Supercells and Whiskey, a startrek: voyager fanfic

Fanfic Trope Generator

Easy mode: huddling for warmth.

OR medium mode: only one bed, but with body swap.

OR hard mode: drunken confessions, but make it soulmates and trapped together

Min 1000 words

Summary:

Years after Voyager's return, Kathryn is managing the best she can.
Trapped with her soulmate, there might be a drunken confession.

Notes:

Part of the J7 Alcove server challenge.
Parameters: Use the Trope Generator, choose your level of difficulty (the number of tropes to appear in the story), minimum wordcount, 1,000.

My tropes: drunken confessions, but make it soulmates and trapped together.

As always, a big shout out to my fabulous betas: MaeShenanigans, Cobbs, and my clean-up hitter, LZClotho. Thank you all so much!

Any remaining typos or errors are 100% mine.

No (c) infringement is intended, I write for the love of it and to contribute to the rich tapestry that is the J7 fandom.

I hope you enjoy the quick read. :)

This was my first time writing "drunk dialect" and I sincerely apologize if it offends anyone.

Supercells and Whiskey

P. Rhapsody O'Brien

"I am perfectly capable of piloting a Viper, Owen." Admiral Kathryn Janeway slammed a paperweight down on her desk as if that would make her point for her.

"Kathryn, it's simply not done. You've been an admiral long enough to know how to follow protocol. If you insist on not taking the transport network home, you'll be flown by a qualified Viper pilot, and that's that."

Kathryn ground her back teeth together as she advanced on Owen Paris. "I'm tired of Starfleet protocol, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let some snot-nosed ensign fly me home. I'm not in the mood to have my atoms scattered to kingdom come and back again. Now, either stand aside or so help me, I'll knock you out of the way myself."

Owen shook his head slowly as he stepped out of the way.

Kathryn stalked through the corridor, to the hangar deck, and to the Class 12 shuttle she had been assigned. She had liked the design the minute she'd laid eyes on it upon Voyager's return from the Delta Quadrant. It had been a new design then. Unlike boxy military shuttles, the Viper was designed specifically for atmospheric travel. Sleek, streamlined and fast. It reminded her of a specific 'muscle car' Tom Paris had designed on the holodeck. She struggled to remember the name of it, although the memory of Tom's "Classic Muscle Car" race was still as fresh in her mind as if it had happened yesterday. It was during that holoprogram that she first saw Seven of Nine in a whole different light.

The former Borg, in an admitted attempt to fit in, had researched and designed her own classic muscle car. It was red, hugged the ground and had sleek, sexy curves. Janeway vaguely recalled an emblem. Two crossed flags, one a black and white checkered pattern and the other a solid red with a gold bow-tie design on it. It wasn't the emblem, nor the car that had caught her breath that day. It was six-feet of Scandinavian beauty. Her hair, undone from the harsh French twist she normally wore, was clipped back in a loose ponytail. A few strands had worked loose from the red barrette, framing her face like an angel. The skin-tight biosuit had been replaced by a pair of nice fitting blue jeans, black boots, and a white tee shirt with its short sleeves rolled up nearly to her shoulders. Janeway told herself she was simply trying to read the red tag on the back right pocket of Seven's jeans and not ogling her backside as Seven bent over the lifted hood of the car. The way Kathryn had salivated told another story. As did the way her eyes roamed up Seven's muscular arms, to her slender neck, and then collided with a cerulean gaze so knowing, it made her forget how to breathe. She had never even seen Seven turn.

She kicked herself—again—for not having the courage to tell Seven how she felt all those years ago, and now…it was too late. Too many years had passed and Seven had her own life now. One she had found without Kathryn. One that had meaning for her and purpose. Although the organization's methods for furthering its objectives went against Kathryn's Starfleet ideals, she was proud Seven had found a sense of belonging with the Fenris Rangers.

She turned to the shuttle in front of her. It wasn't red, nor did it have the sexy curves of the little red car, but she was sleek, nonetheless.

