Contact: the author can be reached at llachness[at]gmail.com

It was quiet on deck nine, section twelve.

B'Elanna Torres turned on her side, restless and unable to sleep despite having just finished a double shift. The power conduits were degrading in places, the ship not designed for five years of constant use without access to Starbases and support stations. Facilities that the Delta quadrant was noticeably short on.

Even the stamina granted to her by Klingon genetics hadn't kept the exhaustion at bay, or made the cramps from long hours crouched in Jeffries tubes any less painful. So why the hell couldn't she sleep? She thumped the pillow, the soft material taking the frustration meant for Voyager's engines, the ship herself far to precious to the chief engineer for B'Elanna to take it out on directly.

With any luck and a little co-operation from the Captain's pet Borg they'd have the conduits replaced by this time tomorrow and be ready to resume course for the Alpha quadrant and home.

White-blonde hair framing impossibly blue eyes flashed in her mind. Of course, they were impossibly blue - they weren't real. One of them is. B'Elanna caught another flash of a haughty face as her internal devil's advocate corrected her. A silver implant circled the eye that the doctor had constructed - a lasting visible reminder of who Seven of Nine was and where she had come from.

Not that anyone could forget.

Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct to the Unimatrix 01 - whatever the hell that meant - had become Voyager's Astrometrics Officer and the biggest pain in the ass B'Elanna had ever met.

Her cheek still stung where the ex-drone had drawn blood, biting her to initiate a Klingon mating ritual.

Stung in spite of the fact Seven had bitten her over six months ago. Two hundred days.

B'Elanna let a soft growl escape, once again turning over and trying to let go of the problems in engineering. If she could forget about the problems, then maybe she could forget about the person who had provided the solution.

Maybe. But she wasn't counting on it.

"Regeneration cycle complete." The same voice that spoke for the computers in the rest of the ship stated the obvious as Seven's eyes opened.

With an economy of movement that still left room for a slight swagger, the Borg crossed from her alcove to the personal database and accessed the night's reports from Astrometrics. Her extra duties in engineering notwithstanding, she still had a department to run and scans of the current sector to complete.

Finished logging in duty assignments for the balance of the gamma shift, Seven left the confines of cargo bay two. The corridors of deck eight were deserted, the remainder of the crew housed in quarters on that deck either not up or not returned from various duty watches and leisure pursuits. It was the 'quiet' part of rotation, gamma shift staffed minimally, mostly with those members of the crew who preferred nocturnal working hours or still others from species whose circadian rhythms made working the night shift a pleasure.

Efficient, if somewhat illogical.

There was a hiss as the turbo lift doors opened, and she stepped inside. "Deck 12."

Unlike the rest of Voyager main engineering was running at peak staffing, the current emergency extended everyone's duty shifts and they had split into two watches versus the traditional three.

It was her second favorite part of the ship. Efficient and orderly, it operated with a smoothness that would not have been out of place on a Borg cube. That Lt. Torres was the officer responsible for the impeccable standard of operations both impressed and left her incredulous. Which just proved that volatility and brilliance weren't mutually exclusive.

Ensign Tabor was manning the main computer, the Bajoran intent on the diagnostic he was running.

The Bajoran had regarded her with surprise; clearly baffled that Seven didn't seem to care one way or another what Torres thought of her. Today though he merely gave a slight nod and gave his report, accepting her presence in engineering without question. Maybe her compliance and the enhancements she'd made to Federation technology had lessened the chief engineer's resistance to her presence.

Maybe. But it was an unlikely eventuality.

"The time is 0500 hours."

Janeway opened her eyes, absorbing the motion of the ship, aware on a subconscious level of the absence of the steady thrumm and vibrations produced by Voyager's warp core when it was online. Now a ship's captain, she was, in her own right, a formidable engineer and scientist. Something her mixed Maquis and Starfleet crew tended to forget. And if she couldn't have her away mission, then by god she was going to get her hands dirty. Boredom and Janeways were not a happy combination.

She got out of bed, carelessly throwing the covers back up over the mattress, partially hiding the pillows.  Donning the replicated uniform, Captain Kathryn Janeway took a last look in the ensuite mirror, assessing both her command mask and her appearance.  Action Kate looked primed and loaded for bear, gray eyes twinkling with anticipation; four gold pips neatly aligned. Even the number of disastrous encounters with the obstacles the Delta quadrant threw at her and her ship hadn't dampened her enthusiasm for exploration - for first contact.

Seven of Nine was proof of that.

"Coffee, black." The replicator chimed as it complied with the request.

"I will comply." Kathryn smiled to herself, able to picture and hear the words as clearly as if Seven had been standing in the room. A tougher nut to crack than a replicator, the ex-drone nevertheless seemed to be complying a lot more frequently than in the past. Of course, she hadn't checked the engineering logs yet, so maybe the optimism was slightly misplaced, though she was pretty sure someone would have woken her if B'Elanna and Seven had come to blows during the night.

Maybe a little reward was in order if they hadn't. Janeway considered the idea, or more accurately, whether or not she wanted to be confined in a shuttle with the two women. Who knows it might be fun? And maybe, just maybe, B'Elanna and Seven would get to see in each other, what the Captain already did.

Maybe. But she wasn't counting on it.
 

Intersection...  

"Ready?" B'Elanna spoke into the open communications channel.

"Yes." Precise confirmation from Seven.

"All set Lieutenant." Cheerful encouragement from the Captain.

B'Elanna rested her hands on the transporter controls. "On your mark Seven." There was a slight pause, and she could almost see the Janeway's raised brow. Bet you didn't expect that.

Seven's voice showed no evidence of the sought after discomfiture. "Energize."

