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Chapter Text

“Captain Janeway’s condition is deteriorating, Lieutenant. I’m afraid if we wait too much longer it may be too late. We must return her to the planet’s surface before her unconsciousness transforms into a coma!”

Seven of Nine listened closely to the Doctor’s words from the other side of the medical bay as he and Lieutenant Tuvok spoke in hushed voices. Ordinarily she would have tuned them out, as her superior hearing had often resulted in unintentional eavesdropping of conversations she’d rather not recall, but this time it was important. They were discussing the captain, who lay silently on a bed a few meters from the computer console at which Seven stood.

“Surely there’s got to be another way to handle this,” came Commander Chakotay’s concerned voice next. Seven silently agreed with him. “We can’t just leave her down there. It’s inhumane.”

“The Captain has already expressed her desire for us to do just that, Commander,” countered Tuvok, his Vulcan intonation–or lack thereof–sending a surprising stab of uncertainty into Seven’s stomach. The feeling was unfamiliar, but brief. “We were given a direct order.”

“This isn’t like the last time,” Chakotay continued, and Seven watched as the dark lines of his tattoo furrowed with his brows. “Last time I was with her. We were asymptomatic. We send her down there in this state, she may never wake up. You can’t seriously be considering–”

“She will certainly never wake up if the two of you cannot make a decision in the next few minutes!” the Doctor cried in exasperation. “Her body can’t take any more of the stimulant. It’s becoming less effective by the dose. We have to leave her on the surface until we can synthesize an alternative to the planet’s naturally-occurring chemicals.”

“What about a stasis pod?” asked the Commander, his eyes wide and hopeful as he glanced between his companions. “Wouldn’t that slow the progression of the disease?”

“In a perfect world, Commander, we would only be prolonging the inevitable,” the Doctor replied, his head shaking in frustration again. “We’ve simply spent too much time deliberating over this and now the stimulants needed to bring her out of any stasis could very well provide the killing blow.”

“Then send me down with her! I’m willing to take that risk!” Chakotay’s body had gone rigid and tense, a touch of red forming in his cheeks.

“The Captain was not , Commander, and she entrusted me with her decision,” Tuvok cut in, his face devoid of all expression as always. “Captain Janeway wants Voyager to see this crew back to Earth, no matter the cost. She was unwilling to lose any other members of the crew to this disease. I cannot betray that trust any more than I can disobey her orders.”

Seven watched as he pivoted to look Chakotay in the eye.

“I am sorry, Commander. This was not my decision, but the Captain’s, and her decision is final.” Tuvok turned back to the Doctor. “I will have Ensign Kim prepare a transport to the planet’s surface with everything the captain will need for her survival. Please ready her for her own transport immediately.”

Chakotay spent a long moment looking between Tuvok and the Doctor before storming toward the door. As he passed the console where Seven stood, he paused.

“Are you going to just stand by and let them do this to our captain?” he demanded, and Seven felt surprise at the antagonism in his voice and the harsh way he stared her in the eye. She raised her optical implant.

“Your dissatisfaction with the Captain’s choice is misdirected. I am no more capable of changing it than you are.”

Chakotay scoffed.

“I don’t believe this,” he snapped, and promptly left Sickbay. She watched him go.

“Seven of Nine,” came Tuvok’s voice from where he now stood beside the unconscious captain’s bed. The ex-Borg left her station and strode up to stand next to him, waiting for his voice to come again. “Is it possible to extend the range of the Captain’s communicator using some of your Borg nanoprobes?”

Without hesitation, Seven nodded.

“I will need some time to make the required improvements, but yes.”

“How much time?”

“12.2734 hours.”

“Very well. We will return Captain Janeway to the surface and stay in low orbit until you have completed the necessary modifications.”

The blonde gave another nod, turning to leave. She thought better of it, however, and rotated back to Tuvok a moment later.

“Lieutenant Tuvok–The Captain has often encouraged me to…speak my mind…when I may disagree with an order or procedure. As…an expression of my human individuality.”

The Vulcan sighed.

“I would like to speak my mind.”

“Go on,” Tuvok issued, raising an eyebrow of his own.

“I believe that Commander Chakotay’s concerns for the Captain’s well being while on the planet’s surface have merit.”

“In what way?”

Nearby, Seven realized the Doctor had paused to listen to their conversation as well.

“I believe it is unwise to leave Captain Janeway alone while Voyager attempts to find a solution. She has confessed on several occasions her difficulty with the solitude she finds aboard the ship. The Captain will suffer without a companion.”

The Vulcan was shaking his head and sighing again.

“I cannot change her decision, Seven,” he replied. “She specifically asked that–”

“I am neither a member of the Voyager crew, nor a human whose life would be adversely affected by never returning to Earth,” Seven interrupted before he could finish. “The Doctor has already demonstrated that my Borg nanoprobes are able to ward off the effects of the planet’s chemicals. I am unlike the other humans on this ship. My life is not threatened by the disease. To allow me to join the Captain on the surface would not be disobeying her orders as it would be to allow another to go in my place.”

“Captain Janeway would not appreciate technicalities such as this being used to circumvent her wishes, Seven. You, of all people, should know that.”

Seven felt the annoying rise of the emotion called anger as it simmered in her chest.

“I am the logical choice, Lieutenant.”

She was right. She knew she was right. Tuvok was a Vulcan, a logical being. He would understand. Her logic was irrefutable.

“Logic is not everything, Seven of Nine. Part of understanding your humanity is to recognize that although the Captain may not have considered the exact scenario you put forth, the intention behind her orders remains the same. To her, you are a member of the Voyager crew, and she would not wish to see you give up your future on her behalf. In fact, it is quite possible that you doing so– you , in particular, Seven–could be the proverbial ‘last nail in her coffin.’”

Seven, confused, knit her brows.

“Explain.”

“You are important to her. There need be no other explanation.”

“This offers further evidence to support my proposed course of action.”

“The answer is no, Seven.”

Tuvok’s words were issued with a finality that set Seven’s only recently discovered anger ablaze. Still, she kept her composure, practicing what Janeway had taught her about the chain of command aboard Voyager. She nodded. Tuvok appeared relieved once she had done so.

“We will beam you down to the planet once you have completed the modifications to the on-board communications array. Once the Captain has regained consciousness you will work with her to test the array from her comm badge. When it is sufficiently functional, we will abide by her wishes and Voyager will depart. Is that understood?”

Her voice was low and irritable, but she answered nonetheless.

“Yes, sir.”

Chapter Text

Kathryn Janeway groaned audibly and held a hand to her forehead as she leaned over the table in the habitat pod. It had been four hours since Tuvok had returned her to the planet and she’d awoken, but the grogginess had yet to completely fade. The Doctor hovered beside her like an insect, skimming the medical tricorder over her and questioning how she was feeling for at least the eleventh time in an hour. Nearby, her Astrometrics officer diligently focused her attention on the modifications she was making on the Captain’s communications badge. When she finished, Kathryn would be able to communicate with Voyager even when they were well out of the ordinary communications range.

“Are you feeling any dizziness or angina?” inquired the Doctor, his tricorder now placed mere inches from the bridge of Kathryn’s nose. She shook her head.

“Weakness or shaking?” he asked.

Again, she shook her head.

“Any ringing in the ears?”

Irritated, she swatted the tricorder away.

“For the last time, Doctor, no , in fact, I am feeling quite fine, thank you!”

The hologram huffed and shoved the tricorder into his pocket.

“I’m truly sorry to bother, Captain,” he muttered, looking offended. “I suppose you can consider yourself fortunate you’ll have no one around to bother you for an indeterminate amount of time.”

A surge of regret hit her in the stomach, and she watched the Doctor as he disappeared into the next room to continue running whatever tests he saw fit. The Captain snatched a nearby mug of coffee and strode over to stand beside Seven of Nine. The ex-Borg did not look up as she approached.

“How’s it coming?” Kathryn asked, her voice raspier and more fatigued than usual. She thought she sensed tension in the younger woman as she worked, although she couldn’t explain why. Her hands were as steady as she connected two pieces on the circuit board of the comm badge, her breathing even and her shoulders no more stiff than usual. Still, there was something off about the normally unemotional Seven of Nine, and Kathryn found herself strangely unnerved.

“My progress is sufficient. I am nearly done.”

“Excellent,” the Captain commented, taking a sip of the coffee, which was fast growing cold. “Remind me again what sort of range I’ll get on this thing?”

Seven placed the badge down onto the surface of the table and appeared to start putting the external components back into place.

“With these modifications, you will have an additional 1.67 Earth months’ worth of communication time, if Voyager maintains its predicted course.”

Kathryn’s eyebrows lifted. The length of time was impressive, and a testament to the blonde’s intelligence and dedication to her craft. In spite of her continuing headache, a smile tugged at the corners of the captain’s lips. Seven’s face angled just slightly enough that Kathryn was sure she must have noticed the gesture, though she gave no direct indication she had. Leaning back from the table, she clapped a hand onto her Astrometrics officer’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Good work Seven. I sure will appreciate that extra time before I have to truly say goodbye to everyone.” As a frown now spread across her face, she felt Seven stiffen under her hand. She released her, and the younger woman straightened, turning to drop the now completed comm badge into her captain’s palm.

“My task is complete.”

Kathryn was surprised by the force of Seven’s words as they struck her, and even more so by the way she brushed her aside to leave the room. Abandoning the mug, Kathryn followed her outside the pod. Seven had crouched down beside the small signal booster she’d brought down from Voyager earlier that day and was tending to some of the components with a bit more force than the Captain suspected was necessary. She observed her for a few seconds, noting that the tension from earlier had intensified. Seven’s movements were strained, even for an ex-Borg. Cautiously, Kathryn approached, but as she reached out a hand again, Seven recoiled and stood. Kathryn crossed her arms over her chest and cocked an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

“Speak your mind, Seven” she said gently when no voice came.

“You are making a mistake, Captain. Allowing Voyager to leave you here alone is a mistake. Our understanding of this planet and its effects on your human physiology is incomplete and unsatisfactory. It is dangerous to leave you here.”

Kathryn sighed, dropping her gaze to the grassy surface beneath their boots.

“As I understand it, Seven, it is even more dangerous to keep me aboard. My health does not suffer so long as I stay here, and there is no risk to the other members of the crew so long as I am not in contact with them. It would seem there is no choice. Can you understand that, Seven? Please try to understand that.”

Kathryn saw Seven’s hands quiver slightly at her sides, and a wave of guilt washed over her. She didn’t want to stay behind any more than the crew wanted her to, but it was necessary. They would stand a better chance of finding a solution without the worry of falling ill to the disease themselves. Just like when she had been trapped with Chakotay, she had no doubt that Voyager would never stop trying to find a way to bring her home. But, she knew, she must be at peace with the possibility that they may not succeed. Her head tilted slightly as she studied the impact her pending departure seemed to be having on the young ex-Borg.

“I should stay,” Seven insisted, the crease between her eyes the only indication of how steadfast she was. “I am the logical choice to stay.”

Kathryn smiled.

“Tuvok told me about what you said,” she replied, and Seven met her eye. “But his interpretation of my wishes were correct. I need you on that ship, Seven. I need you to have a future.”

“I…should stay. ”

The Captain shook her head, her tone changing now into the more authoritative one she found she needed to use all-too-frequently with Seven.

“Have you finished your improvements on the booster array?”

A moment passed, and a hard stare from the blonde, and then, “My task is complete. The array is ready.”

Kathryn nodded.

“Very good.”

Seven spun on her heel and walked back toward the pod. Exhaling in frustration, Kathryn tapped the comm badge on her chest and called for the Doctor, who appeared a few seconds later.

“We’re all set here Doctor. You may return to Voyager .”

The Doctor nodded, reaching for his mobile emitter, but he hesitated. After a second, he stepped forward and enveloped the Captain in an awkward, holographic hug. Kathryn blinked at the unexpected display of emotion, but patted his back before pulling away. He sputtered out a few final instructions on how to contact him until they were outside of communications range, as well as advice for her ‘general well-being.’ When he was finished, he straightened his shoulders and inclined his head.

“It’s…been an honor serving with you, Captain.”

Kathryn smiled, lifting her chin.

“You, too, Doctor.”

The Doctor's image flickered away, leaving Kathryn alone.

She took a moment to compose herself. Seven of Nine had disappeared into the pod, perhaps to run a last check on whatever indoor components remained of the upgraded communications system. Kathryn knew she needed to give the woman a proper goodbye–she couldn’t leave things as she’d left them a few moments earlier.

Seven was clearly having a difficult time processing Voyager’s upcoming departure, and Kathryn’s gut twisted again at the thought. In spite of the woman’s incredibly sound logic as to why she should stay behind with the Captain, Kathryn knew she couldn’t do that to her. Seven deserved to have a future. More than that, she would be needed on Voyager to help protect the others and ensure they, too, could have a future. Just because Seven couldn’t get sick was no reason to selfishly condemn her to a life of uncertainty on an unknown planet alongside only one other human being. It wasn’t fair.

Steeling herself, Kathryn walked toward the pod.

“Seven?” she called once she had entered the habitat. The blonde was not in the kitchen, nor in the small attached lab.

“I am in sleeping quarters number two.”

The voice that answered her sounded small and oddly uncertain. Kathryn narrowed her eyes and headed for the pair of bedrooms at the eastern end of the pod. The door to sleeping quarters number two was partially ajar when she approached, and she pushed it open with the heel of her palm. Upon entering, Kathryn sucked in a breath and her heart began to race.

Seven was standing before a regenerator station, fiddling with the control panel to its left. The woman paused when she heard Kathryn enter, looking briefly over her left shoulder and raising the optical implant where her eyebrow would have been. She said nothing, returning her focus to the panel. The Captain, her mouth hanging partially open in disbelief, approached the woman.

“What is this?” she demanded in a whisper, the shocked expression giving way to a frown instead. “What do you think you’re doing, Seven?”

Again, the younger woman raised her optical implant and cast a challenging glance in her Captain’s direction.

“I will stay,” she said simply.

Kathryn felt her blood begin to boil. It certainly wasn’t the first time Seven’s lack of concern for the chain of command had set her off, but this time it was different. This time it was Seven’s future at stake.

“The hell you will!” Kathryn tapped the comm badge on her chest. “Captain Janeway to Lieutenant Tuvok.”

Seven straightened, pivoting and clasping her hands behind her back. Her eyes bore into Janeway’s as the woman’s chest rose and fell in heavy, angry breaths.

“It’s time for Seven of Nine to go home. One to beam up.”

A moment of silence, and then, “I am unable to get a lock on Seven of Nine, Captain.”

Kathryn felt her entire body begin to tremble. A mix of adrenaline, fury and fear nearly made her lose her composure. Seven, for the third time, lifted a brow in challenge.

“You disabled the transporters,” the Captain hissed, pushing herself into Seven’s personal space. “You planned this. Didn’t you?”

Seven rotated, hands held calm and formal behind her back as she looked down her nose with blue eyes that didn't seem interested in denying the accusation at all.

“Yes.”

Kathryn wasn’t sure if it was the way she said it or the ease with which she did so that infuriated her more. Spinning away and beginning to pace, she tapped her comm badge once more.

“Lock onto the signature in Seven of Nine’s cortical node,” she snarled into the communicator, her hand flying to her forehead as another headache swept over her.

This can’t be happening, Janeway thought. Seven of Nine cannot do this to herself.

Ensign Harry Kim’s voice came over the speaker this time.

“Unable to comply, Captain. Looks like she’s got something jamming the frequency. It’s Borg-encrypted. It will take days to break through. If we stay, we won’t make it out of here before the solar flare hits the ship.”

“Then send a shuttle!” Kathryn cried, straining to keep the desperation out of her voice. She knew she had failed, when Tom Paris’ voice came over the line next. She could hear the apology in his tone before she comprehended what he said.

“I’m sorry Captain, it’s just too dangerous. Even if the shuttle survived the atmospheric turbulence, the only way to get Seven on board would be to physically incapacitate her which…need I remind you would be no easy task…and we’d risk exposing the crew to whatever it is that’s affecting you.”

Tom’s words barely registered as Kathryn’s eyes locked onto Seven’s again from across the room. She inhaled sharply, straining to keep the contact until Seven backed down. When she spoke again, her voice sounded almost as defeated as she felt.

“I see.”

It was Kathryn who finally broke the connection, and she sank down into the lounge chair beside the bedroom door. Her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose, her head throbbing. Seven went back to working on the regenerator’s control panel, unconcerned by the Captain’s ethical dilemmas.

“Ensign Kim–keep working on that jamming frequency. Tuvok–keep Voyager in orbit as long as you can. If there’s any chance you can get Seven of Nine back on board before that solar flare hits, I need you to take it.”

Tuvok’s voice returned through the comm.

“Understood, Captain.”

“Janeway, out.”

Kathryn’s eyes squeezed shut as she tried to ignore the quiet beeps and blips coming from the panel across the room. She could hear the blood rushing through her ears, color sparking behind her eyes even in the darkness of closed lids. After a few minutes, the older woman sucked in a breath through her teeth and righted herself. Her hands clasped behind her back, much in the same way Seven typically stood, and in a few short strides she had moved so she stood on the opposite side of the control panel, directly facing the blonde. Seven of Nine stopped what she was doing, lifting her gaze back to her Captain’s.

“You do not agree with my decision. You are…angry with me.”

Kathryn scoffed, incredulous.

“Oh, no, Seven, I’m not angry. I’m furious . You have no idea what you’ve done. What you’ve just… thrown away .”

“You do not see the situation as I do, Captain.”

“That much is troublingly obvious,” Kathryn snapped with a roll of her eyes.

Seven tilted her head.

“It would be best for you to accept that I will not be returning to Voyager , Captain Janeway. Continued fixation on the matter will only cause further physical strain. I have detected that your cortisol levels are already 17.4 percent above normal.”

Kathryn, exasperated, threw up her hands in fashion very unbecoming of a Starfleet captain. She started to leave the room when Seven’s voice stopped her.

“Where are you going Captain?”

Without looking at her, Kathryn replied, “To try to disable your jamming frequency emitters, Seven.”

“I have already calculated the amount of time you and Ensign Kim would need to break through my Borg encryption codes. Operating at 100 percent efficiency and with no breaks for meals or sleep, it would take at least 13.94 Earth days for you to–”

Kathryn held up the back of her hand, and for one blessed moment, Seven actually fell silent.

“Then I better get started now.”

Chapter Text

Seven of Nine did not fully understand the complexities of human emotions, but she knew enough to recognize the physical effects they could have. She had finished hooking up the regenerator to the habitat’s portable generator system several hours before she heard the Captain enter sleeping quarters number one. Seven herself did not need to regenerate for another 13.637 hours, but she knew that Captain Janeway would need to do so nightly. In fact, Seven was fairly certain that she would need to regenerate–or, sleep, as the humans called it–for more time than was typical given the strain of her recent battle with the planet-born illness.

Seven was pleased to see that the Captain appeared to be suffering no physical ill-effects now that she had been returned to the planet’s surface. As she and the Doctor had suspected, the illness was not caused by an actual virus, but by the lack of the naturally-occurring chemicals found upon the planet’s surface. Though she did not yet have the full picture, Seven suspected that something missing in the atmosphere aboard Voyager prompted similar effects to what her shipmates had experienced during a brief coffee shortage–withdrawal, they had called it. Unfortunately, it had also been discovered that the chemicals could be passed to other humans, but Seven of Nine herself had managed to detect this before the Captain could infect any other members of the crew.

Departing the small lab, Seven made her way into the equally small kitchen of the habitat and replicated herself a nutritional supplement–tea. She studied the patterns of steam as they emerged from the hot mug, her brows furrowing as she contemplated the events of the day.

The Captain was displeased, ‘furious,’ even, she had said. She had spent the entirety of the afternoon and evening struggling to decrypt the Borg codes Seven had put in place to prevent Voyager from beaming her back aboard and leaving Janeway alone. Seven had anticipated a poor reaction from the Captain, at least initially, but she had felt a great deal of surprise when Janeway did not immediately come to see things her way after her very reasonable explanations. Of course, she knew that the Captain would not always agree with her–in fact, the debates and discussions that had stemmed from their disagreements in the past were one of the reasons Seven so enjoyed the Captain’s company. This, though, seemed much different. This version of disagreement–this, ‘fury,’ was not enjoyable to Seven. More importantly, it did not seem enjoyable to the Captain. As she sipped at the strange beverage, Seven considered that perhaps her calculations had been wrong.

“I didn’t realize you were still awake.”

Seven startled at the sound of Captain Janeway’s voice, spilling some of the tea across the table. She leapt upright, hurrying for a rag to clean up the mess. The Captain had always preferred clean quarters–considering how disagreeable she already was to Seven’s presence there, the last thing she wanted was to upset her with spilled tea.

“I–I was conducting more research on the chemicals,” the blonde explained quickly, wiping up the tea. “I wanted to have some…tea…before I regenerated.”

The Captain gave a low, dry chuckle, but there was no smile as she did so. In fact, Seven realized with alarm, the flush of the Captain’s face showed evidence that she had been crying. Seven returned the rag to the replicator for recycling as Janeway headed for the sink and turned on the water.

“Was I…did I disturb your regeneration, Captain?”

“‘Sleep,’ Seven. And no, you didn’t disturb me.” Another dry laugh. “I disturbed myself.”

The blonde was puzzled.

“I do not understand.”

The Captain switched the water back off, wiping her hands on her uniform. Seven wondered if it was typical for her to sleep in her uniform.

Captain Janeway turned and leaned back against the countertop, looking her counterpart in the eye.

“Bad dreams.”

The ex-Borg lowered her gaze.

“My actions today are responsible for your bad dreams.”

She heard Janeway sigh, and looked up in time to see her shaking her head.

“Not entirely, Seven.” She offered a small smile, this one seeming more real.

Seven’s head tilted slightly to one side as she considered how to respond. It was unpleasant to hear that even a portion of the Captain’s bad dreams could be tied to her actions–perhaps even more unpleasant than their earlier argument–and she felt an unfamiliar twisting sensation in the pit of her stomach that seemed to be tied to these unpleasantries. She frowned, her palm falling on her stomach with an absent downward glance and then falling back to her side once she had lifted her gaze back to the Captain’s.

The link between the physical aspects of humanity and the intangible emotional aspects were troubling, and the sensation in itself was also deeply unpleasant.

Why must relearning her humanity be so difficult?

A part of Seven recognized that Captain Janeway’s answer was intended to be nonspecific, and the blonde felt another unfamiliar sensation creep up from her gut. Perhaps the Captain, too, was troubled by the erraticism of her humanity. Perhaps she, too, noticed the ways its less palpable components affected the physical ones.

Perhaps that was why Captain Janeway’s hands were shaking, even as she kept the heels of her palms pressed down against the countertop. Her wrists were turning white, the blood forced out of them by the pressure, but Seven’s eyes lingered on the quiver in the fingertips.

“Might you tell me of your ‘bad dreams,’ Captain?”

Seven was surprised by her own question, its boldness and the way the words seemed to spill out from between her lips in spite of her cortical node insisting they stay contained. Her frown deepened now, and she glanced away, hoping the Captain would not interpret her frustration with her own lack of restraint as anger towards her companion. When she did risk glancing back at Janeway, the grey eyes were blinking rapidly, the thin red lips parted just enough that Seven could detect a flash of white teeth and the press of a tongue against the gap between them. Then Seven’s own face took on an expression almost as startled as the Captain’s when she detected a 5.246 percent increase in the rate of the beat of her own heart.

Captain Janeway flexed her fingers and drummed them on the cabinets below the countertop. She looked like she wanted to push off the counter, like she might want to retreat back to the bedroom. To her credit, she did not–but then, when had she ever turned down a challenge?

And that, of course, was what the question was–and why Seven’s cortical node had known better than to have asked it aloud. But human emotions had seized control, sent the words out into the open like the rebellious, intractable things they were. Since she was no longer Borg, there was also no good way in which to make the Captain forget they had been spoken.

“I’m afraid I don’t remember most of the dreams,” the Captain replied at last, and the smile that passed over her face was brief and forced.

“I do not believe that is true,” Seven countered, and the implant over her eye lifted as she fixed her gaze on Janeway’s. “Your smile lasted only 1.37 seconds. I have learned this is your indication of deceit.”

The Captain’s brows furrowed, and for a few blessed seconds, she looked more surprised than upset. Whatever the reasons for her surprise, they were quickly brushed aside as she finally moved away from the counter and headed towards one of the windows. Seven did not follow her, but her posture remained stiff in waiting.

“I dreamt that someone was looking for you, Seven,” Janeway said from across the room. Her body turned, looking back at Seven, and she corrected herself. “Many people, actually.”

This line of speech Seven had not been expecting, and she gave another perplexed quirk of her head.

“Who was looking for me?” she asked.

The Captain ran her fingers through her red hair, the sparkles of white and grey just barely visible from the underside. In her abdomen, Seven’s muscles coiled again, this time accompanied by a warmth that seemed exacerbated by the length of time her eyes followed the path of the Captain’s hand.

Captain Janeway pulled a face, her thin brows flashing upward for the briefest of moments before she turned back to the window.

“I’m not sure,” she answered. “A ship. Your family, I suppose.”

Seven noticed that her mouth was suddenly drying, that it had become difficult to swallow as her gaze swept over the scarp of each shoulder blade poking out against the uniform. She crossed the small expanse of the kitchen and came to stand nearer alongside the Captain but not too close, since it was obvious Janeway was unlikely to welcome such proximity just yet.

Seven felt addled by how much her body protested the gap.

“I have only one aunt on Earth, Captain Janeway,” Seven said. “As I understand it, she is physically incapable of ‘looking’ for me in any form.”

Janeway’s chin lifted as she stared into the darkness.

“It doesn’t mean she won’t miss you.”

A brief moment of frustration nearly allowed more unplanned words to fall out of Seven’s mouth, but this time her cortical node managed to replace them with something more agreeable.

“I have been absent from her life for many years now,” Seven said. “Was she one who was searching for me in your dream?”

“I don’t remember faces, Seven,” Janeway replied with a sigh. “I just remember they were looking for you. They had a strange ship. I knew where you were, but I couldn’t send you home.”

Seven watched as her captain seemed to falter. The tension in the set of her shoulders increased, and she detected a rise in her blood pressure. She thought Captain Janeway was having trouble swallowing, too.

“Voyager was my home, Captain,” Seven explained, her voice more firm. She hoped that the Captain was not truly giving weight to trivial, nonsensical things like dreams. “And now my home is here. With you. No one is searching for me.”

The Captain’s body flinched, and her expression transformed from something distressed into something more stern as she turned to connect their eyes. Seven lurched a bit at the intensity, that serpent in her stomach beginning to writhe all over again.

“Seven,” Janeway began, her eyebrows lifting again. “It’s important that you know I am not angry that you are here. But I am angry that you went against my wishes, and that you invalidated the reasoning behind them.”

The crease between Seven’s optical implant and the opposite eyebrow deepened, and then she lifted her chin before speaking in return.

“Captain Janeway,” she said, her own blood pressure increasing by a few more percentage points, “you made the choice to sever me from the Collective. I told you I wished to return to them, and you refused.”

The flash of hurt that reflected in the grey eyes did not seem to affect Seven this time as she barreled her way through the rest of her protest.

“You…invalidated…my reasons. I asked you if you would let me return if I chose it. You told me…you said you did not think I would choose to return. But now, I am grateful that you made that choice for me. Now I recognize that it was the logical choice.”

“This is different, Seven. You know that.”

“You are wrong, Captain. Your choice was wrong,” Seven insisted, the writhing serpent quieting and slithering back into frustration. “You would have suffered alone.”

The older woman seemed to deflate under her voice. For a few seconds, she seemed on the brink of a reply. When none came, Seven only frowned.

“This communication is ineffective.”

The Captain cringed, and opened her mouth to speak.

“I will regenerate now,” the blonde replied, cutting her off. She straightened, clasping her hands behind her back. “Perhaps we can…as you say…’try again in the morning.’”

“Seven–”

“No, Captain,” she spat. “You should rest.”

Seven felt the surge of emotions force her heart into a full-out racing beat as she stormed out of the kitchen. The bedroom door swung closed behind her, cutting away the faint sound of a crackling sob. It bothered her greatly to understand that Captain Janeway was so upset by her actions–more so than she would have predicted. This emotion was strange. All of these emotions were strange. The Doctor’s lessons had not helped with any of the ones she was currently experiencing.

Perhaps she should have stayed with the Collective after all.

Chapter Text

Kathryn Janeway stared at the console, her emotions flitting between stress and sadness, anger and frustration, and even more surprisingly–fear. The tiny dot indicating Voyager’s position relative to the planet had begun to move away. Kathryn felt a part of her very soul going with it. She’d been fighting to bring Voyager home for so long, it had never occurred to her that it might ever return there without her.

To her right, she could hear Seven of Nine still diligently working within the confines of the habitat’s tiny laboratory. It was early evening, and she had been in there most of the day. Kathryn hadn’t asked her what she was doing, but she presumed it was more study on the planet’s chemical makeup. A part of the battered Captain was still having trouble coming to terms with the fact that Ensign Kim and Lieutenant Tuvok had been unsuccessful in breaking through the former Borg’s transporter encryptions. Even having worked on them herself, Kathryn had failed. Voyager had departed just a few short hours ago, needing to outrun the solar flare that would have taken out a number of key systems had she stayed close by. Seven seemed unbothered by her Captain’s dismay–Kathryn had hoped, perhaps selfishly, that Seven’s apparent interest in her well-being would eventually win out and convince her to disable the jamming frequencies.

To Kathryn’s chagrin, Seven’s fast-expanding understanding of her individuality had maintained its course.

The redhead shifted her position then, glancing around the tiny kitchen of the pod. It was more robust than the kitchen she and Chakotay had briefly shared, in spite of being about the same size. There was a double-bay sink, a replicator, and a small, early twenty-first century style stovetop for cooking. Kathryn, of course, had no interest in using the device–in fact, she wondered why the crew of Voyager had even thought it necessary to include, given her distaste for all things cooking-related. She was a scientist at heart, and the replicator was a much more efficient means of maintaining her health and nutrition.

Her eyes traveled to the closed door of sleeping quarters number two, and she felt a pang of guilt strike for what seemed the hundredth time since Seven had first refused to leave. Inside that room was the regenerator, having been thoughtfully concealed amongst the many bins and boxes Voyager had beamed down prior to Kathryn’s arrival so as not to rouse any suspicion. She glanced at the open doorway of the lab, perhaps to confirm Seven was not in her line of sight, and then made her way to the bedroom door. As her hand fell to the knob, she hesitated.

Quietly, Kathryn turned the doorknob and pushed it open, taking in the sight of the regenerator, now fully visible and functional. Above it, an array of green lights snaked throughout the power globe. She approached the alien tech, standing before it for a long moment and studying it as though it would provide her the answers to the questions she didn’t yet know how to ask. Her fingertips trailed along the cold metal of the edges, down the wires of the side, and settling on the console where they halted.

Anger still swelled within her at Seven of Nine for what she had done. Perhaps she would always retain some of that anger. As much as Kathryn wished she could go back, undo what had happened, maybe even stop herself from insisting she and Tuvok retrieve samples from the planet’s surface in the first place…

“Captain Janeway.”

Kathryn ripped her hand back from the console and whirled around as though it had become hot iron. She didn’t know how long she’d been standing there, lost in her contemplations and what-ifs, before Seven had appeared and drawn her away with the two simple, predictable words that made up her Starfleet designation. For several seconds, the two women maintained eye contact, the gaze from Seven stern and questioning. Unable to bear the connection, Kathryn raised her brows and looked away from the sight of the blonde.

“I didn't mean to intrude on your privacy, Seven,” the Captain issued at last, beginning to pace as her fingertips lifted to rub at her forehead. “I guess…maybe I just needed some proof to help my mind absorb that you’re really here.”

“There is nothing in this room that requires privacy, Captain,” Seven stated, her voice flat. “I have been present for 52.93 of the 54.627 hours you yourself have been here. I could have provided this proof and this data to you had you asked. I am uncertain how touching my regenerator could have provided that information to you in my stead. Your hand lacks the tubules needed to assimilate information in this way.”

Kathryn allowed a small smile to slip through as she shook her head.

“Sometimes I just want something a little more concrete.”

The blonde now looked even more bewildered than before.

“Captain, my regenerator is composed of a barium-praseodymium core with a number of other trace–”

Kathryn held up a hand to stop her, and Seven’s voice fell away.

“It was a figure of speech, Seven.”

A pause, and then a slightly distressed, “I see.”

Kathryn could tell that Seven wanted to say something more. Her weight shifted uncertainly from one foot to the next–a movement very out of character for the normally rigid blonde–but a tell the Captain had no less learned to recognize. It stood to reason, though, that Kathryn’s own behavior and treatment of the young woman over the last two days had given Seven pause. Perhaps–no, not perhaps –Seven was afraid to speak now, lest Kathryn cut her down again as she had done so many times prior to Voyager’s final departure. A deep sigh left her lungs, but then the Captain’s shoulders lifted as she looked back up at the slightly taller Seven of Nine.

“Would you care to join me for dinner?”

Kathryn found it difficult not to notice the abrupt change in Seven’s stance. Everything about her immediately brightened, a glimmer of hope reflecting back at the Captain in the oceanic blue of her eyes. It brought a different sensation to her chest this time–instead of anger and guilt, a pinch of warmth that seemed to radiate upward into her neck and face. Seven didn’t need to reply–Kathryn could see the answer written in her body language–but the blonde promptly nodded.

“I would be glad to share a meal with you, Captain Janeway.” She pivoted and strode quickly from the room. Kathryn hurried after her as the former drone continued to speak. “Prior to your excursion to this planet with Lieutenant Tuvok, I had been studying more about the human etiquette surrounding mealtimes.”

“And what did you learn?” Kathryn inquired, finding herself smiling again as Seven halted, rotated to face her once more, and fixed her with a very serious gaze.

“I will…‘set the table.’”

The Captain blinked, privately wondering if Tom Paris and his interest in all things vintage had anything to do with this particular facet of Seven’s educational endeavors, but she chose not to comment on it. She reasoned he might also be responsible for the stove.

“That sounds lovely, Seven.”

Kathryn watched as the blonde took off for the nearest cabinet, removing a pair of plates and cups she hadn’t realized were there. She speculated they had likely been hidden along with the regenerator.

At the conclusion of their meal, Captain Janeway found she was perhaps even more flustered than she had been at its beginning. Seven of Nine had risen from the tall barstool–yet another item Kathryn suspected the ex-Borg had specifically brought down from Voyager , perhaps due to her usual distaste for sitting–and was now rinsing her dishes beneath the stream of hot water in the sink. She was struck by the domesticity of the action, recalling how her traditionalist mother would hand-wash dishes in her childhood home, but found she was frozen in place at her own stool when Seven returned to collect the remaining tableware.

Their conversations at dinner had been light but also more reserved than Kathryn could recall them having been in the past. It certainly was not the first time she’d joined Seven for a meal, but it was the first time she’d felt so…bothered…by doing so. The blonde woman appeared to sense her Captain’s feelings. She had not mentioned anything even slightly controversial. Topics that could induce any argument were kept carefully at bay. Kathryn could feel her stomach threatening to dispel what she’d just eaten as the understanding sank in that Seven must have felt like she was walking on eggshells.

Wordlessly, Kathryn stood and joined Seven by the sink. The younger woman paused long enough to look over at her, her face stoic and expressionless. The Captain selected a drying towel and gathered the miniscule quantity of clean dinnerware from where Seven had placed them in the sink’s second bay. Seeming satisfied that she understood, the former Borg returned to cleaning the silverware, while Kathryn replaced the dried dishes back into the appropriate cabinets. Her eyes fell to the sight of Seven now drying her hands with the towel, placing it back on the hook below the sink and then affixing her gaze to the Captain herself.

Kathryn felt her mouth open to speak, but no words came out. Seven of Nine only furrowed the implant over her brow. Deciding it was best to leave the evening where it stood, rather than risk upsetting the fragile peace with unimportant talk, the Captain looked to the ground. Seven, apparently taking the hint, straightened her posture and cloistered her hands behind her back.

“Goodnight Captain.”

Somehow, her words made Kathryn feel even worse. She watched the woman’s emotions–those many beautifully human sentiments Kathryn herself had only ever encouraged Seven to feel and express–shrink and fold neatly away behind a single, terse nod. She stayed in the kitchen long after the door to Seven’s bedroom locked her away, leaning heavily back on the table and rubbing her hands across her face.

They couldn’t go on like this.

Sooner or later she would need to heed Seven’s advice and accept that she was present there, and that being angry would not change that fact. More importantly, Kathryn’s bitterness would only serve to hurt Seven in the same way Seven’s actions had hurt hers. She could already see it was having an effect. Kathryn knew Seven was an emotional creature, but she was strikingly competent at concealing this fact from even the Captain’s well-trained eyes. But she had seen the delight break through the shroud when she’d asked Seven to join her for dinner, and it stirred her.

It was indicative of a much deeper and growing problem.

Beholden by her duties as the Captain, surrounded by the safety of a group setting, with Starfleet protocol echoing in her head, Kathryn had been able to dismiss the warmth she often felt in Seven of Nine’s presence. It had taken some time to understand the source of her inclination to seek conversation with her Astrometrics officer, the desire to help her grow and to protect her from harm. At first it seemed innocent enough, a side effect of Mark’s departure and the process of coming to terms with the loss of everything she’d considered a family. Seven had, for whatever reason, served to fill that void–a distraction, perhaps, or maybe just another voice from beyond the rigidity of Starfleet customs and something outside of career-oriented responsibility.

An ill-fated holodeck adventure had forced the Captain to confront her emotions, however, when the safety protocols had failed and Kathryn had found herself limping to sickbay. Seven had discovered her along the way, demanded an explanation, and promptly threatened to delete the Maestro’s program and all of his ‘hazardous’ flying machines. Kathryn smiled fondly at the memory of how Seven had also insulted her chosen mode of transport–walking–as 'woefully inadequate' and had expeditiously wrestled the Captain into her arms to physically carry her the rest of the way to the Doctor.

At the time it had been humiliating–a lack of decorum not hastily forgiven–but even the stalwart Captain could admit she’d thought about that moment many times in the months since, even going so far as considering how she might one day facilitate a repeat. Beneath her hands, she thought she felt the surface of the table shift. It took her a moment to realize it was just her mind playing tricks on her, reverting to the memory of her body in Seven’s arms.

A broader smile lit her face as she recalled the way the ex-Borg had so unceremoniously dropped her onto the nearest bio bed once they’d arrived at sickbay. She’d hastened off without a word to Janeway or the Doctor whatsoever, instead berating B’elanna and the rest of the engineering department through the comm for failing to provide adequate protection to the users of the holodeck on her way out. The conversation with the Doctor that followed had given Kathryn pause–something about him never having seen Seven of Nine so openly spooked. Shortly thereafter she had finally understood the dangerous form her thoughts had begun to take.

Kathryn righted herself, pinching the bridge of her nose and then replicating a small mug of tea. She carried it into her own bedroom, eyeing the novel she’d requested be brought down from Voyager as it lay on the nightstand beside her bed.

She deposited the mug on the nightstand and settled down onto the mattress, pausing for a few seconds once she’d situated herself beneath the blankets. The world outside the habitat seemed calm enough, the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant flow of water familiar against the green hue of the moons ascending into the sky. But it was peculiar to hear no signs of life in spite of the planet’s M-class status, and their absence, to an end, disturbed her.

This isn’t Earth, she reminded herself, reaching for the novel. But even as she thought it, Kathryn knew it wasn’t just the planet that disturbed her.

The dreams of the evening past had been a terror on their own. Never one to fall victim to nightmares before, and rarely a dreamer at all, Kathryn considered whether it was simply stress that had brought them on, or maybe even an after effect of her illness. Their vividness was the most striking aspect–so vivid, in fact, that when she’d first awoken, Kathryn had felt strongly they had not been dreams at all.

“Everything but the faces,” she muttered to herself, sighing. “I can remember the ship–her colors, the way she spins–but I can’t remember the faces.”

Janeway shook her head as she opened the novel.

Maybe I should tell Seven more about what I saw, she pondered, the words on the pages between her hands only half-reaching her. She would help me see the logical side of things. Lord knows I could use some logic when I'm debating if my dreams were actually dreams.

Still, the Captain couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding rippling through her–that someone really was searching for Seven of Nine.

With a huff of impatience, and maybe of disgust, Janeway pushed the persistent thoughts aside. It was only nerves, only her subconscious responding to the awareness that if anything were to happen to Seven, she would be alone here.

That must be it.

Satisfied, Kathryn turned her attention back to the book.

With any luck, she’d be able to forget herself for a time before sleeping off the rest of these disastrous last few days.

