged anger would have managed. “Hurtful, clumsy and ultimately unsatisfying as both a lover and a man, a most pathetic participant in the art of physical intimacy.”
Janeway was in shock. She herself, had been on the receiving end of that devastating dissection of one's failings on occasion ... most recently because of a misunderstanding over a Borg infant ... and she knew how extremely harsh and painful it could be. Seven's scalpel-like precision when it came to being deliberately deleterious to another's self-image was not something that Janeway would wish on anyone, not even Cheb, who had clearly asked for it.
Certainly, it was too much for Packer to accept passively, and he growled something inarticulate, swinging wildly as he lunged for the Borg, intending on avenging the slur on his 'manly honor'. Janeway could have told him, had she had the time, that such action was not the wisest course to take with someone who had been enhanced with Borg technology. Seven might have been hurt emotionally if the responding verbal attack was skillful enough, and she gave a damn about who was saying it to her, but a physical confrontation would not inconvenience her in the slightest.
Indeed, Seven easily caught one flailing arm firmly in her left hand, and used it to lever Packer over her head, launching him into a nearby table that collapsed beneath the impact. People scattered, screams rose from the more delicate of the crowd and for some reason, others began to fight, as if taking sides on a matter they had no clue about. But then, that was an inevitable consequence when alcohol and volatile emotions were mixed, a standard setting out here on the frontier, regardless of how elegant an establishment might be. Janeway was further astonished and staggered when Cheryl Lynn leapt on her and began striking her ineptly about the head and shoulders in a belated attempt to stand by her man, though why she was going for Janeway rather than Seven was a complete mystery to the captain.
On the other hand, Janeway decided as she attempted to counter the undisciplined assault, Seven had just thrown a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound man across the room with little effort. Perhaps the young woman possessed a far better sense of self-preservation that her husband did. A theory that appeared to be valid as Janeway noticed that Cheb had risen to his feet and was once more lurching at Seven, only to find himself flattened by a palm to the chest that was as forceful as a block of wood to the sternum would have been.
The security corps of DS9 were extremely well-organized and quick to respond to any hint of trouble. Janeway saw them appear in the doorway from the corner of her eye as she tried to subdue the young woman who was suddenly all arms and legs, defying the captain's best attempt to get her off her back.
When the security team started purposefully toward her, Janeway knew that the evening was not going to end well, at all.
Seven of Nine sat quietly in the holding cell of DS9, regarding a large tear in her dress and wondering if it would be possible to repair it or if it would have to be disposed of. She had quite liked the garment and hoped to keep it as part of her permanent wardrobe. Looking at the rend in the fabric made her sad and added to her overall dismay regarding her current situation.
Contained with the Borg in the security cell, Janeway frowned as she stalked about the limited floor space like a tigress in a cage. The Borg suspected that if the captain had brought along her smokesticks, which Seven had given to her on her birthday, Janeway would have finished them by now, smoking one right after another. Instead, Seven's partner contented herself with grinding her teeth, the subtle sound rasping along the Borg's enhanced hearing in a most unpleasant manner.
“Are you upset with me?” The two women had not spoken directly to each other since being escorted from the club and brought to the station's security center. “Perhaps I should not have struck Cheb Packer.”
Janeway waved it aside impatiently. “You were only protecting yourself from an assault. You weren't at fault in the physical confrontation.”
Seven considered that. If she had merely been protecting herself, she would have rendered the man unconscious with a Vulcan nerve pinch when he had first rushed her. Instead, she had derived a certain amount of pleasure in repeatedly knocking him down every time he got up, displaying to him how weak and inefficient he was. She would still be doing it quite cheerfully, had station security not interrupted the confrontation.
She decided she should not share that bit of insight with her partner.
“Perhaps I should not have verbally listed his shortcomings. It was conduct unbecoming a Starfleet officer.”
“There you are absolutely correct.” There was very real anger in Janeway's tone as she paced, alternating her attention between the outside of the holding cell and her partner. “We should have walked away as soon as the situation became unpleasant.”
Seven blinked. “He insulted you, Kathryn.”
“That did not require us to descend to his level,” Janeway snapped. She paused to look down at her dirty and tattered dress, glaring at it as if it were solely responsible for her misfortune. “God, I can't believe I'm in jail again. Is this going to happen every time I take leave on a space station?”
Seven stifled a sigh. The only positive thing about all this was that, at least, she had been with the captain this time. She remembered how disappointed she had been with Janeway after the last incident, when the captain and Ro had become involved in a bar brawl on Balleyport station in the Delta Quadrant. Though Seven had accepted her spouse's apology for becoming involved in such an inappropriate encounter, a part of the Borg suspected that Janeway had gone looking for trouble. Now she realized that what the captain had told her had been entirely correct ... trouble just seemed to go out of its way to find Janeway, regardless of the surroundings or whom she was with.
A figure entered the security area and Seven looked up with interest, observing closely as Colonel Kira Nerys, the station's commander, stopped in front of the force field. The slender Bajoran regarded the Starfleet captain without pleasure, obviously less than impressed with this latest incident. Her short, rusty hair seemed touched by flame in this lighting, and her eyes were dark as she scanned the inhabitants of the cell.
“Mr. Packer has been released by the infirmary,” she told Janeway flatly, without preamble. “He wishes to place charges of assault against Seven of Nine.” Janeway opened her mouth to protest, and Kira silenced her with an upraised hand. “Yes, I know. Witnesses have stated that he swung first, and frankly, it's not the first time Mr. Packer has caused a disturbance on this station over a woman. But it isn't the first time the crew of Voyager have caused a disturbance, either.”
Seven raised an eyebrow as the memory of her last visit to the Alpha Quadrant crossed her mind. An ancient artifact had transported her, B'Elanna and Chakotay to this very station, and just before using the device to return to Voyager and the Delta Quadrant, B'Elanna had punched Admiral Paris across the station's hangar deck.
Perhaps there was something in DS9's atmosphere that contributed to such antagonistic behavior, Seven theorized.
“Colonel, I assure you that while this unfortunate incident was provoked, it will never happen again. But I must contend that if there are any charges to be laid, I wish to lay them on behalf of me and my spouse against Mr. Packer and his wife.”
Kira rubbed her forehead fretfully. “I really wish Odo were still here,” she mumbled, referring to the station's previous security chief. Seven remembered him well, a shapeshifter who was quite formidable in his law enforcing skills, and she wondered where he had gone. Kira straightened and glared at the starship captain. “Janeway, I'm going to tell you what I told Packer; personal conflicts such as these are to be kept off the station. Damages to the club are to be split evenly between the pair of you, and I want you both off my station as soon as possible. The warp manifold will be installed in Voyager by tomorrow afternoon. You should start making departure arrangements now. Believe me, you'll have a priority with operations when it comes time to leave.”
