A/N: Thank you for all the reviews. They mean the world to me. I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

Equal Opportunity
Chapter 4: Equality At Last

Admiral Janeway looked down at her padd when her sister received the message feed from her. She looked up briefly, seeing her raven-haired sister in the familiar setting of her own kitchen in Pacific Heights.

"You made it," Kathryn said, still thumbing through a padd.

"Yeah, and what a surprise for me."

Kathryn finally looked up, puzzled. Her eyebrows were scrawls across her brow. "What do you mean?"

Phoebe rolled her violet eyes. "I thought I had the wrong house. I walk in and instead of finding a warm, inviting—or even just a house that looks like it's been lived in—I find this beautiful gingerbread house that's dusty…" Phoebe wrinkled her nose. "With barren walls. And a sofa and a bed. That's it! Nothing else!"

"Are you really bitching about my décor, Phoebe?"

"Am I really? You've lived here nearly four years…480 months, for Pete's sake! Your walls are so fucking white and blank, I was blinded for two hours after I turned the lights on."

Kathryn hooked a finger over her strong chin. "Mom is right. You are a drama queen."

Phoebe turned off camera and pointed in a direction. "That way, boys."

Kathryn saw a scrawny boy and a man with salt and pepper hair as they carried a large sealed box through the kitchen. Both were huffing for air. "Who is that?"

Phoebe snapped her head back and glared. "Be nice," she whispered, before saying in a normal voice: "Thank you, Sam and Mark."

Kathryn's face became flinty. "Mark Johnson?" she asked, her voice dropping several registers.

Phoebe brushed the dark strands from her shoulder. "Oh, get over it. Mark and I are friends—almost as long as you and he. How do you think I beamed over? I certainly didn't walk here from the nearest transporter transfer station, you know."

Kathryn's lips turned white and she squinted at the monitor. "You used his home transporter?"

"Marielle is lovely," Phoebe said. "Just lovely. They said they saw you a few months ago. You were actually eating out with someone and had a smile on your face."

Kathryn looked up, thinking. "Hmm. Maybe it was during the conference…"

"Anyone I know?" Phoebe asked suggestively, wagging her eyebrows.

Kathryn straightened when she felt her sister's scrutiny. "Oh, I don't know? Do you know the Cardassian Minister of War?"

Phoebe crinkled her nose. "Ah, that would be no. And I'm hoping it was just business then."

"It was," she said, returning her gaze to the array of padds on her desk.

"You know," she said. "I did not think it was possible, but you have become even more dull than Dad."

Kathryn pretended to laugh. "Oh, Phoebe," she whispered. "Whatever would I do without your thoughtful insight. It's just miraculous how you can just change my entire world with a small comment."

Phoebe pursed her lips. "Sarcasm ages you, Katie. I'd be careful about using it too much."

Kathryn looked around to make sure her assistant had left her office. "Whatever you're doing to my house, undo it! Now."

"I think you have me confused with one of your crewmembers—"

Kathryn leapt from her chair, making Phoebe jump. "You are so lucky we have a situation…"

Phoebe's natural cat-like curiosity was piqued and she forgot crossing the line with her sister. "What situation?"

Only then did Phoebe notice the uniform clad underlings buzzing behind Kathryn and around her desk.

"I can't speak of it now, but it's a serious issue along the—"

"Cardassian border?"

"Phoebe," Kathryn said in her sternest command voice. "You know I can't discuss it. Let's just say, you should probably plan on eating dinner alone. Maybe even breakfast."

Phoebe leaned against the ice chest. "I'll just turn on the news, you know."

"You do that," she snapped. "In the meantime, get rid that shit you brought with you. Love you, bye."

=/\=

Kathryn's assistant Lt. Powers poked her head through the door. "Admiral," she said. "Paris is starting."

Kathryn closed the screen of her workstation and stood up. "Any more news?"

Lt. Powers pursed her lips. "Word is the Breen have raided a Cardassian colony just six light years from Cardassia Prime."

Kathryn's eyebrows rose. No one threatened the Cardassians with impunity.

She stepped into the conference room. Being at Starfleet HQ, the meeting room was state-the-art starting with the fine oak grained table with built-in communication consoles, as well as 3-D projection with integrated tactical of the entire Quadrant. It was also filled with a sea of red uniforms and more pips and bars than a Starfleet parade back home.

Admiral Alynna Necheyev had seemed to hold court as the only female among the Flag Staff, until Janeway's arrival. Now, the woman nodded once out of courtesy as Janeway entered. There were some old friends among the other admirals, including Owen Paris, Tom's father. She slipped into a chair next to him even as the Fleet Admiral stepped into the room, accompanied by at least three assistants.

