Just Between Loyalties
G. L. Dartt
“Why didn't anyone tell me about this?”
Kathryn Janeway stood in the middle of Janeway's ready room on the USS Enterprise and glowered at the two other Starfleet officers in the room. By the time Captain Jean-Luc Picard and Admiral Ross had finished explaining all about Section 31, exactly what the covert operations group was, how long they had existed, the methods they used to operate, as well as how they had attempted to recruit Janeway's spouse, she was weak with shock and horror. The information on the operation carried out by Picard to discover admirals in Starfleet Command tied to Section 31, only served to enhance the bitter news, leaving her face white and pinched.
“Did it ever occur to anyone that I deserved to know about this?” she repeated harshly, her eyes grey as week old ashes.
“It wasn't a matter of deserving it,” Picard said, somewhat defensively. A slender, bald man, he normally radiated competence and poise, infinitely composed. Now, he sat nervously on the sofa, legs crossed, his hands resting uneasily on his lap. “It was a matter of 'need to know'.”
“I needed to know,” she spat, hands on her hips, her gaze one of molten fury as she glared at the Enterprise captain. “Damn you. Of all people, I needed to know!”
Standing against the wall, Admiral Ross watched Janeway, his dark eyes assessing her warily. The admiral from Starfleet Command had rendezvoused with the Enterprise as soon as the ragged fleet of Orion Syndicate vessels, led by three Starfleet vessels, had set course to Deep Space 6, the nearest Federation base capable of handling a thousand or so refugees from the destroyed colony. His sudden arrival in a tiny courier ship indicated that he had been the one Picard had been reporting to all along. One more secret that Janeway had been oblivious to, and judging from the reserved expression on Ross’s face, one that Janeway's immediate superior had not known either. However, it was of little consolation that Janeway hadn't been the only one operating in the dark.
“No, Captain,” he said, his voice hard, “you didn't. Not so long as Nechayev was a possible Section 31 operative. You were her special project, and as long as we suspected her, we suspected you.”
“Me!”
“You were old school Starfleet, with connections to admirals who had been of questionable loyalty for years,” Ross said. “We couldn't take the chance.”
“But you were willing to risk Seven,” she said furiously.
“We were willing to believe in her, and her friends,” Picard said. “Believe that when push came to shove, she would remember everything she had learned as a Starfleet officer, and that Lt. Ro could keep her safe.”
Janeway could not remember feeling so betrayed or angered before in her life. “You had no right to risk us like that,” she said, breathing harshly. “How dare you?”
“How dare we not?” Ross said, the whip of command in his voice. He moved closer, subconsciously using his greater height and mass to remind her who held the superior rank in the ready room. “I appreciate that you feel left out of this operation, Captain, and we're sorry about that. Certainly, if we had more information at our disposal, then yes, we could have brought you into our confidence sooner, but until we understood which admiral in Starfleet Command was working for Section 31, everyone was suspect, including you. This was bigger than a single officer, Janeway, and you're just going to have to accept that.” He stared at her, then attempted a more conciliatory tone. “I know what it's like to be placed in a position where your reactions are limited by the parameters Section 31 set up, Captain. I've been in your shoes, and it's not always a matter of making the right decision for everyone, but the one that will result in the least amount of damage. You should understand that.”
“What if I can't?” she demanded, her color high.
Ross didn't waver. “Then you can't,” he said. “It just doesn't make any difference in the larger scheme of things. You've been around long enough to know that.” He glanced at Picard, demonstrating that as far as he was concerned, the issue was dealt with. “What's the status with Noiro colony?”
“The Enterprise, the Hood and the Gorkon were able to evacuate most of the populace using our heavy cargo transporters. In addition to the syndicate vessels we have in tow, several ships fled from the colony, presumably containing more refugees, including several key members of the cartel's upper echelon. We didn't pursue, but did launch tracer probes to mark and track every vessel. It should only be a matter of time before they're all picked up. Meanwhile, we should be arriving at DS6 within the next three days, where most of the refugees will be processed. Now that the planetoid where their colony was located has been destroyed, those people innocent of any crimes will require a new place to live.” He paused and shot a look at Janeway. “At the moment, there have been no reports as to Voyager's current location.”
Ross shook his head, looking disgusted. “Unbelievable,” he said. “Despite everything, Section 31 did manage to accomplish what they set out to do, and that was rescue Captain Janeway, and break the back of the Orion Syndicate.”
“Their methods were unacceptable,” Picard noted.
“More so than yours?” Janeway asked harshly, made even more furious at being ignored as if she wasn't there. Picard regarded her for a moment, then dipped his head in acknowledgment.
“I was responsible for contacting and recruiting Ro Laren,” he told her, not unkindly, a trace of empathy for her in his eyes as one captain to another. She found it excruciatingly condescending. “Her priority from the beginning, however, was not to capture Hayes or Section 31, but to secure your protection and Seven's. If there is any blame to be laid, it is on my shoulders, Captain. I was the one who instructed Lt. Ro to remain close to you, regardless of what it took to accomplish it. I was the one who authorized her infiltration of Starfleet Command as your adjunct. Finally, I was the one responsible for ordering her to remain silent about her mission, even when she repeatedly asked for permission to inform you of the situation.”
“He received his clearance from me,” Ross added evenly. “Despite Captain Picard's assumption of authority, I was the one ultimately responsible for this operation.”
“I was the one played for a fool, however,” Janeway said bitterly. “Who's responsible for that?”
She favored them with a final, incendiary glare, making both men flinch, then turned and stalked from the room, indignation radiating from every uniformed line of her. She did not grant anyone on the bridge of the Sovereign-class vessel a passing look, though she was conscious of Tom Paris, at the helm, turning to look at her with a concerned expression. Inside the relative privacy of the turbolift, she lifted her chin.
“Computer, locate Seven of—Lt. Annika Hansen,” Janeway said, knowing that even though this was the Enterprise, the main computer should be able to detect Seven's identification signature in her comm badge, assuming she had been issued a new one after her previous one had been destroyed by a blast from a Cardassian disruptor. There was a pause, and she wondered if she were going to have to add specifics, such as requesting a ship-wide bioscan for Seven elements in Seven's physiology.
“Lt. Annika Hansen is in conference room ten,” the computer reported finally.
Janeway blinked. “Is she alone?” she asked, suddenly concerned. Heavens, they must have taken Seven directly into briefings as soon as she was released from sickbay, she thought uneasily.
“Admiral Alynna Nechayev is also present.”
Janeway crossed her arms over her chest. It was unfortunate that Seven's briefing was being conducted by someone with whom she didn't feel comfortable, but perhaps it would do Seven some good to face someone who wasn't trying to manipulate her by utilizing some kindly, amiable approach.
That still shook Janeway to the core of her being. How could she have been so blind? How could she have not seen that Admiral Hayes had been using Seven for his own personal agenda? A small, logical part of herself reminded her that it was unlikely she could have known. If he had been attempting to lure Seven into prurient pursuits, Janeway probably would have recognized that immediately, and responded appropriately, but to recruit Seven into a covert operations group was something Janeway never would have expected. She had been far more worried that Seven would not be accepted, that she would be hated and resented by everyone she met for being Borg. Janeway certainly never anticipated that Seven of Nine would become a prize to be pursued by so many organizations.
Hayes had also been very clever. Janeway had dismissed him as a bit of a windbag, a relatively unimportant officer whose influence on Starfleet was overshadowed by those around him, never realizing that he had been the one pulling the strings of the other, more blatantly powerful, command admirals. When she had thought of him at all, it had been with a vague gratitude that he was providing a bit of guidance to Seven as she adapted to being a Starfleet officer. Now, a sick feeling seeped through her as she realized her ignorance. It was of little consolation to know she had not been the only one fooled by his aura of harmless benevolence. She should have known better, if not for herself, then for the protection of her spouse, whose experience was so limited. How many times had Seven questioned the whole concept of politicking in Starfleet, and Janeway had dismissed it as not applying to their situation? She had thought she was more than capable of dealing with all the maneuvering and manipulations that went on, when in fact, she was obviously a babe in the woods.
She remembered the few times Nechayev had ventured the topic of Section 31, sounding Janeway out on her opinion regarding it. Janeway had not been very helpful, considering it a myth or legend that popped up every so often in the halls of Starfleet Command. Deciding it was more of Nechayev's natural paranoia displaying itself, Janeway had not wanted to encourage it, and always presented a neutral response. As a result, Nechayev had never pressed her theories, and now Janeway wondered if perhaps Nechayev had thought Janeway was involved in the covert group, and stopped attempting to discuss it when faced with such obvious antipathy. Such was the damage that a group like Section 31 did. One inevitably suspected everyone, so many circles within circles, motivations hidden behind a friendly face, secret agendas and tactics imposed to divert attention to one situation, when it was another where the danger lay.
It wasn't paranoia when there actually was someone out to get you, Janeway reminded herself harshly.
“Captain.”
She paused, turning to look over her shoulder at Commander Riker who was striding down the corridor toward her. She realized that she had stepped off the turbolift, and had been wandering through the ship, completely lost in thought as she ignored her surroundings and the people she had been passing. She didn't even know which deck she was on.
“William,” she said politely, if somewhat distantly. She hadn't had a chance to speak with the first officer since her arrival on the Enterprise. He had been holding the conn while Picard had been involved with her debriefings. “It's good to see you again.”
She had met the burly, bearded commander several times, not the least of which was an incident in the Delta Quadrant when Q had transported him to Voyager to testify in a hearing that could determine the future of the Continuum. During the incident, they had pretended not to know each other in Q's presence, both Starfleet officers instinctively seeking any edge they could while dealing with the omnipotent being who, for all his great abilities, tended to take things at face value at times. Of course, Riker would not be aware of it, his memory wiped when he was returned to the Enterprise. She wondered if he still remembered their first meeting, an awkward blind date set up by her roommate, while both had been attending Starfleet Academy. He had never mentioned that encounter in subsequent meetings, and so, neither had she.
“Heading for Ten-Forward?” he asked, once he had caught up to her.
She shook her head. “No,” she admitted. “In fact, I'm not sure where I'm headed.”
“Rough day,” he offered. He glanced at her, his dark eyes assessing her face. “If you don't mind me saying so, Kathryn, you should have those bruises looked at by the doctor.” Though he was ranked below her, as contemporaries and acquaintances, the two officers reserved the right to address each other by their given names, particularly in unofficial circumstances.
She frowned, raising her fingertips to touch the tender spot on her jaw that only now, felt sore. After beaming from the planetoid's surface, she barely had time to clean up and change into a uniform before being thrust into briefings with Picard and Ross, let alone make a visit to sickbay to visit Seven or to have her injuries attended to. She hesitated at the thought of going there now. Sickbay was undoubtedly where Ro and B'Elanna still were, and she didn't feel up to facing them, knowing that her emotions were on a knife's edge. Encountering either woman in this state could result in some unfortunate things being said by her in the heat of anger.
“No,” she said shortly. “Sickbay is probably still busy dealing with all the refugees from Noiro colony. My minor injuries can wait.”
He favored her with an exasperated expression, undoubtedly all too familiar with the command reluctance to surrender to the CMO's authority, unless absolutely necessary. “If you say so,” he allowed, with an exaggerated patience that, despite her current mood, made her smile faintly. “In the meantime, why don't you let me buy you a drink?”
He gestured with his arm, indicating something down the corridor, and she glanced in that direction, discovering a set of doors with the symbols that indicated one of the ship's recreational areas. Suddenly, the thought of sitting down to a whiskey and soda held great appeal.
“After you, Commander,” she said, inclining her head in assent.
He led her into the comfortable lounge, considerably larger than the messhall on Voyager, and more lavishly decorated. This was where Neelix had been posted, Janeway remembered belatedly, and despite her affection for the Talaxian she had brought back with her to the Alpha Quadrant, she was not really in the mood to deal with him, any more than she was Ro or B'Elanna. She hesitated, lingering behind Riker as she made a quick scan of her surroundings, relieved when it revealed no hint of her former crewmember, only a dark-skinned woman standing behind the bar, and a few Enterprise crewmembers sitting at tables along the hull where large windows looked out at the stars streaking by. Riker motioned her toward a table in the corner, and Janeway gratefully sat down, startled when she looked up to find the woman behind the bar suddenly appear without warning beside their table. She was even more surprised when a whiskey and soda was promptly placed in front of her, while a glass of syntheale was offered to Riker.
“Thank you, Guinan,” he said.
The serene woman smiled, a particularly enigmatic smile, and bemused, Janeway watched her glide away, wondering how this 'Guinan' could have known that she wanted this particular drink. She finally decided that Neelix must have told the bartender of his previous captain's preferences. Though that didn't explain why she would remember it, or how she had known it was what Janeway had wanted at this particular moment.
“You want to tell me about it?” Riker asked, interrupting Janeway's bemusement. She glanced over at him, chagrined to see that expression first officers used to invite a superior officer to confide in them. The same expression that Chakotay offered whenever Janeway was at her most unsettled. She doubted Riker was quite prepared for the turmoil she was experiencing, however.
“I don't think you possess the necessary security clearance,” she said, more than a little bitterness coloring her words.
“Maybe not,” he allowed easily, smiling faintly through the heavy growth of dark beard. “Tell me what you can, however, and I'll bet you'll feel a lot better after you do.”
He leaned forward, obviously sincere in his desire to help her, and Janeway considered it carefully, deciding that perhaps that wasn't such a bad idea. Otherwise, the next person she might find herself speaking with could be Seven, and the consequences of such a conversation while still in her agitated state could be dire indeed.
Seven regarded the two pips that lay in her hands, wondering how such insignificant things could be worthy of such loyalty, particularly when she suspected they would soon be gone. She inhaled deeply, feeling a decided pain in her chest, and lay the small metal circles gently on the table in front of her. She wondered if she would be incarcerated for a long time, and tried not to think too hard about what being separated from Kathryn would really be like. She had never disappointed her spouse so much, she knew, nor had she ever allowed someone else to influence her to this extent. She had failed on so many levels, including in the role of Starfleet officer, dishonoring the uniform she currently wore.
The door hissed open, and Seven lifted her head, flinching as she saw Nechayev enter the room. Of all the people who could be interrogating her, it would have to be this admiral. She tried to prepare herself mentally, vaguely surprised when the woman merely pulled out the chair opposite her and quietly sat down. Reaching inside her tunic, Nechayev took out an oddly shaped item, and placed it on the table in front of Seven.
Baffled, Seven stared at the round, colorful ball attached to a small white stick, unsure of what it signified, or even what it was. She was even more confused when Nechayev pulled out another one, removed the stasis wrap from it, and licked the ball, holding the stick delicately with her fingers.
“It's called a lollipop,” Nechayev said conversationally. “Candy. The top is edible.”
“Indeed,” Seven said coolly, finally finding her voice. “Why have you given me this 'lollipop'?”
“Because I suspect we're both in dire need of a sugar rush right now,” Nechayev told her.
Seven stared at her, then hesitantly, she picked up the candy by the stick, removed the wrap, and cautiously touched the tip of her tongue to the ball, tasting it. It was very sweet, but in a pleasant way, and she took another taste, longer this time. Despite the situation, she did feel marginally better, and decided that this 'sugar rush', as Nechayev had called it, was indeed, beneficial.
“Am I to be court martialed?” Seven asked finally, regarding Nechayev warily.
Nechayev shook her head briefly. “For what?” she asked in a rhetorical sort of tone. “Being deceived by Admiral Jack Hayes? Being manipulated by Section 31 to wipe out the Orion Syndicate? If so, we'd all be facing charges. I've just discovered that one of my aides, an officer in my own department, was the Section 31 operative leading that assault team!” Her voice was heavy with disgust, at Hayes, at herself, at the entire situation.
“Lt. Kagan,” Seven idend.
Nechayev shook her head. “There's no law against being played for a complete and utter fool, Lieutenant,” she said heavily. “Luckily for all of us.”
“I was actually referring to my having contributed to a conspiracy to kill several thousand people, and dishonoring my oath as a Starfleet officer,” Seven reminded her unhappily.
Nechayev leaned back in her chair, regarding her narrowly. “You were conducting a mission arranged by a Starfleet Operations admiral,” she said evenly. “We do not hold junior ranked officers responsible for following orders they believe are valid. It was due to the actions of Section 31 operatives that those explosives were planted, and the colony subsequently destroyed. Your participation was limited to attempting to rescue Captain Janeway. According to her, you even attempted to forestall the eventual explosion, and had actually succeeded before Mr. Packer interfered.”
“Nonetheless, I am responsible for my own actions,” Seven said, raising her chin stubbornly. “I was the one who discovered the actual location of the colony when Section 31 could not. I was in command of the Section 31 assault team, and fully prepared to do whatever it took to rescue Kathryn.” She faltered, inhaling sharply. “Even if it meant destroying the Orion Syndicate headquarters, and killing everyone who was there.”
“Are you sure?” Nechayev asked. “Lieutenant, I know you believed it was the only way that Janeway could be rescued, but Hayes and Section 31 set you up to believe that. I also doubt you truly were in command, regardless of what they may have led you to think.” She looked away. “I'm not saying that your decisions have been particularly intelligent or correct over the past weeks, Lieutenant. I'm not even saying that you didn't make mistakes—large mistakes—but I, and the rest of Starfleet Command, believe you were acting in accordance with what you were being taught as a Starfleet officer over the course of the past year. The fact that the larger percentage of your training was being conducted by a renegade was as much our responsibility as yours.”
Seven frowned, staring at her as she absorbed what Nechayev was trying to say to her. “Why are you being so kind to me?” she asked finally, in a flat tone. “That is not your nature.”
Nechayev started to respond, then paused, reconsidering her initial answer. “Perhaps not,” she admitted, her narrow, Slavic features thoughtful. “On the other hand, I'm not sure you have the true picture of what my nature is, any more than I know where your true nature lies.”
“Explain,” Seven demanded, puzzled.
Nechayev exhaled audibly. “Let's just say that looking back, I can see where my opinion of you might have been unduly influenced by how Hayes presented you to me,” she admitted softly. “I also suspect he had a decided influence in how you perceived me, and others in Starfleet. It was to his benefit for you to believe that he was the only one who accepted and understood you. I won't lie, I’m generally suspicious and wary of anything Borg, nor am I the easiest person to get to know. On the other hand, I don't think I was allowed into a position where I could know you as anything more than a representation of Seven, despite Captain Janeway's best efforts to moderate our mutual distaste.”
Seven swallowed, feeling a little dizzy as she realized for the first time how much of her opinion of Nechayev had been colored by what Hayes had said—or rather intimated. In retrospect, it was difficult to pick out definite statements he had made regarding Nechayev, or the other admirals in Starfleet Operations, but Seven understood that she had formulated much of her attitude toward those officers based on things he had told her. Now, she could see how he had deliberately manipulated her, and it sickened her, because she had initially suspected him of being capable of manipulation in his role as a diplomat, but had ignored that qualm in the face of his unrelenting kindness to her.
She believed that he had cared for her as an individual.
“I have failed,” she said bleakly. “On so many levels.”
“So, you have,” Nechayev said, not unkindly. “We all do at one point or another. The trick is to pick yourself up, learn from your mistakes, and try again. That's what being a Starfleet officer is all about. No one is perfect.” She smiled faintly. “Not even a Borg.”
Seven swallowed. “It is very difficult to learn from such failure.”
“If it were easy, you might be tempted to make the same mistake again,” Nechayev pointed out. She took a breath, then reached over to pick up the pips, cupping them in her palm as she offered them to Seven. “Put them on,” she said gruffly.
Hesitating, Seven looked into the ice blue eyes. “I am not worthy of them,” she said.
“Sorry, you don't get off that easy,” Nechayev told her, with little sympathy. “Anyone can walk away when the going gets rough, Hansen. A true Starfleet officer digs a little deeper, stands a little straighter, and finds a way to make right what once went wrong.”
“What if I cannot?” Seven asked weakly, uncertain.
“Then you can't,” Nechayev said mercilessly. “But don't ever allow that failure originate from lack of trying, Lieutenant. We expect better of our commissioned officers.”
Seven stared at her for a long moment, then carefully plucked the tiny metal circles from Nechayev's palm, reaching up to fix them to the proper position on her sweater collar. Nechayev rose to her feet, and hastily, Seven followed suit, straightening to attention away from the table as Nechayev crossed from behind it and took up a position in front of Seven, her pale eyes hard and unyielding.
