It's Not a Mosaic... It's a Broken Mirror

"I wish to know of your childhood."

I looked up at her awkwardly from our position, draped lengthways on the couch in my apartment. The heat from her arms seeped through my uniform, heating my tired muscles and refreshing my energy with her own seemingly endless supply. My gaze was met with the inquisitive expression I had already expected, and yet somehow I still managed to be startled by her face. Maybe I still wasn't used to seeing it so close up, or from that angle, I don't know… but what I remember most was being dazzled by the purity in her smile. The smile itself, perhaps. It was only in the past few years that she had even begun to.

Here it was though. She sat, looking at me dimple-cheeked with her nose crinkled; showing me so clearly that she was human. I'm so glad that she agreed to the Doctor's treatment. I honestly thought I would have to beg her, but really all I did was tell her how I felt.

"Why?"

She smiled a little wider, her eyes gleaming at the absurdity of my question. I knew the answer, she knew that I knew the answer… pretty soon this could have escalated into one of those dreadful `I know you know… but did you know that I know that you know?' conversations that could go on forever. Not that I wouldn't be happy to do that. To lie forever in her arms, endlessly chattering about things that don't tax my mind, things that are easy for me to talk about.

I've been involved in so many taxing conversations since we returned home. In honesty, the last thing I really wanted to do was to talk about my experiences as a child, as a young woman. Especially not to someone who had those experiences stolen from her so cruelly. Maybe that's why I did begin to tell her. Maybe it's just because she asked, when no one else really has. I suspect, however, that it's because I love her.

"Because I wish to know everything about you," she said softly, "your childhood… the beginning of your life, it seemed an appropriate place to begin."

Got to love that logic.

I gave her what must have been a horribly lopsided, upside down grin and then allowed myself to settle back into position, the back of my head comfortably resting against her chest. My hand found hers, our fingers meshing together almost instantly in a happy tangle of flesh and warm metal. I closed my eyes.

"Mmm… I'm tired, Seven. Maybe later…"

"Please, Kathryn."

Please. One syllable. Six letters. It's hard to believe that one word can mean so much, but it did. It truly did. I don't think it was just the word though; maybe it was the way in which it was said. Not so much pleading, or even questioning at all… sadly. Sad that I was hesitant in sharing something that she held to be so precious, something that she herself had been denied. Well, I couldn't help but twist over onto my stomach and stare up into those sky blue eyes of hers. I tried to apologise with my expression, not wanting to acknowledge my refusal fully. Its just… there are two versions of my childhood. One is the corn fed little daddy's girl from Indiana, the other… something quite different. The thing is, both versions had started out the same, but they had split somewhere along the line… the story I tell people is just a happier continuation. Like going back to a holodeck program and redoing the scenes you hadn't enjoyed last time, or deleting the wife of… oh, God. I'm not even going there. With Seven… well, I had never told anyone the less socially acceptable version of my life. I couldn't lie to her, and that's what made it so hard to begin.

Her expression didn't change. She regarded me with that same look of childlike innocence and love, nose still slightly crinkled, although now more in an effort to cover her hurt feelings. I remember aching. A dull thump that felt so hollow in my chest that I could almost believe someone was in there, trying to punch their way out of my ribcage. The prickle of heat behind my eyes warned me of the tears forming there, and I quickly looked up in a successful attempt to force them back.

"Okay, Seven," I grinned uneasily, planting a quick kiss on her cheek, "you asked for it."

<*~*^*~*>

Crouched uncomfortably in the kneehole of her father's desk, Kathryn listened intently to the monotonous tapping of his shoe against the wooden floor of his office. She was careful not to make a sound, for she knew that he needed to concentrate. A small child tearing around the house would have agitated him, a fact she knew from previous experience. He was working, as always, on a starship design, the various beeps and clicks of his padd offering odd counterpoint to the sonorous taps of sole on wood.

