Sandrines has never been so crowded.
Even with both holodecks running the same program and the parameters in each set to automatically expand along with the swell of people, the bar is filled to capacity. I peak around the large fern I'm hiding behind, hoping no-one notices me here. I just can't shake another hand right now, or drink another toast. I just want to be with my fiancé, if I can ever find her.
To my right, a movement catches my eye, and I turn in time to see a dark head bend over blonde. My breath catches, and for one agonizing moment I'm reliving the last time I saw Chakotay kiss someone. Then he lifts his head and over his shoulder I see... Marla Gilmore. So, Chakotay is with a former member of the Equinox crew now. I suppose there's some symmetry to that. And most importantly, it must mean he's no longer pining over Seven.
Where the hell is she, anyway? We got separated when we came down from the bridge, and I haven't seen her since. That was nearly two hours ago. I tried looking for her in the other holodeck where the Starfleet brass and most of the crew's family members seem to have gathered, thinking that she might be with Mom and Phoebe. But they said they haven't seen her in at least an hour. If I had known the crew would naturally gravitate to one holodeck over the other, I would have started my search here to begin with. It seems that everyone is reacting just as I had hoped by trying to ensure that we all spend one final evening together as a crew before we say goodbye to Voyager forever.
A flash of silver, and my attention is drawn to the other side of the room. Aha, there she is, talking to a young woman. Now that I see Seven, I feel like I can relax, take a moment to enjoy watching her interact with the crew, unobserved. I wonder if anyone else notices how different she is? The air of cool superiority is the same, as is the arrogant tilt of her head. But oh my God, when she smiles -- and I mean really smiles -- her face is transformed, transfigured. Like all the joy that had been denied her during her life with the Borg has finally been returned to Seven ten-fold, to be encapsulated in one brilliant smile. A smile so radiant it almost makes me weep to see it.
She is bestowing that precious gift on someone now, her full lips parted wide, showing off here-to-fore invisible dimples. I switch my focus to Seven's companion, wondering who it is that has garnered such a reaction. Good Lord, is that...Naomi Wildman? She's grown so much I almost didn't recognize her. I know the Kataran growth rate is accelerated, but this is ridiculous! Naomi looks closer to sixteen than six, her actual age. It seems like just last week she was still a precocious little girl following Seven around, imitating her, hoping that I would take notice and make her Captain's Assistant, telling everyone that would listen that the quickest way to gain the Captain's favor was to emulate a certain blonde Borg. Thank God no one paid enough attention to her to realize how perceptive she really was--
Wait, Naomi and Seven are moving, pushing their way into the crowd. Good, they're headed in this direction. When they get close, I'll pull Seven away so we can take the podium and make our announcement. I want to hurry and get this over with, even though it's not something I'm looking forward to. I have a feeling that our engagement is going to come as quite a shock to my former crew, and I'm fully prepared to face their disapproval. But who gives a damn if they think I'm too old for her? Who cares if they think I'm taking advantage of my position? Certainly not me. Hell no.
Then why are my palms sweating?
I surreptitiously rub my hands down my pants as I move to intercept Seven and Naomi, but then I lose sight of them in the crowd. Where did they go--? There, on the dance floor. Naomi's back is to me, but over her head I can see the soft, affectionate expression on Seven's face. Then the young girl steps forward into Seven's arms, and they begin to dance. Isn't that sweet? I retreat back behind my fern as they engage in a simple waltz, happy to let them enjoy this time together. Seven has always been so fond of little Naomi, the one person on Voyager who seemed to accept her unconditionally, other than me. And Naomi? She worships Seven. Adores her.
Another couple is taking the floor behind them -- Samantha Wildman and a Kataran male. Must be Naomi's father. It's good to know there was at least one man loyal enough to wait for his significant other to return from the Delta Quadrant. But I can't even raise any bitterness over the thought. If I'm honest with myself, Mark really did do me a favor. If I had continued to think he was out there, waiting for me, my heart may not have been as open to-- Oh, who am I trying to kid? Seven would have affected me the same even if Mark had been right there with me on Voyager. She would have challenged me, frustrated me, and yes, excited me just as much. Eventually inappropriate feelings would have developed, quickly grown out of control, and turned my personal life into one giant, guilt-ridden mess consumed by self-recriminations, self-loathing and angst. No, the more I think about it, things wouldn't have been so very different at all.
So everything worked out for the best. Mark has his new wife, and I'm about to have mine. I wonder how he and Melissa are doing these days? There was a moment immediately after Voyager's return that I actually considered contacting them, thinking it would be the polite, mature thing to do. Plus I wanted to show Mark in person that I had succeeded in bringing my people home, despite his lack of faith. But in the end I didn't have the heart to do it. Not because of our break-up, but because of Molly. Mark had forwarded a message through Phoebe that she had died last year, and I thought seeing him would only remind me of how truly alone I was.
But since my situation has changed, I've been reconsidering. After all, Mark also mentioned to Phoebe that he had kept one of the puppies Molly had been carrying when I left for the Delta Quadrant, and that if I wanted I could have the pick of her next litter as a welcome home present. I wonder what Seven would have to say about that? One way to find out -- maybe I should do the polite, mature thing and invite Mark and Melissa to the wedding? I can just picture it: Mark walking up to us after the ceremony, his matronly wife on one arm with two or three screaming kids in tow and another on the way. God, what I wouldn't give to see his jaw drop when I introduce him to my stunning new bride, Seven of Nine--
She's found me.
While she has been dancing, Seven's eyes have been scanning the room, searching until they finally meet mine. Now she smiles at me and raises one eyebrow questioningly. She wants to know if I'm ready to make the announcement, but I shake my head no. I hate to ruin this moment for Naomi. The girl is beaming like a teenager at her first formal who has just been asked to dance by the most attractive and desirable person in the room. Which, come to think of it, isn't too far from the truth. In fact, anyone who didn't know better might even think that Seven was Naomi's date, not mine. An admittedly ridiculous notion, unless you consider that at the moment Naomi actually looks closer to Seven's age...
Than I do.
Hmm, on second thought, maybe Naomi has monopolized Seven long enough. With one quick tug to straighten my uniform, I step forward-
And immediately collide with an oncoming officer.
"Sorry..." I put a steadying hand on the white sleeve of the person I've accosted, and look up into the face of... "Admiral Necheyev!" Of course. Who else would it be? "Forgive me, Admiral. I didn't see you. Are you alright?"
"I'll survive," she says with a nod. "Actually, this is quite fortuitous. I've been trying to find you." The Admiral is holding two drinks, one of which she offers to me. "Scotch and soda, right?"
"How did you know?" I ask, accepting the drink with a smile.
"Oh, I have my sources," Necheyev says mysteriously. "Shall we?" she asks, raising her glass in a toast. In answer I raise my glass to hers. "To Admiral Janeway."
