A/n: Thank you to my beta reader NikkiB1973 for supporting this one-shot. It's set in the aftermath of 'Human Error', S07xE18. I do not own Star Trek: Voyager.

She had been reluctant to go to the Mess Hall, had been unwilling to leave Astrometrics at all in fact, but as the evening dragged on her long since resurrected organic systems demanded either sustenance or regeneration. The brooding Borg cell that was the Cargo Bay appealed to her even less than, the by now surely empty, Mess Hall despite having blocked the Doctor's arguments and pleas with an insistence on her need to regenerate earlier in the day. No, she'd rather partake of the Captain's vice and fuel up on caffeine before returning to work than either eat with nausea nipping at the heels of hunger or sleep with the thrust of the metronome beating her dreams into submission.

With each shaky step of the short journey she listed the available drinks in her head. She had enough replicator rations stored away that it was only personal taste that limited her choice. Not coffee. She'd tried every combination of that particular beverage at the Captain's behest, from black to sweet to milky, and had never managed to finish a whole mug. Spinach juice with pear? No, that had been a playful prank of Tom Paris' to see who would believe his exhortations about the health benefits and be either earnest or pretentious enough to stomach the taste. Apparently Kes had honestly favoured the drink and Tom had never had the heart to tell her where the suggestion originated. Trying to imagine him taking a similar tact with B'Elanna actually let humour buoy Seven's mood upwards for a moment before the idea highlighted her own loneliness and she had to doggedly resume cataloguing the drinks to distract herself sufficiently. Bajoran iced milk? Maybe, as long as Neelix hadn't added ground Leola root to the flavourings again… The Mess Hall doors swishing open focused her mind and she glanced down at the PADD she'd reflexively brought with her, there was no need to sit and work in the Mess Hall itself, she'd choose quickly, replicate it and take it back to Astrometrics. Oolong tea then, the relatively high caffeine content was balanced out by a light, pleasant taste. She tried to dismiss the irony that Chakotay, the Commander not her hologram, had introduced her to it after her taste buds had rebelled against the Captain's own black coffee...

Her legs had taken her halfway across the room towards the replicators on autopilot before her attention caught up and she froze in, what she'd cringe over in hindsight, abject horror. "Cha…Commander…" She was sure her gulp was audible but it provided much needed moisture for her dry throat. "I apologise, I assumed the cooking class would be over…"

"It is, Seven." Chakotay assured her quickly. Her deer in the headlights expression was both so extreme and so unusual on her face that it verged on comical, but her voice was so genuinely unnerved that any laughter died on his lips, concern softening his tone into gentleness. Her wide eyes also threw the shadows that hooded them into sharp focus; she hadn't rejected his offer in favour of rest, that much was clear. She was still holding a PADD, perhaps even the same one that had so preoccupied her that afternoon.

His simple, cheery statement gave Seven a few much needed seconds to recover and fully take in the scene, which, if anything, left her even more confused. Until she had entered, Chakotay had been here alone behind the galley sink, almost up to his elbows in soap suds. He'd exchanged his uniform for casual trousers and vest, and a pair of Neelix's distinctive, eclectically patterned washing-up gloves. Only the absence of the matching apron around his toned waist diminished the scene into reality from a surreal sketch. "Then what are you doing?" she asked carefully, deciding that blinking in disbelief was wiser than laughing.

His dimples appeared lopsidedly as he winked at her, "Cleaning up."

"There are refreshers for that…" Seven began, peering at him warily, still wrong-footed by the situation.

Chakotay couldn't hold it in any longer and finally burst out laughing. Seven looked ready to either declare a Red Alert in fear of an alien presence or call the Doctor in for a psych consult. Maybe both for good measure. "I lost a bet with Tom Paris." He explained ruefully, trying to regain his dignity even as he continued to chuckle to himself.

Seven's trademark eyebrow arched to new heights at that, "I would have presumed that you would know better than to enter into such an undoubtedly irreverent wager." Her tone had surprise in it, and Chakotay remembered that she, who had really suffered from one of Tom's pranks, was well within her rights to coolly rebuke him, but the smirk pulling at her drawn, bloodless lips said that she was merely making a light-hearted remark. "What exactly were the terms of this…bet?" she queried, fully dubious now.

"Well, that's a…short story." Chakotay replied with a small smile, "Basically, the person who made the most inedible 'Talaxian tenderloin' would clean up after everyone else, the old fashioned way."

Seven's brow crinkled, "Most inedible?" Her knowledge of English could be letting her down, but she didn't think 'inedible' came on a gradient of severity. Her own laugh startled her into almost dropping her PADD as he lifted his frying pan for her to inspect as evidence. She'd never seen so much charred meat and gristle welded to anything in her life. It took her a moment to catch her breath, that laugh sapped a little more of her energy and will, but she gave her verdict nonetheless, "I see you were aiming for an extremely well-done Talaxian tenderloin in ten minutes."

