Vouvray

At a celebratory lunch, at a restaurant in Berkeley

She is drinking real wine for a change. After weeks answering review boards, calling in favors, incurring debts, charming admirals, everyone is free. No charges filed. No reprimands on her record.

Maybe it is the wine, which is delicious, or her success with Starfleet, but for a moment she feels she can do anything.

Anything.

She imagines asking Seven to leave with her. She imagines afternoon light in the bedroom of her rented house, fingers in hair, taste and heat and sun on skin, muscles trembling, cries of pleasure, cries of release.


 

You're drunk, she tells herself, and orders coffee.