Challenges

by

sHaYcH

Disclaimer: All things Trek belong to Paramount, I'm just borrowing them.

Who's doing whom: There be f/f and m/f references here. Some of it may be graphic, some of it may not be. If this is bothersome, please find another story to read.

Comments, kudos and constructive criticism can be sent to shaych3@yahoo.com. Flames will be recycled as catbox liner.

 


It was the end of Beta shift and Ensign Tom Paris was cheerfully whistling his way toward the quarters of B'Elanna Torres, Voyager's Chief Engineer, and his current girlfriend. Girlfriend? Come on Tommy-Boy, even Seven recognized that things have progressed beyond the adolescent phase with you and B'el. Why else would she have spent so much time studying you? Tom knew it wasn't because she was infatuated with his boyish good looks, or even because of B'Elanna's exotic half-Klingon appearance. He quickened his pace. Just the thought of his lady-love's dark brown eyes crinkled in a smile made his pulse race faster.

I hope she isn't still angry. He thought to himself as he turned a corner, making him more than half-way to Torres' quarters. Right after the fiasco over the bet he'd made with the Doctor regarding Seven's social development, Tom had managed to once again irritate B'Elanna to the point that she wouldn't see him. Maybe you'll get lucky -- maybe she's ovulating. His inner voice suggested snidely. The helmsman ruefully grinned acknowledgment at the statement and carefully patted the bottle of Chateau Picard with the single long-stemmed red rose he carried. Even if she was "in the mood", he hoped that his peace offering would sweeten the deal.

He arrived at her quarters, took a deep breath and tapped the door chime. Shortly, the door whooshed open to reveal his lover dressed only in a robe and slippers, hair slightly askew.

"Tom? What the hell do you want?"

He proffered the rose and bottle. "To apologize for once again proving that men are assholes?" B'Elanna chuckled, took the rose and bottle, glancing briefly at the label and leaned against the open doorway.

"Give me one good reason why I should let you in." She said, twirling the rose indifferently. Tom considered her words, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"Because I'm just too cute to resist?" He said finally, grinning rakishly at her. She smirked, grabbed his tunic and dragged him through the doorway.

"Get in here you."

The occupants of deck nine, section twelve got little sleep that shift.

***

It was nearing Delta shift when Tom's comm badge chirped at him. "Ensign Paris, it is time to report to sickbay." The Doctor's cheerful voice announced. Tom groaned and B'Elanna glared at him.

"I thought you had the whole night off?" She growled, reaching out to recover her robe from where it had landed.

"I don't. I sorta promised the Doc I'd pull some double shifts this month." He sat up, rubbed his face, and then stumbled off into the ensuite to take a quick sonic shower.

"Why did you ever go and do a thing like that? Or are you bucking for a promotion?" She asked from the bedroom as he stepped out of the bathroom, running a comb through his unruly hair.

Tom chewed on his lower lip, considering his options. He could tell her the truth and possibly piss her off again, or he could tell a convincing lie, and risk her being even more pissed off when she eventually found out the truth. He opted for the truth.

"I'm sorta making up for getting the Doc in the doghouse with Seven." He mumbled, rummaging around the floor for his previous day's uniform and removing the pip from the collar.

"What? What the hell did you do now, Tom Paris?" B'Elanna asked curiosity and irritation in her voice.

"It's a rather long story, which I don't have time to tell." He replied, hoping that she'd just Drop It.

"So give me the quick and dirty." No Such Luck. Tom sighed heavily.

"I bet the Doctor that he couldn't get Seven to go out on a successful date with anyone. He accepted, fell for Seven in the process and ended up being her date. I put my foot in it and revealed the bet to Seven, I swear I didn't do it intentionally, and she dumped him. Since my forfeit on the bet would have been a month's worth of double duty shifts, and his a month of no shifts, I compromised and offered to do double duty twice a week." He took a breath and waited for her response. He didn't have to wait long.

"Of all the stupid -- Thomas Eugene Paris! You bet on the Ice Queen and lost?" The half-Klingon rolled her eyes dramatically.

"Yeah, and I think the whole thing kinda hurt her. I mean, she hasn't really spoken to me since. I feel just awful about that." There was enough sincere emotion in Paris' voice to earn him a 20th century Emmy award.

"Oh spare me the false sympathy. You were probably just peeved that she didn't fall all over herself to ask you out on that date." Tom's jaw dropped. "Oh, I know all about what went on. It was prime gossip in engineering for weeks -- did you know that Chapman still gets all mushy whenever Seven walks by his station? It's disgusting." B'Elanna made a face.

"But I never would have…" Tom tried to speak, but his shock was still in control of his vocal cords.

"Would have what? Gone on the date? You can't fool me, Tom Paris. I'm not sure there's a man on board this ship, wait, I take that back, there's not a man on board this ship aside from Tuvok that is immune to the charms of the Borg Babe. Hell, I've even heard a few of the women fantasizing about her."

Tom found his voice. "Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Fantasized about the 'Borg Babe'?" B'Elanna's brow furrowed at the smug tone.

"No! I don't fantasize about others. How about you?" She stepped up and got into Tom's face. He looked away, blushing hotly. "You do! By Kahless' balls, you do!" What had started as a bit of a joke was now morphing into outrage.

"Not anymore." Tom squeaked, feeling the heat of B'Elanna's gaze burn holes in his chest.

"Let me guess -- your fantasy object was Seven of Nine?" Tom started to answer, but B'Elanna cut him off. "Don't bother, your scent gives you away." She sniffed disdainfully. "Good thing you never had the balls to try it. She would have ripped out your heart and served it to you for lunch. If I didn't get there first." Tom's eyes flashed.

"As if you could do any better?" He blurted, then bit his tongue. B'Elanna reacted as if slapped.

"Is that a Challenge, Ensign Paris?" She growled, eyes half-lidded, hands on hips.

"Mr. Paris? Time's a-wasting. There's bio-beds to scrub!" The Doctor's voice interrupted once again.

"On my way." Tom barked, then to B'Elanna he said, "Depends."

"On?"

"Whether or not you kiss me good-bye." He poured on the charm as they progressed to the living area, then to the doorway.

"I'd rather kiss a Borg." B'Elanna said bitingly.

The door shushed open, revealing Seven of Nine, striding with efficient purpose to who knew where.

"I'd like to see you try." He said quietly, then walked out, leaving B'Elanna to seethe.

"All right Helm Boy, if it's a kiss you want, it's a kiss you'll get." She considered the Borg's shapely, soft lips and realized that she was rather looking forward to the experience.

***

Tom kicked himself all the way to sickbay. Really. When was he ever going to learn? He couldn't even look Seven in the eye when she came by during his shift for her regular check up. He did notice that her voice was less than human, almost more like the coldly regulated tones she had used when still a drone. Again, he castigated himself. He hadn't really wanted to hurt her - not really - he'd only wanted her to realize what it was like to live under a microscope. It was only later, when Captain Janeway had dropped by his quarters to give him a long lecture about what an ass he'd truly made of himself that he'd recognized his motivations. He'd actually told Janeway why he made the bet, and she had only looked at him, closed her eyes and shook her head disappointedly.

