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It had been almost two years since the welcome home parties on a planet where Seven hadn’t felt welcome, admirals whose eyes widened in fear and an uncomfortable alliance of physicians and intelligence officers who poked and prodded. Almost two years since Seven had realized it was her humanity, not lingering effects of Borg assimilation, that led her to seek out and gain entry into a group that wasn’t a collective constrained by submission, but instead a gathering of individuals united by a desire to discuss, dissent, and strive for betterment. Almost two years since these new interactions had begun to test Seven’s sense of self, of service, even of syntax. Almost two years since … all that … when B’Elanna beamed aboard the Ranger ship, duffel bag slung over her shoulder and small child on her hip.
“Where,” Seven asked carefully from behind the transporter controls, “is your husband?”
Perhaps not the best question with which to begin again.
The delicate skin around B’Elanna’s eyes twitched, a sort of weary resignation mixed with righteousness that was familiar among Rangers.
“You tell me,” B’Elanna said, annoyance toward a man not there straightening B’Elanna’s back and lifting her chest. “He went on a tour for Starfleet, then took a fellowship in holo-technology that required travel to fifteen different starbases, then started talking about a deep space mission on a ship that doesn’t allow families—even though his daughter has only seen him through a viewscreen since her eyes could focus.”
Perhaps … perhaps Seven should have explained the two images eidetic memory brought to mind upon watching B’Elanna stand unmoving, yet at increasing distance from the past.
The first image was of Earth’s pufferfish, bony marine creatures known for enlarging their size when they perceived danger and returning to their smaller, more natural form when calm. B’Elanna had always been a pufferfish, a certain bristly physicality in anger that could become languid ease in relaxation, a compelling transformation that was helpful to assess purpose, mood, and intent.
The second image was of B’Elanna lit in the blue glow of Voyager’s warp core. Happy. Busy. Bustling. Beautiful. Fluid motions of workspace familiarity and high cheekbones that could have been caressed with a fingertip, the curves of soft lips that Seven could—
Ahem.
“I will show you to your quarters,” Seven said, not a command but an offer that B’Elanna would understand. Friendliness was different on Voyager, and B’Elanna might benefit from a slower verbal transition in a way Seven hadn’t known to expect. “As a new Ranger, you are in the lower habitation ring.”
The ship was a hub for Ranger activity in the sector, a sort of vessel, space station, and docking port in one. Smaller ships constantly arrived and departed, and B’Elanna’s engineering skills would be in demand.
“Thank you.” B’Elanna’s hips shifted and Miral eased down, the child obviously familiar with being held for transport—and with gentle vocalizations from her mother, a tender timbre to B’Elanna’s articulation that was new or perhaps reserved just for Miral: “Hold my hand, baby. Seven will take us to our new home. You’ll get to meet the other children soon, and I’ll bet your teacher will love your drawings.”
Did B’Elanna know that Seven had arranged with the quartermaster for B’Elanna and Miral to live just down the corridor from the schoolroom? A playground was one level up and the gleeful shouts of children often echoed off the bulkheads.
“‘Seven will help us get into the Rangers,’” Miral said in that way of children imitating adult reassurance without understanding context. “‘We’ll be with Seven again and we’ll be happy.’”
Warmth blossomed in Seven’s cheeks, heat spreading to her chest, her stomach, a potential increase her overall body temperature at the information that B’Elanna equated being with Seven with happiness.
Confusing. Good news could be confusing. Why was that? Seeing B’Elanna again was a reminder of an attraction that had seemed unrequited, the tingle on Seven’s lips that used to tempt her to kiss B’Elanna, the humiliation of having inadvertently given in to such desires by biting B’Elanna when Seven’s neural patterns had become chaotic due to the infected Borg vinculum, the need to subsume such feelings given B’Elanna’s relationship, then marriage … obligations that now seemed over?
“That’s right, baby,” B’Elanna said to Miral, no hint of embarrassment. “Seven helped us and here we are.”
Yes. Of course Seven had helped B’Elanna join the Rangers. Everyone needed someone to vouch for them. Hugh had helped Seven, and the Rangers had been good for Seven, really good, a lack of hierarchy within a sense of order as people did their jobs—care for all species through missions that brought medicines, drinking water, and supplies to those who needed them.
