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“Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.”
(Mary Oliver, “Wild Geese”)
one
Here’s a thing Seven avoids telling most humanoids: She doesn’t see the appeal of the holodeck.
She understands why it exists. She can even get behind the argument that it’s necessary for healthy terrestrials living long-term in deep space, because bodies of all ages and species need more engagement than starships can offer, and brains benefit from the varied environments too. So she gets that part. And she gets the part where they’re valuable research tools.
The part she doesn’t get (and will never get, no matter how long she lives) is how involved everyone becomes in these made-up worlds. She didn’t understand it on Voyager and she doesn’t understand it now.
That being said, the activity Raffi and Rios and the other inhabitants of La Sirena have chosen today is pretty mild, as far as holodecks go.
It’s still odd to find a soccer field in the middle of a starship though.
“Football field,” Rios roars as he dribbles the ball down the length of the room. Seven hasn’t committed the specs to memory, but she’d swear this used to be Picard’s study. (The holoprojectors, of course, have made it look much larger, and as she studies the way the field appears to stay the same size while Raffi, Rios, Soji, Elnor, and a handful of synths range so far apart that they’ve surely hit the physical limits of the room, she can feel the science-prone side of her brain lighting up in ways it hasn’t in years.) (Another thing about virtual reality she doesn’t like: It makes her eyes feel weird.)
“It’s called soccer, Rios, give it up,” Raffi heckles, then cheers as Elnor blocks a goal.
“Football makes more sense,” Elnor offers, wiping his brow. “Because you use your feet to kick the ball.”
“Thanks honey, I never would have thought of that.”
“I’m sure you would have. You’re very smart.”
“I forgot you don’t do sarcasm.” Raffi waves her hand. “Another day. Hey! Rios! You rat bastard, that goal doesn’t count. Elnor was distracted.”
“Not our fault if your team can’t pay attention!” Soji sing-songs, jogging backward with her fists in the air.
Raffi makes a rude gesture and follows it with a charming grin. “Hiya,” she says when she steps off the field for a drink and notices Seven. “Wanna join?”
She almost says yes. There’s an energy in the air, something bright and restless that makes her tilt forward while simultaneously averting her eyes. It’s early days on Coppelius and Picard is not dead. The Romulans have retreated and Starfleet hasn’t arrived yet and Raffi—when she’s not tilting her head back and distracting Seven with that long, sweaty, stretched-out neck—is looking at her the way she’s started looking at her more and more these past few days. But everyone is having so much fun and she still feels so goddamn heavy, haunted by the memory of those nodes in her back.
Seven shakes her head. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to play outside?”
“Sure,” Rios replies as he sidles over, bouncing the ball from knee to knee while he fiddles with the ship’s controls. “But outdoor football can’t be played like this.” He flips a switch (a holographic switch—Seven can’t help but think of Tom and the Delta Flyer and what he would say about this) and there’s a lot of whooping and confusion as the gravity lightens by twenty-five percent. Raffi curses as her bottle tilts too fast and spills water down her shirt. Rios waggles his eyebrows at Seven, who hides a smirk.
“Hell yeah!” Soji hollers, executing a back handspring and several other gymnastic flips. “LOW-G SOCCER.”
“If I hear you call it that one more time,” Rios yells, head-butting the ball back onto the field and bounding after it, “I’m kicking you off my ship!”
two
It’s that odd time of day Harry always complained was too late for lunch and too early for dinner when Seven wanders past the mess hall and sees Soji sitting alone. She hasn’t ever been that person who walks up and starts talking to talk—has disliked, with few exceptions, the people who are—but she lingers just a bit too long in the doorway and Soji looks up. She makes eye contact and smiles, weakly. And Seven isn’t looking for a conversation, but she knows that look.
“Everything okay?”
Soji shrugs. “Just bored.”
“Not interested in the holoprogram Picard picked?”
“Not interested in anything involving altered reality these days.” Soji pauses. “I had fun with the soccer. But that was months ago and we were all high on endorphins. Kind of let me forget all the shit that’s gone on.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m...angry. And tired. And tangled. And the program they’re running kind of...deals in mysteries. I’m sick of figuring things out.”
Seven huffs a laugh and swings down onto the bench opposite her. “I get that. Any regrets about leaving home?”
Soji meets her gaze, and Seven doesn’t know why she asked that (just talking to talk) because it’s a stupid fucking question. “I don’t know,” Soji answers, eyes sparking, jaw set. “Any regrets about leaving the Artifact?”
Seven presses her lips together and tilts her head. “Nope.”
Soji holds eye contact for another handful of seconds, then looks away. “So what about you? Why aren’t you on the holodeck?”
Seven snorts.
“Not your thing?”
