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It’s quiet.
It’s quiet and by nature, former Drone-now Captain of the Enterprise-G Seven of Nine resists it.
Her sharp, always-in-motion mind insists something is wrong, demands she seek out the battle that must be happening somewhere because the old drone instructions still lodged in her brain remind her coldly that quiet is never something to be indulged, only abhorred.
Except her partner - currently peacefully sound asleep, sprawled out under the blankets of their bed, face down in the pillows, her wild blonde curls going in every direction - makes Seven want to ignore the trained-in, lived-in bone-deep anxiety and mind-numbing fear of the quiet.
It makes her want to understand how to breathe within the quiet.
A difficult lesson to learn, Seven muses and then looks back over at Raffi and thinks, "For you."
Quiet is the opposite of what her first few weeks before her official commissioning ceremony - the one that will certify her status as a newly minted Starfleet Captain - are like.
To be fair, the immediate aftermath of the attack on Frontier Day and Starfleet as a whole had been chaotic; a thousand different debriefings and question and answer sessions had greeted all of the survivors. And then, of course, there had been the countless funerals to attend.
As the acting (soon to be official) Captain of the U.S.S Enterprise, she’d felt an intense obligation to her crew and to her fallen commanding officer to attend every single one of the funerals which had taken place over the weeks following the defeat of the Changelings and the Borg. Too many for most people to be able to count or keep up with (or frankly cope with), Seven’s near perfect memory recall had remembered every single one in excruciatingly painful detail.
Day after day of emotional farewell ceremonies so full of trauma and anguish.
“I’m so sorry,” she’d said more times than she can remember and each time, she’d been immeasurably thankful to have Raffi standing stalwart at her side, able to almost effortlessly bridge the emotional gaps with her innate warmth and compassion. Where she’d struggled with physical connection and an uncertainty of what is appropriate in times of grief, Raffi had seemed to always understand exactly what was needed. Whether a strong hug or an empathetic handhold offered to the families of the fallen, Raffi had seemed to just know.
She’d never complained, never shown the slightest bit of stress over the duties she’d assumed without ever being officially asked to. She’d just walked beside Seven, always reaching out.
For several long and painful weeks, this had been how they’d operated and survived the fallout of the Battle for Frontier Day - as a team both publicly and privately. During the long days, always supporting each other through unimaginable circumstances and in the lull of night, touching and clutching one another in order to provide comfort they couldn’t find elsewhere.
Comfort they’ve come to understand they don’t want to find anywhere else.
It’s taken her a long time to get used to the way Raffi curls into her at night. Previous to this relationship, she’d never had a lover who wanted to stay and be so connected. Her most intense romantic endeavor prior to Raffi had been Bjayzl and though they’d been together for over a year before Seven had realized what the woman had been doing, there’d never been a point where Jay had wanted to pull her in close beyond when they’d been actively intimate.
In fact, Jay had wanted and expressed the exact opposite, telling Seven that she found it uncomfortable to sleep skin to skin with someone with as much exposed metal as she’d had. That conversation had led to the wearing of clothes to bed - a desperate (and foolish, she thinks now, old bitterness rising up at the thought) attempt to find intimacy even in rejection.
When that had ultimately failed amongst the painful fallout of the truth of Bjayzl and what she’d really wanted, Seven had resigned herself to the idea that no one would ever accept her as her truest self and she’d rationalized herself into a place of accepting whatever fleeting scraps of intimacy and connection she could manage (usually a quick, hard fuck after too many drinks) figuring that the emptiness of emotionless physicality was still better than the quiet of solitude.
And then Raffi had come spinning into her life - all recklessly unapologetic emotion and feeling in one chaotically brilliant, complicated, beautiful package. She’d represented everything Seven has been intrigued by and fearful of ever since her separation from the Collective.
Seven thinks, as she holds Raffi against her cotton-clad chest in the bed that they’re sharing in Raffi’s apartment, that she should have run away as fast as she’d been able to. She’d known it then, too - had even somewhat tried a time or two. But she’d always come back. Always been pulled back to Raffi by her intense charisma and compassion. By the feeling of being home.
“You’re thinking too loud,” Raffi murmurs, her words muffled by Seven’s shirt.
“I haven’t said anything,” Seven reminds her, her right hand lifting to lightly card through Raffi’s golden curls. Her other hand settles against Raffi’s exposed back (unlike her, Raffi has no issue with sleeping in the nude, seemingly unconcerned by the scars and blemishes upon her body), lightly scratching her blunt nails up and down along the younger woman’s spinal column.
“And yet I can tell you’re overthinking,” Raffi replies with a smile, adjusting herself slightly so that instead of having her face pressed into Seven’s chest, she’s looking up at her.
“What makes you think I’m overthinking?” Seven challenges. “Perhaps, I’m just thinking.”
“Well for one, you just said that ridiculous sentence out loud.”
Seven scowls but doesn’t reply, semi-patiently awaiting the rest of Raffi’s rebuttal.
“And for two, I know you. For the moment, everything is calm and quiet. Which worries you.”
“I’m not…I’m not worried. Not exactly,” Seven counters. “Just… concerned.”
“About?” Raffi presses, her hand lifting up to run its way across Seven’s firm jawline, fingertips brushing against the smooth, soft skin she feels there. They climb after a few seconds, ghosting across the edge of the starburst implant before ascending towards her eyebrow.
“Tomorrow. The day after that. And three weeks from now.”
Raffi blinks, frowning as she tries to wrap her mind around the specific timeframes Seven had provided. “Tomorrow,” she repeats and then nods. Because of course. “Your official-official commissioning as Captain. Okay, that I get. Kind of. The day after that, though?”
“What happens next,” Seven explains.
“For us or…for you?”
“Both?”
“Are you worried about us?”
“No,” Seven says and it’s not a lie exactly, but Raffi can tell it’s not quite the truth, either. She knows she could push, grind down into the apprehension Seven has, but the moment feels wrong for that and so for the time being, she lets the conversation about them slide.
Instead, she focuses on the other issue, “Okay, then, why are you worried about you?”
“I’m not worried,” Seven insists. “I’m just trying to wrap my mind around what comes next.”
“Ah. Well, what comes next is that you finish building your new crew. You choose a first officer, a chief engineer and a chief of security to compliment the rest of your already in-place team,” Raffi tells her, fingers slipping into Seven’s long blonde hair. “And then -“ she nods again as understanding hits her. “In three weeks, you head back out into space with the Enterprise.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t suppose telling you to go day-by-day would help?”
