Running Up That Hill:
A Janeway / Seven Story
Author: ladydameon
Co-Author(s) / Beta: Lain Stardust
General Disclaimer(s): See previous chapter(s).
Chapter 6: Repression Vignette
Rating: G / K+
Summary: While sharing breakfast, Captain Janeway inadvertently lets Seven of Nine a little closer.
Author's Note: Reading the previous chapter(s) is recommended. If necessary, please visit Chrissie's Transcripts Site for a reliable transcript of Repression or for a more detailed synopsis.
[Insert scene at END of the episode]
Seven of Nine walked purposely through the empty corridors of Voyager. She generally preferred this time, the hour when the Gamma shift ended and Alpha shift began. Most of the crew on Beta rotation had long since settled in their quarters, which usually meant the Mess Hall was empty aside from a few earlier risers and Neelix. However, the day following Tom Paris's double feature movie night left many morning people snoozing in bed, clinging to those precious five minutes.
In the quiet dark, Seven requested a liquid nutritional supplement from the replicator and sat at her customary table. Sometimes she would work, especially if she was meeting someone for breakfast, but she hadn't made such plans for this particular morning. The young woman sat alone, contemplating her own existence. Given recent events, there was a lot for her to ponder.
The Astrometrics Lab still wasn't operating at full capacity. Although inconvenient, Seven of Nine couldn't dispute the necessity of the order. It was in the best interest of the ship. The real-time search algorithms developed by Tuvok, Harry Kim and herself had been extremely successful thus far, helping Voyager to avoid at least three pirate attacks. However, the increasingly dwindling power reserves had begun cutting into the function of essential systems.
It was a never-ending battle.
Seven sighed.
She still hadn't been able to locate or devise a suitable power substitute, and then there was the pseudo fallout with the former-Maquis crewmembers.… A majority of the conflicts between ex-Maquis and Starfleet had happened long before she joined Voyager's crew. As such, Seven didn't share their similar history—a fact that was constantly thrown in her face as neither side had truly accepted her, and both were often skeptical of her motives.
During the takeover, the disillusioned Maquis had stormed into Cargo Bay 2, separating Seven and the Borg children. This scuffle between the crew's primary factions made Voyager's situation significantly more delicate. If they had been attacked, who knows what the outcome would have been.
She attempted to stop any further thoughts on that matter.
Her eidetic memory, furnished by the Borg cranial implant, was both a blessing and a curse. For every kind word said to or about her, Seven distinctly remembered ten equally unfeeling and cruel comments. Of course to be fair, she wasn't the most approachable person when first severed from the Collective. Still, there were only a few individuals (other than the Borg children) who keenly sought her out for non-work related activates. She could literally count them on one hand….
However, Seven's feelings of loneliness weren't simply an after effect of being locked away in the Brig for hours with no contact until she was released. Neither was it reminiscent of her days of being restricted to Cargo Bay 2. No, this isolation went deeper and served to develop other emotions she hadn't yet rationalized or even realized—until recently, after the away mission to Inuldea.
There were questions, so many questions; even so, Seven didn't feel comfortable enough to approach her friends, especially since the one person she would ask was the source of her present dilemma. So, she strove to repress the questions and emotions.
Her internal chronometer indicated the ship's time to be 0530. She looked to the double doors on the other side of the Mess Hall, expecting Neelix to bustle in. Five minutes passed, but the Talaxian never entered. It didn't make any sense for breakfast to be cancelled. The crew needed to eat, and a lot of people didn't have many replicator rations given the tighter power restrictions.
Suddenly, the lights went to full as there was a loud clang in the kitchen.
Slowly, the young woman rose, deposited her half-empty glass in the recycling receptacle and approached the galley's counter.
A frazzled Neelix popped up, wearing a rather loud, geometric-crazed hat and apron of orange and bright green. "Good morning, Seven," he greeted quite cheerfully, even though his eyes were bloodshot.
Almost immediately, Neelix turned away, spinning in place. "What am I going to cook?" In a state of mild panic, he rooted through the various cupboards and cabinets.
"These will do nicely!" Triumphantly, the cook pulled out a large tub of unpeeled potatoes. "Comfort food is definitely on the menu today."
