The Admiral Loves Seven

by CK

Part One

I crack the code to her quarters. Not too hard, not for this old broad.

She is sitting in near dark when I pad quietly to her sofa and she doesn't seem surprised to see me. A collection of five empty whiskey glasses decorate her coffee table flaunting the hurt to anyone who cares to notice it. But I am the only person who will see them. Only Kathryn Janeway enters these quarters now. Not Chakotay for working dinners, not Seven for philosophical flirting. I wonder which one of us they are really displayed for. Me so I pity the pathetic figure I cut when drunk, or her in the morning. So no matter how pathetic she gets tonight the captain will have to realise it in the morning. Perhaps there is no distinction.

"Have a pew." She offered taking another sip of the liquid, her only acknowledgement to my presence.

I walk firmly across the cabin and pick up the glass from the table. "I see you started without me."

The captain shrugged. "I wasn't sure you'd deign to show up."

"Bull." Was the only response she got.

"I see the years don't teach me better manners."

In silence we drink whiskey and her eyes grow unfocused. In the dark I can't see the tears but if she's anything like I was when I found out that damn first officer of mine had baited and caught my Seven, she's a wreck.

More silence, more whiskey. I'd brought a bottle with me. Real. Potent. I hide it beside the chair I am sitting in.

She is watching me, her eyes tracing the unfamiliar form of her body against her familiar suite and her mind is winding through the same cycle. Chakotay and Seven. Chakotay and Seven. She visualises Chakotay and Seven. Hidden in the shadows watching those dark hands take calm possession of her prize.

Kathryn didn't know how to let ghosts rest, Kathryn had to watch.

And not prize. Heart.

"You have to do it," I announced and watched the telltale signs of anger shoot through her: clenched fist; eyes bright and fiery, trying to penetrating my skin; voice low, dangerous.

"You might be an admiral but this is still my ship, you seem to have forfeited the right to give orders around here long ago." She thought I'd forgotten how to be her. That was good I needed her to be angry at me, not at herself, not at Seven. I pushed again.

"You don't have time for self-recrimination and mourning right now. Take the path I did and trust me you'll have years of it."

We are in silence again and the whiskey fuels our thoughts, slowly matching our minds until I could imagine the same thoughts echoing round and round. Bouncing from the walls of this cabin, sinking back into our minds. Chakotay and Seven. Chakotay and Seven. See

Chakotay and Seven. Dark hands, large hands running feverishly across the cream of an ivory back. Chakotay and Seven. Those two heads bent low, tentatively kissing. Tentative until Seven adapted quickly and put the newly acquired skills to good use. She begins to cry now. Tentatively too. A small drop of moisture leaking out of tightly scrunched eyes. Chakotay and Seven.

I move before her, watch her struggle briefly to regain control. Hating so much to be weak before me. Her command mask was good. I almost missed the brief search of my eyes and face, perhaps I would have done if she was sober. And I knew she was searching for some reason to reject me, but I had an admiral's mask, a little thicker, a little more skin tight.

I'm sorry Kathryn. It's for your own good.

The Captain Loves Seven

She spoke to me again and I found myself flinching before the first syllables had slipped into the space between us. Space I wasn't even sure was there. Space I craved to dissipate, not understanding why.

"You watched them didn't you?" The admiral's voice was low, dejected and the familiar rosy ache of guilt flooded my stomach. A dubious honour, disappointing your future self. I finished the whiskey. I would need to walk to the replicator to find another. That annoyed me. The guilt annoyed me, She annoyed me. I disliked her. I was disappointed by the person I would turn into. I suppose that means that we both disappoint ourselves, just in a different space, a different time. Fuck temporal mechanics. Fuck myself for waiting for her rejection. I was still holding her eyes, watching them cloud and spin with memories. Seven and Chakotay. That was the worst way to think about it, place Seven first make her the aggressor. We had broken eye contact.

The admiral was clinking glasses somewhere and the sound comforted me. I might even warm to her if she brought me more alcohol. Something more to dull the glass shards in my chest. Something more to melt them, bend them, let them drip out of my body. Into the couch, then the ship. Moving to the hull until it was as impenetrable as I was. Shards. Because tonight I wasn't a fearless trailblazing hell-raiser, just a drunk woman pining for something I'd never had.

I was learning that futility is indeed a very cold space to inhabit.

The couch dipped as she sat down, welcoming her weight just like it had for twenty three years. She sat at the end of my part-prone figure and heat sparked where toes tickled thighs. She was offering me another whiskey. Welcome back admiral, all is forgiven. I sipped it and felt more tears tickle. This wasn't whiskey. It was better. Whisky. Bushmills. The whisky daddy used to drink. Real. Potent. The whisky I'd often stolen when he was away for weeks, and then through fear and guilt acquired another real bottle from the merchant in the next town. The only times I'd ever been thankful for living in a traditionalist environment. She must have nurtured this all the way from the alpha quadrant. We'd protect whisky like this to the death. God help the Borg if they tried to take the whisky away from us. I giggled at the thought of the hive addressing the deliciously amber nectar. `Bushmills Whisky, batch 20785. We are the Borg. You will be assimilated. Resistance is Futile.' She was staring at me. I was drunk.

"It was the holodeck." I found my voice saying. Almost praying. Praying I could disappoint the admiral enough, then maybe she'd leave me in peace. In pieces. "Her program. The one where she practiced romancing Chakotay."

Suddenly she was kneeling beside the sofa, she's quick for an old bird. Her hands, still soft and supple, cradling my face. "I had hoped to spare you that. You can see we never quite manage to cut a deal with temporal mechanics." Her smile was wry for a few seconds. "How many days was I out."

"Three." The tears were still threatening and I channelled the emotion into useful anger. "So that's what you're here for?" I asked quietly, suddenly damn angry as I understood why she was here. Not about me and my crew. All about her guilt. Bitch. Sad, dried up, bitter old bitch.

I carried on talking into the artificial night, "Personal redemption? Think that if you come swanning back onto my ship, riding roughshod over all those regulations we follow, that our whole life was lived for, you'll feel better. Arrive back here, deliver your bombshells and then go martyr yourself in the name of the universe, and don't have to watch all the effects ripple through the years, that you can somehow die in peace!"

I paused and stared down at the older me. There was a timeless beauty in that face, and I reached out and traced a line from brow to chin, lifting my fingers to brush against dry lips. Suddenly as it had been there the anger faded. I now understood the effect I have on people. I must be more careful, that face can break lives. Could break Seven. I dropped my hand and was proud of how steady my voice was.

"But I don't want to become you. We try things your way. We're going home while you destroy the hub."

I felt exhausted. Drained and sank back into the couch. I had sealed her death. My death.

"You win. Briefing Room 0700. Goodnight."

My mind was cycling again. Chakotay and Seven. Flashes of long, elegant legs, parted, beckoning. I am weak here. Weak before the admiral who seems like a god. Who reminds me of daddy. Who has the advantage of years. Who holds all the cards. I don't like starting a fight from way out in left field. I Know when to exercise the better part of valour.

The admiral didn't move. Instead she rose up on her knees and gripped my hands in her own. Her face was calm, serene. I didn't understand her. She scared me.

"Let me take care of you Kathryn."

One hand rests warm against my neck. One hand glances across the swell of my chest. Three fingers play idly across a nipple. I feel my face flush with the possibilities.

I ache for the space between us to be dissipated. That feeling is urgent. Burning my mind. Hammering my chest. Flittering in my stomach. Burning my cunt.

She is speaking. Her voice scorching me, low and sweet. I sound seductive. I understand more about myself. I must be more careful, that voice could break lives. It could break Seven.

Speaking. "There are many reasons why I ended up in this place Kathryn. I came here to put my family back together again. If that's hankering after personal redemption then so be it."

Seducing. "Let me tell you a story." She moves to sit comfortably on the floor, legs tucked under her body, cheek resting against the sofa, her hair soft where it rests against my arm.

The Admiral Loves Seven

Somewhere this night has spiralled out of my control. All I wanted was to give her a chance. Catch Seven before she is netted, stuffed and mounted by that bastard of a first officer. He never hung her over the fireplace, not to my knowledge. Just hung her on his arm. Trophy.

Things never go to plan when captain Kathryn Janeway is involved. I should have known that. Perhaps I had forgotten who I once was.

Simple plan. Let her hate me, or hate what I'd done or who I'd become, just so she would never have to hate herself. It had been a long time since I'd felt synergy. It was seductive. I was here to free her to love herself but all I could feel now was a magnetic pull to the only person who knew what it's like to be me.

I tried to get my plan back on track. Speaking into the space between us, trying to distance us. But all I heard were shallow breaths. Low and grating. My words were drawing all the air, sucking us close.

