He might be sometimes fast on action and slow on uptake, but it has crossed his mind briefly that perhaps the girl he was dating was wrong for him. It had been nice at the start. Nice! he snorted at the word. He ignores the word girl though. She is undeniably beautiful, definitely intelligent, maybe a bit too intelligent, but most importantly, she had chosen him. It was a great feeling to have been chosen again.

His last and final rejection by Kathryn when she closed herself off following Quarra had been it. She clearly didn't see him in that way any more, if she really ever had. He feels dejected thinking about it even now. He had been so certain once, but certainty has a habit of fuzzing around the edges, and for a quite while now edges were all he had seen. No. He had to face facts that he couldn't wait for a tomorrow that would never come. He was certain of this. His shoulders straighten as he thinks this.

It is clear that dating again, being 'out there' is the right step. He is just not sure that she is the right person. She is, though, the only person to have shown any interest in him, despite his attendance at numerous social events without the captain. Keeping his hair coloured and re-starting a vigorous exercise programme also doesn't seem to have had the response he had hoped. Though he thinks Kathryn has noticed.

Seven noticed. There, he has said her name in his head. She commended him on his aspiration to loose the excess weight that can disfigure older men. He was uncomfortable with that, and not sure whether it was because she saw him as an older man, or because his appearance was being judged. A frown marred his forehead. He was going to have to live up to her expectations. He hoped that she made some allowances for imperfection. He straightens. He is still strong, and he clearly made the top of Seven's list.

'are you alright commander' a whisper from Kathryn at his side. He looks over to see her peering at him, a worried frown. He can't help smiling back.

'a slow day, captain, I am afraid I was allowing my mind to wander'

'hmm?' and she smiles.'i could allow you to play hooky?' she grins at him 'would dinner then be on the cards?'

He so nearly says yes, but it is to be his fourth date with Seven, dinner in his quarters. He draws in a quick breath

'umm, ahh, sorry, I have plans' he says as casually as possible, and tries not to notice that a sparkle seems to have left her eyes before she turns away. he must be imagining things. It is years since...

'you are getting to be a hard man to catch' she mutters sotto voce, then turns to him again, smile back in place. 'shoo! shoo! go and have some free time. We get little enough time to relax on this damn ship' and with a bright smile on her face, he resolutely takes this at face value.

Back in his quarters he reviews it for perfection. he means, it is comfortable enough, the couch has a dent where he tends to sit, and the throw is slightly threadbare now. He smiles thinking of Kathryn wrapped in it as they make sense of the incomprehensible. When he picks it up he imagines that he can smell Kathryn. He folds it oh so carefully and put its away, a drawer of new earth mementos, and with that part of his heart seems to have left the room as well.

Maybe there are too many reminders of his tribal heritage. He ponders the room through fresh, more clinical eyes. After all, Seven is used to a more sterile environment. She is logical and analytical and the evidence of his beliefs may be overwhelming at this stage. He rationalises his ethnic cleansing of the room as a temporary concern.

Clearly, as they get better acquainted he can introduce some of these items, and talk through their relevance as they are returned. Some of them, like the bear in his hand, carved from soapstone by the inuit centuries ago, have been lovingly kept with different tribes but where found by him when he most needed to recreate the ambience of his spirituality. Some he has carved himself, abstract representations of flight and the condor. A stone carved squat frog that reminded him of the rubber tree people is cool to the touch and calming when he has felt anger.

Perhaps Seven would one day be prepared to find her... no.

He still finds it hard to believe Seven has repeatedly declined Kathryn's offer of quarters. They are irrelevant and distracting apparently. He knows Kathryn feels uncomfortable with Seven having only the cargo bay. She has repeatedly offered quarters, furniture, privacy all to no avail. She has struggled with Seven's insistence that she is Borg as well as human, and still wants to nurture her. He silently admits to not particularly caring where Seven has been situated, never having cared enough to consider it. but the picnic in the cargo bay was an uncomfortable reminder that most of them have just accepted Seven as the Captain's project, and perhaps not attempted to provide support on any personal nature. She is still different, alone.

Perhaps this is why she jumped when he suggested - at the request of Kathryn who thought it might help if someone else asked - that she join in with ore of the crew recreational activities. Maybe that is all she has been looking for with her requests of him, just a personal connection. That this doesn't dismay should really hurt, but somehow it is a bit relieving. Perhaps it is not really romance on the agenda. He feels less... guilty, at that thought.