“You wouldn’t be the first person who has told me to do that,” Seven provides. And that’s true - more than most people, she has dealt with enormous amounts of trauma and in the course of trying to recover from that, she’s been seen by many a therapist (usually due to Janeway’s never-ending fussing). The doctors she’s seen have all meant well (most of them, anyway; she’s well aware that some have continued to view her as some kind of broken half-person) but the typical recovery solution of day-by-day and step-by-step has seldom worked for her. She figures she can somewhat thank the Borg modifications to her brain and thinking patterns for that; in the Collective, she’d been programmed to and expected to view every action she’d taken as part of a bigger picture. The bigger picture, of course, being the needs of the whole.
The very idea of making things smaller and more singular had never occurred to her as a drone. Now, as an individual almost thirty years removed from her time within the Collective, she understands the need for such - the need to break the overwhelming trauma that has been her life into easier to cope with quiet moments of comprehension - but she’s never quite grasped how to do it in a way that doesn’t cause her anxiety to spike to paralyzing degrees.
And frankly, she’s wrestled enough with her anxiety as is.
“No, I don’t imagine I am,” Raffi allows. She turns fully, then, arcing up so she’s resting her cheek and jaw against her open palm. The sheet remains curled around her body, just barely covering her nudity. “Can you tell me what of those things is worrying you the most?”
“In the immediate? Tomorrow,” Seven admits, without any kind of pause.
“Because of Janeway?”
“Yes. No. Partially.”
Raffi lifts an eyebrow, her lip quirking in the slightest bit of bemusement. “You know, babe, I’ve gotten pretty damned good at translating Seven-Speak, but I’m gonna need your help here.”
“Seven-Speak,” Seven repeats and there’s a note of the same bemusement in her tone. She shakes her head and then elaborates, “Admiral Janeway is always…stressful for me.”
“Because she’s one of the few people who you care what she thinks.”
“Yes,” Seven admits. “Picard. Her. Tuvok. You.”
Raffi grins at her, earning her an overdramatic eye roll; Seven might be still emotionally stunted after all of these years, but she remains top-notch when it comes to showing off exasperation.
Though, in this case, it’s more play than real.
“Okay,” Raffi presses after the moment has passed. “Explain the ‘no’ and ‘partially’ parts.”
“I’ll…try,” Seven promises. And then there’s a long pause as she tries to focus her thoughts into a linear line. Early in their relationship, Raffi probably would have tried to bridge the silence, assuming the question she’d asked to be too intense or complicated. Over time, she’d come to understand that neither was true and that the space between question and answer was about Seven collecting herself and ensuring whatever she said was what she meant to.
The dramatic and awful downside, Raffi knows (and can grimly relate to), of how often Seven’s less considered and thought-out feelings have been brutally thrown back in her face.
So Raffi waits, doing little more than again reaching out with her hand to gently move hair from Seven’s eyes, her fingers then trailing down her face, gently mapping out every inch of it.
She knows Seven is about to speak when the blonde lifts a hand up and slides it over Raffi’s, their fingers interlacing. She squeezes it, then, like she’s saying, “It’s okay; I’m okay.”
Finally, Seven continues with, “Tomorrow, they’ll officially give me the fourth pip and it’ll be in front of all of the Starfleet brass. Brass which rejected me for twenty-eight years. Brass which maybe now more than ever distrusts me because of…” she cuts off, frowning. “Thousands of people died because of what the Borg just did. Sixty-two died on the Titan. Including Shaw.”
“None of which is your fault.”
Seven doesn’t reply to that, a slight frown on her lips.
“Okay,” Raffi says with a sigh. “This is clearly a much bigger conversation.” She moves out of the lean she’s in and slides from the bed, exposing her body to the warm air of her apartment. While she personally enjoys a much cooler temperature set, years of living at Vasquez Rocks had gotten her used to the warmer environment which Seven’s half-Borg biology far prefers.
“Where are you going?” Seven queries, her brow furrowing as her body adapts to the loss of Raffi against her. Yes, it’d taken her quite awhile to get used to how close Raffi likes to be, but now that she has, she feels an almost indescribable amount of absence when Raffi isn’t there.
“To get dressed -“
“You don’t have to do that,” Seven cuts in, eyes sweeping appreciatively over Raffi’s lean body.
Raffi, of course, doesn’t miss the visual inspection. With a grin, she continues, “I do if we want to have the more serious discussion we need to have here. You can undress me afterwards.”
Seven’s eyebrow arches. “That is…acceptable.”
“Acceptable? Well, when we get to that point in the night, I’ll try my best to be more than…acceptable,” Raffi teases. Back when they’d just been getting to know each other, she probably wouldn’t have said anything about the occasional strange lilt Seven tends to get, so wary was she of accidentally upsetting her lover. Now, though, she’s come to understand that the curious syntax Seven at times affects is just part of this woman whom she so dearly loves. That it usually presents itself when she’s highly stressed, overstimulated or overwhelmed is something Raffi ensures she takes note of (all three of those things require different responses), but she’s learned over time that the odd language doesn’t make Seven any less Seven.
In fact, it makes her even more uniquely Seven, as far as Raffi is concerned.
Seven, for her part, says nothing, just smiles slightly as she watches Raffi pull on Starfleet regulation heather gray workout sweatpants and a form-fitting black tank top.
“Come on,” Raffi says, offering Seven a hand. “Let’s go sit on the balcony.”
“It’s raining,” Seven reminds her, and that’s true; Raffi’s apartment is located on campus at Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco. A place, Seven has learned, where rain is common.
As someone who’d grown up with very little exposure to the elements, she lacks appreciation for what her brain tells her is just an inconvenience involving entirely too much moisture.
Raffi, on the other hand, loves it and always insists that Seven just hasn’t spent enough time around or in it to have learned just how romantic a good noisy rainstorm can be.
Seven remains skeptical about ever coming to appreciate rain, though open to the idea considering how often Raffi has been right about things like this (eventually).
“I know,” Raffi agrees, wriggling her fingers in invitation. “Perfect mood.”
“If you say so,” Seven murmurs and takes Raffi’s warm hand, allowing herself to be pulled up and into Raffi’s arm. For a few seconds, they just stay like that, curled close together. Years ago, she never would have allowed this degree of personal space invasion; even with Jay, whom she had for a time truly believed she loved, she had drawn the line at being so close.
Raffi is different, though; everything about Raffi is, and to say that she trusts the intelligence operative in a way she now recognizes she’d never trusted Jay is an understatement.
“I love you,” Raffi whispers, forehead to forehead. “You know that, right?”
“I do,” Seven acknowledges. “But why are you -“
“Because I want you to know that no matter what happens in our lives, no matter what roads either one of us go down, I’m always going to be here for you. Always.”