"I watched them too. It was a good way to glue the command mask to my features. Numb myself in private, animate myself in public. Bad captain Janeway, good captain Janeway. I was a puppet. Letting myself let them yank my strings. They ate dinner in Sandrines, I watched. They visited the holodeck. I watched. They met in his quarters. I watched. One day I heard them having sex against the wall that backs onto my bedroom. I activated internal sensors and watched. Their first time, he was fevered and clumsy. Seven was nervous, cool, aloof. I think she frightened the man, he couldn't understand that it was the only way she knew of dealing with the unknown. He came across her stomach before he even entered her. It surprised them both. Seven's nose wrinkled a little in disgust and then she dropped to her knees and began to blow him, playing with her tits as she did so. I suspect she'd been watching pornos on the holodeck. Then she let him take her. He was concentrating hard, eyes closed, she was passive, her eyes open, assessing, detached. Seconds before he came she closed her eyes, schooled her features into a quite convincing expression of pleasure and came for him. She's like a Vulcan in that manner, rigid control of body.

"I waited until he was asleep and Seven was long gone to the cargo bay. Then I took my anger and frustration out on the furniture. I hailed Tuvok. He knew everything, just like he always did. He helped me right everything, just like he always did. He held me when I eventually cried. I never heard them again. I learned when we got back home and they pulled the damn ship to pieces that he'd installed soundproofing to the entire room. He comforted me. Took care of me. He was dying and he let me snuggle into his arms because the last piece of my world had fallen apart. He knew he was dying and he still let me take from him."

I paused. Tried to remember again that I had a plan. But the magnetism was strong. The space between us was getting smaller. And I could see she understood. Could read between the lines, could easily hear the tension in my gravely voice when it spoke about Tuvok. Knew that with Tuvok slowly more absent the family would unravel. Tom, B'Elanna and embryonic Miral, already a separate unit. Seven and Chakotay. His nature would be to protect her, to hide her away. Tuvok, her linchpin gone to where she couldn't reach him. And that left the young ensign pining for his parents, an acerbic mix of photons that wouldn't relish the loss of his star pupil, and the sad, sad, aloof captain. Even the neurotic cook who tried so hard but whom she could barely tolerate had left.

"And Seven knew." The body above me jumped briefly and I felt her hand jerk away from my head. I missed its presence. She was holding it awkwardly by her chest. Trying to keep herself uncomfortable. We both understood why. "Don't think you can get away with anything with that girl." I told her, a quiet aside. But it was truth. Told her more than just the literal. I returned to my story.

"I'd ordered shore leave on the fourth planet of an uninhabited system. M Class, the smallest of the twelve. The oxygen content a little lower than earth standard but I thought what the hell, we explore don't we?" She brought her hand down to rest on my head. A conduit of communication between us.

"Seven found it yesterday, it's six weeks away yet." My voice from her lips. Sounds hot.

"More like six months." I told her quietly, lifting my head, pressing against the warm of her palm. Quiet understanding passes through the space between us.

"She came to woo me one night dressed in lilac chiffon. All honey and curves, with that carefully targeted arrogance to cut through my objections. But she was scared. She was falling back on her tried and tested Borg expressions and God she was beautiful." I paused, voice husky with actions I had never before spoken. Emotions I had never before spoken. The hand on my head was stroking my hair. Feels hot.

"And so vulnerable. That was my undoing, how she was straining to be sexual. Bluster from the sex programs; coyness from Chakotay. But her eyes were begging me to understand, to lead her as I always had done. So I took her into my arms and then to my bed and made sure I marked her, a single bite mark around her left nipple. And then later when we were dozing she invited me to spend shore leave with them. We both knew what she was asking, but in the warmth of her arms and with her scent all around me I couldn't have refused. I didn't want to. Hell we know how hedonistic we are really. And the chance to be fucked by Chakotay and my Seven was too much to turn down."

The fingers on my head were now massaging my scalp firmly, flexing against the skin. Hot pressure.

"It was a fresh day. I don't know if all days of the season were like that but the grass smelt sharp as though just after a rain storm and the sky was a gentle blue. They were camping in the mountains where the air was clear and thinner. Even as I took those first few breaths after the transporter beam solidified me, my head was spinning. Seven approached me, dressed in blue jeans and a white cotton shirt, partially open. Beneath a silk ivory bra was visible and as she dipped her head to kiss me I slipped my hand inside the shirt cupping that warm weight in my hand, gripping her nipple between thumb and forefinger. She tasted of the sun; clean, warm and familiar. Chakotay was away hunting, his desire to provide for Seven overriding that ever fluid moral conscience of his. He didn't join us until much later. Much later. After Seven and I had spent the day together.

"Chakotay had taught her how to whittle wood and she had a sizable collection before I even joined her. Efficient. Too efficient. Too eager to show me, to please me with how she'd recreated the senior staff. How accurately she'd caught the slope of my chin, the hollow of Tuvok's cheeks.

"His cheeks only got more hollow.

"But her eyes were bright and her smile easy and broad. She tried to teach me too, but in the end I just watched her. Watched openly this time: the shallow rise and fall of her chest; the way she chewed her cheek when she concentrated; how slim her waist looked; how fragile she was out of the biosuits. I was wet for her even then. She paused for lunch, that damn internal chronometer of hers timing it perfectly for two fifths of the planets daylight time. She didn't stand up, but crawled over to me and straddled my waist, her knees on either side, and kissed me. Slow kisses, I would have sworn she was teasing me, but I don't think she'd be that deliberately cruel. Not yet. Her body never touched me but I could feel the heat emanating from her. She wanted to be with me as much as I wanted her, but she wouldn't without Chakotay. I only understood that later, after I tried unsuccessfully to seduce her all afternoon when we went walking."

I paused and drew in a ragged breath. The memory was just as stirring as the day. The space between us was small. Above me I could feel her tension. I arched into her touch. Nails were drawing delicious patterns over my scalp. Long lines of burning.

No oxygen left in the space between us.

The Captain Loves Seven

I listened to her as she continued her tale. I grew wet to the sound of my own voice telling me naughty tales about my crew. I teased her with my own hand. The other grasped my right nipple, twisting it into a painful peak.

She told me about a bare-chested Chakotay. Bronze and magnificent. About her sudden nervousness and his delighted grin. How she'd sat on one of his legs and ached for his touch. A braless body revealed to the late afternoon of an alien planet. The commander's fingers hard against the crotch of her trousers. Her orgasm hard and fast, his taste in her mouth, his breath on her skin and Seven's face in her mind, as he had cried out, encouraging.

How she lay on her back wrapped around his body. With lidded eyes watched Seven through wood smoke. Watched the heat from the too hot oil waft among them, almost as much of a lover, connecting them all. How Seven's attention was on them. One hand used the standard issue field kitchen utensil to prod the fish, the other massaged her left breast. Her nipples were tight and hard. Chakotay nipped at her breasts, she imagined tonguing Seven's, Seven played with herself.

Almost surreal. Seven's progress matching their own. Play. Watch. Imagine.

And I could imagine it. Fuck it was hot. She was hot. I was hot. We were. I let my hand trail down her neck and ripple across shoulders that were still firm. She slipped out of her uniform jacket. Peeled off the jumper, until only the tight fitting vest remained. Heat oozed from her body. I realised the jacket was bulky and with its loss was revealed a still trim figure. Someone in the fleet had known how good C-cup breasts looked in vests. Thank god.

I was teasing skin as she told me about massaging Chakotay. How her wrists ached from the awkward angle. How good it had all felt. How he'd groaned and panted against her neck. How he'd almost howled with frustration when Seven called them for dinner. How Seven had helped her up. Had eves only for her. Picked the dry grass from her hair. How she had left her shirt open through dinner, letting them both gaze upon her. How her chest had flushed as the anticipation grew. How she'd noticed the fish was a little burnt, the rice a little overcooked and the vegetables soft. Imperfection. How she didn't say anything.

How Chakotay had gone to wash the dishes in the stream and they'd fallen silent as a light breeze drifted in from the slopes. How Seven's face was flushed, sun kissed. How she pulled nervously at a blade of grass. So human. So beautiful. So vulnerable.

How at a quiet command Seven had scrambled into her arms, kissing her fervently. Pressing up against her breasts, rubbing herself along her thigh.

I can hear awe in the admiral's voice. And I can imagine how it felt being swamped by Seven. My skin feels electric where I am touching myself. Her skin is white where my fingers have been pressing hard.

She is telling me how they stripped each other. How Seven lay back, quiescent and let her worship that body. How she never once closed her eyes.

She is telling me how Chakotay came back and removed his trousers. How he jerked off to the sight of his captain fucking his girlfriend, grunting as he came, shooting onto the ground.

She is telling me how Seven looks when she comes. How she fluttered around her fingers, body jolting with the pleasure. Cheeks flushed, chest flushed, stomach and thighs quivering. Inner thighs flushed.

I turn on the sofa, lie face down. My right hand slips into her tank top and touches the old bitch up. The old bitch whose words and voice are driving me crazy. My voice. I loosen my pants and masturbate hard. A little awkwardly, it isn't my usual hand. Her head has fallen back against the sofa. Limp. It rests snugly next to my neck. My breathing is heavy. Skimming over her ear.

