This is the 24th installment in the Just Between series.

Dedicated to my beta readers who clean up so many of my booboos and to Susan (just because).

Title provided by Dyin’ Isis.

This was first posted in August, 1999.

Just Between Battles

G. L. Dartt

Captain Kathryn Janeway of the USS Voyager tossed and turned, seeking the elusive oblivion of sleep even as she realized that what she really was seeking was the warm body that should have been in bed beside her. Embracing the pillow that still bore the delicate fragrance of Seven of Nine, her spouse of several months, was simply not the same and with a frustrated sigh, Janeway tossed it aside as she sat up. She threw back the covers and got out of bed, reaching over for the robe which was hanging on a hook nearby, pulling it on over her nude form.

Her feet were bare as she walked out of the bedroom and she winced as she stepped in a wet spot where Jake had spilled a bit of water from his dish. As always, she promised herself to set up their pet’s eating area somewhere other than right beside the bedroom door and as always, she immediately forgot it as she crossed the room to the replicator.

She debated over her choice, her body demanding coffee though her mind resisted it for the first time for as long as she could remember. Not only was she jittery enough, she thought dismally, it just wouldn’t taste the same as Seven’s special blend. And that would only serve to remind her that her partner wasn’t home; that instead, she was on an away mission with Lt. Ro Laren, Neelix and Commander Chakotay, trying to negotiate with an alien species in a nearby system for ore to power the replicators. Sighing, Janeway replicated a weak, chamomile tea and returned to the living area, curling up on the couch as she sipped the hot liquid. The couple’s Irish Setter was already draped over most of the sofa’s surface and he shifted a bit, flopping his head onto her lap.

She patted Jake’s rust-colored head idly, staring unseeingly at the workstations across from her, and wondering if she would have to ask the Doctor for a sedative. It was something she hated to do and he hated to have to provide, but she didn’t want to wear herself down with lack of sleep. The demands of the ship were far too great for that. Months earlier, a virus had contributed to the impregnation of several crewmembers and everyone had been working feverishly to prepare the ship for the new arrivals. It made for long shifts, stress caused by the unrelenting pressure to get everything finished on time, and tension that remained high, despite the deliberately scheduled leaves. Being the captain, Janeway felt it more than anyone and for a brief instant, tears of loneliness and frustration prickled. Furiously, she blinked them back, swallowing hard against the lump that suddenly appeared in her throat.

This is ridiculous, Janeway told herself sternly as she wiped at her eyes.

She rose from the sofa, striding briskly into the bedroom to change into grey workout pants and a matching t-shirt with the ship’s name printed neatly over the left breast in blue. She made Jake remain behind as she left their quarters and jogged to the turbolift. Checking holodeck two, she was pleased to see it wasn’t in use, and keyed in one of her favorite workout programs … the one with the Olympic sized pool … before entering the simulation. She shed her clothes, disdaining the need for a swimsuit this late at night, and dove into the deep blue water, cutting through it like a knife. She swam energetically along the entire length to the end and back again before she relaxed into a slower stroke, easing forward into another lap.

A sudden splash at the other end of the pool startled her, and she turned abruptly, treading water as she peered intently across the shimmering surface. A wave of some underwater disturbance moved toward her and, despite the fact she was on her own ship, in a holodeck no less, with the safety protocols on, apprehension was still thick in her throat until the dark brown head of her chief engineer popped up a few feet away.

“B’Elanna,” she said with relief and a touch of annoyance that the Klingon had startled her.

“I was passing by after my shift and wondered if you could use some company,” B’Elanna explained as she stroked smoothly by. “Or do you prefer to be alone for your workout?”

Janeway thought about that. “No,” she admitted, resuming her swim alongside the young woman. “I don’t want to be alone.”

B’Elanna didn’t say anything but Janeway knew she understood … which was impressive because the captain wasn’t entirely sure what she meant. The two women swam a few more laps, had an impromptu race which Janeway easily won, and then got out of the pool, going over to the hot tub bubbling nearby. It was sectioned off by rocks and plants and Janeway eased into the swirling water with a quiet pleasure. She noted that, like herself, the engineer had eschewed the need for a swimsuit. While the captain was completely comfortable in the informal co-ed nudity practiced at Starfleet Academy for this type of workout scenario, there was still a part of her that noticed the young woman’s compact, finely muscled form with more than an impartial eye. There was no question that B’Elanna was an attractive little bundle and it didn’t surprise Janeway that Seven would have eventually noticed it, even though the Borg had been horrified and astonished that she could ever look at another person with anything like desire. Seven’s tearful confession at having checked out the lieutenant’s breasts was one of the captain’s fonder memories, and Janeway discovered that she was smiling faintly.

The Klingon, in contrast, was regarding her quite somberly. “I’ve wanted to speak with you for a while, Captain,” she began, and then paused, looking a bit uncomfortable suddenly. “It means a lot to me that you gave me a chance on Voyager. I might not have said it before, but I respect you a lot and I’m proud to serve under you.”

“I’m proud to call you a crewmember,” Janeway noted, mildly surprised and wondering why B’Elanna was bringing it up now. It occurred to her that the engineer had become quite different lately … almost mellow, if one could apply such a word to the feisty Klingon/Human hybrid. “In any event, Lieutenant, you’re a remarkable engineer, and I’m glad you were able to find your place here on Voyager.”

“Me too.” B’Elanna eyed Janeway through her lashes. “Though for a while, it seemed like only Seven could question you with any impunity and get away with it. You didn’t have too much patience for me.”

Janeway grinned briefly as the memories of Seven’s early times on Voyager flitted across her mind, of clashes and confrontations with the arrogant young Borg that had left her shaking and furious more times that she would care to admit.

“I had my hands full with her,” the captain admitted ruefully. “So much so that perhaps I didn’t have the attention and energy I should have displayed with everyone else. Seven caught me by surprise.” She lowered her head. “She caught you off guard as well.”

B’Elanna blushed. “I know. She used to make me so angry I’d almost spit. If you had told me then that we were going to be friends one day, I’d have laughed in your face. She kind of grew on me.”

“She has a way of doing that,” Janeway said wistfully.

B’Elanna stared at her blatantly. “You’re missing her like crazy.” Not a question but a statement of fact.

“Oh, yes,” Janeway responded honestly, with a wry little smile. “Why do you think I’m working out at 2300 hours? It certainly isn’t because I need the exercise.”

B’Elanna nodded. “I miss her too.”

Janeway regarded her, wondering if Seven was all the engineer missed. The captain knew that there had been another person recently introduced to the mix who also stirred strong feelings in the Klingon … at least, according to everything Seven had told her.

“I do wonder how the others on the away team are doing as well,” Janeway tried delicately, if a bit impishly. “Particularly … Lt. Ro.”

B’Elanna flushed hotly.

“Why?” she asked, a trifle more aggressively than she needed to. “Ro’s a good officer. You can trust her.”

Janeway stifled her smile and shrugged, the motion disturbing the water about her chest. “I’m just concerned that she might be finding the demands of fitting back into the role of a fully commissioned Starfleet officer more difficult than she anticipated.”

“Well, you don’t have to,” Torres stated with absolute authority. She dared to glare at Janeway. “Respectfully, Captain, she’s very … competent.”

Janeway was hard-pressed not to laugh. Obviously, that was not the word B’Elanna had wanted to say.

“I’m sure she’ll do fine,” she told her engineer with great sincerity.

“She will,” B’Elanna retorted, obviously considering the matter closed.

Janeway decided that she had amused herself as far as she dared with this topic, and slid down a little in the hot water, closing her eyes as she tried to relax. It annoyed her that she was just as wide awake now as she had been before coming into the holodeck, though B’Elanna was beginning to acquire a sleepy look.

“I think I’ll call it an evening,” B’Elanna said finally, yawning.

“Yes, that sounds like a good idea,” Janeway agreed, following suit as the Klingon lifted herself out of the tub, aware she had been in the hot, bubbling water long enough. The two women toweled themselves off and dressed quickly before leaving the holodeck. They bid farewell at the turbolift, with B’Elanna heading for deck nine, section twelve, while Janeway headed for the captain’s quarters on deck three.

In her cabin, Janeway undressed once more and slipped between the sheets. Still uneasy and restless, she forced herself to close her eyes, breathing deeply and steadily as she curled up on her side of the bed. She settled in as she granted her imagination free rein, visualizing Seven returning to these quarters after finishing her duty shift.

If she tried really hard, Janeway could almost sense the tall, blonde figure of her spouse pass by the foot of the bed on her way to the ensuite where she would prepare for the night. Janeway placed her back deliberately to that part of the room, quieting her breathing as she concentrated on the fantasy she was constructing. Utilizing her imagination to the fullest, she could almost feel the mattress dip as the Borg slipped into the bed behind her, and she let her mind’s memories fill in the details of how it would feel as the young woman wrapped herself around her, slipping her arms around her waist, tucking her knees up under the captain’s and plastering her body warmly against Janeway’s.

Seven would nuzzle into her spouse’s neck, the soft tips of the Borg’s nipples prodding provocatively into the smaller woman’s back, the tickle of her triangle intimate against Janeway’s buttocks. Her hand, the right one with its long sensitive fingers, devoid of the Borg exoskeleton, would tickle lightly across the captain’s navel in a teasing manner. Janeway would squirm and sometimes capture the hand in her own, holding it firmly to indicate that she wasn’t especially interested. In that event, Seven would graciously subside, snuggling up against her as they both drifted off to sleep, curled up in a warm embrace. More often, however, Janeway wouldn’t impede that hand at all, reaching back to pat Seven’s hip, letting her know that being with the Borg was something the captain simply couldn’t resist.

Seven would immediately expand the range of her caresses, trailing lightly over the captain’s breasts, along her ribs and down to comb briefly through the auburn triangle, before slipping back up again, becoming bolder with each exploration. As she did, she’d be kissing Janeway’s neck and shoulder, nibbling at her ear, whispering how much she enjoyed touching her partner, how very much she loved her.

Janeway would gradually shift in her arms, rolling a bit so that she was on her back, just as she proceeded to do now, drawing one knee up, the sheet falling away from her body, leaving it bare to the night. She lost herself in the fantasy of Seven’s hand having greater freedom to stroke and explore, touching the captain’s breasts lightly, teasingly. Janeway’s imagination made it Seven’s fingers that pulled at her nipples, rolling them firmly between finger and thumb, then squeezing each one as the need for release rose strong within her. The captain’s right hand drifted away from her breasts, creeping over her abdomen and scratching through the thin strands of hair. Hesitating briefly at the top of the crease, she appreciated the moment, before slipping down to trace the lips that were swollen and tender from the scenario her mind was building.

Janeway inhaled raggedly, her head falling back as she kept her eyes tightly shut. A soft sound issued from her lips when she finally touched herself, the whispered name … ‘Annika’. She swallowed, licking her lips and spread her legs wider, the fingertips circling in the wetness, stroking in perfect rhythm over the tender nodule that ached with acute sensitivity. She murmured Seven’s Human designation again, increasing her caresses, rubbing faster, harder, in a far more abrupt way than Seven would ever touch her, almost rough in her need. Her hips began to undulate, rising off the mattress as she reached for that pinnacle trembling just beyond her reach.

For a second the captain almost lost the fantasy, but she concentrated hard and it was Seven’s fingers on her again, Seven’s skill that played her so well, Seven’s caress that drew out her desire … Seven who finally brought her to that aching, shuddering peak. The sensation rushed through Janeway, throbbing, pulsating, centered on that spot beneath her fingers until it finally eased. At that moment of pleasure, the captain would have sworn she had actually heard Seven speak her name, had actually heard a loving ‘Kathryn’ uttered with such tender emotion, it made her want to cry.

Janeway purred languidly and relaxed, her fingers stroking lightly in the wetness, the aftershocks rippling pleasantly through her body as drowsiness began to steal over her.

“I believe,” Seven’s voice said huskily from the shadow of the doorway, “I now understand the appeal of masturbation, if only from a spectator’s point of view.”

Janeway’s flush started from her toes and spread hotly through her entire body, making her glow pink in the low illumination. Seven tilted her head and regarded her spouse, her ocular implant easily picking up on the rising temperature of Janeway’s body.

“Is something wrong, Kathryn?” she asked curiously.

“How long have you been there?” Janeway said with no little irritation, sitting up and regarding her spouse with a peeved expression. “And why wasn’t I informed that the away team had returned?”

Seven hesitated. “Perhaps because you were busy?” she offered tentatively.

Janeway shot her an oddly sharp look and Seven realized that she must have said something inappropriate, though she wasn’t sure what.

“It was a routine mission, Kathryn,” the Borg reminded her spouse. “Our return was logged in and while I comprehend that it is the duty officer’s responsibility to inform you, it seemed illogical to wake you so late at night for such data, when I was on my way to our quarters in any event.” She eyed the captain keenly. “Is that what is really concerning you?”

Janeway hesitated, then blushed again. “No,” she admitted finally. “I’m just embarrassed you caught me.”

“‘Caught you’?”

“Masturbating.”

Seven raised an eyebrow. “You appeared quite competent in your performance,” she said with a touch of puzzlement. “Were you doing it improperly?”

“That’s not why I would be embarrassed about it, Annika,” Janeway replied, wrapping her arms tightly around her knees.

Seven noted that this concealed most of the captain’s body; neither an appreciated position in the Borg’s opinion nor characteristic of her spouse at all. Generally, Kathryn was completely unselfconscious about her body and had no problem revealing it completely for her spouse … as long as certain bodily functions were not involved. Confused, the Borg moved closer and sat carefully on the edge of the bed.

“Explain,” she requested gently.

The captain didn’t answer immediately and Seven frowned, her bemusement growing. Then, the corner of Janeway’s mouth curled slightly and she looked abashed. “I’m sorry, Annika. I just realized how ingrained some of my cultural conditioning is. I thought I had moved past it in my sexual education classes in school, but apparently some archaic taboos linger, even in the 24th century. A result of growing up in an agricultural park full of Traditionalists, I guess.”

Seven considered that. “I do not understand, Kathryn. Is masturbation unacceptable?”

“It’s perfectly acceptable, my darling,” Janeway said, looking up to meet the Borg’s eyes, reaching out to rest her palm warmly against Seven’s cheek. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you differently. Not even me.”

Seven studied her spouse closely, not entirely understanding what she was talking about, but accepting the sincerity in the captain’s blue-grey eyes. She inhaled and found she could smell Kathryn’s scent lingering on the captain’s fingers, the fragrance curling around her senses, making her heart speed up and her respiration increase.

“It was very stimulating to watch,” the Borg blurted suddenly.

“I suppose it was,” Janeway allowed dryly. “How long were you standing there?”

“I heard you say my name as I entered our quarters, and I moved quickly into the bedroom. I chose not to interrupt when I realized you were not experiencing … discomfort.”

“No,” Janeway responded, amusement shading her eyes to blue. “No discomfort at all.”

The warm irises traced her partner’s face, the intensity of her gaze almost palpable on the Borg’s skin and Seven responded to it, moving closer without conscious volition.

“Are you … sated?” Seven asked uncertainly, her lips a mere breath away from Janeway’s.

“Oh, darling,” Janeway whispered. “Not at all. Not now that you’re here.”

Pleased, Seven closed the remaining space between them, pressing her mouth tenderly against her spouse’s, feeling that she was now definitely home. Janeway’s lips parted under hers and the captain’s arms entwined themselves around Seven’s neck, pulling her closer.

“I am glad,” the Borg said, when they had parted finally, “because I want you to show me more of this practice.”

“Oh, you do?” Janeway said playfully, arching a brow. “Then you’d better get out of that outfit.” She nuzzled into Seven’s neck, inhaling sharply. “And you might want to take a shower, my darling,” she added in a gentle murmur. “After five days in a Type-9 shuttle, even you’ve managed to get a little ripe.”

Seven nipped at Janeway’s ear. “I will shower, if you wash my back.”

“That can be arranged,” Janeway replied, as Seven took her hands and pulled her off the bed.

They went into the ensuite where Janeway helpfully relieved Seven of her biometric outfit, peeling it off her shoulders and down her arms, then pushing it down over the waist, hips and legs. She seemed to enjoy this tremendously, pausing often to nibble and kiss various bits of the Borg’s flesh at random intervals, regardless of whatever odor Seven may have been exuding.

“So how was the mission?” the captain asked idly as they tossed Seven’s outfit in the general direction of the replicator and stepped under the warm spray from the three showerheads.

“Productive,” Seven informed her as the captain used a sponge to lather her spouse all over, including her back, washing away the grime from five days in a shuttle. Seven relaxed gratefully and allowed her spouse to take care of her, an indulgence rare in this time of ship reconstruction. “The ore had all the minerals that were required and we were able to trade for more than enough for the replicator systems. The geometrics team should be able to begin refining it immediately.”

“Excellent,” Janeway said, obviously pleased. Then, she turned her face up to Seven, a soft expression crossing her face. “I’m sorry, my love. I forgot to say ‘welcome home’.”