The transporter whined as they experimented with beaming a new section of power conduit into the openings, some of which were barely larger than the pipe being replaced. Each piece would undergo a trial fitting to ensure they could replace it without damaging the sensitive surrounding circuitry and systems.  She would handle the transporter and coordinate the team. Seven, with her enhanced visual acuity would ensure the proper alignment and fit, while Janeway would connect the pieces, having expressed a wish to get her hands dirty.

Baby-sit the Borg's more like it. Though that wasn't totally fair, even before Seven had arrived, the Captain often assisted in engineering.

"Abort. Adjust rotation negative 0.79 degrees."

"Adjusting negative 0.79 degrees. On your mark." B'Elanna made the alterations and waited.

"Energize."

"That's got it B'Elanna. Snug as a bug in a rug." Janeway paused, then her voice overlaid Seven's and cut off the Borg's question before it got started. "An expression Seven. I'll explain later."

"Then I shall sit tight."

B'Elanna programmed in the next area to be simulated. Did she just make a joke?

Seven sniffed the air, detecting a slight difference. "I concur Captain, you are somewhat malodorous."

The protruded, slightly insectiod rounding of Torres' eyes told Seven that she had erred in agreeing with the Captain, and that the engineer's response, while inaccurate, was nevertheless the correct one. 

Without missing a beat the Captain smiled, shaking her head good-naturedly, face flushed with exertion and the satisfaction of completing the repairs ahead of schedule. "Flattery will get you everywhere Seven."

"It will?" Wondering just where 'everywhere' was.

Janeway waved off the inevitable question. "Come on, let me shower and I'll buy you ladies a drink."

Seven was about to decline, decrying the need for a nutritional supplement at this time, when she realized that she didn't want the afternoon to end. She had been enjoying the efficiency with which they had worked in unison, almost as perfect as the collective. "That would be acceptable." Seven filed the revelation away to examine later.

"Good I'll see you both in the mess hall." The Captain stepped into a turbolift. "Deck 3."

Seven followed the engineer along the corridor, carrying her share of the tools. She adjusted her stride to match that of Torres. "Lt. Torres. May I ask you a question?"

There was the expected pause in Torres' step and, Seven was amused to note, a squaring of the woman's broad shoulders. "Is it a personal question?"

"No. It is not."

"Go ahead." Torres sounded relieved.

"I was...rude." It was a concept that Torres had previously introduced her too, and one the Klingon had an exemplary grasp of.

"That, Seven, is not in question." The automatic doors of main engineering slid open, making a faint hiss.

"Humans often say things that are not true, yet Captain Janeway prizes the truth. The contradiction is...disconcerting."

"It's called a 'little white lie'."

"This phenomenon has a designation?"

"And a purpose. It lets human beings keep their dignity about things they are insecure over in public. It's a form of diplomacy. Captain Janeway was concerned that during the course of repairs she had become sweaty so she apologized. By reassuring her that she did not, I was telling her that I accepted the apology and was not offended."

"And I offended the Captain?" That had not been her intent. Humans were so repressed, there were so many cultural taboos.

"I wouldn't worry about it Seven, she laughed. I'd say you were off the hook." Torres was checking the readings in the new conduits. "You're just lucky you didn't tell me I stunk."

"I would not have. That would have been inaccurate. You do not stink."

"Flattery Seven, will get you everywhere." Torres finished the calibration and moved toward the door. "You might want to grab a shower and change before going to the messhall."

"I do not sweat."

"Maybe. But you've got enough dirt on your suit to begin terraforming."

"Seven to Sickbay."

"This is sickbay. What can I do for you Seven?" Seven wished he would choose a designation, the doctor's habit of referring to himself as a location was annoying.

"I require the use of your shower."

"My shower? Seven, you don't get dirty."

"Neither do you. Yet you have a shower."

"I don't actually use it."

"Then you will have no objections if I do." Seven terminated the conversation and found Torres looking at her strangely. "I was rude again?"

"Nope. The very model of patience. You don't have a shower?"

"Cargo bay 2 is not equipped as crew quarters." She headed for the door, unsure what was more unsettling; the idea of needing a shower or the way Torres was looking at her.

"Hard work deserves a reward." Janeway let the comment slip out casually, following it with a sip of the Romulan ale. The fact the blue ale was still illicit had done nothing to keep it off Starships and Voyager was no exception. Even replicated it was a welcome taste of home.

With considerable effort she kept from grinning  as the two women mirrored nearly identical expressions of curiousity. Kathryn wondered if either of them knew how alike they were. I'm not going to be the one to start World War IV by pointing it out.

Janeway took pity on them. "The Delta Flyer leaves at 0800 tomorrow to meet with the Ambassador of the Jaehlahn homeworld and to pick up the promised supplies.  We'll be gone a standard week. Interested?"

This time she did laugh as, each in her own way, B'Elanna and Seven scrambled to accept and appear nonchalant at the same time.

And failed. Utterly. 

I cannot go. The humm and glow of the Borg regeneration alcoves reminded Seven that she had less freedom than did the Doctor. In fact, of all the crew, only the emergency medical hologram, or EMH, had been able to return to the Alpha quadrant, travelling via a now destroyed Hirogen communications array. The Doctor could travel the breadth of the galaxy in the blink of an eye, and she was trapped in cargo bay two.

The Captain required her presence and she was unable to comply.

"Computer. Locate Captain Janeway."

"Captain Janeway is in her quarters."

"Seven of Nine to Captain Janeway."

"Janeway here, what is it Seven?" Music that had been playing in the background abruptly stopped. "Is everything okay?"

