AN: Here's another piece. I absolutely put out Chapter 22 earlier today, so please read that one, first, if you haven't read it.
I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
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"Hey," B'Elanna said, catching up with Seven not far from Astrometrics. "I'm glad I found you. What's wrong?"
"I am—malfunctioning," Seven said. She slowed her steps only a little, but B'Elanna didn't seem to mind. As an engineer, well-accustomed to dealing with problems as they seemed to pop up constantly aboard ships, B'Elanna was used to running to and fro. Seven felt like she needed distance between herself and Astrometrics, at least for a while, so she kept moving. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
"I'm due a lunch break anyway," B'Elanna said. "Where are we going?"
"I am free to go wherever you like," Seven said. "But—I am due a lunch break as well, and I require nourishment. I was going to the mess hall to eat."
"I haven't had anything, either," B'Elanna said. "I'll join you, unless you've got other plans already—someone else to eat with instead."
"I have no other plans," Seven said. "Raffi is working, and Elnor has his assignments."
"I didn't know if you've made a ton of friends since we came aboard," B'Elanna teased. Seven bristled, slightly, but she forgave B'Elanna. The teasing, she was aware, was meant to strengthen their friendship. And, beyond that, she needed B'Elanna for a great many things.
"I have no friends," Seven said. "I am in Astrometrics and—everyone on my shift seems to already know one another. Beyond that, it feels like an Academy lecture covering what we already know about the Delta Quadrant. I do not need that information. I recorded most of what they are reviewing, and the Borg assimilated most of the species we are discussing."
"If you led with that," B'Elanna offered, "then I'm not surprised you haven't made any new friends, Seven." Seven frowned at her. "Look—I understand. I'm the Chief Engineer, and a Klingon, so it's not like I'm exactly weighed down with new friends this morning. Give it some time—you'll make some friends, I'm sure."
"You are respected, and that's all that matters." Seven said. "Social relationships are irrelevant among coworkers. We can perform our duties without enjoying each other's company socially."
"I'm a superior officer," B'Elanna said. "It's different. They have to respect me or face punishment. Friendships are irrelevant, maybe, but it doesn't mean that we don't all have some ingrained desire to find them where we can. Seven—I'm all for talking about things, but…do we have to sprint to the mess hall? I could schedule us some holodeck time if you wanted to go for a run together."
Seven slowed her steps. Her breathing told her that she'd been moving faster than she'd really intended.
"I'm sorry," she said, readjusting her uniform. Even thought she was only what they called an honorary member of Starfleet, she was allowed—though not at all required—to wear a uniform. She could have chosen civilian clothing, if she liked, but she preferred to wear the uniform. At the very least, it gave her some sense of belonging. "I didn't mean to move so quickly. As I told you, I'm—malfunctioning."
"Do you want to tell me a bit more about that?" B'Elanna asked. She patted the shoulder bag she was carrying. It was, without a doubt, weighed down with the various odds and ends she needed while moving around the ship, assuring herself that everything was in proper working order. "I have my diagnostic tablet, Seven, but maybe you can give me some idea of what we're dealing with without my having to invade your privacy. What's malfunctioning?"
Seven swallowed. It hurt to swallow. It ached, all the way down. It was worse when B'Elanna, walking beside her much easier now that she'd slowed, was looking at her like she was—like she really cared what was wrong. Seven had no idea why it was that it ached to have someone ask her what was wrong and really mean it.
"Perhaps it is my new node," Seven said. "My—emotion node."
"Is it—not using the hormones? Has it been a while since you've needed the hormones?" B'Elanna asked.
Seven shook her head.
"I am being prompted to request new hyposprays with regularity," Seven said. "Depending on my activities, I am required to take the hyposprays with more frequency."
"That's normal," B'Elanna said. "Look—Seven—I know the whole hormone thing is new to you, but we produce them at different rates, during different times. You'll get used to that. Sometimes it's surprising to me, and I've been living with normal hormone production my entire life—at least, with what seems to be normal production for someone who has the hybrid physiology of a Klingon and a human. You've got to learn what your normal is and, fortunately or unfortunately, that's something none of us have ever seen before."
"Because the Borg do not process emotions," Seven said.
"No, they don't. Not in the way you're processing them now," B'Elanna agreed.
"I am…constantly processing something," Seven said. "It feels like I am—always feeling."
"That's normal," B'Elanna said.
"After the doctor performed the surgeries to—to allow me to experience a higher threshold of emotions," Seven admitted, "I didn't care for it."
