AN: Here we are, another chapter.

I hope you enjoy! If you do, please do consider leaving me a comment or review to let me know.

111

"Mommy," Raffi said. "Absolutely, Mommy."

Seven smiled at her. She laughed, quietly.

Their quarters were quiet, and calm, and still. They had left open a channel to be contacted, so that they could be updated if there was anything that they could do to help anyone, but they'd locked down their quarters, otherwise, with a privacy shield.

They needed it. For just a short period of time, they needed to be locked away from the rest of the world.

Elnor was out, spending some time with Naomi Wildman, though Raffi suspected that Naomi had orchestrated that time together to simply give Seven and Raffi just a little time to spend alone.

In the still silence of their current little home, they had found a pocket of peace. These days, it seemed, that was all that they could really hope to find—some small moment of peace in what was otherwise a practical whirlwind of chaos.

"So—this means that you have tried out all possible variations, and you are finally satisfied and settled on your title?" Seven asked. "Or, do you plan to repeat this process again, in the future?"

Raffi laughed to herself, appreciating Seven's teasing and, more than that, appreciating that they had the chance to breathe enough that there seemed to be space for such frivolity.

"I thought there might be a title that…made me happier," Raffi said. "But I think Mommy is best."

"Mama and Mommy," Seven said. "And it's settled."

"It's settled," Raffi agreed.

"Well, Mommy, it would seem that Rori is simply not interested in eating more," Seven said. "You are superior at helping her to effectively release any and all excess air that makes her uncomfortable. Would you like to assist her?"

Raffi kissed Seven on the cheek, impulsively, and then she reached for the newborn that Seven had been feeding. She carefully lifted her and arranged the cloth over her shoulder, since she already knew that their daughter was notorious for spitting up at least a little—no matter how carefully Raffi burped her.

Rori whined at Raffi and scrunched her face and her body up as much as she could. She let out one pop of crying, but softened it to a whimper as Raffi brought her against her chest and spoke to her in the happy, soft voice that she'd found simply came naturally when she was addressing their little one. She had heard that voice, before, naturally leaving her body in what seemed like an entirely different life.

She tried not to think of things, though, that would break her heart—not when she was enjoying the fact that her heart was aching from pure happiness.

"Oh—now—there's no reason to fuss. Mommy is going to burp you, and then you'll feel so much better with your little full tummy."

The whimper faded almost as quickly as any other part of Rori's tour of emotions, and Raffi smiled to herself to think that their baby girl was soothed, more than likely, by her voice, her smell, and the sound of her heartbeat. She let Rori settle, and then she changed her position just enough, already learning the baby's particular favorite position for burping. She rubbed a few small circles on the little one's back, feeling her relax—an important part of the process when it came to burping Rori without having her part company with most of what she'd just eaten—and then Raffi began the percussion on her daughter's back that urged her to burp.

She laughed quietly, and Seven did, too, when the tiny baby let out a burp that seemed like it would have rivalled that of most adults.

"Good girl!" Raffi said. "That's got to feel better. Do you have any more in there?"

Now that Rori was content with the drumming on her back, she would stay in that position for a bit and let Raffi continue the thumping. She seemed to find it quite soothing, and Raffi was happy to indulge her. Beyond that, it sometimes meant that she would burp a little more and, as a result, suffer less discomfort.

And something as simple as the act of burping the baby made Raffi feel a deep sensation of worthiness. She felt like a good mother. She had a skill—she had many, according to Seven, but this was one that Seven either wasn't very good at doing, or pretended to be bad at doing for Raffi's benefit—that made her something of an asset in Rori's life.

Rori didn't know that Raffi had failed, once, as a mother. Rori didn't know how many mistakes Raffi had made her in life, or how many times it had looked like she might not make it to the place where she was now—a place where she truly knew happiness and, with the exception of the turmoil currently being caused in their lives by Spalen, knew peace. Rori knew nothing of Raffi's past life, and she cared nothing about it, just like she didn't care at all that her mama had once been a Borg who had been responsible for more death and destruction than Seven ever cared to think about.

