"The key is under the mat." (J&7)
(Author's Note: This story takes place between the fourth season of Voyager and the second season of Picard.
For anyone who refuses to acknowledge "Stardust City Rag" as canon - and I understand completely - please skip the fourth drabble.)
/
U. S. S. Voyager, Cargo Bay Two, 2374
"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer your own quarters?" Captain Janeway asks, looking up at Seven where she stands on the platform of her regeneration alcove.
"It would be inefficient to transfer the alcove. This chamber is adequate." Green lighting. A row of alcoves. Various containers. More similar to a Borg cube than any other place on the ship.
"I don't know … " Janeway frowns. "It doesn't seem right to have a person sleeping in the cargo bay."
"I am Borg."
"Believe me, I noticed." The captain rolls her eyes and hands over a padd. "Here's your security code, anyway. Once it's activated, no one will be able to come in here without your permission. It's not ideal, but at least you'll have privacy."
"Privacy is irrelevant."
Seven registers compassion in the older woman's eyes before looking away. This, too, should be irrelevant … but somehow it is not.
/
U. S. S. Voyager, Holodeck Two, 2378
"Computer, activate program Seven of Nine: Personal Quarters."
The hologrid shimmers into a suite of rooms identical to any other senior officer's on Voyager: blue walls, light strips along the viewport, gray sofa, glass-and-steel furniture. The Neelix character told her she should make this place more personal, but what does that even mean? The star chart and the photo of her parents she added are only objects. They do not make this place feel any more hers.
The woman Seven sees in the mirror, the science ensign with the loose ponytail and no Borg implants visible anywhere, belongs here. Of course she does. She is no more real than the rest of the illusion.
"Computer, end program."
And home disappears.
/
San Francisco, 2378
The new apartment provided by Starfleet is almost too pristine, even for her. The only colors are white and cream, and there is so much light flooding in from the windows and the balcony that she has had to adjust the settings on her ocular implant. She does more cleaning than is strictly necessary - especially when preparing for guests.
The door chime makes her jump.
"Happy housewarming, Seven." Admiral Janeway offers her a smile, a hug and a food container. "Strawberry-rhubarb pie. Don't worry, I didn't make it," she jokes. "My mother did."
"Thank you, Admiral."
"You know I'm not your superior anymore. You might as well call me Kathryn."
As Seven replicates coffee and cuts slices of pie, she finds house warmer in every sense of the word.
/
Unnamed vessel, 2390
She should have known better than to answer Kathryn's hail. Every time they talk, they have the same argument.
"It's been years, Seven. How long are you going to waste your life on revenge?"
"Until Icheb's killer is dead."
"She may deserve death, but you don't deserve to kill her. You're hurting yourself." Kathryn's rough voice and soft eyes are as compassionate as always on the holoscreen, but Seven cannot endure that right now. "Just come home."
Seven cuts off the comm, alone again in an ancient freighter that is no more than a place to eat, sleep and travel. Just like any other ship, like the Raven or Voyager, and just as easy to lose.
Home? Where is that?
/
La Sirena, 2399
"Ay, Seven, not again!" Emmet the Emergency Hologram exclaims as she materializes in Sickbay with a black eye and at least one broken rib. "What did you do, take on an army single-handed?"
"Only three," she says through gritted teeth as he maneuvers her into the biobed and closes the diagnostic arch. "They were threatening a woman with a bionic eye. They called her half-meat."
"And you didn't call for backup because … ?"
"I could handle it." She tries not to grunt in pain as her ribs re-set themselves.
"Claro." He scoffs. "Is this what Admiral Janeway taught you about tactics?"
"Oh, shut up."
But she can't help feeling reassured, just a little. It feels good to return from danger to a place where someone cares.
/
Bloomington, 2400
"The key's under the mat," Kathryn said to all her former senior crew once. "You don't even have to ring the bell."
But that was twelve years ago. Seven rings the doorbell to the old farmhouse with some trepidation. Picard and his crew taught her a lot about facing one's regrets, but if this door does not open, she will regret ever coming here.
"Seven?" The Kathryn who opens the door is gray-haired, with worry lines on her face, but her smile hasn't changed at all. "You're here!"
"I wasn't sure if … after everything I've done … "
The older woman interrupts Seven with a hug that nearly knocks her off her feet. "Don't be silly," she rasps. "You will always be welcome here."
As she leads Seven into the back yard, where jazz music, laughter and the smell of sizzling burgers announce Voyager's twelfth reunion, Seven considers that perhaps home is not a place after all.
Perhaps it is a person, and if so, Seven has no intention of losing her again.