Seven of Nine observed as Neelix cleared a surface and started chopping the spuds. There was no possible way he could finish preparing the vegetable before breakfast was scheduled to start. Raising an eyebrow, she continued to watch as Neelix chopped approximately six potatoes before tossing them onto a large griddle – with a slab of butter, a dash of salt and a sprinkling of pepper. It was quite the fascinating process.
Neelix ignored his audience although he was entirely aware of her intense scrutiny. After the first year of cooking for Voyager's crew, there wasn't much that fazed the Talaxian in the kitchen. He had gotten quite adept at judging people's likes and dislikes as well as what special flare would make them feel appreciated. Food was essential, and it went a long way to help one's morale. Sometimes preparing a meal was just as therapeutic. He thought perhaps Seven could learn to appreciate that aspect of dining and prove that taste wasn't irrelevant.
"Seven, would you mind giving me a hand?" he asked gently.
"How may I assist you?"
He tried not to show his amusement as the ex-drone seemed downright eager, but calling her out on it wouldn't necessarily promote a positive experience. In a matter of moments, Neelix had provided the ingredients and explained the process of creating cream gravy. During his quick demonstration, he shared his initial revelation with the white sauce, and went on to explain its success with the crew.
"I hate to waste anything, so it was a happy accident the other day when I realized I could use the grease from the leola root crisps. Who would've thought a bit of lard would make all the difference?"
Seven of Nine looked down into the thickening mixture as the Talaxian went about his breakfast preparations.
Suddenly, Neelix was at her left, dabbing his finger into the gravy. "Needs a bit more salt…," he said adding the additional seasoning. With that, he popped back to his other tasks.
Tentatively, Seven tasted the gravy, mirroring Neelix's previous gesture. She glanced over at the cubed potatoes frying in butter and various seasonings. Via her heightened Borg senses, she analyzed the other breakfast components of eggs and sausage patties which were procured during the Inuldea away mission. Reaching a consensus harmonious to the human palette, the Borg added a liberal amount of pepper and an additional sprinkle of salt.
Neelix squeaked out an "Oh," quickly stepping back to Seven's left side. Noting her expectant look, the cook once again dabbed his finger to taste the gravy. He was pleasantly surprised. "This is excellent, Seven!" Pointing down into the pot, Neelix added, "Just keep stirring out the lumps."
Shortly after, the breakfast rush began, and Seven of Nine stayed to assist with the serving. Naturally, the crew was surprised.…
"I hear the gravy is fantastic today," said Tom Paris as he saddled up to the counter. Carefully, he placed his full coffee mug down on the countertop, waiting for his tray. Paris paused, just realizing that Seven of Nine was serving instead of Neelix. "I didn't know you could cook, Seven."
The young woman examined the helmsman's face, seeing only his usual open, friendly expression which was par for their interactions. "I assisted with the preparation of the cream gravy," she offered.
"It'll be a few more minutes on the eggs, Tom," Neelix called, whisking another batch of egg yolks.
"No hurry, but you might want to refill the coffee canisters before you know who—"
With a thunk, an empty canister appeared on the countertop followed by a firm, "Neelix."
Seven watched as Tom and his coffee mug subtly edged a little further away from the newcomer.
"I'm sorry, Captain." The Talaxian bustled to start a fresh pot of coffee. He'd heard that tone many times, many different times of the day, but always with the same whiplash quality. "It'll just be a few minutes."
Finishing, Neelix turned and smiled. "Will you be having breakfast this morning, Captain? Seven helped with this morning's prep. The cream gravy is perfect!"
Janeway's brows furrowed. She raked a glance over Seven who responded with a slight dip of her head, and out of the corner of her eye, the captain saw a steaming mug of black coffee—filled to the brim. "I didn't realize you were interested in cooking, Seven," Janeway said, somewhat distracted by the steaming coffee, although, seeing Seven of Nine serving breakfast in one of Neelix's aprons came in as a close second.
Neelix relaxed, having successfully evaded the coffee-deprived captain. However, his relief was short-lived as the eggs had started to burn. He ignored the idle chatter between the three, for the most part.…
"Hey, that's my coffee," Paris said, trying not to pout. He was distracted by Seven's uncharacteristic behavior. Did she just appear bashful? It definitely wasn't because of him; he knew that, but his determination to piece it all together caused him to miss the sly hand reaching for his mug.