Kathryn sighed softly, allowing the heels of her feet to slide forwards so that her weight rested on her bottom. The grandfather clock in the office had begun to chime, the sound resonating throughout the lower floors of the house. That meant another fifteen minutes had passed. It wouldn't be much longer now until her father came looking for her, wanting to do their tests. Once a week, he had tested her on her mathematics. It was a ritual that she had enjoyed to begin with, for her one and two times tables. However, Daddy seemed to push her much harder this week. She had learned her sevens through tens, and out of her own initiative, her elevens. Just in case.

She suspected that her Daddy's pushing her to work harder had something to do with the small bundle that arrived last week. All she could see was a wriggling pile of cloth, but it certainly seemed to take up all of Mommy's time. It also seemed to take up all of the hugs and attention that she usually got. Frowning, she decided that whatever this thing was, she didn't like it.

Snap!

Kathryn sat bolt upright. Her Daddy had flipped his padd shut, and she heard the scuffling of his feet under the desk. She held her breath in as best she could, as though he might hear the air being drawn into her lungs. The longer she could hold this off, the better. She listened intently to the soft scraping of what must have been Daddy tidying away the padds that had previously littered the table in his office. The next sound was of footsteps striding into the room where she lay in hiding.

"Katie? Are you in here?"

By this time, Kathryn's face was blue with the effort of holding her breath and remaining completely silent simultaneously. Her father remained in the room for another drawn out moment, and then his feet softly shuffled around and he made to leave. Her vision blurring, she began to feel nauseous as it became apparent that she couldn't hold it in any longer. In a futile attempt to force the impending gasp for air back down her throat, she choked, and it came out through her nose as a small snort.

Her father spun round on his heels, a large grin creeping across his features.

"Ah! My little blackbird is hiding… well, where could she be?"

The four year old rolled her eyes. Here we go…

<*~*^*~*>

"You did not enjoy interactions with your father?" Seven seemed amazed at the revelation.

I squeezed Seven's meshed hand a little tighter. This was so hard to explain… how do you tell someone that, as awful as things were, you wouldn't change them? I smiled as Seven eyed me curiously.

"I did… and I didn't," I laughed nervously, "in that my father was the… best and worst thing that ever happened to me."

Seven looked perplexed by the lack of logic in this statement. To me, her expression seemed to be almost comical, although I doubt that anyone else would have even picked up on it. I narrowed my eyes slightly, searching my mind for a comparison to put to the young woman by means of explanation.

Of course!

"Seven… how did you feel when you were first separated from the collective?"

"I fail to see the releva—"

"—Please, Seven… no analysing. Just a straight answer."

The blonde shifted uncomfortably, her face taking on its original impassive, Borg-like expression. I still remember it from all those years ago. We are Borg. It was once her answer for everything. My stomach sank to my knees as I watched the transformation. This obviously still hurt Seven like hell… why hadn't I noticed it before? I hadn't just touched on a raw nerve… damn, I had thrown it a right hook!

"It was a… challenging experience," she stated coldly, "I was unaccustomed to human interaction."

Without thought, my arms slipped around Seven's shoulders, drawing her into a tight embrace. Her body heat somehow forced back those images of the hostile Borg woman that I remembered so clearly. She felt so warm. I remember feeling tears threatening to prick at my eyes as Seven leaned into my touch, inviting me to hold tighter still. We stayed like that for a long moment.

"I know this hurts you… but please," I pleaded, still holding her, "tell me how you felt."

She seemed to understand what I was saying, because she cleared her throat and sort of psyched herself up with a deep breath. When I pulled back to look at her face, her eyes were glistening with unshed tears, determined, as though she believed a waterfall could prevent itself cascading over the edge using sheer willpower alone. She smiled again, like before, almost laughed at herself for getting upset.

I kissed her.

It wasn't appropriate timing, I know… but I couldn't bear to see her go through such pain all over again. Thanks to her cortical implant, she posessed a superior memory, no… a perfect memory. Meaning that, as we spoke, she was more than likely reliving everything she had been through. So I kissed her to provide her with a distraction, and because I wanted to.

