AN: I'm not really sure who is reading this (if anyone), but I'm going to say that I'm playing a little fast and loose. I'm blending timelines a little, and I'm doing a touch of my own thing with them. I might move this timeline a touch closer to when Voyager returned. Everything will be detailed out within the story, though, when necessary.

If you are reading, I hope that you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think. I'd love to hear from you!

111

"We have to start negotiating," Raffi said. "Next time—three tacos."

"I don't require three tacos," Seven said with a laugh.

Raffi could tell that she was relaxing. She sometimes joked with Seven—though today wouldn't be the day for such jokes—that when Seven was tense, she spoke more like a Borg. She found it more and more difficult to separate herself from the technical nature of what was practically a first language for her. Time around people, though, and time in general, had taught Seven how to speak more naturally until, at times, it was only her remaining Borg implants that would give her away as having once been a part of the Borg Collective.

As she relaxed, Raffi heard the slow return to a more natural rhythm and vocabulary.

Rather than blatantly tease her about her speech, Raffi went about it by the proverbial side door so that it wouldn't hurt Seven's feelings or lead her back toward the tension that was dissipating thanks to one and a half street tacos and a large scoop of cherry cheesecake ice cream.

"Maybe you don't require three tacos," Raffi said, putting emphasis where it was necessary to point out Seven's slightly irregular speech choices. "But—our baby might require a taco of its very own."

Raffi watched as Seven licked at her ice cream cone—attempting to beat the sun and eat it before it melted. That was the reason that Raffi had preferred hers in a cup—ice cream soup was still sufficiently delicious—but she appreciated that Seven's only recent nod to whimsy had been to insist on the cone, whether or not it meant her race against the heat was ultimately "futile."

Raffi had kissed Seven for the joke that she'd made about the cone, and the young girl serving the ice cream had seemed only a touch nervous—probably more over a woman with obvious Borg implants making a Borg joke than she was over the kiss that Raffi hadn't been able to stop herself from stealing.

"Are you forgetting that I am not yet in gestation?" Seven asked. Her smile, now, looked almost like it was glued to her face. She couldn't have kept it away for long if she'd wanted to do so, but it was also clear that she wasn't trying. Raffi mirrored the smile, happy to see it after a very stressful morning.

"Not yet," Raffi said. She lifted the PADD that was resting on her bag—she'd been flicking through the pages while they'd sat in the sun in the park. "But it says right in our welcome packet that everything we do for the next two weeks is to begin to prepare your body for the experience. That includes a focus on proper nutrition and proper nutritional amounts."

"Are you raising an argument that tacos and cheesecake ice cream are part of proper nutrition?"

"There is room for treats figured into this diet plan," Raffi said. "And there's an increase in caloric intake from what you reported—especially if you consider your exercise routine and the calories you burn while teaching that defense class and your basic training class. How's your ice cream?"

Seven was crunching her way through the cone with relaxed satisfaction. The race had been mostly won, and she would finish the bulk of her treat before the sun robbed her of it entirely. She hummed and licked her lips. Raffi tried to pretend that the gesture didn't send a bolt of electricity coursing through her body.

"It is—sufficient," Seven said. She winked at Raffi, making it clear that her word choice was, at least, partially done in jest. "But the real thing would be far superior."

One of the few treats that Seven could really get behind was cheesecake.

"Duly noted," Raffi said. "After the implantation, you get cheesecake."

"Must I be denied so long?"

"It's only two weeks," Raffi said, "but maybe we can make an exception. You mentioned maybe celebrating our marriage—we could arrange to have cheesecake then, if we went through with it. I think that would be the kind of occasion that called for it."

She waited to see how Seven might respond.

"We're already married," Seven said. Raffi wondered if there was the slightest hint of regret there that they hadn't celebrated the engagement or the marriage.

"That doesn't mean we can't celebrate," Raffi said.

"Everyone already knows," Seven said. "I started using Musiker at the Academy."

"Everyone already knows if they're paying attention to the faculty information, or if they're taking your classes," Raffi said. "It doesn't mean that we can't announce it—and that we can't celebrate with your friends…our friends."

There seemed to be a slight shift to Seven's expression.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to recognize it formally in some way," Seven said.

Raffi smiled, though she did control her happiness just a little at the moment.

"They would appreciate it," Raffi said. "You saw how the Doctor looked. He was almost—hurt—that we didn't invite him."

"We should make it clear that we do not require gifts," Seven said.

"We'll put that at the top of the invitations," Raffi said. "We cordially invite you to—beam over for drinks and something to eat—no gifts required. We'll have something casual." Seven considered a moment and then looked pleased. "Yeah?" Raffi pressed. "You like that? We can make them and send them out tonight—maybe we'll plan for something next week."

