• This is the 21st in the Just Between Series. As I begin the twenties, I attempt yet another experimental format just to see  if it'll work or not. I fully appreciate that this may be less than enjoyable for some readers, and that's understandable. All I can offer is that the JB series is like waiting for a bus; if you're not entirely comfortable with this one, another will be along in a short while, and it'll be in a more standard format. *G*

• This installment was written and posted in the first part of July, 1999, after the end of season five on Voyager, so it would have occurred before the events in Equinox.

• Perhaps because of its more 'intimate' first person style, this story turned out to be somewhat more explicit than previous ones. In fact, it starts out that way. There is a Wonder Wand 9000™ Warning. There is a Clinical Terms Warning. There is an Extreme Profanity Warning.

• This title comes from Wendy in Australia. (Poor Wendy, her titles inspire all the smutty stuff *G*)

Just Between The Lines
G. L. Dartt

Kathryn Janeway: Personal Log

I awoke sometime in the night, returning to consciousness abruptly as I became aware that I wasn't alone. However, the warm body that joined me was eminently familiar, and I welcomed the arrival of my spouse with a faint murmur of appreciation. I had expected her to be away for the entire evening, and was more than pleased to discover I'd been wrong. It's hard when we're both so busy to find time for one another, but somehow, if we both make an effort, we find a way. The fact that we had been required to pull double duty shifts the past few weeks made moments like these seem even more precious.

It was wonderful to feel those strong, slender arms wrap around me, to surrender to that lean, lanky body which pressed tightly against me from behind. Seven nuzzled my ear lovingly, and I smiled, reaching back to stroke her hip lightly.

"I thought you would be busy for most of the night?" I asked lazily.

"I will be busy for most of the night," she responded quickly. "It will simply not be in astrometrics." My smile widened, and it occurred to me that my darling had become quite glib recently, at least for her.

I exhaled slowly as I felt her hand slip up from my stomach to gently cup my breast.

"What do you think you're doing?" I asked her, even as I realized how perfectly inane the question was. Anybody with half a brain would know exactly what she was doing.

However, as always, she answered me politely, without impatience ... though I definitely heard a touch of indulgent tolerance in her tone.

"I am going to make love to you."

The plainly spoken words sent chills down my spine, making my stomach contract pleasantly, and caused a ripple of sensation to run directly to that spot between my legs.

I tried to resist.

"Seven," I said primly. "We're both tired, and we need our sleep to be able to function at peak efficiency tomorrow."

"My efficiency will not be affected," she reminded me in those precise tones. "Though I appreciate that you are only ... Human."

Despite knowing that she was provoking me, I was unable to control my response, stiffening in her arms even as I was very aware of her hand stilled on my breast, her palm brushing over the nipple which hardened eagerly against the warm skin. From the window above our heads, the shimmering light from passing stars illuminated our bedroom, falling silver over the blankets which surrounded us in the cozy center of the mattress. The familiar sounds of the ship's systems were a subtle undercurrent to the comforting respiration of my partner, while Seven's skin felt incredibly smooth and inviting against mine. As I have come to freely acknowledge; when it comes to being with Seven, any resistance on my part is ultimately futile.

"I think I can handle whatever you choose to offer, Borg," I muttered, somewhat unconvincingly, and was thankful that she chose not to point out that my competitive nature was bound to get me into real trouble someday.

She did make a low sound in my ear, however. Seven is not prone to laugh out loud, but she has developed a rather charming little snicker which appears whenever I say or do something that particularly amuses her ... as my admittedly feeble show of reluctance must have. The tip of her tongue flicked my earlobe, then delicately explored the curve of it as her hand squeezed my breast, her other arm pulling me tighter to her. I let my breath out slowly, closing my eyes as I tipped my head back, affording Seven more access to my neck, loving how she kissed and nibbled her way along my throat.

"Mmm, Annika," I murmured, shifting slightly. The touch of her from behind was delicious, but I wanted to be able to look at her in the low illumination, to see how her eyes changed color from that pale ice to the deepest of blue, to watch as the desire and love filled them. "I'm so glad you came home early tonight."

"I needed to come home to you," she said huskily, stroking me from throat to groin in one easy motion of her fingertips, and suddenly I realized that she was already in a state of arousal. I wondered what had triggered it, then stopped wondering as her fingers brushed over my crease, the tip of her index finger dipping down to rub my clitoris.

I groaned and rolled over, Seven opening her arms to allow my motion, then enfolded me into them once more, crushing me tightly against her. I basked in the touch of her body against me, the yielding cushion of her breasts and belly, the way her legs entwined with mine. This was also better in that we could now kiss comfortably; I could have those pouty, full lips cover mine, could taste the sweetness of her tongue moving so lovingly against my own, inhale the breath which seemed to fill me with her warmth. I made a sound, low and gutteral, unable to stifle it. It just felt so incredibly good to be in her arms like this, to love her with all my heart and soul, to know this woman loved me in return. My desire for her rose thick and intense within me, like the surge of a tidal wave.

She swallowed my moan, muffling it with her mouth, and I clung to her, her nipples jabbing into my breasts, feeling my own nipples, stiff and aching, prod into her. Her belly, flat and muscled, slid against mine and lower, the thin strands of hair tangled with each other, pulling with a sweet pain. Her hands moved over me, caressed me, touching me everywhere while my fingers slid over her back, the tips bumping over the length of spine all the way up to her exquisite neck. I do so adore her neck, loving the leonine line of it, the way I can feel her even pulse throb beneath my lips whenever I nuzzle it. She is so beautiful, so incredibly gentle ... being with her is like being in the safest, most secure, wonderful place in the universe. I've always felt that way. I hope I always do.

Her body felt fevered this night, her skin hot as I covered her breasts, so much larger than mine, spilling over my grasp as I squeezed them gently. I kissed down her chest, fell upon the generous bosom eagerly, hungry to taste her, to lick the pinkish nipples that elongate so impressively in my mouth, firm beneath my tongue, yet so velvet soft at the same time. She enjoyed that, arching up to me as I feasted on her, her hands stroking my head, fingers trailing through my hair and over my face, whispering my name. I responded by sucking lightly on those hard little tips, flicking them with my tongue, nibbling at the soft skin very carefully. As I did, I slid my hand down between us, searching for her tender flesh so that I could touch her. I was amazed at how very wet she was, wondering again at what had inspired such a copious display of desire, what had caused her to react with such demand.

I made another sound as she abruptly rolled us over, pressing down on me, her legs falling apart to either side of my thigh, and immediately, I brought it up to push into her moisture, pleasure echoing through me as she undulated against me, bathing my skin with her essence. I could feel that hard little ridge of flesh skid along my leg and I bit at her neck, whispering my love for her, urging her on as she thrust against me. I reached behind her, squeezing the full buttocks in my hands, then let my right index finger, still wet from her, brush over her anus, prodding at this most intimate of spots, circling the wrinkled orifice in a way that I know causes great pleasure for her. She increased her motion, and carefully, I eased the digit inside, the tightness incredible as I slowly impaled her with it.

I looked up into her face dark with demand and need, mesmerized by her passion, the blonde head thrown back, the full lips parted to gasp for air, her breath a brief sob into the night, and thought that she must be the most exquisite beauty I have ever known. Her climax was intense, but she offered no more than a breathless sigh, a soft expulsion of breath, the softest of moans and my name, "Kathryn", granted a joyous inflection that never fails to move me almost to tears. Her eyes were bright and shining as she looked down at me, the pupils enlarged so that there was only a rim of blue around the black center. I wonder at times if the loud sounds she made in the beginning of our relationship ... the screams, the cries ... were actually in mimicry of my own verbal emoting, as if that was how she thought she was supposed to act. Now, as she grows more into herself, and better aware of who she is, she responds more in her own way, and that is tender and sweet, as indeed, she is beneath that cool Borg exterior.

I drew her down, kissing her deeply, passionately, wanting her so much. She did not disappoint, making love to me with lips and fingertips until I thought I would explode from the sheer intensity of it. I actually heard our dog, Jake, bark abruptly out in the living area in response to my own loud cry of pleasure.

It is odd ... so much of my sexual experience prior to Seven was adapting to a quicker pace, learning to keep up with the men who, bless their hearts, did their best to hold back for my pleasure, and sometimes did not always succeed. Seven, in contrast, will linger with her caresses almost beyond bearing, completely intent on building on my pleasure no matter how long it takes. In fact, she enjoys it more when I am slower than when my need is raging and immediate. She does not hold back, giving me all that she is in every encounter, and it can be overwhelming, frequently leaving me limp and completely sated from the resulting climax.

Until the urge to do it again inevitably rises in me once more.

Afterward, she wrapped herself around me like a bubble bath, soothing, comforting, a warm haven against the cold of a sometimes unfeeling universe. In some ways, that is the best of all. To lie in her arms, her breath warm on my face or hair, knowing that I am loved with a completeness that goes far beyond anything I have ever known before, lends me a strength and courage that continues to fill my every moment.

I snuggled into her embrace, tucked up under her chin in my favorite position, my lips against the hollow of her throat, feeling the flutter of pulse beneath them. I have never before felt a need for someone else's protection, being the sort that makes my own way through the universe. Yet with her, I allow it, even revel in it. In her arms I know I am safe from all dangers, all threats; that she will take care of me and love me forever. At the same time, I feel so protective of her, needing to be there at her side, ready to catch her when she stumbles on this very rocky path she is on which leads back to humanity, cherishing her with every breath that I take.

The only way to describe it is that we fit, two beings who complement and support each other, two women who had been alone so long, yet found a place with each other, knowing that no matter what happens, we will never lose that connection...

Personal log addendum:

I've just read over the log I recorded two nights ago after Seven fell asleep, and despite the fact that it is private and security sealed, I still blush at the intimate description I presented. It is something that isn't characteristic of me at all. Yet lately, I find that my personal logs have become ... well, progressively more personal. I'm not sure why that is. Perhaps, it is simply a need to put down in a permanent record every intimate detail of my life with Seven of Nine ... with Annika Hansen, my lover, my partner, my friend, my wife. It's easy to relate her scientific and engineering accomplishments, how competent and successful a being she is ... that is well documented in the ship and mission logs ... but only here in my personal recordings can I describe how much she means to me, and all the things about her love that makes my life worthwhile.

On the other hand, I suspect that it may be a form of overcompensation on my part. I remember, just after my injury when I had no memory of the previous three years, or of who Seven was, how my personal logs seemed very inadequate in helping me recapture the emotion I had for her. In fact, I found them almost ... cold, as if I had forgotten, or did not want to share everything that was in my heart. I sincerely doubt we shall ever have to go through that again, but should it come to that, these personal thoughts that I am now relating in greater detail, along with the increased descriptions of our private life together, will somehow make it easier to find my way back to her.

At the moment, I can hear my darling in the sonic shower. Soon, she will come out and join me at the dining table where we will eat breakfast together before I go off to the bridge, and she makes her way to astrometrics, thus beginning another day here in the Delta Quadrant. Perhaps that's another reason why I feel the need to put these ordinary moments into some sort of permanent record. Our lives are passing by so quickly it seems, sometimes without notice, and I feel we concentrate so much on the day that we will eventually return home that we do not appreciate what we have here.

Hmm, I seem to be in a particularly reflective mood this morning, perhaps because it is Seven's birthday in a few weeks. Almost an entire year has gone by since that terrible time when I thought I had lost everything that mattered to me, since the incident which made me realize just what is truly important in my life. I was granted a second chance, and it behooves me not to ever take it lightly.

Unlike last year, I have not forgotten this special day, but I have no doubt that Seven will be wondering if I have. I think she will like the surprise I have planned for her. She does so enjoy birthdays, and I find that I too, am starting to garner a whole new appreciation for the rituals surrounding them.

[End Log]

From: Seven of Nine
USS Voyager
To:     Gretchen Janeway
Agricultural Development Park
Indiana, North American Sector
Earth

Dear Gretchen,

I believe that it may be difficult for you to understand why I am writing this since it is not possible to send it, and if it were, it would be unnecessary because I would then be in a position to speak with you directly. However, I am sure you will comprehend when I explain that this is a project devised for Naomi at the request of her mother. She wishes for Naomi to begin writing letters to her father who remains in the Alpha Quadrant so that when the family is finally united, he will have a sense of what he missed while his daughter was growing up. I agreed to assist in this by writing my own set of letters in order to encourage her.

Naomi is my friend, so I try to help her whenever I can. She is the only child to have been born on Voyager to date, and is now five years old, the offspring of a Katarian father and a Human mother, Ensign Samantha Wildman. Naomi and I often play kadis-kots, and she holds the rank of Captain's Assistant though, as I'm sure you are aware, no such rank truly exists. However, Kathryn nurtures this belief, having presented Naomi with a pip from her own collar, and continually provides her with tasks to perform, which the child does with great enjoyment. I find Kathryn's interaction with Naomi very intriguing, and believe that it displays a side of her that I rarely see; not so much 'maternal' for it could be argued that she is maternal with a great many of the crew, but definitely a more tender, sensitive side that she is hesitant to share with most people. Is it possible that there are two types of 'maternal' instinct? One which is firm, yet comforting, while the other is extremely indulgent and kind? It is the latter which Kathryn demonstrates with Naomi.

As you may or may not be aware, my parents are gone, assimilated by the Borg Collective, and in the case of my father, most certainly dead. However, I feel I developed a maternal connection with you during our encounter in the Alpha Quadrant. I am hopeful that you will not object to being utilized as the recipient of these letters even though you are not actually my parent. I feel that parental bond even stronger now that Kathryn and I are married. I appreciate that you will regret having missed the wedding, but Kathryn has assured me that we shall undertake another ceremony as soon as we return to the Alpha Quadrant so that you and Phoebe may attend. Kathryn and I were married in Voyager's holodeck. It was a simulation of the church in your community. We wish to hold the second ceremony in the actual structure the program was based upon. I trust that this will meet with your approval.

Ensign Wildman, in designing this exercise, suggests that it is not as important that we describe our 'day' in detail so much as it is important to convey our feelings and impressions as our 'day' progresses. That will be more difficult for me than simply relating my actions, and I do not know if I shall succeed, but I shall endeavor to do my best.

My 'day' began at 0600 hours. My emotional state at this time was very happy because Kathryn was there to start her 'day' with me. Recently, it has been required that we work double shifts in order to complete certain repairs to the ship. The damage we received during an encounter with a group of nomads was extensive, although none of the truly vital systems were affected. In any event, it is believed that we have finally moved beyond the boundaries of nomad space, and we shall not be bothered by them any longer.

As a result of the extra demands upon us professionally, however, Kathryn and I have not been able to spend as much time together on a personal level, as we would like. Fortunately, as the ship returns to a normal routine, so do we. This morning, for example, we were able to share a scheduled ingestion of nutritional supplement at the same time. For 'breakfast', I consumed 500 grams of oatmeal, a food item which I enjoy, though Kathryn does not, and 350 milliliters of apple juice. Conversely, Kathryn ingested 500 grams of a wheat based cereal covered by 200 milliliters of milk, 2 pieces of toast covered with 4 grams of marmalade, one soft boiled egg, and 350 milliliters of orange juice. She also had a cup of coffee, but since that is something she has all the time, as I am sure you are aware, I did not feel the need to include her precise intake ... primarily because it is prohibitively difficult to track accurately.

I take great pleasure in watching Kathryn eat, particularly at 'breakfast'. It means that she is endeavoring to take better care of herself. Prior to our romantic involvement, I know that Kathryn did not always eat properly, or allow herself the correct amount of sleep. It is a source of intense satisfaction to know that I am the one who is enabling her to complete this very necessary task for herself. I do believe she drinks far more coffee than is good for her, but she derives such enjoyment from it that it is difficult for me to offer a convincing argument why she should stop. Indeed, her response to 'good' coffee is such a source of gratification to me that I continue to make the 'special' blend for her so that she may continue to imbibe it, sending her off for her duty shift with a full thermos every morning.

I should also inform you that the recipes you passed on to me have been a source of much pleasure for Kathryn, and for myself as well. I have developed a great appreciation for the skills you instilled in me, and derive continued enjoyment from the preparation of nutritional offerings from 'scratch'. I wish to convey my gratitude for your thoughtfulness in taking the time to teach me so well, as I'm sure Kathryn would if she were writing this letter.

I am hopeful that perhaps now Kathryn and I can find time for a certain amount of 'togetherness'. It seems to me that she is becoming progressively more distant as the days progress, as if she is attempting to conceal something from me. I am beginning to wonder if perhaps our recent missions have caused her, once more, to feel a sense of guilt about Voyager being stranded in the Delta Quadrant. It has been my experience that if left unchecked, the emotions she can experience during times of crisis can accumulate, building up internally until she becomes depressed and withdraws. I have become quite sensitive to that ever since the incident where we remained awake all night, talking through several troubling issues. If that is required again, I shall do my best to initiate such a discussion as soon as possible.

It has occurred to me that Naomi rarely gets depressed, perhaps because of her ability to 'play'. Kathryn, in contrast, competes frequently on the Velocity court and in Parreses Squares, but it is possible she does not know how to 'play' simply for the sake of 'playing'. I shall research adult play techniques immediately upon completing this assignment.

After breakfast, we went to our assigned areas, Kathryn to the bridge, and myself to astrometrics where I ran the navigational array through a level three diagnostic before beginning long range scans on the upcoming sector of space. I was relieved to see that there were no species of note inhabiting the systems which lay within our immediate course, thereby allowing Voyager time to fully recover from the damage we sustained. Perhaps it shall even accord a certain amount of rest and recreation to the rest of the crew.

I have noticed that times of recreation are important for the crew's effective functioning. Logically therefore, it must also be important for Kathryn's continued well being, though I feel that sometimes, she refuses to acknowledge that. As her wife, however, it is incumbent upon me to make sure she accepts downtime for herself. The longer we are together, the more I see how one's professional life can supercede that of the personal one. In the beginning of our relationship, it was a concept I greatly resented but did not truly understand. Now, I see how easy it is for beings such as Kathryn and myself, both perfectionists, to allow certain areas of our life take precedence over others. It is a difficult balance. Just how difficult is something I am only now beginning to fully comprehend.

Upon rereading what I have written thus far in this missive, I realize that I have actually succeeded in relating some of my internal feelings. Indeed, I find that I am actually feeling more efficient for having committed these thoughts to a permanent record. Kathryn has always encouraged me to be more expansive in my personal logs, to express more beyond the basic facts that I normally relate. She is of the opinion that, while facts are sufficient for both the ship and mission logs, one's personal logs should be just that ... personal ... and that they are a useful outlet for our emotions. I believe I now understand what she was attempting to teach me. I shall be more forthcoming in future logs, and include all my emotional resonances, as well as be more extensive in the descriptive details.

I shall now describe the other challenge I have accepted in my life, though in fact, it is more a professional rather than a personal undertaking.

I am attempting to join Starfleet.

When I first suggested to Kathryn that I be accorded an official rank, I simply wished to better understand my role on the ship, perhaps hoping that she would grant me a status that would allow me to function within the chain of command with more clarity. I underestimated her deep attachment to her profession, however. Merely according me an honorary rank was not sufficient. She demands that I officially become a member of Starfleet. In order to do that, it must first be determined if I am qualified for such a role. Apparently, it is not merely a matter of being technically capable, I must also pass the more subjective courses that every Academy cadet must complete successfully in order to graduate, and be given a rank.

I shall be attending my first 'Ethics' class a week from now. It will be taught by Tuvok, who is Voyager's chief of security. Out of a desire to 'support' me ... though I suspect it is primarily her hope that she shall derive some form of entertainment from it ... B'Elanna Torres, our chief engineer has volunteered to 'monitor' the class. As well, Neelix, a Talaxian trader who is from the Delta Quadrant, and Ensign Tabor Jur, a former member of the Maquis, have also expressed an interest in attending, though neither have indicated a desire to join Starfleet. The captain has agreed so as a result, I shall not be alone in pursuing some of these lessons. In truth, I find that I am actually looking forward to it. I have a great deal of knowledge with regards to technology and hard science, but little comprehensive familiarity with subjective subjects such as 'morals' and 'ethics'. My 'morals' come directly from Kathryn and my Human Collective. I accept them because it is the most efficient way to function within the collective, not because I necessarily agree with all of them. Perhaps these lessons shall help me comprehend why the members of my collective hold certain ideals in high regard, and not others.

I have been reading many texts which the captain instructed me to review prior to taking the course. Much of what I read is confusing, and when I attempt to discuss it with Kathryn, she suggests that I wait until I have attended at least one class before trying out my theories on her. It is my belief that she is actually afraid of starting an argument, because some of what I have read indicates that what Starfleet professes to believe and what they actually do are sometimes two separate things. This intrigues me, and once I have attended a few classes, I hope to be able to discuss it rationally with Kathryn. She is the most intelligent person I know, and her input is always valuable to me when I am formulating a conclusion.

I trust that you and Phoebe continue to function at an acceptable level. Naomi suggests that I ask about the 'crops' since corn is the primary purpose of the agricultural park where you reside. I am unsure if you are directly involved with the production of such foodstuff, so I shall ask Kathryn. In the meantime, please continue to enjoy good health and pleasant emotions.

Sincerely,
Seven of Nine
Annika Hansen

Captain's Log: Kathryn Janeway recording

We have resumed our journey to the Alpha Quadrant after a week of station-keeping in a dust cloud that concealed us while we facilitated repairs. Because of a recent conflict with the pirates frequenting this sector of space, our vessel has become the primary target of the loosely affiliated nomad families. Apparently, as Lt. Ro feared at the time, Kasha ... or Kashyk from the Devore Imperium as I first knew him ... has indeed become a martyr to these people, and our contribution to his demise has made us public enemy number one in their eyes.

However, their current status as an organized militaristic force has galvanized the local planetary systems to take a more unified approach to the problem so perhaps our initial mission wasn't a complete failure. If it weren't for the fact that the utterance of Voyager's name is now accompanied by an associative glob of saliva being spewed onto the floor every time it is mentioned in certain circles, we could justifiably feel that perhaps we actually accomplished something during our time here.

I admit, I'm not particularly sorry to be leaving this area of space behind.

This afternoon is the monthly departmental reports. With any luck, I'll have this completed before the end of my duty shift, and perhaps I'll even get a jump on the personnel reports. I'm determined not to leave them until the last moment. Not like last month, and the month before that, and frankly, all the previous months before that.

Engineering:
My chief engineer, B'Elanna Torres submitted a report that indicates the final minor repairs in engineering will be complete within twelve hours. I've assigned an extra team of crewmembers from other departments to assist where they could. To my surprise, this team included Neelix, our native guide, at B'Elanna's own personal request. I never imagined that the Talaxian could convince our chief engineer to accept him as a member of her staff, but I must believe that she knows what she is doing. This shall be his 'probationary period', and if B'Elanna likes what she sees, then she intends to grant him a permanent assignment to her department. We'll see how it develops.
Ensign Vorik has offered a plan to increase the output of deflector array by 2.3%. Lt. Torres indicates that while she doesn't feel the effort is worth the reward, she's passed it on to Chakotay to make the final decision. I looked over Vorik's specifications, and while it might be worth attempting if we run into an area of space where Voyager could be secured for a respectable amount of time, B'Elanna was correct in her decision not to schedule it. It would require too many of the engineering systems be put offline at the same time. I've suggested to Chakotay that we put it on the 'Things To Do Later' list.

Security:
Lt. Commander Tuvok has requested that Ro Laren be promoted from the rank of lieutenant jr. grade to that of a senior. Apparently, he has designs on making her his second in command. I wonder if that was why he arranged to have her accompany me on so many recent missions. He knew that I was bound to notice her varied abilities, including advanced tactical training. He probably also expected me to discover the fact that not only was she once a member of Starfleet, but she was a crewmember of the flagship, USS Enterprise under Jean-Luc Picard. I'm aware that there were problems while Lt. Ro served on her previous Starfleet vessels, but she's hardly the first person to whom I have granted a fresh start here in the Delta Quadrant. Certainly, her record over the past five years as a member of Voyager's crew indicates that she has earned it. She's been a steady and reliable officer.
Tuvok may have had bringing Ro back into the Starfleet fold from the beginning;. They say Vulcans cannot become impatient, but five years of maintaining the Bajoran's secret possibly wore on even his endurance.
With the recent deaths of Ensign David Briggs and Lt. Mary Ryan, as well as the transfer of Neelix, security has found itself short staffed, particularly in the beta squad. Commander Chakotay has recommended that Lt. Sahib Mahesana from hangar operations, and Ensign D'Vor from geometrics be transferred, allowing Tuvok to promote replacements for the beta squad from within his own department . My security chief seems agreeable, and all necessary paperwork shall be submitted once he has made his final selection.

Navigation:
Lt. Paris has requested that we construct a second shuttle, similar to the Delta Flyer. Due to the lack of resources, I am denying this request.
It has come to my attention that Lt. Ro had helm experience during her tours of duty with the Wellington and the Enterprise. I plan to have her placed on standby in the event a medical emergency requires that Lt. Paris be in sickbay at the same time we require a skilled navigator. Tuvok has agreed to 'lend' his personnel to this department so I shall send a memo to Mr. Paris that he make a formal request to her. It means she will have to update her rating, but it's been my experience that skills such as those do not disappear ... one only needs to be reminded of what they were once capable.

Operations:
Lt. Kim is agressively pursuing a line of research regarding the slipstream drive. I'm not sure it's viable, but since nothing else has managed to solve the integrity field problem, I'm not adverse to his trying. I'm granting him the extra database resources that he requested, as well as the holodeck time, which hopefully will not inconvenience too many of the crew.
Ensign Megan Delaney has requested a transfer from stellar cartography to operations. I'm questioning her reasoning for doing this. Certainly, she is qualified, but she and her sister have been together professionally since they left the Academy. In fact, it's something they've insisted upon it their entire career. It leaves me wondering what's changed that Megan suddenly wants to be apart from Jennifer who has not offered any indication of wanting to leave her current assignment.
It is unusual. Perhaps there's a perfectly rational explanation, such as a minor squabble, or merely the fact that she's in love with Mr. Kim and wishes to work with him on a full time basis. Still, I believe that I'll research it a bit further, for my own peace of mind if nothing else. I'll request Chakotay make the inquiries. If the reason turns out to be nothing more than an aspect of growth for Megan, then I'll approve the request.

Astrometrics:
As mentioned, Ensign Megan Delaney has requested a transfer from here to operations. If necessary, Chakotay has suggested that Lt. Wallace be moved from astrophysics to replace her. Pending Seven's approval, I'll agree.
Every time I review astrometrics, I'm conscious of the fact that the head of this department is not a Starfleet officer. That is about to change. Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjutant to Unimatrix 01, has agreed to join Starfleet, dependent on her ability to fulfill certain demands. As her captain, I have no doubt that she shall be able to achieve and indeed, surpass the requirements
the curriculum developed by Tuvok, Chakotay and myself demands. As it turns out, others are interested in pursuing these classes on the subjects of Philosophy and Ethics. Perhaps this is just the beginning, and by the time we return to the Alpha Quadrant, even more of the crew will be Starfleet in actuality, rather than just in name.
Or perhaps I'm underestimating just how boring space travel can be. Anything new, even school, can provide an outlet for the crew. In that case, I'm even more appreciative of the opportunity this provides. I think in the future, I'll take a turn teaching one of the classes myself, just for the experience.

Geometrics:
Lt. Marris's group, which has been doing an in-depth analysis of a crystal splinter we retrieved from the Meuranato system, has submitted a final report as to the possible source of its power. Apparently, the crystalline structure is rift with what appears to be a form of geo-thermal circuitry. Their conclusion is that the Crystal of Being (In Charge) was actually a super-computer though they cannot offer any suggestions as to why it was built or how it got to Meuranato. It remains a mystery, and our hand in destroying it prevents us from inquiring further. Even if Voyager was in the habit of retracing her steps, and revisiting the civilizations we've met in the Delta Quadrant, the Meuranato made it very clear that they do not wish to encounter us again.
I accept full responsibility for the undesirable outcome of that mission. My away team destroyed the crystal in an attempt to save my life, and while it is regrettable that we caused such damage to the Meuranato political structure, it was a Meuranato native that involved us in the situation to begin with. We were doing our best to save lives, and the outstanding performance of my team's actions under exceptionally trying conditions has been duly noted.
A search is on for the ore that we were unable to secure from the Meuranato. Long range sensors have been calibrated to seek out the slightest trace of dertanium and according to Seven, the area of space we are approaching is likely to hold a certain amount of metal-rich planetary systems. I remain positive in her assessement.

Biometrics:
The hydroponics research team has come up with a new hybrid plant from cuttings taken from the system christened Safe Haven, the planet where Seven and I were stranded after our ill fated test of the slipstream drive. The new plant grows quickly, and provides a fruit that tastes like a cross between a blueberry and a raspberry, yet is the size of a peach. I anticipate these will be a popular addition to our diet. With any luck, several of the plants will be germinated within the next three months. Lt. Edwards headed up the project and I'm placing a commendation in her record regarding her excellent work.
Ensign Samantha Wildman's exobiology group has determined that the beings we encountered in the Void, could not have evolved there. It is an obvious conclusion, based on the fact that the creatures possessed eyes. They would not have evolved a visual sense in an environment devoid of natural illumination, but of course, until Dr. Jamison concludes it, then it cannot be accepted as fact.
A secondary report, preliminary only, offers the tentative theory that the ruins of an extinct civilization excavated during a layover several months ago, were actually the ancestors of the Barellan, though how they evolved from a race of artists to that of prison guards is unknown. It's a sad commentary on the rise and fall of a once proud civilization. I wonder what will be left of the Federation in a few thousand years if indeed, anything is left at all.

Medical:
The Doctor has provided his weekly report on the crew's health which, despite recent missions and incidents with nomads, has turned out to be surprisingly positive. Sek, his assistant, notes that there is a general air of "enthusiasm" currently being displayed by most members of the crew. I don't know if that is her medical opinion, or merely a personal one, but I must admit to sensing it myself. I'm certainly not complaining. After the string of negative experiences recently encountered, I must admit to looking forward to a regular routine. Of course, it may simply be the natural balance of Voyager's confidence reasserting itself. My crew is, by nature, optimistic. Otherwise, we wouldn't have progressed as far as we have on this journey.

Ship Support:
Ensign Treak from ship's stores has requested more energy be diverted to the large equipment replicators in his area. Apparently there has been a run on new beds; including several requests by various crewmembers to increase their mattress size from single to double. Also, in the monthly list of crew-requested items, I've come across hints that perhaps Lt. Kim has been taking advantage of his excess of rations while repairing the damage to his cabin caused by an unfortunate incident involving our respective pets. I intend to speak with Mr. Kim about this. I granted the extra rations in order to replace his furnishings, not design a 'bachelor pad'. I find myself longing for the days when Lt. Paris was all I had to worry about.
Maintenance has discovered a 'still' concealed in the biometrics lab on deck 14. While I'm not thrilled to have such a thing on my ship, I'll overlook it, provided the quality of the product remains high, and there are no incidents of drunken behavior from any of the crew. As Starfleet Command knows, there has never been a time when there wasn't an operational 'still' on a starship, even though alcoholic beverages and synthehol are readily available from the replicators. It is a proud and enduring tradition, and breaking it up would only lead to the creation of another somewhere else, with perhaps less attention paid to cleanliness and safety. I'm curious however, if this location has anything to do with the new hybrid plant the biometrics lab has created. I must arrange to obtain a sample of the still's product ... for analytical purposes only, of course.

Overview:
We continue our journey home, and as of now, the ship is functioning at acceptable levels. There does seem to be a sort of 'restlessness' on the ship, but it's not anything that I can put my finger on. For some reason, I anticipate another round of marriages among the crew, and possibly even a stronger insistence by various couples that they be permitted to have children. Perhaps this time, granting permission is feasible. It may be an uncomfortable thing to recognize, but with death comes rebirth, and the recent losses in our crew have opened the door for possible additions.
I shall be speaking to Chakotay further regarding it.

[Log Interrupt. Awaiting further data.]

Seven of Nine: Personal Log

In this log, I shall offer additional attention to description and detail.

This afternoon, I stood naked in the bathroom, wearing the Wonder Wand 9000™ in preparation for the exercise I was about to undertake. I do not fully comprehend Kathryn's enjoyment in utilizing this device, but it is sufficient that she does. While we do not require its use often, it is an adequate supplement to our sexual interaction. I heard the sound of the door to our quarters hiss open, and then her footsteps crossed the living area into the bedroom before hesitating. I knew she was probably confused.

"Annika?" Her voice was curious, as well as concerned.

"Here, Kathryn," I said loudly, so that my voice would carry. "In the ensuite."

She appeared in the doorway, her eyebrow raising as she saw me standing there. A variety of expressions crossed her face, and finally settled into a lidded gaze of reserved patience as she leaned against the entrance support structure, crossing her arms over her chest.

"What's going on?" she asked in a very even tone. "I came as soon as I got your message."

I felt somewhat apprehensive. Though we have been married for months, there are still times when I am unsure as to her reaction, particularly in the aftermath of a crisis when her emotions could be at a low ebb. I wanted her to respond with pleasure to this surprise, not annoyance or discomfort, even though I had been somewhat deceptive by sending a memo to her personal work station requesting her immediate presence in our quarters. In it, I gave the possible impression that there was a maintenance problem with my implants.

"I have studied various texts on enhancing one's love life," I told her, standing at respectful attention as I presented my findings. "Making love at unexpected times in unexpected places by unexpected methods is supposedly a quite efficient way to ensure continued success in a relationship."

"Ah," she said, still fairly noncommittal. "You feel our love life needs 'enhancing'?"

"I read a theory that states if the couple waits for their interaction to need enhancing, it can be too late," I explained. "I do not wish to be too late in attempting this. Indeed, you have mentioned that you would appreciate some 'variety' in our romantic encounters."

A small smile played about her lips, and suddenly, I was aware that it was all right, that she was not angry that I had lured her from her ready room and her duties.

"I see," she said, and her voice became the husky trill that I knew was indicative of amorous interest. "Well, all I had was departmental reports this afternoon anyway, and they're mostly complete. However, I certainly don't want you to make a habit of interrupting either of our duty shifts in the future."

"I will not," I promised sincerely. "If it becomes a habit, it defeats the purpose of the 'spontaneity' aspect of the exercise."

The tiny lines radiating from the corners of her eyes deepened, and I knew I had amused her in some way again, though I was unsure how.

"What now?" she asked, tilting her head as she studied me.

I picked up the padd which had been lying on the sink counter. "I am the burglar you have interrupted while I am committing the crime of breaking and entering," I read off precisely from the sample scenario my romance guidebook had provided. "I do not wish to be prosecuted. I will do whatever you want in exchange for your leniency."

When I looked up, Kathryn had her right hand over her mouth, and her eyes were crinkled even more. Clearly, she was far more amused than aroused at this point.

She dropped her hand, and joined it with the other to fold them tightly in front of her, her lips pressed firmly together.

"Indeed." She quirked an elegant eyebrow. "Do you always break into people's homes with no clothes on?"

I frowned, and then looked back at my padd, baffled. "There is no mention of why I am naked, only that I must be," I responded, feeling slightly defensive. A sudden thought struck me, and I brightened. "Perhaps I am here to steal clothing."

Kathryn's mouth twisted oddly, as if she were swallowing something. "Perhaps," she allowed after a moment. Her voice was slightly unsteady. I did not think she was entirely satisfied with that suggestion, but she seemed willing to go along with it for now. "Why do you have on the ... uh, accessory?"

That question I could answer. "The scenarios presented for this exercise were all male/female role playing," I explained readily. "I adapted."

Kathryn's jaw set, her eyes darkening, and I knew she was trying very hard not to laugh. Still, my research indicated that these exercises were to induce adult 'play', and I was aware that laughter frequently accompanied play, therefore, this reaction was to be expected. I did not mind. In fact, I rather wished she would simply get it over with because once she had laughed fully, I knew she would be far more comfortable about participating in my simulation than while attempting to contain her amusement.

"All right," she said finally, after taking a moment to compose herself. "So you're a burglar. Who am I?"

I glanced back at my padd. "You are the off-duty law enforcement agent," I recited. "You will require much incentive not to arrest me." I considered that for a moment. "It seems rather unethical for me to attempt to influence you in this manner," I added, feeling a sense of concern. It occurred to me that I had not considered all the moral ramifications of this scenario.

Kathryn had been quite specific about teaching me Human morality lately. I did not want her to think I was not learning anything from the texts she had given me.

"Perhaps we should attempt the other exercise after all."

Kathryn inhaled deeply. "Who would we be in that exercise?" she asked politely.

"That required many candles, and we do not have the replicator rations to provide them," I said, wanting her to know why it was not my initial choice. "However, in that scenario, you would be the inflamed homeowner, and I would be the fire fighter who has broken down the door to 'put out your fire'." I paused, feeling confused again as I studied the readout. "Clearly these scenarios do not take into account the current technology of automated fire suppression. What does it mean: 'you will put out her flames with your hose'?"

Kathryn abruptly turned around, and walked out of the ensuite. I could hear the support structure creak as she fell upon our bed, laughing so hard I was concerned that she would be unable to breathe. Sighing, I followed her out into the bedroom where she was curled up on the mattress, tears running down her face, arms wrapped around her ribs, literally screaming with merriment.

She looked at me, and as always, the sight of the Wonder Wand 9000™ attached to my groin seemed to increase her amusement. That was slightly dismaying since I had been very careful to adjust it, not only to the size dimensions she prefers, but also the coloration, which has always seemed less than appealing to me. I personally prefer the bright neon blue which glows in the dark or, to a lesser extent, a fairly attractive orange and black tiger-striped pattern. The pinkish beige which approximate my skin tones seemed somewhat ... mundane when considering that this is a 'toy' and should appear bright and cheerful.

Finally she subsided, arms out flung, having rolled over onto her back to regard me with bright eyes.

"Darling," she said with great sincerity, "You are the wonder of my existence."

I considered that statement for a moment. "Is that acceptable?"

"Very acceptable. Honestly, I don't know how I would get through this life without you."

I was pleased by that and very glad I had chosen to initiate this exercise.

"Are you ready to begin?"

Her smile widened. "Of course. What would you like me to do?"

I referred to the padd.

"You must leap onto my back and wrestle me to the bed, pinning my arms over my head and requesting I tell you what I am up to," I instructed. "Then you should caress my penis ... the Wonder Wand 9000™ ... and say, 'or is this what you are up to'."

I had no idea what that meant.

Kathryn carefully wiped the tears away from beneath her eyes, still chuckling. "What if," she countered, "we alter the simulation somewhat."

I tilted my head, interested in what she might be thinking. "How so?"

"You be the impertinent crewmember who's presumptuous enough to interrupt a starship captain's duty shift, and I'll show you what sort of punishment this particular Starfleet captain will impose."

"Indeed?" I allowed, feeling somewhat suspicious. "You are going to punish me?"

Kathryn's gaze grew dark, and her smile became somewhat feral.

"Oh, yes," she said in an odd tone. "In the very way you love to be punished."

I raised an eyebrow. "You intend to give me a 'tongue lashing'." I felt an odd sensation skitter down my spine. I knew this game very well.

"Exactly," she promised. She moved to the bottom of the bed so that she was sitting on the edge. "Come here," she demanded quietly.

For a moment, I debated whether I should accede to that tone of command in her voice, but the look in her eyes was so provocative, I moved forward almost without conscious volition. She looked up at me with an easy smile, and reached out to take the remote control from my palm. The wand was detached, and she caught it as it fell, tossing it behind me where it landed on the chaise lounge, followed immediately by the control pad. I made a note to find them later, and return them to their container, knowing that Jake, our pet, would consider them new toys, and chew on them extensively.

Kathryn rested her hands on my hips and leaned forward slightly. I shivered when I felt her warm breath waft over my navel.

"Are you ready for your tongue lashing?" she murmured.

I swallowed. "Yes," I said shakily.

I closed my eyes as I felt her lips brush over my abdomen, and put my hands on her head, holding her to me. Her hair had grown out after her recent illness, and now fell gently about her face, curving upward slightly at the ends. I loved the way it felt around my fingers, the warmth of her scalp against my palms. The wonderful shade of reddish brown with the highlights of pure fire were aesthetically pleasing.

She kissed my stomach, tickling my navel with the tip of her tongue, then moved lower, to a spot just above the triangle of my pubic which is a darker shade than the hair on my head. Kathryn's pubic hair is also correspondingly darker. I am not entirely sure why it must be. She moved her hands so that they rested on the tops of my thighs, and I trembled as I felt her breath flow over flesh which was tender, and quite moist at this point. She kissed the top of the crease, her lips soft against my skin, and a chill of pleasure radiated through me as the tip of her tongue flicked out, and stroked lightly over the upper part of my clitoris.

My respiration increased, and I made a sound, completely involuntarily. Kathryn causes me to react quite often with responses I cannot control, no matter how hard I try. Though at this particular moment, I was not attempting to restrain myself. Her hands crept around to cup my buttocks, and I found that she was pulling me forward as she eased back onto the mattress. Not wanting to lose this most delightful of contacts, I followed awkwardly, crawling onto the bed until I was centered over her mouth, my weight resting on my hands and knees.

Now Kathryn had a much better angle, and was able to access all the area between my legs. I dug my fingers into the bedding as I felt her lips and tongue caress me, the sensation unlike any I can precisely describe. The desire filled me with its power, while anticipation tingled along my limbs to the very tips of my fingers. There was a slight disorientation, almost as if I had suddenly entered a low gravity area, and my digestive system had become weightless. Primarily, however, it is love, the warmth of knowing it is Kathryn who does this to me, who grants me this delight, this sheer and utter pleasure, the sort I have never experienced anywhere else.

I made another sound as I felt her fingertip circle the entrance to my vagina. I do not understand how simple, physical touch can produce such a combination of emotions inside me, but it does and I gasped for air, finding it difficult to breathe as she slowly entered me. In the beginning, she was more abrupt, and she had to learn that while I could accept, and even enjoy this type of caress, I appreciate a slow penetration more. I would have told her at the time, but I lacked the practical experience to discuss it knowledgeably. This is not to say she was ever brutal or harsh in her approach, but it seemed to me that she was used to providing a stronger, more aggressive form of caress, perhaps because her previous lovers had all been male. Kathryn has since become quite delicate with me, tender, patient and very loving.

I moaned softly as I felt her finger gently push into me. Sometimes it is difficult for her to enter me, and she needs to be even more patient. She says that I am naturally very 'tight', and that is why I cannot enjoy our accessory being used on me the way she enjoys me using it to pleasure her. Though I have offered to adapt, and become more receptive to that sexual practice, she seems reluctant to pursue that option. Perhaps she likes how I feel around her fingers, how she must first ease one digit inside so very carefully, continuing to pleasure my clitoris with her tongue, and then gradually, as my desire increases, I become more receptive, and she is able to slip a second finger into me. There have been rare instances when she has managed three, but it is only when I have been in a constant state of arousal for a very long time, and have generated copious amounts of lubrication. Even then, it is less a matter of pleasure, than exploration.

I felt her other hand touch my anus, her index finger gently stroking it, circling it, teasing it open. This is very pleasurable for me though I comprehend that it is not for many Human females. Even Kathryn, who is very open to new sensations, does not enjoy it. It is possible that I can derive pleasure from such a thing because, unlike the average Human, I do not have the same risk of infection they do. My implants take care of all my bodily waste byproducts before they reach that area of my body, so the anal channel does not produce the same type of harmful bacteria that is present in the normal Human excretion system. Indeed, Kathryn has told me that were I not so 'pristine', she would not be so ready to use her hands, and most certainly not her mouth on that area of my anatomy.

On occasion, I am very thankful I am Borg.

Kathryn takes even longer to enter me here, knowing that the tissue is fragile and easy to tear with a careless penetration. Once she is inside, however, I feel completely open and vulnerable to her, according her a trust that I would not, for one instant, offer anyone else. She never betrays that trust, granting me the most exquisite of pleasures as her tongue continued to lave my clitoris, and her fingers flexed and pressed gently inside me. I felt the sensation build steadily, and my arms supporting me, trembled from the strain.

When my orgasm occurred, I was unable to keep from crying out, moaning Kathryn's name again and again. There were ripples within me, shudders that shook my body, pulsations in my genitals that squeezed with what must be painful intensity around Kathryn's fingers. She did not pause in her attentions, however, did not cease swirling her tongue around my clitoris until it was no longer pleasurable, and I tried to pull away. Immediately, her touch lessened, became even gentler, softer, meant to soothe rather than further arouse me. Finally she withdrew, as carefully as she entered, her hands and face wet with my moisture.

I fell onto my side weakly, breathing heavily, and she crawled up next to me where I pulled her into my arms, kissing her deeply, tasting my own unique flavor on her lips. I am lacking in this area, I believe. Kathryn's flavor is so much stronger than my own, muskier, a taste I can never seem to get enough of.

"I must return to the bridge," she whispered against my lips.

"No," I protested, holding her closer to me, keeping her immobilized in my arms. She was still fully dressed in her uniform, not having removed even the tunic before she made love to me. "Stay with me. Let me love you. This encounter was intended to pleasure you, not me."

"Oh, I'm pleasured," she murmured with a smile, kissing me sweetly. "I love being with you, Annika. I love touching you, tasting you..."

"Are you saying that you would not enjoy me making love to you now?" I asked bluntly. I have found that, in regards to sexual interaction, it is efficient to be direct with Kathryn whenever possible.

She hesitated. "No, I'm not saying that."

"Do not return to duty," I requested in my most persuasive tone. "You said yourself that all you have is departmental reports this afternoon. This is not something we shall make a habit of but, if the opportunity exists, then please, stay with me now."

She groaned, whether dramatically or genuinely, I was not sure.

"You're too much to resist."

"Then do not," I said, and then added playfully, "Resistance is futile."

The blue grey eyes centered on mine and Kathryn smiled, responding to my attempt at humor.

"I suppose it is," she allowed, and pulled me closer.

Kathryn is stirring.  I shall resume recording at a future time.

[Log Interrupt.  Awaiting further data]

Kathryn Janeway: Personal Log

I was concerned when a light flashed in the corner of my screen, indicating a priority memo being transmitted to my console. I immediately keyed it up, scanning the contents and my concern heightened. It was from Seven, security sealed and deliberately cryptic.

(Priority Two)
To: Captain K. Janeway
From: Seven of Nine
Re: Personal Communique

Kathryn,
I require your assistance in our quarters regarding an anomalous reading of a personal nature. While it is not an emergency, it requires prompt and immediate attention in order to facilitate my proper functioning in the immediate future.

I was worried that one of her implants was malfunctioning, though why she didn't go to the Doctor was not readily apparent to me. I immediately shoved aside the remaining departmental reports awaiting my attention, and logged out of the ready room, moving briskly across the bridge and to the turbolift. When I reached our quarters, however, I discovered that her 'anomalous readings' were nothing more than a sudden desire on her part to expand upon the research she had been doing on enhancing our love life. I was torn between being angry that she would interrupt our duty shifts in such a manner, and appreciating her initiative in exploring this aspect of romantic role-playing.

It was a close call, but fortunately, I chose the latter. Immediately, I  realized that the profound sense of relief and relaxation my outburst of laughter provided was indicative that I was becoming dangerously stressed. Seven was so utterly charming standing there in the ensuite, seriously making every effort to portray the 'interrupted burglar' that I wondered later if perhaps she had intended this exactly as it turned out ... not as a way to enhance our sex life so much as a way to ease the pressure which had been steadily building inside me without my conscious knowledge.

Later, lying in her arms after making love to her, feeling wonderfully disheveled and disarrayed beneath my uniform, making only the token resistance to her plea that I take the rest of the day off, I understood how important it was that she is able to help me this way. I smiled as she began to remove my clothes, lazily allowing her to undress me until I Iay naked on the bed beside her, my uniform having ended up in various corners of the bedroom as she happily tossed them aside. I remembered how she looked when I walked in, the odd combination of sexual goddess and innocent explorer, and I felt a surge of desire rush through me which made my stomach clench. Suddenly, more than anything, I needed to be completely and totally ravished by my beloved.

"Darling, would you mind finding the 'accessory' again?" I asked as we kissed deeply.

"Of course," she said, promptly rolling out of my arms.

She crossed to the foot of the bed, retrieving the sexual aid that has added such an interesting twist to our love life. I absolutely adore Annika with all my heart, and making love with her is more than enough to make me happy for the rest of my life, but occasionally, I desire penetration, the male aspect of sexual intercourse, whether because of biology, or some unfathomable psychological quirk. In any event, thanks to this clever device created by the Ferengi, I have the best of both worlds with my spouse.

When she puts it on, and the coloration is approximate to her skin tone, she appears to be the perfect meld of male and female, a true omni-sexual being. She is tall and lean, yet with the most feminine curves; incredibly strong yet delicate in motion and presence. When she walks toward me, a expression of profound love on her face, her breasts full and heavy, the rosy tips proudly pointed at me while from her groin, a seventieen centimeter erection sprouts with the most obvious intent, the anticipation and desire that flow through me are tremendous.

Let there be no confusion here. I do not for one second want Seven to be male. I fully appreciate and love the fact that she is all female and in truth, it is her very femininity that makes her so wonderfully compatible with me. However, there's also a part of me that likes being 'taken' by her, just as I enjoyed being penetrated by the men I've loved. It's base and physical, and the fact that she grants me this indulgence which she herself, does not quite comprehend, makes me love her even more.

I reached out my hand to her and she accepted it, allowing me to pull her down on top of me. I entangled my legs in hers, and clung to that lanky body, feeling the Wonder Wand 9000™ trapped between us, the warm, fleshy construction making it feel completely realistic. I thought that if there had been a little less attention to detail to the device, I wouldn't enjoy using it at all. I don't think Seven understands that's the real reason I don't like the tiger pattern, or worse, the bright neon blue. To her, it's always a device, and she uses it because she appreciates the technical aspect of it. Conversely, I enjoy using it because I am able to create the fantasy that it is a part of Seven, that it is her organ which is inside me, that it is completely she who is making love to me this way.

"Take me," I said flatly, with little preamble.

Startled, she drew back far enough to look at me directly, searching my face intently.

"Indeed," she said, raising an eyebrow though it was apparent that she was, at least, willing to consider the idea. She slipped a hand down between our bodies to touch me, either in a token attempt at foreplay, or to determine my readiness.

It turned out to be lacking.

"You require more preparation," Seven told me, tilting her head slightly as her fingers moved against me. "Unless you would prefer the artificial lubrication I replicated."

"Have I ever told you that sometimes you're a bit too clinical?" I asked, squirming a little as her fondling began to take care of the lubrication deficiency quite nicely.

"Frequently," she said, smiling faintly. "However, it would be uncharacteristic of me to converse with you utilizing words which are less than accurate, unlike the ones you use." She nuzzled my cheek briefly, adding in a mutter, "You can be so profane during lovemaking that I often wonder where you acquired your education."

"I like to pretend I'm a little ... 'wilder' than I really am," I admitted, thinking bashfully of what could be considered a rather limited experience. Before Seven, I'd had three lovers, all male, none of whom were the most adventurous when it came to sex. I believe that it is only with Seven that I've been able to release that hidden, somewhat wicked part of me completely, the part that just wants to roll around on the floor and have at it without so much as taking the time to get undressed. The side of me that wants to take her on the bridge, or on the desk in my ready room, which is about as unprofessional as a captain can get when thinking of a crewmember.

"Ah," Seven said, looking down at me, her narrow features serious though I suspected she was becoming better at hiding her amusement. "Very well, for the sake of our role-playing, I shall endeavor to utilize the terms you prefer."

"Oh dear," I responded, widening my eyes. "I'm not sure how I'll respond to those sort of terms coming from a Borg."

"It shall be educational," she said, her pale blue eyes sparkling.

"I'm sure it will be," I agreed primly, trying not to laugh as I looked up at her. She abruptly looked mischievous, as if about to embark on the most daring and outrageous prank she could conceive. A smile appeared, and then widened to the point where I actually saw the flash of white teeth between her full lips.

"Please inform me if I use a term incorrectly," she requested.

"I shall," I said, wondering how I would do this with a straight face, let alone be able to concentrate on the sexual aspect of it.

Then she bent her head down and kissed me ... one of her long, slow, melting kisses that stiffened my nipples and curled my toes, arousing me beyond all measure as my doubts immediately scattered like leaves before the wind. She really is the most marvelous kisser, having acquired a skill somewhere along the line that often astounds me. I tend to think it is her absolute concentration on what she is doing. When she kisses me, well, by god, I know I've been kissed, and there is no debate about her possibly thinking about something else while she was doing it. I am the sole being in her universe at that particular instant, and it literally can be quite breathtaking.

I reached down between us to guide the erection into me, but she forestalled it, shifting away from my groping hand.

"When it is time," she said firmly.

I groaned, and she smiled at me. Shifting her body, she lifted up a bit and moved the simulated penis down between my legs where I could feel it rub against the sensitive flesh, resting length wise along my crease.

"You're such a tease," I accused.

"You are too impatient," she responded easily. She nuzzled into my neck, and in a completely unexpected growl, added, "Do you want me to fuck you, Kathryn?"

Startled, amazed, the sudden profanity sent a chill through me, and I wondered where she had picked it up. From me no doubt.

"You know I do," I breathed. "I want you so much."

"Tell me," she insisted, rubbing provocatively against my body. "Tell me what you want, Kathryn."

"I want you to go inside me," I said, losing myself in the feel of her body pressing against me. "I want you to feel me surrounding you, feel how much I like having you inside me," I breathed in her ear. "I want you to fuck me, my darling, until we both can't stand it anymore."

Seven kissed me so hard I saw stars, and undulated her hips, rubbing the top of the simulated penis against my tender flesh, scraping over the clitoris which was so swollen at this point, I almost climaxed just from the sensation. I couldn't keep my hips still, pushing up against her, and I ran my hands over her back restlessly, loving her utterly. She rose off me, creating a separation so she could reach down to wrap her fingers around the Wonder Wand 9000™ and use the head of it to swirl around my clitoris, the cloying sensation drawing a flood of moisture from me. I bent my knees, spreading them wide, pressing my fingers into Seven's back, digging in my nails slightly as I tried to convey my urgency.

"Inside, darling," I demanded. "Please."

She hesitated briefly, then mercifully complied, the tip slipping down to my opening, the fat mushroom head pressing against it, seeking entrance, and after a brief, initial resistance, it suddenly slipped past that tight band of muscle, seeming to expand within the interior channel as it eased into me. I cried out, arching as Seven filled me, pushing deeper with slow, steady pressure until I could feel her triangle impact softly against mine, the hairs tangling and pulling gently.

"Oh god," I sobbed.

She lay still on top of me, and I realized she was enjoying the sensation that the walls of my vagina surrounding the artificial phallus provided. The device transmitted signals to her own nerve endings, making her feel as if it was her clitoris inside me. The thought inflamed me, and I contracted the muscles internally, squeezing rhythmically to stimulate her, wondering what it would be like to experience it myself.

She moaned in response, pressing deeper, and then began to withdraw slowly ... so slowly. She had no need to rush, no need to thrust back in immediately ... she simply enjoyed the sensation to its fullest, and so did I. She pulled back so far that I tensed, afraid she would slip out, but she didn't, reversing into another long, lengthy, lingering thrust into me. I felt the head of the device skid over that spot inside that makes me feel wonderful, and I arched my pelvis, angling it properly in order to feel the complete effect. Gradually, we found a slow, easy rhythm, my hips arching up to her forward thrust, and I could hear her start to grunt quietly with each contact of our groins.

This was the only time I ever heard her make that sound, the expulsion of breath as she entered me fully, a sound of pleasure and desire. I didn't quite understand why she reserved it for this particular interaction, but the sound was arousing, and so was the sensation of her breasts flattening mine, her nipples jabbing into my skin, my perspiration dampening us both.

I moaned, burying my face in her neck, her blonde hair falling around my head, the scent of her and our coupling strong in my nostrils, the sticky sound of the moist movement between my legs heightening my pleasure even more.

"Oh god, fuck me darling," I urged huskily. "Fuck me hard."

She increased her thrusts, revolving her hips so that she massaged every part of my inner self, and I felt the gathering within me, the melting toward my center. I reached down to grasp her buttocks, trying to draw her even deeper inside as I began to spasm, needing her to move faster and harder which she seemed to sense, quickening her motion, abbreviating her strokes to short, quick jabs. I knew she was getting close herself from her ragged breathing, and as I began to pulsate around her, she made that wonderful sound, the whisper of my name, loving and helpless, as if needing me more in that moment of pleasure than at any other time. I sought out her lips, catching my name in a searing kiss, swallowing it as we both shuddered together in perfect empathy.

We lay together for a long time, not moving, just holding each other close and kissing softly, listening to each other breathe. Unlike the real thing however, the phallus lodged within me did not lose its firmness, and after a while, it became intrusive rather than something I could associate with my lover. I made a sound of protest, and she stirred, seeming to understand instinctively what I wanted, withdrawing from me slowly.

"Hmm, you are so incredible, my love," I murmured. "You do things for me no one else can. Thank you."

"You are welcome," Seven responded politely. She disentangled herself and rolled out of bed, detaching the device from her in the same motion. "I am glad that you seem happier now."

I smiled sleepily. "Was I that obvious, darling?" I asked ruefully as she disappeared into the ensuite. I heard the splash of water, and knew she was cleaning the Wonder Wand 9000™ before putting it back in its box for when we next required it.

"I think that you are learning how to let go," she said slowly, her voice carrying out into the bedroom. "You are learning to deal with your stress, rather than simply forestall it for the future."

I thought about that. "You've been reading up on this, haven't you?" I said slowly, not entirely sure I liked it, but unable to deny how accurate she was.

"Yes," Seven said, as she returned to the bedroom. She drew back the sheets, and despite the fact that it was still mid-afternoon, I readily got between them, sighing when she followed me, wrapping me up in her arms. "Did you enjoy this 'play' time, Kathryn?"

"Oh yes, my love," I responded, wiggling closer to her as we quickly found the optimum position for cuddling. "You can play with me anytime you want."

She made an indulgent sound, almost a tiny snort. "You do not mean that," she noted tolerantly. "However, I shall utilize this exercise again in the future if I deem it necessary."

I chuckled. "Just so long as it's not in the middle of a Red Alert."

"Not a Red Alert," she repeated in agreement. A pause. "Perhaps a Yellow Alert?"

I laughed outright, hearing the tone of amusement in her tone. Such a sense of humor, my love was developing. I liked it.

Closing my eyes, I relaxed in her arms, sleep drawing me down even though the rest of the day loomed before us. However, since I had played hooky this long, what was a few more hours? With a smile on my face, I allowed myself to drift off, safe and secure in my partner's arms.

[End Log]

Seven of Nine: Personal Log

I awoke exactly one hour after our 'playtime', completely refreshed from my nap. Kathryn was in my arms, comforting and familiar as she continued to slumber deeply, and I inhaled slowly, smelling her gentle fragrance and the unique scent of our lovemaking. I have found that as I continue to develop as a human, certain of my senses take on a greater significance, such as my olfactory ability, my sense of taste, and my skin's nerve endings, none of which were of particular note when I was Borg. The Collective relies on visual acuity first and foremost, enhancing it as much as possible, and then to a lesser extent, the auditory system. The other three senses are deemed irrelevant. Lying here with Kathryn, however, I knew that they were far from irrelevant.

Where our bodies touched ... and that was as much as possible ... her flesh was warm and smooth, though sticky in spots where perspiration and other fluids had gelled. I had only to open my mouth and extend my tongue a little to taste the flavor of her skin, the salt sweetness of her smooth flesh against my lips. I heard her steady breathing, the slow throb of her heartbeat, and if I listened very carefully, the very rush of blood through her veins and capillaries, as well as the quiet gurgles of her digestive system, indicating that it had been some time since she had eaten.

She sighed and stirred briefly, snuggling closer against me as if somehow afraid of losing our physical contact. She is a restless sleeper, frequently moving, forever seeking some unfathomable 'perfect' position, and it is worse when she is undergoing REM phase. Sometimes she even makes sounds, strings of disconnected phrases, names I do not recognize. On other occasions, she will give orders, demands for warp power or to activate phasers, and I wonder what battle she is fighting in her mental imagery. At times, she will smile faintly, and I know the dreams she is experiencing are pleasant. Very often, she whispers my human designation, and it takes a few seconds for me to realize she is not addressing me, but merely saying my name for some unknown reason.

She snores at times, quiet gentle rumblings of checked breathing, and I will ease her over onto her side so that her respiration quiets, becomes silent once more. This is not because I am bothered by the sound, but rather so she is no longer in a position of having fluid congest in her nose and chest which is not good for her.

Her body makes other sounds as well, biological in nature, a byproduct of her gastronomic system as gas is expelled from her anal canal which has a pungent odor. If she is awake, she will blush faintly and mutter an apology, though I am not entirely sure why. Naomi, when this happens, giggles wildly and says 'toot, toot' as if she has accomplished something significant. If I ever advance to that level of humanity, I do not know which reaction I will choose to emulate.

Kathryn is very shy about certain of her bodily functions. It took considerable time before she would urinate in my presence, and she still refuses to allow me in the ensuite while she excretes solid waste. Yet, she has no compunction of filling my mouth with her saliva when we kiss deeply, nor is she at all hesitant about smearing her vaginal excretions over my skin whenever we make love. Her perspiration splatters me constantly when our physical interaction is particularly energetic, be it sexual or something as simple as playing Velocity in the holodeck. Certainly, I understand that the type of bacteria is different in each case, and in fact, can be harmful in the case of waste production, but they are all still byproducts of her body. I would not be repelled or revolted by witnessing any of these functions, yet sometimes I feel that is why she rejects my presence. Humans have odd behavioral patterns at times.

Occasionally, when she is lying on her side, her mouth falls open, and a thin trail of saliva will run from it. It can be fascinating to watch her sleep. I learn so much about the human condition at times like these, far more than I think she realizes. She is such a fragile creature, lithe and delicate, yet in her I know is a strength and passion that is far greater than anything I have ever experienced before.

She stirred again, and I waited for her to settle down, but she did not, waking in my arms. She made a soft sound of pleasure, and pressed her lips to my throat, suckling at it. It would undoubtedly leave a mark which would require the use of our dermal regenerator to remove. Originally, I took no notice of the marks Kathryn left on my body, but after several ribald comments from B'Elanna, as well as a gentle explanation from the captain that such marks should be hidden, I learned to remove them. Though I did wonder if such marks were meant to be hidden, why Kathryn insisted on making them on the most visible areas of my body in the first place.

She sighed, and mumbled my name.

"Yes, Kathryn," I responded softly.

She smiled and stretched in my arms, kissing my neck again.

"Do you know how much I love you?" she murmured.

I did, but for the sake of argument, I pretended I did not.

"No," I requested. "Tell me."

She laughed quietly, knowing I was attempting to be facetious.

"More than there are stars," she said, throwing her head back to look at me, her eyes still sleepy as she smiled lazily. "In all the universes."

Impressed with the mathematical projection of this equation, I kissed her gently.

"I feel the same," I said. I felt her hands slide over my sides, my ribs, then down my back, her fingertips stroking lightly over my buttocks. I was amazed, believing that our previous encounter would have sated her, having kept track of her cycle. Once a month, she is very irritable, on another day, she is easily saddened, and on one day, she is insatiable. However, that day was not for another week so this was unexpected indeed.

Regardless, I am always appreciative of her need to make love, and I returned her caresses, stoking her body as I sought out her mouth so that I could kiss her once more, deeply this time.

"Kathryn," I said softly when she finally pulled back from the kiss. "You are very ... amorous ... this afternoon."

She smiled lazily, moistening her lips with her tongue in that way that always arouses me. "Are you complaining?" she asked teasingly.

"Not at all. I am just curious as to why I am so fortunate."

"Perhaps it's spring."

"Spring?" I was unable to pinpoint the reference.

"In Indiana where I grew up, there were four seasons, " she explained in a low voice, interrupting her lecture with soft, searing kisses that were very distracting. "Summer, autumn, winter and spring. Spring was a time of regrowth, of new life ... animals mated and produced young so that they would have the entire summer when food was most plentiful to grow strong. Fall was harvest time, the time to ready for winter which was cold and quiet, the time of rest and the end of the year, before the return of spring once more."

"Humans are also affected by this cycle of seasons?" I asked, trying to concentrate on her words rather than her kisses. "This natural time of mating?"

"It's never been proven," she replied, smiling in such a way that I knew she was amused by my inability to focus. "But I believe so. The hormones flow freer at this time of year ... even in space. At least, I know they do for me."

"Perhaps they do for me as well," I allowed thoughtfully. "Do you remember two nights ago when I finished my repair assignment early, and returned to you in the middle of the night?"

"How could I forget?"

"I was very aroused. I do not know why exactly. I was in astrometrics, and the thought of you lying in our bed, waiting for me, suddenly occupied my every thought. I could not return to you quickly enough in my estimate, and when I did return, I felt that I needed to satisfy myself immediately."

"Spring fever," she said, grinning impishly. "Aren't we lucky?"

"We are," I agreed.

"In fact," she said slowly, as of something had just occurred to her, "it may explain why everyone's been so upbeat lately."

"They have?"

"Just a side effect of spring fever," Kathryn explained, smiling warmly at me. Her smile became sensual and she reached down to pull my thigh up onto her hip, brushing her fingers along the inside of it, causing tingles to ripple through me. "However, I have just the cure for ours."

I raised my eyebrow. "Indeed," I said. I heard another gurgle in the vicinity of her abdomen. "Are you not hungry, instead?"

She nipped at my bottom lip. "Just for you, my darling," she said huskily. "Annika, I'm not prepared to take the afternoon off like this very often. You'd better take advantage of it."

I nodded at the warning and pulled her closer. Another, unusually large rumble sounded in her stomach, and abruptly Kathryn began to laugh.

"Or maybe you have a point," she said, her blue eyes sparkling.

I tried not to smile. "Would you like me to make something for you?"

"I can make something for us," she offered, attempting to get up.

"No," I said quickly, holding her in place. "The last time you provided food for us, it resulted in chocolate sauce being deposited in the bed ... as well as on my head."

My beautiful spouse smirked at me, her eyes wide with feigned outrage. "You shouldn't have put your head there."

"You told me to," I pointed out logically, as I got out of bed. "In fact, you insisted that is where you wished my mouth to be."

"Not before I poured the chocolate sauce."

I pressed my lips together. I had not won this argument weeks ago as I stood in the shower, attempting to remove the thick, syrupy confection from my hair while she offered somewhat suspect apologies between her bouts of laughter. I doubted I would win it now.

She laughed, and despite my best attempt, I was not able to completely stifle my smile as I picked up my robe from the lounger on the other side of the room, pulling it on as I walked out to the living area. I heard her following me, and when I turned around from programming the replicator, I found that she was perched on the wooden stool by the counter, dressed in a terrycloth blue robe which makes her appear smaller than she is. Jake, our dog, was next to her, standing upright on his hind legs while his front legs were supported by Kathryn who was petting him.

I frowned, not particularly pleased to see him sniffing avidly at the counter top. Kathryn may have thought he was attempting to crawl onto her lap because he loved her, but I knew better. He merely wanted the opportunity to access a place that he knows he is not allowed.

"Kathryn, please do not allow Jake up on the counter."

She shot me a look, the sort of mischievous expression that indicated she knew she was not supposed to be doing what she was doing ... but was proceeding to do it anyway.

"There's no food up there," she protested mildly even as she pulled him down.

"There shall be," I noted, acquiring a sterile cloth from the compartment beneath, and passing it over the counter. Offering her an admonishing glance, which did not appear to impress her at all, I turned back to the replicator where I retrieved the ingredients I had requested, and placed them on the clean surface.

Kathryn rested her chin on her palm, her elbow propped on the counter ,and watched me as I began to slice the vegetables.

"What's for dinner?" she asked brightly.

She had watched me prepare this meal many times, but this woman who could tell immediately if a crewmember was inputting a phase variance incorrectly by as little as .02 percent, could not ... or would not ... remember that this combination of raw materials, mixed in this fashion, would result in one of her favorite dishes: Chicken Indiana. I raised my eyebrow at her, and she smiled sunnily at me.

"I believe you know what this is. You have seen me make it several times."

"You know I don't like to cook, darling." She paused. "So what are we having?"

I sighed. "Chicken Indiana."

"I love that," she said, as if in surprise that I would just happen to prepare a meal that she would enjoy.

"Unfortunate," I replied. "It is for Jake."

For a moment she just stared at me, eyes wide with disbelief, and then she laughed out loud in delight. I was pleased at the reaction. In humor parlance, I believed I had just 'gotten' her. Perhaps this humor was not so difficult after all.

"I deserved that. Good one."

Much as she would have, had I just put a particularly adept Velocity shot past her to win a point. Perhaps humor contained a certain element of competition to it. I would have to research it further. I finished combining the chicken, pasta, green peppers, mushrooms, celery, sauce and spices in their proper amounts, and placed the casserole dish into the heating unit. Then I leaned over and kissed my spouse, feeling particularly happy for some reason.

She kissed me back, wrapping her arms around my neck and hugging me tightly.

"I love you," I told her seriously, once we had parted.

Her face became soft, vulnerable in a way that she will not show to anyone else.

"Oh, darling," she said. "You are my heart."

I knew that, but it pleased me greatly to hear it.

I kissed her again, and then released her. "You are required to set the table now," I reminded her.

She favored me with a vaguely apologetic look. "You're right. I've been really playing hooky today."

"'Hooky'?" I asked as she slipped off the stool, and went over to the recycler where she retrieved the necessary dishes and utensils for her task.

She didn't answer right away, frowning briefly as she set the table, and I knew that she was attempting to come up with a way to explain the concept to me.

"Sometimes when one has to do something out of duty or responsibility," she said finally, folding the napkins into triangles, "one can feel a need not to. Perhaps in a effort to display one's independence, or simply for the sake of freedom. So they don't go to school, or they don't appear for a duty shift, or they sneak out of their ready room four hours before their shift is up. The term is called 'playing hooky'." She glanced at me and smiled. "Before you ask, no, I'm not sure why that particular term is used, but it's an old phrase. It's more common with children, and finding ways to get out of attending school."

"I see," I said, though I was not entirely sure that I did. I placed protective mittens on my hands, and removed the completely cooked casserole from the heating unit, carrying it over to the table. "Did you 'play hooky' often when you were a child?"

An expression crossed her face, a sort of half smile as her eyes became distant, and I knew she was remembering specific incidents, but she did not offer them. Instead, she sat down at the table and began to spoon the casserole onto her plate.

"No," she said. "I never played hooky when I was a kid."

I stared at her, suspecting a falsehood of sorts, and she laughed. "At least, not in a way I'd care to share," she elaborated.

I hesitated before finally nodding. I understood her need for privacy and in any event, I knew she would tell me if I asked her the next time we were about to make love. She could not resist answering any question I offered during those particular moments, though I did not know why.

I filed it away as something to return to later. After all, it was still only the afternoon ... and apparently, spring was in the air.

[End Log]

From:  Captain Kathryn Janeway
USS Voyager
To:      Mrs. Gretchen Janeway
Agricultural Development Park
Indiana, North American Sector
Earth

Dear Mom,

Annika has told me about her newest project to help out Naomi by writing letters to you, and it has shamed me into writing my own. Yes, I know that they can't be sent, but I've been remiss in finding a way to tell you all that is going on here. I remember when we discovered the Hirogen communications array, and experienced that brief taste of home, I immediately wrote a letter to you and Phoebe. The array's subsequent destruction kept me from sending it however, and eventually, in a lonely pique one night in a void, I deleted it. I truly regret that. When Annika returned from the Alpha Quadrant with so many of your logs, I can't express how much they meant to me.

Yet at the same time, they were so exquisitely painful. I never let on to Annika, but often I would be sealed in my ready room, crying so hard that I could barely breathe. Of course, I don't do that anymore. Cry alone, I mean. If nothing else, after all she and I have been through, I've learned that there is one other person in the universe who will always be there for me. Now, when I need to cry, it's on her shoulder which she offers freely and without reservations of any kind. She has such a gentle heart and a sweet personality, Mom. I know they are hidden beneath that Borg exterior sometimes, but she shows them to me readily. Perhaps she was always that kind though certainly, most of the crew has taken a lot longer to recognize it, and a good percentage of them still can't, for whatever reason.

Mom, I wish I could tell you that we'll be home soon. Though Seven thinks that it will take no more than three years at most to adapt the slipstream drive to Voyager, at times I feel as if that is a false hope, like so many others have been in this quadrant. I believe in my heart that Annika would move heaven and earth not to let me down, but perhaps this is beyond even her abilities. The ship's structure is simply not designed to withstand the pressures of a slipstream conduit, and even though we continue to work on bolstering the integrity field, we haven't found a proper solution yet. I have to recognize that we may never find one.

Still, we are considerably closer to the Alpha Quadrant at this point than even I could have expected. Wormholes, transwarp coils, slipstream conduits, and a boost from a crewmember as a parting gift have combined to bring us 50,000 light years over the past six years. At present, we are a mere 23 years away from home. While that is an achievement of which we can be proud, deep in my heart, it's still not enough. I try not to think of the enormity of it most of the time, but there are those occasions when I imagine bringing the ship home to a Federation that is twenty years out of time for us, and I become frightened, Mom ... really frightened.

Which makes me frustrated, which in turn, makes me cranky, and then Annika has to find a way to put up with me until I work it out. Though lately, I've found that she's coming up with pre-emptive strikes against my dark moods, and before I even realize it, she's helped me find my courage and determination again.

There are other times when I feel as if we're no further away than a sub-space message, and I find myself full of optimism and hope. I try to hang onto that to get me through the rough patches. It's become easier now that I'm married.

I probably should have mentioned that in the beginning. Annika and I were married six months ago in a holodeck simulation of the church down by the village. It was a beautiful ceremony, and yes, you can tell Phoebe that I was absolutely terrified. If Annika hadn't been hanging on to me at the altar, I'm sure I would have passed out in front of my entire crew ... which would have done their perception of me no good at all. I can't tell you how beautiful my bride was walking down the aisle that day. She was simply exquisite, wearing a dress that was a duplicate of the dress in which you married Daddy. The gesture meant so much to me. Just thinking about it is enough to bring tears to my eyes though of course, I never let them show. The only thing that kept the whole thing from being absolutely perfect was that you and Phoebe were not there to share it with us.

But I've asked Annika, and she's agreed that we'll renew our vows once we get home. Being married to her is such a joy, Mom, I don't have the necessary words to express how much. She is a constant surprise as well. Just when I think I have her all figured out, she astounds me with something new that may infuriate me, may aggravate me, may captivate me, may fill me with the most profound happiness, but whatever it is ... it never, ever, bores me.

I'm aware you worried about that with me and my various beaus.

You never said anything, but I finally figured out that you were never that fond of the idea of Mark and me. Yes, I know you adored him. You had from the time Hobbes and I were kids, but you really didn't like the concept of our getting married. I didn't see it at the time but I see it now, particularly when I go over the logs you sent back with Seven. You're so voluminous with your praise of her in a way that you never were when speaking about Mark. Or for that matter, Justin. Did you know something I didn't, Mother? Did you think that what I truly needed to make me happy was a woman like you, and not a man like Daddy? Perhaps you're right. I do intend to ask you face to face upon my return however, though somehow I doubt I'll get a straight answer.

How did Phoebe's exhibit go? I know she had told Seven she wanted to see us back for that, and I must say, Annika was quite distressed when the date approached and we had not returned to the Alpha Quadrant. It took considerable comforting on my part to assure her that my little sister was just being her usual breezy self, and wasn't being serious. Phoebe needs to recognize that Seven will take what she says literally. Of course, Annika is getting better and by the time we do return, I'm sure my wife will be more than able to hold her own with my outrageous sibling.

I remember Phoebe saying something about a new man she met during her last showing. Did anything ever come of that, or is my sister still footloose and fancy free? I don't envy the man who eventually ends up with her, but then, I'm sure she would say the same thing about Annika having ended up with me.

I've just reread this, and it sounds a trifle boorish, not to mention very ungracious. I hope you know that's not how I mean it at all, Mom. I miss you both terribly, even Phoebe's needling. Or maybe especially Phoebe's needling. She always knew how to burst my bubble and make me realize when I've become too full of myself. Until Seven, I didn't have anyone else like that in my life, and I truly missed it. Of course, Seven was far more antagonistic in the beginning and for a while, she swung completely over to the other direction, becoming very supportive of me to the point of being unlike herself. Around the time I lost my memories, as a matter of fact, which I appreciated certainly, but I did miss the challenges she used to present to the concepts and beliefs I held dear. Recently, however, I find that she's developed a sense of humor that is quite reminiscent of my little sister's. She's stopped letting me get away with things, and isn't afraid to tell me when I'm getting out of line. With her new foray into becoming a member of Starfleet, I have a feeling I'm about to be challenged even more.

Annika is going to be taking an 'Ethics & Philosophy' course, and already, just from the texts she's been perusing in preparation for it, she's discovered some of the conundrums forced upon various Starfleet captains over the years. These incidents were sometimes at odds with the ideas and precepts set down by Starfleet, and it's difficult for her to comprehend why the rules needed to be stretched or bent in those instances. I'm also aware that she's starting to apply this to my command here in the Delta Quadrant She's developing that youthful certainty about what is right and wrong that all cadets possess in their first year of the Academy ... and is subsequently punctured as time goes on. In some ways, she is at a disadvantage because she is so much older than the average cadet, not to mention coming from such a unique background.

I anticipate that there will be more than a few all night discussions in my future though, since others are also taking the classes, I'm hoping she will spare me some of the sleepless nights, and share them with her classmates instead. I understand that B'Elanna is taking the class with her. I anticipate some rather interesting conclusions to come from that interaction. I don't believe it will hurt to have Lt. Torres to finish the courses she didn't get a chance to complete the first time around.

As Seven prepares, I find myself remembering what it was like that first year at the Academy, when my ideals were so exact, so precise. By the time I graduated, I had all my precepts turned completely upside down, and I looked at everything I had known up until then in a completely different light. I have no idea what kind of person Seven shall be when this is all over. I can only hope that I'll be with her every step of the way. It will probably be an opportunity for me to grow even further as well.

On the topic of growth, I had a couple come to me earlier this afternoon and make a request for family quarters. Their way of requesting permission to having children, of course. It happens every year at this time, and every year, it must be the same response. Voyager simply does not have the facilities for family quarters. I had hoped that this time, it would be different. That I would be able to grant the requests of my crew, but after talking with Chakotay and Tuvok, after going over all our current resources, and what it would take for the ship to provide a stable environment for children, I have no choice but to refuse it. Not only for the good of the ship, but for the good of those unborn children.

It is not easy, Mother. This is a power that no captain should have: the responsibility of saying whether a couple may reproduce or not. It's too much. I know all the logical reasons why Voyager must refrain from becoming a generational ship, but the memory of the disappointment and even anger in their eyes, the sorrowful recognition that none of us have any real choice in the matter, cuts me to the core. I also look at Naomi and the joy she has brought to the people around her, including myself and Seven, and I think, who am I to deny that to anyone? Yet I must. There is no way for Voyager to be able to keep a group of children safe and secure. It would be selfish to bring offspring into the constant threat of danger that we must live with.

Did you know that Seven wants children? Unfortunately, because of the residual damage done to her by being assimilated by the Borg, it is something she cannot undergo herself, and it was a hard blow for her to take. However, we have subsequently found a way around that and, while it does force me into the position of having to conduct the pregnancy myself, you'll be able to look forward to having grandchildren who are genetically conceived from the both of us. Because of the planning and medical preparation needed for such a thing, however, we are waiting until we return to the Alpha Quadrant. Annika has already decided what she wants as far as how many, what sex and even has the names picked out. I'm beginning to think my only contribution is going to be the actual gestation, which does not seem fair somehow.

I do look forward to it, however. I wouldn't admit that to just anyone. There's a part of me that easily imagines Annika and I raising children together. I think about what kind of mother she will be, or more incredibly, what sort of mother I will be. I know I won't be as good a parent as you are, but I do hope that I can offer my children the same love and support you gave Phoebe and me throughout the years. I'm absolutely convinced that Annika will be an outstanding parent. I watch her infinite patience, her kind, yet firm discipline with Jake, our Irish Setter ... now, don't laugh Mom, we both know puppies can be as much of a handful as children can be, even if they do tend to obey better in the long run. In any event, I know that Annika shall be absolutely wonderful. I think I'll be the one who indulges our children's every whim and gets us all into trouble with my wife.

I suppose I should wrap this up. The Doctor has just contacted me regarding something he's found in the latest round of checkups of the crew. He sounded a bit concerned, but that may be a ruse. It occurs to me that I didn't have a checkup, and this could be his way of luring me to sickbay so he can spring a surprise physical on me. He's getting craftier as time goes by.

Which only means I have to be even cleverer. However, he's made it a formal request, CMO to Captain so I guess I have to stop by. Where is a convenient Red Alert when I need one?

I miss you, Mom. I hope you're well, and that Phoebe is continuing to live the life of Riley as she always does. I dream of the day when Annika and I can beam down to that farm house in Indiana, walk up the driveway and see you waiting for us on the porch. I dream of the day that I can show Annika the farm where I grew up, and the tree where I used to play. I dream of sitting in your kitchen, watching as you and Annika swap recipes while I try out the results. I dream of my beloved and I waking up in that same room where I spent all my childhood, and seeing the sunshine come through the window across the rug where Brambles used to sleep. I dream of looking up all my old friends and seeing their faces when I introduce my lovely Borg wife to them. Tell me, is Cheb Packer still married to Cathy Martin? I think it would be most interesting to introduce Seven to him, though I'm afraid that Annika might say something to him to the effect that she hoped he had improved considerably since his relationship with me.

I might even explain that one to you when I get home. Next letter, I'll tell you all about Seven's birthday and the surprise I have for her.

Take care, Mom.

Love,
Kathryn

Officer's Log: Seven of Nine Recording

Voyager is about to undergo some profound changes. The Doctor has discovered that the recent 'spring fever' that swept the crew was in fact, medically based. It is a genetically keyed virus, intended to help the Cirrellian B'Rethna reproduce in surroundings other than their natural environment. Apparently, the creatures are not native to Cirrellia after all, a fact somehow overlooked in our initial acquisition of them.

The original concern was keeping Naomi's pet which was male, away from B'Elanna Torres's pet, which was female, so that the ship was not inundated with B'Rethna offspring. However, that concern quickly became moot when it was discovered the virus had mutated into an airborne variety which affected certain species on the ship, including all the Humans. I was affected as well, though of course, not to the same extent. The most obvious symptom was a strong, overpowering 'need' to mate. The Doctor quickly created an anti-viral agent, and was able to stamp out the epidemic, but it did have repercussions.

The virus, in addition to releasing natural hormones designed to facilitate reproduction, also neutralized the contraceptive implant which every crewmember is outfitted with during their yearly physical. The captain immediately sent out a memo requesting that crewmembers refrain from sexual practices that would result in conception, but for twelve couples in the crew, it was too late.

Many of the crew are now fully occupied with organizing ways to restructure Voyager for children. In eight months and two weeks, assuming everything goes as projected, offspring shall be added to the crew roster. I find that I have developed a great anticipation for this, while others seem quite disturbed by this new adjustment being forced on us. I am sure they will all adapt, though I do admit to a certain amount of concern for Lt. Harry Kim. He continues to pursue his duties with a most peculiar expression on his face, and his skin has taken on a decidedly pale tone.

Apparently he and Ensign Delaney were not prepared to procreate this early in their relationship.

The couple has scheduled a wedding that will take place, along with three others, next week. Meanwhile, three other couples have requested that their marriages be dissolved. One couple is of the parings that conceived, and the female insists on raising the child on her own.

In addition, two of the twelve couples chose to terminate the pregnancies, a procedure which was handled quickly and efficiently by the medical staff. It is a decision that I do not entirely understand, but must respect. As I have come to realize, if people truly do not wish to be parents, then it is in the best interests of everyone that they do not.

The Doctor tells me that I should pay very close attention to all that is happening at the moment. He says it is a perfect representation of a much larger community in a very closed environment. The virus has forced profound social changes that could be the inspiration of a dozen papers on the 'Human Condition'. His opinion was not appreciated by the captain when I asked her about it later, however.

Captain Janeway has placed me in charge of altering cargo bay two. My Borg alcoves have been sectioned off with high security bulkheads, while the rest of the area is being turned into a 'park'. Originally, the cargo bay was home to a hydroponics area organized by Kes, the Ocampa crewmember who left the ship shortly after my arrival. The necessary equipment for nurturing plants is already in place, which facilitates the project greatly. I am working very closely with biometrics on this project, and Ensign Wildman, who designed the layout, has been very helpful in explaining her 'vision'. I anticipate that we shall have it done within two months, and the new, high yield, fast growing plants for our 'park' will be fully germinated in seven.

All these new duties regarding the ship's renovation, are of course, in addition to my regular shift in astrometrics. I am gratified to record that long range sensors detected deposits of dertanium on a small moon in an uninhabited system. Acquiring it required only a minor course change. Lt. Torres has been assigned to mine and refine the ore, and she has taken the Delta Flyer down to the surface with an engineering team. Lt. Ro Laren volunteered to assist her by piloting the ship for this mission. I did not realize the Bajoran was an adept pilot, but apparently she possesses extensive helm experience. In the meantime, Voyager will take up station-keeping in orbit above the moon which allows the rest of the crew to start Operation Newborn immediately.

Obviously, this task has set back the Starfleet Ethics classes. Tuvok has assured me that, once Operation Newborn has completed its initial startup phase, and the ship is once more back on course to the Alpha Quadrant, he will advise me of a new class schedule. I am still looking forward to it, though my original anticipation has been muted somewhat by this other situation.

The areas most needing adaptation are in the process of being studied and prepared for renovation. It shall be an undertaking of several months, but we intend the initial planning phase be underway as soon as possible. A 'safe haven' in the very center of the ship is being mapped out, the section reinforced with hull-thick walls, while an independent energy source is being installed to supply the area in the event the rest of the ship loses all other power. Deck two, which was made up primarily of conference rooms and labs, is being switched over to provide day care and a school. Sickbay needs to expand into the immediate surrounding areas to provide a maternity and children's ward. Chakotay has begun the task of organizing the proper personnel who are best suited to become the caregivers and teachers of a group of children while their parents are on duty.

Looking after these offspring shall be the responsibility of the entire community of Voyager, and that means that many shall have to adapt.

All this perhaps would not be so necessary or crucial but for the timing, and amount of children. We can expect all these babies to be born within days of each other, which means we shall have a respectable group of children all growing at the same rate. It is an intriguing thing to contemplate, though I appreciate how troubling this has been to some crewmembers. The Doctor tells me that children growing up on a ship have different needs than adults, and require far more attention. He is concerned about such things as artificial gravity on developing bones, and how the closed, rather sterile environment of the ship's atmosphere will affect the immune systems of the newborns. I am already aware that, although Naomi is seemingly a healthy child, in truth, her mother and the Doctor keep a close monitor on her whenever she goes planetside, aware that she will be more vulnerable to diseases. Now the challenges shall be increased tenfold.

I am also growing concerned for the captain. She is so busy that she barely has time to eat and sleep, and she only does that because I remain constantly alert to her schedule. Otherwise, she would gladly go without both, and it becomes a conflict at times when I insist she interrupt her duties for meals and rest periods.

Sometimes, I do not know how she is capable of all that she does. Her energy is inexhaustible, her stamina phenomenal, and her endurance compares favorably to the duranium hull of the starship she commands. However, I also know that this is not something she can maintain forever. It has been two weeks since we first discovered the presence of the virus, and since then, she has been unrelenting.

Still, there does not seem to be any other way to accomplish everything that needs to be done. This is her duty, as it is mine, and together, we are working harder than I believe we ever have worked before. I can only hope that there is 'a light at the end of the tunnel'. That is a saying that Lt. Torres has used often, and I try to apply it here.

The captain has made it clear to me that officer logs and personal logs are two different things. So while I have found a certain sort of freedom in adding greater emotional resonances to my personal log, I comprehend that I am not to do the same here. These logs may be perused by a superior officer as necessary, and it would not do to present the same sort of detail that I do in my personal logs.

As soon as I am able to find a more private area, I shall record the incident that happened earlier today as it was quite significant to me personally. For now, I must return to my duties.

[End Log]

Seven of Nine: Personal Log

During this period of instability and confusion, my birthday passed unnoticed, even by me. Not by Neelix however, and just before a quick staff briefing first thing this morning, he leaned over and wished me a happy birthday in a low voice. As I thanked him quietly, I glanced at Kathryn, wondering if she had heard. The expression on her face told me she had. For just an instant, before the command mask covered it again, she looked extremely distraught, almost as if she were about to weep.

I lingered after the meeting until the rest had vacated the room and went to her. Her eyes were very sad when she looked at me, and I put my hands on her shoulders, attempting to comfort her.

"I'm so sorry, Annika," she said softly, suddenly appearing very weary.

I shook my head. "It is unnecessary to apologize," I told her. "I did not even remember the date myself."

She reached out, and even though we were still on duty, wrapped her arms around my waist and pulled me close.

"I promise, as soon as things settle down," she said in a muffled tone, her face pressed against my throat, "we'll celebrate your birthday the way you deserve."

"It is all right, Kathryn," I told her again. She seemed more upset by this than she needed to be, and I was concerned. "I appreciate that the situation prohibits us from enjoying the off duty recreations that we would otherwise pursue."

"That's no excuse, my darling," she said, her voice such that I knew she was reprimanding herself harshly. "At least, I could have taken note of the date. It's a sad thing when Neelix remembers, and your own wife doesn't."

I did not want her to be bothered by this, and hugged her tightly. "Kathryn, you are much busier than Neelix, and have far more responsibility weighing on you," I said to her in a comforting tone. "I am not asking more of you than you can give. Do not demand it of yourself."

She was silent for awhile, holding on to me.

Finally she looked up at me. "I love you," she said intently, her eyes so serious that I knew she was attempting to convey something very important to her. "With all my heart, Annika."

"I know," I said to her. "I love you. It is acceptable for us to sometimes overlook each other in a situation like this, Kathryn. Our love is strong enough that it can carry us through these times. Please, do not think that if you are remiss in a 'gesture' that I would believe your feelings have altered. We have been together long enough now that I know how much you care. Just know that I care for you as well."

She studied my face, then grinned ruefully. "I do have a gift for you," she said. "It's hidden in my ready room. I've been keeping it quiet for months, along with the party I had planned."

I was delighted. "Indeed," I said, and attempted not to show my emotion blatantly. I must not have succeeded because her smile widened, and she kissed me gently.

"Just for you," she said. "If you want to open it now, I'll get it for you."

I thought about it. "No," I decided finally. "I am required in cargo bay two, and you promised Ensign Travis that you would look over his schematics for the auxiliary gravimetric emitters. I wish you to be with me when I open my gift, and I want us to have time to appreciate the experience, both in terms of me receiving it, and you for giving it. We do not have the appropriate time now."

She squeezed gently. "Soon," she promised. "When B'Elanna returns with her team, and we're on our way to the Alpha Quadrant again, things will become more structured."

"I know," I told her. I studied her for a few moments, taking note of the deeper lines around her eyes and the way her jaw set, indicating her weariness. "Please do not overwork yourself to the extent that you become ill, Kathryn. I am not able to look after you as I wish at the moment."

She spared me a sigh, and I rubbed her back gently.

"I'll try," was all she could promise.

"Try hard," I said firmly. "This much I know you are capable of giving me." I considered it, and added thoughtfully. "I would consider it part of my birthday present."

She gave me a look of tolerant bemusement, then I was gratified to see her smile again though I was aware that it lacked its usual brilliance, undoubtedly due to her lack of excess resources.

"All right," she said in a wry, resigned sort of tone. "I will try hard."

"Acceptable," I said. I took the moment to hug her tightly one more time, then reluctantly released her, knowing it was time for me to return to duty.

"Soon," she repeated softly.

"Yes," I agreed.

I left the conference room and went to cargo bay two.

[End Log]

Kathryn Janeway: Personal Log

Voyager has once again resumed course for the Alpha Quadrant. The Doctor has reported that the wounded have been treated, and that they're doing as well as can be expected at the moment. I know we needed that ore but this time, it was too costly. If only I had been quicker with our response, if only I had ordered a closer monitor be kept on the away team...

We first knew there was danger when the emergency call reached the bridge. A brief burst of communication from the surface of the asteroid, distorted by static and interference. Lt. Ro's voice was barely audible.

"Away Te ... yager .. ran ....sive gas .... require assi ... can ... read us ...."

Lt. Kim attempted to clear it up, but it was impossible. I ordered an immediate transport for the away team, but whatever was interfering with the communications kept the sensors form getting a lock on them. I glanced at Chakotay who returned the look, his dark eyes clearly worried.

"Get a rescue team together," I snapped. He inclined his head, and disappeared off the bridge after nodding at Tuvok and Kim to follow him.

At the helm, Paris glanced over his shoulder. "Maybe I should go. They might need me to pilot Delta Flyer." I wondered which he was worried about more, the away team or his vessel? Then stifled that line of thought as being unworthy of the young man.

"As you were," I said shortly, keeping him at his station.

He frowned briefly, then turned back to his board.

I wanted to pace, but knew it would not be good for the other bridge crew so instead, I took a seat in the command chair and attempted to look confident. Minutes seemed to drag into hours as I waited for a sensor report, a hail ... anything that might tell me what was going on.

I have a good crew ... probably the best ... and I know I need to rely on their abilities, but sometimes it's extremely difficult to not leap up and do things myself. Impatience has always been a fatal flaw of mine, and one of the hardest parts about being captain is the need to curb it. I carefully wrapped my hands around the arms of my chair so that I wouldn't drum my fingers, and took a slow, deep breath.

I heard the hiss of the turbolift door behind me and took a quick glance back to see Seven enter and take a position at the aft tactical station. Despite myself, I immediately felt better knowing she was there. It perhaps doesn't make sense, but it's a fact, nonetheless. I was able to relax marginally within the aura of her presence as we all waited anxiously for some word from the surface.

"Sensors indicate the presence of terrazin gas," Seven noted after a few moments. I realized that she had been using her formidable skills to enhance the sensors to cut through most of the interference.

I felt my heart begin to pound. Terrazin gas was poisonous, not to mention corrosive as hell to organic tissue. To be caught in an explosion usually meant instant death, and I knew instinctively that I must have lost crewmembers. The question was, how many? Had we lost the entire team? What was the situation down there?

"Contact the rescue team."

"Aye, Captain," Lt. Nicoletti said crisply from ops. A few moments passed then, "The away team reports that their sensors detected the gas, and they're in full protective gear. They estimate their shuttle's landing will be in two-point-four minutes."

I nodded briefly and stared at the viewscreen, though all it was showing at the moment was the silvery rugged surface of the asteroid we were orbiting, and the inky blackness of space beyond, dotted with unfamiliar stars. I regulated my respiration as best I could, making every attempt to project calm assurance ... a trait painstakingly taught to us in command school, and which I barely manage to accommodate a lot of the time. It felt as if there was a warp core about to breech inside me, and it took all my discipline not to leap up and shout orders even though I had no clear idea of what those orders needed to be.

"The rescue team is hailing us," Nicoletti informed me.

I stood up abruptly. "On screen."

The view flickered to show Commander Chakotay in a white environmental suit, his features eerily shadowed through the transparent shield of his helmet.

"Captain, the mining team lost two when a pocket exploded, releasing the gas. The rest tried to get to them but the gas forced them back to the Delta Flyer, which was trapped under rubble. There are other injuries, and Sek is securing the wounded onto the shuttle now. Lt. Ro and I will remain behind to bring back the Delta Flyer."

So at least I knew one survivor, I thought grimly. "Who were the casualties, Chakotay?"

He hesitated. "Lt. Poe and Ensign Taylor."

Stevie Poe was a personable young man from Rigel Six who, like Harry Kim, had joined Voyager fresh out of the Academy. He was probably the only person I knew who actually liked Neelix's leola root stew, and deserved far better than to die so far away from home. Janice Taylor, in contrast, was an older woman who had been with the Maquis. She had a knack for tracking down plasma variances, and liked to carve small animals from wood products. I had traded a great many replicator rations for a remarkable cherry wood reproduction of Jake which was now sitting in my ready room next to my bust of Leonardo da Vinci.

I felt sick. Old, tired and just plain sick.

But also aware that I didn't have the time to indulge such emotions at the moment.

"The rest?"

"B'Elanna's burnt pretty bad," he said soberly. "I guess she tried hard to get to them, and got caught in the back wash. Vorik's wounds aren't quite as bad."

I felt a muscle in my jaw twitch. "Understood," I said. Then had to ask because there was an entire ship to worry about in addition to the away teams. "What about the ore?"

I didn't have to look around to know I was receiving outraged glances from some of the bridge crew at my perceived callousness. I ignored them.

"The Flyer's hold is almost full," he reported. "Maybe short an eighth."

"That'll do," I said evenly. "ETA?"

"The shuttle's already on its way back. Ro estimates that we'll have the Delta Flyer uncovered in a couple of hours."

"Best possible speed, Chakotay."

"Understood." He broke the channel, the screen flickering once more to show the stars and the asteroid which had killed my crewmembers.

For an instant, I had the irrational urge to load a quantum torpedo into the forward tube and fire it at the uncaring piece of rock ... not that it would do anything more than put another crater in its pockmarked surface. The feeling passed quickly, and as it did, despair and weariness rushed in to fill its place.

"Maintain station-keeping until the Delta Flyer has docked," I said quietly to Paris. "Then resume course to the Alpha Quadrant."

"Aye, Captain."

In silence, I walked across the bridge, descended the stairs and entered my ready room. I felt like someone had just punched me in the stomach, and I must have stumbled a bit as I moved around the desk because I barked my hip on the edge. Uncertainly, I sat down in my chair and bent over, putting my face in my hands, trying hard to maintain my composure.

Dimly, I was aware of the hiss of the door but I did not look up. Only one person would presume to enter without requesting permission.

I felt her hands warm on the back of my neck, and it was if that was all the permission I needed. The sobs came thick and fast, and then I was clinging to her, burying my face into Seven's lap as she leaned against the desk, stroking my hair and murmuring words that did not quite make sense, but were comforting nonetheless.

How many times, I wondered? How many times had I come in here after a blow like the one I had just received, and had to work through it myself? Very often, I wouldn't even let myself cry, thinking it a weakness I could not afford. Or perhaps I was just terrified that once I started, I wouldn't be able to stop on my own.

If I have received nothing else from my love, this is a gift she has given me which is beyond measure ... the ability to mourn immediately and fully, without holding back, knowing that she will be there to hold me up until I can find my balance once more.

Finally, the sobs eased and settled down into an occasional hiccough that hitched my breathing. I sniffed hard and wiped my eyes, wishing I had a handkerchief as I sat up, using my uniform sleeves instead. Seven got up without saying a word, and went to the upper level where she programmed something into the replicator. She brought back a mug which she handed me, and I sipped it, discovering camomile tea which was reminiscent of home and Mother when she was trying to comfort me after I had fallen short of my expectations ... as I had so many times in my life. I wondered how my partner had known, but didn't ask. It was all I could do to keep my hands from shaking as I wrapped them around the mug, warming them against the chill that had settled inside me.

Seven perched on the edge of the desk again, resting her hand gently on my shoulder as I drank the hot liquid and slowly gathered the tattered shards of my composure. She didn't speak, for which I was oddly grateful. It was enough to know she was there and close by, her presence lending me strength when I needed it most.

After a while, I glanced up at her. Her pale blue eyes were concerned, and I managed what I'm sure was a rather weak smile.

"I'm okay now."

"Indeed." It was in the sort of voice that told me she wasn't buying it for an instant.

"Yes," I said, in a much firmer tone. I hesitated, and then added with unmistakable dismissal. "Thank you."

She started to speak, stopped, then nodded as if understanding what I was really saying. For all I knew, she did. God knows my beloved was a lot more sensitive than many gave her credit for, and no doubt could easily able to read between the lines of what I was saying.  Knowing that what I really meant was the support she gave so unselfishly was the only thing allowing me to do my job ... a job, which, despite my feelings, still needed to be done. She nodded once and without looking back, she left the ready room.

I took a breath and retrieved my mirror from a compartment under my desk. I'm sure most crewmembers who knew about it, thought I kept such a thing in my ready room for vanity's sake. In truth, it was a necessary accessory to being captain, allowing me to check my command mask, making sure it was solid and without cracks. It would not do to allow what I was feeling to leak through. A little grief was sufficient to show my sorrow. Too much, and my crew would perceive me as less than the rock they needed in times of crisis.

I couldn't let them down.

After making sure the tear stains were invisible, I got up and returned to the bridge. "Status?" I asked as soon as I mounted the stairs.

"As soon as the shuttle was in range, the wounded were transported to sickbay," Lt. Paris remarked. "The Doctor is working on B'Elanna now."

There was more than just a hint of strain in the young helmsman's voice. Despite the fact that he and the chief engineer were no longer romantically involved, I was aware that he still cared deeply for the young woman. Indeed, I knew that he had recently asked Seven to assist in presenting his intentions to reunite with her. So far, B'Elanna was less than enthusiastic, and I know it was beginning to put a little bit of a strain on the friendship between her and Seven. I made a note to myself to ask Paris to release Seven of her promise because I knew my partner would take it as far as she could, and perhaps not recognize the damage she was doing to her relationship with the Klingon.

I glanced up at my Borg as she worked on her console.

"The shuttle?" I asked.

"The Edison is landing in the hangar deck now," she replied.

I dipped my head and went over to my chair. It was too early to find out how the wounded were doing. Until the Doctor reported in, I knew I would only be in the way down there, as would anyone else. While both Seven and Tom wanted to be there for their friend, for the moment, I needed them where they were, and did not respond to their unspoken expressions of inquiry.

I accessed the monitor which sat between the command and first officer's chairs, bringing up the departmental duty roster. I keyed in a request to geometrics to send a team to the hangar deck to unload the ore, and another memo to Lt. Carey to inform him that he would be acting as chief of engineering until further notice. That done, I brought up the personnel files of both Poe and Taylor, shifting them to the station in the ready room so that they would be ready when I needed to do the paperwork; always necessary when a crewmember dies. I tried not to think too hard about what I was doing. There would be time for that later.

I added a note to Chakotay's station that he fill the holes created in engineering as soon as possible, and wondered how many more times I would be required to do this in the Delta Quadrant. We had started out with 152 people at the beginning of this long journey. We were now down to 136, less than the full crew complement. It was not a major problem yet, but if we continued to lose qualified people, then eventually we would no longer be able to fly the ship.

I worked quietly, hoping that by concentrating on incidentals, it would keep me from acknowledging that yet again, I had failed my people, that I had lost someone I had promised to return home. Sometimes it feels as if nothing I can do will be enough, that in the end, all I'm doing is fooling myself into thinking I have any right to this chair. I was the one who made the decision to strand us here. I am the one who has yet to find a way home after six long years.

As I worked, I felt the gaze of my partner on the back of my head, and tried to let that bond keep me from casting completely adrift. I wondered what would happen if Lt. Torres didn't make it, what that would mean, not only to the ship but to Seven and myself for whom the Klingon's friendship meant so much. I sent a tiny thought to sickbay and my chief engineer. Some might have called it a prayer, but whatever it really was, it took the form of an order.

Don't you dare die on us, Lieutenant.

[End Log]

Seven of Nine: Personal Log

As soon as I could, I went to sickbay to see B'Elanna. Until the Delta Flyer returned, and we once more had secured stations to resume our journey, the captain was unable to release me from my duties. It is hard sometimes, but I have come to understand that even when it is difficult, duty must take precedence.

It was late in the beta rotation when I left my post, and the lights were lowered in sickbay to indicate evening watch. I noted that in addition to the chief engineer, Ensign Vorik remained in a biobed as did another officer, Ensign D'Vor, from security. I knew that this was the latter's first mission in his new department, and I wondered if he had any appreciation at all for the transfer, considering how it went.

I hesitated as I saw that I was not the only one visiting with B'Elanna at this time. Unobtrusively, I drifted into the Doctor's office until the other crewmember had completed her visit, not wishing to interrupt the two. Neither the Doctor nor Sek were present, and I supposed that they were in other parts of the ship, conferring with the various engineering teams regarding sickbay's expansion. I did note that there was a monitor with an open access, no doubt ready to alert them if it became necessary. It relieved me because I knew that they would not leave their patients unattended unless they were certain they would be all right.

As I waited, having taken a seat in the chair, I surreptitiously watched the slender figure by the engineer's biobed through the transparency. It surprised me somewhat to see Lt. Ro, but I realized that, since both she and B'Elanna had been on the mission together, they would have need to speak about it. I tried not to listen to their conversation, but my Borg-enhanced cranial implant makes that difficult at times, even though they had their heads close together and were speaking in low tones.

"This was all my fault," B'Elanna said in a voice that was completely unlike her. "I should have seen the weakness in the vein."

"That was Poe's job," Ro responded firmly, if kindly. I saw her put her hand on B'Elanna's shoulder. "He was responsible for taking care of the geometric readings. He was the one who needed to be aware of the fault lines."

"I was in command," B'Elanna insisted in a small voice. "I should have checked his readings."

"It's a poor commander who needs to watch over the shoulder of qualified people," Ro responded. "Look, I know what you're feeling, Lieutenant. It's hard and god knows, the guilt never really goes away, but you can't let it defeat you. I learned that the hard way as well."

There was a silence. "You're talking about Garon II, aren't you. When you disobeyed orders."

Ro hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. I didn't defend myself at the court martial. I didn't think I had the right ... after all, eight crewmembers were dead and I was still alive." She seemed to take a deep breath. "But later, people that I met ... people that I respected greatly ... explained that sometimes taking on all the guilt was in itself, a selfish act. That I had deprived Starfleet of my services because I accepted a version of the truth rather than what actually happened." She looked very thoughtful, her face shadowed in the low illumination. "I don't know that I agree, but maybe they were right. I do know, in this situation, looking in from the outside, that you are not to blame, B'Elanna. These things just ... happen."

B'Elanna shook her head unhappily. "But they've happened two missions in a row. First on Meuranato, and now here." She closed her eyes sorrowfully. "I'm not fit to be put in charge of away missions."

"So Captain Janeway is a fool," Ro said casually.

Despite my efforts not to eavesdrop, that made me straighten in my chair, anger rising in me at the implied slur on my beloved. B'Elanna also seemed to take note of it, and she looked at Ro with what appeared to be annoyance.

"You want to explain that?"

I too, wanted the dark haired woman to reveal her reasoning.

"All I meant was that sometimes when you're in command, you lose people," Ro said quietly. "You don't always make the right decision, and bad things happen. Janeway believes in you, in your abilities. What makes her a damned good captain is because she takes responsibility for any mistakes she might make. You need to, as well."

"That's what I'm doing."

"No, you're feeling guilty and wallowing in that guilt," Ro pointed out. "Poor, poor Torres, can't do anything right." Her voice had turned a bit mocking. "So let's lie in bed and feel sorry for ourselves."

I could see that B'Elanna was furious, but she also looked a great deal better than she had. I wondered if this was the intention of the security officer.

"Look," Ro added in a more serious tone. "I know you look up to Janeway, and lately, as she sends you out in command of more away missions, you try to emulate her even more, but you can't be the captain, B'Elanna, nor would she want you to be. You need to be you."

"Maybe I don't know who that is," B'Elanna mumbled, and looked away from Ro.

The security officer seemed surprised, and did not speak for a few moments. When she finally did, her voice was very gentle.

"Who do you want to be?"

"I don't know," the engineer said in what seemed utter frustration. "I only know it's not who I've been trying to be for the past six years."

"Then maybe you're trying too hard," Ro suggested. She bowed her head. "I know it isn't easy. I'm eight years older than that day when I stepped onto the Enterprise with a chip on my shoulder the size of Bajor. Now, I hope that after all I've been through, I'm a little wiser. All I can say is that you just have to be able to ... let go of things. I've had to let go of a lot of things in my life and while it gets tiresome on occasion, it also can be ... freeing."

B'Elanna did not seem to want to listen, her mouth firming stubbornly. "Maybe I don't know how to let go."

"Then you'd better learn," Ro said quietly. "Because at this point, I think you're only hurting yourself."

"Jeez, put your Starfleet uniform back on and suddenly you have all the answers." There was a certain amount of bitterness in the tone.

I did not know Lt. Ro very well, but I could tell that she was hurt by those words. Her face tightened, and she straightened.

"No," she said with some bitterness of her own. "I don't have any answers at all."

She turned and left sickbay. I looked away from the two women, but not before I saw the expression on B'Elanna's face. She was very upset and I took some time before I went out to visit her so that she could compose herself. When she saw me, however, her face closed up, and she crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at me as if I was in some way upsetting her further.

"I have come to visit you," I said somewhat uncertainly.

"So I see," she said without much enthusiasm. "I suppose you heard all that?"

I hesitated. "I did not mean to.". I looked around the room in an effort to find another topic and noticed a bouquet of flowers on the table.

"Who gave you the flowers?"

B'Elanna's brows drew down, and she looked even more annoyed.

"Paris," she said shortly. "I guess he thought it would impress me."

"Did it?"

"No," she said shortly.

I was aware that Lt. Paris was attempting to 'woo' B'Elanna into resuming a relationship with him. Indeed, I had agreed to help him and I thought that this might be a good opportunity to press his case.

"I think it is a very thoughtful gesture," I said. "He truly seems to have changed."

"Look," she said with a sharp edge to her voice. She was looking at me with yet more anger, and what I thought might actually be dislike. "I don't want to talk about Paris with you, Seven, not now, not in the future. Is that clear? I don't want you to mention him to me ever again."

I was taken aback, not sure what to say next.

"I understand."

I wondered if she was angry because Lt. Paris had given her flowers, and that was why she had been so unfriendly to Lt. Ro, who was attempting to give her advice. I paused, wondering what topic I should pursue. I had never felt this way with B'Elanna before. Or rather, I had not felt this sort of antagonism between us for some time ... not since I had first came on board Voyager.

"Why was Lt. Ro visiting you. Did she have some new insight into what happened on the surface?"

That was also the wrong thing to say. I think I knew it before it was even out of my mouth, but for some reason, I could not stop myself from saying it. I simply did not seem to know how to speak with my friend this day. B'Elanna glowered.

"Look, Seven," she said coldly. "I'm really tired at the moment. Can you leave?"

I blinked. "Of course. I hope that you will feel better soon."

"Yeah, sure," she said, as if not believing me. It was almost as if she thought I was trying to hurt her when in fact, that was the last thing I wished. "Just go, all right."

"Very well."

Feeling very confused, and somewhat hurt myself, I nodded a polite good-bye and left sickbay. I did not understand why B'Elanna was angry with me, and I wondered if it was because I had eavesdropped. I knew that doing such a thing was considered less than honorable, even though everyone I knew had indulged in it at one point or another. I decided that I must apologize when I saw her again.

If indeed, she wished to see me again.

At that point, I was not sure of anything, and I felt considerably disconcerted as I returned to my quarters. Once inside, I was disappointed to find the lights lowered and Kathryn not around. I hesitated just inside the entrance and looked through the open door toward the bedroom. Jake was curled up on the deck on the rug, and I knew that Kathryn must have already retired for the evening. Our dog only slept in the bedroom when one of us was in the bed. Otherwise, his favorite place to nap was on the couch.

"Jake," I called softly and he lifted his head, his ears perking up when he saw me.

I gestured to him and he immediately rose from the rug, trotting over to where I had knelt down. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and hugged him gently, not understanding why such a thing should make me feel marginally better, but unable to deny that it did. I scratched behind his ears for a few moments, then commanded him to get into his doggy bed. He complied, but I knew it was only temporary. As soon as I was out of the room, he would inevitably go over to the couch to spend the rest of the night on its cushions. It was sufficient that I had removed him from the bedroom, however. He grew unaccountably playful when Kathryn and I were together, and it had become our habit not to allow him in the room while we were in the bed together. I keyed the door to slide shut behind me, and moved quietly across the bedroom to the ensuite.

I noticed that Kathryn was sleeping peacefully, curled up in the center in the mattress, and I looked forward to joining her. It was not something that was commonplace in this time of crisis but for tonight, we would be able to spend some time with each other, even if it meant both of us would be unconscious.

I felt very unhappy as I went into the ensuite, and undressed before activating the shower and stepping beneath the warm water, wishing that it could wash away the dismay I was experiencing. I was of the impression that when someone was unhappy, as B'Elanna had been, that they needed to speak with their friends, but clearly, B'Elanna had not wanted me to be there at all.

It occurred to me that perhaps she no longer wished for us to be friends. Originally, we had participated in a very antagonistic relationship. When I became involved with Kathryn, my relationship with the chief engineer also altered, and we became very good friends. Now I wondered if she wished to return to the interaction we shared in the beginning.

I did not want to do that. While it did not bother me the first time to encounter hostility from B'Elanna, I knew it would be very distressing for me to encounter it now.

I dried myself off with a towel, and moved over to the sink counter where I cleaned my teeth and brushed out my hair until it was dry, before retrieving my padd so that I could complete my log for the day.

Now, I shall go into the bedroom and join my spouse. I do not wish to disturb her, but I do hope she wakes.

I feel decidedly in need of comforting.

[End Log]

Kathryn Janeway: Personal Log

I awoke sometime in the night, returning to consciousness abruptly as I became aware that I was not alone. However, the warm body that joined me was eminently familiar, and I welcomed the arrival of my spouse with a faint murmur of appreciation ... as always.

She wrapped her arms around me, and buried her face into the back of my neck, holding me tightly as she tucked her knees up under mine. I reached up and entwined my fingers in hers, pressing our combined hands against my chest so they would be next to my heart.

"What's wrong?" I asked softly. I cannot really pride myself on my past empathy to my partner's moods, but I am trying very hard to get better, and I do believe I am succeeding, even if it's only on a limited level. This night, there was no question in my mind that my partner was upset about something.

She sighed softly and snuggled closer. "I do not think B'Elanna wants to be my friend anymore," she said sadly.

I was startled. "What makes you say that?"

Seven hesitated which was very unlike her and I knew it had to do with something imprecise. Sure enough, she replied in a voice which was barely audible, "I sensed it."

"When?" I coaxed gently. "Why do you think this?"

She explained to me the discussion she had overheard in sickbay, as well as her own conversation with my engineer. While I was surprised by some of what she told me, I thought I had a glimmer of what might have been going on there.

"Annika," I said, reaching back to gently stroke her hip. "I don't think this is about you at all."

"No?" she said in a doubtful voice.

"No," I said firmly. "It just sounds to me that B'Elanna and Ro are ... well, working out some sort of relationship, and you just got caught in the middle."

Seven was quiet for a moment. "In the middle?"

I shifted, rolling over so I could look into her face. Her eyes were very dark in the dim illumination coming from the running light which glowed softly on the window ledge above the bed. I didn't have to see any more of her face to know she was very unhappy, and I put my arms around her, hugging her tightly.

"Darling," I offered quietly, "it sounds to me that B'Elanna was upset that she hurt Lt. Ro, and took it out on you a bit. You know that sometimes when people are angry, they sometimes display it towards people that really have nothing to do with it. Even you've done that."

"Yes," she agreed quietly. She seemed to think about it. "If B'Elanna did not want to hurt Lt. Ro, then why did she?"

That was a harder question. I shook my head. "Maybe Ro was just getting a little too close to the truth for B'Elanna's liking."

Seven thought about it for a few more moments. "I do not understand," she said finally with a resigned sigh.

"I know," I said softly. We shifted again so that I was on my back, and she was resting her head on my shoulder. I stroked her long blonde hair soothingly. "Darling, I do think that you're going to have to give up on helping Tom 'woo' B'Elanna. It's obvious she's made her mind up about that, and if you continue to pursue it, all you'll do is make her angry with you."

She stiffened slightly, stubbornly, and then seemed to relax as she accepted my point.

"What of your representation of Chakotay?" she asked silkily.

I swallowed my smile. "Don't worry, I've taken care of that," I told her, remembering the brief but to-the-point conversation my first officer and I had shortly after returning from Meuranato. "He knows it's a lost cause."

She did not respond further, but I knew she had heard me. We lay there quietly for a few moments, then I happened to glance up and see the time. 2335 hours.

"Hey," I said, nudging her a little. "It's still your birthday, darling. Would you like your gift?"

She looked up at me, her eyes brightening perceptively. "Yes." She sat up, the blanket falling away from her body. "I thought it was in your ready room, however."

"I brought it home on the off chance we'd be able to spend some time together," I told her as I rolled out of bed. I shot a look at her over my shoulder. "I want you to know that I ate three meals today and went to bed immediately after I logged off duty, so I did keep that promise for you regarding that as well."

She smiled, and I was delighted to see it chase the lingering shadows from her eyes. Going into the other room, I retrieved the large, rectangular package from the compartment under my work station, as well as a few other items I had prepared earlier, and returned with them to the bedroom. For a moment, I was caught by the sheer loveliness of my partner who was sitting up in the bed, the sheets wrapped around her hips, looking slightly mussed with her hair falling down over her shoulders and back. Sometimes I can scarcely believe that I am so fortunate to have found her. I noticed that Jake had followed me in ... unsurprising since I was juggling a large cupcake in addition to the package. He sat down on the floor by the bed, and watched everything avidly.

"What is that?" my love asked, her eyes wide as I deposited the package on the night stand, and turned my attention to the cupcake, proceeding to light the single candle jutting out from the blue frosting.

"I didn't have time for a cake, darling," I told her as I presented it to her. "That's more for the party anyway which I swear to you we shall have once things settle down a bit, but I wanted you to have this in the meantime. It's your favorite, fudge brownie, and I can go replicate some ice cream if you want."

She accepted the confection with a delighted smile, looking up at me with such a bright, blue gaze that I thought my heart would leap right out of my chest.

"Thank you, Kathryn," she said in her very formal way. "This is very special for me."

I blinked back the tears that were suddenly stinging my eyes, and returned her smile. "I'm glad," I said, unable to keep my voice from becoming husky from the emotion filling my throat. "I wanted this day to end much better than it began."

"It is," she decided. The flame danced as she held up the cake. "I am to blow this out, am I not? Just as Naomi did on her birthday?"

"After you make a wish," I reminded her, crawling up onto the bed beside her.

She offered me yet another of those glowing smiles, gave the matter serious consideration, and blew out the flame. I wanted to ask what she wished for but reminded myself that it had to remain a secret for it to come true. Then I realized what I had just thought, and decided I was getting entirely too involved with this whole birthday idea. Still, the look of such utter joy on my love's face was something I never wanted to see go away, and I leaned over to kiss her gently.

"Happy birthday, my darling," I murmured against her lips.

Her smile grew a bit mischievous. "You did not sing the song for me."

I laughed. "You don't want me to sing the song for you," I pointed out. "Unlike you, I can't carry a tune in a bucket."

She blinked, obviously considering that simile, and smiled again. "No," she said, apparently having worked it out. "You cannot." She regarded the cake. "Shall we eat this now?"

"If you'd like," I said, raising my eyebrow. I watched her closely, and she blushed.

"I would rather open my present."

"I thought you might." I grinned as I retrieved the package from the night stand. I had wrapped it in bright paper, with a pattern that was not necessarily appropriate for a woman her age, but I knew that she enjoyed bright things, and decided that propriety would just have to take a second place to the warmth and happiness in my partner's eyes at that moment.

She placed the cupcake on her night stand and accepted the gift, looking it over with badly concealed anticipation. For an instant, I worried that what was inside would not live up to her expectations, but I consoled myself with the thought that Seven would love anything I gave her because she was just that sort of person. Though, of course, what I really wanted, with all my heart, was for my gift to be absolutely the best thing she had ever received in her life.

She carefully detached the paper from its fastening points, unwrapping the present to reveal a plain, unmarked box. She shot me a look before she attempted to open the box, a glance which was a mix of great excitement and pleasure, and I was hard pressed not to laugh when she wiggled slightly, totally unconsciously. Her childlike wonder and enthusiasm for things is a constant joy for me. I pray that she never loses it.

The first thing she removed from the box was a dress, a simple summer thing of blue to match her eyes. I knew that sometimes she wished for things to wear beyond her regular biometric suits and the work outfits she needed, but because of our size difference, she's unable to wear any of my clothes. Plus, I know that she is hesitant about replicating outfits of her own, particularly something like this which is somewhat impractical ... not to mention, inefficient ... designed for the sheer joy of wearing it. It would never be anything that she would expend replicator rations on, so I did it for her.

"It is beautiful," she exclaimed, holding it up.

"So are you," I said quietly. She shot me another look, one of utter happiness and I felt the echo of it fill me as she pulled out the assorted, delicate undergarments that went with it. I admitted to myself that this was going to be as much my gift as it was hers. I couldn't wait for the day when I could see her wear it.

She drew out two smaller items, next, and wiggled some more. I did laugh this time, an amused chuckle. "Open them," I suggested.

She took the first one, putting the smaller one aside for the moment, and found the latch of the rectangular box. Her breath caught as she saw the thin gold necklace with the reddish stone and her eyes met mine, uncomprehending.

"No, it's not the same one," I explained, "but I knew you felt so bad about losing the first one on the Borg cube that I wanted to replace it for you. The rock is actually from the same planet, though it's our counterpart's Mars and not our own. I asked Johnson if she had any samples with her, and fortunately, she did, along with her own necklace, which allowed me to reproduce it exactly. The jewelry might not have the same history, darling, but it's offered with the same amount of love."

She blinked and looked down, blushing as her eyes grew shiny. "Then I accept it with the same amount of love," she said huskily. Abruptly, she reached over and hugged me tightly. I returned the hug, kissing her tenderly.

"Still one more," I reminded her quietly.

She squeezed her arms again, then released me to pick up the final part of my gift, a long, thin envelope. She opened it and drew out a slip of paper, reading it out loud.

"This entitles you to one full day of the captain's time," she read and looked at me curiously.

"I trust that you will spend it wisely," I said. "But I swear to you, Annika, when you finally use that certificate, no one and nothing is going to interrupt us on that day ... even if I have to throw away my comm badge to make sure of it."

She thought about it. "This is a wonderful gift, Kathryn."

I'm not entirely sure she understood it completely, but I think she would eventually. On that day, I promised myself that we would sit down and plan out in detail everything we needed to as a couple; from where we were going to live in the Federation, to how we were going to raise our children. Seven craved that structure, an organized plan of action to hang onto, especially out here where things were so uncertain. Perhaps, I needed it as well. I hadn't been very good at making concrete promises for the future. I thought it was time I did.

She placed all her treasures carefully on the night stand, and reached out for me, snuggling against my side.

"Thank you, Kathryn," she whispered. "This was a wonderful birthday."

"They'll only get better from here," I promised. After all, I thought ruefully, they could hardly get worse. I sighed as I thought about what a long and trying day it had been. "Don't forget, we'll have a big party for you in a week or so. In fact, I think we'll all need a party by then."

"I think so as well," she said, resting in my arms. She paused, then added in a questioning tone; "Voyager is going to change a great deal."

I nodded. "Yes. It might even alter our whole purpose. I don't know that we'll be able to afford to spend as much time on exploration as we have. Our priorities will no doubt be affected ... but that always happens when children become involved."

"Naomi did not change the ship."

"No. However, she was able to be raised within the confines of Starfleet without interfering with it. Believe me, ten more children will change that considerably. Unlike the Galaxy class vessels which are built with families in mind, and are able to separate in an emergency to protect civilians and offspring, Voyager doesn't have that option ... the whole ship will need to be restructured to provide for the children's safety and care."

She thought about this for a while. "How do you feel about it?"

Somewhat surprised, I shrugged. "I don't really have much choice in the matter." I smiled as I added, "I'll adapt."

"It is not the sort of ship you wish to command, Kahtryn."

I hesitated. "No," I admitted as I tightened my hold on her, "but there is a bright side, darling. It will give me lots of practice for when we have our own children, and need to take them with us into space."

"A logical assessment," she said and I took it for what it was, a compliment.

She rose up so that she could look into my face, her eyes searching mine for long moments.

"It will be most interesting. The immediate future, I mean."

"It will," I agreed.

It will indeed.

Personal Log Addendum

I start this morning with a certain sort of optimism and hope, perhaps because I was able to share my love's birthday with her last night. Or perhaps it is merely all the sugar from the cupcake we ate before we went to sleep amid the crumbs. All I know is that somehow, this day in space dawns a little brighter than the one before.

I can't say that the new additions to our family are expected, but they will be welcomed. Perhaps our lives work out exactly as they are supposed to in their own way and time, no matter how hard we try to control them.  This is just our time for our family's expansion to happen. Work will continue for many months on preparing for our new arrrivals, and there is a part of me that looks forward to the challenge inherent in it. I must write Mother and explain all that had happened since my last letter. I think she would find it ironic ... and amusing.

In the meantime, I think of Seven and know that she is rapidly becoming my strength here in the Delta Quadrant.  She has become so good at reading between the lines, at penetrating this facade of command I sometimes wear, and lending me a shoulder when I need it most. I have no doubt that she shall continue to do so for however long it takes for me to get Voyager home.

And, if I am very fortunate, probably for the rest of my life, as well.

The End

•  This is the 22nd installment of the Just Between Series.

• This story was written and posted near the end of July, 1999 after the end of the fifth season of Voyager and the events in Equinox.

Just Between Lessons
G. L. Dartt

Seven of Nine, astrometrics officer for the USS Voyager, strode briskly down the corridor which led to engineering. She intended to have lunch with her friend, Lt. B'Elanna Torres, regardless of what obstacle might form to prevent it. It seemed to the young woman that, lately, the chief engineer had not been as available to the young Borg as she had in the past. Of course, they were still attending their 'Starfleet Academy' classes together, but where once they had many opportunities to indulge in recreational pursuits, recently it seemed that the Klingon simply did not have time for Seven. Nor was it due to the extra duties currently involving the crew.

Seven was determined that today they would have lunch, no matter what. She entered main engineering, the heart of the starship, feeling the throb of the warp core vibrate subtly through her feet as she walked across the deck. Her eyes scanned the area restlessly, seeking out the stocky form of her friend.

Not far away, Ensign Vorik, the young Vulcan male with the elegantly pointed ears, lifted his head.

"If you are looking for Lt. Torres, she is in Jeffries tube ten," he offered in his polite, even tones.

"Thank you," she said gratefully and turned around. She must have just missed B'Elanna.

A turbolift journey later, she discovered her friend, not in the Jeffries tube as she had expected, but outside the juncture, near the armory. Standing next to her, Lt. Ro Laren was talking quietly with the engineer. The tall, willowy Bajoran was supervising the weekly inventory of the compression phaser rifles, and Seven was hesitant as she approached. She had wanted to take the opportunity to apologize to B'Elanna for any misunderstandings they had been experiencing, but she didn't feel she could while the other woman was present.

"Hello, Seven," Ro greeted politely.

"Hey, Seven," B'Elanna noted with less enthusiasm.

Seven thought that was because the Klingon was afraid she was going to press the case for Lt. Paris in an attempt to reunite the ex-lovers. That was the other thing Seven wished to explain to her friend. She had spoken to the fair-haired helmsman, and had been released from her promise to assist him in 'wooing' B'Elanna.

She dipped her head at Ro, in recognition of her greeting, and looked directly at B'Elanna.

"I wish to share lunch with you," she said. "If that is agreeable."

B'Elanna's face darkened slightly, though the Borg did not know why.

"Actually, Seven, I just asked Laren to go to lunch with me," the Klingon said with a bit of discomfort.

Seven blinked. "Ah," she said, which was a sound she had developed when she wasn't sure how to respond. It seemed a more acceptable response somehow, than her normal blank stare. She was disappointed that she had been too late, yet a part of her wondered if B'Elanna shared her regret.

Ro looked at both women, a faint smile on her fine-boned features as she raised an eyebrow.

"Why don't we all go to lunch together?" she suggested evenly.

She glanced at Seven and to the Borg's surprise, abruptly took her arm, nudging her toward the turbolift. Somewhat charmed, Seven allowed herself to be guided by the Bajoran, not noticing the displeased glower on the face of the Klingon who trudged after them.

The messhall, which was the center of community for the starship, was fairly crowded with the lunch break for the alpha shift in full swing. Seven saw that Harry Kim, and his new bride, Megan Delaney, were off in the corner, sharing a bite before returning to their duties. Lt. Paris was with them and Seven noted that the young helmsman did not even look over as the trio of women entered. She hoped this meant he was finally and truly over the chief engineer.

Seven and her companions stopped by the big food replicators which dominated one wall of the large room, and made their selections, taking the trays which materialized over to a free table, which had just been vacated by four crewmembers from geometrics. Seven had chosen a chicken salad, along with a glass of apple juice, while Ro had replicated a Bajoran dish that the Borg did not recognize. Seven was surprised when B'Elanna repeated that selection for herself. The young woman hadn't even known the Klingon liked Bajoran food, but it was one more clue in the puzzle she was slowly starting to piece together.

The Borg regarded Ro curiously as they sat down. The last few months had thrown the two women together in a variety of situations, mostly away missions, and that had allowed her to get to know the slender Bajoran a bit better. However, Seven had been astounded to discover that the woman had been hiding her true identity beneath a sullen, withdrawn cover, that the Maquis had actually been a former Starfleet officer. In a cavern on a planet light-years back, the secret was revealed, and now that Janeway had reinstated Ro's commission, it seemed that the woman was finally able to show herself for the competent, accomplished officer she was capable of being. In fact, Tuvok had promoted Ro to his second in command the previous week, and the Maquis insignia on the Bajoran's collar had been replaced by the two gold pips of a Starfleet senior lieutenant.

"How are things in astrometrics?" she asked the Borg.

Seven blinked, glanced at B'Elanna who was frowning faintly at her, and raised an eyebrow. "Functional," she responded.

"Good," Ro replied. She glanced at B'Elanna herself, smiled faintly again, then began to eat.

Bemused, Seven tentatively prodded her salad, acutely aware of the somewhat uncomfortable silence which fell over them. B'Elanna finally piped up with her own question to Seven, regarding her friend with a somewhat suspect attentiveness.

"What's the status on your end of Operation Newborn?"

Recently, a virus which had spread through the crew had resulted in several unexpected and unplanned pregnancies, with possibly ten new offspring being added to the ship within four more months. Everyone in the crew was working feverishly to prepare the ship, in addition to their regular duties, and it made for long shifts. Seven, along with a portion of the biometrics department, had been assigned to transform cargo bay two into a 'park' for the newcomers.

"We are proceeding at a satisfactory rate," Seven responded evenly. "The equipment has been fully installed, and now it is merely a matter of waiting for the plants to grow. In the meantime, I am assisting in the power grid requirements on deck two."

"I never would have pegged you as a gardener, Seven," Ro remarked.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "It is more Ensign Wildman who is directing the project," she admitted. "I am merely structuring and installing the power systems needed for the hydroponics aspect of the area."

"But you are doing all the technical work, right?" Ro offered. "To make this planned park an actuality?"

"Yes," Seven responded. The Borg wondered why the two women were directing their inquiries to her when it was becoming increasingly clear that they would rather be speaking to each other. She fixed her gaze on them, making sure she had their complete attention. "Explain."

Ro blinked. "Excuse me?"

B'Elanna, far more familiar with Seven, looked alarmed.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "You both prefer to be with each other," she said. "I am intruding. Yet Lt. Ro, you insisted on bringing me along to this lunch. Why?"

B'Elanna closed her eyes while Ro attempted a confused expression, then allowed a slightly sheepish look to cross her face.

"She is very honest, isn't she?" the Bajoran noted ruefully to the chief engineer.

"Always," B'Elanna said gloomily. "Not much gets past her."

Seven waited patiently through the short pause that followed.

"I like Laren," B'Elanna finally mumbled. "A lot."

"You wish her to be your friend now rather than me," Seven said calmly, though she felt far less than calm inside.

B'Elanna seemed astonished. "No, Seven. Where did you get that idea?" she said.

Ro glanced at her. "Perhaps by the way you've been so rude to her lately?" she suggested, arching a thin, dark brow.

B'Elanna frowned, regarding the Bajoran with some confusion, then she looked at Seven.

"Have I been rude to you?" she asked, her features baffled.

Seven hesitated. "It has seemed that you no longer wish to be my friend," she admitted finally.

B'Elanna looked down at the table, suddenly embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Seven," she said in a low voice. "I didn't mean to. I just ... you were really aggravating me so much with the Paris thing."

Seven nodded. "Yes, I see that now," she said regretfully. "I did not mean to annoy you. I was attempting to help you both." She paused. "I do not wish you to be lonely, B'Elanna."

"I can handle my own love life," B'Elanna stated, obviously aggravated, though whether that was from the actual wish from the Borg about her state of existence, or the fact that Seven had said it in front of someone else.

There was an elegant little snort from the direction of Lt. Ro. B'Elanna ignored it.

"I understand," Seven said, gratified that they seemed to be making peace. "I have spoken to Lt. Paris, and am no longer representing him in this manner. I am sorry, B'Elanna."

The Klingon waved it off. "That's okay," she mumbled.

Ro looked at them both sardonically. "Now that you have that settled, can we finish our lunch?" she said dryly.

Seven glanced at her. "Is that why you invited me?" she asked. "So that B'Elanna and I could make amends?"

"Partially," Ro allowed, developing a sudden interest in her meal.

Seven waited but nothing more was forthcoming from the reticent Bajoran, and she found herself exchanging looks with B'Elanna. Together, both of them turned to stare pointedly at Ro until the woman literally began to twitch under their scrutiny.

"What?" she demanded finally, raising her dark eyes to glare at them both.

"You said 'partially'," B'Elanna said. "What's the other part?"

"You don't want to know," the Bajoran tried.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "If that were the case, then why respond with a less than precise response to my previous question?"

Ro frowned.

"All right, if honesty is the mode of the day," she allowed slowly. She turned to B'Elanna. "Frankly, you've been pushing me a little hard lately. I thought bringing Seven along would temper you a little, make you back off a bit."

Seven was intrigued by this statement which she did not entirely understand, but the sudden flush which sent the blood darkening B'Elanna's cheekbones let her know the Klingon certainly did.

"Do you really think you need a body guard?" Torres asked defensively, her dark eyes centered on Ro. "I thought Bajoran women were supposed to be passionate."

"We are," Ro responded with outrage. "But we liked to be romanced a little, not stalked like prey."

B'Elanna blinked at her. "Romanced? You mean, with flowers or something?" she said with confusion.

Ro nodded. "That would be nice," she noted with a certain amount of asperity. "At least that would show you're interested in more than just my body."

"Well, you haven't sent me flowers either," B'Elanna retorted. "You never ask me out. It's always me asking you."

Fascinated, Seven spent the rest of the lunch break learning about how Klingons and Bajorans established their territorial boundaries when it came to romance, gratified that she had somehow managed to get them discussing it. Because it was apparent that they had both been flailing around using the trial and error method prior to her intervention.

Captain Kathryn Janeway stirred as a steady noise penetrated the drowsy warmth of her slumber. She made a tiny noise of mild protest in her throat and stretched, her eyes still closed as she rolled over, her hand automatically reaching out to seek out a lean, lanky body next to her, only to find smooth sheets instead. It took a moment for her sleep-clouded mind to identify where, and what, the noise which had awakened her originated from. It was a song, sung in the clear, sweet, low voice of her partner.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,
You make me happy when skies are gray.
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you,
Please, don't take my sunshine away."

Janeway smiled faintly, and listened as she dozed in the warm sheets, enjoying the obvious contentment of her partner. She couldn't remember ever hearing Seven sing to herself like that before. Clearly, Seven had advanced enough in her progression to Humanity to do something so idle, so illogical, so uniquely Human as to sing just for the sheer joy of singing.

The third time Seven repeated the song, however, Janeway was less enthused with her partner's growth as a Human being, and was wondering if the woman knew any other songs. The sixth time Seven swung into the opening stanza of You Are My Sunshine, Janeway was compelled to sit up.

"Annika?" she said, carefully keeping her voice even.

The singing stopped abruptly. "Yes, Kathryn," Seven replied.

"Could you possibly sing a different song?" Janeway asked.

"Yes, Kathryn," Seven responded agreeably. Immediately, she began the standard Starfleet funeral dirge, Amazing Grace.

Janeway winced. Though Seven's version was lovely, she knew exactly where her partner had picked that one up. All the recent memorial services the captain had been required to perform for deceased crewmembers, had ended with that hymn being sung as the torpedo casing containing the body was slowly loaded into the tube, and fired into the nearest star.

"Annika," she said.

"Yes, Kathryn," Seven replied, aborting her song.

"Can you sing something else, please?"

Seven paused. "I only know those two songs," she responded.

Janeway blinked. "What about those songs you sang in the holodeck during the Hirogen incident," she said. "The one where you were a lounge singer?"

"I have no memory of actually being a lounge singer, Kathryn," Seven responded. She hesitated. "And none of the songs in their entirety. How do you remember them?"

Janeway thought about it for a moment, and finally realized she had viewed ship logs pertaining to that time not long after the Hirogen had been cleared off her ship. It was shortly before she and Seven had become intimately involved, and the captain remembered how, in her quarters late at night, she would often replay the recording where Seven was in the slinky silver dress, warbling old World War II songs. She must have forgotten to tell her spouse that one.

"Uh, from when I checked the logs," she said, blushing. "In any event, could you learn some different songs? Just for the sake of variety?"

"Very well," Seven said.

There was another pause as Janeway heard her partner's footsteps cross the room, then quiet beeps and clicks sounded as Seven accessed her work console. Janeway stifled a sigh and lay back down, shutting her eyes once more. This was the first off duty rotation she had experienced in some time, and she was determined to enjoy it to the fullest. She snuggled down into the linens, and felt herself start to drift off once more.

She was abruptly jolted awake as Seven began singing at the top of her lungs ... as her research undoubtedly suggested she do for this particular tune ... the unmistakable lyrics to the Starfleet Academy ditty, What do You do with a Drunken Vulcan? Janeway had no idea what would possess Seven to choose that one, but she knew she didn't like it.

"Seven!" Janeway shouted to be heard over the words Seven was lustily belting out.

Silence.

"Yes, Kathryn?" Polite, infinitely patient, completely tolerant of her partner's unfathomable moods upon waking up.

Janeway sighed again, thinking hard.

"Why don't you find a quieter song?" she suggested.

Seven suddenly appeared in the doorway, regarding her partner with a puzzled expression. To Janeway's surprise, the Borg was dressed in a Starfleet issued t-shirt that was a bit too small, and baggy, thigh-length shorts. Her feet were bare, her hair was down, and she looked absolutely adorable. Janeway had assumed that Seven was on duty, and had only stopped by the quarters for a brief time. To see her like this meant that she was not on duty at all, a fact which made Janeway's heart pound pleasantly.

"Perhaps you have a specific request?" Seven asked, tilting her head as she studied her partner.

Janeway smiled suddenly with what she hoped was obvious, sensual interest. "Darling, there's a song you sing so well," she offered, patting the mattress beside her invitingly. "And so loudly." That was actually a fallacy. Of the two women, Janeway was far more vocal and expressive while experiencing pleasure. The captain offered her best come hither expression, dropping her voice to a husky trill. "I love hearing it so much."

"Which is?" Seven asked, not budging as she raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

Janeway leaned back on the pillows, allowing the sheet to slip down until her torso was fully exposed. "The one that involves singing my name over and over until you can't quite verbalize it anymore," she offered lazily.

Seven looked mildly intrigued by this, but the captain realized she was going to have to work a lot harder than that to entice the Borg back to bed during what was essentially the late morning. A quick glance at the chronometer by the captain confirmed that it was already 1135 hours, almost time for lunch, and no doubt Seven was already making preparations. Janeway feigned a look of sadness.

"Of course, if you don't want to make love to me, what about a kiss good morning?" she offered in her most pathetic tone. "At least."

Seven immediately moved toward her, frowning faintly. "I did not mean to imply that I did not want to make love to you," she said contritely.

Janeway, for whom getting Seven on the bed was the first step to getting her in the bed, moved over to make room as Seven sat down on the edge of the mattress beside her.

"I was just teasing," the captain told her honestly, sliding her arms around her partner's neck. "I was hoping it would get you over here."

"Ah," Seven said. She considered it. "It was efficient," she added with a certain amount of approval.

Janeway quirked an eyebrow. "Now that I have you, I'm not apt to let you go," she warned.

"I am not resisting," Seven pointed out quite logically as she snugged her arms around Janeway's reclining form, the couple sinking down onto the sheets with the Borg half lying on top of the captain. Janeway welcomed the young woman's weight, pulling her down even further, accepting the sweet touch of Seven's lips against her own gratefully.

"I have missed you so much," she murmured between the lovely, slow, melting kisses.

"I have been on the ship," Seven responded, nibbling gently at Janeway's bottom lip. "We see each other often."

Janeway smiled sadly, the emotion real this time. "I know, but that's in a professional capacity, and it's not the same," she said softly. "Between the new ship operation, and your classes, and our double shifts, you're usually going out the door while I'm coming in. I'm often asleep when you do get in for the night, and when I wake up, you're already gone. I miss being with you." A sudden qualm hit her. "You miss that too, don't you?"

"Of course," Seven said positively. "That is why I switched with Ensign Delaney so that I could share this off duty rotation with you."

The realization made Janeway's heart melt. "You did?"

"Yes," Seven said. "I wanted to spend the day with you." She favored the captain with a tender, loving look. "I have missed you very much as well, Kathryn."

"I wish I'd known," Janeway said ruefully. "I wouldn't have slept in so long."

Seven shook her head. "You do not have the opportunity to do so, often," Seven said gently. "Nor did I have any intention of waking you. I am sorry if my singing disturbed you. I did not even realize I was singing, until you spoke."

"You never disturb me," Janeway assured her. "Except in the way I love to be disturbed."

She relaxed as Seven kissed her again, and then again, filling her senses with the young woman's taste and touch. She was acutely aware of the bedding between them as well as Seven's clothes, and she ran her hands down her partner's sides, seeking the hem of the shirt and tugging on it.

"Where did you get this?" she asked as Seven drew back, allowing Janeway to pull the garment over her head.

"This is one of your t-shirts," Seven told her. "I replicated the shorts for our honeymoon, but I did not think to wear them outside the holodeck and the beach setting until now. It seemed inappropriate."

"Why was it inappropriate?" Janeway asked, helping her partner wiggle out of the shorts, the clothes discarded casually on the floor.

"I could not decide finally," Seven admitted. "That is why I decided to wear them today rather than my biometric outfit. I was just very tired of wearing my suits, particularly since I have been on duty so much lately."

"Well, I like you in these clothes," Janeway told her sincerely. "You look very sexy wearing them."

"'Sexy'?" Seven quirked a quizzical eyebrow.

"Desirable," Janeway elaborated.

"I do?" Seven responded, clearly surprised.

"Of course," Janeway pointed out as the Borg slipped between the sheets with her, "you look desirable in everything."

"That is because you are insatiable," Seven said in a serious tone.

Janeway smiled. "Do you know what that word really means, Seven?" she asked as she was enfolded into the strong, slender arms, her body pressing sweetly against smooth, silken skin. She inhaled deeply, basking in the warmth and scent of her spouse.

"It means you cannot get enough sex," Seven replied as her hands moved lazily over the captain's body.

"Yes, but it's not an accurate term for me, Annika," Janeway said. "You're the one I can't get enough of, not sex. I lived quite nicely without sex for five years." She reconsidered and added with a crooked grin, "Well, maybe not 'nicely', but I managed."

"Oh," Seven said. She blinked and looked at her partner. "Thank you for clarifying that." She hesitated. "I have wondered on occasion what you did prior to our becoming involved. You did not even have an accessory."

Janeway laughed out loud. "I tried hard not to think about it very often," she admitted in a voice heavy with humor. "When I absolutely couldn't help myself, let's just say I took matters into my own hands."

Seven considered that, enlightenment slowly dawning in her pale eyes. "Indeed?" she said, in a rather odd tone.

Intrigued by the expression, Janeway studied her. "Does that ... bother you for some reason?" she asked, a grin quirking the corners of her mouth.

Seven shook her head briefly. "No," she said. "However, I did not consider you to be so ... self sustaining."

Janeway smirked. "That's a nice way of putting it," she said.

"Thank you," Seven remarked. She looked pensive. "I have never ... pleasured myself. At least, not without you watching, which takes away from the solitary aspect of it. You mentioned that it is not as pleasurable as when two people are together."

"It's not as wonderful as when we're together," Janeway corrected. "However, it can be ... quite pleasant otherwise."

The captain wondered, not for the first time, how she managed to get into these conversations with her spouse. She had learned over time not to give Seven too much information at once, limiting her response to just what the Borg was specifically inquiring about at that particular moment, rather than leading her spouse down confusing paths, but it was still a discomforting experience on occasion. Janeway suspected it would be good training for when the children arrived. Knowing how to answer painfully honest, and potentially embarrassing questions would be a very useful skill to have.

"Have you ... pleasured yourself in the past month when we have been unable to be together?" Seven asked curiously.

Janeway shook her head. "No, I'm usually too tired to even think about it when I drop into bed," she responded evenly. Heavens, where was this coming from? She thought about it, and the glimmering of an idea wafted across her mind. "Have you been wanting to masturbate, darling?"

Seven looked vaguely relieved that Janeway had guessed, rather than her having to admit it. "Yes," she said softly. "A week ago, when you were working the back shift in the central safe haven, and I was home alone."

"Ah," Janeway said. "But, you didn't?"

"I did not know how," Seven said with some embarrassment. "I attempted to utilize the wonder wand as you showed me, but it did not feel the same as when you watched me and as a result, I found the experience ... inadequate."

"Oh dear," Janeway sighed. When would she learn to explain things right? And why did Seven have to be the one that always paid for her lack of foresight? "Annika, there are other ways to pleasure yourself. I'm sorry I didn't make that clear ... and I'm sorry I didn't show you how to ... take care of this when you need to." She hesitated, then stroked Seven's cheek tenderly. "Would you like me to teach you now?"

Seven tilted her head, her pale eyes alight as she considered it.

"No," she replied finally. A smile curved her full lips. "A solitary pursuit is not what interests me at this moment."

Janeway laughed, a husky, full-bodied laugh. "I'm certainly not going to object," she said, wrapping her arms tightly around Seven. "But I will teach you soon."

"That would be acceptable," Seven allowed as her hands gently stroked her partner, nuzzling the warm line of Janeway's neck. "For now, however, I just want to be with you."

There were so many things she wanted to do with Kathryn at the moment, but the sheer variety of possible pleasures stymied her and all she could do was caress and kiss Janeway with slow desire, luxuriating in the joy of being with her spouse, concentrating on this moment of existing with all she was. Kathryn seemed to sense what she was feeling, and her caresses were light and loving as well, almost as if she were familiarizing herself with Seven's body again rather than attempting to deliberately arouse her ... though Seven was certainly being aroused.

"Mmm, Annika," Janeway offered after several long, glorious moments had passed.

"Yes, Kathryn?" Seven whispered, nibbling at the captain's ear.

"I've been doing a little research myself," Janeway murmured. "Just for the sake of variety."

"Indeed?" Seven was intrigued.

Janeway shifted, nudging Seven onto her back, and rolling over on top of her, looking down into her eyes with a gaze of pure sapphire.

"Oh, yes," the captain said, the white flash of teeth appearing briefly. She captured Seven's full bottom lip between her own, sucking lightly at it before releasing her to smile once more. "I'm not sure it'll work, but I want to try it anyway."

"I am always willing to try new things, Kathryn," Seven noted.

"That's one of the things I adore about you, my darling," Janeway responded before kissing her again. She nibbled her way down the Borg's chest to her full breasts, tasting the tender flesh with loving intensity.

Seven inhaled deeply, and lolled on the sheets, deliberately relaxing as she allowed her spouse to pleasure her, knowing that Kathryn would get to what she was intending at her own pace. Any attempt to hurry her would trigger the captain's natural contrariness, and she would become even slower, teasing ... Seven did not wish to be teased today. She placed her left hand around the metal bar embedded in the headboard, and used her other to gently stroke Janeway's hair and face, trailing her fingers over the captain's temple and down her cheek. Janeway paused briefly to kiss each fingertip before returning her attentions to Seven's nipples, sending tingles of delight through the young woman. Seven felt her breathing deepen, her heart rate rising accordingly, and when Janeway trailed down over her belly, she flexed her knees, anticipating the touch of Kathryn's mouth on her most intimate regions.

But Janeway surprised her, drawing away to wrap her arm around Seven's leg, pulling it against her belly as she hooked her own leg over the Borg's other thigh. Bemused by the positioning Janeway was arranging them into, Seven opened her eyes and watched as Janeway attempted to fit them together, abruptly jolted by the sensation of her partner's wetness being pressed against her own.

"Kathryn," Seven breathed, astounded.

"Does that feel good?" Janeway asked, her voice husky and deep, her eyes lidded as she undulated against Seven.

"More than good," Seven said, finding it hard to breathe. "It is ... wonderful."

Janeway smiled sensually, her gaze capturing Seven's, watching intently as the delicate, maddening sensations rippled through them both. Seven stared back, captured by the intensity of that look, smoldering, desiring; making it clear exactly who Kathryn wanted with every fibre of her being.

"You know," Janeway murmured after a few moments, her voice low and unsteady, "I want to go faster, but I think that would be the wrong thing to do."

Seven considered it, even though she found it incredibly difficult to think clearly. "Yes, slow is better," she replied, swallowing against a mouth going dry from her attempts to get more air into her lungs. "Too fast risks losing this contact."

"We don't want to do that," Janeway agreed reverently, hugging Seven's leg tightly to her stomach in what was obviously an attempt to control her passion, tempering her motion, keeping it steady and erotically slow.

Seven felt dizzy, the heat of Kathryn sliding against her, sending tremors through her body, the Borg shivering as she felt the hard nodule of her partner rub over her own, the woman's wetness seeming to trickle inside her. The Borg was being opened up by this incredibly intimate touch, her internal muscles squeezing rhythmically as she tried to draw more of Kathryn's essence inside her, and she moaned audibly as the sensation steadily built within her. The moist, warm pressure against her own made her feel as if every nerve ending was being stimulated, and she moved her hips in perfect counterpoint to Janeway, their connection falling into a smooth, slow rhythm that was beyond delight. Then Janeway abruptly shuddered, almost as if her climax had caught her by surprise, a sound of pure ecstasy issuing from her throat, and she reached out, putting her hand over Seven's left breast, squeezing even as she clutched Seven's leg against her belly with her other arm. Seven could feel her partner's opening flutter against her own, the soft rush of additional moisture which covered her, filled her, and it was enough to trigger her own climax, her hips surging up to Janeway, seeking even more contact until finally their pleasure ebbed, and Kathryn toppled over, collapsing softly into Seven's waiting embrace.

They lay pressed together, kissing deeply and sweetly, the gentle aftershocks rippling through each of them at different times. Then Janeway made an abbreviated sound of pleasure and satisfaction, swallowing audibly as she drew her head back to look down at her partner.

"Interesting," she managed quietly.

"I believe," Seven said slowly, "that I rather enjoy the results of your research. Please continue it in the future."

Janeway laughed huskily and kissed her again. "I shall," she promised.

They snuggled into the warm nest in the center of their bed, drawing up the blankets and sheets which had been tossed askew as they made love, pulling them around each other. Janeway huddled within the circle of Seven's arms, kissing the young woman's chin and lips softly, tenderly.

"Did Jennifer mind switching shifts with you, darling?" she asked finally, after basking lazily for long moments in the pleasant afterglow.

"No," Seven responded. She hesitated, then raised an eyebrow. "She has seemed somewhat ... unlike herself since her sister transferred out of astrometrics. Also, the marriage of Megan to Harry Kim was apparently displeasing to her. I believe she had romantic designs on the lieutenant herself."

"You make her sound predatory, Annika," Janeway noted with amusement.

Seven considered it. "There does seem to be a measure of that in romance," she said thoughtfully. "I was at lunch with B'Elanna and Laren yesterday, and they did appear to be defining their territorial boundaries for future romantic interaction."

"Ro and Torres?" Janeway said with some surprise. "I knew they were attempting to figure out where they stood with each other, but I believed it had to do with the fact that Ro was Starfleet, which she hadn't revealed to B'Elanna or Chakotay when she was in their Maquis cell. I thought it to be more a matter of finding a way to work together now ... it never occurred to me that they would become romantically involved."

"I believe that is their intent," Seven said. She idly ran her fingertips over Janeway's collarbone, tracing the hard ridge as her eyes followed without really seeing it. "B'Elanna has stated on more than one occasion, that her intent is to take a female lover. Ro expresses a less eager opinion, yet at the same time, she does not seem entirely adverse to the idea." She paused, face pensive as she thought about it some more. "B'Elanna thinks that she is pursuing Laren, but I believe that is an incorrect assumption on her part."

Janeway was regarding her with amusement. "Yes?" she coaxed.

Seven focused on her partner's gaze and blushed faintly. "Yes," she said, a brief smile touching her lips as well. "Bajoran women are reputed to be very passionate and aggressive, almost as much as Klingon women ... I do not think B'Elanna is aware that Laren is only leading her to where she wants her to be. B'Elanna is used to pursuing males, not females. It is a subtle but definite distinction."

"I know," Janeway noted dryly. "I had to chase you until you let me catch you."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "On the contrary," she responded. "I believe you allowed me to make all the aggressive moves until you were ready to be caught. In truth, the power of whether this relationship occurred or not has always resided with you."

Janeway chuckled and shifted, rolling onto her back as she ran her hand over her face. "Maybe you're right," she muttered. She smiled again. "Though it hasn't always rested with me."

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "That is correct," she said with some surprise as she considered it further. "Just after you lost your memories, and you were 'wooing' me, the choice of whether to allow you to succeed or not was mine." She tilted her head. "Interesting."

Janeway reached over and patted the Borg lovingly on the belly. "Darling, don't analyze this too much," she suggested. "You'll only drive yourself crazy." She stretched energetically, and glanced over at Seven with a grin. "I don't suppose I could interest you in lunch?"

"Ah," Seven noted dryly. "Sleep, sex and food. Your day is complete."

Janeway laughed out loud, and rolled to her feet. "Come on," she said, reaching back to snag Seven's hand. "Let's shower and see what the rest of our off duty rotation brings."

Seven did not resist, allowing her partner to pull her out of bed. She followed the captain into the ensuite where Janeway activated the shower jets, producing a triple spray of needle fine water which they moved under with luxurious enjoyment. They played for a while, then made love again beneath the warm cascade, and finally managed to get themselves clean amid the caresses and soap suds and lather.

Seven retrieved her clothes from the bedroom, recycling them through the replicator before pulling them back on. Janeway followed her lead by finding a pair of colorful shorts, and a brief tank top in a compartment in the closet where the clothes had been stored for months. The last time the couple had worn the casual garments was during their honeymoon on the holodeck, in a simulation of a Caribbean island. The sight of her partner in the breif garments brought back good memories for Seven, and she smiled as she went out to the living area to prepare lunch. Inspired, she made a seafood salad with rolls, and a light sherbet to complete the meal.

Janeway checked her work console to see what was going on in her absence, spoke briefly with Chakotay, and then rushed to set the table as Seven carried over the meal. Their lunch was pleasant, the conversation inconsequential but stimulating, and Seven decided this was one of the better days they had experienced in a while. Sometimes, what was truly important got lost in the adventures and missions they had to deal with in this journey back to the Alpha Quadrant. Seven was determined to appreciate this brief period of 'no demands' upon them to its fullest.

After cleaning up, they retrieved some wine, and curled up together on the couch, Seven sitting in one corner as Janeway stretched out on the cushions, leaning against the Borg comfortably. Jake, their Irish Setter, curled up on the floor next to them, napping as they sipped their wine, and listened to the soft sound of the music Janeway had selected.

"You know, darling," the captain remarked at one point. "I'm really enjoying myself."

Seven brushed her lips over Janeway's hair. "I am, as well, Kathryn," she agreed. "We seem to have little opportunity for such moments lately."

Janeway leaned her head back on the Borg's shoulder, smiling faintly. "I know," she said. "Being married has taught me a good lesson, love. The value of relaxing makes me a better captain, and allows me to be a better person as well. I used to believe that I had to be on the go all the time, that spare time meant I should be working out, or playing Velocity, or just doing something."

"We are doing something," Seven pointed out. "We are drinking wine and listening to music."

"Agreed," Janeway noted. "But I never liked what I considered 'just sitting around' ... at least, not until I met you. You've allowed me to understand that taking time to enjoy existence is something to be cherished ... that life is sometimes better lived by recognizing the moment, rather than attempting to always fill it." She paused, chuckling a bit. "Am I making any sense?"

"You are making perfect sense," Seven assured her, hugging her tenderly. "I too, had a need to fill every moment with some activity, particularly after being severed from the Collective. It took me time to comprehend that taking those opportunities to be still, allows me to listen to myself, allows me to listen to 'Annika Hansen'. I need to hear that voice, and what it has to tell me." She considered it. "I believe Tuvok would describe this as meditation, but perhaps all he really means is that we need to take time to connect with ourselves on occasion."

"I will admit, being with you like this beats any meditation technique I've ever tried," Janeway allowed. She reached up with her hand and placed it gently against Seven's cheek. "I love you, my darling."

Seven turned her head to kiss the warm palm. "You make my life complete, Kathryn," she said sincerely.

Janeway smiled again, closing her eyes, and for the rest of the afternoon, they relaxed in their quarters, shutting out the rest of the universe for just a few hours more.

Janeway ruffled the hair on Jake's belly as he rolled over on his back, his jaws split in an ecstatic grin of pleasure, tongue lolling pink out of the side of his mouth. The captain was listening to her partner get ready in the bedroom, and she mused over how their lives had changed in just the short time since their wedding, and how they would continue to change over the next few months. She looked up as Seven finally came out, dressed in her blue and grey biometric outfit, and her hair tied tightly back, several padds in her hands.

"What time do you think you'll be back?" Janeway asked curiously.

"Our class usually terminates at 2200 hours," Seven said, then hesitated before adding, "However, the students tend to meet afterward in the messhall to discuss what we have learned." She regarded Janeway with dark eyes. "I will come straight back instead," she said intently. "I do not want us to be apart. In fact, if you wish, I will not go to class this evening."

Janeway smiled, and leaned back against the couch, reaching out a hand to beckon her partner to join her, which Seven did, stepping over Jake who had remained on his back, clearly hoping for more attention. The Borg settled next to the captain and looked at her inquiringly.

"I want you to go to class, darling," Janeway said, pulling her leg up under her as she turned to study her partner intently. "If you want to go to the messhall with your classmates later, then I think you should."

"I would rather be with you," Seven insisted, slipping her arm along the back of the couch, her padds resting on her lap as she angled her body toward her spouse. "I love you."

"I absolutely know that, darling," Janeway said, resting her hand on Seven's forearm, "You should understand, however, that while you don't have the chance to go to the real Starfleet Academy, or the Daystrom Institute, or any of the other varied institutions of higher learning in the Alpha Quadrant, these evening classes with Tuvok, the Doctor, and Chakotay, can provide you with something similiar. I want you to be able to get as much out of the experience as you can. That's part of why I was so pleased when you agreed to do this."

Seven tilted her head. "Explain," she requested.

Janeway squeezed her hand gently, feeling the fine muscle and bone of Seven's arm beneath her palm. "The Academy is more than just sitting in the classroom learning new things, Annika," she said seriously. "It's an entire social experience, the opportunity to grow in ways that are unique to this situation. Getting together with your fellow students outside of the classroom is part of it as well. It teaches you how to interact with others who might not necessarily hold the same galactic view as you do."

"I have experienced that since I came on board Voyager," Seven pointed out, somewhat dryly.

Janeway smiled. "I know, but truthfully, darling, you don't interact with many people on a regular basis," she said. "The senior staff, yes. Naomi, of course, and Neelix a little bit, but I've noticed that there is a large area of the ship which you simply have no need to come in contact with in your everyday routine. The Philosophy and Ethics classes have changed that. I was surprised at how many people have started going to them, but pleased to see that most are from the gamma shift and lower deck stations. Getting to know them better can only benefit you."

Seven's face was placid, obviously considering this. "I admit, I have been surprised by a great deal of what goes on in these classes, even in the short period of time I have been attending," she said. She paused, then offered Janeway a glance from beneath lowered lashes. "Some of which has made me question certain things," she added uncertainly.

Janeway quirked an eyebrow. "I'm sure it has," she said diplomatically, trying not to smile. "That is, after all, what they're for."

Seven blinked. "It occurs to me that possibly, Starfleet is not the path for me," she admitted quietly, after a moment. She added hastily, "I am not saying that it is not, but ... there is much to learn. Far more than I anticipated."

Janeway reached out and touched Seven's cheek. "That is also what they are for," she said quietly. "Annika, I was thrilled and honored that you wished to be in Starfleet, but I also know it is not an easy career choice. In fact, it's more than a career, it's a way of life. You've already seen that to a certain extent, just from being with me. That's why I wanted you to take these classes, so that you would know exactly what you're getting into. I don't want you to join Starfleet simply because you feel it's a more efficient way for you to function. I want you to do it because it's the 'right' way for you to function. Does that make sense?"

Seven nodded. "It does," she said. "It would not have only a month ago, prior to my start of classes, but now I believe I partially understand what you are saying." She reached up and took Janeway's hand in her own, entwining her fingers in them. "There is a great deal that remains unknown to me."

"Welcome to the club," Janeway offered, with a crooked grin.

Seven's eyes unfocused a little as she deciphered that, but they quickly sharpened and the captain knew the Borg had either figured it out or decided to let it go for the moment.

"Sometimes I find that the discussions certain of my classmates and I have afterward are more enlightening than what occurs in the actual class," the young woman ventured slowly.

"They can be," Janeway agreed. She leaned forward and kissed Seven gently. "That's why you should go to the messhall if you want, after class. I promise you, I won't mind."

Seven sighed. "But you were correct earlier today," she said. "We have had so little time together lately. I miss being with you."

A wistful expression crossed Janeway's face. "I miss being with you, as well, darling," she said. "We have to remember that we're just settling into a new reality, Annika. Not just us, but the entire ship, and the transition period we're undergoing makes things seem a bit uncertain. We'll find a routine again. It may take some time but, once we adapt to everything, your classes will become a part of our daily life. I want you to understand that just because they don't really include me, it doesn't mean that I resent or don't like you taking this opportunity. On the contrary, I truly want you to grant the same attention to this that you do everything else. I promise to let you know if I think we're neglecting each other. You have to promise the same."

"I will," Seven said gravely.

"If that happens, we'll figure out a way to adjust further," Janeway added. "I'm glad that we're able to develop interests and pursuits outside our marriage, Annika. It's an important way to supplement our lives and make them better."

Seven nodded. "I believe you are correct," she said. She paused. "Are you going to develop an interest beyond the ship and our marriage?" she asked curiously. "While I am at class?"

Janeway laughed. "I hadn't thought about it," she admitted.

Seven raised an eyebrow, her ocular implant glinting grey in the subdued light. "What do you intend to do this evening while I am gone?"

"Ah," Janeway said, understanding now. "Jake and I are going for a long stroll around the ship. Then, I'm going to come back here and read a book I've been promising myself to start for months now."

Seven abruptly leaned forward and kissed Janeway, her full lips incredibly soft on the captain's. "I will come home directly after class," she promised. "Just for tonight. I want for you to be able to fall asleep in my arms."

Janeway felt warmth suffuse her entire body. "Thank you, love," she said softly. "I'll wait up for you. I want you know that today was wonderful. Thank you for switching duty shifts with Ensign Delaney."

"You are welcome," Seven said, her pale eyes alight with pleasure. Janeway felt the Borg pull her close and they kissed again, lingering over it.

"You're going to be late for class," Janeway warned when they finally parted. "If you don't leave now."

"Yes," Seven agreed reluctantly, releasing the captain. She uncoiled her lean, lanky form from the couch and gathered up her padds. "Good-bye, Kathryn."

"Enjoy yourself, darling," Janeway said, feeling an odd mix of pride and pleasure as she watched Seven leave. Such a wonderful person Annika was, she mused. Far better than a cantankerous old Starfleet captain like her probably deserved.

Then she prodded Jake playfully in the side with her toe. "What about you, boy?" she asked, grinning. "What is it Chakotay calls you? 'Walks-with-Disaster'? Want to go for a walk?"

The dog, who most likely only understood the mouth noise that corresponded to 'walk', eagerly leapt to his feet, his fringed tail swaying as he waited anxiously for his mistress to get her lazy butt off the couch.

Janeway laughed at him and rose from the sofa, taking a moment to find his leash though Jake was trained well enough ... Seven's meticulous doing ... that for the most part, she didn't really need it. Still, there were those two B'Rethna loose on the ship. The small creatures which resembled a cross between a kitten and a weasel, drove Jake insane when he encountered them, and since the alien lifeforms were continually finding ways out of their respective quarters, the dog encountered them quite often. The escapes drove their owners, B'Elanna and Naomi, to distraction and at any given moment, the cute if annoying little pets could be found literally anywhere in the ship. Janeway could only thank god that the Doctor had managed to neuter both creatures before they bred. Or worse, once more provided the same conditions which created the virus that resulted in ten unexpected additions being added to the crew.

As she and Jake left her cabin, the dog trotting properly at her heel, the captain mused over how the ship had changed in the last year. Pets, children ... it was turning into a small village, rather than a Starfleet vessel, and not for the first time, Janeway wondered uneasily what kind of shape Voyager would be in when they finally did make it back to the Federation.

On the other hand, she consoled herself, Voyager maintained far more discipline and protocol with kids and pets than say, the Equinox had without them. The captain wasn't quite sure why Captain Ransom had deviated so badly from his Starfleet ideals, even with the ill luck he had encountered in the Delta Quadrant, but at times she thought that, there but for the grace of God, went she. Still, she understood that, as uncertain as she sometimes felt regarding the decisions she had made, she tried to do what was best for all concerned, not just for Voyager. It may have kept her ship from returning home sooner, but on the other hand, when they finally did return, she and her crew could carry their heads with pride, knowing they did their best to live up to the Starfleet ideals.

Jake sniffed avidly at all the corners as they passed through the corridors, and Janeway wondered with a sinking feeling if perhaps the B'Rethna had been 'marking' them. Jake had been trained to leave his spoor on the devices which served to remove it efficiently and quickly from the ship's environment. Seven had designed them, and provided similar devices for the other pets, but it didn't mean that Naomi and B'Elanna had trained their animals as well as the Borg had hers. Janeway made a note to check with the Doctor. It could become a health concern if they weren't careful.

The setter's ears abruptly went up, and with a happy bark, he took off before Janeway quite realized what was happening. Biting off a curse for allowing herself to become lax, she sprinted after him, hoping that the sight of the captain pelting haplessly after her pet would not be considered too undignified by any crewmembers who happened to see her. She finally skidded around a corner to find Jake had Lt. Ro Laren cornered, the Bajoran desperately attempting to keep B'Elanna's pet from shredding the front of her uniform as the B'Rethna tried to return the dog's overly friendly greeting.

"Jake, sit," Janeway shouted firmly. Since it was the same tone which had served to cause green ensigns fresh from the Academy to consider wetting their pants, it was more than sufficient to make the dog immediately drop to his haunches and look at his mistress with an injured expression.

"I'm sorry about that, Lieutenant," Janeway apologized, clipping the leash to Jake's collar. "He didn't jump up on you, did he?"

"No," Ro said, finally prying the B'Rethna's claws from her sweater and possibly, Janeway noted, a good part of the woman's flesh beneath. "I should have known better than to offer to look after this thing while B'Elanna is in class. I'll be damned if I know how it got out."

"They seem to be quite good at finding vents and tubes we forget exist," Janeway said, her hand resting on Jake's head. She looked at the Bajoran with interest, mindful of what Seven had told her earlier. "I didn't realize B'Elanna had acquired a new ... uh, babysitter. Did it escape her quarters?"

Ro shot a sharp look at her, but Janeway made sure to keep her face pleasantly bland, making it an innocuous comment only, nothing more.

"No, Captain," Ro said evenly. "Lt. Torres dropped the creature by mine earlier in the evening."

"Ah," Janeway said. She wanted to pry further but for some reason, she sensed that Ro was far sharper than most and would not appreciate it in the slightest. So she attempted a different tack. "I understand you have helm experience, Lt. Ro. Has Lt. Paris contacted you about upgrading your rating?"

"Actually, he did, Captain," Ro said, holding the blue ball of fur firmly against her so that it would not go down into her tunic. She seemed to be having some difficulty. Janeway herself, could feel Jake wiggling anxiously by her side, literally vibrating against her leg. "Paris and I have the holodeck booked for tomorrow at 1500 hours in order to run the pilot simulations."

Janeway nodded. "Excellent," she said. She offered a smile. "I think you belong on the bridge, Laren."

Ro looked at her, an indeterminate expression on her face.

"Oh?" she replied. She smiled faintly. "Someday I may remind you that you said that, Captain."

Janeway blinked as the tall, slender Bajoran favored her with a final, significant look, and walked away.

Seven dropped her padds on the table and took a seat, glancing over at B'Elanna who was already sitting in her customary spot, beside the Borg.

"Curious," she offered.

B'Elanna looked askance at her. "What's curious?" she asked.

"I have noticed that you have been early for the last three classes," Seven pointed out. "This is uncharacteristic of you. You are usually the last to arrive."

B'Elanna crossed her arms over her chest. "See, I try to turn over a new leaf, improve myself and what do I get for my trouble? Criticism," she said.

Seven blinked. "It was not criticism," she pointed out. "It was merely an observation." She paused. "Are you attempting to 'turn over a new leaf'?"

B'Elanna didn't respond right away, and Seven wondered if she perhaps had overstepped her boundaries. It was something she had become very sensitive to lately, particularly with the Klingon. But when the engineer did speak, it was very thoughtful, which was uncharacteristic of the normally acerbic young woman.

"I guess I don't like who I've been in the past very much, Seven," she said. "I want to be better."

Seven considered that, a little surprised. The hiss of the door, however, heralded the arrival of others, the classroom filling up, and she could not respond as she wished.

"An attempt to improve is to be admired," she said instead, in a low voice.

B'Elanna shot her an amused glance. "Thanks," she said shortly.

Commander Chakotay strolled in behind the rest of the students, and took his place at the desk situated at the front of the room. Obviously he was to be their instructor this night. They were never sure who that would be at any given time, but that was part of the unexpected nature of the course, getting used to different commanding officers, and their different approaches to the subject. Unlike the Doctor and Tuvok, Chakotay seemed to have a flair for teaching, and the class tended to be a great deal livelier and more entertaining when he was in charge. Seven thought that perhaps the commander had missed his calling, and that here in a classroom was where he was meant to be. She wondered if it would be something he would pursue once they returned to the Alpha Quadrant.

He perched on the edge of his desk and regarded the class, waiting until they had settled down. They quickly became quiet, and were now awaiting his opening statement with great anticipation. They were not disappointed.

"Starfleet is an archaic organization and should be abolished," he stated with authority.

There was a delicious pause as the class examined this jewel, examining it from all sides.

"Agreed," Ensign Tabor Jur said, characteristically going first.

He was the most outspoken in the class, and anti-Federation in a great many ways. Part of it was because he was from Bajor and had been witness to the Cardassian occupation, but some of it, Seven was sure, had to do with the fact that, when B'Elanna had been infected by an alien lifeform, a hologram based on a Cardassian doctor who had performed horrific experiments on thousands of Bajorans, including, Tabor's family, had been activated. Tabor had objected strenuously to using medical information derived from inhumane research, and had gone so far as to resign his Voyager commission over it, though Chakotay had refused to accept it. The incident had served to reawaken Tabor's political views, and he had developed quite strong ones about Voyager, and her captain, in particular. Still, he was attending this course which meant that he was attempting to learn more about what he disagreed with. Seven admired that.

"Starfleet has become bloated, nothing more than a bureaucracy," he concluded. "It has outlived its usefulness as an organization to promote the ideals it gives voice to, but does not follow."

"Starfleet is far from that," Neelix interjected. The Talaxian, ironically, had the best historical knowledge of the Federation, Starfleet and Earth in the class, thanks to extensive studies he had undertaken completely on his own. Seven noticed that this course had seemed to encourage the Delta Quadrant native, the stocky alien no longer so apologetic when presenting his views. "They explore, discover scientific phenomena. They seek out new life, exchange ideas peacefully. They settle disputes and offer a better alternative than war to many."

"Maybe at one time they did," Tabor retorted. "But now all they do is patrol their territory and fight Cardassians. When was their last really big scientific discovery?"

"The Caretaker's array," some wag on the other side of the room noted. "And we blew it up."

"You know, that's right," Will Davis noted, the hulking security officer lounging in his chair easily. He and Tabor had always had a longstanding relationship, harking back, Seven assumed, to their time together in the Maquis. "Starfleet has become less like a scientific organization, and more like a military one. Far more concerned with administering and policing the territory the Federation already has. I mean, we all ended up here because Voyager was essentially conducting a mission that was more a function of law enforcement than any form of scientific or diplomatic intent."

"But are we talking about Starfleet or the Federation itself, now?" B'Elanna asked, surprising Seven, who glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. B'Elanna tended to remain quiet in these classes or at least, content herself with snide remarks to the Borg about how silly she thought it all was. The Borg guessed this new enthusiasm was part of the engineer's attempt to change.

"I think that you're ignoring the fact that Starfleet has always been made up of three factions," the Klingon continued in a thoughtful tone. "Military, Diplomatic and Scientific. Depending on what is most important to the Federation at any given time, that's the purpose of Starfleet."

Chakotay crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against his desk. "That's an interesting point, B'Elanna," he said encouragingly. "Can you elaborate?"

B'Elanna looked a little self-conscious but nodded, turning her chair so that it faced more of the classroom.

"If you go back to the very beginning, to when the Federation was first pushing out its boundaries and expanding its territory, Starfleet captains like Robert April, were explorers, adventurers, dedicated to discovering what lay beyond the next star," the engineer explained. "The next generation also reflected this scientific aspect ... this need to expand and explore. To seek out new life and new civilizations. Christopher Pike and later, James T. Kirk, were captains in this mode. They were actually expected to take their ships out for five year missions, far from Federation influence and communication. Of course, by this time, the Federation had run into the Klingons and the Romulans so Starfleet also had to develop a strong militaristic aspect to handle those conflicts. Diplomacy, what little there was with those captains, was of the 'cowboy' variety."

"You're right about communications being far more uncertain back then," Josie Harper remarked in a somewhat dreamy voice, as if she wished to somehow be a part of that era. "Starfleet officers were more autonomous, often making decisions entirely on their own, which could affect the entire Federation. They stood up for themselves, and didn't let anyone push them around."

"But after Praxis exploded, the Klingons gradually became allies rather than enemies and it changed what Starfleet represented," Ensign Lisa White interjected.

The young crewmember was not yet showing her pregnancy, but Seven allowed that she was certainly 'glowing' in some indefinable way. The Borg wondered if, one day in the future, if everything worked out as planned, that Janeway would also appear like that. Most likely, Seven told herself, the command mask was just so strong, it would hide any sort of 'glowing' at all.

"The Federation began establishing relations with the Klingons, and captains like Rachel Garrett commanded the elite ships of Starfleet," B'Elanna added. Seven realized the engineer had been studying a bit of history. It intrigued her. "They were adventurous, yes, but they were more apt to seek a diplomatic solution long before they attempted to resort to phasers, though they could if they had to. Then the Romulans suddenly withdrew behind the neutral zone, not coming out for another eighty years, and the Federation entered an era of peace."

"Exactly," Neelix said, his golden eyes gleaming. He always became excited when he was learning something new. "Diplomacy has been the most important aspect of Starfleet for the past fifty years. Moderating disputes, developing treaties. Securing all the territory it had acquired during its first big push had made exploration less vital."

