Chapter 2

Part 1

Neelix smiled at the Captain, his whiskers twitching as he listened to her request.

"So, no leola root, nothing that's still moving, and definitely no eggs," Janeway repeated, being very specific, for the little chef was nothing if not creative. Privately, she wasn't certain that he had any more talent for cooking than she herself did, but at least if the bumbling Talaxian got it wrong, she could blame him.

"Hmm," mused Neelix, looking around as though expecting an idea to literally pop out from one of the cupboards. "No eggs…no leola – ah!" he exclaimed, making the Captain jump. "I have some delicious sausages that would be just the thing, fried up with onions or in a casserole perhaps-"

"Sausages?" interrupted Janeway, her tone highly suspicious. "And what is in these sausages, Neelix?"

The little man looked away, fidgeting uncomfortably, and Janeway thought that she probably wasn't going to like the answer. "They're pork, Captain. With some herbs and spices, of course, and a little tomato-"

"Pork? As in, meat from pigs?" Janeway highly doubted that, given that the nearest pigs were about fifty thousand light years away.

"Well…they're very similar to pigs," said the Talaxian with an unconvincing smile. "And several of the crew have remarked on the, ah, porkiness of the meat. Trust me, Captain, you'll love them." He brightened considerably as he began to list the fifty different ways he could serve them, and Janeway stopped him with a hint of a cough.

"All right, I'll give it a try. In a casserole, then, with vegetables. And I mean normal vegetables, like potato and carrot, alright?" Janeway fixed her chef and morale officer with a steely stare, and he nodded hastily, whiskers wafting.

"As you wish, Captain. Have a good day!"

Part 2

Chakotay's eyes flicked open when the door of his quarters chimed unexpectedly. Most people who would normally visit him socially were on the day shift, and nobody would disturb him with routine matters since the Captain was on duty.

"Come in," he called hoarsely, easing out of the chair and trying to tug his rumpled uniform into some kind of order. He was unshaven and unwashed, and was glad that he had the lights dimmed. The doors swished open to reveal the small form of B'Elanna Torres, framed against the light of the corridor.

Torres looked around, sniffing at the disarray of the usually militarily-neat quarters. Clothes were strewn around and dirty dishes rested upon several surfaces, waiting to be loaded into the replicator. The man himself looked rough, but he smiled when he saw his friend.

"Afternoon, B'Elanna. What can I do for you?"

"I think I should be asking what I can do for you, Chakotay. What's gotten into you?"

The First Officer shrugged, waving one arm around casually. "I hate night shifts, always have. Sends my body clock haywire. Is this a social call?"

"I guess. I just wondered if you'd heard the Captain's news?"

Chakotay snorted, sitting down heavily and glancing away from the half-Klingon's stare. He'd thought of nothing else since his chat with Janeway in One-Upward, and the more he thought about it, the more despondent he felt. It wasn't that he begrudged the Captain happiness – far from it, he wanted to see her make a life for herself with her partner, and they were clearly crazy about one another. The Commander didn't honestly know why the relationship had affected him the way it had.

"Yes, I heard. I'm very pleased for them." The response sounded artificial, wooden, an empty platitude, and Torres wasn't fooled. Yet curiously, she found herself unable to question her former Maquis colleague further. Deciding he needed time to adjust, the Chief Engineer nodded and pasted a smile onto her face.

"I've never been a fan of night shifts, either," she admitted, looking around at the mess once again. "Want some help clearing up?" Her offer was genuine, but Chakotay refused, and the young woman sensed that it was time to leave. "Alright, then. See you later, Chakotay."

As she left, Torres wondered what she should do now. Go to the Captain and tell her that Chakotay was having a difficult time, or respect her friend's privacy and keep the hell out of it, for the moment? The latter seemed the best option, and she tried not to think about the matter as she returned to Engineering.

Part 3

Janeway was surprised when the doors opened, looking up from her lunch questioningly as the doors to her quarters slid apart. Seven-of-Nine remained out in the corridor, regarding the door panel curiously. Tapping a few buttons, she smiled hesitantly at the Captain as realisation dawned.

"You reprogrammed the door to allow me entry," stated the ex-Borg, obviously touched. "Am I disturbing you?"

Janeway left the table and crossed the room quickly, standing on the threshold and beckoning her partner in. "Not at all. I hope this means what I think it does," she continued, picking up a heavy case and dragging it inside with some difficulty. She looked expectantly at Seven, who inclined her head.

