Pairing : B'Elanna / Seven

Rating : Mature

Feedback : I took the time to write it, so do me the honour of taking the time to respond when you read it.

Chapter II : The Neighbour over the way ...

The Doctor shifted his weight, leaning back in his chair as the mass of padds upon his desk and held in his grasp were momentarily forgotten. Freeing his left hand, he rubbed the bridge of his nose - growing exasperated with the lack of progress he had made despite the sheer complexity of the problem before him. His gesture was purely symbolic ; holograms did not grow weary, or fatigued or irritated.

They also did not paint, listen to opera, leave the confines of their original generating area and most importantly of all, fall in love. If his years serving as the impromptu Chief Medical Officer aboard the lost Intrepid-Class starship had taught him anything, it was that the `Emergency Medical Hologram' was no mere hologram.

Returning his gaze first to the now-slumbering Seven of Nine … and apparently B'Elanna Torres also, The Doctor saw from the corner of his eye the doors to sickbay open, admitting the most senior of Voyager's crew. Short in stature, but making up for such lack of physically with an overwhelming presence of mind that seemed to dominate any room.

"Report," Janeway said with obvious respect for the quietened atmosphere, entering the office and stopping before the beleaguered photonic man.

The Doctor stood, rotating his small computer terminal so that his superior might see the displayed log, having called up the necessary details. "Do you remember the incident with the Borg Vinculum, Captain?"

Janeway's eyes narrowed slightly, having little trouble in recalling the incident which had seen multiple personalities of those the ex-drone had assimilated taking over her body. Were it not for the apparent pseudo-science of a Vulcan mind meld, the Captain might very well have seen Seven of Nine descend into a psychotic madness from which there would have been no escape.

"You're not filling me with confidence, Doctor," She responded dryly, studying the medical information he had highlighted. Her brow furrowed, and she leaned closer; "The neural scan of Seven seem to indicate another pattern - More personalities? We haven't encountered or detected any signs of Borg activity in this sector …"

The physician shook his head; "The second neural signal visible does not belong to one of the repressed personalities, Captain. Its occupant is here, in Sickbay - in a coma, without any higher brain functions. Lieutenant Torres has taken up residence, somehow, or some way."

Janeway baulked visibly, "B'Elanna is occupying Seven's body?"

"Not so much occupying as co-inhabiting," he corrected. "I'm waiting for the computer to complete a mapping of Seven's neural pathways, so I can ascertain the extend of the alteration and understand just how our Chief Engineer came to be in here."

To say Kathryn was struck dumb was to be utterly correct. The look she read upon the face of The Doctor worried her exponentially more; the hologram had witnessed and been party to treating some of the most peculiar and awe-inspiring medical complaints the Federation had ever encountered ... to see him at a loss worried her infinitely more.

"Is there anything I can do beyond talking?"

The Doctor pondered for a moment, "If I make a suggestion Captain? The weapon my patients were struck with was a neural disruptor of unique design in my experience. It seemed to leave a residual energy imprint which arced between the hypothalamus and cerebral cortex - If I were to see one of those rifles, I'd have a far better idea of what I'm dealing with medically."

Janeway had already brought a hand to her commbadge. "Janeway to Bridge - I want the warp signature of the pirate craft identified, regardless of difficulty and resources required, and a pursuit course engaged as soon as it's feasible."

The cool intones of Voyager's Chief of Security disseminated the information, and replied in the affirmative; "Acknowledged Captain, I will report to you when we have the signature. Tuvok out."

A low groan precipitated the Captain and The Doctor, as a mesh-encased hand groggily rubbed a throbbing temple. Retrieving a tricorder, the Chief Medical Officer, with Janeway in tow, arrived at the side of the biobed.

"And who might we have the pleasure of talking to this time?" Asked The Doctor, his concentration divided between patient and medical tricorder; one arm extended as the handheld scanning device moved from head to toe.

"Ugh, still me Doc," came the slurred reply. Janeway's face twisted into something resembling bemusement as she heard the voice so often associated with control, detachment and aloofness infused with the warmth and energy of the half-Klingon.

Snapping herself back to reality, the Captain made eye contact with the still-struggling patient upon the bed; "How do you feel Lieutenant?"

Sitting up slowly, and using both hands to balance, B'Elanna-Seven fixed intense cobalt orbs on the Captain. "As well as someone who's sharing a brain with Seven can be."

"Is she alright?" The Doctor interjected, "Is she conscious?"

Seven pondered for a movement, eyelids lowering slightly as was the way of a person whose consciousness was being devoted internally, to great thinking and pondering. After a moment, the conflicted face nodded slightly.