“No. Definitely not.”
“Ever?”
“They’re useful for exercise and test flights and hypotheticals.”
“And roleplaying?”
Seven shifts in her seat. Soji’s eyes drop to Seven’s hands folded on the table, and Seven flushes when she realizes her fingers are clenched bone-white.
“It’s fine, we don’t have to talk about it.”
“You’re right,” Seven says. “We don’t.”
She’s not sure how to transition out of that—holding boundaries isn’t something she struggles with, but it is something she’s noticed tends to kill the conversation. But then Elnor walks through the door, and the outfit he’s wearing makes Soji giggle and Seven blink.
“Nice shirtsleeves.”
Elnor looks down at his arms. “You really think so?”
“Yeah,” Soji pipes up. “I love the suspenders. And that cap is just—” She kisses her fingers and splays them in the air.
Elnor narrows his eyes. “Are you making fun of me?”
“Maybe a little,” Seven concedes.
The kid’s shoulders slump. “I don’t think I like the holodeck.”
“Hey! Join the club.”
Elnor looks from Soji to Seven and back to Soji again. “There’s a club?”
“Not literally,” Seven says, taking mercy on the boy. “But we don’t like holodecks either.”
“Oh.” Elnor eyes the bench between them, then turns to Seven. “Can we cuddle?”
Across the table, Soji’s eyebrows shoot up.
Seven ignores her and slides over on the bench, then holds out her arm. Elnor grins and curves into her so quickly the edge of his cap bumps her nose. Seven grunts and knocks the cap gently onto the table, then settles her cheek on top of Elnor’s head.
“Raffi is going to be so jealous when she finds out about this,” Soji crows.
“And Soji,” Seven says lightly, “will not be the one telling her. Correct?”
Soji sighs. “Correct.”
“So,” Seven says, settling her arm around Elnor’s shoulders. “Why don’t you like the holodeck?”
“I’m very bad at pretending,” Elnor says mournfully, then heaves a sigh.
Seven tucks her chin and tries hard not to smile. “Kinda sucks, doesn’t it?”
“I assume you’re suggesting it’s an unpleasant experience. Which is correct. It’s not very fun. I think Raffi is disappointed in me.”
“No way,” Soji says, leaning forward, palms on the table. “Raffi would never be disappointed over a dumb thing like that.” As she says this, she’s looking at Elnor, but Seven gets the sense she’s speaking to her too. She waits for Soji to make eye contact, but she doesn’t.
Elnor settles deeper into her embrace and Seven feels her shoulders relax. Feels herself get a bit less apprehensive about whatever waits for her when they arrive at Raffi’s home, holodecks and Dixon Hill and memories of Voyager be damned.
three
It’s Naomi who finds the costume closet. Seven has had La Sirena to herself for three months now, and while she doesn’t miss the chaos of living with six people, she did grow accustomed to having some sort of company, enough that she’s lonely her first time back out. She keeps the holos on more than she needs to before deciding that five iterations of Rios—no matter how useful—might be a bit much.
After that, she contacts Naomi. Asks if she’s able to take a leave of absence from work long enough to spend a few weeks running medical supplies out to border worlds with her. It’s not the first time they’ve done this (before she settled on art therapy back in ‘91, there was a long stretch of months when Naomi and Seven argued over whether she should join up or not) (Seven said no and couldn’t stop thinking of Icheb; Naomi said yes and to think of all the people she could help) (Seven won by coming to plead her case in person, something she had only done a handful of times before) (after that they compromised on a few low-risk missions per year, never alone and always with Seven).
So it’s not the first time they’ve ranged together, but it’s the first time Seven has had a ship as big or as nice as La Sirena and Naomi is enthralled. She spends the whole first day prowling it from stem to stern and—if Ian has anything to say about it—touching way too many buttons. But it’s the closet in the holodeck that used to be Picard’s study that makes her really squeal.
“Oh my god,” Naomi says, flicking through the racks of clothing. “They’re costumes for the holodeck.”
“Of course they are.”
“Remember when Tom had one of these? And Uncle Harry too?”
“Has,” Seven corrects. “He definitely still has a costume closet. And why do you call Tom Tom while Harry gets an uncle?”
Naomi shrugs and drapes a neon pink feather boa around her shoulders, then slides the sunglasses she’s wearing down the bridge of her nose. “I tried it on Tom the last time I visited. He said it made him feel old. Aunt B’Elanna rolled her eyes.”
“Let me guess: Harry said it made him feel distinguished.”
“Mmm, I believe his exact words were it made him feel like one of the fam.”
“Fam?”
“Yeah, you know, it’s like slang for family.”
“Naomi Wildman. Do not put that scarf around my neck.”