"We won't mention our participation in the project or our plans for gestation," Seven said.

"No," Raffi said. She winked at Seven. "We'll save that for another time."

111

Seven emerged from the bedroom after her bath and brought, with her, a veritable cloud of sweet-smelling warmth. She brought the familiar fragrance with her that Raffi found comforting. She smelled like Seven. She smelled like home—the best home that Raffi could remember.

"Come here," Raffi said, immediately gesturing to Seven to join her on the couch. She arranged herself so that Seven would have little choice except to sit with her body leaning back against Raffi's. They could cuddle together, reclined on the couch, for hours in this position. Raffi always enjoyed it. She was in the perfect position, then, to feel the comforting weight of Seven's body against her, and to feel like she could wrap around Seven, protecting her as she lounged against her. One of Raffi's favorite things was when Seven would, late in the evening, drift off to sleep like that.

Seven settled without argument and, actually, with an open look of happiness to be joining Raffi in their special spot. She reclined back against Raffi, between her legs, and Raffi scratched her fingers through Seven's hair affectionately.

"Comfortable?" Raffi asked.

"I'm not weighing on you too much?" Seven asked as a response. Raffi moved her foot to, essentially, affectionately pet Seven with it. She didn't respond any more than Seven had responded to her question.

"Did your bath help you relax?" Raffi asked. They'd pretended that the stress wasn't there, but Raffi had seen it all day. They'd taken a long run—longer than usual by almost two miles—and that had been the only time that Seven hadn't looked at least a little stressed. That had mostly been owing to her concentration on keeping moving at a speed that she found reasonable.

"I am very relaxed," Seven said. She leaned her head back so that she could see Raffi, and she gave her a smile. Raffi believed her. "Are you reading the very latest in holonovel trash?"

Raffi laughed. Sometimes Seven gave her a hard time for her taste in holonovels.

"No, actually," Raffi said. "I was reading the files that we got from the hospital." Her stomach knotted a little with concern. "I was reading—the latest report that the Doctor sent. The update came while you were in the bath."

"He has updated the information?" Seven asked. "At this hour?"

"It's not like he needs to sleep," Raffi said. "And there was a lot that needed to be updated once he was assigned as your personal physician."

Seven tensed slightly, but only enough to turn her body just enough to see Raffi a bit better.

"What did he say?" Seven asked.

Raffi flicked through the PADD's pages. She found her starting spot and swallowed against her inner concern that Seven might be upset by anything in these pages.

"He included your past medical information," Raffi said. "From the time that he first came to know you as a patient."

"When I was severed from the Borg Collective," Seven said.

"He comments on the treatment that you've undergone since then," Raffi said. "At least as far as it's pertinent for the pregnancy."

"He approves?"

"He approves," Raffi said quickly. "He reports that you have responded well to all treatment, including the scar tissue treatment, and that there is no reason to assume that your remaining Borg enhancements won't serve as a benefit to you during the pregnancy." Seven writhed slightly, but then relaxed. "Just like you said," Raffi added, giving Seven a reassuring smile.

"Anything else?" Seven asked.

Raffi flipped the page. She tensed and, perhaps, Seven felt her tense. She knew that this wasn't going to go over the best, but it needed to be addressed. Seven would see the recommendation sooner or later, anyway.

"He—updated your hormone therapy prescription," Raffi said. "Based on the blood tests from this morning, he changed the formula a little."

Seven changed her position again, slightly. Raffi thought about wrapping her legs around Seven to hold her into place, but that was just a knee-jerk reaction. She didn't want her to go. She didn't want her to move. She didn't want any distance between them—physical or emotional.

The way to avoid that, she knew, wasn't to trap her. It was to help her through whatever it was that made her tense and pull away.

Seven's expression—her eyes—almost showed some distance already. She frowned, and the sincere sadness there stabbed through Raffi like a sword.

"He had to increase the dosage," Seven said. "From the normal prescription for their patients."

"Normal is relative," Raffi said. "What's normal for a Klingon would kill a Ferengi."

"So—I'm not wrong," Seven said.

"It's in keeping with the normal hormone therapy," Raffi said with a shrug. She brushed her fingers against Seven's face and brushed her hair back—loose, curly, and a bit messy from the bath. "He detailed your normal hormone therapy here, too."

Seven frowned and nodded her understanding.