"Tom, don't you realize that Seven lives nearly every second of her life under a microscope? Everywhere she goes she's stared at - and this will never change. She will always be different from others, either because of her implants, or because of her beauty, or even because of her absolute drive to find perfection. In a way, we all live under a microscope. Seven just…" Janeway paused, thinking, "made you feel the magnification more. I know her methods weren't exactly the best, but you can't fault her for attempting to learn more about us."

Which only served to make Paris feel even worse. He had tried to apologize to Seven, but she had only shrugged and said, "I do not require your expressions of regret; I was not damaged by the experience." So he had gone to the Doctor and offered his services as a way to atone.

And now you just may have sent B'Elanna into the arms of another woman. Not that he really thought that B'Elanna was the type - after all, he'd never seen her look twice at another female before - but he knew she loved a good challenge. Casually, he looked Seven over, noting all the shapely curves of the Borg's implant speckled body as the Doctor scanned each of the devices, noting the near perfect symmetry of her breasts and even lingering over the smooth area at the juncture of her thighs. He looked up, and saw Seven's deep blue eyes boring into his skull and coughed.

"Do I comply with your specifications, Ensign?" She asked, as the EMH retrieved her uniform from the tray beside the bio-bed. The tips of Paris' ears turned bright red.

"O… of course, Seven. You're very beautiful." He stammered. The Doctor bestowed a quick glare on him.

"Mr. Paris, perhaps you would care to go and recalibrate the optic scanner?" He suggested acidly, handing Seven her plum dermaplastic suit.

"Right-O, Doc." Paris nearly saluted as he fled into another office and began doing busywork.

***

B'Elanna was crawling through a Jeffries tube, seeking the source of a systems failure and trying to decide just exactly how she was going get Seven of Nine to kiss her. I think waltzing up and biting her is out, she's doesn't seem the type. Nor am I extremely fond of the idea of just doing it - I don't think Janeway wants to watch "Battle of the Babes, Voyager style". She stopped and removed the cover to a power conduit, scanning the circuitry within. It struck her that if she really wanted to make Tom eat crow, she was going to have to seduce Seven, and idea which both appealed to and appalled her.

The tricorder bleeped, showing her where the trouble was. Quickly she pulled out the defective part, fixed it and replaced it. Then she settled back on her heels, resting her head against the cool duranium hull. Through the floor grate she could see a relatively unused section of Deck Eleven, a darkened corner that was only accessed when they dry docked. Vaguely, she could make out the outline of someone curled up in a ball, hidden in the shadows. Startled, she was struck by the memory of the last time she'd seen someone in that space.

It was just after they'd found the Hirogen relay station, after they'd gotten the messages from home. The crew was ebullient, sharing tidbits of Alpha quadrant news with abandon. Only a few, like her, had withdrawn, feeling deeply the news about the shattering of the Maquis by the Cardassians and the Dominion. B'Elanna had come to this remote spot deep in the Jeffries tubes to cry, to vent all of broken-heartedness in the smothering silence, except she wasn't alone.

Her tears had run hotly down her cheeks to dampen her uniform tunic and she had been about to let out a strangled sob when a noise below had silenced her. Tears forgotten, B'Elanna peered through the grate and squinted to try and make out whom else had found her hideaway. She was shocked beyond description when she recognized Captain Kathryn Janeway, curled in a corner with her knees tucked up under her chin, a padd in her hand and tears streaking her upturned face.

"Oh Mark." The captain had whispered, sorrow choking her voice.

Later, when B'Elanna had cornered Chakotay and demanded to know what was bothering the Captain, he'd only told her that the Captain's business was her own and that shouldn't B'Elanna continue to work on deciphering the message from Starfleet? It had taken her almost a month to find out that Janeway had been dumped. Mark was Mark Johnson, the man she was engaged to marry, and he'd taken advantage of the communications relay to send her a "Dear Jane" letter. The Klingon in her wanted to offer to have the man eviscerated when they finally did return to Federation space, and the Human in her was hard put to control her impulses. But she had, and had filed away the image of the lonely captain for another time.

Once again, the darkened corner had an occupant. However, this time it was not Janeway, this time it was Seven of Nine. The young woman was curled in an almost identical position, knees tucked, face upturned, but there was no padd, and no mournful lamentation. Only a look of pure devastation and emptiness.

A beam of light caught Seven's eyes just right and B'Elanna was captivated by the endless depth of blue that seemed to go on forever, eyes that appeared not to see, just record. She was shaken to her core and the impulse to drop down from the tube and gather the Borg into her arms and hold her until the chill in her gaze was melted away was almost too great to resist. She was about to give in to temptation when Seven rose from her seat, shook herself off and walked away. As soon as she was sure that the young woman was gone, B'Elanna dropped down from the Jeffries tube, now more than ever determined to figure out a way to approach Seven. Someone needed to thaw the ice that had formed around the Borg's heart, and she felt that she was just the person to do it.

***

An idea is always greatest at its inception, B'Elanna decided four days later when she hadn't come up with one surefire way to get Seven of Nine to go out with her. She discarded trickery, since subtlety worked about as well as gasoline in a warp core with the Borg. She once again examined the idea of just bonking the woman over the head with a club and dragging her off to her quarters, but that idea also bombed when B'Elanna considered that Janeway was likely to throw her in the brig for it. She was about to give up the whole thing and let Tom have his day of pride when it struck her. She would extend the hand of friendship. After all, it worked for Captain Janeway.

That day, nearing the end of her shift, she gathered an armload of isolinear chips and made her way to astrometrics. Seven was there, alone as she usually was.

"B'Elanna Torres, do you require assistance?" The Borg asked, while scanning some telemetry at her station.

B'Elanna shifted the load of chips and put on her best "friendly" face. "Actually Seven, yes, I could use a little help." If Seven was surprised, she managed to hide it behind her cool blue eyes.

"What is it you seek to do?" Seven asked, shutting down her board, then walking over to take several of the chips from the half-Klingon woman.

"These are the extra memory chips you requested last month. I thought Carey had brought them up, but he told me he hadn't had time to do it. I thought that since I had some free time, I'd bring them by and we could install them." B'Elanna tried to sound casual, and managed to succeed.

Seven accepted B'Elanna's explanation with a raised eyebrow. Together the two women began to work on removing old or damaged chips from the ship's systems. After about an hour, Seven spoke. "Curious."

"Hmm?" B'Elanna inquired while hunched down inside a console, only her feet visible. "What's that?" She called out, voice echoing hollowly.

"I believe this is the first time where we have worked together without you attempting to 'rearrange my anatomy'."

B'Elanna crawled out from under the console, dusting off her hands. "Well, perhaps that's because you haven't done anything to make me want to 'rearrange your anatomy'. Yet." A grin, part smirk and part tease twitched at the corners of B'Elanna's mouth.

