DISCLAIMER: It's Paramount's galaxy. The story is mine.
SUMMARY: Removal of the failsafe, the abrupt changes in her life, and uncertainty about her future drive Seven in search of a big sky and a new friend. C/7, post-"Endgame" timeline. OC POV. One-shot set between "Aurora" and "Once More to the Journey" in the Becoming Light series.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Seven's social anxieties are canon, and sooner or later they were bound to come to a head. Scifiromance is exploring what could happen when the failsafe isn't removed in her brilliant WIP "Less Than Perfect." Here, I explore the other side—what happens when it's removed and all of Seven's emotions are laid bare and raw at the very moment that her life, once again, changes overnight?
Many Words' POV. A little backstory to the second chapter of "Contrary," set about four weeks after "Endgame."
Thanks to scifiromance for the beta.
Archive with permission.
#
THUNDERSNOW
Stardate 55075.73
The snow was falling, fast and heavy now, and at first, from the distance, she looked like a raven perched on a cornstalk in the windswept field. As they drew closer, a coyote in the pasture. Even closer, Many Words' breath caught in his throat. A woman, tall, standing proud and straight-backed—her face was turned to the sky. He dug his knees into Áha:th's ribs and leaned in, close to her neck, urging her on.
He hadn't seen this apparition in almost three years.
He brought the filly to a stop and dismounted. Chi'nę spiraled down to the glove. They approached the specter from behind, Áha:th's gentle snorts enough, he hoped, to keep her from bolting.
He thought of all the reasons that she couldn't be who she seemed to be, who he hoped she'd be… and as soon as he was close enough to see clearly, through the snow, the blonde ponytail falling from under her cap, he knew that she wasn't. He swallowed his disappointment. Not Chakotay's sister, then, but his friend, Annika Hansen, but her friends called her…
"Seven?" he asked.
"You were correct," she replied, her voice cold and robotic, with none of the shy curiosity he remembered from their meeting on New Year's Eve.
"That's good to know," he said, smiling gently, hoping the expression came through in his voice, since he was talking to her back. "I like being correct occasionally—according to my students, it's a rare event." Chír circled her, yipping playfully. "About what was I correct?"
"The sky is huge," she replied. Her voice caught in her throat.
No, not Kana. But like Kana, when she used to appear here.
"I am fine," she said.
She didn't sound fine. She sounded about as far from fine as anyone could get. Like Kana, when she used to appear here.
They stepped up to her, maybe a little too close by the way she stiffened—or tried to; she was shivering violently. He jerked the glove, gave Áha:th a light slap on the ass, and called, "Home." Seven shuddered at the word. The filly and the falcon headed for their respective shelters.
She ran her hands over her black slacks and looked down. The lower legs were spattered with vomit. She closed her eyes. "I… apologize for my appearance," she murmured.
How long had she been out here? He looked around. The remains of her lunch had cooled and snow was beginning to cover—maybe a half-hour since she'd been sick. Her footsteps, what were left of them, indicated she'd been here a full hour at least. With the wind what it was, she could be hypothermic. "You don't strike me as someone who'd have a lot of practice getting drunk in a storm," he said.
She turned her face to his and finally looked him in the eye, her unencumbered eyebrow halfway to her hairline. Chakotay was right. This woman could carry on an entire conversation with her eyes and a dozen words.
Although he was hoping to get a little bit more out of her-seeing as she'd given him a false blast from the past, it seemed only fair. "A Terran rite of passage you're better off having missed," he assured her, lamely.
She continued to study his face, and then shrugged, letting his nonsense slide. She looked back to the escarpment. "Chakotay is in a… debriefing," she said. She chewed that word a little longer than he thought she needed. "I was anxious. San Francisco was feeling somewhat… claustrophobic."
The tip of her nose was frostbitten. He followed her gaze. Winter thunderheads gathered over the lake, on the western horizon.
#
She cradled the mug in her hands, hunched under the blanket on the sofa. He'd given her a clean pair of sweatpants and a thermal undershirt to wear while her soiled clothing was in the refresher. His clothes were big on her, and in them she looked more fragile than a woman her size ought. She took a sip of the steaming beverage. She smiled, just a ghost of a smile, but it warmed his heart; it was a beginning. "This is very good," she said. "Thank you." Her voice was tremulous, barely audible.