Then she is telling me about how they were both there. Chakotay in front, hard, angular and masculine. And my Seven kneeling behind her, supporting her, soft, pliant. How arousing the contrast had been. How uniforms had hidden their true natures. Chakotay harsher, more like the earth and sprits he had long ceased to talk about. Primal. How the biosuits were just as deceptive. Made her spiky, from arrogant chin to pointy heels. Take it away from her and the curves came alive. How she's soft, so soft, so delicate you hardly dare touch her. How they had been vying for her attention. Beautiful. How Seven quietly dominated them. Took care of her. Lay out a blanket. Carried her to it. Settled her in between her legs and combed fingers through short lengths of hair. Brushed it aside to plant kisses along her neck. How she made Chakotay kneel up before her, raised her hips with something soft as she wrapped her legs around him and he fingered her roughly.

I knew how much I liked that. Could imagine how quickly she would have come.

She told me how Seven had moved to kneel at her side. Covered her mouth with her own as she came. Slipped a velvet tongue between her lips. Then as Chakotay thrust into her how she'd arched and cried out. How he'd filled her again and again. How the head of his cock was hard against all the right places. How Seven's hands had been everywhere, breasts, clit, wiping her forehead. How she'd gazed into her eyes as she'd climaxed, fists clenched. How she'd taken her hand the next time and she'd dug nails into that mesh.

My own fingers were slippery against my clit and a familiar tightness grew in my abdomen. I was going to come soon. Climax as another voice, that was really my own, dripped sensual smoke into my cabin, designed and made to `fleet specifications.

She told me about how she'd been whimpering into the approaching dusk. How Seven had bitten at a nipple, rolled it between her teeth. Tugged it.

I came suddenly. Unexpectedly. I choked out a half cry as my hips bucked and then sagged against the couch.

The admiral paused and turned around. Kneeling once again. Those grey eyes were burning. Bright and feverish. And she moved into kiss me. Softly. I let out a sob. She let me lead, let me work myself down from my peak. Then as I stilled, resting my forehead against hers she drew circles with her thumb on my cheek.

"I see you started without me." She muttered. Echoes. Memory of her lips saying those words in what seemed like another time. Lips moving slowly. Her lips. My lips. No distance.

"I think I finished without you as well." I quipped dryly.

She smiles.

It is the first joke we have shared this evening.

The Admiral Loves Seven

As I sit here stroking her apricot skin there is much I don't tell her. About how good it felt when Chakotay shot his load inside me. About how he'd left us then and how he never looked at me again. How that hurt my pride just a little bit. Even though that was what I wanted. About how I was trembling as she held me, how she brought herself off on my thigh as I lay exhausted, only able to caress languidly, marvelling at how right I felt. How big and tall I wanted to stride. How it seemed as though the whole universe were inside me, clamouring to be known, asking me to shout from mountain tops. How she wrapped us in the blanket and we slept under the stars. How I crept away in the damp of new morning dews. How she and I rowed when they returned to the ship. About how I abandoned her, passed her over to Chakotay. About how the night had been a rite. How she accused me of prostituting myself to get a compliant and happy first officer. How I couldn't look her in the face and deny it. We both knew he dropped his pants at every alien port. That he disagreed with me too frequently. Challenged my command too often. Pouted, flounced and threatened mutiny. How often he betrayed me. Just because he felt aggrieved.

I didn't tell her how black Seven's face had been when she thought she understood that I didn't care about her. How her lip had quivered as she assumed I'd fucked her for the good of the ship. I didn't disabuse her. How I'd thought my world couldn't fall apart any more than it had when I'd watched them fuck that first time. How it shattered more as I realised she could love me, just as I`d made it impossible.

I didn't tell her because it was irrelevant.

Because I was still unsatisfied and I wanted to know if my sexual reputation was deserved.

I scrambled onto the couch as she sat up. Hands came to steady me as I straddled her tiny waist. The eyes which had been dull when I entered her quarters were vital, essential and she quirked a cheeky grin at me. I found my mouth not quite mirroring the smile. She was holding my gaze, challenging me and my stomach churned. The grin soon turned feral and her hands which had been so still against my arms began trailing light patterns across my exposed skin. She didn't linger, knew I needed more than that now. Swiftly shed my vest to reveal cotton clad breasts. Long gone were the days when I could leave it thrown over a chair as I started the day. She paused and took in the sight and I saw the indecision in her eyes. In the end she left it on and sucked my nipples through the material. I didn't blame her. In her position I'd have no wish to know what gravity would do to my body. As she moved between nipples her hands slipped into the back of my trousers, gripping and kneading the flesh. Mine was a little less firm than hers, but she was moaning low and deep, right from the back of her throat. Vibrations tickling, goosepimpling the too white skin. I guess she appreciated what she'd found. I flipped open the catch on my trousers and pushed at them impatiently and blushed as she chuckled. Placing her hands over mine she took the movement and I felt them gather about my knees. Admiral Janeway was half-dressed, fucking her younger self on a hard Starfleet sofa, wet, moaning, spread wide. Growing old disgracefully. The Time Police wouldn't dare touch this one. Captain Janeway yanked my panties and re-united them with my trousers, half-mast. She cupped me, her palm pushing my pubic hair flat, two fingers trailing along my cunt, massaging fluids and flesh. She continued this movement for several delicious seconds, my hips rocking a gentle rhythm while she addressed the computer.

She pulled a nipple roughly into her mouth. Sucking, hot, hard, laving copious moisture around the tip. Seconds later the temperature in the room dropped. She thrust those fingers into me and pulled away from my breast, blowing through pursed lips. I cried out as the air cooled her wetness and I wound tighter.

Suck, warm, release, cool.

Suck, warm, release, cool.

Her fingers were tight inside me, pushing hard against the spot we both knew so well and I was climbing, leaving her well behind. Bucking against her thumb, sliding it around my slippery, silky clit. And she knew. She was whispering into my ear. You can be anyone if you whisper quietly enough.

And she was very quiet.

"Close your eyes. Let me be her."

I bet it turned her on just as much to pretend.

"Think about my ivory skin, my endless legs and how they wrap around you, trapping you tight against me. Flushed. Bare. My breasts. Free and flowing right into your hand. Smooth, fluid, baby soft. My legs, Kathryn, my legs. How they part slightly, sticky with my juices, what do I taste like?"

She had sense enough to pause and let my mind drift. But all I could think about was her own voice vibrating in my ear. My trim legs. My young legs.

She ran her tongue around the shell of my ear. I came. Bucking and crying. Our name on my lips.

"Kathryn."

The Captain Loves Seven

I lowered us gently onto the sofa and cradled her body against mine, her face on my chest.

My name is a benediction when someone else cries it. I must be more careful. That name could break lives. It could break Seven.

I raise the temperature in the room and press my face into her snowy hair. It doesn't smell like me. Eventually we move. She declines my offer of a bed share and leaves for the guest quarters. Before she leaves she implores me to speak to Seven. Demands honesty.

I make half-promises. She smiles because she's used them all herself. She knows I will be truthful.

I climb into bed and grimace at the cold sheets. I am disappointed she left, she knows how I occasionally enjoy curling into someone. Knows I want to curl. But not with her. Leaving is a Janeway trademark.

Leave them hanging. Leave them wanting more. Leave me wanting Seven.

Sleep was fitful that night.

***

After the briefing the next morning I catch hold of Seven's arm, my voice caressing her name. Just like I have hundreds of times before. She stills and turns, just like she has hundreds of times before. The muscles are firm and I find it hard not to squeeze, test and measure her, learn her. Logically I know she looks exactly the same as she did yesterday but my eyes are new. Open. The biosuit seems bluer, her body softer. My mouth is watering. My cunt is itching. My stomach is churning and my palms are sweating.

She is staring at me. I have not let go of her arm. I turn away to hide my blush and put the length of the briefing room table between us. Safety in distance.

"So what do think of the plan Seven?" I keep my tone light and move to perch on the table.

There is a slight silence, a frown crosses her brow and she spreads her feet. At ease. Her version of relaxing, off the record. "I delivered my opinions in the meeting, is it necessary to re-state them now?" She was being belligerent. She was long past being able to use that excuse as a staller.

"Oh I heard what you said in the meeting, I was wondering if there was anything you perhaps wished to add." Low, deliberate.

She straightened her shoulders and looked uncomfortable. My gaze dropped to the scoop of neck revealed by the biosuit and my stomach felt warm. "It is an ambitious plan, relying heavily on chance. A study of the variables alone suggests it will not succeed. You rely on out of date intelligence about the nature of the Borg. You assume advantage where none is proven. You insert undue optimism to cover flaws." Her tone was laced with the gentle pride she always displayed when talking about her former family. Then a pause.

"However I have learnt that although it is unsettling, it is expedient to pay careful attention to `the luck factor' when you are involved with any mission."

I grinned. I couldn't help it. "Is that so?"

