Chapter Three: Emotions

"Well, Miss Rosenberg, you seem fit to move about, but I wouldn't recommend eating anything for another hour. And be wary of Mister Neelix's cooking. It's been known to cause digestive problems."

"I have been duly warned," the red-haired woman said happily. Seven found herself transfixed by Willow, and she was feeling things that she didn't recognize. They weren't bad, necessarily, but they were unknown. Seven didn't like not knowing things about herself. Or about anything, really.

"I'll escort you to your quarters," Lieutenant Paris said. "I'm also a bit of a history buff, so maybe we can chat about what's not exactly history to you."

Willow laughed, and the sound made Seven feel warm in places she didn't know could be warm. "Sounds like a plan. You wanna come with, Seven?"

The ex-drone looked up. "Please restate your inquiry," she said softly.

Willow looked rather sad. "I just wanted to know if you wanted to come with me to my quarters. You know, help me get settled in? You guys are like the first people I know here, and I want us to be friends."

Seven didn't know what to make of that statement. Others in the crew had offered her sympathies and an occasional kind word, but aside from Ensign Kim's incomprehensible infatuation, no one had wanted to be anything resembling Seven's friend. "Perhaps I can join you later," she suggested.

That seemed to make Willow feel better. "All right, then! You cheer up, okay, Seven? I'll see you around. And thanks for everything, Doctor. And, um, sorry about throwing up so many times."

"It's quite all right," the Doctor said patiently. "You handled yourself admirably considering the situation."

"High praise indeed," Paris said with a grin. "Shall we?" he said to Willow.

With a smile and a laugh, Willow exited sickbay with Lieutenant Paris.

The Doctor turned to Seven. "is there anything you need, Seven? Nothing wrong with your implants, I hope?"

"No, Doctor. I require your assistance in another matter."

The hologram put down his instruments and walked over to give Seven his full attention. "What sort of assistance do you need?"

"I require your advice, and your confidentiality, Doctor."

"Of course. As long as you aren't a threat to yourself or to others, you can feel free to confide in me. Tell me, what's troubling you?"

"Willow," Seven said simply.

"Are you afraid of her?" the Doctor asked kindly. "Because she's destroyed Borg before? Or because she might be tied to Omega?"

"She is tied to Omega, Doctor. I don't know how, but she is. The molecule appeared on the sensors at the exact moment that Willow awakened from stasis. A coincidence is highly improbable."

"Maybe so," the Doctor conceded. "But are you afraid of her?"

Seven wasn't sure how she felt in that respect. "I don't know. I feel something. I want to understand her. But I don't know if it is Willow I want to understand or if it is Omega. Or possibly both. She has shown me consideration and kindness that no other crewmember has given me. I am uncertain how to respond to such gestures. They make me feel unusual."

"Unusual? Can you be more specific?"

Seven inhaled and steeled herself. "When she talks to me, I feel warm. It is a physical warmth in my chest, and to a lesser extent in the area between my legs. It is an alien sensation. I don't understand it."

"Hm." The Doctor paused before answering any further. "Well, Seven, I'd say that you feel attracted to Miss Rosenberg. Whether that attraction is platonic, romantic, or sexual is for you to determine."

Seven was shocked. "Romance and sex are irrelevant."

The Doctor chuckled. "Most humans believe that at some point in their lives. Usually during their younger years. You never got to grow up as a normal human, so you're understandably coming into your womanhood a bit late. Whether it is friendship you want with Willow, or if it's something more, it's a deeply personal experience for anyone involved. And considering that she's a charming young woman with a pretty face, it's perfectly understandable for you to feel an attraction to her."

"But, that doesn't make any sense, Doctor," Seven protested. "Sexual attraction is between two members of opposing genders. Otherwise, sexual reproduction would be unviable."

The Doctor smiled sadly and placed a hand on Seven's shoulder. "What the body needs and what the heart wants are often two entirely separate things. Just because something isn't essential for survival doesn't mean it can't help you to live a fulfilling life."

"I do not understand, Doctor," Seven said carefully. "But, I would like to."

The Doctor smiled. "That's a good start. Why don't we see where things go from there."