"Captain's prerogative." Janeway almost sighed after the first sip. Gamma shift had been long and slow, especially after sitting through movie night on the Holodeck.
Two days ago, the Maquis rebellion kicked off at the tail end an Alpha shift. Of course, the captain spent most of the subsequent Beta shift confined to the Brig. The situation was fortunately under control by the following Alpha shift. All of this led to the current scheduling nightmare. After all of the shuffling for various reasons, Janeway was left working a double shift, having to put an appearance in at a social event and work yet another double shift today. Despite the fact that she was lucky to sleep a full six hours on a good night, Voyager's captain was very tired, even with the catnaps she stole in her Ready Room.
Paris observed Janeway as she coasted on autopilot, just standing there as she sipped her coffee—his coffee. Any lingering irritation dissipated when he noticed the extra dark circles under her eyes. He gaze caught Seven's. Each saw the other's concern.
"Chakotay covering the Bridge this shift?" he asked gently.
"No, he's still consoling," she answered, voice low as she took another sip. The captain had fielded her own share of those seeking reinsurance in the past 48 hours.
Paris nodded. He certainly understood the commander's need to be available to the crew. B'Elanna had been extremely distressed over the entire ordeal, as had other ex-Maquis and Starfleet. "Tuvok still meditating?"
The Vulcan needed time to regain his mental center after performing a mind meld with so many people in such a short period.
"He'll be back on duty by Beta shift," Janeway replied, draining the remainder of her coffee.
With a slight frown, Paris looked to Seven and Neelix. Everyone knew the captain worked hard, usually getting downright dirty with the crew, but enough was enough.
Neelix refilled Janeway's mug with the just finished coffee as he said, "Why don't you and Seven enjoy a hearty breakfast, Captain? I'm sure Tom wouldn't mind covering the Bridge till you get done." Slipping Seven out of her apron and shooing her out of the galley, the cook retrieved two trays and proceeded to load them up.
"I really wouldn't mind, Captain," said Paris, filling up another mug.
Janeway casually watched as Seven took her tray away from Neelix and wound her way to her (their) usual table. "That won't be necessary, Tom. Harry has it under control." She paid no attention as Neelix gave her an extra scoop of potatoes, but Paris did.… He was a little perturbed when he didn't get an extra serving on his own tray. However, the captain paid no heed to the good-natured squabble as she felt an invisible pull towards Seven of Nine.
On the sly, Neelix watched the two women settle in their usual corner. He didn't have any concrete proof, yet, but his gut told him something was happening between them, something big and powerful. Of course, it could all just be his imagination.…
"How are the children?" Janeway asked, settling her napkin across her lap.
Seven was erect and rigid, both key signs that something was wrong. To those fluent in Seven of Nine, an erect posture was indicative of feelings of uncertainty, while rigid movements usually indicated a medium degree of irritation. Thusly, the captain reasoned her breakfast companion was upset about something she was unsure of how to handle, but what the topic was would be anyone's guess.
"They are unsettled over recent events," Seven responded, settling her own napkin—mirroring Janeway's movements. Slowly her frustrations returned as she became flustered sitting alone with Janeway. Helping Neelix prepare breakfast was somewhat therapeutic and had allowed her to gain some semblance of perspective.
"That's certainly understandable." The captain tentatively tasted her breakfast and was pleasantly surprised. However, the good food was tempered by Seven of Nine's unusual restraint. It wasn't like the young woman to hold back her views, especially regarding the children. "I'm sure this has been very frightening as well as confusing."
After all, the adults were having a hard enough time dealing with the fallout, but given time, Janeway was sure things would return to relative normalcy. This time around, there wasn't any open hostility or passive-aggressive animosity, but shame and simple hurt feelings—primarily on the former-Maquis' side. Up until now, none of the children had been directly exposed to the faction conflicts on the ship.
It's all just talk, at least that's what Naomi Wildman told Captain Janeway when she started serving as Captain's Assistant. Now, the young girl had her entire world turned upside down as trust had been called into question. Janeway knew Naomi (and the Borg children) understood the logic of the situation—that it wasn't the crew's fault—but that didn't make the emotional ramifications any less difficult to shake off.
Naomi had been confined to quarters during the uprising, but she had her mother.
