Consciousness came slowly, a gradual slide into awareness, so different from other periods waking from regeneration. This time, however, her eyelids seemed unusually heavy, and awareness seemed to settle like a palpable weight on her limbs. She felt her body anew, more keenly than ever before, and every part seemed to ache. It was as if she could feel the very blood running through her veins, quick passages of heat and liquid density filling her body. Her breath suddenly seemed a burden, and she opened her mouth to catch more air, laboring to capture elongated draughts in her mouth.
Weariness descended gradually, weighing on already-aching limbs, seeming to penetrate into her very thought patterns. She tried to open her eyes, failed, then tried once more; on the fourth attempt, the room came into focus. Relief suffused her awareness as she registered the familiar lights and shapes of Voyager’s Cargo Bay Two, heard the faint, familiar hum of the Federation ship’s warp engines. She blinked twice, fearful each time that the illusion would dissipate, and that she would be caught once more on the Krigi vessel.
Then her eyes turned to a figure slumped over in a nearby chair, and her face softened. Seven of Nine gazed for long moments at a sleeping Kathryn Janeway, whose body had sagged to one side in the chair, exposing the open pages of a book spread out on her lap.
Seven felt a burning sensation in her eyes and blinked furiously, still reflexively fighting an unfamiliar urge to cry. Her throat working soundlessly with a restrained joy, her eyes remaining fixated on the silent sleeper. She wanted to stay in the moment, lest it prove to be an illusion, a fitful vision of a wishful dream. Perhaps her actual body still lay in the grasp of Intern Leov. The Borg forced her thoughts away from this path.
Kathryn.
So many days had been spent in the Krigi’s possession. So many long hours enduring scientific examination, so much time spent trying to remember her time with Voyager, as solace by which she could forget the things being done to her by Leov. And so much time spent remembering Kathryn. Cherishing the hours of lovemaking in the captain’s quarters, the nights holding the smaller woman and truly understanding the human concept of love between two people; comprehending with every thought and memory how much a single person could matter in one’s life; and grieving the loss of this love, this passion.
Kathryn.
Seven moved forward, briefly grasping onto the alcove chambers to maintain balance as a wave of weakness swept through her. She straightened, breathing deeply. Her first ginger steps carried her down the pedestal and in front of Kathryn. She knelt slowly, trying to remain as silent as possible, still somewhat disbelieving that this vision was real. She took another breath, this one shakier than before, if only to moderate a powerful urge to feel, to touch, to discover if truly she was saved. Or if this was a mad vision induced by desperation and so much pain.
“Kathryn,” she whispered, her voice dropping lower, hesitant. With her Borg hand, she reached out, smoothing away errant auburn locks covering the captain’s eyes. She held her breath then, as ultra-sensitive Borg sensors detected warm, smooth skin, an achingly familiar tactile sensation. She had to have more. With her other hand, she reached up, lightly cupping the strong jaw, yet not daring to move her lover’s head.
She moved closer, savoring Janeway’s warmth and the slight tanginess of her body scent. For long minutes, Seven remained in a crouch, staring at Janeway with a rare intensity, as her thoughts turned to the days spent with the Krigi, when pain and captivity and utter vulnerability had made her feel more isolated than she ever had felt before — even more isolated than that first terrifying disconnection from the Collective. So many memories, glaringly vivid ones from her time as a drone, had been awakened during Leov’s examinations; so many recollections stirred and relived once more.
She had learned much about guilt and self-recrimination in the first, paralyzing rounds of memory suffusion. Later, however, new realizations had blossomed, as her mind worked to reconcile these emotions with the reality of her very existence.
There would be much to share with Kathryn, she decided somewhat reluctantly, her joy now tempered by a sober reality. She knew the captain would ask many questions about the Krigi and their use of her. She knew that some answers would disturb Kathryn — while others would be incomprehensible to the human captain, and thereby perhaps even unacceptable.
As she studied the captain’s slumbering visage, she shivered.