"So," Tom said to Willow, "this is Voyager. Fifteen decks, crew complement of about a hundred fifty, give or take, and one sweet thing to fly."

"You're the pilot?" Willow asked. Tom thought she was a nice woman. Spoke her mind a bit too freely, kind of like Seven, but she had some charm and tact to balance that out.

"That I am. Flying is my passion, though I do like to take the wheel of a Camaro every once in a while."

"You drive a Chevy?" Willow asked, clearly not buying it. "In space. You drive a Chevy in space. Not seeing how that's happening."

Tom laughed. "It's a holodeck program. Sort of a place where we can escape into fantasy for a little while."

"But you actually drive. So, it's like a movie theater, only you jump into the part instead of watching it, right?"

"Yes! Exactly! Finally, someone who understands 20th century terminology. If I wasn't with B'Elanna…" Tom trailed off, fearing for his life if the aforementioned chief engineer found out what he'd just let slip.

"Oh?" Willow asked teasingly, stopping to raise a mischievous eyebrow. "If you weren't with B'Elanna, what?"

"Um… If I wasn't with her, then I'd be a lesser man than I am today," Tom said with finality.

Willow chuckled. "I can believe that, Lieutenant Paris."

"Please, call me Tom. You don't report to me, and I don't report to you, so there's no need why we can't be on first name basis, right?"

"Sure. No problemo," Willow said. "So, I know you're a lieutenant, but how do I tell what someone else's rank is? I mean, if I'm gonna be here a while, then I don't wanna be rude or improper or anything. I mean, this is a military ship, after all."

Tom felt his stomach churn at being described as part of a military. "Well," he said, trying to answer her question first, "the two pips on my collar here mark me a lieutenant."

"Why is one of them gold and one of them black?"

Tom winced. "A single gold pip means you're an Ensign. Two gold pips makes you a full lieutenant. I'm a junior grade lieutenant, which is between the two."

"Ah, gotcha. So, two gold pips is a Lieutenant, and one black pip equals Diet Lieutenant. Okay."

"Did you just compare me to root beer?" Tom asked indignantly.

"Nope! I just compared you to cola. Not a big fan of root beer, personally," Willow said entirely too cheerfully.

Tom couldn't help but laugh. Willow did have charm. "So, we're on Deck Five, but you'll be staying on Deck Eight. There's crew quarters there, along with the Astrometrics Lab and Cargo Bay Two. Tuvok had you assigned to Deck Twelve, but I think you'd do better on Deck Eight."

"Why's that? There a big difference?"

"Well, it's just that… It's Seven. She's still new here, and she's not the easiest person for most people to get along with. But you seem to like her, and she seems to actually want to spend time with you. So, I figured it would be best to put you two close together. You okay with that?"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah, that's good. That's fine. I just don't know if it's me that she likes or if it's something else."

Tom stopped to call the turbolift, and he realized he'd have to tread carefully here. He didn't know how much Willow knew about Omega. "What else would she like?" Tom asked as genuinely as he could fake it.

"My power," Willow said simply. "There was someone before, back home. We were close, or so I thought. But it turned out my power was the really fascinating thing. Willow wasn't enough, it had to be Witchy Willow. I even got called a goddess after one particular spell. Although, that one was kind of a world-changer. And I don't even know if this is my world or not. I mean, my own dimension or reality or whatever. Do you guys have shrimp?"

Tom was trying to keep up with the implications of what the small young woman next to him was saying when the turbolift arrived. "Deck Eight," he said once they were both inside. "Uh, yeah. We have shrimp. And I didn't know that people in the twentieth century had the power to cross dimensions. It's a rarity here and now, and usually it's by accident."

"Oh. Well, I didn't open the portal that brought me here. The Topara did that. But I accidentally pulled a not-so-nice version of myself out of another dimension once. She caused some trouble before I sent her back. That was really creepy."

"Yeah…" Tom was getting less comfortable by the minute. The way Willow casually discussed such feats of power was frightening. "So, you do magic. I forget who it was that said it about technology, but…"

"Arthur C. Clarke is the guy, and the exact words are, if I recall, 'any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.' Well, I can tell you that I don't use technology to do anything, though I do use a few certain items for a ritual here and there."