"You're relieved, Ensign," she said, stepping up to the hatch. She didn't wait for the customary acknowledgement of the order before entering the Viper. She closed the hatch behind her and took her seat, quickly running through the pre-flight checklist before powering up.

In the time it took her to win the argument with Owen and get to the hangar deck, the sky had gone from blue and sunny, to dark and angry-looking. As she lifted off, she closed the Viper's viewport. It was one thing to keep the viewport open in a gentle rain but quite another in a full-blown monsoon. She pressed a button and a viewscreen raised from the console. If she was going to have to fly through a storm, at least she would be able to see.

Halfway home windshear hit the little shuttle. Her hands shook and her stomach roiled as she fought the stick to bring the attitude back to level. She had a brief regret she had been so stubborn, and then the shuttle rocked again.

It had been a long time since she'd been in the pilot's seat, but her training finally kicked in. She white-knuckled the controls until she was safely nestled on the landing pad beside her San Francisco home.

Stepping out of the shuttle, she was nearly knocked off of her feet by the wind and the rain felt like needles on her face. A flash of lightning temporarily blinded her as she stumbled to her door. Safely inside, she divested herself of her wet clothing and scooped it up, putting it in the replicator. It disappeared in a shower of sparkles, replaced by a thick towel.

Hands still shaking, she poured a generous glass of whiskey and downed it in one gulp. She'd been through supercells before and tried not to be overly concerned by the way her three-centuries old home creaked and moaned in protest as the storm pounded the old clapboard siding.

After drying her body, she rubbed the towel vigorously through her hair. Strands of white stood out in stark contrast against the navy-blue towel. Janeway's heart felt like lead. It wasn't the first time she realized her youth was long gone…just like the chances she'd been too cowardly to take. The familiar weight of sadness pressed down on her until it was hard to breathe.

Looking around her dimly lit house, she had nothing to show for her life aside from the uniform she'd just recycled. Sure, she had gotten her crew home…most of them anyway…but here she was. Alone in a house that wasn't a home. And it was her own damn fault.

She wrapped a thick robe around her, and then downed another glass of whiskey. And then another. And another, until her head spun like the storm making her house creak and moan. Wind howled through the trees in her backyard creating an eerie echo across the tile floor.

She chuckled at the rhythmic pounding until it dawned on her that it might mean a costly repair once the storm was over. She closed her eyes and imagined a tree branch pummeling the front of her house. No, not a tree branch. Her eyes shot open, and she turned her head toward the door. Pushing herself out of her nest on the sofa, she staggered to the front door and looked through the peephole. A wave of grief passed through her. The thick, heavy wooden door had been Gretchen's idea. A replacement for the rotted door when Janeway had first bought the house. Gretchen had found it at an architectural salvage store, and thought it would look perfect on her daughter's new house. Kathryn, not in the mood to argue, had agreed.

"Admiral Janeway, open this door at once."

Kathryn raised her eyebrows, yet did as she was told. Only one person in the universe could speak to her that way. The door swung open, and there stood Seven of Nine. Her blonde hair stuck to her face, obscuring her ocular implant, yet her posture was still as pristine as ever, if not as formal.

Kathryn's heart fluttered as she stared at the woman she had dreamed of longer than she cared to admit. She seemed to be moving in circles, yet not moving at the same time.

A clap of thunder rumbled through her, startling her into action.

"C'min." Kathryn said.

Seven cocked an eyebrow, and then stepped past her into the house.

"Wadda ya doin here?"

"B'Elanna Paris contacted me. It seems that Admiral Paris is concerned about you. He contacted Tom, who told B'Elanna, who contacted Naomi Wildman who contacted me. Since I am on Earth for Ranger business, I thought it prudent to come and check on you."

