Dark Frontier Redux

 

I watch as she regenerates. I've just done the equivalent of tucking her in, and I cannot bring myself to leave her side.

I wonder, as I watch those flawless features in repose, what was going through her head. What was she thinking? Was it bravery, loyalty, fearlessness that led her to sacrifice herself to the Borg Queen? Did she trust that the Borg would let us go in exchange for her uniqueness?

Did she really think I would just turn away?

I almost did. Jesus, please forgive me, I almost let her go.

On that Borg sphere, in the heat of the moment, when I felt she betrayed me. You will be assimilated, she warned when I wouldn't leave her.

Seven of Nine.

I watch her non-sleep. I can almost see the regeneration on a surface level, the barely perceptible relaxing of her jaw and cheeks, her eyes fluttering in the barest of REM sleep.

I try to find Annika in those supermodel features. I search the precise cheekbones, the full lips, the distinctive brow for that little girl, terrified in her bed, victim of her parents' pioneering spirit.

Are the Borg mad at us, Papa?

I could have gotten us assimilated. I could be part of the Collective now, Janeway no more, a mere number with no distinct memory or thought.

My God, what do I risk for this child? If I could stroke her cheek, if I could soothe her pain, I would. I marched right into the lair of the Borg Queen like some B-movie vixen from one of Tom's holonovels, armed to the teeth and damned well not leaving until I took her home with me.

Tom. B'Elanna. Naomi Wildman. Tuvok.

Who would I risk to bring this child home?

Earth? Vulcan? Betazed? What would I dare to right the wrong?

I should have seen, should have known. Too many hours in that place, how many lies and deceptions whispered into her subconscious mind by the Borg Queen?

Did she think me gone, twenty-thousand light years closer to the Alpha Quadrant, Seven of Nine just a footnote in my official log?

I couldn't dismantle her alcove, even when I thought she was never coming back.

If I press my hand to her cheek, will she feel me? Does her regeneration alcove insulate her from the perception of touch? Or would those huge lashes flutter open, revealing smoky blue eyes darkened with confusion?

What would I risk to bring her home?

I step onto the dais, so much shorter on solid ground than she is, even more so when she is in her alcove. My toes point, lifting me high enough to press my lips gently against her forehead.

"Sleep well, Annika," I whisper. Her skin is soft and I fight the urge to brush my lips against hers. This is improper at best, intrusive and wrong at worst. But it's there, inescapable and no longer hidden by the rush of life in the Delta Quadrant.

I risked my own life, my entire crew, everything, to bring her home.

This isn't love. This is obsession. This is foolhardiness. This is guilt and desire and obscene arrogance all wrapped into the Starfleet uniform that weighs so heavy on my shoulders today.

I would take her in my arms, kiss her nightmares away. I would bring her to my bed and help her explore the tender pleasures of her womanhood. I would rock her gently while she sang, both of us lying together in spent satisfaction.

I would kill for this woman.

Yet it hides inside me. Captain Janeway, of the starship Voyager. Slave and Goddess, I am under her thumb, no more able to act on my newly realized desires than I was to leave this young woman behind.

Chakotay saw it. He saw the look on my face, how I couldn't let it go, how I couldn't bear to dismantle her alcove. He knows me too well.

I think once I might have loved him. Years of loneliness, propinquity, lack of options, all these things might have eventually brought us together. I know many of my crew suspect he and I have been sleeping together for years. He's a good man, a gentle spiritual soul who looks damn good in his uniform and has a mean right hook.

I might have settled, before I knew her.

Did she just move? A slight twinge, a tightening of the jaw. Is she dreaming? Does she remember the little girl who hid in her bed as the Borg assimilated her parents twenty years ago? Has the Borg Queen invaded her subconscious, whispering those seductive lies into her soul as she tries to claim what is no longer hers to claim?

I will one day destroy the Borg Queen. I see it as clearly as I see the beautiful woman in the regeneration chamber. Someday, somehow, it will be down to her and me. Fighting for the soul of this girl.

And I will destroy her, and the entire Borg Collective, before I allow Annika Hansen back into their hands.

I hear a cough behind me.

It's Chakotay, with that discreet non-look of his. The one that says I know I'm interrupting something, but I'll let us pretend I'm not. "Captain?"

"I just wanted to make sure she was okay," I whisper. Not that it's necessary--nothing short of a direct order will interrupt the regeneration cycle. But I whisper nonetheless. "She was resisting regeneration."

"I suppose you advised her that resistance was futile."

I chuckle at his lame attempt at humor. He's a good guy, and he's being kind to me. I think he knows what's going on, and why I will never let it get past the momentary loss of sanity phase. But he's worried, and it shows despite his attempts to hide it.

"Something like that," I respond. "Now, I think we both could use some regeneration of our own." I smile at him, a warm smile that whispers of apology and regret for what we both know will never be. Linking arms with him, I lead him away from the alcove, my heart still standing vigil behind me, watching over her, rocking little Annika to sleep. Somebody has to keep the monsters at bay.

End