"It is captain." Her eyes were softer now. Teasing me. Sweetness. "And I believe with the addition of admiral Janeway's uniqueness it is necessary to pay greater attention to `the luck factor'." Her face was hard again.

"Seven?" I asked, Concern at the hardness. Don't hurt Seven. Please don't hurt.

"Admiral Janeway will die?" She asked. I crossed my legs as I nodded at her, settling more firmly onto the table. I recognised the question as a preamble to something larger.

"The admiral came to see me yesterday attempting to convince me to come to you and plead her case. I refused, explained I would not be so disloyal to you. I also offered the opinion that my own death at some unspecified time in the future, in the place of the millions we would save by destroying the hub, was insignificant. She accused me of martyrdom and selfishness, of placing the hypothetical above the actual."

I jumped in. "I didn't know she did that. If I had I would have stopped her. She was trying to manipulate you Seven."

Seven shook her head. "I understand that captain. That is why I did not acquiesce to her demands." Her tone carried rebuke and I kicked myself. "However her arguments did have an internal logic, albeit based on an emotional premise. What I do not understand is why her certain death in the present is permissible, when my hypothetical, unspecified one was not. In executing the current plan we are all placing the hypothetical above the actual, are we not?"

I stood up and rubbed at my temples, walking to the view port and staring out at the nebula. "Spend more than a few weeks at Starfleet Command and you'll soon learn that a sure trait of admirals is their firm adherence to the `do as I say not as I do' protocol."

"There is such a protocol?"

"Not literally."

"I understand, it is a unwritten rule. You were using an appropriate saying to illustrate the intangible."

"Bingo." There was another question brimming. "Go on." I encouraged.

"You do not adhere to that protocol captain."

"Oh I don't know Seven," I said laughing, "I'm sure you can reel out some fine examples of when I've been hypocritical."

She stilled for a moment and I took the opportunity to examine the implant above her eye. I wanted to taste it. Maybe it would taste like blood. Tangy. Metallic. My mouth watered again.

"I cannot captain. On the contrary I can find many examples of when you put yourself in unnecessary danger to demonstrate your personal commitment to this crew and it's goal. Do you wish me to recount them?"

I declined with a wave of my hand.

"You do not adhere to that protocol." She affirmed. "Admiral Janeway is hypocritical. Yet you are one and the same person."

"No Seven. We share some common memories and experiences. I am the person the admiral once was, she is who I may become. She has thirty more years worth of memories."

"She has also had thirty years to forget."

I acknowledged the comment. She surprised me. Beautiful Seven. "You think the admiral has forgotten something?"

"I do not. In the time she has spent home, she may have begun to misremember the Delta Quadrant. She may have `become soft', have a tendency paint too rosy a picture of our adventures, a common human failing. But we are not talking about a characteristic that emerged as a result of our experiences here. Your `action girl' attitude is a trait established long before Voyager. I cannot account for what appears to be a complete change of character."

"Action girl?"

"An expression Tom Paris uses to describe you. Perhaps you would prefer `hands-on'. That is one of Chakotay's. It is less oblique."

I imagined hands. Chakotay's hands on her. Then flushed as I imagined my hands on her. I decided I didn't prefer it at this point in time. Ploughed into my next explanation full speed.

"When the admiral first came aboard I had a similar reaction to her."

Oh yes Seven, please take note. We're not too dissimilar.

"I accused her of being cynical, refused to believe that I would become her, in much the same way you just explained. I found it hard to reconcile myself with the woman before me. But she explained about your death and Tuvok's disease and I was able to understand why her quest was so important, why she seemed to be considering certain things acceptable that I would not."

The clarity on her face was pure. "You did not have all the data necessary to understand her motivation."

"Exactly." I told her, excitement lacing my tone. Animating it, me. Causing me to move as she made the final leaps. I was approaching her.

"You are saying I lack that necessary data to understand her motivations."

I nodded.

"But it is something you understand and I do not."

The unasked question was evident. Those eyes begged me to indulge her. Begged me not to make her beg for this piece of information. I capitulated. As ever.

"The admiral and I both shared the same attachment to the people on this ship. Some of those bonds were stronger because they had shared more experiences together. Others were just memories. Sadness. Regrets. Where you may only see illogic, I can see a pattern of behaviour stemming from very real and powerful emotions."

I moved up close to her and brought my hand briefly to her face. "I can tell you that the idea of your death unsettles me deeply."

Emotion flashed through her eyes. I couldn't read it. She spoke.

"The idea of her death, your death, unsettles me also. She will die a lonely death, surrounded by Borg, perhaps taunted by the Queen herself. It will be fearful and painful. I would have died secure and loved. Any death in the circumstances she will endure is to be avoided. Your death in those circumstances is unacceptable."

I sighed and took a few paces away from her. "As an admiral she outranks all of us on this ship and if she wishes to take her life to fulfil the mission she came here with, then that is her choice as an individual."

"When contemplating suicidal intent one is to factor military rank into the equation?" Pure incredulity. Tragically comic.

"No. You picked up on only one factor in my explanation. I also stated the admiral came here with a purpose. She is also an anomalous component. Out of time, out of place. If she completes her mission then her presence here will never really have had cause to occur. The person who she was is not and will never be. That is success. In her success, whether the Borg are crippled or not, the admiral ceases to exist. If you die and the same chain of events she has lived occurs over again she will have failed. We may in fact be having this conversation in another thirty years when I myself come back to change the actions of the younger me. Tell me which is the more desirable situation."

"Explained in those crude terms then success is the only possibly solution. Death is the ultimate cost." She mused, "must success always be pursued regardless of the cost?"

"No. Certainly not. You must always consider the consequences. Weigh up your actions. In this case you wanted to consider only the emotional, to save everybody. It is personal satisfaction which is not always possible."

"How does one make these judgements accurately?"

"How long is a piece of string?"

"Twice the distance from one end to the middle."

Her retort was immediate. Fiery. I paused and marvelled at how well we worked. I calmed us down. "But the distance is still variable. Accuracy is a fluid concept when it comes to judgement."

She accepted my brief gloss. I was grateful. There was a coffee waiting in my ready room. I moved for the door. Another question stopped me.

"I was unable to fully understand the admiral's motivation. Yet you did. Therefore I also do not understand your motivations. The concept also unsettles me. It makes my calculations incomplete."

I grinned to myself. It wasn't quite Shakespeare but I'd take anything thrown my way. Adapt Kathryn. I spun on my heels and held up my hands.

"Enough of the questions. Let me ask you one."

"It has recently come to my attention that you are dating commander Chakotay. Is this arrangement exclusive?"

I watched my ball whiz in from left field and neatly fell her bailes. She literally gawped for a moment and I watched the wheels turning.

"The matter has not been discussed. It is not a practical reality, no one else has expressed an interest in either party. We do not often discuss the hypothetical."

I raised my eyebrow at that. Hypothetical was my Seven's playground.

"Okay what would be your hypothetical reaction."

"How long is a piece of string, captain?" She queried tantalisingly.

My heart swelled. Adored Seven.

"You're not going to make this easy are you." I said ruefully rubbing my nose.

"It is difficult to aid you when I remain unsure of what you are asking." I could hear the warp engines hum as B'Elanna tinkered.

"We don't try and pull off this caper for another twenty four hours. After that life is likely to be a little busy." Or a little solitary. Depression is almost as rosy as guilt when I've failed. Again. But not now, not yet. "Have dinner with me tonight? Maybe get to know my motivations a little better?"

Her eyes widened and I tried to detect rejection. Shields at the ready. Instead she smiled.

"You are attempting to request my presence on a date."

Gee, trust the borg-girl to even undermine the way you ask.

"I have no prior engagements. I would be pleased to accept."

I nodded briefly and she moved to leave the room. I stopped her again. My hand on her arm. This time I allowed myself to gently squeeze her bicep as I drew myself up to her height. My lips briefly caressed her cheek.

"Later." I said and she left the room. My body sang. The warp core sang. My ship sang. The song to prelude our first date.

***

It was 1900 hours and I was less nervous than I had expected to be. No coil of tension in my stomach. Just a rosy glow of peace. I felt my mouth smirk as I slipped a pair of amethyst earrings into my ears. Don't scrub up too bad, even if I do say so myself. My hair was gathered into an unruly bun, where slight wisps fell about my chin and my face seemed longer. I sipped lightly at a glass of Asti and walked into the main cabin. Prepared the lights. Coiled up on the couch and waited.

She was soon before me, standing in the doorway, framed by the brighter lights of the corridor. Lights like an aura. I offered her a glass of wine. She accepted. Somewhere along the road my Seven had built up a tolerance. A long way from `alcohol impairs my cortical function'. Make mental note to keep up with her progress if we get home. No matter what the outcome. No matter which scenario.

She is looking around the cabin expectantly and I smile to myself as I guide her to the couch, my hand in the small of her back. She sits obediently as I gesture, knees together, back straight. A perfect poise. I have placed stuffed vine leaves and quesadillas on a small platter and handing her the wine I notice her roving glance.