Only Janeway and Paris regularly asked how she was functioning, and she detected tension in the Captain's voice. "I am undamaged, but I cannot accompany you and Lieutenant Torres on the away mission. I am still required to regenerate every ninety-six hours. We will be gone approximately one hundred and sixty eight."

"Do you want to go?"

Seven thought about it. Seeking out new life, and exploring new civilizations held no appeal for her, yet undeniably, she was distressed that she could not go. "Yes."

"Then we'll figure out a way to make it so. All of us, or none Seven."

It was an illogical sentiment, exactly the kind she should have expected from Janeway and Seven had no doubt that when the shuttle launched she'd be manning the ops console.

B'Elanna tapped the console, pulling up the schematics for the Borg alcoves and the power relay diagrams for the Delta Flyer. "Computer, locate Seven of Nine."

"Seven of Nine is in cargo bay two." The sterile computer voice supplied the information.

Not in her quarters; in cargo bay two. Like something being stored until needed.

"Kahless, Seven."

Janeway looked up to see what had happened, straight into six feet of unclothed Borg. Seven had discarded her biometric suit, following B'Elanna's suggestion that she get ready for 'bed'. Obviously, the engineer had forgotten the cardinal rule for giving Seven instructions.

B'Elanna's skin had darkened, and she was staring at the wide swath of mesh and implants still embedded across Seven's abdomen.

"It is my abdominal implant."

Janeway stifled a laugh as B'Elanna coloured even more, and decided to intervene before embarrassment could become aggression. There hadn't been time to alter the shuttle to support a fully functioning alcove - the power drain would have been enormous - but they had been able to rig an alcove that would permit Seven to regenerate for short periods of time, and they were prepared to cut short the trip if the solution proved inadequate. "C'mon. Let's get you tucked in."

"I'll monitor the power drain from the cockpit." B'Elanna was gone before the sentence was complete.

"We are going to have a 'philosophical discussion'."

"I'm afraid so."

"My appearance is offensive to Lt. Torres."

Oh boy. "I don't think you offended her. You just caught her off guard. Humans aren't always as open about nudity as other cultures." Janeway remembered the first time she'd seen Seven without any clothes on.

She'd finished the painting, absurdly pleased with how well she'd captured Seven's hands. Concentrating on them had proved less difficult than staying focused while studying the rest of the blonde. No, there was nothing offensive about Seven's appearance. Nothing at all. Her dreams for the next week had proved that.

"Does my appearance displease you?"

Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Janeway gambled on Seven not understanding the extent of her admission. "No. You are beautiful. And those, those are a part of you, a part of what makes you beautiful."

They both looked down at the silver bands that encircled Seven's waist and Janeway wondered what Seven was thinking.

"Captain, I need your help up here, we're about to hit a pocket of gravometric turbulence."

"Understood." She rose from her seat and put the padd she'd been working on away. "We'll talk more later if you want."

"That would be acceptable." Seven dipped her head slightly, then got the look that she had come to interpret as a sign that the Borg was digging through her memory for a response. "Goodnight, Captain."

"Night Seven. And don't let the bed bugs bite."

The look of horror and suspicion that Seven shot at the bunk B'Elanna had altered to accommodate the Borg's need to regenerate robbed her of her breath as she laughed.

"You were making a joke." Seven accused, still regarding the bunk warily.

"I was." She motioned Seven to climb in and pulled the thin blanket up over the younger woman.

"Captain?"

Janeway hesitated, aware that another question could send them off into a tangent that couldn't be quickly dealt with. "Hmmm?"

"Neelix tucks in Naomi Wildman, and you have tucked me in. Who tucks you in?"

"No one Seven." With that, she left the aft compartment, her good humour faded under the inadvertent reminder that she alone was responsible for the fate and well being of her crew.

 Seven froze, unsure of how to proceed. B'Elanna Torres was standing in the quarters they'd been forced to share, seemingly unaware of her presence. Janeway had asserted Captain's privilege, taking the first turn in the large suite across the hall. Torres had suggested that Seven be given first turn, obviously unwilling to share space with her any longer than necessary.

She hadn't expected the Klingon to be so finely muscled.

"It's not polite to stare, Seven."

Seven ceased her appraisal. "I'm sorry." That was what the Doctor and the Captain had told her to say whenever she thought she had erred. "You 'stared' at me."

Torres' skin grew ruddy. "I suppose I did. I shouldn't have. It was rude." The engineer's eyes dropped to where Seven's abdominal implant was. "Does it hurt?"

"It is not as aesthetically pleasing as yours or Captain Janeway's, but it does not hurt."

"You've seen the Captain naked?"

"Yes. During one of our Velocity matches. She was required to shower prior to returning to the bridge."

"Ah. That explains it." Torres' shrugged her way into the loose tunic she was to wear to the reception. "Your turn."

Seven reached a hand to the closure of her biosuit, and discovered that the material had again become pinched in the zipper. It was an inefficient design; one she'd look at altering upon their return to Voyager. "I require assistance."

B'Elanna laughed. "I am now the envy of three quarters of the ship."

"Explain." She let the garment drop and stepped into the cubicle. "There is no sonic setting."

"Here." Torres reached in and adjusted the controls.

The hot water splashed suddenly over her skin, the directed spray hitting her chest and sending a pleasant tingle through her body, the implant magnifying the signals it sent to her nerve endings. She was so fascinated by the new experience that she forgot that Torres hadn't answered her original question.

B'Elanna leaned against a wall in the reception hall, watching the astonishing mix of species that danced across the floor. It could have been an academy cotillion. She had no trouble locating the Captain. Janeway was dancing with Seven, unsuccessfully trying to teach the Borg to dance, though judging from the intense expression of concentration on Seven's face it wasn't from lack of effort. More likely, it was the fact that the band was incapable of keeping a constant rhythm. Tom would be mortified.