"Not at first," B'Elanna agreed. "I remember." She would remember. She'd been there. Seven swallowed, again. The knot caught in her throat. B'Elanna had been there. For every disagreement they'd had since the moment that they'd met, B'Elanna had still been there. She had helped a great deal with Seven's Borg systems, and she'd been there for nearly every surgery since they'd returned to Earth. There had been times when B'Elanna's face had been the last thing that Seven saw before wondering if she'd wake again—and B'Elanna's had been the first face welcoming her back and informing her that they'd fixed some problem, at least until something else malfunctioned. It had been B'Elanna who had created the diagnostic tablet that allowed Seven to stop repeating that horrifying cycle of surgeries, too, with such constant regularity. "You got used to it, Seven. And—if I recall correctly, you wanted to experience more. The chip wasn't exactly your idea, but the hormone regulation was."
"I wanted to be a mother," Seven said. "I wanted to feel everything related to that experience. I wanted to feel love for—Raffi. For Elnor. For my child. I wanted to feel everything more deeply."
She stopped walking. She faced B'Elanna head-on. B'Elanna moved close enough to her that they wouldn't be blocking the corridor if anyone else needed to come by them. She nodded at Seven.
"And you are," B'Elanna said.
"I feel discomfort," Seven said. She put her hand to her chest.
"Do I need to page sickbay?" B'Elanna asked.
"I scanned myself," Seven said. "The discomfort is not coming from any kind of human malfunction that the tricorder can read. I was unable to sleep well last night. I was disturbed by premonitions, possibly caused by a malfunction in my cortical implant."
"You had a nightmare," B'Elanna said. Seven tensed against the irritation of hearing the explanation she'd already been offered. "Seven—Raffi sent me a message this morning. Pregnancy nightmares are exceedingly common. That's all they are. They're nightmares. I had so many nightmares with Miral and Owen, both, that I started to wonder if I'd ever sleep without imagining something horrible happening to them."
"Perhaps something requires adjustment," Seven said.
"You're just—pregnant," B'Elanna said. "I know that doesn't make it feel better, believe me, but you just have to relax and accept it for what it is. Enjoy it for what it is."
"I did not find the nightmare, if that's what it is, enjoyable," Seven said.
"No, you wouldn't. That's not what I meant," B'Elanna said. "Is that your only malfunction? You're hurting because you're worried about your baby?"
"There are too many emotions at once to process," Seven said. "I believe that—I am experiencing some kind of output malfunction."
"I think you're completely normal," B'Elanna said. "You're just not accustomed to quite the amount of output, as you put it, that you're experiencing. You've just got to relax and get used to it. Seven—by any chance, are you hungry?"
"I am starving," Seven said with a sigh.
"Part of the distress you're experiencing could be directly related to that," B'Elanna said. "Tom calls it being hangry."
"Hangry? I'm unfamiliar with that emotion."
"Come on—let's get something to eat," B'Elanna said, without offering further explanation. Seven followed her into the mess hall. Different duty shifts were on different break schedules, but the mess hall was somewhat busy. Seven scanned the faces gathered there. Most she had seen the night before, but there was hardly anyone that she knew personally in the room.
Seven followed at B'Elanna's side. She noticed, though she pretended not to, that the people who walked around them gave them a wider berth than was absolutely necessary. It would have been impossible to say which of them they were avoiding the most—Borg or Klingon—but the effect was very much the same.
Seven realized that, though she'd long since learned that it was better not to let people's reactions bother her, she felt more sensitive to people's expressions now than she had before. Maybe B'Elanna was right. Maybe Raffi was right. They both had the same idea, after all. She wasn't malfunctioning. She was, for the first time in her life, experiencing the full range of emotions, and that would require some getting used to before she found herself perfectly comfortable with everything.
Seven felt herself relaxing a little at the acceptance that they were right. They must be. When she'd first allowed the Doctor to perform her earliest surgeries, allowing her a greater range of emotion, she had struggled to learn to handle those emotions. Now, she would simply have to learn to manage the new world that had opened up to her with an even greater range of emotion.
And she could relax, a little, and accept that Raffi, B'Elanna, and the nearly a dozen tricorder scans she'd done since that morning were accurate—her baby was fine, too.
"What do you want?" B'Elanna asked, half-pushing Seven toward the replicator the same way that she'd seen the woman push Miral toward them.
Seven pressed the button, and the replicator beeped to request her order.
"Burrito," Seven said.
"Please specify variety," the replicator said.
Seven looked at B'Elanna, and B'Elanna was looking back at her, patiently waiting. Seven pressed the button to cancel and then to request again. At the beep, she spoke again, feeling herself grow a little annoyed.
"I require one burrito," she said, enunciating so that the replicator couldn't fail to understand her request.
"Please specify variety."
