“I don’t know if I can ever tell her how important she is to me, how beautiful, how the time moves too slowly when she is away from me. How can I say it? How can I tell her…I love her?”
Personal log, Kathryn Janeway, Stardate 54731.2.
I read some silly name chart once, when I was a girl, that told about the kind of person you were in romance based on the first letter of your first name. Silly, right? After all, I’m a scientist. I work with fact. But I came to realize that it was actually dead on for me. I really am attracted to personal strength, intellect and intelligence … and physical beauty, particularly the eyes. I find these qualities so incredibly sexy, and appealing. Didn’t somebody once say that windows are the eyes to the soul, or something like that?
God. I just hate it when I get like this. These long nights when I know that there is nothing better waiting for me, that for the next thirty or forty years, all I have to look forward to is a good glass of wine, a good book, and a good, well, I guess I don't need to go there right now. It’s just … not enough.
And now. GOD! What do I do know? I don’t know what to make of this. She couldn’t be so careless, could she? It had to be an error. I simply cannot believe that she would have saved such a personal file to the wrong database. This is Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct to Unimatrix Zero-One. Walking perfection…
So, was it an error? Was it a cruel prank? I can’t believe that anyone on board this ship would be so callous, to Seven, or to me! Could they? And why would they care if I heard this? To make me what, jealous?
I know I always worry about how the crew sees me. But I don’t think I’ve ever really believed that they didn’t respect me. Dislike me, oh yes, particularly after receiving a less than enticing duty assignment, or a negative evaluation. I really don’t have to do that very often, but I have, on occasion, had to place a reprimand in someone’s personnel file. I understand how hard it is to keep motivated out here, to find a reason to carry on, day after day… If only they realized just how hard it is, for all of us. Well, maybe they do, but that just proves my point even more. I don’t believe any of this crew would act so maliciously.
But how do I explain the file then? Could Seven have meant for me to see it, for someone to see it? No. It’s not... There must be some other explanation.
And whom could she be speaking of? I’ve never seen her react or respond to anyone on this crew in a romantic manner. There was that whole Chapman fiasco… I can’t believe the Doctor let her do that, encouraged it even. I understand he wanted to help. Perhaps his own loneliness caused him to project his own feelings, longings. Can a hologram have longings? Sometimes I miss the simplicity of flesh and blood.
But, poor Seven. I was so afraid she’d be emotionally scarred, put off by the humiliation I’m sure she felt from that…experience. Thank God it never escalated to anything physical. At least, I don’t think it did. Considering what happened when she tried to dance, I bet we would have heard if there had been anything more.
How can a Captain be so interested in the petty ‘goings-on’ of her ship and crew? Shouldn’t I be above all that? Godamnit! I am human. I have desires, needs. I enjoy a bit of gossip just as much as the next person, although I’m just not supposed to show it. Well, screw ‘em if they can’t take a joke. Besides, right now, the only gossip I’m interested in would be Seven wanting to dance with her Captain, slowly, closely…
Oh, if anyone ever hears these I will be so humiliated. Lusting after one of my crew? And that is what I’ve been doing. My God. I have been, haven’t I? Kathryn, you bad, bad girl.
(…Maybe I should cut myself off. No more wine for Katie tonight…)
Well, I’m sure I’m not the only one. I’m sure Seven has probably been the object of more than one fantasy since arriving on Voyager. I’ve seen the, um, reactions she has caused some members of this crew, whether they know it or not. Even the good, solid, sturdy Commander has noticed things ‘looking up’ when…
“Chakotay to the Captain.”
Computer, pause entry… (Oh my God. It would be just perfect for me to have left a comm channel open. I have got to stop drinking right before I record my logs, though it does make for some interesting reading the next day. It’s probably the only time I can be honest, anyway, with myself.)
“Uh, yes, Chakotay. I’m here.”
“Captain, the away team has returned.”
“Ahh. Any problems?”
“None reported. I’ll debrief them and give you their reports in the morning.”
“Thank you, Chakotay. Have a good night.”
“Aye, Captain. Good night.”
Computer, resume recording. I think I just jumped a foot and a half. Nothing like a little alcohol induced stupor to fire a sexual fantasy, followed by some good old fashioned paranoia. I wonder what the crew would think if they ever did realize that I was just as human as they are? I guess there’s not a great chance of that happening. Not out here, anyway.
So, where was I? Oh yes. Chakotay rising to the occasion when Seven enters the room. I wonder if she’s ever noticed?
Beep. Beep! What?! Why couldn’t they have made the damn computer chime a little more interesting. Some Beethoven, perhaps? Mahler lieder?
Wha… What? What the hell is this?
“I find her so incredibly sexy and appealing. God, I would love to run my hands all over her body, her curves, run my fingers through her hair. I would love to kiss her neck, nuzzle her skin. I would love to gently take one of her hardened nipples into my mouth, gently roll it around, nip it with my teeth, suck on it, and flick it with my tongue until she was moaning deeply.”
