He dresses in the showy three piece suit she has asked him to wear. He feels like a stuffed penguin. He had to change the size, as the fitted shirt was rather too fitted. He will... comply.
He thinks he looks stupid. This is just not his style. A full tux, with dress tails. He is uncomfortable, trying to fit into the emasculated skin of what he supposes is Seven's idealised picture of the date.
His sister would laugh, and he wonders what k... the others might think.
He looks wrong in it. He tries brushing his hair over his forehead, hiding his tattoo. He doesnt think of the processes behind that gesture. He doesn't contemplate whether he does it to hide his heritage, to fit in with what a barely adolescent in mental processes young woman might believe is optimum, to draw a veil over who he is and what he might want.
Thinking is irrelevant, really. He has surrendered his control. He is just following the path of least resistance.
He snorts.
Resistance, it would be funny if his heart didn't seem to be hurting.
How can he be hurting? What is so wrong? he is taking the most beautiful girl on the ship to the prom. Surely he should be elated, should be strutting in pride imagining the impression they will make arriving together. He shuts down as much of his brain as he is able before any unwanted answers might appear.
Time to get this show on the road. He gives a cursory look at his reflection. The man in the mirror is attractive enough, but he isn't recognisable, it just isn't him.
He leaves his desecrated quarters that no longer feel like home, and moves out into the corridor.
He is caught but a sound, plunging him back into the past, pulling his heart from his chest. A red alert klaxon of a wake up call. Her throaty laughter swirls out from her quarters, along with a very powerful dancing beat. the door opens and ayala [ayala!] exits with a cocky grin on his face, comfortable with the laughter of at least B'Ella and Kathryn [captain he autocorrects] .
He takes a moment of jealousy at Ayala's trim, confident, masculine style of dress. He sees a man that he would prefer to be. A man true to himself, revelling in his personality and charm. Ayala looks at him and smirks, clearly amused at his out of character appearance and then double takes.
'man, you blew it! after all that time' and he shakes his head and walks off as the captains voice hollers out
'i'm holding you to that Mike' to the giggles of the others.
Possibly he can hear Sam as well, and he can't help but hear some light hearted joking around holding.
He smashes out of the ring the image of Mike holding, well, her.
He realises he is stationary outside her door. He could go in, try and make things right, explain. but his head is hurting with it, as is his pride.
What did Ayala mean? He blew it? there was nothing to blow! He had been blown away years ago like just so many motes of space dust. Ashes of memories of possibilites from another time.
And she is clearly not bothered! He hears the heady sound of her full bellied laugh. No, he is not wanted at all. But Mike? What has she agreed to? When she has never offered him anything! He grinds his teeth in anger. He knew that she didn't lo... well, she didnt like he does, no did. And Seven needs him, he likes being needed, being a champion. He ruthlessly quashes the thought that Seven would look horrified at the thought.
And if he went in, B'Ella, and Sam would know that he had been so foolish. Would they think less of him? Do they think he has 'blown it' too? What 'it' has he ever had a chance of recently? Would their laughter be mocking rather than friendly? He wishes she was alone, that he could just go to her and talk, clear his head of this confusion.
He is still outside her door shaking his clouded head when he hears angry wailing approaching. miral. He puts on his best stalk and walks past Tom, giving him a feral grin as he stakes claim to the picture of a man about to receive his hearts desire.
He keeps up the, what is it? act? pretence? until he reaches cargo bay 2. It is here that he nearly calls the whole thing off. Then and there. Seven is wearing a beautiful red asymetric cut dress which sculpturally accentuates her form. Her slightly shy but slightly knowing smile as she welcomes him presses all the wrong buttons. She is an ingenue, but still he feels old, he feels slightly tainted. He brushes away the thoughts that it is this that the fraternisation policy is written for. She wants a myth, a position, a security. It has nothing to do with love.
He is not entirely sure it has anything to do with him. What of himself has he really shared with her?
He angrily tells himself that it was Ledos, that they each saw the human side of the other. She began to understand his fascination with anthopology, and had become less...unbending. Though, he thinks bitterly, it was the captain that rescued her still when she ran away. Damnit!
She twirls for him, with lollipop red lips in a smile. A poster picture of the glossy feminine ideal. Beautiful and intelligent.
The graceful stiff folds of taffeta silk though cannot hide the outline of borg protrusions. Not many, but he is flung into a memory of holding ka... the captain as she shudders through assimilation nightmares, fingers tracing on her arms the scars that will be removed by dermal regenerator.