Separated from Seven of Nine, the Borg children had been dragged from Cargo Bay 2 and tossed in the Brig: Icheb in one cell while Rebi, Azan and Mezoti were in another.
Taking another bite, Janeway traded her fork for her mug. She took a slow sip, enjoying the smooth, bitter hot liquid. It was clear something other than the Maquis rebellion was bothering the younger woman, but she refused to respond to the usual bait. Seven had taken guardianship over the Borg children very seriously—never missing an opportunity to speak on their behalf. The captain expected an earful after their recent treatment, but the protective spit and sputter hadn't yet emerged.…
"Last night, we established contact with a Wysanti ship interested in meeting Rebi and Azan." Janeway stabbed a piece of potato, carefully gauging the young woman's reaction. She waited a few more seconds before adding, "We probably won't rendezvous for at least a week."
"I will disseminate the relevant cultural data."
Janeway hadn't expected that answer, especially given Icheb's experience with his own parents. As a long pause settled between them, the moment felt strained and awkward, not remotely reflecting their usual comfortable and familiar silences.
"Any updates on those clusters of micro-nebulas 10 light-years out?" The captain took another slow sip, fully expecting Seven to launch into a full dissertation of the phenomenon. After all, the Borg was nothing if not thorough, even passionate, about her work.
"The task progresses slowly given Astrometrics's current power allocation restriction," Seven answered, her voice flat and neutral.
Sighing, Janeway set her mug down as she waited for the other shoe to drop—the inevitable rationale that the young woman could find resources faster, more efficiently, if permitted to operate her department at peak processing power. And usually, the captain agreed, but not when Voyager had been scrimping and scrapping by for months on end. No sooner did they get ahead, they were back to square one. To add insult to injury, they were still being pursued by the pirates.
"You know I can't authorize—"
"I understand, Captain," Seven interrupted tersely.
Janeway raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips into a thin line as Seven's eyes darted from the partially eaten breakfast to her face and back down again. She waited a few moments before finally asking, "Seven, what's wrong?"
Unsure, Seven rolled her shoulders under Janeway's scrutiny. Her gaze swept over the moderate crowd still dining and socializing in the Mess Hall. She softly proclaimed, "Recent events have further illustrated my degree of isolation amongst this collective." She paused for a moment, her gaze returning to focus on the woman sitting across from her. "Few individuals proactively seek my companionship aside from large group recreational activities."
Oh, boy! Janeway blinked a few times, totally broadsided by the young woman's troubles. Quickly, she searched the Mess Hall, giving herself time to regroup. In her sleep deprived state, the captain didn't feel confident navigating this latest emotional minefield. She considered skirting the issue, filing it away for another day. But when those large, blue eyes looked at her, expecting something, Janeway could almost believe she saw yearning. She mentally shook herself; getting disillusioned wouldn't help anyone. "Why do you think that?"
There was a heated spark in Seven's eyes as she said, "I was locked in the Brig . . . alone." She had been completely separated from her Collective. She continually felt cast aside, left out and merely tolerated. As irrational as these feelings were, it didn't negate the fact that they were already there, just brought forward by recent events.
"I realize you don't necessarily have fond memories of the Brig, Seven, but that doesn't mean no one values your friendship." Janeway pushed her half-eaten breakfast aside, focusing fully on the woman across from her. Slowly, the captain reached out, lightly ghosting fingertips over the back of Seven's hand. "You have a lot to offer. You just don't know it yet, and neither do the members of this crew."
Unbeknownst to either woman, Ensign Mart Machesney, an ex-Maquis, had settled down at an adjacent table to eat his breakfast—his back facing them—a means to offer the illusion of greater privacy. Although he never mind-melded with Tuvok, he was still a little twitchy over the Maquis rebellion, and sitting closer to the captain instilled a little extra bit of security. Eavesdropping on a private conversation was never his intention.… His captain's voice was low and rough. He could almost feel the emotion behind the words.
Janeway's thumb absently stroked Seven's hand as she asked, "Being in the Brig, is that where these feelings stem from?" She tried to catch the younger woman's gaze, but her eyes kept shifting. "You weren't contained because no one likes you, Seven. They considered you a threat."
Seven snapped a hard look onto the captain. "Because I am Borg," she spat.