"I can feel her … almost hovering around the peripheral of my vision … weird. I don't think she's enjoying the experience very much."

The Doctor took his turn to frown; "How odd, I had expected Seven's personality to be dominant - she being the original, well … tenant so to speak. Perhaps it's because of such barriers as the cortical inhibitor that Lieutenant Torres has manifested more strongly."

"I didn't think Seven had enough personality to fill half her body …"

"Lieutenant," Janeway admonished strongly. "It's never a good idea to insult the person whose keeping a roof over your head or in this case, a body for your mind. Now I want honesty - how are you really feeling? I don't need any brave faces, I just need the facts."

B'Elanna-Seven traced the mesh of the left hand with the nimble fingertips of the right, her lips twisting into a grimace laden with disdain, as she shuddered visibly. "I'm not really thrilled, Captain - It's the implants … they're creepy. I can't say the sensations of having a false eye and nanoprobes filtering through my blood are pleasant."

The Doctor closed the tricorder, and sighed. "Unfortunately, any possible treatment is mere theory at this stage. I can maintain B'Elanna's body for the foreseeable future; without the bothersome temper it'll be a simple case of sustaining bodily functions."

B'Elanna-Seven swung her legs over the biobed's edge and stood, making for the door.

"And where exactly do you think your going?" The Doctor demanded incredulously, "We can't just have a crewman with two minds walking the halls of the ship! I need you here for constant observation."

"Captain, there's absolutely no way in Grethnor The Doctor's getting me, I mean us, to stay here. You know exactly where I'm coming from and Seven doesn't need to be here for us both to know she'd agree with me; you've got to let us return to duty … we'll go mad."

B'Elanna almost smirked at how quickly she'd adapted to using `we' in actions. She ignored the curious sensations of the various implants and Borg technologies that outside Seven seemed to be silent, but in her fogged mind were as loud as screaming children.

"Doctor," Janeway began then paused, trying to come up with a short enough description of the new arrangement, "Give them a cortical monitor - Link the monitor directly into your program via the Sickbay systems so you can be alerted to any change."

"Captain," he sighed, surprising the room by not launching immediately into a screaming tirade as had been his style of tradition. "How can I help them if they insist on avoiding me? I can't perform miracles; if they don't submit for the tests and examinations then I might as well not bother."

Janeway admitted to surprise, though she kept it strictly isolated from her reply. "I understand your concerns Doctor, but the sheer unusualness of the situation means it needs to be handled a little delicately. I'll insist on a visit to Sickbay for your tests at least once a day and more, if you feel it's necessary."

The hologram nodded, retrieving a hypospray from the rack opposite. "This contains a neural suppressant, normally used during psychological procedures. I've diluted it to twenty five percent effectiveness - though it'll be negated by the Borg implants it should affect you, B'Elanna, normally and it'll make it easier to 'hear' Seven until you get used to this new arrangement."

Collecting a few vials of the concoction, he made sure B'Elanna-Seven understood the procedure. "If Seven is having trouble reasserting control of her body, simply increase the dosage of the suppressant, which should counteract the problem. I must remind you Lieutenant, that Seven requires at least five hours of regeneration per night minimum, and I must strongly recommend you make it at least eight following today's misadventure."

B'Elanna-Seven shuddered; "The whole cargo bay gives me the creeps Doc, can't I just sleep?"

The Doctor pondered, "Normally I'd encourage you to try, but your consciousness is being supported at least in part by Seven's cortical array, which requires recharging like any of her other implants. Though I don't know the precise results, I wouldn't toy with allowing them a prolonged time without the alcoves if I were a betting man; which I'm not, as it clashes with my ethical subroutines."

"Oh, and you're on a strictly part-time duty schedule," Janeway added, already moving to quell the imminent rebuke and denial brewing. "You can't expect anyone to believe you're fit to return to normal duty?"

B'Elanna-Seven looked down once more at her sky-blue biosuit, and grumbled. "Understood, Captain."

Fixing the cortical monitor just beneath the ex-drone's left ear, The Doctor nodded, satisfied. "The monitor is active, and I'm confirming the direct link to my program - I'll have the computer maintain a constant vigil even in the time I'm off-line."

"There's another issue," Janeway bridged, sighing as she received two confused stares in return. "There are people who must be informed of the situation; Tom comes to mind immediately."

B'Elanna-Seven nodded, a sickening thought formingthat Tom would view this not as a terrible accident, but a god-given opportunity to breach the realms of perversion to the point the half-Klingon feared the walls of reality would tear open, and devour them all; Borg-bonded and all.

