Game Theory

Chapter 9 – Aftermath

Drawing in one last, steadying breath, Sayuri Yoshida stepped forward, the doors of the mess hall which many saw as inviting opening ominously before her. As they parted, what had been a dull, rhythmic pulsing in the back of her head was suddenly multiplied, and the raucous cacophony of a party in full swing assaulted her ears. The general babble of the crew, some of them already in a slightly inebriated state, mingled with the flashing lights and thumping beats of the improvised dance floor to create a wall of noise which seemed to thicken the very air itself. Eyes darting around nervously, the young science officer wondered where she might best be able to stand unnoticed.

Sayuri had always disliked parties, and in fact, this was the first one on Voyager that she had ever attended. After a few disastrous and highly embarrassing incidents in her early academy years, she had sworn off them altogether. To her mind, they were the purview of the pretty, popular, and confident; none of which were words Sayuri would use to describe herself. It wouldn't even be so bad if she at least had a group of close friends to cling to for the entire night, but sadly, that wasn't the case either. All she could generally hope to do was hover inconspicuously in the corner, sipping a drink and wishing she was back in her bed while being ignored by everyone, until eventually, she just gave up and left, alone. Truth be told, she had expected that she would die without ever having gone to another one; something which would have been just fine with her. As far as she was concerned, it would have taken something pretty special to make her change her mind.

She hadn't reckoned on actually finding such a thing.

After slinking through the entrance, Sayuri made a beeline for the replicators. They were out of the way, removed from the main food counter and bar, and thus, the majority of the other people; perfect for her. Yet, even as she tried her best to avoid the awkwardness of socialization, her gaze scanned the crowd for the man who was sure to be the centre of everyone's attention: the hero of the battle, Mordecai.

He was the reason she had come, and it was for him that she wore her new emerald dress, and had attempted to apply some makeup-another thing she was unaccustomed to. She was less than satisfied with her resulting appearance, but she accepted that it was probably a bit nicer than truth, it all felt rather superfluous. She knew logically that such trivial changes in appearance would probably be irrelevant to the synthetic man; but that didn't stop her from trying her hardest all the same. After all, if she was going to be a silly daydreamer, she might as well go the whole way.

Sure enough, her roaming eyes quickly located the gleam of Mordecai's ever-dazzling plating, at the heart of the largest cluster in the room. His entourage, for that was how it appeared, seemed to be hanging off his every word, laughing loudly and often, as well as sometimes slipping into rapturous silence. Sayuri could already feel the first dark tendrils of envy snake through her belly as she spotted that Mordecai's closest admirers were several of Voyager's most attractive female officers. Before, Sayuri had looked at them with admiration, wishing she possessed a fraction of their natural charm and grace. Now, though, jealousy reared its ugly head. They weren't really interested in Mordecai; the complex and brilliant machine she had come to know and admire. They were simply enamoured with his raw power and the display he had put on, just like the superficial women who swooned over every macho man at the gym.

As always, Mordecai's attitude was almost impossible to discern. He seemed to be enjoying the attention, although he approached it with the same calm reserve he applied to everything else; as if there was nothing in life he had not experienced before. Even as Sayuri watched, the metal man amused the crowd with yet another hidden talent, levitating a stream of wine from the glass of one admirer into another's with a few casual gestures. By now, Sayuri wasn't all that shocked; Mordecai seemed to pull new abilities out of his hat every other minute, and this was just the most recent of many.

How small we must seem to him. Here I am, worrying about competition, yet we're like ants vying for the affections of a lion.

Sayuri retrieved a glass of something strong and sweet from the replicator, before resuming her mournful vigil. Perhaps if she downed enough of these, she could at least muster the courage to talk to him, for what good it would do. That, or forget about everyone and everything. Either was fine.

Focusing on her beverage, Sayuri barely registered the presence which had drawn up next to her, until it spoke.

"Ensign Yoshida. You seem to be displaying an anomalously low level of enthusiasm for the festivities."

Sayuri started, barely managing to stop her drink from emptying over her shoes.

"Seven!" she exclaimed, recognizing the phraseology of the statement and the clipped tone before she'd even turned to face the taller woman. "Ma-Ma'am. Sorry…you startled me."

The Borg looked nonplussed.

"I apologize. It was not my intention to…'sneak'."

"No…no, it's alright," Sayuri responded, returning to nervously sipping her cocktail. "I was a million miles away anyway."

Seven's look of confusion persisted.

"A saying," Sayuri clarified. "I mean that my mind was focused on something else."