We clink the edges of our glasses together, then both take long, satisfying sips. I assume she means to toast me, but I drink to that other Admiral, my future self. She's the one who really made this night possible, who made possible every moment of happiness that I have from now on.
"So," Necheyev says, "what were you doing hiding back there? Don't tell me you were tired of spending time with your crew?"
I realize she's just trying to push my buttons, so I smile and say, "Not at all. I simply needed a breather from the crowd." I take a sip from my drink, my gaze speculative as I watch her over the rim of my glass . "Admiral Necheyev--"
"Please, call me 'Alynna.'"
"Alynna," I repeat. The implication should be that we're on equal footing now, but why do I feel as if my grade school teacher has just told me to call her by her first name? "I've been wondering. Why did you release the Delta Flyer to me so easily the day of the ion storm?"
"Perhaps because you asked?" I continue to eye her skeptically, until Necheyev shrugs. "Actually, I have a question for you. What would you have done if I hadn't signed the shuttlecraft over to you?"
Taken it anyway, of course. Wrestled Brannigan to the ground and then blasted the hell out of the shuttle bay if I had to. But aloud I say, "I would have found some other way."
The Admiral laughs, the sound sharp as a bell rising above the din of music, voices, and clinking glasses. "Come now, Kathryn. There's no need for dissembling. We both know good and well you would have taken that shuttle whether you had permission to or not." I shrug, not conceding the point, but not agreeing to it either. "Considering that I had just offered you a promotion," she continues, "how do you think it would have looked if I'd had to send a security detail after you for stealing a shuttlecraft?"
"Hypothetically speaking, I imagine it would have been highly embarrassing..." I say, taking a sip from my glass, "...for you."
"Indeed," she agrees, with a quirk of her brow. For some reason I'm reminded of Tuvok, and the expression he gets when he's puzzling over a game of kal-tow. "You know, Kathryn, I've always had my eye on you."
"Have you now?" I ask. I'd almost forgotten what this was like, how these official functions could turn into unofficial battlegrounds. How a smile can camouflage bared teeth, and a laugh can cover a deadly parry and thrust. Like playing chess, only with knives and hand grenades. Normally I would enjoy the challenge of such an exchange, but at the moment I have other things on my mind. My gaze does a casual sweep of the dance floor -- is Seven still with Naomi? No, now she's dancing with Icheb. Great. Going from one smitten adolescent to another--
"I've followed your career for years," Necheyev continues, "watching to see if you would follow in your father's footsteps."
Ah, now she's got my attention.
"And?" I prompt, curious to see what the Admiral will say. I somehow doubt she's about to launch into the familiar 'your father would be so proud' speech.
"And now I see that you are nothing at all like your father. Admiral Edward Janeway had a deep and abiding respect for the rules and regulations that made Starfleet what it is, but you apparently have nothing but disdain for those things. Oh, you've always had a tendency to disregard rules and procedures, but while in the Delta Quadrant you seem to have taken that tendency to a whole new level. For you, breaking rules has become an art form, and you are the Master."
Well, far worse has been said about me, I'm sure. "If that's how you feel," I say mildly, "then you must be somewhat less than thrilled by my promotion."
"On the contrary. I was one of your staunchest supporters," Necheyev reveals, much to my surprise. "You see, Kathryn, I believe there are two kinds of people in this universe -- the ones who make the rules, and those that follow them. When I say you are nothing like your father, I mean it as a compliment. People who are so dedicated to following the status quo are incapable of anticipating what the future may bring. They lack vision. You, on the other hand, are someone who is not only capable of seeing the future, but changing it. It's a quality I deplore in a Starship Captain. But in an Admiral? It's one I can appreciate. And possibly one that I can... work with."
My lips part in a smile that hides the white-hot anger surging through me at the implied criticism of my father. "I suppose it's a good thing I wasn't court-martialed then."
"You mean the investigative panel?" She laughs, then drops her voice so none of the people milling around us can hear, though I notice we're being given a wide berth anyway. Apparently nothing shouts 'keep away!' louder than two Admirals huddled in polite conversation. "Please, that was just a formality," she smiles, and touches my elbow. "Surely you knew? Starfleet would never let anything happen to its new recruitment poster child."
"Lucky for me," I say nonchalantly, although I must admit I'm rattled by the implication. Could the results of the Equinox investigation really have been a fait accompli?
Necheyev takes another sip from her glass, watching me. "May I be frank, Kathryn?"
Good Lord, what the hell has she been until now? "Of course. I would expect nothing less."
"The truth is, I like you," she says, pointing at me with her drink hand, the ice chinkling as she gestures. "I think you'll make a fine Admiral. But I don't see you in an administrative position, and certainly not in the Science Division that you've voiced an interest in. No, you're more hands on -- definitely used to commanding, to dealing with Starships. If this present climate of promotion should lead to, say, any new openings in Operations, I would certainly rather see you move into a command position instead of someone like Stapp. What you lack in experience, you make up for in drive and determination. And let's not forget your pedigree," she adds with a crooked smile. "But you have one definite drawback, a 'fatal flaw,' if you will."
"And what is that?"
"Your disproportionate devotion to your former crew," Necheyev says. "Don't get me wrong, I think it's perfectly understandable. The average time a captain spends with a crew is 5 years, and even then single crewmembers usually move on or are replaced within that time period. But you've spent seven years with the same people day in and day out, and have grown accustomed to feeling as if you are personally responsible for their lives. It has warped you, made you lose perspective on your career."
"Funny, my career doesn't seem to be suffering for it right now."
"For the moment. But how long will that last if your attitude doesn't change?" She shakes her head. "It's precisely that attitude that makes you cross the line between professional and personal responsibilities. Like requesting use of a Starfleet shuttle during an ion storm, just so you could attend the wedding of two of your former crewmembers."
I somehow manage not to react to the news that she knew about the wedding, but then Necheyev adds, "You know, I wasn't surprised at all when you made that request. In fact, you might say that I... anticipated it."
Realization, cold as ice water, splashes over me as something that has been niggling at the back of my mind suddenly snaps into focus. Why would anyone order a pre-flight diagnostic of the Delta Flyer on a day when all the shuttlecrafts were supposed to be locked down? Unless they wanted to make sure the ship was flight-ready... and available. "You knew I'd try to take the Flyer," I accuse.
Necheyev lowers her eyes and shrugs, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "I was fully aware that you had not left for Earth the day before as Admiral Paris had done, and that the public shuttles would not get you through the ion storm in time to attend the wedding between your First Officer and that Borg."
My teeth grind together as I fight to maintain an expression of polite interest. "So you decided to help me out? How generous of you."
"Not generous. Just good business. I find I get along best with people who owe me something." She dips her head slightly. "Plus I hoped attending their wedding would give you the closure you needed to finally break ties with... certain elements of your crew."
"Certain elements?" I repeat, feeling the anger burning in my chest, the heat creeping up my neck...
