First Choice
By Laura Schiller
Based on Star Trek: Voyager
Copyright: Paramount
As far as Seven of Nine could tell, everything was perfect for a first date: the Sandrine's program was in good repair, the bar quiet but not too empty, Tom Paris' annoying pool players had been deleted, and her red silk dress still fit. Everything, that is, but the apprehensive frown on Commander Chakotay's face as he saw her walking towards him.
"Are you sure you want to do this tonight, Seven?" he asked.
"Why not?"
He got up from his bar stool, quietly handsome in his off-duty chinos and green blazer, and surveyed her with solemn dark eyes that made her want to look away. "I heard what the Doctor said to you. Now that he told you how he feels, are you sure it doesn't … well, change anything?"
The Doctor. Blood rushed to her face with the heat of that morning's embarrassment. She could still see him in her mind's eye, down on his knees like some melodramatic scene from one of his operas: You don't know how difficult it's been, hiding my true feelings for you all these years … averting my eyes during your maintenance exams … I know you could never have the same feelings for me, but I just want you to know – I love you, Seven!
"His cognitive algorithms were malfunctioning," she snapped, more sharply than she had intended. "Moments earlier, he was rambling about wounded targs and subcutaneous abrasions. He did not know what he was saying."
"He knew exactly what he was saying," Chakotay replied. "Seven, surely you knew the Doctor is in love with you?" He smiled a little. "I'd have thought it was obvious, the way he looks at you."
She remembered the Doctor's brown eyes blazing up at her as he knelt, and found herself blushing even more. That was the same look he had given her countless times: singing duets with her, persuading her to read some book or try a sport, leaning over her biobed when she was injured. She should have realized it. She felt like a fool.
"He should have told me sooner," she said. "And in private, without the entire senior crew as an audience. He never once indicated his wish to be anything but my mentor. He encouraged me to seek out other partners. If I had known … " She shook her head and glowered at the hardwood floor. "This whole experience was thoroughly humiliating!"
"He thought he was going to decompile."
"That is no excuse."
"I understand that you're angry." Chakotay took a step forward and held out his hand in a soothing gesture. "But, Seven, listen to yourself. Your first reaction is that he should have told you earlier. If he had, what would have been your answer? Have you considered the possibility that you might feel the same way he does?"
Seven's knees began, inexplicably, to tremble. She made her way to one of the bar stools and perched on it, refusing Sandrine's offer of a drink with her coldest glare.
She had considered it. Every day, every hour, since the Doctor had first held her in his arms and danced with her in this very holodeck. She had considered, hoped, doubted, daydreamed, second-guessed, and countless other foolish things she would be ashamed to admit to any living being. She had decided that, damaged and confused as she was, any relationship would be out of the question, especially one with the potential to ruin the most important friendship she had. When her need for affection became too strong to deny, she had decided to channel it in the direction of someone else … but now that someone else had found her out, and was watching her with a wry, understanding look on his face that made her feel like the clumsy adolescent the Borg had not permitted her to be.
"My - my past feelings are irrelevant. Comman – Chakotay, I came here for you."
"That's what I thought about you this morning." Chakotay shrugged. "But I was wrong."
"Explain."
"I don't mean to offend you, Seven," he said kindly, "But I've had some experience with relationships, and I've learned that honesty is key. I've come to admire you very much over the past few years, but I don't care to be anyone's second choice … and, I imagine, neither would you."
She lowered her gaze, staring absently at the dried rings of beer on the counter. Her face was so hot by now, she felt as if she could have fried eggs on it, inaccurate as she knew that perception to be.
Second choice …
She was tempted to ask who his first choice was, but once she thought about it, the answer became obvious. She remembered a moment of déjà vu she had experienced once, during one of Voyager's encounters with the Borg: Chakotay and Kathryn Janeway standing side by side, the mirror image of Marcus and Erin Hansen on the bridge of the Raven. Partners, in every sense of the word.
She had thought nothing of this at the time, but her human intuition had guessed at the truth of the command team's connection long before her Borg logic caught up to it.
Asking Chakotay on a date, in retrospect, was beginning to sound like a worse idea than ever.
Part of her regretted it. Chakotay was the man she had dreamed of marrying as a little girl: tall, handsome, dignified and warm. He was the prince in her mother's fairy tales, the hero of her holographic fantasies, and the ultimate prize in her struggle to become fully human. Under different circumstances, they might have been happy, but as it was …
The Doctor loved her. He was waiting for her. Her heart pounded in her ears like a drum at the very thought.
"I agree," she said. "In this case, Commander, I suggest that you and I refrain from changing the nature of our afiliation."
He nodded and held out his hand. "I know this sounds cliché, but I'd like us to be friends."
"Very well." She shook his hand in a brief, businesslike manner that was nonetheless sincere. Chakotay was a good friend, and she would be sorry to lose him.
"Now, as First Officer, I happen to know that the Doctor is off-duty right now." His eyes twinkled mischievously. "If you hurry, you might still catch him."
She got to her feet, nervous and elated in equal measure. "Tonight?"
"Why not?" He stood up, gesturing her for her to do the same, still more cheerful than she had seen him in months, if not years. It was as if a weight had been taken off him; denying his feelings for the Captain must have taken a greater toll on him than anyone suspected. "If you're worried about not finding the right words, well … his speech wasn't exactly perfect either."
She nearly laughed out loud. "A valid point, Commander. Perfection is a laudable goal," quoting the Doctor himself, "But hardly realistic."
They walked back to the doors together; always the gentleman, he let her step in front of him as the holodeck exit slid open.
"Thank you for your advice," she told him. "And, Chakotay … "
"Yes, Seven?"
"I wish you success with the Captain."
His eyebrows shot upward; his mouth opened, as if about to say something, but she was already out the door.