#

Lieutenant Commander Tuvok's quarters were lit by one candle. "Am I disturbing you, Commander?" Seven asked upon entering. "Are you meditating?"

"I was," the Vulcan said. "Computer, lights." The room brightened to standard evening residential illumination. He extinguished the candle, then stood and faced her. "I have just finished. How may I assist you?"

Seven took a deep breath. His dispassionate demeanor calmed her. "The crew expends a significant amount of time and effort disseminating invalid information," she reported.

He intuited her reference. "You are referring to gossip," he replied.

She raised her eyebrow. Clearly Naomi was wrong—he was not as "out of touch" as she'd said. "I believe it is compromising ship's efficiency," she said.

He raised an eyebrow in response. "How so?"

"The crew is wasting time that could be spent on vital operations."

"Indeed," he said. "However personnel issues are Commander Chakotay's responsibility. Perhaps this would be better taken up with him."

She had considered this before approaching the Security Officer, however she thought it best that Chakotay never know about the latest speculation about to sweep the ship. "These trivial matters distract the crew and compromise security as well," she said. "Ship's security is your responsibility."

He raised an eyebrow again. "It is," he agreed. He contemplated the view out the window for a few moments. They were orbiting an M-class moon, preparing for mining operations. "Is there a reason you consider this an urgent issue?"

His query took her off-guard. She had already explained her concerns: efficiency and security. Surely he understood the urgency of that?

"I am aware that there has been a great deal of speculation following the Doctor's confessions." Tuvok turned and faced her again. "The Captain and I have already discussed the matter."

Seven visibly relaxed. "Then you will stop the gossip?"

"I am not certain that we can 'stop the gossip,' as you say. Humans gossip; it is their nature. It is inevitable that the crew will speculate. Neither the Captain nor I believe that either ship's security or efficiency has been compromised in any way. The 'deathbed confessions' were an annoyance, but ultimately inconsequential."

In her obsession with speculation about romantic affiliations, she had forgotten that others were involved: the Doctor had admitted to keeping a log of Captain Janeway's questionable decisions, and had apologized to Ensign Kim for comparing his saxophone skills to the sound of a wounded targ,and to Commander Tuvok for breaking medical privacy regulations. Seven was not the only one embarrassed by his revelations.

"It is disconcerting to realize that I am being discussed by my crewmates, out of my presence," she said at last.

"As there is nothing you can do about it, logic dictates that you should ignore it," Tuvok said.

"Why do you permit it?"

He pressed his fingertips together. "Voyager's crew is diverse, both in the number of different species represented, and in the personality styles of the individual crew members," he said. "This ship is small and it is a closed community—interpersonal conflicts are inevitable. Those conflicts can lead to insubordination and loss of morale and, yes, even to security breaches. Allowing gossip to continue—and may I remind you that there is no evidence we can stop it—both acts as a safety valve and provides an information stream."

"You monitor gossip?" Seven asked incredulously.

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "Affirmative."

"But the information gleaned is circumstantial and inaccurate at best," Seven protested, "and at worst, entirely fabricated."

"I have worked with humans for close to a century," he said, "and have lived among them in Starfleet for almost forty years, all totaled. From my own observation and analysis, I have found that there is often a kernel of truth—albeit sometimes very small—in gossip. It is prudent to stay abreast of the preoccupations of the crew, and investigate further when the need requires."

She bit her lower lip. It was clear that he would not assist her.

Tuvok observed her closely. "I understand that being the subject of gossip can be… unnerving." Neither his face nor voice betrayed any emotion, but his words were compassionate. "I can assist you with meditation exercises to control your emotional response, if you wish."

Seven smiled ruefully. "That is kind of you to offer, Commander," she said. "But no. I am human. I need to experience my emotions fully, not repress them."

"Even given the threat to your cortical node?"

Seven looked up sharply. "How do you know about that?" she demanded.

Tuvok shrugged. "Your implants have posed a security risk in the past—and likely will in the future. You have, after all, been contacted by the Borg Queen more than once during your time on Voyager." He paused. "Unfortunately, in the interest of ship's security, medical privacy regulations do not apply to your implant malfunctions. The Doctor is under orders to report any anomalies to the Captain, who will then provide the information to Commander Chakotay or myself, as she sees fit. I assure you, we hold it in the strictest confidence."

So that was how Commander Chakotay knew about her program. They had been forced to investigate when her cortical node malfunctioned. Seven's face burned, even as she knew that Tuvok's logic was flawless. "I understand, Commander," she said. "A prudent measure." She paused. "And yes. Even given the threat to my cortical node."