“Lt. Hansen, you will receive an official reprimand that will be placed in your permanent file,” Nechayev informed her in extremely formal tones. “You will undergo a probationary period of service to Starfleet for two years, under the supervision of your superior officer. Any behavior during that period deemed detrimental to the smooth functioning of the chain of command will result in your immediate and dishonorable discharge from Starfleet, with no chance of appeal. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Seven responded faintly. “I understand.”
There would be no second chance available to her, for at least two years. Any command protocols she might violate in the immediate future would have her dismissed summarily from Starfleet, regardless of the circumstances surrounding the incident. That was a stronger punishment than might be readily apparent on the surface because Seven knew that any officer discharged in such a manner was also forever barred from working on Starfleet vessels, even in a civilian capacity. It would mean she would be unable to work with Kathryn on any starship Janeway might subsequently command. That was a punishment Seven did not want to risk.
Nechayev dipped her head. “I don't want to ever have this discussion with you again, Lt. Hansen,” she told her sternly.
“No, sir,” Seven agreed, drawing on her verbal protocols desperately, not wishing to make any more mistakes in this situation. “Thank you, sir.”
“You're dismissed,” Nechayev said. As Seven started to leave, relieved at being finished, Nechayev added in a gentler tone; “If it's any consolation, Lieutenant, if it weren't for you, Section 31 would still be strongly influencing Command Operations. We owe you our thanks.”
Seven glanced back, her face blank. “It is not any 'consolation',” she said quietly, before slipping through the doors.
Seven had enough experience at this stage of her life to know that she had been treated fairly by Starfleet Command, perhaps far more fairly than she deserved. Had it been anything other than Section 31 involved, she might not have been so fortunate, but she was still disturbed, knowing in her heart that the presence of the covert operations group was largely unrelated to her actions. Even if she had been alone, she still would have gone to the Noiro colony to rescue Janeway, and considered the consequences of such actions irrelevant. She allowed that she might not have necessarily destroyed the entire colony, but she certainly wouldn't have let anyone stand in her way, either.
Even a child?
Seven paused, unsure where that thought had come from. She knew that some children were as capable of causing harm as any adult, but that their actions were considered somehow 'less' because of their lack of life experience, and the perception they were more easily influenced. However, if a child, or even a teenager of Icheb's age, had attempted to prevent her from rescuing Janeway, would she have dealt with them in the same manner she would have dealt with any adult?
Seven didn't know, and that gave her a great deal to think about as she paused in the juncture of a corridor, checking the panel set in the bulkhead to give her directions to her cabin. She and Janeway had been assigned guest quarters on deck eight for the return to Earth, though Seven had yet to visit them. Her injuries were such that she had been dispatched immediately to sickbay. After spending the night for 'observation,' she had been outfitted with a new uniform and directed to a round of briefings with various officers, the most recent of which had been with Nechayev. Seven hoped that by receiving her punishment, however, it would be the end of the matter—at least as far as Starfleet was concerned.
For her and her spouse, however, Seven knew that this incident would linger for a long time.
Finding her way to the guest quarters, she immediately sealed the door behind her and looked around, slightly dazed. For the first time in days, she had a chance to really contemplate all that had happened, and suddenly, she was struck with a weariness beyond anything she had felt before. Belatedly, she realized she still held the 'lollipop' in her hand, and she gently laid it on a table by the door, unsure what to do with it, and having no desire to finish it. It appeared the 'sugar rush' did not last very long, and it was an effort to formulate words to the ship's main computer.
“Computer, locate Captain Janeway,” she requested in a ragged tone.
“Captain Janeway is in Ten-Forward,” the computer replied pleasantly.
Seven did not know what 'Ten-Forward' was, but suspected that it was some place Janeway needed to be now. Otherwise, she was sure Janeway would have determined Seven's location and joined her.
Or would she?
Seven exhaled, feeling tears sting the back of her eyes, and she sank down onto the deck, leaning her back against the cool surface of the bulkhead, wrapping her arms around her knees. Her chin fell onto her chest, as if her head were suddenly too heavy to remain upright, and within her abdomen, she felt a distinctive pain radiate through her. She could not forget how disappointed Janeway had been when she discovered Seven had been working with Section 31, how appalled she had been to know that Seven had been fully prepared to destroy the colony—to participate willingly in the death of thousands—to save her. Seven understood Janeway’s dismay, though until this incident, she had never truly comprehended why Janeway insisted on feeling that way. Now, Seven thought about the frightened faces of the children who had been dragged along by their parents in that panicked evacuation, the terror reflected in their eyes as they fought their way to safety, the pain they had suffered as they had been crushed by high gravimetric forces during their escape, and she felt sick, knowing that she had been partially responsible for it. Not since being a Borg drone had she been the cause of such havoc.
It had seemed such a reasonable plan in the beginning: save Janeway, and destroy the headquarters of the Orion Syndicate, a criminal cartel which had caused suffering to countless innocents, making certain that a threat would never be generated by any of them again. It had not occurred to Seven that within the organization, there would also be beings who were not of the same ilk as those who had committed the varying degrees of criminal acts. She had attacked a concept, targeting an organization, deliberately overlooking the fact that any collective was always made up of individuals, and that they each had to be assessed on their own merits, just as she wished to be assessed. She had been contemptuous of Nechayev when it had seemed that Nechayev was judging Seven solely as a member of the Borg Collective, yet Seven had been guilty of exactly the same thing when it came to the Orion Syndicate.
Shame filled her as she realized again how foolish she had been. Worse, she had wanted to be that foolish, had embraced Hayes and the covert group who had recruited her, simply because their methods were easier to understand and carry out than those dictated by the slippery concepts of compassion, loyalty and honor that the larger part of Starfleet and Janeway embodied. All the lessons Janeway had taught her over the years, teaching her to see the larger picture, had apparently not convinced her.
Seven of Nine had failed.
Perhaps failure was something that Starfleet officers sometimes experienced, just as Nechayev insisted, but Seven expected better of herself. She was Borg. Perfection was something she had striven for over the course of her existence, and the thought that she had fallen so far short of it, was extremely distressful.
There, in the darkness of the unfamiliar quarters, she wept, not only for the person she had been, but for the person she was becoming, forced to recognize that there was so much that she did not understand.
And perhaps, never would.
Watching as Janeway sipped her drink, Riker toyed with his glass. The woman seemed somewhat fragile, unlike the person he had come to know over the years, not only personally, but from the Starfleet reports on her career, and he wondered how much of that was a result of her ordeal at the hands of the Orion Syndicate. He had always found her to be a very beautiful woman, greatly attracted to the lithe, compact form, the auburn hair laced with fire, the classic features set with high cheekbones radiating compassion and command presence, even when she had only been a cadet. Now, with the restless energy about her, the sense of barely contained anger, the blue-grey eyes almost sparking as he observed her, she was even more attractive. He wondered at the opportunity they had missed years earlier when they had both attended the Academy. She had excused herself early from the blind date they had shared, and during all their subsequent encounters, she had never mentioned it. He wondered if he had been so unmemorable to her.
A lot of water under the bridge had passed since then, he acknowledged ruefully. Not unfamiliar with romance or the company of beautiful women, no relationship had ever lasted for him, other than one he had shared with Deanna Troi, the Enterprise's counselor. The two officers were currently in the process of figuring out where they stood with each other personally, after years of separation; uncertainty and misunderstandings finally resulted in them reuniting, first as friends, and now as lovers. Janeway, meanwhile, had returned from the Delta Quadrant married to Seven at the center of this whole unfortunate situation.
He wondered how much of Janeway's fury sprang from that fact, and how much of it was combined with fear for her spouse.
“Can I get you something?” he asked, eyeing her hollow cheeks. “I'll bet that it's been awhile since you last ate.”
She shook her head. “I'm not hungry,” she said shortly.
No, but you'll be drunk quick enough on those whiskey and sodas if you don't put something in your stomach, he thought sardonically, and raised his hand to signal Guinan. As always, the mysterious woman who held sway over this area of the Enterprise was already three steps ahead of him, moving toward the table where he and Janeway sat with a platter of finger foods. “If you don't mind, I'm feeling a bit peckish.”
Janeway waved her hand slightly, as if she could care less. Guinan deposited the platter, and quietly disappeared.
“I will say, the service in here is absolutely incredible,” Janeway noted dryly as Riker chose some vegetable pockets from the selection, and popped the pastries into his mouth.
“Guinan prides herself on knowing what her patrons want before they do,” he explained, watching her closely. He noticed that Janeway reached out and casually snagged a chicken finger, dipping it into one of the variety of sauces provided, her features unchanging, almost as if she were unaware of what she was doing. Perhaps her body was simply reacting on an instinctual level at this point, and its demand for food was on complete automatic.
“I get the impression that you're a little upset with Picard's handling of the situation,” Riker said, tossing out the opening volley of the conversation. He had the sense that once he started her talking, the entire burden she was carrying around would just pour out, and he mentally steeled himself for that onslaught.
“It's not my habit to speak of other captains to their subordinates,” she said icily.
Despite himself, Riker flinched a little at that. Obviously, she was more than 'a little' upset; she was absolutely furious at his commanding officer.
“Okay,” he said easily. He paused, taking his time to select another morsel of food. “You should know, I was also aware of the operation to protect you and Seven from Section 31. I helped Ro set it up.” He looked up at her, meeting her eyes, and was barely able to keep from cowering under that bitter glare. The woman certainly could radiate absolute fury when she wanted, he thought idly.
“Am I to understand that practically everyone in Starfleet knew what was going on but me?” she said in a voice that could shatter steel with its iciness.
“It's not like that,” he said.
“Then what was it like, Commander?” she demanded, the temperature in her tone rapidly switching from ice to flame, her gaze hot as she regarded him. “Did you think I was a member of Section 31?”
“Of course not,” he replied hastily. “You're one of the most honorable and straightforward officers I've ever met. Not Section 31 material at all.” He selected a mozzarella stick and chewed on it thoughtfully. “However, we did have a great many questions about Nechayev, and we didn't think you could hide what we suspected from her.”
“Do you think so little of my abilities?” she said, and he could swear there was a trace of hurt in her voice. “I've conducted my share of covert operations, not just here, but in the Delta Quadrant as well.”
“I know, but you're not that good at them,” he said, and held up his hand to stay her impending outburst. “This took months of concealing what was known about Section 31, Kathryn,” he reminded her. “It was easier for us on the Enterprise. We weren't in contact with questionable admirals every day, not like you. Could you have kept it quiet that long, working under Nechayev's direct supervision? Could you have kept it from your spouse? Could Seven have kept it quiet? Would Hayes be able to get anywhere near her if you both knew?”
“If you're asking would I have agreed to use Seven as bait to discover which admiral was Section 31, then you're right,” she said angrily. “I wouldn't have.”
“That's why it was conducted the way it was,” he said. He exhaled audibly. “Kathryn, we're not dealing with Cardassians or Romulans here, where we have a pretty good idea of where the intrigue might come from. We're dealing with rogue Starfleet officers recruited by an organization that has operated since the Federation was created. This is the same group that arranged for the Founders to be infected by a virus which may or may not have won the Dominion War for us. This is the same group who was involved with the assassination of a Romulan senator, pulling the strings behind the scenes. Ross was there when it happened, and could do nothing but try to minimize the damage to the Federation in the aftermath. Ever since then, he's been working steadily to bring them down. Both he and Captain Picard believe that Section 31's influence reaches to the very heart of the Federation Council itself.” He shook his head. “Frankly, we were lucky to nail Hayes, grab Seven back from them, and save most of the members of the Orion Syndicate. Despite that success, do you want to know what the most frightening thing about all this really is?”
Janeway stared at him. “What?” she asked flatly.
“We'll never know if we actually managed to stop their plans, or if instead, we did exactly as they wanted and planned for us to do all along,” he told her. “After all, the Orion Syndicate is pretty much finished now, and that was the whole point, wasn't it?”
That made an impact, he saw, and her face grew still, thoughtful, the bruise on her jaw and left cheekbone contrasting even more with her fair skin. He wondered how many other bruises and contusions she carried beneath the uniform. How many scars she carried even deeper than that, and would for the rest of her life, over this incident.
“They wanted Seven,” she said finally, her voice ragged.
“She'd make a tremendous operative for them,” he agreed. “Yet, Section 31 usually doesn't work with outsiders, particularly in an operation this size and this public. They're far more subtle than that.” He shook his head in apparent confusion.
“You're assuming that Section 31 expected their raid on the Syndicate colony to play out the way it did,” she reminded him coolly, and he tried not to alter expression as he watched her start to consider this on a more objective—almost scientific—level. “There is no way they could have expected all that happened. There were too many random elements coming together to prevent any kind of smooth operation.”
“How so?” he prodded, trying to lead her to her own conclusions without making it apparent that was what he was doing. He knew that if she was at the point where she was discussing it rationally, rather than reacting to it only with her emotions, that had to be considered a triumph of sorts. Kathryn Janeway in full emotional flight was not something anyone wanted to deal with, and Riker wondered if Picard and Ross were still stinging from their encounter. The Enterprise's captain had looked exceptionally wan and shaky after leaving the ready room, only minutes after Janeway's furious exit, and he had readily acquiesced when Riker asked permission to go after the woman.
Janeway nodded. “Let's say this had gone off the way they planned,” she said slowly, thinking out loud. “Seven would have gone in, rescued me from the medical center, and transported back to Voyager. I might never have known about the destruction of the colony, because certainly we would have broken orbit immediately.” Janeway seemed to shiver suddenly. “Furthermore, the Doctor diverted what should have been regular injections of dream dust by replacing them with a substitute drug,” she added faintly. “By the time of Seven's arrival, I should have been a helpless addict, possibly permanently damaged, completely at the mercy of Cheb Packer.”
Riker swallowed hard, knowing what that meant as well as she did. “The Doctor was undoubtedly the most unexpected element in all this,” he pointed out, keeping the conversation going, forcing Janeway to consider all the angles. “If he hadn't taken a job with the colony, completely unwittingly, then he wouldn't have been there to protect you from the Syndicate. Ro and that civilian lawyer wouldn't have been there either.”
“Seven would have rescued a woman so drugged and disoriented, it would have taken me months in a medical facility to recover,” she said bleakly, “if ever.”
“Plenty of time for Section 31 to finish recruiting Seven, and convince her that it might be a good idea that you not be told what happened to the facility where you were being held,” he noted.
“To be honest, even if she did tell me that she had been forced to destroy the facility belonging to the Orion Syndicate during my rescue, it probably wouldn't have meant that much to me,” Janeway allowed quietly, her eyes grey and distant. “Seven didn't know it was a colony with families. I certainly wouldn't have known if the Doctor hadn't told me, then saw the families for myself later when Seven and I made for the power plant.”
“So, if this had worked according to Section 31's plan,” Riker said, as if she had laid it out for him, “You would be on your way to a medical facility where you would be facing months of recovery, and Seven would be content that she had saved you, destroying any future threat from a criminal cartel in the process. The Orion Syndicate would have been destroyed, without any survivors to tell the tale, and Section 31 would have just faded quietly into the background, just as they always have.” He offered the starship captain a faint grin. “Face it, Kathryn, even without having a clue about what was really going on, you and your crew ultimately managed to ruin their plan, and may be responsible for not only bringing about the end of the Orion Syndicate, but Section 31, as well.”
She stared at him, then unwillingly, a small smile touched her lips, recognizing the humor in his words, if not able to find any in what had been an extremely harrowing situation. He was glad to see most of her anger had been blunted now, and he wondered why Picard and Ross had handled her so badly. They just didn't know what kind of person Kathryn was, he decided. Approach her logically, almost on a scientific basis, and she was perfectly reasonable. Tell her that she was just another officer expected to accept and follow whatever Starfleet had to do, dismiss her concerns as irrelevant to their operation, and of course, they were going to spark her temper and sense of outrage. That was the real reason Janeway wasn't Section 31 material, or even admiral material for that matter. She had to know all the aspects of what was going on. She could never operate comfortably in a position where she didn't feel in complete control, as she did on the bridge of a starship.
Riker shook his head. This was why he dealt with the civilians on the Enterprise far more than Picard did. For all of Picard's abilities, he really wasn't that good at dealing with other strong-willed people, particularly where their emotions were involved.
“Don't be angry with Ro,” he added quietly. “She was doing her job the best way she knew how. Of all of us, she was the one who wanted to tell you the most.”
Janeway looked away, her lips tightening.
“She deceived me,” she said, a trace of bitterness lacing her voice. “I doubt she ever wanted to be a command candidate. This whole operation was just another step on her way to becoming an operative in Starfleet Intelligence.”
He shook his head, disagreeing. “On the contrary, Kathryn, she'd never make it in Intelligence,” he said knowingly. “She reacts far too personally to things, and lacks the necessary distance an operative requires.” He raised his eyebrow. “Like someone else I could mention.”
She stared at him, not ready to accept that yet, and he decided it was time to change the subject. “So,” he added, glancing down. “Do you need more chicken fingers? You've pretty much demolished those.”
She blinked, then regarded the platter on the table in front of her with surprise, belatedly realizing that her side of the platter was completely clean, and she had made serious inroads into the first officer's portion as well.
“Well,” she allowed bashfully, “perhaps I was a little hungry after all.”
“More?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Fine,” she said, and he raised his hand to signal Guinan. The bartender was still behind the counter, however, the lounge having filled up while he and Janeway had been talking, busy with her other patrons. Riker smiled as he noticed a certain space remained around the table where he and Janeway sat, as if no one had wanted to be too close to the senior officers. The Enterprise crew was nothing, if not perceptive—or perhaps it had just been the expression on Janeway's face which had caused them to steer clear. Guinan glanced over, saw his gesture, and dipped her head. Shortly thereafter, one of her waiters arrived with another platter of food, including a hearty stew which Janeway wasted little time in attacking.
“So, tell me,” Riker said expansively, watching as she ate, spearing a bite for himself now and again. “What else has been going on in your life since returning from the Delta Quadrant?”
Janeway entered the guest quarters assigned to her and her spouse, wondering if Seven had finished with her briefings yet. The illumination was dim, lowered to almost complete darkness, and she was about to order the computer to raise it when she spotted Seven sitting in the corner, barely visible in the starlight coming through the viewports. She was leaning against the bulkhead, her knees drawn up to her chest, her slender arms wrapped around them in a desolate hug, as if huddling for warmth. There were tear stains on her narrow features, a puffiness around her eyes that indicated she had been weeping, and Janeway felt her heart twinge sharply in her chest. Leaving the illumination as it was, she moved over and quietly sat down on the deck next to Seven.
“Annika?” she ventured finally, after Seven barely acknowledged her presence with a tiny glance in her direction, a mere shifting of her eyes sideways before dropping them to the floor once again. “Was Admiral Nechayev terribly obnoxious?”
“No,” Seven said softly. “She was actually very kind. Far kinder than perhaps she should have been. I have been placed on probation for two years, and received a formal reprimand in my file.”
Janeway considered that with surprise, and a bit of gratitude toward her superiors for granting Seven a certain leeway that they were certainly not required to provide. Studying her intently, Janeway recognized the same sense of bone deep weariness and sadness in Seven that she, herself, was feeling. Slowly, Janeway reached over and put her hand on Seven's shoulder, squeezing lightly. She wanted to do more, to enfold her in her arms and protect her from all the responsibilities and harm that was out there, but knew she couldn't—not in this instance.
“That's not so bad,” she said with a lightness she was far from feeling.
“No, it is not,” Seven agreed softly. She inhaled deeply, an audible sound of effort and unhappiness. “I am sorry I failed you as a Starfleet officer, Kathryn.”
Janeway sighed. “That's not really what's at issue, Seven,” she assured her. “Besides, you're far from the only one who made mistakes during this whole sorry incident. I can't count the ones I made, including letting Cheb have a second chance at harming us.”
The two women sat in silence for a while, both lost in thought.
“Can you forgive me for what I have done, Kathryn?” Seven asked finally, in a quiet voice.
Janeway hesitated, trying to think of a way to respond to that.