B’Elanna had seemed enthusiastic about becoming part of that work, an application of her creative and technical engineering abilities, and Seven’s fingertrip had traced the words in the letters B’Elanna had sent: “promise to more than earn my keep,” “would be honored to be part of something good,” and “missed seeing you every day, believe it or not.”
What would happen when they left the transporter room, though, and interacted with other Rangers? Would B’Elanna understand the person Seven had become here?
It was as if her own shaky breath rattled Seven’s ribs, but Seven’s shoulders squared with certainty. The only way to ascertain needed information was to go through the process of attaining such information.
“Let’s head out, all right?” Seven suggested, the shift to her speaking style no longer bringing the antiquated but effective mental imagery of the rough thunk of a switch along a train track, not anymore. The change now was like a change in attire, her biosuit long since exchanged for slacks and a sweater that could, themselves, be exchanged for workout clothes or an EV suit, a jacket added if the environment was cold or her sweater subtracted to expose her tank top if the environment was warm—whatever was on hand, needed, and comfortable.
Modulating speech to circumstance had become a skill that was on hand, needed, and … mostly comfortable.
B’Elanna’s eyebrows lifted, but B’Elanna was silent, holding her daughter’s hand and following through doors and corridors, Seven’s greetings to other Rangers a necessary part of pointing out the inner and outer docking rings (“Hyia, Pete, how’s the clamp on airlock twelve holding up?”), the armory, the operations center (“If that new scanner is still giving you problems, Vivi, let me know and I’ll run a diagnostic on the whole system.”), the engineering bay (“Chaim, this is B’Elanna. She’ll start work in a few days and she’s gonna be your new favorite, I just know it.”), the mess hall, the bar, the commissary, the gym (“I’ll see you in a few hours for sparring, Gina. Better bring your right hook this time.”), the playground, the school, and, finally, B’Elanna and Miral’s family quarters.
“What,” B’Elanna asked as the door slid closed and Miral ran to look at storage containers sent ahead and stacked by the viewports, “the hell was that?”
“I am unsure to what you are referring,” Seven said, stalling, absolutely sure to what B’Elanna was referring but a moment to decide how to answer the question could be beneficial, as well as provide an opportunity to gauge possible additional reactions from B’Elanna.
“‘Hiya,’ ‘gonna,’ ‘better bring your right hook this time,’” B’Elanna said, imitations similar in proper cadence to Miral’s imitation of B’Elanna, only B’Elanna evidenced confusion. No suggestion of anger or frustration. Moreso … a depth of concern. “Since when do you talk like that, Seven?”
There was the instinct to stall again, to luxuriate in B’Elanna’s questions and care, even as embarrassment for having not been more forthright ached Seven’s cheeks. No, Seven would explain the truth.
“When I first arrived here, people were kind to me but I quickly realized that they found my speech patterns off-putting.” Among the disadvantages of an eidetic memory was near-perfect recall of faces going pale or attempts to hide backward recoils of fright. The reactions were understandable, though. Seven’s precise speech was evidence of previous assimilation the way her visible implants were, but her precise speech was more than that, too. Her precise speech was evidence that previous assimilation continued to affect her mind, and Rangers who feared very little were warranted to fear Borg mentality in their midst. “I am attempting to modulate my vocalizations to ensure others feel comfortable around me.”
Worry twitched B’Elanna’s hand, a tremor as if B’Elanna wanted to reach out, offer compassion.
“I am not troubled by the process,” Seven explained, speaking quickly, stepping back slightly, the skin-tingling desire to be touched by B’Elanna growing stronger, almost frightening in intensity, yet Miral was only a few meters away playing among stacked storage containers. “The mental effort it requires to change my speech patterns has already decreased significantly, and I want … I want this. I want to let my life as a drone become more of a memory, distinct from my life as an xB.”
The term, xB, had proven intensely useful. Hugh had explained how time as a Borg would always affect him, would always affect Seven, would always affect anyone who had been part of the Collective. But new terminology could describe removal from the hive mind, not imprisonment within it. Seven had been human, then a human forced to become Borg, then an individual freed from the Collective: an xB.
“All right,” concern lingered in a waver in B’Elanna’s voice, but hard-won trust continued, “I’m just glad you talk however you like with me.”
“You know it,” Seven said, the self-referential humor of her linguistic shifts landing nicely as B’Elanna chuckled, puffy lips lifting, cheeks rounding, and Seven could keep making B’Elanna laugh like this forever. “I shall, as always, endeavor to keep it real for you. In the interim, I’ll let you unpack and see you soon.”