Seven smiled faintly. “It is good to be home.” She wrapped the slippery form of her partner up in her arms. “I have missed you greatly.”

“I suspect it wasn’t as much as I missed you,” Janeway responded, reaching up to kiss Seven passionately. “Let me show you how much.”

“I thought I was going to learn more about masturbation,” Seven remarked with gentle humor when she had finally freed her lips from Janeway’s possessive mouth.

“Hmm, we can do that, too,” Janeway offered invitingly, running her hands wantonly over Seven’s torso. “But I want to be in bed in either case.”

Seven smiled briefly. “I believe I shall enjoy these lessons more than the ones I take in the evening for my Starfleet studies.”

“I would certainly hope so.” Janeway laughed huskily, as she paused temporarily in her caresses to turn off the shower and retrieve the towels hanging nearby .

They dried each other off with the large, fluffy bath sheets before returning to the bedroom, hand in hand. With a sense of well being and anticipation, the Borg joined Janeway on the bed, the women snuggling under the covers where they met in a warm embrace near the middle of the bed.

“I’m not entirely sure what I can teach you, however,” Janeway told her, squirming slightly as Seven ran her hands over the warm, compact form. “You’ve probably grasped the mechanics of it just from your observation.”

Seven kissed her, lingering over the soft lips with quiet enjoyment. “I do understand the mechanics. It is the mental aspect of it with which I have difficulty.” She drew back, looking into the lovely blue-grey eyes of the woman she adored utterly. “I believe I understand the need for a purely physical release. Yet your actions seemed more than that. They were … more intense.”

“That’s because I was imagining that it was you who was pleasuring me,” Janeway said softly. “Darling, you’re who I miss. The physical release is only part of it. It’s my desire for you that I was trying to express while alone.”

“Why?” Seven asked plainly.

“Because it makes me feel better, darling,” Janeway responded patiently. “Masturbating may start out as a purely solitary pursuit but for me, it allows me to feel closer to you when you’re not here. Though, of course, it can never replace the joy of actually being in your arms.”

“Then why do it?” Seven was still puzzled and Janeway sighed.

“Darling, you told me you wanted to masturbate recently. What inspired you to make the attempt?”

Seven considered it. “I missed you. I was feeling amorous, but I knew you could not be with me. Normally I can ignore such feelings, but that night they were particularly strong. Yet, my attempt was inadequate.”

“That’s because you were using a device,” Janeway explained. “You’re always aware that the wonder wand is a device, even when we’re sharing the experience. That’s probably why it was difficult for you to really enjoy yourself.” She paused and put her hands flat against the Borg’s upper chest, pushing lightly. “Lie flat for a moment, love.”

Obediently, Seven rolled over onto her back, looking up at her partner trustingly. Janeway reached across her and took the Borg’s right hand in her own, moving it down to the juncture of Seven’s legs.

“Touch yourself,” the captain instructed quietly.

Raising an eyebrow, Seven allowed her partner to guide her so that her fingers were slipping into her crease, rubbing through the moisture that was slowly gathering there, aware of the captain’s fingers moving with her own. The Borg wasn’t particularly aroused at the moment, but she allowed that it did feel good to fondle herself, to experience the fingers stroking her delicate flesh, even if they were her own. Janeway withdrew her touch, tracing lightly up Seven’s flexing forearm, over her bicep and over to the Borg’s left breast.

“Don’t stop,” Janeway commanded as she settled closer to her spouse. “Notice how you can apply exactly the right amount of pressure and pace, darling? As good a lover as I may be for you, I’m never going to know your body as well as you do. I can never respond as immediately to your desire as you can.”

Seven swallowed, the cloying sensations rippling through her, not as intense as when someone else provided the caresses but still somewhat effective. Despite the captain’s encouragement, she didn’t think it was as good as it was reputed to be, though having Janeway there as a teacher was very stimulating. While she may never become an accomplished practitioner in the art of self-satisfaction, it was quite entertaining to learn.

She felt Janeway nuzzle into her neck, kissing it lightly before moving her mouth up to the Borg’s ear. Her fingers danced lightly over the Borg’s breasts, tugging gently at her nipples, causing them to tingle in the most delightful fashion.

“How does that feel?” Kathryn whispered huskily. “Is it good?”

“Yes,” Seven allowed, though she wasn’t sure what her spouse was referring to, the Borg’s self stimulation or the captain’s own caresses. She realized with a certain amount of surprise that Kathryn was becoming aroused by this, and then, a moment or so later, Janeway dropped her hand to her own intimate region.

Then Seven understood why Kathryn had been so aroused as a rush of desire swept through the Borg, the flesh beneath her fingers growing slick with additional moisture inspired by the sight of Janeway fondling herself. Lying together, Seven listened to the deepening respiration of Janeway as she provided her own stimulation, to the instructions issued in a progressively incoherent voice. The Borg decided that Human sexuality came in many unusual forms. Fortunately, most seemed to be fairly pleasant.

Seven’s breath caught as the sensation built, then the tremors began and she jerked slightly, uncontrollably as she spasmed. Beside her, she heard the half sob from Kathryn, that unique sound in the back of the captain’s throat which indicated that she had also reached a climax, enhancing the Borg’s own pleasure. Finally, Seven relaxed, breathing deeply and Janeway’s body fell against her side, snuggling close as if for warmth.

“Well?” Janeway asked after a moment or two of catching her breath.

“Adequate,” Seven judged dispassionately. She rose to her side so that she facing her partner. “But I do believe there are better ways to spend my time.”

“Indeed?”

“Allow me to demonstrate,” Seven requested and to Janeway’s great delight, proceeded to do so for the next hour and forty-five minutes.

B’Elanna Torres forced her eyes open as the sound of an admittance chime filtered through her dark morass of slumber. She groaned and rolled over, sitting up wearily. The swim in the holodeck had tired her out and it was an effort to get out of her warm bed.

“Just a minute,” she called, fumbling with her robe before pulling it on and moving over to the door of her quarters. She was surprised when it slid back to reveal the tall, slender form of Lt. Ro Laren dressed in her uniform.

“Hi,” B’Elanna said, not quite knowing what to say or do with this unexpected, but quite pleasant visitor, suddenly conscious of only the thinnest of material covering her body.

“Hello.” Ro looked uneasy, almost as if she wasn’t sure she should be there.

“Uh, come on in,” the Klingon invited, stepping aside. Ro obeyed, moving into the room with that lovely, graceful stride that mixed deadliness with unmistakable elegance. B’Elanna watched appreciatively for a moment before shaking her head, remembering what time of night it was. Or rather, morning, as a swift glance at the chronometer revealed. Fortunately, she was off-duty for the next few days thanks to pulling several double shifts in recent weeks. “Can I get you something?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” Ro responded politely, almost absently as if she hadn’t quite heard what B’Elanna said. She was looking around the Klingon’s quarters, her dark eyes picking out the few, small knickknacks scattered about the room, the bat’telh on the wall, the holo-images on the end tables. One in particular seemed to catch her attention. It was a shot of Seven, the engineer and the captain at Naomi’s birthday party. B’Elanna realized it was the first time the Bajoran had ever visited her cabin and she wondered what it portended.

The Klingon crossed her arms over her chest, but she didn’t say anything, waiting for the other woman to finish her exploration. Finally, Ro turned to meet her eyes, smiling with a touch of regret. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late. I wouldn’t have disturbed you but I knew you were off tomorrow.”

“So why did you?” B’Elanna returned quietly, a request for information only.

Ro opened her mouth, hesitated, looked a touch bewildered. “I think I …” She paused, shrugged. “I’m still keyed up from the mission, I guess. I didn’t feel like going to bed and I … well, found myself here.”

B’Elanna nodded, wanting to take a moment to consider the implications of that, but knowing she’d only get herself in a tangle if she tried.

“Okay,” she said simply. She dropped her arms and headed for the replicator. “I need coffee.” She glanced over her shoulder as she keyed in the commands. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

Ro exhaled. “Well, since you’re there anyway, I wouldn’t mind a hot chocolate.”

B’Elanna blinked. “That does sound better.” She reset the padd for two hot chocolates, complete with whipped cream, and once they had materialized on the shelf, she picked them up and carried them over to a small glass table in the corner. At her nod of invitation, Ro joined her and they sat down, the engineer still wondering what was going on, but determined not to do anything to screw it up.

Recently, B’Elanna had become quite enamored with the Bajoran, appreciating her commanding presence, her ability in a firefight and most of all, the way she made the Klingon feel. Ro had not been as ready to leap into such attraction and after some initial wrangling, the two women had settled into a sort of wary peace as they got to know each other. Visiting one’s quarters at two in the morning held a certain amount of promise, and B’Elanna was quite interested to see where it would go from here.

“How was the mission?” she asked as she sipped the hot liquid, enjoying the velvety sweetness of it, and the jolt the chocolate provided to her senses. She licked her upper lip clean of the frothy cream.

Ro tilted her head, the silvery earrings dangling from her left ear … unlike most Bajorans who wore them in their right … glinting in the low illumination. The bridge of her nose was crinkled, two bone spurs shooting up at an angle over her brows, giving her a perpetually serious expression. Her hair was short, curling a bit around her ears, but going no further than her collar, thick and dark. B’Elanna wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through it.

“Moderately successful. We obtained the ore we wanted, but it still needs to be refined.”

B’Elanna nodded, eyeing the woman closely. She seemed … restless, unhappy somehow.

“You want to tell me what’s really wrong? Or do you just want to sit there and fidget?”

Ro looked surprised that the engineer had noticed, then surprised at her surprise, a rueful expression crossing her face. “I didn’t think it was that obvious.”

“You look like you’re about to jump out of your skin.”

Ro sighed. “I guess that it’s just been so long since I had a chance to talk to anyone about things that …” she trailed off.

“Well, I’m a reasonably good listener.”

Ro was silent for a bit, while the Klingon forced herself to wait patiently.

“Doesn’t it ever bother you?” the Bajoran finally burst out.

B’Elanna blinked. “Could you be a little more specific?”

“This … being lost in the Delta Quadrant, possibly never seeing your home again? Always on the verge of disaster simply because we don’t have the necessary supplies or provisions?”

B’Elanna wondered if the woman had even been able to discuss this with anyone. The engineer suspected not. It was likely that Ro had spent so much time hiding who she was, she never allowed anyone to get close enough for her to confide in them.

“Well, compared to the Maquis, it’s an improvement. I mean, maybe Voyager is no Enterprise, but on the other hand, I think we’ve done pretty well out here.”

“Don’t you miss everything that the Federation offers?” Ro asked intently. “The stability of it and the knowledge that your home was never more than a few months away?”

“I never really had a home,” the Klingon countered honestly. “On Voyager, I have a place, somewhere to belong. We go back and … well, maybe I won’t have a place anymore.” She eyed Ro, knowing the Bajoran was no particular proponent of the Federation. “What’s this about? Assuming you aren’t court-martialed for deserting, or whatever, is there actually something back there for you?” She kept her voice calm but inside she was abruptly feeling very apprehensive. Did Ro have someone she had left behind? Someone that she loved, perhaps? Was that why she wasn’t ready to allow B’Elanna into her heart?

B’Elanna suddenly wasn’t sure she wanted the Bajoran to answer her question.

Ro shook her head. “Not so much waiting for me, as much as things I left unresolved.” She sighed softly. “Maybe I’m feeling this way now because I’ve been given another chance to be in Starfleet. Yet, until I can look Captain Picard in the eyes and apologize, I can’t feel comfortable with this. I feel like I don’t deserve such trust. Of course,” she added somewhat bitterly, “It’s not like I have much choice about it.”

“Is this something that you’ve been thinking about a lot lately?” B’Elanna said, relieved that was all it was, and very pleased that she was the one Ro had chosen as a confidente. She offered her most compassionate expression, hoping she didn’t look ready to pounce instead. “I guess your options do seem rather limited. But maybe if you talked to another Starfleet captain about how you feel, you could resolve it for the time being. At least, while we’re here in the Delta Quadrant.”

“Janeway, you mean?” Ro was obviously reluctant. “I don’t know about that.”

B’Elanna waved her hand. “You don’t know Janeway the way the rest of the command staff does. I admit, when I first met her, I had my doubts, but serving under her has taught me that she’s a pretty good person as well as an outstanding captain.”

Ro looked skeptical. “I don’t mean to question your opinion on this,” she said, with a touch of condescension, “but honestly, how well does any crewmember really know the captain?”

B’Elanna raised an eyebrow. “Other than Seven, you mean?”

Ro smiled briefly. “Other than Seven.”

B’Elanna tilted her head. “Well, aside from the fact that, thanks to Seven, I probably know far more about Janeway than anyone really should. I’ve had the opportunity to have lunch with the captain several times.”

“Ah, you mean the high teas,” Ro said, referring to the practice Janeway had of inviting each crewmember to her ready room every so often to speak with them individually over a pot of tea and scones. Depending on the person involved, those invitations were either welcomed as a chance to interact with a very charming woman in a less formal setting, or dreaded as the periodic personnel assessments they really were.

B’Elanna had no illusions about how Ro viewed them.

“No, I mean lunch,” the engineer insisted. She glanced at the last of the hot chocolate, the liquid now cooled and dark at the bottom of her mug. She decided not to mention that earlier in the evening, she had also been sitting naked in a hot tub with the captain. It wasn’t the sort of thing easily explained. “Most people don’t know this, but Seven is a damned fine cook. I try to pop by for lunch whenever we have the same off duty rotation. Janeway’s often there, and you’d be amazed at how much she loosens up in her quarters.”

The Bajoran was displaying blatant disbelief. “Seven … cooks?”

“Oh, better than ‘cooks’,” B’Elanna reported fervently. “She creates. Her spaghetti is to die for … better than my grandmother’s, and that’s saying a whole lot.”

Ro was obviously dumbfounded. “I didn’t notice any particular ability while we were on the away mission to infiltrate the pirates. We all took turns replicating meals and Seven’s were edible but certainly nothing special.”

B’Elanna started to laugh. “I bet I know why,” she said between her chuckles. “The captain doesn’t want anyone to know that Seven’s a great cook. I mean, I stop by for lunch, Chakotay wrangles dinner invitations all the time, and even Tuvok’s been known to drop by just as Janeway’s setting the table. It drives her crazy. She probably ordered Seven to keep it bland on purpose.”

Ro just stared at her and B’Elanna spread her arms out. “It’s the truth. When Chakotay, Seven and I were in the Alpha Quadrant, the captain’s mother taught Seven how to cook. Janeway’s parents are Traditionalists.”

“Really?” Ro paused. “What’s a Traditionalist?”

“Someone who creates meals from scratch rather than replicate them. They grow their own food, build their own furniture … it’s a Terran thing, present in a very small percentage of the population.”

Ro looked intrigued. “You know, that’s how most Bajorans live.”

“Yeah but Bajorans don’t…” B’Elanna didn’t finish the thought. Ro regarded her sardonically.

“Don’t have the technology level that Earth has, and thanks to the Cardassians, aren’t apt to have it soon.”

“Hard to say now,” B’Elanna remarked. “They looked like they were doing pretty well when we were on DS9.”

“You don’t recover from fifty years of occupation that easily,” Ro said with a touch of irritation.

B’Elanna was stung by the intonation in the Bajoran’s voice but she clamped down on her temper. She had discovered that wanting to be with Ro was doing wonders for her self-control. Anger management was only one area.

“I didn’t say it was,” she said with deliberate calm.

Ro had the grace to look abashed, flushing slightly. “I’m sorry, I just…” She stopped, shadows crossing her eyes and B’Elanna waited patiently. Something was going on there, something that the other woman may or may not have been ready to discuss, but prodding her would only push her away. How the Klingon knew that, she wasn’t sure, but it was something she felt deep in her bones and B’Elanna had learned to trust feelings like that.

“I’ve always felt guilty for escaping Bajor as soon as I could,” Ro said finally, quietly, her voice tight with old pain. “For going to the Federation … maybe that was part of why I joined the Maquis. And why I’m still so touchy about it now.”

“Do you think you could have done more if you had stayed?” B’Elanna asked softly. “Or would you have just gotten yourself killed?”

Ro hesitated. “I don’t know.”

B’Elanna used her most reasonable tone. “You can’t know, Laren. Ever. Remember what you told me about letting go? Maybe it’s time you let go of this.”

Ro studied the bottom of her mug.

“Maybe you’re right,” she allowed after a few moments, swallowing hard. “Maybe I do need to take my own advice once in awhile.”

“It’s good advice,” B’Elanna assured her. She wanted to reach out and take the woman’s hand, but she didn’t. She wondered if there would ever come a time when she would be comfortable enough with the Bajoran to know exactly what to do and when to do it … just as Janeway always seemed to know with Seven. Then she noted that Ro was looking at her with a gratitude that gave the engineer a tingly feeling inside.

“Thanks, B’Elanna,” the Bajoran said warmly.

The Klingon grinned crookedly. “You’re welcome.”