Chakotay snorted in reply, "Well, I went beyond that into burnt, didn't I?"

The question was rhetorical, obviously, but Seven didn't sugar coat her answer to spare his culinary pride. "That is apparent. You served…decimated tenderloin."

Chakotay made a fake gasp, "I'm wounded Seven! Remember that you weren't here to see everyone else's attempts!"

"No, I was not." Seven agreed stiffly, her desperation to leave returning full force, but she countered the instinct with the undeniable logic that fleeing from him would only draw much more unwanted attention to herself.

Chakotay sighed as he saw her withdraw into her shell again, if anything she had developed another layer of impenetrability since their last encounter. And whose fault is that? His conscience whispered reprovingly as he caught a shadow of the vivid storm of pain he'd glimpsed for an instant in Seven's face earlier. He'd hurt her with that damned patronising rebuke that, even at the moment the words had left his lips, he'd regretted and wondered over. After all, what real right did he have to say that to her? Because she was an easy target? It wasn't as if resenting and recoiling from someone who'd hurt them wasn't the most human trait of all… "You didn't really miss much, most of us left hungry." He told her softly, "But it was fun."

Seven gave a non-committal nod in response, but did drift closer to the galley in silent acknowledgement of his subtle amends. Her eyes skimmed over the still substantial collection of dirty and abused kitchenware. "I see that the class had good attendance despite my absence." She observed coolly.

Chakotay made an affirmative sound in the back of his throat, not trusting himself to tread carefully enough around her, as he too looked over at the task facing him. To his surprise, as she caught his woeful glance, Seven wordlessly picked up a spare scouring pad and joined him at the sink, lifting his frying pan with a slight grimace of disgust and plunging it into the steaming water before starting to scrub. "Seven, I appreciate the help, but you don't need to…"

Seven didn't lift her intent gaze, nor pause in her industrious scrubbing. "You do need it Commander. Just assure me that you will not take Lieutenant Paris up on any more of his 'bets', as you once made me assure you."

"You've got a deal. I only got into this because I was stupid enough to feel bad for Harry in his constant gullibility."

"And thus became equally gullible yourself." Seven concluded dryly as she slowed in her scrubbing, then gave up altogether. "This requires soaking." She declared with a shake of her head as she set the pan aside, full of the necessary hot water.

Chakotay nodded in amusement, "You're wondering how any of us manage to feed ourselves, or clean, aren't you?" he asked jokingly.

Seven's shoulders hunched abruptly. "I do not wonder." She muttered almost inaudibly, her eyes downcast. Chakotay knew she'd almost said, 'The Borg' instead of 'I'. She'd ducked her head until her face nearly brushed against the soap suds, her erratic heartbeat following the warning throbs from her still sensitive cortical node as the memory of a very similar, and yet radically different, scene returned. They'd been standing shoulder to shoulder, over a chopping board rather than a sink, and he'd been teasing her… She cleared her throat painfully, hoping it could be blamed on the soap bubbles, "Is wearing those gloves part of the bet?"

Chakotay's eyes twinkled gently, "You were wondering about that, weren't you?" he tossed back pointedly even as he sheepishly yanked off the offending gloves.

"Yes…" Seven murmured, a trembling, traitorous smile somehow managing to go over her lips, "I will admit to wondering about those at least."

"As would anyone sane." Chakotay muttered self-deprecatingly, half to hide his embarrassment. "Look, Seven…" He gripped at the countertop as his feet shuffled awkwardly, "I'm sorry for what I said earlier, I really didn't mean anything…"

The plate Seven was in the process of washing dropped to the bottom of the sink with a wet clunk as her face snapped around to meet his. "I have never known you to be insincere Commander, you always mean what you say." Her voice was quiet and deliberate, as penetrating as her gaze. "I have always respected that trait."

She left the 'until now' unsaid, but Chakotay heard it loud and clear, his jaw locking. "Alright." He conceded ungraciously, "In the heat of the moment I said the first thing that came into my head, but that doesn't mean I should've said it…" He stopped as he felt himself getting flustered, "I'm trying to apologise here Seven, because I thought I might've hurt your feelings…"

Seven flinched, and in that one tiny movement he had all the confirmation he needed as her stoic gaze focused on a point somewhere behind him. He suspected she'd coldly dismiss the idea that she had feelings, though he'd honestly prefer if she gave him a piece of her mind, but, as was often the case, her response surprised him. "Why did you ask me?"

He stared at her uncertainly for a moment, "Because socialising more would do you good." He murmured honestly, "It would do all of us good. You know what a hard couple of months this has been, with the crew's rehabilitation from their time on Quarra…" He relaxed a little as Seven's eyes softened in understanding. The lingering effect of the memory, no, the identity manipulation the crew had experienced on Quarra could hardly be underestimated. Both Chakotay and Seven had had to take time to guide disorientated crewmates to their destinations on board as recently as in the past few days, there was distance between friends that hadn't been there before, a lack of commitment to getting Voyager 'home'. In no one person was this malaise more evident than in the Captain they both served. Kathryn Janeway had isolated herself, had been distracted and downhearted, wholly dislocated from her crew. Chakotay could honestly say that her flare of concern for Seven over the younger woman's holodeck use was the first time she'd taken any particular interest in the people around her since they'd left Quarra's orbit. "I invited you because you deserve some down time as much as everyone else, more so even."