Chapter Text

Seven of Nine had read Captain Janeway’s reports from her previous experience trapped on a planet with Chakotay. On occasion, she felt guilt at the thought that she had read them, but the Captain had given her access to her personal logs several years earlier. Logically, Seven knew that Captain Janeway would secure anything she was interested in keeping private, and those logs had been accessible just the same as the others. Perhaps Seven was the only one who had been interested in reading them, but she found herself recalling those entries more so now than she had before.

Chakotay cared deeply for the Captain, she knew. By the logs, he had seemed to intrinsically understand her wants and needs. He had built her a bath tub, expanded the habitat, and encouraged Kathryn to work less and focus on the day to day. Seven found she agreed with all his opinions as the Captain had reported them, and the things he had chosen to do for her. It was likely the only time Seven found herself in agreement with the Commander at all.

At the recollection of her brief relationship with the tattooed Maquis, the former drone felt herself shudder. Chakotay had been much more agreeable in the holo program than he was in real life. Still, Seven knew she could learn from the honorable man’s feelings for Captain Janeway, and implement her own twists on his ideas. Perhaps, given enough time and consistency, Janeway would come to see that she was just as important to Seven as she was to Chakotay. Perhaps she could even be successful in getting the Captain to acknowledge and act on the feelings Seven was 96.862 percent certain she harbored.

As she stepped out of her regenerator, she was frustrated to find that the machine did not seem to be working at optimum efficiency. She felt fatigued in spite of the 6.7 hours she had regenerated, and made a note to revisit the console later that day and try to fix the problem. Her first order of business, though, would be to prepare a meal for herself and the Captain. Seven would not be presumptuous and expect the Captain would join her for breakfast as she had for dinner, but she surmised that having a mug of coffee and plate of scrambled eggs and bacon already waiting for her would be appreciated. The former Borg drone noted the time–the Captain always woke at the same time, meaning she had about 15 minutes to eat her own meal, 10.8 minutes to cook, and an additional 5.2 minutes to depart the pod to ensure she wasn’t there when the Captain woke up.

It wasn’t that Seven wanted to avoid Captain Janeway–in fact, she wanted quite the opposite–but her human emotions had been stirring and tangling into a mass of discomfort for the past several days. She needed an outlet, and a walk around the vicinity of the pod would provide a much-needed mental reprieve. Besides, Seven considered with a thoughtful smile, it was important she select the proper locations for the various gardens she planned to start building in the near future. The replicator would be sufficient for now, but long-term survival dictated they be able to grow their own food as well.

Plus, she reasoned to herself, the Captain will need healthy outlets. A garden is a productive use of time that will yield tangible benefits.

By the time she finished cooking, Seven was already feeling her body begin to calm. Anxiety was normally an uncommon sensation for her, but it had been a near constant since making her decision to leave Voyager. Some of that was due to the understanding that Captain Janeway was unhappy with that decision. Another part, she mused, may be due to her slowly realizing that even though they currently had everything they needed to survive, this wasn’t Voyager. Survival, even on this seemingly calm, peaceful bit of ground, could not be guaranteed.

There hadn’t been much time to fully study the planet before the decision to leave Janeway had to be made. Seven knew it was an M-class planet, but the seasons and weather and geological activity were still very much a mystery. They did know that water on the planet was plentiful–a fact which, if she was being honest with herself, the blonde found somewhat concerning. She feared that the humid environment could lend itself to extreme weather.

The Captain’s wake-up alarm was silenced by the door of the habitat as Seven stepped outside, pausing for an instant to take in her surroundings.

The pod was located in a small clearing. At the rear, a large rock face cut sharply into the sky, providing a protective barricade against both the weather and any predators that may lurk in the surrounding forest. Though she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, Seven remembered from the surface scans that there was a small creek situated 502.4 yards from the clearing. The trees in that direction were thinner, younger, but the gaps between them were more densely populated by small brush. Seven’s eyes narrowed at the observation. Young forests close to a creek could be evidence of past floods.

To the left and right, the forest was old growth, the trunks larger than anything she’d seen in her study of Earth or any of the other human-populated planets she knew of. Even more peculiar, the bark–or whatever covered the trunks–was a deep, iridescent blue. The leaves were green, but their large size was reminiscent of holos she had seen of Earth’s Amazon rainforest. Her eyes scanned the ground, plotting how far the roots of the great trees might spread. Without a tricorder she could only estimate, but it looked like the habitat was far enough away that any lightning strikes would dissipate well before they could reach the pod through the roots.

Seven sucked in a breath through her nose, her eyes closing as she felt the last threads of her anxiety evaporate with the fresh scent of the nature that surrounded her. Captain Janeway had provided the crew with shore leave on occasion, but the opportunities had been few and far between. Seven had recreated various natural environments in the holodeck throughout her years aboard the ship, but with all its technology, Voyager's systems had never successfully replicated the smells.

After a moment, Seven’s hand settled onto her phaser and she began the short trek to the creek.

It didn’t take long before the former drone was using the phaser to clear a path through the underbrush. Many of the smaller plants were covered in a sticky substance of the same color blue as the trunks of the old growth trees on the sides of the habitat’s clearing. The rest were layered with thorns and brambles, and Seven had quickly grown tired of being scraped and poked. She noted the prints of several unfamiliar cloven-hoofed lifeforms as she made her way closer to the water, making another mental note to take time to study the area more closely for any potential predators. The last thing she needed was for the Captain or herself to grow complacent and assume there were no large, living threats.

Seven of Nine paused as she finally reached the creek’s edge. It was a far more cavernous drop to the surface of the water than she’d been led to believe, and the discovery unsettled her. In fact, it could hardly be deemed a ‘creek’ at all. The way the water sliced through the rocky landscape, frothing and tumbling violently as it went, it was much more akin to a river. Seven made use of her optical implant and scanned for the bottom. Her eyes widened in surprise when she discovered that the river was structured much more like a glacial crevasse than could be seen from above. Portions of the current appeared to be recirculating, and further inspection let her see the large hollows carved into portions of the rocks below the surface. Seven swiftly determined this river would not be safe for swimming lest one of them become trapped in the suckholes–a disappointment for the Captain, no doubt, who she knew had often spent time swimming in the holodecks.

Unsatisfied with her investigation, Seven pivoted for a moment to look over the low tops of the trees and studied the towering cliff face behind where she knew the pod lay. She noticed what appeared to be another break in the distant trees, her tension increasing when she realized it was consistent with a second flow of water. Glancing back to the river closest to her, she studied the motions of the water for clues. She frowned and turned back to the sheer cliffs for the second time.

The longer she examined the environment that surrounded her, the more disturbed she became. Frustratingly, she couldn’t place why.

Slipping her phaser back onto the utility belt she’d taken to wearing, Seven began to follow the river downstream. Occasionally she would crouch, touching the earth and allowing her assimilation tubules to seek out answers to questions she did not know how to ask. They found nothing, or nothing of value, and she felt anxiety and irritation begin to seep back into her mind. Standing back upright from her most recent attempt to learn anything helpful, Seven inhaled and tried to calm herself.

“Perhaps…farther downstream,” she murmured to the air, and then began to walk again. Beneath her, the ground grew rockier and the plants and trees became more sparse. After another mile or so, Seven found she was walking on nothing more than coarse, broken shale. She stopped to dig her boot into it, crouching yet again to inspect it more closely, but she found nothing of interest. Frustration tugged at her, uncertainty in why she felt so unsettled.

Then something hard caught against the fingertips of her Borg hand. She blinked, attention piqued, and ran her fingers back over the surface until the catch came again.

“This is not a naturally occurring substance,” Seven said aloud, sweeping aside the surface rubble of stone and dirt. Her eyes narrowed, her frown lengthening the more she uncovered beneath the shale. Bits of translucent rocks began to emerge, others with peculiar lines in their surfaces. She selected one, held it before her optical implant and studied it closely.

These patterns are consistent with high pressure and heat, she thought, her cortical systems analyzing the next of the rocks. When she had finished cataloging, her attention shifted back to the material beneath the stones.

Seven brushed her hands against it, her assimilation tubules prodding ineffectively at its surface in search of answers. It was large, and might once have been smooth, but now it was pitted and appeared to have been buried for some time. When she followed the trajectory of its position with her eyes, she could see a faint ridge in the soil that continued on for 52.47 feet before arriving abruptly at an end.

Her optical implant traced its contour, a faint but growing sense of familiarity reaching out from somewhere distant. Seven stood and began to work at uncovering more of the object, more grateful than ever for the way the nanoprobes in her system took care of the plentiful scrapes and bits of gravel embedding themselves in the skin of her hands as she worked.

Captain Janeway would enjoy this process, she thought idly as she scraped away more shale and quartz, this time with her boot. To her surprise, Seven found she was enjoying the dig herself. Perhaps it would be good to bring her here. It could facilitate a reduction in stress. It could act as a bonding experience. Another outlet, like the garden.

But by the time Seven reached the end of the object, her thoughts had moved away from Janeway. What had been enjoyment transformed into a swift and more disturbing conclusion. She crouched down again, laying her hand against freshly uncovered metal.

Duranium.

The observation caught her off guard, and she studied the corrosion, the dents and the scrapes with greater focus. It was scorched, too.

This object is a nacelle. A small portion of one.

Her cortical systems mingled with her organic intelligence, attempting to arrive at any plausible explanation for the nacelle’s presence. She glanced around. There was no indication of any other components–at least not near the surface–but without the power of Voyager’s sub-surface scanners, they'd have to search the old fashioned way if they intended to learn more.

It would have required great violence to wrest a nacelle free from any Starfleet vessel.

The ex-drone felt an unfamiliar stutter in her chest as she righted herself, looking back behind her at the distant rockface and wrinkling her brow in thought.

A wound that would likely have been fatal.

“Janeway to Seven of Nine.”

The voice of the Captain through her comm badge was startling against the sound of the rushing river a short distance away. Seven was surprised to feel herself flinch. A quick glance at the length of the shadows on the ground made her stomach turn. She had spent more than half the day following the river!

Offended by her own inattention, she quickly tapped her badge and replied.

“I am here, Captain.”

The relief that flooded through the Captain’s answer was not lost to Seven’s senses, and she would be lying if she claimed the observation didn’t lift her soul just a bit. 

“I was worried.”

“My apologies,” Seven responded, her mood not yet elevated enough to warrant a more polite tone. “I will return soon.”

There was no further reply, and Seven found she wanted to continue exploring the area around the nacelle. Still, it would be unwise to stay out too late, and her unexpected hike had taken so long she knew she wouldn’t get to look at the regenerator problem before she would require its services. She sighed. It would mean another night of poor rest, and another day of fatigue. The battered metal in the ground tempted her to ignore her compulsion to return to Janeway, but she brushed it aside. This discovery…this disquiet…would just have to wait.

Chapter Text

A few hours before nightfall, the door to the habitat finally swung open.

Seven of Nine’s footsteps were almost silent as she moved, locking the door behind her. She paused for a few seconds in front of the window, studying something in the distance in the rigid, contemplative way she’d often done in the Astrometrics lab on Voyager. Kathryn’s hands were restless as they toyed with the handle of a mug at the table, her body still tense from so many hours spent wondering where Seven had gone. The freshly cooked meal she’d discovered that morning hadn’t repaired the entirety of the damage Seven’s arrival there had wrought, instead having had much the opposite effect on the Captain’s weary mind.

Now, instead of being angry at Seven for staying, she was angry that she’d left her alone–frustrated that she’d given her space to breathe.

She wondered if she’d done so on purpose.

You’re too used to being in control, Kathryn thought, a grimace splitting her face. Too used to the status quo, where you can wear your rank like a shield.

She reached up to run her fingers along the pips at her collar, staring into the mug, while Seven leaned against the wall to remove her boots.

You’re not on Voyager anymore.

The grip on her mug loosened. Kathryn hoped Seven didn’t hear her sigh.

She hadn’t slept well. Even with the pre-sleep distraction of the novel, the dreams had been no less disruptive than before. A part of her had hoped she’d gain clarity if she dreamed again, but she’d only been further bewildered. The dreams were scattered this time, their subjects and images vanishing promptly in the moments of waking. If not for the visceral sense of unease left behind once they had, she might not have remembered at all.

Finding the pod empty that morning had certainly done little to help.

The passing of midday without having heard a peep out of Seven of Nine had been enough to set Kathryn off on a spiral of panic. It wasn’t uncommon for her mind to jump to the worst possible conclusions as a knee-jerk response when alone, but she was normally better at pushing it aside. Pride had helped her resist trying to contact Seven in the hopes the woman would return on her own, before Kathryn might have to reveal her concern. But her heart had been racing for hours by the time she had finally reached for her badge, and it wasn’t until she heard Seven’s voice speak back to her that the Captain’s adrenaline levels had finally begun to recede.

By the door, Seven’s form was pushing back off the wall and straightening, and it didn’t take long for the blue eyes to land on her captain’s.

Kathryn sensed guilt on the slender blonde’s features, but she gave no apologies or explanations. Seven brushed past and behind her, the narrow spacing from the table to the cabinets letting Kathryn’s back feel the warmth emanating from her biosuit even as she carefully maintained the gap between them. The sound of the ex-Borg rummaging through cupboards was unfamiliar but soothing after the day spent in solitude. She set the table as she had the night before, tacitly replicated and placed food on a plate, and then headed for the lavatory without speaking.

Kathryn felt the cords of her neck tighten as she looked at the dinnerware before her.

It was a table and meal set for one.

The Captain’s forehead dropped into her hands and she squeezed her eyes shut, the solace of seconds before abruptly replaced with tension that radiated from every corner of her being. The sound of the pod’s tiny shower reached her ears, and Kathryn dug a fork into whatever it was the ex-Borg had placed in front of her.

A nutritional supplement fit for a Captain.

A Captain without a ship.

Seven had worn her hair down on only the rarest occasions, but Kathryn had never been privy to the sight of it down and wet.

Nor did she expect her body to freeze at the sight when Seven emerged from the bathroom, or the way her heart stuttered back to life in the seconds that followed.

The biosuit appeared the same as it always did, its silvery material perfectly dry and leaving little to the imagination with the exception of the places Seven’s remaining implants marred her skin. The hair, though…Seven looked positively sleek. Kathryn realized with a start that she was practically ogling the younger woman–although she could have sworn Seven of Nine had allowed a muted smirk to tug at one corner of her mouth. The Captain diverted her eyes back to the safety of the cabinets where she had been putting her mug away.

Seven appeared by her side a moment later. Kathryn jumped at the sensation of warm fingers at the skin just below her ear and fell still.

“When did this happen?”

Seven’s voice was low and monotonous as she tugged the collar of Kathryn’s turtle neck down farther on her neck. In truth, the Captain was surprised her companion had even noticed the tiny cut.

“I took a little walk of my own today,” the Captain answered, sounding strained. “It seems there are a lot of plants with thorns in the area. I spoke with the Doctor earlier in the event there were any toxins.”

Seven released the collar and stepped back, the blue eyes settling sternly on the slightly shorter woman before her. Kathryn exhaled a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding so long.

“You should have called for me. I was a more logical choice.”

The Captain dipped her head in acknowledgement. At least this time Seven seemed only mildly distressed instead of hurt.

“I know I should have, Seven.”

“I am here, now, Captain,” the blonde replied, her hands slipping behind her back as she moved into her trademark pose. Her hair, still falling across her shoulders, made the movement somehow less severe. “I will be here, sharing this space with you indefinitely. In the event you are ever injured…” The blue eyes fell to the floor of the pod.

Kathryn offered a weak, lopsided smile and placed her palm against Seven’s bicep.

“Look at me, Seven.”

When she did, Kathryn recognized the questions brimming there. She forced herself to speak, even in spite of how much she did not think she wanted to.

“I know you are here. And for what it’s worth, you were right. When you were gone today, I felt…” She dropped her hand from Seven’s arm and turned to walk a few paces away before turning back. “Well, you’re always right, aren’t you?” She gave an exaggerated shrug and the smile was more broad this time.

Seven straightened again, lifting her chin.

“That is inaccurate. I am right only 98.727 percent of the time.”

Kathryn cocked an eyebrow.

“My mistake.”

The former drone studied her for a long moment, during which the redhead began to feel more unsettled. Seven had always been observant with Janeway in particular, often picking up on details and nuances that Kathryn wouldn’t identify herself. The blue eyes were focused, sharp and suspicious, and Kathryn wondered what she wanted to say. Finally, Seven’s ocular implant quirked.

“I am pleased the communications array is working as expected, Captain.”

Kathryn blinked at the sudden change in topic, taking it for what it was. Still, she couldn’t fault Seven for deflecting when her captain couldn’t even properly articulate her own confession–the lingering suspicion that being alone on a planet was a much different concern than being without Seven in any locale.

I’m not even sure what that means, she thought, a hint of distress twisting in her gut.

“We should take advantage of the time we have with the array and report back some of our findings as we continue to explore our new home,” Seven continued, twirling away and methodically twisting her hair back into its typical form while her back was turned. This time, she seemed oblivious to Janeway’s spiraling thoughts. “I discovered a number of notable geographical features during my expedition today.”

“Expedition?” Kathryn asked, her voice weaker than she remembered it being. Her tongue felt dry and swollen in her mouth, like it didn’t want to speak or swallow at all. “Exactly how far did you go?”

Seven swung her eyes back onto Kathryn’s.

“7.4 miles, collectively, Captain. The distance is irrelevant, but I was able to gather some data to support a few…uncertainties…I am feeling about our chosen base location.”

The Captain felt her expression grow more serious. She knew better than to brush aside any uncertainties Seven carried, no matter the subject. She gestured to the table, and they sat side by side. The hesitation between them seemed to be fading.

“Tell me what you found,” she encouraged, a part of her just glad to be talking to the Astrometrics officer like they had done in the past. It made their situation less…strange. A vague hint of warmth bloomed in her chest and up into her cheeks as she glanced sideways, scanning her eyes along the angular profile of Seven’s face.

“I have found evidence to indicate there have been floods in this area in the past,” Seven explained, the scientific, analytical side of her emerging as it used to on Voyager. “I located the ‘creek’ Ensign Kim had told me about back on Voyager, but I discovered it is substantially more like a ‘river.’ As I studied it further, I observed the relative depth to width ratio was nearly ten to one. It appeared not unlike a crevasse in the ice sheets that form on Earth which we once discussed. The water is violent and not safe for swimming.”

The lines in the Captain’s forehead deepened. She was no geography expert, but she was a scientist. Seven’s curiosity–and her concern–was enough to grab the older woman’s attention.

“Do you have any theories?”

Seven shook her head, looking troubled.

“No, Captain. I am unable to express any logic behind my uneasiness. It is… unacceptable.”

Kathryn found her hand instinctively settling into the place between Seven’s shoulder blades. She felt the younger woman’s body push back gently into the pressure, prompting her to remove it before her own body could react. Seven’s eyes flicked over to Kathryn’s face, confused.

“Captain–You have never shied away from physical contact before. What is wrong?” Her voice was soft–concerned, again.

Called out so blatantly, as Seven so often could do, Kathryn felt her face begin to burn hotter than before. Beside her, the blonde’s head tilted. The Captain wanted to shrivel under her scrutiny, to retreat back to the safety of the moments before she’d allowed herself to touch her, but she swallowed tightly and held her ground.

“It’s nothing, Seven. I’m just…It’s nothing.”

There was a lengthy pause before the ex-Borg spoke again. This time, her expression was stern.

“Very well.”

Kathryn waved a hand dismissively, hoping to move past the awkward moment.

“There is…something else, Captain.”

The change in Seven’s voice made her go still.

“What kind of ‘something?’” she asked, wary.

“While I was investigating the river, I encountered an area with sparse plant growth and a number of pieces of shocked quartz and shatter cones.”

“Shatter cones?” Kathryn inquired, surprised. Then she pursed her lips, rubbing her chin. “That large rock face behind us–this area could have been shaped by an impact event,” she suggested.

“I do not believe it was a naturally occurring impact,” Seven added, and Kathryn noticed her fingers were threading together and fidgeting. It was the second time she had noticed such a thing since they’d arrived, and it was very unlike her.

She is more worried than she’s letting on, Kathryn decided with a frown.

“I discovered an object composed of duranium beneath the surface.”

In her chest, Kathryn’s heart skipped, stronger this time.

“I believe it is a nacelle, Captain,” Seven said after a pause. “It appeared to be only a small portion of one, but I saw no indications of additional objects or components. Its state of decay indicated that it has been there for some time.”

The Captain nodded slowly, her frown deepening. The image of the ship from her dreams immediately flashed into her mind.

It’s a coincidence, the more rational part of her insisted.

“What color was it?” Janeway asked finally, her throat tight.

Seven gave her a strange look, the cords of her neck protruding as she did.

“I am uncertain without further excavation, Captain,” she admitted, and  Kathryn saw her touch the metal of the implant over her eye. “It appeared dark, but its structural condition was quite poor.”

Kathryn remained silent, her eyes glazing a bit as she stared across the room.

“Captain?” Seven pressed, leaning forward and angling her head to draw Janeway’s attention back to her. Her brows furrowed. “Why do you ask?”

The weight of her hand fell onto Kathryn’s forearm. She stared down at it, momentarily drawn away from her unease. She wanted to move–she should move–but the relief radiating out from the contact held her in place. The fingers curled, gentle and calming in a way Kathryn hadn’t realized she needed.

“I’ve seen the same ship two nights in a row, now, Seven,” the Captain breathed, then tugged her arm away to rub at her forehead.

“You are referring to your subconscious contrivance. The ship and the people you believe were looking for me?”

“I don’t know,” Janeway admitted, a small laugh escaping her lips. “They’re just dreams, but the ship I saw was dark. It does seem a little…odd. Don’t you think?”

“It is logical to conclude that your illness might have induced changes in sleep patterns and cognitive processes,” the blonde replied. “But I do agree it is… odd . However, it is also logical to conclude that if this object did belong to a ship, and if that ship really was in search of me, they appear to have been many, many years too early.”

Hearing this explanation out loud gave Kathryn pause, and she felt her body subsequently relax.

This is why I needed to talk to her, the Captain considered, smiling a bit. I knew she would help me see reason. I’m getting a little flighty in my old age.

“It is also possible that the planet is still influencing you, Captain.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Kathryn replied with a miserable chuckle. “But I suppose it’s worth considering.”

“The samples you and Tuvok obtained during your initial visit came from this vicinity,” Seven went on, her face scrunching in the way it did when she was thinking hard. “If the symptoms were caused by environmental exposure it is reasonable to believe that an object having existed so long in the environment could have an effect.”

Kathryn’s smile faded a bit, but didn’t disappear completely. Beside her, she could still feel that Seven was also on edge. She sat back on the stool and turned to face her companion more directly, nodding her head more to reassure herself than Seven.

“What do you say we do a bit of exploring together?” Janeway asked. “Perhaps a second set of eyes will bring light to your logic, and we can figure out what’s making you nervous. And if we can get up to the top of that ridge, we’ll be in a better position to spot more evidence of a ship–or an impact. How’s that sound?”

Seven nodded and Kathryn could see her body relax.

“That is acceptable.”

The Captain, noting that her own mood seemed to be improving now as well, smiled.

“And…we’ll start with a good, hot breakfast?”

Now it was Seven’s turn to smile.

“I’d like that very much, Captain.”

Kathryn, feeling bold, added with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, “I’ll cook you whatever you like.”

Seven’s face paled considerably and she fixed her gaze on the Captain in alarm.

“I…I believe a replicator nutritional supplement will be sufficient, Captain. But I…thank you for your offer.”

Chapter Text

Seven of Nine studied the form of Captain Janeway as they moved through the forest towards the rock face behind the habitat. The hiking backpack was an odd feature to see added to the diminutive woman’s form, but Seven understood the rationale for being prepared. Besides, she considered, Janeway in hiking gear was…not unattractive.

The identical pack strapped to Seven’s own shoulders was almost certainly less appealing. It was uncomfortable against the thin material of the biosuit, and the implants along her back and ribs were repeatedly catching on the fabric of the bag. She tried in vain to shift the pack into a better position for the thirty-second time, letting out a frustrated grunt as she did so. When her eyes fell again to the sight of the Captain’s back as she carefully led the way through the enormous blue tree trunks, she realized the woman had slowed. An odd sensation cycled through her.

“Are you alright Captain Janeway?”

The words left her lips before she could stop them, although the question was hardly inappropriate. Seven had detected the Captain’s increased respirations and heart rate over the relative quiet of the forest. She knew the redhead was in excellent cardiovascular form–they’d often spent time together in the holodeck engaged in a number of physical sports–but Seven was aware of the potential for fatigue in the wake of real gravity and the fact that the earth beneath them had begun to incline. Still, as she watched, she understood that Janeway had not stopped because she was winded–instead, she seemed to be admiring the environment itself.

“I’m fine, Seven,” she replied, and the former Borg could hear the enthusiasm in her voice. “These trees are just…it’s astounding! I’ve never seen anything like this.” Her arms flung out to the side as though she could encircle the entire forest within them. The Captain’s grey eyes were suddenly on Seven’s as she turned to face her and walked a few steps backwards up the slight hill. Seven’s eyes, however, fell instinctively to the mark on the Captain’s neck she had discovered the night prior.

“Captain, please refrain from–” Seven began, her body tensing, but Janeway had already rotated to walk normally again. Her lips pursed into a firm line when her voice cut out, and she twisted her shoulders under the backpack for the thirty-third time. Satisfied the pack would stay put for at least the next 97.4 seconds, Seven increased her speed so she could walk beside her companion instead of following behind.

“It looks like another mile or so before we’ll be anywhere near the summit,” the Captain began, her pace returning to normal and all traces of the brief exuberance gone from her voice. “I suspect, once we get up there, we’ll have a lot better idea of what we’ve beamed into. I left word for B’Elanna to be on the lookout for data packs from us, but Voyager’s far enough away now that it takes some time for them to receive and reply. We won’t hear back until early afternoon, at least.” Her gaze flickered towards Seven briefly and she lifted an eyebrow. “Of course, you would’ve already known all that, I’m sure.”

Seven inclined her head.

“I anticipated these communication delays,” she said.

The Captain smiled, and Seven felt another rush of the sensation she couldn’t place. She adjusted the backpack for the thirty-fourth time. This time, Janeway caught the motion and halted.

“Give it here,” she commanded, holding out a hand. Without argument, Seven slipped the bag from her back and watched as her captain removed a number of the heavier items from the bag, shoving them into her own. She toyed with the straps, shortening them, before handing the pack back to Seven.

The blonde took it appreciatively as they continued on–it was much lighter now, sitting higher on her back, and there was a decrease of 42.981 percent in the rate of her implants catching on the fabric. The grade became steeper with every footfall, and occasionally she would spot Janeway looking over at her as they climbed. The observation lingered longer in the forefront of her mind than Seven believed it should.

About a quarter mile from what appeared to be the summit, the ground transformed from hollow, root-choked soil into the shale-like rock Seven had discovered near the river the previous day. Her attention piqued and instincts taking over, the blonde tensed and flung her human hand in front of Captain Janeway to stop her in her tracks.

The Captain, startled and swiftly looking to Seven for an explanation, obeyed the silent command.

"This area is unstable," the ex-Borg declared, her voice sharp. She pointed to the unnaturally neat transition line between the forest floor and the shale. "Note the depression in the loose stone before it levels out again." Her fingertip followed the path of the stone. "This aligns with the edge of the cliff face that overlooks our pod."

The Captain's jaw clenched slightly in the way it did when she was both shocked and concerned, but unwilling to more openly express it. Her grey-blue eyes scanned the line of stone in both directions.

"It's a fault line. Or something of the like. This entire forest is on a slab."

Seven nodded her agreement.

"My findings yesterday indicate that the slab, as you called it, extends for 7.83 miles. I discovered the same loose stone shortly before you called for me. I believe that this entire area is at risk of collapse, Captain."

"Ensign Kim and Commander Chakotay believed this planet would be survivable due to the humid climate and nutrient-rich soil," Janeway commented, her voice now just above a whisper. The stern, worried, Captain-esque expression she had often worn during their time on Voyager had returned. "I'm beginning to think that humidity could be a real problem for us, Seven."

"We are in agreement,” Seven replied. “We know that this planet has a dry season and a wet season. There is an 80.79 percent chance that when the wet season begins, our habitat could be washed away or buried."

Janeway nodded.

“We’ll have to get word to Lieutenant Torres and Ensign Kim again–let them know we need the remainder of whatever surface scans they conducted. Once we find a better place to make camp, we’ll need to find a way to do a site-to-site transport of the entire pod.” She didn’t look hopeful, and Seven understood why.

“That will be difficult,” Seven indicated, frowning. “To complete a site-to-site transfer at the distances required here, we will first need to reach the Beta site on foot.”

Janeway’s gaze lifted upward towards the summit of the cliff before them. Seven’s dubious eyes followed her movements.

“Speak your mind, Captain,” the blonde issued, using the same three words Janeway so often used on her when Seven was feeling uncertain.

“We need to get up there.” She pointed at the highest of the ledge rocks.

“We have already established that the ground beyond this point is in decay and is unsuitable for further reconnaissance. Captain–our movements could trigger–”

The Captain held up a hand.

“I know, Seven. But we have to see what we’re working with. It could be several days before we hear from Voyager again with any data packs. We can’t rely on them for everything, and in another month we won’t be able to rely on them at all." For a moment, the grey eyes that fixed onto Seven's seemed far away. "We intended to go up there today and that's what we're gonna do. If we’re careful, and make good enough observations, we can get a plan together without needing to come up here again.”

Seven studied the expression on the Captain’s face, the way the lines in her forehead solidified, her mind clearly already made up. At the same time, her eyes softened into a suggestive hope that Seven would agree with her logic. The uncharacteristic nerves came through the ex-Borg’s stance in the form of bated breath.

Consideration after consideration fired through her mind. She understood the rationale, and the need, but her analytical side was highly concerned by the statistical likelihood that the ground could destabilize during their excursion. She glanced around again, pausing on certain features and locations as her cortical and organic processes analyzed the situation as best they could. It wasn’t raining, and there was no wind or trembling of the earth to indicate that collapse was imminent.

Seven sighed.

The Captain was studying her closely. Seven knew she wasn’t going to change her mind, but Janeway’s actions suggested she required the blonde’s approval. It was a stark contrast to her typical manner of governance aboard Voyager.

“Seven–if anything’s going to happen today, I’d personally prefer to start on top.”

Something in Seven’s cortical node malfunctioned at the woman’s choice of words. She blinked at the Captain for several seconds while her mind attempted to recalibrate.

All at once, a rush of emotion cleaved its way beneath her metal-infused ribs. Her blue eyes snapped to attention, only her subconscious detecting the flicker of confusion in the grey of Captain Janeway’s, a salvo of unanticipated adrenaline delivering a punch to the very human heart in her chest. Her left hand, clad with metal and inexplicably trembling, shot to cover the place the heart lived.

Some time ago, the Doctor’s lessons had included teachings of human colloquialisms, but she had never before experienced her mind ‘going to the gutter.’ She frowned as the meaning of the concept took hold and brought a fierce blush to her face.

A few seconds later, she felt the contact of another’s hands, their grip tightening on her biceps as Captain Janeway’s presence swiftly became an extension of her own.

“You don’t have to come with me, Seven.”

Seven of Nine came back to herself then, her posture stiffening as she tugged free of the older woman’s grasp. This is preposterous, she thought while her heart rate slowed. My human emotions are affecting my perception of her words and taking them far out of the appropriate context.

“That would be unwise,” Seven replied at last. She inhaled. “I will accompany you. The likelihood of surviving a collapse is increased with a second set of eyes to observe any changes in the environment.”

Seven lifted her chin, swallowing the unsettling feelings in her throat that often flared up at the thought of Captain Janeway coming to harm. The same emotions that had spurred her decision to reject the Captain’s choice to refuse companionship on the planet, in spite of their good intentions, now led Seven to feel awkward and flummoxed by her place in the stalwart redhead’s new life.

Janeway didn’t need protection–she’d never needed that–but Seven couldn’t overlook her own compulsion to provide it. Perhaps it was a desire for control–an affinity the likes of which the blonde knew both women shared. Perhaps it was merely an aversion to the sense of abandonment she’d foolishly allowed to creep into her system from the first time Tuvok had implored that Voyager leave her Captain behind. That same fear, compounded when she’d learned that Janeway had agreed, had all but sent Seven of Nine tumbling over the precipice of a neurosis she had never known to exist before then. It was never an option to leave the Captain alone on the planet. The concept was incomprehensible, Voyager’s plans advancing into a foreign, unintelligible language that even a Borg queen could not have successfully translated.

“I don’t think anything will be collapsing today, Seven,” the Captain supplied with a faint smile, belying a disquiet Seven struggled to disregard. “Shall we?”

Nodding, Seven of Nine stepped forward onto the shale, noting Janeway’s atypical willingness to let the blonde lead the way.

Perhaps, she reflected sedately, the Captain is more aware of my psyche than I have given her credit for.

Seven was relieved to reach the summit of the rock face overlooking the pod. From the top they could see much farther into the distance than she expected. The sight was both exhilarating and sobering.

“How could Voyager have missed this?”

Captain Janeway’s words neatly sliced the thoughts from Seven’s cortical node as though she knew them without asking. Her optical implant raised as she cast a wary glance her way, uncertain if she wished to have the added implication of body language to augment the unease she was able to filter from the voice.

“We will need to hasten our relocation, Captain.”

Their vantage point allowed the women to see that the clearing, and the forest, were indeed on an enormous slab of planetary crust. On either side of the forest, a channel of water sluiced harshly towards a hazy horizon line. The unnerving line of loose stone that had identified the fault line on their way up continued toward the waterway Seven had not yet visited. In fact, she had erred in her calculations as to which portion of the earth was unstable.

It was the forest, the clearing, and the land upon which the pod lived that was in danger of slipping away.

Seven saw Janeway squint and roam her eyes over the landscape more slowly than before.

“This clearing sure does look an awful lot like it was carved out suddenly, doesn’t it?” the Captain asked, her shoulders rolling like she was trying to relieve tension. “Even the shape…” 

Seven saw what was about to happen as the Captain leaned forward, entrenched by her contemplations and paying little attention to where her feet were heading. In a flash, her Borg hand flung outward and snatched onto the backpack, yanking Janeway away from the ledge. The momentum carried the compact woman’s frame backward until it collided with Seven’s chest. They staggered together to one side until the only way Seven could prevent a complete tumble was to wrap her other arm around the redhead and twist them into an awkward, tangled knot before they came to rest into an unpleasant thatch of brambles.

Seven’s heart thrashed wildly against her ribs for several seconds as they stayed where they had landed, each of them seeming just as stunned and put off as the other. The Captain stared up at her, eyes wide and chest heaving as she appeared to struggle with processing exactly how they’d ended up there. It was difficult for Seven to ignore the proximity, the feel of the slim body beneath her and the way Janeway’s form compressed and molded into her own like a puzzle piece locking into place. Even the leaves and branches poking at Seven’s skin were unworthy of attention, the pressure muted by the all-consuming perfection of her captain’s heat and heartbeat surging in time to her own.

Is this how it’s supposed to feel?

Then Janeway pressed her lips together–those beautiful, flawless lips Seven hadn’t realized she wanted to taste until exactly that moment–and cleared her throat.

“Wh…where did you say you found the nacelle?”

The moment evaporated as Janeway’s trembling voice broke through the fog filling Seven’s head and threatening to short circuit her cortical node. She immediately released her hold, jolting backward and abandoning the Captain to lurch down through the brush until she had thunked against the cold rock with half of the back of her shirt dragged up and exposing part of her bra. She scowled up at the blonde.

Seven reached out and grabbed her hand again, tugging her upward with a bit less force than she’d used to drag her back from the ledge. She stood, taut and rigid as the Captain composed herself, readjusting her clothing and pack. Only once she was settled and had finally faced Seven again did she lift her Borg hand to point in the direction of the nacelle.

“There is a faint indentation in the tree line,” she indicated. “It aligns with the river.”

“I see it,” the Captain replied with a nod, brushing her hands down her shirt again. Seven watched her, noting the way she now carefully avoided her gaze and tried to return to normalcy.

As if anything could be normal after that.

She didn’t even thank me for saving her life.

“If something went down out here, that’s the path it took. Straight into our little clearing,” Janeway went on.

Seven touched her fingers to her optical implant, willing her lucidity–and her patience with the stoic older woman’s dismissiveness–to return.

“I concur,” she said at last, her jaw tightening a bit and then releasing. “Our home is located in a very old crater. It is likely this caused the fault line to form.”

“Which means there could be a ship right beneath our feet.”

Seven finally felt the tension in her body beginning to depart.

“Perhaps it was not the planet which made you ill after all, Captain,” the blonde added. “And perhaps it explains your subconscious inclination to dream of an unfamiliar ship and its crew.”

Captain Janeway fell silent for a bit, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked strained in a manner Seven hadn’t seen before. The way her eyes kept darting toward her own and retreating sent the former drone’s stomach twisting back into a knot, but it was not as severe this time.

“Certain substances contained in 23rd century Starfleet vessels were sometimes known to produce psychosomatic symptoms in the workers charged with decommissioning them,” Seven said, wrinkles appearing over her eyebrows. “I have researched this phenomenon. Without proper disposal, and given enough time, the effects could be stronger.”

Auburn tresses shifted as the Captain swiveled to look behind them. Seven followed her gaze, taking note of the gentle rise and fall of the distant, sandy landscapes and catching a fleck of light twinkling 34.7 miles away. It barely registered, even to Seven’s spectacular vision, but the Captain spotted it too.

“What do you suppose that is?” she inquired, taking a step forward as though it would help her see better. “Looks…it looks a bit like water, doesn’t it?”

Though she did not see the point, she, too, stepped forward until she was beside Janeway again.

“We are in agreement.”

“And that slight depression, there–it looks like another trench that’s filled in over the years,” Janeway added, pointing a few miles off into the plains. “More evidence of a crash, do you think?”

Seven frowned.

“Yes, Captain, however…” For a long moment, Seven paused, analyzing the plains and the occasional swells in the earth. Her eyes narrowed. “The vessel would have needed to be of substantial size to create this kind of impact field. It is not consistent with the scale of the component I found.”

This time it was Janeway’s turn to frown, the worry lines bracketing her lips more pronounced than before, and Seven swallowed the lump in her throat when she realized she was already staring again. But when the Captain spoke a moment later, the frown had disappeared and something more like intrigue had etched itself into her features.

“I bet there’s more than one ship out there,” she told Seven, her hair bouncing against her shoulders as she looked back out across the plains.

Seven could hear the understated exuberance in Janeway’s voice. She felt her stomach wrench as though Tom Paris had just begged her to help Captain Proton–a request she found impossible to refuse but desperately longed to decline. That feeling returned to her, the desire to protect her captain from harm, but the ex-Borg knew better than to think she would have any chance at all of changing Janeway’s mind.

“There are mountains, too,” Janeway continued, “but they look to be well past the water.”

“I see no further indication of any ledges or abnormal horizons in that area,” Seven said. Her throat felt tight and her mouth dry as she proactively checked to see where the Captain’s feet were located.

“Where I’m from, plains such as what we’re seeing there can be dangerous,” Janeway said with a nod. “It’s possible it’s a floodplain, but I’d be more concerned about wind out in the open like that. Electrical storms, too. We’d be more sheltered in the mountains, but without knowing what’s beyond them, I’m hesitant to set up camp in them.”

Grey eyes connected with blue, and Seven’s lips parted at the surprise contact given how readily she’d been avoiding it just moments before. Captain Janeway’s lips curved into a smile, and for a moment Seven thought she saw her hand twitch as though she might reach out.

“In the plains we can be more certain of long-term geophysical stability,” Seven said, her fingers curling until her nails could dig into her palms so she didn’t reach for the Captain herself.

What is happening?

Janeway hmmed, rubbing her chin.

“The habitat will require substantial modifications to ensure structural longevity in such an environment, Captain,” offered Seven, moving her hands behind her back in the hopes of concealing her unrest. “And the site-to-site transporter cannot operate at such distances.”

“Will it get the pod onto this summit?” Janeway asked. She chewed on her lower lip–an action the Captain did not seem to notice nearly as quickly as Seven did, and it took a great deal of willpower to tear her eyes away from the sight before Janeway caught her staring for at least the eleventh time that day.

“Yes,” Seven answered finally, trying to conceal the quiver in her voice behind a sharp nod. “The distance is not too great. But this location is also unsuitable for long-term habitation. We will need to find another.”

Janeway cast Seven another smile then, and the blonde knew she had already devised a plan. It was a facial expression she had learned to associate with something Janeway called, ‘intuition.’ Seven also knew that any plan conceived by way of Janeway’s ‘intuition’ had a 97.89 percent likelihood of success.

“How much power does the transporter require?” the redhead asked.

“A considerable amount.”

“How far will it take us?”

Seven ran the permutations through her cortical node and then replied, “4.89 miles. With some modifications, we could go as far as 5.2 miles.”