She took pity on Seven, or rather on the Captain's feet and moved across the floor. "May I cut in?"

"Ambassador." Janeway nodded respectfully as the soft-spoken man joined her. The Jaehlon were proving to be excellent hosts and she found that unlike most diplomatic functions, this one was proving to be a pleasure. Large tables of food were liberally sprinkled throughout the hall and periodically someone would detach themselves from a group, only to reappear a few minutes later with another dish to add to buffet.

It seemed that there was an invisible etiquette in operation, drinks were replenished and empty dishes were cleared away, all without any obvious signs of a hired staff. Everyone participated in the hosting. She wondered what Seven would make of it. Inefficient. Janeway grinned, watching Seven and B'Elanna move around the dance floor.

It had been hard to contain her mirth when Seven had in turn cut back in and Janeway had bowed out - leaving the Astrometrics officer dancing with the chief engineer.

"Long together, they have been?" Her official escort, the Jaehlon ambassador, spoke.

The bubbles from the carbonated fruit drink stung her nostrils as her mind translated the meaning of the syntax relayed by the universal translator.

"A wrong asking, pardon desired." The words came with a bow and lowered eyes, which in her opinion was a good thing because it made it possible for her to regain control over her impulse to laugh.

"It's quite alright Ambassador De'n Cheo, no offense intended - and so none taken." At least by me - I doubt B'Elanna would be as amused. Janeway looked at her officers again, trying to see what her companion had. For every step that Seven took B'Elanna through, Torres countered with another. It looked more like a complex martial arts exhibition than a romantic dance, neither woman yielding an inch, though a sizable crowd was watching them appreciatively. Including me, she realized as her eyes traced one set of swells before lingering on another. "I don't suppose you'd tell me what prompted the question?"

His brow furrowed and she wondered if the translator was truly as universal as Starfleet claimed. "Strong runs the dis'hant'va."

Potentially explosive more likely. The translator had difficulty with concepts, but contextually Janeway got the impression that he was referring to what humans called chemistry. "I'd call it disdain and disinterest - depending on which one of them you were talking to." Though, she had to allow they did make an attractive couple.

"Dis'hant'va is."

The calmly sage pronouncement left her profoundly unsettled. Was that the source of their antagonism - a denied attraction? If it was, there could be trouble. Kathryn excused herself and made her way down to the dance floor.

Seven moved through the steps, the complex mathematical equations that gave root to the rhythms impressed her, and she decided that there was more to this species than her original assessment indicated. Their entire culture appeared to move in intricate patterns, not immediately discernable to a casual observer. It was…elegant.

"Loosen up Seven." Torres was attempting to 'lead' again.

She adapted to the engineer's movements, and to her surprise found that they complimented the tonal progression of the song adequately. As they completed a circuit, she looked up to find the Captain watching them intently.

Nearly losing her place in the computations required to stay in step, Seven wondered what the Captain was thinking, her concern abated slightly by the smile that spread across Janeway's lips in response to something the ambassador said.

"Ow. Seven!"

"I am sorry Lieutenant Torres." It was the fourth time she's stepped on the other woman's foot.

"Try just feeling the music instead of calculating your next move."

"Feeling the music?"

"Right. For a minute, there I forgot whom I was dancing with. Look maybe we should just sit down. It's obvious that you aren't having any fun."

The automatic reply died in her throat. Fun was not irrelevant. Seven found she was enjoying the experience. Maybe Torres was not. "Perhaps that would be best."

"May I cut in?"

Before she could step out of the way, Janeway had taken one of her hands and spun her out onto the floor. It was the second time they had danced together, and this time she was able to time her steps more precisely to her partner's.

Janeway was fluid, easily shifting to match Seven's steps, allowing the Borg to lead without resistance. The music flowed around them and she realized that the Captain was humming a smooth counterpoint to the underlying melody. On some level Janeway was aware of how the music had been constructed. Appreciatively, she began to add to the harmonic, completing the score with a melody that complimented and ran counterpoint to the other two.

A brief smile, then the Captain moved closer and Seven understood what Torres meant when she said to feel the music. The vibrations running through her body were fascinating. She could feel it. And she never wanted it to end.

"This is inefficient."

Suddenly the weight that she'd been supporting vanished, and she looked over to find Torres cradled in Seven's arms, the Borg effortlessly carrying the drunken engineer.

"Put me down Seven. I can walk on my own."

"That is inaccurate. The best you could possibly manage unassisted is a crawl. You are drunk."

Janeway winced. The last thing she wanted to do was step between a drunken, angry Klingon and a Borg enhanced Human.

"I am not. Kate, make her put me down." B'Elanna wined petulantly, with, Janeway thought absolutely no appreciation for where she was. We should all be so lucky.

There was a hitch in Seven's pace, and Kathryn knew it was only the huge strides in protocol or perhaps the dead weight of the uncooperative passenger that kept Seven from following up the question implied by her arched brow with a verbal one. Oh Boy.

Fortunately, the protest appeared to exhaust the engineer and she passed out before she could say anything that got them into real trouble. Not that Seven wouldn't bring it up again when she least expected it.

Their quarters were right around the corner. "Need some help?"

"Not necessary Captain. I believe Lieutenant Torres is beyond resistance."

"Alright then. Goodnight Seven."

"Goodnight Captain."

Maybe she'd had too much to drink herself, but before she could think about it, she spoke. "I think when we are off duty you can call me Kathryn."

The door had slid open and Seven hung on the threshold. Janeway wondered if she were searching for one of the Doctor's ubiquitous social phrases. "That would be acceptable." It looked as though she had been about to add something. "Goodnight…Kathryn."

