She waited for several long moments.

Several very, very long moments.

Not long for her, because she had infinite patience, but incredibly long for the auburn haired vixen currently crouched behind a storage crate in the corner of Cargo Bay Two. She wasn’t as young as she used to be, and waiting for hours on end in compromising positions spying on supple young virgins was becoming very trying indeed. A sharp pang was eating its way up her calves, and various little aches were scrambling up her thighs and piercing her back with white hot needles. Sweat was seeping out of her hairline and running down her cheeks, but she remained valiant.

Waiting.

Seven of Nine was well aware of the older woman. She could detect her presence by the scent of coffee, arousal, and hairspray alone, and the incessant heavy breathing and frequent husky whimpers did nothing to help conceal her more. Despite this, the ex-Borg made no move to acknowledge the other woman, who she knew had been there for hours.

Waiting.

They were currently hurtling through calm, empty space. There were no bipedal alien hombres with erogenous ridges and obnoxious growths chasing them, no omnipotent dimwits soliciting Janeway, no gaseous enigmas attempting to hump Voyager. Everything was boring and normal and absolutely monotonous.

And Janeway wasn’t handling it well. She had been left to her own devices to garner entertainment. At first she had taken to pestering various crewwomen, but after a thoroughly ruffled Tal Celes had banded together with an even rufflier half-Klingon and attempted to stick something where it didn’t belong, the Captain had begun to spend her off time, and most of her on-time, in Cargo Bay Two.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Seven of Nine stood for a moment longer, holding back a satisfied smirk.

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

Her mesh hand slowly moved up her biosuit, the cool metal cased fingers slipping into the collar. She pulled slowly, slowly, slowly, until the crotch-enthused woman could take it no longer.

“OOPS, SORRY!” Janeway burst from behind a storage bin, her expression beyond feral for a moment before realizing that she had, yet again, been defeated. Depressed, she slouched forward and jutted her lower lip out in a defeated pout.

It took every ounce of strength in Seven’s body to control the uncomfortable laughter that rippled up her spine, but she managed to remain comfortably aloof.

“Captain?” she inquired with a quirk of her enhanced brow.

She adjusted her posture so that the orbs of Janeway’s desire were magnificently prominent, her lips twitching involuntarily at the puppy-dog face it earned her. The older woman stood for a moment, her eyes trained on the objects of her affection, before shuffling unhappily out of the Cargo Bay.

After a few minutes, Seven sealed the door and reached behind her neck, unzipping her biosuit. She shivered as the cool air hit her skin, and reveled in the feeling for a moment.

She took a deep breath, her chest rising as her diaphragm contracted, and let it out slowly.

Slowly.

Slowly.

Slowly.

“OOPS, SORRY!”

Seven yelped and stumbled back, clutching the limp garment to her front. Several flashes echoed about the room, blinding the semi-cybernetic woman. Blinking fiercely, the blurry forms of her a slender Bajoran woman and a stocky Klingon engineer came into focus.

Both ran from the Cargo Bay giggling madly, a holo-camera clutched between their hands, crashing into an equally excited Captain in the corridor. After several moments of wrestling, slapping and biting, all three managed to calm down enough to share the holographic display in front of them.

“Y-you used the flash?!” Janeway screeched.

Seven of Nine stood in all of her naked glory, her most precious aspects obscured by glimmering bands of light sheening off her various implants. All of their efforts had been wasted. All of the planning, scheming, and fighting had been worthless.