last update 24 September 2007

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Author: Llachlan

Series:Voyager

Code:Seven of Nine/B'Elanna Torres; (7/J, T/J)

Rating: R

Disclaimer: The characters from Star Trek Voyager are the property of Paramount Studios, and I am knowingly violating their copyright but mean no harm.

Notes: This is my first Voyager effort and is Seven, Janeway and B'Elanna inspired. It comes from a glimpse of how Seven thinks that we saw in the episode "Course: Oblivion". It spans the final season and a half of the series, as well as moving into the time period after The Return.

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

~~~~~~~

Seven watched the doors of the Captain's quarters close behind B'Elanna. She would not cry. Less than a microsecond passed between the thought and the nanoprobes acting to make it a reality.

The captain was speaking again, but Seven continued to ignore her, focused instead on the reactions her body was having. She was on the verge of identifying the emotions behind the chemical devastation being wrought within, and she knew, somehow, that it was important that she be able to put a designation to the emotions. They were there, nebulous and half-formed, relics of a childhood she tried to deny, and she reached to grab them, only to have the Captain shake her.

"Seven!"

"Yes, Captain." The words were flat, hollow, containing nothing of what had been coursing through her only moments before.

She watched the Captain shift from anger to concern, and became aware of her desire to leave.

"Are you alright?"

"No." Seven exited the suite, unaware of a destination, knowing only that she could not remain.

~~~

Janeway watched the doors close behind Seven, still unable to fully understand what had just happened. The rational part; the part that allowed her to maintain order, even under duress, was trying to put the pieces together. The passionate part, the part that gave her the drive and desire to overcome anything the universe could throw her way, was stunned, wholly unprepared for the sudden reality that had confronted them all. Both parts wanted to cry.

She became aware that she was actually crying when the itching left behind by the trails of salt over skin became too insistent to ignore. Kathryn stared at the wetness on her fingertips. B'Elanna had taken immediate refuge in anger, and there had been a flatness to Seven that spoke of a retreat so complete that it scared Kathryn. To her were left the tears.

And so she cried.

