The Morning After
G. L. Dartt

 

Captain Kathryn Janeway woke with a sharp intake of breath, feeling confused, disconcerted and entirely too warm.

Lying still, she took in her surroundings with careful attentiveness, using every sense to its utmost. It was early morning she guessed, the lights still down with only the dim illumination of starlight passing through the distortion of warpfield giving indistinct shape to the furniture in her quarters. She squinted slightly, peering through the darkness intently. Yes, these were her quarters, though she couldn't quite seem to remember how she had gotten to them the night before.

In fact, she couldn't remember much of last night at all. Just the party held by Neelix to celebrate yet another trying, but ultimately successful mission, where her crew released tension and stress over good food and several glasses of the most delicious punch. Every senior officer had been there, swapping stories, laughing ... she remembered her helmsmen, Tom Paris, telling a rather lengthy story about some archaic vehicle called a Barracuda, but the details got somewhat fuzzy after that. Why were they so fuzzy? Perhaps if she could just get out from under this weight pinning her to the bed, she could think better.

Janeway froze. Cautiously she ran her fingers over the warm arm resting casually over her chest, and realized she was also trapped quite handily by a long leg tangled in hers, and a tousled head resting heavy on her shoulder. Warm, rounded flesh pressed sweetly against her, informing her that both parties were completely naked.

“Lights, one eighth,” she whispered, mouth suddenly going dry, heart beginning to pound.

Ohgodohgodohgod, she thought. What have I done? Who have I done it with? Why don't I remember anything about it?

Obediently, the computer brought the lights up to a dim glow, illuminating the room and her general vicinity, bringing the details into better focus. Janeway looked down at the body draped so familiarly over hers, feeling her breath catch in her throat. Blonde hair spread wild over the captain's breasts, and the soft exhalation of breath from an elegant nose tickled a nipple which, to Janeway's great dismay, hardened in pleased response. The soft grey of a metallic implant framing the left eye pressed against the smooth skin of the captain's chest while on the right cheek, turned up to the night, a star-shaped device adorned the fine line of jaw where it terminated under the ear. Under her fingertips, Janeway discovered she was tracing a line of implant imbedded in her companion's right bicep.

It took all her will not to jerk away in shock as she identified Seven of Nine, her Borg astrometrics officer as the woman sharing her bed. The delicious languor of muscles not utilized in the past five years, and a pleasant stickiness along with the unmistakable muskiness which wafted into her nostrils told her they had done considerably more than merely share the bed.

Oh my god. Janeway swallowed hard. What would possess her to go to bed with Seven of Nine? The woman's link to the Collective had been severed only a year before, and the insolent, arrogant attitude Seven had displayed ever since, had generated furious sparks between the two of them on many occasions. Angry, aggravated, conflicted sparks. Certainly not the type of sparks to draw two people together into a passionate embrace. At least, Janeway hadn't thought so.

There was a soft sigh, a gentle inhalation, and pale blue eyes opened, blinking with confusion. Then, spotting the woman beneath her, Seven's features softened, and to Janeway's complete and utter shock, a warm smile curled the full lips, shedding the normally icy demeanor and making Seven look as the young woman she would have been had she never been assimilated.

“Kathryn,” she said softly, caressingly, the knowing voice of a lover.

Janeway pressed back in the bed as far as she could as Seven rose slightly to press her mouth against hers, kissing her tenderly, and despite herself, the captain found herself responding.

Well, there was no need to be rude, after all, she rationalized as she returned the kiss hesitantly. It was a very nice kiss, sweet, pleasantly arousing, even accounting for the fact that other than for a character in a holo-novel, Janeway had not been kissed by anyone for five years. She was surprised at how very accomplished the kiss was, considering Seven couldn't have had a whole lot of experience with such things.

Not counting last night, her mind prodded delicately. After all, who knew exactly how much experience Seven had acquired the previous evening. Janeway took a quick breath, and ended the kiss immediately.

