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From the sheer volume of log entries Neelix had left behind, it was apparent that he had taken his role as Voyager's Morale Officer seriously. Daily life onboard ship was meticulously recorded: who ate with whom, what they ate, whether he thought they enjoyed it. Culinary misadventures resulting in visits to sickbay were duly noted and lamented. He paid special attention to those crewmembers who appeared subdued and documented his attempts to cheer them. Every social gathering was recounted to the minutest detail: the menus, the activities, who had attended—and who had not. Seven was often listed among the missing, which disturbed him. Apparently, he'd made improving her morale something of a project—and considered her continuing avoidance of social interaction his greatest failure.

She stretched, catching a glimpse of her alcove over her shoulder. It was 0300, long past the hour she should have been regenerating. Since speaking with Naomi and Icheb two-and-a-half days before, she had not gotten much rest. Engrossed in her research, she was also easily distracted from her duties. Fortunately, at the moment none were particularly complicated, so her decrease in efficiency would not be noticed by anyone but herself. Still, if pressed, she would be forced to admit that this preoccupation was verging on obsession.

Yet the logs were compelling. She'd discovered them accidentally and had dismissed them at first glance, but once she began to review them, could not tear herself away. Delivered with Neelix's customary elaborations and digressions, they were a record of many experiences that Seven had shared. But told from a different point of view, she was forced to reconsider her own. This both fascinated and frustrated her. While the alteration in perspective was intriguing, she was growing less confident in her own perceptions—and more in his.

As an individual in whom most of the crew had confided at one time or another, Neelix was intimately familiar with his subject matter. And he had an eye for detail. While he rarely named the individuals to whom he referred, he provided enough description that Seven was confident she had ascertained the identities of approximately ninety-four percent. The logs provided evidence—although much of it was circumstantial—for some of the rumored relationships... and for a few that she had not yet considered. It crossed her mind that were Voyager destroyed, an archeologist in the future—or, given Captain Janeway's proclivity for time travel, in the past—would find these records as fascinating as she did.

She considered Neelix a reliable narrator—albeit one with a tendency to exaggerate—and she trusted his analysis. Unlike Icheb, he had no aversion to judging each story's merits in terms of accuracy. Thus, rumored liaisons between Commander Chakotay and Lieutenant Paris were labeled "pure fantasy," while a number of stories involving her and Ensign Kim were shrugged off by the cook as "wishful thinking." Seven hoped that this thinking was perceived to be on the Ensign's part.

There was nothing regarding Captain Janeway, save for one item dated 49783—long before Seven had been brought onboard. The Captain and Commander Chakotay had been stranded on an M-class planet for two months, and Neelix found their interaction upon returning to Voyager altered somehow, in a manner that he could not—or would not—specify. He never referred to it again.

The Commander, however, was frequently mentioned—most often not as a topic of gossip, but in seeking out Neelix as a confidant. Upon brief reflection, Seven thought this logical. As first officer, personnel issues were Commander Chakotay's responsibility and the chef provided a more intimate perspective than the second-in-command would have. They conferred often, after hours, over a cup of tea. Neelix found the Commander to be a thoughtful and reasonable man, and was proud to be held in such high regard that his counsel was sought in especially difficult situations.

And it was a difficult situation discussed on stardate 54692 that jolted Seven to attention. The Commander had become aware that a crewman was spending an excessive amount of time on the holodeck, engaging with representations of the crew. While this violated no regulations—and was likely done more often than the First Officer wanted to believe was true—it was considered in poor taste and could be viewed as an invasion of the crew's privacy. He felt it necessary to counsel the crewman in question, however circumstances dictated a sensitive approach.

Seven felt her face burn with shame. Neelix provided no detail regarding the crewman or her simulation, but she needed none. She remembered the reprimand so clearly that it could have been delivered a minute ago. She remembered the lurch in her stomach and how she pressed her fingers against his desk to ensure that she remained erect.

The program has been deleted, Commander," she said quickly. It will not happen again.

Glad to hear it, he said sincerely. She felt his eyes on her for a long minute. Seven… He coughed lightly, clearing his throat. Is everything all right?

Affirmative, Commander, she said, but her voice was not as confident as she'd hoped.

He stood and walked around the desk, sat on the edge directly in front of her and stared at her until she was forced to look up. I'm concerned about you, he said.

Is my work insufficient?