A soft hiss, and the doors to Seven's quarter's slid shut. "Goodnight Annika."

"Personal Log, Seven of Nine.

I am unable to regenerate and I find that I am also unable to 'sleep'. Lieutenant Torres does not appear to suffer from the same dysfunction. I will inform the Doctor that she suffers from a deviated septum. A defect which I am sure he can correct."

Seven studied the padd for a moment, framing her memory of the evening. "The Jaehlon are an interesting species. I find that I am pleased that they do not have a Borg designation. They appear to appreciate perfection. Their music is an example of this quest for perfection. The tonal progressions are precise.

We have been invited to visit the main institute of science, and unlike previous excursions, I find that I am anticipating the experience."

Torres shifted position, her breath coming now in an even rhythm and less of her weight centered across the abdominal implant. It had proved impossible to disentangle the engineer so she had deemed it easiest to allow the woman to continue sleeping. Fortunately, the padds she required in order to continue her analysis of the next quadrant of space and her personnel logs were within easy reach.

"I find that I am confused by the relationship between Lieutenant Torres and myself. There is ample evidence to suggest she dislikes me and yet she seems quite able to employ me as a mattress. In addition, I found my heart rate increased by 2.4 beats per minute during periods that her body was in direct contact with mine. Discounting the obvious impact of physical exertion on my physiology, I am forced to conclude that Lieutenant Torres was the cause of my response. My date with Lieutenant Chapman did not include copulation, and Ensign Kim was not a suitable partner for the experience perhaps Lieutenant Torres is a suitable candidate for this experiment and I have erred in not considering her previously. I shall have to ask Captain Janeway… Kathryn for advice. I find that Captain…Kathryn also has an impact on my ability to function. However unlike Lieutenant Torres who adversely affects my ability to perform optimally, Kathryn's presence makes it easier to accomplish my tasks, or to enjoy a new experience."

A hand crept across her stomach before coming to rest on what would, if she had possessed one, have been her navel. Concentrating, Seven was able to distinguish thirty-seven separate autonomic responses to the increased stimuli. One of the engineer's legs wedged itself between hers and she was alarmed to note that her heart rate had nearly doubled. I am damaged.

Mentally she traced the circuits of the room's replicator in her head, trying to discover the correct parameters that would result in the machine producing 1,3,7-trimethylxanthine. It proved to be an insufficient problem. Closing her eyes, she focused on one of the mediation techniques Lieutenant Tuvok had demonstrated. The Omega particle hung in her eidetic memory, its perfection singing through her consciousness and paving the way for sleep.

Kathryn resisted the pull of the coming dawn, content to snuggle deeper into her blankets and her dreams. Dreams that were nearly as tangled as the crisp, cool sheet encasing her body. Someone was kissing her breast, rolling the nipple then biting gently on the taut skin.

Fingers rolled over her abdomen. Warm metallic fingers.

She came, jolting awake as the orgasm ripped through her body, leaving behind both satisfaction and a disturbingly disorienting sense of realism.

A wet dream.

About Seven.

It wasn't a dream.

There was a body supporting her weight. And it wasn't Tom.

B'Elanna pulled her hand away from the skin she'd been exploring, afraid to open her eyes. It wasn't the Captain and it wasn't Tom - which left two possibilities - neither of them particularly appealing. Liar. One was very appealing.

Time to get up. Definitely.

A shower wouldn't hurt either. A nice long cold shower. Just what the doctor ordered. The trick would be to get up without waking Seven.

Ice blue eyes met hers. Too late, she realized that Seven wasn't sleeping, and that she wasn't the only one who had been doing a little somnolent exploring.

"Seven, stop!" B'Elanna pulled her own hand away again while attempting to move away from Seven's touch. Away from the undeniable impact the Borg was having.

"You do not wish to copulate?"

"Copulate with you? I don't even like you!"

"That is relevant?"

Seven had continued to explore her lower back, and B'Elanna wondered if the Drone actually knew that the small of her back was especially sensitive, or if it was just a lucky guess. "Apparently not." Her body didn't give a shit what her brain thought, her inner Klingon responding to the stimulus.

She flexed her back, moving until Seven was pinned under her. There was no fear or surprise in the blue eyes calmly staring back up at her; nothing to show that Seven even knew or cared who she was with. B'Elanna hung in the grip of the Borg's gaze, pinned by eyes that seemed remote and cold. Irrationally, she felt Seven was taking her measure and finding her lacking. It pissed her off.

B'Elanna let it loose, set free the Klingon whose passions she fought daily; whose fire forged the steel in her soul. Set free the warrior. The growl came from somewhere deep and primal, a vocal manifestation of the arousal coursing through her body.

 "Lieutenant Torres. Are you damaged?"

B'Elanna opened her eyes, confused. Mornings were not her favorite time of the day to begin with, and the headache forming just behind her eyes promised that things were only going to get worse.  The fruity bubbly drink had seemed harmless enough.

"Seven to Capt - -"

B'Elanna hastily covered her bedmate's mouth. "I'm fine Seven. Really."

Seven's social lessons appeared to be paying off. Despite the obvious disbelief in the Borg's eyes, she let it go, simply saying, "we are three point two minutes late for our meeting with our escort to the Institute of Science." B'Elanna had half expected to have all the ways in which she was not functioning adequately listed in detail.

Using their lateness to cover her agitation, B'Elanna got out of the bed and headed for the shower, part of her lamenting that they really were late and she couldn't seek the relief she needed, the other part lamenting that she needed to get out of bed at all. Both parts decided not to think about the implications of their respective lamentations. 

Seven stopped. Unsure of what impulse had caused her to halt her forward progress, she examined the room she had just entered.

