Seven found her concentration wavering, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The Doctor was sitting on the other side of the briefing-room table, two places to her left, and she found that her gaze was constantly focusing on him, apparently of its own volition; she would look away only to realise a few minutes later that she was once again staring at him. The situation wasn't helped by the fact that the Doctor seemed to be suffering from the same difficulty.
    "With the power grid down, we have no way of ventilating the lower levels," Foreman Kresk was explaining from the viewscreen. "We estimate that within three hours toxicity-levels will become fatal. I have sixty-four men down there that are certain to die unless you can..."
    "We'll be at your position in thirty minutes," Janeway interrupted. "We'll do everything we can to help.
    "B'Elanna, your top priority is to get their reactor back on-line."
    Kresk spoke bleakly. "Captain, I doubt there's anything you can do with our reactor, not unless you can work miracles."
    "My Chief Engineer has been known to work the odd miracle from time to time, Foreman. As for the remaining trapped men, we should have less difficulty: Seven of Nine has made a preliminary analysis of your schematics..."
    How would it feel to have his lips pressed against hers? It was hard to believe that the act of kissing could evoke any kind of pleasure, and yet she felt a sudden powerful desire to experience it; to taste his lips, to feel his tongue...
    "Seven!"
    Everyone in the room was staring at her, and she felt a kind of resigned-dread, knowing what would happen even before she felt the heat in her cheeks begin.
    "I apologise, Captain. What..."
    "Your analysis."
    Captain Janeway was frowning at her and she looked down at her PADD, trying to ignore her burning face, trying to convince herself that no one would notice and failing miserably. "The gallery in which the miners are trapped runs parallel with arterial shaft eight for twenty meters; I believe that it would be safer and more efficient to bore through at this point than to attempt to clear a way through the obstruction."
    Kresk was unconvinced. "You want us to dig another tunnel in an area that's already unstable."
    "We will brace the passage sufficiently," she replied, a hint of accusation in her tone, "And our phaser-drills will cause a minimum of geological stress."
    "This seems a foolish proposal to me. I won't risk anymore of my men needlessly."
    "And I won't risk any of my crew needlessly, Foreman," Janeway said forcefully. "If Seven says it's the best option, then it is. If you prefer, you can always wait for the relief ship."
    "We can't afford to wait that long, it'll be at least eight hours!"
    "Then do we proceed as Seven suggests?"
    Kresk was silent for a moment before replying grudgingly. "Very well."
    "Good.
    "Doctor, assemble a medical team and brief them on the situation.
    "Seven, I want you to maintain constant scans for signs of geological instability."
    Kim spoke up. "Captain, we won't be able to get accurate readings from orbit, the rock density is too great."
    "Then you'll have to beam down to the site, Seven."
    She caught the Doctor looking at her with a worried frown, and knew that he was concerned for her safety.
    "B'Elanna, we'll need pattern enhancers..."
    Strangely, despite her confidence in her own capabilities, it was comforting to be aware of the protectiveness he felt towards her. In that instant, below the level of conscious thought, she came to some measure of resolution, and it was only when he tentatively smiled at her that she realised that something had changed within her. She would not give up his friendship, no matter what else might happen; it was too important to her - he was too important to her.
    "Thank you, Captain. I appreciate your help."
    Janeway nodded. "We'll contact you again, Foreman, when we're ready to beam down."
    As they filed out of the briefing-room to their various assignments, Seven joined the Doctor and spoke softly to him. "I do not wish our friendship to end." As he smiled at her, his eyes filled with warmth, she felt a fluttering in her stomach.
    "Neither do I, Seven."