Instinctively, Janeway took a hold of Seven's hand, stroking more firmly. She was in a difficult spot. She couldn't deny it, but she didn't want to admit it, either. Gently, she said, "Yes." There was a complicated explanation to go along with that very simple answer, but for some reason she couldn't articulate any of it.
Hearing the captain say it, Seven wanted to flee, but she didn't. She couldn't move as she was fixed in place by some invisible force. For a silent moment, she studied Janeway; there was something in those blue-grey eyes, something familiar and safe, something to be trusted. "I understand," Seven said finally. It was during moments like these that everything seemed to make sense and that there was a definite purpose to her state of being.
What? Machesney thought. I wish I could see their faces. This would all make a hell of a lot more sense.
He was well aware of the lower deck rumors. That the Borg was Janeway's pet project, something to whittle away the hours, or that Seven of Nine was being trained as the perfect Starfleet officer. It was also a known fact that the First Officer had wanted nothing to do with the ex-drone. His adamant opinion was that Seven of Nine be put off-ship, but he tolerated her to appease Janeway. There were countless other attitudes and criticisms about the young woman. And for his part, Ensign Machesney couldn't care one way or another, but hearing them talk, hearing Seven of Nine's plight firsthand struck a chord.
The captain found herself standing at a very familiar precipice. Her heart and mind battled for supremacy, but ultimately, practicality won. "If you're looking for companionship, Seven, all you have to do is ask. Let yourself be available." With a reassuring pat, Janeway released the captive hand and sat back. "The crew's just used to you preferring solitude. Now, if you want to change that, you need to make the effort." Absently, she reached for her coffee mug, taking a sip.
"Perhaps," Seven said. "But how should I proceed?"
Janeway frowned into her mug, disappointed it was now empty. From the line at the counter she spied from her seat, she would go without for a tad longer. "Well," she said, setting her empty mug on the table, "you could try attending the social events you find interesting. Eventually, the crew will warm up and start expecting you to be there, even asking if you're going to attend." She could tell Seven of Nine doubted her advice. "It's like that with anything worth having, Seven. If you want something badly enough, you need to pursue it."
Something clicked for Seven at that moment; despite the ambiguity, everything started to make sense. Even though she wasn't prone to feelings of intuition, simply knowing of the experience via various crewmembers enabled her to trust it. She focused on Janeway, a ghost of a smile on her face. "I believe I understand, Captain."
The captain grinned, pleased they had successfully adverted an emotional Borg breech. "Good," she said leaning forward, elbows resting on the table, all in an effort to hide the shiver that traveled along her spine and the resulting goose bumps. "So, have any ideas?" Janeway asked, her voice low, drawn to the light in Seven's eyes.
Machesney frowned at his breakfast. He couldn't make out the captain's last question. Again, the ensign wished he could see their faces.
Considering her answer, Seven watched the Mess Hall patrons. She finally returned to the red yoke of Janeway's uniform. Following the subtle slope of the strong shoulders she knew lay underneath, her eyes fixated briefly on the four gold pips on the grey tunic's collar, up the neck, along the jaw line.… Her eyes stopped at the still smirking lips. Immediately, Seven cut her explorations short, gaze snapping to the captain's eyes then away again. A flutter of emotion racked through her, panic that she'd been caught.
"I shouldn't pry. I'm sorry." Janeway said, feeling as if she was perhaps pushing Seven too hard, too fast. A moment passed with no response from the younger woman. "I had thought the Maquis would've been more accepting of you: non-Starfleet, an outcast of sorts, in some ways a kindred spirit.…" She picked up her fork and started poking her now-cold breakfast.
Not feeling the heat of blue-grey eyes on her, Seven looked back at Janeway. "I have read the logs and examined the sensor readings associated with Voyager's arrival and subsequent stranding in the Delta Quadrant."
"I remember," Janeway snorted, not looking up. That had been one wild day—one that forced the captain to think about a great many things.
"My discomfiture and assumptions over the incident notwithstanding, the data remains the same," Seven said pointedly. After her recovery from downloading too much information too quickly into her cortical node, she had finished researching the topic, considering every angle, every possible opinion, until developing her own. "Although I was not present during the original event, my opinion deserves just as much credence as any other crewmember's would."
"Yes, it does."
Ensign Machesney felt his chest tighten. He was slightly nervous over hearing this particular portion of the captain's private conversation with Seven of Nine. The little devil who sat on his shoulder even cowered. Nevertheless, Machesney's curiosity won out.