Eight point four three metres ahead lay perfection.

Contained within a transparent cube of unknown composition rested a molecule the likes of which she had never dared hope to see again. The part of her intellect constantly engaged assessing the world around her noted the irony that perfection should indeed be found in a cube, before it succumbed to the awe of perfection.

With a reverence she'd only experienced once before, during an all too brief glimpse of Omega, Seven approached the display case.

"Seven?" B'Elanna called into another room, and again got no answer. Most of the other visitors to the museum had already departed as the institute prepared to close for the day. She tried another room, again without success. Six feet of blonde Borg should be easier to find.

An early Jaehlon version of a warp coil had sidetracked her and she'd stayed behind, studying it with a mix of awe and envy. It had been elegant, as beautiful as it was functional, and by the time she'd looked back up Seven had been gone. No doubt the Borg had been bored by the 'inferior' technology. B'Elanna peered into another room, this time she had to stand on the tips of her feet in a futile attempt to see over the display stands; it meant that while Seven would be able to spot her, she didn't stand a chance of spotting Seven.

B'Elanna had half a mind to leave Seven right where she was. Nothing like a diplomatic incident to liven up an away mission. She smirked to herself imagining a variety of scenarios, then realized that Janeway would hold her responsible for any trouble the Borg got into.

"God dammit, Seven." One of her stomachs growled, punctuating the sentiment perfectly.

Still grumbling, B'Elanna rounded another corner and stopped short. She'd found the missing borg. There were two other people in the room, but it was a Seven framed by a light that defied description that drew her eye. Mesmerized, she moved closer, her attention now split between the tall blonde and the source of the strange light.

B'Elanna read the pictograph under the display case. The complex chemical formula resolved itself in her mind much like a schematic for an electronic circuit and when she again turned to face the display it was with a reverence she hadn't felt since her introduction to Zephram Cochrane's warp field theories over a decade ago. The fifth state. Liquid glass.

It was beautiful. It simply was.

It was perfection.

Janeway reclined against the smooth wood-like backrest, her shoulders a perfect fit for the worn surface. She was early and she was alone. The Jaehlon cultural attaché had handed her a pouch of local currency, a hat and a city map, then promptly disappeared.

A vacation.

An honest to goodness vacation.

Gleefully, she had gone native, or at least as native as was possible when you had an entirely different worldview and several different species characteristics from your hosts. On the other hand, any culture perceptive enough to dispense with days of formal receptions was definitely worth exploring.

So far, she'd eaten an astonishing variety of foods in one of the many markets tucked throughout the city's 'Old Quarter,' including a fruity tea like drink with what appeared to be solid bubbles in the bottom, which in fact, were a type of starch with a taste reminiscent of vanilla. The hard part had been coping with them as they slid up her straw and popped into her mouth as she sipped the drink. She'd promptly entered the ingredients into her tricorder and purchased a second one. That drink she had consumed sitting on five millennia old steps at the base of a large fountain, enjoying her afternoon away from duty.

She wondered how B'Elanna and Seven would feel about being stood up, then thought better of it. They were here to relax, not start an intergalactic food fight.

Janeway ordered another drink and opened her novel determined to extend the perfection of the afternoon as long as possible.

Intersection…

Janeway looked over her menu. "So, what'll it be Seven?"

B'Elanna too, was curious about what Seven would order, or if she would order at all.

"I do not require a nutritional supplement at this time."

"Seven." Janeway growled, drawing the syllables out. B'Elanna felt the vibrations in her own chest and shifted on the padded bench seat she was sharing with the Borg.

The interesting part though was the way Seven straightened and the alacrity with which she chose an item from the menu. "I will have the qudrisqu'ed."

B'Elanna winced. Seven had chosen the first item on the list. It was described as something that translated to piquant, spongy and wriggling. Pronouncing it correctly was one thing - being able to swallow it was another all together.

"The qudrisqu'ed it is then." Janeway turned to the waiter, prepared to start ordering.

Knowing that she was going to regret the decision, B'Elanna interjected, "Actually, I'll have the qudrisqu'ed too." What were second stomachs for, if not emergencies?

Not long after, three heaping platters and a new pitcher of the by now favourite, fermented juice, were plunked down in front of the trio.

Amused, B'Elanna watched Seven's eyes widen slightly as she glimpsed the chartreuse mess writhing on her plate. Gamely, the Borg reached for her fork and held it in front of her like a shield. Janeway had chosen the local equivalent of a ploughman's lunch and was munching contentedly on a slice of bread topped with a wedge of meat, oblivious to Seven's distress.

Instead of a mouthful of the qudrisqu'ed, Seven reached for the pitcher of juice, swiftly draining a glass. B'Elanna caught her eye and smiled, holding up her own fork. Together, they attacked their respective plates. The Klingon hoped it wasn't going to attack back.

She swallowed and waited. It stayed down. Seven looked like she was having difficulty accomplishing even that much, then finally there was a tell-tale bob in the slender throat.

B'Elanna held up her glass and took a long drink, indicating with her eyes that Seven should do the same. Dinner conversation flowed from Kathryn, and she did her best to keep up and cover for Seven. It became a game of sorts. Could they defeat the qudrisqu'ed, and keep Kathryn from discovering how unappetizing dinner really was?

She found herself sharing secret smiles with Seven as they both encountered unrecognizable ingredients, each encouraging the other. Part of her felt guilty for cheating, so when Kathryn excused herself for a moment, B'Elanna decided that there was another lesson in humanity that Seven might find handy.

Seven had stopped eating, obviously taking advantage of the brief respite from the Captain's approving eye.

