Summary: The 7^th installment in the "Raising Naomi" series. B'Elanna and Seven’s friendship is tested when they are forced to make life and death decisions on an away mission.

Rating: R for some strong language and explicit sexual situations.

Disclaimer: A little voice came from my Rice Krispies and told me to write it, so I did. I didn’t mean to tread on any legal toes. Paramount owns all the characters except the ones I make up as I go along. All celebrity voices are imitated—poorly. Whoops, wait a sec, that’s South Park’s disclaimer. Hey, there’s some woman on woman action in this story. If that bothers you, well, then it sucks to be you.

Special thanks to Captain Starbuck (again) for reading this through for punctuation and grammar problems. She’s my favorite encyclopedia. She says I am "the wind beneath her sheets" and I thought that was really sweet until I figured out she was saying "sheets" and not "wings".

A Good Day to Die

by Ensign Mika

Commander Tuvok of the Federation Starship Voyager stood in the center of the room, surrounded by six squalling infants, a look of pure bewilderment on his face. He wondered foremost how he had gotten himself into this mess. Were he given to vindictive or violent thoughts, he might be inclined to thrash Mr. Neelix, who ran the daycare center aboard Voyager.

"Just hold down the fort for a minute, Mr. Vulcan," Neelix had cheerfully requested. "You’re a father, and Chief of Security. Surely you can manage," he had grinned through pointed teeth as he made a hasty exit from the daycare, his whiskers flapping in the current created by his haste.

Tuvok held Katie Torres at arms’ length, thinking the one quarter Klingon-three quarters human child was at least as irrational as her half Klingon mother. "Katie Torres," he intoned logically, "why do you persist in this outburst? Calm yourself," he advised sternly, but offered the screaming babe no physical comfort. He glanced surreptitiously around the room, then implored "Please?" in a pitiful voice. He wished his ears were not so large, so the nerve wracking shrieks might not be captured so efficiently.

Katie only howled louder and kicked her legs, which created a breeze that carried the most foul odor Tuvok could imagine. Much worse than the Talaxian spices Neelix used at the Prixin feast, he realized with horror.

Just as the stoic Vulcan came to the distasteful conclusion that Katie had soiled her diaper, Neelix returned. Tuvok thrust the unhappy child at the diminutive Talaxian. "She is dirty," he announced imperiously.

Neelix tried unsuccessfully to hide his amusement. "Then why didn’t you change her diaper?" he wrinkled his nose at the pungent aroma.

"What was so important that you were called away?" Tuvok evaded the pointed inquiry.

Neelix carried Katie to a changing table. "Rachel McVicker’s birthday is today, and Noah Lessing requested a special dish for her. Something called Moo-shoo pork. I had to check on the plum sauce that’s simmering in the mess. Noah wanted to give her a night with a little flair," Neelix winked at the Vulcan. "Isn’t it perfectly romantic?"

Tuvok resisted the urge to disagree and list all the reasons why birthdays were pointless. Instead he jumped to the next issue. "Why are you running the daycare center alone? Aren’t you supposed to have assistance?"

"Ensign Aby is pulling a double shift to repair the sensor array, and Dani Jessup is helping her out. Otherwise, they’d be here."

Tuvok nodded grimly. "The sensor array was badly damaged in the skirmish with the Vredon."

"Lucky for us it was all a misunderstanding," Neelix commented as he finished Katie’s diapering and moved on to the next crying baby. "We were outmanned and outgunned."

Tuvok grudgingly conceded the point. "Indeed. Well," he nodded curtly, "if you have things under control—"

"I didn’t say that, Mr. Vulcan," Neelix turned an imploring face toward the senior officer. "I could use a hand," he admitted. "Gretchen needs a clean diaper, too, but my hands are full at the moment."

Tuvok corralled his impatience and his disdain into utter passivity. Duty came in various forms, he decided. Today it just happened to be in the drawers of the Captain’s daughter.

__________

Naomi Wildman crawled through a Jeffries tube on all fours, face smudged with residue, hands almost black with filth. She had been cleaning junction boxes and relays, determined that this time, B'Elanna would not find any grime left behind. She knew a lot of the crew found this part of their jobs a chore, but Naomi rather delighted in the challenge of finding crud nobody knew about, eliminating it, and making the systems run better for it. It was menial, she supposed, but necessary. And considering that her mentor and the Chief of Engineering sometimes assigned such labor to herself, Naomi couldn’t envision the task as being below anyone.

She knew there were techs in Engineering who would disagree with her, but she didn’t care. She enjoyed the solitude of the Jeffries tubes. She loved the intricate circuitry, the conduits, the manifolds, the leads, loved watching them function, loved the bioneural elegance of the systems. She could spend hours alone with her thoughts just doing routine maintenance on this subsystem or that. She had fought long and hard with B'Elanna and with her mother, Captain Janeway, just for the privilege of scrubbing gunk out of the ship’s innards. More than one tech had accused her of going Suder, a euphemism for insanity, for wanting to scrub Jeffries tubes. But Naomi wore the mustard gold of the Engineering Department with pride, and never regretted her choice to pursue this vocation.

At the other end of the tube, the hatch opened with a click and a hiss. Icheb crawled in to join her, cradling something against his chest as he entered. "You are late for your lesson," he advised her emotionlessly.

She glanced at the chronometer in the panel she was working on. "Damn it. I’m sorry, Icheb. Really. I just got so absorbed in my work," she apologized lamely, hazel eyes glistening.

Icheb attempted a smile. "I understand. I become equally preoccupied with my duties in Astrometrics. We can reschedule, if you like," he added thoughtfully. Then smiling more genuinely, he held out his hands. "I brought you something."

Naomi paused, placed her circuit vacuum and laser whisk on the floor grate of the tube, and turned to face him. She took the proffered object, which was a dish of some sort, with a cloth over it. "What’s this?" she gingerly picked up the red and white checkered cloth, revealing a bowl of corn chowder.

"Counselor Thompson-Torres said you probably skipped lunch again. She said this is one of your favorites," he shyly explained.

Naomi smiled softly. "It’s Kieran’s favorite, and I like it too, but not as much as she does. That was very kind of you, Icheb," she added. "Would you like some?"

He blushed at her acknowledgment. "I wouldn’t mind tasting it. But only if you don’t mind sharing," he added hastily.

"Not at all. Here," she scooped some up with her spoon and held it out to him. "Better blow on it. It might be too hot."

He obediently breathed on the creamy yellow fluid, watching the steam rise, then tasted it. "Now I see why it’s one of your favorites. It’s delicious."

"You know, I’m almost done here—in fact, I’m half an hour overtime, and K-Mom will have my hide if she finds out I’ve exceeded my five hour shift again. Why don’t we go have a late lunch together? I’ll replicate another bowl for you," she offered, knowing the young man was lonely and not fitting in with the crew particularly well.

He smiled brightly. "That would be acceptable," he agreed. "But only if you let me replicate dessert."

"Okay," Naomi humored him.

They crawled toward the hatch, Naomi bringing up the rear, literally. She tried to be charitable and to give him the benefit of the doubt by thinking his recent tolerance of her and greater interest in her was due to the fact that he was giving her lessons in Astrometrics. But she suspected deep down, he was suddenly more friendly because she was starting to look like a woman. Ktarian physiology was decidedly accelerated over human physiology, and at ten she had begun to develop prominent ‘secondary sexual characteristics’, as the Doctor called them. Naomi looked more like a fourteen year old human, and her emotional maturity only augmented the illusion that she was an adult, not a child. Icheb had been more solicitous, more respectful of her of late, no longer dismissing her as ‘a little girl’. Naomi didn’t want to believe he could be so base, so she tried hard to convince herself that he was simply getting to know and like her better.

Kieran Thompson-Torres was still in the mess hall when the pair arrived. She grinned broadly at them, restrained herself from raising a suggestive, teasing eyebrow at Naomi, and waved them over.

"Want to join me?" she offered. "I’m just finishing up, but I’ll stay a few minutes if you want to visit."

The Counselor was surprised when Icheb spoke up. "Actually," he said, "I would prefer to be alone with Naomi," he admitted. Then realizing how forward he had sounded, he added, "We have a lesson to go over."

Kieran smirked. "Oh, well then by all means, take another table."

Naomi knew what that smirk meant, and dreaded the inescapable teasing Kieran would dole out. She looked at her friend, glowering, as if to say "Don’t you bust my chops over this, Kieran." Instead she smiled sweetly and said, "Thanks for asking, though."

Kieran grinned facetiously at her. "I can see your time is in demand," she smarted, winking at the strawberry blonde.

Naomi rolled her eyes. Sometimes, Kieran could be a royal pain in the ass.

____________

Captain Kathryn Janeway eased into consciousness, gradually more aware of her breathing and the warm body wrapped around her own. She smiled softly at the enveloping sensation of Seven of Nine’s arm, clasped around her torso and over her chest, and at the way her Borg enhanced body contoured along the curves of Janeway’s own. Eyes still closed, Kathryn inhaled the morning air of their shared quarters which smelled faintly of sex, of Seven, of Kathryn’s perfume, and of something else—the mild scent of metallic implants. Mentally, Kathryn traced the pattern of cybernetic enhancements that adorned her wife’s body, visualizing each one in turn, and with them, the incredible body that was their home.

And my home, she reminded herself. Nothing feels safer to me than Seven’s embrace.

The sharp intake of breath behind her ear told her Seven of Nine, late of the Borg Collective, was waking up. Warm lips nuzzled at her neck, and she grinned broadly in response. She started to roll over to face her spouse, but a twinge in her muscles forced a groan, then a gentle chuckle.

"What?" Seven whispered, the word skating over the exposed flesh of Kathryn’s throat.

Kathryn squeezed the arm that encircled her. "That was some night," she murmured in reply. "I’m not sure I can move," she admitted sheepishly.

Seven smiled against the older woman’s hair. "Then I performed my task admirably," she boasted.

"Yes, darling, but you’re only supposed to pleasure me, not disable me," Kathryn scolded playfully.

Seven sat up in alarm. "I have damaged you?" she asked anxiously.

Kathryn rolled over to grin up at her lover. "Oh, yes. You’ve wrecked me, darling."

Seven’s brows narrowed. "Kathryn, do not tease me. I was concerned."

Kathryn smiled seductively. "Show me how concerned," she invited her buxom lover, tugging her back down on the mattress.

Just then Gretchen started to cry. Seven smirked. "Someone is hungry," she commented. "It’s my turn to feed her. Stay in bed awhile longer," she encouraged her spouse.

"Can’t," Kathryn heaved her legs over the side of the bed, stretching and trying to get motivated. "I have appointments with Kieran and Dee, and then Kieran and the Doctor, this morning."

"She seems to be doing well," Seven commented as she pulled on her burgundy biosuit. "Considering."

Kathryn nodded. "I think she’s better. If Dee and the Doctor approve, I’m going to have Kieran and Harry start their training."

Seven slipped down the hallway and retrieved the squalling child, who quieted as soon as she felt the warm, welcoming embrace of her mother. Seven held Gretchen over her shoulder, patting her bottom as they returned to the bedroom. "Do you think it’s fair to make Harry wait until Kieran’s recovered?"

Janeway shrugged, stepping into the ensuite. "It’s not so much the fairness I’m worried about. It’s the drain on Chakotay’s time. I can’t see having him teach two separate command tracks, when it’s more efficient to teach them both together. Besides, Harry is so thrilled with his promotion, he isn’t about to become impatient," she chuckled. She adjusted the controls on the hydroshower and stepped under the steaming liquid cascade. She let out an appreciative groan as the hot water relaxed her tender muscles. Moments later, she stepped out, drying herself.

"All changed," Seven announced as she tossed a diaper into the recycling unit. Gretchen made an incoherent sound of delight at having a dry butt. "Better?" she asked Kathryn, who seemed to be moving more freely.

"Much. Darling, I think I’m getting too old for sex. It didn’t used to make me feel like this," she pointed out.

Seven grinned, knowing her amorous wife would never stop wanting their wild nights. "Like what?"

"Like I need a hip replacement and a dermal regenerator just to get out of bed," Kathryn griped good-naturedly. "I never thought I’d be conscious of our age difference, but I am definitely aware of it the morning after," she smirked. "You bounce out of bed like nothing happened, and I hobble along like a grandmother."

Seven stood up, leaving Gretchen on the bed. She enfolded Kathryn in her arms, peering down at her. "You gave birth less than a year ago. Your wife keeps you up until all hours of the night. You work too much. If you hobble, it’s because of those things, not because you are old," Seven defended her.

Kathryn gave her a malicious grin. "And it has nothing at all to do with you throwing my ankles up over my ears," she smarted.

Seven kissed her gently. "You are wicked, Kathryn Janeway. And that is your best quality," she added with a soft, sensuous smile. She pressed her face against Kathryn’s forehead, inhaling the fragrance of her hair. "You smell wonderful," she complimented her partner.

Kathryn leered at her spouse. "You smell like sex," she noted honestly. "You’d better let me take Geejay, and you take a shower. If you go on duty like that, the whole Astrometrics department will know what you did last night."

Seven laughed lightly. "They will know anyway, just from the smile I’ll be wearing."

Kathryn laughed with her. "And a smug smile, at that," she noted.

_____________

The holographic version of Deanna Troi, or "Dee" as the Voyager crew called her, draped herself loosely in an overstuffed leather chair in her holographic office. Ship’s Counselor Kieran Thompson-Torres sat across from the hologram, not nearly as gracefully arranged as the Betazoid. Captain Janeway sat beside Kieran on the matching leather couch, hands folded neatly in her lap. She had long ago stopped thinking of Dee as a guest on her ship, and treated her like any other crew member.

"Report," she ordered the Counselor.

Dee was briefly taken aback, unaccustomed to being ordered to do anything, but smoothly settled into her report. "Kieran is doing quite well," she began the recitation. "She is no longer troubled by nightmares about her experiences. She is able to differentiate between this world, and the alternate worlds, with 99% accuracy now. Her return to full duty has not caused any relapse in her condition. In fact, it seems to have facilitated her recovery. My counseling sessions with Kieran and B'Elanna indicate that their relationship, though temporarily strained by the trauma Kieran went through, is healthy and intact. Kieran is functioning at a high level emotionally and physically, and is prepared for the command track training you have recommended her for. I don’t see any reason to deny her that opportunity."

Janeway cocked her head inquisitively. "There’s no risk of her becoming overtired or overtaxed by the additional demands on her time and psyche?"

Dee smiled gently. "I didn’t say there’s no risk, but Captain, as you well know, command school is risky for anyone. It’s stressful and demanding and exhausting. Most candidates do it in the context of the Academy, where they can concentrate on the simulations and lessons full time, without distractions. Kieran will be doing it in addition to her regular duties, which is a challenge at best. Add to that a marriage and an infant daughter, and it’s a very demanding scenario, indeed. I personally think she’s a masochist," Dee teased her protégé, "but she’s as ready as she’s going to get."

Janeway hesitated. She didn’t like the idea of putting her closest friend through any further strain, and she remembered well her own struggles at the Academy Command School. She recalled with humiliation the repeated simulations that seemed designed to acquaint the students with defeat and failure—battles in which the entire crew perished, the bulkheads blew apart in their faces, alien invaders commandeered the ship, and the other cadets under her command questioned her every decision. It was a valuable experience, but very unpleasant, for the most part, until the crew began to gel. Janeway sighed. "If you’re sure, Dee, and if the Doctor concurs, then I’ll have Chakotay set up the training schedule. But," she turned a discerning eye on her friend, "I expect to hear about it if at any time you feel yourself slipping back into confusion. Clear?"

"Crystal, Captain," Kieran nodded.

"And I want you to come to me if it gets to be too much," Kathryn added with genuine concern.

Kieran bristled. "Are you telling Harry Kim the same thing, Captain?"

"Harry Kim isn’t raising a family, and he’s been pulling bridge duty on Gamma shift for a couple of years. And," she added sharply, "he didn’t spend three months hopping between alternate universes, Lieutenant." Realizing how brusque she sounded, she swallowed her tone, and rested a hand on Kieran’s thigh. "I don’t mean to be protective, Kieran, but where my crew is concerned, I can’t help it."

Kieran reined in her own defensiveness. "Thanks. I appreciate your concern, Kathryn. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat. It’s just that I feel like I haven’t been pulling my weight since the incident with the Parallax, and I don’t want you to think you can’t rely on me."

Kathryn smiled tightly. "I know I can rely on you, Counselor. And you have pulled your own weight. It’s just that the Doctor and Dee and I agreed that you needed to ease back into the routine of the ship, not be dropped headfirst into the onslaught of it. We had to be certain you wouldn’t collapse again. Now we know you won’t."

Dee interjected "I think that’s settled then. Kieran, you’re free to see me anytime you like, but you aren’t required any longer."

Kieran smiled. "Thanks, Dee."

Dee smiled sweetly at Kathryn Janeway. "Now, Captain, perhaps you’d like to set up a time we can talk?"

Janeway blanched. "Oh no you don’t, Troi. Just forget about getting your psychoanalytical mitts on me," she laughed.

Dee batted her eyelashes. "You can’t blame me for trying, Captain."

Kathryn cast a sidelong glance at Kieran. "Now I know where you get it," she complained.

Kieran grinned at her mentor. "I learned it from the best," she agreed warmly.

________________

The Doctor retrieved historical brain scans from the ship’s computer. "This is the baseline data," he explained. "You can see the hippocampus here," he outlined the structure with his holographic finger. "Now, contrast it with the brain scans we ran after Kieran had been spatially displaced for three months."

Janeway nodded in acknowledgement. "It’s smaller. Why?"

The Doctor smiled faintly. "It’s a result of PTSD. The chemical and physiological changes in Kieran’s body caused the hippocampus to deteriorate. The constant adrenaline overload and increases in other hormones depleted the structure’s mass. We’ve undertaken extensive nanite therapy to assist in the regenerative process. This is the current scan," he noted smugly. "You’ll note the substantial recovery in overall mass," he overlaid the current image with the former.

Janeway scowled. "Yes, yes, it’s very impressive, but what does it mean, Doctor?" she asked in her no-nonsense tone.

Kieran lay a calming hand on Kathryn’s crossed arms. "It means my memories are intact, without symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It means I’m recovered."

The Doctor shot an indignant glare at the Counselor for stealing his thunder. "Simply put, yes," he emphasized, "but it also means a breakthrough in neurological treatment modalities, championed by yours truly. This is a monumental achievement, if I do say so myself. Why, Captain, no physician has ever restored hippocampal mass in a patient. This has all sorts of implications for amnesia, aphasia—not to mention a plethora of neurodegenerative conditions."

Janeway patted his shoulder approvingly, but the gesture almost seemed patronizing. "I’m sure you can write up the scientific results and publish them in several prestigious journals, Doctor. Congratulations."

If the Doctor expected a ticker tape parade, he wasn’t getting one. "Yes," he harrumphed, "Thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me—"

"Not quite," Janeway insisted. "What about Kieran’s training? Is she fit for the rigors of command school?"

"Of course," he replied with exasperation. "Haven’t you been listening?"

Janeway smiled thinly. "Yes, but I didn’t hear much in the way of a prognosis. Thank you, Doctor. You’re dismissed."