Ro looked around as if realizing how much time had passed, glancing at the chronometer across the room. “Oh, prophets, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m off duty for a couple of days, not just tomorrow.”

Ro appeared relieved. “I’m off duty as well … the away mission rotation.”

A feeling of anticipation and glee surged through B’Elanna at this pronouncement … why was Ro telling her? … but she tried hard not to show it.

“Well, considering that Seven will also be off, we should get together for lunch, and I’ll prove to you what a great cook she is.”

Ro looked intrigued. “What time?”

“Well, she’s pretty punctual. We probably wouldn’t miss it if we dropped by about 1200 hours.”

“I’ll certainly have to see it before I believe it, so I’ll be there.” Ro stood up. “I’ll let you get some sleep now.”

B’Elanna wanted the Bajoran to stay longer, but figured she better not push it. “Anytime,” she said instead, meaning it with every fiber of her body. She walked Ro to the door and there, they hesitated, neither seeming to know what to do, though B’Elanna had several ideas … at least two of which were illegal on five different planets.

“Uh, good night,” Ro said, but didn’t move.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” B’Elanna said, looking at her. Patience, she told herself firmly. Patience.

Which was rewarded handsomely when Ro leaned forward and gently kissed B’Elanna, who promptly kissed her back, just enough to convey her interest, but not enough to scare her. Then Ro was gone and B’Elanna was leaning against the wall, her primary heart pounding so hard, she could scarcely breathe.

It’s working, Seven, she sent the mental message to her friend. But, oh Kahless, you didn’t tell me how hard this patient approach would be!

Janeway felt Seven’s body roll away from her as the computer intoned the time and she reached out, capturing the Borg before she could get out of bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she mumbled into her partner’s neck, pasting herself to the silky smooth back.

“I was about to prepare our breakfast,” Seven responded with mild humor, looking back over her shoulder with an indulgent expression. “I believe it is time to begin our day.”

“No,” Janeway protested sleepily. “After an away mission of that duration, you’re not expected to report for duty until tomorrow. And I’m giving myself the day off.”

Seven was obviously surprised. “Shall I log you as unavailable, then?”

“Log us both,” Janeway responded, hugging the lean, lanky form to herself, her eyes still shut as she attempted to recapture the slumber from which she’d been forced.

Seven hesitated, and then freed an arm so that she could reach up to the control panel set in the wall at the head of the bed, imputing the necessary commands to accede to Janeway’s wishes. After she received a confirmation from the duty officer on the bridge, she settled back onto the mattress, rolling over to envelop the captain.

“Are you all right, Kathryn?” she asked with concern.

Janeway buried her face into the hollow of Seven’s shoulder and neck, not wanting to explain.

“Kathryn?”

“I haven’t slept much the last five days,” Janeway admitted finally in a muffled voice. “I pulled two triple shifts while you were gone.”

Seven’s sigh was exasperated as she tightened her grip. “Will it do any good for me to express my extreme displeasure with you?”

Janeway smiled. “Probably not, but if you really need to yell at me, I promise to shut up and listen.”

“I am afraid that is the core of the problem,” Seven noted. “You listen, but you do not actually hear what I am saying.”

“Darling, this is the way I’ve been since the Academy. Be glad I try to limit it to when you’re not home.”

“Are you saying that you will not change your harmful behavior?”

“No, I’m saying that I’ve already changed a lot of it,” Janeway replied evenly. “Just for you. But it will take time to change completely. You just have to be patient.” She paused. “When will you stop putting away every little thing I lay down, especially when I’m not finished using it?”

Seven hesitated. “I am improving in that area,” she reminded her bashfully. A faint blush colored her alabaster skin.

Janeway kissed her way up the Borg’s neck to her chin, then over it to capture the full, warm lips. “Yes, you are,” the captain muttered affectionately. “I actually get an hour’s leeway now rather than the five minutes I used to get when we first started living together.”

“If you would concentrate on one task at a time rather than attempting to complete many at once, then I would know which items you are working with and which items you no longer require.”

“Or my sweetness, you could just leave the items right where they are, so they would be there when I need to use them again.”

“Our quarters would become unbearably cluttered in a very short period of time.”

“Would that be so bad?”

“Yes,” Seven said, so firmly that it made the captain chuckle as she found a comfortable spot for her head to rest on the Borg’s chest. Janeway could hear Seven’s heartbeat, steady and strong beneath her ear, and it lulled her into a drowsiness that was impossible to resist.

“Mmm, I think I want to spend the whole day in bed with you, darling,” she told her partner in a sleepy mumble.

“That would be … acceptable,” Seven said with a touch of humor. “But impractical. We must eat. And I have classes this evening.”

Janeway snuggled closer, yawning. “What did you do while you were away? Have you fallen behind the rest?”

“No, Commander Chakotay brought along a curriculum of studies so that I would keep up with the topics. B’Elanna promised to record the discussions for me.”

“Good.” Janeway paused, considering it. “We all have responsibilities, Annika, but if you need time for study, let me know and I’ll arrange it with Chakotay. No one at Starfleet Academy was expected to be on active starship duty, and carry a full course load besides.”

“If it becomes a problem, I shall let you know,” Seven said, in the sort of tone that indicated she was not at all impressed by the idea, but did not know how to express her displeasure.

“That goes for your classmates as well,” Janeway added dryly.

Seven hesitated. “I am sorry, Kathryn. I thought you were making allowances for me … because you thought I was incapable of doing both.”

“I know you’re capable of doing pretty much anything you set your mind to, darling,” Janeway assured her, the captain’s eyes sliding shut despite her best efforts to keep them open. “But if I can help you, I’m going to. That’s what being married is about.”

“Thank you, Kathryn,” Seven said, then her voice gentled perceptibly. Janeway felt her spouse’s lips brush tenderly over her forehead. “Rest now. I shall be here when you wake.”

But Seven was not there when Janeway woke and the captain was vastly disappointed by that, even though she could hear her spouse in the outer quarters. The sound of dishes and utensils clinking together, and the aroma of spices wafting into her nostrils made her stomach rumble loudly. Janeway yawned happily as she rolled out of bed and headed for the ensuite. She showered quickly before pulling on a light blue, silk blouse and navy trousers, brushing her hair out briskly as she padded through the bedroom into the outer living area in her stocking feet.

Seven glanced up as the captain appeared and offered one of her glowing smiles, the type that never failed to reach in and wrap itself around Janeway’s heart. The Borg was clad in a black T-shirt and some kind of Velocity workout pants, the silky material clinging to every millimeter of her gloriously long legs. Janeway wondered if Seven was deliberately expanding her wardrobe since receiving a summer dress for her birthday, or if it was just a natural progression for her, symptomatic of her developing Humanity.

“You’re up,” Seven noted. Then she blinked and shook her head. “That is obvious. Why did I say that?”

Janeway took a seat on the stool positioned next to the kitchenette counter, opposite to where Seven was working. “It’s a Human affectation, Annika,” she said with gentle humor. “You probably picked it up from your classmates. Or from me.”

“It is inefficient to state the obvious,” Seven said, shaking her head fretfully.

“Mm, perhaps,” Janeway offered dryly. She glanced around, frowning briefly. “Where’s Jake?”

“He is with members of the crew this afternoon. It is their turn to take him for a session in cargo bay two. Have you noticed how much he enjoys the ‘park’?”

“It’s as close as he’s going to get to a planet.” Janeway reached over and snagged some carrot slices, crunching on them as she watched Seven prepare the meal. “What are we having?”

Seven regarded her narrowly and spread her hands, indicating the ingredients on her cutting board.

“What do you think we are having?” she asked, a hint of challenge in her tone.

Janeway regarded the mound of fresh mushrooms, peppers, carrots, water chestnuts, bamboo shoots, broccoli and celery sitting next to Seven’s wok. Strips of pink chicken protein lay on another wooden board, waiting to be tossed into the oil which was heating to a sizzling temperature.

“Shannon’s Special Beef Casserole,” she offered tentatively. She had never seen Seven roll her eyes in the entire time she had known her but for some reason, she suspected that the Borg really wanted to at this particular moment. The captain carefully hid her smile.

“No, Kathryn,” Seven said, with what seemed to be forced patience. “It is chicken stir fry. I make it at least once every two weeks because you enjoy it so much.”

“Ah,” Janeway said blandly. “That probably explains the lack of mashed potatoes, then. Or the beef in the pie shell.”

Seven eyed her keenly, then flushed. “You were teasing me.”

Janeway was charmed by the pink hue coloring the narrow features and she leaned over the counter, kissing her gently. “You’re so cute when you blush.”

“Indeed,” Seven noted without inflection as she tossed the faux chicken into the wok.

Janeway tilted her head slightly. “Do you mind?” she asked, with a sudden qualm. “My teasing you, I mean?”

Seven hesitated, her face softening. “When others used to tease me, it made me uncomfortable, even angry. But when you did it, it was … oddly pleasant.”

Janeway reached up and cupped the Borg’s cheek in her hand, feeling the warmth penetrate to her bones. “Believe me, darling, if I tease you, it’s meant in the most affectionate manner. I would never intend to do it in a way that demeans or tries to hurt you.”

“I know, Kathryn. I have always known that.”

Janeway stared at her steadily for a moment before finally nodding. “I’m sure that when others teased you, it was not meant in a malicious way.”

“On the contrary,” Seven disagreed. “In the beginning, when B’Elanna confronted me, her ‘jokes’ were intended to cause harm. It is amazing that we ever became civil, let alone friends.” She paused, and added in a soft tone, “There are others who still are not comfortable with me … but that is to be expected in the amount of people on Voyager. Not every one appreciates the uniqueness of every other person on the ship. However, I do feel that over time, I have become respected by most of the crew, and to a certain extent, that is a more preferable state.” Seven stirred the chicken, and then added the carrots. “I believe that the reason B’Elanna and I were so antagonistic in the beginning is that we did not respect each other. She did not believe me to be an acceptable life form, and I felt that she was irreparably flawed.”

Janeway raised an eyebrow, absorbing this bit of information.

Seven looked up, her pale eyes meeting the captain’s. “But we got past it.”

“Yes, you did,” Janeway said quietly. She reached out and captured Seven’s hand, bringing it to her lips to kiss the knuckles gently. “I’m sorry you were hurt in those early days, Annika, especially if it was ever by me. Humor can be inadvertently cruel if one isn’t thinking.”

Seven nodded. ” It is, but it is also a part of growing. It is possible to take things too seriously.” She regarded Janeway from beneath her lashes. “I notice that Commander Chakotay now teases you in a way that he did not when I first joined the ship.”

Janeway heaved a sigh. “He certainly does.” She grinned suddenly. “Of course, once I fell in love with you, he had a lot more material to work with.”

“Does it bother you when he teases you?” Seven asked curiously.

Janeway considered it carefully. “Sometimes, but I’m not entirely sure if it’s the teasing itself, or the fact that he presumes to tease me.”

“Explain,” Seven requested, dropping the broccoli and peppers into the mix.

Janeway snagged some mushrooms for herself and nibbled at them, staving off her hunger that was rising along with the delicious fragrance from the stirfry. “I think there are still times when I worry that becoming too close to my crew sets a dangerous precedent in my role as captain.”

Seven added the final ingredients to the wok, stirred them briefly, then went over to replicate a large container of Gretchen Janeway’s special chicken fried rice, along with several egg rolls.

“I do not believe that is an accurate assessment,” Seven remarked as she retrieved the bowl and platter, taking them over to the table. “You have always been a resourceful and intelligent captain. Now you have become much more to the crew and because of that, they will follow orders that perhaps they would not previously.”

“That’s not necessarily a good thing, Annika,” Janeway said, belatedly getting up to set the table, retrieving the dishes and utensils from the recycler. “Sometimes a crew needs a healthy dose of skepticism about their captain.”

“Like I had?” Seven asked, her pale eyes glowing.

Janeway made a bit of a face at her as she put the plates on the table. “Perhaps not that much, but what happens when we return to the Alpha Quadrant? Various crewmembers will go on to other captains, I will take on new crew, and the style that worked here in the Delta Quadrant might not work there. In fact, it might be detrimental.”

“Indeed?” Seven said with interest but before she could continue the discussion, the chime to their door echoed through their quarters. Janeway exchanged a glance with her spouse, raising an eyebrow as Seven looked slightly amused.

“B’Elanna,” the captain guessed wryly. “I wondered why you were making so much.”

“It would be wise to add another place setting,” Seven remarked as she went to open the door.

Janeway forced herself not to grimace. After all, B’Elanna only popped by for lunch when she shared the same off duty rotation with Seven, which did not happen often, and the captain truly did enjoy the engineer’s company for the most part. Still, Janeway had hoped to have her spouse all to herself for the day, particularly immediately after lunch, anticipating a certain amount of afternoon recreation. With B’Elanna stopping by, that was going to be delayed, possibly even postponed for another day entirely. The captain grumbled under her breath as she dutifully added another place setting for her partner’s best friend.

Seven was surprised to see Ro Laren with the engineer, but she adapted quickly.

“Set a fourth place, Kathryn,” she instructed over her shoulder. “Please, come in. We are just sitting down to lunch. You will join us, of course?”

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” B’Elanna said, sniffing avidly as she promptly brushed past the Borg and headed for the table. “Stirfry today. Great!”

“Actually, Lieutenant,” Janeway noted dryly as she added the extra place setting opposite the Klingon. “One rarely has to ask you at all.”

B’Elanna greedily helped herself to the rice. “You can’t keep Seven’s genius all to yourself, Captain. It would be criminal.”

Ro, Seven saw, looked quite ill at ease and the Borg wondered why as she motioned the woman to the remaining place at the table.

“There is plenty,” she assured her, thinking that perhaps that could be the cause of the Bajoran’s discomfort. “I knew it was B’Elanna’s off day, and anticipated that she would be by. I am pleased that she thought to include you.”

“Thank you,” Ro said quietly, as she sat down. She glanced uncertainly at the captain, obviously uncomfortable with her presence. Janeway, Seven saw, was graciously ignoring the lieutenant’s unease.

Seven took her own seat, noting that both B’Elanna and Janeway had already tucked into their meal. Sometimes she wondered if it was a contest of sorts between them, though why she thought that, she didn’t know. She filled a plate for Ro and passed it over, then acquired a plate of her own.

“I didn’t know you’d be off today, Captain,” B’Elanna said, adding some cherry sauce to her egg rolls.

Janeway swallowed her mouthful of chicken and vegetables. “Would it have made a difference?”

B’Elanna shook her head. “Not for me,” she responded cheerfully. “But I might not have forced Laren to come along.”

“Ah, yes, Lt. Ro,” Janeway said, carefully not looking at the Bajoran. “You realize of course, that now I’ll have to kill her.”

Ro looked tremendously startled, staring at the captain with wide eyes and Seven wondered if perhaps the woman did not realize that Kathryn was teasing. Seven found it to be of great significance that her partner would, because after all, Janeway only teased those she really liked. She decided that for some reason, Ro Laren had joined that special circle of the captain’s social group … even if the lieutenant didn’t seem to understand that yet.

“I’m sure Laren will promise not to spread the word about Seven’s gourmet abilities,” B’Elanna replied easily.

Kathryn looked at Ro fully then, pinning her with a full force, level ten Janeway ‘look’. Seven had always found that glare somewhat invigorating, though she understood that others were often extremely intimidated by it.

“I am trusting you with this secret,” Janeway said firmly.

Finally, it seemed that even Ro realized the captain was not entirely serious, though she didn’t seem willing to take the chance on it entirely.

“I’ll guard it with my life,” she said back in utter earnestness.

“See that you do,” Janeway said, completely straight-faced, returning to her meal.

Ro blinked, and glanced at the other two, no doubt seeing the amusement in the Borg’s eyes and the smirk on the Klingon’s face. She looked baffled as she turned her attention on her meal, obviously not knowing what to think. Seven decided that perhaps this was an instance when humor had shaded slightly into cruelity, and she tried to make the Bajoran feel more at ease.

“Would you care for some liquid refreshment, Laren? I have some Bajoran spring wine.”

Ro looked up, astonished. “You do?”

“Where did you get that?” B’Elanna asked, staring at the Borg.

“Neelix possessed a bottle that he aquired in the first year of Voyager’s journey,” Seven responded as she got up and pulled out the emerald bottle from the compartment where some of the couple’s wine collection was kept chilled … those particular wines that required it. “He was holding on to it for a ‘special occasion’.”

“How did you manage to talk him out of it, darling?” Janeway asked, with interest.

“Why did you get it?” B’Elanna asked, in the next breath. “I didn’t know you liked Bajoran wine.”

“I convinced him that I was more likely to encounter a ‘special occasion’ involving a Bajoran than he would be,” Seven replied to the captain’s question. “Then I exchanged an item I acquired in the market on Jurass IV,” To the Klingon, she raised an eyebrow. “I made the exchange because I was aware that inevitably you would be bringing Laren by for lunch and I wished to have it ready in that event.”