Again, Janeway started to object, paused, seemed to think better of it, and nodded her head. “Are we free to go?” Her jaw was tense, indicating she was keeping a tight lid on her emotions.
“Please,” Kira said, touching the controls and dropping the force field.
Seven stood up and followed the captain out of the cell. As she passed the Bajoran, Kira murmured in a low tone, “They tell me you really laid that jerk out, Seven. Well done.”
Surprised, Seven paused to regard Kira who returned the look with a faint smile.
“Seven.” Janeway's waspish tone floated in from the outer chamber, obviously noticing that her partner was not immediately behind her as she went to exit into the Promenade. “What are you waiting for?”
“I am coming, Kathryn,” Seven said, obediently scurrying after her rapidly striding spouse to catch up with her.
The two women returned quickly to Voyager, discovering a quiet ship that was early into the gamma shift. The corridors were mostly empty as they walked through the vessel to the nearest turbolift.
“Well, one good thing about all this,” Janeway remarked, obviously attempting to inject a little more cheer in her tone as they were deposited on deck three and headed for their quarters. “At least, we didn't have to call Tuvok to come and bail us out.”
Seven blinked. The captain had not spoken to her since the security center, and the young woman had believed Janeway to be very angry with her. Surprised, the Borg stood just inside the door of their quarters, quietly watching as the captain went directly to the kitchenette counter where she poured herself a glass of wine.
“Kathryn?”
“Something to soothe the nerves.” Janeway raised her glass to her partner. She took a sip, then started to chuckle. “God, the look on Cheb's face when you laid into him about what kind of lover he was. Honestly, darling, some things you just shouldn't say about a person, no matter how much they provoke it.”
Seven frowned, feeling the aftermath of the encounter start to flood her, chasing away her sense of adrenaline-charged tension, replacing it with weariness and a realization of just what had occurred.
“Does it matter?” Anger flared within her once more. “He ruined our evening. He is quite fortunate that I did not damage him irreparably.”
“Seven?”
Janeway stared at her with surprise but the Borg did not respond, leaving the living area and moving into the ensuite where she stripped off her dress. Unhappily, she placed the torn garment in the replicator, running it through the recycle setting, cleaning and repairing it before carrying it carefully into the couple's closet where she hung it up neatly. The muscles of her neck were tight, and pain feathered along her temples as she activated the shower and stepped under it, needing to wash away the grime of the conflict.
For a long time, she stood under the warm spray, letting the water flow over her bent head and shoulders, leaning against the side of the stall with her hands outstretched. She started abruptly when two arms encircled her waist, the wet, naked body of her partner pressing against her warmly from behind.
“Shh,” Janeway whispered softly. “It's just me, love.”
Seven swallowed hard as Janeway found a sponge and began running it over the Borg's shoulders and spine, the cloth rubbing pleasantly over the muscles in what was more massage than any attempt to scrub the skin. Gradually, Seven felt some of her residual anger and resentment drain away under her spouse's tender ministrations.
“Cheb can ruin our evening only if we allow him to,” Janeway said finally, in a very gentle voice. “The truth is, up until then, we were having a wonderful time, and the evening has yet to be over. Why not consider it a minor interruption?”
Seven inhaled deeply. “Because it was not minor. Nor was it only one interruption. Is this what we must expect in the Alpha Quadrant, Kathryn? That we shall continually be interfered with by strangers whenever we try to have time together?”
“I think you're blowing this a little out of proportion, love. Granted, it was not the most pleasant of encounters, but it didn't mean anything.”
“That was not your attitude while we were in the holding cell. You blamed me for the incident.”
Janeway paused in her massage, putting her hands on Seven's waist and urging her around. “I do not blame you for this incident.” She paused, thinking about it. “If it seemed as if I were, that was my mistake,” she amended ruefully, apparently reminded of how she had acted in the security area. “I was annoyed with Cheb, and with the whole situation, and it's possible that I took it out on you a little. If I did, then I'm very sorry, darling. I never meant to make you feel as if you were at fault. In fact, if anyone's to blame, it's me for stopping to talk with him in the first place. I know better than most how provocative and irritating he can be, and I should have been the one knocking him on his ass.”
Seven studied her for a moment, judging the sincerity in the bluish-grey eyes, and Janeway intensified her embrace, emphasizing her regret. Seven finally sighed, looking away.
“I cannot believe you ever allowed him to touch you,” she blurted.
Janeway smiled faintly. “Sometimes, I can't either.” She tilted her head, her face very soft and vulnerable as she regarded her spouse. “Is it possible that just meeting Cheb is what's really bothering you, Annika? That now you have encountered the reality rather than just the concept of one of my previous lovers, it's making you uncomfortable?” She rubbed her hands gently up and down Seven's biceps, fingers trailing over the moist skin. “Darling, it was a very, very long time ago, and certainly, we were both young and emotionally inexperienced when it happened. I grew up. I don't think Cheb ever did.”
Seven did not respond immediately, considering it, her eyes dark. Janeway reached up and cupped Seven's cheek in her palm, looking at her with love and compassion.
“Let it go, darling. It's in the past. It has nothing to do with us.”
The Borg took a deep breath. “I wish that I were the only one you have ever loved,” she admitted finally, sadly. She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat.
“Oh, darling, you are so much better off acquiring me after my previous lovers had a chance to smooth away most of my rough edges.” Seven recognized the touch of humor in her tone immediately as the captain's method of jollying her out of a bad mood. She was merely surprised to discover it was working. “As bad as Cheb was, I wasn't much better when I was involved with him, and as for Justin and Mark, being involved with them had its own form of learning and growing. Everything I've ever experienced in my life has combined to make me the woman you fell in love with, and let's not forget, you didn't exactly get that great a prize in the beginning either. Remember how self-absorbed I was? How neglectful of you I was? How I always put everything else first and you last?”
“You are a starship captain,” Seven pointed out quietly. “You must be self-absorbed.”
Janeway smiled. “On the contrary, Annika, being with you has taught me that I could be an even better captain if I were more open with my feelings, and less concerned with controlling everything and everyone around me. You gave me a balance, something that no one else has ever managed to do. Without you, my happiness would be calculated in microscopic terms, rather than the galactic proportions I can now measure it in.”
“Technically, I did not teach you balance either,” Seven persisted weakly, though she could not deny she was feeling a little better. Janeway could be so adorable when she was presenting fanciful mathematical equations to the Borg. “I believe it was the loss of your memories that profoundly altered the attitude with which you approached your life.” She felt Janeway slide her arms tightly about her waist, hugging her lovingly.
