Casually Rough

No one remembered how it started. It could have been the result of stress, of being alone, of waiting for the years to pass. There was a need in the crew, one of many, and in a small way this need was met. Too often their lives had been in danger. It wasn't just in a personal way either. If their ship was stolen, if Voyager was destroyed or damaged beyond repair, or even worn out from too much hard use, they were lost. They all needed something. A thing that would remind them of their mortality, but also of the fact that they were still alive, despite it all.

Captain Janeway became aware of it first, as you would expect. Her knowledge of her crew by now, was beyond close. It was intimate. Maybe not in the physical way you would use that word, but in her reading of their moods and rhythms, their fads and diversions, their enthusiasm or lack of it. I didn't have that skill. I would never learn it. But I was never in command.

I will relate the incident the Captain witnessed. It was not the first. It was the one she remembers. It is the one we still talk about.

I was in Engineering; the reason is unimportant. The Captain was listening to a report from Chief Engineer B'Elanna Torres. I reached behind Torres to get a phase coil inverter, and her elbow struck me in the cheek. Hard.

`Seven. Didn't see you there.' Torres glanced behind her, and resumed talking to the Captain.

`I am unhurt.' A small falsehood. My cheek stung and pain shot through my temple and along my jaw. I could still function. It was unpleasant, but not unbearable. The Captain glanced at me, frowned, opened her mouth as if to speak, but was distracted by the Engineer's report. I collected my tool and left.

It wasn't until I'd returned to my alcove and started processing the day's events that I realised Torres had not used standard human dialog patterns during our encounter. She had not said "sorry".

********

The Sandrines program. It had been a while since Paris had changed the setting back. The crew liked it well enough. Maybe it reminded them of the earlier, more optimistic days of their journey before they realised just how long 70 years really was. I felt a hand grasp my shoulder and squeeze. Chakotay. I could tell without looking. His grip was firm, and his large hand warm and steady. I felt a thumb rub against my shoulder blade. Hmm. That was new.

`Captain? May I join you?'

`Of course. Drink?'

`I have one.' He left his hand there, on my shoulder, a second longer before he pulled a chair up to the table. We said nothing. Just not drinking alone was enough. It was crowded and the usual jostling for room at the bar, or for places at the pool table made the small room seem even smaller. But was this jostling "usual"? I thought about the incident in Engineering that day, when B'Elanna had accidentally elbowed Seven in the face. An accident, surely. I watched the activity in the bar more closely. By the end of my drink it was certain.

`Chakotay. Watch Harry and Tom. Over there.' I nodded to the pool table. `See anything odd?'

The Commander looked past me, checking the players, watching for a while. I watched him. Did his face change expression? Were his thoughts visible in his gestures, his stance, the way he held his glass? No. No one could read this man. He smiled. He frowned. That was about it. I guess that's why I'd read him wrong for so long. Until his betrayal. Over Seven. I sat back and wiped a wet hand from the chilled glass against my leg. That was a long time ago. Years. But still...

I watched the pool players too. Tom was reaching for a long cue, pushing past a crewman standing close to the rack. He bumped into him with a hip, snaking an arm behind the man who seemed determined not to budge. They were both smiling. Harry was lining up a shot. Another crewman was leaning on the edge of the table pointing with a finger, marking a spot on the wall that would be a perfect rebound for the white to hit the four ball. Harry looked up, nodded, then reached out the point of the cue to prod the woman in the chest, pushing her away from the table. She turned, laughing, a small blue dot on her right breast where the chalk from the cue tip had marked it. Harry made his shot. Potted the four.

Tom grabbed him under his arm in a head lock and knuckled the top of his head. Harry fought free, his hair ruffled, his face flushed. They laughed, then Tom grabbed Harry's face by his chin in one hand and pulled him close for a rough kiss on the lips. They broke off when Megan Delaney slapped Harry on the shoulder, telling them to hurry up and stop hogging the table. I heard the slap from across the room.

`Should I be seeing something odd here, Captain? It's just the crew playing pool. Sure Harry's ahead now, but you know Tom always wins.' Chakotay had the frown on.

`Hmmf. I'm getting a drink.' It was odd. I walked slowly, quietly to the bar, all the time thinking about that poke in the chest from Harry to that woman. Not like him at all. I waited for my drink, watching the crowd. It was happening all over the room. People were not just touching, but making real physical contact. Hard contact. A hand resting on an arm, became a grab and a squeeze. Elbows pushed into ribs, and breath whooshed out. A foot was placed to trip. An arm around a waist slipped onto a butt and held hard. I could see flesh pressed and groped, slapped and held everywhere I looked.

I left my drink on the bar. I needed a second, more impartial opinion. And I wanted to see Seven anyway.