Captain Janeway had begun to pace, and Seven felt a peculiar sense of normalcy at the sight. Her mind was transported back to the times she had worked alongside the Captain on the many problems that arose on Voyager. A pang of nostalgia struck her, and she found herself longing to return to the relative simplicity of those days when Janeway was only her captain, and before she had been infected by the shadow of Seven’s betrayal.

Before she had the opportunity to experience the feel of the Captain in her arms.

“Tell me, Seven of Nine,” Janeway began, fixing the blonde with those sharp grey eyes for the second time. “What do you know about Stonehenge?”

The sudden change in subject caught Seven off guard, and she tilted her head.

“A megalithic monument constructed of bluestones during Earth’s Stone Age,” the former drone recalled. “I fail to see the relevance of this line of questioning, Captain.”

“It was built during an age where technology was severely limited or even non-existent. And yet, mankind found a way to move rocks weighing as much as 20 tons more than 200 miles.”

Seven was perplexed, a deep frown finding its way onto her face.

“Our habitat is hardly comparable to the scale of such stones.”

“No, but it is too big to transport great distances on foot. We need the transporter, but we could do it gradually, over the course of a week, could we not?”

The ex-Borg was finally starting to follow the Captain’s line of thinking.

“You wish to transport the pod multiple times to prevent the need to travel to the location on foot, first?”

“Correct. If I understand site-to-site tech well enough, to do it in one fell swoop would mean splitting up. One of us would have to make the journey to the new location, while the other remained behind to operate the transporter once the receiver had been properly installed.” Janeway had come to stand before Seven again, her pacing ceased.

“That is correct, Captain.”

“I am to assume that is an ‘unacceptable’ course of action in your mind, yes?”

Seven felt her heart leap into her throat again, and she swallowed tightly.

“Yes, Captain.”

Janeway smiled in her devious, stubborn sort of way. The action left Seven staring at the ground beneath them, her nanoprobes striving to fight off the cortisol that had flooded her system at the prospect of separation from her captain.

“Then it sounds to me like we’ve got some work to do on that transporter.”

Chapter Text

It was nearly dark by the time Kathryn and Seven returned to the pod, and the redhead was surprised at her level of fatigue. Of more interest to her, however, was that Seven appeared to be experiencing much of the same physical symptoms. The younger woman had entered the pod only to head straight for the shower. Kathryn planned to shower when she was done, considering the fact that she may not be able to do so once they began transporting the habitat.

With any luck, the modifications she had discussed with Seven along their trek home could be completed within two days’ time, but the sight of the collapsing terrain that day had imbued a shared sense of urgency, and Kathryn hoped they could begin the move sooner. Seven had insisted she show her the nacelle before the move, and they’d agreed they would begin work on new sub-surface scanners once they’d made the first jump.

In the meantime, the Captain had busied herself with preparing something like dinner–though she suspected Seven would balk at the prospect of ingesting her cooking were it anything overly exorbitant. She settled on a replicator meal instead.

As she waited for Seven to finish her shower, Kathryn considered where the day had taken them. Much of the anger she felt for the younger woman’s decision to strand herself here with Voyager’s Captain had dissipated upon discovering the need to move the habitat. Kathryn had never taken an interest in geography or in the study of plate tectonics on Earth. Without Seven’s astute sense of observation, she might never have detected that Tuvok and Harry Kim had dropped her onto a landmine. She understood they couldn’t have known– Voyager’s sensors had suffered from the effects of the planet’s chemical influence just as Kathryn herself had. They had received only the most basic picture of the situation on the planet, and without much time to stick around and study it, mistakes were bound to happen.

Mistakes which Seven of Nine had readily seen fit to correct. Mistakes which, if Kathryn was being honest, included her own.

The sound of the door opening started to draw Kathryn’s gaze, but she resisted the urge this time lest she come face to face with that appealing figure whose blonde hair was once again undoubtedly soaked through. Instead she kept her eyes focused on the plates she had set out on the table. Seven vanished into her room, only the delicate, fruity fragrance of whatever she used in her hair lingering behind to beguile the flustered redhead.

It was a scent she remembered all too well after the incident on the ledge that afternoon.

Stop that, she scolded herself, huffing a bit as she placed the silverware in the traditional positions on either side of the plates. Just because you’re the only other one on this planet doesn’t mean she’s ready for you to jump her.

Kathryn paused at the thought, her abdomen twisting when an unwelcome volley of images fell on her all at once–images of how the day might have gone had she handled Seven’s rescue with a bit less decorum, had she not scared the younger woman into dropping her, had she given into temptation and–

Heat flared into Kathryn’s cheeks and she halted her internal monologue before it could manifest into something far more dangerous.

You’ve been alone too damn long.

Seven returned a few minutes later, unraveling the towel from around her hair and shaking the wet strands loose as she strode back into the bathroom to hang it up. Kathryn chanced a glimpse as the stronger aroma of some kind of perfume wafted over her. Fire sparked hot and unwelcome in her gut, and she downed a swig of cold water to extinguish it.

Since when does she wear perfume?

The silver of the biosuit reflected the sterile lights of the habitat when Seven rotated back toward Janeway, and the older woman quickly averted her gaze. Kathryn settled herself quickly onto one of the stools before her knees could give out at the mental image of Seven of Nine, ex-Borg drone, spritzing fragrance onto that perfect, sinewy neck. Her heart was pounding as though she’d just run a marathon, her mind so preoccupied with trying to stop the onslaught of Seven-related imagery that she barely noticed the blonde had taken a seat beside her and hadn't even hesitated to dig into her replicated meal.

Kathryn’s spiraling ground to a halt.

“You’re…eating it.” The observation fell from her lips before she could consider exactly how ridiculous it sounded. Seven paused, looking up at her with raised brows.

“Is that not the intent of a meal, Captain?”

Janeway stared at her for a moment, but recovered smoothly.

“I expected more complaining.”

The faintest of smirks teased at pink lips, and a lowered pair of cerulean eyes belied Seven’s amusement. Kathryn thought she might do anything to see that coyness again.

“I concluded that my feelings about your cooking skills were hurting yours, Captain Janeway.” Seven lifted another spoonful of the rice-creation to her lips. It hovered there, and she looked up at her older companion, holding her gaze. “The appropriate course of action was to cease my criticisms and savor the efforts in their place.” The spoon disappeared briefly into her mouth, and Kathryn stared at her again, surprised by the unanticipated example of a very human-like compassion.

It was so profound that the Captain set her own utensils aside and retreated to the sink a few feet away.

“That’s very…gracious…of you, Seven,” came the whispered reply as she stood over the sink, her stomach suddenly roiled. Kathryn heard a metallic clink and the rustle of motion behind her. A pleasant warmth was at her back but still she shivered. Her neck sagged downward, weariness threatening to hinder her efforts to keep the contents of her stomach where they belonged.

She was unsuccessful.

“Captain.”

Gasping and reaching for one of the rags hanging on the backsplash, Kathryn ran the cloth beneath the faucet and dabbed at her mouth as her dinner spiraled into the oblivion of the drain. She took another moment to catch her breath before she turned, leaning back against the countertop and shocked to find Seven of Nine standing so close. She tried to force a smile onto her face, but it came out as a grimace.

“I suppose that’s why they say not to eat so soon after physical exercise.”

Seven didn’t seem convinced.

“This episode of regurgitation was not caused by our hike. Your cortisol levels are, once again, too high.”

“Everyone reacts differently to stress, Seven. You know this,” Janeway offered dismissively, waving her hand. Seven caught her wrist gently and did not allow her to move from her place at the sink.

“Your sleep patterns are not optimal,” the blonde added.

The Captain gave a bitter chuckle.

“That’s nothing new, I promise.”

“We should consider that your illness may be returning, Captain.”

Seven’s fingers tightened around her wrist–just enough to feel… different.

The embers in Kathryn’s abdomen flared back to life, a hitch in her breath and a shadow of apprehension revealed by the quiver of the hand in Seven’s hold. Her eyes found Seven’s and she was transported back to Voyager , back to a simpler time when her counterpart had only looked upon her with an unending desire to please her, to live up to Captain Kathryn Janeway’s impossible expectations. A time when those eyes didn’t agitate the emotions they did now or reflect that same agitation in return. A time when she hadn’t experienced the feel of Seven’s arms around her. Kathryn respired, her body tense when it struck her that her tension seemed shared.

When had the stoic ex-Borg begun to look at her like this ?

“Seven…”

Janeway’s pain became a murmur of supplication. Seven released her as though she had been physically burned.

“I–I’m sorry, Captain, I–”

Seven’s eyes were wide and her face transformed into something uncharacteristically expressive and as legible as the pages of the print novel beside Janeway’s bed. She staggered backward once, her metal-imbued fingers finding purchase on the surface of the table instead of around Kathryn’s wrist. The meal forgotten, Seven of Nine fled the kitchen, leaving the Captain confused and alarmed by the nonsensical intensity of the exchange.

Kathryn remained frozen in place for several long seconds, the phantom sensation of Seven’s grip lingering. She looked down, flexing her fingers and turning her wrist over. Her lips firmed into a tight line, and then her hand fell back to her side.

It doesn’t mean anything , she told herself. It’s nothing.

But something inside her wasn't quite convinced.

“This one’s a core.”

Kathryn lurched awake in the bed, gasping for breath that had tried to desert her in her sleep. She sat upright, grabbing blindly for a pillow and hugging it against her chest as though it would stop her racing heartbeat or the pounding ache in her temples.

The words in her head repeated over and over, the voice that had spoken them a whisper against the chaos of the scenes that had unfolded and must have been terrorizing her for much longer than usual that night. The ship was there again, more well-defined this time, inky black and streaked with amber lights on the nacelles. She reached for the water on the nightstand, the liquid a blessing against her parched mouth and throat as she gulped it down. She discarded the pillow back to the empty side of the bed, then leaned forward and wiped her palms across her face.

It’s definitely a Starfleet vessel, Janeway decided as the adrenaline receded. But it’s all wrong.

The tinier details were still murky, hovering at the edge of her consciousness, slipping farther away and back out of reach. It left only greater frustration and unease when she recalled the view from the top of the ridge. The impact crater. The trenches worn down with time.

The fact that there seemed to be many more than just one.

The dream voice twisted through her aching head again, and she wrinkled her nose.

What the hell is a core? she thought, rubbing at the creases spreading across her forehead and framing the corners of her lips.

It was 0300 by the time she finally gave in to her turbulent anxieties and swung her legs over the edge of her bed to stand. The deceptiveness of the steady ground beneath the pod unnerved her, but so too did the solitude of her room. Seven of Nine was mere meters away, separated only by the privacy of a thin, metal wall, and still Kathryn’s loneliness preyed upon her nerves.

It was reasonable, she surmised, that the harsh reality of her new life would result in such restlessness, but it didn’t make it any easier to adapt. The dreams were certainly not helping her settle in, nor were their increasingly irrefutable correlation to their discoveries on the planet so far. She left her room, retreating briefly to the lavatory to relieve herself. But as she headed back towards her own room, her footsteps halted outside Seven’s bedroom door.

I have to see her. Just for a minute.

Kathryn quietly turned the doorknob, her relief at finding it unlocked an odd experience in itself. Across the room she could see Seven of Nine, standing in her regenerator, eyes closed and body stiff. The Captain’s silent footsteps brought her to the console, her eyes absently skimming over the screen and noting the operating efficiency of the machine was down much lower than it should have been.

The Captain frowned as she remembered the way Seven had held her wrist in the kitchen earlier that night–the way she had fled once she had, and how she'd recoiled and dropped Janeway in the bush on the ledge.

Perhaps this is the reason for her strange behavior, she mused, turning her eyes to observe the resting woman’s figure. This will need to be corrected as soon as possible.

It wasn’t the first time Kathryn had visited Seven while she was regenerating–in fact, on Voyager it had been a more common occurrence than was likely proper. If Seven was ever aware of her Captain’s visits, though, she had never let on.

“This one will fight back.”

The Captain gave a soft gasp as the dream voice cut its way out of her subconscious again, and she stumbled one step toward the wall of the habitat. The words drifted off, and she leaned against the wall for a minute or so until the steady throb in her head began to wane.

When it had, Kathryn’s grey eyes drifted to the site of the empty bed just a few feet from the regenerator. A war raged within her for a few moments before she surrendered to the anxiety and the loneliness beginning to eat away at her. Just for tonight, she needed the company. And, somehow, she knew Seven of Nine wouldn’t mind.

Just for one night.

She climbed into the empty bed, pulling the covers up to her chin and nestling herself into a cocoon. A sigh escaped her as she turned to lay on her side, her eyes landing on Seven’s form once more. The young woman’s calculated words drifted into her thoughts before sleep claimed her again at last.

“You would have suffered alone.”

Chapter Text

The first virescent rays of dawn were filtering through the windows of the habitat when a low, resonant boom sounded in the distance, waking Seven of Nine. The regenerator cut out, jolting her the rest of the way into a groggy state of consciousness that left her stumbling out of the machine. The cold metal of the floor met the skin of her bare feet, earning a sharp, unpleasant contortion of her face at the sensation. The power in the habitat flickered and went out as the regenerator had. A shock tore into her optical processor, startling her, but it remained operational.

She padded over to the window just in time for the sound of another explosion, even more distant than the last, to reach her sensitive ears. Peering skyward in the direction of the noise, Seven’s forehead wrinkled and her optical implant scrunched down over her eyes. A thin edge of cloud vapor was moving lazily across the sky, pushed outward from some unseen force and trailed by a distinct, hollowed void.

Rarefaction, she thought, her eidetic memory pulling the term to the forefront. The pressure has dissipated. The source is far from here.

The systems in the habitat, and the regenerator, sputtered back to life.

Automatic restoration protocols are in effect, she realized, pursing her lips and pulling her nose back from where it had left a small print on the glass of the window. That was an electromagnetic pulse.

She touched her hand to the metal over her eye, contemplating the lingering sting.

It was then that Seven turned around–and realized she was not alone in the room.

Why is she here?

She approached the bed and spent several long minutes observing Captain Janeway as she slept. The emptiness of her features was startling, and the blonde felt herself shiver when she considered it was not unlike the sight of the Captain in Sickbay just days earlier. The frightful parallel between Kathryn at rest and Kathryn in illness was distressing enough to override Seven’s sense of logic and she found herself touching the older woman’s shoulder to wake her.

Kathryn?

It was the first time Seven could recall her mind identifying the Captain by her given name. It was, like so many other moments had been since her waking that morning, uncomfortable and confusing.

But when the Captain exhaled, Seven felt her entire being sag in relief. The woman shuffled in the bed, a soft murmur emerging from her lips and sending a flutter of heat through Seven’s midsection.

She thought it was the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard.

The Captain rustled again, her slender fingers fumbling their way toward her face to sweep strands of her hair from where they’d become lodged in the corners of her mouth. Seven followed her hand with her eyes and smiled at the sight, the heat in her abdomen cooling into the more favorable warmth of sentiment.

Janeway shifted again. It was time to leave.

She stepped back from the bed, evacuating the room before the Captain could realize it was Seven who had roused her. In spite of her regenerator still not working at optimum efficiency, Seven felt rested enough to begin work on the transporter modifications. She quickly replicated a meal for Kathryn, though she only selected a mug of tea for herself, and promptly moved into the lab.

There was little time to waste, and the sooner they could make the first jump, the sooner they could return to investigate the nacelle–and the sooner Seven could focus on the much more enticing prospect of making amends with her Captain.

Even from the lab, Seven could hear every second of Janeway's presence in the pod. From the sound of the bedroom door opening, to the soft grumbles and footsteps as she trudged her way into the bathroom, to the sound of the shower and the clatter of a spilled mug of coffee not long thereafter, it became obvious to Seven that Kathryn had not slept well.

Her presence in your room should have been indication enough of that , she scolded herself as she tugged at another conduit on the side of the transporter.

Seven was dimly aware of the voice of Lieutenant B’Elanna Torres emanating from the living area adjacent to the tiny kitchen some time later. It seemed that Voyager had received the Captain’s messages, and Janeway was in the process of recording a new one to send back. She heard scattered mentionings of the planet and the discovery of the nacelle, and Seven couldn’t help the way her brow quirked upward when Kathryn asked that a catalog of all 23rd century Starfleet ships be included with the next data packet. Inwardly, she knew such a thing would take longer than usual to send–the catalog was large, and as B’Elanna was almost as much of a perfectionist as Seven herself, it was all but guaranteed that the data packet would instead include each and every Starfleet vessel, shuttle, and insignificant craft that had ever existed.

The sound of the Captain’s footfalls arrived in the lab a short while later.

“How’s it coming?”

Seven did not look up, her attention required on the panel she was tending to.

“My progress is acceptable,” she replied from her crouched location beside the transporter, scowling a bit at the small tricorder in her hand. “We should be prepared to test the first transport tomorrow morning.” After a moment, she deposited the tricorder on a table and stood, retrieving a PADD and handing it to Captain Janeway. The Captain took it, her brows raised. Seven’s chest fluttered as the grey eyes scanned over her work, a nervous anticipation forming in her gut.

“This…is excellent work, Seven,” the Captain commended, and Seven couldn’t help the flush that reached her cheekbones and replaced the scowl with a tiny smile. Janeway’s hand clasped onto her shoulder and her weight leaned heavily into the contact as she had felt her do on many occasions aboard Voyager . The blonde, however, felt her own solidity begin to waver under the woman’s physical presence, just as it had the night prior. Finally, Janeway removed her hand and returned the PADD to the Astrometrics officer. “You’ve progressed faster than we anticipated. Would you like me to help check your updates?”

Some of the tension of the moment dissipated, and Seven nodded gratefully.

From there, the two women began to work side-by-side as they had so many times on Voyager , their duties punctuated by the occasional inquiry about this system or that component. Seven’s heart warmed at the ease with which they partnered to complete their task, and found herself casting otherwise unwarranted glances at Captain Janeway as she worked. Visions of what else they might partner on as they worked to move the habitat, of gardens and hiking and all manner of the same ‘domestic bliss’ Chakotay had once attempted to impress upon Seven himself. At the time, these things had seemed unappealing–useless and trivial. The thought of the same things with the Captain–with Kathryn–was different.

But the silence was deafening as they worked on the machinery, and words tumbled from Seven’s mouth before she could stop them.

“You did not sleep well, Captain.”

A resounding thunk told Seven that Janeway had dropped her tricorder. She fumbled to pick it up off the ground, righting herself and then pivoting until she faced the blonde. Seven cast a brief, uncertain glance her way, somehow unprepared for the attention. But when Kathryn didn’t speak, the ex-Borg doubled down.

“You were in my room.”

She hadn’t meant it as an accusation, but the Captain seemed to take it as one. Color rushed into her cheeks until they were nearly the same shade as her hair. She was gripping the tricorder so tightly that the plastic was beginning to creak. Whatever it was the Captain wanted to say, she seemed to be having a hard time saying it.

“I am not angry,” Seven offered, looking back to her work. The break in her attention must have had an effect, because she heard Janeway exhale. “I found it…agreeable.”

For a moment, Kathryn stared at her, and Seven wondered why her tongue was behaving without the consent of her cortical node.

It is your poor regeneration , she decided, but she was distracted by the sound of the Captain’s voice once she finally found it.

“I…you… agreeable ?” Janeway asked, and Seven thought she detected a flicker of wonder woven into the tone.

“If your presence was not agreeable to me, Captain, I would have stayed on Voyager .”

“Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean…" Kathryn faltered here, shrugging her shoulders and flailing her hands once to the sides. "It’s your bedroom , Seven. It’s…private.”

“My cargo hold was not private,” Seven replied, tilting her head. “You did not see fit to worry about privacy there.”

Kathryn’s face bloomed red again, and Seven lifted a hand to conceal the smirk tugging at her lips. It would not do to let the Captain see her laugh quite yet.

“I always had good reason to be there, though,” Janeway argued, seeming flustered. Her cortisol levels were spiking again. “I never meant to intrude, and I don’t think I ever woke you up that I can recall.”

Seven stiffened, fixing Janeway with an almost astounded stare.

“Captain,” she started, shaking her head a bit, but Janeway met her eye anyway. “I…was not suggesting you had ever disrupted my regeneration.”

The laboratory had become a vacuum, the oxygen around them vanishing. Kathryn Janeway, in all her Captain-esque glory, appeared at once frazzled and panicked by what it seemed she hadn’t intended to reveal. Seven’s heart pounded as the words sunk in. She saw Janeway’s mouth open and close several times. She took pity, and spoke in her stead.

“This was not the first time you have visited me in sleep,” Seven concluded, trying to keep her tone from becoming something accusatory.

At last, Janeway sighed. Her breath was shaky as it left her lungs, and Seven detected another spike in the older woman’s pulse and cortisol. Then Kathryn lifted her chin, defiant as ever.

“Being a Captain is a lonely role, Seven,” she said, and her teeth clenched. She turned her back, and just like that, the exchange was over.

But Seven’s heart wouldn’t stop racing as the Captain’s admission played on repeat in her mind. Though she saw no physical tether, it was as though she could now feel every single moment of Kathryn’s presence in the room.

“This component appears to be damaged.”

Seven held up the half-charred bit of wiring until Janeway approached her and took it, turning it between her fingers and then striding toward one of the lab tables. She held it under a mounted scanner, and began to rummage through some of the drawers.

As she returned with a replacement, a rumble of sound in the distance caught both of them by surprise. Kathryn’s grip stayed frozen in place on the component as Seven attempted to take it, and in their momentary distraction, Seven didn’t even notice the fact that their fingers were touching until several seconds later.

“That didn’t sound natural,” the Captain said with a frown, releasing the wiring and heading for one of the windows. Seven joined her, directing her gaze to the sky.

As had happened earlier, a line of clouds was moving outward from a central point, pushed by currents they couldn’t see. This time, with the forest in view, Seven could see a faint shudder ripple through the leaves on the trees.

“This phenomena occurred twice this morning while you slept,” Seven replied, unable to restrict the anxiety from creeping into her words. “I am uncertain of the cause. It resulted in a brief EMP.”

“Definitely some sort of explosion, then,” Kathryn said. She leaned away from the window, gaze darting around the lab before landing back on the transporter. “Hard to see anything from down here. I’ll feel a lot better when we can get out of this valley.”

They exchanged nervous glances, then retreated back to their project.

At some point during the course of the afternoon, Janeway had discarded her Starfleet-issue jacket in favor of the sleeveless camisole she wore beneath it. She dropped down to lay on her back on the floor, wriggling forward until her head and hands were concealed beneath the base of the transporter. For a while, she wrestled with some component she’d asked about earlier but now Seven couldn’t recall.

Seven was transfixed by the sight, the worries of the world around her fading into the background the longer her eyes stayed locked on the Captain.

The cords of her delicate neck contracted and strained at the same time the feminine musculature of her shoulders and arms flexed to tighten whatever loose computer peripheral it was she’d found. Her mouth went dry, her pulse quickened, and discomfort pooled in her chest when she realized she was scrutinizing her mentor with far more intimacy than was permitted or proper.

The edge of Janeway’s ribcage jutted out through the thin fabric of the shirt on the left side, the material having shifted from being trapped by the confines of a leather belt so that it rode up slightly over the ridge. Seven witnessed the pale skin flexing over the bones with a sinking feeling, at once torn between a frantic desire to see more and her need to protect the Captain’s dignity and help her hide the skin away. Instead she did neither, entranced by the effect such an unimportant display of physicality could have upon her own, while absently considering what she might ever think she could do with the information thereafter.

By the time the Captain had shifted her position and extricated herself from beneath the transporter to roll onto her side, Seven of Nine’s eyes were already carefully relocated. A foreign emotion boiled within her, idle comparisons between Janeway’s anatomy and her own taking hold and giving rise to a self-consciousness that hadn’t mattered before. Where the Captain had ribs, Seven had metal. Where she was tender and smooth, Seven was calloused and rough. Where she had beauty, Seven had pockmarks and scars. Even her fingers, warm and soft whenever they reached out for her, whether to comfort or arrest, were superior to the harsh, cold ore the Borg had soldered into Seven’s skin. Everything about the Captain’s physical form was antithetic to Seven’s own, and a surge of very physical pain left the ex-Borg revulsed by her naïveté in thinking Janeway might ever harbor any complementary affections.

A hardness overcame her then, the alloys in her spine chaining her fractured emotions back together in some grotesque distortion of what Janeway had always insisted they could be. Was this what it meant to be human? This labyrinth of consternation and insecurity and doubt? To feel , from one moment to the next, while drowning under the gravity of her inability to draw any meaningful connections between them? What was the purpose?

Janeway found her then, and Seven realized she had dropped into a crouch closer to the habitat floor. The tentative ghost of a palm encapsulated her knee as the Captain crouched with her, but Seven carefully deflected its benevolence by righting herself. She feared the touch would melt the metal of the implant concealed beneath the biosuit and burn them both.

“Must...you always …touch me?”

Seven allowed the injury in the Captain’s wide grey eyes to ricochet off the steel of her own as the tired fragmentation of her words reached across the void between them. She was aware of the potency of her change in mood, of the way it rebounded onto the Captain like a conductor, and recognized that she must appear quite out of her mind.

Maybe she was.

But Captain Janeway stood fast, her hands now cloistered behind her back and her sharp chin lifted. Her frame, so small and frail, dispatched a formidable atmosphere that Seven knew could suffocate even the Borg, her grey eyes a portal into the explosive will calmly awaiting sufficient reason to detonate. They were beautiful and deadly, and Seven could no longer bear to keep steady under their grasp.

She closed her eyes and exhaled.

Compose yourself , her inner voice snapped.

To her credit, the Captain did not comment on the bizarre situation as it unfolded before her, and Seven was suddenly more grateful for the disconnect of individuality than ever before. A curt nod and she returned to the transporter, moving smoothly back into work mode and requesting Seven’s assistance with a particular power conduit that needed rerouting. The woman followed her mentor, falling back to her side.

In the Collective, Janeway would have known Seven’s thoughts and her innermost feelings. She would have known how much Seven longed to trace the tendons of her wrists and the angles of her jaw with the cusp of a finger, and to know the feel and the heat of her lips in the dark. The prospect of Janeway knowing these things brought fresh color to Seven’s cheeks, though she was uncertain if it was out of enjoyment or fear. Frustration bloomed, and she shook her head to clear the treacherous thoughts.

She felt the Captain in her space as she reached across Seven for a tool, her body heat emanating against the fabric of the biosuit. It was clear the older woman was making a pointed effort to adhere to Seven’s earlier insinuation not to touch her, but it seemed she was having a hard time doing so.

“We are behind schedule,” Seven observed when darkness began to fall. A part of her blamed herself.

You are behaving as a Vulcan behaves during pon farr , she seethed. You are allowing these emotions to distract you and endanger your objective to keep the Captain safe.

“I believe we’re almost there, Seven,” Kathryn said, her thoughtful gaze roaming over the transporter and then falling onto the ex-Borg. “We would have been even farther behind without your expedience in the modifications this morning. You truly are exemplary.” Kathryn smiled as she slipped her jacket back on, and Seven swallowed her disappointment as the Captain’s lovely skin vanished beneath the fabric.

“If we are able to make the first jump by midday, there may be time to investigate the area around the nacelle tomorrow afternoon,” Seven said, the blush in her cheeks coming this time from the compliment.

“That’s my hope,” the Captain replied, leaning against one of the tables. She looked up at Seven, but hesitated for a few seconds before clearing her throat. When she still didn’t speak, Seven’s brows furrowed.

“Is there something bothering you, Captain?”

Janeway’s eyes darted to the window and then back. Her smile was small and forced.

“You always could read me like a book,” she said. Her attention shifted to her hands, where she fidgeted with her nails and then pinched the ridge of bone in her nose.

Seven straightened as the Captain pushed off the table and headed for the doorway, stopping beneath the frame. Her heart began to hammer in her chest again.

“Let’s talk about it over dinner, Seven.”

To the west, another rumble sounded. It was closer this time. Seven pulled her gaze back down from the ceiling and onto the Captain’s face.

Kathryn was waiting for her, eyebrows raised. Seven offered a small, crooked smile, then inclined her head and stepped forward.

“As you wish, Captain.”

She led the way to the kitchen. Behind her, the warm pressure of fingers fell to the small of her back as she passed. It was so fleeting, so soft and uncertain, that Seven wondered if Janeway had even touched her at all.

Chapter Text

“Where’s the drone?”

Something around her was shaking.

“The planet is unstable, Grand Marshal.”

In her bed, Kathryn’s head flung to one side at the unfamiliar voice, garbled and distant as she dreamed.

“Find it, Commander.”

“Captain!”

Kathryn jolted awake, groggy and startled to find Seven of Nine gripping and shaking her roughly by the shoulder. The force was so strong that the bed, too, was in motion.

I had no idea she was so strong, Kathryn thought, blinking to clear the sleep from her eyes. Seven jostled her again.

“Captain Janeway, you must awaken now !”

Offended by the unnecessary effort, Kathryn shoved Seven’s grip from her shoulder–only to realize that the shaking didn’t cease. Her heart dropped into her stomach and she sat bolt upright in the bed.

“Oh no,” she blurted out.

Understanding swept into the forefront of her mind, and Kathryn leapt out from beneath the blankets and off the mattress, paying no mind to the silk nightgown she wore or the fact that it was only loosely tied. One look at Seven’s expression told her exactly what was happening.

“It’s time to test that transporter, then!”

Seven didn’t bother to speak as she grabbed the Captain’s wrist in an iron grip, and Kathryn’s heart began to pound as she was practically dragged from the bedroom and into the lab. The ex-drone took over the controls for the transporter while Kathryn fussed with the nearby power supply. The violent quaking began to shift into a disturbing, steady trembling. Janeway chanced a glance through the nearby window, where the first green rays of morning were peeking through the terror of the moment.

Time seemed to slow as the sight outside the window struck her.

“The whole region is beginning to slide!”

Seven’s voice broke through a sudden cacophony of tumbling objects and the creaking of the habitat’s strained metal walls. Kathryn gasped as her body slammed into an overturned table when the ground lurched beneath them. As she righted herself, she heard Seven grunt and strain, and then the telltale whirr of the transporter powering up reached her ears. Kathryn felt her way through the darkness for the last of the conduits. She snapped the clip into place once she found it.

“It's ready!” Seven cried, and Kathryn staggered towards her Astrometrics officer's shadowy form. She had nearly reached her when the pod pitched violently and the earth plummeted several meters. Kathryn clutched at the only thing she could find–Seven–who was desperately trying to stabilize the transporter enough to get it to lock onto their location.

The metal walls were beginning to snap and buckle.

Seconds later, Kathryn felt the telltale tingle in her bones of the transport system before her molecules were relocated.

The habitat reformed several miles away and several feet above the ground, smashing down and sending Kathryn, Seven, and everything within the pod that had been unsecured careening wildly through the open spaces. For several agonizing seconds the building teetered on the edge of a boulder before finally sliding off and coming to rest on earth that was blessedly stable.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, Kathryn rose and tried to get her bearings.

“Seven?” she called into the dim lighting filtering in from the brightening skies. A faint groan from a meter or so away led the Captain to the form of Seven of Nine, pinned beneath one of the lab tables. As the pod's auxiliary power supply kicked in and emergency lights began to flicker back to life, Kathryn stumbled and climbed through the mess of the pod to reach her. She muscled the table off of Seven's form only to witness an injury she hadn't been able to see before.

“Seven!” she cried, her stomach twisting at the sight of a thin metal rod protruding from the side of the woman's abdomen. Blood was quickly pooling on the floor beneath her, and Seven was frowning down at the sight of her own wound. Her Borg hand reached for it but Kathryn slapped it away. “Don’t touch anything!” she snapped, crouching for a moment as her eyes darted around the tumult. They landed on one of the emergency medical tricorders and dermal regenerators still miraculously fastened to the wall where they belonged, and she kept her panic at bay long enough to retrieve them and the medkit dangling half-loose beside them.

“You’re going to be okay,” the Captain soothed as she came back to Seven’s side, straining to keep the fearful notes out of her voice. Seven’s head dropped back down to the floor, still seeming in somewhat of a daze.

With quaking hands, Kathryn assessed and went to work on the blonde's injury, managing to stem the bleeding, but not before Seven lost consciousness. When the tricorder indicated it was safe to do so, it took all of Kathryn's remaining strength to wrest the contorted rod from amongst the flesh, metal and bone of Seven's body. She flung the bloodied metal away and it clanged against one of the habitat walls as it fell. The process of removing it flayed a large section of muscle open again, and Kathryn silently thanked whatever higher powers might exist that Seven was not awake to feel it as she went to work repairing that as well.

When she was done, she sat back on her heels and exhaled, running the tricorder over Seven’s form in a last check for any additional damage. When it indicated nothing else in need of correction, she set it back into the medkit case with the dermal regenerator.

The immediate emergency abated, Janeway went to work clearing a path and resituating Seven's bedroom. When she was satisfied, she hauled Seven’s deceptively heavy body into her arms and managed to carry her to the bed. Kathryn drew the blankets over the woman's still unconscious form, and then took a moment to look out the nearby window. As she approached, a sickening knot formed in her gut.

The pod had come to rest just barely past the edge of the rocky cliff that had once overlooked a stunning forest, a clearing, and two rivers.

Now, though, there was only one river, its breadth spanning the entirety of the cliff from one side to the next. The clearing, the trees on either side, and whatever vessel might have been buried in the distant forest were gone, cleaved entirely from the place they'd existed just hours before.

Kathryn wrestled with the console of Seven’s regenerator when the sound of shifting fabric and a small whimper of pain caught her attention. Seven stirred as she retreated to the side of the bed, her instinct to touch the woman’s shoulder halted by the memory she had asked her to stop. Her hand fell back to her side while Seven blinked and took in her surroundings.

“Kathryn,” came the hoarse but familiar baritone that was a recently roused Seven of Nine. The sound of her first name emerging from the blonde’s lips caught her by surprise, an unsettling but pleasant heat forming behind her ribs as it happened. “Are you undamaged?”

Kathryn smiled through somewhat watery eyes as she looked down into the gentle, swirling cerulean.

“Yes, Seven–I am undamaged,” she told her. “You, however, were not as fortunate. You've lost a great deal of blood.”

Shifting in the bed and drawing herself upright, Seven looked relieved, but sore.

“My nanoprobes will assist with any additional healing.”

“They've already done a fine job,” Kathryn said with a more stern bite to her words. “ But …we have at least 12 hours before we can make another jump, and I’d like to see you get some more rest.” There was a pause, during which Seven appeared to shrivel slightly under her Captain’s gaze. Kathryn’s eyebrows raised as she frowned, leaning over Seven and adjusting the pillows behind her shoulders to provide more support. “Your regenerator’s hardware is failing, Seven.”

Discomfort shown in the blue of her eyes.

“I am aware of this problem,” Seven answered, a bit too sheepish for Kathryn’s liking. She sighed, and her complaint was halfhearted.

“Were you planning on… enlightening …me to the situation, or were you planning to tackle it yourself while being sleep-deprived?”

“My body is capable of surviving without the regenerator,” Seven countered as Kathryn’s accusation reached her ears. “Sleep is not as efficient, but the restoration is comparable to regeneration.”

Kathryn stepped back from the head of the bed, her fingers tugging down the blanket and lightly pressing them onto the area where the metal had pierced Seven’s abdomen.

“Does that hurt?”

Seven’s body had gone rigid at the contact, but this time Kathryn had needed to touch–the tricorder could only tell her so much. The blonde started to shake her head, but then it transformed into a nod and a wince.

“The pain is within tolerable levels.”

Kathryn withdrew her hand, fixing her younger counterpart with an expression that wavered between irritation and concern. The Captain tried not to dwell on the utter panic she’d felt rise in her throat when she first saw Seven’s injury earlier that day, nor the way clarity had struck in the moments following moving her into the bed. She’d had always known Seven was important to her–many others aboard Voyager had known and commented on it as well–but even in spite of nearly losing her so many times prior, this particular event had left her rattled.

Seven of Nine was supposed to be strong , an indomitable barrier of dynamism against the threats that had always sought out Voyager and her crew. Kathryn had seen her buckle before, but never to the physical–never to something as simple as a piece of metal, so much of which was already contained within her nimble form. The sight of something so commonplace as gravity lazily siphoning Seven’s blood onto the floor of the pod had spooked Kathryn Janeway far more deeply than anything before. It was as though her mind suddenly, finally, realized Seven was no longer the mindless machine she had been when first severed from the Collective. She was flesh and blood and had anything in the moments following their crash-landing gone differently, had Kathryn herself been knocked unconscious or injured, Seven of Nine would most certainly have died.

A shiver crossed her body, and Kathryn hated herself for turning her anger at her own feelings upon the one some deep-seated part of her cared about so greatly. She had been angry when Seven first refused to leave, but was angry again now, when Seven had nearly done just that. Kathryn understood she was placing no-win scenario after no-win scenario upon the younger woman, and it needed to stop .

They couldn’t keep going like this.

Still, Janeway couldn’t muster the courage to make an apology. Not yet. She sighed, murmuring something about going to tidy up the pod and leaving Seven in the privacy of her bedroom to heal.

“You are distraught.”

Kathryn flinched from where she was crouched beneath the bent support frame for the transporter, cracking her head on a sharp corner and hissing. One hand, smeared dark with dirt and grease, flung up to cover the point of connection which had split the skin and started to bleed. She grit her teeth and resisted the urge to snap at the blonde who had so silently approached, even in the midst of the countless objects and fixtures still strewn about the habitat after its less-than-graceful relocation. Kathryn stood only to find Seven was already fussing over the cut, the cool fingertips of her human hand providing a sharp contrast to the rising heat of the wound.

“I’ll be fine,” Kathryn replied, tugging herself away. “You should be in bed.” She snatched a rag and dabbed at the injury, which ceased bleeding after a minute or so. Satisfied for the moment, she dropped the rag and rotated, blowing out a breath while the heels of her palms found the countertop behind her. “How are you feeling?”

“How I am feeling is no longer in question, Captain Janeway,” Seven retorted, her own patience apparently having swiftly departed. “You are avoiding my inquiry.”

“I am not distraught,” Kathryn supplied, but she knew her tone was weak and unsupportive. Another sigh crossed her lips.

Seven deserves better than this from me.

Kathryn allowed her eyes to fall to the floor and briefly close as she made the decision to expand and hopefully quell some of Seven’s apparently growing frustration. “I may have felt distraught earlier, in the moments following my discovery of your injury, but I’m fine now. My only concerns revolve around your continued health and in moving this pod to its permanent location.”

“You are withholding information, Captain,” Seven replied, moving a bit and releasing a barely-detectable wince as she did so.

Kathryn gave a begrudged smile that transformed into a frown.

“I had another dream,” she admitted, rubbing one of her inner elbows with her other hand. “And the nacelle–the ship we thought might be buried out there by the river–it’s gone.”

Seven didn’t seem convinced.

“When the water recedes, it is possible we may yet find it remains there.” She didn’t say anything more for a few seconds, turning in the direction of the transporter instead.

Kathryn’s eyes lifted and her head tilted a bit as she watched Seven work.

“The transporter appears to be nearing full power again, Captain,” the ex-Borg observed as she tapped a few options on the screen. “We did not jump as far as we anticipated, but the premature launch resulted in a greater power expenditure than we were prepared for. It would be unwise to attempt any emergency jumps again.” Seven tapped the screen for another few seconds, then paused and turned. The crease over her brows deepened in the way Kathryn knew meant she was either concerned or perplexed. “You have made modifications of your own?”

Fortifying herself, Kathryn expelled a breath and nodded.

“You said you didn’t need your regenerator,” she started. “I pulled its power cell and integrated it into the transport system. It should help us jump farther.”

A flash of a smile touched Seven’s lips, and Kathryn noticed a twinge of heat shoot into her cheeks at the sight.

“I am…impressed with your ingenuity, Captain. This is an option I had not considered.” The blonde raised her optical implant and then went back to her work.

Nearby, the heat in Kathryn’s face rushed into her chest at the high praise she’d just received from the ordinarily lukewarm former drone. Calming herself, and trying to restore her focus to their situation, the redhead stepped to stand closer to Seven and hover over her shoulder in a way she hoped would not be offensive.

Seven’s voice permeated the silence again.

“With the addition of the regenerator’s power cell, I calculate that we can extend our transport range to 6.1 miles per jump which will save one day of transit time.” Wide blue eyes turned to focus on Kathryn and she was briefly reminded of their early days in Astrometrics.

“That sounds like a good deal to me,” she commented, her lips curving upwards slightly. “Can the power cell handle repeated use? I hadn’t gotten a chance to work that into my calculations once I made the modifications.”

“I will attempt to limit the temperature of the plasma core in an effort to reduce wear on the regenerator’s power cell,” dictated the younger woman, and her fingers hurriedly tapped at the station’s screen again. “We may need to supply an additional cooling agent to the plasma…” She trailed off for a moment, and her expression turned thoughtful. “Disregard that. I will instruct the system to target and utilize some of the water molecules in the pod during transport as a means by which to keep the plasma circulation lines at a more consistent temperature. It will be sufficient to prevent any critical overloads to the system upon rematerialization.”