...

...

B'Elanna, or rather, what was left of her, stared at the alcove with barely-concealed dread. Everything about it, from the copper-coloured piping to the dish refracting with lightning set above the head warned her to stay away - she could scarcely believe Seven spent any time here at all. Stepping up on to the dais, a deceptively delicate hand wrapped around The Doctor's hypospray, and pressed it against her neck.

After a weak hiss and a few moments of waiting, B'Elanna-Seven sighed with irritation. What kind of suppressant was this? Not only did she feel absolutely fine, but her headache even cleared slightly; reinforcing her dislike of all things medical.

*Lieutenant Torres …*

B'Elanna-Seven jumped, the hypospray clattering to the grid-like decking below with a resounding thud. Scooping it back to safety, the half-Klingon cursed loudly; speaking too soon as usual and winding up a fool for it. "Seven?"

*You do not have to speak out aloud, Lieutenant; I am perfectly able to hear your thoughts.*

"I'm not too good on the whole visualising … besides, I'm freaked out enough by what's going on. Are you alright? Where exactly are you, inside my … I mean your head?"

*I am where I have always been. I am able to see everything you see, hear everything you hear, but it seems your personality is more energetic than my own, and has displaced me to the role of spectator. It is most disconcerting to be so isolated.*

B'Elanna-Seven unconsciously reached upwards, pulling the hair pins from the severe blonde bun, until such time as the once-chained tresses swung free and quickly gathered about the former Borg's face; retreating only when they were forced into an unkempt ponytail.

*Lieutenant, why have you altered my hairstyle? It is inefficient.*

"It looks better," B'Elanna defended. "Besides, you look like a Librarian - so prim and austere; haven't you ever just worn it down?"

*Aesthetics are irrelevant. I remove my hair from its bun only when it requires washing, or when it is dislodged by strenuous activity.*

The Engineer sighed, pressing the hypospray to her neck and injecting a second dose. "We'll discuss this later, you need to regenerate first off; and I'd be really appreciative if you'd make it quick - I hate being amongst this."

The left arm of B'Elanna-Seven tensed, and began to flex at the fingers, despite not being a conscious effort. She felt control lapsing, as her right arm followed suit by bending at the elbow upwards, to scoop up the loose blonde locks and return them to some semblance of order.

*I don't like this,* B'Elanna surmised as she felt herself banished from the front line. *Can't you just leave your hair down? Why does it have to look as though someone's used a conduit aligner to tighten the bun?*

"It is not for discussion," Seven-B'Elanna replied coolly, turning to interface with the alcove. "Computer, begin regeneration sequence."

*Will I feel anything?*

Seven-B'Elanna pondered, "I am not entirely sure. If you are stored within my cortical array, it is logical to assume you will experience regeneration as I do. I have no previous case study to fall back upon. I believe our situation is unique."

Stepping back, the alcove clicked to life with a gradually building whir. The waking ended abruptly by a harsh three-tone alarm which brought cobalt-blue eyes snapping open, only seconds after closing for the first time through choice in many hours.

"Unable to comply," replied the computer, unhelpfully.

Ocular implant rising to meet forehead, Seven-B'Elanna fought back the tide of weariness which threatened to wash over her; it had been longer than even truly tolerable without regeneration and she had grown well beyond weariness and fatigue. "Computer, state the nature of the malfunction."

"Cortical array activity is beyond the tolerances of this unit."

Stepping back down from the dais the ex-drone sighed, allowing her shoulders to sag. Crossing to the workstation in front, she set about ascertaining the nature of the problem whilst a slightly interested half-Klingon watched.

*What's the problem?*

"I believe your presence within my cranial implants has exceeded the safety tolerances of my alcove; the unit may believe my implants have been compromised and that any energy transfer might cause their catastrophic failure. I am attempting to bypass the safety protocols."

*Is that a good idea? I mean, aren't your cranial implants pretty busy with the both of us here?*

"It is precisely because of that," Seven began, "That I require regeneration - I am extremely fatigued Lieutenant Torres."

*B'Elanna*

"Excuse me?"

*We're in serious trouble if we can't be on a first-name basis whilst sharing a body. Besides, in our current situation … a command structure isn't going to do us much of a favour, is it?*

"I will comply, B'Elanna."

"Unable to comply," Added the Computer.

Seven silenced the panel with obvious frustration; "It seems I will be unable to regenerate. B'Elanna, do you wish to visit your quarters? I have nothing more to do here."

*Sure Seven, I'd like to take a shower and … oh, shit.*

"Is there a problem?" Seven asked, frowning.