“I think you made that clear when you stayed behind on the Titan with me.”
“You and me, baby,” Raffi tells her and then leans in and gently kisses her. As is typical with them, it quickly turns into more and one kiss becomes half a dozen more passionate ones.
Seven finally murmurs, “Is the plan for me to undress you now or -“
Raffi laughs, steps back and then slides her hand back into Seven’s. “No. Come on.” And then she’s pulling Seven through the apartment and through the automatic glass doors that lead out onto the covered balcony which overlooks the foggy, rain drenched San Francisco Bay.
Thankfully, this balcony is well designed and so even though the view afforded is plentiful, the falling rain is kept away by both the overhead cover and how far back the seating area is.
Once outside, Raffi releases Seven’s hand and then pushes a chair towards her. She sees the brief flicker in her lovers’ blue eyes as she considers whether she wants to be seated right now (it’s never gone unnoticed by Raffi how often Seven chooses to stand instead of sit when she’s unsettled, a physical manifestation of Seven’s omnipresent anxiety and restlessness).
Finally, she does. “So,” she asks with an awkward laugh. “What’s the bigger discussion?”
Raffi fixes her with a knowing gaze. “Guilt, my love. And how we both drown in it.”
“Oh. That.” Seven glances down at her hands, frowning as she gazes at her metallic one.
“Yes, that. Talk to me. I’m here.”
Seven nods in acceptance of that. Still looking at her augmented hand, she offers up softly, “I know it seems…insane but I keep thinking about when Shaw died. How I was…holding him. How I could feel his pulse vibrating against my…my fingers like it was my own and then it was just gone. He was gone. What I am - what he hated more than anything else - killed him.”
“No,” Raffi counters. “He died protecting what he loved. His ship. His crew. Starfleet. And we finished that battle for him - we made the Borg and the Changelings pay for what they did.”
“None of which changes what I am. I’m still Borg. One of the bad guys. And not in that briefly exposed way like all the kids. They have the mental trauma of that, but none of the physical scars. None of the reminders. I do. And no matter how much I do, no matter how much I try to be something better than that, half of the galaxy and Starfleet will always see me as Borg.”
“Well, first off, honey, you’re not something, you’re someone. And that someone is Seven.”
Seven turns her head, looking at her, her eyes wet. “And who is that? To you?” It’s an echo from a previous conversation, one hundreds of years in the past. Back then, in 2024, there’d been no answer to the question, only simmering tension and frustration. Now, though…
Now, Raffi has an answer for it, one she doesn’t even hesitate to supply, “Depends on the context. As a person, as a warrior, as a Fenris Ranger or a Starfleet officer, you’re one of the bravest, strongest and most inspirational individuals I’ve ever met or probably ever will meet. As my lover, you’re beautiful in ways I don’t have adequate words for and I have to pinch myself every damn day to remind myself how lucky I am to get to wake up next to you.”
“You’re absurd,” Seven notes with a shake of her head. Off of Raffi’s confusion, she elaborates, “You think you’re lucky? Do you know what it’s like to have the kind of horrible past I do and still be fortunate enough to find someone willing to look beyond all of that and love you?”
“Yes, because you do exactly that with me. Most people in my life have been happy to dismiss me as a wash-out, an addict with anger management issues or a deadbeat who can’t be counted on. You never have. But here’s the thing — I don’t look beyond your past; I accept it because it helped make you the incredible woman that you are. When I say you’re Seven to me, what that means is you’re the one person in this universe I trust to love me as I love you.”
“You really are absurd,” Seven murmurs and then she’s leaning across and placing a hand on both sides of Raffi’s face and drawing her in for as passionate a kiss as she can manage.
Where her words often fail her, her actions rarely do.
When they break ever-so-slightly apart and Raffi is breathless with kiss-swollen lips and blown pupils, Seven whispers against her lips, “Do you know what you are to me? Who you are?”
“No,” Raffi allows and if there’s a bit of fear in her tone, it comes from so many people she has loved and lost along the way who have told her just how inconsequential and broken she is.
“You’re my heart, Raffi,” Seven tells her, her metal-capped fingers lifting to gently trace against Raffi’s well-defined cheekbones. “You always call me brave, but from my perspective, you’re the brave one of the two of us. You feel everything so unapologetically. It scares the hell out of me still, but you remind me that I can’t hide from what I’m feeling even when all I want is to run away from how much everything hurts. I’m not always successful, but because of you, I want to try. You remind me why I’ve spent most of my life fighting to be more human. You’ve literally taught me both how to be loved and how to love in return. You’re the very best part of me.”
“Damn you,” Raffi breathes out, and Seven’s not the least bit surprised to see tears now in Raffi’s eyes. Only unlike Seven, she doesn’t bother trying to hold her emotions back. Instead, she closes the rest of the distance between them and wraps her arms around Seven.
“I needed you to know,” Seven states, squeezing back. There was a time not long ago when she’d have found this suffocating, but now it feels like safety. “Because I don’t say it enough.”
“Babe, you don’t have to; I do know.”
Seven nods her head jerkily. “But you haven’t always and… it makes you happy to hear it.”
“Yeah, it does,” Raffi admits. “But that’s because you make me happy.”
“I’m sorry I let our careers come between us and we lost so much time.”
“It wasn’t just you, honey; we both made that choice. We can debate all day whether or not it was the right one - “ she shrugs her shoulders. “It wasn’t, but that’s not the point.” She laughs lightly, underscoring her words. “The point is, none of that matter now.” She relaxes the hug so they can look at each other, blue eyes locked on brown. “It stopped mattering the moment I saw you on the Titan. I had faith that we’d find our way back to each other and we did.”
“You had faith?” Seven asks, her head tilted, because faith is one of those concepts that even three decades removed from the Collective, she still struggles with. Unlike love and hate, faith is entirely intangible, its very existence supported often by illogical belief in a specific often extraordinary outcome which facts in a specific present-tense situation seldom support.
It’s illogical, absurd and incomprehensible and yet it is a core pillar of humanity.
“Well, I had my doubts,” Raffi admits with a dry, humorless chuckle. “Like when I was half-passed out on the ground thinking I was about to die of a drug overdose, but it was always there. I chose to believe that one way or another, we’d make our way home to each other.”
“Home,” Seven echoes.
“Something both of us have spent a very long time searching for.”
“Yeah,” Seven concedes, then drops her head against Raffi’s shoulder, her eyes focused on the rain just on the other side of the balcony. It’s coming down hard and fast now, pinging loudly off all the metal surfaces. After a few minutes of this, Seven asks, “Will you come with me?”