"Ten years ago, captains like Jean-Luc Picard of the Enterprise and Robert DeSoto of the Hood were more apt to be sent on missions of diplomacy than to discover a new spatial anomaly," Lt. Ayala agreed. Once Maquis, he had become a vital part of Voyager's bridge staff, and he discovered he rather liked it. Having no Starfleet experience prior to being thrust in the Delta Quadrant with the rest, he was the one who most wanted to pass this course and gain an honest commission. "Perhaps that's why the situation with the Cardassians turned out to be such a mess ... Starfleet kept trying to deal with it on a diplomatic level rather than take care of them once and for all in a strong show of military force."

"That's changed now," B'Elanna noted. "When Chakotay, Seven and myself were back in the Alpha Quadrant that brief time, the whole Federation was on a war footing. There's no question, the Military aspect of Starfleet is predominant now."

"Assuming there still is a Starfleet," Tabor noted sardonically.

They all stared at him and he held out his hands. "Hey," he said. "There's no guarantee the Alpha Quadrant won that war. For all we know, it could still be going on or worse, it's been lost and this 'Dominion' is in charge, which means, so are the Cardassians. Maybe we're busting our butts to get back to a home that doesn't exist anymore."

For a moment, there was an uncomfortable silence as they contemplated that disturbing thought.

"In any event," Chakotay said finally. "That did not answer the question. Should Starfleet be disbanded?"

"But that is what we are discussing," Seven noted, speaking for the first time. "Before one can decide if something is no longer useful, one has to determine where it fits in the collect---the society. I have come to believe that Starfleet is a vital part of the Federation, and in fact, reflects what that society is, just as Lt. Torres mentioned. It serves the purposes of the Federation. If it was to be removed, what could replace it?"

"That's a good point," Harper said. "Starfleet cannot become archaic. It's too fluid, changing with the needs of the Federation. It isn't really a separate entity, it merely represents Federation society. Any problem is not with Starfleet, but with the Federation itself, and the policies it makes. Starfleet can only protect and serve those policies."

"But what does Voyager serve?" Tabor asked. "Half the time, I don't know what we're doing; exploring the Delta Quadrant or trying to get home."

"I thought we were doing both?" Neelix offered.

"You know, we're a lot like those early ships," Ayala pointed out. "We're completely on our own, expanding our boundaries, and having more than our share of incidents requiring 'cowboy' diplomacy."

"Does that make Janeway a female James T. Kirk?" the wag piped up again. Seven finally identified him as Chell, the Bolian from security, and her eyes narrowed.

"No, that means Kirk was a less polished, male Kathryn Janeway," B'Elanna shot back, causing the class to laugh. Even Chakotay smiled a bit. Seven was not amused but she wasn't sure why. It did not sound insulting at all, but from what she had read of James Kirk, it was ... disturbing in some undefined fashion.

"Now that children are on the way, we're going to become more insular, more interested in protecting our society," Harper noted thoughtfully, once the laughter had faded out.

"More diplomatic in our approach? More apt to avoid trouble whenever possible?" Ayala offered, his dark eyebrow raised. He looked pensive. "You could be right, but it also might mean that we'll respond quicker with deadly force when threatened."

They continued to discuss it, delving into how utilizing Starfleet protocols had actually been beneficial to their journey in the Delta Quadrant, having the example of the Equinox to compare their own situation with. Tabor's insistence that they could have made the journey as a Maquis vessel was shot down, though he did make many good points where a Maquis approach might have been more advantageous in certain circumstances.

Seven had much to think about as she resisted her classmates request that she join them in the messhall, and made her way back to her quarters. Did following the Starfleet way make returning to the Alpha Quadrant easier or was it in fact, slowing them down?  If that was so, what did that say about the captain ... who was also her wife?

Janeway reclined in her bed, her eyes sweeping across the snow white pages, completely submersed in the adventures of the beautiful and courageous young heroine, isolated on the rocky shoals of the coast in a manor with the darkly handsome, deeply mysterious man. The captain hefted the weight of the large book in her hands, unconsciously enjoying its solid presence, the smell of paper and type ink, the connection to it that padds and a viewscreen simply could not convey while reading. Abruptly, from the outer area of the captain's quarters, the sound of the door hissing open cut through the threatening mist rolling in from the sea, and the firm footsteps of what could only be her spouse returning made Janeway hastily shove the book into a drawer of the night stand. She replaced it quickly with a tome of historical discovery which was resting conveniently on the shelf above their bed. She wasn't entirely sure why she didn't want to be caught reading what could only be described as a 'bodice ripper', even by her partner. She did admit to herself, however, that a portion of Seven's great appeal to the captain was her formidable Borg-enhanced strength, and the young woman's ability to literally 'sweep' Janeway off her feet at the slightest provocation.

Janeway looked up as Seven entered the room empty-handed, no doubt having deposited her padds on the workstation in the living area.

"Hello, darling," she offered. "How was class?"

"Thought provoking," Seven replied in a very distracted tone as she crossed into the ensuite.

Janeway raised an eyebrow, and waited as Seven performed her ablutions in the bathroom before finally returning to the bedroom, now wearing nothing but a preoccupied look. The mattress dipped as the Borg crawled into bed beside her, and Janeway put aside the unread book, sliding down beneath the sheets beside her partner.

"Tired?" she asked softly, rolling over to face the young woman.

Seven nodded. "A bit," she admitted. Rather than explain the reason for her distant manner, however, she reached over and kissed Janeway gently. "Good night, Kathryn."

"Good night, love," Janeway responded, snuggling into the embrace as they settled down for the evening. She was surprised, but decided that if Seven wanted to let it be, she would not object. She knew the Borg would tell her in her own time. "Computer, alter lights to night standard."

The illumination lowered until there was only the starlight, and the glow from the running light lining the windowsill above the bed. Janeway lay quietly, waiting for sleep to arrive, vaguely startled when Seven rolled away from her a few moments later to lie on her back. Then shortly after, she shifted to her side, facing away from the captain. A little later, onto her belly, sighing softly.

Janeway frowned into the dark. This was extremely unusual for her partner. Generally, it was the captain who was the restless sleeper, wandering all over the bed throughout the night whereas Seven tended to pick a spot and stay with it until morning ... allowing, of course, for the elbows, knees and head butts Janeway administered in her energetic slumbering. This evening, it was the Borg who was fretful, unable to find a good position to settle in. Finally, as Seven stretched out a third time on her back, Janeway reached over and captured the young woman in her arms, holding her tightly.

"Talk to me, darling," she murmured against Seven's temple, kissing it tenderly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, Kathryn," Seven responded, her voice puzzled. "I simply find it difficult to ... organize my thoughts in preparation of sleep."

"Ah, one of those nights," Janeway said knowingly. She hugged Seven gently. "What can I do? Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," Seven said, reaching up to put her hand over Janeway's forearm which was pressed against her chest. She inhaled slowly. "There is nothing really to talk about at the moment in a coherent matter. I am still 'working it out', as B'Elanna would say."

"Do you want to make love?" Janeway offered, moving her arm slightly over Seven's breasts, chafing the nipples lazily. "Just to help you think?"

"No," Seven said in a gentler tone, stilling the motion with a brief smile. "That usually makes me stop thinking entirely."

"Do you want to get up?" Janeway suggested. "Go out? We can go to the holodeck, go for a stroll on the beach."

Seven considered it. "No," she said. She shifted so that she was once again facing Janeway, enfolding her in her arms. "How do you sleep? I know that you often must have many things weighing on your mind when you go to bed, for no other reason than because of your role on the ship."

Janeway smiled. "It's not always easy," she admitted. "Sometimes I have to use relaxation techniques, exercises which clear the mind." She ran her fingertips over the Borg's forehead, smoothing over the lines she felt there. "Of course, since I met you, I sleep a lot better at night."

Seven's eyebrow began a slow ascent. "If that is the case," she asked in surprise, "how did you ever manage to remain in the bed before we began sleeping together?"

A husky laugh issued from Janeway. "I never thought about it," she said. She hugged Seven fondly, and drew the Borg's head down onto her shoulder so that they were cuddled together. "Darling, just try to imagine a peaceful time in your life," she offered quietly. "Try thinking of this afternoon for example, of us sitting on the couch, listening to music and sipping wine." Her voice gentled, became even softer, and her nails began to slip over the Borg's long, smooth back, scratching it lightly. "Or the stream on Safe Haven where we went fishing, leaning back against the tree, listening to the sound of the birds and the insects, the water flowing by..."

Before long, Seven grew heavy in her arms, sleep drawing her down as she complied with Janeway's suggestion. Smiling faintly, Janeway closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift off as well. She woke some undetermined time later by the sound of Seven singing softly in her ear, something to the effect that if love lasts forever...

"Mmm, Seven?" Janeway mumbled.

"I am sorry Kathryn, but you said you missed waking in my arms," the Borg replied. "It will soon be time for me to leave."

"So you decided to wake me up by singing in my ear?" Janeway yawned, rolling over to wrap her arms around her partner.

"Yes," Seven responded, returning the hug. "Was it acceptable?"

"Quite," Janeway muttered, burying her face into the warm neck of her spouse. "But I don't want you to go," she added wistfully.

Seven hesitated. "I must, Kathryn," she said, finally. "I am scheduled to configure the power relays in the daycare area before I report to astrometrics."

"I hate this," Kathryn muttered drowsily. "I hate the fact that we all have to drive ourselves into the ground because we're all alone out here with no support. I hate the fact that these children will be born in space, not knowing Earth or the Federation. I hate that our time together now is being measured in moments between days of not being together."

"It will only be for a few more months," Seven noted. "As you have pointed out to me repeatedly."

Janeway was silent. "I know, darling," she sighed. "I'm just tired, I guess."

"I should not have awakened you," the young woman said regretfully.

Janeway tightened her embrace. "Yes, you should have," she assured her. "I'm glad you did. Now hold me and kiss me so that I can get through my day."

Seven did so, delivering one of her toe-curling, ear-ringing, breathtaking kisses, which certainly did not make Janeway want to let her go. Seven finally had to pry the captain off her so that she could roll out of bed.

"Damn it," Janeway mumbled, punching her pillow into submission as she curled up in the middle of the bed. "Why can't I be the sort of captain who can take advantage of my rank and excuse my spouse from duty?"

"Because then you would not be the kind of captain you are," Seven noted logically as she padded naked into the ensuite. "Or the sort of person I fell in love with."

Janeway made a rueful face of agreement and reached over, wrapping her arms around Seven's pillow which was a poor substitute for her beautiful spouse, but the best she was going to get for the time being. "You're biased," she mumbled, burying her face into the soft cushion where the scent of her partner lingered.

"Yes, I am." Seven's voice floated in from the bathroom just before the whine of the sonic shower began.

Janeway set her teeth and tried to ignore the hum, knowing that it wouldn't last long ... that in fact, that was why Seven was utilizing it, because it was far faster than the hydro setting. A few moments passed, then the Borg came out of the ensuite, wearing her plum biometric suit. Janeway, however, did not see her. She had already resumed her slumber, having three more hours before she was required to report to the bridge.

When the computer woke the captain a second time, Janeway felt like she had spent the night wrestling with tigers rather than having acquired a good night's sleep. She groaned and rolled out of bed, feeling a great deal more tired than if she had simply gotten up with Seven. Next time, she promised herself as she stumbled into the bathroom, activating the shower and stepping under the spray. She finished quickly and retrieved her uniform off the sink counter, feeling a trifle more command-like as she went out into the living area. She was charmed to see several dishes covered with stasis lids sitting on the counter along with a tall, silver thermos. She gratefully perched on the stool and consumed her breakfast, wondering if Seven was taking as good of care of herself as she was of her spouse. Janeway made a mental note to find out, not wanting to discover too late that the Borg was neglecting her own well-being.

The bridge was filled with unfamiliar faces when she stepped out of the turbolift, backup personnel sent to cover the various stations while most of the alpha shift were in other parts of the ship, supervising the various aspects of Operation Newborn. Lt. Ro was at tactical and Janeway nodded briefly at the woman before strolling down to the lower level, meeting Susan Nicoletti who held the conn.

"Captain," the dark-haired woman said, standing up and relinquishing the command post. "All systems normal. We remain on course for the Alpha Quadrant."

"I relieve you, Lieutenant," Janeway said with a formality she didn't require with Chakotay or Tuvok and sank down into the command chair.

Her shift over, Nicoletti made a beeline for the turbolift, no doubt anxious to grab a bite to eat and catch some shuteye before starting all over again for the beta shift. Janeway took a moment to survey her bridge crew, noting that Nicoletti was not the only one who seemed weary. Ensign White sat in for Paris at the helm while Ensign Mulchaey covered operations and Janeway was acutely aware that both young people looked a trifle pale. It made Janeway feel uncertain in some indefinable way, a purely instinctual unease, and she forced herself to relax, attempting to get a sense of the entity that was Voyager. She flipped around the monitor which sat between her chair and the first officer post, scanning the duty roster and all the tasks the alpha rotation were attempting to carry out this shift. She frowned when she noted that there had been two minor setbacks in the sickbay expansion, small accidents that resulted in no injuries, but had slowed progress in that aspect of the project considerably.

Perhaps it wasn't just her desire to have more time with Seven, the thought came suddenly. Perhaps a real problem involving the entire ship was developing here. Janeway sent a memo out to Chakotay, requesting him to visit her in the ready room when he had time away from his overseeing of the renovation on deck two. In the meantime, she went over the remaining list of reports regarding the operation, and was truly dismayed at how they had piled up just by her taking the single off duty rotation.

"Lt. Ro," she said, standing up and retrieving the silver thermos she had brought with her when she arrived. "You have the bridge. I'll be in my ready room."

Ro seemed startled, but after only a slight hesitation, nodded and keyed in a request for replacement personnel before circling the console to descend to the lower level. Janeway affected not to notice the look, and calmly went to her ready room. After all, the woman was Starfleet, the most senior officer of the crew currently on the bridge. Who else would the captain leave it to? Still, Janeway recognized the fact that Ro had not expected to be trusted with something this responsible so quickly. The captain however, was of the belief that the sooner she could discover if Ro was really ready to resume her position as a Starfleet officer, the better it would be for all concerned.

Janeway entered the haven of her office, and found her lucky cup sitting on her desk, the white china turned down just as she had left it two days earlier. She flipped it over and filled it with hot coffee from the thermos, sipping it as she took a seat, lingering over the deep roast flavor. It didn't matter how long Seven had been providing her with the blend, the memory of four years with only horrid coffee had seared itself into Janeway's mind with scarring force, and she never failed to take a few seconds to appreciate the smooth, rich aroma and taste. Or send a silent thought of gratitude to her spouse, wherever she happened to be at the moment.

Accessing her console, she set to work, examining the various progress reports of Operation Newborn, determined to at least, make a dent in them before her first officer arrived. Chakotay must have found a spare moment early in his shift, however, because she had barely finished going over the first department before the chime at her door sounded softly.

"Come," she invited, taking another sip from her cup, looking up expectantly.

"Captain?" Chakotay asked, dropping into the armchair opposite her which had been provided for that purpose, though it was uncharacteristic of him to do so without a nod of invitation from her. It was almost as if he were too tired to stand for very long. "You wished to see me?"

Janeway studied him closely, noting the lines around his eyes and his mouth, the dullness in the dark gaze. It solidified her belief that something needed to be done.

"I want you to set up a week long schedule of full ship shore leave," she said. "I'm going to divert Voyager to the nearest suitable M-class planet and arrange to set down."

He was astonished. "Captain?" he repeated.

She pushed over a padd, clicking her nail on the accident report. "This is only going to get worse if we don't," she said. "We both know it, old friend."

He stared at it, then seemed to slump, rubbing the tattoo which arched over his left eye with the back of his thumb, seeming to sigh with relief. "You're right," he admitted. "We've been driving pretty hard."

"What will be most affected by the week delay?" she asked.

"The central safe haven," he said promptly. "The rest of the projects ... sickbay, deck two, the cargo bay transformation ... all have a month or two leeway, but the area to keep the children safe in the event of a fatal hull breach is the most extensive renovation. The plan has it being completed a month after the scheduled arrival of the children, as a matter of fact."

Janeway nodded. "Well then, it's just going to be two months after the fact," she said with calm resolve. "Because I plan to have two more leaves between now, and the completion of this operation. I'd rather have downtime planned than have it come up unexpectedly because of an accident." She hesitated, then added dryly, "Or a mutiny."

He nodded. "Good idea," he said as the white flash of teeth appeared, and Janeway realized it had been a while since she had seen him smile. It made her realize that perhaps she was just in time with this idea. "I know the crew will appreciate it."

"Well, it's a lesson that Seven has taught me," Janeway admitted as she leaned back in her chair. "Of course, if we had been thinking clearly from the beginning, we could have had this whole operation prepared over the course of years," she added ruefully. "Rather than trying to get it all done in a matter of months. I just didn't think we'd be lost this long. Not deep down. I honestly believed we would have returned to the Alpha Quadrant long before we ever needed to become a generational ship."

"I suspect all of us did, Kathryn," he said gently, quietly.

They looked at each other, perhaps in silent acknowledgment of the reality facing them, that perhaps they would not see the Federation again ... but their children might. Janeway straightened.

"Take care of the roster, Chakotay," she ordered. "I'll be down in astrometrics, trying to find a suitable planet for my stressed crew to take some much needed time off."

Seven of Nine shaded her eyes as she looked out over the sparkling surface of the ocean, the salt breeze cooling her face. Around her, the rest of the preliminary away team spread out, taking readings.

"It's high tide, Seven," Harry Kim noted, coming up beside her. "So we know that, even during a storm, the water won't get as high as the cliffs, and being on the lee side of the island, the forest should protect the clearing."

"I concur," she said, nodding. There were of course, some native dangers such as animals and the occasional poisonous plant, but certainly no more than an outing in a wilderness area of any park on Earth would have. Starfleet officers were trained to look after themselves, and all the necessary information would be transmitted to each personal work padd prior to leave so that people would know what to look out for.

He grinned crookedly at her. "You want to do the honors, or should I?" he asked.

"You are in command of the away team," she reminded him dryly.

He grinned at her again, and touched his command badge. "Voyager, the site is secure," he said. "You are clear to land."

"Understood, away team," came the crackle of the return communication.

As one, the away team took up a vantage point next to the edge of the cliff, looking up expectantly. Ensign Ashmore, clearly with the best eyes, pointed out the small speck in the sky above them first.

"There," he cried.

For a portion of the away team, this was a totally new experience, the opportunity to observe the silvery bulk of their starship gracefully descended through the planet's atmosphere, a trail of red streaming out behind it as overheated air molecules screamed over the hull. For the rest, it was still an incredible experience as the sound buffeted them, the roar of atmospheric thrusters creating its own form of wind. With wide eyes, the preliminary away team watched as Voyager slowed and hovered over the large meadow. Majestically, the sleek starship eased down onto the landing struts which had been lowered from beneath the hull, settling onto the impossibly tiny supports almost like a creature sinking to its haunches, ready to leap back into the air in an instant, resentful of this planetbound necessity. Seven did not think she would forget the sight any time soon and she wondered if Kathryn had ever had the opportunity to view her ship descend for a landing, making a mental note to ask her about it later.

She glanced over at Harry and found him smiling broadly.

"Lieutenant?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Just happy, I guess, Seven. A whole week of shore leave," he said, spreading his arms wide. "On an uninhabited planet no less. Do you know how lucky we are?"

"It was a fortunate happenstance that this planet was nearby," she allowed. "Otherwise, we would have been forced to spend our leave on Voyager." She paused. "Somehow, I do not think that would have been as effective."

"No," he agreed, inhaling deeply, his uniform tunic straining over his chest. "Just smell that air, Seven. You can't get this on a holodeck, no matter how good the program. Sometimes you just need to have real dirt beneath your feet, and a real sky above your head."

She was not entirely sure of that necessity, but she did allow that being out here on the planet's surface was different than being in a simulation on the ship. She looked back at Voyager in time to see ramp being lowered from the bottom of the vessel's hull, indicating that all stations had been secured, and the first wave of shore leave personnel was being released.

"Lt. Kim, if you would like, I will hand in the mission report so that you may remain out here," she offered. "That way you will be able to start your leave immediately."

He looked at her, his dark eyes softening. "Thank you, Seven," he said with sincere gratitude, and handed her his tricorder. "I really appreciate that." His face lit up even more as he saw Megan, his wife, heading toward them.

Seven shut off her own tricorder and began to stride toward the vessel, the long grass of the meadow swirling around her legs. Her nostrils were filled with the scent of the wildflowers scattered throughout the huge clearing, and her passage disturbed insects, similar to Terran butterflies which flitted away on multi-hued wings of bright blue, red, orange and yellow.

As she walked up the ramp and into the ship, she was struck by the stuffiness of the atmosphere, and she wondered if somehow the air filtration system was failing. Then she decided it was simply the contrast of the somewhat sterile environment of Voyager compared to the vitality of the planet's atmosphere. The ship itself was oddly quiet, the engines shut down while other systems were taken offline, not needed while the vessel was planetside, and the voices of the crew echoed unnaturally in the corridors and rooms.

After she completed her report, Seven took it to Janeway, finding the captain in her ready room, looking out the large windows which revealed blue sky and sunshine streaming in to brighten the area which was normally set at a much dimmer illumination. It looked quite different, Seven decided, almost drab in the stark glare rather than the refined elegance it normally displayed.  She tilted her head, regarding the pensive form of her partner curiously.

"This is quite a view the away team provided for us," Janeway said quietly.

The ship had landed so that the bow was angled toward the ocean. Janeway was looking beyond the worn hull of the teardrop shaped saucer section, down to the emerald expanse of clearing which broke off abruptly to plunge down to the azure depths of the planet's ocean.

"As Mr. Kim would say," Seven offered, "'we aim to please'."

Janeway laughed briefly, and shot her spouse a mischievous look. "Indeed," she said. She accepted the padd Seven handed her, perused it briefly, then lay it down on the coffee table, resuming her observation. "Look at them," she said, her voice heavy with humor. "They're like children let go from school for summer vacation."

In the clearing, amongst the small village of habitats being set up for the science teams, and those who just preferred to spend some time outside on the planet's surface, a pick up game of some form had developed, the tiny figures of the crew racing about the clearing, chasing someone who appeared to be carrying a brightly colored ball. Seven hoped they did not get too close to the edge of the cliff. It would be unfortunate if someone fell over the side, though the white, limestone cliffs only dropped about two stories. Still, that was high enough to cause a fatality if one landed incorrectly.

"It has been an intense few months for them," Seven allowed.

"For you too, don't forget," Janeway said dryly. "The alpha shift is required to take the entire week off. That includes my astrometrics officer."

Seven considered that. "And you?" she asked pointedly.

A muscle twitched in Janeway's cheek. "I'm going to remain available for the volunteer skeleton crew," she said. "But I'm not taking on any further duties. So, yes, I'm on leave as of 1600 hours as well."

Seven felt a smile curve her lips, and she moved a bit closer though she didn't touch the captain ... not yet.

"Do you have any tasks to complete at the moment?" she asked innocently.

Janeway shook her head. "I finished up the last of the reports this morning," she said, unaware of her partner's stealthy approach. "Now, I'm just making sure that the leave transition goes smoothly before my shift ends."

Seven smiled and took a final step so that she was immediately behind Janeway, putting her hands lightly on the captain's shoulders.

"Do you remember," she offered softly, putting her lips right next to Janeway's ear, "when we were stranded on that planet and we made love in the meadow? The sun was shining down on us, very much like this."

A small chuckle rippled the captain. "I do," Janeway responded quietly. "However, I doubt very much we'll be able to recreate it here. This is a small island, and for the next week, a hundred and thirty people are going to be wandering all over it. There is absolutely no guarantee of the same sort of privacy we had on that planet. We can't afford anything less."

"Unfortunate," Seven said with a touch of regret. She noted that Janeway's auburn hair was swept up in a bun which left the back of her neck available to be touched. Seven accepted the invitation, brushing her mouth lightly over the tender skin.

Janeway caught her breath, but did not pull away.

"Seven," she said warningly.

"Yes, Kathryn," Seven responded, her lips tracing the hairline, then down the ridge of spine.

Janeway swallowed hard. "This is my ready room, Seven," she said.

Seven moved closer and very gently, kissed the exquisitely sensitive spot just behind her partner's ear.

"I am aware of that," she murmured quietly. She put her hands on the woman's waist, and nibbled her way down the side of Kathryn's throat, amused as the captain tilted her head, affording her more access even as she continued to protest.

"I am still on duty until 1600 hours," Janeway reminded her in a somewhat less than completely firm voice. "Technically, so are you even though I made it clear I wasn't going to hold anyone past the time it took to finish up any tasks."

"This is a task I must finish," Seven noted reasonably.

"No, it is not a task you must ... don't do that, Seven," Janeway said, capturing Seven's wrist as her mesh-covered hand strayed up to the captain's breasts. Immediately, the Borg's free hand headed in the other direction and Janeway was forced to capture that one as well. "This is entirely inappropriate ... Seven, don't ... I can't condone ... Annika, stop ... what was I saying?"

"I believe you said 'don't stop'," Seven whispered in the delicate, shell-like ear.

"I think you're editing for content," Janeway accused her.

Seven smiled and bit gently at her partner's earlobe. "Do you really want me to stop, Kathryn?" she asked, nuzzling Janeway's jaw.

"No," Janeway groaned, "I don't ... but you have to."

Realizing she had gone as far as she could with this particular tactic, Seven allowed Janeway to guide the Borg's arms around her waist and keep them there.

"I believe that making love in your ready room would offer us a certain amount of 'variety'," Seven offered, not giving up as she tried it from a different angle. She felt the cheek against hers tense, and she knew that the captain was smiling.

"I'm sure it would," Janeway allowed dryly. "However, it's not going to happen on my watch."

"Have you wondered what it would be like, Kathryn?" Seven persisted softly. "Making love in here, perhaps on your desk?"

"Seven, I'm not sure I want you to continue with this," the captain said.

"I would lift you onto the desk, kissing you deeply," Seven forged on, undaunted by her partner's objection, her voice a sweet melody. It was like singing, the Borg thought, constructing words to flow together in a pattern designed to evoke feelings in her audience ... in this case, arousal in her spouse. "I would slowly remove your tunic as well as your sweater, so that I could access your breasts."

"I'd still have my bra on," Janeway responded logically. Then paused. "What am I saying?"

"You would not in this fantasy," Seven informed her. "You would not have worn undergarments, knowing that I would be by at one point during your shift. You are always as prepared as possible, Kathryn.  It is your nature."

"Oh," Janeway said faintly, the first real chinks finally beginning to appear in her armor. "Is that how this works?"

"You would have been thinking of nothing else until my arrival," Seven said in a provocative purr. "So that when I finally kiss each one of your nipples, surrounding them with my lips, running my tongue around them, they would already be incredible hard and aching. Your breasts are so beautiful to me, Kathryn, so soft yet so firm at the same time. I love how they feel against my lips, how they taste under my tongue."

She heard Janeway swallow audibly, gulping almost. "Annika," she said unsteadily. "I'm not sure where you came up with this, but I think you should stop now."

Seven, who had discovered the idea from the romantic guides she had been perusing lately, did not agree, particularly when she felt Janeway press back against her, pressing her buttocks against Seven's groin unconsciously.

"I would put my face between your breasts, so that I could feel surrounded by your warmth," Seven continued, kissing the ear so conveniently close to her lips, flicking the lobe briefly with her tongue. "As I reach down to remove your trousers and boots until finally, you would be reclining on the desk, completely naked before me."

She could hear Janeway's respiration increase, and the protests seemed to have died away for the moment.

"I would take some time to look at you, my eyes assessing every millimeter of your body, then I would kiss you," Seven murmured, pitching her voice to the same level she did when they were alone in bed together, low, lyrical, infinitely desirous. "As I did, I would be able to smell you, your scent, the fragrance you give off when you are aroused. I would breathe it in deeply, Kathryn. You smell so very good, so very ready and I would draw back, putting my hands on your knees to spread your legs apart so that you are fully revealed to me. I can see how much fluid you have produced, how you glisten in the light."

"Oh god," Janeway uttered, and the pink tip of her tongue appeared, moistening her lips.

The detached part of Seven's analytical mind noted that her partner gave every indication of being fully aroused, just from the sound of the young woman's voice, and what she was saying. Amazed by the power mere words were having, Seven decided that what she had read in her research about providing sexual stimulation by simply presenting a verbal recitation was accurate after all, despite her initial skepticism. Perhaps there was a lesson of sorts to be learned here.

"I would sit down in your chair and lean forward, kissing the smooth skin along the inside of your thigh until I reached the region where you are so very wet," Seven told Janeway huskily. "I would lick you so very, very gently, running my tongue all over your most intimate places. I would taste you, consume you, drinking your essence eagerly. Have I ever told you how good you taste, Kathryn? So powerful, yet so delicate at the same time. Your flavor fills a need in me that no mere nutrition could ever manage to accomplish."

Janeway made a sound then, halfway between a groan and a cry. The next thing Seven knew, Janeway had grabbed a fistful of the front of the Borg's biometric suit, and was hauling the young woman unceremoniously into the small bathroom set off from the ready room. Containing only a sink and a waste disposal unit, the dimensions of the room were small indeed, hardly constructed with the idea of two people occupying it at the same time, particularly when one was six feet tall, and both were intent on utilizing it for something other than what it was originally designed for. Seven's attempt to stimulate the captain had obviously succeeded beyond her wildest expectation, and it occurred to the young woman around the same time her elbow cracked against the wall and her hip impacted solidly with the sink counter, that before she had aroused her partner to a fever pitch, she should have designed a plan of action with which to cool her off.

Janeway was kissing her hard, clawing frantically at the back of Seven's neck, releasing the fastening of her biometric suit even as Seven obligingly tugged at the captain's uniform, somehow opening the tunic and hiking sweater up far enough to reveal Janeway's bra clad breasts which the Borg promptly covered with her hands, squeezing with loving intensity. As the captain's mouth did its best to devour hers, Seven barked her knee smartly against the waste disposal unit as she somehow wrestled Janeway's trousers down over her hips, lifting the smaller woman up onto the sink counter. She pinned Kathryn against the mirror, reaching down to place her hand against the area where the captain so clearly wanted her to go, profoundly astonished at the copious amount of moisture which allowed her fingers to slip inside with remarkable ease. As Seven fondled her, Janeway's head thudded rhythmically against the mirror, somehow not cracking it ... her head or the glass ... before climaxing hard with a long, drawn-out sob of ecstasy.

Things continued to move far faster than Seven was accustomed to, and when Janeway suddenly grabbed at her with desperate intent, the Borg stumbled backward, tripping over the biometric suit tangled around her feet. Together, they fell onto the waste disposal unit which flushed loudly, apparently triggered by the force of a very solid Borg, and the smaller, but compact captain, landing on the seat with a audible thud. Janeway's fingers were immediately at the juncture between Seven's legs, caressing her intimately, her mouth covering the Borg's, and Seven was astounded when she climaxed almost immediately, just from the feel of Kathryn's half clad body on top of her, and the powerful, almost rough caresses from the captain's hands.

"Oh, darling," Janeway gasped when it was all over and she was slumped in Seven's arms, breathing harshly, her fingers still buried in her spouse.

Seven just blinked, feeling as if she had been run over by a land speeder even as the quite wonderful aftershocks echoed through her. She wondered if this would happen every time she recited a fantasy to the captain, and was determined to make sure she was in a more spacious area next time.

At that moment, from out in the ready room, they both heard the distinct sound of the door chime.
"Oh damn," Janeway squeaked, hastily disengaging from her partner as she tried to tug up her trousers with one hand even as she yanked down on her sweater with the other. "I knew this would happen."

Her mind going curiously blank, Janeway wondered frantically who would be summoning her, especially since everyone but the bare bones of a skeleton crew were supposed to be on shore leave. A stunned Seven watched in astonishment as Janeway swiftly got herself semi-arrayed in a matter of seconds before turning to glare sternly at her spouse.

"You stay in here and don't make a sound," Janeway ordered her in an aggrieved hiss.

Grabbing her tunic, Janeway stumbled out into the ready room, closing the red and black jacket over her wrinkled sweater as she dashed down to her desk. "Come," she said breathlessly as she leaped into the chair and grabbed a padd, trying to look like she was completely involved in her work.

Chakotay entered, looking around as if expecting someone else to be there, then hesitated as he saw her, though she didn't know why. Finally, he moved closer, an odd expression on his face. "Uh, here's the output readings for the power relays," he said, laying the padd gently on the desk.

"Thank you, Commander," Janeway said coolly.

He paused as if to say something further, offered yet another odd expression, then turned around and hastily left the room. Janeway breathed a sigh of relief and slumped in her chair. "You can come out now, Seven," she called.

A very bemused young Borg came out from the bathroom, completely redressed in her biometric outfit, every hair back in place, looking as if absolutely nothing had happened.

"Kathryn?"

"I can't believe this," Janeway said sternly. "I hope you've learned your lesson, Seven. This was completely inappropriate."

"I was merely discussing a fantasy," Seven noted accurately, and somewhat unfairly, Janeway thought. "You were the one who escalated it into an encounter in the bathroom." She glanced down at the padd. "Ah, the output reading for the power relays. Chakotay promised me he would see that I got them."

Janeway stared at her. "You?" she said.

"Yes," Seven said, picking up the padd. "He knew I was in here. He saw me come in, after all." She quirked an eyebrow at Janeway. "Kathryn, your hair is .... displaced."

Janeway frowned. "Displaced?"

"Yes," Seven said, and made a motion with her hand in the general direction of the captain's head.

Frowning, Janeway retrieved the mirror from a compartment beneath her desk and looked at her reflection. Her eyes immediately closed and she groaned, her head falling forward onto her hands which covered her face.

"Oh my god," she said.

Her auburn hair was completely awry, several strands falling about her face while others stuck straight up from various places on her head, no doubt filled with static from where she had been rubbing against the mirror in the bathroom. She had the dreamy, soft expression of the freshly 'satisfied', despite her best effort to conceal it, and there was a large, blotchy mark on her neck just about where her jawline faded into her throat, directly above the sweater collar with its four golden pips.

"I do not understand, Kathryn," Seven said guilelessly. "If you did not wish to have Commander Chakotay see you in this state of disarray, why did you not simply instruct the computer to tell him you were temporarily indisposed until we had ... composed ourselves adequately? I am sure he would have waited, no doubt assuming that you were performing some form of biological function."

"Oh my god," Janeway repeated.

"Kathryn, are you all right?" Seven tilted her head curiously.

"I can't believe it," Janeway muttered. "I panicked. I heard the chime and I just ... panicked. Like some green ensign caught by a superior officer playing with a lover in the utility closet. Like I was doing something wrong! Dammit, I'm the captain here."

"Kathryn?" Seven repeated, puzzlement clouding her pale blue gaze.

"Annika, I have no intention of discussing this right now," Janeway managed finally, sitting upright and opening her eyes, trying to gather some shred of dignity. "Believe it or not, I'm still on duty."

Seven frowned, moving closer. "Are you angry with me, Kathryn?" she asked uncertainly.

Janeway softened her expression as she saw the obvious disturbance in her spouse's eyes, and she tried to get a grip on herself.

"No darling, not at all," she said ruefully. "I'm a little disgusted with myself, but it's nothing I won't get over."

At Seven's continued unease, Janeway stood up and walked around the desk, reaching out to wrap her arms around the young woman, hugging her tightly.

"Darling, no matter what else," she told her, looking up into the narrow features with great sincerity. "Your fantasy was wonderful, and I have to admit, making love in the bathroom was absolutely thrilling. Possibly it was the danger of getting caught that made it that way, but we can't do this again. Obviously, I can't handle such an encounter in any kind of mature manner at all."

Seven looked vastly disappointed. "I am sorry about that," she said honestly. "I really did wish to make love to you on your desk right now."

Janeway felt herself being pressed back against that piece of furniture, the Borg's body so warm and full in her arms, the sudden wash of desire tingling along all her nerve endings. For one insane, purely lustful second, she actually considered allowing Seven to fulfill her wish, to lift her onto that desk and ravish her until she screamed. It was one of Janeway's most titillating fantasies, and it took considerable effort to push her spouse away.

"Oh, my god," she groaned. "You have to leave, darling. You're driving me absolutely crazy here."

Seven frowned faintly. "Is that good?" she asked.

"You can tell me," Janeway told her, and her voice descended into a husky growl, her eyes burning. "After my shift ends and I meet you back in our quarters. If you survive what happens after that, then yes, it's a good thing."

Seven looked insufferably smug suddenly, and her hands dropped to the captain's bottom, squeezing provocatively.

"Out," Janeway demanded faintly.

Seven kissed her hotly, catching the next protest in her throat.

"Now," Janeway said, breaking away with difficulty. "You have to go, Seven."

Seven hesitated, then released her slowly as if realizing that the captain was indeed serious. "If you insist," she said in a low voice.

Janeway wavered internally but tried not to show it. "Go," she said firmly.

Seven kissed her again, just for good measure and left. Janeway returned to her chair, sitting down weakly as she wondered what the hell was going on with her and her spouse.

It has to be the stress we've all been under the past few months, she told herself.

Going nonstop for ten to fourteen days at a stretch, sixteen or eighteen hours a day, was enough to make anyone a little reckless and crazy, even a starship captain. Though she and Seven had found moments to make love and be together briefly, such as their shared off duty rotation the day before, it was a mere taste, encounters which only wetted the appetite, made one aware of exactly what they were missing rather than completely fulfilling the need.

So much to do and so little time to do it in, Janeway thought with dismay, putting her face in her hands, acutely aware of Seven's scent lingering on her hands, tickling her nostrils. It wasn't just the physical need, she decided, it was the intimacy, the personal closeness they were missing. A few hours here or there were simply not adequate. She wanted and needed to be with Seven more now after months of marriage than she had when they first became a couple. And how hard was it on Seven? My god, the woman had asked to be taught how to masturbate because a personal release was all she could count on in this time of uncertainty.

Perhaps it was also the fact that Voyager, as a whole, was starting to 'nest', to prepare itself for additions. Even in perfectly controlled conditions, it seemed that one couple making a baby always inspired others to want to do the same. Could she and Seven also be feeling that instinct stir within them? They had agreed not to have children until they returned to the Alpha Quadrant, but was that being fair to themselves? No one really knew for sure when they would get back. Was Janeway really prepared to wait twenty years, even if it were still physically possible by that time to become pregnant?

Janeway rubbed her forehead fretfully and got up, returning to the bathroom where she fixed her hair and washed her face and hands. She noticed that the towels had all been knocked askew, and somehow, a dent had appeared in the wall. That last was definitely Seven's doing, she noted and wondered how she could get ship's maintenance to repair it without speculating on its origin.

Maybe it was all just getting to her, Janeway thought with a sudden weariness, leaning against the sink counter as she rested her forehead against the cool comfort of the mirror. Six years on the same ship, lost, alone, without any kind of support in this unfamiliar space. Maybe she was just flat out sick and tired of this vessel, of being captain, of all the responsibility. Maybe the wild moments when she was able to shed it completely, as she had in this very bathroom moments earlier, only served to make her more aware of how trapped she was.

A week, she reminded herself firmly. A whole week for herself and her crew to refresh and renew themselves. It occurred to her that before being married, she might not have allowed this break at all, that her obsessive nature would have driven herself and her people without consideration, without accepting the need for an interruption to rest. Perhaps Janeway only had to pay attention to the lessons being with Seven was teaching her, and somehow, she would make it through. In the meantime, there was a beautiful woman waiting for her in their quarters, and the captain needed to concentrate on that rather than regretting what she couldn't have.

She left the bathroom and picked up the thermos on the coffee table, shaking it to discover that there was nothing left within it. Sighing, she glanced at the time, realized that she only had a couple of hours to go and decided to get a jump on this month's personnel reports. Though if that didn't completely kill her ardor, nothing would.

She was relieved when 1600 hours rolled around, and she was able to shut down her board. Chakotay was lounging in the first officer's chair, the only crewmember currently left on the bridge to monitor the ship's status while on the ground. When his relief showed up in another hour or so, he would also be on leave, as per her orders.  Sun streamed through the transparency in the ceiling and pooled in a circle of light on the deck, the edge just beyond the commander's feet. Janeway hesitated as she saw him, then realized she could not let this lie. Taking a deep breath, she went over and sat beside him, finding that she was having a certain amount of difficulty looking him in the eye.

"I suppose," she said finally, "you find this remarkably unprofessional."

There was a low chuckle beside her, and she dared to glance at him. He shook his head ruefully. "Do you know why I take every opportunity I can to tease you?" he asked.

Janeway set her jaw. "I presume it's because it amuses you," she said.

"No, it's because it gives me a chance to reach another side of you," he said. "I know you don't really like being teased, but you take it and frankly, it gives me and the crew a chance to see that you're Human. That's something that, for a long time, you seemed to want to forget ... until you met Seven and she shoved it in your face enough that you had no choice but to accept it again. I guess I failed you in this. I should have been able to help you 'be Human' from the start, Kathryn."

Janeway was astonished. "It's not your fault," she ventured slowly. "I've always believed that to be captain, to be a Starfleet officer, meant I had to be ... more than 'just Human'."

"But it was my job to teach you differently," he said and there was a touch of sadness in his tone. "Maybe it's an occupational hazard because sometimes I forget myself." He looked at her. "I'm glad you and Seven found each other," he added with great sincerity. "I'm also glad that she can make you Human enough that you can occasionally throw protocol out the airlock, and be wild with her in the ready room bathroom."

Janeway blushed. "How did you know?" she asked, even as her little voice inside rolled its figurative eyes and wondered how he could possibly not know, considering what she had looked like when he had been in the ready room.

He quirked an eyebrow. "Kathryn, there's no other place to hide a six foot Borg, and the windows just won't open," he pointed out. He snickered. "Though I can picture you actually trying, in that moment of panic. The bathroom was the only logical place." He looked at her with a vaguely puzzled expression. "Why did you feel the need to hide her? It isn't unusual for Seven to be in your ready room."

Janeway looked pained. "It would if she's not exactly ... dressed anymore," she admitted.

He started to laugh, and despite herself, she did as well.

"Kathryn, you don't need to play the prim and proper captain with me," he told her after they had trailed away to a few chuckles. "You're a passionate woman. I've always known that, and it certainly doesn't lower my opinion of you that you would indulge that passion for Seven on occasion. Frankly, I couldn't imagine being married to her, and not indulging that passion every chance I could, regardless of where I was and what I was doing."

Janeway sighed and leaned her head back in her chair, regarding the ceiling. "Still, there are areas where certain protocols must be upheld," she said ruefully. "A captain's ready room is one of them."

"Of course," he agreed easily. He grinned again. "Is that why you took it into the bathroom? Because technically, it's not your ready room? In any event, I don't think that the ship is going to fall apart just because you drop a protocol or two, every so often. Honestly, Kathryn, we're pretty much all adults here."

"Well, for the next four months, anyway," Janeway noted dryly.

"Yeah," he allowed, grinning wryly. "There is that." He paused before following that thought further, his dark features becoming serious. "It's going to be a big change."

Her blue eyes darkened. "I know," she allowed softly. "Not exactly what I had in mind when I accepted the pips ... captain of a ship with families. It's not as if I ever wanted a Galaxy-class vessel."

He nudged her shoulder with his elbow. "Sometimes, that's how life works," he said. "And every day we learn a new lesson about ourselves."

She nodded in silent agreement before glancing at him. "I need to get ... home," she said, hesitating over the word. "Seven is, no doubt, waiting dinner for me."

He smiled somewhat wistfully. "Then you'd better not disappoint her," he suggested. She stood up and he added, "Kathryn?"

She paused, regarding him quizzically.

His smile widened. "You look really good ... when you drop the occasional protocol, that is."

His chuckles followed her off the bridge, and she tried to control the blush which raced up her neck and made her face glow pink. Months. He was absolutely going to be living off this one for months.

She stopped in surprise as she walked into the captain's quarters, astounded by how different things looked. She had grown accustomed to the way the ready room appeared in natural light, but to see her cabin ... her home ... illuminated by sunshine and blue sky through the windows rather than the eternal darkness of space startled her profoundly. She looked over at Seven who was behind the counter of her kitchenette, preparing something that already smelled absolutely wonderful.

The Borg quirked an eyebrow at her spouse. "Are you still amorous?" she asked knowingly. "Or merely hungry."

Janeway blushed again, and thought that she really needed to get that medically repaired. Ask the Doctor to figure out whichever gland it was that made one blush, and have it surgically removed. It was quite inconvenient for a starship captain.

"Both," she admitted. "But food first. For energy."

"Of course," Seven said.

And smiled.

Seven woke, acutely aware she was being observed and she tensed, opening her eyes to glance down at the foot of the bed. Janeway was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, staring at her with an expression of dreamy concentration.  It was hardly the first time Seven had awoken to such scrutiny by her spouse.  Indeed, there were a few times before they had even established themselves as a romantic couple, that she had caught Janeway watching her as she regenerated.

"Kathryn?"

Janeway blinked, then smiled. "Sorry, darling, I was thinking about something," she said, her face clearing as she came over and slid into the bed beside her spouse.

"Are you having difficulty sleeping?" Seven asked, curious at her partner's nocturnal excursion.

Janeway leaned over and kissed her. "I just needed a drink of water," she replied reassuringly. "I also read a little bit to try to settle my thoughts."

She leaned back against her pillows as Seven shifted so that her head was resting lightly on the captain's shoulder, her arm wrapped warmly over Janeway's stomach. Seven noted that the illumination in the room was coming from the running light over her head, and realized that it must still be dark outside the ship. A glance at the chronometer let her know it was only 0330 hours, and the sun had yet to rise on this, the third day of their shore leave. Seven yawned and settled pleasantly against the warm body of her partner. Yesterday had been spent gloriously catching up on all the lovemaking they had missed the past couple of months ... or at least, attempting to. There were parts of her that were still somewhat tender, however and she thought that Kathryn must be equally as sore, having noted the somewhat ginger way the captain had walked across the deck to the bed.

She smiled faintly and hugged Janeway. "Do you want to tell me what you were thinking about?" she asked quietly.

Janeway made a soft sound, rueful in the night. "Oh, just everything, Annika," she said. "Being lost, having children, where we go from here."

Seven rubbed her cheek lightly against the smooth skin of the captain's chest. "That is a great deal to consider at this particular time of the morning," she offered.

"It is," Janeway agreed, a gentle chuckle rumbling through her. "But for some reason, the darkest hour before dawn is when thoughts like this seem to crowd most deeply in one's head."

"Indeed," Seven said. She rubbed Janeway's stomach idly with her palm, her fingers spreading wide over the warm swell of her spouse's abdomen. "Sometimes," she said uncertainly, "I wish you were not captain."

Janeway did not answer immediately, and Seven wondered regretfully if perhaps her words had hurt the other woman. Then Janeway kissed her forehead gently. "Sometimes," she admitted in a low voice, "I wish that, too." Then she inhaled deeply. "At the same time, however, I can't imagine being anything else."

Seven sighed her agreement. "It is something that is very much a part of you," she said softly. "Just as I am Borg. Sometimes I resent that I am, sometimes I regret the circumstances that made me such, and sometimes I dislike what it means to be Borg, but always I know that it is part of what makes me who I am."

"Hmm, you're quite insightful, considering how early in the morning it is," Janeway teased gently.

"I have had much to think on lately, as well," Seven replied. She listened to the steady throb of her spouse's heart in her ear. "Kathryn, did you always want to be in Starfleet?"

"Yes," Janeway said without hesitation. Her fingers meandered over Seven's arm, lightly tracing the starburst implant embedded in the young woman's bicep. "From the time I was very young."

"You never questioned it?" Seven asked.

Janeway considered it. "I don't think so," she said thoughtfully. "You have to remember, Annika, my father was an admiral and my family's lives were immersed in Starfleet."

"Phoebe did not join, however," Seven pointed out.

"No, she didn't," the captain said. There was a pause. "Maybe," she began, hesitated, tried again. "Maybe she didn't have the need to ... connect with Dad the way I did. Obviously, Starfleet holds many attractions for me, Annika: the opportunity for scientific achievement, the possibility for exploration, for contacting and studying different civilizations. I also like the discipline and organization to it, the sense of belonging to something greater than one's self, the knowledge that I am contributing to the Federation, that my existence means something. But I won't lie to you, or even myself anymore. I was driven to be the best because I wanted to please my father. I wanted to do something for which he could be very proud. "

"I am sure he was always proud of you, Kathryn," Seven said, puzzlement in her voice. "How could he not? You are remarkable."

"He was proud of me," Janeway explained quietly, hugging the young woman to her. "But he didn't always let me know, just as I don't always let you know how remarkable you are, darling. Sometimes, we don't always say what we need, assuming that the other person just knows, but often that isn't the case. Frequently, our silence is taken to mean the exact opposite, which is very sad. It takes so little effort to tell someone we love them, that we are proud of them, that they have done well ... and it means so much."

She nuzzled Seven, kissing her temple. "It's been a hard lesson to learn, darling," she added in a husky voice. "Know that, even when I seem to be disagreeing with what you do, I'm always so very proud of you. Sometimes, when I think of all you've been through, of what happened to you at such a young age and how you overcame it to become this loving, warm and quite wonderful person ... it just awes me, Annika. You are my hero."

Seven blushed, pleasure spreading through her. "Your opinion means a great deal to me, Kathryn," she responded softly.

"I know, darling," Janeway murmured. "I just hope..." She trailed off, and Seven raised her head slightly.

"Yes, Kathryn?"

"I just hope it doesn't mean so much to you that you would do something just because you think I would want you to," the captain said finally.

Seven took a few seconds to work that out. "You mean, attempting to join Starfleet?" she asked.

"It has crossed my mind," Janeway admitted.

Seven nodded. "In truth, that is why I first agreed to do this," she said slowly. "But now I know that this holds a greater potential for me than that. Voyager is my society, Kathryn, and I am most comfortable when I am a fully functioning member of my society, just as I was with the Collective." She took a slow breath. "Voyager is a Starfleet vessel."

"Yes," Janeway allowed. "It is." She seemed to take a moment to think about it. "Seven, Starfleet is not necessarily the Federation. It is partially, but it has its own set of protocols that civilian society doesn't have. You might find every day life quite different when we return to the Alpha Quadrant. Do you understand that?"

Seven nodded. "Yes," she said. "Apparently Starfleet, at any given time, reflects what the Federation needs and wants as a whole. However, for Voyager, that was five years ago. The protocols on this ship cannot reflect what the Federation is now, or will be in the future. It may have certain, constant similarities, but overall, the society on this vessel has become distinct in its development. I learned that in class recently."

Janeway was silent for a moment. Finally, she let her breath out with a small sound. "Your classes have been instructional," she said. "Even I haven't let myself think about that one. The possibility that the Federation may have left us behind, I mean."

"Commander Chakotay is an interesting teacher," Seven said, oddly pleased that she had confounded her partner. "He allows us to explore many speculative aspects about the Federation and Voyager. Tuvok, in contrast, teaches us about what actually goes on, and uses logic to explain the ideals we profess to aspire to. He shows why it is advantageous to pursue one ideal rather than another, and does so in a comprehensive manner. Lastly, the Doctor seems to be like us. He is learning as he teaches and together, we discover many new and unexpected things about the history of the Federation, and of the ship itself."

"I'm astounded," Janeway said finally, after taking all of this in. "I had feared that, because we are so limited here, your education would, as well. I guess the people who volunteered to teach these classes have hidden depths. I need to remember not to underestimate my people. Annika, I'm so pleased to hear about all that you're learning. One of my greatest concerns was that you wouldn't be exposed to things beyond Starfleet, and that your boundaries for self-exploration were too defined."

"Perhaps you should take the class," Seven offered in a teasing voice.

"Perhaps I should," Janeway said, smiling. "I had thought to teach a few, but now I see, I'm way out of my depth." She entwined her fingers with Seven's hand. "I'll be interested to see where this leads you."

"It will be interesting to see where it leads us," Seven corrected. "I know that what affects you, also affects me, Kathryn. I believe that the reverse must also be true."

Janeway made a face, one of rueful agreement. "You're absolutely right," she said. "I need to remember to take that into account, too." She brushed her lips over Seven's hairline. "You may have no use for an old Starfleet captain by the time you're done," she added softly.

"That will never happen," Seven said with infinite certainty. She lifted her head so that she could look directly into her partner's eyes, rising up a little on her elbow. "You are hardly 'old', Kathryn, but you are why I want to learn more, and that is not a bad thing, though sometimes, I think you feel that it is. We are all influenced by the people we love and who love us. You became a member of Starfleet because of your family, but I do not think they made you a great captain. I may want to learn all I can about the Federation and Starfleet because of you, but that does not mean I cannot make up my own mind about what I learn. You taught me what it is to be an individual, but it is I who must live as that individual. I want to be someone you are proud of, Kathryn, but I also want to be someone I can be proud of."

Janeway regarded her in the dim light, her steady blue-grey eyes filled with emotion. "You are, Annika," she said intently. "You always have been, and you always will be."

"Even if I decide that Starfleet is not the path I wish to follow?" Seven asked.

"Even then," Janeway said. "I'll always be proud of you, my darling. No matter what."

Seven nodded, satisfied. "You must also follow your path, Kathryn," she added solemnly. "Even when I do not agree."

Janeway grinned crookedly. "Have you ever known me not to?" she asked in a wry tone. "I think you're quite aware that I tend to forge my own way."

Seven smiled faintly. "That is true," she said, warmth filling her. She felt very close to her partner at this moment, almost as if they shared one mind ... which was ironic because she suspected that deep down, she and Kathryn were fundamentally different types of people. That sudden thought struck her as odd, and she pursued it briefly, but it was like quicksilver, fleeing her grasp before she could pin it down.

"Annika?"

"Yes, Kathryn?"

Janeway smiled. "You went away from me for a second," she said.

"I did," Seven concurred. She reached down and kissed her spouse gently, lingering over the tender mouth. "Never for long, however," she promised. She kissed the captain again, deepening it, letting her tongue slip out to touch Janeway's wine shaded lips, then parted them, teasing lightly with hinted desire.

Janeway accepted the kiss readily, but groaned immediately, chuckling ruefully. "We can't, darling," she said. "I'm sore in places I didn't even know existed."

Seven's smile widened. "I am aware of that," she said. "Yesterday was ... very focused on our being together. In fact, it began the day before in your ready room, and never really stopped except for food and a little sleep."

"But it was fun," Janeway agreed. She wrapped her arms around Seven's neck, looking up at her fondly. "I've finally found someone who can keep up with me. How wonderful is that?"

"Very wonderful," Seven allowed. "However, I must point out that it requires Borg enhancement on occasion."

Janeway waggled her eyebrows. "Especially that bit on the kitchen counter," she reminded her impishly.

Seven quirked her own eyebrow. "It is fortunate it ended quickly," she noted. "We might have disturbed the neighbors otherwise."

"Even I'm not vocal enough to defeat sound-proofing, darling," Janeway smirked. "Besides, Jake didn't mean to bark so loud. He's just not used to being locked in the bathroom."

Seven bent her head, nuzzling it into her partner's hair, rubbing her cheek against the captain's. "You must learn to be more discrete," she whispered into Janeway's ear. "It is my intended goal to make love to you in every room on this vessel."

Janeway started to laugh. "Oh god," she said. "I thought I was ambitious. What about the other people living in their quarters?"

Seven raised her head. "I should have clarified," she said. "Every room but crew quarters. However, that still includes the bridge, and the conference room. I consider the program we ran to represent only the holodeck in this. Nor does the bathroom in the ready room, count as the ready room itself. It is my intention that the desk shall be utilized some day."

Janeway regarded her closely, obviously attempting to gauge her sincerity. Seven kept her expression as one of absolute determination, carefully hiding her smile.

"Oh, god," Janeway said again, and covered her face with her hand. Then to Seven's surprise, added. "Fine, but we're going to have to have some ground rules."

"All right," Seven said, blinking. She had been attempting a joke. That Kathryn would take her seriously ... and furthermore, apparently be willing to go along with such a proposition ... Seven was astounded indeed. Not to mention, wildly intrigued.

"We cannot do anything that would disrupt the function of this vessel in any way," Janeway told her.

"Understood," Seven said wonderingly.

"And the risk of being caught has to be both reasonable and manageable," Janeway insisted. "I refuse to appear as less than professional to my crew, so I don't want any more attempts at luring me away from my duties."

Seven nodded. "Off duty rotation only," she agreed.

Janeway hesitated, dropped her hand and looked at her partner. "There are some places that will simply be impossible," she warned. "No matter how much we try."

Seven smiled fully.

"Impossible is a word that Humans use far too often," she said. Janeway stood under the shelter of the spreading tree, huddling in her thin shirt and shorts as water descended from the heavens. Though it remained pleasantly warm, the captain was disgruntled that the one time she had decided to take a long walk outside, it had promptly started to rain. No, actually, rain was far too kind and gentle a word for it. This was teeming down in sheets, pouring down in absolute buckets, cascading like a waterfall to drench the landscape. She glowered as she felt her hair plaster itself to her scalp, a thin stream running down the back of her neck, trickling down her spine. At this point, she must be doing a fairly good impression of a drowned rat. The worst part about it however, was that it was clearly a temporary shower, with blue sky not too far distant, sunshine actually sparkling off the rain to create a glorious rainbow arching over the forest.

Janeway's companions, in contrast, were far more appreciative of this natural display, splashing happily through the puddles forming on the ground in obvious belief that the rain was simply not soaking them enough. Janeway could not find it in herself to condemn the situation entirely, however. As she eyed the statuesque form of her partner, she took note of the way Seven's slate blue t-shirt clung to her torso, delineating every bit of flesh beneath. Nor would the captain ever object to that bright, happy expression on the young woman's face. Jake's long, red hair, on the other hand, would take absolutely forever to dry out, and Janeway had no intention of letting him back in their quarters until he had.

"Join us," Seven urged, gesturing to Janeway, indicating she wanted the captain to come out from under the tree to face the full fury of the shower.

"I think not," Janeway demurred darkly, sticking to her meager shelter.

"It is fun, Kathryn," Seven insisted. She came over, and before Janeway knew what she was going to do, or could otherwise raise an objection, the Borg had picked her up over her shoulder and carried her over to the nearest large puddle, dropping her inelegantly into the deepest part.

Captain Kathryn Janeway sat in the middle of a spreading pool of water, her arms crossed over her chest, her legs spread out at odd angles, glaring absolute daggers at her spouse. Seven looked back, completely unrepentant, her eyes bright, her face alight with a laughter she could not, or did not know how to, express. Jake sat on his haunches, also regarding the captain with his tongue lolling, jaws parted wide in a doggy grin. Finally, the sheer absurdity of her position struck Janeway, and she started to laugh. Deeply, fully, from the very pit of her stomach, absolutely howling at the sight she must be presenting.

Waiting until the bout of mirth had mostly subsided, Seven plopped down beside Janeway in the puddle, and splashed her whereupon, the captain splashed her back and before she knew it, they were wrestling around happily in the water and the mud. The Borg took great care not to overpower the smaller woman until finally, their wrestling turned to an embrace and there, completely oblivious to anyone passing by ... though in one coherent moment, Janeway did consider the fact that probably no one else would be silly enough to be out in the rain ... they made love joyfully. For once, Jake did not try to interrupt. He merely wandered over to the shelter of the tree that Janeway had vacated, and collapsed, resting as his mistresses indulged in their favorite form of play under the clearing skies and pouring rain.

Afterward, hand in hand, Janeway and Seven walked back to the ship, not speaking, merely sharing the secret smile that lovers do. Jake bounded energetically around them, dashing here and there, absolutely thrilled to be loose in an entire world filled with unfamiliar sounds and smells. By the time the trio had made it back to Voyager, the shower had finally ended and the sun was out fully, steam rising from shimmering pools as their clothes dried stiffly upon them. When they ascended the ramp and entered the lower deck, Jake abruptly divested himself of his excess moisture by shaking furiously, re-soaking his people, as well as the unfortunate member of the skeleton crew who was monitoring the traffic in and out of the ship.

Janeway decided that it would take weeks before all the mud that was currently being tracked into the carpet in these lower deck corridors could be removed. Then she decided that she had other things to worry about as she noticed that Seven's shirt was still semi-translucent. She frowned and commandeered the Starfleet tunic from the crewman who was not so discreetly ogling the Borg, wrapping it around her partner. The young officer, now clad only in his undershirt, carefully kept his eyes forward as he informed the captain that most of the crew had the sense to come in out of the rain long before now ... though he didn't express it in quite those terms ... and were only now straggling down to go outside once more.

It did not occur to Janeway that her own attire was somewhat less than authoritative until she returned to their quarters where the odd looks she had been receiving from the various crewmembers they had passed in the corridors suddenly became clear. The reflection staring back at her from the ensuite mirror was not the slightest bit flattering in any way, shape or form.

"Honestly, Annika, I am completely losing all my credibility with this leave," she complained to Seven after she had changed and dried her hair. "How can anyone respect a captain who drags in looking as if she was wrestling an alligator in the mud?"

Seven flicked an eyebrow at her as she worked on the dinner she had started, already having changed in a dry pair of shorts and a new t-shirt while Janeway had been in the ensuite. Her hair was still damp, but hung loose around her narrow features, and Janeway thought she looked exquisite. But then, she always did, the captain mused as she perched on the stool on the other side of the kitchenette counter.

"You looked much better today than when you returned from the Barellan prison," the Borg pointed out logically, then smiled faintly. "Besides, you were not wrestling 'an alligator', you were wrestling with me. Many of them are envious of you."

Janeway blushed. "I didn't realize you were aware of that," she said as she accepted the glass of white wine Seven offered her. "That others wish they were the ones involved with you, I mean."

"I understand that certain members of the crew are attracted to me," Seven said, slicing up vegetables and chicken protein for a quick stirfry. "Of course, it is in a superficial, physical way only. No one else has ever taken the time to know me that well, and certainly no one else can love me as you do."

"Except for B'Elanna," Janeway said, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them. She kicked herself mentally as Seven glanced at her quizzically.

"B'Elanna is not attracted to me," the Borg corrected in a puzzled tone. "I was the one attracted briefly to her breasts. Do you not remember?"

Janeway smiled. "Of course, I do," she said mildly. "That was what I meant."

If Seven didn't know about the engineer's attraction to her, then it was all to the better. In fact, it would be best if Janeway just forgot about it herself and how she found out. After all, it wasn't as if B'Elanna would ever attempt anything as long as Janeway and Seven were together, and it was beneficial in that it gave Janeway fair warning that she'd better treat her wife well. The constant knowledge that there were plenty of others who would be more than glad to take over the job if she wasn't up to it, kept her on her figurative romantic toes.

"Kathryn, please try this," Seven requested, offering the captain a slice of vegetable that Janeway did not recognize. It was a pale yellow, almost resembling a potato but not quite, its flesh solid and of a crispy consistency. Obviously a root vegetable of some kind.

Carefully, the captain nipped it from her partner's fingers, chewing it slowly. As she did, she felt a contented warmth settle within her. It had been so long since they had been able to be quietly domestic like this, that the reality of it was like returning to a much loved place.

"It's good," she mumbled around the slivers in her mouth. "Nutty, like almonds."

"Yes," Seven said. "I think so, too. Biometrics discovered it on this planet. It is perfectly safe for Human consumption, but that does not always mean it will be acceptable in taste."

"Well, I like it," Janeway said.

Seven nodded. "I will add it, then," she said. "I understand that it maintains its flavor while cooked, but it will be interesting to discover if it is altered by the other flavors, or if it instead, alters the taste of the other ingredients."

Janeway tilted her head as she studied Seven quietly. Her partner looked as if she was conducting an experiment of the utmost importance, a chemical combining of elements to create a new and previously undiscovered compound. At the same time, the Borg's face had a quiet glow of enjoyment, the joy of creation filling her eyes. It made Janeway feel privileged to be able, not only to witness it, but to somehow share in it, and she waited until Seven had finished slicing the rest of the vegetables before leaning over and kissing her.

"I love you," she whispered.

Seven's pale eyes glowed warmly. "I love you, as well," she assured Janeway gravely.

Janeway smiled and watched as Seven scooped the vegetables up and added them to the chicken sizzling in her wok. "You know, I've been thinking," the captain began.

"Should we be worried?" Seven interjected, then immediately appeared startled at what had just issued from her lips. "I am sorry, Kathryn. It is my standard response to B'Elanna when she begins a sentence with that phrase. I did not mean to use it with regards to you."

Janeway waved it off, amusement lightening her eyes to more blue than grey. She was well aware that the relationship her wife shared with the chief engineer was considerably more ... 'youthful' than what they had.

"I've been thinking," she started again, paused, eyed Seven expectantly. The Borg's lips twitched, knowing she was being teased, but she did not say anything. "We should hold your birthday party this week."

Seven looked immediately intrigued. "Yes?"

Janeway nodded. "In fact, I'd like to combine it with a sort of ... 'welcome to the ship' for our expected additions," she said.

"A baby shower," Seven noted accurately ... and somewhat surprisingly.

"Yes," Janeway said, sipping her wine. "Would you mind that?"

Seven considered it. "No," she decided. "I believe that it is an efficient way to hold both celebrations. In fact, we could also combine it with the 'blowout' that is customary at the end of shore leave."

Janeway paused, her wineglass halfway to her lips. She knew what a 'blowout' was, of course; the last night of full ship-leave celebration, usually including certain drunken adventures which would be told for weeks afterward in the various Jeffries tubes and messhall booths. It was something that had been celebrated on every starship since Starfleet launched its first, and always hosted by the captain, even when one was not the party type.  It had been so long, however, since Janeway had participated in one that it simply hadn't occurred to her that of course, she would be expected to host one now.  No doubt, her crew was already discussing it, which was possibly how the Borg had heard about it.

"Did you have anything in mind?" the captain asked. "For the type of party you want it to be?"

Seven stirred the food frying in her wok, looking a trifle pensive. "Do you know what a 'barbeque' is, Kathryn?" she asked.

Janeway blinked. "Yes," she said. "I do." My, Seven was just full of surprises this day, wasn't she? "They were a common form of social interaction in the agricultural park where I grew up," the captain added. "In fact, I can't think of a weekend in the summer months when we didn't attend one at someone's house."

For a second, those lazy, humid Indiana evenings came back to her, with the scent of smoke and the murmur of good friends gathered around a picnic table, the flavor of a juicy, marinated steak filling her taste buds. For the children, there were games and races as well, which a young Kathryn frequently won. The very rare times that Admiral Edward Janeway had been home to attend the events with his family, were memories that Kathryn numbered as her most fond.

"That is how I wish to celebrate my birthday," Seven said, satisfied that her spouse knew what she was talking about. "With a barbeque on the beach. I think it would be an appropriate type of celebration to complete our leave."

"There might be insects or bad weather," Janeway warned.

"Acceptable parameters," Seven responded easily. "I understand they add to the experience."

Janeway raised her glass. "Then darling, a barbeque is what you shall have," she said. "I'll talk to Chakotay and Neelix about what preparations need to be made. It's a good idea to combine them all. That way, it can be savored fully rather than splitting our attention between two or more parties."

"Yes," Seven agreed. "I thought so as well."

Janeway made a mental note to ask for volunteers to do the actual cooking of the replicated raw meat, though she suspected that they wouldn't have much trouble finding any. For some reason, unfathomable to her, there were a great many people, particularly male, who loved to slap animal flesh, simulated or not, on a grill and cook it, even though they would not be caught dead preparing any kind of other meal from scratch. She supposed it hearkened back to Humanity's primitive roots, and the hunter/gatherer instincts. Her mind began to tick over the requirements that would be on the equipment and food replicators for such a party, and happily realized that this was actually the most cost effective way to hold a celebration for this many people all at once. She wondered if that was why Seven had chosen it.

"Kathryn," Seven said, interrupting the captain's train of thought.

"Yes, darling?" she asked.

"Set the table."

"Yes, darling," Janeway said.

As she hastened to obey, she was amused that only in here, could she be ordered to perform manual tasks, and in such a presumptuous tone. But then, the captain decided, that's what spouses were for. To keep one solidly connected to what was most important, as well as keeping one's priorities absolutely straight. The sun was setting low over the water as Voyager's crew gathered on the beach, the smell of barbequing food and that unique odor of burning coals wafting over the crowd as they partook of the grilled steaks, hamburgers, hot dogs, and pieces of chicken. Picnic tables, constructed from odds and ends found in engineering, groaned under the bowls of various salads, platters of corn, mounds of fruit and notably, a gigantic cake, all of which were surrounded by the shimmer of stasis field to keep out insects ... though not the crew who disabled the fields easily to serve themselves before reactivating the protective barriers.

Many crewmembers played in the surf, swimming and splashing in the clear, salt water while others lay on the white sand, soaking in the last rays of honest sun they would see for what would probably be some time. This last night of full ship-leave promised to go out in proper style, and the mood was very festive and happy, the leave having accomplished exactly what it had been intended to do. The crew was fully ready to tackle whatever the morrow might bring, completely replenished by this time granted them by their benevolent, and much loved captain.

Tonight, they would party long and they would party hard because they knew unquestionably that it would be a while before they would be able to do it again, and it was all the more sweet for just that reason.

Seven of Nine found a large hunk of drift wood and sat down, a plate of grilled chicken breast and salad on her lap, a bottle containing reddish, carbonated liquid resting in the sand by her feet. She was dressed in blue shorts, sandals, and a grey t-shirt with the Starfleet Academy logo embroidered on the breast, while a wide-brimmed hat shaded her eyes from the sun. Occasionally, someone passing by would wish her a boisterous 'Happy Birthday' to which she would reply in a politely grateful manner, observing with amusement as they inevitably staggered off. The brown bottles, determined to be as necessary for such an event as the charcoal fuel, were in great profusion amidst the crowd, filled with something called 'beer', and retrieved from large, ice-filled containers which seemed never to empty entirely.

Seven had chosen a soft drink known as 'cream soda' instead, not liking the yeasty flavor of the ale the one time she had tried it. In any event, she remembered well the last time she attended a birthday party, how she had mixed wine with various, large samples of junk food. She spent the rest of the evening throwing up most of it, much to her dismay and her partner's bemusement. Seven had decided afterward that there could be absolutely no question as to the extent of Janeway's love and devotion to her spouse. That night, the captain of Voyager alternately held Seven's head as she vomited, comforted her when she wasn't, and the few times the Borg was unable to quite make it to the waste disposal unit, Janeway cleaned up the resulting mess without complaint.

Seven had no intention of putting herself or her partner through that again.

The Borg could see the distinct form of her captain much further down the beach, as Janeway and others set about discovering if a brightly colored plastic disc could be fired fast enough and far enough so that it could somehow escape the speed and accuracy of the couple's Irish Setter. So far, Jake had retrieved every throw in record time, even those which had ended up in the water, bringing it back promptly so that these biped beings would try again. Seven, meanwhile, was content to sit on the log, eat her meal and watch the rest play, feeling quietly happy in a way that seemed to start from some bright spot deep inside and radiate ever outward.

She raised an eyebrow as B'Elanna Torres came over, and sat down beside her.

"Hey, 'Nik," she greeted.

"B'Elanna," Seven said. It had been awhile since the engineer had used the diminutive of her name. She wondered why ... and what had changed so that B'Elanna was utilizing it once again.

"This was a great idea of the captain," the engineer mused, taking a long swallow from her beer. "You can tell her I told you that."

"Can you not tell her yourself?" Seven asked curiously.

B'Elanna grinned, showing slightly pointed teeth.

"I don't want her to think I'm being presumptuous," she said. "The water's a heck of a lot deeper than that swimming hole was."

Seven allowed herself a faint smile, remembering the incident in question. She glanced around. "Where is Ro Laren?" she asked, wishing she hadn't as soon as it left her mouth. It occurred to her belatedly that perhaps there was a reason the two women were not together.

"She's getting us some food," B'Elanna said, unperturbed. She lifted the three unopened bottles of beer she held in her other hand. "I secured the beer."

"Of course," Seven said. That made perfect sense. She hesitated. "Why did you not acquire any for her?"

B'Elanna nudged her, shooting her a grin. "That was actually a good one," she complimented. "You might develop a sense of humor after all, Borg."

"Considering I learned most of my humor from a Klingon, I am not sure that is advantageous," Seven noted.

B'Elanna mimed being shot in the heart by an arrow, and fell over onto the sand. Dressed in a white t-shirt and blue, denim shorts which had a ragged hem, her feet bare, she lay on her back and regarded the Borg with bright eyes. "Two zingers in one breath," she said. "Can I survive it?"

"Is Lt. Torres bothering you, Seven?" Ro Laren asked as she finally arrived, burdened by two plates loaded with steaks, corn and several types of salad. Carefully, she sat down on the spot B'Elanna had vacated, somehow managing not to let anything spill. Her slender form was clad in a black bathing suit over which, a light, short-sleeved shirt protected her back from the sun. Her dark hair was held back by a red headband.

"If I say yes, will you arrest her?" Seven asked her hopefully.

"Yes, Lt. Ro," B'Elanna offered from her nest in the sand. "Will you arrest me?" She leered as she spoke, and Seven decided that the engineer could do with some lessons from Kathryn in the art of looking wanton while still appearing elegant.

"No," Ro told them both. She nudged B'Elanna's side with her toe. "Are you going to just lie there, or do you want to eat?"

"I'll be good," B'Elanna promised, sitting up and accepting the plate from the Bajoran. She turned so that her back was to the security officer, leaning comfortably against the log between the Bajoran's legs. Seven noticed that Ro did not object to this somewhat familiar positioning, and the way they exchanged offerings of food, urging each other to try the various flavors, was interesting indeed.

"So here's where the real party is at," Harry noted cheerfully as he dragged over two folding chairs, accompanied by his wife. Megan was holding their plates, and when she sat down, she passed the less burdened one to Harry before proceeding to attack her own, literally inhaling the food. Seven watched with undisguised fascination, never having seen anyone eat like that, not even Kathryn at the height of her nanoprobe outbreak. The Borg wondered if it had anything to do with the young woman being pregnant.

"Hi, Starfleet," B'Elanna offered in a friendly tone. "How's married life treating you?"

Harry beamed. "Couldn't be better," he said. "Did you know, we can feel the baby move now?"

Seven noted that the young man had seemed to have gotten over his initial shock at finding out he was going to be a father, and no longer had that pinched, panicked expression that he had worn so often in the early days of Operation Newborn. In fact, it was true that marriage seemed to agree with him; his dark eyes brighter, his white flash of smile wider ... as was his midsection, Seven noticed ... his disposition even more pleasant than his original demeanor. Seven was happy for him, and she took a second to remember that hesitant, stammering young man who, despite his inane crush on her, made an honest effort to reach out and be a friend to a frightened, lost Borg drone.

We have all evolved greatly in the past few years, she thought to herself.

Uncertainly, Tom Paris drifted over, and when B'Elanna didn't leap up and promptly go elsewhere, he sat down as well. Seven hoped he didn't think that meant anything about the engineer's current opinion of him. It was obvious to the Borg that the Klingon's good mood could be directly attributed to the attention Ro Laren was paying to her.

The Doctor and Sek came over to join them, both holograms dressed in matching outfits of colorful, flowered shirts and white shorts. Seven wondered if they had planned it that way, or if the holographic emitters only provided a limited selection of wardrobe to each hologram. They weren't eating, of course, but they were more than glad to add to the conversation. Neelix, Samantha Wildman, and Naomi were the next to arrive, the Talaxian dragging over a large ice chest so that the group rapidly gathering around the Borg, would not run the risk of going thirsty. His gesture was loudly and enthusiastically praised, particularly by B'Elanna.

Finally, Janeway made her way into the group, striding up the beach with Tuvok on her left, Chakotay on her right, just as it was meant to be in some unfathomable way. The captain cheerfully accepted the plate someone offered her, and sat down on the log that Seven had yielded to her partner so smoothly that it was doubtful anyone noticed. As the Borg settled cross-legged on the sand at her partner's feet, next to B'Elanna, she felt the captain's fingers linger briefly at the back of her neck in acknowledgment, and Seven smiled faintly before involving herself with the technical conversation that the engineer and Harry were sharing between their intake of corn and hamburgers.

There was no longer any need to get up for refills. A few crewmembers maintained the four barbeques, but it seemed that everyone else had settled into a circle which radiated outward from the captain and senior staff in the center. Food and drink was passed hand over hand to whoever requested it, the occasional spill accepted with good natured grace, and cheerful jibes at the one who had fumbled it, while the conversation rose and fell, always lively, powered by the very tasty meal and the foamy ale. Seven ate as much as she could, far more than she ever had before, trying a little bit of each dish, including Neelix's leola root salad.

As the Borg started on her third helping, she discovered that Janeway was cheerfully matching B'Elanna bottle for bottle in beer consumption. The empties did not stack up, of course, being disposed of in a portable disposal unit which dematerialized them to their component molecules. These were reabsorbed as energy to power the unit, but the young woman was able to note the number of times her spouse seemed to be opening a new bottle. While the other shifts would have almost another full day in which to recover, the alpha shift, which was handling Voyager's liftoff at 1500 hours, really needed to watch their liquid intake this night. Seven resolved to keep a closer eye on her spouse.

Later, Seven was led to the table with the big cake which boasted twenty-six candles, the tiny flames flickering in the low sea breeze as the entire crew sang 'Happy Birthday' to her, albeit, several weeks late.  She was amused to note that Janeway's uneven tenor was comfortably lost in the chorus of voices as she took her seat.

"Make a wish, Seven," Naomi told her with the air of a professional.

"I shall," Seven promised, smiling faintly at the little girl. She obediently closed her eyes, waited the requisite few seconds, then inhaled before using her breath to extinguish every flame. There was an outburst of applause and cheering, then Janeway offered her a knife which Seven used to cut the chocolate, cherry-filled, whipped cream cake into segments which were distributed to all the various crewmembers who still had room for it.

Then, as people ate their cake, the ten pregnant women were urged to another table where they opened presents the crew had bestowed upon them. There was no need to get them baby supplies since the ship would provide them, but crafty individuals in the various departments had provided things like homemade toys and things for the decor of the baby's room, while the other crewmembers had provided the ration slips for the raw materials. No one was left out, everyone was pleased, and Seven was struck by how much Voyager resembled a small village community rather than a starship. It was a far cry from the sterile environment of the Borg Collective.

At this moment, she did not find it inefficient at all.

The evening wore on, the sun setting in a spectacular array of golds and reds, almost as if the planet had arranged it somehow to say farewell to its temporary visitors. Stars began to appear in the sky, which darkened to a deep navy, and Seven found herself by a large bonfire, Naomi Wildman curled up next to her as more flickering fires dotted the night down the beach. At the nearest one, crewmembers with various musical instruments were staging an impromptu sing-along, the raucous sound reaching Seven's ears through the cooling air. Ordinarily, the Borg would have been intrigued to join such an interaction, but for the moment, she was content to stay where she was, Naomi's head resting on the Seven's lap as the little girl drifted off to sleep. Jake was also asleep, curled in a ball, his back warm where it touched Seven's leg. A few yards away, at a table where a card game was going on, Naomi's mother and Neelix talked and laughed with others over their play.

Across the fire, Tuvok and Vorik sat quietly, the two Vulcans meditating serenely upon the flames which were consuming the silver driftwood. Seven knew that was their favorite form of relaxation, but she did wonder, as they stared into the element, if perhaps any feelings ever stirred within them. Something deep and primal, existing long before the evolution of intellect and logic. She sensed it stir within herself, and she studied the sensation with suitable fascination.

Seven looked up a little while later as Ensign Wildman came over. "She's down for the night, is she?" the science officer asked with a smile, kneeling next to the Borg and stroking the strawberry blonde hair of her daughter.

"I believe so," Seven responded in a low voice, the small form of her friend heavy, and seemingly boneless where it leaned against her.

"I think we should get the little one off to bed," Neelix said, his gold eyes seeming to gleam in the firelight.

"Yes," Seven allowed as she assisted the Talaxian in picking the child up. Naomi, obviously worn out by the day's events, barely stirred as she was lifted into his muscular arms.

"Thanks for watching her, Seven," Samantha said.

"You are welcome," the Borg responded, watching as they disappeared into the darkness, heading for the path cut into the cliff which led back to the ship. For a moment, an unmistakable desire came over the Borg to take care of her own precious lifeform, to hold her and love her and when the day was over, carry her home and tuck her lovingly into bed where she would be safe and warm. Seven stared mournfully into the night before the warm arms of her partner enfolding her drew her back to where she was.

"What's wrong, my darling?" Janeway's low voice asked in her ear, the husky trill which never failed to fill Seven with the most wonderful of feelings, even as this time, it came accompanied by the boozy scent of beer and a distinct slur. The captain had come up unnoticed, stepping over the log that Seven had been leaning against, and embracing the Borg from behind as she sat down.

"Nothing is wrong," Seven said with an aching heart.

"Oh, I don't agree," Janeway insisted quietly. "Tell me." Apparently alcohol did not inhibit the captain's intuitive abilities. Seven wondered briefly at that.

Seven hesitated, glancing around to note that except for the Vulcans across the fire who were paying absolutely no attention to the two women at all. No one else was in earshot, and she allowed herself to relax into the embrace.

"Sometimes," she said softly, "I regret the decisions we have made."

"Like waiting to have children?" Janeway guessed with remarkable accuracy. Seven wondered if this 'beer' somehow bestowed the one who imbibed with some greater cognitive abilities. Certainly, she had assumed alcohol dulled the senses of the regular individual prior to this ... but of course, she reminded herself, the captain was far from a 'regular' individual.

"How did you know?" she asked.

"I came to find you, and saw your face when Neelix and Samantha took Naomi to bed," Janeway explained. The captain kissed her partner's temple gently. "Darling, we can always talk about these things. Nothing is ever set in stone. If nothing else, that's the lesson we have to take away with us from the virus, and its effect."

"Yet, we must wait," Seven allowed sadly. "Despite how wonderful this week has been, it is not the norm for us, Kathryn. We spend most of our existence in the Delta Quadrant, as we have in the weeks leading up to this, occupied with duties and responsibilities that fill our every moment. That is our life, yours and mine. It would not be fair to bring a child into it."

"No," Janeway said, hugging Seven closely. "It wouldn't, darling. As much as I would like to find a way to disagree with you, I can't. That's the reality."

"But sometimes ... that reality hurts," Seven whispered.

"I know, my love," Janeway told her.

"I know." Janeway was not entirely sober as Seven finally steered her back to their quarters, the captain having no choice but to admit that to herself. She consoled herself with the thought that she was nowhere as intoxicated as she had been the night before her wedding. As if that was a good thing, her little voice noted mockingly.

"I am beginning to think that perhaps I should not let you go out," Seven noted wryly as Janeway missed a step, and the Borg had to move quickly to straighten her before the captain collided with the counter. "I do not believe you can handle your liquor."

Janeway waved that off with an elegant hand.

"Piffle," she said.

Seven arched an eyebrow. "'Piffle'?" she repeated, baffled.

"It means, I can handle my liquor just fine," Janeway said as she fell, rather than sat, down on the couch. "I've been doing it since that night in a haunted house when I was young, and I'll do it until I'm old and grey. I can certainly out drink you, my lovely Borg."

"An efficient word," Seven complimented as she went to the replicator, and materialized a glass of ice water along with something the captain didn't recognize. "To mean all that."

"Are you making fun of me?" Janeway asked as her partner came over to her, regarding the small white capsules that Seven had deposited in her palm with great suspicion. "What is this?"

"B'Elanna suggested them," Seven told her. "In lieu of the Doctor's assistance, this is supposed to be effective in forestalling the inevitable results of intoxication. They are considered to be a 'natural' remedy."

"Really?" Janeway asked skeptically.

She would have preferred a hypospray which would remove the intoxication entirely, along with the resulting aftermath, but the Doctor had stated rather stiffly to anyone who would listen that if the crew was determined to indulge in such a display, they would just have to suffer the consequences without his help. Somehow, Janeway thought he had been utterly sincere with what he said, and she really didn't want to test the theory by confronting him about it. Sighing, the captain tossed the capsules back, and took a long swallow from the ice water, then another, finishing it thirstily.

"More, please," she asked meekly, holding her glass out to her partner.

Seven's eyes narrowed. When Janeway suddenly became meek, it was usually time for Seven to become a little nervous, but she retrieved more water from the replicator without a word. Janeway drained this glass only slightly quicker than the first before offering it once more to be refilled. Seven regarded her for a long moment before she went back, this time replicating an entire pitcher which she placed, along with the glass, on the coffee table. She sank down to the couch beside the captain.

"Do you want to continue our conversation, darling," Janeway offered, feeling quite mellow suddenly as she sipped at her water slowly. She wondered what the hell had been in those capsules.

Seven glanced at her. "Which one?" she asked.

"The one we were having before Chakotay interrupted us, and dragged us over to the sing-along," Janeway reminded her partner. She didn't think she would forget that longing, wistful expression she had seen on her partner's face anytime soon. It had driven deep into her heart like a dagger, and she would give up her life to be able to take such sorrow away from the young woman.

A shadow crossed Seven's eyes. "There seems little to discuss," she said with a cool indifference that Janeway knew was completely feigned. "We both agree that our lives are such that children are not an option for us now. It is inefficient for me to indulge in emotion over a situation that cannot be changed."

"Whether it's efficient or not, you still feel what you feel," Janeway said. Suddenly, it seemed impossible to keep her eyes open, and stubbornly, she forced her eyelids apart, pressing her glass against her forehead, the shock of the cold revitalizing her momentarily. "I want you to know that it's okay to regret what can't be, once in a while. Talking about it might help you feel better about it."

"I do not see how," Seven said, her tone gentling somewhat.

"Sometimes it's just enough to know that it is a feeling that is shared," Janeway said. She found she was leaning toward Seven, which was not that out of the ordinary for her except for the fact that it was entirely without her volition. She had never felt as limp as she did right this second, and she carefully placed her glass down on the coffee table.

"You regret our inability to have children now?" Seven asked with what seemed surprise.

"Yes, darling, I do," Janeway mumbled, swallowing to moisten a intensely dry mouth. She blinked, and realized she was lying on Seven's lap all of a sudden. "I can't seem to sit up."

There was a pause, then a bit of a rueful sigh from the Borg. "I think that perhaps your day has caught up to you," Seven said with just a hint of dry humor as Janeway felt the young woman's hand stroke her hair gently. "Much as it did Naomi."

"That's not it," Janeway protested, and felt the room spin as the Borg carefully heaved her upright, the captain barely able to move as Seven carried her into their bedroom. "It's the damn capsules. What was in them?"

"Nothing harmful," Seven responded, rather unhelpfully. "I made sure of that before I replicated them. However, B'Elanna did mention that they may make certain people ... less energetic."

"Now you tell me," Janeway muttered, wanting to be outraged, but lacking the energy to do so. "For someone with an eidetic memory, it certainly is selective at times."

"She also said that the effect would be in direct proportion to the amount of liquor imbibed," Seven pointed out. "Since you can no longer remain erect, I think we both know what that means."

"That you're enjoying this entirely too much?" Janeway said, then groaned as Seven dropped her onto the chaise lounge opposite the bed. It was so odd. Her mind continued to work perfectly, but her body felt like a generator that's power source had finally ran out. "Oh god."'

"Perhaps you could explain to me why a captain who prides herself on her self-control and appearance would drink so much?" Seven asked with honest curiosity as she lifted Kathryn's legs into the air, first one, then the other as she removed the captain's sandals.

"Because," Janeway said, swallowing hard as her legs thudded heavily onto the chaise. "The captain must always share the crew's blowout."

"Ah," Seven guessed dryly. "It is part of the 'tradition'?" The Borg regarded Janeway's bared feet with an expression of displeasure. "You have sand all over your feet and lower legs. It shall shed onto the sheets, and be very uncomfortable if it is not removed."

"What do you suggest?" Janeway responded waspishly, then regretted it immediately as Seven promptly picked her up again. "Oh no."

"You are fortunate that I am Borg," Seven informed her as they went into the ensuite. "I do not think an ordinary Human could take care of you properly."

"I'm not so sure a Borg can either," Janeway said peevishly, then shrieked as she was inserted under a shower where the temperature was not particularly warm.

"A cold shower will grant you a momentary alertness," Seven informed her as she began removing Janeway's clothes after the fact, stripping off the flowered blouse and tan shorts.

Shivering, teeth chattering, leaning weakly against the wall, Janeway just glared at her partner as Seven removed her own clothing and stepped under the spray herself ... but only after altering it so that it was much more pleasant.

"I don't think you like me when I'm drinking," Janeway said, the revelation coming to her like a bolt from the blue.

"I always like you," Seven corrected as she unceremoniously scrubbed the captain down. "I do not necessarily like how drinking makes you act, however. It makes you ... inefficient."

"That's me," Janeway noted as Seven pulled her out of the shower stall, and leaned her up against the sink counter. "Inefficient as hell. However do you put up with me?"

"It is a 'dirty job'," Seven said, toweling her partner off briskly. "But someone has to do it."

"You got that phrase from someone else," Janeway accused as Seven dragged her back into the bedroom.

"Yes, actually," Seven allowed, putting the captain into the bed and drawing the blankets up over her. "Tuvok mentioned it once."

"Tuvok?" That would not have been Janeway's first guess. She lay in the bed, looking up at the ceiling, and to her horror, decided she couldn't come up with the necessary determination to close her eyes. "Annika?"

"Yes, Kathryn?" Seven said, moving close to her under the sheets, and it seemed that her voice had softened considerably. Janeway felt her soft lips brush over her temple, and she sighed.

"I can't close my eyes," she said.

"Yes, Kathryn," Seven assured her, wrapping her up in a warm embrace. "You can."

When Janeway woke up the next morning, the sunshine, streaming into the bedroom through the window above her head, stabbed into her eyes like twin points of ice picks, and she wondered if perhaps she had not closed her eyes at all. Though she knew she had slept ... or was unconscious ... for a considerable amount of time just from the fact that the last thing she remembered, it had been dark outside the ship.

"Annika?" Her voice was rusty, barely audible.

"Yes, Kathryn?" Calm, cool, infinitely patient, and very close by.

"You know the hangover cure B'Elanna recommended?"

"Yes, Kathryn."

Janeway attempted to swallow, and failed utterly. "It didn't work." She bit off each word individually.

There was a pause.

"How unfortunate."

Janeway moaned. It was entirely too early for understatements of that magnitude.

"Annika."

"Yes, Kathryn?"

"I'm on duty now, aren't I?"

"In fifty-three point six minutes, yes."

"I have to get up, don't I?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

"Please, don't answer a question with another question."

Janeway blinked as the face of her partner abruptly appeared in her view, looking down at her with a rather noncommittal expression.

"Yes, Kathryn," Seven said. "You must get up."

"Oh, god."

Seven sighed. "Do you want me to call the Doctor?"

Janeway debated for long minutes. "Do you think he would do anything for me?" she asked hopefully.

"You are the captain," Seven pointed out. "In addition, I do hold a certain influence with him."

A muscle in Janeway's jaw jumped briefly.

"If I have a treatment he refused everyone else, then it would be ... unacceptable," the captain said finally, with not a little dismay. "Besides, it's tradition to be required to suffer after a full-ship leave."

"Indeed," Seven said, in the sort of tone that let Janeway know how little the young woman thought of that convention.

"Sometimes, appearance is everything, Annika," Janeway offered.

"Of course," Seven said. She did not look convinced.

"Annika," Janeway whimpered. "I don't feel good."

Seven inhaled slowly. "What can I do?"

"I don't know." Janeway wondered if she possibly sounded as pathetic to her spouse as she did in her own ears.

Seven, predictably; "I shall research it."

Janeway felt the bed move as Seven rolled out of it, and she swallowed convulsively. She waited, trying to think of anything but how her stomach felt or how her head felt or how the room was yawing wildly about whenever she moved her eyes in even the slightest fashion.

When the Borg returned, she urged Janeway up into a sitting position, then presented her with a glass full of some reddish thick liquid.

"What is this?" Janeway croaked, looking at it warily.

Seven hesitated. "You do not want to know, Kathryn," she said with great sincerity.

The captain peered at her spouse narrowly, and it occurred to her that for the brutally honest Borg to dissemble like this meant that Janeway probably did not want to know. She finally nodded, and steeling herself, drank it, trusting implicitly that her partner would never do anything to hurt her. Though the stuff was possibly the most vile concoction she had ever tasted, Janeway managed to choke it down, and for some reason, keep it there even though it was a close thing for awhile. She was amazed however, when her nausea subsided almost immediately, as did did her headache and her dizziness.

"I think I'm hungry," she said, wonderingly.

Seven looked satisfied. "Acceptable," she said. "You prepare for your shift, and I shall make breakfast for you."

Later, feeling considerably more like herself as she left the bedroom dressed in her uniform, Janeway sat down to the table and regarded the plate Seven had placed in front of her, piled high with scrambled eggs, back bacon, home fries and toast with butter. That pretty much took care of her required grease intake for the next year, she thought wryly, feeling her arteries slamming shut in anticipation, even though that sort of thing had actually been defeated medically, centuries earlier.  Certainly, it should be sufficient to cut through any alcohol remaining in her system. She scooped up a forkful of eggs gingerly, slowly chewing this first bite to determine if she was actually going to be able to eat after all. When nothing particularly bad happened, she took another, along with some toast, her appetite improving steadily, much to her surprise.

While the captain was eating, Seven went into the bedroom and prepared for her own day, the first part of which would be spent in astrometrics before making her way to the bridge to assist in the liftoff. Janeway glanced around the room, absorbing the way it looked with the sun streaming in the windows, the way it actually seemed like a home on Earth, rather than the small living quarters on a starship it really was, imprinting it on her memory to take with her on those dark times in space. Jake was stretched out on his side in a patch of sunlight, obviously content not to move ever again. It occurred to Janeway that he would possibly miss the chance to go outside more than any of them.

She glanced up as Seven joined her, her breakfast a lot smaller and less dense than Janeway's; cereal and milk, along with a small glass of juice. But then, the Borg did not require replenishing the energy drained away by too much liquor and the two tiny little capsules that Janeway should never have accepted. Which led the captain to thoughts of the previous night, and what they had been discussing prior to the 'remedy' taking effect.

"Darling, about last night?" she said regretfully. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to finish our talk."

Seven shrugged minutely. "It is irrelevant," she said.

"No," Janeway said, reaching over and capturing her partner's hand in her own, looking at her intently until Seven's pale blue eyes had met hers. "I hate that you're unhappy."

Seven squeezed the captain's fingers lightly. "I am not unhappy, Kathryn," she assured her. "Being with you is wonderful. We just have so much love for each other that at times, I simply wish for another to share in it. However, I know that one day, you and I shall expand our family unit and until then, I will be patient, and very happy to be able to share my life with you."

Janeway studied her closely. "Honestly?"

"Have I ever lied to you, Kathryn?" Seven asked curiously.

Janeway smiled wistfully. "Not to my knowledge, darling," she said. "I hope you never feel the need."

Seven raised the captain's hand to her lips, kissing the palm gently. "I suspect I shall not," she said.

Janeway nodded, and returned to her meal, finishing it quickly now as she sensed time slipping away from her. She carried her empty plate over to the recycling unit, then dashed into the ensuite to clean her teeth before rejoining Seven in the living area. The Borg had just filled the silver thermos with coffee at the counter, and turned to hand it to her spouse.

"Have a good day, Kathryn," she said.

Janeway wrapped her free arm around the Borg's neck, pulling the blonde head down as she kissed her soundly. "You too, my love," she said. "I'll see you at liftoff."

The bridge was unnaturally quiet when the captain entered, even though it had the full complement of alpha shift personnel. As Janeway trotted down the stairs and took her seat in the command chair, she glanced over at Chakotay. She firmed her jaw, sternly refusing to laugh when she saw how her first officer was sitting very carefully, almost as if he was afraid his head was going to drop off his neck and fall to the floor where it would promptly roll to where Tom Paris sat huddled at the helm, displaying the most distinctive shade of green Janeway had ever seen. At ops, Harry was half hunched over, as if trying to keep his intestines where they currently were, while B'Elanna manned the engineering station, her eyes lidded, her compact form boneless in her chair.  Apparently, her remedy did not work any better on her than it had the captain.  Ro Laren looked slightly better as she covered the science station, but the Bajoran's eyes seemed somewhat darker than normal, and her motion lacked the refined grace she normally displayed.  Only Tuvok maintained his natural demeanor at his tactical position.

"Good morning," Janeway said clearly ... and loudly.

Bloodshot eyes centered on her, and she was quite sure murder was being contemplated at the moment. She grinned faintly at Chakotay and quirked an eyebrow.

"I suspect the next leave shall have to be staggered, rather than ship-wide," she noted.

"I think," he said slowly in a barely audible voice, "that's a good idea."

Maybe I should contact Seven and have her get up here with a supply of her hangover cure, Janeway thought idly. She decided instead, to wait until just before liftoff. If her bridge crew had not recovered most of their sensibilities by then, she would order the Doctor and Sek to do a run through engineering and the bridge to administer a medical solution. Yet, she didn't regret her decision to allow the full leave. If any crew needed and earned it, it was definitely Voyager's.

She flipped her monitor around and initiated the process required to take off, drawing in the data needed to once more get her ship back into its natural habitat, the clean vacuum of deep space.

"All hands," she said on the ship-wide communication band. "Secure stations for final stage of Condition Blue. Prepare to return to space." Captain's Log: Kathryn Janeway recording

Voyager has resumed course to the Alpha Quadrant and my crew is fully recovered from their leave. I am pleased to report that the productivity on many of the Operation Newborn projects has increased to the point where the week's setback has in fact, decreased to that of only a few days. Apparently, the period of rest & relaxation has more than paid for itself. The crew's morale is high, and I no longer sense the strain that preceded our temporary deviation from our routine.

There has been a certain amount of resentment from the crew directed to the Doctor for his lack of assistance on the day immediately following our celebration, but he seems unaffected by it. As he has said, it is not his place to deprive the crew of learning the hard lessons of life, and perhaps he is right. The next time, they ... and I ... shall be more circumspect about our tolerance for enjoying ourselves.

In truth, I do not think we will forget any of the things we've leaned here in the Delta Quadrant, regardless of how harsh, or how pleasant they turn out to be. From what we are taught, we grow both as individuals and as a crew, and so we shall continue to look forward to whatever lessons lie ahead.

The End

•  This is the 23rd story in the Just Between series.

• Dedicated to those in HC, and to Marco, for their helpful commentary as I wrote it.

• This story was posted around the last part of August, 1999, prior to the beginning of Voyager's season six.

Just Between Decks
G. L. Dartt

Captain Kathryn Janeway of the USS Voyager glared at the alien who stood insolently on her bridge, holding a disrupter rifle on her, feeling her lips draw back from her teeth in a primitive snarl. With an effort, she controlled it, composing her face into the impassive command mask which had served her so well for so long. The rest of her bridge staff stood uneasily at their posts, waiting for her nest command as they regarded the alien strike force with mixed anger and concern, made impotent before they understood what was happening, caught flatfooted by the abrupt materialization of an enemy on the ship. There hadn't even been a warning from the sensors, no indication that there might have been a ship nearby.

There had to be a ship nearby, Janeway thought darkly. Beings just didn't materialize out of thin air. She studied the intruders keenly, assessing every detail as she worked on a plan.

They were all tall and wide, but that could be more a result of the black armor covering their bipedal forms than any particular physiological trait. Bulky helmets with opaque face shields covered their heads, and their weapons were large, silver constructs that were clearly designed so that there was no question about their function. There was a right end and a wrong end to these things and right now, the crewmembers of Voyager were very much on the wrong end.

Beside Janeway, his burly form tense, his big hands gripping the arms of his chair, her first officer Commander Chakotay looked less than entirely Human, his dark eyes glittering ferociously. At the helm near the front of the bridge, the fair-haired Lt. Paris had swung his chair around to look at the command staff, waiting for orders, while at the rear of the bridge, at the ops station, Lt. Harry Kim frowned uncertainly, a lock of dark hair falling boyishly into his eyes. Only the dark-skinned Vulcan, Tuvok, standing passively at his tactical post, seemed unruffled by the unexpected appearance of the aliens, though Janeway knew that was a fallacy. The two junior officers, covering the auxiliary stations, looked absolutely terrified in contrast.

"Who are you?" Janeway demanded, her laser gaze boring into the alien who unfortunately, did not fall down dead from the sheer intensity of it.

"Quiet," the armored figure grunted.

Janeway forced herself not to cross her eyes as the muzzle of the weapon centered directly between them. Motion from the corner of the bridge caught her attention, and everyone turned to watch a new figure step off the upper level to the command level. It was also armored, but seemed slighter than the others standing guard, and when the gloved hands reached up to remove the opaque helmet, Voyager's bridge staff was surprised to see the hardened features of a rather diminutive female revealed. She would have been fairly attractive but for the ragged scar that marred the smooth flesh, slashing across her face and bridge of her nose, and the eyes ... solid black, without any hint of mercy or compassion in them.

"You're in charge?" she asked without preamble, taking a position in front of Janeway.

"I am Captain Kathryn Janeway of the USS Voyager," Janeway began, attempting a civil expression, hoping to somehow resolve this in a diplomatic way. "We represent the Feder--"

"Shut up," the woman said in a bored tone. "I'm not interested in your life story." She reached out and grabbed Janeway by the auburn hair at the top of her head, keeping her immobilized. "I'm only going to tell you this once, so listen well and impress the importance of what I tell you upon your crew. This is our ship now and while we would rather not kill you because we have use for workers, we will if we have to."

Before the captain could react, the woman pulled out a smaller weapon from her hip and without looking, fired it at Ensign McCormick at the science station. The blast caught the slender brunette high in the chest, slamming her back against the wall where she slumped to the floor, crimson staining the surface. Her eyes, wide and horrified, never left the captain's and Janeway thought it had been a look of betrayal and accusation in the junior officer's final gaze before her eyes dulled permanently. Janeway herself, only had time to start abruptly before the weapon was being pressed to her forehead, the cold metal cutting into the skin.

"Don't," the woman warned in a deadly voice. Janeway was aware of the rest of the bridge crew also being restrained by muzzles pressed hard against their heads. "That was an example, Captain Janeway. You will order your crew to cooperate with my people. You will be assembled in one of your cargo holds. Any attempt to resist will result in immediate death. Any attempt to initiate a self-destruct of this vessel will result in me killing you, and going to the second in command. I'll work my way down until I find someone who's smart enough to know when they're outmatched. Do we understand each other?"

"You will not harm anyone if we cooperate?" Janeway asked, in what she hoped was a perfectly even tone. She had never felt as angry as she did at this moment. Her stomach churned impotently, and tears of rage stung her eyes, but she refused to show it, maintaining her command mask with the greatest of effort.

"I didn't say that," the woman said with black humor, her eyes gleaming unpleasantly. "All I said was that I would kill anyone who didn't." She paused. "Do you require another example?"

"No," Janeway said quickly and harshly. "I believe you." She inhaled slowly. "I'll need to access the communications console."

"Or you can just verbally access the computer," the woman countered flatly.

Janeway did not flicker but inside, she felt a certain apprehension. The invader's words indicated far better knowledge than this invader should have about how things worked on a Starfleet vessel. That meant that Janeway had to be very, very careful here.

She cleared her throat and the muzzle eased off a little, the alien releasing her hold on her hair abruptly with a final pull that made the captain's head ache. "Computer, relay ship wide," Janeway said stiffly. "This is the Captain. Voyager has been invaded by a superior force. We are in a condition indigo. All crewmembers shall cooperate with the invaders, and assemble in cargo bay one." She regarded the woman angrily. "Is that sufficient?" she asked with a trace of sarcasm that she could not hide.

The woman's eyes narrowed and without warning, she backhanded Janeway across the face, using the weapon for weight. The metal opened up a gash on the captain's cheek and for a few seconds, Janeway saw stars but she managed to return her gaze to the woman, not lowering her eyes.

"Let's have no confusion about who's in charge here, Janeway," the woman said coldly.

"There's no confusion," Janeway returned in a deadly quiet voice.

"Now you will turn over all command controls to me and my men."

The hiss of the turbolift door drew their attention before the captain could answer, and Janeway felt her heart sink as yet another invader entered the bridge, brutally gripping the small arm of Naomi Wildman. Voyager's only child was obviously frightened, tears glistening in her eyes but she was trying her best not to show it.

"Look what I found, Kalin," the alien said, the voice filtered through the speaker in his armor though it was clearly male. "They have children." There was a pause. "Can I have her?"

The tone of the question sent a chill through Janeway in a way that nothing else did, the possibilities implicated being far and away the most unpleasant thing she had experienced since this whole thing began.

"Bring her here, Droxin," Kalin said flatly.

Reluctantly, the bulky form dragged Naomi over to the alien leader. Kalin reached out and gripped the child's shoulder.

"Are you scared, child?" she asked.

Naomi glanced uncertainly at Janeway, and the captain inclined her head briefly, indicated that she should answer.

"Yes," Naomi said faintly.

"Smart," Kalin said approvingly. "You should be, Droxin's a very scary man." She turned to look at Janeway. "This makes things much easier, Janeway. A species is always easier to control through their offspring. Let me rephrase my earlier statement. Cooperate, and the child stays with you. Do anything to interfere, and I give her and any other children to Droxin. Are we clear on this?"

"Very," Janeway said, hatred a cold, hard ball in her chest.

"Turn over command control," Kalin repeated flatly. "No tricks."

Janeway hesitated, saw the woman's hand tighten on Naomi's arm painfully, though the little girl refused to cry and did so, spitting out the codes reluctantly but obediently. When she was done, Kalin studied her closely for a moment, then nodded and released Naomi after a small shake. The child hesitantly moved toward Janeway, then, when she was not restrained, covered the rest of the distance in a rush, flinging herself into the captain's arms. Janeway could feel her trembling as she held her and instinctively, she tightened her hold, hugging her tightly.

"It's all right, Naomi," she murmured. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"Be sure to keep that promise," Kalin said, overhearing. She motioned to another of her group. "Escort them to the cargo hold. If you have any problems, you know what to do."

He nodded once and made a motion with his weapon. The bridge crew filtered into the turbolift, Kim, Paris and Tuvok going first, herded by two of the aliens.

After they had left, Ensign Pablo Baytart, who had been covering the engineering station, and Commander Chakotay were forced to get up by Droxin, who seemed less than pleased that he didn't get to keep his prize. Janeway was herded along with them, propelled by a sharp shove. Since she was still carrying Naomi who clung to her neck, she was hard pressed not to stumble and it took everything she had not to turn and jam the weapon straight down his throat. As she entered the turbolift, she turned in time to see Kalin sit down in the command chair, surveying the bridge with a possessive gaze before the lift doors slid shut and cut off the captain's view.

Janeway's back teeth ground sharply against each other but she did not speak as the lift descended to deck fourteen where they were pushed along toward cargo bay one. She did take an instant to note through her fury, how the small form of the ship's only child felt in her arms. It occurred to her suddenly that she had not held a child for so long that she could not remember when the last time had been. She was bemused by the emotions that rose within her, the fierce protectiveness, the tenderness, the sense of warm affection. Was this what Seven of Nine had been experiencing for the past year or so?

If that was the case, Janeway suddenly realized why her spouse of several months displayed such longing for them to have their own child. But both women knew that their lives were so busy that the addition of offspring would be far too great a complication as long as they were still in the Delta Quadrant. That reality, however, did not ease the yearning in the younger woman. Only now, Janeway felt she understood it a little better.

With consummate dignity, Janeway entered the cargo bay under the watchful eye of the alien guards, looking around to check out her crew. Most seemed to be doing fine, though a quick count revealed that there were still a few heads short. Disturbed, she glanced at Chakotay who was also scanning the crowd. He turned to her, nodding briefly. There were definitely several people missing, though the two officers were aware that more crewmembers were being escorted in every moment. With an effort, Janeway schooled herself to patience and gently lowered her burden to the deck.

"Naomi!" Samantha Wildman pushed through the crowd, gratefully wrapping up her daughter in her arms. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Naomi told her. "The captain protected me."

The ensign shot her captain a look of such profound gratitude that Janeway was embarrassed, particularly since she had been unable to protect another of her crew. For a brief second, she mourned the young ensign who had died so senselessly on the bridge but unfortunately, she could not afford too much grief on her. Not at the moment, not with the rest of her crew relying on her.

"All right, everyone," Chakotay shouted, getting everyone's attention. "Let's settle down and take stock. Departments, form up."

Janeway found a corner and knelt, the rest of her bridge crew gathered around her, their faces grim and somber.

"Report," she said.

Tom Paris shook his head. "It doesn't make sense, Captain," he said. "There was no indication of another vessel anywhere. And we just dropped out of warp on our own. I never touched the controls."

"Mr. Paris is correct," Tuvok added. "If there had been a cloaked vessel, it is of a type that is far more advanced than any we have known."

"Then, why do they want Voyager?" Chakotay asked, frowning.

"And what did they mean by 'workers'?" Harry offered. "What kind of workers?"

"I doubt we'll like it, whatever they meant," Tom responded pessimistically.

Janeway's eyes kept searching the crowd, keeping a particularly close eye on the entrance. When the two guards lifted a small device, possibly a communicator of some kind, and spoke into it, she rose to her feet, stepping forward. The guards abruptly went outside and the door slid shut with a solid thunk.

"Try it," she said and the crewmembers nearest to it, obligingly did so. They looked back at her and shook their heads, indicating it was sealed. She glanced at the catwalk which ran around the upper level and realized others were already ahead of her, checking the various auxiliary hatches and vents. Again, the indication was that they were completely sealed which meant that somehow, the invaders had accessed that part of the computer, putting overrides on the hatches and locking them in. During all this, uneasy feelings of displacement and dismay rippled within her as one individual remained conspicuous by her absence.

"Computer," she said urgently, a feeling of even greater dread slipping over her. "Locate Seven of Nine."

The computer's response was completely even, impassive, reciting off the requested information without emotion.

"Seven of Nine's lifesigns have been terminated."

Seven of Nine regarded her preparations with satisfaction, looking over the deck where she had created a cozy nest with a Type-3 mattress, normally used on away missions, and two blankets she had taken from her quarters. Nearby, a basket full of picnic foods was maintained by a stasis field which kept things hot or cold respectively, while a bottle of wine sat chilling in a silver ice bucket. She was looking forward to the evening and decided that Kathryn would be pleased as well. All the Borg had to do now was come up with a way to lure the captain here without spoiling the surprise.

Recently, in an effort to make a joke, Seven had stated that her intention was to make love to the captain in every part of the ship. To her surprise, the captain had taken it seriously and laid some ground rules about what she expected while Seven attempted to carry out this goal. Seven decided that she would start small, specifically in this tiny auxiliary room which was located under the teardrop saucer section of the ship, not far from the aerowing which doubled as the captain's yacht. No one knew exactly what this space was used for, but one of its attributes was the ability to transform the surrounding hull to a transparent state, making it appear as if any inhabitants of the room were actually out in space, carried along beneath the ship. It was one of the captain's absolute favorite places on her beloved vessel and Seven hoped that her plan would make it even more popular with Janeway.

The Borg felt a tiny jolt and realized that, for some reason, the vessel had just dropped out of warp. She waited for an explanation, the announcement of an alert, but when none was forthcoming, she decided that she had been in error, though as an ex-drone with enhanced senses, she was not normally mistaken about such things. But her thoughts were primarily pleasant and her anticipation of her spouse's reaction to her surprise was strong, so she did not give it the attention it should have required. Instead, she made a few more adjustments to her props, making sure she had a portable unit to provide music, then stood up, head carefully bent to avoid hitting the underside of the hatch. Sometimes, there was a decided disadvantage to being six feet tall.

Seven of Nine reached up to press the control panel when the captain's words came over the ship-wide band, issuing thinly through the comm badge on the Borg's generous chest.

"This is the Captain. Voyager has been invaded by a superior force. We are in a condition indigo. All crewmembers shall cooperate with the invaders and assemble in cargo bay one."

Seven's eidetic memory immediately brought up the definition for condition indigo.

In the event of a hostile takeover, the first priority of the Starfleet officer is to secure a position of resistance. If unable to do so, the appearance of cooperation must be presented in order to cover for others who may have succeeded in securing such a position.

Seven swiftly reached out and accessed the control panel with her Borg assimilation tubules, the worm-like appendages shooting from the back of her left hand, bypassing the touch pad's preliminary function of merely securing the hatch and tapping into the main computer itself. It was unlikely that anyone else on the vessel had the ability to do what she did then, and certainly not as quickly, but within seconds, she had instructed the computer to list her as 'deceased' in the crew manifest and furthermore, to ignore her individual lifesigns, considering them terminated. Then she withdrew her access, reaching over and taking the comm badge from her left breast, crushing it swiftly with her implant so that it could no longer send out any kind of signal.

It was possible that her tampering in the manifest would easily be discovered but she also realized that for anyone to want to, they would first have to determine that any tampering had, in fact, occurred. After all, why would the invaders be worried about a dead person? Or suspect that the dead person was in fact, not even dead? She was grateful that this tactic had been discussed not so long ago in one of the Starfleet classes she was taking in the evenings. It was actually the Bolian, Crell, who offered the idea that if the ship recognized an individual as being dead, the sensors would tend to ignore it, even if it continued to walk around. It had been in response to a question posed by Tuvok, their instructor that night, about the danger of relying too much on technology over that of a being's natural senses. It had been a lively discussion and Seven had came away from it filled with much information on how to deceive both.

With Voyager's own internal sensors no longer a concern, at least for the moment, Seven turned her attention to any equipment that the invaders might have brought along with them. Since this particular area of the vessel was not crucial, and in fact, it was unknown to a lot of crewmembers, it was unlikely the invaders would think to look here. That gave her a small margin of leeway. She dared not access the computer from any other Voyager console but it occurred to her that she could utilize the Borg equipment which sat dormant in a room, sealed off from the rest of a transformed cargo bay two. The problem was in getting there. The most obvious method would be to use the access corridors and Jeffries tubes, but chances were, they would be monitored closely and even if the internal sensors ignored her lifesigns, they would detect motion within their area of sensitivity. However, that could be gotten around, provided she could make it to a Jeffries tube without being seen.

She did not wish to encounter any of the invaders. That would force her to kill or disable one of them and that would alert the intruders sooner or later, that there was a random element loose on the vessel. It was important that they not know that for as long as possible because once they did, they could simply use the crew they had captured as hostages, threatening them to make Seven surrender. Since Kathryn was indubitably one of those hostages, that scenario was simply unacceptable.

Seven placed her ear against the hatch and listened as hard as she could. There was no indication that there was anyone in the access corridor above her and the odds were that there would not be. This was a rarely traveled part of the ship, a hall which ended in the dead end of a plasma relay conduit, serviced occasionally, checked only during routine maintenance or a full red alert by a visual inspection. She determined that the risk was acceptable and activated the hatch.

If she was wrong ... well, she hoped they would merely take her to where Janeway and the others were being held in cargo bay one, rather than killing her out of hand.

Her gamble paid off and there was no one in the access corridor. She began to climb out, hesitated, then reached back to open the picnic basket and grab a container of potato salad along with a fork. It was unlikely she would be getting dinner this evening and it behooved her to eat when she could. After all, it wasn't as if she would be able to walk up to a replicator and access it.

She closed the hatch behind her and skulked along the corridor to the juncture, which led to a much larger hall. She waited until she was sure that it was empty, then darted across to the nearest hatch of the Jeffries tube running along this deck. She crawled in, sealed it and looked down at the grate which made up the floor of the tube. Many complained about the close confines of such conduits but Seven was aware that there was another way to utilize them in order to travel about the ship ... in even closer confines. Most never thought of it. Seven had no choice now but to accept the necessity of it.

Reaching down, she hooked the fingers of her left hand in the mesh of the panel just beyond the one she was crouching on, lifting it up to reveal a crawl space beneath. Unlike the relative cleanliness of the Jeffries tube, it was thick with dust and grime, hardly ever cleaned and sure to be very unpleasant to travel through. However, it would guarantee that she remained below the level of any sensors which would lessen greatly the risk of being discovered.

She squirmed into the hole and twisted and turned until she could pull the panel back down into position. She was left in a space about a meter wide and only half a meter high, the tiny conduit present beneath all the Jeffries tubes throughout the ship. It took a few moments to come up with a form of locomotion which would allow her to move at a reasonable pace and it cost more than a few bruises, as her elbows and knees persisted in colliding harshly with the floor and sides despite her best effort to be graceful. She had never envied her spouse's more compact size any more than she did right at this moment.

As she snaked slowly forward on her stomach, using her arms and legs to pull her along, wiggling past the metal projections which protruded every few meters, the grease and dirt smearing over her normally immaculate blue and grey biometric outfit, the dust kicking up to irritate her nasal passages, it occurred to Seven that this was one of her more miserable experiences since leaving the Collective. She tried to distract herself with speculation about these invaders; who they were, where they came from, how they had gotten aboard undetected, what purpose they had for taking Voyager? She hoped that when she got to her Borg cubicle, all her questions would be answered and in such a way that she could come up with a plan to defeat them.

She wondered if any other members of the crew had managed to find a position of resistance. There were many who were certainly capable of it, if the opportunity had presented itself. She realized how fortunate she had been in her timing of preparing her surprise for Kathryn. Chances were, had she been in astrometrics where she was normally supposed to be, she would have been captured along with the others.

She trusted that the crew had been captured. The thought that perhaps they had been killed was something she did not want to contemplate ... not if she wished to function with any sort of competence. She understood that worrying unduly about Kathryn could easily overpower her good sense and intelligence as it had before. The Borg still had a faint scar running along her side where she had rushed several armed guards in a Barellan prison, trying to draw their fire away from where the captain was being transported to the safety of the ship. She had been extremely fortunate that she had not been killed and the foolishness of her gesture had been impressed upon her by a furious Captain Janeway after the fact. So Seven carefully gathered up all her concern for her spouse into a manageable ball and buried it deep within herself.

She hissed as a sharp edged projection caught her right arm, actually tearing the biometric suit and cutting into the flesh beneath. Crimson welled up in the wound but she determined that it was not serious and ignored the pain as she resumed her torturous progress, trusting that it would clot eventually.

Pain is irrelevant, she told herself sternly. I must get to cargo bay two. I cannot allow anything to stop me, least of all, this minor discomfort.

She took several moments to wiggle around a juncture and start up the next stretch. The most dangerous areas were where she had to come out of the crawl space and go through the hatches to the next set of Jeffries tubes. She came to one such transition point, waiting for a long period of time to make sure it was clear, then rose out of the crawl space, slithered through the hatch to the other side, and entered the crawl space there. This one was even dirtier than the last one and she knew that by this time, she wasn't even recognizable as the neat and tidy astrometrics officer of Voyager.

As she tackled this next section, she couldn't help but be aggravated by the lost opportunity of her planned romantic evening. There was no telling how long this particular adventure would last, but it was certain that Kathryn would hardly be in any mood to make love in a different part of the vessel now. In fact, depending on how the mission went, it was possible the captain would not be interested in romance at all, for some time. For no more than that, a burning resentment toward these intruders rose in Seven, fueling her desire to find a solution for this as soon as possible.

She was halfway down a stretch of tube leading to the turbolift shaft where she could climb the access ladder up to deck eight and cargo bay two when she heard the sound of someone else in the tube. She froze, silent as the beings approached, not moving as the two forms passed over her. She knew that the lights from the Jeffries tube were situated such so that they did not illuminate the area beneath the grill and the dirt covering her form suddenly became the perfect camouflage. It allowed her to blend into the shadows beneath the mesh and she studied the intruders carefully as they passed over her, noting the armor, the markings on the shiny exterior, and most tellingly, the sight of alien features through the open faceplate of one of the helmets.

Seven quirked a brow. Species 2903. Their distinctiveness had been added to the perfection of the Collective some years ago though apparently not all of them had been assimilated. Possibly because the Kunntarie, as they called themselves, had been a space-faring race which had been constantly expanding prior to meeting the Borg. They had established a presence on many other planets and the Borg's sweep had taken place at the same time as the encounter at Wolf 359 in the Alpha Quadrant. Even the mighty Collective had been spread a little thin and it was conceivable that a Kunntarie colony or two had been overlooked. Seven remembered them as a particularly aggressive species, preying on all the other systems in the sector, utilizing the other inhabitants as slaves in their asteroid mines. Their assimilation would have come as a welcome piece of news to those other races ... except for the fact that the Borg had assimilated them along with Species 2903 as the cubes passed through the sector.

Seven remained still for quite some time after the sounds of the intruders' passage had disappeared, making sure that they were long gone before she resumed her progress. She was surprised a few moments later when she heard some more noise and she froze again. But this time, the sound was closer and she realized with a certain apprehension, that whoever was approaching, was not in the Jeffries tube.

They were in the crawl space with her.

B'Elanna Torres hunched within the shadows of Voyager's hull connection, where the teardrop saucer section joined to the engineering section of the ship. Unbelievably, when the ship had been invaded, the Klingon engineer had been outside, working on a weakness in the hull plating next to the messhall. It was not a very serious mend and certainly not anything that should have required her performing a space walk while in warp, but every so often, B'Elanna started feeling a little constrained by the confines of the ship. At that point, she would take the opportunity to 'take a little stroll outside', as she called it. Out there, stuck to the snowy hull of Voyager by the magnetic grip of her boots and her safety tether, the engineer experienced a glorious sensation of exhilaration and joy that nothing else could provide. The faceplate of her suit glinted from the light of a thousand stars shooting by, distorted by the warp field which, at this vantage, seemed to shimmer around the vessel, the colors and lights sharp with an edge undistorted by atmosphere of any kind.

However, it wasn't totally protocol to do such unnecessary 'space-walks' so she was very careful about how she went about it, the only one knowing she was out here being Ensign Vorik. And that was only so that, if she did run into trouble, there would be someone to tell the captain how very stupid she had been and where they should probably look for the body.

B'Elanna had nearly lost contact with the hull when the vessel abruptly dropped out of warp and it was only by the thinnest of margins that she had kept herself from being thrown onward, hurdling light years away within her own small remnant of warp bubble. Not that she would have had much time to experience it since the forces involved would have crushed her to a paste within her space suit almost instantly.

Once the Klingon had regained her equilibrium, heart pounding in her chest, she had stowed her tools and hastily headed for the nearest airlock, pausing only when the captain's message came across her suit communications system. B'Elanna couldn't remember exactly what 'condition indigo' was ... there were just so many damned colored conditions in Starfleet ... but her time in the Maquis had taught her how to react quickly to an unexpected threat. She knew that the longer she could remain unknown to the invasion force, the more trouble she could cause in defense of her ship. She shut off the transmit aspect of her comm unit and activated it to receive only, scanning the full broad band spectrum, trying to tap into the internal communications of the vessel.

She started to make a circuit of the ship, taking care around any portholes where someone might look out to see her. Every so often, she would cautiously glance through the large windows, able to catch glimpses of the crew herded from their quarters and work areas, being escorted to cargo bay one by massively armored aliens. The Klingon was greatly impressed by their intimidating appearance and worried by the unknown capabilities of their armor.

The engineer guessed that Vorik must have kept quiet about her presence outside, not that she would have expected anything less of the Vulcan. The invaders could have easily reversed the polarity on the hull, shooting her away like water beading off a duck's back and she stepped lightly, making sure her safety line was connected to the available clamps at all times, afraid that at any moment, her margin of error would narrow to nothing.

Most of the subspace chatter within the ship had been taken over by the aliens and it bothered B'Elanna tremendously, as she mounted the side of Voyager to creep around to the bottom, that none of it was being sent externally nor could she see any vessel in the area around her. Granted, visibility was a tricky thing in space but the fact remained that to transport a strike force large enough to take the Intrepid class vessel, a ship should have been both close enough, and large enough, for her to see. But none had appeared, nor had any of the proximity alarms in her suit activated.

Where were these guys coming from? And how had they managed to invade Voyager without so much as a warning from the many sensors designed to prevent just that sort of threat?

As B'Elanna cautiously slipped from one shadow to the next, Voyager's hull unfortunately having very little in the way of cover, she found that she was profoundly worried about her crewmates and most tellingly, a few specific individuals far more than others.

Seven of Nine appeared in her thoughts and dismally, B'Elanna trudged toward the auxiliary lock near cargo bay two, trying to ignore mental images of the tall cool blonde who had become her good friend after their initial period of intense antagonism. B'Elanna knew that she had warmed up to the young woman because Seven had fallen in love with Janeway and the softening of the arrogant attitude had allowed the Klingon to see the vulnerable and gentle woman inside. B'Elanna wasn't sure when her friendship for Seven had turned to attraction on her part, but she had kept it carefully hidden, refusing to acknowledge it in any way. Not only did she have the utmost respect for Janeway, though she wasn't always good at showing it, she knew, deep in her soul, that Seven would never be able to love the Klingon with the all consuming, absolute passion that she did the captain.

So B'Elanna had kept silent, always on the outside looking in, warmed by the pure glow of such a fine love, but always aware that she was not experiencing it herself. Was that the real reason she had broken up with Tom? she wondered. Not because he had changed, but because her expectations of what love was supposed to be, had? Then, there was Voyager's first officer. B'Elanna's affection and respect for the darkly handsome man had roots stretching back to their earliest days in the Maquis, but when they escalated that into a romantic relationship, she found it lacking. She had wanted the same purity and power of the heart that Seven seemed to have with Janeway, but B'Elanna never managed to achieve it with Chakotay. She was never sure  whether it had been her doing or his, or both, but when he told her that they needed 'a break' from each other, despite her pain, there was also this great sense of relief.

Now, there was this new situation and it was the most baffling of all. In truth, B'Elanna had known Ara Lerona as long as she had known Chakotay, though certainly not as well. Indeed, B'Elanna had been as surprised as anyone when Ara had turned out to be Ro Laren, of the USS Enterprise. For almost six years, Ro had maintained the secrecy, doing whatever job was asked of her quietly and competently, not attracting any more attention than she had to. But her great abilities and potential could not remain hidden forever and when it was finally revealed that the officer was in fact, good enough to have served under Jean-Luc Picard, commander of the fleet's flagship, Captain Janeway has been willing to grant the woman another chance to redeem herself. And in doing so, allowed the real woman beneath Ara Lerona's sullen persona to shine through with the most brilliant sort of light.

B'Elanna found herself drawn to that light as strongly as any moth to a flame and had no better chance than the insect of resisting, it seemed. Ro was highly intelligent, cool under fire, and had a way of moving that combined deadliness and grace to such an extent, B'Elanna would have gladly spent all day simply watching the woman walk. The Bajoran beauty was as reserved and distant as Captain Janeway herself, as arrogant and efficient as Seven, as broodingly attractive as Chakotay, with a dry wit that far surpassed Tom's more juvenile approach to humor. If only the Klingon could find a way to touch Ro's heart as the Bajoran had so inescapably touched B'Elanna's.

Unfortunately, B'Elanna had yet to come up with a way to make the Bajoran feel that way in return. Sometimes it seemed like she was making real headway toward a romantic tryst, but other times, the engineer thought she would never get through to the unfathomable woman. Recently, a silly argument over something B'Elanna couldn't even remember had put them at odds, which was quite discouraging when one considered the friendly interaction they had shared during shore leave a month earlier. She was discovering that the woman was a complete mystery to the Klingon.

Which only made her more appealing.

For a second, Lt. Ro Laren's face appeared so strongly in her mind's eye that B'Elanna could have sworn the Bajoran woman was standing only a few feet away, the dark hair and eyes lit by starlight, her slender, willowy form so refined in her gold and black uniform. The Klingon was embarrassed by the wave of vertigo and excitement which swept through her and she tried hard to bottle it up. It was bad enough that she acted like a complete fool whenever the woman was around, but it came to her that, as much as her failed romances with Tom Paris and Chakotay had hurt, this one had the potential to destroy her completely.

The Klingon decided that agonizing over her love life ... or lack, thereof ... was hardly the way to come up with a concrete plan of action to defend her ship and grumpily, she shook off her musing as she knelt beside the airlock situated right next to the huge bay doors protecting cargo bay two from space. She knew she needed to find a method to activate the airlock seal without alerting the bridge that someone had entered the ship unannounced.

She touched the control panel, moving with a delicacy that was belied by her stocky form, her fingers incredibly sensitive even through the bulky gloves. B'Elanna set up a repeating cycle within the control circuits so that it would inform all the internal sensors and alarms that the lock was closed ... no matter what happened in the future. A dangerous program because the last thing a starship needed was an airlock which could open without warning, but in this case, it was necessary. Finally, she keyed in the commands to open up the manual override.

Soundlessly, a small panel a few inches above the control panel slid back, revealing a heavy, metal lever. She reached over to grip the red handle though it did not move easily, taking all her Klingon strength to pull it. She made a note of that, aware that this meant it had not been serviced lately. Any crewmember, regardless of strength, needed to be able to access this lever and obviously, full maintenance was not being carried out as it should be. She hated to think that anything on Voyager was being neglected, even the external airlock manual overrides which were rarely, if ever utilized.

The door to the airlock slid back, and cautiously she stepped inside the darkened compartment. Before activating any of the controls, she opened her tool pouch and pulled out a scanner, normally used to detect energy leaks. She altered the settings so that it could detect the equivalent of Humanoid energy output, then placed it against the inner door, scanning beyond. There was nothing detected but she was also very aware that the armor the aliens were wearing somehow masked their lifesigns. At least, that's how she would design them if she were doing the job. But surely they would put out some form of energy signal inconsistent with Voyager's cargo bay.

B'Elanna went through the settings, then finally, set it for motion. Still nothing. It was possible that the armored figures were standing inside, just waiting her for her to step through, whereupon they would promptly blow her to dust, but she had to take a chance sometime. She couldn't stay in the decompressed airlock forever. Taking a deep breath, she shut the outer door finally and activated the decompression cycle, first making sure her repeating signal was still sending a normal reading to any internal sensors.

Thankfully, the area around the airlock was clear and B'Elanna stepped out into the bright illumination of cargo bay two. Months earlier, a virus had swept through the ship, one of its symptoms being an increased desire to 'mate' and as a further side effect, disrupting the birth control implants every crewmember were required to have, resulting in ten pregnancies. The women were expected to deliver en masse in a month and the crew had been working feverishly to prepare Voyager for its new role as a generational ship.

The cavernous bay had been transformed by the efforts of team from biometrics, assisted by Seven and headed up by Ensign Samantha Wildman, into a hydroponics 'park'. The deck was covered with a genetically designed form of earth gel where lush, green grass had been seeded while a grove of genetically enhanced trees stretched two decks high. They towered over a profusion of smaller bushes, which divided the large area into smaller clearings where children could run and play, bordered by flowerbeds boasting a litany of colors. The lighting was set to the spectrum of Earth's sun, requiring far more energy output than most ships would normally be willing to expend, but all of this was deemed necessary for the well being of the expected offspring who would be arriving very soon. The park was turning into one of the crew's favorite parts of the ship and fortunately, the alien intruders did not seem equally attracted to its charm. At least, not yet.

B'Elanna shed her bulky, white outfit, leaving her communicator stuck on the squarish propulsion pack which would disrupt its signal. She inhaled the warm, moist air, grateful she had worn only a tank top while in the space suit rather than the full uniform sweater and tunic. Moving quickly along the hull, which had been painted to resemble a brick wall, she made her way toward an innocuous door set in one corner. It was double-sealed against the cargo bay to insure no one could enter inadvertently but she bypassed the encryption codes easily and entered the small room. Inside were the Borg alcoves which Seven of Nine had occupied when she first arrived on the ship. Included was a work station and B'Elanna went to it immediately, powering it up by tapping into the cargo bay energy systems so that the drain would not be detected by any bridge sensors. Through the open door, the 'daylight' of the park dimmed into night mode, four hours early, and B'Elanna hoped that no one passing by would notice the incongruity. Or know about the twelve hour cycle of light and darkness programmed into the park's illumination system.

She carefully slipped into the ship's database, freely utilizing the Borg masking codes that Seven had taught her, and played the logs of what had happened on the bridge while she was outside on the hull. She was infuriated by the death of Ensign McCormick and absolutely enraged by the threat made to Naomi and the rest. She wanted nothing more than to grab a bat'telh, head for the bridge, and lay open this Kalin person, spreading her intestines all over the lower command level. Common sense kept her where she stood though she was literally shaking as she brought herself under control.

She was hit by a second shock when the computer listed Seven's lifesigns as being terminated, but not taking anything at face value, she checked deeper and discovered that the piece of data was added not long after Janeway's announcement. Furthermore, it was added utilizing several Borg encryptions, Seven's touch on the worm as distinctive as her genetic code. A sweet sense of relief swept through B'Elanna and she took the time to refine the program, listing the Borg's termination as having happened several weeks earlier in a minor accident when the power relays overloaded, injuring two crewmembers but did not actually kill anyone. Then for good measure, she added her own death certificate for that time as well. As she did, she tried not to think of the damage these worms and erroneous files were doing to the databanks and how long it would take to clean it up after this immediate mess with the intruders was taken care of.

A sound in the outer cargo bay reached her keen ears and swiftly, she shut down the board. She looked around for a weapon, finding a steel bar lying negligently by the dais. Definitely not to the work standards of Voyager but at that moment, B'Elanna gave thanks for the carelessness of that unknown crewmember who had been sealing off the dormant alcoves. She picked it up and concealed herself in the shadows of the entrance, cursing herself for not shutting it behind her. But she hadn't wanted to be trapped in the small area with no way out.

B'Elanna's lips drew back in a silent snarl and she hefted the bar over her shoulder, ready to do as much damage as possible to whoever was crossing the lawns outside and heading directly for the Borg alcoves.

Ro Laren had been standing on a catwalk over engineering when the aliens had begun materializing, popping out of midair like rabbits from a magician's hat. Though the Bajoran's first instinct was to fight, her training gave her pause to assess the situation, and she realized that the Starfleet crew were outnumbered and outgunned, caught completely off guard. Nearby, Lt. Davis growled and his fingers twitched for a phaser which simply wasn't there. Security's beta squad had been working out, attempting to incorporate the addition of two new members into what was Tuvok's elite team, but the training scenario had not included having live weapons issued to them.

"Davis," she hissed. "Indigo."

He looked at her, looked baffled, then nodded. "Form up," he ordered in a low tone. "Condition Indigo."

From both ends of the catwalk, aliens were approaching and the team turned to meet them, not resisting, hands spread out to show they were unarmed. But in doing so, they formed a concealing wall around Lt. Ro who crouched down and opened a panel in the hull near where they had been standing. It didn't sit easy in her stomach to be doing this. In fact, it felt like she was abandoning her people and worse, it was possible that some of them could be harmed in covering for her. However,  indigo was a tactic practiced by security ever since Voyager had been taken over by the Kazon at the end of their second year in the Delta Quadrant. They hadn't always had a chance to initiate it at times but they were all well trained in it. She was the closest to the panel and if she could get away for the moment, giving herself a chance to tackle the fight later, from another angle, she had to take it. She pressed her communicator into Davis's hand and dived through the opening.

She wiggled upward into the conduit, grateful that she had been gifted with a slender, flexible physique, her speed and acrobatic ability making up for the brute strength that others in the team like Crell and Davis boasted. She snaked her way though the opening until she reached a cross tube, hearing rather than seeing the panel hissing shut behind her, no doubt activated by another of the security force. She did not look back as she entered the larger confines of a Jeffries tube. Immediately she pried open the nearest mesh grate which made up the floor of the tube and slipped into the crawlspace, letting gravity drop the panel back down into place, easing it down with her feet. She utilized the military crawl she had learned all those years ago on Earth at Starfleet Command when she had returned to take advanced tactical training, knowing that she needed to travel far and fast, getting clear of any search that might be made of the tubes around engineering.

She was surprised to see the amount of dirt inhabiting the crawl space, but pleased as it began to cover her uniform, particularly the band of bright yellow on the shoulders. She paused a second to darken her hands and smear some over her face before resuming her progress. She left the crawl space at a juncture, swiftly mounted the ladder to the next deck and slipped back into the crawl space. It wasn't the best way to travel between decks, but for those that had been taught, it was an effective way to avoid ship sensors and hide from visual detection.

As Ro squirmed her way past a juncture, she wondered what Tuvok was doing at the moment. Her immediate superior, and the one who had been her tutor during her training, as well as her mentor while on Voyager, normally pulled bridge duty at this particular time. She hoped that he had managed to secure his own position of resistance but she knew it was unlikely. A starship's senior staff were generally left quite vulnerable to this form of invasion and chances were, he had been secured along with the rest. Sometimes, there was something to be said about being one of the silent majority on a starship, one of those people who rarely got noticed on the lower decks but were so necessary for the ship to function. It worried her that, ever since her real identity had been revealed, she had attracted the attention of  Janeway and the feisty captain had actually gone so far as to indicate that she wanted to see Ro on the bridge more. The Bajoran didn't know how comfortable she was with that idea yet.

On the other hand, Ro couldn't deny that she was feeling a great deal better about herself. The fact that she was suddenly being expected to accept bridge duty had brought her a wealth of emotion that she hadn't felt since that brief, bright time on the Enterprise. Pride and renewed passion for Starfleet were beginning to assert themselves in her once more. She had always been known as a bit of a rebel, but what a great many people overlooked was that she had been accepted by Starfleet Academy, which only took those who belonged there, who could meet the stringent requirements. She had graduated respectably high in her class, completely determined at that time to uphold the ideals of the Federation ... with her life, if necessary. Things hadn't always worked out the way Ro would have chosen in her career, but Starfleet was still something she had chosen to pursue with everything she had been, and walking away from it, along with all it represented, had hurt almost as much as disappointing Captain Picard.

Given yet another chance, on another Starfleet ship, now older and hopefully a great deal wiser than she had been when she made that fateful decision those years ago, Ro really did not want to screw it up again.

Her breath rasped hard in her chest as she squeezed through another juncture and she almost missed the noise ahead. She froze, listening intently and tried to bring her pounding heart under control so that she could hear. It almost stopped completely when an almost unrecognizable Seven of Nine came into sight.

"Lt. Ro," Seven remarked calmly, as if the two women were meeting in a brightly lit corridor.

"Prophets, Seven," Ro hissed. "What are you doing?"

"I am engaged in condition indigo," Seven noted in a very low voice. She tilted her head, her narrow features black with grime and dirt, her blonde hair grey with dust, random strands falling about her face. Yet for all that, Ro still found Seven to be a formidable beauty, though cold, displaying a hard shell of Borg arrogance which kept most people from knowing her well.

"So am I," Ro whispered tersely. "Where are you headed?"

"Cargo bay two," Seven responded. "I hope to access the computer from my Borg alcove. It is an external database, independent of the ship, though I can tap into Voyager's banks from there."

Ro considered that. "That's a good idea," she said. It occurred to her suddenly that although she had this vague idea of getting to the armory for weapons, she hadn't really worked out what she would do after that. Coming across Seven, however, had immediately doubled the strength of Voyager's resistance cell.

She noticed the container in Seven's hand. "What is that?" she asked. She quirked an eyebrow. "Did you manage to grab some tools?"

"It is potato salad," Seven said.

Ro stared at her.

"Potato salad?" Ro repeated blankly. "Where did you get potato salad?"

"From the picnic basket," Seven replied.

Ro forced herself not to roll her eyes. "Of course, you did," she said. "Where the hell else would you get it?"

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "Where else, indeed," she agreed.

Was there a glint of humor in those pale eyes? Ro hadn't thought that Seven had much of a sense of humor, which of course, made the woman a perfect match for the captain whom she had also considered somewhat humorless. Except, there had been those times when Ro had seen a more Human side of Janeway ... moments of repose in a cavern where the captain had been sitting next to her spouse, her hand unselfconsciously on the Borg's thigh, her face alight with something which could only be described as pure, unadulterated love. Or the barbeque at a recent ship-wide shore leave where they had been gathered around a bonfire singing, even the Borg who possessed a surprisingly sweet voice. Seven had held the captain in her arms as Janeway beamed with a combination of pride, pleasure and far too many bottles of ale.

Perhaps she was being entirely too hard on the captain and her spouse, the Bajoran decided. Maybe it was just that she, as a crewmember, was simply not allowed to see these women the way they saw each other. And the rare glimpses the crew did get were hardly enough for anyone to determine who these women really were. Yet, that didn't stop people, including herself, from judging them. Ro felt somewhat ashamed. She had spent most of her life being judged ... and found wanting ... by a great many people who had no clue as to who she actually was inside. It bothered her that she could so easily be guilty of the same thing.

"Would you care for some?" Seven offered politely.

Ro eyed her narrowly. Was the Borg making fun of her? She dismissed that out of hand and then, was astonished to realize that the thought of food was actually an attractive one, saliva flooding her mouth.

"Uh, maybe just a little," Ro said reluctantly, trying hard not to think about the absurdity of having potato salad in the crawl space between decks while an invasion force had taken over the ship.

Seven produced a fork and Ro unzipped her tunic to get at her sweater, using its relative cleanliness to wipe off the grime from the utensil. Seven deactivated the stasis lid and, with an odd sort of the polite formality, they shared the fork as they consumed the potato salad hungrily.

Rule one, Ro thought. Eat and rest when possible in a battle situation. Who knew when one would get another opportunity?

When they finished, they discarded the container and began to head for cargo bay two together. The next little while was something that Ro hoped she would be able to forget about soon, a nightmarish journey with Seven bringing up her rear, hoping that the next junction would not reveal them to the enemy. The Borg had explained about the Kunntarie, who they were and where they came from, though she couldn't explain where they had gotten the technology to transport a strike force unannounced onto a vessel of Voyager's capability.

"We're here," Seven said finally as she entered the last tube.

Ro lifted up the mesh over her head, grunting with the effort it took, and shinnied up into what now seemed the most spacious of Jeffries tubes, helping the larger Seven emerge from the dank crawl space. She wondered if she looked as bad as the Borg and decided that she would just not think about it from now on.

Seven immediately accessed the nearby panel, hesitating before opening it, and Ro realized that she was listening intently. The Bajoran wondered how much Borg enhancement the woman retained, but did not say anything when Seven finally wiggled through the hatch. The fresh smell of growing things hit Ro strongly as she crawled out onto the soft grass and she gratefully accepted the hand Seven reached out to help her to her feet. The Bajoran stretched gingerly, feeling twinges which would probably take some time to go away and looked around warily. They were behind a grove of trees, concealed from the rest of the cargo bay, and Seven took the lead, working her way through the bushes toward the other side of the bay.

As they skulked across the park, Ro was struck by the sheer expenditure of effort and energy this transformation represented. It was commonly known that children raised solely on starships, under artificial gravity and lighting, tended to be weaker and more susceptible to illness than those raised on planets. Sometimes, holodecks simply weren't enough and offspring needed real sunshine and unfiltered air from living plants to grow strong and healthy.

The ship's only child, Naomi Wildman, had been required to spend time in sickbay in a specially designed hydroponics closet once a week but that was deemed unsuitable for a large group of children. Ships with family facilities always included a park and Ro's prior posting, the galaxy class USS Enterprise, had actually boasted two, well-tended, hydroponic areas. But a Scout ship like Voyager did not have anywhere near the capacity or energy generating capability of the Explorer Type flagship. This park was a real demand on Voyager's systems yet, for all that, the crew welcomed its addition and seemed more than willing to sacrifice in other areas to make it work.

Ro supposed she understood that as she caught the fragrance of several flowers growing in a bed by some thick bushes. She did wonder why the lights were dimmed to the night time cycle however, aware that the plants required a twelve hour cycle of light and dark to grow. Had she and Seven been in the crawl space that long?

"Someone has accessed the alcoves," Seven said suddenly, stopping in her tracks.

Ro peered over her shoulder, the two women hidden in the shadows of a tree, seeing the eerie green illumination issuing from within a small, innocuous door. She immediately took the lead, utilizing hand signals to position Seven on the other side of the opening, in the concealment of yet more bushes. Then the Bajoran picked up some gravel from the path they were on and carefully tossed it some distance away where the bits of rock loudly and distinctly landed.

Nothing, no motion from within. Ro considered that, concluding that the aliens would have certainly rushed to check it out. Their mode of operating was hardly that of sneaking around ... not with the weapons or armor they possessed. She crept closer, eyeing what little of the interior she could see. Though that wasn't much, it was clearly unoccupied and she relaxed marginally.

She motioned Seven to follow her and entered confidently. Ro never knew what alerted her, perhaps the sound of a heavy object whipping through the air, but she ducked instinctively and the metal bar passed cleanly over her head to thud into the mesh covered hand of Seven who immediately grasped it, holding it immobile.

"B'Elanna Torres," Seven identified calmly. "There is no need for violence at this time."

Ro stumbled forward and turned around to see the Klingon staring at them both with confusion and glee.

"What are you doing here?" the engineer said, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was still holding onto the other end of the metal bar which was hefted easily by Seven.

"Almost getting my skull crushed," Ro said with annoyance, though whether it was with the engineer or herself for not realizing the room was far from empty, she didn't know.

B'Elanna flushed guiltily and Ro felt a touch of remorse for her tone. She was aware the Klingon was interested in her romantically and depending on how things went, Ro thought that just possibly she could return that interest ... though it was taking her a long time to trust feelings and sensations that she had thought long buried.

"I thought you were the intruders," B'Elanna said in a subdued tone.

"If we were, you'd be dead," Ro said harshly. "A metal bar would hardly be a match for the disrupters they're carrying."

"I know that," B'Elanna retorted, anger rising. "But it was all I had to work with."

Ro glared back at her and then realized Seven was regarding them both as if they had lost their minds.

"Perhaps if we spent our time concentrating on the immediate problem," the Borg offered coldly. "Rather than indulging in useless emotional displays, we would be far more productive."

That brought them back to reality and Ro looked away, unable to hold B'Elanna's eyes. When was she going to get this temper of hers under control? she wondered. And why was it so easy for the chief engineer to make her lose it?

"I've accessed your board, Seven," B'Elanna said, pointedly ignoring the Bajoran. "It was a smart thing to terminate your lifesigns. I've added to it and now, as far as Voyager is concerned, we're both dead."

"That is a good idea," Ro said, instantly seeing the possibilities of this. "Terminate my lifesigns as well."

B'Elanna's eyes met hers, the dark gaze a touch stormy.

"That can be arranged," she said with a savage grin, revealing slightly pointed teeth.

"Seven of Nine's lifesigns have been terminated."

Janeway was staggered, her balance faltering as she heard the words so dispassionately stated and it took her a few moments to get her mind to start working again. It isn't true, her little voice noted stubbornly. I'd have felt that somehow. It's a mistake of some sort ... or ... yes, it's her doing. She's initiated condition indigo and this is just part of it. Straighten up, Katie. There's a crew counting on you.

Janeway swallowed hard and turned to her senior staff who had also heard and were looking at her in a mixture of shock and concern. The captain couldn't believe that the aliens would have killed Seven out of hand. What reason would they have for such a thing when they had been so careful to round up everyone else for use as 'workers'? On the other hand, the image of McCormick's fate splashed crimson across her mind and she felt sick. Would one of the brutal aliens have used Seven as an 'example' as well?

"When was the last time anyone saw Seven?" she asked, trying to contain the fear and urgency in her tone.

"1500 hours," Jennifer Delaney spoke up. "She asked me to cover astrometrics while she performed an errand."

"What errand?" Janeway demanded.

The pretty young ensign shook her head. "She didn't say, Captain," she explained. "Just that it should not take more than an hour. Of course, the intruders showed up about 45 minutes later."

"Seven must have found a way to confuse the internal sensors," Janeway said in an oddly toneless voice. She didn't know who she was trying to convince, herself or them, but obviously they were not about to disagree with her, for whatever reason. She wondered what her eyes looked like at that moment and decided they must be pretty bad since so many of her crew were doing all they could to avoid meeting them.

"Did anyone else manage to initiate condition indigo?" she said thickly, forcing herself to continue.

"It is possible that Lt. Torres was able to," Ensign Vorik offered from the crowd.

The captain glanced at the young Vulcan.

"Explain," she demanded, unaware of the faint echo of Seven's enunciation in her voice.

"She was outside the vessel performing hull maintenance," he said.

"While Voyager was in warp?" Chakotay burst out, staring at him.

Tom Paris cleared his throat. "She always liked taking 'walks'," he said, looking with a hint of challenge at his ex-lover's ex-lover, as if satisfied in some fashion that he knew this and Chakotay didn't. "She said it helped her work things out."

The burly first officer stared at him, annoyance coloring his gaze but Janeway ignored the byplay, concentrating on the engineering ensign. "Would she have been flung off the hull when we dropped out of warp?" she queried him keenly.

"The sensors indicated she was still there after the vessel came to a stop," Vorik revealed calmly. "Of course, when the intruders began to materialize, I immediately wiped the records from the time she went outside. I anticipated the possibility of a condition indigo."

"Good work," Janeway said approvingly.

And it was. The Vulcan had thought quickly and correctly, though if he had been wrong, they would have needed to reconstruct the log which would have required command authorization. Of course, that would have also meant that B'Elanna's little jaunt would have been placed officially in the departmental report and no doubt attracted the attention of the captain. Even now, Janeway was not thrilled to know that her chief engineer continued to indulge in what could be considered dangerous behavior.

"Anyone else?" Janeway demanded.

Tuvok moved forward. "I've been conferring with my Beta Squad," he said. "They inform me that Lt. Ro was able to initiate condition indigo before the intruders captured her." He held out his hand, a gold comm badge sitting in his palm. "As far as the ship is concerned, she is in cargo bay one with the rest of us."

Janeway nodded. Then looked around, realizing that no one else was stepping forward.

"That's it?" she said with disappointment. "Out of the entire crew, only three have managed to implement condition indigo?"

"It is not an easy tactic to initiate," Tuvok noted calmly. "It relies on many variables, including timing and ... 'luck'." He said this last with a touch of distaste and Janeway understood that this was not his favorite mode of operating at all.

"All right," Janeway nodded, accepting the news. "We have to make sure the intruders don't know they have three random elements on the ship that they haven't accounted for."

"Or at least, we hope they haven't accounted for," Chakotay said, then looked as if he wished he could rip his tongue out as Janeway regarded him, knowing he was referring to the 'terminated' lifesigns the computer had revealed.

"Furthermore," Janeway said coldly, deliberately turning her back on him, "We have to be ready to either provide a distraction if necessary or to move in an instant if any of our people manage to reach us. In the meantime, I want you all to prepare as best you can. We may be here for awhile."

The crew began to drift off, forming up their own little groups. Janeway returned to her corner, kneeling down as Tuvok came over to her side.

"Tuvok," she said in a low tone. "Honestly, how good is she?"

"Lt. Ro?"

Janeway nodded shortly.

"The only one better qualified to carry out condition indigo is myself," he said in a firm voice. He glanced at her. "If she is able to hook up with Lt. Torres and Seven, they will provide a formidable guerilla force indeed."

"I hope so," the captain said. She swallowed and realized it had been some time since anyone had eaten. She wondered if they were to be fed or if the intruders considered that starving the prisoners for a little while was a good way to weaken any resistance.

Tuvok got up and moved over to where Chakotay was standing with Paris, obviously coming up with some sort of grandiose schemes judging from their intent looks and muttered conversation. She knew the Vulcan would interject a useful shot of logic to whatever they were discussing and she let it be for the moment. Her eyes swept her crew restlessly, her mind ticking over a hundred ways to counterattack these aliens and not coming up with any that were feasible. She could still remember how Kalin had threatened Naomi, how a great deal of Janeway's resistance had crumbled at the thought of the little girl in the hands of the guard, Droxin. Even now, the Kunntarie poked his head in occasionally, having removed his helmet to reveal greasy long hair and a scarred visage. He would look them over with beady little eyes, lingering on the area where Samantha and Neelix shielded the child from his view and it was all the captain could do not to attack him ... though it would have been a very short struggle. And not to her advantage either.

Was this how it was going to be? she thought dismally. Did children really make that much of a difference in how I need to respond to perceived threats?

She realized that for most of their time in the Delta Quadrant, she had managed to regard Naomi's existence as only an abstraction, another member of her crew but not really recognizing that she had a child on board. Naomi's schooling, her early development, her growing into the bright, well-mannered child she was, had all taken place outside Janeway's purview and it was only in the past year or so that the captain had been forced to interact with her on a personal basis. There was no question that the captain's reactions on the bridge had been influenced greatly by that. Janeway knew that she might not have been so quick to give up the command codes if it had been any other crewmember being threatened by Kalin.

Janeway swallowed hard. As captain, she had to be prepared to sacrifice any individual crewmember for the good of the ship, including herself. And she had to be prepared to sacrifice the ship for the good of the Federation, knowing that she could not allow its technology to fall into the wrong hands. But in that moment, when she should have tried to weave a self-destruct code into the command instructions, and then tried to negotiate from that end with the intruders even if it meant her own life, she couldn't. The sight of Naomi's terrified features seared into her mind, the thought that Naomi might have to see her be shot dead, or worse, been killed herself as Janeway implemented the self destruct, prevented the captain from doing her job.

Kalin was right. A species was far easier to control through its offspring. Threaten the children, and practically any reasonable adult would accede to their wishes. It was a weakness that Janeway was not sure she could afford, yet without question, it suddenly existed for her. And it would only get worse with the addition of more children. She wouldn't be able to ignore the presence of ten at once. Not the way she had with Naomi for all those years. The ship had required too much renovation, protocols had been altered too much, Janeway herself, was becoming too woven into the everyday fabric of her crew's lives.

And these weren't the only children they could expect. Other couples had come to Janeway since the initial crisis, requesting that they too, be allowed to reproduce. She had held them off, explaining that resources would only allow for the new additions for the time being but of course, the captain knew that was only a temporary measure. In a year or so, they would be back, or worse, would simply proceed to have their own children, and she would not be able to find the justification to stop it.

This was what being a generational vessel meant, she thought dizzily. They had to increase the security of the entire ship, not just in the areas where the children were supposed to stay. Nor would she be able to implement protocols that only fit adults. She had to find a way to nurture these defenseless beings, cherish them, find a way for them to grow up safely.

She wondered if this was how Picard approached captaining the Enterprise? Did he have these qualms and fears for the children or was he able to just completely ignore the fact that there were babies on his vessel. It was true that the Galaxy-class vessels were used more for exploration and diplomacy than the Intrepid-class ships like Voyager which generally ran courier and rescue missions, but they still faced danger. How did those captains balance going into a threatening situation with the constant presence of the children? How did they balance the needs of the Federation with the needs of the crew's offspring? Was there special training for that, which she had not received since she'd never had any intention of commanding such a vessel?

She had to protect the children. That was an instinct within her beyond anything that Starfleet or all her training could overcome. And what would happen when the children were actually her own flesh and blood? When they were small reproductions of Seven and herself, a little girl perhaps, with blonde hair and those pale blue eyes ... or a little boy with the shock of reddish hair and the same kind of bold, fearless attitude that Janeway had when she was that age?

Janeway wanted to bury her face in her hands, to hide herself away from her thoughts but she remained where she was, looking alert and with what she hoped dearly, was utter confidence. No one could know the fears and doubts swirling around in her mind. That was the last thing her crew needed. As for what she needed ... she inhaled slowly.

Where are you, Annika? she thought bleakly.

Quietly, she clicked on her comm badge.

"Computer, personal request, locate Seven of Nine," she said softly. "My badge only."

The computer did not respond and Janeway knew that finally, the intruders had cut them out of the communication system entirely. She rubbed her forehead and stood up, doing a circuit of the room, needing to stay in motion, hoping that would ease her thoughts a little. She stopped here and there, offering a word of encouragement, answering the questions posed to her, constantly presenting an aura of quiet competence.

Her eye was caught by a group assembled by some containers and she realized that the Doctor and Sek were among them. She was surprised that she had forgotten about the holograms and immediately went over.

"Doctor?" she asked.

He turned and looked at her, an apologetic expression spreading over  his face. "I'm sorry, Captain," he said. "Of all the crew, I should have been able to initiate condition indigo, but the intruders were in sickbay before we could transport our matrixes into the computer. I thought ... well, if they didn't suspect we were holograms, perhaps we could use that to our advantage."

"We can," she said, pleased. "You made the right decision, Doctor. You both have your emitters which could be used to transport you back to sickbay."

He hesitated. "Normally, we would be glad to, Captain," he said, "but there's a problem."

She forced herself not to react though the urge to slam her fist through a nearby hull was a fairly attractive idea at the moment.

"Yes?" she said warily. "What kind of problem?"

He stepped aside and motioned to Ensign Megan Delaney who was on the floor, made as comfortable as possible by an array of uniform tunics provided by various crewmembers cushioning her from the cold surface. Her belly protruded from beneath her grey sweater and sweat beaded on her forehead as she breathed in oddly short breaths. Sek was kneeling beside her, holding her hand while on her other side, her husband, Lt. Harry Kim looked worriedly on.

"It appears," the Doctor noted, "that at least one offspring is intent on making an early appearance."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "Where is your comm badge, Lt. Ro?" she asked.

"I gave it to Davis," Ro said, glancing at her as she pulled off her tunic and sweater, leaving her in only the brief tank top, matching the one the Klingon was wearing. Obviously, she was uncomfortable in the humid air of the small room, the atmosphere affected greatly by the growing plants just outside. "Why?"

"We can assume then that the ship's computer now records you as being in the cargo bay with the rest of the crew," Seven pointed out. She, of course, was perfectly cool in her biometric outfit, the sensors keeping her body temperature at the perfect level, even though the outside of it made her look like she had been dragged through a compost heap. "If we terminate your lifesigns, that would be noticed by anyone monitoring the cargo bay and surely, would in turn, send someone to investigate."

"Then they'd find no body nor any hint that you had been there," B'Elanna added. She looked at Seven. "You're right, Seven. Good catch."

"What of your comm badges?" Ro responded, seeming somewhat embarrassed that she had missed it.

"I destroyed mine immediately," Seven remarked.

"And mine wasn't active while I was outside," B'Elanna said. "Now it's masked by the propulsion pack on the suit. They still don't know I exist and thanks to Seven's worm, according to the crew manifest, we died two weeks ago."

"What is our next course of action?" Seven asked. She regarded the other women expectantly, hoping that they would have a tactically sound idea for taking back the ship.

Ro and B'Elanna looked at each other.

"I guess I'm in charge..."

"My choice would be to..."

They trailed off, a bit of tension filling the air between them and Seven stifled a sigh.

"I'm the senior officer," Ro pointed out.

"I'm the chief of engineering," B'Elanna retorted.

"I'm actually a member of Starfleet," Ro noted coolly.

Seven winced.

B'Elanna took a step closer, her jaw stuck forward pugnaciously. "You forget," she noted in a furious tone. "I have been Chief Engineer for six years. You only came out of hiding a couple of months ago."

"I am a bridge officer," Ro countered firmly. "Which means that I hold command of this vessel in lieu of any other command staff."

"I'm the head of the engineering department," B'Elanna responded. "I am command staff."

Seven turned around and left, walking out into the park. Behind her, she heard the hasty sound of the two women following her.

"Seven," Ro hissed. "Where the hell are you going?"

"To the armory to acquire weapons," Seven said calmly. "And then I shall rescue Kathryn."

"Seven, you just can't go out there," B'Elanna protested, dashing after her. "Look, I'm sorry we were fighting. She just makes me crazy sometimes. Come back. We need to make a plan."

Seven hesitated, regarding her. "You will work with Lt. Ro?" she asked. "It is irrelevant who is in command as long as the results are positive."

B'Elanna looked stubborn, then exhaled audibly. "All right," she said sullenly.

Seven nodded and returned to where Ro was waiting, a sheepish tinge to her dark features.

"I'm sorry, as well," she said quietly. "It was unprofessional."

Seven inclined her head, accepting the apology.

"What is the plan?" she asked again.

Both women glanced at each other, waiting for the other to go first and this time, Seven did not stifle her sigh. She went over to her console and ran several sweeps, carefully masked in order to prevent their detection by the internal monitors. As she did, she filled B'Elanna in on the Kunntarie, and of the Borg's encounter with them a decade or so earlier. Finally, Seven's sweeps began to turn up some concrete information.

"There were three squads," she said. "One which materialized in engineering, one which appeared throughout the ship and one which appeared on the bridge. Each squad consisted of ten armored individuals, giving us a total of thirty soldiers, led by a single commander who is on the bridge. The armor signature for that person is different ... more powerful."

"Kalin," B'Elanna blurted.

Seven glanced at her. "Yes?" she said.

B'Elanna hesitated, an expression crossing her face that indicated she was sorry she had spoken. At Seven's unwavering scrutiny, she dipped her head and added in a quiet voice; "Maybe you two should take a look at the bridge logs."

Seven felt a sudden sense of foreboding ripple through her but she did as the engineer suggested, calling up the logs that B'Elanna had already accessed. As she watched, she put her hands flat on the workstation. The creak of metal sounded beneath the left one when she saw Kalin strike Kathryn across the face, opening up a small cut beneath her eye and bruising it. Her fingers actually depressed the console when she saw and heard the threats being made to Naomi.

When she looked up, she noted that the other two women were looking at her with a mix of apprehension and concern.

"Seven, you can't go off half-cocked here," B'Elanna said worriedly.

"Lt. Torres is right," Ro added, tentatively putting her hand on the Borg's forearm, inhaling slowly when she saw the damage the mesh covered hand had inadvertently done the console. "The Captain cooperated with these thugs for a reason. It's far too dangerous to go against them directly. We have to keep that in mind and any plan we come up with has to go perfectly the first time. It doesn't, and people will die ... maybe even the very people we need to save."

Seven trembled but she got her emotions under control. She remembered a time when she had been able to witness such things and accept them dispassionately. She still could, to a certain degree, but not when Kathryn or Naomi was involved. Now fury and hatred raged within her and it took a great deal of effort to damp them down, to channel the emotions into a burning, ice-cold resolve to terminate this force that would dare threaten the people she loved.

"I must disobey the captain," she said, in an oddly distant voice.

"What do you mean?" Ro asked keenly.

"She has requested that I not kill sentient beings unless I or my crewmates are directly threatened with death," she said. "I do not see how I can avoid it in this instance."

Ro's face firmed, her eyes growing even darker. "Seven, our crewmates are being threatened with death," she said firmly. "As the commanding officer on this, I am authorizing you to carry out whatever actions are necessary to secure Voyager from enemy hands. I accept the responsibility for that. However, I also expect you to obey my orders implicitly. We won't get a second chance at this and none of us can afford any unplanned forays. Do you understand? Or must we leave you behind?"

Seven was aware of B'Elanna looking at Ro with widened eyes, as if she had never seen her before. Or rather, as if she really liked what she saw. There was a difference, Seven decided idly as she tried to bring her thoughts under control.

"I understand," she said. She raised her head, her eyes sparking blue fire. "I shall deal with Kalin, however."

"No," Ro said, gripping tighter with her hand. "This is exactly what I mean, Seven. No vengeance, no personal agendas. There will be repercussions from this, one way or another. If we're lucky, it will be the captain we answer to and not the Kunntarie. You will fulfill a function, not go haring off to wreck your own kind of disaster."

Seven stared at her, then finally lowered her eyes. "I will comply," she said in a low voice.

Ro hesitated, then nodded. She looked over at B'Elanna.

"I need that from you, as well," she said. "This isn't personal, B'Elanna. We can't let it become that. That allows for far too many mistakes."

"I know," B'Elanna said gently. "I'm sorry. You're right, you are the senior officer in this situation."

Ro inhaled deeply, then looked back at Seven. "We need weapons," she said. "We can go to the armory or we can bring the armory here. Is there any way you can transport what we need from there to here using your console, without it being detected?"

Seven thought about that. "I do not believe so," she said.

B'Elanna, who had also been deep in thought, concurred. "Even if we can mask the coordinates of the transport, it produces a signature that they're sure to pick up on the bridge. However," she added with sudden enthusiasm. "It may be possible to transport Seven there and back without using the ship's transporter system. And any energy signature it would give off would be Borg."

"Which should give them a whole lot to think about," Ro said, smiling unpleasantly. "How?"

"It would require a certain amount of adjustment to my cranial implant," Seven explained, glancing at B'Elanna in puzzlement. "And to my manipulative implant as well as the addition of specific modules." She paused. "Where would we get such modules?"

"I got it covered," the chief engineer said with assurance.

Seven nodded trustingly and went over to the dais. "We could utilize components from the alcoves if necessary," she speculated as she sat down.

"Way ahead of you," B'Elanna said, opening a compartment nearby, pulling out various items.

Seven froze as she saw what B'Elanna was bringing out and the Klingon looked vaguely apologetic. "I'm sorry, Seven," she said softly. "The captain authorized their removal and storage just in case ... well, we needed them. And it turns out that we do."

"Kathryn ... can be efficient," Seven allowed faintly.

Seven took a deep breath and tried not to flinch as her friend started to work on the silvery implant surrounding her eye, adjusting the cranial settings so that she could accept and utilize an internal transporter node. As she did, she watched Ro pick up the steel bar and drift over to the doorway, keeping a watch out into the park. She carefully did not look at the node which B'Elanna intended to implant in her ... a module removed from the body of an individual drone known as One, who had died saving the ship.

"You and Lt. Ro seem ... at odds," Seven ventured quietly after a few moments, trying to find a subject that would not remind her of her protégé's death.

B'Elanna's manipulation faltered a bit, then resumed. "We had an argument," the engineer admitted.

"About?"

The Klingon sighed. "I couldn't tell you, 'Nik," she replied, using the diminutive of Seven's Human designation. "All I know is that it was stupid and immature and probably my fault."

Seven considered that. "Do you still care for her?" she asked.

"I don't think that's going to change," B'Elanna said in a very sad voice.

Seven glanced at her. "Then you must not give up," she said firmly.

An annoyed expression ghosted over the Klingon's face. "What would you know about it?" she asked.

"You forget," Seven pointed out. "When our relationship first began, Kathryn also experienced trepidation which displayed itself by her rejecting my love, insisting that she was going to disregard her feelings for me."

B'Elanna was silent, obviously remembering that time. "She did, didn't she?" the engineer murmured.

"But I utilized patience, Kathryn eventually accepted her feelings and we were able to be together," Seven said. "B'Elanna, it is possible that Laren is afraid of what she is feeling. Especially if she has not felt it in a long time."

"So what do I do, just wait for her?" B'Elanna asked plaintively. She reached down and utilized a probe to change the make up of Seven's biometric hand, creating a compartment where she inserted the transportation node. She covered it over with a band of silver which encircled the Borg's wrist, controls sprinkled over the metal surface. "I'm not really good at waiting, 'Nik."

Seven bent her head, closing her eyes as she felt her physiology accept the new node, the nanoprobes adapting to it quickly, incorporating it into her system. There was a faint wave of dizziness which passed through her, then she was fully functional once again.

"That is, of course, your decision," she said softly. "However, I know that if it were required, I would wait for Kathryn forever."

"But maybe Laren honestly doesn't want me," B'Elanna said, a bit discouraged.

"Possibly," Seven allowed. "But that is not the impression I receive. I grant that perhaps I am not the best judge of Humanoid behavior or motivations, but it seems to me that Lt. Ro looks at you the same way Kathryn used to look at me. As if she cannot understand what is happening to her, but knowing that something is and that you are causing it. If she felt nothing for you, I do not believe she would look at you in such a manner."

"Yeah?" B'Elanna said, looking over at the willowy form of the security officer. Her eyes lightened with hope and something else, something Seven had never really seen in her friend before. It made her realize that perhaps the Klingon was a little more involved in this than she had anticipated. "So I need to just do what I'm doing?"

"Perhaps with a little more ... subtlety," Seven advised. She paused. "B'Elanna, although I desire Kathryn greatly, that is not why I fell in love with her nor is it why I love her now. It is only a small part of all I feel for her. By displaying only that aspect of it, your emotions may seem superficial to Lt. Ro." She hesitated. "Do you remember when Kathryn lost her memories?"

"Yeah," B'Elanna said. "You seemed pretty upset ... but it all worked out. She fell in love with you again."

"Yes, but what many people do not know was that for weeks afterward, I was uncertain about Kathryn's love," Seven revealed. "I did not believe it was sincere because she insisted on displaying only her physical attraction for me. I did not think that she really and truly cared for me. Instead, I was afraid that she was attracted only to the concept of being with me. That is something that I have observed quite often in Humanoid behavior. The physical can often be mistaken for an emotional and intellectual attraction. But it cannot be trusted in the same way."

B'Elanna sighed. "It's easier with men," she said glumly. "They're perfectly happy to accept the physical at face value."

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "It may seem that way," she said thoughtfully. "But I am sure that once they have experienced the strength and substance of emotional and spiritual bonds over the emptiness of purely physical relationships, then they too, learn not to trust the physical attraction entirely."

"Well, the men worth having, you mean," B'Elanna agreed.

Seven hesitated. "In truth, I cannot speculate for certain," she admitted. "I have never been involved with a male on an intimate level so my conclusions may be faulty."

"No, they're not, 'Nik," B'Elanna said. "Sometimes you see us clearer than we see ourselves, simply because you haven't been involved in all the confusion we have." She patted Seven on the shoulder in a way that was both gratitude and a gesture of encouragement. "You're done. Time to see if this plan is gonna work."

B'Elanna stepped back as Seven rose to her feet. Ro noticed that they were done and left off her guarding of the door, carrying the metal bar awkwardly, held in front of her like a quarterstaff. B'Elanna realized that it was a bit too heavy for the Bajoran to wield with any sort of adeptness and she reached out to take it from her. The Bajoran resisted for a brief instant, then relinquished it, as if understanding the Klingon would make better use of it. B'Elanna dangled it from one hand like a club, wishing she had a convenient Kunntarie skull she could bounce it off of.

"Seven, how well do you know the armory?" Ro asked.

Seven tilted her head. "I have accompanied the captain and Tuvok there to secure arms on many occasions," she said.

"They always retrieved the weapons, though, right?"

"That is correct," Seven said.

"All right," Ro said, leaning down over the work console and tracing out her instructions in the dust. "The phaser rifles are here to the right of the entrance. Underneath those shelves, there is a large compartment with weapons which aren't exactly Starfleet issue. We want the ones that look like ordinary rifles but have a red band around the muzzle. The code to enter that compartment is delta gold, alpha six five three."

"Waitaminute," B'Elanna interjected. "You have non-issue weapons in there? Does Tuvok know about this?"

Ro shot her an odd glance. "Who do you think built the compartment?" she asked mildly. Her dark eyes narrowed a bit. "I think people on this ship underestimate Tuvok. They don't realize there was a reason he was sent to infiltrate the Maquis. He doesn't always play by the rules but he doesn't brag about it or take pride in it like other people do."

B'Elanna bristled, wondering if that was a reference to her, then she remembered the Borg's words and forced herself to calm down. If she always overreacted to everything, it was not much wonder the Bajoran was leery of getting involved with her.

"What kind of weapons are these?" she asked instead. "Will they be effective against the Kunntarie armor?"

"They're the same weapons we used against Species 8472," Ro explained briefly.

Seven looked intrigued. "Those contain altered nanoprobes," she noted. "However, they will not have the same effect as they did on Species 8472. The energy output they produced, terminated that species. The effect on the Kunntarie will be ... assimilation."

Ro smiled grimly. "Yes, it will, won't it?" she said.

B'Elanna was once again impressed by the Bajoran's grasp of tactics ... and somewhat cold-blooded strategy when it came to defending her ship. In fact, it aroused the Klingon incredibly, making the blood race in her veins and her heart pound in her chest. Even the redundant organ, normally dormant, gave a little quiver and her respiration increased marginally, all of which she struggled hard to conceal.

"Smart," she complimented with what she hoped was cool approval. "If they have any memory of their people being assimilated, coupled with the Borg energy signature, this is going to make them very nervous."

She was gratified when Ro's eyes met hers, a smile lightening them. "That's a good way of putting it," the Bajoran said. "I hope it scares them spitless."

B'Elanna flat out refused to blush under the Bajoran's scrutiny, concentrating on the console. "Okay, Seven," the engineer said. "You transport to the armory. I'll channel the signature through the deflector array so that it appears as if you're transporting from outside the ship at a distance of two hundred kilometers directly into the engine room. While they're running around there, looking for a Borg, you grab the guns and come back. I'll make sure it will look like you returned to that point out in space."

"As if there's some sort of cloaked Borg vessel out there," Ro noted with satisfaction. She patted B'Elanna on the back. "Good work."

B'Elanna grinned quietly to herself and looked Seven in the eye, warmed by that pale blue gaze which seemed a trifle amused. "Ready when you are," she said. "And, Seven?"

"Yes, B'Elanna?" the Borg responded politely.

"Be careful," the Klingon said. "We don't want to lose you now."

Seven smiled faintly. "I shall, B'Elanna," she promised.

The Borg touched the silver band on her wrist, her fingers dancing over it lightly as she input the necessary coordinates. Emerald illumination and the distinct sound of a Borg transport signal surrounded her before she disappeared in a burst of sparkles. B'Elanna piggy-backed the signal along a sub-space communication band, feeding it out into space and bouncing it back, imagining the consternation occurring on the bridge ... or worse, in engineering which would be reading the intrusion of a Borg transport signature. Then she rested her hands lightly on the metal casing, her fingers tracing the indentation of a hand there, waiting for Seven's return.

"How long do you think this will take," she asked quietly.

"I'd give her ten minutes," Ro said in an equally low tone, her eyes glued to the readouts. "That's more than enough time for her to access the compartment and grab the enhanced phaser rifles. Longer than that and we should think about getting out of here and trying again from someplace else. Without Seven, because we can assume that she's captured or dead at that point. Maybe the hangar deck where we can access a shuttle or the Delta Flyer."

B'Elanna nodded, not liking that assessment, but accepting the accuracy of it.

Seconds became hours as they waited tensely, the time ticking off with agonizing slowness on the chronometer inconspicuously displayed in a corner of one of the screens. B'Elanna discovered that a part of the console was reflective and that she could see Ro Laren clearly in it. At the moment, the Bajoran had taken her eyes off the data display and was watching the Klingon with a very odd expression. B'Elanna was bemused to discover that it was exactly as Seven had described it, as if the woman didn't quite know what to do next but still looked to the engineer as if she had all the answers ... even if they were the sort that Ro wasn't quite ready to accept.

It made B'Elanna feel very warm, but not as she had previously. This was the warmth of tenderness, not the heat of desire, the comfort of affection, not the demand of physical want and need. Maybe Seven had something, after all. Patience was a virtue. B'Elanna had read that somewhere though she couldn't remember exactly when or in what at the moment. She guessed it was accurate, however.

The lights suddenly dimmed over them, the crimson wash of a red alert as klaxons began to sound. They were automatic, resulting whenever someone hit the panic button on Voyager's bridge.

"Got their attention," Ro murmured.

"You think?" B'Elanna said, feeling anticipation and the first hint of battle readiness surge through her. She wanted to growl, to hit something ... preferably Kalin. Instead, she readied her hands, waiting for the return signal.

"Three minutes," Ro read off.

B'Elanna couldn't believe it. Surely it had been an hour or more at this point.

"I hope she knows she's on a time limit," Ro muttered.

"Seven will come through," B'Elanna said confidently. "She always does."

Ro smiled without humor. "That used to piss you off," she said in a provocative tone. "And you told anyone who would listen how purely accidental it was that she did. You really turned a lot of the crew against her."

B'Elanna firmed her jaw. Her behavior toward Seven had not always been honorable, especially in the beginning. It made it all the more important that she deal with her friend in the best possible way now. Sometimes she slipped back into old habits, but she was determined that as she grew older, she would also grow wiser.

"I was wrong," she said simply.

That seemed to stymie the Bajoran for a moment but when B'Elanna turned to meet her eyes, there was a new respect in them for the engineer.

"Sometimes, it's not always easy to admit that," Ro said softly.

"No, it's not," B'Elanna agreed. She held the gaze. "Sometimes we can be so afraid of appearing foolish that we never realize that the consequences of not admitting a mistake can be much worse. I'm glad I was able to admit this one to myself. Otherwise, I'd have missed out on a really good friendship. And knowing a really good person."

Ro nodded, appearing captivated by the Klingon's eyes, the pair staring at each other in a form of communication that seemed to be beyond mere words. The chirp from the console interrupted whatever might have been said in the next moment and B'Elanna was startled to realize nine minutes had passed. Where the hell did the other six go all of a sudden?

"She's on her way back," B'Elanna said, funneling the signal back out to space as she and Ro were illuminated by the green glow of Seven's return.

