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In her preoccupation, she did not notice the sound of approaching footsteps and had no time to sidestep when she rounded the corner and ploughed directly into something solid.
Seven of Nine maintained her footing with a swift step backwards, the person she had walked into was not so lucky. There was an abrupt yelp as her assailant hit the floor with a muffled thud, and Seven blinked down. She had been so engrossed in her own thoughts that it took her a moment to process what had happened.
“You should be more aware of your surroundings,” said Seven. She had not meant it to come out the way it did, and she blamed her distraction for her rudeness.
The human on the floor let out a huff of amusement. “I wasn’t the only one not looking where I was going, honey.”
The term of endearment caught Seven off guard. She watched silently as the woman rolled onto her knees and then pushed herself to her feet with a quiet oof. Belatedly, Seven realised she should have offered her a hand up.
“Are you damaged?” asked Seven.
The woman breathed in deeply, and brushed a smear of dirt from her trousers. She straightened her shirt; yellow. “I’m okay,” she said, after a moment of what appeared to be self-reflection. “How about you?”
“I am not injured,” said Seven.
If the grin that crossed the woman’s face was anything to go by then, something about that sentence had amused her. Evoking that reaction was something Seven had become accustomed to in her time on Voyager, but she always felt a little unsettled knowing she had caused amusement without knowing why. Humour was not something she excelled in, and in her experience it was not always kind. Especially when it was directed at her.
“Well I’m glad that’s settled then.”
“Yes,” said Seven, not sure what else to say.
“I’m Raffi, by the way,” said the woman. Said Raffi. “Lieutenant Musiker,” she then added, “if you wanna be formal.” She raised her hands and tucked a few golden curls behind her ears. Perhaps they had come loose when she had fallen.
“I am Seven of Nine,” said Seven of Nine, though she was certain Lieutenant Musiker knew exactly who she was. She was the only Borg aboard Voyager.
“Seven of Nine,” Lieutenant Musiker repeated softly. Seven had the strangest feeling that she was being sized up, but Musiker smiled at her and Seven could not help but relax a fraction. It was always difficult to know how a crew member she had never met before would react to the presence of a Borg. By most she had been accepted, and in some cases even welcomed, as a resident of Voyager, but there were some who still eyed her with suspicion. She did not blame them. “Well, Seven of Nine, I’m sorry I bumped into you. I’ll be more careful next time.”
“I was equally to blame,” said Seven. Now the initial surprise had worn off, she was willing to accept her own part in this mishap.
“I forgive you,” said Musiker, her smile widening. “You were in a hurry.”
“Yes,” said Seven, though hurry was perhaps not the right word. Something had fueled her haste, but the emotion was hard to put her finger on.
“Nothing I need to worry about, right? Ship’s not in danger? I don’t need to secure the plants in my office?”
“Plants?” Seven asked, rather stupidly.
“I’m still cleaning dirt up from the floor after that last shoot out with the Hirogens,” said Musiker. She clicked her tongue. “I really should get around to strapping them down or something.”
Seven paused. “You are an intelligence officer,” she said, casting her mind over what she knew from Voyager’s manifest. While she knew the name, designation and duties of everyone on board, she could not always attribute a face to those names. “Do you also have an interest in agriculture?”
“An interest in agriculture is putting it a bit strongly,” said Musiker, a small frown pulling down at her lips. Seven watched them for a moment. “I have - had I guess, because I doubt anyone is taking care of it now - a little garden back home. Nice to have a little piece of it here with me, you know?” Seven did not know. “And it’s nice to have something to take care of.”
That was something Seven could relate to. “The crew often requires care.” Her words did not quite convey her meaning, but Musiker seemed to understand anyway.
Musiker chuckled, and there was an edge to it that Seven could not place. “The plants are less likely to complain than the crew.”
Instinctively, Seven nodded, because that was also something she could relate to. Agriculture was not something that fell within her areas of interest, but she could see the merit of assigning oneself a task that came with no expectations from another. Though, she assumed that the Doctor would have a lot of opinions and advice if Seven did decide to replicate a houseplant for her regeneration unit.
She realised then that she had not spoken for a significant amount of time, but when she met Musiker’s eyes, she did not seem perturbed by it. In fact, she still seemed faintly amused by the whole conversation. Seven began to wonder if that was Musiker’s natural state of being or if it was something about Seven herself that kept her entertained.
“Your plants are not in danger,” she said. “Nor is Voyager.”
“My chillies will be thrilled to hear they’ll live to fight another day,” said Musiker.
“You converse with your plants?”
“Sometimes it’s the only way I can be sure I’ll have at least one intelligent conversation in a cycle.”
Seven raised an eyebrow. “I understand the sentiment but question your methodology.”
Musiker laughed, and her dark eyes seemed to sparkle beneath the bright lights of the hallway. It had not been Seven’s intention to make her laugh, but she was glad to have done so. “If you’d spent time in my department you’d understand how limited my options are and take pity on me and my creative methodology.”
It was true that Seven had never ventured towards the small offices that housed the ship’s intelligence officers. There was little information, she imagined, that the Delta Quadrant had to offer that she had not already assimilated during her time with the Borg. Perhaps she would journey down there at some point and assess their efficiency. Perhaps she could even offer Raffi Musiker her assistance while she was there. She surely possessed information that an intelligence officer would find of use.
“I am an intelligent conversationalist.”
That had not come out the way she had meant it. Before she could clarify her train of thought, Musiker had nodded, still that silly little smile on her face that had changed shape an improbable number of times during their conversation. Did they all mean different things or did they simply signify the strength of emotion changing?
“I wouldn’t doubt that for a second, honey. Not sure you’d get as much out of talking to Ursula and Octavia as I do though.”
“Ursula and Octavia are your plants,” said Seven, after a moment of consideration. She saw no value in the naming of inanimate objects, but Musiker was not the first member of Voyager’s crew to do so. B’Elanna named her favourite tools after engineers she admired, though she only called them that when she believed she was out of earshot of the rest of the crew. People often forgot Seven’s Borg enhanced hearing.
“Already proving that intelligent conversationalist comment,” said Musiker.
Seven should have felt like she was being made fun of, but somehow she did not. Perhaps there was more to compatibility than she and the Doctor had earlier discussed. There were several factors they had not taken into account when selecting a partner and-
“Anyway,” said Musiker, “I guess I’ll let you get back to whatever it is you were rushing towards.”
Seven’s mind went blank. She did not want the conversation to end. It was not what she and the Doctor had decided but-
“Dinner!”
Musiker blinked and Seven felt heat rush to her cheeks. Her heart beat jumped irregularly and she tried to force her body into calm. She was only partially successful.
“I mean-” She cleared her throat. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”
Musiker’s - Raffi’s - eyebrows shot up and her mouth formed a perfect circle as she let out a soft, “Oh.”
“Tonight,” Seven clarified.
“Like on a date or like ‘for the good of Voyager you’re checking I’m not actually insane’? Because I was only joking about the plant thing. Well, no, I wasn’t, but…”
“On a date,” said Seven. She had gone about this all wrong and she felt horribly exposed. Still she stood, back straight and hands clasped behind her. Though she told herself that Raffi’s answer did not matter, (she had experienced rejection several times on this ship and had lived to tell the tale), she felt her whole body wash with relief when Raffi grinned.
“I’d love to have dinner with you tonight, Seven of Nine.”