“Anywhere,” Raffi replies without pause. Then follows up with, “But where exactly?”
Seven sits up, turning to face Raffi. “Back into space. Be my First Officer.”
Raffi laughs. Then, noticing Seven isn’t, says, “Wait…you’re serious.”
“I am. You said it yourself: I have major roles still to fill on my crew. There’s no one I can think of who would be better for that position than you.”
“Starfleet -“
“Owes us. They may hate what I am, but they know they still exist because of us.”
“So you’re going to ball-bust Starfleet Command into letting your girlfriend serve under you?” No sooner are the words out of her mouth than Raffi laughs, not quite able to suppress her immature humor at the blatant double entendre. She thinks, with a brief, but sharp pang of grief-tinged sadness, that Rios would have been just as childishly amused as she is.
“Well, I was planning to ask Janeway and Picard to do me a favor,” Seven wryly replies. “But I suppose if that doesn’t work, I’m happy to force the issue. That is, if you want this, too.”
“To wake up in your arms and get to see you every single day? What do you think? But…can you handle that much…togetherness? You’ve always been the one more…cautious -“
“Afraid,” Seven cuts in. “You can say it - I’ve been afraid of commitment.”
“And now? Has that changed?”
“No.”
“No?”
“I’m still terrified, Raff. At least up here where it’s always noisy and messy,” she taps her temple. “But other parts of me…” her hand settles over her heart. “I know how well we work together. As partners here -“ she gestures around and back towards the apartment. “And in other every sense of the word. I mean…you and me, we took back the Titan together.”
“Yeah, we did,” Raffi concurs, grinning. It isn’t necessarily a good memory - they’d had to take out many of Seven’s crew to fight their way to the Bridge and the blood that both of them had spilled along the way had at all times reinforced the nearly unimaginable horror and loss of the situation - but it does remind her of just how naturally they’d fit together when it had mattered.
“Okay, so, cards on the table: I know I’ve been the problem between us -“
“That’s not true.”
“Please? Let me?”
Raffi holds up her hands in surrender.
Seven takes a deep breath and then pushes on. “I think…I think maybe if I - “ off Raffi’s look, she changes the wording, “If we could stop fighting against it and getting in our own way, we could be something, I don’t know, special?” She flushes in slightly awkward discomfort and uncertainty at her own words, ones she’s never dreamed about being possible, much less expressed. “But I’m still me, Raffi, and what’s in my head will always be noisy and messy -“
“You think what’s in my head isn’t?”
“You know how to sit with quiet…I’ve never learned how to do that without feeling like I’m leaving myself exposed to some kind of attack,” Seven explains with an awkward shrug.
“I learned how to because it was the only way I could keep any semblance of sanity in the middle of month after month of undercover work that required me to skulk along in alleys and seedy bars. I even learned how to welcome it in to help me find balance - thanks to Worf. But it’s not what I prefer. I didn’t choose to isolate at Vasquez Rocks because I wanted to; I hid away there because I’d lost my ability to have faith in…anything. I don’t want that life. I like trusting people, Seven. My job doesn’t encourage that - the very nature of being a spy is that you can’t trust anyone, including yourself, but I hate that. That not who I want to be.”
“I know,” Seven acknowledges. “And as much as I don’t always understand it, I love that about you - that you always try to connect with people. Even after you’ve been hurt by them.” She takes another breath. “So I guess what I’m trying to say is: I need you to try to be patient with me while I figure all of this out. I know what I want, but every instinct in me…is afraid. But I’m trying. So if you can be patient with me, I promise you, I’ll give you everything I have in me.”
“Until the end of time and beyond,” Raffi promises and then she’s leaning in and bringing their lips together. First tenderly and then with growing passion. Within seconds, it’s grown into something more, and then Raffi is shifting and sliding onto Seven’s lap, straddling her.
“Now, do I get to undress you?” Seven teases as she lifts her mouth to Raffi’s ear and nips.
“You think we can be seen out here?” Raffi asks, dropping her mouth to Seven’s collarbone.
Seven peers out over the balcony.“Not unless someone out on the Bay has binoculars.”
“Well, if they do, I hope they enjoy the show,” Raffi chuckles as she nips Seven’s collarbone, delighting in the fierce shiver she feels radiating out and across Seven’s lean body.
“Raff -“
“Nuh uh. Stop overthinking with that beautiful brain of yours and just undress me, love.”
There’s one more pause - less than a second (Seven most certainly could time it to the partial) and then Seven is pressing forward again, kissing Raffi even as her hands move to the hem of Raffi’s tank, her fingers pulling at the fabric and lifting it up and then over Raffi’s head.
Everything outside of them fades away after that.
She’s always abhorred quiet, but right now, in this moment, studying the sharply dress-uniform clad version of herself in front of the half-mirror in Raffi’s bathroom, she’s thankful for a few seconds of it as she prepares herself for what’s to come over the next few hours.
In less than sixty minutes, she’ll be standing in the middle of a giant theatre, surrounded by her new crew and every single high-ranking member of Starfleet brass who is on Earth.
Including Admiral Janeway.
She knows she shouldn’t be nervous; she and the admiral are on fine, if somewhat distant, terms. Janeway had been visibly touched when Seven had haltingly, nervously asked her to be the one to officially commission her former charge during the promotion ceremony.
But, there’s always anxiety there - fear that she’s somehow let her mentor down. That even after all this time and all the work she’s done on and for herself, she’s still not good enough.
She knows what Raffi would say to that - knows Raffi would scoff at the idea of Seven letting anyone down. Especially today. But well, old fears, insecurities and anxieties die hard.
Her thoughts are mercifully (or not, depending on your POV) interrupted by a beep-beep from her pocket communicator. Stepping out of the bathroom, she picks it up, flicks two buttons on the display and then looks up to the screen on the wall where she’s sent the incoming call. It flashes and then shows the smiling face of Jean-Luc Picard. “Admiral,” she greets.
“Ah, I see you’re just about ready.”
“I am. Was there something you needed?”
“Is Raffi with you?”
Seven glances behind her, back towards their shared bed, seeing only a heaped bundle of blankets and a spray of tousled hair. “She’s still sleeping.”
“Perhaps now is a good time to start waking her up,” he chuckles wryly. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how stubborn she is about getting up and moving.”
“You do not,” Seven replies, the same bemusement in her tone as his. He’d served with Raffi for many years - both in Starfleet and on the La Sirena - and has abundant knowledge of the mercurial intelligence officers’ dislike of “mornings” and the whole "waking up” process.
Over time, Seven has learned a few different - creative - ways to get Raffi going.
None of those ways are quite appropriate - nor timely - right now.