"I see." Seven began entering commands into the console, initializing the new chips.

B'Elanna moved to the next panel, opened it and peered inside. Noticing a frayed wire, she hunkered down to fix it. "So, what do Collective-less Borg do for fun these days?" She asked conversationally.

"Fun?" Seven asked.

Bingo! B'Elanna's mind chortled. "Yeah, you know: play time, stress release, amusement. Fun."

"Borg do not play." Seven said dryly, moving to the wall unit and checking some figures.

"Maybe they should." Said the lieutenant under her voice.

"Play is irrelevant. In the Collective, there is no need for recreation. A drone is either active or inactive."

"Yeah, but you aren't a drone anymore Seven. Hell, you've had your first date even. You can't tell me that you don't want to do something like that again."

Seven stopped entering codes, turned and faced B'Elanna, who was once again standing. "I never wish to experience a 'date' again." She said coldly, but the half-Klingon's ears heard the hurt that Seven tried so hard to hide.

"I guess you didn't have the greatest time in the quadrant?" B'Elanna asked conversationally, checking another system.

"No."

"Oh, well, maybe you didn't go out with the right person."

"I chose a date precisely suited to the Doctor's criteria."

B'Elanna snorted, laughter erupting from her in short barks. "Well there you go! I can practically guarantee that the Doctor is the last person anyone would recommend as an expert in courting rituals."

"Oh?" The implant over Seven's left eye rose in query. B'Elanna thought the expression was rather charming, then almost choked over that thought.

"Have you met his wife?" The engineer asked casually.

"Wife?" The Borg's voice was actually choked, as if the word had been strangled in midspeech.

"Oh yeah. 'Couple of years back, he decided he'd try 'family life' and created himself the perfect holo-family. I'm surprised that he didn't use huge volumes of pictures to demonstrate the benefits of family living for you." B'Elanna said, rising and leaning against the wall.

"He did not inform me of his 'family'." Seven replied, voice soft, hollow and empty, devoid of any inflection except the faint mechanical scratch of a vocal processor struggling to amplify itself.

For the rest of her life, B'Elanna would never know exactly why she reacted as she did, she would just always remember how sweet and wonderful it felt to hold Seven of Nine. The chief engineer was across the room, gathering the young Borg into her arms and whispering, "Hey, I'm sorry." before the first tear had finished it's journey from cresting the ridge of Seven's eye to mar the sleek perfection of the young woman's uniform.

"I do not understand, B'Elanna Torres. Why do I react this way?" Seven whispered, clinging to the other woman.

"I..." B'Elanna struggled to find the right words, "I think you may have developed some deeper feelings for the Doctor other than just friendship. And when... and when you thought that his interest in you was motivated purely by his need to best Tom, well that hurt you. Then I inadvertently added to that hurt by telling you that he was married, and unavailable."

For Seven, it was as if the dam had been broken. More tears flooded her cheeks, soaking B'Elanna's tunic. She fell, pulling the engineer down with her, not even noticing when she cracked her head against the wall, her emotions having won control of her body. There wasn't much that B'Elanna could do except hold the sobbing Borg and hope that the torrent would soon subside.

It did, but in its wake was a weariness that Seven had never before experienced, and soon, she was fast asleep in B'Elanna's protective grasp. The half-Klingon rolled her eyes.

"Great, now what have I done? Well, let's just hope that astrometrics isn't well traveled at this hour..."

The doors whooshed open. In walked Harry Kim, face buried in a padd. B'Elanna nearly closed her eyes as she begged all of whatever metaphysical beings that ever existed to keep him from noticing her. They weren't listening.

"Seven?" Harry called out. Not seeing the Borg, he stepped around the main console, where he saw the entangled women. His face flushed. His pip bulged outward as he swallowed convulsively. "B... B'Elanna? Are... are you and Seven, um, busy?" The young Ensign well remembered the one time he'd walked into sickbay with an armload of medical supplies from a successful trade mission to find B'Elanna and Tom engaged in a Klingon mating ritual. Or at least, that's what he hoped it was. Never-the-less, he'd been chased out of the room by an outraged B'Elanna who'd screamed, "Can't you see we're busy?" at him so loudly that its echoes could still be heard in the hydroponics bay.

B'Elanna looked at Harry, considered gutting him, decided that she didn't want to clean up the mess and replied, "No. My... friend here just had a bad day at the office. Now, if you'll help me up, I think I'll take her back to my quarters until she wakes." The statement was an order.

Harry silently helped the lieutenant lift the still slumbering Borg, then, programmed a site-to-site transport for two from astrometrics to B'Elanna's quarters. Afterward, he nearly fell over himself racing to tell Tom what he had seen.

***

Seven of Nine opened her eyes. She was in a prone position, arms and legs akimbo, hair mussed and falling into her face and there were sounds emanating from somewhere that were so horrid that Seven wished that her aural processors would just go off-line and be done with it. Filtering through the cacophony was the thrum of a sonic shower and ... B'Elanna, singing along with the "music". Klingon opera. Seven decided after toning down her aural implants. Why am I in Lieutenant Torres' quarters? She asked herself as she sat up, pushing her hair out of her face.

B'Elanna walked out of her ensuite, still humming along to the opera, a towel casually draped over her shoulders barely concealing her breasts. Seven found her eyes riveted to the sight of the almost nude lieutenant, felt her breathing accelerate, along with her pulse and realized, this is arousal.

"Oh, Seven. Good, you're awake. Computer, end program." B'Elanna said, pulling the towel off of her shoulders and donning a gray Starfleet tee-shirt. But not before Seven got an eyeful of rounded, firm breasts. The Borg thought her eyes were going to fall out of her head. Then, she was absolutely certain she'd need to request medical assistance when, after the tee-shirt was on, she could still make out the shape of the half-Klingon's nipples. She wanted to touch them, to stroke them and hold them and know what the wrinkled flesh tasted like. The thoughts assaulted the young woman's mind, making her cheeks flush with the desire and confusion of it all. Memories of the sexual activities of a thousand species raced through her head and she wanted to try each and every one of them. Now. With B'Elanna. Seven rose and advanced upon B'Elanna, nostrils flaring. The engineer looked up, a half-grin on her face. "So. Care for something to drink?"

Nonplused, Seven stopped, a befuddled expression crossing her face until the Doctor's training took over. "Yes, thank you. I will have a glass of water."

"Oh Seven, where's your sense of adventure? How about a nice tankard of blood wine? Or Tarkathian ale?"

"Synthehol inhibits my cortical implant." Seven answered, her words rote perfect.

"That's what it's supposed to do. Come on, live a little!" B'Elanna replicated two wooden tankards filled to foaming with an amber toned liquid, then handed one to Seven. "Bottoms up!" She toasted, then began chugging her drink.