B’Elanna flushed hotly, Ro looked astounded again and Kathryn developed that expression on her face that she did whenever she was trying not to laugh out loud.

“That was very thoughtful of you, darling,” Janeway said fondly, after she had finished swallowing her amusement.

“Yes,” Ro added hastily. “Thank you, Seven.”

Seven poured the pale, golden liquid into the crystal glasses, distributed them, and sipped at her own tentatively, discovering it to have a light, almost quicksilver flavor, dancing over the taste buds. She was regretful that there was only the one bottle.

“Very good,” Janeway noted approvingly. “Are you familiar with this wine, Laren?”

Ro, obviously still getting used to the captain’s habit of using her first name, was slow to respond, but for the next little while, she and the captain discussed the making of the wine avidly, how the Bajorans tended the fruit which produced such a delicate flavor and texture as well as the mountain springs that gave it such a pure, unsullied taste. Seven noted that B’Elanna said little, seemingly content to listen and beam with satisfaction as the two women interacted. Seven herself was simply pleased to be witness to her spouse’s considerable ability to charm. The young Borg had been on the receiving end of it many times, of course, but it was intriguing to watch it utilized on someone else, particularly Ro who was normally such a reserved and carefully guarded personality. The captain even made the Bajoran laugh out loud a few times. Seven noticed in those instances that B’Elanna appeared particularly vulnerable, with aching yearning in her eyes.

Seven was both amused and slightly worried. It pleased her to know that her friend was in love yet again, but it concerned her that B’Elanna might be hurt. She took a moment to assess Ro Laren dispassionately, determining that the woman was very self-assured and possessed great presence, exactly what the Klingon needed to counter her more illogical emotional outbursts. While Ro was, of course, not as beautiful as Kathryn, her slender dark looks and build were still aesthetically pleasing. Seven suspected this would be a good match … provided B’Elanna could win the other’s attention as completely as Ro had so obviously won hers.

The rest of the lunch went by quickly and Seven was surprised when B’Elanna and Ro excused themselves shortly after. Normally it was the engineer’s habit to stay an hour or so, speaking with Seven and Janeway on a variety of issues. Now, however, it seemed she wished to be alone with the Bajoran. Seven could certainly understand that, and recognized that the captain would be pleased by the decision. On more than one occasion, she had caught Kathryn looking at her with a particular expression in her eyes … the one that turned the grey to bright blue and made Seven feel as if her skin was glowing from the warmth it produced.

“Things seem to be going well with them,” the captain remarked as she cleared the dishes from the table while Seven finished cleaning her workspace.

“It appears so,” Seven replied, noncommittally.

Kathryn raised a delicate eyebrow. “You don’t sound convinced,” she said, placing the dirty dishes carefully in the recycler.

“I think,” Seven said slowly, returning the now sterilized wok back to its compartment and wiping the counter down with a clean cloth, “that this has great potential to hurt B’Elanna.”

Janeway considered that one. “You mean, because she’s fallen so hard?”

“Yes.” Seven contemplated the wood grain pattern of her counter top. It had been Chakotay’s suggestion during the construction of the kitchenette that a simulation of the natural material be used. Its solid feel, and the golden highlights of the butcher block finish, soothed Seven in some unfathomable way. “I do not think Ro Laren is in love with her.”

“Maybe not yet,” Janeway allowed as she came over, perching on her stool. “She’s close.”

Seven raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Yes?”

Janeway favored her with a smile. “I think I can recognize the signs, darling. Considering how captivated I am with you, it easy to see when others are in the same boat.”

“I hope that they will find the same sort of love we share.”

Janeway’s face softened and became wistful. “If they do, they’ll be fortunate individuals indeed,” she said, reaching across the counter to take Seven’s hands into her own. “God knows, I am.”

Seven leaned forward, kissing her gently. “As am I.”

Janeway lowered her eyes and rested her forehead against the Borg’s, her thumbs stroking the back of Seven’s hands lightly, sending tingles through the young woman.

“You have such lovely hands,” the captain murmured.

“One is not entirely of my genetic pattern,” Seven reminded her, always a stickler for accuracy.

“It’s still lovely,” Janeway assured her. She raised her face, her voice dropping to a husky trill as she brushed her lips over Seven’s. “I love how they make me feel when they touch me.”

“Ah,” Seven said, seeing where this was going now. “I presume you wish them to touch you now?”

“Do they have something better to do?”

Seven considered it. “Better than making love to you? Never.”

Janeway smiled and slid off the stool, still hanging on those hands as Seven was forced to skirt the counter, the captain pulling her in the direction of the bedroom. They kept their hands linked tightly, Janeway walking backwards with Seven following, stealing kisses every few feet until they reached the side of the bed where they fell onto it. Seven carefully controlled her tumble so that she did not crush her spouse and she looked down at the person she loved most, pinning Kathryn’s hands lightly above the captain’s head, their faces only millimeters apart. For a second, the emotion filled her chest to overflowing and she was breathless, bending her head to tenderly kiss her spouse.

“Did you mind B’Elanna coming over?” she asked quietly, between the kisses which were increasing progressively in both duration and intensity.

“No, but I’m certainly glad … mmm … they left so soon.”

“They wished to be alone together,” Seven told her. “As we do.”

Janeway quirked an eyebrow. “Not quite like we do. Not yet.”

Seven lifted a brow. “How do you know?”

Janeway’s knowing smile was her only reply, perhaps because Seven’s lips had covered hers once again. She purred as the Borg left her mouth and kissed over her chin, nuzzling the warmth of her throat, the hollow at the base shadowed soft in the ‘v’ provided by the silk blouse. There was a whisper-thin chain there, not the silver of their wedding pendants … which the couple rarely wore because of their sentimental value, not wanting them to be lost … but rather gold, which suited the captain’s coloring far more. With Janeway’s reddish hair and rosy skin, the gold merely emphasized what many had already discovered when they viewed the couple with an artist’s eye. Where the Borg was blue and silver implants, like the gleaming sharpness of ice, the captain was red, evocative of the rapid flames of fire. The couple’s personalities were perfectly balanced between this, Seven with the glacial strength of winter countered by Janeway’s rich vibrancy of autumn; the blue consistency of sea and sky versus the red eruption of volcanoes and lava. Elemental, primeval, yet imminently suited for one another … to one another.

And Seven never felt that more strongly than at moments like these, when there was only the two of them and the rest of the universe was ignored and forgotten.

Ro was still somewhat bemused as she left the captain’s quarters and she caught B’Elanna shooting her a sideways glance from beneath her lashes as they walked toward the turbolift.

“All right,” the Bajoran said finally, after they had entered the lift. “I admit it. It wasn’t what I expected.”

“Totally different without the pips, isn’t she?” B’Elanna said with satisfaction.

“I hardly recognized her.” Ro frowned, thinking over all she had taken in during the lunch. “You don’t act so casual with her in other situations.”

“Oh no,” B’Elanna agreed, so fervently that Ro knew some memory still echoed sharp in the Klingon. “I learned the hard way how far I could go with her. When she’s the captain, she’s the captain and there’s absolutely no pushing that, but when she’s off duty, and she’s with Seven, she’ll relax her protocols a bit.”

Ro took a breath. “There is definitely more to her than meets the eye.” She stepped off the turbolift when it reached deck nine and she took a few strides before realizing that the Klingon was lingering behind. She paused, looking back.

“Where are we going?” B’Elanna asked.

Ro had to think about that one. “I hadn’t really decided.” She regarded B’Elanna quizzically. “I guess I was heading for crew quarters.”

B’Elanna looked as if she didn’t know what to do with that one. “Oh? Yours or mine?”

Ro didn’t know if that meant she was pleased or offended. It occurred to the Bajoran that perhaps she had been taking the other woman’s interest in her a little for granted and that surprised her. If there was one thing her life had taught her, it was not to take anything for granted.

“Did you want to do something? Go to the holodeck maybe?”

B’Elanna regarded her with a casualness that was far too practiced to be real.

“We could go to my quarters,” she suggested. “Listen to music, or have some dessert.”

Ro picked that one up with all the delicacy she would have taken in handling a gravimetric mine primed to go off in her face if she wasn’t careful. “That would be … all right. My roommate’s on gamma shift and she’s probably asleep now, so we definitely can’t go to mine.”

They resumed their progression down the corridor, walking stride for stride but not touching. Ro was very conscious of the warmth of the body so close beside her, and she swallowed hard, wondering if this was such a wise idea after all. It wasn’t as if she had no physical attraction to the other woman. Indeed, the more time she spent in her presence, the more Ro regarded B’Elanna as more than just a crewmate, more than just a friend. There was a strength and brilliance about the engineer that intrigued the Bajoran, made her want to experience it further … and more intimately. Yet, there was still a reluctance to allow anyone that close, to become that vulnerable to another person. Her relationships had been few and far between, unquestionably influenced by her growing up in the Cardassian interment camps and seeing her father tortured to death before her eyes. She was not quick to hand over her heart, keeping it closely guarded no matter who she was dealing with.

She tried to control the rhythm of that heart as she followed B’Elanna into her cabin. Ro was surprised that the engineer chose to live down on the lowest deck of the saucer section, but she supposed the Klingon wanted to be close to her precious engine room. Command staff were all accorded private suites, even on a ship the size of Voyager, and if this wasn’t as spacious as the quarters the captain and Seven shared on deck three, this room was still fairly large, joined by a fully appointed ensuite. Most of all, it was private, unlike a lot of the crew quarters on this deck which were constructed for multiple crewmates with two or more rooms sharing a head.

Maybe even too private, and Ro hesitated just inside the door, feeling distinctly uneasy.

B’Elanna turned around, eyeing her oddly.

“What’s wrong? I don’t bite, you know.”

“Actually, I heard you did.”

The words were out Ro’s mouth before she could stop them and she would have given her left arm to take them back, especially when she saw the way the Klingon’s eyes shuttered, her face growing still.

“I’m sorry,” the Bajoran apologized hastily. “That was stupid. I don’t know why I said it.”

“It’s okay,” B’Elanna said, looking away. Ro realized suddenly that what she thought was insult had actually been hurt.

“No, it’s not.” Ro took a step closer. “Maybe it’s time we talked about this.”

B’Elanna crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to meet the woman’s eyes. “Talk about what?”

Ro knew the engineer was hardly that obtuse. “Us. Where this might be going.”

B’Elanna was silent for a moment, obviously uncomfortable.

“Where would you like it to go?” she asked finally, in a grudging tone.

Ro let out a bark of laughter, unamused. “Boy, you just don’t give a millimeter, do you?”

That outraged the young woman. “Me?” B’Elanna stared at Ro. “I’ve been doing all the work here.”

Ro felt her temper rise and with an effort, she damped it down. Forcing herself to step back a little and look at it objectively, she realized that perhaps the other woman had a point.

“Maybe you’re right,” Ro said evenly, surprising Torres profoundly. “Maybe you have. But I had my own reasons for not wanting this to get out of hand.”

B’Elanna opened her mouth to retort, apparently thought better of it, and instead, took an audible breath as she chose a seat by the table.

“Why would it get out of hand? And if it did, would that be so bad?”

“Depends on what we mean when we say, ‘out of hand’,” Ro said cryptically, then held up her hand in apology when B’Elanna bristled again. “Give me a minute, please.”

She took some calming breaths, pacing around the room a little, and to her gratification and surprise, the Klingon sat patiently as Ro organized her thoughts, which was definitely not an easy thing to do.

“I haven’t been with anyone for eight years,” the Bajoran said finally. “Even then, the last time was because of an outside interference that I won’t bother to explain now.” The encounter with Commander William Riker of the Enterprise was a fond memory, but not one that would have happened had it not been for the ship’s crew losing their memories as a result of an alien device. “Before that, there were a couple of people on the Wellington, one of whom was killed on Garon II, and another person at the Academy.”

B’Elanna’s jaw moved stiffly. “Whereas I’ve been sleeping my way around Voyager the last six years?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Ro said, allowing a little of her own annoyance to seep through. “And if this is how it’s going to go here, we’re not going to be able to come to any kind of terms about it.”

B’Elanna colored, but nodded apologetically. “Okay.”

Ro stopped, facing the other woman. “Basically what I’m saying is that I don’t do this sort of thing a lot,” she said edgily. “And I have a whole lot of baggage from where I grew up and how I’ve lived my life. That affects how I deal with others … especially others that I might … want.”

B’Elanna was rocked a little by that, she could see, but to the young woman’s credit, she covered it quickly. The Klingon took her time to respond.

“I didn’t grow up in an interment camp, so you’re right, I don’t know what that’s like. But none of us has skipped through life like it’s a game and we all have baggage of one sort or another. Does that mean we can’t be together?”

“It can if all that’s going to happen is more baggage.” Ro hesitated, looking yearningly at the engineer. “I don’t want to hurt you, B’Elanna.”

“Who says you will?” the engineer wanted to know.

“Who says I won’t.” Ro smiled sadly.

“And who says I won’t hurt you?” B’Elanna said, getting to her feet and walking over until they were standing face to face; so close yet with a distinct amount of distance between them that they were battling so hard to bridge in this moment.

“There are no guarantees here, Laren, for either of us,” she said softly, persuasively. “I’m not asking you to feel something you’re not. All I ask is that if you don’t or can’t, then we stop it before we go much further. Because I do care for you, and I do want you and if I can’t have you … if being with you is something that’s not going to happen, then please, tell me now … while we still have a friendship.”

Ro swallowed, inhaling the faintly musky scent of the other woman, a fragrance of sandalwood and spice, of warm skin and dark hair. Involuntarily, she closed that space, brushing her lips over B’Elanna’s, then deepening the kiss into something intense, rather than attempting to hold back as she always had before. She felt the Klingon’s deceptively strong arms slip around her waist, pulling her closer and she wrapped hers around the slightly shorter woman’s back, feeling the defined spine through the thin t-shirt B’Elanna was wearing, the ripple of muscles under her palms.

“So, you worry I bite?” B’Elanna murmured after they finally parted.

Ro rested her forehead against the proud ridges, feeling her heart pound in her chest.

“Do you?” she asked uncertainly.

“If that’s what you want.” B’Elanna looked up, meeting her gaze, her eyes gentle and dark. “Is it?”

Ro swallowed hard. “I saw a lot of brutality growing up. I don’t want it as a part of my life now.”

B’Elanna took a few deep breaths and Ro knew that she had upset the woman, but this had to be perfectly clear from the beginning.

“Sometimes, I think people have the wrong idea about Klingons,” the engineer said finally, sighing softly as she continued to hang on to the Bajoran. “And they really develop the wrong idea about me because I’m only half Klingon. Don’t get me wrong, I’m … aggressive. It’s my nature. But hurting you is the absolute last thing I want to do. And deliberate pain is not anything that pleases me either.”

Ro felt the other woman’s body move softly against her’s and she discovered it was hard to focus on the conversation. “B’Elanna, I … I need to know for sure what you mean by aggressive. I’m sorry. I don’t want to upset you but there were stories … Paris ended up in sickbay a couple of times.”

To her surprise, B’Elanna laughed. “That’s right, he did. I know what those stories implied, but what people don’t realize is that Tom was more than glad to go along with them. Because it saved him from telling the real story which was that he always initiated the rough stuff and he always ended up on the short end when I threw him the hell out of bed. I guess it appealed to his ego to have a Klingon woman as a lover.” She said the last bit with a little bitterness and suddenly, Ro felt quite protective, hugging the smaller woman closer.

B’Elanna tilted her head back, her dark eyes pinning the Bajoran. “Laren, I’ll admit, I am passionate but too many times, I’ve tried to live up to the expectations lovers had of me. They wanted this wild woman in bed and I guess I wanted to give it to them. But believe me, it’ll be a nice change to spend time discovering how to love someone rather than trying to find out who has the best endurance and who will cry ‘uncle’ first.”

“I’ve never been with a woman,” Ro said in a warning tone.

“Neither have I.”

Ro breathed quietly. “This could be a mess.”

“Or it could be what we’ve both been waiting for.” B’Elanna kissed Ro again, very softly. “I’m not going to push this any further, Laren. It’s up to you. I just need to know this isn’t some kind of … experiment on your part.”

“After this long, believe me, jumping into something just to see what happens is not who I am,” Ro said dryly. She exhaled audibly. “B’Elanna, I do want to be with you.”

“That’s all you need to say,” the Klingon whispered.

She kissed Ro again and this time, the Bajoran got the full taste of B’Elanna’s desire, of her passion. Instead of putting her off, it inflamed her and she returned the kiss avidly. B’Elanna still did not rush, seemed to be content to take her cue from the other woman, no more, no less, her hands caressing Ro lightly through the red tunic she was wearing, but not wantonly. Ro couldn’t get over how soft B’Elanna was. For some reason, she had always perceived the engineer as being solid, hard, a sturdy body with a pugnacious attitude, quick tempered and volatile.