"Fresh apple cider, mulled with spices," he replied as he settled himself next to her. "Lots of vitamins and minerals and natural sugars." He grinned. "I find it more restorative than chocolate, although women tend to argue that point with me."
She smiled, another ghostly smile. If he'd blinked, he would've missed it. "You contacted Chakotay," she said dully.
He nodded. "I left a message, telling him you were here and safe, while you were changing," he said. Then they'd tended to the animals—or rather, he had, and she had watched. She'd fed Áha:th an apple; he'd had to hold her hand steady.
"I am a liability to him," she said.
Many Words looked at her. "I don't think that's the word he'd choose," he said gently. Chír rested her chin on the couch in between them. Seven shivered. On a hunch, he took her Borg-covered hand and rested it on Chír's head; Seven flinched. "You don't have much experience with animals, do you?"
"None," she admitted.
He guided her fingers to scratch the dog behind the ears; in response, Chír contentedly slumped against Seven's leg… and her trembling decreased, a little.
The com system chirped in the next room. He looked at her. "That's probably Chakotay," he said. "Do you want to talk to him?"
"I… I don't know what to say," she murmured, her right eye shimmering with tears. "I have no explanation for my behavior."
He patted her on the shoulder, ineffectually, then stood and walked into his office, leaving the door open so that she could see him at the desk, eavesdrop if she wanted. He activated the link and Chakotay's concerned face flickered onto the screen. "Seven's here, cousin," Many Words said, before the younger man could speak. "She's safe." He looked over his shoulder. Chír had jumped to the sofa and was draped over Seven's left thigh; she had no choice now but to pet her, hug her.
Chakotay nodded to indicate he could see her on the couch, with the dog. He smiled faintly at the sight. "What happened?" he asked.
"Panic attack, I think," Many Words said in measured tones, watching his friend carefully. "She isn't very talkative, but from what I've seen, that looks about right."
"And how did she get there?" Chakotay asked, raking a hand through his hair.
Many Words shrugged. "We were hunting," he said. "She was here when we got back." He bit his upper lip. "She said where she was felt claustrophobic—buildings were closing in. She remembered that I had described this place as having a 'big sky.'" He peered at his friend. "Does that make sense?"
Chakotay nodded. "It does, actually," he replied. "How is she?"
"She's okay," Many Words reassured him. "Shaky. Embarrassed. Apologetic." He paused. "I'm no psychologist, but Kana… Well, during the Dominion War, she couldn't get home—she was stuck here. It weighed on her." He inhaled and exhaled, quickly, sharply; he hated going back there. "Sometimes it broke her." Sometimes it broke him. What happened in the colonies broke a lot of people.
Chakotay closed his eyes and nodded, then he looked up at something off-screen and a jaw muscle visibly clenched. He took a breath. "They're calling me back in," he said. "Look, I'll see what I can do to speed things up today, how soon I can get out of here…"
Many Words raised a hand to cut him off. "Do what you have to," he said. "Be the good officer." He looked out the window. "There's a storm blowing in. We're not going anywhere."
"Thanks, 'mano," Chakotay said, his face visibly relaxing.
"De nada, cousin," Many Words replied. "We'll see you for supper."
#
She'd scanned his kitchen with the practiced and discerning eye of a chef, taking in his hodgepodge collection of antique implements and modern conveniences. Chír was curled up in her bed by the ancient wood-fired cookstove; a saucepan filled with sweet cider, cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves simmered on a burner. Seven stood at his side at the magnesite stove, studying his movements with the same eye, so intently he was sure every detail was immediately committed to memory. "I add one poblano to each liter of tomatoes," she declared. It was the first thing she'd said in almost an hour. Her voice was soft, and she spoke as if she was checking to see if it was still there.
"Really?" he asked, looking up from the onions he was sautéing in butter.
She nodded, gravely. "It provides just the hint of a bite and the smoke counters the acidity in the tomatoes," she explained.
He rummaged around in a basket on the counter and held up his lone poblano, just starting to wrinkle, past perfect. "Care to do the honors?" he asked.
She smiled—just the tiniest quirk of the lips—and stepped up to the stove, grasped the pepper in a pair of tongs, and held it over the flame. She took an exaggerated deep breath, then looked up to see his raised eyebrow. She raised her own in return. "I enjoy the scent of roasting chiles," she confessed. "And the sound." She twisted her wrist to char the pepper evenly, the volatiles hissing and popping as the skin blistered. "Cooking utilizes all of the senses."