Tom chuckled to hide his nervousness. "I would ask you how, but my experience tells me that a magician never reveals his – or her – secrets."

Willow laughed as they exited the turbolift. "You must be the resident funnyman. I'm not a magician. I'm a witch. Big difference. I don't do parlor tricks. I do spells. And thankfully, the future is a lot more tolerant of people being different than they are – were – in my time. Well, unless Voyager is out here on a mission of the not-so-nice kind. Does Earth have any big enemies out this way? I mean, other than the Borg?"

"Willow!" Tom protested, "the Federation is not an aggressive power. Our ships are designed with exploration in mind. The focus is on the sensors and the scientific equipment, not the weapons."

"But you do have weapons, don't you?" Willow countered. "For strictly defensive purposes, right?"

"You don't sound very convinced of that," Tom said gravely.

"I'm not. And quite frankly, if you believe that weapons should only be used as a defense, that's only kinda true. The bad guys aren't always gonna be nice and let you pick the battlefield. Sometimes it's better to go on the offensive before things get out of hand later on. You wait for the bad guys to throw the first stone, and they'll take their time and build up their forces until they're ready to overwhelm you."

Tom felt his face go even paler. "You talk like you've had experience with war."

Willow smiled enigmatically. "I do, don't I?"

Tom cleared his throat as they came to a door. "Well, um, here you are. This is where you'll be staying, Willow." He pressed a button and the door slid open. "Computer, lights," he said, and the lights turned on.

Willow seemed impressed. "Nifty. Everything's all voice activated in the future. And is this the computer? It's all touch pads! This is so cool!"

Tom couldn't help but let out a burst of laughter at the sudden childish glee that the self-proclaimed witch was now displaying. "Yeah, it's not that hard to figure out. This is the replicator, which can give you food or clothing, but don't use it too much. We need to save power when we can, since we are not out here looking for a fight. We were taken far away from home, and now we're on the long journey back. We didn't choose to be out here, so cut us all a bit of slack."

"Oh." Willow slouched and seemed rather small. "Well, that was smooth, Rosenberg. Accuse the nice future-people of being militaristic pigs while they give you a lift home while being just as stranded as you."

Tom smiled and put a hand on Willow's shoulder. He couldn't help but see her as a kid in some ways, even though she looked to be almost thirty. "Don't worry about it. Just take some time to get to know us, and we'll take some time to get to know you, okay?"

Willow nodded. "Sounds good. But, uh, what do I do if I need help? How do I call one of you? Are there telephones on board?"

"Not telephones, but we do have combadges," he said, fingering his own. "A tap along with your name and the person you're trying to reach opens the signal. This is also how you find someone you're looking for. If you ask the computer to locate someone, it'll find their combadge and tell you where they are."

"Ah, I see. So, future cell phones are lojacked as well. Gotcha."

Tom knew what a cell phone was, but the term 'lojack' was one he didn't know. Was it someone's attempt to make an opposite to a hijack?

Willow interrupted his train of thought. "Can the computer in my room also communicate with you guys, since I don't have one of those nifty badges yet?"

"Yeah, that it can do. It can also give you directions to the mess hall, which is a public area. You'll need an escort to go anywhere else, at least until we get you acclimated. And this trip could take a lifetime, so it's not like we're going to run out of time."

"If the trip is gonna take so long, you and B'Elanna had better make with baby-making soon."

"What?" Where had that come from?

"I mean, you're gonna need a new generation of people to operate the ship once the current crew gets all old and wrinkly, right? So, unless there's a bunch of kids hanging around that I just haven't seen, then two lovers really shouldn't keep the needs of the ship waiting, y'know?"

"Oh." That actually makes a surprising amount of sense. "You do have a point, I guess. It's just that I never expected to be a father anytime soon."

"What about a medic? Isn't it strange that the only other guy besides the Doctor available to help a patient is the pilot? Don't you have a medical staff? And if not, can't you train one?"

"Another excellent point to which I would like to say, 'we have that covered,' but we really don't. You should talk to the Captain. You have some sharp instincts."

"Sharp instincts? Me? Uh, no. No, I don't think so. Common sense, yes. Sharp instincts? That's more Slayer territory than it is mine."