Naomi pouts. “Why not? It’s soft and fluffy.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Damn.” She pushes aside an Old Earth spacesuit, a sequined jumpsuit, and some sort of leather and denim combination. “What about this one?” She holds up a glittery floor-length gown. “This would look fantastic with your eyes.”
“No.”
“This?”
“No.”
“This?”
Seven folds her arms.
“Aw, c’mon Seven, you’ve got to have at least a little fun.”
“Fun is irrelevant.”
Naomi narrows her eyes.
“Fine. You can pick one outfit. But it has to be something that doesn’t make me want to throw myself out an airlock, and it has to be functional in hand-to-hand combat.”
“Who are we going to be fighting? We’re alone on a ship in the middle of the Beta Quadrant.”
“Exactly. It’s the Beta Quadrant. You never know when a gang of pirates might stop by.”
“We warped out of pirate territory last night,” Naomi chides as she considers her options. “Oh fuck yes, this is perfect.” She yanks out a hanger. “Cute, comfy, and combat-friendly. Now scoot. I wanna see you try these on.”
Five minutes later, Seven walks back in the room wearing leggings, a soft plaid button-down, and some sort of laced and flat-soled shoes. “These shoes do not provide arch support.”
“I don’t think they’re supposed to.”
“Then why wear them?”
Naomi shrugs. “Because they’re cute.”
“Cute is irrelevant.”
“No,” Naomi says with a lopsided smile. “Cute is definitely relevant. I know because you’re both very cute and very relevant.”
Seven stops fidgeting and shoots Naomi a look.
“Hey!” Naomi steps forward and frowns. “Where’s the apron?”
“I am not putting on an apron.”
“But it’s part of the costume.”
“Yes but what is the function of the costume?”
“The function of the costume is to have fun pretending to be someone else. Like, duh.” Naomi plucks the apron from behind the chair where Seven dropped it, folds it in half, and ties it around her waist before she can protest. “Hmm, what kind of hairdo would a barista have in the 2020s?”
“The hell is a barista?”
“Someone who makes and sells coffee. See? I picked a costume that makes sense for you.”
“Just because I drink coffee doesn’t mean I would sell it,” Seven grumbles as Naomi busies herself with her hair.
“No, but when someone doesn’t understand the purpose of the holodeck, it helps to pick a role that’s like...their personality, just slightly to the left.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It requires less pretending.”
“Any level of pretending is still pretending.”
“Just trust me on this.” Naomi gives her shoulder a gentle pat. “Okay, messy bun: check. Apron: check. Flannel unbuttoned just enough to be a tease: check. Now where did those glasses go?”
“Shouldn’t hot coffee be served in ceramic mugs? Less chance of damaging the structural integrity of the vessel.”
“Not those kinds of glasses,” Naomi says, voice muffled as it drifts out of the trunk. (Of course there is a trunk. Of course they couldn’t leave it at a closet full of clothing.)
“Aha!” She surfaces and holds out the glasses, black and square-framed.
“No.”
“What? Noooo, you can’t bail on the glasses. They’re an essential part of the coffeeshop AU.”
“All of the words you’re saying are words but none of them make sense.”
Naomi rolls her eyes. “Five minutes. Four pictures. And I’ll only send three of them to Raffi.”
“I didn’t consent to pictures. We are definitely not in the picture-sending stage.”
“What? Of course you’re in the picture-sending stage. You’re dating. Pleeeeeease?”
And Seven, goddamn it, can never say no to those freckles and those pleading eyes.
“Three minutes, two pictures, and you send none of them to Raffi.”
“One picture. I’ll send one picture to Raffi. I’ll even let you pick it out.”
Seven sighs and reaches for the glasses. “Fine.”
four
“I have a question.”
“And I have an answer.”
Seven, perched on the counter, waits until Tom finishes ladling the pancake batter, then leans over and drops blueberries onto each sizzling round.
“Why do you like the holodeck so much?”
Tom sets the bowl down and wipes his hands on his apron (an apron Seven suspects Neelix sent back with Harry as a gift). “Because it’s fun.”
“Yes but why is it fun? What’s the appeal?”
Tom folds his arms. “C’mon, Seven, you know the answer. Didn’t you have fun all those times we went drag-racing?”
“Fun isn’t the first word I would use.”
Tom slaps a hand to his chest. “Oof! Right where it hurts.”
Seven gives him a look.
Tom picks up the spatula and begins flipping the pancakes. “Okay, in order to answer this question, I need to know what made you ask it.”
Seven rolls a blueberry between her thumb and forefinger and shrugs. “Raffi’s got this whole thing going with Rios. Naomi found their costume closet a couple months ago and helped me pack it up so we could beam it to the Stargazer when I got back. It was impressive.”