"Try one." I offer. She hesitates and I pick up one of the dolmas, holding it out to her lips. "Vine leaves stuffed with rice. It's a very gentle taste."

She bites down and a look of intense concentration passes over her features. I can't help the pang in my chest. I ache for her attention.

"It is not unappealing." Verdict delivered in an even tone and she tilts her head slightly, offering me her mouth. Success. I envy the vine leaf as her tongue flicks out to wrap around it. I retreat to my own seat and sip wine.

"It's a Greek food. I offer. I know taste is still a bit of a blank with you so I thought we could take the opportunity to introduce a few new ideas."

She smiles. "That is very thoughtful." Her manners are impeccable. I'm glad I haven't told her how captivating she looks tonight. Not until we're past the polite exchanges.

"Try the others." I suggest. "A few words of warning though, they can be a little messy to eat and the taste is very different. Hot."

She nods and we repeat the ritual, only she feeds herself this time. I can't help but smile as she quickly reaches for another vine leaf.

"A little too hot?" I query and am unsurprised as she nods. I am unsurprised as she chooses to sample the quesadillas again. As we talk she relaxes. Comes to understand that this is little different to other times we have spent together. The starlight is reflecting onto her hair and she shimmers.

She is animated. Telling me of Icheb's progress toward his graduation. I don't have the heart to point out that as, captain, chief cook and bottle washer, chief examiner extraordinaire, leader, saviour, wonder-woman, I already know. She tells me of her delight at Naomi's new understandings. About how she must learn to pilot her body through experience, at the joy she is feeling through being a part of it. She glances shyly at me and I think she knows that I understand her pride.

We flow easily together. Counterbalances. Counterpoints. Endless harmony. Endless.

And then in a lull in the conversation. "You look very beautiful tonight Seven." It is not lip service. Her dress is dark and I finally understand what the admiral was telling me. Out of those biosuits she is soft, and delicate, and pale. Porcelain. She is not one to accept idle compliments. But her cheeks flush slightly and I think she believes me. She straightens up a little, unconsciously displaying herself, preening.

"Thank you," She tells me quietly. "I didn't know if it would be suitable. I have little experience. I hoped you would like it."

"I do." My voice is low, a touch of awe gracing the surface. "Did the Doctor help you choose it?"

"He did not. I..." She pauses and blushes again, "I did not wish for him to know of this. His interest in me is prurient. I have found that discussing something as intimate as clothing, particularly undergarments is an uncomfortable experience for us both. I chose it myself."

I briefly contemplated underwear as she preened once again. It should be dark like her dress. I bet my Seven has much to be proud of. I can see her in underwear. Long legs, heading endlessly to a strip of delicate satin. Teasing. Her breasts seem smaller in the dress. It is an improvement on the prominent mammary glands she struts in front of the crew all day. The fantasies of little boys.

The Borg are not subtle. Maybe she has never considered the small things. The Borg don't do less. Less can be more. Suggest, don't flaunt. I was growing wet.

"Well you have excellent instincts." I muttered to cover my heavier breathing. She was quiet and I prodded. "Seven?"

"I found choosing this dress to be a tiresome exercise. Will it be necessary to spend sixty four minutes each time I wish to replicate a new garment?"

I smiled at her, burgeoning desire suddenly replaced by tenderness. "It will get quicker with time. Sooner or later you get to learn that there are certain parameters, maybe you can't wear orange, or you prefer long dresses. Have you tried to replicate other clothes?"

"Never. It was my first. Other than my biosuits which are merely mild deviations of a standard pattern. They are not a challenge."

I filed the information away. She'd never dressed up for Chakotay. "You know Seven it might be worth considering developing a wardrobe, that way your choices for any occasion are reduced from infinity to a mere handful."

"An efficient proposal." She smiled. I wanted to lean forward and kiss the corners of her mouth. Trail a tongue around the delicate features. Her face hardened slightly and I schooled my features into passivity. "However, I find the prospect a little daunting."

"Don't the Borg assimilate style?" I quipped.

"The Borg are fashion gurus." She told me dryly, "Resistance of body armour is futile."

I agreed as I felt my stomach flip. "I hear it's all the rage across several unimatrices."

She smiled and I melted a little more.

"Well if you need someone to pass opinions I'd be glad to help." I stood and watched as she smiled again.

"I would appreciate that." She stood too and we paused. "I find that your appreciation of the dress offsets the time spent choosing." Shy. Coy. Charming.

I patted her arm. "Glad to know I'm of use for something. Shall we?"

She took my proffered arm as I addressed the computer and I revealed our elegant evening. Her eyes are wide. Her cheeks are flushed. Tempting. Her eyes narrow in the light. She doesn't flinch as a holographic waiter materialises at her side. I would be in trouble if the Doctor missed his emitter. But the smile on her face was enough.

As he seated us I continued to marvel at her ease of manner. The way she offered no resistance. I had expected the usual blanche that came with new experiences. But as he lit the two low candles in the centre of the table and the lights dropped low again I found her watching me. Unashamed. Sure. We observed each other quietly in the half light. Perhaps I was imagining the wonder in her gaze. Perhaps I didn't manage the misty smile I wanted. But it still felt a little like church.

I drew her attention to the menu before the moment became too much. I talked her through the choices. Felt quiet joy as she asked about the dishes. About regions and about Earth. It was the first time she'd expressed interest in the subject at all.

We ordered and ate. Through it all I gave her glances. Ghosting my eyes across arms and shoulders. Across hair, eyes, ears. Across everything I could find until I felt sure I could close my eyes and see her.

I was itching. Itching to close my eyes and inhale my Seven. Itching just to lay a hand or two on her. Trace the material of her dress, slick and silk. To finger implants and imagine the carnage. Trace my tongue around assimilation tubules. I itched to talk about Chakotay. To compare myself with him. I itched to tempt her. I itched to manipulate her. But it would all be wrong. Bad captain Janeway was silent tonight. Watching quietly from the door to my bedroom.

Over dessert she became distracted. Conversation dwindled. She was toying with her fruit. I placed my fork down and caught her eye.

"Are you tired Seven?" I asked gently, annoyed that I had been so insensitive. She shook her head and we both paused as she opened her mouth.

"We are on a date." She stated, and I recognised another of her statements that was really a question. I nodded, picked up my fork and went back to the pavlova.

"Why do you ask?" I queried, the taste of raspberries tangy in my mouth. Perhaps her nipples are raspberry.

"This does not feel like a date." I didn't allow the luxury of disappointment. Not yet. I've learned to let my Seven get to the end first. Never assume with a Borg. Even an ex-Borg. Dangerous.

"And why not?" Another raspberry. More thoughts about her nipples. I roll the fruit to the back of my mouth. Tongue it. Chew it with my molars.

"I do not feel uncomfortable. This is familiar. It is nice."

I couldn't decide how to feel. Rejection was edging close. You're a good friend. And I like you a lot. Rejection smelt a little like jaded smoke. Smothered candles. Cold morning after. I'm a fighter. Fighters buck against things they don't want to face. I ignored the second part of her sentence where I was some maternal parody. Chose attack.

"You have felt uncomfortable on other dates?"

She nodded. "When I had dinner with Ensign Chapman the whole experience was uncomfortable. Despite the doctor's lessons I had not managed to master the minutia required to perfect social graces. I did not know how to eat Lobster, my attempts at dancing were clumsy, I injured my date." She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, attempting to use humour to dispel memories. Unwelcome littler returns. Seven is human. So human. "I had failed in my objective. Learning of the wager between the Doctor and Lieutenant Paris only increased my discomfort. The process with commander Chakotay is... confusing."

I sighed. She looked hurt. "Seven I really don't think I'm the best person to be talking to about this."

She paused. "I have made you uncomfortable in some way." Another question statement.

I didn't point out the logic. If I were uncomfortable were it not a date? Is the moon blue? How long is a piece of string? Spoke platitudes instead. "Let's just say that I don't quite trust my judgement when it comes to advising you on romantic matters."

Her face cleared and those clear eyes sparked. I was missing a piece of the puzzle here. "You are referring to your vested interest. You fear you may not give me impartial advice."

I floundered. Fish out of water. My darling took pity on me and her tone softened.

"You told me once that you have never lied to me. You will not now."

I wanted to tell her that faith was misplaced. That the chance at being blessed by those lips would turn even Christ. But I didn't. I bit my tongue and offered a plea to anyone that cared to hear. If Kes were still out there perhaps she would hear. Hear me ask not to fail her. Hear me ask to ignore the woman standing at my bedroom door.

But I didn't tell her any of those thing, instead I merely echoed her words. "Confusing?"

She nodded and sighed laboriously. "You are aware I have just begun to experience emotions."

I nodded reassuringly. "I find them tiresome and inefficient."

"Welcome to being part of an emotionally entangled species."

