Lords and Lady Creatures: a cinderella story
 

As she entered the holodeck, she wondered who had programmed this scenario.

Oh, not the people, nor the costumes. Every body she passed and brushed and tasted in the scent of the air was known, most human, all flesh and blood as real as her own. But the hall in which they walked and danced was... different. The architecture was weird angles and sensual curves, and the shadows curled darkly from gaping slashes in the ceiling. It was night, in the holographic outdoors, and alien constellations, pulsing with malevolent starforms, glittered over the revelers.

It was not the setting Captain Janeway had imagined for her starship's first Masquerade Ball.

She ascended on the Doctor's arm to the dais that overlooked the floor, climbing a shallow staircase built of obsidian, picked out with silver tracework along its edges. From the elevation of the dais, she could better see the ring of tables around a large dance floor, and the mediaeval-looking musicians tucked in a corner recess. Hidden lights dimly illuminated the tables, and cast a brighter, still-soft glow across the dancers. From here she could see Tom Paris, in glittering chain mail, twirling a Boadicean B'Elanna Torres across the scuffed stones.

It was roles, tonight, the majesty of archaic ceremony. It was a rule of the masquerade, a condition of invitation. And invitations were shipwide; only duty's interference restricted participation, and for this reason the holodeck was to run this simulation for fully twenty-four hours, in the eternal night of - whose? - imagination. She hadn't intended to come for the opening, but the Doctor insisted. Her own shift resumed from midnight to four.

Absorbing the ambience as she moved, gradually assuming a dignity to fit the elegant white gown that had been delivered to her quarters, she crossed with the Doctor to the table that sat to one side of the dais, where he courteously held her chair before assuming his own. It had an excellent view both of the floor and of the beautiful throne that glittered in the grace of the brightest light in the room, awaiting, she knew, the ruler of this fantasy realm.

Tuvok sat with grave dignity in the place next to her own, while Chakotay and Kim lounged in their heavy wooden chairs across from her. Neelix, she surmised, was arranging the banquet that was due to start soon. Acknowledging the greetings from her officers, Janeway let her gaze slide across their costumed magnificence.

Impressively attired in ducal regalia, Tuvok looked surprisingly handsome in the costume he had even more surprisingly consented to wear. Chakotay had been given a barony, while Kim and Paris were now knights.

The identity of their sovereign had been shrouded in secrecy by the masquerade's organising committee - namely Neelix, Chakotay, and Paris, none of whom were telling. And none of whom, she had been informed, had chosen or programmed the setting.

The music died. A fanfare split the ensuing silence, and wide doors on the other side of the dais slowly drew open. A holographic attendant with a booming voice stepped forward to cry their introduction.

"All rise!" Those who were seated rose to stand, obedient to the dictates of the atmosphere. "My lords, ladies, and gentlemen, her Majesty the Queen!"

Seven of Nine walked from the entrance to her throne with impeccable dignity. Janeway was spellbound.

It was true, she realised numbly; a woman clothed could be far more erotic than nudity. And the gown Seven wore, with a billowing skirt, slightly puffed sleeves and lace to her throat, shielded the body usually so prominently displayed in the skin-tight body suits she wore, and transformed her from simply being attractive to being an incarnation of beauty itself. The shimmering midnight-blue silk, shot with crimson, whispered in the silence as she settled herself in her throne. Amused blue eyes skimmed the stunned crowd before finally coming to rest on the Duchess Kathryn.

Who was grateful for the attendant's command to be seated, for the queen bestowed on her a warm smile that made her go weak at the knees.

The revelers returned to the tables and assumed their places as the music dropped to a background level to the rising murmur of conversation. Though Kathryn tried to pay attention to her tablemates, her eyes were often drawn to the graceful beauty of the 'Queen'. She blushed furiously when she realised her attention had been noticed. None of her companions commented, however.

Dinner was tasty, and followed by a troupe of holographic entertainers, after which the ball resumed. Even the appointed queen descended from her throne as the Doctor charmingly escorted B'Elanna to the dance floor.

The queen, however, fixed her gaze on the Duchess Kathryn, and with the elegant lifting of an implant-framed brow, drew her to her feet. "Shall we dance, your Grace?" She extended a hand with a delicate languor, and Kathryn realised she had practised for this night.

"Delighted, your Majesty," she murmured, and allowed herself to be led to the dance floor. The thought occurred to her to wonder what Seven was up to, and then her silken form slid into Kathryn's arms, and she didn't want to think any more.