“Good morning,” Janeway offered cautiously as she saw Seven continuing to look down at her with a drowsy, contented expression on her face.

“Good morning,” the younger woman replied huskily. Her smile widened, revealing the flash of white teeth between generous lips.

“Uh, interesting night,” the captain offered noncommittedly.

“Oh yes,” Seven agreed and to the captain's horror, the Borg purred as she pressed against her. Her right hand began to stroke Janeway's belly with languorous pleasure, slipping perilously close to certain places that an astrometrics officer shouldn't know about regarding a captain.

“Seven,” Janeway said, gently capturing the exploring hand in her own. “We need to be on duty soon.”

Seven considered this. “You are correct,” she said. Abruptly, she disentangled herself from the captain and stood up.

Startled, Janeway didn't know if she should avert her eyes from the woman standing next to the bed in all her nude glory, or if that would be ... well, sort of foolish considering that they had apparently done more than merely look at each other the night before. So she half observed with a sideways glance, not staring exactly but just sort of noting the Borg mesh spreading over the flat abdomen and back, the claw like implants scattered at various places on the curvaceous body, all normally hidden by the biomesh outfit Seven customarily wore. Her breasts were full and firm, with rosy nipples and the sharply defined triangle of hair was blonde, though a few shades darker than that on her head. The legs were long and lean, the torso lanky and finely muscled. All in all, Seven was an extremely attractive woman even with the stark reminders of her time with the Borg.

Seven went into the bathroom and soon after, the vibration of the sonic shower set Janeway's back teeth on edge. Nervously, the captain sat up in her bed, tucking the blue, Starfleet-issued sheets modestly around her, staring at the closed bathroom door with dismay. She honestly didn't know what to do now. She had never been in such a compromising position, either as a civilian or as a Starfleet officer and really, had absolutely no clue as to what the etiquette about this sort of thing was. She was not in the habit of taking crewmembers into her bed. She jumped as Seven suddenly came back into the room, uniformed once more, fixing the back of her hair which was up in its customary austere bun.

“Uh, Seven, would you mind not commenting on the events of last night or this morning with anyone,” Janeway asked uncertainly.

Especially since she had no idea of what those events were. She damned well did not want the crew finding out before she did.

“Of course, Captain,” Seven responded calmly.

She then bent over and kissed Janeway with a passionate electricity that made the captain's hair stand on end and came very close to causing her to pass out. Breathless, speechless, Janeway could only watch as Seven then turned and left the bedroom, her eyes following her through the living area until she had disappeared out the door.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

 

Neelix looked over his devastated mess hall with a mixture of pride and dismay. It had been one of his best parties, and the crew of the USS Voyager had certainly seemed to have had a good time. It was just too bad they were so ... untidy while enjoying themselves. With a sigh, he began to clean up, bending over to sweep up a bowl of Rigellian popcorn which had been overturned. When they had performed the conga line, no doubt.

“Mr. Neelix.”

Startled, the Delta Quadrant native dropped the bowl he had been using as a waste receptacle, once more scattering the popcorn over the carpet. Nose wrinkling in annoyance, he turned to see the ship's Emergency Medical Hologram regarding him with brows drawn forbiddingly down over his dark eyes.

“Doctor,” Neelix said, forcing a smile. “Do you have to sneak up on me?”

“I didn't sneak up on you, I materialized behind you,” the tall, sparse form sniped. “Are you experiencing a guilty conscience, Neelix?”

Neelix was confused. “Guilty?” he said. “Why would I be guilty?”

“About your party last night, perhaps?”

Neelix's face, resembling a Terran hedgehog, cleared immediately. “It was a wonderful party, wasn't it?” he said with a hint of triumph in his voice. “Everyone had such a good time.”

“Maybe too good,” the Doctor replied shortly, drawing out his medical tricorder and scanning the area around him. He seemed to find something in the punch bowl sitting on the table by the front counter, and he concentrated his probe on that. “Hmmm,” he said.