Cried for them all.

~~~

B'Elanna watched the doors of her quarters begin to slide shut. Watched the interminable journey of the metal panels that would seal out the world.

It didn't work.

Seven's scent hung in the air.

Data padds still littered the floor next to the couch.

The image of a brilliant smile overlaid bitter words of betrayal.

With a soft snick the doors closed on what might have been.

Sullivan's was packed, and Kathryn wasn't surprised to see a Voyager crewmember in the thick of things. She was suitably grateful that it was the Doctor and not Tom Paris, though as the program's creator and ship layabout, Paris was probably lurking about somewhere.

Looking around, she avoided meeting the Doctor's eye, chagrined without actually needing to see the arched eyebrow of her CMO. She shouldn't be here. She knew she shouldn't be here, but she couldn't face being in her quarters either. She should be talking to B'Elanna, but she couldn't face B'Elanna or Seven. Not yet.

"Katie!"

Any chance she had of leaving was extinguished by Michael Sullivan's cheerful greeting.

Every eye turned to Kathryn Janeway. She was glad of the period attire that somewhat hid her discomfiture, though she had been tempted to forego the hair bun. "Am I interrupting?"

Michael hurried over to her but she couldn't help noticing that the rest of the townsfolk kept a respectful distance.

"Aw, just some nonsense," Michael said, beaming. "Seamus is up to his old tricks again. Well, it's good to see you. What will it be?"

"The usual, please," she smiled, trying the expression out to see if it still fit.

"One cup of tea coming right up." He brought it over quickly. "Did you snatch any children on the way into town, Katie?" He asked the question so loudly that the whole room could hear him.

"What?" Janeway was stunned, somehow she held onto the smile. Did Michael just accuse me of robbing the cradle?

Michael shook his head. "Never mind. I missed your smile. What have you been doing with yourself?"

Janeway realized that she hadn't been back to Fair Haven since the away mission to Jaehlon; since Seven had altered the nature of their relationship. With effort, she fought the truth into the recesses of her mind. She was here to escape the truth, not to dissect it. For an instant it threatened to return, this time as her mental voice pointing out that she had been the other woman with Michael too, but it subsided, buried the same way she buried everything that might hurt. "Nothing terribly exciting. Just helping my aunt and uncle out on the farm. They're not as spry as they used to be. Although, they've got a goat that could argue Mossie Donegan's talking pig under the table!"

Michael chuckled, his programming making him reliably predictable. Uncomplicated. "You'll have to bring him into the bar the next time you're up. We'll arrange a debate."

"I'll see that I do. I hear they opened a nickelodeon in Dooleen. I thought it might be nice to go to a show."

"I've got to tend the bar." He looked disappointed. "I wish you'd let me know you were coming; I would've made arrangements."

"That's all right. We can go some other time."

"No, I mean, you've already made the trip. It'd be a shame if you had to leave."

"Well, I could be convinced to stay if you'd be up to a game of--"

Michael was way ahead of her, he held up his hand, fingers caressing the tossing rings, smiling gamely.

"--Rings," Janeway finished. "Let's go." She continued to ignore the Doctor, and her own conscience.

No place to go, Seven continued to pace the corridors. No one paid her any heed. She tried to organize her thoughts, but was left only with an image to mull over. She had damaged B'Elanna. "Computer. Locate B'Elanna Torres."

"B'Elanna Torres is in her quarters."

Seven started to hail the lieutenant, then ceased. She had no words.

"Computer. Locate Captain Janeway."

The precise tones of the computer supplied the requested information. "Captain Janeway is in Holodeck 2."

Seven stopped. Holodeck 2. The Fairhaven program.

She was alone. Before, she had only been lonely. Now, she knew, she was unequivocally alone.

"Seven?" Kathryn spoke aloud, even though she could see that the ex-Drone's regeneration cycle had yet to reach completion. Swift strides carried her across the cargo bay and she did not hesitate to enter the series of commands that would end the regeneration cycle.

A quick check of the system's maintenance logs revealed that Seven had been reinitiating a new regeneration cycle every time the previous one ended.

"Regeneration cycle complete."

"Seven?" she asked again.

"Captain." Seven stepped away from the alcove immediately, as though the metal burned where it touched her.

"I wanted to check on you." The words seemed lame, but they were true. She felt responsible somehow.

"As you can see, I am fine."

"And the thirty-seven hours of regeneration?"

Seven did not respond and Kathryn smiled slightly. Lies were not a forte of the ex-Drone, and with any luck she would be able to make B'Elanna see that as well, she just needed more information from Seven first. "Don't answer that."

"Can I be of assistance with something?" Seven might not be prone to falsehood, but she had become adept at changing the subject.

"No. I'm here to assist you." Kathryn leaned against a conveniently placed cargo container.

In contrast, Seven was standing with her hands folded behind her back, appearing almost painfully at attention. "Clarify."

"I want to help you understand what happened."

Kathryn was sure that a look of anger passed over Seven's face before the woman replied. "I was in error. I damaged Lieutenant Torres," she paused, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.

"You weren't the only one who made a mistake Seven. I should have explained a few 'romantic protocols' to you. B'Elanna should defined her expectations, we assumed you understood more than you did." She tried to find more words to explain, but was brought up short by the flicker of pain that crossed Seven's face at the mention of B'Elanna.

She couldn't offer much more help here she realized, but she knew what she needed to know to try talking to B'Elanna. Seven had feelings for the engineer, and judging by the fireworks, those feelings ran both ways.

"Can I 'fix' this?"

"I don't know Seven, but I'm going to do everything I can to help."

"Thank-you."

Kathryn reached out and squeezed Seven's shoulder. "You're welcome." With nothing more to say, she turned to leave the room.

"What do you want?" It was all she could manage not to snarl at the Captain, though as far as she was concerned, she had every right; Janeway was in her quarters without authorization - not that that had ever stopped her.

"I was hoping we could talk, B'Elanna." Kathryn stepped away from the chair she'd been sitting in.

"That is not a good idea Captain." She clipped the hard syllables, emphasizing the rank. For the last three shifts, she had managed to avoid the Captain, but it seemed her luck had run out.

"And ignoring it is a better one?"

"Yes." Talking about it would make it real, make it a matter of honour and she had too little of that left to risk losing anymore to Kathryn or to Seven.

"I don't think so. I need you to --"

Furious, B'Elanna cut the Captain off. "You don't think so. You need --," she growled, "and there is no we. You decided that too, remember?" That scored a hit. For a second she thought Kathryn would take a physical step backwards to match the flinch that had cut across her aristocratic features.

"B'Elanna --" Kathryn's voice was husky.

"Don't. Don't you dare say please." She turned away from the tones that so nearly mirrored passion but promised only more pain.

"It's not what you think." Kathryn moved directly behind her, only inches separated them.