He chuckled. No, Seven, your work—excepting a very brief period there—is exemplary. It's… well…

It did not surprise her that he was having difficulty finding the appropriate words. He'd been kind enough not to say so, but the simulation must have embarrassed him horribly.

The holodeck can be comforting, he continued. There isn't a person on the ship who hasn't taken refuge there at one time or another. He looked at her directly, his eyes warm and compassionate. But no matter how accurate your scenarios are in mimicking real life, it's still a simulation. It's not real.

She nodded and looked at her feet. Understood, Commander, she said. May I go?

He patiently waited for her to look up again and smiled when she did. Dismissed, Crewman. She was almost at the door when he called her name once more and she turned, steeling herself against further humiliation. Just a suggestion, he said, but the next time someone asks you to join him for some fun—say a cooking demonstration in the mess hall—think about saying yes. He grinned. You never know… you just might enjoy it.

But he had not asked again, and she had avoided all but absolutely necessary contact with him for almost two months.

She sighed, closed the file, and paced a circle in front of her alcove; she was breathing too rapidly and her head was light. Her stomach lurched and she gripped the edge of the console to steady herself. She struggled to slow her breath, each shuddering in her chest against her racing heart. Her cortical node had overloaded on the holodeck and she was afraid that pattern was repeating. She ran a quick self-diagnostic—the node was functioning at ninety-three percent, the deficit easily explained by her lack of regeneration. To be absolutely certain, she ran a medical tricorder—which she had pilfered from sickbay the morning before—over herself to confirm. The readings were consistent with exhaustion and anxiety, nothing more.

She rolled her shoulders in a futile attempt to dispel the increasingly acute ache under her left scapula. She was tired, so tired that she believed she would even be able to sleep—if she could only stop her mind from reeling. The data was conflicting, overwhelming, and there were still too many unknowns. What had precipitated his recent interest in her? Were he and the Captain involved romantically? If not, did she want to be? Did he? If not, was there another? It annoyed her to think that she had never considered this, yet logically there was no reason to assume that the Commander would not be otherwise involved. He had many admirable qualities—and if they attracted her, so they would someone else.

Someone far more experienced in the nuances of romance than she.

Indeed, everything she had learned led to one conclusion: she had misconstrued his intentions. Still, she remembered the way he gently rested his hand on her back as he guided her on their hike up Mount Wilson. And she remembered catching him observing her on the bridge. Although she'd tried to ignore him, she couldn't ignore the way her heart thudded when she finally met his eyes and she couldn't deny the look her gave her—curious and kind—or his surprise and shy smile when he caught her watching him back.

She frowned. She required a counselor or a friend, but in this situation she had neither. Ordinarily, she would seek advice from the Captain or the Doctor, but that would be inappropriate under the circumstances. She rested her elbows on the console and her head in her hands. She had not felt so alone since her earliest days on the ship, when she was first severed from the Collective. She was not entirely without friends, but they were people with whom she participated in activities—not confidants. She could sing with Ensign Kim and his band; she could engage in Lieutenant Paris's holodeck scenarios and even grudgingly admit that she enjoyed them. But she could not converse with either about this. And there was no one else with whom she could talk on Voyager.

On Voyager. She stood erect and snorted. Had she not been so distracted by what her friend Korok had once called her "conflicted heart," she would have seen the solution immediately. She rushed to Astrometrics, ordered the startled Icheb and Crewman Tal on a break, and told them to return in one half-hour. Then, as a precaution, she sealed the doors.

She activated the com system, entered her request, and within a few minutes Neelix appeared on the screen, disheveled and distracted. "Seven!" His whiskers fluffed in an ebullient grin. "Good to see you! How is everyone?" But before she could respond, what sounded like a small explosion nearby engaged the Talaxian's attention. "Just one nanosecond," he said before scurrying away.

It was almost three minutes longer than a nanosecond when he returned. "So sorry," he said with a sigh. "Niroxilan peas—a delicacy I haven't had since I left Talax. Dexa's late husband used to grow them, and she saved some seeds. But they are finicky little devils. Heat too low and they become tough as a Kazon hide. Too high and poof, they're everywhere except in the pot." His eyebrows waggled vigorously. "As you can see." He looked over his shoulder, studying the off-screen conditions in what Seven surmised was the kitchen. "Or… well… as you can hear." He turned back to the console and settled himself comfortably into his chair. "So, where were we?"

"You were enquiring as to our condition," she offered.