Seven eyed him wearily, "Because I especially require socialisation?" she questioned tersely.

"No." Chakotay answered, "You've made so much progress…"

The sound of exasperated frustration that left Seven's throat then verged on a groan, "And what if I cannot make any more progress? What if my humanity has developed as much as it can under the circumstances?" she demanded hoarsely, "Will anyone be able to accept that?"

Chakotay almost took an instinctive step back from that unexpected outburst, but empathy created a counterbalance and he actually moved closer to her. "Yes." He murmured, "We accepted you a long time ago Seven, and I think you know that, deep down, or else you wouldn't have stayed here." He waited for her shaky nod, "We've pushed you too much, I know that, and I was wrong to start it today, but I don't think you should underestimate yourself either."

Seven swallowed, she could hardly believe she had Chakotay consoling her, it didn't seem fair, even when he of course didn't know the root of the problem. "Perhaps you are overestimating me Commander." She replied thickly.

"I don't think so." Chakotay answered with a soft confidence even as an unsettling realisation knotted his stomach. She'd looked tired and strained, in need of a break even if it was a forced one, that's what he'd rationalised when the idea of drawing her out into company had occurred to him, but wasn't it more than that? He'd seen her exhausted, working non-stop along with him and everyone else when the ship was in crisis, had seen her quietly carrying the burden of grief, but what he'd seen in the past few months had eclipsed all that. The blame couldn't be laid at the Quarrans' door, she'd been his most able support then, her wits sharp and her memory returning quickly, the oppression of spirits had begun long before. Never a social butterfly, though he knew she needed companionship more than most, she'd been withdrawing inch by inch for months. Her culinary trials in the Mess Hall had stopped, she didn't humour the Doctor by performing with him, didn't take up the offers of sparring with him that he knew she'd enjoyed… He could've seen past all that as a change in her taste, but her attitude to work was changing. Not that she was slacking, the opposite, but she actively avoided away missions, and left senior staff meetings as soon as was permissible, rarely bickered with B'Elanna or contested any decisions on anything… It was as if she had actively oppressed a part of herself until she'd gone completely numb. She'd snuffed out something vital in herself and today he could see the rest of its light flickering out in those last despairing questions. "It's been a difficult year for you." He finally told her, "Unimatrix Zero, your cortical node failing after the children left, Quarra…"

Seven lifted her stiff head defiantly at first, then drooped. "Yes, I suppose it has." She admitted as she left the galley, shooting him an unreadable glance as she hesitated when about to pick up her PADD. "But don't all humans have difficult periods in their lives?"

Chakotay nodded sombrely, his throat tightening as he had to agree wholeheartedly with that statement. "They do." He muttered, his eyes dropping back to the now cooling water.

Seven's voice warmed slightly, "Do you want more help?"

"Well…" Chakotay looked around the still untidy galley, "You haven't quite held up your end of the bargain, I might just get myself into another one of Tom's bets."

"I think your proceeding by yourself will dissuade you more than any promise to me." Seven remarked wryly.

"I wouldn't say so." Chakotay noticed the blush that tinted Seven's cheeks, but he blinked and it was gone. Still, the smile the blush summoned stayed in place on his face. "The only way you'll keep me out of trouble in these cooking classes Seven, is if you teach them."

Seven's eyebrows shot up. He'd surprised her. She always looked particularly pretty when truly surprised, her Borg mask would slip. "Are you appealing to my vanity Commander?" she asked in amusement before a veil of doubt fell over her face, "Are you that determined to gain my forgiveness…if you believe there is any needed?"

Chakotay stared at her in awe for a moment, wondering how she could see through him so absolutely. "Yes." He declared, holding her gaze seriously even as a smile pulled at his lips. "Although I've always thought vanity irrelevant myself, but maybe on culinary matters…"

Seven held up a hand to stop him, "I'm sure vanity in regards to culinary skill is a different matter, in Neelix's eyes at least."

Chakotay grinned, ready to pull his out his trump card. "It was always the arrangement that someone new would teach how to cook their favourite dish every week, I'm sure you're next on the rota."

"Is that so?" Seven questioned, suspecting that he'd added to the 'arrangement' just that second to trap her. Well, she could counter that! "You are taking the chance that I will choose a recipe you do not like."

Chakotay began to chortle, the determinedly mischievous glint in her eye tickling him. "Then it'll serve me right, won't it?" He'd gotten her to peek out of her shell, though in a less conventional way than a simple invitation, just proving that Seven was the farthest thing from simple possible.

A/n: Please review. :)