Edward Jellico gestured toward the 3-D projection. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. This morning a fleet of Breen Confederacy warships crossed the Demilitarized Zone, destroyed Deep Space 3—all hands were lost in the attack, including Admiral Marcus Holt. A total of 125 souls."

Jellico clasped his hands and bowed his head for a minute. The projection scene showed the 12 Breen warships blowing the Deep Space 3 station to bits in a few blasts. "As you can see," the Fleet Admiral continued. "The Breen are just as formidable as when they joined the Dominion Alliance against us."

"Is the Dominion involved in this flagrant disregard of the Lakarian Peace Accords?" Owen Paris asked of the treat signed between the Dominion and its allies and the Federation.

Jellico pointed toward the projection again. "Take a look." Seven warships of an unknown type shimmered into prominence from behind cloaking devices. "Kathryn, do these ships look like anything out of the Delta Quadrant?"

She studied the sleek silver lines of the ships. "I've never seen anything like them," she admitted.

Jellico grimaced. "I was afraid of that. It appears we have a new threat, greater than anything the Borg could ever pose." He nodded toward the projection again. "Two—just two—alien ships were reported on the sensors of Starbase 515 in the Epsilon IX sector. Five minutes later, that Starbase and the planet were obliterated, according to telemetry sent by subspace just before the explosion."

"What do they want?" Necheyev asked.

"We don't know, but they are headed our way."

Murmurs of concern erupted and Jellico waved his arms at the command staff. "We've faced the Borg and now they're the rubble of history. I can assure you that our Federation will stand and it better. I will not allow an incursion to Sector Zero Zero One on my watch. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Admiral," the group replied.

He nodded once. "I've recruited someone special for this mission. She has served in a special position in Starfleet Research now for a number of years, after serving four years…" Jellico glanced at Janeway. "In the Delta Quadrant. She knows the Borg intimately. Kathryn, you should know who I'm talking about."

Seven of Nine! Janeway sat up, trying to keep the giddy feeling from brimming up. This was no time for school girl foolishness. Another long war loomed ahead of them, if diplomacy failed. But Seven of Nine is here!

On the heels of that last thought, Jellico gestured to the door and Seven of Nine stepped through. Nearly six feet of buxom Borg was simply stunning in the red and black of Starfleet command. Janeway's eyes followed the gold piping along her jacket toward the luscious neck to finally rivet to the two gold pips enclosed by a bar on her collar.

Seven nodded, pointedly lifting her eyes to Janeway.

Jellico offered his hand and the Borg took it comfortably, shaking in return. Janeway noted that she held not the least bit of anxiety with the attention. Jellico's voice brought Admiral Janeway back. "I present to you Admiral Seven Hansen, who holds the distinction of being the First Borg at Starfleet command."

"First Borg on staff," Seven clarified. "Others were here previous to me but they were attempting assimilation."

Some of the admirals laughed, thinking that Seven was trying to be humorous. Janeway knew better. Seven had always been a perfectionist, and information required every bit of precision as any other endeavor. Jellico smiled briefly before turning to Janeway. "Kathryn, I do hope you'll take our newest addition to the Command staff under your wing."

"It will be my pleasure," she said. "But if I know Seven—and I certainly do—then she'll be a quick study and before too long, she'll succeed you, Admiral Jellico."

"I hope so," he said genuinely. "Let's get to it then. I want a plan of action and I want it yesterday."

=/\=

It took them thirty minutes, but eventually, after all of the congratulatory handshakes and welcome back pats were done, the former Captain and the Borg drone she'd severed from the Collective were finally alone in Janeway's office.

Janeway collected several padds from her desk. "Here are some important background data—strictly confidential—of the Breen." Then as an afterthought, Kathryn posed: "Perhaps you've seen it already?"

Seven tipped her head to one side, her arms slipped behind her back. "No, I have not. I was conducting research at Los Alamos yesterday afternoon and then I was here with a promotion."

Janeway stopped, a hand hovering over her desk. She straightened and ran her fingers through her hair. "I'm sorry, Seven. Starfleet Headquarters is a mad maelstrom of—"

"Misery?" Seven offered unexpectedly.

Janeway flushed slightly. "Do I look…" She glanced down at her own uniform and straightened it self-consciously. Then Kathryn tried to smooth a nonexistent wrinkle from her cheek with the back of her hand. "Do I look miserable?"

Seven offered a small smile and a faint shake of her head. "No, Admiral," she replied. "You look engaged in your work. That is what I meant to communicate. I apologize," she said, looking around her at Janeway's Spartan office. "The alliteration game is one I play with my children?"