“Wait,” B’Elanna surged forward, closed the distance between them. “I need … I need to say something. Your joke just now was funny. That joke I made years ago? About the two of us being outcasts together once Voyager got home? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, and it wasn’t funny. Anyway, we’re not outcasts. But we are together and that’s … that’s okay, right? I mean, I’m not cramping your style—with your new words or anything else—by being here?”
Reflections on the past could unintentionally encourage additional reflections on the past. In the almost two years since she had last seen B’Elanna, Seven had enjoyed the benefits of changes to speech patterns and attire … and companionship. The company of other women, actual kisses, not imagined, lovemaking that was instinctive, easy, parted thighs and gasps of delight, a body and mind that had long ago been altered against Seven’s will finding transcendent pleasure in much-wanted breathy murmurs and slip-slides of skin and the trembly spasms of orgasm.
An eidetic memory had the advantage of quick correlation of previous sexual encounters to the present, glances of interest from other women with the way B’Elanna looked at Seven now, dark eyes hopeful, the tip of B’Elanna’s tongue lingering on the bow of that pretty, pretty upper lip that wasn’t bathed in the blue glow of a warp core but in the clear light of a place where Seven and B’Elanna could truly be together.
Should Seven speak to relieve B’Elanna’s worry?
Or would a more … physical display be in order?
Perhaps both.
“B’Elanna,” Seven’s fingers brushed B’Elanna’s cheek, the same cheek Seven had imagined touching on Voyager, the same cheek Seven had bitten when Seven wasn’t herself but the Rangers had allowed Seven to relax into herself in a way that made biting B’Elanna again someday—not yet, not today—as possible as it was appealing, “I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad I can talk with you and you can talk with me. I think you’re going to love being a Ranger, and I think you should teach me how to play hoverball and I should teach you how to play Velocity and I think we should have dinner together a few nights a week and see where things go.”
And, for all the disadvantages and advantages of an eidetic memory, there was no such thing as eidetic foresight.
So, standing there, her fingers playing along B’Elanna’s cheek that was lifting with joy, Seven couldn’t have known what would happen.
That B’Elanna would adapt quickly to the Ranger way of doing things—individualism within the group, thoughtful debate, and a focus on helping instead of hierarchy.
That there would be games of Velocity and hoverball, sweat-dampened workout clothes and B’Elanna’s first Velocity win leading to a celebratory embrace that became a first kiss, soft lips and jagged breaths heavy from exertion, and Seven’s heartbeat would be so fast, so fast, so fast, yet soaring with hope and excitement.
That there would be dinners and laughter and one night, after Miral had gone to sleep, a lingering dark-eyed stare and a rumbly growl and a bite to Seven’s cheek, pleasure-pain that would sting with the ache of love, and a tumble into B’Elanna’s bed with the door locked and the mattress arcing under the bliss of togetherness.
That B’Elanna would confess, eyes lowered with embarrassment, that she wasn’t afraid of Seven leaving her, the old fear of desertion had been at its worst before and during B’Elanna’s short-lived marriage, maybe from something deep inside B’Elanna trying to send a message that B’Elanna had been too stubborn to receive. But B’Elanna wasn’t afraid anymore because Seven didn’t yell and Seven didn’t stomp off and Seven listened, truly listened, and B’Elanna wanted to listen, too, because whether Seven spoke formally or informally it was all important, all Seven. And Seven packed a few storage containers that very night and moved in to live with B’Elanna and Miral in the family quarters in the lower habitation ring.
That Miral would draw a picture of herself with one hand holding B’Elanna’s hand and the other hand holding Seven’s hand, and words filled the paper around them—helping all species, Fenris Rangers, warp core maintenance, the best banana pancakes I’ve ever had, diagnostics, my favorite phase compensator, good morning sweet girl, kadis-kot I win, let’s go to the playground, sleep well, time for school, how was your day, fresh strawberries, I love you, I love you, I love you—and when B’Elanna asked, Miral replied, “Because you and Seven talk all the time and always say you love each other and that you love me.”
Yes, Seven couldn’t see into the future, some changes happening slowly, others quickly, almost two years without B’Elanna ending in the transporter room and a lifetime to spend together beginning with Seven’s fingers playing along B’Elanna’s cheek that curved with a smile that was easy to understand without words but B’Elanna said them anyway: “Seven, no matter how you’d say it, I think being with you again just might be one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.”