The Borg had an armload of rifles, as many as she could carry and the other two women immediately snagged their own from the pile.

"How many?" Ro asked.

"I managed to acquire fifteen," Seven said, holding them as she would a stack of firewood.

"Thank Kahless, your arms are long," B'Elanna remarked, checking the power supply of her weapon, feeling a great deal better now that it was in her hands. She kicked aside the steel bar as unnecessary now and started looking for something to shoot.

"Okay, here's the plan," Ro said. "Seven, you transport to cargo bay one with the rest of the weapons. Tell them what's going on. B'Elanna and I will go to engineering and try to secure that. By the time we get there, Tuvok and the Captain should have managed to break out of confinement and be on their way to the bridge. I'm hoping that all the Kunntarie will pick up is that their soldiers are being assimilated. That should confuse the hell out of them, especially after we've primed them with our 'invisible' Borg in the engine room."

"What about this assimilation?" B'Elanna protested, the thought occurring to her somewhat belatedly. "Won't we have a bunch of Borg drones walking around, assimilating everyone else?"

Seven shook her head and went to the console. "No," she said, accessing the board. "I will channel their proximity transceivers through this location which will prevent them from contacting the Collective. Then I will transmit instructions to assemble in one place."

"Instructions from where?" Ro asked, frowning.

"From my cranial implant," Seven said calmly.

"You'll be controlling these ... 'drones'?" B'Elanna said, not sure if she liked that idea or not. "You can do that?"

"I do have experience in controlling drones," Seven reminded her.

The memory of Seven's assimilation at the hands of the Borg many months ago, of actually becoming their Queen before Janeway rescued her, crossed the Klingon's mind. Or did Seven rescue Janeway? Details had a way of getting lost in the passage of time, but if Seven thought she could do this, then B'Elanna guessed she believed her.

"Would you be able to control them enough to fight for us?" Ro asked, always quick to leap on a possible tactical advantage.

Seven considered it. "The first few individuals perhaps," she said. "However, the more that are assimilated, the more difficult it will become to control them. It would be more efficient to simply shut them down to a regenerative phase, even if it means tying them into the ship's energy reserves."

B'Elanna thought quickly. "Assemble them in the engine room, Seven," she said. "There, they can tap into the plasma relay system. We always have too much spare plasma exhaust anyway."

Seven quirked an eyebrow approvingly. "Excellent," she said. "It will also help cover your approach to engineering. The appearance of the drones will occupy the squad which is in control of that area of the ship."

"Okay, it sounds like we got us a working idea now," B'Elanna said. "Anything we're leaving out?"

The other two thought hard, then shook their heads.

Ro lifted her rifle. "Just remember to be careful," she said firmly. "Shoot first, ask questions later. We've already got them stirred up with the Borg transporter signals. They're going to be jumpy and quick on the trigger themselves."

"What if this Kalin initiates a self destruct sequence?" B'Elanna offered.

Ro took a breath.

"We still win," she said with black humor. "We just don't get to enjoy it for very long."

"Wonderful," B'Elanna responded. "Just freakin' wonderful."

Ro Laren opened the doors of the cargo bay, aware of Torres standing beside her, weapon ready to fire on anything that might come through. Ro looked at her, then the Klingon nodded, indicating it was all clear. They darted through, the heavy doors sliding shut behind them with a solid sound of finality. Like it or not, they were committed now and the internal sensors were bound to pick up the presence of weapons once they left the masking field Seven had set up in the alcove room. Even if the invaders on the bridge didn't completely understand what they were reading, the two women could expect to be receiving company any moment, converging on the park.

The first hint of it came in the form of a blast that ripped by Ro's head as they entered the juncture of two crossing corridors. The black, armored forms of two invaders bulled their way around the corner, their weapons gleaming silver in the muted light. The heat of the bolt had been so close that it had scorched the Bajoran's cheek, the smell of burning hair filling her nostrils.

"Whoops," she said inanely, and fired back.

The enhanced phaser rifles discharged bolts of golden energy which carried along their payload of nanoprobes. It occurred to Ro suddenly that she had to be careful not to miss because the last thing Voyager needed was for the little microscopic elements to start assimilating the ship itself. That rather disturbing conclusion came to her in a flash and she wished she had thought of it sooner. She could only hope the others using the rifles would think of it as well and pick their shots carefully.

Her shot took the first alien high on the chest and he must have thought he was safe because it didn't even rock him and the two aliens began to approach with purposeful intent. However, before Ro ducked back behind the meager cover of the other corridor, she had seen the emerald glow spreading over the black armor. She wondered how long it would take for the assimilation to go into effect.

"Be careful," she snapped to B'Elanna who was trying to angle for a good shot. "Don't miss."

"You just think of that?" B'Elanna said carelessly, her dark eyes glowing as her lips drew back from her teeth in a purely ferocious grin. "I know I don't want to have to replace any more of the hull plating than necessary."

The Klingon seemed oblivious to the red bolts of energy slamming into the wall around her while she took careful aim. She fired once, then casually avoided another shot which emitted sparks as it struck the wall, strolling over to where Ro was standing. Suddenly, the firing stopped and cautiously, Ro peeked around the corner.

"Two down," she said flatly. "Twenty-nine to go."

B'Elanna nudged her aside so she could look as well. Down the corridor, the two aliens were suddenly straightening, their weapons falling from nerveless hands, the pair turning around and walking away in that peculiar gait that was so unique to the Borg. Ro wondered ... if she could look under the opaque helmets, would she see their skin turning white as implants erupted from their flesh? She could certainly see them erupt from the smooth surface of the armor, marring the glossy black metal with silvery webs of starburst-shaped mesh which rapidly spread over it. She felt a shiver go down her spine, feeling incredibly cold suddenly.

"C'mon," B'Elanna was saying, hauling her along with a hand under the Bajoran's arm. "We can use them for cover."

Ro shook off the assisting appendage and dashed up the corridor, carrying the rifle gingerly. Now that she actually saw the consequences of utilizing these weapons, she suddenly understood why they were used only under the most dire of circumstances. She wondered if Tuvok had realized what could happen by entrusting her with the access code to the compartment containing them? She could only hope he would understand why she had chosen these weapons over the more traditional phaser rifles, that being so outnumbered had left her with little choice. She was squeamishly aware that she could never have used such a weapon on the Cardassians, no matter how much she hated them.

She swallowed hard and held her weapon at the ready, taking the starboard side of the corridor as B'Elanna took the port. The aliens who were now Borg strode jerkily toward the turbolift. It opened and two more Kunntarie burst out, firing at their own people. Ro decided that meant that they were picking up readings on the bridge that indicated the assimilations and the gloves were now off. That was fine with the Bajoran. The quicker they could get this over with, the better. Ducking behind their Humanoid shields, she and B'Elanna fired back, helped by the fact that their shots only had to touch the target to be effective though, at the same time, hindered by the way the nanoprobes spread over the inner hull.

"This is gonna be such a damned mess to clean up," B'Elanna muttered as their escort now numbered four and they jogged past a green patch busily spreading over the wall. "Maybe as long as it took to clean up after we went through Borg space."

"That's good, Torres," Ro said dryly. "Be optimistic. Believe we will have a chance to clean up afterward."

"Are you kidding?" B'Elanna shot back. "This is turning into a cake walk."

Ro groaned. "I wish you hadn't said that," she said. "That's just asking for things to go wrong."

Torres sniffed. "Superstition," she said.

The Klingon yelped suddenly as a bolt nearly took her head off and she ducked, turning around. Ro whirled, firing at the group which had come up behind them. Oblivious, their assimilated 'shields' continued toward the engine room without them as the women dove for cover. Cursing, Ro hit the deck rolling, the door to a nearby lab sliding open for her. She rose to her knees in one smooth motion and used the entrance for protection as she shot back at the aliens. Across the corridor, she saw that B'Elanna had also made it to cover in the opposing doorway and together, they were able to set up a continuous fire that assimilated three more and sent the fourth scurrying away.

Ro shot a look behind her in time to see the turbolift doors shut behind their original Borg allies.

"Damn," she said. "We'll have to wait for the next one." She looked across at B'Elanna, taken aback when she saw the pinkish blood streaming down the Klingon's arm. She was shocked by the intensity of the dismay that shot through her. "B'Elanna?"

Torres glanced down at her arm. "It'll heal," she said casually. She hefted her rifle. "What now, fearless leader?"

"Maybe we should get out of the main corridors," Ro suggested.

"And try the Jeffries tubes?" B'Elanna shook her head. "Closer quarters. They might have the advantage. Plus, there's a lot more sensitive equipment in the access conduits to be assimilated."

"You're right," Ro said. She inhaled sharply. "Break's over, Lieutenant. Let's go."

"After you," B'Elanna invited. They scooted up the hall ahead of the three aliens who were staggering toward them like something out of a horror holo-program. Ro felt a shiver of dread ripple up her back and she slammed her hand on the turbolift controls, shutting the door before they could join them.

"We could have used them as another shield," B'Elanna said mildly.

Ro breathed deeply. "We could," she allowed. She hesitated. "They give me the creeps."

B'Elanna laughed. "Me too," she said. "But we'd better come out firing."

"Definitely," Ro agreed and she pressed up against one side of the door as Torres took the other. The lift traveled swiftly through the shaft, then abruptly jolted to a stop, midway between decks.

"Guess they caught us," B'Elanna said, dropping the rifle and linking her hands together.

Ro didn't hesitate, stepping up onto the Klingon's offer of support as she was hefted easily into the air. She fumbled with the panel in the ceiling, finally opening it and clambering quickly through the hatch. She reached back, holding a hand out for B'Elanna who grasped it firmly after retrieving her rifle. Grunting with effort, Ro helped the Klingon through the small aperture and the pair quickly stepped off the lift onto the access ladder, pressing their bodies into the recess containing the rungs.

Not a moment too soon as the lift started again and shot upward. Ro felt it scrap her back as it passed and she wondered if her adrenaline levels had simply overloaded. She hadn't even taken a second to think what could have happened if the lift had activated while she had been stepping onto the ladder. The turbolift would have mashed her to a paste and for just a brief moment, it was all the Bajoran could do to hang onto the rungs, she was shaking so badly.

"Hey," B'Elanna said, coming up beside her so that her athletic form was pressed against Ro's more slender frame, her arm around her to hold her to the ladder, the warmth of it penetrating through the tank top to stave off the chill washing over the Bajoran. "Close but still a clean miss."

Ro swallowed convulsively. "I suppose Klingons don't get scared," she returned harshly.

"Klingons might not," B'Elanna retorted. She paused. "But I damn near wet my pants just now."

Despite herself, Ro offered a weary bark of laughter. "Prophets, this is not how I wanted to spend my day," she said, resting her forehead against the cool metal of the rung.

"I can think of better ways," B'Elanna agreed.

Ro was suddenly aware of the woman so close to her and she turned her head, looking into the dark eyes. Before she realized what she was doing, she leaned over and pressed her lips to B'Elanna's. There was a second of brief surprise, then the full lips parted and B'Elanna kissed her back, firmly but sweetly, tasting her with a tenderness the Bajoran would not have expected. Ro was actually a little dizzy when they parted.

B'Elanna stared at her a moment, a wealth of emotion shading across her features but in the end, she merely cleared her throat softly.

"We need to get to the engine room," she murmured.

"Yes," Ro agreed. She paused. "Maybe after this is over, we could ... get together for dinner?"

"You're asking me out?" B'Elanna said, raising her eyebrow with a touch of disbelief. She smiled. "I'd like that."

Ro resumed her climb, not knowing what would happen next but aware that something just changed. Something deep and fundamental ... and things would never be the same for her. But she couldn't deal with it now. Now it was time to climb to the next deck and make her way into the engineering section, hoping to get there relatively intact. She could hear the respiration of the Klingon who was climbing below her, and she decided that, aside from Tuvok, there was no one else on Voyager that she would want covering her back more than B'Elanna Torres.

They crowded into the recess of the hatch leading to the next deck and manually pried it open. Ro poked the muzzle of the gun through the first opening, firing at the black armor she glimpsed only to see that she had wasted a shot, the figure moving away from the exit toward the large doors at the end which barricaded the engine room. There were other figures and Ro realized they were the drones, converging as instructed.

"Guess we know where the party is," B'Elanna quipped as they spilled out into the corridor. There were yells coming from ahead and the Bajoran suddenly understood that when Borg had a directive to follow, they weren't gentle in carrying it out. And apparently, the weapons the intruders were using were of little use against the shielding the drones already had activated.

"Stay alert," Ro warned. "There's only seven drones so far."

"Don't worry, I will," B'Elanna returned. "You're not getting out of our date that easy."

The Klingon bent over, peering around the dark forms preceding them and fired in the space between the armored bodies. So far, the aliens did not seem to realize their real enemies were actually members of the crew which had seemed to accede so easily to their demands. They were completely occupied with the Borg attack though no one seemed to have taken the time to stop and realize that this was hardly the way the Collective tended to assimilate ships.

The drones were single-mindedly set on reaching the plasma relay conduits and Ro was aware that once they reached them, they would tap into the energies swirling there, shutting down into a regeneration mode. And the two women would lose their cover at that point. They had to retake the engine room as quickly as possible.

"I have starboard," she yelped.

B'Elanna nodded quickly and scooted to the left, mounting the stairs leading to the catwalk which ran around the warp core. She fired as she ran, picking her shots with great care, knowing that this was the last place they needed random splashes of assimilation nanoprobes. Then Ro was abruptly too busy to watch her companion beyond that. She was forced to take the ladder on the other side, knowing she would have a better chance at picking off her opponents in an elevated position.

If only these damned nanoprobes worked faster, she thought as a bolt streaked by her leg so close it scorched the material of her trousers and left it smoking. That thirty second delay it took for them to begin working on the alien beneath the armor was liable to get her killed. The one advantage they were maintaining was the mass confusion and the fact that the Kunntarie considered the drones to be a far worse threat, apparently not having worked out the fact that it was actually the two women who were creating them.

The air was filled with smoke and yells, the deadly whine of disrupter fire and the distinctive reverberation of shots dissipating off Borg phasic shielding. Ro lost track of time, ducking and firing, utilizing all her skill to avoid the ruby bolts that streaked through the engine room without regard for who was on what side. Then abruptly, there was no more weapons fire and the Bajoran straightened.

"B'Elanna?" she called tentatively, eyes searching the area, the hiss from leaking plasma a disturbing counterpoint to the throb of the warp drive.

"Down here," came the Klingon's distinctive voice. "Get to the main console, try to override the warp engines. I need to seal that leak."

Ro did not quibble over the presumption of the tone. After all, in her engine room, B'Elanna Torres was completely in command. The Bajoran slid down the ladder and headed for the console, determined to finish wresting control of Voyager back from the Kunntarie.

Janeway regarded the laboring ensign with horrified fascination.

"Is she really going to give birth?" she said in a low voice to the Doctor. "Can she do that?"

"It's not bridge duty, Captain," he informed her. "Specialized training is not required."

Janeway resisted the urge to smack him, even considering the fact that he was capable of altering his matrix's density to allow her hand to pass right through.

"I meant," she said in a much more dangerous tone, "is it safe for her to give birth here?"

"Not particularly," the Doctor remarked. "But Humanoid females have been having babies for millennia in much worse places." He hesitated, watching as Sek carefully wiped the woman's brow with a cloth. "However, it is entirely possible that this is a false alarm."

Janeway shot a disbelieving look at the sweating, panting woman and then back at the Doctor.

"What?"

"It's called 'false labor', Captain," he explained patiently, almost condescendingly. "With all the stress and tension that's occurred and considering the amount of pregnant women we have at the moment, it was bound to happen. Actually," he added cheerfully, "I'm surprised the rest haven't developed the same symptoms."

Janeway inhaled deeply. "Keep me informed, Doctor," she said, deciding that she had witnessed as much as she wanted regarding the miracle of birth for now.

She was slightly dizzy as she turned away. Was this part of what she was going to have to go through? Until now, the idea of becoming pregnant was an abstraction, a concept contemplated within the neat, tidy confines of her thoughts. This had brought it home with a jolt and she tried to imagine herself tottering around with this huge belly in front of her, unable to bend or stoop, constantly running for the bathroom ... unerringly, her eyes picked out the rest of her pregnant crewmembers and she noticed the distress that not having the proper facilities was causing. A single device, which was normally used for the pets on the vessel, had fortunately been in the cargo bay, but it was clearly insufficient for these women. At least they had something, however. Janeway could only thank the deity above that she had prevented Tom and Harry from taking the thing apart to try to construct a weapon of sorts in that first hour.

We have to get out of here, she thought in a moment of sheer, unadulterated panic. We have to do something! We just can't sit and wait for condition indigo to play itself out any longer.

The next second, her ears detected the faint, but distinctive sound of a transporter beam, unlike the normal Starfleet sound but definitely familiar. She was impressed by how quickly Tuvok's security team formed up, placing themselves between the rest of the crew and whatever was materializing. Janeway forced herself through the uneasily shifting crowd to the area in front of the door where the barely recognizable form of a Borg took shape, her arms full of weaponry. Janeway goggled at her wife, the normally immaculate blonde covered in black grease and grime, her hair stringy and wild about her smudged features, her outfit torn and filthy.

"Seven?"

The young woman ignored her.

"Tuvok," Seven said. "Quickly."

Voyager's chief of security leaped forward, instantly assessing the situation, grabbing a rifle from the top of the stack she was carrying and tossing it back to one of his security personnel.

"Cover the door," he instructed firmly as he distributed the rest.

His security force formed up immediately, led by the beta squad who took up a position around the entrance to the cargo bay. Just in time because it seemed that Seven's arrival had not gone unnoticed, the large doors sliding open as the Kunntarie guards plunged through. The security officers fired and the captain was horrified to see the golden bolts splash over the armor, seeming to have little impact. The guards returned fire, their bolts finding their marks with devastating effect and Janeway was terrified that the battle would be over quickly.

Then suddenly, the guards abruptly stopped shooting, their motion becoming jerky, robotic and the captain saw an emerald glow spreading over the armor, the silver webbing of erupting implants appearing and she understood immediately which weapons Seven had brought. The Borg herself had sunk to the deck, her hands to her temples, trembling as she hunched over.

"Doctor," Janeway cried, forcing her way quickly to her spouse's side. She knelt down, putting a hand gently on the woman's shoulder. "Seven, it's me."

"Captain," Seven responded, her eyes filled with stress as she looked up into the captain's concerned face, the lines around them deep and defined. "I am controlling the new drones ... directing them to the engine room," she reported, the words pushed out in fits and starts. She was obviously putting forth a great, mental effort. "I am implementing a regeneration mode ... Ro and Torres are there now but you must ... retake the ship from the Kunntarie. There are 31 intruders in total ... they are concentrated ... on deck one ... engineering ... patrolling the corridors ... 17 have been accounted for ... It is difficult to control so many at once."

Janeway reached down and picked up the sole remaining rifle which was laying beside the Borg, the captain's face set in a grim mask.

"Take care of her," she instructed the Doctor. She did not look back as she strode to the door, though unquestionably, the best part of her heart remained behind. "Chakotay, get all unnecessary personnel back to their quarters, and use a security team to mop up any pockets of resistance. The rest of the senior staff, with me. We're retaking the bridge."

She did not look to see if her orders were being carried out. She trusted that they were and quickly strode through the open cargo bay doors. Paris was at her side, hefting one of the intruder's weapons while Tuvok hurried to catch up to them after dispatching his teams.

"Captain, I would suggest coming through the emergency hatches from deck two," the Vulcan noted, as calmly as if they were all out for a stroll. "After we decoy them with a frontal assault with the turbolift."

"Good plan," Janeway said between clenched teeth. She hefted the rifle in her arms like a cherished possession, nurturing a searing desire to shoot someone, preferably Kalin. She paused as the turbolift did not open at her approach. "Lt. Kim, regain computer access."

The operations officer attacked a nearby panel, prying off the touch plate and revealing the circuitry underneath. As the rest hovered edgily, Harry cross-linked several circuits, trying to make a connection directly into Voyager's main frame.

"Captain, I've managed to tap into the computer," he reported professionally after a few moments. "I've restored the link between it and this comm panel."

Janeway cleared her throat. "Computer, restore all command functions to me, Janeway omega, red, one, one, seven, nine. Alter code to rotation blue. Set."

"Command functions are restored," the computer remarked pleasantly, not caring one iota who was in charge. "New command codes are set. Communications are restored."

"Lt. Ro to the Captain."

"Go ahead," Janeway responded.

"Engine room is secure," Ro reported smartly. "Navigation and operations have been switched to engineering though we don't have full control of internal sensors yet. No casualties to report other than Kunntarie drones who are all hooking into the plasma relay conduit."

"Understood," Janeway said. "Good work, Lieutenant. And to Lt. Torres as well."

"Thank you, Captain," B'Elanna broke in.

"There's a security team on its way to back you up," Janeway told them. "Janeway out."

"Bridge to Janeway."

Janeway quirked a brow. "Go ahead," she said coldly, recognizing the voice of her captor.

"There are Borg on this vessel," Kalin said, and while her voice was harsh, there was an underlying touch of panic in it. "We'll release you if you help us."

"There are Borg on this vessel," Janeway agreed. "However, they work for me. Stand down your weapons and surrender. I promise you, you will not be harmed. As for releasing us, we're on the way to the bridge now." She drew her lips back over her teeth, a purely feral smile. "Resistance is futile."

Paris glanced at her. "I wish you hadn't added that, Captain," he pointed out in a low tone. "If the Borg have panicked them this much..."

Janeway winced. "You're right," she said regretfully.

She was disgusted that she let the pettier side of her nature get the better of her but it was too late. The channel had been cut and the captain had a feeling that her little indulgence might just cost them some more time and effort. Especially when the ship suddenly rocked and the sound of an explosion drifted down to their ears. The doors to the turbolift suddenly parted slightly, and Tuvok immediately pried them open, looking up. Janeway could judge the bad news from the set of his shoulders if not the expression on his face.

Now, instead of the aliens surrendering, the crew of Voyager would have to go dig them out of the barricaded bridge. And it was barricaded. A quick check of the upper deck herself, revealed that the Kunntarie had blown the car at the top to prevent access via the shaft, possibly believing that was only way for a force of any size to get in. No doubt, they were just waiting to blow apart anyone who tried entering from any other access point as well.

"Damn," Janeway muttered, looking up at it, blinking in the dust which drifted down into her eyes. "When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?" She touched her comm badge. "Janeway to Doctor."

"Yes, Captain," the Doctor responded.

"Have you had a chance to check out any of the aliens?"

"No, Captain," he said. "However, I'm in sickbay and rather busy at the moment. We have casualties from that last firefight. Do you have a point?"

Janeway bit down on her initial response. As the Doctor progressed, he grew more and more like ... well, a real starship chief medical officer, whose sole purpose seemed to be to aggravate the captain.

"Do you think this species is susceptible to anesthezine gas?" she asked flatly.

"I don't know, Captain. But it is an all-purpose sedative. If it didn't work, anything I could think of without a full genetic scan probably wouldn't either."

"Flood the bridge," she said. "Quickly."

"Give me a few minutes," he sighed and she knew her irritation must have gotten through to him.

She stifled her sign and looked back at the crew who had accompanied her this far, taking this lull to regroup. Paris was studying the weapon he had picked up from the invader, not appearing to be very impressed. It was deadly enough, obviously, but not particularly well made and only added to the questions which were beginning to percolate through the captain's mind. For such an efficient strike force, there were elements about them that seemed ... well, amateurish, like bullies in a schoolyard rather than a crack military unit. And why hadn't they contacted their vessel to transfer the prisoners? That would have been Janeway's first action, making sure the crew was away from familiar confines to lessen the chance of what was happening now ... the opportunity to retake the ship because they knew it a lot better than their captors did.

Paris and Kim were speaking in low tones, the operations officer displaying an expression of profound worry. It took a second for Janeway to remember that Harry's wife had been the one in labor ... false or otherwise ... and that he had concerns beyond the ship. It was taking time for the captain to get used to the fact that the young man was no longer a green ensign, but a husband and expectant father now.

"Mr. Kim," she said.

He looked up at her.

"You're relieved," she said. "I think you'd be more useful standing around in sickbay than standing around here."

It was a measure of his maturity that he did not protest, did not pretend that he would rather be with the captain in retaking the bridge. "Aye, ma'am," he said smartly. He handed his weapon to one of the crewmembers who had none and scooted quickly back down the corridor.

Her eyes met those of her helmsman and Tom grinned affably at her.

"Going soft, grandma?" he muttered in a tone only the two of them could hear.

She bit the inside of her cheek. He really was impertinent at times but perhaps that was part of his charm.

"That's 'Captain Grandma' to you, Ensign," she said, reminding him of the time when one pip was all he had to show for himself.

"Ouch," he muttered apologetically and shut up. It hadn't been easy to win back that second pip. Obviously, he wasn't ready to lose it again.

Janeway's comm badge chirped and she bent her head.

"Go," she said.

"The gas has been administered, Captain," the level tones of Susan Nicoletti reported. Obviously the Doctor was too busy to contact her himself and the operations officer had done the job for him. "And has now been rendered inert. However, the internal scanners can't determine if the aliens are unconscious or not."

But Janeway was already moving before Nicoletti had finished speaking, accessing the nearby hatch which led to the emergency escape ladders. Slinging the rifle over her shoulder, she climbed up, Tuvok at her heels and no doubt muttering Vulcan curses under his breath that she had gotten the jump on him once again, though of course, he'd never ever let anyone hear it.

She lifted the hatch only a sliver, peering cautiously through the opening, ready to duck instantly. She was relieved to see that the gas had done its job. She opened up the hatch the rest of the way, and climbed through, taking note of how the aliens had fallen, sprawling in a semi-circle around the turbolift exit, obviously ready to make their last stand right there. She found it odd in some undefinable way, then she saw the open panel at the rear of the bridge, the dark hole leading into a conduit filled with tubing and wires. The remaining area was quite small but still large enough for a single, slender person to get through ... if they had gotten rid of their armor.

Janeway bent down and picked the discarded helmet, understanding now that the unconscious squad had been covering for another in their party ... their own form of condition indigo as it were. And the markings on the helmet indicated clearly who it was that had taken the opportunity to escape.

"Cargo bay one to bridge," the terse tones of Sek sounded over the communicator suddenly. "Captain, we have a situation. The Kunntarie commander is down here."

Seven had remained in the cargo bay, not wanting to move as she directed the drones to engineering and shut them down, one after another, into the somnolent stage of regeneration. Her head ached sharply and it was possible that she had done some damage to her neural pathways but that was irrelevant. The rest of the crew had vacated the cargo bay by now, but Sek stayed to monitor the Borg while Naomi had stayed for moral support despite her mother's original objections. Samantha hovered as close as she could without trying to appear like she was hovering.

Seven was very conscious of the little girl holding onto her hand and the warmth it provided actually granted her some needed strength as she completed her task, detaching her control from the drones as her final act of mental coercion. She smiled wanly at Naomi as the child peered anxiously at her.

"Are you all right, Seven?" she asked.

"I am functioning adequately, Naomi," Seven responded quietly. She attempted to get to her feet, still a little weak from the mental effort she had undergone and the sudden, crushing weariness that the whole day had caused. Sek and Samantha rushed to assist, catching the Borg as she swayed uncertainly, supporting her mass between them.

"Thank you," she told them, honestly grateful for their help.

A sound in the corner of the bay attracted Naomi's attention and Seven turned her head, frowning.

The little girl moved curiously toward the panel which abruptly shot out, landing on the deck with a clang and Seven's eyes widened in alarm, as did Samantha's.

"Naomi Wildman," the Borg said firmly. "Come away."

"Naomi, get back here," Samantha yelped in the same breath, releasing Seven to reach out for her offspring.

It was too late, the tattered form of the Kunntarie leader slithering out of the opening like a snake and grabbing the child who could not react in time to her mother's warning. The Voyager women hesitated as Kalin pressed her weapon to the temple of the little girl.

"Stay back," she warned, eyes wide and glittering dangerously.

Behind her, Seven could hear Sek muttering something, possibly alerting security as to this new, and potentially explosive situation.

"What do you want?" Samantha said, trying for a rational approach even as Seven could hear the ragged edge of fear rippling beneath the words.

Kalin laughed, very unpleasantly. "What I've always wanted," she spat. "This vessel, and all of you for our use on Baxer II. But I'll settle for directions to your hangar deck. I got lost in those godforsaken tubes."

"We will not comply," Seven said coldly, stepping forward.

Immediately, the black eyes of the woman centered on the tall blonde, tracing the implant over the left eye, the starburst on the right cheek.

"Borg!" she exclaimed. "You're the Borg who's been assimilating my men."

Technically, that was not entirely accurate but since Seven's culpability in the crew managing to retake the ship was unquestionable, the young woman did not argue.

"What kind of monsters traffic with the Borg?" the woman said with contempt, glaring at Seven.

"What kind of monsters threaten children," Samantha responded, furious, moving closer, off to the side. To Seven's right, Sek also circled, not speaking, attempting to split the intruder's attention between the three of them.

Distracted, the Kunntarie glanced at Ensign Wildman. "Stay back," she warned, gripping Naomi tighter, the muzzle of the weapon cutting into the soft skin, causing a trickle of blood to run down the child's cheek.

Seven felt rage, cold and precise shoot through her and she shot a look at Samantha. The scientist glanced back and with a communication that was only possible because of their great love for the same individual, Seven knew what she had to do.

"Kalin," she said, deadening her voice to the Collective inflection. "You will become one with the Borg. You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile."

She took another step forward, raising her hand, displaying the mesh and the silver tubules which shot out, withering blindly like worms.

Panic crossed the scared features. "Stay back," Kalin cried, hysteria edging her tone. "I'll kill the child, I swear."

Seven stared at her steadily. "Children are irrelevant to the Borg," she said honestly.

A sob then, terrified and hopeless, and the Kunntarie raised her weapon, removing it from Naomi's temple and aiming it at Seven, firing wildly. It was all Samantha Wildman needed and with a speed and strength born of a mother's desperate fury, she leaped at Kalin, tackling her and sending the weapon spinning away. Sek ran to Naomi, carrying her away quickly from the struggle as the biometrics officer enthusiastically hammered away at the woman, using her fist, knees and feet, doing as much damage as her vaguely remembered Starfleet combat training could provide.

Seven wondered briefly what she was doing on the floor, the ceiling spinning wildly as shock and astonishment spread through her, an odd numbness radiating from her abdomen. She could hear the sounds of a struggle and ignoring the tearing sensation in her intestines, she sat up, getting unsteadily to her feet. Face bloodied, spitting out a tooth, Kalin managed to shove Samantha back into a pile of containers, sending the woman crashing to the deck. Then she made a dive for the weapon, her hand closing over the muzzle just as Seven's foot came down onto it, crushing the bones.

Kalin screamed as Seven reached down with one hand and picked the Kunntarie up by the scruff of the neck. She held her high in the air and shook her much as Jake, the Borg's beloved Irish Setter, might shake his favorite toy.

"You have damaged me," Seven said in an oddly detached voice as she pushed her face into Kalin's whose feet dangled a good ten centimeters off the floor. "You have damaged Kathryn. You have damaged and threatened Naomi. You have threatened my home. I must terminate your lifesigns now."

"Seven of Nine," came the distinctively throaty tone from somewhere behind her. "Put her down."

Seven did not comply. Instead, she changed hands, gripping the woman around the throat by her fully organic appendage which, although much weaker than the other, was still respectably strong. Her left implant, she altered with a thought, shifting the mesh which ran along the inside of each finger to a sharp, serrated edge, the ends extending over her fingers into curved, clawlike points.

"Seven," came the voice again, closer now and somewhat more urgent.

Seven tried to disregard it, to brush it away like an annoying insect.

"I'm ordering you to release the prisoner," the firm words came, whip-sharp, brokering no argument. "Report to sickbay. Now."

Seven tightened her grip, coming perilously close to snapping Kalin's neck like a twig.

"Seven .... Annika," the voice abruptly softened, gentled, pleading with the Borg. "Don't do this, darling. It will only end up hurting you in the long run. She's not worth that."

The use of Seven's Human designation seemed to lift the silver, ice-cold fog which had been clouding Seven's mind. She took a breath, then another, looking at the creature cowering in her grasp, no longer seeing a threat which had to be exterminated, but the terrified features of a completely broken individual. Uncertainly, she turned her head, looking into the beloved blue-grey eyes of her captain ... and her wife.

"Let her go," Janeway said gently, putting her hand on Seven's arm. "She must be dealt with by Starfleet justice."

"It is possible that Starfleet justice shall prove inadequate for the damage she has done," Seven responded, wondering why she felt so weak suddenly.

"Perhaps, but it is the only justice we have leave to administer," Janeway told her.

Seven abruptly released her grip, allowing the woman to crumble to the deck where Tuvok and a few other security guards took command of her. Seven watched dispassionately as they dragged Kalin away before taking notice of Sek who was attempting to make her sit down.

"Seven, you're badly injured," the holographic medical assistant said anxiously.

"Am I?" Seven remarked, not very interested. Then, pain hit as the adrenaline and rage finished wearing off and suddenly, she was very interested indeed.

"Kathryn?" she cried out as she collapsed to the deck.

"I'm right here," the captain said, an arm around Seven's shoulders, supporting her while her other hand griped Seven's, the one which had been around Kalin's throat. "Be still and let Sek work."

"Captain, we need to get her to sickbay, right now," Sek said urgently.

"Computer, emergency transport, three to sickbay," Janeway snapped.

Seven wondered why the captain looked so distressed as the cargo bay around her disappeared in a rush of sparkles. She had complied with her order, hadn't she? Granted, there had been a delay in processing the request, but that was to be expected considering the circumstances. She forced herself to loosen her grip on Kathryn's hand, knowing that she could easily injure the captain if she was not careful and that the pain she was experiencing would make it easy for her not to take care. Janeway, in contrast, squeezed Seven's fingers tighter.

"Don't let go, Annika," she said intently, her face very close to the Borg's. "Don't you dare leave me."

Seven realized that the captain thought she was fading and that was why she had eased her grip. She wanted to explain her reasoning but it was very difficult to talk now, the fog which was stealing over her now of a type which was very dark and absorbing, swallowing her up with such finality that the Borg was unable to resist. Her eyes slid shut and she knew nothing else for quite some time.

It took three days before Seven was completely recovered from the reconstructive surgery needed to put her insides back into their respective place. She was informed cheerfully after the fact, that about half her intestines had spilt out through the wound in her stomach, something she had not taken any notice of, at the time. The Doctor seemed very impressed with his ability to figure which bit went where in her anatomy and it was not long before Seven was wondering if it would not have been better had the shot killed her rather than merely wounding her. At least, death would have prevented the necessity of lying there immobile as she regenerated, listening to him explain in exquisite detail how competently he had performed the rebuilding of her guts.

The captain wasn't able to visit Seven much during this time, caught up in the aftermath of repairing the ship, securing the prisoners and finding out where they had come from, the details of the Kunntarie working themselves out in a somewhat unexpected manner. Apparently, Baxer was the only remaining colony of the once fiercely aggressive people and this had been a last ditch effort to highjack a passing space vessel, believing it was their only hope of reclaiming the starship technology they had lost with the Borg's assimilation of their people. The governing body had designed a satellite which was built over much public protest, exhausting most of their technical resources, in the hopes of finding a ship passing through this relatively untraveled area of space close enough for them to capture, study and hopefully reproduce the warp drive. They had been monitoring Voyager for some time, observing the ship's technology for several light-years as best they could through the satellite until the Federation vessel finally passed within range of their specially constructed transporter array.

The strike team had not transported from a ship at all. Instead, they had beamed to the satellite and then, boosted by its power system which was entirely drained in the process, they were bounced in this single, desperate effort to reach Voyager. The satellite's systems carried out this final instruction, then was no longer able to maintain orbit, plunging to a fiery end in the planet's upper atmosphere. The transport beam scattered somewhat as it shot through the vast distance of space and of the initial squad of one hundred strong, only thirty had made it intact, plus the lowest ranking officer remaining ... Kalin.

Yet for all that, it had nearly worked and Seven could only imagine the dismay and terror that the Kunntarie had felt to discover of all the ships which they could have ambushed, they had chosen one with a representative of the Borg. She supposed that she could feel sorry for them in some small way, but it was difficult when she remembered how the commander had threatened the child she loved.

Now, Janeway was in communication with the Baxer government, warning them what could happen if they ever tried such a stunt again and negotiating to return their surviving soldiers. To fix those soldiers, the Doctor had requested Seven's assistance, the Borg having recently been altered by her counterpart from another universe. Seven was now able to produce a form of nanoprobes which reversed the effects of assimilation swiftly and efficiently. Seven had not been anxious to help, but in the end, she grudgingly produced the necessary nanoprobes which allowed the Doctor to administer them to the assimilated soldiers, returning them to their original, organic state.

Seven also needed to produce a certain amount for B'Elanna who was busy trying to clean up the ship. As she lay there, feeling much put upon, Seven remembered reading about a domesticated herbivore in Earth's history known as a 'dairy cow' and wondered if this was how that animal felt after being 'milked'.

Mostly, she thought about how much she had wanted to destroy the being known as Kalin. And how much she resented being restrained from doing so.

Janeway accessed the hatch leading to the small auxiliary room tucked underneath the saucer section of her starship, the panel sliding back to reveal the top of a blonde head bent over some unfathomable task. The captain cleared her throat as she descended the ladder, regarding her partner quietly as the hatch slid obediently shut above her once she had cleared it. Voyager had finally resumed course for the Alpha Quadrant and things were slowly getting back to normal except for one, very important ... one might even say, absolutely crucial ... thing in the captain's life.

"Annika," she said softly.

"Captain," Seven returned coolly from where she sat on a mattress, folding a blanket neatly and laying it on top of another one. "How did you know where I was?"

Janeway tilted her head. "I asked the computer," she explained. "Your lifesigns are recognized now."  But the humor fell flat as Seven ignored her, intent on her task.  Janeway stifled a sigh and looked around, seeing the picnic basket which was maintaining the freshness of its contents and the ice bucket which was not, half full of tepid water surrounding a bottle of wine. "This was for us?"

"Yes," Seven remarked shortly, gathering up the checked table cloth which had been spread over the deck. "I was here when the Kunntarie attacked."

"I see," Janeway said, and she did. This, obviously, was the 'errand' Seven had been running which had prevented her capture. The captain leaned against the ladder, and stifled her sigh. "I know you're upset with me," she ventured. "Even without having more than ten minutes to spend together in the past four days, I can see that. I'm not entirely sure why, but I know you feel you have justification for it."

Seven hesitated in her tidying, taking a slow breath. "I am angry with you," she admitted finally. "I feel that you made a tactically unsound decision in allowing Kalin to live. And in freeing the others, allowing them to return to their home." She looked up at the captain, her eyes dark and confused. "Kathryn, they hurt you ... they threatened Naomi. They almost killed many of the crew, including myself. They did kill Ensign McCormick. How could you just ... accept that?"

"I don't 'just accept that'," Janeway responded evenly, though the reminder of her dead crewmember had stung. She paused, gathering her thoughts. "I would have done whatever it took to regain control of my ship, Seven," she said patiently. "Short of needlessly sacrificing lives. That includes the lives of the Kunntarie. Once the threat was over, it was unnecessary to 'punish' them further. They returned to their planet as complete failures. And the cost of this attempt to hijack Voyager collapsed their economy and will leave their people unable to try anything remotely like it for a century. Hopefully, by that time, the new generations will have learned from their mistakes and will approach things differently next time."

"If you had terminated them, there would not be a 'next time'," Seven said darkly.

Seven's respiration was deliberate, controlled with an effort and Janeway realized how upset the young woman truly was. Her motion as she folded the tablecloth was abrupt, forceful, unlike her normal, economy of movement.

"Were you so intent on killing Kalin?" Janeway asked quietly, sadly.

"She hurt Naomi," Seven said, voice shaking. "She cut her, made her bleed. If I had not been able to distract her, to turn her weapon on me, she may have killed her." Her pale eyes met Janeway's challengingly. "You could not have stopped me from killing her then."

"No, I don't suppose I could have," Janeway said calmly. "And maybe I wouldn't have wanted to. But it would still have been an act of vengeance, not of justice."

Seven looked as if she wanted to spit. "Justice!" She stood up, turning away from the captain, her head bent as she clenched her fists at her sides. "I do not understand that concept. Where is the justice in being attacked without provocation? Where is the justice in allowing our children to be harmed by people who feel that just because they have the power, they have the right to utilize it in such a fashion?"

"None," Janeway said, her heart aching as she watched her partner's struggle with ideals that not even Humanity had completely come to terms with. "There is no justice in that, Seven. But would you honestly wish for us to be like them, Seven? To utilize our might to harm others simply because we're in a position to do so?"

The Borg hesitated, then her shoulders slumped, seeming defeated. "No," she said wearily. "I do not. Nor would I wish you to be different that you are. Your compassion is part of why I love you. But I am still very angry."

"Because of your fear," Janeway said clearly.

She had startled Seven, she saw, the woman whirling to regard her with astonishment.

"Fear?" the Borg echoed with outrage. "I am not afraid."

"I am," Janeway responded simply. Seven flinched, the anger dissipating immediately and the captain continued "I am terrified by what could have happened to Naomi. I was frightened to death by your being hurt. But I cannot allow that fear to dictate how I conduct my duties as captain or as the representative of the Federation. I do not have that right. I may kill in the immediate heat of battle, Seven. Sometimes it's unavoidable. But when the battle is over, when the fighting is done, then it's time for cooler heads to prevail. That's part of my job. You cannot demand me to act against this uniform because of your fear. And I dare not act against it because of my own."

She took a deep breath, reaching out to put her hand lightly on Seven's forearm. "Annika, we can argue all day about whether Kalin deserved death or not and honestly, I'm not sure I could disagree with any of your reasons. All I know is what I've been taught all my life, by my parents and by Starfleet and I won't go against that, darling. I can't. Not even for you."

Seven looked lost, not knowing how to respond. "But ... Naomi ..." she said helplessly.

Janeway reached down, taking Seven's hand in her own, stroking it lightly with her thumb. "I know," she said in a much gentler voice, regarding her partner intently. "It's different when there are children involved. Our instincts are to protect them at all costs, with lethal force if necessary. But we have to be more than our instincts, Annika. We have to use our intellect as well. If we don't, what are we ultimately teaching our children anyway?"

Seven removed her hand from Janeway's grasp, but gently, without force. "I do not believe it is that simple," she said quietly, still disagreeing but no longer so caught up in her anger that she could not hear Janeway's words.

"Oh, darling, I never said it was simple," Janeway said huskily. "I won't lie to you, Annika, I'm still working out how I must captain this ship with families and children on board. I know for a fact, it is influencing how I make my decisions and some of them are going to turn out wrong because of it." She paused, swallowing hard. "And when that happens, I'm going to need you to be there for me. Not to condone or even accept the consequences of such a decision, but to love me in spite of it."

Seven moved closer, wrapping her strong arms around Janeway, pulling her tightly to the warm, lanky body. The captain accepted the embrace gratefully, as always, finding her sanctuary in the haven of those arms.

"I do love you, Kathryn," the Borg murmured into the captain's hair, her breath soft across Janeway's forehead. "No matter what."

"Oh, I love you too, my darling," Janeway replied devoutly. She hugged Seven back, her arms tight around the slender waist and for a second, the image of her partner lying in a bloody heap on the deck of the cargo bay flashed across her mind, the sickening sight of the ropes of perforated intestine bulging out through the blackened and torn flesh of Seven's midsection. It was all Janeway could do not to shake apart, feeling faint as the edges of her vision darkened.

"Annika," she whispered raggedly. "Please don't distract people anymore by making them shoot at you. I don't handle that very well."

"When that happens," Seven said slowly, in a conscious echo of the captain's earlier words. "I am going to need you to be there for me. Not to condone or even accept the consequences of such a decision, but to love me in spite of it."

Despite herself, Janeway laughed, then discovered she was crying instead. "Oh, Annika," she said in a mix of resignation and the exhausted aftermath of yet another survived adventure. "However do we manage to get through these things?"

"By getting through it together," Seven said quietly. She brushed her lips over Janeway's brow, then lower, kissing away the tears. "Sometimes it is more difficult than others, but I know we must rely on each other, even when we are not in agreement."

"I believe that, too," Janeway said.

She lifted her face to her partner's, gratified when the full lips came down upon her own, kissing her deeply. And it seemed that perhaps there was a little desperation in it as well so the captain made her own soothing, gentle, trying to show how much she loved Seven. By the time they parted, Seven's kiss was easier, sweeter, the familiarity not breeding contempt at all, but rather comfort and an assurance in each other which came directly from the heart. The Borg's lips traced over Janeway's face, to the spot just below one blue-grey eye, pressing so very tenderly against it. The wound was long healed by the Doctor with a few passes of a dermal regenerator, but the hurt still lingered in Seven which Janeway understood completely, allowing the touch for however long the young woman required it.

Then Seven tucked the captain up under her chin and Janeway relaxed, her face pressed against the smooth line of Seven's throat, feeling the throb of pulse against her skin, the warmth of her spouse's body against her own, feeling loved and secure in a way that nothing else but this could provide. They stood there for a long time, just hanging on before Janeway had to reluctantly draw away, only because she was developing a cramp in her calf.

"So, this is where you were when we were invaded," she said as she stretched out her leg, using the ladder as support. She eyed Seven playfully. "Did you have something in mind?" She nodded at the mattress.

Seven blushed faintly. "I intended this to be the first step in my plan," she said.

Janeway stared at her blankly. "Your plan?"

"To make love to you in every area of the ship," Seven reminded her.

Janeway laughed. "I can't believe I forgot that," she said. Her eyes swept the room, taking another look at the picnic basket, the bottle of wine. "You know, you're turning into quite the seductress."

Seven quirked a brow. "Is that good?" she asked.

The corner of Janeway's mouth curled. "Only as long as I'm the one you're trying to seduce," she said, her voice dropping a into a husky trill.

Seven glanced around, disappointment etching her face. "But it is ruined now," she said sadly.

Janeway reached out for her, slipping her arms around the Borg's waist. "Why would you think that?" she asked quietly. "I'm here, you're here ... what could be more perfect?"

"Yes?" Seven responded, looking down at her, a speculative expression lightening her eyes. "So, if I were to ask you to have dinner with me here, you would accept?"

"I believe I would," Janeway responded lightly.

Seven pulled her closer, resting her forehead against her spouse's. "And if afterward," she added in a lower voice, "I were to ask you to join me on the mattress and attempt to make love to you, you would not object?"

Janeway smiled, the two swaying slightly in some odd semblance of a dance that only lovers seemed to know. "Perhaps," she allowed gently.

"I have no more potato salad," Seven murmured.

Janeway chuckled, remembering the report from Ro Laren in the briefing the day after the invasion. Chakotay had looked at the woman oddly and asked her where Seven had gotten the potato salad the two women had consumed in the Jeffries tube. Ro had stared him straight in the eye and replied, "A picnic basket, Commander." And left it at that. Janeway would never forget the look on her first officer's face at that one and it brought a smile to her face even now.

"We'll just have to make do with what we have," the captain remarked. She kissed Seven's chin, brushing her lips over the dimple there. "And as long as I have you, that will never be a hardship."

Seven smiled faintly, rubbing her cheek gently against the captain's, putting her mouth against Janeway's ear. "And if I were to ask you to join me on the mattress now?" she asked provocatively. "What would be your response?"

Janeway felt desire shoot through her and smiled. "Without even feeding me?" she objected dryly.

"It is too early for dinner," Seven noted accurately. "Lunch was only four point six hours ago."

"Ah," Janeway said. "I wondered if you had noticed that."

She felt Seven's lips trace along her jaw, nuzzling at the soft spot below her ear.

"Kathryn, would you join me on the mattress?" the Borg asked huskily.

"I believe I would like that," Janeway responded formally.

They kissed again, lingering, allowing themselves to heal as well as be aroused by the physical connection of mouth on mouth. Janeway concentrated on the sweetness of her partner, the absorbing quality of her kiss, the wonderful way her body moved against hers. Anticipation rose sweet and slow within her and she did not attempt to hurry anything. For this moment, she would allow nothing to take away from her time with her beloved Seven.

"Kathryn," the young woman whispered as they parted briefly.

"Yes, darling," Janeway replied, inhaling deeply to fill herself with her partner's fragrance. Being with Seven was a constant involvement of all her senses, her ability to taste, to smell ... to hear the woman breathe, to see her beauty in even these unflattering ship lights, to touch the warm, smooth skin. She only wished she had twenty more senses so that she could engage them as well.

"I'm going to undress you now," Seven said. "Is that acceptable?"

Janeway's head was swimming and she tried to think. "Oh yes," she groaned. "But first, let me seal the hatch."

"I will attend to that," Seven assured her gently, unfastening the captain's tunic, nibbling at Janeway's neck and ears. She eased it off her spouse's shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. Then carefully, she picked the smaller woman up, and cradled her in her arms, turning to lower her with controlled power to the mattress.

Janeway was swept away by the sheer thought of it, surrendering utterly to her partner's assumption of control, allowing Seven to set the pace for this somewhat illicit rendezvous here beneath the ship. She lay quietly on the bedding as Seven straightened, reaching up to key in some commands in the touch pad by the hatch, then the Borg put her hands around to the back of her neck which caused her bosom to rise in a most delightful fashion.

The breath caught in the captain's throat as Seven released the fastening which held her biometric suit on, peeling it off her shoulders and down her arms, revealing her breasts, full and heavy, tipped with coral nipples which were already visibly hardened. Janeway swallowed and rose up on her elbows, watching avidly as her spouse removed the rest of the outfit and stood proudly naked before her.

"Exquisite," Janeway said. It was a word she had used before to describe this sight. But then, it was a word which always applied.

Seven smiled at her as she joined Janeway on the mattress, stretching out her long, lean form next to her spouse. Janeway felt her nuzzle her ear, the Borg's hand sliding down to the captain's abdomen, tugging at the sweater to pull it from the trousers.

"Resistance," Seven murmured, "is futile."

Janeway laughed huskily.

"Who's resisting, darling?" she said as she slid her arms around Seven's neck.

The Borg smiled and pulled the woman closer.

"Your sweater," she informed her.

"Ah," Janeway said and helped Seven pull the offending garment over her head, leaving her clad in only her trousers and boots. Seven's eyebrow went up.

"Where are your undergarments?" she asked curiously, working on the pants next.

The captain blushed faintly. "Uh, let's just say I wanted to be prepared before I came down here," she murmured. "I had hopes we would be able to 'make up'."

Seven was amused. "So you were not as oblivious to the purpose of my being here as you might have claimed?" she asked.

"Well, I didn't expect a mattress or the rest," Janeway replied. "But I'm certainly glad of it. I may have mentioned before that I'm too old to like rolling around on a hard deck."

"I do not really understand what age has to do with it," Seven remarked as she managed to finish removing her spouse's trousers and boots, taking a moment to look down at Janeway's body, appreciating the aesthetic quality of it. "You are so beautiful," she added softly.

Janeway offered her the pleased expression, the one of shy wistfulness. "You're biased," she remarked in that wonderful throaty voice. "But thank you."

Seven pulled her close, delighting in the feel of that warm body against hers. "I am not so biased as to be unable to realize when someone is aesthetically pleasing to the eye," she assured her. "Nor am I the only one on this vessel who finds you physically attractive. You must have more confidence in your physical appearance, Kathryn. Know that every millimeter of you is absolute perfection."

"You're such a sweet talker," Janeway said, kissing her deeply.

Seven realized that they had discussed that topic for as long as the captain would tolerate. Kathryn did not see in herself the same beauty that others did. She understood the appeal of her intellect, even of her personality, but for some reason, she simply did not consider herself physically attractive. But for Seven, even if she had all the words in all the languages, she still could not express how incredibly beautiful she found her spouse. The Borg understood that appearance was considered superficial and unimportant by the Federation cultural ideal, but she did not agree. How could anyone not appreciate the way the lines which appeared around Kathryn's eyes and mouth feathered out into such a radiant pattern, deepening as she grew older, displaying her wisdom and good humor? Or the way her pale skin was dusted lightly by the light brown of freckles which grew more profuse every day? Did people really not appreciate the way the captain's belly rounded softly, inviting Seven to rest her head against it, to listen to the gurgles and rumbles within, unlike the Borg's taut muscles which were hard and obviously uncomfortable? Or Kathryn's small, soft breasts which were perfect handfuls, the brownish nipples so sweet to kiss and taste?

Beauty was not superficial, Seven thought, mouthing those very nipples now. It was a part of who Kathryn was.

Janeway moaned quietly as Seven paid the most loving worship to her breasts, raking her fingers through the Borg's hair, the strands of blonde wrapping around her hands.

"God, how's the sound proofing?" she gasped.

"Inadequate," Seven informed her, as she trailed down over the captain's stomach, the fine hairs tickling her lips. "You must restrain your verbal outbursts."

"That's easy for you to say," Janeway grumbled, then bit her lip as Seven reached her groin.

Seven smiled faintly and nuzzled into the thin patch of auburn hair, her olfactory sense already picking up the musky scent of her partner's arousal. She loved that fragrance, would readily wear it as perfume if it were acceptable ... though Kathryn had told her in no uncertain terms that it was not, when the Borg had ventured the idea during one of their discussions on Humanoid behavior. Brushing her lips over the pouty flesh below, Seven ran the tip of her tongue along the crease, tasting the bit of moisture which had seeped out but not yet seeking out the tender flesh protected within. Instead, she kissed the silky junction where the leg extended, nuzzling into the hollow of inner thigh, first on one side, then on the other, knowing that this was teasing Kathryn, increasing her anticipation for a more defined touch.

Another groan, a little louder though obviously, Janeway was trying hard to stifle it.

The Borg paused, instructed the computer to alter the hull translucency, changing it to the transparent aluminum which looked out onto a million stars distorted by the warp field, passing around them as if they were alone in the universe.

"Oh, Annika," Janeway muttered helplessly, her voice full of awe and amazement at the gift her partner was giving her.

Pleased, Seven very carefully, kissed her spouse's most intimate spot as she would Kathryn's mouth, tracing over the engorged lips, playing her tongue lightly over each one, teasing them open softly, gently, releasing the moisture within, basking as always, in the rich, full bodied flavor of it.

Janeway's next utterance was not quiet at all and Seven wondered if she should do something, put her hand over Kathryn's mouth perhaps? Then the sounds grew muffled and the Borg realized that Janeway had taken care of it herself, stuffing her fist between her lips, clamping down on it. Amused, Seven returned to her repast, swirling her tongue around the hard little nodule, dipping it into the wellspring of moisture to draw yet more out, stroking along the tender flesh full of the nerve endings which enabled Janeway to experience the most intense pleasure.

She didn't know how long she feasted on her spouse, time losing all meaning as she loved Kathryn utterly with her mouth, but finally there was the unmistakable quiver that rippled through the flesh beneath her lips, the flutter of the opening under her tongue. A muffled, but distinctive keen sounded from above and lovingly, Seven guided Kathryn through it, continuing to pleasure her until the captain's fingers in her hair slipped down to the blonde's cheek, urging her away, pulling her up.

Seven crawled up the compact form, immediately seeking out her partner's mouth, knowing that Kathryn needed to be kissed firmly, strongly, that she craved the pressure of Seven's body on hers, weighing heavily though the Borg was careful to keep the greater part of her mass off the captain. It completed the act of Seven's making love to her, brought a conclusion to this part of their interaction, and Seven always found these kisses to have a touch of regret that it was over so quickly ... regardless of how long it might have taken.

"Oh, darling," Janeway murmured. Her voice was never so throaty nor reverberated with such wanton satisfaction as it did in these moments afterward. It sent chills down Seven's spine, filled her with the most glorious sort of anticipation. "I love you."

Seven kissed her again, sweetly, longingly. "I love you, Kathryn." It was inadequate to express the emotion within her, yet no other words could do it any better. "I always will."

Janeway covered her partner's mouth hungrily, her hands roaming over the Borg, caressing avidly, needing now to pleasure the young woman as Seven had her. Seven relaxed, allowing the pleasure to rise within her, accepting the caresses for the display of love and desire Janeway intended. She was nudged over onto her side, then her back, the captain covering her with her slighter frame, the feel of her body evocative and arousing to Seven. Janeway's hands were smaller but the fingers were long, sensitive, playing Seven like the finest of melodies, seeking out those places which created the most intense sensations, having come to know them over time as greatly as Seven knew them herself. Certainly, knowing them for as long, because until Kathryn had discovered them, Seven had been completely unaware that fingertips swirling in just that manner could make the flesh beneath react with such utter delight.

Seven buried her face in her partner's hair, glorying in the feel of the softness around her, nuzzling into the warmth and scent of it, alternately astounded and thrilled by the words uttered huskily in her ear, sometimes base and profane, interspersed with the most tender of sentiments. They were words Kathryn would never use anywhere else ... with anyone else; how it felt to touch Seven, how good it was to be with her, how much Kathryn loved her, how much Kathryn loved loving her... Then the sensation finally grew too strong for Seven to control, filling her body, seeming to coalesce in her center and spread out, the shudders that she could not stop, the jolt that ran all the way to the top of Seven's head, impacting with a soft blast of sheer ecstacy.

She gasped, saying Kathryn's name over and over, hugging the smaller woman close, allowing herself to shatter for that brief instant of total vulnerability as she trusted utterly that her partner would protect her and love her and never, ever, betray that trust. Kathryn held her, the profanity disappearing with only the sweetest words remaining; assurances and promises, an oath to love Seven forever and that nothing in the universe would or could ever change that.

The blankets, unfolded from their neat piles lay heavy over them, keeping them warm within this cocoon of light in the blackness of space and stars, the snowy underside of Voyager's hull looming over them protectively. Kathryn's body was a soft weight against Seven's side, her breath warm as it flowed over the young woman's neck and shoulder. Her left arm was draped over Seven's stomach, her head resting heavily on her shoulder and Seven rested her cheek on her partner's disarrayed hair, allowing herself to appreciate the moment of simply being here with Kathryn.

"Well," Janeway said finally, her voice heavy with humor, "I'd have to say that the first step of your plan was a rousing success."

"It was pleasant," Seven agreed. She brushed her lips over the top of the captain's head. "Did you find that the location enhanced the experience?"

Janeway chuckled and stretched slightly, like a B'Rethna, not actually going anywhere but still managing to unkink every joint. Seven was impressed.

"I admit," the captain noted, "when you altered the hull setting, I thought it would be distracting but it wasn't. It made it better, in fact."

Seven was satisfied with the assessment. "I trust that our next rendezvous shall be equally as stimulating," she said.

Janeway hesitated. "Dare I ask?" she said dryly.

"Ask what?"

"Where and when the next rendezvous shall take place?" she elaborated.

Seven considered it. "It would be better if you did not," she said finally. "Knowing would merely give rise to possible objections and reasons why we should not. It is best to simply go along with these things and not anticipate them too much."

Janeway snuggled closer. "I see," she said, and somehow, Seven thought that she did. "You know, you're not going to have all the fun. I might discover a few places for us to explore myself."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "Indeed?" she offered, prodding her invitingly. "Such as?"

"That would ruin the surprise," Janeway responded with a sort of smugness. "I'll just have to spring it when you are least expecting it."

Seven smiled faintly and pulled her partner closer. "I shall ... appreciate it when it happens," she said.

Janeway laughed again. "I hope so." She yawned and slid her leg over Seven's groin, settling heavier upon her. "Mmm, I think I'm going to sleep."

Seven ran her thumb over Kathryn's hand, noting the fading indentations where the captain had bit into the flesh in an effort to stifle her more vocal exclamations, soothing over them gently.

"I am not entirely sure that is a good idea, Kathryn," she said softly. "After all, we are not in our bed at home."

Janeway blinked and smiled. "No, I guess we're not," she allowed, forcing herself to alertness once more. "That's the down side of this sort of thing. Having to get dressed and return to where we belong."

"Should we not attempt this anymore?" Seven asked hesitantly.

Janeway reached up and kissed her, her lips moving over the Borg's lightly. "Of course, we should, darling," she said. "I just have to get out of the habit of wanting to go to sleep afterward."

"You do not always wish to sleep afterward," Seven pointed out.

"No?"

"No, sometimes you wish to eat."

Janeway dug a thumb into her partner's ribs, tickling her as Seven squirmed. Then the captain laughed. "Well, now that you mention it..." She looked over and eyed the picnic basket significantly.

Seven did not roll her eyes. It was not an affectation she was in the habit of.

But she certainly wanted to.

Epilogue

B'Elanna Torres, hidden within the shadow of the captain's yacht, closed her jaw with an effort and hastily averted her eyes. She knew about the small auxiliary room beneath the ship of course. She knew every inch of the vessel. She just hadn't known it could turn transparent like that. And she certainly hadn't known it could be utilized in the fashion that the captain and Seven were currently utilizing it.

It went without saying that she could never let on what she had seen to anyone. Not only was it in extremely bad taste to comment on the captain's sex life, it was a dangerous thing to do. Janeway's ability to wield her words with the keen edge of a dagger would shred the Klingon to bits and B'Elanna was not anxious to receive a lecture from the small captain on the merits of discretion and propriety. Then there was the fact that B'Elanna was out on the ship's hull while it was in warp, the need to perform maintenance on the airlock manual overrides notwithstanding.

Of course, this was precisely the reason she enjoyed taking her 'little strolls' around the outside of the ship, B'Elanna thought smugly as she walked away from the area, skirting along the underside of the saucer.

You never knew what you were going to discover out there.

The End

•  This is the 24th installment in the Just Between series.

• Dedicated to my beta readers who clean up so many of my booboos and to Susan (just because).

• Title provided by Dyin' Isis.

• This was first posted in August, 1999.

Just Between Battles
G. L. Dartt

Captain Kathryn Janeway of the USS Voyager tossed and turned, seeking the elusive oblivion of sleep even as she realized that what she really was seeking was the warm body which should have been in bed beside her. Embracing the pillow, which still bore the delicate fragrance of Seven of Nine, her spouse of several months, was simply not the same and with a frustrated sigh, Janeway tossed it aside as she sat up. She threw back the covers and got out of bed, reaching over for the robe which was hanging on a hook nearby, pulling it on over her nude form.

Her feet were bare as she walked out of the bedroom and she winced as she stepped in a wet spot where Jake had spilled a bit of water from his dish. As always, she promised herself to set up their pet's eating area somewhere other than right beside the bedroom door and as always, she immediately forgot it as she crossed the room to the replicator.

She debated over her choice, her body demanding coffee though her mind resisted it for the first time for as long as she could remember. Not only was she jittery enough, she thought dismally, it just wouldn't taste the same as Seven's special blend. And that would only serve to remind her that her partner wasn't home; that instead, she was on an away mission with Lt. Ro Laren, Neelix and Commander Chakotay, trying to negotiate with an alien species in a nearby system for ore to power the replicators. Sighing, Janeway replicated a weak, chamomile tea and returned to the living area, curling up on the couch as she sipped the hot liquid. The couple's Irish Setter was already draped over most of the sofa's surface and he shifted a bit, flopping his head onto her lap.

She patted Jake's rust-colored head idly, staring unseeingly at the workstations across from her, and wondering if she would have to ask the Doctor for a sedative. It was something she hated to do and he hated to have to provide, but she didn't want to wear herself down with lack of sleep. The demands of the ship were far too great for that. Months earlier, a virus had contributed to the impregnation of several crewmembers and everyone had been working feverishly to prepare the ship for the new arrivals. It made for long shifts, stress caused by the unrelenting pressure to get everything finished on time, and tension that remained high, despite the deliberately scheduled leaves. Being the captain, Janeway felt it more than anyone and for a brief instant, tears of loneliness and frustration prickled. Furiously, she blinked them back, swallowing hard against the lump that suddenly appeared in her throat.

This is ridiculous, Janeway told herself sternly as she wiped at her eyes.

She rose from the sofa, striding briskly into the bedroom to change into grey workout pants and a matching t-shirt with the ship's name printed neatly over the left breast in blue. She made Jake remain behind as she left their quarters and jogged to the turbolift. Checking holodeck two, she was pleased to see it wasn't in use, and keyed in one of her favorite workout programs ... the one with the Olympic sized pool ... before entering the simulation. She shed her clothes, disdaining the need for a swimsuit this late at night, and dove into the deep blue water, cutting through it like a knife. She swam energetically along the entire length to the end and back again before she relaxed into a slower stroke, easing forward into another lap.

A sudden splash at the other end of the pool startled her, and she turned abruptly, treading water as she peered intently across the shimmering surface. A wave of some underwater disturbance moved toward her and, despite the fact she was on her own ship, in a holodeck no less, with the safety protocols on, apprehension was still thick in her throat until the dark brown head of her chief engineer popped up a few feet away.

"B'Elanna," she said with relief and a touch of annoyance that the Klingon had startled her.

"I was passing by after my shift and wondered if you could use some company," B'Elanna explained as she stroked smoothly by. "Or do you prefer to be alone for your workout?"

Janeway thought about that. "No," she admitted, resuming her swim alongside the young woman. "I don't want to be alone."

B'Elanna didn't say anything but Janeway knew she understood ... which was impressive because the captain wasn't entirely sure what she meant. The two women swam a few more laps, had an impromptu race which Janeway easily won, and then got out of the pool, going over to the hot tub bubbling nearby. It was sectioned off by rocks and plants and Janeway eased into the swirling water with a quiet pleasure. She noted that, like herself, the engineer had eschewed the need for a swimsuit. While the captain was completely comfortable in the informal co-ed nudity practiced at Starfleet Academy for this type of workout scenario, there was still a part of her that noticed the young woman's compact, finely muscled form with more than an impartial eye. There was no question that B'Elanna was an attractive little bundle and it didn't surprise Janeway that Seven would have eventually noticed it, even though the Borg had been horrified and astonished that she could ever look at another person with anything like desire. Seven's tearful confession at having checked out the lieutenant's breasts was one of the captain's fonder memories, and Janeway discovered that she was smiling faintly.

The Klingon, in contrast, was regarding her quite somberly. "I've wanted to speak with you for a while, Captain," she began, then paused, looking a bit uncomfortable suddenly. "It means a lot to me that you gave me a chance on Voyager. I might not have said it before, but I respect you a lot and I'm proud to serve under you."

"I'm proud to call you a crewmember," Janeway noted, mildly surprised and wondering why B'Elanna was bringing it up now. It occurred to her that the engineer had become quite different lately ... almost mellow, if one could apply such a word to the feisty Klingon/Human hybrid. "In any event, Lieutenant, you're a remarkable engineer, and I'm glad you were able to find your place here on Voyager."

"Me too," B'Elanna said softly. She eyed Janeway through her lashes. "Though for a while, it seemed like only Seven could question you with any impunity and get away with it. You didn't have too much patience for me."

Janeway grinned briefly as the memories of Seven's early times on Voyager flitted across her mind, of clashes and confrontations with the arrogant young Borg which had left her shaking and furious more times that she would care to admit.

"I had my hands full with her," the captain admitted ruefully. "So much so that perhaps I didn't have the attention and energy I should have displayed with everyone else. Seven caught me by surprise." She lowered her head. "She caught you off guard as well."

B'Elanna blushed. "I know," she admitted. "She used to make me so angry I'd almost spit. If you had told me then that we were going to be friends one day, I'd have laughed in your face. She kind of grew on me."

"She has a way of doing that," Janeway said wistfully.

B'Elanna stared at her blatantly. "You're missing her like crazy," she said, not a question but a statement of fact.

"Oh, yes," Janeway responded honestly, with a wry little smile. "Why do you think I'm working out at 2300 hours? It certainly isn't because I need the exercise."

B'Elanna nodded. "I miss her too," she said quietly.

Janeway regarded her, wondering if Seven was all the engineer missed. The captain knew that there had been another person recently introduced to the mix who also stirred strong feelings in the Klingon ... at least, according to everything Seven had told her.

"I do wonder how the others on the away team are doing as well," Janeway tried delicately, if a bit impishly. "Particularly ... Lt. Ro."

B'Elanna flushed hotly.

"Why?" she asked, a trifle more aggressively than she needed to. "Ro's a good officer. You can trust her."

Janeway stifled her smile and shrugged, the motion disturbing the water about her chest. "I'm just concerned that she might be finding the demands of fitting back into the role of a fully commissioned Starfleet officer more difficult than she anticipated."

"Well, you don't have to," Torres stated with absolute authority. She dared to glare at Janeway. "Respectfully, Captain, she's very ... competent."

Janeway was hard-pressed not to laugh. Obviously, that was not the word B'Elanna had wanted to say.

"I'm sure she'll do fine," she told her engineer with great sincerity.

"She will," B'Elanna retorted, obviously considering the matter closed.

Janeway decided that she had amused herself as far as she dared with this topic, and slid down a little in the hot water, closing her eyes as she tried to relax. It annoyed her that she was just as wide awake now as she had been before coming into the holodeck, though B'Elanna was beginning to acquire a sleepy look.

"I think I'll call it an evening," B'Elanna said finally, yawning.

"Yes, that sounds like a good idea," Janeway agreed, following suit as the Klingon lifted herself out of the tub, aware she had been in the hot, bubbling water long enough. The two women toweled themselves off, then dressed quickly before leaving the holodeck. They bid farewell at the turbolift, with B'Elanna heading for deck nine, section twelve, while Janeway headed for the captain's quarters on deck three.

In her cabin, Janeway undressed once more and slipped between the sheets. Still uneasy and restless, she forced herself to close her eyes, breathing deeply and steadily as she curled up on her side of the bed. She settled in as she granted her imagination free rein, visualizing Seven returning to these quarters after finishing her duty shift.

If she tried really hard, Janeway could almost sense the tall, blonde figure of her spouse pass by the foot of the bed on her way to the ensuite where she would prepare for the night. Janeway placed her back deliberately to that part of the room, quieting her breathing as she concentrated on the fantasy she was constructing. Utilizing her imagination to the fullest, she could almost feel the mattress dip as the Borg slipped into the bed behind her, and she let her mind's memories fill in the details of how it would feel as the young woman wrapped herself around her, slipping her arms around her waist, tucking her knees up under the captain's and plastering her body warmly against Janeway's.

Seven would nuzzle into her spouse's neck, the soft tips of the Borg's nipples prodding provocatively into the smaller woman's back, the tickle of her triangle intimate against Janeway's buttocks. Her hand, the right one with its long sensitive fingers, devoid of the Borg exoskeleton, would tickle lightly across the captain's navel in a teasing manner. Janeway would squirm and sometimes capture the hand in her own, holding it firmly to indicate that she wasn't especially interested. In that event, Seven would graciously subside, snuggling up against her as they both drifted off to sleep, curled up in a warm embrace. More often, however, Janeway wouldn't impede that hand at all, reaching back to pat Seven's hip, letting her know that being with the Borg was something the captain simply couldn't resist.

Seven would immediately expand the range of her caresses, trailing lightly over the captain's breasts, along her ribs and down to comb briefly through the auburn triangle, before slipping back up again, becoming bolder with each exploration. As she did, she'd be kissing Janeway's neck and shoulder, nibbling at her ear, whispering how much she enjoyed touching her partner, how very much she loved her.

Janeway would gradually shift in her arms, rolling a bit so that she was on her back, just as she proceeded to do now, drawing one knee up, the sheet falling away from her body, leaving it bare to the night. She lost herself in the fantasy of Seven's hand having greater freedom to stroke and explore, touching the captain's breasts lightly, teasingly. Janeway's imagination made it Seven's fingers which pulled at her nipples, rolling them firmly between finger and thumb, then squeezing each one as the need for release rose strong within her. The captain's right hand drifted away from her breasts, creeping over her abdomen and scratching through the thin strands of hair. Hesitating briefly at the top of the crease, she appreciated the moment, before slipping down to trace the lips which were swollen and tender from the scenario her mind was building.

Janeway inhaled raggedly, her head falling back as she kept her eyes tightly shut. A soft sound issued from her lips when she finally touched herself, the whispered name ... 'Annika'. She swallowed, licking her lips and spread her legs wider, the fingertips circling in the wetness, stroking in perfect rhythm over the tender nodule that ached with acute sensitivity. She murmured Seven's Human designation again, increasing her caresses, rubbing faster, harder, in a far more abrupt way than Seven would ever touch her, almost rough in her need. Her hips began to undulate, rising off the mattress as she reached for that pinnacle trembling just beyond her reach.

For a second the captain almost lost the fantasy, but she concentrated hard and it was Seven's fingers on her again, Seven's skill which played her so well, Seven's caress which drew out her desire ... Seven who finally brought her to that aching, shuddering peak. The sensation rushed through Janeway, throbbing, pulsating, centered on that spot beneath her fingers until it finally eased. At that moment of pleasure, the captain would have sworn she had actually heard Seven speak her name, had actually hard a loving 'Kathryn' uttered with such tender emotion, it made her want to cry.

Janeway purred languidly and relaxed, her fingers stroking lightly in the wetness, the aftershocks rippling pleasantly through her body as drowsiness began to steal over her.

"I believe," Seven's voice said huskily from the shadow of the doorway, "I now understand the appeal of masturbation, if only from a spectator's point of view."

Janeway's flush started from her toes and spread hotly through her entire body, making her glow pink in the low illumination. Seven tilted her head and regarded her spouse, her ocular implant easily picking up on the rising temperature of Janeway's body.

"Is something wrong, Kathryn?" she asked curiously.

"How long have you been there?" Janeway said with no little irritation, sitting up and regarding her spouse with a peeved expression. "And why wasn't I informed that the away team had returned?"

Seven hesitated. "Perhaps because you were busy?" she offered tentatively.

Janeway shot her an oddly sharp look and Seven realized that she must have said something inappropriate, though she wasn't sure what.

"It was a routine mission, Kathryn," the Borg reminded her spouse. "Our return was logged in and while I comprehend that it is the duty officer's responsibility to inform you, it seemed illogical to wake you so late at night for such data, when I was on my way to our quarters in any event." She eyed the captain keenly. "Is that what is really concerning you?"

Janeway hesitated, then blushed again. "No," she admitted finally. "I'm just embarrassed you caught me."

"'Caught you'?"

"Masturbating," Janeway said.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "You appeared to be quite competent in your performance," she said with a touch of puzzlement. "Were you doing it improperly?"

"That's not why I would be embarrassed about it, Annika," Janeway replied, wrapping her arms tightly around her knees.

Seven noted that this concealed most of the captain's body, which was neither an appreciated position in the Borg's opinion nor characteristic of her spouse at all. Generally, Kathryn was completely unselfconscious about her body and had no problem revealing it completely for her spouse ... as long as certain bodily functions were not involved. Confused, the Borg moved closer and sat carefully on the edge of the bed.

"Explain," she requested gently.

The captain didn't answer immediately and Seven frowned, her bemusement growing. Then, the corner of Janeway's mouth curled slightly and she looked abashed. "I'm sorry, Annika," she said. "I just realized how ingrained some of my cultural conditioning is. I thought I had moved past it in my sexual education classes in school, but apparently some archaic taboos linger, even in the 24th century. A result of growing up in an agricultural park full of Traditionalists, I guess."

Seven considered that. "I do not understand, Kathryn," she said. "Is masturbation unacceptable?"

"It's perfectly acceptable, my darling," Janeway said, looking up to meet the Borg's eyes, reaching out to rest her palm warmly against Seven's cheek. "Don't ever let anyone tell you differently. Not even me."

Seven studied her spouse closely, not entirely understanding what she was talking about, but accepting the sincerity in the captain's blue-grey eyes. She inhaled and found she could smell Kathryn's scent lingering on the captain's fingers, the fragrance curling around her senses, making her heart speed up and her respiration increase.

"It was very stimulating to watch," the Borg blurted suddenly.

"I suppose it was," Janeway allowed dryly. "How long were you standing there?"

"I heard you say my name as I entered our quarters, and I moved quickly into the bedroom," Seven explained. "However, I chose not to interrupt when I realized you were not experiencing ... discomfort."

"No," Janeway responded, amusement shading her eyes to blue. "No discomfort at all."

The warm irises traced her partner's face, the intensity of her gaze almost palpable on the Borg's skin and Seven responded to it, moving closer without conscious volition.

"Are you ... sated?" Seven asked uncertainly, her lips a mere breath away from Janeway's.

"Oh, darling," Janeway whispered. "Not at all. Not now that you're here."

Pleased, Seven closed the remaining space between them, pressing her mouth tenderly against her spouse's, feeling that she was now definitely home. Janeway's lips parted under hers and the captain's arms entwined themselves around Seven's neck, pulling her closer.

"I am glad," the Borg said, when they had parted finally, "because I want you to show me more of this practice."

"Oh, you do?" Janeway said playfully, arching a brow. "Then you'd better get out of that outfit." She nuzzled into Seven's neck, inhaling sharply. "And you might want to take a shower, my darling," she added in a gentle murmur. "After five days in a Type-9 shuttle, even you've managed to get a little ripe."

Seven nipped at Janeway's ear. "I will shower," she promised. "If you wash my back."

"That can be arranged," Janeway replied, as Seven took her hands and pulled her off the bed.

They went into the ensuite where Janeway helpfully relieved Seven of her biometric outfit, peeling it off her shoulders and down her arms, then pushing it down over the waist, hips and legs. She seemed to enjoy this tremendously, pausing often to nibble and kiss various bits of the Borg's flesh at random intervals, regardless of whatever odor Seven may have been exuding.

"So how was the mission?" the captain asked idly as they tossed Seven's outfit in the general direction of the replicator and stepped under the warm spray from the three showerheads.

"Productive," Seven informed her as the captain used a sponge to lather her spouse all over, including her back, washing away the grime from five days in a shuttle. Seven relaxed gratefully and allowed her spouse to take care of her, an indulgence rare in this time of ship reconstruction. "The ore had all the minerals that were required and we were able to trade for more than enough for the replicator systems. The geometrics team should be able to begin refining it immediately."

"Excellent," Janeway said, obviously pleased. Then, she turned her face up to Seven, a soft expression crossing her face. "I'm sorry, my love. I forgot to say 'welcome home'."

Seven smiled faintly. "It is good to be home," she said. She wrapped the slippery form of her partner up in her arms. "I have missed you greatly."

"Oh, I suspect it was not as much as I missed you," Janeway responded, reaching up to kiss Seven passionately. "Let me show you how much."

"I thought I was going to learn more about masturbation," Seven remarked with gentle humor when she had finally freed her lips from Janeway's possessive mouth.

"Hmm, we can do that, too," Janeway offered invitingly, running her hands wantonly over Seven's torso. "But I want to be in bed in either case."

Seven smiled briefly. "I believe I shall enjoy these lessons more than the ones I take in the evening for my Starfleet studies," she said, as the captain paused temporarily in her caresses to turn off the shower and retrieve the towels hanging nearby.

"I would certainly hope so," Janeway replied huskily.

They dried each other off with the large, fluffy bath sheets before returning to the bedroom, hand in hand. With a sense of well being and anticipation, the Borg joined Janeway on the bed, the women snuggling under the covers where they met in a warm embrace near the middle of the bed.

"I'm not entirely sure what I can teach you, however," Janeway told her, squirming slightly as Seven ran her hands over the warm, compact form. "You've probably grasped the mechanics of it just from your observation."

Seven kissed her, lingering over the soft lips with quiet enjoyment. "I do understand the mechanics," she allowed. "It is the mental aspect of it with which I have difficulty." She drew back, looking into the lovely blue-grey eyes of the woman she adored utterly. "I believe I understand the need for a purely physical release. Yet your actions seemed more than that. They were ... more intense."

"That's because I was imagining that it was you who was pleasuring me," Janeway said softly. "Darling, you're who I miss. The physical release is only part of it. It's my desire for you that I was trying to express while alone."

"Why?" Seven asked plainly.

"Because it makes me feel better, darling," Janeway responded patiently. "Masturbating may start out as a purely solitary pursuit but for me, it allows me to feel closer to you when you're not here. Though, of course, it can never replace the joy of actually being in your arms."

"Then why do it?" Seven was still puzzled and Janeway sighed.

"Darling, you told me you wanted to masturbate recently," she tried. "What inspired you to make the attempt?"

Seven considered it. "I missed you," she said finally. "I was feeling amorous but I knew you could not be with me. Normally I can ignore such feelings, but that night they were particularly strong. However, my attempt was inadequate."

"That's because you were using a device," Janeway explained. "You're always aware that the wonder wand is a device, even when we're sharing the experience. That's probably why it was difficult for you to really enjoy yourself." She paused and put her hands flat against the Borg's upper chest, pushing lightly. "Lie flat for a moment, love."

Obediently, Seven rolled over onto her back, looking up at her partner trustingly. Janeway reached across her and took the Borg's right hand in her own, moving it down to the juncture of Seven's legs.

"Touch yourself," the captain instructed quietly.

Raising an eyebrow, Seven allowed her partner to guide her so that her fingers were slipping into her crease, rubbing through the moisture that was slowly gathering there, aware of the captain's fingers moving with her own. The Borg wasn't particularly aroused at the moment, but she allowed that it did feel good to fondle herself, to experience the fingers stroking her delicate flesh, even if they were her own. Janeway withdrew her touch, tracing lightly up Seven's flexing forearm, over her bicep and over to the Borg's left breast.

"Don't stop," Janeway commanded as she settled closer to her spouse. "Notice how you can apply exactly the right amount of pressure and pace, darling? As good a lover as I may develop into for you, I'm never going to know your body as well as you do. I can never respond as immediately to your desire as you can."

Seven swallowed, the cloying sensations rippling through her, not as intense as when someone else provided the caresses but still somewhat effective. Despite the captain's encouragement, she didn't think it was as good as it was reputed to be, though having Janeway there as a teacher was very stimulating. While she may never become an accomplished practitioner in the art of self-satisfaction, it was quite entertaining to learn.

She felt Janeway nuzzle into her neck, kissing it lightly before moving her mouth up to the Borg's ear. Her fingers danced lightly over the Borg's breasts, tugging gently at her nipples, causing them to tingle in the most delightful fashion.

"How does that feel?" Kathryn whispered huskily. "Is it good?"

"Yes," Seven allowed, though she wasn't sure what her spouse was referring to, the Borg's self stimulation or the captain's own caresses. She realized with a certain amount of surprise that Kathryn was becoming aroused by this, and then, a moment or so later, Janeway dropped her hand to her own intimate region.

Then Seven understood why Kathryn had been so aroused as a rush of desire swept through the Borg, the flesh beneath her fingers growing slick with additional moisture inspired by the sight of Janeway fondling herself. Lying together, Seven listened to the deepening respiration of Janeway as she provided her own stimulation, to the instructions issued in a progressively incoherent voice. The Borg decided that Human sexuality came in many unusual forms. Fortunately, most seemed to be fairly pleasant.

Seven's breath caught as the sensation built, then the tremors began and she jerked slightly, uncontrollably as she spasmed. Beside her, she heard the half sob from Kathryn, that unique sound in the back of the captain's throat which indicated that she had also reached a climax, enhancing the Borg's own pleasure. Finally, Seven relaxed, breathing deeply and Janeway's body fell against her side, snuggling close as if for warmth.

"Well?" Janeway asked after a moment or two of catching her breath.

"Adequate," Seven judged dispassionately. She rose to her side so that she facing her partner. "But I do believe there are better ways to spend my time."

"Indeed?"

"Allow me to demonstrate," Seven requested and to Janeway's great delight, proceeded to do so for the next hour and forty-five minutes.

B'Elanna Torres forced her eyes open as the sound of an admittance chime filtered through her dark morass of slumber. She groaned and rolled over, sitting up wearily. The swim in the holodeck had tired her out and it was an effort to get out of her warm bed.

"Just a minute," she called, fumbling with her robe before pulling it on and moving over to the door of her quarters. She was surprised when it slid back to reveal the tall, slender form of Lt. Ro Laren dressed in her uniform.

"Hi," B'Elanna said, not quite knowing what to say or do with this unexpected, but quite pleasant visitor, suddenly conscious of only the thinnest of material covering her body.

"Hello," Ro replied. She looked uneasy, almost as if she wasn't sure she should be there.

"Uh, come on in," the Klingon invited, stepping aside. Ro obeyed, moving into the room with that lovely, graceful stride that mixed deadliness with unmistakable elegance. B'Elanna watched appreciatively for a moment before shaking her head, remembering what time of night it was. Or rather, morning, as a swift glance at the chronometer revealed. Fortunately, she was off-duty for the next few days thanks to pulling several double shifts in recent weeks. "Can I get you something?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you," Ro responded politely, almost absently as if she hadn't quite heard what B'Elanna said. She was looking around the Klingon's quarters, her dark eyes picking out the few, small knickknacks scattered about the room, the bat'telh on the wall, the holo-images on the end tables. One in particular seemed to catch her attention. It was a shot of Seven, the engineer and the captain at Naomi's birthday party. B'Elanna realized it was the first time the Bajoran had ever visited her cabin and she wondered what it portended.

The Klingon crossed her arms over her chest, but she didn't say anything, waiting for the other woman to finish her exploration. Finally, Ro turned to meet her eyes, smiling with a touch of regret. "I'm sorry, I know it's late. I wouldn't have disturbed you but I knew you were off tomorrow."

"So why did you?" B'Elanna returned quietly, a request for information only.

Ro opened her mouth, hesitated, looked a touch bewildered. "I think I ..." She paused, shrugged. "I'm still keyed up from the mission, I guess. I didn't feel like going to bed and I ... well, found myself here."

B'Elanna nodded, wanting to take a moment to consider the implications of that, but knowing she'd only get herself in a tangle if she tried.

"Okay," she said simply. She dropped her arms and headed for the replicator. "I need coffee." She glanced over her shoulder as she keyed in the commands. "Are you sure you don't want anything?"

Ro exhaled. "Well, since you're there anyway," she said. "I wouldn't mind a hot chocolate."

B'Elanna blinked. "You know, that does sound better," she allowed. She reset the padd for two hot chocolates, complete with whipped cream, and once they had materialized on the shelf, she picked them up and carried them over to a small glass table in the corner. At her nod of invitation, Ro joined her and they sat down, the engineer still wondering what was going on, but determined not to do anything to screw it up.

Recently, B'Elanna had become quite enamored with the Bajoran, appreciating her commanding presence, her ability in a firefight and most of all, the way she made the Klingon feel. Ro had not been as ready to leap into such attraction and after some initial wrangling, the two women had settled into a sort of wary peace as they got to know each other. Visiting one's quarters at two in the morning held a certain amount of promise, and B'Elanna was quite interested to see where it would go from here.

"How was the mission?" she asked as she sipped the hot liquid, enjoying the velvety sweetness of it, and the jolt the chocolate provided to her senses. She licked her upper lip clean of the frothy cream.

Ro tilted her head, the silvery earrings dangling from her left ear ... unlike most Bajorans who wore them in their right ... glinting in the low illumination. The bridge of her nose was crinkled, two bone spurs shooting up at an angle over her brows, giving her a perpetually serious expression. Her hair was short, curling a bit around her ears, but going no further than her collar, thick and dark. B'Elanna wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through it.

"Moderately successful," Ro replied. "We obtained the ore we wanted, but it still needs to be refined."

B'Elanna nodded, eyeing the woman closely. She seemed ... restless, unhappy somehow.

"You want to tell me what's really wrong?" she asked. "Or do you just want to sit there and fidget?"

Ro looked surprised that the engineer had noticed, then surprised at her surprise, a rueful expression crossing her face. "I didn't think it was that obvious."

"You look like you're about to jump out of your skin."

Ro sighed. "I guess that it's just been so long since I had a chance to talk to anyone about things that ..." she trailed off.

"Well, I'm a reasonably good listener."

Ro was silent for a bit, while the Klingon forced herself to wait patiently.

"Doesn't it ever bother you?" the Bajoran finally burst out.

B'Elanna blinked. "Could you be a little more specific?" she responded.

"This ... being lost in the Delta Quadrant, possibly never seeing your home again? Always on the verge of disaster simply because we don't have the necessary supplies or provisions?"

B'Elanna wondered if the woman had even been able to discuss this with anyone. The engineer suspected not. It was likely that Ro had spent so much time hiding who she was, she never allowed anyone to get close enough for her to confide in them.

"Well, compared to the Maquis," B'Elanna said thoughtfully. "It's an improvement. I mean, maybe Voyager is no Enterprise, but on the other hand, I think we've done pretty well out here."

"Don't you miss everything that the Federation offers?" Ro asked intently. "The stability of it and the knowledge that your home was never more than a few months away?"

"I never really had a home," the Klingon countered honestly. "On Voyager, I have a place, somewhere to belong. We go back and ... well, maybe I won't have a place anymore." She eyed Ro, knowing the Bajoran was no particular proponent of the Federation. "What's this about? Assuming you aren't court-martialed for deserting, or whatever, is there actually something back there for you?" She kept her voice calm but inside she was abruptly feeling very apprehensive. Did Ro have someone she had left behind? Someone that she loved, perhaps? Was that why she wasn't ready to allow B'Elanna into her heart?

B'Elanna suddenly wasn't sure she wanted the Bajoran to answer her question.

Ro shook her head. "Not so much waiting for me," she explained, "as much as things I left unresolved." She sighed softly. "Maybe I'm feeling this way now because I've been given another chance to be in Starfleet. Yet, until I can look Captain Picard in the eyes and apologize, I can't feel comfortable with this. I feel like I don't deserve such trust. Of course," she added somewhat bitterly, "It's not like I have much choice about it."

"Is this something that you've been thinking about a lot lately?" B'Elanna said, relieved that was all it was, and very pleased that she was the one Ro had chosen as a confidente. She offered her most compassionate expression, hoping she didn't look ready to pounce instead. "I guess your options do seem rather limited. But maybe if you talked to another Starfleet captain about how you feel, you could resolve it for the time being. At least, while we're here in the Delta Quadrant."

"Janeway, you mean?" Ro was obviously reluctant. "I don't know about that."

B'Elanna waved her hand. "You don't know Janeway the way the rest of the command staff does," she said. "I admit, when I first met her, I had my doubts, but serving under her has taught me that she's a pretty good person as well as an outstanding captain."

Ro looked skeptical. "I don't mean to question your opinion on this," she said, with a touch of condescension, "but honestly, how well does any crewmember really know the captain?"

B'Elanna raised an eyebrow. "Other than Seven, you mean?" she said pointedly.

Ro smiled briefly. "Other than Seven."

B'Elanna tilted her head. "Well, aside from the fact that, thanks to Seven, I probably know far more about Janeway than anyone really should," she offered, "I've had the opportunity to have lunch with the captain several times."

"Ah, you mean the high teas," Ro said, referring to the practice Janeway had of inviting each crewmember to her ready room every so often to speak with them individually over a pot of tea and scones. Depending on the person involved, those invitations were either welcomed as a chance to interact with a very charming woman in a less formal setting, or dreaded as the periodic personnel assessments they really were.

B'Elanna had no illusions about how Ro viewed them.

"No, I mean lunch," the engineer insisted. She glanced at the last of the hot chocolate, the liquid now cooled and dark at the bottom of her mug. She decided not to mention that earlier in the evening, she had also been sitting naked in a hot tub with the captain. It wasn't the sort of thing easily explained. "Most people don't know this, but Seven is a damned fine cook. I try to pop by for lunch whenever we have the same off duty rotation. Janeway's often there, and you'd be amazed at how much she loosens up in her quarters."

The Bajoran was displaying blatant disbelief. "Seven ... cooks?"

"Oh, better than 'cooks'," B'Elanna reported fervently. "She creates. Her spaghetti is to die for ... better than my grandmother's, and that's saying a whole lot."

Ro was obviously dumbfounded. "I didn't notice any particular ability while we were on the away mission to infiltrate the pirates," she said. "We all took turns replicating meals and Seven's were edible but certainly nothing special."

B'Elanna started to laugh. "I bet I know why," she said between her chuckles. "The captain doesn't want anyone to know that Seven's a great cook. I mean, I stop by for lunch, Chakotay wrangles dinner invitations all the time, and even Tuvok's been known to drop by just as Janeway's setting the table. It drives her crazy. She probably ordered Seven to keep it bland on purpose."

Ro just stared at her and B'Elanna spread her arms out. "It's the truth," she said, amused. "While Chakotay, Seven and I were in the Alpha Quadrant, the captain's mother taught Seven how to cook. Janeway's parents are Traditionalists."

"Really?" Ro said uncertainly. She paused. "What's a Traditionalist?"

"Someone who creates meals from scratch rather than replicate them," B'Elanna explained. "Grows their own food, builds their own furniture ... it's a Terran thing, present in a very small percentage of the population."

Ro looked intrigued. "You know, that's how most Bajorans live," she said.

"Yeah but Bajorans don't..." B'Elanna didn't finish the thought. Ro regarded her sardonically.

"Don't have the technology level that Earth has," she said dryly. "And thanks to the Cardassians, aren't apt to have it soon."

"Hard to say now," B'Elanna remarked. "They looked like they were doing pretty well when we were on DS9."

"You don't recover from fifty years of occupation that easily," Ro said with a touch of irritation.

B'Elanna was stung by the intonation in the Bajoran's voice but she clamped down on her temper. She had discovered that wanting to be with Ro was doing wonders for her self-control. Anger management was only one area.

"I didn't say it was," she said with deliberate calm.

Ro had the grace to look abashed, flushing slightly. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just..." She stopped, shadows crossing her eyes and B'Elanna waited patiently. Something was going on there, something that the other woman may or may not have been ready to discuss, but prodding her would only push her away. How the Klingon knew that, she wasn't sure, but it was something she felt deep in her bones and B'Elanna had learned to trust feelings like that.

"I've always felt guilty for escaping Bajor as soon as I could," Ro said finally, quietly, her voice tight with old pain. "For going to the Federation ... maybe that was part of why I joined the Maquis. And why I'm still so touchy about it now."

"Do you think you could have done more if you had stayed?" B'Elanna asked softly. "Or would you have just gotten yourself killed?"

Ro hesitated. "I don't know," she said finally.

"Exactly," B'Elanna said in her most reasonable tone. "You can't know, Laren. Ever. Remember what you told me about letting go? Maybe it's time you let go of this."

Ro studied the bottom of her mug.

"Maybe you're right," she allowed after a few moments, swallowing hard. "Maybe I do need to take my own advice once in awhile."

"It's good advice," B'Elanna assured her. She wanted to reach out and take the woman's hand, but she didn't. She wondered if there would ever come a time when she would be comfortable enough with the Bajoran to know exactly what to do and when to do it ... just as Janeway always seemed to know with Seven. Then she noted that Ro was looking at her with a gratitude that gave the engineer a tingly feeling inside.

"Thanks, B'Elanna," the Bajoran said warmly.

The Klingon grinned crookedly. "You're welcome," she returned.

Ro looked around as if realizing how much time had passed, glancing at the chronometer across the room. "Oh, prophets, I'm sorry," she said.

"It's okay," B'Elanna assured her. "I'm off duty for a couple of days, not just tomorrow."

Ro appeared relieved. "I'm glad," she said. A pause, then, "I'm off duty as well ... the away mission rotation."

A feeling of anticipation and glee surged through B'Elanna at this pronouncement ... why was Ro telling her? ... but she tried hard not to show it.

"Well, considering that Seven will also be off," the engineer offered casually, "we should get together for lunch, and I'll prove to you what a great cook she is."

Ro looked intrigued. "All right," she said. "What time?"

"Well, she's pretty punctual. We probably wouldn't miss it if we dropped by about 1200 hours," the Klingon said.

"I'll certainly have to see it before I believe it, so I'll be there," Ro said. She stood up. "I'll let you get some sleep now."

B'Elanna wanted the Bajoran to stay longer, but figured she better not push it. "Anytime," she said instead, meaning it with every fiber of her body. She walked Ro to the door and there, they hesitated, neither seeming to know what to do, though B'Elanna had several ideas ... at least two of which were illegal on five different planets.

"Uh, good night," Ro said, but didn't move.

"I'll see you tomorrow," B'Elanna said, looking at her. Patience, she told herself firmly. Patience.

Which was rewarded handsomely when Ro leaned forward and gently kissed B'Elanna, who promptly kissed her back, just enough to convey her interest, but not enough to scare her. Then Ro was gone and B'Elanna was leaning against the wall, her primary heart pounding so hard, she could scarcely breathe.

It's working, Seven, she thought, sending the mental message to her friend. But, oh Kahless, you didn't tell me how hard this patient approach would be!

Janeway felt Seven's body roll away from her as the computer intoned the time and she reached out, capturing the Borg before she could get out of bed.

"Where do you think you're going?" she mumbled into her partner's neck, pasting herself to the silky smooth back.

"I was going to prepare our breakfast," Seven responded with mild humor, looking back over her shoulder with an indulgent expression. "I believe it is time to begin our day."

"No," Janeway protested sleepily. "After an away mission of that duration, you're not expected to report for duty until tomorrow. And I'm giving myself the day off."

"Ah," Seven said, obviously surprised. "Shall I log you as unavailable, then?"

"Log us both," Janeway responded, hugging the lean, lanky form to herself, her eyes still shut as she attempted to recapture the slumber from which she'd been forced.

Seven hesitated, and then freed an arm so that she could reach up to the control panel set in the wall at the head of the bed, imputing the necessary commands to accede to Janeway's wishes. After she received a confirmation from the duty officer on the bridge, she settled back onto the mattress, rolling over to envelop the captain.

"Are you all right, Kathryn?" she asked with concern.

Janeway buried her face into the hollow of Seven's shoulder and neck, not wanting to explain.

"Kathryn?" Seven insisted.

"I haven't slept much the last five days," Janeway admitted finally in a muffled voice. "I pulled two triple shifts while you were gone."

Seven's sigh was exasperated as she tightened her grip. "Will it do any good for me to express my extreme displeasure with you?" she asked.

Janeway smiled. "Probably not," she offered. "But if you really need to yell at me, I promise to shut up and listen."

"I am afraid that is the core of the problem," Seven noted. "You listen, but you do not actually hear what I am saying."

"Darling, this is the way I've been since the Academy," Janeway told her. "Be glad I try to limit it to when you're not home."

"Are you saying that you will not change your harmful behavior?" Seven asked.

"No, I'm saying that I've already changed a lot of it," Janeway replied evenly. "Just for you. But it will take time to change completely. You just have to be patient." She paused. "When will you stop putting away every little thing I lay down, especially when I'm not finished using it?"

Seven hesitated. "I am improving in that area," she reminded her bashfully. A faint blush colored her alabaster skin.

Janeway kissed her way up the Borg's neck to her chin, then over it to capture the full, warm lips. "Yes, you are," the captain muttered affectionately. "I actually get an hour's leeway now rather than the five minutes I used to get when we first started living together."

"If you would concentrate on one task at a time rather than attempting to complete many at once, then I would know which items you are working with and which items you no longer require," Seven said reasonably.

"Or my sweetness, you could just leave the items right where they are," Janeway pointed out. "So they would be there when I need to use them again."

"Our quarters would become unbearably cluttered in a very short period of time."

"Would that be so bad?"

"Yes," Seven said, so firmly that it made the captain chuckle as she found a comfortable spot for her head to rest on the Borg's chest. Janeway could hear Seven's heartbeat, steady and strong beneath her ear, and it lulled her into a drowsiness that was impossible to resist.

"Mmm, I think I want to spend the whole day in bed with you, darling," she told her partner in a sleepy mumble.

"That would be ... acceptable," Seven said with a touch of humor. "But impractical. We must eat. And I have classes this evening."

Janeway snuggled closer. "What did you do while you were away?" she asked, yawning. "Have you fallen behind the rest?"

"No, Commander Chakotay brought along a curriculum of studies so that I would keep up with the topics. B'Elanna promised to record the discussions for me."

"I'm glad," Janeway said. She paused, considering it. "We all have responsibilities, Annika, but if you need time for study, let me know and I'll arrange it with Chakotay. No one at Starfleet Academy was expected to be on active starship duty, and carry a full course load besides."

"If it becomes a problem, I shall let you know," Seven said, in the sort of tone that indicated she was not at all impressed by the idea, but did not know how to express her displeasure.

"That goes for your classmates as well," Janeway added dryly.

"Oh," Seven said. She hesitated. "I am sorry, Kathryn," she added. "I thought you were making allowances for me ... because you thought I was incapable of doing both."

"I know you're capable of doing pretty much anything you set your mind to, darling," Janeway assured her, the captain's eyes sliding shut despite her best efforts to keep them open. "But if I can help you, I'm going to. That's what being married is about."

"Thank you, Kathryn," Seven said, then her voice gentled perceptibly. Janeway felt her spouse's lips brush tenderly over her forehead. "Rest now. I shall be here when you wake."

But Seven was not there when Janeway woke and the captain was vastly disappointed by that, even though she could hear her spouse in the outer quarters. The sound of dishes and utensils clinking together, and the aroma of spices wafting into her nostrils made her stomach rumble loudly. Janeway yawned happily as she rolled out of bed and headed for the ensuite. She showered quickly before pulling on a light blue, silk blouse and navy trousers, brushing her hair out briskly as she padded through the bedroom into the outer living area in her stocking feet.

Seven glanced up as the captain appeared and offered one of her glowing smiles, the type that never failed to reach in and wrap itself around Janeway's heart. The Borg was clad in a black T-shirt and some kind of Velocity workout pants, the silky material clinging to every millimeter of her gloriously long legs. Janeway wondered if Seven was deliberately expanding her wardrobe since receiving a summer dress for her birthday, or if it was just a natural progression for her, symptomatic of her developing Humanity.

"You're up," Seven noted. Then she blinked and shook her head. "That is obvious. Why did I say that?"

Janeway took a seat on the stool positioned next to the kitchenette counter, opposite to where Seven was working. "It's a Human affectation, Annika," she said with gentle humor. "You probably picked it up from your classmates. Or from me."

"Still, it is inefficient to state the obvious," Seven said, shaking her head fretfully.

"Mm, perhaps," Janeway offered dryly. She glanced around, frowning briefly. "Where's Jake?"

"He is with members of the crew this afternoon," Seven explained. "It is their turn to take him for a session in cargo bay two. Have you noticed how much he enjoys the 'park'?"

"It's as close as he's going to get to a planet," Janeway noted. She reached over and snagged some carrot slices, crunching on them as she watched Seven prepare the meal. "What are we having?" she added curiously.

Seven regarded her narrowly and spread her hands, indicating the ingredients on her cutting board.

"What do you think we are having?" she asked, a hint of challenge in her tone.

Janeway regarded the mound of fresh mushrooms, peppers, carrots, water chestnuts, bamboo shoots, broccoli and celery sitting next to Seven's wok. Strips of pink chicken protein lay on another wooden board, waiting to be tossed into the oil which was heating to a sizzling temperature.

"Shannon's Special Beef Casserole," she offered tentatively. She had never seen Seven roll her eyes in the entire time she had known her but for some reason, she suspected that the Borg really wanted to at this particular moment. The captain carefully hid her smile.

"No, Kathryn," Seven said, with what seemed to be forced patience. "It is chicken stir fry. I make it at least once every two weeks because you enjoy it so much."

"Ah," Janeway said blandly. "That probably explains the lack of mashed potatoes, then. Or the beef in the pie shell."

Seven eyed her keenly, then flushed. "You were teasing me," she accused.

Janeway was charmed by the pink hue coloring the narrow features and she leaned over the counter, kissing her gently. "You're so cute when you blush," she murmured.

"Indeed," Seven noted without inflection as she tossed the faux chicken into the wok.

Janeway tilted her head slightly. "Do you mind?" she asked, with a sudden qualm. "My teasing you, I mean?"

"No," Seven said. She hesitated, her face softening. "When others used to tease me, it made me uncomfortable, even angry. But when you did it, it was ... oddly pleasant."

Janeway reached up and cupped the Borg's cheek in her hand, feeling the warmth penetrate to her bones. "Believe me, darling, if I tease you, it's meant in the most affectionate manner," she said seriously. "I would never intend to do it in a way that demeans or tries to hurt you."

"I know, Kathryn," Seven said. "I have always known that."

Janeway stared at her steadily for a moment before finally nodding. "I'm glad," she said. "And I'm sure that when others teased you, it was not meant in a malicious way."

"On the contrary," Seven disagreed. "In the beginning, when B'Elanna confronted me, her 'jokes' were intended to cause harm. It is amazing that we ever became civil, let alone friends." She paused, and added in a soft tone, "There are others who still are not comfortable with me ... but that is to be expected in the amount of people on Voyager. Not every one appreciates the uniqueness of every other person on the ship. However, I do feel that over time, I have become respected by most of the crew, and to a certain extent, that is a more preferable state." Seven stirred the chicken, and then added the carrots. "I believe that the reason B'Elanna and I were so antagonistic in the beginning is that we did not respect each other. She did not believe me to be an acceptable life form, and I felt that she was irreparably flawed."

Janeway raised an eyebrow, absorbing this bit of information.

Seven looked up, her pale eyes meeting the captain's. "But we got past it," she finished simply.

"Yes, you did," Janeway said quietly. She reached out and captured Seven's hand, bringing it to her lips to kiss the knuckles gently. "I'm sorry you were hurt in those early days, Annika, especially if it was ever by me. Humor can be inadvertently cruel if one isn't thinking."

Seven nodded. "Yes," she agreed. "It is. But it is also a part of growing. It is possible to take things too seriously." She regarded Janeway from beneath her lashes. "I notice that Commander Chakotay now teases you in a way that he did not when I first joined the ship."

Janeway heaved a sigh. "He certainly does," she said. She grinned suddenly. "Of course, once I fell in love with you, he had a lot more material to work with."

"Does it bother you when he teases you?" Seven asked curiously.

Janeway considered it carefully. "Sometimes," she admitted thoughtfully. "But I'm not entirely sure if it's the teasing itself, or the fact that he presumes to tease me."

"Explain," Seven requested, dropping the broccoli and peppers into the mix.

Janeway snagged some mushrooms for herself and nibbled at them, staving off her hunger which was rising along with the delicious fragrance from the stirfry. "I think that there are still times when I worry that becoming too close to my crew sets a dangerous precedent in my role as captain."

Seven added the final ingredients to the wok, stirred them briefly, then went over to replicate a large container of Gretchen Janeway's special chicken fried rice, along with several egg rolls.

"I do not believe that is an accurate assessment," Seven remarked as she retrieved the bowl and platter, taking them over to the table. "You have always been a resourceful and intelligent captain. Now you have become much more to the crew and because of that, they will follow orders that perhaps they would not previously."

"That's not necessarily a good thing, Annika," Janeway said, belatedly getting up to set the table, retrieving the dishes and utensils from the recycler. "Sometimes a crew needs a healthy dose of skepticism about their captain."

"Like I had?" Seven asked, her pale eyes glowing.

Janeway made a bit of a face at her. "Perhaps not that much," she said, putting the plates on the table. "But what happens when we return to the Alpha Quadrant? Various crewmembers will go on to other captains, I will take on new crew, and the style that worked here in the Delta Quadrant might not work there. In fact, it might be detrimental."

"Indeed?" Seven said with interest but before she could continue the discussion, the chime to their door echoed through their quarters. Janeway exchanged a glance with her spouse, raising an eyebrow as Seven looked slightly amused.

"B'Elanna," the captain guessed wryly. "I wondered why you were making so much."

"It would be wise to add another place setting," Seven remarked as she went to open the door.

Janeway forced herself not to grimace. After all, B'Elanna only popped by for lunch when she shared the same off duty rotation with Seven, which did not happen often, and the captain truly did enjoy the engineer's company for the most part. Still, Janeway had hoped to have her spouse all to herself for the day, particularly immediately after lunch, anticipating a certain amount of afternoon recreation. With B'Elanna stopping by, that was going to be delayed, possibly even postponed for another day entirely. The captain grumbled under her breath as she dutifully added another place setting for her partner's best friend.

Seven was surprised to see Ro Laren with the engineer, but she adapted quickly.

"Set a fourth place, Kathryn," she said over her shoulder. "Please, come in. We are just sitting down to lunch. You will join us, of course?"

"You don't have to ask me twice," B'Elanna said, sniffing avidly as she promptly brushed past the Borg and headed for the table. "Stirfry today. Great!"

"Actually, Lieutenant," Janeway noted dryly as she added the extra place setting opposite the Klingon. "One rarely has to ask you at all."

B'Elanna greedily helped herself to the rice. "You can't keep Seven's genius all to yourself, Captain," she responded easily. "It would be criminal."

Ro, Seven saw, looked quite ill at ease and the Borg wondered why as she motioned the woman to the remaining place at the table.

"There is plenty," she assured her, thinking that perhaps that could be the cause of the Bajoran's discomfort. "I knew it was B'Elanna's off day, and anticipated that she would be by. I am pleased that she thought to include you."

"Thank you," Ro said quietly, as she sat down. She glanced uncertainly at the captain, obviously uncomfortable with her presence.  Janeway, Seven saw, was graciously ignoring the lieutenant's unease.

Seven took her own seat, noting that both B'Elanna and Janeway had already tucked into their meal. Sometimes she wondered if it was a contest of sorts between them, though why she thought that, she didn't know. She filled a plate for Ro and passed it over, then acquired a plate of her own.

"I didn't know you'd be off today, Captain," B'Elanna said, adding some cherry sauce to her egg rolls.

Janeway swallowed her mouthful of chicken and vegetables. "Would it have made a difference?" she asked.

B'Elanna shook her head. "Not for me," she responded cheerfully. "But I might not have forced Laren to come along."

"Ah, yes, Lt. Ro," Janeway said, carefully not looking at the Bajoran. "You realize of course, that now I'll have to kill her."

Ro looked tremendously startled, staring at the captain with wide eyes and Seven wondered if perhaps the woman did not realize that Kathryn was teasing. Seven found it to be of great significance that her partner would, because after all, Janeway only teased those she really liked. She decided that for some reason, Ro Laren had joined that special circle of the captain's social group ... even if the lieutenant didn't seem to understand that yet.

"I'm sure Laren will promise not to spread the word about Seven's gourmet abilities," B'Elanna replied easily.

Kathryn looked at Ro fully then, pinning her with a full force, level ten Janeway 'look'. Seven had always found that glare somewhat invigorating, though she understood that others were often extremely intimidated by it.

"I am trusting you with this secret," Janeway said firmly.

Finally, it seemed that even Ro realized the captain was not entirely serious, though she didn't seem willing to take the chance on it entirely.

"I'll guard it with my life," she said back in utter earnestness.

"See that you do," Janeway said, completely straight-faced, returning to her meal.

Ro blinked, and glanced at the other two, no doubt seeing the amusement in the Borg's eyes and the smirk on the Klingon's face. She looked baffled as she turned her attention on her meal, obviously not knowing what to think. Seven decided that perhaps this was an instance when humor had shaded slightly into cruelity, and she tried to make the Bajoran feel more at ease.

"Would you care for some liquid refreshment, Laren?" she asked. "I have some Bajoran spring wine."

Ro looked up, astonished. "You do?" she asked.

"Where did you get that?" B'Elanna asked, staring at the Borg.

"Neelix possessed a bottle that he aquired in the first year of Voyager's journey," Seven responded as she got up and pulled out the emerald bottle from the compartment where some of the couple's wine collection was kept chilled ... those particular wines which required it. "He was holding on to it for a 'special occasion'."

"How did you manage to talk him out of it, darling?" Janeway asked, with interest.

"Why did you get it?" B'Elanna asked, in the next breath. "I didn't know you liked Bajoran wine."

"I convinced him that I was more likely to encounter a 'special occasion' involving a Bajoran than he would be," Seven replied to the captain's question. "Then I exchanged an item I acquired in the market on Jurass IV,"  To the Klingon, she raised an eyebrow. "I made the exchange because I was aware that inevitably you would be bringing Laren by for lunch and I wished to have it ready in that event."

B'Elanna flushed hotly, Ro looked astounded again and Kathryn developed that expression on her face that she did whenever she was trying not to laugh out loud.

"That was very thoughtful of you, darling," Janeway said fondly, after she had finished swallowing her amusement.

"Yes," Ro added hastily. "Thank you, Seven."

Seven poured the pale, golden liquid into the crystal glasses, distributed them, and sipped at her own tentatively, discovering it to have a light, almost quicksilver flavor, dancing over the taste buds. She was regretful that there was only the one bottle.

"Very good," Janeway noted approvingly. "Are you familiar with this wine, Laren?"

Ro, obviously still getting used to the captain's habit of using her first name, was slow to respond, but for the next little while, she and the captain discussed the making of the wine avidly, how the Bajorans tended the fruit which produced such a delicate flavor and texture as well as the mountain springs which gave it such a pure, unsullied taste. Seven noted that B'Elanna said little, seemingly content to listen and beam with satisfaction as the two women interacted. Seven herself was simply pleased to be witness to her spouse's considerable ability to charm. The young Borg had been on the receiving end of it many times, of course, but it was intriguing to watch it utilized on someone else, particularly Ro who was normally such a reserved and carefully guarded personality. The captain even made the Bajoran laugh out loud a few times. Seven noticed in those instances that B'Elanna appeared particularly vulnerable, with aching yearning in her eyes.

Seven was both amused and slightly worried. It pleased her to know that her friend was in love yet again, but it concerned her that B'Elanna might be hurt. She took a moment to assess Ro Laren dispassionately, determining that the woman was very self-assured and possessed great presence, exactly what the Klingon needed to counter her more illogical emotional outbursts. While Ro was, of course, not as beautiful as Kathryn, her slender dark looks and build were still aesthetically pleasing. Seven suspected this would be a good match ... provided B'Elanna could win the other's attention as completely as Ro had so obviously won hers.

The rest of the lunch went by quickly and Seven was surprised when B'Elanna and Ro excused themselves shortly after. Normally it was the engineer's habit to stay an hour or so, speaking with Seven and Janeway on a variety of issues. Now, however, it seemed she wished to be alone with the Bajoran. Seven could certainly understand that, and recognized that the captain would be pleased by the decision. On more than one occasion, she had caught Kathryn looking at her with a particular expression in her eyes ... the one that turned the grey to bright blue and made Seven feel as if her skin was glowing from the warmth it produced.

"Things seem to be going well with them," the captain remarked as she cleared the dishes from the table while Seven finished cleaning her workspace.

"It appears so," Seven replied, noncommittally.

Kathryn raised a delicate eyebrow. "You don't sound convinced," she said, placing the dirty dishes carefully in the recycler.

"I think," Seven said slowly, returning the now sterilized wok back to its compartment and wiping the counter down with a clean cloth, "that this has great potential to hurt B'Elanna."

Janeway considered that one. "You mean, because she's fallen so hard?"

"Yes." Seven said. She contemplated the wood grain pattern of her counter top. It had been Chakotay's suggestion during the construction of the kitchenette that a simulation of the natural material be used. Its solid feel, and the golden highlights of the butcher block finish, soothed Seven in some unfathomable way. "I do not think Ro Laren is in love with her."

"Maybe not yet," Janeway allowed as she came over, perching on her stool. "She's close."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "Yes?" she said skeptically.

Janeway favored her with a smile. "I think I can recognize the signs, darling," she said. "Considering how captivated I am with you, it easy to see when others are in the same boat."

"I hope that they will find the same sort of love we share," Seven said.

Janeway's face softened and became wistful. "If they do, they'll be fortunate individuals indeed," she said, reaching across the counter to take Seven's hands into her own. "God knows, I am."

Seven leaned forward, kissing her gently. "As am I," she whispered.

Janeway lowered her eyes and rested her forehead against the Borg's, her thumbs stroking the back of Seven's hands lightly, sending tingles through the young woman.

"You have such lovely hands," the captain murmured.

"One is not entirely of my genetic pattern," Seven reminded her, always a stickler for accuracy.

"It's still lovely," Janeway assured her. She raised her face, her voice dropping to a husky trill as she brushed her lips over Seven's. "I love how they make me feel when they touch me."

"Ah," Seven said, seeing where this was going now. "I presume you wish them to touch you now?"

"Do they have something better to do?" Janeway asked.

Seven considered it. "Better than making love to you?" she said. "Never."

Janeway smiled and slid off the stool, still hanging on those hands as Seven was forced to skirt the counter, the captain pulling her in the direction of the bedroom. They kept their hands linked tightly, Janeway walking backwards with Seven following, stealing kisses every few feet until they reached the side of the bed where they fell onto it. Seven carefully controlled her tumble so that she did not crush her spouse and she looked down at the person she loved most, pinning Kathryn's hands lightly above the captain's head, their faces only millimeters apart. For a second, the emotion filled her chest to overflowing and she was breathless, bending her head to tenderly kiss her spouse.

"Did you mind B'Elanna coming over?" she asked quietly, between the kisses which were increasing progressively in both duration and intensity.

"No," Janeway responded. "But I'm certainly glad ... mmm ... they left so soon."

"They wished to be alone together," Seven told her. "As we do."

Janeway quirked an eyebrow. "Not quite like we do," she corrected dryly. "Not yet."

Seven lifted a brow.  "How do you know?"

Janeway's knowing smile was her only reply, perhaps because Seven's lips had covered hers once again. She purred as the Borg left her mouth and kissed over her chin, nuzzling the warmth of her throat, the hollow at the base shadowed soft in the 'v' provided by the silk blouse. There was a whisper-thin chain there, not the silver of their wedding pendants ... which the couple rarely wore because of their sentimental value, not wanting them to be lost ... but rather gold, which suited the captain's coloring far more. With Janeway's reddish hair and rosy skin, the gold merely emphasized what many had already discovered when they viewed the couple with an artist's eye. Where the Borg was blue and silver implants, like the gleaming sharpness of ice, the captain was red, evocative of the rapid flames of fire. The couple's personalities were perfectly balanced between this, Seven with the glacial strength of winter countered by Janeway's rich vibrancy of autumn; the blue consistency of sea and sky versus the red eruption of volcanoes and lava. Elemental, primeval, yet imminently suited for one another ... to one another.

And Seven never felt that more strongly than at moments like these, when there was only the two of them and the rest of the universe was ignored and forgotten. Ro was still somewhat bemused as she left the captain's quarters and she caught B'Elanna shooting her a sideways glance from beneath her lashes as they walked toward the turbolift.

"All right," the Bajoran said finally, after they had entered the lift. "I admit it. It wasn't what I expected."

"Totally different without the pips, isn't she?" B'Elanna said with satisfaction.

"I hardly recognized her," Ro allowed. She frowned, thinking over all she had taken in during the lunch. "You don't act so casual with her in other situations."

"Oh no," B'Elanna agreed, so fervently that Ro knew some memory still echoed sharp in the Klingon. "I learned the hard way how far I could go with her. When she's the captain, she's the captain and there's absolutely no pushing that, but when she's off duty, and she's with Seven, she'll relax her protocols a bit."

Ro took a breath. "There is definitely more to her than meets the eye," she allowed. She stepped off the turbolift when it reached deck nine and she took a few strides before realizing that the Klingon was lingering behind. She paused, looking back.

"Where are we going?" B'Elanna asked.

Ro had to think about that one. "I hadn't really decided," she admitted. She regarded B'Elanna quizzically. "I guess I was heading for crew quarters."

B'Elanna looked as if she didn't know what to do with that one. "Oh," she said.  "Yours or mine?"

Ro didn't know if that meant she was pleased or offended. It occurred to the Bajoran that perhaps she had been taking the other woman's interest in her a little for granted and that surprised her. If there was one thing her life had taught her, it was not to take anything for granted.

"Did you want to do something?" Ro suggested. "Go to the holodeck maybe?"

B'Elanna regarded her with a casualness that was far too practiced to be real.

"We could go to my quarters," she suggested. "Listen to music, or have some dessert."

Ro picked that one up with all the delicacy she would have taken in handling a gravimetric mine primed to go off in her face if she wasn't careful. "That would be ... all right," she allowed. "My roommate's on gamma shift and she's probably asleep now, so we definitely can't go to mine."

They resumed their progression down the corridor, walking stride for stride but not touching. However, Ro was certainly very aware of the warmth of the body so close beside her, and she swallowed hard, wondering if this was such a wise idea after all. It wasn't as if she had no physical attraction to the other woman. Indeed, the more time she spent in her presence, the more Ro regarded B'Elanna as more than just a crewmate, more than just a friend. There was a strength and brilliance about the engineer that intrigued the Bajoran, made her want to experience it further ... and more intimately. Yet, there was still a reluctance to allow anyone that close, to become that vulnerable to another person. Her relationships had been few and far between, unquestionably influenced by her growing up in the Cardassian interment camps and seeing her father tortured to death before her eyes. She was not quick to hand over her heart, keeping it closely guarded no matter who she was dealing with.

She tried to control the rhythm of that heart as she followed B'Elanna into her cabin. Ro was surprised that the engineer chose to live down on the lowest deck of the saucer section, but she supposed the Klingon wanted to be close to her precious engine room. However, command staff were all accorded private rooms, even on a ship the size of Voyager, and if this wasn't as spacious as the quarters the captain and Seven shared on deck three, this room was still fairly large, joined by a fully appointed ensuite. Most of all, it was private, unlike a lot of the crew quarters on this deck which were constructed for multiple crewmates with two or more rooms sharing a head.

Maybe even too private, and Ro hesitated just inside the door, feeling distinctly uneasy.

B'Elanna turned around, eyeing her oddly.

"What's wrong?" she asked lightly. "I don't bite, you know."

"Actually, I heard you did."

The words were out Ro's mouth before she could stop them and she would have given her left arm to take them back, especially when she saw the way the Klingon's eyes shuttered, her face growing still.

"I'm sorry," the Bajoran apologized hastily. "That was stupid. I don't know why I said it."

"It's okay," B'Elanna said, looking away. Ro realized suddenly that what she thought was insult had actually been hurt.

"No, it's not," Ro said, stepping closer. "Maybe it's time we talked about this."

B'Elanna crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to meet the woman's eyes. "Talk about what?" she said, but Ro knew the engineer was hardly that obtuse.

"Us," Ro said. "Where this might be going."

B'Elanna was silent for a moment, obviously uncomfortable.

"Where would you like it to go?" she asked finally, in a grudging tone.

Ro let out a bark of laughter, unamused. "Boy, you just don't give a millimeter, do you?" she said.

That outraged the young woman. "Me?" B'Elanna stared at Ro. "I've been doing all the work here."

Ro felt her temper rise and with an effort, she damped it down. Forcing herself to step back a little and look at it objectively, she realized that perhaps the other woman had a point.

"Maybe you're right," Ro said evenly, surprising Torres profoundly. "Maybe you have. But I had my own reasons for not wanting this to get out of hand."

B'Elanna opened her mouth to retort, apparently thought better of it, and instead, took an audible breath as she chose a seat by the table.

"Why would it get out of hand?" she asked reasonably. "And if it did, would that be so bad?"

"Depends on what we mean when we say, 'out of hand'," Ro said cryptically, then held up her hand in apology when B'Elanna bristled again. "Give me a minute, please."

She took some calming breaths, pacing around the room a little, and to her gratification and surprise, the Klingon sat patiently as Ro organized her thoughts, which was definitely not an easy thing to do.

"I haven't been with anyone for eight years," the Bajoran said finally. "Even then, the last time was because of an outside interference which I won't bother to explain now." The encounter with Commander William Riker of the Enterprise was a fond memory, but not one that would have happened had it not been for the ship's crew losing their memories as a result of an alien device. "Before that, there were a couple of people on the Wellington, one of whom was killed on Garon II, and another person at the Academy."

B'Elanna's jaw moved. "Whereas I've been sleeping my way around Voyager the last six years?" she asked stiffly.

"That's not what I meant," Ro said, allowing a little of her own annoyance to seep through. "And if this is how it's going to go here, we're not going to be able to come to any kind of terms about it."

B'Elanna colored, but nodded. "Okay," she said apologetically.

Ro stopped, facing the other woman. "Basically what I'm saying is that I don't do this sort of thing a lot," she said edgily. "And I have a whole lot of baggage from where I grew up and how I've lived my life. That affects how I deal with others ... especially others that I might ... want."

B'Elanna was rocked a little by that, she could see, but to the young woman's credit, she covered it quickly. The Klingon took her time to respond.

"I didn't grow up in an interment camp," B'Elanna said finally, in a quiet voice. "So you're right, I don't know what that's like. But none of us has skipped through life like it's a game and we all have baggage of one sort or another. Does that mean we can't be together?"

"It can if all that's going to happen is more baggage," Ro said. She hesitated, looked yearningly at the engineer. "I don't want to hurt you, B'Elanna."

"Who says you will?" the engineer wanted to know.

"Who says I won't," Ro returned. She smiled sadly.

"And who says I won't hurt you?" B'Elanna said, getting to her feet and walking over until they were standing face to face; so close yet with a distinct amount of distance between them that they were battling so hard to bridge in this moment.

"There are no guarantees here, Laren, for either of us," she said softly, persuasively. "I'm not asking you to feel something you're not. All I ask is that if you don't or can't, then we stop it before we go much further. Because I do care for you, and I do want you and if I can't have you ... if being with you is something that's not going to happen, then please, tell me now ... while we still have a friendship."

Ro swallowed, inhaling the faintly musky scent of the other woman, a fragrance of sandalwood and spice, of warm skin and dark hair. Involuntarily, she closed that space, brushing her lips over B'Elanna's, then deepening the kiss into something intense, rather than attempting to hold back as she always had before. She felt the Klingon's deceptively strong arms slip around her waist, pulling her closer and she wrapped hers around the slightly shorter woman's back, feeling the defined spine through the thin t-shirt B'Elanna was wearing, the ripple of muscles under her palms.

"So, you worry I bite?" B'Elanna murmured after they finally parted.

Ro rested her forehead against the proud ridges, feeling her heart pound in her chest.

"Do you?" she asked uncertainly.

"If that's what you want," B'Elanna said quietly. She looked up, meeting her gaze, her eyes gentle and dark. "Is it?"

Ro hesitated. "I saw a lot of brutality growing up," she explained. "I don't want it as a part of my life now."

B'Elanna took a few deep breaths and Ro knew that she had upset the woman, but this had to be perfectly clear from the beginning.

"Sometimes, I think people have the wrong idea about Klingons," the engineer said finally, sighing softly as she continued to hang on to the Bajoran. "And they really develop the wrong idea about me because I'm only half Klingon. Don't get me wrong, I'm ... aggressive. It's my nature. But hurting you is the absolute last thing I want to do. And deliberate pain is not anything that pleases me either."

Ro felt the other woman's body move softly against her's and she discovered it was hard to focus on the conversation. "B'Elanna, I ... I need to know for sure what you mean by aggressive," she said softly. "I'm sorry. I don't want to upset you but there were stories ... Paris ended up in sickbay a couple of times."

To her surprise, B'Elanna laughed. "That's right, he did," she said. "I know what those stories implied, but what people don't realize is that Tom was more than glad to go along with them. Because it saved him from telling the real story which was that he always initiated the rough stuff and he always ended up on the short end when I threw him the hell out of bed. I guess it appealed to his ego to have a Klingon woman as a lover." She said the last bit with a little bitterness and suddenly, Ro felt quite protective, hugging the smaller woman closer.

B'Elanna tilted her head back, her dark eyes pinning the Bajoran. "Laren, I'll admit, I am passionate but too many times, I've tried to live up to the expectations lovers had of me," she said softly. "They wanted this wild woman in bed and I guess I wanted to give it to them. But believe me, it'll be a nice change to spend time discovering how to love someone rather than trying to find out who has the best endurance and who will cry 'uncle' first."

"I've never been with a woman," Ro said in a warning tone.

"Neither have I."

Ro breathed quietly. "This could be a mess."

"Or it could be what we've both been waiting for," B'Elanna offered. She kissed Ro again, very softly. "I'm not going to push this any further, Laren. It's up to you. I just need to know this isn't some kind of ... experiment on your part."

"After this long, believe me, jumping into something just to see what happens is not who I am," Ro said dryly. She exhaled audibly. "B'Elanna, I do want to be with you."

"That's all you need to say," the Klingon whispered.

She kissed Ro again and this time, the Bajoran got the full taste of B'Elanna's desire, of her passion. Instead of putting her off, it inflamed her and she returned the kiss avidly. B'Elanna still did not rush, seemed to be content to take her cue from the other woman, no more, no less, her hands caressing Ro lightly through the red tunic she was wearing, but not wantonly. Ro couldn't get over how soft B'Elanna was. For some reason, she had always perceived the engineer as being solid, hard, a sturdy body with a pugnacious attitude, quick tempered and volatile.

So why was she now so soft? The lips, sweet, full, pure velvet beneath hers. The skin was warm and olive, silky smooth to the touch ... was it just the fact that B'Elanna was a woman and therefore, unfamiliar to Ro in this way? Or had the Bajoran simply not looked closely enough before? Had none of them looked closely enough?

Then, a gentle nibble at her bottom lip, not a bite as she might have feared, but the most careful of teasing caresses and Ro moaned into B'Elanna's mouth, sinking deeper into the kiss. At first, the sudden jolt of the ship rocking beneath them seemed as if their emotion was sweeping them away but it ended up breaking them apart. Gasping, the two woman stared uncomprehending at each other, yet already starting to react as the call came over their comm badges.

"Red Alert. All hands to battle stations. This is not a drill."

They dashed for the door and into the corridor beyond, oblivious of the fact that they were still in civies. As command staff, off duty or not, B'Elanna's place was in engineering while Ro's place was with the beta squad. At the turbolift, they spared a second for a single, exchanged glance that spoke volumes, and then the doors closed on the Klingon's regretful features as Ro headed for the armory. Janeway breezed onto the bridge, still fastening her tunic.

"Report," she barked, descending the short flight of stairs and dropping into the command chair, glaring at the viewscreen. Chakotay, who had given up the seat, spared her a brief glance of admiration, no doubt wondering how she managed to get changed into her uniform so quickly. She had no intention of telling him that the uniform was the first thing she had grabbed, falling out of bed in a rush as soon as she felt the ship shudder, pulling it on over her naked form.

She could still taste Seven on her lips, resting mildly salt-sweet on her tongue and she wiped her mouth discreetly with her palm, hoping there was no visible evidence of what she had been so gloriously involved with when the alarm klaxons sounded.

"Three incoming ships on attack pattern," Tuvok, the Vulcan security chief summarized succinctly from his position at tactical. "They fired without warning. No response to our hails."

"We're avoiding them for the moment," Paris added from the helm, his hands dancing lightly over the touch pad. "But what they lack in speed, they make up for in fire power."

As if to emphasize that, there was another jolt as a blast impacted with Voyager, making Janeway's head snap forward. She blew a stray strand of hair from her face and narrowed her eyes, studying the vessels passing across the viewscreen.

"Hail them again," she said over her shoulder to Harry Kim who was manning ops. "All frequencies. We are peaceful but we will protect ourselves." The young lieutenant's eyes were dark as he input the necessary commands. He shook his head.

"Still no response," he said.

"Ready phasers," Janeway said. "Return fire." It was not something she wanted to do, but if they wouldn't talk, she had no intention of just sitting there and letting them batter her ship to pieces.

Another jolt rocked the ship.

"Shields down to 80%," Tuvok said.

"Ready photon torpedoes," Chakotay said and at Janeway's brief nod, added, "Fire at will."

As various gravimetric forces played on her, Janeway gripped the arms of her chair hard, feeling somewhat queasy as Tom threw the ship into a series of maneuvers, the inertial dampeners pressed to their limit. The ship seemed to avoid the worst of the incoming fire, and then suddenly, the space before them was clear.

"Maximum warp," Janeway yelped and she could feel the surge of her ship beneath her as it leaped forward. "Good work, Mr. Paris."

"Alien vessels are in pursuit," Tuvok reported. "But not gaining."

Chakotay looked over at her. "We can't maintain this for long," he said in a low voice. "Maybe a day or so,  and then the engines will shut down by themselves if they don't overheat and explode."

Janeway nodded, her eyes scanning the viewscreen which was displaying an aft view, studying the ships chasing Voyager. "But it may give us the breathing space we need to figure something out," she replied quietly. She stood up, going over to Tuvok, aware of Chakotay moving with her, a step behind. He had turned into such a fine first officer, she thought idly.

"What did we get from the scans," she asked her security chief.

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "It was curious, Captain," he said. "The scans were quite inconclusive, particularly in terms of lifesigns."

"How so?"

"There did not appear to be any," he said.

Janeway exchanged a glance with Chakotay.

"They're robot ships?" her first officer queried.

Tuvok shook his head minutely. "Inconclusive," he said. "Astrometrics reports that the enhanced sensors there do not pick up any lifesigns either, but that there is some form of energy field which makes it difficult to reach a definite conclusion. Seven does not recognize the technology. Whoever they are, they have not encountered the Borg. "

"Engineering to bridge."

"Go ahead," Chakotay said.

"I appreciate that we're being chased, but these engines will go flat out for only so long," B'Elanna reminded them. "However, if shaving a few warp points will still keep us ahead, that would extend it another few hours."

Chakotay looked to the helm. "Mr. Paris?"

"I think dropping to 9.75 will keep us clear of their weapons range," the fair-haired helmsman returned.

"Do it," Janeway said and turned back to the other two men. "That's just a temporary solution," she continued in a lower tone. "I need suggestions, gentlemen."

"Well, diplomacy isn't working and engineering is doing all they can to keep us out firing range," Chakotay said. "That only leaves a tactical solution."

"Turning and fighting," Janeway said. She frowned. "That's not a solution I care to entertain often."

"Yet, it's possible that this particular situation requires it," Tuvok noted calmly. "Therefore, we must come up with a strategy that grants us the best advantage." He paused. "I would like to confer with my team on this."

Janeway nodded. "Two hours in the conference room," she said. "Let me have your best projections." She glanced at Chakotay. "You have the bridge. I'll be in astrometrics. Maybe further scans will provide us with a few more options. In the meantime, continue to try to contact our assailants, attempt to form a basis of communication."

Seven was intent on her scans when Janeway walked in and the captain studied the images on the giant multiple viewscreen at the far end of the room. One of the alien ships was featured in the center screen, turning and twisting as Seven attempted to penetrate its secrets, data printing out along the side before being replaced by another display, another angle.

"Anything?" Janeway asked shortly.

Seven glanced at her briefly, then dropped her eyes back to her console. "No," she responded. "The energy field masking the interior is of a type I have never seen. Even the Malon freighters did not emit this amount of radiation."

"Is it possible that there are no lifesigns at all?" Janeway suggested. "That the vessels are controlled solely by computers?"

"Possibly," Seven allowed, but she was obviously not very enthusiastic about that suggestion. Even the Borg were not able to send out ships of this size controlled by purely mechanical means.

Janeway inhaled slowly, her eyes tracking the varied screens. "If we can't find another way, we'll have to turn and fight," she told her partner.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "Tuvok will provide a tactically sound plan," she assured the captain. "They do have certain weaknesses which can be exploited, particularly in the shields and aft propulsion sections."

"No doubt," Janeway said softly. She hesitated. "I'm not entirely comfortable with the idea of taking pregnant women and a child into battle."

Seven frowned. "Naomi's presence has never given you pause before," she noted.

"I was never really aware of her presence before," Janeway admitted. "Now I am."

Seven was silent as she considered this. "We cannot continue to flee," she pointed out logically. "Eventually, they will catch us and conflict is inevitable. In that event, it would be best that we be in the most advantageous position."

"I know," Janeway said, but she was still not happy about it. Her partner sensed that and took a second to rest her hand on the small of the captain's back even as she used her other to continue to key in lines of inquiry.

"How much time before we must decide," she asked.

"I gave Tuvok two hours," Janeway said.

Seven nodded. "I shall do my best to provide another ... solution," she said. "In that time."

Janeway nodded. "Thank you," she said.

She glanced at Seven, meeting the pale blue eyes for a brief instant of shared support and understanding, then she left the Borg to her task, hoping that her spouse could come up with an option that did not include endangering so many lives.

Her next stop was in engineering, checking on her crew there, and determining that they could not do any more to coax a few more hours out of the warp engines, not at the speed Voyager was going. She was disturbed by the light and sound of the warp core, throbbing urgently as the drive was propelled at its upper level. She spent a few minutes speaking with B'Elanna who, she noted, was still dressed in her civies, before making her way back to the bridge.

The atmosphere was tense there, electric, and Janeway did a circuit, conferring quietly with her staff. Nicoletti, on the engineering station, monitored the ship's power outlay with meticulous attention while Samantha Wildman covered the science station, trying her own set of altered scans, channeling them through the biometric filters. Janeway wondered if Naomi's mother ever found her work being influenced by thoughts of her daughter ... if knowing that at any second, the course they were pursuing could end up in her child being harmed, would that somehow cause her to choose one course of action over another? It was not something Janeway could ask the ensign, however. Not on the bridge and not at the moment.

The captain drifted to the helm, looking over Paris's shoulder as they tried to come up with a flight plan which would somehow afford them an escape. Unfortunately, there were no handy nebulas or dust clouds about to obscure their passage or enable them to lay a false trail.

At ops, Harry provided a suggestion or two about trying to disguise their warp signature but carrying out such a suggestion would take far too long and the proximity of their pursuers made it impossible anyway. Janeway patted him reassuringly on the shoulder before making her way back to her chair.

The rest of the time limit flew by and she went to the conference room. Most of her senior staff attended the meeting, though B'Elanna remained in engineering, wanting to be close by her precious engines while they were being pushed so hard.

"Go ahead, Tuvok," she commanded quietly, her hands folded neatly before her on the large table, eyeing her security chief keenly.

"I believe our best option is to attempt to deceive them," Tuvok said. "Luring them close enough so that we can take the offensive when they least expect it. If we initiate the Garrett Strategy, and then perform the Picard Maneuver in combination with the DeSoto Tactic, we would be able to inflict considerable damage to all three vessels at once."

Janeway felt like someone had punched her in the stomach, her breath exhaling audibly as beside her, Chakotay looked astonished while Paris looked downright queasy.

"That's your best suggestion?" her first officer asked, his voice rising.

"We are outnumbered and outgunned," Tuvok noted logically. "Nor can we escape by outrunning them. This provides the best odds of surviving what is an inevitable battle."

"Provided the ship doesn't fly apart," Lt. Kim pointed out. "The stresses placed on the hull and the integrity field are immense in any one of those tactics. To try all three in succession..." He was pale as he contemplated it.

"We did have time to run a quick simulation," Tuvok noted. "Lt. Ro manned the helm and we were able to perform all tactics with minimal damage to the ship."

"Define minimal," Janeway said flatly.

"We would experience hull breaches on decks seven and eight," Tuvok explained calmly. "It would advisable to totally evacuate those decks as well as six above and nine below."

"Those are primarily crew quarters," Paris pointed out. "Where's everyone going to stay?"

"I suggest that we survive this initial encounter," Tuvok reminded him. "Then we can worry about crew accommodations afterward."

Seven was being unnaturally quiet and Janeway shot a look down toward the end of the table.

"What's astrometrics come up with?" the captain asked hopefully.

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "Scans have revealed nothing further," she reported. "Short of capturing one of the pursuing vessels and sending an away team over for a visual inspection, there are still too many unknowns." She paused and when she looked at the captain, there was a hint of regret in her gaze. "Tuvok's suggestion is the most efficient, in my opinion."

Janeway tried not to be unduly disappointed. Her spouse rarely let her down and perhaps she was starting to expect too much from the young woman. After all, it was sticky problem she had handed her and it was a bit much to ask that the Borg get her out of it that easily. She nodded briefly and looked at Paris.

"How well do you know those maneuvers?" she asked.

He hesitated. "They were all standard training at the Academy," he said. "But captain, we both know conditions are a lot more controlled there. Not to mention the fact that Starfleet had rescue vessels standing by if something went wrong and the pilots need to be transported out." He hesitated. "I've never tried those patterns with a ship this size, either."

"Yet all the tactics have been performed successfully with much larger vessels," Tuvok said.

"Yeah," Paris shot back. "But not all three in rapid succession."

Janeway firmed her jaw.

"Like it or not, this seems our best option," she said. She glanced at Chakotay. "Evacuate the decks. Send all unnecessary personnel to the safe haven. We might as well get some use out of it even if it's not yet complete. It's still the most secure place on the ship." She looked at the rest of her senior staff. "Lt. Kim, channel all excess power to the integrity fields and do what you can to shore up any weak areas. Lt. Paris, set up the maneuvers in the computer so that the ship will be able to execute all three without our input. Seven, go to engineering and assist Lt. Torres in preparing the engines for the stress they're about to undergo."

Her eyes were a solid grey, steely in the muted light.

"We'll only get the one shot, people," she said. "Let's do it right. You have four hours." Seven took her place at the aft auxiliary station, which was situated above and behind the command level. She could look down onto the top of her spouse's auburn locks, see the curve of the captain's jaw and cheek, even hear her breathe if she listened carefully enough. Technically, she could run the scans better from astrometrics but that deck had been evacuated. Nor did the captain object to Seven's presence here, even though she might be more useful in engineering. Obviously, the situation was such that whatever happened, the captain wanted to be in close proximity to her ... a fact which gave the Borg certain pause.

Seven was keenly aware of the apprehension filtering through the bridge, how terse everyone was as they completed their last minute preparations for their attack on the pursuing ships. Even if everything worked exactly as planned, Voyager would take a certain amount of pounding ... and it was possible that if it didn't work as they wanted, their ship would be completely destroyed.

In that case, Seven wanted to be sure that the last thing she saw was Kathryn.

The captain was conferring with Chakotay in low tones, looking over the monitor which sat between them, indicating an occasional point by tapping her fingernail on the screen. Though Seven could easily make out what they were saying, she deliberately did not listen, knowing that she had her own duties and was expected to concentrate on them. She glanced over as the turbolift hissed open and she watched as a grim-faced Harry Kim took his place at ops. He had been down in sickbay with his wife, the young ensign going through a bit of difficulty in the final stages of her pregnancy. Seven knew that it must be agony for the young man to have to be here on the bridge, but he was Starfleet and he would perform his duty.

At times, however, she wondered why people prioritized the way they did ... and why others expected them to prioritize that way?

Tuvok was intent at his tactical post, his brows lowered. That would be the most reaction the Vulcan would show no matter what happened, though certainly, he had to be concerned about what they were about to do. At the front of the bridge, Paris went over his calculations for what seemed the hundredth time. If he was knocked from his station, the ship would carry on regardless ... for as long as it was able. Seven saw Janeway straighten in her command chair and the Borg tensed, noticing how the captain's fingers went a bit white as she gripped the arms.

"All hands, prepare to initiate the Garrett Strategy," Janeway said clearly, the computer relaying the message ship wide, picking up on the key words, 'all hands'. "Secure all stations. Stand by on my mark."

Janeway took a quick glance around the bridge, then briefly over her shoulder to meet the gaze of her partner. She tried a wan smile, to which Seven responded with a slight incline of her head before both women turned their eyes back to the viewscreen, the captain setting her jaw firmly.

"Engage," Janeway said.

The first jolt made the ship groan, the stress of metal sounding clearly in Seven's ears as she bent over her station, hanging on for dear life, and knowing that the worst was yet to come. All the crew had done so far was power down the engines, abruptly dropping Voyager from warp to impulse with no gradual decrease in speed. Seven gripped the console tighter, the grip by her left hand keeping her stable and suspecting that only the enhancements she, B'Elanna and Harry had made to the integrity field over the past year kept the vessel from flying to pieces. She heard an expulsion of breath as Lt. Kim impacted solidly with his station, and had a brief glimpse of Janeway being flung about in her chair. The captain maintained her seat, however, shaking her head to clear her face from the stray strands of auburn hair.

"The aliens are dropping out of warp and coming about," Tuvok reported, his voice calm. "Laying photon torpedoes on proximity detonation. Enemy vessels are approaching in a dispersed pattern from the port bow. Coming into firing range ... now."

"Initiate Picard Maneuver," Janeway barked.

This time, Seven lost her grip and slammed into the rear of the bridge, feeling the impact all the way to her bones, but somehow she managed to keep her feet. She was the only one. All the senior staff were tossed to the deck as Voyager was abruptly flung into warp again, aimed directly at their enemies. For an instant, it would appear to any outside sensors that the Federation vessel had remained exactly where it was, the time lag creating the illusion that the ship was in two places at once. The blasts from the alien's weapons passed through where Voyager had been, igniting the photon torpedoes which detonated in a convulsion of energy which reached out for the attacking vessels who naturally shored up their fore shields ... leaving their aft shields vulnerable to the sudden appearance of Voyager behind them. The Federation ship unleashed its fully charged phaser banks and a full salvo of torpedoes, the armory crew having reloaded their payload in record time.

The photon torpedoes punched through the weakened shields of two of the vessels, opening the way for the concentrated phasers to finish the job, slicing through the metal hulls like a knife through butter. The ruptured hulls discharged debris and gasses from fatal wounds, touching off yet more explosions inside. The death throes of the two ships' reached out to engulf the third, and slapped Voyager heavily for her success. Seven crashed to the deck, not seeing the display which spun sickeningly on the viewscreen as the concussion shoved Voyager back, the inertial dampeners struggling to control the impact of the shockwave, fluctuating wildly and tossing the crew about without discrimination. The Borg's head thudded into the deck and for long moments, blackness edged her vision, clouding her mind. It was only her enhanced strength and endurance which kept her from plunging completely into the beckoning darkness.

When she returned to herself, the ship was adrift, the normal sounds of the bridge abscent while the few lights that flickered on the remaining live stations glared red in the low illumination. Above Seven, a rush of inert gases designed to dampen any fires hissed loudly, filling the bridge with a haze that dried her mouth and throat. She groaned and reached up to the rail, using it to help her to her feet. It was a measure of the captain's confidence in her that Seven checked the ship first before looking anywhere else. Voyager was not in the best shape, but the vessel was still mostly intact and the backup emergency systems were coming online even as she keyed in commands to hasten their implementation.

Then, when she was sure she had done all she could do to keep the ship from coming apart, she looked around, slapping her comm badge.

"Bridge to sickbay," she said, going over to the closest casualty, Harry Kim, who lay unconscious, crimson streaming from a cut on his head. There was no response from the medical center ... not that she had anticipated any. Communications was one of the more fragile systems on the ship and it took very little to disrupt them. "Bridge to anyone, please respond."

She looked to the rear of the bridge where varied compartments had burst open, spilling their contents. One contained medikits and she grabbed the container, retrieving its medical tricorder to take readings of the young man. She could hear groans coming from behind her and she knew that others were regaining consciousness as well. The tricorder readings indicated that although Kim had a concussion and some broken bones, he was in no immediate danger of expiring so she moved away, leaving him for the moment. She stepped over Chakotay who was collapsed on the small flight of stairs, trying and failing to get his knees. She reached down to help him into a sitting position.

"Seven?" he gulped. "Status."

"Holding," she replied shortly.

She sensed a body moving close and she looked back to see Paris at the helm, somehow dragging himself into the chair and accessing the board. On the upper deck, Tuvok climbed from behind the tactical station, trying to access his console. Seven took a deep breath, easing Chakotay over to the support of the steps.

"I must see to the others," she said.

He nodded, though she wasn't entirely sure that he understood and she released him carefully, making sure he didn't topple over. She stood up anxiously, finding the crumpled form of her spouse near the command chair, sprawled awkwardly over the deck like a rag doll tossed aside after play. With fear a metallic taste in her mouth, Seven knelt beside Janeway, pressing her fingers to the captain's neck, horror rising thick and overpowering within her. The Borg hadn't realized she had stopped breathing until she felt the flutter beneath her fingertips, saw the checked respiration and was forced to take a breath herself, lightheaded from the lack of oxygen.

"Kathryn," she whispered, bending low to an ear which had a trickle of blood issuing from it, running the medical probe over the small form, regarding the readings with apprehension. "Kathryn, can you hear me?"

There was no response and the tricorder revealed a multitude of hurts, none of which, fortunately, were as bad as she had feared. "Captain Janeway," she tried again, in a firmer tone. "The ship is damaged."

A moan, low and unsteady, issuing from wine shaded lips that grew white with pain as the captain regained her senses. Her eyelids fluttered and she attempted to get up, sliding her hands under her and pushing weakly. Seven was not even sure that Janeway was aware of anything, just that her ship was in trouble and needed her.

"Easy, Captain," she told her, slipping an arm around Janeway, and assisting her as much as she could. "You are injured."

"Seven?" Janeway mumbled groggily. "Report."

"Voyager is drifting," Seven said, wanting nothing more than to gather her spouse up in her arms and hold her until she was healed, until all the pain went away, but knowing that if she attempted to coddle the captain at this moment, Janeway would not thank her for it later. Indeed, the captain would be greatly angered by any attempt by the Borg to make it easier for her. "Structural integrity is weakened but holding. Shields are down to 36%. Communications are off line. Life support is off line. Emergency backups are online but power supplies are failing."

"Tell me the bad news now," Janeway managed weakly as Seven helped her into the command chair.

Seven frowned, thinking that this was hardly a time for sarcasm.

"That is the bad news," she said pointedly.

Janeway spared her a brief glance of black humor and turned to her monitor, regarding the blank screen for a second, before dismissing it. She looked around and said in a stronger tone, "Report."

"Warp drive is off line," Paris said, hunched over in his chair. Obviously he had damaged his ribs in the shaking the ship had undergone. "Impulse is offline. Thrusters are non-responsive."

"Phaser banks are off line," Tuvok said. It was a measure of his disarray that there was just the slightest bit of tension in his tone. "Photon torpedo launchers are down."

"Communications remain down," Seven said, having gone to the operations station after making sure the captain wouldn't fall out of the chair. "Internal scans indicate lifesigns throughout the ship but are unable to determine numbers. External sensors remain inaccessible."

"This just gets better and better," Janeway mumbled audibly. She looked over. "Chakotay?"

But he was unconscious and the captain winced, pressing her fingers to her head briefly. She inhaled a few times, then opened her eyes again.

"All right," she said firmly. "Seven, we need to establish internal communications. Tuvok, I want to know the entire extent of the damage, even if we have to do a visual inspection over every millimeter of hull. I also need to know if sickbay is still up and running. Tom, try to get the thrusters back, at least."

Sluggishly, the crew moved to carry out her orders and the captain remained in her chair, her head nodding forward, and coming up with a jerk every so often as she fought to remain conscious. Seven watched her worriedly from the corner of her eye, and even though she was working on the communications system, she gladly turned it over to Nicoletti when the shaky lieutenant offered, and hurried down to the lower level.

"Captain?" she said softly, kneeling in front of Janeway, looking at her anxiously. "I believe you need treatment."

The corner of Janeway's mouth turned up slightly. "That's somewhat more diplomatic than I've come to expect from you," she croaked weakly. "I must be in bad shape if you're not yelling at me."

"I shall if it is required," Seven said in a low tone. She glanced over to the turbolift, hearing faint sounds behind the doors. "Captain, someone is attempting to enter the bridge." B'Elanna Torres picked herself up off the deck and staggered over to her board, biting off a curse as she saw the profusion of ruby lights flashing there. Behind her, she could hear the cries of injured and confused crewmembers, the hiss of plasma releasing, and the creak of stressed metal settling. The Klingon set to work, ignoring the hot stream of blood running down her face, the throbbing of her head a counterpoint to the delicacy of her hands over the touch pad. Her first priority was to lock down the warp core, and make sure the antimatter was secure before they started in on any repairs.

And there were going to be repairs. Even without knowing the full picture, she could sense that Voyager had gotten smacked around pretty good this time, and had taken some heavy wounds. Of course, since they were still here, and there were no further attacks, it hopefully meant that their enemies had received even worse. But that was the bridge's concern ... all she could do was make sure her engines were in no immediate danger of exploding, then get them back online as quickly as possible.

"Vorik," she bellowed as the Vulcan and others staggered weakly to their stations. "Get a team and secure that plasma vent. Tabor, access the EPS manifold and see how bad that is. Neelix, secure the injured and try to get through to sickbay. Let's move people!"

Her engineering team scurried hastily about the large room, spurred on by their senior officer's orders and the tone of her voice. The unconscious were dragged out of the way, all of the crew understanding that this was not the time for sentiment as they fought heat, escaping gases and energy backwash to bring everything back under control. B'Elanna allowed herself a moment of pride in the team who threw themselves at the tasks with no thought of risk to life or limb and she made a mental note to lobby Janeway for commendations for them. For whatever that was worth here in the Delta Quadrant.

That naturally led her to thoughts of the captain and the bridge. Without communications, there was no way of knowing what was going on with the rest of the ship and until she could finish up here and organize various repair teams, it would remain that way. She glanced over as Neelix appeared beside her.

"Lt. Torres," he said urgently. "Some of the crew's injuries are quite severe, far more than we can handle with a medikit." He paused. "If we don't get them to sickbay, we might lose some of them."

"There's no way of even knowing that sickbay is still functional," she muttered in a low tone to the Talaxian. She inhaled deeply. "If it isn't, it'll be a priority to get it up and running again." She looked directly into his golden eyes, at the tufted, spotted looks which reminded her of the hamster she had when she was a child.

"Take a team to sickbay," she said firmly, aware of the responsibility she was handing him. "Take Dell and Foster, they're the best we've got on transporters and we'll want those back online first. Then we can transport the injured there. However, if the medical center is damaged, we're going to have to set up an alternate place in the mess hall. Those two also know sickbay equipment. Get it done, Neelix."

"I will," he assured her seriously, a bit of pride shining in his eyes before he turned away to find his team.

"Neelix," she said.

He turned back.

"Take care on decks seven and eight," she said. "The projections had severe hull breaches on those decks and without internal sensors, we can't tell where the emergency force fields have kicked in and where they haven't."

"We'll check every deck with tricorders before we try them," he promised.

She turned back to her board, wishing she could go with him, wanting desperately to know how badly her beloved ship was suffering. However, she had higher priorities weighing on her. She did spare a thought to her friends who had been on the bridge, and to Ro, who could be Kahless knows where, but that was all she could allow herself at the moment.

Frowning, she began to track down the fracture in the EPS conduit. The Doctor carefully removed the blackened and torn uniform of a crewman who had gotten caught by the backwash of an overloaded power conduit and started in on the burned flesh beneath. Ensign Baytart had been on deck four where he had been covering transporter room one. Ensign Ashmore, who had also been shaken up, had dragged him into sickbay. The burns were severe but nothing that a dermal regenerator couldn't handle. Unfortunately, it was time consuming and particular care needed to be taken around the ensign's eyes and mouth.

Around the Doctor, in the flickering lights of sickbay, which were being powered by an emergency supply, various crewmembers lay on the deck or were propped up against the hull, waiting their turn in the triage set up by Sek. She determined who needed prompt attention and who could get by without it for a delayed period. Other crewmembers, uninjured, had converged on deck five and were helping out where they could, comforting those who were waiting and running supplies to the Doctor and Sek as they requested them, essentially filling the role of corpsmen.

The lack of internal communications bothered the Doctor but he really couldn't give it the attention he wanted. He could, of course, transport himself around the ship using his portable emitter to find out what was going on, but there were too many patients who needed him here. It would be irresponsible go running all over the vessel at random. He had to stay in his medical center and hope that the rest of the crew could bring the injured to him.

He looked up briefly as the doors opened to admit Neelix and two others from engineering. By the way the Talaxian deployed them, the Doctor understood that they were there for technical help and it eased his mind tremendously that at least engineering was coming back on line. For them to be dispatching technicians meant they could spare them, and that was one worry off his mind. Of course, he had heard nothing from the bridge.

He finished regenerating the skin of the crewman, leaving it pink and tender, but no longer vulnerable to the infection that was the deadliest threat when dealing with burns. Switching off the dermal regenerator, he picked up a hypospray and pressed it against the young man's neck. The stimulant worked quickly and the crewmember woke up. This, of course, was not the preferred method of dealing with a patient in recovery but he had no choice ... others waited and they needed this biobed for the next patient. Sek came over and helped the still groggy ensign over to the wall where others were taking a moment to recuperate completely. Then they got to their feet and headed out to resume their duties, knowing the ship was still in trouble. Those who were standing by to backup a specified duty, or were unable to get to where their stations were because of the breaches on decks seven and eight, stayed behind to help out in sickbay as best they could.

One advantage in having all been together for six years ... people tended not to stand on rank or role in a crisis.

The Doctor cast a worried eye on the two other biobeds where two patients remained, unable to be moved. One had already been in sickbay when the whole crisis began; Megan Delaney, the wife of Lt. Kim and expecting her first child. The ensign was undergoing a certain amount of difficulty in the closing stages of her pregnancy, and now it seemed that the shaking she had undergone during the battle had not made things easier. Currently, she was fighting a quiet battle to keep from going into premature labor.

The other patient was also pregnant and the prognosis for her was much more serious. All the pregnant women had been instructed to go to the safe haven in the center of the ship where restraining fields could be snapped into place for the inhabitants. She had refused, demanding that she remain on duty and whether the Doctor liked it or not, that was her right as a crewmember. But she had not been restrained by any stasis field when the ship carried out its encounter with the enemy, unable to brace herself sufficiently in auxiliary computer control to prevent being flung heavily to the floor.

Now she battled to keep her child and Sek passed by the bed frequently, monitoring the situation closely and administering whatever treatment that might aid in Ensign White's struggle.

As he waited for his next patient to be prepped by the corpsmen, he took a brief instant to admire the slender form of his assistant. Her progression was such that she would soon be able to call herself a doctor. At first, he had been resistant to teaching her how to be a practicing physician, wondering peevishly why she couldn't be happy being his medical assistant. She pointed out in that calm, rational, infinitely patient way she had, that two doctors were far better than one for Voyager, particularly one who was specialized in obstetrics and pediatrics, considering the expected arrival of several new crewmembers in the form of offspring. Besides, as it turned out, she needed to be a doctor, it was part of her basic programming. For him to deny her that was to deny who she was meant to be. Faced with such overwhelming logic, not to mention that steely eyed determination she boasted, which was undoubtedly, B'Elanna Torres's contribution to her matrix, he crumbled before her demands and agreed to assist her in acquiring full access to the medical data banks.

Janeway had to be convinced, of course, but he discovered that she was a less resistant than he. In fact, the captain's attitude toward holograms seemed to have undergone a marked change since he had first been activated all those years ago, and she was very encouraging to Sek, insisting that she develop as far as she could. He had actually wondered a bit at that, remembering well the captain's treatment of him in the beginning, when she had regarded him as nothing more than a tool, no more sentient than a tricorder or a spanner. Over the years, however, the Ocampa, Kes, and later, Seven of Nine, had helped Janeway see how her view was too rigid and narrow. Gradually, the captain had come to accept his development into a fully sentient being. Not so long ago, she had even placed it in the official record, according he and Sek all privileges and rights as full crewmembers of Voyager.

He decided that Sek was merely benefiting from the trail he had blazed, and that the ease of her acceptance was a result of the battles he had fought to gain the respect and trust of the crew. He was proud of that, and of her, as well. And tremendously gratified for the random sequence of events which had brought her into existence, granting him the opportunity to know her.

The sound of a transporter whine invaded his thoughts and he looked over to see a group of injured materializing on the deck nearby. Immediately, he went over, knowing that Neelix and his team had tapped into the sickbay auxiliary transporter system, bringing it back on line and retrieving those they had left behind in engineering. The two holograms assessed the wounded engineering staff quickly, noting that two needed attention before the rest. With the help of Neelix, they got them onto the operating tables and set to work. He allowed Sek to do most of the work on the first, repairing the shattered bones of a lieutenant's leg, while he operated on the second, repairing the perforated organs where the ensign had slammed into the sharp edge of a engineering console. He checked occasionally on his assistant's work as he would any intern, but he was pleased to see that all the skills he possessed as part of his matrix were also part of Sek's. She may not have the full experience to be considered a full-fledged doctor yet, but she certainly had the ability.

He shook his head, refocusing on his patient. He noted that so far, no one had been brought in from the safe haven, and in fact, it was personnel from that area who had re-established the power supply to sickbay, bringing the emitters back online so that the emergency medical holograms could once again function. It comforted the Doctor to know that even though construction in that area of the ship was not yet complete, it had performed perfectly as a form of protection to whomever might be in it. It was a brief, shining success in a sea of darkness, and he allowed himself a certain amount of elation for that.

Their children would be safe, cocooned in protective restraining fields while the safe haven continued to maintain both power and life support when all other areas of the ship had failed. And if nothing else came from this senseless battle, at least they had that. Ro Laren twitched her fingers, opening the panel just beneath her hand and touching the control pad which released the restraining field. She sat up gingerly as around her, others in security's elite beta squad did the same. Running around the large central room where cable and wires still dangled, she could see the crewmembers evacuated to this location also releasing their respective fields,  and rolling off the shelves which folded down from the hull like bunks in a shuttle craft. Nearby, Samantha Wildman released Naomi. The child's field did not have an internal release for safety purposes.

The experience had been very like an amusement park ride, dizzying and somewhat frightening when one considered that this was their ship ... their home ... that was being spun around so wildly. Ro had felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness as she lay pinned to her pallet, unable to move beyond clenching her fists. She hadn't made a sound though certainly, she had heard others cry out through the horrible sounds of stressed metal and minor explosions. Now, she tried to take stock of the situation.

Fortunately, it seemed that everything had worked exactly as designed and there were no indications of injuries ... just some very shaky crewmembers. A few meters away, two ensigns from geometrics helped one of their pregnant crewmates off the padding, the woman nodding that she was all right.

Ro took a deep breath when she realized that of all the people present in safe haven, her recent promotion made her the ranking officer.

"All right," she said in a ringing tone. "Has anyone tried communications?"

"I have," Davis said as the tall, sandy haired man rumbled over to the Bajoran. Muscular and solid, he was second in line and she felt better for seeing him up and around. "Communications are down. None of the internal sensors are working."

She nodded, expecting nothing less, yet always hopeful. That hope was rarely fulfilled, however, she noted glumly. She noticed that others were gravitating to her, attracted by the note of command in her tone. Was she enjoying the sense of responsibility that abruptly weighed heavily upon her shoulders? Perhaps she preferred to be one of those awaiting her next command, waiting to be told what to do rather than having to make the decisions.

"Listen up," she said firmly, injecting a note of steel into her tone as they had so painstakingly taught her at the academy when she had returned to take advanced tactical training. Don't let anyone panic, she thought, and the best way to do that was to look calm and confident. She hoped fervently that she didn't appear as uncertain as she felt deep in the pit of her stomach.

"I want all unnecessary personnel to remain here until you receive an all-clear from the bridge. Obviously, this is the most protected place to be at the moment. Ensign Wildman, you're in charge. It might be a good idea to check out the replicators, see if they're online yet and if they're not, what it will take to bring them up to speed. We may have to consider the possibility of feeding the entire crew if the messhall has been compromised. Davis, you take a team and head for engineering. See how much help they require and how bad the rest of the ship is. Ayala, grab some people and check out sickbay. Try to get them up and running if they're not already. The rest of beta squad, with me. We'll try to get to the bridge, see how bad things are there."

To her gratification, no one argued or even looked particularly reluctant to follow her orders. Instead, they moved swiftly, without hesitation, carrying out what needed to be done, and seeming almost relieved that someone had taken command. Samantha Wildman took her child's hand, leading her to the far end of the room where the two replicators, independent of the ship's systems, resided. Other crewmembers started to sort themselves out, determining who would be best for what task with Ayala and Davis putting their teams together quickly. Ro took another deep breath and moved over to the nearest equipment cabinet, hoping it had already been stocked.

It had, meaning someone had been doing some thinking prior to evacuating a good percentage of the crew to the safe haven. Probably Tuvok, she decided as she attached the phaser to the fastening at her waist, and claimed a tricorder for herself. She strapped a lamp to her wrist, checking to make sure it was fully charged, and then passed out the rest of the available equipment to the others, making sure it was shared equally with all the teams, though Davis's team recieved all the rope. They could, after all, expect to be passing through decks which might be severely damaged. The projections had not being particularly promising for decks seven and eight.

After making a quick sweep through the safe haven, making sure she hadn't overlooked any injured people or anyone that might be useful elsewhere, Ro headed for the airlock situated in an alcove set off from the main room. There were two such exits in total, with the other leading to a shaft that ran directly down to the shuttle bay. The one Ro was at, however, led out to the main corridor of deck five. She hoped that she wouldn't have to put on one of the environmental suits hanging limp in their nearby compartment, the white, bulky outfits ready and waiting behind the glass door.

"Confirming pressure," Crell, the Bolian, said, checking the readings on the display. "Atmospheric integrity is maintained, but readings indicate a lack of viable life support. You can breathe out there, but only for a few hours."

Ro was glad that this area of the ship maintained it's own independent life support and power supply. "I guess that's the first priority then," she said. "Restoring life support." She looked back over her shoulder at Ayala. "Your team may have to run a power supply from here to sickbay. I think the auxiliary transfer unit has been installed but I'm not sure."

"We'll manage," he said confidently.

She nodded and indicated to Crell to cycle the lock. She and the rest of the beta squad crowded inside and waited there until Crell was able to release the outer hatch. The group spilled out into corridor, and without waiting to see how the other teams were dispatched, Ro led her squad through the corridors to the nearest access ladder leading to the upper decks. The air was thick with dust, and it was unnaturally quiet. The only sounds were that of their footsteps in the carpet and the rasp of their respiration.

"The controls are fused," Crell said, after checking over the hatch in the upper deck. "Manual override isn't functioning. Tricorder readings indicate that deck hasn't been compromised, however."

"We'll try the turbolift shaft," Ro told him. They left the alcove and took another corridor, forming up in front of the sealed doors which led to the turbolift. She used her tricorder to check the pressure on the other side, making sure that it existed, and then reached behind her. A pry bar was placed carefully in her hand without having to ask, and she mentally sent a message of thanks to Tuvok for demanding high standards of training here in the Delta Quadrant, regardless of the fact that not all his people were Starfleet.

She attacked the doors, prying them open. Handing the bar back, she stuck her head gingerly through the opening. She looked down a total of five decks to the turbolift that rested motionless where the shaft curved slightly into the secondary hull. She wasn't sure if it was jammed, but it certainly wasn't going anywhere without power. There did not seem to be any hint of escaping air, and she couldn't detect the shimmer of a force fields thrown up by the automatic systems. Hopefully, that meant the decks below had not been breached to the extent that all atmospheric integrity had been compromised. She swung around, groping for the ladder until finally finding purchase in the recess which ran along the side of the shaft. She made sure her tricorder and phaser were firmly affixed to the connections on her waist, and then started to climb.

As she neared deck one, she could see the scorched damage still scarring the shaft from a previous encounter with hostile aliens, though the mangled car had long since been removed and the functionality of the turbolift restored. She decided that they had been running into far too many hostile aliens lately and she wondered if things would only get worse. Or were there actually beings out there who didn't want to exploit or destroy Voyager?

When she reached the doors leading to the bridge, she activated her tricorder. To her relief, it indicated lifesigns on the other side of the portal as well as a viable atmosphere. However, the manual override to the entrance didn't work, undoubtedly still damaged from the prior explosion. She made a note to tell B'Elanna about it the next time she saw her.

"Pass me the bar," she called down and the item was sent up to her, hand over hand, by the team who were on the ladder beneath her. "Why the hell am I always crawling around in turbolift shafts?" she added in an aggrieved mutter as she waited, but no one answered her.

She felt the cold metal pressed into her hand and she gripped it tightly as she used it on the stubborn hatch. Dangling precariously from one arm wrapped around the rungs, her feet perched uncertainly below, she grunted as she worked steadily, wondering if perhaps she should have given way to Crell, who had far more upper body strength. Finally, she managed to wedge the flattened end into the crack far enough to get some leverage, and pulled hard, prying open the doors. It wasn't long before some helping hands appeared, and the Borg mesh on one identified immediately who it was.

"Seven," Ro gasped as the young woman helped her through the opening.

"Lt. Ro," Seven greeted calmly, just as if they were meeting in a corridor.

"What's the status here?" the Bajoran asked, glancing around. She frowned when she saw Harry Kim and Chakotay stretched out on the deck, completely unconscious, while Tuvok swayed uncertainly at the tactical console. Susan Nicoletti, looking shaken but still game, covered operations while Tom Paris painfully hunched over the helm as he tried to bring it back online. The captain was in her command chair, but it was clear it was taking all her energy just to maintain her wits.

"Crell," Ro said in a low voice, stepping down onto the lower level. "Take over for Commander Tuvok. I'll cover the helm. The rest of you get these people to sickbay."

She stopped in front of the captain who looked up at her dazedly. Seven sat down in the first officer's chair beside her, regarding her spouse worriedly.

"Captain," Ro said, speaking slowly and distinctly to the battered woman. "Deck five has been secured, a team is restoring sickbay and another is on their way to engineering. Safe haven reports no casualties, but we don't know about the rest of the ship. We are prepared to relieve the bridge staff if necessary."

Janeway nodded minutely, almost as if she were afraid that she would pass out if she did anything beyond that. "Take the helm, Lieutenant," she said in a husky tone. "Deploy your people." Since they were already deployed, all that meant was that Janeway was supporting the Bajoran's decisions to this point.

Ro turned, hesitating beside Tom who glanced up at her, clearly unwilling to give way to her. The strain around his eyes and the way he held onto his ribs indicated he was not really capable of hanging on much longer, however.

"I have it, Mr. Paris," she said softly.

He stared at her a moment, and she saw something else there in his eyes, something beyond just having to give up his station to her before they dropped and he lurched out of the chair. Heading for the turbo shaft on his own two feet, he refused assistance. She took a breath and sat down at the helm, wondering what that had been about. Behind her, she could hear the low tones of Seven urging her spouse to go to sickbay with the others. Obviously, the Borg was worried enough to be pushing it beyond the captain's initial refusal, which Ro thought was quite unlike Seven.

"No more," Ro heard Janeway say in an unmistakable tone, still low but easily discernable with the lack of underlying atmospheric and engine noise.

"Very well," Seven responded in a very even tone that did not entirely conceal her annoyance. Ro refused to look back over her shoulder, sensing rather than actually seeing Seven replace Nicoletti at ops, allowing the younger woman to accompany the rest down to sickbay. The Bajoran ran a quick diagnostic of her board, wincing at the multitude of red lights appearing on the touch pad but aware that Paris had already done a lot to repair the damage to his station.

The lights around them suddenly brightened and abruptly, there was a hiss as the fans began to clear the haze from the bridge. It was a sound normally lost in the constant hum of warp drive but now, it seemed unnaturally loud.

"Captain," Ro said as more lights began to appear on the flat pad in front of her, "navigation is coming back on line. Helm control is re-established."

"Let's hear it for Klingon ingenuity," Janeway muttered and Ro felt a wash of pride for the woman down in engineering though she wasn't entirely sure why. After all, the Bajoran was hardly responsible in any way for B'Elanna's great skill and engineering ability. "What about communications?"

"Still no response," Seven reported from ops. "However, I am initializing the external sensors. Channeling through the view screen ... now."

The large screen at the front the bridge which had been solidly, depressingly blank, flickered and gave way to the backdrop of stars and a spreading mass of what could only be their prior opponents. Twisted metal, expelled gasses and various other shapes drifted lazily in the uncaring vacuum of space.

"Man, we got 'em good," Crell muttered from tactical in a sort of admiring tone.

"Sensors are detecting the presence of a debris field consistent with the destruction of three vessels of the size and type we encountered," Seven recounted. There was a pause and she added with a hint of surprise, "No indication of organic materials."

"They were robot ships," Janeway said quietly, with what Ro thought might be relief.

"Captain, impulse engines are back online," the Bajoran said suddenly with elation, the readings streaming rapidly across her board. She waited expectantly for confirmation from the captain, and when there was nothing further, she looked behind her. Janeway was bent over, blood leaking from a corner of her mouth. "Captain?"

In a flash, Seven was around the ops console, and leaping down the short flight of stairs in one bound to catch Janeway before she toppled out of the command chair. The Bajoran, half risen out of her seat, was astonished at the speed Seven was capable of attaining, and she sat back down with an expulsion of breath, staring at the Borg in shock. With infinite tenderness, Seven gathered the captain up in her arms and straightened. Her icy blue eyes pinned Ro with glacial firmness.

"As ranking officer, Lt. Ro," she noted coolly, "you have command. I shall return to assist on the bridge as soon as I have taken the captain to sickbay."

As Ro gaped at her, Seven touched the controls on her wrist and disappeared in a burst of emerald sparkles and silvery lines.

"If she could do that all along," Crell noted sardonically from his post, "why didn't she just take them to sickbay before we even got here?"

Ro raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever tried to remove a captain and bridge crew from their posts when they didn't want to go?" she asked pointedly. "Besides, until we got here, they had no way of knowing deck five was still intact." She steadied herself, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do now.

"Crell, yell back down the shaft," she said. "Tell them we need someone up here to cover operations and the helm."

He frowned. "I thought you were covering the helm," he said.

Ro exhaled audibly. "Not anymore, apparently," she said wryly.

Uncertainly, she got up and walked back to the command chair, sitting down with an uncomfortable sense of displacement and trepidation, and wishing that she had stayed in her nice, safe, restraining field. Captain Janeway opened her eyes, the light searing painfully into her pupils, and she blinked as tears rushed to fill them. Inhaling deeply, she tried to determine how much damage she had sustained, pleasantly surprised to see she hadn't. Then she realized that meant she had probably been kept unconscious for awhile. She sat up abruptly, the room spinning nauseatingly about her and she had to grip the edges of the biobed tightly to keep from falling off. She swallowed hard, driving back the sickness that rose to the back of her throat. Closing her eyes briefly helped and kept her from heaving.

"Captain." Sek hurried over from the biobed where Tom Paris was sitting up. The hologram reached out to catch the captain, supporting her until she regained her bearings.

"Report," Janeway demanded huskily.

"Voyager is in orbit around an uninhabited world," the Doctor said, moving over as Tom Paris joined them, obviously feeling a great deal better than the last time Janeway had seen the helmsman. "Most of the systems are back on line and Commander Chakotay informs us that we should be able to get underway in approximately another week."

Janeway absorbed the information, her face tightening. "How long was I out?" she asked.

"A few days," Sek said in her musical tone. "You and Mr. Paris are the last to recover from the injuries sustained in the attack. Everyone else has been released back to their quarters."

Janeway felt embarrassed by that, as if it had been a form of weakness on her part though she endeavored not to show it. Tom grinned at her wryly, almost as if he understood what she was feeling.

"Guess next time, we'll learn to stay in our seats," he said.

"Let's hope there won't be a next time," Janeway returned, though, even as she said it, she knew how wildly optimistic that sentiment was. "Casualties?" she added, wanting to get all the bad news out of the way first.

"I need to input those records." Sek discreetly excused herself.

"I'd better go see if they need me for duty," Tom offered lamely and headed for the exit, not looking back as he vacated sickbay entirely.

Janeway steeled herself, knowing this did not bode well, at all.

"I lost one patient," the Doctor said softly. "There was simply nothing that could be done."

That was a great deal better than Janeway had been anticipating and she relaxed slightly, the tension leaving her body. Considering the battering the ship had undergone, it was amazing that there hadn't been multiple casualties ... a testament to her CMO's great skill, no doubt. She firmed her jaw, mourning the death of that crewmember but infinitely relieved that there hadn't been more who died in the performance of their duties.

"Who was it?" she asked.

"Timothy Charles White," the Doctor told her, and when she looked blankly at him, not recognizing the name, added in an infinitely gentle tone, "He was stillborn."

That struck her with the power of fist to the stomach and once more, she had to clamp down hard to prevent nausea from rising in her throat.

"I see," she said unsteadily. "The mother?"

"Ensign White has fully recovered ... physically," the Doctor remarked. "As is to be expected, her emotional and psychological recovery will take a great deal longer. Sek and I are monitoring the situation."

"I'll have a talk with her," Janeway murmured, though she didn't know what she would say. This was a loss of which she couldn't conceive, let along be able to speak as someone who truly understood.

She swung her legs over the edge and attempted to stand up, and the Doctor somewhat belatedly reached out a hand to support her. The deck rolled briefly beneath her feet before settling down into the nice flatness she was used to.

"Am I physically capable of resuming command?" she asked flatly, in a tone that brokered no dissembling.

The Doctor hesitated, then frowned. "Technically, you can," he admitted reluctantly. "But Captain, you need more rest. I really do need to keep you here for further monitoring. You received a considerable blow to the head, and although I repaired the damage, you're still not fully recovered."