B'Elanna could feel the heat radiating from Kathryn, and the anger left in an abrupt rush, replaced by weariness and confusion. Familiar feelings that seemed as fresh now as they had all those months ago.

"Yes, it is, Katie. It's exactly what I think. You probably aren't anymore in love with her than you were with me, but that doesn't change anything."

Strong, familiar hands gripped her shoulders and turned her around, but B'Elanna refused to meet Kathryn's eyes. They saw too much; saw exactly how to manipulate her.

"The important part, where you're concerned, is that Seven isn't in love with me. She loves you."

"I don't want to discuss this. Just go, and we'll forget any of this happened." Just like we did last time. Those words remained unspoken, but they hung in the air nevertheless, and it made her wonder if they could forget this. Theoretically, it should be easier this time than last time, but B'Elanna knew better. Somehow it hurt more.

"I can't. We have to talk about this. You and Seven have to talk about this."

The mention of Seven's name brought a fresh wave of anger and this time she took a step back, putting distance between them. "There is nothing to discuss. Goodnight, Captain."

Kathryn nodded and moved toward the door, but B'Elanna wasn't surprised when the Captain turned and made as if to speak again, displaying the fire that had been part of the attraction. B'Elanna had no intention of being burned. "Goodnight," she reiterated firmly.

She underestimated Kathryn's resolve.

"I did love you B'Elanna. That's why I ended it. I can't afford to be in love. Not with you. Not with her. But you can."

Then the doors slid shut and she was alone.

ARCTAN

Kathryn studied Seven openly. The younger woman looked paler than usual, her normally alabaster skin almost translucent.  She'd gotten a more formal report in sickbay after the destruction of Unimatrix Zero, but she felt the need to ask anyway, despite awareness of the response she was most likely to receive.  The same response, in fact that she'd been receiving for three months.    "How are you?"

"I am functioning  - -"

"within normal parameters." They finished in unison.  "Yes, I know.  Physically, you're fine.  That's not what I meant."

"Explain."

"You weren't at the reception."

"It did not seem appropriate."

She couldn't disagree with Seven's logic; she understood it, hadn't wanted to go to B'Elanna's wedding reception either.  "Ah."

"I spoke with her privately."

Janeway was surprised, but nodded sagely instead of reacting.  "Good."  She leaned forward in her chair.  "I'm sorry, Seven."

The conversation was long over due, but realistically they'd needed the passage of time to dull the worst of the anger and pain.  She'd tried once before, Seven asking if it could be fixed - she hadn't been able to fix it - and they'd never really worked through what had gone so horribly wrong.

"For what, Captain?"

"For not preparing you adequately.  For letting my ego blind me to the fact that you were asking questions for a reason.  For forgetting that you were playing with a different rule book than I was...we were," she amended.  "For all of it."  She'd said some of the exact words before but she felt compelled to repeat herself; to make Seven listen.  She continued to study Seven.  "Sit down, Seven...please."

The other woman made no motion to sit down, instead Seven turned her back and walked toward the window.  "It is insufficient."

In the act of standing, Kathryn let heself fall back onto the overstuffed chair.  Insufficient?  She'd taken Seven's acceptance of her apology as a formality.  Something she should offer, but that they would move past quickly, just as they has a thousand times in the past.  At a loss, she borrowed one of Seven's stock phrases.  "Elaborate."

"Do not mock me, Captain."  Seven had drawn her shoulders back, and Janewasy could see that the younger woman was clenching her Borg enhanced hand.

"I'm not, Seven.  I just don't understand."  She stood but halted her motion to join Seven when the Borg spun around to face her.  Was that anger she saw flash across Seven's face?  Blue eyes regarded her coldly and Kathryn decided that it was, indeed, anger.  "You're angry."

Seven cocked her head, as though considering. "Yes.  I am angry."

"Would you care to tell me why?"  Hurt and confusion she'd expected, but she couldn't fathom why Seven would be angry with her.

"I do not believe that you are sorry."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because you abandoned me."

"Abandoned you?  Seven, I've been right here.  I haven't gone anywhere."

Seven drew herself up, and if it was possible, it seemed she grew several inches, making Janeway feel dwarfed.  "When I needed your...guidance, you were with him."

Oh shit.  Sullivan.  The same feelings of vague embarrassment and guilty anger that had prompted her to lash out in denial at the Doctor threatened to flare again, but she forced them down.  Knowing that Seven would accept nothing less, Kathryn told her the simple truth.  "I needed the distraction."

"I would have distracted you."  The emphasis that Seven placed on various syllables expressed her disdain as clearly as if she'd been speaking in italics, and Janeway winced.

How could she tell Seven that it was the Borg she needed the distraction from?  That her discussion with the doctor about getting involved with a crewmember wasn't purley theoretical?  That she'd needed a distraction from B'Elanna and Seven both? From  the shattering revelation that they'd formed a bond of their own?  A bond of love, not convienience.  "I wanted to be more than a distraction."

If she'd thought her words would provke a display of emotion from Seven, she was mistaken. Seven just continued to look at her, no hint of her thoughts visible in the set of her jaw or the line of her back.  Loosing some of her courage, Janeway turned away.  Without quite being aware of why, she moved to the small table, trailing her fingers along one edge.  Images of B'Elanna's hand casually touching Seven as they ate filled the empty chairs with ghosts that could never be banished.

"Why did you not say so before?" 

Seven had moved to the otherside of the table, and when Janeway looked up, blue eyes trapped hers again.  Discomfitted, she looked back down.  "It doesn't matter.  While I was hesitating, you found B'Elanna and she fell in love with you."

"You are in error.  B'Elanna Torres did not love me.  She did not even like me."

"You're wrong, Seven.  B'Elanna was, is, very much in love with you."  Not that it had stopped her from marrying Tom Paris.  It looked like the Klingon had a Hobbes of her own.  That's what the Delta Quadrant had become for her - the home of missed opprotunites and lost chances.   Mark, B'Elanna, Seven, even she had to admit, Chakotay.

"While I believe that Lt. Torres took pleasure from the distraction I provided, she was quite clear on that point."

Kathryn paled.  "Seven, what did B'Elanna say, exactly."

"After our third recreational coupling she informed me that she still did not like me.  I told her that I was ambivalent about her status as well."

Oh my God.  Seven had had no clue.  "She never told you how she felt about you?"  When Torres got back from her honeymoon Kathryn was personally going to see to it that the Klingon understood exactly how she felt about that.

Seven blanched, her features losing momentary colour before the nanoprobes recovered.  She spoke slowly, almost in a whisper, "I invited her to accompany me 'to pay the baby-sitter'.  She called me Babe.  I inquired as to the meaning of that designation.  She said, " Seven paused, "She said, 'You thought wrong. I like you very much.  Your presence is necessary for my continued existence.' "

Kathryn pulled out a chair and sat down heavily.  It was a tragedy worth of Shakespeare himself.  She never noticed Seven leave.