He grinned, turned off the flame under the frying pan, and dumped the onions into the pot of tomatoes. "I would never have taken you for a cook," he said.
"Voyager's chef was Talaxian," she replied. "Talaxian palates are… unusual." She shrugged. "Acquiring culinary skills was a means to ensure an adequate meal."
In short order, the pepper was skinned, seeded and diced, added to the tomato soup base, and left to simmer on the stove. He refilled their mugs with cider, then picked up a plate of crackers and cheese. "Grab the mugs," he said, then held open the door to the enclosed porch, and nodded his head to gesture her through. "My favorite room in the house—and the best place to watch storms blow in."
She followed his direction and perched on the edge of the seat of an armchair, intently studying the view out the windows. The storm's intensity had grown: the wind was howling and visibility was near zero. "Are you about to point out the aesthetic properties of Terran atmospheric disruptions?" she asked.
He chuckled and added another log to the parlor stove. "I've always loved storms," he admitted. He sat in the armchair next to Seven's and picked up a cracker and a slice of cheese from the plate on the table in between them, then handed it to her. "Eat up. You need some solid food."
Seven took the cracker and nibbled at it.
"So," he said, "do you want to talk about what happened?"
She looked down at the cracker in her hand. Her eye welled over again. "I don't know what happened," she murmured. She looked at him and took a deep breath. "Starfleet is being… difficult, especially as regards myself and the Maquis. What they call 'debriefings' are, in actuality, interrogations." She finished the cracker and took a sip of cider. "I am grateful that they haven't been as hard on Icheb as they have on me."
"Icheb?" he asked.
"An adolescent drone we took in after he was severed from the Collective," Seven said. "I have been his foster parent. I am… protective of him."
I am a liability to him. The words she'd spoken earlier echoed in Many Words' mind. "You seem to be protective of all the people you care about," he said with a gentle smile. "You're protective of Chakotay."
She looked up at him under lowered lashes, frowning slightly, chewing her bottom lip. At last she nodded. "I suppose I am," she agreed. "My crewmates… my friends are my collective…" Her voice trailed off until it was almost a whisper. "They are all I have."
"And you're worried about your… collective, in addition to not knowing what the future holds for you," he continued.
She nodded again.
"That's a lot of worry to hold in," he observed.
She stood and walked to the window, her arms wrapped protectively around herself. "You told Chakotay that you thought I had a panic attack," she said.
He joined her and nodded. "Sooner or later, all that worry has to come out."
"I couldn't breathe," she said in a choked whisper. "I thought I was dying."
"That's what it feels like," he reassured her. "Even when you aren't."
The western sky glowed, accompanied by a slow, muffled rumble. Seven cocked her head. "Electrical discharges in the atmosphere," she commented. "4.7 kilometers west northwest. Positive polarity."
He nodded. "Thundersnow," he said. More deadly than the summer variety. Just as beautiful.
#
He grilled the cheese sandwiches while Seven and Chakotay talked on the porch. He could see them through the window, out of the corner of his eye. He knew he shouldn't watch, try to eavesdrop, but he did, anyway. The door was closed, their voices muted, but still passionate, compassionate, pleading, sobbing, soothing. Chakotay opened his arms and she paused, then fell into them.
He exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He flipped the sandwiches.
#
Chakotay left the door to the spare bedroom ajar and crossed the firelit room to the sofa, sat, and rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Many Words poured some whiskey into a glass over ice, and pushed it across the coffee table. Chakotay looked up, his eyes bleary and unfocused.
"Or you can replicate another dose of tranquilizer," Many Words suggested.
Chakotay picked up the glass and took a swallow. "This'll do," he said. "Thanks."
Many Words drank from his own. "De nada," he said. He eyed his friend carefully. "How's she doing?" By the time she'd gone to bed, she looked about a hundred times better than she had that afternoon, but he had to admit that he didn't know her that well… at all, really.
"She's sleeping," Chakotay said. "For now. She's not a sound sleeper—normally she regenerates." He said this matter-of-factly, as if Many Words had the slightest clue to what he was talking about. "And she metabolizes meds quickly. She might get a couple of hours." He paused. "Thanks for being here… for everything."
