Work Text:
It’s the way Raffi draws on her eyeliner, masking the excited sparkle in her eye with something far more sinister.
It’s the way Seven’s holster sits at her hip, the way her fingers curl through each individual ring in the grip of her phaser.
The smell of leather jackets, the cracked textures of caked blood and dirt.
The way they both say nothing, needing only a nod as Deet beams them down onto the surface.
A Romulan charges at Seven from behind. But Raffi is faster, pouncing onto him and pinning him down with lithe grace.
Seven finishes the job.