A/n: The idea for this story originally came from a challenge issued by lightsbane1905 for me to write a very pregnant Seven, although I think this result is much darker than they intended. It's rated M not for sex but for other adult, emotive themes. I'd like to thank my beta, NikkiB1973, for all of her advice and encouragement. Without that support I doubt I would have posted this.

Chakotay's heavy eyes creaked open as the tuneless buzz of his alarm clock hit his ears. Tired as he was however, he was instantly alert and hurriedly reached over to hit off the killjoy machine for the day. As the room fell into near silence once again, only the occasional note of birdsong to the distant roar of a vehicle outside managing to penetrate the bedroom along with the morning sunlight streaming unrepentantly through the curtains, he began to climb out of bed as unobtrusively as possible. Still, as he slowly started to pull on his clothes, he couldn't help but glance over at his wife on the other side of the bed, despite his resolution to not disturb her. As always though, the sight of Seven of Nine held his gaze resolutely. He felt a powerful flash of guilt surge through him as well as anticipatory pleasure as he took in her figure, twisted into an exceedingly awkward position, halfway between lying on her back and her side, in an obvious attempt to accommodate the unyielding bulk of her 38 and a half week pregnancy belly. The painfully vivid purple crescents shadowing her lightly closed eyes told him she'd been mostly unsuccessful, he'd felt her restless movements throughout the night despite the fact that for weeks she'd been, not as subtly as she believed, shifting away from him in bed to avoid waking him. He shook his head ruefully as he saw that she was practically hanging off the edge of the bed this morning and moved to gently reposition her.

He cringed, his hands falling away from her, as Seven's distinctively piercing blue eyes flew open and stared up at him. Her metal encased eyebrow arched weakly, "Chakotay?"

"Good morning." He said softly after letting go of a regretful sigh, "I said I'd go into work this morning to prepare class plans for my paternity leave substitute, but I really don't have to go if you want me to stay…"

"You explained your schedule to me last night as well as the day before that." Seven reminded him testily, "And I told you repeatedly that I'd be fine, did I not?" She regretted the blatant heat of irritation in her words almost as soon as they'd left her mouth, but it was too late to bite them back. Feeling out of control in this way, brief bursts of negative emotion that she couldn't restrain, was a frustratingly regular occurrence she couldn't suppress and often felt upset over even after they'd passed.

Chakotay gave a slight sigh, reaching over to stroke her face and hair as he perched at the end of the bed for a moment. "I know, I'm just…" He trailed off as he felt Seven's tiny nod under his hand, it went without saying. "I'll probably be finished by twelve, and then I'll head over to Boston and collect Irene from the transporter depot to bring her back here, okay?"

Seven nodded again in acknowledgement, her head flopping back against her pillow with a heavy sigh. "Remember that her transport from Stockholm was rescheduled to arrive at 1300 hours."

"I know, you told me last night." They exchanged a teasing smirk, the bitter note of tension lingering from Seven's snappy rebuke dissipating. Chakotay remained where he was for a few moments, reassuring himself as he continued absently caressing her, but then breathed a brittle sigh as he glanced at the clock on the small wall mounted console near the door. "I have to get going." He admitted, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek, his lips curving into a smile as she managed to move enough to let their lips meet tenderly. "Remember to send your bio-scans to the Doctor." He murmured fretfully, though he knew the reminder was totally redundant, Seven would never forget something so vital. He couldn't seem to stop himself from fussing over her, although he was pointedly aware that she hated the new habit, it was the only thing that alleviated his, often overwhelming, feelings of helplessness.

"I will." She answered wearily as he rose reluctantly from his place beside her and moved towards the bedroom doorway.

"The Admiral called after you were in bed last night, expressing her regret that we're not having a baby shower but that it's probably for the best. People at work keep asking if they should buy pink or blue presents too…"

Seven stiffened, her swollen abdomen becoming even more prominent under the thin summer duvet, "Why can't they understand that we decided that we didn't want to find out?" she said in a low tone, her voice weighted down by some unexpressed emotion.