“That may have been the catalyst, love, but you were my motivation, and my one true inspiration to become the person I needed to be.” She rose to her tiptoes and kissed Seven carefully, her lips sweet and beaded with drops of water. “Always remember, my heart, whatever's happened in the past, it's you I love now, and it's you that I'll be with forever. Trust me.”
Seven closed her eyes, allowing her partner's words to reassure her, feeling Janeway's love surround her, filling her with a sense of security and optimism. She drew her closer, delighting in the feel of her slippery body against hers, the heat of the water soothing away the last of her fears and trepidations. Janeway encouraged the embrace, snuggling her face into the Borg's neck, nibbling softly against the line of her throat.
“Kathryn, you mentioned that the evening does not have to be over?” Seven asked hopefully after a few moments.
Janeway chuckled. “Not at all, my darling,” she promised, her voice dropping to a husky trill. “Why don't we get dried off, then we can retire to the bedroom, where we can manufacture our own form of moisture all over again.”
That sounded like a perfectly lovely idea, and the Borg followed eagerly as the captain took her hands and pulled her from the shower. Whatever old memories popped up occasionally to haunt them, Seven knew there was only one person for her.
She was determined that there would be only one person for Kathryn. For the rest of their lives.
B'Elanna Torres looked around the bar she was sitting in, nursing a mug of Romulan ale. She and Ro Laren had agreed to meet at Quark's, an establishment run by a Ferengi of the same name, and while she waited for her lover, she spent her time idly watching the players gambling at the dabo table. The crowd was excited, and when a jackpot was hit, other people would join in, trying their luck. B’Elanna thought she detected a certain sort of pattern that indicated a mechanical influence because it only hit when the pot was low, and she grinned grimly to herself. Behind the bar, Quark himself looked up every so often to judge the crowd, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes every time he saw the latinum being thrown down on the wagering table.
Eventually, B'Elanna became bored with this blatant indulgence in gambling and turned her eyes to the entrance of the bar, wondering if things had gone all right on the Enterprise. She was aware that Ro had gone over to contact Picard and to set his plan in motion, but the Klingon was still concerned. The plan had required that Ro make a spectacle of herself in public, and B'Elanna was keenly aware her partner did not enjoy that sort of thing at all. Her eyes lightened as she saw Ro’s uniformed figure making her way into the establishment, and she stood up, raising her hand to attract her attention.
Ro's eyes scanned the crowd, spotting her finally, and immediately began to work her way to the unobtrusive corner the Klingon had chosen.
“How'd it go?” B'Elanna asked once the Bajoran had taken a seat.
“It went.” Ro glanced around. “Not here.”
B'Elanna nodded, realizing that this was not the place to discuss anything that they didn't wish to be overheard. She drained the last of her ale. “Do you want to stay here or go back to the ship?”
Ro looked uncomfortable. “Neither. Let's go for a walk around the station.”
B'Elanna rather liked that suggestion and she stood up. Quickly, the two women made their way out of the crowded bar, squeezing past an extremely large alien who didn't say a word as they went by, and returned to the main level of the Promenade with mutual sighs of relief. They headed for the nearest stairway and ascended to the upper walkway where the traffic was lighter. As they walked, B'Elanna's hand hesitantly brushed against Ro's, and to her gratification, the Bajoran grasped it tightly, continuing to hold it as they strolled up one length of the upper level, then into the outer section, making a complete circuit of the habitat ring before returning to the other end of the Promenade. They didn't speak. They just enjoyed each other's company as Ro's tension gradually eased and B'Elanna no longer felt as if the Bajoran was going to explode at any given second.
“Is everything all right?” she asked finally, as they paused by an oval viewport which looked out into space. A ship was just entering the wormhole, and a display of color and swirling light spread magnificently across the star-studded sky.
“Did you know that Bajorans believe that to be the Celestial temple?” Ro asked, not answering the question, which was, to B'Elanna, an answer in itself. “That the inhabitants are actually the Prophets?”
B'Elanna regarded the spatial anomaly thoughtfully. “What do you believe?”
“Only what I can detect with my own senses, and sometimes, not even then.” She paused, her narrow features distant as she stared out the viewport. “I guess that if I believed there were actually Prophets in that damned wormhole, I would want to know what the hell they were doing when Bajor was occupied and my father was tortured to death in front of my eyes.”
B'Elanna considered that, knowing there was no real answer for the old pain in her lover's voice. It came down to a matter of faith, and one either believed or one didn't. Trying to qualify it by applying it to real life was a subjective approach at best.
“I don't know, Laren,” she said finally. “My experience with secular faith is torn between Klingon Kahlessism and Human Christianity and ultimately, I don't take either religion that my parents followed that seriously.” She squeezed the Bajoran's fingers gently. “My beliefs are pretty limited, I think. I believe in myself and my friends, and when it comes right down to it, in you most of all.”
A faint smile touched Ro's mouth and she turned her head, regarding B’Elanna fondly. “I believe in you, too,” she said quietly, reaching up to touch her cheek gently. She took a breath. “But while I don't entirely believe in Starfleet, I'm going to risk a lot to try to clean up the mess certain members of it have caused.”
“You're not doing this for Starfleet, Laren,” B'Elanna pointed out in a practical tone. She moved closer, pressing her body against Ro's side. “You're doing it to protect Janeway and Seven, and to resolve some old debts with Picard.”
Ro thought about that. “You're right.”
“So, it went well?”
“Who's to say?” Ro responded, tilting her head thoughtfully. “We'll know it did if they bite on the setup and attempt to recruit me.” She inhaled slowly and smiled. “You should be aware that I had to knock Tom Paris over. He tried to protect me from myself.”
B'Elanna looked at her blankly, and then shook her head, starting to laugh. “Kahless, he always did pick the most inopportune times to become noble.”
“Poor guy. He must think I'm an artful bitch.”
B'Elanna raised an eyebrow. “I hate to break this to you, bangwI', but he always did.” She shrugged. “He probably thinks that of me, too.”
“Then I'm in really good company.” Ro slipped her arm around B'Elanna's shoulders, hugging her.
“The best.” B'Elanna leaned over and kissed the Bajoran on the jaw, nipping gently.
Ro smiled and B'Elanna felt a warmth spread through her. She almost suggested they return to the ship before deciding that a little more anticipation would only make things better. Besides, she was feeling a trifle peckish.
“Are you hungry? Let me buy you a late dinner and I'll tell you all about the time Chakotay and I had to sneak onto this station and secure supplies for the Maquis.”
