As the holodeck doors closed behind her, Seven of Nine began to make her way towards astrometrics.  Her usual confident stride began to slow as she pondered the Doctor's reaction to her gift.  He had seemed disappointed with the tricorder.  A troubled frown appeared on her face as she entered the turbolift.
 "Astrometrics."
 No, it wasn't the gift that had disappointed him but something else.  He'd tried to hide his initial reaction, but she'd seen the way his face had fallen, the sadness in his eyes.
 The turbolift doors opened and she stepped into the corridor, but after only a few paces came to a halt.  Was it something she'd done, something she'd said?  She turned around and took two steps back towards the turbolift, but stopped again.  An uncharacteristic confusion came over her, making it difficult to analyse the problem.  Something had happened between them that made her strangely uneasy, but she was unable to pinpoint the source of this feeling.  Stronger than the unease, however, was the growing pain she felt at having somehow hurt the Doctor; it seemed odd that this was affecting her so strongly, and she felt a vague fear that something was happening to her over which she had no control.
 "Seven, are you okay?"
 She turned to see Paris and Kim approaching, each holding long lengths of wood.
 "Yes, Ensign Kim, I am."
 "We're just off to Sandrine's for a little pool," said Paris.  "Care to join us, if you're not too busy that is?"
 "I am too busy."  Aware that her tone was surly, she softened it somewhat, "But thank you."
 "Are you sure you're okay, Seven?" asked Kim, concern plain on his face.
 "Quite sure," she replied, again unable to disguise her irritation.
 "Okay," said Paris slowly, sharing a look with Kim.  "If you change your mind, you know where to find us."
 Nodding slightly she left them at the turbolift and headed for astrometrics at a brisk pace, but she was unable to leave behind her anxiety and the image of the Doctor's face and the sadness in his eyes.

***

 As the last chord died away, the Doctor rose from the piano stool and instructed the computer to end the program.  Surrounded once more by the cold, sterile walls of the holodeck he sighed.  Did Seven really feel nothing for him?  Had he imagined the light that had seemed to come into her eyes during the last few days?  They had danced cheek-to-cheek: had that really been no more to her than another social lesson?  Was her heart as cold to him as the lifeless walls of the holodeck?  No - she had confirmed their friendship - but hadn't she seen that he'd been trying to say so much more?
 "Friends then," he muttered with resignation.  "Computer, transfer EMH..."
 At that moment he was interrupted by the entrance of Paris and Kim.
 "Sorry, Doc," said Paris with his customary flippant tone.  "We thought it was empty."
 "It's all yours, ensign," he replied, eyeing their pool cues with disapproval, "But I hope you remember that you have a shift in sickbay in one hour's time."
 "How could I forget?"
 "Computer, transfer..."
 He was interrupted once more.  "Have you seen Seven recently?" asked Kim.
 "Yes, just a few minutes ago, as a matter of fact."
 "Did she seem okay to you?"
 "Yes.  Why?"  His voice betrayed his sudden concern for her.
 "She was just acting a little strange, that's all - stranger than normal anyway - standing in front of a turbolift gazing into space."
 "I thought maybe you two had had an argument or something," Paris said softly, prompting a questioning look from Kim.
 "No, no argument.  In fact, we're friends - good friends."  He couldn't help letting a trace of bitterness enter his voice, and saw from the compassion in Paris's eyes that he understood.  Ensign Kim, aware that something unspoken was passing between them, looked from one to the other, a puzzled frown on his face, but said nothing.
 "Enjoy your pool, gentlemen.  See you in an hour, Mister Paris."

***

 Back in sickbay the Doctor sat at his desk, ostensibly working on his official weekly medical report, but actually pondering Ensign Kim's words.  Had Seven divined his feelings for her after all?  Had she feigned ignorance to avoid hurting him?  A horrible possibility occurred to him: she had known, and had ended their social lessons to curtail any chance of their relationship deepening.  It was bad enough that his feelings for her were unrequited, but that she should actively spurn him...
 He was still pondering this possibility bleakly when he became aware of Ensign Paris addressing him.
 "If there's so little to do, maybe I could skip this shift.  I was on a roll against Harry - eight games in a row; a few more and I would've had enough holodeck time for a week in Tahiti with B'Elanna."
 "There's plenty to do, Mister Paris," said the Doctor, attempting to pull himself together.  "You could start with a re-calibration of the biobeds."
 Paris nodded, but stayed where he was, a sympathetic look on his face.  "I take it she wasn't too thrilled to learn how you felt about her."
 "It never even got that far.  She ended our lessons.  In her words: 'There are no compatible mates aboard this vessel.'  I must assume that includes me."
 "Give it time, Doc.  Maybe she just hasn't come far enough yet.  Be there for her and maybe one day..."  He smiled encouragingly.  "Look at me and B'Elanna: didn't you once say yourself that we had the longest courtship in Starfleet history?  Maybe you and Seven could break the record."
 The Doctor managed a weak smile in return.  "Seven's not Starfleet, and technically, for that matter, neither am I."  An alarming thought suddenly occurred to him.  "You haven't told anyone about my...predicament..." but the way Paris shifted awkwardly from foot-to-foot was answer enough.  "Oh no," he groaned.  "I suppose everyone from the bridge down to bathroom maintenance is having a good laugh at the love-struck EMH."
 "Relax, Doc.  I only told B'Elanna.  Your secret's safe with us."
 "How comforting," he said, rolling his eyes theatrically.