~~~~~~

SECANT

Automatically, she had returned to the Cargo Bay, the unexpected crash of sensation draining her reserves.  B'Elanna had loved her.   The vision in her left eye blurred, and she lifted her hand, disconcerted to find that she was again leaking.  She needed to regenerate.

"Computer, initiate regeneration cycle."  Instead of instant oblivion, the console beeped.

"Unable to comply."

"Why?"  Seven looked at the flashing alcove.

"The interface is incompatible."

"Run a diagnostic of alcove zero-one."

There was more beeping.  "Alcove zero-one is operating within normal parameters."

Seven resumed her place.  "Initiate regeneration cycle."

"Unable to comply."  The computer beeped again.

"Clarify."

"Your cortical node is malfunctioning."

She sat down in the alcove.  It seemed there was another form of oblivion awaiting her.  

Seven knew she should call B'Elanna; call Kathryn, or even the Doctor, but telling them would change nothing. She would still be alone. Would die alone. Abruptly, she stood, overwhelmed by an anger she hadn't felt since Janeway had refused to return her to the Collective, since the last time she'd faced the devastation of realizing that she was alone, that she was insignificant.

Her parting from Mizoti and the twins threaded through her mind. They were gone and to Voyager it seemed as though they had never existed on the ship. Voyager's Collective had adapted to their absence as quickly as she had. How quickly would they adapt to her absence?

Seven snatched a padd from the console. It was inefficient to follow that line of inquiry. Her cortical node would adapt, and she would survive, or it would not and she would die. In the interval, she would do her duty. 

SINC

B'Elanna leaned over the console. She knew the work would be exemplary -- Seven's work always was -- but in lieu of the right words, all she had to fall back on was habit.

"Do you require something, Lt. Torres?"  

The tones were as moderate as ever, her manner as composed and controlled, but having seen Seven in the most intimate of moments, B'Elanna knew the surface appearance to be a finely crafted mask. "No, Seven. I'm just checking your progress. I don't want Vorik tromping over any of your work before you're finished." 

Seven arched her brow, the ever expressive implant clearly stating that the Borg wasn't convinced by B'Elanna's words, even if the ex-drone remained silent on the matter.  Not for the first time, she wondered how she could ever have thought Seven to be emotionless, and she further wondered what Seven's response would have been if she had answered the woman's question honestly. If she had instead replied, "I require your continued functioning." 

But the time for that truth had passed, and if what she felt for Tom was no match for the passions Seven stirred, it was real, and honour demanded she uphold her choice.  B'Elanna determinedly shoved aside her regrets, realizing that Seven was regarding her expectantly. "You're about to ask me a personal question."

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Seven's mouth and B'Elanna suddenly decided she was glad that she had covered for the woman with the Doctor.  It had been a long time since she'd put a smile on those lips.

"Correct. I require your assistance."

"That's not a question, Seven. Your precision is slipping." She turned her body and leaned back against the bulkhead so that they were fully facing one another.

"Very well. Are you still angry with Kathryn?"

B'Elanna wished she hadn't leaned against the bulkhead: it left her nowhere to retreat. Not that the blue eyes fixed on hers would allow a mere physical retreat. "What is it you need my assistance with?"  She didn't retreat, she flat out conceded, and was relieved when Seven dipped her head, acknowledging that while she wasn't willing to answer the question, she would honour whatever request the Borg was about to make.

"Help her accept this."

This time B'Elanna did explode into motion, loping angrily to the other end of the catwalk, before returning to where Seven stood looking for all the world as though she had asked that a bit of irrelevant science or some minor varience in a plasma stream be accepted as necessary and true.  "Kahless, Seven, you have no idea what you are asking."

"I am asking you to be her friend. As you have been mine. Please."

They locked gazes, and under the onslaught of open emotion, B'Elanna was defenseless. She didn't trust herself to speak, she nodded instead. Seven nodded in acknowledgement, then turned and left.

B'Elanna watched Seven leave, tracking her exit as she emerged from the catwalk stairs, crossed the large expanse of space in front of the warp core and then, without a backward glance, passed through the doors of main engineering, and quite possibly, out of B'Elanna's life.

"Oh, Kahless, Seven. I don't want to accept this, how can I possibly help Kathryn?"  But those words, like so many others left unsaid between them fell unheard onto the deck.

***

HAVERSINE

Janeway sat on her couch, and stared at an invisible point in the centre of the room.  She kept replaying Seven's earlier words: 'I've disappointed you. You feel your task is incomplete. That's why my death will be difficult for you to accept.'

And despite her platitudes of reassurance, she hadn't told the truth.  Her words echoed through her mind,  'You haven't failed. You've exceeded my expectations. You've become an individual. An extraordinary individual. If I'm having trouble accepting your condition . . . it's only because I don't want to lose a friend.'

"You. I don't want to lose you." Said aloud to an empty room, they were meaningless sounds.   "It is a tale. Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  Signifying nothing." Bleak, she let Shakespeare's words condemn her cowardice.

The door chimed, and Janeway debated whether or not to answer. If she didn't whomever was there would go away. Unless it were Seven.  Tired of being alone with her thoughts, she made her decision. Her visitor was most likely Tuvok, and if nothing else, she could use his company at the moment. "Come."

The door slid open, revealing, not the Vulcan Security Chief, but the compact form of her Chief Engineer instead.

"B'Elanna," she greeted the younger woman cordially, covering her surprise at Klingon's visit. Outside of duty, they hadn't really spoken in months: not since she'd attempted to intercede on Seven's behalf.

"Captain." There was a pause in both her words and motion, and it was only now that Kathryn spotted the decanter and two glasses B'Elanna held in her hands. "I thought, maybe, you could use a drink. I sure as hell could."

Kathryn regarded the engineer for a long moment, weighing thier past and their possible futures, then motioned toward the other end of the couch.  She didn't give a damn about the past anymore. "I'd like that."

"I heard that she refused further treatment." B'Elanna said, handing across a glass tumbler filled with a smoky, amber liquid.

"Yes." Kathryn swirled the drink in the glass, finding it easier to concentrate on the alcohol, and she was sure that it was actual alcohol, rather than on the feelings triggered by B'Elanna's comment.

"She asked me about Sto-Vo-Kor." B'Elanna took a long pull on her drink, and Kathryn followed suit. "I'll consider it an honour to howl for her."

Kathryn felt a tear slide down her cheek. "Damn it." She took another gulp of her drink, ignoring the fire that seemed to burn the back of her throat. "Why are you here, B'Elanna?" her words were angry, waspish, but they were out before she could call them back, so she let them be, and didn't try to mitigate their impact with an insincere apology.

B'Elanna poured more liquor into each of their glasses, then leaned back into the cushions, propping her booted feet up onto the coffee table. Just when Kathryn thought she wouldn't get an answer, the Klingon spoke, her words quiet and stark. "Seven asked me to."