“Well, get her up,” he instructs, always the one giving out direction. “And then… if you’re amenable to it, I would welcome the honor of getting to escort you to your ceremony.”
Seven says nothing for a moment, her mind whirling with overwhelming emotion.
She hears (and doesn’t hear) soft footsteps behind her. It’s the arms sliding around her waist, and then the chin on her shoulder that breaks her out of the freeze. She hears Raffi say, “I’m up, JL and - “ she adjusts her head so she’s finding Seven’s eyes. “We’d both love that.”
“Seven?” Picard prompts; not because he doesn’t believe Raffi here (the eye contact the two women had made suggests to him that in the space of half a second, they’d had a full conversation) but because he wants to ensure that this is something Seven actually wants.
This is her day and he better than anyone else understands the power of what’s to come.
“It would be my honor, Admiral,” Seven states, still looking at Raffi. She’s relieved to note that Raffi, often nude climbing out of bed, is wearing shorts and a Starfleet Athletics tee-shirt.
No need to make the Old Man blush.
“Good. Then I will see you both down by the cafe in say…twenty minutes.”
“Can you be ready in twenty?” Seven queries, glancing over at Raffi. Her lover looks as unkempt as she’s ever seen her; her wild blonde curls going in every direction.
“Absolutely,” Raffi promises.
“Excellent,” Picard claps. “Then I will see you both there.” The screen flashes off after that.
“Oh, it’s a shame you’re already dressed,” Raffi says as she nuzzles into Seven’s neck. “I believe it’s my turn to get to undress you…and you could have joined me in the shower.”
“Which would have done nothing for ensuring we get out of here in twenty minutes.”
“No, probably not,” Raffi agrees, then drops a light kiss to Seven’s shoulder before stepping back and making her way into the bathroom, the door closing behind her.
“Hey, you okay?” Raffi asks as they walk towards the massive building at the center of Starfleet Headquarters. It contains the largest theatre on campus, which is already an overwhelming realization. That so many people - some whom most certainly still see her as more Borg than Human - will be there to watch her officially ascend to the Captain’s seat is…unsettling.
But, she reminds herself, she’s not alone.
Raffi is walking on one side of her and Picard is on the other.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Seven states. Because she is - this is just a ceremony. Nothing more.
But then Picard says, “Oh, so, I might have a bit of a surprise.”
“JL,” Raffi warns, glancing over at Seven’s face, noticing the tension there. Seven has never been one for surprises - mostly because few of those surprises have been kind to her.
“Don’t worry,” he promises with a soft chuckle. “I think you’ll like this one.”
Seven says nothing, just keeps letting Raffi and Picard lead her forward.
It feels foolish to be as incredibly anxious as she is - she’s already showed off her leadership abilities and this is merely a ceremonial formality; it effectively means very little. Right?
She feels Raffi’s hand slip into hers, hears, “I’m here.”
She nods. Squeezes back. Takes a deep breath to try to quiet her brain.
Because apparently, it means a lot.
They stop just outside the door to the theater.
“It’s time,” Raffi says, glancing up at the digital read-out just above the door.
“Ready?” Picard asks, offering his arm.
“You don’t have to do this,” she tells him. “I can walk in on my own.”
“Of course you can, but humor an old man his indulgent pride,” Picard responds.
“Best to just go with it,” Raffi teases. “He’ll keep after you until you do.”
“I know,” Seven concurs and then takes his arm. It’s not a usual pose for her; she’s never needed anyone to escort her in any way, but recognizing the spirit it’s intended in - as pseudo fatherly support in the way in which Jean-Luc has always been most comfortable with - she surrenders to it and allows the Admiral to walk her into the insanely packed main theatre.
Her pulse quickening, her eyes immediately flicker back, like she’s looking for Raffi.
“Here,” she hears Raffi - who is trailing a few steps behind them - say, her voice quiet.
They reach the front of the room together, and then Raffi breaks off, moving to sit in the front row seat which had been reserved for her by the rest of the crew of the Enterprise-G. They don’t yet know that she is likely to be their incoming First Officer, but they know what she means to their new Captain and for this crew, so loyal and adoring of Seven that it makes Raffi’s heart swell with joy and pride for her lover, that’s more than enough for them to bring her in close.
Eyes on Seven, she watches as Picard leads her - almost like a father walking his daughter down the aisle - to where Admiral Janeway is standing at the front of the room.
“Admiral,” Seven greets, the tension in her voice easy for Raffi to pick up.
“Commander,” Janeway replies, a curiously amused if slightly fond smile on her face. Then, turning her attention to Picard, she says, “Admiral.”
“Admiral,” he replies and Raffi can’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. “She’s all yours.”
Ensign Esmar leans over to Raffi, “You’re dating her, right? Not Admiral Janeway?”
Raffi just shakes her head in exasperation. “Starfleet Admirals and their bullshit,” she mutters. And that’s just the ridiculous truth; she’s fairly certain you can’t get promoted to Admiral unless you have a weird penchant for hope speeches and make everything insanely melodramatic.
Including promotion ceremonies.
Or maybe especially those, Raffi thinks as JL sits on the other side of her.
Turning her attention back to the front, she sees Janeway extract a small box, opening it up to show a single gleaming, silver pip. “Commander Seven,” Janeway starts, her voice loud and clear. “For your extraordinarily heroic actions and exceptional under-fire leadership while under fire in the field - actions which saved the lives of countless millions - and for your unwavering commitment to your crew and the ideals of the Federation, it is my tremendous pleasure as both a representative of Starfleet Command and as your first Captain, to grant you promotion to the rank of Captain effective immediately.” She holds up her hand, as if to remind the audience not to clap you. Lifting up the box with the pip in it, she says to Seven, “May I?”
Seven glances over at Raffi, who lifts her chin as if to nudge her forward.
“Is there someone else you’d rather have do this?” Janeway queries, her voice dropping low.
One more glance over at Raffi and then Seven turns back. “This is…good.”
Janeway smiles, like she recognizes the clipped syntax Seven had used; like it’s familiar. She says, “Very well. Hold still; I’ll try not to stab you.”
Seven doesn’t reply to that, just waits, feeling the intense way her heart is hammering.
Behind her, Raffi leans towards a worried looking Esmar and explains, her voice too low to be overheard, “Your Captain is fine; she just doesn’t like being the center of attention.”
True, Seven thinks, her enhanced hearing picking up Raffi’s voice.
She feels Janeway hands on the collar of her uniform, feels fingers adjusting and manipulating the area where her three other silver pips are attached. She hears a tiny, soft snap as the fourth in pushed into place. And then she feels the way the air moves as Janeway steps back.