"They're just happy for us Seven." Chakotay explained patiently, as he had many times before, though now with a hint of reprimand in his soft voice. To be honest, he'd initially been as bemused as their friends still were by Seven's stubborn refusal to learn the sex of their baby. It was a strange departure for the woman who hated the unexpected and was a consummate planner, he liked to think she'd just learned the value of a good surprise after ten years of individuality, but in his heart of hearts he knew it was a layer of her insecurities. Deciding to let it lie for now, he merely added, "I'll see you in a few hours."

She smiled at him then, that striking, and once rare, smile he loved. "Have a good day Chakotay." She ordered her eyes to close, her body to settle, and sensed Chakotay relaxing a little as he left, taking that as her reward for the pretence. No matter how much he put on his familiar calm and comforting First Officer stance around her, she could read his crushing anxiety as well as her own, in his every hawk like protective glance as well as every worry frayed word. A large part of her was guiltily relieved he was gone, the pressure of his fears piled on top of her own was smothering. Almost as soon as that feeling had become dominant however, as the baby fluttered uneasily inside her like a trapped bird, she was suddenly consumed by an irrational urge to call him back, to beg him to stay with her. At that moment she longed for the solidity of his body against hers, to hear his whispered reassurances and promises of a bright future as a family of three reaching her ears…

As she became aware of the hot liquid of tears building behind her already blurry, strained eyes, Seven forced herself to get a grip back on herself. Eventually she dragged Chakotay's pillow up onto her face with one hand and breathed in his familiar, slightly musky scent until she'd calmed down, her, now fragile, emotional equilibrium restored.

She then decided that it was time to tackle the task of getting up, something of a challenge considering her current physical state. If lying down was difficult, the weight of the baby always pressing on something whether on her back or her side and lying on her front was of course out of the question, then moving to stand up was almost impossible. Slowly, she gripped the sheets for support and pushed herself upright, taking one last wry glance down at her feet before they disappeared from her line of vision, before swinging herself awkwardly to sit on the still warm patch on the edge of the bed that Chakotay had recently vacated. She was pleased to be out from under the duvet, the summer of 2384 had supported one of the longest heat waves on record in Massachusetts and even now, in mid September, it was uncomfortably hot for her sensitised internal thermostat, pregnancy had knocked down her tolerance for almost anything down a few pegs. The house was a modern one, younger than Voyager in fact, but these past couple of months the environmental systems may as well have constituted a single electric fan for all the good it did her. She pushed her long, slightly damp hair out of her face, she'd let it grow out in recent years, at the moment it brushed the base of her shoulder blades, and warily reached for the already prepped hypospray sitting waiting on her bedside table. With one efficient, practised movement she pressed it to her carotid artery as instructed, her body slumping forwards slightly as the familiar, but still overwhelming sensation of weakness washed over her. She had to keep her head between her knees for a minute or two before her implants managed to adapt to the onslaught of drugs and her world steadied again. The Doctor had referred to these thrice daily injections as trying to strike the 'delicate balance between life and death'. Not his most tactful analogy, but a correct one Seven knew. This cocktail had been designed to neutralise her nanoprobes to stop them crossing the placenta, or at least not assimilating the baby if they did so, but the difficult thing was that the nanoprobes had to be active enough to sustain Seven's implants that kept her alive. Increasing the dosage by minute levels every day of the pregnancy, and keeping her regenerating regime down to half an hour at a time, meant that according to the Doctor they were winning the battle. Perhaps he was right, she was past the point where her baby would be considered term, something she and Chakotay had been warned not to hope for. She should be happy, should have reached the point where she was relatively relaxed about things, but the opposite was true. The closer she got to safety; the fear of not getting there in the end only grew.