“It's not my place to forgive you, Seven,” she said finally, trying to convey something that she, herself, only understood in the most tentative of ways. Her talk with Riker had gone a long way in clearing her mind, and she hoped that it had granted her the proper distance she needed to be able to help her spouse out of the confused tangle she was in. Certainly, if Janeway had tried to talk to Seven before she had taken the darker edge off most of her emotion, there might have been unfortunate repercussions. “I can't absolve you of your choices, nor is this something that I can 'fix' by taking responsibility for it from your shoulders.”
“No,” Seven agreed sadly. “It is not.”
“That doesn't mean that I'm angry with you,” Janeway continued, offering a gentle squeeze to the thin shoulder beneath her fingers. “It just means that this is something that I really can't help you with on several levels, as much as I might want to. This entire situation is just too big for me, in a professional, rather than a personal, way. That's not an easy thing for me to accept, and I freely admit that I don't like it much. It would be far easier for us both if I could just assume complete responsibility for the whole thing, but I'm learning that doesn't make things any better. All of us—you, me, Ro, B'Elanna, Nechayev, Hayes, Picard, everyone—made choices during this past few weeks, and we'll just have to live with those choices for the foreseeable future. In the end, we can only try to work things out for ourselves on an individual basis.”
“It is your opinion of me that matters most, Kathryn,” Seven told her plaintively.
“I know, but maybe it shouldn't,” Janeway told her honestly. “It should be your own opinion that determines how you conduct yourself, regardless of what others think, including me.” She paused. “What do you feel about your actions over the past few days?”
Seven swallowed, the muscles moving in her throat clearly visible as she considered that. “I thought I was conducting myself in an acceptable manner, that what I was doing was correct,” she said slowly. She paused. “However, it was wrong, as subsequent discoveries on the planetoid proved. My actions were flawed, lacking the ethical and moral guidance you have provided in the past, devoid of the crucial information required for me to act properly.”
“Why did you lack that crucial information?” Janeway prompted gently.
Seven was even slower to respond to that question. “I—was frightened for you, and very angry at Cheb Packer and the Orion Syndicate,” she admitted. “Because of that, I did not formulate my own decisions based on known data, or try to discover more information, but instead, allowed Section 31 to guide me to the conclusions they wanted.” She dipped her head. “Perhaps I also wanted to come to those conclusions, rather than consider all the options available to me.”
“You, and Section 31, went for an extreme but fairly simple solution to the problem,” Janeway told her, not unkindly. “Unfortunately, things are rarely so black and white. There are usually too many shades of grey involved, and that's why a Starfleet officer must consider all the data, not just the information that fits a specific course of action. Everything we do must be tempered with an eye to the greater good, as well as the understanding that we must always conduct ourselves with compassion, not only for our allies, but for our enemies as well.”
Seven's eyes glistened in the low light. “You have explained this to me before,” she said softly. “Many times.” She faltered. “I have not entirely comprehended what you meant. Perhaps I did not want to comprehend. It is easier to react in a 'black and white' manner, Kathryn, to react purely as a drone protecting my collective. It is more expedient to act without regard for anything but what I consider important to me. I did not want to acknowledge that there might be something requiring attention beyond that. In many ways, I am still Borg.”
“Yes, you are,” Janeway agreed. “However, in many ways, I'm only a Starfleet officer, and sometimes I can't see beyond that. Otherwise, the concept of Section 31 would not have come as such a shock to me.” She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, mimicking Seven’s position. “Seven, do you now understand why, as captain, I used to become so stern with you about situations where you chose to terminate those who were threatening us?” she added softly. “Why I believed those actions were so inappropriate?”
Seven hesitated. “Yes,” she admitted, her head bent. “You were afraid that, should I not accept the ideals of Starfleet, something similar to this would happen. That innocents would be harmed if I continued always to choose the most efficient, rather than compassionate method to deal with a problem.”
Janeway felt her heart spasm at the pain in Seven's voice, and she reached over for her hand, squeezing the fingers lightly. “It wasn't just their innocence I was concerned with,” she said very gently. “It was yours. I know your heart, Seven, and I know how you would have felt in the aftermath of such an incident. I would not wish that on you.”
Seven caught her breath, suddenly, her eyes dark as she stared across the dimly lit room. “You are correct,” she said. “I am constantly aware of what the personal consequences would have been had I had found out too late that there had been children in that colony. If I had willingly assisted in the death of so many beings innocent of the crimes the Orion Syndicate had committed.”
“Seven, I won't lie; I prefer clear and concise answers as much as you do,” Janeway offered, trying to find some common ground between them, to show her that, although Seven's actions had been extreme, she understood what had prompted them. She didn't want her to feel that she was condemning her in any way. As a senior officer, however, she had to emphasize just how much the method with which Seven and Section 31 had gone about things was unacceptable. “That's probably why we both like mathematics so much. In that area, a formula is created, logic is invoked, and in the end, we receive an answer that we know is correct. However, as Humans, we need to be guided by a belief system that is larger than ourselves, because we simply don't enjoy the same clarity and precision in everyday life. For me, I look to the moral and ethical beliefs of my family, of Starfleet and of the Federation. I would like for those to be your ideals, as well.”
“I understand, Kathryn,” Seven said evenly. “However, Section 31 is also of Starfleet. Their set of ethics and beliefs are not so different from yours. In fact, they believe they are operating with a higher moral responsibility than the rest of the citizens in the Federation.”
Janeway started to respond hotly, stung by that observation, and had to force herself to temper her initial response. “I suppose it could be looked at that way,” she said finally, carefully allowing the point. “The fine line between what they do and what we do is a hard one to define, and I'm not sure how I can explain to you why they're wrong, and the rest of us are right. Maybe it's not even a matter of wrong or right. Maybe it's just a matter of degree, and the acknowledgment of the ideals that they ignore or lack. Mercy, honor and compassion are very intangible concepts.” She paused, studying the mesh hand cradled in her palms. “I've always had difficulty conveying the intangibles to you in a way that you can comprehend, Annika. If I had managed to explain things better—”
“This is not your fault, Kathryn,” Seven said strongly, interrupting her. “This is my responsibility, as you and others have said. I made the choices I did, even though I was fully aware that you would not approve of some of them.” She glanced over at her. “I designated you as my template for ethical behavior, but it was up to me to live up to those standards. I comprehend the 'intangibles' as much as anyone, but decided to choose the simplest, most expedient methods instead.” She swallowed hard. “That is my true failure.”
Janeway swallowed hard against the lump which had abruptly appeared in her throat. “It's not that simple, Annika,” she said softly. “You had so many outside influences, so many demands on you that perhaps you weren't ready for—”
“Yes,” Seven said coldly. “I should have been more suspicious, warier of the motivations of others. That was a lesson taught to me by the Mimic who impersonated my mother, but I ignored it in the face of the perceived kindness of Admiral Hayes. Apparently, I am slow to learn.”
“That's not what I meant,” Janeway said quietly. “Don't allow Hayes to make you cynical, Annika, or quick to be merciless in your judgments. One of my greatest fears, after the incident with the Mimic, was that you would lose all your innocence. Don't let this take it completely away from you. Don't automatically assume that kindness and a friendly hand cover secret and negative agendas. That's just not the case.”
“I do not believe I will ever trust people in the same way I have in the past,” Seven told her, her pale eyes serious.
“I know,” Janeway said sadly. “I just don't want you always to suspect the worst of people from now on, either.”
Seven managed a smile, devoid of humor. “One is never disappointed that way,” she pointed out.
“Perhaps,” Janeway said. “Yet, you’re never open to love or friendship that way, either. You can miss positive experiences because you’re too busy looking for the dark side.”
Seven shook her head, but the look she offered Janeway was considerably softer than it had been. “You are more adaptable than I, Kathryn,” she said. “I try to be like you, but I do not always succeed. As events have proven, it is not always the wisest course of action to follow my own instincts, which are still very limited.”
“Don't believe that,” Janeway said seriously. “You're growing all the time. Consider this just one more lesson in a lifetime of them, and never forget, I'm always learning myself. Much of what happened this past week has shaken my beliefs and concepts of how the universe should be. It's possible that my perceptions were as faulty as yours. In some ways, even more so. There's enough shame to go around, Seven, don't try to take it all on yourself. “
Seven stared across the dim room. “Kathryn, why did you prevent my termination of Cheb Packer when I had the opportunity?” she asked suddenly. “Particularly since you killed him only a short time later.”
Janeway frowned, searching for the words that would make it clear, not only for her, but to herself, as well. “If he had to die for his obsession with me, Annika, it was my responsibility to do it,” she said finally, slowly. “He was my problem, and I had to be the one to take care of it. If you had killed him, it would have been a matter of revenge, a murder committed in my name. That would have been unacceptable to me.”
Seven considered that. “I do not understand,” she said finally, a little helplessly, and Janeway tightened her grip on Seven's hand comfortingly.
“I know,” Janeway said with a small sigh. “I'm not even sure I understand it entirely, myself. Perhaps it goes back to my not wanting you to have to have his death on your conscience. It was a personal situation with him, rather than professional.”
Seven hesitated. “In the future, I will try to be a better Starfleet officer,” she offered quietly, though there was a tone in her voice, a note of defeat, as if she doubted she would be able to succeed. It was not something Janeway enjoyed hearing, and she squeezed Seven's hand again.
“I know you will, Annika,” she said, regarding Seven. She decided a change in topic might be wise at this point. “Are you hungry?”
Seven blinked. “I have not thought about it,” she admitted.
“When was the last time you ate?” Janeway insisted.
Seven raised an eyebrow. “While in sickbay, nutrients were included in my treatment, so it has been since early this morning,” she said. She dipped her head in the direction of a piece of candy lying on the table nearby. “Admiral Nechayev offered me a 'lollipop', but I was unable to consume it all.”
Janeway offered a crooked grin as she glanced at the token of Nechayev's secret vice. “I'm impressed,” she said. “I don't believe Nechayev is in the habit of handing too many of those out. Maybe she's warming up to you.”
Seven looked away. “I do not believe I was allowed to understand her properly,” she said, unhappily. “I am afraid that can be said about many situations and people since Admiral Hayes became my mentor.”
Janeway flinched and reached out, putting her hand on the small of Seven's back. “Darling, it's time to step back a little here,” she suggested. “I think that once you have something to eat, and get a little rest, you'll feel better.”
Seven eyed Janeway narrowly. “What of you? Have you eaten?”
“I had a late lunch in Ten-Forward this afternoon,” Janeway said, seeing the shadows from the pale eyes, and wishing she had some magical way to remove the darkness from Seven’s gaze.
Seven tilted her head slightly. “Ten-Forward?”
“This vessel's version of a messhall,” Janeway explained. “More upscale, however. A lounge rather than a cafeteria.”
“What were you doing there?” Seven asked. She reached up, her fingertips stopping short of touching the bruise on Janeway's jaw, her expression sorrowful. “You should have been in sickbay.”
“Possibly, but I was busy talking things over with an old friend,” Janeway admitted. “I'm glad I did, Annika. I was pretty raw, and in no shape to talk with anyone closer to me. I was able to work out most of my aggravation over the situation with him.”
“Who?”
“Will Riker,” Janeway explained. “I've told you about him.”
“Yes,” Seven said, nodding. “He is the first officer of this ship. Was he able to assist you?”
“Yes, even if, at times, he was nothing more than a sounding board for me while I figured out where I stood with all this,” Janeway admitted. “His objectivity allowed me to temper a lot of my anger.”
“You were angry at me,” Seven said sorrowfully.
“I was angry at everyone, including myself,” Janeway said gently. “It was a badly handled incident in so many ways, not just by you, but by Starfleet. Section 31 would never have managed to get to you if only we had been more aware of what was going on right under our noses. A group like Section 31 wouldn't exist if we're doing our job properly.”
“Yet, it does,” Seven said soberly. “In fact, they still possess Voyager.”
“I know,” Janeway said, finding that a hard one to absorb. “Hopefully, not for long.” She inhaled deeply, then uncoiled from the deck, using the bulkhead for support. “In any event,” she added, holding out her hand to Seven, “there's not much we can do about it now. Let's get you something to eat, take some time to regroup, then we'll tackle the situation again tomorrow.”
Seven accepted the helping hand, allowing her to pull her to her feet where Janeway slipped her arms around Seven's waist, hugging her gently. Seven immediately returned the embrace, wrapping Janeway up in her arms. For long moments, they just held each other, Janeway tucked up under Seven's chin, her head resting on Seven's chest, hearing the throb of her heart.
“I am sorry, Kathryn,” Seven whispered finally.
“I know,” Janeway replied. “I am, too.”
This would not be something they would be able to put behind them immediately, but Janeway hoped with time—and the knowledge they loved each other—the nagging sense of betrayal and disappointment they were feeling would eventually fade.
How long it would take, however, Janeway just didn't know.
Seven pressed the admittance chime of the door, feeling uncertain about what she was about to do, but knowing she needed assistance. It was entirely possible that Janeway could adapt to the present crisis simply by becoming angry with Commander Riker, but for Seven, she was left with lingering feelings of shame and regret, as well as the sense of having let her down in a most profound way. It ate at her, leaving her darkly depressed.
“Come.”
Seven entered the office, and discovered that the assistant ship's counselor was not alone. Sitting in front of the desk, Kes's superior, Deanna Troi, looked back at Seven with curiosity. A diminutive woman with long dark hair, the senior counselor radiated a serene demeanor, her eyes deep and comforting, dark pools of placid blackness. Kes, her blonde, blue-eyed Ocampa looks a direct contrast to the Betazed's, stood up at Seven's entry, raising her eyebrows in surprise.
“Seven,” she said in her melodic tones. “Please, come in.”
Deanna also stood up, extending her hand. “You're Seven of Nine,” she said. “I've heard a great deal about you.”
“Indeed,” Seven remarked, taking the hand briefly, as politeness dictated.
The ship's counselor nodded. “Both Neelix and Tom are full of stories surrounding you and Captain Janeway,” she said by way of explanation. “You've led quite an adventurous life.”
Seven managed not to react. “It did not seem 'adventurous' at the time,” she noted.
Deanna offered a smile. “I suppose it didn't,” she allowed. She glanced at Kes. “I'll speak with you later, Kes,” she added.
“Of course,” Kes said. “Thank you, Commander.”
Troi nodded briefly to Seven, offering a faint smile, and left the office. Seven stood, her hands linked behind her back, and turned her head slightly to the side as she watched Troi depart from the corner of her eye.
“Seven?”
Seven shifted her head forward, glancing at the Ocampa. Kes was gesturing at the chair. “Please, have a seat.”
Seven hesitated, preferring to stand, but realizing that it was inevitable, she graciously sank down into the chair. Lacing her fingers together, she rested them on her lap neatly, her back straight, her eyes steady on the other woman.
“How can I help you?” Kes asked finally, after they had stared at each other for a few moments.
Seven hesitated, searching the Ocampa's face. “I wish—I need—to speak with Sek,” she said, referring to the holographic medical assistant that had been created on Voyager, and who had become a close friend of Seven's. Kes's violent return had precipitated a joining, a merging of the entity known as Sek with that of her other, resulting in a single being. For Seven, however, it was as if Kes had destroyed Sek, taking her over. She had not only lost a friend, but a trusted counselor who had been successful in helping her with many personal problems.
Kes tilted her head slightly. “Sek is still within me, Seven,” she said quietly. “Still very much a part of me. Indeed, it was that missing part that caused my darkness. She is the light, all that is good and wise and kind within me.”
“I am troubled by that concept,” Seven admitted.
Kes dipped her head. “I know,” she said gently. “You do not trust the Kes part of me, nor do you believe that she would have your best interests at heart, as Sek would.” She leaned forward. “Seven, I assure you that I am indeed both, and that Sek is as strong within me as the Kes part, perhaps even stronger. Without either, the beings that existed were incomplete.”
“Sek did not seem incomplete,” Seven said sullenly.
Kes smiled. “No? Why do you suppose she pursued a career in psychology? She was seeking her own completeness by helping others discover theirs. Why do you suppose she always kept the Doctor and Tom at arm's length, even when both offered their love?”
Seven studied her hands. “I don't know,” she said finally.
Kes watched her, then seemed to reconsider what she was about to say. “You are of a dual nature, as well, Seven,” she said instead. “Both Borg and Human influence the unique being you are.”
Seven considered that. “It is my Borgness that has caused so much destruction lately,” she said sadly.
“Has it?” Kes asked quietly. “Or was it your other side? How can you know what fueled your actions? Your Borg desire to protect your collective, or a very human desire for revenge on those who would harm your partner. Both aspects have a strong impact on you as an individual.”
Seven lifted her eyes, meeting the kind gaze of the ship's counselor. Of course, she had reason not to trust such kindness, and despite her promise to Janeway not to be cynical, she found it hard not to flinch, or be angered by it. Kes seemed to sense that, and she leaned back in her chair, presenting a more casual, impassive posture.
“I appreciate that you are finding this difficult, Seven,” Kes said in a calm, quiet tone. “However, will you accept that I have all the skills and abilities that Sek assimilated as a hologram when it comes to psychology? Can you allow that any help you can derive from speaking with me is purely on a professional, rather than a personal level, and will be to your benefit?”
Seven exhaled slowly. “I must try,” she said, bleakly. “I cannot address these issues on my own, and I believe Kathryn is too close to the situation to be able to help me, despite her desire to do so.”
Sek paused. “Would you prefer to speak with Commander Troi,” she suggested. “She doesn't have the same history with you that I have.”
Seven considered that. “No,” she decided finally. “It is our 'history' that enabled me to come to you in the first place. You already know Kathryn and myself, as well as how we approach various situations. It would be less efficient to go to someone else once I have established a client record with you.”
Kes nodded thoughtfully, and for an instant, Seven could see the being within her that she had known as Sek, could recognize her friend in this stranger whom she did not completely understand. For an instant, it was very difficult for her to retain her composure, missing the hologram greatly, and Kes lifted her eyebrow, apparently detecting the internal struggle Seven was experiencing.
“It would not take long for Commander Troi to be brought up to date,” she offered again, giving Seven every opportunity to gracefully distance herself from the Ocampa. Realizing Kes was doing her best to put the control of the situation back in Seven's hands, Seven was grateful for it. “I can transfer your case to her immediately.”
“No,” Seven said, stubbornly resisting the easier path. That was a mistake she would not choose to make again “I have allowed my perceptions of others to rule my actions too often lately. I must at least make the attempt to participate in a session with you. If I am unable to overcome my reservations, then that will be the time to be treated by another counselor.”
“I think you're being very brave, Seven,” Kes said sincerely. “It's not easy to face one's failings and try to overcome them.”
“I have been informed that it is what a Starfleet officer does,” Seven said glumly, reminded of Admiral Nechayev's words to her during Seven's briefing.
“You sound uncertain about that,” Kes said with a small smile.
Seven blinked. “Kathryn is very clear on what a Starfleet officer should be,” she said finally, after thinking about it.
“You always try to live up to what Janeway wants,” Kes offered, without judgement.
“Yes,” Seven said softly. “I—it is very important to me.”
Kes nodded, reaching out and picking up a mug, sipping the tea in it. “You feel in this latest instance that you didn't,” she said.
“No,” Seven admitted, finding the word difficult to say. “I have disappointed her greatly.”
“How do you know that?” Kes asked.
“She was very angry with me,” Seven said. She paused. “She said my best was not good enough.” She faltered. “She apologized later for the harshness of her words, but it was what she was truly feeling at the time. The way in which she chose to convey that disappointment was irrelevant.”
“Not so irrelevant,” Kes noted gently. She looked pensive, obviously thinking over her next words. “You know, Seven,” she added finally, “there's something very interesting you should know about humans. They tend to react most extremely to the very traits they dislike the most in themselves. Do you remember Janeway's reaction to Ransom?”
Seven frowned at the apparent change in subject. “Yes,” she said, remembering the incident with Janeway of the Equinox very clearly. “She was strongly—perhaps, unnaturally so—outraged and infuriated by his actions.”
“What Captain Janeway reacted to was the display of personality traits in him that she shares in great measure: his obsessive nature, his arrogance, his ability to make seemingly cruel and harsh decisions to protect his ship,” Kes explained. “It's possible that she subconsciously feared that if Ransom, as a Starfleet captain, had allowed his 'dark side' to control him, then it might also control her one day. Yet, this 'dark side' is also a very necessary and vital aspect to Janeway. It is part of what makes her an outstanding captain, that allows her to make the tough decisions when required, that gives her the strength to be a good leader. In a way, all of us possess dual natures, Seven. With you and me, we might feel it's easier for us to separate and define the various elements because of our physical duality of hologram and Ocampa, or Borg and Human, but most people possess a duality of light and dark. Some, like Ransom, allow one side to dominate beyond reason.”