The Counselor and the Captain departed the sickbay as the Doctor cast a doleful expression in their direction. "I certainly am," he concurred.

________________

Captain Kathryn Janeway strolled onto the bridge, which was in a shambles of smoldering ruins. Dead bodies were scattered across the deck, some prone and bleeding, others slumped over workstations and consoles. There was a hull breach directly over the ops station, and the ops officer was impaled by a fallen support beam. Janeway fanned the smoke from her stinging eyes, chuckling.

"How goes it, Captain Kim?" she needled the command candidate.

Harry sat in the Captain’s chair, face buried in his hands. "Oh my God," he moaned. "I’ve killed more crewmembers than the entire death toll at Wolf 359," he berated himself.

Janeway stopped beside the holographic ops officer, studying the angle of entry the support beam had taken as it penetrated his chest. She poked the corpse. "Nice touch," she commented lightly. "These simulations are amazingly real. When I was in command school, the holodeck technology wasn’t anywhere near this level of sophistication."

"Something I can do for you, Captain?" Harry asked miserably. "Blow up Voyager’s bridge, perhaps? Run her into an asteroid? Crash land her on a hostile alien world?"

Janeway smirked, slapping him on the back. "Don’t feel so bad Harry," she looked him up and down as he stood to join her. "You’re in one piece, if the ship isn’t," she noted. "Kieran broke her wrist on this simulation."

Harry looked at her through a veil of long ebony eyelashes, his hair a tangle of black on his forehead. "Really? How’d she manage that?"

Janeway leaned toward him as if sharing a secret. "She tried to keep the ops guy from getting shish-ke-bobbed, and tripped. She fell on her hand wrong."

"Ouch," Harry said sympathetically. "I thought the safety protocols—"

Janeway shook her head. "No safety protocol can keep you from tripping over your own feet, Lieutenant," she confided. "She’s fine though. I gave her three hours to recover."

Harry smiled appreciatively. "Wow. Kieran, the consummate athlete, tripped over her own feet. That makes me feel better, somehow."

"Well, in her defense, she did vault over the controls to try to get to him. It looked good until she landed," Janeway chuckled, enjoying a laugh at her friend’s expense. "And you have to admit, she has some pretty big feet to trip over."

Now Harry was grinning and chuckling too. "Yeah, she does. Do you talk this badly about me to her?" he wanted to know.

Janeway feigned shock. "Moi? Oh, Harry, you disappoint me," she lied, but didn’t answer the question.

"So she’s still on Beta shift tonight?"

"No rest for the wicked," Janeway nodded.

"Then I must be evil incarnate," Harry noted. "I can’t remember the last time I slept more than six consecutive hours."

Janeway guided him through the smoking debris and out the exit. "Get used to it, Harry. I haven’t slept more than that on duty in probably fifteen years."

Harry’s eyes flew open in disbelief. "You’re joking."

"Not at all. You’ve been commanding the bridge on Gamma off and on for a couple of years. You know how often you have to wake me up to report something. It’s protocol."

Harry smiled faintly. "I never even thought about it. I guess I just think of you as always being alert and ready to jump back into the big chair. Funny. It’s like I think of you as superhuman."

Janeway grinned brightly. "And that’s exactly what you’re supposed to think, Lieutenant. Half of being an effective commander is the illusion you project. If all of my bridge officers think of me that way on a subconscious level, then I’m doing something right."

Harry considered that at length. "It’s all an illusion? You’re not really completely self confident and in control?"

She tilted her head back and laughed heartily. "I doubt myself at every turn, Lieutenant. Oh, I can make the big decisions in short order. But I find I second guess them for months, sometimes. Introspection is critical to learning from your mistakes, I’ve found. And I would just about bet that you can think of more than one occasion when it was quite obvious I wasn’t in control, per se."

"Hmmm…well, I know when Kieran was missing, you took it pretty hard. You spent a lot of time in that ready room. And there were a few times when you’d come out, and it was obvious you’d been crying," he noted gently. "But we all felt like crying, then, so who could fault you for that? I mean, Tom and Kieran were like romantic rivals for a long time, and even he got broken up about her dying a couple of times. The ship’s whole dynamic changed when we thought she was gone for good. That’s a little unnerving, to think one person on a ship this size could make such a hole in the fabric of our day to day existence."

Kathryn nodded. "On an ordinary ship, that wouldn’t be the case, I’m sure. Not that we would value Kieran less, but Voyager is different because of our circumstances. We’re much less a Starfleet vessel than a family. Kieran was like the big sister to everyone aboard."

"The family couldn’t stand to lose you, either," Harry added fondly, touching her elbow. "We drove Tuvok up a wall when we left you and Chakotay on New Earth, until he preferred to face your wrath rather than listen to us badger him for the next three decades."

Janeway smirked. "I bet if he had it to do over again, he’d let you badger him. My wrath was more than he bargained for," she chuckled.

Harry gazed at her with admiration. "I want you to teach me something," he ventured. "Teach me how to do the look."

Janeway’s eyebrow lifted gracefully. "The look?" she pretended ignorance.

"Yeah, you know. The SRGB look."

Janeway let out a peal of laughter. "It’s not something you can teach Harry. Oh, Naomi does a fair imitation when she’s mocking me, but it’s too much an artform to teach it. You don’t so much learn it as you become it," she waved her hands expansively. "It’s not something you can just add to your behavioral repertoire. Although," she leaned close and whispered as they walked, "having a wise-ass like Tom Paris on my staff has certainly helped me perfect it," she shared.

At that, Harry laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks. "If only he knew, Captain. He’d probably have t-shirts made. ‘Behind every searing look, there’s a fair-haired helmsman.’ He’d probably sell the damned things."

"I’d buy one, too," Janeway deadpanned. "C’mon, ‘Captain’," she added lightly. "Sandrine’s is in the middle of happy hour. I’m buying the beer."

Harry’s eyes widened. "Wow," he murmured, "if getting my crew killed means you buy the beer, I think my casualty rate might just skyrocket," he joked.

Janeway half-smirked, half-scowled. "Sorry, Harry. But from here out, every day your casualty rate doesn’t go down from today’s, you’re buying me a cold one," she informed him. "And I won’t forget," she tapped his shoulder to emphasize her point.

"Yes Ma’am," he replied deflatedly.

__________

Naomi Wildman had thrown yet another wildly successful anniversary party for her parents, and the closest friends and family of the celebrating couple adjourned to the Captain’s Quarters for drinks after the conclusion of the main event. Kathryn and Seven had been married four years, and the annual gathering was a favorite of the crew.

Looking around the private grouping, Janeway had to smile. It was as if her marriage to Seven of Nine had sparked a rash of couplings. B'Elanna and Kieran sat in a chair together, snuggled tightly due to lack of sufficient seating in the Captain’s Quarters. Chakotay and Susan Nicoletti were squeezed into a corner of the sofa, beside Rachel McVicker and Noah Lessing. Harry Kim was acting cozy with Claren James, a Lieutenant from security. Tom Paris listened attentively as Janney Kohlstadt explained the latest modifications to the sensor array. Only Tuvok, Neelix and the Doctor had come alone to the party. Naomi and Icheb served drinks to the adults, and the sight of her beautiful daughter smiling up at the tall young man made Kathryn’s heart ache. Naomi was growing up so fast, and was so far beyond her years, Janeway had night terrors over it.

Naomi had not wanted to invite Icheb to escort her, but Seven of Nine had persuaded her to reconsider. Naomi wasn’t sure she liked the idea of having a date, especially since Kieran would harass her endlessly over it, but Kathryn had convinced Naomi that being escorted wasn’t really the same as having a true date, so the Ktarian acquiesced.

For this final phase of the party, the infant children of the assembled guests had been retrieved from child care. Gretchen Janeway, who the adults had taken to calling "Geejay" so as to prevent confusion with her namesake and grandmother, was crawling on the floor, and had settled herself next to Chakotay’s legs, where she proceeded to gnaw on his shoelaces. Geejay was teething, and any semi-durable object would suffice as a pacifier. Katie Torres was busy in the kitchen, pounding a plastic block on the floor as loudly as she could. She babbled nonsensical syllables with each blow, making the adults laugh at her intermittent vocals, which sounded like a spastic Klingon opera solo. Katie was only ¼ Klingon, but her energy and feisty disposition would have made anyone think she was full blooded. Once the little girl realized the guests were responding to her, she got even louder and more animated.

"Looks like you’ve got a budding singer on your hands," the Doctor commented to B'Elanna and Kieran. "I could work with her, if you like."

B'Elanna laughed. "She’s a little young, don’t you think?"

"Not at all," he enthused. "Music is a language that knows no age."

"How about if we wait until she at least learns to say something besides ‘Mama’, okay Doc?" B'Elanna teased him.

"Never too early, Lieutenant, keep that in mind. I’d love to have an operatic partner, someday."

"Hear that honey? Katie is going to be a diva," Kieran smarted, finishing her third wine spritzer.

"A warrior diva," B'Elanna corrected her.

"Right," Kieran agreed, kissing her wife happily. "And a hell of an Engineer."

Chakotay grinned at the lanky Counselor. "Why an Engineer and not a Counselor or a First Officer?"

Kieran poked his arm. "Look at her pounding that block on the deck, Commander. Somehow, I can’t picture her sitting still in any chair long enough to do what you or I do. She’s like a clone of her mother."

"Nooo," Chakotay disagreed, "B'Elanna can’t even sing that well," he teased.

Just then Katie let out a long, resonant sound in counter-rhythm to the block, which was tapping out eighth notes. It was such a fascinating rendition that Geejay stopped chewing Chakotay’s shoestrings and hollered back at her pal, clapping her hands.

Seven of Nine swooped down and picked up the blue-eyed, white haired infant. "That was so pretty, sweetie," she praised her daughter effusively. "Sing it again for mama."

Geejay just laughed and patted Seven’s nose, saying "Gruhgnnn."

Kieran cracked a smile. "Efficient with her words, just like her Borg mother."

Seven smiled at the Counselor. "She may yet take after Kathryn, in which case, we will never be able to silence her," Seven noted dryly.

_________________

Harry Kim stretched his legs out on Kieran and B'Elanna’s couch, a cup of coffee in one hand and a PADD in the other. Katie Torres crawled over his legs and untied the strings on his tennis shoes, yanking them repeatedly. Harry tried not to spill his drink as his legs were lifted and dropped, lifted and dropped.

"Jeez, this kid is strong," he said with awe and a bit of irritation as his legs flopped on the cushions. "What’d you put for number six?"

Kieran scrolled through her answers on her PADD. "The Riker Maneuver. What did you put?"

Harry groaned. "I put the Jellico Maneuver. Damn, you’re right though, as usual. Crap. I bet I failed this mother," he bitched.

Kieran reached over from her chair and tousled his hair. "Too many passionate nights with Claren?" she needled him.

"I wish," he groused. "I swear, every woman I get attracted to on this ship turns out to like women more than men. I’m starting to get a complex."

Kieran smiled fondly at him. "You try too hard, Harry. And you like strong women, which usually means the kind of women who aren’t locked into gender specific attractions. It comes with the territory. But Claren likes guys—I know for a fact she dated Michael Carter for over a year. She also happens to like women, too. If you’re the right person, that’s all that matters to her."

Harry sighed. "I suppose. It just makes it hard when everyone on the ship is my competition," he groused.

"Let me see your supporting data," Kieran switched the subject back to command school and reached for his PADD.

He handed her the essay, which she read through carefully.

"I think you’ll get full credit for this, Harry. The arguments are cogent and on point. You made your case, if you ask me."

Harry lay his head back on the arm of the sofa and closed his eyes. "God, I’ve never been so tired. Thank God you’re taking Gamma Shift this rotation. Speaking of which, how’d it go last night with the new Gamma helmsman?"

"Leavitt? She seems fine to me. Why?"

Harry shrugged. "I know Tom trained her, but still, she’s awfully inexperienced. Makes me nervous."

Kieran laughed. "I remember an Ensign in Ops who was barely out of the Academy when we got lost out here. He was so young Janeway had panties older than him."

Harry grinned, sipping his coffee. "Point taken. And I know we need backups at helm, so I’m all for cross training people. I just feel a lot more safe when Tom is at the wheel."

"No argument there," Kieran conceded. "Okay, what did you put for number ten?"

B'Elanna Torres came from the back of their quarters to retrieve her daughter. "Bath time, warrior diva," she announced, snatching Katie from Harry’s lap. "Starfleet, she damn near wore through your shoe strings. I’ll replicate you a new pair."

"That’s okay, B'Elanna. These are my old shoes anyway. I never wear good clothes when I come to your place," he admitted.

B'Elanna smiled in understanding. "Yeah, it’s a kind of ‘enter at your own risk’ proposition, with this kid."

"Just keep her away from the weapons locker," Harry teased. "I bet she could already out maneuver me with a bat’leth."

"I bet she could too," B'Elanna agreed. "You fight like a human girl," she insulted him.

"I’m an enlightened man, I don’t need to use my fists," he replied mildly. "Though I am going to take a martial arts class with Claren. She thinks she can teach me a few things."

Kieran quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, I just bet she can," she smirked.

Harry threw a pillow at her. "You have a one track mind Counselor."

"Yeah," Kieran bitched, "Command track."

B'Elanna jostled the baby to keep her entertained. "You wanted to do this, BangwIj, and you knew it would take most of your time, so don’t whine about it. Besides, I’m the one who should be upset--I never see you anymore."

"Sure you do, honey—you see me as I’m walking out the door, you see me when I’m coming in to sleep for my requisite four hours a night, and you see me in staff meetings," Kieran said sarcastically.

B'Elanna couldn’t even force a smile, but said sadly "And that’s just about it."

Kieran stood and wrapped her wife in her long arms. "I’m sorry, Lanna. Do you want me to quit? I will, you know that."

"No. You’ve worked too hard. It won’t be much longer. I can wait. And I will admit, you still find time to help with Katie and to spend quality time with her."

Kieran kissed Katie’s head. "She’s my girl. But you’re my wife. I have some leave time accumulated—hell, I have more time than I’ll ever be able to use, with this schedule I’m on. Why don’t I take two days off, and we’ll spend it alone, together? Seven and Kat will take Katie, I’m sure of it."

"Really?" B'Elanna looked hopefully at her spouse. "That would be perfect," she couldn’t disguise the longing in her voice. "The Captain wants Seven and I to go on a brief away mission when we reach the next sector, but we can take some time off as soon as I get back."

"Deal," Kieran promised. Then turning to their guest, she added "Well, Harry, looks like you’re going to have at least two nights on Gamma shift this rotation," she laughed.

"Damn. And I could just taste the sleep I was going to get, too," he threw his arm over his weary eyes, blocking out the light.

"Go home, Starfleet," B'Elanna ordered. "You look like something the cat dragged in. Besides, I’m reclaiming my wife for the evening," she murmured, kissing the taller woman with a hint of ardor.

"I’m outta here," Harry agreed. "Have fun, you two. Not that I think you need me to tell you that," he laughed. "Man, I envy you. When am I ever gonna have a family?"

B'Elanna shoved him toward the door. "You gotta get past the third date before you can ask that question, Lieutenant," she jabbed.

Once Harry had gone, B'Elanna turned back to the tall woman she shared her life with. "Put Katie down for the night," she instructed. "I’m going to make us a drink and change into something—appropriate," she said in a throaty voice.

Kieran obediently tucked Katie into bed with a bottle of juice, just enough to lull her to sleep from the repetitive activity of sucking. "Good night, warrior diva," she smoothed her hand over Katie’s soft curls. "I love you, sweetheart." She lingered a moment, just smelling the wonderful fragrance of baby and admiring the resemblance her daughter bore to her wife.

B'Elanna waited in the living room, clad in a slinky black nightgown. "Kieran," she called out softly, "change your clothes before you come back."

Kieran obliged her by putting on a short silk robe of royal blue, with nothing underneath it. She joined B'Elanna on the couch, wordlessly accepting the glass of wine B'Elanna offered. She stooped as she moved to sit, kissing B'Elanna briefly.

B'Elanna looked her up and down, and gently clasped the lapels of Kieran’s robe, pulling her in for a more lingering kiss. Her grip on the silk became more insistent, and Kieran chuckled as she set the wine glass on the coffee table. "I see you’re not going to let me enjoy my wine," she smarted.

"No," B'Elanna growled, pulling Kieran down on top of her, "I’m not." She reached behind her wife’s head, unbinding the tight braid down her back and loosening the long mane of chestnut brown hair, so that it fell around their kiss. "I love your hair like this," she murmured, taking Kieran’s bottom lip between her teeth. "It’s so soft in my hands," she sighed, tangling her fingers in it.

Kieran pressed her hips down against B'Elanna’s legs, letting her own legs fall to either side of B'Elanna’s, stretching out on the couch with her. Their lovemaking frequently began on the couch, and lasted there until they became stiff and needed the more expansive area of a mattress. Their kisses were insistent, but not hurried as they explored. It was a means of getting reacquainted with their passion for each other, of chasing away the intervening obstacles of duty and baby and work. Kieran needed the renewal of making love with B'Elanna every bit as much as B'Elanna required it. Their relationship was always affectionate, but it took a conscious effort to stoke the fire of sexual desire, when so many other distractions clamored for their attention and time. Kieran felt the outside world drifting away as her body began to assert its demands.

"God, ‘Lanna," Kieran groaned softly into her mouth. "I’ve missed you so."

B'Elanna replied by sliding her hands in the front of Kieran’s robe, roaming over the shoulders beneath and pushing the fabric off. It left Kieran’s chest and throat exposed, and B'Elanna broke their kiss to brush her lips over the curve of Kieran’s neck. Kieran’s sudden intake of breath told B'Elanna that her mouth was having the desired effect on her wife’s mood. She breathed provocatively in Kieran’s ear, nipping at her earlobe and whispering "I want you, Benal," as her kiss passed over the articulation of Kieran’s jaw and neck. "I want to make you whimper my name," she persisted in her verbal seduction. "I want to feel your body move beneath me, feel your walls close around my fingers," she murmured, making Kieran shiver.

Kieran was always moved by B'Elanna’s vivid descriptions of how she intended to pleasure her, and gave herself up to the sheer force of the need it created in her. She captured B'Elanna’s lips in a bruising kiss, tongues intertwined, surrendering to the heat that suffused her body. B'Elanna reveled in the assurance of Kieran’s response, as evidenced by the increased rate of her pulse beneath B'Elanna’s fingertips as she stroked the sensitive flesh of her lover’s throat. "Would you like that, BangwIj? My fingers inside you? Or would you rather have my tongue sliding over your clit?" she asked in her deepest voice.

Kieran whimpered in reply, suspended herself on outstretched arms, and let the robe fall away from her breasts. B'Elanna was upon them instantly, one nipple snatched up in her teeth and the other between her thumb and finger, both pleasured suddenly and fiercely, so that Kieran cried out with the sharpness of her arousal. Her breath escaped in a hiss as she watched B'Elanna’s tongue fluttering over her engorged nipple, feeling the flicking sensation all the way down to her groin. "Lanna," she groaned in ecstasy, "oh, God, yes."

B'Elanna smiled against her breast, reaching for the belt of her robe, freeing it and tugging the spare bit of fabric completely open. She reached between Kieran’s legs, instantly catching a thin ribbon of fluid. "Someone is ready for me," she growled, thrusting her hand up to cup Kieran’s sex and feeling the jolt shoot through Kieran’s legs.