Kathryn’s grey eyes crinkled at the corners as she witnessed Seven solve the problem in real-time. There was a point when such solutions would have taken the older Captain by surprise, but years of working alongside the woman’s ironclad acumen had allowed that earlier sense of wonder to mature into something more akin to appreciation. Seven was always confident in her skills and logic, of course, but by now that confidence had extended to Kathryn as well. The pair locked horns frequently, as any two competing intelligences undoubtedly would, but it was the strength of the fight in them both that often led to their greatest successes. The redhead felt another tear threaten to spill down her cheek as she watched the incredible woman before her, and her hand darted up to wipe it away before it could–and before her companion could see.

Seven of Nine had almost died that day, but if it weren’t for her stubborn inability to go along with yet another of Captain Janeway’s plans, Janeway would have died first. She cast her eyes away from Seven, taking note of the many objects still strewn about the pod. It would be wise for them to tidy up before making another attempt at a transport. Kathryn shivered at the thought of Seven falling victim to another accident like the first and quickly went to work.

Kathryn had already moved most of the tables and chairs in the habitat back into their upright positions, but there were still a number of open and spilled kitchen drawers. Various bottles and utensils were scattered in all directions. A suspiciously mobile pair of potted, fruit-bearing succulents Neelix had insisted on sending along had cracks in their bases, but both had managed to resituate themselves in the vicinity of their original locations. Kathryn tried not to think about the fact that they appeared to be silently communicating with one another while she worked.

It wasn’t long before she realized Seven was shuffling about alongside her, although her motions were somewhat stiff even for the ex-Borg. Kathryn surmised she was still suffering some level of pain from her injury–it wasn’t surprising–but the fact that she allowed Kathryn to see it at all was more intriguing than anything else.

Aboard Voyager, Seven had always demonstrated a careful propensity for concealing any physical problems from her crewmates, and even more so where the Captain was involved. Either Seven was in more pain that Kathryn realized, or she had begun to let her guard down. Though she knew the former was more likely given the circumstances, Kathryn couldn’t help the flutter of curiosity that coursed through her at the thought of what a more placid version of Seven might look like.

She jumped at the light touch of cold metal on her forearm. The contact was gone by the time her head turned to see Seven holding out one end of a long rope. Kathryn nodded without a word and took it. The pair went to work tying the larger objects in place, and then split up to secure anything else that could possibly detach or open in the event of another crash landing. Perhaps thirty minutes later, Kathryn found herself standing in the lab again, face to face with Seven. The lanky blonde clasped her hands behind her back and straightened.

“The power supply is stable, Captain,” Seven told her, inclining her head at Kathryn. “We are ready to attempt another jump.”

Chapter Text

Seven of Nine held her Borg hand before her, flexing her fingers and examining the appendage from all angles. Viewed alongside her human hand, it was strange to know that she could detect pressures and temperatures and sensations through both of them equally, in spite of the plates encasing the tips of her fingers on the left. Sometimes she wondered whether the skin beneath would be any more or less sensitive than the metal–the metal which continued to shoot fire and electricity into her system where she had only briefly allowed it to touch Captain Janeway nearly five hours earlier.

Absently, she allowed her assimilation tubules to dart out and show themselves, unsettled by the way they writhed and strained despite having nothing to consume. It was rare she permitted herself to see them. To her, they were still the enemy, two poisonous serpents who could strike without consent, without reason, and without discretion. Her cortical node reminded her that was not the case, that she did in fact control these vipers and could charm them back to sleep at any time she pleased. Still, it didn’t help her disgust at what they had done, at the atrocities this component of her had committed, or the restlessness she felt when she considered what little it might take to make her do any of it again.

The Doctor had assured her many times over that as long as she remained separated from the Collective, she would maintain control of these insidious weapons perfectly camouflaged between titanium and skin. So too had he promised that they were impossible to remove. They were too deeply integrated with her nervous system, and with her cortical node.

Seven swallowed tightly as she remembered the way the Captain had flinched when she’d reached to tend to her head, and she wondered if it was for the same reasons Seven had so hurriedly pulled away. Did the Captain fear that hand in the way Seven did? Did she have nightmares of Seven losing control, of Seven reverting back to her most primal Borg instincts and seizing her individuality, possessing her and supplanting her will with Seven’s own? It was simply unacceptable to touch anyone with her Borg hand without prior consideration– especially Captain Janeway–and yet, she had done it. Like a mindless, licentious drone Seven of Nine had allowed the single most dangerous part of her to come into contact with the Captain without conscious intent.

It was a mistake she wouldn’t make again.

She retracted the tubules, relief washing over her when they were out of sight.

To her right, Seven heard a rustle of blankets and a faint, sleepy sigh, and realized that the Captain had left her bedroom door cracked open.

The second jump had been blessedly uneventful, but in the wake of the landslide, the pair had agreed to sleep in shifts. Seven fought against the urge to enter the room and check on her Captain, knowing it would only bring more anxiety to her already sour mood. Several nights of poor regeneration, and now a night without it at all, had left the blonde more than a little irritable, and even more troubled by her conflicting emotional states. Still, she indulged herself and stepped closer to the door, peering through the opening and watching the steady rise and fall of the blankets concealing the woman’s sleeping form. Heat collected in her abdomen and bloomed upward into her chest at the sight.

She wanted to be close to the Captain. More than that, she wanted the Captain to want to be close to her. Seven was in no way blind to the changes in the older woman’s physical state that so often occurred when they were around each other. Seven noticed everything–the rigidity of her physique even as her hands fidgeted and betrayed some unspoken uncertainty, the way her respirations increased and her pupils dilated, and the deepened timbre of her voice. Her cortical node could detect the fluctuations in Janeway’s stress hormones, how they climbed before Seven touched her and plummeted once she had. Seven was certain of the reasons–more certain than she had been about anything else in her tormented, half-Borg life.

Why, then, was it so hard to convince Janeway to act?

Because she did not want you here, came the terrible, haunting internal reply. You came here for her, disobeyed her to do so and threw yourself at her feet, and still she does not want you.

Seven shook her head and spun away from the door, returning to the table and planting her palms on it with a bit more force than necessary. Then a more sensible thought occurred to her. She cast a glance back at the bedroom door, but the pod remained silent and still.

Perhaps…she does not know.

The blonde felt like she had just been thrown a lifeline. She’d spent more than enough time in the holodeck and with Chakotay to learn how to operate when dating and being courted, but she realized with a start that she’d never considered the possibility of having to be the one that initiated. In fact, it made a lot of sense that she would need to fill that role where it came to Captain Janeway. Aboard Voyager , the older woman was virtually unwavering in her ludicrous pledge to celibacy. She had failed to contemplate that as long as Janeway still considered herself Seven’s Captain, proximity alone might not be enough to break through the façade.

The Captain had always been very reclusive when it came to her personal life. Seven knew that there was another to whom she had once been committed, and that the engagement had been broken by time and Voyager’s disappearance. Janeway had never appeared overtly upset by the news, but Seven was not present to witness the initial receipt of the letter or the woman’s earliest reactions. The thought of her own absence in such a critical moment bothered Seven now, but at that time she and the Captain were still very much at odds about many things. It was probably better that she had been elsewhere. Her mind drifted back to the name of the Captain’s former mate, Mark.

Mark was a human name. A male name.

Seven and the Doctor had discussed many things in the realm of romance when she had first expressed interest in learning more about the subject. Their topics had never touched on the concept of matings between two members of the same sex, however, and Seven suddenly felt woefully unprepared. Was it possible, even with her recent realization that she might have to ‘take the lead’ in courting Captain Janeway, that the woman could never be won over because of something so simple as being attracted only to males?

The thought was somehow even more terrifying than the Captain being unaware of Seven’s growing adoration for her.

How could she have made this oversight?

Seven of Nine sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose for a moment before halting. She pulled her hand back and studied it.

I am beginning to replicate her mannerisms, she mused, and then grew frustrated. With a frown, Seven straightened into her typical Borg-esque stance and stalked back towards the lab to fuss with the transporter again. Maybe, with a few more adjustments, she could get the next jump to be even farther. Maybe they could settle into a more permanent ‘homestead,’ as Janeway had called it, even sooner. Stability would certainly do the Captain good, and then Seven could refocus her efforts.

Unfortunately, even after running seventy-three new possible mathematical scenarios, Seven was able to determine the transporter was at peak efficiency given the unorthodox use it had been subjected to. She briefly considered sending a message to Voyager and B’Elanna Torres, but the idea was promptly discarded when she considered it would take at least 24 hours for them to receive it and an additional 24 hours to receive any replies. Instead, her thoughts returned to the Captain, and the predicament surrounding whether or not she would ever be interested in a female mate.

Seven knew she had the advantage of data on her side.

It was logical, based on what she understood of the Captain’s unconscious physiological behaviors, that there was interest in some form. It was therefore also logical that Seven should make an attempt to encourage it, given that she felt similarly in return. But…how could she possibly attempt to court someone of the Captain’s caliber in this strange, thus far hostile, alien environment?

With Chakotay, and with the existence of the holodeck, dating and courtship were simple and straightforward. There were walks in great, mountainous forests, dances in 20th century saloons, and strange, foreign restaurants whose meals were even more likely to come alive and squirm off their plates than the types Neelix produced. Here, though, on this barely habitable rock, Seven could treat Kathryn Janeway to none of those idyllic romantic locales. It was…disheartening.

I’ve thought of her as Kathryn again , Seven frowned.

Absently, her palm fell against the sore spot in her side, and though she couldn’t see the skin beneath the biosuit, she knew there was a scar. The nanoprobes ensured it wasn’t large, and to a passive observer it might not be noticed at all, but Seven would carry it with her even as it faded with time. Janeway’s quick thinking had saved her life–the concept foreign even as she often considered her severance from Collective to be another instance of it–but frustration swelled within her as every prospective means of thanking her seemed inadequate.

Save for one.

“Being a Captain is a lonely role, Seven.”

Seven knew from experience that Janeway required companionship, but on Voyager , the impersonal nature of her friendships had never seemed enough. She needed more .

I must further my efforts to make her see she is no longer bound by her Captaincy here , Seven decided, setting her jaw. She must understand she is free to indulge. But she must know my intent before she can accept it.

An idea hatched, abrupt but encouraging.

I will construct a holodeck.

It would be difficult, Seven knew, but once they were settled in their final location, it could be done. Her body warmed at the prospect of slow dancing with the Captain like she’d once tried to do with Chakotay, at the image of her dressed in something more risqué than her uniform. Her fingers curled as though Janeway’s waist was already beneath her hand, grey eyes starry and body held close against Seven’s.

In the distance, a faint rumble sounded from the sky, the same as the others, jerking the former drone from her more pleasant thoughts. Seven shook her head and then scowled, startled by how quickly her mind had fallen into the fantasy. Even from the lab, she heard Janeway shift in the bed, the mattress creaking lightly under the motion. Seven approached another window to look into the darkness, still uneasy at the change in environment around them that she knew would continue to change for at least several more days while they jumped. This time, though, the sound was accompanied by a flash of light that clawed across the sky, streaks of fire spilling from behind the moonlit clouds. They were slow and silent, burning out long before they hit the ground, but the new development was concerning.

Uncertainty gnawed at her, and she glanced around the still somewhat disheveled pod, her cortical node beginning to work out methods by which to reinforce it against the potential of strikes from above. They would need a more reliable source of power before they could hope to produce shields, and such a thing was still at least several days away.

Seven made note of the time, calculating the hours until she could wake the Captain and they could prepare for the next jump. Dawn was not far off.

Outside the habitat, the soft howl of wind moved against the metal, lifting damaged sections and slamming them down again. Seven flinched, running her Borg hand along her sternum.

Realization stirred in her stomach when another distant boom sounded, and more fire rained down from the sky. Her cortical node tracked the seconds. At her side, her human fingers clenched and released, a nervous tick she’d discovered was becoming a habit. Her throat thickened and filled with a lump she struggled to swallow down.

Another rumble reached her ears. Another spray of fire.

This phenomenon is following a pattern.

Chapter Text

Kathryn gripped the corner of the lab table without even a modicum of evidence that she believed Seven’s latest tech update would prevent another face-plant for the Captain as the familiar tingle of the transporter crossed over her. When they rematerialized without accident, however, it was Seven who first saw fit to exhale in relief. As she released the table, Kathryn felt a somewhat pompous grin emerge at the realization the ex-Borg could, in fact, experience self-doubt. The warm ghosts of her fingers vanished from the metal surface and she cocked an eyebrow at Seven, who mirrored her expression but then reached out her hand.

“Our agreement?”

Kathryn’s face turned sour as she looked down at Seven’s human palm, patiently waiting. The Captain had always been a bit of a sore loser, but she reached up to remove a pip from her collar nevertheless. There was a moment of hesitation as her hand hovered over Seven’s, but the younger woman’s eyes were cool, arrogant, and firm. She sighed, dropping the single pip into the palm below. The long fingers closed around the object.

“It would seem I have become adept at winning more than just our Velocity matches, Captain Janeway. What will it be next?” Seven quirked her optical implant again, and Kathryn felt a slight jolt of energy course through her when she saw those ocean-blue eyes flit hastily down her body and then reconnect with her own.

“We still have more jumps, Seven,” Kathryn growled, with a stubborn lift of her chin, and she adjusted her collar and the remaining pips for effect. That lone glance, however brief, had set Kathryn’s insides on fire in a way she didn’t fully understand. She could only hope her movements were enough to convince Seven that she was still in control of her faculties. “Best not to let one solitary win go to your head.”

The blonde stepped closer into her space, the pip still clasped within her hand. Her head tilted, the tendons of her neck protruding handsomely as she did so. Seven’s eyes dipped lower for the second time, but the flash of bewilderment that crossed her features indicated to Kathryn that she’d been aware of it this time. She stiffened and her lips settled into a line.

“It will not be solitary.”

Seven pivoted then, rupturing the peculiar aura of tension and striding to the other side of the lab. She deposited the pip into a small container she’d secured to a workbench earlier that day. Kathryn watched her for a few seconds thereafter, her breathing having trouble returning to its normal rate. The Astrometrics officer retrieved a tricorder and a PADD, returning to the container and scanning the pip before closing the container’s lid. If she noticed Kathryn studying her, she didn’t let on.

Odd, thought the Captain.

For a moment she considered questioning Seven, but decided that some mysteries were better left as just that. Besides, she’d lost a bet, and with it, her rights to an easy, replicator-made lunch.

“The attempt is adequate.”

The Captain’s wide grey eyes stared at Seven from across the table of the pod, the spoonful of ‘homemade’ French onion soup hovering in front of her lips. After a moment, she took it into her mouth and then smiled.

“That’s high praise from a former Borg drone,” the Captain observed, but she soon grew suspicious. Her spoon plinked back into the bowl and she fixed the blonde with her most intimidating glare. “Or are you just saying that so you don’t hurt my feelings again?”

“On the contrary,” came Seven’s rebuttal. “I find the flavor stimulating. My concerns were unwarranted. Thank you for introducing this to me, Captain.”

“Concerns?” Kathryn blinked.

Seven lifted another spoonful into her mouth and swallowed, her brows raised. Kathryn gulped a bit too as she watched, but for an entirely different reason.

“Your selection of this particular root vegetable as the primary element of flavoring was worrisome. As was the display of smoke prior to the entree’s completion. I was unaware that onions could be finessed into sweetness from bitterness.” She took another mouthful from her bowl and smiled. “Therefore, the attempt is adequate.”

The Captain brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, hoping Seven couldn't see the pink rising in her cheeks. 

“You certainly know how to pay a compliment when you mean it,” Kathryn said, swooning a bit, the faint smile having returned to her lips.

“I always mean it, Captain,” Seven replied, wrinkles appearing on her forehead like she was confused. The spoon in her fingers hovered halfway between the bowl and her mouth. “It is not logical to offer a compliment that one does not mean to give.”

For a few seconds she held Kathryn's gaze, and then lifted the spoon back to her lips. The Captain let the thought turn over in her head.

“Have you cooked for others?”

Startled by the change in subject, Kathryn raised her eyebrows. Seven had fixed her with a rather serious stare this time, as she often did when she required a serious answer, though the Captain wasn't quite sure why this question might be so serious. She looked down at her soup, then ate another mouthful and cleared her throat.

“Yes,” she said finally, glancing up again. “I've cooked for Tuvok and Chakotay. And others over the years.”

Seven didn't say anything, her features contemplative.

“I haven't poisoned anyone yet,” Kathryn felt the need to add with a small pout on her lips. She'd hoped Seven might laugh, but it didn't have the intended effect.

“Did you cook for Mark?”

This time, Kathryn nearly spat out her food. How did Seven know about Mark? She couldn't recall ever having told her directly. Kathryn felt oddly uncomfortable with the thought that she knew, regardless of how she had learned of his past presence in her life.

“I…yes, sometimes,” she admitted at last, swirling the onions in the bowl. “Rarely, because I was usually working.”

“Did you receive compliments when you cooked?”

Kathryn let go of the spoon, watching as it nearly disappeared beneath what was left of the soup. She grabbed the back of her neck and rubbed, then tilted her head to crack it.

“I suppose I must have at some point,” she said, “but I don't recall for certain.”

“You should be able to recall such important things,” Seven said, sounding almost like she was complaining.

Kathryn smiled.

“It's been a long time, Seven,” she explained. “Not everyone has an eidetic memory, you know.”

“Did you cook for anyone before Mark?”

Frowning a bit now, Janeway tried to indulge the sudden interrogation instead of dwelling on why it was happening. She rubbed at her forehead this time, softly exhaling a steadying breath.

“I had one serious partner before him,” she answered, the words catching a bit in her throat. Memories were rising of things she'd long pushed into the background. “We cooked for one another often.”

Seven was silent for a moment, taking in another mouthful of soup.

“You do not enjoy cooking meals now as you did then,” Seven decided, and Kathryn's eyes jolted up to study her. The ex-Borg seemed to pick up on her surprise and her question, because she pressed further. “Why?”

The Captain cleared her throat again, leaning her elbows onto the table. She stayed quiet for a few seconds, collecting her thoughts into an answer that was both honest and suitable enough to stop this line of questioning where it lay.

“She passed away.”

Across the table, Seven stiffened. Kathryn gave a light shrug.

“We were only together for a couple years,” she admitted, forcing the reassuring smile of a Captain back onto her face. It came across as more of a grimace. “But I guess it just never felt the same after that.”

Seven abandoned her utensil, hands sliding below the table and onto her lap. She stared at the bowl for a long time, eyes blinking quickly like she wasn't sure what to say. By the time she looked up, the rose-tinted flush of embarrassment had crept into her face and her neck.

“I…I am sorry, Captain,” she stammered, her voice soft as she continued to stare at the bowl. “I did not intend…”

Kathryn stretched her arm across the table as Seven trailed off, patting the surface in front of her until she had regained her attention.

“It's alright, Seven,” she assured her, inclining her head. “You didn't know. And if I didn't want you to, I wouldn't have said anything.” Her arm slid back to her side, and she collected the spoon into her fingers again.

The remainder of the meal was finished in silence, save for the occasional clink of utensils. Only when the Captain pushed the chair back to stand did Seven’s voice once again reach her. There was no trace of the awkward concern of before, the last shreds of uncertainty and embarrassment gone.

“It would be prudent to inspect the vicinity and secure the pod before nightfall, Captain.”

A glance out the window told Kathryn that Seven was right. They had officially reached the plains that day, and while the land beneath them no longer appeared to be in danger of collapse, it would be unwise to assume there were no dangers here. There had been a steady wind ever since their arrival, and it was more pronounced in the open space of the plateau. At the moment it was only strong enough to make the habitat’s metal walls creak slightly, but if this planet was anything like Earth, that could change very quickly. They still had four or five hours of daylight to work. Her first course of action would be to fashion some sort of pylon to temporarily anchor the pod to the ground.

“I believe you’re right, Seven,” the redhead answered with a nod as they finished tidying the tiny kitchen. “I’ll admit, this wind makes me a bit nervous.”

“We are in agreement,” the blonde offered.

Outside the pod, there wasn’t much to see. The steady flicker of light in the distance had grown brighter and more clear the closer they’d come, a beacon beckoning them to a new, yet-to-be-discovered home. Kathryn was almost certain it was a lake by now, and she found herself hopeful they could set up camp right beside it. Her thoughts drifted to Seven, wondering if she had ever gone swimming in the holodeck, if she’d ever caught a fish or skipped rocks or buried her bare toes in hot sand.

Kathryn’s eyes lifted to the endless alien sky that seemed to want to swallow them across the vast open space of the plains, its green haze so foreign against the memory of Earth’s familiar blue, punctuated by the small red star creeping lower on the horizon. It was reminiscent of the skies over Indiana before a tornado. Kathryn knew the environment was completely different here, but it made the strange hue no less unsettling. She shivered.

“I require your assistance, Captain.”

Kathryn brushed the stray bits of hair from her eyes that had escaped with the wind as she scanned the area for Seven. She spotted her a short distance away with an iron rod she had speared at an angle deep into the ground. The Captain joined her, withdrawing another meter or so of the metal cord she had strapped to her belt and tightly tying the pole to the side of the pod while Seven held the tension of the rod in place.

When she was done, and Seven had stepped back, Kathryn found herself suddenly frozen in place and transfixed by the sight of the metal.

You almost lost her.

Emotions roiled in her gut, harsh and sudden. They weren't unfamiliar, and they made sense in the moment, but something about them was wrong. They were too forceful, too…complete.

They didn't feel like her own.

“Captain?”

Kathryn shook her head and looked up at the hint of concern in the tone.

Behind them, something skyward thundered, and then both women were watching as trails of sparks and fire burst from a darker section of clouds. The wind that followed was stronger, but far from extreme. Kathryn noticed that Seven seemed less surprised than she felt. Her lips turned down at the edges.

“That looked a bit like a bad re-entry, didn’t it?” she asked the ex-Borg, who was toying with a strand of the cords at her own waist. “Certainly didn’t look like a meteor.”

“I witnessed identical phenomena on 11 separate occasions this morning, each occurring between 3 and 5 minutes from the previous event,” Seven explained, glancing at Janeway. “I do not believe this is a natural occurrence.”

Kathryn’s frown grew deeper, more troubled, as she held her hand over her eyes to shade them from the last rays of the setting star.

“Doesn’t seem to be any debris reaching the ground, but it’s hard to tell,” she observed. “We’re still a ways off. Not that I’m complaining, of course.”

Beside her, Seven grunted, but said nothing more. The Captain’s eyes shifted back to the cables and the rods, then down at the sand beginning to shift in the wind.

“Perhaps…we should use something more secure than these,” the redhead suggested as she gestured to their handiwork.

“They will be sufficient for one evening,” Seven replied, finally turning her attention from the sky, either unaware of the Captain’s sudden concern or uninterested.

“If the wind picks up and flings them about–”

“The wind speed is currently 17.894 miles per hour with a maximum gust strength of 21.04 miles per hour occurring 1.7 hours ago,” Seven cut in haughtily, rotating to face Kathryn. “The current rate of atmospheric temperature and barometric pressure fluctuations indicates a likelihood of 89.28 percent that wind speed will increase by a maximum of 5.1 miles per hour which will be of insufficient force to remove these rods from the 16 inches of earth into which they have been anchored. I have previously informed you that I possess a statistical accuracy level of 98.727 percent, which, when combined with the data I have provided here, suggests that we are highly unlikely to experience any significant wind-related phenomena including tornadoes, derechos, hurricanes or microbursts in the next 12 hours.”

Seven’s optical implant had reached a point higher than Kathryn had ever seen it. She inclined her head, acknowledging her acceptance of the younger woman’s analysis.

“You may consider this another ‘bet,’ Captain.”

Now it was Kathryn’s turn to let her brows shoot into her hairline.

“You intend to take all my pips, Seven?”

A tilted head and a twitch at the corner of pink lips answered the Captain without words. The lightness of the moment was a welcome reprieve.

“I see,” Janeway said with a playful frown. “And what about you? The stakes, if I win? What have you to give?”

“Irrelevant. You will lose.”

“Come now, Seven, you said that the first time and I agreed, all in good fun. But we’re talking about the potential for me to lose another pip. We need some even ground,” Kathryn replied, crossing her arms over her chest and throwing out a hip.

The blonde haired woman looked thoughtful for a moment, the blue eyes carefully surveying the grey ones challenging her from a few feet away. Kathryn resisted the urge to drop her gaze at the pleasant heat beginning to simmer in her abdomen. These were the moments she missed most about her time with Seven aboard Voyager. These moments of challenge, charged like electricity, dangerous on the outside but all in the name of fun. Finally, something seemed to have caught the younger woman’s fancy.

“I will cease to heckle you about the numerous insalubrious properties of coffee.”

Kathryn was unimpressed, and Seven promptly concealed her hands behind her back and straightened her posture.

“Permanently.”

A grin.

“I accept the terms.”

Back in the habitat, Seven had showered first. The Captain had followed promptly thereafter, eager to escape the sultry scent of her shampoo that always carried through the pod when she finished. The rumbles from the distant explosions were muffled by the water that rushed from the showerhead, the unease of the vibrations they left behind transformed into something pleasant and warm instead. Kathryn leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, appreciating the creature comforts offered by the heat and the steam.

Physically, she was tired, even in spite of her overall fitness. Most of her body was sore from tensioning the cables, from moving containers and furniture, and even just from walking so much. The drumbeat of the shower on her back was helping, massaging the muscles on either side of her spine while the heat coaxed them back into relaxation.

A pinch at the base of her skull made her flinch and lurch upright, and her hand snapped tight against it like one might swat at an insect.

An image flashed into the forefront of her mind–a vision of a dark ship lined in flickering amber. She'd seen that ship many times by now.

In the distraction of the busy day, she’d been able to push aside the more troubling dreams of the evening before, but in the privacy of the shower, Kathryn was not so lucky. She dug her fingers into the skin at the continuing sting on her neck, adjusting her position until the hot water could beat against it instead.

“The Federation won’t need him anymore.”

Janeway’s closed eyes scrunched tighter together, straining to recall more of the words she’d heard spoken in the dream.

“And neither will you, Commander.”

Those words…they didn’t seem right. She couldn’t recall that she’d heard them before at all. Water drummed hot and hard against her neck. Kathryn’s eyes snapped open again, and she quickly shut off the water, an emotion she couldn’t quite place surging through her from nowhere and everywhere at once. She pressed the heels of her palms against her temples and winced.

“You’ll be free.”

The one who had spoken was female. But the voice that spoke back was synthetic and broken.

“I will find the drone.”

The Captain gasped as she planted a hand on the wet wall of the shower stall, at the abrupt realization she wasn’t experiencing a memory. The words were too clear, too crisp, the sensations too strong to ignore.

This conversation was happening now.

“We can get your life back.”

Three sharp knocks resounded against the door, dragging the Captain out of the link. She sputtered and coughed as it happened, her knees threatening to collapse as she planted a second hand against the wall. Warm fabric draped around her from behind, startling Janeway the rest of the way back into reality, and she gasped again when she realized Seven of Nine was standing there in front of the shower. She whirled around, nearly losing her footing on the wet surface, pulling the towel around her to shield her body from view.

“Captain, are you–”

“Out!” Kathryn shouted, her baritone voice practically rattling the metal panels of the pod all on its own. Seven’s blue eyes widened in surprise but much to the Captain’s chagrin, she didn’t immediately retreat.

“You are experiencing–” Seven tried again, but Kathryn’s booming cry cut her off for the second time.

“I said get out!”

A flash of regret coursed through her when she saw something like hurt flicker briefly across Seven’s face. Then the sharp, cerulean eyes narrowed into slits that mimicked the line of a pair of pursed lips a short distance below. Seven wheeled around and retreated, the door of the bathroom slamming shut behind her once she had gone.

Kathryn Janeway sank to her knees in the stall, still gasping and struggling to catch her breath. She couldn’t explain what had just happened–to her, to her mind, or the way she’d just reacted to Seven–but whatever she’d heard had been joined by emotions she felt in her blood and her bones. They lingered there, festered and burned like something noxious just beneath her skin–but they were not her own. They belonged to someone else.

Kathryn wasn’t sure how she knew.

As her heart rate and breathing began to finally steady, she managed to get to her feet and step out of the stall, landing in front of the mirror. She wiped a hand across the fog to clear it.

Her face was drawn and far more bedraggled than it should be for one having so recently showered. Stress had pulled inward the skin of her cheeks, and she saw her throat move as she swallowed. The world around her began to return, the sensations and voices fading into oblivion. As it did, her thoughts traveled back to Seven, and she stared into her own eyes in the mirror.

What do they want with her?

Chapter Text

Seven of Nine squeezed absently at the second of Captain Janeway’s four pips which now rested in her palm. The former drone gave no outward indication of her internal satisfaction, but she suspected the Captain had known of it anyway–the glare Seven had received as Janeway had removed the pip told all. She would need to add this one to the storage bin along with the first when she headed back inside, but for the time being she was content to follow her Captain’s example and observe their newest environmental surroundings.

Their latest jump had brought them to a point on the plains that sat higher than the rest, the remainder of it falling away towards a body of water. At this closer range, the landscape surrounding it had begun to take form, and as Seven stood at the crest of the swell, she could not deny the consistency of the patterns she saw. Lines and depressions stretched toward the lake, but the farthest ones seemed less worn by time and the weather, like they might be more recent and fresh. Each of them looked like something left by an impact, trenches carved into the earth with great rocks hurled out to rest at the ends. She glanced at the sky but saw nothing amiss, the explosions having gone quiet so far.

Behind her, Janeway had climbed onto the roof of the pod in some sort of Starfleet-esque need to be higher up in the air. The blonde felt the corners of her lips lift faintly at the memory of Janeway shuffling up the metal rungs of the ladder built into the side of the habitat. In spite of their many Velocity matches, the older woman’s seemingly superhuman dexterity continued to surprise the ex-Borg.

“Looks like a lake!”

Drawn away from her thoughts, Seven's eyes flickered shut briefly and she realized as it happened that she had almost rolled her eyes at the Captain's observation. It was a human behavior she'd witnessed on countless occasions from the crew–B’Elanna in particular–and one which the Doctor had explained to her almost as many times. It caught her off guard.

“It's a bit of an odd shape, though,” Kathryn added. “I’m not convinced that’s a natural formation, but there's a decent area of timber concentrated on the northwestern edge which suggests it’s been there a while,” Janeway continued from the roof, one hand on her hip and the other shielding her eyes from the light of the star. “We’ll have to take a closer look when we get there, of course, but that looks as good a place as any to park the pod.” Seven listened and observed her Captain quietly, her mind now drifting to the Doctor's tales of an ancient fictional explorer by the name of Indiana Jones. The addition of a well-worn fedora on Janeway’s head would have completed the adventurer look, and Seven furrowed her brow at the curious line of thinking.

What would the Captain look like with a fedora on her head?

What would she look like in anything other than the fast-deteriorating Starfleet uniforms she insisted on wearing each day?

Seven had seen Captain Janeway without her command red jacket many times, and in her athletic outfits during their many Velocity matches. She'd seen her in night clothing, but those moments had been brief, almost as if Janeway knew the unspoken risks of allowing Seven to perceive that more human side of her. The nightgown had failed to make an appearance more recently–it had been all the Captain wore when their first disastrous jump led to Seven’s injury and the fabric had been badly stained with blood.

Seven’s blood. The Captain had carried Seven while wearing that gown. The blonde shivered at the thought.

She recalled the sight of Kathryn when they’d first begun working on the transporter, how her shirt had ridden up and gradually exposed more and more of her flesh to Borg and human eye alike. Abruptly, as she continued to study her superior’s form on the top of the pod, Seven found herself pondering something far more dangerous. Something she’d only caught a glimpse of just the evening before.

What would she look like without–

“No,” the former Borg blurted out, and with a jolt she noticed Janeway’s steely eyes turn down onto her. She'd heard. Returning to reality, Seven felt her body betray her and she knew a heavy flush had broken out across her cheeks.

“No?” the Captain inquired, confused.

An uncomfortable sensation squirmed in her abdomen, and Seven merely shook her head to dismiss the line of questioning before it went further.

“We should prepare a morning nutritional supplement,” the blonde suggested instead. She could tell that Janeway didn't share her eagerness to avoid the reason for her small outburst, but she was wise enough to let sleeping dogs lie. She cocked an eyebrow and then climbed down from the roof, coming to stand before Seven and staring up at her from her shorter height. Seven, in an uncharacteristic need to continue defending her actions, spoke again. “You have need of coffee, Captain. In addition to a more substantial meal than yesterday. Your physiological readings indicate that you are not operating at peak efficiency.”

The stare Janeway fixed upon her was among the more unsettling that Seven could recall. In that moment, she understood that her mind was not her own, that they were a Collective of two. Seven was deflecting, uneasy with her own consciousness and unwilling to let Janeway learn exactly why. Not yet, anyway. Still, it was not hard for the Captain to read her–it never was–and even if the woman couldn’t know the specifics, it was enough for her to know that Seven was restless.

“Neither are you,” came the strictured reply. “When we complete the final jump, we’re going to work on getting your regeneration chamber back up and running.”

“My regeneration chamber is an unnecessary drain on our resources, Captain,” Seven countered as she tensed. “We should focus on more important projects first.”

“Projects that will no doubt require you to be operating at peak efficiency?”

Janeway’s challenge hung thick in the air between them.

“Your logic is noted.”

“Good.” The Captain relaxed then, stepping back and turning to study the pod. She cast a quick glance at the sky. “At least those explosions seem to have stopped for the time being,” she noted. “Let’s go get those ‘nutritional supplements’ and see if we can’t get the rest of the habitat prepped for some longer-term survivability, eh?”

Releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, Seven of Nine inclined her head.

Several hours later, Seven found herself seated across from Captain Janeway at the table in their tiny kitchen. For much of the last hour they had been sliding a sheet of paper back and forth across the surface, a strange writing implement Janeway had called a “pencil” in each of their hands. On the paper were several diagrams of various rectangles, circles, and lopsided forms that looked vaguely tree-like. Faint lines remained where decisions had changed and parts of the drawing had been erased using the opposite end of the pencil. Moreover, they were quickly running out of space on the paper, but despite Seven's obvious irritation, the Captain didn't seem to mind the mess and disorganized nature of the project.

“This method is inefficient,” Seven said flatly as Janeway pushed the paper back over to her side of the table for the twenty-fourth time. “We cannot properly plan the ideal arrangement of the habitat until we have reached the destination and examined the landscape in person.” She set her pencil down on the table, glancing at it briefly before turning her eyes back up to Janeway. “And I do not understand the appeal of this instrument.”

“There's more to life than PADDs and technology, Seven,” the Captain offered with a slight frown as she pulled the paper back to herself and studied it. “Sometimes…drawing…or writing it out by hand…sometimes that changes how a mind interprets and analyzes things. Do you remember when we worked on the clay sculptures in the da Vinci program?”

“I have an eidetic memory, Captain.”

The redhead seemed to compose herself for a moment before continuing.

“Then you remember the evening on which you finally discovered the means by which to help yourself relax? How your first sculpture finally came together and you spoke to me about how your physiological processes began behaving as though you were in your regeneration chamber? You told me that night that you saw value in the construction of tangible things as an outlet for what was intangible.”

“Captain…these drawings are not tangible.”

“Maybe not in the three-dimensional sense of the word, but to put pencil to paper and express what's in your mind…that is valuable and can inspire great ideas.”

Seven felt the crease between her eyes and over her nose deepen as she struggled to understand the Captain's meaning.

“Great ideas…about root vegetable locations?”

Janeway gave a deep sigh that seemed to reverberate off the metal walls of the pod. The sound of the stool being pushed back and away from the table preceded the sight of the Captain getting to her feet. In her hand she held the paper and pencil. Her eyes, stormy grey and fixed on the drawings, seemed to drift far away from the habitat, from the planet, to some unknown location only Janeway herself could know.

For a moment Seven regretted her inability to be less…Borg. And yet, even as the thought crossed her, she was reminded that it was her humanity likely bringing this out. Without regeneration, her mind felt cloudy and weak. She hadn't gotten used to sleeping yet, and the lack of proper energy restoration each night was clearly becoming a problem. Blue eyes studied the way the Captain's shoulders sagged, the way her features appeared to descend into a well of an emotion Seven couldn't quite place. She heard the woman inhale and exhale, detected the tremble in the breaths like she was focusing intently on the air, the very molecules and atoms that brought life into her smaller form. The edges of the paper in her hand began to quiver.

Seven felt her own body shift into a heightened state of alert.

Silently, Seven of Nine stood and came around the table, approaching her Captain from the right. Her hand reached for the paper and the pencil, gently removing them from Janeway’s quaking grasp. She deposited them back onto the tabletop. Beside her, the normally infallible Captain quavered until Seven's human hand found home upon her wrist.

Snapped out of her trance, grey eyes rocketed over onto cerulean, and Seven wondered if she'd made the right decision. Weakened though they were from her recent injury and lack of regeneration, the former drone's nanoprobes could still detect hints of the Captain's emotional state. Adrenaline–the primary culprit and likely reason for the uncharacteristic trembling–a racing heart, increased blood pressure, excessively high rate of respiration, pupillary dilation, the sensation of sweat having begun to dampen the thin fabric of the sleeve beneath Seven's skin…but yet the contact had induced a sharp drop in cortisol, just as Seven had noted so many times before.

In fact, Seven had seen this very event occur in other crew members on several occasions, often in the days immediately following a particularly violent attack on Voyager. The Doctor had called them ‘panic attacks,’ and even Seven had experienced them in the past. They were, as she understood it, a byproduct of either genetics or traumatic events, and could come on months or even years afterwards. They could even occur without warning or reason, as seemed to be the case in the present moment.

But she had never known the Captain to fall victim to this affliction. As she continued to watch her, to keep her hold on her wrist, Seven considered that the symptoms were so subtle it was unlikely she would have noticed them in any other environment. It was entirely possible the Captain had long suffered and no one had been the wiser–and she suddenly wondered if drawing the garden plans had been an attempt to overcome it.

How like Captain Janeway to carefully conceal any signs of weakness, Seven thought.

Nothing had been said about the evening before, when she'd found Janeway in the shower in the middle of some kind of breakdown. Her reaction to Seven's arrival had been uncharacteristically harsh, as though something had overwhelmed her completely. She'd stayed in the room for another 32.4 minutes after Seven's departure, and when she had finally come out, she'd headed straight for her bedroom to sleep.

Seven wanted answers to questions she didn't quite know how to ask.

Instead she tightened her grip, leading Janeway toward the small sitting area on the other side of the room. She felt only the faintest resistance to the motion before the Captain followed her without a word. When they reached the couch, Seven directed her to sit, and then took a seat beside her in spite of her discomfort in doing so. The Captain's eyes no longer looked into her own, but Seven understood. She did not press for connection, instead focusing her attention on the redhead's hand, her wrist and her forearm.

Even in her distress, she heard Kathryn’s breath hitch.

She is sensitive to this contact, Seven thought.

Fingers pressed in alternating patterns between tendons and into taught muscles, twisting and squeezing and stroking the tension away. Gradually the hand moved upward, spending a few minutes on the biceps and triceps, the pressure stronger now, seeking relief for the muscles hiding at greater depths. Seven noticed her respirations begin to decrease, her heart rate starting to fall, as she allowed her hand to rise to the sinewy muscles of Janeway’s refined shoulder. While her hand worked to dissolve the rigidity she found there, Seven felt her own heart stutter. Her own body began to tremble in a way not unlike the Captain's. The serpents had returned to her abdomen, straining and writhing and threatening her with something she did understand but was uncertain whether or not she should welcome.

It had never felt like this when she'd touched Chakotay.

As her confusion grew, whatever ailed the Captain ebbed away. Seven knew she needed to continue, and so she did. At last an exhalation, deeper and sharper than the others, reached her ears. Beneath Seven's fingers, the Captain's strain disbanded.

“You’ve done this before,” Janeway said in something tight and quiet like a whisper.

“It is a logical remedy to attempt.”

The Captain smiled a bit.

“Always logic with you, is it?” she asked.

Seven’s hand stilled, just for a second, while she contemplated the answer.

“Not always.”

Her human hand slipped down to rest between the shoulder blades and then stilled again.

Another heavy exhalation.

A final press of fingertips between the bones.

One last, faint shiver from her Captain.

The steely irises vanished beneath closed lids, and suddenly Janeway’s weight was against her. The point of her shoulder tucked neatly into the gap beneath Seven's arm, the top of her head settling against the hollow of her neck and below the delicate bone of her jaw. Seven sucked in a breath through her teeth at the magnitude of the sentiments that burst from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

Seven of Nine didn't want to let go.