"I do not know the variety," Seven said, when B'Elanna raised her eyebrows at her in question. "Raffi requested the burrito for me yesterday. I could recall the variety yesterday, but now…"
"So, baby brain is a Borg thing, too," B'Elanna said. She laughed quietly and Seven bit the inside of her mouth. "It's fine—I've got this under control." She pressed the button. "One…Earth burrito." B'Elanna looked at Seven with an expression of smug satisfaction, and Seven nodded her acceptance of B'Elanna's superiority in the matter of all things Earth-related. B'Elanna picked the plate up that the replicator offered and handed it to Seven. Seven looked at it. "Better?" B'Elanna asked.
"I am unaccustomed to the culinary specialties of your people," Seven said. "Even though I possess the Borg's extensive knowledge of your species, I would have to attempt to access the information regarding culinary preferences. Perhaps you would have that information more readily available. Is it customary for many individuals to consume…dirt?"
"Well—at least we know the replicator's accurate," B'Elanna said, frowning at the burrito that had been produced from her request of an "earth-burrito." "Even if it is what Tom would call a smart ass." She quickly deposited the plate into the recycler.
"This is infuriating," Seven said, feeling the frustration grow even more dramatic with the voicing of the feeling. She could feel her frustration with everything radiating out all the way to her fingertips. She balled up her fists against the sensation. "I have spent half a day in Astrometrics with every cadet halfway through their first year at the Academy gawking at me like I am some sort of living display, and all I require is a correctly prepared burrito, but I cannot have that because the replicator insists on requiring inane information, and I cannot call my wife because she is the first officer and cannot be disturbed with questions that advanced technology should be able to solve on its own!"
Seven's frustration grew as she expressed it, and she realized that her voice grew louder, too. B'Elanna looked at her, eyebrows raised, and reached a hand out to squeeze her arm.
"Bring your voice down, Seven," B'Elanna offered. "We're drawing attention—and, from the looks of it, the only thing that people are more afraid of than an angry Klingon is an angry Borg."
Seven felt her face grow warm. She looked around. Most of the people had given them a really wide berth, now, and those that weren't stiffly pretending to eat their food and not notice them at all were staring with their mouths half-open.
"I am sorry," Seven said. "I apologize," she said, a little louder, so that others could hear her.
"I have an idea," B'Elanna said. She tapped her combadge. "Torres-Paris to Paris."
"What's going on?" Tom asked, coming back immediately. B'Elanna smiled at Seven, and Seven recognized that the smile was as much for her as it was B'Elanna's reaction to hearing her husband's voice.
"The replicator wants a variety for a burrito," B'Elanna said. "What's a good variety for an Earth-burrito?"
"A burrito?" Tom asked.
"Yes. What's a good variety?"
"For these replicators? Try the chicken fiesta one. And—order extra lime and hot sauce."
B'Elanna smiled. This time, Seven felt it was actually for Tom, even though he couldn't see it.
"Thank you, Tom," B'Elanna said, an excess of affection coming through in her tone.
"Any particular reason you're researching burrito varieties?" Tom asked.
"Just satisfying an urgent craving," B'Elanna said. "I'll see you after work. Don't forget that you don't have to pick up Owen from the daycare." As soon as she finished the conversation, she touched the button again. "One chicken fiesta burrito with extra lime and hot sauce on the side."
This time, the plate that materialized had food that looked quite palatable on it. B'Elanna offered it to Seven and requested a repeat of the same for herself. Then, she guided Seven to a table, and they both sat.
"Mmmm," Seven hummed, tasting the food immediately.
"Good?" B'Elanna asked, digging into her own.
"Mmmm…it's…exceptional," Seven said around the second bite—even though she hadn't quite swallowed the whole of the first.
Across the table, B'Elanna laughed at her.
"What you felt at the replicator, Seven, was hangry," B'Elanna said. "You know—from one mother to another, if you try to eat a little more regularly, instead of waiting until you feel like you're starving, you may cut down on some of those overwhelming emotions. And—if the dreams are bad enough? Deanna Troi worked wonders for me, especially while I was pregnant with Owen, and I was able to actually see her a few times and work through some of my feelings."
"You are suggesting that I'm not malfunctioning," Seven said, "and therefore have no need of you."
B'Elanna smiled at her.
"I don't know," B'Elanna said. "I kind of like the idea of you having need of me, Seven. But—as a friend. There are times that things malfunction, and I'm happy to help where I can. But right now? I'd say you're not malfunctioning. You're just—expecting a baby—and everything's functioning just like it should be."
"You have made no new friends in engineering?" Seven asked, picking up the strand of teasing B'Elanna had used on her earlier.
"I'm not exactly what people look for in a friend," B'Elanna said, half-shrugging her shoulders and biting into her burrito again.
Seven was surprised by the sensation in her chest.
"You are precisely what I look for in a friend," Seven offered. B'Elanna smiled at her.
"You know, this burrito's pretty good," B'Elanna mused. "The lunch company isn't too bad, either."