I do not own ST:V.
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Tom waited, but aside from the routine sigh of the turbolift as it descended, his friend remained solemnly silent.
Tom briefly wondered if he had simply told a bad joke, but after reconsidering his audience, he was reluctant to think so. All the same, he looked at her hopefully for some sort of reaction—anything—but as usual, her face remained impassive and blank, and the PADD simply hung limply from her hand. He nearly gave up on receiving any reaction at all until she finally spoke.
"Amusing," she said flatly.
Tom began to wonder if this was a mistake. Seven of Nine certainly did not sound very amused; in fact, there was an edge to her voice that he was not familiar with. He held her eye contact for a little longer before his own uneasiness caused him to look away. They continued like this in awkward silence as the turbo lift drifted downwards. Seven's eyes did not leave him, her gaze boring into him, unrelenting.
Finally, the turbolift halted, and Tom eagerly made for the hallway. Only seven's eyes followed. It was hopeless, he mused as he stepped over the threshold. Humor was simply lost on Seven of Nine. It was a pity; he'd have loved to have been the cause for one of her rare smiles.
"It's my turn, Ensign."
Tom stopped and turned, blinking in surprise. Perhaps his humor had gotten through to her after all.
"How many Dead Babies does it take to save Voyager from annihilation?" Seven asked.
Tom waited. With no answer forthcoming, he gave a shrug.
"ONE," she sneered, and the turbolift doors hissed shut.
