AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I do hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think! I'm already working on the next piece, so I do hope you enjoy!
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They transported to a location only a few blocks from the place Raffi wanted to go, and they started the walk to cover the rest of the ground. Raffi noticed, as they walked, that they drew more than a few glances. If they'd been dressed in Starfleet uniforms, they would have drawn less attention, but they were in civilian clothing and, for as open-minded as they pretended their society was, there were times when people proved that they were still the same old thing that they'd been since probably cavemen times when they'd likely stoned each other for being different.
A Borg and a Klingon—partial, half, or something in-between, as they both may be—garnered a decent amount of attention on the sidewalk. Raffi was suddenly aware of being the least conspicuous of them all.
Raffi was tired—more than that, she felt weary. She had meant to walk with Seven—just in case she was still recovering from the local anesthetic or the chip implant, and such a thing might make keeping pace a little challenging. When she reached the door to the restaurant and bar, though, she realized that it had actually been B'Elanna that had silently offered some support, if Seven needed it, and Seven had taken her up on that offer with a somewhat nonchalant-appearing stroll with their arms locked.
In hindsight, Raffi realized that the vision of a Borg and a Klingon walking arm-in-arm might have been the cause for the extra looks.
She felt her face grow warm, and her body flushed with heat. She opened the door and ushered them both inside with a wave. Each attempted to look as cheerful as they could in the situation, and Raffi realized that she wasn't feeling any of that cheer at all. Of course, theirs may have been artificial.
They selected a table, and B'Elanna activated the holo-menu on the side of the table to flip through it without much actual study. She hadn't had long to make any sort of selection when the waiter appeared and asked if he could bring them anything.
"She'll have your triple chocolate cheesecake," Raffi said, not asking Seven what she wanted or paying any attention to her attempts to protest. They'd been here before, and Seven had been so happy with the triple chocolate cheesecake that Raffi figured there was no need in prolonging the conversation. "She'll have the—what'll you have?"
"I appreciate the confidence in my ability to order my own food," B'Elanna said. Raffi didn't miss the hint of a bite there. She also didn't miss the facial expression that Seven was sending in her direction. She stared straight ahead and tried to avoid eye contact with either woman that was glaring at her. She deserved it, and she knew that, but sometimes she had a difficult time turning off her nature—if anyone should understand that, her two current companions should. She heard B'Elanna order her own dessert, and then she raised her fingers.
"Four shots of Saurian Ale," Raffi said. The waiter nodded his understanding and started to walk away. Seven and B'Elanna both raised protests at the same time.
"Relax! I got one for each of you," Raffi said. She reached for the bowl of peanuts that the waiter had sat down as a customary welcome to the place. "We could all use a little relaxation."
"Two shots of Saurian Ale," Seven said, "is hardly minimal relaxation."
"I hardly need the minimum," Raffi retorted.
Thankfully, before more exchange could be made, the waiter returned with the alcohol. He'd tucked a bottle of Saurian Ale—some of the strongest non-synthetic alcohol that was readily available everywhere—under his arm as though he suspected that this might be a situation which called for refilling the small glasses he placed on the table. He served the round of four shots, and Raffi noticed that, though he withdrew from the table, he hardly went far enough to count him as having left.
"Drink this," Raffi said, putting the shot glass in Seven's hand.
"I don't…"
"Just one," Raffi said. She realized that she was being a bit intense and pushy. She willed herself to relax a little. She offered Seven a reassuring smile, recognizing that she was worrying her partner. "I know someone who will make sure you get home safely," she said with a quick wink. Seven screwed up her face in dislike even before she swallowed down the shot.
"That's awful," she protested.
"It's the effect we're going for," Raffi said, not the flavor. "You can wash the flavor down with your cheesecake."
Raffi put the other shot in B'Elanna's hand. B'Elanna looked like she might consider protesting, but she quickly decided against it. She tossed the shot back. Raffi downed both of hers in rapid succession using both hands. As soon as she slammed the glasses down on the table, the waiter returned.
"I'll have two more," Raffi said.
The waiter poured them immediately.
"Raffi! Don't drink all that!" Seven said in protest. The simple tone of the admonition—or perhaps some knowledge that the food was ready—was enough to send the waiter walking away immediately. Seven reached for one of the shots like she might take it to keep Raffi from drinking it.
"You know the Borg can't hold their liquor," Raffi teased.
"No—but Klingons can," B'Elanna said.
She took the shot out of Seven's hand and, before Raffi could protest or grab the other from its spot on the table, she'd tossed back both of them. She closed her eyes a moment, clearly not a fan of the flavor of the drink.
"Now—we're even, and we're not ordering anymore Saurian Ale," B'Elanna said, an authority that she didn't really have over Raffi slipped into her tone. It was clear that she was accustomed to giving orders—and to having them followed.
"We're not even," Raffi said. "You had three shots of Saurian Ale."
"Better metabolism," B'Elanna responded. It was almost immediately clear, however, that her metabolism might not be enough to handle all that she'd drank without a little help. Thankfully, the food came. The waiter, Raffi noticed, didn't offer her another shot, and she didn't push things.
A human, a Borg, and a Klingon walk into a bar might have sounded like the beginning of a hell of a joke, but was clear that the waiter didn't want to find out the punchline if he was caught serving drinks to the wrong person when the other two disapproved.