Captain Kathryn Janeway stood with her arms folded, leaning against a console in Voyager’s sickbay. She watched intently as the Doctor completed a series of diagnostics on Seven of Nine. The ex-Borg officer lay quietly on the biobed, her eyes shaded by half-shut lids, her silence adding to Janeway’s general frustration.
The captain stifled another sigh. The first debriefing session had been disturbing, she reflected, shivers running down her spine as she recalled Seven’s cool, clinical descriptions of Leov’s mental intrusions and physical punishments. For a brief moment, Janeway had wanted to turn around the ship and re-enter Krigi space to wreak vengeance on the Intern, who was slated to stand trial for her crimes against the Krigi people.
It was a difficult moment, made all the more unbearable as she had watched Seven’s eyes slide away, turning inward in a way that she had rarely seen. There was pain of an unspoken quality, the captain guessed, and her heart had ached once more with a powerful urge to shelter her young lover as best she could. But she had failed to provide much protection — in fact, without the intervention of Krigi rebel forces there would have been no rescue, and Seven of Nine would surely have suffered and died under the sadistic attentions of the alien scientists.
Janeway hugged herself more tightly. All she wanted to do right now was take Seven out of sickbay, into her quarters, and hold the younger woman as closely as possible, for as long as it would take until they both felt safe again.
And she had to find out what Seven was not saying. From the first joyous moments that she had awakened in the cargo hold to find Seven staring down at her, with a gaze of almost frightening intensity and seriousness, she had known in her gut that something momentous had occurred. Something beyond mere physical torture and mental intrusions. Somehow, Janeway understood this.
Perhaps it was the way that Seven paused repeatedly while describing certain cranial experiments performed by Leov, or the way that her eyes fell from Janeway’s gaze when recounting the Intern’s exploration of assimilation data paths, or even the way that Seven had insisted upon debriefing first, before they could be alone together. For a brief, nerve-wracking moment, Janeway actually had worried that Seven’s feelings for her had changed — but one look into ice-blue eyes had dispelled this irrational fear. No, thought Janeway, there was something else, something more.
The Doctor straightened up, looking satisfied. “Just a few more days regenerating, Seven, and your nanoprobes will be properly energized.” He looked over at the captain, nodding. “My medical advice is to prescribe a couple of days of sick leave. I don’t want her performing any strenuous activities, especially mental ones. Her cranial region is still stressed from the experience.” He frowned in disgust. “The Intern was knowledgeable, but no less of a butcher.”
Janeway expelled a slow breath, feeling some of her fury dissipate at the prospect of time alone with Seven. “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll make sure that she gets proper rest.” She looked at Seven. “Consider yourself off duty for the next two days, crewman.”
Seven merely shrugged, her face expressionless. “May I leave sickbay now, Doctor?” she asked coolly.
The hologram seemed faintly offended, and Janeway suspected he had hoped Seven would opt to spend time with him. Yet he merely frowned and replied dourly, “Of course. There’s nothing keeping you here.”
The blonde officer acknowledged his reply with one swift nod, then crisply addressed Janeway. “Captain. Shall we proceed to your quarters?”
Janeway carefully maintained a placid expression, even as she cringed slightly at Seven’s forwardness. She ignored the Doctor’s startled expression. “Of course. Let’s go.” With a small smile, she thanked the Doctor, and the two departed from sickbay.
Seven walked quickly, deliberately, her features impassive. Janeway found herself practically jogging to keep up, even as her mind raced to find something to say, something light to accompany their flight to her quarters. But there was little she could think to say, even in the turbo lift, when that strange silence seemed to deepen into a near-solid presence. Seven of Nine seemed content to study the lift walls, then immediately strode out as soon as it stopped on Janeway’s level.
A feeling of disquiet was building in the captain. Something was wrong. She knew this, could sense it like a looming cloud chilling the environs. As they entered the captain’s quarters, as the door finally closed behind Janeway, she managed to formulate a response. “Seven, darling, what is wrong?”