So why was she now so soft? The lips, sweet, full, pure velvet beneath hers. The skin was warm and olive, silky smooth to the touch … was it just the fact that B’Elanna was a woman and therefore, unfamiliar to Ro in this way? Or had the Bajoran simply not looked closely enough before? Had none of them looked closely enough?

Then, a gentle nibble at her bottom lip, not a bite as she might have feared, but the most careful of teasing caresses and Ro moaned into B’Elanna’s mouth, sinking deeper into the kiss. At first, the sudden jolt of the ship rocking beneath them seemed as if their emotion was sweeping them away but it ended up breaking them apart. Gasping, the two woman stared uncomprehending at each other, yet already starting to react as the call came over their comm badges.

“Red Alert. All hands to battle stations. This is not a drill.”

They dashed for the door and into the corridor beyond, oblivious of the fact that they were still in civies. As command staff, off duty or not, B’Elanna’s place was in engineering while Ro’s place was with the beta squad. At the turbolift, they spared a second for a single, exchanged glance that spoke volumes, and then the doors closed on the Klingon’s regretful features as Ro headed for the armory.

Janeway breezed onto the bridge, still fastening her tunic.

“Report,” she barked, descending the short flight of stairs and dropping into the command chair, glaring at the viewscreen. Chakotay, who had given up the seat, spared her a brief glance of admiration, no doubt wondering how she managed to get changed into her uniform so quickly. She had no intention of telling him that the uniform was the first thing she had grabbed, falling out of bed in a rush as soon as she felt the ship shudder, pulling it on over her naked form.

She could still taste Seven on her lips, resting mildly salt-sweet on her tongue and she wiped her mouth discreetly with her palm, hoping there was no visible evidence of what she had been so gloriously involved with when the alarm klaxons sounded.

“Three incoming ships on an attack pattern,” Tuvok, the Vulcan security chief summarized succinctly from his position at tactical. “They fired without warning. No response to our hails.”

“We’re avoiding them for the moment,” Paris added from the helm, his hands dancing lightly over the touch pad. “But what they lack in speed, they make up for in fire power.”

As if to emphasize that, there was another jolt as a blast impacted with Voyager, making Janeway’s head snap forward. She blew a stray strand of hair from her face and narrowed her eyes, studying the vessels passing across the viewscreen.

“Hail them again,” she said over her shoulder to Harry Kim who was manning ops. “All frequencies. We are peaceful but we will protect ourselves.” The young lieutenant’s eyes were dark as he input the necessary commands. He shook his head.

“Still no response.”

“Ready phasers,” Janeway said. “Return fire.” It was not something she wanted to do, but if they wouldn’t talk, she had no intention of just sitting there and letting them batter her ship to pieces.

Another jolt rocked the ship.

“Shields down to 80%,” Tuvok said.

“Ready photon torpedoes,” Chakotay said and at Janeway’s brief nod, added, “Fire at will.”

As various gravimetric forces played on her, Janeway gripped the arms of her chair hard, feeling somewhat queasy as Tom threw the ship into a series of maneuvers, the inertial dampeners pressed to their limit. The ship seemed to avoid the worst of the incoming fire, and then suddenly, the space before them was clear.

“Maximum warp,” Janeway yelped and she could feel the surge of her ship beneath her as it leaped forward. “Good work, Mr. Paris.”

“Alien vessels are in pursuit,” Tuvok reported. “But not gaining.”

Chakotay looked over at her. “We can’t maintain this for long. Maybe a day or so, and then the engines will shut down by themselves if they don’t overheat and explode.”

Janeway nodded, her eyes scanning the viewscreen which was displaying an aft view, studying the ships chasing Voyager. “But it may give us the breathing space we need to figure something out.” She stood up, going over to Tuvok, aware of Chakotay moving with her, a step behind. He had turned into such a fine first officer, she thought idly.

“What did we get from the scans,” she asked her security chief.

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. “It was curious, Captain. The scans were quite inconclusive, particularly in terms of lifesigns.”

“How so?”

“There did not appear to be any.”

Janeway exchanged a glance with Chakotay.

“They’re robot ships?” her first officer queried.

Tuvok shook his head minutely. “Inconclusive. Astrometrics reports that the enhanced sensors there do not pick up any lifesigns either, but that there is some form of energy field which makes it difficult to reach a definite conclusion. Seven does not recognize the technology. Whoever they are, they have not encountered the Borg. “

“Engineering to bridge.”

“Go ahead,” Chakotay said.

“I appreciate that we’re being chased, but these engines will go flat out for only so long,” B’Elanna reminded them. “If shaving a few warp points will still keep us ahead, that would extend it another few hours.”

Chakotay looked to the helm. “Mr. Paris?”

“I think dropping to 9.75 will keep us clear of their weapons range,” the fair-haired helmsman returned.

“Do it,” Janeway said and turned back to the other two men. “That’s just a temporary solution. I need suggestions, gentlemen.”

Chakotay rubbed his tattoo fretfully. “Well, diplomacy isn’t working and engineering is doing all they can to keep us out firing range. That only leaves a tactical solution.”

“Turning and fighting.” Janeway frowned. “That’s not a solution I care to entertain often.”

“Yet, it’s possible that this particular situation requires it,” Tuvok noted calmly. “Therefore, we must come up with a strategy that grants us the best advantage.” He paused. “I would like to confer with my team on this.”

Janeway nodded. “Two hours in the conference room. Let me have your best projections.” She glanced at Chakotay. “You have the bridge. I’ll be in astrometrics. Maybe further scans will provide us with a few more options. In the meantime, continue to try to contact our assailants, attempt to form a basis of communication.”

Seven was intent on her scans when Janeway walked in and the captain studied the images on the giant multiple viewscreen at the far end of the room. One of the alien ships was featured in the center screen, turning and twisting as Seven attempted to penetrate its secrets, data printing out along the side before being replaced by another display, another angle.

“Anything?”

Seven glanced at her briefly, then dropped her eyes back to her console. “The energy field masking the interior is of a type I have never seen. Even the Malon freighters did not emit this amount of radiation.”

“Is it possible that there are no lifesigns at all?” Janeway suggested. “That the vessels are controlled solely by computers?”

“Possibly,” Seven allowed, but she was obviously not very enthusiastic about that suggestion. Even the Borg were not able to send out ships of this size controlled by purely mechanical means.

Janeway inhaled slowly, her eyes tracking the varied screens. “If we can’t find another way, we’ll have to turn and fight.”

Seven raised an eyebrow. “Tuvok will provide a tactically sound plan. They do have certain weaknesses which can be exploited, particularly in the shields and aft propulsion sections.”

“No doubt.” Janeway hesitated. “I’m not entirely comfortable with the idea of taking pregnant women and a child into battle.”

Seven frowned. “Naomi’s presence has never given you pause before.”

“I was never really aware of her presence before.” Janeway pursed her lips. “Now I am.”

Seven was silent as she considered this. “We cannot continue to flee. Eventually, they will catch us and conflict is inevitable. In that event, it would be best that we be in the most advantageous position.”

“I know,” Janeway said, but she was still not happy about it. Her partner sensed that and took a second to rest her hand on the small of the captain’s back even as she used her other to continue to key in lines of inquiry.

“How much time before we must decide.”

“I gave Tuvok two hours.”

Seven nodded. “I shall do my best to provide another … solution in that time.”

Janeway nodded. “Thank you.”

She glanced at Seven, meeting the pale blue eyes for a brief instant of shared support and understanding, then she left the Borg to her task, hoping that her spouse could come up with an option that did not include endangering so many lives.

Her next stop was in engineering, checking on her crew there, and determining that they could not do any more to coax a few more hours out of the warp engines, not at the speed Voyager was going. She was disturbed by the light and sound of the warp core, throbbing urgently as the drive was propelled at its upper level. She spent a few minutes speaking with B’Elanna who, she noted, was still dressed in her civies, before making her way back to the bridge.

The atmosphere was tense there, electric, and Janeway did a circuit, conferring quietly with her staff. Nicoletti, on the engineering station, monitored the ship’s power outlay with meticulous attention while Samantha Wildman covered the science station, trying her own set of altered scans, channeling them through the biometric filters. Janeway wondered if Naomi’s mother ever found her work being influenced by thoughts of her daughter … if knowing that at any second, the course they were pursuing could end up in her child being harmed, would that somehow cause her to choose one course of action over another? It was not something Janeway could ask the ensign, however. Not on the bridge and not at the moment.

The captain drifted to the helm, looking over Paris’s shoulder as they tried to come up with a flight plan that would somehow afford them an escape. Unfortunately, there were no handy nebulas or dust clouds about to obscure their passage or enable them to lay a false trail.

At ops, Harry provided a suggestion or two about trying to disguise their warp signature but carrying out such a suggestion would take far too long and the proximity of their pursuers made it impossible anyway. Janeway patted him reassuringly on the shoulder before making her way back to her chair.

The rest of the time limit flew by and she went to the conference room. Most of her senior staff attended the meeting, though B’Elanna remained in engineering, wanting to be close by her precious engines while they were being pushed so hard.

“Go ahead, Tuvok,” she commanded quietly, her hands folded neatly before her on the large table, eyeing her security chief keenly.

“I believe our best option is to attempt to deceive them. Luring them close enough so that we can take the offensive when they least expect it. If we initiate the Garrett Strategy, and then perform the Picard Maneuver in combination with the DeSoto Tactic, we would be able to inflict considerable damage to all three vessels at once.”

Janeway felt like someone had punched her in the stomach, her breath exhaling audibly as beside her, Chakotay looked astonished while Paris looked downright queasy.

“That’s your best suggestion?” her first officer asked, his voice rising.

Tuvok lifted a brow. “We are outnumbered and outgunned. We cannot escape by outrunning them. This provides the best odds of surviving what is an inevitable battle.”

“Provided the ship doesn’t fly apart. The stresses placed on the hull and the integrity field are immense in any one of those tactics. To try all three in succession…” Lt. Kim was pale as he contemplated it.

“We did have time to run a quick simulation. Lt. Ro manned the helm and we were able to perform all tactics with minimal damage to the ship.”

“Define minimal,” Janeway said flatly.

“We would experience hull breaches on decks seven and eight. It would advisable to totally evacuate those decks as well as six above and nine below.”

“Those are primarily crew quarters,” Paris pointed out. “Where’s everyone going to stay?”

Tuvok eyed him narrowly. “I suggest that we survive this initial encounter. Then we can worry about crew accommodations afterward.”

Seven was being unnaturally quiet and Janeway shot a look down toward the end of the table.

“What’s astrometrics come up with?” the captain asked hopefully.

Seven quirked an eyebrow. “Scans have revealed nothing further. Short of capturing one of the pursuing vessels and sending an away team over for a visual inspection, there are still too many unknowns.” She paused and when she looked at the captain, there was a hint of regret in her gaze. “Tuvok’s suggestion is the most efficient, in my opinion.”

Janeway tried not to be unduly disappointed. Her spouse rarely let her down and perhaps she was starting to expect too much from the young woman. After all, it was sticky problem she had handed her and it was a bit much to ask that the Borg get her out of it that easily. She nodded briefly and looked at Paris.

“How well do you know those maneuvers?”

He let out his breath in a whoosh. “They were all standard training at the Academy, but captain, we both know conditions are a lot more controlled there. Not to mention the fact that Starfleet had rescue vessels standing by if something went wrong and the pilots need to be transported out.” He hesitated. “I’ve never tried those patterns with a ship this size, either.”

Tuvok lifted his head. “All the tactics have been performed successfully with much larger vessels.”

“Yeah,” Paris shot back. “But not all three in rapid succession.”

Janeway firmed her jaw.

“Like it or not, this seems our best option.” She glanced at Chakotay. “Evacuate the decks. Send all unnecessary personnel to the safe haven. We might as well get some use out of it even if it’s not yet complete. It’s still the most secure place on the ship.” She looked at the rest of her senior staff. “Lt. Kim, channel all excess power to the integrity fields and do what you can to shore up any weak areas. Lt. Paris, set up the maneuvers in the computer so that the ship will be able to execute all three without our input. Seven, go to engineering and assist Lt. Torres in preparing the engines for the stress they’re about to undergo.”

Her eyes were a solid grey, steely in the muted light.

“We’ll only get the one shot, people,” she said. “Let’s do it right. You have four hours.”

Seven took her place at the aft auxiliary station, situated above and behind the command level. She could look down onto the top of her spouse’s auburn locks, see the curve of the captain’s jaw and cheek, even hear her breathe if she listened carefully enough. Technically, she could run the scans better from astrometrics but that deck had been evacuated. Nor did the captain object to Seven’s presence here, even though she might be more useful in engineering. Obviously, the situation was such that whatever happened, the captain wanted to be in close proximity to her … a fact which gave the Borg certain pause.

Seven was keenly aware of the apprehension filtering through the bridge, how terse everyone was as they completed their last minute preparations for their attack on the pursuing ships. Even if everything worked exactly as planned, Voyager would take a certain amount of pounding … and it was possible that if it didn’t work as they wanted, their ship would be completely destroyed.

In that case, Seven wanted to be sure that the last thing she saw was Kathryn.

The captain was conferring with Chakotay in low tones, looking over the monitor which sat between them, indicating an occasional point by tapping her fingernail on the screen. Though Seven could easily make out what they were saying, she deliberately did not listen, knowing that she had her own duties and was expected to concentrate on them. She glanced over as the turbolift hissed open and she watched as a grim-faced Harry Kim took his place at ops. He had been down in sickbay with his wife, the young ensign going through a bit of difficulty in the final stages of her pregnancy. Seven knew that it must be agony for the young man to have to be here on the bridge, but he was Starfleet and he would perform his duty.

At times, however, she wondered why people prioritized the way they did … and why others expected them to prioritize that way?

Tuvok was intent at his tactical post, his brows lowered. That would be the most reaction the Vulcan would show no matter what happened, though certainly, he had to be concerned about what they were about to do. At the front of the bridge, Paris went over his calculations for what seemed the hundredth time. If he was knocked from his station, the ship would carry on regardless … for as long as it was able. Seven saw Janeway straighten in her command chair and the Borg tensed, noticing how the captain’s fingers went a bit white as she gripped the arms.

“All hands, prepare to initiate the Garrett Strategy,” Janeway said clearly, the computer relaying the message ship wide, picking up on the key words, ‘all hands’. “Secure all stations. Stand by on my mark.”

Janeway took a quick glance around the bridge, then briefly over her shoulder to meet the gaze of her partner. She tried a wan smile, to which Seven responded with a slight incline of her head before both women turned their eyes back to the viewscreen, the captain setting her jaw firmly.

“Engage.”.

The first jolt made the ship groan, the stress of metal sounding clearly in Seven’s ears as she bent over her station, hanging on for dear life, and knowing that the worst was yet to come. All the crew had done so far was power down the engines, abruptly dropping Voyager from warp to impulse with no gradual decrease in speed. Seven gripped the console tighter, the grip by her left hand keeping her stable and suspecting that only the enhancements she, B’Elanna and Harry had made to the integrity field over the past year kept the vessel from flying to pieces. She heard an expulsion of breath as Lt. Kim impacted solidly with his station, and had a brief glimpse of Janeway being flung about in her chair. The captain maintained her seat, however, shaking her head to clear her face from the stray strands of auburn hair.

“The aliens are dropping out of warp and coming about,” Tuvok reported, his voice calm. “Laying photon torpedoes on proximity detonation. Enemy vessels are approaching in a dispersed pattern from the port bow. Coming into firing range … now.”

“Initiate Picard Maneuver,” Janeway barked.

This time, Seven lost her grip and slammed into the rear of the bridge, feeling the impact all the way to her bones, but somehow she managed to keep her feet. She was the only one. All the senior staff were tossed to the deck as Voyager was abruptly flung into warp again, aimed directly at their enemies. For an instant, it would appear to any outside sensors that the Federation vessel had remained exactly where it was, the time lag creating the illusion that the ship was in two places at once. The blasts from the alien’s weapons passed through where Voyager had been, igniting the photon torpedoes that detonated in a convulsion of energy. The blast reached out for the attacking vessels who naturally shored up their fore shields … leaving their aft shields vulnerable to the sudden appearance of Voyager behind them. The Federation ship unleashed its fully charged phaser banks and a full salvo of torpedoes, the armory crew having reloaded their payload in record time.

The photon torpedoes punched through the weakened shields of two of the vessels, opening the way for the concentrated phasers to finish the job, slicing through the metal hulls like a knife through butter. The ruptured hulls discharged debris and gasses from fatal wounds, touching off yet more explosions inside. The death throes of the two ships’ reached out to engulf the third, and slapped Voyager heavily for her success. Seven crashed to the deck, not seeing the display that spun sickeningly on the viewscreen as the concussion shoved Voyager back, the inertial dampeners struggling to control the impact of the shockwave, fluctuating wildly and tossing the crew about without discrimination. The Borg’s head thudded into the deck and for long moments, blackness edged her vision, clouding her mind. It was only her enhanced strength and endurance which kept her from plunging completely into the beckoning darkness.