"De nada," Many Words repeated.
Chakotay slumped back into the cushions. "She's going through a rough stretch now," he said. He paused. "We all are."
"Can you talk about it?" Many Words asked.
Chakotay drained his glass, set it on the table, and Many Words poured another. "Not specifics," Chakotay said, taking the glass in one hand and raking the other through his hair. "The celebrations are over. Now the Federation has to figure out what to do with thirty-two traitors, two ex-Borg, and a captain who made some not-quite-by-the-book decisions under conditions Starfleet never considered." He sipped the drink and grimaced. "This last week has been pretty hard-core for all of us."
"I thought the Maquis were pardoned," Many Words said.
"Those who agreed to fight in the Dominion War," Chakotay replied.
"It's not as if you had a choice," Many Words pointed out.
Chakotay smiled and sipped his whiskey. "No," he agreed, "but now they need to find another way for us to prove our repentance."
"Are you repentant?" Many Words asked.
Chakotay watched the fire. "No," he said. "Not at all."
"And Seven?"
Chakotay sat up straight and looked at him, bristling slightly. "She's proven her loyalty dozens, no hundreds of times, risking her own life in support of the crew. If it weren't for her, we wouldn't be here now." He stared at his glass. "Look," he said, after a pause, "I won't deny that it took me a long time to warm up to her. Mostly my fault." He looked up. "Trust isn't something I offer easily anymore."
Many Words studied Chakotay's face, remembering the passionate kid he'd met some thirty years ago; time and experience had made him a warrior. Now he had to figure out how to—if he could—find that kid again. He thought of himself back then, of Kana. They'd been so damned idealistic. Was there any way back? "If they were sending you to prison, would they have you running free now?" he asked at last.
"We're being monitored," Chakotay responded, rubbing the bridge of his nose; he looked exhausted.
"Just like old times," Many Words muttered.
Chakotay smiled grimly and drained his glass. "Just like old times, hermano."
#
The squalls blew through overnight and dawn was a study in crimson and scarlet. He wouldn't want to be out on the lake, but it was pretty from dry land. Many Words stood on the front porch, in his parka, with a hot mug of coffee. He heard the door open and close behind him and soft footsteps approaching.
He looked at her. "Good morning," he said.
"Am I intruding?" she asked.
"Not at all," he replied. He watched the eastern horizon—blood red and brightening—and smiled. "One of the reasons the city apartment is usually unoccupied."
She stood next to him, her keen eyes absorbing the scene. "An admirable view," she said. She put her face close to her mug and took a deep breath. "I never liked coffee on Voyager, but I am beginning to comprehend the appeal." She took a sip. "Chakotay is speaking to Captain Janeway. I wanted the opportunity to see you alone… to thank you."
"No need," he said gently. "I'm glad I could help." He studied her face, composed now, eyes calm. "How are you?"
She took another sip of her coffee. "Better," she said. She bit her lip. "Chakotay is a good man."
"He is," he agreed. "He cares about you."
She nodded. "You were correct… again." Her lips curled upward, almost a smirk. "He does not view me as a liability," she said. "He is accompanying me to Starfleet Medical." She bit her lip again and looked down. "Clearly, I am having difficulty adapting to life on Earth."
"It's okay to take help, Seven," he said gently.
"A lesson I am forced to learn again and again," she confessed.
He shrugged. "We all have lessons we have to relearn," he said, as much to himself as to her.
"I am sorry for… barging in," she said, looking up at him. "It was a spontaneous action." She looked down at her mug. "I had nowhere else to go."
He put a hand on her shoulder and she didn't flinch this time. "You're always welcome," he said.
She smiled gratefully and it lit up her face, just as the sun rose above the horizon.
THE END
AUTHOR'S NOTE: "Áha:th" is "horse," "Chi'nę" is "bird," and "Chír" is "dog" in Skarure, or Tuscarora. Many Words is pretty literal when it comes to names. Chi'nę is a peregrine, Chír is a tricolor Brittany bitch. Many Words rides bareback; it's been almost a lifetime since I have, so gods only know how accurate the description.
The lake over which the thunderheads gather is Ontario.
If you're not following the aforementioned "Less Than Perfect," by scifiromance, you should be.