***

    The tunnel was hot, warmed by the phaser-drills as they blasted a way through the dense rock, and bathed in their orange glow. Periodically the drills would stop and the engineering team would carefully place the braces and portable forcefield generators needed to prevent further collapses. Slowly they bored their way through the tons of rock lying between them and the trapped miners. As Seven continued her scans she heard Commander Chakotay call her over the din of the drills and looked up to see him approaching with Foreman Kresk.
    "How much longer, Seven?"
    "Approximately fifteen minutes. Commander, will Lieutenant Torres be able to repair the reactor?"
    "Yes, she thinks she'll be able to bring it on-line within an hour."
    "Your Captain was right," Kresk said, admiration in his voice, "She can work miracles."
    "Voyager's crew is efficient."
    Chakotay looked mildly surprised at Seven's rare words of praise. "The Doctor's treating the reactor-workers who were injured in the explosion, but he'll be finished soon. I'll let him know we're almost through here. Are there any signs of instability?"
    "No, the area is safe at present."
    "I apologise for doubting you, Seven of Nine," said Kresk gruffly.
    "No apology is necessary."
    As they turned to leave, Seven resumed her scans. The Doctor arrived shortly with a medical team, and they waited tensely for the drilling to cease.
    Thirteen minutes later they'd broken through to the gallery, and cautiously they entered, scanning for lifesigns. As the medical team advanced through the rubble and wreckage of machinery, Seven supervised the placing of pattern enhancers. The darkness was cut by the beams of wristlights and filled with the cries for help or the groans of pain of injured miners. As the Doctor and his team ministered to those most in need of immediate treatment, the less critically injured were transported to sickbay to be treated by Paris.
    A part of her looked on with cool objectivity at each new discovery: someone with a crushed leg, in shock and almost unconscious, but likely to survive; someone with a severe head injury, dying even as the Doctor tried desperately to save him; another corpse, to be dismissed as unimportant. She realised that she was retreating into Borg-like dispassion and, surprising herself, she fought to retain her feelings of distress, suddenly needing to assert her humanity in the face of such tragedy.
    Meter-by-meter they slowly moved through this tenebrous hell, and Seven found herself in the grip of a dull horror. Something about the suffering and trauma around her reminded her of an assimilation site, and she found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on her scans.
    At some point in their nightmarish journey Torres apparently succeeded in bringing the reactor back on-line, for suddenly pockets of sickly yellow light winked in to existence at intermittent points along the walls of the tunnel, some flickering and crackling, most inoperative or destroyed, but enough remaining to accelerate their pace. Seven, though, found herself wishing for a return to the darkness. Nearby lay the lifeless body of a miner, crushed to death beneath a large metal stanchion, and Seven was unable to tear her gaze from the knob of bone protruding through rags of flesh where the arm should have been. A touch on her shoulder startled her and she turned to see the Doctor looking at her with concern.
    "Are you all right, Seven?"
    She swallowed, trying to relieve the dryness of her throat before replying. "You have more important matters to deal with."
    He hesitated for a moment, his face filled with compassion, before nodding and moving away to resume his work.
    It seemed as if they'd been advancing along the tunnel for days (in reality her internal chronometer told her that less than two hours had passed) when her tricorder showed the first signs of geological instability. She rechecked the readings but there was no doubt. Searching the gloom, she located the Doctor treating an unconscious miner as a crewman used a phaser to cut away the beam beneath which he was trapped. As she approached them she opened a comm-link.
    "Seven of Nine to Commander Chakotay."
    "Chakotay here," came the distorted response.
    "The area is starting to become unstable."
    "How long do you have?"
    "Ten minutes, fifteen at most."
    "Then it's time to get our people out."
    "Acknowledged."
    The Doctor completed his work and the miner was freed. As pattern enhancers were placed around the Kargon, he looked at her grimly. "We can't leave yet, there are still five people unaccounted for."
    "We have no choice, the tunnel is in imminent danger of collapse."
    Ignoring her, he studied his tricorder. "I'm getting faint lifesigns up ahead... two of them. We're not far from the main cave-in now... there's still time to get to them."
    This time it was she who placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We've done all we can."
    "No, we can't just leave them!"
    Seeing the anguish in his eyes she felt pain for him, but spoke firmly. "We have to go now, before more lives are lost."
    He looked away from her, and she knew the burden of guilt he was feeling at abandoning those two lives. "Very well," he murmured softly, still not looking at her.
    She wished she could say something to ease his pain, but found herself uncharacteristically at a loss for words. The desire to caress his face, to press herself against him for their mutual comfort was suddenly strong, and she backed away alarmed. She didn't want to deal with those feelings yet, and this was hardly the time to be distracted by such things. Putting the situation with the Doctor aside for the moment, but vowing that she would deny how she felt no longer, she oversaw the task of transporting the remaining survivors to sickbay; once this was completed it was time to evacuate the rescue teams. As they beamed up in parties of six she kept a wary eye on her tricorder; the strain on the area seemed to be accelerating, and by the time the penultimate transport had been accomplished she estimated they had five minutes left. As Ensign Mulchaey stepped into the ring of pattern enhancers she looked around for the Doctor, and with the first stirrings of panic saw that he was gone.
    "Ensign Mulchaey, has the Doctor transported yet?" She knew he hadn't, but felt compelled to ask, clinging to the hope that she had somehow missed his departure.
    "I don't think so."
    She knew where he'd gone of course, and her breath began to come in shallow gasps as her panic mounted. "The Doctor is attempting to rescue the remaining two miners; I must follow him. You will report what has happened to Commander Chakotay once you are aboard Voyager."
    "Are you sure that's..." began Mulchaey, but Seven had already turned away and started up the gallery in the direction she was sure the Doctor must have gone.
    As she stumbled her way through the lurid landscape of rock and twisted metal, she re-calibrated her tricorder to register lifesigns. The first of the two remaining miners was not far ahead, but she knew it was hopeless, there just wasn't enough time. Why was she doing this? Words from what seemed an age ago came back to haunt her: 'Love is inefficient and irrational...'. What could be more inefficient and irrational than her pointless death? But it didn't matter; nothing mattered to her anymore except him.
    Twenty meters ahead she saw him crouching in the spectral halo of a flickering light. Drawing closer, she saw him reach down and close the eyes of the miner, and as he did so, she felt, rather than heard the walls of rock all around begin to groan. Grit and fragments of stone began to rain down, and at that moment he looked up to see her, his eyes widening in horror. She saw his mouth forming her name, but his voice was obliterated by the resonant crack of shearing rock. And then she knew no more...