“Lanna, I was there,” Ro reminded her, but she allowed the Klingon to nudge her away from the window, the couple strolling along the Promenade again. “I was flying the shuttle.”
B'Elanna blinked, astounded at herself. “God, I forgot. I guess I'm still not reconciled to the fact that you and Ara Lerona were the same person.” She frowned. “You were so different when you were in the Maquis, compared to how you are now.”
“I was hiding my identity,” Ro reminded her dryly. “I definitely didn't want anyone to remember me as a Starfleet officer. Ara is my best persona for merging into the woodwork and not being noticed.”
“It certainly worked.” B'Elanna barely remembered the shy, unassuming Bajoran who had been a part of her resistance cell. Ara had drifted into the lower decks once the Maquis had been merged with Voyager's crew, keeping a very low profile for several years, and B'Elanna really hadn't paid any attention to the woman until it was revealed that the mousy little pilot was the ex-Enterprise helm officer, Ro Laren. Once her identity was revealed, it was as if a shroud had been pulled away and the real and vital woman could shine through.
B'Elanna had been instantly smitten, and the two women had been together ever since, having grown close enough to share living quarters. The Klingon wore Ro's earring of commitment in her right ear, a blood red stone signifying a formal bonding of sorts, not a permanent uniting yet, but certainly on the path to it.
“Where would you like to eat?” Ro asked as they entered the section of the Promenade where several dining establishments were located.
“I saw the captain and Seven go in there earlier in the evening.” B'Elanna motioned at a dignified and intimidating portal across the way. “It looks a little too expensive for my tastes.”
Ro regarded the elegantly appointed entrance warily. “I'm more in the mood for some real Bajoran food. Homemade, not 'artistically created and arranged' by a chef who's never been hungry a day in his life.”
“How about down there?” B'Elanna suggested, spotting a smaller, less refined but far more appealing restaurant not far away. Patrons, many of whom were Bajoran, seemed drawn to it in a steady stream, and most of the departing customers were carrying hefty takeout containers. The savory smells that drifted the women's way made the choice more appealing.
Ro took a deep breath, obviously sampling the piquant scent. “I like it already.”
The pair managed to find a small table in a corner, and B'Elanna let Ro do the ordering, trusting that they knew each other's tastes well enough by now that the Bajoran would know what the Klingon would find flavorful on the menu. The engineer leaned back in her chair and looked around the dining establishment, taking its measure. It was plainly decorated, but the satisfied faces of its customers and the cheerful chatter, even this late at night, were testament to its popularity. She only hoped she could get a drink with her meal.
Ro had anticipated her, and when the waitress brought over their appetizers, she also dropped two frosted bottles of ale on the table.
“Have I mentioned that I love you?” B'Elanna told her companion seriously.
“You're just easy, Torres,” Ro replied dryly. “If a Hirogen gave you a cold beer, you'd fall for him, too.”
B'Elanna took a long pull from her bottle, amazed at the flavor. She knew Bajorans could make very fine wine, but she hadn't known they could brew beer with such adeptness.
“If it tasted this good?” she said, wiping the foam from her mouth. “You bet I would.”
Ro quirked an eyebrow at her, smiling faintly, and the Klingon was glad to see she was totally relaxed now. It boded well for whatever B'Elanna might want to do later in the evening. She returned the grin and reached out to try some of the appetizers, most of which looked deep fried. There were several varied sauces for dipping.
“These are good,” she exclaimed after trying a couple. She held one up. “What's this?”
Ro examined it. “Katterpod.”
B'Elanna hesitated. “As in insects?”
“As in vegetables.”
“Ah, that's all right then.” One could never tell with alien cuisine, and while Klingons had been known to eat their share of unappealing dishes, B'Elanna tried to avoid insects and larvae whenever she could.
“These?” She continued to work her way through the selection.
“Kendra mushrooms.”
“Hmm, they're very tasty. This?”
“Veldbeast strips. Uh, ... halfway between beef and venison, I guess.”
“This?”
Ro hesitated and B'Elanna stopped, her mouth half full.
“What?” The Klingon eyed her suspiciously.
“Palukoo,” Ro said reluctantly. “You could call them spider legs.”
B'Elanna chewed thoughtfully. “Pretty damned big spiders,” she noted after she swallowed. “If these are only their legs.”
“They are. They're indigenous to Bajor's moons. Members of the Resistance lived off them at times.”
“They're not bad,” B'Elanna allowed, trying another. “You're not eating?”
“Oh, I'm eating,” Ro noted, dipping a battered mushroom into a tangy white sauce. “I'm just a lot slower than you.”
B'Elanna blinked. “Funny, you'd think after the life you've led, you'd be a lot quicker off the mark when it comes to food.”
Ro grinned. “What amuses me is that you eat like someone's going to take it away from you any second, and I know no one ever has.”
“High metabolism,” B'Elanna returned. “I use a lot of energy really quickly at times.”
“Yes, I know. I sleep with you.”
B'Elanna laughed and scooped up some more veldbeast strips. “What did you order for the main course.”
“Hasperat for me, of course. I ordered you timnance. It's a rice dish with a selection of vegetables and fowl over top.” She paused. “It's sort of like Seven's chicken stirfry, only a hell of a lot spicier. If it doesn't make you go through a half a case of ale just to cool yourself off, then they didn't make it right.”
B'Elanna wiggled in anticipation. “I can hardly wait.”
The dish was just as spicy as Ro had promised, so hot that it made tears come to B'Elanna's eyes, but it was absolutely delicious, and washed down with the icy cold, clear ale, the Klingon considered it one of the better meals she had ever consumed. Being able to share it with Ro elevated it to the category of a most spectacular experience. This was the sort of food one didn't simply eat, one made love to it, and Ro smiled often at B’Elanna's enthusiasm throughout their meal.
Afterward, the women leaned back in their chairs, replete, and sipping a final ale, content with what had been a most satisfying dining experience.
“It's good to be home,” Ro said, looking around. “I never thought I'd have a chance to be here again.”
“What about Bajor?” B'Elanna asked gently. “I know if I asked the captain, we could probably take a shuttle and spend a few days on the surface.”
Ro frowned, considering it, and B'Elanna left it at that. She knew that the woman had not been back to her homeworld since escaping from a Cardassian internment camp years ago, and to go back now would be of great significance. It was not the sort of thing Ro would grant an easy 'yes' or 'no' to.
“Think about it,” the Klingon suggested finally, placing her empty bottle on the table. “The installation of the warp manifold will probably be finished tomorrow and I'd be free.”
“The captain will undoubtedly want to depart as soon as we're ready to go. We wouldn't have time.”
B'Elanna shrugged. “Doesn't hurt to ask. If not, then you and I can come back on our first shared leave.”
