She's beautiful. I could see that, even when she was a drone. There was just something about her that made her stand out. And as I stand here now, watching her regenerate in her alcove I'm, struck by it again, by how absolutely stunning she is.
She's beautiful, and not just physically. There's an attractiveness to Seven that goes beyond her outward appearance, a vulnerability that sometimes makes my heart ache. I can't count the amount of times I've wanted to put my arms around her and hold her until she feels safe, until I feel whole.
But there's a line I've drawn - I drew it five years ago when we first arrived in the Delta Quadrant- between me and everyone else aboard this ship, and she's on the other side of it.
Captain. It's just a word, a title... but it's the strongest barrier I've ever come up against. Because it defines not only what I do, but who I am, and how I should act. For five years that title has kept me one step removed from my crew. Many times it's the only thing that's held this ship together - the fact that I'm the one making the final decision, the one bearing the responsibility, the consequences, the guilt.
But no matter how hard it's gotten, I've always kept that distance, held myself back from making any emotional connection that can't be dismissed or ignored to give precedence to rank and protocol.
"I'm your Captain. That means I can't always be your friend."
That's what I told her. We had been abducted and we were being brought into Borg space. There was a fairly good chance we would both be as good as dead in a short matter of time and I felt the need to settle things between us, to assure her that any coldness she felt from me, any distance she sensed between us was only because of that. Because I was the Captain.
I think she understood. She made a joke about it - a rare enough event in itself - but I think she knew what I was saying. I hope she did.
We've come so far, Seven and I. There was a time when I wasn't sure if she'd stay on the ship, never mind become an intrinsical part of its crew. She rebelled against me, she pushed me, tested me, challenged me... and eventually she came to respect me. Now I'd like to think she's learned to trust me.
And for my part I think I've come to understand her better, to see beyond the ocular implants and Borg indifference, to differenciate between Seven and Annika and appreciate how she has to balance the two. And how difficult it is for her to do that.
I'm proud of her. I don't know if she knows that. I'm fairly sure the rest of the crew know how much I respect them, but for some reason I find it so hard to express anything I feel for Seven. But she's come so far, developed so much over the last five years. And, while I don't think it's overly egotistical of me to say that I played a large part in that development, I still wish I could convince myself it was purely for humanitarian reasons.
I wish I could say that I looked on Seven solely as just another crew member, someone on the other side of the line that I have so rigidly drawn between me and everybody else on Voyager. I wish I didn't feel that tug in my gut every time she walks into a room, or that sudden emptiness every time she leaves.
My crew know me well enough by now to know that the competent, in control, emotionless facade I put up so often is just that - a facade. They know that I'm human and that sometimes I feel just as lonely and as scared and as empty as they do. But sometimes they do simply look on me as the Captain, and at times like those I'm expected to have all the answers, no doubts, and no emotions to cloud my Starfleet sanctioned judgement.
I hate to admit it, but there are times I've been guilty of projecting the same expectations on Seven. I think of her years as a Borg, and the knowledge and experience she's gained, and I treat her like she's still a drone. Which, when I'm supposed to be encouraging her to develop her humanity, has to be confusing for the poor woman. I have to remind myself that sometimes she feels just as lonely and as scared and as empty as I do. Even if she does hide it just as well.
But there are times when she's let the mask drop, and in those rare moments I can see the woman she could have been if the Borg hadn't stolen that future from her. It's hard, at times, to look at this young woman and remind myself that, for all her knowledge and inherited experience, she's only lived among humans for a year or so. Her social intercourse, her personal relationships, her sense of self... all are confined to this ship, these people, this crew.
In those moments she looks so... lost. And I ache to make her feel like she belongs.
I'm her Captain. That means I can't always be her friend. Because if I do let her become my friend... what then? If I erase that line, where do I redraw it? It's hard enough just maintaining it as it is.
In the early days I told myself that, leaving aside the fact that I'm her Captain, getting involved with Seven would be taking advantage. She had no experience in that area, no field of reference, in a way it would have been exploiting her innocence. Plus she was acting like a stone cold bitch towards me.
But over the weeks and months that followed I found myself growing more and more attatched to her. I tried convincing myself it was just because she was my responsibility, that because I had severed her from the Collective and because I was in charge of the ship, it was only natural for me to feel a certain protectiveness towards her. But protectiveness wasn't grey/green eyes that I wanted to get lost in. Or a body that was making me think thoughts I hadn't had to deal with for nearly four years.
The truth is that since we had our first real conversation in the brig, shortly after removing her from the Hive Mind, since she first took a swing at me and promised to betray me... Seven has been the first thing on my mind every morning and the last thing every night. And since the time when she told me that Annika's favourite colour had been red, and I felt an involuntary lump rise in my throat, I've know that the ex-drone was someone who would test the endurance of my self-imposed distance and push it to its limits.
Already I find the boundaries blurred and scuffed from the many times that I've let her get closer than I should. Earlier today, after her alcove downloaded much more information than she could handle, Seven developed an acute case of paranoia, concocting numerous conspiracy theories about the Voyager crew.
When I beamed aboard the Delta Flyer to try and talk her down, she bombarded me with a list of stardates, outlining everything that had happened between us so far. She believed it had been a conspiracy on the part of Starfleet to capture a drone, and that I had been their accomplice.
She was so hurt, so betrayed. It killed me to hear her describe our relationship as something sinister. To hear her say what she did, even to know that she was thinking it hurt a hell of a lot more than it should have if I was standing on the right side of that line.
And so I pointed out the things she hadn't mentioned, the good things, throwing the stardates back at her as she had done at me - When I removed her from the Collective and she began her search for her own humanity. When I encouraged her to read her parents journals and she discovered a part of her past, and of herself. When she thanked me for the first time.
I could see the unshed tears in her eyes and, as she corrected me on the stardate of that one, her voice broke. So did any lingering doubts about exactly what I feel for her.
Turning on my heel I walk out of the convereted Cargo Bay, leaving the woman that I love to regenerate amidst the last reminders of her former life. As the doors swish shut behind me, I allow myself a small smile at my newfound sense of freedom. I'm still the Captain, but I haven't gotten Voyager this far by sticking to straight lines. I've cut corners where necessary, and swerved around bends when it's suited me. Starfleet protocol and captaincy be damned. When it comes to Seven, resistance is futile. I think I'm finally starting to accept that.
It's time to start colouring outside the lines.