The younger woman had proceeded directly to the large view bay of the main living area, her back to Janeway, arms linked behind in a familiar stance. The captain noted the taut line of her shoulder, the rigid way she held herself, as though she dared not even breathe. Slowly, Janeway made her way near Seven, careful not to touch her oddly quiet lover. She stopped a mere foot from Seven, her arms aching to reach out and touch the blonde. But she balled her hands into fists and waited.
For long seconds, Seven stood still, staring pensively into the dark space of a warped star field. Then, suddenly, as though she had reached some sort of liberating decision, she exhaled mightily, and swung around to face Janeway. Her eyes, usually so light, had turned a dark blue, almost navy in their somberness. They seemed to bore through Janeway with a startling intensity.
“There is more to share with you, but I did not wish to do so in the Doctor’s presence,” Seven replied in a low voice.
At this, the captain lost the fight to resist touching her lover. She reached up with eager, almost shaking hands, and grasped Seven’s shoulders. “Darling, whatever you need to say,” she offered, her voice harsh with emotion, “I’m here to listen. What else did they do to you? Did they—“
“Not now,” interrupted Seven. Her arms suddenly stretched out, and she pulled the captain into a rough embrace. Hungrily, Seven’s hands ran over Janeway’s back, shoulders, sides and up again to cradle the captain in a fierce embrace. The captain gasped, surprised at the urgency in Seven’s physical display.
“I have missed you, Kathryn,” Seven whispered, that intense gaze seeming to burn with a dark passion. Before Janeway could respond, she was being kissed with rough need, Seven’s tongue flicking open Janeway’s mouth, Seven’s strong arms pulling her into a tighter embrace, Seven’s hands traveling down to her buttocks and squeezing the smaller woman into a full body press.
Janeway moaned into the forceful kisses, which seemed to probe deeper and wetter with every passing second. For a shattering moment, she allowed herself to release her own pent-up need, matching Seven’s passion with her own, demanding as much as her lover seemed to want, her senses overwhelmed with the pleasure of remembered curves and intoxicating desire. Then she caught herself, as a stray thought anchored onto the pain suffered so recently by Seven. The captain tore herself from the kiss, arching back her head and breathing harshly, her arms planted firmly on the Borg’s chest. “Seven, love, maybe we should talk first.”
Seven looked down at her with those impossibly dark eyes, then reached up with a human finger to trail down her left cheek. Janeway swallowed hard as the warm touch seemed to blaze heat around her face. “No,” Seven responded softly, watching intently as her finger trailed down Janeway’s throat and neck. “We will make love first.”
Janeway gasped at these soft words, an erotic charge surging through her. She moaned as Seven captured her lips once more in a fevered, open kiss, and no longer did she try to temper the arousal flowing through her body, seemingly connecting the two women in a palpable mesh of desire, need and almost desperate passion. She crushed her body to Seven’s, loving the feel of her lover’s lithe, muscled frame, even appreciating the familiar ridges of the abdominal implant. Suddenly, she felt a tremendous need to see this body, to feel and touch and claim once more this unique, beautiful woman. She tried to step back, to urge them into the bedroom, but Seven had already sensed this need, for the captain was swept into strong, unyielding arms, as the kisses lingered and deepened with growing intensity, and she barely felt any movement until she was being lowered onto her bed.
Her clothes were quickly, efficiently, stripped from her body, with rapid tears that only served to make her wetter, feel more wanton than she ever had before. And then Seven’s naked body was on top of her, grinding her into the bed with an undeniable firmness. Janeway groaned in pleasure, loving the authority with which the blonde was taking her — the hands that seemed to be everywhere, making love to her with an urgency rough with need. She cried out when Seven penetrated her with two strong fingers, thumb circling on her slick nub.
An intensity unlike any other was building in Janeway, and she moaned thickly, her senses overwhelmed by the surging fingers, the wet mouth pulling and licking and sucking her breasts. When Seven’s mouth left her breasts, she whimpered in puzzlement, then gasped out loud as it murmured up her throat, lingered around her sensitive ear lobes, and then captured her mouth in a searing kiss, deep and open.
