Into the Warmth

Seven came to me today, nervous as hell and trying her best not to show it. The Doctor had already informed me that he wished her to start sleeping normally, and I really had intended to seek her out and talk to her about it. If I’d known she would be so apprehensive I would have discussed this with her sooner. As it was, I felt the least I could do was invite her to sleep in my quarters tonight, so she could have some company while she finds her feet as it were. So now she is sleeping in my bed and I’m tossing and turning on the couch with rest a far more elusive quarry for me than it was for her.

I’m cold.
I sat by the bed and watched her sleep for a little while before I retired to the other room. It’s a habit I picked up while she still regenerated in her alcove...I don’t know why really...I just started doing it and tonight was no different. Except, I suppose, for how Seven herself appeared - that seemed different tonight. Perhaps it was me, perhaps I was looking at her differently now that she was no longer surrounded by those stark reminders of her life as a Borg. Or perhaps it was because, nestled among my pillows, she seemed younger, more peaceful...and more beautiful than I could ever remember seeing her.

I’m cold.
I think I sometimes forget how young she really is. I know, somewhere in the back of my mind, that she is in her twenties biologically speaking. But she’s got old eyes, Seven has, there’s age in her eyes. The age of someone who’s lived a million lives, who’s seen so much...too much.

I’m cold.
They did that to her. The Borg. And as I looked at her tonight, as I saw how innocent and peaceful she looked, I felt a sudden stab of anger toward them, they who assimilated her at the tender age of six, they who snatched her from her mother’s arms and stole her soul...took everything she was and everything she could have been. They who violated her rights and crushed her uniqueness...smothered her beauty.

I’m cold.
She is beautiful though. I don’t mean she’s attractive, although I doubt there’s a person on this ship who would disagree with me when I say she is. I mean beauty, real beauty that shines through every pore and lights up the lives of those whom it touches. And for all her arrogance, for all her seemingly impenetrable Borg veneer, it has somehow touched me. Its gentleness, its warmth. They have touched me.

I’m cold.
And so I lay there, tossing and turning and thinking of her, until suddenly it all proved too much and I rose to return to her bedside.

I’m cold.
I began to shiver as I crossed the threshold to my bedroom and saw her. She was still asleep - she hadn’t even stirred since I left her a few hours ago. When I reached her I just stood beside the bed and looked at her for a few moments. Then I reached up and trailed a finger across her cheek. She was soft and warm and suddenly it seemed as if that warmth was calling to me, beckoning me.

I’m cold.
I don’t think I really knew what I was doing; all I knew was that she was warm and that I had been cold for so, so long. Gently, I climbed into bed beside her and, without ever waking up, she rolled over and put her arms around me. She was lying half on top of me and I felt her warmth penetrate to my very bones. After a few moments I reached up and encircled her in my own arms, placing one hand at the small of her back and one at the base of her neck so I could stroke her atypically free-flowing hair. She moved even closer to me and mumbled something I could not hear as I leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“Captain?” she mumbled, her eyes only half-open.
“Kathryn, darling...it’s Kathryn.” I whispered back and tightened my grip on her.
“Yes...yes...Kathryn...” she said then closed her eyes as she fell back into unconsciousness. And knowing I was headed there myself, I leaned down and kissed her again as I began to drift off.

And at last, I felt...warm.
 
 

T