When she returned to herself, the ship was adrift, the normal sounds of the bridge abscent while the few lights that flickered on the remaining live stations glared red in the low illumination. Above Seven, a rush of inert gases designed to dampen any fires hissed loudly, filling the bridge with a haze that dried her mouth and throat. She groaned and reached up to the rail, using it to help her to her feet. It was a measure of the captain’s confidence in her that Seven checked the ship first before looking anywhere else. Voyager was not in the best shape, but the vessel was still mostly intact and the backup emergency systems were coming online even as she keyed in commands to hasten their implementation.

Then, when she was sure she had done all she could do to keep the ship from coming apart, she looked around, slapping her comm badge.

“Bridge to sickbay,” she said, going over to the closest casualty, Harry Kim, who lay unconscious, crimson streaming from a cut on his head. There was no response from the medical center … not that she had anticipated any. Communications was one of the more fragile systems on the ship and it took very little to disrupt them. “Bridge to anyone, please respond.”

She looked to the rear of the bridge where varied compartments had burst open, spilling their contents. One contained medikits and she grabbed the container, retrieving its medical tricorder to take readings of the young man. She could hear groans coming from behind her and she knew that others were regaining consciousness as well. The tricorder readings indicated that although Kim had a concussion and some broken bones, he was in no immediate danger of expiring so she moved away, leaving him for the moment. She stepped over Chakotay who was collapsed on the small flight of stairs, trying and failing to get his knees. She reached down to help him into a sitting position.

“Seven?” he gulped. “Status.”

“Holding,” she replied shortly.

She sensed a body moving close and she looked back to see Paris at the helm, somehow dragging himself into the chair and accessing the board. On the upper deck, Tuvok climbed from behind the tactical station, trying to access his console. Seven took a deep breath, easing Chakotay over to the support of the steps.

“I must see to the others.”

He nodded, though she wasn’t entirely sure that he understood and she released him carefully, making sure he didn’t topple over. She stood up anxiously, finding the crumpled form of her spouse near the command chair, sprawled awkwardly over the deck like a rag doll tossed aside after play. With fear a metallic taste in her mouth, Seven knelt beside Janeway, pressing her fingers to the captain’s neck, horror rising thick and overpowering within her. The Borg hadn’t realized she had stopped breathing until she felt the flutter beneath her fingertips, saw the checked respiration and was forced to take a breath herself, lightheaded from the lack of oxygen.

“Kathryn,” she whispered, bending low to an ear which had a trickle of blood issuing from it, running the medical probe over the small form, regarding the readings with apprehension. “Kathryn, can you hear me?”

There was no response and the tricorder revealed a multitude of hurts, none of which, fortunately, were as bad as she had feared. “Captain Janeway,” she tried again, in a firmer tone. “The ship is damaged.”

A moan, low and unsteady, issuing from wine shaded lips that grew white with pain as the captain regained her senses. Her eyelids fluttered and she attempted to get up, sliding her hands under her and pushing weakly. Seven was not even sure that Janeway was aware of anything, just that her ship was in trouble and needed her.

“Easy, Captain,” she told her, slipping an arm around Janeway, and assisting her as much as she could. “You are injured.”

“Seven?” Janeway mumbled groggily. “Report.”

“Voyager is drifting,” Seven said, wanting nothing more than to gather her spouse up in her arms and hold her until she was healed, until all the pain went away, but knowing that if she attempted to coddle the captain at this moment, Janeway would not thank her for it later. Indeed, the captain would be greatly angered by any attempt by the Borg to make it easier for her. “Structural integrity is weakened but holding. Shields are down to 36%. Communications are off line. Life support is off line. Emergency backups are online but power supplies are failing.”

“Tell me the bad news now,” Janeway managed weakly as Seven helped her into the command chair.

Seven frowned, thinking that this was hardly a time for sarcasm.

“That is the bad news,” she said pointedly.

Janeway spared her a brief glance of black humor and turned to her monitor, regarding the blank screen for a second, before dismissing it. She looked around and said in a stronger tone, “Report.”

“Warp drive is off line,” Paris said, hunched over in his chair. Obviously he had damaged his ribs in the shaking the ship had undergone. “Impulse is offline. Thrusters are non-responsive.”

“Phaser banks are off line.” It was a measure of Tuvok’s disarray that there was just the slightest bit of tension in his tone. “Photon torpedo launchers are down.”

“Communications remain down,” Seven said, having gone to the operations station after making sure the captain wouldn’t fall out of the chair. “Internal scans indicate lifesigns throughout the ship but are unable to determine numbers. External sensors remain inaccessible.”

“This just gets better and better,” Janeway mumbled audibly. She looked over. “Chakotay?”

But he was unconscious and the captain winced, pressing her fingers to her head briefly. She inhaled a few times, then opened her eyes again.

“Seven, we need to establish internal communications. Tuvok, I want to know the entire extent of the damage, even if we have to do a visual inspection over every millimeter of hull. I also need to know if sickbay is still up and running. Tom, try to get the thrusters back, at least.”

Sluggishly, the crew moved to carry out her orders and the captain remained in her chair, her head nodding forward, and coming up with a jerk every so often as she fought to remain conscious. Seven watched her worriedly from the corner of her eye, and even though she was working on the communications system, she gladly turned it over to Nicoletti when the shaky lieutenant offered, and hurried down to the lower level.

“Captain?” she said softly, kneeling in front of Janeway, looking at her anxiously. “I believe you need treatment.”

The corner of Janeway’s mouth turned up slightly. “That’s somewhat more diplomatic than I’ve come to expect from you,” she croaked weakly. “I must be in bad shape if you’re not yelling at me.”

“I shall if it is required,” Seven said in a low tone. She glanced over to the turbolift, hearing faint sounds behind the doors. “Captain, someone is attempting to enter the bridge.”

B’Elanna Torres picked herself up off the deck and staggered over to her board, biting off a curse as she saw the profusion of ruby lights flashing there. Behind her, she could hear the cries of injured and confused crewmembers, the hiss of plasma releasing, and the creak of stressed metal settling. The Klingon set to work, ignoring the hot stream of blood running down her face, the throbbing of her head a counterpoint to the delicacy of her hands over the touch pad. Her first priority was to lock down the warp core, and make sure the antimatter was secure before they started in on any repairs.

And there were going to be repairs. Even without knowing the full picture, she could sense that Voyager had gotten smacked around pretty good this time, and had taken some heavy wounds. Of course, since they were still here, and there were no further attacks, it hopefully meant that their enemies had received even worse. But that was the bridge’s concern … all she could do was make sure her engines were in no immediate danger of exploding, then get them back online as quickly as possible.

“Vorik,” she bellowed as the Vulcan and others staggered weakly to their stations. “Get a team and secure that plasma vent. Tabor, access the EPS manifold and see how bad that is. Neelix, secure the injured and try to get through to sickbay. Let’s move people!”

Her engineering team scurried hastily about the large room, spurred on by their senior officer’s orders and the tone of her voice. The unconscious were dragged out of the way, all of the crew understanding that this was not the time for sentiment as they fought heat, escaping gases and energy backwash to bring everything back under control. B’Elanna allowed herself a moment of pride in the team who threw themselves at the tasks with no thought of risk to life or limb and she made a mental note to lobby Janeway for commendations for them. For whatever that was worth here in the Delta Quadrant.

That naturally led her to thoughts of the captain and the bridge. Without communications, there was no way of knowing what was going on with the rest of the ship and until she could finish up here and organize various repair teams, it would remain that way. She glanced over as Neelix appeared beside her.

“Lt. Torres, some of the crew’s injuries are quite severe, far more than we can handle with a medikit.” He paused. “If we don’t get them to sickbay, we might lose some of them.”

“There’s no way of even knowing that sickbay is still functional,” she muttered in a low tone to the Talaxian. She inhaled deeply. “If it isn’t, it’ll be a priority to get it up and running again.” She looked directly into his golden eyes, at the tufted, spotted looks that reminded her of the hamster she had when she was a child.

“Take a team to sickbay,” she said firmly, aware of the responsibility she was handing him. “Take Dell and Foster, they’re the best we’ve got on transporters and we’ll want those back online first. Then we can transport the injured there. However, if the medical center is damaged, we’re going to have to set up an alternate place in the mess hall. Those two also know sickbay equipment. Get it done, Neelix.”

“I will,” he assured her seriously, a bit of pride shining in his eyes before he turned away to find his team.

“Neelix.”

He turned back.

“Take care on decks seven and eight. The projections had severe hull breaches on those decks and without internal sensors, we can’t tell where the emergency force fields have kicked in and where they haven’t.”

“We’ll check every deck with tricorders before we try them,” he promised.

She turned back to her board, wishing she could go with him, wanting desperately to know how badly her beloved ship was suffering. However, she had higher priorities weighing on her. She did spare a thought to her friends who had been on the bridge, and to Ro, who could be Kahless knows where, but that was all she could allow herself at the moment.

Frowning, she began to track down the fracture in the EPS conduit.

The Doctor carefully removed the blackened and torn uniform of a crewman who had gotten caught by the backwash of an overloaded power conduit and started in on the burned flesh beneath. Ensign Baytart had been on deck four where he had been covering transporter room one. Ensign Ashmore, who had also been shaken up, had dragged him into sickbay. The burns were severe but nothing that a dermal regenerator couldn’t handle. Unfortunately, it was time consuming and particular care needed to be taken around the ensign’s eyes and mouth.

Around the Doctor, in the flickering lights of sickbay, powered by an emergency supply, various crewmembers lay on the deck or were propped up against the hull, waiting their turn in the triage set up by Sek. She determined who needed prompt attention and who could get by without it for a delayed period. Other crewmembers, uninjured, had converged on deck five and were helping out where they could, comforting those who were waiting and running supplies to the Doctor and Sek as they requested them, essentially filling the role of corpsmen.

The lack of internal communications bothered the Doctor but he really couldn’t give it the attention he wanted. He could, of course, transport himself around the ship using his portable emitter to find out what was going on, but there were too many patients who needed him here. It would be irresponsible go running all over the vessel at random. He had to stay in his medical center and hope that the rest of the crew could bring the injured to him.

He looked up briefly as the doors opened to admit Neelix and two others from engineering. By the way the Talaxian deployed them, the Doctor understood that they were there for technical help and it eased his mind tremendously that at least engineering was coming back on line. For them to be dispatching technicians meant they could spare them, and that was one worry off his mind. Of course, he had heard nothing from the bridge.

He finished regenerating the skin of the crewman, leaving it pink and tender, but no longer vulnerable to the infection that was the deadliest threat when dealing with burns. Switching off the dermal regenerator, he picked up a hypospray and pressed it against the young man’s neck. The stimulant worked quickly and the crewmember woke up. This, of course, was not the preferred method of dealing with a patient in recovery but he had no choice … others waited and they needed this biobed for the next patient. Sek came over and helped the still groggy ensign over to the wall where others were taking a moment to recuperate completely. Then they got to their feet and headed out to resume their duties, knowing the ship was still in trouble. Those who were standing by to backup a specified duty, or were unable to get to where their stations were because of the breaches on decks seven and eight, stayed behind to help out in sickbay as best they could.

One advantage in having all been together for six years … people tended not to stand on rank or role in a crisis.

The Doctor cast a worried eye on the two other biobeds where two patients remained, unable to be moved. One had already been in sickbay when the whole crisis began; Megan Delaney, the wife of Lt. Kim and expecting her first child. The ensign was undergoing a certain amount of difficulty in the closing stages of her pregnancy, and now it seemed that the shaking she had undergone during the battle had not made things easier. Currently, she was fighting a quiet battle to keep from going into premature labor.

The other patient was also pregnant and the prognosis for her was much more serious. All the pregnant women had been instructed to go to the safe haven in the center of the ship where restraining fields could be snapped into place for the inhabitants. She had refused, demanding that she remain on duty and whether the Doctor liked it or not, that was her right as a crewmember. But she had not been restrained by any stasis field when the ship carried out its encounter with the enemy, unable to brace herself sufficiently in auxiliary computer control to prevent being flung heavily to the floor.

Now she battled to keep her child and Sek passed by the bed frequently, monitoring the situation closely and administering whatever treatment that might aid in Ensign White’s struggle.

As he waited for his next patient to be prepped by the corpsmen, he took a brief instant to admire the slender form of his assistant. Her progression was such that she would soon be able to call herself a doctor. At first, he had been resistant to teaching her how to be a practicing physician, wondering peevishly why she couldn’t be happy being his medical assistant. She pointed out in that calm, rational, infinitely patient way she had, that two doctors were far better than one for Voyager, particularly one who was specialized in obstetrics and pediatrics, considering the expected arrival of several new crewmembers in the form of offspring. Besides, as it turned out, she needed to be a doctor, it was part of her basic programming. For him to deny her that was to deny who she was meant to be. Faced with such overwhelming logic, not to mention that steely eyed determination she boasted, undoubtedly, B’Elanna Torres’s contribution to her matrix, he crumbled before her demands and agreed to assist her in acquiring full access to the medical data banks.

Janeway had to be convinced, of course, but he discovered that she was a less resistant than he. In fact, the captain’s attitude toward holograms seemed to have undergone a marked change since he had first been activated all those years ago, and she was very encouraging to Sek, insisting that she develop as far as she could. He had actually wondered a bit at that, remembering well the captain’s treatment of him in the beginning, when she had regarded him as nothing more than a tool, no more sentient than a tricorder or a spanner. Over the years, however, the Ocampa, Kes, and later, Seven of Nine, had helped Janeway see how her view was too rigid and narrow. Gradually, the captain had come to accept his development into a fully sentient being. Not so long ago, she had even placed it in the official record, according he and Sek all privileges and rights as full crewmembers of Voyager.

He decided that Sek was merely benefiting from the trail he had blazed, and that the ease of her acceptance was a result of the battles he had fought to gain the respect and trust of the crew. He was proud of that, and of her, as well. And tremendously gratified for the random sequence of events which had brought her into existence, granting him the opportunity to know her.

The sound of a transporter whine invaded his thoughts and he looked over to see a group of injured materializing on the deck nearby. Immediately, he went over, knowing that Neelix and his team had tapped into the sickbay auxiliary transporter system, bringing it back on line and retrieving those they had left behind in engineering. The two holograms assessed the wounded engineering staff quickly, noting that two needed attention before the rest. With the help of Neelix, they got them onto the operating tables and set to work. He allowed Sek to do most of the work on the first, repairing the shattered bones of a lieutenant’s leg, while he operated on the second, repairing the perforated organs where the ensign had slammed into the sharp edge of a engineering console. He checked occasionally on his assistant’s work as he would any intern, but he was pleased to see that all the skills he possessed as part of his matrix were also part of Sek’s. She may not have the full experience to be considered a full-fledged doctor yet, but she certainly had the ability.

He shook his head, refocusing on his patient. He noted that so far, no one had been brought in from the safe haven, and in fact, it was personnel from that area who had re-established the power supply to sickbay, bringing the emitters back online so that the emergency medical holograms could once again function. It comforted the Doctor to know that even though construction in that area of the ship was not yet complete, it had performed perfectly as a form of protection to whomever might be in it. It was a brief, shining success in a sea of darkness, and he allowed himself a certain amount of elation for that.

Their children would be safe, cocooned in protective restraining fields while the safe haven continued to maintain both power and life support when all other areas of the ship had failed. And if nothing else came from this senseless battle, at least they had that.

Ro Laren twitched her fingers, opening the panel just beneath her hand and touching the control pad that released the restraining field. She sat up gingerly as around her, others in security’s elite beta squad did the same. Running around the large central room where cable and wires still dangled, she could see the crewmembers evacuated to this location also releasing their respective fields, and rolling off the shelves that folded down from the hull like bunks in a shuttle craft. Nearby, Samantha Wildman released Naomi. The child’s field did not have an internal release for safety purposes.

The experience had been very like an amusement park ride, dizzying and somewhat frightening when one considered that this was their ship … their home … that was being spun around so wildly. Ro had felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness as she lay pinned to her pallet, unable to move beyond clenching her fists. She hadn’t made a sound though certainly, she had heard others cry out through the horrible sounds of stressed metal and minor explosions. Now, she tried to take stock of the situation.

Fortunately, it seemed that everything had worked exactly as designed and there were no indications of injuries … just some very shaky crewmembers. A few meters away, two ensigns from geometrics helped one of their pregnant crewmates off the padding, the woman nodding that she was all right.

Ro took a deep breath when she realized that of all the people present in safe haven, her recent promotion made her the ranking officer.

“All right,” she said in a ringing tone. “Has anyone tried communications?”

“I have,” Davis said as the tall, sandy haired man rumbled over to the Bajoran. Muscular and solid, he was second in line and she felt better for seeing him up and around. “Communications are down. None of the internal sensors are working.”