In an effort not to anger her hostess, Seven followed suit. She didn't quite keep from choking, but she did manage not to spew the bitter brew across the room. "This beverage is unpalatable." She gagged.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Try this one." B'Elanna handed Seven a metal goblet of something that was darkly viscous. Again, Seven slammed the drink. Again, she nearly spit it back out. This time however, when she tried to speak, she could only make croaking sounds as the alcohol hit her cortical implant and motor function became haphazard at best. The stately Borg toppled over, landing back on the couch.

"You..." she slurred, "are one de," a hiccup, "evious woman, B-" another, "B'Elanna Torr," and another of the utterly adorable sounds, "es."

"Seven of Nine." B'Elanna stated as she plopped down next to the Borg, "I believe that is the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Really? My apolo," Seven covered her mouth to silence a hiccup, "gies. There are so many," but they kept escaping, "nice things I could," again, she was interrupted, "say." Seven's eyes opened and closed owlishly. The Borg swayed a bit, then steadied herself, focusing her eyes on the half-hardened tips of B'Elanna's nipples.

"Oh? Do tell." Somehow, the engineer had acquired a third drink for each of them, and was proceeding to slowly sip at it. Seven took a gulp of the liquid, a deep yellow fluid that was sweet and sour, and exhaled.

"You have the most," the Borg turned away to hiccup, "perfect breasts I have ever," another hiccup escaped, "seen." Seven allowed her gaze to lazily crawl up the half-Klingon's body, to finally meet her eyes. What she saw was shock and -- more than a little -- arousal.

"I -- do?" B'Elanna shifted position on the couch, setting her drink down on the small table squatting next to the divan. She swallowed. Hard. The half-Klingon gave the woman beside her a lengthy glance, lingering over the full lips, the soft curves of breast and hip and felt the stirrings of desire.

"Yes. I would like to touch them." Seven's voice was plaintively clear. Who was B'Elanna to deny such a plea?

She held her arms open, "By all means, do." Seven smiled, her face coming aglow with the expression as she reached out to gently touch the swells hidden beneath the gray fabric. Air hissed through B'Elanna's teeth as she exhaled. The Borg's touch was electric, like passing her hand through a level 2 force field. She bared her teeth, a small growl bubbling up from her stomach, her hands rose of their own accord and covered Seven's, and she leaned into the Borg's touch hungrily. "Yesssss." She hissed.

Seven's mind was completely out of its depth. The nanoprobes had long since removed all traces of the synthehol, but when she'd realized she was holding onto the breasts she'd only just wanted to touch, she wasn't about to let go. Only a small, infinitesimally tiny part of her was concerned that things weren't quite right, that something indefinable was missing, and she ignored that in favor of closing her eyes and reaching for the "brass ring".

She leaned forward, felt B'Elanna's breath on her face, peeked through her lids, calculated the proper angle to meet the half-Klingon woman's face and bent her head down and brushed her lips across B'Elanna's.

If the warp core had went critical, they wouldn't have noticed. A small part of B'Elanna's mind was chortling gleefully at Tom Paris, but the rest of her was way too busy reacting to the way that Seven's lips were teasing hers. She opened her mouth and bit down on Seven's lower lip, not quite drawing blood, but definitely letting the Borg know she was willing to initiate a full mating ritual. She felt the Borg react, the young woman falling back onto the couch in a submissive position. B'Elanna crawled on top of Seven, hands roaming everywhere over the woman's body, letting her touches ignite a trail of desire.

"I want..." Seven whispered hoarsely.

"I know." B'Elanna replied, almost savagely. She bent down and consumed Seven's mouth with kisses, wanting to brand the woman with her need. As she moved against the Borg, Tom's eyes, liquid puppy dark, appeared in her mind. What am I doing? She mentally screamed at herself. Shuddering, she ripped herself away from the Borg's lips and leaped across the room, breathing hard.

Seven lay on the couch, head thrown back eyes rolled back in her head, panting. She looked up, startled. "Why have you ceased? I enjoyed what you were doing, Lieutenant." Her eyes were half-closed with unanswered desire.

"Me too. That's why I had to stop. I don't love you Seven. I love Tom." B'Elanna replied from her spot on the other side of the room.

"Love is relevant?" Seven asked, her natural curiosity pushing aside her desire.

"Not always, but in this case, yes. I... I respect you too much to take advantage of you like this."

"You respect me?" Amazement coruscated through the Borg's voice.

"Yes, blue eyes, I do."

"'Blue eyes'?"

"A nick-name. It's something that people who've been close to each other give to a friend. And I'd say we've been about as close as we can get and still be dressed."

"I... like it." Seven pronounced, after rolling the words around in her mind for a few minutes. "I like you, B'Elanna Torres. You aggravate me, you are inefficient and your choice in beverages is worse than Neelix's, but I like you."

"Thanks." B'Elanna replied acerbically. "I like you too. Even though I think you're the most arrogant bitch in this quadrant, you have a side of you that is almost Klingon in it's viciousness."

"Are we 'friends' now?" Seven asked, while repining her hair.

"Yes, I'd say so."

"Are we going to copulate?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"Seven," B'Elanna sighed exasperatedly. "I just told you that I wasn't going to take advantage of you --"

"I am not intoxicated, nor am I underage, nor am I unaware of the consequences of my actions." Seven supplied, cutting the engineer off.

"I don't love you Seven. At least, not like that." B'Elanna added lamely.

"I do not love you either. But you have said that we are friends, can not friends copulate?"

B'Elanna didn't know how to answer that one. "I -- Seven, I just don't think it would be a good idea. I mean, if Tom found out, he'd have to challenge you to mortal combat, and it would put a serious damper on our friendship if you killed the man I love."

"I understand, I think. If I cannot copulate with you, or any of the married crew, then who may I copulate with?"

"Kahless' boots." B'Elanna whispered, and replicated another Tarkathian ale. It would be a long night.

***

It was a very long night, and an even longer day as B'Elanna first spent her time explaining sex and romance to one very confused Borg, then later, the difference between Harry's version of the Astrophysics encounter and hers with Tom. She did not tell Tom about the kiss she and Seven had shared, just allowed him to think that he had won his point, and then promptly chased away any thoughts he might of had of strutting about with several well placed nibbles. Somewhere, during the long hours, she got another idea.

Seven, it seemed, was lonely. She was also, apparently, highly attracted to strong women. B'Elanna knew of only one other, unattached, lonely, strong woman aboard Voyager. Captain Kathryn Janeway.

Yeah... B'Elanna decided as Tom covered her face and neck with kisses, they'd be perfect for each other... The thought comforted her a little as she let go any last remaining shreds of desire for the Borg and threw her hearts into becoming the younger woman's friend.

***

Captain Kathryn Janeway was making her monthly inspection of Deck 11 when she realized she was being watched. Not just looked at, but carefully studied, like a bug under a microscope. The hairs on the back of her neck pricked up and she surreptitiously scanned main engineering to see if she could spot her watcher. However, whoever was doing the looking wasn't being overtly obvious about it, and Janeway gave up trying to find them.