And the long fingers continued to thrust into her, sending her higher and higher, until finally her awareness seemed to explode into a mind-shattering orgasm, and she cried out in utter abandon, her body spasming in ecstasy. “Seven…oh love,” she whispered helplessly and repeatedly. Vaguely, she felt warm, full lips caressing her temple, felt a tongue travel down her throat and tease her breasts once more. She continued to shake, her eyes closed, savoring the lingering, rippling sensations and utterly loving the woman who held her so firmly, yet tenderly.
Through a sensual haze, she heard a soft utterance, its sweet force resounding through every fiber of her being. “I love you, Kathryn.”
And she smiled brilliantly, eyes finally opening to gaze upon her lover. With gentle knuckles, she caressed Seven’s left cheek. “And I love you, darling. I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered back, her husky voice breaking with a sudden sob. At this sound, she was swept up again in strong arms and held close. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to imprint the smell of their lovemaking on her very being.
Seven of Nine lay for long hours, watching Janeway sleep in the crook of her arms. The hours of fevered lovemaking had tired the human captain, though, allowed Seven, possibly the long days of separation and worry also had contributed to Kathryn’s general exhaustion. She trailed a finger lightly over a delicate cheek, then gently laid her own cheek against it. Eyes closing in contentment, Seven wrapped herself more securely around the smaller, beloved frame. For many minutes, this most efficient crewmember — renowned for her predilection to juggle various massive projects and who could not stand ordinarily to waste time or energy — wished for nothing more but to pass the rest of her life in this comforting hold, in this stillness and silence, with this human woman safely and tightly held in her arms.
Then the moment was broken as the captain stirred. Janeway twisted in Seven’s arms, bleary grey-blue eyes warming instantly as she gazed upon the blonde. Quietly, she leaned over and kissed Seven’s full lips, uttering a note of contentment from deep in her throat. “Did you sleep at all, darling?” she asked huskily, breaking off the kiss.
“No, Kathryn,” responded Seven, “however, I am feeling quite well.”
That brought a sensual smile to the captain’s face. “I feel ‘quite well,’ too, darling. I’m sure that has something to do with making love with you.” Her gaze turned serious. “I’m so glad you’re back here, where you belong.”
Seven nodded. “Must you report to duty today?”
Janeway’s smile deepened. “No, I don’t.” She cleared her throat, then commanded the computer to log her off for today, due to personal priority. She gazed evenly at Seven. “We have the whole day to…catch up.” She paused. “I know there are things we need to talk about, darling. Things you need to share with me. We can do it whenever you like. I’m here for you…completely.”
Seven nodded once more, a shadow flitting across her face. She turned away, allowing herself to fall back into the comfort of the bed. Around her, she felt the bed shift as Janeway turned to face her. Nothing was spoken, but Seven could feel herself being studied by the captain’s sober eyes. Silently, the Borg fought the urge to leave the room, to dress and seek refuge in her alcove. Avoidance, she told herself, would merely serve to exacerbate the issue, perhaps even introducing an unnecessary level of tension to the discussion.
She felt Kathryn reach over with a tentative hand, then felt that hand anchor itself to her upper waist. “Would you like to talk now, love?”
The gentle, husky tone, the love resonating through the phrase, touched Seven deeply. She closed her eyes and swallowed heavily. “I believe we must,” she answered.
She rose up, sitting upright in the bed. Janeway did likewise, a pensive, concerned expression now filling her face. Seven paused, took a deep breath, then looked the other woman directly in the eyes.
“My ordeal aboard the Krigi vessel,” she began, her voice clipped and strong, “led to a series of revelations. When Intern Leov conducted cranial examinations, she found a number of assimilation data paths. When she accessed them, they triggered precise recollections of assimilations in which I functioned as a direct participant. In a sense, Kathryn, I re-lived those assimilations, seeing anew and with precise detail the actions that I took, as well as the actions and reactions of the targeted species.”