Janeway looked stricken. "Your children?"

"Two boys," she said. Seven smiled when she saw the replicator. "I believe this is the appointed time index for your cup of coffee. Would you care for some?"

Janeway gave her a half smile and finally relaxed somewhat. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I haven't even taken the time to catch up with you."

Janeway watched Seven's feline stride as she carried the large cup of the caffeinated beverage. She gingerly handed it to Kathryn, their smiling eyes meeting when their fingers brushed during the exchange.

"There is no need to apologize, Admiral," she said. "As I said—"

"Kathryn," Janeway said. "I think you can call me Kathryn now. We're equals now, Admiral Hansen."

Seven's lips barely tugged up. "Very well… Kathryn."

Kathryn watched with utter fascination as the Borg seemed to taste the word, swirled it in her mouth and then form her name with such reverence. She wanted to laugh out loud and declare that she wasn't old enough to be a relic and to stop treating her that way. But Kathryn decided against it.

"I have two boys—Erik and Haakon."

Kathryn gestured for them to sit in the sofa chairs, at right angles to each other. "Two boys. They must be fairly close in age."

Seven's air of lightness dissipated briefly. "Yes, they were born in quick succession approximately fourteen months apart," she said. A mechanical rhythm returned to her voice. "Female orgasm is not required for conception."

Kathryn blinked for several long seconds, stunned by the non-sequitur. She'd forgotten how Seven's unique frankness usually included at least one or two intense moments of fleeting and painful awkwardness. Janeway was merely out of practice in handling them, making this initial episode extremely undignified to her. Or perhaps a celibate has no right to talk, Kathryn thought.

She forced a smile in any event. "How is Chakotay?" she asked before taking a long sip. She watched in fascinated interest as Seven's face rippled from consternation to anger and then to Borg imperturbability.

Before answering, Seven pushed herself up from the chair and sauntered to the replicator again. Janeway's faint smile was the only clue to the carnal interest in the Borg's posterior as it bounced away from her.

Seven ordered a green tea and returned to the sofa, stirring as she went. "Chakotay is irrelevant," she said in precise, clipped words.

Janeway sputtered to a cough, pounding her own chest at the unexpected answer. "He's what?" she asked with a great deal of difficulty.

"Are you damaged?" Seven asked, setting her tea cup down on the coffee table.

Janeway held up a hand, her face as red as her uniform. She coughed again. "Wrong pipe," she murmured between heaves.

Seven sat back and retrieved her cup.

When Janeway settled back, mumbling an apology, she gestured for Seven of Nine to continue.

"We terminated our marriage contract nearly a year ago," Seven said, as if she were reciting planetary data.

"I'm sorry," Janeway said softly.

Seven arched a brow at the faint insincerity. "I am not," she added. "Though I am pleased to have a pair of subunits. However, the process of conception was laborious and the marriage was taxing without any corollary benefits."

Janeway nearly strangled on her suppressed laughter. "Procreative sex isn't supposed to be work, Seven. It's supposed to be enjoyable."

Seven's eyes darted to the older Admiral, followed by a slow twist of her face toward her. "Chakotay claimed I was frigid and that I am mechanical in my approach to copulation," she said, without the smallest hint of embarrassment.

"Ho, boy!" Kathryn said, moving forward to rise from her chair. "I think it's time to get to work."

Seven slipped a hand on her forearm, where it seared Kathryn with the memory of wanting. She stared down at it until Seven removed her hand. "We have not discussed your private life," Seven stated.

Kathryn quirked the corner of her mouth. "And we aren't going to," she said. To Seven's dubious look, Kathryn hastily added: "It's because there's nothing to talk about. I work. That's my life."

Kathryn was touched by Seven's obvious sorrow, though she thought it was misplaced. She was doing what she loved. That's has to count for something, she thought. "So let's get to work. The Breen aren't going to defeat themselves, now are they?"

Seven rewarded Kathryn with a faint smirk, a pleasing flash of the woman's humanity that Kathryn found immensely rewarding.

=/\=

Lt. Powers brought in dinner for the pair of Admirals, as they worked up strategies for various scenarios on the 3D text display. Seven firmly held the writing wand as she shook her head, objecting to something that Janeway was saying.

Seven switched to the tactical map display and wrote an "X" seemingly in the air, placing it on the far side of the "Badlands." The location was nearly midway between the Breen Confederacy and Federation space. "Make the stand here," she said.

Janeway rubbed her jaw. "That would leave the Badlands as a fallback position—"

"Should anything not go as planned," Seven added.

Janeway frowned, but was interrupted by her assistant.

"Beg your pardon, Admirals Janeway and Hansen," she said. "But dinner is ready."