He realises that while pondering this he has moved all his tribal mementos and meditation aids into his bedroom, along with all the carvings. The photos of Kathryn have always been hidden there. His quarters look somewhat bare. There is just one large piece of artwork left and a few archaeological relics.

He then looks at the stunningly crafted silk quilted artwork Kathryn gave him, saying it reminded her of the four elements in the abstract inter play of colours. He should really move that too. It just is too ... personal. When he goes towards it to take it down he sees her grin in his mind, triumphant as she gave it to him, sure she had found the perfect gift.

It must have been costly, he imagined her bartering hands on hip, or perhaps exchanging something she treasured for it. Barring the gift of herself, she had indeed found the perfect gift. His lips curve upwards and his frown softens recalling the smile when he clearly loved it, and the way she checks it is there every time she comes to his quarters.

It truly is an enthrallingly beautiful work of art. The sweep of the colour wheel, the interplay of stitched characters within it. Unusual, tactile like its giver, beautiful, thoughtful. He has got used to its presence in his life. It is part of his existence. Now he relooks at it with fresh eyes.

He looks carefully at it, as if for the last time. for the first time he sees that their initials are stitched entwined together. The animal characters and glyphs he now notices to be uncannily like the tribal and archaeological momentoes in his quarters. It was made specifically for him, with his identity entwined within it. It shocks him. She had commissioned this, he had never noticed. What had she meant to convey. He doesn'tlet himself complete the thought, but still, did she still think that, every time she checks for its presence, what does she see? What does she think that she has offered and has he accepted? A promise made visible?

He places it in his bedroom and feels that he has broken faith, somehow. Damn.

Something niggles at his brain about this and he shuts it down. It is too late.

He decides to keep out his archaeological finds. After all, they are scientific, a point of discovery to discuss. The piece of nearly Grecian styled plinth with something that looks damned close to acanthus leaves in a dark red coloured stone, high in iron content; the fragment of startlingly orange pottery, a reminder that different worlds and different peoples pass through similar stages of development in their own way. He turns over the pieces, fragments of the past that may never be truly learnt. Most items are catalogued, images taken and scanned, but left in situ. He doesn't wish to pillage sites of their unique history. That lesson was learnt on Earth. The owners may be untraceable, but he isn't going to destroy their heritage. But some examples of the very common, ubiquitous to the area he does take. Both for himself, but for his avowed plan to recreate the wonder to students in the alpha quadrant.

This one, the glyph on it looks like an eagle, in the right light. Kathryn had laughed at that, and then he had seen her trying to make it look like an eagle. He lov... no appreciated that about her, her way of trying to see through others eyes. he imagined the ancient world where this bird existed, a derelict planet when they visited, clearly wracked by volcanic events, maybe even a meteor strike. Kathryn had given him three days and a shuttle to investigate, and Sam and Naomi had come down at one point. A nice way to teach Naomi about tectonic plates. He looks at that eagle glyph and remembers laughing in the sunlight as Naomi's little hand held his firmly whilst the ground below them trembled - a safe distance from the epicentre.

Mulishly, he leaves it on the shelf. The rest of the room seems denuded of his personality now, sparse and desolate. He isn't sure that he likes it, though it is only temporary.

He turns his thoughts to the menu. After all, Seven doesn't really eat much. Hmm, well, he amends, she doesnt have a varied palate. She provided his favourite foods for the picnic, but he has no idea what hers are. Kathryn might, but he can't really ask her... He looks blankly at the replicator without ideas. Command training returns

'computer, list Seven of Nine's replicated food choices in order of frequency'

Well, that is depressing, mostly a list of protein shakes. Hmm, rack of lamb, and a number of salad choices. He's sure they are Kathryn's favourite salads. Who is he kidding, he knows they are Kathryn's recipes. Can he really serve Kathryn's food to Seven? ... Strawberries... Sighing, he settles for a vegetarian pasta dish with pesto, and a bowl of salad. He's sure that that will be acceptable.

He turns his attention to his outfit before a quick and efficient sonic shower and a touch up of his hair. Seven's comments have made him feel self conscious around his age. He may have a range of casual outfits, but as he flicks through them his errant mind tells him where he last wore them, and who he was with. He is sure that clothes style is irrelevant too. In the end he picks at random. He randomly chooses one of the outfits that Kathryn replicated following a lost [disputed] bet...