"Yes," Kieran begged, "I’m ready. Touch me, Lanna, please."

B'Elanna slid two fingers over the swell of Kieran’s mons, not touching her lips or her clit, massaging the fevered flesh. "Like that?" she teased.

"N-n-no," Kieran tried to control her breathing, but failed entirely. "Please, Lanna," she implored.

B'Elanna took her nipple again, sucking gently. Kieran moaned and rocked her hips, trying to position B'Elanna’s hand where she wanted it. B'Elanna rubbed her fingers over Kieran’s outer lips, causing the long-bodied woman to arch and groan. Slick with Kieran’s desire, B'Elanna stroked through the moisture and heat of her sex, avoiding her clit, but fondling her in the way that drove her wild. She slid a solitary finger into Kieran’s opening, not penetrating, but touching the exterior, suggesting entry. Kieran was near tears, she was so ready, but B'Elanna had no intention of letting this end quickly. "Tell me, Kieran," B'Elanna’s voice was hoarse. "Tell me what you want."

Kieran whimpered desperately. It was so hard to be that vulnerable, to say the words, but B'Elanna would settle for no less than a complete surrender. Kieran gasped, the need purely primal in her. "I want," she panted, "you to take me, Lanna," she grunted as she felt the blessed relief of B'Elanna’s fingers inside her, easing the ache somewhat.

"What else," B'Elanna demanded. "Tell me what else, Benal."

Kieran’s arms were growing weak. "Touch my clit," she pleaded.

B'Elanna felt Kieran’s walls starting to clench, and knew she was at her limit. The verbal assault stopped immediately. "My love," she breathed gently against Kieran’s nipple, tongue gliding over it in sensuous waves. Her fingers slid deeper into Kieran’s channel, thumb pressing into her clit, then swirling over it through the copious fluid.

"Oh, oh, Lanna," Kieran cried out, her body beginning its ascent. "Yes, now!" she half-shouted, the sensation building in her clit. Then suddenly she was at the apex, and falling free through space, her body convulsing in piercing release, B'Elanna wringing the pleasure from her in long, undulating motions. Kieran made a guttural sound in the back of her throat and collapsed on top of the smaller but sturdier woman.

B'Elanna rubbed her back, soothing her, letting the maelstrom pass. Kieran couldn’t stop the emotional release that sometimes accompanied the physical, and the tears came in the next breath. B'Elanna held her tightly, letting her take the full measure of her catharsis, fingers light over Kieran’s well-muscled back and buttocks. "I’m here, my love," she murmured into the long strands of Kieran’s seldom-unbound hair. "I’ve got you, Benal."

B'Elanna never understood entirely the wealth of emotion that could flood from her life partner, but she knew it was born of the excruciating vulnerability that Kieran achieved in lovemaking, and that sometimes, that openness let very old wounds surface, the deepest insecurities, the worst fears. Kieran would sob uncontrollably at those times, and B'Elanna could only cradle her and know that it was part of who Kieran was, part of being partnered with someone who felt things on levels that were rarely exposed. Memories and experiences that were normally sublimated bubbled up then, and Kieran was helpless to stop them. B'Elanna knew it was because their lovemaking touched Kieran’s soul so deeply. It frightened her, but she accepted it as just another thing Kieran needed, and she gave it to her gladly.

Kieran quieted after long moments, and she snuggled down against B'Elanna’s shoulder, face wet with tears. "That was incredible," she said thickly.

"Are you okay?" B'Elanna’s tone was tender. "I love you, you know."

"I know," Kieran smiled. "I love you too." After a long silence, she added, "You’re an amazing lover, B'Elanna. You can usurp my control and shatter my composure like no one ever has."

B'Elanna grinned, tickled at the compliment. "I love having that effect on you, BangwIj," she admitted.

"Lanna?"

"Yes?"

"Are you as cramped on this damned couch as I am?"

B'Elanna laughed softly. "Not quite as much as you, but I’m ready to move into the bedroom."

Kieran eased off of her and struggled to her feet, then pulled B'Elanna upright with her. "Let’s go, honey," she squeezed B'Elanna’s hand, tugging it backward and inhaling the scent of her wife’s wrist. It was the classic overture of mating in Klingon culture, and it never failed to get B'Elanna hot and bothered.

B'Elanna growled low in the back of her throat. "You know that makes me crazy, Kieran," she warned in a raspy voice.

"Yes, I do," Kieran agreed, still sniffing the underside of B'Elanna’s palm.

B'Elanna fought for control of the bloodlust that had begun to rage in her. Kieran bit the raised flesh of the bonding scar on B'Elanna’s throat, and was rewarded with the sound of B'Elanna’s own arousal. Fingernails raked over bare skin as B'Elanna struggled to retain some modicum of decorum, but Kieran egged her on by biting her shoulder roughly. It was too much, and B'Elanna returned the provocative wound, drawing a hairline ribbon of blood. It was enough to divest her of all composure, the scent of blood and the warm salt taste of it on her tongue.

Kieran swept her up in her arms and ushered her to their bed, where she ravished the Klingon without mercy. It was an infrequent passion, this drawing of blood, one that B'Elanna had only ever shared with her wife, and when she did, it was the most overwhelming experience she could imagine. Her security in Kieran’s love and acceptance permitted her to indulge in the darker part of her nature where she was reduced to abject lust and fundamental urges, and she entrusted to her honored wife, her "Benal", that part of her no one else had ever seen.

B'Elanna had always harbored a secret shame of her Klingon sensibilities, which seemed primitive and barbaric to her human side. She had repressed her Klingon spirit, rejected the customs and mores of Klingon culture, striving for a more enlightened, wholly human, less integrated psyche. But Kieran had embraced B'Elanna’s Klingon side, encouraged and honored it, and B'Elanna truly believed Kieran understood what it meant to be Klingon. It was an extremely liberating experience for B'Elanna, to finally be able to express the aspects of her personality that she had feared and misunderstood, aspects that she always assumed no one else could possibly comprehend or abide.

Kieran knew few people would understand the relationship she shared with B'Elanna Torres. She cherished the depth of the bond they had forged, and she treasured B'Elanna’s willingness to reveal her inner self to Kieran. The aggression of Klingon mating never frightened or repulsed Kieran. In fact, B'Elanna’s vulnerability at those times was the most sacred thing Kieran could imagine. There was an extremely thin line between passion and violence with a Klingon, and Kieran walked it effortlessly and selflessly, knowing that what B'Elanna shared with her required courage, self-acceptance, and complete faith in Kieran.

On the rare occasions when flesh was damaged, they repaired the damage afterward with a dermal regenerator. Other than the two ritual mating scars each bore, they did not mark each other permanently, though sometimes after a particularly passionate night, they might carry a mark for a day or two, simply to commemorate the experience. And it was the case, without fail, that such heightened aggression resolved into the most exquisite tenderness that lasted between them for days. Kieran did not enjoy pain. Oddly enough, when they made love in ways that would be expected to cause pain, she did not experience pain. When B'Elanna bit her and drew blood, she felt moved by it, and protective of B'Elanna’s need to do so. She did not experience the sensation as pleasureful or painful. It was only emotional.

B'Elanna knew without doubt that Kieran Thompson was the perfect mate for her. There was no one else she would ever trust so deeply, or give herself to more fully. Kieran returned that trust in full measure, and rested securely in the knowledge that no other woman had ever understood her, or cared to know her so completely.

______________

B'Elanna Thompson-Torres hustled through the quarters she shared with Counselor Kieran Thompson-Torres, tossing various items into her Starfleet issue travel case. She nearly tripped over a stuffed Targ, which had been thrown across the room by her infant daughter Katie. Cursing half-heartedly, she picked up the toy and dropped it on the couch, where Kieran would find it after her duty shift. The Targ was Katie’s favorite toy, and if it got lost, Kieran wouldn’t get any sleep while B'Elanna was gone.

B'Elanna had misgivings about her away mission with Seven of Nine. Not that it was a dangerous task by any standards. If not for B'Elanna’s penchant to control any and all things relevant to Engineering, she would and could have delegated the mining mission to a lower ranked officer. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her staff, either, but the galicite ore needed to be of a precise grade, and she was certain that she and Seven would find the appropriate deposits in an expeditious manner, mine what they needed, and be back aboard Voyager in short order.

Her apprehension had more to do with spending three days with the former Borg drone, alone. B'Elanna and Seven had become friends after Seven and the Captain married, primarily as an artifact of the closeness of their respective spouses. B'Elanna and Seven were actually friends in their own right, as well, but their own brand of closeness was largely fostered by the fact that they were perpetually thrown together by Kieran and Kathryn. Most of the time they spent together had been highly structured, with a distinct purpose, such as the time they spent when B'Elanna was training Seven in the art of Klingon warfare. They had come together then with a specific agenda, and then in discreet blocks of time. Seven had become a formidable opponent, thanks to B'Elanna’s tutelage. But most of the leisure time they spent together involved their children, or their spouses, or both, and B'Elanna hoped they would find something to talk about on the lengthy trip.

Thinking back on their history, B'Elanna’s apprehension increased significantly. It had been a rocky relationship, at best, and openly hostile at worst back when Seven first joined Voyager. She had butted heads repeatedly with the Borg when Seven was first severed from the Collective. B'Elanna had had little patience or compassion for the perfectionist drone, and took umbrage to Seven’s ignorance of and disregard for the hierarchy of command aboard Voyager. Like Chakotay, B'Elanna thought Janeway’s ‘reclamation project’ was a lost cause, and it was a definite thorn in the Klingon’s side.

B'Elanna had lost count of the number of times Seven had made unapproved, unauthorized, and unannounced alterations to the ship’s systems, and the rationalizations Seven employed for circumventing the chain of command had driven B'Elanna mad with anger. To make matters worse, on those occasions, when B'Elanna confronted Seven for the breach of protocol, Seven always countered by pointing out how much more efficient the given modification had made the ship, instead of apologizing to the Chief Engineer. While Seven’s work was always impeccable and well thought out, it enraged B'Elanna that Seven had rarely obtained authorization before beginning a project. At least, that’s how it had gone in the first couple of years the Borg was a part of Voyager’s crew.

B'Elanna had persisted in calling the young Borg on the carpet over the years, until Seven finally understood the chain of command and the logical reasons for it. B'Elanna was convinced, however, that Seven had always understood it, but refused to follow it, and Janeway had let her get away with it. In truth, it had not been an easy lesson for the former drone, whose mode of working had previously been tapping into the hive mind, where the Collective was always in agreement. She was accustomed to the ease of acting interdependently with the Borg, and the concept of asking permission was foreign to her. Even more alien was the necessity of arguing with her colleagues to make a case for why something needed to be done. The Borg were not debaters. They were assimilators. Seven found it exhausting to have to convince various officers of the correctness of a plan before implementing it.

B'Elanna had chafed under the yoke of Starfleet protocol every bit as much as Seven of Nine. That she had mastered her own willfulness with tremendous effort served to make her less forgiving of Seven’s struggle, when it should have made her more understanding. But in Seven, B'Elanna saw so much of herself in those early days, so many of her own trials and failures, that she had instantly disliked the curt, intractable blonde.

And so their early relationship was mutually antagonistic, characterized by fights, insults, and a general vexing of one another. And although they had eventually become friends, there were old wounds between them still. B'Elanna had developed a much more acute sense of emotional issues, being married to the Ship’s Counselor, and she knew she and Seven had plenty of air that needed clearing.

B'Elanna reminded herself to be tactful, and silently remembered all the reasons she had to like Seven, not the least of which was how wonderful Seven had been with Kieran when Kieran was first back from a traumatic incident in which she had become spatially displaced in alternate universes. Kieran’s experiences in those universes had left her deep in self-loathing, and suffering from spatial psychosis. It had been Seven who had helped her most. Seven’s calm assurance and placid acceptance of the self-critical Counselor convinced Kieran she wasn’t a monster, despite having killed an alternate version of Kathryn Janeway in a different universe. It was precisely because Seven was known to be an exacting critic, laser sharp in her standards and judgement, that Kieran could forgive herself. She figured if Seven could forgive her for what Kieran perceived as her crimes, then she must somehow deserve forgiveness. And that had been the turning point in Kieran’s recovery.

B'Elanna finished packing and surveyed the room. Just enough time left to run by Kieran’s office, kiss her goodbye, and run by daycare to see Katie one more time before the mission. She fingered the frame of the photo of the three of them, studying the two women who made up her world, and silently prayed for their well being in her absence. It was a control issue, she knew, but somehow, she always felt things went best when she was with them, watching over them, as if they required her vigilance. She grinned at herself, and thought about how Kieran would tease her if she knew B'Elanna was worrying over leaving them alone. And that allowed her to gather the courage to go.

______________

B'Elanna Thompson-Torres cursed loudly in Klingon expletives, furious at their bad luck. The fiery Klingon-Human hybrid was commanding this away mission, and somehow, neither she nor Seven of Nine had detected the ion storm they were now futilely trying to outrun. Alone in such a tense situation, they quickly fell back into former patterns, arguing and carping at each other, not recognizing they were falling back on old habits of communication. But the situation had become critical so quickly, they didn’t have a chance to think about what they were saying to each other, or to realize they were letting old prejudices and distrust surface. All of the resentment and anger they had failed to deal with openly roiled from the depths of where they had comfortably repressed them, and their tempers became frazzled.

They had gone to do a simple geological survey of an uninhabited star system, had found some minimally serviceable ores, and mined enough to fill the cargo section in the aft compartment of the Delta Flyer. Now the heavy metal ores could prove a tremendous problem as the Flyer caught the leading edge of the storm. Torres knew that the emergency landing they needed to make would be complicated by the several additional tons of weight sitting in the back end of the vessel, and the momentum would be harder to compensate for. She calculated the counter force needed to prevent the Flyer from tumbling end over end on landing.

The planetoid Seven had located wasn’t much to look at, but it would have to do. It was over 900 miles in diameter, and at least provided a good sized target for an emergency landing.

Seven of Nine was not confident in Lieutenant Torres’ piloting skills, and since B'Elanna had broken up with Tom Paris she had not upgraded her pilot status to a higher ranking.

"Lieutenant, are you certain you can land this vessel safely?" Seven of Nine shouted over the din of the storm, now overtaking them.

Torres gritted her teeth, making adjustments to the descent trajectory. "No, Seven, I’m not!" she shouted back. "What choice have we got?" She tried not to let her irritation with what she considered to be a stupid question distract her from her task. "Get me some landing coordinates, Borg, and stop badgering me!" she hollered over the roaring ion waves.

Seven of Nine, formerly of the Borg collective, and currently the Astrometrics Officer aboard the U.S.S. Voyager, coolly tapped in commands to her panel, using what she could of the sensors. "I cannot get clear readings, Lieutenant," she advised loudly. "The storm is interfering with my sensors. My best estimate is being transmitted to the helm."

Torres ground her teeth. "You want a guaranteed landing site," she growled, "you’d better get me exact coordinates." How dare the arrogant Borg question her piloting prowess and then provide her with a mere guesstimate as to an acceptable landing site? Torres glowered at the towering blonde seated in the aft section of the cockpit.

The Flyer screamed on impact, dirt and debris thrown every which way, the nose of the craft plowing a deep trench as it squalled to a halt in a deafening shower of soil and twisted metal. The battered duranium groaned as it settled into its resting place, leaving blinding clouds of smoke and dust in its wake as the forward momentum ceased. Seven felt a terrible weight compressing her torso, and as the haze cleared, she realized the forefront of the Delta Flyer had been compromised, and that she was pinned beneath several meters of soil and rock which had thrust itself through the viewshield. Which meant, Seven recognized a second later, that the helm and B'Elanna were buried under the same several meters of debris, and B'Elanna was either buried alive, or not alive.

Panic raced in the young Borg’s veins as the adrenaline kicked in. She used her Borg enhanced hand to begin uncovering her own body, which as the dusty air cleared, was visibly trapped under loam and stone. She worked frantically and was able to free herself after long, terrified moments. Her leg was apparently broken, judging by the sickening way it flopped limply below the thigh, but she dragged it clear of the pile of rubble and crawled toward the area where B'Elanna should be.

"B'Elanna Torres!" she screamed. "B'Elanna!"

No answer. Seven’s chest constricted with fear as she dug furiously with her hands, throwing large rocks toward the aft cockpit, tunneling to where the Lieutenant should be. Kieran will never recover if B'Elanna dies, she thought, working even faster, and Kathryn will never forgive me. Seven scooped out loose dirt, sand, gravel and the fragmented roots of disrupted vegetation, moving as quickly as her damaged body could permit, ignoring the pain where her femur had snapped in half. Another large boulder was removed and thrown behind her, and Seven felt B'Elanna’s hair. Seven was in sheer terror mode as she reached B'Elanna’s face and then her shoulders. The Klingon was not moving, was not breathing, and had only a faint pulse. Seven shouted her frustration, jamming her hands beneath the offending earth to grasp B'Elanna’s underarms. She grunted, screaming as she hauled the limp woman free of the pile of debris, half from exertion and half from the pain of her fractured thighbone.

Seven was flooded with euphoric endorphins as B'Elanna began to cough and sputter, dirt and dust expelled in violent gagging fits from her lungs and throat. She choked and spasmed until the soil and mucus had all been forced from her airway, leaning on her arms, her body wracked by violent gasps.

Seven hovered over her, peering anxiously at the Chief Engineer. "Lie still Lieutenant," the ghost-white astrometrics officer urged her. "I will scan you for damage." She ran the medical tricorder over the prone figure. "You have bruising to your chest wall, mild abrasions, and a torn pectoral muscle," Seven declared, snapping the tricorder shut. "You will live."

"Feels like I won’t," B'Elanna managed glibly. She groaned as she tried to sit up. "What about you? Are you okay?"

Seven frowned, but reached to assist the Engineer as she pulled herself upright. "My left leg is broken above the knee. The break is clean, though painful," she pronounced, scanning herself.

B'Elanna regarded her with amazement. "You dug me out of that with a broken leg?" she asked incredulously.

"That is correct," Seven replied without emotion. "Do not look so surprised. I am Borg. It was the most logical course of action. You are Voyager’s Chief Engineer. Your survival is paramount to the ship’s well being."

"Seven," B'Elanna swallowed hard. "Thanks." She scrutinized the Borg’s face, remembering that when she had first regained consciousness, she had found Seven staring at her, the Borg’s fear and concern evident in her strained countenance. B'Elanna was certain she’d never seen that much emotion on the buxom blonde’s face. It had shaken her.

Seven rapidly recovered her aloof demeanor, turned her mind to assessing their situation, and simultaneously began the process of knitting her own fractured leg. B'Elanna busied herself digging for the helm console, hoping the Flyer was in one piece. Her hopes were instantly dashed to bits.

"Both the port and starboard nacelles are gone," she announced. "Communications are down, life support is marginal. But this rock has breathable air, so that system is redundant anyway. But we’re not going anywhere in the Delta Flyer, not in this lifetime," Torres muttered.

"Voyager will find us, Lieutenant," Seven replied confidently. "Kathryn has never let me down. Besides, I deployed a distress beacon just before we entered the upper atmosphere of this planetoid."