Ro inhaled slowly, looking away. “We'll see.”
B'Elanna nodded. If it wasn't anything Ro wanted, she would have said 'no'. There were still old wounds there, and if she could somehow help her lover deal with them, that would be what she would do, but she also knew she couldn't push. Ro would have to make up her own mind, and in her own time.
“So, Starfleet,” B'Elanna drawled, a half grin on her face as she changed the subject, “this your first time on the station?”
Confused, Ro blinked, looking back at her.
“I know where you can find a really good time, sailor,” B'Elanna elaborated.
Ro smiled. “They warned me at the Academy about people like you. Steal your credits and your heart in the same night.”
B'Elanna contrived to look lascivious, suspecting that she only managed to appear vaguely demented, but Ro laughed and raised her hand, calling for the waitress who presented the Bajoran with a padd. She affixed her thumbprint to it, authorizing the deduction of credits from her account, including a reasonable tip, and then stood up.
“So,” she said to B'Elanna who was delighted that the Bajoran was continuing to play with her. “Your place or mine?”
“Mine,” B'Elanna said with a faint growl rippling her tone, grasping Ro's hand and leading her from the restaurant.
“All mine.”
Janeway smiled as she rolled over, snuggling close to the delectable form of her partner. A late night had dictated a late morning, and she relaxed in the warm nest of blankets and body heat, realizing happily that she didn't need to report for duty at all. If someone required her presence, all they had to do was contact her over the comm badge. With B'Elanna supervising the last of the warp manifold installation, the ship currently docked, and astrometrics not needed while Voyager was in Federation space, Seven was free from duty requirements as well.
The captain supposed they should both cherish this brief respite as much as they could. Who knew what it would be like once they were back at Starfleet Command and the debriefings began? A quick glance out the viewport above the bed showed an empty docking pylon across the way, and Janeway realized that the Enterprise had left the station while she had been asleep. She smiled sadly, sending a silent wish of good fortune after her departed crewmembers, hoping that they would do well in their new posts and new lives.
Seven exhaled softly and stirred, wrapping her arms around Janeway, pulling her down onto her as Janeway entwined her legs with Seven's, surrendering easily to the warm embrace. Nuzzling her nose into Seven's neck, she inhaled her fragrance and the musky scent of the previous night's lovemaking that lingered over them.
“Good morning.”
“Good afternoon,” Seven corrected dryly, making the captain chuckle.
“Whichever you prefer, love.” Janeway chuckled as she pressed her body against the smooth expanse of her partner, mouthing a line along Seven's jaw until she found the full lips. They kissed, slowly and pleasurably, a greeting to start the day and a promise that lingered from the night before.
When they finally parted, Janeway sighed happily and lay her head back down on Seven's chest, pillowed by the full breasts, delighting in the steady throb of her spouse's heart, lifted by the rhythmic rise and fall of the Borg's breathing. This could so easily lull her back to sleep, she thought contentedly, lying safe and secure in these strong arms. Perhaps that discovery had been the real turning point in their relationship, when she had realized that Seven was the sort she could sleep with, could actually drift off while snuggled together, their limbs so entangled it was hard to tell where she left off and Seven began. With previous partners, Janeway had always required her space to sleep, staking out her territory in the bed with judiciously placed elbows and knees. With Seven, she couldn't get close enough to her warmth, be surrounded enough by her softness and smooth skin, couldn't immerse herself enough in her womanly fragrance.
“Kathryn?”
“Mm, yes, darling?”
“What Cheb Packer said about your lovemaking abilities?” Seven was obviously still conscious of the incident from the previous evening. “That was not true. You are an absolutely wonderful lover.”
Janeway chuckled. “Thank you, Annika.” She patted her spouse reassuringly on the stomach. “Though I admit, it wasn't until Justin, and then Mark, that I understood my technique was just fine and Cheb had been the one who didn't quite know what he was doing.” She paused, raising her head to consider Seven's narrow features. “Annika, you have to realize that people like Cheb never want to take responsibility for themselves, or their actions, and when something makes them unhappy, they always want to blame someone else for it. They honestly don't know how to be happy, nor how to accept that it must come from within first, before they can find it in someone else.”
Seven took a few seconds to think about it. “I understand.”
Sadly, Janeway realized she did, having been exposed to enough examples of that Human failing in the short time she had been severed from the Collective. “Darling, I'm really sorry my past came back to haunt us.”
“It is not important.” Seven paused, amusement lighting her pale eyes. “When my past returns to 'haunt us', there is always the risk of assimilation. Yours is of little consequence in comparison.”
Janeway grinned crookedly. “I suppose, if you put it that way, Cheb wasn't so bad, was he?”
“Nothing that a certain rearranging of his internal organs would not improve,” Seven told her in a very reasonable tone.
Janeway started to laugh. “Good heavens, darling, you must be back to taking lessons from B'Elanna.”
Seven smiled and reached up, cupping the captain's chin in her hand. “I have been taking lessons from you,” she corrected. “You are more protective than anyone I know.” A shadow suddenly seemed to pass over the pale eyes, and Janeway frowned, wondering what was causing it.
“Hey, what's wrong?”
Seven shook her head. “It is irrelevant.”
“Tell me,” Janeway insisted softly.
“It was your remark regarding protection. For some reason, that suddenly made me think of Naomi and Mezoti. I hope they will be all right on DS9.”
“I'm sure they'll be just fine,” Janeway assured her spouse, conscious of how much the children's departure had affected Seven. With just a thought, her partner's mood had altered completely, the hurt obviously still fresh to her. Reaching up, Janeway drew her knuckles gently along Seven's cheek. “They have their parents and there are many other Bajoran children their age on the station. It won't be long before they're so busy with school and new friends that they won't even remember Voyager.” She tilted her head and offered a small, rueful smile. “I'm sorry, Annika. That's not helping, is it?”
Seven swallowed, her throat moving visibly as she began to blink, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “No, it is not.” Her voice was suddenly unsteady. “Nor did our evening out entirely accomplish its goal of making us feel better about the separation from our friends.”
“It wasn't so much an attempt to make us feel better as a way to keep us occupied,” Janeway told her, drawing Seven closer to her. “It's perfectly all right to mourn, Annika. We're going to miss these people a great deal because they were part of our lives for a long time. That feeling doesn't go away all at once, no matter how busy we keep ourselves.”
“I do not mean to imply that I did not enjoy last night,” Seven whispered, trying to maintain her composure.
“I know.” Janeway brushed her lips over the Borg's forehead. “Don't hold it in, love. Missing Naomi and Mezoti is perfectly natural. I'm not happy with their leaving, either.”