Seven paused, seeing Janeway’s face go white. The starship captain swallowed slowly, her face seeming sadder. But the eyes never left Seven’s face, and she nodded at the ex-Borg to continue.
“This time, however, I…experienced…the assimilations differently. Rather than relying on the Collective to filter out…emotions,” her eyes dropped away for a second, then lifted to meet Janeway’s once more, “…I was forced to deal with them directly. This occurred many times, for Intern Leov was mainly interested in assimilation data.”
Seven’s voice trailed off once more. Seeing this, the captain reached over and gently grasped both of her hands. “I can’t imagine what you must have felt, darling,” Janeway whispered, trying to infuse her words with as much love as she could.
The ex-Borg woman shut her eyes at these words. For a moment, she focused on the warmth of Kathryn’s touch, allowing it to permeate through her awareness. Taking another deep breath, she opened her eyes and continued. “Initially, I felt much self-hatred and guilt for my part in the assimilation process.”
Janeway looked confused. “Initially?”
Seven gazed at her evenly, feeling the other woman’s grasp loosen slightly. An ache of emotional pain welled up in her stomach, but she forced herself to ignore it. She willed herself to continue, to discuss with this woman what she needed to share, if only to see if indeed they could continue in the relationship. “After the first 38 data path recollections, I began to understand that guilt and self-recrimination are not productive emotions for me to dwell upon,” she asserted in precise tones. “Rather, my time as a drone necessarily precluded guilt.”
Janeway had stilled as Seven continued. Now, as the ex-Borg paused to look at her, the captain sat up fully, moving her hands to settle on Seven’s thighs.
Seven calmly returned Janeway’s intense, pensive gaze. But a part of the young ex-Borg quailed at the complexity of the captain’s stare, recognizing the emotions swirling in grey eyes as part of an internal battle playing out silently. The younger woman was grateful for the continued physical contact, however, as she had become hyper-aware of those instances when Janeway did, and did not, touch her. Her throat suddenly began to hurt, and Seven expelled a breath quickly, surprised to realize that she had been holding it in unconsciously.
“So…you have no guilt because you were a drone?” Janeway’s voice was quiet, calm.
“I have no guilt because if I were placed in the same situation again, I would invariably perform the same functions in the same manner. I fail to see how my actions could have been different. A Borg drone will do what that drone is tasked to accomplish.”
“But surely you have remorse for what you did as a Borg drone?”
Seven cringed inwardly as she heard the frustration edging Janeway’s tone, as she felt the warm hands retreat partially from her thighs. But she continued, trying to explain herself in a way that Janeway could understand — if that was possible. “Again, remorse is a non-factor. I fail to see how remorse, guilt or other manifestations of self-recrimination would be productive in my situation. I understand that many others on board this vessel wish me to feel such emotions. I understand that…you…wish it as well.” Seven’s face tightened. “Yet I cannot truly be regretful of actions that could not have been otherwise. I cannot be guilty of choosing when there was no choice.”
She held up a hand to silence Janeway, who had started to flush and sputter. “Furthermore, I refuse to be ashamed of my Borg history.”
The other woman seemed somewhat stunned by this statement. “What are you saying, Seven?”
Seven quietly moved to grasp Janeway’s hands in her own, noting with alarm how cold they had become. She began to caress those cold hands with her own palms, but Kathryn barely seemed to notice, for all her attention was riveted on the discussion.
“I am Borg, Kathryn. And I believe I shall be Borg for as long as I live. I will never be the Human you believe I could become. My experiences are distinct, even unique, as a single, disconnected former Borg drone. My orientation towards the universe is beyond that of a singular species, even one enriched by interactions with many others.”
Janeway remained silent, her eyes dropping to gaze, somewhat unseeing, at their joined hands. The ensuing quiet did not surprise Seven of Nine. She had expected it, albeit with some disappointment. It would take some time for Kathryn to come to terms with the ramifications of what she was sharing, if indeed it occurred at all.