"I see. What?"

"O-Oh, nothing, really…I-I guess I'm still just a bit shaken," Sayuri hastened through her answer, quickly searching around for something else to talk about. The last thing she needed was for anyone to find out what she was really thinking. As she dithered, she took in Seven's appearance, and was struck by the fact that the Borg woman was not wearing one of her customary biosuits. Instead, her tall, Nordic frame was clad in a simple but elegant dress made from some sort of flowing, sky-blue fabric. It was really quite beautiful, although the effect was somewhat spoiled by Seven's customary severe stance. Her hair, too, was free from the tight bun she usually favoured, and Sayuri was amazed at how long it was. She never would have guessed that Seven could look so, well, feminine.

It's almost like she's trying to impress someone.

For a moment, another twinge of irrational jealousy shot through Sayuri's body. Was Seven also after Mordecai? Maybe; after all, she was Borg, and he was a machine. It would no doubt be a very 'compatible' pairing.

Sayuri regretted the harsh words immediately, even though they hadn't gotten any further than her own head. Of course Seven wasn't interested. She was making no effort to interact with Mordecai; in fact, she was one of the only people in the room that wasn't. Besides, from the one conversation they'd ever had on the subject, Sayuri got the impression that Seven's preferences tended to lean in the opposite direction anyway.

What the hell has gotten into me?

This wasn't like her. Lurking on the outskirts of the room, yes, but not bitterly resenting everyone else present.

"Perhaps you should consider 'dancing'," Seven suggested evenly. "Kathryn has informed me that the purpose of this gathering is to allow the crew to 'work off' their stress. Rhythmic body motion and imbibing copious amounts of intoxicants seem to be the preferred methods of many individuals."

Sayuri was about to comment on the fact that trying to dance in front of everyone would actually be a guaranteed way to add to her stress levels, but something Seven had said caught her attention.

"'Kathryn'?"

The expression which crossed Seven's face reminded her of how a child might look when caught stealing a cookie.

"An error. I meant the Captain."

"Oh," Sayuri replied. Honestly, she had forgotten that the formidable Janeway even had a first name. Then, a few seconds later, and with an almost audible thud, the penny dropped. Their conversation the other day, Seven's dress, and now, the fact that she seemed to be on first-name terms with the Captain. "Oh…"

Oh dear. And I thought I was the queen of wishful thinking. Poor Seven.

"You look very nice," Sayuri blurted out. She wasn't sure exactly why, but she knew that it was something she would like to hear herself; and Seven's situation wasn't that different to her own.

"Thank you," Seven replied, although she seemed as perplexed by the out-of-the blue compliment as Sayuri was. "I find this type of clothing inefficient; however I have been told that it is customary to wear it at such events." Then, after a moment, she added, "You are also aesthetically pleasing."

"Thank you, Ma'am," Sayuri knew it was a rote response, probably learned from one of the Borg woman's lessons with the Doctor, but she appreciated the thought, even if she didn't believe the statement itself.

A semi-comfortable silence settled between the two women as they sipped their respective drinks and observed the happenings around them. It was funny, Sayuri thought, that of all the people in the room, Seven was probably the one most similar to her. They were both a part of the crew, but not quite part of the family, and now, they were both waiting on people who they would almost certainly never have.

"Seven…" Sayuri ventured at last, sure that by now the synthenol must be kicking in because she'd never normally be so forward. "Do you…do you ever get lonely?"

The other woman didn't reply straight away. In fact, if it wasn't for Seven's enhanced senses, Sayuri would have thought the Borg hadn't heard her at all. Glancing sidelong at her companion, she followed Seven's gaze, and was unsurprised to find that it was fixed on a short, red-headed figure on the far side of the room.

"Yes." The Borg replied eventually, without turning her head.

"Me too," Sayuri finished simply, before downing what was left of her drink.


Captain Janeway accepted the glass her first officer held out to her, taking a small, token sip of the bubbling, champagne-like concoction. As she did, she surveyed the room, trying to get a feel for the mood of the crew. Truth be told, she had been unsure about authorising a party so soon after such a devastating event, especially when there were still repairs to be completed. It had been a bit of a gamble, and may have come off as insensitive, but from the way she could see everyone blowing off steam now, she knew she'd made a good call. After all, in the delta quadrant, survival was something worthy of celebration.

As was picking up new allies.

"So, I've got to ask," she said, nudging Chakotay with a pointed glance towards Mordecai and his throng with her eyes. "Now that we've had the chance to observe him for a while, what's your opinion of our new crewman?"