“More impressive than the ones Harry and I have?”
“Think twice as large and five times the glitter.”
Tom’s eyebrows raise. “More glitter than Queen Arachnia?”
Seven nods.
“Damn. I’ve gotta step up my game.”
“Pretty sure Miral would not appreciate having her room turned into a costume store.”
“Hey, she moved back to Earth. That room’s fair game.” He ladles more batter onto the griddle. Seven adds the fruit.
“So Raffi likes the holodeck. What does that have to do with you?”
“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.”
Tom shoots her a look and Seven sighs. “I guess I’m feeling…anxious.”
“Anxious that she’ll ask you to participate?”
“Yeah.”
“And you don’t want to.”
“No.”
“Because holodecks are where you went to learn how to be everyone else’s idea of human, which didn’t always line up with your idea of human.”
“Try never.” Try not even knowing what the word humanity meant even now, twenty-five years later.
“So what I’m hearing is, holodecks have never been about fun for you. They’ve always been about catering to someone else’s wants.”
Seven nods.
“And if Raffi asks you to go to the holodeck with her…you’re afraid you’ll start being someone you’re not?”
Seven doesn’t answer that, which, she realizes belatedly, is its own response.
Tom slides the pancakes onto a plate and turns off the griddle. “Have you talked to her about any of this?”
“No.”
“Don’t you think that would be a good place to start? For all you know, she might only enjoy the holodeck when Rios is around.”
Seven tilts her head. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
Tom unties his apron and tosses it across the counter. “Look, I like the holodeck because I like to pretend to be someone else. I like to act goofy and act out big adventures without the life or death angle we always had going on in the Delta Quadrant. Harry and Miral like to do that too. B’Elanna not so much. She uses the holodeck to build out old ships or read romance novels in the sun. And that’s great! It’s good to have interests that are just your own, not your friends’ or your partners’. Not everything has to be shared with everyone.”
Seven tries and fails to hide her smile.
“What?”
“B’Elanna was right.”
“About what?”
“You’re really into this whole dad advice thing.”
Tom groans. “Why does it always have to be the dad role? Why can’t I just be the fun big brother?”
“Face it, Captain Proton, you’re getting old.”
“Say that again and I’m giving your pancakes to Clem.”
Seven hops off the counter as the cat flounces into the kitchen and gathers him into her arms. “Clem hates blueberries. But he loves to rub his face in strawberries.”
“Of course you’d know that.” Tom sighs and gathers the plates. “C’mon. Let’s go wake B’Elanna.”
five
Seven takes the holoscans one night after Raffi falls asleep and builds the program slowly, over the course of several missions, occasionally messaging Harry for help. She stops short of recreating the inside of the trailer; sticks to the sand and the rocks and the cozy outdoor porch, the plants and ornaments and windchimes that bell against each other in the breeze she’s programmed to blow.
It feels silly at first and then it feels awkward and then she starts to wonder if she’s doing something wrong. All the things she’s felt in holodecks her whole life, all of them the reason she’s avoided the technology for so long.
When she starts coding the program, it’s the first time she’s come to the holodeck for non-fitness purposes since Voyager. And that last time, the ways she had altered reality but more importantly the ways she’d altered herself, well. She doesn’t like to think about those.
The first night, after the program is complete and she sits in a chair sipping coffee and looking around, she can’t help but wish that Raffi were here. She supposes that’s the point of the program—to will into being some scrap of this woman she loves. (And yes, already, so clearly, it is love.)
But the longer she spends in the simulation, the more at home she begins to feel. Not just in the holodeck and not just in Raffi’s trailer (though when she returns to the actual trailer after three weeks of the simulated one, she’s surprised to find she melts into it easily, like it was built to house the fact of her body, and that is something Seven has rarely felt of any place). No—the thing that surprises her the most is that she begins to feel at home with herself.
It surprises her not because it happens but because she thought she was already there.
She doesn’t tell Raffi about the simulation. Not in a secretive way, just a private one. A way that says I am learning to hold this thing lightly. I am attempting to let it exist apart from others’ needs and wants.
The night she moves her hammock from the bridge to the holodeck marks the first time she’s added her own contribution to the innate Raffi-ness of the space. There’s no good place to hang the canvas, so she adds two posts to the side of the deck and strings it up.
It feels scandalous. Then it feels neutral. Then she climbs inside and everything starts to feel great. It’s easier on her back, lying down like this. She feels cradled. Almost—if she closes her eyes and curls her shoulders—she can imagine she’s being held.
Maybe, Seven decides, dozing in her hammock beneath Earth’s stars, holodecks don’t have to be about adapting. Maybe they can just be holodecks. And maybe she can be herself.