Instinct drew her left hand–her Borg hand–from her side and she encircled the Captain, pulled her tighter against her side and held her there. One of Janeway’s palms settled on Seven's thigh. The heat of the contact sent another jolt of electricity through the blonde as she struggled to make sense of her emotions.

Nothing else mattered.

All that existed were her and her Captain.

“Thank you, Seven.”

The words were small and raw when Kathryn spoke, and though her body no longer quaked, her voice did. Seven shivered at the feel of that voice as it rumbled against her chest. The sensation of Janeway’s body enveloped in her arms, of the implant on her hand being permitted to touch whom Seven had sworn it would not…

“You have been unsettled,” Seven said, trying to sound firm without implying insistence. She hadn't intended to ask, but her cortical node was operating without preamble or forethought. Or maybe it was just trying to stop her from considering exactly how far she would need to move, exactly what angle would be required, to direct Kathryn's mouth and align it with her own. What might it feel like, taste like…would she let Seven kiss elsewhere? Taste elsewhere? Was she quiet, or vocal, or some mix of the two when she…?

Seven swallowed, forcing the rare indulgence of the contemplations into the background. She wondered if Janeway felt it. Could she feel Seven's racing heart too?

On her thigh, the Captain’s fingers curled slightly, but whether in warning, uneasiness, or something else entirely, Seven couldn’t be sure.

“You haven’t spoken of your unrest last night,” Seven pushed further, straining to rein herself in. She turned her head slightly, looking down as Janeway looked up. The moment stretched on, thin and frayed like weak twine, until Seven wondered when it might snap. She froze when the hand on her thigh slipped up toward her stomach.

Then it was gone, only cold left behind, and the older woman’s face was cast downward once more. Seven felt her shift, tension fusing with a diffidence that sent a sharp lance of pain through her chest.

“Kathryn.”

The Captain’s first name fell from her lips without warning. Beneath her chin, Seven felt more movement, and they pulled apart just enough so that Janeway’s questioning eyes could find her own again.

“I find that I am…reluctant…to release you.”

The tiniest of frowns appeared on Janeway’s elegant lips. It wasn’t displeasure.

It was doubt.

Apprehension.

Inhibition.

“I'm still your Captain.” The words were quiet, stern but worn.

Seven trailed a metal-clad finger along the collar of Janeway’s shirt. The shudder that traveled through the older woman's form at the motion was not lost to the perceptive ex-Borg.

It is striking, Seven contemplated, how a simple motion can produce such a distinct physiological response in her. In both of us.

Suddenly, obtaining permission to hold the Captain again in the future had become vital.

“Your pips disagree,” the blonde countered when her mind returned to itself. Her voice was a whisper that made Janeway shudder. “Did you see the vessel again?”

“Seven.”

The frown on the Captain's face deepened and she pulled away. Her name had been a warning. The command mask was back. Seven allowed her to go without answers, recognizing the moment was over even as their eyes flickered back and forth between each of the other's for another few seconds thereafter. Janeway cleared her throat.

“We need to prepare for the last jump,” she said, righting herself and turning towards the lab. Seven stood as well, hesitating before following her. “That last one took a lot out of the power cell. We could make it happen, but I'd rather transport to our final destination in daylight.”

Seven straightened, moving into her trademark stance with hands clasped behind her back.

“We are in agreement,” she forced out at last. “It would be best to wait until morning to make the last jump.”

A flash of hurt coursed through Seven as she stared at the Captain’s back, at her rail-stiff spine, and knew in that instant that something had changed. Janeway would no longer look at her.

I have moved too fast, Seven decided miserably. She was not ready, and I used her unstable emotional state to my own advantage. It is no wonder she does not wish to look at me now. She recognizes what I have done and is uncomfortable.

Even in spite of this, Seven knew that the contact had worked. Janeway’s affliction had passed, for now. But there were still questions, still answers she needed, and Seven knew she would have to be patient.

She glanced out the window at the lake and the forest in the distance.

One more jump, she reminded herself. One more jump and we can start fresh.

Chapter Text

Kathryn Janeway sat upright in her bed, wide awake and more alert than she'd felt since she'd first come to this strange new planet. She was uncertain what had roused her–it was unusual for her to awaken in such a state without the remnants of a dream at the forefront of her mind. There were no nightmares this time, nor any indication of recent noises that might have come and gone. The sky was illuminated by only moonlight, with no sign of explosions or showers of fire raining down.

Swinging her bare feet over the side of the bed, Kathryn reached for the tie to the bathrobe she'd fallen asleep in a few hours earlier. She padded across the bedroom and into the kitchen in search of a glass of water. Seven's door was cracked open–a safety precaution she'd insisted on since their first disastrous run in with the forces of nature. As Kathryn sipped at the water, her thoughts returned to the strange experience she'd had with Seven that afternoon.

In the moment, her mind had been too focused on the panic that had so suddenly come over her, on quelling it, to really consider the implications of the methods Seven had used to do just that. Such attacks were not rare for the Captain's overclocked system, but she had become a master of keeping them under wraps and out of sight of the crew. In truth, the only thing more unsettling than the fact that Seven of Nine had noticed what was happening to her was just how quickly the young woman had succeeded in bringing the attack to a halt. Kathryn normally needed several hours to do what Seven had done in several minutes, and the sheer relief at being pulled back from that precipice had manifested itself in a slip of her command mask when she'd allowed Seven of Nine to heighten the intimacy of the moment.

‘I find that I am…reluctant…to release you.’

Kathryn Janeway gave an involuntary shiver when the words replayed themselves in her head. She often thought herself an old fool when it came to matters of the heart, but the conviction she'd felt in Seven's hold on her had far outweighed the surprise she'd heard in the voice. Of this, the Captain was certain.

Seven had selected her words carefully, methodically, to ensure they didn't betray too much. But her hands, their unconscious movements-the way Kathryn had felt the other woman's heart begin to race as those hands had held her to Seven’s side-could not be made to do the same. The way the other woman had tried to draw the moment out, to imply that Kathryn was wearing her rank as a shield…

She touched her fingers to her neck where Seven had traced her collar and felt her face heat up at the memory.

Beneath her feet, a tremor drew her attention back to the present.

Janeway stiffened. She set her glass on the counter.

Again, a barely detectable shimmy of movement, this time from a few meters away.

The redhead tried to keep her heart rate in check as she reached for a nearby tricorder mounted to the wall. Something about this sensation was all wrong.

Kathryn moved towards the door of the habitat, taking a moment to peer out the window to each side of it in the hopes of seeing anything. Unsurprisingly, she could not, and so turned the tricorder on and pointed it through the wall. Pivoting in a circle, pointing the tricorder in all directions, Janeway learned nothing of interest–no life signs, no spatial or temporal anomalies, no indication of geographic fluctuations or dangers like a collapsing cliff.

Tucking the tricorder into the pocket of her robe, Kathryn chanced cracking the window in the event there was anything she might be able to hear that could put a reason behind the adrenaline surge she was currently experiencing. It was different from the attack that morning–this one, for some reason she could not yet ascertain, was legitimate.

A shudder beneath her feet again, this time from closer to the bedrooms. It was so faint that Kathryn was beginning to wonder if she was only experiencing phantom tremors from the day the clearing had given way. Then, she heard a sound.

A gentle but ominous swish of sand and soil, barely detectable.

A low-frequency drum, even harder to hear.

She closed the window, returning to stand by the sink and taking another nervous gulp of water. Time seemed to stand still as she remained silent, listening, waiting, feeling for the passing quiver of movement once more.

It came again several minutes later–the sound of one of the legs of the metal lab tables shifting slightly as the floor below it shifted first. Kathryn felt her body grow cold, subconsciously tightening the strap on the robe. Another noise, this one the sound of her nightstand in the bedroom responding to an odd change in the contour of the floor.

This thing's alive, came the unsettling realization. Kathryn felt her throat constrict. She needed to wake Seven.

It was the second time since her arrival on the planet that Kathryn felt insecure in her footing as she made her way to Seven’s bedroom door. Whatever entity was circling the pod thankfully did not follow her footsteps, but when Kathryn pushed open the door, Seven of Nine was not in her bed.

A flash of dread swept through the Captain, but as she took another two steps into the room, a hand shot out from the darkness and snatched her by the upper arm. Suddenly Seven’s body was against her back, chest pressing into her shoulder blades, the rush of heat from her body all but engulfing the Captain. Seven’s grip became a vice when Kathryn instinctively attempted to pull free.

“Proceed no further.”

Kathryn could not recall hearing such a note of uneasiness in Seven’s voice before that moment. Her blood turned to ice as she finally saw why Seven had stopped her.

A portion of the bedroom floor had collapsed, and the loose sand beneath it shifted.

“There are two,” Seven whispered. “Their efforts are in tandem.”

Kathryn suppressed a shudder as Seven’s hot breath skirted along her neck and ear, but she couldn’t stop herself from leaning back into the hold. Seven’s grasp on one of her arms tightened infinitesimally.

“Let’s get that transporter online,” the Captain whispered back.

“We will not make the full distance,” Seven replied. Something passed beneath their feet under the floor. “It may not be enough to evade the creatures. If it is not, we would be faced with even more time in their presence while we await another recharge.”

Kathryn had reverted back to Captain-mode, using Seven’s continued contact on her arms to back them both out of the bedroom. When they were back in the kitchen, Seven released her, and the redhead made her way into the lab and toward the transporter. Seven followed, her footsteps light as a deer, and she glanced down at the floor as she walked.

“Help me lift the transporter,” Kathryn directed, and the ex-Borg complied without a word. Janeway gestured at one of the heavier lab tables as they held it. “There. It should hold. Don’t need to be losing this to those… things.”

The blonde dipped her head in acknowledgement, and moments later the transporter safely rested well off the pod floor.

“How much longer until we can jump?” Kathryn asked.

“3.24 hours,” came the very specific reply.

“Looks like we’re going to spend the night sitting on that very nice kitchen table of ours.”

By the time the first rays of the planet’s strange sunrise began to peek through the windows of the pod, the predators had gone. Much of the habitat’s bedroom side had sunken a foot or more into the sand, but the only actual break in the floor was the small section in Seven’s room. Whatever they were, the creatures hadn’t seemed interested in leaving the sand, leading Kathryn to believe they were entirely subterranean, and probably hunted by digging the soil out from beneath their prey. They were an unwelcome component of their new lives on the planet, but it was probably best they’d learned about them before setting up their permanent home. Now, Kathryn reasoned, they could plan to construct an elevated platform below the pod to keep it safe. Still, the notion of both natural geographic instability and that caused by underground predators only served to exacerbate the Captain’s growing nerves.

Seven of Nine seemed abnormally distracted as she fussed with the transporter in preparation for what they hoped would be the final jump to the distant lake. Kathryn watched her from afar, noticing that the lines in her forehead never quite receded and that she’d developed a new habit of clenching and unclenching her jaw as she worked. Conversation between them had also been sparse, the Captain equating the odd feelings she was experiencing to the hours following the lovers’ quarrels she’d often had with Mark. But there had been no quarrel between Seven and Kathryn beyond the weak protest the Captain had given in response to Seven’s help with her attack the day prior, leaving the redhead confused on top of remaining perturbed.

As if on cue, Seven’s voice broke the silence.

“The transport is ready, Captain.”

Joining her at the side of the transporter, Janeway cast her a lopsided smile she hoped would provide comfort to whatever was causing Seven’s agitation. Just for a moment, it looked like the younger woman would speak. Instead, Seven’s Borg hand swiftly worked at the controls for the transporter. Kathryn braced herself and squeezed her eyes shut, still recalling their first jump. She tried to swallow down the image of Seven’s injury as the environment filtered into nothingness.

When her eyes opened again, all was quiet. She blew out a breath, earning a sharp glower from the tall blonde standing beside her. Seven turned, and held out her hand.

Kathryn stared at it for a moment, and then glanced back up with an affronted sort of snort.

“I don’t recall making any more bets,” she proclaimed, leaning back a bit and crossing her arms over her chest.

“You were holding your breath again, Kathryn,” Seven replied, and the Captain jolted at the sound of her first name again. The ex-Borg raised a brow. “This offense required recompense.”

Kathryn held her gaze for several seconds with her Captain’s glare, but Seven only arched her optical implant and tilted her head to the side, her fingers making an expectant come-hither motion while she waited. The Captain’s eyes caught the slight uptick in the corner of Seven’s lips, and only when she realized she had been staring at her mouth did Janeway finally crack and relent.

Seven straightened triumphantly as Kathryn deposited the third of her pips into her hand, practically gliding over to the table and the storage container where she’d stored the others.

“I didn’t realize we were on a first name basis now,” Janeway called across the room while Seven’s back was turned. The words came out a bit harsher than she’d meant them to, and she spotted the moment the younger woman paused and went still. “Is that why you’re after all my pips? You used my name yesterday, too. Right before you suggested my pips implied I wasn’t a Captain anymore.”

Seven turned, graceful, slow, and much more composed than Kathryn herself suddenly felt. She took several steps forward until she stood in front of Janeway again, looking down from her greater height. Kathryn was not prepared for the proximity, the way she could feel the same heat radiating off of the biosuit like she’d felt the night before when Seven grabbed her away from the hole in the bedroom floor. Her breath caught in her throat, mouth going dry as the blue eyes perused her features for several long, agonizing seconds. She wanted to step back. She should step back. Seven of Nine was close–too close.

Why was she so close? Couldn’t she see the effect it was having? Shouldn’t she know her Captain needed more space, more distance, more…

Kathryn’s eyes dropped to her mouth again.

“I…have been thinking of you as ‘Kathryn’ for some time now,” Seven said at last, and had the words not felt so profound and utterly unexpected, Kathryn wondered for how long she could have stayed watching those lips move as she spoke. Her gaze lurched upward and she blinked a few times before noticing the healthy pink glow that had found its way into Seven’s cheeks.

Kathryn wanted to bite out a rebuke, a warning, an objection–something to remind her that Seven was wrong, that this was wrong, that she couldn’t possibly be reacting to Seven like this. But she couldn’t. All she could do was search Seven’s eyes like she’d never seen them before in her life.

It took all of her willpower to harden her mouth into a thin line and turn away.

Janeway fled the laboratory, then through the outer door of the pod.

As the door shut behind her, she bent over and braced her palms against her knees, struggling to bring her breathing and her emotions back under control.

The fresh air was cool against her face, the fast-rising light in the sky bathing her off-duty clothes in the familiar green hue. She lifted her eyes and righted herself, then stiffened again when she heard the door open.

Seven said nothing, but Kathryn could hear her as she walked behind her towards the east end of the pod. She tried to focus on what was in front of her–the thin layer of sand that gave way to a narrow line of rocky beach, the vast expanse of the lake whose waves lapped at the shore, its perimeter wild and sinuous like it had been carved from the earth by an inexperienced hand. It was dotted with islands and great, glittering columns of rocks that rose out of the water at nonsensical angles. A layer of fog rolled over the surface like something alive, winding between the lower trunks of enormous trees that erupted from the northeastern end of the shore.

It was as beautiful as it was alien, a respite from the journey of the previous days, but Kathryn found herself unsettled. The incident with the underground animals had proven the planet was not as devoid of life as Voyager’s initial scans had concluded, and a part of her wondered what other kinds might lie in the depths of that forest.

“Kathryn.”

Seven’s voice was distant, filtering toward her from the other side of the pod, and Janeway flinched at the sound of her first name for the third time. She pushed her worries aside and walked toward the sound, preparing to tell the blonde off and insist she return to using her rank.

But when she came to stand beside Seven, Kathryn’s reprimand deserted her.

Seven was staring upward at the trees directly across the lake.

Something dark was tangled in the upper canopy, a hulking form bent into unnatural angles. Thick branches and vines had grown through ruptures in rusted panels of metal that might once have been painted silver and gold. The crushed dome of its bridge faced the ground, the whole vessel inverted and pitched sharply nose-down, the end of its bow disappearing into the fog. The port nacelle pointed skyward where the ship’s back had broken, but the starboard nacelle was missing. It hung there before them, silent and still as if time had long ago seized it and then stopped. Kathryn’s stomach dropped and then twisted.

She’d seen crash sites before.

But there was something more twisted about this one. It wasn’t natural. It couldn’t be.

“It’s Starfleet,” Seven said, a slight quake in her words. “Do you recognize it?”

The Captain shook her head.

“It’s not the same ship,” she said. “But it’s too damn similar to be a coincidence.”

Chapter Text

It hadn’t taken long for Seven and the Captain to relocate the habitat to the other side of the lake with a last short-distance jump. Without the need to jump any farther, Seven had managed to reconnect the power supply to her regenerator, while together they’d bolstered the replicator’s own power supply to help them construct the pylons now elevating the habitat some ten feet off the ground. Seven’s muscles were sore from the long hours of manual labor constructing a narrow wooden walkway around the pod as well–a feat she’d not known was possible given her nanoprobes–but she counted herself fortunate after seeing how quickly Kathryn had grown fatigued earlier that afternoon.

The star was low in the sky by the time the last of the anchor brackets had been secured to the now reinforced floor of the pod, its strange hue dancing off the surface of the lake. The water was so clear that in some areas the bottom of the lake was visible. In others, the depths took on a tint more similar to the eerie green of the planet’s atmosphere. One section in particular was particularly shadowy, like there might be some kind of geographic formation blocking the light. They’d situated the pod in a clear area close to the shore, near to a section of large, red rocks protruding at jagged angles out from beneath tangled webs of roots and dead trees having fallen long ago. The forest itself wrapped around the habitat, the largest trees where the ruins of the petrified starship hung casting long shadows across the clearing.

The ship’s proximity had been a point of contention between Seven and the Captain. Where Seven insisted they keep their distance, Kathryn asserted that its presence there could prove useful in the event of emergencies. In spite of its precarious positioning and the heavy deterioration on the fractured portions of the hull, the vessel did not appear in any danger of falling. Kathryn was quick to point out the possibility that there could be shuttlecrafts on board to allow for planetary surveys or shelter from storms, or Starfleet technology they could use in the event of component failures in their own equipment. Still, it wasn’t until the Captain reminded her that a starship of this one’s size likely came equipped with extensive defensive and shielding capabilities that Seven finally, grudgingly agreed that the habitat should be moved within the ship’s vicinity.

Seven glanced upward as a breeze moved through the forest and made ripples on the lake. It was gentle and warm, but didn’t seem to stop–probably due to the expanse of the surrounding plains and the difference in temperature brought on by the lake’s hefty footprint. In the distance, a mountain range loomed, the lower peaks covered with snow while the others clawed their way through the clouds and disappeared into the heavens.

A few meters away, Janeway was crouched at the water’s edge in the growing darkness, enthusiastically running water samples under a tricorder to test if it was safe to drink. Every so often Seven would hear her gasp, undoubtedly surprised by some chemical or organism she’d discovered. It was easy to forget that the Captain was, at her heart, a scientist, but moments like this left the ex-Borg filled with a warmth as she was reminded of their commonalities. A frown returned as she considered that Janeway’s propensity for scientific study had gotten them into trouble numerous times over the years, and as Seven looked back at the water, she was suddenly overcome by the concern that there may yet be predators undiscovered there, too.

Still, she wouldn’t risk treating the Captain like a child–it would not do to be overprotective–but she would feel better reminding the older woman of potential threats.

“When you are done, we should prepare a nutritional supplement,” Seven called, and the grey eyes flickered briefly over to hers with a nod of the Captain’s head.

“I’ll be right there, Seven,” Janeway acknowledged, casting a brief, crooked grin over her shoulder at the blonde.

Seven appreciated the way the woman seemed to understand the reasoning behind her suggestion, even if there was more than one reason to be suspected. She appreciated even more when Kathryn didn’t dawdle, how she instead collected her supplies and promptly arrived at Seven’s side. For a moment the ex-Borg froze where she stood once the Captain was there, her eyes catching onto the steely grey and then jolting away once she realized they’d stayed there too long. She took one of the containers from the Captain’s hands, leading the way towards the ladder and managing to climb up it in spite of having one hand full.

Inside the pod, Seven deposited the container onto one of the lab tables. She heard Kathryn close and lock the habitat door and then approach the lab herself. Seven took the remaining items from her hands without being entirely conscious of the action, returning the tricorder to its proper location and placing the water samples near the laboratory sink.

“Seven?”

The blonde’s attention piqued when the Captain’s voice called out softly from the kitchen. She said nothing as she strode back out, glancing around until she found Kathryn standing with her arms crossed in front of one of the back windows. Her eyes caught Seven’s and then she gestured with her chin at something outside.

“Take a look,” Kathryn said, and Seven felt her throat tighten in apprehension at the all-too-familiar note of curiosity woven into the other woman’s words. Her gaze shifted and she angled her head enough to see out below the upper edge of the window.

Against the darkness, a faint light flickered in the trees. Her stomach knotted.

“It is coming from inside the vessel,” she observed.

Kathryn nodded.

“What do you think–crew quarters?” she asked, pursing her lips.

Seven squinted. Even her optical implant wasn’t strong enough to see in the detail she would need to make such a determination.

“The saucer is divided into two sections,” she stated, her voice flat. “It appears to be assembled in a manner so as to permit rotation, therefore it is logical to conclude that the crew quarters would be contained within the inner section not affected by such motion.”

“What are the chances someone’s still alive in there?”

“Remote,” Seven answered quickly, recognizing immediately what was brewing in the Captain’s head. She tried not to let her sigh be too obvious. “The vessel has clearly been present here for some time. Any surviving members of the original crew would have required stasis. It is far more likely the illuminated section is due to ongoing power generation.”

Kathryn looked thoughtful as she leaned her shoulder against one of the upper kitchen cabinets. Seven could see the way she chewed on the inside of her cheek, nodding absently.

“I keep wracking my brain for any recollections about the ship I’ve been seeing,” she told Seven. “But the harder I try to focus on it, the farther away it seems to get. I can’t even determine the class, just that I’ve never seen anything like ‘em.”

“I am also unable to determine the vessel’s class,” Seven said. “The saucer sections alone appear quite superfluous. I can assign no sensible purpose to such a design.”

Seven felt her chest tightening with every passing moment. She recognized the way the Captain was shifting now, the way she pushed off the cabinets and supplied a lopsided smirk once she had. At her side, her Borg hand twitched, and she shoved it behind her back to conceal the agitation from Kathryn.

“I think we need to get up there and take a look, Seven,” Janeway decided, and Seven’s eyes flickered shut just for a moment to compose herself. “If we can scavenge some power supplies, we can get a real perimeter set up around our home here. We already know there are predators under–”

The sky rumbled suddenly, cutting her off. A shadow shot downward, trailing sparks and flames that illuminated the cloud cover over the distant mountains. It was closer this time, but much of the object disintegrated in the atmosphere. The ring of clouds swept outward like Seven had seen so many times before, the habitat shifting slightly in the gust of wind that followed. The last few chunks of material plummeted down into the soft sands of the plains, the orange glow of fires marking the places they landed.

“Well,” Kathryn breathed, glancing nervously at Seven, “I’d also feel better if we had a shield over our heads, too.”

Seven glanced back at the barely visible outline of the forest, at the point of light blinking lazily behind the shifting branches and leaves.

“There may also be medical supplies on board,” she relented after a pause. “Perhaps a functional means by which to determine the cause of your dreams.”

“Or to find a cure for whatever’s keeping me on this planet,” the Captain suggested softly. “A way to contact Voyager. Maybe even a way to get us back to her.”

The words caught in Seven’s head like something electric. Her body stiffened, and she snapped her eyes onto Kathryn’s face, scanning the contours of her profile as her heart stuttered behind her ribs.

No, she thought, blinking at the unexpected sensation of panic. We are just beginning.

When she looked at the forest again, Seven felt a fresh wave of emotion well up. Returning to Voyager was unlikely, she knew–perhaps impossible–but even the slightest prospect of being forced back into the rigidity of starship life, of a life where she could not be close to Kathryn…

It was unacceptable.

Her eyes narrowed, the cords of her neck tightening and her fingers clenching again out of sight of the Captain.

I will not go back.

Air rushed through her nose and her nostrils flared as she struggled to maintain her composure, to retain her ability to stay objective and logical. Kathryn was right–there were most certainly useful components aboard the strange vessel. But Seven could not allow her to delude herself into grand visions of cures even the impressive Voyager crew had not managed to find, or of returning to the fated ship whose homecoming was just as unlikely as their own. Her face contorted into a scowl in spite of how carefully she tried to conceal it.

“That vessel is a carcass, Kathryn,” she stated, impressing the Captain’s first name upon her with more force than she had thus far. “It will not fly. There is no realistic path to such a goal. We should focus our efforts on life and survival here.”

Kathryn rounded on her, like she was offended.

“Here?” she cried, shaking her head, mouth gaping open a bit. “You want to give up now? On this godforsaken hunk of rock that’s so far only tried to kill us?”

“And that is somehow less appealing than returning to a lone vessel drifting through uncharted space for the next several decades? Watching systems fail one by one until there’s nothing left but the metal skin that keeps the air inside?” Seven bit back, her head tilting sharply.

“That ship could be the reason Voyager gets home at all,” Kathryn replied, her face reddening a bit and her tone growing more icy. “It could have anything, Seven! And we won’t have any idea unless we get up there and take a look.”

“And while you embark on hopeless quests for fairytale endings, it is only you and I who will suffer,” Seven snapped, bristling. “You do not yet understand that you are here to stay. That Voyager is gone. This is our reality, Kathryn. Adapt.”

The silence between them was short, but deafening.

“It’s Captain,” Janeway hissed finally, stepping into Seven’s space and looking up from her shorter height. Seven only lifted her chin and glared down her nose into the stormy grey of her eyes.

“You refuse to relinquish control where only partnership can prevail,” she said. “Tell me, Kathryn–if I were not here, to whom would you be Captain then?”

The older woman faltered, her mouth opening and snapping closed again several times. Seven raised her brow, then reached for the last pip at her collar. Janeway let her take it, watching as Seven held it up before her.

“It is for this reason I told Lieutenant Tuvok that you would have suffered on your own,” Seven whispered. She held her ground as the pip disappeared behind her back, her hands clasping together there. “But I will not be your plaything. I am not some contrivance for your comfort in command. Your rank holds no authority here, and our survival is dependent on our ability to exist as equals. That you are unable to accept this as truth, Kathryn, does not change the fact that it is so.”

Something in the woman seemed to fracture as the words hit home. In an instant she deflated, stepping back from Seven’s frame and crossing her arms back tightly across her chest. Her eyes fell to the floor, shoulders held tense and lifted around her neck like something small and weak. Remorse flashed through Seven, but she didn’t apologize. She couldn’t.

It hurt them both, Seven knew, but Janeway had needed to hear it.

“I will accompany you,” the blonde said slowly, her words softer this time, “on an exploration of the ship.”

Kathryn looked up, grey eyes glassy and wet in spite of the lines of her face staying hard and still.

“But my focus will be on obtaining information and materials relevant to our survival here,” Seven added. “I will not partake in frivolous expeditions to repair that ship.”

For a long moment, Kathryn was silent, only the sound of their breathing reaching through the habitat. Finally, she nodded, glancing back out the window.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and Seven’s heart wrenched at the stark despair she heard in the words. She watched as Kathryn turned, facing the glass.

Seven frowned, hesitating just for a second before her empty hand reached out.

It fell onto Janeway’s arm, then slipped up her neck until her fingers settled at her jawline. Kathryn inhaled, the sound just barely audible as she allowed Seven to turn her head. Their eyes met, a somber smile flickering across Seven’s lips.

“I am going to shower,” Seven explained gently. “And then I am going to regenerate. Perhaps in the morning…when we are more settled…we can try to share a meal again.”

To Seven’s utter surprise, Kathryn’s hand covered her own where it lay against her cheek. Her fingers slipped into the gaps and curled, pulling her hand down and holding it between their chests. Seven marveled at the sensation, at the warmth and the softness of the older woman’s skin.

“And then…” Kathryn suggested with a hint of caution, “we can try to get on board that ship.”

The declaration was still an attempt at control, but the ex-Borg recognized the effort was framed as much as an order as a question.

It was a start, and when Seven gave a nod, she spotted Kathryn offer a tiny smile, too.

Janeway turned away, her grip sliding free of Seven’s as she headed for the sink. The blonde let out a breath and dared to let herself relax, her eyes returning briefly to the window until her body tensed all over again.

In the belly of the broken ship, another light had blinked on.

Chapter Text

Kathryn Janeway wasn’t one to second guess herself. She’d seen too many battles, lost too many good officers, not to understand the risks that came with a Captain in doubt. Voyager had seen to that more than any other tenure, and she knew in her heart had she fumbled there like she did now, Voyager would have been lost long ago.

The bow of the starship had been low to the ground, easy to reach with a few ropes and a ladder. Seven had insisted on scaling it first, her optical implant scanning for safe points at which to secure more anchors to climb towards the crumpled dome of the bridge. She dangled precariously some fifty feet above, Kathryn’s location farther down the hull providing a counterweight just barely enough to keep the focused ex-Borg in place. The Captain herself remained determined not to look at the ground to see exactly how high up they were by now, but the bird-like creatures weaving through the trees below her were making it difficult to maintain her composure and conceal her fear of heights.

“Be careful!” she called out as Seven’s phaser worked to cut through the old metal.

Above her, Seven’s body lurched as the phaser finally bit through. Kathryn sucked in a breath, heart slamming once in her chest as the younger woman glanced down.

“You have instructed me to ‘be careful’ no less than eleven times, now, Kathryn,” Seven called back, then clamped the next anchor in place and secured it. “My eidetic memory promises I do not need to hear it again.”

Kathryn bit her tongue and kept the scoff contained, trying to keep the awkward, uncomfortable breakfast they’d shared that morning in the front of her mind. She wasn’t mad at Seven for her words the previous day–by all means, Kathryn knew she should probably appreciate them, more than anything else–but they had stung nevertheless.

And, in the years since she’d joined Starfleet, Kathryn Janeway was loathe to recognize just how easy it had become for her to hold a grudge.

The sound of creaking metal pinched at Kathryn’s ears as Seven wrestled a panel out to create a platform on which to stand. She supported it on a lower portion of the hull left broken and distended by whatever tragedy had befallen the mysterious ship.

“You may ascend,” Seven called down a few moments later, and the Captain’s grey eyes peered upward at the looming, decaying structure above her. She blew out a breath, nodding to Seven to indicate she understood, and then clipped a second set of ropes to the first of the anchors her Astrometrics officer had so carefully attached to the ancient metal.

The ascent was more arduous than Seven had made it look.

The younger woman’s eyes stayed trained on Kathryn with a careful mix of concern and amusement at her plight, her free hand collecting the slack in the first set of ropes as Janeway moved closer. Kathryn tugged warily at each and every anchor point before attaching to them, her gloves scraping against the surface of the ship and her boots biting into the texture with more traction than she’d expected. When she reached the gap between the two saucer sections, she felt a tug on the second rope.

“I have you, Kathryn.”

Seven’s voice was reassuring as she looked downward at the Captain, a sharp nod joining the gaze. Kathryn glanced to Seven’s right, to the point above her at which a narrow strip of hull connected the two rings of the saucer together. It was a longer but much more inviting route–it was the path Seven had taken herself–but the ex-Borg was more agile and in far more suitable physical condition to have made it to that particular point of crossing. Kathryn was already tiring, and she forced aside her stubborn resolve to avoid the gap.

Without a word, she tugged back on the rope.

“Take hold of the handhold lines and push off the lower section,” Seven called down to her. “I will take up the slack and pull you up.”

Kathryn acknowledged her and, steeling herself, did as Seven instructed.

For one brief, panic-inducing moment, Kathryn was weightless. Her hands tightened instinctively around the ropes and held fast as Seven did exactly as she’d promised, the slack in the support line vanishing. Kathryn felt her body lifted upward toward the interior saucer ring, the motion disorienting as the true scale of the inverted vessel struck her.

It was several minutes before her hands clamped around a new set of anchors and she could breathe a sigh of relief. Seven maintained the tension in the line but no longer pulled, allowing Kathryn to finish the ascent until she had reached the jagged portion of the hull and the makeshift platform on which Seven stood. She clambered over the edge and stood up.

For several seconds, they studied one another, and then Seven reached to unbuckle the carabiners from Kathryn’s waist. The Captain’s eyes went wide but she held very still as she worked, a part of her startled by the ease with which Seven’s hands arrived there. She tried not to flinch as the cool metal of her Borg hand brushed against the sliver of exposed skin above her belt–and tried to ignore the unexpected instant of hesitation she detected as Seven caught her eye in the seconds before her fingers moved away. Kathryn’s lips flicked upward at one corner into that awkward, lopsided smile, and then Seven jerked her hand back and turned toward the open fracture in the hull.

Memories flashed forth of Seven’s hands on her in the days prior when she’d helped quell Kathryn’s attack, of the previous night when she’d gently touched her face, and then Kathryn’s heart gave a single, heavy slam against her ribs that seemed to cut the air from her lungs.

Oh my God, she thought, staring at Seven’s back as she crouched and coiled the ropes into a neat pile. Oh, please no. I cannot keep thinking of her this way.

“We should have phasers ready,” Seven said as she stood up and rotated back to face Kathryn, her gaze darting briefly down over the edge of the plating and toward the forest floor. “And be alert for dangerous substances.”

Janeway nodded tightly and swallowed, removing her phaser from its holster and displaying it for Seven’s approval.

“I’ll handle the shooting if you handle the tricorder,” Kathryn said, cautiously stepping around Seven and closer to the opening in the hull.

“Agreed,” Seven replied, and then ushered Kathryn inside.

Every step filled Kathryn with a peculiar sense of dread–not only because the vast majority of their journey toward the bridge meant walking on the vessel’s dilapidated ceiling, but because nothing in the corridors looked even remotely like the Starfleet ones she knew from Voyager.

The air was thick and musty as they walked, the passageways dark and foreboding as debris and dust crackled beneath their boots. They moved slowly, Seven sweeping her tricorder from side to side as Kathryn aimed the light from the end of her phaser, illuminating the paths they picked between the wreckage. Once or twice they encountered doors sealed tight when the ship had first met its death, and Seven’s Borg strength had been the only means by which they’d managed to force them open again.

Behind the last door, they found a turbolift, the mechanism itself long since gone, but the rungs of the ladder in the shaft looked new. Fresh air swept up from below, and Kathryn realized the bridge must be at the bottom. Her mind spun as she tried to reconcile with the positioning, the inversion of the vessel making even mental navigation more difficult than she’d anticipated.

Seven didn’t hesitate, slipping a foot onto the first rung of the ladder and beginning to make her way down. Kathryn followed a moment later.

“It is curious,” Seven commented as they descended, “that this climbing apparatus appears in better condition than the remainder of the vessel.”

Kathryn grunted in agreement, and when they reached the next set of doors, they were already wedged open and held in place by a thick beam of metal. Seven slid down over the edge, struggling for a moment to find purchase, and then reached her hand out for the Captain’s to help her do the same.

“Even more curious that the rungs appear to have been constructed with the current position of the ship in mind,” Kathryn added as Seven’s grasp tightened, adjusting her footing until it felt stable against the awkward angles and incline. She glanced at the blonde who quickly released her hand, a fierce blush crossing onto her cheeks. Kathryn swallowed down the observation and pointed the light around the destroyed bridge. Operations stations hung down from above, loose cables and conduits dangling and shifting in the cool breeze from the fractured glass dome below. Even from where they stood, she could hear the gentle lapping of the water at the lake’s nearby shoreline.

From a few feet away, Seven skated downward, boots leaving scuffs in the rubble, and then laid her hands against one of the bulkheads.

“These walls are petrified,” she told Kathryn with a heavy frown, and the Captain raised her brows and shuffled down to join her. When she did, Seven’s blue eyes met hers. “The vessel was submerged for a significant period of time to have developed this level of mineral deposition.”

Kathryn holstered her phaser, the light from the broken dome and the shattered viewscreen enough to navigate by, and then slipped off one glove. She felt along the surface of the wall, fingers coming close to Seven’s but not quite touching, and then nodded her agreement.

“The trees must have grown from beneath it,” she decided, putting her glove back on and then rubbing her chin in thought. “Given enough time, they could have lifted it up here, to where we found it.”

Kathryn scanned the strange starship’s empty bridge, taking in the dimensions, the station positions, and the remnants of its equipment–anything that could be used as a means of identification. Decayed and enshrouded by the trees, determining the name of the vessel from the outside had been impossible. It was much larger than Voyager, although she’d noted the strange elongated nacelles accounted for a significant portion of its length. The bridge itself was spacious, the dome a sharp contrast to the more raking roofline she was accustomed to aboard Voyager. Janeway racked her brain for any memory, any flicker of familiarity, as she gazed about–but nothing came to mind.

“This technology appears…outdated,” came Seven’s voice from across the room as she reached upward to run her fingers along one of the darkened consoles. “Foundational, even. And yet…” She paused, glancing at a blank screen on a wall beside her and the platform in front of it. “This station appears new.”

Seven gestured to the station, where something like a transporter appeared to have been built into the ceiling on which they stood. A thin field of flickering blue lights encircled it from top to bottom.

Janeway gave a stiff nod, continuing to glance around.

“I agree,” she said. “It’s…strange. Clearly Starfleet, clearly Federation. Old–ancient, really. But somehow, it seems far ahead of Voyager in the build quality and design. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Kathryn felt Seven’s eyes fix onto her form, at the same time her own eyes caught the glint of metal affixed to a narrow wall beside the station Seven was examining. Like everything else, it was upside down, and it took her several minutes to make her way over to it. Seven’s fingers pressed into the small of her back to steady her as Kathryn swiped a hand across the ship’s dedication plaque. She tried to suppress the shiver, tilting her head to the side in an attempt to read the few still-legible words on the inverted plaque.

“‘NCC-1031 Crossfield class starship,’” Kathryn read aloud. “Can’t read the name, though.” She straightened, looking back to Seven, whose hand had fallen back to her side.

“I am unfamiliar with the class, Kathryn,” she said. To Kathryn, the ex-Borg looked both startled and disquieted by the admission. All the knowledge of Starfleet, the Federation, and the Borg were contained within her cortical node–except, apparently, this ship. “This vessel has been struck from Starfleet records. There is no other explanation.”

The Captain glanced at the strange transporter station.

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Seven,” she said, voice low.

The blonde narrowed her eyes, watching as Kathryn held onto the wall and skidded down a few feet to the platform. Kathryn stared at it in thought for several seconds once she reached it.

“What are you thinking?” Seven asked, and the redhead cast her a light smirk.

“I’m thinking your theory that the lights were caused by continuing power generation were off the mark,” Kathryn replied. She saw Seven’s head tilt, the tendons of her neck jutting out as they sometimes did when she was bristling or offended. Kathryn’s smirk grew wider, and she pointed up at the station above where they stood. “This looks an awful lot like a transport system,” she observed, “which makes me believe somebody’s been in here.”

Seven seemed suddenly on edge.

“You still believe there are survivors,” she declared, her words flat as her lips thinned. “The statistical likelihood of survivors is less than–”

“I don’t care about statistics, Seven,” Kathryn cut in, shaking her head. “Survivors or not, Starfleet or not, we’re not alone here. It explains the ladder, the door–and this…thing.”

Seven frowned, but there was a hint of worry in the lines of her forehead.

“You are proposing we activate it, aren’t you?” she asked, shifting. The sound of rubble beneath her boots echoed through the bridge.

Kathryn gave a stiff-shouldered shrug.

“It’s here for a reason,” she said. “And if someone’s aboard, it makes sense they would have installed these to navigate between important sections of the ship that would otherwise be impassable in its current state. Which means we might find them if we use it.”

“I am…unconvinced…this is the correct course of action,” Seven argued. “Given the strange nature of the technology, it would be more prudent to exercise caution.”

Kathryn raised an eyebrow.

“What’s with you, Seven?” she asked, only half-teasing. “Usually I’m the one having to talk you out of ill-conceived adventures.”

“I am relieved that you acknowledge this is ill-conceived,” Seven snapped, pivoting and aiming the tricorder at the platform. “But you are, unfortunately, correct.” She looked up from the tricorder and back to Kathryn. “This is a modified version of a Federation transport system. However–it appears to possess a containment field. I am unable to determine the energy source currently supplying its power.”

“Is it stable?” Kathryn asked, switching back into Captain mode.

“Yes,” Seven replied. “It looks to be originating from the lake.”

Outside, a rumble preceded a rush of wind through the forest, the ship shuddering beneath them and dust shaking loose from above. Kathryn tried to see anything from the broken viewscreen, but the angle was too low, the leaves too thick, and the bridge fell back into silence a few moments later.

“If someone has been on board long enough to build this transporter,” she told Seven, “maybe they have some more information as to what the hell keeps causing these explosions.”

Seven looked worried as she pocketed the tricorder, but seemed to have relented to Kathryn’s plan.

“If there are allies to be found here,” she said, glancing around, “I believe we would do well to find them in a hurry.”

“Then it’s settled,” Kathryn responded, and she held out an arm to gesture that Seven should join her.