"I didn’t order you to do that," B'Elanna threw the remark over her shoulder.

"No, you did not," Seven agreed, "but you should have. Fortunately, I did not await your orders."

B'Elanna hated that most about the former Borg drone, that she was brutally honest, tactless, and usually right. "I don’t know why that should surprise me," Torres grumbled. "Hell, when you do wait for orders, you disobey half of them anyway."

Seven turned a sour expression toward the Klingon. "I am Borg. I choose the logical course of action at all times. Humans," she said the word without concealing her distaste, "do not avail themselves of logic as an ordinary course of action."

B'Elanna snorted. "Pardon us, Seven. Kahless forbid we’d rely upon our experience or intuition or anything remotely unrelated to almighty logic. And if that beacon survived the ion storm, it will be a major miracle, anyway," she retorted.

"Lieutenant," Seven cut her off, "we have a problem." Seven had been surveying their supplies. "The replicator is damaged and our water supply is contaminated."

B'Elanna jumped up and joined the Borg in the aft hold. "Shit!" she swore. "We are so screwed unless Janeway detects that storm and figures out we aren’t coming back."

Seven of Nine grimly nodded. "Screwed indeed," she agreed. She activated her tricorder and made minor adjustments to the scanners. "The nearest source of water is a lake that is almost seventy-five kilometers away from our present location, with an elevation change of six thousand feet."

B'Elanna scowled. "How’s your leg?"

"I believe it is mended sufficiently that I can walk. We shall see." Seven bit her lip as she tried to lift herself from the floor of the Flyer.

B'Elanna scurried over to help. "Here, let me pick you up," she offered.

"That is ill advised, Lieutenant," Seven stated flatly. "Your own injuries make you susceptible to further trauma. However, if you will assist me in keeping my balance, I should be able to stand."

B'Elanna realized Seven was right. Her chest wall was shot through with searing pain as she moved over to Seven, and now she regretted the quick motions. "Okay," she agreed. "Lean on me."

"The aft hatch is not impeded," Seven grimaced as she tested her leg. "We should be able to exit the shuttle from there." She put weight on her leg gradually, wincing slightly. "It will have to do. My nanoprobes will assist in healing the weaker part of the bone tissue. It should improve over the next few hours."

B'Elanna grinned. "Handy little buggers. Can you lend me some? My chest is killing me."

Seven of Nine quirked an eyebrow. "Certainly," she assented. "I must assimilate you first, however." She deployed the assimilation tubules and watched B'Elanna’s expression of pure horror. "Ah, I see you have not been advised that resistance is futile, B'Elanna Torres," she teased.

"You’re yanking my chain," she accused the ice cold beauty, though she backed away a couple of feet. Then with a resolute sigh she proclaimed "Unless you have a better idea, I guess we better start walking, Borg. That water’s not getting any closer."

"Agreed," Seven replied. She was already loading ration bars, wrist lamps, phasers, and the small bottled emergency water supply into the standard issue back packs.

"Don’t forget the mylar blankets," B'Elanna said tersely, still miffed at having been teased. "Unlike you, I don’t have the benefit of a self-regulating biosuit."

"I have packed two, Lieutenant. Now please, try to relax. Your anxiety will not facilitate our survival," Seven informed her with a whip-like reproof in her voice.

B'Elanna resisted the urge to backhand the towering Borg. "Your self-satisfied smugness will not facilitate your survival, Borg," she muttered.

_____________

The planetary terrain stretched before them in what seemed like endless nothingness. The best thing they could say was that the land was flat, and the walk was easy, at least that first day. And it was a lucky thing, because B'Elanna was discovering just how painful a chest wall bruising could be. She had availed herself of the medkit devices to treat the pectoral muscle tear, but even the healed tissue was tender. It didn’t help her mood any, knowing that thanks to that blasted Borg technology, Seven of Nine was hardly showing the effects of her own injuries.

There wasn’t much to look at and the two women had little to discuss, so time passed slowly. Seven of Nine was particularly poor at making small talk, as the Borg found such things irrelevant, and B'Elanna’s attempts to engage the permafrost former drone in conversation met with less than satisfactory results. B'Elanna knew that Seven was feeling antagonistic toward her, and she was feeling equally irritated by the Captain’s wife.

Though most of the landscape resembled the American Southwest, save for the absence of cacti, late in the afternoon, they had begun to trudge past shrubs and trees. The trees were similar to Manzanita, with dark red, smooth hardwood trunks that had no apparent bark to speak of. B'Elanna ordered their day over as the sun began to sink behind the horizon, directing them to make camp for the night.

"Do you think those bushy things will burn?" she asked Seven.

"I suggest we ignite one with a phaser and if it combusts satisfactorily, we shall gather enough to have light and warmth throughout the night. My tricorder readings suggest this planetoid will become quite cold after sunset," she reported to her mission leader in formal tones.

"Great," B'Elanna groused. Then to herself, she added "Like it’s not cold enough with only a Borg to keep me company."

Seven smirked. "Lieutenant, you would be well advised to remember that like so many of my senses, my hearing is superior to yours. And if it is any consolation, I would prefer to be stranded alone than to be stranded with you."

B'Elanna was truly stung by Seven’s rejecting attitude. She forced a smile, however, and ignored Seven, saying only "I should have asked Tom to pilot the Flyer."

"Indeed," Seven allowed. "He might have effected a better landing. And he would provide you with more scintillating conversation."

B'Elanna abruptly left the makeshift camp and dragged a fallen tree into an open area, fired her phaser at it several times, and watched it smolder. She darkly imagined shooting the Borg officer, and fired at the helpless tree yet again. It burned slowly at first, then burst into a small flame that consumed the rest of the tree nicely.

She came back into camp dragging a fallen bush and deposited it in the center of their camp. "Well, at least they burn. Let’s get some more," she tried to sound commanding, but was feeling weak. Her browridge was coated in a faint sheen of perspiration, despite the cool air.

Seven scrutinized her closely. "I will take care of the fire, Lieutenant. You should rest. You are quite obviously in pain," she stated without inflection.

"I pull my own weight," B'Elanna snapped, spinning on her boot heel to retrieve more wood.

Seven caught her arm. "Please, B'Elanna," she said apologetically. "I never meant to imply that you don’t pull your weight. I just think you could use a—a—breath-er?"

"Breather," B'Elanna corrected her. She grinned ruefully. "Okay. But only if you don’t mind doing the gathering alone."

Seven smiled just barely, the edges of her lips curling upward. "I do not mind. You could help by getting our ration bars out of the packs."

Seven made a large pile of fallen limbs and trunks, and phasered a substantial bonfire while B'Elanna sat down with a groan. Her ribs felt like they were burning stronger than the bushy vegetation Seven had hoarded. Her legs ached from the long hours of walking with hardly a pause. She removed her boots, and poured a small amount of sand out of them before she put them back on.

The Klingon fished her water canteen from her pack and drank greedily from the small container. Before Seven could lecture her about conserving the resource, she capped the canteen and put it back in her pack. She found a larger tree trunk, shot off its limbs, and dragged it over to the campfire. "We can sit on this," she explained.

Seven banked the fire and joined the Lieutenant on the makeshift couch. "B'Elanna Torres," Seven said after a lengthy silence, "earlier, when I said Mister Paris might have effected a better landing, I did not mean to imply that you are responsible for our predicament. I apologize if I gave you that impression," she explained softly.

B'Elanna winced. "It’s okay, Seven," she replied coldly. "I’m accustomed to being insulted by you."

"When have I ever insulted you, B'Elanna?" Seven was genuinely stupefied. "I occasionally make factual observations of a critical nature, but I am not aware of deliberate attempts to upset you."

B'Elanna sighed heavily. God, she missed Kieran. She’d rather participate in an entire Captain Proton holonovel than try to converse with Seven of Nine. "Seven," she finally said, "you just don’t get it. Most people don’t need to hear your ‘factual observations of a critical nature’ to conclude they fucked things up. Humans are like that, you know. We’re capable of our own self-criticism. And most of us kick ourselves quite nicely without an assist from some member of a ‘superior’ species."

B'Elanna was completely taken aback when Seven actually chuckled, and she smiled despite herself. "Why Seven, I didn’t know Borg laugh in a crisis situation. Isn’t humor irrelevant? And what’s so funny?" Her dark eyes flashed in the firelight.

"You are funny, B'Elanna Torres," Seven concluded. She repeated the phrase that amused her. "We kick ourselves quite nicely without an assist from some member of a ‘superior’ species," she laughed to herself. "I suddenly saw an image of you trying to do just that."

B'Elanna grinned. "Trying to kick myself in the ass?"

Seven nodded, and laughed out loud.

B'Elanna was quite pleased with herself now. She couldn’t wait to tell Kieran she’d made the Queen of the Deep Freeze laugh. B'Elanna gazed in wonder at the Borg, the light from the campfire casting warm sienna tones over the statuesque blonde. She wasn’t aware that she was staring at her companion until Seven quirked an eyebrow in her direction.

"What?" is all that Seven said.

B'Elanna started slightly. "I just—well you—when you smile, Seven, you’re really quite—pretty," she finished lamely.

"Thank you," Seven answered distractedly. Her cheeks felt suddenly hot. "Is the fire sufficient to keep you warm, B'Elanna?" she queried after a long pause. "I know your Klingon physiology is susceptible to hypothermia."

B'Elanna nodded. "You did a great job with the fire," she complimented the young officer. "That’s enough wood to last all night. I don’t suppose with your biosuit you even need a fire to stay warm."

"That is not entirely accurate," Seven advised. "The biosuit augments my normal Borg physiology, but it is not a complete substitute for basics, such as warmth."

B'Elanna touched the silvery mesh fabric adorning Seven’s arm, followed the grey color to her shoulder where the cloth became navy blue, and felt something hard and cold in Seven’s biceps. "Seven, what is this?" she asked, tapping on the raised spot.

Seven jerked her arm away, feeling self-conscious. "It is a Borg implant," she said defensively. "Surely you noticed them on our ‘family vacation’. I was wearing a bathing suit that revealed several of them."

"Really?" B'Elanna breathed. "I guess I was too busy looking at Kieran," she replied honestly. "I never noticed them. I didn’t mean to offend you, you know," she added apologetically. Her curiosity got the better of her as she asked "How many have you got?"

Seven regarded her cautiously, not really trusting her, but resigned to being stranded, and wanting to get along with her crewmate. "Would you like to see them?" she asked matter of factly.

"I—yes," B'Elanna admitted, unable to resist such an opportunity.

Without delay, Seven of Nine stripped off her biosuit and stood naked before B'Elanna, then turned to display the cold, clinical, metallic bands and starbursts that covered her, encircled her, and extended over the full length of her body.

B'Elanna was stunned. "Seven," she murmured in awe. "You’re an engineering marvel," she said softly, admiration coloring her vocal inflections. She followed the swirls of metal with a practiced eye, the elegance and simplicity of the design striking her in an instant.

Seven made a sound of derision. "Do you still think I’m really quite pretty, Lieutenant?" Seven asked with disgust. "Go ahead, B'Elanna. Tell me the truth. I’m more repulsive machine than human being."

B'Elanna stood up then, although her height was far from impressive next to Seven’s. "Believe me, Borg, there is nothing repulsive about you. You are not just pretty Seven. You are beautiful. And your cybernetic implants are amazing," her engineer’s acumen forced her to add.

Seven swallowed audibly, and searched B'Elanna’s face for evidence of dishonesty or mockery. She found none. "I am—pleased that you think so," she returned, then hurriedly pulled on her biosuit again. "At any rate, Kathryn seems to think I am reasonably attractive, and that is what matters to me. I don’t suppose she would appreciate my parading my implants for anyone else’s eyes," she added, pulling the clasp to seal the seam.

B'Elanna nodded wordlessly, sorry that Seven’s body was once again hidden from her eyes. The engineer in her wanted to know what all those metallic implants were for, how they worked, and why the Doctor had left so many of them behind. But she knew the topic made Seven uncomfortable, so she forced herself not to ask.

____________

Kieran Thompson-Torres received a dinner invitation on her comm account the second night B'Elanna was away. Naomi had been learning from Seven how to cook, and she was anxious to get an objective opinion on her blossoming skills. Kathryn and Seven praised her efforts effusively, no matter what concoction she threw together, and Naomi knew if her culinary prowess was lacking, Kieran wouldn’t be able to tactfully hide the sour expression a bad flavor would put on her face.

Naomi had insisted that she cook in B'Elanna and Kieran’s quarters, instead of having Kieran come to dinner at Naomi’s quarters, where Kathryn would be included. Kieran was amused by the thinly veiled attempt to approximate a date with her in B'Elanna’s absence, but she had been dealing with Naomi’s crush on her for so long, it didn’t faze her anymore. She accepted the offer of a home cooked meal, and even arranged to leave Katie with a baby-sitter. She figured if Naomi was going to go all out, the least she could do in return was give the young girl her full attention.

And truth be told, Kieran was feeling a little miffed at being brushed off by Icheb and Naomi in the mess hall earlier that week. Kieran realized she had a bad habit of taking Naomi’s friendship for granted, most likely due to the fact that Naomi so freely adored her, and she redoubled her effort to not be so complacent about their relationship. She resolved to make the evening as special as she could for her friend, who was so tall now, Kieran could no longer think of her as a little girl.

Kieran rifled questions at the cook as she cut vegetables and measured rice. B'Elanna and Kieran had long ago had a cooktop installed in their quarters, because neither could abide a steady diet of replicated food. Kieran was a frequent visitor to the aeroponics bay for fresh produce, which also allowed her to save rations from time to time. Now seated comfortably at the breakfast bar, she watched Naomi working and got caught up on the latest addition to Engineering’s life.

"So how are the Astrometrics lessons going?" she asked pointedly, after hearing all about Naomi’s other studies.

Naomi sighed, but continued chopping mushrooms for the sauce. "Are you going to ridicule me endlessly because Icheb is slobbering over me?" she asked, schooling her irritation.

"He is?" Kieran had been kidding, but Naomi openly acknowledged it, and Kieran was not sure she liked the admission.

"Oh please," Naomi smiled up at her friend, perched on the stool and leaning over the counter. "He’s like a Vulcan in pon farr," she confided. "Or haven’t you noticed?"

Kieran frowned, biting her lip. "Why do you say that? Has he done anything—unwanted?" she felt herself bristle protectively. She liked the earnest young man, but if he so much as laid a finger on Naomi, she would—

"No, of course not," Naomi rapidly amended, "he just looks at me funny. I figured it’s because I have breasts now," she chuckled.

Kieran forced a smile. "Yes, you’re growing up much faster than any of us could imagine. And I suppose it’s normal that he’s—er—noticed," she stumbled over the delicate topic. "But you know you have the right to say what happens to your own personal space, and if he invades it, you should tell him to back off. Do you understand what I’m saying?" she grew stern.

Naomi smiled winningly. "No," she teased, "why don’t you spell it out for me, Counselor?"

Kieran gave her a scathing look. "You know perfectly well what I’m talking about, Wildwoman," she used the name B'Elanna called the youngster when Naomi was pushing her luck.

"Yeah, I do, but I’d love to make you explain it in detail," she laughed. "You’d better get used to these touchy subjects, Kieran. You’re going to have to talk to Katie about sex someday, you know," she ribbed the Counselor.

Kieran growled "Yes, I know." Then less playfully, she explained "It’s just that with you, Na, I’m so close to the issue emotionally, that if I thought anyone ever did anything inappropriate to you, I’d have to slice and dice him or her. I know you’re perfectly capable of making good decisions and standing up for your rights, but the thought of anyone taking advantage of you just makes me crazy."

Naomi stopped cutting and gazed at her friend warmly. "I like it that you get all bent out of shape over wanting to protect me, KT," she smiled. "But you don’t need to worry. I’d slap him silly if he made a move on me. So far, he’s kept his distance, and it’s just stares and forlorn looks. Oh, and he tried to hold my hand once, but I acted like I didn’t notice what he was trying to do," she laughed at his pitiful overture.

Kieran swallowed hard. Naomi wasn’t kidding. Icheb really did have a sexual attraction to the young crewmember. "As long as it’s as innocent as that, I won’t haul out B'Elanna’s bat’leth, just yet," she decided, her mouth suddenly dry. "If you ever need me to talk to him—"

"No," Naomi protested instantly. "I don’t want to embarrass him or make him self-conscious. I can handle it."

Kieran eyed her speculatively. "If you say so, Na. That’s very considerate of you to think of his feelings."

"Hey," Naomi said, sounding a lot like Kieran, "I’m a nice gal." It was just the sort of flippant remark Kieran would make to deflect a compliment.

"Yes, you are," Kieran agreed. "So what else have you been up to?"

"I’ve taken up a couple of new hobbies, actually," Naomi replied, tossing the mushrooms into a pan to sauté them. "I’m learning to play Velocity, for one," she continued.

"Really? How come you never told me you wanted to learn? I’d have taught you," Kieran sounded disappointed.

"Because I did it to surprise you. I wanted to challenge you to a match," she grinned triumphantly.

"You’re on," Kieran pointed at her. "What’s the other new interest?"

"I’m learning to sing," she said shyly. "The Doctor overheard me while I was working in the daycare center, singing Geejay a lullaby, and so now, he thinks I’m some protégé or something."

"No kidding," Kieran was enthusiastic. "I’d love to hear you sing, Na. I sing a little bit, myself. Just never in front of anyone, not anymore, anyway."

"You used to perform?" Naomi started on the onions and garlic.

"Back at the Academy, and in high school. I played guitar—badly. But I enjoyed singing, so I learned the guitar just so I could accompany myself. I used to play at coffee houses, talent shows, that sort of thing. But that was a lifetime ago," she laughed at her memories.

"I’d love to hear you, too," Naomi offered. "Some night we should work up the courage and serenade each other," she giggled. "Okay, now this needs to simmer for about twenty minutes while I slice the protein into strips," she advised the watchful audience. "How are you doing with B'Elanna gone?"

"Okay I guess. Of course, I’m worried about her. I guess that’s silly, but I can’t help it. We seem to have had our share of difficult times since we met, and I just dread it everytime we’re apart."

Naomi touched her hand sympathetically. "It’s no wonder you worry, after what happened to you. You’ve recovered so well, though, it’s hard to tell you ever had spatial psychosis," she praised her friend. "I know it took a lot of courage to deal with coming back to us."

Kieran turned her hand up to take Naomi’s. "You were a huge help, Na. Your unflagging support was outstanding. I guess I must have sounded like a lunatic to you at times."

"It was pretty scary," Naomi allowed, cocking her head to one side, remembering. "You’d seem perfectly normal one minute, and the next, it was like you had no recollection of who I am, or what we’ve shared. You’d think I was a different me. That was upsetting. But I kept reminding myself that you had known several different versions of me, so of course, it would be confusing to keep us straight."

"You think you were upset, you should have tried dealing with B'Elanna. I don’t think she had much faith that I’d make a full recovery. I guess I surprised her though."

"It’s hard for her," Naomi wisely observed, "because trust is such a difficult thing for her to give anyone. She was Maquis, after all. People in those circumstances don’t tend to make lasting connections or trust deeply. You’re a whole new realm for her. I think she still looks at you sometimes, and wonders when you’re going to hurt her, like everyone else has."

