AN: Here we are, another piece!

I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!

111

Seven had never been overly fond of the combat class that she taught. She'd been elected to teach the class, really, by someone else. It wasn't strenuous or difficult—she was more than physically matched, honestly, for any cadet that had passed through the class since she'd taken it over—but she always found that there was at least one student in every class that had a natural dislike of her because she was, simply, Borg.

Of course, most cadets in uniform wouldn't dare to speak an actual word of that kind of prejudiced negativity to anyone with any position of power in Starfleet.

Seven wasn't an official Starfleet officer. She was not a graduate of the Academy. At best, Seven was a person-of-great-interest to Starfleet. She was aware, though she seldom voiced it, that it was her position as a former Borg drone—now an individual, but still, always, a Borg due to her physiology—that made her someone of great interest to Starfleet.

Starfleet gave her work at the Academy. They gave her roles on missions when those roles were suitable. They gave her work in their labs, and she could participate in just about anything that Starfleet did. The only difference between Seven and any other Starfleet officer was that she didn't hold rank. The students knew that, but they didn't dare to test whether or not that gave her the authority to punish them for poor behavior.

Seven was, on a deep level, happy that they didn't want to test things. She could feel their negativity, and she could hear it behind her back, just as she could with many people she encountered in society, but at least she wasn't expected to face it head-on with any regularity.

Still, on her final day of class, she'd dressed out for the class in normal, approved, Starfleet-issued athletic-wear, and she'd accompanied B'Elanna Torres-Paris to the class to introduce her to the students and to let them know that, for personal reasons, she would be stepping away from the class and passing it to B'Elanna. The students, who were used to their instructors coming and going frequently as they were needed for other projects, did not seem the slightest bit surprised nor disappointed. Neither, Seven noticed, did they look particularly impressed with B'Elanna.

Seven stayed during the class and watched B'Elanna instruct the students. For one demonstration, B'Elanna sparred with Seven, quietly assuring her that she would take it easy on her and avoid causing her any damage at all. Seven thought that Raffi might have disapproved of the game, but the sparring was barely rougher than Elnor's congratulatory hug from the night when he'd been told of their project to expand their family Collective.

Leaving the class, Seven walked with B'Elanna. The two of them had already planned to go to the showers together and, then, to go and see the Dean. He'd asked to see both of them as soon as they were showered and properly dressed, following the class.

Stepping away from the class, they passed some students congregating before they headed off toward their next class. Seven overheard them, and one glance at B'Elanna made it clear that she heard them, too. Neither of them decided to pursue it—the students had only been talking amongst themselves, really.

"It's bad enough they make us fight the Borg. Now we have to wrestle Klingons for a grade."

Seven could see from B'Elanna's face that the insult registered, and it must have stung at least a bit, but it wasn't deemed important enough to worry with responding to the young cadets. When B'Elanna spoke, it was clear that she had decided not to address what they'd both heard.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" B'Elanna asked.

"I am undamaged," Seven said, smiling when B'Elanna smiled at her. "I tried to go easy on you."

B'Elanna seemed even more amused, and she actually laughed quietly and shook her head as she walked—stepping just a half a step ahead of Seven as though gaining a little distance marked some kind of superiority.

"I never thanked you," Seven said after a moment. "For your assistance."

"You did, actually," B'Elanna said with a laugh. "At least—you tried to, and that's all that matters. Look—Seven—I don't want thanks. I didn't do it for thanks. I would have done it for anyone, but…I did it for a friend. I haven't always had a lot of those in life."

"Me either," Seven offered.

B'Elanna looked at her over her shoulder.

"I know," she said. "But—things change."

111

"I believe the students will adjust to having Commander Torres-Paris as an instructor," Seven offered.

She stood beside B'Elanna, her hands clasped behind her back, in front of the oversized teak desk of the elderly Dean Whittaker.

He had only greeted them with a handshake and invited them into his office. He hadn't asked about the transition of the class. He hadn't asked about anything, really. Seven wasn't sure why she felt anxious to tell him something, but there was something buzzing around inside of her that practically demanded she say something.

The Dean hadn't asked about her reasons for having to hand off the class—she'd only said that the request was personal and a medical-based request—but Seven still felt something she couldn't quite name about having to ask for the transfer to another class.

"I wanted to talk to both of you, actually, because I wasn't sure if either of you will actually be continuing with that class for long—or any of the courses in your current course load."

B'Elanna looked at Seven. Seven understood her expression, and tried to transfer back to her the information that she was just as surprised as B'Elanna clearly felt, and that she had no answer as to what it was the Dean meant.