Then Janeway lifted her eyes, a flash of lightning in the volatile grey eyes. “I think you are misunderstanding what it means to be Human, Seven. You are Human. Annika Han—“
“She is no more,” interrupted Seven gently. “Annika Hansen was taken by the Borg. That individual no longer exists. I am not Annika Hansen. Nor do I wish to be.” She took a deep breath, squeezing the smaller hands with a tender force. “Please understand, Kathryn. My ordeal among the Krigi allowed me to reflect upon the totality of my existence, some aspects of which may be interpreted as unfortunate. If I were allowed a choice, I would not necessarily have taken some actions. But there is more to being Borg than simply assimilation.”
A silence descended upon the two women. Seven felt her pulse begin to relax, though she knew the discussion was far from over. However, she was pleased and grateful that Kathryn still allowed their physical contact; if anything, it indicated that Janeway’s reflexive response to Seven’s revelations was not revulsion or disgust or rejection, as Seven had feared they could be.
Now, as she gazed upon the other woman, whose head was bent in silent reverie, she felt a surge of powerful, protective love. And she dared to believe that Janeway’s professed love was as real as the captain had insisted.
“Seven.” Janeway’s soft voice broke the stillness.
The ex-Borg exhaled quietly, her stomach tensing unexpectedly. “Kathryn?”
Grey eyes lifted to meet her own blue stare, and Seven felt her mouth go dry. Past the confusion and uncertainty edging that steely gaze, she could see so much love — in shades of warmth and desire and devotion.
And then Janeway smiled, a smile of complex variation, tremulous in force, uncertain in depth, yet somehow fully open and vulnerable.
“In the past, you’ve come to me for philosophical discussions on being Human,” the captain began slowly, “have you not?”
Seven nodded.
“Well,” continued Janeway quietly, “perhaps we can have more such discussions. But this time, you must educate me on what it means to be Borg.”
Seven inhaled sharply, feeling a sudden twinge in her stomach. It wasn’t pain, she decided dizzily. It was happiness.
Janeway leaned closer, her breath sweetly wafting on Seven’s face. “I don’t really know what it means to be Borg, my darling. Yet it appears that I love a Borg.”
And that tremulous smile reappeared, for an instant before it was captured by Seven’s delighted kiss.
Captain Kathryn Janeway silently surveyed Sandrine’s as her dinner companion carefully refilled their wineglasses. The expressions on many of the faces around the room were carefully guarded, but she could feel the tenor of the evening in her bones, could gauge the mood of the room as easily as Seven could calculate multiple simultaneous equations.
She would need to reach out more intensively on her usual rounds as captain, she decided. Her crew must be reminded of Janeway the captain, their leader who, for good or bad, was guiding them through a remarkable journey in uncharted territory. This reality, at least for now, would be needed in order to balance out the image of Janeway, the lover of the ship’s resident Borg. This latter image was not being received so graciously, she knew, as she caught a slight grimace on a human ensign’s face.
“Kathryn,” Seven murmured softly, “are you disturbed? Do you wish to leave?” She leaned forward with concern, the implant above her left eye glinting dully in the candlelight.
The captain returned her gaze to Seven, a smile slowly building as she drank in the beauty facing her. Seven’s blonde hair was hanging loose in laconic waves, curling inwards at the tips. She wore a strapless red dress that quite shamelessly displayed her long, elegant throat and creamy shoulders, including the implant in her right bicep.
Perfection, thought Janeway dazedly, and not for the first time.
“Kathryn?” Seven repeated, with more anxiety in her voice.
Janeway shook her head. “Darling, I am right where I want to be,” she declared quietly.
“Some of the crew, notably the Humans, are not pleased that you are on a date with me,” the blonde asserted in a low voice.
The captain took a breath, feeling a sharp tug of love as she noted the worry in Seven’s voice. Again, she shook her head.
“Don’t worry, Seven,” she said, her voice husky with affection. “They’ll just have to adapt, even the Humans.” She raised her wineglass, eying it speculatively. “After all, I did. And I am no less human than they.”
Seven’s eyes glowed with unconcealed love.
“Indeed.”