The hormone therapy was something that Seven had been doing for years. She had been joined to the Borg Collective before puberty. Because of the way that their maturation took place, and because of the way that the Collective controlled everything about their bodies—both the flesh that remained and the machinery that took the place of flesh and blood—her body had never produced hormones with anything remotely like the regulation that non-Borg women enjoyed.

They hadn't realized that, really, until the return to the Delta Quadrant when, upon Voyager's happy return, Seven had become the object of intense scientific and medical study—practically becoming a specimen more than a person for some time.

The hormone treatment, now, was something that was a normal part of her life. She frequently reported to the office for blood tests, and she was given a regular regimen of hormones that was updated as necessary to correct any problems with her levels.

"It doesn't mean anything, Seven," Raffi said. "We knew that your hormones would need adjustment if you were going to be pregnant."

"I know," Seven said, nodding and forcing a hint of a smile. She was trying to look like it didn't bother her. She wasn't ready, perhaps, to say everything that was on her mind—but she would be, and Raffi assumed it might be sooner rather than later. She could be patient. She could give Seven the time that she needed.

"He did—add something here for consideration," Raffi ventured, treading carefully.

Seven swiped at her face. Raffi almost missed that she wiped at her nose. She saw the slightest show of tears puddling at her lower lids. Suspecting the possibility of this, Raffi had brought a handkerchief that she produced from beneath the couch pillow to offer Seven. Seven laughed quietly as she accepted it and rasped a thanks to Raffi without further explanation. Raffi didn't ask for explanation—it would come when Seven was ready.

"He suggested I—consider letting you carry the baby, instead?" Seven asked.

"No," Raffi said quickly and a bit firmly. "He said that—he's been working with your friend, the Engineer…"

"B'Elanna?" Seven asked, perking up slightly. Raffi nodded.

"They've produced a special regulation monitoring chip," Raffi said. "Something akin to the chips that we have for certain illnesses and diseases where there's an irregular production of something in the body. This one would monitor your hormone fluctuations and send that information, constantly, so that your hormone prescriptions could be adjusted instantly at our replicator."

"A chip…" Seven said.

"It's simple," Raffi said. "Minimally invasive, really. It's an outpatient procedure. One afternoon, and it'll be in place. It'll send continuous information about your levels."

"A permanent chip monitoring my…hormones," Seven said. "Constant connection…through an implant in my body."

Raffi felt the goosebumps prickle at her flesh.

"Not like that," she said. "Not like that at all. The same as we used for other…irregularities. Plenty of people have various kinds of monitoring chips like this."

"What do you think?" Seven asked, after Raffi had given her a moment, with her handkerchief in hand, to think about it.

"I think it could be wonderful," Raffi said. "We're talking about doing this twice, if all goes well, right?" Seven nodded. "That's two pregnancies for you. That's a lot of hormone fluctuation. Not to mention the normal ebbing and flowing. Think about—how many fewer blood draws this means. Think about—how much time this saves making an appointment any time that we suspect that something's not quite as it should be. You'll just—get a notification, and the changes will be made directly to the prescription stored in our replicator."

Seven frowned, but it wasn't as sincere as before—not entirely. She shrugged her shoulders gently and wiped at her face with the cloth that Raffi had given her.

"It's only hormones," she said. "And—I do take them anyway."

"And we like them," Raffi said, giving her a reassuring smile. "Because—it was those hormones that showed us just how much you like when I…"

Raffi broke off. She slid her hand down, inside the neck of Seven's loose nightgown. She felt the goosebumps rising up on Seven's skin as she moved her hand. It took nothing more than the slightest touch, when Seven's hormones were at proper levels, to get an interest from her. When they were off, though, there was hardly anything that Raffi could do to garner even the slightest bit of sexual interest from her partner. Under her shirt, Raffi brushed her hand over Seven's naked breast. She found her nipple—already erect—and teased it so that it stood up harder against her palm as she moved to cup Seven's breast.

She smiled at Seven and raised her eyebrows when Seven looked at her—her pupils clearly dilated.

"Imagine if your levels were never incorrect," Raffi said. "The chips are small, Seven. They're hardly bigger than a small button—the end of my finger. It can be placed in an afternoon—and I'll take off from work and hold your hand."

"I am not—afraid—of the chip implantation," Seven said. Raffi didn't wholly believe her, but she wouldn't argue with her, either. She lazily teased Seven's nipple with her fingertip.

"I'll still hold your hand," Raffi said. "And—we'll have cheesecake afterward. I know a great little place."

"It would be nice not to have to go so frequently for monitoring," Seven ceded.

"We'll make the appointment in the morning," Raffi said. "In the meantime—what if we went to bed and…I could remind you of how very important and…valuable…your hormone therapy is for the both of us?"