All Rori knew was that she was loved. So far, they had managed to make it so that she had spent her very short life never knowing the touch of anyone who didn't simply want to love and adore her.

And they intended to keep it that way for as long as possible.

When Raffi was sure that Rori had burped all that she would, she gently moved the baby and rested her on her legs, leaning over to be close enough that Rori would be able to see her and study her facial features and movements. For that reason, she over-dramatized them a bit, knowing that would most appeal to the little one.

"You did not spit up!" She said. "You did not spit up at all! Your mama said you would, but there's no spit up on Mommy!"

Rori stared at her intently, but she was clearly relaxed—for now, Raffi took that as the best sign that Rori had to show that she was enjoying herself.

She held tiny hands in hers, and helped the baby to clap about a lack of spit up. Then, she moved to rub tiny feet between her fingers and give the baby something of a foot massage.

"Raffi…" Seven said. She stopped speaking rather abruptly. Raffi immediately knew that she had something on her mind, but she was stopping herself from going any further. That meant, of course, that it was something she'd come to know, or at least believe, was something that was likely "unacceptable" to say.

"Go ahead," Raffi urged, after a moment.

"I'm really very happy to have Rori here," Seven said. "Everyone said that I would love her in a way that was unlike any other love that I've ever experienced, and they were right."

"This sounds an awful lot like a statement with a pretty big 'but' attached to it, Seven," Raffi said. Seven stared at her, confirming what she was thinking. Raffi drew in a breath and purposefully let it out, choosing to ground herself. It made her nervous when people had things to reveal to her—especially Seven, since she always feared that something that might disrupt their happy lives—but she knew that they could handle anything together, if they simply tried to do so. "It's OK, Seven. You're safe here. We're safe here. And whatever you're thinking, or whatever you're feeling? We'll handle it together. You can tell me."

Seven half-smiled at her, and Raffi felt something in her chest loosen.

"I don't believe it is anything quite so problematic," Seven said. "Calm down, Raffi. You look a little unwell. It's only that…I'm afraid that I don't know how to be Rori's mama."

Raffi laughed to herself, but she did feel a rush of relief at the revelation. It was quickly clear, however, that Seven wasn't joking. Raffi furrowed a brow at her.

"What are you talking about?" Raffi asked. "You are her mama, Seven. You've been taking care of her since before she was born."

"But I keep getting this feeling that…there is something more that I am meant to be doing," Seven said. "There is something that I am not doing. Something she requires. I am not fulfilling her needs, and the most frustrating part is that I am aware that—perhaps owing to all those years that I spent as a Borg—I am completely unable to identify what it is that she needs and provide her with it."

Raffi looked back at the baby who was resting rather contentedly in the valley made by her legs. If she was worried about anything at all, it was probably the soiled diaper that she was, without a doubt, working up to producing for them very soon.

Raffi reached her hand over and brushed Seven's cheek. She swallowed against the ache in her throat that came when she saw that Seven's concern—and the pain that concern caused—was real and evident in her eyes.

"Oh—Sweetheart," Raffi breathed out. She ran her finger affectionately around Seven's ocular implant. With the stress and strain of everything that had been going on, she'd mostly avoided that gesture for the past few days. This time, when she did it, Seven closed her eyes for a moment, but Raffi was happy to sense that it was with affection and not with shame or hurt. When she opened her eyes, again, Raffi smiled at her. "What you're feeling is…well…I would say it's normal. And it has nothing to do with you being a Borg or having been a Borg. What you're feeling has to do with…being a new mama and, more than that, being a very good new mama who wants to do everything right for her baby."

Seven visibly swallowed. It looked like it got stuck for a moment, but she forced it down.

"And, yet, I feel like I am doing nothing right," Seven said, shaking her head.

Raffi dropped her hand and caught Seven's hand, holding it. She felt the cold of the implants there—metal that matched the metal that was a natural part of Rori's little hand, covered over until she could be taught how to properly control her natural instincts.