They stepped together through the shimmering blue surrounding the narrow platform.

Kathryn knew in an instant that something was wrong.

A bout of nausea washed through her and her head began to spin, a strange ripping sensation mixing with a rush of damp, cool moisture against her skin. Noxious scents burned at her nose, creeping into her lungs and making her cough. Her teeth clenched against the low, disorienting vibrations rattling through her very bones. She was vaguely aware of Seven’s grip on her arm as the solidity beneath their feet vanished and they seemed to tumble through a place of both excess gravity and weightlessness in the same moment. She didn’t know how long it lasted, nor how far they’d gone, as glittering colors danced in front of her eyes and blended with images of plant life and the millions of odd, flickering lights that meandered between them. In the distance, she thought she heard Seven’s voice cry out, but it was garbled and disrupted as if by currents of angry, sloshing water.

Kathryn and Seven were pitched out of the farrago to tumble painfully onto a floor of glossy black. Dazed, the Captain blinked and lifted her head, fumbling half-blind for her companion’s form. She found Seven several feet away, gasping for a few seconds while she tried to regain control of her breath. Kathryn dragged herself closer and propped herself up on an elbow, the other arm reaching across Seven and tapping the side of her cheek until the younger woman was finally able to look up at her. The Captain offered her an apologetic smile.

“You alright?” she asked Seven, who seemed wholly unconcerned by the fact that Kathryn was practically laying on top of her now. She scowled.

“That remains to be seen,” she quipped, sitting up and shoving Kathryn off of her. The Captain rolled over onto her back. The floor was cold, soaking through her clothes. Her chest continued to heave as she stared up at the dark ceiling. 

Her heart skipped a beat.

“Oh no,” she whispered, and then sat upright herself when realization landed.

“What is it?” Seven asked, standing and brushing herself off. She helped Kathryn to her feet.

Janeway’s every muscle went tense as she took in the room around them.

It was a bridge–spacious, like the one they’d just departed–but there was no dust, no rubble or debris, and it was not inverted like before. The sweeping stations were identical to the decayed versions of the starship in the trees, the ceiling lined with glowing rails of amber lights. Outside the viewscreen, towering pillars of kelp-like plants wafted lazily from side to side, small lifeforms flitting around and between them and leaving bubbles in their wake.

She knew this bridge.

She’d seen it in her dreams, faint and distorted by fatigue and confusion.

But this time, it was real. She could see it. She could feel the way it wrapped around her–around them–its inky walls a snare slinking around the very person she knew its occupants had long been searching for.

Seven.

The Captain’s stomach plummeted.

This was a trap.

“Kathryn,” Seven’s voice called. She was standing in front of the viewscreen, peering out. When she turned back to face the Captain, her features were drawn. “We are underwater.”

But Kathryn wasn’t interested in the water. Her eyes had found the dedication plaque. She stepped over to it, touching her fingers against the pristine, dust-free surface of the letters and tracing them as she read.

U.S.S. GLENN

STARFLEET REGISTRY NCC-1030

CROSSFIELD CLASS STARSHIP

"If thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee." - Nietzsche

Kathryn stepped back from the plaque, suddenly aware of Seven’s presence behind her.

“Do you know the name?” Seven asked quietly, and Kathryn looked up at her.

She shook her head.

“No,” she said. Then, with a sickening sense of dread, she added, “But I do know the ship.”

The faint hum of unfamiliar systems stretched into the silence between them. The amber glow of the room grew more ominous by the second. Seven opened her mouth to speak, but the words never came.

The doors to the bridge hissed open. They didn’t have time to turn before a mechanical whirr sounded suddenly from behind them, joined by the unmistakable drone of a charged weapon that now rested icy and smooth against the back of Kathryn’s neck.

The voice that spoke was just as mechanical, just as synthetic as she had heard in her dreams not many nights before.

“Identify yourselves at once.”

Chapter Text

Seven of Nine had rarely experienced a true state of alarm.

In her days with the Collective, such a thing did not exist. Emergencies were handled with protocol and efficiency aboard the cube, feelings and emotions removed for lack of utility and tendency to disrupt procedure. At times, Seven longed for the return to that world–to the facility of calm, perpetual insouciance–where every action, every reaction, was determined by another without need for question or deference.

But those days were gone now, that world torn from her by the very woman against whose skin was pressed the point of a weapon Seven didn’t recognize, held impossibly steady by the hand of something that tried nearly as hard to look human as Seven herself.

“I said identify yourselves!” the being recited again, a startling inflection of impatience embedded into the very obvious synthetics of the voice. The weapon twisted and dug deeper against Kathryn’s neck, making the older woman wince as her palms stayed empty and raised toward her shoulders. The angle of Seven’s view was just wide enough that she was able to see Kathryn look at her before speaking, her eyes carrying a message that warned Seven not to make any sudden moves.

“I’m Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship Voyager,” Kathryn announced, the words careful and slow. “And this is my Astrometrics officer, Seven of Nine.”

At the back of Kathryn’s neck, Seven thought she saw the pressure of the gun falter.

“You are Starfleet?” the being demanded, and Seven saw its head jerk in her peripheral vision. With each movement, a noise sounded, as though it were controlled by motors. The relief was short-lived. It reached to clutch onto Kathryn’s shoulder and whirl her around, taking a step backward and leveling the weapon on her forehead instead.

Seven wanted to turn, too, but the thought had barely formed in her mind before the entity’s attention snapped onto her with a whirr and it hissed, “Don’t you move!”

It was disturbing, the immediacy of its awareness.

“She won’t hurt you,” Kathryn reiterated, drawing its focus back. Seven saw the Captain’s eyes narrow. It took her a moment to understand why. “And neither will I. We are Starfleet.”

The hands holding the gun wavered in their steadiness, just for an instant, barely detectable. Seven remained motionless, watching as best she could.

It is unaccustomed to these actions, she realized. Kathryn understands this. She is probing for logic.

“How did you find this place?” it asked, its gaze flicking towards Seven and back again.

“By accident,” Kathryn replied, managing a soft smile that Seven knew was forced. “We were exploring.”

Kathryn is not usually so quick to be suspicious, Seven noted. Not without reason.

“You should be more mindful of where exploration might take you,” it replied, clipped and sharp. “Or into whose path it might lead.”

“Such is the risk of the journey,” Kathryn said, dipping her head but never allowing her gaze to slip from the being in front of her. “Maybe you can put that gun down now and we can all have a talk about what’s going on here.”

The eyes darted down Kathryn’s figure and up, as though it were considering her. The face, though, was still. Impassive.

“Relinquish your weapons and we will talk,” it insisted.

Kathryn nodded, reaching slowly for her phaser and gesturing with her chin that Seven should do the same. Together, they crouched and deposited them on the floor. Kathryn kicked them both to the side once they had stood.

Seven remained on edge for several more seconds while they waited to see what their aggressor would do. The weapon stayed still and aimed at Kathryn’s head, the mechanical fingers twitching slightly against the trigger. For a moment Seven thought that it had lied, that it would fire anyway, but the sound never came.

Then, with a sharp drone, it lowered.

Seven reformed her sigh of relief into a narrow exhalation, watching as the tension in Janeway’s shoulders dissipated and transformed into a roll. The ex-Borg rotated, stepping closer into her companion’s space as her optical implant promptly began to size up the individual who was sliding its own weapon back into its holster.

A dark, iridescent black uniform was marked by white piping at the seams, and thick white stripes traced around each shoulder. A dotted pattern of charcoal grey encircled the abdomen and waist, the tapered fabric clinging to the shape of what was unmistakably the figure of a human female. A familiar Starfleet badge rested over the heart, and four gleaming red pips were embedded into the uniform collar to supply a Starfleet rank. But, while the uniform was clearly Starfleet, Seven found she didn’t recognize it. Nor, she realized with a start, could she recognize the face that stared back. She chanced a glance in the Captain’s direction, unnerved to see that Janeway, too, was at a loss to determine who–or what–was currently standing before them.

Seven carefully studied the strange metallic nature of the face. It appeared to be constructed of multiple components–some from softer white synthetics, and others from dark charcoal grey and black titanium or some other type of metal. Two bands of gold marked the delineation between the upper plates of the cranium and the ones that covered where a temple might be. The eyes were blue and also mechanical, the irises rotating in different directions as the center apertures dilated and contracted in much the same way Seven’s own optical systems worked. They were rimmed in gold on the bottom edge to match the bands above–a small, pointed consideration for congruence that made Seven briefly wonder who had made the selection. With every infinitesimal twitch of movement, the hum of motors and servos rang out, the sound not unlike the sounds of the thousands of Borg drones she’d encountered in her lifetime.

The similarities were oddly nostalgic.

The being spoke again, and with her more direct focus, Seven was able to detect uncertainty ringing through the feminine but oddly robotic undertones. Her vocal processing unit seemed to interject occasional randomness in her intonation–perhaps to supply more realism to any conversations had with her–but the female had clearly learned the patterns and how to manipulate them to achieve certain effects. There were distinct, very human emphatics contained in certain words.

“I…did not believe I would see another human being in my lifetime,” the officer said, blinking rapidly and giving a stilted shake of her head. “Least of all anyone with Starfleet.”

Seven briefly wondered if this mechanical creature considered itself a human.

“Who are you?” Janeway asked, taking a cautious step toward their new companion. She saw grey eyes cast over the strange body, settling briefly on the pips. A flicker of surprise told Seven that Kathryn, too, was taken aback by the rank. There was more to Kathryn’s thoughts when her brows knit together, though, and Seven quickly determined the woman had picked up on something with which she was not comfortable.

What are you seeing, Kathryn?

Seven frowned. Uncertain though she was, she could not find any similar feelings of discomfort toward the strange being. The newcomer’s gaze landed on hers, and they studied each other in silence for several long seconds. 

A louder strum of mechanical motion reverberated through the empty space of the foreign ship’s bridge, and the being straightened her shoulders and clasped her hands behind her back in much the same way as Seven preferred to stand herself.

“I am Airiam,” she told them, dipping her chin for only the briefest moment in greeting. “I am the Captain of this vessel.”

She did not outstretch her palm in the customary human greeting. In fact, she did not move at all, her body seeming instead to go more rigid the longer they observed her.

Kathryn cleared her throat.

“Where is your crew, Captain Airiam?” she inquired, and Seven did not like the note of suspicion in her words. Concern for the way Kathryn was addressing Airiam curled unpleasantly in her abdomen. This officer was on edge, and it was clear that Janeway knew it. Why, then, would she risk speaking as though she might be searching for a trip wire?

“Hm,” Airiam grunted, the dark lips twitching down at the corners in way Seven wouldn’t have thought they could. “They are deceased.”

“All of them?” Seven blurted out before she could stop herself. Kathryn shot her a glare.

“Would you believe me so surprised to see another human being were that not the case?” Airiam snapped. She bent to collect their weapons, then thrust them back into their hands. Seven holstered the phaser with a deep scowl that mirrored Janeway’s from beside her. Airiam lurched into a pivot, then headed toward the transporter, a low purr accompanying each and every step she took.

Kathryn glanced at Seven, raising an eyebrow and giving half a shrug. They turned to follow her, watching as she went to work at a console on the wall beside the containment field.

“I have been attempting to set things right for some time now,” Airiam explained without looking at them. “They were not supposed to die here. No one was supposed to die here.”

“You were on a mission, then?” Kathryn pressed, the lines of her face still betraying her wariness.

Servos whirred as Airiam’s head twitched to watch them in her periphery–just for a moment–and then she returned to her work.

“Of the greatest importance known to the Federation,” she answered. “Everything depended on its success.”

The console released a tone indicative of an error, and she smashed a metal palm once against the bulkhead. Her head bowed, and when she inhaled, Seven realized even her internals must be mechanical.

“You failed,” Seven concluded, her words gentle in a way she was unsure Kathryn’s would have been had she not spoken first. “And your crew was lost.”

This time, when Airiam turned, the strange components of her face seemed softer, flexing into barely detectable microexpressions Seven was certain few could read. They regarded one another, something like empathy forming behind the Borg implants still woven into her ribs. She felt a flicker of fascination, perhaps even curiosity, at the vision of herself she saw reflected in the peculiar individual looking back.

The moment vanished in an instant, the dark point of a synthetic chin lifting high and almost defiant.

“Your intrusion has delayed my progress by several more days,” Airiam told them, then shoved her way through the slim gap between the pair, brushing Seven to one side. “My power supplies were already barely at operational capacity. I needed every bit of it to return to the surface.” She reached another station, Kathryn and Seven following along behind her again, and began to swipe across the inputs and review a series of logs for systems Seven didn’t recognize.

“Perhaps we can help you,” Janeway suggested from where they stood a meter or so away. “We have a number of ways to generate additional power back at our habitat.”

To Seven, the offer was less genuine than she would have expected coming from Kathryn. She sent her a questioning glance, raising the metal over her optical implant.

She does not trust this individual at all.

“That would be beneficial if I were able to return you,” Airiam replied, blinking at them. “But the transport system will be down until the power supply recharges. I am afraid all three of us are stuck here in the meantime.”

Seven saw Janeway pale.

“Stuck here?” she repeated, narrowing her eyes. “In this ship?”

Airiam studied her, head angling slightly.

“Unless our kind has evolved the ability to breathe unassisted and survive at crush depth in aquatic environments in the years since my arrival here, then yes, Captain Janeway–here, in this ship.”

Kathryn scoffed a bit. Seven took note of the way Airiam suggested she was human. Even her cortical node was struggling with the observation.

“My transporter was only ever designed for one individual,” Airiam continued, thrumming over to yet another station. “It will take some time for me to determine if it has been damaged by transporting more than its allotted capacity, and how extensive that damage might be. In which case, it is fortunate that I should find myself in the presence of those who would call themselves Starfleet–in spite of their apparent lack of foresight and…” She trailed off for a moment, tilting her head and scraping her eyes over them both. “Well, I suppose your Federation is not quite the same as mine.”

“What do you mean by that?” Kathryn replied quickly, straightening beside Seven.

“Captain Janeway,” Seven interjected, returning to Kathryn’s title in the presence of the other officer. “Our uniforms–they are…different.”

Airiam leaned back against the console, metallic fingers clinking as they threaded together in front of her waist. Kathryn’s eyes widened.

“You’re from the mirror universe?” she cried, stunned.

But the Captain that looked back at Janeway was nonplussed. She let the moment, the discomfort, linger, as though she meant it to unsettle Kathryn further. Seven watched the pair carefully, the tension as palpable as it was inexplicable. She didn’t understand. Kathryn was usually more open than this.

“Hardly,” Airiam said at last, pushing off the console and striding closer. She came to stand a yard or so away from Kathryn, her gaze bouncing between the Starfleet badge and the collar now devoid of pips by Seven’s doing. If she didn’t believe the Captain had been truthful about her rank, she didn’t speak of it, instead offering a sigh and another shake of her head.

“There are multiple Federations in multiple realities, Captain Janeway,” Airiam explained, gazing out the viewscreen at the murky water enveloping the ship. “Some are so similar you would spot the differences with only specialized equipment. Others are so far removed from what you know that even the core bases of your science would be unrecognizable. It is possible I am from your ‘mirror universe,’ but without a frame of reference for your own origins, I cannot say for sure.”

“And this…’specialized equipment…’” Kathryn began, leaning back and setting her chin between her index finger and her thumb, “you’re familiar with it?”

Airiam blinked, perplexed.

“I am. I have dedicated my life to its operation.”

“For Starfleet? The Federation?”

“Yes, Captain Janeway,” Airiam replied. “The equipment is here, on my ship. The transverse drive. It is a marvel of engineering unique to my reality and my reality alone.”

Seven slipped her hands behind her back and clasped them together.

“You travel between realities?” she inquired, wrinkles forming on her forehead.

“I do,” Airiam told her.

“This endeavor carries great risk,” Seven replied, catching Kathryn’s eye for a beat.

“Indeed,” Kathryn agreed, still looking at the impassive, plated features of the foreign officer. “You’re breaking the Temporal Prime Directive.”

Airiam’s chin lifted again.

“My Federation no longer abides by this decree,” she said, and this time, the electronic voice was lower, more thorny. The mechanics of her eyes ceased revolving as she and Janeway watched one another. “They sanctioned my research and my mission. We were losing the war against the Klingons. This was all we had left.”

“It seems we won’t need any specialized equipment to locate our differences, then,” Janeway said in return, raising a brow. “War or not, meddling with this kind of tech is wrong.”

Something in the mechanized form changed then, as though her guard had gone back up. Airiam’s head tilted to the side with a purr, the thin, dark lips flashing upward into a grin that lasted for only a heartbeat.

“I assure you Captain,” Airiam said, “we are not so different as you might believe. Perhaps that is why our paths have crossed here.”

“And what makes you say that?” Kathryn challenged. “You think my Federation would break the Temporal Prime Directive?”

Seven glanced between the two, heart beginning to race in her chest.

“What I think is not relevant,” said Airiam. “I have seen you do so myself.”

“Me? I would never,” Janeway snapped, insistent. Seven saw her cheeks burn red. “Not for anything.”

The Glenn’s Captain took another step closer, looking down at Kathryn from her slightly greater height. Seven stayed very still, every muscle primed for action should the altercation turn physical. Her hand drifted to the phaser at her side.

The single chuckle that left Airiam’s chest was deep and rumbling.

“You will, Captain,” Airiam breathed. “Like I have. Over and over again. Sometimes the stakes are just too high.”

The mechanical hand reached out, stark white against the auburn hair it began to twirl around a finger. Kathryn’s entire body stiffened, but she held her ground, unwilling to pull away.

“There are no stakes high enough to commit that kind of atrocity,” Kathryn replied, her  voice almost a hiss. “Inflicting damage of unknown proportions on people and lives whose paths could be fundamentally altered…no. I wouldn’t.”

“And yet, I’ve watched you do it,” Airiam replied.

She let the strands of silky red fall back to Janeway’s shoulder a moment later, adjusting herself until she could gesture at Seven of Nine.

“For her, you will do anything.”

Chapter Text

The door to the guest quarters hissed shut behind Kathryn and Seven. Kathryn’s every nerve was on edge, every fiber of her muscles tense and aching, by the time she and Seven were finally alone.

Glenn’s captain hadn’t exactly been cordial, but aside from their disagreements about the Temporal Prime Directive, Kathryn hadn’t detected anything outright threatening. Airiam allowed them to tour the upper levels of the ship, explaining more about Glenn’s drive systems and promising to bring them to the lower decks the following morning. They’d spent much of the afternoon discussing the transporter’s power levels and whether it could be made to recharge faster with the addition of Seven’s nanoprobes, but Airiam had been fiercely resistant to the concept. There were no indications of any other people on the ship as far as Kathryn could tell–no signs of any communications, either. By the time evening had come, she was beginning to second-guess her initial concerns about the unusual officer’s motivations.

But she couldn’t let go of the dreams, or the voices she’d heard.

The ones she’d been so certain were happening in real time.

To the left, another door was open to an adjoining set of guest quarters. Seven had already moved toward it, leaning through the opening to inspect the furnishings. Kathryn watched her, her gaze drifting lower until they reached the ridges and the furrows of the implants in the back of her ribs. For several seconds she studied them, mouth going inexplicably dry at the unwelcome thoughts that burst into her mind at the sight.

“For her, you will do anything.”

Kathryn’s gut twisted as Airiam’s words came back to her, as much a warning as a promise. The captain frowned, blinking away from Seven and heading for the tiny kitchenette. She rummaged through the cupboards until she found a glass and filled it with water, gulping it down and then clunking it back onto the countertop. The sound drew Seven’s attention, and she rotated where she stood.

“You are experiencing agitation, Kathryn.”

Startled, Kathryn’s eyes darted upward to find Seven’s gazing calmly back at her. She forced a smile, but by the way Seven’s lips turned downward at the edges, it must have looked more like a grimace. She wiped a hand across her forehead and offered only a dry chuckle.

“I guess you could call it that,” she admitted, sighing as she leaned back against the cabinets. “I don’t trust her.”

Seven approached, taking up a position directly across from her and mirroring Kathryn’s position. The metal fingertips of her Borg hand clinked against the hard wood of the cabinet door.

“I have never seen you quite so quick to judge,” Seven said, and she raised the implant over her optical processor. “It is…unsettling.”

“I don’t mean to scare you,” Kathryn replied, studying the floor. “I just…I’m certain it’s her voice I’ve heard in my dreams. And this is the ship. Now that we’re here, I can’t help but feel I’ve made the wrong decision.”

“You still believe someone is searching for me,” Seven concluded with a nod.

“There has been another speaking,” Kathryn added, tongue darting out to wet her slightly chapped lips. “In my dreams, I mean. And the other night–in the shower. I’ve heard Airiam’s voice, for sure–but where’s the person she was talking to? Is she on this ship, too?”

Creases formed over the bridge of Seven’s nose.

“Even if you are correct–even if it was this captain, and even if she has been searching for me–there is no evidence that her intent is malicious.”

“Not yet,” Kathryn grumbled. “But she’s willing to break the Temporal Prime Directive. More than that, she’s already admitted to having done so multiple times. That’s not nothing.”

Seven pushed off the counter, stepping closer.

“Perhaps you are upset that she claims to know parts of you that you yourself do not,” she said. “That she believes you are preordained to do the same as she has done.”

Kathryn’s cheeks puffed out as she exhaled, shaking her head.

“Maybe,” she admitted. “Or maybe I’m just upset wondering what she’s changed about our paths just by telling us this. What were we meant to do that we won’t now? What were we never meant to do that we will? What if she’s the reason we’re even here, Seven?”

Seven was quiet for several seconds, head tilting. Kathryn could feel her gaze as it roamed across her face, like she, too, was searching for answers.

“If she is, then I am glad.”

Janeway froze.

“You’re…what?” she asked. The words fumbled from her mouth without planning.

“I am glad,” Seven repeated, and this time she spoke more clearly.

The flash of anger Kathryn felt surprised her.

“You’re glad?” she asked, lips parting. “Glad that we’re here? Alone? Trapped on this planet where we may never get home?”

Seven’s face cast downward, and she fidgeted a bit with her fingers.

“I have only known Voyager as home,” she replied after a moment, still keeping her gaze on the floor. “But the longer we are here…the more I begin to understand that my feelings were misdirected.”

Kathryn’s voice softened.

“Misdirected?”

Seven looked up. Her features had gone very serious and focused. Kathryn wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

“Voyager was not my home, Kathryn.”

“No,” the captain replied. “Earth was.”

“You are mistaken,” Seven corrected with a shake of her head. “I have not grieved for Voyager in the way you have. I do not long for Earth in the way you and the rest of Voyager’s crew always have. That is because…to me…home has not been lost at all.”

Kathryn pursed her lips.

“You can’t grieve what you don’t know,” she said, as though she understood. But the blonde woman’s features hardened into a scowl.

“No, Kathryn,” Seven started to explain, but paused.

“Then what?” the captain asked. She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes in question. Seven breathed out, as if she were preparing herself.

“She said you would do anything,” she whispered finally. Her forehead scrunched a bit, her lips turning down. “For me.”

With a flinch, Kathryn’s eyes snapped onto the blue ones looking down at her.

“Explain.”

Kathryn faltered, the words floundering off her tongue.

“I–How can I explain something I don’t understand?” she asked, her mouth snapping shut and then turning into a frown.

“It is logical to conclude you understand perfectly, Kathryn,” Seven pressed.

“Your logic is flawed, Seven,” Kathryn replied, grinding her teeth and looking hard at the floor. “We don’t know this officer. She’s from an entirely different reality and goes against our deepest moral principles. There is no reason to believe a word she says.”

“So…you would not do ‘anything’ for me?”

The captain blinked, refusing to meet the younger woman’s gaze. She could picture the face–the hurt–without seeing it. Her voice was telling enough. What was she supposed to say? She wasn’t prepared for this. In fact, she wondered if she could ever have been prepared for this line of questioning–for the honest answers it required.

“I find that I am…reluctant…to release you.”

Kathryn felt fire surge up from her stomach, climbing into her ribs and spreading heat into her face. She thought of Seven’s hands on her, the way she’d worked the panic into peace in minutes.

Calm, blissful minutes that had stretched on and on.

Kathryn’s fingers curled as if Seven’s thigh still lay beneath them, as if she might still find the heat and softness if she focused hard enough.

The biosuit rustled as Seven straightened.

“You do not care for me,” Seven said, and Kathryn’s eyes closed at the tremor in her words. “This is why you wished to stay here alone.”

“Seven, of course that’s not–” Kathryn started, sighing as she kept her head down. Her fingers rubbed wrinkles into one temple. She started to speak again, but Seven cut her off.

“Would you have felt the same way if it were Chakotay who had refused your orders?”

This time, Kathryn jerked her face upwards and stared at Seven. She was shocked to see the blonde’s cheeks had gone red and her eyes were shining and wet. They were hard and angry as they stared back, and the captain’s every muscle seemed to contract in misery at the sight.

You did this, she realized.

“I believed you would have suffered without companionship,” Seven went on, her tone falling into something low and distressed. “But it seems you were prepared to live without it regardless of whether you did so aboard Voyager or on the surface of an unknown planet. I could collect your pips for all eternity–strip you of every memory and moment of your captaincy, and still you would deny that you require a partner.”

Time went suddenly still.

“A…a partner?” Kathryn asked in barely a whisper.

Seven bristled, her frown deepening.

“Yes, Kathryn,” she replied, voice going frosty. “I do not know how to make you understand.”

“Understand…how to make me understand what, Seven?”

The blue eyes dropped to the floor. Seven inhaled through her nose, her chest filling as if she might need all the oxygen in the room.

“That while Airiam insists you would do anything for me…she failed to address that I would also do anything for you, Kathryn.”

Kathryn Janeway’s heart caught in her chest when Seven’s eyes met hers again. Her body was tense, her breath coming in short, anxious heaves. Her head was spinning like they’d just come out of the transporter. For several seconds they stood in silence. Then Seven straightened, turning sharply and heading toward the open door of the adjoining quarters.

There was no logic in the way Kathryn's body reacted. It wasn’t exactly instinct, but her feet moved as though it were.

In two steps she had taken hold of Seven’s bicep, the loose strands of her blonde hair flinging about as she rotated back to face Kathryn. The captain didn’t fully realize what was happening as Seven came into her space and peered down at her with those same, damp blue eyes. Her hand slid down Seven’s arm until it had settled under her palm, the long, thin fingers curling around Kathryn’s wrist once it was there. Seven’s Borg hand landed on Kathryn’s shoulder blade and she found herself drawn closer, into the startling heat of her presence and against the impossible smoothness of the biosuit.

Kathryn’s lips parted when she dared to look up, her left hand trailing trembling down the curve of Seven’s waist until her knuckles crimped and her fingertips dug against a hip of bone and metal. Seven’s breath shuddered out and glanced across Kathryn’s nose, and the captain’s heart stuttered when a tongue darted out to swipe across pink lips. Redness had gathered back into Seven’s cheeks and drifted into the tips of her ears, leading Kathryn’s eyes across the contours of her face.

“Seven…” the captain warned, but her voice was feeble and her grip on Seven’s hip only tightened as she said it.

“Don’t,” Seven whispered, and she lifted Kathryn’s hand to hold it against her heart. “Please.”

Their foreheads came together then, the cool press of Seven’s implant brushing against Kathryn’s brow, and they exhaled as one. The motion was so natural, so fluid and effortless that Kathryn briefly wondered if this was evidence of another life, another world meant to exist between them they had never known until that moment. The captain’s eyes fluttered shut and she could scarcely believe the sensation of a tear escaping down her cheek. In Seven’s grasp, her body quaked once and then went still.

“I didn’t know, Seven,” she gasped softly. “I had no idea this was why you stayed.”

Seven released her hand, coiling the arm around Kathryn’s neck and shifting them into an embrace. Her voice rumbled against the redhead’s ear, lips brushing against the shell.

“That much is painfully obvious,” the ex-Borg replied, and Kathryn’s tension evaporated into a single snort of laughter. She tucked her head against Seven’s collar, letting herself indulge in the unexpected sanctuary of the hold. It had been so long since she had allowed herself to experience this kind of presence–since she’d felt the contact of a living, breathing being instead of the soulless touch of a holoprogram. There was something almost reverent in the way Seven held onto her, something electrifying in how their bodies seemed to slot together like two analogous components, that took Kathryn by surprise. She exhaled again, pressing closer and skimming her fingers gently along the ridges of the implants hidden at Seven’s back.

Kathryn didn’t know how much time had passed by the time she finally forced herself to lift her head. Seven released her slowly, reluctant as she had been once before. As she stood before Kathryn, it was all the captain could do to stop looking at Seven’s mouth.

“You are staring,” Seven whispered, but there was a hint of playfulness in her voice that hadn’t been there before. “I believe that I know why.”

“Why’s that?” Janeway breathed, the question escaping before she could consider if she wanted to hear the answer.

Seven’s hand returned to slip beneath her elbow.

“Allowing me to kiss you would be logical, Kathryn.”

A rush of panic struck her and Kathryn jolted, stepping backward even as every part of her cried out in silence at the loss of Seven’s warmth. Her heart raced painfully in her chest, her gut wrenching when a flicker of disappointment flashed across Seven’s features.

Seven’s hand landed back against her side.

“I see,” she said tightly. Then, as her eyes searched the captain’s, she seemed to understand. “You are not ready.”

Tears welled in Kathryn’s eyes, hot and startling, and she shook her head.

“No,” she croaked. “No, Seven. I’m not.”

The admission, contrary to what Kathryn had expected, seemed to calm Seven instead of hurt her. She gave a single nod, an indication that she understood, and then offered a small smile which sent Kathryn’s mind into a fresh spiral of confusion.

Seven’s hands went behind her back, and she lifted her chin–proud, maybe even defiant like Airiam had been. But the words that Seven spoke were softer, and they did not proclaim to know things Kathryn herself had not yet chosen to accept.

“Then, Kathryn,” Seven declared, “I will wait until you are.”

Chapter Text

At no point since being severed from the Collective had Seven of Nine considered her eidetic memory a fault. It was as much a part of her as her flesh and muscle, a facet of her persona and a core component to her success in her responsibilities aboard Voyager and in her ability to form relationships. Seven of Nine could remember each and every thing about each and every event, readily recalling them in perfect clarity whenever they were needed. B’Elanna had once told her such a capability made Seven arrogant, that she might find herself more empathetic were she to exist with normal, human, memory. At the time this comment had been of no concern to Seven, chalked up to the cranky engineer’s insecurity and distaste for all things Borg.

Now, though, she found herself wondering what it might be like to forget.

She could still feel hands at her waist. She could still feel breath at her lips. She could still feel Kathryn–soft, slender, beautiful Kathryn–ensconced against her, tangible in a way Seven had feared she’d never experience.

She shivered at the memory of how close she’d come to kissing her.

But the longer she allowed her mind to drift, the more distressed she became at what might have been, but wasn’t. Every instant of her morning had become one of greater torture than the last. Seven rotated, shifting her gaze away from where she’d been watching small aquatic lifeforms flit and flash around the unfamiliar vessel into which they’d fallen.

Kathryn Janeway stood with Airiam, distance held between them which told of an ongoing but thus far still unspoken attestation of distrust. In fact, Seven could not determine which captain was more wary, or who was more displeased. The observations replayed through her cortical node as they had always done, a constant, relentless study of hundreds of microindicators that warned Seven of an escalating friction to whose breaking point she was not eager to bear witness. Kathryn did not seem to understand exactly why she felt the way she did; Airiam made no effort toward persuasion or placation, enduring Kathryn’s uncertainty with such complete indifference that Seven thought it almost tragic.

“I’d like Seven and I to see these build schematics for ourselves,” Kathryn said to Airiam in a voice that betrayed a growing frustration with the mechanical being at her side. “I simply cannot accept that the introduction of Borg nanoprobes would not decrease the recharge rate.”

Airiam’s hands went still where they were working at the internals of what looked to be a tiny power cell–one of at least two dozen built into the bulkhead curving around a central tower much narrower than the warp cores Voyager and other Starfleet vessels contained. Seven detected a 1.2 percent increase in the peculiar captain’s heart rate as the plated face angled slightly toward Kathryn. If she was surprised by the commentary, she didn’t show it, but she took several seconds to reply. When she did, her synthetic voice was almost weary, like she’d had the argument one too many times before.

“Your refusal to accept reality does not alter its legitimacy,” she said, returning to her work. Her body clicked and whirred, just loud enough to be audible over the hum of the slumbering transverse systems. “Your methods are not feasible.”

“Why?” Kathryn demanded, stepping back from where she’d been eyeing Airiam’s every move for nearly an hour. Her arms crossed over her chest, grey eyes narrowed and hard. “Let Seven try. You’ve been at this for…well…how long have you been down here, Captain?”

Seven saw Airiam’s posture change. It was brief–Kathryn probably wouldn’t even have registered it–but Seven knew it was a hesitation. At the panel, her fingers curled back toward her palm and she leaned back, closing the door and clicking the latch into place. When she turned, her body trilled.

“Four years,” she said. The eyes, deep blue mechanicals rotating back and forth, caught Seven’s from across the room. They darted away as quickly as they had arrived, and Seven got the distinct impression the captain saw it as a slip up.

Odd, Seven thought, even as Kathryn seemed to soften at their strange counterpart’s admission. A stray lock of auburn hair slipped down across her cheek and Seven saw her brush it away, the grey eyes narrowing and the corners of her lips pulling backward–not quite a frown, but well on the way to becoming one.

Kathryn acknowledged the additional context of Airiam’s length of stay when she replied.

“And you’ve been alone this whole time?”

Airiam inclined her head with a drone.

“So you’ve had no outside influence,” Kathryn concluded. “No one to help you brainstorm?”

Seven watched Airiam curiously, the way her eyes fixed on Kathryn’s and her body went still. Whether it was in contemplation or opposition was more difficult to tell. More notably–she did not answer the question.

“Your methods are not feasible,” she repeated firmly, and then headed for the towering center core. Kathryn caught Seven’s eye as they turned and followed her, arriving beside one another and situated to Airiam’s left. “The transverse drive relies on mycelial spores to operate successfully,” Airiam began, swiping at a control panel and then removing another cover plate. “As does her sister ship, the USS Discovery.”

“Sister ship?” Seven asked, and though her head angled to indicate she had heard the question, Airiam would not meet her gaze.

“Surely you have already identified the similarities between Glenn and the vessel that brought you to her,” Airiam scoffed, like she might be offended by Seven’s lack of clarity.

The Doctor’s lessons in civility reminded Seven to restrain her own offense.

“The ship in the forest,” Kathryn said, looking somewhat perplexed.

“Yes,” Airiam answered, and then reached for a handle inside the panel Seven hadn’t noticed before. She twisted it, cybernetics growling with the strain until it came loose. Her body jerked backward and a glowing cylinder slid out of the opening. It looked heavy, but she held it up before them as though it weighed nothing at all. “This is a spore canister,” she explained. “In other realities, these allow Crossfield class vessels to access the mycelial network and transport themselves instantaneously across vast distances of space.”

“A teleportation device,” Seven decided, stepping closer. She spotted Kathryn in her periphery, noting that her own fast-growing intrigue appeared to be shared by the redheaded captain.

“In a manner of speaking,” replied Airiam. “In my reality, my husband developed the technology as a means of gaining the upper hand in the Klingon war.”

“Husband?” Kathryn inquired, eyebrows raising.

Airiam faltered, blinking rapidly for a moment like something had short-circuited.

“A marriage of convenience,” she said after a moment, voice low. Her silence lingered for seconds that seemed to stretch too long. By the time she returned to speaking, all evidence of discomfort had vanished as though it had never existed at all. Seven found the thought distressing in a way she hadn’t expected.

It was oddly…human.

“After he died, I took over the spore drive project,” Airiam continued, turning and slotting the cylinder into a small storage cabinet from where she also removed another. “It was trialed for a year before a Federation infiltrator managed to pass the technology on to the Klingons. After that, our priorities changed. The Klingons could hunt us wherever we went, using our own technology, and so the Federation turned their focus to evacuation.”

Seven blinked, swiftly connecting the dots.

“You intended to evacuate to an entirely different reality,” she stated. Beside her, Kathryn seemed almost…impressed. Worried, but impressed. Seven wondered if her stance on the Temporal Prime Directive was softening, as Airiam had implied it one day would.

Airiam pressed the new canister into the slot on the transverse core. Seven watched with wonder as movement filled the glowing tube, millions of glittering lights that spiraled wildly as the mechanical fingers curled around the handle and closed the panel door once the cylinder was locked in place.

“Yes,” Airiam told them. “But we needed help.”

Seven and Kathryn exchanged a glance as Airiam turned to face them. The dark point of her chin rose upward, and her shoulders lifted and fell in breath.

“I modified the threat assessment program the Federation was using at our most critical bases,” Airiam said, and Seven saw her strange jaw tighten. “I replicated the technology used to keep me alive–my cortical processor–and added my computing subroutines to the program. I fed it all the data we had on the mycelial network and the spore drive. I told it what we needed it to do. We called it Control.”

“You created an artificial intelligence,” Seven said, head tilting sharply to one side. “Like the Borg. A Collective, but constrained to one location.”

The captain nodded.

“We knew about the Borg, but encounters with them were few and far between. Control though–Control knew more. It compiled everything it had learned and helped me develop a nanobot based on the Borg’s nanoprobes, but proprietary to Starfleet and the Federation. With a bit more work, we were able to insert the nanobots into the mycelial spores and develop the transverse drive–a means of escape. But where the nanobot spores were the breakthrough that made the transverse drive possible–their similarities to the Borg nanoprobes also makes them vulnerable to assimilation.”

From beside Seven, Kathryn spoke up.

“And these…spores…they’re part of the power supply?” she asked.

Airiam seemed relieved as she nodded again.

“I cannot introduce Borg nanoprobes without risking the Borg gaining access to the mycelial network–and the ability to move across realities and time.”

Kathryn’s eyebrows raised briefly and then her face fell into a dejected sort of scowl. She sighed, rubbing her temple, and Seven put a hand on her shoulder blade without thinking. Once she had, she expected Kathryn to stiffen, or maybe to pull away–but instead the captain leaned back, just slight enough to be felt but subtle enough that Airiam didn’t seem to notice.

Seven wondered briefly why the discretion mattered at all. Glenn’s captain had already indicated she was aware of other iterations of herself and Kathryn that held care for one another. Why, then, did the thought of her knowing the same was true for this iteration land with such unease?

“I suppose that is a valid enough reason,” Kathryn conceded, stepping forward and away from Seven’s palm. She chuckled dryly, but Seven heard the agitation still coiled in the sound. “So by your count…how long are we stuck down here, Captain?”

Suddenly, the vessel around them shuddered, and a foreign alarm began to bleat. Seven jolted where she stood, hand closing swiftly around Kathryn’s bicep while the redhead’s hand flinched reactively to the phaser holstered at her side. Outside the window, the darkness of the water inexplicably lessened. Faint, shifting rays of light filtered through the muck, swinging across Glenn’s hull and then fading away as quickly as they had come.

Airiam said nothing, striding over to the window and peering upward through the glass. The captain seemed altogether unaffected as her hand made a weary swipe across a screen to her right and the alarms cut off. Kathryn tossed Seven another leery glance and shrugged. Seven released her at the same time Kathryn let go of her phaser, and then they joined Airiam at the window.

“My system is suboptimal,” came the synthesized voice as they looked together out into the water. She didn’t address the alarms or the lights at all. “It was built in a hurry and never designed to transport multiple individuals. That you both survived is likely due to Seven of Nine’s implants. I suspect they took the brunt of the strain.”

“The system is undamaged?” Seven asked quickly, suddenly concerned.

“I spent several hours running diagnostics and was unable to detect any errors,” Airiam replied noncommittally.

“So we have to transport out one at a time,” said Kathryn.

“One per 24-hour cycle,” Airiam responded.

“And once we’re topside?” Kathryn pressed. “Then what?”

Airiam blinked, the plated face swinging to regard Janeway.

“There will be no reason to continue our association,” she said, the words harsher than Seven expected. “You may do as you please so long as you do not interfere with my mission or my vessels.”

Seven’s optical implant shot upward in time with Janeway’s brows. Neither of them seemed to like the other captain’s brazen warning. Still, Seven felt compelled to interject.

“We can assist you,” she offered. Beside her, Kathryn Janeway sputtered a bit, concealing it behind a cough. For the first time, Airiam looked Seven in the eye. Then she laughed. The digital sound was rough and hard. Seven grew frustrated. “You find this offer amusing?” she demanded, and Airiam folded at once, eyes retreating back to the window like she hadn’t expected a rebuttal.

“Of course not,” she answered quickly, servos whirring as she shook her head. “I do not doubt your capabilities.”

“Then why so dismissive?” Kathryn joined in with a suspicious glare as her arms crossed over her chest. “In our reality, we don’t leave people behind.”