"The Maquis. The Borg. You treat them like spoiled children, always trying to protect them from the punishment they deserve." She raises her hand when I start to protest. "Hear me out. I've made no secret of the fact that I thoroughly disagree with the way Starfleet is handling their cases. I'm convinced that it sets a dangerous precedent, granting complete pardons to the Maquis just because they served 7 years on a Starfleet vessel. These people are criminals, outlaws, terrorists," she says, the words coming out in a staccato barrage. "There may have been a time when they believed in the sanctity of their cause, but the reality is that the Maquis were responsible for the deaths of innocent civilians. They are little more than murderers, and must be held accountable for their actions and punished accordingly."
"You're forgetting that there is no evidence linking anyone on my crew to any activities that led to deaths," I point out.
"And there is no evidence that they did not. When the rest of the Maquis were killed by the Jem'Hadar, the families of the those that had been victimized by the Maquis were left with no one from whom they could claim retribution. Now, for us to simply pardon these people without allowing those families to seek justice -- I find it unconscionable."
"Have the laws changed so much while I was away that people can now be prosecuted on suspicion alone?" I ask sharply.
"No," she shakes her head, "they haven't." I hear the 'unfortunately' that is implied in the tone of her voice. "But it's obvious that special consideration was given to your Maquis crewmembers to pardon them all without benefit of a case-by-case review."
"But wouldn't you agree that 'special circumstances' require 'special consideration?'"
"At times. But in this instance, it was definitely a mistake," she says firmly. "But not nearly as big a mistake as letting a former Borg drone walk around freely."
I sigh in irritation, annoyed that she has the temerity to bring up this same old debate again. "Fortunately for Seven, Starfleet doesn't share your opinion."
"A shortsighted decision that is both irresponsible and dangerous," the Admiral states, frowning darkly. "And one that could possibly prove fatal."
"Just what in the hell is that supposed to mean?" I demand, my voice low.
"Simply this. The former Tertiary Adjunct to Unimatrix Zero One still has all the knowledge of the Collective stored in her mind, as well as critical military data on Starfleet. She is the equivalent of a walking time bomb, just waiting to fall into the wrong hands. You yourself have attested to how susceptible Seven of Nine can still be to Borg influence--"
"What I actually said was that although it was a difficult transition for Seven at first, the end result has been the eradication of any potential 'Borg influence.' Seven has since proved her dedication to Starfleet a thousand times over."
"I'm sure she has," Necheyev agrees with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Then she leans closer, everything about her manner channeling a deep, heartfelt sympathy. "Kathryn, I understand that you have a personal attachment to this Borg. I know you were her mentor on Voyager, that you made bringing her back to some level of humanity your own special project, and that you take a great deal of pride in the fact that it was your decision to liberate her from the Collective. I also know that she has been living with you since her marriage fell through, and that Starfleet has installed a security system in your home to protect the technology held in her alcove. But my question is this: do you really think that it will be enough to protect *her*?"
"Believe me, if anyone can take care of themselves, it is Seven of Nine," I answer emphatically. "She's amazingly resourceful."
"Maybe she is. But under the right circumstances, she could be used by our enemies to devastating effect-"
"Impossible. Seven would never be coerced into betraying me... or Starfleet. She'd sooner die."
"Precisely my point," Necheyev says with a grim smile. I feel my face blanch as I finally understand the full extent of her implication. "There are many ways that Seven of Nine could be used... without her consent," the Admiral states. "As you should know, a Borg drone's body contains certain technological components that could be harvested and used to devastating effect. There are those that would be willing to take drastic measures to obtain those components -- like the Ferengi pirates who tried to acquire Seven of Nine's nanoprobes, for instance. But I've always thought they were short-sighted in not realizing that the greatest prize of all is really the information stored in her cortical node. They may have actually succeeded if they had only focused on acquiring it instead of the entire body--"
The movement, although small, is quick, unexpected, and contains all the energy and force of a panther striking. "Enough!" I push right into Necheyev's personal space, my face so close to hers I can see her pupils contract in surprise. "Not another word. No one is going to harm her," I growl, fixing the Admiral with a glare meant to immolate her where she stands. "No one."
Necheyev instinctively retreats a step back from me, her mouth opening and then closing again as she grapples for some reply. Finally she smiles thinly. "I believe you misunderstand me, Kathryn. I only mean to say that a more... formal... mode of protection may be required to keep Seven of Nine safe. You should consider allowing me to help you with this. The two of us working together would be formidable indeed, and I'm sure we could come up with a solution that would suit everyone's best interests."
My command mask slams down as my voice rumbles deep in my chest. "I don't need you or anyone else telling me what's best for Seven. Her best interests are my *only* concern."
"Ah, but Kathryn, don't you realize what you're doing?" she asks. "You are still responding as if you are her captain, not a newly promoted admiral. But that feeling will change over time as you become entrenched in your new position, you'll see. However, if you do find the transition to be difficult, I will be glad to help you any way I can." Her tone is soft, mollifying. Sickening. "Until then, you need to start getting used to the fact that Seven of Nine's welfare is no longer your responsibility."
"Actually, it is very much my responsibility." I cross my arms over my chest. "Or at least it will be after next month. As soon as Seven and I are married."
A look crosses Necheyev's face, only for a moment, but it's there long enough for me to read the surprise. And to recognize the acrid scent of hate that accompanies it. "I see," she says, schooling her features back into her own polite mask.
I bare my teeth in the semblance of a smile. "In fact, we are going to officially announce our engagement tonight. All of my former crew will be invited to the wedding, and I'm sure Seven would concur that we'd love to have you there as well."
"Thank you. I'll have to check my schedule, of course."
"Of course," I agree. "Oh, and Alynna, I did notice that your concern is for Seven of Nine and not Icheb -- I was wondering if there was some reason for that?"
Necheyev doesn't miss a beat. "Because her body contains a greater percentage of Borg implants," she explains, her expression bland. "Obviously that would put her at greater risk."
"Obviously." It couldn't possibly have anything to do with the fact that Seven was at Wolf 359 when the woman's husband was killed, could it? "But although I do appreciate your concern for my fiancé's welfare, I assure you that it is misplaced," I respond, keeping my voice pleasant, polite. "After all, I managed to keep Seven safe from the Borg Queen herself for over four years, and that was with only the resources of one small Starship at my disposal. Now that you've made me an Admiral, the resources available to me are practically limitless," I remind her. "So please, Alynna, do not underestimate my ability to protect Seven of Nine... from *any* perceived threat."
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of underestimating you," Necheyev says, "or the lengths that you would go to in order to protect your Borg. In fact, the phrase 'by any means necessary' comes to mind."
I incline my head to her, neither confirming nor denying her statement, and raise my glass in a salute. "As long as we understand each other."
"I believe we do. Perfectly." Necheyev raises her glass and inclines her head to me as well. "Admiral." Then she turns and makes her way through the crowd, quickly disappearing in the sea of dress whites.