Kieran smiled with admiration for the young woman. "You’re absolutely right, sweetie. Man, you’d make a great counselor, Naomi. It took me about a year to get that much insight into B'Elanna. You have her figured out better than I do, and I live with her."

"It’s interesting what people will tell you while they’re analyzing the slush deuterium containment," she joked. "It’s easy to get her to open up when she’s absorbed in her work. It’s like the job takes her attention away from putting up her defenses. She says all kinds of things about her past, her problems, her life with you. I think, half the time, she isn’t even aware of how much she tells me," Naomi confided. "So if you really want to know what’s on her mind, go with her on maintenance rounds."

Kieran blinked rapidly, taking in the advice. "I will. Thank you." Then more quietly, "Since you have her confidence, is there anything I should know? Am I doing okay with her?"

Naomi grinned. "It wouldn’t very well be confidence if I told you, now would it?" she planted her hands on her hips. Seeing how desperately Kieran wanted to know, she relented a little. "Oh, don’t pout, KT, and quit fretting. She loves you. She’s happy with you. I think she misses you a lot since you started command training, but she is proud of you, and she knows you’ll have time for her eventually."

Kieran flinched. "She feels neglected? In a major way?"

"Minor," Naomi contended. "Very minor. Don’t let it worry you. She wouldn’t trade you for the world. She has mentioned on several occasions how superior you are to every other relationship she’s had, especially the one with Tom."

Kieran relaxed visibly. "Do tell."

"Nope. I’ve said too much already, and the sauce is done," she announced, dumping the protein strips in the mix. "If I tell you anything more, I’ll have to kill you," she teased.

________________

Day two saw the terrain changing from desert to scrub oak and pine trees. The incline of the path they took steepened drastically, and by mid-afternoon, the women had climbed several hundred feet in elevation. They paused for lunch after walking over six hours, and B'Elanna was feeling every centimeter of her bruised tissue as she sat down to rest. Every breath cost her a painful grimace, and the exertion of the climb had her panting. The long, grueling hours of hiking had given her too much time to think about the night before, and she was feeling apprehensive about her reaction to Seven of Nine’s nakedness. First, she was married. Second, she shouldn’t have enjoyed looking at someone so much who wasn’t Kieran Thompson-Torres. Third, only an honorless p’taQ would entertain sexual thoughts about another warrior’s mate. She tried to keep her eyes trained anywhere but on the gorgeous Borg.

She was ashamed of her appearance, B'Elanna realized. Unsure of herself. Vulnerable. The impervious Borg, the stoneface that launched a thousand ships, and she was actually afraid of my reaction, dreading my anticipated revulsion. She not only has feelings, she cares what others think—what I think. I would have sworn only Janeway’s opinion mattered to her. And I thought even Janeway’s opinion didn’t matter completely. Hard to believe Seven could be so sensitive. She must have had a rough time, trying to fit in with us, between all the prejudice against the Borg and her being so different from the rest of the crew. And the men on board must confuse hell out of her, the way they all leer at her. She must sense that when they are nice to her, it’s due to ulterior motives, at least, most of the time—either because they’d like to get in her pants or because she’s Captain Janeway’s wife.

I haven’t made it any easier for her, either, always jumping down her throat over the slightest thing. And I’ve been defensive to everything she says about me or my work. But Kahless, she can rub me the wrong way sometimes! I guess I have to keep in mind, it’s not intentional. Really, she has the social skills of a kid. And in fact, she missed her childhood and most of her life thanks to the Borg. It’s not like that’s her fault, after all. But a lot of us treat her as if it is. And her social skills have advanced by light years since she married the Captain. Kieran adores her, and that counts for a lot. And Naomi has bonded with her as if Sam Wildman never lived at all.

Seven was curiously silent, making neither observations nor idle comments. B'Elanna was so busy with her own thoughts, she didn’t notice that Seven was approaching her until the towering woman cast a long shadow over the Klingon’s skin.

"I believe these are edible," she extended her mesh-encased hand toward B'Elanna.

B'Elanna opened her palm to receive the bounty. "What are they?"

"I think they are piñon nuts," Seven explained, seating herself beside her companion. "Or something similar. I have analyzed them, and they are not toxic."

B'Elanna grinned. "Have you tasted them yet?"

Seven shook her head. "I thought you might like the first taste, since you dislike ration bars so much."

B'Elanna hesitated, then popped one into her mouth, crunching away at the oily little nut. "It’s good," she smiled, handing several back to Seven.

Seven chewed thoughtfully. "Curious. An unremarkable flavor, but nutritionally quite sound," she pronounced. "There are many more, if you would like to collect some."

B'Elanna glanced at the grove of trees, dreading the thought of moving from her shady perch, when her aching chest was finally starting to ease up a bit. Sensing her hesitation, Seven amended, "Or I could gather some, while you recover your strength."

She smiled gratefully at her Borg cohort. "Could you?" she asked politely.

Seven smiled. "Certainly."

B'Elanna watched Seven working, scouring the forest for nuts, never slowing and never complaining. She can be so sweet, really…selfless and considerate. Even nurturing. I’ve seen it with Naomi and Geejay. And then there was that time Kieran let Seven hold her on our couch so Kieran could sleep, and Seven accommodated Kieran’s request, as if Kieran were another child Seven needed to care for. I was jealous, a little, B'Elanna remembered with burning shame. Kieran was so frightened, and Seven made her feel safe—and I begrudged Kieran that comfort. Jesus, what kind of wife am I? And what kind of friend? Seven’s intentions are always beyond reproach—how could I be jealous? I wonder if she is homesick for Voyager, like I am? Does she long for the simple comfort of her alcove? Does she miss Kathryn and Geejay? Does she wish she were playing Kadis Kot with Naomi?

B'Elanna scuffed her boot in the dirt. I wonder what Kieran is doing now. Worrying about me, maybe? Playing with Katie? Do they even know we’re missing, yet? I bet the Captain is aware of it by now, and worried sick. She worries about Seven everytime she sends her on a mission, no matter how benign. I wonder if they’ll ever find us? That distress beacon probably got obliterated by the storm, though it was smart of Seven to think of it, anyway. I should have thought of it. Some mission leader I am.

She cast her deep brown gaze toward the long-bodied officer. Look at her. God, she’s beautiful. Why is it so easy to revert to thinking of her as a drone, and not as a woman, as my friend? Her human features are perfection and her Borg technology is beyond perfection. She’s like that Omicron particle she was so enamored with, infinitely complex, yet wholly simplistic. What goes on in that superior mind of hers? Does she daydream? Does she have aspirations and fancies and hopes? Does she think about me? She probably hates me, deep down, for all the unkind things I’ve said to her over the years. Oh, God. I wonder if I’ve hurt her feelings? She’s hurt mine often enough, and if she gets to me, then I must have gotten to her on occasion. She’s not so tough, really. In a way, she’s really quite fragile.

"State your purpose," Seven abruptly demanded, suddenly beside the Lieutenant.

"Excuse me?" B'Elanna’s head jerked up, her eyes finding Seven’s boring into her.

"Why are you staring at me?" Seven replied sharply.

"I—uh—I was just wondering—if you are homesick?" B'Elanna stammered.

Seven flinched in surprise. She had half expected the woman to tell her she had been staring at her to try to figure out if she had ever really been a human being. Why do I always expect the worst from her? Always on guard, ever defensive? Why do I not trust her, as I do the other members of the Voyager collective? I am more critical of her than anyone else aboard the ship. Why does she provoke such a response in me?

The long pause softened Seven’s expression considerably. "I don’t know what it means to be homesick," she finally admitted. "Unless it is the preoccupation with memories of Voyager, in which case, I am quite homesick."

"That’d be it," B'Elanna grinned, patting Seven’s shoulder as she stood with a grimace.

"You are still damaged," Seven noted sympathetically. "Perhaps we should stop for the day."

"We can’t," B'Elanna disagreed. "Our water supply is too limited to spare the time. We have to keep walking."

Seven inclined her head slightly in assent. "As you wish. Shall we go, then?"

"Yeah. But can I have a handful of those nuts, first?" B'Elanna eyed the Borg’s backpack, hoping there were plenty of crunchy little nuggets stashed inside.

Seven grinned. "Help yourself," she offered amiably, pointing to a bulging side pocket. She felt her body being yanked slightly as B'Elanna rummaged for the nuts.

"Thanks. Anything beats those ration bars. Even Neelix’ leola root stew," she joked.

Seven smirked. "I’d rather eat a ration bar, myself," she quipped, making B'Elanna laugh.

When they made camp that night, the considerably cooler air in the higher elevations made a fire a grave necessity for B'Elanna. Seven once again made a roaring conflagration to warm the Lieutenant, but B'Elanna lay beneath her covers, teeth clenched. When her pointed Klingon canines began to chatter, Seven of Nine picked her way around the blazing woodfire and snuggled into B'Elanna’s bedroll with the older woman.

"Seven, what the hell do you think you’re doing?" she hissed, pushing Seven away harshly.

"I am attempting to raise your core body temperature, Lieutenant. Unless you prefer to have your teeth click together and to have your muscles tense from the cold," she logically advised the indignant Klingon.

B'Elanna was torn. On one hand, she was miserably cold and needing Seven’s body heat. But on the other hand, she hated taking anything from the aloof Borg. Finally, discomfort won out over pride. "Thanks," she said softly. "I do need your help."

"Very well," Seven agreed without inflection. She slid up along B'Elanna’s back side, wrapped an arm around her midsection, and pulled the Lieutenant in closer to her.

B'Elanna was almost too tired to think about how good Seven felt. Almost.

______________

Captain Kathryn Janeway paced the bridge, agitated and short tempered. "Nothing on long range sensors, Mr. Kim?" Janeway spat the words with exasperation, frustrated by the lack of clues as to the whereabouts of the Delta Flyer, and her Chief of Engineering, not to mention Seven. Kieran had hailed the Captain a dozen times in the last three hours, and Kathryn was at a loss to explain to her Ship’s Counselor where their wives had disappeared.

"Sorry, Captain, not a trace," Harry answered, trying not to cringe at the look Janeway gave him.

"All right then. We have to assume they got caught in that ion storm and took shelter in the system they were surveying. Mr. Paris, set a course for that system, and we’ll scan every particle of dust if we have to."

"Yes Ma’am," Tom agreed heartily. B'Elanna Torres was his friend, and he was not about to give up the search without a fight. "Course laid in, Captain."

"Warp six, Tom. Harry, keep scanning." Janeway set her jaw as she forced herself to take a seat in the ‘big chair’, despite the fact that her mood was suited for pacing.

Chakotay leaned close to his C.O. "Kathryn, we’ll find her," he gripped Janeway’s forearm to reassure her.

Janeway blanched. "You mean ‘them,’ Commander."

He smiled faintly. "I meant Seven."

Kathryn Janeway gave her first officer a look that clearly told him her personal concerns were off limits for discussion.

Chakotay bowed his head in defeat on the issue. "We’ll find them Kathryn," he tried to sound comforting. I have every confidence in B'Elanna and Seven," he smiled warmly. "You shouldn’t worry yourself so."

Kathryn launched out of her chair and began to pace again. "I shouldn’t have sent them alone to do that damned survey."

He shrugged. "They’re professionals. They’ll do their jobs. A little ion storm isn’t a match for a Borg and a Klingon."

"I just hope they don’t kill each other," Kathryn muttered.

Chakotay raised an eyebrow in question. "But they’re good friends. You and Seven spend most of your free time with B'Elanna and Kieran."

Kathryn nodded in agreement. "Yes, but Kieran thinks the two of them have unresolved issues, and she advised me that sending them alone was a bad idea. I didn’t listen to her."

"I think our Ship’s Counselor has a vivid imagination," Chakotay argued. "I’ve never sensed any tension between them, not since B'Elanna and Kieran got together, anyway. I thought they'd settled their differences."

Kathryn shrugged. "I don’t see any problems between them either, Chakotay, but I’m not the Ship’s Counselor, and I’m not married to B'Elanna Torres. Kieran would know better than I on that."

"Then why didn’t you take her advice?" Chakotay prodded gently.

Janeway threw herself back down in her chair. "I should have. I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t want to believe I could live with Seven and not know she has conflicts with my best friend’s wife. Maybe Kieran didn’t phrase her opinion to suit me. Maybe my coffee was bad that morning. I don’t know," she growled, frustrated.

"And now Kieran’s saying ‘I told you so’?" he asked.

Janeway’s lips tightened. "Kieran would never question a command decision after the decision is made. She understands how essential it is to support one’s commanding officer. If my negligence got B'Elanna killed, she’d never say another word in anger or criticism. That’s precisely why she will make an outstanding first officer," Kathryn replied pointedly, knowing that Chakotay would be stung at the subtle reminder that he had failed to support his CO on more than one occasion. The burly man shut up.

"I thought she was off base with her observations, but the longer I think about it, the more I realize, she’s right. There’s an undercurrent of something between those two."

Chakotay tried to remain positive. "We’ll find them, Kathryn. They’re fine."

_____________

Late in the night, Seven pulled B'Elanna Torres closer, trying to warm the Klingon more efficiently. The fire burned smartly, but somehow B'Elanna was still cold. Seven had not slept and found herself longing for her regeneration alcove. She knew she could not go much longer without it, and her body was feeling the effects.

Her thoughts turned to Voyager. To her home. She found herself feeling terribly sad as she thought of Kathryn. The goal oriented older woman had not had much time for Seven in recent months, and Seven had been lonely. She loved Geejay and Naomi with all her heart, but between the ship and the children, Kathryn had little left at the end of the day. Seven often felt she was third on a long list of priorities. She knew that was part and parcel of being married to a starship Captain, but she didn’t have to like it.

Seven missed their late night philosophical talks, the mental calisthenics and debates she shared with the Captain. She especially missed the way Janeway would talk animatedly, her hands gesturing wildly as she made some particularly pertinent point, and those same hands coming to rest on Seven’s thigh. At those times, the philosophical debate tended to slip away and more pleasurable pursuits ruled the night. Now with an infant, they turned in as soon as Naomi was tucked away in bed, and no longer had the time or the energy for staying up half the night, whether to debate warp propulsion theories or to make love.

She had once believed that Janeway and she had a familiarity, an intimacy, a connection that could transcend the humdrum of everyday life, of raising children, of duty to the ship. Seven was startled to discover that like all other marriages, theirs was fallible. They could be petty, they could bicker, and they had almost destroyed their relationship over jealousy and stubbornness. They learned a good deal about themselves and their relationship when a feud resulted in Naomi’s running away from home. Now, well past that incident, Seven could not say they were any better equipped to deal with the new challenges in their life: a baby, an adolescent daughter, and too few hours in any given day to accomplish all the things they needed to do. Seven felt Kathryn’s frequent distance keenly, and wished nothing more than to stop the world around them so they could recapture that connection that had drawn them to marry in the first place.

Kieran had told Seven that like all couples, they had to work at their relationship, had to set aside time consciously for each other, or the relationship would wither and die of neglect. Seven wanted to talk to Kathryn about this concept, this ‘working on’ the relationship, but the opportunity had yet to present itself. And now she was stranded on a cold, potentially hostile planetoid, with a crewmember whose contempt for her was barely sublimated. She wrapped her arm under her head, trying to use it as a pillow, and longed for the warmth and fragrant comfort of Kathryn and she’s bed.

Seven didn’t need Borg enhanced hearing to know that the sharp crack that echoed just beyond the periphery of the makeshift camp was not a good omen. She leapt out of bed, snatched a phaser, and assumed a defensive posture in one fluid motion. B'Elanna was up simultaneously, and the two women stood back to back, phasers drawn, peering into blackness.

Seven saw the beast move just before it leapt for B'Elanna. She whirled to get a bead on the creature, and fired as it began its downward arc. She shoved B'Elanna hard, removing her from the path of the attacking animal, and found herself knocked back by the beast’s momentum and weight.

"Seven!" B'Elanna screamed as the lanky Borg was pinned beneath a blur of fangs, claws, and fur. She let loose a bone chilling growl, leapt on the back of the four legged creature, and tore it away from Seven. Torres shot it again, and the lupine quadruped sank lifeless to the ground, tongue lolling out, eyes clouded and dead.

B'Elanna gathered Seven into her arms. "Kahless on a targ, are you okay?" she anxiously examined her colleague.

"I am undamaged," Seven said softly, allowing B'Elanna to verify that for herself.

"Why’d you shove me outta the way, Borg?" B'Elanna’s fear turned to an angry snarl as she satisfied herself that Seven was in one piece and picked her up off the ground.

"You did not appear to see the creature, Lieutenant. I felt my body would absorb the impact of the attack better than yours," she intoned dismissively, which only made the Klingon angrier.

B'Elanna snorted. "Like you’re any sturdier than a Klingon?" she half shouted, hands planted on her hips.

Seven smiled faintly. "I have a Borg reinforced skeletal structure that is much more resistant to damage than yours. And," she pointed out "you are only half Klingon."

"Yeah, well you’re not even half Borg," B'Elanna shot back, nostrils wide with her ire.

"You are already struggling to maintain your façade, B'Elanna," Seven retorted. "You feel pain just drawing a breath. That creature would have probably damaged you irreparably," she pointed out, trying to get a handle on her own volatile emotions.

The two women stood there, regarding each other haughtily, until it struck them both how absurd it was for them to be arguing. They each began to smile, then chuckle, until finally they were laughing and supporting each other as they laughed. After long moments, they quieted, hugged each other, and were each surprised that the other did not protest. B'Elanna gazed up at Seven then, wondering vaguely why she had so rarely heard the incredible sound of her laughter. "We should try to get some sleep," she murmured.

"Agreed," Seven replied. "I am concerned, Lieutenant," she mentioned. "Before the creature attacked us, you were asleep, but still quite cold and uncomfortable. I am not adequately keeping you warm," Seven denounced her efforts.

"Well, they taught us at the Academy Survival School that conserving heat is best accomplished by stripping naked under the mylar blankets," B'Elanna replied flippantly, not thinking what her observation would result in. "The clothing just diffuses the heat, while the blankets reflect it more efficiently."

"Indeed," Seven quirked an eyebrow. "Then we must comply," she pronounced her assessment of the situation and immediately removed her biosuit.

B'Elanna was riveted to the spot, watching Seven’s body appear in luscious stages. She shook herself mentally, forced herself to begin undressing, and told herself not to stare at Seven. However, try as she might, she could not control the path of her eyes.

"Come here," Seven ordered the self-conscious Klingon, and promptly gathered B'Elanna into her arms. "Now," Seven advised her, "you must sleep," she commanded, stroking the older woman’s hair gently to soothe her, just as she would Naomi when the girl had a nightmare.

"What about you?" B'Elanna asked softly. "Can you sleep?"

"I still require regeneration for my rejuvenation, although I can sleep for a few hours at a stretch."

"But you’re willing to lie with me so I can stay warm? Don’t you get restless?"

Seven blinked like an owl. "I am Borg. You are my collective for now. I will do whatever is required for your well being."

B'Elanna frowned. "Oh, so you’re not being nice to me because you like me. It’s just ingrained Borg behavior to care for my preservation," she said coldly, disappointment evident in her tone.