"Unacceptable, Doctor," she said easily. "I need to get back to work. I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine."

If holograms could cry from sheer frustration, she was sure that's what he would have done.

"Captain, I warn you," he said stiffly. "If you collapse, I'll have no choice but to remove you from command for as long as I deem necessary. I have the authority to do it. Do you really want to risk that?"

He stared at her steadily and she returned the gaze, evaluating his sincerity. She was impressed by the intensity of it, his eyes refusing to look away.

"Understood," she replied smartly. A part of her was outraged by his presumption, while another appreciated the strength of will the Doctor was developing, respecting the fact that he was truly coming into his own as her CMO. "But you won't have to," she added firmly.

He nodded unhappily, clearly not believing it but apparently accepting that he had little choice. He stepped aside to let her at the uniform that Sek brought out from the office. The medical assistant undoubtedly knew how this discussion was going to end before it began. Forcing herself to be gracious, the captain accepted it, aware that her crew had come to know her very well ... perhaps too well since they seemed to know what she was going to do before she did it. She wondered where her spouse was and it suddenly struck her that she didn't even know what time it was.

"Time?" she said shortly, pulling her pants up.

"It is currently 0154 hours," Sek responded, standing by as if ready to offer her assistance. Janeway supposed it was also to make sure she didn't keel over again. The Doctor had discreetly made himself scarce, aware that the captain did not appreciate him hanging around while she dressed even if ... in his words ... 'she didn't boast any anatomical traits he hadn't already seen before'.

Janeway paused, blinking as she absorbed that. It early morning, barely into the gamma shift and it occurred to her that perhaps that was the real reason the Doctor was releasing her from sickbay. Chances were that the alpha shift officers like Chakotay and Tuvok, with whom she needed to speak the most, would be in bed after a long, hard day of supervising repairs. She would be hesitant to wake them just to brief her, and undoubtedly the Doctor knew that. She shot a disgruntled look in the direction of his office, tempted to call an emergency senior staff meeting anyway and make sure they all knew it was due to the Doctor. But even if she were the sort to disregard her staff's well being, it would still be petty. Janeway sighed and pulled her sweater over her head, before drawing on the tunic.

Finally, she pulled on her boots and nodded a polite farewell to Sek as she headed for the turbolift. She was pleased when it appeared without delay, and she stepped into it, appreciative of the work her crew had done to make things functional so quickly.

"Bridge," she said, stubbornly deciding to check that out, at the very least. "Computer, locate Seven of Nine."

"Seven of Nine is in the captain's quarters."

They would be together soon enough, she consoled herself, though a tiny part of her was a little put out that the Borg had not been right next to the captain's biobed when Janeway awoke. There was a time, she remembered, when Seven wouldn't have been pried from her injured partner's side, short of being phasered and dragged off. Marriage certainly produced familiarity, she concluded glumly. And 'familiarity breeds contempt'.

She walked out onto the bridge, noting the open panels and dismantled consoles. The science station looked completely rebuilt and she stifled a sigh. The ship needed a long stretch with no further encounters with hostiles, though the odds of that happening were probably not very good. She held her hand up as Lt. Kim rose from the command chair, preventing the young man from handing the conn over to her.

"I'm just here to get an update," she said. "The Doctor wants me to go directly to bed."

"With good reason," Kim noted in a low voice so that the other crewmembers working on the bridge wouldn't overhear. "You were really banged up, Captain. If I could respectfully suggest--"

"No, you may not," she interrupted firmly. "I may have to take it from the Doctor, Mr. Kim, however ..." She trailed off, fixing him with a significant look, which he easily deciphered.

"Message received," he said, with a wry grin. "Still, Captain, at this point, there is not much more to be done. The repair teams been working triple time to finish the main problem areas, and what remains is basically cosmetic; putting panels back together again, things of that nature."

Janeway studied him closely, trying to determine if he was telling the truth or trying to pull the wool over her eyes. He looked back with his best angelic expression, his dark brown eyes as innocent as a new born babe's.

She sighed. "I don't believe you for a minute but I'm not going to battle my crew just to be given a useful job," she said. "Not this late at night." She glared. "However, I will not forget this ... 'conspiracy' any time soon."

"I admit to nothing," he said. He paused. "Have a pleasant night, Captain."

She eyed him briefly but she knew when she was defeated and turned without another word, leaving the bridge.

"Deck three," she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest as the lift descended. As she entered the corridor which led to her quarters, she tried to figure out how she felt about this sudden protectiveness toward her by the crew. It had been growing steadily since her marriage to Seven and while she appreciated it, there was also a part of her that wondered if it wasn't a dangerous precedent. That as captain, she was becoming too much a part of the community instead of leading it. She heaved a sigh. They simply did not cover this sort of thing in any of the command training she had received.

Of course, she noted with sincere self-disgust, how many captains managed to get their ship lost for this long? She had to be the first to have accomplished that dubious honor. She entered her quarters in a very dark frame of mind and was greeted promptly by her pet, Jake, who slipped off the couch and bounded over to her.

"At least, you're glad to see me," she said in a deliberately loud voice as she patted the Irish Setter, but that caused no reaction from anyone else in the cabin. She went into the bedroom, feeling hurt and neglected and generally stressed ... all of which immediately disappeared when she saw her partner.

Seven was curled up in the center of the bed, completely unconscious. There were dark smudges staining beneath her eyes and a hint of strain to the proud forehead, lines furrowing her brow. To the captain's surprise, the Borg was wearing a shirt, which was quite unusual for Seven who normally either slept nude or wore pyjamas. Then Janeway took a closer look and realized it was her t-shirt, the one she had been wearing the night Seven had returned home from her away mission. It occurred to Janeway that she had tossed it onto the floor of the closet after returning from the holodeck, rather than recycling it. She wondered if it had been recycled at all or if Seven was wearing it with the captain's scent still on it, just so she could feel closer to her spouse?

Tears stung Janeway's eyes and she moved closer, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed as she stroked the Borg's cheek gently. It was a measure of Seven's exhaustion that she did not stir, not even at that touch. Janeway inhaled deeply, feeling ashamed at her momentary lapse of faith in her partner and she bent down, kissing Seven tenderly on the temple.  Standing up, she went into the ensuite where she washed the medicinal odors of sickbay off herself before returning to the bedroom. She crawled onto the mattress next to her partner, wrapping herself around the lanky Borg with utter weariness.

Sleep came quickly and her last thought was that maybe the Doctor had been right. She did need rest. The only problem was, so did the rest of her crew. How much longer could Voyager maintain this pace of renovation and hostile encounters? Seven woke up beneath the soft weight of her spouse, automatically snuggling closer and wrapping her arms around the compact form. It actually took her a few moments to remember that the captain was supposed to be in sickbay and not draped all over the Borg. She glanced down at her spouse anxiously, wondering if Janeway had snuck out of sickbay without the Doctor knowing, but she discarded that notion after a moment's consideration. At the very least, sickbay would have contacted her to find out if she knew where the captain was.

She inhaled the sweet fragrance of her partner deeply, feeling warmed by it in a way that few other things could provide and tilted her head so that she could look into her partner's face, taking note of the hints of strain and tension that even sleep could not smooth out. She reached down and gently brushed her lips over the captain's forehead, kissing gently along the hairline. Kathryn stirred, mumbled something inaudible and raised her face, pressing into the Borg's kisses.

"Annika?" she murmured.

"Kathryn," Seven responded ruefully. "I am sorry I woke you."

"I'm not," the captain replied drowsily, tightening her embrace as she buried her face into the hollow of Seven's shoulder and neck. "I missed you while I was injured," she added in a muffled tone.

"You were unconscious," Seven pointed out accurately. "You were incapable of missing me."

"I still missed you," Janeway insisted. "It was all saved up for when I finally woke."

Seven felt vaguely ashamed. "I am sorry I was not there," she began. "I intended to regenerate only briefly before---"

"Shh," Janeway interrupted, reaching up to put two fingertips against the Borg's lips. "I could tell you were absolutely exhausted last night. And how would you know that I was going to regain consciousness then? Not to mention the fact that I bullied the Doctor into releasing me early."

"You did?" Seven asked with mock surprise. "I find that difficult to believe."

Janeway blinked, raising her head as she gazed at Seven suspiciously. "You're teasing me," she accused.

"Yes," Seven admitted readily. "You are 'cute' when you are being teased. You develop an expression of disgruntlement that is quite entertaining."

Janeway growled deep in her chest. "I'm only allowing you to get away with that because I absolutely adore you," she grumbled. "You know that."

"I do," Seven assured her, finding Janeway's lips and kissing her tenderly. "Now, I am being serious, Kathryn," she whispered. "How do you feel?"

Janeway hesitated. "Like someone used me for a disc in a Velocity match," she allowed finally.

A shadow crossed Seven's face and she hugged her partner very gently. "I am sorry," she said.

"I'll survive," Janeway responded dryly. She drew back, studying Seven's face. "How do you feel?"

"I am very tired," Seven replied honestly. "And frightened by your injuries. I am frustrated by the slowness of the repairs and angered by these continued unprovoked attacks by aliens who refuse to communicate with us. And I am greatly saddened by the loss of Ensign White's offspring."

"And that," Janeway agreed sadly, "Is pretty much how everyone on the ship is feeling right now."

"What can we do?" Seven asked.

Janeway exhaled slowly and closed her eyes. "I don't know," she said softly. "I've tried granting various sections of the crew alternating leave, but that's been working for progressively shorter periods of time and seems to be unduly delaying the renovation. Only the original shore leave was truly successful and somehow, I don't think the ship can afford to grant a total leave again."

Seven considered it. "Perhaps not," she offered uncertainly.

"We need to find a place to feel completely safe again, Annika," Janeway explained wearily. "Even if it's only for a little while. I just don't know if a place like that exists in the Delta Quadrant."

"This planet seems fairly secure," Seven noted.

"Because it's uninhabited, but that doesn't protect us from an attack from space," Janeway said. "With this latest incident, we have to be constantly aware of being in hostile space, which would only defeat any leave I might grant. In the meanwhile, however, we're working ourselves to death to get the repairs done." She paused. "I shouldn't have turned around to face them so quickly. Something might have come up had we kept fleeing ... something that would have kept us from having to fight. I should have granted the crew more time to come up with a better solution."

Seven was alarmed at the tone in Janeway's voice, the note of despair. She pulled the captain closer and burrowed her face into the auburn hair until her lips were next to the captain's ear.

"Kathryn," she said intently. "You made the tactically correct decision. We could not escape by fleeing, we could not hide from our attackers, we could only turn and fight. Our only chance of success was doing it when we did. And we were successful."

"Ensign White's baby died," Janeway said and now her voice was full of tears. "That isn't a success, Annika."

"Do not forget to factor in all the variables," Seven told her. "Ensign White chose not to go to the safe haven with the other pregnant women. Kathryn, all those who accepted the protection of the restraining fields Lt. Kim developed, were unharmed. Even Megan Delaney recovered quickly from her second onset of false labor and was able to return to her quarters." The Borg rubbed the captain's back lightly. "Kathryn, do not overlook our successes while you dwell on our struggles. This encounter proved the effectiveness of the security area in protecting the ship's crew, even though it is not yet complete. The restraining fields are a useful invention that should be incorporated throughout ship, particularly on the bridge."

Seven inhaled slowly. "I do not hold Ensign White responsible for her child's death," she added quietly. "That responsibility rests with whoever programmed those war vessels to attack us. But perhaps it was not a prudent decision to remain on duty, even though it was Ensign White's right to do so."

Janeway swallowed audibly, sniffing slightly. "I'm sure she knows that now," she said. "She may never recover from that decision. It's a guilt she'll carry forever."

Seven rubbed her cheek against the captain's. "I know it is the sort of guilt that you feel at times, Kathryn, but you cannot hold onto it as if it were a cherished item," she said. "You must learn to leave it behind when it becomes counterproductive ... as it did when we were in the Void. Kathryn, you once told me that not all decisions are a question of right and wrong. Sometimes they are a matter of choosing that which is less wrong. Even then, sometimes one does not always choose correctly. You are only Human, my beautiful Kathryn."

Janeway drew back, looking at her sadly, her blue-grey eyes shimmering with tears.

"Yet, Kathryn," Seven said, her throat closing as tears stung her own eyes, "you are still the most perfect thing I have ever beheld ... because of your Human imperfections and how hard you strive to do what is right in spite of them."

"I don't feel very perfect at the moment," Janeway husked.

"I know," Seven whispered. "You are tired and frightened and frustrated. You are hurt in more than just body, you are hurt in your soul. I am afraid I cannot find a way to heal that for you. I wish that I could."

"Oh, darling," the captain replied, her face soft and wistful. "You are healing it. Just being here with you is healing it. You provide a haven for me that no one else can, and while I may not have said it lately, you are absolutely my heart, Annika. With you, I'm strong in a way that I'm not without you. I can be more compassionate and more Human than I have ever been before. You give that to me. Don't ever doubt it."

Seven bent her head, feeling the tears slide down her cheeks. "Sometimes it is very hard, Kathryn," she whispered. "Sometimes, I wish only to take you far away from Voyager, away from the responsibilities and duties that demand so much of you. It is hard to always have to share you with the ship and I hate how it makes you feel so bad when things do not go perfectly for it and the crew."

Janeway stroked her partner's hair gently. "I don't have the answers," she responded softly as Seven hugged her. "I'm not even sure of the questions, Annika. All I know is that I love you. How I managed without you is something that absolutely baffles me. Sometimes I feel selfish being this happy while Voyager remains in the Delta Quadrant And maybe in the end, there are no answers," she added quietly. "Maybe when it's all said and done, all we can do is just accept what is and try to live with it."

She fell silent, long moments passing as they held each other tightly, trying to find a peace in this moment of quiet togetherness.

Seven exhaled finally. "I must go," she said sadly. "I am required to assist B'Elanna in reconstructing a conduit which was ruptured. It was bypassed but we need to restore it before we resume our journey."

Janeway tightened her grip. "Annika, we will get through this," she said intently. "We just have to keep sight of the light at the end while we're struggling through the tunnel."

"I shall endeavor to remember that," Seven promised. "You must as well. Do not forget how far we have come in a very short time."

"I will," Janeway promised. She managed a weak smile. "Though you may have to remind me once in awhile."

"I promise," Seven whispered. Gently she kissed Janeway and released her. "I must go."

Reluctantly, Janeway allowed Seven to roll away from her while she remained on the bed. The young woman went into the ensuite, showering quickly and pulling on her biometric outfit. When she returned, Janeway was lying on her back with her hands over her eyes as if her head ached. Concerned, Seven went around to that side of the bed to sit on the edge beside her spouse.

"Kathryn?"

"I'm all right, Annika," she said sternly.

"No, you are not," Seven said, ignoring the tone. She reached down and pulled the captain up into her arms, hugging her as if she were a child. "You are the most important person in the universe to me. I need you to look after yourself. Does your head hurt?"

Janeway was silent for long moments. "Yes," she said sheepishly.

"I will escort you to sickbay before I join B'Elanna in engineering."

"That isn't necessary," Janeway insisted. "I'm fine."

Seven felt her annoyance flare into a real anger at her partner. "It is necessary," she said coldly. "And you are not 'fine'. I will escort you, or I will carry you. It is your choice. I will not allow you to be in pain because you have an irrational need to prove your strength ... or worse, because you have an irrational need to 'punish' yourself when things go wrong."

Surprised, Janeway drew back, studying her face closely. "You're really mad at me," she said with wonder.

"Yes, I am," Seven said. "I always become angry with you when you act this way, but perhaps I have not allowed myself to show it in the past. Now I must, because obviously, you are not learning from this particular mistake. Voyager does not need a captain who pretends to be indestructible, Kathryn. It requires a captain who is healthy and knows how to look after herself. To do otherwise, is selfish."

Janeway stared at her as if she had never seen her before. Then she looked down unhappily. "I'll get dressed," she said quietly.

Seven was unhappy as well, waiting until Janeway returned, dressed in a fresh uniform.

"I don't mean to be such a hard ass," Janeway murmured as they left the bedroom and crossed the living area.

"I know," Seven replied shortly. "But you are."

The Doctor bustled across sickbay as soon as he saw them enter the medical center.

"I have a headache, Doctor," Janeway said, as he led her to the biobed.

"I see," he said, running a probe over her. "Captain, this is exactly what I meant. You're physically exhausted and your body is breaking down because of it. I'll have to keep you here in sickbay if you cannot allow yourself to rest."

"You must do this, Kathryn," Seven said without mercy. "I cannot neglect my duty to see that you take care of yourself. We both know that left to your own devices, you will find an excuse to return to active duty earlier than you should."

Janeway glared daggers at her, but the Borg refused to give ground.

"I'll need to speak with Chakotay," the captain said grudgingly, after a long moment.

Unperturbed, Seven touched her comm badge.

"Sickbay to Commander Chakotay," she said calmly. "The captain requires your presence."

"On my way."

Seven thought Janeway looked like a particularly recalcitrant child as they waited for the first officer's arrival, her arms crossed over her chest and her jaw set stubbornly. But the fact remained, she was going along with it, accepting the necessity of spending a few extra days in sickbay.

It was a battle Seven never anticipated winning. And a victory she knew was based purely on the heart. Captain's Log, Supplemental

Voyager has resumed course for the Alpha Quadrant after laying over two weeks in orbit around the planet geometrics has christened Anyport which is, of course, short for Anyportinastorm. It's come to my attention that there are a great many uninhabited planets in this sector which are capable of sustaining intelligent life, yet do not. It concerns me even as I am grateful for the haven provided by this world as we undertake the most pressing of our repairs. I wonder if it is because the Borg have been through this sector, assimilating the inhabitants and leaving behind their empty planets, or if this new threat we recently faced is responsible.

We do not know where the ships that attacked us came from, who was controlling them, or what purpose they had. Investigations of the debris field have given us very little in the way of clues other than the fact that they were heavily armed and built for an aggressive purpose.

Without knowing, it is impossible to determine if we'll run into these ships again. In that event, however, we must be prepared to defend ourselves the instant they appear and to that end, Tuvok and his security teams are working overtime to develop strategies and tactics that will be effective against them. If there is indeed, a next time, we will not be caught unaware and hopefully will not sustain the damage that we did in our last battle.

After spending three extra days in sickbay, I now feel at peak efficiency. Sometimes I wonder if I should have gotten rid of those Borg nanoprobes from my system. They kept me going at times when I otherwise couldn't, removing the toxins from my bloodstream on a continuous basis. I guess I'm going to have to accept that I no longer enjoy the superhuman endurance of that time, nor even of my youth where all-nighters were a thing of pride rather than a shameful admission to my spouse.

Perhaps the other thing I must accept is that my spouse and crew insist upon taking care of me, even when I don't take care of myself. I was taught that a captain must remain separate and aloof but apparently, that cannot apply in the Delta Quadrant. Like it or not, I'm a part of a larger community, and the community decrees that I look after myself, whether I want to or not.

It is a battle that I cannot win, so reluctantly, I must surrender to the inevitable.

But perhaps it is time for such a loss. Even Starfleet captains need to accept help once in a while.

The End

•  This is the 25th installment in the Just Between series.

• It was posted on Sept 17th, 1999.

• Dedicated to Erin who came up with the whole Naomi sub-plot (one I completely overlooked.)

• The title comes from Netgyrl.

• I'd put a warning in but honestly, it doesn't really require it.  A mild cameo at best.

Just Between Fortune & Folly
G. L. Dartt

Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship, Voyager, stood on her bridge and regarded the construct being displayed on the viewscreen with blatant disbelief. Beside her, also standing, the tall, burly form of her first officer, Commander Chakotay, rubbed the tattoo over his left eye with the back of his thumb and tried to come up with something intelligent to say. Obviously, he couldn't.

"You don't expect me to believe that's a space station?" Janeway objected loudly. "Let alone dock my ship to it?"

The rest of the bridge crew was observing the two senior officers with undisguised fascination, even Tuvok who was covering tactical. The dark-skinned Vulcan lifted his eyes at the tone of his captain's voice, waiting to see what form of logic Chakotay would come up with to convince Janeway to comply with his suggestion. At the helm, the sandy-haired Lt. Tom Paris had swung halfway around to look at his senior officers while, to the rear of the bridge, Lt. Harry Kim crossed his arms over his chest and waited, a faint grin on his dark, handsome features.

"Captain," Chakotay began. "You know the damage that is still remaining on the ship. The repairs we've managed simply aren't enough ... not for the long term. Jarroc assured me that this station is more than equipped to handle a ship the size of Voyager and they'll have all the parts we need in their shipyards."

"Shipyards?" Janeway objected, checking out the debris field which maintained a steady orbit around the main structure. It was a perfect compliment to the station, which looked like a child had constructed it from tattered grey blocks, then kicked it apart a few times, leaving the result to orbit an ugly, maroon planet. "You mean salvage yard."

"Well, it's that too," Chakotay offered. "But honestly, Captain ..." He took a breath and finished in a rush. "It's not like we have a lot of options here."

And that was the rub, wasn't it? Janeway thought glumly. Thanks to a recent battle with three mysterious vessels, her precious ship had sustained heavy damage. The crew had done their best, working overtime to repair most of it but Voyager was still feeling the wounds. The ship was far from being her sleek, pristine self, with gaping holes lining her side where the hull had been breached on decks seven and eight. However, two days earlier, they had encountered a passing trader who informed them they were 'in luck' because they were in 'spitting distance' of Balleyport Space Station. He swore that no one in the sector had better engineers and the entertainment level had more forms of diversion than anyone could ever hope to encounter.

Considering the way he leered when he said that, Janeway wasn't sure those 'diversions' were anything she wanted to expose her crew to, but the fact remained, they were in desperate need of some dry dock time. And maybe even some leave.

She glanced over at her security chief who quirked an eyebrow. "The sensors detect a wide range of vessels from differing species either docked or in orbit," he offered slowly. "Which generally indicates a 'safe port'. It may be worth further investigation, Captain."

She spared him an 'et tu, Tuvok?' glance and reluctantly returned her attention to the viewscreen once more. The structure had not magically turned into a cleaner, more appealing station while she had been looking elsewhere. In fact, it looked even worse the second time around. She made a face and exhaled audibly.

"Send an away team over, Commander," she said. "Check it out before making the necessary arrangements."

"Uh, Captain?" Chakotay offered.

"What?" she said in her most dangerous tone.

He took a breath. "Jarroc told me that Stationmaster Twimm will deal with the captain of a ship only," he explained. "He would be offended by any lower ranked officer. Plus, the stationmaster seems to believe that this keeps the exchange of funds above board."

"Wonderful," she said flatly. "And what kind of funds are we talking about here?"

Chakotay hesitated again.

"Well, there was some mention of wanting to spend 'quality time' with the lovely Captain Janeway whose reputation precedes her...."

She pinned him with a force ten 'you dare?' look and he actually took a step backward, apparently deciding this was not the time to be teasing her. Janeway was aware of astonished amusement lightening the eyes of both Kim and Paris, the latter actually having to turn away to hide his grin, but she did not crack her command mask.  She couldn't believe her first officer had teased her to that extent and decided that she needed to come up with something appropriate to put the good Commander Chakotay back in his place.  Obviously, she had been far too lenient on him lately.

"Easily replicated," Chakotay corrected hastily. "Apparently the coin of exchange here is beryllium."

"Beryllium?" she queried, blinking. "The metal, beryllium?"

"Yes," he said. "Apparently it's very scarce in this sector."

"Interesting," she said, frowning as she considered the scientific possibilities of that particular lack. Then she shook her head, bringing herself back to the situation at hand, taking another glance at the viewscreen. "Are you sure about this?" she asked doubtfully.

"Don't let appearances deceive you," the first officer urged. "Sometimes, you can receive remarkably skilled repairs in places like these. We relied on them in the Maquis. They don't look like much from the outside but the engineers in those places kept us flying against the Cardassian fleet."

"There is also the possibility that they'll steal us blind," she said. "And not do the repairs at all."

"True," he agreed evenly. "So we just prepare for that eventuality and make sure they can do whatever they claim."

She stifled her sigh. "Fine," she said. "Prepare a shuttle and arrange a meeting with this Twimm immediately. Set up a shore leave rotation but don't initiate it until we have a better idea what the situation is. In the meantime, I'll be in my quarters. I need to change before I go over there."

"Understood," Chakotay said. "Who do you want to accompany you?"

"Tuvok," she said, knowing that the security chief would not let her off the ship without his being able to act as her personal protector anyway. "B'Elanna. She'll be able to get a look at their facilities, check out if they can do what they say or not. I think that will be all we need, Commander, aside from whomever you wish to pilot the shuttle. I'll leave it to your discretion."

She favored him with a final, 'I hope we don't regret this' expression while he countered with his best 'trust me' look which did not mollify her at all. She mounted the short flight of stars leading to the upper level of the bridge and entered the turbolift, which opened obediently at her approach.

"Deck three."

She crossed her arms over her chest, lost in thought as the lift descended, and stepped off automatically when it stopped. She strode briskly down the corridor leading to the captain's quarters and entered, greeted immediately by her pet Irish Setter who bounded over, a squeaky toy in his jaws. She obligingly made a grab for it as he dodged her, then again, wiggling with delight that his mistress was taking a few minutes to pay attention to him.

Shame filled her as she realized she had been neglecting him dreadfully the past few weeks. Of course, with the state of the ship and all the changes it was going through, she had been beyond busy, but the dog had no way of knowing that. Even with his fair share of playmates in the crew who were more than glad to take him for runs in the new 'park' in cargo bay two, it wasn't the same as attention from his mistress and Janeway knew it. She made a promise to herself to rectify the situation when things calmed down a bit. Not that there was a chance of that happening in the near future, she thought unhappily.

She patted him a final time and headed into the bedroom. Everything in these quarters was immaculate, almost unnaturally so, considering there was a long-haired dog in residence. That was primarily the doing of her spouse of several months, Seven of Nine, late of the Borg Collective. Though Janeway was fairly neat, she had enjoyed a certain amount of clutter prior to her joining with the Borg. Seven, however, refused to live in such inefficiency and Janeway wondered idly how the fastidious blonde would deal with this space station or if the young woman would simply insist on staying on the ship.

The captain went into the ensuite and accessed the closet, her level blue-grey eyes running over the clothes hanging there. Most were hers, a couple of spare uniforms in the event the replicator went down, two types of dress uniforms, and several civilian outfits that she wore while off duty. Seven's part of the closet, in contrast, was much smaller but seemed to be growing exponentially. In addition to the biometric suits the Borg wore in lieu of a Starfleet uniform, and a specifically designed away mission outfit, there was a sky blue dress, still unworn, hanging next to a white wedding dress that never failed to bring a smile to Janeway's face whenever she saw it. The compartments along that side of the closet contained neatly folded T-shirts, shorts, a few pairs of workout pants and seven pairs of silk pyjamas.

It occurred to Janeway that her partner was growing in more ways than one and she wondered how she could go about acquiring more closet space for the couple. Speculating about what exactly in the VIP quarters was on the other side of the bulkhead which made up the back of the closet, Janeway tapped on it gently, trying to decide what it would take to expand a little in that direction ... perhaps even create a walk-in closet? After all, a great many quarters on the ship were being renovated to become family suites due to the recent rash of unexpected pregnancies. Would it be so bad if Janeway and Seven spread out a bit as well? Voyager was becoming a generational vessel now and to maintain what was basically supposed to be the private living space for the captain, versus a home for two people and a pet, seemed somewhat illogical.

Janeway made a mental note to talk to maintenance about it ... once things settled down a bit, of course, and contemplated her outfits again. She hoped she would never have an occasion to wear the dress whites, since that was the uniform she been married in. She wanted to leave the snowy outfit as a symbol of that day for as long as possible. Then, in the corner, covered with a bit of dust, her eyes lit on a duty uniform that was supposed to be used for away mission work details ... something in which a captain was rarely in the habit of participating, but the garment was standard issue for every Starfleet officer. She drew out the blue coveralls, hoping they still fit after all this time.

She stripped off her clothes and took a quick shower before pulling on the heavier outfit. She shifted her shoulders uncomfortable under the padded band, affixing her pips to the raised collar as she strolled out into the bedroom.

"Kathryn?"

Janeway was startled by the sudden appearance of her spouse and she dropped the remaining pips in her hand, the two circles of metal bouncing as they hit the floor.

"Damn," she said, and knelt down, picking up the one at her feet.

"I will retrieve the one beneath the bed," Seven remarked, lowered her lanky, six-foot frame to the deck as she groped under the large queen-sized bed.

Janeway admired the view as she absently attached the third pip to her collar, sticking herself inadvertently in the thumb as she did so. Seven was a formidable beauty with blonde hair and ice blue eyes, usually garbed in biometric mesh outfits which left little of her curvaceous body to the imagination. Janeway sucked lightly on her injured digit as Seven finally uncoiled from the floor, reaching over herself to pin the last pip onto the captain's neck.

"You are meeting this stationmaster?" Seven asked, her fingers warm through the tunic as she made the final adjustments.

"My, news certainly travels fast on this ship," Janeway said dryly. "If warp power was this efficient, we would have been back on Earth by now."

Seven's eyebrow quirked slightly. "I will accompany you," she said.

Surprised, Janeway stared at her. "Did Chakotay assign you to the team?" she asked.

"The Commander has not contacted me so I must assume that he did not," Seven replied honestly. "However, I still wish to go."

"Why?" Janeway asked.

Seven took a breath. "I know that Tuvok can protect you," she allowed, "but I would feel more comfortable if I were with you, as well. This station reminds me greatly of the asteroid where we were held as prisoners. I do not know why I feel this way, but I do and it disturbs me. I do not ask this of you often, Kathryn."

Janeway nodded. "No, you don't," she granted. She studied her partner's face closely. After considering it for a moment, she nodded. "There's no real reason for me to agree to this request," she said. "But on the other hand, there is no compelling reason for me to refuse it either."

"Thank you, Kathryn," Seven responded. "I just ... I need to be at your side now."

"Women's intuition?" Janeway queried impishly, smiling at the expression of outrage on her partner's face at such an assessment. "I do think you're being a bit oversensitive to the station's appearance, love," Janeway assured her. "Heaven knows, I don't like the looks of it myself, but if it would honestly make you feel better to accompany the away team, then I welcome your presence. Just remember who's in command out there."

Seven smiled faintly.

"How could I ever forget such a thing?"

The Borg gingerly skirted a dark, oily puddle of some unknown origin as she stepped off the ramp which descended from the Type-9 shuttle, glancing around with great distaste. The primary docking ring of the Balleyport Station did not boast the shiny, pristine standards of Starfleet. For that matter, it was not even as tidy as the station where she and her spouse had pretended to be pirates. At the time, she had considered that station as rather cluttered and unmanageable, but the docking bay of this made that one look like the sterile confines of a medical center. There was a sort of haze in the atmosphere that the recycling units apparently could not clear, a greenish tint to the air which was similar to a Borg cube, but not nearly so humid. Indeed, it smelled of spilled conduit coolant, an acidic odor that dried the nasal passages, forcing the young woman to swallow quite often.

The Borg was glad that, instead of her normal biometric outfit, she had chosen to wear her away mission outfit; black trousers tucked into calf-high combat boots, with a padded vest over a black sweater. It made her feel less vulnerable among the sharp-edged containers cluttering the hangar than her other outfit would have, as well as making her more prepared for whatever might occur. Her hair was pulled back severely and with the slight swagger she adopted whenever she wore this outfit ... though she wasn't exactly sure why she walked that way ... she was aware she made quite a formidable looking individual. Appearance, of course, should be irrelevant, but she had been severed from the Collective long enough to know it was not, particularly when she was escorting her spouse. She felt that the denizens of this station required a show of intimidation.

"Hey, your momma dress you in those pyjamas before you left your ship?" a wag noted as they crossed the expansive deck. "Are you some kind of strippers?  Hey, whatcha got under those pretty clothes?"

The captain walked at the front of the group, seemingly oblivious to the condition of the station, of the debris they had to skirt, of the aliens lounging about the docking area who made varied comments about the passing Federation members. With her auburn hair done up in a tight bun, her classic features rigid in a command mask, Voyager's captain made a pretty formidable figure herself, carrying herself with consummate dignity, even in the work detail uniform. But Seven knew Janeway was both aware of the dirt and of the conduct of the lurkers, seeing the back of the captain's neck flush a dull red and the captain's jaw moving slightly back and forth as if she were grinding her teeth.

Seven noted that all of the hecklers studiously avoided mention of the tall blonde with the silver-grey implants adorning the left eye and right cheek, the mesh covering the left hand. Indeed, when Seven turned her level gaze on the lounging dock workers, they immediately fell silent and found something to do. The looks they cast her way, however, were dark and did not bode well for any future alliances she might have wanted to pursue.

"I can't believe I let myself get talked into this," Janeway muttered as they entered a smaller, danker, access corridor which according to the faded site map on the wall, led directly to the central merchant section. "What are we doing here?"

Tuvok, striding at her side, merely quirked an eyebrow.

"It does seem that we are a source of entertainment for the station's inhabitants," he noted.

"I don't mean that," the captain returned. "I mean, wanting to dock my ship here to begin with."

"We require repairs, Captain," Tuvok reminded her.  "What was it the crew named the last planet?  Any port in a storm?  I believe it applies in this case as well."

"I know, but, surely we're not going to be able to fix Voyager properly here," she said glumly.

The Vulcan remained sanguine about the surroundings. "Appearance is not always indicative of capability," he noted.

"No, but it's been my experience that those who take no pride in appearance, take no pride in their work," Janeway said.

"Or, they merely wish to remain anonymous," B'Elanna Torres noted idly, obviously eavesdropping. The Klingon engineer seemed remarkably relaxed and Seven wondered if she somehow enjoyed this atmosphere.

"Meaning?" Janeway shot back quickly, interest glinting in her eyes.

B'Elanna tilted her head. "Captain, if you came across a place like this in the Alpha Quadrant, what would you do?" she asked.

"Leave," Janeway said grimly. "It's obviously on its last legs, ready to be abandoned by even the disreputable inhabitants. Thank god, we left Lt. Ayala with the shuttle.  Hopefully, no one will try to steal it in the evacuation."

B'Elanna smiled. "Captain," she said. "Avoiding the attention of people like you ... authorities, I mean ... may be just what they have in mind. Sometimes being ignored by the authorities is better than not yet being discovered by them."

"Intriguing," Tuvok noted approvingly. "Authorities will not always keep a known entity under surveillance, particularly one which is perceived as 'harmless'."

"Because there's really nothing to find," Janeway noted, regarding her hand distastefully. She had brushed it accidentally against the wall and now it was black with some greasy substance. She looked around with a certain dismay and silently, Seven handed her a clean cloth that the Borg had retrieved from her vest pocket.

The captain shot her partner a rueful look and gratefully wiped her hands, handing the cloth back as they entered what had to be the main promenade of the station, which was lined with assorted shops and bars, all of which looked quite dingy and unappealing. Seven noticed an item in a grimy display window and it took her a moment to realize it was a Borg manipulating unit, obviously severed from a drone who no longer required it. Swallowing hard, Seven quickened her stride, catching up with the rest of the team, resisting the shiver sneaking down her back.

The team knew vaguely where they were going, having received lackadaisical directions from the station's control center on how to reach the stationmaster's office, but the layout of the merchant level confused them. They went down several deadend alleys before they finally cleared the maze of corridors and stairs which led to the uppermost, central administration area of the space station. They found themselves in a lobby where a bored receptionist regarded them unenthusiastically. Stocky, with bone ridges bisecting her face, large lavender eyes and greenish tufts of hair, she was garbed in a tight, one piece outfit that left little to the imagination ... provided one's imagination included two sets of mammary glands and a totally unidentifiable bulge on either hip.

"Yeah?" she asked, chewing on some unidentifiable substance which she smacked loudly. She had a voice reminiscent of a Human with reverberating nasal passages and Seven wondered if that was indicative of her species since they did not seem to have any nasal cavities at all. She did, however, have two tentacles dangling off the tip of the bone ridge in the general vicinity of the center of her face.

"I am Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship, Voyager," Janeway said without any inflection in her tone whatsoever ... never a good sign with her, Seven noted. "We're here to see Stationmaster Twimm."

The female seemed vastly unimpressed with this pronouncement, regarding the Federation captain blankly.

"I'll see if he's in," she said.

Since the away team could easily look through the transparent force shield of the office and see what had to be the stationmaster, lounging behind a huge grey desk, Seven did not understand this at all. However, the captain merely nodded and waited patiently as the female touched a button.

"Twimmie, there are some people here to see you," she cooed.

"Send them in," came the response. "And don't call me Twimmie!"

The receptionist pouted ... if that was what that expression could be called, considering her lack of lips ... and pressed a button, deactivating the force shield.

"Go on in," she instructed with little grace.

"Captain Janeway," the individual behind the desk greeted with great enthusiasm. He did not rise to his feet however, merely looking over the compact form of the Federation commander in a way that Seven did not like at all. "Please have a seat."

He was a stout individual, broad across the shoulders and belly but not soft. Somehow, Seven understood that the rolls beneath the somewhat grimy coveralls, which had been beige at one time, were indicative of muscle and not fat. A different species than the receptionist, he had solid dark eyes and a bright reddish mane that framed his wide face. Otherwise, he looked fairly Human, though Seven did wonder to herself when she had made that the standard for judging alien features.

"Stationmaster Twimm," Janeway returned his greeting, offering only the slightest hint of her considerable charm to her tone. Seven realized the captain was put off by his attitude as well. Janeway sat down gingerly in the chair provided while B'Elanna took the other. Seven and Tuvok remained standing, looking alert. "I'm here to arrange docking and repair schedules for my ship."

"And payment," he added jovially.

"And payment," the captain agreed evenly.

He reached out and flipped open a box, drawing out two thinly rolled, brown cylinders. He stuck one in his mouth, sucking on it which immediately made the tip glow red, and offered the other to Janeway who accepted it warily. She mimicked his motion, coughing a little, but managing to keep a thin, grey line of smoke trailing from her mouth just as it did his.

Seven was impressed yet again by her partner's great adaptability and noted that even Twimm seemed to regard the Starfleet captain with a little less casualness.

"So, you understand our form of exchange?" he said. He opened another drawer and tossed a greyish rectangle at Janeway who caught it and without examining it, handed it calmly to B'Elanna who drew out a tricorder and scanned it.

"85% beryllium alloy," B'Elanna said. "15% nickel."

Janeway reached up a hand and in one smooth motion, Tuvok placed a cloth bag in it, which bulged oddly. Seven got the impression that the captain, the chief engineer and the chief of security had gone through this performance many times before and she felt suddenly self-conscious, wondering what her role was supposed to be. Perhaps she had not needed to come along after all.

Janeway drew out a few greyish triangles and handed them back to the stationmaster who examined them closely, bit into each one, then nodded finally with satisfaction. Seven wondered if the being had some form of saliva which enabled him to identify the elemental makeup of the coins and if so, did that make his species a sort of 'humanoid scanner' as Arturis's people were 'humanoid translators'?

"Your money's good," he said, grinning slightly. "Really good, as a matter of fact. It's pure with no added alloys. The question is, do you have enough of it?"

"No, the question is, can you provide what we're willing to pay for?" Janeway returned, puffing away easily now on the thin cigarillo, almost as if she was enjoying it.

"Fair enough," he said, obviously growing more jovial every second. "Tell me what you need."

That was B'Elanna's cue and she slid over a padd with a list. He glanced at it, then at her, then back at the padd, picking it up gingerly.

"Nice," he complimented. "Don't suppose you have a few spare ones? Might sweeten the deal, allow me to cut the overhead a bit."

"I think not," Janeway said in the sort of tone that indicated this was not at all negotiable.

Twimm seemed to recognize the inflection as well and shifted his eyes to her, gauging her sincerity, before shrugging.

"Fine," he said, his eyes skimming the list. Then he slid it back. "We can handle that."

B'Elanna eyed him skeptically. "The antimatter converter? The EPS manifold?"

"Not a problem," he said with careless confidence.

B'Elanna stared at him, then glanced at the captain. "We'll know if he's lying soon enough," she said shortly, not convinced, but willing to give the benefit of the doubt. "Those are the priority repairs, Captain. If they can manage those, they can certainly handle the rest."

Janeway inclined her head briefly in acknowledgment and regarded the stationmaster, gesturing with the cigarillo for emphasis. "Your price?" she said, opening the negotiations.

Seven didn't really understand why the captain then proceeded to spend the next hour or so verbally wrangling with the stationmaster, attempting to make him accept less beryllium than what he initially stated. Indeed, the element was easily replicated on Voyager and they could have paid twice what he was asking to begin with. But the captain seemed determined not to pay that opening amount and at the end of it, after both Janeway and the stationmaster had gone through several more of the smokesticks, exchanged varied compliments, insults and not very amusing jokes, they finally settled on a price, exchanging a handshake to seal the deal.

Seven was relieved to leave the tiny room which, by this time, was blue with the smoky haze, finding it somewhat difficult to breathe. The captain, conversely, continued to puff on the cigarillo happily as she and her team strode through the corridor.

"That wasn't as bad as I thought it would be," Janeway said.

B'Elanna also looked guardedly optimistic. "If they can do what they say they can," she agreed. "Then, we may have lucked out."

"Hope is eternal," the captain replied.

"What are you smoking?" the engineer said, glancing sideways at the other woman.

Janeway blinked. "I'm not sure," she said, taking a second to examine the thin, brown tube. "But they're not bad."

"They are vile," Seven remarked, alarmed that the captain actually was enjoying the smokesticks. It was a habit she definitely did not want her partner to acquire. "And no doubt hazardous to your health."

Janeway shot her a look and with a half-grin, stuck the cigarillo back between her teeth jauntily. Seven resisted the urge to roll her eyes, consoling herself with the fact that such a thing would be frowned upon in the delicately balanced atmosphere of Voyager. Should Janeway attempt to light up there, automated fire suppression units would no doubt activate, dousing the burning weed ... and the captain. There was a tiny part of the Borg that would actually find such an incident somewhat amusing.

Moving quickly through the corridors, they headed back to Voyager to tell the crew to make preparations to receive the repairs that their ship so desperately needed.

Lt. Ro Laren entered Voyager's main engineering level, taking note of the various personnel scurrying about as the ship was brought into the station's repair facilities. She nimbly avoided Lt. Vorik as he moved purposely toward the EPS conduit and made her way to the area where the chief engineer's office was located. It was like the eye of a storm, the activity swirling around it as B'Elanna kept issuing orders in a clear, penetrating voice. In that moment of seeing the Klingon in action, Ro was reminded of the other engineers she had known, not the least of which was Geordi LaForge of the Enterprise. She would place B'Elanna at a level that matched, if not surpassed the man in charge of keeping the flagship flying. After all, Geordi had access to Starfleet and all the Federation technology. B'Elanna frequently had to make do with much less as she went along.

The engineer's dark eyes lit up as she saw the Bajoran, though a regretful expression crossed her face.

"Dinner," she said. Not a question, but a statement or more to the point, a rueful acknowledgment of what she was going to have to miss.

"I figured," Ro said, feeling a pang of disappointment echo through her. "But I thought I'd take a chance."

B'Elanna shook her head. "I've got too much going on," she explained with honest remorse. "I have to oversee station-side, at least for the first repairs until I know if the guys are any good or not."

"I understand," Ro said. "I really just stopped by to make sure and to let you know..." She trailed off, hesitating, then added in a softer voice. "That I was thinking about you, I guess."

B'Elanna smiled, obviously pleased by that. "I'm thinking of you, too," she said. Just then, Neelix rushed up with a armload of padds and the Klingon only had time to shoot the security officer an apologetic look before having to turn to the next set of problems.

Ro raised her hand in understanding, smiled briefly, then got out of the way of the people who were hard at work. She felt somewhat at loose ends at the moment. Tuvok had indicated quite clearly to his security staff that he did not like the looks of this station though his reasons for it were quite logical, and once crewmembers started the rumored shore leave, he wanted his staff on full alert. Ro herself, had been assigned the unenviable task of shepherding the captain during this rotation. Ro was surprised that Tuvok would grant anyone else that task, but the security chief also needed to be on the ship to monitor his entire force. By ceding this very responsible position to Ro, it was a sign of how much he trusted her abilities ... how much he trusted in her. But it was not an assignment that any security officer in their right mind particularly wanted, especially with this captain. Janeway had a history of getting herself into more trouble in a shorter amount of time than any other captain Ro had ever heard of and if it happened again on Ro's watch, she wasn't sure it would be worth coming back to the ship to face Tuvok with her failure.

Trying not to worry, Ro stopped by her quarters and did her best to prepare herself. Though the captain had yet to make an indication she intended to go station-side, chances were that she would sooner or later and with little warning. Ro needed to be ready to go in an instant so she tucked several non-issue items into various concealed pockets of her uniform ... a trick learned from Lt. Worf on the Enterprise ... and slipped a stiletto neatly into her boot.

She glanced up as her roommate, Ensign Dorado from geometrics, entered the cabin. Technically, once Ro had received her promotion, she should have been assigned private quarters, but with the various expansion of families and the generally crowded conditions on the vessel at the best of times, it had not even been mentioned. Ro didn't mind. Certainly she had experienced far worse living conditions in her past and Dorado was a fairly easy person to get along with. The mousy brunette hadn't even flickered when it was revealed that the Ara Lerona she had been living with the previous six years was now supposed to be referred to by a different name. She merely shrugged and started calling Ara, Ro. She never asked for details and in fact, never asked Ro about anything, ignoring her existence most of the time.

Ro sometimes wondered if there was more going on there than met the eye, some form of prejudice against Bajorans or Maquis or something. But after a great deal of surreptitious observation, the Bajoran finally came to the conclusion that the Starfleet officer simply did not care about anything outside of geology and rock formations. Sometimes Ro thought it was the other woman's way of dealing with being lost in the Delta Quadrant ... to simply not think about it at all unless she absolutely had to. Ro knew that Dorado had been one of the recipients of a letter during Voyager's encounter with the Hirogen communications array and in it, the ensign was informed of her aging mother's death. Since then, she had become even more engrossed in her work. It didn't make her the liveliest person to live with but it did allow for a certain peacefulness for Ro.

"You on leave?" Dorado asked.

Ro shook her head. "Not security," she said. "We're on full active status for as long as we're docked at the station."

"Too bad," Dorado said with disinterest. "I'm on second leave in a couple of days. I hope to hell no one screws up on first leave to prevent the rest of us from going." But it was said without enthusiasm, as if not really caring one way or another. She began to undress, obviously forgetting about the Bajoran as she readied for bed.

The ensign generally worked the gamma shift and she liked to sleep during the latter half of the alpha shift and first part of the beta. Ro tended to make herself scarce then, even when she wasn't on duty, finding other places on the ship to be. Lately, that had been the chief engineer's quarters, though Ro still wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that development.

The security officer left the cabin without saying good-bye, knowing it wasn't necessary or for that matter, appreciated. As she strolled through the corridors, she discovered that she was actually feeling relatively ... benign. For the woman who had spent most of her life and career with a decided chip on her shoulder after having been raised in the Cardassian interment camps ... after having seen her people brutalized and her parents killed right before her eyes ... it was a distinct change. Ro Laren decided that she felt comfortable on Voyager in a way that she had not on the Enterprise or the Wellington before that. She wondered if that was because the Intrepid class vessel was a much smaller ship than those other two, or if the situation they all found themselves in somehow lent itself to making her feel part of a larger whole. Starfleet or Maquis, Alpha or Delta quadrant native, no one on this ship existed without having lost something precious in their lives.

Then, there was the captain. Ro had certainly been greatly influenced by Jean Luc Picard during her time on the Enterprise, but in Janeway, she had seen something different, something more appealing to her, personally. Perhaps it was because Voyager's captain allowed herself to be closer to her crew, interacted with them in a way that other captains could or would not in the Alpha Quadrant. Even Ro had experienced a certain familiarity with Janeway lately, thanks primarily to the Bajoran's new relationship with B'Elanna Torres. Twice, the Klingon had dragged Ro to lunch with the captain and Seven and both times, Ro had been impressed by the woman's great charm and personality as well as her obvious love for her Borg spouse.

Perhaps one day, Ro might even be able to talk to Janeway about what had been bothering her ever since she had revealed her true identity ... the nagging, disturbing guilt she still experienced at having betrayed Captain Picard. And the fear that she might do it again with Janeway.

She entered the turbolift and glanced briefly upward, unconscious that she was doing so.

"Bridge," she said.

She tried to put her musing aside as the lift traveled smoothly upward. It stopped and she glanced at the indicator, the small control panel reading off 'deck four'. Someone else required the turbolift and she felt her face tighten as Tom Paris stepped into the car.

"Bridge," he said, glancing at her briefly. "Lt. Ro."

"Mr. Paris," she returned.

Lately, she had been sensing a certain amount of animosity towards her from the helmsman and she wasn't sure where it was coming from, whether it was a result of her becoming closer to the chief engineer with whom Paris had previously shared a tempestuous romance, or that fact that she had been assigned helm duty as his primary backup. Or perhaps it was a combination of both. All she really knew was that his face took on a type of dislike whenever he saw her though she doubted he knew that's what he was displaying. The fair-haired young man was not very good at hiding his feelings at the best of times and for a security officer trained in attention to details, he was an open book.

However, she hadn't decided what she intended to do about it or if in fact, she was going to do anything at all. It was possible that if she let it be, he would get over it of his own accord and they could move on from there.

"Do you have bridge duty?" he asked, attempting some small talk. He seemed very uneasy and this was clearly his way of dealing with it.

"No," she said shortly. "I've been assigned to the captain during station-side operations and I'm required to check in with her."

"Oh," he said.

He didn't sound particularly happy to hear that either but since there was little Ro could do about that, she ignored it. The doors slid open and Ro stepped out onto the bridge, nodding briefly at Tuvok on her right as she passed his tactical console to step down the short flight of stairs leading to the ready room. She touched the chime on the door, trying not to feel self-conscious as she stood there, waiting for a response from within. There was an unusually long pause, and Ro wondered if the captain was even in there, before Janeway's voice finally came over the speaker.

"Enter."

Ro stepped forward, the door obediently opening before her. She was somewhat surprised to see Seven of Nine already in the ready room, sitting calmly in a chair. The captain was behind the desk, an eyebrow raised inquiringly as she regarded Ro. The security officer could see absolutely nothing out of the ordinary, yet she had the distinct impression that she was interrupting something. Was the captain's hair a little mussed? Did Seven seem somewhat different from her normal cool demeanor? Had they been fighting or something?

Ro decided it was just her imagination working overtime.

"Captain, I wanted to inform you that Lt. Commander Tuvok has assigned me to you while docked to Balleyport Station," the Bajoran reported. "I would request that if you feel the need to leave the ship, that I am informed of it as well? I will need to accompany you."

Janeway's eyes narrowed slightly. "I am not in the habit of reporting my travel plans to a crewmember, Lt. Ro," she said silkily. "I am a little old to require a baby-sitter."

Ro blinked. Was that what she said? She thought she had been just reporting in to the captain as any security officer would. Frantically, she tried to remember what words she had used in what order that would have caused such offense in the captain.

"Kathryn," Seven murmured in a low voice. "Do not tease Lt. Ro."

Surprised, Ro glanced at the Borg, then at the captain who was grinning faintly at her spouse. The Bajoran flushed. She was not used to being needled by a commanding officer, not in this fashion, and it made her extremely uncomfortable. Janeway seemed to sense that and she offered a placating wave of her hand.

"I'm sorry," the captain apologized. "I know it's not an easy job riding herd on me, I shouldn't make it more difficult." She smiled winningly at Ro. "I'm pleased that Tuvok assigned you, Laren. For one thing, I'm certain that means that Seven won't be as apt to worry about my going off without her if you're accompanying me."

Seven raised an eyebrow, glanced at Ro, then looked a bit uncomfortable herself.

"I am sure you shall perform adequately in your task," the Borg said reluctantly.

Obviously, Seven didn't trust that anyone but she would be able to protect her spouse, but because of Ro's friendship with B'Elanna, the Borg was actually having difficulty finding a way to say that. Ro found that somewhat charming and was also aware that the captain had deliberately put her spouse in that position. Furthermore, Ro realized that Seven knew Janeway had done that and now the Borg was looking at the captain narrowly. Janeway merely smiled as innocently as she could and Ro decided that she had her work cut out for her. Janeway had a streak of contrariness in her that was just the sort to get everyone in trouble.

Ro resisted a sigh.

"I will be just a comm badge signal away, Captain," she offered finally.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Janeway said gently, letting the officer off the hook. "I'll be sure to contact you when I'm ready to go station side."

Ro inclined her head, turned smartly and left, depressingly aware that Janeway's last words indicated quite clearly that the captain had every intention of leaving the ship sooner or later. She shot a look at Tuvok as she passed by him.

"Thanks a lot," she muttered out the side of her mouth.

Tuvok's response was a quirked eyebrow and what could only be the faintest gleam of amusement in his dark eyes though Ro was sure that if she called him on it, he would deny it to his last breath in a very, logical manner.

The turbolift doors slid shut on the Bajoran who wished that she had never accepted that bloody promotion.

"You are incorrigible," Seven said dryly, eyeing her spouse.

Janeway leaned back in her chair, linking her hands behind her head and smirking at her spouse.

"Me?" she responded with mock outrage. "You're the one who came in here and tried to accost me."

"I was referring to your teasing of Lt. Ro," Seven said imperturbably. "Nor, did I attempt to 'accost you' as you imply. If I may remind you, I came to your ready room to discuss B'Elanna's request for me to assist her in supervising the repairs. You are the one who altered the subject to last evening and the fact that I came home late. As well as what you had planned had I arrived before you had fallen asleep."

Janeway did her best to look offended. "Can I help it if you've been neglecting me lately?" she asked.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "Neglecting you?" she repeated. "In fact, I attempted to wake you twice last night. Your response was to roll over and resume snoring."

"I do not snore," the captain said with wounded dignity.

"You do," Seven assured her firmly. "If you have doubt, I shall record your next period of slumber so that you may hear it for yourself."

"That won't be necessary," Janeway said dryly. She paused, regarding her spouse closely. "But you did kiss me just now while we are both on duty. You know my opinion regarding such things."

Seven tilted her head. "You placed your right hand on my gluteus maximus and told me if I would acquire the habit of returning home earlier in the evenings, you would have rewarded me 'in a most glorious manner'," she recited in her precise tones. "You pressed your body against mine and lifted your face. Of course I kissed you." She raised an eyebrow. "What would have been your response, had I not?"

Caught, Janeway lowered her head. "I would have kissed you first," she admitted. "But that did not give you leave to pick me up and carry me to the couch with the intention of making love to me."

"It seemed a logical progression to me," Seven noted. She raised her chin. "You certainly did not raise an objection prior to the chime of the door."

Janeway narrowed her eyes. "You're not going to let me win this argument, are you?" she asked.

Seven looked faintly amused. "No," she said.

Janeway did her best to look disgruntled but only managed a fond smile at her spouse. "Seriously, Annika, we can't behave like this on duty," she told her. "It's unprofessional."

Seven inclined her head. "Of course," she replied agreeably and Janeway noted that she chose not to point out it was the captain who seemed to initiate these things lately.

"In any event," Janeway said, trying to get back to the topic. "The report projections B'Elanna's been sending me look quite promising. It seems that even with their disreputable appearance, this station does have all the required parts and equipment to carry out our repairs. It certainly wouldn't hurt to have your keen eye double checking, however." She paused. "Not to mention the Borg element looming over the dock workers. They seem to respect that."

"Or fear it," Seven noted. She hesitated. "Fear can sometimes incite violence, if not against me directly, then against those of my collective. I would feel better if you would remain on the ship during our docking period."

Janeway frowned and lowered her arms, folding her hands neatly in front of her on the desk, unconsciously changing her body language from complete relaxation to that of command firmness.

"I am perfectly capable of looking after myself," she said, eyes glinting. "I know that you don't always believe that, but it is true. Seven, I appreciate that you want to protect me. I even appreciate that my crew is starting to take on that attitude more and more. But I can't function that way personally nor will I be effective as a captain. Don't force me to fight you on this."

Seven considered it thoughtfully. "Very well," she said finally. "I shall attempt to curb my need to take care of you." She paused. "In return..."

Janeway sighed. "In return?" she said, with a certain amount of trepidation.

"In return, I expect you to be prudent in 'picking your spots'," Seven concluded. She held up a warning finger. "And do not say that you are always prudent in that manner because you most certainly are not."

Janeway, who had been about to say just that, drew down her brows. "I wasn't," she said, somewhat defensively. Does she really know me this well? she thought dismally. She exhaled audibly. "I promise."

"That is sufficient," Seven remarked. "Do I have permission to assist B'Elanna?"

"Yes," Janeway said. She thought about it. "It certainly is a change, however." At Seven's questioning expression, she added; "There was a time when B'Elanna didn't want you anywhere near her engine room, let alone helping her supervise repairs."

"I remember," Seven said. For a moment, she and the captain shared a moment of silence as they cast their thoughts back to that time where the Klingon's main attitude toward the Borg was constant antagonism.

Evolution, Janeway decided. Voyager is constantly evolving and some changes have been better than others.

"However, this may have less to do with our friendship and more to do with B'Elanna's hope of acquiring some time off to spend with Lt. Ro," Seven pointed out calmly. "Please do not occupy Laren's attention to the point where she is not free at all."

Janeway was startled. "You know, I'm thinking that you planned this," she complained.

"Not at all," Seven said. "Merely do not go onto the station when B'Elanna is off duty." She leaned forward. "Kathryn, they are still working out their relationship. Do not interfere."

"Me?" Janeway responded with outrage. "I'm just the poor captain stuck in the middle of all these relationships. You know, I wouldn't have to worry about this in the Alpha Quadrant."

"Perhaps not," Seven agreed. "However, I do not think you object to it as much as you pretend."

Janeway held her spouse's gaze, then grinned. "When did you get to know me so well?" she asked.

"It is an ongoing process," Seven told her. She stood up. "I must go to engineering and inform B'Elanna that I can assist her."

Janeway also stood up, going around the corner of her desk to capture her spouse before she left. She reached out and hugged her.

"Tonight, you'll come home early?" she murmured.

"I shall try," Seven said, hugging her back. She rubbed her cheek against the captain's gently. "I know we require time together, Kathryn. I do not want you to think I am unaware of that."

"I don't," Janeway assured her. It had been difficult for the captain and her astrometrics officer the past few months, crossing paths at random, never seeming to have time to spend together as a couple, their domestic routine disrupted by differing shifts and ongoing crises. It was part of the reason Janeway was letting the 'no affectionate gestures while on duty' rule slide a bit. They had been so busy that spare moments on duty were the only time they did manage to cuddle a bit and remind themselves what being together was like.

"Is this station a safe place, Kathryn?" Seven asked quietly.

"I don't know," the captain responded. "But hopefully, it will allow us to bring the ship back up to par and give us some breathing space." She drew back, tilting her head to look into the narrow features of her partner. "This won't last forever, Annika. We will get a set routine for ourselves again, someday."

"That is what carries me through the difficult times," Seven told her. "The promise of being together again in a regular manner so that I can feel as if we are a family unit again."

"I know it's been hard," Janeway said contritely. "Come here."

Obligingly Seven tightened her embrace and lowered her face so that Janeway could capture the full lips. They kissed for some time ... more time than they could probably afford, in fact ... and Janeway had to force herself to release her partner.

"Early tonight," she reminded.

"Yes," Seven said.

Janeway sighed and leaned back against her desk, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared at the doors which had slid shut behind her partner. She knew that they were better off than most, that her bond with Seven was such that they were able to connect during this uncertain period in ways that others could not. But it was still not good for their marriage nor for them as individuals. It affected their moods, it affected their tempers and it affected their health. Janeway was convinced that a recent injury she suffered took much longer to heal because of the stress and she also believed that Seven's sudden preoccupation with protecting the captain was a direct offshoot from the instability of their lives.

Just a month or so more, she told herself. Already, the first babies had been delivered in sickbay, a strapping, six pound boy to Lt. Swift and Ensign Ryson and a delicate little girl to the Chapmans. The rest were supposed to be born within the next week or so and Janeway supposed she should be grateful for finding this station, despite its disreputable appearance. This also meant that the end of the transitional period was in sight and the beginning of Voyager's new existence as a generational ship would be established. The renovations were nearly complete and the facilities for families were almost all in place.

Then perhaps the crew and their captain would be able to settle into a new routine, one where she could have Seven all to herself on a regular basis.

She blinked as her door chime sounded and she lifted her head.

"Come," she invited.

The door slid open and Janeway was surprised to see the small form of Naomi Wildman enter. For six years, the girl had been the only child on Voyager and the captain wondered how much this whole thing was affecting her in that capacity.

"Naomi," she said with honest pleasure. "Have a seat."

"I can't stay long, Captain," Naomi responded in a small voice.

Janeway immediately realized something was wrong and she gentled her voice even more.

"What can I do for you?" she asked.

The child was having difficulty looking Janeway in the eye and the captain frowned, studying the young girl's features. Born to the Human Ensign Samantha Wildman and her Katarian husband who had been left behind in the Alpha Quadrant, Naomi displayed a line of bone ridges bisecting her forehead. Other than that, she was a typical little girl with long strawberry blonde hair and bright, open features. Except, today, her face was dark and unusually shy.

"I have to resign as your assistant," she said in a rush.

"What?" Janeway asked, profoundly startled. "Why?"

The child had made a determined effort to become the captain's assistant, a role which did not really exist in Starfleet though Janeway had been glad to indulge the small fantasy, providing a set group of tasks for the child to carry out every day.

"Naomi," Janeway asked quietly, when the little girl did not answer. "Please tell me what's wrong."

The little girl looked up and the captain was shocked to see tears shimmering in the cornflower eyes.

"I just can't be your assistant," she said, handing something to the captain. Automatically, Janeway accepted it, realizing to her dismay that it was the pip she had given Naomi from the captain's own collar to indicate her 'rank'. Before Janeway could do or say anything else, the child whirled and darted out the door.

"Naomi," Janeway called, belatedly straightening and going after her. But when she entered the bridge, the turbolift door was sliding shut behind the girl and no matter how much she might feel the need, Janeway really couldn't go after her. Especially when it was clear Naomi did not want her to.

She exchanged a glance with Tuvok who regarded her with faint puzzlement, then looked around the rest of the bridge. Most were intent on their stations, not even having noticed the minor drama which had occurred to the side of the bridge. Feeling very confused and somewhat upset herself, Janeway returned to her ready room, wondering what had made the little girl so unhappy that she no longer wanted to associate with the captain. Seven of Nine finished up her shift in engineering and turned it over to B'Elanna who looked much better than she had when Seven had shown up earlier in the day. Sometimes the Borg thought that the crew took too much of their cue from the captain. Janeway liked to drive herself almost to the point of physical debilitation, so others did as well. B'Elanna had obviously had little sleep the past few days and the break Seven provided by taking over the supervision of the repairs for an extra shift afforded the Klingon a chance to recharge.

Seven checked the time and hoped that Janeway would accept returning home at 0015 hours as 'early'. Even if it meant early in the morning. She entered her quarters and moved quietly into the bedroom, realizing that the illumination was still up, but her partner wasn't. Janeway's head was back, her mouth slightly open, snoring faintly as a result of her positioning. There was a book resting on the captain's belly where it had fallen, still open, and carefully Seven removed it from beneath Janeway's hands. The Borg quirked an eyebrow at the lurid cover, displaying a tall, dark, handsome man clutching a dewy eyed ingenue to his breast, and was amused as she placed it into the drawer of the captain's night stand. Another book which rested nearby, a tome on ancient Egyptian Archaeology which Seven knew Janeway grabbed to disguise her indulgence for 'bodice rippers', was also placed in the drawer, hiding the cover of the first and helping the captain maintain the illusion that Seven was unaware of her not-very-secret vice.

Then Seven drew the linens up around the captain, tucking her in, before going to the ensuite where she stripped off her biometric outfit and readied for bed. She cleaned her teeth, brushed out her blonde hair, and returned to the bedroom, crawling onto the mattress next to Janeway who mumbled and rolled over. Seven pulled the smaller woman into her arms, cuddling her close as she settled into the warmth, bringing the lights down with a softly uttered command to the computer. She felt Janeway nuzzle into her throat as the captain often did while asleep, an unconscious seeking of comfort and physical contact in the night.

"Hmm, this is not early," Janeway complained drowsily, surprising her partner.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "I believed you to be asleep," she said. "Nor did I intend to wake you."

"But we had a date tonight," Janeway returned.

Seven sighed. "I know," she said. "I am sorry, Kathryn. My extra shift did not ... finish as planned."

Janeway relented, kissing the Borg's jaw tenderly. "Things rarely seem to lately," she said in rueful agreement.

She snuggled closer, resting her head on Seven's chest, draping herself across the Borg's torso, her left arm and leg pinning the Borg to the bed. Seven enjoyed it, feeling loved and secure in the possessive embrace.

"I don't suppose you feel like making love?" Janeway asked wistfully.

Seven hesitated.

"I'll take that as a 'no'," Janeway answered for her. She brushed her lips over Seven's jaw. "That's okay, darling, I don't really feel like it either."

Seven suspected that to be somewhat of a falsehood but she appreciated that her partner was respecting the Borg's lack of interest just as Seven respected Janeway's when positions were reversed.

"I do like holding you," Seven told her, kissing the captain's forehead. "This is what I have looked forward to all evening. Coming home and putting my arms around you."

She felt the muscles in Janeway's face twitch against the skin of her chest and she knew the captain must be smiling.

"It's ironic," she said.

"What is?" Seven asked.

"Things are so unsettled and yet, I'm so happy, just lying here in your arms," Janeway explained. She paused briefly. "I used to think," she added quietly, "that I would sacrifice anything to get my ship home. But if it meant giving this up, if it meant not being able to share my life with you, then I would gladly stay in the Delta Quadrant forever."

Seven was vastly impressed by this statement. She knew better than anyone how much Janeway wanted ... needed ... to get her crew and ship home safely.

"You will have both," Seven said.

"Promise?"

"I do," Seven whispered. "If it is at all within my power to accomplish, then yes, I do promise."

"Sweet talker," Janeway accused with gentle humor, but Seven knew she was pleased.

Another comfortable silence passed and Seven felt drowsiness steal over her. She was aware of Janeway's hand rubbing her belly lightly and it soothed her, making her sleepy.

"Naomi resigned as my captain's assistant today," Janeway said suddenly.

Startled, Seven forced her eyes open.

"Indeed?" she said, trying to get her mind working again. "Why?"

"She didn't tell me," Janeway said. "But I have a pretty good idea."

"Yes?" Seven queried. "What is that?"

"Isn't it obvious?" the captain said, a touch of bitterness in her tone. "I'm too frightening to be around. After all, I sacrificed a child to save the ship. She's probably afraid I'll sacrifice her next."

Seven blinked. She must have missed that encounter.

"When did you do that?" she asked, astonished.

Janeway inhaled slowly. "Ensign White's child," she said.

Seven frowned and gently stroked her partner's hair. The attack which had damaged the ship so recently, had also contributed to a crewmember's offspring being stillborn ... however, there were many factors involved and Janeway's decision to turn and fight Voyager's pursuers was the only tactically sound choice she could have made. Yet, it was her partner's nature to take responsibility for all things ... even those she had absolutely no control over.

"Kathryn," Seven admonished gently, "You take too much on yourself. You were not to blame for Ensign White losing her child. It was unfortunate and sad, but definitely not your fault." She hugged her tightly. "In any event, I fail to see how the encounter with the alien vessels is in any way, related to Naomi."

"What else could it be, Annika?" Janeway asked sadly.

"There are many possibilities," Seven assured her. "At best, you are speculating about her motivations. At worst, you are seeking reasons to punish yourself. That is not acceptable. I shall find out why Naomi no longer wishes to pursue her role as your assistant. In the meantime, I suggest that you not concern yourself unduly about it."

Janeway was silent. "Is that an order?" she asked finally.

Seven considered it. "Yes," she said.

"You've become quite ... feisty, lately," Janeway noted, wiggling closer.

"It is the only way in which I can maintain a position of equality with you," Seven returned dryly. "And it is my understanding that a joining of equals is the most desirous form of matrimony."

"It is," Janeway said. She suddenly looked sheepish. "Even if I still try to throw my weight around here when I shouldn't."

"I have learned to differentiate between your role as captain," Seven remarked. "And your role as my spouse. Sometimes the line is blurred and in the rest of the ship, I shall always err on the side of the captain. However, here, in our quarters..."

"Message understood," Janeway replied. She had lifted her head from the Borg's chest as Seven spoke so that she could look into her partner's face. "In private, you get to tell me when I'm out of line."

"Not just 'out of line', Kathryn," Seven noted thoughtfully. "You must trust in me enough to believe it when I tell you when you are successful. I have discovered that since our joining, my opinion has a certain influence in your decisions, both personal and professional, in a way that you allow no one else. It is a great responsibility and one that I am honored to hold. I swear to you I shall never betray it."

"I know, my darling," Janeway said, Her face was soft, vulnerable. "You're the only one I would trust with it."

Seven studied the level eyes regarding her, the way they were shaded perfectly between grey and blue, visible only because of her enhanced implant that allowed her to see in the low illumination. It seemed that the stars themselves were caught in the captain's gaze and she felt varied emotions rise strong within her; love, admiration, tenderness ... and desire. She inhaled deeply and entwined the fingers of her free hand with the one Janeway was resting on her chest, bringing it up to kiss the captain's palm gently, lingeringly.

An elegant eyebrow quirked and the corner of Janeway's mouth curled upward.

"Darling?"

"I believe," Seven said softly, "that I have changed my mind."

"About?"

"Making love."

"Ah," Janeway said, and the flash of teeth appeared white between the wine shaded lips. Her voice dropped to a husky trill, a reverberation that shivered the Borg's very bones. "That's certainly a woman's prerogative."

"It is?"

"An ancient Human saying, my love," Janeway whispered, brushing her lips over Seven's, tasting them with slow pleasure.

Seven filed it away as something to pursue later and returned the kisses, soft, gentle, just a hint of the arousal building within her. She drew her hands down Kathryn's back, trailing over her spine languidly, her fingertips bumping against the slight protrusions of bone. Kathryn had such a lovely back, smooth, silken, flowing gracefully down to the full buttocks that Seven loved to touch. She touched them now, cupping each one and squeezing them as she pulled Janeway closer to her.

Janeway made a small sound in the back of her throat, one of delight and she pressed down, grinding into Seven who felt a responding flare of desire. Seven could feel the captain's small breasts press against her own, the nipples hardening to prod into her chest provocatively. Their kisses deepened, lips parting to allow the access of tongues, wet and warm, exploring with an intimacy that Seven thought she would be perfectly content to experience for hours. But Kathryn seemed less willing to wait that long, her legs parting to fall on either side of Seven's thigh, the captain's warm, wet area bathing the Borg's upper leg with moisture.

Janeway's respiration quickened and she undulated briefly, the little nodule skidding along the firm muscle of Seven's thigh. That stoked the Borg's desire higher, the flicker of flame flaring into a full fire, and abruptly she pulled Kathryn closer, kissing her with deep passion which the captain clearly enjoyed, returning the kiss with demanding intensity. Seven had to pull back to catch her breath, sucking in air harshly as Janeway nipped and nibbled at the Borg's chin and neck, tracing along her jaw, up to her ear.

"Oh, love," Kathryn husked, the wonderful voice, as always, serving to heighten Seven's pleasure even more. "Do you know how beautiful you are, how very much I want you?"

"I love you," Seven responded, far less verbal than her spouse but just as sincere.

She nudged Kathryn over so that they were both lying on their sides, allowing the young woman to run her right hand firmly down Janeway's ribs, over her hip and to the juncture between the captain's legs, fingertips playing at the apex of the crease. Obligingly, Janeway drew her knee up to rest it on Seven's hip, granting her lover full access to her.

Seven made another sound, soft and inviting, tracing lightly over the warm flesh of swollen crease, barely touching with her fingers, almost trembling as she felt the moist heat awaiting her.

"Annika," Kathryn breathed, a wealth of meaning in the name, aching, anticipating ... imploring. "Don't tease."

Seven smiled, unaware that she did so, and slipped her fingers along the tender flesh, seeking out the nodule, fondling it gently but firmly, knowing how her partner liked to be touched, where she enjoyed pressure and conversely, where she required the utmost tenderness. Janeway buried her face in Seven's neck as she moaned loudly, her hands running over the woman's back and shoulders, coming up to tangle in the blonde hair, then she drew back, her gaze wide and wild, staring into Seven's eyes.

"Kiss me," she commanded in what was almost a growl.

Seven did so gladly, covering the smaller woman's lips, kissing her firmly as she felt Janeway surge against her, catching the even louder moan in her mouth, swallowing it as she slipped her fingertips down to the opening. It welcomed her penetration eagerly, the Borg slipping fully into Kathryn with two fingers as the smooth, clinging walls surrounded the digits in a most intimate embrace.

Seven took a second to compose herself, finding it far too easy to lose herself in the sensation of being inside her partner. She tried to concentrate on what she sensed from Kathryn, taking her cues from the smaller woman in when and how to stroke, pressing deep inside to explore the varied textures, then withdrawing a little to find that smooth spot, which caused the captain to twitch uncontrollably as she pressed on it. She brought her thumb into play, manipulating it over Kathryn's hardened ridge, finding an even rhythm with her hand which accomplished her goal very quickly. Janeway tore her lips away from Seven's, crying out loudly as she began to spasm, clutching at her spouse, nails digging into the Borg's shoulders.

Seven closed her eyes as Janeway finally relaxed, adoring her with everything she was, luxuriating in the pleasure she felt at being able to share this intimate and physically connecting expression of their love. Janeway swallowed and purred, pushing Seven onto her back.

"My turn," the captain murmured with anticipation and delight.

Seven smiled again as the captain trailed down her body, hands and mouth exploring the Borg avidly, sensitive fingers drawing the most wonderful sensations from her spouse. Seven's head went back and her lips parted as she felt Kathryn's mouth cover her intimate region, the Borg whispering her lover's name to the night while the captain tasted her, pleasuring her with lips and tongue until it quickly overwhelmed the young woman. Seven arched, trembling as the orgasm rippled through her, every nerve ending completely centered on that perfect connection between Janeway's mouth and the young woman.

"Oh, Kathryn." she cried, her right hand tangled in the auburn hair, holding the captain to her as the other, mesh-covered one, bent and crumpled the metal bar at the head of their bed.

Afterward, they snuggled together, sleep claiming Janeway quickly as she settled heavily in the Borg's arms. Seven remained awake a little longer, taking these few moments, as she always did, to appreciate the woman in her arms, to bask in the great joy she had found in simply being with her. The last thought Seven had before surrendering to slumber herself was a profound gratitude for the prerogative she had to change her mind, so glad she had availed herself of this newfound Human female liberty. B'Elanna Torres stepped off the turbolift on deck three, feeling relaxed for the first time in a week and a half. The station engineers had finally proven their ability to the Klingon's exacting standards and she was able to ease off her constant supervision, bringing her routine back down to a single duty rotation rather than the double and triple shifts she had been pulling. She was keenly aware that if it hadn't been for Seven, she probably would have collapsed somewhere in the middle of the first week and it was for this reason that she was on the way to the captain's quarters. In her hands was a small, brightly wrapped package, a gesture of thanks to the Borg. It was certainly not anything B'Elanna would have thought of herself a few months earlier but when Ro Laren mentioned casually when they crossed paths a day or so ago that the engineer should 'find a way to thank Seven', Klingon found herself here, bearing gifts.

B'Elanna just hoped Seven would like it, since gift giving was not a skill she was particularly adept at.

She pressed the chime to the door, waiting patiently until the door slid open to reveal the slender form of the Borg.

"B'Elanna Torres," Seven identified in her very precise tones. Her eyebrow quirked slightly, indicating her surprise at seeing the engineer. "Lunch has already occurred."

"Jeez, Seven," B'Elanna said, brushing past her to enter the quarters. "I don't come by just to eat."

"Actually, you do," Seven noted accurately. "I do not believe you have ever visited me in these quarters when it was not meal time."

B'Elanna opened her mouth to respond, thought about it, then nodded as she conceded the point. "Fine," she allowed. "However, today I dropped by to give you this."

Seven accepted the small package which was wrapped in silvery paper, examining it carefully.

"It is not my birthday," she noted with some confusion though B'Elanna saw how the Borg's pale eyes had lit up with pleasure at the prospect of a present.

Sometimes, she's such a little kid, the Klingon noted fondly.

"It's not a birthday present," she explained. "It's to thank you for covering the beta shift the last week and a half while the worst of the repair work was being done."

"Indeed?" Seven responded. She raised her eyes, meeting B'Elanna's. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," B'Elanna said. She paused. "Are you going to open it now?"

"May I?" Seven asked with a hint of excitement.

"Sure," B'Elanna said, stifling her grin. She went over and took a seat on the couch, glancing around. "Where's the captain?"

"She is visiting the stationmaster," Seven remarked absently as she concentrated on carefully detaching the wrapping paper where it was fastened. "She hopes that with all the repairs finished, she can negotiate for the station work teams to turn their attention on completing the remaining renovations."

B'Elanna stifled a sigh. The Klingon had wondered where Ro had gone after a query to the ship's computer had indicated only that the security officer was not on the ship. If Ro was with the captain, however, she was on duty and no doubt, had her hands full. Somehow, B'Elanna didn't think that she would be having dinner with the Bajoran this evening either.

"These are wonderful," Seven said suddenly, regarding her newly discovered treasures. She beamed at the Klingon. "Thank you, B'Elanna."

The engineer squirmed uncomfortably at the bright smile on her friend's face even as she was bashfully pleased at how enthusiastically her gift had been received.

"Well, I heard you were expanding your wardrobe a bit," she said shyly. "I thought that you might find a use for some decorative hair clips to go with your new clothes."

"I shall," Seven said. She took a seat in the armchair, placing the gift box carefully on the coffee table. "Are you off duty now? Can you visit for a while?"

"Yeah, Vorik and Carey are riding herd on those jokers from Balleyport," B'Elanna responded. She sighed before relenting. "Aw, they aren't so bad. Not too polished, of course, and crude as hell, but they do know their stuff. If the captain can get them to tackle the remaining renovations before they leave, that would be great. It wouldn't take them long at all to get those done ... not with the equipment and manpower they have."

"It was a most fortunate happenstance," Seven agreed. "Finding this station."

"Well, after the luck we've had the last little while, it was about time some of it started turning good," the Klingon noted, relaxing against the cushions. "I guess things happen in cycles .. a little good news, a little bad."

"How goes your relationship with Ro Laren?" Seven asked then.

B'Elanna resisted the urge to roll her eyes. That was Seven all right. One never knew what she was going to come out with next. And she never danced around a subject, just leaped for the point like a targe lunging after a flesh-covered bone. B'Elanna's Human half was appalled by it while her Klingon side fully appreciated the directness of it.

"We're doing alright," B'Elanna said cautiously.

"Are you copulating?"

"Kahless, Seven," B'Elanna burst out. "Don't you have any discretion?"

Seven blinked. "I was unaware you required it," she noted in a puzzled tone. "After all, it is you who initiated such conversations in the past, particularly regarding the explicit details of your sexual escapades with Chakotay."

B'Elanna remembered those conversations quite well and she could feel the heat in her face as she flushed.

"Okay, but this is different," she protested lamely. "Laren is ... different."

"How so?" Seven asked with great interest.

B'Elanna tried to find a way out of this one.

"She just is," she mumbled.

"Ah," Seven remarked. She paused. "You are not copulating," she concluded.

B'Elanna groaned.

"No," she admitted finally. "We're not."

"Why not?"

Now B'Elanna did roll her eyes.

"We just haven't," she said. She breathed deeply for a few moments. "We're going slow, 'Nik," she said, dropping her voice in a tone of confidentiality as she utilized the diminutive of Seven's Human designation. "This is real and neither of us want to move too quickly ... or mess it up somehow by jumping the gun, you know?"

Seven frowned. "I believe so," she said thoughtfully. "I did not in the beginning with Kathryn, but after she lost her memory, I learned the value of taking one's time in building a relationship."

"Then there's the whole female thing," B'Elanna blurted, the words out her mouth before she could stop them. "Neither of us have ever been with a woman."

Seven regarded her evenly. "And that is an obstacle?" she asked.

"Men and women just aren't ... the same, 'Nik," B'Elanna told her glumly.

"So I have been informed," Seven replied, seemingly unimpressed by such data. She quirked an eyebrow. "What is it that you fear?"

B'Elanna bristled at the implication of cowardice, then felt the annoyance dissipate as quickly as she had to acknowledge the accuracy of Seven's question.

"I don't know," she admitted finally. "Maybe I'm afraid that a woman would be a lot harder to please than a man. Or maybe I'm just afraid that I'll be too much for her. God knows, I've been too much for a lot of the men in my life ... or too little."

Seven tilted her head slightly, curious. "Explain," she requested gently.

B'Elanna was absolutely humiliated to discover tears stinging her eyes and she blinked rapidly, hoping that the Borg wouldn't notice, though truth be told, there was little that escaped Seven's notice.

"I don't know that our sex will be any good," the engineer muttered.

"It shall not," Seven said with assurance.

Startled, B'Elanna looked at her for an explanation.

"There is a difference between 'sex' and making love," Seven revealed. "The former can be 'fun' but it is rarely as fulfilling as the latter. You must always make love to Laren, B'Elanna, not merely have sex with her. If you remember that, it will always be wonderful."

B'Elanna was speechless.

"How do you know?" she asked, finally finding her voice after gaping at the Borg in a somewhat astounded manner.

"When Kathryn and I utilize our accessory, it is occasionally more an exercise in mechanics than anything else," Seven explained. "I am always aware that it is a device providing the stimulation rather than when Kathryn and I make love naturally."

B'Elanna knew she was staring. She was even aware that her mouth had probably fallen open.

"An 'accessory'?" she repeated stupidly.

"Oh, I had not realized," Seven remarked, as if remembering something, "You have never seen it, even though it was originally your suggestion."

"My suggestion?" B'Elanna said, but Seven had already uncoiled from the chair and disappeared into the bedroom. When she returned, she was bearing a plain wooden box which she opened in order to display the contents to a shocked and flabbergasted chief engineer.

"Kahless's crotch," the engineer swore, staring at the thirty inch long, greyish representative of Humanoid male genitalia. "You don't use that on the captain?!?"

Seven frowned, as if wondering what the Klingon's problem was, then brightened as she realized what the objection might be based on.

"It is fully adjustable," Seven told her, drawing out a small remote control and changing the settings. "It also has options which include varied speeds of vibration along with a wide range of colors and patterns." Before the Klingon's eyes, the artificial penis shrank to more Human standards and altered its shade to a bright, neon blue.

B'Elanna inhaled, realizing she had stopped breathing only when she grew lightheaded, accepting the artificial penis automatically as Seven handed it to her. She nearly dropped it as she felt how realistic it was in terms of both texture and temperature, if not in color.

"Where the hell did you get this?" she asked in shock.

"From the replicator," Seven said, puzzled. "It was under the recreational program: Sexual Aids, Multi-species. It is called the Wonder Wand 9000™ and seems to fulfill its function adequately. It required 325 equipment replicator rations but fortunately, I had a great many saved from the time I first came on board Voyager."

"I was just yanking your chain about sex toys, Seven," B'Elanna protested as she gingerly handled the device. "I never thought you would actually take me up on it."

Though the uncomfortable memory of another jocular suggestion regarding fur-lined cuffs and whips had also been taken seriously by the Borg with unpleasant consequences. The Klingon had found herself dangling upside down off the catwalk in engineering, suspended only by the iron grip of Seven's Borg enhanced left hand wrapped around her ankle as the young woman demanded an apology. It had been a lesson suitably impressed upon the Klingon and she had curbed her 'suggestions' shortly after that. But not, apparently, before suggesting a 'sex toy' to the Borg.

"Does it really work?" she asked dubiously.

Seven took a moment to think about it carefully. "Kathryn enjoys it on occasion," she allowed with a certain amount of reserve. "And since I enjoy pleasing her, it is not an unappealing exercise. I derive a certain amount of appreciation for the variety it provides. However," she added thoughtfully, "if you believe that being with a female is mechanically uncertain, perhaps assuming the role of the 'male' may assist your confidence."

B'Elanna went to rub her forehead before suddenly realizing that she was still hanging onto the artificial penis. She quickly tossed it back into the box.

"Maybe I should just keep it simple," she said. "At least, in the beginning."

Seven considered it seriously. "Yes," she allowed. "That would be wise."

The Borg reset the controls, repositioned the device properly in the box, then shut it tightly before carrying it back into the bedroom. B'Elanna covered her eyes with her hands and tried to purge her mind of the very vivid and quite discomforting mental images of Seven utilizing the wonder wand on the captain or worse, the captain using it on Seven. Right then and there, the engineer decided that she knew far too much about her best friend's love life and vowed never to bring it up in a conversation again. Ro Laren stood silently in the corner of the office as Captain Janeway and Stationmaster Twimm discussed the additional work the woman wanted the station to perform on Voyager in completing final renovations. The Bajoran realized that if Janeway could indeed, arrange that, Voyager would be able to leave here with its crew back on a regular shift schedule which would mean the world in terms of morale, and she hoped that Janeway would be able to pull it off. She was dismayed, however, at the hard line Janeway was taking in the negotiations. Particularly when one considered that the form of exchange was an element easily replicated by the ship.

Yet, when it was all over, the stationmaster was actually sweating a bit as he shook Janeway's hand, having finally conceded to every one of her demands.

"I have to admit Captain Janeway ... Kathryn," he began. He hesitated. "May I call you Kathryn?"

Janeway graciously inclined her head, granting her permission, a smoke stick angled out the corner of her mouth, a thin line of grey smoke rising to join the rest which fogged the small office.

"Kathryn, you are one hell of a negotiator," he said with nothing but admiration in his voice. He fluffed out his reddish mane which had gotten a bit limp in the course of the bargaining session. "I don't suppose I could convince you to base yourself out of here for awhile? The station will supply all your needs and in return, you take care of any deals I need to make?"

"Sorry, Twimm," Janeway responded in a husky growl that Ro was convinced resulted from the damn smokesticks. The Bajoran allowed in her deepest, most secret thoughts, that it was sort of sexy though, even if the cause of it was anything but. "We still have a long journey ahead of us. And it's one that we really don't wish to delay any longer than necessary."

He nodded, accepting the point, yet clearly regretful. "If you ever change your mind, you know where we are," he said. "The offer will stand. In the meantime, I'll get the crews onto those areas immediately. We should have Voyager at one hundred percent by late this evening."

"Thank you," Janeway said, getting up from her chair. It was a measure of the stationmaster's growing regard for the feisty little Starfleet captain that he also rose to his feet as she left.

Ro gulped the fresher air in the outer lobby gratefully, even with the arid tang of conduit coolant drying her nasal passages. She tried not to gasp as she passed the sullen form of the receptionist who glared at the Federation representatives, obviously thinking that the Starfleet captain was becoming entirely too cozy with her boss. The Bajoran's head still ached a little from the smoke, though the captain seemed not to be suffering at all. Indeed, Janeway kept the cigarillo lit, chewing it slightly between her teeth as she strode jauntily along. The Bajoran wondered how Seven would react when she saw the box full of the smokesticks which Twimm had bestowed on Janeway as a gift early on in the negotiations. It was now tucked neatly under the captain's arm as the women left the administration area of the station and somehow, Ro did not think Seven would be particularly pleased to see it.

"You know, this place is beginning to grow on me," Janeway noted.

"It's certainly growing something," Ro mumbled as she nimbly avoided brushing against a peculiar green patch on the hull which looked suspiciously like mold. She was grateful the Doctor had insisted on full spectrum immunization before anyone entered the station. She could only imagine the strains of bacteria breeding in this atmosphere.

"Uh, Captain," she offered as they came to a staircase. "The docking section can be reached more quickly if we go this way."

"Oh, I'm not going back to the ship yet, Lieutenant," Janeway said, descending the curling stairs.

Ro stifled her sigh and followed her captain.

"May I ask where we're going?" she asked.

"I'm going to check out the main promenade," Janeway explained easily.

"Is that wise, Captain?" Ro responded, knowing it was exactly the wrong thing to say the second it left her lips ... even before she saw the steely glint enter the eyes which were suddenly more grey than blue, or the way the captain's jaw stuck out pugnaciously.

"Lieutenant, if you wish to return to the ship, you are more than welcome to do so," Janeway said in the sort of tone that left no question about it being negotiable. "But I am going to check out the promenade."

"Yes, Captain," Ro replied smartly, unconsciously straightening her spine as she hurried to match the smaller woman's brisk stride. "I would prefer to accompany you."

"Your choice," Janeway said with casual disregard.

To Ro's dismay, the captain made a bee-line away from the merchant section to where the drinking establishments resided, choosing the entrance to what had to be the most disreputable looking one of the bunch, though none of them were the type Ro was anxious to enter. The Bajoran was very aware of several ocular sense organs focusing on the two women as they came in, the raucous sound of multi-language conversations dying to a mutter before starting up again, louder than before. Janeway seemed oblivious to it, however, and without breaking stride, found a table in the corner where she sat down regally, her back to the wall, facing out to the rest of the room. Ro hastily took a seat next to the captain, wanting her back to the wall as well.

The captain tossed a few grey triangles onto the table top, the clink managing to cut through even the various loud discussions and before the ring had died away, there was a greasy waiter looming over them. Unobtrusively, Ro reached down and touched the hilt of the stiletto in her boot ... just to make sure it was still there.

"Whattayawant?" he grunted, reaching down to pick up one of the coins, biting on it to check its purity. His beady eyes lit up greedily and he attempted a more friendly expression which did little to make him more appealing.

"The house ale," Janeway replied. She glanced over at Ro. "Lieutenant?"

Ro nodded shortly, indicating that the captain's selection would also be sufficient for her. She had no intention of drinking it, of course but she needed something in front of her so as not to attract attention. Before long, two mugs filled to the brim with a foamy, reddish colored liquid was slammed down onto the table, the overflow gushing over the sides a little. Ro hoped that meant any germs on the mug rims would be killed by the power of the alcohol. Or the smell, which alone served to make the Bajoran a little light-headed.

Janeway took a healthy draught from her mug and looked expectantly at Ro. The Bajoran picked up her tankard, trying not to get a good indication of its cleanliness ... or lack thereof ... in the dim illumination, and sipped it cautiously.

It went down easy enough but when it hit the bottom, it was as if a fire had been ignited and it took everything Ro had not to gasp like a fish out of water. Janeway's eyes narrowed, as if amused and she took another swig before she slouched back against her chair, looking over the room contemplatively. Ro didn't know what the hell was going on here but she doubted she would find out by asking directly so she maintained her own counsel as Janeway finished the first brew and signaled for another.

But moments went by with the captain offering nothing and finally, Ro was prompted to initiate the conversation.

"Permission to speak freely?"

Janeway quirked an elegant eyebrow and Ro wondered how the woman managed to look so damned classy in such a dump. Or maybe it was the contrast that gave her such an imperious air, particularly with the smoke stick in one hand and a mug of ale in the other.

"Granted," the captain said, stubbing the cigarillo out into the small dish provided by the waiter when he had brought the second round.

"Is there a point to this?" Ro asked, assuming that Janeway would know what she was referring to and hoping that the captain respected her enough not to pretend otherwise.

The captain smiled faintly. "Let's just say it's time for me to remind people who the Starfleet captain is here," she said. "And what restrictions can and cannot be placed on one."

Ro contemplated her ale thoughtfully, the foam having subsided considerably.

"I see," she said. "And coming to this bar will prove that?"

Janeway ceded the point with a twitch of her cheek. "Perhaps not," she allowed. "Or maybe I just want to have a little fun. I am allowed to, you know. Once in a while."

Ro inhaled slowly. Great, she noted gloomily, a captain with a mid-life crisis. That's all I need.

Or maybe it was just that the six years of being out in the Delta Quadrant without support had finally caught up to Janeway. Ro supposed she could understand that but she wished to hell it hadn't happened on the Bajoran's watch. She wondered if somewhere, Tuvok was getting the Vulcan equivalent to a belly laugh out of this one.

"Don't look so down, Ro," Janeway remarked dryly. "I promise, one more round and then we can go back to the ship."

"Thank you, Captain," Ro said gratefully.

Janeway laughed, a wonderfully rich, penetrating laugh and suddenly Ro had a hint of why B'Elanna was so impressed and influenced by the powerful woman. It went beyond just being in the presence of a commanding demeanor, it was charm and warmth and a hundred other things that made up the person who was Kathryn Janeway. And Ro wondered what Seven had done to so completely captivate the captain, how such a cold fish as the Borg had managed to attract this vital and vivacious woman. Ro knew for a fact, that she herself, would never accept the formidable challenge of being involved with such a dominating personality.

Although, she noted to herself, B'Elanna was no slouch in the dominating personality department either. Without question, interesting times lay ahead for the Bajoran, and Ro wondered if she would survive them.

Loud voices interrupted her musing and she frowned, glancing over to another part of the room where a game of chance had apparently degenerated into a shoving match. Then one of the players, a huge alien with leathery skin and a curved down snout, shoved another over a nearby table, sending him crashing to the floor.

"Uh, Captain, perhaps we should skip the next round," she said tightly.

"Perhaps you're correct, Lieutenant," Janeway allowed, shifting uneasily in her chair.

The two women waited until things has settled a bit, then got up, but they were still too late to make a graceful exit. The two aliens who had been talking intently to the original aggressor apparently said something wrong and were rewarded with clouts across their respective heads by one massive arm.

Things disintegrated quickly from there, as these things were wont to do, and the next thing Ro knew, she was backed up against the wall, trading blows with a bar patron who she had to dispatch with a quick straight-armed palm to the chin, snapping his head back. She glanced over at Janeway just in time to see a burly alien reach out and grab the captain, twisting her around. Janeway did not hesitate, scooping up her mug as she went and bringing it around in a crimson liquid sweep to smash it into the alien's temple. The glass shattered impressively, the alien going down like a ton of bricks and Ro realized that apparently, this was not the first bar fight the captain had ever participated in. Indeed, her next move against a follow-up opponent indicated that she more than knew how to take care of herself in such a situation. Then the Bajoran was suddenly much too busy to watch out for the captain, being completely occupied with watching out for herself as two more assailants lunged at her.

Ro ducked a roundhouse and as the momentum swung her assailant around, she planted her foot in the broad backside presented and launched him across the room into another table. She went to her knees as a chair shattered over her back and she rolled to her feet, finding space to allow her speed and reflexes free rein, though she hesitated about reaching down for her knife. So far, the brawl had restrained itself to fisticuffs, and bringing a weapon into it might only welcome the appearance of others, directed at her and the captain. Reluctantly, she let go of the dagger's hilt and raised her arm to block the next blow.

A wave of ale washed over her, leaving her sticky and reeking of alcohol, and she blinked furiously as she shook her head. She cleared her vision in time to see someone pick the captain up by the seat of her pants and the scruff of her neck, dragging Janeway lengthwise along the top of the bar.

The captain raised her arms protectively in front of her as she plowed through the leftover mugs, a spray of glass and liquid rising in her wake as she careened down the counter, shot impressively off the end of the bar and landed on a table, the entire thing collapsing beneath this Humanoid projectile.

Tuvok is just going to kill me, Ro thought in despair as she frantically tried to make her way over to Janeway. Even if I survive this insanity, the chief is just going to shred me into bits and throw the remainder out the nearest airlock. And the worst part was, he would do it in that calm, infinitely logical Vulcan manner of his, not once raising his voice.

Ro picked up a nearby chair and used it to clear the path to where she had last seen Janeway. She found the captain holding her own with a drunken alien who loomed over her but seemed unable to wrap up the quick little human female in a bear hug, though whether he wanted to kill her or kiss her was uncertain, judging by the leer on his face. Ro finished the whole business by slamming her battering ram across the back of his head, dropping him in his tracks.

Janeway shot her a flash of gratitude before turning to her next opponent and Ro realized with a certain amount of disgruntlement that the captain was actually enjoying this. Certainly the little grin which curled the elegant lips was not the sort of thing a Starfleet captain should be displaying as she gleefully hammered a patron who had lunged at her, avoiding his grasp and using a table leg to belt him one across the chops. Ro felt weariness dragging at her limbs as she blocked the clumsy punches of one of the card players whose game had started the whole mess. She finished him with a one-two combination from her martial arts training before being bowled over by a smaller form who tackled her about the knees. She used the momentum to continue the roll, using her legs to send him flying over her head where he crashed resoundingly into the wall.

Then there were yells at the bar's entrance, the appearance of uniforms indicating that finally, someone had called station security. It had taken the constables a while to wander down from their office but once they were there, they waded in without hesitation, breaking up the brawl with the age-old technique of administering well placed blows on the various combatants with their night sticks.

They were headed directly for the captain and Ro reached for Janeway, concern for her safety her primary goal. She never saw the blow which smacked across the back of her head, sending her plunging into complete and utter darkness. The trial was short, sweet and to the point. A hastily summoned magistrate glared balefully at the dozen or so bedraggled and reeking combatants lined up before him and he slammed his gavel down on his bench with great authority.

"Thirty days or three hundred credits," he bellowed. "Lock 'em up and contact their ships. When their shipmates come to bail them out, make sure their captains know that this trash is restricted to the docking section only for the rest of their stay on Balleyport Station."

Janeway kept her head down and obediently went where she was directed, trying to be unobtrusive as she quietly told the clerk the name of her ship and the officer who was supposed to be contacted. Beside her, Ro staggered woozily, trying to go where the captain guided her, giving every indication of being drunk rather than punch drunk. Smelling like it too, both women liberally covered by alcohol stains.

Janeway hoped that Tuvok would not share where he was going and what he had to do with anyone else on the ship when he came to bail her and Ro out of the cell they were being directed to now. The Vulcan's discretion was above reproach but this one might be one that even he couldn't handle on the QT.

Ro tried gamely to retain her balance as the captain gently guided her through the narrow corridor and into the small room, half carrying her over to the grimy bunk which had seen better days. A force shield snapped up behind them with an unpleasant whine and the only good thing Janeway could find in all this aggravation was that apparently she and her crewmember were to have the cell to themselves. The captain made sure Ro was as comfortable as the situation would allow, tossing the thin blanket over her, before she sat down glumly on the cold deck at the head of the bunk, leaning her back against the wall, drawing her knees up to her chest.

How do I manage to get myself into these messes? Janeway brooded darkly, resting her chin on her arms which were crossed over the top of her knees. And why did she get herself into such messes? Perhaps that was the better question.

She couldn't deny that the recent changes the ship had been undergoing had caused a strain on her in a way that no one else, not even her partner, could truly understand. She had never wanted the unique responsibility that commanding a ship with families could bring but suddenly, it was thrust upon her, one more thing added to the guilt of having stranded the vessel here in the Delta Quadrant in the first place. And then there was Seven's recent protectiveness, her obvious desire to take care of Janeway, sliding over that fine line to the point of coddling her, suggesting that perhaps the captain should not do the very things that made her captain.

Like getting into brawls dockside? her little voice offered sarcastically.

She had chafed under Seven's solicitous concern for her, despite knowing that Seven wouldn't be so worried about Kathryn if she didn't love her so much. It had still made Janeway feel confined, restrained and when she had the opportunity to break loose a little, she had taken it.

Now look where we are, her little voice noted in abject disgust. There's a line between kicking over your traces and making a bloody fool of yourself . I think you just crossed it, Katie, going about warp eight.

She bent her head, closing her eyes as she sighed audibly.

"Uhnn ... Captain?"

Janeway's eyes flew open and she glanced over at Ro. "Laren, how do you feel?" she asked anxiously, reaching up to touch the Bajoran's forehead gently.

Ro winced and inhaled sharply. "Been better," she said. "But I'll survive."

"I am truly sorry you were hurt, Lieutenant," Janeway said contritely. "I probably should have chosen a better class of bar."

"I'm not sure there is one on this station," Ro said dryly. She blinked, squinting as if the light hurt her eyes. "Where are we?"

"In jail," Janeway admitted.

Ro considered that. "Why don't we just contact the ship and beam back?" she asked logically.

"We could, but that would reveal our transporter technology," Janeway explained. "Which I'd rather not do. And fleeing custody is not exactly the way to formulate good diplomatic ties. We were, after all, guilty of the crime and they did give us a fair trail. We had no defense."

"Wonderful," Ro muttered. "I must have missed that."

"However," Janeway added, studying her intently as she tried to keep the note of hopefulness out of her voice. "If you're really in difficulty, just say the word and I'll have us beamed directly to sickbay."

Ro hesitated, thinking about it. "No, I'm fine," she said finally.

Janeway wondered if the Bajoran was deliberately being obstinate, refusing the easy out just to punish the captain for getting them into this mess. She supposed she deserved it to a certain extent but she vowed to keep a close eye on her officer in any event. She didn't want Ro to ignore her injury just for the sake of proving she could be as tough as Janeway. After all, that was one of Janeway's stunts; to portray the reputedly invulnerable, always-in-control captain even as her body was falling apart.

"So how long are we supposed to wait here?" the Bajoran asked after a few moments of dismal contemplation of their location.

Janeway found a spot on the opposite wall to concentrate on. "I listed Tuvok as our contact officer in the courtroom," she explained. "He'll be here to bail us out as soon as he can get away."

Ro closed her eyes, looking honestly pained. "I wish you had made our contact officer Chakotay instead," she said. "Tuvok will not be pleased that I couldn't keep you out of trouble."

Janeway managed a brief smile. "Don't let him bully you, Lieutenant," she said dryly. "He can't keep me out of trouble either. He never could." She sighed. "Besides, Chakotay would have never let me live this down. I'm hoping Tuvok handles this in his customary discrete manner."

Ro paused. "Has he had cause to do this a lot?" she asked with surprise. "Cover up indiscretions on your part?"

Janeway blushed faintly. "I wouldn't put it that way, exactly," she said uncomfortably. "Let's just say that he's had opportunity to practice various techniques in bailing me out of difficulty."

The memory of an incident in the Alpha Quadrant during her first command, crossed her mind, an encounter with a snobbish fop at a party and the resulting conflict that required her chief of security to smuggle her off the planet in a large suitcase. Sometimes, Janeway thought that if her crewmembers were to suddenly discover all the misadventures she and Tuvok had been through, they would never look at either of them the same way again. And that wouldn't be good at all. Command staff needed a certain mystique, even here in the Delta Quadrant.

There was a pause as the two women contemplated the walls around them, bare even of the minor entertainment of graffiti.

"Where's the gift Twimm gave you?" Ro asked finally.

"Lost it somewhere in the fight," Janeway responded glumly.

"Shame," Ro remarked in a tone that indicated it was not at all.

Janeway, in contrast, felt a real twinge of regret at having lost the cigarillos. However, she knew it was doubtful Seven would have allowed her to smoke them anyway ... though possibly that was why Janeway had accepted them in the first place. Silence fell between the two Federation officers again, a distinct lack of topics making itself felt between the captain and the Bajoran.

"Well," Janeway said with forced cheer, after several long moments, "at least this gives us a chance to get to know each other better."

"It does?" Ro said with a touch of wariness.

"You know, I went over your records after your true identity was revealed," the captain offered. "I wanted to ask you about Garon II."

Ro's face tightened. "Most captains inevitably do," she said in a voice devoid of inflection as she sat up on the bunk.

Janeway assumed her most compassionate expression, getting up to join her, sitting down carefully next to the slender Bajoran.

"You never defended yourself at your court-martial," she offered gently. "Never gave your side of the story. Why not?"

"What was there to tell?" Ro replied, her eyes dark and bleak. "I disobeyed orders, eight members of the away team died."

Janeway's eyes traced the proud face, the ridges at the top of the nose crinkled as the Bajoran stared straight ahead.

"Why do you wear your earring in your left ear?" she asked, attempting this from another angle. "All the Bajorans I've ever know wear them in their right." She had surprised Ro, she saw, the officer no doubt expecting some other question just then.

"I ... it indicates a betrayal," Ro said. "I betrayed my people, I betrayed the prophets."

"Because of what happened on Garon II," Janeway offered keenly.

"Yes," Ro replied flatly.

Janeway thought about it, breathing slowly. "Lieutenant, you're not the only one who has received a second chance here in the Delta Quadrant," she said. "Half my crew has devoted themselves to following protocols they disdained before. It's not necessary that I know what happened before you joined Voyager. But I do need to know if it will affect you in the future."

"Because I'm Starfleet," Ro said.

"And because I have plans for you as a Starfleet officer," Janeway agreed.

Ro winced and Janeway took note of the woman's quickness at understanding what the captain meant. She didn't have to explain herself with the Bajoran and it made Janeway realize how much living with Seven had influenced her method of expressing herself, of making sure everything she said was precise and accurate so as not to confuse the younger woman. With Ro, however, a certain amount of verbal shorthand could be established, reminding Janeway oddly of her relationship with Tuvok to a certain extent. As if Ro knew her far better than she should, though the captain suspected it was more an indication of Ro's skill at observation rather than any information the Bajoran had actually gathered.

"You need to know if I'll betray you by disobeying orders," Ro added. "Like I did on the Wellington. Like I did with ... on the Enterprise."

Janeway noticed the way the woman faltered at that last bit, and she studied her keenly. Obviously, her estrangement with Picard still bothered Ro.

"Do you know why you had to disobey those orders?" she asked.

Ro swallowed. "I just ... had to," she said. "In both cases, I had to follow my instincts." She laughed suddenly, a bitter bark of disgust. "Of course, both times my instincts were wrong."

"Were they?" Janeway asked.

Startled, Ro looked at her. "People died," she said harshly. "And the second time, I violated the trust of a great man." Her jaw quivered slightly. "I'll probably violate your trust someday."

"I don't think so," Janeway said easily.

Ro assumed an expression of dismay, shaking her head slightly as if not understanding how Janeway could be so obtuse. The captain leaned back against the wall, inhaling slowly.

"Captain James of the Wellington indicated in his report that, although he had no concrete evidence that he could submit to the contrary," she said quietly, "It was his opinion that had you not disobeyed the orders of the away team leader, the entire team would have been killed rather than just eight. But since you offered no defense at the proceedings, he was unable to have his opinion stated for the record."

Ro seemed astounded. "I didn't know that," she said after a moment. "I thought..." She trailed off, face shadowed. "I thought he blamed me, too."

"It was Captain Picard's opinion regarding your defection that Admiral Necheyev assigned that mission to you too soon after your graduation from your advanced tactical training," Janeway went on inexorably. "Apparently, he blamed himself for not seeing that you weren't ready for it."

"That wasn't his responsibility," Ro argued. "It was mine to accept or refuse the assignment." She paused. "I honestly believed I could handle it."

Janeway studied her fingernails, noting idly that she had cracked one in the fight.

"Laren, a captain must know the limitations of their people," she said. "Picard had misgivings from the beginning and did not act upon them. He blames himself for losing a fine officer."

Ro's face crumpled. "But he can't," she objected. "It was my decision."

"Nonetheless, that was his final mention on it in the official mission log," Janeway said firmly. "It is our prerogative as captains to do so, Laren. We take the credit when missions go right but we must also accept responsibility when they go wrong. You know this. You're turning into a fine commander yourself."

"Don't," Ro said flatly.

Janeway quirked a brow. "Don't what?" she asked mildly, her eyes glinting.

"Don't give me that kind of power," the Bajoran said. Her voice trailed off into a whisper. "Don't give the opportunity to betray you as well."

"Too late," Janeway remarked. "I've already granted you that power on several occasions. You have not disappointed me."

"But I might," Ro said bleakly.

"Voyager might find a wormhole someday," Janeway remarked casually. "In both cases, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. In the meantime, we do our best to get by with what we have."

The sound of footsteps forestalled what else might have been said and Janeway got up quickly, going over to the cell entrance, stopping just short of the force field sparkle. Her heart sank as she saw who was accompanying her chief of security.

"Captain, what happened?" Seven of Nine asked anxiously, her pale eyes raking the captain up and down. "You were arrested for being drunk and disorderly." She got close enough to smell the alcohol which had splashed over Janeway, her nose wrinkling. "Kathryn, is it ... true?"

The disappointment and astonishment that appeared in Seven's eyes then, was something Janeway would never forget and in that moment, she knew that she had been diminished somehow in her partner's eyes in a profound and hurtful way. It was something she never, ever wanted to see again. Janeway was considerably subdued as she and Seven returned to their quarters, taking a seat on the couch and patting Jake quietly on his head as he came over to his mistress as if sensing something was wrong. Seven busied herself at her workstation, maintaining a terse silence as the captain regarded her.

"Are you angry with me?" Janeway asked finally.

Seven exhaled. "I am confused by you," she admitted. "I do not understand why you would do such a thing. Normally, you display more comprehensive reasoning than this. You promised me that you would be prudent in chosing your course of action  I have never known you to break a promise to me."

"I know," the captain said softly. "I didn't mean to, Annika. It was stupid to go into the bar."

"Yet, you are not stupid," Seven said in puzzlement. "You are the most intelligent being I know." She hesitated, searching for the proper words. "I ... do not understand," she repeated, feeling more than a little helpless.

Janeway sighed, leaning forward as she rested her forearms on her thighs, her hands linked loosely between them.

"Annika, I was not drunk," she told her seriously. "I grant that I had one ale and part of another but that was not why I was involved in the fight. Ro and I were innocent bystanders who just got caught up in someone else's conflict."

"But why were you there at all?" Seven asked, trying for a tone without inflection. However, she must not have succeeded in keeping the dismay from her voice entirely since the captain winced slightly.

Janeway looked very weary. "Just ... just to get away for a few moments," she admitted. "From the ship ..."

"From me?" Seven offered, the pain rising hard and fast in her chest.

Janeway hesitated and Seven was unable to hold her gaze, turning away in misery.

"Annika," Janeway said, her tone dropping as she stood up and crossed the room.

Seven easily heard the rustle of uniform, the sound of her footsteps on the carpeted deck as the captain stopped behind her, resting her hands on the Borg's shoulders.

"Please try to understand this," Janeway said huskily. "I know it's difficult. I'm not even sure I understand it completely myself." She paused again, obviously searching for the right thing to say. "I needed to be out there on my own again. To take some time where I'm not the captain, or your spouse or anything at all ... even it was only for a few moments."

Seven did not answer, lacking the words to do so. All she knew was that she felt lost and uncertain and Janeway must have sensed that.

"This isn't about you, Annika," Janeway said as she leaned over and hugged Seven, her arm across her chest as the Borg felt her spouse's face press into her hair. "It's me and working out everything I have to regarding the changes Voyager's gone through."

"Why will you not let me assist you?" Seven asked sadly.

"You can't," Janeway said. "Your help ... sometimes it stifles me."

Seven bent her head, tears stinging the back of her eyes and Janeway hugged her closer.

"That doesn't mean I don't need your support," Janeway whispered. "I do, more than ever, I think. But support doesn't always mean help, Annika. Sometimes it means letting the other person figure it out on their own, even if they have to stumble along the way."

"I do not ... I never meant to harm you in my attempts to assist you," Seven said.

"I know," Janeway responded and Seven heard her swallow hard. "Oh, darling, I'm saying this so badly. This is, in no way, your doing. Even if that's what it sounds like I'm saying, it's not at all what I mean."

She stopped, breathing harshly and Seven waited, knowing that her spouse was desperately trying to find the words so that the Borg would understand. Seven was warmed by that effort, even as she was hurt by the situation, by the confusion raging within her.

"Annika, I didn't sign on for a ship with families," Janeway said finally, sounding lost. "But that's what I have and I can't resign, I can't request another command and I can't transfer out ... I'm absolutely stuck. Every day, I have to be the one who makes the decisions which determines the fate of everyone on board this vessel, including you and Naomi and all those new babies who never asked for this. You and my crew try to protect me, but you can't really. When it's all said and done, I have to do it alone." She stopped, clinging to the Borg and it took a few moments before she was able to go on.

"I like being captain, Annika," she husked. "I enjoy the power and the challenge it grants me. I even like the fact that it's mine to do alone. But sometimes ... just sometimes ... things just build up until I'm scared out of my wits. So I go and I do something stupid. I don't know why. Whether it's trying to walk away from the love you offered, or hiding away in my quarters for two months or getting into a fight in a bar, I just ... do these things. I can't help it."

Seven felt a little of her anxiety and tension subside as she finally understood that this really wasn't about her or their relationship, just Janeway's fear, her sense of guilt, and that was a familiar problem to the Borg.  Though she had yet to find a way to solve it which was a constant irritant ... she was not used to failing when she set her mind to a challenge. She breathed deeply and reached up, putting her hand on the captain's forearm, pulling it away so that she could turn around. Janeway's eyes were shiny when Seven looked into them and the young woman reached out, pulling the captain into her arms and onto her lap, ignoring the strong odor of ale emanating from her spouse.

"I love you, Kathryn," Seven told her intently as she held her. "I do not entirely understand your fear. I do not even understand why you must do these things to display it. But I do accept that I must allow you to do them even when I see they are hurting you. I shall try very hard to remember that in the future."

"I know it's not an easy thing to ask of you, Annika," Janeway whispered, her arms around Seven's neck, her face buried in the hollow of the Borg's shoulder. "I'm not sure if I could be that strong if our positions were reversed. But darling, I really believe it has to be this way."

"I shall do my best," Seven said. "You must allow for failure, however. There will be times when I shall not be able to restrain myself from trying to protect you."

"I know," Janeway said, drawing back a little so she could look into Seven's face. "That's okay, darling. I love that you want to. I'll just get a little contrary in return, but it never means that I've stopped loving you. Not for one instant."

The Borg nodded, regarded her spouse closely, searching the blue-grey eyes, then she carefully leaned forward and kissed her softly, tasting the aftermath of ale and stale smoke on the captain's breath.

"You were inhaling the byproduct of those smokesticks," Seven remarked somewhat distastefully when they finally parted.

Janeway dropped her eyes. "At the stationmaster's office," she admitted. She sighed. "He even gave me a box to take with me."

"Indeed," Seven remarked, trying not to sound alarmed.

"I lost them in the fight," her spouse said, honestly regretfully.

"Ah," Seven remarked, not sorry at all at this piece of news. Perhaps every incident did have a 'bright side' after all.

Janeway rested her forehead against Seven's. "I need to clean up," she said.

"Yes," Seven agreed. She paused, lowering her voice. "Would you allow me to assist you in that?"

A small smile curled one corner of Janeway's mouth. "Always," she muttered.

However, as they began to untangle in preparation of going into the ensuite, the chime to the door sounded and Seven remembered that Janeway had something else to resolve.

"Who could that be?" Janeway murmured with a hint of annoyance.

"I believe it is Naomi," Seven said as she went to the door. Sure enough, the small form of the ship's oldest child stood there, apprehension on her face.

"Hello, Seven," she said in a small voice. But she was obviously determined to be brave, straightening her thin shoulders and taking a deep breath in anticipation.

"Naomi Wildman," Seven remarked. "Come in."

She motioned the child into the quarters and looked at her spouse who was hastily tucking in her sweater, having stripped off the dirty tunic which removed most of the more apparent alcohol stains. Janeway raked her fingers through her hair which only made it more disarrayed and assumed her most formidable command mask.

"Captain," Seven said formally. "As Naomi's mentor, it was my duty to determine the reasons behind her recent resignation. I believe that she is now ready to discuss it with you."

Janeway shot her a look but there was little that Seven could do about the timing. The Borg went over to her workstation, sitting down and ostensibly began some overdue reports for astrometrics, even as she eavesdropped shamelessly on her spouse and the child.

"Miss Wildman," Janeway greeted with great formality. Apparently if she didn't appear as dignified as she would like, she could still sound every inch the ship's commander.

"C-captain," Naomi said in a quavery voice and Seven frowned, looking up at Janeway who caught her eye. Her spouse got the message and the captain immediately gentled both her features and her tone.

"Have a seat, Naomi," Janeway invited, motioning the girl to the chair before taking a seat on the footstool directly opposite her so that they were at eye level. "What would you like to talk to me about?"

Naomi hesitated, looking over at Seven who inclined her head slightly, indicating that she should go ahead. The little girl swallowed hard and seemed to find strength in the Borg's glance.

"Seven says that I have made an erroneous decision," Naomi recited as Seven listened approvingly. "She says that my reasons for resigning were illogical and inefficient."

Janeway quirked an eyebrow, looking attentive.

"And what were those reasons, Naomi?" she asked gently.

"I ... it was all my fault, Captain," Naomi blurted suddenly.

Janeway blinked, obviously taken aback. "What was your fault?" she asked.

"That Seven got hurt so bad," the child said, speaking fast as if trying to get it all out before her fear stopped her. "I heard the noise coming through the grill and when I went to investigate, the Kunntarie commander captured me. Seven was hurt because I wasn't careful enough. She made Kalin shoot at her rather than at me and it's all my fault and I'm so sorry, Captain, Sevenalmostdiedandit'sallmyfault."

Naomi dissolved into tears, the last of her speech running together into one long outburst and Janeway looked at Seven, absolutely dismayed.

"Naomi, it wasn't your fault at all," Janeway said, patting the girl awkwardly on the shoulder. Seven thought that her spouse could stand some improvement in certain areas when it came to comforting children.

She raised her eyebrow at Janeway and made a circling motion with her arms, indicating the captain should hug the child ... even if Janeway did still smell like a tavern.

Janeway was somewhat hesitant, but she did as Seven suggested, enfolding the child in a warm embrace, hugging her tightly as she tried to soothe her.

"Naomi, you weren't responsible for Seven being hurt," she told her softly. "We all make choices and whatever happens, happens. Sometimes the consequences aren't so good but that's part of making our own decisions and being responsible for them. Seven made her choice to try to save you and I do not believe she regrets that choice for one moment. I know I don't. You're very important to us, Naomi, and all of us look out for each other. That's what makes us a crew, what makes us a family."

"But you almost lost her," Naomi sobbed, clinging to the captain's neck.

"But I didn't," Janeway assured her. "Is this why you resigned?"

"A captain is responsible for the crew," Naomi said. "I was responsible for this." She shook as another sob gripped her. "I don't want to be the reason someone dies."

Janeway closed her eyes, her chin resting on the child's head, rocking her gently.

"Naomi," she said in her most persuasive tone. "You cannot take on this guilt. Nor can you let guilt influence how you live your life. You must learn to let it go. You can't change your decisions, you just have to let them stay in the past and learn from them. All right?"

There was a pause, then finally Naomi nodded shakily.

"'kay," she said huskily.

"Do you still want to be my captain's assistant?" Janeway asked her hopefully.

Naomi nodded more firmly. "Yes," she said. She drew back to look at the captain, her eyes wide and shimmering. "Do you still want me to?"

"Of course," Janeway said with grave sincerity. "There's no one else on this ship who can fulfill that role."

"Thank you, Captain," Naomi sniffed.

"You're very welcome," Janeway told her gently, hugging her one more time.

After a moment, Naomi slid off her lap and stood at attention. Janeway looked confused for a moment, then smiled briefly.

"Dismissed," she said.

Smartly, Naomi turned and smiled at Seven who returned it briefly, delighting in the bright blue of the child's eyes, all the shadows now gone thanks to her partner's kindness. The room seemed somewhat still after she left and Seven looked approvingly at her partner who stood in the center of the living area, arms crossed over her chest, her face set.

"Don't say it," Janeway warned.

Seven's eyebrow quirked.

"Was I about to say something?" she asked blandly.

"You were going to say that I just gave Naomi good advice," Janeway said sternly. "And that I should take it myself."

Seven resisted the urge to smile.

"It could be considered applicable to your situation as well," she noted.

Janeway stared at her, then made a face. "I need a shower," she said.

Seven did not say anything as her partner left the room but she believed her expression spoke absolute volumes. The patrons of the bar were completely oblivious of the fight which had taken place a few hours earlier. In truth, it was a fairly regular occurrence when ships were in port and no more attention was paid to it than when ships weren't in port. The barkeep merely swept up the shattered glass and replaced the broken furniture from the seemingly unending supply in the back room. The bar was open again in less than an hour as if nothing had happened and it did not take long to fill up again. At a dimly lit table, a young man in a Starfleet uniform sat hunched over his drink, staring gloomily at the stains marking the surface around his mug, looking for some sort of answer that could rarely be found from such things.

Neelix inhaled deeply as he spotted him, and crossed the room, winding his way artfully through the crowd, careful not to jostle anyone's arm. He had been in countless similar dives in his life and he knew that tempers were generally on a knife edge in such a place. Depression hovered like a cloud over the rest of the patrons, staring blankly as if waiting for something, though if asked, they were unlikely to be able to explain what they were waiting for.

"Mr. Paris," Neelix offered when he reached the table. "May I join you?"

The fair-haired helmsman looked up, staring at him with a distant air as if not recognizing the Talaxian, taking in the tufts of yellowish hair framing spotted features which most resembled a Terran wart hog and the golden eyes which regarded him worriedly.

"Sure," he said shortly, without much interest.

Neelix sat down and waited as the bartender approached.

"What'llyahave?"

"I don't suppose you have a Cirrellian Silver wine?" Neelix asked hopefully. A blank look was his only response and he sighed. "A mug of your house ale, please."

The bartender grunted and wandered away, no doubt in search for the requested drink. Neelix hoped that he would return sometime within the next hour, leery of displaying his money. He would gladly give it to any thief of course, knowing that it could be easily replicated, but he was also aware that sometimes thieves got a little carried away and acted out the threat before actually uttering it. Besides, old habits died hard and he did not like to show what he carried unless he had to.

Paris, by contrast, seemed to have lost any common sense that he might have acquired in the past about displaying wealth. He had piles of coins scattered all over the table, presumably to allow the bartender to pick them up at will whenever he returned with the next round. It made it tremendously easy for Paris to be shortchanged of course, but the Voyager crewmember seemed not to care.

Neelix saw the bartender approach with a tray and he dug his money out of the pouch at his waist, passing the alien two coins and receiving no change. As a member of Voyager, he shouldn't care. As a Talaxian trader who knew the value of a credit, he was outraged, but he wasn't about to start any trouble.

Paris laughed sardonically, reading the Talaxian's expression correctly as the bartender left. "It's only money," he said.

"That doesn't mean I can't get upset at being overcharged," Neelix returned, sipping at his ale, wincing at the faint trace of sour aftertaste to it.

"So how are you enjoying your leave?" Tom asked. His tone was dull, more a show of politeness and to start a conversation than because he wanted to know.

"It's an ... interesting station," Neelix noted diplomatically.

"What, this?" Paris responded. He blinked, looking around. "It looks like every other station I've ever been in."

Neelix regarded him worriedly, aware that he and Paris had never been the best of friends. In fact, a good part of their early interaction was tinged with jealousy on the Talaxian's part, afraid that the helmsman held a certain romantic interest in Neelix's paramour at the time, the Ocampa, Kes. As it turned out, Kes and Neelix had drifted apart, then she evolved into a higher plane of existence, leaving Voyager. Paris, in the meantime, began a relationship with B'Elanna Torres. When the chief engineer, along with Seven and Chakotay, was transported to the Alpha Quadrant, the crew had believed them dead. Paris had mourned, moved on, and found solace in the arms of another ... all in the space of three months. B'Elanna never forgave him for it and their relationship terminated, even though the young man had done his best to mend the rift between them. However, that was some time ago and the Talaxian had grown to at least, respect the helmsman.

"You look so unhappy, Tom," Neelix offered. "Can I do anything to help?"

"Ah, Voyager's morale officer," Tom noted sarcastically. A lock of fair hair fell over his forehead boyishly but his blue eyes were bleary, and his face sagged. For an instant, Neelix was able to see into the future, to what the man would look like several decades hence ... and it was not appealing. "Aren't you off duty?"

"Yes," Neelix responded. "But that doesn't mean that I can't offer help to a friend when I see him in distress."

"Are we friends?" Tom asked idly.

"I've always thought so," Neelix answered honestly. "At least, once we got to know each other." He folded his hands in front of him and granted the helmsman his full attention. "What's wrong, Tom?"

Paris grunted. "A better question is what's right?" he returned. He took a gulp from his glass, the smoky liquid a faint blue in the dim illumination. His eyes grew distant, as if looking back at other times ... better ones. "I suppose you've heard the latest?"

"Regarding?" Neelix prompted.

"Our chief engineer," Tom said, bitterness weaving through his tone. "And Tuvok's assistant."

Neelix had heard about Lt. Torres and Lt. Ro, but so many rumors circulated in the lower decks of Voyager, it was hard to sift through what was true and what was mere speculation.

"I understand that B'Elanna and Laren are friends," he offered carefully.

"Friends. Yeah, friends." There was a curl to his lip, half sneer, half rueful despair. "We used to be friends, B'Elanna and me. Now she can't stand the sight of me."

Neelix handled that one with care, adopting a tone of complete objectivity. "Old news," he offered. "People move on."

"Yeah." Tom nodded bleakly. "I don't get it, Neelix. For six years, no one even acknowledged the woman existed until she finally reveals she's actually Lt. Ro Laren of the USS Enterprise. The next thing I know, she's moving in on B'Elanna, she's becoming buddies with the captain, she pulling helm duty... The woman is just flat out replacing me, Neelix." This last was said in a sort of wonder, the bewildered cry of a child who doesn't quite understand what was going on but knowing it hurts desperately.

"You aren't giving yourself enough credit, Tom," Neelix said, a touch anxiously. This was worst than he had thought. Tom hadn't just had his pride damaged, he was actually losing his self confidence. "You're still the best pilot on the ship ... maybe even in the quadrant." As the confused gaze focused on him, Neelix presented his most sincere expression. "You're certainly the best I've ever seen in my experience. Who else could have pulled off the triple tactic we used to defeat those robot cruisers?"

Tom shook his head miserably. "Ro ran the simulations in the holodeck," he said. "That's why they even tried it in the first place."

"But who did Janeway have at the helm to carry them out for real?" Neelix pointed out intently. "There's no one else she would have trusted for that series of maneuvers. Yes, Ro is being groomed as your backup, Tom. The captain has to create backups for the key positions on the ship wherever she can, but you're still the man she goes to, to guide the ship. Everyone knows that. In fact," Neelix added with a certain amount of inspiration, "why do you think those three tactics performed in sequence is now being called the Paris Gambit?"

Tom blinked. "It is?" he responded in total astonishment.

"Everyone's calling it that," Neelix said, embellishing freely now. "I understood that it is a Human custom to name such a tactic after the first person who performs it successfully."

In truth, he had never heard anyone call the desperate actions Voyager had been required to undergo in order to escape destruction from the weapons of three unmanned, computer controlled vessels as anything but 'insane' or 'suicidal'. But he also knew that all it would take was one person to start the ball rolling and he had every intention of being that person. He promised himself that he would start referring to the whole incident as the Paris Gambit as soon as possible.

Besides, Paris was looking quite differently than he had when Neelix had entered the bar. The Talaxian chalked that one up on the positive side of the morale ledger.

"Well, hell," Tom said, after a moment. "That deserves a drink." He signaled for another round and the bartender scurried over, knowing a good customer when he saw it, bearing another round of the same, even though Neelix was not even half done with his first. The proprietor deposited the drinks and scooped the coins off the table, hurrying away as if afraid the Starfleet officer would suddenly start counting his change.

Tom raised his glass and Neelix hastened to do the same.

"To the Paris Gambit," the Talaxian said boldly.

"To the damned fine ship that let me pull it off," Tom agreed.

"To Voyager," they declared together.

They both swallowed, Neelix managing not to gag on the inferior liquor and their mugs hit the table at the same time with a muffled thud. Tom smiled and Neelix burped.

"You know, you're right, Neelix," Tom said, a lot more genial now. "B'Elanna and I would never have worked out. We're just two totally different people. In fact, I'm glad someone else has to be the one to deal with all that Klingon temper. I hope Ro and her are real happy together."

Having been witness to a couple of the arguments the two women had shared in the messhall, Neelix had his doubts but certainly, stranger things had happened. Look at the captain and the ship's resident Borg, for example. No one would have imagined that relationship in the beginning ... including Janeway and Seven of Nine.

A couple of rounds later, both men were a great deal more relaxed but the bar was becoming more and more crowded as the evening wore on, the noise growing more pervasive. The Talaxian knew that the odds of possible trouble developing had increased considerably.

"I think I'll head back to the ship," he said. He blinked owlishly at Tom. "Walk me back?"

Tom hesitated, then shrugged. "Sure," he said. "It's not like this place is worth spending that much time in."

They got to their feet uncertainly, Tom leaving the remaining coins on the table as a tip which the bartender was quick to pounce on before any of the other patrons decided to use them for their own tab. In return, the burly alien cleared a path for the Voyager crewmembers to the door which Neelix appreciated. Neither of the men were too steady at this point and some of the lifeforms did not look like they'd move voluntarily at a politely worded invitation.

They staggered out onto the promenade which was thronged with people out for an evening's entertainment. Neelix took one look at this and ducked into the nearest access corridor, the route taking them out to the docking section. Even though it was still quite some distance to the service section where Voyager was being overhauled, there was much less traffic here and the two men were able to stroll in relative comfort through the loading bays. Neelix had fallen into a sort of sleepy contentment, concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other. It took several strides before he realized that Tom was no longer walking with him and he bumbled to a stop, turning back.

Paris was standing at a loading platform, staring at the large viewport, which looked out onto the rest of the ship which was docked to this particular port. His face had gone absolutely white and Neelix wondered if the young man was pausing in order to be sick.

"Tom?"

Violently, Tom gestured at him to be quiet and he faded back into the shadows as Neelix stumbled back to join him, confused, but still aware enough to know something was up. As he moved closer, he realized that suddenly, Tom was completely and coldly sober, staring at the viewport with cold eyes and a face set in stone.

"It's one of those ships," the helmsman said.

"What ships?" Neelix asked, baffled.

"Just like the ones that attacked us," Paris muttered, his eyes darting about. "Don't you recognize the configuration?"

Neelix blinked. "I never actually saw them," he said. "At least, not before they were in pieces. I was in engineering the entire time. Are you sure?"

"I don't forget a ship I've helped blow up," Tom remarked grimly. "The question is, what's one of them doing here?"

Neelix frowned. "Maybe this station is controlling them?" he said. "They are robot ships, aren't they?"

"Maybe," Tom agreed. He swallowed. "We need to tell the captain."

Neelix nodded but before he could add anything else, from the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a motion. Startled, he turned and an energy beam struck him in the chest, setting every one of his nerve endings on fire. Odd lifeforms approached, looking like thin streaks of charcoal dressed in ruby uniforms the color of Human blood. One stood over him as the Talaxian lay on the deck, twitching while Paris shuddered uncontrollably a few feet away, also a victim of the nerve beam.

Neelix tried to focus his gaze, staring up to see yellow eyes glowing eerily in the smudged features, then the being raised its arm, having reversed the weapon so that it could bring the butt down onto the Talaxian's head.

And Neelix knew nothing more. Janeway sat in bed, knees drawn up, her eyes sweeping across the snowy page of her book, but the words did not stick with her, the meaning of them darting away with her unable to connect them together to form coherent sentences. She finally gave up, sighing as she leaned back against the pillows while her book splayed on her stomach, her head falling back as she fixated on the ceiling. She had disdained a shower and taken a nice long bath, soaking for a good half hour before retiring here to the bedroom, but it really hadn't cured her restlessness. Out in the living area, she could still hear Seven moving around, no doubt finishing up some tasks that had slid while she had been covering engineering the past week or so.

It occurred to Janeway that the only person who might possibly work harder than the captain on the ship was Seven herself. And at the moment, Janeway didn't think that was such a good thing. When did the work stop and the living begin? Or were their lives always going to be nothing more than duty and responsibility? When would they be able to live for themselves?

Janeway had to answer her own question with the possible answer of 'never'. Because if they didn't find a way back home, if Voyager was required to take the entire 23 years to travel the remaining distance to the Alpha Quadrant, then it would probably be too late for Janeway to bear children. And no matter what angle she tried it from, Janeway and Seven were the one couple on the ship who could not afford to divert their attention. At least, the captain couldn't. It was hard enough to balance command and a spouse, with Seven doing her very best to help. Children lacked that adult adaptability. They could not understand being neglected for the sake of the ship, did not appreciate that mommy was also needed by 150 other people, would never comprehend being pushed aside for the sake of something greater.

Janeway knew that without question. Because, forty years after the fact, there was still a part of her which ached profoundly, unable to fully accept that Starfleet had been more important to her father than his wife and children. There was no way Kathryn would allow a child of hers to be hurt in the same way.

She swallowed hard, her eyes stinging as she wished with all her heart that she could find a way around this, if not for herself, then for the woman she loved. Because Seven did want children. Janeway saw that every time the Borg interacted with Naomi or when she witnessed the light in the Borg's pale eyes when she spoke of the new additions arriving every day on the ship.

Janeway blinked back the tears as she heard Seven enter the bedroom, raising her head. The Borg glanced at her in passing on her way to the ensuite and hesitated, turning around to take a second, longer look. Then, without saying anything else, Seven reversed her course, moving to the captain's side of the bed, perching on the edge and gathering Janeway up in her arms, book and all.

"Oh, Annika," Janeway whispered, pressing her cheek against Seven's as she wrapped her arms around her partner's neck. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for today, I'm sorry for disappointing you ... I'm just so damned sorry for everything."

Seven hugged her tight, stroking the captain's hair soothingly.

"It is all right, Kathryn," she said softly. "Please, let go of this. If not for yourself, then please, let go of it for me."

Kathryn Janeway tried as hard as she could to fulfill her partner's heartfelt request, and for the first time in her life ... she succeeded.

She cast away all of it ... all of her fear, all of her stress, and finally ... finally ... the pervasive, all consuming guilt that she had borne for so long in this quadrant. It was as if a ton or more of weight had left her body and she felt light, insubstantial, like a small gust of wind could blow her away with little effort and she gripped tighter to the solid, comforting form who held her securely in strong, slender arms. She didn't know if this would be permanent or if it were some temporary thing that would end once the ship got underway once more, but for right now, it was the most incredible feeling in the universe.

"Oh, god," she whispered. "Hold me."

"I will, Kathryn," Seven promised intently. "I always shall."

Finally, Janeway understood that protection by this woman could extend beyond just their personal life, even into the professional and it did not lessen her as a captain. It didn't mean she would always simply accept such protectiveness gracefully, but perhaps she would not struggle against it so much in the future. Growth was not easy, it demanded much, particularly of people who were as strong-willed and stubborn as the captain was, but Janeway was infinitely tired of fighting ... there were far too many challenges in her life outside her marriage to waste time doing it within the boundaries of her existence with Seven.

"Why do I have to learn everything the hard way?" she murmured finally.

Seven's cheek twitched against hers and Janeway realized that her partner must be smiling.

"It is your nature," Seven said indulgently. "You do not truly feel an accomplishment is worthy unless it was difficult to win ... even if you must create the difficulty yourself."

"The rocky road," Janeway agreed ruefully. "Dad always said I wasn't happy unless I was taking that one instead of the easy path."

"I believe he was correct," the Borg said and kissed her tenderly. "It is part of who you are, Kathryn. And we both must adapt to it."

"Was this what you married me for?" Janeway asked whimsically.

Seven tightened her embrace. "I married you because I love you with all that I am," she said quietly. "Because I would rather be with you in the most difficult of times than be without you in the easiest."

"I don't deserve you," the captain whispered.

"Of course you do," Seven remarked in a no-nonsense tone. She drew back so that she could look into her face. "You and I are the most suitable match there is on this vessel. Do not underestimate that."

Janeway smiled. "I'll try not to."

"I must shower and prepare for bed," Seven said then, searching her face. "I will be back shortly."

"I'll be waiting," Janeway promised as she released her after one more hug.

The captain lay back against the pillows, bringing the illumination down with a softly uttered command, knowing that Seven could navigate quite nicely without it. A multicolored glow from the docking lights of the station came in through the viewport above the bed and Janeway linked her hands behind her head, contemplating the odd shadows it created on the ceiling. To her surprise, the sensation of ease and relaxation still remained and she wondered if indeed, it was just that easy? Did all she really have to do is simply release the guilt that had plagued her for so long, put all the anger and frustration into a ball and just let it go?

She glanced over as Seven entered the room, devoid of clothing, the remaining implants the Borg boasted, shimmering silver in the night. The young woman's body was supple though Janeway thought perhaps that Seven looked somewhat more lean than she should ... not surprising since they had all been stretched rather thin lately. As the Borg slipped under the covers next to Janeway, stretching out on her back on her side of the bed, the captain made a mental note to see that her partner increased her dietary intake.

She reached out with her hand, entwining her fingers with Seven's, connecting physically to the woman she adored and felt herself relax even more. Inhaling slowly, she felt love and tenderness for the young woman flood her being, filling her with strength, and the sense of all things suddenly being right in the universe.

She allowed herself to acknowledge that Voyager was only an hour or so away from being back to 100%, including the completion of all the necessary renovations to transform the ship into a generational vessel. Six of the babies had been born, all healthy, all bringing joy and delight to their parents. The crew, despite the lack of classier amenities, had found Balleyport Station to be the sort of rough and rugged frontier atmosphere that put a cockiness in their stride, and a jaunty air to their attitude after returning from their leaves. Perhaps it was indeed time to let go of the past. Voyager was about to start a new existence. It was time she started anew, as well.

She inched closer to Seven who obligingly inched closer in return. Now their sides were pressed together and Janeway could feel the long length of her partner warm against her. Seven's thumb gently rubbed the back of her hand, circling softly, the metal cool, yet pleasant on her skin and discovered that just this light touch from Seven was arousing her. Her nipples hardened beneath the thin sheet resting over them, abruptly sensitive to the linens and one corner of the captain's mouth turned up in a crooked grin.

"You are incredible," she said softly.

A pause.

"Thank you," Seven responded politely.

Janeway laughed, low and husky.

"You're welcome."

Seven's thumb trailed down to Janeway's wrist, curling inside to stroke the pulse point lightly, stepping up the caress with the corresponding increase of the captain's heart. Janeway could not get over how electric the Borg's touch was, how easily Seven could make her tingle with anticipation and desire. She wondered if she provided the same thing for Seven, if the young woman ever found herself on duty, doing something mundane and tedious, and her thoughts would turn to her partner and making love? Janeway remembered all the times when she had been sitting on the bridge or in her ready room during a quiet moment ... or even a not so quiet moment ... and suddenly, she could almost taste her partner's essense lingering in her mouth, smell the Borg's fragrance as if she were standing right behind her, feel the touch of her body against her own. It could almost be frightening in its intensity, in how easily it could distract the captain from the matter at hand.

It was exhilarating though, Janeway thought, sighing slowly as Seven rose onto her side, bringing her right hand over to trail lightly over Janeway's stomach, her fingertips tracing around her navel sensuously, stopping just short of tickling her. Such moments made life far more precious, immediate ... and certainly more invigorating.

"Kathryn," Seven murmured, her lips close to the captain's ear.

"Yes, darling," Janeway responded.

"May I touch you?"

'Mmm, I thought you were already touching me, my love," Janeway smiled, bringing her hand up to run her knuckles along the Borg's jaw, feeling the full lips brush over her cheek.

"I wish to touch you further," Seven admitted, her fingers trailing lightly in the warm valley between the captain's breasts, circling around them carefully as if afraid to touch them, though Janeway knew better. The gentle caress was delightful and the captain shifted, wanting more.

"I want you to touch me further," Janeway whispered, snuggling a bit closer. "My sweetness, I want you to touch me all over for the rest of my life."

"You call me so many 'pet names'," Seven noted quietly, kissing softly along the line of the captain's throat as she eased over on top of the smaller woman, supporting much of her weight on elbows and knees but still pressing down pleasantly on Janeway's body.

"I do," Janeway agreed softly as she slid her arms around Seven's neck, tangling her hands luxuriously in the blonde hair, running her fingers through it. "Do you mind?"

"No, they make me feel special," Seven told her. "But I wonder if I should develop one for you?"

Janeway chuckled huskily. "I think how you say my name is special," she admitted. "It sends chills up my spine sometimes."

"Kathryn," Seven said obligingly, the emotion wrapping around it like the glow of a hearth after coming in from a winter's night, and Janeway shivered from the sheer sensation of it. "My Kathryn."

"All yours," Janeway whispered. "Forever."

"Darling," Seven tried experimentally, kissing her gently.

Janeway smiled. "That's nice," she murmured. "I like how you say that."

"Sweetheart."

"That's good, too."

"Baby."

Janeway wrinkled her nose. "No, I don't think so," she responded thoughtfully.

"Love muffin," Seven offered.

"Oh, no!" Janeway was firm with her denial on that one.

"Kitten?" Then almost immediately, Seven corrected herself. "No, that term is insufficient. Tigress, perhaps?"

Janeway growled and nipped at the Borg's nose.

Seven smiled faintly. "So few apply to your personality," she said. "Is that why you limit yourself to only a set number of appellations for me?"

Janeway considered it. "Perhaps," she allowed. "I never really thought about it."

"I shall contemplate pet names for you," Seven promised. "Until I arrive at one which is suitable."

"You do that," the captain responded with humor.

Seven's nose brushed over Janeway's as her face remained close, her breath flowing over the captain's lips, warm and fresh, and Kathryn raised her head slightly, capturing the full lips, kissing her spouse with just a hint of passion.

"I do adore you, Annika," she whispered against those lips.

"I love you, my Kathryn," Seven replied, kissing her again. "I always will."

Another kiss, warm touches, sweet exchanges of the most gentle sort.

"I could do this all night," Janeway muttered.

"And have," Seven noted.

"And will again," Janeway promised.

They both smiled and kissed again as Seven settled a little closer onto the captain, her weight still not oppressive to Janeway. Rather, it was comforting, protective, making Janeway feel secure beneath this slender, warm body. Janeway ran her hands gently down the sinuous back, fingertips tracing the dual implants set at the base of the spine, then over until they were resting on the Borg's hips, stroking the point of bones lightly, then along the hollows of the woman's trim buttocks.

"Annika?"

"Yes, Kathryn?"

"Make love to me?"

"Immediately, Kathryn. My beautiful, beloved Kathryn." B'Elanna Torres felt weariness tug at her as she stepped off the turbolift on deck nine, but there was satisfaction as well. The last of the repairs were finished, the final renovations were done and Voyager had been detached from the umbilicalus supplying her power and atmosphere. The work crews from the station had disembarked ... not before insulting at least three members of Voyager's engineering team profoundly with several lewd suggestions ... and once again, the vessel was powered up, ready to launch herself into the beckoning reaches of space where she belonged. Her energy levels stood at one hundred percent, her cargo bays fully stocked with supplies and her transformation to a generational ship complete. And now perhaps her chief engineer, who had fretted and cursed and demanded and howled during the entire process could finally take a moment to rest.

She blinked as she saw a form next to her door, the slender woman sitting on the deck, her back against the hull, arms wrapped around her drawn up knees.

"Laren?"

Ro Laren jerked slightly, as if she had been dozing and gracefully got to her feet, uncoiling her tall frame like a cobra rising to strike. It sent a chill of delight through the Klingon.

"Hello," the Bajoran said quietly, blinking in the lights of the corridor which were lowered to half, indicating night watch.

"Hi," B'Elanna remarked. "Were you waiting for me?"

"Yes," Ro said. "I was hoping I could ... well, spend some time with you."

"That would be great," B'Elanna said, just as if she wasn't about to fall over with exhaustion. Though her adrenal glands was busily compensating, sending a flood of hormones and natural stimulants through her body. "Come on in."

She keyed the entrance to her quarters, Ro following as she went inside. The engineer unfastened her tunic, slipping it off her shoulders and tossing it onto the bed.

"Can I get you something?" she asked.

"No, thanks," Ro said softly.

B'Elanna eyed her curiously. The Bajoran looked just as tired as the Klingon had felt.

"Bad day?"

"Don't even ask," Ro said ruefully.

B'Elanna grinned wryly. "Well, have a seat, relax a little," she said. "I'm going to change."

As Ro found a chair next to the table, B'Elanna went into the ensuite, trying not to skip. She showered quickly, using the sonic setting, then looked over her somewhat limited supply of perfume before choosing one to apply to her pulse points. She selected a nightgown and drew a robe on over that. The robe was very sensible, terrycloth, fluffy and pink, reaching down to her ankles. The nightgown was short and wickedly black, softly silken against her skin.

B'Elanna figured she had it covered no matter how the rest of the evening developed though the butterflies which were flailing around in the pit of her stomach told her exactly how she wanted it to go.

She took a breath and straightened her shoulders, returning to the outer room. Ro was sitting quietly at the table, her elbows resting on it, her dark eyes distant as she played idly with a small statuette B'Elanna had picked up on a planet lightyears back. The Bajoran's shoulders were slumped, head bent and B'Elanna had to resist the urge to reach out and stroke the back of her neck as she passed. Instead, she took a seat opposite Ro and regarded her expectantly.

"You want to tell me about it?" she asked gently.

A faint smile ghosted over the woman's face. "There's ... nothing to tell," she said.

B'Elanna tilted her head slightly. "No?" she prodded ever so gently.

"Perhaps a better statement would be that there is nothing I can tell," Ro remarked.

"I can be discrete," B'Elanna said. Ro's dark eyes fixed on hers with blatant disbelief and she blushed. "Honestly, I can."

Ro shook her head. "Sorry, B'Elanna," she said with sincere regret. "I'd tell you if I could but it's a security matter."

B'Elanna shrugged. "Okay," she said easily. "Is there anything you can tell me that might make you feel better for sharing?"

Ro inhaled slowly, looking thoughtful. "I had the opportunity to speak to the captain," she admitted finally. "About ... well, the things that were bothering me."

B'Elanna looked interested. "Really?" she responded. "Did it help?"

Ro nodded. "Yes, it did, a little," she said. "She couldn't really say or do anything that would absolve me of anything, of course, but at least, I think we know where we stand with one another." She smiled gently at the Klingon. " You were right. Thank you."

B'Elanna wasn't sure how she should take that one, or even if she should pursue it. She supposed it was enough that the other woman did seem more relaxed when speaking of the guilt that remained after having betrayed the trust of her previous captain. She folded her hands on the table in front of her.

"I'm glad," she offered. Her eyes met Ro's and for long moments, they sat staring at one another. "I guess ... that makes things easier for you to be on the bridge now," she offered finally. It wasn't what she wanted to say, of course, but it was the only thing she could think of to break this sudden, electrified silence between them.

"Probably," Ro agreed faintly. "Or when we go to lunch with Seven, and the captain happens to be there."

"She really likes you, you know," B'Elanna said.

"Seven?"

"Yeah, her too, but I meant the captain," the engineer said. She knew she was babbling a bit at this point but as long as she was, she wouldn't suddenly leap across the table onto the unsuspecting Bajoran. "She teases you and she only teases people she likes."

"I see," Ro said. "I didn't know that."

B'Elanna swallowed hard and with an effort, forced herself to continue.

"So, would you like to play some chess?"

To B'Elanna's surprise, she and Ro had found a mutual pleasure in playing Three-D Chess, a game which seemed uncharacteristic of the personalities of either woman, but still presenting an interesting challenge for them both. Ro's game was tactically precise, always plotted several moves ahead while B'Elanna tended to play at breakneck speed, intent on causing as much damage as she could to her opponent in the hopes that sheer attrition would win the game. Sometimes, much to Ro's chagrin and B'Elanna's glee, it did.

Ro dipped her head, looking at B'Elanna from beneath her lids.

"Actually," the Bajoran said, her voice suddenly low and silky. "I would like very much to kiss you right now."

Startled, shocked, B'Elanna felt a twinge around where her secondary heart rested quiescent in her chest. Her primary one was pounding so hard, she was afraid it would thrash its way out of her chest.

"All right," And how she managed that casual tone in that moment, was something that would forever remain a mystery to her.

She rested her palms on the table, the surface smooth and cool beneath them as Ro go up and came around the table. Carefully, Ro leaned down and covered B'Elanna's mouth, her lips warm and questioning against the Klingon's.

B'Elanna resisted for as long as she could, not sure why other than the fact that she was still hesitant about scaring the woman away. Then her lips parted and she kissed the Bajoran back greedily. To her gratification, Ro did not pull away. Instead, she reached down to B'Elanna's shoulders, gripping them, urging her up out of the chair. The engineer was quick to accede to this slight encouragement, standing up to be enfolded into the Bajoran's arms, their lips never losing contact. B'Elanna wrapped her arms around Ro's waist, fitting her body against the uniform clad woman as tightly as she could. Unbidden, a growl rose from her throat and she forced it back with an effort.

Ro finally broke away, breathing harshly as she rested her forehead against the proud, Klingon ridges of B'Elanna's brow.

"I don't know if this is the right time or place," she said. "But I do know that I want to be with you tonight."

B'Elanna smiled, feeling desire flash hot and thick along her nerve endings.

"We'll make it the right time and place," she promised fervently.

Ro looked at her, then abruptly kissed her again, covering the Klingon's mouth demandingly, passionately. B'Elanna did growl this time, turning it into a moan and she wormed her hands between them, working at the fastenings of the Bajoran's tunic until she was able to peel it over the woman's shoulders, the jacket dropping to the floor where they kicked it away. Ro's body was warm through the thin layer of sweater and the Klingon tugged at the garment where it was tucked into the waistband, freeing it so that she could run her hands underneath to the soft skin of the Bajoran's torso.

"Oh, yes," Ro groaned, tilting her head back as B'Elanna kissed and nipped along the line of her throat, finding the soft skin at the base where the Klingon pressed her lips over the pulse point there, feeling an echoing throb inside her, building with each flutter beneath her mouth.

The Bajoran pushed B'Elanna away slightly and the Klingon resisted briefly until she understood that Ro was attempting to untie the cord holding the engineer's robe. Then she helped, fingers fumbling at the knot until she finally snarled and ripped it apart, quickly shedding it and slipping out of the robe.

"Stop," Ro demanded and confused, B'Elanna did so, freezing before her.

The woman's eyes were dark, hot as she raked the Klingon up and down with a burning gaze.

"Very nice," she complimented, and B'Elanna was so glad she had chosen the nightgown she had.

Ro pulled her sweater off over her head, strands of her dark hair flying awry as static electrified them and B'Elanna found it difficult to breath as the woman's muscled shoulders, stomach and chest were revealed. Ro was still clad in the Starfleet issued bra, but in the center of each mound, two hard little knots appeared, poking proudly through the thin material. B'Elanna groaned and reached out to the Bajoran, crushing Ro against her as she sought out the lips which were also seeking out hers. Ro's hands were firm on the Klingon, not hesitating as she caressed her through the silken nightie and B'Elanna did not know how she could survive this. She could not remember wanting anyone so much as she wanted Ro Laren this moment.

She unhooked the woman's bra, pulling it off and forced herself to take a few seconds to appreciate the woman's small, yet wonderfully shaped breasts. She was startled as she realized that there were ridges of some sort which rippled up from the brown circle of each pinkish areola for about five centimeters, looking vaguely like the ridges on the bridge of Ro's nose only without the two off-shooting bone spurs. Intrigued, the Klingon carefully reached out and stroked them, discovering they were flesh and not cartilage, bumping her fingertips over them before following the tapered path to circle each hard nipple.

Ro made a sound, deep in her throat. "That's good," she whispered. "That feels so good."

Encouraged, B'Elanna bent forward and traced the short ridges with her tongue, discovering they were as sensitive as the velvet soft skin at the tips of the woman's breasts and she was reminded that Ro was not Klingon or even Human, that her physiology would be different. And so far, the differences were wonderful.

Ro tangled her hands in the Klingon woman's hair, pulling B'Elanna's face tighter to her body and she gasped as the engineer gently raked her teeth over the sensitive skin, careful not to break it.

"It's been so long," Ro moaned.

B'Elanna suddenly felt most of her trepidation leave her. Seven was absolutely right, she thought dizzily. Make love to Laren and absolutely everything would work out perfectly. She lifted her face and smiled gently at Ro who smiled tentatively back, not sure what had happened to suddenly take the knife edge off the Klingon's desire, but aware somehow that it was not particularly bad, her eyes growing gentle in the dim light.

Lovingly, B'Elanna drew the woman close and kissed her, sweet and slow, deeply and devotedly, her hands moving tenderly over the woman's back, slipping her hands beneath the waistband of Ro's pants to cup her buttocks. She discovered more ridges at the top of those firm swells, cupped in soft hollows and the Klingon remembered reading about how sensitive these ridges were, how they could be touched just so...

She breathed deep as a certain, intoxicating musk reached her nostrils, and knew she had succeeded in fully arousing the other woman. She could feel Ro's sensitive hands move over her body as well, finding the pronounced bone ridge which made up her spine, the knobs terminating at two spurs at the bottom, the Bajoran's fingers digging in firmly to rub the muscle around them.

B'Elanna gasped and knew that the Bajoran must have done a little preliminary research herself. Few non-Klingons knew how to massage that particular area to cause that type of stimulation. In fact, not all Klingons knew how to do it ... especially in the way it was stimulating B'Elanna. Another growl rose hard and deep in her throat.

Then all hell broke loose.

"Yellow alert, all hands, prepare for immediate departure." Chakotay's voice came over the comm badges, Ro's on the floor, still attached to her tunic and B'Elanna's which she had laid on the table, along with her Maquis insignia, prior to entering the ensuite earlier in the evening. "All command staff, assemble in conference room one. Lieutenants Ashmore and Ro to the bridge."

There was a list of other names required to go to certain other areas of the ship where they were not normally posted, but it was lost in the string of Klingon oaths that burst from B'Elanna's lips. The curses were not necessarily in keeping with the image of a Starfleet chief engineer but they were matched quite nicely by the more lyrical tirade the Bajoran was uttering. Ro snatched up her sweater and tunic hastily as B'Elanna dashed for the replicator, keying in the uniform replacement command and stripping off her nightgown in a rush. It was not exactly how B'Elanna had wanted to first display her naked form in front of the other woman but chances were, Ro was fully occupied with getting her sweater back down over her head and yanking on her tunic and thus, not even looking.

B'Elanna felt like weeping as she grabbed the neatly pressed uniform, complete with undergarments, which had materialized on the shelf. Trying hard not to think about what she was being deprived of, she pulled it on, wondering where the hell she had left her boots. Ro paused on her way out the door to hand them to her.

"Another time," she promised and kissed B'Elanna quickly, her lips bittersweet on the Klingon's.

Then the Bajoran darted through the exit and biting off a final, bitter curse, B'Elanna followed her, catching up to her at the turbolift which silently carried them up to deck one, neither having or wanting the ability to speak at the moment.

Both of them wondering why all the gods and prophets seemed against them.

Epilogue

Seven watched grimly as the conference room viewscreen displayed a recording of what had happened dockside with Paris and Neelix, the station's holo-imagers picking it all up though, until the shift change had gone over it, no one realized there had been a crime committed. She glanced over at the captain who was sitting at the head of the table. Janeway's face was like stone, her eyes, twin chips of solid granite. Obviously, the captain, had recognized the species who had attacked and captured the Voyager crewmembers as well. Janeway had barely escaped being killed by the charcoal figures. And though they were not any species that the Collective had ever assimilated, Seven had dealt with them harshly in a Barellan prison months earlier.

Now it seemed, they were actually behind the previous attack on Voyager which had brought them to this station.

"They're called the Spurnge," Stationmaster Twimm said, his face suddenly appearing as the station log completed the scenario, which showed the aliens scooping up Paris and Neelix, bearing them to their ship and requesting an immediate launch. "Believe me, if we had know of their activities or that there was bad blood between you all, we would have kept a constant monitor on both your vessels rather than just an automated one."

"We described the attack we experienced," Janeway said coldly.

"You said those were computer-controlled vessels," Twimm responded defensively. "I told you I didn't know anything about that. The Spurnge don't use robot ships. You might not be able to pick up their lifesigns with traditional sensors, but they still man their vessels ... sort of."

"Explain," Seven said then, intrigued.

"Their operators are integrated with their ships ... sort of a direct mind-to-machine link," he said. "And they're nasty business. Chances are, they're heading back to their sector of space with their trophies and it's just complete suicide to go after them. You'd better chalk this one up as a bad deal, all around, Voyager."

"I can't," Janeway said flatly. "They have members of my crew and I will get them back."

"Your funeral," Twimm said with a regretful shrug. "We've downloaded all the library files we have on the Spurnge, finished all the fee transfers and now Voyager is clear for immediate departure."

"Thank you," Janeway said, then hesitated, softening. "You've treated us fairly and honestly, Stationmaster Twimm. That's about all we can ask out here in the Delta Quadrant. Continued success to you."

"And to you, Kathryn Janeway," he responded grimly. "Though I doubt that's what you'll have, going after the Spurnge in their own space. I doubt we'll be crossing paths ever again."

The viewscreen went blank and Janeway regarded her senior staff gravely. There were two empty chairs, conspicuous in lieu of the absent crewmembers who normally sat in them.

"Commander Chakotay, inform Lt. Ro that she'll be covering the helm until further notice," the captain said firmly. "Lt. Torres, Lt. Nicoletti will be returned to engineering to fill the void Neelix has left." She paused, looking at each senior officer in the eyes, making contact with them, solidifying the bond they all felt. "We'll get Tom and Neelix back. You can count on it. Prepare for immediate pursuit of the Spurnge vessel. Let's do it, people."

The command staff quickly got to their feet and headed for the door. As they did, Seven was surprised to hear a muttered comment from B'Elanna that would forever puzzle her.

"I just knew Paris was responsible for this somehow."

The End

•  This is the 26th in the Just Between series.

• Dedicated to Dru who provided the crucial research material.

• There is a graphic bit in this story, which is not for the squeamish.  If you think you're not up for a graphic description of what's about to happen (and you'll know what I mean when you get there), then seriously, you should not read it because I tried to depict it as accurately as possible. Just Between Lost & Found
G. L. Dartt

Commander P'Tuk drifted through the corridors of his vessel, the Bles'Kil, on his way to the holding cell where his latest trophies were on display. He was a remarkably fine male, rising to two meters in height with slender bones and deceptively strong musculature, his eyes glowing golden in dark features, which seemed to blur if any species other than the Spurnge regarded them. But then, the opinion of any species other than the Spurnge was of little consequence. It was enough for him to go through life knowing that the females under his command considered him worthy mating material, allowing his spawn to be passed on liberally as the Book of T'Varnis commanded.

He wondered how much v'har this newest acquisition would bestow upon him. The destruction of the Spurnge's finest triad had not gone unnoticed and the transmitted images of the Federation starship Voyager just before the K'Narani was destroyed, had been passed on to every commander in the fleet. The High Circle had made it clear that any triad which could bring them the head of Voyager's commander ... or proof otherwise of the destruction of the vessel itself ... would receive great v'har. But the vessel had disappeared, having left Spurnge space and it seemed that the insult would forever go unavenged. Then P'Tuk had the good fortune to come across a nebula that required that his vessel receive its own healing at Balleyport Station. Of course, it hadn't seemed like good fortune at the time, but subsequently discovering the cursed Voyager docked to the station where it was receiving repairs, no doubt for wounds sustained in its cowardly attack from behind which had killed the K'Narani, came like a gift from the gods.

He, of course, would have engaged them immediately, but the prime of the Bles'K triad was alone, the other two thirds still on their patrol routes in Spurnge space. Nor did he know how to take advantage of his opportunity while operating under the truce of Balleyport. The station was too valuable a resource to all the species in the sector to cut ties with it in the name of the Spurnge, so he was forced into a position of passivity, keeping an eye on Voyager and wondering how he could somehow hurry his repairs and return with the rest of his triad to engage the Federation vessel once it left the sphere of Balleyport's influence.

Then, the two aliens had come on to the Bles'Kil's loading bay, a trespassing of the most grievous kind, and it had been dealt with in the accustomed manner. But a docking menial had discovered during their entertainment of tormenting the weaklings, that one of them was actually Voyager's Pilot. It had sent the lowly laborer running to the Commander as if his tail were on fire, where his intelligence was duly noted and rewarded with a promotion to cargo supervision. To P'Tuk, it was like receiving a blessing from the P'Karna herself.

He could not imagine the motivation behind such a foolish move on the part of Voyager's commander as to allow such a vital part of his vessel to wander around on a docking bay, and he was made slightly uneasy by it. But that did not stop P'Tuk from taking full advantage of the opportunity. With Voyager thus crippled, unable to fly without its Pilot, he would easily be able to return to his triad, and with them, triumphantly to the High Circle, bearing their prize.

The throb of his vessel's warp drive was a comforting feel through his legs as each moment that passed brought him that much closer to achieving what would probably be the greatest success in his existence. Such anticipation put him in a fairly genial mood as he entered the holding area and stopped before the cell which contained his trophies.

They were indeed repulsive, he thought, regarding the stocky, slow-moving beings, all pinkish and gold, like jeweled displays of the royal harem, with sparse hair like pets ... or food. It was hard to believe such creatures had achieved intelligence, let alone be able to act as the guiding force of such a formidable vessel as Voyager. Yet that was what the taller one had claimed and it was a well-known fact, one could not lie under the application of a burn-stick. The pain was too exquisite and even the strongest of Spurnge warriors would tell any secret just to make it stop.

They were lying on the hard benches, either sleeping or unconscious. P'Tuk noticed that their food was left uneaten and he frowned. He did not want these two to expire before he brought them home. The food seemed all right, fresh killed with the vital organs and juices still leaking, but apparently, it was not suitable. A thought struck him and it occurred to him that certain aliens preferred their meals irradiated by energy waves in order to 'cook' them. It was a disgusting contemplation but then, this was a disgusting species. Or was it two?

They all looked alike to him.

"Take their food," he told the guard. "Remove the vital organs and pass the remains through a biofilter burn. Maybe they'll eat that."

The guard gaped at him, but nodded obediently.

P'Tuk spared his prizes a final, possessive glance before returning to his control center.

If only they weren't so ugly. Seven of Nine, late of the Borg Collective and currently astrometrics officer of the Federation starship Voyager, opened her eyes. She was instantly alert, passing from deep sleep to instant wakefulness, and she reached out in the night, fumbling about beside her. But the spot next to her in the bed was empty, a decidedly unusual and unappreciated state of affairs and she listened intently. From the outer living area, she could hear sounds of respiration, first of an animal, the Irish Setter, Jake, then lower, the soft breath of her partner and spouse of several months.

She glanced at the time, frowning when she saw it was 0216 hours, late night ... or in another view, very early morning. She was aware that her beloved had spent a restless evening, but she had not even felt the woman's departure from their bed, her sleep continuing unabated. It bothered Seven and she rose, reaching out to a nearby hook which supported a black robe. She pulled it around her, tying the cord at her waist, the air cool around her legs, which were left bare almost to the apex of her thighs.

Exiting the bedroom, she stepped briefly in a wet patch on the carpet where Jake had spilled his water dish. She hesitated, made a quick mental note to alter the positioning of the dog's dining area, then went on to where her partner was busy at the workstation closest to the bedroom.

Captain Kathryn Janeway was a compact woman, smaller than her formidable personality and command presence made her appear. Her rich, auburn hair was let down from its customary bun, falling freely over her shoulders and down her back which was all Seven could see at the moment. Dressed in a blue, terry cloth robe, the captain huddled in her chair, illuminated only by the light emanating from the viewscreen which was flickering as she studied the data. Curled up in a furry, rust ball around her feet like oversized slippers, Jake slumbered peacefully under the desk.

Seven came up behind Janeway, resting her hands on the woman's shoulders, feeling her warmth through the fluffy material.

"You should be asleep," she said quietly.

Janeway shook her head briefly. "I couldn't," she said absently. "So I came out here where I wouldn't disturb you. And to go over the library files that Balleyport downloaded for us before we left."

Seven did not like seeing her partner this fretful, but she knew the kidnapping of her crewmembers rankled at Janeway in a way that it did not affect others on the ship, particularly by this species. The Collective had never assimilated any representatives of the Spurnge, but both Seven and the captain had encountered them before, in a prison where Janeway had almost died at their hands. That alone made Seven regard them with more than merely ambivalent feelings, as well. The fact that Lt. Tom Paris, Voyager's helmsman, and the Talaxian, Neelix, had been captured for some unfathomable purpose was merely the reason the ship was now hurtling through space in pursuit of the aliens.

"Have you considered..." Seven began, trailed off uncertainly.

"That they might already be dead?" Janeway asked evenly. She inhaled deeply. "Yes, I did. But unless I have some kind of proof, I still have to go after them."

"I understand," Seven said, and did, quite profoundly.

The young woman herself, had been the recipient of such single-minded allegiance from the captain. Twice, Janeway had faced down the Borg Collective to retrieve Seven from their possession ... and the first time, the captain and Seven hadn't even been romantically involved. Janeway would never allow anything to happen to one of her crew without doing everything in her power to rescue them, even if it meant risking the entire ship in the process. Some might think it illogical, but Seven was also aware that the knowledge of the lengths the captain would go to for every crewmember was what kept many of them at their posts when it seemed like the entire ship was flying apart around them, or enabled them to carry out what seemed like insane orders when common sense would say such things should never work. Loyalty beget loyalty and it was a lesson Seven took to heart.

Still, Janeway would do Paris or Neelix little good by exhausting herself, yet Seven also knew how difficult it was to convince the captain of this.

"Have you discovered anything new?" she asked, rubbing lightly with her fingers over the muscles of her partner's neck and shoulders, using the subtle massage to ease the knots she found there.

"Not new," Janeway said, "but perhaps something that is disturbing."

"Indeed?" Seven said, inviting her partner to continue.

"The Spurnge are a predatory species, very territorial," Janeway explained. "It's very possible that we trespassed on the outskirts of their space on our journey here."

"That grants them leave to attack without provocation?" Seven asked. "To refuse to communicate?"

"It may make it understandable," Janeway returned, granting the point but still trying to see the other side of it. "I don't like it, but perhaps they felt entirely justified in attacking us. They were defending their space from our intrusion. And subsequently, their docking bay from Tom and Neelix's entry."

"That may explain why they would attack us," Seven agreed evenly. "But why did they simply not kill Lt. Paris and Neelix when given the opportunity? They had them at their mercy ... why spare them?"

Seven felt Janeway's shoulders tense once more, and she realized that perhaps it was not a question she should have asked.

"Apparently, the Spurnge have reasons to do what they do," Janeway said tonelessly. "And they are not always apparent."

"Ah," Seven said. She let her hands slide around to Janeway's upper chest, hugging her. "There still remains the possibility of their being dead then."

Janeway inhaled slowly. "I'm not going to risk the ship unnecessarily, Seven," she allowed huskily, apparently understanding the point Seven was trying to make. "I know that we don't have the freedom we once did to go after those who bring us harm, even if it means that this time, I would have to sacrifice my crewmembers ... my friends ... for the good of the vessel. If we can't catch this ship before it reaches Spurnge space, if we can't find a way to get Tom and Neelix back before they get to their own territory ... then, I'll turn back."

Seven knew how hard that was for Janeway, both to acknowledge and to say, and she lowered herself until her head was beside the captain's, her cheek against her spouse's.

"I believe that we will apprehend them," Seven reassured her. "My understanding is that they are still several weeks from the outermost border of their space and Voyager is a formidable vessel once more. We do have a tactical advantage in both speed and weapons."

"But I'll still have to convince them to give up their 'prey' once we catch them," Janeway said. "I don't know what diplomatic trick I can haul out to accomplish that, especially since their idea of communication is shooting first and talking to the survivors afterward."

"You will, when the time comes," Seven told her with complete certainty. "I believe in you, Kathryn."

She glanced over and saw her partner smile briefly, the blue-grey eyes lowering as her body relaxed marginally in the Borg's arms. The captain reached up and put her hand on Seven's forearm, squeezing gently.

"Go back to bed, darling," she requested. "It's late."

"Only if you accompany me," Seven returned. "Kathryn, we are back to regular shifts but you still require rest. You need to be thinking clearly in this situation and you cannot do that if you are tired." She turned her head and kissed the elegant cheek so close to her. "I know you do not wish to be reminded of this," she added gently. "It irritates you when I do, but that does not change the reality of it."

Janeway sighed and relaxed even more.

"No, it doesn't," she agreed reluctantly. "You're right, Annika. I'll come to bed."

"And, if you cannot sleep," Seven offered, sweetening the deal. "I shall rub your back."

"Ah," Janeway said, and now her tone was warm, a half smile curling her mouth. "Are you trying to bribe me?"

"Perhaps," Seven allowed. "Do you object?"

"Not at all," Janeway said ruefully. "I like it when you pamper me, even if I show it by being cranky at times."

Seven did not understand that one at all, but decided that she did not need to. It was enough that Janeway was shutting down her station and getting out of her chair. The Borg wrapped her arm firmly around the smaller woman's waist as they returned to the bedroom where Seven helpfully relieved the captain of the terrycloth robe, revealing the pale skin, which was dusted lightly with freckles in the most adorable places. She then stripped off her own robe and after Janeway had positioned herself on her stomach in the middle of the bed ... indicating she had every intention of taking Seven up on her earlier offer ... the young woman retrieved a small bottle of oil from the drawer of her night stand. She straddled the captain's buttocks and poured a little of the oil into her palm, rubbing both hands together briskly to warm them, and the oil, before putting them to Janeway's smooth back.

Janeway, her face resting on the pillow of her forearms, groaned in appreciation and Seven smiled briefly as she carefully massaged the knots from her partner's shoulders and back, her fingers digging in deliciously.

"Have I ever told you that you're far too good for me?" Janeway murmured.

"Frequently," Seven replied indulgently. "And it is always an incorrect statement."

"No, it's not incorrect at all," Janeway responded, squirming slightly. "By the way, when did you learn to do this? It's wonderful."

Seven bent down and gently kissed Janeway's left shoulder blade. "I researched it not long after we were married," she said gently. "It is a fairly simple procedure of applying pressure to various parts of your Human anatomy."

"Well, the various parts of my Human anatomy are very grateful," Janeway said, smiling as she luxuriated beneath the Borg's soothing hands, her eyes closed, the lashes casting soft shadows on her cheeks.

Seven regarded her affectionately, moving her hands gently over her partner's back even as she resisted the urge to turn her touch into a sensual caress. Desire was rising within her as she felt the soft swells of her partner's buttocks beneath her and she tried to put more weight on her knees, attempting to avoid the provocative touch of smooth skin against her most intimate region. Kathryn needs sleep, she told herself firmly, not love making ... so why does she keep moving like that? It took a few moments before Seven realized her partner was doing it deliberately, pressing up against the juncture of the Borg's legs, though from casual appearance, she seemed almost asleep.

"Kathryn," Seven said warningly.

"What?" Janeway muttered innocently, opening her eyes to look back over her shoulder.

Seven leaned down, her breasts falling onto the captain's back where the nipples dragged tantalizingly along the skin, slick with oil, tingling delightfully at the sensation ... which the Borg tried hard to ignore. "The purpose of this massage is to put you to sleep," Seven explained patiently. "You require rest."

"And what does my darling require?" Janeway said, voice heavy with humor. "That she's so aroused?"

Seven's breath caught at the words, knowing she could not deny the claim.

"It is irrelevant what I require," she said, trying anyway.

"Oh, darling," the captain said, rolling over. Obligingly, Seven lifted herself up to grant the smaller woman the freedom to move. Once Janeway had settled back against the mattress, Seven resumed her position, looking down into level eyes, which were shaded a soft blue. "What you require is very relevant to me."

Seven inhaled slowly and resumed her massage, rubbing the captain's upper chest and breastbone gently, then up to the shoulders, her fingers sliding easily with the oil still clinging to them. Janeway placed her hands lightly on the Borg's upper thighs, her thumbs falling against the tender inner leg, which she stroked softly, lingeringly, almost driving the young woman to distraction.

"Tell me," the captain insisted quietly, her gaze electric as she captured Seven with it. "What do you require?"

Seven hesitated. "I require you to relax," she said huskily.

"Oh, I'm relaxed," Janeway said, leering elegantly. "In fact, if I get any more relaxed, I might just have to lie here while you sit on my face."

Seven felt the heat rush to her cheeks. "You are incorrigible," she muttered.

"Always," Janeway agreed happily.

"And occasionally profane," Seven remarked sternly.

"Me?" Janeway protested mildly. "I prefer to think of it as ... straightforward." She tilted her head and smiled. "You've taught me that ... how to cut through the extraneous and get to the heart of the matter."

"And positioning myself over your face is 'the heart' of this matter?" Seven asked.

Janeway regarded her fondly. "Darling, the heart of the matter is that you have needs, too," she said. "Maybe I haven't always been as attentive to them in the past as I should have been, but I certainly hope I'm improving. I believe we've talked about this before, in fact. That even if I didn't seem interested, you should at least tell me that you want to make love."

"If you are not interested," Seven pointed out rationally. "Then it would give me no pleasure to make love with you."

"I understand that," Janeway said gently. "But you have to give me the opportunity to become interested. Otherwise, I'm not always going to be able to guess what you're feeling. I don't always have the ability to notice how wet you've become, for example."

Startled, Seven blushed as the words shivered up her spine.

"I had not realized that I was," she said honestly.

Janeway arched her hips slightly, so that she was pressing her pelvis against Seven's heat and all the moisture there.

"Oh, you most definitely are," the captain assured her huskily. "I admit, the signs of arousal aren't as apparent as they would be if you were male, but I can arrive at conclusions based on collected data. Especially if it's collecting in one special spot at the moment."

Seven was momentarily diverted. "What would be the signs if I were male?" she asked curiously.

"You'd have an erection for one thing," Janeway remarked dryly. "And believe me, it's hard to miss that particular signal."

Seven considered it. "It must be inconvenient," she said thoughtfully. "There are times when I wish to make love to you when it is entirely inappropriate ... but no one ever knows because I can conceal it. Males must find such deception far more difficult."

"They do," Janeway said with a laugh. "Believe me, they do." She ran her hands restlessly up and down her partner's legs, sobering slightly though a half-grin remained on her lips. "You should be aware, however, that just knowing that you're aroused is usually more than enough to arouse me in return. Like tonight. When I felt your wetness on me, it was like someone lit a fire in me. Don't try to hide how much you want me, darling. Not here, in our quarters ... in our home."

"Very well," Seven said, leaning down so that her face was close to the captain's, close enough that their lips were a mere whisper apart. "I shall not attempt to conceal how much you mean to me. Or what you do to me."

And she kissed her deeply, no longer hiding anything, needing her spouse so much it was almost frightening to the young woman. Janeway entered the bridge, her tummy bulging slightly from the delicious breakfast her spouse had provided for her. Now, well rested, well fed, and without question, well loved ... considering how wonderfully the massage Seven had provided the night before had turned out in the end ... she felt energetic, loaded for bear and ready for whatever the universe had to throw at her. She descended the short flight of stairs leading to the command level, her eyes keen on the viewscreen which spread expansively over the front of the bridge, revealing the backdrop of stars shooting by, distorted by the warp bubble surrounding her ship.

"Report," she said.

Her first officer, the tall, burly Chakotay, got up from where he had been holding the command chair. Over his left eye, a tribal tattoo spread from the middle of his forehead down to his temple. It was distorted by the furrows in his brow as he frowned, his dark eyes serious.

"We're unquestionably gaining," he said. "They started out about eighteen hours ahead of us. We've brought that down to twelve. With any luck, we'll be in transporter range in another day."

She nodded approvingly. "Good work," she said. She glanced around the bridge, noting that the full alpha shift was on, her best people at their stations ... with one notable exception, of course. The helm was being covered in Paris's absence by Lt. Ro Laren, a Bajoran who was well-qualified but certainly not possessing the talent and skills that Tom did. Even Ro would admit that if asked and Janeway wondered if anyone had.

At tactical, the Vulcan security chief, Tuvok, glanced up. "Captain, they are still out of range of our sensors. However, if a probe was to be launched ahead of us, it would provide us with some preliminary readings that may make a difference in any future encounters."

Lt. Harry Kim, covering operations, nodded in agreement. "If we use the multi-phasic shielding, it might even blind their sensors somewhat," the handsome young man remarked. "Allowing it to get really close before they detect it."

Janeway nodded. "Good idea," she said. "Do it."