    She became aware of a hand holding hers and a tender caressing of her cheek, and she lay in a warm state somewhere between waking and sleeping, not caring where she was, existing only for his gentle touch. Then the pain began to insinuate into her semi-conscious haze, and she opened her eyes. Instantly he stopped his caresses, though he continued to hold her hand. His face was furrowed with worry but he gave her a small smile.
    "Don't try to move yet."
    "Am I badly damaged?" She was surprised at the weakness of her voice, and looked down the length of her body, fearing massive trauma, but she could see little in the press of darkness, and realised that their sole source of illumination was her wristlight propped on a rock beside her.
    "Don't worry, you'll be fine."
    "I assume we're trapped."
    "I'm afraid so." He looked away, ashamed. "I'm sorry, Seven."
    "Apologies are irrelevant," she said as angrily as her weakened state would allow. "Because of your actions four people might die instead of two."
    He sighed heavily. "I don't really count."
    "Self-pity is also irrelevant." Her anger, though, faded as quickly as it had arrived. "You do count," she added softly.
    He smiled at her gratefully and opened his mouth as if to speak, but he became embarrassed. She knew what he wanted to say and, for the first time, she wanted to hear it.
    "Doctor, I..." She stopped, her heart suddenly pounding, realising the enormity of what she'd almost done - there could be no going back once she'd spoken those words aloud - but to die here without ever having admitted her feelings to him... He reached out and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand and she shuddered. Almost immediately a ripple ran through his body with an electrical crackle, and she felt fear tighten her chest. "The mobile emitter?"
    "It was damaged. My program's destabilising."
    She struggled to sit up, but he restrained her.
    "You're too weak."
    "Let me see."
    He leaned down so that she could examine the device on his arm, flickering again as he did so.
    "Perhaps if you deactivated yourself..." She felt her self-control, her ability to think slipping away.
    Smiling sadly, he retrieved a hypospray and placed it in her hand. "If the pain gets too bad, use this. Try to avoid it if you can though."
    "No!" she gasped. "You can't leave me... I need you!"
    The flickering had become almost continuous now, and she heard his words as if from a great distance. "I'm sorry. Whatever happens, Seven, somewhere, somehow I'll be watching over you."
    And then he was gone.
    She watched as the emitter clattered to the ground and let out a single wordless cry of anguish. Oblivious of the pain she struggled to a sitting position and retrieved the piece of technology, but her hands were trembling so badly she couldn't operate the tiny controls, and there was nothing she could have done anyway. Her mind couldn't focus; she didn't know what to do; she couldn't think of anything but the gaping hole that had suddenly opened in her life. Clutching the emitter to her shuddering breast she tried to force herself to regain control, but instead found herself sobbing convulsively. How could she live with this pain? How could she live without him? At that moment she wished she'd never been freed from the Collective.
    A wave of dizziness overcame her and she lay back down, still clutching the emitter to her breast. Feeling more lonely than she'd ever felt before she desperately clung to a single thread of hope: perhaps he could be saved - he had to be saved.