"There is an easier way." B'Elanna demonstrated, sliding a portion of the dish off the side of the plate with her knife under pretext of loading the fork. Then after placing the forkful in her mouth, she took a napkin and touched it to her lips, then rested it on the edge of the table just under the rim of her plate. A quick flick of the wrist and she laid the napkin aside. Triumphantly, she lifted the plate from the table to show that the food had disappeared, then set it back down and showed Seven the second napkin which rested on the seat between her legs.

She could have sworn that there was a glimmer of glee in Seven's eyes.

Seven watched the door close behind B'Elanna. The Captain's things were neatly stowed on a bed; Janeway herself was looking around the room interestedly. When she was sure that B'Elanna hadn't forgotten anything else, she crossed over to where Janeway stood.

At that point Seven realized that she was unsure of how to proceed. Humans did not seem to appreciate the direct approach. Perhaps something to drink would make the Captain more receptive.

"Captain, may I program you a drink?" She'd never offered anyone a drink before.

Janeway nodded. "Please. Here try this."

Seven took the pro-offered padd and scanned the data. It was without the required proportion of alcohol. Estimating Janeway's weight, she programmed the drink into the replicator, and added the appropriate number of hydroxyl groups. She was aware that she was having similar nervous reactions to the impending discussion that she had had to B'Elanna earlier in the day as well as during dinner. A moment later the nanoprobes had swiftly returned her heart rate to normal. She took a second to wonder if her pupil was still dilated.

Seven handed the drink to the Captain, then stood, waiting.

The Captain took a gulp of the cold drink and grimaced. Thinking quickly, Seven reprogrammed the machine to produce hydrated 1,3,7-trimethylxanthine, again adding hydroxyl groups. "Perhaps this would be more suitable."

This time the Captain gingerly sipped the offering. "Coffee? Not bad Seven. Not bad at all. A little heavy on the alcohol though."

"I require your assistance."

Janeway put the coffee cup on the shelf and tugged on the bottom of her tunic. "With what?"

This was curious. Janeway's pulse rate had increased, but her colour was significantly paler than it had been. She had noted the effect before. "I apologize Captain. I will seek other guidance." Janeway's colour returned, but she continued to look discomfited. Curious.

"It's okay Seven. I'm happy to help. And it's Kathryn." Janeway picked up her coffee and took another sip.

She studied the Captain and decided that she would not disseminate, if she meant otherwise. "I wish to copulate with you."

Seven looked down at her shirt and watched the brown stain creep across her chest. She looked up. Janeway, eyes wide, was watching the same stain.

"With me?" The colour had again drained from Janeway's face, and her heart rate had nearly doubled.

"Yes. I wish to experience copulation and the research I have done indicates that the initial experience should be with a person of trust."

"Initial experience?"

"Initial sexual experience," she clarified.

"I see."

In Seven's experience, this idiom meant the opposite of what it implied, so she provided more information. "I wish to lose my virginity, figuratively speaking of course. In the Collective this is not a prized characteristic and physically my hymen has already detached. I simply wish to become experienced."

"I see."

Seven tried again. "I have arrived at a juncture where I believe this activity is appropriate to my continued development."

"I see."

This was not proceeding according to plan.

B'Elanna leaned back against the smooth stone wall. The cool surface was a welcome balm for her warm skin, providing her with a point of focus. Using the meditation techniques Tuvok had painstakingly taught, she substituted the cold for the tantalizing flickers of flame.

Gradually the layers of thought faded away. One by one, she left behind images of her day, looking inward. B'Elanna was aware when her muscles began to loosen and traced the sensation until she could feel her joints relax. The only noise was the slow rhythm of her heart coming from both inside and outside at once.

A Klingon heart.

A Human heart.

For a long time, she just listened. Listened to the rhythm and what it had to teach her. Untold minutes later, she unfolded her legs and stood, not needing to stretch. Outside, twilight had turned to full dark. B'Elanna stood for a moment, then wandered inside leaving the door open.

The quarters were spacious. When she entered the bathroom, B'Elanna gasped, then wondered how they'd ever pried the Captain out of the suite. She smiled, recalling Kathryn's fondness for bathing in a tub, rather than using a sonic shower. One thought led to another. Seven on the other hand seemed quite fond the sonic shower and despite her biosuit's built-in hygenic sub-routines rendering the act of manual bathing unnecessary. B'Elanna was unaware that her smile had become a wistful half-grin. I bet that's where Seven is now.

For the first and hopefully, the only time in her life, Kathryn Janeway, Captain of the U.S.S. Voyager; Eldest Daughter of Edward and Gretchen Janeway; Upstanding Citizen of the Indiana Agricultural Reserve wished she were an Omnipotent member of the Q Continuum. Because then, she would be someplace else.

Anyplace else.

Hell, she could be anywhen else.

Except here.

Here.

Kathryn knew she should say something. Anything.

Anything had to be better than silence.

"With me?" Fascinated despite herself, she watched the coffee that had spluttered out of her mouth spread over Seven's front.

"Yes. I wish to experience copulation and the research I have done indicates that the initial experience should be with a person of trust."

"Initial experience?"

"Initial sexual experience," Seven clarified, without removing any of the confusion.

"I see." Kathryn used the same knowing tone that helped her maintain the illusion of calm command.

In Seven's case the illusion failed to have the desired effect. "I wish to lose my virginity, figuratively speaking of course. In the Collective this is not a prized characteristic and physically my hymen has already detached. I simply wish to become experienced."

"I see." It occurred to Kathryn that she'd been wrong. Anything was not better than silence.

Seven tried again. "I have arrived at a juncture where I believe this activity is appropriate to my continued development."

