"Seven?"
"Yes?"
"Do you ever… remember? About being a kid. You know, before the Borg took you."
Seven's hands stilled on her console. Beside her, Naomi Wildman remained silent, head tilted so that the light from Astrometrics caught her freckles, eyebrows puckering around her spikes.
"I… was very young."
"Neelix said you were six."
"That is still young."
"But I'm only three, and look how much I remember!"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Well… because. You're my friend, aren't you?"
Seven looked at her. "I suppose so. Yes."
"And friends tell each other stuff, right?"
"If Lieutenant Paris and Ensign Kim are any indication, friends tell each other far too much."
"You know pretty much everything about me. So now it's your turn. I want to know about you."
"…All right. What would you like to know?"
"Did you ever dance? Outside, I mean? In the sunshine, with butterflies floating around you and the wind playing in your hair?"
"Dance… outside?"
"Yeah. You know. Not on a starship. Nature."
"I…"
/Daddy, look! A butterfly! A pink one! Oooh, help me catch it, please!
Annika, be careful. Don't get too close to the water.
But look, Mommy, I'm a ballerina. And ballerinas dance by lakes. Right, Daddy?/
"Seven?"
"What?"
"Did you hear me? About the dancing?"
Seven blinked and shifted her weight, turning back to the console. "No. No I did not dance."
"Oh."
/Annika. My little ballerina./