She nodded, expecting nothing less, yet always hopeful. That hope was rarely fulfilled, however, she noted glumly. She noticed that others were gravitating to her, attracted by the note of command in her tone. Was she enjoying the sense of responsibility that abruptly weighed heavily upon her shoulders? Perhaps she preferred to be one of those awaiting her next command, waiting to be told what to do rather than having to make the decisions.

“Listen up,” she said firmly, injecting a note of steel into her tone as they had so painstakingly taught her at the academy when she had returned to take advanced tactical training. Don’t let anyone panic, she thought, and the best way to do that was to look calm and confident. She hoped fervently that she didn’t appear as uncertain as she felt deep in the pit of her stomach.

“I want all unnecessary personnel to remain here until you receive an all-clear from the bridge. Obviously, this is the most protected place to be at the moment. Ensign Wildman, you’re in charge. It might be a good idea to check out the replicators, see if they’re online yet and if they’re not, what it will take to bring them up to speed. We may have to consider the possibility of feeding the entire crew if the messhall has been compromised. Davis, you take a team and head for engineering. See how much help they require and how bad the rest of the ship is. Ayala, grab some people and check out sickbay. Try to get them up and running if they’re not already. The rest of beta squad, with me. We’ll try to get to the bridge, see how bad things are there.”

To her gratification, no one argued or even looked particularly reluctant to follow her orders. Instead, they moved swiftly, without hesitation, carrying out what needed to be done, and seeming almost relieved that someone had taken command. Samantha Wildman took her child’s hand, leading her to the far end of the room where the two replicators, independent of the ship’s systems, resided. Other crewmembers started to sort themselves out, determining who would be best for what task with Ayala and Davis putting their teams together quickly. Ro took another deep breath and moved over to the nearest equipment cabinet, hoping it had already been stocked.

It had, meaning someone had been doing some thinking prior to evacuating a good percentage of the crew to the safe haven. Probably Tuvok, she decided as she attached the phaser to the fastening at her waist, and claimed a tricorder for herself. She strapped a lamp to her wrist, checking to make sure it was fully charged, and then passed out the rest of the available equipment to the others, making sure it was shared equally with all the teams, though Davis’s team recieved all the rope. They could, after all, expect to be passing through decks that might be severely damaged. The projections had not being particularly promising for decks seven and eight.

After making a quick sweep through the safe haven, making sure she hadn’t overlooked any injured people or anyone that might be useful elsewhere, Ro headed for the airlock situated in an alcove set off from the main room. There were two such exits in total, with the other leading to a shaft that ran directly down to the shuttle bay. The one Ro was at, however, led out to the main corridor of deck five. She hoped that she wouldn’t have to put on one of the environmental suits hanging limp in their nearby compartment, the white, bulky outfits ready and waiting behind the glass door.

“Confirming pressure,” Crell, the Bolian, said, checking the readings on the display. “Atmospheric integrity is maintained, but readings indicate a lack of viable life support. You can breathe out there, but only for a few hours.”

Ro was glad that this area of the ship maintained it’s own independent life support and power supply. “I guess that’s the first priority then. Restoring life support.” She looked back over her shoulder at Ayala. “Your team may have to run a power supply from here to sickbay. I think the auxiliary transfer unit has been installed but I’m not sure.”

“We’ll manage,” he said confidently.

She nodded and indicated to Crell to cycle the lock. She and the rest of the beta squad crowded inside and waited there until Crell was able to release the outer hatch. The group spilled out into corridor, and without waiting to see how the other teams were dispatched, Ro led her squad through the corridors to the nearest access ladder leading to the upper decks. The air was thick with dust, and it was unnaturally quiet. The only sounds were that of their footsteps in the carpet and the rasp of their respiration.

“The controls are fused,” Crell said, after checking over the hatch in the upper deck. “Manual override isn’t functioning. Tricorder readings indicate that deck hasn’t been compromised, however.”

“We’ll try the turbolift shaft,” Ro told him. They left the alcove and took another corridor, forming up in front of the sealed doors that led to the turbolift. She used her tricorder to check the pressure on the other side, making sure that it existed, and then reached behind her. A pry bar was placed carefully in her hand without having to ask, and she mentally sent a message of thanks to Tuvok for demanding high standards of training here in the Delta Quadrant, regardless of the fact that not all his people were Starfleet.

She attacked the doors, prying them open. Handing the bar back, she stuck her head gingerly through the opening. She looked down a total of five decks to the turbolift that rested motionless where the shaft curved slightly into the secondary hull. She wasn’t sure if it was jammed, but it certainly wasn’t going anywhere without power. There did not seem to be any hint of escaping air, and she couldn’t detect the shimmer of a force fields thrown up by the automatic systems. Hopefully, that meant the decks below had not been breached to the extent that all atmospheric integrity had been compromised. She swung around, groping for the ladder until finally finding purchase in the recess that ran along the side of the shaft. She made sure her tricorder and phaser were firmly affixed to the connections on her waist, and started to climb.

As she neared deck one, she could see the scorched damage still scarring the shaft from a previous encounter with hostile aliens, though the mangled car had long since been removed and the functionality of the turbolift restored. She decided that they had been running into far too many hostile aliens lately and she wondered if things would only get worse. Or were there actually beings out there who didn’t want to exploit or destroy Voyager?

When she reached the doors leading to the bridge, she activated her tricorder. To her relief, it indicated lifesigns on the other side of the portal as well as a viable atmosphere. But the manual override to the entrance didn’t work, undoubtedly still damaged from the prior explosion. She made a note to tell B’Elanna about it the next time she saw her.

“Pass me the bar,” she called down and the item was sent up to her, hand over hand, by the team who were on the ladder beneath her. “Why the hell am I always crawling around in turbolift shafts?” she added in an aggrieved mutter as she waited, but no one answered her.

She felt the cold metal pressed into her hand and she gripped it tightly as she used it on the stubborn hatch. Dangling precariously from one arm wrapped around the rungs, her feet perched uncertainly below, she grunted as she worked steadily, wondering if perhaps she should have given way to Crell, who had superior upper body strength. Finally, she managed to wedge the flattened end into the crack far enough to get some leverage, and pulled hard, prying open the doors. It wasn’t long before some helping hands appeared, and the Borg mesh on one identified immediately who it was.

“Seven,” Ro gasped as the young woman helped her through the opening.

“Lt. Ro,” Seven greeted calmly, just as if they were meeting in a corridor.

“What’s the status here?” Ro frowned when she saw Harry Kim and Chakotay stretched out on the deck, completely unconscious, while Tuvok swayed uncertainly at the tactical console. Susan Nicoletti, looking shaken but still game, covered operations while Tom Paris painfully hunched over the helm as he tried to bring it back online. The captain was in her command chair, but it was clear it was taking all her energy just to maintain her wits.

“Crell,” Ro said in a low voice, stepping down onto the lower level. “Take over for Commander Tuvok. I’ll cover the helm. The rest of you get these people to sickbay.”

She stopped in front of the captain who looked up at her dazedly. Seven sat down in the first officer’s chair beside her, regarding her spouse worriedly.

“Captain,” Ro said, speaking slowly and distinctly to the battered woman. “Deck five has been secured, a team is restoring sickbay and another is on their way to engineering. Safe haven reports no casualties, but we don’t know about the rest of the ship. We are prepared to relieve the bridge staff if necessary.”

Janeway nodded minutely, almost as if she were afraid that she would pass out if she did anything beyond that. “Take the helm, Lieutenant,” she said in a husky tone. “Deploy your people.” Since they were already deployed, all that meant was that Janeway was supporting the Bajoran’s decisions to this point.

Ro turned, hesitating beside Tom who glanced up at her, clearly unwilling to give way to her. The strain around his eyes and the way he held onto his ribs indicated he was not really capable of hanging on much longer.

“I have it, Mr. Paris,” she said softly.

He stared at her a moment, and she saw something else there in his eyes, something beyond just having to give up his station to her before they dropped and he lurched out of the chair. Heading for the turbo shaft on his own two feet, he refused assistance. She took a breath and sat down at the helm, wondering what that had been about. Behind her, she could hear the low tones of Seven urging her spouse to go to sickbay with the others. Obviously, the Borg was worried enough to be pushing it beyond the captain’s initial refusal, which Ro thought was quite unlike Seven.

“No more,” Ro heard Janeway say in an unmistakable tone, still low but easily discernable with the lack of underlying atmospheric and engine noise.

“Very well,” Seven responded in a very even tone that did not entirely conceal her annoyance. Ro refused to look back over her shoulder, sensing rather than actually seeing Seven replace Nicoletti at ops, allowing the younger woman to accompany the rest down to sickbay. The Bajoran ran a quick diagnostic of her board, wincing at the multitude of red lights appearing on the touch pad but aware that Paris had already done a lot to repair the damage to his station.

The lights around them suddenly brightened and abruptly, there was a hiss as the fans began to clear the haze from the bridge. It was a sound normally lost in the constant hum of warp drive but now, it seemed unnaturally loud.

“Captain,” Ro said as more lights began to appear on the flat pad in front of her, “navigation is coming back on line. Helm control is re-established.”

“Let’s hear it for Klingon ingenuity,” Janeway muttered and Ro felt a wash of pride for the woman down in engineering though she wasn’t entirely sure why. After all, the Bajoran was hardly responsible in any way for B’Elanna’s great skill and engineering ability. “What about communications?”

“Still no response,” Seven reported from ops. “I am initializing the external sensors. Channeling through the view screen … now.”

The large screen at the front the bridge that had been solidly, depressingly blank, flickered and gave way to the backdrop of stars and a spreading mass of what could only be their prior opponents. Twisted metal, expelled gasses and various other shapes drifted lazily in the uncaring vacuum of space.

“Man, we got ‘em good,” Crell muttered from tactical in a sort of admiring tone.

“Sensors are detecting the presence of a debris field consistent with the destruction of three vessels of the size and type we encountered,” Seven recounted. There was a pause and she added with a hint of surprise, “No indication of organic materials.”

“They were robot ships,” Janeway said quietly, with what Ro thought might be relief.

“Captain, impulse engines are back online,” the Bajoran said suddenly with elation, the readings streaming rapidly across her board. She waited expectantly for confirmation from the captain, and when there was nothing further, she looked behind her. Janeway was bent over, blood leaking from a corner of her mouth. “Captain?”

In a flash, Seven was around the ops console, and leaping down the short flight of stairs in one bound to catch Janeway before she toppled out of the command chair. The Bajoran, half risen out of her seat, was astonished at the speed Seven was capable of attaining, and she sat back down with an expulsion of breath, staring at the Borg in shock. With infinite tenderness, Seven gathered the captain up in her arms and straightened. Her icy blue eyes pinned Ro with glacial firmness.

“As ranking officer, Lt. Ro,” she noted coolly, “you have command. I shall return to assist on the bridge as soon as I have taken the captain to sickbay.”

As Ro gaped at her, Seven touched the controls on her wrist and disappeared in a burst of emerald sparkles and silvery lines.

“If she could do that all along,” Crell noted sardonically from his post, “why didn’t she just take them to sickbay before we even got here?”

Ro raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever tried to remove a captain and bridge crew from their posts when they didn’t want to go? Besides, until we got here, they had no way of knowing deck five was still intact.” She steadied herself, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do now.

“Crell, yell back down the shaft. Tell them we need someone up here to cover operations and the helm.”

He frowned. “I thought you were covering the helm.”

Ro exhaled audibly. “Not anymore, apparently.”

Uncertainly, she got up and walked back to the command chair, sitting down with an uncomfortable sense of displacement and trepidation, and wishing that she had stayed in her nice, safe, restraining field.

Captain Janeway opened her eyes, the light searing painfully into her pupils, and she blinked as tears rushed to fill them. Inhaling deeply, she tried to determine how much damage she had sustained, pleasantly surprised to see she hadn’t. Then she realized that meant she had probably been kept unconscious for awhile. She sat up abruptly, the room spinning nauseatingly about her and she had to grip the edges of the biobed tightly to keep from falling off. She swallowed hard, driving back the sickness that rose to the back of her throat. Closing her eyes briefly helped and kept her from heaving.

“Captain.” Sek hurried over from the biobed where Tom Paris was sitting up. The hologram reached out to catch the captain, supporting her until she regained her bearings.

“Report,” Janeway demanded huskily.

“Voyager is in orbit around an uninhabited world,” the Doctor said, moving over as Tom Paris joined them, obviously feeling a great deal better than the last time Janeway had seen the helmsman. “Most of the systems are back on line and Commander Chakotay informs us that we should be able to get underway in approximately another week.”

Janeway absorbed the information, her face tightening. “How long was I out?”

“A few days,” Sek said in her musical tone. “You and Mr. Paris are the last to recover from the injuries sustained in the attack. Everyone else has been released back to their quarters.”

Janeway felt embarrassed by that, as if it had been a form of weakness on her part though she endeavored not to show it. Tom grinned at her wryly, almost as if he understood what she was feeling.

“Guess next time, we’ll learn to stay in our seats.”

“Let’s hope there won’t be a next time,” Janeway returned, though, even as she said it, she knew how wildly optimistic that sentiment was. “Casualties?” she added, wanting to get all the bad news out of the way first.

“I need to input those records.” Sek discreetly excused herself.

“I’d better go see if they need me for duty,” Tom offered lamely and headed for the exit, not looking back as he vacated sickbay entirely.

Janeway steeled herself, knowing this did not bode well, at all.

“I lost one patient,” the Doctor said softly. “There was simply nothing that could be done.”

That was a great deal better than Janeway had been anticipating and she relaxed slightly, the tension leaving her body. Considering the battering the ship had undergone, it was amazing that there hadn’t been multiple casualties … a testament to her CMO’s great skill, no doubt. She firmed her jaw, mourning the death of that crewmember but infinitely relieved that there hadn’t been more who died in the performance of their duties.

“Who was it?”

“Timothy Charles White,” the Doctor told her, and when she looked blankly at him, not recognizing the name, added in an infinitely gentle tone, “He was stillborn.”

That struck her with the power of fist to the stomach and once more, she had to clamp down hard to prevent nausea from rising in her throat.

“I see,” she said unsteadily. “The mother?”

“Ensign White has fully recovered … physically,” the Doctor remarked. “As is to be expected, her emotional and psychological recovery will take a great deal longer. Sek and I are monitoring the situation.”

“I’ll have a talk with her,” Janeway murmured, though she didn’t know what she would say. This was a kind of loss she couldn’t conceive, let along be able to speak as someone who truly understood.

She swung her legs over the edge and attempted to stand up, and the Doctor somewhat belatedly reached out a hand to support her. The deck rolled briefly beneath her feet before settling down into the nice flatness she was used to.

“Am I physically capable of resuming command?” she asked flatly, in a tone that brokered no dissembling.

The Doctor hesitated, then frowned. “Technically, you can, but Captain, you need more rest. I really do need to keep you here for further monitoring. You received a considerable blow to the head, and although I repaired the damage, you’re still not fully recovered.”

“Unacceptable, Doctor. I need to get back to work. I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine.”

If holograms could cry from sheer frustration, she was sure that’s what he would have done.

“Captain, I warn you, if you collapse, I’ll have no choice but to remove you from command for as long as I deem necessary. I have the authority to do it. Do you really want to risk that?”

He stared at her steadily and she returned the gaze, evaluating his sincerity. She was impressed by the intensity of it, his eyes refusing to look away.

“I understand.” A part of her was outraged by his presumption, while another appreciated the strength of will the Doctor was developing, respecting the fact that he was truly coming into his own as her CMO. “But you won’t have to.”

He nodded unhappily, clearly not believing it but apparently accepting that he had little choice. He stepped aside to let her at the uniform that Sek brought out from the office. The medical assistant undoubtedly knew how this discussion was going to end before it began. Forcing herself to be gracious, the captain accepted it, aware that her crew had come to know her very well … perhaps too well since they seemed to know what she was going to do before she did it. She wondered where her spouse was and it suddenly struck her that she didn’t even know what time it was.

“Time?” she said shortly, pulling her pants up.

“It is currently 0154 hours,” Sek responded, standing by as if ready to offer her assistance. Janeway supposed it was also to make sure she didn’t keel over again. The Doctor had discreetly made himself scarce, aware that the captain did not appreciate him hanging around while she dressed even if … in his words … ‘she didn’t boast any anatomical traits he hadn’t already seen before’.

Janeway paused, blinking as she absorbed that. It was early morning, barely into the gamma shift and it occurred to her that perhaps that was the real reason the Doctor was releasing her from sickbay. Chances were that the alpha shift officers like Chakotay and Tuvok, with whom she needed to speak the most, would be in bed after a long, hard day of supervising repairs. She would be hesitant to wake them just to brief her, and undoubtedly the Doctor knew that. She shot a disgruntled look in the direction of his office, tempted to call an emergency senior staff meeting anyway and make sure they all knew it was due to the Doctor. But even if she were the sort to disregard her staff’s well being, it would still be petty. Janeway sighed and pulled her sweater over her head, before drawing on the tunic.