She thanked him for his assistance and left his quarters. She strode quickly through the corridor to the turbolift, her face an impassive mask. She offered curt nods to crewmates who greeted her as she passed. They expected nothing more of her. The behavior was familiar and comfortable.

Human interaction was a puzzle she simply could not solve. For almost four years, she had observed the crew, tried to mimic their behavior, tried to moderate her own to fit in. Nothing she had done had changed her position; she remained on the outside, quizzically watching them, longing to be one of them. A misfit.

She entered the cargo bay. This, too, was familiar and comfortable. Home. She sealed the doors behind her.

#

Middle-of-the-night disruptions to her regeneration cycle were becoming a disturbing pattern. She assumed it was nightmares that jolted her eyes open two or three hours into the cycle, but she could not remember them by the time she stepped from her alcove. This, too, was a disturbing pattern, one that she attributed to the failsafe component in her cortical node: if she could not remember something, it would have no residual emotional impact. Had the component adapted to prevent future complications? If so, it was an interesting adaptation, but ultimately unsuccessful: Seven never forgot anything and these blank spaces were more profoundly disturbing than any nightmare could be.

She stood at the window in the mess hall. Commander Tuvok had once told her that a view of the stars assisted his meditation. She had not yet perfected that technique. And, as she had already catalogued all of the celestial bodies visible at this location, with nothing else to occupy her attention, she attempted to simply admire the view.

But her mind would not rest. They were in synchronous orbit over the mining site, and from this vantage she could see carved into the coast a deep bay rimmed by mountains. In her mind's eye she was on a holographic planet's surface, looking over another bay from other mountains. My favorite place on Earth,Chakotay had said, smiling. Care to join me?

They'd reached the summit just before sunset. There was a chill in the air. Los Angeles Bay, 1740 meters below, was iridescent. Sailboats were scattered across the water. A barely perceptible mist hung low. Chakotay explained that one hundred meters below the surface lay the remains of a city—once home to ten million—which had been destroyed in an earthquake three centuries before, and had given the bay its name.

Seven watched the sea birds circle and keen. An admirable view, she said.

You'll see it for yourself one say,he said confidently, smiling, dimples creasing his cheeks. He sighed contentedly. There's something about the light here,especially at this time of year, this time of day. The sunset looks almost as if it was painted.

A function of the composition of the atmosphere, she said. The gas density, moisture content, trace minerals in the water vapor… Her voice trailed off as his expression segued from contentment to disappointment.

You don't have to analyze it, Seven, he said. Just enjoy the view.

She bit her lip. She had misunderstood somehow—and he had misunderstood her. His words stung. She considered the vista for a moment. Does understanding atmospheric science lessen the impact of the view in any way? she asked at last. Does it make it less beautiful?

He looked at her sharply. Slowly he smiled, then he laughed.

Seven blushed deeply. I did not intend to make a joke, she said.

He shook his head. No, he said and chuckled, then raised his water bottle to her as if in a toast. Touché. That's almost word-for-word what I said to my father right before I left Trebus for the Academy. He paused. My people believe that divinity is immanent—that God, if you will, is a part of nature, rather than apart from it. All nature is sacred. My father said that I should just accept that. He grinned. I asked him how studying something could take away the sacredness of it. He looked at her closely, as if considering something for the first time. Does this look different to you than to me?he asked, taking in the scene with his hand.Your ocular implant—does it change how you see things?

The question startled her, and it took her a short while to respond. I suppose it does, she said. My cybernetic eye perceives a wider spectrum than my human eye. That would affect my binocular vision. She blushed lightly and shrugged. I've never thought about it. The way I see is normal to me.

He met her eyes and held her gaze for a long moment. For the first time in her life, she felt that someone was seeing her, rather than an image of her, rather than whom he wanted her to be, the woman he could imagine her becoming. And he did not turn away. Her gratitude was tremendous.

Now Seven blinked back tears. What could she say to him? "Thank you," she whispered. "I have insufficient communication skills to fully express how much your companionship meant to me." Would rehearsing it make it easier to say when the time came?

She heard the mess hall doors open and close, and she turned in the direction of the sound. Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres emerged from the shadows, and shuffled across the room as if she were sleepwalking.

"ghay'cha'!" She was almost at Seven's side when she saw her and startled. "Damn it, Seven!" she said, scowling, her hands clenched into fists. "Can't you call out? You should know better than to sneak up on a pregnant Klingon."