Pause playback. Oh my God. Maybe just one more drink. Computer…whiskey, up.
“I would love to run my hands down to her thighs, feel the muscles beneath the skin, the softness of the flesh, the heat rising from between. I would love to slowly run my hand upwards until it reaches the warm softness, the wetness, the incredible smoothness that is a woman. I would love to taste her, to run my tongue up to her most sensitive region, to that little bundle of nerves that can cause so much intensity, so much pleasure. I would love to slowly, so gently, move one finger inside of her, feeling that first tightness, the ring of muscles, then the release as I pass through it, into the warm, wet, snugness, the velvety walls weeping pleasure as I softly caress them, drawing out even more moisture. I would look into her eyes, move my mouth back to her soft breasts, then to her lips, slowly caressing them with my tongue. I would swallow her moans, her pants, her little cries of pleasure, while drawing even more whimpers from her lips by my ministrations lower down.
I would love to plunge another finger, then another deep into her, filling her with tenderness and sensuality, slowly but surely building her tension to unbearable levels, to where she could no longer form a coherent thought, to where she was merely a lump of writhing passion, begging for release. Then, with great sincerity, with the utmost seriousness and determination, I would concentrate all my efforts on her hardened and erect node, rubbing and massaging it, bringing her almost to the edge, then lightening my touch until it’s almost nothing, just before she reaches the pinnacle, causing a slight fluttering of muscles surrounding my fingers, spreading a wave of pleasure out from that one central point, like a spiderweb, with sweet vibrations echoing along the strands until they threaten to break, to rip apart from the sheer intensity of the convulsions.
I would love to feel her fingers dig into my shoulders as she lies helpless from her passion, needing to brace herself on something, but not having the strength with which to do so. I would love to hold her, to cradle her limp, damp form in my arms, to kiss the salty tears of release from her cheeks, to enfold her in a protective cocoon, warding off the insecurities, the fears of vulnerability, the small sobs and shudders of aftershock. I would love to smooth her hair back, caress her face, slowly bringing her back to this plane of existence, back from the realm of the spiritual, where, in that one moment of ecstasy, we know the universe by name.
I would love to tell her that she is, my…”
My…what? My… Oh, my. Computer, lower ambient temperature by five degrees.
Who is this person? Who could possibly have Seven so, so…stirred up. Could she even realize what she’s saying? Does she… How would she even know how to do those things, unless… God. I guess I’ve always just assumed that Seven was, well, asexual doesn’t really cover it, and celibate implies a conscious choice. I’m not sure exactly how I’ve thought of her, sexually. I suppose I’ve tried not to. Too tempting? Perhaps.
What am I saying? Then again, what am I not saying? I think that there is really no room for doubt anymore concerning my feelings for her. And no one could possibly be more surprised than I. I certainly never thought I’d fall for a woman. I’ve never been so attracted to one before. But then, I’ve never met anyone like Seven before either. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ve seen women who I would have just loved to sleep with. They were so beautiful, so alluring. But it’s not just Seven’s physical beauty that I find so appealing. There is so much more. (Although, after that last little bit of prose I’d be happy to ravish her.)
No. That’s not the right word. I, well, I would just love to love her, like she obviously loves whoever this mysterious woman is.
She has everything I have always wanted in a mate. Her mind, her body…her childlike view of the world…her ability to retain a certain amount of innocence, while facing reality better than most of us…her ability to melt me with just the slightest twitch of her mouth…her ‘droll’ sense of humor. And those eyes. Those damn eyes. They simply captivate me. It’s a wonder the whole ship hasn’t noticed how I must force my concentration whenever she looks at me. Or have they?
I just don’t… More beeping? Oh. I can’t take any more of this.
“I would love to hold her to me as if my life depended on it, to feel the beating of her heart, one with mine, as I told her how I loved her, how I needed her, how she was the reason for my being.”
Oh. To know that depth of emotion must be…
“Seven of Nine to the Captain….Captain Janeway, respond.”
(Shit! What was that about paranoia?)
“What is it Seven. I’m a little…busy right now.”
“I must tell you something.”
“It’ll have to wait until tomorrow. I’m…”
“Kindly disengage your privacy lock so I may enter.”
(Unlock the damn door? She’s here?)
“Ok. You’re in.”
(Why do I listen to her?)
“What is it?”
“I was alerted that you have accessed my personal logs.”
“Seven! I didn’t… It wasn’t…” (Oh shit.)
“Since you have already heard my most personal thoughts, perhaps you should hear the rest.”
“Seven, I really don’t think that’s necessary. I’m sorry that… I don’t know how it happened. Of course, nothing will leave…”
“Captain. You will listen to the end.”
“But Seven, you need to know that I did not, would never…”
“The end, Captain.”
“But…. (Ohhh) Go on.”
(What do I have to lose now anyway?)
“I would love to tell her how she possesses me, body and soul, how she is, my…”
“What Seven. You would love to tell her how she is your what?”
“She is … My Kathryn.”