Only her eyes acknowledged that I had spoken. "Suddenly I am finding my world sharper. What I used to experience is now stronger, more real, more demanding. And yet at the same time more muddled. Actions, people, situations I would once have considered unimportant are suddenly acute problems in which I can find no resolution. I find indecision is a constant threat. Sometimes when there are two alternatives I feel as though I am about to be split in half. I think I feel things and then they are gone. Later when I try to remember the feelings are more muddled, more fleeting and often less than they were, perhaps I only imagined them. To contemplate this saddens me. I neither like nor understand sadness yet it seems to be with me."

She wound to a halt, her face pained and I reached out a hand to grasp hers. "Oh Seven. Believe me when I tell you it will get easier. All humans go through experiences like those. Somewhere along the way we learn to manage them."

She titled her head. "You feel these things?"

When do I not. When don't I sit in that chair and love the power and joy of command; the facsimile of parenthood on a grand scale; the energy and pull of blood in battle. And when don't I hate the responsibility; the clamouring brats that can't take two steps without an assuring glance from me; the searing pain at another death, another ending. When don't I look at you and feel fear. When don't I look at you and fantasise about driving tiny pinpricks of pain into your flawless skin. When don't I look at you and feel peace. When don't I want to protect you from the universe. From you. From me.

"Yes." Was all I said.

"How did you learn to manage them?"

I grinned wryly. "Oh I took a few hard knocks along the way until all my corners were rounded and then I bounced just fine."

"Explain."

And so I told her. About my first break up, about the loss of the first officer under my command. About daddy and Justin. About Kes, about Cardassia. Then I told her about watching stars with Mark, about the love of my sister, about Indian summers, and good coffee. About balance. About learning. My eyes were shiny as I finished and I found myself by the view port, fixated on a pinprick of light.

"You assimilate your emotional reactions until your achieve perfection?" The analogy was almost painfully accurate.

I turned to look at her, seated at my table, her hair falling gracefully about. Her eyes were not on me. It was the starburst implant that looked out to me from the side of her face. She's exquisite in profile. I rolled my response through my head. Tested the metre. Spoke.

"Not quite Seven. I don't think it's ever possible to achieve perfection with emotions. Not as you mean it. You can never know all there is to know about emotions, you can never fully understand them. If you think you do then you're deceiving yourself. Humans change and develop over time and not always for the better. The admiral is not me and I am not her, we will react subtly differently to each situation. Me because I have not yet `assimilated' what she has, she because she forgets who she once was. It is conceivable that one day the Borg will have assimilated all the technology and species that exist. At that point are they perfect, or have they merely reached the end of the line? In my opinion they will become stilted. The Borg do not know how to look inside of themselves for answers. That is a fatal flaw." Voice firm. Command presence. Helpless to prevent it.

The cabin was silent. I worried I had offended her. She turned my words over.

"Your statement seems rational captain." She told me eventually, her voice strained.

"Yet you cannot reconcile that with how you feel about the Borg." I guessed.

She nodded mutely and I came to sit back at the table. "The Borg choose to assimilate external realities in an attempt to find order. Their greatest fear is internal chaos."

I was telling her I understood. Knew how frightening forceful emotions would be to her. And the grateful smile she gave me told me she was thankful.

"Humanity has a great tradition of poets and philosophers. We tend to look inside ourselves and then try and bring order to the external world. Our greatest fear is being unable to contain natural phenomena. They are two very different ideologies. I suppose really neither of us should make moral judgements about the other."

Pure dichotomy. Would that she understood.

"I am both those things, and yet neither." She confessed in a quiet voice. "I am small."

I ached once again to touch her. The wood of the table was hard against my stomach as I pressed forward. Contact. Necessary. Hard. Pain. Focused. So good. Her hand on mine this time.

"What is confusing for you now will later become a strength." She didn't believe me. "Seven, humans go through adolescence. It's a period of intense physical and emotional changes, that is when we begin to test our boundaries and learn about ourselves. Often when we leave the home of our parents we test boundaries again. That's why first years cadets are hot pickings in San Francisco. Over time we learn who we must be in order to survive in the environments we find ourselves in. No one is born able to manage every emotion and situation. Each new challenge requires us to adapt. You have experienced many things others have not. Your two natures are a strength and will give you strength."

You are not in San Francisco but you are still hot pickings.

"Conflict demands growth." She mused. I could see she understood the flip side of that coin. Her face shadowed briefly. Evasion produces apathy and demise. I winced at the thought of the Void.

"I feel ambivalence towards commander Chakotay. At times his attentions flatter me. I feel warm and content. Yet at other times I find his presence intrusive."

I smiled at her. No longer knocked for six by the mercurial windings of her thoughts. "It's perfectly natural Seven.

"To like and dislike the same person?" Incredulity.

"Welcome to moods." Flippancy.

She paused and assessed the suggestion. I was found lacking as so she carried on.

"It is more than that. I am familiar with the concept of moods, I have worked with lieutenant Torres. What I feel is not so fleeting and baseless."

I was a good captain. I did not snort when I thought about B'Elanna's response to being dismissed as fleeting and baseless. The conversation was threatening to lose itself, or me. "Perhaps an example would be better?" I suggested.

She paused and nodded. We seemed to be doing a lot of that. "Commander Chakotay came to me today he told me that when we returned to earth he would make sure he was within transporter range of me. I found the prospect unexpectedly stifling.

"He dismisses my concerns easily. I attempted to end our dating process to avoid pain. A brief discussion seemed sufficient to alleviate his fear. In fact once he learned I would not be terminating our intimate interactions he was placated and sought to reassure me with statements about his loyalty. He had dismissed my conflict and has not given me a chance to grow. I brought the matter up again at our dinner but after an initial interest he grew frustrated as I kept coming back to the same question. He had not answered it to my satisfaction." She suddenly added in defence.

There was too much there for me to tackle tonight. I huffed. When had I donned my armour and white steed. Since when had I become her personal crusader. Huff again. Since she had fought against me in the brig. Told her favourite colour was red. The colour of the material across my chest. The colour that hid my heart. Colour of my hair and blood. Since those sharp vicious implants had scraped against my skin and I had oozed red for her.

Chakotay had made her defensive. Chakotay could not love her violence. Her analytical coolness. Chakotay had made my fragile Seven defensive. Bastard.

I reached across the table and laid my palm across her hand. "There's no need to justify yourself to me Seven."

She regarded me quizzically. "Almost every discussion we have had results in my defending myself."

I shook my head. Never. "No Seven. I ask you to explain so I can understand you better, understand your argument. Communicate."

Comprehension was slowly beginning to dawn. "Elucidate." She demanded. Confusion is cute in Seven.

"When you explained about Chakotay and yourself, you were responding to a question I had asked. When you added those closing comments you were answering something I had not asked. You were expecting an assumption on my part and moved to answer before I could even ask it. Dispel my question. We emotionally entangled species are often defensive. It can avoid many unpleasant emotions, fear, embarrassment and confrontation. It stops you being vulnerable. But it also leads to confusion and misunderstanding."

I was in akkakk gun mode. Fire a sentence. Fire another sentence. I could see she was still not quite there. I paused eating and waved my fork in the air in a manner my mother would disown me for. "Let's try this another way. Why did you feel the need to tell me Chakotay had not answered your question?"

She paused too. Placed her fork on her plate and caught me in that intensive gaze, her brow lightly furrowed. "As I spoke I began to feel apprehensive, I thought it possible that you would consider me weak and insignificant for failing to understand what comes naturally to the commander and yourself." Her face cleared. "So I moved to counter that assumption."

I beamed and squeezed her hand. "And if we hadn't explored that. If I'd glossed over those words or ignored them?"

"Then I would have been left with doubt regarding your opinion."

Something flickered across her face, something I couldn't quite pin down. My Seven with emotions was subtle. There was silence in the room as I gave her space to think. My tart, biting raspberries were washed down with wine. Analogies flooded my body. This is living.

"I find I am apprehensive again. I feel the need to clarify the true nature of your thoughts in relation to me, but with the desire to know comes fear with an intensity I can no longer ignore as I once did. There is a cycle of impulse and fear within me. I do not like it."

True nature. Truth. Something the admiral had demanded. I laced my fingers through her own. The gesture seemed natural. She was natural.

"Firstly Seven I could never think any less of you because of a gap in knowledge. Social nuances come naturally to the commander and myself because over the years we have learnt the hard way, by making mistakes, by being hurt. Secondly I would most definitely never think anything less of you because of the actions of another."

"You think the commander is flawed?"

Words chosen carefully. "I think he doesn't yet fully comprehend how to communicate with you. Give him time, he will learn."

"You do not need time. We communicate." A statement from Seven. Find the unasked question. Answer the question.

"We've been communicating for a long time. We've knocked a few of those corners off over the years. The two of you are still looking for them."

"Yet it has been possible for both of you to communicate with me from the beginning. You chose to form a bond with me immediately. The commander did not. Why?"

"You need to ask that question to Chakotay. I can't answer for him."

"He is inefficient." She noted.

I cocked my head in noncommittance. But I couldn't dispute the logic. Nor could I stop the warm feeling that spread through my abdomen.

