Clean Canvas

'Tom, you have to hold still! You're smudging the paint.' Harry grumbled as his warm and wriggling canvas scratched his head again.

'Have you finished yet? Can I look? Can I go to the bathroom? Can I have a drink?'

'Shoosh, you. I'm nearly done. What time is it?'

'Right, like I've got a watch on, dopey. Computer, what's the time?'

'Current ship's time is 21.42.'

'Computer. Is Harry Kim an obsessive perfectionist who needs to loosen up a little and enjoy life?'

'Tom!'

'Insufficient parameters. Please specify term "a little".'

'See? Even the computer thinks you're obsessive.'

'Only when it comes to you, knucklehead. Now keep still. They'll be here soon.'

Tom sighed and let Harry continue his work. Standing on the small side table for the last three hours had been harder than he'd thought when he'd agreed to Harry's suggestion . He never would have guessed the ensign was so creative. Sure his music sounded fine, but this painting idea had come out of left field. Not that it didn't feel nice. Just a little cool on the exposed skin until the paint dried. And his legs were getting a bit stiff.

What he could see of the artwork, looking down his body, was green and grey swirls and arcs, punctuated by jagged red marks like small scratches. Harry was working on the last patch of bare skin between his shoulder blades. It tickled, but not as much as when his bare buttocks were being worked on. Lucky he was wearing the g string. Harry would have had to paint a very wiggly canvas indeed.

'I don't see why you had to invite people over. Why not just take a photo?'

'An artist always like to show his work, Tom. Think of it as a cocktail party with a twist. Folks stand around, drinking, chatting and admiring the art, complimenting the artist, gossiping, deciding which painting to buy.'

'Then I'm up for sale?' Tom looked worried.

'Nope. You're already sold. See?' Harry came around to Tom's front and pointed to his right nipple. `A red dot.'

'And who bought me?' Tom leaned down carefully, and blew a slow breath across Harry's upturned face.

'I'll tell you later.' Harry grinned. `Now straighten up. Don't crease yourself. They'll be here in a minute and I want you looking fresh.'

'I can do fresh.'

'The paint, stupid.'

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

The crew wandered round the small quarters, chatting, drinking, nibbling on deep fried leola root in chilli sauce, waiting for the rest of the guests to arrive. Each time the door hissed open, the Captain would glance over, quickly, casually, then continue her conversation. She thought she was being discrete. And she was. No one noticed except for Chakotay. He was so used to watching the Captain especially during social events that it had become second nature. Now it was different. There was no point in looking for hidden clues or hints that she might be softening and ready to accept his affection. No point at all. He bit down on a leola root cracker, and savoured the bitter aftertaste. The door hissed open. The Captain looked up. Seven walked in. Janeway smiled. No fucking point at all.

'Excuse me, Captain, but we're ready to begin.' Harry muttered at her elbow. Janeway placed a hand on his shoulder, nodding her encouragement.

'Sure Harry. We're all here now.'

Harry gave a quick grin, cleared a spot near the window, moved a side table into position, dimmed the lights and cleared his throat.

'Friends, thanks for coming. When the Captain suggested we explore new hobbies or old interests, I considered writing a new action/adventure holoprogram, but I think that endeavour's been more than adequately covered.' Harry gave a nod towards Tuvok, and the guests gave an appreciative chuckle at the Vulcan's expense. Tuvok's eyebrow twitched. 'So I fell back on an old hobby of mine that I haven't tried in years. Painting. I guess my parents wanted me to concentrate on the more academic subjects so I let it slip. It's fun, I'm not very polished, but it's a good excuse for a party, eh?' Several glasses clinked and a high pitched giggle came from a Delany sister as she was goosed by Ayala.

'Thanks Jenny. So without further ado, I'd like to present my latest work, courtesy of my friend Tom Paris, ladies and gentlemen, "Scales"...' In a whisper Harry added, 'Computer, energise!'

The sparkly transporter field cleared to show Tom Paris standing on the small table, spotlit in the darkened room. His body was covered in a small, intricate pattern of greeny grey scales that appeared to move and change colour as he shifted position. A clear, sad tune in a minor key sounded from the front of the room as Harry played his clarinet. The music kept the crowd quiet and seemed to weave a simple spell over the guests drawing their attention to the now swaying, painted man. In movements both bold and subtle, Tom turned and showed off the ridged detail on his back and paler, creamy coloured sides, lifting his arms, parting his legs, and still swaying, swaying. The slow melody ended, fading away in a whisper of breath as Tom completed his turn. For a few heartbeats there was silence, then an eruption of applause as both the artist and his work took their bows and compliments. Harry couldn't stop smiling.

When the noise abated and the party resumed, Tom jumped down from his table, grabbed a drink, and sought out Harry.

'Bloody hell, Harry. I think they liked it. Did I do ok?'

Harry grabbed him in a huge hug and kissed him soundly. 'You did great. Thanks Tom.'

'Hey! Mind the paint! I want to look good for a little while yet. I could get used to this kind of attention.' He wiped away a green smudge on the ensigns cheek. 'Don't look now, but I think my g string's coming loose. Could you find some left over paint for a touch up?' Tom grinned and moved off heading for the food.