My hand is shaking as I throw back the rest of my drink, a jumble of images swirling through my mind. Me, Daddy and Justin in the shuttlecraft -- so happy, so proud. That last fond farewell to Mark before I left with Voyager on our 'routine' mission to the Badlands. Now here I am newly promoted, about to announce my engagement to all of my friends, and I'm filled with a sickening sense of dread. Please, dear God, don't let it happen again. Not to Seven. Not to her. Not now. I couldn't take it--
Stop it.
I'm Kathryn Janeway, damn it. Nothing is going to happen to Seven.
I won't allow it.
I run a steadying hand through my hair. Even though a few rogue Ferengi did indeed come close to killing Seven and stealing her nanoprobes last year, I had dismissed them as a real threat now that we're back in Federation space. The risks of failure, not to mention the possibility of incurring Starfleet's wrath, should outweigh any possible profit that could be gained. Plus the behavior of the Ferengi that came after Seven seemed so completely arbitrary -- not only was their scheme to lure Voyager back to the Alpha Quadrant through a deadly geodesic fold both bold and aggressive, but it bordered on mad brilliance. Not words often used to describe the Ferengi.
But what if they weren't the ones who came up with that scheme? What if someone else had been behind it? I race through the possibilities, the military powers who would kill to get their hands on Borg technology. The Cardassians. The Romulans. Then there are the rumors I've been hearing about Section 31, Starfleet's own covert operations division, a shadowy splinter cell that grew in power during the Dominion War by doing whatever was necessary to protect the Federation, whenever necessary. Without regard to law, morals or conscience.
Then there is Necheyev herself.
If there was a third party involved, attacking Seven and using the Ferengi as a cover would have been easy. Too easy. The question is, would anyone dare come after Seven again? If I've learned one thing in the Delta Quadrant, it's that anything is possible. So I need to make it less possible. I don't think even Necheyev would be so bold as to attack a Starfleet Admiral's wife. Especially now that she's tipped her hand to me. So we'll move the wedding up, the sooner the better. And in the meantime, I'll take every precaution to make sure my Seven is safe. Tuvok. I've got to talk to Tuvok--
"Kathryn?"
I turn to the familiar voice, and greet its owner with a genuinely relieved smile. "Deanna!" I exclaim. "I'm so glad to see you." And damn if I don't actually mean it.
She smiles, offering me her hand. "Kathryn, I just wanted to congratulate you--"
"Oh, I think I deserve a little more than that, don't you?" I say, and surprise us both by pulling her into a warm hug.
Deanna hesitates a moment, then laughs and gamely returns my embrace. "I had no idea you would be so excited to see me."
"Neither did I," I admit, releasing her with an embarrassed shrug. "Tell me, Counselor, do you play poker?"
Deanna nods without questioning the sudden change in topic. "I do, although it's sometimes hard to convince anyone to play with me," she says with a twinkle in her eye.
"I can imagine," I smile, thinking that although most people might avoid playing with someone who can read their emotions, I would actually like to try it sometime. "Tell me, have you ever felt like you were winning a hand, only to realize you've been playing the wrong game all along?"
"I can't say that I have." She tilts her head to the side. "Does this have something to do with your conversation with Admiral Necheyev?" she perceives. "I thought I sensed some tension between you."
"Perhaps." I set my empty glass on a nearby table. "But it's nothing I can't handle. You and I both know what happens if I start to feel like I'm losing a game. I'll just throw the rulebook out and start over on my own terms--"
I feel her before I see her.
A gentle hand brushes the small of my back, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and sending my fingertips to tingling. Then Seven of Nine is beside me, automatically slipping into her at-attention stance, regarding the Counselor coolly. Almost hostilely, in fact. What is that about? Then I remember the hug, and have to smile. "Seven. I don't believe you two have met," I say.
"We have not," Seven agrees, her tone clipped, cool, dripping ice.
"This is Deanna Troi, the counselor I told you about," I explain to her. Then I turn to Deanna, lowering my voice so passersby don't hear. "And this is my fiancé, Seven of Nine."
Deanna smiles broadly. "I'm glad to finally meet you, Seven. Kathryn has told me so much about you."
"Counselor Troi," Seven says, her manner warming immediately. "I have been looking forward to meeting you as well."
"Oh?"
"Kathryn has told me that it was your intervention that convinced her to finally admit her true feelings for me."
"She told you that?" Deanna asks in surprise.
"Yes. She also said that you annoyed 'the hell' out of her until she felt that she had to talk to me or be consigned to a never-ending barrage of counseling sessions with you."
"Now that, I believe!" the Counselor laughs, and I chuckle along with her.
Seven smiles slightly in response, then she turns and focuses on me, her gaze intent. "Kathryn, I observed you speaking with Admiral Necheyev," she says. "You seemed agitated. Are you alright?"
"I'll be fine," I assure her. As soon as I talk to Tuvok. Then I notice Seven glance nervously towards the dance floor. "What is it?" I prompt suspiciously.
"Nothing," she says, surprised that I can read her so easily. "Only that... Commander Chakotay has asked me to dance with him. He says that it will help to bring us 'closure.'"
"And what was your response?" I ask, trying to ignore the little twinge of jealousy the thought inspires.
Seven's chin tilts in that haughty manner I adore. "I told him that I needed no such closure, and that I would prefer to dance with you. I would only consider dancing with him if you were unavailable."
I pretend to rub my nose, hiding my smile behind my hand. That's one way to let him know where things stand. "Why don't you go ahead and dance with Chakotay," I tell her. "It will give me time to finish talking with Counselor Troi, and then I'll come out there and find you, alright?"
"As you wish," she says. "But Kathryn, please hurry so we can make our announcement and leave soon. I have finished formulating the designs for our newest project and it requires your immediate attention."
"Our newest project?" I ask blankly.
Seven smiles innocently. "Yes. Project number 109." Then she turns with a coquettish quirk of her eyebrow, leaving me to face Counselor Troi with cheeks that I know are burning crimson.
I raise my hand, stopping the Counselor before she can make any comment. "Don't ask," I warn her.
"I wouldn't dream of it," Deanna grins, obviously relishing my discomfort.
I find myself relishing something as well -- the hypnotic sway of Seven's hips as she drifts away from me, to where Chakotay is waiting. He flashes those damn white teeth of his at her and takes her in his arms, but as they move onto the dance floor her eyes meet mine. The warmth in them is just for me.
A quick sideways glance confirms that the Counselor is watching me with a rather smug expression on her face. "You have something you want to say?"
"Not at all," she replies. It only takes a mild glare to make her relent "Alright, I was just thinking that it is good to see you so happy. I'm glad everything worked out so well for you."
"Thanks in no small part to you," I admit. "If you hadn't pushed me to talk to her..." I look to the dance floor at Seven and her former fiancé, and a shudder skitters down my spine. "I would have been in a very different position today."