“You're saying that Kathryn feels that my failure is her failure,” Seven said slowly, considering this new revelation with uncertainty. “That is why she becomes so angry with me during those situations. She expects better of me as a Starfleet officer, because she expects so much from herself.”
“Hmm, perhaps that's attributing a little more conscious perception by Janeway than she actually has,” Kes cautioned. “It's probable that Janeway doesn't even realize why certain things you do make her angrier than others. You just have to be able to recognize when she is reacting to you and your actions alone, and when her reaction is being tempered by the elements she dislikes in herself.” She linked her hands on the desk in front of her, tilting her head as she regarded Seven. “Regardless, there is one important aspect for you to remember about this whole situation.”
“What is that?” Seven asked.
“You were deceived through no fault of your own,” Kes said seriously. “Your actions are your responsibility, yes, but the initial deception was not your fault. The members of Section 31 were the ones who deliberately led you onto a path where your choices were limited. Don't accept the blame or responsibility for their actions. You are innocent of them.”
“I do not believe it is that easy,” Seven said.
“Oh, I didn't say it would be easy,” Kes said, sounding very much like Sek. “You'll be affected by this for a while, and it will take time for you to make your own sort of peace with it. I just want you to remember that it's all right to make mistakes, and to learn from those mistakes, but be aware of which ones were yours, and which ones were the doing of someone else.”
Seven exhaled, her head bent. “Needing to learn from my mistakes appears to be my priority,” she said. “Particularly lately.”
Kes offered a sympathetic expression. “Unfortunately, Seven, it's a difficult task,” she said gently. There was a chime from her console, and she raised an eyebrow. “I'm sorry,” she added apologetically, checking her screen. “I have an appointment with a client now, but I can make more time for you before we return to Earth. Is that something you would like?”
Seven hesitated, then nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I would like to speak further about this with you,” she said.
“I'll schedule a series of sessions over the next few days,” Kes promised, making a note in a padd. She studied Seven. “If you feel you need further therapy once you've returned to Earth, we'll make arrangements for you with a counselor there.”
“I understand,” Seven said. She stood up, preparing to leave, then at the last moment, she turned and looked back at Kes. “Thank you,” she added softly.
Kes dipped her head. “You're very welcome, Seven,” she responded. “Believe me when I tell you that I have greatly missed being able to help my friend.”
Seven inclined her head in acknowledgment, then left the office, brushing politely past the Enterprise officer who was scheduled to see Kes, her mind filled with the concepts that Kes had presented to her. There was no question that she had a great deal to think about in the immediate future, not only about herself, but about her as well.
Pausing as she reached the door, Seven glanced back into the waiting area, something teasing past her preoccupation to draw her attention. She hadn't really noticed who was waiting to see the counselors as she exited, but from the corner of her eye, she must have detected something familiar, and she looked back now to see the Doctor enter Commander Troi's office. Curious, Seven wondered why the hologram had not said anything to her as she walked past, then realized that he had not noticed her, either, possibly too involved with his own concerns to want to talk to anyone else. Seven knew the EMH was still deeply affected by what had happened in the Noiro colony, and she was glad he was getting help from the ship's counselor.
“Seven.”
Frowning, Seven turned, the weight she was feeling lightening somewhat when she saw B'Elanna and Ro approaching her. Ro was looking much better than the last time Seven had seen her, dressed in a Starfleet uniform once again, her face devoid of the bruising she had received in attempting to help Janeway escape the Orion Syndicate. She was also moving with her normal deadly gracefulness, not the labored, injured limp.
“It is good to see you both,” Seven said honestly, when they had joined her. “I was not entirely sure what had happened to you after I had left sickbay.”
“Probably the same thing that happened to you,” B'Elanna said with a smile. “Long, tedious briefings along with lectures about our behavior.” She paused, reaching out to touch Seven on her arm. “What's the damage?”
Seven understood that it was her friend's way of determining if Seven had been punished for her actions. She raised an eyebrow.
“An official reprimand in my permanent record,” she said. “Two years of conditional probation.”
“Ouch,” B'Elanna said, as Ro winced slightly.
“I'm sorry, Seven,” Ro said quietly. “You don't deserve that.”
“On the contrary,” Seven said evenly. “It is entirely possible I deserve far worse. My actions were unacceptable.”
“Your actions,” B'Elanna pointed out, emphasizing the word, “were a result of Hayes twisting you around so much for months that you didn't know what you were doing. It sounds to me like you're taking the fall for all the rest of the stuffed shirts that Hayes also screwed over.”
Seven inhaled slowly. “Perhaps,” she allowed. “However, B'Elanna, I must take responsibility for my choices. That is what being a Starfleet officer is all about.”
B’Elanna didn't pursue it, instead choosing to regard her friend for a moment, studying Seven's face. “Are you all right?” she asked seriously. “What about Janeway?”
Seven dipped her head briefly. “We are functional,” she said, somewhat bleakly.
This served to darken B'Elanna's eyes, a concerned expression crossing her face, but before she could respond to that, Ro touched her arm, diverting B’Elanna's attention.
“Seven,” Ro said. “We're going to lunch in Ten Forward. Why don't you join us?”
“That's a good idea,” B'Elanna encouraged. “Come on, 'Nik. Things always look better when you have some food in your stomach.”
Seven discovered she was smiling faintly, wondering if the counseling staff on this vessel was aware of B’Elanna's treatment for all ailments.
“Thank you,” she said. “I would appreciate that.”
Perhaps with a bit of time spent with her friends, and some further sessions with Kes, Seven would stop feeling so alone and isolated.
Would stop feeling as if she were the most unsuitable individual ever to wear the Starfleet uniform.
“So, this is the one who didn't get away,” Guinan said, regarding the couple benevolently.
Ro smiled, and blushed faintly, glancing at B'Elanna who looked faintly amused at her discomfort. “She is,” Ro admitted. “We're planning on a ceremony in a few months. We'd really like it if you could attend.”
“I wouldn't miss it,” the bartender said, smiling warmly at her friend. She reached out and took B’Elanna's hand, holding it as she took B'Elanna's measure. Bemused, B’Elanna returned the scrutiny, not backing down a millimeter.
“Yes, I think this is a good match for you, Ro,” Guinan said finally, thoughtfully. “She's tough enough to put up with you.”
“To be fair,” B'Elanna noted immediately, “Ro has to be pretty tough to put up with me.”
“I wasn't going to mention that,” Guinan responded, provoking a laugh from B’Elanna. She glanced at Ro. “I'd say this deserves a drink to celebrate while you wait for your table. Prune juice for your lovely fiancé?”
“Sounds great,” B'Elanna said with enthusiasm, taking a seat next to Seven at the bar. Seven was observing the interaction between the other women with an intrigued expression, though she had not spoken much since entering Ten-Forward, beyond the brief greeting she had offered Guinan when introduced to the enigmatic bartender.
“I'd prefer some spring wine if you have it,” Ro said. Ro had tried the Terran concoction B’Elanna enjoyed on a previous occasion. It had taken three days, and some strong breath mints, before she was sure she had rid herself of the taste of prune juice completely.
“Seven?” Guinan asked.
“I will have a spring wine as well,” Seven responded politely.
Ro glanced around the lounge as Guinan prepared their drinks. This time of day tended to be quite busy for the recreational area, with members of the alpha shift breaking for lunch, while those from the gamma shift were enjoying a late supper. This, of course, was not the same lounge that Ro had known so well on the Enterprise-D, but it didn't seem to her that it should be so crowded, certainly not to the extent that they had to wait for a table. Then she saw the tufted, stocky form of Neelix moving through the crowd with a tray of dishes held high which he delivered to one table, and she realized what was bringing in the crew. On Voyager, they may have gotten tired of the Talaxian's varied menu, but here in the Alpha Quadrant, apparently Neelix's unusual dishes, created from scratch, alleviated the tedium of replicated food. Ro was glad that the golden-eyed alien had managed to find his niche so many thousands of light-years from his home.
“He seems to be fitting in very well,” B'Elanna noted, her dark eyes following her ex-crewmate as he laughed and joked with the patrons.
“Neelix?” Guinan said, picking up on B’Elanna's remark. “I couldn't do without him, now. My biggest fear is that your captain will want to transfer him back to her command once she's taken over the Millennium.”
Ro raised an eyebrow. That was high praise for Neelix coming from the woman who had been alive a lot longer than most suspected, and who had became Picard's friend in some sort of mysterious temporal event. She had even cowed Q on more than one occasion. Still, pit her head to head with Janeway, and even Ro, with all her advanced tactical training, wasn't sure which woman would come out on top.
Eventually, a table emptied, and Guinan escorted the three women to it, touching the design embedded in the center of the tabletop and activating a small screen to bring up the menu.
“I'd recommend the special,” she suggested. “However, I'm sure you know better than anyone here what dishes Neelix excels at.”
“Excels at,” B'Elanna repeated after Guinan had glided away, shaking her head slightly. “Now, there's something I never thought I'd be saying about Neelix when it came to cooking.”
“We all change,” Ro offered dryly, generating a bit of a smile from her.
Ro noticed, however, that Seven did not seem to share in B’Elanna's good mood, suspecting that she was still smarting from her reprimand. Without needing to communicate anything beyond an exchanged glance, Ro and B'Elanna spent the rest of the meal doing their best to cheer Seven up. Not entirely sure they succeeded, Ro nonetheless thought Seven seemed a bit less downcast by dessert than she had been when they sat down.
The chocolate cherry cheesecake probably didn't hurt, either.
“What I do not understand,” Seven said, as she sliced off another bite, “is how you and Nechayev knew where to find the Noiro colony.”
B'Elanna shot a look at Ro, then reached over and slipped her fingers through Seven's hair. Startled, Seven remained still as B’Elanna carefully picked a tiny something from the blonde roots, and Ro blinked as she saw the tiny, dark speck on B'Elanna's fingertip.
“Transceiver,” B’Elanna explained shortly. “We knew you were being recruited by Section 31, Seven; we just didn't know which individual was contacting you. Not until I put this on you that day I ruffled your hair. Do you remember?”
“I do,” Seven said, studying the tiny device curiously. “You monitored my conversations after that?”
“Yes,” B'Elanna explained. “When Hayes revealed all at that lunch he shared with you at the Martian Seas, I knew we had him, but by the time I had received the transmission, it was too late. Janeway had been kidnapped by the Orion Syndicate, and you had gone off with Section 31 to rescue her.” She paused, regarding her friend sheepishly. “I'm sorry we didn't come to you sooner, Seven, but we just couldn't. We didn't have enough information. Until we knew exactly who the agents in Command Operations were, it would have been dangerous for you and Janeway to know. If you had given any hint to Hayes that Section 31's existence had been revealed, they might have been far less interested in recruiting you, and more concerned with removing you as a possible threat.”
Seven considered that, her pale eyes thoughtful. “Yes,” she said, with a certainty that sent a shiver down Ro's spine, as if Seven was thinking about something she had detected during her mission with the cover operations group. “Moving prematurely would have resulted in Section 31 terminating both Kathryn and myself immediately. Lt. Kagan, who was Admiral Hayes contact, is an extremely ruthless individual.”
“Still, if we had to do it again, we'd probably have brought you into our confidence a lot sooner,” Ro said.
Seven raised an eyebrow. “There is a human saying,” she said. “'Hindsight is always twenty/twenty.'“
Ro blinked, not recognizing the adage, but from B'Elanna's face, she could tell that B’Elanna did, and didn't appear as if she felt particularly good about it. She made a mental note to have B’Elanna explain it to her later. In the meantime, she reached over and touched her fingers in silent support, and B’Elanna forced a smile.
“A lot of us were walking around with blinders on, 'Nik,” she told Seven, and Seven nodded sagely, as if this made a great deal of sense to her. Ro suspected that the conversation had slipped away from her a little bit, not knowing what either woman was talking about at this point.
Seven's head suddenly rose, and her pale eyes grew warmer. “Janeway,” she identified, and the other women followed her gaze to spot Janeway working her way through the crowd to their table.
Ro nodded to her superior officer. “Captain,” she greeted. “We're almost finished, but if you'd like to join us...”
Janeway offered her a smile that seemed oddly devoid of her natural warmth. “Thank you, no, Lieutenant,” she said, putting her hand on Seven's shoulder. “I'm just here to retrieve my spouse. There are a few more things that Admiral Ross would like to go over with her regarding the cloaking device Voyager used.”
“Of course,” Ro said, frowning slightly as Janeway led her spouse away. There had been something there, a little vibration from Janeway that she had detected, something that she had never sensed before, at least, not directed at her.
“What's wrong?”
Twitching slightly, Ro realized that she had been staring blankly after the departed couple longer than was required. B'Elanna was regarding her from across the table, her head tilted slightly, a bemused expression on her face.
“I'm not sure,” Ro admitted. “Did Janeway seem—oh, I don't know—a little 'off'—to you.”
“She's just gone through a hell of an ordeal,” B'Elanna pointed out.
“I know, but that's not it,” Ro said with a certainty that made her stomach churn. “It was more like—do you remember how she was with Chakotay after the encounter with Species 8472, once she had retaken command of the ship? When he countermanded her orders, and tried to break the deal she had made with Seven?”
B'Elanna frowned, thinking. “You mean, when she was still friendly to him, and exceptionally professional, but if you looked and listened really closely, you could tell that she didn't exactly trust him the same after that? It was as if something was suddenly missing from their relationship. Something that you didn't even know existed until it was gone?”
Ro nodded. “I'm detecting that same inflection from her now,” she said softly.
“Regarding you?”
“I think so,” Ro admitted. She paused, staring at her lover sadly. “Oh, Lanna, what have I done?”
“What you had to do,” B'Elanna said, reaching over to take her hand. “Maybe Janeway's a little irked that she wasn't in on everything, but she can't blame you for that. You were acting under orders from a superior officer.”
“I don't think it's that simple,” Ro said. “This sort of thing doesn't come down to what's right or correct, or even what had to be done. It has to do with what you feel in your heart, and right now, I don't think Janeway believes I can be trusted, not with anything really vital or crucial to her. She'll go out of her way to make sure I'm never put in a position where I can betray such a trust ever again.”
Inhaling slowly, B'Elanna squeezed Ro's fingers. “Maybe you're overreacting, Laren,” she suggested gently. “Janeway's probably feeling pretty raw. It's unlikely she's trustful of anyone.”
“Perhaps,” Ro said, trying to accept that small sliver of hope, but she really didn't believe B’Elanna’s encouraging words. She was a security officer, trained to look beneath the surface, to see beyond the superficial shell presented by the beings around her, and when she looked at Janeway, there was a distance that had not existed between them prior to this. She didn't know how to bridge it, or if she would ever be able to. Regardless of what else had gone on, Ro was aware that she had kept crucial information from Janeway involving her spouse, and Ro doubted that Janeway would be quick to forgive, regardless of how politely or professionally she treated her adjunct from now on.
In trying to prove herself to one important person in her life, she had perhaps harmed another. Ro wasn't sure the cost had been worth that, no matter how much she admired and respected Picard.
“Hey,” B'Elanna said softly. “We should stop hogging the table. There are people waiting.”
“You're right,” Ro allowed, shaking off her melancholy with an effort. Standing up, she threw a small wave to Guinan who acknowledged it with an inclination of her head, before resuming her conversation with the people at the bar. As Ro followed her out of the lounge, B'Elanna's hand snaked out and snagged Ro's.
“Come on,” B’Elanna suggested gently. “We're not on duty, there are no more briefings scheduled, and it's been weeks since I've held you the way you deserve to be held. Let's find the quarters they assigned us, and spend the rest of the afternoon catching up with each other.”
Ro blinked. “I have to admit,” she said slowly, “that sounds like a wonderful idea.”
“I do have them occasionally,” B'Elanna said slyly.
Ro smiled, cheered despite herself, and squeezed her fingers. “You know, that transceiver was brilliant,” she complimented B’Elanna. “How did you keep it from being detected?”
“It was shielded,” B'Elanna explained as they made their way through the ship's corridors to their quarters. “Plus, it didn't transmit constantly, just when it found an energy wave it could use to disguise its transmission in a microburst.”
“You gave it an AI?” Ro said, amazed as always, at her ingenuity.
“A limited one,” B'Elanna admitted modestly. “Enough to know when it was safe to send the information it recorded.”
Ro shook her head as they entered the guest suite on deck eleven. “Phenomenal,” she said. “I'll bet Starfleet Intelligence would love to get their hands on that thing.”
“You'd win that bet,” B'Elanna allowed, as she slipped out of her tunic and tossed it over the back of the sofa, beneath the viewports lining the hull. “I had to leave the schematics with Nechayev. That was one of the first things she insisted on.” She paused, glancing back at her. “I got the impression during our briefings that they're interested in assigning you and me to more covert operations.”
Ro collapsed on the sofa, putting her feet up on the coffee table, and spreading her arms along the top of the cushions. “I was left with that impression, too,” she responded, thinking about it. “To be honest, Lanna, I'd be glad if I never had this kind of mission again.”
B'Elanna nodded thoughtfully as she sat down next to Ro. “I guess that doesn't surprise me,” she allowed. “You take these things very personally, and that's not something you can do in Starfleet Intelligence.”
Her head back as she stared at the ceiling, Ro inhaled slowly. “You're right,” she agreed quietly. “I'm a terrible operative. Why did I ever think I could pursue a career in this?”
“The independence of being an operative might have appealed to you,” B'Elanna suggested. “However, you keep finding yourself in very nasty types of situations, none of which have that secret agent type of appeal.”
“Maybe I'm just stupid,” Ro said grimly.
“No,” B'Elanna said firmly, reaching over to pat her knee. “Just trying to find your way—like the rest of us.”
Ro swallowed, glancing down to study her boots. “What about you?” she asked softly. “I think you enjoyed this far more than I did.”
B'Elanna smiled. “I admit, it had its moments,” she said. “However, don't forget, I had all the fun jobs, like bugging Seven, lurking around starships, digging through databases, playing mind games with various admirals, and riding to the rescue at the end. You were the one who had the dirty work of actually going in and extracting the target from the mess she found herself in.”
“Completely by accident, Lanna,” Ro reminded B’Elanna with a hint of exasperation. “If the Doctor hadn't joined the Syndicate, I'd probably have tracked him down elsewhere, dragged him back to Earth and would now be sitting at home, wondering what the hell happened to Seven, and where the hell you had gotten off to.”
B’Elanna raised her eyebrow, smiling faintly. “It just goes to prove, bangwI', the universe has a sense of humor,” she told Ro.
“An extremely twisted one,” Ro agreed, shaking her head as she started to smile herself. Sometimes, the situation was such that one just had to laugh at it.
Otherwise, the weeping would never end.
The huge space dock hung suspended in the heavens, its contents surrounded by an assortment of worker bees, shuttles and spacesuited individuals. Janeway stared out at the panorama that was her domain, arms crossed over her chest, gazing past the starship to the orbital array of Utopia Planitia beyond, the multitude of docks buzzing with the industrious intent of Starfleet construction crews as they built or repaired the huge vessels which served as the lifeblood of the Federation. Such was the momentum of the large shipyard that it had not missed a beat while its commander had been missing. Janeway wondered if that momentum would have slowed had she never returned. She knew she should be proud of such structure, aware that it was her attention to detail and organizational skills that had brought the facility up to its full potential, but she was finding it difficult to take comfort in anything, particularly after all her experiences the past few weeks.
“Captain?”
Janeway inhaled slowly, refocusing her eyes from the space beyond to the reflection in the viewport transparency in front of her, identifying the image of Admiral Nechayev as if that distinctive voice hadn't been identification enough.
“Admiral,” she said politely, turning her head slightly. “Can I help you?”
“I heard they were loading the auxiliary fleet into the Millennium's hangars today,” Nechayev said, coming up beside Janeway, hands linked behind her back, looking out at Starfleet's newest starship. It was Frontier-class, a vessel which crouched in the dock like an animal caged, as if sullen at being restrained from leaping to the unknown and unexplored reaches of space which would be its natural habitat.