"Slayer? What's a Slayer?" Tom asked.

"A Slayer is a tale for another day," Willow said. "Right now, I'm gonna try to get comfy and see if I can find something to eat from the replicator thingy. Oh! Before I forget, you said Seven lives on this deck. Are her quarters close by?"

Tom didn't think Willow was going to like the answer he had to give if he was going to be truthful. "Seven doesn't have quarters. Her alcove is in Cargo Bay Two."

Willow frowned. "The cargo bay? As in the place where you keep all your junk that you're not using. That's where Seven lives?"

Tom held up his hands defensively. "Biological and technological necessity, nothing more."

"Well, why did you install an alcove in the cargo bay in the first place? Why didn't you set one up in some quarters for her? She's not a thing, you know."

"I do know that, Willow! I do. It's just that we didn't have much choice in the matter. The Borg put the alcoves there, not us."

Willow began to walk forward towards him, and in spite of his superior height and apparent muscle mass, he felt himself retreating from her. "The Borg installed some of their alcoves on your ship. How did you fight them off? Tell me about how you rescued Seven from them."

Tom felt a cold sweat start to form on his brow. "Well, when we came to the edge of Borg space, we tried to find a way through, but the only way was infested by invading aliens who were a threat to the Borg, and they weren't friendly towards anyone else, either. So, Captain Janeway gave the Borg a weapon to fight the invaders in exchange for safe passage."

The door to Willow's quarters closed behind him, and the lights dimmed. If he didn't know any better, Tom would have said a gust of wind began to blow in the room.

"Your Captain formed an alliance with the Borg? Not under duress, but fully aware of what she was doing?" Willow accused darkly.

"Um, yes. And Seven of Nine was sort of a spokesdrone for the Borg. She tried to assimilate the ship once the aliens were beaten, but we disconnected her from the Collective. And it hasn't always been easy for her, Willow. She was in a bad place for a while. Wanted to go back to the Borg, if you can believe that."

"Oh, I can believe it," she said darkly, and Tom could have sworn that her eyes went black. And was her hair turning black as well? "After being a Borg for her whole life, why would she want to go with strangers into an unfamiliar life? You're telling me that she didn't, and you forced her to stay with you. Tell me if I'm wrong, Lieutenant," Willow sneered, mocking his rank.

"Nothing I could help, I swear," Tom said, now afraid for his life. "These are the Captain's decisions. I'm just the pilot and occasional medic, I swear. Please, I swear I'll-"

"Silence."

"…" Tom felt his mouth move, and he could feel his vocal cords moving as well, but no sound escaped his lips.

"Thicken."

The air around Tom closed in around him, and he couldn't move. Damn, but she really was a witch, and this was really magic! And she was mad. Oh, what had he done?"

The lights brightened a bit, and Tom saw that Willow's hair was indeed black, as were her eyes. "Computer," she said, her back to Tom, "do you have records of the events of Voyager's travels?"

The computer chirped. "Voyager's computer contains navigational log entries, officers' log entries, and personal log entries."

"Can I access that information, computer?"

"That information is restricted. Personal access codes are required."

"Well, well. Password protected, are you? I haven't hacked anything in a while, so I may as well get back into practice."

She turned back to face Tom, and he felt a wave of cold fear. "But I can't have you here remembering all of this so you can tattle on me. Forget," Willow said, and Tom suddenly wondered where he was and how he had gotten there.

"Sleep."

The next thing Tom knew, his door chime was waking him up out of bed. "Yes? What is it?"

The door opened to reveal a very huffy B'Elanna. "Did you forget about our dinner plans? Or did you just have too much fun with the new girl that you were too tired to stand up straight?"

"B'Elanna, that's not what happened, I swear," he said, getting out of bed, still wearing his uniform. "I just… I just… Computer, what time is it?"

"The time is 1700 hours and fourteen minutes."

Tom shot up straight. "Willow left Sickbay at just before 1400! How did I… What happened?"

"I don't know, Tom. You tell me what happened?" B'Elanna challenged, her arms folded across her chest.

Tom felt a headache coming on. He knew without a doubt that there was no one scarier than B'Elanna Torres when she was angry. Or if there was, he sure as hell didn't remember them.