"Perhaps. But something makes me think that it may not have been a permanent position. I sense a tremendous amount of energy between you and Seven. I'd like to believe you would have acted on it eventually."
"That's a lovely sentiment, but all evidence points to the contrary. The other Admiral Janeway lived an entire lifetime without acting on her feelings."
"But her life was very different, wasn't it? She didn't have nearly as much time with Seven as you hopefully will," Deanna says. "Plus your counterpart always had her responsibilities to focus on. She never got to the point where there was nothing left to distract her, where all she could think of, all she could talk about was Seven of Nine."
"I suppose," I say absently, my attention still on Seven until Deanna's words finally register in my mind. "Wait a minute, I was never as bad as that--!" I exclaim, offended. Then I see the impish gleam in Deanna's eyes. "You're teasing me, aren't you?"
"A little," she allows. "Although I must admit that I found your attitude towards Seven intriguing from the very beginning. Whenever I tried to ask you about her directly, you either became defensive or you changed the subject. Yet any time I asked about the other people in your life, you always managed to bring the topic back to Seven of Nine."
I stare at Deanna, trying to digest what she's implying. Surely she's exaggerating, teasing me again. I couldn't possibly have been so transparent... Could I?
"Please, Kathryn, there's no need to look so upset," she smiles. "Remember that I'm a professional. Picking up on subtle nuances of behavior, listening to the context of what is said as well as the subtext behind it is what I am trained to do."
"If you say so," I grumble.
"I do," the Counselor laughs, then touches my arm. "Speaking of our sessions," she says, "have you had the opportunity to follow up on my suggestion?"
"Actually, I've been incredibly busy." It's not exactly a lie. I have been very busy since our final meeting, when Deanna granted my reprieve and allowed me to discontinue our sessions so I could spend some time alone with my new fiancé. Of course this was on the condition that I select a private counselor sometime in the following weeks. Which I conveniently forgot to do. "I haven't even had the chance to look over the list that you gave me."
"I thought as much," Deanna says, taking a sip from her drink. "So I've taken the liberty of referring you to an old friend of mine here on Earth -- Doctor Shera Tobin. She should be contacting you sometime in the next few days."
"You shouldn't have," I say, my tone dry. "Really."
"It was my pleasure," she assures me just as dryly. "But actually, I was referring to my other suggestion -- the lucid dream technique. Have you had a chance to use it to follow through to the end of your dream about the Borg Queen?"
I shake my head. "No. It's been weeks, maybe months since I've had that dream." Over 3 months, in fact.
"But there is still the possibility that you will have it again, correct?"
"I suppose," I admit reluctantly.
"I know you think it's foolish, Kathryn, but I really do believe that this is important. I feel strongly that the Admiral in your dream has something else to tell you," she says. "That she has one final gift for you."
"You talk about her like she's some kind of ghost trying to contact me from beyond the grave," I scoff.
"In a sense she is a ghost -- your ghost. The ghost of a future that you will never see," Deanna explains. "The Admiral is the very real embodiment of the life that you almost led -- a life of duty and responsibility, where 'Kathryn' ceased to exist and only the officer remained. Where the only emotions you allowed yourself were sorrow, regret and guilt. You have the unique opportunity to truly let go of those feelings now by letting the Admiral in your dream represent those things for you. She can symbolically take on all of your pain, but you must first open yourself up to this final message she has for you. Stop running from it. Let her show you this. Allow yourself to see her death completely, to say goodbye to her. Only by doing this, by completely letting go of the person that you used to be, will you be able to fully embrace the future that lies ahead, the possibilities that your life now holds. Only then can you be reborn. I think this is integral to your future with Seven, to you being able to believe that you deserve to be happy with her. If you don't, I fear that you may be overcome by insecurity, jealousy, paranoia--"
"Okay, okay," I say, waving my hand to stop the lecture before my eyes glaze over completely. "I give in. If I ever have the dream again, I promise I'll try to follow it all the way through to the end. Fair enough?"
"Fair enough," she nods. "But if you ever decide you'd like to discuss this further, I'd be happy to sit down and talk with you about it. I think it could be very beneficial. Also, another session may be exactly what you need to help ease the transition to a new counselor."
"Oh, but I wouldn't dare be so inconsiderate!" I say with a deliberately fake smile. "I would simply *hate* to pull you away from your obligations on the Enterprise any more than I already have."
"Although I appreciate your thoughtfulness, please consider it a standing offer. Just let me know when you need me," she smiles, then lowers her voice conspiratorially. "And to be honest, I was quite thankful for the time away. It gave me the opportunity to consider something myself -- the opportunity to take on a new assignment."
"You mean you're actually thinking of leaving the Enterprise?" I ask with genuine surprise. "What possible new assignment could be better than serving on the flagship?"
"Let's just say that someone made me an offer I couldn't refuse," she explains, nodding to a bearded man talking to Reg Barkley at the bar. "I've decided to transfer with Will when he takes command of the Titan."
I recognize Commander Riker immediately -- he received his very own unsolicited trip to the Delta Quadrant some five years ago, when Q pulled him onto Voyager to serve as a defendant for a member of the continuum bent on committing suicide. "So, you two are...?"
"We're getting married," Deanna confirms with a wide grin.
"Oh, Deanna, congratulations!" I exclaim, and give her another big hug. "I hope you are both very happy."
"And I hope the same for you," she replies, returning my hug enthusiastically.
Over her shoulder I finally catch sight of Tuvok, and I release her with one last squeeze. "Just one more thing, does that 'standing offer' of another counseling session mean you might be free to give me an hour or so of your time sometime in the next day or so?"
"Of course. But don't tell me you're actually thinking about taking me up on my offer!"
"Something like that. I'll let you know." I flash an enigmatic smile and quickly bid Deanna a fond farewell before diving into the crowd towards Tuvok. There he is near the door, by Tom, B'Elanna and Miral. Wait, why are they all standing side by side like that, with those pained expressions on their faces--
"Admiral Janeway!" an annoyingly cheery voice pipes up.
Oh hell.
"Just in time to join us!"
"Doctor, I really don't have time for this--"
"Don't be ridiculous, of course you do!" he protests. The Doctor beams as he comes towards me, a holo-imager in one hand as he herds me into formation between Tuvok and Tom. "We must record this special day!"
"Glad you could join us," Tom murmurs to me under his breath.
"Thanks," I say with a grimace. "How long has he been at it?"
"Too long," B'Elanna growls.
"Smiles, everyone! Smiles!" the Doctor urges us.
I patiently comply as he records the image, then I offer my own suggestion to the Doctor. "Why don't you let Tom take a picture of you and B'Elanna with the baby?" I ask. "After all, Miral wouldn't be here without your expert skill."
"What a wonderful idea," he says, handing the camera to Tom. B'Elanna shoots me a murderous look, but I just smile and place my hand under Tuvok's elbow, guiding him away from the group.
When we are out of earshot, Tuvok stops and tilts his head slightly to the side, the same way that Seven does when we're about to discuss something important. "Is there a problem, Kathryn?"