Harry was about to follow when he felt a hand on his arm. Captain Janeway.

'Excuse me Mr Kim, may I have word?'

'Sure Captain. What's the.'

'Privately.' The captain headed for the door, leaving a bemused ensign trailing in her wake. She didn't even check to see if he was following. She knew that he would. No one appeared to notice them leaving. Except Chakotay.

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

The turbo lift doors closed.

'Halt turbo lift.'

Harry gulped. Not the turbo lift. It wasn't looking good.

'Captain, I don't understand. Is there something about the show that..'

'Mr Kim. Far be it from me to criticise an artist's subject matter, but don't you think you've gone just a bit too far?'

'But...but...' Harry waved his hands cluelessly.

'A LIZARD, Mr Kim. You painted Paris as a fucking *lizard*!' Janeway glared, pressing real close into Harry's personal space. 'Don't you think I might have a few *issues* with that?'

Harry's face turned pale and he felt that last leola root cracker turning into acid in his guts. Fuck. He'd forgotten about it. Oops. No wonder it seemed to suit Tom so well.

'Captain, I'm sorry! I never realised.. I should have, but, I didn't think that.. you know, but.' he spluttered into an embarrassed silence that the Captain let stretch for a minute. To Harry, it felt like hours, days. He clenched his fingers into damp fists, and felt a trickle of sweat running down his spine.

'You're sorry, then.'

'Yes! God yes, Captain. Please, don't um.'

'Don't what, ensign?'

'I dunno, hurt me?'

Janeway rested one finger against his cheek. Her smile wasn't very friendly. 'I don't want to "hurt" you ensign. You do good work. I want to commission you. I want your discretion. I want to be a "patron" of the arts. Will you work for me?'

Harry knew an "out" when it was offered. It didn't sound so bad. All she wanted was a painting. But why did she want his discretion? He blushed hugely as a thought crossed his mind. Surely she didn't want him to paint her in the nude? The Captain?

Janeway saw and felt the blush and shook her head guessing correctly. 'No Harry. Not me. A friend. Meet me in my quarters after your shift tomorrow. And bring your paints.' Janeway removed her finger from Harry's cheek. `Back to your party, ensign.'

As Harry stood outside the turbo lift doors, he wondered just who or what he'd agreed to paint.

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

Janeway draped a lazy arm over the sleeping woman. She was admiring the soft, white hairs on the nape of Seven's neck and considering whether or not to wake her. Soon Harry would be here. She better let Seven know what was happening.

With soft lip pressure, Janeway brushed the fine hairs, running her tongue tip in amongst them, and tightening her arm around the stirring borg.

'Captain?'

'Wake up, Seven. There's things to do.' The borg rolled onto her back, grabbed the back of Janeway's head and pulled her down for a long slow kiss. The captain allowed it. 'Time enough for that later, Seven.' Janeway broke off the kiss, and studied the full wet lips beneath her.

'Did you enjoy Mr Kim's party last night?' the captain finally asked.

'I can understand the need for social interaction. These shared experiences contribute to the crew's bonding. In that respect, I enjoyed the party. I did not understand his "art". To paint a perfectly clean skin surface with colour?' Seven looked puzzled. 'Where is the benefit? Where is the improvement in efficiency? I understand Paris washed it off later. What was the purpose?'

Janeway nodded. 'I thought you'd be like that. You're not the only person to have a problem appreciating art for arts sake. So I've arranged a small demonstration. It may help you to understand the "why" of art. Will you trust me?'

Seven considered Janeway's proposal. It must be yet another human thing to relearn. It would obviously please Janeway too for her co-operate. As for trust, the Captain was always finding new ways to test Seven's loyalty. She would trust Janeway again, as she would until that trust was taken for granted.

'Yes Captain. I trust you. What do want me to do?'

Feeling but not seeing the flush spread across her chest and breasts at Seven's ready acquiescence, Janeway almost purred her approval. 'Stay here until I call for you. Don't get dressed. I won't be long.'

Seven nodded at once, and stretched out again on the bed, closing her eyes, hands behind her head. Janeway grabbed a long robe, and left the bedroom after indulging herself in a slow gaze up Seven's bare body. She closed the door.

'Mr Kim. Report to the captain's quarters as ordered. Please bring your art supplies.'

'Aye Captain.'

The captain replicated a glass of steaming black espresso and settled on the lounge to wait. She smoothed a hand down her towelling covered thigh, and came up with a fine blonde hair.

'A new canvas for my protege,' she murmured, twisting the hair round and round her fingers.

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

'Captain?'

'Come in Harry. Come in. You can set up over there.' Janeway waved the ensign over to the windows where a coffee table had been placed. Harry fussed briefly with his paints and brushes, cleaning rags and palette, conscious all the time of Janeway's watchful gaze. He wished she'd say something.

'You want to know who the subject is?' Janeway placed her empty coffee glass on the desk and stood close to the ensign. Harry could smell coffee and the familiar scent of her hair and perfume, and another, more obscure fragrance. He couldn't quite place it.