She completed her inspection by carefully listening to her Chief Engineer, B'Elanna Torres describe all of the recent upgrades and repairs, then took the padd that held all of the lieutenant's equipment and manpower requests for the next month. "Thank you, B'Elanna. That will be all. As you were." The captain nodded to the crew, who quickly resumed their duties, and boarded the turbo-lift.

"All right folks, nap time is over, back to work." B'Elanna said, moving over to a console and beginning a series of tests.

On board the turbo-lift, the feeling of being watched subsided and Janeway breathed a sigh of relief. "Deck six." She told the computer, and bent her knees to accommodate for the acceleration.

In a Jeffries tube over engineering, Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct to the Unimatrix Zero-One added a few last notes to her padd and began the arduous climb back to deck six.

***

It was chow time in the mess hall. Most of the crew were unenthusiastically spooning their way through one of Neelix's unappetizing concoctions or nibbling just as unenthusiastically on a Starfleet ration bar. Seven took her cup of "nutritional supplement number 147" from the replicator and joined B'Elanna Torres, who was glaring at her soup.

"Lieutenant. Is there something wrong with your meal?" Seven asked as she sat down.

"It's still breathing." B'Elanna grumbled. Seven peered into the bowl. Indeed, whatever was in the broth appeared to be "breathing".

"I understood that Klingons liked their food fresh. It appears that I was incorrect." Seven stated, lips twitching in an almost smile.

"There's fresh, and then there's 'still kicking and screaming'. I prefer my food dead first." B'Elanna retorted.

"Perhaps if you applied a stabbing motion with your fork?" Seven demonstrated, picking up the engineer's utensil and vigorously thrusting downward. B'Elanna turned a delicate shade of green.

"Uh, no thanks, I'd rather not have to kill it myself." She pushed the bowl away, untouched. It burbled.

"Feeling Human today, Lieutenant?" Seven asked as she took a drink of the thick yellow liquid that the Doctor had designed for her specific needs. It had been nearly a month since the two had "bonded" in B'Elanna's quarters over synthehol, and their friendship had developed nicely, only hitting a snag once or twice. The rest of Voyager's crew had taken notice of the newly blossomed relationship and sniggered, laying odds on how long it would take before they attempted to kill each other. Tom, assured that the only relationship between his B'Elanna and Seven of Nine was a platonic one, cheerfully laid his rations on them making it another month without attempting violence.

The engineer stuck her tongue out at the Borg. "Yes, actually. For some reason I'd rather not have to go primal to eat today. Is that acceptable, your perfectness?"

"Of course. I would gladly share my nutritional supplement with you, Lieutenant." Seven offered the gooey drink to B'Elanna, who blanched.

"No thanks. I'm sure that Neelix has some leftover leola root stew somewhere." B'Elanna got up, took her meal to Neelix, had a hushed conversation with him and returned, bearing a plate with a sandwich on it.

"Better?" Seven asked, draining her glass.

"Much. I love roast beef." The lieutenant prepared to take a huge bite.

"You are aware of the fact that the meat you are consuming with such relish is not truly 'roast beef' but in actuality is carbon elements shaped and flavored to resemble the taste and texture of beef protein."

"Seven," said B'Elanna between bites, "I want to eat my food, not analyze it. Now tell me how today went." The Borg's face visibly fell. "That bad, eh?" The half-Klingon wiped her mouth with her sleeve, causing Seven to wince slightly.

"Your personal habits are atrocious." Seven pointed out helpfully.

"Thanks. Now about what you were supposed to be doing today?"

Seven rolled her eyes. "I observed Captain Janeway from the Jeffries tube above main engineering and while she made her inspection of astrometrics."

"And?"

"I must conclude that you are correct... she is the best choice of mates aboard Voyager. However, I do not see how this is relevant to me."

"Sometimes, my Borg-augmented friend, you can be so blind." B'Elanna shook her head wonderingly.

Seven sighed. Dealing with Lieutenant Torres could be very trying. The other woman was just so damned illogical that attempting to comprehend the woman's thinking patterns could scramble her neural processors for several minutes. "My visual acuity is..."

"Better than your average non-Borg crewmember. I know. What I meant was that you spend so much time seeing the world through the cold filter of logic that you forget to use your emotions."

"It is experiencing my emotional side that got me into difficulty with the Doctor. I do not wish to repeat such a mistake."

The mess hall had begun to empty as people went about their business. There were now only a few crewmen left, Seven and B'Elanna, and maybe half a dozen others. B'Elanna looked around and said, "Perhaps we should go someplace else and talk, Seven." She had noticed that Crewman Chell was turning an interested ear on their conversation. The Bolian was a notorious gossip and she didn't want any rumors to spread regarding her plans for Seven and the captain.

"I concur." Seven was also well aware of how fast information could be disseminated through the ship, especially if that information were deemed a "juicy bit".

"Shall we retire to your quarters, or to cargo bay two?"

"Oh, I don't feel like rattling around in your cage tonight. If you can stand my mess, I'd rather we go to my place."

"That is acceptable." The two women retired to B'Elanna's quarters where they took up the conversation once more.

They sat on B'Elanna's couch, Seven drinking a glass of water and B'Elanna sipping at a cup of the ale that she favored.

"Seven," B'Elanna began, after a long pull from her tankard, "I really think that you should consider asking Janeway out. I mean, she's not perfect, but I don't think I'd kick her out of bed for eating crackers."

"Your colloquialisms notwithstanding, I concur." Seven replied.

"You mean, you think she's one hot babe?"

"Captain Janeway's body temperature is the same as any other human female, and I am certain that she has passed the chronological age of three. However, I do find her extremely attractive, and being around her increases my own pulse and body temperature to an almost unbearable rate. I am 'turned on' by the idea of touching her and to kiss her would be... perfection."

B'Elanna digested this, then with a look of confused amusement on her face, said, "You know something blue eyes? You may be the strangest person that I've ever met. But, you certainly know how to make a point."

"Thank you."

"Now, how shall we go about hooking you and Janeway the Nun up?"

Seven considered B'Elanna's statement, her eidetic memory supplying her with the definition of a 'nun'. "I was unaware that Captain Janeway had taken Cloister Vows. 'Earthly' relationships are forbidden to those of the 'cloth', she is, after all, an unacceptable mate." Seven's face and fell a little bit with each word, until she was almost huddled up on herself.

"Seven, it's just a figure of speech. Captain Janeway is not a nun! She was engaged to be married for crying out loud!" Though the way she's stayed celibate all these years in the Delta quadrant, you'd think she is, the half-Klingon thought to herself.

"So she is available to mate?" Seven asked, hope filling her voice to overflowing. B'Elanna stifled a laugh.

"Well, I wouldn't have put it in quite those terms, but yes, she's 'available'."

"That is acceptable. When should I make my intentions to mate with Captain Janeway clear to her?"

"You might start by sending her flowers." B'Elanna suggested dryly. "The Doctor really didn't go over much with you, did he?"

"I believe the Doctor was endeavoring to give me quantity education, over quality."

"I see. Well, listen what you gotta do is this..."