“I'm not sure what you're talking about, Doctor,” Neelix said, beginning to get a little concerned himself now. “Is something wrong?”

“I've had five patients show up this morning complaining of memory loss,” the Doctor said. “What is this?”

Neelix raised a tufted eyebrow. “Why, that's Talaxian punch,” he said, and lowered his voice confidentially. “My family's own special recipe. Of course, so far from home, I had to improvise somewhat in the ingredients.”

“I see,” the Doctor said dryly. “This is intoxicating.”

“Well, yes, the crew did seem to like it,” Neelix admitted modestly, preening a little.

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “No, I mean, it causes any Human who drinks it to become intoxicated,” he elaborated. “Not just in a normal, alcoholic way either.”

“Oh,” Neelix said. He frowned. “Is that bad?”

The Doctor examined his readings. “Well, it doesn't seem to have any lasting effects and unlike alcohol, it did not affect motor control or create a hangover,” he admitted reluctantly. “But this symptom of memory loss is somewhat disturbing to me. I'm going to have to take a sample and examine it further.”

“Of course, Doctor,” Neelix agreed anxiously. “Please let me know of your results.”

The Doctor looked at him with disturbing directness. “I will,” he said, before dematerializing.

Neelix sighed. The party had gone so well.

 

Kathryn Janeway walked out onto the bridge, and tried not to feel self-conscious. After all, it was impossible for anyone to tell if she had indulged in sexual relations simply by her appearance. So why did she feel as if everyone on the bridge was looking at her, and knowing exactly what she had done last night?

Even if she didn't.

Swallowing hard, she sat down in her command chair and nodded politely to her first officer, Commander Chakotay. He was a tall, solid, handsome man with the tribal tattoo over his left eye who smiled back at her readily.

“Good morning, Captain,” he said.

Good, this was good. Calm, professional, normal. Precisely as it should be.

“I must say, you and Seven were quite the sight last night.”

Janeway was sure that she was about to drop dead right there. Certainly, she knew her heart was spasming wildly in a screaming effort to crawl up into her throat.

“Excuse me?” she managed.

He shrugged. “I just meant that you two made such a cute couple,” he said with a grin. “I know Seven didn't seem to be too willing at first, but you taught her all the ins and outs in record time. She was doing quite well by the end of it. I honestly believe that with just a little more practice, she'll become quite accomplished.”

Janeway just stared at him, totally unable to speak, the blood thundering in her ears and making everything sound as if it were coming from a million miles away.

“Sickbay to bridge.”

“Bridge here,” Chakotay asked.

“Is the captain there, Commander?” the Doctor asked. “I need to speak to her about Neelix's party last night.”

Chakotay raised a brow as he looked at her and wordlessly, she nodded, rising to her feet, and heading for the turbolift. Behind her, she heard him add, “She's on her way down, Doctor.”

She refused to meet his eyes as the turbolift doors slid shut before her.

 

Tom Paris, Voyager's helmsman half turned in his chair to look at Chakotay. The first officer was staring after the captain with a disturbed look on his face.

“Is it me, or did the captain seem a little off this morning?” Tom asked with a puzzled frown.

Chakotay took a breath, then looked back at Tom. “I guess,” he said. He shook his head. “Maybe I embarrassed her a little.”

“I thought it was cute how she taught Seven to dance,” Harry Kim interjected from his position at ops, at the rear of the Bridge. “But it wasn't as funny as when she was teaching B'Elanna and the Doctor.”

Tom grinned. “I'll be sure to tell B'Elanna that,” he told his best friend.

Harry lost his grin. B'Elanna Torres, the half Klingon chief engineer was not known for her sense of humor. “I thought she was very graceful,” he added hastily.

“Sure, Harry,” Tom said. “I'll be sure to add that.” He turned back to his helm and chuckled. Harry was so easy sometimes.

 

“So, this memory loss,” Janeway asked, finally finding her voice, “is it permanent?”