'Well sure. I've been curious.'

Janeway held his stare. 'It's Seven.'

'Ah. That would be it.'

'It?'

'Nothing. So I guess I better ask. What do you want me to paint on her?' After the "Tom-as-a-lizard" debacle, he wasn't taking any chances.

Janeway moved back to her lounge behind Harry's work area. 'Something that would really suit her. Something she'd like to see. Something I'd like to watch.' Janeway turned to the window and watched the starlines stream past. Harry wondered if she was going to be more specific. He nearly missed the Captain whisper, 'Paint her as a borg, Harry.'

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

Janeway led Seven from the bedroom and handed her up onto the low table. Her pale, blonde figure a stark contrast against the black backdrop of the large windows. Harry took off his shirt, folded it neatly to one side, and glanced behind at Janeway, still in her robe, settling herself down to watch in a large easy chair behind him.

'Ready Captain.'

'Begin Ensign. And whatever you do, don't turn around. Forget I'm here. My reaction is not important to your work. I'm here to watch.'

Harry grinned nervously, took a long deep breath, and studied his subject. He tried to remember Seven of Nine, the borg assigned as liaison between the Collective and Voyager. The waxy tone of her skin, lack of hair, and the intrusive implants covering most of her body. And yet, this rounded, smooth and warm woman standing patiently before him was the same person. A person who was still learning all the pleasures involved in being human, whose skin was newly responsive to touch and the movement of air against it, not to mention the feel of another woman's touch, her hands, her lips.

That same woman who'd ordered Harry to cover this clean canvas in familiar designs. It was a big ask.

Harry set the picture in his mind, reached for his paint and started mixing colour. He concentrated on his work, the hardware involved, tuning out the room and its occupants, focussing on the job. He reached out to run a hand down Seven's thigh, feeling the texture of her skin to gauge the thickness of the paint, and jumped as she gasped at his touch.

'Sorry,' he whispered, distracted.

He heard a sigh. It came from behind him. Harry touched the tip of his brush to one bare toe. He looked up to see Seven smiling.

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

Janeway watched Harry turn Seven back into a Borg. Her robe fell open, her leg was hooked over the arm of the chair. One hand rested between her legs. She could see Seven watching her, touching her lips with a free hand as Janeway exposed a breast, licking her lips as Janeway's fingers played with a nipple. They didn't need to speak. Harry became a shadow player, moving silently also, his work taking all his attention. When he needed Seven to move, he moved her. When he lifted her arm, it stayed lifted. And always, Janeway watched.

Slowly, the black and grey, tubes and plates of a borg suit crept across Seven's flesh. He was good. The suit looked almost three dimensional, the illusion becoming perfect. His concentration was apparent in the sweat running down his bare back, staining his pants a darker grey. His hair hung limply, and sweat dripped as he shook his fringe out of his eyes, running painty fingers through the greasy strands.

But Janeway watched Seven. The borg seemed to disregard the attentions being paid to her body by the artist. She kept her eyes on the Captain, responding to her display with deeper breaths, flushed skin and twitching, curling hands. Janeway's hand worked faster, and she slid forward in her chair, legs parted, exposing herself to her borg. Her borg. Tamed, obedient and beautiful. And trusting. Janeway raised a wet finger to her lips, and licked it clean. Seven almost panted.

And Harry worked on.

***********

Harry rested his head on his knees, arms slumped, back aching. He was thirsty now, and the air felt cool against his bare shoulders, sending a shiver. His hands were shaking with fatigue, now that he'd stopped. Finished. He clutched his brushes, rubbing a thumb over their smeared and stained lengths. Head still bowed, he spoke,

'Captain? Can I turn round now?'

His voice sounded cracked and odd, as if he'd spoken out of turn. He heard for the first time since he'd started work, the quiet breaths of an onlooker.

'Yes Harry. You've done very well. Stand up and see.' A hand gripped his arm and helped him to his feet. His gaze followed upwards from a pair of black painted feet, up long legs covered with cables and plates, past armoured hips and stomach, arms roped with tubes and attachments to a face covered in weird, almost serpentine designs. Damn it looked good. He turned to Janeway with a tired smile.

'How's that?'

'Not bad, Ensign. Not bad at all. You go get cleaned up. Take a rest tomorrow. You're excused duty.'

'Thank you Captain.' Harry gathered his equipment, dragged his shirt over his sticky body and headed for the door. Just before leaving, he turned, forgetting.

'Uh, Seven? Thank you, too.'

The borg nodded. The tired ensign managed another grin, before leaving, satisfied with the nights work.

Janeway watched him leave, the door swooshing closed behind him. She untied her robe and let it fall. Taking Seven's hand she led her down from the table and into the bedroom. Opening the closet doors, the Captain swung a large, full length mirror out.

'Look, Seven. See what I've done for you?'

They stood, side by side, the human woman and her Borg. Seven stared, moving her arms, flexing her legs, studying the intricate patterns.

'I am . . . Borg.'

Janeway reached for Seven's face and pulled it down for a hard kiss. She pushed back, gripping Seven's chin in one hand, a cold light in her eyes.

'And I'm not.'

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