***

In the morning, Captain Janeway walked into her ready room and found a single red rose laying across her desk with a card attached. It read: You are highly admired. Kathryn smiled, thinking that perhaps Chakotay was being flirtatious again, but then it struck her that the words were perhaps a bit too formal for her First Officer. Tuvok? But why would he send me a rose? Whoever had sent the bloom had known of her penchant for the flower and that tickled her. Unless...

"Q? Are you playing games with me again?" She waited, one minute, five minutes, ten minutes went by and there was nothing. No flash of light, no strange anomalies, just the constant hum of a well-tuned warp core. "Well, it was worth a shot." She walked over to her replicator and spent a precious ration on a vase filled with water. Setting the small treasure on her desk, she sat down and began to peruse the padds that awaited her attention.

Thus her life continued for almost a week. Every day, something small but lovely awaited her, roses, a glass statuette, a delicate gold chain; all objects of someone's affection. But she'd be darned if she knew who. No one on her senior staff knew either, or at least admitted to knowing, once she'd actually brought the subject up at a meeting. So she started watching her crew, trying to determine who it was who'd gone to such lengths to woo their captain.

At first, she came up empty handed. Chakotay was in the process of dating one of the Delaney sisters, Harry was still goggle-eyed over the other one, Paris was hooked on Torres and Tuvok was logically faithful to his wife. She then concentrated on the men and women of the lower decks, but even they were involved in their own world, and only peripherally aware of the captain as anything other than "Captain Janeway".

It was almost frustrating, and somewhat frightening. She hadn't yet had the courage, or the will to ask Tuvok to investigate the matter. If it was just a crewmember who was undergoing a crush, then she'd rather find them and deal with them on a personal level. If it was something more sinister, then, well then she'd call on her Security Officer's help.

She sat in her quarters, holding the rose that had been on her desk that morning, contemplating it's near-perfection. It was crisp, not entirely thorn-free, but its petals were velvet soft. She wondered who would think to blend so many differences into one bloom, and then, from somewhere, a little voice inside her head asked, Who do you want it to be, Katie?

The answer that floated up from the hidden corridors of her heart surprised her, held her immobile, then, in denial, she thrust the rose from her, hurling it to the floor.

"No." But she could not quiet the voice that whispered silently, Seven of Nine. Kathryn Janeway planted her eyes on the transparent aluminum window next to her and watched as Voyager's warp field distorted space.

***

She had sat for an hour, maybe two when her door chime sounded. Shifting, she called out, "Come in." The door whooshed open, standing at the entrance, face shadowed, but body backlit by the corridor lights, was Seven. She was wearing a dress. Janeway's throat went suddenly dry, and her eyes darted to the rose that lie discarded on the floor. If it was Seven who had sent it... Somehow, Janeway got up, scooped up the flower and managed to greet the young Borg in less than two heartbeats.

"Am I interrupting anything, Captain?" Seven asked. For some reason, Janeway was looking at the Borg's eyes. That's when she saw it. A flicker; just a slight one, but it was enough of a motion for Kathryn to know that yes, Seven was interested in what was in Janeway's hand.

Casually, Janeway walked over to her shelf, removed a vase that had been collecting dust for years, and filled it with water from her ensuite. "Not at all, Seven." She said from the bathroom. "What's on your mind?"

"I was curious to know if you would be interested in joining me for a hot beverage on the holodeck?" Seven asked, hands clasped behind her back.

The captain came out of the bathroom, bearing the flower in the vase and stopped to look at the younger woman. She was wearing a simple blue denim jumper with a white long sleeved blouse underneath. Her hair, which had been brushed until it shone like spun gold, hung down around her face, making Seven look younger than her 26 years. She was beautiful. Kathryn's heart actually skipped a beat, and she felt her fingers tingle in their timelessly familiar fashion and she realized that she had lost the battle before the war had begun. She was very glad that she had chosen to wear the gold chain when she'd shucked her uniform for something less formal.

"I would love to have coffee with you Seven." Janeway said, setting the vase down on the small table in front of her couch. "Shall we?" She gestured to the doorway. Outside of her cabin, Seven offered her arm, and bemusedly, Janeway took it. Is this a date? She's escorting me as if it were... Seven's hand closed around hers, enfolding it like she was planning to guard and protect it with her life. The sensation was so unfamiliar, so outside of what Janeway had felt in years, that she had to stifle as gasp of near pleasure. Do I really want to know? Couldn't I just... go with it? Allow this, whatever it is, to happen?

Quietly, they made the journey to holodeck one, where upon arriving, Seven keyed in a code, then walked into the quiet solitude of some small cafe, one populated with artists and musicians and students. The conversation level was amiable, no one was shouting, most were grouped together, discussing whatever arcane bits of data the programmer had put into their databanks. A table by a window was, miraculously, open and Seven and Janeway sat down, Seven rather reluctantly releasing Janeway's hand.

Outside of the window, it was fall. The leaves on the trees had just began to turn and people were wearing sweaters to ward off the holographic chill. In the distance, through gathering fog, Kathryn could see the shadow of a vaguely familiar bridge. The scent of the sea touched her nostrils and that, combined with the style of the buildings around them told Kathryn that they were in Venice.

"You've brought me to Venice for coffee?" Janeway asked, a trifle surprised, but mostly amused.

"Where else would I take you for a good cappuccino?" Seven replied, the words sounding rehearsed, but the nervousness in her voice more than made up for it. Kathryn smiled, touched that the young woman had researched so much before asking her out.

A waiter appeared, took their orders and returned quickly. They sat, sipping their drinks and enjoying the violinist that had opened his case and began to play for lire. Several minutes passed before Kathryn spoke. "Are you the one who sent me this?" She fingered the delicate chain around her neck.

Seven set her cup down on the table, steepled her fingers, and locked her eyes on Janeway's. "If I say I am, will you still wear it?"

Janeway's hand began to shake, she set her cup down and sat forward, keeping her eyes locked with Seven's. She cleared her throat. "If I say yes," she began, huskily, "will you put it on me, the next time I wear it?" Well, that was throwing all caution to the wind, wasn't it? Janeway's inner voice chortled at her.

"I wanted to put it on you the day I sent it, but I did not have the courage." Seven said, by way of an answer, then dropped her gaze, waiting for the captain to tell her what a fool she'd been. She waited. And waited. Then...

"I wish you had." Janeway said.

"You... you do?" Seven whispered, incredulous.

"I don't know if I could have said this yesterday, or even two hours ago, but yes, I do." The captain replied, stunned herself. Am I insane?

Seven leaned across the table and said, "I believe it is appropriate to do this." Then, with only a half a second's hesitation, tilted her head and brushed her lips over Janeway's.

"Oh my..." Kathryn whispered breathily as they parted. It was a good thing they were seated because her knees felt like jelly. Before Seven could back away completely, Janeway reached out and entwined her fingers into the Borg's spun gold hair, pulled her back and kissed her. This time, as their lips touched, Kathryn could feel Seven lean into the embrace, dancing her lips over hers, fluttering her tongue against her mouth, pleading for entrance.