He looks at the girl in woman in front of him, and knows that somehow he is going to have to skirt a path very carefully. She may think she wants a date, romance, maybe even physical love. in fact, looking at how she is eying him, he becomes more sure that she is perhaps looking for intimacy.
But he starts to think that it isn't his place to provide that. She is precious, too precious, to the captain and without his volition, to him. He does love her, and the thought hits him with more surprise than it should do, considering he is dating her.
A part of him, a larger part than he would like to admit to, is tempted, oh still so very tempted. He knows he could claim her, and that it would work, more or less.
it's not what he really wants though, although he isnt sure whether he will ever be able to love *her* as he wants to. More importantly, he thinks it isn't what would be best for Seven, though she is unlikely to have found who she would want, yet. He just doesn't think it would be him, not now there is all of the alpha quadrant to explore.
He smiles at Seven, who is starting to pout at his lack of appropriate response. He admits that her pouting lips are very kissable. After all, he isnt dead.
'you look beautiful. Lets go'
-0-0-0-0-
He tells himself that the gasps are of envy when he enters the holodeck. The do look good together. his suit matches her formal wear perfectly. He stands straight and smiles, holding Seven just a little closer. She is also smiling, somewhat triumphantly he thinks. It strokes his ego, that he is considered such a catch. it allows him to fill his allotted part in this, he was going to say charade, but display is probably more appropriate.
He walks her towards the heaving tables of drinks and canapes, hungrily eyeing the choice. He realises that it is some time since he last ate, and a very long time since he was presented with such a cornucopia od choice. Unfortunately, it is also where she chooses sparkling water for them both, and declines food, again for them both. He knows she doesn't really eat for pleasure, but he would really like to enjoy some of the food. it has been catered in, no stinting, no leola, no unusual combinations. It smells... like home.
He takes a deep breath as the emotion finally hits him—they are home, with all that resonates with that. regardless of the debrief outcomes they are safe, they can meet family, they can laugh, eat, be friends. He is no longer perpetually Voyager's first officer. They are free.
Yet he feels as if a door is closing rather than opening.
And there is a ripple that turns to a cheer, as he looks back at the holodeck doors he knows it is going to be her. He still feels her presence. She smiles as she comes in, hair sparkling, light in her step, and a softly glistening emerald dress that hugs and caresses her as she moves. He doesn't know how the gentle draping works, but it begs to be touched. Understated, warm, desirable. He couldnt say whether he is commenting on the fabric or the person. She is all smile, all relaxed and easy confidence. This is her moment.
He notices a slight frown mar Seven's perfect visage as she follows his sight line. He determines that whatever their future dating relationship may be, he should at least be the perfect escort tonight. He tells himself it is for her benefit. After all, at his, er, age, there is no need for him to prove himself, or to save face. is there? He smiles back at seven and pulls her closer to kiss her brow. He misses that this is the moment the Captain looks in his direction, and then more quickly away. She is laughing with some of the security team when he brings Seven across to join her.
If his compliments are slightly stilted, and her responses more so, both ignore this as they part with some alacrity to 'work the room' . Not everyone ignores this uncomfortable exchange. Seven is filing it away, and will review later through all the data acquired by the borg on relationships to parse the meaning.
Currently, though, she is just unsettled, and so moves him into talking to the doctor, something he minimally does, and just smiles, with the appearance of having his thoughts elsewhere. the doctor is very fulsome in his compliments, and Seven's good humour is restored. He does notice this and is grateful to the doctor.
He is much more in the present when they talk to Naomi, promising her a dance later. Naomi, at least, seems quite unconcerned that he is dating Seven. She admits to knowing that Seven was 'seeking instruction in interdependent relationships' . He thinks that this is an unusual way to describe dating. Sam laughs, though he detects some embarrassment, and he looks in a bemused fashion at Seven, who just raises her supra-ocular implant.
-0-0-0-
So far, he thinks as he finally gets to nurse something with an alcohol content, the evening has been quite enjoyable. Even as he thinks this, his heart sinks a bit, calling out the lie. It has clearly not been the worst evening of his life, no one has died. Well, he hasn't died, though it feels that part of himself may have done.
Looking around, he is sure that most of the crew have found it far more than quite enjoyable. Quite a number are looking significantly worse for wear, and another significant proportion are less dressed than decorum would require, semi-hidden in alcoves in pairs, or other groupings. Even in his gloomy mood, he can be pleased at their happiness, their unconstrained enjoyment of mission success and safety.
Spirits, even Harren is having a better night than he is! He watches Harren, enjoying [enjoying!] the attention of some of the engineering ensigns. He had honestly thought Harren had socialised with nobody, but looking at the action unfolding he is rapidly revising that opinion.