Ah, he knows me so well. "I'm not sure," I say quietly. "You do know that Seven of Nine is living with me now?" He nods without comment. "I need you to run a diagnostic on the security system that's been installed in our house," I explain. "In addition, I want you to do a thorough assessment of any potential threat there may be towards a former Borg drone living in the Alpha Quadrant."
"You are concerned for her safety," he interprets.
"And possibly Icheb's. It may be nothing, but I'd rather err on the side of caution. And you're the most cautious man I know," I say. "I trust you to keep them safe."
"Then I will begin my assessment immediately."
"And there's one other thing." I touch his arm, lean in closer. "I want you to find out everything there is to know about Admiral Necheyev. And I do mean everything. Especially the information that is not... widely publicized."
"I assume this inquiry requires the utmost discretion?"
"The utmost," I agree.
"Consider it done," he says, without so much as a raised eyebrow at what many would consider a highly inappropriate request.
"Thank you, Tuvok," I smile. Just talking to him is making me feel better already. If there is a threat against Seven, I have no doubt that he will soon be able to ferret it out so I can eliminate it. "I know I can always count on you."
He inclines his head briefly, accepting the compliment for what it is -- a statement of fact. "In the meantime, Kathryn, I have been instructed by T'Pel to invite you and Seven to visit our home on Vulcan at your earliest convenience."
Now why would he be asking me and Seven to come together, unless he already assumes that we're... together? I eye him suspiciously, but Tuvok's bland expression tells me nothing. Oh well, there isn't much that gets past Tuvok, which is precisely why he's so good at what he does. "We'd love that," I answer. My suspicions seem to be confirmed when he shows no surprise at all that I would speak for both of us. "By the way," I say, changing the subject, "I saw Icheb earlier but I haven't been able to talk to him yet. Do you know if he's planning on returning to Vulcan with you?"
"I believe that he has decided to stay here and continue his studies in Starfleet Academy instead."
"Glad to hear it," I reply, but secretly wonder how much of the boy's decision was influenced by a desire to stay close to Seven of Nine--
"Admiral!" the Doctor breaks in on my thoughts, waving the holo-imager at us. "How about one of you and Tuvok?"
Tuvok and I exchange a resigned look, then both pose dutifully for the Doctor. As he records us, I notice Tom and B'Elanna trying to sneak out the door and my lips curve upwards in a genuine smile. "Doctor, have you recorded an image of Miral with her father?" I ask sweetly. "That would make *such* a nice picture for your collection."
"You're absolutely right," the Doctor replies, following after the retreating couple. "Oh, Mr. Paris--"
"I'll contact you tomorrow," I murmur to Tuvok. He nods once, then quickly slips away while the Doctor is distracted. I take a moment to scan the dance floor for Seven before making my own getaway. Is she still with Chakotay? Yes, damn it, there they are--
"Why don't you just go dance with her?"
I turn to B'Elanna, who is looking at me with an all-too-knowing smile. "Who?" I ask, keeping my face purposefully blank.
B'Elanna's smile widens into a sharp grin. "Seven, of course." Before I can reply she leans in and murmurs conspiratorially, "I know what's going on between you two. You don't have to hide it from me."
That's it. I am definitely going to have to reevaluate my powers of discretion. Starting now.
"Exactly what do you think you *know,* Lieutenant?" I ask, allowing my voice to lower dangerously.
But B'Elanna pays the implied warning no heed. "That you and Seven are together. That you're the reason she broke it off with Chakotay."
"Lieutenant, I'm not sure where you get your information--"
"Please, don't even try to tell me I'm wrong!" she laughs. "Anyone who didn't already know the score from that big grin Seven is wearing these days certainly got their eyes opened this morning when you walked onto the bridge and gave her that look!"
"What look?" I ask, dreading the answer.
"The one that practically screamed how much you wanted to rip that bio-suit off her and lick every millimeter of that gorgeous Borg body! If we hadn't all been staring at you, I'm not too sure you wouldn't have done just that, right there on the Captain's chair--"
"B'Elanna!" I protest, shocked at the utter audacity, not to mention the apparent psychic ability she is suddenly manifesting. But I also realize that she is being incredibly impudent, even for her. Plus she actually used the word 'gorgeous' to describe Seven, which is something a sober B'Elanna would never do. "How much have you had to drink, Lieutenant?" I ask suspiciously.
"Umm, just some bloodwine."
"How *much* bloodwine?"
"A tankard. Maybe two," she admits sheepishly. At my look, she shrugs. "Hey, it wasn't my idea -- Tom's father insisted. He wanted to bond with me by showing off all these traditional Klingon toasts he'd learned for the occasion. It wasn't like I could say no."
"Of course not," I agree dryly.
She closes her eyes and raises a hand to her temple. "But that's the first alcohol I've had since Miral was born. Maybe it hit me a little stronger than usual."
"You don't say," I mutter.
B'Elanna shakes her head as if trying to clear it, then looks at me sincerely. "I'm sorry if I was out of line, Admiral."
"You were, but I won't hold it against you if you answer one question for me."
"Anything."
"Was it really that obvious?"
"Obvious?" she repeats blankly.
"That...look. Was I really so transparent...?"
"A-Ha!" she exclaims triumphantly. "I knew it!" Her eyes light up as she wags her index finger at me. "You and the Borg Princess *are* together!"
"Lieutenant, lower your voice!" I growl.
She complies, but continues in a stage whisper that is only marginally less loud than before. "I always knew you had a soft spot for her, ever since she came on board. 'Little Ms. Perfection' could do no wrong in your eyes, oh no--"
"Lieutenant--!"
"--and now it all makes sense! I finally understand how she did it!"
"How she did what?"
"How she took over from me!" she cries.
"What the hell are you talking about?" I ask, perplexed. Sure, Seven used to help out in Engineering, but there was never any attempt to replace B'Elanna as Chief Engineer. "What did Seven take over from you?"
"She took over as your favorite," B'Elanna says forlornly. "Before her, it used to be me. Then she came on board and ruined EVERYTHING!"
And suddenly all that antagonism towards Seven starts to make a little more sense. "Now, B'Elanna," I say soothingly, "you must know that's not true. Every member of my crew is important to me. Yes, I've grown closer to some more than others, but I didn't have a 'favorite.' Starfleet Captains are like parents that way -- we can't play favorites. Every life is valuable, every person is integral to the whole."
"I suppose," she grumbles, seeming somewhat less than appeased.
I put my arm over her shoulder and give her a small hug. "But if you ask me which of my crew I'm most glad to call 'friend,' you're definitely at the top of that list."
B'Elanna nods and looks away, blinking. "Thank you. The feeling's mutual, you know."
"Glad to hear it," I smile.
"So," she coughs, "this thing with you and Seven. How long...?"
There's no point in hiding it. "Since she and Chakotay broke things off," I confirm.