“Not long ago you were at odds with my methods,” Airiam retorted. “Am I now to understand you’ve changed your mind, Captain Janeway?”

“Of course not,” Janeway echoed, grey eyes narrowing even further. “But maybe we can help each other.”

In her chest, Seven’s heart lurched momentarily to a stop.

No.

“Can this ship fly?” Kathryn pressed.

Airiam stepped backward as she pivoted, mirroring Janeway and crossing her arms over her chest. The clank of metal components colliding as she did so was dulled by the fabric of her uniform. The four red pips on her collar caught the light, flashing in the reflection of the glass.

“It is…possible.”

“Captain–” Seven started, but Kathryn held up a hand to silence her. She stiffened, blue eyes wide and fingers fidgeting in front of her waist.

“This mycelial network of yours–can it get us to our own ship?”

Seven’s eyes squeezed shut as the question was laid out in the open.

She is going to return us to Voyager.

Her stomach knotted, then grew restless and writhing.

She will become ill again.

Her fingers clenched at her sides.

I am going to lose her before we even begin.

Airiam was hesitating again. Seven wished the strange captain would decline, that she would insist such a project was impossible.

For a moment, she thought she had.

“Glenn’s spore drive was damaged in the crash,” Airiam explained. “I’ve been trying to repair it.”

“What do you need to repair it?” Janeway asked. Enthusiasm–even excitement–had broken into her voice. It only left Seven feeling sick.

Airiam glanced at the floor. By the time she looked up again, something about her demeanor had changed. She was uncertain now–Seven felt it in her very bones.

“Captain?” Kathryn urged, apparently detecting the change as well. “What is it? Tell us what you need.”

Airiam stayed silent for another second or two, then clasped her hands behind her back.

“An intact copy of the USS Discovery.”

Chapter Text

For several seconds, Kathryn stared at Airiam as though she’d sprouted a second head. Nothing about the captain suggested she was anything less than completely serious, but no matter how long the words repeated and looped through her mind, they didn’t make any more sense than the cycle before. Seven of Nine, too, was fixated on Airiam, her thin brow and the metal implant above her left eye lowering as if she finally shared Janeway’s uncertainty.

“A copy of the USS Discovery?” Janeway blurted out, and Airiam issued a deep, mechanical sigh. She gestured that they should follow her to a bulkhead door Kathryn hadn’t noticed before, thrumming toward it without waiting for them. Seven stayed close at Kathryn's heels, the brief pressure of fingers settling between her shoulder blades while they walked reminding her of the evening past and the tangle of emotions still knotting in her stomach. When the door sissed open, the trio stepped through and into a well-lit chamber that bore a vague resemblance to an ordinary Federation starship bridge.

“This is the navigation center for the transverse drive,” Airiam explained, leading them toward a long row of tables atop which were situated consoles the likes of which Kathryn had never seen. “If it looks important or broken, it probably is. She may be old, but you’re standing inside a goddamned miracle, and you’ll treat this system like it’s moody and easily offended. Touch nothing. Are we clear?”

Kathryn gave a short grunt of acknowledgment, still scanning the room. Beside her, Seven just inclined her head.

Satisfied, Airiam stepped to the side and didn’t say anything more, content to allow her visitors to take in the sight.

The vast majority of the consoles were riddled with error messages flashing red against the overhead lights. On the ones still functional, unfamiliar lines of coding scrolled and jumped across the screens, while nonsensical diagrams twirled in the corners of others. In the center of the room was a large table with a holographic display of the planet projected above it, marked by a series of blinking red icons scattered across various geographical points. Kathryn was astonished to see just how large the planet actually was, and even more shocked to realize that many of the markers were poised over locations in a visible state of deterioration-whole regions folding in on themselves and collapsing, just as their valley had done.

“The planet is unstable, Grand Marshal.”

Heat stung the back of Kathryn’s head at the recollection of Airiam's dream voice, and she pushed her index finger against the bridge of her nose in an attempt to stop the throbbing. It dissipated just as quickly as it had come.

In the far left corner of the room was another, smaller holographic projection, this one displaying a dense web of green tendrils that thrashed wildly between points of red and purple like electricity arcing between conductors. Kathryn moved closer to examine it, noting after a minute or so of observing the motions that there were patterns to every one.

“What are we looking at?” Kathryn asked as Seven moved beside her to study the display herself. Her proximity was both comforting and incendiary, her mind pitching back to the previous night in the guest quarters. She tried hard to focus on the scene before them, but as Seven leaned closer to the hologram, her arm brushed Kathryn’s shoulder and she shivered in spite of the heat suddenly flourishing in her abdomen.

Get a hold of yourself, she thought. You can deal with this later.

Seven’s gaze caught hers at an angle, her lips ticking upward at the corners, and Kathryn’s heart slammed hard against her ribs.

For fuck’s sake, Kathryn.

Her throat tightened, and it took all her willpower to force the feelings aside as Airiam joined them.

“We call it the Nexus,” she said, oblivious to the redheaded captain’s inner turmoil. “It’s everything we know about temporal interrelation as recorded by Glenn and Discovery during our trials of the transverse drive.”

The explanation jolted Kathryn back to the more immediate situation.

“This is a map of…time?” she asked, startled.

Airiam gave a halfhearted nod with a thrum of motorized components.

“You could call it that,” she replied, and then frowned as if she weren’t sure she should share but was resigned to doing so. “The red points you see are cross-reality gateways where our nanobot spores are actively recording data. The purple points indicate a timeline within that reality in which tampering has occurred and branched into an alternate version of that timeline.”

“There are thousands of these indicators,” Seven supplied with a note of disbelief Kathryn didn’t usually hear from her. She leaned back from the hologram and took to scrutinizing the cybernetic officer instead. “Your Federation could not possibly have needed this level of data collection for one evacuation.”

Kathryn saw Airiam swallow at the veiled accusation, the metal shims along her mechanical throat shifting as she did so. At her side, one finger clicked against her palm–a nervous tic Kathryn wasn’t sure she liked.

“Something went wrong,” Kathryn said, catching the other captain’s eye. “That’s how you ended up here.”

The cybernetics hummed for a moment or two, the finger still tapping at Airiam’s side. Kathryn adjusted her tone to something more inviting.

“You can tell us, Captain.”

The tapping ceased. Whether it was unconscious or due to some kind of recalibration, Kathryn couldn’t be sure.

“In our initial studies,” Airiam began a second later, “we learned that there are certain realities–certain timelines–that…resist alteration more strongly than others. They’re harder to get to, and much more dangerous for the interlopers if they manage to do so. We call them Cores.”

Kathryn’s heart lurched in her chest at another memory.

“This one’s a Core.”

Airiam went on, adjusting something on the panel by the holographic display until the web showed several tendrils of red. They were significantly thicker than the green, and their movements were much less erratic.

“When we began trialing the drive, we would send nanobots through the gateways to check for stability before jumping. Of nearly a thousand tests, we only encountered Cores twice. But both times, the Nexus displayed these red lines like you see here, and both times we lost communication with our nanobots within seconds.”

“They were destroyed,” Seven stated, and when Kathryn looked at her, her face was constricted as it often was when she was wracking her cortical node for information. “The Collective was familiar with this phenomenon. The process of traveling to these branches was deemed impossible.”

Airiam gave a dark chuckle.

“Not impossible,” she said, and then led them back to the center of the room and regarded the hologram of the planet with her hands clasped behind her waist. “But as I now know–inadvisable.”

Kathryn’s eyes caught onto something familiar on the projection.

“That marker is where our valley collapsed!” she exclaimed, leaning closer to the projection and squinting to make sure she was seeing correctly. “There’s the rivers–Seven–”

“You are correct, Kathryn,” Seven interrupted, and Kathryn stiffened at the sound of her first name being used. The ex-Borg rounded on their companion. “Explain,” she hissed.

Airiam set her jaw, chin rising upward with a drone.

“This reality, where we are now–it’s a Core,” she said. “We didn’t know it until we sent the nanobots through, of course–but this time they survived. They began transmitting data. After a month with no evidence of instability we made the decision to attempt a jump. But the transverse drive requires two ships to operate safely–one to open the gateway, the other to hold it open from the other side and tractor the first ship through. We…underestimated the amount of power we would need to make it to a Core.”

“You were separated,” Kathryn finished, pursing her lips.

Airiam nodded.

“Glenn made it through the gateway, but it wasn’t until we were on the other side that I realized we’d been thrown across not just realities, but time, too. And…the crew…my people…” Airiam trailed off, her vocal processor crackling into static. She closed her eyes and momentarily steepled her hands over her nose and mouth. A flash of sympathy pulsed through Kathryn as she watched the other captain try to compose herself and soldier on.

When Airiam’s eyes opened again, she exhaled.

“I don’t fully understand what happened,” she continued, “but I was the only survivor. I found some of them…but most were gone as if they had never been on board. Glenn’s power reserves were almost completely drained by the jump. I managed to put her down here–in the water. When I surfaced for the first time, I found Discovery, and judging by her state of decay, I was able to estimate Glenn was thrown forward about a hundred years.”

Beside them, Seven frowned even harder than before.

“Via Aeternitatis,” she said, and Airiam’s entire body whipped around to stare at her.

“How do you know about that?” she demanded.

Kathryn didn’t like the change in tone. Seven watched Airiam for a few seconds before answering. Her optical implant cocked upward and she smirked.

“I am Borg.”

It was a phrase Seven hadn’t used in some time–one she seemed keen to reserve only for special occasions of bragging, such as now. But where Kathryn had to pull a hand up to cover her own smirk, Airiam looked less than amused. She stepped closer to Seven, their heights almost perfectly matched, and raked her eyes over her.

“Then you understand what’s happening here.”

Seven remained smug, quirking her optical implant.

“A logical assumption,” she replied, voice flat.

“Lives are being lost,” Airiam said, the words trembling out this time. “I need to stop it.”

Kathryn pressed her lips into a line as the staredown continued, watching Airiam’s features for any indication she was lying. Against the synthetics and the inhuman sheen of the metal, it was hard to detect much in the way of movement and microexpressions. In her head, she heard Airiam’s voice, struggling to stay objective between what she had dreamed and what she was seeing and hearing now.

“I will find the drone.”

The suspicion won out, and Kathryn frowned.

“What lives are you talking about?” she asked. “How many?”

The cybernetics whirred when Airiam’s head lurched harshly to look at Janeway.

“Hundreds,” she told her. “Every day.”

Kathryn opened her mouth to respond, but closed it again when Seven interjected.

“This vessel cannot fly without Discovery?” she asked, the cords of her neck jutting out as she angled her head. Airiam looked flustered, in spite of the still mostly immobile construction of her face.

“She can fly, but she cannot return home,” the augmented captain explained. “If she cannot go home, I cannot stop what I have started here.”

Seven gave a soft, disapproving grunt.

“There are other solutions.”

“I prefer to live, thank you,” Airiam snapped back, the mechanized irises revolving with a faint, barely discernible whine.

“Clearly that was not a concern, given your–”

“That’s enough, Seven,” Kathryn scolded, command mode simmering back to life. She was growing more frustrated by the moment–both by Airiam’s lack of detail and by Seven’s apparent lack of interest in sharing her own. “If we’re going to be any help, I need more information from both of you. Specifics. What did you start, Captain?”

Airiam shook her head, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Behind her, the red glow of the consoles flashed against the iridescent black of her uniform. Her fingers clanked together and her eyes darted every which way, her mechanical form thrumming with each movement. A lower, electronic tone grew louder the more agitated she became.

“I…I only meant to bring one…” she murmured, wiping a metallic palm across her forehead with an unpleasant scraping noise.

“One what?” Kathryn pressed, torn between trying to gentle her voice to encourage a response and her burgeoning impatience. “One ship?”

“It wasn’t…I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Airiam went on, as if she hadn’t heard Kathryn at all. “I didn’t know. I just–I only needed one copy. One Discovery.”

Kathryn crossed her arms over her chest, listening carefully.

“It wasn’t supposed to repeat. It wasn’t supposed to…to keep…”

“Captain,” Seven bit out, and Airiam froze where she stood. “Compose yourself.”

After a moment the blue eyes lifted, flickering between Kathryn and Seven, the internal components spinning frantically as the center apertures struggled to settle on a size. The use of her rank snapped her out of her spiraling, and the metal shoulders rose and fell in a great, heaving sigh.

“I attempted to use the transverse drive as we had used it in the trials,” Airiam whispered, fingers clenching and unclenching as if she were grounding herself. “I had just enough power to send out nanobots. I was able to pinpoint a moment before we jumped, when Discovery was alone. I tried to bring them here, to my timeline, so I could use the ship to get Glenn home. I…I set a trap for them.”

“And in doing so, you proved the theory of Via Aeternitatis to be true,” Seven accused, bristling. “You triggered a convergence point. The Core branch is trying to re-stabilize after you forced Discovery to a place it was never meant to be. Captain–” Seven’s gaze landed on Kathryn, her face going crimson against a deepening, outraged scowl. “Those explosions we have witnessed–they are starships! Endless copies of Discovery and her crew, ripped from their own realities only to die for her failures! This is why the Borg determined travel to Core branches was impossible. It will continue until…”

As Seven trailed off, Airiam stood taller, lifting her chin.

“Until a new Core branch is formed–or until the original source of the tampering is removed from the equation,” she managed. “Me, Captain Janeway. This planet will continue to deteriorate the longer I stay. None of us are safe here.”

As Kathryn tried to process the explanation, Seven rounded on Airiam again, eyes flashing.

“Even the Borg could not achieve stable transit to Cores,” she insisted. “And yet this did not sway your decision to attempt it.”

“I was under orders from the Federation to make it work,” Airiam snapped. “So I did.”

“Poorly!” Seven snarled, appalled. “Your arrogance will have killed thousands by this point!”

“We proved it was possible to go somewhere the Klingons could never follow!” Airiam growled. “I was trying to save my people! That was all that mattered!”

“You had help,” Kathryn cut in, holding out a palm until the others fell silent. She lifted her chin once they had, slowly lowering her hand back to her side. Airiam’s shoulders were still heaving as she shifted her attention. “You mentioned it earlier–The AI you built. Control.”

Airiam blew out a breath, internal mechanics droning. Seven was still glowering at her from where she stood, cheeks still blooming scarlet.

“Yes.”

Kathryn noticed the reluctance in the answer. She stepped closer until the taller captain met her gaze.

“Why not use it to help you get home?” she asked, trying once again to keep her voice calm. She sensed Seven’s hostility was having a negative effect on Glenn’s distraught captain. And, as much as Kathryn was at odds with Airiam and her Federation’s morals, she was fast beginning to suspect it was better to keep her as friend than foe.

“I tried,” Airiam admitted, seeming to deflate. “But it…changed. Not long after I arrived.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Kathryn remarked with a raised brow.

“It attempted to overpower me,” said Airiam, rubbing a hand back and forth along her forearm. “It wanted direct access to the transverse drive. I managed to secure it in an isolated partition of Glenn’s main computer core before it could reach my cortical processor and take physical control. It’s holding for now.”

Kathryn’s mind was spinning, struggling to wrap around the concept of what exactly Airiam had done–and how they might undo it. She rolled the heels of her palms against her temples, fully aware that her head would probably only ache more the longer she thought about time travel…and alternate realities…and rogue AIs.

And the way Seven’s hand felt when it landed against the back of her neck and began to work the tense muscles right there in plain sight–like she’d detected the headache even before Kathryn had. It was all she could do to bite back the groan of appreciation and stop her eyes from fluttering shut. She forced her shoulders into a roll, uncomfortable with the very public display, and reclaimed her space.

“Can it be reasoned with?” Kathryn asked once her hands left her temples, struggling to quash the tangle of sensations still filling her abdomen. An idea was taking shape to get them out of their predicament–bare bones, but it was a start. “Would it negotiate for its freedom?”

“I wasn’t really of the mind that I should let it out long enough to find out,” Airiam replied, appalled. “Only one other person in this room might have an idea what it’s like to feel something else try to control your body. I’m not in any hurry to repeat that.” Her gaze landed on Seven, whose hard expression finally cracked. The tension eased.

Just a bit.

It returned when Glenn rocked abruptly underfoot, setting Kathryn off-balance. It took Seven’s crushing grip on her arm to steady her to make her realize it wasn’t just her headache making her sway. As they had done before, the odd wail of alarms tried to deafen them.

And, just as before, Airiam used a nearby panel to silence them. This time, though, she explained.

“Another Discovery,” she issued, gruff and voltaic. She turned back to them from where she was still situated by the panel. “This has to stop. I need to get my ship home.”

Kathryn rubbed her forehead in contemplation, cheeks puffing out as she exhaled and cast a sideways look at Seven. The blonde, thankfully, appeared to have returned to her more rational, less confrontational self, features scrunched in thought.

“You say you need an intact copy of Discovery to fix Glenn’s spore drive,” Kathryn began, turning and walking along the line of consoles, “but given what Seven and I have seen so far, the chances of any of those copies landing in one piece are not real great.”

Airiam nodded, eyes tracking Kathryn’s movements.

“But you only need the spore drive to jump–not to fly. Right?”

“I cannot just fly back to where I came from, Captain Janeway,” Airiam replied with a frown. “I will not cross a gateway between realities, alone, with only a warp core. It would be foolish. And in any case, the transverse drive still requires a second ship to operate.”

“What about my Voyager?” Kathryn asked, the corner of her lip lifting as she stopped pacing and crossed her arms over her chest. She raised an eyebrow. “If Glenn can get us to her, can she be retrofitted with your transverse tech?”

The captain studied Janeway as though she hadn’t considered the option before. Her lips parted and she blinked, head tilting to the side, a metal fingertip tapping against her hip.

“We just need to hold the door open for you, yes?” Kathryn urged with a hopeful nod.

“Glenn is much older than your vessel,” replied Airiam, still hesitant. “Without a functional spore drive, we’ll never catch them.”

“I’m sure between the three of us we can rig up a way to expand our communications capabilities to reach Voyager,” Janeway said, wrinkles forming on her brow as she ran scenario after scenario through her head, searching for weak points. “We’ll send them coordinates to a rendezvous location.”

“All Voyager’s Borg technology would have to be disabled,” Airiam warned. “Retrofits for the transverse drive and repairing Glenn’s spore drive would be dependent on Control’s cooperation–a less than advisable component.”

Seven interrupted just as Kathryn’s mouth opened to reply.

“There is another method,” she said, moving a step closer, and when Kathryn’s eyes landed on hers, Seven’s face was stern. Airiam rotated, then gestured with her hand.

“I’m listening,” came the synthesized voice.

Seven’s brows furrowed, her optical implant lowering and shadowing one eye more than the other. Her lips pursed and Kathryn struggled to keep her eyes off them.

“I can attempt to assimilate the knowledge possessed by the artificial intelligence,” Seven said finally, and then sucked in a breath. “I have determined the chance of success to be 72.44 percent. What we find may be of use in modifying the transport system to support multiple individuals or in improving the recharge time as well.”

“You are just as susceptible to possession as I am,” Airiam countered immediately. “And you possess Borg nanoprobes. We would risk Control gaining access to the Collective, the ability to cross realities and time, and potentially killing you. The trifecta of bad ideas. Not to mention how this one–” She jabbed a thumb in Kathryn’s direction. “–would react to losing you.”

As much as the concept bothered her, Kathryn couldn’t help but throw Seven a faint smirk.

“Seven of Nine is right 98.727 percent of the time, Captain,” Kathryn told Airiam. Beside her, Seven puffed up and the tips of her ears went red. “I happen to like those odds.”

“Begging your pardon, Captain Janeway,” Airiam retorted as her arms whirred across her chest, “but that 1.273 percent chance of being wrong carries a hell of a lot of weight.”

Kathryn mirrored her stance, crossing her arms and throwing a hip out to the side.

“We’re not taking this lightly,” she assured her, raising a brow. “But you and your Federation created this mess. And if you’re serious about wanting to reverse course, you’re going to get a little lesson in how we do things in our Federation.”

“Placing the fate of all things in one officer’s egotism, you mean?” Airiam bit back, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the one corner of her dark lips. “Sounds promising.”

“USS Voyager is decades away from getting home,” Kathryn reminded her, voice falling low. “Your ship has the capability to get us there in an instant. If you do that, we’ll do everything in our power to get your gateway open so you can go back home, too.”

As the bargain rolled off her tongue, memories of the dreams filtered back to the forefront of her mind.

“We can get your life back.”

Airiam was studying them both, mechanical eyes darting from Kathryn to Seven and back again. Her head lurched this way and that, arms and hands shifting in short, jarring motions that Kathryn was fast learning were an indication of the cybernetic officer’s uncertainty. She took a step forward, looking up at Airiam with a smug, fast-widening grin. Kathryn put her hands on her hips, fanning her elbows out to the side.

“You just told us we're not safe here," Kathryn added. "This is the best offer you’re gonna get and it’s a damn good one.”

As Airiam regarded her, unblinking this time, Janeway thrust a hand out and let it hang in front of her.

“Do we have an accord, Captain Airiam?”

Beside her, Seven was standing stiff and still, and Kathryn noticed she wasn’t the only one holding her breath as Airiam stared at the offered hand.

Then, with a hum and a purr of the servos along her shoulders, warm metallic fingers closed around Kathryn’s and Airiam pumped her arm once in agreement.

“Very well, Captain Janeway," she said. "We have an accord.”

Chapter Text

Seven lay on the lounge in her quarters, the last of the captain’s pips rolling between her index finger and her thumb. Her eyes followed the bends of the light as it glinted across the metal, refracting onto the panels of the alien ceiling above. For several minutes her mind felt blank as she beamed the light to the different corners of the room–a rather disturbing sensation she had only experienced after the Doctor’s orders to learn something called ‘meditation,’ and one she had promptly filed away into the list of inefficient uses of time.

Now, though, her thoughts were re-centering on the conversation with Airiam earlier that day–and what it meant for Captain Janeway.

The adjoining door between Seven’s quarters and Janeway’s chimed, then slid open at Seven’s behest. She sat upright at once, swinging her legs over the edge of the cushions in a graceful purl and setting her feet on the floor. Her toes curled experimentally into the carpet through her socks, the thick fibers conforming around the contours. She made a mental note to replicate the textile for her quarters once they returned to Voyager.

To Starfleet.

To rules, and rigidity, and all the things she’d believed she and Kathryn had finally escaped. Nausea swelled in her belly at the thought, and her palm landed below her ribs.

It didn’t help.

“Seven?”

Kathryn’s voice was a balm to Seven’s uneasiness. The corners of her lips twitched upward, a reflex that even her eidetic memory couldn’t actually recall developing. She closed her hand around the pip, then slid it into the tiny pocket of the biosuit.

“I made dinner,” Kathryn went on, stepping into the room with a pair of plates. They were piled high with what looked to be omelets and cubed potatoes. Warmth bloomed behind her ribs at the gesture–at the observation that Kathryn had even remembered to remove the skin from the potatoes so as to adhere to Seven’s preference. On Voyager, Kathryn had always cared for Seven where she could, but this awareness–this conscious attention to her likes and dislikes–was more recent. The meals looked wonderful, even knowing they were replicated and traditionally eaten as breakfast, but her roiling stomach made it difficult to imagine eating anything at that moment.

“I do not require a nutritional sup–” Seven caught herself, and reverted back to the lessons in decorum the Doctor had once provided. “Thank you, Kathryn, but I am not hungry.”

The captain seemed to accept the response, though the nod she offered was tight and the plates were deposited onto the nearby island with a more audible clink than Seven thought was necessary. It didn’t appear that Kathryn was angry, but rather just…unbalanced.

“We have a long day tomorrow,” Kathryn said as she took a seat in one of the high-top stools tucked under the edge of the counter. “And we should talk about how to proceed with your plan for Control.”

Seven suddenly found herself much more interested in the patterns of the carpet than strategizing the first steps in returning to Voyager. She stayed silent, the muscles of her jaw clenching at the back. On the cushion, she shifted against the prick of the implants on the skin over her ribs.

“I’m a little nervous about that, Seven.”

The admission drew Seven’s eyes back to Kathryn, though they were met with only her downturned face and the sight of thin fingers fidgeting on her lap in a way most unbecoming of a Starfleet captain. Seven wanted to express that she shared the concern, that she, too, was nervous–but even the thought of attempting to assimilate knowledge from an artificial entity paled in the face of Seven’s concerns about Kathryn herself.

Silently, Seven pushed herself to her feet, rising to her full height and striding over to stand before the smaller, auburn-haired woman on the stool.

“You did not tell her,” Seven stated once she reached her. She tried to temper the disapproval in her tone, to soften the sharp edges of the frown that had crept across her mouth, but it was difficult. The captain’s eyes narrowed and continued to stare down at the floor.

Over the years, Seven had learned to read Kathryn like one of her PADDs. Her expressions were telling and distinct where others’ aboard Voyager were not. Every minuscule movement, every hitch of breath and stutter in heartbeat, helped Seven understand what Captain Janeway was thinking. It wasn’t often that she called on this ability, in part because of rank and duty, but this time Seven knew enough to see that Kathryn intended to avoid the topic of her illness–and that she could not allow her to do so.

“You cannot leave the planet,” Seven finished.

Kathryn’s cheeks puffed out as she exhaled. Her eyebrows, thin and tired, flashed upward in acknowledgement.

“I haven’t dreamed since we arrived on Glenn,” Kathryn told Seven, standing up and beginning to pace slowly around the island and the forgotten dinner plates. “I had…a theory.”

“And what is that?” Seven inquired with a tilt of her head.

“This is a 23rd century starship, judging by the technology we’ve been able to see. And the other one–Discovery–she would be 23rd century as well.”

“You are referring to my research regarding the effects of dismantling such vessels,” Seven concluded.

Kathryn nodded.

“Knowing now that there are multiple copies of Discovery all over this planet…”

“It is logical to conclude that these substances may have leached into the planetary environment in sufficient quantities so as to cause your symptoms.”

“A dependence, so to speak,” Kathryn clarified. “Withdrawal can certainly be damaging enough to cause the human body to enter into a comatose state.”

The reasoning was sound, and Seven pondered the way she had felt when they first transported onto the Glenn. She recalled images and sensations that had emerged as if from another dimension, and now considered they had probably been related to the propulsion systems that powered the Crossfield class ships.

“Prototaxites stellaviatori,” Seven noted, racking her eidetic memory for any additional information about the fungus whose mycelium powered the spore and transverse drives. “We believed your symptoms were due to a contagion, but they may well have been due only to physical contact with the organism. Inhalation would be a viable mechanism of contact.”

“Which means it is likely curable,” Kathryn replied. “And not contagious in the traditional sense.” The relief in the words left Seven experiencing an uncomfortable mix of guilt and elation. Her stomach churned again, but she managed to force out a reply.

“It is possible Captain Airiam is not aware of these effects,” she said. “But I anticipate she can assist with determining whether our suspicions are correct–and the best way in which to proceed if they are.” The response was a far cry from what she wanted to say–from how painfully she wished to explain her inner conflict–but the appreciative smile that reached Kathryn’s rosy lips made it easier to swallow down the urge.

“And,” Kathryn added, patting the side of her thigh for effect, “if it’s something else, we’ll have Control’s knowledge available to dig deeper.”

“If all goes well,” Seven cautioned, and Kathryn met her eye. The silence between them thickened for a few seconds.

“Are you doubting your statistical assessment of the likelihood of success, Seven?” the captain asked at last. Her brows were scrunched, wrinkles banding across her forehead.

“I am merely reminding you that there are many variables at play.”

The floor creaked as Kathryn moved into Seven’s space. The grey eyes peered upward, studious and thoughtful.

“You’re nervous, too,” she concluded. Once Seven might have scoffed at the implication, but this time, she simply inclined her head.

“It has occurred to me that my reluctance is not based in fear for myself, but in fear of what might happen to you should I fail.” Her eyes fell to the tiles of the kitchen floor. “You would be alone.”

Kathryn inhaled, a slow, hesitant drag through her nose, then reached for Seven’s hand. She collected it, folding it between her own. Seven watched in fascination, breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her lips, not a single molecule of oxygen slipping through her teeth. The captain’s hands were soft, her fingers warm and impossibly delicate around the cooler, titanium-reinforced bone of Seven’s own.

“I had considered that,” she told her, voice roughened by something Seven couldn’t pinpoint. “It feels a bit like sending you back to the Borg.”

This earned a smile, and Seven’s free hand settled on top of Kathryn’s.

“I do not equate this intelligence with the Borg,” she said. “But I will not disregard the prospect that our host has not provided us with all the details of its attempt to possess her.”

“You think she’s lying?” Kathryn asked, her eyes lingering on Seven’s lips for just a moment too long before she looked up.

“By omission, perhaps,” Seven replied. “We both have expressed our reservations about her authenticity–for different reasons. All of which are logical.”

“And none of which are particularly easy to prove or disprove,” Kathryn added with a snort. “A truly frustrating situation.”

Seven glanced down at their hands. Their fingers had entwined without her realizing. Heat prickled beneath her ribs at the sight. Pressure collected in her lungs, and she cleared her throat.

“If the entity really did attempt to overpower her,” Seven began, struggling to cast aside her body’s reactions to Kathryn’s nearness, “it is possible I will also assimilate portions of Airiam’s own…existence. Were I to make a specific attempt to do so, it could provide us with confirmation of her truthfulness.”

Kathryn gasped and jerked her hands away.

“Seven,” she spat, the words sharp, “I am on board with you attempting to assimilate knowledge from a non-sentient artificial intelligence–but Airiam is Starfleet. Albeit another version of Starfleet, but our principles remain the same.”

Seven raised her optical implant.

“We have no confirmation even of her own sentience, Kathryn,” she argued carefully. “We don’t even know what she is. She is composed of artificial compounds and bears artificial–”

“And we have no idea what that kind of violation might do to her,” Kathryn cut in. Her face had gone very serious. “It’s already obvious she’s on edge. We all are.”

Seven pursed her lips, but relented.

“Best not to poke the bear,” she stated, recalling an idiom once used by the Doctor.

For a moment, Kathryn’s face contorted in an odd, nameless expression–and then she barked out a laugh.

“Correct,” she chuckled, turning to stand with the heels of her palms against the island and leaning forward to stretch her shoulders. She grunted as she rolled her head to the side, and without thinking, Seven strode behind her and laid her hands over her collar. It wasn’t until Kathryn went very still that Seven realized what she’d done, her hands held perfectly in place and her stilted breath close enough to shift the thin strands of auburn hair.

“Is this…” she started, the cadence measured with a blend of anxiety and anticipation.

“Yes,” Kathryn replied–faster than Seven had expected.

With her Borg hand, she slipped her fingers beneath Kathryn’s hair and swept it over one shoulder. Her every system–organic and artificial alike–was poised and alert to the slightest indication of hesitation or the tiniest suggestion of dissent. When she saw none, Seven’s grip tightened and began to trace the muscles coiled into knots.

“You hold significant tension in your upper trapezius and sternocleidomastoid muscles,” Seven said. “I will attempt to rectify this.” Just for a moment, she hesitated, then slipped her fingers below the collar of Kathryn’s shirt. The feel of the captain's skin sent her heart skittering and kicking erratically, and when she exhaled to calm herself, she thought she felt the captain shiver. She pressed her thumb into the first of the knots.

Kathryn’s body became pliant in an instant and her head dropped forward.

“Ohh…” she purred, leaning back into the pressure. Seven suddenly found her chest brushing against her captain’s back as she worked, all heat and the gossamer drag of fabric against fabric. The rumble of the sound pressed Seven’s self control to the brink, but she continued with her task, rolling the muscles and alternating between bouts of compression that made Kathryn grunt, and beats of respite that drew out more sighs. Her mind flashed to private moments with Chakotay–to the ways he had touched her and the things they had done–but his face was warped and transforming into something, someone, more palatable. More gratifying.

More…

“Kathryn,” Seven gasped in surprise when her captain’s palm reached back to cup over her Borg hand. The contact flared hot through the metal and fired into her arm, up into her shoulder where it dulled all sensibility and sent Seven over the edge.

All at once her free hand slipped down, crossing Kathryn’s chest and drawing her back until the last of the space between them was gone. Seven walked them forward half a step until the captain’s waist bumped the counter, hip against hip, her palm spreading over one flushed cheek and turning Kathryn’s head.

“And…this?” Seven rasped as Kathryn’s lips parted, as her eyes blown dark with arousal met Seven’s.

The captain’s fingers crooked at the knuckles and pulled the Borg hand down until Seven’s arm was slung over her and pinning it against the counter. Kathryn’s ribs heaved against Seven’s, cheeks burning red and splotches of heat creeping onto her chest. Her neck craned harder, more frantic, closer to Seven until her hand abandoned Kathryn’s cheek for her waist. She clung to it, fingertips curling for more leverage into the hollows between bone.

“I…” Kathryn croaked, like she didn’t know how to speak. Her hips ground back into Seven’s, sparking fires and kicking what felt like the last of the oxygen from her lungs.

Seven’s body was trembling, caught in the fervorous purgatory of want and decorum, of veneration and need, synapses firing and towing forth feelings and questions and comparisons and…

Why had she waited so long for this part of humanity?

Kathryn turned slightly in her arms and connected their eyes. It was just enough to leave her accessible. Just enough to provide the signal.

Permission.

Seven’s face dipped low and then Kathryn’s mouth was against hers, soft and smooth, neck strained into cables that barely flexed when Seven’s fingers conformed to the shape. Kathryn sucked air through her nose and made a guttural sound Seven hadn’t heard before, arm coming up and fingers threading into Seven’s hair. She tugged the blonde strands free from the loose French twist.

The serpents had once again returned to Seven’s abdomen, writhing and twisting with wild abandon the longer Kathryn’s lips were on hers. Kathryn pulled Seven’s head down and then bent her neck to the side. Seven’s mouth trailed down the flawless pale flesh of her jaw and her throat. The fingers in her hair twisted harder and sent a fresh surge of heat lower into Seven’s waist, the sensation so far removed from what she’d felt with Chakotay that she almost paused to analyze it.

Almost.

Seven pulled back, gasping, then pinned Kathryn’s other hand to the counter. She fit perfectly there, caged between Seven’s arms and the island, bodies melded together like something forgotten had finally been found. When Kathryn shifted, Seven leaned back to allow her to turn. Then she was there, grey eyes on blue, tongue tracing over lips made swollen and red by the kiss. Seven’s hands found the flushed cheeks, skimmed into her hair and brushed sweat-dampened strands from her face.

“That was…” Kathryn started, but her voice fell away as she shook her head.

“A logical culmination to a prolonged period of unresolved sexual tension.”

Seven thought the explanation was more than satisfactory. Kathryn, however, only stared at her as though she was having difficulty processing the words.

Several long seconds passed before the captain finally rolled her eyes and gave a haughty scoff, planting a hand on Seven’s sternum and giving a push. But Seven’s body was solid, immovable, and she heard more air shudder from Kathryn’s mouth. She raked her eyes down Seven’s body and back up. The heels of her palms landed back on the edge of the island and sent one of the plates skating backward and into the other. A fork clattered onto the tile.

“I don’t know that I’d consider that the ‘culmination,’ Seven,” Kathryn breathed.

Seven’s eyes narrowed in a brief moment of confusion, but the way her abdomen tightened indicated her body understood more than her cortical node did. She pushed closer, observing with interest as Kathryn’s respirations increased, as her muscles contracted and her heartbeat raced. Seven detected a 2.4 percent increase in her body temperature when she nudged a knee between Kathryn’s thighs.

Suddenly, she understood.

This time it was Kathryn who kissed her, stretching up on her toes while Seven’s neck bent down. Seven’s knee rocked up into her and Kathryn bit down hard on her lip out of impulse, earning a gasp and a strange sort of whimper from the ex-Borg who’d once thought herself so controlled that she might resist such reactions. Her hands latched onto the captain and she lifted, depositing Kathryn onto the island and then guiding one thigh around her waist.

“Seven…” Kathryn respired against her mouth as her other leg followed suit. “Are you certain this is–”

“Do not,” Seven husked, drawing back long enough to level their gazes. She tucked a lock of hair behind Kathryn’s ear. “I am certain.”

Around her waist, the captain’s legs tightened.

“Are you, Kathryn?”

The captain didn’t answer. She just kissed Seven harder.

Seven’s arm slipped behind Kathryn’s rump and she slid her off of the island back onto wobbly legs. For a moment they stood there, sharing heat and breath, and then Seven took Kathryn’s hand. The grey-eyed captain looked up at her with that beautiful, lopsided grin. Seven’s optical implant quirked upward.

“I do recall from my research, Kathryn, that culmination is much easier to achieve in a bed.”

Chapter Text

Kathryn’s head was spinning as Seven led her to the bed, heart racing faster with every inch of the approach. She felt a hand at her waist, encouraging her to rotate so her back was to the mattress before Seven reached up to cup either side of her jaw and pull their lips together again. Just as it had done before, heat exploded through every muscle of Kathryn’s body, her eyes closing when Seven kissed her, the silken warmth of her lips moving with a focused precision that drove the ordinarily rigid captain’s poise to a place it didn’t often go. Seven tasted her, slow and easy, mapping the shape and contours of her mouth, and skimming her tongue across her teeth.

Kathryn’s body jolted and she lurched back, gasping at the smirk that teased at Seven’s lips. The flush in her cheeks was branching out across the bridge of her narrow nose, her eyes blinking in quick succession while she regarded the captain from a few inches away. When Kathryn’s fingers reached up to trace the shell of Seven’s ear, the other woman shivered, and the Borg hand that had been laying at her jawline slipped behind Kathryn’s neck.

It took her a moment to realize it was also sliding beneath her collar. She tensed, and Seven paused.

“Kathryn?” she breathed, her optical implant flicking downward in concern. “Are you alright?”

Doubt flashed through her.

Seven’s gaze sharpened.

“You can change your mind.”

A panic unlike any other barreled forward, and Kathryn shook her head. She didn't want to stop. She should want to stop. But she wouldn't dare. Not after Airiam's revelations.

Not after the reality of what they were up against set in.

“No, it’s not that,” Kathryn started, grey eyes landing back on Seven’s mouth. “It’s just…it’s been a long time.”

Seven tugged Kathryn to her, pressing their cheeks together so she could whisper in her ear. “This fact does not affect my willingness to participate in this experience.”

Kathryn heard a strange sound leave her throat, somewhere between a choke and a sob. She crushed her mouth to Seven’s and let her weight fall onto the bed. Seven landed above her with a practiced grace whose origin she couldn’t quite determine, one leg slinging across Kathryn’s supine form. Her breath rushed through her nose at the impact of the landing, brushing against Seven’s cheeks. The Borg hand fumbled for Kathryn’s left and dragged it above the pillow, forearm draping alongside her head. The other hand went for the buttons of her shirt, toying with the first one as she broke the kiss and peered down at her.

“Your state of dress is inappropriate for our current trajectory, Kathryn.”

A snort of laughter broke from Kathryn’s lips and she tugged against the restraint of Seven’s exoskeletal hand.

“I’m afraid I'm not much use in this position,” she teased, and watched as Seven’s eyes flicked up toward the headboard. The contemplation was evident in the soft lines of her chiseled face, but she eventually freed the captain’s hand and sat back onto her knees. Kathryn let herself stay caught in the depths of the keen blue eyes, lingering for several moments while her heartbeat steadied long enough to bring her fingers to the buttons. Seven watched with careful focus, seeming mesmerized by the sight of the first two buttons sliding free. She shifted on Kathryn’s waist, moving upward until the taut muscles of her thighs pressed against the hard points of Kathryn’s outer hip bones.

Oh, fuck, Kathryn thought, the weight of another body atop her sending her abdomen spiraling into blazing knots of need she’d not experienced in years. Seven’s fingers headed for the bottom button of her shirt, working upward with a speed as simultaneously impossibly fast as it was agonizingly slow.

Then cool air reached her skin, and both their bodies went still.

Kathryn wasn’t sure how long she held her breath, or how long Seven stared. But then her hands, cautious and trembling, slid down across the raised ridge of her ribcage. The captain’s breath deserted her and her eyes fluttered shut when Seven applied light pressure to her stomach. It had been so long since anyone had touched her–so long since she’d allowed herself to even feel desire–that Kathryn’s body reacted like something parched before a well.

Every muscle inside her tried to contract at once, but she only arched into the tender press of Seven’s palms. They skated up her side with a tantalizing latency to ghost across the swell of breasts still concealed beneath her dark brassiere. Her fingers shaped around them, encapsulating the soft curves, and Kathryn let out a quiet sigh.

What the hell are you doing, Kathryn?

The captain shoved her inner voice aside, the shadow of command–of propriety–still loitering in the background.

We’ve waited long enough, she told herself.

It was rational. Logical. Seven had stayed, after all.

“For her, you will do anything.”

Seven remained silent as she reached behind Kathryn’s back to unclasp the lacy garment. Kathryn opened her eyes and sat upright just enough to help her tug it off. A fierce blush erupted across her face when she realized Seven could see her now, heart pounding hard enough to shift the strands of hair that lay loose across her chest. Her racing pulse thundered in her ears, the deafening sound of her innermost insecurities echoing through the din.