His eyes are drawn without volition to the Captain and Mike [Judas] dancing again in the centre of the room. She certainly has had a very enjoyable night, laughing, dancing, basking in the love of her crew and the heady excitement of success. She has a sparkle in her eyes and a flush on her cheeks which suddenly spreads to cover her chest in response to something Mike has whispered in her ear whilst his hands curl around her waist. Holding.
He doesn't need to look at the scuttlebutt to draw the same conclusions as the rest of the crew. The Captain is ready to party, and Mike is eager and willing. She has danced with lots of the crew, he agrees, both male and female. But as she shimmies around Mike again, who is entirely too handsy for his liking, he can read much more into it.
This isn't jealousy, of course. There is nothing to base jealousy on. He has already moved on. Everyone knows he is dating Seven. They have danced together, admittedly just the more formal dances. Seven does not like this loud party atmosphere that has taken over.
Most people, well, he did anyway, thought the Captain would have left early, but no, she is dancing on. Dancing non-stop with everyone. Laughing, hugging, touching, celebrating. If he was miserable, and he isn't saying that he is, this would only heighten his disconnect. He wants to leave.
Seven has gone to sickbay for the Doctor to dampen her levels of auditory stimulation, acuity, or something.
Hence his nursing of the bright purple ale, his third although he is slowing down now.
He watches her dance, and knows that all he is now to her is in the past. She said goodbye.
He danced with Kathryn. There and been speeches and cheers for and by both of them. Hers from the heart, capturing her essence and the love she had hared, and the joiy for their future. His was shorter, and yet from the heart also as he thanked her and the crew. They had led off the dancing, after a bad grace capitulation by Seven. but it was important it seems to the crew. who hollered, cheered and applauded them. They could do nothing else but accept this moment as the command team. his traitorous heart and mind whispered that it could have been oh so much more.
Kathryn had come into his arms somewhat hesitantly. They had not danced together in all these years. And she was right. He totally knew why. Had they done this before, professionalism would have been blasted away. No barrier of protocol or fear could hide the instant force that sprang between them.
With her in his arms he felt complete. She fitted, perfectly. He was sure that he felt his soul expand and breathe. He felt himself start to come to life, a fluttering in his brain, his heart. A healing. As they danced, he refound his peace. It was if all those ragged and torn pieces of each of them became the warp and weft of a new cloth. They were whole. He could exist again, as himself.
He would tell her.
And then, as the dance came to a close she rose onto her toes and gently brushed a kiss against his cheek, and said goodbye. That she loved him, and wished him all the happiness in the world with his new love, his new life. And she walked away without glancing back.
He stood once more over a precipice, his footing uncertain, his mind in disarray.
His hand, unbidden, reaches up to his cheek. It may have been a goodbye, but he is indelibly branded. That kiss, as the dance, has sunk through into those locked away places of heart and soul. He is never going to be free of this love, he has been utterly deluded. He is utterly...
...interrupted. As before, when he watched Kathryn walk out of his personal life, Seven returns and immediately engages him in conversation. He says conversation, but she still hasn't learnt a conversational style. She is telling him of the inappropriate activites she has observed, and the segues into an equally inappropriate feeling and devastatingly, directly-delivered proposition.
He is uncertain how to decline without looking as horrified as he feels. How can he tell this beautiful, misguided woman that actually he has a broken heart that she will never be touching. His somewhat stuttering response, that it is too early for him to consider intimacy, that he is not, not perhaps in the same frame of mind is met with widened eyed surprise and incomprehension.
Seven was absolutely certain of his compliance, and has no frame of reference for this rejection. He watches her look around, and then ascertain that he has been drinking. Her calm delivery suggesting that the alcohol has dulled his ability is excruciatingly embarrassing as well as insulting.
He realizes that at this moment, he doesn't want to discuss this further. That in fact discussing 'them' is something he needs to do in a far more prepared way. So he accepts this reasoning, and offers to walk her back to the cargo bay. He knows that all the eyes watching them walk out of this party early are going to jump to the conclusion that Seven had demanded. At the moment, with the wreck he feels he has made of things, this seems like a positive.
He doesn't stop to consider a pair of those eyes might belong to the Captain, and she may take this as complete confirmation of his ongoing desire.
Back in the impersonal space that used to be his quarters, and finally stripped out of the suit, he sits on his couch and looks at the cage he has been making for himself. It doesn't cross his mind that he could just walk out of it, that he could try for the life he wanted.