“They are,” Janeway agreed. She raised her hand and pointed to an area of space free of other traffic. “They launched twenty minutes ago, and should be coming in on that approach vector.”
Nechayev nodded, and the two women fell silent as the fleet they were discussing finally appeared, pinpoints of light at first, moving silently across the darkness until they grew close enough for them to pick out the individual vessels.
Three Yellowstone-class Heavy Runabouts with extended science module capabilities, six Tornado-class Medium Shuttles and eighteen KillerBee Light Fighters designed to run escort duty while cruising hazardous space. Their approach vector was broken down into squadrons, each squad led by a wedge of six fighters surrounding two shuttles which bracketed the heavy runabout, three waves in all. Janeway should have been impressed—she was impressed—but still, something was lacking, and she stifled a sigh as she watched each squad separate and dock within the larger vessel. The auxiliary fleet utilized all three launch platforms; the smallest Gamma Hangar located on the back of the engineering section, the Alpha Hangar on the underside of the saucer facing front, and the Beta Hangar, which was located just aft and six decks below the bridge section.
“We should go look at them,” Nechayev suggested casually. “Make sure they're secured properly.”
Janeway was not particularly enthusiastic but she nodded, and together, they moved to the nearby pod, Janeway programming the helm to take her to the Fast Explorer-type vessel. The viewport of the tiny transport boat took up most of the fore section, providing the women with a good view as they approached the massive vessel, the sleek lines and shining reflection of the snowy helm granting a beauty to the ship that was not matched, in Janeway's opinion, by many other vessels. Even feeling as detached from things as she had since returning to Earth, there was still a surge of emotion in Janeway's breast as she closed on the Millennium, a sense of being granted entrance into a special and significant world by entering the ship.
“I hoped this would bring you out of it,” Nechayev said quietly, studying Janeway surreptitiously.
“Sir?” Janeway responded, keying the helm controls as the tiny pod reversed and backed against the airlock, the panel by the door switching from red to green as the seal was checked and verified.
“You've been moping around since the whole Noiro incident,” Nechayev said as the two women stepped through the airlock and into the ship itself. “It's been worse since Voyager was discovered drifting and abandoned last week near Jupiter Station. Don't you think it's time to get over this whole mess and move on to better things?”
“With all due respect, sir,” Janeway said, coolly, “I don't believe you know what you're talking about.”
Nechayev sighed audibly. “Kathryn, you know I'm not one of those touchy-feely kind of admirals,” she said with forced patience. “I'm not going to probe your tender psyche with gentle understanding and compassion, or carefully draw out your wounded feelings about abandonment and betrayal. I'm just going to keep hammering at you until you break, so you might as well just tell me what's eating at you, and save us both a lot of time and effort.”
Despite herself, Janeway felt an involuntary grin touch her lips. Nechayev was nothing if not cognizant of her own failings, even to the extent of using them to her advantage at times.
“I'm having some lingering problems with the Section 31 situation,” she admitted finally, deciding that she might as well get it over with.
“Could you be a little more specific?” Nechayev asked.
As the two women moved through the corridors to the primary hangar forward of the saucer section, Janeway tried not to sound as annoyed as she felt.
“It's not so much Section 31, itself, as how others in Starfleet chose to handle it,” she said finally.
“You mean Ross and Picard,” Nechayev said flatly.
“Yes,” Janeway admitted with a touch of bitterness. “I'm having a lot of difficulty with that. I expect better from the people I serve with in Starfleet, and to me, it seems that their actions were no different than those of Section 31.” She paused. “It's apparent to me that Starfleet has changed significantly while I was in the Delta Quadrant, and I'm not sure I can still wear this uniform with pride.”
Nechayev glanced over at her. “Don't you think you're overreacting, Kathryn?” she asked as she touched the controls for the hatch, stepping through to the catwalk overlooking the main hangar deck where the new vessels of Alpha Squadron were being taxied to their berths, a swarm of officers below surrounding each vessel to lock it down.
A muscle twitching in her jaw, Janeway lifted her head slightly as she placed her hands on the railing, leaning over slightly to watch the ships be secured. “I'm considering resigning my commission,” she said quietly.
Nechayev rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Kathryn, you can't be serious. Starfleet has always been a political animal, reflecting whatever happens to be going on in the Federation,” she said, her tone edging into irritation with Janeway, as if she were not a particularly bright child. “Perhaps you could remain oblivious to it because of your father and his friends looking out for you, or maybe because you just plain didn't want to know, but this is how things operate in Starfleet Command, just as they did in your father's day, and his father's day before that.”
“I don't agree,” Janeway said stubbornly.
“Then you're far more naive than your spouse,” Nechayev said plainly. “Even Seven, at this point, has a better understanding of how Starfleet works than you apparently do.”
Janeway was stung by that one. “Seven was used by Starfleet,” she said, outrage edging her tone. She knew how much Seven was still trying to deal with the incident, Janeway granting her as much space and silent support with which to do it as possible, but also aware that things did not seem to be improving. However, her personal life was not something she was going to share with Nechayev, nor did she suspect, did Nechayev want to hear about it.
“We're all 'used' at one time or another,” Nechayev said, her narrow face stern. “It goes with the job, Kathryn. In fact, I doubt very much that you can say, as a captain, you didn't use every member of your crew—including Seven of Nine—to conduct missions when they had no idea what was really involved.”
“That's...” Janeway stopped, reconsidering what she was about to say.
Nechayev snorted. “If you were about to say, 'that's different', then I'd like to know how.” she demanded. “It's all part of the same chain of command, Kathryn. You're just pissed off because on this occasion, you were the tool being used, whereas, you're usually the one using the tools.” She paused, schooling her voice to a gentler tone. “On a starship, you're the sole authority, Captain. You and I both know that. Furthermore, you spent seven years on Voyager as a completely autonomous authority. I understand that it's difficult suddenly to be just another link in the chain, and God knows, I sure as hell don't like it, myself, on occasion, but it's something that we both have to accept. That's how Starfleet works, that's how it's always worked, and that's how it's probably always going to work. If you can't live with that, then fine, Starfleet will get along quite nicely without you.” She shot Janeway an arch look. “Don't forget to take into consideration, however,” she needled, “that very shortly, you can go back to being the authority again, instead of just another officer that has to follow it.” She gestured, spreading her hands to encompass the hangar and the vessel beyond, which Janeway was expected to command.
Janeway refused to accept the validity of the words, her jaw stuck out pugnaciously, grey eyes stormy and dark as she crossed her arms across her chest, glaring out into the hangar.
“I swear, Kathryn, if you're about to pout, I'll have no choice but to slap you,” Nechayev added unmercifully. Janeway glanced at her, startled to see that Nechayev was being completely serious, then returned her eyes forward, disconcerted. “Quit acting like a child and start conducting yourself as the Starfleet captain I know you are.”
“I doubt I'll ever trust in Starfleet the same way again,” Janeway muttered reluctantly, after several minutes of silence.
“You were never supposed to trust in Starfleet blindly, Kathryn,” Nechayev said, exasperated. “It's an organization made up of individuals, not some faith or religion where the concept of it is tantamount to God. The only way it succeeds is when its membership maintains a healthy skepticism about where it's going at any given moment.” She reached over and put her hand on Janeway's shoulder, patting her awkwardly and generally shocking Janeway who knew Nechayev was not in the habit of such affectionate gestures. “However, while Starfleet doesn't need an officer so damnably enamored of it, it would be much poorer for losing you, just as you would be for losing it. Don't let that happen, Kathryn. Don't let Section 31 force you to give up the life you were meant to lead.”
Janeway bent her head, thinking about it.
“Damn,” she said finally, finding the truth painful, but forced to acknowledge it nonetheless.
“Yes,” Nechayev agreed. “Yet, we're all damned together, Captain.”
Shaking her head, Janeway regarded the vessels below her, realizing that while Starfleet continued to be nothing more than a reflection of the Federation, the vessels down there were a sign that the Alpha Quadrant had undergone significant changes while she had been in the Delta Quadrant. No mission had ever required such auxiliary vessels on a starship before, and though Janeway had enjoyed her test flights in the little KillerBee-class fighters, the fact that they were now being stowed away as regular complement on a starship she was expected to command, left her cold.
“Are you sure the fighters are something we really need?” she asked. “It's not exactly how I would like the Federation to be represented in the various quadrants.”
Nechayev eyed her. “Are you telling me that there were times in the Delta Quadrant that you wouldn't have wanted something like a squadron of those to back you up?” she noted pointedly.
Janeway blinked. “No,” she admitted finally, unhappily, as several violent and frightening encounters with the Hirogen, the Vidiians, and Seven, abruptly popped into her head. “I can't say that such vessels wouldn't have come in handy during certain situations. In fact, we built the Delta Flyer because the class-two shuttles simply weren't sufficient for what we required.”
Nechayev nodded, her expression serious as she viewed the small fighters being secured in the hangar. “Let's not have any confusion here, Kathryn,” she said firmly. “You're going to be on your own with the Millennium as much as you were with Voyager, particularly in terms of what support Starfleet can get to you in a hurry. The only difference is, this time, you'll have the equipment to be true explorers and representatives of the Federation, not just stranded expatriates trying desperately to get home. Being able to protect your vessel is a priority, because you'll do us little good if you don't bring you, your crew, and your information back intact after every trip. We can't put a facility like DS9 out there for you, but we can provide you with some of the same types of vessels that our deep space stations have for protection and support.”
“I understand, Admiral,” Janeway said. She didn't have to like it, however, she added silently as another deadly craft was taxied into its berth under the catwalk lining the bulkhead of the alpha hangar. She decided that she didn't have to like any of it, and longed for the simplicity of commanding a starship again, rather than dealing with all the politics behind it. She took a breath. “Admiral, with all due respect, I would like my appointment to command the Millennium to be authorized in writing, with your signature, and if possible, I would like it on my desk by the end of the day.”
Nechayev looked over at her, her pale eyes assessing her. “Isn't my word that you'll be granted this command good enough for you?” she asked, her tone silken.
Janeway hesitated. “No,” she said finally. “Not when it comes to a command appointment.”
Nechayev smiled with satisfaction. “Now, you're catching on, Kathryn,” she said, reaching in her tunic to pull out a padd and handing it to Janeway, who regarded the authorization it contained with a touch of surprise, feeling that once again, Nechayev was three steps ahead of her. It was dated for three months earlier, and signed not only by Nechayev, but by Paris and Ross as well, though a signature from Hayes was conspicuous by its absence. “Frankly, Captain,” Nechayev added dryly, “I was beginning to think that you were learning nothing during your tour in administration. Now, I'm convinced that this experience with Section 31 is exactly the wakeup call you needed to be the proper commanding officer for this sort of mission.”
Staring at the padd, Janeway still felt somewhat adrift, but the official notation in her hands gave her a professional anchor, a certainty to hold onto while she worked to right herself personally.
“Thank you, Admiral,” she said.
“Let's see if you're still thanking me a year from now,” Nechayev said dryly. “It's an unproven ship, with an unproven crew, and where it's intended to go will leave you without backup from Starfleet. It'll be Voyager all over again, times ten.”
“Not quite,” Janeway said, raising her head, her eyes shading to a more even blue-grey. “This time, we'll be out there by choice, rather than because of circumstances beyond our control. Furthermore, after recent weeks, it'll be a relief to deal with an area of space other than my own for a while.”
“Agreed,” Nechayev said firmly, staring out at the hangar. “I realize that we're going into the holiday break for Terran Solstice, Captain, so you should take some time in the upcoming two weeks to regroup and center yourself. Once you've returned, you'll be far too busy to worry about Section 31. Starfleet has moved up the timetable for Millennium's launch.” She glanced at the other woman, and despite all that she had been through in recent weeks, Janeway felt a tiny thrill pass through her as she heard Nechayev's next words.
“You'd better start assembling your crew. USS Millennium departs Utopia Planitia on its maiden voyage in four months.”
Seven regarded her console screen curiously, surprised to see the official confirmation sent to her so soon, and wondering if there was some reason the timetable had been accelerated. Regardless of her surprise, however, it also came as something of a relief. Section 31 still existed somewhere, and she knew she would be far more comfortable on a starship. She suspected Janeway would be as well, The captain seemed more at loose ends the past few weeks than she had before her kidnapping.
Seven glanced at the scientists who comprised her TPG lab team, trying to figure out if any of them were the sort that would be pleased for her, or would be excited at knowing this information, then realized that while she had formed tentative friendships with some of them, none were of the type of bonding that she had developed on Voyager. That saddened her, but after the events of the past few weeks, she thought she understood it. She downloaded the message from her console onto a nearby padd, then picked it up.
“I must speak with Dr. Brahms,” she said shortly to Dr. Schneider. He nodded, not looking up from his work station. She knew he had heard her, but doubted that he much cared where she was going. Her team worked well together, but Seven was beginning to realize it was more a matter of having common goals rather than because they had developed personal relationships. Left to their own devices, each member tended to quickly isolate him or herself with a specific line of research during the initial stages of a project, leaving Seven to bring them all together before starting the series of tests that would prove or disprove their various theories.
It occurred to Seven that anyone could do that—or rather, anyone capable of understanding the various lines of brilliant theoretical data presented by the scientists and technicians during the project—and it was probably just as well that another duty was beckoning her.
She discovered the head design engineer of the TPG working alone in her office, and Dr. Leah Brahms looked up curiously as Seven tapped uncertainly at the door frame. Seven knew that the scientist had an 'open door' policy established, but she had never quite comprehended it. She compared it to how Janeway ran her starship, and knew that Janeway would never leave the door of her ready room open at all times. She wasn't sure what that meant, just that it made her slightly uncomfortable when dealing with Brahms on a professional basis. She preferred privacy when she spoke to her superior, and felt uncertain with the knowledge that just anyone could walk in while they were carrying on a conversation.
“Seven, come on in,” Leah said, putting aside the schematics she had been working on. “Have a seat.” She gestured to the chairs and sofa that were located on one side of the office, an area designated for 'discussion'. Seven preferred a desk to stand in front of when she delivered her reports, but over the past year, she had adapted to this more casual approach. Gingerly, she sank into one of the chairs, her back straight, her torso angled forward as Leah took a seat on the sofa. “Can I get you something to drink?”
Seven shook her head. “No,” she said. “Thank you.” She waited until Leah had poured herself a mug of tea, then handed her the padd. Brahms read it, raised an eyebrow, then read it again. When she was done, she placed it on the coffee table.
“This is rather sudden,” she said, her features serious.
Seven lifted her chin. “You were informed when I began this posting that I intended to transfer to my spouse's vessel as soon as she had been assigned a new starship command,” she reminded her.
“I know,” Brahms said, sipping her tea. “I thought—I hoped—that once you had worked with the TPG, you would decide to stay with us. You won't be able to pursue this sort of theoretical research on a starship.”
“I am aware of that,” Seven agreed. “However, as fascinating as this experience has been, my choice is to go where Janeway's duty takes her.” She paused. “After the events of the past weeks, I believe I would be far more comfortable serving on a starship rather than here on Mars, in any event.”
Brahms sighed. “I suspect I'll never know everything that went on while you were gone, Seven,” she said, referring to the classified nature of Seven's encounter with both Section 31 and the Orion Syndicate. “I'm just disappointed that it apparently gave you the idea that this isn't where you should be. You're a brilliant scientist and one of the most formidable minds that I've ever encountered. The TPG was lucky to recruit you, and your loss is going to leave an irreparable hole in our team.”
“Thank you,” Seven said politely. “However, I enjoy starship duty, including the camaraderie that is formed on a vessel on its own in deep space.” She paused thoughtfully. “It is different than that which is formed within a facility such as this.”
“Is that why you're leaving?” Brahms asked, surprised. “The camaraderie?”
“No,” Seven assured her. “There is a satisfaction in undertaking scientific missions in the field that conducting tests in a lab does not provide. There is also the unexpected aspect of space exploration. It provides a decided change from always knowing what the next project will be prior to finishing the current one.”
“I guess you know what's best for you,” Brahms said, shaking her head regretfully. “I'm sure Admiral Hayes will be disappointed, however. He was the one who suggested I actively pursue you for this facility, and I'm so glad he did. You've been an asset to the TPG, the kind that only comes along once in a great while. I was thrilled when you chose our facility.”
Seven blinked, another piece of the puzzle abruptly fitting into place, and she felt a little twinge in her chest, knowing that Dr. Brahms, whom she respected greatly, was yet another person deceived by Hayes's machinations. “I do not believe he will be that disappointed,” she said coolly.
Brahms frowned. “I disagree, Seven,” she said. She leaned forward, looking at Seven earnestly. “Can't you wait until Hayes returns from his leave before making your decision? I'm sure he could explain better than I can what advantages lie in remaining with us.”
Obviously, while Dr. Brahms was aware that Hayes had become Seven's mentor, and hoping that the personal relationship would provide him with a stronger argument than the one she was providing, she had no idea what had truly gone on with the admiral. Or that his 'leave' consisted of him sitting in a cell in a Starfleet security facility awaiting his court martial. What 'official' reason would be distributed for his continued absence in the future remained uncertain. Starfleet apparently did not want it known to the public, or even to their lower ranks, that one of their admirals had been involved in a scheme to massacre a colony full of families. As all this went through her mind, Seven did her best not to change expression, thinking that if the scientist only knew what Seven knew, Hayes would be the last person Brahms would be invoking in the attempt to change Seven's mind.
“I agree that he probably could explain it better,” Seven offered dryly. “However, I doubt that he shall be back from his 'leave' before I join the Millennium.”
This was not something Seven could share with her superior, any more than she could reveal that the scientist had been nothing more than a dupe in Hayes's plans to keep Seven close by until it was time for Section 31 to make their move. It would do Leah little good to know about it, and even if Seven did not agree with Starfleet's reasons for classifying the events surrounding her recent adventure, it was enough for her not to want to hurt the woman by telling her the truth.
“There's nothing I can say that will cause you to reconsider?” Leah tried plaintively.
“No,” Seven said. “I appreciate your desire to keep me as a member of your facility, Dr. Brahms, but this is a decision that I made long before this moment, and it is one that I am content with.” She reached out and tapped the padd with her fingertip. “I have included a list of suggestions as to the restructuring of my lab so that it will not lose any efficiency after my departure. I would recommend that Dr. Schneider take over as project head.”
“It won't be the same without you,” Brahms said. “So, what will you be doing on the Millennium? Isn't it difficult having your spouse as your commanding officer?”
Seven tilted her head as she considered that. “Janeway and I learned early in our relationship to keep what happens on the ship outside the door of our quarters,” she explained. “It allows us to maintain a professional relationship which is separate and distinctive from our personal one.” She thought idly that it was not necessarily a pattern that had worked well in the Federation. On Voyager, even if they limited their talk about business during their personal time, they still always knew what was going on with the rest of the ship. Here in the Alpha Quadrant, not knowing what was going on beyond their doors had almost turned deadly for them both. She paused. “I must admit, I am anticipating the resumption of that existence. I have missed working with Kathryn day to day. She is exceptionally intelligent.”
What she didn't add was that she hoped once they were on a starship and in deep space again, she and Janeway could recapture what had been lost between them, keenly aware of the distance that remained between them. Seven's sessions with Kes had helped her deal with resuming her professional responsibilities, as well as coming to terms with what being a Starfleet officer truly meant to her, but she had not arranged for any further therapy once she had left the Enterprise. Now she was left wondering if that had been the wisest course of action, since the personal problems persisted.
Brahms studied her. “Not as intelligent as you,” she said carefully. “I noticed the last time she visited that she seemed more than a little lost when Schneider was explaining your newest project.”
Seven smiled faintly. “To be honest, Dr. Brahms, you also look somewhat lost when Dr. Schneider explains our projects,” she pointed out. “He has developed a way of speaking that can be deliberately obtuse. He believes that if he can make his research complicated enough, he will receive resources for it simply because the administrators at Starfleet will be so impressed with the intricacy, they will not look further into it.”
Brahms laughed. “I'll keep that in mind,” she said. “Are you sure about recommending him to take over for you?”
“He is the most efficient in his work habits, and will be able to maintain the organizational structure I put in place,” Seven explained. “Simply have Dr. t'Rum'ph translate any reports for you, and you will know exactly what the team is working on at any given moment.”