He smiled and nodded. "So I was," he said encouragingly. "And…?"

"We are fine," she said. "I was uncertain if anyone was keeping you apprised of our whereabouts, as you'd requested."

"Not as often as I'd like!" he exclaimed. He looked at his console, then back at her with a sly smile. "But if you don't mind my saying so, unless my calculations are off—and it's possible they could be, but… I don't think so—it's 0300 there."

Seven felt her cheeks burn—in her distracted state she hadn't considered the time differential. "0317 to be precise… I'm sorry," she stammered, looking down. "If this is a bad time…"

"Not for me!" he said. "But shouldn't you be regenerating?" But before she could respond, he suddenly frowned and leaned forward anxiously. "You're sure everyone's all right? The Captain? B'Elanna? The baby?"

She looked up. "Everyone is fine," she reiterated. "And the Doctor has completely recovered from the alterations to his program."

"Glad to hear it!" Neelix chortled, then winked sympathetically. "Naomi told me about his 'deathbed confession.'"

Seven massaged her right temple where a curious throb might have indicated cerebrovascular distress. "You are well-informed," she said. "As you were about a situation on stardate 54692."

"54692," he repeated, his brow furrowed in thought. "Was that? No…." He shook his head apologetically. "I can't say I remember…"

"I was abusing my holodeck privileges," Seven offered. She shifted her weight from foot to foot. "Commander Chakotay sought your advice regarding a reprimand…"

The Talaxian's mouth opened and closed repeatedly, but no sound emerged. "That was you?" he squeaked at last.

It was her turn to lose the power of speech. He hadn't known? How was that possible? She stared at him, frozen with despair. "It was in the mess hall logs," she said hesitantly.

"Well, yes," Neelix said. "He discussed the situation with me. But he never told me who the crewman was. As I recall, he said that he didn't want to overreact, that the situation was complicated because he might be…" He pressed his lips shut, as if he had already said more than he'd intended.

"Because he might be what?" Seven asked.

"I don't think he meant it as a reprimand," Neelix said. He shook his head, still incredulous. "That was you."

"We have already established that fact," Seven said glumly.

He looked at her, raising his brows then furrowing them again repeatedly, as if he were examining a culinary experiment gone awry.

"Have Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay ever been involved romantically?" she asked.

He peered at her quizzically. "Seven, if you don't mind my saying so, I'm… well, I'm having a little—just a little, mind you—trouble following…"

She raised her eyebrow. "It is a simple question."

"No," he said, shaking his head back and forth, then nodding up and down. "I mean, yes, it's a simple question. And no, the Captain has always been firm about avoiding fraternization."

"Yet many on the crew believe that they are. Or were. Or want to be…"

Neelix shrugged. "And just as many believe that you and the Captain are involved," he said. "That doesn't mean you are, unless…" He leaned forward. "You aren't, are you?"

She raised her eyebrow again. "Am I romantically involved with the Captain?" It wasn't as absurd a notion as she knew some might think. The Captain was a handsome woman and possessed a compelling personality. They were close friends, and there had been moments when Seven thought that they might cross a line to something else, but the moment always passed, their affiliation unaltered. And it was not the Captain she desired. "No," she said unequivocally. "I am not."

"And that shows you just how much stock you should put in rumors," he said. He rubbed his chin as he studied her. "The strange thing is… well, Seven, it's very odd that you care about any of this—it's not your… you don't…"

"I have a date with Commander Chakotay tomorrow evening," she blurted.

The Talaxian's face lit up with surprise and delight. "Why, Seven! That's wonderful!" he exclaimed.

"Your enthusiasm is premature," she said. "I am uncertain as to his intentions."

"Now don't be so pessimistic," he scolded. "After all, if he asked you… He did ask you, didn't he?"

She bit her lower lip. "You will keep this between us?" she asked, knowing that she had already revealed more than was prudent even with such a promise.

"Of course I will!" he said, then sighed dramatically. "I'm disappointed, yes, truly disappointed that you would even think you needed to ask." He leaned forward and looked her in the eye. "I learned a long time ago—longer than I care to admit—that if you want people to confide in you, it's imperative you keep their secrets." He thumped his chest with his fist to emphasize his point, then raised his eyebrows expectantly. "So, did he?"

Seven inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. Time was running short—Icheb and Crewman Tal would soon return from their break, and she had already provided more information than she had received. "Yes, he made the request. For the first date as well."