Remembering Chakotay's reminder, she quickly scanned herself with the tricorder and submitted the readings into the computer console to be instantly sent to the Doctor at Starfleet Medical for analysis. He'd warned her not to read her vitals with her untrained eye, but she noted with relief that her blood pressure remained within normal parameters. If it rose, she'd been told unequivocally, she'd be on bed rest in hospital, but she'd been spared that so far at least. In truth, not everything had been difficult in this pregnancy, her blood pressure hadn't risen, she hadn't developed gestational diabetes, but it was probably also fair to say that she'd been struck down by almost anything else even vaguely attributed as a pregnancy symptom. 'Morning sickness' had been more accurately 24 hour sickness in her case until she was well into her second trimester. It had caused her only long stint in hospital and still lingered on as a ball of nausea rooted in her gut, although the Doctor said that at this point the cause was most likely the medicine to preserve her pregnancy rather than the condition itself. Moving fully onto her feet made her consider for a moment that maybe bed rest wouldn't be such a terrible ordeal after all, the pain in her back was such that it was as if someone had pulled all the muscles in her torso taut and bunched them in a too tight knot at the base of her spine. Looking at the stretched surface of her abdomen, the implants built into her torso excruciatingly reconfigured, the possibility wasn't out of the question.

Deciding against a shower for now, she made her way across the bedroom at a slow waddle, recalling her once long, easy strides nostalgically as she did so, she found of the only 'maternity' dresses that still fitted her at this stage and put it on. At one point, she'd looked relatively passable in maternity clothes, but in the last month that point had long since sailed past. She considered breakfast as she shuffled onto the landing, but the nausea that had made itself known this morning after a two day break and the thought of struggling down the stairs was enough to persuade her to put the meal off. She'd had a lot of problems with her hips and pelvis in these latter stages and walking down stairs, with the balls of her hip joints rocking in the sockets as they tried and failed to evenly balance the weight of the still growing baby, had become an activity she'd never expected to become so painful.

Something about the day, maybe because her aunt was coming to begin her stay, pulled her towards the new nursery, a room she normally denied herself access to. She and Chakotay hadn't intended to have any help, in fact originally Chakotay had intended to return part-time to his university lecturing position after Christmas, but the Doctor had told her poor, anxious husband in no uncertain terms that he was to take every day of leave he could to help her recover as well as care for the baby. This declaration must have sent a subliminal SOS to their old friends because Admiral Janeway had immediately volunteered to leave San Francisco for a few weeks to stay with them and help, as had B'Elanna. They'd refused; B'Elanna had Miral about to start school and two year old Owen, who took strongly after his father for sheer mischievousness, to look after. As for their former Captain, they were still very close but privately the couple had come to the conclusion that several weeks with Kathryn Janeway, with a hormonal Seven tending towards the clashes of the past and all three of them likely to be sleep-deprived and anxious, wouldn't be good for the lasting friendship or the sanity of those involved. As her pregnancy had progressed however, Chakotay had become increasingly concerned about caring for a newborn and his physically vulnerable wife completely by himself and had coaxed her into taking up her Aunt Irene's offer to stay with them for as long as they felt she was needed. Seven hadn't resisted, she loved her aunt and knew that, after so many years apart, they were now closer than many a mother and daughter. Standing alone at the threshold of the nursery, she suddenly longed for Irene's comforting, easy going maternal presence.