It had been a long time since anyone had broached the cause of Voyager's plight. Now, their situation was simply a matter of fact and mere circumstance. Few ever had the nerve to voice their opinion directly to Captain Janeway back then and even less did now. What happened to those who had? Well, the Fates saw them to early graves.
When the captain gave the order to destroy the array, Machesney believed their lives were over, as surely as if the Kazon or Caretaker had killed them. They were bound to be put off ship, imprisoned or forever doomed to servitude. However, Captain Janeway proved him wrong, and he freely admitted it. Yes, things got off to a rough start, but the crew—aside from the Equinox remnants—couldn't be happier. At the very least, they were content. Yes, he missed his grandparents in the Alpha Quadrant, but the monthly letters helped quell those feelings. In the last six years, Captain Janeway had kept them all safe and healthy, only losing six crewmembers after the initial loses while getting them thirty-thousand light-years closer to home.
That was damned impressive as far as Ensign Machesney was concerned. Here he was, a certified nobody from a human mining colony in the Demilitarized Zone and he was the lead Beta shift pilot, second in line for Chief Helmsman. Machesney was very proud of that fact, especially since Chakotay never let anyone near his ship's helm. Suddenly, the ensign realized neither woman had spoken.
Seven of Nine wanted to continue down this avenue of conversation. She wanted to express her opinions and thoughts further. But she didn't, instead remaining silent while patiently waiting for Janeway to look at her.
Where is Seven going with this? And how the hell did we go from her wanting more friends to the damned Caretaker? Janeway fought the urge to physically shake her head. The Borg certainly did have a talent for blindsiding her. Raising her eyebrow, she crossed her arms, still leaning on the table.
They stared at each other. Seven saw a hint of hidden confusion—a rare occurrence, indeed.
"From my research, I would have surmised that the Maquis would agree with your decision to destroy the array." Seven of Nine had delved deep into the principles and missions of both Starfleet and Maquis. What she found didn't impress her, but what had impacted the ex-drone were the actions of Voyager's crew, coupled with the seemingly never-ending compassion and tenacity of their captain.
"That's a very bold statement." Janeway's eyes cut to the back of Machesney's head, but quickly darted back to Seven.
The young ensign felt the hard glare as he continued to slowly eat, pretending to read his PADD.
"It is one I believe you support."
"I'll admit I was surprised by the lack of Maquis favor over the decision." It was something Janeway never pushed with Chakotay and probably never would. Of course, some things were best left as water under the bridge.
"Consequently, your decision saved an entire species and their home world from certain brutality and servitude, possibly extinction. Logic would dictate that action held true to the Maquis desires to save their own home worlds from a similar fate," Seven of Nine said.
Machesney flinched, understanding what Seven was saying.
Janeway sighed. When the last vestige of breath was forced from her lungs, she took a refreshing, fortifying breath and gave Seven a soft smile. "We have to learn from our past transgressions while moving forward, Seven. Sometimes we may stumble and we're bound to make mistakes, but eventually it happens."
It was a sound tactical decision and the only one that would have saved the greatest number of lives, on all sides—Federation, Maquis, Kazon and Ocampan. The data was public record, there for anyone who would bother to examine it: mission records, sensor logs, personal accounts of the event. Destroying the Caretaker's Array wasn't merely a means of saving the Ocampa, it was the only way to save Voyager. Jabin, the Kazon-Ogla leader, had already called for reinforcements, and despite sustaining heavy damages, he still managed to lay down continuous, heavy weapons fire. Voyager's weapons array was already severely damaged. The starship was vulnerable and wouldn't be able to hold the line for the several hours required to initialize the program capable of returning them to the Alpha Quadrant. So, the Captain of Voyager took her best option: save a world, stop the Kazon from obtaining incredibly powerful alien technology, and live another day. After all, chances were if they survived, they could find another way home.
Suddenly, Ensign Machesney lost his appetite, pushing his half eaten breakfast away.
Oh, how mighty the Maquis stood against the self-serving attitudes of the Federation and Cardassian Union. However, when others needed help, they all turned a blind eye while praying for their own selfish wants and desires, getting involved only when it suited their purposes. The Maquis as a whole weren't saints. During the course of destruction and violence against Cardassia, they committed unspeakable crimes against anyone who got in the way, even other Maquis. Chakotay's cell was one of the better ones, despite harboring a Cardassian spy, a psychopath, and a traitor.