For a long moment, B'Elanna sat picking at her dessert, and Seven simply sat with her fork in her hand, not actually moving toward her cheesecake. Raffi half-heartedly ate a few more of the nuts.
"You should eat that," Raffi said finally, gesturing toward the cheesecake. Seven frowned at it. She pushed the plate toward Raffi.
"You should share it with me," she said. Raffi didn't really want cheesecake, but she felt like it wasn't as much about the cheesecake as Seven's desire to share with her. She picked up her fork and took the first bite for show.
"It's good," she insisted. "Eat some." She sighed. "I'm sorry—the chip…everything? I was just feeling…sorry for myself, if we're being honest."
"I have caused you distress," Seven said. "And—for that? I'm sorry."
Some people may have, overhearing the slightly mechanical tone to the apology, thought that the apology wasn't as sincere or heartfelt as it could be. Raffi recognized the full impact of it, though, and there was little else that could have been done to make it more meaningful. Raffi reached her hand over and patted Seven's leg—not the one with the new implant, since she wasn't sure how long it might take Seven to feel entirely comfortable with that.
"I'm sorry," Raffi said. "It wasn't you. None of it's been you. I just want—I need—for there to be peace. I just need peace. Our peace. I need it back…soon."
"What marks peace for you?" B'Elanna asked. Raffi looked at her. She didn't point out to the woman that she looked a little glassy-eyed. She recognized, without saying anything about it, that B'Elanna hadn't wanted to take those shots. She'd taken them, in a way, for Seven. The alcohol wasn't synthetic, and that meant it would have to wear off. She may metabolize it fairly quickly, but Klingons got drunk—no matter how well they handled their alcohol for a while. Raffi decided they'd make sure that B'Elanna got home, or at least made it to the nearest beaming place.
"Being home," Raffi said honestly. She reached her hand up and squeezed Seven's shoulder. "With her. Eat that cheesecake, I'm serious…and…in two days? There's no more asking if this is the right thing, you know? It's just—the right thing. The only thing. What's happening for both of us. For our family."
B'Elanna shrugged her shoulders and picked at her own food.
"If it's any consolation," she said, "there shouldn't be any problem. Look—I didn't mean what I said earlier. I'll be working with the Doctor. And there will likely be a little trial and error with the chip at first, but—it shouldn't be a problem. It'll just take some adjustments. We have to get everything working so that it's truly in-sync with Seven's body, but…it'll work. And it'll be great for research, too."
"For Borg," Seven said. "Removed from the collective."
"That's the goal, isn't it?" B'Elanna asked. "With the new wormhole stabilization, and the quick travel time between the Alpha Quadrant and the Delta Quadrant, we've got to spend some of our time and resources thinking about…possible future encounters."
With the final words, B'Elanna lowered her voice. The Saurian Ale hadn't stopped her from realizing that it was best not to loudly mention the Borg or potential Borg encounters in a crowded place.
"It is…difficult," Seven offered, "sometimes…to be the most feared thing in the quadrant."
B'Elanna laughed to herself. She looked at both of them, her eyes darting between them.
"Until you got here," she said, "I knew that feeling well." She shrugged her shoulders. "Nobody likes a Klingon. Or—at least, most people don't."
Raffi's stomach twisted a little, and she regretted the shots she had taken.
"People are stupid," she muttered. "People and—and every other species. They're all stupid. It doesn't matter. You are who you are, and…we should be beyond stereotypes and being afraid of others based on our limited knowledge and our prejudices."
"We should," B'Elanna agreed. "But—it's still what people—and other species—are going to think."
"To hell with what people think," Raffi said. She looked at Seven. "I don't give a damn that you're Borg. And you know who else isn't going to give a damn? Our children. Our baby isn't going to give a damn. And…" she looked at B'Elanna. "I don't give a damn that you're a Klingon. To hell with the details. You're still our friend…and a damn fine engineer…and…at least a halfway decent drinking buddy."
B'Elanna laughed.
"With that kind of attitude," she said, "the two of you should be excellent parents."
"Are you being facetious?" Seven asked.
"No," B'Elanna said. "I'm absolutely not. But—if you're having any doubts? You know…Deanna Troi does house calls these days and…well, I'm just going to say that she's really excellent. When Tom and I decided to have Owen so long after Miral, she really talked us through some of the doubts we were having."
"Do you have any regrets?" Raffi asked.
"Our only regret is that we waited so long," B'Elanna admitted. "We always planned to have more children, but careers got in the way. You can ask Janeway and Chakotay about that. Careers have a way of making you put things off longer than you mean to. Still—you'll see…everything is so much different than it used to be. That what's Tom says. The way that Tom talks about everything—the history of it all—there used to be this idea that women shouldn't have children after forty or fifty. Now? There's no reason to be concerned until you just don't want to be bothered with a family. I hope you'll understand, though, that Owen is why we turned down the invitation to your party tomorrow night. We're still nervous leaving him with a stranger, and Miral already had plans."
"Please, come. Will you bring Owen to the party?" Seven asked.
B'Elanna smiled with that look, perhaps, that every mother gets when discussing their child.
"You want a baby at your party?"
Seven shrugged.
"Why not? She asked. "We're hoping to have one of our own soon enough."
"With any luck," Raffi said, "the party will be the last time you see us before we have one—at least in some context of the words."
B'Elanna clearly thought about it a long moment.
"We'll be there," she said. "We'll bring some Saurian Ale."