"This is the second date?" He rubbed his hands together with glee. "Seven, that's wonderful!" He grinned broadly, then winked, as if sharing a confession. "If you want to know the truth, I always thought that you two would make an excellent couple."

She stiffened and frowned. "Explain," she demanded.

"Well, not always… not until recently, actually," he stammered. He took a deep breath to compose himself. "Let's just say I've encouraged him to reach out to you."

Her brow remained furrowed.

"He's been concerned about you for months," Neelix said. "Well, most of the year, actually… time flies, doesn't it? Who would've thought a year ago…?" He noted her impatience and cleared his throat. "Yes, well… the Commander thought you seemed subdued. Preoccupied. He thought you might be lonely. We talked about encouraging you to get out and interact with people."

"So his interest is charitable," she said. Although expected, she felt her throat thicken with disappointment. She swallowed hard. It was best she know now.

Neelix threw up his hands in exasperation. "Seven, give yourself a little credit! You've blossomed into a beautiful woman…"

She snorted. "I would hardly call my complete ineptitude at social interaction a 'blossoming.'"

"Nonsense!" he said. "So you're still a little rough around the edges. But if you've got questions about romance, well…" His whiskers puffed proudly. "I'm your man."

She recognized the illusory skip in her heartbeat as hope. "Do you believe that the Commander's interest in me is romantic?" she asked hesitantly.

He smiled and nodded. "Yes, yes, I think it could be," he said confidently. "After you returned from Ledos, well, even though you were only stranded together for a few days, his interest, shall we say, seemed, well… more than professional, and certainly…"

"But," Seven said, interrupting him, "after he and the Captain were stranded, you believed their interaction altered as well."

"Well, yes," he admitted. "But that was a long time ago and…"

"So you were uncertain then and you are uncertain now."

"Well, no…" He sighed. "Seven, you can't be absolutely certain unless you ask him and…"

She stood straighter. At long last, this was advice she could use. "Very well," she said. "I will ask him later today when he returns from his away mission. Thank you for your assistance."

Neelix shook his head. "No, that's not a good idea."

"Then how do I know his intentions?"

"You don't." His spots darkened in frustration—clearly, providing her with assistance was proving more difficult than he'd thought. "That's part of the mystery of love, Seven. You never know what will happen for sure. Go on the date. Have fun. Talk to him, get to know him. Let him get to know you…"

"Share activities that you enjoy," Seven said, reciting courtship advice she'd read. "On our first date, I mentioned that I was interested in a particular singer and Commander Chakotay suggested a performance on the holodeck for our second date."

He smiled broadly. "That sounds very promising, Seven. Very promising indeed."

An alert chimed—someone was attempting to access the lab. "That would be Icheb and Crewman Tal, returning from their break," Seven said. "I must terminate this communication."

"Well, it's been a pleasure," Neelix said, smiling broadly. "I hope I was able to help you in some small way." He leaned forward and winked knowingly. "Contact me after the date—maybe I can give you ideas for the next one. At the very least, we can play a game of kadis kot."

"Kadis kot would be enjoyable," Seven said.

"And, Seven?" He looked at her sternly as the comlink closed. "Just try to look on the bright side…"

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"Sometimes I wonder why…" Seven cringed; she'd come in late again. "…I spend the lonely nights dreaming of a song…"

It was a difficult composition to sing, requiring precise vocal technique, but her tempo was off and she wasn't hitting the notes, she was sliding into them. She was out of tune—the highs and lows were especially grating.

Harry Kim lowered his clarinet and looked at her, clearly exasperated. "What the hell, Seven? You sounded better humming under your breath on the bridge last week."

"I am having an off night." She steeled herself against further criticism, but it did not come. He simply looked at her, frowning. They'd been rehearsing for a half-hour and had not completed the first verse, not once. "Again," she said. "From the top."

"No," he said as he placed the instrument in its stand. "You're not prepared. This is a complete waste of time."

"I do not waste time," she said.

"Well, you're wasting mine."

Seven bristled, although she had to concede that his assessment was accurate, his irritation justified. Were she an unbiased observer, she would call her performance inept. She felt her face burn and inhaled sharply.

He turned to her again and caught her expression, somewhere between embarrassment and self-loathing. He smiled sheepishly. "Everyone has an off night now and then," he said, his tone softening. "Even you. Let's quit for now and try again tomorrow."