“I'm not sure,” the Doctor admitted. “Probably not. After a certain period, the memories will most likely return. I can utilize cortical stimulators or drugs to hasten it.” He eyed the captain curiously. “Did you suffer memory loss, captain? I noted that you had several glasses of the punch last night.”

Janeway felt lightheaded, but fortunately she didn't sway. She suspected she was pale at this point however. “Doctor,” she asked in a distant tone. “Are there any other effects? Would this combination of elements working on human physiology force one to act improperly?”

The Doctor frowned. “Could you be more specific, Captain?” he asked.

“Would it make you do something out of character?”

The Doctor pondered this for a moment, then his face cleared. “Ah, you're talking about you and Seven,” he said.

Janeway was frozen. Which was a good thing. Otherwise she would have promptly collapsed on the floor, though maybe that would be better. If she were especially lucky, her skull would strike the metal deck, scrambling her brain, and killing her instantly.

“What about Seven and I?” she asked faintly. Best to get this over with.

He smiled. “Captain, I assure you, even though it is not in Seven's nature to dance,” he said. “She clearly wanted you to teach her. Even though she might have been more hesitant about the idea without the punch, you didn't make her do anything she didn't want to.” He shrugged. “Of course, she only had one cup of punch, and a small one at that.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice confidentially. “If she'd had more, you might have actually have gotten her to tango as you wanted.”

“'Tango'?” Janeway said weakly.

“Oh yes,” the Doctor said, then preened. “That was quite the little dance contest you organized last night. I must admit, you are a wonderful teacher. Who would have guessed that Seven and I would win the mambo round?”

Janeway felt dizzy. She had no idea what he was talking about, nor was she sure she wanted to. However, she did need to know more about the punch.

“Doctor, could this make you do something that you knew was wrong?” she asked urgently.

He blinked. “You mean, like kill someone?”

“All right,” she said, accepting the example.

“No,” he said.

“Oh,” she replied faintly.

“All it does is lower inhibitions,” he went on in a lecturing tone. “The everyday resistance against doing something that you really want to do, but might not attempt because of external circumstances such as rank or position.” He studied her. “Captain, I'm sure no one thinks any less of you because you 'loosened up' and had a good time last night. The dance contest was fun, and I'm positive that you are just as much respected this morning that you were this time yesterday morning.”

She raised her head. “I certainly hope so, Doctor,” she said uncertainly.

Head spinning, she walked out of sickbay.

 

Seven entered the Captain's ready room, stopping just inside the doors, looking around before finally spotting the captain standing on the upper deck. Janeway was staring out at the stars through the large transparent aluminum windows which dominated the room, looming over the blue couch and chairs.

“You wished to see me, Captain?” Seven asked politely.

There was a pause, and she was unsure if Janeway had heard her or not. Then the woman turned around and looked at her. She had a most odd expression on her face, one that Seven did not quite know how to identify. It was not anger or surprise or confusion. Or pleasure. Seven had become very familiar with that expression recently.

“Would you come up here, and have a seat, please, Seven?” Janeway asked quietly.

Seven hesitated, then did as asked, choosing the chair to the right, aligning herself properly in the seat, back straight, knees together, hands folded primly on her knees. She looked expectantly at the captain who remained standing. Janeway was regarding her intently, hands clasped together in front of her, rather tightly, Seven noted. There was another pause and then, Janeway cleared her throat.

“Seven, the punch that Neelix made last night caused an unexpected side effect,” she explained. “Memory loss.”

Seven blinked. “Indeed, Captain,” she said. “I did not experience any such effect. I remember every moment of the previous twenty-four hours.”

Janeway seemed to flinch. “I see,” she said. “Perhaps because you did not have as much punch as others did. Or because of your Borg physiology.”

“Perhaps,” Seven agreed slowly. She followed this thought, and suddenly realized what it was the captain was possibly saying. “You have experienced memory loss,” she said, a statement, not a question.