Seven had definitely planned this. There was no way she could have already known how to dance this well. Kathryn allowed their bodies to mesh as Seven led her around the hall in an archaically beautiful waltz. They did not speak. They did not need to. Seven's cheek was smooth against Kathryn's temple, and her skin smelt like crushed roses. Kathryn gently inhaled the scent as her eyes drifted closed.

They had been dancing around each other for so long now. It felt good to dance in her arms.

She must have imagined the kiss to her hair, she felt, but when she pulled back and looked into Seven's eyes, she wondered. Creeping dizziness reminded her to breathe, and she realised they had stopped moving. The dancers moved around them, their flow unbroken. Kathryn recognised another opportunity, and the need, to bring her lips to meet Seven's, so tantalisingly close. Resolved to resist it, she smiled and parted her lips to speak, but the words froze on her tongue as Seven slowly closed the distance between them to delicately kiss her.

Too soon, Seven pulled away. Without the searing warmth of the kiss, Kathryn was cold. Her sleeves slid across smooth silk as she tightened her arms convulsively about Seven, not resisting but barely participating as Seven drew them back into the dance. Her heart was pounding with a mixture of arousal and panic.

"Relax," Seven murmured, the warmth of her breath caressing Kathryn's ear. When they had circled the hall once more she felt she could almost comply, but then she caught Chakotay's eye when they passed near the dais, and was almost undone by his knowing, teasing grin. She hid her face in Seven's shoulder and allowed herself to be led, not looking up until a sudden drop in temperature and ambient noise made her realise she had been neatly danced away from the hall.

In fact, Seven had drawn her out through an exit Kathryn had not noticed before, into the whispering night of the gardens of the holographic palace. There they kissed again, and this time Kathryn allowed herself to relax into the contact. As hard as she tried, she couldn't summon the familiar reasons... or excuses... why this shouldn't be happening.

"It is time, Kathryn," Seven told her softly. "It is time for us to be together."

"Not here." They kissed again, then - "My quarters."

"Yes, Kathryn."

The corridors were deserted, and dim with the low lighting of the night watch. She was glad. Somehow, she felt brighter light would kill the mood. She wanted this night with Seven before she had to be Captain Janeway again.

What light there was in her darkened quarters glinted off the points of silver pins in Seven's hair. The garnet-studded crown had evaporated as they stepped from the holodeck, and Kathryn didn't mind. For now, she gently withdrew the pins and placed them, one at a time, on a table. Seven's hair fell to her shoulders in thick waves, and Kathryn surrendered to the temptation to slide her fingers through the soft blonde mass. Eyes locked to Kathryn's own, Seven turned her head slightly to kiss the inside of her wrist.

"It is not necessary to do this tonight." Kathryn watched Seven's lips shape the sentence, curling her hand around the back of that neck.

"Yes, it is," she answered simply. Come midnight, the spell would be broken, and she had not even a glass slipper to leave behind her. Seven smiled and kissed her again, finding with nimble fingers the closures of the snow-white velvet Kathryn wore. Light kisses migrated to her neck as Seven's hands ran from her shoulders to her wrists, pushing the gown with them. The contrasting touch of skin and metal served only to remind her that this, indeed, was Seven. Seven's hands lightly clasping her own as her gown dropped to the floor, pulling her against the smooth touch of silk on her bare skin as she stepped out of her shoes.

Delicate lace impeded Kathryn's touch as her hands mapped the shape of Seven's shoulders, and she found the ties that held the gown in place. Beneath the moulded silk, Seven was naked, and the shadows followed the curves of her body that again robbed Kathryn of breath. Seven carefully divested her of her remaining garments, and drew her towards the bedroom.

Half-hidden by the shadows, Seven seemed more like a ghost than flesh and bone. Her skin was white, paler than it seemed any living woman should be. Kathryn's fingertips traced the bands of metal across the narrow stomach, and felt the thrumming sensation of active circuitry set her nerve-ends tingling. She looked up to see haunting uncertainty in Seven's eyes, and instinctively moved to dispel it with a kiss. The warmth shared as their bodies pressed together seemed to banish the unnatural chill of the air-conditioned room.

Later, Seven rocked her as she clung to her with silent desperation, hearing only the thudding of her gradually slowing heartbeat. She wasn't sobbing, quite, but her breathing came in harsh rasps as she fought to control the vulnerability she was afraid to show.

She knew without looking that it was almost midnight. "Seven," she whispered, eventually. "I have to go."

"I know, Kathryn."

Unwillingly, she rose, and hurried to dress. Knowing that after her shift, Seven would be gone.

At the door, she turned, and looked longingly at the much-mussed blonde still stretched out on her bed. Something was lurking in her mind, wanting to be said, but she couldn't quite identify it. And she had no time.

"Goodnight, Seven."

"Goodnight, captain."