Janeway opened her mouth slightly, letting the tip of her tongue touch Seven's lower lip, feeling, more than hearing, the Borg's low groan of delight. A porcelain rattle from somewhere in the distance shattered their embrace, causing Kathryn to pull away to rescue her cappuccino before she got a lukewarm, sticky bath.

"I was right." Seven said, more to herself than to Janeway.

"About what?" The captain asked, using a napkin to wipe up the few drops of coffee that had spilled.

"Kissing you is perfection, Captain."

The napkin fluttered to the floor, forgotten. "Seven... I... oh." Words failed her.

"B'Elanna said that I was being a 'mushball' when I told her that I felt that way." Seven poked her chest. "I do not feel at all 'mushy', nor am I spherical in shape. What did she mean by that, Captain?"

"Kathryn, darling. If you're going to say such wonderful things about me, then please, call me Kathryn when we are alone. And I would imagine that Lieutenant Torres was referring to your romantic nature, not your physical appearance." Seven contemplated that, then nodded.

"All right. Will we mate now, Kathryn?" The Borg inquired, keenly interested in the captain's reply. Janeway choked on cold cappuccino.

Why are there never spatial anomalies around when you need one? "Perhaps we should take this one step at a time, Annika."

"You have changed my designation to be like yours -- the first name give to you at birth. Why?"

Kathryn smiled, this she could answer with complete confidence. "Because it is much more intimate, and after that kiss, I would hope that we could be more intimate." Her voice dropped an octave on the word "intimate".

Seven's toes curled inside of her shoes. She couldn't think of one physiological reason why she should react in such a manner to the captain's voice, but react she did. Kathryn's husky tones started a fire that burned outward from the pit of her stomach all the way to the ends of her hair. "Yes," she said. "That is acceptable."

"Wonderful!" Kathryn smirked gently. "Now, as to 'mating'; my dear I really do think that we should go slowly. After all, there are so many reasons why we shouldn't do this at all."

"You are not attracted to me? You do not wish to copulate with a female? Your rank as Captain somehow precludes you from having an affair with one of your officers? You are already in a relationship with another?" The questions fell from Seven's lips like tiny grenades, each one blasting Janeway in the face with barely veiled anger and hurt. The captain steeled herself to reply.

"As a matter of fact, Annika, I am attracted to you and I am not in any other relationship at the moment. As for the gender of my lover -- it is true that my previous encounters have been with men, but I've never been afraid of trying something new. It is true, however, that Starfleet has a practice of frowning on Captains fraternizing with the officers on board their ships."

"We are 36.784 years away from the nearest Starfleet outpost, barring a wormhole or alien technology. Do you intend to stay alone for the entire journey, Kathryn?" The waiter came by and refilled their drinks, an action that Kathryn was grateful for. Sipping at her now hot cappuccino, she frowned in concentration.

"I honestly never thought about it, Annika. Before that message from home, I had nurtured the hope that Mark might somehow be waiting for me -- and when he proved that he wasn't, I felt so lost and so betrayed that I never wanted to feel that way again. So I stopped thinking and acting like a woman and became the Captain instead. It was Kashyk who made me realize that somewhere along the way, I'd lost my ability to desire. This last week, your gifts have reawakened desire in me, and I find that I am both fearful and anticipatory of where that desire will take me." Kathryn took a breath, then sat back, allowing Seven the opportunity to contemplate what she'd said. The captain looked out the window, watched the last rays of the sun scatter maroon shadows over the buildings and cobbles of the street and sighed wistfully. Why can't I have a normal life, just once?

"Will you take a walk with me?" Seven asked, voice tight. If the captain was surprised by the request, she didn't show it.

"All right. Where do you want to go?" She said, standing up and setting her cup down on the table.

Seven didn't reply, just reached into a pocket of her jumper and laid down a few lire and walked out the door of the cafe. Kathryn hurried to catch up the Borg. She did, having to lengthen her strides to keep pace with her. The younger woman's chin betrayed her emotion, jutting forward in a position of wounded pride. After about ten minutes of speed walking through the winding cobble streets, they emerged near a group of street vendors. Seven leaned against a nearby wall, the waning sun painting shadows across her face, yet highlighting the silver of her ocular implant.

"I too am fearful of what will occur as a result of loving you, Kathryn. Yet that fear does not preclude me from wanting to try." Seven finally said, her voice a quiet razor through the silence.

"Why do I feel like you've prepared an answer to any objection I may give you?" Janeway retorted, irritation edging her question.

"Because I have. All except one, and even in that instance, I feel that I can change your mind."

"Oh." Kathryn replied, flummoxed. Then, curiously, "What is the 'one instance'?"

"That you did not desire me as a woman." The Borg leaned her head forward, locking her eyes with the captain's.

"And if I did not, you would do what to change my mind?" Kathryn asked, more curious now. She stood facing Seven, hands on her hips, head cocked defiantly.

"This." Seven stepped forward, placed her hands on Janeway's shoulders and kissed her, hard. As Kathryn gave into the kiss, Seven allowed her hands to slip down from her shoulders to cup the captain's breasts, gently massaging them.

Kathryn broke away, gasping. "That's certainly convincing." She said raggedly, not completely pulling away from the younger woman's caress.

"Then I have succeeded? You are convinced that resistance is futile?" A sardonic grin twitched at the corners of Seven's lips and she continued to lightly sketch her fingertips over Janeway's nipples. For an answer, Kathryn threw her arms around the Borg's neck and kissed her for all she was worth.

If either them noticed that two of the holographic shopkeepers had paused in their routines to watch the two women closely, they chose to ignore it.

***

From across the street, B'Elanna, dressed to blend in with the crowd, turned to Tom and said, "You got your kiss. Happy now?"

Tom, similarly garbed, peeled his eyes away from the sight of his captain passionately kissing Seven of Nine and said, "Uh, yeah." Then returned to watching the two women kiss. B'Elanna growled warningly, then cuffed him upside the head.

"Come on you. Let's let them have some privacy. If either of them finds us here, there'll be hell to pay."

"Yeah, sure. Wow. Who woulda thought the old girl had it in her?" He asked the uncaring holograms around him.

***

"Annika?" Kathryn said.

"Hmm?" Seven replied, nuzzling the captain's hair. They were seated, the captain nestled in the Borg's arms, in a gondola, being serenaded and poled around the canals of Venice.

"I think it's time we let someone else use the holodeck. By my count, we've been in here for nearly four hours. That's twice our normal allotment." Seven tightened her grip around Kathryn briefly, making the captain feel utterly enshrouded in love, then let her go.

"You are correct. Computer, end program." Venice dissolved around them, leaving the women standing on the gridlines of the holodeck, the captain leaning against the Borg. Janeway turned around, kissed Seven once more then stepped away.

"I had a lovely time, Annika. I --"

"Is our time together over?"