"Dean Whittaker," B'Elanna said, clearly trying to figure out the best words to use to address the person that, though he was a civilian employee of the Academy, actually held power over her, "if there's something that…either of us have done…"

"You've done a great deal, Commander," he said. He laughed to himself. Seven wasn't sure what was funny, exactly, but she did feel some relief in the fact that he'd clearly found some humor somewhere. "You've both done a great deal, in fact, in a lot of different ways. This—the possibility of being pulled from your course loads—this is not a punishment. On the contrary, from what I understand, this is an honor—a great opportunity for both of you."

"I'm sorry," B'Elanna said, clearly choosing to be the spokesperson for the both of them. "But—what's a great honor?"

"I would have said something before," Dean Whittaker said. "However, I had only heard a few things through some colleagues. You know how chatter and hallway conversation can be—nothing official. However, I did receive correspondence, just before the class, that I would have more information within the hour. That's why I asked to see you both, here and now."

"Information about?" B'Elanna pressed.

"Well—the details of it, of course, are classified," Dean Whittaker said.

Seven noticed that he said the word like someone who was unaccustomed to its sound. He looked pleased by it, like he'd been waiting for a reason to use it.

"If we are to be affected by the information," Seven interrupted, breaking the back-and-forth between the Dean and B'Elanna, "then—wouldn't it not be classified information as far as we're concerned?"

"It's not," Dean Whittaker said. "What I mean to say is, it's classified to me. What I know, I shouldn't know. If you know what I mean."

Seven exchanged a quick glance with B'Elanna. Neither of them knew, exactly, what it was that Dean Whittaker meant, and both of them were deciding how to say so diplomatically. Seven allowed B'Elanna to take the lead again.

"Dean Whittaker," B'Elanna said, "I'm sorry, but…what can you tell us?"

"Oh—yes—well—I received correspondence earlier today that I may want to see about finding replacements for some of my instructors on relatively short notice. You two were among the names on the list. Of course, the rest of the list is classified information…"

"We do not currently require the names of the other individuals," Seven offered. She felt her muscles tense. Her new constant supply of hormones was subjecting her to a gamut of emotions that she'd never experienced quite so richly before. Irritation had always been a feeling she'd known, but she felt like she bristled from it more now than she ever had before.

Dean Whittaker hardly seemed to miss a beat, though it was obvious that he appreciated having a captive audience.

"I was told that I'd receive confirmation within the hour, but I didn't expect a call from the Admiral himself."

"The Admiral?" B'Elanna asked. Seven recognized, immediately, that her question wasn't literal. She was still more concerned about the message than about the identify of the Admiral in question.

"Admiral Picard, of course," Dean Whittaker said. "He would like to see the two of you as soon as possible."

Seven felt her stomach do something of a flip-flop. Raffi worked with Picard. She had become something of a right-hand for him, and she moved into whatever position he seemed to need filled at any given time. Raffi had mentioned talking to Picard about taking Seven on for any possible role that needed to be filled, but she hadn't really expected anything to come up. She certainly hadn't expected Raffi's request to somehow encompass B'Elanna as well.

"May we be excused, then, to transport to his office?" B'Elanna asked.

"By all means," the Dean said. I just wanted to deliver the information to you personally. From what I have been told, I'll have more information about whether or not you accept the roles offered to you. I just wanted you both to know that your work here has been valued and appreciated and, though we'll be finding someone to cover your courses if you should choose to…do whatever it is that you're asked to do…please know that you will always have a position available here when you wish to return."

B'Elanna thanked him, and Seven followed suit, copying B'Elanna's words almost perfectly. They both shook the elderly Dean's hand, and exited his office together.

Together, they walked down the hall and made their way toward the transport pad area on the floor. They were silent as they walked. Neither spoke until they'd covered a decent bit of ground.

Finally, B'Elanna broke the silence.

"Do you know what this is about?" B'Elanna asked.

"I do not," Seven said. "Raffi mentioned talking to Picard about a possible part-time position to fill in for the class that I was turning over to you. However, I didn't expect him to find anything, and I certainly didn't think that he was going to find a position for you."

"Classified information?" B'Elanna asked. It wasn't a complete question, but her expression and tone of voice did plenty to finish the question.

"I don't know," Seven admitted.

"I have a feeling," B'Elanna said, "that this is bigger than just a job in the lab." They reached the transporter pad area.

"There is only one way to know what this is about," Seven offered.

"I'll see you in Admiral Picard's waiting area in a minute," B'Elanna offered.

Seven acknowledged that she'd heard her with a nod of her head, and then she split off, heading in the direction of one of the open pads. She considered sending Raffi a message to ask if she knew what this was about, but it seemed reasonable to simply go ahead and transport over to where, without a doubt, Picard would be waiting with some answers.