A silence fell over the room. I sipped at my wine held with one hand, Seven lightly caressed the other. Heat was beginning to spark from her caress and I closed my eyes. Imagining the wood melt away, the distance melt, I melted into her. I thought of the admiral. Remembered our closeness. Our heat. I blushed. The waiter came to remove our dishes and coffee was put in its place. We retired back to the couch where we had begun the evening. Full circle. Voyager may return to the Alpha Quadrant. Full circle. I dropped my head back against the sofa and let my eyes fall shut again. My eyes were shut sixteen hours ago. Full circle.

I could imagine her eyes upon me. Perhaps they were upon me. Tracing the Janeway line from high cheekbones to strong Jaw. Perhaps the roundness of my chest which came direct from my mother. Or the unruly hair, from somewhere way back in time. Her eyes were upon me. Her voice was husky when it sounded.

"What is a date?" Another circle. I straightened up and eyed her steadily. I have learnt over the years to ask before giving an explanation. Saves time. Saves tempers.

"Why do you ask?"

"When the Doctor began to introduce me to dating and socialising in general there were a series of lessons through which it was deemed necessary that I progress. This was a false structure and hierarchy which attempted to give order to an amorphous mass. Yet there are protocols to be followed in all social interactions. Chakotay and I have had four dates. We have `had a drink', participated in recreational activities, picnicked and dinned. This is acceptable to me. On two separate occasions you have told me what we are experiencing this evening is a date, yet it follows none of the expected conventions."

Sweet Seven. For whom there are nothing but rules, by which we must all act and live. It was her nature to decompile. I remembered how she had been disturbed by the prospect of not understanding the admiral's motivations. Decompile. Go back to the root.

"What is the purpose of dating?" I asked. The answer was at her fingertips. Just like I knew it would be.

"To spend time with an individual, to engender a more familiar relationship, perhaps as a precursor to sexual activities, procreation and matrimony."

I wrinkled my nose. "A little clinical but the bones are there. Dating isn't an exact science Seven. Part of the joy of dating is just getting to know someone in a different way. It's an experience, a learning curve not a point on a graph. The anticipation of further a relationship, of having someone special. Of being special. Those feelings can't easily be pushed into a demarcated pathway leading to the altar." I paused and felt some of the anticipatory fear she had talked about earlier. I stamped on it. Hard.

"Let me ask you a question. Something tells me you're having a hard time considering this a date?"

She contemplated the question and I tried not to shy away from her eyes as she answered. "We have often shared meals and conversation. I am often in your presence. You frequently touch me and engage in light banter. You seek me out and it makes me feel ... special. I endeavour to please you, to satisfy you, to reach the goals you lay before me. I have often anticipated our velocity matches. I enjoy you, I find I am often anticipatory in your presence. As individuals we spend time together, we continue to develop a familiar relationship. Yet you do not `flirt' with me, you show no interest in me as a sexual being. Tonight has been no different."

Ouch. Tough. That stung. Perhaps the captain's mask is a little too perfect.

"In part." I nodded and set down my coffee cup. I moved closer to her and watched as her eyes widened briefly. She copied my actions, placing her coffee cup on the table and turned to face me. Maybe one day there will be a time when I don't lead her. Hope.

I took her hands and laced her fingers with mine. "Then I feel I owe you an apology Seven." Her face fell.

"I am sorry for underestimating you and for allowing fear of the unknown to guide me." Hope began to peak. "You constantly surprise me Seven, and I have a tendency to romanticise you, which does us both a great disservice."

Understatement of the century. I see this Borg beauty as a prefect specimen of untouched humanity. But she has murdered millions, owns their lives and their knowledge. She is arrogant. And confused. Teenage arrogance. Teenage innocence. The innocence belies the millions she has murdered. Full circle. I'd be lying if I didn't admit the stench of death is exciting. The meshed hand. Assimilation tubules. Stroking me. Intimate. Fucking me. Damn hot.

"I know at times I push you very hard, but all the time I'm expecting you to fail." Face falls again and I reach up to draw a reassuring hand across her face. "I do that because it protects me. I can pretend that I'm not that interested in you. In your progress. But all the time I am aching to be closer to you. Over time I've gotten a little too good at hiding my responses to you. That is what I apologise for."

Her hand is on mine, holding my palm to her skin. Her eyes are alight. Something amuses her. "I have learnt that the process of dating is an exercise in subterfuge and half truths. At the end of our date lieutenant Chapman expressed interest in repeating the experience. He was lying to make both of us feel better. Chakotay frequently ends our dates when he becomes aroused. He is embarrassed at his responses to me. I do not tell him that his attentions are occasionally too intense or that his large body is unwieldy. There is little need for you to apologise for being human."

Minx. I am smiling, I can't help it. My fingers can feel the pulse behind her ear. She leans a little closer to me. "And there are some things you fail to hide. Your eyes follow me when I am in a room. Your body often seeks out mine. Sometimes you flush in my presence, and although I cannot tell beneath the full fabric of a Starfleet uniform, I suspect, at those times that you are aroused." She is coy again. Suddenly stumbling. Having trouble placing her feet firmly in a landscape that is unfamiliar. Where she dare not look down for fear of discovering what she is stepping into. The blind trust of the young and naive is refreshing. The blind trust of this unique creature, my child and my monster, can send me reeling.

Her voice cuts into the darkness of my mind.

"Your nipples have contracted into peaks. You desire me. I wish to kiss you."

She was moving toward me and I halted her with a chuckle. "Is that right?" I retrieved my coffee and lounged languidly as I sipped. I had moved away from her, and the confusion was almost palpable.

I kept the silence. Tasting the tension every time I swallowed my bitter black liquid. Rolling it around my tongue, drawing it further into me. And I thought about her hands. Just in the corner of my eye I could see her fingers were still. Cradling the white crockery. I thought about that mesh. How it would feel when I sucked her fingers into my mouth. Then I turned my head and stared at her breasts. Measuring their weight. Roving pupils peeled away particles of fabric until only a sheen of dusky material remained. And her textures could be revealed to me. A clammy grey where white skin should be. Like death. Like the implants the Doctor removed. The colour of the skin where tiny grips clamped them to her body. Her areole and nipples would be plum. Almost indistinguishable. Ripe and plump.

Her breath had quickened too. My eyes flickered to her diaphragm and I watched the shallow rise and fall; a wave that passed through her body. Eyes skimmed lower.

"Captain?" She asked, her voice rusty. She cleared her throat.

I merely leaned back and quirked an eyebrow at her.

Hesitation. I could see it ripple across her face, coming to rest in her eyes which narrowed slightly. In the end she didn't move toward me. She talked again. My Seven does not yet understand the nuances of subtlety and silence.

"They say anticipation of the first kiss is often uncomfortable. I am attempting to bypass that."

"They say a lot. Are you uncomfortable?" I asked her evenly.

"Yes." Plaintive. "Your actions are uncharacteristic. They make me ..." pause, "Nervous."

Still I keep the silence. We are both breathing deeper now. She is agitated. I slip my tongue around my lips. The mood in the room tastes angelic.

I glace down at her feet. They are caught in delicate bands of black leather. Ankles lead up to firm calves, and then the dress hides her body to me. I don't have time to remove the layers before she speaks again.

"Chakotay didn't object when I initiated our first kiss." Peevish

I'll bet. Randy git. "I'm not Chakotay, Seven." I intone. Not giving her an inch. The bad captain by the door is incensed at my passivity. I can feel her approaching me and we cut a deal.

"Seven, sex and relationships are often about power. It doesn't have to be malevolent, but most of the time people vie for advantage. Some take it to the extremes, but it can be as simple as what to eat for dinner. I like to think I'm somewhere in the middle of that spectrum. I don't usually like sexual violence but I do like a little edge every now and again. I find anticipation stimulating. Not uncomfortable."

I pulled the shirt over my head, revealing my bra clad breasts to her.

"Sit on your hands." I told her and watched as those blue eyes tried to discern me.

She failed and obediently cupped her buttocks with those delicate hands. I smiled and moved to straddle her, hovering just above her strong legs.

And then I arched up against her, our bodies not quite together, brushing occasionally. I leaned in towards her face and let my breath tickle across the skin. My voice dropped low.

"You know Seven, They say a lot. And I tend to ignore Them. It's what makes me a good captain, what makes a seventy year old woman fuck off the Klingons and cross time and space. While we were sat here in silence do you know what I was thinking?"

So I told her. With my tits almost hanging out like her tongue. I ducked and dived as she tried to kiss me. I nibbled on her ear, licked my way around her chin. So delicate. Occasionally I touched myself. I drew comfort from her discomfort. From the fact I knew my voice was a turn on. From the memories of the last night. When the older me had talked and straddled me. Right now I didn't know what was more exciting. The power I had over her, or my Borg babe herself. I was loosing myself in it, and just for the minute I paused and slipped off her knee.