“I think you've learned a lot about management since you've been here,” Brahms complimented warmly, reaching over to put her hand on Seven's forearm. “That was one area in which I wasn't sure you would ever become comfortable.”
“It is something that should prove useful on the Millennium,” Seven agreed. “Particularly since there will be a large contingent of civilian scientists on board. I anticipate having help, however. I have sent a personal request to Dr. Lenara Kahn on Trill in the hopes she will accompany the ship on its initial journey. She had expressed an interest in 'expanding her horizons', and a vessel dispatched to areas of space that have yet to be explored, should accomplish that adequately.”
“When do you start?” Brahms asked.
“As soon as you can authorize the transfer,” Seven replied honestly. “It would be most efficient for me to report for duty once the upcoming holiday break has ended.”
Brahms laughed a little. “Maybe you do belong on a starship,” she said. “You certainly don't believe in wasting time.” She picked up the padd and input some data into it, then downloaded it into her own database. “I guess if you're that anxious to get started, I'm not going to stand in your way. I'll authorize this transfer and transmit it to Starfleet Command immediately.” She lifted her eyes to meet Seven's. “Along with a commendation for the excellent work you've done here.”
“Thank you,” Seven responded. Such a note would contrast nicely with the reprimand which had already been placed in her permanent record, and she wondered if the two would not offset each other somehow. At the very least, perhaps the recommendation by Dr. Brahms would mediate the severity of Seven's punishment to any senior officer who perused the file in the future.
She supposed she was fortunate she was transferring over to Janeway's command. Any other captain might have been confounded when faced with the sort of personnel file Seven boasted.
“We're going to miss you, Seven,” Brahms continued, rising to her feet. Belatedly, Seven followed suit, and took the hand the scientist offered. “I'm going to miss you.”
“I shall miss you as well,” Seven admitted. “You were an adequate superior, and a good friend to me during my time here. Thank you for your kindness.”
“It wasn't kindness, Seven,” Brahms assured her. “I do consider you a friend. Be sure to maintain a correspondence with us. We'll be very interested in what you discover when you're out there in the vast unknown.”
“I shall,” Seven promised. She accepted the padd Brahms handed her, with the copy of her authorized transfer contained within. “I intend to clean out my personnel locker before leaving the facility today. Do you wish for me to inform my team about my departure, or would you rather inform them?”
Brahms blinked. “I'm surprised they don't already know,” she said.
“We are in the middle of Project Minotaur,” Seven explained. She paused. “It never came up.”
The scientist laughed and put her hand warmly on the small of Seven's back as they walked to the door. “I'll tell you what, Seven,” she said. “Let's you and I go tell them, together. Maybe I'll even grant them an early start to the holiday break to salve your loss.”
Lake Planitia was ruffled by a light breeze, stirring up whitecaps to grant character to the usually calm body of water that was the largest on Mars. The reddish sand cushioned B'Elanna's bare feet as she strolled along the beach, her uniform trousers rolled up, carrying her boots in her hand as the sound of the waves lapping against the shore provided a peaceful counterpoint to the cries of the Terran gulls overhead. She looked up, appreciating the gracefulness of the birds swooping through the pleasantly cool, dry air. They had been imported to the red planet a century earlier, though over the generations, they had evolved into much smaller versions than their cousins on the homeworld, about the size of robins, with feathers that were almost blinding in their whiteness.
She shaded her eyes with her hand as she looked toward the back deck of the house she shared with her, identifying Ro standing there, sipping from a mug. Surprised that the Starfleet officer was home from the shipyards before she was, which was not normally the case, B'Elanna quickened her pace. Ro must have noticed B’Elanna's approach, because she raised her hand in a brief wave before going back inside the house. B'Elanna discovered Ro minutes later, on the sofa, padds littering the coffee table in front of her.
“What's up?” B’Elanna asked as she wiped the sand from her feet on the static mat just inside the French doors, dropping her boots on the floor. She began to shrug out of her tunic as she moved over to join her. “You're home early.”
“Janeway decided to grant those of us in her immediate staff an early start to the holiday leave,” Ro explained. “Perhaps because when we return, we'll immediately start assembling the crew for Millennium's newly scheduled launch in fourteen weeks.”
“Wow, four months,” B'Elanna said, blinking as she sat down next to Ro. “It was supposed to take another eight. How come I didn't hear anything about this?”
“I guess Starfleet Command didn't feel they had to clear an acceleration in their plans with you,” Ro noted dryly, earning herself a poke in the ribs that made her smile. She handed her a padd. “Your orders arrived a couple of hours after I got home. I guess Captain Janeway already had them cut pending notification of her command appointment.”
Bemused, B'Elanna accepted the padd, looking at the request for transfer. “Chief Engineer?” she said in astonishment. “Can Janeway do that?”
Ro frowned, glancing at her. “You sound surprised,” she said, studying her.
“Well, I hoped that she would want me in her crew, but I didn't expect the chief engineer's position,” B'Elanna said. “There are a few other people in line ahead of me.”
“As far as I know, Janeway always planned to offer you first refusal,” Ro said. She paused, then added in a neutral tone, “Don't you want it?”
“Of course,” B'Elanna said. “What engineer wouldn't want to oversee those engines?” She eyed her. “What do you think?”
“I think it's a big step in your career,” Ro agreed. “Provided a deep space assignment is what you want.”
B'Elanna exhaled. “You know, you're right, we haven't talked about this yet,” she said. “I guess, I thought you were going as her first officer, and I just wanted to be a part of the crew. Being offered the post of chief engineer is a bonus.” She frowned as a sudden thought struck her. “You are being posted to the Millennium when Janeway goes, aren't you?”
“I haven't received any orders to that effect, yet,” Ro responded.
“What?” B'Elanna stared at her. “Haven't you talked about it with her?”
“Janeway and I haven't discussed anything other than the shipyards since our return,” Ro said, her attention suddenly on her coffee table. “In any event, I sincerely doubt that my being her first officer is anything Janeway wants.”
“Oh, Laren,” B'Elanna said softly. She regarded her, seeing the firmness of the jaw, the indications of distress around the dark eyes, though Ro was doing her best not to show it. “I'm sorry.” She abruptly flung the padd down on the table. “If she thinks I'm going to be her chief of engineering while she treats you this way, she's got another think coming.”
Ro smiled faintly, as if amused at her outrage. “B'Elanna, you might want to reconsider that,” she cautioned. “After all, we both agree that this would be a great assignment.”
“I'm not leaving you behind,” B’Elanna protested. “Especially on a vessel like this. Its first mission is expected to take a year before it sees port again. Even then, it's only going to be a space station on the outskirts of the Federation to transfer logs and personnel, before taking off on the next mission.” She faltered, uncertain. “Do you want me to leave?”
Ro turned swiftly to her, reaching out to take her hand. “Of course not,” she said intently. “I just don't want to be the reason you refuse a professionally advantageous posting like this.”
“Do you think it would mean anything at all if you and I weren't together?” B'Elanna asked, feeling her throat fill. “Laren, part of the reason I was able to get along on Voyager was because I didn't really have anyone back in the Alpha Quadrant missing me. There is no way I could do it now. It's not even an option, all right?”
Ro hesitated, then nodded, a soft expression on her face. “All right,” she said.
“I can't believe that Janeway is acting like this,” B'Elanna said, frustrated.
“Lanna, she doesn't feel that she can trust me completely,” Ro said quietly. “I can't blame her for that.”
“You were just doing your job,” B'Elanna seethed.
“Yes, but I was doing it for Picard, not her.” Ro paused, her expression pensive. “Janeway is someone who places a great deal of emphasis on loyalty, Lanna. She now feels that she never possessed mine. That doesn't mean that she's treating me any less professionally, just that she's not going to allow me into a position of trust that being her first officer requires. Besides, it's rare that a captain gets to choose a first officer anyway. Usually, they're assigned by Starfleet.”
“I'll bet if Janeway requested you, they wouldn't refuse her,” B'Elanna insisted.
“Perhaps not,” Ro said, sighing slightly. “However, it's probably not something that she's going to ask, so we might as well just figure out what to do from here.”
B'Elanna squeezed her fingers. “As long as we're together,” she insisted. “I'm not one of those officers who think a career is more important than being with the person I love. I'd resign my commission before I'd let that happen.”
Ro smiled. “Neither one of us are the typical Starfleet officer,” she reminded her. “We've both walked away from the uniform before, and undoubtedly, we could do it again. However, it's possible that we could find a place together.”
“Why not here?” B'Elanna suggested, lifting her hand to indicate their current dwelling. “We have this great house by the lake, and the shipyards aren't that bad to work for. I'm sure that you could get another adjunct position with someone in Starfleet Command.” She paused, then added evilly, “I hear Nechayev's looking for another attaché to replace Kagan.”
Ro snorted. “You're nasty, do you know that?” she said affectionately, as B'Elanna laughed. Sighing, Ro leaned back on the sofa, staring into the fireplace. “It is a great house,” she agreed thoughtfully.
“Staying around Mars wouldn't be so bad,” B'Elanna offered as she settled down beside Ro, turning slightly so that she could put her head on her shoulder. She smiled as she felt Ro's arm come up around her shoulders, hugging her to the lanky body, and she patted Ro’s belly through her tunic comfortingly, wanting to ease her concerns. “I rather like it here, and Marsport isn't such a bad city.”
“Is settling down what we really want to do?” Ro asked her curiously. “Are we ready for that?”
“Between the pair of us, we've been through more than our share of adventures,” B'Elanna reminded her. “Certainly, more than the average Starfleet officer. I don't think it's asking too much to have some time just to live like normal people.”
Ro considered that carefully.
“Nawww—” they both said together, and started to laugh. Ro leaned over and kissed B’Elanna gently.
“You always make me feel better,” she said, nuzzling B'Elanna's ear. “That's not an easy thing to do.”
B'Elanna snuggled closer. “It's my pleasure,” she said sincerely. She settled a little closer, allowing her hand to find the fastening of Ro's Starfleet tunic, sliding it down. Ro regarded her quietly, a small smile touching her lips, a sort of glow lightening her dark eyes. Slipping her hand under the sweater beneath to touch warm skin, B'Elanna kissed her neck. “Of course, I wouldn't mind making you feel even better.”
“Dare I ask how?” Ro queried idly, lifting her chin as B’Elanna traced a trail along her throat.
“Only if you want to waste time asking a question you already know the answer to,” B'Elanna told her easily. She removed her hand from beneath the sweater, and tugged at Ro's tunic, slipping it off her shoulders, first one, then the other, Ro readily tossing it aside. B’Elanna's sweater soon followed, then trousers and undergarments. Before long, Ro's lean, cool body was pressed against B'Elanna's, and B’Elanna was finding it difficult to breathe as they kissed so deeply, she thought she'd pass out from the sheer intensity of it. Stretched out along the length of the couch, entwined in an erotic embrace that neither woman seemed able to get enough of, B'Elanna decided that such things as what their next assignment might be, were insignificant indeed.
Afterward, they sprawled in lazy pleasure across the sofa cushions, their perspiration drying in the cooling air as the setting sun cast its dying red fingers across their bodies, making their glistening skin glow with fire. B'Elanna reached up for the blanket draped across the back of the nearby chair, barely managing to snag it with her fingertips without leaving the warmth of Ro’s smooth skin, dragging it to her until she had enough to flip over them. Ro made a soft sound of contentment and huddled closer to her lover, resting her chin on the proud ridges of B’Elanna's brow.
“You're the best thing that's ever happened to me,” she murmured, brushing her lips over the dark hair.
B'Elanna smiled. “You know I feel the same,” she whispered back. “I love you, Ro Laren.”
“Even when nobody else wants me?” Ro teased.
“I'll always want you,” B'Elanna promised. “That's all that matters.”
Lights twinkled within the green bows of the fir tree, reflecting off the tinsel and ornaments that had been in the Janeway family for centuries. At the top, a star glittered, brushing against the ceiling, and the smell of evergreen evoked countless Christmases past as Janeway placed her gifts under the sweeping branches. Music of this specific holiday played softly in the background, and from the kitchen, Janeway could hear the murmur of voices as Seven, Gretchen, and Grandma Taylor prepared the turkey which would be placed in the oven and left to roast all night.
Or at least, until the timer went off.
It hadn't taken Seven of Nine long to grasp the Traditionalist's concept of Christmas that first year on Earth, celebrated within the holiday break of Solstice—winter for the Northern Hemisphere, summer for the Southern half—particularly with the exchanging of gifts, and the idea that they were celebrating a birthday of a spiritual leader. She did have a little more difficulty with the concept of who exactly that spiritual leader was, particularly in this second year, pointing out that an omnipotent creator sending down a son to 'die for one's sins' smacked of allowing a specific group of Humans abdicate responsibility for their own errors in judgement, something Seven had been quite sensitive to lately.
Janeway was just so happy to see Seven's eyes sparkle with some enthusiasm for a change, to see some spark to her personality, both of which had been missing since their experiences with the Orion Syndicate.
“Kathryn?”
Janeway looked over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow as her sister entered the room.
“I'm taking the dogs out for a run,” Phoebe said, her level grey eyes assessing her older sibling with unusual gravity. “Want to come along for the exercise?”
Janeway weighed the idea of staying near the fire where it was warm, or facing the frigid air of an Indiana Christmas Eve. The look of challenge in Phoebe's eyes, the inflection in her voice, as if she expected her sister to choose comfort over forging through the snow, decided Janeway.
“Lead the way,” she said, uncoiling from the floor and following her sister out to the closet in the front hallway where she retrieved a heavy jacket and boots, as well as a thick scarf, some lined gloves, and a warm, knitted hat.
The air hit her lungs with a bite as she stepped onto the front porch, and she gasped a bit as the dogs brushed past her rudely, leaping down off the porch without benefit of the stairs, romping through the fresh drifts in a display of energy unleashed. Despite all that had happened in recent weeks, Janeway felt her spirits lift as she regarded their unrestrained joy, and she descended the stairs with renewed vigor, the snow squeaking beneath the tread of her footwear. Glad of the thermal underwear she had on beneath her jeans, she glanced up, seeing clouds gathering in the frosty night sky, the smell of snow sharp in her nostrils.
“Invigorating,” she said, glancing over at her younger sister, who smiled back.
“I'm glad,” Phoebe said as they tramped down the driveway. “I was beginning to worry about you and Seven. You both seem—I don't know—unlike yourselves. Is everything all right between you?”
“Of course,” Janeway said, suddenly concentrating on the line of trees in the distance, their branches, stark without their leaves, reaching mournfully over the horizon, keenly aware of Phoebe's skeptical expression beside her. Phoebe didn't bother to refute Janeway’s words, her stoicism speaking volumes as she maintained her pace with Janeway step for step. They moved out to the road which had been plowed for land vehicles, leaving it a wide expanse of white dotted with black pieces of gravel.
“We ran into a bit of a mess not too long ago,” Janeway admitted finally, unable to take the accusing silence any longer, which undoubtedly had been Phoebe's intention. No one knew how to get to Kathryn Janeway quicker than her sister. Not even Seven.
“Tell me about it,” Phoebe prompted.
After only a brief hesitation, Janeway obeyed, suddenly realizing as she did how much she had needed to share what she had gone through while captured by the Syndicate—by Cheb—with someone who knew her as Kathryn, not as a Starfleet captain. Unwilling to discuss it, or to burden Seven beyond what she already was in her own struggles to deal with the situation, Janeway had been left on her own. It also didn't help that by nature, Janeway was reticent about many people knowing her internal insecurities. Phoebe, for all their arguments while growing up, was someone Kathryn knew she could trust absolutely, and while there were certain details of the incident Janeway could not share because of their classified nature, there was still plenty left to indicate how serious the whole situation had been, and why she and Seven were still in the process of recovering. They had walked quite a distance by the time she had finished, having made an entire circuit around the next farm before heading back down the road toward the Janeway homestead.
“Ever since we've returned, it's not been the same between Annika and me,” Janeway concluded, her breath issuing in a frosty cloud. “It's as if something's missing.”
“I'm not surprised,” Phoebe said. “It sounds like you've both been through hell. My only question is why you believe you're the only one feeling this way.”
Startled, Janeway looked at her. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“Don't you think Seven feels the same?”
Janeway exhaled slowly, uncertainly, hands jammed in her pockets as she trudged over the snow. It was hard to convey in mere words the distance from Seven she had been feeling the past weeks. “I don't know,” Janeway said reluctantly. She faltered, kicking a piece of ice down the road, watching it slide out of sight in the darkness. “She reported to the TPG the day after we returned to Earth, and went right back to working late hours. It's as if she doesn't need me.” She paused. “Maybe she doesn't.”
“Don't exaggerate, Kathryn,” Phoebe said.
“I'm not,” Janeway insisted. “We were so busy with all the briefings and work we needed to catch up on when we returned to Earth, that I didn't notice it at first, but now I'm wondering if she has any interest in being with me at all.”
“I don't believe that,” the Seven scoffed.
Janeway remembered the first evening of the Solstice break, reaching out to her as they prepared for bed in their home in San Francisco before seeing the detached look in her eyes, sensing that although Seven was more than willing to please her, there was none of her normal joy and desire, no pleasure of her own to enjoy. It had sent a chill through her, and altered her touch to a simple hug of affection, which Seven had surrendered to without changing expression. 'Surrender' was precisely how Janeway perceived it, and it frightened her. Coming to Indiana yesterday morning, spending last night in the narrow bed, she had been very conscious of Seven pointedly turned away from her. She had lain in frozen misery, afraid to touch her in case her was placed in the horrible position of having to pull away.
“No, I've seen it,” she said softly, bleakly. “It's as if she doesn't really want me. We haven't been intimate since before it all happened.”
Phoebe shook her head. “You're wrong, Kathryn,” she said, with absolute certainty. “She wants and needs you more than ever. I watched her yesterday afternoon while you and Mom were decorating the tree. She kept looking at you every now and again, and there was this—expression—on her face...” She trailed off, searching for the words. “If I were painting her portrait at that moment, I would title it 'Fear and Longing'. It's as if she wanted to reach out to you so badly, but is deathly afraid of your response.”
“Afraid?” Janeway stopped, looking at her sister in astonishment. “Why would she be afraid?”
“I don't know. Could it be that she thinks she doesn't deserve your love?” Phoebe offered with just the slightest edge to her tone. “Think about it, Kathryn. She let you down. At least, she believes she did, and let's not forget that whole 'your best isn't good enough' line. Honestly, that was just nasty.”
Janeway winced, almost sorry she had revealed that moment of weakness to her sister. “It was,” she agreed regretfully. “I was angry with her, and the whole situation, but that's no excuse. It was a stupid thing said in the heat of the moment.” She swallowed hard. “I apologized for it.”
“I'm sure you did, but an apology never makes up for words that cut so deep,” Phoebe pointed out as she stared at Janeway, and then softened as she witnessed the expression on her sister's face. “Seven's probably still feeling ashamed and hurt, Kathryn,” she added in a much gentler voice. “You need to remind her how much you love her, and that you'll love her no matter what's happened in the past, or will happen in the future. She needs to feel safe with you again.” She paused. “Plus, I think you need to feel safe again, too. Have you two been intimate, in the true sense of the word, Kathryn? Forget sex, have you taken the time to be with each other, just for the sake of being together, or have you both just occupied yourself with other things, pretending to yourselves that you're just 'respecting each other's space'.”
Janeway flinched, aware of her own failings, and not needing to be reminded of them by her sister. “I'm hoping this holiday break will give us the chance to do just that,” she admitted. “Seven seemed fairly enthusiastic about it. Certainly, more enthusiastic than she has about anything else involving the pair of us lately.”
“Here, you're not a Starfleet captain, and she's not a science officer,” Phoebe reminded her. “You're just a couple of members of the Janeway family, no more, no less. Maybe Seven has her own hopes for this holiday break. Once you both leave your professional life behind for a while, you'll start remembering what's important, and stop orbiting each other like a pair of opposing electrons.”
“God, a science reference,” Janeway muttered. “Should I be worried?”
“When you start using artistic references, then it's time for us to worry,” Phoebe retorted. She raised her head. “You know, I have an idea,” she began.
Janeway sighed. “Now I'm really worried.”
