Here they were. Voyager was safely docked. The crew had disembarked to meet with the friends and families waiting for them. After finishing her last mission report, Captain Janeway put on her gala uniform to attend the party that Starfleet command was throwing to celebrate their return.
The entire Voyager crew was there tonight, introducing fellow crew members to their loved ones, being stared at, awkwardly approached and followed around by starry-eyed Starfleet cadets and spoken to with visible interest by high-ranking officers.
Until the debriefing of the mission was complete, Voyager's crew was bound by Starfleet regulations – no civilian journalists had been allowed at the party. Starfleet command would communicate with the public and the media about Voyager's odyssey on their own terms.
In her seven-year outdated gala uniform, Janeway was doing her best to chat with Admiral Paris while trying to keep track of her crew in the throng of guests – old habits. It would take a while before she stopped worrying about everyone's whereabouts during shore leaves. Not that any of them seemed to need her attention tonight though.
Lieutenant Tom Paris, the no-good son of the Admiral and elite pilot that Janeway had handpicked from a penitentiary colony to be Voyager's helmsman, had completely turned his life around in seven years. He was now crooning over his newborn baby girl in her mother's arms. B'Lana Torres was barely out of sick bay after giving birth to her but had insisted on coming with Tom – these Klingon women were tough.
The ship's Doctor, who had vastly improved his social skills but hadn't been able to pick a name for himself in all these years, was mingling with a delighted expression on his holographic face, talking to everyone who cared to listen and inviting young cadet women to dance, charming them with the sheer prestige of his title and with his advanced conversational subroutines.
Ensign Harry Kim looked younger and more uncomfortable by the minute as his mother, completely impervious to how much her son had grown into the self-confident man that he now was, wouldn't let go of him and kept asking him aloud if he hadn't forgotten to practice the clarinet daily and why he hadn't been promoted yet.
Ensign Samantha Wildman was finally reunited with her husband. She had realized that she was pregnant only after getting lost in the Delta Quadrant seven years ago. Tonight, young Naomi, the first baby born on Voyager, was meeting her dad for the very first time. Naomi was a sweet and clever little girl and she was doing a pretty good job of breaking the ice between her estranged parents.
Lieutenant-Commander Tuvok, as Vulcan as ever, was standing alone in a corner, looking vaguely disapproving and watching the party intently as if he had been appointed its Chief of Security. Vulcans were culturally unable to relax and have fun. Voyager's return to Earth had been so sudden that Tuvok's wife and children were still on Vulcan and Janeway knew he was just waiting for a leave to be reunited with them. Not that a Vulcan would ever admit to such a thing as feeling impatient.
Janeway bit back a smile. Reg Barclay was edging in Tuvok's direction, looking self-conscious, fumbling and tripping all over himself. It was thanks to Reg, their unexpected but devoted friend on Earth, who had never stopped looking for a way to communicate with them, that Voyager had been able to re-establish a contact with their home world on a regular basis, thus rekindling the crew's hope. The Captain could only pray that Tuvok's social skills wouldn't make the introvert human scientist regret his efforts to mingle.
Nobody had come to greet Chakotay or Seven upon their return. Seven only had an old aunt that she could barely remember and Chakotay's family was in Mexico. Chakotay, all warm smiles, was working his way through the party, socializing effortlessly and being introduced to crewmates' families. Seven, statuesque as always in her blue biosuit, her blond hair impeccable in her usual up-do, was stiffly following him around, looking like she wanted very much to leave and letting him do the small talk.
― So what do you think, Captain?
Janeway stared vacantly at the Admiral, realizing that she hadn't heard a word of what he had just said. She was too busy looking at Chakotay's hand on the small of Seven's back and fighting the urge to cross the room and swat it off. Seven had said nothing and allowed the contact but seemed deeply uncomfortable. Almost as uncomfortable as she was when –
The Captain's heart sank for the second time since their return to the Alpha Quadrant. Seven looked almost as uncomfortable as she was when Janeway was the one touching her.
ooo
Not that Janeway had ever touched Seven in any inappropriate way, though.
But unlike the former Borg drone, Janeway was a warm person. She had always been, even at work. She never thought twice before squeezing a crew member's forearm or shoulder, patting them in the back or hugging them for support, motivation or comfort. Well, except for Tuvok of course. She had learned a long time ago that Vulcans, even old friends, were usually best left alone.