The first officer chuckled under his breath.

"I knew that was coming," he replied. "And it should be a simple question, but to tell you the truth, I'm still having difficulty thinking of an answer. There's just so much about him I can't even wrap my head around." Chakotay paused thoughtfully, his brow wrinkling. "One thing's for certain, though, and that is, we all owe him a great debt."

"You can say that again," Janeway agreed. On the surface, she maintained her collected command mask, but underneath, her mind was racing with ideas; it had been ever since the attack. "He's a game changer, Chakotay. The way he took out that cube…it's like nothing I've ever seen. The repairs, too; he's lessened our workload by a month. And I get the feeling we're still only scratching the surface of his potential."

"I know," the first officer said pensively. "Which makes me wonder what he's doing here; I mean, on Voyager. We're one tiny ship, lost on the other side of the galaxy; inconsequential in terms of the bigger picture. What does a being that powerful have to gain by staying with us?"

"You're worried he might turn out to be another Q?" Janeway smirked. "Maybe it's as simple as he says; that he sees in us kindred spirits whom he wants to help in any way he can. Certainly, if he has any ulterior motives, he's keeping them well hidden. He's taken to the uniform better than any cadet fresh out of the academy."

"That's just it though," Chakotay said, leaning in closer and lowering his voice. "Will it last? How long do you think someone with his abilities will be happy to follow orders? Don't get me wrong, Mordecai's a godsend, and I'm well aware of the fact that I wouldn't be standing here now if it weren't for him…I just think we should be cautious. He could take over the ship in a heartbeat if he wanted to."

"Trust me, Chakotay," the Captain replied. "If there's one thing I've learned out here, it's to always assume the worst. With that said, Mordecai's done more than enough to earn my trust. If he wished harm on us, all he had to do was sit back and let the Borg have their way."

"You're right, you're right," Chakotay conceded, raising his hands. "I guess I'm just not used to things going our way."

Janeway nodded in agreement. In truth, she shared some of her first officer's concerns, but given how desperate their situation was, she couldn't afford to hedge her bets. The fact was that Mordecai could just decide to leave at any moment, and she had to do everything in her power to prevent that from happening. He was too valuable an asset to lose. And that meant leaving her doubts at the door and setting an example for others by placing her trust in him. It was an ironic lesson she had learned these past few years, given all the double-crossings and betrayals Voyager had experienced. Yet, had it not been for her willingness to take leaps of faith, she doubted that they would have made it this far. The Maquis were proof of that.

And then, of course, there was Seven of Nine. Janeway hadn't trusted the Borg when she'd struck that unorthodox deal, but she had had been in a precarious situation, and forced to place a lot of faith in Seven after severing her from the Collective. And again, just like with the Maquis, she had been handsomely rewarded for taking a risk.

"That's odd…" Chakotay mumbled, more to himself than to her.

"What?" Janeway replied immediately, snapping back to the moment. She never liked hearing those words; usually nothing good came of them. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no…" the first officer said, cocking his head slightly. "I just thought I heard…I don't know, some sort of high-pitched sound. Like a ringing or a…a buzzing."

Janeway imitated him, listening as intently as she could, but it was impossible to hear anything over the loud music and babble of the crew.

"Some kind of electrical fault?"

"I don't think so," Chakotay shook his head, returning to the easy-going, cheerful expression he usually wore. "Ah, it was nothing; probably just some feedback from the speakers. It's gone now."

"Well," the Captain said, letting out a breath. "As long as you're sure."

"Yeah, it's fine," the first officer glanced back at the dance floor. "Care for a whirl?"

Janeway considered it, but she didn't really feel in the mood for dancing. Not so soon after what had happened. It was fine for the others, but she had to shoulder responsibility for the deaths which had occurred, as well as the task of getting the ship back together again. All in all, it didn't put her in a particularly jovial mood.

"Sorry, I'd like to, but I really should be getting back to the bridge," she politely declined. It wasn't strictly a lie; there were some unwelcome but necessary formalities she needed to attend to, deaths to report and quarters to be reassigned.

I still need to get Seven moved into a place of her own. God, it seems like years ago that we were having that conversation.

Which raised an interesting question.

Where is Seven? I hope she didn't duck out of coming.

Once again, Janeway let her eyes wander around the mess. Seven should be distinctive in one of her shiny biosuits, but the Captain couldn't see it anywhere. No plum, no silver, not even the brown one. Her heart sank a bit, although quite what would change if the Borg was present, she wasn't sure.