Phoebe nudged her sister, almost knocking Janeway into the nearby snow bank. “Just hear me out,” she demanded. “Instead of you two staying at the farmhouse tonight, why don't you stay over in my guest room while I spend the night at Mom's? That will give you and Seven some time to—well, work some things out. God knows, there isn't much in the way of privacy at her house, especially with Grandma Taylor visiting for the holidays.”
Janeway was startled, and incredibly touched by the offer, knowing it was sincere.
“Thank you,” she said, feeling the lump in her throat. “That means a lot, Phoebe.”
“Anytime,” Phoebe told her, smiling. “You head back while I drop by my place and pick up a few things. I'll meet everyone later back at Mom's for the traditional caroling.”
“That sounds great,” Janeway agreed, watching as her sister started off across the lawns to her house next to the creek, feeling a warmth within her that had been missing for far too long. With a lighter step, she kicked her way through the snow to the white farmhouse, a golden glow pouring from the windows to light her way home. Jake, remaining faithful even though the other two dogs had bounded after Phoebe, trotted at Janeway's heels, his jaws parted in a happy grin as he panted, tongue lolling. The pair of them bounded up the stairs, and entered the house, the inside temperature welcoming after the chill of the outside.
Seven had just entered the hallway, and seemed somewhat surprised to see her.
“I did not know where you went,” she said. The comment was not accusing, but Janeway recognized a hint of something else—fear at another disappearance by her spouse, perhaps? —coloring it.
“Phoebe and I took the dogs for a run,” Janeway explained as she pulled off her mittens. “Sorry, I should have told you I was going out.” She stuffed the mitts, along with her scarf, into the hat, and tossed it into the container reserved for them, then shrugged out of her coat. “It was cold out there.”
“You still appear cold,” Seven remarked, regarding her evenly. “Your cheeks are red.”
“Warm me up?” Janeway asked, turning back from the closet after hanging up her coat, and extending her arms to Seven tentatively.
Seven hesitated, then reached out, slipping her arms around her. “Of course,” she said. They stood there in an embrace for long moments, and gradually, Janeway was aware that Seven was surreptitiously nuzzling her hair, hesitantly, as if unsure she was allowed that privilege. Janeway caught her breath, deciding that perhaps her sister had been more accurate in her assessment of Seven's state of mind than she had wanted to believe. It wounded her to know Phoebe could see things more clearly when it came to Seven than Janeway could.
Remaining still, she encouraged the tender touch, concentrating on just being with her in this individual moment of togetherness. Finally, because Seven had stopped, Janeway drew back, tilting her head back to look up at her spouse.
“Are you warmer now?” Seven asked, her pale eyes soft in the light.
“Much,” Janeway said. She tilted her head slightly, searching Seven's face. “You do know how much I love you, don't you, Annika?” she asked softly.
“Yes,” Seven responded, but there was the slightest pause there, Janeway noted, and it sent a sliver of pain through her heart. Seven raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?” she added softly, uncertainly.
“I just wanted to make sure,” Janeway said sadly, tightening her embrace.
From the living room, she heard the tinkle of piano keys and knew her grandmother, her mother and her mother's lover, Michael—a concept that still gave Janeway pause on occasion—were waiting for them. Tucking her arm into Seven's, Janeway rested her head on Seven's shoulder.
“Come on, darling,” she said quietly, nudging her toward the rear of the house. “Let's join the others.”
There was a fire laid in the hearth, and unlit candles scattered about the living room while a bottle of wine stashed in an ice bucket, along with two crystal glasses, rested on the coffee table. Seven eyed this tableau curiously, deciding this was why Phoebe had arrived so late for the carol singing, her explanation of 'picking up a few things to spend the night at Mom's' notwithstanding. Uncertainly, Seven glanced at Janeway, and wondered if Janeway had noticed the additional touches her sister had provided for the couple.
“Let's get our bags up to the guest room,” Janeway suggested. “We'll change into our pajamas, then we'll come down here and have a glass of wine before bed.” She paused. “If that's all right?”
Seven picked up the couple's bags. “That would be acceptable,” she allowed.
Phoebe hadn't been as obvious in the guest bedroom, but the bed had been made up with fresh linens, and the ensuite was perfumed faintly with some rose scent. Janeway pulled a peach nightgown from her pack.
“Do you mind if I take a shower first?” she asked.
“Certainly,” Seven said, not knowing why she was being so formal with her, almost as if this were the first time they had ever spent the night together. She allowed that it was the first night they had spent at Phoebe's, but surely that was not the cause of the tension between them. Of course, since the incident with Section 31, there was little that Seven was certain of when it came to Janeway.
Janeway did not take long in the bathroom, and when she came out, freshly showered and changed, she offered Seven a small smile.
“I'll be downstairs,” she said. “Join me?”
“As soon as I have washed and changed,” Seven promised.
When she finally descended the stairs, dressed in her silver satin pajamas that Janeway had given to her years before, she was somehow not surprised to discover her had kindled the fire and lit the candles around the room. Janeway looked particularly beautiful in the illumination of the flickering flames, their light streaking her auburn hair with fire, her skin glowing warm and smooth. Glancing up at Seven's approach, Janeway smiled, the sort of smile that Seven had thought she might not ever see again—not necessarily desirous, though that was certainly an element to it—but rather shy and proud, as if she were the most fortunate being in the world to have Seven of Nine for her spouse. Seven suddenly felt bashful, and she sank down onto the cushions her had gathered together in front of the hearth, wrapping her arms around her knees. Janeway smiled at her and offered her a glassful of white wine.
“It's not bad,” she said. “A little dry, but it has a nice bouquet.”
Seven sipped it gingerly, finding it just as Janeway had described it. She had not known what to expect when she had seen Janeway stretched out before the fire, but she seemed content just to lounge on the cushions next to her and drink her wine. Gradually, Seven relaxed, realizing that it had been some time since she and Janeway had simply spent time together in quiet repose. There was no need to discuss anything, no sense that they had to fill the passing moments with stilted conversation about what they were doing at their respective jobs, or what was going on in Starfleet Command regarding the repercussions of Admiral Hayes being arrested, or even what was going on in their immediate neighborhood. It simply felt comfortable to be there, and watch the flames crackling in the hearth, the sense of togetherness something that Seven had been missing desperately for what seemed to be a very long time. Though perhaps she hadn't understood how much until this very moment.
She inhaled sharply when Janeway reached over and put her hand on the small of Seven's back, slipping it beneath her pajama top, but rather than an amorous gesture, Janeway began to scratch Seven's back with slow, languid strokes, her nails barely pressing against the skin. Exhaling slowly, Seven bent her head and closed her eyes, relaxing under the idle caress that she had not experienced for months. Long moments of sheer pleasure passed, Seven melting into a state of pure rapture.
“It's been a while since I've done this,” Janeway said finally, a sorrowful note in her soft voice. “Too long, in fact. I can't even remember the last time.”
Seven made a small sound of agreement. “On Voyager,” she murmured. She paused. “The same amount of time has passed since I last rubbed your feet.”
“So, it has,” Janeway responded regretfully. “Small pleasures meant so much in the Delta Quadrant. I guess we lost track of that once we returned to the Federation.”
Seven considered that. “I believe you are correct,” she said.
Janeway's action gradually became more involved, and without needing to be asked, Seven unbuttoned her top, allowing it to hang loose and affording her spouse more room to maneuver beneath the material. Janeway set her glass down, and rose to her knees behind Seven, using both hands to attend to every millimeter of Seven's back, alternating between brisk, short brushes across her shoulder blades, and the long, lingering strokes down her spine.
They fell silent, each concentrating on the simple joy of this interaction, one granting the touch unselfishly, the other receiving it with utter bliss, connecting on a deeper level than they had for weeks. Seven smiled, her eyes closed, almost drifting off from the sensation of her scratching her back without pause, as if Janeway intended to occupy herself with nothing else but this for the foreseeable future. It was a very loving thing for Janeway to do, an act that benefitted only Seven, because it certainly did not accord Janeway any pleasure beyond the knowledge that she was providing a special gift to her. It was caring and gentle, and it made Seven feel as if her existence might be worth something once more.
She hadn't realized she was crying until Janeway paused in her attention, reaching around to gently wipe Seven's cheek with her thumb. Seven swallowed hard, and turned her head, completely vulnerable to Janeway.
“I failed you,” she whispered.
“Just as I failed you,” Janeway responded softly. She paused. “I can't take back anything I've done or said in the recent past, Annika, but I am truly sorry if any of it added to your pain. That was never my intention, and certainly not anything I would ever want to have happen.”
“I cannot undo anything I have done, either,” Seven said sadly.
“No,” Janeway agreed, leaning forward and resting her chin on Seven's shoulder as she wrapped her arms around Seven's chest. “But that's irrelevant. Annika, please know this; I've never loved you any less than what I always have, not for one instant, and I'll love you with my whole being for the rest of my life.” She inhaled deeply, and tightened her embrace. “With all my heart and soul, now and forever, my darling. Please, believe that.”
Seven swallowed hard, her head bent as she felt the warmth of her surround her. “I do, Kathryn,” Seven whispered softly, realizing as she spoke that she meant it, her heart seeming to ease its beat as if some restriction around it had been lifted. All she had needed was to hear it from Janeway’s lips. “I love you, too.”
Janeway exhaled, an audible whisper, almost as if in relief. “I needed to know that,” she said softly.
Seven blinked, surprised. “You doubted it?” she asked.
Janeway paused. “Maybe a little,” she admitted. “You've been so distant lately.”
Seven turned her head to look at her. “So, have you,” she noted gently.
Sorrow ghosted over Janeway's face. “So, I have,” she said wistfully. “Obviously, it's past time we return to what's important.”
“A starship?”
A small sound of what might have been amusement, but could just as easily have been a sob came from Janeway's throat. “Taking care of each other,” Janeway corrected huskily. “Making sure that we share not just a home, but our hearts and minds as well.” She rubbed her cheek against Seven's. “Do you remember just before I was kidnapped, how you provided me with that special evening?”
“You were feeling neglected,” Seven said, remembering the evening well, though for some reason, it felt as if it had occurred years ago. “I wished to make up for all the evenings and months I had worked late.” She paused. “Now I realize how insufficient it was.”
“It was a lovely night, darling,” Janeway assured her. “I loved every second of it, but you're right, it was a sign of something that we were only then beginning to recognize. We had drifted apart beyond what our respective jobs were causing, but we couldn't really see the damage being done to our relationship, perhaps because it was so gradual.”
“Perhaps,” Seven agreed, leaning back into Janeway’s arms. “Kathryn, I think I was—encouraged—not to be so open with you—not to be close to you—though I did not realize it at the time.”
“That's my guess, too, but obviously, I facilitated it,” Janeway said regretfully. From the corner of her eye, Seven could see Janeway's eyes shading to grey. “It's easy to blame Section 31's influence on you, darling, but the real problem is that they were able to isolate you from me in the first place, and that's as much my fault as it is yours.” She paused to hug her tightly. “I guess we're just going to have to work harder to prevent it in the future,” she added softly.
For a moment, they remained in the warm embrace, trying to help each other comprehend the depth of their pain, then Janeway resumed her caress, running her hands lavishly over Seven's back. As she drew her nails along Seven's side, scratching her ribs, it made Seven quiver in response.
Seven lifted her head and sighed. “This feels so good, Kathryn,” she offered gratefully.
“I want you to feel good,” Janeway told her, then smiled as Seven abruptly yawned, unable to keep from blinking sleepily. “I think today is catching up to you, love.”
“Several days,” Seven admitted. “Weeks.” She looked back over her shoulder. “Thank you for scratching my back,” she added shyly.
“You're very welcome, my darling,” Janeway told her fondly, patting her on the shoulder. “Ready for bed?”
“Yes,” Seven agreed as the two women rose from the cushions. She glanced around the living room as she buttoned her pajama top. “I believe that Phoebe intended us to be romantic,” she added.
“This was romantic,” Janeway protested lightly, offering her a brief smile as she picked up the wine glasses. “Besides, I think she just wanted to remind us how much we love each other. Why don't you go on up to bed? I'll bank the fire and make sure the lights are out before I join you.”
Seven nodded, ascending the stairs to the guest room. Inside, she moved over to the window, looking out into the night. During the evening, clouds had moved in, and now snow was falling thickly. Fascinated by the flurries pattering the window, Seven was startled when she saw Janeway's reflection appear in the glass.
“It reminds me of that ice planet we were stranded on,” Janeway said, moving beside her, and Seven immediately drew her to her, her arm wrapped warmly around Janeway's shoulders.
“Fortunately, this house is a great deal warmer than the Delta Flyer was,” Seven noted. “Nor are there any snolions.”
“For which I am very grateful,” Janeway said, chuckling slightly.
How long had it been since she had heard Kathryn laugh? Seven realized sadly that it had to be before the Noiro incident, at the very least, and she swallowed hard as she hugged Janeway. They stood together for a few moments, watching the snow fall, then Janeway patted her on the back and drew away. Seven followed her over to the bed, the couple needing a moment to arrange themselves on the modest mattress, even smaller than the one they slept on at Gretchen's house. Seven wondered if the choice of narrow beds were a Traditionalist attribute, or if Janeway and she were simply unusual in their preference for expansive sleeping arrangements.
As soon as they had settled and turned out the lights, Janeway issued a soft sigh. “It feels so good to hold you,” she murmured. “I've missed this so much.”
Seven raised an eyebrow as she embraced Janeway. “Why have you not held me like this recently?” she asked, thinking of all the nights that had passed since being rescued from the doomed colony.
Every evening, the couple would routinely go to bed, and share a perfunctory kiss good-night before Seven would roll away to her side of the bed, her back to Janeway, still deeply ashamed of her actions on Noiro. She knew she didn't deserve it, but she yearned desperately for Janeway to reach over and wrap her up, offering the promise that she still loved her as much as she ever had. However, Janeway would inevitably remain on her side of the large bed, falling asleep while maintaining her distance from her spouse, leaving Seven to lie there in silent misery for the rest of the night.
Janeway was silent, and when she finally spoke, Seven realized she had surprised—and undoubtedly shamed—her spouse. “I thought you required space, Annika,” Janeway said sorrowfully. “You finished your sessions with Kes, then went back to work so quickly, you didn't seem to require anything from me. I didn't feel I should intrude while you were working this out.”
“Oh,” Seven said, feeling very inept suddenly, as she raised her head to regard her. “I did not wish to impose my confusion on you. I did not feel I deserved to ask anything of you after having disappointed you so greatly.”
“Oh, Annika,” Janeway whispered unhappily, reaching up to touch her cheek, “I'm so sorry. I guess I'm not very good at understanding nonverbal communication.”
“Apparently, neither am I, nor am I very good at conveying my feelings nonverbally,” Seven added. She exhaled and tightened her embrace. “I did not make it clear that I required your presence, not 'space'.”
Janeway did not respond for a long moment, and from the tension in her body, Seven knew she was working something out in her own mind before sharing it with her spouse. She waited patiently, and finally Janeway added in a small voice, “It's not your doing, Annika. Maybe I was the one who required the space, at least, at first.”
Seven exhaled slowly. “From me?” she asked softly.
Janeway shook her head. “No,” she said firmly. “From everything. I—so much of this was beyond my control, Annika. It made me feel so helpless and angry. When I'm helpless...”
“You do not react reasonably,” Seven finished for her, understanding better why Janeway had not reached out to her before now. “You withdraw into yourself, not wanting to show how vulnerable you are, even to me when it is an extreme situation.” She felt a twinge in her chest, aware that had she been less occupied with her own problems, she would have seen it immediately and assisted her spouse as she had so often on Voyager. “I did not realize, Kathryn,” she said with dismay. She hesitated, searching for the right words. “We have not discussed what happened to you in the hands of Cheb Packer and the Orion Syndicate. I was so concerned with my own situation—”
“No,” Janeway said, raising a finger to her lips to stop her. “Don't, please, darling.” Her face was very serious in the night. “I think—before now, when one of us was in a bad place, the other was able to help her through it. This time however, we both found ourselves in a bad place at the same time, and it took us a while to realize that. Instead of reaching out, we kept expecting the other to do it, and when that didn't happen, we thought it was from the other not wanting to, rather than because we were both afraid of being rejected. The longer we waited, the worse it became. There's also the fact that even before this happened, we possibly weren't as 'connected' as we should have been.”
Seven considered that, then nodded briefly. “Yes,” she said slowly. “That is what happened. I needed for you to tell me things were all right between us. I did not understand that you required the same from me.” She tilted her head slightly, studying the dark grey eyes of her spouse. “How did you manage to overcome that misunderstanding?”
Janeway lifted an eyebrow ruefully. “I don't know,” she admitted. “Maybe it was something Phoebe said to me, or maybe I just needed you so much, it no longer mattered to me that you might push me away.”
“I would never push you away,” Seven told her, astounded that her would ever harbor such an idea. Exhaling audibly, she lowered her head onto Janeway's shoulder, completely baffled. “How could we arrive at such conclusions about each other?” she asked.
Janeway was silent for a moment, and when she finally spoke, it was in a very tentative way. “There's a stage in every Starfleet officer's career,” she offered. “It happens a few years after graduating the Academy when the officer has worn the uniform for a while, and has a little experience under his belt. He starts to believe that he can handle himself in any situation, and has yet to learn how little he really knows. It's a very dangerous time, but generally, we all go through it.”
“Yes?” Seven prompted, not sure what her was saying.
“I'm just thinking that maybe marriages are like that too,” Janeway suggested uncertainly.
“You mean, a committed relationship may go through a dangerous stage?” Seven asked softly.
“Maybe it goes through a lot of different stages,” Janeway said, obviously thinking out loud. “Maybe this is just the first one we've encountered. We've been through so much together in the Delta Quadrant, Annika, that perhaps we became complacent in the supposed safety of the Alpha Quadrant. We may have made assumptions based on how well we thought we knew each other, but the fact is, as people, we're constantly changing and evolving. I think we need to pay as much attention to each other now as we did when we were starting out, instead of always assuming we know what the other is thinking and feeling.”
“We made conclusions based on our history together, which no longer applied to who we are as individuals in the Alpha Quadrant,” Seven offered. “We each changed as time passed, but we did not make sure our relationship changed with it.”
“Yes,” Janeway allowed. “I didn't know what elements were influencing you over the past year, darling, and the truth is, perhaps I don't understand you as well as I thought I did. That clouded my judgement when I felt distanced from you. Instead of seeing that you needed me, I decided that you were doing just fine without me.”
“Meanwhile, I let someone influence me so greatly that I could no longer see how much you needed me,” Seven said sadly.
“It's not your fault, darling,” Janeway whispered, brushing her lips over Seven's forehead comfortingly. “Hayes was kind to you, and very clever in never allowing you to see anything but that side of himself. Don't forget, I didn't have anyone deliberately manipulating me, yet I didn't let you know how I was feeling, and that's my responsibility.” She stroked Seven's hair lightly, drawing her fingers through the long, blonde locks. “I guess I wanted you to be independent, to be able to embrace all the new and wonderful experiences here in the Federation. I didn't notice that we stopped being close in the meantime, or if I did, I didn't want to be—selfish—in demanding so much of your attention.”
Seven considered that, lifting her head to regard her spouse. “I would never have considered you a 'demand' on me, Kathryn,” she said softly. “I wanted you to share in every aspect of my life this past year. How could you not know that?”
Janeway paused. “You never told me,” she said simply.
Seven made a small sound, almost a groan, and pulled her closer. “I am telling you now,” she said with all the sincerity she could convey. “You are necessary to me, Kathryn, in every way.”
“Oh, darling,” Janeway replied, “You're necessary to me, too. Always.” She exhaled softly, a sigh of remorse. “I think that we sometimes lose track of each other personally. When it happened on Voyager, it was easier to find our way back because we were in such a closed environment. Here, with so much going on outside our relationship, it was a lot more difficult to recognize what was happening.” She drew back so she could look at her spouse. “Regardless of the reasons, darling, I couldn't bear the thought of losing you.”
“You will never lose me, Kathryn,” Seven promised.
Janeway offered her that vulnerable expression again, and hugged her tightly, snuggling against Seven's body as if seeking sanctuary. For the first time, Seven realized that she had not been the only one terribly hurt by what had happened with the Orion Syndicate, and she held Janeway comfortingly, protectively, understanding that her required her presence now, more than ever.
“Kathryn,” Seven whispered, “I will always be here for you. You have only to ask.”