And except for Seven, the only person on board who was as cold and aloof as a Vulcan. The young woman never initiated any physical contact of any kind with anyone if she could help it. The Doctor had probably been able to convince her to take dancing lessons with him because he was a hologram.
Sometimes, Janeway got carried away and spontaneously put her hand on the young woman's arm or shoulder. Whenever that happened, Seven became stiffer than usual if such a thing was possible and looked deeply uncomfortable. She never shrugged her off but avoided the Captain's eyes and looked so utterly dismayed that Kathryn had learned to refrain from touching her.
It had cost her at first. When Janeway had severed her from her collective, Seven had become the child she never had. The Captain believed in her. She was there for her as a guide and a mentor during her difficult transition from being a Borg drone with no will of her own to becoming an individual again. Seven could be as infuriating as any rebel teenage daughter sometimes, but she was also hugely rewarding. Janeway was so proud of her, of the way she adapted and of her many accomplishments. She always had to suppress her first impulse to pat her, hug her or kiss her as any mother would her daughter.
But then, they had started playing Velocity together in the holodeck. Remembering their games, Janeway smiled quietly to herself. Seven was fiercely competitive and not a good sport at all. Her Borg mind kept telling her that since she was younger, stronger and faster than the Captain, it was only logical that she should win. She hated losing to her and was ready to drop from exhaustion before conceding defeat.
During these Velocity games, in her tight sport outfit, with her arms and shoulders bare, her chest heaving, flushed cheeks, flashing blue eyes, and the rare occurrence of her hair dishevelled by all the running around, her Borg coldness completely gone, Seven was drop-dead gorgeous.
When they played together, Janeway's heart kept beating too fast, and not because of the game. She was losing points and her distraction had everything to do with the attention she was paying to the gracious and energetic way Seven was moving around the holodeck, to the loose strands of hair curling around her face and the sweat glistening on her fair skin.
At night, Janeway would stay wide awake in her private quarters, staring helplessly at her bedroom ceiling, and the reason why she couldn't sleep had nothing to do with a mother's love for her daughter. She remembered the sweat rolling down Seven's skin and wanted to lick it off, to find out what her damp skin and Borg metal implants tasted like on her tongue. She remembered the pout on Seven's full lips when she had lost and wanted to kiss it away. She wanted –
The Captain suddenly became too busy to play Velocity with Seven. She had no other choice. She reorganized her schedule to stay away from the former drone as much as possible and they hardly crossed paths after that. Whenever Seven stood at her work station behind her on the bridge, Janeway could feel the young woman's ice-blue gaze burning a hole in the back of her head and it was all than she could bear.
Sometimes she would catch Seven's quizzical look on her during a senior officers' briefing, and it was almost too much for her. Seven didn't understand why the Captain had cooled things off between them. Janeway wanted nothing more than to make her forget about her silent question and spend time with her again, talk to her again. Seven had such a brilliant mind, unique conversational style and raw sensitivity. She missed her so very much.
And she wanted her so much. She wanted to touch her in a way she was quite sure nobody had ever touched the young woman before. In a way she had never touched a woman before. In a way she was pretty sure was completely inappropriate and would elicit no favourable response from Seven. How could she, a woman of her age, old enough to be Seven's mother, be wanted back by this brilliant, breathtakingly beautiful young woman who could choose anyone on board and had found no one to her liking?
But avoiding Seven did the Captain little good. She was still desperately missing her, wanting her. Night after night, as she couldn't sleep, she kept thinking about her, resisting the urge to get up and pay a visit to cargo bay 2 where the young woman was regenerating, unconscious in her alcove, and soothe her aching soul by watching her sleep for a few moments.
Janeway had visited her once in that manner, secretly, in the middle of the night. Standing in her alcove with her eyes closed, a blank expression on her face and her body perfectly still, arms and legs slightly apart, Seven looked like a cyber Sleeping Beauty, just waiting for a kiss from the right person to wake her up.
Seven was lovely and asleep and suspected nothing. But to Janeway, it had been like walking into the young woman's bedroom uninvited. The Captain had felt so ashamed of herself and so creepy for taking advantage of her in such a state of vulnerability that she had never returned. She had even modified the security protocols of the cargo bay doors to allow Seven more privacy when she was regenerating.
That one time though, knowing that Seven wouldn't hear a word of it, Janeway had whispered to her the secret that she couldn't possibly confess when the young woman was awake.
I love you, Seven.