Then, Kathryn felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end; as if she was being watched. She turned around, looking away from the main groups near the food counter and towards the replicators in the corner. Her breath caught in her throat as she suddenly found herself staring directly into the pale blue eyes of the person she was looking for, which had undeniably been fixed on her even before she'd even looked over.

Oh wow….

She realised now why her cursory surveying of the room earlier had been ineffective. Seven was wearing casual clothes, although 'casual' hardly seemed to be a fitting word, and it made a world of difference to her appearance. The dress which hugged the tall Borg's statuesque form was simply gorgeous, and complimented her fair skin perfectly. Coupled with the thick tresses of long, golden hair which cascaded across her shoulders and framed her angelic face, Seven was quite honestly breath-taking. Janeway just stood there for a moment, raking her eyes over every part of the blonde's body, before she realised how inappropriate she was being.

Jesus Christ, get a grip on yourself. She's your astrometrics officer, not a piece of meat.

God, but she's so incredible. Just look at that figure…

"Kathryn?...Captain?" she was numbly aware that Chakotay had said something, but missed it completely, lost in the depths of Seven's enchanting gaze.

"Huh…wha?"

Great. Very captainly.

"I was just saying, give me a comm when you want me to come and relieve you," her number one was looking at her with a vaguely concerned expression. "Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Fine…fine," Kathryn couldn't take anymore. That simple look from Seven was doing dangerous things to her insides, and she'd already been too careless with her open appreciation. With a strong exertion of will and more than a bit of reluctance, she broke off their eye contact and turned back to Chakotay. "Sorry, I was just…lost in thought for a moment. Thank you, Commander. Have a good evening."

With that, Janeway hurriedly pressed her still half-full glass into her bewildered first officer's hands, and made a beeline for the door as graciously as she could.

"You too," he called after her, looking with bemusement at the two drinks he was now carrying.


As Seven of Nine watched the Captain leave, a pang of hurt and confusion flared in her stomach. Janeway had looked at her for the first time that evening, and then immediately departed, without even saying farewell to the other members of the senior staff as was her custom at such gatherings. It could not be a coincidence.

What had she done wrong?

Seven mentally replayed everything which had transpired since the last time Janeway and she had amicably conversed earlier that day. She analysed every action she'd taken, and whether any of them could possibly have caused the Captain to react the way she just had. By the time she had run through each instance a few seconds later, there was only one thing she could identify as a possible factor: her present appearance.

Was it insufficient or even…repulsive to Kathryn? The thought that a simple glance at the Borg was enough to make Janeway flee the mess hall filled Seven with such pain, that she felt the urge to secrete liquid from her one remaining human eye. Nevertheless, it was the only possible explanation. Seven had been apprehensive about wearing the 'dress', as it exposed more of her skin than her normal attire, and thus revealed more of her implants…more of her imperfections. In spite of that, she had decided to try and replicate one for herself, as she had seen Kathryn wear similar garments to these informal functions. She had hoped it might impress the Captain, and be a 'pleasant surprise'. Apparently though, she had made a major miscalculation, because it had actually had the opposite effect. Perhaps her implants were a reminder of the recent traumatic events which had nearly claimed the Captain's life.

There was only one logical recourse if she intended to continue with her plan to establish a romantic relationship with Kathryn. She had to ascertain what it was that Janeway found so abhorrent about her appearance, so she could ensure that it would never be exposed again. And the only way to do that was to follow the Captain and enquire. The thought made Seven even sadder. She did not want to experience further rejection so soon after the first time, but there was little sense in delaying. The sooner she identified the flaw, the sooner she could attempt to compensate for it.

"I must go," Seven said abruptly, her voice devoid of any inflection.

Sayuri looked at her and nodded, as if she knew what Seven was thinking.

"Good luck."

Seven did not understand what was implied by that comment, but she quickly discarded it. Nothing was currently relevant except for reaching the Captain. The Borg woman took a few loping strides, before pausing to remove her high heels so she could move faster. That was the one and only advantage to this form of clothing; the shoes were detachable. She did not understand why the Doctor still insisted on incorporating such an inefficient style of footwear into her biosuits. Setting off at a brisk walk, knowing that her faster pace and longer legs would allow her to gain ground on Janeway, Seven navigated the maze of corridors, glad that they were mostly empty. She did not know where Kathryn was headed, but it was likely that regardless of her ultimate goal, she would stop at her quarters first to change. That would be the most suitable place for them to converse.

"Computer, locate Captain Janeway," she ordered, just to be sure.