Kathryn didn't trust herself to speak. The irony that Seven's parting gift to her was a chance to repair her friendship with a woman they had both loved was not lost on the Captain.

"I would have killed to save her. I would even die for her. And never regret either choice." She looked over at B'Elanna, and knew that if she met the other woman's eyes, she'd find complete understanding for what she didn't say. She would die for Seven, but she hadn't been able to find the courage to live for her. 

And neither had B'Elanna.

"I really screwed it up didn't I?" 

Startled, Janeway looked at her glass suspiciously. Just what the hell were they drinking? B'Elanna must have caught her expression because the Klingon laughed and shook her head. "Just garden variety engine room hooch, Kate. Cheers." The contents of the glass were quickly swallowed and just as swiftly replaced.

"Does it really matter anymore, B'Elanna? You and Tom seem happy."

"In other words, yes."

She noticed that B'Elanna had sidestepped her question, but Kathryn smiled and took another slug of her drink before rising it wry salute. "Far be it from me to argue with a drunk Klingon."

B'Elanna shot her a dirty look. "When have you ever not argued with me?"

At that, she merely pinned the engineer with one of her looks and waited for the woman to answer her own question, gratified to see the flush that spread upward from B'Elanna's neckline, suffusing her face darkly. 

"Not fair." B'Elanna looked away.

Janeway let her off the hook, not daring to press any further on the newness of the repair to their friendship, and willing to yield a little ground to cement it. "I think we've each screwed things up."  The alcohol was definitely beginning to work its magic, because Kathryn found herself grinning and holding her glass aloft once again. "Seven."

"Seven."

They both drained their glasses, but this time B'Elanna didn't refill them right away, and Janeway was content to just sit.   She'd made plenty of wrong decisions. But as the presence of the woman next to her reminded her, she'd made plenty of right ones too.

 
EXSECANT

They were home.

Suddenly and stunningly, they were home.

Janeway looked around the bridge, memorizing the moment and whispered a prayer for those whose return was in spirit only.

Friends and battles, won and lost, but through it all hope. They were home.

Then just as suddenly the luxury of her reverie was stolen away as communications sprang to life. Greetings were exchanged as ship after ship hailed Voyager, all with the same message: Welcome Home.

She made her way to the transporter room, unaware that she had passed from Captain to Legend, and that Voyager was now the most famous ship in the quadrant.  A familiar whine cut the air and three people materialized. Admiral Owen Paris and Lieutenant Commander Reginald Barclay were accompanied by a petite woman she didn't recognize.

Owen was watching her, studying every inch of her body as though he shared her fear that this was a dream.  "Welcome home, Kathryn."

Her nascent reply and the possible moment to follow shattered, subsumed by protocol and other more formal greetings.  In a way she was relieved. They need protocols to get through this - hell, she needed the refuge offered by ceremony and protocol to get through this.  

She was home. And she was alone.

This was the end of everything, even if she retained command of Voyager, there would be changes: transfers and promotions, a permanent closing of doors she had never dared open.  Janeway pushed the thoughts away, placing her focus on the task at hand.

"Captain Janeway, may I present Commander Troi."

"Commander." She dipped her head in acknowledgment, a little surprised to find that she was slightly taller than the slim almost elfin woman being presented to her.  Her height had never been a problem for her, but after having had to look up at her her senior staff for the better part of seven years, she'd gotten used to being the shortest person in the room.

"Captain." Troi smiled and stepped to one side.

Paris spoke again. "And I believe you already know Lt. Commander Barclay."

Barclay was hanging back, looking slightly uncomfortable and Kathryn did the only thing she could think to do. She hugged him. "Thank you," she whispered. Then she stepped back, bemused by the flush that had crept across Barclay's face to highlight the stunned expression that had replaced the discomfort.

She turned to Owen. "Admiral Paris, Voyager's chief engineer is currently...incapacitated." Tom and B'Elanna could tell Owen that he was a grandfather themselves, she wasn't going to spoil the moment. He looked concerned, so she hastened to clarify somewhat. "She's fine, Admiral, but I really could use a qualified engineer." She pointedly looked at Barclay.

Paris smiled, and it served to heighten the resemblance between father and son. "Lieutenant-Commander Barclay, you are hereby transferred to the USS Voyager, effective immediately."

"Sirs!" Barclay responded, straightening to his full height.

"Reg." Troi shook her head slightly and smiled at the engineer, before convivially poking him in the ribs.

Janeway ignored the byplay. "Think you can find your own way to the engine room?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Dismissed." Kathryn watched him go, then turned to her remaining guests. "Shall we?"

As the group moved through Voyager's corridors, Kathryn could feel the excitment charging the air, but it was mixed with something she couldn't put her finger on.  She watched the teams working to repair the worst of the latest damage, noting that even the anticipation of homecoming wouldn't allow them to neglect Voyager.  Her eyes began to burn and she felt tears begin to well up and had to make an effort to conciously will them away.

Looking away from the engineering team she spotted Commader Troi studying her with what Janeway thought was compassion. Unaccountably irked by the scrutiny, she decided to regain control of the tour.  "Were you also part of the Pathfinder project?"

Paris and Troi exchanged glances and it was the Admiral who answered. "Not exactly, Commander Troi is assigned to Voyager."

Janeway nodded before the words actually penetrated, but before she could phrase a response, Paris continued speaking. "Deanna has been assigned as the ship's counselor."

She shot her best cold look at Paris. "Any other changes, I should be aware of Admiral?" The only factor that kept her from being truly angry was her awareness that the crew needed and deserved a conselor.