“Congratulations, Seven,” Janeway says, taking Seven’s hand in hers.
“Thank you…Kathryn.”
Releasing her hand, Janeway then turns to the audience and announces, “I have the great honor to present Captain Seven of Nine, the new commanding officer of the U.S.S Enterprise-G.”
As the crowd breaks out into applause, Raffi leans towards JL and says, “She hates this.”
“I know she does,” he agrees. “But after all that Seven has been through in her life; after all that she has survived, she deserves to be seen for who and what she actually is.”
“Yes, she does,” Raffi states and then joins the applause.
“There,” Raffi states as Seven finally enters the ballroom with Janeway. She can see the exhaustion in Seven’s eyes; she’s spent the last two hours talking to and getting congratulated by every member of the brass who had previously looked at her like she was a vicious dog.
Chances are, some of them still see her that way, but they know they need her.
And well, everyone likes a photo op.
It’s a tremendous emotional drag, though, and the proof of that is all over Seven’s face.
“Aren’t you going to go over to her?” Picard asks. Having no need to be introduced to Seven, he had happily excused himself early from the awkward meet and greets.
“Yes,” Raffi nods and doesn’t move.
“Ah,” Picard nods, entirely too knowingly.
“Ah, what, JL? What do you think you know this time?”
“I know you’re worried about Admiral Janeway. On account of you having stalked her.”
Raffi rolls her eyes and mutters, “It wasn’t stalking.”
He chuckles. “Well don’t worry; I took the liberty of speaking to her in advance.”
“Did you now?” Raffi replies, her eyes tracking Seven and Janeway moving through the room, continuing to accept congratulations and good wishes from high-ranking strangers. If she feels a flash of jealousy, it’s mostly because this seems like moment she’s supposed to be part of.
But maybe that’s not the case. Maybe -
“I thought it best if the Admiral knew who Seven was involved with. So that when she does see you, she’s not alarmed. She was…curious about the relationship, but willing to let the past go.”
“How very noble and generous of her,” Raffi drawls. “It still wasn’t stalking.”
“Go,” he urges. “She’d prefer you at her side.”
“You really think so?”
“Considering what you told me earlier about her asking you to join her crew, I’d say it’s rather certain that she wants you with her in this journey,” Picard assures her.
“Can you help with that? Me on the crew, I mean?”
“I think I have certain favors I’d be happy to call in,” he chuckles. “Now go.”
She nods her head jerkily and then stands. After a deep breath, she crosses the room, walking past rows and groups of officers in dress uniform. She hears a familiar voice chirp, “Raffi.”
She turns sharply, eyes widening in surprised joy when she sees the youthful face of her former Romulan charge. It’s been almost a year since they’ve seen each other and yet he looks exactly, wonderfully, the same. “Elnor? What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Raffi,” the young officer says, his smile as broad and guileless as usual. “Picard called; said we needed to be here for Seven. So we are.” He gestures behind him to where Soji is.
“Guys!” Raffi practically yells and then she’s surging towards them, hugging them both.
When she steps back, she says, “Okay, look, I really want so much to stay and catch up, but I’ve been trying to make my way over to Seven -“
“Go on,” Elenor prompts. “We’ll be here.”
“Just…stand by. I’ll bring her over,” Raffi promises.
“We look forward to it,” Soji says.
Raffi grins again, and then spins and continues her way towards where Seven and Janeway are standing talking to two diplomats, Seven’s stiff pose showing off her awkward discomfort.
She waits until the men step away and then approaches. “Hi,” she greets, so deeply affectionate and fond.
Seven and Janeway turn towards her and Raffi sees just a flash of curious wariness from the Admiral before Seven is stepping forward and gently pressing their lips together. It doesn’t last long - maybe two seconds - and it’s probably the most chaste kiss they’ve ever had - but it makes the proud and loud statement Seven clearly intends it to. “Hi,” Seven echoes. And then moves back, gesturing with her hand towards Raffi, “Admiral, I’d like to introduce you to -“
Suddenly anxious about exactly how Seven is going to introduce her (which is absurd considering Seven had just kissed her in front of the entire room, but somehow Janeway ups the stakes), she cuts in, affecting a professional tone (she hopes), “Commander Raffaela Musiker.” She extends her hand to Janeway, hoping that it could be as simple as this.
“Commander Musiker,” Janeway says, taking her hand and squeezing ever-so-slightly. “It’s good to see you on this side of the formal assembly.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Raffi concurs and ignores Seven’s curious gaze. Seven most certainly knows about the line in her file talking about stalking Janeway, but it’s never come up between them.
“Well, then, Seven,” Janeway notes, turning to face her old protege. “I think perhaps we have a lot more to talk about than I was lead to believe.”
Raffi winces at that because all of that sounds like parental disapproval to her.
Which, well, Jae’s mother had hated her (“Momma hates all my girls, Raffi; don’t pay it any mind,”) so it’s not really that hard to believe that another mentor would dislike her as well.
Maybe they see only the addict. The fuck-up. The wash-out who has to keep getting chances.
Maybe -
“Raffi and I would be happy to have dinner with you,” Seven replies. “At your convenience.”
Janeway smirks at that and nods. “That would be lovely,” she answers. Then, turning to Raffi, “Commander, I have spent the last three hours on my feet forcing myself to be polite to blowhards; I believe as Seven’s significant other, that responsibility now falls to you, instead.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Raffi replies again.
“Seven, did you not tell her?”
“Tell me what?”
“She can’t stand being called ma’am. She prefers Cap - Admiral instead.”
“Oh,” Raffi blinks. “Well, yes Admiral, then.”
“That’ll do,” Janeway chuckles and then she reaches out to Seven’s arm and squeezes it. “Enjoy your time with the brass. But don’t leave before finding me. I have a surprise for you.”
“Okay,” Seven agrees and then watches as Janeway walks away. To Raffi, she says, her voice as low as possible, “I’m about done with surprises. I still don’t know what Picard’s was.”
“I do,” Raffi tells her and then points over to where Seven and Soji are standing.
“Oh. Oh,” Seven says and for the first time all evening, she’s really smiling. “I…like this one.”
“Thought you might.” Raffi tucks her hand into Seven’s and urges, “Let’s go say hi.”
The night seems to go on forever.
It’s minute after minute, hour after hour of being pulled into annoying conversations.
“They’re fascinated with me,” Seven says as they finally extract from another interaction that had turned into some bizarre kind of question and answer session about her Borg nature.
“Cretins,” Raffi replies, her patience short. It’s the stupidity she keeps hearing and it’s the objectification and dehumanization of Seven, but it’s also how tense Seven is. All night, Seven has done an excellent job of trying to control her compulsive need to run away from large groups of people and intense conversations, but the effort is clearly exhausting her.