"Captain Janeway is in her quarters," came the reply, confirming Seven's 'hunch'.

As she walked, Seven could still make out areas of damage from the battle they had fought so recently. The halls had been cleared of major debris, as well as cleaned thoroughly to remove all the blood, both Borg and human, but there were still many scorch marks and cracked wall panels visible. 'Fortunately', astrometrics had been vacant at the time of the attack, and had thus been mostly ignored by the Borg.

Before long, Seven stood outside the door to Janeway's living quarters. She hesitated momentarily, before pressing the buzzer, remembering that it was impolite to enter someone else's private home unannounced. It would have been more efficient to simply walk in and remove the possibility of being denied entry, but this time she was determined to adhere to everything she had learned. Presenting herself favourably to Kathryn was paramount.

Seven was also acutely aware that she may be about to experience more negative emotions. The prospect was an unwelcome one, but it was necessary.

Failure is not an option.

"Who is it?" the Captain's voice sounded over the intercom after a few seconds.

"Seven of Nine," she replied, unsettled by how dry her mouth had become.

More seconds ticked by, and with each one that passed, Seven's heart sank a little lower.

"Come in," the reply came eventually, and Seven allowed herself to exhale. At least Kathryn was not so repulsed that she could not bear to view her again.

Feeling very self-conscious, and trying to angle herself in such a way that her Borg arm was obscured from view, Seven entered and stopped just inside the doors. She immediately spotted Janeway, seated on the edge of the couch and finishing the process of changing into her uniform by affixing the four gold pips to her collar. Seven did not dare looking directly at the older woman, fearing the disgust she might see in her eyes. Instead, she focussed on a point just below Kathryn's face.

"Seven," the Captain said, betraying nothing with her tone. "What can I do for you?"

"Captain," Seven returned the greeting, resolutely staring at Janeway's hands. It occurred to her now that she was completely unsure of the best way to broach the subject. Her 'gut' told her that revealing her romantic feelings would not be prudent at this juncture, yet she was unsure of how to phrase her question in such a way as to disguise the truth behind its intent.

"I would like to apologize," she began. The urge to emit saline liquid from her eye had returned, along with a sensation that her stomach was trying to digest itself, although her Borg systems assured her this was not the case. It was very distressing, but Seven forced her expression to remain as neutral as possible.

"Apologize? Apologize for what? What have you done?" Janeway's tone remained diplomatic, but there was a small touch of the warmth which Seven was more used to.

"For my appearance. It was not my intention to cause you discomfort."

"Your appearance?" the Captain repeated, apparently still confused. "Seven, I don't understand."

"At the party," Seven said, her voice beginning to strain as she fought back the urge to cry. "You observed me for ten continuous seconds, then immediately departed without saying goodbye to the other guests, a most anomalous behaviour for you. It is apparent that some aspect of my appearance is repellent to you, since that is all that has changed since we last interacted. I…I wish to know which part, so I can ensure that you will not have to view it again."

Seven risked a brief glance at Janeway's face. Her worst fears were confirmed when she saw that the older woman wore an expression which could only be described as 'horror-struck'. It was enough to break her already strained resolve, and despite her best efforts, a few rebellious tears began to leak from her eye.

I knew it. I am imperfect. She is disgusted by me; by the fact that I am still Borg. I should not have come here.

Suddenly wanting nothing more than to retreat to the quiet safety of the cargo bay and her alcove, Seven was about to turn and flee when Kathryn finally spoke.


"Oh no," Janeway whispered, feeling a very real pain in her chest that could only be described as her heart breaking. "Oh god, no no no, Seven, that wasn't…that isn't what I think at all. You've misunderstood."

What have you done? What were you thinking, just running off like that? Like some kind of disgusting coward. Kathryn the woman was pounding at the bars of her prison, screaming at the Captain. And she was putting up a pretty good fight for someone who had been so crushed just days ago. Just look at poor Seven. You heartless bitch, how could you ever make her feel like that?

I…I…I didn't…

No, no excuses. This time, you shut the fuck up and let me do the talking.

With that settled as quickly as it had begun, Kathryn mentally removed her command mask and allowed her features to soften in compassion.

"Seven…" she began again, standing up and closing the distance between them, although stopping short of actually touching the Borg woman. "Seven…look at me…please."

Slowly, as if afraid of being struck at any moment, Seven turned back around. Her porcelain features were tear-streaked and trembling, and Kathryn felt another sharp pang of guilt. Regardless of anything else, she had to set this right.