    They broke through to her two hours later. The sarcastic remark about disobeying orders that had been on Torres's lips died when she saw Seven. As Paris knelt beside her and quickly scanned her, she held out the emitter to the engineer.
    "Bring him back to me... please."

***

    She sat at the foot of her alcove waiting, feeling drained and weak. She'd regenerated for three hours; Paris had suggested a whole day, but she'd refused to regenerate at all. The Captain had finally ordered her to her alcove, but had relented enough to allow her to set the cycle for three hours only.
    And now she waited.
    Torres had said that it might be possible to recover his program, to reconstruct the damaged code, but that it would take time. It had take four hours and twenty-three minutes so far. As soon as her regeneration cycle had ended she'd gone to the science lab, but her presence had quickly started to irritate Torres, and when the Lieutenant had snapped angrily at her to stop breathing down her neck, she'd retreated to her cargo bay.
    Four hours and forty-seven minutes: she felt strangely blank, neither hoping nor fearing. Was she repressing her emotions? She didn't know or care. She seemed wrapped in a deadening cocoon.
    Waiting... waiting...
    After five hours and eleven minutes she became aware of a voice addressing her.
    "Neelix to Seven of Nine."
    "Yes."
    "We're all in holodeck two, and there's only one person missing from the party."
    "Party?" she asked dully.
    "Well, I thought we needed it after the day we've had."
    His voice seemed unusually cheerful. Only one person missing...
    "I know you're not keen on parties, Seven, but as your Moral Officer, I'm ordering you to attend."
    "Acknowledged," she replied in a tremulous voice, her heart suddenly pounding.
    She took a deep breath and stood, hardly daring to contemplate what this might mean; but what else could it mean? Slowly she walked from the cargo bay, her legs feeling weak and barely able to support her. It seemed as if she was in a dream, and she was hardly aware of her surroundings until she was standing before the holodeck doors. She was suddenly afraid, and her nails dug into her palms. What if she'd misinterpreted Neelix's words? No, it wasn't possible; he might not be aware of the depth of her feelings for the Doctor, but he certainly knew how close a friendship they'd developed; he wouldn't be so thoughtless as to cheerfully invite her to a celebration if the Doctor wasn't...
    She seemed frozen, unable to enter, and she suddenly realised that what she most feared was seeing him again. She would have to admit to him how she felt; it couldn't be ignored any longer, not after what they'd been through. Steeling herself she stepped forward and the doors opened to reveal Chez Sandrine.