She stepped closer to the helm, looking over the shoulder of Ro who was guiding the ship. She took note that they were running at warp 9.1 ... not the fastest the vessel could go but certainly as fast as it could sustain indefinitely. Any faster risked overloading the engines after a set period of time, causing them to shut down for repairs. The ship had just been overhauled. She didn't want to damage it again, not unless it was absolutely necessary for rescuing Neelix and Tom.

She glanced at Chakotay. "We need a plan of action," she said in a low voice. "I want a brainstorming session scheduled in the conference room with the senior staff. Make sure they're all familiar with the library files on the Spurnge. I want it for 1100 hours and until then, I'll be in my ready room."

He nodded and she left the ship in his hands as she descended the next group of stairs, entering her ready room. The thermos, which had been tucked neatly under her arm, was placed on her desk as she retrieved her lucky cup. She unscrewed the silver container and poured out the rich, aromatic brew, filling it to the brim and sipped Seven's special blend of coffee gratefully as she sat down. She activated her computer, bringing up the files she had been perusing the previous night ... before Seven had interrupted her in such a pleasant way. For a moment, she allowed her thoughts to dwell on her beloved spouse, on how it felt to be with her, then, with a shake, she forcibly brought her mind back to the matter at hand.

The Spurnge, according to what little Balleyport Station had discovered about them, were very aggressive in defending what they considered theirs. They were not conquerors, but they were also not in the habit of officially claiming territory before they began to protect it. Their culture was shrouded in mystery, with status granted accordingly by something called v'har. It was honor, wealth and privilege, but it was more than that, intertwined by many other things like personal accomplishment and how it was applied to others of lesser or higher v'har.

Their space fleet was comprised of several squads called triads, groupings of three ships each, which patrolled their space and challenged all those who violated what they believed to be theirs. To have run across a solitary vessel was unusual indeed and it was perhaps the reason why the vessel ... which was named Bles'Kil in the docking manifest ... had kidnapped the two Federation members. Had the entire triad been in port, they might have arbitrarily attacked Voyager ... or politely escorted the two crewmembers back to the Starfleet vessel with the implication inherent that Janeway was an incompetent commander to have lost track of what was hers, thus claiming significant v'har over her. It was also what gave her hope that her people were still alive. Live and controlled opponents granted far more v'har than mere corpses. Particularly in any future striving for yet more acclaim.

It did interest her to know that, although she was no doubt hated for Voyager destroying an entire triad in battle, she would have also gained much v'har herself. To have taken on a superior force and won so decisively was to be respected. She wondered how she could use that in the upcoming encounter ... or if she could use it at all.

She took another sip of coffee, knowing she had to be very careful if she wanted to get her people back intact. From what she learned, it was possible that the agreement would be made, but a loophole would allow the Spurnge to send over only corpses, thus achieving the ultimate v'har over her. She had to figure out a way to set it up so that there would be no loss of v'har on the part of the other commander, yet retain her own while retrieving her people. It would be tricky.

Of course, she could always choose a purely military position, go in with phasers blazing and photon torpedoes loaded. Unfortunately, not only might that guarantee the deaths of her people, it also went against everything she believed in, both as a person and as a Starfleet captain. All possible diplomatic efforts had to be exhausted before she resorted to blasting away. Indeed, it bothered her considerably that she had not managed to find such a solution in the original encounter with the triad. Destroying those ships may have elevated her position in the eyes of the Spurnge, but it lowered her in her own. Yet, at the same time, diplomacy had to be balanced with the fact that Voyager was alone out here.  Diplomacy worked best when it was a velvet glove covering a steel fist ... to ignore that could have deadly consequences as well.

She leaned back in her chair, her gaze distant as she struggled not to be overly affected by the memories of her very first encounter with the Spurnge. It had been in a prison where all the inmates fought for survival in the most brutal conditions. She had been battered, beaten, and deathly ill, completely on her last legs when five members of the Spurnge had demanded her boots with her offering only the most pitiful of defense. If it had not been for the sudden appearance of her partner who absolutely destroyed the grouping, Janeway no doubt, would have died.

She breathed shallowly. It was unlikely the Spurnge knew of that, or of her weakness against them, but she knew and she was forced to shove her fear down into the darkest part of her. She remembered how she had felt when she viewed the recording of Tom and Neelix's kidnapping, how it took everything she had to control her reaction to the appearance of the beings which had haunted her nightmares for months after the incident, to cover her shock and terror with the impassive mask of command.

She could not afford to have that fear influence her decisions in this situation.

She glanced at her console's screen and at the small chronological readout in the lower corner ... opposite the small image of Seven. She had no idea where the morning went and realized it would soon be time for the staff meeting that she had requested. She downloaded the files into a padd and slowly finished her coffee, using the time until the meeting to refine the tentative plan she had conceived. She knew she was going to have to be on her toes for this mission, just as Seven had pointed out. It behooved her to take her moments to rest and relax when she could. It was not something she was particularly good at, but it was something she was trying to improve every day ... if not for herself, then certainly for the sake of the woman she loved.

Commander Chakotay, Lt. Kim, Lt. Ro and Lt. Commander Tuvok were already in the conference room when she entered. She took a seat at the head of the table, beneath the large viewport, which looked out onto the starfield, and rested her elbows casually on the table. They were quiet as they waited for the rest of the senior staff to arrive from the rest of the ship, not wanting to fill the time with small talk that would, in some way, lessen the seriousness of the meeting. Before long, Seven, the Doctor and Lt. Torres entered and took their respective places, B'Elanna, next to Ro, and Seven at the far end of the table, directly opposite Janeway. The Doctor just found an empty seat.

"You all know the mission," the captain began quietly. "And what we must accomplish. I also assume you've perused the files we have on the Spurnge. I need to have any ideas, thoughts, possible tactical suggestions on how to proceed in the event I've overlooked something."

"The Spurnge are aggressive," Chakotay, naturally, began. His burly form lounged in his chair but that was somewhat deceptive. He was certainly as worried as the rest were. "And from what I can understand of their culture, they counted it as a coup against Voyager by taking our Pilot."

"If they are indeed, aware that is who they have," Tuvok noted logically. "And if Mr. Paris did reveal who he was, it is possible that they are not fearing our pursuit at all."

Janeway regarded him with interest. She had missed that. "Go on," she invited.

He glanced at Ro and with that bit of encouragement, the Bajoran spoke up. "It seems that their pilot, their helmsman, is directly tied into the ship's systems, both mentally and physically," Ro said. "It's as if that being becomes one with the vessel and thus, is certainly not supposed to be walking around outside of the ship. They're far too valuable to risk losing. To have captured one would be considered a devastating blow to an opponent ... or rather it would with a Spurnge opponent. Most Spurnge ships do not carry a replacement for their pilot."

"So, taking away a pilot essentially stops that ship dead," Janeway noted. She nodded approvingly. "That may increase the chances for them to leave Tom alive and hopefully, Neelix by proxy."

"And make them think we would be unable to mount a pursuit," Tuvok added. "We would hopefully have a certain amount of surprise on our side which we could use to our advantage."

"Possibly," Janeway said thoughtfully. "But it's not anything we should count on." She glanced down the table. "Doctor, our sensors detected no organic remains in the destruction of the triad. Nor did they detect any on the recording we observed. Can you elaborate on that, at all?"

"I ran the recording through several enhancements," the Emergency Medical Hologram related. A sparse, trim man whose matrix was acerbic in nature, he had gradually developed sentience as a result of being activated on a continuous basis for six years. "It seems that the Spurnge are actually .0003 out of the temporal phase variance with ourselves."

Janeway blinked, startled. "What?"

Seven regarded the Doctor with keen interest. "Fascinating," she said coolly. "That means they actually exist .0003 seconds in the future. That would explain why they move so quickly and why it is difficult to observe them with the naked eye."

"Yes," he said, with enthusiasm. "It's as if they're always blurred when in fact, what one is actually seeing is the afterimage of where they've been a split second earlier. And they have time to counter moves which to them, happened earlier, in the past. Their reactions are possibly no faster than our own on a one-to-one basis."

"And this is why we didn't pick up any organic material in the debris?" Janeway asked.

"Exactly," the Doctor said. "After death, the material returns to real time, but at an accelerated rate which disintegrates it and making it impossible for traditional settings to detect the resulting, inorganic dust.  All that's left is basically just the chemical makeup of the being."

Janeway frowned. "But I saw dead bodies," she said. "In the prison."

"Not entirely dead," Seven noted dispassionately. "Even decapitation leaves organic tissue alive for a certain period of time. We would have left the area before the DNA components would have broken down completely. A warp core breach, however, which is what really destroyed the ships, emits an antimatter radiation which kills all living tissue immediately. So there were no remains to be detected in the debris field."

"This is all very interesting," B'Elanna spoke up. "But does it help us beyond being able to adjust our sensors to detect them in the future?"

"B'Elanna's right," Janeway said. "We need a concrete plan for when we actually come in contact with them. There's something called v'harsen that I think we can use. This is what I intend to do."

She watched their faces tighten as she laid out what she wanted to do and from the look in her partner's eyes, she knew that Seven would be speaking to her later on this.

Possibly in a very loud voice. B'Elanna Torres left the conference room, still somewhat dazed at her captain's plan. It was daring, there was no question. But would it work? And if it didn't, could Voyager stand the losses involved? She didn't think so, and because of that, she knew it had to work.

She exchanged a glance with Ro as the Bajoran resumed her place at the helm. Recently, the engineer had become quite enamored with the quietly deadly woman, and it seemed that Ro returned her interest. Varied interruptions had prevented them from fully carrying out the natural progression of such interest, but the Klingon knew it was only delayed, not prevented entirely. That thought made her tingle all over and some of that must have translated in the glance because Ro looked away. There was the slightest hint of pink to her cheeks though the Bajoran was hardly the sort to embarrass easily.

Smiling to herself, B'Elanna headed for the turbolift, aware of Harry Kim intersecting her path from the upper level, entering the lift with her.

"Harry?"

"Chakotay wants me to get a report on the restraining field experiments," he explained. "I think he wants to see if we can get them in place before we go into action against the Spurnge."

B'Elanna frowned briefly.

"You know, it's not likely to ever work on the bridge," she said as the doors slid shut and the lift began to descend. "People need more freedom of movement, particularly in a crisis, than the fields provide. It's one thing to pin the captain in her chair, for example, where she can still move her hand to release the field once the maneuvers are complete. But how do you restrain her if she's up and moving around the bridge or still in her ready room when the attack comes? And how would you restrain crewmembers at stations where they have to stand up? Like you on ops or Tuvok at tactical?"

Harry nodded. "I know," he said. "We constructed pallets where people can lay down and be held immobile while the ship gets bounced around. But actually, those people are the most protected in a crisis anyway, even without a restraining field. The real question is how to protect those who have to stay at their posts."

"What about making them personal force fields?" B'Elanna suggested, stepping off the lift as it deposited them on deck twelve.

"It's been tried," he said. "There's no way to get the power source small enough to carry around individually. And when it's tied into the ship systems, they tend to falter when the ship is under attack, at the very time the crew needs them most."

The Klingon thought about it as the two walked to her office which was on the main engineering level.

"What if," she tried. "We slap restraining fields on individual areas of the vessel? Like the bridge, activating when the integrity field breaks down and turning off when the integrity field resumes?"

"Trapping the crew like flies in amber?" Harry said, his dark eyes questioning. "But that still runs into the problem of movement when it's needed. How much fluctuation of the integrity emitters would trigger it? And how little would release the field?"

"Maybe we can use a test area," B'Elanna offered thoughtfully. "An auxiliary room or ... I know, the turbolift!" she concluded, snapping her fingers. "People are always getting hurt in them when the integrity emitters fail. But if we can slap a field on it and prove that it can work, then we can think about doing it with other areas."

Harry looked doubtful. "When we would have time to take the turbolift out of service to perform the experiment?" he asked.

B'Elanna ceded the point. "Not until after we're done with this mission," she agreed. She hesitated, regarding him quietly. "What did you think of the captain's plan?"

He exhaled slowly. "It'll be dangerous," he said. "For both teams."

"But it should work," the engineer offered thoughtfully. "Though I wish she had put me on team one rather than two."

"That's just because you want to be with Ro," Harry noted dryly.

She shot him a sharp look. "I don't know what you're talking about," she tried.

He snorted. "C'mon, B'Elanna," he said. "Everyone knows about you and the Bajoran. Hell, there's a pool on it."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. There was a pool on everything that went on in the ship, from whether Janeway and Chakotay had ever done the deed ... apparently they hadn't ... to what year Voyager would actually return to the Alpha Quadrant. They were usually initiated by Tom Paris who was notorious for winning more than his share. It did not surprise the Klingon that there would be one regarding her and Ro, though that didn't make her like it any better.

"Do you have replicator rations down on it?" she asked, her voice dangerously silky.

He glanced at her uneasily. "Megan doesn't like me to gamble," he said. Which didn't actually answer the question, the Klingon noted, but she granted that it really wasn't Harry she was annoyed with, it was Tom. Or was it that she couldn't be annoyed at him at the moment because his life was in dreadful peril which was really annoying her?

"Well, it's a good thing Megan likes you to do other things," B'Elanna said finally, changing the subject and causing the young man to blush. "Hasn't she had your kid yet?"

"No," he said, sighing. "And she's worried about being overdue."

"Funny, she was the one with all the premature labor, wasn't she?" B'Elanna noted as she keyed her console, checking on the current status of her engine room. "Now, everyone else has delivered and she's still holding on."

"She doesn't find it amusing," he said glumly, leaning against the station. He looked weary all of a sudden and B'Elanna resisted a smirk. "The Doctor told me that if she lasts to the end of this week, he'll induce labor."

"Sounds like fun," B'Elanna said dryly.

"I'm just glad it's not me," he admitted, then looked guilty for voicing that thought out loud.

B'Elanna shook her head. "Great, Harry," she said, snickering. "I bet you don't tell that to her."

He shook his head and suddenly, she realized he was really concerned. With an effort, she curbed her sense of humor and patted him on the shoulder. "It'll be fine, Starfleet," she said, utilizing the pet name she had bestowed upon him when she first met him all those years ago. "Pretty soon your son will be here and you'll be a dad. Then you won't have any time for your single friends at all."

He took a breath. "I already don't," he said pensively. "Tom and I don't get to ... well, hang out like we used to. I wonder if we did, if I had been with him on the station, maybe he wouldn't have gotten captured."

"Or maybe you'd be the one on the Spurnge ship instead of Neelix," B'Elanna pointed out. "Which wouldn't do Megan or your kid any good. Harry, don't blame yourself for the messes Tom gets into. Or for that matter, anyone could have gotten into. No one knew how protective the Spurnge were with their loading bay. Hell, why didn't the station warn us to steer clear in the first place?"

"Probably for the same reason people aren't formally told to steer clear of Breen docking bays in the Alpha Quadrant," he said. "It was just assumed that we knew going near them was trouble ... everyone else in the sector does." He inhaled deeply. "Sometimes I get really tired of us always being the strangers in a strange land. Never knowing the protocols of whoever we're dealing with, always being in unfamiliar territory ... it just gets hard sometimes."

She patted him on the arm. "I know," she said sympathetically. She wondered how many of the crew felt like this. Though she had found a place here on Voyager that she had never had in the Alpha Quadrant, she was aware that others missed their families and homes terribly. She was surprised that more discontent didn't come out at times. "We'll get back someday, Harry."

"I think about that a lot now," he continued, his eyes dark. "Especially when it comes to my son. Will he ever see Earth? Will he ever get to meet his grandparents? Even if I could just let them know somehow that I'm going to be a father, that they're going to have a grandchild ... it would make all the difference. Then, maybe I wouldn't feel so bad."

"Harry," she said firmly. "We all feel that way from time to time. And unfortunately, the bottom line is that it doesn't help you in the long run to dwell on this. We'll get home when we get home and until then, we just have to keep going. After all, we could easily all be dead a hundred times over, or stranded on a dead planet or assimilated by the Borg or turned into seaweed by Species 8472. Let's be glad we're still here to complain about it."

He considered that. "You know, your Harry didn't make it back," he said.

Startled, B'Elanna looked at him. She had forgotten that the Harry in this reality had died, as did the newborn Naomi Wildman during an encounter with a parallel universe. Of course, the man here, as well as the oldest child on the ship, were still the same people they would have been in any event, but she realized that certainly, he would think of that from time to time. She doubted that Naomi even knew, or would ever be told by her mother.

"Hey, just remember, no one else in that universe's Voyager made it either," she said, a chill rippling through her spine at the thought. "That Janeway implemented a self-destruct rather than have her crew harvested by the Vidiians." She paused, trying to think of the right thing to say. "We're all here, and we're all together, Harry. Keep that in mind."

"Tom isn't," he said.

"He will be," she noted. "He wouldn't dare die before Janeway finds him.".

Blinking, he looked at her, then his face relaxed.

"I'm sure that thought is keeping his hopes intact," he said. "Wherever he is."

"Now you're just being sarcastic," she accused.

He flashed her a grin. "Who me?"

She frowned broodingly and he relented, returning to the original subject and why he was there in the first place.

"All right, let me present it this way to Chakotay," he said. "We can't install restraining fields until they're tested. And we can't test them until we're clear of this mess with the Spurnge. He'll understand. The last thing he would want is to go into battle with an untried, untested system that may or may not work when it's needed most. It's better to deal with what we have."

"Agreed," she responded. "But as soon as we've got our people back and have resumed course, you and I will try to rig a field for the turbolift."

They discussed the particulars for a few moments more, then he inclined his head, and left. She stared after him for a few moments, lost in thought about all the changes Voyager had gone through so recently, and how it was altering everyone's perspective on the ship. Hell, she had been downright empathetic to the young operations officer just now ... like a counselor or something. She wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not, but who knew? Maybe by the time Voyager returned to Earth, she'd be positively mellow.

She finished up her shift and logged off, heading for her quarters. She was very glad that things had settled down somewhat from the ongoing crisis they had experienced for months. Now the crew was back to a routine and even with the problem of Tom and Neelix's abduction looming over them, people were still considerably more cheerful and enthusiastic than they had been. She supposed that came from the fact that they were no longer afraid of the ship flying apart at any moment. Not that it would have, of course but they had been fairly vulnerable to another attack. Finding Balleyport Station had been an unexpected, but direly needed happenstance and she wondered if they'd ever have a chance to stop back there again.

She blinked as she spotted Ro Laren in the corridor on deck nine and realized that the Bajoran must have been lingering in order to run into the engineer. It gave her a warm feeling inside and she discovered she was grinning somewhat foolishly, trying to cover it. The Bajoran quirked an eyebrow as other crewmembers walked past them.

"Lt. Torres," she said formally.

"Lt. Ro," B'Elanna responded. She wondered if she should let the other woman know that it was common knowledge that the two were edging toward an ongoing relationship, then decided that would only cloud the issue. She led the way into her quarters, feeling her heart increase its rhythm perceptively as Ro followed her without needing to be asked.

Would this be the evening?

Suddenly, it seemed that she was having difficulty breathing.

"I wanted to apologize in person," Ro said as B'Elanna turned around.

"Damn," B'Elanna said, dismay sharp within her as she realized what the other woman really meant. "We're not having dinner together tonight, are we?"

"I'm sorry, B'Elanna," Ro said, looking honestly regretful. "Tuvok has an extra training session scheduled this evening before he teaches the Starfleet class. For some reason, he's been a real stickler lately ... maybe because of the Kunntarie invasion."

"I can skip class," B'Elanna said immediately. "We can have dinner after your session."

Ro smiled and moved closer, linking her fingers behind the Klingon's neck with unusual familiarity and looked at her very fondly.

"I don't want you to do that," Ro said softly. "And honestly, I had no intention of ... well, doing anything before you needed to go to class, anyway." At B'Elanna's expression of disappointment, she added in a huskier tone; "When we're together, I want it to be all night, with no interruptions for anything. Just you and me for hours on end."

B'Elanna's breath caught at that image, and she slipped her arms around Ro's waist.

"Do you know how much ... how I feel about you?" she asked.

"I think I know," Ro admitted. "I ... care a lot about you, B'Elanna."

B'Elanna leaned forward, hesitated, then kissed her, holding her tightly. When they parted, the Klingon rested her proud ridges against the Bajoran's forehead.

"Are we ever going to get the chance to be together?" she asked wistfully.

"We will," Ro assured her. "Sometimes, it's just a matter of letting things happen in their own time." She brushed her lips over B'Elanna's brow, the engineer feeling her kiss along each bump lovingly. "I have to go."

B'Elanna tightened her embrace in protest, then reluctantly released her.

"Damn, sometimes I think someone out there doesn't want us to be together," she grumbled.

Ro flashed her a grin as she left the quarters.

"It just seems that way," she said.

And B'Elanna wondered how much longer she could stand this. Seven stood with her arms across her chest in the middle of their quarters, a frown etching her narrow features as she regarded her partner. Janeway leaned back on the couch and spread her hands out in a gesture of surrender.

"All right," she said. "I know you don't like this. So let me have it."

"I do not believe this plan is tactically sound," Seven said sternly.

Janeway raised an eyebrow. "I explained about v'harsen," she pointed out. "You have to agree that it is the best possible way to negotiate with them. And their culture indicates that it has to be me who does the negotiation. So what's tactically unsound?"

"Going there without me," Seven said promptly. "I should be the one to accompany you in the negotiations."

Janeway sighed. "Annika, your internal transporter node is the only thing which will allow you and the second team to get through the shields to where Tom and Neelix are," she said in a patient tone. "Ro is completely capable of backing me up. That's why I chose her to be my second."

Seven looked away. The captain was correct, it was a tactically sound plan. So why was she so unhappy with this? Janeway got up off the couch and wrapped her arms around the Borg's stiff body, pressing up against her in an effort to get her to unbend a little.

"Darling," Janeway muttered. "I think the real reason you don't like this is that we'll be separated. But weren't you the one who became angry with me when I insisted on accompanying you while we infiltrated the pirate band? And you were right, I was probably out of line. We each have a job to do and we have to trust each other to do it. I'm relying on your team to get Tom and Neelix out of there while I keep the Spurnge commander occupied."

"And how will you and Ro get out of there?" Seven grumbled, refusing to look at Janeway who was obviously attempting to distract the Borg with her proximity. She could feel the captain's hands rub her back soothingly ... but Seven did not wish to be soothed.

"Oh, I'm not going to go into a v'harsen on the Spurnge ship," the captain said. "I couldn't. That wouldn't be the neutral territory this tradition demands, nor would we be able to bring the commander and the chosen second over here. We'll have to find a place we both agree is secure, so that we can meet under a flag of truce." She smiled, and it was slightly predatory. "Then you, Tuvok, Harry and B'Elanna will beam over to where Tom and Neelix are and bring them home."

"Won't the Spurnge react badly to such deception?" Seven asked, softening slightly as she unfolded her arms, slipping them around the smaller woman's compact form.

"Maybe," Janeway said, taking the opportunity to snuggle closer. "But Voyager will keep a transporter lock on me and Ro the entire time. The Spurnge don't know about our transporter capability, Annika. It's a technology that they simply did not develop, perhaps because of that .0003 phase variance which would make it impossible for any traditional transporter beam to work on them. We have to use that to our advantage." She looked thoughtful. "And, from what I can understand about their culture, they would not consider being defeated by a superior technology as a loss of v'har. In fact, by surviving it to bring back knowledge of its existence to their leaders, it might even grant them a certain amount of v'har."

Seven frowned again. "I am not comfortable with the fact that a great deal of this is based on speculation about their culture," she said. "The data Balleyport Station provided was sketchy at best and could have significant gaps. Such lack of information could lead to disaster."

"That's why we'll cover all the angles, Annika," Janeway assured her. She hugged Seven closer and rested her forehead against the Borg's chin. "You know, darling, I'm not in the habit of having to explain my reasoning to a crewmember."

"I am aware of that," Seven remarked. "Which is why I did not object in the staff meeting. However, in these quarters, I am not your crewmember, I am your spouse. You are required to explain to me."

Janeway opened her mouth, no doubt to further object, hesitated and shut it instead. Her eyes lowered and she nuzzled into Seven's throat. "All right," she mumbled. "Maybe you have a point. But have I eased your misgivings?"

"Not at all," Seven said, then dropped her cheek to press against Janeway's temple, gentling her tone. "But I accept that you must do this, and I promise to carry out my duty as you direct. However, you cannot demand that I like it."

"No," Janeway agreed softly. "I can't demand that."

They stood in silence for a few moments, holding on to each other. Seven understood that Kathryn disliked it when the Borg displayed her protectiveness toward her, particularly lately and perhaps, she admitted to herself, she had become a little extreme in recent months. But didn't Janeway understand how much she meant to her? How much Seven wanted her to remain safe, free from harm and danger?

Of course she did, Seven responded to herself. But Janeway was who she was, stubborn, headstrong, determined to lead the way no matter what the cost, and those traits were part of why Seven was so attracted to her. She could not make her spouse into something she wasn't and she shouldn't try. But that didn't make it easier for the Borg to stand by when she knew her partner was about to do something that could possibly endanger her.

She tightened her embrace.

"Please, be careful, Kathryn," she whispered. "I could not go on without you."

Janeway kissed her sweetly. "Trust in me," she said, her eyes level and sincere. "Trust in my abilities. Trust in your own. I do."

"I worry about you when I am not with you," Seven said, trying to put her unease in words. "I think that we have experienced so much that I have learned how quickly things can change and not for the better. I do not ever want our relationship to change."

Janeway considered that. "If you mean, you never want us to stop loving each other," she said, "then yes, I fully agree. But change is part of growing, Annika. Our relationship will change over the years ... but that doesn't mean it will be a bad thing."

Seven shook her head. "Sometimes," she said sadly. "I wish that time would stop and we would always be as we are right now."

Janeway lowered her head, looking at her from beneath her lashes. "Annika, if time stopped right now," she said logically, "I would still be in your arms but I wouldn't be able to do this in the next moment."

She kissed her, her lips lingering on the Borg's mouth and Seven felt her partner's love and devotion translate through the tender touch. Seven smiled briefly when they parted.

"I accept your point," she said. And then, kissed her back.

There was a nudge at their sides, and they broke away briefly to discover their dog pushing his muzzle between their legs.

"I think someone's jealous," Janeway said dryly.

"I believe someone has not been walked today," Seven noted more accurately.

Janeway released her spouse, leaning down to pat Jake, scratching behind his ears. "I've been woefully neglectful," she said ruefully. "I'll walk him." She went over to where his leash hung and retrieved it. She glanced back at Seven. "Come with me. We'll go for a stroll through the park."

Seven quirked an eyebrow, understanding that this was something new. Generally, Janeway walked Jake by herself, no doubt taking the time to be alone with her thoughts as she made a circuit of the ship. It was never stated that way, of course, but the Borg did try to understand and respect the unspoken habit. Certainly, not being able to do it in recent months may have contributed to why Janeway had felt a need to 'break out' while Voyager was docked at Balleyport Station, an attempt which had ended somewhat disastrously. For Janeway to want her spouse to accompany her now, however, indicated a change of some sort in the captain's attitude.

"Why?" she asked plainly.

Janeway smiled and reached out her hand invitingly. "Because I want to be with you," she said. "I've missed you so much over the past few months. Come with me."

Seven hesitated, then accepted the captain's hand, linking her fingers in Janeway's.

"Very well," she said softly.

"C'mon, boy," Janeway commanded as the two women exited their quarters. The dog trotted happily after them, passing them as he forged on ahead toward the turbolift although he didn't dash away. He was too well trained for that, maintaining it even when the captain and Seven had not had a lot of time to spend with him lately.

Seven was surprised that Janeway kept their hands linked but she was certainly not going to complain. Her spouse's fingers were warm, and she could feel the captain's thumb stroking idly over the back of her hand as they walked. They got on the turbolift and as it descended to deck eight, the Borg decided she rather liked walking the dog. She wondered if this would be a regular thing or if Janeway merely wished to be accompanied this night only.

"Your classes have resumed, haven't they?" Janeway asked as the couple stood in the lift.

"Yes," Seven said. Then a shadow crossed her face. "It will not be the same without Neelix, however. He is an active participant and without his input, I believe the class shall be lessened for it."

"We'll get him back, darling," Janeway murmured. "We'll get them both back."

Seven glanced at her, seeing the steely flash in the eyes, the way the jaw set itself so determinedly. She found it charming, knowing that Janeway was probably unaware that she was displaying such an expression.

"I know we will," she agreed and squeezed Janeway's hand lightly.

The captain flashed her a bit of a crooked grin and then the turbolift doors slid open. Jake bounded ahead eagerly, his senses no doubt determining where on the ship he was. He skidded to a stop in front of the large doors which led to cargo bay two, his tail wagging hard, a small whine of excitement and anticipation issuing from his throat as he waited impatiently for his mistresses. There was a time when he could have opened the door himself though Seven had put a stop to that when the couple realized he was making unauthorized excursions on his own.

"He really likes the park," Janeway noted as the door sensors detected the approach of the two Humanoids, opening automatically. Jake darted through as soon as the opening was large enough to squeeze between and Seven smiled faintly.

"I believe that there are aromas in here that he can find nowhere else on the ship," she said as they entered the transformed cargo bay.

Where once there had been stark metal walls and deck, filled with shipping containers, now the floor was covered with a thick, emerald lawn, bordered by colorful flower beds and small trees. Bushes lined the park, helping to disguise the bulkheads which had been painted in a brick pattern, below a mosaic of green and blue to imply sky and forest beyond. The illumination in the ceiling two decks above was bright, drawing far more power than most ships would deem expendable, approximating sunshine. Of course, a holodeck could easily reproduce this on a much grander scale, but the crew of Voyager still seemed to enjoy this tiny space of real park more. Perhaps it was a subconscious thing, reacting to the very real smells of earth and growing things that simply did not exist in a holodeck, no matter how good the programming. For Humans, the difference meant a lightening of the heart that they did not receive in an illusion. For Jake, with his far more acute senses, it was all the difference in the universe and he dashed happily back and forth over the lawn, finding a stick in the underbrush, which he bore proudly back to the captain.

Obligingly, Janeway tossed it for him, sending it as far across the park as she could manage. As he bolted after it, she and Seven found a wooden bench and sat down, the Borg sliding her arm around the captain's shoulders, pleased when she did not object in the slightest even though there were other crewmembers strolling around the circumference of the area on pebbled paths. Not far away, the burble of a small fountain made a delicate counterpoint to the hum of the warp drive while above their heads, leaves rustled gently in the breeze of the air recirculating unit.

"The biometrics team did a really good job on this," Janeway noted as she looked around, inhaling deeply. The fragrance from a nearby rose bush filled the air around them and she looked over at her partner, her face soft. "You did a really good job on this."

Seven inclined her head. "Thank you," she said. She tilted her head. "It is quiet however," she noted. "Biometrics has suggested that we add birds and genetically altered bees for pollination purposes. And perhaps, earthworms in the ground."

"Genetically altered?"

"No stingers," Seven elaborated. "It would save the crew from manual pollination and make this a more healthy environment, particularly for the children."

Janeway nodded. "I remember the report that came across my desk," she allowed. "I just haven't had time to get back to them on it." She took the stick Jake had retrieved from between the dog's jaws and threw it again. "It would be a really delicate balance to maintain. It's such a limited area."

Seven nodded as Jake streaked away. "I know," she said. "I have been going over the projections with Ensign Wildman, however and I do believe it can be done."

Janeway regarded her, a gentle smile touching her lips. "You really find this fascinating, don't you?" she said. "Shall I be expecting a request for transfer from you in the near future?"

Seven quirked her eyebrow. "I believe I am best suited for astrometrics," she said slowly. "However, I do find biometrics intriguing ... perhaps because the Borg did not actively explore that field as they did other areas. It is a completely new group of sciences for me and while I was uninterested in such things when I was first separated from the Collective, I now find it worthy of further pursuit."

"Well, there's no harm in having more than one interest," Janeway allowed. "Particularly in the sciences." She settled closer to her partner, pressing up against her side and Seven unobtrusively squeezed her shoulders. "We all find our own bliss, darling. Or it finds us, somehow."

"Yes," Seven responded, resting her cheek against the auburn hair, having found her bliss contained in the compact form seated next to her. "It does." P'Tuk lounged in his command seat, feeling quite good about things. His trophies were starting to eat the seared flesh the Spurnge were providing and seemed to be livelier than they were at the beginning of the voyage, though granted, they had been considerably roughed up when first brought on the Bles'Kil. However, they would survive the trip to where the rest of his triad patrolled and that could only be to P'Tuk's advantage, particularly when he was presenting his case to his First Father who commanded the triad center, the Blod'Kil.

"Honored Commander?"

The voice was tinged with sarcasm, the traditional tone of Pilot P'Murn, as was the voice inflection of every individual accorded the ability to meld with the organic center of the vessel. The corpulent, naked Spurnge was situated in a depression in the center of the bridge, surrounded by varied cables and tubes which fed into his body, and a significant amount of black hair had rubbed off over the years, leaving smooth, pinkish patches where the restraints held him in place, protecting him. On either side of him, his t'burnie, two females selected to constantly monitor his vital signs, sat at their posts quietly, not lifting their eyes, as was proper.

P'Tuk found the whole thing positively repulsive even as he understood this was the way things were.

The only other Spurnge allowed in the command center, was of course P'Varn, the protectorate, waiting for orders to go intimidate someone, which was his regular function on the ship. He was bulky for a Spurnge warrior, solid rather than slender ... and not particularly bright. But then, he didn't have to be. That's what the Commander was for.

P'Tuk waited the requisite amount of time, long enough to show his distaste for the pilot, but not so long as to upset him unduly which would have unpleasant consequences. Pilots controlled all the ship's systems and tended to be aware of their importance in the overall scheme of things. Not to mention petty, which meant that certain of the ship's systems might not function for anyone who insulted a Pilot ... like the waste recycle unit.  But P'Tuk was still in ultimate command of the vessel and today he as in a good mood so he did not preface his response with the traditional insult that he was accorded as the superior.

"Speak," he said grandly.

"Sensors have detected a probe," P'Murn noted.

"Where?" P'Tuk asked lazily.

"20 serk off our port stern."

P'Tuk bolted out of his seat. "What?" he exclaimed, knowing he was providing the pilot with a certain amusement but not caring. "How could it get so close without our knowing it? And how long has it been transmitting data?"

"It uses some form of rotating shielding that clouds our sensors," P'Murn said. He could not turn his head of course, to look back at the commander, but P'Tuk suspected he would be grinning with that sickly display of dulled fangs which was his version of a smirk. "Since we just detected it, there is no way of knowing how long it's been there, or what it has transmitted."

"Where is it from?" P'Tuk asked, gliding up onto the pilot's dais so that he could look into the screen displaying the backdrop of stars and a silvery shape moving purposely in the Bles'Kil's wake. To a Human, the image would be blurred, as if everything was vibrating slightly. To the Spurnge, it was perfectly clear.

"The technology is consistent with that of the Voyager ship," P'Murn said.

P'Tuk frowned. "They sent a probe after us?" he mused. "Until they could find a replacement pilot?"

"Or what we have is not their pilot at all," P'Murn suggested. "And this was merely sent ahead of their vessel which is now in pursuit."

"Impossible!" P'Tuk dismissed that out of hand. "The creature admitted his pilot status under a burn stick. He could not lie."

"Perhaps," P'Murn allowed, clearly skeptical. "However, my suggestion is that we destroy this probe and lay in a course of evasive maneuvers in order to mask our trail."

P'Tuk thought about it. "No," he decided. "That would take time from our journey and I wish to rejoin our triad immediately. Destroy the annoying probe, but do not deviate. I want to convince them to return to Balleyport as quickly as possible." He tilted his head in sly amusement. "You are not afraid of our upcoming battle, are you, P'Murn?"

"I am cautious," P'Murn said. "However, it is your decision. The foolish bravado shall be on you."

"The triumph as well, pilot," P'Tuk reminded him savagely. "I will return the head of Voyager's commander to the High Circle and be treated accordingly. Perhaps even with our own separate triad where the Bles'Kil is center and I am First Father. You would appreciate being Prime Pilot in that case, so just carry out what is required to accomplish it."

"As you wish," P'Murn said. His eyes glowed briefly and from the stern, two shots were fired. The silvery probe exploded with satisfying rapidness, an expanding ball of metal and gases which disappeared almost immediately as the Bles'Kil's warp drive carried her forward.

"You know, P'Murn," P'Tuk said jovially. "I almost wish this Voyager had access to a spare pilot and could pursue us. I would gladly swap v'har with its commander. Or better yet, take it all for myself. That would accord us our own triad for certain."

"P'Karna has said often," P'Murn responded coldly, referring to the current Spurnge spiritual leader. "Those who wish for prey, occasionally encounter a predator instead. Voyager destroyed an entire triad with one decisive blow. Do not believe a single vessel could handle such a predator. Particularly since we are only a third caste vessel."

P'Tuk regarded his pilot, contemptuous of his obvious fear. Calling it 'caution' did not alter the fact that P'Murn was at heart, a coward. However, it was the way of his class of Spurnge, wasn't it? They were always far more concerned with the well-being of the ship ... and by proxy, themselves ... than they were about the beings who actually accomplished things, who decided when and where the vessel must go to acquire the greatest v'har that could be bestowed. Knowing one's place was one thing ... being afraid to reach beyond for greater things, was another. V'har went to those who could seize it. P'Karna had said that quite often as well.  It was a pity that Spurnge only accepted the word of the great Book when it fit their particular universe viewpoint.  The far-seeing ones were frequently held back by the v'har impaired ... but P'Tuk would not allow himself to be held back.

Pilots were mere vassals to those that commanded, he decided, and needed to remember to treat them accordingly.

"Continue our course," he demanded. "I go to see our trophies. I wish them to know that their last hope of retrieval has just been destroyed. They react so ... entertainingly."

He turned on his heel and left the command center, glad to be out of the presence of such shortsightedness. "Bridge to the captain."

The call came over her comm badge and Janeway raised her free hand, touching the golden metal on her uniform tunic. With her other, she flung the stick again for the rapidly tiring Jake who ran gamely after it.

"Janeway here."

"Captain, telemetry has stopped coming in from our probe," Chakotay informed her. "I suspect it was finally discovered but not before it was practically on board the Spurnge vessel. We picked up quite a lot of information from it that the various departments are going over now. The reports will be on your desk by 0600 tomorrow morning."

"Excellent," Janeway said. "Time to intercept?"

"Projections have us in sensor range by 1100 tomorrow," he responded.

"Understood," she said and cut the channel. She reached down and resumed her hold on Seven's hand, which was resting on the captain's lap. "So we wait," she added quietly.

Seven raised her head, the blonde features visible out of the corner of Janeway's eye, a glint coming from the young woman's cranial implant.

"I know this is difficult for you," the Borg said softly.

Janeway took another deep breath of rich air, delighting in the many fragrances even as she acknowledged Seven's point.

"It is," she said. "However, they'll know we're coming after them, Seven. They'll have faith in that."

"Yes," Seven agreed. "Every crewmember has faith in that. Has faith in you."

"I hope so," Janeway said. "If my previous experience with the Spurnge is any indication, they'll need all the strength they can get." She resisted the urge to sigh, forcing the thoughts of her missing crewmembers from her mind. There was nothing she could do at the moment and obsessing over it would not help either her or the two men.

The light of the park dimmed suddenly and startled, Janeway looked up. She knew that there was a twelve-hour cycle on the illumination system, but she had never actually experienced the changeover. And it was discomforting, going from bright sunshine to darkness in a matter of a minute. Elegant lampposts, designed from the Victorian era of England, glowed yellow in the dark, casting soft shadows among the bushes and trees, and the bulkheads seemed to disappear, granting a odd sort of spell to the park, making it seem much larger and a great deal spookier. The only thing that was missing was a mist rising from the lawn and the image made the captain smile.

"I wonder if that can be altered," she said quietly. "I rather like twilight."

"You mean a period of gradually dimming light rather than an abrupt shift?" Seven asked thoughtfully. She paused. "It could be instituted but we would have to research the impact on the plants. It was determined that twelve hours of light and twelve hours of darkness was the optimum cycle to be the most efficient."

"It's still my favorite part of the evening," Janeway said, standing up. The captain used her grip on Seven's hand to assist the Borg to her feet, though certainly the younger woman hardly needed it.

"Then, I shall look into it," Seven promised her spouse.

"Come, Jake," Janeway said as the two women left the park. Jake, who had finally just dropped the stick on the ground and curled up under the bench, lifted his head alertly, then followed quietly at their heels, tongue lolling happily. Obviously, his day had been absolutely perfect. The captain smiled and she squeezed her partner's hand.

"This is nice," she said. "We should walk together more often with Jake."

"I was under the impression that walking Jake was time you took for yourself," Seven noted calmly.

"Oh, it is," Janeway admitted. "But I like walking with you, too. We can alternate." She paused until they had stepped onto the turbolift. "Deck three. Annika, do you ever take time to yourself?"

Seven considered it. "Being deliberately alone is still a difficult concept for me," she said. "But occasionally, I find myself going into my Borg alcoves to work on various projects. I believe the database is more extensive, but it is also due to the fact that in there, I am not interrupted by anyone."

Janeway nodded. "I didn't know that," she said. She smiled slyly as a sudden thought struck her. "Would you mind me interrupting you there, one day?"

Seven hesitated, then seemed to realize what the captain was getting at. "It is a part of the vessel we have yet to make love in," she allowed. "However, it would be fairly uncomfortable. I know how little you appreciate 'rolling around on the deck'."

"We could improvise with the cubicles," Janeway said with assurance and was gratified when a faint blush colored her partner's cheek. Obviously, the mental images created were pleasant ones, and deeply personal. "I'll think about how."

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "So shall I," she admitted. "Every time I am in there from now on."

Janeway laughed as they approached the door to their quarters. Then she paused as she remembered an earlier plan she had devised and she stepped back, intent on finding out if it were possible or not.

"Kathryn?"

"Darling, you know where our closet is," the captain said. "Where would the other side of that bulkhead be?"

Seven considered it, then strolled down the hall to the door where the VIP quarters were. Chakotay's quarters were opposite it and Janeway was glad that the Borg was not accessing his door. It would have completely stymied her plan. The captain followed the Borg into the suite and looked around, wondering how much longer they could afford to keep this space open. It was necessary for diplomatic purposes but this was the last empty area they had on Voyager. With the new additions to the crew, Janeway wasn't sure how much longer she could justify not adapting these to crew quarters.

However, she thought firmly, not before I expand our closet.

Seven was in the small bedroom which was attached to the outer living quarters.

"Here," she said, pointing at the far wall. "Our closet is on the other side."

A smile spread over the captain's features. "Just as I hoped," she said. She looked around. "What would you think about adding this space to our own?"

Seven glanced around. "We would assimilate this bedroom?"

"If you want to put it that way, yes," the captain said. "We would assimilate it for our own purposes. We could move the bed out into the outer living area which would still make these fairly spacious guest quarters, but this space would be sealed off and accessed from our ensuite."

Seven regarded her, her face suddenly bright.

"A child's bedroom?" she asked.

That hit Janeway like a blow to the stomach. "Actually," she said, not enjoying this nearly as much now. "I was considering a walk-in closet."

"Ah," Seven said, her face dimming as she looked away, a shadow crossing her eyes. "That would be acceptable."

Janeway stepped closer. "I'm sorry, Annika," she said sadly.

"No," Seven responded. "It is my fault. I made an erroneous assumption." She turned to the captain and smiled though it seemed the slightest bit forced. The Borg was not really adept at hiding her feelings. "I believe a walk-in closet would be a good addition since I have expanded my wardrobe."

Janeway wanted with all her heart to be able to say something that would make this better for her spouse, but she knew she couldn't. There wasn't anything that would unless it was a statement that Janeway was not, in any way, capable of making, nor would be, for as long as Voyager remained in the Delta Quadrant. That was the reality of her being captain. So instead, she wrapped her partner up in her arms and hugged her fiercely.

"I love you, Annika," she whispered. "I wish things could be different."

"I do, as well, Kathryn," Seven said, holding her tightly. Janeway heard her swallow and then felt the brush of her lips along her hairline. "And, I love you, my Kathryn ... my darling, beloved, wonderful, precious Kathryn."

Despite herself, the captain smiled. "Nice adjectives," she said.

"Thank you," Seven said, seeming pleased. "I am trying."

Janeway drew back so that she could study the narrow features of her partner, gazing into the pale blue eyes intently, searching them somberly. "I wish I could express how much you mean to me," she elaborated huskily. "Sometimes, I wonder where I would be now without you, what sort of person I would have become if you hadn't loved me. I think I would have grown progressively colder, more obsessed with duty, more ruthless about how I went about carrying it out ... I think I would have lost a good part of my Humanity, darling. I would have lost the best part of me, and had only this shell of command left. And who knows what kind of a captain I would have been in that event ... without the compassion and kindness and caring that you bring to my life?"

Seven reached up, tangling her fingers in Janeway's hair, pulling her head closer to her, resting her lips against the smaller woman's forehead.

"You would have always cared," the Borg told her seriously. "Sometimes you care so much you get lost in it, but that caring desperately for others and your beliefs is very much who you are. And I love who you are ... with all that I am."

Janeway felt tears stinging her eyes. "I am so blessed," she whispered, bending her head. Feeling an acute pang of pity for all those Janeways in all those universes who did not have what she did, who did not know the love of this amazing woman who was holding her.

Seven nuzzled her. "I will never tell anyone," she said softly, " how 'mushy' you are."

Startled out of her tears, delighted with yet another unexpected display of Humanity from a woman many considered inhuman, Janeway laughed.

"'Mushy'?" she objected. "What kind of a word is that?"

Seven's eyes glowed, a smile curving her full lips. "It is the kind of word that describes you perfectly," she said teasingly. "You are 'soft and mushy' inside, though only I am aware of it."

Janeway prodded her in the ribs with her thumb. "As long as we keep it just between us," she warned.

"I promise," Seven said and Janeway knew the moment of darkness had passed, chased away by the light in her partner's eyes, and the emotion in their hearts. The Borg glanced around once more. "We should contact maintenance as soon as possible before someone else annexes this room."

"Next to the captain's quarters?" Janeway said, glad to move on to more cheerful things. "There are not many in the crew that brave, my love. I think even Chakotay would move off this deck if he could."

"Then we could have his quarters as well," Seven noted in a sudden burst of acquisition fever. "We could have the entire deck."

"Let's not get greedy," Janeway said, smiling as she released her partner and led the way out of the bedroom. "Even I haven't been that avaricious."

"But you have thought about it," Seven noted accurately.

Janeway hesitated, then smiled again. "I don't think I should answer that," she said primly as they found their way to their own quarters.

There, they discovered that they had left Jake behind in their sudden desire to explore their expansion plans, the Irish Setter waiting patiently in the corridor, sitting in front of their door. Janeway patted him, praising him profusely for staying put.

God, she thought to herself. We couldn't have kids even if I wasn't captain. We can't keep track of a dog.

Inside, Seven slipped behind the counter of her kitchenette.

"What would you like for dinner?" she asked.

"You," Janeway said, following her into the workspace and slipping her arms around the Borg's waist.

Seven smiled. "You may have me for dessert," she offered, glancing back over her shoulder indulgently.

Janeway released her. "Well, since you put it that way," she said, "I would like pasta tonight."

"Sauce?"

"Tomato," Janeway said, moving out of her partner's way and around the counter where she perched on a stool that was set there for just that purpose. "With cheese and mushrooms and meatballs and lots of garlic bread."

"Perhaps you may not want me for dessert," Seven said dryly. "After all that."

Unabashed, Janeway grinned and accepted the glass of red wine the Borg poured for her, sipping it as she watched her partner assemble the ingredients for her spaghetti. She felt a peace settle over her, despite the situation with the Spurnge and realized that finally, things were getting back to normal ... or as normal as it got on a starship alone in the middle of nowhere.

"Are you still writing letters to mother?" she asked, the sight of food preparation reminding her, as always, of Gretchen Janeway.

"Yes," Seven replied as she sliced the peppers. "Even though Naomi's project is complete, I continue to do so. I find it ... comforting."

Janeway nodded. "So do I," she said. "They're all piling up in a file in my ready room workstation."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "You do not write them here," she said, a statement, not a question.

"No," Janeway said. "I find that last hour just before logging off duty is the best time. It helps me organize the day in my head." She paused. "I suspect my mother would either find them to be completely incoherent or far more than she ever wanted to know about me."

"I suspect she will adore reading them," Seven countered gently. She began to prepare the garlic bread as the sauce simmered in the heating unit, then abruptly looked up to meet Janeway's eyes. The captain quirked a brow, wondering if she would like what was coming next and trying to decide when it was that she had developed this trick of reading Seven so well. "Kathryn, have you considered what will happen if we must ... turn back without Tom and Neelix?"

Janeway took a swallow of her wine.

"No," the captain said evenly.

"Not until I have to." Ro Laren entered the bridge, slipping down to the lower level where she took over the helm. She had discovered that she rather liked handling the ship, finding it more responsive than the Enterprise was, and a lot easier to control. In a way, she wouldn't mind accepting this as primary duty on another Intrepid class vessel though it was entirely possible that her rotation on Voyager would take up the rest of her life. The Prophets only knew if they'd ever return to the Alpha Quadrant or that, if they did, there would be any place in Starfleet for her. One only got so many chances at redemption.

Behind her, she heard the rest of the alpha shift relieve their gamma shift counterparts, taking over their respective stations, Harry Kim at ops, Tuvok at tactical, Chakotay at conn. To port, Ensign Samantha Wildman covered the science station while Susan Nicoletti manned the engineering console. Ro spared a moment of thought for B'Elanna, wondering what the chief engineer was doing. In a way, this period of time where the two women were unable to hook up for an evening might be considered good for them, serving to heighten their desire and anticipation for an intimate commitment as well as teach them appreciation for each other when they were finally together.

Ro just didn't know how long it would be before one or both of them went insane.

There was another hiss as the ready room door off to the side opened, surprising Ro who realized the captain had come on duty early. The Bajoran noted the sudden rise in awareness among the bridge crew, knowing that was why no one ever had to perform the 'captain on the bridge' announcement. Janeway tended to make her presence felt quite naturally, without making a sound. Picard had been like that, Ro remembered. Even when one didn't actually know he was there ... one understood that he was instinctively. It was a feeling that could not be described and a quality that could not be taught and ironically, not every captain had it so it wasn't a command requirement. It just defined who was merely a captain ... and who was a great captain.

She straightened under the band of red which had been predominant on her uniform tunic lately, sensing Janeway's proximity.

"Time to intercept?" the wonderfully husky voice asked from just behind Ro's left shoulder.

"Projections have it at three hours, twenty-two minutes," Ro said promptly and professionally.

"At ease, Lieutenant," Janeway advised in a lower tone that only the Bajoran could hear. "There'll be plenty of time to be tense in three hours." Her hand came down on Ro's shoulder, warm through the material of the tunic as she patted it gently.

"Aye, sir," the Bajoran said. Then kicked herself mentally as she remembered that Janeway preferred to be called 'captain'. She wished she were back in security, swapping lies with the rest of the beta squad as they did inventory in the armory.

But there was only a bit of a husky chuckle and the presence moved away. Ro exhaled slowly and focused her attention on the helm, determined to do a good job. Soon enough, she would have to accompany Janeway to wherever the Spurnge decided was acceptable territory to parlay in ... assuming they went for the offer in the first place. Ro was not looking forward to it. Janeway managed to complicate the simplest things ... such as going out for an innocent drink in a bar and getting in the middle of a brawl.

Ro still had the bruises from that one.

She could hear Chakotay and Janeway talking in low tones behind her and she tried not to eavesdrop but she found her security training wouldn't let her ignore it entirely. It was important that she knew what was going on, even if it didn't always involve her directly. She particularly wanted to know if it did involve her directly.

"I hear you're spreading out," Chakotay muttered.

"My, news travels fast," Janeway noted dryly. "I only contacted maintenance last night."

"The work order came through this morning in the daily logs," the first officer reminded her. "So you're grabbing an extra bedroom? Are you and Seven thinking about adding ...?"

"No," Janeway interrupted shortly, and there seemed to be a note in her tone warning Chakotay off. It certainly would have warned Ro off. "It's for a walk-in closet. Seven's been expanding her wardrobe and we're finding things a little cramped for two people and a dog in the captain's quarters."

There was a low chuckle, from Chakotay this time. "Have I ever pointed out how positively domestic Seven's making you?" he asked.

"All the time," Janeway said casually. "On the other hand, it would do you a world of good to try domestication yourself sometime ... provided you could actually find a woman who doesn't want to kill you after being in your presence for longer than six months."

A pause, then a rueful laugh. "That was a reference to Seska, wasn't it?"

"And Lt. James and B'Elanna ... tell me Chakotay, have you ever broken it off with a woman where your life was not threatened?"

"Ouch," Chakotay said.

Apparently, Ro decided, the first officer was not as good at being on the receiving end as he was at needling the captain. She wished she could glance back and see the look on his face. That had been a very good one and it seemed that finally, Janeway was starting to get back a little of her own from the burly man.

"Captain," came Harry Kim's voice suddenly from his position at ops. "Long range sensors are detecting a vessel."

"It's signal is consistent with the Spurnge vessel which was docked at the Balleyport Station," Tuvok added. "Apparently their engines were less powerful than we anticipated."

"I'm not complaining," Janeway said, standing up and moving to the front of the command level, just behind Ro. "On screen and magnify. Are we within hailing distance?"

"Not yet," Harry responded.

Janeway nodded. "Shields up, all hands to battle stations. Second Team, assemble in transporter room one"

Immediately, the bridge lights dimmed to a sickly red glare as the tension level in the atmosphere shot up like an arrow from a tightly strung bow.

"Weapons at full capacity," Tuvok noted calmly.

"Stand by," Janeway said, her eyes glued to the viewscreen. "Harry?"

"Hailing the Spurnge vessel," the young man said. "Adapting input to allow for phase variance."

Ro glanced up at the screen as it flickered and gave the Voyager crew their first clear look at the aliens. Their looks did not improve with matching the variance element. The Spurnge were covered with short, charcoal colored fur, which blanketed a narrow face set with glowing golden eyes with thin-lipped, wide spread mouths, revealing the glint of sharply pointed teeth. Impossibly slender, the alien was dressed in a uniform of sorts, colored a deep red which was the exact color of the blood of a great many Humanoid species, including Bajorans. Ro thought she heard a sip of air taken in by the captain, the first hint of unease the officer had ever seen in Janeway.

There was no such subtlety with the alien. He was obviously shocked and surprised.

"You have more than one pilot?" he blurted.

The voice was a thin screech that even the translator could not filter completely, rasping unpleasantly along spines and nerves like a file.

"We are adaptable," Janeway said. "Any one of my crew could pilot in a pinch."

A bit of an exaggeration on the Federation captain's part but obviously the alien who was clearly taken aback by such a statement would not know that.

"You are Commander?" Janeway asked then, pressing the point.

"I am."

"I am also Commander," she continued. "You have accepted v'har that belongs to me. I wish it back."

"I will not give it," he stated, and seemed to regain a little aplomb, grinning viciously.

"I demand v'harsen," she said flatly.

Again he was taken aback and strived to hide it. Ro was amazed how easily she was able to read these creatures, especially once she could see them clearly. She reminded herself that she would not have that advantage when she was actually in their presence. Her reflexes would be pressed to the limit if there turned out to be a problem and she needed to go against them one on one. She was glad she had added some extra supplies in her uniform before going on duty.

"Why?" he hissed. "You have said you have other pilots. You will not miss this one."

"I have my reasons," Janeway said flatly. "V'harsen is demanded. Respond."

"Where?" he asked finally.

"Captain, there is a class M planet two parsec from here," Tuvok noted quietly.

Janeway picked it up smoothly. "There is a neutral planet a mere two parsec from here," she said. "I will go there now. You will follow ... assuming you have the v'har to meet me."

She made a gesture behind her back and Harry cut the signal, the viewscreen flickering to a view of the Spurnge ship, which Voyager had approached steadily during the captain's challenge.

"Set a course to the planet," Janeway told Chakotay. "We'll launch the shuttle as soon as we've reached orbit. If the Spurnge vessel refuses to accept the challenge, don't wait for us, go after them and initiate Operation Retrieval. Ro, you're with me."

Ro swallowed hard and gave up her post to the covering ensign, following the captain off the bridge though she actually felt much more comfortable now that they were going into action. Being on the bridge waiting for things to happen was hard on her nerves. Now, Ro felt herself slide easily into a state of heightened awareness, every sense alert and ready for what might occur. It was a sensation she was intimately familiar with after all her time in the Maquis and it was a state of mind, that if pressed, she would have to admit that she found a bit  intoxicating.

They left the turbolift on deck ten, heading for the shuttle bay as Chakotay informed them that the Spurnge vessel was indeed following Voyager to the specified system. In the hangar, a shuttle was prepped and waiting for them and Ro launched immediately once the two women had strapped in. Janeway sat alertly in the co-pilot's chair, waiting patiently as they headed for the planet. They could have beamed down of course, but Voyager wanted to keep the technology of their transporter secret for as long as possible.

"If we have to beam back, they might decide a shuttle full of Federation technology is a fair exchange," Ro offered after a period of silence.

"Yes," Janeway noted calmly. "That's why I want you to initiate a self-destruct when we disembark. Set it for a two hour countdown. Things will be settled one way or another by then. And if we do have to let it explode ... well, a shuttle is a reasonable payment for getting Tom and Neelix back."

"Aye, Captain," Ro said, impressed with the bold practicality of the woman, which displayed itself at the most unexpected times.

"You're more comfortable here," Janeway noted quietly as the shuttle approached the green and brown bulk of the planet. "As opposed to the bridge."

Ro considered several answers to that before finally deciding on a simple, "Yes."

"Laren," Janeway said slowly, as the shuttle entered the planet's outer atmosphere and began its descent, "I think you have the potential of being a very accomplished Starfleet officer and I honestly thought we had settled things while we were in ... on Balleyport Station. But if you are truly against becoming a bridge officer, I won't push it. I need people who believe in their roles, not those who have been forced into them. I have enough of those now."

Ro concentrated hard on her board as the tiny vessel shuddered, careful to keep it on a level landing descent.

"Captain," she said finally. "I wasn't that great a Starfleet officer. I wanted to be, I tried to be, but in the end, it never seemed to work out. I sincerely doubt it will now ... but, if it does, Captain, you have to understand that I can't be satisfied with being your backup helmsman. It's not my nature to settle for second best even after all I've been through."

Janeway nodded slowly. "In truth, I expected that of you," she revealed. "You are the only one on Voyager who went from cleaning Jeffries tubes to a senior lieutenant in our time here in the Delta Quadrant. Tuvok covered your rise quite nicely, but I was still bound to notice sooner or later. Sometimes, I'm not sure if the revelation of your identity was as accidental as we like to think. Tuvok has a way of making things turn out the way he wants, when he wants."

Ro certainly could not argue with that since it was something she had suspected for years. She thought about it as she gently brought the shuttle down for a landing in a clearing next to the edge of a heavy forest. It was a large meadow, with more than enough room for several more ships of that size though it remained to be seen if the Spurnge would indeed, accept their challenge. The two women also had to be ready if any alien vessel came in with weapons firing so Ro kept the shuttle's shields up, the engines powered and the weapons on standby.

"So if you would not be content being my backup helmsman," Janeway asked idly, as they waited. "What role would you like to fill? I already have a security chief."

"You already have someone in every role," Ro noted enigmatically.

Janeway glanced at her, eyebrow quirked. "How high are your ambitions?" she asked curiously.

Ro was reminded again of how sharp the captain was. "Well," Ro remarked, somewhat wickedly. "When I graduated the Academy, I did see myself one day wearing four pips on my collar, after spending time as a first officer, of course."

She dared to glance sideways to see how that one went over. Janeway's eyes were distant, a small smile on her face. It was not the reaction Ro was expecting and she was slightly disgruntled.

"Captain?"

Janeway inhaled slowly. "Ro, you're not ready to take Chakotay's role," she said in all seriousness. "But if command is really what you want, then I am more than glad to help put you on that track so that by the time we return to the Alpha Quadrant, you will be."

Ro was speechless. She had been trying to show the captain how ridiculous it was to be putting her on the bridge and instead, Janeway had not only called her bluff, she had tripled the bet. She suddenly had a whole new respect for Chakotay who dared to tease this woman. He was a brave man indeed.

But before the Bajoran could respond, there was a beep from the console and she had to turn her attention to that.

"Captain," she said urgently. "We have incoming." Seven of Nine stood in the transporter room, waiting for the signal to go. Beside her, B'Elanna checked her phaser rifle for the tenth time while Harry looked uncomfortable with his. Tuvok, was of course, calm as ever though Seven thought she did detect a bit of tension in the way his shoulders were set. Apparently this was a dangerous mission if a Vulcan was affected to that extent.

The Borg was dressed in her self-designed away mission outfit; black trousers tucked into calf-high combat boots which laced up the front, along with a black sweater beneath a padded, multi-purpose vest. Her blonde hair was tied back in its customary bun and she carried a compression rifle, hefting it easily. There was a slight quivering in her stomach as anticipation filtered through her and she tried not to think about Kathryn or how her part of the mission was going.

The captain is right, Seven decided silently. I must concentrate on my role. I must make sure I perform my duty properly. Two members of her Collective were counting on her and she was determined that she would assist in rescuing them while Janeway provided the distraction. She glanced around again and met B'Elanna's dark eyes. The Klingon narrowed them and inclined her head slightly.

"I've got your back, 'Nik," she promised softly.

"And I have yours," Seven responded, knowing what her friend was referring to, even though it was idiomatic.

"Bridge to Second Team. Go."

Tuvok was the first on the transporter pad and the rest followed hastily, taking up their positions.

"Energize," the Vulcan stated clearly.

Seven took a breath and touched the controls on her left wrist. The ship's transporter system had been tied into her internal Borg transporter node which allowed her to transport all four members of the team without having to be in physical contact with them. And by utilizing the Borg signal as the primary pattern buffer, they were able to beam through the shields of both vessels easily.

The team materialized on board the Spurnge vessel, weapons raised, ready for anything. They had easily picked up the Human and Talaxian lifesigns over on Voyager, but the energy of the force shield surrounding the area where the two men were being held made it dicey for even Seven's Borg technology to beam directly there. Instead, they picked what they hoped would be an empty corridor not far from the holding cell. Their intent was to get to their crewmates, spring them from custody and beam back to the ship before anyone knew they were gone.

Unfortunately, the Spurnge did not seem to want to cooperate. The Federation members had barely finished materializing when a squad of aliens burst from a hatch at the far end of the corridor, weapons drawn.

"They have a most efficient security force," Tuvok noted, with what seemed approval.

Seven did not share his appreciation and she raised her rifle, aiming it at the first wave barreling toward her.

"Ready," Tuvok said. "Fire."

Obediently, Voyager's away team fired their rifles which had been adapted to the .0003 variance. The charging Spurnge went down even as they attempted to return their fire, most of the golden blasts from the alien weapons splashing harmlessly on the deck or the ceiling, but two bolts hit their target. One slammed directly into Harry's chest, the Starfleet ops officer going down in a heap, while the other struck Seven glancingly on the left arm. Immediately the Borg lost control of her arm and she barely kept from dropping her rifle, hastily gripping it with her right hand. It was an interesting sensation, unpleasant really, as if there were a multitude of pins and needles being stabbed into her arm muscles at once. She couldn't feel her implant at all and knew that some damage had been done. She wondered if the fire of pinpricks was what Harry was feeling all over his entire body as the young man twitched uncontrollably on the deck. Unceremoniously, Tuvok and B'Elanna hauled the young man to his feet, supporting him between them.

"This way," Tuvok said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. "Quickly."

Seven followed, shaking her arm, trying to get the feeling back into it. The team stumbled down the corridor opposite where the Spurnge force had come from, finding themselves in a large room containing a line of cells. Two Spurnge standing outside of a cell seemed quite startled to see the new arrivals and they fumbled for their weapons. They were standing outside a force field which sparkled along the opening of a holding cell, which was quite visible, a bluish glow which no doubt delivered quite a jolt when brushed against, judging how the guards carefully avoided it.

B'Elanna didn't hesitate. One handed, she fired at them with one decisive motion, sweeping the muzzle around as two streaks of ruby light launched from her rifle so quickly that they didn't even have time to cry out. Then the Klingon went to the control panel, leaving Tuvok to bear the full weight of the still numb and partially paralyzed Harry Kim who's eyes were showing only white, saliva flowing freely from his mouth.

Neelix had rolled off the cot, staggering shakily over to the shield.

"You've come!"

"Was there any doubt?" B'Elanna replied smartly as she apparently grew frustrated at the controls which refused to yield to her manipulation. "Stand back."

Neelix hastily stumbled back beside the bunk containing Paris who had not stirred, imposing his body between the helmsman and the opening in an attempt to shield him. Seven hoped that the helmsman was merely unconscious, that his lack of motion was not indicative of anything else. B'Elanna flipped up her rifle and fired at the panel, a shower of sparks bursting from it as the force field came down with a screech.

"Everyone inside," Tuvok ordered. "With the shield down, we will be able to transport from here. Seven?"

Hastily, they gathered around the Borg and Seven slapped at the controls on her arm.

Nothing happened.

"B'Elanna?" Seven said urgently.

The Klingon bit off a curse. "The Spurnge shot must have shorted out the node," she said. She slipped the rifle off her shoulder and handed it to Neelix who moved to the entrance. Tuvok had lowered Harry to the deck next to Tom and joined the Talaxian, the two men prepared to cover the women as they attempted to repair the transporter module.

"Damn, it's absolutely fused," B'Elanna said after opening the compartment in Seven's biogenic manipulative implant, examining the blackened and now useless 29th century node with angry disappointment. "Time for plan B."

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "What is plan B?"

"Voyager must beam us out," Tuvok noted with an edge to his tone. "However, that may take some doing since both vessels have their shields up." He shot a look at B'Elanna. "Are you sure it cannot be repaired, Lt. Torres?" he asked sharply.

The chief engineer blinked uncertainly. "It's not like I would give up easily, Tuvok," she responded.

"A simple yes or no would suffice," he said coldly. B'Elanna and Seven exchanged a glance, neither knowing what was going on. The security chief touched his chest, accessing his comm badge. "Second Team to Voyager. We have Neelix and Mr. Paris but we have run into difficulties. Voyager must beam us out."

"Stand by," Chakotay's voice responded tersely.

Tuvok looked at the rest of the team. "The Spurnge are no doubt, gathering reinforcements," he informed them. "We must prepare to defend ourselves."

B'Elanna retrieved Harry's rifle and stepped out of the holding area. "I think Seven and I should take up a position in the cell opposite," she suggested. "It gives a clearer sight line to the entrance."

Tuvok started to speak, hesitated and seemed to collect himself. "A ... logical decision," he said. "Proceed."

Seven filed Tuvok's behavior away as something to discuss with Kathryn later. It seemed very strange to her. She joined B'Elanna and knelt down next to her, rifle ready. Fortunately, there was only one entrance to this holding area and the only occupied cell had been Tom and Neelix's. Tuvok took a moment to drag the two stunned guards into the cell at the farthest end, activating the force shield after a few moments examination of the controls. Apparently it was a great deal easier to turn it on than it was to turn off. Or Tuvok was merely better than the Klingon at deciphering security devices.

"I hear the approach of many beings," Seven noted calmly, her enhanced Borg senses easily picking up the sound of pounding footsteps.

The Federation crew readied themselves and when the group of Spurnge appeared, they fired, stunning the first wave attempting to enter the holding area. The pile of bodies helped clog up the entrance and though the others attempted to use them for cover ... a distinct indication of their lack of reverence for their own people's lives ... they still were not able to pick off the Federation crew who were taking cover in the cells. For the moment, it was a stalemate, the Spurnge unable to enter, the Voyager crewmembers hoping that Chakotay would figure out a way to transport them off before the power ran out on their phasers.

There was a jolt and Seven fell in a heap, B'Elanna landing on top of her.

"What the hell--" the Klingon muttered as the two women untangled themselves.

"Prepare for transport," Chakotay's voice said urgently. "We've managed to temporarily put their weapon system off line and have dropped our shields."

Now, having gone across the corridor proved to be tactically unsound. Seven and B'Elanna had to rejoin the others but that meant putting themselves in the line of fire.

"Damn," B'Elanna muttered. "Well, nothing to do about it but what we have to. I'll go first. You cover me."

"We go together," Seven said logically. B'Elanna shot her a look, then nodded.

"On three," B'Elanna said. She took a breath. "One, two, THREE!"

They darted across the corridor as golden bolts streaked the air around them. One hit B'Elanna in the calf and she stumbled, falling to the floor. Without hesitation, Seven threw her rifle in the general direction of Tuvok, hoping he would catch it and scooped up B'Elanna with her right arm, dragging her along. Neelix tried to help them by firing steadily at the aliens and Seven lunged into the cell with her burden, a deep sense of relief filling her.

"Voyager," Tuvok said, slapping his comm badge. "Six to beam up."

Seven gasped for breath ... B'Elanna was no lightweight, her solid, Klingon musculature making her a great deal heavier than she appeared ... and felt the familiar sensation of Voyager's transporters grabbing her and beaming her back to her ship. The familiar confines of the transporter room materialized around her and she stumbled off the platform. The Doctor and Sek were there and they immediately went to Tom and Harry who were lying motionless where they had appeared.

Seven handed her rifle to a security guard who was there and followed Tuvok who was clearly on his way to the bridge. B'Elanna flatly refused all offers of medical assistance and limped gamely toward her engine room, followed by Neelix. As Seven stepped onto the turbolift, she wondered what Kathryn was doing, how the completion of the rescue mission would affect the captain's plan on the planet's surface. There was another jolt and she realized that the Spurnge vessel must have gotten their weapons back online.

"The captain will not be pleased that we had to resort to a direct attack," Tuvok noted.

"We have rescued our crewmates," Seven pointed out. "She will be pleased by that."

The duo stepped out onto the bridge, awash with the crimson lights of a full red alert. Seven relieved the ensign at operations, much to his relief. The backup bridge crew was capable, but no one could deny that the members of alpha shift were chosen because they were the best and that was what was needed when they were in a situation like this.

But alpha shift was severely decimated at the moment. Tom and Harry were in sickbay and Ro was on the surface with the captain which left Ensign White at the helm. Fortunately, Tuvok was now at tactical and his talents were needed as the Spurnge vessel maneuvered to attack.

Chakotay sat in the command chair, a frown etching his strong, handsome features, furrowing his brow and distorting the tribal tattoo arching over his left eye. "Implement attack pattern beta," he commanded.

Perspiration staining her hairline, White struggled to carry out his order, the gamma shift officer doing her very best and hopefully elevating her abilities.

Seven wondered if the young blonde woman was over the loss of her child or if that was a sort of loss that could ever be left in the past. Still, she was performing adequately and Seven turned her attention to her operations board. Her arm still was somewhat numb from the blast it took and she fumbled a bit at the controls, requiring her right hand to compensate.

Be careful, Kathryn, she thought, sending out a silent message to her partner. We have what we have pursued the Spurnge for. Now you must return home safely.Captain Janeway stepped off the shuttle, putting forth an expression of total confidence. Behind her, Ro put in the final, necessary commands to institute a delayed self-destruct, and hurried after the captain, squinting as she stepped out into the bright sunshine. The Spurnge vessel sitting across the meadow was sleek and narrow, like the beings themselves, colored a deep charcoal which seemed to suck in all the sunlight, leaving only darkness when one tried to look at it.

The meadow itself, was lush, golden, the leaves of the nearby forest multicolored reds and greens. It was cool, the onset of autumn in this northern area of the planet and for a second, Ro imagined herself back on Bajor, the scent of fall thick in her nostrils, and almost, the vegetation looked like stalks which had not been harvested, allowed instead to lie fallow for the next year.

"Captain?" she queried as she took up a position at the captain's left shoulder.

"At ease, Lieutenant," Janeway noted quietly. "Our guests have yet to appear."

"They can just shoot us down where we stand, can't they?" the Bajoran noted uneasily.

"Yes," Janeway agreed with remarkable calm. "But there is little v'har in slaughtering unarmed beings."

"Do you know that for sure?" Ro asked. "Or are you just guessing?"

Janeway's lips quirked. "Do you really want me to answer that, Lieutenant?" she asked.

Ro considered it.

"No, Captain," she muttered. "I don't believe I do."

The dark vessel sat there for what seemed like forever before a hatch opened up on the side, a ramp descending and two slender streaks of black undulated toward the Federation members. Even moving in what must have been intended as a dignified and stately manner, Ro was impressed with their speed, how they seemed to flow across the ground effortlessly. Uneasily, she touched the phaser attached to her hip.

"Easy," Janeway murmured, not looking at her. Then she lifted her head and in a louder voice which carried in the crisp air; "Greetings, Commander of Bles'Kil. I am Janeway."

There was a pause as the two aliens stopped about three meters from the women.

"Greetings, Commander of Voyager. I am P'Tuk."

It was the smaller one that spoke, the other obviously being some sort of bodyguard, built more solidly than the first.

"I have granted you permission to speak with me," P'Tuk continued in a sibilant hiss.

"I have summoned you here to listen," Janeway countered evenly. "Even now, our vessels circle uneasily, but we both know what the outcome would be should we engage."

"Yes," he said. "You would lose your pilot."

"I have pilots," Janeway said carelessly. She inclined her head at Ro. "This is one."

Suddenly, Ro was aware of some intense scrutiny from the two aliens.

"And you bring this pilot to trade for the other?" P'Tuk offered with great interest.

Janeway quirked an eyebrow.

"No, I bring h--this pilot who is also my protectorate to show that my crew fulfill many roles and that it is not their status which makes them valuable to me," she said. "There are other reasons ... reasons of t'borna."

The Spurnge's head went back. "T'borna? They are family?"

"We are all family," Janeway replied firmly.

The two Spurnge looked at each other, clearly uneasy at this disclosure. And it served to remind them that they were dealing with aliens, which obviously, the Federation captain wished to emphasize. Ro stood straighter and tried to look imposing.

"So you can see that if we engage in hostilities," Janeway continued, "I would lose t'borna ... and the v'har of protecting them. That is not something you would want to incite."

"Yet, this will be only your loss, not mine," he returned with a triumphant smile, obviously not getting the point.

"Your loss would be greater," Janeway finished as if he had not spoken and indeed, it appeared that he wished he hadn't suddenly though it was hard to tell with the features so blurred. "You would lose your ship, your crew and your life. Your triad would lose a part of itself, leaving it incomplete and weakened. It would be as if the Bles'Kil never existed."

It was a phenomenal threat apparently, judging from their reaction, a disturbed sort of twitching, though Ro discovered that she had to keep shifting her eyes because when she looked directly at the Spurnge, her eyes started to ache as they sought to bring them into focus. Janeway's gaze, however, never wavered from the alien commander and once again, the Bajoran found cause to be impressed with the compact little captain.

"Yet," he said, struggling to recover some measure of advantage. "To hand them over for nothing would lose much v'har as well ... one might say too much. My life would be meaningless in any event."

Janeway nodded, considering this point carefully.

"It would grant me no v'har to destroy you," she said finally. "It grants you no v'har to give them back."

She paused.

"So I am left with only the choice of retrieving them on my own," she concluded. "I must take them from you without destroying the Bles'Kil."

"Impossible," the other Spurnge blurted, speaking for the first time.

Ro knew that was her cue. If Janeway responded to that, it would indicate an acknowledgment of a lesser being that the Federation captain simply could not afford to show.

"Not impossible," the Bajoran spoke clearly. "Merely ... difficult."

Both Janeway and P'Tuk ignored their seconds, maintaining their attention on each other as if no one else had spoken.

"You dare much, Commander of Voyager," P'Tuk said and was there the slightest bit of grudging respect in his tone? Or was it simply disbelief in the Federation captain's claim. "But it is a dare without substance."

Janeway tilted her head. "Consider carefully, P'Tuk. If I take them from you," she said, "I will have everything and you will be left with nothing. Is there anything that I could offer so that we both end up with v'har?"

"No," he said coldly, and it seemed his eyes glittered. "You are weak, Commander of Voyager. I see that now. Your attack on the K'Narani must have been an accidental success."

Janeway allowed a little anger to show, through though Ro suspected it was generated purely for effect.

"Not accidental," she said. "Designed and carried out when attacked without provocation. That is your error, P'Tuk. You think that we are weak because we do not fight for v'har. But in truth, we fight for t'borna. It makes us much more dangerous."

He stared at her. "You mew like a rurt," he said, contempt edging his tone and Ro began to worry slightly.

Janeway shook her head sorrowfully. "You must be young, P'Tuk," she said. "You think others are motivated always by what motivates you. It is a failing of the self-absorbed. I trust that you will one day grow into your triad."

The insult was clear and keenly felt and Ro realized that the captain must have summarized the other commander exactly, because he bristled in outrage even as his second looked as if he were in agreement.

"You shall not take back your pilot," P'Tuk snarled.

There was a sudden chirp on the captain's badge, a hail from her vessel.

"Captain," Chakotay said shortly. "Success."

"It is done," the captain said. "I wish you a good hunting, P'Tuk."

Janeway smiled briefly, showing as much teeth as possible, and Ro tensed. She understood that her captain had given P'Tuk fair warning about what she intended, thus, maintaining her own v'har. The other Spurnge, the commander's protectorate, was witness to it and the Bajoran realized that this was what Janeway had planned all along. Yet that did not alter the fact that suddenly, the two women were in more danger than ever. It seemed to Ro that a Spurnge would do just about anything to recover some measure of v'har from this and what better way than to kill the commander of the enemy vessel?

Janeway turned around, deliberately showing her back to the Spurnge commander as she walked back to her shuttle. Belatedly, Ro followed, though she kept facing the Spurnge who seemed quite confused, goggling after her in disbelief ... until a signal came over their communicators. From their body language, it was clear that whatever the message was, it was not good news, and abruptly, they were moving purposely toward her, drawing out what had to be weapons.

"Captain," Ro said urgently. "Run."

Janeway bolted immediately, not asking any questions and Ro drew her phaser. She fired it at the Spurnge who were shooting at the fleeing Federation captain and Ro turned, dashing after Janeway, trying to impose her body between her and the incoming fire. She must have succeeded because the next thing she knew, her body suddenly exploded with pain as she tripped and fell, plowing headlong into the grass and dirt.

"Ro," Janeway cried.

Agonizingly, using every bit of will and effort she still possessed, Ro managed to lift her head to see the captain reach the shelter of the shuttle. Janeway did not look back, disappearing into the interior and sealing the hatch behind her ... leaving Ro for the two Spurnge who were approaching rapidly, intent on capturing this unexpected treasure. Ro felt sick dismay fill her. Was Janeway trading her for Tom Paris? Was that her intention all along?

There was a sudden displacement, the sparkles of the transporter scooping her up and the interior of the shuttle appeared around the Bajoran. Ro felt shame at her own doubts, realizing that Janeway had thought quickly. Rather than dashing back in some grandiose display of heroism in an attempt to retrieve Ro as another might have done, resulting in getting them both captured or killed, Janeway instead used the Federation's superior technology to accomplish the rescue. Ro wondered what the Spurnge had thought when their anticipated prize abruptly disappeared before their eyes.

"That did not quite go as I wanted," Janeway noted from the pilot's chair as she quickly dashed through the pre-launch check, powering up the engines. "I thought they would accept the transfer of v'har and let us walk away."

Ro groaned, lying helpless on the deck as every nerve in her body alternated between numbness and an unpleasant pin-and-needle like tingling. Janeway glanced over her shoulder, offering a brief expression of sympathy for her crewmember, and launched the shuttle, the tiny vessel springing into the air abruptly. Ro, unsupported by anything and unable to move, slid off the transporter pad and rolled across the floor.

"Sorry," Janeway muttered, obviously having no time to attend to her stricken companion. "The Spurnge are launching. I think we're in for a bit of a dog fight."

Ro rolled her eyes wildly and attempted to move. She managed to twitch impressively, but that was all and suddenly, she slid sideways into the hull as the shuttle banked. There was a jolt as the tiny vessel was rocked by weapon's fire and Ro heard the sudden whine from the phasers as the captain returned it. The Bajoran wished she was at the helm, not knowing what kind of a pilot the captain was, but the most she could do at the moment was drool down the front of her uniform.

"They have a little sting to their weapons," Janeway continued conversationally as she banked the shuttle the other way, Ro crossing over to slam gently into the other side of the ship. "But I think we're a bit faster."

Ro's stomach lurched unpleasantly as the shuttle made a sudden descent, then abruptly, Ro was pinned as it went back up. She could feel the stress of metal around her, heard it creak in her ear where the side of her face was pressed against the cold metal deck. She was angled toward the front of the shuttle and she could see through the viewport as the blue of the atmosphere gave way to the deep black of space.

"C-cap--" she mumbled, trying to swallow.

"We're clear of the atmosphere," Janeway told her. "The Spurnge vessel is still in pursuit but we're pulling ahead. However, I have some bad news."

Ro blinked. Bad news?

"Voyager is engaged in a weapons exchange with the Spurnge ship," Janeway continued. "We won't be able to dock until they can lower their shields."

"T'sp't," Ro mumbled.

Janeway looked back, frowning, then her face cleared. "Yes, that's a brilliant idea," the captain said with a definite note of excitement in her tone. "We'll threaten to transport a photon torpedo onto their bridge if they don't stand down. It's a bluff, but they won't know that."

That was not what Ro had been trying to say at all but apparently, it seemed to work as Janeway spoke intently to Voyager. Then, the Bajoran skidded backwards as the shuttle accelerated and through the viewport, she could see the hangar doors opening for them, the glowing rectangle of light beckoning them home.

The next thing Ro knew, Janeway was kneeling beside her, supporting her with an arm around her shoulders as the shuttle hatch opened and Sek entered, accompanied by a few other crewmembers. The Emergency Medical Assistant leaned over the Bajoran, a tricorder humming merrily as she took readings from it.

"She was struck by a Spurnge weapon, Captain," Sek assured Janeway, which Ro found somewhat silly since the captain had been there and knew exactly what had happened to the security officer. "They're similar to our own phasers ... far more painful of course, but intended to stun rather than kill. We believe it will wear off in a few hours. Harry was struck by one as well."

"Paris and Neelix?"

"Lt. Paris is secured in sickbay," Sek reported. "A bit malnourished and suffering some injuries from a beating, but they'll both be fine. Neelix is assisting in engineering."

Janeway nodded with satisfaction as Ro felt herself hefted onto an antigrav stretcher and lifted into the air. She rolled her eyes, trying desperately to speak, very conscious of the time slipping away. How much of the two hours had transpired? Concerned, Janeway leaned over Ro, putting a hand comfortingly on her shoulder.

"You'll be all right, Lieutenant," she said soothingly. "You did a fine job."

Ro gulped and gagged a little on her saliva, using every ounce of energy she had left to form the words.

"Cap'n?" Ro finally managed to articulate.

"Yes, Lt. Ro?"

"T' sel'destruc'."

Janeway quirked an eyebrow. "You know," she said thoughtfully. "Disabling that might be another good idea ... considering it's been two hours right about ... now."

Ro's eyes rolled back in her head and she passed out. B'Elanna Torres entered sickbay, nodding at Harry Kim who was still being held for observation, his very pregnant wife sitting next to him, and headed purposely for the biobed at the far end. The slender form of Ro Laren sat upright, arms crossed over her chest, looking quite forlorn and alone. The Klingon felt her heart give a little skip as she saw her, a tenderness that was quite uncharacteristic of her stealing through her body. She hoped no one noticed the item in her hand and she put both behind her back as she reached the bed.

"Laren?" she said, the woman's head turned away from her.

The Bajoran started a bit, obviously not hearing the other's approach and looked around. A glow appeared in her dark eyes but her expression did not change.

"Lt. Torres," she said formally.

B'Elanna grinned. "You can call me by my first name," she said. "We're both off duty."

Ro's face softened a little, but she still looked a trifle disgruntled. Since that was pretty much how B'Elanna felt whenever she was stuck in sickbay, she didn't take it personally. She searched for something to say that would not be lame or repetitive.

"Seven told me the captain's sorry she teased you," the Klingon tried. "She didn't mean to make you faint. She had disabled the self-destruct as soon as she was in the shuttle."

"I did not faint," Ro responded evenly. "I ... passed out from my injuries."

B'Elanna raised an eyebrow. "Of course," she agreed. She paused. "And those injuries were ... what again?"

"Shut up, B'Elanna."

The Klingon bent her head to hide her smile, regarding the Bajoran from beneath her lashes, gratified when the other woman finally offered a grudging grin. "I really did think she had forgotten about it," Ro admitted.

"Not much gets by the captain," B'Elanna said. She looked around. "So how long do you have to stay here?"

"Until tomorrow," Ro replied. "The Doctor felt that the Spurnge weapon affected the nervous system in a way he's never seen before and he wants to make sure there are no lasting side effects. That's why Harry has to stay in here too, though we both feel fine."

"Well, it sure fried Seven's internal transporter node," B'Elanna agreed, perching on the edge of the bed, angled toward the Bajoran who shifted over a bit to give her room. "It's a shame really. I had to take out the whole module."

"How is she?" Ro asked.

"A lot better once you and the captain got back," the Klingon admitted. "She really doesn't like it when Janeway leaves the ship without her."

Ro sighed. "I can't say as I blame her," she said. "Sometimes the captain makes things a little more difficult than they have to be."

"Oh, you noticed that too, did you?" B'Elanna smirked.

Ro stared at her, then despite herself, she chuckled. "Honestly, I don't know how many more away missions I can take with her," she offered. "Every time we leave the vessel, I come back all banged up."

"But she doesn't," B'Elanna pointed out. "And that means you're doing your job, right?"

Ro considered it. "You're right," she allowed slowly. "I did my job."

B'Elanna watched her, thinking for some reason that the last bit held more significance than at face value but unable to pinpoint what, or why she felt that way. She decided to let it go for the moment.

"Would it be a good idea to make another date for dinner?" she offered. "Since we've had such bad luck in the past?"

Ro favored her with a rare smile. "I'm afraid our luck isn't getting any better," she offered wistfully. "Once Paris is back on the helm, I'll be switched over to beta shift."

B'Elanna sighed. "I forgot about that," she said. "Damn."

"However, I do have an off duty rotation coming up in a week or so," Ro offered. "Three days."

"Yeah?" B'Elanna said, brightening. "I bet if I do some scheduling and switching with Carey, I can match at least two of those days."

Ro's eyes grew lidded. "Would you be interested in spending them together?" she asked gently.

B'Elanna felt a thrill go through her and she had to force herself to breathe slowly.

"I think that could be arranged," she allowed carefully. She leaned closer, wanting to kiss the woman, then remembered where they were and self-consciously withdrew. Ro seemed to understand what she had been about to do, and eyed her with a bit of amusement. B'Elanna searched for a change of subject, then remembered the item in her hand. "Here," she said, presenting it to the Bajoran. "I thought this might keep you occupied."

Ro accepted the box, shooting the Klingon a look of bemusement as B'Elanna did her best not to blush.

"3-D chess?" Ro said, somewhat surprised as she opened up the box to discover a miniaturized, automated version of the game the two women liked to play.

"Yeah, I figured since you always beat me on the big set, then maybe I'll have better luck with an automated one," B'Elanna said bashfully. "You use the padd control to put in your move and the internal holo-emitter creates and arranges the pieces. There are real explosions when you lose a ship, too. And an internal computer you can play against when I'm not around."

"I see," Ro said. Her face seemed to soften and she glanced at B'Elanna from beneath lowered eyelashes. "Thank you," she said, obviously touched. "I can't remember the last time someone gave me a present."

B'Elanna was even more pleased, but she tried to cover it with a casualness she was far from feeling. "Would you like to play?" she asked.

"Now?" Ro responded.

"You have something else to do?" B'Elanna pointed out.

Ro looked startled, then grinned. "No," she said. "I have no pressing plans."

B'Elanna accepted the other control padd and tucked her leg up under her thigh as Ro sat the chess display on her lap. One advantage to the computer generated pieces was that even though the board was not completely level, there was no fear of the pieces sliding off and it didn't matter that there was a 30 degree tilt to it.

Ro chose white and went first, starting out strategically as she always did, her eyes dark and serious as she concentrated on the board. B'Elanna did her best not to stare at her like a moonstruck calf, but she did manage to get several, quality glances in, memorizing the high cheekbones, the adorable wrinkles on the bridge of her nose, the beauty mark on the right side of the Ro's jaw.

As she did, she became aware of being scrutinized herself, and it wasn't by the Bajoran. Frowning, she glanced around the rest of sickbay. Harry was still conversing quietly with his wife down at the other end, Megan appearing weary and scared. B'Elanna looked away, vaguely embarrassed as the young ensign started to cry and the young man wrapped her up in his arms, reassuring her, his face concerned but still aglow with love and gentleness.

Then, her eyes met the gaze of Tom Paris and she realized it was he who had been observing her and Ro. The lieutenant did not drop his eyes when the engineer spotted him and B'Elanna felt a growl rise in her throat. It took an effort to hold it in but she refused to get up and go over to him. She wouldn't even threaten him ... she just looked, allowing every gram of her inner Klingon show through eyes as keen edged as a blade, showing once and for all that, whatever they might have had at one time, it was totally and completely gone. She had other interests now, none of which were any of his concern and if he attempted to make it his concern, things would go very badly for him indeed. She felt no need for her customary bluster, nor for her usual, over-the-top outrage, just a quiet and deadly intent, and her gaze promised a final termination if he didn't back off.

He actually managed to return her stare for a brief moment, his eyes pleading, but she refused to grant any mercy and he broke finally, dropping his gaze and turning away, rolling over on the biobed. B'Elanna carefully swallowed her annoyance and irritation with the young man, and returned her attention to the chess game. Ro did not look up, seemingly oblivious of the silent battle which had just been fought and won decisively by the Klingon woman.

"Will that settle it?" the Bajoran asked quietly.

Startled, B'Elanna looked at her and came to understand yet again that there was very little that escaped the security officer's attention.

"I hope so," she said with a calmness she was far from feeling. It was not in her nature to hold back her emotions, particularly angry ones and indeed, it was the influence of the other woman that somehow enabled her to do it lately. Ro was the sort of person who had great passion, though B'Elanna had seen and tasted only a fraction of what simmered beneath that cool, deadly refined exterior, but the security officer never let it control her. Not only did B'Elanna find that she greatly admired and respected that composure, she also never wanted to appear weak in the Bajoran's eyes, so she was learning to contain herself.

But it wasn't always easy.

"Would you like me to talk with him?" Ro asked quietly, still regarding the board.

B'Elanna shook her head. "No," she said. "It's my baggage. I'll deal with it."

Ro didn't say anything, just inclined her head to acknowledge and respect her right to do so. B'Elanna took a breath and started paying attention to the game, noting Ro's standard, careful opening. She keyed in her own move, knowing she had a little surprise to spring on the Bajoran. She had studied a match not too long ago between Tuvok and Vorik, and decided to play her match exactly the same, just to see what would happen. It was not her traditional, hell-bent-for-destruction-take-the -enemy-down-with-her, all or nothing mentality she usually played with and before long, Ro was frowning at her, obviously trying to figure out what was up.

B'Elanna offered her best bland expression and moved her next piece. Her biggest problem was knowing when the key moment arrived, when it was time to pounce with her queen along with her starship. But when she did, it was priceless. Ro did not seem at first to realize what had happened, that her carefully designed defenses had been breached in several places and that the Klingon's pieces were storming through to take her king with decisive and devastating effect.

She stared at the board in sheer disbelief, then her jaw twitched, and she keyed in her final move ... tipping over her king in acknowledgment of checkmate in three moves.

"Not bad, Torres," she muttered grudgingly.

"Thanks, Ro," B'Elanna returned in the same tone.

Ro caught the intonation, glanced up at her and grinned almost despite herself.

"I am impressed," she admitted. "That last foray? That was brilliant."

"I thought it was pretty good when Tuvok nailed Vorik with it in the messhall a few days ago," the Klingon agreed. "It was so aggressive, not like him at all but it just destroyed Vorik's play." She tilted her head, considering it. "I don't know who was more surprised, me ... or Vorik though he didn't really show it, of course."

"You learned the lesson well," Ro said with approval. "And were very quick to apply it on me."

B'Elanna lowered her eyes sheepishly. "Well, I was just tired of getting walloped all the time," she said. "I thought, just once, I would beat you with aggression, but very controlled aggression, just to see if it could be done."

"Controlled aggression is the most powerful kind," Ro replied and suddenly, B'Elanna didn't think she was talking about the game any longer.

B'Elanna met her gaze, captivated by the dark eyes. "I ... uh, I think that I'm learning that," she said. "Controlling ... myself makes me feel stronger, more powerful. People tried to tell me that before but I never got it ... not until I met you."

The corner of Ro's mouth curled up. "You met me seven years ago," she pointed out.

B'Elanna made a face. "You know what I mean," she said huskily. "When you told me who you really were in those tunnels on Meuranato. That's when I first got to know you ... for you."

Ro flicked an eyebrow, apparently willing to allow the point. "You know, I don't think I would have told anyone else," she admitted quietly. "I don't know why. There's just something about you that makes me want to ... be who I am."

B'Elanna considered that, then decided it was probably one of the greatest compliments she had ever received.

"You always can be," she said. They stared at each other and B'Elanna knew it was only the fact that they were in sickbay that was keeping her from taking the other woman in her arms and making love to her for the next eternity. Suddenly conscious of that fact, she deliberately slid off the bed. "I think I should go," she murmured. "Let you get some rest."

"That's probably a good idea," Ro agreed quietly. Then she smiled. "You have duty tomorrow anyway."

B'Elanna nodded. "Yes, Harry and I are going to start those experiments on the turbolift restraining field," she said. "It'll probably take a couple of days to set up, then we'll have to arrange to take the turbolift system offline for a few hours."

"Let me know how it turns out," Ro said.

"I will," B'Elanna promised. She reached out and touched the Bajoran's cheek fleetingly. "Take care."

"You, too," Ro said.

B'Elanna felt remarkably cheerful as she exited sickbay and if she had to return to an empty bed this night ... well, maybe it wouldn't be something she'd have to suffer about much longer. She wondered how long it would take to rearrange her rotation and what exactly she would have to do for Carey to make him agree to switch shifts. Janeway woke up to discover her head resting on the flat, muscled plane of Seven's abdomen. She wasn't quite sure how she had arranged herself in such a position, whether it was something she had been doing prior to falling asleep or during the night, that her subconscious had been urging her to get a little closer to one of her partner's more intriguing areas, but in any event, she found it quite pleasant.

Her nostrils could just pick up the faintest trace of the young woman's scent, evocative, luring, and she gradually moved closer, millimeter by millimeter, sensing that her partner was still asleep. She could hear the quiet gurgles of Seven's stomach in her ear and the captain's head rose and fell rhythmically with the respiration of the woman. Janeway smiled, the skin velvet soft beneath her cheek and she reached out, stroking through the thatch of wiry blonde hair gently, teasing it with tender fingertips.

"Kathryn," Seven rumbled warningly, apparently awake after all. "We have duty."

"The time is 0600 hours," the computer chimed in at the same moment as if to underscore the Borg's point.

Janeway turned her head, brushing her lips over the indentation of Seven's reconstructed navel, nibbling over the smooth skin.

"Kathryn?" Seven tried again, in a weaker tone.

"Shh," Janeway soothed quietly. "We have all the time in the world."

"Indeed?" the Borg returned, swallowing audibly. "It is so hard for me to know which protocols and regulations I must follow and which can be ... ignored."

Janeway smiled and found the dark line that led from Seven's belly button to the burnished triangle, trailing over it. "Not ignored," she murmured as she drew nearer to the promised land. "Merely ... delayed."

"Ah," Seven responded, either in agreement or as an expulsion of breath as Janeway pressed her lips against the top of her crease.

Janeway smiled and took a few seconds to inhale deeply, noting that the young woman's scent had grown slightly muskier, more full-bodied, certainly indicative of growing interest. Gently she lowered her face and kissed the lips, which were swollen with desire and anticipation, snaking out the tip of her tongue to capture the moisture which was starting to seep out.

Seven gasped and shifted, reaching out for Janeway who was still lying crossways on the bed, grasping the captain's hip and urging her close. Obligingly, Janeway rose to her hands and knees and moved around, throwing her leg over the Borg and positioning herself on top of her as Seven helpfully guided her into place. The captain felt her partner's warm breath flow over her first, then the delicate touch of Seven's lips and tongue on her.

She groaned into the tender flesh she was tasting and settled down, relishing the intimate caress of Seven even as she tried to concentrate on providing her own to her partner. It was hard to do, the sensations that rippled through her making it difficult to pay attention to what was against her face instead of the face which was against her. Seven was so wonderful at this, so gentle in her caress, her skin soft and smooth, her mouth, tender and loving ... Janeway wondered sometimes how she could have ever settled for anything less than what this woman had offered or demanded of her.

She gasped and had to pull away from her feast for a moment, knowing that she couldn't keep it up as she began to tremble. She threw her head back, arching and crying out loudly as she pressed herself hard against the Borg's insistent mouth. Each muscle went taut, then she relaxed as Seven's caresses gentled, became even more loving if such a thing were possible.

"Oh, love," Janeway purred. "You missed your true calling."

"And that is?" Seven responded softly, with amusement as she finally released the captain.

"A phenomenal lover," Janeway told her, twisting to look back at her.

Seven looked vaguely pleased at the compliment, though still fairly disarrayed, and Janeway remembered she still had her original goal to accomplish.

"Sorry, darling," she murmured with a smile. She leaned down and kissed the woman's intimate area fondly. "You distracted me."

"I am no longer distracting you," Seven pointed out logically ... and somewhat urgently. Apparently, the young woman was no longer concerned with how late for duty they were going to be now.

Janeway shot Seven a grin and slipped off the Borg, rearranging herself so that she had settled between her partner's legs. This position lent itself to a much better angle and with a significant look up the length of Seven's torso, meeting the pale eyes, she leaned down and covered the moist, tender flesh once more. Her mouth sought out the firm little ridge, covering it with her lips and tugging gently, pleased by the corresponding shudder from her partner, the soft gasp, the murmured, "Kathryn."

She fluttered the tip of her tongue over it, teasing it, then manipulating it firmly, alternating her touch between the most fleeting of caresses to a strong, demanding swipe, the combination serving to create the most intense sensations in her spouse. She basked in the moisture Seven produced, drinking it greedily, the familiar, mild flavor seeming the most delicious intoxicant the captain had ever imbibed. It did not take long before the young woman was arching beneath her, her right hand coming down to rake through Janeway's hair, to pull her face even closer to her. Janeway reached beneath Seven to cup the full buttocks in her hands, lifting her up to grant even more access and she plunged her tongue as far as she could into the young woman, squeezed by rhythmic pulsations that sought to draw her deeper.

She heard the young woman's gasp, the soft, "Kathryn!" uttered yet one more time, a cry of fulfillment and joy, and the emotion that rose in Janeway then, was so strong, she thought she would weep. Instead, she guided her partner lovingly through her climax, prolonged it, then eased her down, allowing her to relax. She nuzzled Seven lovingly, then finally left her, crawling up the glorious length of Borg body until she was once more pressed down against her, embraced warmly by strong, supple arms.

"I adore you, darling," she whispered, kissing Seven deeply.

"I love you, my Kathryn," Seven responded, hugging her closely.

Cradled in those arms, Janeway thought that she would be content to remain there for the rest of her life, and never want for anything else ever again. But, eventually duty nudged her and with a rueful sigh, she stirred. "We have to get ready for our shifts," she said quietly.

"I know," Seven responded, holding her tighter. The Borg maintained the embrace for a moment or so, the captain allowing it, then reluctantly, Seven let her go.

Janeway rolled out of bed and reached back for her spouse's hand. "If we hurry," she offered. "We won't be too late."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "Now, you wish to hurry?" she asked skeptically.

"Hey, you want consistency, you should have married a Vulcan," Janeway responded playfully.

"Tuvok was already bonded," Seven responded evenly as she followed the captain into the ensuite, catching the captain totally off guard and making her laugh.

"I asked for that one," Janeway allowed as she keyed the shower controls. "I should know better than to set you up like that now."

"Let me set you up," Seven returned and captured her spouse in a passionate embrace.

"But, darl...mmph," Janeway objected but it was a minor objection only. Apparently, Seven had her own idea of how to be late and as the warm water pounded down on the two women, she demonstrated with exquisite detail.

"Now we're really late," Janeway said, much, much later as she hastily pulled on her uniform.

"Perhaps, we should simply request a personal day," Seven said, already neat and tidy in her plum colored mesh outfit. The Borg had always been quicker at getting dressed than her spouse, the captain noted with grudging admiration.

"No, we'll just add this hour at the end of our duty shift," Janeway insisted, fingers fumbling with her pips. Fortunately, Seven took them from her with firm hands and efficiently fixed them to her collar.

"I do not comprehend this," the Borg said. "This need to 'hurry'. Why not simply add two hours and take our time."

"Because I only want to be an hour late," Janeway responded with a grin.  She patted her partner on the cheek. "It's just me being Human, darling."

She headed out the door as the baffled Borg followed her. "What of breakfast?" Seven objected as they strode down the corridor toward the turbolift.

"We'll have to replicate something during the mid-morning break," Janeway said firmly, entering the lift. "Bridge."

"I believe I comprehend," Seven said finally, her eyes clearing. "It is your desire to 'have everything'. You wish to take time to make love yet also fulfill your duty. But it may not be possible."

"Only if we don't try hard enough," Janeway informed her, raising a finger in emphases. She frowned as the lift abruptly stopped and began to descend. "What the---"

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "It is an emergency override, Captain," she said. "Deck six."

Janeway eyed her. "Who would require a turbolift when a site-to-site transport will work?" she asked, then the doors parted and she got her answer as the very pregnant Megan Delaney stumbled into the lift. The ensign was clearly having trouble, but women who were pregnant were advised not to use the transporter because of the threat of merging the molecules of the mother with the child should only a minor fluctuation in the pattern buffer occur.

"I'm having contractions," she gasped as Janeway and Seven caught her. "They started last night but I thought it was false labor again so I didn't tell Harry before he left for duty. But now I think it's the real thing."

"Deck five," Janeway barked. "Sickbay."

The lift door obediently closed and the lift jolted upward briefly, then stopped again.

"On no," Megan cried. "The experiment."

"Experiment," Janeway repeated somewhat stupidly. "What experiment?"

"The restraining field project," Megan said, panting in a way that Janeway thought was a trifle abnormal. "It was on the morning memo log. The turbolift was supposed to be kept clear after 0800."

"The time is 0801," Seven noted, raising an eyebrow as she contemplated this unexpected development.

"I don't remember any scheduled experiment," Janeway muttered fretfully as she tried the manual override controls to no avail. "Did you read the memo log this morning, Seven?"

Seven blinked. "I thought you did," she responded.

"When did I have time?" Janeway retorted and was dismayed to discover that her voice was rising somewhat unnaturally. "All right, let's not panic."

Since neither Seven nor Megan seemed particularly panic-stricken, Janeway wondered who she was talking to, then decided it must be to herself. She took a deep breath, attempting to achieve a little calmness.

"Computer, command override," Janeway said. "Release the lock on the turbolift."

"Access denied," the computer responded pleasantly.

"What?" Janeway said in outrage, then visibly took a grip on herself again, wondering what it was about being in the presence of pregnant women that made her forget who she was? "Captain to engineering. I'm in the turbolift. Please delay the implementation of your project."

There was a pause, then an astonished, "Captain?"

"B'Elanna," Janeway said, attempting to maintain her patience. "I have Megan Delaney on the lift, she's in labor. We need to get her to sickbay."

"Megan? What the hell is Megan doing in the turbolift?"

Apparently, Harry was also involved with the project and Janeway resisted the urge to sigh as she heard his concerned tones in the background.

Release the lock on the turbolift," she ordered again.

"Working on it," B'Elanna said shortly, in a distracted kind of tone.

"What do you mean, you're working on it?" Janeway said, feeling a sinking sensation in her midsection. "Just do it."

"I'm sorry, Captain," the chief engineer explained. "We isolated the turbolift controls from the rest of the ship so that we could run them through the console here. And right now, we're trying to realign them back through the ship systems." There was a pause and she added in a frustrated voice. "You did authorize this three days ago."

Janeway inhaled deeply. "I know I did, Lieutenant," she said mildly. "But I had no intention of becoming involved in your experiment."

"Then ... yes, Captain," B'Elanna muttered.

Janeway knew what the engineer wanted to say. Then, why the hell did you? The captain understood her frustration and would even feel a bit guilty for causing it ... if it weren't for the fact that Megan had just sunk to the floor, a spreading pool of moisture appearing down her legs and onto the deck. Seven lowered her six foot frame along with her, attempting to support her back as the ensign began making all sorts of alarming sounds that Janeway was sure boded no good at all.

"How long?" she demanded in a tone that threatened dire things if the turbolift didn't start moving again. Soon.

There was a pause.

"It took us an hour and a half to program the turbolift to perform as we wanted, Captain," B'Elanna said reluctantly. "I expect it will take us at least that long to reconfigure it back to regular function."

"Why not use the program to take us up a deck?" Janeway asked.

"The program has the turbolift doing some pretty harsh maneuvers in order to test the restraining field, Captain," B'Elanna offered. "I don't think that's a good idea. Not to mention the field is supposed to freeze you in place which I don't think would be good for the .... for Megan."

Which is why they had requested that the turbolift system be taken offline for five hours. Janeway cursed herself for not checking her memos this morning ... or for not remembering that today was when engineering was planning to do their experiments. She shot an anxious glance at Megan who was holding Seven's arm with a death grip, her fingers white where they dug into the mesh biometric suit as another contraction hit.

"Lieutenant, perhaps you'd better have the Doctor beam in here," Janeway suggested in a lower voice, turning her back on the other two. "Maybe Sek as well."

"Uh, there's a little problem with that," B'Elanna said.

Janeway resisted the urge to slam her head against the nearest bulkhead.

"The restraining field buffers disrupt the hologram's mobile emitters," the engineer explained. "They won't be able to maintain matrix integrity in there."

Megan cried out. "I think ... I think the baby's coming," she said.

Janeway looked over her shoulder and discovered that both the mother to be and Seven were staring at her expectantly, as if she knew what to do next.

And she didn't think fainting was an option. Seven of Nine was alternately dismayed and excited by what was happening ... dismayed because she did not think a stalled turbolift was the place to be having a baby, yet excited because the whole subject of children and birth absolutely fascinated her. She had studied various texts and even participated in a holodeck simulation with the Doctor, but had never had the opportunity to witness the real thing. She was looking forward to it, even if the other two women did not seem to be. Megan was breathing in a most unusual and unfamiliar way and Janeway had a very disturbed look on her face, one Seven could remember seeing only once before ... the day she approached her on the walk down the aisle during their wedding.

But unlike that day, Janeway seemed to pull herself together, the command mask slamming down over her features, the slender shoulders straightening perceptibly beneath the band of command red, the jaw setting itself firmly.

"I guess I'll have to welcome my newest crewmember personally," she said, and suddenly her voice was strong, controlled, infinitely reassuring. Certainly Megan seemed to feel it and she relaxed marginally against the Borg who was supporting her from behind. Janeway knelt and smiled gently at the young woman, reaching out to pat her on the shoulder. "We'll get through this, Megan."

"Captain, this is the Doctor." The EMH's voice was a welcome sound over their comm badges and that served to relax everyone a little further.

"Go ahead," Janeway said and Seven thought she could detect a touch of relief in it though of course, that perception no doubt came from her long association with her spouse. She did not think Megan would have recognized the tone.

"Captain, I have activated the internal sensors," he said. "I believe you're going to have to deliver the child. First I need to know how far Megan's dilated."

There was a pause.

"Excuse me?" Janeway said in her most polite tone.

"You must place your index and middle finger into Megan's vagina as far as you can," he explained. "That way you can determine how far she's dilated."

Seven's eyebrow raised with interest, Megan blushed hotly, appearing extremely uncomfortable and the captain ... the captain didn't change expression at all which meant that she was rocked indeed.

"I ... see," Janeway said after a few seconds. "Doctor, is there any equipment that can be beamed in here that might help us?"

"Nothing that would fit comfortably in the turbolift," he informed her cheerfully. "But we will send down a medikit, some sterile sheets, cloths and cushions ... you'll find them handy. But don't worry, Captain, women have been having babies for as long as Humanity has existed and in far less comfortable accommodations."

"I understand," Janeway said. She inhaled deeply and quirked an eyebrow at the young woman who looked as if she'd rather be anywhere, but where she was. "Megan, we're going to prepare you." She glanced to her side where sparkles heralded the arrival of a small pile of supplies, and she nodded at Seven. "Annika, help me with this."

"Yes, Kathryn." Seven responded automatically to the captain's use of her Human designation with Janeway's own first name, wondering why Janeway had lapsed into personal identifiers. The captain was not usually that familiar in front of crewmembers, but then Seven realized that Janeway was trying to help Megan see her less as her captain ... which was providing a great deal of discomfort to the young woman ... and more as just the person who happened to be there to help her. So she decided that she had better continue to use Janeway's first name as much as possible.  "What do you wish me to do first, Kathryn?"

Together, following the Doctor's instructions, the Borg and her spouse spread out a clean sheet on the deck of the turbolift, and placed the container the sheets came in about a meter from the wall, covering it with a thin pillow. They helped Megan settle onto it after removing her lower garments, the cushioned box supporting her hips and providing a space between her and the deck. Once the young ensign was leaning back against Seven who was strong enough to hold her in position, Janeway smiled reassuringly at both women once more and took off her tunic, rolling up her sweater sleeves. She covered her hands and arms thoroughly with the sterilizing gel, which would also serve as a lubricant, if required.

"We're ready, Doctor," the captain said.

Seven felt the dampness seep through her biometric outfit, wet against her chest from Megan who was perspiring profusely, her long hair, stringy about her red features. She kept gasping and groaning, which echoed loudly in the close confines of the turbolift, the noise quite unpleasant to the Borg. Seven had not realized that there was this much effort and discomfort involved. Certainly, the holodeck simulation had provided a holographic expectant mother who was very good at breathing properly and pushing at exactly the right moments.  Perhaps Megan had not paid attention in her prenatal classes.

"Seven," the Doctor said. "If you remember the holodeck simulation we ran, you know how to help Megan breathe."

"Yes, Doctor," Seven remarked. She settled back against the turbolift wall and placed her mouth next to the young woman's ear. "Megan, you must breathe steadily and deeply. Remember your preparation."

Megan muttered something about Borg icicles which was somewhat surprising in both its vulgarity and explicitness and Seven decided that she must have misheard. Though she could understand the ensign's reluctance to breathe deeply. She herself, was trying to breathe as shallowly as possible. The one thing the holodeck simulation had not included was the odors that this process was creating. There was a salty, briny smell, no doubt from where the young woman's water had broke, and then a dark, earthy smell, rising from the young woman's vagina which was full of blood and hormones. It was tangy, primal, but was soon being overwhelmed by the hot metal scent of hemoglobin. Seven could see that crimson splash over the white crispness of the sheet and all of a sudden, this became quite real to her ... and reality wasn't quite as she had researched or imagined.

She swallowed as nausea rose in her chest and she forced herself not to react overtly, glad that Megan could not look back and see her face. Janeway could however, and those level, blue grey eyes met Seven's, pinning her in place.

"We can do this," she said calmly and Seven knew she wasn't just attempting to reassure Megan, it was to help her. She tried to hold on to that, to find the same sort of strength within her that the captain managed whenever she needed it. Janeway took a deep breath. "Doctor, I am inserting my fingers now."

"What do you feel, Captain?" he asked. "Is it a bump? Or the skull."

Janeway hesitated, and a muscle in her cheek twitched briefly. "I believe it is the skull, Doctor," she said. "It does not feel like the cervix."

Seven wondered how the captain would know what a cervix would feel like since the Borg did not have one ... just a blocked mass of scarred flesh where her vagina terminated deep inside. She wondered when Janeway had ever been inside another woman for comparison purposes and she worried that thought for a moment before she realized she was drifting. With an effort, she forced her mind back to the matter at hand.

"All right, Captain," the EMH continued. "I want you to feel for the cervix around the skull. That will tell me how far she's dilated. Two fingerbreadth is about 3 centimeters. Take it from there."

"Doing so now," Janeway said coolly, just as if she was performing a science experiment and reporting back her findings to the ship. "I gauge it to be approximately eight centimeters."

"She's well along, Captain," the Doctor responded heartily. "The baby is definitely on his way."

This conversation, of course, was going on amid the loud panting and gasping of the young woman, the small cries of pain and some considerably louder ones which rang in the Borg's ears and made her head ache. Seven was beginning to wonder if the Doctor had somehow 'lightened' the holographic simulation to protect the Borg's sensibilities. She was not grateful for his 'thoughtfulness' if that was the case. By not being properly prepared, she discovered that she was exceptionally anxious and disconcerted ... one might also call it frightened ... and if it weren't for the steadying presence of her partner, she was sure she would be as wild-eyed as the ensign at this point.

"Oh, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts!" Megan yelled.

Seven assumed the woman repeated herself in case the captain and the astrometrics officer did not realize what all the screaming and sweating actually meant by now. Seven was quite familiar with it, as well as the death grip on her hands which made her feel as if they were being crushed in a vise. She wondered if she would ever have function in them again.

"I feel the baby coming!" Megan screamed, her head going back to rap Seven smartly on the chin.

"Captain, check her again," the Doctor ordered.

Janeway did so and a muscle in her jaw began to twitch. "I find no cervix, Doctor," she announced.  "Just head."

"Very good," he responded.  "Megan, get ready to close your mouth and push down hard for the count of ten ... ready, push.  One, two, three..."

Seven chimed in, taking over the count, more for something to do than because she knew exactly what was happening. "...four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, relax."

"Captain, when the head starts to emerge, carefully push against it with your fingertips as Megan pushes against you," the EMH was saying. "We want this to be gradual, not a big pop and tear."

"Understood, Doctor," Janeway said, the muscles in her arms moving though Seven could not really see what the captain was doing from her point of view. "The head is visible," Janeway added. Shockingly, there was a sudden curl to her mouth, a half grin. "His hair is really dark. He's definitely Harry's boy."

Seven wondered how her spouse could be so calm

"Milk the vagina around the head like a turtleneck," the Doctor continued. "This will also prevent tears."

"Doing so, now," Janeway remarked casually.

Seven felt very light-headed and realized she had stopped breathing even as she continued to encourage Megan to do so, not really aware of what she was saying, only that she continued to speak some form of words strung together in hopefully, intelligible sentences. With an effort, Seven inhaled raggedly and almost passed out from the scent of blood and other bodily emissions.

"Doctor," Janeway said. "The baby's facing down."

"That's normal, Captain," the EMH said. "Megan, don't push now. Captain, check for the cord around the neck."

"No cord," Janeway reported.

"AHHHHH," Megan yelled.

"There's the shoulder," Janeway said.

"Gentle traction, Captain. It's not far now. Get the other shoulder clear by pulling up slightly on the head."

"It's coming," Janeway said.

"He'll be slippery, Captain, make sure of your grip."

Somewhere along the line, Seven had stopped speaking, had stopped thinking, had stopped reacting. She could only stare, open-mouthed, at the captain as Janeway gently, but firmly held the emerging lifeform's neck with her middle and index fingers. With a move that seemed far too practiced to have come for a woman who, to the Borg's knowledge, had never delivered a baby before, Janeway flipped the wiggly, slimy, alien creature around with her other hand so that it was cradled in the crook of her arm, continuing to hold the neck up. She reached down for cloth and carefully wiped out the nose and mouth, then discarded the cloth as a thin, high cry came from the small being.

"The cord, Captain," the Doctor said, with a hint of urgency. "Use the laser scalpel to seal off the cord in two places, then sever it."

Janeway did so quickly and with remarkable competence, then she dried the baby off and wrapped him up with a warm sheet, before handing him to an amazingly subdued, quiet and exhausted Megan Delaney who smiled the most glowing smile the Borg had ever seen. The sudden silence in the turbolift was shocking and almost hurt Seven's ears as much as the screaming and yelling had been doing up until now.

"Wait for the placenta to fall out by pulling gently on the cord, Captain," the EMH instructed. "Then rub the uterus gently to get it to contract down."

Seven suspected that something happened then because everything went dark and when it got light again, Megan was no longer lying against her, the turbolift doors were open and Janeway was kneeling next to her, blood and other bodily fluids staining the front of her sweater. Sek hovered over the captain's shoulder as she removed a hypospray which had been pressed to the Borg's throat.

"I believe she just fainted, Captain," the medical assistant remarked. "But this should keep her from losing consciousness again."

"I see," Janeway said, and her tone was full of humor.

"Kathryn?" Seven tried uncertainly. "Where is the baby?"

"The baby's fine," her spouse assured her. "So's Megan. They're both on their way to sickbay. You're the only one still here." She reached out and put her hand on her arm. "Are you all right, Seven? Can you stand?"

"I ... I believe so," she said as the captain and Sek helped her to her feet. The carpet of the deck was dark from the body fluids that had occurred during the birth process ... another thing the holodeck program had failed to display in all its proper goriness. Seven tottered unsteadily out into the bright light of the corridor, and leaned weakly against the bulkhead, noticing distantly that somehow, they were on deck three, though how they had gotten there, she had no recollection.

"Seven?"

"I suspect participating in an actual birth was just a bit overwhelming to her," Sek diagnosed. "Take her back to your quarters, give her something hot to drink, and let her recover."

"Well, I have to change anyway," Janeway said, taking her partner's arm firmly. "Let's go, Seven. I guess we're just going to be late for duty after all." Epilogue

Janeway stood in front of the transparency which separated the medical center nursery from the rest of sickbay, the illumination lowered in both to indicate night watch. Inside the small room, Harold Tomas Kim wiggled in his bassinet as his mother slept the sleep of the just, not too far away. Harry sat sentinel over both of them, holding onto his wife's hand as he dozed in his chair. His son did not seem sleepy at all, being a lusty little guy, unlike his solemn and quiet parents, quite animated for such a newborn ... but then, he had come into the universe a little overdue so that might have started him off with an advantage.

The captain was aware of someone else's arrival, not needing to turn around to know who it was. Seven paused beside her, staring at the tiny bundle.

"Feeling better?" the captain asked, still vaguely amused. She never would have pegged Seven as the queasy type, believing that if anyone was going to pass out during the situation in the turbolift, it would have been herself. But once she let her command training take over, things moved rather smoothly and that moment when she held that new life in her hands, something fundamental and primal had changed deep inside her.

"Yes," Seven responded. She took a deep breath. "I believe I owe you an apology."

Janeway quirked an eyebrow. "Indeed?" she said invitingly.

Seven raised her chin, her eyes dark. "I wished for a child, but I did not really understand what that entailed," she said softly, sorrowfully. "Kathryn, I can never ask you to go through such a thing as childbirth."

Janeway carefully swallowed her smile.

"Annika, honestly, I don't believe it's that bad," she said.

"Kathryn, there was so much blood," Seven said, her voice trembling. She was obviously still shaken by the events of the day. "Megan was in so much pain. She screamed and screamed."

"That she did," Janeway noted readily. "I think I've lost two percent of the hearing in my left ear."

She shot a look at her spouse, then slipped an arm around the slender waist comfortingly. "Annika," she said quietly, "Believe me, this does not disturb me as much as it seems to be disturbing you. In fact, until today, I don't think I really understood your desire for a child. Not deep down, not in my heart." Her voice grew softer, her expression becoming wistful. "But now, knowing what it's like to hold a new baby in my arms, to have helped bring him into the world ... darling, it was incredible. I long for the day when it will be our child I'll hold in my arms, knowing that we created such a wonderful being together."

Surprised, Seven stared at her and Janeway smiled, squeezing the younger woman gently.

"I know, it comes as a shock to me, too," she allowed dryly. "But it's true, my love. I know that right now, we can't really consider it. The demands on us are too immediate. But someday, you and I will have our own children. And even if we're still in the Delta Quadrant when that time comes, then we'll figure out a way."

Seven rested her cheek on the top of the captain's head.

"Someday," she agreed.

And together, the two women gazed at the latest addition to Voyager's crew.

The End

•  This is the 27th in the Just Between Series.

• It was posted on October 22nd, 1999.

• This is a bit of fluff in the vein of JB Lovers, mostly sappiness and no action (depending of course, on what one's definition of 'action' is.)

Just Between Missions
G. L. Dartt

Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship Voyager lay suspended between dreams and reality, in that hazy uncertainty between sleep and wakefulness, captured by delight and intense desire. It took her an indeterminate amount of time to realize it was actually happening, that she really could feel the touch of her partner's mouth on her, the delicate caress of a skilled tongue on her most intimate spot, stroking firmly, then lightly, playing with her as a cat would a mouse, pouncing, then teasingly letting her go, only to pounce again.

"Oh, god," she groaned, gasping for air. She bent her knees, flexing them, angling herself to grant her spouse better access, to offer more of herself to the woman she loved. Her hand crept down to tangle in long blonde hair, raking through the soft strands which wrapped around her fingers as if to capture them.

With wakefulness came fulfillment and she arched, a sound of incoherent intensity bursting from her lips, the shivers of pleasure shaking her, then letting her go. Slowly, slowly, she descended, the mouth gentle now on her, tender, soothing her. Then finally, Voyager's astrometrics officer, the ex-Borg, Seven of Nine, released the captain and eased up onto her stomach, resting her head on Janeway's belly, her cheek soft against Janeway's skin as the Borg's fingers continued to play with the triangle of auburn hair, matted now with the copious moisture.

Janeway swallowed hard.

"Well, a good morning to you, too," she muttered huskily.

Seven pressed her lips gently against the rounded flesh beneath her, nuzzling briefly into the indentation of navel.

"Good morning," she purred quietly and Janeway smiled.

"To what do I owe such a wonderful awakening?" the captain asked.

Seven tilted her head, angling it so that she could meet the older woman's eyes.

"You were born," she responded seriously. "You exist, my darling Kathryn."

Janeway's breath caught. "Indeed," she said. "Lucky me."

"No, 'lucky me'," Seven insisted and rose up. She kissed softly over the captain's stomach, her lips brushing against the smooth skin as she traced a path up to Janeway's breasts where the Borg settled onto them as if to make up for neglecting them until now. The captain sighed and wiggled luxuriously under the loving mouth.

"Oh, my," she mumbled.

Her nipples were being teased and pleasured in the most delightful fashion, the moist warmth of Seven's mouth covering them to suck lightly, then drawing back to circle them with the firmness of her tongue, flicking them. Janeway groaned and wrapped her arms around her lover's head, holding the delight to herself. Before long, she was gasping again. Having her breasts caressed so intently was one of her most favorite things and Seven knew how to do it just right, alternating back and forth between them, building the captain's desire with familiar skill. Then Seven drew away and a pang of disappointment shot through Janeway, though it did not last long as the Borg braced herself with her right arm, the hand pressed against the mattress right beside Janeway's head. With her left arm, Seven reached down and hooked it beneath Janeway's leg, pulling it up, positioning her into a receptive mode for her intention.

Confused, Janeway's eyes widened as Seven fitted herself to her spouse, the wet heat of the Borg pressing against the captain with demanding firmness. Suddenly, Janeway found it hard to breathe, her heart pounding as the sensation spread through her like an unchecked wildfire, the Borg undulating against her. They had tried this positioning only once before, and Janeway had been the aggressor then. Now she lay beneath her partner and received the unquestionably intense and arousing joy, her eyes locked on Seven's, blue-grey staring into ice blue, captured totally until Seven's head went back, crying out the name in abandoned pleasure.

"Kathryn. Oh, Kathryn."

Janeway felt the tremors, the flutter of the opening against her own, the sudden rush of moisture that incredibly, trickled inside her and her own climax leaped upon her without warning, the delight shuddering through her without mercy.

And still Seven was not done, falling upon the captain's breasts once more, a little firmer now, more aggressive, nibbling, raking her teeth over the tender skin and Janeway was helpless beneath the loving assault. There was a warm penetration, two fingers which entered Janeway knowingly, commandingly, curling up to find that smooth spot inside even as the thumb circled insistently outside, and the captain lost control completely ... if she ever had it in the first place ... unable to move, writhing beneath her partner who held her, tamed her, made her the Borg's own, totally and completely.

It took a while before Janeway was once again aware of her surroundings, of her partner kissing her gently, the piquant flavor still strong on the Borg's mouth.

"God," Janeway husked, her throat dry, her heart only now slowing. "You weren't kidding around this morning, were you?"

"I never 'kid around'," Seven informed her, looking down with pure adoration lighting her pale eyes. "Did you ... enjoy it?"

Janeway laughed. "Enjoy it?" she repeated. "I'm amazed I survived it."

Seven smiled faintly, pleased and kissed her softly once more. "It is time to get up," she said just as the computer chimed in with; "The time is 0600 hours."

But the Borg did not move, seeming content to cover the captain as long as Janeway deemed it necessary for her to stay. Touched, warmed by the absolute caring and thoughtfulness, Janeway wrapped her arms around the young woman's neck and kissed her deeply as the moments passed unnoticed, and unmourned for their passing.

"I absolutely adore you," she muttered finally, as she released the full lips.

"I love you, Kathryn," Seven assured her intently. "Forever."

Janeway smiled at her, then reluctantly loosened her embrace. "Duty calls," she said.

"Yes," Seven agreed. She eased off the captain and rolled out of bed, her lean, lanky, six-foot frame uncoiling like a spring as she padded naked into the bathroom.

Janeway took the time to lounge a little longer, not drowsing, but simply appreciating the moment, and the very delightful way she had spent the last hour. Even the sound of the sonic shower did not set her teeth on edge as it normally did and she decided that the rest of the crew would certainly benefit from the Borg's attention to detail this fine morning. Seldom had the captain begun her day in such a good mood.

Seven came out of the ensuite, garbed in her blue-grey mesh outfit, her blonde hair done up in an austere bun, the grey metal of her cranial implant glinting briefly in the illumination of day watch. She arched a brow as she observed her partner.

"Your uniform is on the sink counter," she said. "Do not be long. I am preparing your favorite breakfast ... unless you wish to consume it in bed?"

Janeway blinked. She was really getting the full treatment this morning. She didn't quite know what was prompting it, but she certainly wasn't going to complain. "No," she said, flipping back the blankets. "I'm getting up."

She padded into the ensuite, noting the fresh towels hanging neatly next to the shower as she accessed the controls, adjusting the temperature to hot. It wasn't a bath, but she luxuriated under the spray and steam from the triple heads for a sinfully long time before she finally shut them off. She dried herself with the fluffy, oversized towels, completed the rest of her ablutions, then finally drew on her uniform, feeling pleasantly pampered and wondering why she couldn't start every morning this way. The red band of command settled comfortably onto her shoulders as she brushed out her auburn hair, finally pulling it back into a ponytail. She regarded her reflection in the mirror for a moment, checking the command mask, content that it fit precisely as always, then relaxed, smiling ruefully at herself.

She wondered if it was time to shorten her hair. She rather liked it long but Seven had a preference for the collar length hairdo the captain had worn when they first became a couple. Of course, the Borg had never said anything to that effect, but Janeway knew in that way lovers had, and she decided that with this, she could accommodate the young woman. After all, Janeway had only been allowing it to grow out in reaction to a period of time where she had been severely shorn as a result of an illness ... if one could call having her metabolism overwhelmed by runaway Borg nanoprobes, an illness ... but now it was becoming slightly bothersome to deal with every morning. She made a mental note to have the ship's barber take care of it soon.

She walked out through the bedroom where the bed had been stripped and efficiently remade with fresh linens, then proceeded into the larger, living area. She noticed that Seven had altered the dog's area and wondered when the Borg had time to do that. The couple had acquired the energetic Irish Setter a year or so earlier and though it made for cramped conditions in the captain's quarters, Janeway would not give him up for the world. She leaned over and scratched behind the animal's ears, Jake pausing briefly in his consumption of his breakfast to look up, wagging his tail. The food and water dishes were now positioned against the wall, well away from the traffic area leading through bedroom door, something the captain appreciated. She couldn't count the number of times she had came out in the night for something, only to step barefooted in the cold, wet stain where he had inadvertently spilt his dish. Though if pressed, she couldn't really explain why she hadn't taken the time to move them.  It was just one of those odd things, she decided.

Seven was at the dining table which was already set, placing a full plate at the captain's place. Janeway raised an eyebrow, taking her seat in front of the fluffy western omelet accompanied by lean bacon and four pieces of whole wheat toast. Orange juice sat next to a smaller glass of skim milk, and best of all, a full mug of steaming, hot coffee, the fragrance rising to fill the captain's nostrils, waited for her.

"Darling," she said as she tucked into the repast, "I have no idea what I did to deserve this, but please, tell me what it was so I can keep doing it."

Seven smiled and leaned down, brushing her lips warmly over the back of Janeway's neck. "I told you," she said indulgently. "You were born."

The Borg sat down opposite the captain and began to eat her much smaller meal, requiring far less nutrition than the captain did though she massed far more. The granola cereal and milk was consumed quickly and soon, Seven was taking her empty dish over to the recycling unit.

Janeway raised an eyebrow, only half through her omelet. "Annika?"

Seven, on her way out, hesitated and returned to the table, bending down to kiss her spouse lovingly on the cheek. "I have things I must do before I report to the astrometrics lab," she told her. "Enjoy your breakfast, my Kathryn. Your thermos is on the counter."

"Have a good day, love," Janeway said, somewhat disappointed to see her go but knowing that both women filled crucial roles on the ship. Neither were the sort to have the time to linger over the start of the day though, because of the Borg's preparation, Janeway seemed to have lots of spare moments this morning.

The captain finished her breakfast, flipping the crusts from her toast to Jake who snapped them up eagerly. She grinned at him.

"You're lucky mommy had to leave early," she told him. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be allowed with those."

Jake obligingly wagged his tail in proper gratitude.

Janeway brushed the crumbs off the table onto the floor where she knew Jake would do a reasonably good job of cleaning them up before Seven got home and took her dishes to the recycler. She detoured into the ensuite, took a moment to clean her teeth, then returned to the living area, scooping up the silver cylinder of the thermos on her way out the door. The turbolift carried her quickly to the bridge where most of the alpha shift was already on duty, though not the full complement. She nodded at Lt. Ayala at tactical, the first crewmember she saw as she entered. The lieutenant was apparently replacing Tuvok, the ship's security chief, who was on his off-duty rotation. The dark-eyed young man inclined his head graciously and returned his attention conscientiously to his board. She flashed a smile on the other side where Lt. Harry Kim manned operations, looking a little weary as he returned the smile wanly. Janeway didn't mind, aware that it was to be expected for the new father. No doubt the newest addition to his family was keeping Harry up nights.

Commander Chakotay, the burly first officer, rose from the command chair, greeting his captain as she descended to the command level. "You look chipper this morning," he noted.

"I suppose I do," she managed without blushing, though she was sure her return smile was a trifle smug. "Status?"

"All systems at optimum," he replied. "We continue on course to the Alpha Quadrant. Looks like a quiet day."

"Let's hope so," she said. She glanced around, noting Tom Paris was back on the helm, glad to see he seemed fully recovered from his ordeal at the hands of the Spurnge. "Carry on. I'll be in my ready room going over the departmental reports."

"Aye, Captain," Chakotay said, as she strode away, heading for her ready room. "And Captain?"

She paused just outside her door. "Yes?" she asked curiously, looking back.

He grinned, crinkling the tribal tattoo which arched over his left eye down to his temple.

"Happy Birthday."

Seven of Nine keyed in the final bits of data for the navigational output Voyager required for the upcoming area of space as she tried to finish up any crucial work demanding her attention. As she did, her eye was caught by the crystal vase sitting on the metal ledge of her workstation, the deeply red rose filling the air around it with its sweet perfume. It was a daily gift from her spouse and Seven never failed to take a few seconds to inhale its scent and appreciate the love and caring implied by its presence. Next to it, was what she hoped was her own demonstration of love, a brightly wrapped package topped with a card and a bow. She knew that eventually, the captain would be by and she wanted it to be ready in that event.

She glanced up as the door to the astrometrics lab hissed opened, slightly alarmed. She wasn't yet ready for a visit from the captain and she was greatly relieved when B'Elanna entered instead. The stocky, dark-haired Klingon looked inquiringly at the package on the console and at the others, which were contained in a mesh bag resting on the deck.

"What is this?" she asked. "Christmas?"

Since Seven did not know what 'Christmas' was, she shook her head.

"No," she said. "It is Kathryn's birthday today."

B'Elanna looked faintly surprised. "Is that what Neelix has been up to the past few days?" she queried. "He requested a temporary leave for party preparations but I though it had more to do with the fact that all the new babies are finally here."

"It is a combined celebration," Seven explained. "Just as my birthday party was. However, the captain does not know it so you must not tell her."

B'Elanna looked faintly offended. "I wouldn't," she responded.

Seven was not prepared to argue the point, not really having the time for it, though she readily could. "You must hide this in engineering," she said instead to the other woman, handing her a small gift. "At precisely 1100 hours, you must contact the captain and request her presence in engineering where she will find the package."

B'Elanna blinked. "Is this why you called me up here?" she countered, taking the brightly wrapped package and looking at it with bemusement. "Not because of the restraining field experiments?"

"I have data on that as well," Seven responded, reaching over for a stack of padds, which she also gave the engineer. "That is all I require. You may go."

"Whoa, waitaminute," B'Elanna protested, dumping her load on the nearest console and staring at the Borg, hands on her hips. "Whatever happened to 'hello, B'Elanna, how are things with you?'"

Seven realized she had been somewhat abrupt. Granted, it was her normal demeanor but certainly her friend deserved better than that, so she curbed her impatience and regarded the Klingon evenly

"I am sorry," she apologized. "Hello, B'Elanna. How are you?"

B'Elanna crossed her arms over her chest and grinned. "I'm glad you asked," she said. "I'm doing just great."

Seven waited, then finally understood that the engineer required further prompting and resisted a sigh. There was a great deal for her to do this morning if she wished to carry out all her plans for the afternoon, but she also knew that sometimes things did not always progress as she intended. That was 'life', as her spouse would say.

"Why are you so happy?" Seven asked, accurately gauging her friend's mood.

"I'm up for off duty rotation," the engineer revealed. "Once my shift ends at 1600, I'm completely free for the next two days."

"And this is indicative of what?" Seven said, maintaining her patience with a slight effort. "That you shall be by for lunch? I am not off duty for another week."

"No," B'Elanna agreed, and if smugness were a requirement of rank, the Klingon would be spouting admiral insignia by now. "But Ro Laren is."

Seven quirked an eyebrow. Suddenly things were becoming somewhat clearer. "And you shall be sharing your off duty time together?"

"That's the plan," B'Elanna said and it seemed that she was truly excited over it.

Seven took a second to remember how she felt whenever she was anticipating time spent with the captain and was better able to appreciate B'Elanna's good mood. Then a thought struck her and she frowned. "Will you not be at the captain's party this evening? I know she will be sorry if you and Lt. Ro do not attend."

B'Elanna frowned. "Aw, Seven," she began. "The captain won't even miss us."

"Yes," Seven said firmly. "She will." She hesitated. "B'Elanna, I know that we have not always been on amiable terms but whether you would be agreeable to do this for me, certainly you must have enough regard for the captain that you will attend for her."

B'Elanna eyed her narrowly. "Dammit, Seven," she complained. "That's emotional blackmail. When did you learn to do that?"

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "Manipulation is a frequent Human interaction," she noted.

"Yes, but not so deliberately done," B'Elanna said. She leaned on the console. "Seven, you shouldn't be so blatantly manipulative."

Seven considered that. "Ah, so it is not that I am attempting to coerce you in actions you do not wish to take," she said thoughtfully, "It is because I am doing it badly."

B'Elanna opened her mouth to respond, hesitated, then looked a bit confused. "Sort of," she said finally. "I guess I never looked at it that way before. Seven, it's not so much that you're trying to convince me to go to the party, it's because you know I would rather be with Ro. That indicates a disregard for what I want and what will make me happy." She made a face and added in a subdued grumble, "You're not my mother, after all."

Seven hesitated. "You are correct," she said. "I was thinking only of myself. Or rather, only of what would make Kathryn happy, not you. I am sorry, B'Elanna."

B'Elanna waved it off. "It's okay," she said. "I guess if it's for the captain, it's not so bad."

"It isn't?" Seven responded, completely baffled at this point.

B'Elanna looked at her, started to answer and again, had to pause. "You know," she said, after a moment. "You really make a person look at why people do the things they do."

"Is that good?" Seven asked.

"Sometimes," B'Elanna said. "Other times, though, ignorance is bliss."

Seven had never heard such a saying and was a trifle outraged by it. For someone who considered the gathering of knowledge to be the ultimate purpose in life, this was a thought that seemed quite dangerous ... and self-deceptive.

"I do not believe I can agree with such a statement," she said finally, after trying several times to come up with the proper words to voice her opposition to such a belief.

B'Elanna grinned crookedly. "One of these days, you'll understand exactly what I mean," she said. She held up a hand defensively to forestall Seven's next comment. "But, for the time being, I withdraw it. Ignorance is not bliss." She pointed at the bag of presents, changing the subject. "Are those all for the captain?"

"Yes," Seven said. She was aware of time slipping away and that Jennifer Delaney would be arriving shortly to cover her duties while she ran about the ship, carrying out the rest of her preparations. "I must place the selected presents for Kathryn to find," she said. "Then I must go to my quarters where I will prepare a special lunch for Kathryn."

B'Elanna stared at her with a mix of surprise and rueful envy on her face. "You're really doing it up big, this year," she noted. "Are you trying to rub it in because she keeps forgetting your birthday?"

Seven was shocked. "No!" she exclaimed. "It is because I wish her to be happy." She had never considered anything remotely resembling what B'Elanna had just suggested during all her planning and was profoundly horrified. Would Kathryn regard her plans the same way, thinking that Seven was attempting to insult or hurt her in some way?

"I'm sorry, 'Nik," B'Elanna said hastily, obviously having read the emotions chasing themselves across the Borg's narrow features. "Of course you aren't. That's just my cynicism kicking in. I keep forgetting you don't have a cynical bone in your body and I shouldn't pick on that."

Seven looked at the mound of presents uncertainly. "Will Kathryn be upset by this?" she asked with grave concern.

B'Elanna clearly wished she had never brought it up. "'Nik, she's going to love this," she said, reaching out to pat Seven on the arm. "If she does have any question about it, just remind her that you love her. She'll remember quick enough that you never have ulterior motives for the things you do ... not deep down in your heart. You're so transparent that anyone can figure you out in a minute."

Seven wasn't sure that was a compliment but she decided not to pursue it. Instead, she sought more reassurance.

"Is this too much?" Seven asked. "I never thought that she would not appreciate being pampered."

"Annika," B'Elanna said seriously, gripping her arm. "The captain loves you completely and she knows you love her that way back. This is exactly what she would have done for your birthday if she hadn't been in the middle of a crisis at the time. She's going to be overwhelmed by all this and love every minute of it." She looked a bit desperate, obviously seeking better words, then brightened. "'Nik, you know my track record with relationships. Why would you even give a second thought to my opinion when it comes to things like this?"

Seven felt relieved. "That is true," she agreed readily. "You do not know anything about conducting a successful romantic relationship."

B'Elanna paused, looking as if she had just tasted something unpleasant. "Exactly," she said dryly. "But you do. Your instincts are exactly right when it comes to things like this, Seven. Rely on it."

"I shall," Seven said firmly. "Thank you, B'Elanna."

"No problem," B'Elanna replied. She seemed to relax a little and let go of the Borg's arm. "Actually, maybe I should be asking you for advice. Tonight will probably be the first time Ro and I ... uh, are together. Any idea of how you would prepare in that instance?"

Seven frowned. Her first time with Kathryn had been not so much planned as inevitable, the young woman becoming aware of the captain's attraction and simply showing up in her bed one night unannounced. It worked for them, but Kathryn did not have the volatility of the Klingon or the quick and deadly reflexes of the Bajoran. Though shocked, the captain had approached the situation with the kindness and compassion that was so characteristic of her and both she and Seven were able to discuss things rationally ... before they returned to the bed and carried out what seemed predestined in the first place. Seven did not think that would be how either B'Elanna or Ro would prefer their physical relationship to begin, though how she knew that, she was unable to pinpoint.

"Kathryn and I appreciate combustible generated illumination," she offered tentatively. "And low decibel rhythmic sounds."

"Candles and soft music, got it," B'Elanna replied, looking pleased. "I can handle those."

Seven decided to leave it at that. Any more suggestions might only have the opposite effect of what B'Elanna was attempting. After all, the four individual women were completely different in attitude and demeanor and what worked for one couple was unlikely to work for the other. She filed that revelation away in her eidetic memory, realizing that she should never take any of B'Elanna's suggestions regarding her relationship, seriously. After all, how many had turned out successfully up until now? Other than the accessory, of course and even that was more for Kathryn's benefit than Seven's.

Both women looked up as the door hissed open and Ensign Jennifer Delaney entered the astrometrics lab.

"Seven, I'm here to relieve you," the attractive young woman said, somewhat unnecessarily since the Borg had been expecting her for just that purpose.

Part of a set of twins, the two Delaney sisters had been estranged for reasons that Seven was not entirely sure about after Jennifer's sister, Megan had married Harry Kim. However, with the recent birth of the Kim's son, Jennifer's nephew, the sisters were once again on friendly terms. Seven was glad, since Jennifer could be quite discomforting to work with when she was unhappy, as she had been when she was not getting on with Megan.

"Thank you, Ensign," Seven said. "I wish you to know that I truly appreciate this."

"Hey, I'm just glad to help out with the captain's birthday surprise," the ensign replied. "I'll see you at the party tonight."

"Yes," Seven said, gathering up her bag. She glanced at B'Elanna. "1100 hours," she reminded her pointedly.

"I'll remember," B'Elanna responded and grinned.

With that less than ringing promise in her ears, Seven scurried out of her lab, readying for the next stage of her plans.

Janeway figuratively slapped her forehead as she entered her ready room. "Because you were born," suddenly became clear to her, the captain understanding finally that Seven was being literal, as was her habit. It was Janeway's obtrusiveness that didn't pick up on what her partner had actually meant. Janeway also wasn't very good at keeping track of her dates, particularly when they required translating the ship's Stardate to the old Earth calendar. In fact, she had to put a reminder for any dates pertaining to them ... like Seven's birthday ... in the computer months ahead of time and even then, she had forgotten about her partner's date of birth when a crisis had caught her up that particular day. She still remembered the dreadful shame she had felt when she heard Neelix wish the Borg a 'Happy Birthday' in a staff meeting.

Seven was far better at remembering these things and truly enjoyed birthdays, as well as the varied traditions surrounding them. Clearly, she had gotten Janeway's special day off to the perfect start and Janeway wondered what else her partner had planned. Her first clue came as she saw the elegantly wrapped package resting quietly on her desk.

"So you 'had to do some things', Annika?" she said out loud, smiling fondly. With a sort of unfamiliar anticipation, she sat her thermos down on the smooth surface and went around the desk, sitting down in her chair as she reached out for her gift. Delighted, she detached the card from the bow, opening it to read the interior.

How do I love thee,
Let me count the ways...
First is how you make me feel
each and every one of my days..."

Charmed beyond words by the Borg's efforts at poetry, even if it was slightly clumsy at expanding on the existing verse, Janeway opened the package eagerly, her eyes glinting slightly with a suspicious moisture. Inside was a tiny bronze statuette of Leonardo daVinci, made to match the larger one on the shelf attached to the nearby bulkhead, and Janeway wondered where the Borg had managed to lay hands on such a thing. She stared at it, knowing in her heart that meeting the young woman was undoubtedly the best thing that had ever happened to her in her life.

"Oh, Annika," she whispered, and brushed the back of hand across her eyes to dislodge the tiny drops there, glad that no one was around to see such unabashed sentimentality. She placed the little statue next to her computer console where she could look at it through the day, then, activated her comm. A touch brought up the departmental reports which still required attention, not caring that Janeway had been born on Earth forty-four years ago, and she was able to rededicate herself to the task at hand, though every time she glanced at the statuette, she found herself smiling somewhat foolishly.

She forced herself to work steadily until approximately 11:06 hours before she finally taking a break, stretching in her chair. She blinked rapidly to soothe slightly strained eyes as her hands reached up above her head, then she got up and walked around her desk, easing muscles which had grown stiff from sitting in one position for so long. She unscrewed the top of the thermos as she carried it up the short flight of stairs where a tea tray rested on the low form of a coffee table. Her lucky china cup was placed upside down on the tray and she retrieved it, pouring it full of the dark rich brew, bringing it to her lips where she inhaled the full aroma deeply, sipping at it with quiet pleasure.

"Engineering to the captain," came over her comm badge.

Janeway lifted her head, making a brief face of disappointment. "Go ahead," she instructed her chief engineer.

"Captain, I'm having a little problem with the EPS manifold," B'Elanna said evenly. "If you're not busy, I sure would like your opinion."

Janeway felt a bit of alarm. They had just had that very crucial area of the ship repaired at a space station not very long ago. If it was not working properly, it did not bode well for the multitude of other repairs Voyager had undergone. And for B'Elanna to require a second opinion only heightened her concern. "I'm on my way."

She carefully poured the coffee back into the thermos where it would remain hot and sealed the silvery cylinder. Then she left the ready room, nodding at Chakotay. "I'll be in engineering," she told him.

"Understood," she heard over her shoulder as she entered the turbolift. It carried her down to deck twelve, and she strode briskly into the large room containing main engineering. As she entered, she glanced around, spotting Torres and Lt. Vorik near the hatch leading to the EPS manifold. Janeway did not relish having to climb through the Jeffries tube, but supposed it couldn't be helped. She did wonder, however, why B'Elanna was waiting for her rather than already tending to the conduit access controls inside, starting the repairs.

"B'Elanna?" she asked.

"I don't know, Captain," the Klingon grumbled. "Why don't you take a look and tell me what you think."

Frowning, the captain cracked the hatch, opening the panel and freezing when she saw the small, brightly wrapped package sitting just inside the Jeffries tube. Startled, she looked at her engineer. "Lieutenant?" she asked.

B'Elanna threw up her hands, walking away. "Hey, I just work here," she said, obviously intent on getting back to it. "Talk to the Borg."

Janeway met the dark eyes of the Vulcan ensign. He raised an eyebrow. "I also concur with Lt. Torres's sentiment," he said politely, turning around and vacating the area as well.

Janeway blushed and tried to hide it, feeling absurdly pleased and somewhat embarrassed that her spouse was involving others of the crew in these birthday plans. She picked up the package, removing the card, which she read quietly to herself.

"I love thee to the depth and breath
and height my soul can reach,
I love thee for thy honor and dignity,
and all the ideals that you teach."

Janeway tore at the ribbons and wrapping, wondering if her partner was aware of how much enjoyment and entertainment she was providing for her spouse. Definitely, a side trip to astrometrics to tell her so was required before the captain returned to her bridge.

Inside the package was a necklace, a thin gold chain of the type which the captain tended to favor whenever she wore jewelry, which was not often. There was a charm attached in the form of the Starfleet insignia and smiling, Janeway put the necklace on, her fingers fumbling a little at the clasp. With as much dignity as she could manage beneath the smirks and fondly amused expressions of the engineering crew, she gathered up the torn paper and tossed it in a nearby recycling unit, then exited the main level and headed for the turbolift.

"Deck six," she said, discovering she was bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet and forcing herself to stop. She wasn't sure what she would do or say once she got to astrometrics, but she hoped she would think of something appropriate. She tried to figure out what her ingenious spouse had in mind next.

Astrometrics was empty when she entered and she frowned, glancing around. There was another package sitting on top of the console, next to the single red rose, which rested in a crystal vase.

"Computer, locate Seven of Nine," Janeway asked as she went to the console, removing card from the gift.

"Seven of Nine is on the bridge," the computer responded evenly.

Janeway was beginning to feel that this wasn't just a game of treasure hunting, there was a bit of hide and seek involved as well. And so far, Seven was several steps ahead of her. She read the poem inscribed neatly on the card.

"When feeling out of sight for
the ends of Being and ideal Grace,
For eyes of beauty that saw in me all
that is Human in this lonely, voiceless space."

The captain decided that the verse was somehow trying to follow a theme as she drew the holo-image from the box. This was clearly a visual gift, represented by Seven's addition of 'eyes of beauty' to the poem. The image was of Janeway, Seven and Jake together on a beach, obviously recorded at the ship's last full shore leave several months earlier. The captain was perched on a piece of driftwood as the Borg sat easily on the sand at her feet, leaning back against Janeway's legs. Beside them, Jake was standing alertly, head up as the captain held up a piece of barbequed steak. Janeway activated the holo-image and the small file ran, the sound of many conversations rustling under Seven's admonishing words, which came through the tiny speaker clearly.

"Kathryn, do not feed him that," she said, even as Janeway tossed the meat to the dog who snapped it up eagerly. It ran on, Seven looking up at the captain sternly over her shoulder as Janeway returned the look with a smile, bending down to kiss her and forestall any further protest. The file stopped, Janeway and Seven caught perfectly, their lips pressed together as Jake looked on eagerly, no doubt waiting for another piece of meat.

It was outrageously sweet and Janeway made a note to compliment the Doctor who was likely responsible for taking the image, even as she was vaguely discomforted to have been caught in such a blatantly 'mushy' moment in public. It did occur to her that Seven must have been planning this for months and she was touched yet again by the sheer thoughtfulness of her partner. Smiling, she tucked the holo-image under her arm, recycled the wrapping, and left astrometrics.

The bridge was conspicuously devoid of any Borg when she arrived. Janeway looked curiously at Chakotay.

"Where's Seven?"

"Just missed her," he said, striving to look innocent. He did not succeed.

Then he raised his eyebrow as he saw the holo-image and Janeway reluctantly handed it to him. But he did not make any kind of sarcastic or smart remark. Instead, he watched it as it ran, an extremely wistful expression on his handsome features before handing it back to the captain.

"Very nice," he noted as he took his first officer's chair and that's when Janeway saw the package sitting on the console between his chair and hers, having been concealed to her view by his bulk, no doubt intentionally.

"I think you're falling behind," he said dryly.

Janeway didn't know how to respond, considered several cutting remarks, before finally, sitting down in her command chair, extremely aware of her bridge crew watching her avidly.

"Are you gonna read the card?" Tom asked, glancing over his shoulder. "Out loud?"

"No," the captain responded, in a tone that indicated he had better not pursue it. Then she softened. "It's an ongoing thing," she added in explanation. "I'd need to read all the previous ones for it to make sense and I don't have the first one with me."

They seemed to accept that, much to her relief, and feeling somewhat self-conscious, she retrieved the card and read it silently to herself.

"I love thee to the level of everyday's
most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right:
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praises,
I love thee to the height of every eve's most
deep passion, of shared presence at night,
I love thee devoutly for thy pleasures granted,
And I love thee deeply when thy voice raises..."

Janeway swallowed a smile, suspecting that she knew exactly what Seven was referring to when she wrote about the captain raising her voice at night, for reasons that the Borg herself were responsible for. For that reason, the captain was hesitant about opening the gift, the thought striking her that perhaps it might follow the theme of the altered verse, just as the holo-image and necklace had. If that were true, it was definitely something she did not want to discover on the bridge.

"I think I'll open this in my ready room," she murmured, getting out of her chair.

"Aw," Harry muttered in obvious disappointment, but both Chakotay and Tom shot the captain a grin, as if knowing why she would prefer to open it out of sight. She tried not to blush as she retreated to the sanctity of her office, moving over to the upper level where she placing the present momentarily on the coffee table and refilling her cup before she settled on the couch to grant it her full attention.

She carefully detached the fastenings of the paper, taking more time with this than she had with the others. She withdrew the three items contained within the box, intently examining each one in order to figure out what they were.

The first was a small bottle of oil which, according to the label, was supposed to provide a deep heat when spread over the body, apparently stimulating and evocative, 'turning your massage into a sensual expression of love'. Since Seven was rather good at that without any help at all, Janeway wasn't sure she could remain conscious if the Borg used this during her next back rub.

The second item was a small cloth bag containing two silver balls, which felt silky smooth as they rolled around in her palm. Confused, she read the accompanying instructions, which also conveyed a brief history of the ancient sexual aid. Her face was literally flaming by the time she finished, and she dropped the balls back into the bag as if they burnt her fingers. Honestly, she thought, torn between acute embarrassment and the provocative idea of actually using them someday. Where does Seven come up with this sort of thing?

The third item was a bit of silken underwear that the captain was astonished to find was apparently edible. Coffee flavor, and just Seven's size. Janeway could scarcely believe it and she hastily packed the box up again and sealed it so that no one could look inside inadvertently. Yet even as she flushed hotly, she found that she was aroused by the whole idea of it, just sitting here in her ready room, her nipples hard against her sweater, the juncture of her legs moist and aching pleasantly as she shifted.

"Annika darling, you better be ready when I get off duty," she muttered out loud and wondered if she should get something cold to drink. Something filled with ice that she could place against her forehead and hopefully take away some of this heat suffusing her body.

Lt. Ro Laren grunted as she lowered herself to a crouch, then lifted upward smoothly with an exhalation of breath, the weight bar heavy on her shoulders. Dressed in a pair of skintight shorts which cut off at mid-thigh and an abbreviated top which left her arms, shoulders and midriff bare, her skin glistened in the bright light, perspiration darkening her garments. Around her in the gym, a few other members of the crew were also working out, but for the most part, the large room was relatively empty. That was how the Bajoran liked it. She didn't have to worry about keeping an eye on anyone and no one kept an eye on her. Of course, now that the secret of her identity was out, it really wasn't necessary that she disguise the fact that she used Starfleet methods to work out with, but old habits died hard.

Lately though, she mused as she lowered the bar and stretched out on the nearby weight bench, grasping the bar above her head, I don't work out to try to keep my mind off being lost in the Delta Quadrant and my secret. Now I work out to try to keep my mind off B'Elanna.

Not that thinking about the dark-haired, feisty chief engineer was unpleasant in any way ... quite the opposite, in fact ... but thanks to a spat of interruptions and demands of duty, it was also becoming exceedingly frustrating. Ro consoled herself with the promise that, with any luck, it would be resolved soon. If she was just trying to occupy herself on her day off until B'Elanna was finished with her shift, then that was only to be expected.

Ro wasn't entirely sure what would happen this upcoming evening, but she expected that it would be a hell of a lot more fulfilling than returning to her empty bunk every night as she had done for so long.

She blew a limp strand of dark hair off her damp forehead and pulled down on the bar, working on her upper body strength. She wondered if the Klingon appreciated a well muscled body, then decided that she must, because B'Elanna had one of the finest toned bodies Ro had ever seen ... or touched ... though granted, those glimpses and touches had been fleeting and continually interrupted by one thing or another. The thought of that body sent a chill of desire and anticipation through her and with an effort, she drew her mind back to the matter at hand, knowing that the gym was not the place to let her thoughts wander.

That would be perfect, she noted with chill amusement. Pull a muscle or two and be unable to do anything at all should the opportunity arise. That would be just the thing the two women needed to get their physical relationship off to a good start.

She breathed slowly, forced to correct herself as she continued her work out. She knew that this was not going to be merely a physical relationship between the two of them. It was going to be an deeply intimate one and she had to admit it frightened her to a certain extent. That was something she didn't like to acknowledge too often ... that she could be frightened by anything, particularly after growing up in a Cardassian interment camp on her home planet of Bajor which had been occupied by the brutal and vicious invaders. She had faced all sorts of deprivation in the early part of her life, had seen her mother die of hunger, and had watched her father tortured to death for sport right before her eyes. The Cardassians thrived on fear, and so, she learned not to show it early on in her life.

But this, she allowed reluctantly, actually scared her. The Cardassians could only brutalize her, attempt to break her body and spirit. B'Elanna, at this point, with only the slightest of effort, could totally break her heart.

Ro wondered if the Klingon knew it.

"Lt. Ro."

Ro almost dropped the bar across her throat and barely managed to ease it back onto the hooks. She had been so involved with her thoughts that she hadn't even noticed the approach of the slender dark-skinned Vulcan now standing over her ... not a good display from a security officer who was under Lt. Commander Tuvok's direct supervision.

"Sir," she said, sitting up. She reached out for a nearby towel and mopped off her brow, draping the towel around her neck. "Did you want me for something?"

Tuvok raised an eyebrow slightly. "Actually, Lieutenant, I noticed that you were working out," he said. "Are you off duty?"

Ro didn't frown, but she wanted to. That she was working out was obvious and if she was working out, then it was also obvious was that she was off duty. Stating the obvious was not the sort of thing a Vulcan would do. Particularly this Vulcan whom she had come to know and respect greatly over the years. He was the only person on the ship who had known her true identity from the beginning and kept that confidence for six years.  She wondered what was going on with him.

"Yes," she said, for lack of anything more intelligent to say.

"I do not wish to interrupt," he said. "However, I am in need of conditioning in the art of T'kai and I require a partner."

Ro raised an eyebrow. T'kai was a Vulcan martial art, rarely practiced but one she was familiar with. In fact, Tuvok had taught her the practice not long after Voyager had been lost in the Delta Quadrant, providing the isolated woman with her only real socialization and recreation for the first couple of years. It might have saved her sanity and though it had been some time since she had jousted with the security chief ... as time went by, she had developed other acquaintances and alliances devoid of any Starfleet connection ... she was more than glad to nod.

"Thank you, sir," she said. "I would ... appreciate it."

Tuvok led the way to the ring where they could grapple. The other crewmembers in the gym did not make a rush to surround the area as spectators, but there was a definite shifting for better lines of view from their various vantage points. Ro dropped her towel in the corner and shook out her hands, loosening up a little. This martial art was not a matter of strength so much as it was of speed and reflexes, both of which she excelled at, making her a good opponent for Tuvok who, despite his slender build, had all the advantage of his Vulcan heritage. He had grown up in high gravity and thin atmosphere, his physiology boasting copper-based blood, which metabolized oxygen better than Human or even Bajoran hemoglobin did.

Ro balanced lightly on the balls of her feet, waiting for Tuvok to indicate he was ready. He did with a slight incline of his head. Of course, a real opponent would come without warning, but this was a sparring match only and not the real thing. The Vulcan opened with a standard attack, a feint to the left, then a snap to the head that Ro easily parried. She bounced a little, moving smoothly into the familiar patterns and motion of the match. Even though it had been a while, the reflexes remembered and as long as she didn't think about it and allowed her body to react instinctively, it was a simple matter of block and thrust, of feint and attack, like a dance between two beings who were perfectly attuned to each other.

Perhaps that was what clued her in that something was not quite right. It was one thing to spar with different opponents, but when it was with only a certain person over a long period of time, one got to know his moves as well as one's own, and it became even more of a dance. So the differences now, subtle though they might be, gradually became apparent to her. The pattern that Tuvok normally applied to this interaction was simply not there. It was ragged, a little too slow at times, a little too fast at others.

She wondered if he was attempting something new, trying to catch her off guard. Tuvok did not like his people to get too comfortable. Did he somehow feel that she had gotten lax over the past few months since the revelation of her true identity? Certainly, she had not been focusing all her attention on security, her other abilities having been brought to the captain's attention which resulted in Ro being tapped for bridge duty on more than one occasion. In fact, when Tom Paris had been kidnapped recently, she had taken his post, covering the helm. She had even been requested to change uniforms from the shoulder band of operations gold to command red, the same color she had worn on the Enterprise all those years ago. Did he think she was no longer dedicated to her role in security?

Or was something else involved? Had he heard the rumors of her relationship with B'Elanna Torres? Did he think she was allowing herself to become too distracted lately, not paying enough attention to her duties?

The doubts spurred her on to greater effort, parrying a blow from him and counterattacking with a double kick that connected, snapping the Vulcan's head back. She didn't know who was more surprised, her ... or him. He stopped dead, a dark expression appearing on his face, one that shocked her, then the impassive mask was back and gingerly, he touched the emerald blood oozing from his forehead.

"Sir," Ro asked anxiously. "Are you alright?"

"I am ... undamaged, Lieutenant," he said calmly. "I had believed my reflexes had become ... less than adequate recently and this merely confirms it."

"Why, Tuvok?" she asked, moving closer so no one could hear. "What's wrong?"

He looked at her and though Vulcans were not know for their warm demeanor at the best of times, Ro had never experienced such an icy stare as she did then. It surprised and worried her even further.

"Nothing is amiss, Lt. Ro," he said flatly. "I appreciate your concern and your agreement to spar with me this day."

He slipped through the ropes and dropped lightly to the floor, picking up a towel from the stack folded neatly on a table next to the ring. He dabbed at the cut over his eye, which was already coagulating, the green staining dark on the white terrycloth, and strode purposely for the exit. She would have called after him but that would have embarrassed them both ... if Vulcans were subject to such an emotion. The thing about dealing with Vulcans is that they rarely had different motivations behind what appeared. If he did not wish to speak with her, then he would not, and calling after him would accomplish nothing.

She rested her hands on the top rope, staring after him in bemusement, then became aware that she was a target of some scrutiny as well and self-consciously moved away, going over to her corner where her towel was crumpled. She picked it up and slipped through the ropes, depositing it in a nearby recycler and retrieving a fresh one which she used to wipe the perspiration from her arms and shoulders. As abbreviated as the bout had been, it had still been a good workout and it had more than tired her out. Any further exertion would be counterproductive at this stage.

She picked up her bag and headed for the locker room where she showered and changed into a simple, off-duty, cream-colored tunic with dark pants. She brushed out her short, collar length hair and donned a red band to hold it back, then left the area, carrying her gear in a small bag that had a gold insignia of Starfleet Command on the side. The captain had presented it to her without fanfare a few weeks earlier when the memo came down for Ro to change department color. At least, Ro's roommate had told her it was the captain who had dropped it off, along with a padd containing the memo and an authorization for extra replicator rations to cover the switch of uniforms. A duly impressed Ensign Dorado had stared measuringly at the Bajoran for a long moment, before quietly going about her business.

Ro could tell that her status was undergoing a change in the rest of the lower decks from the way people were starting to act around her, and the way they looked at her when they thought she wouldn't notice. Of course, she'd also be getting that kind of subtle observation if she had merely gotten involved with B'Elanna, but certainly the two incidents together were serving to make her the target of far more attention than she was comfortable with, though she wasn't sure what she could do about it. She definitely wasn't going to curb her interest in the chief engineer ... not after having come this far and opening herself up this much ... nor was she entirely adverse to the professional changes. Despite her tempestuous career, where every change seemed to be profoundly life-altering, she had entered Starfleet with the desire to do well. That desire remained very much a part of her and deep inside, she took pride in the fact that her potential and abilities had come to the fore, whether she had intended them to or not.

She dropped off her bag in her quarters, noticing that her roommate who worked the gamma shift was in bed, asleep, snoring lustily. She quickly departed, finding herself wandering through the ship. The only minor problem she had with Voyager was that it was so small. An Intrepid class vessel, it was designed for courier missions and quick covert operations, not really intended for deep space exploration at all. Unfortunately, that's exactly what Voyager ended up doing once it was stranded 70,000 light years from the Federation. The ship had been forced to undergo some profound changes over the six years it had been out in the Delta Quadrant, but it was still difficult for crewmembers who were off duty during quiet stretches of space to find things to occupy their time.

The two holodecks were undoubtedly in use at the moment, and the ship did not host extensive labs and libraries where she could quietly pick up some extra duty. In fact, such areas were generally covered during the alpha shift to the extent that any extra body was an intrusion and not assistance at all. On deck eight, there was a park which had been designed for the new children who had been born on the vessel recently, but a great many of the crew also found it a favorite place to be. At this time of the day rotation, it would be crowded with beta and gamma shift crew getting a taste of sunshine, artificial as it was, and the very real smell of growing plants and trees.

She missed the Enterprise most, at times like this. The huge Galaxy-class ship had boasted several arboretums, two of which were respectable parks indeed, along with miles of Jeffries tubes and rooms where a person could find a little solitude for themselves if desired. Of course, Ro was attuned to traveling through space as part of her nature ... she wouldn't have gotten into Starfleet otherwise ... and was not anti-people in any way, but every so often, she liked to be alone with her thoughts.

She turned the corner and nearly collided with Seven of Nine who was pushing a antigrav cart. The Borg brightened as she saw her.

"Lt. Ro Laren," she said. Before Ro could even return her greeting, Seven had deposited four, brightly wrapped gifts in her hands. "I am behind schedule," the Borg told her. "You must take these to my quarters and place them on the bed, except for the blue one which you must place on the night stand. I will speak with you at the party for the captain this evening. Thank you."

Astounded, the Bajoran stared after Seven as the Borg hastened away. She knew her mouth was probably open but the sheer unexpected nature of the encounter had left her unable to do much about it. She glanced down at her arms loaded with boxes and tilted her head.

Well, she thought dryly. At least I have something to do now.

Captain Janeway tried hard to concentrate on her work and finally manage to succeed. It helped that nothing served to cool the ardor like the dry, impersonal departmental reports and eventually, she was able to forget it was her birthday and the rather wild thoughts the last three gifts had inspired. She was actually startled when the chime to her door sounded and a glance at the chronometer revealed it was 1300 hours. She wondered if her crew was making a deliberate effort not to bother her that day, since it had remained so quiet and she raised an eyebrow.

"Enter," she said.

She caught her breath as her spouse entered, pushing an anti-grav cart covered with a snow white table cloth, fine china and crystal, with two silver domes covering what could only be a specially prepared meal. A bouquet of roses had been placed in a shimmering vase, making up the centerpiece and a greenish bottle of wine was stuck proudly in a silver ice bucket.

"Oh, my," Janeway said with astonishment.

Seven guided the cart up the short flight of stairs to the upper level, avoiding the edge of the steps as the antigrav field allowed it to flow up the angle. She positioned it next to the couch and looked back at the astounded Janeway with a faint smile.

"Lunch," she announced calmly. Dazed, Janeway rose to her feet and moved around the desk, mounting the short flight of stairs almost without noticing, feeling as if she were doing a bit of floating herself.

"This is incredible," she said as she reached out and captured the Borg in a warm embrace, looking up at the young woman's pleased face. "You're incredible. You are making this the best birthday I've ever had."

"Better than last year?" Seven offered quietly, looking down at her with luminous eyes.

"Oh, yes," Janeway assured her. She smiled tremulously. "You're so thoughtful, my love."

Seven leaned down and kissed her very gently. "I am glad," she said. "It is my goal to make each of your birthdays better than the one before."

Janeway deepened the kiss, even as she was aware that they were still on duty. But this day only came once a year, after all. Would it be so bad if she allowed herself to enjoy this, to fully indulge in the gift her spouse was granting her? She knew that Seven must be truly enjoying the opportunity to give this day to her. The Borg was always so pleased whenever she managed to surprise the captain. In fact, Seven just flat out enjoyed celebrating birthdays far more than the average person did ... perhaps because she had missed so many of her own as a Borg drone. This area of space was relatively remote, with few nearby systems that could pose a threat to the ship, which was at optimum performance. Even the crew was back to a regular routine and Janeway allowed that perhaps she could afford a little lapse in her attention to duty at this time, where she might not be able to otherwise.

Seven released her reluctantly when their lips finally parted. "It is time to eat," she said softly. "I believe that you will enjoy it."

"I'm sure that I will," Janeway responded dryly, still feeling bemused by the gesture.

She took a seat on the couch as Seven deactivated the cart's antigrav system, the unit gently settling to the floor, which made it the perfect height for the captain to consume her meal. Seven took her place in the offsetting chair and lifted the silver domed covers from their meal; marinated grilled chicken breasts on a bed of spiced rice. The bottle of wine was properly chilled and Janeway quirked an eyebrow as Seven poured out the clear liquid. Again, the thought that she was on duty crossed the captain's mind and deliberately, she shoved it to the side.

"How many people have you involved in your plans?" Janeway asked after taking a bite of her meal. It was absolutely delicious and she closed her eyes briefly in appreciation.

"The command staff," Seven told her. "And, of course, the entire crew shall no doubt find the opportunity to attend the party tonight."

Janeway paused, her fork halfway to her mouth, suddenly suspicious. "But that's not a birthday party," she repeated. "It's to celebrate the arrival of our newest crewmembers."

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "Kathryn, the crew will no doubt be glad of the opportunity to wish you their best, regardless of what the party is for," she said.  "Would you deny them that?"

Janeway exhaled slowly. "No, I don't suppose I could," she allowed. Her face softened. "But I was hoping to skip the better part of the festivities and spend this evening alone with you."

Seven reached over, grasping her hand. "That is why I have made a point to seek you out during the day," she explained. "I will not have you to myself this evening, but for this lunch break, you belong to me."

Janeway felt the corner of her mouth curl up. "And how long do you intend this lunch break to be?" she asked playfully.

Seven pinned her with a significant look. "As long as is required," she said. She paused. "That is Commander Chakotay's gift to you, taking command for the rest of the afternoon. However, it would be prudent for you to seal the ready room door in any event."

Janeway's breath caught in her throat as she realized what the young woman was saying.

"Seven," she began. "I don't think..."

"Kathryn," Seven interrupted. "Eat your lunch. Afterward, we shall see what happens." She quirked an eyebrow. "You would not wish to disappoint Chakotay by not accepting his gift, would you?"

Janeway eyed her, deciding that Seven was becoming entirely too quick at trying to manipulate her into doing what the Borg wanted. She would have to curb that ... but not today. Today, she would accede to her spouse's wishes and she cleared her throat obediently. "Computer, seal the ready room, authorization Janeway, omega red, one, one, blue, nine." She arched a brow at Seven. "Am I going to regret this?"

Seven considered it. "No," she said with assurance. "Not at all."

Janeway had to content herself with that and to be totally honest, she was actually intrigued by it, wondering exactly what her partner had in mind. After the light lunch, Seven passed her another gift, and Janeway took a breath, feeling far too undeserving of the largess which was being bestowed upon her.

"How did you manage this?" she asked as it occurred to her that all these presents would have required a great many replicator rations. Carefully, she removed the card.

Seven hesitated, as if suddenly unsure of something that until now, she had not really considered properly. "I utilized certain research techniques to provide a surplus of resources which were applied to the final project," she said finally.

Janeway paused, put the still unopened card on the table, folded her hands neatly in front of her, and pinned Seven with a blue-grey laser gaze.

"Meaning what, exactly?" the captain said, injecting a low note of command in her voice. She recognized immediately that Seven was trying to cloud the issue.

"I arranged to play pool with various crewmembers in the holodeck on separate occasions," Seven admitted. She raised an eyebrow. "None of them are as good at the game as you are, though apparently, they were unaware of the fact that I am."

Janeway knew that her mouth had dropped open. "You hustled crewmembers for replicator rations?" she asked in astonishment.

Seven brightened. "Is that the proper term?" she responded. "Yes, I 'hustled' them."

"Seven," Janeway said sternly. "Gambling is against regulations."

Seven blinked, obviously startled. "It is?" she said. "But all the crew does it. Even Chakotay had invested rations in certain 'pools' on the lower decks."

Janeway inhaled deeply. "Let me rephrase that," she said. "I am not supposed to know my crew gambles and that is difficult to do when I'm enjoying the benefits of my spouse's ill-gotten gains."

Seven looked offended. "They were not 'ill-gotten'," she objected. "It is the plan you described to me when you taught me to play pool ... I did not indicate how much I knew about the game until a person had challenged me to a match, thinking me an easy opponent. At that point, I would display my true skill and defeat them, thus winning the replicator rations."

Janeway closed her eyes. She had hoped that Seven had forgotten that little conversation, intending it only to be facetious. Or perhaps she was just upset that Seven had gone ahead and done it without her, even as she knew that it would be totally inappropriate for the captain to be 'hustling' ration slips from her crew. Could she really blame Seven for taking what she had said at face value?

"Who were your vict--- opponents?" Janeway asked finally.

"Lt. Paris, Ensign Hickman, Lt. Ayala and Lt. Baxter," Seven replied readily.

Janeway blinked. All those crewmembers were known to be remarkably 'lucky' when it came to games of chance or exhibitions of skill over the years ... some might say, suspiciously so. For Seven to have outmaneuvered them as she so clearly had, said a great deal about her natural cunning and it made Janeway look at her with a fresh perspective.

"How much did you win?" the captain queried.

Seven contrived to look innocent and mumbled something. Obviously she had some sense of shame about this anyway.

"Excuse me?" Janeway persisted.

Seven dropped her eyes and told her.

Janeway felt a little faint. "My god," she said. "You must have cleaned them out. I didn't think there were that many unused ration slips on the entire ship."

"They are not unused now," Seven pointed out. "A great many went to finish paying Harry Kim for the damage Jake did to his quarters. The rest I allotted for your birthday, and Naomi's which will arrive in two months."

"Why did they bet so much on a single game?" Janeway asked, somewhat dazed. She had wondered why she was no longer being garnished two or three replicator rations a day by the main computer. She had assumed Harry had not been as luxurious in his tastes as she had first thought.

"They did not merely bet on the games I played with them," Seven explained. "They would also bet even more against me in subsequent games against my other opponents." She looked confused. "It was as if they were unable to believe I was capable at playing the game at that level over a long period of time. It was most interesting."

"Indeed," Janeway said, feeling a bit of pride at her spouse's ability glow her chest though she endeavored not to show it in her eyes. However, regardless of her personal feelings, she still needed to be clear on the protocol regarding the situation. "Seven, I don't want you to gamble when you play pool anymore."

Seven seemed unperturbed by the request. "I will not," she promised easily, then added, almost as an afterthought, "No one will play with me now."

Janeway stared, then started to laugh. "I'll just b---" she began, then amended it to, "I suspect not."

Seven looked at her, her pale eyes wide. "Will you play with me again, Kathryn?" she asked. "I like playing pool."

Janeway smiled. "Of course, darling," she said warmly. "Anytime you want." But she made a mental note not to make any wagers with the young woman.

Seven nodded. "I am glad," she said. "We have not had much chance to play games together in recent months."

"No, we haven't," the captain agreed. "I miss our recreation time in the holodeck. We're going to have to start scheduling it in again."

"But not today," Seven said, then nodded at the still unopened gift. "Kathryn?"

Janeway followed her gaze and smiled. "I'm getting to it," she replied and finished opening the card. She read the verse out loud in a quiet voice, smiling faintly. "I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith, I love thee with a love I seemed to lose smiles, tears, of all my life? --- and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death." She glanced at Seven who blushed faintly. "No addition?"

"It seemed to be an adequate verse for the gift," Seven said. "I did not believe it required addition."

Janeway nodded thoughtfully and proceeded to unwrap the package. Inside, the captain discovered a delicate wooden box that, when opened, played a clear and sweet melody. Listening closely, Janeway identified the song which had accompanied Seven down the aisle at their wedding, and had also been played for their first dance as a married couple. The tune evoked the most wonderful memories for the captain and her chest grew full, as if unable to contain all she was feeling at the moment.

"Shall we dance?" Seven invited, holding out her hand as she pushed the cart aside, tucking it out of the way in the corner. With a word, she lowered the illumination in the ready room.

Bemused, charmed, a bit overwhelmed, Janeway accepted the hand and allowed Seven to guide her out to the cleared space on the upper level. She fit comfortably into her spouse's arms and she tried to remember the last time she had the opportunity to dance with the Borg. She couldn't, which meant it had been some time indeed, and that was a real shame because dancing had been something they both enjoyed a great deal.

"I have missed this," Seven remarked after awhile.

"Oh, darling," Janeway responded quietly as they swayed together. "So have I."

It made the captain realize how many of the little things had fallen by the wayside recently, even as both women made a concentrated effort to reach out to the other during the more stressful times. Now, dancing in her beloved's arms, holding her and being held, Janeway wondered how she could have let this particular interaction ever slip away. In this haven of the Borg's embrace, the demands of duty and proper protocols were gladly let go for the moment and the captain found it easy to immerse herself fully in the sensation of being with Seven, of this celebration of music and movement.

"I'm surprised the pattern of the music box was in the replicator data banks," Janeway said after a few moments of sheer bliss.