******

Janeway entered the darkened cargo bay. The green lights of Seven's alcove made her pale skin mimic the grey green tinge of her Borg past. The younger woman's eyes were closed, her breathing steady, and her hands resting on the arm supports were relaxed and open. Janeway almost envied her repose. She was sure that her sleep never looked that untroubled.

`Seven.'

The borg's eyes opened and her head turned towards the voice. `Captain?'

`Sorry to disturb your rest. I need to talk to you. I want your opinion.' Janeway stepped up next to Seven, leaning on the adjacent alcove as if making herself comfortable among the Borg equipment lessened the unease she still felt. This was Seven's home ground. Feeling the cold metal under her fingers, Janeway wished briefly that she had called Seven to her quarters, instead of waking her here.

`I am listening.'

`How's your cheek?' Janeway peered more closely at the fair skin beneath the remaining implant, and saw herself reach out a finger to brush against the faint red mark she found. Seven did not move.

`Fine. I am undamaged.'

`I was thinking about you today, and B'Elanna. That incident in Engineering. It seemed too "casual", unimportant, and yet, damn...' Janeway shook her head, and balled her fist on the armrest. `I could not dismiss it. Tonight in the holodeck, I tried to nail that feeling down. I checked with Commander Chakotay, his observations were inconclusive, but I'm certain something is happening among the crew that needs examining.'

Seven stood relaxed and still in her alcove. `You have a hunch.'

`Yes! Exactly! It could be nothing, or it could be something that can get much worse.' Janeway picked at a metal joint, tapping a fingernail against it, then smoothing it with her thumb. Seven watched this silently, waiting for her Captain to continue. Janeway looked at the borg's arm , inches from her own hand.

`Seven, have you noticed how the crew have been, um, touching each other recently?'

`Touching? In what way?'

`Just, touching. Contact. Physical contact. Beyond a handshake. More than the Starfleet pat on the shoulder. It's been harder, more rough, but in a casual way, as if it was no big deal.' Janeway reached out and placed her hand over Seven's wrist, pressing it down lightly into the armrest. `Not like this.' She pressed harder, and squeezed the thin limb, feeling the bones in her grip. `Like this.'

Seven felt the grip on her arm, and decided not to move away. `You want to know whether it is a "big deal" or not.' She could feel the Captain's grip harden. `Is it a sexual thing?'

`I . . . don't know. It may be. But I don't think so. It seems to be too widespread.' She thought about the woman and Harry's pool cue. `And it's also happening between people who have no sexual interest in each other. Have you experienced any other rough contact?' Janeway had forgotten about her hand on Seven's arm. It remained.

`I was jostled in a passageway last week. A crewman pushed past. I was bumped into the wall. She continued on.' Seven flexed her metal tipped fingers, feeling the way her muscles moved under Janeway's hand.

`I see.' Janeway's thumb moved across Seven's arm, stroking the tight material of her suit. Her gaze was fixed on the far corner of the cargo bay, and her bottom lip disappeared, sucked between her teeth in thought. Seven watched her Captain's thumb on her arm.

`Torres did not say sorry.'

`What?' the Captain's attention flicked back to the borg's face.

`When she elbowed me. Convention dictates that after an accidental injury, the party at fault apologises. Either it was not an accident . . .'

`Or it was not perceived as being "at fault". Hmmm.' Janeway squeezed the borg's arm tighter, then slapped it and smiled. `I think you have something there, Seven.'

The slap had not hurt. She could feel the warm weight of the Captain's hand through her suit. She had felt the weight leave her arm, and then its sharp return. It sat there still.

`I don't believe they are doing this on purpose. It has become a part of their interaction with their crewmates.' Seven glanced at the hand on her arm. `The physical closeness, and the casual acceptance of it could even be a subconscious bonding mechanism. I have experienced this myself recently.'

`Really?' Janeway smiled. She had been right to talk to Seven. Chakotay must have been caught up in this himself and become less than impartial. She remembered his touch on her shoulder and the way his thumb had pressed against her. `How recently Seven?'

`Captain. Your hand.'

Janeway felt cool metal tipped fingers stroke along the back of her hand as it held Seven's wrist trapped against the armrest. The same metal tipped fingers that grabbed Janeway's hand as it jerked away from Seven's wrist, and held it in a strong grip of its own.

`Seven. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. . .'

`Captain. Is it such a bad thing?'

Janeway listened to the ship's engines hum, and the almost silent whoosh of air through the vents. Her hand was held tightly by the borg, and it did feel good. It was enough, somehow, just to have that touch.

`Maybe not, Seven.' She reached again for the red mark on Seven's cheek that the Engineer's elbow had made. `Maybe not.'

************