***

    "So what does it feel like to come back from the dead?" Paris clapped him on the shoulder, grinning inanely while Torres snorted into her drink.
    "Mr Paris," he began, rolling his eyes, ready to deliver a devastating quip, but was stopped by Paris nudging him with his elbow.
    "She's here."
    Nervously he turned and watched as she began to make her way through the modest throng of celebrants to where they stood at the bar. He could see the tension in her body and noted with anxiety that she kept her gaze directed at the floor. It was only when she reached them that she looked up at him, and he realised that she was as nervous as he.
    "Well, Seven, you certainly look better than the last time I saw you." Silently he cursed himself for making such a ridiculous comment, but she smiled shyly.
    "So do you, Doctor."
    They were saved from an awkward silence by the arrival of Neelix, chuckling in his idiosyncratic wheezing way. "You made it, Seven! Now we're all here, and the band is ready to play..."
    "Band?" she interrupted.
    "Well, metaphorically speaking. There wasn't room for a band and the dance-floor."
    She looked in the direction he indicated and cocked her metallic eyebrow at the sight of the raised, empty floor.
    "People just can't resist interfering with my program," Paris sighed.
    "There's always room for improvement, Tom."
    "Especially where your cooking's concerned," he muttered into his glass.
    Neelix shot a withering look at him, belied by the merriment in his eyes. "Computer, begin Neelix Party Music Four."
    At the sound of raucous wind instruments and crashing percussion Torres barked out laughter, almost spilling her drink in the process.
    "Neelix, Neelix, Neelix," said Paris pityingly, "You expect people to dance to this?"
    "You don't like it?" Neelix looked bewildered. "This is traditional Klingon victory music."
    "It is?" Torres said, her voice dangerously low, glaring at him so that he chuckled nervously.
    "I thought the crew needed to let off a little steam, and no one lets off steam like... like..."
    The Doctor gave vent to a long-suffering sigh. "Computer, run program Doctor Dance Alpha One."
    There were audible sounds of relief around the room as the harsh cacophony was replaced by the muted tones of a languid dance-band.
    "Well, I better see to the finger-food," said Neelix, offering a final nervous wheeze in Torres's direction before making off.
    As Paris started trying to cajole Torres into dancing, the Doctor gave his full attention to Seven. "You look tired. Perhaps you should regenerate; I understand you were told to regenerate for at least twenty-four hours, and I agree with Mr Paris for once."
    "I would prefer to remain here... with you."
    At her timid response he felt a sudden swell of joy, and did his best to quell the enormous grin that threatened to break out on his face, only partially succeeding. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt this once."
    He felt an overwhelming desire to draw her close, to enfold her in his arms, and was suddenly at a loss as to what to do or say. He sensed that she wanted him, but he was suddenly afraid of pushing her too fast. As the silence lengthened he started to wish that Paris would butt-in with one of his irritating jokes, but he and Torres were busy with each other now. He started to look round the room, desperately hoping to catch someone's eye, or perhaps searching for inspiration.
    "Doctor, I..."
    He almost jumped at the sound of her voice, but as she swallowed in embarrassment and fell silent, he felt a sudden calm come over him, and knew what he had to do. "Computer, play "Someone to Watch Over Me", instrumental version." In his peripheral vision he saw Paris look up curiously at the sudden change of music. "May I have this dance?" Seeing the anxiety on her face and the way she started nervously eyeing her crewmates, he held out his hand. "Don't worry about them, you dance beautifully."
    Reluctantly she let him lead her out onto the raised floor. He could feel the tension in her as she placed her hand on his shoulder, both of them aware of the sudden lull in the surrounding conversations; but as they began to move slowly to the music, he felt her relaxing, drawing closer to him until her cheek was nestled against his. He was vaguely aware of other people joining them on the dance-floor, but his world suddenly narrowed to the feel of her warmth, the soft touch of her breath on his ear, the gentle friction of her body moving against his. He felt at once intoxicated and strangely tranquil, and it seemed as if he'd at last come home after many years of voyaging. Without conscious thought he murmured softly, "I love you, Seven," and suddenly, realising what he'd said, the warm haze of the past few minutes was blown away by his rising panic. He waited with dread for her to stiffen and back away, a look of accusation on her face; but as she remained relaxed against him, his panic began to give way to confusion. Long seconds went by and he started to doubt that he'd actually spoken aloud, or wondered if perhaps she hadn't heard him. As he frantically tried to recognise some clue as to what she was feeling, he felt her stir slightly and heard her whisper. "I know." He waited expectantly for more, but when she said nothing further he felt completely perplexed: this was the last reaction he would have expected. Having no idea what he should do now, he continued to lead her through the dance, trying to imagine what she was thinking, but his mind seemed frozen with bewilderment and trepidation, and he found himself mechanically following the steps and totally unable to form a coherent thought. Then, as the last bars of the song approached, he felt her lips brush his ear and heard the words he so desperately needed from her.
    "I love you, Doctor."
    She moved away from him slightly, and he saw that her eyes were open wide, her lips slightly parted; he'd never seen her look more open or more beautiful. As he leaned forward she drew in a soft, shuddering breath, and then their lips met.

***

    In a cosy corner of Sandrine's, Kathryn watched with shining eyes and a sweet smile as the room fell into an astonished silence. She turned to see Chakotay grinning at her with a twinkle in his eye as he leaned conspiratorially towards her.
    "They grow up so fast, don't they, Kathryn."
 

THE END