"Lieutenant," Seven chastised, "of course I like you. You are an excellent engineer and a valued member of the Voyager collective. And I find your company most—intriguing. You are not like the Klingons or humans assimilated by the Borg. The contrast is very informative. And although whether or not I ‘like’ you is irrelevant, it seems to be relevant to you. So I will repeat myself. I do like you, B'Elanna Torres."

Unconsciously, B'Elanna snuggled into Seven’s arms, drawing closer. "Coming from you, that’s a resounding endorsement," she chuckled, pleased by the Borg’s approval.

Seven continued to absently stroke B'Elanna’s hair, and her caress moved to the Klingon’s shoulders and upper back. B'Elanna sighed and relaxed completely, drifting off with the thought that she was feeling very vulnerable with Voyager’s Astrometrics officer, and was surprisingly not fighting it.

Lying in Seven’s nearly suffocating embrace, B'Elanna lingered in that nether region between sleeping and wakefulness, and she thought about her wife. They had been through some incredibly stressful ordeals since they met. It seemed it was one thing after another. First, Kieran nearly got herself killed trying to keep Naomi from being kidnapped. Then, she got abducted by the spirit of Naomi’s dying mother, and damn near died from that experience. And just when things were settling down, and they made it through the wedding and the birth of their baby, Kieran got herself lost in a spatial rift, where she wandered between alternate universes for three months. She had no more returned and begun to recover emotionally, psychologically, and physically from spatial psychosis than she decided to pursue command track training.

B'Elanna sighed in exasperation. Really, it was too much. Of course, Kieran would have declined the training if B'Elanna had so much as raised a single objection, but B'Elanna knew she couldn’t quash Kieran’s ambitions that way. What she really wanted to know from the headstrong Ship’s Counselor, was just when, exactly, Kieran intended to spend some time with her?

She became aware that Seven of Nine was wide awake, and equally preoccupied. "Penny," she said.

"Excuse me?" Seven replied, unfamiliar with the inquiry.

"I said ‘Penny’. It’s an old earth custom, when someone is deep in thought, to offer them a penny for their thoughts," B'Elanna explained. "Kieran says it all the time."

"Ah, I see. My thoughts are worth payment?" Seven wanted to know.

"Yes—but a penny isn’t worth much," B'Elanna returned, chuckling.

"I was thinking about Kathryn," Seven admitted. "And how little time she seems to have for me."

B'Elanna turned over to face the Borg. "No kidding? I was just thinking the same thing about Kieran. That’s uncanny." Then more subdued, she added, "Does Kathryn seem to always be tied up with the ship and the baby, like Kieran is?"

Seven nodded sadly. "I know I am being selfish. The ship is her life. Of course, the girls and I come second. It’s just—"

"That you’d like to be second instead of third," B'Elanna finished for her.

"Precisely," Seven smiled in surprise. "How did you know?"

"Because I’m in the same shuttlecraft, Seven. Kieran loves me, I know that beyond doubting, but I feel sometimes like I have to compete with my own daughter for Kieran’s time," she confided miserably. "And I feel so guilty for being jealous of Katie. I mean, really, how sick is it to begrudge your child their time with their other parent?"

Seven shrugged. "I hope it is not sick, because I certainly feel that with Geejay. I adore her, and she is my daughter as certainly as she is Kathryn’s, but sometimes, I think Kathryn loves her more than me."

B'Elanna touched Seven’s cheek consolingly. "I’m sure it’s not that Kathryn loves Geejay more. Although I understand how you could feel that way."

"I realize Geejay is just a tiny infant, and requires so much of Kathryn. I am a rational, logical adult. Yet I cannot escape this feeling that somehow, I am less in Kathryn’s eyes since Geejay was born," Seven admitted, shamefaced. "And I am so lonely, sometimes, I can hardly stand it. Not that I don’t love the girls, because I do, but I just miss Kathryn so much," she tried to swallow the catch in her throat.

"God, I know what you mean. Kieran and I have hardly had a minute to ourselves since the wedding. And since Katie was born, it’s even less time together. I have my work, and that’s satisfying on a lot of levels, but sometimes, I just want another adult to talk to about something besides warp coils and gel packs," she complained bitterly.

Seven considered momentarily. "We could talk to each other, B'Elanna. Kathryn and Kieran, despite all their business, find time for their friendship. Perhaps we should do the same. We have more in common than they do."

B'Elanna softened considerably. "That would be great, Seven, except—well—you and I always seem to end up arguing when we spend very much time together."

Seven giggled nervously. "Kieran told me it’s because we have subconscious attractions to each other. I think she was teasing me though."

B'Elanna stiffened. Kieran didn’t tease when it came to psychological analysis. "She said that?" Damn, and I thought I hid it all so well. It was Seven I was thinking about the day I met Kieran…just before I went in the ocean, I was thinking how beautiful Seven had been at her wedding, and how inadequate my relationship was with Tom. I got so worked up thinking about Seven, I had to go swimming to cool down. But Kieran is everything I want, exactly what I need. If she just had time for me.

Seven nodded affirmatively, her gesture just barely visible in the firelight. "She and I have weekly counseling sessions."

"No way," B'Elanna rejected the idea out of hand. "You have it so together, what would you need a therapist for?"

Seven fought the tendency to bristle with defensiveness. "Your wife is a very good counselor, B'Elanna. I value her advice and input. I have found her guidance invaluable in my quest to regain my humanity. I, of all people, have many reasons to seek such professional assistance."

"But you never seem to be troubled by anything, no matter how bad things get. Like now—you don’t seem a bit worried about the fact that we haven’t found water yet. I’m terrified of dying on this rock," she added softly.

Seven stroked B'Elanna’s hair unconsciously, soothing her. "I am also afraid. And I am frequently troubled by things. Kieran helps me sort them out, make an objective study of them, and formulate a plan of action to address my concerns. She is highly methodical and logical. I admire her greatly, B'Elanna. You are quite fortunate to have a spouse so well versed in dealing with emotional distress. I depended on her after the incident when Naomi was kidnapped. She helped me ‘keep it together’, as you call it. I was very close to losing my control. And she has been a godsend when it comes to dealing with Kathryn."

"Do you think she’s right about the subconscious attraction?" B'Elanna asked meekly.

"She is seldom wrong about these things," Seven pointed out dispassionately.

"Did she seem—bothered by it?" B'Elanna asked in a very small voice.

Seven chuckled softly. "Not in the least. She seemed almost—amused. I was perplexed by her reaction. If Kathryn thought there was something between you and I, she would most assuredly NOT be amused by it."

B'Elanna swallowed hard. "I imagine not." I imagine I’d be shitting my own teeth.

"Although Kathryn’s hypocrisy in that amuses me," she continued, smiling broadly.

"Her hypocrisy?" B'Elanna was confused.

"Oh, yes. When Kieran was lost in the spatial anomaly, Kathryn was decidedly intrigued by the fact that in a parallel universe, she and Kieran were married. She would deny it with her dying breath, but since that experience, I know she looks at Kieran and wonders, from time to time. It’s to be expected. After all, they are best friends. It’s only natural they would be attracted to one another on many levels," Seven elaborated without a hint of concern.

"And that doesn’t bother you?" B'Elanna’s Klingon honor demanded to know.

"If they acted upon it, of course, it would bother me. In fact, I would probably dissolve my union with Kathryn. But Kieran and Kathryn would never do that to either of us. They are women of exemplary integrity. They have pledged their fidelity, and nothing could shake either’s resolve," she said proudly, thinking of the two women she felt so close to. "I believe Kieran can be amused at the prospect of you and I feeling attracted to each other for the same reasons. She knows that even if it is true, neither of us would ever act upon it. It is not in our respective natures to do so."

God she must trust me completely, B'Elanna realized. And here I am ogling Seven, and feeling justified because Kieran’s a little busy. Man, am I an ass sometimes.

"No, it’s not in our natures," B'Elanna agreed. "Or theirs." She thought about it a long while and finally said "I guess we’d better get some sleep."

_________________

Naomi Wildman slapped her comm badge as she exited Engineering, a spanner still firmly in her grasp. Realizing her error, she returned to put the tool away. "Wildman to Counselor Thompson-Torres," she hailed.

"Kieran here," the faraway voice replied.

"I’m off duty and I’m coming by your office to get you. We’re going to dinner," Naomi informed her in a voice that brooked no argument.

"Na, I’m not hungry," Kieran began to protest.

"You have to eat, Kieran. No ifs, ands or buts. I’m on my way," Naomi cut the comm link to prevent further discussion. Her long, lean legs carried her rapidly down the corridor, a look of pure determination on her face. She had checked the replicator logs and knew Kieran hadn’t eaten since B'Elanna and Seven disappeared. She was fit to be tied that the lanky Counselor would stop taking care of herself in her distress, and she intended in no uncertain terms to see that Kieran shaped up immediately.

Kieran was sitting at her desk, legs propped up on it, staring out the transparency sideways when Naomi came in. "I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Na," she began.

"I don’t think you do, Counselor. You see, what I’m trying to do is get you to eat, before you make yourself sick. I know from the replicator logs you haven’t eaten in two days. Don’t make me go over your head," she crossed her arms in defiance.

"I cooked dinner at home last night," Kieran lied.

"That’s funny," Naomi shot back at her. "The energy consumption logs indicate that you took a hydroshower and nothing else. Don’t try to lie to me, KT-I’m way ahead of you."

Kieran gave her a lopsided grin, sighed, and threw her feet off her desk. "Outsmarted by a ten year old. How pathetic is that?" Kieran bitched, slinging her arm across the tall Ktarian’s shoulders.

"Beyond pathetic. But it isn’t because I’m smarter, you know. I just know all your tricks. Now, Neelix has been slaving over a Bajoran pasta and fowl dish that is actually quite good. I expect you to eat at least a full serving. Otherwise, I’m going to have to report you to the Doctor."

Kieran grimaced. "You wouldn’t."

"Try me, oh psychoanalytical one," she quipped.

Kieran rolled her eyes. "Are you taking as good care of your mother, Naomi? She must be beside herself worrying over Seven. And what about you? Aren’t you upset at all that your mother is missing?"

Naomi led them into the mess hall. "Of course I’m worried, but I also have faith in Seven and B'Elanna. They are two of the smartest, most resourceful women I know. I’m sure we’ll find them and they’ll laugh at us for worrying."

Kieran smoothed her hand down Naomi’s back. "I wish I had your confidence. It’s not that I think less of them, it’s just—God, I want to be there with them," she admitted.

"I know," Naomi sympathized. "But you can’t. And you know B'Elanna is going to be pissed off if she comes back and finds out you’ve lost weight. She always knows when you aren’t taking care of yourself. Don’t stress her out over your issues, KT."

Kieran nodded. "You’re right. I should eat. Let’s get in line," she smiled a conciliatory smile at her friend, hugging her. "Thanks, Na."

__________

The terrain became increasingly challenging as the crewmates ascended the progressively steep path to the detected water. B'Elanna was sweating profusely, and finished off what little water remained in her emergency canteen. Seven eyed the Klingon with a practiced air.

"You are dehydrated beyond acceptable parameters, Lieutenant," she intoned reproachfully.

"Sorry Seven," B'Elanna retorted defensively. "I did my best to ration my water sparingly."

Seven patted her shoulder sympathetically. "I did not mean it as a criticism, Lieutenant. It was another of my annoying factual observations." She removed her backpack and retrieved her own canteen, handing it to B'Elanna. "Here. You must drink at least one half of this. We should reach the water source by tomorrow. This will assist your stamina."

B'Elanna looked over the container, bewildered. "Seven, you haven’t broken the seal yet. How long has it been since you drank anything?"

Seven fixed her with a stone-cold gaze. "Since shortly before we crashed."

B'Elanna’s eyes flew open wide. "Good god, Seven, you must be ready to drop," she exclaimed. "You have to drink this," B'Elanna thrust the canteen at her. "That’s an order."

Seven eyed the canteen piteously. "I do not wish to disobey a direct order, but I cannot drink this water and obtain any benefit from it."

B'Elanna sat down on a rock to rest, looking up at the towering Borg. "I don’t understand."

Seven sighed and sat down beside her comrade. "B'Elanna, I do not have standard human bodily functions. My alcove not only provides me with the equivalent of human sleep, it removes waste products from my body. It works much like dialysis works for humans."

B'Elanna bit her lip. "So if you aren’t able to regenerate, you can’t—um—expel the waste from your system?"

Seven nodded.

"Seven," B'Elanna tried to contain her alarm, "how long can you go without regenerating before you start to feel the effects?"

Seven smiled sadly. "I am already feeling the effects."

B'Elanna dug the medical tricorder out of her pack and scanned Seven head to toe. "Shit," she cursed.

"Literally," Seven replied sarcastically. Then more seriously, she explained "My nanoprobes will compensate to a certain degree. But they cannot replace the functions performed by my alcove."

B'Elanna swallowed hard, studying the tricorder readings. "If we don’t get you back to Voyager, you’ll die."

"Eventually," Seven agreed.

B'Elanna dropped the device and held her face in her hands. "Oh fuck, Seven, why didn’t you tell me?"

Seven sat beside the distraught Klingon, put an arm around her, and said gently "Because I knew it would upset you, and that it would do nothing to change the facts."

B'Elanna leaned against the broad shouldered blonde, feeling like she wanted to cry. She was tired, worn, in pain, and about to fail miserably at commanding this away mission. Janeway would have her ass in a sling if Seven died. "There’s nothing we can do?" she asked dejectedly.

Seven frowned, her ice blue eyes darkening. "Nothing that is acceptable."

B'Elanna stiffened. "You mean there is an alternative, but it’s not acceptable?"

Seven nodded.

"I’m in charge of this away mission, Seven. If there is an option I’m unaware of, you are obligated to tell me. Whether or not it’s acceptable is my decision."

Seven grimaced. "It is too much to ask, and too dangerous for you."

B'Elanna shrugged Seven’s arm off her shoulders and stood up, now furious. "Goddamnit! I’m ordering you to tell me."

Seven folded her arms over her ample chest. "Very well," she coldly complied. "I could assimilate you. It would involve linking our physiologies together and maintaining the link while your body’s organs removed the waste from my system. However, the strain to your vital organs could be fatal. And you would inevitably be contaminated by Borg technology, in the form of my nanoprobes. It is possible you would become part Borg, permanently."

B'Elanna shivered involuntarily, though the temperature was quite comfortable. "The Doctor could reverse the process, couldn’t he?"

Seven shook her head. "Unlikely. Therefore, we cannot take such a chance. You have made it clear on a number of occasions that you find Borg technology distasteful, and assimilation barbaric."

B'Elanna turned away to conceal her expression. "How long before we have to do it—before you become critical?"

Seven looked intently at her hands in her lap. "I have not regenerated since we left Voyager. The parameters vary for each drone, but I would estimate that in only a few days I will expire. I predict that at the outside limit, I have two days."

B'Elanna turned back to meet Seven’s eyes. "Then in two days, we will do just that."

"Lieutenant," Seven started to object.

"No arguments, Seven," B'Elanna snapped. "Nobody dies under my command. And you damn well better believe I’m not letting a friend die, either."

Seven felt a lump rise to her throat. "I—am your friend?" she asked, disbelieving.

B'Elanna knelt down in front of the towering Borg, resting her hands on Seven’s knees. "Yes, you are," B'Elanna assured her. "We better get moving if we’re going to make it to the lake by tomorrow."

Seven smiled. "You should drink the water I gave you, first, B'Elanna. You need it."

Torres smiled back. "Okay, Borg."

________________

"Captain," Harry Kim announced, "we’ve got visual confirmation, this is the system where the Delta Flyer disappeared. This is the position of their last transmitted coordinates. We can start scanning the planets for signs of the away team."

"Estimated time to locate them, Mr. Kim?" Janeway gripped the arms of the command chair, her knuckles white. Her people were just a breath away.

"There are 18 planets, 23 moons, and 43 asteroids. The planets will take about 3 hours each."

"Start with any celestial object that is Class M, Harry. Let’s hope they made it to one."

"Aye Captain," he replied formally, immediately beginning to search for the warp core signature of the craft. "I’m picking up a distress beacon!" he reported excitedly. "It’s obviously been displaced by the storm, but—"

"Estimate how far it would have traveled," Janeway ordered.

Harry hesitated. "There’s no way to do that Captain, without knowing how long the storm lasted, not even a way to guess."

"Speculate and start scanning there first, then, Mr. Kim," Janeway sounded exasperated. She wanted miracles, not obstacles.

"Yes Ma’am," he replied contritely. Jeez, we better find them soon, or she’s going to blow a plasma conduit worrying.

______________

As the two women prepared to make camp that night, Seven saw the telltale signs of small animals around their campsite, in the form of droppings and little skitters where their paws had been. Seven took a phaser out into the fading light, and following the tracks, found a burrow. She snapped a twig and the furry critters ran for shelter. Minutes later, Seven sauntered back into camp with dinner in her grasp. She gutted and spitted them, and set them to cook over the fire.

After B'Elanna had greedily devoured the first, she asked "Aren’t you going to eat, Seven?"

"No," Seven said calmly. "I cannot burden my system with solid matter. Please, enjoy it on my behalf."

B'Elanna grinned. "Gladly," she said around a mouthful of grilled meat. "Those ration bars suck."

"I was not aware they were in possession of an orifice," Seven quipped.

B'Elanna laughed at the Borg. "These are delicious," she enthused. Then a look of shock crossed her face. "Seven—you hunted and killed these just for me?"

Seven shrugged. "I knew it would make you happy, Lieutenant."

B'Elanna was moved by the purely unselfish gesture. "It makes me almost ecstatic," B'Elanna smiled as she tore into another helping. "How are you feeling, Borg?" B'Elanna noted that Seven was moving as if she were in pain.

"I am functioning within—" Seven stopped herself. "I am fine."

B'Elanna smiled warmly. "We’re gonna make a human out of you, yet, Seven."

Seven only nodded her assent. She leaned back against a fallen tree, eyes closed, willing herself to feel healthy. Her energy reserves were so depleted, she actually dozed off.

B'Elanna watched her sleeping, troubled by the obvious deterioration of her body. She finished her dinner, wiped her mouth on her uniform sleeve, and drank the remainder of Seven’s water. Would Kieran kill fresh meat for me? She wondered. Of course she would. She’d do anything she thought was meaningful to me. She is loving and generous to a fault. I’m lucky to have a mate like her. And Katie is lucky to have such a terrific mother. And where do I get off holding it against Kieran for being ambitious? It was Kathryn’s idea to send her through command school. Of course, Kieran is going to comply with anything Kathryn asks. Hell, I would too.

B'Elanna threw the bones from her meal into the fire, watching them sizzle and burst into flame. What must it be like to have every day be a new experience, a fresh slate? Seven’s life since she left the Collective must be like that. An adventure into becoming human. How exciting. And how difficult it must be. I wonder if she ever feels overwhelmed by it all. I wonder if she still thinks about giving up and going back to the Collective, when things are really tough. Like when she and Kathryn were fighting and separated. But then, she’d never leave Naomi, or Geejay. She’s too devoted. And sometimes when she talks about the Collective now, it’s like she has a bad taste in her mouth. I think she’s mostly stopped thinking of herself as a Borg. I can’t believe she tried once to go back to those parasites. That she hated life on Voyager so much she’d want that life back. How much of her desire to leave was my fault?