Janeway took another breath and sat down abruptly on the couch opposite Seven. “Yes,” she admitted. “I don't remember anything that happened beyond Tom Paris's story about the antique car he drove when he was eighteen.”

Seven considered that. “Then you do not remember teaching me to dance,” she said. She considered her next words carefully. “Or the other things you taught me after we returned to your quarters.”

Janeway flinched this time. “No,” she said in a small voice. “I really need to know, Seven. How did we end up in my quarters together?”

Seven took a second to organize her thoughts, aligning the evening's events into their proper order.

“You indicated you felt dizzy after the completion of the dance contest,” she explained. “Rather than bother the Doctor, you asked if I would see you to your quarters. Since I was not interested in the party, I agreed to assist you. We went to your quarters and once there, I accompanied you inside to make sure you would not injure yourself. I helped you sit down on the couch in the living area, and you requested that I replicate a cup of coffee for your consumption.”

Janeway looked a trifle ill. “And then?” she asked.

“I replicated the coffee,” Seven explained. “However, there is apparently some skill to such a task, because you judged the results insufficient. You laughed.”

“I'm sorry, Seven,” Janeway said, with what seemed honest contrition.

“I took no offense, Captain,” she told her calmly. “You requested that I sit beside you, and once I had, you placed your hand on my knee.”

“Oh god.”

Seven looked up, but it seemed more an expression of prayer than an attempt to interrupt her so she continued. “You asked me if I knew how beautiful I was. I responded by saying that I was aware that certain crewmembers found me physically attractive. You replied that you were one of those crewmembers.” Seven paused, raising an eyebrow. “I found that surprising,” she admitted.

At the lack of any comment from Janeway who really did look much paler than normal, Seven continued the narrative. “You then placed your right hand on my left mammary gland, and asked me if such an action made me uncomfortable.”

That generated a small sound from Janeway and Seven looked at her. Yes, she was paler, and was the captain. . . swaying?

“I told you it made me feel many things, but discomfort was not one of them,” Seven explained slowly, eyeing her uncertainly. “You told me that you wished to be close with me ... physically close ... but that you did not wish to do anything that was discomforting to me, and that if you did, I must tell you to stop and that you would immediately.” Seven raised a brow. “I was quite intrigued at this point, so I informed you that if you wished to copulate, then I was agreeable. You told me that we would...'make love', and that it was different from copulating. I asked how, and we spent some time discussing the differences. Do you wish me to repeat that conversation?”

“That won't be necessary,” the captain said in an odd voice, one Seven had never heard before. “What happened after we had finished talking.”

“We 'made love',” Seven said simply. “Three times. Then you went to sleep.”

Janeway had her hands over her mouth and nose, looking at her with wide eyes. Seven struggled to identify the expression in them. She failed.

“And then?” Janeway asked, finally dropping her hands to her lap and staring at her.

“I stayed awake and watched you sleep,” Seven responded.

“Why?”

Seven blinked. “I do not know,” she said slowly. “It was ... pleasant, watching you sleep. Then you would wake up and we would make love again.”

“We would?”

“Six more times,” Seven informed her. “I believe I eventually fall asleep as well, perhaps because of the expenditure of energy I had been indulging in, and when I woke, it was morning and necessary for me to return to duty.”

Seven regarded Janeway closely. She seemed rather fragile, as if drained by some difficult experience. Seven found it curious. Why would merely hearing an account of the night's events be so difficult for her? She thought that Janeway had rather enjoyed herself the previous evening. Perhaps her judgement had been faulty.

“Seven, I don't know what to say,” Janeway said finally. “My behavior last night was completely inappropriate.”

Seven frowned. “Explain,” she requested.

Janeway took a deep breath. “Seven, I am captain,” she said. “It is improper for me to become involved with a member of my crew.”

Seven considered that. “Ever?”

Janeway blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Do you intend to remain by yourself for the entire rest of the journey back to the Alpha Quadrant? All sixty years, discounting the possible wormhole, or technology that might shorten that time?” Seven regarded her steadily.