"I did not 'sneak up' on you," Seven said, bristling. "I was already at this location."

The lieutenant's face and hands relaxed, and she smiled sheepishly. "Sorry," she said. "Hormones. I didn't realize anyone was in here. Am I interrupting you?"

"No," Seven said. "You are not. It would appear that we are both suffering from insomnia."

B'Elanna arched her back, rested her hands on her hips and massaged either side of her lumbar spine with her thumbs. "My back is killing me," she confessed.

"Perhaps you should go to sickbay," Seven offered. "The Doctor can provide you with an analgesic."

"If I go to sickbay, he'll keep me in there for at least an hour. And he'll insist on waking Tom." The engineer grimaced. "She's active right now—she'll find a more comfortable spot soon."

"Perhaps this is how mothers adapt to waking to feed infants every two hours," Seven mused. "You are prepared for sleep disruptions by the time they are born."

B'Elanna laughed heartily. "Well, aren't you just a ray of sunshine?"

Seven cringed. "I didn't…"

"Seven, it's okay," she said, interrupting. "Really. You made a pregnant Klingon laugh. That's an accomplishment." She grinned. "Maybe I should send Tom to you for some lessons."

"I hardly think that I would be the best individual to be providing relationship guidance," Seven said glumly. She returned to her contemplation of the view. But out of the corner of her eye, she saw shadows moving across the lieutenant's sleepwear. "Curious," she said. "Your abdomen is… rippling."

B'Elanna smiled. "She's kicking." She took Seven's human hand and placed it gently on her abdomen. As if on cue, the baby kicked. Seven's eyes widened in wonder. "Pretty great, isn't it?" B'Elanna said.

Seven nodded and smiled. This was a perspective she would never have imagined. "She's strong. Like her mother," she said softly.

B'Elanna acknowledged the compliment by returning the smile. "So what has you up at 0230?" she asked.

"It is 0256," Seven said.

"Okay, what has you up at 0256?" The lieutenant smiled encouragement. "You listened to my woes, it's only fair I listen to yours." She grinned. "And you do have a captive audience—I can't move very fast right now."

Her query caught Seven off-guard. The two women had never been close friends. In truth, the Klingon had hated Seven when she first came on board. And even after she'd settled in and become part of the ship's routine, the engineer continued to distrust her. She was irritated by Seven's lack of social graces, which both confused and amused Seven—it was not as though Lieutenant Torres was a model of courtesy herself. But, slowly, a mutual respect had emerged. They were able to work together efficiently and often collaborated. And at some point in time that Seven realized she could not exactly place, B'Elanna's attitude toward her had softened. Perhaps marriage and pregnancy had altered her perspective.

"You are married to Tom Paris," Seven said.

B'Elanna nodded.

"He is efficient at disseminating ship's gossip," Seven continued. "You must hear about it."

"More than I'd like," B'Elanna admitted.

Seven took a deep breath. "Are the Captain and Commander Chakotay involved in a romantic affiliation?" she asked.

B'Elanna snorted a laugh. "Is that one going around again?" She shook her head. "I take full credit for Harry and the Delaney sisters," she said, "and I might have pushed you and the Doctor a little, but I had nothing to do with the resurrection of In the Ready Room." She grinned. "Although it does come in handy."

Seven gaped at her in horror. Was the lieutenant admitting to manipulating ship's gossip for her own unknown purposes? Who did she think she was? Did she think the crew existed for her own entertainment? And she dared criticize Seven's social skills? She felt her face darken with anger. "Explain," she demanded.

B'Elanna rolled her eyes at Seven's sudden fury and lifted her hand. "Relax," she said. "I needed a diversion."

"A diversion?" Seven echoed.

B'Elanna studied her for a minute. "yIntagh," she muttered. Idiot. She pursed her lips. "If this gets around I'll know exactly where it came from and I'll break your face. Understood?"

Seven nodded. "Understood," she said warily.

B'Elanna stepped closer to her and lowered her voice conspiratorially, even though they were alone in the room. "When your oldest friend asks you to help get the crew not talking about something, you create a diversion. That's how you keep something private on this ship—you find something else for them to talk about." She shrugged. "When you're married to Tom, it's really not that hard."

Seven raised her eyebrow. The lieutenant's strategy was inventive, even if its purpose had not been clearly explained. Was she saying that she knew something? She took a deep breath. "Please, Lieutenant," she said, her tone uncertain. "I'm unable to follow your reasoning." Her face burned—she hated admitting weakness, especially to the Klingon. "I'd appreciate it if you'd be direct."