Something so simple—so objectively harmless, when controlled—was so terrifying to so many. Its very existence, even when it wasn't being used as a threat at all, was wreaking havoc and threatening to ruin even more lives. Raffi pushed the thought out of her head, but she continued to hold Seven's hand, and she noticed that Seven noticed, too, which hand she was holding.

"You are doing nothing wrong," Raffi said. "Nothing. You are doing everything right."

"I don't know what she needs," Seven said.

"She has all she needs," Raffi said. "She has a family that loves her. She has a home. She has a full belly. She has clothes to keep her warm and comfortable. She has luxuries that she doesn't even need, Seven. And, above all of that, she has a mama who worries about whether or not she has what she needs, so she's going to be just fine, Seven. And you—you are doing a wonderful job. Rori is lucky to have you as her mama."

"All I do is feed her," Seven said. "And…hold her."

"And love her, and talk to her, and keep her clean and changed," Raffi said.

"Humans require stimulation," Seven said.

Raffi swallowed back laughter, but she didn't keep every bit of amusement away from her features. Seven smiled in response to the smile that Raffi allowed to escape.

"Seven—are you afraid that Rori is bored?" Raffi asked.

"We are providing no opportunities for learning and growth," Seven said.

"Everything, for Rori, is an opportunity for learning and growth," Raffi said. "Look at her."

Seven did look at the baby. Rori was looking around, probably unable to focus on much, truly, given the distance that she could see well at this age. Still, she was content, and she occasionally flexed her fingers and moved her limbs, kicking her legs so that her feet pressed against Raffi's body when she pumped her knees.

"She is—unoccupied," Seven said.

"No," Raffi said, shaking her head. "Rori is very busy right now."

"Busy, Raffi?" Seven asked, laughing quietly.

"I'm serious," Raffi said. "She's listening to us. She's learning our voices. She's learning some words, or starting to learn them. She's…maybe even learning that conversation involves the exchange of words. She's learning what her mothers sound like when we have a calm conversation with each other…neither of us is angry. She's learning how to move her little fingers and toes. She's practicing with her little knees and elbows."

"She's learning all of that, and she hasn't gone anywhere but your lap?" Seven countered, still clearly amused and at least somewhat disbelieving.

"All of that," Raffi said. "And probably a great deal more that we can't even imagine. However, I can see that…you'd like our little prodigy to learn more. So—I have an idea."

"What is that?" Seven asked.

Raffi scooped Rori up and changed her position, leaning the baby against her body, but supporting her in something of a sitting position, so that the baby could enjoy a change of scenery and a whole new perspective.

"Well—why don't go you go and get a couple of those books that were gifted to her, and we'll read to her for a bit. Then, we'll get that play mat out, and we'll all spend some time on the floor."

"And Rori will enjoy all of these endeavors?" Seven asked.

"Rori will enjoy every minute she spends with us," Raffi assured Seven. "And she's bound to learn enough that…we may even be able to sign her up for school in a month or two."

"Now, you are being facetious," Seven said.

"If she starts to assimilate information at Borg speed…or even half-Borg speed…" Raffi said. Seven gave her a look. "Too much?" She asked, still trying to be light enough that it would help to soothe Seven. Thankfully, Seven relaxed and laughed quietly.

"Too much," she said. "But—you are forgiven. I will go and choose some books for her."

"Get at least one Toby the Targ," Raffi said, as Seven started toward the "nursery" space that, at this time, was mostly used for storage, since they both preferred to have Rori with them most of the time. "Rori and I, both, like those."

"Raf…" Seven said, stopping at the doorway to the nursery. Raffi hummed to ask her what she wanted to say. "Rori…and I…are lucky to have you as her mommy," Seven offered.

Raffi was struck, in a wonderful way by the comment. She swallowed, quickly, and felt the prickling at her eyes. She could barely nod to acknowledge Seven's comment—but it was enough. Seven wasn't looking for a reaction, she was only sharing her truth. She made that clear by turning and slipping into the nursery, leaving Raffi alone, for just a moment, with their baby girl and the heartfelt confirmation that she, too, was doing a good job at this—the most important job, arguably, that she had at the moment.