Kathryn snorted. "Owen. He's always…" Kathryn looked up and the room seemed to tilt. "Hey…S[2[3]ev-eh!" She flung her arms around the blonde's neck and nuzzled into her shoulder. "I'm so glad you're here…I've mish'dyou…"

Kathryn melted into Seven when the taller woman tightened her arms around her waist briefly, but then Seven let go, gently pushing Kathryn back.

"Admiral, you are drunk."

Janeway lifted a corner of her mouth and waggled her eyebrows. "I am. You wanna drink?" She made her way through the topsy-turvy tilting of her living room floor, to the whiskey decanter.

"No, thank you. What I would like is to recycle my clothing and put on something dry. Judging by the supercell out there, I'm going to be here awhile."

Kathryn's eyes widened and she clapped her hands together, interlacing her fingers. "Staying? Good. Dere." She flopped an arm in the direction of the nearest bathroom, eyes following Seven until the woman disappeared around a corner. She turned back to the decanter and picked it up. Pouring all of her concentration into getting the liquid into the glass, she nearly jumped for joy when none spilled. Confident she could do it again, she hovered the lip of the decanter over another thick glass, and then tilted the bottom of it up. Giddy at her success, she slipped the stopper back into the crystal and put it back in its place on the bar-top.

Seven returned moments later. Her clothes were now dry, but her hair still dripped.

"Ohhh, lemme help."

Seven cocked an eyebrow, and then nodded. Kathryn subconsciously mirrored the nod, nearly falling over, and then staggered to the replicator and ordered a towel, a brush and a comb. Items in hand, she plopped onto the sofa and ordered Seven to sit on the floor in front of her.

Kathryn's mouth curled up when Seven complied, settling between her knees. She had been expecting an argument.

Kathryn towel-dried the blonde locks, and then began to run the comb gently through the tangles.

"I know I had a liddle to drink tonight, but Seveh, I've wanted to do thish ever sinss our firsh Velocidy mash. I thought you were beautiful the way your hair was mussed. And you were sho pissed!" Janeway let out a very undignified guffaw.

Seven scooted back further.

Kathryn ran the comb through the blond locks over and over again, each time a bit slower. The tangles were long gone, but she didn't care.

Eyelids getting nearly too heavy to hold open, she continued combing Seven's hair with one hand and stroked the length of it with the other. Suddenly her hands stilled and she leaned down, her mouth so close to Seven's ear she felt the heat on her lips. "Do you know how long I've been in love with you?" Kathryn whispered.

Seven leaned back and turned her head toward Kathryn.

"Possibly as long as I've been in love with you, Admiral."

Kathryn gasped at the admission and tossed her head back, falling against the back of the sofa. If it wasn't already, Seven's confession surely would have set her world spinning. Something pressed against her neck and made a quiet hissing sound. The spinning stopped and her fuzzy vision began to clear. Sitting up, she looked down.

Seven had turned around and now knelt in front of her, a hypospray cradled in her Borg hand.

"You sobered me up, huh?" Kathryn was surprised her voice sounded so steady given the size of the lump in her throat. She reached out her trembling hand, running the back of her finger down Seven's silk-like cheek.

Seven tilted her head and smiled. "It seemed the prudent thing to do."

Kathryn's fingers traced the fine laugh lines at the corners of Seven's eyes. "You've been smiling a lot more since our time on Voyager."

Seven placed her hands gently on Kathryn's face and smiled. The confidence she radiated nearly knocked out Kathryn's breath. "Since we're trapped here until the storm passes, I suspect I'll be smiling a lot more pretty soon, Kathryn."

Kathryn leaned forward and brushed her lips against Seven's, gasping when Seven deepened the kiss.

Pulling away slowly, Kathryn put on her most mischievous grin. "Oh…that you will, Seven…that you will."

~Finis~

(including archiving) is prohibited except with written permission of the author.

DO NOT BOTHER CONTACTING ME IF YOU ARE LOOKING TO SOLICIT BUSINESS BY TURNING MY STORY INTO A COMIC OR ANYTHING ELSE. I AM ***NOT*** INTERESTED. PERIOD.