"It was not," Seven remarked. "Mr. Kim made it. He is very good with wood boxes. Do you remember the one he gave me for my previous birthday? It is on my night stand."

Janeway blinked. "I do," she said. She also remembered how annoyed she had been with the young ensign at the time for remembering Seven's birthday when she had been completely unaware of it. Which also led her to thoughts of the subsequent incident when she had thought Seven was dead, and convulsively, Janeway tightened her hold on her spouse. Seven returned the embrace, as if understanding what had caused the captain's discomfort.

"I love you," Janeway said huskily. "So much, my darling."

She felt Seven's lips brush over her hairline.

"I know," Seven assured her. "I love you, too. I am so happy to be married to you, Kathryn, to be able to share my life with you ... it is a gift you have given me that I shall always treasure."

That served to remind Janeway that finally, things were completely fine in her universe and if it didn't last for very long ... because they tended not to, in the Delta Quadrant ... then at least, they had this particular moment. And she was slightly dismayed by the knowledge that at one point in her life, she would have carelessly wasted such an opportunity, thinking it was more important to attend to routine duty than the very real love she felt for her partner.

Older and wiser, she decided, and closed her eyes, allowing the Borg to guide her around the room. After all, wasn't that the whole point of this celebration of having managed the passage of one more year?

Smiling, she snuggled closer to Seven and let go of the last of her reservations.

Seven of Nine nuzzled her spouse happily, holding Kathryn firmly in her arms as they danced quietly to the song from the music box. So far, her plans for the captain's birthday had gone exactly as intended and furthermore, Janeway was being completely agreeable to it all. It made the Borg realize how much her spouse had changed in the time she had known her, how much more accommodating and loving Janeway had become over the two years they had been together. It was such a short time, yet in many ways, it was a lifetime.

Because until Seven had met Kathryn Janeway, she had not had a life, she had merely existed as a Borg drone. Now she had everything and the thought made her hold the other woman even closer to herself, enjoying the familiar way the captain fit against her body, appreciating the way they were able to move together in such exquisite balance. Love is exponential, she thought wonderingly. The more she shared with Kathryn, the more she received in return and the more she had to give again. Love was all. Not the striving for biological or technological goals, but for this single, emotional perfection.

She wondered if there was a way to convince the Collective of that? Or even Humanity? History decreed that it could not be done, but certainly, hope demanded that one continue to try, if only by example.

Seven didn't know when the song had ended, when the device had finally wound down, requiring more manual inducement to begin again ... she only knew that they eventually stopped moving and stood in the center of the ready room, gazing at each other. Kathryn's face was soft, shy, the command mask completely stripped away as if it had never been, her eyes warm and blue, with just a hint of grey to make them gentle. Seven felt the captain raise her hand, press her fingertips lightly against her cheek. They trembled and Seven felt her heart thump almost painfully in response.

"Kathryn," she began, whispering.

"Shh," Janeway breathed. "I just want to look at you."

So Seven remained still, her eyes searching that beloved face, memorizing for the millionth time, every plane and angle, every curve and dimple, every pore and line of porcelain skin and classic features. And when the waiting was almost more than she could bear, Janeway tilted her head, her fingers pulling Seven down with the lightest of touches, and they kissed, sweetly, barely brushing lips at first, then growing gradually deeper as with the most natural of instinct, their breath, their hearts, their souls, completely joined as one.

"Sometimes," Janeway murmured after an eternity had passed, "I wonder how I ever managed without you."

"You would have managed," Seven responded quietly. "You are very capable."

"I'm sure," Janeway agreed in a low voice. "But managing a life and living it to its fullest are two totally different things. In fact, they can be a universe apart. You bring such joy to my existence, Annika. You bring me all the things that make life worth living for in the first place. If I don't say it enough, then please, always remember it. You are my heart."

"And you are mine," Seven whispered. "Survival is insufficient. Loving you is quintessential."

She buried her face in the soft, auburn hair and held on with all she was, which the captain seemed glad to allow, clinging to her in return, so close it was hard to tell where the Borg left off and Janeway began. Finally, finally, they released each other, not quickly, but because not even they could remain upright, holding each other forever ... though for a while, they did their best.

"I know Chakotay is covering me, love," Janeway said as they both retired to the couch. "But what about your duties?" The two women had arranged themselves so that the Borg was in the corner, supported by the armrest and the back of the sofa while she in turn, supported Janeway, her left arm wrapped warmly around her back. It occurred to Seven as the captain curled up against her, that if someone were to walk into the ready room at that moment, they would not find Janeway to be her usual, formidable, commanding self at all. Indeed, it seemed that only Seven was allowed to see this vulnerable, soft and tender side to the woman cradled in her arms.

"Ensign Jennifer Delaney is covering my shift in astrometrics," Seven assured her.

"You really did have this all planned, didn't you?" Janeway said wistfully, looking up into Seven's eyes. "And I didn't even remember your birthday."

Seven frowned and hugged her closer. "Do not be regretful," she demanded quietly, brushing the fingers of her right hand over the captain's cheek. "This is not a competition between us, nor is it designed to make you feel guilty in any way. Kathryn, I enjoy doing these things for you. Please, accept the love with which they are given."

Janeway smiled and turned her head to kiss the Borg's fingertips. "Sorry, darling," she murmured. "Sometimes I forget how to be gracious. I do appreciate all that you're doing for me, all that you have planned. No one's ever made such an effort for my birthday before."

"Your previous lovers were flawed," Seven noted calmly.

Janeway laughed. "Perhaps they were," she said. "I guess that's why I didn't marry any of them."

'It is fortunate," Seven agreed. "It would have been ... inconvenient for us to deal with a previous marriage once we fell in love."

Janeway blinked. "So even if I had been married to Mark before Voyager was lost in the Delta Quadrant, you think we still would have fallen in love?" she asked, seeming vaguely intrigued by the idea.

Seven blinked. "How could we not?" she responded.

Janeway took a moment to absorb that. "Perhaps you're right," she allowed contentedly, her head falling to rest in the nook of Seven's neck and shoulder. "Even then, we would have found each other."

"Yes," Seven said, with absolute certainty. She was glad Kathryn agreed.

"So was the music box your last gift?" Janeway asked. "The poem is now complete."

Seven hesitated. "The poem is complete," she agreed.

She felt Janeway nuzzle into her neck, kissing it gently.

"That sounded like a hint," Janeway noted, her voice heavy with humor. "There are more gifts, aren't there? How many more?"

"You will have to discover that on your own," Seven said primly.

"You're not going to tell me?"

"Why should I?" Seven asked, honestly curious.

"Maybe I could persuade you," Janeway muttered, kissing a line up to the Borg's ear, nibbling at the lobe. "I can be very persuasive."

"Ah," Seven said. "I understand." And she did. Janeway did not really wish to know the answer to her question, she merely wanted to pretend she did, under the guise of making love to her partner. Seven was certainly agreeable to that but she knew that she was required to put on a show of reluctance, a pretense of needing to be convinced.

"I do not think you can be that persuasive," she added obligingly.

"Believe me, once we go back to our quarters, I'll persuade you," Janeway promised.

Seven drew back, raising an eyebrow as she regarded her. "Why return to our quarters?" she asked. "Why not persuade me here in your ready room?"

Janeway paused, a surprised expression on her face. "Here?" she repeated. "Oh, no, darling. That would be ... inappropriate."

"It is your birthday," Seven said, dropping her tone as she offered up her own form of persuasion. She pulled the woman closer, resting her hand on Janeway's stomach, rubbing gently through the tunic and sweater. "The door is sealed, thus preventing anyone from 'catching us'." She kissed Janeway softly, passionately. "And we have yet to make love in the ready room. You have considered it an 'impossible' location but in truth, this is a perfect opportunity to 'cross it off our list'."

Janeway looked halfway convinced, uncertain, yet intrigued at the same time. "Now I know how you enticed those poor boys into playing pool with you," she muttered. "You're becoming far too good at this."

"Does that mean you agree?" Seven whispered.

Janeway shivered in her arms and the Borg wondered if her partner was finally surrendering to that wilder side of herself, the side of Janeway that came out at such unexpected times, yet never disappointed either of them.

"I do have fantasies," the captain admitted reluctantly. "Fantasies that involve you and me and that desk ... but, Annika, we can't."

"Are you sure?" Seven prodded, nibbling along the woman's jaw, to her ear, which she kissed warmly. "Tell me your fantasy," she added huskily.

Janeway swallowed audibly. "Well," she said weakly. "It involves our 'accessory'."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "Indeed," she said. "Go on."

"You're absolutely incorrigible," Janeway accused her.

Since Seven had also accused her partner of that on many occasions which the captain did not deny ... indeed, rather seemed to take pride in such an assessment ... Seven accepted it the same way.

"Yes," she agreed readily. "Your fantasy? You, me, the ready room, an accessory...."

Janeway tilted her head back to look at her for a moment, a faint pink staining her cheeks. "I ... uh, would be at my desk, working on reports," she explained in a low voice. "It would be late at night, into the gamma shift and you would suddenly appear from no where. You would be completely naked but for the accessory and ... well, obviously ready. Things would progress from there. Oh, god," Janeway said, closing her eyes. "I can't believe I'm telling you this."

"Kathryn, I love you," Seven whispered in her ear as she eased her hand under the captain's tunic at the v near the neck, pleased when Janeway did not object. "I want to share everything with you. Tell me the rest. You are working late, and I appear wearing our accessory and nothing else. Where would I appear?"

Janeway inhaled deeply, seeming to relax in Seven's arms as they settled back against the couch, the Borg finding the soft swell of the captain's breast and squeezing it gently.

"You would be behind my chair," Janeway said unsteadily. "I'd only become aware of you when you reached around and touched my breasts."

"Like I am doing now?" Seven asked, chafing the bump which had appeared beneath her palm. The layers of clothing were limiting, yet, at the same time, provided their own source of pleasurable friction.

"Yes," the captain said, her voice very soft now. "But you would be using both hands. I wouldn't be able to move. I'd just sit there, too shocked to object as you opened my tunic."

Seven noted that her spouse's had closed her eyes, her head falling back onto the Borg's shoulder, her lips parted as she sipped air through them. The Borg took the opportunity to kiss the soft spot just behind Janeway's ear as she left the captain's breast and unfastened the Starfleet tunic down the front until it fell open to reveal the blue-grey sweater. Reaching down to where it was tucked into Janeway's trousers, she hesitated briefly, then tugged the hem out, pulling it up so that she could put her hand on the captain's warm skin beneath.

Janeway gasped a little at the contact and Seven spread her fingers across the swell of the captain's abdomen.

"Then?" the Borg prompted quietly, rubbing Janeway's belly in slow, sensual circles. "What would we do next?"

Janeway swallowed again. "I would briefly object and you would tell me to be silent," she related quietly. "For some reason, I would be compelled to do so, unable to speak as you lifted up my sweater and unfastened my undergarment, so that there would be less restriction to what you were doing."

Obligingly, Seven did so, finding the fastening at the front of the captain's bra and releasing it so that it fell away. The captain was still dressed of course, but things were much roomier now and Seven was able to run her fingers over Janeway's nipples, teasing them, alternating between them as they grew hard beneath her touch.

"Then you would pick me up and lay me over the desk, kicking the chair out of the way," Janeway whispered, almost purring now, her respiration deep and shaky. "I would be face down on the desktop and you would pull down my pants, exposing me. You would touch me then, slipping your fingers into me to see how ready I was ... god, I would be so ready, darling ... so very, very wet ..."

Seven slipped her hand down to the waistband of the captain's trousers, slipping beneath them. Janeway shifted, angling her body toward her partner, drawing up her knee so that it remained upright as she turned sideways. This allowed Seven to worm her hand under the captain's undergarments to the juncture of her legs where she discovered that indeed, Janeway was very, very moist. The captain whimpered as Seven touched her, the Borg's fingers moving over the hard little bump she found there, rubbing it as best she could within the confines of the uniform pants.

"Then you would ... spread my legs and I would feel your ... the wonder wand press against me ... it would feel so big from this angle ... and you would push it inside me ... and you would start to ... oh, god, Annika ... go inside ..."

Seven suspected that would be as much of the fantasy as she was going to get at this time but it was certainly enough to provide her with a clear picture of what Janeway would want should they ever manage to carry out such a scenario. She filed it away in her eidetic memory and concentrated on slipping her fingers into Kathryn, careful not to force too hard though she had to contend with the limited movement. She managed to get two fingers into the tight channel and she curled them toward the top of the pelvis, finding that smooth spot which she began to flex against gently, using her thumb to manipulate the hard little nodule outside. It wasn't the most comfortable position and without question, her hand would become cramped if she continued this for very long but fortunately, she didn't have to, the captain responding immediately. Apparently, the fantasy Janeway had been envisioning had served to arouse her greatly and it took very little time before she was shuddering, seeking out Seven's mouth and groaning into it, the sound muffled by the desperate kiss as her arms wound tightly about the Borg's neck.

Seven held her close as her partner shook helplessly, then finally, as Janeway relaxed, the young woman cradled her spouse gently with her left arm. The fingers of her right remained buried deep in the heat and wetness, and Seven flexed them every so often, just to make the captain twitch.

"Heavens," Janeway murmured when she had finally regained a bit of composure. "How do you convince me to do these things?"

Seven kissed her sweetly. "You do it because you love me," she said.

And also because Janeway enjoyed the illicitness of it tremendously though the captain would never admit that. For some reason, though Janeway always pretended that it was the Borg who somehow forced her into such behavior, Seven ... and anyone who had ever encountered the captain .... knew for a fact that the formidable little redhead could not be forced to do anything she didn't want to do. At least, not and get away with it unscathed afterward. But she allowed the small deception, understanding that it was part of who Janeway was, that she needed to be 'coerced' by Seven on occasion. In any event, the Borg enjoyed it as well and she was glad that they could now 'cross off' the ready room from their list of places on Voyager where they had made love.

Of course, Seven also knew that the very next time Janeway was working late, the Borg was going to utilize a site-to-site transport to fulfill the captain's fantasy for real. Whether the ready room had been 'crossed off' or not.

B'Elanna stood in front of her closet and tried to decide what to wear. She didn't really want to go to the party and if it were anyone but the captain celebrating a birthday, she would have blown it off without a moment's hesitation. But she knew that while Janeway might express the belief publicly that she had no interest in parties and did not care if anyone attended, the woman would be privately disappointed if any of her senior staff failed to show up.

The Klingon finally decided on a sleek, black dress, cut short to show off her legs, sleeveless and low in the front to show off her shoulders and cleavage. She had more casual clothes which would pass, she knew, but since this would be the beginning of her R&R with Ro Laren, she wanted to make a good impression on the Bajoran. Besides, parties for senior staff tended to be a little more formal than the regular celebrations, even if civilian wear, rather than dress uniforms was indicated.

She had barely finished brushing out her hair when the chime to the door sounded. Frowning, wondering who it could be, she went over to it and keyed it open. The slender form of Ro Laren stood in the door, dressed in a black, finely cut, tailored tunic over dark pants. It was probably the best civilian wear the ex-Maquis had and B'Elanna thought she looked absolutely magnificent. She was surprised to see her, however.

"I thought we were going to meet at the party," the engineer said as she stepped aside, motioning the other woman in.

"I know," Ro replied. "But I thought I'd ... well, pick you up, instead."

B'Elanna inhaled slowly. "You know, showing up together for something like this will be like announcing something," she noted quietly.

Ro turned to her, her dark eyes making a slow pass over the Klingon, starting at the top of her head, trailing languidly down to her feet, then back up again until they met B'Elanna's suddenly self-conscious gaze. The Bajoran smiled briefly.

"I know," she said. "Do you object?"

B'Elanna shook her head. "Not if you don't," she allowed.

"You look wonderful," Ro added, casually and for that reason, it meant more somehow.

It took every iota of Klingon strength not to blush. "Thank you," B'Elanna responded. She tilted her head. "You look pretty damned good, yourself."

Ro inclined her head graciously at the compliment, seeming pleased, but handling it with her customary aplomb. B'Elanna wished she had a more extensive vocabulary and didn't always sound like what she was ... an engineer. At least she hadn't been vulgar, she consoled herself. Like saying the woman looked good enough to eat and she would be glad to right now, if Ro happened to have a spare moment.

"It's still early," Ro noted. "Would you like to have a drink or something before we go? I know there'll be plenty of food but I'm not entirely sure about the refreshments at a senior staff party."

"Actually," B'Elanna said as she went over to the replicator, "Heaven knows what it'll be like. Seven's doing all the arranging even if Neelix is doing all the work. It could be anything from a kid's party like the one for Naomi to a formal dinner party." She glanced back at the Bajoran who had taken a seat at the small glass table in the corner. "What would you like?"

"Nothing too strong," Ro said, folding her hands neatly on the table. "A Bajoran spring wine, though I know it won't taste as good as the bottle Seven provided the first time we had lunch with her and the captain."

"Replicated liquids never do," B'Elanna said, spending the extra rations gladly. Liquor, of course, was considered a luxury and was not included in the food allowance which was unlimited at the moment thanks to the ship being at optimum performance. She replicated herself an ale and carried both glasses back to the table. "I'm sorry about this," she added as she sat down. "I really wanted to start our ... time off as soon as my duty shift ended."

Ro nodded. "I understand," she said. "And honestly, now that I've been bumped up to bridge duty, I think I'm expected to attend as well. Certainly, Seven seemed to think so when I ran into her today." She paused, and looked somewhat bemused. "She made me put some presents in her quarters."

B'Elanna laughed. "She got me to lure the captain down to engineering so Janeway could find one this morning," she said. "Seven really likes birthdays. I think it's because she missed so many in the Collective."

Ro nodded. "I understand," she said. She shrugged. "I'm the other way. I have no interest in them at all.  I don't believe I ever celebrated one in my life."

That made B'Elanna's heart twinge as it always did whenever Ro touched on her rather tragic childhood. The Klingon had thought her youth had been a trial, but when she compared it to the Bajoran who had lived through horrors B'Elanna could only have nightmares about, the Klingon realized she really had very little to complain about in her life. She vowed then and there to find out when Ro's birthday was and make it a special day, just as Seven had done for Janeway. Obviously, she wouldn't have the replicator rations that the Borg had cleaned out of Paris and company ... B'Elanna had almost laughed herself sick when she heard that one, as well as making a bit of a tidy profit, being one of the few people who had wagered on Seven in the final match against the ship's resident pool shark, Lt. Hickman ... but she did have enough tucked away to give Ro something to remember.

"I celebrated as a kid," B'Elanna allowed. "But as I got older, I started ignoring them."

"That does seem to be how it works out," Ro responded.

B'Elanna realized they were filling the time with small talk, neither of them wanting to discuss what was really on their minds. Their looks at each other grew more lingering as they sipped their drinks, their eyes communicating what they couldn't seem to express verbally. B'Elanna discovered it was becoming somewhat difficult to breathe.

"You know," she offered, swallowing hard. "We don't have to go to this party."

Ro smiled at her. "Yes," she said ruefully. "We do." She quirked an eyebrow. "However, there's nothing that says we have to stay for the entire thing."

B'Elanna found herself nodding like a marionette and forced herself to stop. "Just until the captain blows out the candles," she agreed.

Ro ran her finger lightly over the rim of her wineglass. "I was wondering," she said slowly. "Did you have anything concrete planned for this R&R? Something specific that you wanted us to do?"

With the images that question provoked, B'Elanna thought her head might just have to explode, spewing bone shards and grey matter all over the room. Her heart was pounding hard, sending the blood racing so hotly through her veins, it was a wonder it wasn't spurting out her ears.

"Uh, not particularly," she managed calmly. "I thought it would be nice to ... stay in. In my quarters, I mean," she added belatedly.

"Well, we certainly can't stay in mine," Ro allowed dryly. "Unless you also want to spend time with Dorado."

"Did you have anything ... in mind?" B'Elanna asked thickly, through a throat that seemed unusually full. "Maybe a 'trip' in the holodeck or something?"

Ro shook her head. "No, staying in sounds ... fine," she said. Her eyes met B'Elanna's and the Klingon thought she would burst into flames from the sheer intensity of the gaze, the heat that radiated palpably in it.

Did I really think, B'Elanna asked herself weakly, that I'd be too much for her? Maybe I need to worry if I'll survive the next two days.

She was keenly aware of the Bajoran with every sense she had, her eyes locked on those exquisite cheekbones, that marvelously deep and dark gaze while her ears strained to pick up the soft whisper of her respiration, the way Ro's fingertip squeaked lightly over the glass. B'Elanna licked her bottom lip inadvertently and could almost taste the flavor of the Bajoran's skin, the rich, fullness of her mouth, imagining what her more intimate essence would be like. Her cheeks flamed at the thought, her flesh tingling at the other's proximity, enjoying how the tanned skin moved over the Bajoran's smooth, whipcord muscles. And as B'Elanna inhaled deeply, she could smell the spicey scent which was so much part of Ro, evocative, luring, the fragrance of enticement and implied promise.

"I think," Ro said in an unsteady tone, "that we should go to the party now."

B'Elanna had to clear her throat before she could speak. "That's..." she began, paused as she lost her train of thought, finally found it again and continued. "Probably a good idea."

Forcing herself to move, B'Elanna picked up her mostly untouched ale and carried it over to the recycler where she dumped it out and stuck the glass in the unit. Ro was right behind her with her own glass and when the Klingon turned around, she almost ran into her.

"Sorry," Ro said softly.

"My fault," B'Elanna whispered.

Neither moved. B'Elanna could feel the heat radiating from Ro's body, like a brush of wind over every millimeter of her skin. It was like standing in front of an unshielded warp core, bathing in the radiation that threatened to immolate her.

"I really want to kiss you right now," Ro said in a low voice.

"You can't," B'Elanna warned. "Because if you do..."

"Neither of us are going anywhere," Ro finished for her.

"I promised Seven I would be there," B'Elanna said helplessly. It was completely out of her hands. One touch, one move, and she would forget everything, including the promise to her friend.

"I think I did, too," Ro said. Somehow she had gotten so close, her lips barely beyond B'Elanna's nose, though the Klingon had not seen her move. The Bajoran took a deep breath. "When I delivered those presents," Ro added belatedly.

"I don't like ... letting Seven down," B'Elanna whispered. "Or the captain."

"No," Ro agreed. "I don't want to let down the captain."

Moving very slowly, Ro handed B'Elanna her empty glass and backed away. B'Elanna almost collapsed, her knees feeling like absolute jelly, barely able to keep her upright. What the hell is happening to me? she thought desperately as she turned and placed the glass in the recycler. She took a moment to regain her composure, then turned to look at Ro who was standing there in the middle of the room, her arms crossed over her chest, as if to warm herself against a sudden chill.

"This is insane," B'Elanna said, and wished she hadn't.

"I know," Ro responded immediately, to the Klingon's relief. "I think about you all the time. Even Tuvok's noticed. I got the feeling he was testing me this morning, trying to see if I still have my focus."

B'Elanna wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or something.

"Do you?"

Ro grinned crookedly. "Enough to surprise him," she admitted. "But the rest of the time, I honestly don't know." She looked lost, suddenly. "I don't know what's going on. I've never felt this way before."

"Like you feel like you're going to crawl out of your skin any moment?" B'Elanna offered, unable to keep from staring at the woman.

Ro returned her scrutiny. "Yes," she said softly. "As if my life isn't complete until I see you, as if any second, I'm going to explode into a million pieces and all of them will be lost unless you put them together again."

B'Elanna hesitated, then drew up every gram of courage she possessed. "I've been in love before," she said. "At least, I believed it was love, but it wasn't anything like this. This is ... it's more than I've ever imagined."

Ro swallowed hard. "I don't think ... I've ever been in love before," she said in a small voice. "Not really."

The Klingon held her breath. "And now?" she asked, not sure she was ready for the answer.

There was silence, Ro's eyes wide, a white rim around the dark centers.

"I ... I don't know," she said finally. "But if I am, it's definitely with you."

A thousand and one responses blasted through the engineer's mind at that second, but none that seemed truly significant enough. So instead, she reached out her hand and drew the Bajoran to her. Their lips touched, tentatively at first, then deeper, capturing and surrendering utterly, seeking out the passion within even as they drew back, afraid of its demand. B'Elanna thought that if she died this second, it would still be enough that she was in this woman's arms, kissing her so deeply, caught up in emotions that no longer needed to be hidden or contained or denied.

"Seven to Lt. Torres."

The call came over the Klingon's comm badge which was fixed to the dress on B'Elanna's left breast. She eased away from Ro who was trembling and reached up, tapping the golden, metal insignia gently.

"Go ahead," she said. Her voice was completely even, remarkably calm.

"B'Elanna, may I ask a favor?" the Borg queried.

"Of course," B'Elanna remarked.

"I left the crew's present to the captain in astrometrics," Seven explained. "Would you be able to retrieve it on your way to the party?"

"Not a problem," B'Elanna responded pleasantly and cut communication.

Ro was staring at her, and B'Elanna inhaled deeply.

"Yes?" she asked.

Ro seemed uncertain. "You're not going to curse?" she asked. "Or throw things?"

B'Elanna considered it.

"I want to destroy something," she admitted quietly. "I want to dismantle this whole ship just so it won't interrupt us ever again."

"But?" Ro looked a little concerned.

B'Elanna smiled gently. "It's energy that I can use for a much better purpose," she said. "After we get back from the party."

Ro quirked an eyebrow.

"I see," she said. And smiled herself, apparently understanding completely. She offered her arm. "Shall we?"

"Let's," B'Elanna said and took it, linking her arm in Ro's and entwining her fingers with the long, sensitive ones of the Bajoran's hand, aware that if they went through the corridors like this, nothing would be secret any longer ... if indeed, there had been any secret to begin with.

But neither woman released their hold as they left the chief engineer's quarters.

Janeway came out of the ensuite, adjusting the new earrings which had been waiting for her when she returned home after the end of her duty shift, along with the new dress and silken underwear which matched a new pair of shoes, all wrapped up in bright paper and bows. She suspected that Seven's desire to celebrate the captain's birthday was getting a little out of hand, but could hardly find it in herself to object as she joyfully donned each of her new acquisitions. Janeway was not material in anyway, but it had been a while since she had replicated anything for herself and there was something about a new dress that made her feel so ... well, feminine. For now, she allowed herself to feel like a woman rather than the captain, and in some ways, that was the greatest gift of all.

Janeway had no clue where her partner was at the moment, not having laid eyes on her since Seven had left the ready room earlier in the day. The captain had felt pleasantly sinful after their loving encounter and actually indulged herself further by taking a brief nap on the couch after Seven had gone. When she finally returned to her quarters after logging off duty, she discovered the rest of her presents, three piled neatly in the center of the bed and one resting on the night stand and she spent several minutes deciding whether she should open them or wait for her partner instead. She finally found the card which instructed her that it was necessary that three of them be opened before the party and once she had unwrapped them, she discovered why. Now she was bathed, powdered and primped royally for the festivities and the only thing remaining was for her date to pick her up ... as Seven had indicated she would, in her note.

Perching on the stool next to the kitchenette counter in the living area, Janeway looked at the final present wrapped in Starfleet blue paper, a silver bow on the top. It felt like a book and she removed the paper to discover that was exactly what it was. The cover was plain, a picture of a nebula with the words The Mysteries of the Space Time Continuum Revealed in big silver letters over top. Dr. Ronald D. Mullen was in smaller letters at the bottom and Janeway wondered what would possess Seven to give her such a thing because of course, any book like this would be centuries out of date. Nor would anyone would make such a grandiose claim in the 23rd century. She drew back the cover and saw an inscription on the inside in Seven's perfectly formed letters.

"To my darling Kathryn,
So that you do not
have to hide it anymore.
All my love,
Annika"

Janeway turned to the title page and suddenly everything was clear. The actual name of the book was Love's Last Refuge by Tiffany Marie Bellini and going further into the first chapter, Janeway was able to skim a description of a mystery manor on the cliff side overlooking the heaving swells of the ocean by a young ingenue who apparently had some heaving swells of her own.

Amused, Janeway laughed and shut the book, shaking her head at her partner who had developed such a dry and somewhat wicked sense of humor over the past year or so. She looked up as the hiss of the door alerted her to the arrival of Seven and her breath caught in her throat as she saw the young woman.

The Borg was garbed in the blue dress that she had received on her birthday a few months earlier. It clung to her figure even as it flowed gracefully about the gloriously long legs tucked into matching sandals. The thick, blonde hair was down, falling about the narrow features freely, and her pale blue eyes seemed to capture both sky and sea at once, warmed by the love and joy at seeing her beloved spouse. Seven was holding a solitary white rose and she raised her hand, presenting it to the captain.

"Oh, Annika," Janeway whispered, accepting the rose, her eyes full as she stared at the young woman. She had thought her gift would look good on the other woman when she chose it, but she had not anticipated just how incredible Seven appeared in it.

Seven seemed shy, yet pleased, pink dusting her cheeks.

"Is my appearance acceptable?" she asked.

"Darling, you are exquisite," Janeway assured her. This day just kept getting better and better and she wondered how on Earth Seven would ever be able to top it the next year. "Are we going to the party now or are you going to let me bask in the sight of you for an hour or so?"

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "We can take a few moments," she allowed as she leaned against the counter next to the captain. She put her hand on Janeway's waist and bent forward. "You look very beautiful as well, my Kathryn," she said softly, brushing her lips sweetly over those of her spouse. "That dress becomes you."

"You have very good taste," Janeway complimented her. "Thank you my darling, for all my gifts. They are, each and every one of them, absolutely wonderful, I don't know how I can ever express how much they mean to me."

"There is no need to thank me, Kathryn," Seven said seriously, her eyes intent. "If I could make every day like this for you, I would. I worry that sometimes I do not convey how I feel for you, that I am limited in my ability to communicate how much I love you."

Janeway reached up and cupped the woman's cheek in her palm, smiling at her wistfully. "You are not limited at all, my sweet. Every moment of every day, I feel your love," she assured her. She pulled her closer and kissed her gently, lingering on the Borg's mouth, taking the seconds needed to taste her fully. Seven returned the kiss and when they finally parted, Janeway's heart was pounding pleasantly.

"We have to go, love," she said, with a small laugh. "Otherwise, we're not going to get there at all."

"That would be ... unacceptable," Seven allowed, smiling faintly. "Many are already present in the messhall. They would be disappointed if we were ... not to appear."

"Then, let's not keep them waiting," Janeway said. She tucked Seven's arm warmly under her own and together, the couple sailed out of their quarters and toward the turbolift.

Seven was right, Janeway thought moments later as they entered the messhall which was already full of people, the party obviously already in full swing. Of course, to allow the beta shift to celebrate a little before heading off to duty, chances were the whole thing had started before Janeway had even left her ready room that afternoon. Maybe even when she and Seven had been on the couch ... Janeway quickly squelched that line of thought, hoping her face had remained impassive.

"Captain," Chakotay said, smiling. "You look incredible. You both do."

"Thank you, Commander," Janeway said. She felt Seven untangle her arm and drift away in the direction of where a few couples had their new babies present. She looked after the young woman thoughtfully for a second, then turned her attention to her first officer. "By the way, Chakotay, thank you for taking over this afternoon. It was a lovely gift."

"As long as you took advantage of it," he responded and almost, but not quite, winked at her. She moved closer so that their bodies would conceal it and punched him with a bony fist to the ribs, making him laugh and wheeze for breath at the same time, which made her laugh, too. Somewhere along the line, she discovered, he had become like a brother to her. They could still fight over issues, sometimes nastily, but when it was all said and done, she knew she could rely on him and that was all that mattered.

Tom Paris appeared, handing her a glass full of whiskey and soda. "Happy Birthday, Captain," he said.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," she responded. She held the glass but didn't sip from it. For one thing, she was hungry, not having eaten since that wonderful lunch, and for another, she was absolutely determined not to become inebriated this evening, accidentally or otherwise. She drifted over to the buffet table where Neelix and two other crewmembers were busy keeping all the dishes full. She frowned briefly over the selection, tried some cheese puffs before attempting to fill her plate and was astonished to find them absolutely tremendous. Her eyes met Neelix's and he grinned.

"Wonderful," she told him honestly. "Well done, Neelix."

The Delta Quadrant native glanced around, then leaned forward confidentially. "Actually, Captain," he admitted. "Though I did all the cooking, Seven decided on the menu and provided me with very exacting recipes. I didn't even know she had an interest in such things, but apparently they're a hit with the crew. I've never received so many compliments."

Janeway caught her breath. She had known that Seven had volunteered to help in the party preparations for the new babies, but suddenly she wondered if perhaps there was something larger at work here. She recognized many of her favorite dishes in the selection now and that made her a little cautious. "We'll just keep that just between us, Mr. Neelix," she murmured.

He nodded. "That's what Seven told me as well," he said. "I feel somewhat guilty about accepting all the compliments, however, Captain."

"Please don't, Neelix," she assured him. "You did do the cooking, after all. And Seven becomes so uncomfortable when she's the center of attention. You know how she doesn't like being singled out. It takes her back to her time when she first arrived on the ship."

He looked thoughtful and concerned. "You're correct, Captain," he said. "I should have realized that. My lips are sealed."

Vaguely reassured by this promise to keep Seven's implied talent with food a secret, the captain loaded up a plate as Neelix scurried back to the kitchen to get more lasagna. She found a seat at the table where most of the senior staff had gathered, including Seven who had prepared her own plate. As she did, her eye was caught by the appearance of B'Elanna Torres and Ro Laren, arm in arm, obviously making a statement about being a couple now. Janeway was surprised the two had made it official in such a public way, but certainly, they made a lovely pair, both dark and beautiful, both moving with a sense of contained power and assurance. She wondered if they had entered the messhall that way.

Janeway glanced at Seven and saw that she had noticed as well. The captain reached under the table and nudged the Borg with her foot.

"Yes?" Seven remarked quietly, turning her head to look at her spouse.

"Did you know they were coming together?"

"No," Seven admitted. She paused, considering it. "But I have been busy today."

Janeway quirked an eyebrow, acknowledging that otherwise, Seven would have found out somehow. "It's a lovely party, darling," she assured her. "The food is absolutely delicious."

"Neelix prepared it," Seven said evenly.

"I know," the captain said and they smiled faintly at each other, before returning to their meal.

In addition to the lasagna, there was a seafood dish, a beef and potato dish, and a large chicken and vegetable stirfry with egg rolls, salad, rice and a variety of breads for side dishes. Janeway noticed that most of the crew made a point of taking a little of everything from the buffet. It was worrisome.

"Jeez," Tom Paris said, returning with a second plateful stacked high. "If Neelix could cook like this all along, then why the hell didn't he?"

Janeway felt a further touch of alarm, particularly when Seven looked up. "It is the fault of Voyager's crew," the Borg noted.

The helmsman looked at her blankly. "How?"

"The Talaxian taste buds are quite different than Human," the Borg explained. "However, if someone had provided him with proper recipes and impressed upon him the need to stick with them, he would have always cooked like this. Instead, he tried to make Talaxian meals and adapt them for Human sensibilities. It must have been extremely difficult for him to have to do it by trial and error since he could not taste the finished product the way you all did."

"Are you saying that we could have been eating like this all along?" Tom said, looking at her with honest horror.

"If anyone on the ship had taken the time to assist him in judging flavors, yes," Seven said. "I suspect, however, that most considered 'cooking' an insignificant duty rather than an artform and could not understand why he was having so much difficulty with it. But no one made the effort to discover the skill themselves and assist him."

"So," Janeway said pointedly, hoping to end the conversation. "We got what we deserved."

"But why's it suddenly so good?" Tom persisted and Janeway resisted the urge to slap him across the head. "Don't tell me he learned it while working in engineering."

"Because I provided him with recipes I ... acquired," Seven replied, hesitating as she tried to answer with revealing anything, yet not able to lie convincingly. "By insisting that he adhere to the ingredients and measurements precisely, this is the result."

"But no one else ever took the time to find some Human recipes for him," Chakotay chimed in helpfully. "Or assist him in determining which alien food items were suitable for replacing the various ingredients called for in the original recipe." He glanced at the captain and grinned. "You're right, Captain," he said. "We did get what we deserved. Cooking is a lost art in this age of replicators, but in our case, it cost us a few years of less than appealing food."

"Neelix was undoubtedly done a disservice every time we complained," Janeway agreed. "I trust we'll all remember that in the future." She returned to her meal, hoping no one else would pick up the conversational ball.

"Where did you find the recipes, Seven?" Megan Delaney asked shyly.

Janeway bit her lip. Of all the people at the table, the captain really did not want to cut the young woman off. By virtue of her marriage to Harry, Megan had suddenly found herself pressed into the personal interaction of the senior staff, a prospect which could be daunting when such a social circle included the captain. But Janeway desperately did not want the conversation to continue on this path much longer and she tried hard to think of a way to change the subject without it being apparent ... or causing the young woman to feel slighted in any way.

Seven regarded Megan evenly. "When I was returned to the Alpha Quadrant with B'Elanna and Chakotay, I met Kathryn's mother and she gave them to me," she said honestly. "I have them all in a padd. I thought that for the captain's birthday, it would be suitable for Neelix to attempt to reproduce some of them."

Janeway regarded her spouse admiringly. Seven had not lied at all but still managed to leave out any indication that she had mastered most of the recipes she possessed. Hopefully that would be the end of it.

"Do you like to cook, Seven?" Harry asked curiously.

Janeway wondered why the hell there wasn't a red alert when she needed one.

Seven glanced at the captain, knowing she didn't really want her to respond to Harry Kim's question truthfully. But it disconcerted the Borg to have to tell an outright lie. She drew on her rather limited ability to dissemble.

"I have attempted certain of the recipes," she admitted.

"And they were wonderful," Janeway said heartily, patting her comfortingly on the hand. "You did your best, Seven."

The Borg was bemused when the rest of the people at the table smiled and obligingly changed the subject. It was as if the captain had implied something that the rest simply accepted. Of course, Chakotay and Tuvok were quite conversant with the Borg's ability in the kitchen but others at the table, like Harry and Tom, really did not have had their queries answered in a satisfactory manner. Seven considered it carefully, then realized that by using the inflection that she had, Janeway had given the impression that the Borg's attempts had been greatly unsuccessful, but that she would not encourage anyone to suggest differently to the Borg. It was the most amazing lie Seven had ever encountered, mostly because Janeway had not uttered one untruthful word. It was all based on the perception of the others.

She glanced at her spouse curiously and Janeway offered her a smile. Seven  filed it away in her memory  for when she could bring this up at another time with the captain.

"Enough room for us?"

Seven glanced up to see B'Elanna and Ro join the table, Chakotay and Tuvok shifting their chairs to provide a space for the engineer and the security officer. The Borg noticed that the two women made a point of sitting very close together and that once they were settled, they kept looking at each other, almost oblivious to anything else that was going on. Tom Paris seemed to lose his appetite suddenly and he picked up his half-filled plate, quietly leaving the table to move over to another where a great many female crewmembers were laughing and talking, obviously glad to admit him to their company.

Seven discovered that she could not look at the chief of engineering and the security officer for very long herself, without becoming  uncomfortable. It wasn't that the two women were doing anything in particular. In fact, they weren't even touching, but the way they continued to look at each other, the methods with which they offered each other different bites of food from their meal, were so evocative and sensual, that Seven felt as if she was intruding. She glanced around the table and realized that the rest of the senior staff were equally pointed in avoiding any observation of the women. She decided that it was not surprising that Tom Paris had moved elsewhere. Though the helmsman's relationship with the engineer was over, the Borg knew there were still feelings that lingered within him and if she was discomforted by the sight of the women, it must be sheer agony for him.

She felt a nudge under the table and glanced at the captain, knowing it was Janeway's knee which was bumping into hers unseen. She quirked an eyebrow and Janeway leaned close to her, lowering her voice.

"We used to look like that," she said softly.

Seven considered it. "No, we did not," she responded. "At least, not in public."

Chakotay, overhearing, cleared his throat. "Believe her, Seven," he said. "You did. Especially when you didn't think you did."

Seven blinked. This bit of information was surprising and she wasn't entirely sure she could trust it.

"And you know the worst part?" he added, grinning. "At least, for those of us who are single? You two still look like that sometimes."

"Indeed," Seven said slowly, while Janeway blushed a little.

"Your problem, my friend," the captain told him, "is that you just haven't found the right woman yet. That's why you pay too much attention to what we look like. We're just going to have to find you a partner."

He looked very wary suddenly. "Thank you, Captain," he said. "But I think I can look after that very nicely on my own."

"You've certainly done so well up until now," the captain told him sweetly.

He showed her his teeth. "We're not all as adventurous as you, Captain," he returned. "And I really don't think I want to have to challenge the Borg Collective to find my future wife."

"No?" Janeway said.

He laughed. "I think it's time to change the subject," he begged.

Seven, listening to this with interest, finding the interaction between the two to be a little different now. Janeway must have decided that she simply was not going to take the first officer's teasing any longer and was responding with her own form of needling. Apparently, Chakotay was finding himself well matched and on more than one occasion, needed to make strategic withdrawals, much as he just had.

The conversation around the table switched to other things, and Seven finished her meal, content to listen rather than join in. She found that observing the rest who seemed to be enjoying themselves tremendously, allowed her a sense of accomplishment. It was intriguing, she thought, that where once she had found social interaction like this baffling and without purpose, now she could actually initiate it. She had come so far in her time on Voyager, evolved so much with the love of Kathryn to guide her.

After finishing their dinner, the senior staff left the table, giving way to the next group of people who wanted to eat. On the other side of the messhall, a conversation area with couches and chairs had been set up and many of Seven's dining companions joined the Doctor and Sek who were holding court there, along with other crewmembers, including Ensign Samantha Wildman and her daughter, Naomi. Seven immediately found herself drawn into the discussion regarding the additions that biometrics wished to introduce to the ship's arboretum, pleased when Naomi left her place near her mother and moved over to sit with the Borg.

At one point, she glanced over at her spouse who was laughing at something that Harry and Megan was saying, and the Borg was intrigued when Megan handed the captain the couple's new baby. A soft expression on her face, Janeway supported the small form, his tiny fists waving in her face and for just a second, Seven's heart hurt so much, she thought it would stop beating entirely.

Janeway looked up and her blue-grey eyes met Seven's longing gaze.

"Come over here," she requested quietly.

Seven blinked, then obediently slipped over to sit next to her spouse who promptly handed her the tiny lifeform, showing her how to hold him so that his head was supported and that he was cradled safely in her arms. It was the first time Seven had ever held a baby, and astounded, she looked down into the little face which regarded her gravely, obviously not knowing what or who she was, yet not ready to cry over it.

"I think he likes you," Harry noted.

"C'mon," Tom Paris interjected. "What guy wouldn't want to be held in Seven's arms?"

It occurred to Seven that Tom had been imbibing perhaps a little more than he should but she decided that she shouldn't necessarily comment on it. In any event, she was far too captivated by the tiny being wiggling in her arms.

"As long as it's the captain who puts him there," Harry told his friend dryly.

"Precisely correct, Lieutenant," Janeway said. She cast a foreboding look upon Tom and the helmsman seemed to realize it was time for him to switch to fruit juice. Janeway returned her attention to Seven. "How do you feel?" she asked, in a much softer voice.

Seven swallowed. "Afraid," she admitted honestly. "I have superior reflexes yet I am concerned that any movement will cause me to drop him."

"Maybe I'd better take him," Harry noted with a grin.

Despite her concerns, Seven felt reluctant to give up the baby, but she did, handing him with exquisite care to the young man. Her arms felt strangely empty afterward and she looked to her partner who seemed to read what the Borg was experiencing. The captain patted her comfortingly on the knee.

"One day," she murmured.

"Yes," Seven responded. "One day."

They shared a look that communicated volumes, then Seven had to turn away as Naomi came over and tugged on the young woman's sleeve. Obligingly, the Borg leaned closer so that the child could whisper in her ear.

"Is it time?" the little girl asked anxiously.

"Yes," Seven told her seriously. She smiled faintly as Naomi immediately scurried away in the direction of Neelix's kitchen. The child had been assigned a very important task by the Borg and obviously, she was keen to carry it out to the absolute best of her ability.

"What was that about?" Janeway muttered suspiciously.

Seven promptly got up from her seat, pretending she had not heard the captain's question. She was, however, extremely aware of the captain's gaze following her across the room. She found B'Elanna and Ro sitting at a table for two in the corner, staring into each other's eyes. Seven attempted not to roll her own as she interrupted them.

"B'Elanna?" She was forced to address her a second time. "Lt. Torres."

Blinking, B'Elanna looked up at her. "Uh, hi, Seven," she said. "Great party."

Since the two women had not been paying any attention whatsoever to what was going on around them, Seven was uncertain how the Klingon could offer such an opinion, but she chose not to pursue it at the moment.

"The present that I requested you retrieve?" Seven asked. "You brought it?"

B'Elanna held up her hand. "Behind the counter," she said. "We stashed it as soon as we came in."

"Thank you, B'Elanna," Seven said, and indeed, she was grateful, unsure how she had managed to overlook it in her preparations. She glanced at Ro. "Are you enjoying the party, Laren?" she added politely.

"Very much, Seven," Ro said. "I didn't realize you were such an accomplished hostess."

Seven considered that. "I would do anything to make this day happy for Kathryn," she said finally, after attempting to find a way to answer the compliment.

Ro nodded. "I understand," she said and for some reason, for the first time, Seven really thought the Bajoran actually meant it.

"Say, Seven, is the cake going to be coming out soon?" The engineer seemed unusually anxious about it and the Borg frowned.

"Soon," she agreed. "Why?"

B'Elanna seemed to force an air of casualness she couldn't quite pull off. "Just wondering," she said.

A little confused, Seven nodded. "Naomi has gone for it now."

"Good! I mean, I think the captain will really enjoy it," B'Elanna said.

"I hope that she shall," Seven returned. She watched as B'Elanna and Ro exchanged a glance and suddenly felt as if she was intruding again. "I will speak with you later, B'Elanna."

"Sure," B'Elanna said distractedly. "See you later, Seven."

Seven frowned faintly as she wandered away, not sure what that was about at all, only that it had nothing to do with her, the party or even the ship. She saw Naomi motioning in the entrance to the kitchen and she altered her course to speak with the child.

"Now, Seven?" she asked.

"Allow me to retrieve Kathryn's present," Seven told her. "I shall take it over to where she is and as I sit down, you and Neelix may wheel out the cake."

"I understand," Naomi said, puffed out with importance.

Seven resisted a smile, knowing that the child was taking this very seriously, and found the package B'Elanna had stashed beneath the messhall counter. She tucked it neatly under her arm and returned to where Janeway was seated. The captain looked narrowly at her as she sat down and Seven quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Another gift?" Janeway asked. "This is embarrassing."

"No, what will occur next shall embarrass you," Seven told her knowingly.

Most of the people in the room abruptly began a rendition of 'Happy Birthday', gathering around the conversation area as Neelix and Naomi wheeled out a cart which bore a large, square cake, frosted in blue and white, covered with forty-four candles arranged somewhat haphazardly over the surface. Fortunately, there was a sufficient amount of surface or some of the candles would have needed to be stuck in the sides.

Janeway darted a poisonous glance at Seven that the Borg blithely ignored as she broke into song as well, projecting her voice as loudly as she could amid the others. Smoke actually rose from the flickering flames and Seven had a brief moment of concern that the automatic fire suppressants would activate if Janeway did not preform her role in this tradition promptly. Fortunately, Janeway waited graciously for the song to finish, paused a few seconds, ostentatiously to 'make a wish', no doubt for Naomi's benefit, and blew out the candles, every last one of them. The crowd burst into applause and Neelix handed the captain a knife.

The next few moments were filled with slicing cake, placing the individual pieces on saucers and handing them out. Seven wondered if Janeway actually enjoyed this bit or if she were just going along with the tradition for the crew. Still, once she had filled about twenty saucers, Chakotay took mercy on her and took the knife, cutting a large piece and presenting her with it.

Janeway settled back in her chair as the first officer straightened and clinked the frosting covered knife against the side of his own saucer. The conversations of the crowd quieted and he smiled down at her.

"Captain," he began. "Several years ago on this day..."

"Careful," she warned, causing many people to laugh appreciably.

"A few years ago on this day," he corrected smoothly, causing more laughter. "You came into the universe. I'm sure it didn't know what hit it. To Captain Kathryn Janeway, may you celebrate a hundred more as happy as this one."

Janeway inclined her head graciously, and people raised their glasses all over the room.

"Captain," Seven said, at that moment. "On behalf of the crew, we would like to present you with this token of our great esteem." She handed the package she had retrieved from the counter to Naomi, who carried it over to the captain, presenting it to her formally.

"Thank you all," Janeway said, bestowing a brilliant smile upon them as she opened the package. Inside, was a small crystalline sculpture of Voyager, sculpted with exacting precision by those who had a talent in that area, their duties covered by various members of  the crew and the rations needed for the raw materials contributed by others, which allowed it to be truly a gift from all of them. The expression on the captain's face was a true reward, Seven thought. Janeway was clearly overwhelmed and tremendously touched by the present.

"This is outstanding," the captain said huskily. "Again, thank you."

The party resumed and Seven finally relaxed, knowing that everything had gone according to plan and that was always a source of great satisfaction to her. Settling back in her chair, she glanced around, wondering where B'Elanna and Ro had disappeared to.  She remembered seeing them in the crowd when Janeway had begun cutting the cake, but now they were no where to be found.

Ro Laren followed B'Elanna into the chief engineer's quarters, stopping just inside to regard the other woman who turned and smiled at her. The Bajoran felt she should say something ... something romantic and debonair ... but nothing came to mind and so she just stared, drinking in the sight of the Klingon in that dress. B'Elanna looked so imposing, yet so delicate at the same time and Ro could not figure out how she accomplished it, at all.

B'Elanna held out her hand and uncertainly, Ro took it, letting the woman lead her over to where the bed waited. She inhaled slowly as B'Elanna turned around and slipped her arms around the Bajoran's waist, tilting her head back slightly to look Ro directly in the eyes. Ro leaned closer and kissed her, feeling like this was all familiar and new, at the same time. She struggled to define it, to put a term to it. It was like coming home, the thought appeared, the Bajoran not knowing from where. After all, she had never really had a home, not on Bajor, not in her entire life yet somehow, that was how she felt right at this moment. That being in B'Elanna's arms was like coming home to a place she had never known, but recognized as being absolutely where she wanted and needed to be.

"Computer," B'Elanna said huskily, when they parted finally for air. "Seal communicator and door, privacy command, emergency override only, level four." She smiled faintly at Ro. "It's going to take an imminent warp core breach to get me out of here now."

Ro swallowed hard. "Computer, comm badge security seal, Ro, green, one, seven, zero, one. Emergency override only. Level four."

B'Elanna kissed her softly. "Wait right here," she commanded.

Obediently, Ro stood there as B'Elanna drew away, going around the room to light several candles scattered about as she brought the room's illumination down. She paused a moment at the work console by the wall and Ro raised her head as soft music began to play. She recognized it immediately as Bajoran and she was touched by the gesture.

"Nice," she complimented when the engineer finally returned to her arms.

"I'm glad you like it," the Klingon murmured. "I want tonight to be perfect."

"It is perfect," Ro whispered. "You're here."

B'Elanna looked tremendously pleased by that and Ro wondered if anyone had really tried to treat the engineer as someone to be complimented and stroked and treated royally even though all that surface bluster made one think that she would disdain such things. Ro's mind flashed onto Tom Paris and decided that probably not.

"Did I tell you how wonderful you look?" she asked after kissing the Klingon gently.

B'Elanna tightened her embrace.

"Yes, you did," she said. There was a pause. "But I like hearing it."

"It's the truth," Ro murmured. "You were the most beautiful woman there tonight. Everyone's eyes were on you. I think I used to be the jealous type, though granted, it's been a while."

"I don't think it's the sort of thing one forgets," B'Elanna responded.

Ro noticed suddenly that neither of them was making the first move, no doubt waiting for the other to go first. She wondered if that was a male/female thing, then remembered that neither had any problem going first the last time before they had been so rudely interrupted. Perhaps both of them were afraid that they would be unable to finish what they started. She took a deep breath. No more interruptions, she thought as she kissed B'Elanna deeply and ran her hands up the Klingon's arms, to the straps holding her dress up. She slipped her fingers under them, easing them over the engineer's toned shoulders, letting them fall away.

B'Elanna made a soft sound, then released the Bajoran's lips and took a deliberate step back. The dress got a little caught up on her front, but Ro helpfully pulled it down, revealing full breasts with fat little nipples that the Bajoran could scarcely refrain from touching immediately. Ro forced herself to take her time, slipping the rest of the dress down over the Klingon's hips and letting it fall to the floor where B'Elanna stepped out of it. Then the Klingon's hands were fumbling with Ro's tunic, unfastening it down the front and pushing it off her shoulders. Somehow, they got the rest of their clothes off, pants and shoes and undergarments without too much delay and sank onto the bed.

B'Elanna laughed. "This is the furthest we've managed until now," she said.

Ro smiled in return, feeling quite joyous in a way she hadn't in a very long time ... if ever.

"I know," she said. To the Prophets, she sent a quick prayer. Let it be quiet for a change. Don't let the ship need either of us for the next two days.

B'Elanna's body was so warm in her arms, almost fevered and Ro remembered that Klingons maintained a higher body temperature than Bajorans. Everything Ro felt was smooth and soft too, even with the hint of powerful muscles, and she was pleased by how they fit together comfortably as they kissed and touched and tasted and stroked and simply got used to being with each other. Ro groaned and rolled the Klingon over, pressing down on her as she devoured her mouth, cradling B'Elanna's shoulders on the Bajoran's arms. I could kiss her all night, she thought suddenly, as she settled further onto her, trying to cover her completely. It felt so good to be with someone like this again, and for it to be with B'Elanna, for whom she had developed such strong and complex feelings, it was almost spiritual as well.

They're right, she told herself dazedly, love does make a difference. Then she felt B'Elanna tensing beneath her, trying not to fight her, and she realized that the Klingon didn't like to be pinned, not even by her. She relaxed and eased off, granting the Klingon, without words, permission to roll them over and cover her instead. This was nice too, the slightly smaller woman moving over her with lascivious intent, their breasts pressed against the other, bellies sliding in the perspiration, their arms and legs entangling. Ro gasped as she felt B'Elanna's nipples rake over the ridges that radiated from her own areolas and she ran her hands restlessly over the Klingon's back, finding the muscles as the base of the spine and digging her fingers into them purposefully, massaging hard.

B'Elanna arched, pulling away briefly to throw back her head as she groaned loudly. "Kahless, you do that so well," she said huskily.

Pleased, Ro wondered what other delightful erotic zones she could find and then moaned herself as B'Elanna brought her head back, moving down to taste the Bajoran's breasts, fluttering her tongue over the ridges which made pleasure surge through Ro and hardened her nipples almost painfully.

"You're not too bad, yourself," she muttered, having lost contact with B'Elanna's back in the process. She brought her hands up to the Klingon's shoulders, gripping them tightly.

"I'm making it up as I go along," B'Elanna mumbled against the Bajoran's skin. "Let me know if I do something wrong."

"I will," Ro gasped. "But Prophets, so far, you're not doing anything wrong, at all."

She closed her eyes and jerked as she felt B'Elanna's hand touch her tentatively, then more firmly, worming in between the Bajoran's legs. The Klingon's fingers brushed over the f'lar ridges there and Ro cried out. "Yes," she said. "Oh, yes."

Clearly intrigued, B'Elanna touched them again and Ro squirmed.

"Easy," she instructed breathlessly. "Not too hard."

Immediately, B'Elanna's touch gentled and she rubbed her fingertips lightly over the pronounced ripples that defined a Bajoran woman's sensuality. Ro wondered if the Klingon knew that the more one had, the more stimulated one became while making love. Ro had an above average number ... four versus the typical three ... and the Bajoran spread her legs wide, allowing the Klingon full access to the tender flesh. B'Elanna dipped fingertips into the wetness oozing from the small clefts on either side, spreading it around, then, moved further down to the opening where even more moisture waited, the Bajoran ready for what she wanted to do.

Ro arched as B'Elanna penetrated her with strong, slow deliberation, two fingers moving deep inside and the Bajoran moved her hips against the woman's hand so that her f'lar was able to rub against the palm. She fought for breath, reaching down to capture the Klingon's face and pull her up to where she could kiss her demandingly. She started to shudder, the waves of orgasm crashing over her and she knew she must have screamed at that point, but it was muffled by B'Elanna's mouth as she lost herself in the sensation that went on and on until everything went black.

When she came to, the Klingon was crouched over her on her hands and knees, gazing down at the Bajoran anxiously.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

Ro licked her lips and purred. "Oh, 'Lanna, I'm wonderful," she said. "You were fantastic."

B'Elanna looked as if she didn't quite know what to say. "You were unconscious, weren't you?" she asked uncertainly.

Ro thought about it. "I think I was," she admitted. She smiled sensually at the young engineer. "It's been awhile." Then she realized that B'Elanna was actually quite disturbed and she reached up, cupping the woman's face in her hands. "You were perfect," she assured her. "I should have mentioned that when everything goes into spasm like that, it's probably a good idea to stop, or at least slow down. Otherwise, my f'lar nerve endings overload and I'll pass out."

"Oh," B'Elanna said, blinking. She swallowed hard. "I don't think I came across that in my ... uh, the data I've read about it."

Ro smiled, lips drawing back from her teeth. "I bet you didn't," she agreed. She tilted her head and her expression softened. "However, you managed to figure things out yourself quite nicely," she added. "Come here."

She pulled her down and kissed her, then shifted so that they were both on their sides. She sensed B'Elanna becoming quickly aroused again, getting over her minor scare, as she began returning the kisses urgently. Ro nudged the Klingon onto her back, gently, not demandingly, and trailed down from the woman's mouth, over the chin and throat, kissing the pulse that was pounding there. She closed her teeth over it and bit carefully, hard enough to pinch but not enough to break the skin, then licked it soothingly.

B'Elanna moaned, obviously liking that and Ro continued her path downward, falling on the full breasts as if starved, the plump little nipples firm in her mouth as she sucked and bit at them eagerly. She knew that there was a fine line here, that Klingons liked it rougher than Humans or even Bajorans did as a rule, but certainly not nearly as much as myth and misconception liked to claim. The unfortunate thing was that sometime, even young Klingons believed the stories aliens made up about them and it took a strong and passionate lover to teach them correctly. Still, Ro was glad she and B'Elanna had discussed this earlier. While communication was the key to good lovemaking between beings of one species, it was absolutely critical between beings of differing species and the Bajoran was sorry she hadn't taken the time to explain her body a little better to the Klingon before things progressed to the state it did. Still, part of the lure of relationships between species was finding out all the wonderful and special differences between them.

For example, until Ro had been with Will Riker, she had no clue that Human males liked to thrust repeatedly to achieve satisfaction whereas a Bajoran male simply inserted his penis while the male and female would then undulate against each other, stimulating their respective f'lar to achieve orgasm. Human males were pretty fast, too, she remembered. It hadn't been bad, but certainly, she finally understood all the stories she had heard about why Human females liked being with Bajoran males, once they discovered the difference. But Human males had their own appeal, she knew and she understood that Betazed women just couldn't get enough of them. Something to do with their sheer carnality picked up by the telepathic species, which drove the females far wilder than the more guarded thoughts of the typical Betazed male.

Infinite diversity in infinite combinations, she thought, kissing over B'Elanna's stomach. That was a Vulcan saying and probably not intended for this application, but she certainly found it appropriate. Such beautiful, incredible, infinite diversity. She nuzzled B'elanna's thatch of dark hair and inhaled deeply, testing the full, musky scent of the woman. This was a delicate time, the fine line between finding something attractive and being repulsed, but to her delight, B'Elanna smelled wonderful; womanly and wildly warm, increasing the Bajoran's desire and drawing her irrevocably to the source.

B'Elanna's hands tangled in Ro's short hair, guiding her to that spot between her legs, which the Bajoran readily obeyed. She kissed the swollen lips and brought her fingers up to part them as she tasted the moisture seeping through. She examined the tender flesh revealed beneath as best she could in the dim illumination of the candles, first to appreciate the sight, and secondly to take strategic note of what she was facing. She recognized the protrusion of flesh at the top, aware that it was known as a clitoris in Human terms, and another word in Klingon which Ro simply could not pronounce, bundles of nerve endings which were vaguely comparable to the Bajoran f'lar ridges. She touched the protrusion gently with the tip of her tongue, pleased when B'Elanna arched and cried out. She explored a little further, and discovered another, smaller clitoris a little further down. Of course, Klingons were know for their redundant systems but this secondary organ was not dormant, causing just as much, if not more, response in the engineer when caressed, as the larger one did. Ro wondered if this was indicative of all Klingon women or if B'Elanna was the lucky recipient because she was a hybrid, the daughter of a Klingon mother and a Human father.

"Laren," B'Elanna whispered, moaning as she undulated against the Bajoran's mouth. "I love you."

Touched by the sentiment, Ro was unable to answer, but hoped the woman understood her response as she covered both clitori and began to suck lightly, moving her tongue back and forth between the two, obviously driving the young woman insane with pleasure. B'Elanna grew louder and more incoherent, pulling at Ro's hair one second, pressing her closer the next. Ro eased her weight onto her left elbow and used her right hand to explore further, finding the small opening that seemed to pull her fingers in. Moving slowly, which B'Elanna seemed to appreciate greatly, Ro made a point to explore this new area as thoroughly as possible, impressed by the power of the interior muscles gripping her, holding her fingers deep inside, actually strong enough to make it painful where the rest of her hand was pressed against the outside. She increased the pressure of her movement inside and that was all that the other woman needed, the howl rattling the ship beams and startling Ro profoundly.

Once more, everyone in the vicinity of deck nine, section twelve, was keenly aware that B'Elanna Torres had found herself a lover. Though they had never heard her hit quite that high a note before.

Ro eased the Klingon down from her climax, figuring out most of it by instinct and what she would enjoy were positions were reversed, then finally crawled up the toned form to where B'Elanna lay, her teeth clenched, her eyes closed tightly, two tears leaking from beneath the dark lashes to slide down her olive cheeks. Tenderly, Ro kissed them away, then softly, pressed her lips to each eyelid, soothing it, moving down the proud nose to the lips. Carefully, she brushed her lips over the mouth, easing its tension, feeling the lips soften and relax under her own.

"Lanna," Ro whispered, enfolding the young woman in her arms. "Shh, it's all right. I'm here."

"Laren?" B'Elanna husked.

"I'm right here," Ro said again, hugging her tightly.

B'Elanna clung to her, burying her face in the older woman's neck, as if seeking shelter. Ro stroked her hair gently, kissing over the head ridges comfortingly.

"You were so ... very gentle," B'Elanna whispered. "I never knew how good that could feel." Ro had a sudden, disconcerting impression of what the Klingon had experienced for sex in her past because the Bajoran had not made any particular effort to restrain herself. Indeed, she had forced herself to be a lot more aggressive than she normally would be.

"Remember what you said about love?" Ro asked, nuzzling the dark, wavy hair.

B'Elanna nodded, seeming unable to speak.

"I love you, too," Ro said, believing it true for the first time in her existence.

B'Elanna exhaled, relaxing her muscles and suddenly Ro realized how tense the young woman had been. Feeling an ache in her chest, Ro pulled her closer and snuggled down in the bed.

"Hey," she muttered. "Ready to go again."

Startled, B'Elanna drew back, looking at her. "So soon?"

Ro blinked. "You aren't?"

B'Elanna quirked an eyebrow. "Of course I am," she said. "I just thought ... never mind what I thought." Pointed teeth flashed in the candlelight before she captured Ro in a torrid kiss.

"Quick," she mumbled against her lips. "Before the damn ship finds a way to interrupt us again."

Janeway and Seven entered their quarters, their hands linked as they had been the entire way from the mess hall. Janeway smiled at her spouse as she placed her sculpture on the kitchenette counter, then she squeezed Seven's fingers, bringing them up to her lips where she kissed the Borg's knuckles gently.

"It's 23:56 hours," she said softly. "My birthday's nearly over but I want you to know, I'll never forget this day for as long as I live. It's beyond my ability to express how much it meant to me."

Seven offered her one of her glowing, bright smiles that was like a beacon in the night.

"I am glad," she said. "You mean the universe to me, Kathryn. I wish only to provide you with all the happiness that I can."

"You do, my love," Janeway whispered, leaning closer and kissing the Borg gently.

Seven returned the kiss, her lips moving sweetly over the captain's, and Janeway felt a shiver of pleasure ripple through her. When they parted, she tilted her head and regarded her spouse fondly.

"You are so beautiful," she murmured.

"It is you who are beautiful," Seven responded seriously. "Often, I saw crewmembers look at you with amorous interest this evening, particularly when you were dancing. And I thought that I would have to accost Neelix when he placed his hand on your buttock."

Janeway laughed. "It was an accident darling," she said. "I was afraid he was going to sink through the deck. If you had come over at that moment and said anything to him, he would have died from sheer humiliation."

"I was unaware humiliation was a terminal condition," Seven noted dryly.

Janeway smiled as she drew away, pulling her spouse with her to the couch where they sat down, snuggling close together.

"We're both fortunate that it's not," the captain told her. "Because there was more than one occasion that I thought I would die from it, myself."

Seven rested her chin against the captain's temple. "Caused by me?" she asked in the sort of tone that indicated that she already knew the answer. The Borg made a small sound in her throat, a sound of humor. "I was difficult in the beginning."

"I don't think I'll ever forget the time you came onto the bridge and asked if I was ready to make love," Janeway said, leaning back against the warm support of her spouse, her side resting against the Borg's yielding front, her head resting on her shoulder. "You made me understand that sometimes, not even a captain is immune to looking foolish."

"I never intended to even make you look foolish," Seven said softly.

"I know, my darling," Janeway assured her. "And it was never you, it was always me. If I hadn't gone through life at that time so certain of how things should be, I wouldn't have been caught so off guard when you didn't react as I anticipated. You've helped me become more flexible in my attitude. And a lot more understanding of others who also find themselves in unexpected and disconcerting circumstances."

"Like the crewmembers of the Equinox," Seven noted. She paused. "I am pleased that you danced with Crewman Lessing. I know that you were very angry with him and the others at the time ... so much so that I did not think you would ever truly accept them as members of Voyager."

Janeway took a deep breath. "I was a little out of control then," she admitted softly. "My ship was threatened, the Equinox crew had spat on all I believed in, and worst of all, you were trapped on Ransom's ship, moving farther away with every second. I felt so helpless and furious, Annika. I don't know what would have happened if Chakotay hadn't been here, fighting with me every second to keep me on the straight and narrow."

"And not always succeeding," Seven noted with humor.

"No, not always succeeding," Janeway responded and smiled, thinking how far she had come that she could look at that incident with equanimity now. Mostly because of the woman holding her closely now. "I think that incident helped me learn how to trust in your abilities. The Doctor told me later how you held your ground, darling. It was you who truly reached Ransom and made him remember who he was and what the uniform he wore stood for."

"Because of all that you have taught me," Seven said softly. Her lips brushed over Janeway's forehead, and her arms tightened their embrace. "I love you, my beautiful Kathryn."

"Oh, darling," Janeway said. "I love you, too. Together, it seems like there's nothing we can't do."

Seven smiled. "I concur," she said. She paused. "Kathryn, I wish to ask you about tonight when we were discussing Neelix's cooking. I was aware that you did not wish the conversation extended, but I am confused by how you were able terminate it by a statement that was not untruthful, yet seemed inaccurate in how people perceived it." She bent her head forward so that she could look into Janeway's eyes. "Explain lying."

Janeway felt a sinking sensation. "Oh, dear," she said. She considered it carefully. "Darling, you're right, we should probably discuss this, but it's late, and I don't think I can give it the justice it deserves. Can we talk about this another time?"

Seven nodded. "Of course," she said. "However, I will remind you of it in the future."

Janeway pressed her lips together. "I'm sure you will," she said dryly. She snuggled closer, starting to feel drowsiness steal over her as she relaxed further. "Hmm, I think it's time for bed, love. As much as I'd like to make this day last forever, I'm afraid it's catching up to me."

"Ah," Seven said. "I understand. I have one final gift for you."

"Oh, my," Janeway said, blinking, feeling a little bemused as well as pleased. She forced her tiredness back and drew on her internal endurance to become alert again. "Darling, I won't need anything next year at all. How will you match this day?"

"I will not," Seven remarked with certainty as the two women untangled. "I shall surpass it."

And said that way, Janeway suspected that she would.

The captain started to laugh as Seven drew out the last gift, a personalized pool cue, made exactly to the pattern which Janeway had been saving her replicator rations for. Janeway graciously accepted it from the Borg and stood up, testing its balance which, of course, was absolutely perfect, as she had expected it would be.

"Perhaps," she said as she wielded it, feeling the smooth silk of the wood slide between her fingers, the precise length of it. "We should wager on our next pool match, after all. Because I know with this cue, I simply cannot lose."

Seven watched her with amusement. "I shall accept that wager," she said. "And what are the stakes?"

"You, on a bed, waiting for me," Janeway said, raising an eyebrow. "Ready and willing."

"And in the event I lose?" Seven asked blandly.

Janeway flashed her a grin. "That is when you lose," she pointed out.

"Ah," Seven said. "I understand. You wish to give me incentive not to win."

Janeway unscrewed the cue, placed the two pieces in the accompanying leather carrying case, and shut it. Then she turned around and wrapped her arms around her partner. "Suddenly," she said. "I'm not so tired anymore."

Seven smiled, bent her head and kissed her, a soul-tingling, wonderful, deeply moving, completely toe-curling kiss. When she finished, Janeway's eyes remained closed, a faint smile on her face.

"You do that so very, very well," she muttered.

She felt herself swept up in the Borg's arms and carried into the bedroom where she was lowered gently to the bed. She opened her eyes to see Seven standing over her, looking absolutely exquisite in the dress which made her eyes so deeply blue and Janeway felt an ache inside her, a pleasant, loving pain of anticipation and joy. Slowly, Seven began to undress, slipping out of the flowing garment like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon ... assuming the cocoon had been as beautiful in its own way as the butterfly turned out to be.

Once Seven was nude, she carefully bent over Janeway, her fingers warm as they brushed over the captain's neck as she reached behind to the fastening of the dress. Janeway rose up slightly on her elbows so that Seven could pull the dress off her shoulders, then relaxed again as her spouse peeled it over her hips and legs. The Borg paused briefly as she started in on the silken underwear, her fingers smoothing over it delicately, teasingly.

"You are not contemplating falling asleep on me, are you?" she asked.

Janeway, whose eyes were closed, smiled. "When you're touching me like this?" she returned huskily. "Not a chance."

Seven returned the smile briefly and gently removed the lace bra and panties, taking a good long while to do so, in apparent appreciation of how the delicate garments looked on the captain. By the time she was done, perspiration was dampening Janeway's hairline.

"Come here," the captain demanded.

Obligingly, Seven eased down onto the bed next to Janeway, her fingertips stroking the captain from her throat to her groin in a slow, sensual exploration. Janeway groaned quietly and quivered beneath the tantalizing touch.

"You're going to take your time with me tonight, aren't you?" she muttered quietly.

"You object?"

"It's after midnight," Janeway reminded, not really caring but feeling like she should point that out, at least.

"Ah, and you worry about not getting enough sleep," Seven responded. She bent down and kissed her. "Do you wish me to stop?"

"You do, and I'll have you confined to quarters," Janeway warned.

Seven captured the captain's lip briefly between her own, held it, then released it slowly. "That is not a punishment," she noted. "Not if you are confined with me."

"Hmm, don't tempt me," Janeway said, wrapping her arms around the lanky form and pulling the young woman over on top of her.

Seven settled onto her with a comfortable familiarity, which only grew more warm and appealing to the captain every time she felt it. When does the passion wear off? Janeway wondered. This heat had waned in other affairs, but with Seven, it seemed to grow with every passing day. Of course, as a couple, they rarely had a great deal of time to spend together without external distractions but then, that was also true with Mark, her job in Starfleet separating them more than was probably good for them. Yet over time, they had grown ... what was the word?  Complacent, perhaps. It had still been very good in those months prior to the mission to the badlands, but not as the fire of first love had been. But with Seven, Janeway had just as much desire for her now, just as much need to touch her, to be with her, as she ever had in the beginning, if not more.

It must be true love, she thought, losing herself in the woman's body on hers, the sweet touch of her lips, the soft skin beneath her hands. She ran them restlessly over the Borg's back, delighting in the way the young woman's muscles rippled, the sleek, velvet texture of her flesh. And true love just grows and grows.

"Kathryn," Seven breathed against her lips. "I want you so much."

"I know, my darling," Janeway responded, undulating against her. "I want you, too." She kissed her and pulled her closer, wanting to have as much of her body touching her as was possible.

They kissed again, long, slow melting kisses that Janeway felt in every part of herself; in her chest which seemed so full, in her nipples which tingled, in her belly which fluttered pleasantly, in her groin which ached for the young woman.  She wrapped her legs around her spouse, pressing her wetness against the Borg's stomach, the soft skin tantalizing her rather than satisfying at this point.

"Annika," she whispered, urging, wanting more.

"Kathryn," Seven responded quietly, shifting so that she could reach down with her hand and find what Janeway needed so desperately to be touched.

The captain groaned as the fingers moved against her, then into her, sliding deep inside to tickle her most intimate recesses.  The Borg's mouth was demanding, her breath hot as it filled her, Seven's tongue dancing and teasing lightly against her own and Janeway could feel the pounding of her heart, the blood rushing hot and thick through her veins as the pleasure rippled through her.  Moaning, she clung to the young woman, her internal muscles squeezing the questing fingers, and she felt Seven work a third inside her, the trio beginning a slow in-and-out motion that made the captain's hips respond with a slow counter roll. Of course, this made it difficult for Seven to use her thumb on her spouse but they had run into this before and it was quickly solved by Janeway reaching down with her own hand and manipulating the small little bundle of nerves, rubbing over it far more roughly than perhaps Seven would have.

The spasms began and Janeway cried out, tearing her lips away from Seven as she gasped for breath, arching as the pleasure shook her, then finally released her. She sought out her partner's mouth again, the kiss seeming to go on forever until she finally relaxed, the aftershocks still squeezing the digits buried deep inside for long moments before the Borg carefully withdrew.

"Annika," she whispered, reaching for her but the Borg shifted away.

"Lie back," Seven requested quietly, straddling the captain's leg.

Obligingly, Janeway pressed it up against the wetness there, knowing how her partner enjoyed pleasuring herself like this, by rubbing her clitoris against the skin and muscle of the captain's upper thigh. As the Borg thrust energetically, Janeway wet her finger and reached around to find the tiny little orifice which Seven liked having touched, penetrating the tight channel with exquisite care. The bed rocked as Seven quickly brought herself to orgasm, making a sound deep in her throat as she threw her head back and Janeway looked up at her, loving the sight and sound of her partner who was completely lost in her desire. At moments like that, Seven held nothing back, her face alight with her passion, and the sheer vulnerability of the narrow features left the captain weak with the myriad of emotions swirling within her.

Afterward, Janeway lay in Seven's arms, nuzzled against the young woman's throat in her favorite position, thinking that if there were a heaven, it still couldn't possibly be as wonderful as this.

"Are you happy, darling?" she whispered.

Seven tightened her embrace. "Yes," she assured her. "Very much so."

Janeway smiled, snuggling closer.

"Are you?" Seven returned.

"Blissfully," Janeway muttered. She paused, then added; "Annika, remember that discussion we were going to have on lying?"

"Yes," Seven responded.

"Well, I don't want to have it now, either," the captain said. "But I do want you to know, I would never lie to you as your wife. Not deliberately." She paused. "However, there may come a time when I may have to as your captain."

Seven looked thoughtful for a few moments as Janeway waited patiently. "I believe I understand," the young woman said finally. "However, I will ask that as soon as it is possible for you to tell me the truth, you must."

"Always, Annika," Janeway said. "I can promise that much."

"Very well," Seven remarked. she paused, then added, "However, it is irrelevant. I always know when you are lying."

Janeway quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, you do?"

"Yes," Seven said. "Particularly recently.  It seems that the better I get to know you, the less able you are to deceive me. For example, one sign is the muscle just below your ear which flutters whenever you are attempting a lie. I believe it is because you set your back teeth together just before you begin to speak."

The captain didn't quite know how to respond to that. Seven seemed to sense it and she nudged her gently.

"You do," she insisted.

"Then, I guess I'll have to stop," Janeway said finally.

"Stop fluttering that muscle or stop lying?" Seven asked curiously.

Janeway laughed. "I'll have to think about it," she said, yawning as sleepiness stole over her. "I'll let you know in the morning."

"In the morning," Seven agreed in an indulgent tone. She brushed her lips over the captain's eyelids. "Good night, my beloved Kathryn."

"Good night, my sweet," the captain responded drowsily.

"And Kathryn?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Happy Birthday," the Borg whispered.

Janeway smiled as sleep overcame her and she entered the next year of her life, cradled in the arms of complete and utter love.

Epilogue

B'Elanna woke and purred, feeling the warm, lean form of her lover pressed against her from behind. She decided that she liked this part best, the cuddling which she had always disdained as too mushy before, usually kicking her previous lovers out after the more physical act. But with Ro, it was just so pleasant ... possibly because Ro was lighter than B'Elanna, even though she was taller. There was no sense of being smothered or trapped by her.

"Hey," Ro murmured in B'Elanna's ear, her arms pulling her close, apparently having been awake already. "Good morning, you."

"Good morning," B'Elanna responded, rolling over in the embrace so that she could look at the Bajoran. "Sleep well?"

"Mmm," Ro responded. "The whole two hours that you allowed me."

"It was our last night," the Klingon protested.

"Just for this off duty rotation," the Bajoran said warmly. She kissed the other woman gently. "Surely you're not implying that this is all we'll have."

"No, of course not," B'Elanna said. "But you have to admit, finding time to be together has been hard to manage."

Ro nodded, apparently willing to allow that point. "I guess, we'll just have to try harder," she said. "In the future."

"We will," B'Elanna agreed. She slipped her arms around the slim waist. "We don't really have the time right now, do we?"

"No," Ro said, obviously knowing exactly what the engineer was referring to. "You're on duty in thirty minutes."

"And you're not on duty until beta shift," B'Elanna said glumly. She forced a smile and looked at her. "Listen, why don't you relax here. It'll be a lot more private than your crew quarters and maybe I can find an hour at lunch to ... uh, drop by."

The Bajoran considered it. "Okay, I will," she replied thoughtfully, much to B'Elanna's gratified surprise. The slender woman smiled suddenly. "Besides, it wouldn't make sense for me to get dressed and go back to my quarters just to go back to bed."

B'Elanna nipped at the Bajoran's nose. "Not as long as there's a perfectly good one here," she agreed, lowering her voice. Her hands began to trace over the lanky torso, seeking out the various ridges.

"You only have twenty-five minutes left," Ro reminded her dryly.

B'Elanna grinned.

"You know, that's plenty of time if you use it properly," the Klingon said.

And proceded to show the Bajoran just how.

The End

•  This is the 28th story in the Just Between series

• It is what I like to refer to as my 'creature feature' story.  Yes, I know I'm shameless.  Part of the fun, actually.

• E. Marks provided the title.

• This was posted on November 5th, 1999.

Just Between Earth & Sky
G. L. Dartt

The silvery form of the Delta Flyer sped through the stardusted night of the Delta Quadrant, heading for a rendezvous with the USS Voyager, some five light years ahead of it. The away mission, which had introduced the Federation crew to the Permuntans, a species of bulky, furred humanoids, had also provided some of the crucial elements needed for Voyager's life support systems ... so crucial that it made it worthwhile for the captain and her team to stay behind a few extra days to negotiate for a larger supply. The hulking beings had been most hospitable and quite friendly species, yet the away team was relieved to have left the planet, which had an ambient temperature of -5° Celsius at the equator, and return to the relative warmth of the shuttle and space. At the helm, Lt. Ro Laren, late of the Maquis and prior to that, the USS Enterprise, scanned her board, making sure they were still on course, before glancing back to check on the rest of the team.

Captain Kathryn Janeway sat aft, working quietly at her away mission notes. A compact woman with rich, auburn hair and classic features set off by remarkable blue-grey eyes, the Human radiated an assurance and presence that the Bajoran could only envy. Ro Laren had been fortunate in her turbulent career to have served with the best captains Starfleet had to offer and she was pleased that, in Janeway's case, it still rang true.

Opposite the captain, Seven of Nine, Janeway's spouse and Voyager's astrometrics officer covered operations, her blonde head bent studiously over her console. Over her left eye and on her right cheek, greyish metallic implants remained, stark testament to the young woman's time as a Borg drone. Her narrow features with their ice blue eyes provided a cool and somewhat arrogant demeanor, but Ro had been able to get by Seven's regular persona to realize how deceiving appearances could be. Beneath the sleek, biometric outfit beat a warm heart, along with a surprisingly kind and generous nature, which could be coaxed out whenever she was in the company of her immediate friends and partner.

At the engineering station, just behind Ro, Lt. B'Elanna Torres looked up in time to meet the Bajoran's dark eyes. The offspring of Klingon and Human parents, the chief engineer was a person who had become quite important to the security officer in recent months, and for a moment, they just stared at each other with warmth and shared intimacy. Stocky with olive skin and dark eyes, and wavy hair almost reaching her shoulders, B'Elanna was feisty, aggressive and stubborn. She was also loving, kind-hearted and quite amusing once one got past all that attitude. Ro had come to the decision that as lovers went, B'Elanna served her quite nicely, far better than she could have hoped for when she first contemplated the relationship.

Ro smiled faintly and turned her attention back to her board. Another twenty hours and they would be back on board their starship. With any luck, the two day R&R accorded the away team members after completing a mission could be spent with the engineer and they would find several ways to warm up after all those icy nights spent in separate beds on Permunta.

There was a chirp on her board and she sobered. "Captain, Voyager is hailing us."

Janeway rose from her seat and moved along the narrow aisle of the Delta Flyer until she was leaning over the slender Bajoran's shoulder. "Put it through," she ordered in the husky voice that Ro had always found rather ... intriguing.

The tiny viewscreen on the helm flickered to reveal the burly first officer of Voyager. Darkly handsome, Chakotay had a tribal tattoo arching over his left eye and down his temple which crinkled when he was amused or concerned. Judging from his frown, Ro guessed it was the latter. The reception was bad, the image distorted with lines and static.

"Captain, Voyager's long range sensors are detecting the approach of an ion storm on a intercept course with our current position. We can outrun it but only in the other direction. We don't have time to return for you and I strongly advise you take cover yourselves. It's going to pass directly across your projected flight path and if it suddenly intensifies or turns on its track as we know these things can..."

Janeway sighed. "You don't have to spell it out, Commander. We'll find a place to take shelter. You just keep my ship safe. When the route is once again clear, you can return for us." She paused, keying in some data on the board. "Any idea of the duration?"

"Unknown. At present intensity, astrometrics projects it lasting for three days. But there is a great deal of unstable plasma run off from it, indicating it could dissipate after a few hours or settle in for a month."

"Damn," Janeway muttered. "I really hate these class seven storms. They're so unpredictable."

A flash of a grin from the first officer. "I don't blame you." He looked away briefly, as if something or someone else had drawn his attention, and immediately lost the grin. "Captain, we're losing communication. Is there any further instructions you want to give?"

"No, just get my ship out of harm's way, Chakotay," the captain replied. "We'll look after our end. Delta Flyer out."

The viewscreen flickered and went blank as Janeway straightened. "All right, people," she said, in a more authoritative tone. "We need a place to hole up until the storm passes. Lt. Torres, increase the power allotment to the shields and integrity field. Seven, find us a planet we can reach before that storm gets to us. Lt. Ro, get a line on the storm's track and do your best to skirt it."

"On it, Captain."

"Yes, Captain."

"Aye, ma'am."

Ro ran a sensor sweep through her board, trying to increase the sensor range so she could pick up the leading edge of the spatial anomaly and keep the Delta Flyer well clear of it. Behind her, she could hear B'Elanna muttering softly as she boosted power to the shields and integrity field. It would slow them down a fraction, but the increased strength to the hull might mean the difference between getting through intact or flying to pieces during any necessary maneuvers. Ro wondered if the engineer even knew that she mumbled to herself as she worked, or if only the Bajoran took notice of it.

Further back, Janeway and Seven spoke quietly as they searched the charts for a suitable planet. From the intonation, Ro didn't think they were having much luck and she felt a certain qualm. Ion storms were tricky things and even a tendril discharge from the swirling mass of energy and pulsating flashes of plasma displacement would be enough to disrupt the systems of a vessel the size of the Delta Flyer. Sucking vacuum when the life support systems failed, was not the sort of thing which was conducive to a long and healthy life. Ro knew a sensible body wanted a nice layer of planetary atmosphere between it and an ion storm, regardless of whether said atmosphere was breathable or not. An M-class planet simply meant that they wouldn't be trapped on the Delta Flyer for the duration ... a situation that carried its own potential for aggravation.

She took a breath when she saw the light flash on her board. "Captain, sensors are beginning to detect the storm front. It's moving fast."

"Understood, Lieutenant," Janeway responded. Another few murmurs were exchanged with Seven, and then data began streaming through to the navigational computer. "Lay in a course, Lt. Ro. Best possible speed."

Ro quirked an eyebrow. "That's quite a distance, ma'am," she offered quietly even as her hands danced over the board to implement the course alteration.

Janeway returned to her seat, settling in. "I'm aware of that, Lieutenant," she noted mildly. "It's our best option."

"Aye, ma'am," Ro said, feeling the implied rebuke in that innocuous tone.

She knew she should have trusted that Janeway and Seven would have made the best choice of a bad selection and not said anything. Sometimes, it was still hard for the Bajoran to rely on the abilities of others. It had landed her in trouble more than a few times in her life, but then, it had also allowed her to escape trouble a few times as well, she consoled herself. She just had to learn how to balance it with her innate need to speak up, especially now that she was once more wearing the red and black of a commissioned Starfleet officer.

She guided the ship away from the oncoming storm, setting a course for the planet indicated. As she did, she ran a projection of the storm's track with the one she was taking. It would be very close, but the Delta Flyer should arrive in the system just ahead of the storm. She might have to do some fancy flying to make the final approach to the outer atmosphere of the planet they were trying to reach, but her skills were equal to that task. Of course, she could take a wider track that took her well clear of any turbulence, but that would also prevent her from reaching that particular planet altogether and there were very few systems in the area which would provide a haven. Any rogue asteroids that they might come across would be devoid of atmosphere, offering little in the way of protection.

"Lt. Torres," she muttered. "Any way you can increase engine output? I would like a little bit more of a safety factor."

"I'll see what I can do," B'Elanna responded quietly.

A few moments passed, and then Ro detected an increase in velocity, the ship edging up from warp 7.5 to warp 7.9. "Good job," she said.

She glanced over her shoulder and received a smile in return, the Klingon displaying slightly pointed teeth. Ro returned to her board, feeling somewhat more comfortable with her margin of error now. She discovered she needed it as the storm showed a distinct increase in ferocity, almost as if it were suddenly aware of them and was attempting to gobble up its prey before it escaped.

"Sensors detect an increase in ionic output," Seven noted.

"I see it," Ro responded. She took a breath. "I suggest we secure from stations and strap down. It might be a bumpy ride."

She heard Seven and Janeway move around in the rear of the Delta Flyer, storing away anything that might come lose to fly about the cabin in the event of turbulence. Then they took their stations, not without a little resistance from the captain. Ro's keen ears picked up the murmured conversation between the two women.

"Be sure the harness is secure, Kathryn," Seven said.

"I know how to work the restraints, Annika," Janeway responded testily.

"Yes, Kathryn." A pause. "It would benefit by being tighter over your left shoulder. Allow me to adjust it."

"Seven! I'm not five years old."

Ro swallowed her smile, thinking it a fairly cute exchange, the Borg's sense of protectiveness for the captain well known by all the crew at this point. She glanced over her shoulder, relieved to see that B'Elanna had also strapped in. Sometimes the Klingon liked indulging her reckless side and the Bajoran was glad to see this was not going to be one of those situations.

"Don't forget yourself," B'Elanna muttered.

Embarrassed at the oversight, Ro wiggled into her own harness, releasing it from the compartment on the back of the chair and bringing it around to secure herself to the pilot's chair, clicking it into place as the Delta Flyer tore into the star system at high warp, passing by the outer planets just ahead of the spreading energy mass.

"Dropping to impulse," Ro said as the tiny vessel approached the inner planet. This was the trickiest part. Though the bulk of the storm would not enter the system ... the gravitational pull of the system's star countered by the gravimetric pressures within its swirling mass ... random tendrils of energy and plasma discharge still broke off the main mass to boil through the system on their own, creating a distinct threat to the fleeing ship.

The tiny vessel shuddered at the disturbance around it and the Bajoran coaxed every bit of impulse power from the shuttle's engines as it dived toward the outer layer of the third planet's atmosphere. There was a brief instant of uncertainty, the thought that perhaps they had not made it after all, then abruptly the outer hull was heating as the first wisps of air molecules screamed over the sleek surface of the ship.

Ro throttled back, dropping quickly from full impulse, to half, to quarter, and then killing the drive altogether to engage the atmospheric thrusters. The billowing clouds through which they were descending made visibility impossible, and then abruptly they were clear and Ro hauled back on the stick, discovering the surface a lot closer than she ... or the sensors ... anticipated. Whether that was from a minor malfunction from the buffeting they had received or that somehow the quality of the atmosphere distorted eyesight, she didn't know at the moment.

A quick scan revealed a clearing in the heavily forested surface below, not far from a placid lake, and Ro decided that would be as good a place to land as any. This was a virgin planet, covered with lush jungle and shallow seas, totally devoid of sentient beings, though a wide range of unintelligent lifeforms swarmed over the surface. The Bajoran knew that the planetary survival protocols were in full implementation at this point, regardless of the fact that they planned to leave as soon as the ion storm was over so she tried to find a place where they could build shelter if they had to. She lowered the landing struts, delicately reining the vessel back into a hovering mode, and slowly eased it down onto the grassy surface. There was a brief second of sogginess ... had she mistaken a swamp for solid land? ... but then the struts found purchase on firm ground and the ship settled onto them. The Bajoran quickly shut down the thrusters and engines, the abrupt quiet almost deafening after the noise of their descent.

"Well," she remarked, looking through the front viewport at the heavy foliage of the jungle bordering the clearing. "We're here."

B'Elanna Torres unhooked her webbing and got to her feet, moving over to the hatch. But she waited before cracking it, looking back at the Borg working at the operations console.

"Seven?" she asked.

"Scanning," the Borg remarked. She paused. "No indication of lifesigns in the vicinity above the level of insects."

"No doubt our landing scared everything away," Janeway noted, struggling to get out of her seat. Apparently, her harness was snagging at the adjustment buckle over the left shoulder and B'Elanna saw her shoot an exasperated look at her spouse. "But do another scan. Insects can boast a wide range of poisons. Seven, I'm assigning you as medical officer. You're the only one with any knowledge of biometrics, and I know you've helped out in sickbay."

"Yes, Captain," Seven responded. She studied her board. "Lt. Torres, I believe it would be prudent to inject a wide spectrum anti-microbial agent prior to exiting the shuttle, as well as an all purpose antivenin spray."

"Got it," B'Elanna said, opening a compartment at the back where she retrieved a medikit. Behind her she could hear Janeway's aggrieved hiss.

"Get me out of this."

The Klingon carefully swallowed her smirk before turning around and handing the kit to Seven. Then she went over to the captain and examined the buckle which had become jammed. "Hang on, Captain."

"It's not as if I have a choice," Janeway said peevishly.

B'Elanna grinned at her and worked at the fastening until she had loosened it, which enabled Janeway to release the webbing and finally get out of her seat. The chief engineer glanced over at Seven who had injected Ro Laren with a hypospray, before using it on herself. The Borg reloaded the hypospray and pressed it against the neck of her spouse, and then beckoned to B'Elanna. Stifling a sigh, the Klingon raised her head, exposing her throat and barely succeeded in not flinching as the medicine hissed through her skin and into her system. Theoretically, the broad band spectrum of antibodies would protect her from any microbes or bites from poisonous animals or insects.

Then the Klingon moved over to the hatch and cracked it. The steamy heat of the outside billowed into the cool interior of the shuttle, instantly making perspiration break out on all the women with the exception of Seven. She only looked vaguely displeased by the abrupt rise in temperature. The air was smothering and immediately, the captain, Ro and B'Elanna stripped off their uniform tunics and sweaters, leaving the women clad only in their thin tank tops.

"Oh, this is pleasant," Ro said sardonically, as she and B'Elanna stepped down onto the spongy surface of the purple-hued vegetation. The atmosphere was exceptionally humid, lying thick and heavy over the jungle, the sky hazy with a lavender tint. There was no wind and the high whine of insects had resumed around them, filling the area with their hum. No sound of birds however, the Klingon noticed.

"Could be worse," B'Elanna said dryly. "It could be like Permunta."

The Klingon, maintaining a higher body temperature than the rest, had suffered greatly in the icy chill of their last stop. While this was a bit hotter than she ordinarily liked, she was aware that she would still be more comfortable in it that her crewmates. Already, Ro's dark hair was sticking to her forehead, and the Bajoran's smooth skin glistened as she studied her tricorder.

"Anything?" Janeway said from the doorway of the shuttle, her eyes squinting as she looked out over the alien landscape.

"Some fairly large lifesigns about thirty kilometers east," Ro responded professionally. The Bajoran made a slow circle, holding her tricorder away from her body. "Some smaller ones closer, but you were right, Captain. We cleared out this area for the time being."

"They'll return when they see we're no threat," B'Elanna said. "Maybe we should take advantage of it while it lasts and become one."

"Elaborate," Janeway ordered.

"I think we should set up an alarm perimeter surrounding the shuttle at a distance of about ten meters, Captain. That way, any animal that considers this a watering hole won't be tempted to get too close to us."

"I concur, Captain," Ro added.  "It would be a prudent security measure."

Janeway considered it. "Do it. Check out the lake as well. There's no way of knowing how long we'll have to stay on the surface and it might be a good idea to secure supplies, just in case."

B'Elanna nodded. After six years in the Delta Quadrant, with the ship always seeming limited in one form of supplies or another, all of the crew had gotten used to thinking of in terms of consolidating resources and making sure they had backup in the event things did not go as expected. She looked at Ro.

"Give me a hand?" she invited.

"Sure," Ro said.

Together, the two women went to a compartment at the side of the Delta Flyer and removed several pieces of equipment. The rods were thin, made of metal and topped with a knob which was diamond-shaped, consisting of golden energy crystals that powered the devices. B'Elanna and Ro separated, setting the rods in place around the shuttle in a fairly even circle, before activating them. A line of defense, invisible to the naked eye, shot out from each brightly glowing crystal to connect to the next, creating a web of sound resonance frequencies and energy pulses designed to ward off intruders. Of course, anything really determined could force their way by the repulse field, but it would set off an alarm in the meantime, and grant the Federation crew fair warning in order to set up a stronger defense.

Once that was done, B'Elanna and Ro strolled down to the lakeside to check the water. The Klingon kept blinking her eyes to clear them of moisture, finding the colors unusually jarring and unappealing. Where, to her jangled senses, there should be the various shades of green, there were instead, shades of purple and blue; where the sky and water should be conversely blue, they instead held a vaguely shimmering lavender and red tint. The splashes of flowering bushes and plants boasted an array of various greens and oranges. It all combined to make B'Elanna faintly nauseous though there wasn't really much she could do about it. No matter how long one had been in space, no matter how many alien planets one visited, one's body always knew what was normal for it, and when it ran into something that wasn't, it reacted, despite all the intellectual reasons why it shouldn't.

As they approached the water, B'Elanna was disturbed to see that it retained its lavender tint and she realized it was the water itself, not the light spectrum reflecting off it. She knelt next to it, her booted feet crunching on black nodules of pebbles and scooped up a handful of the warm liquid. Looking at it closely, she could see that it was full of some kind of fungus or algae which left a trail of slime on her hand as she shook it off.

"Ick," she muttered, wiping her hand on her pants.

"Single-celled organisms," Ro noted, checking the tricorder. "Millions of them in order to be actually visible to the eye. I'm sure the local inhabitants find them quite nutritious. So could we, in an emergency."

"We can always strain them out," B'Elanna suggested.

"I know," Ro allowed, but was obviously not enthused by the idea. She shielded her eyes with her hand as she looked across the oily surface of the water. "I don't think this is a lake as much as it is just a big pond. We might have better luck if we look for an inflow source."

"Like a stream or river," B'Elanna agreed, nodding.

The women walked along the shore, various cries and sounds coming from the jungle's inhabitants, resuming after the quiet the shuttle's arrival had caused. Ro continued her tricorder scans, but also took the precaution of detaching her phaser from her waist and carrying it at a ready position, the setting a few notches above the minimum stun level. Prudently, B'Elanna followed her lead, feeling better with the metal handle of the weapon in her hand. They had gone about a quarter of a way around the body of water when they came across a creek flowing through grey, sharp rocks, crystalline in appearance. Unlike the lake, this water was completely clear, burbling over the shards of stone cheerfully and the women followed it upstream a short distance to where it emerged from a large rock outcropping, vegetation hanging over it to provide a bit of shade as the women examined it.

"Drinkable," Ro said, scanning it. "It's a spring. No trace of harmful impurities."

B'Elanna felt a certain amount of relief, even as she knew that was the thing with water on M-Class planets. Two atoms of hydrogen and one atom of oxygen tended to combine at a certain temperature the exact same way, regardless of what vegetation and evolution predominated. It was just important to make sure nothing harmful was present after it formed ... such as a pathogenic single-celled organisms or other toxins.

"We have to christen this place sooner or later," the Klingon said, scooping up a handful of the clear water and bringing it to her lips. It was pleasantly cool, issuing as it did from the planet's earth and tasting clean and sweet. "Not bad."

Ro also drank, then filled the two canteens she had brought with her. "Water supply secure," she said. "We'd better get back."

"I guess we should," B'Elanna allowed, with just a touch of reluctance. But the Bajoran caught it, starting at her.

"No?"

"Well, we could take a moment more."

Ro smiled faintly. "That's not exactly protocol."

"No," B'Elanna agreed, disappointed.

Then Ro leaned over and kissed her, the Bajoran's mouth cool and wet on hers and most definitely as sweet as the spring water had been. Their time on Permunta had been spent dressed in insulated mission outfits, even while sleeping in the fur covered beds, and the two women had no opportunity to be alone together at all. Since they had recently elevated their relationship to a physical level, it had been far more difficult than it otherwise might have been. Not that this was much easier, B'Elanna noted as she lost herself in the kiss. It occurred to her that, with the captain and Seven along, and all four of them being required to stay within the confines of the Delta Flyer, she and Ro would not necessarily have any time to be alone together here, either. The kiss, which inflamed her, also caused her frustration to rise.

"I'll be glad when we get back to Voyager," B'Elanna growled when they finally parted.

"Me, too," Ro admitted and flashed her a smile.

This made the Klingon feel marginally better and she took one of the Bajoran's hands in her own as they started to trudge back to the shuttle. Idly, she ran her thumb over the back of Ro's hand, then curled it inside to stroke the palm, knowing that the Bajoran found this particular caress arousing. Ro glanced at her with a frown but did not pull it away ... at least, not until they came in sight of the shuttle.

B'Elanna hesitated, holding back. "Maybe we should make some noise, break the barrier just to test it."

"And make sure the captain and Seven weren't ... 'distracting' each other while we were gone?" Ro said sardonically, as if she had read the Klingon's mind. "I don't think that's a likely scenario."

"I know, it's sort of astounding to think they would, but honestly, those two are a lot more ... active than I think people realize. Did I ever tell you about the time I was out on the ship's hull and saw them ... well, you know."

"On Voyager's hull?" Ro responded in clear disbelief. "In space suits? Is that even possible?"

"No, no, no," B'Elanna explained. "I was outside. They were inside."

"You peeked through the viewport of their quarters?"

"No, there's a little auxiliary room on the underside of the saucer section," B'Elanna explained. "Apparently, it can turn transparent to ... I don't know, give the people inside a view of space or something, I guess. Anyway, I was out doing some routine maintenance and I happened to be facing that direction. The hull turned transparent and there was Janeway on her back while Seven was ... uh, 'dining'."

Ro rolled her eyes. "Prophets, there's an image I didn't really need before having to look the captain in the face. Or Seven, for that matter."

"We need to remember that, as hard as this has been on us the past few days and will be the next few, it probably applies to them, too."

Ro nodded. "The ship is sort of cramped, even if it is larger than the traditional shuttle." She quirked an eyebrow. "I wonder if the captain would authorize us setting up a habitat outside?"

B'Elanna grinned. "There's a thought," she said. She shot the tall, slender woman beside her an admiring look. "It's a good thought, in fact. It wouldn't just benefit us, it would allow them some privacy in the shuttle."

"I'll ask," Ro said. "The worst she can say is 'no' and then, we're no worse off than we already are."

The women stepped through the perimeter, breaking the beam. B'Elanna felt an unpleasant tingle as she did, but nothing more as the sensor recognized her as sentient. As a result, the field did not deliver the stronger, more dissuading jolt it would to an animal. However, Seven immediately appeared in the hatchway, holding a compression rifle while the captain's head popped up in the near window.

"Guess it works," B'Elanna noted.

Ro waved her hand. "Just checking," she called.

"Understood," the Borg returned. She disappeared back inside and B'Elanna shot a look at Ro.

"She didn't look distracted."

"Perhaps they don't take advantage of their opportunities like we do," Ro noted.

Janeway took a breath and blinked away a few droplets of perspiration from her eyelashes as Seven ducked back inside the shuttle, leaving the hatch open. Even in the sleeveless, tank top, the sweat still poured off the captain and she tried to keep it from dripping onto her console. The interior temperature of the shuttle could be kept cool, of course, but that would be an expenditure of energy that could not be justified as long as the air from the outside continued to pass freely inside. She regarded her spouse wistfully, sorry they hadn't been able to take advantage in the absence of the other two crewmembers. But, by the time she and Seven had finished securing the shuttle for ground status, it was too late and they had only a second for a rather heated kiss and quick embrace before the alarm sensors went off, heralding Ro and B'Elanna's return.

Seven of Nine looked remarkably cool and contained as she worked quickly and quietly at her station. At least, Janeway had been able to convince the Borg to remove the padded vest of her away mission outfit and exchange the long-sleeved sweater for a thin t-shirt. Seven's remaining Borg implants maintained her body's internal cooling system far more efficiently than mere sweat glands could and the only sign that she might be aware of the oppressive heat at all, was a faint sheen over her forehead. Since the young Borg did not perspire, it was probably just condensation from the heavy humidity. Janeway tried not to feel resentful about her partner's cool composure as the other two members of the team crowded into the shuttle. Knowing her irritation sprang from the heat, she forced herself to regard Ro evenly as the woman took a seat opposite her to make her report.

"There's a spring of drinkable water about two hundred meters to the northwest," the Bajoran said, handing her a canteen. "The lake however, is populated heavily with some kind of single-celled organism. I don't believe it worth the effort of straining it out, though we could set up a filtration system, if absolutely necessary. Some of the vegetation in the local vicinity is edible, but I don't think any of it would taste very good according to the scans I took with the tricorder."

"Good work," Janeway allowed. She glanced through the front viewport, judging the light and the flash of sunbeams gleaming through the jungle. "Dusk is approaching," she added in a louder tone, so that the entire away team could hear. "That means any large animals in the area will undoubtedly be coming down to the local water supply to drink. It's time we sealed up for the night."

"Uh, Captain," Ro added as Seven and B'Elanna moved outside to do Janeway's bidding, making sure the exterior of the shuttle was secure before the evening watch.

Janeway eyed her. "Yes?"

"Lt. Torres and I were wondering if perhaps it would afford us more space if we set up a habitat outside."

Janeway stared at her long enough that Ro colored faintly. Janeway relented and smiled briefly.

"Lieutenant, I don't want you to think that I am entirely insensitive to your suggestion." Ro colored even more. "But I think we should wait to see how this first night goes. If it remains quiet, I will consider your request for tomorrow night."

Ro nodded. "Thank you, Captain," she said, obviously relieved that Janeway had not made more out of it than she had. Though, if truth be told, had the captain been less hot and uncomfortable, she might have taken the opportunity to tease the Bajoran a little.

Finally, B'Elanna and Seven returned to the shuttle and shut the hatch for the night. The Borg went over to her console and activated the internal environmental controls, able to now stabilize the interior temperature and moisture content of the atmosphere. Janeway breathed a sigh of relief as she felt the cool, drier air issue from the vent next to her and she basked in it, her mood improving significantly.

"Seven, can I ask you to take over mess duties tonight?" she queried. After the food the Permuntans had provided while she was carrying out their negotiations, she was anxious for some home cooking ... or at least, as homey as Seven, limited by a shuttle replicator, could manage. Thankfully, both B'Elanna and Ro knew about the Borg's unique touch around food, so there was no concern about picking up more dinner guests than the couple already hosted on a regular basis.

The Borg flashed her a slightly amused look. "Of course, Captain."

Janeway shivered briefly as her sweat quickly dried, but it was still warm enough that she didn't need her tunic. She did move out of the direct flow from the vent, however. Janeway wondered how long the shuttle would have to remain on the planet's surface, keying her touch pad once more. An updated scan revealed that the ion storm in space had intensified and was still throwing off magnetic strings to infest the star system, but with any luck, the main mass would be soon moving on its way. If it didn't however, Janeway would need to start looking at her options. Four strong willed people trapped on a shuttle where the temperature outside was this oppressive could be a prescription for trouble.

She shut down her board where she had been tracking the storm and followed the other women who had moved to the rear compartment of the shuttle. This was considered the tiny vessel's 'crew quarters', containing a replicator, a table with room for six, and a like number of bunks which, at the moment, were folded up into the bulkheads on either side of the compartment. Above the table, a subtle light illuminated the area that was darkening rapidly as the sun set outside. Janeway sat down next to B'Elanna who was already seated, out of the way of Seven who was programming the replicator and Ro, who was setting the table. The Bajoran helped the Borg carry over the evening meal, which included a large bowl of spaghetti and a plate piled high with garlic bread.

Janeway hungrily served herself a healthy portion of the stringy pasta covered with spicy tomato sauce thick with chunks of peppers, celery, mushrooms and pieces of chicken breast. Seven had also added condiment containers of fresh grated Parmesan and Romano cheese as well as providing a large bottle of Bajoran spring wine. It was not the standard type of food issued for an away mission, but certainly not anything Janeway was going to complain about. The captain had no idea how her spouse managed to program in the various percentages of spices and additional ingredients to the replicator's standard pattern of spaghetti to provide such a flavorful meal, but as time went by, the woman knew it was a gift of immense proportions. One that she was fortunate enough to share in when it came to the final product.

"Good," B'Elanna mumbled, between mouthfuls of her pasta. "Great job, Seven."

Ro, sitting next to the Borg, also nodded. "It tastes wonderful."

"Thank you," Seven remarked politely as she settled down to her own smaller portion.

Janeway merely shot her spouse a warm look of gratitude and Seven's pale eyes glowed in response. The Borg genuinely liked both B'Elanna and Ro, but it was always Janeway's opinion that meant the absolute most to her, even after all this time.

For the next few moments, there was little conversation as all four women intently took the edge off their appetites. For some reason, Janeway decided, a body always seemed hungrier planetside. Of course, since this planet also boasted a higher gravity than Earth standard, they were using up more energy than normal when they moved around, even without taking into account the sapping heat and humidity.

Abruptly, Seven's head came up and she stared pointedly at the captain. Baffled, Janeway returned the look as the Borg's laser gaze searched her face intently, and then the pale eyes shifted over to B'Elanna, who still had her head down, apparently oblivious to anything other than her meal.

"Lt. Torres," Seven noted crisply.

Startled, B'Elanna glanced up. "Yeah?"

"That is my leg you are caressing with your foot beneath the table. Not Lt. Ro's, as I am sure you originally intended."

Both Ro and B'Elanna flushed deeply as Janeway, despite her best efforts, snorted laughter, covering her mouth with a napkin and turning away from the table so she could bend over. It took a moment to compose herself, the memory of the sheer indignity in her spouse's tone serving to increase her merriment every time she thought she had managed to control herself.

"Heavens," she said when she was finally able to turn back, gently wiping a tear away from the corner of her eye. "How are we going to survive two or three days cooped up with new lovers, Seven?"

"I trust it shall prove to be difficult," the Borg remarked dryly.

The other two women refused to respond, keeping their attention firmly on their plates and doing their best to pretend they were not even paying attention to the captain and her spouse. Janeway laughed again and picked up her fork to resume her meal, glad that it wasn't always her who ended up embarrassed by the Borg's forthrightness and lack of tact.

They finished their meal, all replete enough that no one took Seven up on her offer to program a dessert, and leaned back in their seats, sipping their wine in companionable silence. Janeway wasn't sure when she became aware of the subtle vibration, but when she did, she looked over to see Seven staring intently at her wineglass sitting on the table.

"Captain?" she muttered.

"I see it," Janeway said, watching uneasily as the golden wine quivered in the clear crystal.

"Earthquake?" B'Elanna offered, having picked up on the conversation. Suddenly, all four women were displaying a heightened awareness, a sort of sixth sense that warned of some unknown threat. Janeway herself, could feel the hair rise on the back of her neck, an unpleasant tingle traveling down her spine.

"It is too rhythmic for tectonic instability," Seven noted.

"Whatever it is, it's getting closer," Ro noted, in a voice carefully devoid of inflection.

Without any further discussion, the women left their wine and slipped out of the booth, moving from the aft crew quarters to the main cabin of the Delta Flyer. The only illumination came from the small glowing lights on the active panels and three small moons rising over the jungle, casting a brilliant, silvery glow which streamed through the large viewports looming over the helm. Janeway started to activate the interior cabin lights, but some subconscious warning kept her from it. Instead, she quietly opened the compartment next to her and closed her hand over the muzzle of a high compression phaser rifle. She hauled it out and handed it silently to the Bajoran, and then took one for herself. The women gathered at the front of the Delta Flyer, feeling the vibration ripple through their legs, the sound of solid, heavy regular thumps growing louder with every breath.

Uneasily, the captain's eyes searched the jungle and she flinched as the foliage began an agitated dance, heralding the arrival of the huge creature that pushed its way through it, clearly visible in the moonlight. Janeway was aware that her mouth had fallen open as she stared wide-eyed at the animal which lifted its scaly head to sniff the air suspiciously, turning it right and then left, before focusing its forward-set, red-rimmed eyes on the shuttle resting in the center of the clearing.

"Those perimeter rods aren't going to stop that," B'Elanna muttered unhappily.

The captain forced herself to swallow. "A tyrannosaurus rex," she identified in a weak voice.

"This planet's equivalent, perhaps," Seven remarked calmly.

"Captain?" Ro tore her eyes briefly away from the large reptilian form standing upright near the jungle's edge.

"A dinosaur," Janeway said softly. "From Earth's Jurassic period."

"Cretaceous, actually," Seven corrected. "Several million years after the Jurassic era."

B'Elanna swallowed audibly, gulping a little in the dark. "Whatever. All I know is, with that coloration, it must blend into the jungle really well. A big purple dinosaur. What the hell could be worse?"

Seven studied it with a keen eye. "I do not believe that the Terran dinosaur possessed a row of bone plates running down its back," she said with scientific detachment. "That could be 'worse'."

B'Elanna looked confused.. "What do you mean?"

Janeway caught her breath. "Oh, dear."

The Klingon turned to look at her with a baffled expression. Ro chose to answer. "Why would a carnivorous animal that size need to evolve additional protective plating over its spine, when its hide is obviously pretty thick already?"

B'Elanna thought about that and looked a trifle green. "Because there's something even bigger and nastier that can take a chunk out of it," she concluded.

The women abruptly fell silent as the creature began to move purposefully toward the shuttle. Janeway gripped her rifle with nerveless fingers, slippery with sweat as it approached and wished she had utilized the ship's head before going to dinner.

The creature hesitated as it reached the line of repulsion, jerking back as it intersected the field. However, it was apparently intrigued enough by the new thing in its territory to shake off what must only have been a mild discomfort, and push through the web of energy. The bulk of its thick legs brushed aside three of the rods, knocking them down and disrupting the perimeter system altogether.

"Lieutenant?" Janeway said, hoping her voice was a lot steadier than her insides were at the moment.

"On it," Ro said, her fingers dancing over the helm as she handed her rifle to Seven, who was closest. The Bajoran activated the shields, the protective force field designed to ward off weapons fire and the harsh environment of space springing up around the shuttle's hull. The creature's snout, which touched the sparkling shield, was jolted back with such force that it whipped the animal's head around, making it step back several paces on its heavy muscular legs.

The dinosaur opened powerful jaws, roaring loudly and Janeway's knees turned to jelly.

"I think you made it mad," B'Elanna noted worriedly.

The creature reared back, it's absurdly tiny front legs dangling in front of its chest, and lunged at the shuttle, mouth gaping as half-meter long fangs crunched down on the shuttle's hull. The force of the blow was such that the vessel actually slid back a meter, though the shields held and the animal was repulsed violently at least a hundred meters in the opposite direction. The women were knocked to the floor, collapsing onto the deck.

"Ro," Janeway said loudly, as she struggled to get out from beneath B'Elanna muscular form. "Ready phasers."

Ro scrambled back up into the pilot's chair and keyed in the necessary controls, lights springing up over the board. Through the front viewport, Janeway would see the animal shaking its head uncertainly before roaring loudly once more. It paused, as if to get its bearings, and then pounded for the shuttle in a full charge.

"Ro!" Janeway yelled.

"Firing," the Bajoran said calmly.

Twin beams of ruby light lanced out from the fore part of the shuttle and intersected directly in the chest of the charging creature. Designed to cut through the hull plating of a starship, the phaser beams stabbed easily through the large body, exiting out the other side. For a brief instant, Janeway thought she saw an expression of consternation and astonishment appear on its face, and then the creature toppled to the turf with a mighty crash, its momentum carrying it forward so that Janeway was actually afraid it would crash into them anyway.  It skidded to a stop, the big, heavy head actually resting a scant half-meter from the front of the shuttle, giving them a close up view of just how large it actually was.

For a moment, all four women stared wide-eyed at the thirty-tonne carcass lying motionless before them. Finally, Janeway was able to dredge up enough moisture to get her mouth working again.

"Lieutenant Torres, make sure the heaviest filters are placed in the air recirculating system," she said with unnatural calmness. "That will start to decompose quickly in this environment and I want as much of the odor coming in from the outside air scrubbed out as possible through the night. We'll look at moving our location in the morning."

"Aye, Captain," B'Elanna said and Janeway wondered if it was only her imagination that was putting that slight quiver in the Klingon's voice. The young engineer moved to carry out the captain's order and Seven joined her.

"Lt. Ro?" Janeway remarked, her eyes never leaving the bulk of the big dead purple dinosaur in the clearing.

"Yes, Captain?"

"I don't think it would be wise for you and B'Elanna to set up a habitat outside tomorrow night."

"No, Captain," Ro responded somberly, "I don't suppose it would."

"It was a formidable creature," Seven noted as she handed the heavy-duty devices to the engineer who replaced the standard issued filter in the open compartment that contained some of the air recirculating system.

"Anyone ever tell you that you have a knack for understatement?" B'Elanna shot back.

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "You seem disturbed, Lieutenant."

"I just have an aversion to being something's dinner," the Klingon remarked. She took a breath and sealed the hatch. "C'mon, we still have two more to replace."

Seven followed her dutifully into another part of the shuttle, which turned out to be the confines of the ship's head. "What did the captain mean?" she asked as they started in on the main air supply system which lay beneath the floor of the small bathroom. "About setting up a habitat outside?"

B'Elanna sighed. "Laren and I were going to ... well, find a little privacy tonight. And provide you and the captain some as well. Of course, now that we know what's out there, I don't think any of us will be going outside unless it's absolutely necessary."

Seven considered that, feeling a very real pang of regret herself. Although she sympathized with her friend who undoubtedly wished to spend more quality time with her new lover, Seven missed being with the captain with decided longing, as well. In fact, the thought that she would have to continue to sleep without Kathryn's warm body by her side served to put her in a most aggravated and dark mood indeed.

"I understand," Seven murmured unhappily. B'Elanna shot her a commiserating grin.

The two women finished up their task and squeezed out into the aft compartment. Through the door leading to the main cabin with its generous viewports, Seven could see that the dead animal next to them was already starting to attract attention. A multitude of scurrying creatures were beginning to crawl over the leathery skin, biting their way through to get to the flesh beneath while occasionally snapping at others in order to secure their portion of the gigantean feast. They seemed oblivious to the metal construct resting quietly next to the dinosaur's head.

"Perhaps we should consider moving now," Seven suggested to the captain who was mopping up a pool of spring wine spread over the deck, undoubtedly having fallen when the shuttle had been attacked. Shattered shards of glass were littered amid the remains of their dinner dishes, mixed in with the crimson splash of leftover tomato sauce. Seven found some clean cloths and began to help her spouse, wiping down the nearby bulkheads and deck. "And to a climate which is less oppressive."

"I instructed Ro to try to bolster our shield strength to hold off the scavengers," Janeway said. Upon hearing that, B'Elanna turned and went out to the main cabin, no doubt considering that task more entertaining than mopping up spilt food. "Seven, I would rather not spend the night looking for a spot to land, and that's what we'd have to do unless we completely circled the planet. Since this world has yet to develop ice caps, we're already in as temperate a climate as it's going to get."

"Understood," Seven said. She took a breath, and moved closer. "However, I would be grateful for an opportunity to exit the shuttle," she offered, in a lower voice. "We have not spent any personal time together for more than a week and a half."

Janeway smiled faintly. "I know." She straightened, bearing her load of broken crockery over to the recycling unit, tossing her dirty cloths in as well. "And it does bother me, as well, Annika. But sometimes, it just works out that way."

"Yes," Seven said, following her over to the unit with her own armload of debris which she placed carefully in the recycler. "I cannot help thinking, however, of our quarters on Voyager. It is unfortunate that the storm did not hold off another day. We would have reached the ship by then."

"And if wishes were horses," Janeway said, turning around to slip her arms around her spouse. "We'd all be riding."

Seven frowned. "Why would we want to ride?" she asked, puzzled as she returned the embrace.

Janeway laughed softly. "Never mind."

The captain took a quick glance out the door leading to the main cabin, and as Seven followed her gaze, she saw that B'Elanna and Ro were huddled together as they worked on the shields, far closer than they probably needed to be, their backs to the aft compartment. When she turned her attention back to the captain, Janeway took the opportunity to kiss her.

Seven returned it happily. It was probably the first really good kiss she'd had in over a week, including the brief one earlier in the day, and she concentrated on it closely, not wanting to miss any aspect of it. When they finally parted, Janeway was blushing faintly.

"Heavens, you can kiss," the captain muttered, not for the first time.

Seven accepted it for the compliment it was and kissed her again. Then with obvious reluctance, the captain pushed the Borg away, easing out of the embrace.

Seven noticed that Ro and B'Elanna broke apart as well as she and Janeway entered the main cabin, though the Borg could not see any indication that they had been doing anything nearly as intimate as what she and the captain had been indulging. Seven was still not entirely sure why it was so necessary to present a show of personal disinterest, especially when what she really wanted was to take her partner back into the aft compartment, drop a bunk down, and make slow, passionate love to her. Indeed, she knew for a fact that Janeway probably wished to do the same and Seven was sure that the other two women would not mind. In fact, Ro and B'Elanna would no doubt take the opportunity to make love themselves. She made a note to ask Janeway to explain it to her later so she could understand this social taboo completely. For now, she realized Janeway did not want any indication of physical intimacy and Seven, despite her desire, intended to respect that.

"Lieutenant, bring down the blast shield," the captain instructed. "I really don't want to look at that if I don't have to."

"Aye, ma'am," Ro responded, keying in commands which brought the metal plating down over the transparent aluminum, shutting out the moonlight and the rest. The internal running lights brightened accordingly and Seven felt very cozy suddenly, the four of them finding seats in the main cabin.

"Well, it's a little early for bed," B'Elanna offered. "Anyone have any ideas?"

"You mean like Twenty Questions or Truth or Dare?" Janeway asked lazily.

B'Elanna eyed her. "Would you play them?" she asked with a touch of skepticism.

Seven wondered what they were talking about.

Janeway considered that. "Perhaps the first. I don't think I know you well enough to play the second, Lieutenant. At least, not at this point."

"Really?" B'Elanna said, with a small snort. "Like you have any secrets after Seven's talked to me?"

Janeway allowed a small smile. "Point taken. I'll rephrase. I don't know Ro yet, and it is my opinion that she probably does not wish to know me that well."

Ro quirked an eyebrow as the gaze of the other three women intersected with hers.

"Actually, Captain," she said with what Seven decided was a deliberately provocative tone, "I wouldn't be adverse to getting to know you better. Unless you're afraid of what I might discover about you."

Janeway eyed her. "You should be careful what you wish for, Lieutenant," she said evenly, though Seven was sure that there was more here than what she recognized. "It's rarely what you expect."

"That can work both ways," the Bajoran responded easily.

The two women stared at each other for a long moment, then Janeway inclined her head slightly. "Very well," she said silkily and Seven felt a touch of alarm. It was never a good sign when the captain used a tone like that. The Borg simply could not predict what she would do next.

"Really?" B'Elanna said, looking back and forth between the captain and the lieutenant with astonishment. "Then we'd better do this right." She scrambled to her feet. "C'mon, Seven. Let's get the popcorn and some drinks."

Bemused, the Borg followed B'Elanna to the rear of the vessel where the Klingon replicated two huge bowls of fluffy popcorn and two chilled bottles of Bajoran spring wine along with glasses. Seven found the choice of beverage appropriate since they really didn't have a chance to finish the first bottle. The light, fruit flavor of the wine would be a delicate counterpoint to the buttery, salt flavor of the popcorn.

"What are we doing?" Seven asked her, accepting her share of the provisions.

"We're going to play Truth or Dare," B'Elanna explained, appearing slightly excited.

"What is that?"

"It's a game, Seven. A person asks someone else to pick 'truth or dare'. If it's 'truth', they ask a question that the other person must respond to honestly. Otherwise, they have to carry out whatever dare they're offered."

Seven blinked. "That sounds ... unimaginative," she said. She always told the truth when asked and thus could not imagine why anyone would conversely, choose the 'dare' option.

"You've just never played it," B'Elanna informed her as they returned to the cabin.

Seven watched as the Klingon took one of the bowls, two glasses and a wine bottle over to where Lt. Ro was seated and settled on the deck next to her. Ro immediately changed position, finding a place behind B'Elanna so that the Klingon could lean back against the Bajoran. Intrigued, Seven glanced at Janeway and saw no sign of censure in her face. Hesitantly, she also found a place on the deck beside the captain and was both astounded and pleased as Janeway obligingly got out of her chair and sat down in front of the Borg, snuggling back against her. Perhaps it was part of the game, Seven thought. If so, she decided, it was possible that she had judged the activity too harshly.

Janeway held the glasses as the wine was poured by the Borg, then, after handing the second glass to Seven, settled the bowl of popcorn onto her lap. Thus prepared, she regarded B'Elanna evenly.

"Who goes first?"

"Rank hath its privilege," the Klingon invited. "After you."

"Wonderful," Janeway said dryly. She paused, then looked back at her spouse. "Seven, truth or dare?"

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "Truth."

"Were you aware that I would not approve of you gambling on pool when you were playing for the replicator rations you intended to use for my birthday?"

Suddenly, Seven understood why one would be more apt to choose 'dare' rather than 'truth'. She swallowed.

"Yes," she admitted slowly. "It crossed my mind shortly before I began my match with Lt. Paris, but I deemed it more important to accumulate the rations than any temporary annoyance that might occur on your part."

"Ouch," B'Elanna muttered.

"She's deadly at this, isn't she?" Ro added and Seven was not sure if the Bajoran was referring to her or the captain.

Janeway's eyes glinted, but all she did was smile faintly. "Your turn," she said, in that same silky tone. Seven felt a shiver run down her back.

"Seven, you can't ask who asked you," B'Elanna informed her. "You have to ask someone else."

"Very well," Seven allowed. She looked at the Klingon. It occurred to her that this would be a perfect opportunity to discover information that might not otherwise be offered and since Janeway's question had been so brash, she assumed it was part of the game's rules, to push the provocation as far as one could. "Lt. Torres, 'truth or dare'?"

B'Elanna grinned challengingly at her. "Truth."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "I am aware that you and Ro Laren have copulated. Was the experience adequate?"

Janeway, taking a sip of wine, immediately began to choke as the grin disappeared from B'Elanna's face. Ro smirked and leaned over to look at the Klingon.

"Yes," she added. "Was I adequate?"

B'Elanna blushed furiously. "I hate how quickly Seven adapts," she grumbled.

"That was not the question." Seven was beginning to enjoy herself.

With an effort, B'Elanna composed herself. "Fine," she said. "Yes, Seven. It was adequate. It was more than adequate but you didn't ask about that." Then she quickly pinned her dark eyes on Janeway. "All right, Captain, truth or dare?"

Janeway blinked. "I thought you would ask Ro."

"She'll get her turn."

Ro raised her head. "I don't mind, Captain."

Janeway took a breath. "Refill, first," she said, offering her glass to her partner. "Then, dare."

B'Elanna looked vaguely disappointed as everyone's glass was filled for a second round, but after a moment, she grinned, the sharp points of her teeth showing. "Kiss Seven," she dared. "Not like you do so rarely in public, but how you would in private."

Seven perked up. This game was becoming more interesting all the time.

Janeway hesitated, and then with a bit of an exasperated sigh, she turned so that she was sideways against the Borg. Their lips met and Seven abruptly realized that Janeway was indeed, honoring her part of the competition, the tip of the captain's tongue coming out to flick against her lips, parting them, and invading the Borg's mouth as the kiss deepened and went on for a lot longer than perhaps anyone had anticipated. When they finally parted, Seven felt a bit breathless, B'Elanna was wide-eyed and Janeway was entirely too smug for her own good.

"Lt. Ro," the captain said, and it seemed her voice had grown husky. "Truth or dare?"

Ro paused. "I think I'm in over my head here."

"Too late," Janeway remarked. "You're already in the water. The time for second thoughts was on the beach."

"I know," the Bajoran said. She eyed the captain, obviously trying to decide which choice would be least rife with potential embarrassment. "Truth," she decided finally.

"Why are you so resistant to becoming a bridge officer?"

Ro stared at her. "Maybe I'm not. Maybe I'm just pretending to be so you'll pursue it."

Janeway abruptly looked uncertain. "Is that the truth?"

Ro grinned crookedly. "No," she said. "It's the same reason as what I've told you before, Captain. I don't want to let you down. It's my history. Maybe it's my nature."

Janeway opened her mouth to respond, checked it, and merely nodded. "Very well," she said. "Your turn."

"All right," Ro said and Seven, who had been confused by the last exchange, was suddenly aware of the Bajoran's attention centering on her. "Seven, truth or dare."

"Dare," Seven said promptly, hoping for another kiss from her spouse.

"Kiss B'Elanna the way you kissed the captain."

Seven was shocked and so, apparently, was Janeway, the captain stiffening in the Borg's arms. The Bajoran eyed them all with humor. "Do you refuse, Seven? You have the option of changing it to truth, but should you refuse to answer, then you'll be out of the game."

Seven considered this very carefully. If she refused, it could possibly insult B'Elanna and hurt her feelings, something she certainly did not wish to do. But, by the same token, there were Janeway's feelings to consider, not to mention that hint of attraction that Seven had once felt for the Klingon. Would that be something that B'Elanna could pick up through the kiss? Or worse, would the captain, thereby deciding that perhaps the Borg's confession was not as harmless as she had believed? She wondered if this was where her spouse had learned her formidable composure during trying circumstances ... by playing this game, which was obviously neither as simple nor as unimaginative as she had first believed. Indeed, there were complexities to it that she had never before experienced.

She took a breath. "It would be ... intriguing to kiss B'Elanna. But ultimately, I will fail the 'dare' because I do not love my friend the way that I love Kathryn. Therefore, the kiss would not and could not be identical to how I kiss the captain. I must, in that case, choose the alternative which is 'truth'."

Janeway looked back at her, a touch of admiration in her eyes. "Well done," she complimented in a low voice that probably only Seven could hear.

Ro smiled faintly, apparently not put out by the Borg's answer. "All right." She took another sip of her wine and considered it.  "What is the most unusual place you've ever made love?"

Janeway sighed softly, B'Elanna smirked and Seven tried to think.  "There have been so many," she admitted, frowning.  That seemed to surprise the other couple and it was Janeway's turn to smirk. "I believe it was on the table in the main conference room."

B'Elanna started to cough and Ro stared.  Janeway attempted to look inscrutable.

"With the captain?" Ro blurted.

"I believe that is two questions, Lt. Ro," Seven pointed out.  "It is now my turn."  She squeezed Janeway lightly.  "Kathryn, truth or dare?"

Janeway cleared her throat.  "You've gotten very good at this, very quickly," she complained mildly.  She took a breath.  "Dare."

Seven quirked an eyebrow.  "Kiss me again," she requested. In truth, it was difficult for Janeway to be so demonstrative in front of an audience and it pleased her that her spouse was making the attempt now. Perhaps it was the alcohol the captain had imbibed or the situation, but it seemed she was far more comfortable in the presence of Ro and B'Elanna than with others of the crew.  "As you would in private."

Janeway turned and smiled.  "Gladly," she said and kissed her partner deeply.

"Well, at least someone's having fun with this game," B'Elanna noted, somewhat grudgingly once the couple had parted.

"And on that note, I think it's probably time to turn in," Janeway noted with a smile, as she uncoiled from Seven's arms. Obligingly, the two lieutenants got up themselves and headed for the rear compartment, leaving the captain and the Borg alone for the moment. Seven reached out and put her hand on the smaller woman's arm.

"Kathryn," she asked softly. "Did I embarrass you?"

The captain turned to her, a soft expression on her face. "Not at all, darling," she said in an equally low tone so that her voice would not carry to the other section. She studied Seven closely. "You know that I need to maintain a certain distance from the rest of the crew, but I also realize that sometimes that distance might make it appear to you as if I'm ashamed or embarrassed by how we feel for each other. Trust me, Annika, I do like when I'm able to lower the defenses a little and show others just how much I love you. It's just not something I can do often. Can you understand that?"

Seven nodded. "I do, Kathryn," she said. She moved closer, resting her chin against Janeway's temple. "I'm glad you were able to 'be yourself' tonight. B'Elanna is my friend, and I believe that Ro would like to be our friend as well."

"I think you're right, darling," Janeway agreed quietly. "I do know that there seem to be hidden depths to the good lieutenant the more I get to know her."

"I am not entirely certain why she would dare me to kiss B'Elanna, however," Seven noted with puzzlement.

Janeway took a breath and looked a bit serious. "Now that, I can't answer."

For some reason, Seven thought her spouse was not being entirely forthcoming with her, though she couldn't quite put her finger on exactly why she felt that way.

Ro Laren dropped down the bunk from its bulkhead compartment and tried not to look in the direction of B'Elanna who was staring at her intently.

"Did you have a reason for trying to get Seven to kiss me?"

Ro concentrated intently on making up the bunk. "It was just a stupid game, B'Elanna," she tried. "Don't take it so seriously."

"Oh, I'm not," B'Elanna said. She waited, her arms crossed and Ro hesitated, then finally stopped what she was doing and looked back at the other woman.

"Okay, I admit it. I wanted to see if ... there were any feelings there."

"What?" B'Elanna responded with what seemed honest astonishment. "Why?"

"Honestly, B'Elanna," Ro said unhappily, smoothing out the sheet on the mattress. "Anyone could see you had the hots for Seven."

B'Elanna seemed honestly stricken. "It's not like that, Laren."

The Bajoran turned to face the Klingon, pinning her with a look. "Lie to yourself, if you want," she said. "You can even lie to Seven because I don't think it would occur to her that anyone other than Janeway would fall for her. But I've seen it in your face more than once, and furthermore, the captain saw it, too."

"That was ... it didn't ... I don't ..." B'Elanna tried incoherently.

"Hey," Ro said, not unkindly as she interrupted the stammering Klingon. "I'm not saying that you don't care for me. I know better. I just wanted to see if Seven was completely out of your system." She sighed and finished making up the bunk. "Granted, it was a stupid way to try to find out, and I probably owe you both a big apology for putting you on the spot like that even though that's the whole purpose of the game. However, I think for everyone's sake's, we have to know for sure, Lanna. For your own piece of mind, if nothing else."

"The captain knows?" There was an unsteadiness to the tone.

"Sure," Ro said casually. "She probably figured it out when I did; in that cavern on Meuranato. I could tell every time you looked at Seven. I mean, the captain might have already known by then, but you were really obvious at that point."

"Oh, Kahless," B'Elanna groaned, slumping against the first bunk as Ro pulled down a second and started making that up as well. "She never said anything to me."

"Why would she?" Ro asked logically. "You've never made a play for her wife and Seven's not interested, so it's not like Janeway was ever worried."

"It didn't matter, you know," B'Elanna said, a bit sadly. "Even if she and Janeway had broke up or something, I don't think Seven could ever feel that way about somebody else."

"So you settled for me," Ro finished for her.

B'Elanna stared at her with what seemed honest surprise. "Is that what you think?"

"It's okay," Ro said carefully, even as she knew it wasn't. "I mean, I don't blame you for falling for her. She's got that incredible body and she's brilliant and attractive..."

"And you don't have any of those things?" B'Elanna said pointedly. She started to add something else, stopped, took a deep breath and started again, in a quiet, calm voice. "Laren, you're right, I was attracted to Seven. It would be a lie to say I wasn't. But I didn't fall in love with you because I couldn't have her. I fell in love with you, despite being attracted to her. Once you came into my life, all the feelings that I had for Seven just ... faded away, as if they had never been. It's like they weren't even real. What I feel for you is real."

Ro stared at the sheets she was holding in her hand.

"How can you be sure?"

B'Elanna considered it. "I guess I can't," she said finally, honestly. "Not yet. Anymore than I can know that what you feel for me is the long-lasting kind. It's still too early. But I do love you, Laren."

"I love you, too," Ro said, feeling her throat close up. "But sometimes it's not enough."

"No," B'Elanna agreed. "But sometimes it is." She sighed. "I wish Seven had accepted the dare, now. Maybe that would have proved something to you."

Ro finished making up the second bunk and moved across the room to another. "Maybe. Or maybe I would have been so jealous I would have just made it worse than I'm already making it."

B'Elanna watched her. "You have nothing to be jealous of," she said quietly. "I believe in fidelity above all, Laren. I would never cheat on you or try to be with someone else as long as we're together. I swear that to you, on my honor."

"All right," Ro said. "I believe that you mean it, but I also know that sometimes you can't always control what you feel."

B'Elanna colored, looking angry, but then, with a visible effort, she calmed herself. "I can," she said intently. "I meant what I said, Laren. When I'm with someone, I'm never looking to be with anyone else. It would be wrong."

Ro nodded slowly, picking up on the genuine distress in the Klingon's voice. Obviously, this was very important to her lover. "I'm sorry to have doubted you, Lanna," she said softly. "I was out of line."

"No," B'Elanna replied, equally as soft, moving closer. "I guess we're still getting to know each other. There's bound to be a few bumps between us, but I know we can get by them, if we really want to."

Ro glanced at her. "I really want to."

"I do, too," B'Elanna said, daring to slide her arm around the front of Ro's waist. She pulled the Bajoran against her and Ro did not resist, dropping the bedding and slipping her arms around the smaller woman's neck. They kissed for a few moments, then as the kisses, despite their best efforts, deepened and became passionate, they forced themselves apart.

"Damn," B'Elanna said, resting her proudly ridged forehead on the Bajoran's.

"I know," Ro responded glumly. "Of all the planets, why did this one have to have large, carnivorous dinosaurs on it?"

"We're just lucky, I guess."

Ro grinned crookedly. "I'm impressed. You react so calmly to setbacks lately."

B'Elanna shrugged. "I've been taking more lessons from Tuvok about anger management," she admitted. She paused, frowning briefly. "Though lately, he doesn't seem to be as good as he usually is with his teaching technique."

Ro darted a glance at her. "You've noticed something different with him as well?" she asked anxiously. "That he hasn't been acting the way he normally does?"

B'Elanna looked thoughtful. "No, he hasn't. He's ... I don't know, 'off' a little. I couldn't tell you why I think that, however."

Ro was about to pursue it when Janeway entered the aft compartment. Hastily, the two women let go of one another as the captain smiled faintly.

"Ladies, I appreciate your adherence to duty but the fact is, we are on down time now. Just try to keep it held to a level where it wouldn't be considered ... um, vulgar."

"Yes, Captain," Ro said, blushing.

"Seven has first watch," The captain added, sitting on the side of the bunk opposite where Ro and B'Elanna were and removing her boots and trousers. "We'll rotate through the night, B'Elanna, Ro, and then myself. We need to be ready if there's another visitor. At the first hint of a threat, don't hesitate to lift off and try to find a more appropriate landing site ... assuming there is one."

Without waiting for a response, she lay down in the bunk and stretched out beneath the thin sheet, still wearing her tank top and underwear. Ro and B'Elanna glanced at each other, then, with a sort of rueful expression, they both followed suit.

Ro was conditioned, after long years in a Cardassian internment camp, then at the Starfleet Academy dorms and subsequently, the Maquis, to go to sleep at a moment's notice and to stay asleep even when it was noisy. Which was fortunate because not only did B'Elanna snore ... which Ro had become somewhat accustomed to ... the captain also provided her own contribution to the nocturnal noise, though Janeway's snore was somewhat quieter and more elegant than the Klingon's. Still, the combination required Ro to put a pillow over her ears and burrow into her bunk, attempting to muffle the sound.  She awoke unknown hours later at a touch to her shoulder, opening her eyes to see B'Elanna bent over her.

"Your watch," the Klingon told her softly.

"I'm on it," Ro said and flipped back the sheet, sitting up. B'Elanna reached down and cupped the Bajoran's face, raising it so that she could kiss her deeply. Ro felt a little lightheaded when she finally released her.

"Is that part of your report?" she asked in a very low voice, aware of the other sleepers in the room. The Klingon grinned in the darkness.

"All's quiet except for the banquet going on out there," B'Elanna whispered. "Nothing's paying attention to us at all."

"Just the way I like it," Ro noted, standing up. B'Elanna slipped into the warm space the Bajoran had vacated and Ro saw that Seven was actually slumbering in the bunk where B'Elanna had started out. Ro pulled on her trousers and boots, and then picked up the phaser rifle the Klingon had discarded and moved lithely out into the main cabin.

The blast shield had been raised again and outside, shadows of movement and flickers of various creatures flowed over the carcass. Ro realized that, with creatures this size populating the world, the scavengers had to be pretty voracious as well. Insects just weren't efficient enough to break down an animal so large. The Bajoran had an extremely good view of a large variety of species interacting right in front of her. It was just too bad she didn't have any particular curiousity about biometrics or exobiology beyond what she required for her job. She guessed that Seven was the most likely candidate for having raised the blast shield. The Borg had a keen interest in the sciences that had otherwise been denied her as a drone and she must have spent a fairly entertaining and informative watch observing the display before her.

Ro stifled a sigh and sat down at the helm, running a check. She noted that someone, probably B'Elanna during her watch, had brought down the shields and replaced them with a simple deflector field channeled through the array. It was more than enough to repulse any animal that got too close, just as it did with meteors and dust particles while in space, and it used far less power than did the shields. The Bajoran checked the energy output levels, making sure that they were still at full capacity. The solar panels at the top of the shuttle had stored a sufficient amount of power during their brief period of daylight to run the internal environmental controls all through the night, thus keeping the crew from having to tap into the energy reserves. All in all, they were in pretty good shape.

A movement caught her eye and she looked up, frowning as she watched all the scavengers abruptly scatter, leaving their unexpected banquet in droves. She half rose out of her seat as the carcass seemed to quiver, moving on its own, and her heart rose in her throat as she tried to figure out what was going on.

Then dimly, through the darkness, she saw thick, grey tentacles wrapped around the carnivore's tail, becoming taut as they dragged the body in the general direction of the lake. Ro could not see what the possessor of the tentacles looked like, the massive bands stretching away to disappear into the darkness and mist, but she had a feeling she probably didn't want to. Anything that could drag a thirty-tonne carcass away through sheer, brute force was not anything that she should be trying to get close enough in order to make a clear identification as to its particular classification.

Her heart pounding, her respiration coming hard, Ro settled back in her seat, wondering if she should wake the others. When nothing further happened however, she relaxed marginally, though an image did cross her mind of how she and B'Elanna had blithely strolled along the lakeside the day before in search of water, armed only with hand phasers. They were fortunate that the shuttle's arrival had served to scare most of the local inhabitants away, but now that the various creatures had gotten used to the ship's presence, they were once more returning to the natural process of living, dying, eating and being eaten. No doubt, that food chain would now extend to any puny humanoids strolling about the clearing.

They had been damned lucky.

Ro took a deep breath and ran a pre-flight sequence through her board, disturbed when a series of three red lights came up. She ran it again, then with a muttered curse, turned around and pried open a panel in the deck, looking down at the shuttle's launch relays.

When Captain Janeway appeared a few hours later, Ro had repaired most of what she could reach and was trying to figure out how to handle the rest. The Bajoran shot a glance at the chronometer and realized the other woman had actually awoke early for her watch, possibly because she needed coffee, which she was sipping from a mug as she entered the main cabin.

"This does not look good," Janeway remarked, kneeling by the Bajoran.

"It's not," Ro responded. "The conduit must have ruptured when that thing hit us and slowly leaked out all the plasma through the bottom. Normally, it would be an easy repair but the compartment below is fully contaminated. I've been trying to flush it with radiation, but it's not doing much good."

"Can it be reached any other way?"

"Sure," Ro told her. "Easily. The only problem is, in order to access that compartment from the other side, a person would have to go outside the ship. But unless someone does, the Delta Flyer isn't leaving the ground."

B'Elanna blinked sleepily at the other three women, the early morning sun filtering crimson through the viewports.

"Why wasn't this picked up on the ship diagnostic after we were hit?" she demanded, feeling personally affronted, as if they were blaming her that the ship was not at one hundred percent. Of course, it could be considered my fault, she allowed to herself, feeling a sense of shame. I'm the chief engineer. It's my responsibility to know when things were damaged.

"Because this system is only activated during launch," Ro explained patiently. "No one would catch it until then. But I ran a pre-launch last night and discovered it."

"So we'll have to go outside to fix it," B'Elanna nodded. "Okay, what are we waiting for? I'm sure there isn't another one of those big purple dinosaurs out there. After all, carnivores usually have a specific territory and it would take time before another came along to take ov...." Her voice trailed off as she stared out the front viewport. "What the hell happened to it?"

"Something in the lake apparently dragged it off last night," Janeway said in a voice devoid of inflection.

"Something with tentacles thicker than I care to measure," Ro added. The tall Bajoran shivered slightly and B'Elanna was impressed. Ro was not the sort to be disturbed by a trifling threat. She wasn't even the sort to be disturbed by a large threat. This, apparently, was bigger than that. "I didn't get a look at what they belonged to, but it had absolutely no problem yanking that carcass across the field and into the lake. You can see the drag marks all the way down to the water's edge. And when it showed up? Everything else made immediate plans to be somewhere else."

"So anyone who goes out there might find themselves going the way of the dinosaur?"

"Exactly," Janeway said. "Is there any other way to bypass or repair the system?"

B'Elanna considered it, staring down into the open panel. She could see the glowing green where the plasma had contaminated the area. If that hadn't happened, she could wiggle in there and fix the rupture, but she wasn't small enough to maneuver with a full environmental suit on. Plasma residue was not anything to mess around with. Even a limited exposure did a nasty sort of permanent damage to a body, including a Klingon one.

She shook her head. She would have to access the system from the other end, tap into the undamaged conduit, run a line around the contaminated area, and connect it up on the other side.

"I have to go outside," she said simply, looking directly into the captain's eyes. "There's no other way."

Janeway made a face. "I was afraid you were going to say that," she said. She glanced at Ro and Seven. "Lt. Ro, I want you to monitor us from in here. The second anything larger than a dog appears, activate the phasers. Since we can't have the shields or the deflector array activated while B'Elanna has the inner conduits exposed, Seven, you and I will have to go outside and cover her from that end."

B'Elanna retrieved the tools she would need and put them in a backpack, then nodded at Janeway and Seven who had armed themselves heavily. The women all exchanged glances, and Seven cracked the hatch, going first. The heat and humidity billowed into the cabin, seeming worse than the day before and the Borg dropped lightly to the surface, weapon ready. There was no sign of any threat, and she motioned the others to come through, which Janeway was quick to do, hefting her rifle alertly.

"Hey," Ro muttered, just before B'Elanna was about to exit, "don't get eaten."

"That's reserved for you," the Klingon muttered back with a reckless grin, and jumped down, not waiting to see the Bajoran's reaction to that one.

The grass was spongy beneath her boots and B'Elanna spared a look at the front of the shuttle where deep ruts and stains in the ground indicated where the dinosaur used to lie. She couldn't even imagine the power required to drag a bulk that big ... well she could, but not in a living creature. That sort of power was usually reserved for heavy machinery and industrial strength tractor beams.

"Now is not the time to sightsee, Lieutenant," Janeway reminded her engineer quietly. The woman was tense, her eyes constantly scanning the jungle even as Seven watched the lake.

"Aye, Captain," B'Elanna returned, ducking under the shuttle. She frowned as she saw splashes of purple and blue underneath, fungi which was already growing on the smooth hull despite the seeming lack of any nutrients. Of course, the deflector grid was not set for anything this small, but it did prove how aggressive the lifeforms on this planet were.

She cracked the nearest panel and wormed her way inside the tube, finding the plasma conduit where it ran beneath the main cabin. Carefully avoiding any of the small droplets of plasma residue which had reached this far, she sealed off the conduit and began the bypass. Even working quickly, it took time to go around the area, constructing a solid conduit which would not be jarred loose during the shuttle's flight. As she worked, she wondered how Janeway and Seven were doing outside.

She discovered exactly how when she finally finished up and slithered out, crawling from under the ship to find Janeway and Seven keeping a pack of small, wickedly fast dinosaurs at bay with their phaser rifles. Occasionally, a beam from the shuttle itself would fire, blasting a hole in the turf which would explode with a spray of dirt and grass, but rarely connecting with the incredibly quick, constantly moving pack animals. The creatures displayed a wide range of blue hides with yellowish stripes and if they weren't so obviously deadly, they'd almost be pretty.

"I'm done, Captain," she said softly, ducking against the hull. "Repair is complete."

"Then, let's get the hell inside," Janeway barked tersely.

Cautiously, the three women eased their way back to the hatch which opened at their approach. The small dinosaurs seemed to sense that their prey was getting away and they increased their attack, yelping and snarling as they darted at the women, trying to avoid the constant beam of the captain's weapon, playing over them like a hose and the sharp, precisely aimed bolts from the Borg's rifle. B'Elanna scrambled inside, then reached down and grabbed the captain's arm, yanking her in as well. Seven snapped off a few more shots, then made a leap for the opening.

Both B'Elanna and Janeway grabbed her and pulled her inside, all three collapsing on the deck.

"Seal the hatch, seal it!" Janeway yelped as they saw a growling beast hurtling toward them. There was a clang as it slammed into the panel which had slid smoothly shut and despite the density of the metal, B'Elanna thought she saw a dent appear in it.

"Restore the deflector field," Janeway ordered breathlessly and immediately the howling and yelping grew in intensity as the animals threw themselves recklessly at the sparkling field only to be flung meters away.

"What the hell were those?" B'Elanna asked, lying on the deck as she tried to catch her breath.

"On Earth, they would have been known as velociraptors," Janeway explained as she got to her feet and B'Elanna decided that the captain must have been a bit of a dinosaur buff at one point in her life. The Klingon couldn't even pronounce half these names. "They were reputedly far more vicious than a tyrannosaur and hunted in packs. They possibly displayed a certain amount of intelligence as well."

"They were sentient?" Seven asked keenly.

"Not exactly," Janeway replied. "Just very smart for animals."

"I'll say," Ro noted from the helm. "Look, they're testing the deflector field. Each one picks a different spot and takes a run at it. Maybe I should raise the shields again."

Janeway shook her head as she and Seven huddled next to Ro as the three women studied the creatures. B'Elanna was content to remain on the deck and bring her pounding heart under control.

"Are we leaving now?" the Klingon asked plaintively.

The captain looked back at her and grinned. "That's probably a good idea. We've stirred up the neighborhood enough, I think. Time to find another."

"Is the ion storm still around?" B'Elanna asked as she got to her feet wearily and moved over to the engineering station.

"Yes," Seven reported as she resumed her place at the operations console. "But it does seem to be moving away. Projections have it out of the area in another day, and it will then be safe for the shuttle to return to space."

"Great," B'Elanna mumbled. "What's a couple more days on the Planet from Hell?"

Seven glanced at her curiously. "Are you christening this planet, Lt. Torres?"

The Klingon took a deep breath. "Sure, why not," she said as Ro began the launch sequence. "Let's call it; Hellmouth ... just because everything wants to eat us."

"Hellmouth, it is," the captain agreed as she took a seat at the science station. "It is so logged." B'Elanna was pleased and surprised, always caught off guard by the captain's humor.

"Are we leaving our perimeter equipment?"

"Do you want to go out and get it?" Ro asked, glancing over her shoulder at the Borg and raising an eyebrow. "I'm sure those things will be glad to assist."

Seven stared at her. "You are being facetious," she remarked evenly. She glanced at the captain. "However, we could beam them aboard. Their individual power supplies emanate a distinct signature that makes it easy to get a lock on them. The deflector field does not interfere with the transporter signal the way full shields do."

Janeway considered it, then nodded. "Do it."

There was the hum of the transporter system and a pile of metal rods appeared. Most were bent and ripped apart ... one even had a tooth embedded in it, a large, curving tooth with a serrated edge. B'Elanna had a sudden image of what a body might look like similarly mangled and it was not at all pleasant.

Seven regarded the spindly rods with obvious disappointment. "They are damaged beyond repair." She seemed offended that her idea to retrieve the equipment had offered so little return; far less, in fact, than the energy which had been required to beam them aboard. B'Elanna offered her a sympathetic grin.

"Prepare for launch," Ro said.

"Thrusters at optimum," B'Elanna responded, monitoring the energy flow through the repaired conduit closely.

The shuttle lifted off the ground, the jolt of its motion making them all feel briefly heavy.

"Course, Captain?"

"The nearest desert region, Lieutenant," Janeway remarked. "Try to find an oasis. I'd rather not be without water altogether."

"Understood," the Bajoran responded promptly.

The ship made a gentle turn and flew off, the rising sun at their back. They were not very long into the flight when the shuttle made an abrupt turn to starboard, tilting the shuttle almost to a forty-five degree angle which spilled the captain and B'Elanna out of their seats and onto the hard deck. Seven was able to maintain her seat ... barely ... and she played her hand swiftly across her touch pad even as she clung to her console with the other.

"Sorry," Ro said tersely. "We have incoming."

"Ten, no, twelve airborne lifeforms," Seven reported as B'Elanna and Janeway crawled back into their chairs, bracing as the shuttle took another dive and abrupt turn, this time to port.

"And they're big," Ro added, jaw set, eyes narrowed as she piloted the Delta Flyer clear of the flock of creatures. "I think I know why the dinosaur had its back armored."

"Can you outrun them?" Janeway asked, holding onto her science station and looking a trifle green from all the abrupt maneuvers.

B'Elanna herself, was glad they had all skipped breakfast earlier.

"More power to the thrusters," Ro demanded.

B'Elanna channeled some excess away from the impulse engines that wasn't using any at the moment, and bolstered the atmospheric jets.

"I think we're clear," Ro said after the shuttle straightened out its flight path. "They're keeping pace, but they don't seem to be gaining."

The captain scrambled out of her seat and over to the window, looking out at their attackers.

"Pterodactyls," she said with what seemed delight. "Much larger than I could have imagined. Look at the claws on them."

B'Elanna tried not to roll her eyes.

"You know, flying dinosaurs did not appear until the end of the Cretaceous period," the captain lectured, in full scientist mode. "They were the forerunners of birds and indicated the first decline in the dinosaur's existence." The captain abruptly seemed to realize that she didn't exactly have an appreciative audience, other than Seven who already knew it, and she favored the women with a bit of an exasperated look. "But no, they're not gaining," she added. "I'm sure they'll give up pursuit once they see they can't catch us." She looked out again. "Yes, some of them are already peeling off."

"Now that's a scientific observation I like to hear," B'Elanna muttered in a low voice. But apparently not low enough because, in passing, the captain brushed her hand up the back of the Klingon's head as she returned to her seat. Were it anyone else, B'Elanna might have thought it a deliberate slap across her skull. But the captain would never do that, she thought to herself.

Would she?

The temperature that greeted them upon exiting the shuttle was extremely high, but the air was not as humid as they had experienced previously on the planet. Still, it was of blast furnace intensity and Janeway panted as she jumped down onto the granules of sand, the heat making ripples appear wherever she looked. There was no threat of sweat here, she noted sardonically. Any moisture that her body might have produced evaporated immediately, sucked away by the aridness of the surrounding air. All of them, even B'Elanna, stood a good chance of heat stroke if they were required to perform any sustained form of labor in this environment.

She glanced over at Seven who squinted briefly back in the bright sun, and then motioned with her head toward the small area of vegetation a few meters away. Ro Laren had brought the Delta Flyer down beside a small oasis situated next to a rock outcropping. The plants growing here were spiny and thin, sucking any moisture they could get from the parched earth. Trickling from some unknown source, shadowed by the line of rock overhead, a spring spilt its contents out into a shallow pool which spread a few meters before it was evaporated away by the merciless sun.

Janeway was careful to avoid brushing against any of the cacti as she knelt by the pool, her tricorder humming merrily as it took readings of the liquid, indicating a clean source of drinkable water. She glanced over at Seven who was examining a shimmering blue and yellow lizard perched on a branch of a rather stark and blackened bush.

"No larger lifesigns," the Borg reported when the creature finally spooked and darted down the bush and into a dark hole in the rocks.

"No, this area couldn't support any," Janeway agreed. "Even if a creature could cross the kilometers of desert under that sun to reach this source of water, there would be nothing to eat that would sustain a large bulk for very long." She stood up, looking over the seemingly endless sand and gravel, broken occasionally by rock outcroppings similar to this one, but devoid of vegetation. She wondered if it had once boasted another of the shallow, salty seas that were so numerous on the planet and if so, what had made it dry up? "Hopefully, we will find this area a little more peaceful."

"Yes. It is hot, however." Janeway decided that it must be if her spouse was indicating any kind of discomfort.

"We should get back inside," the captain agreed. "However, I'm pretty sure the temperature will drop considerably once the sun goes down. The land can't retain its heat without cover of vegetation."

Seven nodded and turned around. Together, the two women returned to the shuttle, which rested uneasily on the yellowish desert sand, as if it wasn't sure it wanted to be there. Janeway entered its cool interior with relief and Ro quickly sealed the hatch and decreased the internal temperature a few more degrees.

"Perhaps it would be prudent for us to sleep during the day and move around at night," the Bajoran suggested.

Janeway nodded. "That's not a bad idea, though I would like to have a complete scan run on the mineral deposits in the area, today, particularly with regards to their use for Voyager." She paused, trying not to smile at the expressions of dismay which crossed their faces. Geological surveys, particularly for those not interested in that specific area of science, were tedious in the extreme but then, she had a bit of an ulterior motive behind it. "It occurs to me," she added dryly, "that it could easily be handled by two people. Ro, Torres, I want you to carry out the scans while Seven and I retire for a few hours. We'll relieve you in the afternoon and you two can catch some downtime while we finish the scans."

Their expressions grew confused and Janeway could tell almost exactly what the two women were thinking. The captain couldn't be saying what they thought she was saying, could she? Seven, of course, merely accepted the words at face value and remained impassive.

"Seven," the captain invited evenly. As she turned to head for the rear compartment, her spouse following her obediently, she added. "By the way, to insure that neither group disturbs the other, I'm going to have the aft compartment sealed, so anyone who has to access the head or the replicator, should do it now."

She waited patiently as Ro and B'Elanna swiftly went aft, one to use the bathroom, and the other to replicate some drinks and snacks to hold them through the rest of the day as they carried out their scans. Then the captain sealed the door between the two sections, slumping against it with an audible exhalation of relief, feeling a sense of privacy for the first time in ages. She turned, still leaning against the smooth surface of the bulkhead, regarding her spouse wistfully.

"I am so tired of being without you. I think we're all adult enough to accept that both couples need some time together, apart from the other two."

"I agree," Seven replied, a touch of humor in her tone. "Though I am pleased that you utilized 'Captain's Privilege' to do so first."

Janeway grinned crookedly and accessed the nearest bunk, folding out the narrow shelf and wrestling the mattress off it. She dropped it on the floor before flipping the bunk back into the hull even as Seven did the same on her side before the two found some bedding behind another panel. Together, they made up a double pallet by jamming the two, narrower mattresses together, creating a fairly decent-sized bed for themselves.

"Heavens," Janeway said as she pulled off her tank top, catching a good whiff of herself. "I need a shower. I reek."

Seven took the opportunity to embrace the topless captain. "You smell wonderful," she assured her quietly just before she kissed her.

"Still," Janeway responded, breaking away from the full lips with an effort, the Borg's hands searing her flesh where they touched. "Just give a few minutes, all right? Then you can take a turn."

"Very well," Seven responded, releasing her reluctantly.

Janeway slipped out of her boots, pants and underwear, and padded naked into the small head set to the port side of the shuttle's aft section. The starboard side was where the engines were, taking up a better part of the shuttle's width and it made for cramped conditions in the ensuite. There was only room for a compact waste disposal unit, a small sink and a rather tiny shower. Of course, the captain did not really like the feeling of a sonic shower at the best of times, but she knew that was purely psychological on her part and that the sound waves worked efficiently at removing dirt, dead skin and loose hair. She knew that she was perfectly clean even if she didn't quite feel that way after she stepped out.

She gave way to the Borg and lay down on the pallet, staring idly at the ceiling as she waited for her spouse to finish her ablutions. She realized that it was the first time she had completely relaxed since leaving Voyager a week and a half before and she felt muscles she hadn't even known were tense, unkink slowly.

She closed her eyes and drifted briefly in the sensation of being able to fully stretch out without worrying that she was going to fall off the side. Even the Permunta beds had been unusually narrow for such bulky creatures and she had found out later that the Starfleet crew had been given children's beds because the adult beds were about the size of this entire room. Janeway had a brief flash of her and Seven rolling about in the furs of a full-sized Permuntan bed and she shivered from the sheer thought of it. It was a shame that there had been no opportunity for recreation while they had been on the icy world ... just diplomacy, scientific exchange and some cultural revelations which had left the captain and her astrometrics officer no time for themselves, let alone each other. In fact, for most of their stay, Seven and B'Elanna had been on the other side of the planet, studying Permuntan mining techniques while Janeway and Ro remained in the main city, deep in negotiations for the supplies they needed.

Still, it hadn't been a complete waste of time ... even assuming that any scientific observation could ever be considered a waste ... and right now, there were three extra kilograms of the element Voyager's life support systems used, stored in the Delta Flyer's cargo compartment. Not to mention the new methods of extracting said element from its mineral cocoon that B'Elanna and Seven had learned about while on the planet that could come in handy for the future.

Janeway was dimly aware of a warm body joining her, a lean, lanky form that wrapped around her with absolute heavenly comfort.

"Kathryn," Seven whispered softly into her ear. "Are you falling asleep?"

Janeway groaned. "God, I think so, darling. I'm sorry."

"Do not be," Seven responded, her lips moving soothingly over the captain's forehead. "I am weary as well. Let us nap now and perhaps we shall have time for other things later."

Janeway made a sound of assent and rolled over, nuzzling her face into the Borg's throat, snuggling close in her embrace. Held in the slender, impossibly strong arms of her partner, the captain allowed herself to drift off, feeling safe and warm and loved beyond anything's ability to disturb.

When she woke up, she wasn't entirely sure where she was, even though the body next to her was eminently and joyously familiar. She drew back a little, opening her eyes so that she could look at her spouse. Seven was still asleep, her sandy eyelashes casting soft shadows over her pale cheeks, the grey metal of her cranial implant glinting subtly in the lowered illumination. Blonde hair fell about the narrow features and carefully, Janeway brushed it back, revealing a face that seemed so much younger while lost in sleep than it did the rest of the time. The full lips were parted slightly, the brief flash of white teeth appearing along with the soft pink of the tip of the Borg's tongue.

Janeway smiled, loving her spouse so much and basking in this precious moment of being able to watch her sleep, vulnerable, open, completely trusting that the captain would watch over her and protect her until her slumber was done. Janeway remained still, wanting nothing more than to brush her lips over that smooth brow, trace down the elegant nose, to cover the full lips, but knowing that the second she did, Seven would wake. This vision of what she might have been like had the Borg never taken her, would be gone, hidden behind a cool, competent demeanor that was attractive as well, but far more familiar than this rare glimpse of childlike repose.

Janeway watched intently as Seven woke anyway, perhaps sensing some form of observation or merely detecting a type of tenseness from the captain that simply wasn't there when Janeway was asleep. Seven's face tightened, her eyelids fluttered and she inhaled deeply, making the softest of sounds in her throat. Her embrace strengthened, her arms pulling Janeway closer to her, as if needing the reassurance that her partner was indeed there. But her eyes did not open and the captain wondered if perhaps she would fall back asleep.

"Kathryn?" A mere whisper, just to acknowledge that she knew Janeway was there, and was watching her.

Janeway smiled and brushed her nose along Seven's. "Annika."

"How long have you been awake?"

"Not long," Janeway replied. "Just enough to be able to watch you sleep for awhile. I love watching you sleep, my darling."

There was a minor curve to the Borg's full lips, the bare trace of a smile. "You always have, even when we were not together and I was regenerating."

"Ah, you caught me," Janeway responded, amused.

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "Are we going to make love now?"

"Mmm, I don't know," Janeway said, wiggling a bit closer. "Do you want to?"

"I do not know," Seven said. "I do, yet I am enjoying the pleasure of simply lying here with you."

"That's how I feel," Janeway admitted. She brushed her lips over Seven's. "Perhaps we should just kiss for a while and see how it goes from there."

"Efficient," Seven complimented.

They moved closer until they could kiss without needing to move their heads very much, gentle touches of their lips, moving over each other with the most lazy of pressure and motion. Janeway loved kissing Seven, not only because the Borg did it so incredibly well, but because there was a softness and gentleness there that she had experienced with no one else. Seven always tasted sweet and warm, never unpleasant, which the captain was sure was not entirely true in the reverse. Yet, Seven never complained, or hesitated or indicated anything to the contrary.

Janeway felt the Borg's right hand trail down her back, moving slowly as if afraid she would somehow disturb this intimate moment between them. The captain was acutely aware of the fingertips, so soft, slipping over each minor bump of her spine, and then finding that hollow at the base. Still, their kisses did not intensify, remaining so very, very tender. Carefully the fingertips eased over the swell of Janeway's buttock, to the place beneath where the back of her leg began. There was the gentlest of pressures, a soft urging which Janeway obeyed, slowly sliding her leg up the outside of Seven's, bending her knee until the inside of it was resting comfortably on the Borg's hip.

Janeway's breathing deepened, but the kisses did not alter, no teeth or tongue, just lips, soft and gentle on each other, barely moving, but the captain did whimper a little as she felt Seven slowly slide her hand between them, fingertips tangling briefly in the auburn thatch of triangle, then lower, resting against the top of her crease.

"Annika."

"Shh," Seven soothed, offering more kisses, so very refined and sweet.

Janeway felt the tip of one finger gently ease along the upper ridge of intimate flesh, barely touching and it was so much more powerful than perhaps a different sort of caress would have been at this time. The captain caught her breath, making a sound deep in her throat, but neither of them tried to hurry it or attempted to become more passionate. It was as if they were trying to build a house of cards, each move trembling on the edge of the next, requiring the most delicate of touch to make it work.

The fingertip reached the top of the ridge, then descended into wetness, dipping in briefly before bringing it back up over the swelling nodule. Janeway had never felt so incredibly sensitive, never so aware of every millimeter that such a journey took, back and forth with slow, patient, fondling, alternating strokes along each side, then back down to the pool of wetness that seemed to be spreading as each exquisite second of eternity went by. Janeway's hips began to move, barely perceptible undulations against the fingertip which stroked and stroked, helpless gasps issuing from her lips until she was finally there with a soft cry of release, not an abrupt climax, but rather, a gradual ascent of pleasure until it peaked and slowly, gently. She relaxed in the Borg's embrace, surprised to find herself crying. Janeway hardly ever cried and she was shaken, both by the tears sliding down her cheeks and by how incredibly close she felt to Seven at this moment in time. It was, as if she had been cradled in the Borg's pure emotion, lifted up to shine brightly in the sun, then gradually lowered to the safe haven of loving arms and the most tender of lips.

She didn't say anything. She couldn't. Words would have somehow made it disappear and she desperately did not want this feeling to disappear. So she clung to Seven, her lips pressed tight to hers, breathing in the air that her lover exhaled and wanting nothing more than for this to go on forever.

Seven didn't know how long she held Kathryn, but that was not her concern so much as the tears which were sliding down her partner's face and pooling wetly in the hollow of the Borg's shoulder and neck. She stroked her partner's hair, nuzzling it gently and waited patiently for her partner to compose herself, and perhaps explain what was going on. She thought it a fairly pleasant encounter but apparently Kathryn either found it lacking or derived some meaning from it that the Borg was missing at the moment.

Finally, Kathryn raised her head, resting her forehead against the Borg's, her cheeks wet and cool and Seven had only to reach out with the tip of her tongue to taste the saltiness of them.

"I love you," Janeway whispered huskily. "I always do, but sometimes, something happens and for that instant in time, I have the ability to realize just how very, very much I feel for you."

Seven considered this. "It makes you sad?" she asked quietly, uncertainly.

"No, oh no," Janeway responded. "Far from it. It makes me feel wonderful, exhilarated, so happy and blessed ... so many things and yes, perhaps sad, as well, because the words to express it simply aren't there, they just can't do it justice. This happens at such unexpected times, and rarely when I can give it my full attention but oh, my darling, I love you. I love you so much."

Seven concentrated very hard on comprehending this because she knew that it was very important to her spouse. She did think she could relate to the emotion and how the depth of it had sprung upon Kathryn unexpectedly. It had happened to her many times, but how could she say it in a way that would allow Janeway to realize that?

She hugged her. "I love you, too," she said intently. "I love you with all the words that are beyond love."

Janeway laughed huskily. "Yes," she said, seeming to understand perfectly. "I beyond love you."

Seven smiled and rested her cheek on the top of her partner's auburn hair, sighing softly as she enjoyed the moment of holding her beloved in her arms.

"Hey," Janeway said softly, raising her head so she could look at the Borg. "Are you going back to sleep?"

"I do not require sleep now," Seven responded, somewhat puzzled.

"Then what does my darling require?"

Seven smiled, understanding finally. "I do not require that, not at the moment," she said. She cuddled her closer. "I simply like being with you."

"Hmm, if you're sure," Kathryn said, not sounding completely convinced. "But I bet I could interest you in a back scratch."

Seven raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You would win that wager."

"Good," the captain said. "Roll over."

Obediently, Seven rolled onto her stomach, feeling her partner straddle her, sitting on the Borg's buttocks. The captain's nails ran lusciously over the smooth skin of her back and Seven actually groaned, unusual for the restrained young woman. But she was lost in the sheer pleasure of having her spouse provide this service for her ... and Kathryn had learned to do it so well. Janeway knew exactly how hard to scratch, where to scratch, when to scratch, and how long to scratch. It was pure and utter bliss. Seven knew that this interaction truly proved her spouse's love because she had it on good authority ... well, B'Elanna's authority, at any rate ... that scratching one's back was not something that just anyone would do. It was something that only one who truly loved another would accommodate, particularly if it was done after the lovemaking. Apparently, it was traditional for many lovers, according to B'Elanna, to simply roll over and go to sleep.

Thus, Kathryn proved to be an exemplary spouse in her sense of caring and tenderness ... but, then, Seven had already known that.

Seven moaned again as Janeway began to lightly scratch her ribs, and the captain laughed throatily.

"Honestly darling, I think you like this better than making love."

Seven considered it seriously. "At times, I do.". She paused. "Is that wrong?"

"Not at all, darling," Janeway said softly, bending over to kiss Seven on the shoulder blade. "I love that there's something I can do for you that is so indulgent. Something that you can enjoy for the sheer sake of enjoying it."

Seven wiggled as she felt Janeway's breasts on her back, the nipples prodding into her.

"Please, Kathryn," she requested. "Remain where you are."

"Oh, you like this, too?" Janeway continued to scratch Seven's sides as she settled onto her. The Borg felt the captain brush away the blonde hair and kiss the back of her neck and she shivered pleasurably.

"I believe that you are arousing me."

Janeway chuckled as she nibbled her ear. "Is that wrong?"

Seven purred. "No," she said. "Not at all. Please, continue." A sudden thought struck her. "Do we have time?" she added anxiously.

"All the time you need, my love," Janeway told her with utter seriousness.

Seven relaxed at the reassurance.

Janeway's caresses grew more lingering, gentler as the passes began to include the sides of Seven's breasts, the captain merely running her fingertips over the swells of flesh rather than actually scratching as she did over the ribs and sides. Seven wiggled again, drawing her right leg up, bending the knee so that she was angled slightly sideways. Janeway eased off to that side, concentrating on one hand which traveled slowly over the Borg's torso as she kissed and nibbled the soft skin over Seven's shoulders and spine.

"Do you like this, darling?" she asked huskily.

"Yes," Seven responded softly. "I like how it makes me feel. It pleases me when you touch my back."

"You have a beautiful back," Janeway murmured. "I love touching it."

Seven rested her head on her forearms and closed her eyes, delighting in the sensation of Kathryn's hand on her, the soft weight pressing down on her, the kisses and gentle nips over her flesh. For some reason, she found her back quite sensitive to stimulation and she was glad that, in recent weeks, Janeway had made a point of paying more attention to this area. She quivered as the captain slid her hand over the Borg's buttocks, pausing briefly to grasp a handful and squeeze lovingly before resuming her lazy caress. Seven liked having this area touched as well and it made her rise up slightly, pressing into the fondling. Seven decided that there was a certain vulnerability to this position, unable to see her partner or what she was doing. Instead, she had to place herself completely in Janeway's hands, trust in her utterly and that gave Seven a certain sense of pleasure that another position perhaps could not. She wondered if Janeway felt the same way when the Borg made love to her from behind.

Seven made a soft sound as she felt Kathryn's fingers brush gently over her anus in passing. Another area that was acutely sensitized to her partner's touch, and vulnerable to the captain's attention. Janeway's caresses became more specific, gently touching Seven's intimate flesh, going beneath to slip softly over her little bundle of nerves, then to the opening where moisture gathered, then back to the puckered orifice which she circled tenderly. Janeway did not linger on any one of the areas, trailing between them with maddening slowness, first one, then the other, then the third, not attempting to penetrate or fondle with greater intent. She simply ... teased.

"Oh, Kathryn," Seven moaned. "Please."

"Easy," the captain soothed, her mouth sweet on the Borg's neck. "In time."

In time, Voyager would return to the Alpha Quadrant, Seven thought.

"Kathryn." Her tone was slightly more demanding.

A soft laugh, husky and deep, rushed along Seven's nerves like a flood of warm water. Janeway's fingertips grew a little more localized, intent at each spot, taking the time to rub Seven's nodule carefully, then penetrating slightly into the wetness before withdrawing to prod provocatively at the other entrance.

"Oh, please," Seven moaned, bringing her other knee up under her, arching further into the air. "Kathryn ... please."

"Yes, darling," Janeway promised, rising so that she was kneeling behind the Borg. She placed both hands on the inside of Seven's thighs and spread them apart. Never had Seven felt so open and vulnerable to her partner and she waited breathlessly to see what Janeway would do with such a surrender.

The captain did not disappoint, caressing the Borg's soft cheeks firmly with her palms, trailing down the back of the legs and back up over the hips, around to the stomach to take a pass through the triangle and crease, then back around again. Seven could barely catch her breath, her senses aflame, her body quivering in anticipation. Then amazingly, she felt Janeway's warm breath over the crease between her buttocks and she shuddered.

"Kathryn?" she whispered.

"Shh," Janeway said, using her hands to spread Seven's buttocks apart even further, then the young woman felt the captain's lips moving on her, over the small opening, the tip of her tongue actually reaching out to touch her there.

The Borg was aware that it was her 'pristine' nature that allowed the captain to even consider indulging in something like this, but it was not something Janeway favored and certainly never in this position or from this angle before. It was astounding, and inadvertently, Seven cried out as she felt the softness of her partner's tongue enter her. Then, almost before she had recovered from the pleasurable shock of that, Janeway's fingers were penetrating deeply in the opening below, a wonderful contrast to the tantalizing oral caress of the other orifice. The captain's other hand came up between Seven's legs and began to rub over the slick little nodule, manipulating it with firm pressure.

Somewhere along the line, Seven lost track of herself in all the pleasure and dimly, she was aware that she was keening loudly, something that was not usual for her at all. She generally tended to restrain herself with a more subdued verbal emoting, but this experience had caught her completely by surprise. The sensation overwhelmed her and she tried to muffle most of her cries into the bedding, particularly the final ones when it seemed her whole body would come apart from the intensity of the peak Janeway so lovingly and skillfully brought her to.

She gasped for breath, gradually becoming aware of Janeway pressing down against her back, kissing her neck and cheek.

"It's all right, my darling," the captain assured her. "I'm right here."

"Kathryn," she responded. "That was ... it was ..." She was stymied, unable to form a coherent sentence to express what she had felt.

"I know, love," Janeway told her dryly, amused.

Seven swallowed and rolled over, pulling the captain tightly against her.

"I love you," she whispered intently.

"I love you too, darling," Janeway told her, tangling her fingers in the Borg's hair and holding her head close to hers. "You are so beautiful, so very responsive. I think I owe you an apology."

Seven drew back, looking at her with wide eyes. "Oh, no, Kathryn, that was nothing to be sorry for."

Janeway laughed. "I didn't mean that. I was referring to the fact that I haven't exactly been eager to do it before." She sobered slightly, running her fingertips over Seven's face as her blue-grey eyes searched the pale blue ones intently. "I think I've allowed certain ... personal biases keep me from fully granting you all the pleasure I could. I know that there are reasons for being careful in ordinary circumstances but you, my sweet, are unique in many ways and I need to remember that."

Seven had many responses go through her head, but none that really expressed how she felt so she said nothing. Instead, she kissed Kathryn as deeply and as passionately as she could, wanting to convey in touch, if not in words, just how much her partner meant to her.

It was Janeway who was breathless by the time they parted.

"Oh, my," she said. "But we definitely don't have time now. We need to shower and go relieve B'Elanna and Ro."

"I understand," Seven said, reluctantly letting her go. "Do you wish to go first?"

"I guess I better," Janeway responded. "There's no way the two of us could fit in there and even if we could, sonic showers just aren't the same."

"No," Seven agreed, looking up at her partner as she rolled away and stood up. "They are not."

Her eyes followed the compact form appreciatively into the bathroom, and then she got up herself, uncoiling from the tangled bedding. She stripped the linens from the makeshift pallet, remaking it with fresh sheets, then slid the whole thing over to the corner where it would be out of the way. She did not know for certain if her friends would avail themselves of it, but it would surprise her profoundly if they did not, so she wanted to make sure it would be ready. She also noted a distinct aroma in the air, positive that the captain would not appreciate it lingering.

