Hand to Hand

Janeway watched from her place beside a container as the two fighters continued their bout. One was quick and sneaky, and moved with the confidence of long experience, but the other had superior strength, and a definite height advantage. They looked good together, as they circled and stalked, seeking an opening to exploit, a hold or throw, that would disable and defeat the opponent. And when the blows fell, there was no quarter asked or given.

The still air of the cargo bay filled with the smell of sweat and the sound of heavy breathing, the grunts of exertion and pain, and the solid slap of fist and flesh. The Captain waited, making silent bets with herself. Today, the borg looked good. Her skills had improved under B'Elanna's tuition, but she lacked the half Klingon woman's natural aggression, and often illogical manoeuvres. Seven had the engineer down, crouched over, cradling her kicked midsection, and had backed away waiting for her opponent to fall or recover. B'Elanna staggered, groaning, and went down on one knee, coughing and shaking her head.

'Torres?'

Gasping, B'Elanna waved her hand, gesturing Seven over. The borg approached to offer assistance, only to find herself clutching a thigh as B'Elanna lashed out with a sweeping kick, upending her opponent, and finishing her with an elbow to the diaphragm and a raised fist hovering over her temple.

'Enough, B'Elanna. Well done, both of you. Seven? Are you OK?' The Captain walked over, placing a restraining touch on the engineer's hand, feeling the wet knuckles shiver gently as the energy diffused. B'Elanna lowered her fist, letting out a long breath, sagging over her student.

The tall blonde woman sucked the air in painful gasps. 'I am beaten again Captain. I did not expect such. trickery.'

'Get used it, Seven. In the real world, no one fights clean.' B'Elanna stood and offered her hand. Hesitating for a fraction of a second, the borg took it and was helped to her feet. Their hands stayed clasped for a long moment, and Janeway watched the unvoiced challenge, the hard stare and the white knuckled grip with a certain satisfaction. Oh yes. These two were getting on splendidly. If they didn't kill each other first.

'That'll do, ladies. B'Elanna? Go get cleaned up. Seven, you're with me.'

B'Elanna watched the two women leave; the captain and her borg. She did not begrudge these training sessions with Seven. The physical release and controlled aggression felt good, and there was a small degree of pleasure in seeing her student improve under her instruction. And the Captain liked to watch. Shaking her head and rubbing her aching stomach, B'Elanna wondered, and not for the first time why the Captain liked to watch her borg being defeated, week after week.

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

'I'm sorry Captain. I should have anticipated her treachery. Next time, I'll.'

'Next time, you'll know better.' Janeway interrupted. 'It's how humans learn. Some lessons are more painful than others are. Hold still!'

Seven was naked, stretched out on Janeway's bed. She winced as the Captain ran a thumb over the darkening bruises on her right thigh, and the lighter coloured, older injuries on her back and arms. B'Elanna was no hologram. There were no "safeties" to enable on the fiery engineer. Janeway reached for the warm oil that eased the stretched muscles of her friend and soothed the hurts. She started on the soles of her feet and worked her way up, hands gliding and crossing over each other, on one calf muscle then the other, then one thigh and carefully, gently on the injured thigh. She lingered over the bruised area, her fingers caressing the discoloured skin. She pressed down, sharply.

'Ah!'

'Did that hurt?' she murmured quietly, absently.

'Yes.'

Janeway could almost imagine the imprint of B'Elanna's bare foot, the toes, and instep, mirrored on Seven's leg and coloured red and black. It would look better tomorrow. They always did.

Continuing her massage, Janeway drifted off into pleasant daydreams, her hands and arms on autopilot, seemingly guiding themselves over familiar terrain. By the time she reached her neck, the borg had fallen asleep. She often did afterwards. Janeway rested a hand on her warm shoulder blade, feeling the rise and fall of the sleeping woman's breathing, and imagining the faint pulse of borg tainted blood.

Of all the human activities Seven had learned, Janeway liked sleep the best. As she watched the closed eyes, and slightly opened lips, the captain smiled. Not only could one member of her crew defeat her, repeatedly, using only her hands and feet, but the evidence of the beating was there to be read on the pale, fine skin of the prosthetic free body. And now she slept, in the presence of an old enemy.

Janeway rose quietly, her breathing quickening, feeling the warm familiar heat rising through her body, feeling the constraining friction of the Starfleet uniform rub between her legs. She crossed the room to her desk, opening the bottom drawer, and finding what she wanted, returned to sit next to the sleeping woman. She unfastened the front of her uniform and slipped a hand in, cupping a breast, idly circling a nipple with a finger. Her hand moved lower, and her legs parted.

As Seven slept on peacefully, Captain Janeway shuddered through another climax, her left hand working her cunt as her right hand held the phaser, set to kill, against the temple of the sleeping borg.