"Seven, I am so sorry if that's what you thought. Please believe me when I say that I could never ever find any part of you 'repellent'." She reached out as she spoke, ready to pull back immediately if Seven retreated, but the Borg allowed her to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. Kathryn made sure to touch one of the starburst implants there, stroking her thumb over both the metal and the flesh. Some improper thoughts snuck into her mind at the electrifying contact of skin on skin, but she shoved them aside impatiently.

"Seven, you…you…" Janeway faltered, suddenly realising how close she was to revealing what she really felt. The words were on the tip of her tongue; any number of things which she yearned to say.

Seven, you are absolutely the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

Seven, you are the most incredible person I have ever met; you mean the world to me.

Seven, you are the woman I love so much it hurts just to think about it.

Seven…you are the perfection you seek.

"…you look really great in that dress."

Now who's the coward? The Captain snickered, before Kathryn violently stamped her back down again.

Seven sniffled slightly, but behind the tears, her eyes brightened.

"Really?" she asked, the hopefulness in her voice sandpapering Kathryn's already aching heart. "You are not attempting to 'spare my feelings'?"

"No, I mean it, really," Janeway replied. "Seven, you should never be ashamed; not of your body, not of who you are, not of anything."

Kathryn longed to pull the younger woman into a hug; a tight, comforting, loving embrace which would convey everything she seemed unable to say. Instead, she settled for simply continuing to rub Seven's shoulder.

"Acceptable," the Borg woman said eventually, her demeanour slowly returning to normal after her sudden, uncharacteristic emotional display. "I am pleased to know that I was mistaken in my initial assessment."

Then, her brow furrowed in thought.

"If that is the case, what was the meaning of your sudden departure?"

"…nothing really," Kathryn bluffed. Her mind was in turmoil, and she decided that it was best to keep the truth to herself…at least for now. "I realised that I had stayed later than I meant to, and that I was needed on the bridge."

Seven looked slightly abashed at that.

"Apologies, Captain, I have delayed you from your duties even further."

"It's quite all right," Janeway replied. Now that Seven was pretty much herself again, she reluctantly lowered her hand and broke the contact between them, immediately missing the sensation. "I'd rather that we cleared up this misunderstanding now. I…I wouldn't want you to return to you alcove feeling sad."

"Thank you, Captain," the Borg glanced at where Janeway's hand had been, and for one second, the older woman thought she saw a flicker of loss in her companion's eyes.

"Seven, please. When we're off duty or alone like this, you can call me Kathryn."

The smile which lit up the blonde's face was like the sun parting the clouds on a rainy afternoon.

"Yes, Kathryn, I will comply."

Witnessing such a display of unguarded joy, and hearing her true name on Seven's lips for the first time was utterly enchanting. The way she whispered it, almost like a reverent prayer, made Janeway quite weak in the knees.

Oh wow. Maybe that was a mistake. An amazing, soul-healing mistake.

Silence enveloped them for a few long seconds, and Kathryn could feel herself teetering on the edge of an invisible precipice. There was no doubt in her mind that if Seven suddenly swooped in to kiss her at that moment, she wouldn't put up one shred of resistance.

In fact, she silently begged that it would happen. She was tired of fighting herself over this, but she was also paralysed by some innate inability to be the one that made the first move. It was as if it were somehow more acceptable to acquiesce to a request from Seven than to initiate, or at least, attempt to initiate a relationship herself. That kind of passive mentality did not sit well with Kathryn at all. The only reason she could think of for feeling that way was a desire to be sure that Seven truly understood the implications of a partnership.

It was an unfair demand to make really, considering that the past few days had demonstrated to Janeway that she barely understood them herself.

"I have detained you long enough," the Borg said at last, backing away slightly towards the door. Kathryn just stood there limply, knowing that if she tried to move, she would probably collapse, or scream.

Christ, this is killing me.

"Yes, I should go…bridge…yeah." Oh for god's sake. "Goodnight, Seven. Sweet dreams."

"Goodnight…Kathryn."

And with that, she was gone, leaving an utterly scrambled Janeway in her wake. The Captain stared at where the Borg had been moments ago, trying to make sense of all the conflicting messages in her head and re-establish some kind of coherent thinking pattern to cut through the cognitive dissonance she was experiencing. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry; she felt like doing both. In the end, Kathryn settled for an uncharacteristic display of her own, and hurled an empty coffee mug across the room to shatter on the unyielding bulkhead.

Maybe B'Elanna has things figured out after all. She thought, before sheepishly retrieving a dustpan and brush.