32. "It looks good on you." (D/7/C)

(Author's Note: This story takes place after "Endgame".)

/

Seven had expected to feel overwhelmed at Starfleet Command's honor banquet for the returning Voyager crew, but to her surprise, she was beginning to enjoy herself.

The ballroom was so spacious and the windows along both sides so tall that the crowds didn't trouble her. Their talk and the music had receded into simple background noise. The smooth patterned marble tiles, the chandelier with its teardrop crystals and the Starfleet insignia everywhere appealed to her sense of order. Nobody tried to talk to her. Either they were intimidated, or saving their questions for her debriefing. A scrum of journalists had gathered outside the building, but fortunately for her (and them), Security was keeping them at a distance.

People stared, but she was ready for that. She had dressed up tonight with the same perfectionism she applied to every new skill, turning her ex-Borg body into a work of art with a steel-grey gown and diamonds in her hair. If everything else was changing, so could she.

The most delightful, terrifying, and life-altering change of all, however, was the man approaching her and holding out his hand.

"Would you like to dance?"" asked Chakotay.

His black hair gleamed in the light of the chandelier overhead. His white-and-gold dress uniform hugged his frame. The dimple in his right cheek was showing. She had never known it was possible to have so many aesthetic opinions about one person, but every time she looked at him, she found something else to admire. As for the way he looked at her, it was lightyears away from the curious, greedy or hostile gazes of people who didn't know her. His dark eyes seemed to see all of her, soul and body, and still find her beautiful.

"I should warn you," she said. "The last man I danced with ended up in Sickbay with a torn ligament."

"I'm a boxer, remember? I've had worse in the ring."

She smiled - smiling came more and more naturally these days - and let him lead her onto the dance floor. A rumba was playing. One of his warm hands laced through hers, the other settled on her back, only a few layers of silk away from her skin. Their hips swayed to the rhythm of the song. When he spun her around, making her skirt flare out and the lights blur into shining streaks across her vision, she was fearlessly, shamelessly happy.

Until she saw the Doctor.

He wasn't dancing. He was sitting alone at one of the small tables reserved for those drinking champagne and eating hors d'oeuvres, only of course he couldn't, since none of the food was holographic. He hadn't updated his uniform; against the cream-colored marble and the white tablecloth, he stood out like a spill of black and teal ink. He had a padd in one hand, but it had slipped out of his fingers. He was watching her and Chakotay.

His eyes were two black holes, draining all the light and energy from the room.

He broke eye contact at once, but she'd already recognized that look. The last time she'd seen it, he had been on his knees, saying he loved her. She had told him his cognitive algorithms were malfunctioning. That day, she had learned the worst part of breaking someone's heart. You couldn't do it without breaking some of your own.

"What's wrong?" Chakotay asked.

She realized she was holding his hand too tight, loosened her grip and gestured with a tilt of her head. Once he caught sight of the Doctor, intuitive as he was, he understood. After all, the entire senior crew had heard that declaration.

"Didn't you tell him? About … you and me?"

"I believe he knows now."

Seven flushed with guilt. She wondered ironically where all her Borg transparency had gone. Did falling in love always lead to keeping secrets, or was that just her?

"He's still your friend." Chakotay's voice was kind, but firm. "Even if he did hope for something else. He has the right to hear it from you."

"I never wanted to hurt him."

"All the more reason why you should be honest."

"I should." She sighed. Even though she knew perfection was impossible among individuals, this was her first romance and she wanted very much for it to go well. Her happiness should not come at the cost of someone else's sorrow. If there was anything she could do to help, she had to try … and she had better try now, because the debriefings would start tomorrow, and who knew when they would see each other next?

"Excuse me," she said a few moments later, as the song was winding down. Chakotay let go of her with an encouraging squeeze of her hand.

/

It was seeing her smile that hurt the Doctor most.

Seven had never been demonstrative. He'd actually caught her practicing her smile in the reflection of a console once, as if she wasn't sure how it worked. He used to devote embarrassing amounts of processing power to thinking of witty remarks just to see her raise an eyebrow. For Chakotay she could smile, even when the man's remarks were not remotely entertaining. She looked unbearably beautiful, too, wearing a strapless, full-skirted dress that rippled like moonlit water when she danced, with stars caught in the golden waves of her hair. Beautiful, and nothing like the Seven he knew.

How could she have changed so much without him even noticing?

He didn't mean to catch her eye, but before he knew it she was coming over. No smiles or sparkling eyes for him; she was inscrutable as a drone. She stood in front of him and locked her hands behind her back, gown and all.

It was the first time she'd spoken to him since he'd disabled her emotional failsafe. Lately, it seemed to take a medical emergency just to get the two of them in the same room.

"Seven, is something wrong?" He stood up, reaching for the tricorder in his pocket. "Are you feeling unwell?"

"No."

"Ah." His professional concern faded away into wariness. "In that case … is there anything else?"

"You have been watching me with Commander Chakotay. I assume you know by now that he and I are in a relationship."

"Yes, I know. I'm programmed to interpret body language."

