Disclaimer: ST: VOY isn't mine.

Author's Note: This fic is far from dead, believe me. It's sad that my time to write is sorely lacking. :(

Acknowledgment: Thanks for the beta, polomare. :)

Understated Difficulties
by mistress amethyst une

Chapter 11

Her back was turned to him when he entered Astrometrics. She did not turn to greet him. Even she knew not to welcome misfortune.

"I need to talk to you."

"My predictions were accurate."

"Sev-"

"This is not a scenario for which I am ill-prepared, Commander. There is no need for flowery language. Speak."

"She needs me."

"Always. I am aware."

When Seven said it, it sounded like profanity. 'Always.' It was a beautiful word. It was a word he and Kathryn often used when answering each other's veiled pleas to be eternally with the other. "Are you with me on this?" was a question Kathryn simply didn't need to ask though he supposed she presented him with the query to rest her heart at ease. The Delta Quadrant was the embodiment of uncertainty itself and he could not fault her for asking. He would always be with her though sometimes he was with her in ways she did not approve of, supporting her in the ways he thought best, ways she sometimes viewed as opposition. No matter, he was always with her, eternally loving her and struggling with her as he stood by her side. 'Always.' A 'yes' simply wasn't enough. A 'yes' could be temporary. 'Always' was the perfect manifestation of permanence, of utter trust and surrender to the other, of no doubt in the other half of one's soul. Never had he used 'always' with Seven. How had his soon-to-be-former paramour found out about that?

As if reading his mind, she replied, "Lieutenant Paris taught me about twentieth century espionage following our encounter with the Hirogen. The doctor thought 'a little practical history' would be complementary to our social lessons. It was mostly a futile exercise but I did learn the value of 'overhearing.'"

"Eavesdropping," he muttered. She paid him no mind.

He turned his back on her, thinking she was probably still too irrational to talk. Not once had she turned to face him during their short discourse. Momentarily, he stood there. His back met hers; a huge distance that was now more than physical separated them. Heartbreak creates valleys of great depth and width between people, chasms one cannot cross, giant gashes that are part of the never-healing landscape of what once might have held great promise as a union of souls. He took a step and began to move toward the door. There was no reaching her now. Maybe someday a bridge could be built between them. Today was definitely not someday.

"You are in error," she uttered just as the doors opened to let him out.

"How so?"

Their backs were still turned to each other. He was expecting her to plead with him to stay.

"She does not need you. She never did and never will. The captain only needs the captain. That will never change."

She wanted to plead. She wanted to tell him, "choose me, love me, need me like you need her, need me the way she doesn't need you, need me like I need you." That was what she wanted to say. Unfortunately, silence will not scream for anyone.

"You don't know Kathryn Janeway like I do," he told her.

He left without another word, gaining a bit of solace in the fact that Seven had not begged him to stay. She handled it better than he had anticipated.

He overestimated her.

He never saw Seven's eyes during that conversation, how they'd watered, hungry for an affection that, however briefly, had been hers and, now, surely, would never be hers again. At least, not from him. Some could argue that what little she'd had with him hadn't been real, was in fact a pale imitation of what real affection was; it didn't matter because it had all been very real to her. She had lost something precious, traded it for something that hadn't really existed, something only she'd seen and felt. How could she not have anticipated this and made the appropriate changes to avoid this pain? It seemed that humanity had blunted her once sharp sense for efficiency. She didn't know if this was beneficial or not. It certainly didn't seem beneficial on the surface but a voice in the back of her mind wished to look beyond that, a voice that had no trace of the Collective's wisdom, a voice that was, at the moment, still being drowned by the silence of her tears.

Seven had maintained excellent control over her voice during that talk. Only she knew about the tears. She cried silently, looking over her star charts even as the liquid skewed her vision. One tear slid down her cheek and onto her lip just as she bit it in an uncharacteristic gesture. She tasted her sadness. She wondered about the differences in salinity between blood and tears. She now understood that both fluids meant grievous injury. It was only then that she truly realized the magnitude of a wound that does not bleed, one that would stay with her as long as her heart, imprisoned by metal and nanoprobes, continued to pump blood and tiny machines throughout her flesh and technological components, as long as she functioned.

Back in Sickbay, Kathryn opened her eyes and became vaguely aware of the universe having shifted in her favor. She wasn't happy about that. Even as the pain receded from her body, her skin covered in strange red welts, she couldn't bring herself to breathe easily. Despite being free from the punishing embrace of the isotropic restraints, she still couldn't shake the feel of being pinned down and paralyzed. He would come to visit her soon enough. She didn't want him to. She didn't want to hear it. Couldn't the venom have rendered her deaf even temporarily? She wanted silence, time alone with her thoughts, with her voice ringing in her ears, her voice and her voice alone. No, deafness could never grant her that. Her mind didn't belong to her; it belonged to Voyager and its voice would always be the first thing she heard upon waking, the last she heard before sleep. The thrum of the engines, the vibrations beneath her feet wherever she stood...that sound ruled her. Sometimes, at times like these, Voyager would not be the last thing she would hear. She would hear the sounds of her own screams of agony or worse, the melody of guilt would play in her head as she slept in an unfamiliar place fearing what else, who else she would lose.

"Don't let him come," she silently wished to nobody in particular. "Don't let him tell me. I'm-"

Her soundless plea was cut off by the all too familiar hiss of the Sickbay doors opening as Chakotay entered.

"...afraid."

Not wanting something won't keep it from shoving itself down your throat once its worked itself into the inevitability of your future. If anything, the undesirable just attacks you with even more of a vengeance, making sure you see it even in your dreams, smell it in every familiar scent, touch it in every warm inch of humanity you deal with on a daily basis, hear it in every note and noise, taste its bitterness in everything that passes your lips...

To put it bluntly, she was screwed.

C/7 are now over. :)