She went over to the replicator and programmed in a certain neutralizing agent she had discovered when she was researching different ways and places to make love. Hiding the evidence after the fact was apparently an important contribution to the illicitness of the encounter and since she knew part of Janeway's enjoyment came from just that element, she tried to accommodate it.

She sprayed the deadening agent liberally through the room, returning the atmosphere to its regular, faintly metallic scent, and then gathered up the captain's clothes and her own, recycled them and placed the neatly pressed uniform on the table for the captain. Her own, she placed to the side, waiting for the captain to finish her shower and grant the Borg access to it herself.

Though if anyone had asked Seven, the young woman would have stated clearly and for the record that having Kathryn's essence and scent smeared all over her was something that she was never adverse to. In any circumstance.

Ro Laren set up the scan program on the system and waited for B'Elanna to finish her refinements before activating it. She glanced over at the Klingon who was frowning over her board, idly enjoying the view of the proud features of the woman. She was caught by surprise, however, when the dark eyes rose to meet hers and she colored faintly.

"What?" B'Elanna asked, grinning faintly.

"Nothing," Ro said. She hesitated. "I just like looking at you, I guess."

Now it was B'Elanna who was self-conscious and shyly, the Klingon looked away, though using 'shy' and 'Klingon' in the same sentence was not something Ro thought she would ever be considering. It occurred to her that B'Elanna did not consider herself beautiful or physically attractive and that was sad to the Bajoran. She wondered how much of the 'attitude' the other woman liked to display was actually a result of her own insecurities rather than any character trait passed down her maternal lineage.

"I finished the parameters," the younger woman said finally. "You're all ready to go."

"Got it," Ro acknowledged and activated the first series of scans that would go through the area in a specified search grid, seeking out pockets of minerals and elements which could be used in Voyager's systems. Later scans would refine the search parameters even further, creating a detailed and extensive display of the planet's crust within a radius of several hundred kilometers. It was tedious work since it was primarily done by the computer and all the operator had to do was stand by and take note of any irregularities that might crop up. It certainly did not require two people other than the fact that at least, two people could interact with each other while doing it, whereas one person would be completely bored on their own.

B'Elanna glanced back at the sealed door. "Do you really think they're back there ... doing it?"

Ro grinned crookedly. "Maybe they just wanted a little time to themselves, to talk or have lunch together without us intruding."

B'Elanna paused, tilting her head and Ro knew she was listening intently. "I don't hear anything," the Klingon added after a minute.

"Maybe you can't," Ro pointed out logically. "Maybe the bulkhead is too thick."

"Maybe," B'Elanna agreed, not sounding entirely convinced. "Or maybe they're just taking a nap. That is what married people are more apt to do, isn't it?"

Ro grinned. "I thought you were the one who told me that the captain and Seven were ... more 'active' than most people knew."

"I didn't mean all the time," the Klingon pointed out. "Just that they can be, sometimes."

Ro leaned back in her pilot's seat, crossing her arms over her chest. "Do you really think all the romance dies after you're married?" she asked curiously.

B'Elanna linked her hands behind her head and propped her booted feet up on the console, reclining in her seat. "Not the romance necessarily," B'Elanna said thoughtfully. "After all, that stuff Seven did for the captain's birthday was pretty romantic. But I know the sex loses the thrill after awhile."

Ro carefully swallowed a smile. "Oh, really?" she said. She tilted her head. "Now granted, it's not as if I have a lot of long term relationships under my belt ... or any, for that matter, but my understanding is, the longer you know and love someone, the better the sex."

B'Elanna frowned and Ro was struck suddenly by how youthful her companion was. After all, when Ro had been serving on the flagship of the 'Fleet, the USS Enterprise, a young Torres was washing out of Starfleet Academy. The Klingon had been in the Maquis only a year when they had all been transported to the Delta Quadrant. The difference in age was only about five years but sometimes, Ro felt like it was an eternity. It seemed like only now that the Klingon was starting to mature emotionally.

Of course, she was hardly one to make judgements like that, Ro reminded herself sardonically. Considering how long it took for the Bajoran to dull some of the chip she had worn on her shoulder for so long, she shouldn't expect more from the engineer than what B'Elanna was capable of giving.

In fact, wasn't that really why Ro had been fighting the professional expectations Janeway had for her? Feeling pressured to perform before she was ready, even as she suspected that perhaps the captain knew better about her potential than she did? She should try to be a lot easier on B'Elanna when it came to their personal lives.

"I don't think that's true," B'Elanna said, drawing Ro back to the discussion at hand. "After all, every relationship I've ever been in has ... well, got dull after a while."

Ro grinned. "Ah, something to look forward to."

B'Elanna suddenly realized what she had said and flushed. "I don't mean..." she babbled. "Not that you and I would ... I'm sure we would be different."

"I'm sure." She started to laugh at the consternation on her lover's face. "I don't think that you've had the proper sort of relationship to accurately judge, but I'll take your word for it."

"Fine," B'Elanna growled, glowering at the Bajoran which only served to make Ro laugh harder until finally, the Klingon joined in despite herself.

"How's the scan coming?" she said after the laughter had finally died down.

Ro took a quick glance. "Progressing," she said. "It's at 23%. There's a way to go yet. Nothing of particular note to report."

"Let's set up for the second pass," B'Elanna suggested.

The two women worked steadily for the next hour or so, and then activated the second series of scans designed to isolate promising areas and do an in-depth cross section of each one. It was B'Elanna who resumed the conversation.

"Honestly, do you think they're doing it now?"

Ro swallowed a smile. "I'm sure if they are, they would not appreciate us speculating about it."

B'Elanna quirked an eyebrow and looked mischievous. "You never do?"

Ro hesitated, then dipped her head. "I guess so," she said. Her eyes grew a bit distant as certain visualizations abruptly crossed her mind and she blushed. "Prophets, Lanna. Keep your mind on your work." The Klingon just snorted at her which set the Bajoran off and for the next few minutes, the two women laughed helplessly once more. It occured to Ro that she had never been able to laugh so easily with someone before. She wondered if it was significant.

It took an effort for the two women to resume their work as they tried to ignore the mental images generated by what might be going on behind the sealed door. When a completely composed and elegant Captain Janeway, accompanied by her immaculate spouse, made an appearance some time later, both Ro and B'Elanna were able to keep a straight face. But it required that they not look at each other, at all.

"Report," Janeway said, leaning forward on the helm as she looked out the fore viewport at the sun setting crimson and lavender on the horizon.

"We're proceeding with the third level of scans," Ro responded, bringing up the data for her captain. "The second set had certain discrepancies that we thought should be explored closer, but so far, nothing of particular note is apparent."

"What kind of discrepancies, Lieutenant?" Seven asked with interest.

"I don't know," Ro said. "My first guess was that they were caverns or caves, but when the area in question was isolated and magnified, all indication of them would be gone. So I'm beginning to believe that perhaps it's some form of substance in the sand that is distorting the readings."

Janeway glanced at her. "Thank you, Lieutenant," she said with a faint smile. "We'll take it from here. Consider yourselves both off duty for the next few hours."

"Aye, Captain," Ro said, uncoiling from her chair. To the Bajoran's bemusement and the obvious humor of the captain, B'Elanna was already in the aft compartment. Ro felt herself blush as she tried to stroll back with some semblance of dignity.

"I thought you were the eager type," she heard Seven mutter to the captain just as the door sealed behind her. She never did hear the captain's response.

B'Elanna was gleefully stripping off her uniform as the Bajoran entered the room and sealed the door behind her, pausing to watch as the tank top, pants, boots and underwear landed in various parts of the compartment. The Klingon glanced at her, obviously puzzled as Ro continued to stand there.

"Are you waiting for something?"

"You can't be serious," Ro said in a whisper.

"What?"

"B'Elanna, that's the captain out there. I'm not going to ... do anything that she could hear."

"We didn't hear them," B'Elanna pointed out, putting her hands on her hips. Even naked, she looked formidable, a muscular, compact form covered with olive skin. It was a delectable sight but Ro was not prepared to take advantage of it. "What makes you think they'll hear us."

"Maybe they didn't do anything," Ro reminded her. "And if they did, perhaps they are more ... restrained than you could be accused of."

"What are you talking about?"

"Lanna, when you ... reach the Celestial Temple, you're loud enough to wake the dead," Ro said, crossing her arms across her chest.

"The 'Celestial Temple'?"

"You know, when you ... climax. You yell."

"I do not," B'Elanna retorted, greatly offended.

"You do, too. If the portholes in your quarters were constructed of glass, you'd shatter them, every time."

"You're exaggerating," the Klingon said. She frowned. "You're loud, too."

Ro raised an eyebrow. "Certainly not as loud as you are," she noted. "In fact, I hardly make any noise compared to you." She held up her hand. "In any event, that's not the point. It would be humiliating if they heard us. That's too much familiarity between crew and captain. As long as something isn't pointed out, then we can all pretend it doesn't happen."

B'Elanna stared at her. "That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard."

Ro blinked. "It is not. Look, I realize you're not really Starfleet but..." She paused as she realized what had just came out of her mouth.

"Oh, and like you are?" B'Elanna's eyes were stormy. "You're the one who skipped out without resigning, remember?"

Stung, Ro glared at her. "Look, there is a reason that I don't want to do this. If you respected me, you would respect that."

"What, that you're a prude? Face it, Bajorans like sex ... all except for you."

"I like sex," Ro retorted. "But just because I don't want to make an exhibition of myself in front of the captain doesn't make me a prude."

"What even makes you think that she would listen? Even if she could hear us? It's not like you could probably teach her anything!"

Too furious to respond, Ro turned away, staring at the wall. There was a time when she would have continued the argument, even to the point of striking out at random. Over the years, she had learned to take control of her temper, but sometimes it was difficult. There was a silence, before the Bajoran sensed the Klingon moving closer.

"I can't talk to you right now," she said tightly.

"I know," B'Elanna responded in a different tone than what she had been using. "Laren, I'm sorry. I was out of line, especially with the 'Starfleet' crack. I know you're working really hard to get back to where you were. I shouldn't have made fun of that."

Ro swallowed painfully. "I shouldn't have said what I did. You're one of the best engineers I've ever seen, Lanna. Any ship in the 'fleet would be blessed to have you as their chief of engineering. In fact, I think we wouldn't have managed to come this far if it weren't for you."

There was a pause. "Thank you," B'Elanna said, in a even gentler tone. "And I'm really sorry if it seems I'm trying to push you into something that you're not in the mood for. If you don't want to make love, then you're right, we shouldn't. I just ... I guess I thought that's why we came in here, why the captain made sure we had some time together in the first place. It was exciting after being without you for so long and I guess I let my ... hormones get the better of me."

"No, you're right." Ro sighed. "That is probably why Janeway found some time to be with Seven and why she made sure we had some time as well." She turned around, a little startled to discover how close B'Elanna had gotten. The Klingon was a mere whisper away, her body almost, but not quite touching Ro. She took a breath. "I just don't like knowing the intimate details of other people's lives, and I certainly don't want anyone to know mine. I ... I'm a little embarrassed, you know?"

B'Elanna nodded. "I know," she said persuasively. "But Laren, the captain's a woman too. I know it's hard sometimes to separate the two but she does understand why two people would want to be together. I'm not saying she would have been that understanding before she fell in love with Seven ... she really roasted me and Tom one day, as a matter of fact ... but I think she's mellowed a lot by being in a relationship where she knows she's loved. Believe me, she's a pretty passionate woman underneath all that uniform. Sometimes, I think that only Seven is strong enough to handle it."

Ro sighed. "I guess, it's ... it's like finding out your parents ... you know."

"Kahless, thanks for that image," B'Elanna laughed. "Laren, I think Janeway would be disappointed if she thought we wouldn't make love because of her. Especially since she ... uh, arranged it." She had moved to within a millimeter of the Bajoran and Ro could feel her heat radiating through her uniform. She swallowed. Hard.

"Lanna?" Ro whispered.

"Yes, Laren?"

"We need to be very quiet," she pleaded.

"Very, very quiet," B'Elanna agreed, her breath brushing warm over Ro's lips.

"No yelling," Ro demanded.

"Not a peep," B'Elanna promised.

And as the engineer kissed her with passionate intent, Ro felt all her defenses crumble before the loving and most insidious form of the Klingon's arguments to date.

B'Elanna didn't quite understand why Ro was so hesitant, but she did realize that getting angry about it wouldn't solve anything. So she forced herself to apologize even though she thought the Bajoran was being completely unreasonable. She had discovered that the longer she was with the Bajoran, the less she wished to be in any kind of conflict with her and certainly, at the moment, the absolute last thing she wanted to do with the Bajoran was fight. She was gratified to find that once she made the first step, however, then it seemed easier for Ro to apologize in turn and relax a little bit. Nor did Ro push her away when the Klingon kissed her, their lips hesitant at first, gentle, but soon, B'Elanna's passion got the better of her and she ran her hands over Ro's body beneath the tank top, pleased when the other woman offered no further objections.

It wasn't that Ro was less passionate, B'Elanna decided, feeling decidedly ashamed of what she had said earlier. The Bajoran just had a better sense of protocol and presence than the Klingon did and B'Elanna just had to learn to respect it. After all, it only served to keep them both out of trouble in the long run. In fact, once Ro was aroused, it usually took all the Klingon's energy to keep up with her.

And she could tell Ro was starting to become aroused, kissing the Klingon back hard, her breathing increasing correspondingly. The slender arms wrapped around the engineer tightly, her long-fingered hands resting naturally on those muscles at the base of the engineer's spine. B'Elanna tensed in anticipation, feeling the fingertips start to dig into the flesh there, massaging with authority. It made B'Elanna want to growl, to throw the Bajoran onto the deck and ravish her utterly. Instead, she groaned and began to tug at Ro's clothing, wanting her to be as naked as she was at the moment.

Ro stopped her caress to help the Klingon, pulling off the tank top to reveal firm breasts with pinkish nipples, a pronounced ridge radiating briefly upward from the top of each one. These ridges were extremely sensitive, even more so that the small, pink nipples, and B'Elanna dipped her head immediately, dragging her tongue over the ripples, touching each of the four little bumps with each pass. Ro groaned softly and clutched the Klingon's head to her, holding her close as B'Elanna managed to wrestle the Bajoran's uniform trousers down over the other woman's slim hips, letting them fall to the floor where Ro kicked them off, along with her boots, sending them across the room.

Finally it was warm flesh on flesh and B'Elanna moved her hands freely over the Bajoran's legs and hips, pressing her against the metal of the bulkhead.

"Lanna," Ro muttered. "The bed."

"Take too long to get over there," B'Elanna mumbled around the soft swell in her mouth.

"Uh, okay," Ro agreed readily and she put her hands back on the Klingon's spinal base, rubbing it more firmly than before.

B'Elanna cried out softly, and raised her head, capturing Ro's mouth in a searing kiss, replacing her mouth with her palms which she used to cover the Bajoran's breasts, squeezing each handful, feeling nipples and ridges beneath her hands and chafing them almost roughly. They kissed again and B'Elanna dropped her right hand from the breast to the dark triangle of hair, combing through it to reach the four, pronounced ridges between the Bajoran's legs. These were f'lar ridges, the plexus of a Bajoran women's sensuality and B'Elanna rubbed them, feeling how slick they were from the moisture which oozed from the clefts on either side.

Ro tore her mouth away,  groaning loudly at the sensation, apparently no longer concerned if they could be heard or not.

"Use your mouth," she demanded in a harsh whisper.

Obligingly, B'Elanna dropped to her knees and pressed her lips and tongue over the sensitive area, lapping at the wetness, and delighting in the taste and texture of the Bajoran's essence. The tip of her tongue swirling around each individual f'lar, mouthing them with specific intent. Ro's hands tangled in the Klingon's wavy hair, pulling her head tight to her, her hips moving strongly against the oral caress. B'Elanna's tongue darted down to the opening below, feeling it expand and contract with each wave of pleasure and she brought her hand up to press fingers into it, finding them drawn deep into the woman with each powerful pulsation. She wiggled them energetically and brought her mouth back up to the f'lar, sucking hard. Ro's response was immediate and the Bajoran screamed, her head thumping rather soundly into the bulkhead behind her.

B'Elanna, despite her Klingon heritage, winced in sympathy and eased her touch, knowing by this time how long she could caress the intimate recesses of her lover without causing her to pass out. Ro was still weak in the aftermath, leaning against the bulkhead for support, and B'Elanna was forced to hold her up as she got off her knees and slid up the slender form.

"Prophets, you're good at that," Ro growled as she wrapped herself around the Klingon and kissed her fiercely. She bit B'Elanna's bottom lip, hard enough to draw a little blood but no more, and the Klingon was inflamed, shuddering at the taste and minor discomfort.

Ro shifted, turning so that B'Elanna was forced against the bulkhead, never losing the contact with her mouth. Her hands were all over the Klingon, caressing avidly, making love to the woman's body with passionate intent. B'Elanna gasped, trying to catch her breath only to find it captured and controlled by the Bajoran instead, Ro slipping a hand down between her legs where she began to caress the Klingon's clitori, rubbing back and forth between the aching nodules, her fingers growing wet from the moisture the engineer was producing.

"Inside," B'Elanna growled when she was able to free her mouth. "Now."

Ro obeyed, pushing two fingers into the tight channel, curving up to caress the interior firmly. B'Elanna yelped with glee and bent her left knee, raising it to rest on the Bajoran's hip, affording Ro a better angle as the slender woman began to thrust in and out of the Klingon, using her thumb to swipe over the lower, more sensitive nub. The combination of sensation was intense, profound, and B'Elanna cried out, her hips hitting the bulkhead behind her with each forceful penetration by the Bajoran.

"Yes," she howled. "You're doing it ... keep doing it ... keep doing it .... I'm going to .... I'm going to come ... yes ... oh yes .... YESSSSS!!!"

She quivered and shook and still the Bajoran did not stop, evoking even more spasms from deep inside as B'Elanna howled with the intense pleasure of it until finally, she just couldn't respond anymore.

She collapsed in the Bajoran's arms, the slender woman much stronger than she appeared, holding the Klingon up effortlessly. Slowly, B'Elanna became aware of the woman kissing her gently, holding her with protective tenderness and she sighed, finding her lips and kissing her back.

"I love you," she murmured. "So much, Laren."

"I love you, too, Lanna," Ro responded. The Bajoran swallowed. "I think we should move over to the bed."

"After you," B'Elanna responded, still trying to slow her pounding heart. She followed the slender form of her lover over to a pallet which had been made up on the deck in the corner and sank down onto it, grateful to be in the Bajoran's slender arms. Ro drew the sheets up over them and pulled her to the lanky body.

"That was not quiet," she said mildly.

B'Elanna laughed. "I don't suppose it was," she said, arching under Ro's hands as the Bajoran began to caress her again. "I did try, however."

Ro chuckled huskily. "You failed."

B'Elanna merely grinned. "Well, I was just following your lead. That scream could have peeled paint."

Ro frowned suddenly, stopping her caress. "What scream?"

"The scream you don't make whenever you come," B'Elanna assured her just before kissing her. Fortunately, Ro did not seem inclined to pursue it any further and they made love again, slower, hotter, taking their time now that the initial edge had been smoothed off their passion. It was quite a while before B'Elanna found herself lying against Ro, her head resting on the Bajoran's shoulder, her arm draped heavily over the woman's torso, her leg tangled gloriously in hers.

The tip of her tongue prodded gently at the nip in her bottom lip, discovering it only to be a minor sore and she smiled, aware that Ro was forcing herself to be that aggressive just for B'Elanna. It had taken a while before the Bajoran understood that a little blood could be all right, even as B'Elanna made sure she never, ever came close to drawing it with Ro. And in that restraint, the Klingon had found another sort of passion and tenderness than she had experienced before, a deep caring for the other woman that fulfilled her in ways that other relationships had not.

"Hey," she said softly. "Can I ask you something?"

Ro made a small sound of amusement as she lay on he back, her eyes closed. "If you must," she said in a sleepy voice. "Not that I can guarantee a proper response."

"Why are you resisting becoming a bridge officer?" B'Elanna asked.

Ro opened her eyes, though she took another moment to respond. "That's a ... long story."

"I'm willing to listen," B'Elanna said softly, then flushed as she realized why Ro might be reluctant. "And I swear I won't tell anyone else."

"Hmm, well, if you swear," Ro noted dryly. She smiled faintly. "B'Elanna, you know about Garon II and how I left the Enterprise."

B'Elanna raised up on her elbow, looking down at her seriously. "I do. But you had no choice."

"On the contrary, Lanna," Ro said quietly, "I always had a choice. My problem was, I always seemed to choose wrong. I disobeyed orders on an away mission and eight people died. Janeway says that perhaps if I hadn't disobeyed orders, the entire away team might have died but I can't be sure of that. She wasn't there, after all and she might be trying to make me feel better."

B'Elanna paused to consider that. "Janeway doesn't say things just to soothe feelings," she said carefully. "Believe me. I don't think she would be encouraging you to be something she didn't think you were capable of being."

Ro looked unhappy. "Maybe not," she allowed, though she didn't seem entirely convinced.

B'Elanna bent down and kissed her. "Hey, trust me. I know what I'm talking about." She settled onto the Bajoran's chest, looking down at her. "Don't get me wrong, Laren. I'm not saying she wouldn't go out of her way to encourage someone or boost their confidence if she thought they needed it. She did it for me, after all. And let's not forget how she bent over backwards for Seven when she first appeared on the scene."

Ro smiled faintly. "That drove you crazy, I remember. I had never seen anyone so jealous. It was like 'mommy' had a new favorite child. You were just livid."

B'Elanna blinked. "Is that how you saw it?" B'Elanna asked. She paused. "Maybe you're right. Of course, Janeway wasn't exactly maternally motivated, was she?"

Ro grinned faintly. "Once you saw that it was romantic rather than you being replaced as the 'favorite daughter'," she added, "you completely changed your tune about Seven."

The Klingon blushed faintly. "I 'changed my tune' because I finally figured out what was under all that Borgness," she corrected. "And I discovered I liked it, much to my surprise." She eyed her lover narrowly. "Did you change the subject? You haven't finished answering my question."

"I guess I haven't," Ro sighed. She tilted her head, taking a moment to consider her words. "Lanna, when I betrayed Picard, there was no reason for it. Not really. My Starfleet career was finally progressing the way I wanted and yes, I felt a kinship to the Maquis and yes, I felt guilt over not having been a resistance fighter on Bajor, but perhaps the truth is that I was really scared I wouldn't be able to live up to the expectations Picard had of me ... so when I had the opportunity, I bolted."

"You mean, it wasn't the Maquis you were joining as much as it was Starfleet you were trying to leave?"

Ro shook her head. "No," she said, obviously struggling to put her thoughts into words. "Not Starfleet, the Enterprise ... the flagship, the pressure of serving on the best, of having always to live up to standards that seemed impossible yet were met daily by that crew. I just didn't want to fail when I was needed most. Not again."

"I don't think you would have," B'Elanna suggested gently, saddened by the hurt and confusion in the Bajoran's dark eyes. "You would have come through. I think the problem is, you don't give yourself a chance to prove it to yourself." Ro was looking at her intently and the Klingon thought that perhaps the other woman wanted to believe ... she was just afraid to. "Laren, when I first became chief of engineering, I always felt like Janeway was just waiting for me to fail so she could replace me. It took me a long time before I realized what she was actually waiting for, was for me to succeed. Waiting for me to believe in myself as much as she did. She believes in you, Laren."

Ro was silent for a long moment, clearly thinking about B'Elanna's words. "Is it really that simple?"

B'Elanna sighed. "I didn't say it would be simple. Believing in yourself, trusting in your own abilities, isn't easy. In the end, I think it really comes down to taking a leap of faith. It doesn't matter how many people say they believe in you, until you're willing to go that extra distance yourself. Until you make the jump despite your fear, it just can't happen. You won't know when the moment is or what you have to do, only that, when it's all over, you'll look into yourself and realize, you've made it. You finally know exactly what it was you were missing, because all of a sudden, it will be right there."

Ro exhaled slowly. "You sound like you're talking from experience."

"I am," B'Elanna responded. She brushed her fingertips over the Bajoran's cheek. "You won't let Janeway down, Laren."

"No?" Ro managed a brief smile. "I don't think I dare."

B'Elanna grinned in return. "The captain doesn't guess wrong very often. She was right about Seven, wasn't she?"

"She was," Ro allowed finally, pulling the shorter woman closer to herself until the couple were lying together in happy contentment. "Prophets knows, she was definitely right about you. You're smart and capable and wonderful ... I still can't believe it took me so long to see how beautiful you were."

B'Elanna felt the heat rise in her cheeks, bashfully pleased. "I was pretty dense. You were right there all along and instead of seeing you, I kept running around after Tom and Chakotay ... how could I have been so obtuse?"

"That's just the way it goes," Ro said. She quirked an eyebrow. "Ironic, isn't it? Of all the people on the ship, it took Seven the least amount of time to see who was really right for her and to go after that person. Maybe we can learn something from the Borg after all."

B'Elanna's smile at that was interrupted by a big yawn which caused the Bajoran to echo it a second or so later. The two women grinned and blinked sleepily at each other. As passionate as they both were, the afterglow tended to be rather overpowering as well.

"I think I'll take a nap."

"I think so, too," Ro agreed. "Pleasant dreams, Lanna."

"You too, bangwI'."

But before the Bajoran could ask what that word meant, there was a sudden alarm from the fore compartment, and over their comm badges scattered in different parts of the room, the captain's voice called them to battle stations.

Seven glanced over at the captain. "Do you suppose they fight every time?"

Janeway shrugged. "Maybe," she responded absently, not really paying her spouse the attention she perhaps should have been as she ran another scan. Ro had been right, the captain decided. There was an odd little discrepancy in the readings that kept slipping away whenever Janeway tried to pinpoint it. Her partner's words were barely making a dent in her intense scrutiny, her scientific curiosity completely absorbed by the puzzle the scans were presented to her.

"You realize, of course, that if they are so clearly audible, then undoubtedly, we were, as well."

That did get the captain's attention.

"What?" The captain frowned as she raised her head and listened intently. "I don't hear anything."

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "You cannot hear that?" she asked, obviously surprised. Her head tilted as she listened. "I believe they are copulating against the bulkhead." She looked at the captain with that expression on her face that indicated she wished something explained to her. "Why would they disregard the use of a perfectly good bed in order to make love against the wall?"

Janeway opened her mouth, hesitated, and then stared at her partner.  "You can really hear them?"

"Yes," Seven remarked. She paused. "Perhaps it is due to my Borg enhancements."

Janeway eyed her. "Perhaps," she agreed. She took a breath. "Seven, it is not polite to listen when people make love." Suddenly, she winced as a faint howl penetrated the metal thickness of the door and muffled thumps echoed softly into the main cabin. "My god!"

"That was B'Elanna," Seven explained helpfully. "Apparently, she is climaxing ... assuming I can take what she is yelling at face value."

Janeway blushed deep crimson. "I hope to heaven, we weren't that loud."

Seven considered it carefully as another, particularly intense howl penetrated the cabin and completely defeated the sound muting qualities of the bulkhead. "The death scream of a star being sucked into a black hole is not that loud," she informed the captain knowingly. She studied her partner. "Why does this bother you, Kathryn? Particularly since you, yourself, arranged the opportunity for us, and them?"

"Because," Janeway began. She paused, trying to find the words to answer this. "Annika, I don't like other people to know what we do in our private life. And I certainly don't want to know what goes on in their's."

"But most people are aware that we make love," Seven responded, in obvious confusion. "Or certainly would assume it. We are married, after all, and the sexual consummation of such a state is apparently necessary for such a relationship to be valid. Otherwise, we are merely good friends who happen to share quarters. I do not believe anyone judges that to be our true relationship. So the fact that we may or may not have been heard during this particular copulation would merely confirm what B'Elanna and Laren already know. Why are you upset by that?"

Janeway pinched the bridge of her nose with her forefinger and thumb, wondering how she managed to get into conversations like this. She could explain all about sexual taboos to her partner, but she didn't think they'd be on the planet long enough. In fact, they might not even be in the Delta Quadrant long enough.

"I just am, darling," she said finally. "Can you just chalk it up to my being 'Human'?"

Seven stared at her. "Very well. We shall discuss something else." The look in her eyes, however, meant that she was filing it away in her eidetic memory to bring up at another time in the future, probably one night just as the captain was ready to make love or had just finished making love, hoping to get a more comprehensive response from Janeway while all her defenses were nonexistent.

"Kathryn, is making love against the wall better?" Seven asked next, with obvious scientific curiosity. "We have made love in the shower which did require utilizing the nearby bulkhead, but that was due to location. I do not understand why anyone would utilize a wall for support when a bed is only a few feet away."

Janeway searched for a way to answer that. "It's uh, a matter of taste, I think, darling. It can be fun, but it's more a ... well, it's probably a lot more physical than the way we generally make love."

Seven blinked. "We are not physical?"

"Not ... that way," Janeway said. "Not the way Klingons ... or, apparently Bajorans are."

"Explain."

Janeway looked at the young woman who was studying her so intently and stifled a sigh.

"Uh, there's a certain amount of aggression involved with Klingons that you and I simply don't ... indulge in."

"You can be very aggressive, Kathryn," Seven informed her gravely.

"Not like ... that," Janeway said, wishing someone else could explain sexual habits of other species to the Borg. It wasn't as if the captain had any firsthand knowledge of Klingon behavior, in any event. Just what she had heard through rumor and innuendo, most of which was unappealing. She wondered why B'Elanna hadn't been more specific in discussing it with Seven, then realized that Seven might not necessarily have asked the Klingon a question pertaining to it before. Possibly because it would never occur to her to ask until now. "It's a different kind of aggressive, Seven."

"In what way?"

Janeway forced herself not to sigh, though her exhalation of breath was perhaps a bit louder than it had to be. "Sometimes aggressiveness can also be considered ... roughness."

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "Indeed," she said, with great interest. "Define 'roughness' so that I can be sure that what you mean is what I think you mean."

Janeway pursed her lips. "It's different things for different people. For you and me, probably the way Ro and B'Elanna make love would be ... extremely uncomfortable. There would be a certain amount of pain involved."

Seven thought about that. "How do you know?" she asked, frowning. Obviously she didn't like the thought that the other women whom she considered friends, would indulge in the sort of relationship that might include discomfort.

Janeway opened her mouth to respond, hesitated, then frowned. "I guess I don't, really," she admitted. A particularly loud thump shook the vessel and she glanced backward. "But I can make a pretty good guess," she added dryly.

Seven tilted her head. "It merely sounds enthusiastic to me," she reported dispassionately. "They are no longer against the bulkhead, they are now on the bed."  She paused, and regarded her spouse intently. "We are passionate quite often, ourselves, Kathryn. Remember the time we made love in the ensuite and you hit your head on the sink counter? Or the time we utilized the wonder wand while making love on the kitchenette counter and we fell off the other side onto the deck, where you injured your elbow? Or the time we made love in the bathtub and you slipped, inhaling water which required me to administer CPR? Or the time..."

"Enough," Janeway interrupted. "None of that has anything to do with 'rough sex', Annika. That was just us being clumsy."

"Ah," Seven responded. She took a breath. "Perhaps Ro and B'Elanna are merely clumsy while making love as well."

Janeway eyed her for a moment, then nodded. "All right, perhaps they're just clumsy. Any other questions?" Knowing it was a mistake the instant it left her mouth.

"Yes," Seven said brightly. "Did you know there are anatomical genitalia differences between Humans and Klingons and Bajorans?"

Janeway tried to figure out how to answer that without getting into something that was far more complicated than she wanted to get into at the moment.

"Is it relevant?" she returned smartly. "Are you planning to alter your technique in the near future in order to make love to one of those particular species?" She was rather proud of that response, figuring it would flummox the young woman enough to get her out of this one.

Seven stared at her. "You are attempting to divert me," she noted, somewhat flatly.

Caught, Janeway searched for an intelligent, rapier-like reply which would forestall this conversation from deteriorating any further.

"I am not!"

"You are," Seven insisted. "When you do not wish to answer my questions, you attempt to turn the discussion in a direction other than what I wish to speak about. Why do you not wish to discuss this?"

A chirp sounded on the console and the captain turned to it gratefully. "I have another indication of a crevice forming approximately twenty kilometers east from here," she said, deliberately not looking sideways.

Seven hesitated, obviously not satisfied with the termination of this particular discussion, but realizing that perhaps the ship's scans were more important at the moment. She turned her attention to her board ... much to the captain's great relief.

"I see it," the Borg said. "It is as if an empty space opens up in the earth and then is filled in again almost immediately afterward. Perhaps if we increase sensor parameters?"

"Maybe this is some sort of tectonic activity?" Janeway suggested finally after they spent the next half-hour enhancing the scans and pouring over the results. Fortunately, the sounds coming from the rear of the ship seemed to have trailed off and the captain hoped her spouse would not be inspired to ask why.

Seven shook her head, clearly not liking that conclusion. "No," she said. "Certainly the sensors would have detected such a thing and warned us. These appear randomly, first in one place, then in another some distance away."

Janeway frowned, pondering the puzzle. "It also seems to be limited to the areas where the soil is predominantly loose," she said thoughtfully, her eyes studying the scans. "Almost as if..." She caught her breath. "Something's traveling through the earth, Seven," she said, the whole thing becoming frighteningly clear to her suddenly. "Switch the scans to detect biological entities."

Seven spent a few moments doing so as Janeway uneasily tracked the various discrepancies, realizing with trepidation that there were several individual tracks in widely divergent regions, indicating more than one entity. And that they all seemed to tracking in one specific direction ... the oasis where they had landed.

"Recalibrated sensors are detecting large lifeforms moving through the ground," Seven reported finally. "Apparently tunneling on a steady course, a space appearing before the creature before closing up behind them. The geological scans detected the tunnels only when they were moving in areas which do not have a solid content."

"They must also be able to move through clay and rock," Janeway said. "We only picked them up in the sandy areas."

"Now that we have a biological scan running, we can pick them up on a continuous basis."

"Can you determine how many there are?"

Seven keyed in a few more commands. "There are five," she said. She quirked an eyebrow. "They seem to be converging on this particular location."

"That's what I was afraid of," Janeway said. She slapped her comm badge. "This is the captain. All hands to battle stations."

Seven glanced at her as a burst of activity suddenly erupted in the aft compartment.

"You could have informed them that they had time to shower, Kathryn," she suggested gently. "Since you are so concerned with potential embarrassment."

"Embarrassment is the least of our problems, Seven," Janeway barked with sudden alarm, dashing for the front of the shuttle. The latest scan had revealed just how close one of the lifeforms was approaching. It had traveled a ten kilometers in less than five minutes and somehow, she did not think it was stopping by just to be friendly. "Initiating launch sequence."

Seven glanced up as Ro Laren stumbled through the door from the aft compartment, raking her fingers through her hair.

"Captain?"

"We can expect a visitor in approximately three minutes," Janeway explained tersely. "And it's big."

"How big?" Ro responded, reaching over the captain's shoulder. In a lower voice, she added, "I have it, Captain."

Seven saw Janeway hesitate, and then grudgingly give way. The captain was a good pilot but still not as good as the Bajoran who, in recent months, had knocked the rust off skills little used the previous six years. Ro settled down in the pilot's chair, her hands running over the helm as Janeway moved quickly back to the science station where, to Seven's surprise and approval, she strapped in.

"The creature is approximately twenty meters long and ten meters in radius," Janeway reported.

"Is there really a danger here, Captain?" B'Elanna asked, frowning over her engineering console. Seven noted that the Klingon's hair was in considerable disarray while she hadn't quite managed to tuck her tank top into her trousers. One end hung over her hip, giving her a distinctly disheveled appearance.

"They're big and there are five of them heading in this direction, one of which is only a minute away," the captain remarked. "Considering the creatures we've encountered to date on this planet, what would be your opinion, Lieutenant?"

"Ro, get this thing off the ground," B'Elanna ordered. Her lover did her best to comply, the Bajoran's hands flying over the board as the engines powered up.

"The creature will intersect with our position in ten seconds ... five seconds ... four ... three ... two ... one," Seven read off impassively. "Contact."

The shuttle, easing off the ground, suddenly jolted and it shook, a high whine cutting through the air as Ro frantically made adjustments.

"Report!" Janeway yelped, gripping the arms of her seat with white knuckles.

"Something just grabbed our rear port landing strut. Attempting to compensate." Ro keyed in commands. "No response."

"More power to the engines," the captain snapped.

"Doing so," B'Elanna shot back. "Thrusters are overloading. This thing is too strong for them and we can't go to impulse so close to the ground."

"Increase power to deflector array."

"No effect," B'Elanna returned. "Only the hull is covered with the deflector field and apparently whatever it is, is touching only the strut."

"Full shields," Janeway barked.

"It is already inside the shields," Seven said. "They would merely extend around it."

Janeway opened her mouth, hesitated, and finally looked baffled. "Suggestions?"

B'Elanna leaped up from her seat, staggering as she moved across the angled deck to the compartment containing the phaser rifles.

"Shoot it off," she said, tossing one to Seven who was already on her way to the hatch.

The Borg accessed the hatch controls, leaning through the opening as B'Elanna gripped her legs tightly. The creature was wormlike, a dark, brownish color with short tentacles ringing a beaked mouth full of sharp little teeth. Right now, it had its teeth clamped on the landing strut, preventing it from recessing back into the shuttle as its tentacles wrapped around tightly. Obviously, it had a grip on the soil in some fashion, preventing the shuttle from simply lifting it up and out of the ground The Borg thought that possibly it might be a little under stress because its body seemed unduely elongated. Yet, it refused to let go.

She brought the rifle around and attempted to fire, but the angle was not the best and all the ruby beam could find as a target was the armor-like hide of the beast, washing off without effect. She had to find a more vulnerable spot on the creature and she squirmed vigorously, attempting to curl under the shuttle in order to target its head.

But she was too vigorous and suddenly, she was falling, hitting the sand below with a thud as B'Elanna lost her grip on the Borg's legs. Seven's rifle was jarred loose and she scrambled for it, rolling to her feet and bringing it up before her. She froze as she saw the creature abruptly let go of the landing strut, the shuttle shooting directly up into the air as it was suddenly released.

The Borg tilted her head curiously as the creature turned to her, arching higher out of the ground with a throaty gurgle. From the corner of her eye, she was acutely aware of other creatures approaching, sand spraying and humping up, indicating their passage directly for her. She wondered if it was scent that drove them, or simply sound, and whether she had made a distressful one when she hit the ground. Certainly, they seemed far more interested in her than the ascending vessel and it occurred to her that she had provided the perfect distraction to make the creature release the shuttle ... certainly far more efficient than firing the phaser rifle had been.

At the moment, the weapon dangled limply in her hands as she looked up at the creature looming over her, mesmerized by the gaping mouth spreading wide as the hulk began to descend upon her. She had the sudden, incredible thought that, all things considered, being eaten was a most inelegant way to die. However, her accidental tumble had resulted in freeing the shuttle, allowing her crewmates, including her beloved spouse, to reach safety, so she supposed it was a reasonable death, certainly worthy of honor and even a bit of pride.

She straightened perceptibly, determined to face her demise with dignity and presence, looking the creature ... in the gullet, actually, since apparently, it had no eyes. It crashed down towards her and she firmed her jaw, steadfastly determined not to flinch in this, her final moment of existence.

There was a brief disorientation, the sense of being displaced and suddenly, the familiar confines of the shuttle's main cabin was before her. She stepped gracefully down off the transporter dais and glanced over at B'Elanna who was staring at her, wide-eyed, her hands still on the transporter controls.

"A most timely intervention, Lt. Torres," Seven said calmly. She hesitated and added, "Thank you."

She placed the rifle which she still had in her hands back into the weapons compartment and took her place at her ops station. She carefully did not look over at Janeway, not needing to see the captain to know that Kathryn's face would be absolutely still, a rock of composure, but with a subtle tightness to her mouth and eyes, the lines which radiated from each somehow appearing much deeper and more defined. The captain's porcelain skin would also be decided paler than normal.

"Helm, get us out of here," Janeway said in voice that seemed devoid of inflection. Perhaps only Seven's enhanced hearing could have picked up on the tiny quaver underlying it. "Find a landing spot devoid of wildlife. The highest mountain, the poles, one of this planet's moons if need be. Just find us a place without anything that could ... attack us."

"Understood, Captain," Ro said, her voice subdued.

Indeed, it seemed that the ship was unnaturally quiet and Seven decided that her close call must have rattled the other three women more than was visibly apparent. She herself, had a somewhat unfamiliar sensation in the pit of her stomach and it seemed that her fingers were trembling slightly as she ran them over her board. She wondered if this was in relation to her nearness to death and decided that was unlikely, since she had faced many dangerous experiences in her lifetime before and had no reaction at all. She forced herself not to shudder as the image of rows upon rows of tiny sharp teeth set in a round mouth, crossed her mind.

"Seven, I need to see you in the aft compartment," Janeway said in a low voice, releasing her harness and getting out of her seat. "Privately."

"Understood," Seven replied calmly, getting up and following the captain into the rear section of the Delta Flyer. She was aware of B'Elanna and Ro exchanging a look and wondered if they knew what Janeway wished to see her about.

As soon as the door was sealed, Janeway was in her arms, clinging to her tightly and Seven hugged her close, realizing the captain was trembling violently. Perversely, that made Seven feel a great deal better and she nuzzled the top of her partner's head, breathing in the warm fragrance.

"I am undamaged, Kathryn," she said softly. "The situation is over."

Janeway just shook harder for a moment, then finally drew back, staring wildly into the Borg's face, her hands gripping Seven's arms with bruising force.

"Don't! You! Ever! Do! That! Again!" she said, biting each word off with cutting precision.

Seven raised an eyebrow. Since she found it unlikely that she would ever be required to accidentally fall out of a shuttle in order to be threatened with the prompt ingestion by several giant, voracious worms, it did not seem that difficult a request to agree to. It did occur to her, however, that facing her partner's anger was somewhat more jarring than the encounter with the creatures had been.

"I will not, Kathryn," she promised gravely.

Janeway let out a breath that was half sob and she threw herself back into Seven's embrace, talking quickly as if she needed to get it all out before she was unable to speak at all.

"I couldn't get out of the damned harness. I saw you fall and I couldn't do anything and suddenly you were gone and B'Elanna was just staring down and the ship kept rising until we could barely see you and the creatures were coming and their signals were all intersecting yours on the board and I thought you were dead when B'Elanna jumped for the transporter console and beamed you back and you were all right and you were alive and damn it, don't you ever scare me like that again!"

"I will not, Kathryn," Seven repeated dutifully.

Then Janeway was silent, her breath coming in harsh gasps and Seven held her close.

"I do not wish to ever leave you," Seven added, in a much gentler tone.

That's when Janeway started to cry and Seven realized that this was the true reason the captain required privacy. It was one thing for a crewmember to possibly hear the captain and her partner engaged in ... recreational pursuits. It was even another for them to see Janeway lecture her spouse angrily and somewhat illogically on her need to be more prudent in her future actions. But for them to see her break down was completely unacceptable. As the captain buried her face in Seven's black t-shirt, her tears soaking through, the Borg realized that she would have to recycle the shirt before returning to the main cabin so as not to display the copious moisture and mucus now smearing the material.

After several long moments, the sobs slowed and trailed off, even as Seven continued to hug Janeway warmly and stroke the soft, auburn hair. Still, Janeway clung to her, however, and the Borg allowed it, content in this moment of mixed joy and terror that she was loved deeply and without reservation.

Finally, Janeway drew back, looking into the pale blue gaze of her spouse and Seven reached up with her hand, gently using her thumb to wipe the splash of wetness from beneath the reddened eyes. Janeway sniffed, swallowed and made a trembling sound in her throat.

"This is really hard," she said, her tone rusty, as if she had not spoken in decades. "I don't know that I can continue to handle situations like this on a regular basis."

Seven considered it. "It is our life," she said simply after a moment. "Yours and mine. And to a great extent, we are both ... attuned to it. We enjoy it."

"I did not enjoy this."

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "Perhaps not this particular situation, but the adventure, the challenge of being on an alien planet, of conquering threats and obstacles," she pointed out. "Yes, you enjoy it, Kathryn. It is a part of you and thus, part of who I love. And, as time advances, I find that I too, am ... invigorated by it. As are B'Elanna and Laren. We are all of a type. We find such things inviting despite our occasional terrors, which are also a part of the challenge." She paused, studying the eyes, far more grey than blue at the moment, choosing her words with care. "Kathryn, you are reacting with fear at this moment, fear for me and my safety, but I am also aware that there is a part of you that is ... exhilarated by it, by the fact that we are both safe to live another day."

Janeway looked as if she would deny it, then her face smoothed out. "Yes," she admitted and it was a difficult admission, Seven knew. "You're exactly right. But Annika, I don't want to be exhilarated by it. I don't want to want this life."

Seven brushed her lips over the captain's forehead. "I do not believe it is the sort of thing that can be chosen," she said softly. "It simply is and we must adapt."

Janeway closed her eyes and eased back into Seven's arms, resting her cheek on the Borg's upper chest, her ear pressed against the breast bone and the younger woman was aware somehow, that the captain was listening to her spouse's heartbeat, finding solace in it.

Seven smiled faintly. "Survival may be insufficient," she noted dryly. "But it is required for me to continue to love you in a physical state so perhaps I must redefine the phrase somewhat."

Janeway groaned. "You pick the damndest times to try to be funny," she said. She hugged her tighter. "Survival as a concept, may be insufficient, but your survival is absolutely a priority for me."

"As yours is for me," Seven agreed. She bent her head and Janeway obligingly lifted hers, their lips touching softly. "I love you, Kathryn," she murmured quietly after they had parted briefly. "I beyond love you."

"I beyond love you, too, my darling," Janeway responded. She managed a small smile. "And when we get back to Voyager, I am going to show you just how much for the entire two days of our accorded R&R."

Seven smiled. "I shall be sure to eat many vegetables and significant amounts of red meat  for the rest of the away mission," she said. "In order to build up my stamina."

"You do that," Janeway responded, digging her thumb into the Borg's ribs to indicate she knew she was being teased. Seven would have laughed if it were not such a difficult ability for her to muster. Instead, she merely allowed her smile to widen, showing her teeth and her spouse hugged her one last time.

"Let's get back to work," the captain added. "Hopefully, by this time, Ro has found us a nice, quiet, out of the way spot where nothing will try to eat us."

Epilogue

Ro Laren woke up, blinking in the dim illumination of the chief engineer's quarters. Beside her, the warm body of B'Elanna Torres continued to slumber peacefully and Ro swallowed, wondering what it was that disturbed her. Then she realized there was another warm spot, resting heavily on the Bajoran's chest, vibrating subtly. With exquisite care, aware of the sharp little claws so close to her skin, she eased the furry blue ball off her and onto the bed beside her.

Originally, the B'Rethna, B'Elanna's alien pet, which looked like a cross between a kitten and a weasel, had made a point of disappearing whenever the Bajoran came by. Now, however, it seemed that the animal had finally decided that Ro's presence was going to be a regular occurrence and despite its initial, very apparent disdain, it was gradually coming to accept her. The Bajoran couldn't decide if that was advantageous or not, twitching her nose as she stifled a sneeze. If the damned thing was going to start sleeping on her, perhaps she should do something to encourage it back to its previous antipathy. Unfortunately, however, B'Elanna was somewhat smitten with the creature, despite all her efforts to hide such infatuation behind bluster and feigned unconcern for its well-being. In fact, Ro was pretty sure B'Elanna had gotten to the 'love me, love my pet' stage and 'Libby', as it was named ... ironically by Harry Kim though Ro had no idea how that happened ... was very much a part of the package.

She guessed that it was fortunate the rest of the package was so adorable, though she'd never actually say that to B'Elanna, who would no doubt say something quite disagreeable in return. She rolled over and wrapped the compact form up in her arms, cuddling against the warmth and soft skin over firm muscles and heavy bone.

B'Elanna stirred and muttered. "What time is it?"

"0843 hours," Ro responded, closing her eyes. "Good morning."

B'Elanna rolled over and snuggled up to the lanky Bajoran, reaching over to scoop up her fluffy blue pet and setting it on Ro's stomach where she could stroke it. It emanated a solid purr and settled down happily on Ro's belly as the Bajoran resisted the urge to sigh.

"I like this," the Klingon murmured, nuzzling Ro's neck. "I like waking up next to you."

Ro kissed the nearest forehead ridge. "I like waking up with you, too," she allowed. "It's too bad we can't do it more often."

"Maybe we can," B'Elanna suggested.

Ro blinked. "How?"

"I'm going to see if I can switch my shift over to the beta rotation," B'Elanna said. "So we'll both be on duty at the same time rather than always missing each other."

Ro was disturbed. "You can't do that," she said.

"Sure I can," B'Elanna responded. "I'm the head of the department and it doesn't really make any difference when I serve my shift. You, on the other hand, can't pick and choose your shift so, it only makes sense that I do."

"But," Ro began, paused, began again. "It won't be good for your career. There's a reason why the senior staff are tapped for alpha shift duty."

"I know," the Klingon muttered. "But it's not like I'm bucking for promotion, here, Laren, even if that was possible on Voyager." She paused. "I want to be with you."

Ro inhaled slowly. "I want to be with you," she said, acknowledging the depth of that need to herself even if it wasn't openly apparent. "But the captain won't like it. She, like every other captain, prefers command staff to serve when she does."

B'Elanna raised onto an elbow, looking down at the Bajoran with a grin. "I know," she said. "But she'll know why I want to do it and I think she'll want me to be ... comfortable. So she'll approve the shift change ... or even better, switch you back to alpha rotation."

Ro eyed her uncertainly. "I don't know, Lanna," she said. "Chakotay determines the crew rotation."

B'Elanna nodded. "Yeah, but he knows I work better when I'm happy and this will make me happy," she said. "So he'll take it to the captain and she'll decide which will work best, me switching or you. Either way, I'm satisfied with the outcome."

"I have to admit," Ro allowed. "You seem to have covered all the angles."

"Well, if we're going to live together," B'Elanna said, yawning sleepily as she settled back down onto the Bajoran. "I want our duty shifts to be compatible."

The Klingon drifted back to sleep as Ro lay, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling.

Live together?

The End

•  This is the 29th installment of the Just Between series.

• It was posted on Novemeber 19th, 1999.

• The title is provided by Wendy.

• There is a Wonder Wand Warning up for this installment.

• Many thanks go to my beta readers who get hit with these stories way ahead of everyone else and have to button their lips on mailing lists and in message boards when future JB plots are speculated on. Know that I couldn't write this without their very valuable input.

Just Between Truth & Lies
G. L. Dartt

Seven of Nine, USS Voyager's astrometrics officer, returned to the captain's quarters after the traditional, post-class discussion in the messhall, her arms full of padds. It was late, almost midnight and the onset of the gamma shift. As she dropped the stack on her workstation, she became aware that, aside from the Irish Setter, Jake, there were no other lifeforms in the quarters. Frowning, she checked the bedroom and the ensuite, and then lifted her chin slightly.

"Computer, locate Captain Janeway."

"Captain Janeway is in her ready room."

Seven frowned, wondering why her spouse was working so late since the ship was traveling through a relatively quiet area of space. Then, the Borg realized that Kathryn had probably just chosen to spend time in her ready room while Seven had been in class. Though Janeway had always been very encouraging to the young woman in pursuing her studies of Starfleet, Seven thought that perhaps her spouse was finding it difficult to be by herself during those long hours in the evening when the Borg was gone. After all, Janeway was the sort that needed to fill every moment with activity and it was only at Seven's urging that she had learned to slow down a little. With Seven staying even longer in the messhall after class as she became a full participant in the discussions with her classmates, it was possible that Janeway was actually a bit lonely and was trying to channel it into work.

Seven wished she could speak to her friend, Lt. B'Elanna Torres, about it, but the chief engineer had not been available recently. The Klingon had originally attended the classes with Seven, but she had switched over to the beta shift and was now on duty when the classes were held. Seven missed her friend, but she appreciated why the engineer had switched shifts ... that B'Elanna wanted to spend more time with her new lover, Lt. Ro Laren, who also worked the beta shift.

Seven stripped off her biometric suit, showered, brushed out her hair and returned to the bedroom where the empty expanse of the bed waited. She found it unappealing and took a deep breath as a sudden thought struck her.

"Computer, is the captain still in her ready room?"

"Captain Janeway remains in her ready room."

"Is she alone?"

"There are no lifesigns other than Captain Janeway present in the ready room."

Seven considered it for a moment. Could she? Did she dare?

"Computer, seal the door to the ready room, Borg encryption code 75349," she said, reaching over to the night stand by the bed and opening the top drawer where she removed a plain, wooden box. The door command would not hold up to the captain's override of course, but it would keep anyone out of the ready room for the time being and hopefully, no one would question why it was suddenly sealed.

"Door to ready room is secure."

The ship of course, did not require explanations about why something was demanded of it. It would simply do whatever was asked unless it was a request that was directly countermanded by something else in its programming. Apparently, there was nothing that would keep it from sealing the ready room door at the request of the ship's astrometric officer. Seven pulled a brief, black robe on over her nude form and tucked the wooden box under her arm.

"Computer, site to site transport," Seven instructed. "Authorization, Seven, alpha nine. One to beam into the ready room. Place me directly behind the captain's chair."

She felt the mildly disconcerting sensation of dematerialization, and then the silver and teal decor of the captain's inner sanctum appeared around her. Janeway's back was to her, half risen out of her chair, her hands flat on the desk surface. Seven could not see her face, but by the set of the woman's shoulders, she was aware that she had surprised the captain, though whether that was a good thing, remained to be seen.

"I can't believe you did this," Janeway said in a low, dangerous voice, not turning her head.

Seven hesitated, judging which way this would go. Not long ago, the captain had related a fantasy to her spouse, which included the Borg suddenly showing up naked in the ready room, along with the couple's accessory, and involved a sexual encounter on the ready room desk. But fantasies turned into reality were not always appreciated and carefully, Seven reached out to run her fingertips down the back of Janeway's neck, just above the collar of her uniform, stroking lightly.

"Sit," she commanded quietly.

If the captain was prepared to accept this particular foray of Seven's, she would comply with the request. Otherwise, she would turn around to face the Borg and Seven was not completely sure how it would go in that event, but she suspected it wouldn't be pleasant. There was a pause, all the possibilities of how the next few moments would go, poised keenly on a knife's edge for what seemed like an eternity. Then exhaling audibly, Janeway sank back into her chair, her hands still resting limply on the desktop.

"Computer," Janeway said in a voice that was not entirely steady. "Seal the ready room, authorization, Janeway delta blue, three, three, red, seven."

Seven heaved a silent sigh of relief and relaxed marginally. She slipped off her robe and tossed it over the nearby console, before placing the box gently on top of it. Then she leaned over the chair and placed her hands on the captain's shoulders, massaging lightly.

"Seven, we can't---" Janeway began.

"Be silent," Seven said, her eidetic memory replaying the details of the captain's fantasy, determined to make the scenario work even if it was not exactly as Janeway had described. She did know that the captain had envisioned Seven as being very authoritative in her description, demanding rather than requesting.

The young woman heard Janeway swallow then, a convulsive sort of gulp, but the captain did not speak anymore. Seven discovered the emotions flashing through her were quite intriguing. There was something quite thrilling about being able to command the commander, to make demands of the captain and know that she would follow them. She wondered if Janeway was feeling the same way, that no longer being in charge of the situation was providing a sort of illicit pleasure for her?

Seven moved around the chair, finding that the high back made it difficult to access her partner easily. Janeway's smoky blue-grey eyes widened as she finally caught sight of the nude, six-foot form of her partner, but she still did not speak and Seven found that was also exciting in some strange way. She pushed Janeway back from the desk slightly, enough so that she could get between the captain and the furniture, slipping her long leg over her spouse's knees until she was half straddling her. She leaned back against the desk and looked imperiously down at her spouse, who was languidly looking Seven up and down with obvious interest. Deliberately, Seven spread her legs as her buttocks rested on the edge of the desk.

"Use your mouth," she demanded arrogantly. She had heard the same words used in a provocative manner recently while eavesdropping on something that she perhaps should not have been. She had been impressed with the power implied in them and wondered if they would affect Janeway the same way that they had affected her.

Startled, Janeway's eyes rose to meet hers, then, with a quirk of her eyebrow, the captain obligingly leaned forward. Seven jerked involuntarily as she felt the warm breath of her spouse wash over her, but Janeway did not touch her right away, proving that there was still a measure of control in her hands. Seven's grip tightened on the lip of the desk as she waited. After what seemed like an eternity, she felt Janeway's tongue dart out to delicately flick the little bundle of nerves situated at the top of her crease. The Borg closed her eyes, her head going back as she moaned softly, her weight shifting more to her buttocks and off her heels.

Janeway moved closer, hooking her arms under Seven's thighs and lifting them so that the young woman was better angled for the attention she was paying to her. However, this forced the young woman to fall back onto the desktop, barely catching herself on her elbows. Several small items were brushed aside, skidding off the desktop to fall to the carpeted deck with muffled thumps. Fortunately, it did not sound like there was any form of breakage, though Janeway's computer did give an offended chirp as the Borg's hip knocked it over without shutting it down or logging off.

The flat, smooth surface of the desk was hard and cold beneath the small of Seven's back, but the probing tongue of her spouse was so marvelously soft and hot against her intimate region that the Borg did not really notice any discomfort. The caress felt amazingly good, exciting in a way that it normally did not and Seven wondered if it was the location that was providing an additional stimulation. She felt the tip of the captain's tongue swirl firmly around the tender nub which was swollen and achingly sensitive, then arched as Janeway's mouth slipped lower, penetrating her as far as she could manage. Seven shuddered as Janeway then returned to her previous caress, capturing the tiny pearl between her lips and sucking on it gently. Breathing was quickly growing difficult for the Borg and tremors began to make themselves felt as she pressed herself up against the maddening sensations.

"Kathryn," she moaned. "Oh, Kathryn."

Janeway intensified her oral caress, becoming more localized, more deliberate and Seven felt herself reach a peak, spasming beneath the lips of her beloved. Janeway continued to pleasure the Borg, gradually becoming slower, gentler before finally withdrawing, kissing along the tender skin of Seven's inner thigh. Seven took a moment to slow her pounding heart after her partner had released her, and then sat up on the desk to regard Janeway who was looking entirely too smug as she leaned back against her chair, arms crossed, a crooked grin on her softly smeared lips.

Seven shifted her weight to her feet and reached out, grasping the front of Janeway's tunic, pulling her up into her arms. "You," she noted against the lips which still held the young woman's own flavor, "are incorrigible."

Janeway wrapped her arms around the naked Borg, and kissed her back, hard.

"And you my dear, are far too presumptuous to come in here like this," Janeway murmured as soon as they parted. "But I love it. And I love you." She kissed her again, more gently. "Go home. I'll see you in a few minutes."

"No," Seven objected immediately. "I came here with a purpose, and I have yet to carry it out."

"Seven," Janeway began, hesitated, then tried again, in a softer, more amused tone. "Darling, you didn't---"

"Yes," Seven interrupted, reaching past the captain to retrieve the box lying on her robe. "I did bring it."

Janeway stared at it, than at her, a muscle twitching briefly in her jaw. "Annika," she began warningly, "I don't think..."

"Be silent," Seven repeated, leaning forward to punctuate it with as intense a kiss as she could manage while placing the box on the nearby console.

Janeway melted into the Borg's arms and Seven thought that she had won this argument rather handily ... even as she suspected that some of the captain's protests were more for show than anything else. She began to unfasten the captain's tunic, peeling it off Janeway's shoulders and dropping it onto the desk behind her. Then, with a few, quick tugs, she freed Janeway's sweater from where it was tucked into the black trousers, running her hands underneath it and touching warm, soft flesh which made the captain gasp. Seven captured the sound in her throat as they kissed again, exploring her partner's warm mouth with passionate intent, her hands slipping up to cover the soft swells of the captain's breasts, feeling the nipples poking hard against her palms through the thin material of Janeway's undergarment. Carefully, the Borg squeezed the soft handfuls, chafing the little protrusions teasingly, feeling them grow even harder against her skin. Wanting suddenly to taste the firm little points, she pushed the restrictive garments up over Janeway's head and dropped them behind her next to the tunic. Then she fell upon the firm little breasts, covering the near nipple with her lips as she rolled the other between her forefinger and thumb.

"Oh, god, Annika," Janeway moaned, wrapping her arms warmly about the Borg's head, holding her close to her. "Do you know what you do to me?"

Seven was sure she did, and happily continued to do so, alternating back and forth between the velvet-soft nipples with her mouth before she finally trailed up the captain's chest, to her throat and finally to her lips.

"Lay down on the desk," she instructed, once she was able to free her mouth from the captain's hungry kisses.

Janeway hesitated a moment, breathing harshly, then uttered a startled gasp when her partner did not wait. Gently, but firmly Seven positioned Janeway face down on the desktop where, unlike the Borg, the captain's body was protected from the cold surface by the pile of clothing placed there earlier. Because of that, Seven decided that the noise her partner made next was purely from surprise rather than any complaint about the surface she was on. Certainly, the captain did not give voice to any further protests when Seven dropped her hands to the captain's waist, slipping beneath the elasticized band and pushing the uniform trousers down over her hips, leaving Janeway's buttocks hiked high and exposed in the cool air. Seven regarded this tableau for a long moment, intrigued by how appealing it looked, then placed her hands on the full cheeks, massaging each of the soft swells playfully.

The captain groaned loudly, though she was obviously trying to remain quiet, and was forced to bury her face in her arms to muffle any further noise. Seven blinked, realizing that her partner was truly caught up in the fantasy now, completely accepting what her partner was attempting to do. Carefully, the Borg dipped her fingers in the heat and moisture waiting for her ... so much moisture that it was actually spreading down the inside of Kathryn's thighs ... and the captain quivered at her touch. Seven fondled the region thoroughly, impressed by how hard the little nub was beneath her fingertips, Janeway jerking spastically every time she brushed over it. Then Seven's fingers slipped inside the captain with amazing ease and there was another subdued cry from Janeway, a sound of demand and impatience.

The captain swallowed and tried to speak.

"Yes, Kathryn?" Seven inquired, bending over her to hear the hoarse whisper.

"Now," the captain urged. "Please, do it now, Annika. I don't want to wait any longer."

Seven kissed the captain's ear. "Yes, my Kathryn," she promised and Janeway shuddered once more, this time with anticipation. Seven quickly opened the box next to her and withdrew the artificial penile device, using the small remote to adjust the wand's settings so that it resembled the shape, size and coloration approximating the genitalia of the average Terran male. Then she attached it to herself firmly before moving to a position directly behind Janeway.

She wrapped her fingers around the wand in order to guide it to the right place and slowly ran the fat, mushroom head up and down the swollen crease, lubricating it liberally with the copious moisture even as the action further stimulated the captain. Seven never felt in a hurry to do this, always wanting to prolong the actual penetration for as long as possible. The device, when activated, was not merely an inanimate extension of the Borg; it had sensors which returned signals back to where it was attached to Seven's body, making it seem as if the young woman's natural little erection was actually extended to a length of approximately 15 centimeters. The sensation of entering Kathryn was a unique and provocative experience for Seven, the sensation of the warm, wet walls drawing her in served to excite her in a way she did not entirely understand, but always appreciated. She lingered over the process, stroking the captain's intimate flesh with the head lingeringly, making Janeway cry out more than once in her desire and need. Occasionally, Seven wondered if Human males performed in this manner or if they had an entirely different approach to the process.

Finally, the young woman found Janeway's opening and she pressed the tip of her simulated penis against it. There was always a faint resistance at this point, no matter how ready the captain was and Seven had learned to penetrate past it in a way that pleasured Kathryn rather than caused her any discomfort. Then slowly, very slowly, she eased into her partner, the heat and wetness seeming to surround her, squeezing with familiar intimacy. She moaned softly, echoed by Janeway who arched back to meet the slow, steady thrust until finally, Seven was completely buried inside her.

"Oh, Annika," Janeway mumbled, "Oh, darling, can you ... I want to make it a bit larger."

Surprised, Seven quirked an eyebrow and obligingly pressed the tiny remote control into Janeway's hand when she reached back for it.  The captain fumbled with the controls for a moment as Seven remained still within her, then finally returned it to the Borg.  Astounded at the new settings, Seven slowly withdrew, noting that the parameters were significantly larger than what had been used previously, but she accepted that the captain knew what she was doing and what she could accommodate comfortably. It was a bit ... disconcerting however.

"Now, Annika," Janeway demanded.  "Do it."

"Yes, Kathryn," Seven responded obediently, running her hands over the captain's back, down over her buttocks and up her ribs as she pressed into Janeway carefully, then just as slowly, withdrew. She had never made love with the accessory in this position before. It was fascinating to be able to look down and see the artificial penis reappear, particularly in its increased dimensions, glistening from Janeway's moisture, before disappearing again into her partner's body as the Borg thrust her hips forward. Seven found this arousing in some strange way, particularly how Kathryn's buttocks felt against her groin and she leaned over the captain, pressing down on her, her breasts flattening against Janeway's back, the skin velvet against the hard points of her nipples.

"Oh, yes, Annika," Janeway cried softly, huskily, rocking beneath her. "Oh, god ... yes, take me, darling ... faster ... it's so good..."

Seven gradually increased the speed of her motion, tempering it to a steady rhythm as she reached down to the front of her partner, her fingers finding that hard little organ and fondling it as she thrust, making Janeway lurch back against her. Their coupling continued for several delicious moments, encouraged by the increasingly profane, intense urging of the captain, and then abruptly, Janeway was bucking beneath the Borg in that amazing spasm of pleasure and delight that squeezed Seven, milking around her hardness. In that brief instant of her partner's climax, Seven was able to forget that it was a device attached to her, able to believe that it was indeed a natural extension of herself which felt Kathryn drawing her in deeper, triggering the Borg's own spasm of ecstasy.

"Kathryn, oh, Kathryn," Seven breathed, shuddering as the climax overwhelmed her before finally letting her go. She remained over Janeway, her body warming her as they both caught their breath, the Borg nuzzling her spouse lovingly on her neck and cheek.

After a moment or so, she sensed Janeway shifting uncomfortably beneath her and she quickly, but gently withdrew, knowing that Kathryn did not wish the device inside her past a certain point. She used the remote control to detach it and placed both items on the desk before wrapping her arms around Kathryn, gathering her up and pulling her back into the chair where she could curl up on the Borg's lap. Janeway seemed unusually vulnerable at the moment, snuggling in her arms as if seeking comfort, obviously needing to be held and the young woman draped her robe around them, both for warmth and the implied protection, hugging her tightly.

"That was incredible," Janeway said finally, her face pressed against Seven's throat. "But now I have to clean up a bit and get dressed."

"Yes," Seven agreed wryly. "So that you may leave the ready room and return to our quarters for the night where you shall undress again for bed."

The captain chuckled softly. "I don't have a choice, I'm afraid," she said. "People know I'm in here. You can always beam back without anyone being the wiser ... at least, I hope no one finds out you were here."

"I masked the initial transport using Borg encryption codes which I set up some time ago," Seven admitted. "So no one will be aware of it unless they check the transporter record sub-routines. The only person who would do that is Tuvok," Seven noted. She kissed Janeway's temple. "He would be extremely indifferent about the purpose of this even if he speculated about the reasoning behind it."

"Yes," Janeway agreed. "Thank god for Vulcan disinterest in Human romance."

"Did you find this romantic, Kathryn?" Seven asked curiously and, she admitted to herself, somewhat anxiously. "Was it all you anticipated it to be?"

Janeway raised her face, finding Seven's lips and kissing her lovingly. "I'm not sure 'romantic' is the word," she allowed slowly. "But it was incredibly provocative, darling, and amazingly stimulating. I didn't know if the reality of such a fantasy would be as ... acceptable as it was in my imagination, but I find I'm able to trust you in a way I've never trusted anyone else, Annika. I can surrender to you and know that you will never take advantage of it, or me. Thank you for making yet another of my fantasies come true."

"You are welcome," Seven remarked, even as she realized she didn't quite understand all that the captain was referring to. She took a breath. "I should return to our quarters now," she added, releasing her partner reluctantly.

"I think that's probably wise," Janeway agreed as she stood up. "Hmm, I don't think I've ever done anything like this with my boots still on." She started to pull up her pants, colored faintly and glanced at Seven. "Uh..."

Seven was already on her way to the ensuite where she found a few clean cloths, wet them with warm water and returned to the ready room where she handed one to her spouse. As Janeway utilized it, Seven discreetly turned away and straightened out Janeway's sweater and bra, instinctively understanding that the captain would be uncomfortable with Seven watching her wipe away the excess moisture generated by their encounter, though why that was, she wasn't entirely sure. Kathryn being 'Human' again, the Borg decided indulgently.

After drawing on her robe, Seven retrieved the wonder wand, wiping it down with the cloth and replacing it in the box. The device looked a bit forlorn in its velvet cradle now that its task was complete and Seven smiled faintly as she shut the lid. With a certain amount of dismay, she suddenly realized that she had left her communicator in her quarters. Though she could access the computer there without it because the comm system in that area was attuned to her, she could not request transport in the ready room which was set to accept commands of this sort only in the captain's voice.

"Kathryn?" she asked shyly and Janeway who was pulling on her tunic, paused to smile at her.

"Yes, darling?" she asked quizzically.

Seven gestured to her left breast.  "I ... uh, forgot..." she said hesitantly.

The captain laughed. "And I thought you were always prepared," she teased as she came over and attached her own comm badge to Seven's robe. She kissed the Borg sweetly, then tapped the insignia lightly. "Computer, site to site transport, one to beam directly from ready room to the captain's quarters."

The last thing Seven saw was Kathryn's face observing her fondly before being replaced by the familiar bulkheads of their home. Smiling with satisfied contentment, the Borg carried the wonder wand into the ensuite to clean it completely, hoping that the captain would not be very long. She was tired and she could think of nothing better than to wrap herself around Kathryn's warm body as she drifted off to sleep.

Janeway took a deep breath, feeling wicked and wonderfully wanton, wondering how Seven managed to come up with all her various ideas, especially considering the Borg's interest in sexuality hadn't existed until two years earlier. Certainly, Seven's developing desire to experiment was liable to get them both into trouble some day. Fortunately, it was the sort of trouble that Janeway rather enjoyed. Smiling, the captain knelt down and began to pick up all the items her partner had scattered when she had been spread across the desk; the small bronze bust of da Vinci, Janeway's lucky coffee cup which luckily, had landed unscathed, a vase of flowers which had not, spreading its contents over the floor which took a few moments to clean up. Then, there was her computer, which had continued to record the log she had been in the middle of when Seven had so abruptly appeared.

Janeway picked it up, pausing as she regarded the screen, then gingerly touched the replay. The visual display of the log had continued to record even when Seven had knocked it over to the side and from the sideways angle of where it had fallen, it had captured quite a good image of the couple as they made love on the desk. Janeway stared, drymouthed, at the image of her partner's nude form covering her supine partner from behind as she thrust into her with authority, the artificial genitalia clearly visible as it was utilized with tender and efficient skill. The audio was full of the most inelegant, profane remarks from the captain. Janeway was only able to watch and listen to the playback for so long before she had to stop it, profoundly shocked at the sheer vulgarity of her language. Blushing furiously, she carefully removed the log entry past the point Seven had materialized in her ready room and hid the selected cut away in a high-level, classified, for her-eyes-only, high security folder before replacing the computer console on her desk. She should probably erase the file entirely, she thought, but there was a part of her that was titillated at the aspect of having a permanent record of their encounter. She just had to be sure no one else would ever be able to access it. It also made her realize that she and Seven had taken this particular fantasy as absolutely far as it was possible to take it for both their comfort levels. She suspected that she would not need to fantasize about a similiar situation ever again and once more, she gave thanks for finding such a wonderful, adaptable, loving and giving spouse with which to share her life.

There were a few padds that had fallen beneath the desk and she dug those out, and then found a pip embedded in the carpet that she hadn't even realized she was missing. She gingerly picked up the cloths which the couple had used earlier and carried them into the bathroom where she disposed of both before washing her hands and face. Her hair was still slightly disarrayed, but a quick pass with her brush did a presentable job. She reattached her pip and returned to her ready room. After logging off and shutting down her board, she took another quick glance around to make sure she hadn't missed anything. There was a faint aroma in the air which she hoped would dissipate quickly, and a wet spot from the vase still marred the carpet, but otherwise, there was no indication that Voyager's astrometrics officer had so completely and thoroughly ravished the captain on her ready room desk.

Janeway felt the heat rise in her cheeks once more, knowing her color was unnaturally high, so she waited a few more moments, trying to compose herself. The flashbacks of how it had felt to be taken from behind so forcefully continued to dance across her mind and she wondered how long it would be before she would be able to work at her desk with any sort of equanimity at all. Remembering the way the young woman had filled her so deeply, thrusting with firm ability even as her hand played so tenderly with the ridge of flesh between the captain's legs, Janeway felt a responsive throb from the body parts in question. She forced herself to breathe slowly, putting her fingers to her neck where she felt the flutter of a pulse that was going far too fast. It had been tremendously exciting, the Borg so commanding, powerful, and there was a part of Janeway that was wildly attracted to that, even as she knew another part of her would resist strongly if exposed to it for very long.

"Enough," she mumbled out loud, forcing the memories back to where they belonged. She hoped Seven would be still awake when she returned to her quarters. That was the only problem with using the wonder wand, she thought ... it always left her wanting more. She suspected that neither woman would be getting much sleep for the rest of the night. It was just a matter of composing herself enough to walk out through the bridge and into the turbolift without anyone noticing how ... aroused she was.

She took a few more deep breaths, and then unsealed the ready room door, surprised when she also had to get by a Borg encryption code before strolling briskly out onto the bridge.

"Captain," Tuvok said, forestalling her exit as he got to his feet. The Vulcan security chief was manning the conn at the moment and he looked at her expectantly. "May I see you privately?"

Janeway hesitated. "Of course," she said smoothly. "In my re--- in the conference room."

The door slid shut behind them and she turned. For a moment she was shocked, getting her first really good look at the Vulcan under lights which tended to be brighter than the evening watch illumination on the bridge. Tuvok actually looked a bit haggard, weary beyond measure, and there were lines in his face that she had never noticed before.

"My god," she blurted.

He quirked an eyebrow, a faint ghost of his normal, impassive demeanor.

"I was unaware my appearance required the invocation of a deity," he remarked.

"Talk to me, Tuvok," she said seriously. "What's this about?"

He inhaled slowly and she realized just how unusual that was. Then, it came to her in a burst of enlightenment and fear. "It's time, isn't it?" she said, mouth drying. "We need to contact the Doctor."

"No," he said strongly, reaching out to forestall her hand which had raised to touch the comm badge she had forgotten she no longer had. He raised his head, seeking a dignity that he needed more now, than at any other time in his dealings with her. "He can do nothing. We both know it." His eyes demanded her compliance in this and despite the emotion roiling through her, she lowered her hand slowly. "It would be prudent for you to promote Lt. Ro Laren to the alpha shift by the end of the week, and install her as your new chief of security."

She stared at him, then drew away to pace about the room in agitation. "Damn it, Tuvok," she said quietly, almost angrily. "There must be something we can do."

"There is not," he said, his voice carefully controlled. "Captain, we both knew this day would come."

"What about drugs or meditation..." she tried, her mind whirling furiously.

"I have already delayed the onset for almost a year," he explained softly. "I can hold it off no longer. I am formally requesting that I be relieved of my duties. I will brief Lt. Ro and explain her new responsibilities to her as soon as possible."

"Tuvok," she said, stopping to look at him, spreading her hands out in intense plea. "You can't just expect me to accept this without a fight."

He opened his mouth, stopped, then started again. "Captain," he said, in a voice far gentler than she had ever heard from him before. "You may not wish to accept this, you are certainly entitled not to like it, but you must respect this. Not only because of our long friendship, but because it is what it is." His dark gaze pinned her in place. "Not even you can alter nature."

She felt tears sting her eyes and she blinked them back, not wanting them to fall where he could see them.

"There must be another option," she said huskily.

He looked bleak. "Not for me," he said quietly. "Unlike Vorik, who's biological drive could be channeled into an encounter of violence, I am bonded, Captain. The time of Pon farr is upon me and can no longer be denied. I must mate or die, and since my wife remains in the Alpha Quadrant, I must die. Now I will retire to my quarters and seal them in preparation for the inevitable outcome. There is no other choice." He took a step closer, his angular features softening with uncharacteristic affection. "I have, and always shall be your friend, Kathryn Janeway. I have been proud to serve with you. Allow me to meet my end with some semblance of dignity and honor. Do not put me on display in sickbay in a failed attempt to delay the inevitable, do not allow others in the crew to know how ... illogical and emotional the end shall be. Grant me the right to die in peace and isolation."

"Oh, Tuvok," she said. She put her hands on his forearms, knowing he could pick up her emotion through his psychic sensitivity but simply not caring. Now, at least, she wanted him to know how much she loved him. "I'm going to miss you, so much."

He dipped his head in acknowledgment of her statement, the implication that although she hated this with every fiber of her being, she was going to respect his choice. "Thank you, Kathryn," he said. He swallowed. "Regarding my katra..."

"I'll do it," she said immediately, knowing he referred to the Vulcan concept of the soul, his living spirit. Just before death, it was his people's custom to mind-meld with a friend who would be entrusted with the duty of returning it to Vulcan. Janeway felt that it would be the final gesture she could do for him, her heart aching as she contemplated this final act of an honored demise.

Impossibly, he smiled faintly. "You cannot, Kathryn. A Human, without the proper preparation, would be driven mad by the synaptic pattern displacement," he said. "Vorik has agreed to return it to our home. He will monitor my last hours so that he knows when it is ... time. You must arrange to allow his release from his duties at the proper time, as discretely as possible."

"Consider it done," she said. Her eyes searched his face. "Tuvok ... my friend ... how am I going to do this without you?" she whispered.

"You will return to the Alpha Quadrant," he said with surety. "One day. And when my katra is released, know that I will be there with you."

"I have to do something, Tuvok," she insisted weakly.

"You will," he assured her. "You will see that this is handled with respect and decency, just as you have conducted yourself for as long as I have known you. I am relying on you for this."

She stared at him, imprinting his face in her mind. "I ... there's so much I want to say to you," she husked. "Tell you what your friendship has meant to me all these years."

"There is no need," he assured her. "I know. I have always known."

She swallowed. "Seven will be devastated," she said. "She loves you, too."

He nodded. "She is like a daughter to me," he allowed. "I call on you, as her chosen one, to guide her through this difficult time."

She closed her eyes, bending her head. "Damn, Tuvok," she said.

He quirked an eyebrow. "I believe that is a succinct summation of the situation," he noted dryly. He paused. "Captain, it would be wise to restrict your site-to-site transports once I am gone," he added. "Ro Laren may not be as ... understanding or as discrete as I am."

His dry humor made her laugh, and then cry because he had always make her laugh so easily. Despite the fact he was Vulcan, and all the protocols which had been established over two centuries between their peoples, she hugged him tightly. He allowed it and even put his arms gingerly around her, hugging her back.

"Good night, Captain," he said softly.

Janeway nodded, biting her bottom lip as he carefully released her and left the conference room. Once he was gone, she covered her face with her hands and made a concentrated effort to center herself, even as her mind darted desperately from one idea to another, trying to find a way around this, attempting to come up with a way to fix it.

Except she couldn't. This was not something she could conquer or defeat. And if she tried, the chances were that not only would she fail miserably, she would end up denying Tuvok his final wish of dying with dignity. She owed him far better than that.

She took a breath and straightened, bringing the command mask down over her features through sheer willpower. As she left the conference room and moved quickly through the bridge, she noticed that Tuvok had already left, turning over command to his replacement, Lt. Harry Kim. The young man nodded at the captain, a bit of surprise in his eyes that she was still on duty, but he did not speak to her as she entered the turbolift and instructed it to take her to deck three. As it descended, she tried to come up with a way to tell Seven in a way that would not hurt the young woman any more than she absolutely had to. It was futile, however.

This is such a difficult thing to have to break to her, the captain thought, her heart hurting in her chest. How can I possibly tell her that the man she considers her surrogate father is going to die? She took a deep breath as she exited the lift, walking purposefully down the corridor to her quarters.

Inside, she patted Jake who greeted her with a sloppy swipe of his tongue, and then went into the bedroom where she found her partner curled up in the bed, apparently asleep. She looked like a rather self-satisfied angel with her hands tucked neatly in a prayer position beneath her cheek. Janeway knew she was not about to disturb such peace with her news so she went into the ensuite, moving as quietly as she could as she stripped off her uniform, removed her pips and insignia, and then tossed the clothing in the recycler. The fresh uniform was placed carefully on the sink counter for morning.

She cleaned her teeth, ran the brush through her hair, and left the bathroom. The slender arms that automatically went around her as soon as she crawled into bed were like a shelter in the coldest of nights, and gratefully, Janeway turned into the embrace, pressing her face against her partner's throat. She should tell her now, she thought.

She couldn't.

"Hold me," she whispered urgently. "Please, hold me tight, darling."

Seven obligingly hugged her spouse close, somehow understanding in that mysterious way of hers that Janeway was upset, but sensing that now was simply not the time to ask why. And because of that, Janeway was able to bury her tears in the crook of her spouse's neck and feel some measure of comfort in the loving embrace, though she knew it was only a temporary haven.

B'Elanna Torres lay on her back in the middle of her bed, looking up at her lover who undulated forcefully against her, feeling the wetness of the Bajoran's desire spread over her. Ro Laren was slender, dark of eyes and hair, a crinkled ridge at the bridge of her nose which denoted her Bajoran heritage. Her trim body was firm and flexible, her skin gleaming golden with perspiration in the lowered illumination as she moved and B'Elanna was mesmerized by her untamed, unrestrained beauty. Other anatomical differences of the woman's body, also indicative of the woman's species, beckoned to the Klingon and B'Elanna reached up, covering the small, firm breasts, stroking her fingers over the ripples which radiated from the pinkish nipples. Ro gasped and moaned, quivering as she dragged her f'lar ridges over the coarse hair of B'Elanna's triangle in a steady rocking motion, stimulating herself even as she supported her weight on her hands, which were placed over the Klingon's generous chest. B'Elanna arched, pushing her pelvis harder against the moist flesh of the Bajoran, feeling vaguely pinned down in this position, but in the most pleasant of ways, so she was able to restrain her urge to fight it.

Instead, she grinned, lips drawing back over her slightly pointed teeth, eyes fixated on the other woman as she strived for her climax. Ro cried out, arching abruptly as her head went back and her hands squeezed B'Elanna's full breasts almost painfully, the sudden rush of moisture dampening the Klingon's groin and sending a pleasant chill through her. B'Elanna had peaked earlier, of course, but watching her lover reach orgasm served to arouse her once more. As Ro slumped onto her, B'Elanna took the Bajoran's hand and guided it down between her legs.

Ro laughed and kissed her passionately, obligingly rubbing hard with her fingers over B'Elanna's dual clitori, moving back and forth between them, quickly bringing the Klingon to a lusty, and loud climax, her fourth in the past hour. Finally, both women lay in a sated tangle, arms and legs entwined, the Bajoran's head resting on B'Elanna's shoulder.

The chief engineer swallowed and reached up, stroking the short dark hair of her companion lovingly.

"Anyone ever tell you how damned good you are at this?" she murmured huskily.

Ro nuzzled the Klingon's jaw. "I've had no complaints," she responded dryly. "You're pretty terrific yourself, you know."

"I want to do this every day," B'Elanna said, smiling.

"We already do it everyday," Ro pointed out. "Several times a day, as a matter of fact."

"I thought..." B'Elanna began, hesitated and trailed off.

"What?" Ro rose up on her elbow, looking down at the Klingon with a faint smile.

"I thought," B'Elanna tried again, slowly. "That it would start getting ... repetitive by now. It's not. I want you now more than ever."

"You just haven't had the right lover before," Ro told her, rubbing her hand over B'Elanna's muscular stomach. The Bajoran eyed her. "Besides, I'm making up for lost time so I have a lot of ... variety to offer at the moment."

B'Elanna laughed. "I suppose you do," she said, remembering that the Bajoran had not allowed anyone close to her for the past six years, and possibly even longer than that. In fact, Ro Laren had not even revealed herself as a prior Starfleet officer off the USS Enterprise until only a few months earlier. B'Elanna wondered if Ro's status had really made so much of a difference, and then decided it must. Even though Ro had been in the Maquis with the engineer and they had served on the same ship for years, she hadn't really taken notice of the Bajoran until her true identity was revealed. B'Elanna now knew she was completely in love with her.

She reached up, touching the Bajoran's cheek, feeling a sudden rush of tenderness. "I am so crazy about you," she said softly.

Ro quirked an eyebrow. "I'm glad," she said. "Because I'm pretty crazy about you, too." She bent down and covered the Klingon's mouth with her own, kissing her deeply. "Now, however, I need to slip back to my quarters and get ready for my shift," she added quietly against the other woman's lips.

B'Elanna slipped her arms around the Bajoran. "No," she whispered. "Stay here."

Ro bit lightly at the Klingon's lower lip. "I can't," she said with regret. "All my work padds are there." She grinned. "You know I would never be able to get any work done when I'm visiting you."

B'Elanna took a breath. "You would if you lived here," she said. She looked directly into the Bajoran's dark eyes. "Move in with me. These are far better quarters than the ones you have and frankly, I think I'm a little better roommate than Dorado is."

Ro pulled back a little, her face sobering. "That's a pretty big step, Lanna," she said softly, leaning back against the pillows. "This wouldn't be a matter of just changing roommates." She paused. "I'm not in love with Dorado, after all."

B'Elanna took a breath, feeling quite vulnerable at the moment though she tried to cover it up with humor. "I should hope not," she said. She rested her head on her hand, propped up by her elbow as she rolled to face the other woman. "We already spend as much off duty time together as we can. By sharing quarters, you won't have to keep going back to change or pick up personal items." She paused. "I guess I don't see what the difference would be other than it would be more convenient."

Ro brought her hand up to her face, rubbing the ridges at the bridge of her nose. "I think you know better than that," she said in a low voice. "It means making a real commitment between us."

B'Elanna felt her heart twinge. "And you're not ready for a commitment," she said evenly, hiding her hurt.

"No, I'm not," Ro said honestly. She brought her hand down and looked at B'Elanna, her eyes softening perceptibly. "And frankly, I don't think you are, either. We've been together such a short time and I think you're getting caught up in the whole 'new love' stage of things. Yes, I want to be with you, all the time. But I don't want to move in here, if three months down the road, I only have to move out. That's not good for you, that's not good for me, and it doesn't do the ship much good either. You know what it's like when things don't work out, B'Elanna. The ship's community is so small, we're in such close quarters here on the lower decks, that any little thing can disrupt the whole atmosphere."

B'Elanna controlled her temper with an effort. "This is not spur of the moment for me," she responded coolly. "I've thought about it a lot. And it's not something I just ask anyone. Kahless, you didn't see Tom or Chakotay moving in here, or me with them, did you?"

Ro stared at her. "No," she said softly, after a moment's consideration. "I didn't. I'm sorry if I thought you were taking it lightly, B'Elanna. That was an assumption I shouldn't have made. But I also know that I'm not ready for this step." She paused, sighing softly. " I'm not trying to hurt you," she added gently. "I'm just trying to be as honest as I can with you. I don't want to lie to you, even if I think telling you the truth might not be what you want to hear."

B'Elanna nodded, not happy, but acknowledging the Bajoran's words. "Okay," she said, trying for a casual tone she didn't feel. "I respect that and I appreciate your honesty. The offer's on the table. You know where I live."

Ro studied her for a few minutes more, then leaned over and kissed her. "I have to go," she said. "I'm sorry."

B'Elanna forced a smile. "Will you come by after your duty shift?" she asked.

"I'll try," Ro promised, rolling out of bed and bending over to scoop up her clothes which had been hastily discarded the night before. She dressed quickly as B'Elanna watched, and then favored the Klingon with a parting smile before exiting.

The engineer lay in bed a while longer, feeling abandoned and annoyed even as she realized that Ro was doing her best to be completely honest in the relationship. But what happened when they didn't agree on what the next step for the couple was? B'Elanna wanted Ro to be there every evening when she went to sleep, be there every day when she got up, and most certainly to be there when she reached out in the night, at anytime in between. Obviously, Ro didn't feel that way, or if she did, she wasn't yet ready to act on it.

B'Elanna guessed she was just going to have to live with that fact.

Sighing softly, she got up and gathered up the clothes she had left on the floor from the night before, tossing them into the recycler. She quickly made up the bed, then padded naked into the ensuite where she took a quick sonic shower. She took a few moments more to brush out her hair, which she had allowed to go back to a natural Klingon waviness rather than the curled, smooth bob that she had forced it into most of her time on Voyager, and returned to the main living area where she moved over to the replicator.

She materialized a new uniform, dressed quickly and left her quarters, supposing that she should stop by the messhall and have something to eat before her shift, even though she didn't feel particularly hungry. She discovered that the messhall was crowded this time of afternoon, with other people preparing for the beta shift by grabbing an early meal while some of the alpha shift crew who were working extra duty, were having a dinner break.

She nodded at the people she knew well, grabbed some alien fruit from the counter and keyed the large replicator to make herself some soup. She found an empty table off in the corner and started to eat, intending to finish her meal quickly and get to engineering. A shadow fell over her table ten minutes later and she glanced up, annoyance seeping through her as the fair-haired helmsman, Tom Paris dropped into the chair opposite her, placing his tray on the table.

"You don't mind, do you?" he said, picking up his fork and poking at his casserole. "It's pretty crowded."

She took a breath. "Not at all," she said, lying through her teeth. She reminded herself that they were both professionals and even if they had once shared a romantic alliance which had ended badly, there was no point in creating a scene over it. And she allowed that the messhall was very busy at the moment, with seats being in short supply.

They ate in silence for a few moments before Tom looked at her from beneath lowered eyes.

"Uh, B'Elanna," he said. "Can I tell you something?"

"If you must," the Klingon said shortly, concentrating on her soup.

His smile was bittersweet. "I just wanted to say that, I hope you and Ro ... well, work out a lot better than you and I did," he said quietly. "I wish you all the best."

She stopped her motion, her spoon midway between her soup and her mouth, staring at him in astonishment. "What?"

He flushed, his fair skin glowing ruddy. "I know that we had a lot of problems," he said, his pale blue eyes intent and sincere. "And that I caused a lot of them ... I wanted to you to know that I feel badly about that. I think you and Ro make a really good couple and I suspect you'll be a lot happier with her than you ever were with me. No matter what else has gone on, I do want you to be happy, B'Elanna."

She took a deep breath, trying to absorb this as she lowered her utensil back to the bowl. "Well, maybe it wasn't all your fault," she allowed grudgingly after a few moments. She toyed with her spoon uncomfortably. "The truth is, I'm not the easiest person to be with." She paused. "I know that when I was with you, I tried too hard to be something I wasn't. That wasn't fair to either of us."

He sighed. "I never meant to make you into something you weren't, B'Elanna," he said sadly. "I'm sorry if you felt you couldn't be yourself with me."

She reached over and covered his hand with her own. "Tom, it was my choice," she said seriously. "I wanted to blame you at the time, but honestly, it was my own doing. It's up to me to find my own path ... not let myself think other people have better ones for me to follow." She sighed. "It wasn't all bad times, you know. There were some good ones, too and maybe in the end, it was just a matter of it being a relationship that happened at the wrong time in our lives."

He nodded. "Maybe you're right." He hesitated. "Yet, I look at Harry and I see all he has now, with Megan and his son, and I think, you and I could have had that. If only I had tried harder, had been a little more attentive, had known what really mattered the most." He paused, obviously looking for the right words. "I know that what I did with Jennifer hurt you deeply and I regret that. But I've also come to understand that you might have been able to forgive it if only I hadn't done so many other stupid things in our relationship. All those obsessions with cars and ships, the way I always took you for granted, the times when you needed me and I wasn't there for you ... all that gave you nothing to believe in when I screwed up for the last time. You had nothing to fall back on when you searched for a reason to give me a second chance. You could only find that I had used up countless second chances already." His eyes met hers. "I'm sorry," he added simply.

She nodded, not knowing if she entirely agreed with his assessment of the situation, but not prepared to argue about it, either. "I am, too," she said. She took a breath. "I wish you all the best, too, Tom. I really hope you find someone who can love all the things you love, so maybe the two of you can share in them rather than feel left out by them."

"Maybe I'll get that lucky," he said, regarding her with an expression of mingled regret and tenderness. "Take care of yourself, B'Elanna. Be happy. And maybe one day, we'll even be able to be friends again."

She smiled faintly. "Maybe," she allowed. She looked down at her unfinished soup. "I have to go. I have duty now."

She scooped up her tray and carried it over to the disposal slot, dumping it all into the recycling unit where everything would be broken down into its component elements and reused as needed. Then she exited the messhall, feeling a trifle confused by the conversation and wondering what had possessed the helmsman to approach her like that. Of course, she allowed to herself, maybe she was finally at a place where he could, and somehow he recognized that. After all, before there would have been a good chance of his getting a slap across the head if he said something that triggered her contrary nature.

Shaking her head, she crossed her arms over her chest and waited for the turbolift to carry her down to engineering, interrupting the descent when a call came in for her from the bridge.

Seven of Nine stepped briskly onto the bridge and took a station at the aft tactical console directly behind the command level. Neither the captain nor Commander Chakotay, Voyager's first officer, looked back to acknowledge her presence, but Seven was sure Janeway knew she was there. As the Borg keyed in her commands, she kept sneaking looks at her partner who was moving energetically about the bridge, wondering what was going on. She had not asked why Janeway had come to bed so upset the night before, aware somehow that it was one of those things that her spouse would tell her when she was able. Now she wondered if perhaps it had something to do with the staff meeting held earlier in the afternoon. The captain had informed her command crew that they would be seeking traces of Borg transwarp conduits for the next few days, though she wasn't yet prepared to explain why to the rest of the crew.

Seven did not know why, either, but she had an uncomfortable feeling that Janeway was preparing to steal another warp coil from the Borg. Considering how their first attempt went, she was surprised the captain would try it again, and could not come to a conclusion on what might be motivating this sudden initiative. However, Seven had obediently spent most of the alpha shift, seeking traces of transwarp conduits and was now working into the beta shift, attempting to enhance the sensors through the navigational array.

She glanced up as B'Elanna entered the bridge, the engineer having been summoned to report there once her duty shift began. The Klingon shot a glance at Seven, an inquiring look, but the Borg shook her head slightly to indicate her ignorance. B'Elanna narrowed her eyes and moved over to where the captain was, leaning over Susan Nicoletti at the engineering station. Nicoletti obligingly got out of the way, relinquishing her post to the chief engineer and headed for the turbolift to serve out the rest of her duties in engineering.

Seven tilted her head, carefully tuning her Borg-enhanced hearing to the soft conversation between her spouse and her friend.

"B'Elanna, I need you on the alpha shift beginning tomorrow morning," Janeway told the engineer. "We'll all be working double shifts for the foreseeable future."

"Aye, captain," B'Elanna responded, though Seven thought she didn't look particularly pleased about it. The Klingon hesitated. "What's up?"

Janeway paused, a muscle in her jaw twitching briefly and Seven frowned.

"I need to know exactly, how long it would take us to return to the Alpha Quadrant using a Borg transwarp coil," the captain said finally.

B'Elanna stared at the captain for a moment, her eyes dark, and took a deep breath, no doubt forcibly holding back all the objections she wanted to make. "Assuming it can be installed properly, and run at tolerable levels so that it doesn't burn out, it'll take us about six months," she responded quietly.

Janeway shook her head. "That's not good enough," she said, surprising both the engineer and the eavesdropping Borg. "What if, instead of merely adapting the warp coil to Voyager, we overhaul it completely, using the specs given us by Commodore Johnson and Dr. Hansen? Then, we run our entire warp propulsion system through it rather than just using it to create a transwarp conduit."

"The alternate universe specs?" B'Elanna echoed with surprise. She considered it. "It would be a more efficient system for Voyager to use than the other way." She paused, her face distant in the way that Seven knew meant that she was thinking furiously. "I'd say we'd get back to the Federation in less than a week. But captain," she added in a warning tone. "This is an all or nothing sort of deal. The odds of being able to get the traditional warp engines back online if this doesn't work would be pretty low. It's quite a risk."

Janeway nodded, a look of satisfaction coming over her face. "I know, but it might have to be done."

"In either case, Captain, would you mind telling me why you're so interested?" B'Elanna was forward enough to point out. "We don't exactly have too many Borg warp coils lying around."

"You let me worry about that, Lieutenant," the captain responded calmly, and left the engineer to her station.

The Klingon looked after the captain in consternation for a moment, and then over at Seven, raising an eyebrow. Seven took a deep breath, not able to conceal her concern any longer.

"Captain, may I see you in your ready room for a moment?"

Janeway looked back at her, eyeing her narrowly, and nodded briefly, rising smoothly from the captain chair where she had just taken a seat. Seven swallowed, following the captain down the short flight of stairs into the inner sanctum of Voyager's commanding officer.

"Captain," she began, once they were inside but Janeway turned, holding up a hand to forestall her words.

"You were listening to my conversation with Lt. Torres," she said flatly.

Seven hesitated, then dipped her head. "Yes."

Janeway stared at her a moment, her eyes more grey than blue. "One day," she said coolly, in a voice that sent a shiver up the Borg's spine, "we shall have to discuss the inappropriateness of your eavesdropping just because you have the capability to do so."

"Yes, Captain," Seven said faintly.

Janeway seemed to sigh a little. "You have some comment to make about this?"

Seven inhaled deeply. "Captain, it is tactically inadvisable to attempt to steal another transwarp coil," she pointed out. "It was my understanding that the last incident placed the ship and its crew in such danger that another foray of this nature would not be undertaken. It is, I believe as B'Elanna has deemed it, 'an all or nothing sort of deal'. If we are able to acquire a transwarp coil and adapt it, then yes, we may be able to return to the Alpha Quadrant immediately. However, should we fail in the attempt to secure one, Voyager's crew will be assimilated." She paused, swallowing. "You and I both know that is a fate not wished upon anyone. The risk does not justify the possible outcome. What is prompting you to attempt it now?"

Janeway crossed her arms over her chest, regarding the Borg closely as she leaned back against her desk. "I've already had this discussion with Chakotay," she said firmly. As Seven opened her mouth to respond, the captain quickly added, "I'm not prepared to discuss this with you, not as your captain, or as your spouse."

Stymied, Seven breathed slowly. "When will you?"

Janeway shook her head. "I don't know." She pursed her lips. "When it's time."

Seven had to accept that. It was part of being involved with a starship captain, she knew, even as she didn't like it very much. She considered her options. "I would advise, in that case then, that we look for a shuttle rather than a sphere, or certainly a cube," she said. "Similar to the one that my Collective grouping crashed in a few years ago."

Janeway considered that, her face thoughtful.

"What are the chances of finding any Borg signature within the next week, let along being fortunate enough to choose the sort of contact we make?" she asked slowly.

Seven thought hard. "In this sector?" she said slowly. "It is actually quite possible, Captain. There is a species located here that has yet to be assimilated, though I am not sure why. As a result, however, the Borg maintain a minimum amount of presence in order to periodically test their defenses. That would mean a certain amount of small vessel traffic. The Collective does not consider it efficient to waste resources which would kill more potential drones than would be assimilated, so it bides its time and waits for the proper opportunity to launch a full attack."

Janeway raised an eyebrow. "I hadn't know the Borg were so ... patient."

"The Borg assimilate when it is time, not simply because they have encountered a new species. In fact, there are many species listed which have yet to be assimilated. For example, do you remember species 116? They were assimilated only a short time prior to our encounter with Arturis, yet the low numerical designation indicated that the species had been known to the Collective for a significant period of time."

"And the species in this sector?" Janeway asked.

"Species 343," Seven replied. She frowned, searching her memories. "Little is known about them. Their organic makeup defies successful long-term assimilation though the Collective shall eventually find a way to overcome such limitations."

"I'm sure they will," Janeway said dryly and Seven blushed a little, realizing after the fact that her tone had fallen back into the arrogant superiority of absolute confidence in the Borg's ability to overcome all resistance. The captain considered her partner's words. "Could this species help us find the Borg?"

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "I suspect they do all they can to try to avoid such contact."

"Of course," Janeway said and smiled briefly. She nodded. "I would rather do this with a Borg shuttle craft rather than anything larger, Seven. I can promise you that I have no intention of risking the ship or my crew unduly. Concentrate your scans for that form of conduit signature or even that of a sphere."

"Yes, Captain."

"And, Seven?"

"Yes?"

"Find it quick," Janeway said firmly. "There are time constraints on this."

Seven frowned. "I understand," she said, even though she wasn't entirely sure that she did. She did recognize the definite note of dismissal in the captain's tone, however, so she dipped her head and left the ready room.

She made a few more data inquiries at the tactical station, and then left the bridge to return to astrometrics. Now that she had something a little more specific to look for, she would be able to refine her long-range sensors to detect a Borg shuttle. However, the odds of finding one were so much lower than finding a cube conduit signature or even that of a sphere, that she suspected this plan of Janeway's to steal a transwarp coil was doomed to failure.

So she was considerably surprised a few hours later when a minor signature, which hadn't even read as Borg initially, turned out to be a distinct shuttle trail, leading to a nearby system. There were also some indications of a battle of some sort, debris, traces of Borg weapons fire and some unidentified energy discharge. Obviously, whatever had ambushed the Borg shuttle, had subsequently damaged it enough to send it on a crash course to the fourth planet in the star system.

She immediately contacted the bridge, informing them of her discovery.

"Good work, Seven," Janeway responded. "Report to transporter room one as a member of the coil recovery team."

The young woman quirked an eyebrow at the obvious elation in the captain's voice and felt compelled to add a note of caution to the proceedings.

"Captain, it is unknown if the shuttle was able to land intact. There may be no warp coil to recover."

"Our luck's been running hot so far, Seven," Janeway told her. "It just has to hold a little while longer."

Seven did not think her spouse liked to rely on 'luck' and for Janeway to be so pleased with it now indicated that whatever was pushing the captain was desperate indeed. The young woman took a deep breath and changed into her away mission outfit before she left astrometrics, heading for the transporter room. She decided that she could only hope that her spouse would confide in her soon. She really did not like operating without sufficient data.

Commander Chakotay, Lt. Ayala and Lt. Torres were already prepared to beam down when she arrived. She accepted the phaser rifle that Chakotay handed her and took her place on the transporter dais next to the first officer. The sensation of dematerialization surrounded her and the familiar confines of transporter room one disappeared, to be replaced by the misty night of the planet's surface.

It was a swamp, the ground spongy beneath their feet while moss dripped heavy from oddly shaped trees. The soft cries of nocturnal creatures echoed through the forest, the subtle lap of water against a bank sounding nearby, though lost in the depths of the night. The air smelled musty, cool and damp, quite unpleasant and Seven decided that it was not the sort of place in which she wished to spend a protracted amount of time.

"The crash site is twenty meters in that direction," Chakotay said softly, raising his tricorder. "Let's be careful here, people. Seven, any indication of survivors?"

Seven discovered that there must have been something in the atmosphere that was distorting her tricorder's sensors. Odd readings chased each other across the tiny screen before they solidified into definite information. "Sensors indicate that there were five Borg on the vessel, but only one surviving drone," she reported. "It appears to be severely injured. It is not moving."

B'Elanna hefted her rifle. "Do we take care of that?" she said, eyeing Chakotay significantly.

Chakotay started to speak, glanced at Seven and took a breath. "This isn't a rescue mission. However, I have a problem with arbitrarily terminating a lifeform simply because it is Borg." He touched his comm badge. "Away team to Voyager. There is one survivor. How would you like us to proceed?"

Janeway did not hesitate. "Beam it directly to sickbay. We'll prepare for its arrival."

"Captain, you must be sure to remove the cranial transceiver," Seven reminded her, even as she felt tenderness rush through her. She knew that the crew of Voyager, and the captain in particular, had no love for the Borg in general, but whoever lay in the wreckage had once been an individual. One could not simply discard that as irrelevant and she was pleased that her spouse had not. But then, Janeway was a most compassionate woman ... it was one of the reasons Seven loved her so much. "I also suggest that the Doctor inject the drone immediately with the anti-assimilation nanoprobes he has on file, as well."

"Already on it," Janeway responded. "Proceed."

The away team cautiously pushed their way through the underbrush, approaching the crash site slowly. Debris was scattered for some distance and the main body of the shuttle had torn through the foliage of the swamp, leaving a dark, ugly streak which would take some time to heal. As Seven picked her way through the soggy ground, she was reminded of another crash, one she had been involved with as a drone, and the shameful actions she had subsequently taken to return herself and the other survivors of her group to the Collective. She froze as she saw the first body amid the wreckage and despite herself, she found she was unable to tear her eyes away from the mangled remains, feeling a definite sense of what Humans called 'deja vu'.

"Seven, are you all right?" B'Elanna asked softly, a few feet away.

Seven's face tightened. "I am functioning," she returned shortly, rejecting the Klingon's show of concern. Steeling herself, she moved forward toward the main bulk of the shuttle. She was gratified to find it mostly in one piece. She hadn't dared hope for such good fortune and realized it could mean that the warp coil would be intact.

"The survivor is inside," Chakotay said, from his position on the young woman's left. "Seven, you and Ayala should go in and secure the injured for transport. Lt. Torres and I will start to work on removing the warp coil."

"Understood," Seven said. She glanced at the dark-haired security officer and indicated that he should follow. The two carefully forced their way through the twisted metal into the shuttle's main compartment as Seven felt more of a sense of eerie familiarity with every passing second. Of course, that was only logical, she consoled herself. All Borg vessels were constructed exactly the same and for this crash site to resemble the one she had been in years earlier, was only to be expected.

She was able to find her way to where the lifesign transmitted steadily. Stray thoughts crossed the young woman's mind as she avoided a particularly sharp protrusion of hull ... would this drone appreciate being freed of the Collective once the implants were removed? Or would whomever it turned out to be resent and hate those who freed it from all it had known, just as Seven had three years earlier? Of course, Seven had been assimilated as a child and not an adult. Perhaps if her parents had been able to raise her as a Human, she would have embraced her freedom immediately rather than fearing it so much. However, her parents ... dedicated exobiologists who followed the Borg into the Delta Quadrant to study them, long before the rest of the Federation had even acknowledged the existence of the Collective ... had not considered the consequences of that single-minded pursuit of knowledge. It had cost them dearly, and Seven tried not to think about her family unit's eventual fate very often. Yet, every time she came in contact with the Borg, the memories were forced to the forefront of her mind.

Ayala reached out a hand to touch her elbow. "There, Seven," the young man said quietly. "Under the console."

He seemed uneasy being inside the ship and Seven tried to move quickly, knowing that they needed to do what they had to do and be long gone from this area of space before any other Borg showed up. Certainly, a distress beacon would have been sent as soon as the shuttle went down and for all their faults, the Borg did take care of their own with swift efficiency.

"Help me," she said, tugging gently at the still drone, dragging it from beneath the console. He knelt beside her and together, they rolled over the cybernetic form, various fluids staining the area. Seven froze as the bloodied features were revealed. Altered and changed as they were through assimilation and time, the shocking familiarity remained.

"Seven?" Ayala said, staring at her with an odd expression. "What's wrong?"

"This drone," Seven said, feeling faint, surprised that she could speak at all. "I know this drone."

His eyes widened, clearly not liking this. "Who is it?"

"It was once the Human designated as Erin Hansen," Seven responded, her voice strangely devoid of inflection.

"It is my mother."

The morning after the dramatic rescue and recovery, Janeway stared at the pale form lying on the biobed as the Doctor and Sek worked over it behind the force field. The captain could not help but think of another time and another drone who had woke to find her existence irrevocably changed. Of course, it had also significantly changed the captain's life in the process and if what Seven suspected was true, then it was possible that it was about to change again. The question was; would it be for the better?

"Will ... she survive?" she asked huskily, when there seemed to be a break in the activity. The medical team had removed the most intrusive implants, replacing them, where they could, with regenerated organic tissue replicated from the woman's own genetic pattern. Now they were monitoring the gradual dissolution of the Borg nanoprobes from the woman's system.

The Doctor looked up at her and nodded gravely. "Yes," he responded, coming over to her. His holographic form diffused through the security field without pause. "The cranial transceiver has been destroyed and the internal de-assimilation is coming along quite nicely. She should be free of most of it in a day or so, though, without these altered nanoprobes of Seven's, it wouldn't be nearly that simple. And unlike Seven, who essentially 'grew up' around her implants, preventing certain of them from being removed, we can extract her mother's implants completely."

"She is definitely who Seven thinks she is?" Janeway asked, feeling the pulse throb in her temple.

The Doctor frowned. "There were discrepancies originally, which were most likely due to the effects of the nanoprobes and the implants, but yes, the gene pattern did eventually match those in the computer. She was ... or is, Erin Hansen."

Janeway closed her eyes. "God," she said softly.

"Amazing, isn't it?" the Doctor remarked cheerfully. "Of all the shuttles and all the Borg drones, what are the odds of Seven's mother being here at this place, right now?"

"I couldn't even begin to calculate them," Janeway said dryly. "It was astounding that we came across a transwarp coil so quickly in the first place. For it to have come from a shuttle that had crashed, carrying the drone who had been Erin Hansen, only goes to show that, just when we think we know what to expect, the universe likes to throw us a curve."

"Seven must be ... surprised," Sek said, drawing the sheet up over the whitened and scarred form. Her dark eyes raised to meet Janeway's inquiringly. "I did expect to see her here, however."

A muscle twitched in Janeway's jaw. "I sent her down to help B'Elanna work on the transwarp coil," she said. She hesitated. "She's pretty shaken up by all this."

"I can imagine," the Doctor noted. He looked down at the still form. "What are you going to do, Captain?"

Janeway hesitated at the question, wondering what her options really were, after all. She would never return a Federation citizen back to the Borg, even if she hadn't known who the woman was. In truth, the only way Janeway functioned at all when dealing with the Borg, was to consider them an alien species rather than what they truly were; a conglomerate of many individuals ... including several Federation members ... taken against their will over the years and absorbed into a single hive mind. Only when something like this happened was she forced to acknowledge the true horror of the Borg. What was it that Jean Luc Picard had called them? 'True evil'. Janeway looked at the vulnerable individual lying on the biobed and realized how accurate that was ... and how helpless it made her feel to know that there must be so many others doomed to a life in the Collective as a drone, with no hope of rescue. With no hope of anything, at all.

"I am going to welcome her to Voyager as the newest member of our family, of course," she told the Doctor calmly. She quirked an eyebrow at him. "I would like to have an idea of what her mental state is going to be after so long, however."

"It's hard to say, Captain," he replied quietly. "Others who have been severed from the Collective, had their memories and previous individuality return quickly. They were horrified, and traumatized by what had happened, of course, but they were not like Seven who wished only to return to the Borg. Erin Hansen was assimilated as an adult and thus, will likely be grateful for her rescue even as she tries to deal with it." He paused, and a hint of humor appeared in his eyes. "Including the knowledge that she now has a Starfleet captain as a daughter-in-law."

Janeway flinched internally. The Doctor was correct. This wasn't just any Human lying there, this was family of sorts. She took a closer look at the face, still pale even as color was starting to return to the bald features, and noted that being assimilated seemed to have slowed the woman's aging process a little. Erin appeared even younger than Janeway, even though the woman should be six years older. Janeway knew that Erin had given birth to Annika at age 24 and had been 30 when she was assimilated. That made her 50 years old now compared to the captain who had just turned 44 ... a contemporary rather than an elder. What would Erin think of her little girl being involved with a woman technically old enough to be her mother?

Sighing, Janeway checked her train of thought. After all, that would hardly be the most important issue involved in this whole situation. How much shock was the woman ... the scientist ... going to be in once she regained her senses? Would her previous existence as an exobiologist help her adapt to twenty lost years as a Borg drone? How much of that experience would affect who she was now or, would she simply go back to who she had been? And who had Erin Hansen been, after all?

Too many questions, she told herself, and they could only be answered by what happened in the future. But, added on to her concern about Tuvok and what he was going through, she could not help being reminded of the old adage ... 'when it rains, it pours'.

"Keep me informed," she told the medical holograms stiffly and left sickbay. She did not go back to the bridge however, instructing the turbolift to take her to deck ten where B'Elanna's team was working on the warp coil in one of the engineering labs.

The main test area was fairly spacious and the captain's arrival went unnoticed by the team as she walked across the deck. Her eyes fixed on her partner who was working quietly at a workstation opposite the chief engineer. Perhaps only Janeway could recognize how off-balance the young woman was, how her motion, normally abrupt and efficient, was a little hesitant, infinitesimal pauses that indicated her thought processes were not moving in the smooth progression they usually did. The captain glanced at B'Elanna as she approached and the Klingon raised her head and moved away casually, leaving the two women in relative privacy.

"Seven," Janeway said quietly. "Report."

"The warp coil has some minor fluctuations in the energy output," Seven related, not looking up from her screen where data streamed by unceasingly. "But I think that we will be able to adapt it to function as the Hansen notes specify."

Janeway felt a sweet sense of relief seep through her. Perhaps this would work after all and she would be able to get Tuvok home in time. Was it possible that after six years, the deities of all the various species she had met were finally looking with favor upon the lost Federation vessel and were going to accord them some good fortune for a change? That included finding Seven's mother, she reminded herself sternly. She should be happy for her partner. Even if Seven didn't seem particularly happy about it herself. Janeway studied her for a moment and decided a more personal intervention was required here.

"Seven, I would like to speak to you privately," she said, nodding with her head toward a small room that was used for storage.

Seven regarded her uncertainly, and nodded, the pair of them drifting over to the room, sealing the door behind them. "What is it you wish to speak with me about?" the Borg asked, once they were inside.

"Annika, I need to know how you really are," Janeway said, putting her hands on her partner's biceps, looking up into her narrow features. "Your mother is in sickbay and from what the Doctor says, she'll be able to make a full recovery. Have you thought about what will happen now?"

Seven looked distressed. "I have thought of little else," she admitted. She looked at the captain with a mix of confusion and fear in her eyes. "I do not know what it is like to have a mother. What will I do? How must I act? What will she expect of me?"

"Shh," Janeway said, squeezing lightly, soothingly. "Slow down, darling and take a few deep breaths. I only wanted to know how you were doing ... I certainly didn't mean to add to your uncertainty. As for your questions, first of all, you'll adapt. You are the most adaptable person I know. Secondly, you will act the way you have always acted and she will be so impressed with you for it, because it would be impossible for her not to be. And thirdly, whatever she expects of you is no more important than what you expect of her. So please, let's look at this as a good thing, not something to be apprehensive about." She managed to say the last with absolute sincerity even though she was feeling as apprehensive as it was possible for any spouse to feel about interacting with her mother-in-law.

Seven tried to do as the captain suggested, taking several deep breaths, keeping her eyes fixed on Janeway's. The older woman did her best to show her absolute confidence in her.

"I am frightened, Kathryn," the young woman said in a small voice.

Janeway wrapped her arms around the slender woman and held her tight. "I'm right here, darling," she reassured. "You don't have to go through this alone. I'll be with you every step of the way."

She could feel Seven shivering in her arms and she tightened her embrace. It was disturbing. Seven had faced down Hirogen, and Species 8472, and practically anything else the captain could think of, yet she was obviously terrified at the thought of interacting with her mother.

"Easy, darling," she said softly. "Tell me why you're so scared."

Seven hesitated, resting her cheek against the captain's. "What if," she said very softly, after a few moments, "she does not love me."

Janeway nuzzled her partner's ear, reaching up to stroke the back of the woman's neck gently.

"I don't think that's possible," she said quietly. "And even if it were, it would be completely her loss and not yours. Remember that."

Seven was silent for a moment, then she brushed her lips over the captain's forehead. "I shall try."

Janeway cupped the Borg's cheek in her hand and drew her down, kissing her softly on the mouth. "It'll be all right," she murmured against the full lips. "Trust me, my love."

"I do, Kathryn," Seven responded seriously. "Always."

Janeway knew that to be true, aware that Seven was tremendously curious about why the captain had been driving them so hard to complete this warp coil project as fast as possible, but respecting the request that she not ask. And she hadn't, beyond that initial query in the ready room two days earlier. Janeway knew such faith was rare and precious ... she was determined not to take advantage of it any more than she had to.

"Darling," she said softly. "I'll help you through this, I promise."

"I know, Kathryn," Seven said and managed to show the faintest of optimism in her eyes. "I am sure that my mother and I shall find some kind of accommodation."

"I know you will," Janeway assured her quietly. She hesitated, gently releasing her partner and putting a little distance between them. "Seven, I do need you on this warp coil project, but if you want to go see your mother and be there when she wakes, then do so. The engineering team will have to manage without your expertise for those times."

Seven nodded slowly. "Thank you ... Captain," she said, obviously recognizing the switch of modes in her partner.

Sometimes, Janeway wished there was not such a distinct difference between the captain and the woman in love, but for now, it was necessary. Certainly, it seemed that it was becoming easier for both women to deal with it as their marriage progressed. Perhaps one day, she wouldn't even feel the twinge of guilt, that little needle of regret that stabbed into her every time she had to toe the line and require that Seven step back a pace.

The two women returned to the engineering lab and Janeway nodded at B'Elanna, drawing her aside as Seven returned to her workstation.

"I need to tell you something about the drone that's in sickbay," the captain said to the chief engineer.

"That it's Seven's mother?" B'Elanna nodded, not dissembling. "I heard."

The captain forced herself not to roll her eyes. "It may require that Seven be absent on occasion." Janeway tried not to be disgruntled. Honestly, the chief of engineering had a knack for finding out things quicker than anyone Janeway knew ... except for perhaps Tuvok. The difference was, of course, that one never discovered what Tuvok knew, while everyone eventually found out what B'Elanna knew. "I'm sure that she will want to help her mother adjust to life as a Human again and I can't honestly keep her from that. But I need to know how this will affect the project."

B'Elanna quirked an eyebrow. "Seven does know the most about the warp coil," she noted professionally, not trying to slide over the facts. "She also can interpret Dr. Hansen's specs faster than I can. Depending upon how much time she needs to be away, it could delay us for up to a week."

Janeway winced, wondering how to balance this with the very real threat of Tuvok's impending Pon farr. Yet, how could she deny her partner the opportunity to be with her mother as Erin Hansen regained her life again? It wasn't as simple as saying there would be plenty of time for it later ... these first days of Erin's adaptation could be crucial, not only for the Federation scientist who had lost eighteen years of her life, but for Seven's emotional well-being.

"Keep an eye on it," she told the engineer finally. "I don't want any delay beyond one day. If that happens, Seven will just have to be brought back full time on the project. And B'Elanna, don't be afraid to call me in if you need me, either to reinforce such a directive or if I can offer any observations from my own expertise. This operation is an absolute priority and I want you to call on any resource you have to. Is that understood?"

"Aye, Captain," B'Elanna responded, suitably impressed by such blanket authority being accorded to her.

Janeway left the engineering lab, and headed for the bridge, hoping that word of what they were doing would get to Tuvok and give him enough strength to hold on a little longer. She hated to be pinning all her hopes on such a risky procedure, but at this point, she had few options left.

Ro Laren stood outside the door leading to the quarters of her superior officer, profoundly worried, though she wasn't able to put her finger on why exactly. All she knew was that Tuvok had not been acting in the way she was accustomed to seeing over the past six years and for the past few days, she hadn't laid eyes on him at all. She had received all her instructions for the rest of the department from him in a variety of memos and communiqués issued from his quarters, completely uncharacteristic of the normally 'hands-on' officer.

Of course, she realized that Vulcans were not the most forthcoming species, and he had every right to privacy but of all the people on the ship, he was the only one who had known her true identity from the beginning. Because of that odd sort of intimacy, he was the one person she had been able to talk with during those years when she had to keep everyone else at a distance. She believed that she had gotten to know him quite well in return. At least, she thought she had. Now, she wasn't quite so sure.

Taking a deep breath, she touched the admittance chime, hearing it echo softly inside. There was a pause, then a quiet 'enter' was issued from within. The door slid open with a subtle hiss and she stepped into darkness, alleviated only by the flame of a flickering lamp and the starlight streaming in through the viewports lining the hull. The air was surprisingly dry and as she stepped over the threshold, it was as if she had descended a step, wrenching her knee a little as she entered the heavier gravitational field. She realized that the environmental controls were set to Vulcan normal, and she felt a light perspiration break out over her forehead in the increased temperature as she moved gingerly across the room. She also took note that all the furniture in the room had been removed completely, but for a single, simple, sleeping pad, resting quietly beneath the windows. The dark figure sitting on the carpeted deck in the shadows, lifted his head at her appearance, conveying a sense of anticipation, as if he had been waiting for something. For some reason, Ro didn't think it was her.

Mightily disturbed, she sat down across from him, cross-legged on the carpeted deck, studying him as best she could in the dim illumination. The angular lines of his face seemed even sharper and his eyes burned in a way she had never seen before.

"Sir?" she asked softly, speaking first after a few moments, when it seemed he was disinclined to.

"You wonder why I have called you here," he noted and she was shocked by the voice. It was rusty, ragged, barely kept in control and she felt a shiver skitter down her spine.

"Yes," she said uncertainly, wanting to say more, yet afraid at what she might discover.

"I have been relived of my duties, at my own request. You will be promoted to chief of security, effective immediately. I wish you to know that I and the captain have every confidence in your ability to fill this role."

Ro stared at him, absolutely rocked. "You can't be serious."

There was a lift to the eyebrow, the slightest hint of an upturn to the corner of his mouth.

"I assure you, Lieutenant, I am completely serious."

She took a moment to compose herself, embarrassed over her outburst. Her mind worked furiously, trying to figure out what was going on.

"May I ask what is prompting such a drastic action?" she requested with difficulty.

He lifted his head. "I would rather you did not. It is enough to know that I will no longer be able to carry out my duties and that you are the best choice to replace me."

A suspicion crossed her mind. "Have you been planning this long, sir?"

He seemed surprised by the question, as if he had expected her to say something else. She was once again aware of how odd he was acting, how much ... emotion he was allowing himself to show. Vulcan society was centered around the basis of controlling one's emotions, to the point of being emotionless. For Tuvok, it was as significant to her as if he had stripped away his uniform and ran naked about the ship. The vulnerability it showed was as comparable and just as shocking.

"Why do you believe I have been planning this?" he responded and she got the sense he was dissembling.

"Because, it was only a few months ago that you started encouraging me to accept more away missions, which would naturally attract the attention of the captain," she said slowly, working it out as she went. "In fact, you've been pushing me hard in the last year, insisting I utilize more and more of my Starfleet training and experience. It was inevitable that who I truly was would come to light. I thought I was the one who made the decision to come clean, but now I wonder if you were the one who placed me in the position of having no other choice."

"It was time," he said quietly. "You needed to return to who you were." He paused, then dipped his head, apparently in confession. "And I ... needed to prepare."

"Prepare for what?" she asked sharply. "Are you ill?"

Again, the half smile. "Not in the sense that you might define it. However, the fact remains that I am dying and shall be dead within the next two to three weeks, if not sooner."

Ro was struck to her very core, finding it hard to breathe suddenly, her pulse pounding in her temples. "I ... the Doctor can..."

"No," he said firmly. "The Doctor can do nothing." He paused, and added in a gentler voice. "I know that this is ... distressing for you, and I appreciate the emotion that inspires such dismay. But it is my time and unfortunately, the end shall not be ... peaceful. I wish to meet my death in private. I shall achieve a measure of satisfaction in knowing that I do not leave my captain without a capable security chief."

"But Tuvok," she started helplessly, then stopped, not knowing how to finish. This was just so much to take in all at once, especially considering all the rumors floating about that the captain was working on a new way home, that they had actually found a Borg warp coil which could allow the ship to travel at transwarp speed and take them back to the Federation in a week. Engineering was working double and triple shifts while a sense of excitement and enthusiasm swept through the ship ... even as it was tempered judiciously by all the previous disappointments. No one really dared to get their hopes up only to see them dashed again, but yet, there was a distinct sense of anticipation.

She blinked. "This is why the captain is so desperate to get us back to the Alpha Quadrant," she said in sudden enlightenment. "Somehow she thinks if she can get you back home soon, they can save you. Is there something Vulcan physicians can do for you that the Doctor can't, Tuvok?"

"It is not a treatable condition any longer," he said calmly, yet for some reason, she thought he was still being evasive. And finally ... finally ... the studies on exobiology she had taken at Starfleet Academy regarding an aspect of Vulcan culture, rose to nudge her mind from the sea of information she had received on all the various species in the Federation.

"It's Pon farr, isn't it?" she said huskily.

The 'time of mating' was the most secretive and intensely private aspect of Vulcan culture there was, and her studies had just covered the barest mention of it, leaving her with only the knowledge that Vulcans had to mate every seven years ... or die. She was abruptly aware of how long they had been in the Delta Quadrant, six years, and certainly, she had known of his presence in the Maquis at least six months before that. Add on to the fact that most undercover operations took another six or seven months to prepare and it was easy for her to do the math.

"I would prefer not to discuss it," he said stiffly, before softening. "But you are correct and you must know that it is inevitable. I wish only to live my remaining time with as much dignity as is possible. Please, respect that."

"Oh, Prophets, of course I do," she said, wanting to reach out and touch him, somehow suspecting that would be more inappropriate now than ever before. She drew back the hand she had raised, dropping it limply on her lap, taking a slow, deep breath. "But the captain has found a way to return to the Alpha Quadrant," she added somewhat desperately. "If the warp coil can be adapted in time, then we can get you back to Vulcan ... back to your wife."

He inhaled slowly, shadows dancing over his face. "Perhaps," he said, a hint of strain to his voice. "But it is nothing I can count on, particularly after so many other futile attempts. I can only prepare for what I know will happen ... not for what might, Lieutenant."

She dipped her head, her face stricken, fighting back the tears. It had been so long since she had cried, so long before she had allowed anyone to see her hurt. And she could not this time either, not in front of this man who was attempting to hold himself together with everything he was. It would lessen, somehow, his struggle to retain all that he was in the face of what he was about to lose.

"I will ... miss you, Tuvok," she said finally, once she was sure she could control her voice. "I have been proud to serve under you."

He inclined his head. "Thank you," he said softly. "You have been a more than adequate officer, Lieutenant." A pause. "It is best if you leave now."

She felt that stab with the force of a dagger into her heart. "I understand," she said. Gracefully she uncoiled from her position and found the words with only the greatest of efforts. "I await your orders, sir."

He lifted his head and again she saw the burning eyes, full of what? ... pride? ... possibly even affection?

"Serve Captain Janeway with the same loyalty you have shown me, Security Chief Ro Laren. She is a worthy commander and you will do well under her. Keep her safe and protect your ship." He lifted his hand in the gap fingered 'V', staring at her intently and she saw that his face was pale, even in the deceptive illumination of the lamp light. "Live long, and prosper, my friend."

She swallowed hard. There was nothing more she could say and nothing else she could do. She most certainly could not respond in kind, considering they both knew he would do neither.

"Aye, sir," she said.

She turned and left, unsure how she had managed to do so without breaking down. Why did this have to happen? Why was it that everyone who meant something to her, had to leave her? Or if she were in a position to do something about it, why was she always letting them down when they needed her most? She wasn't ready to be Voyager's security chief ... the thought of it shot a sense of helpless panic through her. She knew that she would only fail miserably and disappoint Tuvok in death in a way she had barely been able to keep from doing in life.

She forced her thoughts into focus, realizing that her body, moving on automatic, had brought her to deck ten and engineering. She entered briefly, long enough to find out from a crewman where B'Elanna was, and headed for the lab. She didn't know why exactly, what B'Elanna could possibly do even if she could tell her anything. It was clear that Tuvok did not want anyone else to know until it was long over ... but she still needed to see the Klingon.

B'Elanna was standing next to Seven of Nine at a computer station, the Borg warp coil set in a transparent test chamber in front of them. The Klingon was intent on her work, her face set in that way she had whenever she was completely absorbed in a problem and Ro hesitated inside the door, watching her longingly, but deciding not to interrupt her. After all, the chief engineer was already working on the very thing that could save Tuvok and taking her away from it for empty reassurances would only be counterproductive.

"Lieutenant?" Ensign Vorik, the Vulcan engineer said, finally noticing her standing by the door. "Is there something I can help you with?"

She looked at the young Vulcan and wondered if he knew what Tuvok was going through. Then she realized that probably he would know better than anyone. Perhaps he even had some function to fulfill as the only other Vulcan on board.

"No," she said, turning to go. She hesitated and looked back at him. "Vorik, I don't want to disturb Lt. Torres, but can you tell me how close we are to adapting that warp coil?"

He raised an eyebrow. "The preliminary tests are very promising," he said. "If things go as planned, we possibly could complete the final stage within two weeks."

Ro's mind flashed on Tuvok's face, the way he had looked in the illumination which only showed a fraction of what he was probably going through inside and knew without a doubt that he did not have two weeks.

"Thank you," she said quietly. She shot a final look at B'Elanna who remain oblivious of the Bajoran's presence and left the lab. Aimlessly, she wandered the corridors for a few minutes, before realizing that she was not getting anywhere and found a small alcove to stand in. She remained there for long moments, ignoring the flow of traffic going by her as she thought furiously.

How can I find a way around this? she wondered desperately. There must be something she could do, some possibility that hadn't been tried. Yet there was the disturbing sensation that Tuvok ... and the captain who also obviously knew ... had already looked at all the available options. Since Tuvok had apparently accepted inevitable death and Janeway was determinedly driving her crew to adapt a Borg warp coil in order to return to the Alpha Quadrant immediately or destroy the ship in the process, Ro decided that perhaps there was no solution, that there simply was no way to solve this problem.

Yet, there was a part of her that demanded that she try. Tuvok was too important for her to settle for anything less. She just needed more information about the whole process and in that, perhaps she could find something that the others had overlooked. After all, Tuvok was suffering from all the physical and mental influences this condition caused so he probably wasn't thinking as clearly as he could. And the captain was the sort that tended to leap to the most challenging solution, rather than considering all the possibilities. Ro was also keenly aware that the whole warp coil idea might not work either, or might not work in time, which meant that it was absolutely crucial that she come up with a plan 'B'.

Her head rose, her dark eyes resolved and intent. She would find a way, even if she had to rip away every misconception and secret surrounding Pon farr there was. Even if it cost her the friendship of the Vulcan in the process.

Seven of Nine entered sickbay, relieved to see Janeway already present, standing next to the Doctor and Sek. The CMO had called the young woman a few minutes earlier on her comm badge, indicating that the drone they had rescued was ready to regain consciousness and despite her reluctance, Seven had come directly to sickbay. Involuntarily, Seven's eyes went to the form lying on the biobed. The female seemed so much smaller than she expected, almost fragile beneath the harsh lights above. Devoid of most external implants now, the woman appeared almost completely Human once more, though the Doctor had yet to stimulate the hair follicles to grow. Seven tried hard to wrap her mind around the concept that this being was her mother, that this was the dimly remembered entity of her first six years who had given birth to her and cared for her and had ... loved her.

But not enough, a cold acknowledgment shot crystal clear through the confused morass of her thoughts. Not enough to protect her child from the Borg. Not enough to know that her pursuit of scientific knowledge was foolhardy and potentially dangerous to them all. Small and selfish had been the individuals designated as the Hansens.

Seven forced the emotional-laden thought back to the deepest part of herself, assuming a demeanor of cool indifference, of infinite control as she took her place next to the captain. She knew her partner saw through it easily, however, the blue-grey eyes narrowing briefly as they appraised her measuringly. Then Janeway reached over and put her hand on the Borg's elbow, a brief touch, no more, but Seven discovered that it was possibly the only thing holding her together at the moment.

"She will wake now?" Seven asked finally, after making sure her voice would be completely even.

The Doctor nodded. "Yes," he said, lifting a hypospray to the woman's throat. He hesitated before administering the stimulant. "You have to know, Seven, she probably won't even know who she is right away, let alone who you are."

"I am aware of what it is like to no longer be a part of the Collective, Doctor," Seven reminded him, her tone somewhat harsh. She felt Janeway's hand squeeze her elbow gently and she took a breath. "Proceed."

He frowned briefly and pressed the hypospray against the pale, mottled skin, the hiss seeming loud in the quiet of sickbay. The woman's eyelids fluttered, eyes searching the ceiling above her. A touch of panic appeared in the pale blue eyes immediately.

"The voices," she said in a panicked whispered, possibly not even aware that she had spoken out loud. "The voices are gone."

Janeway stepped forward. "What is your designation?" she asked in a clear tone.

The woman's head moved jerkily, looking over at the Starfleet captain, her respiration clearly audible and quickening.

"You are not Borg," she identified. She sat up abruptly, staring at Janeway. "We are the Borg. You shall be assimilated. Resistance is futile."

She raised her hand, suddenly seemed to realize it was devoid of assimilation tubules and began to shake.

"What... we are Borg." But the voice was uncertain now, afraid.

Seven stepped forward involuntarily, reaching out. "We are Borg," she echoed. Surprised, both the Doctor and Janeway looked at her, frowning. "State your designation. Comply."

"We are Four of Ten," the woman responded automatically. "Tertiary sub-unit 4568 to Unimatrix 4537." She hesitated. "We have lost contact with the Collective. We have lost contact with each other."

"We have been severed from the Collective," Seven said firmly. "I am Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct to Unimatrix 01."

The Borg seemed rocked. "I will comply," she said obediently, obviously recognizing that Seven's designation indicated that she had been attached close to the main core. There was no form of rank in the Collective, but there was an organization within the hive mind that defined which drone was considered a more 'influential' presence. Seven, thanks to the Queen's attention and intervention, had been positioned in quite a crucial section.

"What do you remember?" Seven asked in a quieter tone.

The woman stared at her, unblinking. "We were attacked by Species 343," she replied. "Our ship was damaged and forced to crash on the planet. This drone survived."

"Yes," Janeway said then, drawing the drone's attention to her. "We rescued you and brought you here to our ship. I am Captain Kathryn Janeway, of the USS Voyager."

"You will return us to the Collective," the drone said flatly, staring at the woman.

"No," Seven interjected firmly, bringing the focus of the drone's eyes back to her. She was somewhat chilled to find that they were familiar eyes ... similar to the ones that she saw in the mirror every day. "We will not return to the Collective. We are individuals now. We will adapt."

The drone had an expression of horror. "No," she said. "We must return to the Collective. We are Borg. We ... we ..." She hesitated, blinking suddenly, swaying. "We have a name."

"That was fast," Janeway murmured softly.

"For adult assimilants, it usually is," the Doctor responded in an equally low tone. "The memories of their previous existence return fairly quickly, particularly once most of the implants are removed."

Seven watched the myriad of emotion cross the drone's face, the fear and wonder of returning thoughts, of being able to think for one's own self again. It had terrified Seven three years earlier in this same sickbay even as she forced herself to do it. For one who had not been a child when assimilated, she anticipated that it would not be so difficult.

The drone suddenly looked at her. "Erin," she said hesitantly. "We are ... I am Erin Hansen." She looked at the others. "The Federation. I am on a Federation starship."

"Yes," Janeway said. She moved closer, her face compassionate. "What do you remember of Erin Hansen?"

The drone ignored her, looking at her hands, at the pale, parchment-like skin, then she reached up and touched her head, the bald skull, fingering the silvery metal still attached to her right temple. "I was ... a scientist," she said. "What did they do to me?"

"It's all right," Janeway said soothingly, and Seven watched, unable to move as her spouse gently put her hand on the woman's shoulder. Distantly, Seven wondered why she could not offer any comfort, as the captain managed so easily. Especially to this individual. "The Borg assimilated you some time ago. We were able to remove most of the implants."

Erin Hansen began to cry, helpless sobs, covering her face with her hands. "What did they do to me? What did they do to me?" She could not seem to stop repeating the words and the Doctor moved closer, wielding yet another hypospray.

"I think we've done enough for the moment," he said gently, pressing the device against her neck. "Rest now. We have plenty of time to carry on with this conversation in the future."

Janeway helped ease the woman down onto the biobed as Erin slipped into unconsciousness and looked at the CMO with concern. "Will she recover?"

"In time, Captain," he assured her. He looked over at Seven, studying her. "Are you all right, Seven?"

"I am functioning adequately," she said coldly. "If you no longer require my presence, I must return to the engineering lab."

"In a moment," Janeway said firmly, coming over to take her arm. Seven did not resist as the captain guided her into the office as the Doctor and Sek remained behind to monitor the drone. "Talk to me, Annika. This can't be easy for you."

"It is not easy," Seven agreed. She hesitated. "But I am unsure as to what you are expecting from me."

Janeway sighed softly, moving close to look up into the carefully controlled features of her spouse, her hands warm on Seven's arms. "I'm not expecting anything of you," she said intently. "How can I, when I can't even begin to guess what you're going through? This is a completely unimaginable, totally unique situation. But I also know that you're considerably upset because of the way you're acting. You only fall back on this 'Borg attitude' when you don't know what to do."

Seven bent her head, feeling her defenses fall as if they had never existed. "That is correct," she admitted softly, shakily. "I do not know what I feel. Or what I am supposed to feel."

"That's all right," the captain assured her. "You don't have to feel anything at all, darling. Just don't shut me out, or pretend to be unaffected by this. I want you to know that I'm here for you right now, to listen to whatever you want or need to say."

"What if I do not know what to say?" Seven asked plaintively.

"Then, I'm here for that, too," Janeway said, sliding her arms around her waist, ignoring the fact that the two women were clearly visible through the transparent barrier to the rest of sickbay. "If you need me to hold you, if you need me to stay with you ... even if you need me to leave you alone, just tell me and I'll do whatever you want. You are far more important to me than the ship or my duties at the moment."

Seven wrapped her arms around the smaller form of her spouse, clinging to her. "I do not know what I want you to do," she whispered helplessly, burying her face in Janeway's hair.

"Then I'm going to stand here and hold you as close as I can for the next little while," Janeway said softly, rubbing Seven's back lightly. "In the meantime, you just concentrate on how much I love you. We'll work out the rest when it's time."

Seven closed her eyes and tried to take her spouse's advice, absorbing herself in the fragrance of her beloved, centering her attention on how it felt to hug the captain, how it felt to have her hold her in return. It did grant her a measure of peace. Her heart rate slowed perceptibly and the terrifying feelings filling her chest and making her head pound receded, replaced by warmth and a belief that things would be all right, just so long as she held onto her partner.

"I do feel better," she said finally, drawing back to look down into the smoky gaze. "How did you know?"

Janeway smiled gently. "Because when I'm running around, feeling as if I'm losing my mind, taking a moment to hold you always calms me enough to start thinking clearly again," she admitted. "I hoped it would do the same for you."

"It did," Seven said. "I have never felt so ... uncertain before, Kathryn." She quirked an eyebrow. "I am still uncertain, but it is no longer as ... frightening."

"I'm glad," Janeway said, her face soft as she regarded her.

Seven inhaled slowly. "I will concentrate my efforts on the engineering lab with my work on the warp coil," she said quietly. "When the drone ... when Erin Hansen ... wakes again, then I shall speak with her further and try to help her adapt to being severed from the Collective." She paused, thinking about it. "I do not think I will tell her I am her daughter. Not immediately."

"You'll know when the time is right," Janeway said calmly. "I'll leave it completely in your hands." She reached up and cupped her partner's cheek in her hand. "Still, darling, she might figure it out on her own."

"Eighteen years is a long time," Seven noted rationally. "I am no longer six years old. I no longer look anything like I did as a child. I do not believe that I would recognize Naomi Wildman were she suddenly to become an adult."

"Perhaps not," Janeway agreed easily. "However, it is also possible to underestimate the power of a mother's ability to know her child, Annika. Just don't be surprised by anything that might happen."

"I shall adapt in any event," Seven promised.

Janeway smiled. "I suspect you will," she said. She paused, dropping her hand and abruptly the captain was back, though there was no visible alteration of her expression. "Is there anything new regarding the warp coil?"

Seven never failed to be impressed by this change, done in an instant, the other side of the kind, compassionate woman she loved. Captain Janeway was also compassionate, of course, but it was always tempered by the knowledge of her responsibilities, and threaded throughout with a keen, practical streak that was not present when Janeway was simply being 'Kathryn'. Obediently, Seven released her, drawing away marginally.

"The specs are very clear on how we must alter the components of the warp coil," the young woman responded. "We shall begin in the morning, and expect to have most of the first stage changes done by the end of the beta shift."

Janeway nodded and suddenly the captain was gone again. Seven tried not to smile since she suspected it was completely unconscious on the part of her spouse. She did not think she could explain it well enough for Janeway to appreciate what Seven had come to recognize about her.

"In that case, I think that we should call it a day," Janeway said quietly, reaching out for her again, taking her hand. "It's been another long one and we both need our sleep."

Seven nodded. "I believe you are correct," she allowed softly. She tilted her head. "I think I need to go to bed and hold you all night long. I will be required to think very clearly tomorrow morning."

Janeway smiled, recognizing the gentle teasing and she patted Seven fondly on the back as they left the office. Seven glanced once more at the individual lying unconscious on the biobed, then fixed her eyes firmly forward as she followed her spouse back to their quarters.

In her ready room, Janeway shut down the program running on her computer console and rubbed her face, feeling the burn in her eyes from having stared at the computer screen and warp coil specs for far too long. She leaned back in her chair and forced herself to relax, regarding her desk idly. A brief smile trailed over her face as she remembered the surprise her partner had sprung on her in this very spot ... was it less than a week ago? It seemed like months, thanks to all that was going on at the moment. Fortunately, the warp coil project continued to progress steadily, but she still worried that it wouldn't be in time.

Tuvok remained isolated in his cabin and Vorik had quietly been given leave to set up housekeeping in the cabin next to the security chief's. Not that Tuvok was operating as the security chief any longer, as Ro Laren took over that role in all but name. Janeway had yet to make it official, however, because once she did, she would be obligated to explain certain things to various people. For the moment, crewmembers like Commander Chakotay were of the belief that Tuvok was simply taking some accumulated leave. Here the Delta Quadrant, when a senior officer asked for time off, it was usually given with no questions asked as long as it didn't interfere with the operation of the ship. Chakotay had passed on the request for her authorization without question. She had signed off on it casually and so things stood. That would change immediately once Tuvok ... died and Ro Laren was installed officially as the head of the security department.

She suspected that Chakotay would be extremely resentful at having been kept in the dark about what was going on for so long, but she decided that he would just have to live with it. Pon farr was an intensely private and personal aspect of Vulcan culture and no one had the right to interfere with it so long as the individual in question was capable of making his own decisions. The only other Vulcan on the ship, Vorik, had no experience with the time of mating and when his first Pon farr came upon him, he quickly made it necessary for the Doctor and others to intercede. Tuvok, on the other hand, had experienced it many times over his long life span and could control it enough to keep it secret from anyone he chose for as long as he chose ... right to the end if that was his decision. She had to respect that both as his friend and captain and make sure others respected it as well, no matter how much it might hurt her to do so.

Which was why she had placed a flag on anything to do with the information pertaining to Vulcan Pon farr in the medical data banks. The little beep from her computer startled her out of her thoughts and she leaned forward, concerned when she saw that someone was accessing the data. She quickly made a trace, expecting to find that the Doctor had finally figured out that something might be going on with the Vulcan and was about to interfere. It was her job to forestall that since all he really could do was drug Tuvok into a stupor until the end came. That was not Tuvok's choice and she would make sure the Doctor understood and accepted it, even though she knew he would argue forcefully against it.

She was considerably surprised to find that it was not the Doctor's code which was requesting the information, but rather, that of the Bajoran, Ro Laren. She immediately touched her comm badge.

"Janeway to Ro," she said.

There was a hesitation. "Go ahead," Ro responded.

"I need to see you in my ready room immediately," Janeway said calmly, but firmly.

"On my way," Ro said, her tone vaguely puzzled.

Janeway got up from her chair and moved around her desk to ascend the short flight of stairs leading to the upper level of her ready room. There, she poured herself a cup of coffee from the silver thermos which rested on the low table and sipped the hot, rich brew quietly as she took a seat on the couch. The chime of her door sounded and she raised her head, eyes dark and grey.

"Come," she instructed.

Ro Laren entered the ready room, her slender form moving with a graceful sort of deadliness. Janeway had noticed it before but it seemed particularly apparent now that this was the person she was expected to rely on to protect her ship in the event her plan to save Tuvok did not work out. The woman quickly spotted the captain on the upper level, her eyes narrowing momentarily, then she lithely mounted the stairs to stand before Janeway, and linked her hands behind her back.

"Captain?"

"I know that Tuvok has informed you that you are to take over his duties," Janeway said quietly. "I'm not sure if he told you why."

"I know why."

Janeway dipped her head. "This time is very private and personal for a Vulcan," she said carefully. "It is not the place of an outsider to..."

"With all due respect, Captain," Ro interrupted. "I suspect I know more about it than you do at the moment. Which is why your plan to get the ship back to the Alpha Quadrant is insufficient. We need a back up plan if we intend to save Tuvok."

Janeway blinked and underwent several alterations in her attitude immediately. Something, she noted dryly to herself, she found herself doing quite often when dealing with this woman. The more she dealt with Ro Laren, the more she found beneath that quiet, contained surface. Fire raged within and frequently, Janeway had to adapt quickly so that she wouldn't get burned.

"I'm listening," she said quietly, sipping her coffee with a calm she was far from feeling.

A bit of surprise appeared in the Bajoran's eyes and Janeway felt a bit of satisfaction that she was still able to keep the other woman off balance. She suspected that she needed to continue to do that as long as she was her captain.

"You had the flag on the computer," Ro said grudgingly. "I didn't even see it until it was tripped, but I thought it was Tuvok insuring his privacy. I'm glad I found most of my information from the exobiology databanks before I attempted the medical database."

"I am attempting to assist my security chief as much as possible," Janeway responded, kicking herself mentally. She had been so concerned about the Doctor finding out, she hadn't put a flag on the main data banks, which anyone could access. She raised an eyebrow. "Plan 'B'?" she prodded.

Ro took a deep breath. "There is the 'surrogate' option."

Janeway frowned. "Indeed?" she said, her tone insisting she continue. The surrogate option?

Ro began to pace as she spoke and Janeway found her shoulders tense in empathy as she watched, knowing well that form of hard-to-control energy.

"Vulcans don't like to speak about this because of the fact they lose control of their emotions," Ro explained. "So they keep things quiet and the rest of the Federation makes up the rest with innuendo and myth. Rather like Klingon sexual habits. The amount of misconception each species has about others can be astounding, Captain."

"I'm sure," Janeway said, having the sudden urge to ask about the misconceptions of Klingon sexual habits and restraining herself with an effort. She decided that she hadn't been getting enough sleep lately and forced herself to concentrate on the Bajoran.

"This whole, 'mate or die', is not exactly what a lot of people believe," Ro continued. "It was frequent that bond mates were apart when Pon farr came upon them in the past, so an alternative solution had to be created."

"Like the ritual 'battle to the death' if a challenge to marriage is made," Janeway said. "That's how Vorik's was solved."

"Because he was young and an unbonded male, Captain, and had never experienced Pon farr before. Plenty of species can sublimate their sex drives into violence, but that isn't an option for a bonded male. Thus, the option of a 'surrogate' was developed. An unbonded female stands in for the wife just as an unbonded male would stand in for the husband if necessary. I'm sure they have arranged such for Tuvok's wife on Vulcan. It's up to us to arrange it for him here."

"He never mentioned this." Janeway frowned.

Ro shot her a look. "Do you really think he would, Captain? There are no Vulcan females on Voyager and it's not as if just any female would do. For a Vulcan completely caught up in the heat of emotions he can no longer suppress, there is little ability to control anything during sex. Surely, you must have experienced your own loss of control on occasion."

A flash of being pressed over her desk crossed Janeway's mind, the helpless spasms of her body as Seven ravished her so lovingly. The sensation shivered through her system and she was hard-pressed not to blush.

"I have," she said evenly.

"Vulcans are much stronger than a great many other species," Ro said gravely. "I suspect that a lot of people don't realize how strong. That higher gravity has created a dense musculature which could inadvertently hurt, say, a Human female. It's not a matter of violence so much as physiological incompatibilities."

"There have been Human/Vulcan marriages," Janeway pointed out.

"And I bet they prepared the Human partner extensively leading up to Pon farr," Ro shot back dryly. "If not providing a surrogate again."

"I knew it had to be a physically strong woman," Janeway said, filing this new information away. "Though not why, exactly."

"She also has to be mentally strong. The female channels a lot of the psychic energy during the mating, and must be disciplined enough to control it. A Betazed easily has that kind of mental discipline, but they simply couldn't handle the physical aspect of it without proper training. We don't have time to train anyone, even if we knew how."

Janeway took another sip of her coffee. "I'm sure you have a point here," she said, cutting to the chase. "Make it."

Ro stopped, facing the captain. "There are three women on board this vessel who could handle a Vulcan male physically at the moment," she said calmly. "Seven of Nine, because of her Borg enhancements..."

"Unacceptable," Janeway interrupted. "Even if she wasn't involved with her mother at the moment, she would not be ... suitable."

"She's never been with a male," Ro said knowingly. "And the whole unexpected nature of that would make her unable to maintain a mental discipline during the experience."

A muscle twitched in Janeway's jaw. "Something like that," she allowed, eyeing the Bajoran narrowly.

"The second possibility of a surrogate is B'Elanna Torres," Ro continued impassively. "Part of the reason Vorik chose her, no doubt."

Janeway smiled thinly. "But you don't like that idea," she said delicately.

Ro quirked an eyebrow. "This is Tuvok we're talking about, Captain," she responded, with probably the most honesty Janeway had ever gotten from her. "If it meant saving his life, and the life of his wife, I'd drag Torres in there myself and stand outside the door to make sure she wouldn't leave. But Klingons don't really have the proper mental abilities to channel Vulcan emotions. She would feed off them instead and amplify them. While that might work with an unbonded male, or one who was bonded to her, it would only make it worse with Tuvok who's bonded to another. She would also be receiving an echo from his wife and her surrogate as well. B'Elanna might survive the emotional overload. They wouldn't."

Janeway took a breath, appreciating the very practical nature of the Bajoran even as she was a little set back by it. She knew she had such a steel streak within herself, but she was always surprised whenever she found it in someone else. Perhaps it was a necessary trait for command and if that were the case, perhaps Ro was more suitable for the role she had in mind for her, than she had originally thought.

"And the third?" she said evenly.

"Myself," Ro said matter-of-factly. "Bajoran females have a comparable strength to Vulcan females and as a result of the tactical training I underwent at Starfleet, I have developed very disciplined mental techniques."

Janeway took another swallow of her coffee, buying time as she considered all this.

"You're saying you want to play the role of Tuvok's Pon farr surrogate."

"Do you have a better option?" Ro replied.

"His wife," Janeway said, looking at her narrowly. "When we return to the Alpha Quadrant."

Ro shrugged. "If we return," she said. She regarded the captain seriously. "I'm not saying that we won't get back, or this plan with the warp coil won't happen, but I'd be a lot more comfortable if we had a backup plan in place in case it doesn't happen in time."

Janeway nodded. "I certainly can't argue with that," she said with a sigh. "But what makes you think Tuvok would go along."

"Because I would present it to him at the crucial time in a very logical manner," Ro said. "However, I also realize that no one can know about this. It would be such a personal thing to Tuvok that he would rather die than have anything about it revealed to outsiders. I do know he's willing to die rather than have the Doctor attempt to treat him."

Janeway considered that. "You're right," she said, a sort of wonder in her tone that anyone else on the ship knew the Vulcan as well as she did. "He would." She inhaled slowly. "If the plan is needed, then I will do all I can to make sure it remains confidential."

"You're probably the only one who has the necessary authorization to wipe any hint of it away," Ro said. She stared at the captain. "Though I will point out that you've tried a similar thing before, with the Doctor and it didn't work."

"I'll make sure it does this time," Janeway said flatly.

"You wouldn't even be able to tell Seven," Ro prodded.

Janeway lowered her head. "Nor you, B'Elanna," she returned. She felt a qualm shoot through her, but she said the words anyway. "I won't tell Seven."

"And B'Elanna will never hear it from me," Ro promised. "Only we will know. You, me and Tuvok."

"And Vorik," Janeway said. "He's monitoring Tuvok in order to accept his katra when it comes time."

"He's a Vulcan," Ro said with assurance. "He won't indicate anything either."

Janeway shook her head. Why did it feel like she had just made a deal with a Ferengi ... and that she was not seeing all the hidden addendums in the contracts the big-eared merchants were so damned fond of?

"Are you sure about this, Lieutenant?  This is such a personal thing being asked of you..."

"This has nothing to do with sex and emotion, Captain," Ro interupted coolly. "It's about saving someone's life. It's my job."

"Of course, with any luck, we won't need this plan," Janeway insisted.

"Luck is not something I care to rely on, Captain."

Janeway sighed. "Me either, but it certainly seems we've had our share lately; the warp coil, the rescue of Seven's mother..."

Ro tilted her head. "How is Seven taking that?" she asked with some concern and Janeway understood suddenly that the Bajoran was completely sincere in her interest. Apparently, like others before her, Ro had warmed up to the cool blonde despite herself.

Janeway sighed. "She's confused," she replied. "Understandably. But she's spent some time with the woman over the past few days and it seems they're getting along. Of course, Seven has yet to tell Erin who she is."

"Ah," Ro said. "So she doesn't know Seven's her daughter."

"No," Janeway said. She paused, thinking about it. "And honestly, I'm not sure what will happen when she does."

B'Elanna Torres worked quickly through the equations, throwing up her hands in frustration as yet another promising trail disappeared into a dead end. "Damn it," she said, considerably aggravated. She rubbed her eyes and backed away from the console. "I need a break."

She glanced over at Seven of Nine who returned the look.

"It has been some time since our last nutritional supplement," the Borg allowed slowly.

"Right," B'Elanna agreed, moving over to the small, portable replicator which was programmed to provide drinks and snacks for the hard-working engineers. She keyed in a request for some chilled prune juice and a bowl of pretzels. "What do you want?"

"Ice water will suffice," Seven said and sat down at a nearby table. Scattered over the surface were dozens of padds, empty coffee cups and a half dozen crumpled uniform tunics from crewmembers who found it easier to work with their sleeves rolled up. A good portion of the engineering team was at the far end of the lab, working on completing the first stage of the warp coil alteration while Seven and B'Elanna were attempting to set up the next stage, but for some reason, they had hit several snags. The Klingon couldn't figure out what was wrong, considering how easily the first stage went, but it was possible that working such long hours without a break was causing its own form of obstacle.

She carried the drinks and bowl of salty snacks over to the table and sat them down on the table, taking note of how tired the Borg looked. Of course, Seven tended not to show her weariness openly, but B'Elanna could still pick up on the subtle signs in her friend, the tightness around the eyes and full mouth and the very fact that she was actually sitting down rather than continuing to work through the engineer's break. Obviously all this sustained effort on the project was taking its toll but B'Elanna thought it had to be more than that. After all, the Borg was capable of working long after everyone around her had collapsed in exhaustion.

"So," she tried gently, sipping her drink. "How's your mother doing?"

Seven looked up sharply, but then her face smoothed out, her pale eyes seeming to grow sad. "She is adapting," she explained in a carefully modulated voice. "She is remembering more of her life as Erin Hansen."

"Has she recognized you yet?" B'Elanna asked bluntly.

Seven shook her head. "No," she responded. "Not yet. I think that I shall have to tell her when the time is right."

B'Elanna studied her closely. "It's hard." It was a statement rather than a question.

"It is hurting me," Seven responded with her typical, unflinching honesty. B'Elanna felt her heart twinge at such vulnerability in her friend.

"I'm sorry." The Klingon quietly reached over and patted Seven gently on the hand. "I know I'm not the best person to give advice on mothers, but I will tell you, that if you just give it some time, it'll probably work out."

"You are correct," Seven said. "You are not the best person to give advice on mothers."

Startled, B'Elanna laughed. "Got me. I guess I've told you too many horror stories about my own." She sipped her drink thoughtfully. "I do know however, that Mom was a little younger than I am now when she had me. I try to imagine if I would be a better mother now than she was then and I've come to realize I'd probably mess up just as much."

Seven eyed her, quirking an eyebrow curiously. "Indeed?" she said, inviting her to continue.

"Actually, yeah," B'Elanna said slowly, working it out as she spoke. "I mean, think about it, 'Nik, your mother was only about your age when she had you. And now she's around the captain's age. As hard as it is to accept, our parents are fallible, struggling with the same things we all do. Do you and the captain always make the right decisions when it comes to dealing with other people? Are you always everything you need to be for each other?"

"We try to be," Seven said, obviously considering the Klingon's words. She hesitated. "On occasion, we fail."

"So maybe it's not fair to hold our parents up to a higher standard than we can reach ourselves," B'Elanna said, shrugging.

Seven stared at her. "This does not sound like you."

B'Elanna laughed again. "Honestly, Seven," she said, "I like to think as I get older, I get a little wiser. It might not always show, but I'm trying, you know?"

Seven studied her glass of water, her eyes distant. "I shall take what you have said into consideration," she allowed finally. "The next time I speak with my ... mother."

"Maybe that's your other problem."

"Yes?" Seven's pale eyes centered on hers and the Klingon sighed.

"Perhaps you should stop thinking of her so much as your mother, and start thinking of her as just someone who was assimilated and now needs time to adapt to being Human again."

Seven opened her mouth to reply and was forestalled by the chirp of her comm badge. She lifted her head slightly. "Seven here."

"Sickbay here, Seven," Sek's voice came over the channel. "I just wanted you to know, we're releasing Erin Hansen today. I was wondering if you might like to be the one to escort her to the guest quarters."

Seven took a deep breath. "I am on my way," she said. She cut the communication and looked at B'Elanna, obviously a little apprehensive. "Do not look at her as my mother?" she repeated.

B'Elanna smiled. "Just as someone trying to work their way through life the same as the rest of us."

"I shall try," Seven said and stood up, leaving her untouched glass of water on the table.

B'Elanna watched her leave with a wry expression, then picked up the glasses, leaving the pretzels on the table so that others could have them if they wanted. She returned to the workstation and began to input more information, frowning as she hit another roadblock.

She stopped what she was doing and simply stared at the warp coil sitting in the center of the test chamber, trying to get a feel for it. She would never do this when Seven was around, of course, because that would require an extensive explanation on her part to the Borg, who simply wouldn't be able to understand anyway. But for the Klingon, she truly believed it was part of her success in being a good engineer, of being able to look at a piece of equipment or machinery and divine the problem through sheer empathy.

Head tilted slightly, she circled the transparent chamber, looking at the oblong object, wondering idly why the Borg, who went in for such angular construction, had at the base of their ship's technology, a rounded construct. She reminded herself that the Borg did not invent the technology themselves, they simply assimilated it from other species and no doubt, the originators of this particular advancement were more elegant in their makeup than the cybernetic beings that had conquered them. It wasn't important, obviously, but B'Elanna had found that if she let her mind wander aimlessly as she studied certain technology, sometimes her brain could sort through all the chaff she had picked up in the course of the project and figure out where to go next.

The was a niggle at the back of her mind and she stopped, staring at the test chamber. There had been a series of equations that she and Seven had left off because they seemed futile and not leading in the direction they had wanted ... but had they indicated something more? Something that would explain why they had stalled at this stage of the adaptation? She took a deep breath and decided she didn't like where her mind was taking her. After all, there was no reason to even consider it ... unless it happened to be true.

If it was, it completely changed everything.

She moved over to her board and input the commands for a complete molecular scan of the warp coil. It would take a considerable amount of time for the computer to analyze the coil molecule by molecule, yet, B'Elanna knew she had to do so. If there had been damage caused in the crash, if a micro-fracture had occurred that they weren't able to see in the preliminary scans, then that could totally alter what they needed to do. Any such fracture would have to be repaired before they could continue to work on the coil adaptation utilizing the Hansen specs.

That meant a considerable delay, she thought furiously. That wouldn't be good if the specified timetable was as absolutely crucial ... though B'Elanna had no idea why ... as the captain kept insisting

Seven of Nine entered sickbay, raising an eyebrow as she saw Erin Hansen standing by the biobed. The woman's hair had been stimulated into growth to collar length and now fell golden brown about the features, no longer pale, but rather softly pink. Seven, in a moment of objective observation, concluded that her mother could be considered a fairly attractive individual. That bothered her somehow, though she didn't know why. Perhaps it was because it was proof that she 'got her looks' from her mother? Seven did not know that she wanted to have gotten anything from her parents other than the simple fact of her existence. She was not sure she wanted any kind of connection to this woman.

"I am here to escort you to your quarters," she announced without preamble.

Erin smiled at her faintly. "I'm ready to be escorted," she said calmly. Before she followed Seven from the area, however, she reached out and clasped hands with Sek and the Doctor who were standing by, watching. "Thank you so much for all you've done."

"You're welcome," the Doctor said seriously. "Fortunately, you won't have to regenerate, but you should rest a great deal for the next little while. Your body has undergone some tremendous alterations recently. Don't hesitate to call if there is the slightest problem."

"I will not," Erin said warmly. Seven, observing all this, was disturbed to realize that her mother could be considered 'charming', a trait that she had not expected to see.

She understood that she was failing in her attempt to view Erin Hansen as just another person rather than the woman who had given birth to her. It had seemed easy in the engineering lab when B'Elanna had suggested it, but now that Seven was forced to interact with the woman, it was difficult not to associate her with all the feelings churning inside her. So the young woman constructed a shell of icy demeanor, refusing to allow any of her emotion to show, just as she had when she had first come on board Voyager, keeping her true feelings and fears deep inside, hidden from these beings she did not understand nor was sure she wanted to understand.

The two women were silent as they walked through the corridors and into the turbolift, Seven issuing a terse, "deck three". Erin was going to be staying in the guest quarters, just one door down from the captain's cabin and across from Chakotay who was the only other crewmember on the deck. Seven was acutely aware of the other woman studying her closely as they stepped off the lift and proceeded to the cabin.

Once they were inside, Seven stepped aside as Erin looked around. At one time, it had consisted of three rooms, a living area, a bedroom and an ensuite, but recently, the captain and Seven had annexed the bedroom for a walk-in closet, expanding the living quarters, which had been sorely needed with two women and a dog residing in them. The guest cabin was still comfortably decorated, but far smaller than it had been. Of course, compared to a Borg cubicle, Seven thought distantly, it was a palace indeed.

"It's lovely," Erin said, echoing the young woman's thought. She turned and looked at Seven, her head tilted slightly. "It's even roomier than my quarters on the Raven."

Seven started a bit, but kept her face impassive. "The Raven?"

"Yes," Erin explained. "That was the name of the ship me and my family lived on when the Borg ... when my husband and I conducted our research."

"An imprudent pursuit," Seven noted, not entirely evenly.

Erin looked sad. "As it turned out," she said, agreeing. "At the time, we were so excited about finding out all we could about this new species that perhaps we weren't as cautious as we should have been."

Seven really did not want to have this conversation, in the event she said something she shouldn't. Instead, she gestured toward the small replicator.

"You can program nutritional supplements there. Most of the crew eat in the messhall, which is located on deck two."

Erin nodded. "I do remember that much about the Federation," she allowed, smiling to soften the words. Seven flushed anyway and Erin reached out an apologetic hand. The Borg flinched and moved away, leaving the woman to frown at her. "I'm curious, Seven," Erin added, smoothly changing her motion toward Seven into one where she picked up an ornament off a table instead, as if that had been what she had intended all along. She studied the little statuette idly. "I was glad to be rid of my implants and my numerical designation. Yet you seem to cling to yours."

Seven raised her head. "I do not 'cling'. Certain of my implants are required for my continued existence. Without them, I would die."

"And your name?" Erin pressed. "When I remembered my name and who I was before I was assimilated, it was like a veil had been lifted from my eyes. Who were you before you were Seven of Nine?"

Seven hesitated. This was a more difficult query to respond to. "I was a child when I was assimilated," she said stiffly. "I do not remember very well who I was before assimilation. I am only who I am now."

Erin looked stricken and moved away, staring out at the stars passing by through the viewport arching over the sofa. "I'm sorry," she said softly. She paused, her pale eyes reflecting the starlight. "I had a little girl too. I suppose she was assimilated along with my husband." She swallowed convulsively. "I'd rather they had died."

"No doubt they would have wished that as well, had the Collective allowed such thoughts," Seven noted, somewhat cruelly, and then realized that she had to leave before she said something really antagonistic. "I suspect that I am no longer suitable to be your guide during your stay on Voyager now that you have regained your memories of your previous life. I will request that the captain assign another to you."

Erin looked at her, obviously startled by the statement. "Seven, please don't feel that you can't help me anymore," she said pleadingly. "In truth, you're the only one who really knows what I'm going through, because you've already gone through it. I know I must be a reminder of horrible times in the Borg, but please, don't go."

Caught, Seven hesitated, not sure of what to say. It felt odd for this woman to request her presence. "I ... I cannot help you with what you had before your assimilation."

"I know," Erin said warmly, reaching out to put her hand on Seven's forearm. The Borg looked at it warily, afraid of what it made her feel. "I'll save those discussions for the Doctor or with Sek. Let's talk about something else."

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"Well, tell me more about the ship," Erin said and Seven was astounded to discover the woman had a dimple in her chin, exactly like the one Janeway claimed her spouse had, though Seven could not really see it in the same light. "Since I'm going to be living here, I should probably find out as much as I can about it. Is it true that we may have a way back to the Alpha Quadrant?"

Seven resisted the urge to sigh. Apparently, the Doctor had been filling his patient in on the particulars. "It is ... possible," she allowed. "If we can adapt the warp coil we retrieved from your--- the Borg shuttle, then we shall be able to quickly return to the Alpha Quadrant by utilizing a transwarp conduit."

"I ... see." Erin smiled brightly. "That's such good news!"

"Yes," Seven noted. "I suppose it is."

Erin regarded her. "You do not want to go back," she said suddenly. "Are you afraid that you won't have a place there? Surely there must still be family for you."

Seven hesitated. "I do have family," she allowed, though it was not the Hansens she was thinking of in particular, but rather, Gretchen and Phoebe Janeway, Kathryn's mother and sister. While she might have been afraid at one time, to return to the Federation, she did not believe she was now. She wondered why Erin would presume such a thing?

Erin placed the ornament she had been holding back on the table. "Of course, you have family here, as well," she noted quietly. "This is the only home you really know."

Seven wondered who would feel compelled to tell Erin that much. "Yes," she said cautiously.

Erin looked up and smiled. "I understand that you and the captain are actually married. That surprised me. It's my understanding that Starfleet captains do not often marry. In fact, they are usually married to their careers."

Seven did not roll her eyes, but she wanted to. Sometimes she thought the Doctor was far too gregarious for his own good. She did wonder why this woman was so interested in her since she had no way of knowing that Seven was actually her daughter. Or did she recognize the younger woman on some instinctive level, drawn to Seven and wanting to know more about her even as she did not understand or question why she would want to? Perhaps Kathryn had been correct when she had told Seven not to underestimate the power of a mother to know her child.

It made the Borg very uneasy.

"We are married," she verified.

Erin nodded. "Captain Janeway is a very admirable woman. I've only had a chance to speak with her a few times, of course, but she seems very charming and personable. And certainly quite powerful, a true leader and voice of authority."

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "She is."

"Quite a bit older than you, however," Erin went on. "More my age. Actually old enough to be your ... mother. You don't think that perhaps you and she have little in common? That the difference in your age might cause problems down the road?"

Seven's face tightened. "It is not your place to speculate on my life, or on whom I choose to love."

Erin raised her hands. "You're right, of course," she said, a note of astonishment in her voice. "I don't know what got into me. I have no idea why I was even so curious." She looked at Seven with an odd expression, a mixture of yearning and bemusement. "I just feel close to you, Seven, in a way that I don't understand. Perhaps it's because we were both assimilated."

"Yes," Seven said, off balance. "That is probably why." She looked around at the room, feeling oddly trapped. "I must go. I have duty. There is a work console where you may access the main computer if you require further information on events which took place in the Federation during your time as a Borg. There are also several forms of entertainment if you are bored. If you require anything else, the Doctor or one of the crewmembers will answer any request within reason."

"Thank you, Seven," Erin said, still maintaining that odd expression.

Seven swallowed. "I must go," she repeated lamely and exited, her heart aching with unusual intensity.

She exited the quarters and quickly went to her own, relieved to be surrounded by its familiarity as she knelt to pat Jake who had bounded over to greet her. Uncertainly, she wrapped her arms around his warm body and hugged him, feeling a measure of comfort in being with the dog who loved her without any question at all. Then, she took a deep breath and straightened, going over to her workstation where she discovered a memo from Naomi, reminding the Borg of their scheduled time together. It was written in wistful terms, indicating that she knew Seven was busy with all that was going on, but that she hoped there would be time for them to get together anyway.

Seven took a breath, astonished that she had forgotten. It was not in her nature to forget anything she had filed in her eidetic memory and she was shocked that she had done so. Apparently, the appearance of her mother had shaken her more than she realized. However, she was determined not to let the little girl down and she quickly logged off duty. After all, she thought icily, she would never be the sort of neglectful person who would push aside the needs of a child for her own selfish pursuits.

She touched her comm badge and contacted the ship's oldest child. "Seven to Naomi."

"Naomi here," the little girl's voice replied immediately. It sounded vaguely sad, as if she were expecting bad news. Seven wondered if perhaps all the adults in the child's life tended to overlook her in this time of excitement over the warp coil, though Samantha Wildman, Naomi's mother, was an exemplary parent in Seven's opinion. Indeed, the Borg knew that the child had been anxious about returning to the Alpha Quadrant in the past and would likely be feeling the same sense of apprehension, now. "Are you calling to cancel our appointment?"

"On the contrary," Seven remarked. "I am calling to tell you I shall you meet you outside the holodeck for our scheduled visit with 'Flotter'."

"Really? That's great, Seven." Seven was warmed by the excitement and happiness in the child's voice, chasing away some of the lingering shadows of her own anxiety. "I'm on my way."

Seven patted Jake once more and left her quarters. She was not particularly entertained by Naomi's holoprogram, which included a talkative blue creature purportedly made of water, along with another character named Trevis which was supposedly made of wood, but she realized Naomi enjoyed the 'stories' tremendously, so she played along. She had subsequently been astonished to discover that Janeway had also indulged in such programs when she was a child. Participating in the role-playing scenarios afforded Seven an insight into her partner that she hadn't expected.

The small form of Naomi Wildman waited impatiently outside the large doors leading to holodeck two, and Seven suppressed a smile when she saw how the girl's face lit up at seeing her friend's approach. It occurred to Seven that while she had been growing up on the Raven, she had no one to play with either. She wondered if she had been a particularly lonely child or if she had not missed what she did not know. In either case, she was glad that she was able to make Naomi's life far less isolated than hers had probably been.

After a rousing adventure with Flotter, who was meeting 'The Gremlins of Briarwood', and being properly impressed by Naomi's diplomatic abilities to prevent a possible tussle in the mud, the Borg and the child retired to a log which rested next to a burbling stream. There, they partook of the snack which Samantha Wildman always made sure was programmed into the holodeck replicator, knowing that saving the forest was usually hungry work for her daughter. Seven approved of the healthy supply of fruit, grain bars, sandwiches and milk that were provided, even though Naomi occasionally bemoaned the fact that 'junk food' was not considered appropriate for their playtime. Since Seven's only previous encounter with such non-nutritional supplements had caused her to vomit extensively afterward, much to her dismay and the captain's bemusement, she did not agree with her friend, but she did not press her argument often.

Leaning back against a tree, Naomi sucked her milk loudly through a straw, before reversing the action in order to create large bubbles in the white liquid. Seven did not mimic her, mindful of the one time when she had, it had spurted all over the front of her biometric suit, causing great merriment on the part of Naomi and a dry smile on the part of Janeway who was told about it later while Seven was changing outfits.

"Have you told your mother who you are?" the child asked with disarming casualness, once she had finished entertaining herself with her drink.

Seven blinked. "The fact that the newcomer is my mother, is not supposed to be common knowledge on the ship," she said with a hint of disapproval.

Naomi was completely unrepentant. "I heard Neelix telling Mom about it," she said. "I think he heard it from Tom Paris."

Seven resisted the urge to sigh. "If so, then many people know," she allowed. "Perhaps it would be prudent for me to inform her before she hears it from someone else."

"You must be excited to have your mom home," Naomi said innocently.

Seven studied the ham and cheese sandwich she was holding. "I am ... not sure. I do not remember what it was like when she was my mother. I find that I do not know how to feel about her now."

Naomi was rather used to Seven confiding in her so she did not flicker at such an admission. It simply did not occur to Seven that perhaps it was not appropriate for her to speak to Naomi as she would to B'Elanna or Janeway, and since the Borg did not find it unusual, the child did not either.

"Maybe once you tell her, it'll be all right," Naomi remarked. "I mean, she is your mom, right? And moms love their kids."

"She did not take care of me when I was a child as she should have," Seven said stubbornly.

Naomi blinked. "I think you're being a little mean, Seven," she said thoughtfully, though without censure. "Sometimes things get too big for moms, like the Borg, and even they can't stop what happens. Remember when Mom crashed on that planet and couldn't get back when she said she was going to? I know she didn't mean for that to happen, Seven, and it made her really unhappy when it did. Your mom is probably pretty unhappy about what happened to you."

Seven frowned, reluctant to allow the point. "Perhaps."

"And just 'cause bad things happened doesn't mean she doesn't love you," Naomi pointed out.

Seven regarded her gravely. "So I am supposed to forgive her?"

Naomi shrugged, having reached the end of her counseling skills. "If you think you should." She suddenly grinned. "Of course, Seven, when moms feel bad like that, they give you all sorts of good things to make up for it. You could probably get a whole chocolate cake for getting assimilated. I only got a single piece when Mom got home after crashing."

Seven regarded her. "What would I do with an entire chocolate cake?" she asked uncertainly, not sure where this conversation was leading.

"Share it with your friends," Naomi replied, as if the answer had been obvious. "Like me."

"Ah," Seven said, bemused. "Why did I not think of that?"

"You're just not used to having a Mom around," Naomi told her knowingly. "It's better to have one, Seven, than not have one."

Seven considered it. "Perhaps you are correct. It is possible that I have been concentrating too much on the negative aspects of this situation rather than the advantages."

"Exactly," Naomi said. She looked longingly at Seven. "Are you going to eat your cereal bar?"

Their lunch complete, Seven escorted Naomi back to her quarters on deck four, and then headed for the turbolift. She paused outside the guest quarters, before hesitantly ringing the admittance chime. It took a moment before Erin Hansen's voice sounded, granting her entrance and Seven wondered if the woman had been asleep.

She went inside and paused as she saw Erin sitting at the computer console. There was an expression on the other woman's face, one of slight anger mixed in with an odd sort of joy. She turned the screen around so that Seven could see the file containing the picture of a little blonde girl, and the Borg realized that she should have anticipated this, that she should have known Erin would tap into the personnel records if she had any questions about Seven. The young woman's heart twinged painfully in her chest.

"When were you going to tell me?" Erin managed calmly. "Annika."

Janeway regarded the Klingon with dismay.

"You're sure?" she asked, aware her voice was husky, yet unable to strengthen it at the moment into its regular firm commanding tone.

B'Elanna looked as sorry as it was possible for her to look.

"Positive, Captain," she said and tapped her finger on the screen. "It must have been only the smallest imperfection for us not to have caught it in the original analysis. But the more we worked with it, the more it must have fractured until now it's clearly visible on all the scans."

Janeway felt faint. Apparently they were still being bestowed with luck, it was just turning all bad at the moment. She took a moment to compose herself, to make sure the command mask was firm. It would not do for the engineering team to see just how devastating this news was.

"Can you repair it?" Chakotay asked. Voyager's darkly handsome first officer was circling the test chamber warily, frowning as he stared into the transparent cube.