Janeway exhaled. “I know,” she responded in a barely audible voice. “Sometimes it's the asking that's hard, despite all we've been through.”
“I understand,” Seven reassured her, and it was not merely words. She truly did comprehend how difficult it was for Kathryn to be vulnerable, to show another person that she was lost and unsure of herself, even when that person was her spouse. It was an aspect of Janeway's personality that Seven accepted, but it did sometimes make their relationship very complicated. There were ways to simplify it on occasion, however, and tipping Janeway's head up, Seven kissed her slowly, carefully, trying to convey all her emotion through this gentle connection. When she finally released her, Janeway's eyes were closed, a tiny smile touching her lips.
“Oh, love,” she breathed.
“Yes,” Seven said quietly. “I am that for you, just as you are for me. I am sorry about my contribution to our estrangement.”
“Shh, no more apologies,” Janeway told her softly, burrowing her head into the hollow of Seven's neck and shoulder. “We need to put all this behind us and move on. We only have so much time to be with each other, darling. Every spare moment we have should be concentrated on us, not wasted on further recriminations that solve nothing.”
“Very well,” Seven said, happy to agree to that. She paused. “Kathryn, do you want to make love now?”
Janeway made a sound, one that Seven thought might be amusement. “I think we're both a little wrung out now,” Janeway responded gently. “It would be wonderful just to be able to hold you tonight. Would that be all right?”
“Of course,” Seven responded, feeling relieved that her spouse did not require a sexual response from her this night, though she wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was because they still weren't healed enough.
She inhaled the familiar fragrance of her spouse, submerging into her scent, finding solace in the soft cushion of hair beneath her cheek. As she relaxed in Janeway’s arms, she realized that she had been running on a thin edge for weeks, and now that she was able to cast aside her trepidations, it was as if she had been drugged, or stunned by a phaser. She inhaled once, then, with the next breath, she was asleep, unconsciousness descending upon her as heavily as the snow blanketing the countryside beyond their window.
Janeway woke before her, realizing how weary Seven had been for that to occur. Usually Seven was alert long before Janeway, or at the very least, awoke whenever Janeway stirred. This morning however, Seven did not move as Janeway slipped from the bed and went into the ensuite, taking care of a few biological necessities. The chill in the air sent her scurrying back for the cozy comfort of the bed, and she slid gratefully between the warm sheets, huddling against Seven's lush body as she tucked herself under Seven's chin.
Seven murmured something inaudible and wrapped herself around Janeway, hooking her leg behind Janeway's, and slipping her arms around her torso to completely enfold the woman into her embrace. Janeway smiled to herself, feeling surrounded by her spouse, something that Seven had not been doing recently. The fact that she had now indicated that last night's reaching out by Janeway had done wonders for Seven's sense of security in their relationship. Janeway wondered how she could have misread Seven's aloofness from her as indicating a desire for space, rather than what it had truly been. Even after all this time, the potential for misunderstanding between them remained, and Janeway had to remember that, for both their sakes. For all her frighteningly keen intellect, Seven was still somewhat emotionally fragile. She was especially fragile when she had been through an experience where she had felt she failed.
Not that you react to failure in a more mature way, Janeway's little voice reminded dryly. You just try to make up for it by working harder.
She sighed inaudibly and snuggled closer to her spouse, dozing for a while before finally opening her eyes to glance at the chronometer. She knew that the rest of the family would be rising, waiting for the couple to join them in the festivities, and regretfully, she nudged Seven, urging her out of the deep sleep she was enjoying.
“Mmm, Kathryn?” Seven blinked drowsily, almost like a child, and Janeway felt another twinge of remorse.
“Sorry, darling,” she said. “It's Christmas morning. We need to dress to meet Mother and the rest. They'll be waiting for us.”
Seven groaned and pulled her closer. “I wish to stay here with you,” she insisted.
Janeway smiled. “I know, darling,” she said, hugging her back. “I can't say that I wouldn't prefer that, as well, but we do have obligations.”
Seven paused. “I am very tired of having 'obligations',” she stated. “Even when they are family obligations.”
Janeway paused, thinking about that, then nuzzled Seven's throat. “Agreed,” Janeway said. “How do you feel about leaving as soon as dinner is over, and spending the rest of the holidays alone together? Perhaps some place special?”
Seven raised an eyebrow. “That would be most acceptable,” Seven said. “Where shall we go?”
“Let me think about it,” Janeway said, patting her on the stomach. “I'll have it figured out by this afternoon.”
Seven squeezed Janeway tightly in agreement, then with an air of reluctance, she flipped back the covers, allowing the cool air to hit their bodies, their thin sleepwear not doing much to protect them. Janeway made a small squeak of protest, but since she had instigated this, she really couldn't object, and she reached for the clothes she had laid out the night before. Before long, both women were dressed in sweaters and jeans—the outfit of choice for Indiana's winter weather—and had headed downstairs where they added more clothes to cross the snowy expanse to the main farmhouse.
Despite their initial reluctance to leave the comfort of their bed, Janeway suspected that Seven quickly altered her mood once they had joined the rest of the family. After consuming a light breakfast, they all moved into the living room by the tree where Seven once more experienced the tradition of opening the Christmas gifts. Seven's face was avid in her enjoyment, not only of receiving so many presents, but in watching the others open her gifts to them. Later, the couple and the rest of the family sat down at the large dining room table to the holiday dinner with all its fixings, the conversation warm and often provoking laughter, a sense of togetherness permeating the entire afternoon until it was time to go. Gretchen, of course, was somewhat disappointed to know the couple were leaving so quickly, but even she seemed to have recognized something was going on with them, and did not protest too much. As they prepared for returning to the Portage Creek Transport Station, and Seven secured their luggage and parcels in the hovercraft, Phoebe took the opportunity to draw her sister aside.
“Well?” she demanded.
Janeway smiled. “Last night went a long way for us,” she assured her. “You were right. All we needed to do was get past the fear and reach out. Thank you.”
The artist looked relieved. “I'm glad,” she said. “Take care of her, Kathryn. She's the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“I know,” Janeway said, regarding her fondly as Seven patted Jake good-bye. The couple had given the dog to Gretchen to replace Petunia, a retriever she had recently lost, and because the Irish Setter was obviously much happier in Indiana. The two women knew it would be cruel to take him with them when they accepted starship duty once more, and Christmas had seemed like an acceptable time to transfer ownership of the dog to Janeway's mother. Janeway remembered how easy it had been for the couple to come to that decision, and realized that should have been a clue to how both she and Seven were becoming somewhat detached from the pet they had cared so deeply for while on Voyager, and subsequently, from each other as well.
Thank God, we don't have any kids, Janeway thought fervently.
“Where are we going?” Seven asked, once they were in the hovercraft and speeding over the fresh snowfall, throwing up a cloud of frosty powder in their wake.
“First, back to San Francisco,” Janeway offered. “We'll drop off our presents, empty our bags, then repack.” She offered her a shy look. “Do you remember the holodeck program the crew gave us for our honeymoon?”
Seven nodded, her pale eyes curious.
“It was based on a specific area in the Caribbean,” Janeway explained. “I contacted one of the resorts there, and made reservations for tonight and the rest of the holiday break.” She paused. “How does a second honeymoon sound to you?”
A radiant smile spread over Seven's face, making Janeway's heart lurch pleasantly. “That would be wonderful,” Seven admitted warmly.
Pleased, Janeway returned the smile and urged a little more speed out of the hovercraft. At Portage Creek, she utilized her Starfleet authority to have the couple beamed, with their bags and gifts, directly to their home. After Seven made a complete diagnostic on the console, since neither woman was prepared to arbitrarily trust an unsupervised transporter ever again. In San Francisco, the couple quickly emptied their luggage of all their cold weather clothes, replacing them with shorts, bathing suits, short-sleeved shirts, and sandals. Within a few hours, they were checking into a lavish resort that provided them with a private cottage facing a small cove with a white sand beach. The palm trees swayed slightly in the tropical breeze, its warmth chasing away the last of the lingering shadows and coldness they had been experiencing.
Janeway stood out on the deck, freshly bathed and changed into a silken robe, watching the full moon hang over the shimmering sea, inhaling the perfume of hundreds of flowers. Seven, having showered and changed into her own robe earlier, came up behind her, enfolding her in strong arms.
“Thank you for this, Kathryn,” Seven whispered in her hair. She paused, then added uncertainly. “However, could this not be considered yet another 'gesture' between us?”
“It's not the trip, darling,” Janeway said, leaning back against Seven's body, surrendering to the warm embrace. “It's about our being together, far away from everything. It's all about my concentrating on you, and you concentrating on me, and both of us sharing our hearts and minds fully. It's about talking about everything, no matter how insignificant, holding nothing back, and using this time to reconnect. The actual location is irrelevant. We could have done this in Indiana or San Francisco, but I wanted us to be somewhere where it was unlikely anyone would know us, or be able to bother us.”
Seven considered that, tightening her hug. “You are correct,” she said softly, nuzzling Janeway's hair. “Being far away from Starfleet is necessary for us right now.”
Janeway smiled and rested her hands on Seven's forearms, feeling the cool metallic mesh under her left palm as they stood quietly, enjoying the moonlight on the water. “Shall we order room service for a late dinner?” she asked finally. “I think their kitchen is still open.”
“I am still replete from the turkey we ingested in Indiana,” Seven said, kissing Janeway's neck. Her hand slipped beneath the robe her was wearing, stroking the warm swell of her stomach. “However, I would not be averse to—dessert.”
Janeway laughed, realizing her spouse was flirting with her once more, Seven's confidence and self-assurance in Janeway’s love apparently restored to its former level.
“I've not been particularly sweet the past few weeks,” she warned her.
“Sweet is overrated as a dessert format,” Seven responded easily, nibbling Janeway's ear. “I prefer rich—full bodied—tangy—”
“Oh my,” Kathryn said, allowing her to lure her inside the cottage, feeling the skilled hands moving over her body as Seven urged her over to the expansive bed.
Janeway instinctively understood that this had to be Seven's evening to be the aggressor, Seven's time to set the pace and intensity of their physicality. Seven had been wounded deeply, and it was up to her to determine how and what she wanted this night to find her way back to her spouse. There was also a significant part of Janeway who required Seven to take the lead, to make love to her, to prove to her how much Seven desired her, how much she had to have her. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Janeway had also been damaged by all they had been through, and allowing Seven to love her like this was what she needed to start mending the hurt inside.
Nor was she immune to the burning desire that swept them up. It felt so wonderful to have Seven's body against hers once more, their robes seeming to slip from them magically, to lay crumpled and forgotten on the floor as Seven lowered her to the bed, covering her possessively. Janeway didn't know how long the couple moved together, touching and tasting every bit of flesh, attending to every millimeter of skin, aware only of the pleasure that seemed to wash over her with the same regularity and strength of the waves crashing on the shore outside. The sound provided a perfect counterpoint for the women to establish their rhythm, sharing equally in the demand of quickened respiration and soft cries of delight, of salt sweet flavor and mutual stimulation, of stroking and kissing until both were breathless and weak, quivering bone and muscle going slack with delicious satisfaction.
With Seven's face buried in her neck, the tears of her release wetting her skin, Janeway blinked back her own emotion and stroked Seven's long spine soothingly, her nails playing lightly over the smooth skin. It was the final healing between them, not arrived at by the act of passion, but by the work of their devotion leading up to this physical unity, of bonding in love and rebuilding trust before being able to solidify the connection with physical desire. Janeway wondered how long it would be before she would be able to accept that as a given, rather than needing to discover it through painful trial and error, of striving through hurt and forgiveness before either was able to reach this sweet place of joy and tenderness.
“Kathryn?”
“I'm right here, darling,” Janeway whispered, kissing Seven's temple. “I'll always be here, I promise.”
“I love you.”
“Oh, sweetness, I love you, too,” Janeway swore. “Forever.”
Seven snuggled closer, her lips soft against Janeway's cheek. “We must not allow our paths to stray so far apart ever again,” she urged.
“We won't,” Janeway agreed. “We'll make certain of it.”
“It shall be easier on the Millennium,” Seven noted thoughtfully.
“Perhaps,” Janeway said. “But it also comes down to us remembering that marriage always takes attention and care, regardless of where we are, or how long we've been together.”
“Yes,” Seven agreed. She paused, running her hand lazily along Janeway's side. “This has been a hard lesson, Kathryn, but one that hopefully we both shall benefit from.”
“As I get older however, I rather wish the lessons were a little easier on me,” Janeway said dryly.
Seven made a small sound of amusement, reaching down to press her lips against Janeway's collar bone, trailing a line of kisses back up to her ear. “You are so strong, Kathryn,” she murmured. “Without your courage to sustain me, I could never have made it through this.”
Janeway put her finger to Seven's chin, raising her face so she could kiss her lips. “You're the strong one,” she whispered. “Even when I'm flailing around without a clue, you hang in there until I figure out where I need to be. Thank you for loving me, Annika.”
“It is my pleasure,” Seven told her. They kissed sweetly once more, then again, their lips melding into a long line of tender touches, their initial edge of desire removed, able to begin again, slower, hotter, with more want and less need, making love with great joy and no little relief at discovering their bond again, reminded with each passing second of what was most important to them.
Waking the next morning, a warm breeze wafting through the open French doors of the bedroom, Janeway smiled and stretched without opening her eyes, finding the contrast of waking in this tropical paradise quite delicious compared to the previous morning of icy temperatures and snow-covered fields. She reached out, disappointed to discover Seven had already risen, and she rolled out of bed, padding naked to the doors to look down at the beach.
Seven was just coming out of the water, her skin golden in the morning sunshine, body sleek in the blue one-piece bathing suit. Her hair was slicked back over her head, and Janeway watched her appreciatively as she approached the deck.
“You're absolutely beautiful, my darling,” she called out to her.
Seven looked up and offered Janeway a bright smile, more brilliant than the sparkles on the sea. “Not as beautiful as you,” she observed, eyeing Janeway’s naked form happily. “I have ordered breakfast. Perhaps, you should put something on before it arrives?”
Janeway heard the knock at the front of the cottage, and hastily, she snatched at her robe, aware of Seven’s amused gaze following her out to the living area where she answered the door. The young man delivering the food was dressed in a brief pair of shorts and not much else, and Janeway raised an eyebrow of mild aesthetic appreciation for his well-developed physique as he placed the tray of fruits and pastries on the table, along with a large pitcher of juice, and best of all, a carafe of hot coffee.
She tipped him a few credits, then took a seat, quickly joined by Seven who had rinsed off, having changed into a t-shirt and shorts before leaving the bedroom, though she was still drying her hair. Draping the towel over the back of her chair, Seven hungrily served herself several pieces of fresh fruit, muffins and bagels from the selection, attacking her meal with an appetite that she had not shown since before the kidnapping. Janeway regarded her fondly as she sipped her coffee and buttered a croissant, also feeling peckish after a very busy holiday which had ended with extensive lovemaking the night before.
Despite the resumption of their emotional and physical ease with each other, Janeway was completely unprepared when Seven abruptly ducked beneath the table. At first, Janeway thought her spouse had dropped something, but when she felt gentle hands nudging her legs apart and a warm breath on the flesh which was bare beneath her robe, her eyes widened.
“Annika!” she yelped, part way between shock and sudden, sharp arousal, glancing down at her who was insinuating herself between Janeway's knees, feeling the soft skin of Seven's cheeks along the inside of her thighs. “What are you doing?”
“Obviously,” Seven said as she lifted Janeway's legs onto her shoulders, then gently kissed Janeway's triangle, sending a chill of pure sensation through Janeway's body, “I am enjoying my breakfast.”
“Darling,” Janeway protested weakly, though she made no effort to push Seven away, “I haven't even showered this morning.”
Seven's response was muffled and incoherent—and provided an interesting sensation in itself, a vibration that reverberated through Janeway's loins, a mumble that did the most wonderful things to Janeway's vulnerable flesh. Setting her coffee down carefully on the table so as not to spill it, either on herself or on Seven, Janeway dropped her hands to the arms of her chair, hanging on tightly as she tipped her head back, closing her eyes and moaning softly. Seven swirled her tongue hotly around Janeway's tender nodule, urging it from its pocket, the skillful flutters causing it to swell and ache with pleasure. Lifting her hips, Janeway arched against Seven as the delight grew in steady waves, then abruptly, she peaked, a sharp spasm that made her cry out, shuddering uncontrollably.
Sprawling weakly in her chair, the tremors continued to echo through Janeway as Seven rose to kiss her tenderly on the mouth, cupping her face in gentle hands. Janeway's flavor lingered, salty, on Seven's lips, with a faint underlay of melon, and when Seven finally drew back to her previous position across the table, it was with a decidedly smug expression. Janeway inhaled deeply, and tried to gather together her composure as well as her robe which had fallen open, leaving her completely exposed. As Seven resumed her interrupted meal, taking a bite of her melon with a lusty appetite that could not be mistaken by Janeway, she managed to find her voice again.
“I'm not going to get much rest during this honeymoon, am I?” she muttered.
Seven eyed her briefly, then gestured to the plate in front of Janeway. “Between our discussions and making love, I suspect not. Eat your breakfast, Kathryn. You shall require all the nutrition possible to maintain your energy level.” She lifted a brow. “Unless you have an alternative method of spending this Solstice?”
Janeway blinked, then slowly smiled.
“Not at all, darling,” she responded sincerely. “I'm all yours.”
“For this Solstice, and the rest of our lives.”
Epilogue
Jack Hayes, disgraced and dishonored, looked up as the security officer tapped on the door of his cell.
“You have a visitor,” she said in a tone devoid of inflection, dropping the force field.
She escorted him to the waiting area, and Haye's eyes widened as he recognized the Section 31 operative, even as he endeavored to make no indication of it. Inside, however, he felt a sensation of excitement and relief. Obviously, they were finally here to help him out of this mess, but he didn't speak until the security officer had taken up a position outside the meeting room.
Hayes leaned forward, lowering his voice, choosing his words with care, knowing that any conversation might be monitored and trying to keep the discussion as innocuous as possible.
“Thank you for visiting me,” he said.
“I wanted to say that I find this all so hard to believe,” the operative said, playing his role as the attaché shocked by a superior officer being incarcerated, uneasy and awkward. “Are you all right? Are they treating you well?”
“As well as can be expected,” Hayes said.
“If you fall ill, is there adequate medical care?” the operative asked in a concerned tone, but his eyes were unusually intent, and Hayes lifted his head.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “I believe there is.”
“Good,” the operative said, with what seemed relief.
They exchanged more pleasantries, stilted conversation about what was going on in San Francisco in Haye's absence, then the operative took his leave. When he left, there was a small white pill left in Hayes' possession, slipped to him unobtrusively, along with the idea that once he took it, he would become ill and be sent to the prison's sickbay where Section 31 would then undertake a rescue. It would mean that Hayes could never go back to Starfleet, of course—which caused a real pang in the admiral’s heart—but at least he would be free, and working behind the scenes, he could continue to contribute to the protection of the Federation.
Hayes palmed the pill, and returned to his cell, waiting another day and a night before swallowing it. He lay down on his bunk and waited for the reward for all his hard work that Seven and Janeway had destroyed. With any luck, perhaps he would even have the opportunity for a little revenge, though of course, he would have to keep that strictly outside any Section 31 operation.
On the other side of the planet, the operative went about his business in San Francisco, aware that by this time, the problem of Hayes had been taken care of by the undetectable poison which would give the appearance of him having died of natural causes. In another part of the Alpha Quadrant, the problem of Kagan and the rest of the assault team had been rectified by Chandler. The mysterious deaths would undoubtedly be blamed on Section 31 despite the lack of proof, but then, every incident from here would be blamed on the covert Intelligence group. But from this moment on, all scheduled operations were canceled, and all agents withdrawn to a position of strict neutrality, essentially disappearing as if Section 31 had never existed. Eventually, the memory of their presence would fade entirely, the trail left behind growing cold with the lack of activity as the decision was made to pull back from any attempt to influence either Starfleet or the Federation Council. Section 31 did have to look at the long term after all, and for now, the Federation would just have to struggle along without their immediate contribution.
But sometime in the future, regardless of how many years it took, Section 31 would once again be needed, and on that day, all their operatives would be reactivated to provide the protection and leadership the Federation so desperately needed in times of crisis.
The End