*Well, it isn't really my body to shower with … damn it, this is difficult to deal with …*

"B'Elanna" Seven interrupted, "We are sharing the same space. When you have control my body is as yours - it is illogical to think you will be able to deal with our situation in any other way. Until we are separated, we are essentially equal partners."

*So, we'll spend the night at my place?*

"If that is your wish, I cannot imagine you have any desire to remain in the cargo bay."

B'Elanna had already taken control of those long, trailing legs before Seven had finished issuing her offer and question. Marching the lanky blonde from alcove to exit in moments, and out towards home sweet home and a chance to relax in familiar surroundings.

...

...

B'Elanna-Seven threw herself onto the couch, sighing loudly as she slumped into the cushions. Frowning, she shifted herself about, trying to find a comfortable spot where usually no effort was required. After a couple of seconds of shifting, her frown deepened.

"I can't seem to get comfy," she moaned, still grinding her back against the couch.

*My spinal clamps alter the natural curvature of the human vertebrae; in conjunction with my abdominal implant, it makes seating for long periods of time difficult and uncomfortable. It is why I prefer to stand.*

"Geez Seven, it feels like there's a pole in my back - Computer, reduce lighting by eighty percent."

B'Elanna-Seven bolted upright . "Seven, why can I still see like I'm under twin suns?"

*My occular implant has compensated for the reduction in light - It is quite efficient.*

"No doubt," she grumbled. "Can it be turned off?"

*If you concentrate, you can resist the compensation.*

A contended sigh revealed success, and despite the busyness within her mind, B'Elanna drifted to sleep; dispensing to dreams and oblivion the worries and stresses of a most peculiar day.

...

...

B'Elanna awoke to another's touch, one she found familiar. Her drooping eyelids failed to see what her body screamed, as a hand gently rubber her right breast to the point of exciting the accompanying nipple. The half-Klingon moaned, as another hand began to massage the neglected neighbour; arching her back slightly to urge the fondling onwards.

"You're bigger than I remember …"

The massaging had escalated to kneading, and B'Elanna stretched her arms outwards around the back of the familiar stranger, urging him towards her. She felt the throbbing of an erection on her inner thigh, and opened her legs, welcoming the arousal incarnate. She edged herself downwards as feeling the almost-hot flesh press at the silvery juncture of the biosuit.

Realisation flooded back to her, and B'Elanna jumped to her feet with such sudden velocity as to force her visitor to crumple backwards and yell in surprise. Taking a moment to compose herself, she felt her faculties return somewhat.

"Computer, lights - maximum illumination."

The dazzled form of Tom Paris, trousers resting around his knees and underwear absent without leave, became visible struggling on the floor. He looked up, and his mouth formed a wide ring of utter horror and abject terror.

"Holy shit! Seven! What the fuck are you doing in my quarters? I mean … Oh God, I wasn't trying to … I thought you were B'Elanna … I'm going to be tried for rape … I'm going to be strapped to the hull and used as a keel …"

"Tom!" Seven barked, gathering his panicking eyes in his. "It's B'Elanna … I wasn't expecting you back until tomorrow."

"We finished up our holo-vacation early … Hold on. What the fuck … B'Elanna?"

"There was an accident, yesterday. Me and Seven were attacked with some sort of neural disruptor … it's had an odd effect Tom …"

Ensign Paris continued to listen, as he gave thought to his respectability and pulled up his trousers. "You're not Seven?" He repeated. "Don't you think that's the sort of important thing someone like your Husband should be made aware of?"

"I'm lying in Sickbay … that is to say, my body is. I'm seemingly trapped in Seven's cortical array, some side-effect of the weapon."

"Can I have a drink?" Tom asked honestly, only now recovering a heartbeat below a technical medical emergency.

B'Elanna-Seven nodded, about to ask for one also, before remembering the intolerance Seven's body held for synthehol. "Tom, we're going to have to make some changes for a while. What just happened is a good enough reason to give each other some space until I'm back in my own … state of mind."

Tom downed the whiskey almost before it had materialised fully. "I agree, I'd rather not spend the next fifty years in the brig for attempted rape."

B'Elanna-Seven nodded, finding the edge of the couch she had abandoned suddenly a few minutes before, and perching. She caught the questioning glance from her fiancé and decided to pre-empt his obvious line of questioning.

"I don't think she knows Tom … or at least, she isn't letting on. That woman's a mystery wrapped in an enigma though; I don't know what she's thinking most of the time, and we're sharing the same brain."

Tom nodded dumbly, and replicated a second, third and fourth drink.

...

...

To Be Continued ...