“An emotional outburst does not solve anything,” Seven objected, moisture leaking from the corner of each eye to slip silently down the sides of her face. “It will certainly not bring them back.”
“No, it won't, but it's not supposed to solve anything, Annika. It's just enough that you feel what you feel.”
As if accepting Janeway's words as permission, Seven started to weep, a reaction that had been building since the previous day, and made all the more powerful for the delay. Janeway cradled Seven lovingly, smoothing the long, blonde hair, whispering words of love and comfort as she released her anguish. To her surprise, Janeway felt tears stinging her own eyes, and they escaped to join with Seven's as she allowed herself to recognize how much she would miss those she was leaving behind. It took a while before the couple was able to stop crying, and even longer as they remained huddled together in the warm sanctuary of their bed and each other.
“This is very difficult,” Seven said finally.
“It's part of life, darling.”
“That does not mean I must like it,” Seven said, a stubborn note in her voice.
Janeway smiled tremulously. “No, love, we don't have to like it.”
They remained cuddled together a little longer, finding comfort in the simple act of being together, of being able to hold on, and being held in turn, the emotions easing as they allowed themselves to fully acknowledge them. Janeway exhaled slowly, conscious of the warmth of her partner surrounding her, the love that began to heal the subtle wounds rendered upon her soul in recent days.
Finally, Seven stirred, brushing her lips over the captain's forehead.
“Are you hungry, Kathryn? Would you like me to prepare lunch?”
“I'm not really hungry, love.” Janeway raised her head to peer into Seven’s eyes. She paused, lost in the pale blue of her gaze. “I don't suppose I could entice you to remain in bed a little longer?”
Seven raised an eyebrow. “It would be an event of great significance if you could not entice me to remain in bed with you.”
Pleased, Janeway settled closer onto the Borg. “I absolutely adore you, you know, with all my heart.”
“You know how I feel about you, Kathryn,” Seven replied, her eyes dark and serious. “It hurts me to know that there was anyone or anything in your life that did not offer you happiness.”
“Annika, if a person can discover, during their lifetime, one half of the happiness that you've given me, they would be considered very successful indeed.” Janeway squeezed her gently. “Darling, try to let go of the things that can't be changed. For all the good-byes we've seen in recent days, and must yet face in the future, one thing remains constant, and that's you and me. Hold onto that. Let it help you. “
Seven looked thoughtful. “I will try, Kathryn.”
Janeway nuzzled her, brushing her lips over the Borg's, taking the time to taste her sweetness. “The other thing you should remember is that in a very short while, we'll be greeting people as well.”
Seven quirked a sardonic eyebrow. “More lovers?”
Janeway poked her in the ribs. “Mother and Phoebe,” she corrected in a long-suffering tone, gratified to see the corners of her partner's mouth curve upward. “Molly Malone.”
“Molly Malone?”
“Jake's mother.”
Seven blinked. “I did not realize she existed in this universe as well. Would she recognize Jake?” She paused. “Is there already a Jake in this universe?”
Janeway raised her head, looking astounded. “I don't know. I didn't have a chance to name any of Molly's puppies in this universe. She was pregnant when Voyager was lost, you know. I wonder who finally took her? I left her with Mark.”
“Would he have kept her and the puppies?”
Janeway shook her head. “I don’t think so. He's not really the doggie type. He did look after her, but it was mostly for my benefit, not because he had any great love affair with animals. In his letter, he told me he had found homes for all the puppies, but I would expect that he gave Molly back to Mother or Phoebe.”
“We shall find out soon enough.”
Smiling, Janeway looked down at her. “So, we will.” She held the gaze intently. “It will be all right, Annika. I promise.”
Seven tilted her head, her pale eyes softening. “I believe you, Kathryn. I have always believed in you, even when it seemed as if I were angry with you.”
Janeway took a deep breath and bent down to kiss her spouse, lingering over the full lips. “Your support means so much to me,” she said softly, then kissed her again. “I don't know what I'd do without it.”
“You shall always have it,” Seven responded, her voice lowering, her lips parting to accept the tender kisses.
“Mmm, you taste so wonderful,” Janeway remarked, brushing her mouth over her again, nibbling at Seven's lower lip.
Seven seemed to find the captain's flavor quite acceptable as well, wrapping her arms around the captain and pulling easily to her, so that Janeway was now fully on top of Seven, cushioned deliciously by womanly curves and soft skin. Janeway kissed her again, deeper, more passionately, suddenly wanting her partner in ways that were less related to comfort, and more related to need and desire.
Returning the kiss with an abrupt hunger, Seven rolled them over, pressing down on the smaller woman with deliberate intent. Perhaps acknowledging their losses helped them deal with their sorrow, but completely forgetting about it for a little while would also do them some good, Janeway thought as she absorbed herself in the searing kisses.
It certainly couldn't hurt.
Seven of Nine regarded Janeway with indolent satisfaction, the two women sprawled over the bed in the heated aftermath of what had been a most strenuous encounter. Seven lay on her belly, supported by her forearms, her head and upper body raised as she looked over her shoulder at her partner. Janeway was stretched out spread-eagle on the sheets beside Seven, arms and legs akimbo, seeming almost to glow in her satisfaction, her fair skin shimmering with perspiration and the healthy flush of an extensive expenditure of energy. Eventually, Janeway became aware of her lover's scrutiny, and a slow smile spread across her face.
“That was tremendous, love,” she noted in a gravely tone, her throat still slightly hoarse from previous outcries that had been loud and explicit indeed. She cracked open her eyelids halfway and peered at Seven with warm, blue eyes. “Just what we needed.”
Seven smiled faintly and licked her lips, tasting the piquant flavor of her beloved Kathryn that lingered deliciously.
“It was acceptable.” Unaware that she was looking very much like a sated carnivore to her partner, one that had only recently brought down prey.
Smiling, Janeway stretched lazily, like a tabby finally moving from a patch of sunlight to another, languorously hoping the next patch might be more comfortable.
“Hmm, computer, lower ambient temperature by two degrees. I believe my spouse has overheated me.”
Seven reached over and grasped Janeway’s ankle, leaning down to gently nibble her toes. “You did not burst into flames,” she noted reasonably, deliberately injecting a note of disappointment in her voice.
Janeway laughed. “Not from any lack of trying on your part.”. She happily wiggled her toes under Seven's tentative caress. “Don't start again. I'm hungry.”
“Such a surprise,” Seven allowed dryly as she reluctantly released Janeway’s ankle.
“Beast,” Janeway identified her archly.
Seven blinked. “Beast?” She lifted her head and stared at her, intrigued. “What kind of beast?”