***

 "REGENERATION CYCLE INCOMPLETE"
 Gasping, Seven stepped down from her alcove.  The dream was already fading, but a few fragmentary images remained and couldn't be ignored.  Gritting her teeth and watching her augmented hand until the trembling stopped, she forced herself to gain some measure of composure.  Her breathing steadied and the pounding of her heart slowed, but she couldn't rid herself of the feeling of claustrophobia that the dream had engendered in her.  She closed her eyes and swallowed, still feeling the Doctor's arms around her, still hearing his voice whispering tenderly as they moved slowly about the dance-floor - whispering things that she didn't want to hear.  'It was just a dream,' she told herself, but this failed to relieve her anxiety.
 Feeling oppressed by the cavernous gloom of the cargo-bay, she exited, unsure of her destination but feeling a need to escape from the emptiness of her 'quarters'.  After wandering the largely deserted corridors aimlessly for some time, she found herself at the doors to sickbay.  The dull ache of loneliness filled her; she wanted to see him, to see his compassionate eyes, his patient smile, but she was afraid to enter, afraid of what might happen, afraid that she knew exactly what was developing between them and that she was powerless to resist.
 Drawing in a tremulous breath, she turned her back on sickbay and made her way to the mess-hall.  On entering she saw that the room was empty, the lights dimmed.
 "Nutritional supplement three-zero-beta."
 Taking the cup of hot liquid from the replicator she sat with her back to the room.  Her gaze was directed out of the window towards the stars, but she was seeing the fragmentary images that remained from her dream: the Doctor with her in crew-quarters that were evidently hers instead of her familiar cargo-bay; dancing in Chez Sandrine's, his arms around her, his lips softly brushing her cheek...
 The hiss of the mess-hall doors opening startled her from her reverie and she turned to see Torres enter, mouth open wide in a yawn.  On seeing Seven, she came to a halt, her posture stiffening.
 "Oh, it's you," she said flatly, but with an undertone of hostility.
 "Lieutenant."
 "Doing some more late night research?"
 Seven looked away, feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable at Torres's sarcasm.  "I have apologised for having invaded your privacy, Lieutenant; I did not intend any harm."
 "You never do," she replied pointedly, turning to the replicator.  "Hot chocolate."  Drink in hand, she remained standing, perhaps considering sitting elsewhere.  "So why are you up at this hour?"
 "I... had trouble regenerating."
 Hearing the pain in Seven's voice, some of the hostility left her and she sat down.
 "And you lieutenant."
 "We had a problem with a plasma manifold."
 "I see."
 An awkward silence settled over them.  Seven took a sip from her liquid supplement and grimaced, it had cooled and started to congeal.  Summoning up her courage she turned to Torres.  "At what point in your friendship with Ensign Paris did you realise that he had romantic feelings for you?"
 "What?" Torres snapped, cheeks flushing with anger.  "You never learn do you!  If you want to study human mating behaviour consult the computer, but leave us out of it!  I don't know why you can't..."
 "Lieutenant," Seven broke in, voice hoarse with emotion, "I am attempting to solicit advice."  Seeing Torres's open-mouthed astonishment she looked away, embarrassed at being seen in such a moment of weakness.
 "Oh," said Torres after several seconds of silence, "Sorry."  Her own embarrassment was clear.  "I guess I'm more exhausted than I realised.  So what exactly do you want... advice about?"
 Still unable to look at her, Seven stood.  "It is unimportant.  I must regenerate."
 "Wait."  Torres left her seat and moved in front of Seven, placing a conciliatory hand on her shoulder.  "I know we're not exactly best-friends, but if I can help..."
 After a moment's hesitation Seven finally looked at her.  "How do you know that someone is in love with you?"
 "Well... I suppose you can't really be sure until they tell you... but you can kind of sense it... I guess."
 "Sense it: can you be more specific?"
 Torres frowned in thought; until recently, love was not something of which she had had a great deal of experience.  "You can see it in their eyes; in the way that they have a special smile that's only for you."
 "I see," she said slowly, trying to keep her voice neutral and not entirely succeeding.  He did seem to treat her differently from the rest of the crew; she had noticed a warmth in the way he looked at her, in the way he smiled at her that seemed reserved for her alone.
 "Seven, can I ask who we're talking about?"
 "I would prefer not to reveal that."
 If her emotions had not been in such turmoil, she might have noticed the careful way that Torres spoke, might have suspected that she knew more than she was letting on.
 "Okay, but what about your own feelings?  Do you love him?"
 "No - I don't know.  I want no part of it!" She burst out suddenly in frustration, angry at her own confusion and emotional fragility.  "Love is inefficient and irrational; it serves no purpose other than procreation; I do not wish to procreate; it is irrelevant!"  Breathing heavily she turned and strode from the mess-hall, leaving Torres with a small, sympathetic smile on her face.
 'It might be inefficient and irrational,' she thought, 'But you're wrong about the rest.'

...TO BE CONTINUED...