She responded so sweetly… tentative and unsure, almost as though she had never kissed me before. I touched her cheek with my fingertips, revelling in the soft warmth that I found there. Oh, and she drew me so close to her, stroking my hair with her hands as she traced the fullest part of my bottom lip with her tongue. Then, somewhere along the line her tongue found mine, and they danced together playfully as our bodies crushed against one another. My mind swam as she pushed her mouth more forcefully against mine, nipping with teeth and in turn, soothing with hot breath.

Sometimes I wish I had a memory like that.

Unexpectedly on my part, she continued our conversation during the kiss. I was confused at the time, but now I believe that she found it easier to talk during the welcome distraction of me. Me, kissing her neck softly, running my lips over the curve of her throat.

"I was… afraid." She murmured, pushing her fingers into my hair.

I followed the line of her neck with my tongue, continuing the soft kisses when I reached her jaw. She let out a little gasp before she spoke again.

"I felt alone… irrelevant, a figure of hatred and loathing…"

I paused momentarily. Before she had much more chance to expand on that train of thought, my lips were on hers again, generously offering the distraction I know that she sought. I lazily dragged my tongue along the length of her lower lip, pausing only to part them with the tip. One of my hands held her head from the back, surrounded by the strands of hair that had fallen loose from her usual severe style. My body covered hers as best it could with my smaller frame, and I breathed raggedly against her full mouth.

"Tell me, Seven," I husked, "do you feel irrelevant… right now?" As the words `right now' had escaped my lips, I had simultaneously captured her bottom lip between my teeth, and cupped her left breast with my free hand. She moaned loudly as I teased the hardened nipple between my thumb and finger.

"No," she breathed, "I feel aroused, and… in love."

I smiled, my eyes misting a little.

"So… you're happy? Here on Earth, with me… with who you are?"

"Yes."

I kissed her again, slowly. Our lips slid together like they were tailored to fit, as though they were pieces of the same jigsaw… and of course, any other piece wouldn't sit right. I felt like this was all a dream, that I would be waking up soon. It's always such a beautiful realisation, to wake up in the morning and see her naked form lying next to me, golden hair scattered about her face. Beaming widely, I continued my gentle questioning.

"So… would it be accurate then, to say that your separation from the collective was in fact, the worst, and the best thing that ever happened to you?"

She paused, considering my words for a moment. The realisation must have amused her, for she smiled faintly, giving me one of those little quirks of the implant above her eye.

"It is a paradox," she said slowly, "but you are correct. Had I not been through such difficulty, I would not be who I am…" she smiled indulgently at the next sentence, " …and I would not have what I have. Is this how you feel?"

I grinned, my relief manifesting itself in a massive sigh. I hugged her to me, thankful for her understanding.

"Exactly, Seven."

"Please," she muttered, kissing my right ear, "continue to tell me about your life."

It was her turn to keep me distracted this time.

<*~*^*~*>

"Eight times nine?"

"Seventy-two."

"Six times eight?"

"Forty-eight."

"Eleven times… eleven?"

Kathryn felt her blood run cold. They had never gone further than multiples of ten! She had memorised ten elevens, but multiplying by eleven was an area she had never considered. How could he do this to her? He must have known that she would have to admit that she couldn't do it.

"Daddy, that's not fair. We haven't done elevens."

Her eyes began to well with tears as her father looked down at her, expressionless. She knew he wouldn't take pity on her, and she felt her lower lip trembling at the thought of the humiliation that would follow.

"Well, Katie. You've shown me that you can memorise. I want to know that you can think about mathematics. Life isn't fair, blackbird, it's hard. Life will throw these little surprises at you, and you must be ready for them."

She sank to the floor, staring at her feet. He expected her to come up with the answer. The least she could do was try. Closing her eyes, she thought fast. Ten elevens was a hundred and ten. She knew that because of the rule Daddy had told her. If you are multiplying by ten, just add a zero. Easy. So what she needed to do was to add one more eleven to one hundred and ten. She counted under her breath, jutting out a finger with each new number, visualising them floating before her eyes. She caught her breath sharply as strong hands grabbed hold of her own.

"No counting on your fingers, blackbird," he said sternly, "only babies count on their fingers."