B'Elanna shook her head. "It's a fatal flaw within the interior of the construct, itself, Commander. No way to get to it and even if we could, I don't think we have any way to repair it. This is what slowed Dr. Hansen a lot in her early research, according to her notes and what made me think about it in the first place. These micro-fractures always seemed to appear just as she was about to initiate stage two. That's why they finally ended up going back to the drawing board and building their own warp coil from scratch rather than trying to salvage them from the wreckage of Borg cubes." She sighed. "As you already know, the one we've been building down on deck twelve ever since we got the specs still require several key components that we have yet to come across in the Delta Quadrant."

"So you're telling me that this warp coil is useless," Janeway said, a muscle jumping sporadically in her cheek. "That we've been wasting our time this past week in trying to adapt it to our propulsion system."

B'Elanna frowned. "Well, it wasn't a total waste of time, Captain," she said. "I mean, it's not as if we didn't learn anything. Certainly, it will help us in the future if we ever have the opportunity to try it with an undamaged coil."

Chakotay nodded, moving over to the two women. "B'Elanna's right, Captain," he said, obviously trying to put as positive a spin on things as he could. "No attempt at getting home is a wasted opportunity. Certainly the crew didn't pin all its hopes on this. After all, we've been disappointed a lot of times before and we're sort of inured to it by now. I don't foresee any major problem in morale arising from this."

Janeway inhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and her thumb. How could she tell them that she had been pinning all her hopes on this, and now that it hadn't panned out, she was left with no options at all? Or rather, left with only an option that she had no control over. She would not be able to get her ship home, nor return Tuvok to Vulcan before Pon farr was fully upon him. The percieved failure rankled in a way that she hated profoundly.

Her head pounded and she dropped her hand, looking up at the engineer.

"I'm not quite ready to give up," she said stubbornly. "Let's look at all the possibilities of an attempted repair at least."

Chakotay frowned at her. "Are you sure, Captain?" he asked. "Wouldn't that be a waste of resources that maybe Voyager can't afford?"

She resisted the urge to lash out verbally at him, aware that he didn't know what was really at stake here.

"I'm sure that if we don't try, we'll be left with some lingering doubts," she said, forcing a calmness she wasn't feeling. She tapped her comm badge. "Janeway to Seven."

"Seven here," responded the Borg evenly.

"Seven, your presence is required in the engineering lab."

There was a pause. "I cannot comply."

"What?" Janeway burst out, and then took a breath. "Explain."

"I am in the guest quarters, Captain," Seven said. A brief hesitation where Janeway was sure she could hear the presence of another. "With my mother. We were just discussing that revelation."

Janeway closed her eyes, feeling her temples pound. "I understand," she said. And she did, even though she thought the timing of the whole thing could have been a great deal better. She thought hard about the situation. Was it absolutely crucial that Seven be here to help in what would probably turn out to be a futile attempt to avoid the inevitable? "Take your time, Seven," she said finally. "Do what you have to do. We'll manage without you."

"Thank you, Captain," Seven responded and Janeway heard the warmth in her voice. She tucked it away in her heart because it seemed that little else was going right at the moment, and she would probably need the little bit of strength it offered sometime in the future.

"All right," she said, regarding B'Elanna as she took off her tunic and rolled up her sweater sleeves. "Since Seven can't be here, you'll just have to make do with me. Chakotay, you have the bridge for the foreseeable future. Let's get to work. We'll take this thing apart molecule by molecule if we have to."

"Janeway to Ro."

Ro looked up from her padd and touched her comm badge.

"Go ahead," she replied.

"It appears that the warp coil project has hit a snag," Janeway reported coolly and quietly. The Bajoran wondered if she was keeping her voice low on purpose, because others were in the area that might overhear. "About that matter we were discussing earlier?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"We must go to plan 'B'."

Ro caught her breath.

"Understood," she said, and cut the connection.

She looked across the large conference room, which doubled as Voyager's security section. Here, on-duty security officers gathered when they weren't needed on individual detail in other parts of the vessel. It was supposed to be a work area, of course, with various computer consoles and lab tables, but like all starship security departments, a sofa and chairs had been moved in to turn the area into a lounge, along with a tiny holo emitter to run visual programs like Three-D Chess, Battlefront and the ever popular, Orion Dancers. The long conference tables had been replaced by smaller ones where the crewmembers passed away idle time by playing cards and backgammon. There was even a dartboard attached to one bulkhead and a portable replicator rested on the counter, which ran along one wall. Fortunately, other members of the crew were rarely required to come into the area, which was situated right next to the brig.

Senior officers tended to turn a blind eye to the alterations of this area since to do otherwise was a losing proposition. Certainly it did not affect the performance of the security teams, and most chiefs were wise enough to know that having a place for the security officers to relax apart from the rest of the ship was what made it possible for them to be alert and ready when their talents were needed. Security had the highest fatality rate per capita of any department in Starfleet, just marginally below test pilots, and if this was what was required for security personnel to be willing to put their lives on the line again and again for the rest of their crewmates, Tuvok was willing to accept it.

Ro strolled across the room to where Lt. Davis was napping on the couch, snoring softly. She kicked the side of the furniture soundly, startling the dozing man awake and he blinked, looking up at her.

"Ma'am," he said, sitting up.

She bent over him, lowering her voice. "The captain's just handed me an assignment. You're in command until you hear differently from either her, myself or Tuvok. It might be a few days."

He looked curious, but he had been in security long enough to know not to ask.

"Understood," he said. He would make sure no one else would ask either. Standard operating procedure in Starfleet security. His eyes followed her as she left, however, and she ignored them as best she could.

After injecting herself with the proper drugs needed to counteract the effects of a Vulcan atmosphere, she went to deck seven and pressed the chime on the quarters there. There was a pause, and then the door slid open and she went inside. Vorik regarded her curiously. Over his shoulder, she could see the monitor that held an image of a dark figure sitting quietly in an empty room.

"You should not be here," he said calmly. She could judge the glint in his eyes however, and knew he was greatly offended.

"I am here as a surrogate," she said quickly, linking her hands behind her back. "If he accepts, you shall not be required."

His eyebrow did its best to crawl off his forehead.

"It is likely that he shall not," he warned her.

She stared back at him calmly. "He will," she replied. "It would be illogical for him not to."

The young engineer's eyes searched her up and down, his gaze evaluating and not offensive as it might have been were he any other species. "Perhaps he shall," he allowed after a moment's consideration.

"In that event?" she prodded.

"I shall find another place on the ship to be," he promised. "The monitoring equipment will be turned off."

The promise secured, she left that room and went next door, overriding the seal placed on the entrance before replacing it with her own. It was an extreme violation of protocol but then, this was an extreme circumstance and she did not hesitate.

Tuvok was still sitting cross-legged on the floor and she wondered if he had even moved these past few days. But he was not dirty and he remained clean-shaven so she supposed he still retained that much control of himself. There was fury burning hot in his eyes however, and his hands were grey-knuckled where they were clasped to his midsection.

"You dare?" he said, his voice a hiss of anger and outrage.

She didn't move, remaining where she was, projecting a calm, rational expression, her eyes level.

"Rut'ka," she said in Vulcan. "I come to you, Tuvok."

He uncoiled from the floor like a snake, one smooth motion of barely contained power.

"You insult me," he spat in the same language.

"No," she responded calmly. "It is your time. Your chosen one is far away and the fever burns hot within you. I offer myself as her own, the guiding hand to care for you as another will care for her. I do so of my own free will and because I will not stand by, helpless, to watch you die."

His breathing was harsh and with an effort, he straightened his shoulders. "Lieutenant," he said, deliberately altering his words back to Federation standard, "this is unwarranted."

She dipped her head, brows lowered. "It is not acceptable that you refuse," she said, still in Vulcan, not willing to admit defeat. Never before had she needed to succeed at something as much as she did now. She could not let him down. "If you do, you not only condemn yourself to death, but possibly your wife. She will do what she can to survive as others have before her and be not ashamed of it. Who are you to deny her that? Who are you to let pride and fear prevent you from doing the same? It is illogical, Tuvok."

Her voice hammered at him and he winced, as if every word were a blow falling upon his shoulders without mercy. There was a long pause, a decision hovering on dagger's edge, waiting to fall on either side, meaning death on one, life on the other. He turned away, staring out the window at the stars beyond. Ro waited, infinitely calm now that she had presented her case. It was up to him, now.

"I ... I burn," he said finally, huskily.

"I burn," she responded joyfully, walking towards him.

As she did, she unfastened her tunic, allowing it to drop on the floor, and then pulled her sweater and undergarments off over her head in one smooth motion. She forced her uniform trousers down over her hips and stepped gracefully out of them, until finally, she stood naked and unafraid behind him. Slowly he turned, and his eyes traced lingeringly over her body, their intensity almost palpable on her skin. She felt her nipples tighten, the rush of moisture between her legs, irrevocably caught up in the web of his arousal. He looked into her face then, searching it closely for any hint of reluctance or second thoughts and she shivered delicately as the uncertainty in his gaze became acceptance and sheer, unadulterated desire.

He raised a hand and with exquisite care, she placed two fingertips against his. She breathed deeply as the fire of his need raced along each of her nerve endings, searing through the psychic link to set her alight. She found it remarkably easy to match it even as she took care to rein it in, opening her mind willingly, being taken gently by him, yet with genuine affection for her and a passion that could not be denied by either of them.

Sometime later, they sank onto the sleeping pad and she was never quite sure how he managed to remove his robes without her noticing. There, in the silvery illumination of a million stars, she pressed him down, straddled him and took him deeply into her body. His hands reached up to cup her face, fingertips to her temples and cheeks, holding her in place as he accepted her gift and she accepted his. Their minds expanded across the boundaries of space and time to two other minds on a dusty red world who were also physically joined. Four beings became two, then two became one as all united in an explosion of pleasure and power, of body and mind, of intellect and emotion.

And Ro Laren finally understood the true meaning of Pon farr.

It was the time of mating.

Seven lowered her hand from her comm badge and regarded the woman, feeling the blood rush through her veins.

"It was not our intention to deceive you," she said quietly. "It was a matter of timing."

Erin looked down at the file on the computer, at the image of her daughter, and then back at Seven, her eyes tracing each line as if she could somehow reconcile it with that of the little girl she had left behind.

"You are Annika," she said wonderingly. "My daughter."

"Yes," Seven said. After all, while she might not have been prepared to volunteer the information before now, she was hardly going to deny it, even if lying had been one of her abilities. "I am Annika Hansen. I was assimilated from the Raven twenty years ago."

Erin closed her eyes, seeming very small and fragile at the moment. "I don't even know what to say," she said finally. "This is ... amazing."

"Yes," Seven agreed. There were few words that could cover such a situation and that adjective was as good as any.

Erin got up from her chair and moved over to her, studying her face intently. Seven managed to hold her ground, though a good part of her wanted to turn and flee.

"You're a woman now," Erin said with wonder, raising her hand to touch the Borg's cheek. "Married, certainly old enough to have children of your own."

That did make Seven flinch and she frowned. "I cannot," she said coldly. "The Borg took that ability from me. I shall never bear children."

Erin looked stricken and she turned away. "I didn't know."

Seven took a breath. "It is not your fault," she said in a gentler tone.

"Oh, but it was, wasn't it?" Erin said softly, her eyes shiny with tears as she regarded her daughter. "Mine and Magnus's. We were so busy chasing our own dreams, we stole them from you and that was absolutely unforgivable. How could we have taken our little girl into such danger? What arrogance could have possessed us to think we could be safe from the Borg once we had the slightest idea of their true nature."

Seven bent her head, an ache appearing in her chest. "You were scientists," she said softly, trying to find a way to understand herself. "Sometimes, scientists do not always know what is most important." She raised her eyes, meeting the matching pale blue. "Kathryn is like that sometimes, and I must remind her to stand back from the problem." It comforted her to talk about her spouse, giving her a measure of control since Janeway wasn't there in person to support her.

"You love her very much," Erin said, bittersweet. "She saved you from the Borg."

Seven smiled faintly. "More than once."

Erin inhaled slowly, her arms across her chest as if she were hugging herself, seeming cold for some reason.

"I'm glad," she said. "I'm glad that your time in the Collective did not rob you of that ability at least ... did not keep you from being able to love."

Seven considered it. "No," she said. "It did not."

Erin lifted her head. "I am sorry, Annika," she said. "Were it in my power, I would go back and change it all. I would never have left the Federation, would never have taken you so far away from home."

Seven was surprised to find that she felt a real sympathy for the woman's obvious pain and she shook her head. "It is ... not irrelevant, but perhaps not so completely tragic," she said hesitantly, as she allowed herself to work it out for herself. "I did lose many years of my life in the Collective, that is true. So did you. But I must also take into account the possibility that had things not happened as they did, I would never have met Captain Kathryn Janeway or the crew of Voyager. Perhaps, I would have grown up as a Human in the Federation. I would never know the tragedy of the many things I've experienced with the Borg, but it is also possible that I would never have known the happiness I eventually found in the Delta Quadrant, either." She hesitated. "If I had to chose between the two, I will always chose my life here, with Kathryn.

"That is a very powerful thing to know," Erin said softly. "To love someone so much that you could find it in your heart to forgive even the Borg."

"'Forgive' is not precisely the correct term for how I feel. Perhaps it is simply a matter of accepting the reality of it." She tilted her head, regarding Erin Hansen ... regarding her mother. "However, I think that I can find it in my heart to forgive you and my father for all the decisions you made that may or may not have turned out to be ultimately detrimental to myself. Particularly if that is what is required for us to ... relate to each other."

And it seemed that there was a lightening in her soul then, a burden being lifted off her shoulders that she had not even know was there. She smiled and Erin returned it, caught by the sheer wonder and joy that was generating it. The older woman reached out and Seven did not draw away, allowing the older woman to hug her closely. Eventually, she even lifted her arms and wrapped them around this individual, hugging her back.

After they finally released each other, Erin took her hand and led her over to the sofa.

"Tell me," she encouraged.

"Tell you what?" Seven responded, bemused.

"Everything," Erin insisted. "All the things you've done since being severed from the Collective. Tell me about Kathryn and how you two fell in love, what your plans are for the future. Tell me about your friends and the people you don't get along with and why." She cupped the young woman's cheek in her hand. "Tell me all the things about my little girl that I've missed."

"That would be a very long conversation."

"I'm not going anywhere," Erin responded.

"Very well," Seven said and began, starting with the moment she stepped out of the Borg cubicle to face the determined and feisty form of the woman she would eventually come to love.

Seven knew she was not a particularly good storyteller. Her recounting was dry and devoid of extraneous detail, but Erin seemed to enjoy it, making appropriate sounds at all the proper places, from gasps of horror to bursts of laughter when required. And when Seven had finally finished many hours later, she felt completely drained, as if her entire life up until this point was now properly filed and stored away and she was ready to move on to the next section. It was a most interesting feeling and she hoped that she could explain to Janeway later, in a way that her spouse would be able to understand and perhaps even appreciate.

"So," Erin asked, holding her glass of Bajoran spring wine which had been acquired at some point in the conversation. They had even managed to stop briefly for a meal, though by this time, Seven did not know if it had been dinner they had shared or even the breakfast of the next morning. "You still want children?"

"Yes," Seven said. "Thanks to my counterpart, they will be as much my genetic design as they will be Kathryn's." She paused. "I do not know why that is important. I am aware that perhaps it shouldn't be, yet I cannot help feeling that it is."

"Blood is thicker than water," Erin remarked.

"Yes," Seven nodded. "Kathryn has said that. She means that family can have stronger bonds to a person than other people. However, I have also come to understand it is not always genetic compatibility that makes it so. Kathryn is my family, and our bonds are much stronger than..." She faltered and Erin smiled.

"Stronger than yours and mine," she finished gently for her.

Seven glanced at her. "I do not wish to hurt you," she said, finding that she truly meant it.

"You haven't, Annika," Erin responded. "As I said, I will be forever grateful to Kathryn for finding you and certainly, she is responsible for finding me as well. She gave us a chance to be together again and for that, there is not enough gratitude in the universe."

Seven nodded. "That is true," she said. She took a breath. "I think that you will also like Kathryn's mother. You are ... very similar in some ways."

"That surprises you?" Erin asked.

Seven hesitated. "I did not think you would be like Gretchen."

"The way you talked about her made her sound like the perfect parent," Erin remarked. "I'm flattered to be compared to her."

Seven didn't know what to do with that one. "In any event, I believe that you would find her amiable."

"I'm sure I will." Erin paused, regarding Seven with quiet humor. "Are you so sure we shall be able to return to the Alpha Quadrant?"

Seven considered the question. "If the warp coil does not work, which is possible, there are always the other projects we have in operation, including that of the slipstream drive," she explained, confidently. "We will return within the next three years."

"And where do you see me, then?" Erin asked, watching her closely.

Seven frowned, trying to understand the question. "As a part of my life," she said, somewhat confused. "Either here on Voyager or in the Federation."

"That would please you?" Erin asked, unusually intent.

Seven thought she saw what the questions really meant. "Yes," she said, her throat closing. "It would." She glanced at her, feeling the tears rise. "You are my mother. I have missed you."

Erin's face crumpled and she reached out, gathering Seven in her arms. "I've missed you too," she whispered. "I know that as Borg, we were not supposed to feel anything, but somehow, I always knew I was missing a part of myself. Now, I've found it."

Seven did not think this could be accurate, knowing the Collective as she did, but it was pleasant to believe so. She rested her head on the woman's shoulder, feeling a sense of comfort that she had not in a long time, not even in a way that Kathryn could provide her. It was different, a security that seemed to come from the center of her soul, the knowledge that as long as this person was with her, nothing bad could possibly happen to her, even as she knew with every iota of her intellect that it could not and would not ever be true. But apparently, a love for a parent was as illogical as her love for her spouse and she was happy to accept it.

She felt Erin stroke her hair and for a moment, it was so familiar and so like it had been all those years ago that Seven thought she would weep. She did not, but she wanted to. She hoped that she would be able to explain this to Janeway as well.

"Kathryn must get to know you better," she said softly. "She will love you, too."

Erin's voice was warm with affection and love. "I certainly want to get to know her. She seems a most remarkable person. She must be if you love her. Certainly she had the good sense to love my little girl."

Seven frowned. "I am not little," she corrected. "Not anymore. In fact, I am approximately 15 centimeters taller than you."

Erin laughed. "So you are," she said. "You're my big girl."

Seven was going to argue the appropriateness of being referred to as a little girl rather than the adult woman she knew she was, but she decided that she did not particularly mind being called it by this woman. She wondered if, when she had children herself, that she would always consider them 'her little ones' rather than allow for the fact that they too, would eventually become adults? It was an interesting premise and she worried it for a few moments like a puppy with a bone.

Gradually she became aware that Erin was rocking her gently, humming something softly under her breath. Seven recognized it as a children's song and as her mind filled in other blanks, prodded by the inspiration of sound and even the fragrance of the woman which apparently had not changed, she remembered it as the one which Erin had sung to her as a little girl. She swallowed against the lump that suddenly appeared in her throat and did not move, content to be rocked and sung to by her mother even as she realized she was far too large to have this happen. Then she wondered why she thought that. What rule had been made to make people think there was a set age beyond which one could not be comforted and coddled by their parent? Certainly, it was not unpleasant and with a sigh, she snuggled deeper into the embrace and closed her eyes, content to bask in this moment, sensing that it would probably not last long or be repeated very often.

She must have drifted off because when she woke up, she was alone on the couch, a blanket draped over her. She blinked and looked across the room at her mother who was seated at the small table in the corner, studying some padds. She seemed to sense she was being observed and she looked up, smiling.

"Hey, there, sleepyhead," Erin said, getting up to come over to her. "You fell asleep."

"Yes," Seven said, sitting up. She took a breath. "That is unusual for me, but I have been working many double shifts recently."

"I understand," Erin said in a gently teasing tone, standing over her as she reached down to stroke her cheek. "But then, I've always been able to put you to sleep by singing that song to you."

Seven considered that, another memory prodding her. "Yes," she allowed with some surprise. "You have."

Erin tilted her head. "Perhaps I'll have the chance to do it again sometime."

Seven considered a future with her mother so close by and she realized she was both pleased and soothed by it, as if everything was falling neatly into place. She favored her parent with a shy smile.

"That will be acceptable."

She was completely unprepared when the door burst open and a fully armed security team rushed in, led by none other than her spouse.

"Kath---Captain?" she said, getting to her feet, staring with astonishment at her partner.

Janeway was thin-lipped, her face white with undeniable fury and fear.

"Stand away from her, Seven," she said, her voice deep and deadly as she raised her phaser rifle, aiming it directly at Erin Hansen.

Seven was filled with a mixture of confusion and responsive outrage. "What is happening?" she demanded. "Why are you doing this?"

"Get away from her," Janeway demanded again, motioning with the muzzle of her weapon. She reached out and grabbed Seven's arm, yanking her back behind her.

"Kathryn," Seven said, reaching for the gun. "What are you doing? Why are you threatening my mother?"

"She's not your mother," Janeway said, moving out of Seven's reach. "She's not Borg and she's certainly not Human."

Shocked and confused, Seven looked at her partner, then at her mother. Erin Hansen, rather than looking fearful or surprised, merely dipped her head, seeming to accept the truth of the situation.

She most certainly did not deny the accusation.

"What or who are you exactly?" Janeway asked the woman sitting quietly at the end of the conference table, flanked by two, very dangerous looking security guards. The captain sat in her seat beneath the large viewports, wanting to pace about the room, waving her fists and screaming at the entity, but knowing that she could not. If not for the sake of her position as captain, then certainly for a very pale-faced Seven of Nine who was seated midway down the table, seeming unable to focus completely on either her spouse or her supposed 'mother'.

'Erin' quirked a very Human-looking eyebrow. "You could not pronounce our real name," she responded calmly. "The Borg have designated us as Species 343 though I don't really believe they have a clear idea of what we are either. Others simply call us 'Mimics'."

Janeway had never felt such anger as she did now. "You admit this deception," she accused harshly.

"Obviously you have penetrated a certain amount of my protective layer, Captain Janeway," the Mimic responded rationally. "It seems futile to attempt to continue it any longer."

"Why do it in the first place?" Chakotay said. His voice was quiet, but the captain could tell he was angry by the set of his shoulders and the way his dark eyes flashed.

The stranger inhaled slowly. "You must understand, we are a very physically weak species," she explained. "So naturally fragile that the slightest aggression could easily destroy us. We would rather be left alone, but in a quadrant full of predators, that is not possible so we must protect ourselves."

"But, the Borg has yet to defeat you," Lt. Torres noted. "That doesn't sound too helpless to me."

She looked angry, too and Janeway wasn't sure she wanted an angry Klingon involved in this, but she could hardly have left the engineer out. It was B'Elanna, after all, who first penetrated the deception, discovering that the warp coil was actually something else at the molecular level while trying to repair the micro-fracture. It quickly became clear to them that rather than being a Borg device, it was actually of a technology which they had encountered before ... in another falsely raised hope of a shortcut home.

"The Borg are a definite threat," 'Erin' said. "But even they are vulnerable to our natural form of defense."

"What defense?" Janeway asked, tightlipped.

"Camouflage," the alien said simply. "The ability to 'blend in' to our surroundings, whatever they may be, by drawing on the thoughts, emotions and expectations of the others around us and altering ourselves accordingly. This is our only protection against any threat, the ability to appear as harmless or as threatening as an enemy wishes to see us."

"You're shape shifters," Janeway said slowly. "Using mind control."

"An imprecise description," 'Erin' said. "Rather, we change into what you perceive us to be. You control it far more than we do. Our technology has evolved to be malleable, as well, but we cannot alter your thoughts, we can only respond to them. We can only ... fool you." It was clear that she did not wish to use that particular word, but it was the most appropriate one for the situation.

"Yes, your technology," Janeway said acidly. She had her hands resting on her lap, under the table so that no one would see how they were clenched into fists. "We've run into it before. Arturis, of species 116, used it to fool us into believing that his ship was actually a Federation vessel, sent to the Delta Quadrant to rescue us. That's how we were able to recognize it once we tried to repair the 'warp coil'. Originally, we thought it belonged to him but now we see it belongs to your species."

'Erin' looked vaguely surprised. "Indeed," she said, looking thoughtful. "We are not in the habit of selling or loaning our technology to others, Captain, so I suspect this 'Arturis' somehow laid hands on it illicitly. Obviously you were able to penetrate it and defeat his purpose in utilizing it, which is to be expected since he was attempting to control it rather than one of us. However, had I known that, I would have been more circumspect about how I was utilizing my technology while on board your vessel."

"Why Erin Hansen?" Chakotay asked. "Why choose her?"

'Erin' leaned forward, folding her hands neatly in front of her. "I do ... regret the necessity," she admitted, deliberately not looking at Seven of Nine. "Our vessel was attacked by a Borg sphere. We were able to destroy it, but we knew that others would be aware of the battle and arrive soon to finish what the sphere had begun. What the Borg cannot assimilate, they will terminate. We changed ourselves in order to appear as survivors of the destruction, prepared to hide in a 'null' drone state until there was an opportunity for escape. Unfortunately, our vessel had been badly damaged and subsequently, we were forced down on the planet where you found me. Everyone but myself, was killed in the crash."

"Why remain a Borg?" Chakotay demanded.

"Because that was what you were looking for," 'Erin' responded reasonably, speaking as if he was not a particularly bright child. "You were seeking Borg so my natural defense mechanisms maintained the state. I was injured, remember, and exceptionally vulnerable. I became what you both wanted and expected to find."

"But ... Seven's mother?" B'Elanna asked.

"Annika ... Seven was obviously thinking of her parents just before she found me," 'Erin' said, somewhat apologetically. "So naturally, I became what she subconsciously wished to find, because a family member would be more likely to be protected and accepted than simply a Borg drone. You have to realize I was unconscious at the time. It is a completely instinctual defense. By the time I regained consciousness, the protective camouflage was set."

"Why continue the deception once you realized we were harmless?" Janeway demanded.

'Erin' widened her eyes. "'Harmless'?" she echoed in disbelief. "Captain, you were deliberately looking for the Borg, something that most species, including quite powerful ones, do their best to avoid. In fact, you had clearly encountered and defeated them before. That hardly made you 'harmless' in my eyes. Do you blame me for doing my best to blend in, Captain? To become someone who would be protected by the beings on this vessel, just as I would have had the Borg picked me up rather than you?" She shuddered delicately. "We also know the violence that can arise when beings have been deceived. I could not take the chance. Even now, you can kill me with just a single blow and I can tell that you would gladly, if I say the wrong thing. I can feel the hatred and fear being directed at me, Captain."

"And then what?" Seven asked suddenly, forestalling the outrage Janeway had been about to respond with. The young woman's voice was small, almost helpless and the captain looked worriedly at her as Seven stared at the tabletop, seeming unable to lift her head.

The seemingly unshakable confidence of the alien faltered briefly. "I don't understand the question."

"How long would you have pretended to be my mother?" Seven asked, raising her head finally.

Her ice blue eyes were dull, defeated, her features bleak, and Janeway decided that perhaps the alien had a point about being afraid ... because it was taking all she had not to leap across the table and throttle 'Erin' for the pain she had brought her partner, let alone what the prospect of going home so soon had cost the crew and Tuvok ... god, Tuvok!

"As long as necessary," 'Erin' said quietly to the young woman. "For the rest of my existence, if need be. I knew, of course, that the 'warp coil' could not return us to your Federation, but the fact is, we are traveling further away from my world and my people with each passing second. I am no warrior, not an aggressive being who could take over the ship and make you return me to my home. My continued survival demanded that I maintain this state until I could find a way to escape or convince you to return to the very area of space you have left behind. Since I understood that might never happen, I was prepared to be your 'mother' for the rest of my life." She paused, a trace of sadness crossing her face. "I would have been a very good mother to you, Seven. I would have been all that you could have wanted or expected in such a relationship."

Seven stood up abruptly, leaving the conference room. Janeway did not try to stop her, even as she felt her heart break. She could not afford to go after her ... not yet. That would come only when she knew her ship was secured and this alien posed no further threat.

"You could have asked for our assistance," Janeway insisted.

'Erin' sighed. "Perhaps," she allowed with a touch of weariness. "However you are a violent and undisciplined species, Captain. Even now, the antagonism directed by all of you at me is like a strong wind. I can no more help my survival instincts than you can keep from feeling like you want to kill me at this moment. Yes, we make choices in our struggle to survive in this universe and sometimes, in retrospect, the choices are not always the wisest, but we each do our best. I was one being against many, found by a ship whose crew was aggressively attempting to return to their home. There was no reason for me to think you would turn around and take me back or even release me to do so myself. After all, you had refused to allow Seven to return to the Borg when she requested it. How could I suspect you would be any less willing to give up my abilities if you felt they could help you in your obsession to return your vessel to the Alpha Quadrant?"

Janeway was embarrassed and ashamed, unable to hold onto most of her anger even as she suspected she had just been manipulated out of it by the alien's cutting words. After all, the entity could obviously read minds, sense emotions, alter herself into whatever she needed to be in order to 'blend in'. No doubt that extended to knowing what to say ... yet that did not change the accuracy or the truth of 'Erin's' observations.

"I appreciate that you were doing what you thought you had to in order to survive," Janeway said, her voice at its lowest and most dangerous register. "But the emotional toll..."

"Emotional distress heals, Captain," 'Erin' interrupted quietly. "The humiliation of being 'fooled' is soothed over in time. Death however, is more permanent, and it was my life I was trying to protect."

Janeway felt the anger spark again. Perhaps it was not her being uncertain about meeting her mother-in-law that caused her initial wariness, she decided. Perhaps she had sensed the 'wrongness' around 'Erin Hansen' from the beginning.

"No, Captain," the alien noted calmly. "You were wary about meeting 'Erin' because you are of an age that is technically old enough to be Seven's mother and that has always bothered you on several levels. You have no innate sense that could enable you to detect my natural state."

Janeway bit back her initial response. Instead, she fixed a burning gaze on the alien sitting across from her, not hiding her contempt since it would be futile anyway. The being seemed to flinch and tense, no doubt expecting the worst now under that barrage of emotion.

"I want you off my ship," Janeway said flatly. "Take your malleable warp coil and go. We'll provide you with a shuttle with warp capacity." She looked at the security officers. "Escort our 'guest' to the shuttle bay. Make sure her device is loaded on board and that she leaves as soon as possible."

'Erin' hesitated, her expression one of profound astonishment. "Thank you, Captain," she said. "That is far more generous treatment than I expected."

Janeway raised her head. "We may be 'violent and undisciplined' in our thoughts and our quest to survive," she said coldly, "but we also strive to rise above our instincts. Perhaps you can teach that to your people so that the next time they find themselves in a similar situation, they will make more of an effort to communicate and rise above their own, rather than automatically choosing to 'blend in'."

'Erin' dipped her head, acknowledging her words and stood up, flanked by the two security officers. She paused at the door, looking back.

"Captain," she offered. "This means little, I know, but I honestly regret that Seven was hurt by this. The 'Erin Hansen' she wanted and expected was generally a kind, gentle, and loving mother ... because Annika is by nature, a kind, gentle and loving daughter. It would have been a fairly pleasant existence to be her parent. Please tender my deepest apologies to her."

"I don't believe she will accept them," Janeway said harshly, then lowered her head. "But I shall tell her."

The conference room was quiet when the alien left. Both Chakotay and B'Elanna were somewhat conspicuous in not looking at the captain. Janeway took a breath.

"As weeks go," she said quietly. "This one has had to be one of the worst ever. I thank you for all the extra work you and your staff put in, B'Elanna, even if it was in a futile cause. Their time will be made up to them in either extra leave or additional replicator or holodeck rations. Chakotay, please break the news to the crew that once again, we'll be taking the long way home."

"Yes, Captain," B'Elanna responded softly.

"Understood, Captain," Chakotay said. He glanced at her. "What about Seven?"

Janeway felt her jaw twitch. "That's my next task," she said, her heart aching. "I only wish I knew what to say to her."

She waited until her first officer and chief engineer left the conference room, and then raised her head. "Computer, locate Seven of Nine."

"Seven of Nine is in the Borg alcove," the computer responded promptly.

Steeling herself, the captain got up and left the conference room. All the way down to deck eight, she tried to figure out what to do ... what she could say that could somehow make this all right. There was also the thought of Tuvok fresh in her mind, but she realized that was somewhat out of her hands. At this point, either Ro Laren's plan 'B' would work or Tuvok would die and in neither case, could Janeway do a thing about it. It aggravated the hell out of her as a Starfleet captain, but sometimes, she just had to let her people do what they had to do.

She entered the ship's arboretum, formerly cargo bay two, and made her way through the bushes to where a door was set unobtrusively in the shadows. It was sealed, but yielded to her command override and she entered quietly, making sure the door was secure behind her. She paused just inside, seeing the slender form of her partner in the greenish illumination. Seven was sitting on the dais, leaning against the round post as if lacking the strength to hold herself upright on her own. Her head was bent, but Janeway could not tell if she was weeping or not. There was no sound, and her shoulders were not shaking as they would if she were crying, but that did not mean Seven had come to terms with her emotions. Indeed, the very fact that she had fled to these alcoves did not bode well for her state of mind. It was as if she had bypassed all she had become in the past two years, and sought out what she had known for most of her life, seeking comfort not in her home in the captain's quarters, but in the sterility and coldness of the Borg Collective.

Carefully, Janeway went over and sat down next to her partner, deciding to say nothing for the time being. It was enough that she simply make her presence felt and not try to 'fix' this right away, particularly since she had no idea how. It took some time before Seven seemed to acknowledge she was there, but when she did, it came in the form of her leaning over and putting her head on the captain's lap. Tenderly, Janeway loosened the blonde hair from its austere bun, letting it fall loose where she stroked it soothingly, though she suspected that Seven was not ready to be soothed. Still, there were no tears and that bothered the captain more than she cared to admit.

"B'Elanna once said to me that 'ignorance is bliss'," the young woman said finally, bleakly. "I did not understand what that meant. I certainly did not agree with what it implied."

"And now?" Janeway asked huskily.

"Now, I comprehend the true meaning of the saying," Seven said with infinite sadness. "And wish that I still existed in a state of  ignorance."

Janeway bent down, brushing her lips over the woman's temple as she held her close. Many things crowded her mind, words of comfort, of reassurance, but none reached any level of adequacy. It occurred to Janeway suddenly, that a part of Seven had been shattered in a way that was beyond her ability to help, that a piece of her innate innocence had been ripped away forever, and in that moment, Janeway would have gladly slain the alien right where it stood. It was probably a good thing that it was off the ship and traveling at high warp in the other direction.

"Annika," she said softly. "I love you. I'm always going to love you."

Seven did not answer, merely closed her eyes and settled her head onto her partner's lap and for the first time, Janeway knew it simply wasn't enough to hold Seven and love her. The pain and power of this lie could not be defeated by the revelation of truth.

Because Seven would have preferred to live the lie.

Epilogue

Somewhere in Sector 1663, a Borg drone completed its task, gathering up its tools and storing them neatly in the appropriate compartment. Three of Twelve was small and unassuming even amongst the Borg, and had been a very efficient drone for its entire existence in the Collective. Moving automatically, it moved through the dank, dark corridors of the Borg cube, intent on returning to its cubicle for regeneration now that its assigned work was complete.

It turned around and backed into the alcove, clicking into the regeneration array and shutting down for the night. In that brief instance between the multitude of voices that were a constant presence and the oblivion of regeneration, there was a flash of memory that crossed the drone's mind, of a little blonde girl who gazed up so trustingly, bestowing the faintest echo of what this drone had once felt before it had all ended. Then, darkness came to resume another cycle and any trace of feeling was removed efficiently by the Collective will.

Yet, in the dim illumination, just as it had at every regeneration cycle for the past twenty years, a small drop of moisture oozed out from beneath the lids of the single, remaining organic eye. It slid down the pale, mottled cheek to fall onto the black outfit and metallic thoracic implant where it rested before finally evaporating into the humid air of the cube.

Unimpressive.

Unnoticed.

Irrelevant.

The End

•  This is the 30th installment in the Just Between series.  I can state with some certainty, that we are well past the halfway point for sure now. *G*

• It was posted on December 3rd, 1999.

• The title comes from Narmin.

• Dedicated to Kim and Jenna who provided much needed research material.

Just Between Tears
G. L. Dartt

Captain Kathryn Janeway of USS Voyager rolled over in the night, reaching out for the warm body that should have been next to her, but wasn't. Forcing herself awake, she blinked and sat up, looking around the dimly illuminated bedroom with concern. Head tilted slightly as she listened, the soft hum of the warp drive was a constant hum beneath the sound of her respiration. Beyond that, she could hear no movement in the ensuite which was set just off the bedroom, or in the outer living area. Frowning, she rolled out of bed and retrieved the pink terrycloth robe draped over the lounge at the far end of the room.

As the auburn-haired captain pulled it on over her compact form, she looked out the open door and across the living area, spotting a scenario that had become all too familiar the past few days. Seven of Nine, Voyager's Borg astrometrics officer and Janeway's spouse of almost a year, was sitting in the corner of the sofa, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them almost as if she was hugging them, the blonde narrow features sorrowful as they gazed out at the passing stars. She was wearing an oversized, blue terrycloth robe which made her seem small and very young in the darkness. Curled up in a rust ball on the cushions at the Borg's feet, the couple's Irish Setter, Jake, remained close to his mistress, just as he had with unswerving devotion since Seven had been hurt.

And Seven was deeply hurt, Janeway thought ruefully. A week or so earlier, the young woman had believed she had found her mother in the form of a Borg drone unexpectedly rescued from a shuttle crash. It had been very hard for the young woman to move past all the resentment and pain that being assimilated as a child had formed deep in her psyche, as well as the difficult adjustment of being with a parent again after all these years. Seven had adapted well, however, and in the end, had even been looking forward to a future which included her mother as a very important part of her life.

Except it had all been a lie.

'Erin Hansen' had turned out to be an alien seeking refuge from the Borg and had the natural ability to camouflage itself as a person whom Voyager and its crew would have welcomed and protected. When the deception had been uncovered, Seven had been devastated, and now, three days later, she still suffered profoundly, barely eating, unable to sleep, having no interest in returning to her daily routine. Janeway supposed that the alien lifeform had only been acting as its instincts and culture demanded, but there was a part of the captain that would have gladly given into her more primitive, baser side and slain the alien for this hurt caused her beloved. Instead, she had let it return to its home, as the enlightened, compassionate parameters of Janeway's Starfleet ideals and personal beliefs dictated.

Janeway allowed that being compassionate was a hell of a lot easier when one was not so personally involved.

Quietly, the captain moved across the room, her heart aching as she wished she had some way to make this better for her partner. Jake lifted his head at her approach, ears pricked and Seven, who noticed the dog's shift in position, turned her head to look at her partner. Once more, Janeway was struck by the sheer, uncomprehending pain in the young woman's pale blue eyes, the expression reaching in and squeezing the captain's heart as if in a vise. A glint of starlight reflected off the metallic implant framing Seven's left eye and Janeway was reminded of how deep the scars still ran within her partner, the most important of which weren't even visible.

"Hey," she said softly as she reached down to run her fingers lightly along Seven's porcelain cheek. "I woke up and you weren't there. I missed you."

"I could not sleep," Seven responded in her precisely modulated tones. "I did not wish to disturb you so I came out here."

Janeway nodded. "Do you want some company?" she asked, expecting to be rebuffed as she had so many times in the past few days. "Or would you rather be alone?"

Seven hesitated, then lowered her eyes. "I do not wish to be alone," she admitted in a softer voice. "Please, stay with me, Kathryn." It was a distinct change in the Borg's attitude and Janeway was surprised, yet heartened by it.

"Gladly, love," Janeway said as she positioned herself in behind the young woman, Seven helpfully leaning forward. The captain wrapped her arms tightly around the Borg as Seven slid down on the couch, her head and shoulders supported by Janeway's chest. Sorrowfully, the captain nuzzled the long blonde hair, hugging her partner as close as she could. For several moments, they snuggled together in silence, the starlight falling soft over their bodies.

"Darling," Janeway said quietly, with the greatest of care. "Is there anything you would like to talk about? Sometimes that can help."

"No," Seven said, shaking her head slightly as she settled closer against her spouse and Janeway knew she had to be satisfied with that.

Though every instinct in the older woman wanted to 'fix' this, wanted to find a way to take the burden from her beloved's shoulders and put it onto her own, she restrained herself. She had learned ... painfully ... that her innate desire to throw herself at a challenge with the intent of immediately solving it sometimes caused more heartache than the initial problem did. At the moment, additional hurt was the absolute last thing she wanted to cause her beloved. So she schooled herself to patience and tried to be there for Seven as much as possible, granting the young woman the space and time to adapt to this, yet always ready to show her all the support she could. It had been a difficult lesson to learn, but as she grew older, Janeway hoped that she was becoming wiser as well.

Still, it was amazingly difficult to stand by and force herself to do nothing. In a way, it would have been easier if Janeway had been responsible for the betrayal, for this pain, because then, Seven would have a focus and a target for her residual anger and hurt. Instead, on several levels, this had nothing to do with the captain at all, and that made Janeway feel useless in a way that she had rarely felt before.

"Do you think she is still alive?" Seven asked finally, after another long period of silence.

Janeway, who had been on the verge of drifting off, forced herself awake once more, not entirely sure who Seven was referring to and worried that she had actually missed some of the conversation.

"I don't know," she replied honestly after taking a few seconds to work it out who Seven was talking about. "You once said to me that your parents' thoughts were your own in the Collective. Were you speaking in general terms, or did you really know for sure?"

Seven inhaled slowly. "I would like to believe that I knew they were there," she said in a soft, tentative voice. "But it was irrelevant which of the multitude of voices belonged to what drone. There was no need for a parent and child relationship in the Collective, so one did not exist." She paused. "It is possible that Erin Hansen died in the initial assimilation. Many did."

Janeway closed her eyes. "I'm sorry," she replied quietly ... helplessly.

Seven swallowed convulsively. "I wish to know, Kathryn. I try so hard to remember anything that would be relevant to that time ... but I cannot."

The Borg grew tense against the captain and Janeway tightened her embrace, brushing her lips over the top of her partner's head.

"It's okay," she said soothingly.

"It is not," Seven responded bleakly. "I know that my father is most likely dead, killed when the Queen's sphere was destroyed in the collapsing transwarp conduit, but I want to know what happened to my mother."

A multitude of objections, protests and countering arguments rose in Janeway's throat, but in the end, she swallowed them all back. Instead, she put as much compassion in her voice as she could.

"How?" she asked.

There was a silence as Seven contemplated the question, her body stiff in the captain's arms, and then abruptly, she seemed to collapse, slumping heavily against her spouse.

"I do not know," she whispered, voice breaking. "Even if I could somehow connect with the Collective to discover if she still exists, if somehow, I could pinpoint her location within the Borg, it would be an impossible task to rescue her." She turned her head, pressing her temple against the captain's lips. "Voyager could not be risked in such a way." She paused and added in a softer tone, "I could not risk you in such a way."

Janeway swallowed hard. "Annika," she said huskily, with complete and utter sincerity, "if there was any hope at all ... if there was the slightest opportunity for us to retrieve your mother, then we would do it in a heartbeat. I would do it in a heartbeat. Please believe that."

"I do," Seven said sadly. "But there is no hope."

Janeway winced. "There is always hope, my darling," she said softly. "It's merely impossible at the moment. Who knows what the future will bring?"

Seven considered that. "I think," she said in a very small voice, "I would rather have no hope than to live with the constant thought that my mother is a drone and I cannot help her." She shifted in Janeway's arms, rolling so that her side was against the captain's front and she was facing the back of the sofa, drawing her knees up so that she was in a semi-fetal position. "It hurts, Kathryn," she added painfully. "It hurts so much."

"I know," Janeway said huskily, resting her hand on the young woman's cheek, pulling her head closer to her chest. "I'm so sorry, love."

She felt tears, hot and wet, spill onto her neck where Seven had buried her face, the larger body shaking against the captain and Janeway held her as close as she could. Yet, despite the sobs, the captain actually felt a tiny ray of light pierce the darkness. She had been afraid that Seven had shut down completely in recent days. This was the first time the young woman had cried since the deception had been uncovered and Janeway considered the possibility that these tears were a sign that Seven was ready to begin the healing process, that she was starting to mourn and move on.

Janeway could only hope so.

She didn't know how long her partner wept, only that it eventually eased and Seven gradually relaxed. After a bit, Janeway realized that the young woman had actually fallen asleep in her embrace, exhausted by the past three days and the outpouring of emotion that she had finally been able to release. The captain knew that this was far from over, but she did want to believe that perhaps a corner of sorts had been turned. It was unlikely that Seven would ever be the same, but that was to be expected.

She continued to hold her spouse, watching over her as she slept, the hours passing in silent vigil there on the sofa. At the other end of the couch, Jake also remained on guard, head resting on his front paws, his brown eyes soft and warm as he regarded the two Humans he adored, his voiceless, steady support an absolute constant. Hours later, the captain raised her head as the lights came up and the voice of the computer sounded softly in the other room, announcing the beginning of day watch. Seven stirred, her eyelashes matted with old tears and she had to force them open. Her pale eyes were dark with confusion and echoed pain as she sat up, looking at her spouse beside her.

"I fell asleep," she said, uncertainly.

"Yes, you did," Janeway responded reassuringly, reaching over to run her fingertips down the Borg's cheek, still stained from her sorrow. "I think you needed to. You haven't slept much recently."

Seven stared at her, searching her face. "You did not sleep."

"No," Janeway agreed, with a gentle smile. "But it's hardly the first time I've pulled an all-nighter ... and for far less pleasant reasons that watching over my beloved. I'll survive."

Seven hesitated, then leaned forward and pressed her lips gently to Janeway's. "I do love you, Kathryn," she said softly, against her partner's mouth. "Thank you for staying with me."

"I'm always going to be here," Janeway promised. "That will never change."

Seven took a breath. "You cannot make such a promise," she said intensely, almost with anger before her eyes lost their blaze and lowered as she gentled her voice. "But I realize what your intent is, and I accept it for that reason."

Janeway kissed the smooth brow, but said nothing more, knowing there was nothing she really could say. Instead, she hugged Seven tightly, and then reluctantly released her. "I have to get ready for duty," she said with honest regret.

"I know," Seven said, and stood up. She reached down and helped Janeway to her feet, the captain suddenly feeling the aches of having remained in one position for so long with the Borg lying on her. Seven supported her until she had regained her balance, embracing her closely. "I too, wish to return to duty."

Surprised, Janeway looked up into her narrow features. "You know there's no hurry. You can take as much time for yourself as you want. The ship is fine and we've entered a sparsely populated area of space."

"I know," Seven replied. "But it is my regular off-duty rotation tomorrow so I should at least finish the work I have disregarded until now in preparation of that. Nor is it logical to remain in my quarters indulging in emotional displays which serve no purpose."

Janeway inhaled slowly. "Darling, don't try to suppress what you're feeling," she said, slightly concerned. "It's okay to hurt."

"Yes," Seven said and remarkably, she managed a bit of dry humor. "However, I can hurt and work at the same time. It is ... more efficient."

Despite herself, Janeway smiled faintly, as well. "I do agree that sometimes work can help. Occupying your mind with things other than your problems can make some things easier."

"Perhaps," Seven allowed quietly. She leaned forward and kissed Janeway again, lingeringly. "But I shall not know until I try."

"No, you won't," Janeway agreed gently, and let her go as the Borg headed for the bedroom.

But her face was worried as she watched her partner walk away.

Ro Laren woke amid the stark confines of unfurnished crew quarters, lying on a thin sleeping pad spread over the hard deck. Next to her, the slim, muscular body of the ship's security chief, Tuvok, radiated warmth and she eased away from him, resting her head on her linked hands and staring up at the ceiling thoughtfully. The burning grip of the Pon farr fever that had held Tuvok ... and by willing extent, herself ... was finally over, the fading echoes of their shared desire sliding into memory.

Ro inhaled slowly and wiggled slightly, checking out her body. Aside from a little soreness from having remained in somewhat awkward positions for too long a time as minds melded, she felt remarkably strong and healthy. Indeed, she had experienced far greater physical repercussions after lovemaking bouts with her current lover, the Klingon, B'Elanna Torres. Obviously, another common misconception the Federation had about the Vulcan time of mating had no choice but to fall to reality.

She glanced over, hearing the steady respiration of the Vulcan and she wondered if he was awake.

"Ro Laren," Tuvok said quietly, his voice calm in the darkness. "You have my gratitude. You have saved my life. More importantly, you have helped save the life of my wife and contributed your life force to the new child she now bears."

Ro's breath caught in her throat. She thought she had sensed a new spark when all four minds had been joined, crossing the distance of space between the Delta Quadrant and Vulcan to unite in a single, solitary bond of love and joy. For one wild second, she had thought perhaps she was the one who actually conceived ... before common sense reminded her that Vulcans and Bajorans were not genetically compatible enough to create offspring without medical intervention. It had been a profoundly moving experience and she knew that Tuvok was simply not saying this to be kind ... as if Vulcans would ... but rather meant it literally. Somehow, while T'Pel and Tumak, Tuvok's cousin on their maternal side, provided the actual physical genetic material, Tuvok and Ro were also instrumental in creating the proper elements in allowing the fetus's life to begin.

It was an insight into the Vulcan mating process that outsiders were simply not privy to, a blend of psychic and physical joining that created new life ... a new life that was part of all of them in essence.  It had been the most incredible thing she had ever experienced.

"I've never been a mother before."

"Nonetheless, you were a part of it," he said calmly. "As indeed, you are now a part of our family. I welcome you, 'cousin'."

Ro smiled faintly. "Thank you," she said as she sat up, resting her arms on her knees. She felt a quicksilver touch, like a silken cord still attached to the base of her mind and she considered it carefully. "Tuvok, are Tumak and I bonded?" she asked carefully. "I still feel what seems to be a link of sorts to him."

During the mindmeld, she had learned much about the surrogate who had been chosen to serve as Tuvok's replacement on Vulcan. Tumak was, in his own way, quite charming, highly intelligent with a sense of humor that was surprising to find in the stoic people. Indeed, Ro had been exposed to the depths contained within all the Vulcans within the link, the kindness and strength of Tuvok, the warmth and sweetness of T'Pel. However, that did not mean she was ready to be betrothed to Tumak and join the family in body as well as this brief union of mind.

Tuvok lifted a brow. "You and he shared something very intimate," he allowed. "But the bond is temporary unless both of you make a deliberate attempt to strengthen it." He paused and seemed amused. "I do not believe Tumak is interested in waiting for a volatile Bajoran female situated thousands of light years away. Of course, you have your own romantic entanglements that must take priority."

Ro exhaled. "B'Elanna," she said quietly, thinking about the feisty chief engineer with whom she had become recently involved. Who, she could even admit to herself, that she could now love and need in a way that she had never loved or needed anyone else before. "I wish she could have experienced this. I think if she had any idea what this was like, she would have accepted Vorik in a heartbeat, rather than beat the hell out of him."

"Perhaps," Tuvok allowed, with a touch of humor. "However, I should point out that, if Lt. Torres and you are joined, you may be required to discuss this with her in the future. Honesty is extremely important in dealing with your mate."

Ro looked at him with surprise. "Tuvok, I understood what the protocols regarding outsiders were. I went into this with full agreement of them. While I love B'Elanna dearly, I'm not blind to her faults, particularly when it comes to her sense of discretion. Besides, this has absolutely nothing to do with her."

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "That is appreciated, Lieutenant, but if she is to truly be your chosen one, she must know what your personal responsibilities will be should we be unable to return to the Federation within the next seven years."

Ro inhaled slowly. Vulcans did tend to think in the long-term, possibly because their lifespan was so much greater than the average Federation species, almost two and a half times that of a Human or a Bajoran, for example. Of course she would be expected to repeat as surrogate in seven years time if necessary. To think otherwise would be ... illogical. If she and B'Elanna were still together at that time, then certainly the Klingon would need to know why Ro had to seclude herself in the security chief's quarters for three days.

"All right," she said. "I'll tell her." In truth, it made her feel a little better, knowing she would be able to discuss this incredible experience with her lover. She would just have to make sure that B'Elanna was fully cognizant of the importance of its confidentiality. Without Tuvok's permission, of course, it would have been completely impossible. She glanced at him, wondering about his courtesy, which was not entirely logical.

Ro narrowed her eyes. "Tell me, Tuvok, is this an aspect of being a 'cousin'? You now have leave to advise me on my love life?"

"It is my responsibility as the elder member of our family unit here on Voyager," he told her, somewhat dryly. "To see that you have access to a logical and experienced opinion. After all, I have been successfully married for several decades."

She took a breath, letting that go for the moment and changed the subject. "How do Vulcans handle same gender relationships during this time?" she asked curiously. "Obviously the point of it all is to create offspring ... something that is somewhat difficult to do in purely biological terms if both participants are of the same gender."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Pon farr comes upon every Vulcan every seven years after they become adults, and bonding is not limited to opposite genders," he noted calmly. "Males who are bonded to one another, because of their loss of emotional discipline, generally require intervention from a third party who is willing to bear their child. Females can usually manage without a third party by utilizing a device containing the proper genetic material." He paused. "I understand the preparation is handled quite logically. It may be one of our greatest cultural taboos to admit to outsiders that we are uncontrollably ruled by hormones and instincts once every seven years, but we have learned to handle the necessity as best we can, in as precise a manner as we can."

"Of course," she said dryly. How else would it be handled? It was only because Tuvok had found himself amid a large group of illogical and emotional aliens that he was forced to undergo the experience alone. It would have cost him his life and Ro felt a sweet sense of relief and not a little exhilaration sweep through her. Tuvok was safe and she had not let him down when he needed her most. And that, more than anything, was something she could take away from this situation and keep it with her for all her days.

She remembered speaking with B'Elanna once, about how her greatest fear was that she would let down her crewmates and her captain eventually; that indeed, it was inevitable. B'Elanna had replied that, while everyone else believed in Ro, she still needed to believe in herself. The Klingon had explained that it required a leap of faith from the Bajoran, but when it finally happened, Ro would know it immediately because a crucial part of herself that she hadn't even realized was missing would suddenly appear. Ro decided that she finally understood her lover's words now because she was now filled with a sort of confidence, an internal fortitude that she had never before experienced. She wondered how she had ever managed to exist before without it.

She smiled. "I wonder what's happened on the rest of the ship while we were ... indisposed."

He tilted his head, glancing out the large port windows, that loomed above them. "I must conclude, since the starfield shows that we are still in the Delta Quadrant, the proposed warp coil option was no more than a false alarm," he noted. "And certainly, though we have privacy seals on our communicators, we would still have heard any red alert or call to battle stations."

Ro nodded and rolled to her feet, padding unselfconsciously naked over to the computer console that was set against one bulkhead. Unlike the furniture, this was a part of the ship and could not be moved. Behind her, Tuvok also rose smoothly to his feet and joined her. The Bajoran felt the warmth of his body as he stood just behind her, looking over her shoulder. She brought up the internal ship communication taking place over the past two days, as well as the official logs that had been placed in the computer for anyone to see.

Ro caught her breath as she scanned the readout regarding the eventual fate of the warp coil project and the revelations about the alien who had come on board the vessel. "Poor Seven," she noted sadly. "This must be so hard for her."

"Indeed. I was aware that we had rescued a Borg drone but I did not know it was Erin Hansen. Or rather, that it was believed to be Erin Hansen. Seven is undoubtedly experiencing considerable distress in the aftermath of such an experience. Hopefully, the captain will be able to assist in this trial that Seven must undergo."

Ro had only really grown close to the Borg in recent months, but she liked and respected her a great deal. She was also aware that Tuvok had a paternal interest in the young woman. She could only imagine what it must be like for Seven to have thought that she had found her mother, only for it to be a complete lie. Ro turned her head to look at Tuvok and was suddenly, acutely, conscious of their nakedness and of his closeness, her body reacting in a physical manner that was Bajoran rather than Vulcan in instinct. He raised his head, as if sensing her abrupt disquiet and quickly moved away, walking around the console to the controls set on the other side.

"I suggest that we resume our duties now."

"I think that's probably a good idea," she agreed. "Do you want the ensuite first or..." She trailed off, not knowing the proper etiquette for this post-coital stage of Pon farr.

He quirked an eyebrow. "After you, Lieutenant."

She dipped her head and moved toward the bathroom, gathering up the clothes which had been scattered about the room three nights earlier and after carefully removing the pips and insignia, stuffed them into the nearest unit to be cleaned. She retrieved the neatly pressed uniform that materialized on the tray and tucked it beneath her arm, pausing at the door of the ensuite to look back. The security chief had remained by the computer console, going over the rest of the departmental reports that had been downloaded during his absence from duty. Ro took a final, lingering look at his slim, muscular form, at the broad shoulders, muscled stomach, and trim hips, her eyes raking him up and down with a purely aesthetic appreciation in this most unusual set of circumstances.

"I will probably never get another chance to say this, Tuvok," she said quietly, yet with an unmistakable touch of humor threading through her tone. "But I want you to know that you were a very considerate and accomplished lover, Pon farr not withstanding. Thank you."

He raised his head to look at her, seeming somewhat off balance at the admission. "Thank you," he said finally in the sort of tone that indicated that he was unsure if that was a proper response or not. He inhaled. "You ... exceeded the level of mere adequacy as well."

She nodded, understanding that it was as reasonable a response coming from him as she could expect, considering the situation and what they were discussing, especially now that the grip of the uncontrollable, hormonal drive had been sated. She smiled quietly to herself and went into the ensuite where she showered and dressed in her uniform, feeling once more like an officer of Voyager.

It came to her that, had this not worked, or had she refused to accept this challenge, she would now be chief of security for Voyager. It had initially frightened her and it was ironic that now, after all she'd been through, she possessed a certainty that she could handle that responsibility easily. She wondered what that meant for her future aspirations or if it really meant anything at all. She discreetly left Tuvok's quarters without requiring any sort of farewell from him and headed for the security department. She was surprised to find Lt. Davis, the officer she had left in charge while she and Tuvok had been indisposed, chewing out one of the newest members to join the department. Lt. D'Vor was the sort of young man who always tried his very best ... yet for some reason, always managed to find a way to mess things up. Ro wasn't certain he'd be able to work out in security and from the scene she intruded upon, it appeared that he was proving it yet again.

"What's going on?"

Startled, the beefy blond figure of Davis straightened, his square features reddening.

"It's a matter of a security breach, sir."

D'Vor, perhaps hoping that the arrival of a senior officer would get him off the hook, attempted to appeal to her.

"Lt. Ro, I was put in charge of inventory," he said defensively. "So when I noticed that some of our equipment was still out, I sent a memo over to engineering to get it back."

Ro immediately felt a tingle of alarm shoot through her. The only security equipment currently in the possession of an engineering officer were the surveillance devices Vorik had needed to monitor Tuvok's last stages of Pon farr. As the only other Vulcan on board, he was required to accept the security chief's katra upon his death. As it turned out, thanks to Ro's intervention, the young engineer hadn't needed to perform that role, but if it became general knowledge that Vorik was using security equipment, someone might figure out what it had been used for ... panic flashed through the Bajoran. She had vowed to uphold the cultural protocols that the Pon farr ritual had demanded, regardless of personal cost. To know they could be violated by something so stupid as an ensign not paying the proper attention enraged her.

"Ensign D'Vor," she began in an icy tone and his face went pale as he realized he would receive no sympathy here. "I placed a class five addendum on that invoice. Did you willfully ignore that?"

"Class five?" he echoed faintly. "I ... uh, I guess I didn't see it."

"You didn't look, you mean," Ro said. Her dark eyes raked him up and down scornfully. "Ensign, what goes on in security is to remain in security. It is not for public consumption and certainly not to bandied about the ship at large, as a general memo to another department most certainly will. We are the ones responsible for the safety of this vessel and its crew. In order to do that, we must keep the faith with those we deal with as we expect them to deal with us. Confidentiality has just as large a priority in our department as it does in the medical department. Violating a class five seal is a court-martial offense. Can you give me one reason why I shouldn't bring this to the attention of both Tuvok and the captain?"

She did not show how much she was hoping to hell he would. The last thing she wanted was for this to go any further than it already had. He stiffened to parade attention, eyes forward, shoulders back.

"No, sir," he said in a low voice. "I made a mistake and I accept the consequences of it, sir."

The fact that he was obviously scared to death, the perspiration beading on his forehead did not negate the fact that he had given precisely the correct answer. In fact, it helped his cause tremendously because any attempt to defend himself, any reach for an excuse to justify his actions, would have finished him. And possibly her as well.

Ro inhaled. "What's the status of the equipment?"

Davis frowned. "It's still sealed in the room on deck seven."

She dipped her head. "Cancel the memo," she ordered. "Attribute it to an accounting error. I'll take care of the equipment." She glared at D'Vor. "As of this moment, Ensign, you are on half rations with the other half to go to the department kitty. You will serve double shifts for the next three days, and you will do a complete audit on every piece of equipment this department has. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir!" he said smartly, and obviously he did, realizing she was keeping the punishment within the ranks and not kicking it upstairs. His tow-headed features were pale with relief as he swayed slightly. He knew how close it had been. Had the equipment room been breached, this would have been a matter for the captain, and the consequences would have been far more dire.

"Davis," she added as she headed for the door. "Try not to be too ham-handed when you cancel the inter-ship request."

"I'm on it," he promised.

She could only hope so as she sprinted for the turbo-lift.

Seven of Nine desolately entered data into her work console in the astrometrics lab and implemented the scans for the upcoming sector of space, correlating it with the charts she had already created from memory months earlier. Her readouts revealed a few spatial anomalies that hadn't been included in the original charts had either been newly formed or overlooked by the Borg. She dutifully added them to the updated charts that would eventually be sent to the bridge to aid in the helm's navigational projections.

As she did, she reached up and brushed a tear away from her eye. For so long, she had been completely unable to cry, but now it seemed as if she was always on the verge of breaking down into sobs. Neither state was comfortable and she wondered how long it would be before she achieved any sort of balance. She realized she hated the alien for putting her in this position, for taking the solid foundation from beneath her feet and destroying it so casually. Every step she took felt as if it was undermined by the rubble, shifting treacherously under her. The only slightly positive thing she could find in this whole situation was that she normally worked alone in astrometrics, so her obvious uncertainty and pain was not placed on display for the crew at large as it would were she posted to the bridge. Still, it had been a difficult shift to carry out, and she wondered if her spouse had been correct in her implication that perhaps the Borg was not quite ready to return to duty.

Seven knew that Janeway was desperately worried about her, but at least her partner wasn't trying to force Seven into behaving differently than how the Borg felt like behaving. It showed Seven that Kathryn was honestly attempting to let her find her own way in this, yet still be as supportive as possible. Seven appreciated it, recognizing the distinct change in attitude by her spouse. Yet there was also a part of the Borg who wished that Janeway had some magical process which would make this whole situation just go away ... that somehow the captain could simply cause the Borg to forget everything that happened so she could move on with her life. It was so easy in the Collective, Seven thought, to put all feelings aside as irrelevant and not have to concern herself with any of them. Unlike how they possessed her now, making it difficult for her to think, to work, to react ... to properly return her partner's love and affection.

She wondered how long it would be before she could.

She had to pause, as from nowhere, a sob caught in her throat. Apparently, she had been incorrect. She could not work and hurt at the same time ... not efficiently. She discovered that she had just been standing there for several minutes, her hands still on the console as she stared bleakly at it. With an effort, she finished up her final task and then stood quietly, not knowing what to do next. It was just so hard to concentrate, to keep her mind on what she had to do.

She glanced around, then logged off and left astrometrics. She wasn't sure where she was going or what was drawing her, but when she looked up, she realized she had just entered cargo bay two. It had recently been altered to become an arboretum. The emerald grass, growing lush beneath the artificial illumination that mimicked the Terran sun, was spongy beneath her feet and she stepped gingerly on it as she walked. Other crewmembers were present, enjoying this small slice of planetary nature, but no one bothered her as she strode rapidly across the lawns. She found the door set discreetly behind some bushes and accessed it, entering the warm, humid atmosphere inside which was tinted with a greenish glow emanating from the Borg alcoves.

This had been her space when she had been Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct to Unimatrix 01, when there had been no doubts or fears, just the constant, unceasing voices and the solidified assurance that every moment held a task and that task was to be done for the good of the Collective. She swallowed as she mounted the dais, regarding the alcove that had been shut down after she lost the abdominal implant and no longer required a regular regeneration cycle.

She touched the construct, running her hands over the dark technology, the hard metal, dripping with conduits and tubing. She remembered coming here just after she had discovered that the Borg had taken away her ability to have children, and falling upon the equipment in a mindless rage, destroying one alcove completely and part of another. Only this last remaining alcove had been salvaged, and she gazed at it now with unusual longing.

She rested her left palm against the plate where she would have been attached during the regeneration cycle via the abdominal implant, the conduit removing any excessive toxins from her body and replacing it with energy, pure and unsullied from the throbbing power of the ship's warp core. In the Collective, it also removed any doubt, any lingering wisps of emotion that might have escaped the smothering power of the hive mind, and left the drone with a certainty and rigid perfection of the Collective purpose.

Two writhing silver tubes erupted from the back of her hand, shooting forth to mesh with the plate, seeking out the connections to assimilate into with but a thought. Of course, with the alcove shut down, there would be nothing for the tubes to draw in, but activating it would be so easy, Seven thought. Simply press here, and there, and once more she could embrace the power of the Borg, no longer be plagued by these disruptive and harmful emotions. A small, logical part of her pointed out that such desire was a fantasy, that it would be technically impossible with all she had been through, to attempt to regenerate once more. It would also be dangerous, the technology overwhelming her humanoid systems, disrupting the uneasy balance achieved between flesh and cybernetics.

But oh, not to have to feel anymore, she cried silently. To not hurt so deeply that it seemed like death was preferable, to not feel so betrayed that every breath was like a dagger stabbing into her chest.

To not feel emotion, her intellect agreed dispassionately. To no longer want or need anything or anyone.

Including Kathryn, her heart cried in outrage.

Seven's breath caught and she closed her eyes, pressing against the cold surface of the alcove, the various edges and points digging into the different parts of her body.

To not love Kathryn? her heart hammered at her. To take away the happiness felt every time our body is embraced by those loving arms?To be unable to feel the warmth of love that fills our body with strength and purpose? To give that up for no other reason than not to hurt ... a temporary imposition that will eventually pass? To surrender the ties of friendship and affection developed for B'Elanna and Naomi and Tuvok and all the rest of this new Human Collective to which we now belong, simply because this period of time had grown difficult to bear?

Her heart was scornful, ashamed of her weakness. This was unacceptable, no bargain, no equal exchange. To live and love meant that one also had to feel pain. The two went together no matter how much one pursued the former while too often finding the latter. But it was fair, because the moments of happiness could overcome any amount of pain, if only one drew upon the strength of them. It was simply a matter of being willing to try, no matter how hard it was.

Seven felt tears sliding down her face and she realized that this too, was part of the Human equation ... that sorrow was required to appreciate joy. That growth of spirit was often painful but the success was an end onto itself. Deliberately, she withdrew her assimilation tubules and stepped back from the alcove. There was no sanctuary here, just the deceptive sterility of no emotion, the cost disguised but all too real once the veil of confusion was cleared away.

Seven had experienced enough deception. She would not indulge in it for her own purposes.

Breathing deeply, she sank down onto the dais, leaning against the post that was laced with circuitry along its height. She closed her eyes, blanking out the harsh, angular Borg construction and the eerie illumination of the alcove. The air smelt musty, of silicone fluid and oils that permeated the room with its hint of Borg cubes and pale drones. The whisper of a breeze brushing over her face had no place in this environment of stillness and cybernetic achievement.

Seven frowned and opened her eyes, realizing suddenly that the door had not closed entirely, held open slightly by a twig which had somehow become lodged in the sill. Along with the brief glimpse of the park outside, the rich scent of growing things spread through the small room, fighting back the dead air, defeating the dank section of Borg memory with its vibrant freshness. Then, buzzing through the opening, came life in the form of one of the new bees that had been added to the limited ecosystem, flying directly to Seven and landing on her hand, no doubt seeking out the only other living thing, animal as it was, in this new environment it had discovered.

She regarded the creature silently as the bee crawled over her palm, exploring this unusual flower, seeking out any trace of pollen. The creature had been genetically altered to remove its sting, but otherwise, it was just as nature had created. An impossible marvel, Seven mused, aerodynamically incorrect and overburdened, yet still able to fly on wings of transparent membrane as it danced from flower to flower with grace and purpose, fulfilling its function in the delicate balance of life. Its fat black legs were dusted with yellow and some of it brushed onto her skin, soft and whisper light.

It would die if left here, she thought. That was the defining line between these alcoves and the park. Here was only an empty and ultimately meaningless purpose. Out there was life, with all its pain and joy and promise, needing only to be experienced to define itself.

Carefully, she placed her other hand over the insect, trapping it in the temporary prison of her grip as she stood up and carried it through the door that hissed opened at her approach. She used her toe to nudge aside the twig so that the door could seal solidly once more, and enforced the seal with Borg encryptions.  Opening her hands, she released the insect and watched as it flew away, buzzing into the artificial twilight instituted a few months earlier, the illumination slowly lowering to simulate the setting sun. Seven took a deep breath, realizing that the alpha shift was long over and the beta shift had already begun, and her spouse was undoubtedly wondering where she was.

It is time to go home, she decided.

B'Elanna Torres frowned as she read a interdepartmental memo, requesting that equipment signed out by Ensign Vorik, one of her engineers, be returned to the security department as soon as possible. It occurred to her that there had been a great many things going on in engineering while she had been occupied with adapting what had turned out to be a fake, Borg transwarp coil. Only now was she beginning to catch up on it. It was bad enough that Vorik had requested leave in the middle of the project, but when the captain had granted it without so much as a quibble, the Klingon hadn't known what to think. Now, there was a memo that made no sense to her at all.

What the hell would Vorik be doing with security monitoring equipment?

She noted on the roster that Vorik had still not returned from his accorded leave. Inquisitiveness grew thick and strong within her. She decided that the Vulcan must have been tapped by security for some covert operation, though why and what for, she had no idea. Something was going on because her lover, Lt. Ro Laren, had been locked up with Tuvok in his quarters for three days, while their communicators were sealed with a high-level classification ban. B'Elanna didn't think that was ordinary operating procedure, but she also knew that the security section didn't quite function the way other Starfleet departments did. Security had always incorporated a code of silence and intrigue around its operations, even when all that was involved was something mundane like the annual departmental reports, or some kind of tactical planning to train their officers. However, such annoying traits were willingly tolerated by the other crewmembers because they were always aware that security was the first line of defense for a starship's crew. The attrition rate was the highest per capita than any other section of the ship. If they wanted to shroud their protocols and procedures with mystery, other departments simply accepted the idiosyncrasy, no matter how silly they might consider it.

The Klingon burned with curiosity. An unrepentant information hound, with an inherent need to know everything that was happening on her vessel, B'Elanna found this too intriguing a puzzle to pass up. She wondered if she could get Ro to reveal anything once the Bajoran was back to regular duty, then realized that the woman had kept her own identity secret for six years. Ro would not reveal anything she thought she shouldn't, so it was highly unlikely that B'Elanna would be able to mine any pertinent data there.

Of course, the Klingon was very conscious that she was not supposed to pursue this. So much of security was on a 'need-to-know-only' basis and other crewmembers were expected to stay out of it. On the other hand, B'Elanna told herself, they had commandeered one of her engineering team and to a certain extent, that made it her business. Obviously, Vorik could no more say anything about it than Ro would, so B'Elanna knew she would just have to find out what was going on some other way. She had no intention of ever passing on the information, of course ... she just wanted to know for her own personal satisfaction. She had the highest respect for the sanctity of Starfleet security. Heck, she was dating one of them, wasn't she?

She tapped into the computer and started tracing Vorik's movements over the past week or so, ever since he had left the transwarp coil project. It wasn't anything particularly involved on her part, just a simple inquiry to the computer to ask where on the ship he had been at such and such a time. Purely a low level request for information that was readily available to anyone who took the trouble to ask. She was surprised to discover that for the most part, Vorik had remained in his quarters, though at the start of his leave, he had spent two days in an area on deck seven. Puzzled, she pulled up a schematic of the ship and pinpointed the location, discovering it was an auxiliary room next to the quarters of the Security Chief. Around the same time Vorik returned to his own quarters, Ro Laren had isolated herself with her superior officer. Obviously it was connected in some way, but B'Elanna could not figure out how.

On a subconscious level, she knew she wouldn't be nearly so interested if Ro hadn't been involved. Nor would she be giving this little mystery a second thought if her lover had been around to occupy her attention. But now that the extra duty with the transwarp project had ended, engineering was operating at peak efficiency. Without the Bajoran to spend her off-duty time with, B'Elanna had managed to catch up on all the little tasks and paperwork. She was bored. When B'Elanna was bored, she naturally turned to something that offered a challenge. Uncovering the details of a security operation seemed just the thing.

She checked the duty roster again, surprised to discover both Tuvok and Ro Laren had returned to regular duty. She wondered if the monitoring equipment that Vorik supposedly had taken possession of was in that auxiliary room next to Tuvok's quarters. It wouldn't hurt to check it out, she decided, and if she didn't find anything, well then, she'd just put it down as a mystery she couldn't solve and go look up Ro. Perhaps now that the security operation was over, she and the Bajoran could spend some real quality time together.

But first, she would check out that room.

The corridor on deck seven was quiet as she tested the door leading to the auxiliary storage room. It refused to open at her initial attempt at entry and it required her engineering command code to override the lock. Inside, she found a simple pallet in the corner, a single chair and a plain table which supported a monitor and other equipment. All the surveillance gear was shut down and she examined it curiously, wondering what Vorik had been monitoring.

She reached out to activate it and run a playback when the door hissed open and Ro Laren stepped through the entrance. Caught red-handed as it were, B'Elanna decided that the best defense was a good offense.

"Hello sweetheart," she said, spreading her arms. "Are you all finished with your extra duty?"

Ro did not budge. "What are you doing here?"

B'Elanna lowered her arms and crossed them over her chest. "Engineering received a memo regarding this equipment," she said with what she hoped was appropriate innocence. "I was just ... ah, returning it for Vorik."

"I see," Ro said. She moved past the Klingon and began to gather the equipment, putting it back in the carrying cases. "Thank you. I'll take care of it from here."

"Okay," B'Elanna said, tilting her head slightly. Ro seemed fairly short with her but that was to be expected, considering that she had been caught messing about where she wasn't supposed to be. She tried for a winsome expression. "I don't suppose you can tell me what it was used for?"

Ro didn't answer right away, continuing to work, and B'Elanna decided that she was going to ignore the question, which was probably what she was supposed to do. The Klingon was considerably surprised when the Bajoran abruptly paused, taking a deep breath as she turned around and looked at B'Elanna directly.

"This was a need-to-know operation," Ro Laren said, in a very serious tone.

B'Elanna shrugged. "Sure," she said, figuring that would be all she would get and astonished to have received that much.

Ro continued to stare at her darkly. "Tuvok has authorized that you need to know," she said, surprising B'Elanna even further. "I will demand before I tell you anything, that you give your solemn oath that this cannot go any further. You have to swear it on your honor, B'Elanna. This is about Vulcan cultural restrictions of the highest level."

B'Elanna blushed. "Okay," she said, reminded pointedly of her penchant for gossip and how much aggravation it had caused on occasion. "I know I haven't always been the most ... discreet person in the past, but I promise, I can keep a secret when I have to."

Ro looked down at the deck. "The reason Vorik had this equipment was to monitor Tuvok in the last stages of his Pon farr," she said quietly. "In order to be ready to take his katra upon his death."

B'Elanna was floored and she felt her heart leap in her throat. She knew what Pon farr was, had even experienced it to a limited degree. She also knew what an extremely delicate cultural taboo she had just stepped into and not for the first time, decided that her chronic nosiness was going to get her in real trouble some day. She was keenly aware that Tuvok would never have allowed himself to become the spectacle that Vorik had, that he would rather die in isolation than allow others to know of it ... except, of course, he was still alive. She had seen his code back on active status in the computer.

"Obviously, Vorik didn't need to take Tuvok's katra," she said, tentatively. "He's not dead."

"An alternative method was invoked to save his life. A surrogate was utilized."

B'Elanna raised an eyebrow. "A surrogate," she said, wide-eyed. "You mean someone mated with ...." She trailed off as she realized where Ro had been the past three days. "Kahless!" she howled. "Are you telling me you slept with him?"

Ro blinked, obviously taken aback at her decibel level. "There was actually very little sleep involved."

"How could you do that?" B'Elanna said, feeling her heart spasm painfully. "How could you betray me like that?"

"Excuse me?" Ro said, staring at her as if she had lost her mind. "What are you talking about?"

B'Elanna clenched her fists. "I can't believe this," she said raggedly. "You cheated on me! You know how I feel about infidelity!"

Ro was astounded. "First of all," she said in clipped tones "This has nothing to do with 'infidelity'. Secondly, Tuvok was going to die and that was an unacceptable outcome so a plan was put in motion to save him. He's a fellow crewmate and a friend. I can't believe you're upset because he was saved."

B'Elanna was furious, her upper lip drawing back over her upper teeth in a snarl. "Why didn't you tell me when the decision was made?"

"Because you weren't involved," Ro said logically. "If you had been suitable, then yes, you would have been briefed on the situation beforehand. The protocols regarding this are strictly defined if anyone cares to look them up. Secondly, the plan was put in motion when the captain's initial plan failed. I hardly had time to tell you, even if I could ... which I wouldn't because of the delicate nature of the operation. Despite that, however, Tuvok believes that if you and I are going to have a future together, then you have to know what will be expected of me seven years from now if we're still in the Delta Quadrant."

"A future?" B'Elanna repeated, outraged. "Do you really think I can forgive you for this."

"Forgive me?" Ro replied, baffled. "For what?"

"You fucked another person and you don't think you've done anything wrong?" B'Elanna spat, tears stinging the back of her eyes, which she refused to let fall.

That finally sparked the Bajoran's anger, her dark eyes glowing daggers, her face setting into a glacial fury. "I mated with Tuvok," she corrected coldly, "because if I hadn't, he would have died. I did not go to him because I wanted to be with him rather than you. I did not look to him for 'comfort' because I was hurt or lonely or trying to hurt you. This had absolutely nothing to do with us at all."

"How can you say that?" B'Elanna cried. "I love you."

"So what the hell does that mean?" Ro responded sharply. "That I'm supposed to stand by and watch a crewmember die because you have some kind of hangup over how I had to save him? That I'm supposed to ask your permission about how I go about performing my duty as a crewmember of Voyager?"

"It was my right to know," B'Elanna repeated stubbornly.

"In what way?" Ro asked icily. "You didn't have any contribution to make to this operation. The fact that I happened to be saving the life of a friend and a mentor ... the fact that I was able to save the life of a man I respect greatly ... was merely a bonus and something that I could only be profoundly grateful for. I am certainly not going to apologize for that."

B'Elanna paced about the room, glaring at the Bajoran. "Why did you have to do it?"

Ro was exasperated. "There were only three people on this vessel capable of carrying out this operation; you, me and Seven of Nine. You and Seven weren't suitable for a variety of reasons, so I accepted the responsibility. You seem to think you have some say in how I choose to carry out my duty. You don't, not professionally or personally. You certainly wouldn't let me tell you how to run engineering!"

"I don't have to sleep with anyone to run engineering!"

"Damn it, B'Elanna," Ro replied furiously. "This is not about sleeping with someone."

The Klingon stopped, stared directly in the dark eyes. "Did you enjoy it?" she demanded. "Isn't that what you've always wanted from him?"

"What?"

"Did you come?" the engineer demanded coarsely.

The Bajoran's eyes blazed black ice. "Yes, I achieved physical release. Several times. It was an amazing experience ... particularly when T'Pel conceived. It was also a joyful and surprisingly loving encounter and the Vulcans welcomed me as part of their clan, accepting my help even though I was Bajoran." She stared at the Klingon with a touch of loathing. "Why? Would you have preferred that I be incapable of feeling anything at all when exposed to something that wonderful? Or perhaps you would rather it had been some kind of vicious rape as so many common myths believe? That I was now in sickbay recovering from some horrific experience? Would that have made this easier for you to accept? That I had been brutally assaulted rather than being able to participate in a life affirming experience?"

B'Elanna was brought up short by the questions, blinking as she considered them. "I ... no, of course not.". She took several deep breaths, trying to control herself. She wanted to smash something. "But if it didn't mean anything ..."

"Of course, it meant something," Ro interrupted her harshly. "It meant everything. I was able to save the lives of two people, one of whom I care about dearly. And furthermore, I was able to assist in creating a new life for their family. That I was able to do this for Tuvok after all he's done for me is something that greatly honors me. You, of all people, should understand that. I was also able to succeed when the captain relied on me to conduct this mission when she couldn't. You should also know what that means to me. But all you seem to want is to make this something tawdry and crass. You haven't taken the time to find out anything about it, yet you still presume to judge me on my actions."

The Klingon was stymied, aware that she had misread the situation, but her pride prevented her from backing away. "I deserve to be part of whatever personal decision you make."

Ro stared at the infuriated Klingon. "It wasn't a personal decision. The best qualified person just happened to be me, and regardless of what benefit I personally received, it was done for reasons of crew safety and preservation. Why are you trying to turn this into something it isn't?"

"How would you have felt if I had been the one to do this?" the engineer argued, trying to turn it around on the Bajoran.

Ro spread her hands. "I'd have been pleased that a solution had been found," she said with what seemed honest bafflement. "Of course, I would have stood outside the door to make sure you didn't beat the hell out of him like you did Vorik, or change your mind in the middle of it like you did at the Academy, but after it was over, I would have honored you for doing your duty and saving a crewmember's life. How else would I react? Certainly not like this."

B'Elanna's outrage burned up her spine. "You wouldn't have had to stand outside the door," she said hotly. "I would never have walked out on Tuvok."

"Yet, apparently, you expected me to," Ro said, and now it was achingly clear to B'Elanna that the proud Bajoran was as hurt as B'Elanna initially thought she should be. Ro turned away for a moment, taking several deep breaths, obviously trying to calm herself, and then finished packing the equipment with agitated motion. "You wouldn't be acting this way if I had taken a phaser blast for him, B'Elanna. You wouldn't be attacking me if I had donated blood or an organ to allow him to live. What the hell makes this so different?"

B'Elanna searched for the answer to that. "You were intimate," she said finally, somewhat lamely.

Ro raised her head. "Tuvok and I have been 'intimate' for six years," she reminded her acidly. "He was the only person who knew who I was. He was the only one I could be myself with ... at least until I told you. That's as intimate as you can get." She slammed the lid of the carrying case down and turned to the Klingon. "B'Elanna, intimacy isn't about sex. Only the young and foolish think mashing your genitals together somehow grants two people a sacred bond. Love and commitment really comes from here, and in here." She touched her chest, where her heart was, and then, her forehead. "My body is my own, B'Elanna and how I utilize it in carrying out my duties is completely my decision and mine alone. Let's be very clear on this; I'm with you because I want and choose to be, not because I'm unable to resist some hormonal attraction I might be experiencing in regards to you. My friendship with Tuvok, and what I had to do to preserve his life, does not lessen what I feel for you. But obviously it lessens what you feel for me. When you finally grow up and are ready for a real relationship rather than some conception of one you picked up out of a teen holoprogram, then you give me a call."

She picked up the cases and went to go by B'Elanna who reached out and wrenched her around. "Don't walk out on me," B'Elanna hissed.

Ro glared at her. "Torres," she said in a dangerous tone. "You want this to be about you because it gives you an excuse to be 'wronged' just like it did with Tom when he thought you were dead. I think you enjoy being cast as the 'victim' in some perverse way. You play the role even when you have to create it out of thin air, but one of these days, you're going to realize it doesn't fly with a lot of people, including me. If you want to make a problem where none exist, then you can do it without my involvment."

"You should have told me."

"I just did. Despite every Federation protocol regarding this, despite the captain's decision that this was to remain between the participants involved, despite your reputation as the 'mouth of the ship', I did tell you. Because Tuvok suggested that our relationship was strong enough to warrant such confidentiality. It's a pity he was wrong."

Caught by a sudden, overwhelming surge of anger, B'Elanna swung at the Bajoran and the next thing she knew, she was face down on the deck, Ro pinning her with a knee in the small of the Klingon's back.

"I have never, nor will I, in any situation, raise a hand to you in anger," Ro said, her voice shaking with a deep and emotional outrage and B'Elanna knew she had gone too far with this child of the Cardassian interment camps. "If you ever try to hit me again, then anything that might have been possible between us will no longer exist. I am no one's punching bag, not even yours. Remember that."

Then she was gone and B'Elanna was slamming her fists into the deck, weeping with anger and the unmistakable sense that she may have crossed a line over which she might not be able to retreat.

Janeway blinked sleepily as she regarded the padd she held in her hands. She was in her ready room, her chair angled away from her desk as she attempted to catch up on some reports she had let slide the previous week. It seemed that the night with no sleep was starting to catch up to her. Wearily, she rubbed her eyes with her forefinger and thumb, pinching the bridge of her nose as she tried to draw on the internal store of energy that had served her so well in the past. The chime to her door sounded and she carefully schooled the irritation out of her voice.

"Come in."

She heard the door hiss open as she made a few final entries in the padd, and then she swung her chair around to regard her visitor. It was Tuvok, immaculately garbed in his uniform, his dark-skinned features once more displaying infinite calm and wisdom.

"Oh, Tuvok," she said, her voice breaking.

Without saying anything else, she dropped the padd on the desktop and rose from her chair, skirting the desk and reaching out to him. He stiffened slightly as she embraced him, but he did not move away, merely tolerating it patiently until she had regained some composure. She smiled widely as she looked up into his face, feeling her cheeks ache with the expanse of it and couldn't decide what she wanted to do next. She wanted to hug him again ... or shake him for scaring her so badly but instead, she forced herself to take a step back, affording him the personal space that he required.

She exhaled audibly. "It's so good to see you, old friend."

He quirked an eyebrow. "I am ... gratified to see you as well, Captain. I trust my department was not unduly affected by my absence, but I did wish to let you know personally that I am once more resuming my duties."

She regarded him, shaking her head slightly. Just like that, his expected demise, and the circumstances surrounding it, were carefully filed away and not to be discussed again. It was to be as if absolutely nothing had happened.

"I can't tell you how pleased I am to have you back," she managed quietly.

He dipped his head, but his dark eyes were shadowed and somehow, she thought he understood all that she was feeling, and that she was aware of the toll this had taken on him, even if it didn't show.

"I trust," she added, not completely able to contain her curiosity, "that Lt. Ro was able to ... assist you?"

He hesitated. "Lt. Ro ... performed her role adequately," he admitted, in the sort of tone that indicated that was as much as she was going to get about that particular subject.

She swallowed the irrational giggle that rose in her throat, knowing it sprang as much from sheer relief as any humor that might have been found in the situation. "I'm glad to hear that." They regarded each other for a second, then she lowered her eyes and moved briskly around the desk to resume her seat. "I don't know if you're aware of what went on in your absence."

"I have familiarized myself with the logs prior to returning to duty," he said. He tilted his head slightly. "I am regretful to hear of the situation with Seven and the alien. Has she recovered from that revelation?"

Janeway felt her smile disappear, the reminder of all that was going on with her partner descending upon her like a shroud.

"Not yet, Tuvok," she admitted. "She's so unhappy, can't sleep, barely eats ... I don't know what would help her at this point. At least, she returned to work this morning. I suppose I should take that as a good sign, but she looked so sad when I left her in astrometrics."

"What you doing to alleviate her suffering?" His words were bland, the glint in his eyes was not.

She eyed him narrowly, thinking that she picked something up from the sheer evenness of the question. "Believe it or not, my old friend, I've been trying very hard to do absolutely nothing beyond just being there for her."

"Indeed?" She could tell he was honestly surprised beneath that impassive mien. "I had not thought you could acquire such wisdom in the short time I was absent."

She shot a dark look at him. "I have learned from past mistakes," she said, somewhat acidly. His observation had been so carefully devoid of sarcasm that she knew it was absolutely laden with it. God, it felt good to be sparring with him again, she decided with wry pleasure as they fell easily back into their previous relationship ... just as if there had never been a fear that they might not be able to interact this way again. "I just want so much to help her. It's unbelievably hard to stand by and do nothing."

"However, it is logical to accept that there may be nothing you can do," he reminded her gently. "Your current approach could be exactly the correct one. Seven may need to come to terms with this circumstance herself, without any 'assistance' you may wish to impose upon her."

"I get it, Tuvok," she responded dryly. "In the past, my attempts to 'fix' things sometimes did as much damage as the original situation caused."

He raised an eyebrow. "That is ... a most astute self-discovery. I am impressed."

"Thank you." She sighed. "She just seems to have no hope anymore, Tuvok. It's as if any shred of it has been killed in her. She's just going through the motions."

"Then obviously, she must find a way to hope again," he said slowly, trying to work through this emotional turmoil which normally he would disdain, finding it quite illogical. "But she must be the one to find it, Captain. It is not the sort of thing you can create in concrete form and present to her in a package."

"I would if I could," Janeway said glumly. Yet, as she said it, a little light sparked in her mind. Hope in a package? For some reason, that sounded like a good idea to her, but she wasn't about to share it with her friend. For one thing, she hadn't thought it out completely, and for another, she didn't want him to talk her out of it. Instead, she regarded him brightly, offered him a smile and changed the subject. "I need to speak to you about Lt. Ro. What will happen now?"

He looked vaguely confused. "I am not certain I understand the question."

She spread her hands. "Surely you can't expect her to stay in the security department."

He stared at her. "Why not?"

"Because," she said delicately. "Of what happened between you."

He blinked. "She saved my life, Captain. If it is now required that a person leave security every time a life-saving technique is performed on another, then I'm afraid I will not have many crewmembers left in my department by the end of this duty shift."

Janeway opened her mouth to respond, changed her mind about what she was going to say, thought about that for a moment and finally succeeded in only looking baffled. "Tuvok," she said, finally, slowly, "I'm not trying to pry, honestly. But I have to believe that you shared something very personal with her. I would think it would be difficult to work together after that."

He raised an eyebrow. "Of course, we shared something deeply personal and private," he agreed. "As we did the entire six years previous to that. Her sharing her true identity with me was a profound trust and certainly it did not prevent us from working together before. I hardly see where my sharing this particular trust with her will prevent us from working together in the future." He paused, regarding her steadily. "I believe I understand. You are applying Human morals and emotional overtones to the situation where they simply do not exist, Captain. Please, do not insult Lt. Ro's professionalism in such a manner. After all, she is not Human either. Her sense of discipline and purpose has, over the years I have known her, reached an almost Vulcan level and is certainly not fraught with the emotional digression that another might indulge. In truth, she was the perfect choice for this very difficult task."

"Okay," Janeway said quietly. "I see I misunderstood the situation. I'm sorry. I was just going to say that if she no longer could operate in security, then I was going to place her in command operations."

He raised an eyebrow. "Indeed." He paused, thinking about that. "Certainly, I would not wish to hold her back if such an opening was made available, Captain. I believe that she would seriously consider that kind of position should you offer it."

She nodded. "Then, I will, Tuvok. Ro's a remarkable officer. I would hate to see all that potential command ability go to waste."

"I will point out that you are not the first captain to think so." His voice was very dry. "What makes you believe you will be able to convince her when others before you have been unable to guide her to the desired course in her career?"

Janeway felt another smile spread over her face.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" she asked with amusement. "I might sound immodest."

He held up a hand. "It is unnecessary. You are Captain Kathryn Janeway. Of course you will succeed when all others have failed."

"So glad you agree," she responded sweetly. She wondered if all Vulcans were this sarcastic or if it was only Tuvok when he was at his most keen with her. He certainly kept her wits sharp and the thought that she might have lost this interaction, stuck a needle deep in her heart. Thank god for the Bajoran and her willingness to dig deep enough to discover what no other outsider had taken the time to find out about Pon farr. Definitely, a reward was in order, the captain thought. She would offer the lieutenant the post in command operations and see what happened.

Tuvok rose to his feet. "It is time I resumed my duty. The department requires a certain rededication to their craft. It has slipped during my recent ... distraction."

Janeway managed not to wince in sympathy for those unsuspecting security officers. "I'm sure they'll be glad to have you back to your old self," she said diplomatically.

"No," he said, just before he left. "They will not."

Janeway laughed and picked up the padd she had been perusing before she had been so happily interrupted by her security chief. As she did, she realized how glad she was that she didn't have to tell Seven, on top of everything else, that Tuvok had died. She had initially held off indicating anything to the young woman about what he was going through, hoping that somehow she would find a way to fix it. She hadn't exactly made plan 'A' work, but fortunately Ro Laren had come through with plan 'B'. Her spouse didn't need to know the details, just that things had worked out all right in the end.

Reminded of her spouse, she raised her head. "Computer, locate Seven of Nine."

"Seven of Nine is in astrometrics," the computer responded evenly.

Janeway sighed, wondering how Seven was doing, but resisted the urge to contact her over the comm badge. It would do the Borg little good to be hovered over at this point, though Janeway desperately wanted to go down to deck six and see her. Instead, the captain deliberately settled back to work, spending a few hours finishing up the reports she had begun earlier. Once that task was complete, she took a break, making her way up to the ready room's upper level and pouring herself some coffee. As she sipped it ... grimacing a bit because she had made it rather than Seven ... she regarded the stars, her mind pulling out the flash of inspiration which had occurred to her while she had been speaking to Tuvok, and examining it carefully from all sides.

Was there any possibility that this would make things worse for Seven? she asked herself keenly. That was the most important pitfall she had to avoid or she would simply have to forget the whole thing, chalking it up as nothing more than a bad idea. She went over it several times, determining that while it might not make things better, it was highly unlikely that it would make things any worse. Satisfied with that, Janeway drained her cup and set it on the low coffee table. Then she descended the short flight of stairs and moved briskly out onto the bridge where she crossed over to where Lt. Harry Kim manned the operations station. The dark-haired young man glanced up at her approach. His level eyes were curious at the captain's expression, as well as a little wary. Immediately, Janeway modified her expression to impassiveness. It would not do for him to think she had any ulterior motive in what she was about to say.

"Mr. Kim."

"Captain," he responded politely. "May I help you?"

"Actually, I was going to help you, Lieutenant," she said quietly. "When was the last time you and Megan had an evening out?"

He flushed, grinning. "Too long, Captain," he admitted. "Having a baby is a full time job." He paused, appearing worried suddenly. "Has my work been affected...??"

She held up a hand to forestall his query. "Not at all," she assured him. "I just wanted to let you know that Seven and I are more than willing to make it possible for you to take a night off."

He looked at her blankly. "How?"

"We'll babysit, of course," she said brightly. "In fact, tonight would be a really good time since both Seven and I begin an off-duty rotation tomorrow morning."

He blinked, and then a smile slowly spread over his face. "That would be great, Captain," he said, obviously stunned at the offer, but very pleased that she would make it. "I'll talk to Megan and let you know before the end of the duty shift."

"Excellent," Janeway responded. "I'll wait to hear from you."

Pleased, she returned to her ready room and went back to work. She loved it when a plan was being put into action ... even when she shouldn't necessarily be making the plan in the first place.

Tuvok carefully positioned the chair beneath the windows, satisfied that he had finished refurbishing his quarters. He paused as he heard the door chime and turned, tilting his head slightly.

"Come in." An eyebrow lifted as Ro Laren appeared in the entrance. She moved into the room, the door sliding shut behind her with a quiet hiss. Her motion was jerky and agitated, obviously a sign of some deep, emotional distress.

"Lt. Ro," he offered evenly.

She stared at him and took a deep breath. "I don't know who else to talk to about this," she said, her voice uncertain.

"Indeed. What is this about?"

"I told B'Elanna about ... what happened the last three days."

"I see," he responded, allowing his face to become vaguely thoughtful. He eyed her narrowly. "Is this to be an emotional display?"

"Yes," she admitted.

He dipped his head and sat down cross-legged on the mat, lighting the meditation lamp.

"Proceed," he invited.

Ro clenched and unclenched her fists as she began to walk around the room, her nervous energy making her seem as if she was ready to fly apart. Tuvok's dark eyes followed her steadily, fascinated by the random nature of her movement.

"She's gone insane, Tuvok," she explained, clearly trying to understand something that was giving her a great deal of difficulty. "I told her about what happened and she twisted it all around, trying to turn something that was wonderful and decent into something that was dirty and tawdry! She talked to me like I was some kind of collaborator, sleeping with a Cardassian soldier to get special favors!"

"Lt. Torres is a most volatile individual," Tuvok offered calmly. "Her background is not as extensive as yours. She may lack a context in which to assess the situation."

"That doesn't give her the right to treat me like I'm dirt because of how I saved someone's life," Ro said, her proud features twisted painfully and he thought he might heard a sob rise in her throat before she managed to force it back. She turned and faced him, breath coming hard. "Damn it, Tuvok, she made me feel like I was trash."

His eyebrow rose to half-mast. "She is young," he pointed out rationally. "And the young are very defined in what they believe is right and wrong. It is only through life experience that one learns that most things are rarely so straightforward."

"I don't understand," she said, which he rather thought was unnecessary because it was obvious. Her dark eyes were bewildered and further more, they were hurt, shimmering on the verge of tears. Ro Laren was not the sort to indulge in tears often ... or to his knowledge, ever ... and he was vaguely disquieted. "How could she even think that I would try to cheat on her? It was like she didn't trust me at all, like she had never trusted me. Why would she even begin to believe that this was something sexual and not about saving your life?"

"Did you ask her?"

"She said ..." Ro began, swallowed hard, and continued. "She implied that I wanted to be with you for my own reasons."

His eyebrow raised to full mast, somewhat uncomfortable. He searched for the words to comfort her, having little success because of his past disinterest in Humanoid romantic interaction. "Why would she believe that?"

"I don't know," Ro said, throwing up her hands. Her voice had risen considerably above her normal speaking tone, though he did not think she noticed it. "It's almost like she wants this to be something it isn't. I can't make her listen when I try to explain to her what it was really about."

"When certain individuals arrive at a conclusion," Tuvok noted, "particularly one based purely upon an immediate emotional response, it is difficult for an alternative view to be presented to them that they will accept or try to understand. It takes time for them to realize that their initial view was incorrect."

She stopped, hands on her hips, staring at the deck. "What am I supposed to do, Tuvok? She made me feel as if I've done something wrong."

He frowned slightly. "I am uncertain, Lieutenant. You, of course, are the only one that truly knows the motivations behind your actions. Do you feel you have behaved dishonorably? Do you regret anything you have done in the past week?"

"No," she said stubbornly, crossing her arms over her chest as her eyes raised to meet his, anger once more taking dominance in their flash. "I saved your life. I'm never going to apologize for that. B'Elanna has no right to think that just because we're lovers, I have to answer to her in matters of duty and responsibility."

He brought his eyebrow down. "An unnecessarily aggressive assessment of the situation."

"Actually, I do regret one thing," she said, her face set and angry. "I regret telling her. It was none of her damned business in the first place and now it'll probably be all over the ship. What were you thinking, Tuvok?"

"Now, you disparage Lt. Torres, unduly," he advised her, raising a hand to calm the outpouring of fury. "Do not believe that because she is normally free with information that she reveals everything she discovers. I have known her to be quite discreet when required."

She stared at him. "Are you kidding?" she said, in blatant disbelief. "You wouldn't believe some of the things she's told me ... including incidents with the captain and Seven that no one should know."

"No doubt," Tuvok reminded her. "But, I can assure you, there are things that she knows that do not go out to the crew at large, including much about the captain and Seven."

"Then how do you know about them?"

His lips did not quirk in amusement, but they considered it. "Because Seven has, at times, been as free with her information to me, as she has to her friend," he told her. "Much of it is information that I do not wish to have regarding the captain and her spouse." He shuddered imperceptibly. "Fortunately, Vulcans have the ability to delete unnecessary data from our memories as need be."

Ro threw up her hands, obviously not really listening to him as she stalked about the room. "I just have no idea where this is coming from. I never knew Klingons thought like this. I thought that of all people, she would respect and understood what I had done. Instead, she wants to make it about sex, like you and I had snuck off for a little R&R in the cargo bay or something."

"Lt. Torres does have a distinct Human influence in her upbringing. They are often ... impractical about matters of the heart."

Ro turned and stared at him. "The captain is Human. She's very practical."

"Captain Janeway is ... unique," he revealed. "Which is why she is a Starfleet captain. But when it comes to matters of love, she too, can react in a most illogical way."

"If you say so," Ro said doubtfully. "This has nothing to do with 'matters of love' anyway. If I had gotten killed while saving your life, B'Elanna would be proud. She'd be unhappy, but she'd still be proud when she found out about it. But because I do something life-affirming, she makes it sound like I'm a Cardassian sympathizer. I just don't understand her."

"That is apparent," Tuvok noted. "Nor, do I suspect, does she truly understand you. But then, new relationships are often a journey of discovery. The question you must ask yourself; are you willing to pursue it until you do reach a state of mutual understanding, or do you wish to terminate it?"

Ro stood by the windows, head bent, her fists clenched. "I don't know," she said finally. "I love her, Tuvok, but I can't be something I'm not for her. I can try to meet her halfway ... but not if she's going to punch me in the stomach every time I do."

"And what are your expectations of her?"

She looked at him. "I don't understand what you mean."

"What do you want from her," he said patiently.

The Bajoran's jaw shifted, showing how her teeth were clenched. "I want ... I expect her to respect me as a professional, to understand what my duties and responsibilities are, to accept that I will carry them out as I see fit, without interference."

"What do you want from her personally."

That took longer to answer and he waited calmly, the flame from the lamp flickering fretfully before him, casting shadows about the room and across the woman's angular face.

"I want her to trust me," Ro said finally. "I want her to believe in me as much as I believe in her abilities and not look for reasons to doubt how I feel about her."

"Then you must tell her that."

Ro seemed to slump suddenly, her hands dropping to her side, unclenching to lie limply against her legs. "She won't listen," she said softly.

"Perhaps not," the Vulcan said. "But you must tell her in any event. It is up to her as to what she will do with that information."

"I don't think it's that easy, sir."

"No," he agreed calmly, raising an eyebrow. "I never said it would be easy."

Seven of Nine stepped inside the door to the captain's quarters and immediately knelt to pet Jake who had bounded over to her, his tail wagging furiously. She scratched behind his ears, patted him firmly on the head and informed him as to what an adequate pet he was. He responded with a rather sloppy swipe of his tongue across her face before she could avoid it and sighing, she distastefully wiped the slobber away as she stood up.

Kathryn came out of the bedroom, still dressed in her uniform, though her feet were covered with fuzzy red slippers. The combination looked vaguely disturbing, but Seven could not put her finger on why, exactly.

"Hello, darling. Did you need to work late to catch up?"

"No," Seven replied honestly, if somewhat embarrassed by it. "I ... lost track of time."

Janeway blinked, surprised, but chose not to comment on such an unusual admission by the Borg. Instead, she moved over to the replicator. "Well, since it's my turn to make dinner tonight," she said lightly, in a tone that Seven thought sounded a little forced. "Do you have any requests?"

Seven shook her head. In truth, she was still not particularly hungry and decided that she had better not reveal the fact that she had skipped lunch. "Whatever you prepare will be sufficient."

Janeway shot her another sharp look but again, apparently decided to let it go. As she programmed in the selection, Seven went into the ensuite and washed her hands and face before removing her blue-and-grey biometric outfit to change into a t-shirt and some pants that she normally utilized during Velocity games. She left her feet bare as she returned to the dining area in time to sit down to the dinner the captain had just finished placing on the table.

It was browned rice with a flaky fillet of pink salmon on the side; a simple dish that even Janeway could replicate without difficulty. It was fairly bland, of course, lacking the addition of Seven's more adventurous spices, but the Borg discovered she was in the mood for bland, attempting to establish a sort of quietude within herself since she could not make all her roiling emotions settle down completely. As the couple ate, Janeway doggedly engaged in a rather one-sided conversation about her day, responded to periodically with a few words of two or less syllables from Seven, who was listening with only a fraction of her attention.

Whatever revelations Seven had discovered in the Borg alcove seemed fleeting now, and insubstantial, hard to keep hold of. Seven wondered if perhaps she was trying too hard, that her need to achieve some sort of resolution with what she had experienced was preventing her from seeing the real solution to her sense of disconcertion and detachment.

"Then Chakotay stripped off his uniform and ran naked about the bridge," Janeway concluded. "If Tom hadn't shot him dead with his phaser, I don't know what would have happened."

Startled, Seven looked up, frowning at the captain. "What did you say?"

Janeway smiled. "Just making sure you were still with me. You seem a million light-years away."

Realizing she had drifted further than she had intended, Seven blushed. "I am sorry, Kathryn," she apologized. "I was ... thinking of other things. I did not mean to ignore you."

Janeway waved her hand, brushing it off. "It's alright, darling," she said gently. "It's perfectly understandable." She took a breath and leaned forward, linking her fingers on the table in front of her. Her blue-grey eyes assessed the plate in front of the Borg. "I realize that you need to eat far less than I do," she added, "but I've noticed lately that you're eating even less than that."

Seven felt a spark of irrational anger. "I am eating adequately," she said defensively.

"I don't agree," Janeway said in that reasonable tone she assumed whenever she was determined to make Seven do what she wanted. "I expect you to finish what is on your plate, then I have a dessert that I know you're absolutely going to love."

Seven placed her fork on the table, none too lightly, the sound of metal impacting with wood making a distinct clink in the quiet. "You do not need to monitor my nutritional intake," she said sharply. "You are not my mother."

She was immediately horrified at what she had said, having no idea where it had sprung from, and then realized that she was deceiving herself. Of course she knew exactly where it was coming from. She found it difficult to look at her partner, shame rushing hot through her.

But Janeway had not reacted, beyond a slight tightening around her eyes. "No," she said with great kindness, "I'm not your mother, Annika, but I am the person who loves you and worries about you and will demand that you take care of yourself, just as you demand it so often of me."

Seven felt tears sting her eyes. Kathryn was trying so hard to be patient and supportive, and all Seven could do was respond like the child she did not wish to feel like, but had, ever since 'Erin Hansen' had come aboard Voyager. She did not like this sense of uncertainty at all, but could think of no way to stop feeling it.

"I am sorry, Kathryn," she said softly, sadly. "I did not mean to become angry with you."

"I know," Janeway responded quietly. She paused, her face intent as she searched for the proper words. "You're going through a really rough time right now, darling. If you need to bark at me once in awhile, then I'm certainly prepared to take it. God knows, I've snapped at you enough times in the past for things that had absolutely nothing to do with you at all."

"It is ... inefficient," Seven said, profoundly annoyed at herself as she picked up her fork again and prodded fretfully at her salmon.

Janeway did not comment, watching the young woman as Seven took a mouthful of the fish, forcing herself to chew it thoroughly before swallowing. Then, the captain sighed a little and looked down at her own plate, empty but for a few grains of rice dotting the porcelain surface.

"Do you have any plans for this evening?" she asked finally. "I mean, would you object to helping me with something?"

Seven swallowed another mouthful of her meal. "What do you require my assistance for?"

"Lt. Kim and Ensign Delaney want to have a night out," the captain explained. "I told them that we would be glad to watch Little Harry for them while they're gone."

Despite herself, Seven felt somewhat intrigued, raising an eyebrow. "Indeed," she said, unaware that her voice had lightened perceptibly. The captain raised her eyes, studying her keenly and Seven scooped up another forkful of rice with a renewed appetite. "When?"

"Sometime after dinner," Janeway explained. "We just need to watch him a little bit before he goes to sleep. Lt. Kim assured me that he'll have eaten by the time they bring him over ... which is fortunate, considering Megan breast feeds," she added dryly.

"Will we be required in the future to do such a thing when we have children?"

"Do what?" Janeway responded blankly.  "Have the children monitored if we decide to go out?"

"Breast feed," Seven corrected.

Janeway regarded her oddly. "I hadn't thought about it."

"Ah, I will research it."

The captain took a deep breath. "Thank you," she said. "That would be ... helpful." But she did not sound like she entirely meant what she said. Janeway frowned briefly. "Darling, I know things have been profoundly disruptive during the last two weeks, but you seem a little ... off kilter, tonight. More so than you should be, even taking into account all you've been through lately."

Seven regarded the fish on her plate and carefully fished a sliver from the salmon with her fork. "This afternoon," she admitted quietly, "I seriously weighed the advantages of being Borg and what it would require to become one again."

Janeway blinked, obviously rocked by that. "And?"

Seven raised her eyes to meet the anxious gaze. "Feeling nothing seems attractive to me now," she tried to explain, aware that it was hurting her spouse to know that she had actually considered such a thing, yet unable to keep from revealing what had prompted her to go to the cargo bay. "However, I also realize it would be an extreme solution to my problem. It would cost me far more in happiness than any pain it could remove."

Janeway took a moment to respond. "It would," she said finally, huskily. She got up and came around the table, kneeling next to Seven, looking up into her face. "Darling, I can't say I'm thrilled to know such an option ever crossed your mind, but I also know you've never felt this hurt or betrayed before." She rested her hands on the Borg's leg. "I guess I can understand how you could consider it. I'm glad you decided that no matter how much it hurts, feeling emotion is still better than feeling none at all."

Seven bent her head sadly. "I am sorry that telling you about this hurt you, Kathryn. Perhaps I should not have shared it with you. I did not, after all, choose to become Borg again so it was irrelevant that I considered it so briefly."

Janeway shook her head. "If you told me, it's because you needed to," she said softly, understandingly. "Annika, I know you have to work this out for yourself. I may not like where the process takes you, but this is a path that you have to travel on your own without my pushing you. Just know that I'm right there beside you, whenever you need me."

"I know," Seven whispered, reaching up to stroke her partner's face. "Thank you for that, Kathryn." She leaned forward and rested her forehead against Janeway's. "In any event, perhaps that is why I seem 'off' this evening. I find that rather than reacting ... naturally, I am very conscious of what I am doing as a Human instead of a Borg. I am sure it will pass."

Janeway took the opportunity to kiss her gently. "I'm sure it will, too. All things do ... even this pain."

Seven did not get a chance to respond, the door chime interrupting her and causing both women to look over at it with surprise. "Oh," Janeway said, in a somewhat odd tone. "That must be Little Harry." It was as if, Seven noted, the captain had suddenly remembered something and was now regretful of it.

Megan Delaney was profuse with her thanks as she stepped inside. Seven was struck by the fact that the young ensign sincerely meant it. Apparently, both she and her husband were thrilled to be handing their offspring over to the care of the captain and the Borg. Seven found that difficult to understand and she raised an eyebrow as Harry Kim staggered through the door, burdened with three bags, two quite large and stuffed full of supplies, with a smaller one that was hooked over his arm.

"How long are we supposed to look after the child?" she asked Janeway in a puzzled tone. Then she realized her spouse had an look on her face that indicated that she didn't quite know what was going on ... an expression that Seven was simply not used to seeing in the captain.

"Here are all the things you need to babysit, Captain," Harry said, shoving the bags into Janeway's arms, forestalling her reply to Seven. "We'll be back to pick him up at 2230. You know, we can't thank you enough for this."

"He's fed and changed, and should go to sleep very soon," Megan informed the couple in the next breath. "His diapers are in the blue bag along with his nappies and wipes. The yellow bag has some extra bottles of expressed milk in case he gets hungry before bed, along with some changes of jammies. His favorite blankie is in the small bag and his teddy bear is with it. He needs both to go to sleep."

Seven frowned, trying to decipher these instructions, not understanding half the terms the young woman had used. She wondered if the captain knew what a 'nappie' was and what it might possibly be used for. Then Megan was handing the baby to Seven, undoubtedly because the captain had her arms already loaded with the supplies. Gingerly, the Borg hefted Little Harry between her hands, holding him away from her body as she regarded him with bemusement. He had grown much larger than the last time she had seen him, and seemed far more animated than the baby she had held at the captain's birthday party ... as if there might actually be a real personality in there rather than merely what was required to be a living organism. The baby looked back at her measuringly, and then suddenly broke out in a toothless smile, reaching out to her, his tiny fingers seeming to beckon to the Borg in some strange way.

Lt. Kim and Ensign Delaney quickly disappeared from the quarters and in the aftermath of their departure, the quiet broken only by the baby's happy gurgles, Janeway and Seven shared a look of uncertain trepidation. Seven took a deep breath, and refocused her attention on the child dangling happily in her grip.

She was quite unprepared when a thick, white liquid was suddenly expelled from him to splash wetly down the front of her t-shirt and onto the deck.

Tom Paris strolled into the messhall, feeling a trifle peckish and wondering if Neelix was on duty. The Talaxian native had gone back to working as the ship's cook and morale officer after a stint in security and in engineering, though Tom wasn't completely sure what the complete story was behind his return. The one thing the young man did know was that the food had improved significantly since the small, stocky alien had returned to his kitchen. He wasn't sure why but he was suitably grateful for it. No matter how good a replicator was programmed, it could not compare with meals carefully prepared from fresh ingredients, not to mention how the savory odors tended to enhance the dining experience.

The difference between art and mechanical preparation, the helmsman decided, something he was only now learning to appreciate.

Neelix was present behind the counter and his golden eyes lit up as he saw Tom.

"Mr. Paris," he said brightly. "What can I get for you today?"

"Well, what's the featured dish?" Paris responded. He always had the option of the replicators, of course.

"Leola root stew," Neelix offered proudly.

Tom hesitated and the alien held up a finger. "I know," the Talaxian added. "But I've been able to adapt it specifically for Humans. Why not taste it and then you can decide."

Tom nodded. "Fair enough," he agreed amiably. He gingerly accepted the spoonful that Neelix offered, letting it rest on his tongue before chewing. "Hey," he said with a certain amount of surprise. "That's not bad at all."

"Shall I fill a plate?" Neelix queried invitingly.

Tom spread his hands. "Please," he said. He took a tray and the necessary utensils before acquiring some of the crusty bread from a wicker basket. Neelix handed him the plate and with another grin at the Talaxian, the tow-headed helmsman wandered over to a nearby table, sitting down with his back to the windows, facing the door. He was halfway through his meal when B'Elanna Torres stormed into the messhall.

And 'storm' was the correct term, the helmsman thought uneasily. After sharing a romantic relationship with the engineer for a significant period of time, he had become fairly adept at reading the young woman's moods. B'Elanna had a dark scowl on her face, her eyes glinting with the disturbing sort of light that indicated anger and frustration. He started a little when those eyes focused on him and as she stomped toward him, he wondered what he had done now.

"I need to talk to you."

"Uh, sure," he said, indicating the seat across from him. He looked around, suddenly aware that the messhall was somewhat quiet this time of day ... not the sort of situation that would prevent B'Elanna from making a scene. Not that a crowd had ever prevented the Klingon from flying into a rage.

"What's up?" he asked weakly.

She stared at him, and for a moment, he thought she was going to hit him, and then realized it was just her expression. She wanted to hit something, he knew and unobtrusively edged his chair back, ready to dodge if necessary.

"You're not my first choice," she told him bluntly. "But Seven's all strung out over the aftermath of that alien pretending to be her mother, and Harry's all caught up with his new kid. Chakotay and I don't really talk since ... well, we don't talk much anymore. The captain's busy with Seven and the Doctor's an idiot."

Tom noticed a glaring omission in her list of confidants and had the foresight not to suggest that perhaps her current lover, Ro Laren, might be a good one to talk to. He had a sudden idea as to what this might be about ... or at least, who exactly was causing the Klingon's agitation.

"Okay," he managed quietly. "I'm glad to listen."

She stared at him for another moment, clearly debating the merits of speaking with him and he waited, trying to maintain a compassionate expression on his face.

"I need to ask you a question," she said finally.

"Shoot," he said.

"When you cheated on me, how did you justify it to yourself?"

Anger rose in him, defensive outrage, but with an effort, he forced it back, knowing somehow that this was not about him, but rather about someone else. He inhaled slowly. "You were dead, B'Elanna," he said quietly. "And it was killing me. I needed something ... anything to make me feel alive again. Jennifer was there, and ... one thing led to another." He paused. "I knew about the Klingon protocol about waiting a fourth of the duration of the relationship in order to do honor to the fallen, but I ... decided it didn't matter. I'm sorry." He eyed her keenly. "But you already know this."

She broke eye contact with him for the first time. "What if," she asked with some difficulty, "you had waited the requisite time, and then I returned?"

He frowned, trying to work through this. "I guess it wouldn't have been a problem then," he said tentatively. "And we would have gotten past it."

"No," B'Elanna said with conviction. "It still would have been a problem for me and we wouldn't have gotten by it."

"But..." he began, then subsided, confused.

"I know," she said unhappily. She sat there with moisture making her eyes shine and he realized she was really hurt. She took a deep breath. "I would have left you anyway," she admitted. "I just used that Klingon protocol as an excuse."

Tom considered that. "Because I cheated?"

"Because you didn't love me," she responded hotly.

He frowned. "I did love you," he said with his own touch of anger. "The entire time. I've never stopped." His voice cracked a little at the end and he regretted letting that slip.

She stared at him and abruptly, her face softened. "Okay. I think I knew that." She swallowed convulsively. "I guess the real reason is that I didn't love you ... not enough."

"Uh, listen," he tried, very conscious of this being such a public place. "Do you want to continue this somewhere a little more private?"

She looked away. "No," she said stiffly. "This is fine. It's pretty quiet now and ... it's okay."

He prodded at his meal uncertainly. "So what's this about?"

"I can't tell you," she said, surprising him profoundly. Usually too much sharing was the Klingon's natural instinct. "But I need to know how, if you loved me, you could do something like that."

He felt confused, unhappy. He thought they had discussed it before, but then, he realized they hadn't. They had fought about it, yelled at each other, but never really talked about it reasonably. He wasn't entirely sure they were going to now, either but perhaps enough time had gone by to allow them to try.

"It wasn't about us, B'Elanna," he said slowly, trying to explain. "Not really. It had absolutely nothing to do with how I felt about you. Jennifer and I ... it was just a spur of the moment, two people reaching out to one another, one hurting and the other to comfort. You weren't a factor because everyone thought you were dead, but it didn't change how much I loved you. It certainly wasn't that I set out to hurt you. It really had nothing to do with you at all."

B'Elanna glowered. "People keep saying that, but I am involved."

Tom regarded her evenly. "No," he said with a firmness uncharacteristic of him. "You weren't, other than the fact that your death was why I was hurting. Don't get this confused with me sleeping with her because I was tired of you, or because we were fighting or because I didn't want to be with you or because I wanted to get back at you in some way. It was just ... how it worked out." He trailed off helplessly, knowing that if B'Elanna didn't want to listen, he couldn't explain it. It was the sort of thing one either accepted or didn't.

She rested her chin on her hand and for the first time, her shoulders seem to relax.

"Am I so easy to disregard?" she asked sadly.

He was startled. "It's not that at all, B'Elanna," he told her. "Hell, you're the first thing I was thinking about. But sometimes a person does something they think is best for them and any hurt it causes is completely and honestly unintentional. It's hard, but it's something that you have to accept." He reached over and covered her hand which was resting on the table. "I don't know what Ro ... what prompted this. But I want you to know ..."

He stopped, staring at her. This was his one great chance he knew. His opportunity to be all he wanted to be for the Klingon, maybe even be able to win her heart once more. He could be strong and wise and comforting, providing her a needed shoulder and a haven against all that hurt her in a way that he hadn't managed when they had been together. Perhaps, everything that had happened between them could finally be put into the past and they could start again. He had never wanted anything more in his life than to do what he had to in order to win her back right at this moment.

He swallowed hard.

"The way I look at it, B'Elanna, there's really only one issue here," Tom said finally, instead of every suave, persuasive thing crowding his mind. He even managed a calmness he was far from feeling as his stomach churned unpleasantly. "And it's not if you're right or not. It's not even about what actually might have happened here. The real issue is; do you want to let whatever it is make you throw everything away, make you walk away from everything you're feeling, make you want something or someone else? Or is your love enough to work past it? You couldn't with me, all those months ago and I just have to live with that. Can you with her?"

B'Elanna stared at him, eyes burning once more and Tom tensed, wondering if he was going to have to defend himself from a Klingon assault that would undoubtedly leave bruises, and not in a fun way, either.

"You're right," she said flatly. "That is the question."

She abruptly got up and left the table, heading for the messhall exit. Stunned, Tom sensed the presence of another moving closer to him, the stocky form of Neelix appearing next to him, looking down at him with a compassionate expression on his speckled, tufted features.

"That was a good thing you did, Mr. Paris," he said quietly and Paris realized the Talaxian had been hovering just out of the perception of the duo, but clearly listening to everything that he and B'Elanna had said to each other.

Tom stared bleakly after the departing Klingon.

"Yeah?" he said without enthusiasm. "So why does it feel so bad, then?"

Neelix considered it. "Because you know in your heart, that either way, you would have lost," he said with sincere empathy. "If B'Elanna is able to work this out with Ro Laren, then you have no chance. And if she had refused to try, and had possibly let you back in her life, you'd always be left with the shadow of Ro Laren looming over you, never knowing if B'Elanna truly loved you ... or if she was just settling for you instead of who she really loved."

Tom swallowed, and there seemed to be a little excess moisture in his eyes though he refused to let it go beyond that. "You're right," he agreed huskily. "That's all it would ever be."

He blinked furiously and looked down at the table. With an effort, he forced a smile.

"You know, Neelix, I wanted to tell you, this is really good leola root stew. I meant to ask you what exactly got you back into the kitchen again? I thought you had transferred to engineering."

Neelix looked at the helmsman closely but was apparently willing to allow the change in subject as he took a seat in the chair B'Elanna had vacated. "Helping Seven cater the captain's birthday party was a very educational experience." He folded his hands neatly in front of him, his golden eyes pensive in the subdued lighting of the messhall. "To be honest, Tom, I missed the social aspect of being here in the community center of the ship. It just wasn't the same in engineering. I've always wanted to contribute to Voyager, Tom. That's always been my goal, but I didn't feel I was doing that as the ship's cook, particularly after the food replication system was brought back fully online. So I kept looking for a place on the ship where I could fit in."

Tom toyed with his fork. "Listen," he began guiltily, "I know I was pretty loud about your cooking before, about how ... I didn't like it much. That wasn't very fair to you. I certainly never tried to cook myself so who the hell was I to complain?"

Neelix waved it off. "Apologies aren't necessary, Lieutenant. I take some responsibility for not being able to figure out why people didn't like my creations. Instead, I preferred to blame you all for being too conditioned to the blandness of replicated meals and just not able to appreciate real home cooking. But now that Seven has helped me out with various ingredients and understanding the Human palate, I feel I can make a real contribution to the crew's comfort and enjoyment in a way that I can't in engineering or security."

"Well," Tom said, honestly. "I'm glad you're back behind the counter. It isn't just the food, Neelix, you give this place a personality that it just doesn't have when a person is grabbing meals from a replicator."

"Thank you, Tom. That means a lot." The Talaxian's eyes shifted and he inclined his head. "Speaking of personalities, there's one who I think could use some cheering up."

Tom followed his gaze, looking across the messhall at Ensign White who had just entered the messhall. Head down, the young woman went directly to the counter, retrieved a plate, filled it with a small potion, and moved over to a table in the corner where she sat down by herself. She seemed almost diffident, as if afraid to attract attention to herself, and the helmsman realized he hadn't seen the young woman around lately. Originally, a very outgoing personality, White had been one of the crewmembers who had conceived when an odd 'fever' had swept the ship. No one knew who the father had been, but it was obvious that he had no interest in offspring because she had decided to bear it herself and raise it alone. Unfortunately, she lost her unborn son in the eight month and many didn't know how to talk with her about that tragedy, particularly those who considered it partially her own doing because she had insisted on remaining at her post when all the other pregnant women had taken sanctuary in the center of the vessel. As time went by, the gregarious young woman had become more and more isolated. Where once she had been one of the crewmembers in the middle of any social event, now she haunted the edges, looking wan and uncertain.

Tom was ashamed, both of himself and of the crew. He knew that no one had meant to deliberately cause harm to the young woman, but it was clear that a sort of cruelty had been perpetuated on Ensign White. Perhaps it was just the mentality that believed that if they ignored something, eventually the unpleasantness would go away and not bother them, but it was a shortsighted approach. He had thought better, both of himself and of his crewmates He looked at Neelix.

"I think," he said deliberately, "that I could use seconds, Neelix. And if you don't mind, I think I'll find some prettier company than you. No offense."

"None taken," Neelix responded, grinning.

Tom returned the grin, then got up and went over to the table in the corner. The young ensign looked up as he stopped beside her chair.

"Hey," he said. "I stopped by for lunch, but I just hate eating alone. Mind if I join you?"

Her green eyes lit up and he felt a warm spot inside of himself suddenly appear, growing and filling the empty dark space which had existed in him for so long.

"Please," she said.

He smiled as he sat down. Perhaps, he thought, some things just worked themselves out as they were supposed to.

Eventually.

Seven gasped, staring wide-eyed at the child clutched in her hands.

"Did you see that, Kathryn?" she said with profound wonder in her voice. "It came out his nose."

Caught between disgust and laughter, Janeway dumped the bags on the floor and grabbed a soft cloth from one of them, wiping the child's face gently before ineffectually dabbing at the front of her partner's stained shirt. Little Harry began howling at the top of his lungs, the noise like the buffeting of a red alert.

"What do I do now?" Seven asked anxiously, pulling the child closer to her as she ignored the wetness spreading over her front, wrapping one arm around the little boy and using the other to pat him gently on the back.

"You're doing fine darling," Janeway told her, somewhat unconvincingly, as she continued to try to clean up the vomit. She wondered if all babies were this messy. Little Harry hadn't even been here ten minutes and already the quarters looked like a disaster area. "Maybe you should walk around with him a little. That might quiet him."

Obligingly, Seven began to stride rapidly about the living area of the quarters.

"Slower," Janeway instructed as the baby's crying echoed in her ears and made them ring. She hastily rearranged the furniture to give themselves more floor space, shoving the coffee table under the dining table, and pushing the chair back to the wall. She wondered if the child was somehow reaching some subsonic range that she was previously unaware, and was then convinced of it when Jake, who had been crouched suspiciously next to the bedroom door since the child's arrival, abruptly started to howl. It was a long, mournful cry to the heavens, his head raised, snout pointed high.

"Jake!" she yelled, trying to be heard above all the noise. "Be quiet!" It had been such a simple plan, she thought glumly, when she had thought of it in the ready room. How had it dissolved into chaos so quickly?

Little Harry promptly stopped crying at the captain's bellow as did Jake. The baby stared curiously at the Irish Setter with big eyes, his head turning as he tried to keep the animal in view. Seven slowed her pace considerably and Janeway's eyes narrowed as she discovered the Borg was jiggling the baby slightly.

"Why are you doing that?" the captain asked anxiously.

"Doing what?"

"Bouncing him like that? I don't think that's a good idea if he's ill."

"I do not know." Seven turned a concerned gaze to the captain and stopped her motion. "You should contact the Doctor," she added in an urgent tone.

Janeway nodded. "That's probably a good idea." She touched her comm badge. "Janeway to sickbay. Doctor, I need you in the captain's quarters immediately."

"On my way," the Doctor's smooth tones replied.

Within seconds, the sparse, trim form of the Emergency Medical Hologram had materialized in the middle of the room and was looking inquiringly at the captain.

"Please state the nature of your medical emergency," he said, and then raised an eyebrow when he saw Seven with the baby. "What's going on here?"

"We're babysitting Little Harry," Janeway explained. "He's ill."

The Doctor drew out a small probe and ran it over the child who was fascinated by the glowing gold tip of the device and the humming noise it produced, attempting to grab it as the Doctor deftly kept it out of his reach.

"He seems perfectly fine to me, Captain," the Doctor remarked after a moment of checking his tricorder readings. "What seems to be the problem?"

"He vomited, Doctor." Janeway was concerned.

"And?" the hologram asked encouragingly.

The captain stared at him. "Isn't that sufficient?"

His brows drew down. "Not for a baby," he explained. "Spitting up is what they do. It gives them something to occupy themselves with until they're old enough to ask for the keys to the shuttle."

"I do not think you are taking this seriously enough, Doctor," Seven said sharply.

The Doctor glanced at her and his face softened. "Seven, I assure you, there's nothing wrong with Little Harry there." He reached out and rearranged the position of the child a little in the Borg's arms, and then patted him on the head and her on the back. "You have to realize, everything is brand new with him, including all his digestive organs and they don't always work as smoothly as one would like. By the same token, however, Human babies are remarkably tough. He can spit up a few times and while it's mildly unpleasant for him, trust me when I say it's far more disturbing to you." He retrieved another clean cloth from the bag gapping open on the floor and draped it over Seven's shoulder. "Here, this should intercept any further output."

"So you're saying it isn't indicative of illness?" Janeway crossed her arms over her chest.

The glance the Doctor threw her way was far more condescending than the look he had bestowed on Seven. "Honestly, Captain," he said in an irritatingly tolerant tone, "babies spit up all the time. In fact, all sorts of liquids are expelled by them from various orifices in a variety of ways. Didn't you take that into account when you agreed to babysit?"

The captain, who was not about to admit her true motive for borrowing Lt. Kim's offspring, frowned with foreboding firmness at him which, for the first time, seemed to have absolutely no affect on the hologram. He merely smiled back at her as if she were an Academy cadet who had just gotten every question in the surprise pop quiz completely wrong.

"Captain," he added patiently. "If he seems to have trouble breathing, if he turns an odd color, or if the vomiting persists over a long period of time, then by all means, call me immediately. But if he just spits up occasionally and then continues on, perfectly happy as he is now, then I think you can handle that particular crisis with a clean cloth and some warm water."

"Thank you for your assistance," Janeway said icily.

"Anytime," he responded with a smirk in her direction, unperturbed by her tone. He promptly dematerialized in a sparkly haze.

Janeway looked at Seven who was regarding her with a mix of dismay and accusation. "Do you not know how to look after a baby, Kathryn?" the Borg asked pointedly. "Why did you volunteer us to babysit?"

Janeway opened her mouth to respond, hesitated, and then frowned. "Granted, I don't have a lot of experience in this area," she admitted. "But how hard can it be?"

Seven's expression was not particularly sanguine about this feeble attempt at reassurance but she did not say anything else. Instead, she turned her attention to little Harry who was currently focused on the starburst implant on the Borg's right cheek, trying unsuccessfully to pry it off her so that he could play with it.

"Please, cease your efforts at attempting to remove my implant," she told him firmly.

He regarded her with a solemn expression, then promptly grabbed for it again.

"Kathryn?"

"Here, let me take him," Janeway said, retrieving him and the cloth from her partner's arms. "You go clean up a bit."

"Thank you," Seven said as she relinquished her hold on the child. In the exchange from one woman to the other, he grabbed two fistfuls of the Borg's long, blonde hair and determinedly did not let go, chortling happily. "Kathryn!"

"Just a minute," Janeway said, feeling very much overwhelmed. It never looked this difficult when other people did it. Wasn't mothering supposed to come naturally to women?

It took about five minutes for the two women to carefully, and with extreme gentleness, separate little Harry from the Borg. Even then, he ended up with several long strands of blonde hair clutched triumphantly in his fists. Seven shot him a bemused look, and then headed for the bedroom to change her shirt. Harry watched her go, seeming a trifle forlorn, and then looked at the captain who was holding him. The two contemplated each other warily for a few seconds before he screwed up his face and began to cry, tiny tears streaking his cheeks.

Seven immediately appeared in the doorway, her shirt in her hands and her torso fully exposed. Her features were profoundly worried.

"What did you do to him?" she demanded.

"Nothing," Janeway responded in exasperation. The captain frowned at Little Harry who had stopped crying as soon as Seven appeared and was now regarding the Borg intently. Janeway knew he was far too young to be doing anything of the sort, but the rapt absorption on his face as he looked at Seven was remarkably similar to what a much older male would possess in the event the young woman had suddenly appeared in similar dishabille.

"Quit ogling my wife," the captain muttered warningly to him. On the other hand, Janeway decided, perhaps he was just hungry and thought a mid-evening snack was about to be served from that magnificent display of mammary glands. "Seven, get dressed please," she instructed dryly.

"Yes, Kathryn," the Borg replied, looking at her oddly before disappearing back into the bedroom.

Little Harry turned his head to Janeway with a baleful expression, clearly holding the captain responsible for the disappearance of Seven and she returned the gaze with her best command glare. He looked vaguely startled, then gurgled and abruptly lurched forward, administering a rather resounding head butt to her chin. She hugged him even as she winced and gingerly moved her jaw, determining if anything was chipped or broken. Nothing appeared to be and she focused her attention back on him barely in time to see his fist, complete with a pip from her collar, on his way to his mouth. She forestalled that in the nick of time and found a blanket, spreading it over the floor. Then she plopped him down in the middle of it, sat cross-legged opposite him and wondered why she felt so completely exhausted after only twenty minutes.

"Kathryn?" Seven said, joining her once more. "Perhaps you should change as well. If 'spitting up' is to be an expected habit, you would not wish to be dressed in your uniform."

The captain nodded. "That's a good idea. Try to keep him from destroying the rest of the ship while I'm gone."

Seven favored her with another odd look which Janeway did not respond to as she wearily got back to her feet and went into the bedroom. She changed into a shirt and trousers, returning to the living room in time to see Seven trying to pry little Harry's fists away from Jake's furry red ear. From the way the dog was yelping, Janeway did not think Seven was having much success because she also had to keep the Irish Setter from snapping at the child ... not that he was a bad tempered animal at all, but he had to be in considerable discomfort. Seven had a firm grip on the dog's muzzle with her Borg enhanced hand, preventing him from moving his head much, as she clutched Harry with the other arm. She clearly required at least one more arm.

"Here," Janeway said, leaping into the fray. Holding the dog, which allowed Seven to free her hand, Janeway was surprised when Seven abruptly used it to tickle Harry on his tummy. Harry gurgled happily and let the dog go, grabbing onto Seven's hand instead.

"Where did you learn that?" Janeway asked as soon as she was able to release Jake who immediately scooted from the room, undoubtedly to hide under the couple's bed until the unwelcome visitor was gone.

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "When I want you to let go of something," she reminded her. "Tickling your stomach is a fairly efficient way to accomplish that. I hoped that he would react in a similar fashion."

Janeway blushed. "You rarely want me to let go," she responded as she sat down on the sofa.

"That is true," Seven replied evenly as she returned her full attention to the young boy, obviously fascinated by him, even though all he was doing was sitting in the middle of the blanket, examining Jake's long red hairs in his fist. The Borg instinctively intercepted them as he started to transfer them to his mouth, and used a cloth to clean his hands. Afterward, she allowed him to play with the mesh on her left hand which he had no hope of removing.

As Seven became involved with the baby's antics, Janeway watched her, delighted to see the hint of strain and hurt disappear from the Borg's face as if it had never been. Instead, the young woman's face was full of wonder and rapt attention, a sort of astonished pleasure in her eyes. Janeway felt entirely too smug, satisfied that her plan was progressing very nicely indeed. She was startled when the pale blue eyes rose to meet hers, pinning her in place.

"What are you planning?" the Borg asked suddenly, in a deeply suspicious tone.

Janeway widened her eyes, contriving to look innocent.

"Why do you think I'm planning something?" she asked with feigned wounded outrage and not a little bit of real panic that her partner had become that good at reading her.

"Your expression," Seven remarked calmly. "You always look that way when you are carrying out some complicated attempt at social interaction. 'Matchmaking', for instance." She paused, and looked thoughtful. "Who on the ship is currently unattached that you think should be?"

"You are completely off base, Seven," Janeway told her and decided that she had better work on her poker face in the future. Clearly, she was slipping. "I gave up matchmaking, remember?"

"Then why do you look like that?" Seven persisted, idly rolling Little Harry back and forth on his back as he laughed and cooed beneath her hand resting on his tummy.

Janeway opened her mouth to respond, hesitated, and tried not to smile. "I'm just glad to see you ... well, a little happier than you have been lately."

Seven looked surprised. "I am happier," she said, obviously astounded. "How is that possible?"

Janeway slipped off the sofa and onto the floor, next to the Borg and the baby. She reached down and picked up Harry who screwed up his face, ready to protest before smoothing it out as Janeway handed him to Seven. The Borg lifted him up carefully, looking at the captain with some confusion.

"I think, darling," Janeway explained softly, "that right now you're having a hard time finding any hope in life. I just wanted to show you some. That's what you're holding in your arms right now. Hope for what lies ahead, hope for ourselves, hope that no matter what has happened in the past, if we work hard enough, it can be better for the future."

Seven stared at her, then looked at the happy baby who was busily playing with the Borg's facial implants. His dark eyes were wide and he had that engaging toothless smile on his face that seemed to claim that he was currently in the best place in the universe and had no real interest in going anywhere else.

"Now, I'm not saying that we're going to run out and have a child, just to alleviate your sorrow," Janeway told her, resting her hand on Seven's shoulder as she looked at this tableau, her face soft and vulnerable. "That would be unwise. But I wanted to remind you that this hope does lie in our future. But it's not enough to just tell you, you have to be able to hold it close to your heart, to believe in it with all you are. I promise you it will happen. I may never be able to give you your mother, Annika, but one day, I swear, I will give you our child. And god willing, we will never hurt our children the way our parents hurt us. That is the real hope of a better future."

Seven took a breath, a slow shuddering inhalation that seemed to relax every muscle in her body. "I think," she said slowly, as a tear slipped quietly down her cheek ... a tear which was captured by a tiny hand and promptly tasted. "That I understand what you are trying to say."

Janeway felt tears well in her own eyes, but she did not let them fall as she saw the person she loved smile widely at the baby she held tenderly in her arms. Knowing that another step had been taken by her spouse in this most trying of times.

Ro Laren studied the padd she held in her hand without actually seeing what it was she was attempting to read. The security section was quiet, most of the on-duty people in other parts of the ship. Across the lounge, Ensign D'Vor worked quietly at his console, going over the inventory with an exacting precision that indicated the reprimand still stung harshly. Both security officers looked up as the door hissed open and B'Elanna Torres stalked in.

D'Vor looked at the engineer, shot a glance at Ro, and then decided that it was time he took a break. Without saying a word, he got up from the workstation, carefully skirted the Klingon and darted out the door. Ro took a slow breath, regarding the other woman evenly.

"I assume this is personal, as opposed to a professional visit."

"It always is," B'Elanna said with a touch of hardness to her face. "That's the problem, I think. You can separate the two. I can't."

At least she was composed, Ro thought as she got up from the sofa. She linked her hands behind her back.

"I'm not going to discuss what happened with Tuvok," she said deliberately. "That remains a matter of confidentiality and this area is not secured."

"I understand," B'Elanna said coldly, which made Ro vaguely uneasy. B'Elanna was not known for her cool. Hot tempered, hot blooded, feisty and forward, that was who the Klingon was. Ro had known that going in. So why was she still surprised by it ... and thrown off guard when B'Elanna decided to be reasonable at other times? The Bajoran had no idea.

"I'm here to talk about us," the Klingon concluded.

Ro quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, is there an 'us'?" she remarked, and wished she hadn't. But she was hurt too and it made her less cautious than she would be otherwise.

B'Elanna flinched, and looked away. "Do you want there to be?"

Ro hesitated. "Yes," she said softly. "I do." She drifted closer to the Klingon, not necessarily close enough to touch her, but close enough so that at least there wasn't several strides between them.

B'Elanna's dark eyes met hers. "It hurts me that you would ... ever be with anyone else," she said. "Regardless of the reason. I can't help how I feel."

Ro nodded. "All right," she said. Her jaw quivered slightly. "I'm not going to apologize for what I did, how I did it, or why I did it. However, I am truly sorry that it hurt you. You have to know that it wasn't intended to affect you in any way at all."

B'Elanna nodded but it was obvious that she still didn't like it and Ro sighed.

"B'Lanna, I'm a security officer," she tried. "I'm prepared to sacrifice my body in whatever fashion it takes to get the job done. Be it throwing it in front of the captain to take a blast for her or 'lending' it to Tuvok until he is free of his ... difficulty."

"I don't think Starfleet would demand this," B'Elanna said darkly.

"Maybe not," Ro allowed. "But honor and necessity did." She paused, studying the Klingon. "B'Elanna, you have to realize that to me, my body is nothing more than a tool. I've used it to achieve my own ends long before I was in Starfleet. How did you think a Bajoran would escape a Cardassian internment camp and reach the Federation, anyway? Have you any clue what it took to get from there to here?"

B'Elanna's head came up, her eyes wide and shocked.

"Never wanted to think about that, did you?" Ro prodded sharply. Then she looked down at the deck and softened her tone. "I've made my peace with the things I did to survive long ago, B'Elanna. I worked with Starfleet counselors for years. Otherwise I wouldn't have even made it into the Academy, let alone managed to graduate. Some of the things that I've seen and done aren't the sort that is talked about in the civilized inner systems, but they still happened. Your not liking it can't, and won't, change it."

B'Elanna seemed to have trouble finding her voice. When she did, it was far softer than Ro had ever heard from her before.

"I'm sorry."

Ro shrugged. "Not your doing," she said calmly. She folded her arms over her chest. "B'Elanna, you're right when you say that I make a definite line between what I do as a Starfleet officer, and what I do as someone's friend, or as someone's lover. But this is who I am. This is who I've always been. I've never tried to hide that from you."

B'Elanna sat down in a chair by one of the conference tables, her hands lying limply on the flat surface as she stared at them. Ro's heart twitched a little and quietly, she took a seat opposite the Klingon. There was a silence, stark and painful, and then the Bajoran reached over and touched B'Elanna's hand with her fingertips, a glancing brush, nothing more.

"So what do you want to do?" she asked. "End it between us?"

Another pause, then a very quiet 'no' came from the Klingon.

Ro didn't close her eyes in relief, but the emotion still spread through her, stronger than she would have imagined.

"All right, then," she said, her voice shaky. "I guess we should figure out where we go from here."

"What if I don't know where that is?"

Ro nodded. "I don't either," she said gently. She brushed her fingers across the Klingon's knuckles again. "But maybe we can work it out together. What do you want, B'Elanna? What is it you're looking for?"

B'Elanna lifted her eyes, looking at the Bajoran for a long time, searching her face. "I want ... I want what the captain and Seven have," she burst out finally. "I want a love that just goes on and on, no matter what happens. I want someone who knows and cares about me as much as they do each other. I want someone that I can love and know they'll never let me down. I thought it was you who could give me that, but now I'm not so sure."

Ro stared at her. "You want a fantasy," she responded, not unkindly. "Lanna, that sort of relationship just doesn't happen out of the blue. Nor is it something I or anyone else can give you. The type of relationship the captain and Seven have takes a lot of time and work and heartache and struggle and both people have to achieve it together."

She held up a hand as B'Elanna started to respond, forestalling what the Klingon had been about to say.

"Don't tell me that it didn't happen that way for them, because it did," the Bajoran said with certainty. "It had to. We might not have seen all the stumbles or been privy to all the anguish they went through, but it was there. Because that's life and how you get that kind of relationship in the first place. It's compromise and apologies and being too damned stubborn to walk away when the going gets tough. It's fighting and arguing and making up and never letting go because as much it hurts sometimes, it hurts far more not to pursue it." She leaned forward and caught the younger woman's eye, making the Klingon focus on what she was saying by the sheer intensity of her gaze. "B'Elanna, we don't have that kind of relationship because we're just starting out. We haven't put anywhere near that kind of work and energy into it yet. It won't happen overnight or in a month or whenever. It just happens because of everything else two people go through together."

B'Elanna looked stubborn and crossed her arms over her chest. "You don't know anything about them."

"Neither do you," Ro pointed out. "Not really. All anyone else ever sees is what they choose to let us see. The little bit of pain that we might witness, like when Seven ripped apart the Borg alcoves or when the captain was walking around like a zombie when she thought she had lost Seven, is only the surface of what truly went on. Only they know what really happened between them. And I bet if you asked, it would be stuff that lesser beings simply could not have survived. They are both strong people and it's a damned good thing, because I doubt they would have gotten this far if they weren't."

The Bajoran took a breath, squaring her shoulders. "In the end, it has absolutely nothing to do with us," she added. "Their relationship is their own. We have to decide what kind of relationship we're going to have. Until now, we've been dancing around it."

"I've asked you to move in with me," B'Elanna pointed out resentfully.

"Yes," Ro responded pointedly. "And why do you want me to move in with you? Convenience?"

B'Elanna opened her mouth to respond, then stopped. Some of the heat left her gaze.

"That is the reason I gave you, isn't it," she said quietly. She shook her head. "You're right, I'm talking commitment and I don't even have the guts to tell you how I really feel about you." She stared at her hands sadly.

Ro dared to cover those hands with her own.

"I don't think either of us have been entirely open with the other," the Bajoran said gently. "B'Elanna, I care a lot about you. I told you my body is nothing more than a tool, and that's true. Whenever I'm with you, however, I'm not just offering you my body, I'm offering you my heart. That's not something that I ever give up easily."

B'Elanna nodded. "I know," she responded. "I ... maybe I wanted this to be about betrayal, because that's what I expect all the time. Even when it's not really there."

Ro considered that uncertainly. "Why?" she asked finally.

B'Elanna shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe because of my father's leaving, the way my mother and I get along. It's ... I know it's not anything like you went through, but..."

"No," Ro interrupted. She tightened her grip on the Klingon's hands. "Listen, B'Elanna, whatever your past has done to influence you ... it's valid, you know? This isn't a contest where my pain is somehow more 'real' than yours. I'm sorry if it ever seemed as if I was making light of what you've been through or dismissing as being not as important as mine."

"You haven't," B'Elanna said. She managed a bit of a smile as she squeezed Ro's fingers in response. "But I think we can both agree that my dad walking out on my mom and me is not the same as how your dad ... left you." She rubbed her thumbs idly over the back of the Bajoran's hands. "I think sometimes that I've been so busy blaming others, including my parents, for my life not working out the way I want that I forget it's up to me to make it work. My mother didn't make me drop out of the Academy, I chose to do that. My dad didn't force me into fighting with the Maquis, that was my choice." She lifted her eyes. "Tom sleeping with Jennifer didn't make me dump him. I decided I wasn't getting from him what I wanted and just used that for an excuse."

"And now?" Ro asked softly, staring at her.

"Now, I'm scared," B'Elanna whispered. "Now I want to be with you all the time and it terrifies me to need anyone that much. So I look for reasons to get upset ... to push you away just to see how fast you'll go."

Ro inhaled slowly. "I don't want to go, Lanna," she responded quietly. "But I'm scared of this, too. You have to take that into account when you're ... pushing."

B'Elanna nodded. "Okay," she said. "So what do two people do when they're terrified of what's happening between them?"

"Only two choices," Ro said. "Run as fast as we can in opposite directions..."

"Or hang on to each other as tight as we can until we get through it," B'Elanna finished for her. Her eyes were soft and becoming moist. "I know what I choose."

Ro found it difficult to swallow past the lump in her throat.

"Me, too," she whispered.

They stared at each other for a few moments, holding hands tightly ... perhaps to keep from bolting until this moment had ended.

Finally, B'Elanna took a deep, shuddering breath.

"So," she said with forced casualness. "You have to play 'surrogate' seven years from now."

Ro nodded. "If we're still in the Delta Quadrant," she said. She paused. "B'Elanna ..." She stopped, trying to find the right thing to say. "I realize this bothers you, but you have to understand, I made certain commitments to both the captain and Tuvok. If I can't honor promises made to them, how could you ever expect me to honor any commitment I might make to you?"

B'Elanna swallowed. "I guess, if you put it that way, I couldn't," she allowed. She released her grip on the Bajoran's hands reluctantly. "What now?"

Ro linked her fingers together, feeling like her insides were threatening to spill out and unsure how they were planning to make that transition.  "I don't know," she said quietly.

"I know I want to be with you," B'Elanna said simply. "Even when it hurts, I want to be with you."

Ro nodded. "That's how I feel," she admitted quietly. "You drive me crazier than anyone I've ever met. You can make me so angry with just a word ... and make my whole universe seem brighter with just a look. No one else has ever made me feel this way, Lanna. I don't know if that's enough for you, but it's true."

B'Elanna looked away quickly, but Ro could see the moisture in the Klingon's eyes.

"It's enough," she whispered. "For right now, it's enough."

That was sufficient to make the Bajoran's eyes sting and she swiped at them quickly with her hand.

"I've never seen you cry," B'Elanna said suddenly, looking back at her.

Startled, Ro blinked, forcing back the tears. "I ... ah, don't," she said shakily.

"Why not?"

"Because," Ro began, hesitated, then dropped her gaze. "It's something that I stopped when I saw how much pleasure the Cardassians took in it. I ... got out of the habit."

B'Elanna looked stricken. Reaching over, she touched Ro's cheek with her fingers, warm against the Bajoran's skin. "I'm sorry," she said huskily. "I thought ... it seemed like you didn't care enough to cry. Guess I got that one wrong, too. Damn."

Ro found it painful to look directly at her, suddenly.

"It's not your fault," Ro said in a low voice.

"Yeah, this one is my fault," B'Elanna said. "I assume things about other people, based mostly on what I've been through. Because of that, I overreact. I have to learn that how I would react to something, or the reasons behind what I do ... like not crying ... isn't why other people do things."

Ro looked away. "That's just ... how people are," she said, trying to maintain her composure. "We all make assumptions based on where we've been."

"But if we want to get where we're going," B'Elanna suggested quietly, "maybe we have to change that."

Ro stood up abruptly, moving away from the table and over to the lounge area, taking the darts from the board there. She didn't really know what she was doing, only that she felt extremely vulnerable and that she didn't like feeling that way, hoping that motion would somehow give her some space to figure it out. She took her mark and began to peg the darts at the board, acutely aware of the other woman's eyes studying her keenly, though she refused to look over at her.

"I think that maybe we should have dinner tonight," the Bajoran suggested, grasping desperately for a sense of control, attempting to organize her life again. "Sort of start all over."

Then, B'Elanna was catching the Bajoran's arm in her hand and forcing her back against the bulkhead. Ro was profoundly startled, not even having seen the Klingon get up and realizing how distracted she was to have allowed B'Elanna to get that close without any of her natural defense mechanisms kicking in.

"No," B'Elanna said, her body pressed full length against Ro's, "we don't have to start over from scratch." Then she kissed her as gently and sweetly as she had ever kissed her lover. "But I hope I've also learned enough from all this to know you're not ready for what we were really talking about. Not yet."

Ro found it difficult to breathe, mesmerized by the dark eyes so close to her. "No?" she said weakly.

"No," B'Elanna said. "I think you're absolutely right. We still have a long way to go." She brushed her lips over Ro's once more, then released her. "Will you come by my quarters after your duty shift?" she added with an unusual formality.

Ro paused. "If you want me to," she said.

"I do," the Klingon remarked quietly and Ro found herself captured by those dark eyes.

B'Elanna continued to stare at her for a long moment, then finally nodded her head, as if satisfied with something. Abruptly, she was gone and Ro Laren leaned against the bulkhead, wondering what the hell her lover had just discovered that remained a complete mystery to her.

Seven glanced over at her spouse as the door slid shut behind Little Harry, who had just been picked up by his parents. Both Lt. Kim and Ensign Delaney seemed pleased to have been able to spend some time without the presence of their child and, after having experienced the chaos one little being could create, Seven could readily understand why. Yet, the way little Harry had cuddled into her body when it was time for bed, the peacefulness of his face after he had fallen asleep in her arms, made a warmth spread through her that still lingered. She thought she comprehended the balance that parents faced ... that no matter how stressful and inconvenient looking after a child was, it was more than worth it in the end simply by loving their offspring.

Janeway, however, was looking more frazzled than ever. It occurred to Seven that perhaps the captain required a great deal of adaptation to children if this rather abbreviated experience did this much damage to an otherwise impervious command mask.

"Kathryn?" she said inquiringly as Janeway took a seat at the kitchenette counter, looking around at the shambles of their quarters with a dazed expression. "Are you all right?"

"How do they do it, Seven?" Janeway asked. "How do they manage to look after him, all the time?"

Seven was amuseed.

"I am sure they have developed an efficient manner in which to operate with the inclusion of a child," she said dryly.

Janeway shot a look at her, then closed her eyes and smiled a little herself, as if realizing she was allowing herself to be overwhelmed. "I guess I have a lot to learn about kids."

Seven moved closer, resting her elbow on the counter as she looked down at her spouse. "We both do," she said softly. "But we shall learn together."

Janeway leaned against her. "That sounds good," she said softly. She smiled. "You know what else sounds good? Bed. That kid exhausted me. We can clean up tomorrow."

Seven nodded. "That would be acceptable."

She followed Janeway through the bedroom into the ensuite where they undressed and prepared for bed. Before long, Janeway was tucked up against her spouse, fast asleep, her head resting heavily on Seven's shoulder. The oblivion of slumber was a far more elusive quarry for the Borg, however, and eventually, she eased away from her partner and rolled out of bed. Pulling on her robe, she went out to the living area where she took a seat on the sofa after removing some spattered cloths and a bag which should have been returned to Lt. Kim along with the other two. She wrapped her arms around her knees, and stared out at the passing stars, not trying to think about anything in particular, just simply being as the hours passed. Jake slipped from behind the kitchenette counter where he had taken refuge and jumped up on the couch, wrapping around her feet, his furry body keeping them warm as he sighed and went back to sleep.

It was approximately two o'clock in the morning when Janeway wandered out of the bedroom, rubbing her eyes like a child, yawning widely. Without saying anything, she pushed Seven forward and slipped in behind her, leaning back against the couch and pulling Seven back down across her lap, the Borg's back supported by the arm of the sofa.

"There is no need for you to be awake," Seven protested mildly as she settled against her spouse's chest, resting her head under the captain's chin. Jake was forced to wiggle further down on the cushions, though he went without protest. He liked it when his people cuddled on the sofa with him.

"Hmm, I know," Janeway said sleepily. "However, if you're going to be up, then I need to be up, too."

Seven closed her eyes, feeling Janeway's arms encircle her shoulders and upper body, hugging her close.

"Thank you," she whispered. "But, I do not wish to disrupt your sleeping habits."

A soft chuckle sounded in her ear. "Darling, I have no sleeping habits. I thought you knew that by now."

"You cannot make me believe that staying up all night to watch over me is good for you."

"This time isn't about me," Janeway told her with certainty. "It's about you and what you need." She brushed her lips over Seven's temple. "I'm just surprised that you aren't more tired."

Seven lifted a wry eyebrow. "You mean you are surprised that your plan with Little Harry did not return everything to normal once more."

There was a pause and Seven wondered if the captain was going to deny it. Instead, she heard another rusty chuckle from her spouse.

"Well, you can't blame me for trying," Janeway said lightly. "I had hopes."

"Yes," Seven remarked. "You always do."

She sighed and lowered her head so that she could feel the warmth of Janeway's upper chest against her cheek, bared by the open neck of her robe which also revealed the small cleavage. Seven rubbed up and down against the smooth skin, enjoying the sensation. "Have you ever completely lost hope, Kathryn?" she asked quietly.

Janeway was quiet, obviously considering the question carefully. "Once or twice," she admitted finally. "Remember the void? How I withdrew?" She tightened her hold on the young woman, hugging her tightly. "When you returned to the Alpha Quadrant and I thought you were ... gone forever. That was the worst it ever got. All my hope was gone and there was absolutely nothing left of me."

Seven reached up and put her hand over the forearm across her chest, slipping it beneath the large sleeve to feel the soft skin and fine muscle. "But this cannot be 'fixed' with a single incident as it did with me returning to you from the Alpha Quadrant ... not even with you showing me our future in the guise of Little Harry."

"No," Janeway replied quietly, with a slight apology in her voice. "You're right, darling, it can't. Only time will allow you to make some kind of peace with this. It will take little steps, each one barely noticeable until finally, it just won't hurt so much."

"It is hard for me to imagine such a time," Seven said sorrowfully.

"I know," Janeway whispered. "But please, trust me in this, my love."

Seven swallowed, thinking about it. "I will try."

"That's all anyone can ask of you," the captain said gently. "Including yourself." They snuggled together for another unmarked space of time, and then Janeway nuzzled the Borg's head. "I do have a piece of good news for you."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "Tell me," she invited. Good news had been in short supply lately.

"I know you were worried about Tuvok's Pon farr,."

Seven tensed, concerned. "Yes."

"Well, it's all over with, and he's fine now," the captain informed her. "There's nothing to worry about ... at least, not for another seven years but by then, of course, we'll be back in the Alpha Quadrant."

Seven blinked, considerably surprised. "That is good news. I am pleased to hear it." She paused. "How was he able to adapt?" She wasn't entirely sure of all the intricacies involved with the Vulcan 'time of mating', but she did know that Tuvok's life had been at great risk.

Janeway inhaled slowly and the young woman knew she was not going to answer the question. "Annika, Pon farr is an extremely private and personal aspect of Vulcan culture," the captain said finally. "And is not generally discussed with outsiders, which, despite how much we care about Tuvok, is what we are. In any event, it's not important that you know the details, nor are they relevant to you. It's enough to know that it's been taken care of."

Seven worked it out to its obvious conclusion. "Suppose it had not been 'taken care of'?" she asked, frowning slightly.

Janeway rested her chin on the Borg's head. "Then I would have the extremely sad and onerous duty of telling you that he had died," she said softly. "I'm so very, very glad I did not have to inform you of such a thing this evening."

Seven caught her breath as she considered that. "You are correct," she said, her voice shaky. "I am glad you did not have to tell me such a thing either." She felt tears sting her eyes. "That would have been ... too much."

"Yes," Janeway responded, hugging her tightly. "It would have been. For both of us, I think."

Seven snuggled closer. "Kathryn?" she whispered.

"Yes, darling?"

Seven hesitated. "Were you really required to uncover the alien's deception?" she asked in a very small voice.

Janeway seemed to start abruptly beneath the Borg and she didn't answer immediately, obviously trying to find a way to answer that. Seven did not think there was an answer, but she still needed to ask the question. Why she needed to ask it, however, she wasn't sure.

"I don't know," Janeway said finally, her voice husky and edged with tears. "I could give you all the flowery words about truth and how important it is not to live a lie, Annika ... but, sometimes that's not as simple as it seems."

She shifted position so that she could look into Seven's face and the Borg turned her head, wrapping her arms around the captain's neck. Janeway's eyes were intent and sincere, a soft blue with the under-shadow of grey, moisture glinting at each corner as Seven regarded her, their faces mere inches apart.

"When I finally realized that a deception was being perpetrated on us, my darling, all I could think of was that you were alone with her. I was terrified. All I wanted was to get to you and make sure you were safe." She cleared her throat, blinking a bit. "But, I've wondered many times since, if I could have found a better way to deal with it. If I could have made the revelation a little easier for you to hear. I guess I'll always regret rushing in there with a full security team with phaser rifles at the ready. Despite how everything turned out, I do not believe that the alien had malicious intent toward us, or in particular, you. I think we could have arrived at the truth in a less ... traumatic way." She took a breath, measuring her words. "But darling, you still would have needed to know eventually. She wasn't your mother, no matter how good a facsimile she was. It wasn't real and the longer it went on, the harder the inevitable revelation would have been."

Seven searched her partner face, studying her eyes, the shading of color which revealed far more about the captain than the Borg thought Janeway realized. The captain returned the scrutiny, her expression compassionate and sincere. Finally Seven dipped her head, lowering her gaze, accepting the truth of it, as hard as it was.

"I think," she said quietly, "that a part of me regrets that it did not go on longer. I was just beginning to comprehend what having a mother was like."

Janeway reached up and tangled her hand in Seven's hair, pulling her head to her so that she could press her lips against her forehead. "I know. I'm sorry, darling. I wish ... damn ... I just wish things could have turned out differently."

Seven exhaled and rested her head on the captain's shoulder. "So do I," she said sadly. "But it is as you say, Kathryn. If wishes were horses, then we would all be riding." She hesitated. "We are not riding."

"No," Janeway agreed. "We're not." She drew the Borg closer, running her thumb lightly down the young woman's cheek.

Seven could hear the captain's heart beating steadily beneath her ear, and for the moment, she allowed herself to become lost within its comforting rhythm. It soothed her in an odd way and she wondered if this feeling was similar to the one she had felt when the alien had sung her to sleep, when she had believed her to be her mother. She decided it was not, but there was still a sense of peace and serenity in being here with Kathryn that could not be denied, even in all her hurt.

She inhaled, smelling the warm fragrance of her partner, the familiar scent of female and faint perfume, of flesh and skin, feeling it ease something hard and sharp inside her, dulling its edge. Carefully, she pressed her lips to the smooth plane of the captain's upper chest where it showed through her robe, and then to the hollow of Janeway's throat.

"Mmm, Annika?" Janeway whispered.

Seven raised her head, covering Kathryn's mouth with her own, tasting the familiar flavor of her, wanting her so desperately all of a sudden, and then just as abruptly, feeling the hurt overwhelm her again. She pulled away, dropping her face to the side, tears rising to slip down her face.

"Shh, darling," Janeway soothed, reaching up to brush the moisture away with her knuckles. "It's all right."

"I ... do not understand," Seven responded, confusion and pain filling her. "One second I feel one thing, and the next, I feel something else."

"Tell me," Janeway requested tenderly. "What do you feel?"

"I ... want to be with you so much," Seven said, trying to explain. "But then, it hurts and I do not want to be with you. It is very odd and disconcerting. I do not like feeling like this."

"Easy, love," Janeway told her. She kissed her softly. "I don't think staying out here is doing any good." She kissed her again, a sweet touch against the Borg's lips. "Please, come back to bed with me," she urged quietly.

Seven regarded her uncertainly for a moment, and then nodded briefly. She untangled from the captain and rose from the couch, waiting until Janeway got up as well. She accepted the captain's hand in her own as her spouse led her into the bedroom where she remained passive as the captain removed her robe. In bed, Seven rolled over onto her stomach, facing away from her spouse, still feeling restless, but not wanting to return to the living area.

"Why do I feel this way?" Seven asked plaintively as the captain snuggled up to her, her body warm and sweet against her skin. She exhaled slowly as Janeway lightly drew her nails down the Borg's back, scratching lightly.

"Because that's the thing with bodies," Janeway said quietly. "Sometimes they just make their own demands, no matter what you're feeling emotionally or spiritually. I think your body wants and needs a physical release, Annika, but your mind is troubled because you can't return pleasure at the moment ... you simply have nothing left inside to give anyone else right now. It's confusing and you feel guilty because you believe it's not fair to demand pleasure while being unable to offer it."

Surprised, Seven blinked and looked over her shoulder at her spouse. "Yes. That is exactly how I feel."

"It's perfectly all right," Janeway whispered, bending down to kiss her cheek. "I'm going to take care of you, my darling. I'm going to make love to you and I don't want or need you to do anything in return. I just want to give this gift to you and it would please me so much if you can accept it." She slid her hand down to Seven's buttock, stroking it gently, sensuously.

Seven sighed. "I do not know if I can," she said honestly. "I have never felt like this before."

Janeway nibbled along the Borg's shoulders, pressing her leg between Seven's, parting her thighs, making the young woman bend her knee. "If you want me to stop, just say it," she promised. "That's all you have to do, love and I'll stop immediately. But I do think this will ... if not make you feel better ... then maybe relax you a bit."

Seven inhaled slowly. "Proceed," she whispered.

Janeway ran her hand slowly over her partner's body, soothing even as she carefully intended to arouse. Her fingertips were light over the soft, smooth skin of the Borg's back, massaging languidly, then sliding down to Seven's buttocks, kneading them gently. She didn't try to hurry, didn't try to press her attentions, just stroked the lean, lanky body with great tenderness. If Seven became aroused, that was fine; if she didn't, that was fine as well. Janeway would go with whatever Seven needed.

After a while, she slipped her hand down to the juncture of Seven's legs, touching the Borg gently from behind and invoking a tiny gasp. There was little moisture yet, so Janeway fondled her spouse with the most delicate of caresses, allowing the young woman to adapt to her touch. She decided that she would not continue this if the Borg's body showed no indication of cooperation, but before she had even finished the thought, the wetness was generated, spreading with every brush of her fingers over the tender flesh.

"Kathryn," Seven whispered, quiet into the night.

"I'm right here, darling," Janeway murmured, kissing her neck and ear. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No," Seven responded. "I ... it feels good."

She sounded vaguely surprised and Janeway nuzzled her lovingly.

"It's okay to feel good," she reassured her. "Just let your body feel what it feels. It knows what it wants."

She could feel the little nodule swell beneath her fingers and slowly, Seven began to undulate against the fingers, rubbing against them in a counter motion to Janeway's touch. Before long her breath was a sob and suddenly, she jerked spastically, her body quivering.

"Kathryn," Seven breathed once into the night, and she shuddered again, arching, before finally easing her taut frame from beneath the warm weight of the captain.

Then she rolled over to curl up around Janeway who welcomed her lovingly into her arms. Seven buried her face into her spouse's neck, the captain feeling the warm wetness of the Borg's tears against her skin. The older woman stroked the long hair soothingly, muttering nonsense words of comfort and love. For a second, Seven trembled, and then slowly relaxed. Within moments, she was fast asleep, her head resting on Janeway's shoulder. Well satisfied with that outcome, Janeway brushed her lips over the smooth forehead, settling down against her partner to follow her into slumber. Any lingering arousal that the captain might have been feeling herself, was easily discarded as she cuddled happily into that warm body.

When morning watch came up, Seven remained in the bed, quiet in her slumber, and Janeway smiled as she rolled off the mattress to pad naked into the ensuite where she took care of a few biological necessities. Seven did not stir, even when Janeway crawled back into bed and wrapped herself around her spouse. The captain was profoundly grateful that they both were pulling off-duty for the next two days. She decided that they both probably needed it and she allowed herself to doze off. When she woke a second time, Seven was draped all over her, her head and arm resting heavily on the captain's stomach, still asleep. Janeway smiled, deciding that if her plan of borrowing Little Harry did not completely ease Annika's pain or if making love to her had not provided anything more than a physical release, then combined, at least they seemed to have allowed Seven to recapture the serenity of sleep. Considering how little the Borg had managed since this whole situation began, it was long overdue.

Janeway yawned, wondering if she needed to catch up on some herself. She reached down and lazily tangled her fingers in the Borg's hair, holding her spouse's head to her warmly. Seven stirred briefly, shifting to a more comfortable position, but did not open her eyes. Instead, she settled even closer to Janeway. The captain smiled, more than glad to be used as the young woman's pillow. She did wonder if they were going to spend the whole day in bed, a sinfully indulgent prospect, and she felt a gurgle in her stomach as her body plaintively inquired if it was going to be fed in that event?

Seven obviously heard the rumble beneath her cheek and she shifted again, inhaling deeply as she opened her eyes.

"Sorry, darling," Janeway murmured.

Seven didn't respond, merely kissed her way up to the captain's breasts where she settled her head and closed her eyes once more, undoubtedly assuming that she wouldn't be disturbed by any gastronomical complaints there. Janeway's smiled ruefully, stroking the blonde hair tenderly.

"Believe it or not, I have to get up," she said apologetically.

Seven uttered a sound of protest, hugging her Human pillow tighter to her.

Janeway laughed huskily. "What about this," she offered persuasively. "I'll replicate some breakfast and we'll have it here in bed."

"A real breakfast?" Seven mumbled.

"Meaning?" Janeway asked, though she suspected she had a good idea.

"No chocolate or whipped cream," Seven clarified.

"A real breakfast," Janeway promised. "Omelets and toast so we'll have crumbs all through the sheets and none on your head."

Seven considered it, then reluctantly released her. "Very well."

Janeway obligingly rolled out of bed for the second time that morning and disdaining the need for her robe, she headed for the replicator. One thing she did do reasonably well was breakfast and she filled the tray with food, requiring two trips before she had all the supplies carried back into the bedroom. Seven had fluffed up the pillows and reclining against them, the two women fell upon their meal hungrily, consuming the fluffy western omelets, the whole wheat toast, the home fries and back bacon, along with the juice, milk and, for Janeway, a steaming mug of coffee. The captain was glad to see that Seven consumed her fair share, though when the Borg caught Janeway noticing, she pulled an admonishing face at her, making the older woman chuckle softly.

Later, bellies full, they placed the trays on the floor and settled back against the headboard, Janeway sipping her coffee while Seven leaned against her, her head resting on the captain's chest.

"That was ... acceptable," the Borg remarked, stroking the captain's rounded stomach idly.

"Quite acceptable," Janeway agreed with a smile, taking a second to kiss the top of her partner's blonde head. "And not too many crumbs in the bed, either."

There was a pause. "Kathryn, may I ask you a question?"

Janeway's smile widened. "Darling, you can ask me anything, anytime," she said. "You already know that. So anytime you offer one with that sort of preface, I have to believe it's a question I'm probably not going to like, correct?"

Seven hugged her. "Not necessarily. I have no difficulty asking hard questions whenever it is the proper time to do so. It is the questions where I am not sure of your reaction or that are not particularly important, that I preface in order to find out if you wish to hear them. This type of question can wait if you are not interested in a 'philosophical discussion' at this time or if you do not wish the 'mood' altered by a question you would rather not contemplate."

"Ah," Janeway said, rather liking the distinction her spouse had made and realizing how accurate it was. "All right, I'm certainly not adverse to a little discussion at the moment and if I don't like the particular topic, I'll let you know. Ask your question."

"My moth... the alien questioned me about you. Since the being's behavior was based on what it absorbed through thoughts and emotions from others around it, then what prompted it to ask about such an issue had to come from one of us. Since I know I am not concerned by this, it must have originated with you."

"I ... see," Janeway said slowly, wondering if it was too late to change her mind about hearing the question. "What's the issue?"

"Do you feel that the difference in our ages prevents us from having a stable and long-term relationship?"

"Oh, boy," Janeway said and took another sip of her coffee. It was bad enough when the alien had pointed out the captain's doubts in the conference room in front of Chakotay and B'Elanna. She hadn't thought that the imposter had also brought it up with Seven. "Darling, that's not an easy question to answer."

"I did not think it would be," Seven remarked. "Hence my prefacing it."

Janeway nodded. "Fair enough." She inhaled slowly, trying to organize her thoughts so that what she said would be clear and make sense. "Annika, I love you utterly. There's absolutely no question of that in my mind, nor should there be in yours. I believe that we will be married for as long as it is humanly possible for two people this much in love to stay together. But yes, there are times when I am reminded of our age difference and I worry that perhaps it will become a problem one day."

"Why?"

"It's not so much a matter of the difference in years as it is the difference in our life experiences," the captain explained. "I have lived through certain things in my life that you have yet to be exposed to, and sometimes, those experiences can separate people if they go through them at different stages in their development."

"They will not separate us," Seven said with absolute certainty.

"All right," Janeway replied, smiling faintly. "Then there's the cultural conditioning I have that you don't."

"Explain."

"Sometimes darling, you react to certain experiences as a child. As if it's all brand new and wondrous and completely overwhelming. When that happens, I'm put in mind of all you missed in your life, of the growth of mind and spirit that you have yet to achieve, and I feel that perhaps I am somehow taking advantage of that innocence."

"Ah," Seven said dryly. "If I were cynical and dour, it would be much easier for you to feel I was at your maturity level."

Janeway chuckled. "Something like that," she admitted. "Don't get me wrong, darling, I love it so much when you discover something new and you react with such childlike joy. It renews me. But in our culture, it is frowned on for an older person to ... involve themselves romantically with a younger person, because the implication is that the older person is using the younger person's inexperience for their own selfish pursuits. It is wrong for an adult to take advantage of a child."

"I am not a child," Seven pointed out. She hesitated, obviously thinking about what the captain said. "Do you think of me as a child?"

"No," Janeway said. "But, in some ways, unquestionably, you are still childlike in certain of your actions. Sometimes that disturbs me a little ... not in terms of you doing anything wrong, but in questioning as to whether I'm doing something wrong. I wonder if by becoming involved with you, I've prevented you from doing all the things that every young person gets to do as they become a fully mature adult." She swallowed, a muscle jumping in her jaw. "You've gone from your parents to the Borg to me, Annika. Sometimes I worry that it means you haven't had the opportunity to see and do all there is to do, to be completely on your own."

Seven was silent for awhile and Janeway patiently sipped her coffee, waiting for the young woman to finish processing this in her own way.

"The concern is irrelevant," Seven decided finally. "I do not wish to be with anyone but you, regardless of how many new places I go, regardless of how many new people I meet. You are the only one I love and the only one I shall ever love in this way. Furthermore, I know in my heart that you would never prevent me from doing anything, or going anywhere, that I might wish, no matter how much it might hurt you personally to support it. So you are not allowing your greater life experience to keep me from acquiring my own. In fact, because of your support, I may have the opportunity to experience things that otherwise, I would be hesitant to try. As for the other, while I may display more childlike behavior on occasion than you do, there are still things about you that are childlike as well, including your stubborn insistence on not accepting medical care when you need it."

"That's not childlike, Annika," Janeway corrected dryly. "That's childish."

Seven lifted her head to regard her for a moment, a glint of amusement in her pale eyes, and then lowered her head back to the captain's chest. "Very well," she said, allowing the distinction. "Of course, all of this is balanced by the fact that even as this concerns you, there is a part of you that appreciates my lack of life experience. Not just how I react to new things, but the fact that you are the only person that I have loved this way. You like that, not only were you my first lover, but that you are, and will be, my only lover. It is a source of pride to you."

Janeway was put on the spot by that one. Not only was it completely true, the fact that Seven was aware of it embarrassed her somewhat.

"I will ... admit," she allowed quietly, "that I do like the fact that I'm the only one you've ever been with. Just so I don't suffer from any comparison, if nothing else."

Seven kissed the warm valley between Janeway's breasts. "Kathryn, if I had a million lovers, you would still be my favorite and the best," she assured her.

Janeway laughed. "Thank you," she said. "I think."

"Has your concern been laid to rest?"

Janeway kissed her spouse sweetly. "It's an irrational concern, my love," she said softly. "I've always known that or I would have refused to become involved with you in the first place. But those are also the hardest kinds of doubts to get rid of completely, so the chances are, you will continue to be who you are and I will continue to be who I am, and whenever it comes up, I'll just have to get by it, like I always have. But I am glad we discussed this. I promise you, I will not let it affect our relationship."

"That is sufficient," Seven agreed. She hesitated. "I am sorry if I allowed the imposter to create a problem where none existed."

Janeway put her cup down on the nightstand next to the bed and wrapped her arms around her spouse, hugging her tightly. "Darling, as long as we can talk about things, there will never be any problem, real or imagined, that we can't work out together," she told her with utter sincerity. "All right?"

"Very well," Seven responded, returning the embrace. "I shall remember that."

She kissed her partner deeply.

"Always," she whispered.

Epilogue

Seven of Nine curled up on the couch in the dark living area, watching the endless night through the large window. From the bedroom, she heard the distinctive sound of her partner rolling out of bed and padding barefoot across the floor. A minute passed and then a sleepy Janeway was slipping onto the sofa, snuggling up to Seven's chest and resting her head on the Borg's shoulder. She had brought a blanket with her, and it draped warmly over both women as Janeway sighed and went back to drowsing in Seven's arms.

There would come an evening, Seven knew, when her thoughts and emotions would not drive her from the comfort and warmth of her bed to sit out here in the lonely hours which preceded dawn. Would not keep her from her sleep as she tried to work out all her doubts and fears about what had happened and might in the future. Eventually, she knew she would learn to accept this experience and place it in its proper perspective, allowing it to have no more affect on her than it should as she returned fully to the life it had so profoundly disrupted. But until then, she would spend each silent vigil out here, trying to make sense of what had happened and come to terms with it. And while she did, she knew her partner would come out to share it because Janeway absolutely refused to let Seven face this alone, even when she couldn't do anything to help.

Smiling faintly, the Borg drew the blankets up about Kathryn's shoulders, brushing her lips across her forehead and holding her close to her.

Finding her own sense of peace with the tears she had shed and those that would yet fall, knowing that no matter what else happened, she would always have this one woman at her side to brush them away and offer what comfort she could.

For this moment, it was enough.

The End