Janeway, taken aback by the question, blurted, "No!" Abashed at her outburst, she then said softly, "But I'm not sure what we should do next."

"All of my studies lead me to believe that this is where we decide whether or not to copulate." Seven took Kathryn in her arms. "Do you wish to copulate, Kathryn?" She asked, attempting to sound seductive. Janeway nearly choked, as she contained her laughter. Seven cocked her head curiously and said, "Have I erred?" Janeway bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud. Finally she was able to speak.

"No, dear. You have not erred. Usually," she chuckled, "lovers don't call it 'copulating'. Usually, they call it 'making love' or other, more vulgar phrases."

"Then Kathryn," Seven whispered huskily, nipping the captain's earlobe, "do you wish to make love?" Janeway nearly melted right there.

Casting her head back to allow the younger woman full access to her throat, she murmured, "Yes. Oh yes, Annika." Seven smiled against Kathryn's pounding pulse point, nibbling on the tender flesh.

"Shall we disrobe?" she asked.

"Mmm. As tempting as that sounds, I think we'd be so much more comfortable somewhere else -- like my quarters," Kathryn replied as her hands combed through Seven's hair, then caressed down her back.

"That is more than acceptable," Seven said, slowing down and allowing the captain to catch her breath. Together, they left the holodeck and made their way to Janeway's cabin.

Once there, Kathryn wasted no time in making both herself and Seven unavailable for the next day's shift. "I don't want any interruptions." She said, by way of explanation.

"I concur. An interruption right now would be, irritating." Seven replied, smiling.

The two women stood, shyly eyeing each other, Kathryn occasionally stealing glances toward her bedroom. Seven eventually looked downward and said, "I'm not sure what to do, Kathryn."

"Neither am I, but I'm not letting that stop me, not after everything else we've worked through." Carefully, she stepped out of her shoes, then padded up to Seven. She then turned around and lifted her hair. "Darling, would you do the honors?" Seven, catching on, undid the clasp on the chain, laid the necklace down on a small table, then unzipped the captain's simple black tunic. For every inch of flesh she revealed, she placed a small kiss on Janeway's neck, until the tunic simply slid off of the captain's body to puddle at her feet. Kathryn sighed, and reached her arms up and wrapped them around Seven's neck, lost in the sensation of the Borg's full lips moving so deliciously over her neck and shoulders.

Seven brought her hands around to cup Kathryn's breasts, fascinated by the way that the captain's nipples hardened instantly, jutting out almost sharply into her palms. When Seven began to actually squeeze the sensitive area, Janeway moaned. "I want..." She whispered, unable to articulate herself, but knowing that there was a world of difference between what she wanted from Kathryn, and what she had wanted of B'Elanna so long ago.

"I know my darling. I want it too." Kathryn said, turning in Seven's arms and kissing her ferociously. The captain reached behind the younger woman, undid the zipper that held the denim jumper on, then began to unbutton the white blouse as the dress fell to the floor. Kathryn's fingers lingered over the clasps that held the younger woman's bra on, but her own hesitation kept her from removing the last of Seven's clothing. They faced each other, wearing only undergarments and shyly touching the other's bared skin.

Seven drew in a shuddering breath, then closed her eyes and unclasped her bra, letting her breasts tumble free. Then she stepped out of her undershorts and stood before Kathryn, completely naked. Janeway's gasp of appreciation chased away much of Seven's fear.

Proudly, the Borg stood, chin up, arms at her sides. Kathryn, unable to keep from touching Seven, allowed her fingers to trace over every single implant she could see, memorizing the contours of the metal and flesh. The younger woman's eyes flashed as Janeway's fingers flowed over the metal bands of the abdominal implant to caress her mesh encased thigh. "You are so very beautiful, Annika." She said, as she stripped herself of her own undergarments, then stood for Seven's inspection.

The Borg was much more efficient, grabbing hold of the captain and kissing her fervently, then pulling away to whisper, "I have no words to describe what I see."

Janeway didn't respond, just began slowly kissing Seven and backing into her room, stopping when she felt her bed against the backs of her legs. Wrapping her arms around the taller woman's neck, Janeway drew them both down to the bed, kicking away the covers and continuing to cover Seven's face and lips with soft, tender kisses.

Once they were comfortable, Kathryn began to slowly kiss Seven, taking her time to explore the Borg's lips and mouth. She allowed their tongues to twine and tangle, tasting the sweetness of the cappuccino they'd drank on the holodeck and a sweetness that was purely Seven's own. They broke apart to breathe, and Seven took the opportunity to cup and touch Kathryn's breasts, gently rolling the hard nipples around, and causing the captain's head to loll forward.

Kathryn was floating. The younger woman's touch was both confident and hesitant, each tiny caress leading to a much stronger and at times rougher touch and it was quickly sending anything resembling rational thought into the black hole of the captain's desire. She sat up, straddling Seven, giving the younger woman complete access to her body. When Seven slid her hands down from Kathryn's breasts to stroke the insides of her thighs, the captain nearly fell forward again.

"You're a fast learner." She said throatily. Seven smiled.

"Thank you. Although," she continued, "I do have one question."

"What's that?" Janeway asked between intakes of breath as Seven continued her explorations.

"Is it customary to 'make love' with the lights on?" Seven's fingers brushed over dark auburn curls.

"Only... only if you want to, my love." Kathryn gasped as Seven gently caressed extremely sensitive flesh.

"I understand." Seven considered her options, wrestling with the strong desire to see every aspect of "making love". Then, the prospect of having to explore every inch of Kathryn's body made darkness seem even more tantalizing. "Computer, lights out."

***

It was much later. Seven lay with her head pillowed on Kathryn's chest, dozing while the captain finger-combed the Borg's yellow-gold hair, marveling in what had happened. They had done everything. At least, everything they could think of; sometimes doing the right things, others, not so right. But even when it wasn't right, it had felt wonderful, because each touch was made with a heart full of love. No words had been spoken, but Kathryn knew that they didn't need to be. Perhaps, as Seven had said earlier, there were none. At this moment, she certainly couldn't seem to come up with words to describe how she felt, how touching Annika had felt. How being touched by her had felt, other than: extraordinary.

A slight smirk touched Janeway's lips. She would have hell to pay later, she was certain that Tuvok at the very least would want a better explanation for her absence today other than the hasty "personal reasons" she'd tossed at him earlier. The Vulcan officer's eyebrows had nearly crawled off of his forehead over that statement. Oh well, let them wonder, Katie. After all -- it's not every day you wake up grinning like a Cheshire cat. Seven stirred, and Janeway caressed her face as she woke.

"Good morning, my love." She whispered as Seven stretched up, coming to face the captain.

"Good morning, Kathryn. I love you." She said it calmly, as if she were describing the inner workings of a warp core, but every word was a lightening strike into Kathryn's heart reaching all the way to her soul. The captain's eyes glistened as she cupped Seven's face in her hands and kissed her sweetly.

"I love you too, Annika."

fin

Gift of Time












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