Janeway eyed her judiciously. “Something feline, I think. Golden and sleek and very, very dangerous when it comes to protecting your mate.”
Pleased with the comparison, Seven smiled and rolled off the bed, stretching fully and with great extension, fingertips brushing the overhang of ceiling above her. She felt Janeway's eyes move over her body in sincere and intent appreciation, the warmth in the gaze whispering over Seven's skin like a tropical sea breeze.
“How are we ever going to be able to indulge ourselves like this in Mother's house?”
Seven considered it. “Perhaps we cannot. Perhaps we must live in San Francisco in your previous dwelling as you suggested.”
“I guess we'll know more when we get to Earth,” Janeway agreed. The chirp from the comm channel above the bed made her sigh and she rolled over, touching the control panel imbedded in the hull, indicating that she was prepared to accept the call despite the privacy seal the two women had placed on their personal comm badges. “Janeway here.”
It was Chakotay. “Captain, the engine room reports that the warp manifold is installed and tested. DS9 control wishes to know our departure schedule.”
Seven raised a brow inquiringly and Janeway rolled her eyes, exhaling gustily. Both knew where that was coming from, or rather from whom.
“There's no time like the present, Commander,” the captain said ruefully. “Send out a recall to any personnel still on the station. We'll leave as soon as Voyager is secure and we have clearance. Request a departure for 1500 hours.”
“Understood.” There was a pause. “Uh, Captain, a Commander Patterson came on board last night. He said you authorized his return with us to Earth?”
Janeway winced. “Oh, God, I forgot to tell you about that,” she said apologetically to her first officer. “It was so late when we returned from dinner that I didn't want to disturb you.”
Seven regarded her sardonically. What she really meant was that it had slipped Janeway's mind during their encounter with Cheb Packer and their subsequent incarceration in the station's security center.
“So, you do know him,” Chakotay said, a touch of relief in his tone. “I erred on the side of caution and put him in the guest quarters.”
Janeway immediately looked queasy and Seven stifled her snicker of amusement. They had never soundproofed the addition of their new walk-in closet, which was previously the bedroom of the guest quarters. Both the door leading to the ensuite and the one leading to their closet had remained wide open all evening and while it was unlikely that the man had heard anything, it was still possible that the sound of Janeway's voice had penetrated the bulkhead.
The captain could be very loud during certain, intense emotions.
Seven smiled as she left the captain with her communication and went into the ensuite to the equipment replicator in the corner, gathering up the worn garments they had changed from before going out to dinner the previous evening. She ran them through the recycler after first removing the comm badges and assorted pips, and placed the freshly cleaned and pressed uniforms neatly on the sink counter, before activating the shower, altering the temperature to be a little cooler than she would normally program if she were showering alone.
Janeway soon joined her, the captain groaning pleasurably under the warm water as it cascaded over her from three, separate shower nozzles. The captain had never been particularly extravagant with her personal items or creature comforts except when it came to her ensuite. Both the shower and tub units were fully equipped to the highest standards Starfleet could provide, and Seven had learned to appreciate the luxury of being able to shower in such lavish accommodations. She could only hope that wherever they ended up living on Earth, it would be equally as well appointed. There was nothing better than a warm shower or bath to work the lingering soreness out of muscles.
Unless it was to grasp the wiggling, slippery form of her spouse and create some fresh, but more appreciated soreness in the muscles, Seven decided, as they made joyful love again amid the steamy heat of water and lather.
Seven decided she looked far too smug as she observed her reflection in the mirror over the sink counter much, much later. She carefully removed a minuscule piece of lint from one shoulder of her uniform, and settled her shoulders beneath the greyish, quilted bands, noting how the gleam of her dual pips, one gold and one black, reflected the subdued lighting overhead. She decided she preferred this current version of Starfleet uniform. It felt substantial to her, more like the away mission outfit she had designed while in the Delta Quadrant. The hidden pockets she had programmed the buffer to place on the inside of the tunic were reassuring.
“Are you coming to lunch or are you going to preen all day?” Janeway asked dryly, passing behind her and flashing her a glance with sardonic blue-grey eyes.
“I was not preening,” Seven protested as she followed the captain out into the living area. She had been assuring herself that she was a far superior lover than Cheb Packer, but she did not offer that bit of information.
“Of course not,” Janeway agreed, in a tone that indicated she meant the exact opposite.
Seven contented herself with a sharp look in the captain's direction before going to the replicator where she programmed in some salad and pasta, not feeling like preparing food today, nor having the time to do so even if she wanted. She knew that Janeway, now that she was in her uniform, would want to be on the bridge and underway once again. It was clear to Seven that Voyager had worn out its welcome at DS9.
Janeway dug into her meal with restrained enthusiasm, undoubtedly feeling what Seven was, that replicated portions had their limitations and that last night had showed them what fine dining was about. Lying on the floor next to the captain's chair, Jake waited with anticipation in case a morsel was tossed his way. He knew better than to try hanging around Seven during mealtime ... the Borg did not believe he should be fed anything other than the carefully balanced nutrition provided him by the automatic feeder ... but he was frequently rewarded while on the captain's side of the table.
“You know, I can't wait to take you to all the wonderful restaurants on Earth,” Janeway told Seven who was consuming her salad with efficiency if little appetite. “There's a little place in Nova Scotia where the lobster is served fresh out of the Atlantic Ocean.”
Seven blinked, surprised. “There is fishing on Earth?”
Janeway grinned crookedly. “Well, I'll admit, it's not considered a particularly civilized thing to do. A small amount of harvesting is allowed in Earth's oceans, as well as in the various agricultural parks, and while most of the produce and meat is shipped off planet as luxury items, you can inevitably find a restaurant that will offer an organic menu of whatever it is they're harvesting locally. Granted, not a lot of Terrans take advantage of it. It's considered very uncultured to eat what once was alive. But there's enough clientele from us Traditionalists and whatever offworlders happen to be passing through, to keep them going.”
Seven raised an eyebrow. “Kathryn, I have noticed that in the time we have been together, you have become more accepting of your Traditionalist background. When I first met you, you seemed to have—not a contempt of it necessarily, but you seemed dismissive of it at times.”
Janeway chewed her pasta thoughtfully, considering her partner's words.
“When I was growing up, I didn't have much use for a lot of what being a Traditionalist meant. I believed that it was a waste of man-hours and personal energy to do things that could be more easily handled by technology. I also believed that Humans had advanced to the point where a strong mind was far more important than a strong back, and doing things the old-fashioned way was a selfish kind of conceit.” She speared a piece of tomato from her salad. “But the longer I was in the Delta Quadrant, the more I learned to rely on myself and my crew, rather than on the technology surrounding us. That's how it is in the Agriculture Park, Annika. People work together, and by doing things themselves, rather than counting solely on technology to get things done, there's a sense of accomplishment and pride that perhaps others don't develop.”