Owen shook his head, bald pate now gleaming under the corridor lights. "No, ma'am."

Further conversation was halted by their arrival on the bridge. The bridge staff stood at attention and she saw Harry let his eyes flicker between Admiral and Captain. He settled his gaze on Janeway. "Captain on the bridge." The he saluted.

Janeway looked from Harry to the crew, realizing in that instant that what she had been sensing as she walked through the shi was pride. Pride in themselves, pride in their crewmates, pride in Voyager, and pride in her, the Captain. Their faith had been justified.

She had brought them home.

The whole bridge was saluting her. Her eyes sought and met Seven's, warming as she took in the respectful pose and respect she read from the normally guarded woman.  Janeway nodded, and returned the crew's salute, wondering why such a powerful gesture had become archaic, relegated to pompous ceremonies that robbed it of its true meaning.

Catching Harry's eye, she smiled at him. "At ease, Ensign. You'll sprain something."

A laugh swept round the bridge and she tried to store the sound. This was how she wanted to remember them: smiling and happy.

United.


COSINC

The door chime rang, but this time, instead of opening it, B'Elanna asked the computer to identify the caller.  She'd opened it each time it rang, only to be disappointed. Three quarters of Voyager's crew had trooped through to see the baby, and she was tired.

"Seven of Nine."

B'Elanna opened the door.

"Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres." The tone was formal, but B'Elanna thought she detected a hint of warmth in the ritual greeting.

"Seven of Nine," she replied just as formally, then smiled.

Small mini-cries announced the baby's wakefulness, and B'Elanna turned away from the door to gather her daughter up into her arms. "Would you like to hold her?"

Seven made no move, remaining at the entrance. "I came to say good-bye."

"You're leaving?" That couldn't be right, they wouldn't dock at McKinley station for another eighteen hours.

"Yes."

"Elaborate."

Seven dipped her head, in what B'Elanna had learned to read as apology. "I cannot."

"Cannot or will not? Dammit, Seven."  The baby squirmed again and began to scream in earnest, splitting B'Elanna's focus.

"Qapla', B'Elanna Torres."  Seven turned away and took a step into the hall, then turned back once more. "She has your eyes," there was a pause, and Seven smiled, "and your lungs."

Then she was gone.

B'Elanna had no choice but to watch the doors close. Stunned, she sat down and adjusted her shirt to let the baby nurse, cooing reassurances to calm her daughter.  She was surprised at the power of the conflict raging within her. It had taken them a long time to move past the fall-out from their aborted romantic relationship to finally achieve a semblance of a friendship they hadn't even started with.  By mutual, unspoken consent, neither had ever spoken of it, nor of the events that surrounded its implosion, but they had taken some of the lessons learned during it to come to a new, more respectful understanding of each other.

Did she have the right to break that détente?

When the baby was sated, she changed her daughter's diaper, and placed the infant in her cradle.  If this was it, if the crew was going their separate ways, then Seven deserved to know that she had been loved.  Janeway was right about that much.  She should have told Seven from the very beginning what she felt.

"Computer, locate Seven of Nine."  Tom would be back soon and she could go talk to Seven.

"Seven of Nine is no longer aboard Voyager."

Shamed washed over her. "Qapla', Seven." Tears slid down her cheeks as she said good-bye to the woman she'd let leave without saying, 'I love you.'

Seven was gone.


COVERSINE

"Would you like to talk about it Kathryn?"

Janeway shifted her gaze from the wall to counselor. They'd already talked about a lot. Talked about the strain of being alone in the Delta Quadrant, talked about the paradoxical mix of elation and grief triggered by their return.  They'd talked about the deaths, about how much she missed Neelix. They'd covered the prime directive and temporal paradoxes, both laughing at her realization that she owed her existence to her nemesis as well as at her comment that even so, she wouldn't be teaching a temporal mechanics course at the Academy any time soon.  

That had led to a more sombre discussion, when Deanna had asked in turn if that's what she wanted from the future. 

It was then that she had finally admitted that what she really wanted was to be out there. In the Delta Quadrant. What she hadn't told Deanna was that she'd had a choice. They could still be there. All of them.

But that would have meant unacceptable losses.  They'd talked about it all, except that.  All of it, except Seven of Nine.

They'd talked about everything in the ship's logs, and a good deal from her personal logs. But not once did she mention the actual role Seven of Nine had played in their return.  Hadn't talked about that exhilerating trip to the Jaehlon homeworld where she had first gone to bed with Seven of Nine. Hadn't talked about the growing realization that Seven had grown beyond being a member of her crew.

Nor had she talked about the anger and hurt that had driven her back into the arms of a hologram, or the pride that had kept her there until it was too late.

And without talking about all of that, how could she explain what she was feeling now.  How could she explain how she felt about the woman she'd let walk away without saying, 'I love you.'?

She couldn't. "No."



VERSINE
Seven of Nine altered her stride to keep pace with her escort.  The structure they were about to enter was enormous, and she found herself feeling unexpectedly unsettled. After the infinity of space, the vastness of the Collective or even the confines of Voyager the idea of working in a stationary edifice was peculiar and disconcerting. Up and down were now absolutes, not mere labels of momentary convenience.

"Welcome to the Daystrom Institute, Dr. Hansen." Her guide had paused and was regarding her expectantly.

"Thank you." She supposed she'd get used to having both the new honourific and the reasserted patronym as part of her designation. An image flashed in her mind of a sign on a door.  Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct to Unimatrix Zero One, Ph. D. She wondered if the thought construed observational humour or was vaguely ironic.  That she was curious at all was a measure of her continued development she supposed, suddenly wishing she could share her jest.