“Upside is, I think we’ve pretty much worked the room. We can leave whenever we’d like.”
“We can?” Seven queries, head cocked in curiosity. She’s never quite wrapped her mind around rules of decorum and etiquette for events like this. Sure, she knows the written and historical ones, but that’s done little to help her when she’s actually in the situation herself.
Because rules have a way of changing and adapting to the flow of humanity.
Something she’s still trying to do after all this time.
But Raffi…well Raffi always get it. “We can. We’ve observed the basic social rules and smiles our faces off. We’ve played nice all evening and said hi to everyone. Now…we can go.”
“Finally,” the blonde sighs. “I could really use a drink.”
“I know, but -“
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“But,” Raffi continues, mildly amused at Seven’s exhausted petulance. “We promised the Admiral that we’d find her before we left. And since I’m trying not to be hated by your… whatever the hell she is to you, I think we should do that. And then we can go home and -“ she suggestively wriggles her eyebrows, too tired herself to even bother with subtlety.
“Fine. Five minutes.”
“Five minutes,” Raffi agrees. “Because I have such plans for you.”
Seven blushes.
It doesn’t happen often; she’s too controlled and cynical for random displays of romanticism and getting embarrassed is something she very rarely is.
But this? This is both of those things and so much more.
Raffi leans across and lightly kisses her.
Against Seven’s lips, she says so very quietly, “I can’t wait to undress you.”
Seven exhales.
Five minutes.
Five minutes would have worked if they were just saying goodbye, but…Janeway has her surprise. Peacocking in that way that only she can, Admiral Janeway leads them to a quiet space at the far back of the ballroom, and then removes her PADD from inside of her coat. She then says, “I admit - well, you know - I haven’t always understood the choices you’ve made or the paths you’ve taken, and I’m not sorry that you finally made your way back here, but I want you to know that I have always been proud of you. We have always been proud.”
She taps a key on her PADD twice and then, suddenly the entire screen fills up with smiling faces. Faces familiar as the air she breathes to Seven, Raffi knows these people - these crewmates from Seven’s time on Voyager - only from holo-photos Seven has.
For Raffi, they’re stories.
But for Seven, they’re family and the smile she’d shown before - with Soji and Elenor - it grows even larger as her eyes skip across the screen to see the Doctor, Harry, Naomi, B’Elanna and Tom. Even Chakotay is there (and they haven’t spoken in almost twenty years). Seven looks up at Janeway then, wide-eyed and so incredibly, deeply, touched that she’s rendered mute.
Janeway just smiles at her in return.
Everything as it should be.
“Well, that was pure fucking hell,” Seven exclaims, the moment they’re back inside of Raffi’s apartment. Almost immediately, she starts pulling at her dress uniform, trying to strip it away.
“Wait,” Raffi orders and then crosses over to her. “Mine.” And then slowly, with nimble fingers, she starts to unbutton, unbuckle and unzip Seven’s uniform. While she is, she pushes back lightly on Seven’s words, “I thought you were having a good time. At the end, at least.”
“I was. It was nice to see everyone and -“ she hisses as Raffi places a soft kiss against her now exposed collarbone. “This is not undressing me. Not technically, anyway.”
“Isn’t it?” Raffi contests. “I’m removing your clothes. No one said I couldn’t detour.”
“No, no one said that,” Seven agrees, dropping her head back.
“Anyway, go on,” Raffi prompts. “I can do two things - or more - at once.”
“What am I talking about?”
Raffi smirks. “Why tonight was hell. Well, outside of this.”
Seven allows a short laugh. “You really want to ruin a good moment with conversation?”
“Mm. We have more than a moment, babe; we have all night. And so much more. So talk.”
Seven sighs. Putting a hand out to slow Raffi down, she threads their fingers together and then leads Raffi over to the couch. Thankfully, still mostly dressed, she turns to face her lover, reaching out to pull Raffi’s legs onto her lap, her fingers immediately moving to massage the strong calf muscles there (Raffi had long ago recognized this particular action as a stress release valve for Seven; a way of occupying her hands while her mind continues to spin in wild circles). “I hate pretending,” Seven finally says. "Most of the people there tonight, they hate what I am and they will always hate what I am. I’m not a person to them, I’m a thing.”
“They’re short-sighted blowhard shitheads,” Raffi helpfully provides.
“Definitely true, but I guess I would have thought that after half the fleet got temporarily assimilated, Starfleet might have learned some nuance about the whole thing.” She shakes her head. “But for them, that wasn’t real assimilation and it doesn’t change that I remind them of their enemy.”
“And yet, regardless of what they think, you’re about to command one of the most important ships in the entire fleet. And you have a whole crew eager to stand behind you in that.”
“Which means…” Seven stops massaging Raffi’s leg, her eyes jumping rapidly side to side as she tries to figure out exactly what she’s trying to say here. Finally, “It means everything. Just like having you there with me today meant…Raff, I don’t have the right words for it, but -“
“I know. Believe me, I know and there’s nowhere else I would have rather been than right beside you,” Raffi tells her, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of Seven’s face, her lips grazing lightly over the eyebrow implant there. “So,” she continues. “About Janeway. How was that?”
Seven resumes her kneading of Raffi’s calf. “Strange. It’ll always be strange with her.”
“Because you want her to be proud of you.” A statement, not a question and she thinks of her father - so long gone now, but one of her biggest influences growing up.
She’d spent most of her youth and early career trying to make him proud of her. But it had never quite been enough and every time he’d said, “That was good, but -“ she’d felt it.
“That and because I think in some ways, she will always see me as the confused and emotionally damaged drone she rescued from the Collective. Never quite…human.”
“Oh, honey,” Raffi murmurs and then leans forward to press their foreheads together.
She thinks to push on Seven’s feelings on Janeway, thinks to try to explain the fraught nature of complicated (even pseudo) parent-child relationships (which she now understands from both sides of the coin), but the moment feels wrong for that; Seven’s feelings about Janeway are too contradictory and messy to be easily worked through in one evening. Or even several.
So that will have to wait for another time.
For now, there’s just this moment and the two of them.
“What about you and Janeway?” Seven prompts.
Raffi laughs. “That’s a story for another night. But it wasn’t stalking. She’s just a pain.”
“That she is,” Seven agrees. After a few seconds, she asks, “Did I do good today?”
Her words made almost childish thanks to her anxiety.
So unlike the usually stoic and confident former Ranger.
And yet so very relatable.
“Baby, you were perfect,” Raffi murmurs and then she’s reaching forward and continuing her journey with her hands, slowly peeling away Seven’s dress uniform.