Janeway looked surprised. "Dinner? Already?" She glanced at the holographic chronometer that hovered by her desk. The three-dimensional numbers of 1600 hours blinked red. "Oh, dear," she said. "I've got to call home." As she stepped past Powers, she patted her assistant's arm. "Go home, Lieutenant. We can manage."

"Thank you, Admiral," she said, before executing a precision, Starfleet turn on her heels.

Seven sat down at the desk, lifting the shimmering red napkin from her plate and laid it across her lap. She prepared her drink, even while she spared a part of her multi-tasking-Borg awareness to track the Admiral.

Kathryn was leaning on her elbows into the vid. "Hey Phoebs, sorry I'm calling so late…"

"Geez louise, Katie! It's a good thing you don't have a fish or a dog!"

Kathryn frowned. "Is that why Mom sent you? To harass me about everything?"

"No, of course not. Just the important stuff like your lack of long-term companionship and the fact that you become more like Dad every day."

"Anyway," Kathryn said, over her sister's droning. "As you can see, we're still working."

"Married to Starfleet," Phoebe sighed. "At least Dad had a wife."

"The last time I checked you weren't married either Phoebe Janeway."

"No, not interested in the shackles of a contract, thankyouverymuch! But I get laid every three or four days—more if I need it."

Kathryn screwed her eyes shut, before glancing at the back of Seven's head. She appeared to be busy with her dinner, but looks were deceiving. "I really have to go, Phoebe. Please lock up behind you when you leave and just take the damn key with you."

Phoebe puckered her lips in pouting. "I get the feeling you're getting rid of me."

"Oh, then I'm not doing it right," Kathryn said softly, almost apologetically. Then with a hard edge, she barked: "Get out! And don't come back until you can respect my lifestyle."

Phoebe threw her head back and laughed. The sound reverberated in the room and Kathryn quickly fumbled with the volume control.

"Oh, Katie, Katie, Katie! You make it sound like you're a trendy dyke or a pricey Dabo girl when we both know the only action your little Gingerbread house has seen was four hundred fifty years ago when it was actually a brothel rather than the current nunnery."

Kathryn inhaled deeply, her patience nearly spent. "Goodbye, Phoebe. I'm hanging up."

She shut off the video and closed it, hoping her sister didn't try to call back with more details of her boring life. She forced a smile as she rounded the corner of her desk.

"So, Seven, you really have to tell me about your name. I mean, I never would have pegged you to blend your Borg designation and your human name."

Seven picked up the pitcher of Aldebaran tea. "Would you care for some?"

"Please," she said, as she draped the napkin across her lap.

The cold purple tea filled the wine goblet with a hiss. The natural carbon dioxide in the tea leaves roiled as it escaped the artificially cold goblet. Seven set the heavy carafe down and began to serve some of the lettuce from the bowl. Janeway lifted her plate, accepting the blue and green leaves.

After Seven had served herself and drenched the leaves with wheat germ and dressing, she picked up a fork slowly and inhaled. "I had tried Chakotay's designation," she said. "But it did not feel adequate to identify me. I became his spouse…his other—lesser—half," she stated as she mixed the ingredients on the plate with a fork. "He was offended that opted to alter my name again."

"Are the children named for him?"

"Erik's surname is Chakotay," she said before taking a bite. "But I changed my own name to Hansen prior to Hawk's birth. Consequently, he is Hansen."

"Haakon Hansen…" Janeway tried out the name, while staring up. "Haakon Chakotay." She frowned at the latter combination. "You made a good choice."

"My former spouse does not agree and I am currently defending a legal suit against him to alter Hawk's name."

Janeway's eyebrows rose. "Is it that important to him? It's not like he has his own father's name."

Seven's fork stopped midway to her mouth as she contemplated the reply. "I believe it is more about subtraction," she said.

Janeway furrowed her brow. "How do you mean?"

"He would rather subtract the Hansen name. He'd prefer his son be Haakon-nothing, than Haakon Hansen."

"Ah," Janeway said. "Sounds silly to me."

"To me as well," she said.

Janeway took another bite. She could hear the soft ticks and hums of the building. Finally, she broke the silence: "I still don't understand why you didn't accept Annika in place of Seven."

Seven turned to capture Kathryn's gaze. "You should know this answer, more than anyone, Kathryn." Her voice was so soft and intimate that the words did not sting Admiral Janeway. "I have not been Annika since I was assimilated at six years of age. To abandon my Borg designation would have been to jettison the sum of humanity and everything I had experienced inside the Collective."

"Even if it was the Collective that stole you from your parents and them from you?"