For an instant she wondered if perhaps Chakotay had been alarmist when he had advised her to leave Voyager as soon as possible. Tuvok's concurrence, when he sought out not long after the first officer's final departure from Cargo Bay 2, had spurred her to action,  and she had taken their advice to relocate before the implications of her arrival in the Alpha Quadrant registered with Starfleet Command.

It had been Chakotay's recommendation that she hide behind the venerable institute's power - seven years on Voyager may have softened his stance on Starfleet, but he wasn't blind to the darker possibilities - and begin what he thought would be a successful adaptation to life in the Federation in a place that would appreciate her intellect and not her implants.  She could picture the crinkle in his brow that warped his tattoo as he'd spoken, the lack of curl to his lips giving lie to the humour he'd put in the words.  He cared, and she might have learned to, but that too was gone. Seven was surprised she didn't miss him in particular, and at the moment wished that she could ask Neelix what he thought of her course of action.

She looked down at the roll of paper in her right hand and smiled lightly as she regarded her Doctorate. He'd been right about one thing at least - the Daystrom Institue had certainly wasted no time in confirming how much they respected her intellect.  Kathryn would be proud.  Of the degree at least, if not of her cowardice in leaving without a word.

That had been four days ago, though it seemed a lifetime ago.  Maybe that was the approach to take. She would simply adapt to having a new life, this one as different from the last, as her life on Voyager had been from her life in the Collective, and from the one before that on the Raven.  Filing her escort's comments in her eidetic memory for later retrieval, Seven continued her distracted walk through the outer portion of the cavernous lobby.  She actually thought it ironic that she was the first of Voyager's crew to make planetfall on Earth, her arrival as unheralded and uncelebrated as planned.  A distinct contrast to the ticker tape thrown at Harry Kim as he had become the first to officially disembark, stepping directly from the safe embrace of Voyager to that of his waiting parents.  She stopped walking.

Almost as unheralded.

Standing in front of the assembled collection of scientists was the sturdy, snowy-haired form of Irene Hansen.

"Welcome home, Seven."

"Thank you." She spoke automatically, supplying the expected response before she'd fully had to time to process the intensity of the emotions that seeing her paternal aunt had triggered.  

Shorter than Seven, Irene nevertheless managed to enfold her a warm hug, the older woman seeming to know exactly when to let go.  "A Commander Tuvok told me that I might find you here."  She held Seven at arm's length and studied her face. Seven wondered what the other woman was seeing, but was gratified to receive another of the full smiles she had gotten during their brief contact over the array. A card was pressed into her hand, then Irene stepped back. "I can see everyone else is waiting to say hello, too. I have some strawberries waiting at the hotel if you'd like to visit later."

Still overwhelmed, Seven nodded. "That would be acceptable."

As though her response had broken the spell holding the others back, she found herself being introduced to a number of individuals.  Her escort's demeanor toward one, in particular, seemed to indicate that this would be an important introduction so she focused, though  she wanted to follow her aunt out of the building.

"Dr. CJ Maven, may I present Seven Hansen."

"Dr. Maven is the head wrangler of the p-dimensionsal thread lab.  Dr. Hansen will be heading up a new lab in the Astronomy Department."  The introduction was done as smoothly as any she'd seen Janeway do and she wondered if her escort was actually a scientist or, in fact, trained in diplomacy.

"Dr. Maven." She inclined her head in greeting, and tried to look friendly, or at least tried not to look as intimidating as she knew she usually did when she was uncomfortable.  This would be her new Collective and it behooved her to apply the lessons learned on Voyager sooner rather than later.

The woman smiled and inclined her head in turn, "Doctor Hansen."  Though as blonde as the borg herself, Seven was struck by the fact that unlike everyone else she'd met, the physicist had irises of deep green.

Other introductions followed and Seven stored each designation and face in her memory.  Just as she was positive she would exceed her store of both patience and stock greetings her escort returned. "Would you like to see your lab?"

"That would be acceptable."

"Right this way then."

The room she was shown was more engine room than lab in appearance. More introductions followed as she was presented to her staff and they to her. Everyone was scrupulously polite. Seven found herself missing Ensign Kim's irrelevant attempts at humour, and she wondered how her new assistant would respond to being addressed as Two of Ten, rather than Dr. Andrews.

She turned to address the young man in question. "Dr. Andrews, please inform the staff that there will be a preliminary briefing at 0900 hrs tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am."

Seven took a last look around the lab before departing. It wasn't Voyager, but it would be acceptable.


EUCLIDEAN

SECANT

B'Elanna stood in the centre of Cargo Bay 2, surrounded by familiar technology and unwelcome memories. She straightened her shoulders and walked toward the alcoves. Determinedly, she stepped up and onto the risor where once Seven had ruled.

Unbidden, a memory -  of Seven's neck arched back, throat exposed to teeth sharp enough to kill, in a gesture that had claimed her, even as she claimed Seven - rose fiercely in her mind, nearly making her stumble.

B'Elanna ran her hand across the smooth alien metal of the alcove, remembering the way its cold surface had warmed to her back as Seven had held her negliently in place with one hand, taking her with the other. Slowly, she let go of the images, even as she lowered her toolkit to the deck.

No more stolen moments, no more casually arranged encounters to satisfy herself that Seven was okay; that the technology on which she depended would not fail her a second time. After today, her last connection to Seven would be severed.

The door hissed open, and she turned to face the newcomer. Tuvok stopped just inside, as though to give her time to regain herself, but greeted her nonetheless.  "Lieutenant."