With a sudden insight into her own sensitivity, B'Elanna realized that if Seven had actually succeeded in leaving Voyager and returning to the Borg, she would have missed the cryptic young woman. She would have missed her terribly.

___________

Late in the night, B'Elanna stirred in her sleep, vaguely aware that something was wrong. Her brain struggled against the foggy sensation she felt. As her dream state subsided, she realized Seven of Nine was silently crying. B'Elanna’s head rested in the crook of Seven’s arm, her face against the larger woman’s chest. She peeked up at the troubled Borg, aching with the need to comfort her friend.

"Seven?" she whispered. "Why are you crying?"

Seven sniffed loudly, wiped her eyes impatiently, and answered enigmatically, "Because I have many regrets, Lieutenant."

B'Elanna was curious. "What sort of regrets?"

Seven sighed, turning onto her side and away from B'Elanna. B'Elanna moved up against Seven’s back side, curling up against the long, lean frame. "Hey," she urged her companion, "don’t shut me out." B'Elanna wrapped an arm around Seven’s waist and supported herself on her other forearm.

"This procedure you insist upon? It is very dangerous, B'Elanna, and ill-advised of you to attempt it." Seven waited patiently for a response.

"And that has you upset? That’s what you’re regretting?" B'Elanna asked gently.

"Yes, but I also regret that I cannot allow you to do it, and that means I will die."

"You are not going to die Seven," she argued.

"Yes, Lieutenant, I am. You cannot force me to assimilate you."

"I can give you a direct order," B'Elanna replied hotly.

Seven drew her knees up against her stomach tightly, balled up in a fetal position. "I will not comply," she insisted, a fresh wave of hot tears streaming down her cheeks.

B'Elanna decided to drop it for the moment. "You’re right Seven, I can’t force you. But you don’t need to protect me. I want to help you. You’re my friend, my crewmate."

Seven turned to face the Klingon again. "I sincerely thank you, B'Elanna. But it must not happen. The risk is too great, and I cannot bear the thought that my dilemma might result in Kieran losing her mate, or in Katie losing her mother. You have an obligation to them to stay alive, B'Elanna."

"Just like you have an obligation to Kathryn, Naomi, and Geejay. What’s the difference?" B'Elanna pressed her.

"The difference is that if we undertake what you insist upon, there’s a strong possibility we will both die. And then what will we have accomplished? I am depending upon you and Kieran to see Kathryn and the girls through the loss of me. It will take both of you. Think about Naomi. She worships the ground you walk upon, B'Elanna. Don’t ask her to lose her mentor and her mother all at once," Seven reasoned.

B'Elanna considered Seven’s points, but it was too much to process. Instead she changed the direction of the conversation. "Tell me what your regrets are."

"I regret that I will not get to see Naomi and Geejay grow up," she admitted instantly. "I regret that I will never see them become adults, and assume their rightful places in the hierarchy of Voyager, or better yet, on Earth." Seven considered. "And I will never get to solve the slipstream drive problem—I so wanted to get Voyager home, to do that for Kathryn. I never took the time to tell her how grateful I am to her for liberating me from the Collective," she said sadly. "I have never known the closeness of my family, or discovered what became of my mother," she said faintly. "I would like to know if she survived the Borg abduction, if she is with the Collective." She thought on it some more. "I have yet to paint a canvas and be satisfied with the result," she smiled ruefully. "I will not live to see Naomi fall in love with someone besides Kieran," she chuckled softly. "I would like to see Icheb develop into a fully integrated individual, one who functions smoothly in society and among his peers. I wanted to be part of Kathryn’s family—to meet her mother and sister, and share my love of Kathryn with them. I have so many unrealized hopes and dreams," she trailed off sadly.

Seven was crying in earnest now, and B'Elanna gathered her into muscular arms and cradled her tenderly, trying to comfort her. She kissed Seven’s forehead, arms circled around the young Borg’s shoulders, then kissed her cheeks where the tears fell. B'Elanna felt a surge of protectiveness followed by a melting sensation of desire as Seven settled into her comfortably.

Not so much to ask of a life, is it? B'Elanna thought miserably. All those wasted years with the Borg, and now ultimately their damned technology is going to kill her. Kahless, and all the Gods—do you hear me? This is completely unfair! This is a travesty!

"Don’t talk as if it’s already over," B'Elanna squeezed her fiercely. "We will get through this. My latinum is still on Captain Janeway. She’s going to find us before we have to decide what to do about your condition."

"I have already decided. You are to do nothing, B'Elanna. It is my last wish. Let me die. Return to Voyager, and spend your energy making sure my family survives. Get them back to Earth." Seven drifted off to sleep then, a sure indication of her failing health. B'Elanna realized their time was very limited, and clung to Seven, praying for divine intervention.

____________

The two women awoke at sunrise, and after a few moments of preparation, they continued their tramp toward a fresh water supply. Seven was noticeably weak, stumbling every so often, and as her nanoprobes began to fail and go dormant, Seven found herself perspiring, something her body had never done before. She felt sluggish and exhausted, but set her jaw and resolved not to let her agony show. She bravely trudged along, face impassive to the excruciating pain in her organs, holding B'Elanna’s arm when her legs threatened to buckle.

When they found the lake at last, Seven made certain B'Elanna had her fill of fresh lake water, then sat with the Klingon, reminiscing about the times they had shared with their Voyager crewmates and their families. Seven had actually found a measure of peace and resignation about death, until B'Elanna resumed her desperate campaign to convince Seven to assimilate her. Seven stoutly refused, and they came very close to an argument.

"You must respect my wishes in this, B'Elanna. What is more human than the right to self-determination?" she argued vehemently. "I have the right to choose how I will die, just as you have the right to choose how you will live."

"But you don’t have to die," B'Elanna shot back in frustration. "You have options. We have options. Why won’t you let me help you?"

Seven sighed wearily. "Is this how you want me to spend my last hours? Arguing incessantly with you?"

The logic of it struck B'Elanna, and it cooled her ire. She swallowed hard. "No. Of course not."

"Very well. Then let us ‘drop it’, as Naomi says. It may be a moot point, at any rate, because Voyager may yet find us."

"Agreed," B'Elanna said reluctantly. She pulled herself up off the ground. "I don’t know about you, but I’m going to go for a swim while the sun is out. I’m filthy."

"I’ll join you," Seven replied easily, reaching up toward her companion, who helped her to her feet. She resolved to hide her weakness from the fearful Klingon. "In fact, I will race you!" she challenged, dashing toward the lake.

_______________

B'Elanna had hated the survival class she had taken at the Academy, but this away mission had made her appreciate all that she had painstakingly learned in the course. She showed Seven how to make a shelter out of cut branches, tall grasses, and a bit of binding cord from her Starfleet issue utility kit. It was barely large enough for both women to lie beneath, but it provided a windbreak, and created an artificial barrier for the heat from their fire to gather against. B'Elanna settled for ration bars for lunch, but Seven abstained. After lunch, while B'Elanna finished up the shelter, Seven hunted for fresh game. She came back after only an hour, with some sort of hideously ugly fowl in hand.

"Are you sure that’s edible?" B'Elanna grimaced as she looked at the bird’s face, which resembled the rear end of a baboon.

"Quite," Seven replied without emotion. "It will take considerable effort to clean it, however," she noted.

"Come on, I’ll help you," B'Elanna offered.

They made their way down to the lake, where they plucked the unfortunate creature clean of its rather oily, hairy feathers. It was even uglier without plumage. Seven washed it, removed a few stray quills, and lopped off its head.

"A definite improvement," B'Elanna regarded the decapitated bird. She helped Seven mount it on a makeshift spit over the fire pit, noting that the lanky Borg had dark circles under her decidedly bloodshot eyes. "Hey," she lay a protective hand on Seven’s arm. "You don’t look so great. Why don’t you rest?"

Seven smiled gratefully. "Thank you. I will, for a moment." She leaned against the log they had positioned by the firepit, dozing off in mere seconds, comforted in knowing she would not die alone, one voice absent of billions of other voices.

____________________

The next morning, Seven collapsed. They had just left the lake after a swim when the Borg’s strength failed her, and her legs buckled as they climbed the bank. B'Elanna pleaded, begged, cajoled and ordered Seven to perform the assimilation link, but Seven of Nine would not endanger B'Elanna that way. B'Elanna cried angry, frustrated tears, but still Seven would not relent.

"B'Elanna," Seven finally whispered, lying in B'Elanna’s arms where she had fallen.

"Yes?" B'Elanna asked.

"I am dying, B'Elanna," Seven managed to say. "Please, tell Kathryn that I wished to thank her for all she has done for me. And tell her that my last words were how much I love her."

"Of course I will, Seven," B'Elanna’s throat was thick with emotion.

Liquid blue eyes gazed into deep, soulful brown eyes, and Seven felt her heart fail. "Take good care of my girls, and of yourself and Kieran." she stammered through the pain.

And with that, Seven of Nine smiled, took one last look around the world she had fought so hard to adapt to, and died.

_______________

B'Elanna Torres sat dejectedly beside the lake, cradling Seven of Nine’s body, the Borg’s head lifelessly resting in her lap. B'Elanna couldn’t bring herself to relinquish Seven’s body to the hard, hateful soil, had stayed still for sixteen hours, through the cold dark night, freezing and shivering and crying and screaming at the Gods who had taken her friend. Seven’s body had grown stiff and cool, her full pink lips ash grey, and the starburst implant on her cheek had gone from silver to cold, dead black.

It’s not fair, B'Elanna cried inwardly. Two years of bickering and antagonism, and when finally I come to my senses, when at last I see the incredible woman underneath the implants, I immediately lose her. Goddamnit, where the fuck is Voyager?

B'Elanna couldn’t stop the waves of grief as images assaulted her: Seven, as she’d been when she arrived aboard Voyager, more machine and metal than flesh and blood, all arrogance and condescension; Seven as she appeared after her exoplating had been removed, and her hair restored, the Seven of Nine that Harry Kim had worshipped, that Tom had drooled over, that she herself had found stunning; a hundred images of Seven with Kathryn, with Naomi, with the babies. Seven, always doing what was necessary for Voyager to survive. She had saved the ship and crew so many times over, B'Elanna couldn’t count them. B'Elanna rocked Seven’s dead body in her arms, screaming as only a Klingon could at the death of a loved one.

B'Elanna lifted Seven’s mesh encased hand, studied the intricate mechanical structures, and had an idea. She remembered an incident in which Seven had saved Neelix’ life. Seven had said at the time that any Borg that died could be revived within 72 hours of death. And B'Elanna knew that the proper electrical stimuli could cause Seven’s assimilation tubules to deploy. A transporter accident involving Seven and the Doctor’s mobile emitter had caused the device to incorporate Borg assimilation technology, and it had assimilated the ship’s computer. Surely, she could figure out a way to generate a signal that would simulate the transporter accident.

If I can deploy the tubules, their programming will know what to do to purge Seven’s body of the waste, she realized excitedly. No longer afraid for herself, no longer remotely concerned for her own well-being, B'Elanna gently removed herself from beneath Seven’s corpse, stretched the atrophy from her disused limbs, and ran back to the site where, had Seven not died so suddenly, they would have slept again that night. B'Elanna dug her toolkit and her PADD out of her back pack, snatched three ration bars, and jogged back down to Seven’s prone, lifeless, yet consummately beautiful, body.

B'Elanna found the tool she wanted, a tiny calibration device, which she used to adjust the frequency of the emitter in the PADD. Then she used the same tool to stimulate the back of Seven’s hand. She heard a distinctive "click" as she prodded, and a slender silver tubule snaked out of Seven’s wrist, then another. B'Elanna hesitated. The Borg always inserted the tubules in the throats of their victims. Seven had said that she would need to be linked to B'Elanna in order to access her vital organs.

B'Elanna considered her situation. If Seven’s body were using her dual Klingon organs to filter the toxins from her body, B'Elanna would need to be able to relieve herself without severing the link with Seven. She lifted Seven carefully under the arms, called upon her Klingon strength to assist her, and dragged Seven into the lake. Once she had Seven floating on her back, and had both of them steadied in the water, she lifted Seven’s hand and pressed the tubules to her throat, permitting them to perform their function. She winced at the pain that shot through her neck, breathed deeply, and fought to remain conscious. Her dark, lovely skin became mottled with grey as the Borg technology flooded her body, and several implants erupted on her face, hands, and stomach.

Her four kidneys and two livers immediately began to filter the toxins from Seven’s system, and B'Elanna felt violently ill as her own organs became inundated with uric acid, creatinine, sodium chloride, urea, ammonia, bilirubin and various other waste products. B'Elanna vomited into the lake in violent, retching fits, and her dual bladders filled to capacity. She passed the urine into the lake, and the nausea eased. She held Seven to her, supporting her in the water, letting her body compensate for Seven’s overtaxed functions.

B'Elanna felt like she’d been urinating every five minutes for the better part of four hours. She fought to remain conscious, though her nausea had once again become overwhelming, and her body ached in places she didn’t know existed. Seven’s color was improving and her heart had begun to beat again. Suddenly Seven gasped, her first breath in almost 24 hours, and the sound was like music to B'Elanna.

Seven sputtered and coughed and thrashed in the water. B'Elanna soothed her, holding Seven’s torso against her pectoral muscles, which had already been repaired by the Borg nanoprobes. Keeping her head above water, B'Elanna whispered "It’s okay, Seven, I’ve got you. Try not to squirm--just relax. Don’t tear the tubules loose, Seven," B'Elanna urged.

Comprehension registered in Seven’s startled blue eyes. "You…have…violated…me," Seven forced the words deliberately. "Why…would…you?"

B'Elanna held her tightly, fearing Seven might actually rip the tubules from her throat. "I’m sorry, Seven, I just couldn’t let you die," B'Elanna replied apologetically. "Please try to understand."

"I do not," Seven’s voice was slightly more stable. "Explain."

"Do you think you’re strong enough to help me get you back on shore?"

"I will try," Seven’s voice quavered slightly.

The two women struggled out of the water, careful of the Borg technology binding them. They collapsed together on the bank, exhausted. Before B'Elanna could attempt an explanation, her body began convulsing, overwrought by the poisons that had accumulated in her system. Seven was too weak to hold her down as the seizure struck her, and the assimilation tubules were torn from her throat as she thrashed about. The sudden break in the link shocked Seven’s system, knocking her unconscious. B'Elanna continued to twitch long after the seizure subsided, a testament to the power of the reaction to Seven’s wastes. The valiant Klingon body surrendered to the toxins, and B'Elanna Torres slipped into a coma.

___________

B'Elanna’s comm badge chirped.

"Voyager to away team. Please respond." Janeway waited anxiously for a reply, but none came. "B'Elanna, please respond." The comm channel remained silent. "Voyager to Seven of Nine. Report."

The dead air hung ominously over the bridge. "I am detecting only one life sign, Captain," Tuvok reported.

Janeway fixed Kieran Thompson-Torres with a meaningful look. Kieran nodded resolutely.

"I’ve got a transporter lock on two comm badges," Harry announced.

"Beam them to sickbay," Janeway barked. "Chakotay, you’ve got the bridge," she threw the remark over her shoulder as she sprinted for the turbolift, Kieran hot on her heels.

____________

Seven of Nine showed only faint traces of life. Her respiration had nearly ceased. Her brainwaves were almost nonexistent. Her heartbeat had slowed to ten contractions a minute. The Doctor frantically pressed hypospray after hypospray to her throat, slapped on a cortical stimulator, and connected her to a bypass unit to assist in filtering the remaining toxins from her bloodstream.

Janeway stood off to the side, trying to get her emotions under control, clinging to B'Elanna Torres’ hand. B'Elanna’s body had not been up to the chore of regenerating a Borg drone, and her system had succumbed to the onslaught of toxins. The Doctor had immediately pronounced her dead, and moved on to try to save Seven of Nine. Janeway gazed in disbelief at the Chief Engineer’s face, replete with Borg devices. Even the nanoprobes couldn’t compensate for the extreme level of poisons, and B'Elanna’s organs had ultimately collapsed under the weight of the burden. Kieran Thompson-Torres stood at her dead wife’s biobed, a look of total noncomprehension on her face.

"This isn’t working," the Doctor slapped his forehead in disbelief. "I’ve got to get her to her alcove. She needs to regenerate. Help me," he snapped at the medic and Janeway.

Janeway paused as the demand registered in her brain, then scrambled to help lift the Borg from the biobed. "For someone so slender," Ensign D’Lacy commented, "she sure is heavy."

"Computer, four to transport to Cargo Bay 2, authorization Janeway pi alpha," Janeway said in a monotone. She hated leaving Kieran alone, but Seven needed her, and she prayed Kieran would understand.

They struggled to get Seven upright and into her regeneration cycle, but finally, the unit had her in its grasp, and her lifesigns began to improve. The Doctor scanned her repeatedly, watching the gradual increase in her respiration and heart rate. "That’s better," he muttered. "Come on, Seven."

Janeway gripped D’Lacy’s arm, unaware she was doing so, an expression of utter helplessness on her face. Suddenly realizing she was about to fracture D’Lacy’s ulna, she consciously removed her hand, stole up beside Seven, and slipped her hand into the sleeping Borg’s.

The Doctor sighed with relief. "She’s going to make it. Her nanoprobes are starting to respond again."

D’Lacy put her hands behind her back. "How’s that possible? They were mostly dormant or dead."

"The dormant ones are awake again, and they are multiplying to replace the dead ones. Her alcove is feeding them energy, and cleansing her system. The ones that can’t be salvaged will be expelled," he explained. He turned to the Captain. "What I want to know, is what the hell happened down there? B'Elanna had been assimilated!"

"I’m aware of that, Doctor," Janeway replied tiredly. "I’ve got a team down on the surface gathering information as we speak."

"You mean evidence?" D’Lacy asked.

Janeway spun on her with a glare. "Information," she snarled. "I believe your work here is done, Ensign. You’re dismissed."

D’Lacy gulped. "Yes Ma’am," she replied, scurrying out of the cargo bay.

The Doctor was less tactful. "What will you do if Seven assimilated B'Elanna against B'Elanna’s will?"

Janeway pinched the bridge of her nose with one hand, still holding Seven’s hand in the other. "I’ll cross that starfield when I get to it, Doctor. I don’t believe for a nanosecond that Seven would hurt any member of this crew. She’s saved our lives countless times over. No," she emphasized to reassure herself as much as to convince him, "Seven would not endanger B'Elanna. What I want to know, is why did B'Elanna die? Assimilation shouldn’t be fatal. If Seven is stable, I want you to go back to sickbay and find some answers. I need to know what killed her."

The Doctor nodded. "I can already tell you that, though an autopsy is in order. She died of massive organ failure, brought on by catastrophic levels of bacteria and systemic toxins. I’ll know more once I do a microcellular analysis of her organ tissues."

"Away team to the Captain," Harry Kim hailed. "I’ve found something you should see right away," he insisted. "Permission to beam aboard?"

"Granted," Janeway replied. "I’ll meet you in the transporter room. Doctor, you have your orders," she turned to him, willing him to leave.

"Understood," he turned, however reluctantly, from the woman he adored who had come so close to losing her life. "Be well, Seven," he murmured before leaving.