Did he have to sound so much like the artificial life form he was? He had never been self-conscious about that in her company before, as it was something they had in common. But tonight, she seemed to be moving far away from him to join the world of organics, which he could imitate but never quite reach. It was a unique kind of torture for him to watch with superhuman precision how her face flushed, her eyes dilated and her body relaxed in another man's arms.

"I should have told you.".

"You certainly should have," he said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "I … God, you let me think it was just your holoprogram. I feel like such a fool."

"You never asked. You simply assumed I was incapable of a real relationship." Not so inscrutable after all; steel-cold anger flashed in her eyes and rang in her voice.

"Well, pardon me for being concerned about your health. The last time you explored your feelings for the Commander, you wound up unconscious on the holodeck."

"If you disabled the failsafe correctly, you should have no cause to expect a recurrence."

"If - ?" He sputtered. "You know I did, and that is beside the point! Do you really believe a time of massive disruption in our lives like this," he gestured around the room to indicate Starfleet Command, Earth, and the whole unfamiliar concept of planetside living, "Is the time to complicate things even more with another change?"

"I will adapt," Seven shot back. "We all will."

From his vantage point in the corner of the ballroom, the Doctor had to admit she had a point. She and Chakotay, after all, were far from the only ones experiencing a paradigm shift right now. Paris and Torres were at Starfleet Medical with their newborn daughter; the Doctor had checked in on them shortly before leaving for the party and found them exhausted, but delighted. Naomi Wildman had met her father for the first time. Icheb had been introduced to several Academy professors and was peppering them with one earnest question after another. Captain Janeway was already arguing with several Admirals on behalf of the Maquis and Equinox crews, ready to move heaven and earth to give them a fresh start.

No,it was the Doctor himself who was afraid of change tonight. Judging by the pointed look Seven gave him, she could see through his bravado as well as she always had.

"I suppose you're right," he said, dropping into his seat with a defeated sigh. "Adaptability was always one of your strengths."

"Yours as well, Doctor." She sat down opposite him, rather awkward with her unfamiliar long skirt. "Whatever happens to us, I do not wish to lose our friendship."

"Ah, Seven … " There were too many things his heart wanted him to say, so he settled on the simplest: "Neither do I."

"How do we proceed?" She shrugged. "This was never part of your curriculum."

"Perhaps it should have been. Lesson Eighteen: Better As Friends." He put on a peppy voice, flourished his hands as if presenting a title card, then shrugged and laughed at himself. "No, not really. Attempting to reduce the infinite complexity of personal relationships to a series of protocol exercises may be the silliest thing I've ever done."

"You did teach me how to dance," she said softly.

"Well, there is that."

For a moment, all he had to do was close his eyes, and the two of them were perched on barstools at Sandrine's. He was encouraging her not to give up on love quite yet, and she was telling him he was easier to talk to than any date. He could hear Sinatra over the crackle-pop of a log fire and feel the warm silk of Seven's dress … but that was not a memory he should be thinking of right now. He dragged himself back to the present, in which a holographic orchestra was playing the Snowflake Waltz from The Nutcracker and Seven, his friend, was on the other side of the table.

Her outfit was similar, though. That still worried him, and for the first time, he could begin to articulate why it did.

"Just … answer me one thing, won't you, before we can move on?"

"What is it?"

"Your new style, your behavior, your … adaptations … " He struggled to find a non-accusing turn of phrase. It wasn't her fault that she had bowled him over like this. "It's all so very sudden, you see. Are you doing this for him, or for yourself?"

Seven's human eyebrow quirked up in such an unmistakable way that, even before she spoke, it reassured him that she wasn't about to change too much.

"Not so sudden for me," she said wryly. "You simply did not notice … and yes, I am doing this for myself."

That was a hard truth to swallow. She was right, he should have noticed; in retrospect, there had been so many signs. The Chakotay holoprogram, obviously. Unimatrix Zero. The away mission to Ledos, from which she'd returned with a handmade blanket, a sun-kissed face and an interest in anthropology. Learning to cook, when the Doctor used to have to badger her to consume anything but protein shakes. She hadn't needed him as a mentor in a long time, while he'd been clinging to that role as an excuse to keep her closer.

Good Lord, no wonder she'd been avoiding him instead.

For a moment, he had to make a conscious effort not to say something he would later regret. Something scathing about the Commander's age, or his track record with female colleagues, or the unconfirmed but persistent rumours of his history with the Captain … but there was no way that argument would end in anything but disaster. He couldn't have her love, but he was damned if he'd lose her respect.

"It looks good on you," he said.

"Formal wear?"

"That too … but I was going to say happiness."

"Thank you."

She actually smiled at him: a warm, spontaneous smile that reached all the way to her eyes. His compliment was truer than she knew.

Over her shoulder, the Doctor could see Commander Chakotay heading slowly toward them around the edges of the crowd. He had coolly claimed an entire tray of strawberry tarts from the buffet table. Evidently he knew Seven's favourite food as well. The two men caught each other's eyes over the top of her head and exchanged a look of silent understanding. I'm trusting you with her, thought the Doctor. You had better be worth it.

"He's over there," said the Doctor with a nod.

Seven did nothing so obvious as call or wave. She only turned her head, but not even the diamonds in her hair were any brighter than her eyes.