"Direct," B'Elanna repeated with an exasperated sigh. She met Seven's eyes "Okay, here's the deal, directly. You're not exactly my first choice for him, but then Tom wasn't his first choice for me." Her smile was belied by the cool warning in her eyes. "If you hurt him…"

"You'll break my face," Seven murmured, her eyes wide as she struggled to process this revelation. Had the Commander spoken to Lieutenant Torres about her? Was he as uncertain of her as she was of him? This was something she had never considered. He appeared to be so self-contained, so confident.

She realized that he could say the same about her.

"I'll rip your tongue out and shove it down your gullet," B'Elanna said serenely. She started toward the door, then turned to face Seven again and eyed her up and down. She shook her head, her expression a combination of exasperation and pity. "Look, I could use your help with the warp core diagnostic this morning."

"Your staff is perfectly capable of performing that task," Seven said.

"Yes, they are," the lieutenant agreed. "However, it'll get done in half the time if you're involved. Tabor's still pissed at you and afraid of you—that's a powerful incentive for speed and accuracy." She grinned. "I'll see you at 1030."

Seven started to protest, but the engineer cut her off. "You're getting out of an 0700 call on the bridge," she said. "That's an order, Crewman." She smiled gently. "Get some rest. No offense, but you look kind of haggard. You want to look your best in that dress tonight, don't you?" She saw Seven's deep blush and chuckled, and then glided to and out the door with more ease and grace than her condition seemed likely to allow.

#

Seven examined her reflection in the polished metal side of a biomatter container. She tossed her hair lightly, an unfamiliar movement. The style was called "tousled waves," according to Naomi Wildman, who had helped her select the coiffure from the database—and had arranged it for her, as Seven was not skilled in such matters. Naomi appeared to enjoy the task immensely, smiling proudly as she pointed out that usually it is the older sister who educates the younger, and here they were, just the opposite.

Seven was grateful for the assistance.

Naomi had also selected the deep berry gloss that now coated Seven's lips, a curious and rather unpleasant sensation. Naomi told her that she would get used to it.

She smoothed the fabric of the dress over her abdomen and stepped out from behind her makeshift closet. She smiled shyly at Naomi. "How do I look?" she asked.

Naomi gaped. "Damn, Seven." She blushed as Seven frowned at her outburst. "Sorry," she said. "I know I'm not supposed to swear, but…"

"My appearance is acceptable?" Seven asked hesitantly.

"More than acceptable," Naomi confirmed. "You're really beautiful." She smiled proudly, much as the Doctor had when Seven mastered a social lesson.

Beautiful. Seven still didn't entirely understand the concept, at least when applied to individuals. Some faces were more pleasing to look at than others—this much was true—but she still considered this irrelevant, particularly when it came to herself. Her human face was, in her own estimation, entirely ordinary. She had two eyes, a nose and a mouth; her features were symmetrical. What made her appearance unique were her remaining Borg implants, and these were hardly something that humans would consider "beautiful." Still, the compliment pleased her. She smiled broadly.

"Do that a lot," Naomi said, returning the smile.

She had not asked again who "the guy" was, nor had Seven offered the information. Given the speed of Voyager's gossip stream, she considered it likely that Naomi already knew.

"Thank you for your assistance," Seven said sincerely. "I would have been at a loss."

Naomi raised her hand, brushing Seven's gratitude aside. "That's what sisters are for," she said. "Come on, I'll walk you to the holodeck."

Seven smiled to herself—she had never had a sister, but it appeared to be an essential relationship.

She attempted her customary expression in the turbolift and the corridors, but she couldn't keep the corners of her mouth in their usual alignment. She ran a self-diagnostic; her cortical node was functioning at ninety-nine percent. Six uninterrupted hours of regeneration had helped. Proper instruction and preparation had helped as well. She was anxious, but it was an anticipatory anxiety, not the acute variety that made her want to bolt back to refuge in the cargo bay. She almost enjoyed this feeling. Almost.

She peered at the log for Holodeck Two. The Commander was inside, waiting for her. She smiled down at Naomi shyly, took a deep breath, and smoothed the front of her dress again.

"Have a great time," Naomi said with a grin before she skipped away.

Would she find Harry Kim or Tom Paris and discuss this in the mess hall? Seven smiled to herself, just a small smile. Perhaps Tuvok was right—it was illogical to concern oneself with matters beyond one's control. She entered her code on the panel and the holodeck doors opened. She hummed the opening bars of "Stardust" to calm herself.

She was perfectly in tune.

###