Janeway squeezed Seven’s hand, drew it to her lips, and placed the tenderest of kisses on the back of mesh encased knuckles. Wordlessly, she set out for the transporter room at a jog.

_______________

"Report," Janeway barked as Harry stepped off the transporter dais.

"I found B'Elanna’s PADD. There are several log entries that might explain what happened, and there are personal messages, encrypted. One for you, one for Seven, and one for Kieran," the youthful Ensign explained, handing the device to his Captain.

"Did you listen to them?" Janeway asked gently, turning the PADD in her hand contemplatively.

"No, Captain. After the first log entry, I realized they were for your eyes only, and stopped the playback. I checked the index in the root directory. That’s how I found out about the personal messages," he stared at the device with longing, the curiosity burning in him. "Are B'Elanna and Seven okay?" his voice was faint as a whisper.

Janeway pressed her lips tightly, shaking her head. "Seven should recover. B'Elanna—" Janeway winced with the realization, "B'Elanna didn’t make it, Harry," she squeezed his shoulder to steady him.

Harry’s jet black hair fell into his eyes, and he impatiently smoothed it back, drawing a shaking breath. "Does Kieran know yet?"

"Yes, and I have to see to her now," Janeway replied simply. "I’m sorry," she added. "I know B'Elanna was a good friend to you."

Harry swallowed hard, nodding. "I’d better get over it fast," he muttered. "Tom is going to be a mess."

Janeway nodded wordlessly, her eyes haunted and hollow. "I’m going to go process this. Harry, I’d like to be the one to tell Tom about B'Elanna. Please, don’t say anything to him."

Harry nodded curtly. "Understood. Captain, the sarium crystal is almost dead in that unit. I recommend an Emergency Dump, just to be cautious."

Janeway appreciated his ability to focus, despite the obvious devastation in his eyes. "Thanks, Harry."

____________

Captain Kathryn Janeway strode purposefully down the corridor to sickbay, having analyzed B'Elanna Thompson-Torres’ last log entries. The logs exonerated Seven of Nine of any wrongdoing, but Janeway’s heart was heavy as she entered the room. Kieran stood there, still in shock, holding B'Elanna’s hand. Kathryn was certain that the younger woman hadn’t moved a muscle since the Doctor had pronounced B'Elanna dead. Once again, Kathryn was faced with the puzzle of how to counsel the counselor.

"Kieran," she said softly, moving beside her closest friend. "I’m so sorry."

Kieran stared at her wife, but nothing registered. "Why, Kat? Why did she die?"

Kathryn put her arm around the tall Counselor’s waist, the touch faint but intended to reassure. "She saved Seven’s life. She assimilated herself to assist Seven’s failing health. It’s in her final report. You can read it later, Kato. She left you a personal message in her PADD. I downloaded it to your comm account. But I brought you a copy, if you’d like to listen to it now."

Kieran’s eyes barely flickered comprehension of the words. "My God, Kat, look at her. She looks so—so Borg. Is the Doctor sure this is B'Elanna?" Kieran was grasping at straws.

"It’s her, Kato. I hate to have to ask you this, but we need to make arrangements—"

"No," Kieran cut her off. "Don’t you dare talk like that, Kathryn," Kieran was in complete denial. "She has redundant organs, she will regain consciousness. It’s happened with other Klingons," she insisted, blinded by her pain. "What about those miraculous Borg nanoprobes? Won’t they resuscitate her? Get the Doctor in here," she looked around wildly, suddenly animated again.

The Doctor had been eavesdropping from his office, and came in quietly. "Counselor," he began in the gentlest tone he could manage, "I’m afraid the Captain is correct. Her redundant systems failed along with her primary ones. There is no evidence of active nanoprobes in her system," he showed Kieran the visual readouts. "Kieran," he used her name for effect, "I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do."

Kieran shook her head. She tried to mount an argument, but the words wouldn’t come out. She turned in desperation to her Captain. "Kat?" she asked helplessly.

"I’m sorry, Kato," Kathryn wrapped both arms around Kieran’s waist. "Please let me take you home."

"No," Kieran refused. "I’m not leaving her. I won’t." She stepped out of Kathryn’s arms and leaned over B'Elanna’s abused body, touching her face. "BangwIj," she whispered in B'Elanna’s ear, "please don’t leave me. Please."

The Doctor leaned over to the Captain. "I could prescribe something for her," he said in faint tones.

"No. Not unless she wants it. Leave her alone. Let it sink in. I’ll stay with her." Kathryn wrestled her own emotions into submission, though she would have liked to have cried.

"If there’s anything I can do—" the Doctor offered.

"Yes. Go check on Seven. She should be through regenerating soon."

"On my way, Captain," he said with false cheer, relieved to be able to leave sickbay.

__________

"I’m telling you Seven, it’s too soon, and you’re too weak," the Doctor tried to restrain the determined Borg.

"Take your hands off of me, Doctor," Seven spat through gritted teeth as she struggled to walk with him hanging on her arm. "B'Elanna is not going to die trying to save me," she announced to no one in particular. She swatted his hand aside as if he were a gnat and exited the cargo bay, headed for sickbay.

Kathryn had long since coaxed Kieran away from the scene of her wife’s demise, and was not aware that Seven had left her regeneration alcove and refused further treatment. The Doctor ran after Seven, and as he caught up to her, he slapped his comm badge to hail the Captain. Seven shot a look of pure loathing at him, snatched his mobile emitter, and deactivated him.

She found B'Elanna’s body in a drawer of the morgue module in sickbay, and looked piteously upon the ruined shell of her former friend. "B'Elanna, this was why I told you not to attempt to help me," she scolded. She heaved the Lieutenant’s body over her shoulder and headed back to the cargo bay.

Seven extended her arm and deployed her assimilation tubules into B'Elanna’s throat, injecting the lifeless Klingon with fresh nanoprobes and holding her limp body as Seven leaned into her regeneration alcove. With the link intact between them, she activated her alcove, which began to filter B'Elanna’s system of toxins, via the gateway of Seven of Nine. The Borg technology began to repair the damaged organs, and B'Elanna’s own systems began to reassert themselves. Seven dragged B'Elanna closer, taking her into a frontal embrace, holding her in place by will alone.

_____________

"She’s lucky it didn’t kill her," the Doctor explained to a baffled Captain and Ship’s Counselor as they stood in the cargo bay. "But it seems to have worked. B'Elanna is weak, but she is alive. And Seven seems no worse for the wear," he added, smirking.

"You may take her to sickbay, now, Doctor," Seven advised him imperiously. "She no longer needs to be linked to my alcove or to me." Seven withdrew the slender tubules, which retracted into her wrist with a ‘snick’.

"There’s another small matter, Captain," the Doctor reminded his CO. "You expressly forbade such an assimilation after the incident with Mr. Neelix. Seven violated your orders, and mine," he was clearly piqued.

"To hell with that," Kieran snarled at him. "B'Elanna is alive. That’s all that matters."

Kathryn touched Kieran’s sleeve. "That’s what we thought when Seven saved Neelix, but Neelix wasn’t too thrilled with being brought back from the dead. B'Elanna might not be, either."

"Then leave it up to B'Elanna to assert a grievance if she wants to, but for my part, I’m damned glad Seven did what she did," Kieran suggested.

Kathryn eyed her silent wife wearily. It wasn’t the first time Seven had put her in a difficult position, having to be the Captain and not the spouse, when the spouse would have been preferable. Finally she turned to the EMH. "Your concerns are noted, Doctor," she informed him curtly. "Now let’s get B'Elanna back to sickbay."

"I’ll take her," Kieran intervened. "Please, let me." She stepped up on the dais of Seven’s alcove, easing her unconscious mate into her arms, and lifted her with minimal effort. "Come on, baby, let’s get you to bed," she murmured into B'Elanna’s hair with a tenderness that gave Kathryn and Seven pause.

They followed in Kieran’s wake, hands tightly clasped together. "Kathryn, I in no uncertain terms told B'Elanna I would not, under any circumstances, assimilate her. I was furious with her when I regained consciousness. And I would not ordinarily have disobeyed your orders, but I felt I had to. I was merely undoing the damage B'Elanna did to herself," she reported in lowered voice.

"I know, Seven. B'Elanna made it clear in her logs that she violated your direct wishes, and that she knew you’d be angry with her. I think she’ll more than happily forgive you for bringing her back. But if she doesn’t—"

Seven squeezed Kathryn’s hand. "If she doesn’t, I will not ask you to waive your orders. You can throw me in the brig for insubordination, or whatever charges you deem appropriate."

"Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that," Kathryn replied grimly.

______________

B'Elanna Thompson-Torres was far out to sea on the barge of the dead, the waters assaulting the barge in tempestuous, thundering concussions. She tasted salt, shivered in the spray from the breaking surf, huddled closer to the deck, and wished for sunlight. It was so cold, the wind cut through her like a bat’leth’s edge, and she shuddered with the chill of it. They were sailing directly into a storm, the sky black and roiling, the light all but obscured by the heavy, dark clouds overhead.

Damn that Seven, she thought to herself, she was right again. It’s just like her to get the last word. She said it would kill me, and damned if it didn’t. B'Elanna laughed bitterly to herself. I guess the only heroes in this life are in Captain Proton holonovels. Oh, Kahless, what will happen to Kieran now? She’s going to have her hands completely full with Katie; she’ll never have time to finish her command track training. My little Katie. I am going to miss you, my loves.

A blazing shaft of sunlight cut through the clouds, blinding the occupants of the barge. The wizened helmsman growled and covered his remaining eye, trying to keep the boat on course. Another passenger said to B'Elanna, "There shouldn’t be light, not this close to the gates of Sto’Vo’Kor."

B'Elanna glanced up at the bright beacon slicing through the storm. It seemed to beckon her, to reach for her, and she felt herself rising up the length of it, suspended among the dust motes and sparkling water droplets that defined its shape. She watched the barge speeding away from her, dwindling to a mere speck in the sea below her. The light expanded and filled her, filled her lungs and her limbs, ushered her to a familiar plane of existence. The light seared her eyes, lidded by aching flesh, torturous to behold in its brilliance.

"She’s coming around," Kieran reported excitedly, peering into B'Elanna’s half-open eyes. "BangwIj?" she spoke the language of the barge.

B'Elanna blinked to ward off the pain of the light. Her body warmed considerably, sheltered from the ocean gales, and she watched in disbelief as the visage of her beloved wife appeared before her. "Kieran?" she croaked her name.

"I’m here, honey," Kieran held her hand. "Oh, ‘Lanna, I love you," she breathed, kissing the Klingon’s brow ridges repeatedly.

"God," B'Elanna groaned, "everything hurts," she managed to complain. "What’s wrong with me?"

"You had a run in with some nasty Borg technology, Lieutenant," the Doctor advised as he scanned her. "I’m going to give you something for the pain," he added, pressing a hypospray to her throat.

"Thank Kahless," she gasped, feeling instant relief. "I thought being dead was supposed to cease all suffering," she wisecracked hoarsely.

Kieran lay her head on B'Elanna’s chest, tears streaming down her face in relief. She was too overcome to speak, though she laughed at B'Elanna’s griping, knowing if her wife was complaining, she would definitely live to see another day. She had long ago replicated a coffee mug for B'Elanna that said "If I stop bitching, check my pulse." B'Elanna’s Engineering staff thought the sentiment too funny for words, and totally apropos.

"Hey," B'Elanna whispered, hand splayed over Kieran’s head. "It’s okay, honey, I’m fine. Please don’t cry, Kieran," she pleaded. "Come on," she tugged at Kieran’s uniform, pulling the sobbing Counselor into her arms. "Okay," she soothed her lover, patting her back.

B'Elanna looked helplessly up at Seven of Nine, as if to say "What am I supposed to do?"

Kieran quieted eventually, and B'Elanna sighed with relief. Nothing upset her more than the sound of her wife crying. It simply reduced B'Elanna to immobility. "Okay now?" she whispered to her beloved.

Kieran sniffed loudly, but said thickly "Better."

B'Elanna glanced at Seven, whose face was now severe. "Oh shit," she muttered. "Seven, I know you’re royally pissed at me, but what was I supposed to do, let you die?"

Seven smirked, the corners of her mouth upturned slightly. "That is exactly what you were supposed to do. Thankfully, you did not do it."

B'Elanna sighed with relief. "So you’re going to forgive me?"

"I might have to poke you with a pain stick, but otherwise, we are ‘okay’ with each other, for my part," Seven teased.

"It’s a good day to die," B'Elanna quipped.

"No it’s not, goddamn it," Kieran’s head shot off B'Elanna’s shoulder. "That’s not funny."

B'Elanna chuckled, though it cost her. "I thought it was pretty damned funny," she argued.

"As did I," Seven echoed. "Am I forgiven, as well, B'Elanna?"

"For what?" B'Elanna queried, pulling Kieran back into her arms.

"For assimilating you a second time to revive you. It was a direct violation of the Captain’s standing orders."

"You saved my life. Like I’m gonna bitch about that?" B'Elanna grinned at her friend.

"So there will be no formal grievance," Kieran looked pointedly at the Doctor. "And Seven is not in trouble."

"Unless B'Elanna files a grievance, there is no reprimand pending," Kathryn stated for the record.

"Well," B'Elanna smiled at her friend, "I think you should give Seven a commendation for assimilation in the line of duty."

"I’ll see what sort of reward I can conjure up," Kathryn promised, grinning suggestively.

The Doctor was taken aback. "I believe my work is done. Computer, deactivate EMH."

The assembled women laughed as he dissolved. "What a prude," B'Elanna smarted.

"I hate to say it, but we have to call him back," Kathryn complained. "He didn’t tell us when you can go home," she added. "Computer, activate EMH."

The Doctor reappeared, looking disgruntled. "What is it now?" he demanded.

Kieran was not amused. "How about if you tell us what further treatment my wife needs, before you flip your switch this time?" she hissed.

"Bed rest is recommended, and once she’s 100%, we’ll start trying to remove the Borg implants. Though I think the facial starburst is charming," he quipped.

B'Elanna touched her face, not realizing she had sprouted metal jewelry. "Well I’ll be damned. Seven, we’re twins!"

"Indeed," Seven smiled softly. "Although if we are to be identical, I will need prosthetic brow ridges. Doctor," she began.

He sniffed haughtily. "I don’t do cosmetic surgery. Sorry. Now if there’s nothing more, Counselor?"

"You can go," Kieran shot back at him, watching him dematerialize. "God, he pisses me off," she snapped.

B'Elanna squeezed her hand. "Try to get along with him until after my face is back to normal, okay, BangwIj?"

Kieran softened considerably. "I’ll kiss his ass if you want, ‘Lanna. Anything," she promised.

"Oh boy, I better take advantage of this," B'Elanna grinned at Kathryn and Seven. "She’s about as malleable as she ever gets."

Kathryn lay a comforting hand on Kieran’s shoulder. "You scared us, B'Elanna. Go easy on her for a couple of days," she recommended.

"And pass up a golden opportunity to get whatever I want from her? Not likely," B'Elanna teased.

"What do you want, BangwIj? Tell me," Kieran begged.

B'Elanna grinned. "I want time alone with you. No command school to interrupt us, no late nights studying with Harry, no extra shifts on the bridge."

Kieran turned an imploring eye to her Captain. "Kat—can I take some time off?"

Kathryn nodded. "I’d say some R&R is in order, Counselor."

_____________

B'Elanna was sleeping soundly in the bedroom, and Kieran had just put Katie down for the night. She collapsed wearily onto the couch, only to have a hard object poke her in the buttocks. She reached beneath her and fished out the PADD that Kathryn had given her as they left sickbay that afternoon. B'Elanna’s last words to me, Kieran realized. Curiosity got the better of her. She tapped in the commands to start the message.

B'Elanna’s worn, dirty face appeared, her eyes clearly bloodshot from crying. "I assume if you’re listening to this message, I’m dead. BangwIj," she began, "please try to understand why I did this. I owe Seven so much. She brought you back to me when you were sick with spatial psychosis. She was the one who made you see you were worthy of forgiveness. And now I hope you’ll forgive me, Kieran. This was the honorable thing to do, to try to save Seven's life. I didn’t want to leave you, not ever. The past three years with you have been the most precious and meaningful days of my life. You’ve made everything worthwhile—being lost out here, the day to day grind, none of it seemed a hardship as long as I had you. And I’d do it all again if it meant we’d end up together. I hope you feel the same, my love. Hold me in your heart always. But don’t stop living, Kieran. Find purpose again, find love again. Pour your energy into Katie. Take care of her and of yourself, for me. I love you beyond words. I will see you again in Sto’Vo’Kor, Benal. I will wait at the gate for you. For I have claimed you, and you are mine."

Kieran felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up as a chill shook her. Hot tears welled in her eyes as she realized how close she had come to losing her beloved wife, her honored Benal. She deactivated the PADD and stole back to the bedroom, stripping naked and sliding beneath the sheets to hold B'Elanna. She knew she wouldn’t sleep at all, but she would cradle her beloved protectively, and thank whoever might be listening that they were together still.

___________

Kathryn Janeway had tucked Geejay and Naomi into bed, and retired to her own bed with Seven. "Darling," she held out her arms, welcoming her wife tenderly, "you scared the hell out me."

"I am sorry," Seven apologized. "It could not be avoided. If it were not for B'Elanna—"

"I know," Kathryn whispered, choking on the words and pressing her face into Seven’s soft, loose mane. "Thank God she is a stubborn, thick headed woman."

"Qualities which you also possess in abundance," Seven dryly noted.

"Thank you," Kathryn smarted. "Are you as exhausted as I am?"

"I suspect a good deal moreso," Seven admitted, yawning. "I never thought my body would crave sleep, as much as my alcove, but I have developed an acute need to sleep beside you."

"Lucky for me," Kathryn curled languidly around her beloved Borg.

"Kathryn, this experience has made me realize we need to discuss certain things. We need to express to one another what our final wishes would be, if one of us died. We took care of the children in the event we both die, but we have never discussed what would happen if it were only one of us."

"I never felt a need, Seven. I trust you to make the proper decisions about Naomi and Geejay. I know you would do the right things."

Seven hugged her tightly. "But what about me? Would you want me to remarry, or does that idea disturb you?"

Kathryn smiled faintly. "Darling, if I died tomorrow, there would be a line of potential suitors fifty people deep outside your door. I fully expect you’d find someone among them to share your life with. I would want you to be happy."

Seven thought about that a moment. "I would want you to be happy also, Kathryn. I know how difficult it was for you to allow anyone into your life, but I would hope you would make the effort again. If B'Elanna and I had both died, I would have wanted you to make a new life with Kieran."

Kathryn chuckled. "Don’t I get to pick my second wife myself?"

Seven smacked her hand, wrapped around the Borg’s torso and resting on her breast, playfully. "Of course you do. I am merely saying, Kieran would be a good match for you."

"I wouldn’t be a good match for her, Seven. In fact, there’s probably no one else in the universe that could put up with me, besides you."

Seven laughed. "That is likely a true statement, Kathryn Janeway. You are a most trying individual," she accused. "But I hope we never have to make such decisions. I much prefer being with you."

"And living happily ever after?" Kathryn cracked.

"That would be acceptable," Seven replied.

The End