I offered her a hand and we danced lightly to the harmonies of Faure. Maybe it was Church. She put my shirt back on me and we danced towards the door. I touched my hand to her face and indulged her as she turned her face, opening her lips to my palm. Instinct. It was hardly a gesture let alone a kiss. I smiled at her and lifted my hand away, laying it on hers.

She was silent. Waiting.

"Tomorrow is going to be a long day." No hope that she'll jump in and rescue me from this one. Payback. Her form of torture. Of teasing. Or perhaps she really has no idea.

"I've enjoyed tonight." I squeeze her hand briefly, add emphasis. "And whatever tomorrow may bring I'd like to try this again." We could be in another quadrant. The enormity of what might happen is beginning to dawn. Like the first time I managed to comprehend eternity. I never believed in God after that. It was all too much.

She nods. "Acceptable."

She moves into kiss me again and I halt her, one finger on her chest, breathing into her mouth. "Tell me how much you want this."

Her breath is shaky, feathering across my lips and I close my eyes as she begins to speak hesitantly.

"I feel as though I need this. My whole body is tight yet I feel weak and alone. I crave something, anything from you, I..." It's enough. Too much. I straighten up and place a brief peck to her nose. The doors hiss open and the lights startle her. Gamma shift is going on duty. Even junior officers must pass through this part of the ship then. They see my Seven flushed and guilty leaving the captain's quarters. It will be with Chakotay before we reach home. If we reach home.

The doors slide shut and I lean back against the panelling, one hand immediately pinching my breasts. The other tangles in my hair and feel more strands fall about my face, tickling my neck. I leave the breast and feel along the smooth line of my stomach, hands teasing the sensitive flesh.

Different quadrant. Shit.

The computer tells me Seven is regenerating. It tells me the admiral is alone and alert. I go to her.

As I enter the quarters, tucked away at the end of the corridor, private, lonely, I see her seated on the sofa. Her eyes are bright and her face is alive. She looks years younger and I grow wetter.

She is wearing the vest.

"You're out of uniform young lady." Is all she says as I approach her, undoing the bottom three buttons on my shirt. It is reproach. We both know what I've been doing this evening and the computer from my ready room is lying closed on the low table in front of her.

I drop my head. I cannot fake a blush, not with only myself here.

She stands. Walks to the bedroom. We fucked Kashyk in here. I follow her. I am not wearing shoes and the carpet seems hard. It rejects my steps.

We are standing in the doorway and as she raises her hand to my face I flinch. But the admiral makes no reaction, merely echoes the caress I gave Seven minutes earlier. I dare not repeat the kiss she pressed to my palm and still the admiral is stroking me.

I am shaking as her hand weaves up and under my open shirt, lightly running one finger over the silk of a black bra.

I feel sick. Coiling into panic. She can see it. Her eyes are glinting with the gift.

I don't know how long we hovered in that place. With each slight press, her weight, or jolt in her touch, my heart pounded more. Until.

Until I felt my skull crack hard against the doorframe and I crumpled at her feet. There was a burning in my stomach and my ribs ached from where she'd reflexively kicked at me.

Sobbing. The pair of us. Clinging hard as she helped me up from the floor. Keening wails. As she let me hammer at her chest and I welcomed the open palmed slaps she patterned me with. Until we were both exhausted.

Later again, tears dried, we stripped to underwear and lay in the dark. Her hand sought mine and I gripped it. We anchored each other that night. I will never know what she saw, and that is for the best. The visions that were tumbling before her did not belong to me. Uniquely her, ribboning out into the night. Unravelling. Or perhaps we were gathering them all in, encasing the two of us. Joining us finally. Entombing us.

That night was her funeral shroud. But they were threads of joy glissading across it. And I loved her.

Seven Loves The Captain

This ship misunderstands me. It misunderstands us. Kathryn and I. Not just some moral reclamation project. Not just a symbol of Kathryn's shining humanity.

No, not I.

I am her experiment in desire. In fire and in boundaries. My Kathryn is a scientist, her mind can inhabit a realm of possibilities and plausibilities. A cold place. That is where she retreats to. When the world becomes too much. That is why I excite her, because I am all she never quite dares to be. She touches her ship, caresses it. Talks to it and soothes it. At times I think she envies it, wishes to be a part of it.

I am cold. I am an impossibility. A thing barely plausible. The fire of emotions that begins to warm me now; that is my retreat. When the emptiness of individuality becomes too much. She has taught me much. I like to masturbate until my body is warm. Pulsing, like the warp care. Like the bio-neural gel of this ship.

The perfect complement. Together we are firm, apart mere elementals. Parodies of legend. Parodies of ourselves. Each what the other dares not. Each what the other fears. And it is only with these new emotions I truly understand the sexual quality of fear.

Every time I go back to the Borg I see her sparks. The frisson. How she pulls in so many different directions until she almost breaks. The thrill of the Borg, of meeting something so cold. Thrust and parry with the Queen. Danger. Of dallying with herself. With death itself. Of stepping ever closer to her dead father. To her dead lover. For despite the absolution of time, part of her remains with the ice. I saw it in her eyes last night. How cold mechanics are as comfy to her as the fireside and a dog. And then jealously sparked in me. I hated the two dead males who still held part of her captive. I felt nausoues as I realised part of her attraction to me. Vowed to move us beyond it one day.

But right now Kathryn needs me. The colder me. I, the permanent challenge. One time when we make love I shall tell her how much I desire to assimilate her. I shall trail those tubules over the ridges of her throat. Her eyes will darken. Her lips will part. She will let out a long breath and shudder. She will not fight me. And she will not know that I wouldn't. Not truly. How can she ever know I wouldn't. Humans have only one mind. Individuality. Imprecise. Tantalising. I am wet for the thought of her.

They called me to the shuttle bay today. As we waved admiral Kathryn Elizabeth Janeway glibly off to certain death. As they injected into her, certain chaos to my family. Disorder.

But as I look at the two of them, as I pick out the similarities time cannot steal, I know that I am giving the Borg a gift.

In part.

The admiral drew me close to her and I could see she wanted to kiss me. Kathryn moved close, the heat from her body at my back. Her crotch pushed into my ass as she stood on tiptoes. A silent communication over my head, and they spun me into Kathryn and joined hands. The admiral's right hand is firm on my ass. Kathryn has grasped my neck, anchoring her smaller frame tightly to me. And finally I am allowed to taste her. Briefly.

There is urgency when the admiral kisses me. Perhaps it is ferocity. I can feel Kathryn's nails scraping my neck and the admiral's tears on my cheeks. It is something I don't understand.

Then they forget about me.

The admiral seats herself in the shuttle, Kathryn leans against the hatch and then follows, hypospray in hand.

I walk to the diagnostic console and thrust my assimilation tubules into the flashing interface.

They are kissing. A saliva trail marks the path between us. Right now the present and the past are striving, aching to communicating. I feel unexpected sadness as I watch them. They are weak, struggling to overcome the barriers of skin. I almost step forward and offer to assimilate them. Then we would understand all. Maybe the impulse is true compassion. Philanthropy.

"One lesson I never got to teach her was how to kiss." The admiral's voice.

And her words seep silently into the captain. "You're sure you want to do this?"

"No, but Voyager isn't big enough for both of us. Neither is Seven."

They exchange pleasantries. An odd ritual for two people so well aquatinted. I do not see their final moments. It would not be seemly to be found with my tubules hanging out.

She is soon beside me, a hand on my bicep.

"Do you believe in heaven?" She asks.

Consolation. She needed what I could not offer. I had tried lying to her once. But the taste had been green and bitter. Like the parsley Neelix reserves for visiting alien dignitaries. And she had known.

My own voice is harsh in this space. Hard consonants clip consoles and the softer edges seem absent. Disappointing. "The Borg Have assimilated many thousands of species which chose to believe in a spiritual world. We were led to conclude that it is little more than an allegorical arena into which individuals can at once deposit the best and worst of themselves, and equally feel connected to the entirety of their anthropological history."

"And hell?"

I didn't have an answer to that. But my impulses pushed me to speak. To fill in the awful echoing space of an empty shuttle bay.

"If there is no heaven, there cannot be it's logical moral corollary "

Pause. Too much silence.

"The memories of the admiral will remain within the collective. It is highly unlikely the pathogen will be effective in bringing disorder to..."

A wave of her hand cut me off before she stalked out of the bay. Her body tight, coiled. Muttering. Growling.

"I didn't ask for a lecture on the spirituality of the Borg."

She thinks I don't understand.

But the questions are simple. Deceptively so.

Would admiral Janeway spend eternity sparring with the Queen?

Would she spend it severing the arms of bipeds, gouging out one eye and several internal organs? Perhaps Maintaining a transwarp coil? A sensor hub?

Would their be eternity for admiral Janeway?

I do understand. Sometimes I think of my parents. When the cargo bay is quiet like this, when the majority of the ship sleeps.

I also know that she can't quite decide which option is heaven and which is hell. Or if any really are. Whether the verb indicates choice or an existential quandary.

Sweet Kathryn.

Part 2