"Just like I thought." Then she grins, far too smugly for her own good. "So, what's it like being with the Ice Queen? Had any interesting cases of frostbite lately?"
I meet her gaze squarely and smile. "No, but I must admit she's really taught me a thing or two, especially the past few weeks."
B'Elanna's eyes widen. "Oh?" she says, her voice weak.
I lean in closer to whisper in her ear. "Seven is amazingly skilled, which is remarkable considering that this is all so new to her. I've been most impressed."
"Yes, well, that's...umm, good, I suppose." She shifts uncomfortably. "I really should check on Tom and Miral--"
My arm tightens on B'Elanna's shoulders, pulling her closer to me. "And she is so incredibly inventive. She's had me trying things I never thought I would." I give the Lieutenant a speculative look. "You know, you should come join us sometime. I'm sure she could teach you a few things as well--"
"Captain!" B'Elanna manages to strangle out, staring at me in shock. "I cannot believe you would suggest that... that..." she stutters, unable to complete the thought.
"Hey, no need to get upset," I reply. "If you're not interested, I completely understand. Although you are definitely missing out." I shake my head and add, "But believe me, I didn't think I'd like it in the beginning either. Seven just made it such a fun experience that now I want to do it over and over again."
"I'm sure she did," B'Elanna says faintly. Then she closes her eyes. "To be honest, Captain, I'm not nearly drunk enough to be having this conversation with you. In fact I don't think there's enough bloodwine in the entire galaxy to make me that drunk."
I remove my arm from her shoulder and take a step back to look at her in surprise. "You have to be drunk to talk about cooking?"
Two bloodshot eyes spring open. "Cooking?" she exclaims. "You're talking about cooking?"
"Of course. Cooking using traditional methods. That's what Seven has been teaching me." I raise my eyebrow questioningly. "What did you think I was talking about?"
"Uh, cooking. That's all."
"Good." Then the smile that's been threatening my lips finally breaks into a full-on smirk. "Oh, and B'Elanna, my Grandaddy told me something years ago that I think you'd do well to remember."
"What's that?"
"'If you can't run with the big dogs, stay on the porch.'" I wink once at the open-mouthed engineer, then turn and push my way towards the crowded dance floor.
I haven't gone two meters before I hear a familiar voice calling after me. "Admiral Janeway!"
Good Lord, can I ever just get to Seven, please? "Doctor, I am not in the mood for any more pictures!" I declare.
The Doctor apparently has a death wish, however, because he grabs my shoulder and pulls me around towards him. I try to level him with a glare, but he just smiles back at me, his bald head gleaming beneath the lights as he asks, "May I have this dance?"
My frown dissolves immediately, and I sigh. There is just no use fighting it. "Of course," I say resignedly, and allow the Doctor to pull me into his arms and lead me onto the dance floor.
"So..." he says after a moment. "You and Seven...?"
Alright, is there any member of my crew that *doesn't* already know about us? "Yes," I answer simply. But I'm aware of how hard this must be for him, how hard it would be for me in his position, so I add, "Just so you know, this wasn't something sudden. Not for me."
"Well, that's a relief," he says acidly. "After all that interest you showed in Seven's medical condition, I was beginning to worry that you wanted my job."
I raise my brow sharply. "This from the Doctor that wanted to become an Emergency Command Hologram just so he could take over my ship?"
The Doctor opens his mouth like he's about to protest, then he laughs and shrugs, "Touché, Admiral." We dance silently for a minute or two, then he softly adds, "You know, you could have confided in me."
"No, I couldn't." I shake my head. "Not about this."
"Yes, well, I suppose I can see how awkward things might have been between us if we'd both known we shared the same feelings for Seven," he admits, then tilts his head to the side. "You do, don't you? Have the same feelings for her?"
"If you're asking me if I love her, the answer is yes."
"Good," he nods. A pause, then he asks, "And does she feel the same for you?"
"You'll have to ask her that," I say.
The Doctor follows my gaze to Seven, who is watching us over her partner's shoulder. "I don't think that will be necessary," he says dryly. "Shall we join her? Our fair Borg looks in need of rescuing." I couldn't agree more, and together we make our way towards Seven and Chakotay. As we pull abreast of them, my fiancé's slightly irritated expression transforms into a broad, relieved smile.
"Mind if we cut in?" the Doctor asks.
"Not at all," Chakotay answers, smiling. He releases Seven and steps towards me, but the Doctor has other ideas.
"May I have this dance?" he asks the Commander, bowing slightly.
Chakotay looks briefly astonished before shrugging good-naturedly. "Only if I get to lead." Then he flashes a toothy grin from me to Seven, and pulls the Doctor into a loose embrace.
I watch them waltz away, their heads held high, and reluctantly admit to myself that sometimes Chakotay really can be quite a charmer when he wants to be.
The bastard.
Then I feel Seven's hand touch my elbow, her breath on my skin as she leans close to murmur in my ear. "I was beginning to doubt that you would ever come for me."
"Oh, I think we've already established that's nothing you'll ever have to worry about," I tease, and laugh as her optical implant rises along with her brow. "So, did you and Chakotay have enough time to reach 'closure?'"
Seven shrugs. "I am not certain. But he said that he bears no ill will towards me-"
"Awfully magnanimous of him."
"And that he hopes that I am happy. Now, let us not discuss the Commander any further," she says imperiously. "He is irrelevant."
"I couldn't agree more," I respond, and give her my best come-hither look. "So, are you going to dance with me, or what?"
Seven frowns. "But I thought you had first wanted to make the announcement of our engagement before we displayed any 'physical signs of affection' towards one another?"
"Dancing together doesn't necessarily fall into that category. After all, look at Chakotay and the Doctor." I nod to the two men, who are holding each other practically at arms' length. "Plus I'm beginning to realize our relationship won't be nearly as big a surprise to the crew as I had thought it would be. I'm pretty sure Tuvok already had his suspicions, and in the past 5 minutes I've been confronted by both B'Elanna and the Doctor with questions about our relationship." I smile as I shake my head ruefully. "Although I managed not to mention the wedding to them, I did make it pretty clear that we're a couple."
"In other words, calculating for their standard rate of dissemination, the entire room will know about us in approximately 2.5 minutes," Seven says, her tone and expression deadpan. "So I should wait at least that long before kissing you."
"Why don't we just start with a dance and build from there?" I grin. Seven complies by taking my left hand in hers and slipping her other arm around my waist to pull me close. As we begin to sway to the music, my right hand slides up around her shoulder, and not for the first time I marvel at how warm and silky Seven's bio-suit feels, almost like touching her bare skin. "I have a proposition for you," I murmur.
"Oh?" A smirk plays across her lips. "I am intrigued. I have found all of your other propositions to be highly pleasurable."
"Not that kind of proposition," I laugh, although I must admit that I'm finding it hard to concentrate on anything but the feel of her body moving against mine. There's something so sexy about holding her like this in public, feeling those soft curves brushing against my own... "Seven," I say, "I need to know. How important is it for you to get married next month?"