"I see." And really she did. It was simple. Seven of Nine was asking to be initiated into the sexual arts by her, Kathryn Janeway. As soon as the thought was fully formed, she had to resist an impulse to say: "computer end program"; incase Tom Paris had somehow snuck onto her away mission and programmed a holonovel.

Sex with Seven of Nine. Freely offered. No strings. This had to be a Tom Paris Captain Proton plot.

"Kathryn?"

Seven's quiet tone recaptured her attention, and she smiled tentavily before replying. "I'm flattered Seven, really I am."

"You are declining my request."

Kathryn would have sworn that Seven had just shrunk in on herself, except that the other woman had more self-control and poise than anyone else she'd ever known. Seven did not shrink.

From anything.

Janeway readjusted her thinking slightly, trying to put herself in the place of the young woman before her. A lot of people would have mistaken Seven's request for a brash lack of respect, even arrogance, but Kathryn knew it for what it was. A courageous attempt to become more human.

And what was more human than exploration of your own sexuality. Her own first futile attempts came to mind. Poor Cheb Parker. He of the fumbling fingers and stuck zipper. Poor me, she amended, it was my virginity.

"No Seven, I'm not. Not exactly. But I do think we need to get one or two parameters straight." She smiled as she spoke, slightly stressing the last two words, hoping to turn them into a shared joke and remove some of the tension that still clogged the air.

"Parameters."

She couldn't quite tell if Seven was asking a question or making a statement. It did feel good to have the other woman slightly off-balance for a change. "Come here."

 ~~~~

"Come here." Kathryn's command drew her forward and made her want to step back all at once. Seven noted with interest that despite her respiration having increased in rate by approximately three point five cycles per minute, she was feeling a lack of oxygen - a condition that the Doctor had referred to as being 'light-headed.'

Kathryn took her hand. For a second Seven was unsure how to respond, then settled on a duplication of the light pressure she felt from the Captain's hand. She was led to the opposite corner of the suite and guided into one of divans that separated the dining area from the sleeping quarters.

"Are you alright, Seven?"

Seven checked her body's heart rate again. "I am fine." Lightheadedness appeared to be a temporary condition.

Kathryn smiled in response and leaned back against the cushions, seemingly relaxed. Seven, counting the Captain's heartbeats was not fooled by her demeanor. Before she could think twice and abort the maneuver, Seven leaned forward suddenly and placed her lips over the Captain's.

They were soft.

Her greater size made it possible for her to cover Kathryn's body with her own. Together they sank further into the cushions and Seven felt the strain as her neck tried to adjust to the uncomfortable angle. It was inefficient.

Aware that if she ended the nascent kiss, Kathryn would immediately begin talking, perhaps even abort their encounter, she angled her legs until she could feel purchase against the floor and stood, lifting the Captain simultaneously.

Her knees buckled, and they ended up in a heap on the floor.

"Seven?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Let me lead." This time Kathryn initiated the kiss.

It appeared that the floor would suffice.

Kathryn slid her hands into the opening of the loose crème shirt and parted it. Before she could react to the feel of Kathryn's hands on her skin, the fingers were replaced by lips. A long, slightly high-pitched sound emanated from her lips. I am damaged. Then Seven realized what the noise was. I moaned.

Seven forgot to breathe as Kathryn nipped a breast gently. Warmth. The only word that seemed adequate to describe what was happening was warmth. Everything seemed to flow from that simple concept. Touch, smell, taste. All of it.

The delicious friction continued, moving from her breasts to her abdominal implant. Unexpected. Seven shivered. The sensations caused by Kathryn's tongue dragging across the slim metal bands reverberated throughout her body, and she felt her hips flex in response.

She regained some control over her breathing and tilted her head up slightly. Her eyes met Kathryn's for an instant. Behind the familiar mischieviousness, something else lurked in Kathryn's eyes and Seven felt her respiration increase again in response.

Her cortical implant refused to adjust her breathing and then she found herself concentrating on a new set of stimuli.

Suddenly there was a whole new word to describe the experience.

Perfection.

Kathryn felt the shudder sweep across Seven's body. Part of her wanted to pump one fist in the air and shout "Yes!" The other part wanted to coax a second orgasm from Seven.

Seven had other ideas.

Less than an instant later, she found herself looking up into Seven's eyes, pinned by the larger woman. This could get very interesting. Her brief affair with B'Elanna had taught her a few lessons about her own sexual preferences. Seven pulled her arms over her head and held them there effortlessly in one hand.

Very interesting indeed.

B'Elanna settled into the bed, the blankets were pushed into a heap and barely remained on the mattress. Her pajamas had been discarded and lay crumpled on the floor beside the ornate night table. Thoughs of the evening had intruded on sleep and were now making it impossible to seek relief. It didn't matter which clitoris she rubbed, or how deep she drove her fingers into her vagina, she couldn't concentrate on coming.

Instead of futilely continuing, she let the thoughts carry her along. Futile. She laughed. Resistance is futile.

Not thinking about Seven was futile.

While the ex-Drone had been successfully rehabilitated, Neelix's cooking and the Doctor's limited imagination had left some gaps in Seven's humanity. Meal time in a pub was one of them. But what she remembered most about dinner were the smiles. Seven's smile.

It was a lot like the smile they had shared in the museum.

B'Elanna smiled again at the memory of the wonder she'd seen spread over Seven's face as they had stared into the display case that separated them from what Seven had breathlessly called perfection.

It came to here then that it wasn't not thinking that was the key to finding release; it was thinking about the right person.

Her clitorii had hardened under her finger tips and a few deft movements were all it took to bring her over the edge. It was only when the last echoes of sound drained from the room that B'Elanna was able to grasp the significance.

And it only took a heartbeat longer for her to decide to do something about it.

continued

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