Finally, she pulled on her boots and nodded a polite farewell to Sek as she headed for the turbolift. She was pleased when it appeared without delay, and she stepped into it, appreciative of the work her crew had done to make things functional so quickly.

“Bridge,” she said, stubbornly deciding to check that out, at the very least. “Computer, locate Seven of Nine.”

“Seven of Nine is in the captain’s quarters.”

They would be together soon enough, she consoled herself, though a tiny part of her was a little put out that the Borg had not been right next to the captain’s biobed when Janeway awoke. There was a time, she remembered, when Seven wouldn’t have been pried from her injured partner’s side, short of being phasered and dragged off. Marriage certainly produced familiarity, she concluded glumly. And ‘familiarity breeds contempt’.

She walked out onto the bridge, noting the open panels and dismantled consoles. The science station looked completely rebuilt and she stifled a sigh. The ship needed a long stretch with no further encounters with hostiles, though the odds of that happening were probably not very good. She held her hand up as Lt. Kim rose from the command chair, preventing the young man from handing the conn over to her.

“I’m just here to get an update,” she said. “The Doctor wants me to go directly to bed.”

“With good reason,” Kim noted in a low voice so that the other crewmembers working on the bridge wouldn’t overhear. “You were really banged up, Captain. If I could respectfully suggest—”

“No, you may not,” she interrupted firmly. “I may have to take it from the Doctor, Mr. Kim, however …” She trailed off, fixing him with a significant look, which he easily deciphered.

“Message received,” he said, with a wry grin. “Still, Captain, at this point, there is not much more to be done. The repair teams been working triple time to finish the main problem areas, and what remains is basically cosmetic; putting panels back together again, things of that nature.”

Janeway studied him closely, trying to determine if he was telling the truth or trying to pull the wool over her eyes. He looked back with his best angelic expression, his dark brown eyes as innocent as a new born babe’s.

She sighed. “I don’t believe you for a minute but I’m not going to battle my crew just to be given a useful job, not this late at night.” She glared. “But I won’t forget this … ‘conspiracy’ any time soon.”

“I admit to nothing.” He paused. “Have a pleasant night, Captain.”

She eyed him briefly but she knew when she was defeated and turned without another word, leaving the bridge.

“Deck three,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest as the lift descended. As she entered the corridor that led to her quarters, she tried to figure out how she felt about this sudden protectiveness toward her by the crew. It had been growing steadily since her marriage to Seven and while she appreciated it, there was also a part of her that wondered if it wasn’t a dangerous precedent. That as captain, she was becoming too much a part of the community instead of leading it. She heaved a sigh. They simply did not cover this sort of thing in any of the command training she had received.

Of course, she noted with sincere self-disgust, how many captains managed to get their ship lost for this long? She had to be the first to have accomplished that dubious honor. She entered her quarters in a very dark frame of mind and was greeted promptly by her pet, Jake, who slipped off the couch and bounded over to her.

“At least, you’re glad to see me,” she said in a deliberately loud voice as she patted the Irish Setter, but that caused no reaction from anyone else in the cabin. She went into the bedroom, feeling hurt and neglected and generally stressed … all of which immediately disappeared when she saw her partner.

Seven was curled up in the center of the bed, completely unconscious. There were dark smudges staining beneath her eyes and a hint of strain to the proud forehead, lines furrowing her brow. To the captain’s surprise, the Borg was wearing a shirt, which was quite unusual for Seven who normally either slept nude or wore pyjamas. Then Janeway took a closer look and realized it was her t-shirt, the one she had been wearing the night Seven had returned home from her away mission. It occurred to Janeway that she had tossed it onto the floor of the closet after returning from the holodeck, rather than recycling it. She wondered if it had been recycled at all or if Seven was wearing it with the captain’s scent still on it, just so she could feel closer to her spouse?

Tears stung Janeway’s eyes and she moved closer, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed as she stroked the Borg’s cheek gently. It was a measure of Seven’s exhaustion that she did not stir, not even at that touch. Janeway inhaled deeply, feeling ashamed at her momentary lapse of faith in her partner and she bent down, kissing Seven tenderly on the temple. Standing up, she went into the ensuite where she washed the medicinal odors of sickbay off herself before returning to the bedroom. She crawled onto the mattress next to her partner, wrapping herself around the lanky Borg with utter weariness.

Sleep came quickly and her last thought was that maybe the Doctor had been right. She did need rest. The only problem was, so did the rest of her crew. How much longer could Voyager maintain this pace of renovation and hostile encounters?

Seven woke up beneath the soft weight of her spouse, automatically snuggling closer and wrapping her arms around the compact form. It actually took her a few moments to remember that the captain was supposed to be in sickbay and not draped all over the Borg. She glanced down at her spouse anxiously, wondering if Janeway had snuck out of sickbay without the Doctor knowing, but she discarded that notion after a moment’s consideration. At the very least, sickbay would have contacted her to find out if she knew where the captain was.

She inhaled the sweet fragrance of her partner deeply, feeling warmed by it in a way that few other things could provide and tilted her head so that she could look into her partner’s face, taking note of the hints of strain and tension that even sleep could not smooth out. She reached down and gently brushed her lips over the captain’s forehead, kissing gently along the hairline. Kathryn stirred, mumbled something inaudible and raised her face, pressing into the Borg’s kisses.

“Annika?” she murmured.

“Kathryn,” Seven responded ruefully. “I am sorry I woke you.”

“I’m not,” the captain replied drowsily, tightening her embrace as she buried her face into the hollow of Seven’s shoulder and neck. “I missed you while I was injured.”

“You were unconscious,” Seven pointed out accurately. “You were incapable of missing me.”

“I still missed you,” Janeway insisted. “It was all saved up for when I finally woke.”

Seven felt vaguely ashamed. “I am sorry I was not there. I intended to regenerate only briefly before–”

“Shh,” Janeway interrupted, reaching up to put two fingertips against the Borg’s lips. “I could tell you were absolutely exhausted last night. And how would you know that I was going to regain consciousness then? Not to mention the fact that I bullied the Doctor into releasing me early.”

“You did?” Seven asked with mock surprise. “I find that difficult to believe.”

Janeway blinked, raising her head as she gazed at Seven suspiciously. “You’re teasing me.”

“Yes,” Seven admitted readily. “You are ‘cute’ when you are being teased. You develop an expression of disgruntlement that is quite entertaining.”

Janeway growled deep in her chest. “I’m only allowing you to get away with that because I absolutely adore you. You know that.”

“I do,” Seven assured her, finding Janeway’s lips and kissing her tenderly. “Now, I am being serious, Kathryn. How do you feel?”

Janeway hesitated. “Like someone used me for a disc in a Velocity match.”

A shadow crossed Seven’s face and she hugged her partner very gently. “I am sorry.”

“I’ll survive,” Janeway responded dryly. She drew back, studying Seven’s face. “How do you feel?”

“I am very tired,” Seven replied honestly. “And frightened by your injuries. I am frustrated by the slowness of the repairs and angered by these continued unprovoked attacks by aliens who refuse to communicate with us. And I am greatly saddened by the loss of Ensign White’s offspring.”

“And that,” Janeway agreed sadly, “Is pretty much how everyone on the ship is feeling right now.”

“What can we do?”

Janeway exhaled slowly and closed her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “I’ve tried granting various sections of the crew alternating leave, but that’s been working for progressively shorter periods of time and seems to be unduly delaying the renovation. Only the original shore leave was truly successful and somehow, I don’t think the ship can afford to grant a total leave again. We need to find a place to feel completely safe again, Annika, even if it’s only for a little while. I just don’t know if a place like that exists in the Delta Quadrant.”

“This planet seems fairly secure,” Seven noted.

“Because it’s uninhabited, but that doesn’t protect us from an attack from space. With this latest incident, we have to be constantly aware of being in hostile space. That would only defeat any leave I might grant. In the meanwhile, we’re working ourselves to death to get the repairs done.” She paused. “I shouldn’t have turned around to face them so quickly. Something might have come up had we kept fleeing … something that would have kept us from having to fight. I should have granted the crew more time to come up with a better solution.”

Seven was alarmed at the tone in Janeway’s voice, the note of despair. She pulled the captain closer and burrowed her face into the auburn hair until her lips were next to the captain’s ear.

“Kathryn, you made the tactically correct decision. We could not escape by fleeing, we could not hide from our attackers, we could only turn and fight. Our only chance of success was doing it when we did. And we were successful.”

“Ensign White’s baby died,” Janeway said and now her voice was full of tears. “That isn’t a success, Annika.”

“Do not forget to factor in all the variables. Ensign White chose not to go to the safe haven with the other pregnant women. Kathryn, all those who accepted the protection of the restraining fields Lt. Kim developed, were unharmed. Even Megan Delaney recovered quickly from her second onset of false labor and was able to return to her quarters.” The Borg rubbed the captain’s back lightly. “Kathryn, do not overlook our successes while you dwell on our struggles. This encounter proved the effectiveness of the security area in protecting the ship’s crew, even though it is not yet complete. The restraining fields are a useful invention that should be incorporated throughout ship, particularly on the bridge.”

Seven inhaled slowly. “I do not hold Ensign White responsible for her child’s death,” she added quietly. “That responsibility rests with whoever programmed those war vessels to attack us. But perhaps it was not a prudent decision to remain on duty, even though it was Ensign White’s right to do so.”

Janeway swallowed audibly, sniffing slightly. “I’m sure she knows that now. She may never recover from that decision. It’s a guilt she’ll carry forever.”

Seven rubbed her cheek against the captain’s. “I know it is the sort of guilt that you feel at times, Kathryn, but you cannot hold onto it as if it were a cherished item. You must learn to leave it behind when it becomes counterproductive … as it did when we were in the Void. Kathryn, you once told me that not all decisions are a question of right and wrong. Sometimes they are a matter of choosing that which is less wrong. Even then, sometimes one does not always choose correctly. You are only Human, my beautiful Kathryn.”

Janeway drew back, looking at her sadly, her blue-grey eyes shimmering with tears.

“Yet, Kathryn,” Seven said, her throat closing as tears stung her own eyes, “you are still the most perfect thing I have ever beheld … because of your Human imperfections and how hard you strive to do what is right in spite of them.”

“I don’t feel very perfect at the moment,” Janeway husked.

“I know. You are tired and frightened and frustrated. You are hurt in more than just body, you are hurt in your soul. I am afraid I cannot find a way to heal that for you. I wish that I could.”

“Oh, darling,” the captain replied, her face soft and wistful. “You are healing it. Just being here with you is healing it. You provide a haven for me that no one else can, and while I may not have said it lately, you are absolutely my heart, Annika. With you, I’m strong in a way that I’m not without you. I can be more compassionate and more Human than I have ever been before. You give that to me. Don’t ever doubt it.”

Seven bent her head, feeling the tears slide down her cheeks. “Sometimes it is very hard, Kathryn. Sometimes, I wish only to take you far away from Voyager, away from the responsibilities and duties that demand so much of you. It is hard to always have to share you with the ship and I hate how it makes you feel so bad when things do not go perfectly for it and the crew.”

Janeway stroked her partner’s hair gently. “I don’t have the answers,” she responded softly as Seven hugged her. “I’m not even sure of the questions, Annika. All I know is that I love you. How I managed without you is something that absolutely baffles me. Sometimes I feel selfish being this happy while Voyager remains in the Delta Quadrant And maybe in the end, there are no answers. Maybe when it’s all said and done, all we can do is just accept what is and try to live with it.”

She fell silent, long moments passing as they held each other tightly, trying to find a peace in this moment of quiet togetherness.

Seven exhaled finally. “I must go. I am required to assist B’Elanna in reconstructing a conduit which was ruptured. It was bypassed but we need to restore it before we resume our journey.”

Janeway tightened her grip. “Annika, we will get through this. We just have to keep sight of the light at the end while we’re struggling through the tunnel.”

“I shall endeavor to remember that. You must as well. Do not forget how far we have come in a very short time.”

“I will,” Janeway promised. She managed a weak smile. “Though you may have to remind me once in awhile.”

“I promise,” Seven whispered. Gently she kissed Janeway and released her. “I must go.”

Reluctantly, Janeway allowed Seven to roll away from her while she remained on the bed. The young woman went into the ensuite, showering quickly and pulling on her biometric outfit. When she returned, Janeway was lying on her back with her hands over her eyes as if her head ached. Concerned, Seven went around to that side of the bed to sit on the edge beside her spouse.

“Kathryn?”

“I’m all right, Annika.”

“No, you are not,” Seven said, ignoring the tone of command. She reached down and pulled the captain up into her arms, hugging her as if she were a child. “You are the most important person in the universe to me. I need you to look after yourself. Does your head hurt?”

Janeway was silent for long moments. “Yes,” she said sheepishly.

“I will escort you to sickbay before I join B’Elanna in engineering.”

“That isn’t necessary. I’m fine.”

Seven felt her annoyance flare into a real anger at her partner. “It is necessary,” she said coldly. “And you are not ‘fine’. I will escort you, or I will carry you. It is your choice. I will not allow you to be in pain because you have an irrational need to prove your strength … or worse, because you have an irrational need to ‘punish’ yourself when things go wrong.”

Surprised, Janeway drew back, studying her face closely. “You’re really mad at me,” she said with wonder.

Seven looked stern. “I always become angry with you when you act this way, but perhaps I have not allowed myself to show it in the past. Now I must, because obviously, you are not learning from this particular mistake. Voyager does not need a captain who pretends to be indestructible, Kathryn. It requires a captain who is healthy and knows how to look after herself. To do otherwise, is selfish.”

Janeway stared at her as if she had never seen her before. Then she looked down unhappily. “I’ll get dressed.”

Seven was unhappy as well, waiting until Janeway returned, dressed in a fresh uniform.

“I don’t mean to be such a hard ass,” Janeway murmured as they left the bedroom and crossed the living area.

“I know,” Seven replied shortly. “But you are.”

The Doctor bustled across sickbay as soon as he saw them enter the medical center.

“I have a headache, Doctor,” Janeway said, as he led her to the biobed.

Running a probe over her, exhasperation colored his features. “Captain, this is exactly what I meant. You’re physically exhausted and your body is breaking down because of it. I’ll have to keep you here in sickbay if you cannot allow yourself to rest.”

“You must do this, Kathryn,” Seven said without mercy. “I cannot neglect my duty to see that you take care of yourself. We both know that left to your own devices, you will find an excuse to return to active duty earlier than you should.”

Janeway glared daggers at her, but the Borg refused to give ground.

“I’ll need to speak with Chakotay,” the captain said grudgingly, after a long moment.

Unperturbed, Seven touched her comm badge.

“Sickbay to Commander Chakotay. The captain requires your presence.”

“On my way.”

Seven thought Janeway looked like a particularly recalcitrant child as they waited for the first officer’s arrival, her arms crossed over her chest and her jaw set stubbornly. But the fact remained, she was going along with it, accepting the necessity of spending a few extra days in sickbay.

It was a battle Seven never anticipated winning. And a victory she knew was based purely on the heart.

Captain’s Log, Supplemental

Voyager has resumed course for the Alpha Quadrant after laying over two weeks in orbit around the planet geometrics has christened Anyport which is, of course, short for Anyportinastorm. It’s come to my attention that there are a great many uninhabited planets in this sector that are capable of sustaining intelligent life, yet do not. It concerns me even as I am grateful for the haven provided by this world as we undertake the most pressing of our repairs. I wonder if it is because the Borg have been through this sector, assimilating the inhabitants and leaving behind their empty planets, or if this new threat we recently faced is responsible.

We do not know where the ships that attacked us came from, who was controlling them, or what purpose they had. Investigations of the debris field have given us very little in the way of clues other than the fact that they were heavily armed and built for an aggressive purpose.

Without knowing, it is impossible to determine if we’ll run into these ships again. In that event, however, we must be prepared to defend ourselves the instant they appear and to that end, Tuvok and his security teams are working overtime to develop strategies and tactics that will be effective against them. If there is indeed, a next time, we will not be caught unaware and hopefully will not sustain the damage that we did in our last battle.

After spending three extra days in sickbay, I now feel at peak efficiency. Sometimes I wonder if I should have gotten rid of those Borg nanoprobes from my system. They kept me going at times when I otherwise couldn’t, removing the toxins from my bloodstream on a continuous basis. I guess I’m going to have to accept that I no longer enjoy the superhuman endurance of that time, nor even of my youth where all-nighters were a thing of pride rather than a shameful admission to my spouse.

Perhaps the other thing I must accept is that my spouse and crew insist upon taking care of me, even when I don’t take care of myself. I was taught that a captain must remain separate and aloof but apparently, that cannot apply in the Delta Quadrant. Like it or not, I’m a part of a larger community, and the community decrees that I look after myself, whether I want to or not.

It is a battle that I cannot win, so reluctantly, I must surrender to the inevitable.

But perhaps it is time for such a loss. Even Starfleet captains need to accept help once in a while.

The End

Back to Season Three

On to Just Between Fortune & Folly