This man was the Tuvok she remembered meeting so long ago. Predatory, and dangerous, the preternatural calm doing nothing to mitigate the feeling that he was a force to reckon with. They had forgotten that when the crews blended, seeing only the Star Fleet officer, instead of the Maquis rebel. She smiled at him, letting her teeth show in true affection. "Alcove zero-one?"

"That would seem the logical choice." He moved to the computer work station and began inputting a series of commands that she knew were designed to block access to the Cargo Bay.

It seemed fitting in a bizarre way that one of their final acts on Voyager was an act of piracy. You could apparently steal whatever technology you wanted if you had the Chief Engineer, along with the Head of Security to carry out the theft, and the First Officer to manipulate the paperwork and alter the logs.


SINE

Seven paused at the entrance to the domicile she'd been assigned.  Once, she would have deemed the privacy that lay just beyond the sealed doors irrelevant.  Now, the private space would afford her security during regeneration. She reflected on the inefficiency of the arrangement, the dimensions of her office were more than sufficient for a modified alcove and four bio-suits.

It occurred to her then that she did not know how to engage the entrance mechanism. Voyager's systems, even those she had encountered so far at the Daystrom Institute triggered on approach of authorized individuals, or could be activated from inside to admit a guest. Unconscious of the gesture, she tilted her head to one side as she considered the problem. Guessing was inefficient.  Seven placed the fingers of her left hand in the slight dip between the edges of panels, and applied what she believed to be adequate rotational torque. Slowly she forced the panel open. Pleased, she stepped through the door, pulling it shut behind her more as an afterthought, than because she required it be sealed.  

The space, or at least what she could immediately observe of it, was not ornate. If anything, it would be categorized as spare, but it was elegant in its symmetry of line. One area seemed to give way naturally to the next, and the minimalist furnishings enhanced the rooms.  She found the overall result acceptable, even aesthetically pleasing. Curious, she began a more intensive examination of the quarters.

It was during her second circuit of the space that the nascent vestiges of disquiet she had been experiencing for the last cycle became actualized fear. So much of her time on Voyager had been spent on a fruitless pursuit of Humanity, Seven suddenly realized that she had no concept of how to exist. In severing herself from Voyager, she had also sundered herself from the guidance she needed to help her adapt.

Her initial foray into independence had been split between the time spent in clandestine occupancy of a transport container and two nights at the Scandic Marski. Meals in the former had been ration packs supplied by Tuvok, while frequent breaks from her tour of the Daystrom Institute's facilities to consume nutrition had obviated her need to search out additional nutritional supplements during her tenure at the hotel.

Seven felt the return of the fear that had nearly overwhelmed her during her first days on Voyager. She was lost, confused. So much was unknown.

A more thorough examination of the space revealed a workstation nestled in windowed alcove at one end of the riser that lifted a portion of the quarters. Accessing a console was a familiar action and she quickly switched the device from voice only to dual entry. Data on Helsinki began to flow across the screen and she read relevant portions of some sections while merely diverting the contents of others to a PADD for later study.  Satisfied that she now knew the where, if not the what, of items she might require, she programmed a series of search bots to locate any texts that might assist her in assimilating the necessary knowledge to adapt successfully.

Temporarily stymied in her pursuit of successful independence, Seven decided that it was an appropriate time to begin recording a new personal log. Initially, she had had little use for the practice, but over the last year, she had come to appreciate that it was an effective means of organizing her thoughts. "Computer, set logfile, personal log, Seven of Nine, set verification code seven chi two." 
 
She paused, uncertain. Instead she began once more to move through the house. One room, in particular, drew her in. A large bathtub took up most of one side of the en-suite. This was knowledge she possessed.  One drew a bath she recalled, and then proceeded to do so.

Seven discarded her bio-suit and stepped into the steaming water.  There was much she had learned that was not irrelevant.


COTANGENT

"You did what?" Kathryn gripped the edges of her desk in an effort not to physically assault Chakotay. They were in the process of standing Voyager down, and it had suddenly come to her attention that there was far less Borg technology on the ship than there ought to be. Worse, she suspected Starfleet Command knew it too.

"She needs that alcove, Kathryn."

"That may be, but there are channels."

"Channels to let Starfleet isolate her? I won't let them do that to her, not now."

Janeway snapped her head up. He might be ex-Maquis, but he had always expressed a far greater distrust of Seven than of Starfleet. Her gaze narrowed. "Not now? So it would have been okay with you before?" That scored a hit, and she felt her stomach muscles clench as the look on his face broadcast the truth. Her otherself had had the right of it. Chakotay and Seven had become a couple. "Where is she, Chakotay?"

"Helsinki. With her aunt, I think."

"You don't know?" Now she was confused.

"No." He looked pained, and she felt a measure of sympathy for him, a recognition that they had become kindred spirits of an expected sort. They had loved and lost the same woman.

"Disappear, Chakotay. I'll take the responsibility." She paused, then made a decision. "On second thought, belay that order. Go find her. If you love her, tell her. Fight for her."

"Kathryn?"

They were home and she was no longer the Captain, so she spoke with brutal honesty. "Don't wake up one morning wondering if it might have worked. Find out. If you love her, and if there is the slightest chance of happiness with her, take it, Chakotay. Don't make my mistakes."

She had shocked him, that was obvious, but what she hadn't expected to see was a mix of dawning comprehension and then anger.

"I love her. But she doesn't love me. At least now I know why."

Kathryn let a wry grin form. "You're wrong, Seven doesn't love me." She didn't deny how she felt. And even if it had once been true, she knew that there was too much between them now to ever go back. Too many thoughtless wounds inflected.

"Take your own advice, Kathryn." He threw his communicator and insignia on the desk and walked out of the ready room.

To be continued in Part 4.

Updated 24 September 2007 

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