Slowly, Machesney stood, taking his tray with him. I certainly got more than I bargained for. After depositing the leftovers in the recycler, the ensign took another step towards the double pneumatic doors, activating them. For some indistinguishable reason, Machesney stopped and turned back towards the captain and Seven. While the Borg had a ponderous look on her face, Captain Janeway simply gave him a small smile. He did a quick glance to see if anyone else was nearby. But when the ensign returned his gaze to the captain, he was greeted by an openly amused grin—one he couldn't help but return. Somehow, he felt lighter. With a nod to his captain, Ensign Machesney left to start his shift.
"Ensign Machesney was eavesdropping," Seven said, matter-of-factly and slightly annoyed.
"I know," replied Janeway, turning to face Seven fully. "A word of advice: never have a private conversation in a public place without having a very good reason for doing so."
Arching her implanted brow, Seven considered the implications of the statement. "Damage control," she said.
"You got it." Janeway winked. Curiously, she watched as Seven once again broke eye contact while wondering what was going on with her. As the younger woman's gaze returned, it stopped, seeming to linger at her.… Oh, she thought. Oh my. Certainly, this wasn't happening, perhaps her exhausted brain playing tricks on itself—projecting.
A surge of confidence settled within Seven of Nine as she felt empowered from the intellectual conversation. "I believe I shall take your advice, Kathryn."
The captain's ears felt awful warm as her chest fluttered. Casting a quick glance to notice an empty Mess Hall, Janeway asked, "What's that?"
Holding the captain's gaze, Seven explained, "Mr. Paris has rescheduled the high-rollers pool tournament for tomorrow night. He has suggested on several occasions that I may possess a superior aptitude for the sport, and I should receive private instruction from someone with not only skill, but with finesse and style." Originally, she had absolutely no desire or intention to take part in the activity, but that was before Janeway stated she should pursue her interests.
Chuckling, the captain said, "That sounds like Tom."
"The tournament would offer sufficient opportunity to observe prospective mentors, and learning this group activity would offer suitable means for additional social interactions." Seven paused before asking, "Will you be participating?"
Well, are you? Janeway considered Seven's request. Paris had been bugging her off and on for a month about the damned tournament. Of course, she would never commit and after this last week, she should really take the time to recharge her batteries, enjoy a little me time. "I suppose since I stole his coffee I should put in an appearance." I haven't been to one of Tom's events since Fair Haven. Wait, did I just agree to go?
"Very well, Kathryn," Seven said, standing. Her sudden courage hastily running out, she took up both trays. Offering Janeway her unique smile, Seven said, "I look forward to your performance." Not waiting for a response, she quickly deposited the trays in the recycler and left the Mess Hall. There was a strong desire to look back, see Janeway one last time, but she didn't.
After the doors closed, Janeway continued to stare. "What was that?" she whispered. She'd had absolutely no intention of participating in the pool tournament, especially since she wasn't going to go—until Seven of Nine asked her to. The captain fell back against her chair, relieved no one was around to see her befuddled state.
Mentally, Janeway backtracked through their breakfast conversation and other interactions in some vain attempt to make sense of what just happened, how she was so easily handled. She stopped again at her earlier ah-ha moment. Running a hand down her face, the captain looked up. Before she did anything else, Janeway had to make sure, had to be absolutely certain that it wasn't what she was thinking.
Yet, it was blaringly obvious. How the hell didn't she notice it earlier?
Sighing, Janeway rested her chin in her hand, staring out the viewport. It was probably just a little crush and Seven in all probability didn't even realize what it was. Certainly nothing to get all excited over, although a single-sided attraction was much easier to handle.…
She frowned. Had she inadvertently led Seven on? No, that couldn't be it. Seven of Nine wasn't someone prone to rash or whimsical decisions.
Grunting, Janeway stood, snatching her coffee mug off the table. She definitely didn't need any further complications onboard ship, let alone her life, at the moment. Refilling the mug, the captain decided to be more aware of how she interacted with Seven of Nine.
=/\= =/\= =/\=
Chapter 7:
Imperfection Vignette