Seven lets out a soft sigh of contentment and pulls Raffi into her lap. And then, happily indulging in the safety and adoration of her partner, she lets the night turn to day.
“If we don’t stop, both of us are going to be late,” Raffi murmurs as she drops her head back to the pillow, her eyes closing as the blonde woman above her continues to kiss her throat.
“Mm, I’m the Captain now,” Seven replies, running her teeth over skin. “I can be late.”
Raffi laughs and then pushes up, causing Seven to tumble off of her and then onto the ground, her body - butt first - smacking against the rug-covered metal deck-plates with a thud.
“Nope,” Raffi chirps and then she’s up and out of their bed, naked as the day she was born and pretty goddamned glorious, as far Seven is concerned. Disappearing into the bathroom, Raffi calls back to her, “I know you, babe; in about thirty seconds, your anal-retentive brain is going to kick in and realize we’re both due on duty in twenty minutes and there’s not enough time to shower, get dressed, and grab some breakfast. Unless you do everything all at once.”
Seven scowls, “That would be illogical.”
“Wildly illogical. And yet if anyone could find a way to do and do it perfectly,” Raffi answers with a laugh, popping back into the room for half a second. “It would be you.”
Seven’s about to argue but then her brain starts whirling and she actually can see a few ways that she could do all of that at once and - she coughs. “Hurry up in the shower.”
“You could have showered a half hour ago,” Raffi calls back, her voice muffled by the whirl of the sonic shower (Seven’s hearing can detect that Raffi has the waves set on high; too hard of a concentration for Seven, she knows that Raffi has always a stronger pulse for her muscles). “Instead, you decided you wanted to stare at me like a weirdo. And then wake me up.”
“I didn’t hear you complaining,” Seven notes.
“Why would I?” Raffi asks, appearing in the doorway again, still naked. “Come over here.”
“If I shower with you, we’re definitely going to be late.”
“I’ll behave.”
“That would be a first,” Seven drawls and then moves forward, stepping right into Raffi's arms and her tight embrace. “Hey, I’m okay,” Seven assure her.
“I know you are,” Raffi assures her. “But it’s day one of Captain Seven; it’s my job to make sure my woman feels well supported.” She kisses a spot just under Seven’s ear. “Do you?”
“Your woman, huh?”
"Oh, yes." Raffi tugs on her ear with her teeth. “Do you? Feel well supported?” She repeats.
“I do,” Seven breathes out. “But if you don’t stop doing that, I’m changing my answer to no, because then it’ll be obvious you’re trying to make us late for our shifts.”
Raffi laughs - open, honest, easy - and it makes Seven’s heart surge with adoration for this woman who still has her arms wrapped around her. How far they’ve come, she thinks.
Because they’re them and complicated almost beyond the telling of it, they will always have complex roads to travel to ensure their relationship is working, but for the moment, Seven allows herself to indulge in all that is Raffi - her joy, her energy and her unbreakable faith.
“Fine, I’ll shower by myself,” Raffi states and then she’s moving away, grinning as she disappears back into the bathroom.
Seven pauses for just a few seconds (one point zero-three-five-two, to be exact) and then she’s following after Raffi, rationalizing that it does make more sense to do this together.
Most things do.
Stepping into the shower, as naked as Raffi is, she pulls the younger woman close to her, brings their bodies and mouths together and then lets the sonic waves do their job.
A few times, actually, but who’s counting (she is, but that’s not the point).
The afterwards is a rush, and grabbing breakfast will have to wait, but it’s worth it.
Every single moment of this chaotic, beautiful, amazing life, Seven realizes as she gazes over at Raffi, watching as her new First Officer dresses herself in Starfleet yellow, is worth it.
Every single moment.
She records her first personal log as Captain and then flicks the computer screen off, standing up to cross over towards the bed. Raffi is already tucked under the blankets, seemingly asleep.
It’d been a long (but wonderful) day for both of them.
Gently, so as not to wake Raffi, Seven climbs into the bed.
“Mm, my favorite Captain,” she hears, and apparently her efforts had been in vain.
“Hi,” Seven chuckles. “Sorry; go back to sleep.”
“I will,” Raffi nods sleepily. “But I want to feel you.”
Seven traces her fingers down Raffi’s jaw. “Feel me.”
“Skin on skin.”
“We did that this morning.”
“Not that,” Raffi says, rolling to face her. “You.”
“I don’t -“
“No clothes.”
“Oh,” Seven says, finally understanding the request. “Raff -“
“Honey, I’ve touched every inch of you. With every inch of me. I've taken more showers that weren't actually showers with you than I can count. You really think I don’t know how many of your implants still show on your body? You really think I care?”
“I -“
“If you don’t want to, that’s fine. Really, it’s fine. But, if you’re up for it…if you're okay with it?"
“Are you sure? It’s a lot. There’s a lot.”
It seems absurd to continue pushing on this considering how many times Raffi has touched her, but she can still remember the disgust in Jay’s eyes the first time she’d undressed.
And she can still remember Jay insisting she never come to bed fully unclothed. "I don't want to be reminded that I'm sleeping with a machine, Annika."
"Seven," Raffi whispers, pulling the Captain from her thoughts. “I'm very sure that want to sleep beside you. All of you.”
Seven lets out a sharp breath and then slowly peels away her shorts and tank, leaving her as naked as Raffi is. There’s a pause then as she waits for Raffi’s to fully take her in.
As she waits to see disgust in Raffi’s eyes.
But what she sees is Raffi smiling back at her. “You are so beautiful, Seven.”
“Raff -“
“Come to bed, love. We have a busy day tomorrow.” She holds out her hand.
Seven takes it without hesitation, letting Raffi pull her in close.
Feeling the warm contact of skin-on-skin.
She exhales.
former Drone-now Captain Seven of Nine has always struggled with the quiet. She thinks that she always will.
The feeling like it’s temporary and only hiding something awful.
And she’s struggled with the often intense solitude of it; the loneliness of it.
Now, though, as she wraps her arms around Raffi and feels how warm Raffi’s bare skin is against her own, she thinks maybe she finally gets it.
A difficult lesson for sure, but a worthy one.
She knows that quiet will never be something she gravitates towards - old anxieties die hard and perhaps never - but maybe it’s something she can learn to be at peace with.
Perhaps, with time and patience, she can learn to enjoy the beauty of simple, quiet, peaceful moments.
"Moments like this," she thinks and pulls Raffi even closer.
With one more gentle kiss to Raffi's shoulder, closes her eyes, thinks,"For us," and lets the quiet take her.
/fin