The numbers she had visualised so clearly scattered like a bag of marbles falling to the floor, each one rolling in a different direction. Kathryn whimpered, knowing that all was lost. He wouldn't give her enough time now, surely? Her mind raced.

One hundred and ten, one hundred and eleven, one hundred and twelve…

He gazed at her expectantly, his expression still stern and calm.

…one hundred and thirteen, one hundred and fourteen…

"You can't do it. I'm disappointed in you, Katie. I wanted you to move up to the next level…"

…one hundred fifteen, one hundred sixteen, one hundred seventeen…

"… of mathematics next week."

…one eighteen, one nineteen, one twenty…

He rose from his haunches and turned to leave the room. Kathryn felt sick. Would he just leave her alone like that? Would he be that angry with her? Frightened thoughts swam through her mind, each one distracting her from the task in hand. She had to stop him. He mustn't be angry with her, mustn't be disappointed. Panic rose in her throat as he reached the doorway, and she dashed forwards, grabbing him by the material of his trouser leg. He didn't respond, didn't even look at her, until…

"One hundred and twenty one!" she blurted, breathlessly.

Kathryn's breath caught in her throat. Her Daddy had stopped still, regarding her with an expression that she couldn't clearly define. Her stomach contracted roughly, and she felt as though it was sinking to her feet. Had she answered wrong? The tears that her eyes had previously only threatened her with began rolling fatly down either cheek. She remained silent, waiting for her father's reaction.

"Oh, blackbird… my clever little blackbird, don't cry."

She let out a long breath, her silence deteriorating into a series of sobs that wracked her body almost convulsively. Her father looked at her guiltily, crouching down to wipe away her tears with his thumb. Her large blue eyes flickered up to watch his expression.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she cried, "I couldn't do it."

He smiled, scooping the small child up into his arms. Lifting her up, he stood with Kathryn resting her weight on his hip. She clung to his shoulders, burying her face in the material of his shirt.

"You did do it, blackbird. You got it exactly right."

"I did?"

"You did," he smiled, "see? I knew you wouldn't let me down."

<*~*^*~*>

"You see, he pushed me. Mostly it was for my own good—"

"—No!"

To say that I was startled by Seven's reaction would be something of an understatement. I had never seen her that disgusted by something before, and what was even more shocking to me was that this disgust was clearly evident in her usually restrained expression. I could see the tension in her shoulders from where she stood at the replicator, about six metres away. This was a bizarre reaction for someone who never had a childhood. However, I was too busy sitting in slack-jawed amazement to respond straight away. By the time I had composed myself, she had managed to explain her outburst.

"I was assimilated at age six. I still retain the memories of my time as a young child, and I have seen the interactions of other efficient parent-child relationships."

I wish I could have said something intelligent at this point, but I was still pretty shell shocked. I just sort of looked at her funny.

"In all of these relationships: Annika Hansen, Naomi Wildman, Miral Paris… love was supplied to them without question. Unconditionally."

I still gaped, fish-like. When she looked at me to make sure I was taking all of this in, I nodded. In retrospect, I'm surprised I didn't dribble on my uniform, my mouth was that wide open.

"Your father appears to have believed that love is a thing to be earned. While this may be true of sexual relationships, or even friendships… it should not be the way of parent-child relationships."

She turned to the replicator, and I took the moment to shake off my amazement, compose myself… shut my damned mouth.

"Maybe you're right." I said quietly.

"Coffee, black," she directed at the replicator, before turning her head to look at me, being uncomfortable, naïve… stupid. "I am. But it is difficult to see such a situation when you are so close to it."

The latter part of the sentence was comforting, and strangely superior. I laughed out loud at it as she handed me the steaming mug, and I stood momentarily to kiss her cheek. For an ex-Borg, she was… quirky, to say the least. Maybe that's a part of why I love her so much.

Unconditionally.

"You had problems with inadequacy as a child," She stated simply, "because of him."

"Yes." I croaked.

"Are there other instances? Of your feeling inadequate, I mean."

"Oh, hell yes." I laughed uneasily.

<*~*^*~*> TBC...