The room had only been completed a week before, and only then because Chakotay had put his foot down and forced her to commit, to express hope, saying that they were already 'cutting it fine' for the room to be ready before the baby arrived. The gender neutral, buttercup yellow paint still filled the room with it's sharp scent, the white painted pine changing table hadn't been fully built, but otherwise the room looked ready. The large photographs Chakotay had nailed to the wall against which the crib rested caught Seven's eye as she took a deep breath and walked inside. There was the iconic Voyager portrait of the senior officers that everyone in said photograph owned a copy of, taken the day they'd investigated their ancestors as the Captain's enthusiastic request. Seven smiled to herself wryly, barely able to recognise herself in the distant woman who stood at the edge of the frame. It wasn't likely that she'd fit into one of those biosuits ever again, not that that was a great loss. The second photograph in the row was one of her personal favourites, herself and Icheb standing together at the end of his graduation ceremony from Starfleet Academy. He was a Lieutenant now, having been quickly promoted as he deserved, but had assured her that he was taking leave from the U.S.S Gambit as soon as he had word of her baby being born. The third photo was another group shot, this time of the wedding party at Kathryn Janeway's long delayed nuptials to Mark Johnson. It was a romantic story, the marriage he'd made to replace her had fallen apart within a year, and after Voyager had returned they'd somehow managed to pick off where they'd left off and had been married within six months. It had been Seven's first, and only, experience in the role of bridesmaid, along with B'Elanna. Naomi Wildman had been the flower girl, with little Miral playing the role of page. Chakotay, Tom, Harry and even Tuvok had been groomsmen and in the photograph Seven, in her strapless turquoise dress, hair down as Kathryn had insisted, was coiled into a suited Chakotay's side, it would be mere weeks before they themselves would be engaged to be married.

The last photograph was, of course, one of their own wedding; in contrast it was of the couple by themselves. She loved looking into Chakotay's beaming face in that picture and knowing that the look of love that had been in his eyes then was still there now. They'd been blessed with a happier relationship, now a five year marriage, than Seven could have ever hoped for after hearing the alternate Admiral Janeway's tragic prediction for them. They'd stuck to Chakotay's pleading advice from that day, that they'd think only of today and not tomorrow, but it had often been more difficult than either of them could have imagined. She'd been pregnant before. The first time had been just after their engagement. She'd reached four weeks, barely enough time to realise and hope beyond hope, before a rush of blood and then tears had heralded the loss. She could still recall the agony of the aftermath, the guilt that had surpassed even the grief, self-destructively trying to persuade Chakotay to leave her, the damaged, useless half-woman. It had been a long road at the time, Chakotay convincing her over again, even more powerfully than before, that he loved her no matter what. It was painful for her to admit it, but she realised now that their marriage would not be as strong as it was if that fear, that Chakotay couldn't possibly love someone like her, hadn't finally been forced from her heart. What really haunted her then, was another memory. They had been married almost two years when she'd fallen pregnant again. This time the Doctor was cautiously optimistic, he'd studied what had caused the first miscarriage and was sure he could combat the nanoprobes somehow. That was when the pioneering version of the drug had been formulated and it had worked, for a while. She'd had all the classic symptoms, morning sickness, exhaustion, mood swings. Their former crew had been informed at the third Voyager reunion, just as she'd passed the traditional safety margin of 12 weeks and was beginning to show. Then, at 16 weeks their daughter never moved and the Doctor had to admit her to hospital to await another miscarriage. It didn't take long of course, and neither did the flood of condolences, soon Seven had burned bridges with a few acquaintances by screaming at them never to mention it ever again. Real friends had been flawlessly supportive, but they'd left California within that year for a new start on the East Coast. Chakotay had been offered his dream job lecturing in Native American History, his father's lifelong passion, at several Ivy League Universities and was soon travelling between them, and Seven herself had been offered tenure at MIT. Her new students weren't as efficient as Icheb had been but they were eager and so they'd soon settled into a contented, happy life together, trying to put the traumas of the past behind them.

It wasn't entirely to be however. Despite their joint resignation to the fact that they would be childless, and using birth control to remain so, just after New Year Seven had discovered that she was, somehow, pregnant again. It would be an understatement to say that she had felt horrified, a fact that filled her with guilt now every time the baby kicked her. She couldn't withstand another loss like the last one, and was convinced the odds were worse. She was older, would be 36 by the time the baby was due, and knew her implants were as deadly as before. She'd had to have three long counselling sessions with the Doctor, who'd earnestly said he'd refined the drug further and would monitor her more closely, before she'd even informed Chakotay. He'd found it just as difficult as she had at first, but somewhere along the line he'd let hope in, and as she stared down into the empty cot with fresh tears streaming down her face, she had to admit to herself that she hadn't done the same quite yet.

A/n: Please review.