"If you think it means I have accepted your offer of living with you, you are correct." Picking up a smaller case and lifting it with ease, the young woman entered her new home, which she would share with the woman she loved. As the doors closed, the two women embraced happily then kissed briefly – their first kiss in their own quarters.

"That's wonderful, Seven," Janeway gasped, tears of joy pooling in the corner of her shining eyes. She hugged the blonde again, carried away in the moment, and eventually the ex-Borg had to push the Captain away gently.

"I have brought my belongings, if that is acceptable," Seven said, nodding towards the cases. Remembering what Torres had said about these being the Captain's quarters, she had brought a few items along with her clothes and other necessities, and she opened the smaller case straight away. From it, the Borg withdrew a mangled mess of metal, about the size of a coffee pot, cradling it lovingly and staring at it for a minute before placing it on one of the shelves in prominent view, moving some of Janeway's things aside to make room.

"Ah, Seven – what is..are those?" Janeway corrected herself mid-sentence as the first hideous article was joined by another equally distasteful, rusted heap. The Captain couldn't take her eyes off the objects, which now dominated her precious display.

The younger woman tore her eyes from the contraptions, frowning at her lover as though the answer to the question was obvious. "My art, Captain. I did not think you would mind – Lieutenant Torres said that it is customary for a person moving in with another to contribute personal items to the shared dwelling. Is that not correct?"

"Well, of course, Seven – yes…" The Captain's eyes strayed once again to the jagged metal piles, which appeared to be constructed of a variety of metallic junk and welded inexpertly. "Of course…art?" She tried to keep the scepticism from her voice, and was thankful that the ex-Borg appeared to notice nothing amiss.

"During the Doctor's social lessons, he encouraged me to 'express myself' using different methods. Sculpture was one of the pastimes that I enjoyed. Do you like them?"

It was hard to reply truthfully, and Janeway skirted the question as best she could. "They're obviously special to you, Seven. Tell me, what…what do they represent?" Shuttle accidents, thought the Captain to herself, exploded Borg cubes perhaps?

"This one," Seven began, picking up the first one she had extracted from her case, rubbing a finger over a surface which came away flecked with blackened specks, "represents my transition from Borg drone to human. The other is designed to show the frailty of the human consciousness." As she gazed at her work, Janeway turned away, biting her lip to remove the grin assaulting her lips.

"I've made space for your clothes and things, Seven, if you'd like to take a look?" Without looking back, Janeway led the way into the bedroom, patting the fresh covers she had replicated that morning after Seven had left for her duty shift. The younger woman followed her agreeably, carrying the larger case, and as she opened it the Captain held her breath, releasing it only when it appeared certain that the container held nothing more worrying than clothing.

Part 4

B'Elanna Torres couldn't breathe, she was laughing so hard. Bent double, the Klingon had her hands on her knees, and Seven was seriously considering that her friend might be in actual danger of passing out. Managing to move, Torres flopped over a console, her body wracked with spasms of giggles. Eventually the hilarity subsided, and she wiped her tears off her cheeks with a grubby sleeve.

"Oh God, Seven, that's priceless," gasped the engineer, not daring to meet her friend's eyes just yet for fear it would set her off again. "And she bought it?" More giggles ensued as the Borg replied, mirth creeping into her own expression.

"The Captain believes that my 'art' is 'special' to me, and has allowed it to remain on display."

That did it, and B'Elanna collapsed against a bulkhead, this time her paroxysms of laughter silent, just the odd squeak escaping. Minutes passed as she struggled to regain her composure, the volatile Klingon emotions difficult to control. "I didn't think you had it in you, Seven. I wish I'd seen the Captain's face when you got them out, I really do. When are you going to tell her? At least let me go and have a look at them first?" she begged, grabbing the blonde's arm.

"I will tell her tonight," Seven stated, and she meant it.

"So, what were they made of?" asked the engineer, her face reddened and lips twitching.

"Worthless scraps of debris," answered the Borg calmly. "I welded them together using a laser scalpel. The one which I told Captain Janeway represents 'the frailty of the human consciousness' refused to weld satisfactorily as the components were incompatible. It fell to pieces several times."

It wasn't the only thing to do so, for the Borg's matter-of-fact statement sent all composure fleeing from the Klingon, who, tears streaming from her eyes, had to leave the room.