"It is not a denial of the crimes against me, but an acceptance of what lay behind me. Without the total experience, I would not be me."

Janeway's eyes grew misty and she batted at them under the guise of a cough. She set her fork down and laid a hand gently on Seven's forearm. It was the warm arm of Seven's remaining humanity and she rubbed her thumb there. It was a move that comforted them both. "You make me so proud," Kathryn said with a quirk in her voice. "There are many victims out there—of the Cardassian War, the Crystalline Entity, any number of cruelties—all of them with legitimate grievances. Yet, what inner fortitude you must have to embrace the misfortune as an essential part of the forging process of who you are today. It's really magnificent to see, Seven. Thank you."

Seven reached over to cover Janeway's finely boned hand with her own Borg appendage. The chain-maile was an irritating barrier, but despite it, Janeway felt a connection to Seven stronger than she'd ever felt and it appeared to be remarkably mutual. Seven's eyes were like the brilliantly blue delphiniums of an Indiana summer and Janeway could be lost inside of them for the rest of her life.

Seven dipped her head close and at first, Kathryn thought she was going to be kissed. Her heart started to pound and then fear struck because she had not activated the opacity of her office windows.

But Seven was merely adjusting herself, Kathryn realized. She was both relieved and aggrieved, an odd combination that left her feeling dizzy. But the luster in Seven's voice relieved the vertigo because she focused everything on those glorious lips.

"Kathryn, I cannot adequately express to you—even now, after all these years—my gratitude for liberating me from the Borg Collective. You did for me what I could not do for myself—what I would not do for myself."

Kathryn's expression softened and her head tipped. "I remember you weren't very happy with me," she whispered. Still their hands lay together, rubbing against each other's.

Seven shrugged, an expression so human that a surge of joy flooded Kathryn as she able to see for the first time just how the intervening years had strengthened the woman and allowed her to grow even more. "I did not fully comprehend myself then," Seven admitted. "Consequently, I made many choices that were…ill-fitting."

Kathryn dipped her eyes, searching out Seven's. It placed them very close, yet so far that Kathryn's heart ached. Oh to fill my own void now could be so easy, she thought. But she would never allow please herself at the expense of the woman sitting here. Isn't that love after all, she thought. Her expression was tender even as she remembered the advice of the old Admiral Janeway. "Be open to her." So I will, she reminded herself.

"You seem to be flourishing, Seven. And I'd love to hear more about your boys."

The answer seemed to delight Seven immeasurably, which in turn pleased Kathryn. Seven glanced at the holo-chronometer. "It would be my pleasure, Kathryn. But I should return to my dorm. I want to call them before the time index reaches 1900."

Just like that, the spell was broken and Kathryn reluctantly released the retreating Borg's hands. She sat back and watched as Seven began to assemble the dishes. "I'll get those, Seven," she said.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "You will ask Lt. Powers to 'get them' after they have begun to collect mold cultures on the surfaces of the remaining biomatter. It will not take long."

Janeway chuckled as she stood up. "Then I'll help."

As they bused the table, Janeway's mind raced. She didn't want this day to end, no matter how long and how taxing the work. Being with Seven of Nine had been a simple pleasure. "Did you say you were staying in the Starfleet HQ dorms?"

Seven turned to study the ginger-haired Admiral after she'd ordered the replicator to recycle the remains of dinner. "The facility is adequate," she said. "I require only an ensuite in which to wash and a bed on which to regenerate. Everything else is irrelevant."

"Maybe so," Janeway said lightly. "But my townhouse would be infinitely more comfortable and I have plenty of room. You could use one for as long as you like."

"Roommates?" Seven said matching Janeway's blithe tone. "Would I not interfere with your day-to-day routines."

"No," she whispered, nearly inaudible. She was holding her breath waiting for Seven's reply.

Seven considered the matter further, in typical Borg fashion. It was all an internal analysis.

"Where are Erik and Hawk staying, anyway?" Janeway asked, groping for a clincher to seal the deal.

"They are currently residing in Arizona with their father. It did not seem logical to bring them to San Francisco given that my work schedule would be protracted due the Breen crisis."

"If you stayed with me, they could visit," Janeway offered haltingly, even as she tried to gauge Seven's response.

"You would not object to a rambunctious three-year-old and a curious toddler distributing the copious and malevolent microorganisms that inhabit their hands and mouths throughout your townhouse?"

Janeway waved off the biological threat. "Nah. I'm used to it. My sister visits me quite often," she said with a snort.

"If you are certain, then I accept your offer."

Janeway smiled broadly, feeling as if she'd won the ridiculously impossible lottery on Fereginar itself. "Terrific," she said. "Let me finish up here and we can collect your things."