“I don't know,” Janeway said slowly. “I never really thought about it. I suppose I thought I would meet someone along the way.”

“Thus, they would accompany us, thereby becoming one of your crew? Or you would stay behind with them?”

Janeway took a breath. “I don't know,” she said.

Seven turned it over, analyzing this from every angle. “So, you are telling me that rather than have been with me, you would rather be alone, or copulate with a stranger.”

Janeway stared at her, silent for long moments. “I didn't mean it that way at all, Seven,” she said, somewhat tentatively. “I just feel that being involved with a crewmember would be unwise.”

“Explain.”

Janeway sighed. “There is the matter of the rest of the crew,” she said. “Resentment, possible hostility towards you. Distrust due to a belief that I am favoring you over them.”

“How is that different from the way they currently regard me?” Seven was puzzled.

Janeway opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, then finally settled on looking confused. “Seven,” she said finally. “Are you saying you want to be involved with me? Romantically?”

“Yes, I am prepared to embark on a personal relationship with you that includes physical intimacy,” Seven said. She paused, and looked at the captain intently. “Unless, of course, you have some personal objection to being with me?”

“I think that idea was shattered last night,” Janeway said, a bit ruefully.

“That is my belief as well,” Seven said with a certain amount of satisfaction. She tilted her head slightly. “May I kiss you?”

Janeway looked startled. “I don't think...” she began.

Seven did not wait for permission, however, suspecting that it would not be given as she leaned over and pressed her lips to Janeway's with sweet intensity. For an instant, there was no response, then the lips beneath hers parted, and Seven deepened the kiss, reaching out to put her hands on the slender shoulders, pulling her closer. She felt Janeway's hands come up to hold her elbows, gripping them tightly until finally, Seven released her. The captain's face was flushed, her eyes closed, her respiration slightly increased.

“I am truly sorry,” Janeway said huskily, after a moment, “that I do not remember last night.”

“It is unfortunate,” Seven agreed. “It was a most pleasurable experience.”

A brief smile drifted over the captain's face.

“I'm glad,” she said, reaching over to cup Seven's face gently in her right hand, the palm warm on her cheek. “I would hate to think I was ... lacking in that respect.”

“You were not,” Seven assured her gravely. “According to all the data I have accessed, you can be considered a most accomplished lover.” She thought for a moment. “Perhaps a repeat of the experience would be in order ... to assist your memory.”

Janeway looked intrigued.

“All right,” she allowed. A tiny smile touched the corners of her mouth. “Shall I expect you in my quarters tonight? At 2100 hours?”

“That would be acceptable,” Seven allowed and stood up. “Until then, I must return to my duties.”

Janeway stood up as well. “Seven, you do understand that we must keep this discrete?”

Seven nodded. “I realize that a certain prudence is required, and that the illusion that we are not involved physically must be maintained for as long as possible.” She took a breath. “If it were to be known that you are as good at making love as you are at teaching dance, there would be as many people standing in line for your instruction as happened last night. That would prevent me from having as much time with you as I would prefer.”

Janeway opened her mouth, closed it. Looked befuddled.

“A joke, captain,” Seven said. “I am developing a sense of humor.”

Janeway took a breath, allowing a bit of a smile to touch her lips. “Seven, I don't know if I'm going to be able to keep up with all these developments,” she said dryly. “One thing at a time.”

“Very well, captain,” Seven allowed, though privately, she thought it had been a fairly decent attempt at humor. “I will be.... discrete.”

“That's all I ask,” Janeway said gently. “Tonight, then.”

“Tonight,” Seven promised and left the Ready Room.

 

Epilogue

 

Captain Kathryn Janeway woke with a sharp intake of breath, feeling content, euphoric and entirely too warm.

She slid her arms around the long neck of the woman lying beside her, kissing a groggy Seven deeply and with passionate intent.

There were just some morning afters that were so much better than others.

 

The End