She looked up, meeting Seven's pale gaze. “It's ironic. Once I was so far from home, I found myself going back to the very roots I had disdained when I was younger. I found in them a strength that I desperately needed, and a belief in myself that otherwise, I might never have discovered.”
Seven nodded. “There is a strength in such things. I believe that one of my parents' greatest failings was that they relied too much on technology. They depended on it to serve them, to protect them, to do exactly as they intended, which was why they were unprepared when the Borg assimilated them.”
Janeway raised a brow. “I hadn't thought of it that way. In any event, I've learned to rely more on people than technology, and in you I found another connection to my roots.”
“Me?” Seven repeated, mystified. “I am very much a technical being, Kathryn.”
“With the heart and soul of a Traditionalist.” Janeway smiled at her. “Face it, Annika, you're far happier surrounded by natural things rather than artificial trappings, even though it took you some time to realize that. When I first met you, you had no patience for certain things in life, considering them irrelevant to your function. Now, you're probably happiest roaming around in the planetary outdoors.”
“I am happiest when I am with you, regardless of where that is,” Seven corrected. Then she hesitated. “I admit that occasionally, I think that I shall enjoy living on Earth, particularly if there will be water and trees in the area.”
“I'm sure you will, darling,” Janeway told her. “Certainly, where Mother lives has plenty of both, and there's a park near my house in San Francisco.” She bit into a piece of lettuce and flashed a glance at her partner. “But I only give it a year, maybe two before we'll want the stars again.”
Seven nodded, believing that to be an accurate assessment but still looking forward to the future. Living in space certainly had its own appeal, but after spending most of her life doing it, she was ready to try habitation on a planet, if only for a little while.
They finished their meal and cleaned up the dishes before leaving their quarters to head for the bridge. There, Seven took her post at the aft auxiliary tactical station, standing just behind and above the command level where Janeway took her seat. Chakotay was already there, in his first officer's chair, while Harry Kim and Tuvok manned ops and tactical respectively.
The only one missing, Seven noted somberly, was Tom Paris. She glanced at the front of the bridge where Ro Laren performed the tasks of navigation and helm control. Looking back at where Janeway leaned back in her chair, she saw the brief shadow pass over her face, undoubtedly reminded of who would no longer be traveling with them. Seven felt a sharp little needle in her heart, remembering who and what she was leaving behind on this station.
The rest of the departures would come later, Seven realized, swallowing hard. Once they reached Earth, there would be no choice but to acknowledge the reality of their situation. The long journey back from the Delta Quadrant was finally over, and now it would only be a matter of saying good-bye to the rest of their friends and crewmates. Even those with whom she would remain in touch, it would remain the same. They would not see each other every day, nor be only a comm badge signal away.
Kathryn was right. It was going to become harder before it was easier.
Seven inhaled sharply and turned her attention to her board. Around the Borg, the sounds of the starship coming back to life filled her senses, the hum of various systems coming back on line, of the station's umbilicals withdrawing from external ports, the subtle whisper of communications from various departments that still had enough personnel to warrant reporting in with their status, the almost inaudible hiss of internal atmospheric circulation. On the fore viewscreen, Seven noted that Ro had angled the sensors to show the forward slope of Voyager's saucer section, and one by one, Seven saw the ship's running lights activate, indicating to anyone who happened to be looking that the vessel was once more preparing to return to space. One group caught the Seven's eye, the array that illuminated the big black letters of the ship's name and call letters, and to her amazement, she felt a strange sensation, half pleasure, half pain, radiate through her chest as she read them.
The turbolift doors slid open and Seven raised an eyebrow as B'Elanna entered the bridge. Apparently, she wished to be in the control center for this departure, rather than down in engineering and Seven noticed that Janeway offered B'Elanna a smile as she made her way to the engineering station to the captain's right.
Then, Janeway stood up, and took a long, slow circuit of the bridge, ostensibly to make a final check, but Seven knew it was the captain's way of appreciating the moment, taking the time to immerse herself in this final departure of her vessel from the space station. Seven smiled faintly as Janeway passed behind her, so close that she felt her hand brush lightly against her hip before she moved on. Seven wondered if anyone noticed it before a glance at B'Elanna, who grinned cheekily at her, let her know that at least one person had.
Stepping down to the command level, the captain shot a look at Chakotay and the first officer dipped his head, as if receiving some unspoken communication, some silent order that indicated he was to proceed.
“Lt. Ro,” he said, standing up. “Lay in our course and clear our departure with operations.”
Ro's long fingers danced lightly over the board. “Course laid in. We are cleared for departure.”
“Ready thrusters,” Janeway said, taking her seat.
“Thrusters ready,” Harry announced in too loud a voice, and Janeway shot a look back at him, smiling. He smiled too, and Seven realized that he had done it deliberately, as if there had been some reminder in his tone that the captain recognized. Perhaps from the last time Voyager had departed from this station?
The display on the viewscreen altered, shifting as the ship gracefully eased away from the docking pylon and cleared the area.
“Voyager is clear of station perimeter,” Ro noted.
“Warp engines are online,” B'Elanna said.
“Warp factor one, Lt. Ro.”
“Warp factor one, aye, Captain.”
There was a brief instance, a pause as the captain leaned forward, then she raised her head.
“Engage.”
Voyager obeyed, the stars blurring and streaking as the vessel jumped smoothly to warp and began the final leg of its long journey back to Earth.
Epilogue
Kira Nerys looked up from her operations table to watch the departure of Voyager from the lower docking pylon. It wasn't that she didn't trust the starship exactly, she just worried that maybe it would run into something before it got clear of the traffic surrounding the station. She heaved a sigh of relief as it managed to make its way out into space before activating its warp drive. There was a blur, an elongating as if a part of it remained behind while the fore part was already light years away, and then it was gone.
She took a deep breath and touched her console, organizing her next batch of tasks and scheduling the ships awaiting her attention. Yet, even as she worked, she spared a thought for the vessels so recently departed from her station. It was still very odd to her that the Enterprise had made an unscheduled stop just to pick up personnel, and there was the lingering sensation that there was something there beyond that which was superficially apparent. It could just be her old resistance nerves twinging, but a part of her sensed that something was up. She supposed she would discover what it was before too long. Despite the vast distances in space, it really was a small universe, after all.
She sent a silent wish winging after Voyager, hoping that her captain carried with her the luck of the Prophets. For some reason, she thought Janeway might need it as much in the Alpha Quadrant as she ever had in the Delta.
The End