I feel her stiffen in my arms. "You are having second thoughts."
"No, nothing like that," I reassure her. "What I mean is, are you set on next month, or would you be willing to get married sooner?"
"Sooner?"
"I was just thinking -- all of our friends are here now. And it only takes about 24 hours to draw up a marriage contract. What if we asked everyone to stay over another day or so...?" I allow my voice to trail off, letting Seven get used to the idea. I don't have to wait long.
"Acceptable," she says simply. But the glow in her eyes speaks volumes.
Then she swings me out and around -- a move we've had to practice since her first attempt at dancing years ago resulted in a broken arm -- and pulls me back tight into her embrace. I glance at the other couples dancing around us to see how they react, but no one seems to be taking much notice of us at all. Those who do catch my eye smile back approvingly. Tal Celes, as she dances with Lieutenant Barclay. Vorik dancing with one of the Delaney sisters. Deanna dancing with Commander Riker. And above us all there's Harry on the bandstand, accompanying the holographic band with his clarinet. What's that tune? It sounds so familiar...
Seven is humming along with it, so I ask her. "You know this song?"
"It is 'Someone to Watch Over Me,'" she explains. "An Earth standard from the 1940's that the Doctor introduced to me. I requested that Mr. Kim play it the moment that you and I began to dance together."
"It's lovely," I smile.
Seven pulls me closer and begins to sing softly in my ear:
"There's a somebody I'm longing to see.
I hope that she
turns out to be
someone who'll watch over me.
I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood,
I know I could
always be good
to someone who'll watch over me..."
I close my eyes and rest my cheek on her shoulder, allowing the warmth of the moment to wash over me, no longer giving a damn whether anyone thinks it's inappropriate for an old crusty Captain to be dancing so intimately with her beautiful Astrometrics Officer.
We dance blissfully for several long minutes, and I don't even realize that the song is over until I finally become aware of someone calling my name over the loudspeaker. "Admiral Janeway..." I look up to the bandstand, where Harry is now standing at the microphone. "Admiral, would you come up here for a moment? We've got one more toast for you."
"Oh God, not another one," I murmur with a grimace. At least it will finally give us the chance to make our announcement and ask everyone to stay over for the wedding. "Come on," I say, indicating with a nod that Seven should follow me to the stage. "The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can get out of here and discuss that project idea of yours." Then I can tell her about my own flash of inspiration, an idea inspired by something B'Elanna said concerning a certain Captain's chair.
Once we are on the bandstand, Harry picks up two champagne flutes from on top of the piano, and hands one to each of us. I step back to let Harry get on with whatever it is he wants to say, hoping that he'll keep it brief.
But it isn't Harry who steps up to the mic.
I try not to gape as Seven moves past me to stand at the center of the stage, before the old-fashioned microphone. "I would like to make a toast to Captain Janeway," she says, sweeping the now silent room with a surprisingly confident gaze. More than surprising, actually. Shocking, considering how she's always felt uncomfortable in groups like this, especially when all eyes are on her-- "I apologize in advance for my lack of eloquence, but when I say 'Captain' I do not misspeak," she says, which I recognize is a small dig at Harry. "It is Kathryn Janeway's role as Voyager's commanding officer that I wish to address. As our Captain, she saved each of our lives countless times while returning her ship to the Alpha Quadrant through what many believe was sheer strength of will alone. Because of her single-mindedness, each member of this crew owes the Captain a debt that can never be repaid. But I believe I owe her more than any other -- I owe her my very existence."
Seven glances at me, and for the first time I detect a slight nervousness in her manner. I smile back at her encouragingly, and she answers me with her own shy smile. "Because of Captain Janeway," Seven says, returning her attention to the crowd, "I was severed from the Borg Collective, the majority of my implants removed, and my body returned to a more human form. My mind, however, was still Borg. At that time, I wanted nothing more than to return to the Collective. But Captain Janeway was convinced that I could become fully human again, and took it upon herself to guide me on my journey.
"To this end, the Captain adopted me as a member of her crew. She showed me compassion when I threatened her, trusted me when I did not deserve trust, and believed in me when no one else would. She spent her off-duty hours with me, shared her life with me, treated me as her equal when I obviously was not. She encouraged me to interact with my fellow crewmen, to even make friends with them until I began to feel as if I was part of a family, not a Collective. Because of her kindness, her patience, I began to want to become human. Whether she realized it or not, the Captain then became the template for my humanity, the model that I have striven to emulate, even as she herself encouraged me to be an individual. I do not know how to properly convey the incredible debt that I feel for all that the Captain has done for me, other than to say this: all that I am now, I owe to her. So yes, I do congratulate Kathryn Janeway on her promotion to Admiral. But simply changing her title could never change who she is to me. No matter what happens now or in the future, she will always be...my Captain." As murmurs of agreement drift throughout the room, Seven turns and raises her glass to me. "To Captain Janeway."
I bow my head and brush an errant tear from my cheek as I hear a resounding chorus of "To Captain Janeway" from the crew. Then Seven gently takes the glass from my hand, and sets both hers and mine on the piano.
"Kathryn," she says to me as she steps closer. "Just as when I was with the Collective and I could not have foreseen the profound impact that a single Starfleet Captain would have on my existence, I did not anticipate that you could possibly become more important to me than you already were. As my Captain, you have been the most significant individual in my life. But in the past few months... you have become so much more. You are my salvation, my universe. You taught me to live. And now... you have taught me to love," she murmurs, her voice an intimate caress. "I finally know what it means to belong somewhere, with someone. There is no place I would rather be than at your side." She takes my hand, and my breath catches in my throat as her lips curl softly upwards into what may very well be the most exquisite smile I've ever seen. "We are as one."
There is a moment of silence as I feel my heart swell at the love so clearly shining from Seven's eyes, then a voice that sounds suspiciously like B'Elanna Torres yells out from across the room:
"Don't just stand there. Kiss her!"
Seven quirks her left eyebrow at me and dips her head in a challenge -- a look that I know all too well. "Seven--" I say warningly.
"You should have learned by now, Kathryn," she grins playfully, holding tight to my hand as I half-heartedly try to back away, "resistance is futile." Amid a warm swell of appreciative laughter Seven pulls me to her, tugging on my hand and then twisting it behind my back to press me against her in one smooth motion -- a move not unlike the one she'd used on the dance floor. Then, right here in the middle of Holodeck 2, in front of Voyager's entire crew, Seven kisses me so hard, so passionately that I'm bent backwards over her arm, my chest crushed against hers. All I can do is tangle my free hand in her hair and hold on... and kiss her back, returning her passion measure for measure.
Later I'll relive the details of this moment via the holo-image I'm sure the Doctor is recording, but for now, as applause and cat-calls erupt all around us, I'm aware of only one thing.
My Seven loves me.