"Why do you assume that I have nothing else to do tomorrow?" she demanded.

He looked at her quizzically. "What's up with you?" he asked. "We're on a deadline here. The recital is next week, we haven't made it through the first song, and you haven't had a single rehearsal with the full band."

Harry was a perfectionist and Seven appreciated that. She looked at the floor. "Then remove me from the program," she said. "Clearly I'm not up to the challenge."

He considered this for a brief moment. "No," he said. "You're not chickening out. I'm not letting you." He held her eyes. "You have a beautiful voice, your technique is usually flawless, and you're developing into a remarkably expressive singer." He gripped her shoulders in emphasis. "You have a gift, Seven. It needs to be shared."

She snorted. "The 'gift' is from the Borg. Technological enhancements, nothing more."

"It doesn't matter where it came from," he said. "A lucky role of the genetic dice? Borg technology? It doesn't matter. What matters is that you have it. You enjoy it. You should share it." He smiled encouragement. "It's natural to be nervous, especially before the first performance. Don't worry. The crew is surprisingly generous."

Seven wasn't certain this would be true—she knew that some of the crew would relish her public failure. And even if they didn't, their assessment would be irrelevant. She would know she had failed. "I have plans for tomorrow evening," she said obstinately.

She'd taxed his patience. "Fine," he said, raising his hands in defeat. "Regenerate. Design a transwarp engine. Whatever. Obviously this isn't that important to you."

He had no idea how wrong he was. She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. Exhaustion and anxiety were adversely affecting her mood—and the mood appeared to be contagious. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "I haven't been regenerating well recently. I am tired."

His expression softened again. "Apology accepted."

"I do have plans for tomorrow evening, however I am free the following night," she said. "I will be better prepared." By then, she thought, perhaps she would have a better understanding of her romantic situation and would be less distracted. And if events did not proceed as she hoped, at the very least, she would have more to express musically.

She wondered if Neelix would consider this an example of "looking on the bright side."

Harry nodded. "Get some rest," he said with a smile. "I'll see you on the bridge in the morning."

Seven started toward the door, then paused and turned to face him. "I am sorry I wasted your time," she said. "I am grateful for all of your assistance." She looked down at the floor, then back at him. "Thank you for suggesting Rosemary Clooney. I have enjoyed the audio files and will be attending a simulation of a live performance on the holodeck tomorrow evening." Perhaps if he thought her prior engagement was for the purpose of furthering her musical education, he would be less irritated with her lack of preparation tonight.

"You're welcome," he said, smiling. "She had a clear, pure voice like yours, her technique was incredible, and her expressive abilities unparalleled. Learn from her, but don't mimic…" His voice trailed off and his face lit up, as if a switch had been turned on. The archaic idiom "light bulb moment" favored by Lieutenant Paris appeared to be an apt descriptor. "Wait a minute… Chakotay asked me for a list of her best live performances to choose from for a holodeck program."

Seven struggled to keep her face impassive. She had done it again. Either she spoke too little or she spoke too much or she spoke on the wrong topic.

"Are you dating the First Officer?" Harry asked incredulously.

Her face burned. She looked at the door—a mere 2.47 meters away—and wondered if her trembling legs would propel her to it. "I don't know how to date," she mumbled evasively. She sneaked a glimpse of his face out of the corner of her eye; his expression was both astonished and amused.

"Well, have a good time," he said as she fled his quarters. "Enjoy the show. Let me know if there are any songs…" He was cut off by the door automatically closing behind her.

She navigated the corridor in a sprint, nearly colliding with one of the Ensigns Delaney. As soon as she rounded the corner nearest the turbolift, she slumped against the bulkhead, hyperventilating, feeling faint. She attempted to control her ragged breathing, not entirely successfully. Ensign Kim was undoubtedly on the com to Lieutenant Paris with this revelation, and no one on the ship was more efficient at disseminating gossip than Tom. News of her date with the Commander would spread within hours, if not minutes. She knew the First Officer to be a private man. The resulting exaggeration and speculation would disturb him. Perhaps he would cancel their date.

Her head cleared, her breathing slowed. She touched the panel to summon the turbolift. She was resigned to this affiliation ending before it had begun, but she could not forgive herself for making him—even inadvertently—a subject of gossip for the crew. He had been kind to her. He deserved better. She needed to fix this, but could not trust her own efforts. She required assistance. She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. She entered the turbolift. "Deck Six," she ordered.

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