She stayed for you, the captain reminded herself. She told you herself.

“Kathryn…” Seven started, sounding breathless as her eyes roamed from Kathryn’s eyes to her waist and back. The captain’s stomach contorted into another anxious knot. She braced for unwelcome observations–distaste for the scattered scars left by Federation scuffles, the patches of skin where her complexion no longer matched the rest, the stretch marks and wrinkles and all the other imperfections that came with age and the strain of commanding a lost starship with a blended crew…

But Seven didn’t seem to notice.

“You are…striking.”

Her heart felt like it had swelled to three times its normal size–so large it might burst from the relief alone.

Seven leaned forward while Kathryn struggled to recalibrate after the admission. Her warm breath glanced across Kathryn’s skin, and she laid a kiss at the point of her sternum. The captain shivered, then wrapped her arms behind Seven’s neck and plucked at the silver fabric of the biosuit.

“Seven,” she whispered, and the woman lifted her face to meet her eye, “you are also overdressed.”

For a moment Seven stilled, and then she sat back, suddenly avoiding Kathryn’s gaze.

“I am not like you,” she said at last, and Kathryn saw the corners of her jaw tighten. “I am…different.”

Kathryn propped herself up on her elbows, brows furrowing for a second or two until she realized what Seven meant.

“Your implants,” she supplied, then tilted her head and cupped the younger woman’s chin. “Look at me, Seven.”

“I am not entirely human,” Seven replied, looking away instead.

“I disagree,” Kathryn argued. “I won’t press you, of course, but you should know…I’ve always found you beautiful. And I’d like to see.”

Finally, Seven looked at her. The hesitation was heartbreaking, and Kathryn mentally scolded herself for never considering that Seven might need this kind of reassurance. She scowled a bit as she seemed to consider Kathryn’s words, and then her head leaned heavier against Kathryn’s hand.

“I’d like you to see, too,” she said at last, and Kathryn beamed. The captain kissed her quickly, then slid her hands to the barely-visible buckles of the biosuit. It shed from Seven’s body with more ease than she’d expected, and it didn’t take long for the remainder of Kathryn’s own lower clothing to join the suit in an unruly pile beside the bed.

There was no time to really look at Seven, their mouths crashing back together with a renewed, impatient fervor that sent Kathryn’s mind to a singular, all-consuming goal. Rational thought, composure, modesty, timidity…it all evaporated when the heat of Seven’s skin landed against her own.

Suddenly, she felt alive.

Seven’s Borg hand covered one of Kathryn’s breasts, her lips wrapping around the apex of the other. Her leg lifted upward and then separated Kathryn’s thighs, knee nudging upward until the firm pressure of it landed against her center. She ground instinctively against it, her tongue exploring Seven’s mouth, lungs inhaling the musky, maddening scent of shared arousal and committing it to places in her memory Kathryn knew nothing could erase. Seven’s left hand tracked downward, then back up, teasing along her thigh.

The captain was dimly aware of when she planted it against the mattress, supporting herself by the elbow while her right hand took its place and trailed down to slide in front of her knee.

The contact was electrifying.

She clawed along Seven’s spine, raking her nails across the roughened, pocked flesh to either side of the metal implants. She reached the back of her neck and dragged her down again, relishing in the way Seven gasped and reactively yanked at the sheets when Kathryn’s teeth closed carefully onto the warm skin along her collar. The fabric pulled free from the corners of the mattress as they writhed, blankets spilling off the edge to pool on the floor. The bed creaked with every movement, the faint hum of Glenn's systems the only other sound besides their own.

Seven’s fingers circled the edge of Kathryn’s center, slipping between the folds and withdrawing, repeating several times until the captain’s right hand found its way into her hair. A soft growl of frustration pulled from Kathryn’s throat, and she fumbled with the ties restraining it.

She wasn’t prepared for the sensation of Seven moving into her, the motion delicious and sudden and...right. Her body arched and she jerked harder at the hair ties than she’d meant to, making Seven yelp.

“Kathryn,” the woman rasped, loose strands of blonde spilling onto Kathryn’s bare chest as she took her breast into her mouth again. Her tongue traced rapid circles, pulling a whimper from the captain’s throat, two fingers curling inside her as Seven leveraged her knee to push against her knuckles and gain another centimeter of depth.

The captain groaned and raised her own knee, landing in the junction of Seven’s own thighs. She gasped against her breast, teeth closing around a nipple.

Seven’s thumb found her clit, a third finger reaching into her, and hoisted her left leg over Kathryn’s so she could sit more comfortably between them. The blonde leaned back onto her knees, and removed her hand just long enough to haul Kathryn toward her by the hips. Kathryn helped her, insides burning as she bracketed her legs around Seven’s waist, gasping at the icy contact of the implants that grappled her ribs. Her arms encircled Seven’s neck, letting her take her weight, elevated slightly by the angle of her legs against the mattress. Seven nuzzled her nose beneath Kathryn’s ear and nipped as she eased her fingers back inside.

“Oh, Seven,” Kathryn gasped, forehead collapsing onto the younger woman’s shoulder, the steady press and draw of her hand sending currents of sensation through every inch of her. The Borg hand threaded into the captain’s hair, fingers fanning to support the back of her head when Kathryn let herself fall backward, lost in the motions, in the steady, flourishing drive of Seven’s repetitions. Heat sparked in her groin, the exquisite, blissful sting of charged nerves radiating outward all the way to her extremities with every flick of Seven’s thumb.

Seven’s breath came faster and her ministrations happened in tandem, dragging Kathryn's head farther backward by her hair and exposing more of her neck to hungry, impatient teeth. Kathryn didn’t concern herself with the marks she knew would be there in the morning, in plain sight of anyone who cared to look, only leaning her head sideways to give Seven better access. Her own hand slid down to grab desperately at the flexing muscles of Seven’s bicep, the other staying looped behind her neck to twist deeper into her hair. The captain began to move her body, undulating against the hand still rocking into her, every fiber of her being chasing release.

“Seven,” she croaked, soft breaths puffing from her lungs in time to Seven’s thrusts. She lifted her head, clutching the back of her head until their eyes met. “Please, Seven. I need…”

A bead of sweat trickled down from Seven’s temple.

“What do you need, Kathryn?” she husked back, and Kathryn’s fingers tightened around her hair.

“I…” She trailed off as Seven gave another, rougher, push and curled her fingers twice. She rolled her hips, mouth opening and closing in another useless attempt to speak. Seven pulled her face closer, then kissed her.

“Explain,” she growled when she broke contact.

Kathryn didn’t get the chance to answer.

White light sparkled in every corner of her vision, a slow, shuddering release crashing over her. Her body went rigid in Seven’s hold, her flesh a boundary the sensations longed to breach but couldn’t, ricocheting back toward her core where Seven’s work continued for several more seconds until the last of her composure gave way.

Seven gasped when bliss finally reached the captain. Kathryn cried out, voice echoing off the bulkheads, mind and body reeling in one great, euphoric surge. She clutched frantically at the woman who held her, riding out the last throbbing waves of pleasure with a round of rhythmic whimpers against Seven’s lips. Seven’s kiss was gentle then, languid and exploratory as she wound the captain down. When they separated, she slid her hand free, and their foreheads came together.

It took several more seconds for Kathryn to realize she was crying.

“Kathryn?” Seven asked, concern lacing her words. “Was this experience unsatisfactory?”

Never had a question seemed so absurd.

Kathryn gave a stilted laugh and shook her head, swiping the tears away with her knuckles. Her cheek nestled into the hollow beneath Seven’s chin.

“No, Seven,” she assured her, heart still pounding. “This was wonderful.”

“Then why are you exhibiting signs of emotional distress and sadness?”

Kathryn smiled gently as she drew back to study her.

“Intense emotions can sometimes result in tears,” explained the captain, still trying to catch her breath. “It does not necessarily mean one is upset or…unsatisfied.”

“Then you are…pleased…with what has transpired?” The hopeful lift in Seven’s inflection was joined by a subtle spark of pride in the blue eyes.

Kathryn exhaled, sitting more upright, and brushed a damp strand of blonde behind Seven’s ear. Her head tilted as she scanned her face, taking in the shape of it, the muted freckling along the bridge of her nose, and ran her thumb along the cool ridge of her optical implant. She smiled again, then brought their foreheads back together.

“Yes, Seven,” she whispered. “I just…I suppose I’m just a bit worried.”

“About what?” Seven inquired, helping Kathryn off her lap and settling in to lay beside her on the bed. She slipped an arm beneath the pillow and Kathryn shuffled closer, ear resting against the upper padding of her breast and taking a moment to listen to the steady thump of her heartbeat.

“All of it,” she admitted, and then propped herself up on an elbow. She looked down at Seven, a hint of pink still filling her cheeks. “This planet. Control. Time travel, and multiple realities and illnesses and…and…”

She was caught in Seven’s gaze again, stomach twisting into knots. Her eyes dared to lower, to the perfect contours of Seven’s breasts, to the beautiful interruptions of the implants at her waist. She ran her tongue along her bottom lip.

“And what, Kathryn?” Seven asked, but her tone betrayed she already knew what Kathryn meant.

“And this,” the captain replied, tracing a line from Seven’s navel. Beneath the touch, Seven gave a sharp inhale. “Us.”

“I…worry you…Kathryn?” Seven asked, the words disjointed as she shivered against the feel of Kathryn’s touch.

“No,” Kathryn corrected swiftly. “No, Seven. I just mean…”

The words wouldn’t come. They jumbled in her head, incoherent and fragmented.

“You believe this association is unwise,” Seven suggested, narrowing her eyes and collecting Kathryn’s hand. She unfolded the captain’s fingers, laying her palm over her heart and holding it there. “You believe that it might be used against you. Against both of us.”

Kathryn studied her, awed by the ease with which Seven could compile and orchestrate her silence into clarity. She nodded and leaned down, kissing along the line of symmetry between her breasts, taking in the scent of her, hand pulling free to roam lower until it lay against the gap below her navel.

“It makes us vulnerable,” she whispered, even as she curled her fingers, depressions forming in the skin beneath the tips. She dragged them upward, earning a muted gasp from Seven as she did so. They crossed the metallic components of her abdomen, following the edges where they merged with human flesh. At her back, Seven’s hold tightened. “And once we return to Voyager…”

Kathryn laid her forehead on Seven’s belly, then swung a leg over hers with none of the grace the younger woman herself had employed. She coaxed her legs apart, watching carefully for any sign of dissent as she moved her hand into position, cupping Seven’s center, fingers threading through the blonde curls.

“We will be vigilant,” Seven said, twisting and grinding into Kathryn’s hand. “And discreet where it may be…required.”

Kathryn nodded against her, then raised her mouth to close her lips around the point of her left breast. Seven bowed into her, and for a moment Kathryn lost herself, pressing through the folds and letting Seven’s heat surround her.

Words and worries fell away, replaced by the sounds of breath and need. Kathryn fell into a rhythm, ever aware of Seven’s reactions. She flexed and moved in perfect time to Kathryn’s hand, dragging the captain slowly upward until they were kissing again. Kathryn gasped against her when Seven’s fingers found their way inside her from below.

Their bodies moved together, the hurry and the desperation of before veering into something else, something slower and unspoken that Kathryn didn’t dare to name. It felt dangerous to do so, the sensations all but overwhelming her. When Seven came, it was in silence, head thrown back against the sweat-dampened pillows, tendons flexing in her neck, mouth open and agape as Kathryn watched in the moments before her own release. Seven’s ankle came over her back, locking Kathryn against her, chests heaving and hearts racing as they collapsed into the mutual bliss of satiation.

Strong arms slid around Kathryn’s shoulder blades and they breathed together, Seven’s chin against the top of her head. Lucidity came slowly, the captain’s eyes blinking open as she lay on Seven’s chest. It didn’t take long before they were shifting to lay on their sides, Seven behind her, one arm wound tight around her stomach and the other back beneath her head. Kathryn toyed with Seven’s fingers as the warm breath against her neck steadied into the leisured tempo of sleep. She contemplated the sensations, the easy comfort of the hold.

A sigh escaped her, and her eyes fluttered closed.

Seven had been right.

“You would have suffered alone.”

Chapter Text

It was peculiar, waking to the sensation of heat that was not her own.

Seven of Nine didn’t wake slowly. Her cortical node returned her to consciousness in an instant. This remnant of her time with the Borg had never bothered her before–it was most efficient, of course–but as her eyes landed on the sleeping woman beside her, efficiency was no longer relevant.

Efficiency had no bearing on what they’d done last night.

And yet, their actions had been logical.

Kathryn Janeway was sprawled out on her stomach, cheek flat against the very edge of the mattress. Her body was angled across the bed, one ankle woven between Seven’s calves. When Chakotay had lain this way, sufficiently consuming most of Seven’s own sleeping space for himself, Seven had found it irritating. One particular morning had resulted in her nearly falling off the bed completely, and it was at this point she had insisted the larger man would be permitted to sleep on the couch if he wished to stay the night–an edict that had only resulted in their interpersonal activities, too, being relocated to this smaller, more unpleasant space. But, Seven thought, the couch in the Glenn’s guest quarters might not be so unpleasant if it was Kathryn Janeway with whom she engaged in such activities.

A tiny sound issued from the sleeping captain’s mouth, and Seven’s hand found the center of her back immediately. She had not preconceived the motion–it arrived as if by reflex, an instinctive understanding of what would steady the heartbeat that had kicked up just .07 percent in rate of function. She shifted from her back onto her side, sliding closer to Kathryn until her midsection pressed against her, ever-watchful for any indication that the coolness of her implants had become problematic.

Kathryn hmm ed and shuffled closer, not quite awake but no longer fully asleep as her hips went backward into Seven’s. The sheets slipped lower, pooling just above their knees, exposing the pale perfection of her skin. Seven allowed her eyes to trace the contours of her physique–the proud rise of her shoulders, the subtle swells of the muscles along her arms, the faint ledge at the bottom of her ribs where they gave way to the pleasing concavity of her waist. There were marks at her hips–faint imprints of Seven’s grasp that warned she’d lost control on more than one occasion. But the memories of their night were warm, and Kathryn hadn’t seemed to mind.

Seven hadn’t minded either.

Even in spite of her nanoprobes, a pleasant soreness had settled low in her navel, the muscles of her abdomen protesting as she pressed herself closer to the captain. It was different from the times she’d lain with Chakotay. Her body and her mind felt fulfilled in turn, Kathryn’s careful, reverent touch still lingering with her–an experience unlike any other.

And Seven would remember every moment of it.

She would have to.

She laid her forehead against the back of Kathryn’s shoulder and closed her eyes, inhaling the subtle scent of sweat still clinging to her skin. The prospect of returning to Voyager weighed more heavily now that she had Kathryn in her arms. Last night the captain had seemed to accept Seven’s insistence that they could keep their new association discreet, but distrust prickled in the back of her mind anyway.

Her eyes opened and she pulled back, watching the flutter of Kathryn’s eyelashes as she dreamed. It was, perhaps, the first time Seven could recall that she had ever not trusted her captain.

How fitting that it might come from getting attached.

I must correct this problem, she decided.

Carefully, Seven extracted her limbs from where they had tangled with Kathryn's, sliding gradually backward until she could swing her legs over the edge of the mattress and stand. She padded silently around the foot of the bed to gather her clothing, watching with a tightening behind her chest when Kathryn grunted softly and moved to spread across the entirety of the bed. Seven slipped into the biosuit and pulled the sheets back over the captain, then folded her clothes neatly onto the nightstand.

For another few moments, she simply watched her sleep, the urge to climb back in beside her almost overwhelming. Seven swallowed down the compulsion, then pivoted, heading for the door.

The walk to Glenn’s engineering level was no longer than Seven’s eidetic memory recalled, but the farther she moved from Kathryn, the more time seemed to slow.

Airiam had granted them mostly unrestricted physical access to the ship, but she’d made it clear on more than one occasion that tampering with any of Glenn’s systems would not be well-received. Fortunately, Seven didn’t intend to tamper. She only needed a sample of the nanobot spores so that she could investigate her theory and determine if they were indeed the source of Kathryn’s symptoms when she’d first tried to leave the planet.

But when the lift doors slid open, Airiam’s voice was echoing down the corridor. Seven halted and tried to restrain her surprise–she had not expected that the peculiar captain would be about and roaming the ship quite so early. She couldn’t see Airiam, but the words were coming from a distant, unseen area of the chamber in which the transverse drive lived.

“And the drone?”

Seven’s senses perked up when a new voice reached her ears. Whoever had spoken was doing so through the scratchy link of what sounded like a very unstable long-range communicator.

“I have located Captain Janeway,” Airiam replied, and Seven noted that her tone seemed short. She moved closer, careful not to cross what she thought might be the outer threshold of Airiam’s auditory range.

“The drone should be with her,” the voice replied, and Seven’s eyes narrowed. “We’ve been through this cycle countless times.”

A motor thrummed in the distance–a hint of frustration from the augmented captain, Seven thought.

“Katrina,” Airiam sighed, “you know as well as I do that nothing about this science is–”

“Until you have demonstrated any sort of reasonable progress, you will address me by my rank, Captain,” Katrina cut in, and then lowered her voice into a forceful whisper. “I have bent every Federation regulation, provided you with every loophole, every resource…and still you behave as though this is nothing more than personal indulgence. A game.”

“Grand Marshal, that’s not–”

“And I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that if our personal association is exposed without a breakthrough to offset public opinion, they’ll hang me for allowing a machine to seduce me into treason!” The woman on the other end of the communicator sighed, the tone shifting into something more personal. “Make no mistake–you do mean something to me, Airiam. But you’re becoming a liability whose expense is growing more difficult to accommodate.”

“Katrina–Grand Marshal, please,” Airiam replied. “There’s been enough loss of life–I want to do things properly. I need more time.”

“Don’t we all,” Katrina said. “Find the drone, Captain. Repair Control and bring it home. We need you here–and I’m tiring of your husband’s incessant implications that you still belong to him.”

“I have never belonged to him!” Airiam snapped, and Seven flinched at the sharp drone of electronics. “Do what you will with Paul. I care only for you.”

“Then prove it, Airiam.”

“I will.” Airiam’s words were uttered with a sincerity that left Seven uneasy.

“Good,” Katrina replied after a pause Seven thought might be intended as a warning. “And I will savor the moment Mister Stamets comes to understand just how sweetly you’ve proven your devotion to our Federation over the years.”

A crackle sounded from the room, and the Grand Marshal didn’t speak again. Something heavy flew across the chamber and smashed into a bulkhead, and Seven heard a strangled gasp. The captain was distressed, no doubt, and Seven’s mind was spinning while her cortical node attempted to catalogue the rush of information. Even with her implants, she felt slightly dizzy as she tried to process what she had just heard.

I must tell Kathryn, she thought, still on edge. Her suspicions may have been warranted.

Seven turned, quietly. Carefully.

Not carefully enough.

“Come.”

The digital lilt stopped Seven where she stood. For a moment, she wasn’t sure whether the order had been meant for her, or if there were other communications she hadn’t been aware of. Then the sound of footsteps filled her ears, and Seven turned back in time to see Airiam arrive in front of her. Her heart was pounding as the blue eyes scanned over her, toeing the line between appraisal and invasiveness.

“Did you think I didn’t know you were there, Seven?”

Seven’s gaze faltered, darting to the floor and then back up. Airiam scoffed, then gave a low chuckle.

“Your arrogance is excusable,” she said, dismissive. “You are Borg. Now–walk with me. I will explain.”

Airiam didn’t wait for a reply, gesturing for Seven to follow as she turned. Uncertain what else to do, Seven followed her, torn between her desire to return to Kathryn and her desire to understand why Airiam had apparently allowed her to overhear a conversation she very much suspected was intended to be private.

Airiam led Seven past the towering core of the transverse drive. They descended a narrow, spiraling staircase, their footsteps falling onto a metal catwalk once they’d reached the bottom. Seven looked down through the grated plating, calculating the walkway to be suspended approximately 94 feet above the deck and extending another 300 feet across the chamber itself. It wasn’t exactly unstable, but Seven found herself gripping the railings with a bit more force than was probably necessary. When they reached the other side, Airiam halted before the doorway, the plated face angling back to cast Seven a sidelong glance.

“I’m glad you are alone,” she said, and then swiped at the panel to open the door. “This is a bargain I can make only with you.”

Seven said nothing as Airiam strode onward, pausing for a moment to consider the reason she might have stated such a thing.

She needs us to get home, Seven assured herself, a bit taken aback by her own uncharacteristic nerves. It would be foolish for her to make an attempt on my life. Her Borg hand curled around the railing. The way the metal crushed beneath it was soothing, somehow.

“Come!” Airiam barked, her voice distant.

Seven cast another glance around the chamber, then hurried to catch up. The door clanked shut behind her, muffled by the close confines of the room she now found herself sharing with the cybernetic captain a few yards ahead. They passed through one more doorway, moving through a dark, winding corridor whose thin walls rumbled with the power of unfamiliar systems. The end of the passageway widened abruptly, and Seven’s optical implant took several long seconds to adjust to the darkness. Airiam disappeared into the shadows, only the sound of her augmentations reverberating back to indicate she was still in the room at all.

When the lights flickered on, they were just bright enough to illuminate the walls, along with a single, cylindrical transparent cell located in the center of the chamber. Around them, the sound of stressed hull plating groaned, and Seven realized they must be in the deepest bowels of the ship. Airiam returned, coming to a stop directly in front of her and fixing her with that unnerving, impassive gaze.

“There is no shielding in this area,” she explained, nodding at the bulkheads. “You’re hearing the water against the outer hull. It is by design.”

Seven took a moment to survey what she could see, taking in the structure and noting that the captain was at least attempting to sound reassuring. Her eyes landed back on Airiam, and she inclined her head to indicate she understood.

Satisfied, Airiam pivoted, leading Seven toward the cell.

“After Control attempted to take possession of me, I was…distraught,” Airiam said, approaching a panel and tapping at the controls. “Not unlike you when you were recaptured by your queen, I’m sure.”

Seven frowned, taking a moment to consider if she should speak.

“I’m not here to hurt you, Seven,” came the tired, synthetic voice again. “No matter what my Grand Marshal might expect.”

“I…took note of your omission,” Seven admitted, still wary.

“I would expect no less,” Airiam replied, pausing long enough for Seven to identify the upward lift of one corner of her lips.

“You misled her. She believes we are not here.”

“I bought us time.”

“And yet, you lied to us as well. You said you had not been in contact with anyone. You told us your husband had died,” Seven said, stepping beside Airiam as she continued to work at the console, lifting her eyes to take in the immense height of the cell. “A puzzling choice of fabrication, given the options.”

“My first husband,” Airiam clarified. “I was on leave for our honeymoon when our shuttle went down. Katrina was my commanding officer at the time. After my augmentation…she took it upon herself to care for me during my recovery. It didn’t take long for it to become more. But when I took over the spore drive project, and she was elevated to Grand Marshal, it became necessary to take precautions.”

Seven’s implant quirked.

“‘A marriage of convenience,’” she recited, and Airiam nodded as she depressed a button on the side of the console.

“Relationships with subordinates were already taboo,” she continued, stepping back to look at the towering cylinder. “For her to be seen with someone like me…barely even human anymore…well…that’s politics, I suppose.”

The hull groaned around them again, and as Seven watched, the cell began to fill with water. It crashed to the bottom and sloshed against the side, rising at a rate that seemed quite impossible. Seven’s eyes departed long enough to realize she was being watched.

“You spoke of a bargain,” she observed, turning to face Airiam again. “Explain.”

The dark chin lifted, the mechanical eyes surveying Seven with a precision and awareness that left her resisting the urge to fidget. She moved her hands behind her back. The cylinder was nearly full now, trails of bubbles spiraling toward the surface. Narrow, metallic components began to slide upward from the floor in the center of the cylinder, rising to the ceiling. Red lights blinked along their surfaces, more and more of them emerging until the cylinder was nearly full and the water began to boil.

“Your captain believes we can retrofit Voyager with Control’s help,” Airaim said. “You believe you can assimilate the information required without needing to involve Control directly. But if your captain were here, she would know that you cannot possibly succeed in assimilating even a fraction of this without help. Statistics be damned.”

Seven’s heart stuttered and her breath caught.

“This…is Control?” she asked, voice soft.

“It’s the data core,” Airiam corrected, tapping at the panel again. “Everything it knows.”

Seven approached the cylinder, reaching out to hold her hand a foot or so away from the surface. The heat was intense, reverberating against her skin. She furrowed her brows as Airiam came to stand beside her, hands clasped behind her back. Seven’s frown deepened, and she pulled her hand back to her side. For a moment, she studied Airiam, scanning over the strange features of her face.

“You are afraid,” she said, tilting her head.

Airiam sucked in a breath, pivoting sharply to return to the console.

“Of course I’m afraid,” she snapped, swiping at something on the screen. “I’ve seen what Control is capable of. I’ve felt it.”

Seven narrowed her eyes.

“Why did you mislead your Grand Marshal?” she asked, glancing around the room again. “You said you care about her. It is evident that you wish to return home.”

For a moment, Airiam hesitated, running a hand across her head and squeezing the synthetics at the back of her neck. She sighed and shook her head.

“She is a shell of the woman she was when I first embarked on this mission,” the captain said, the weary note returning to her artificial voice. “When I was with her, I could…console her. She was more rational. Less willing to trade the lives of others for the security of our own. But the longer I’m away, the farther she descends. I can hear it in her voice. In the words she chooses now. The way she speaks to me. She’s…not my Katrina anymore.”

“And how is it you are able to speak to her across realities? Across time?” Seven demanded, hands cloistered behind her back again. Airiam eyed her for a moment, perhaps considering how to answer, before she pulled a small device from the pocket of her uniform. She held it in front of her face for a few seconds, turning it over between her metal fingers, and then extended her hand so Seven could examine it more closely.

“Before it turned, Control was truly a remarkable colleague,” Airiam said with a distant smile. She dropped the device into Seven’s palm. “It developed this prototype communicator for us. It is the basis for another piece of technology we began developing once it became clear the transverse drive would always be limited by its need for two ships.”

Seven handed the communicator back to Airiam, who tucked it carefully back into her pocket.

“A technology whose research Control has now restricted as punishment for its isolation.” The mechanical eyes settled back onto Seven’s, suddenly more sharp and focused than ever before. “And…one which I cannot allow it to keep. I need this research, Seven. Before I can go home.”

Seven frowned again, turning to pace a few steps. She could feel the captain’s eyes tracking her movements, the weight of them as startling as it was unsettling. After a few seconds, she stopped, turning back to Airiam.

“You do not wish Kathryn to know,” she said flatly. “Why?”

“Because retrieving it is as dangerous as the technology itself,” Airiam replied. “I can help you with what we need for Voyager’s retrofit–that’s not a problem. But the specifications for the liminal drive are confined within Control’s own internal archives. That’s why the Grand Marshal wants me to bring Control home.”

“The liminal drive?” Seven asked, unconvinced. She crossed her arms over her chest in a mimicry of a stance she’d often seen Kathryn herself take, raising her optical implant.

“Yes,” Airiam breathed, turning to the water still boiling around the data core. “With it, our Federation could move between not only realities and time, but different dimensions as well.” Her face angled to speak over her shoulder, but she didn’t meet Seven’s eye. “You can imagine how such a thing in the hands of the wrong person…or entity…could be catastrophic. My Federation…Control…they would be untouchable.”

“Your war would end,” Seven suggested, and Airiam pivoted, striding to stand before her.

“At what cost?”

Seven inclined her head, acknowledging her. She rubbed a hand across her forehead, then straightened.

“You require my assistance with this task?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

Airiam nodded.

“If we were to access Control’s program together…we can protect each other from its influence. It would be significantly more difficult for it to overpower both of us.”

Seven nodded slightly. The theory was sound, in spite of her limited awareness of the details of Control’s makeup. The Collective’s knowledge of the entity was all but nonexistent.

“You ask me to withhold information from my captain,” Seven said, the prospect of doing so leaving an unpleasant ache in her gut. “She is perceptive, and will not take kindly to it. What do you offer in return for this risk?”

Airiam’s dark lips quirked upward on one side, and she snorted softly.

“You love your captain,” she said. “You don’t want to lose her.”

“Of course,” Seven snapped.

“And you fear that you will.”

Seven’s lips pursed together for a moment before she forced out a reply.

“I…believe her heart will return to command once we are aboard Voyager again,” she managed, throat tightening. “That I will become a liability, as your Grand Marshal believes you have become.”

The captain stepped closer, face level with Seven’s own as she tilted her head and regarded her.

“Then I will provide the means to remind her that Seven of Nine is far more important than any command of any starship in any reality,” the synthetic voice purred.

Seven wasn’t sure if the knot in her stomach was fear or something else entirely. Her mind was swirling with questions, parts of her subconscious insisting this couldn’t be the right course of action. She couldn’t lie to Kathryn–not again.

But if what Airiam was telling her was true–if the Grand Marshal really did plan to attempt interdimensional travel when even the transverse drive was barely a functional representation of their Federation’s innovations…

“There is something else,” Seven said suddenly, cutting off the dark spiral into which she had been heading.

“By all means,” Airiam encouraged, lifting her chin.

“Kathryn is unable to leave this planet,” Seven blurted out, inwardly hoping Kathryn wouldn’t have her head for sharing this information without discussing it first. “We believe the mycelial spores from your crashed vessels are having an effect on her.”

“Hm,” the captain grunted. “An unfortunate corollary, but not uncommon. And treatable, given the proper facilities.”

“Then…you will assist her?”

Airiam smiled.

“I will,” she said, earnest.

Some of the weight lifted from Seven’s chest, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Airiam returned to the console, and a few moments later, the data cores began to recede back into the floor.

“Let’s go retrieve your captain, Seven,” she called over the rush of the water draining from the cylinder. “We need to get underway.”

Chapter Text

Kathryn paced the room dominated by Glenn’s monstrous computer core. Seven and Airiam stood at a console, speaking quietly as the cybernetic officer pointed at various points on the screen and the ports located at the right hand side. The sight of the assimilation tubules writhing about left Kathryn slightly nauseous as Seven's and Airiam's attention shifted from the console to Seven's wrist. Even knowing the ex-Borg was completely in control of herself–and her implants–didn’t help to settle her stomach. She’d barely even had time to absorb the fact that she’d woken alone that morning–after one of the most consequential moments of her adult life.

She halted her pacing to study Seven’s off-turned form.

There was no doubt in Kathryn’s mind as she watched Airiam bring a small tool to the end of the implants that, in spite of all her attempts to dismiss the true weight of the evening past, she and Seven had done much more than just sleep together.

They’d made love.

I’m in love with Seven of Nine.

Kathryn brought the heel of her palm to dig into her forehead as she closed her eyes and blew out a breath.

I’m in love with Seven of Nine, and I’m about to watch her risk her life.

Airiam moved away from Seven again, setting the tool on the edge of the console and turning to face Kathryn. Seven followed suit as the memory of the cybernetic officer’s voice drifted through Kathryn’s mind.

“For her, you will do anything.”

Seven had told her she would do the same for Kathryn.

But could she really ask her to do this?

“We are ready, Captain Janeway,” Airiam declared, gesturing with her hand that she should approach. Kathryn complied, stepping forward so Glenn’s captain could explain another section of the interface located on a separate console to their right.

It was all Kathryn could do to keep her heart from leaping into her throat as she brushed past Seven, the slightest glance of fabric against fabric setting the redhead’s entire body alight. Seven rotated as she passed, but the fingers of her human hand that grazed Kathryn’s felt less like affection and more like a silent plea for comfort.

She’s more nervous than I thought, Kathryn realized, turning her head and pausing long enough to meet Seven’s gaze. More than she should be.

Such a shift in the former drone’s confidence was…unusual.

“What’s your likelihood of success, Seven?” Kathryn asked, her awareness of the other woman’s microexpressions sharpening.

For a moment, Seven’s lips parted, and her eyes darted toward Airiam. Kathryn’s gaze followed, but Airiam’s plated face betrayed nothing significant nor helpful, remaining still and impassive as always.

“There has been no change, Captain,” Seven replied once she’d returned her attention to Kathryn. She had to remind herself not to be offended by Seven’s choice to use her rank in front of the other captain. Still, there was something odd about the exchange–as though Seven had sought permission from Airiam to speak.

But her answer was so steady, her voice so calm, that Kathryn couldn’t find a logical reason to challenge it.

“It is important that you understand how to monitor Seven’s internal state, Captain,” Airiam spoke up from where she stood, still waiting for Kathryn to join her. Against her better judgement, Kathryn pushed her concerns aside and moved to stand beside her.

She spent a minute or so observing the readouts on the screen, Airiam’s mechanical lungs thrumming soft and low from a foot or so away as she gave Kathryn time to take it in. There were lines and colors and empty charts not unlike the ancient medical displays that had once fascinated the Doctor and Tom Paris back on Voyager, as well as another section that seemed restricted to more technical details including power consumption and thermal alert thresholds. Below the screen itself was a separate panel of physical buttons, the most prominent of which appeared to be an emergency shutoff. Kathryn was dimly aware of motion beside her as she scrutinized the details, trying to make sense of them, and when she looked up again, Airiam was holding a line of conduit with a particularly disturbing accoutrement attached to its end.

“What is that?” she asked, alarmed and frowning down at the cable. “You don’t expect me to–”

“Relax, Captain,” Airiam said with a single amused chuckle. “It’s for me, not you.” She ducked her head a bit and gestured to a small port at the back of her neck Kathryn hadn’t noticed behind the iridescent black of her collar.

“What’s it for?”

Again, Kathryn saw Airiam and Seven exchange a glance.

“Insurance,” Airiam replied, her voice lower than before. The amusement of the previous moments was gone, her dark lips dipping into a frown of her own. “In the event I need to intervene.”

“You think you’ll need to?” Kathryn inquired, brows knitting over the bridge of her nose.

Airiam hesitated before replying.

“Yes.”

Kathryn took a step backward, wiping palms against her pants to dry the sweat that had begun to form and then crossing her arms over her chest.

“You didn’t mention this before,” she said, pursing her lips.

“The captain is unaccustomed to the competence of the Borg,” Seven interjected, but even as Kathryn saw her smirk, the gesture seemed forced. There was a flicker of something that Kathryn didn’t recognize–a tension that had nothing to do with either romance or fear. Something intentionally…composed.

“I am, however, well-accustomed to the dangers of arrogance and the complacency that often comes with it,” Airiam snapped, draping the conduit over the railing surrounding the computer core. Seven went silent as the foreign captain stepped into Kathryn’s space, pointing at the different readouts and beginning to explain what they were.

“When Seven is connected to the core,” she said, “Control may attempt to infiltrate her directly through her implants. You’ll be able to tell by making note of the power consumption.”

Kathryn uncrossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at the screen, leaning closer.

“This is the baseline?” she asked, and Airiam nodded.

“There will be a small spike initially, but if it crosses this line”–she tapped a metal fingertip on the glass–“that’s the threshold that might indicate a problem.”

“‘Might?’” Kathryn inquired.

“If power consumption is sustained above that threshold for more than a minute or so, we can assume Control is attempting to break free.”

Seven arrived at Kathryn’s other side, hands clasped behind her back.

“At which point, I will attempt to access the core to provide a diversion while Seven obtains the data we’ll need to retrofit Voyager.” Airiam looked at Seven, who raised her optical implant in response. Whatever brief animosity had existed between them a few moments before had gone. “Once you locate the data, Seven, it will take some time for your nanoprobes to assimilate it. This is when you will be at your most vulnerable.”

Kathryn allowed her palm to rub at Seven’s shoulder blade.

“I understand,” Seven replied with a single nod.

“Once you begin the process…” Airiam’s digital lilt sounded grim.

“I must remain connected until it is complete,” Seven finished for her.

“What happens if she’s disconnected prematurely?” Kathryn asked, then pointed at the emergency shutoff. “If I need to use this?”

Airiam sucked in a metallic, rattling breath, then blew it out again slowly. She shook her head before turning her gaze upon the computer core.

“In truth…I’m uncertain,” she admitted softly. “I have never attempted this method of access. I’ve never…our interactions with the Borg were always very limited.”

“A last resort, then,” Kathryn decided, and Airiam seemed satisfied enough to nod.

For a minute or so, the trio went quiet, each appearing lost in thought as they watched the steady blinking of the lights on the core. Kathryn could feel the shift in the air as Seven came closer to her, the intelligent blue eyes flashing toward hers only for an instant. The smile that flickered across her lips a half-second later sent warmth prickling up her spine. Airiam’s attention turned to the conduit again, adjusting something at the opposite end, and Kathryn took advantage of the ensuing moment of privacy.

“Seven,” she said quietly, and the blonde looked back at her. “I want you to know…I know this isn’t…that you’re not exactly thrilled about the prospect of returning to Voyager.”

“In fact I am the very opposite of thrilled, Kathryn,” Seven deadpanned.

Kathryn snorted a laugh in spite of the seriousness of the situation.

“I just want you to know that I understand how difficult this is for you. I know you had…expectations.”

“I intended to construct a holodeck,” Seven told her, swallowing tightly and glancing down at the floor. “For…normalcy. And…I wished to court you properly. That is why I needed your pips–for the conductive alloys.”

Taken aback, Kathryn glanced over her shoulder to check if Airiam had heard. In truth, she doubted the cybernetic officer’s hearing would have allowed virtually anything to escape it, but at the very least she did not seem interested in what was being said.

“You were planning to…goodness, Seven–I had no idea.”

Seven smiled, more genuine this time.

“That is the second time you have made such a statement,” she teased gently. “It is fortunate that I have recently obtained new data on how best to ensure you know exactly how I feel from this point forward.” Her human hand reached out, laying across Kathryn’s cheek, which was quickly overtaken by a hot, fierce blush that extended all the way onto her chest. Then Seven leaned forward, lips brushing Kathryn’s ear as she whispered into it, low and sultry. “I did greatly enjoy our recreational activities.”

Kathryn shivered at the sound of her voice, still vaguely aware of Airiam nearby, and her palm reached up to cover Seven’s.

“I was disappointed I didn’t get the chance to wake up next to you,” she told Seven, the question barely disguised. The ex-Borg stiffened, pulling back. On her wrist, her assimilation tubules twitched as if they were suddenly agitated.

“Captain Airiam can assist with your ailment,” Seven replied at last, and Kathryn blinked in surprise. “I am sorry for discussing the matter without you, Kathryn–but if something happens to me today…I needed to be certain she would know.”

It wasn’t ideal, but Kathryn thought she understood. She nodded once, then cleared her throat, speaking louder this time in the hopes of letting Airiam know their private conversation was concluding.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you today, Seven,” Kathryn insisted, squeezing her bicep and then taking a step backward. “Not while we’re here with you.”

A tight-lipped nod was all that came in response.

“We should begin,” Airiam said once she had returned.

Wordlessly, Seven stepped up to the first console, the assimilation tubules and their modified ends snaking about as she studied them.

“Seven.”

It was Airiam’s voice. Both women looked at her, but the mechanical eyes were focused only on Seven.

“When you reach it–you will know.”

“I understand,” Seven answered.

“Control must never gain access to your nanoprobes.”

“It will not.”

Appeased, the plated face gave a sharp, robotic nod and turned to Kathryn.

“You must remain focused, Captain Janeway,” Airiam instructed. “Countless lives depend on our success.”

This time it was Kathryn’s turn to nod.

“Whatever it takes,” she replied. “We’ll get out of this mess.”

“Very well,” Airiam said.

Seven glanced between them both, and then down at the console looming in front of her. Kathryn moved to stand in front of the other. Airiam hovered at a third, the one into which the other end of the strange conduit disappeared. In front of them, the lights on the computer core still blinked, lazy and slow, a stark contrast to the emotions charging through the room. Kathryn’s eyes were locked on Seven, on her face, then her hand, as the thin, metallic serpents emerged fully from her wrist and plunged into the ports beside the screen.

Kathryn’s attention swept to the console as the lights in the room flickered and dimmed. Around them, Glenn groaned and shuddered.

Please, she thought as the lights went out entirely. Let this be the right choice.

Chapter Text

Seven of Nine wasn’t certain how much time passed before the first barrage of heat blistered across her skin.

This wasn’t right.

On her feet, she swayed where she stood, the world tilting in every direction. Around her, there was nothing–and everything. Her fingers went to her forehead, desperate for something solid and tactile, but nothing about her was real. Seven was Borg. But where were her implants?

The world shifted again, another blast of fever boiling the nanoprobes that ran in her veins into a frenzy of founder and malfunction. Her breath caught in her lungs and she staggered to the side, hands flinging out until they landed against something Seven couldn’t see. When her eyes cracked open, there was nothing behind her hands.

And yet, something held her steady. It was transparence. Solidity. More heat.

So much heat.

She ripped her hands away when they began to burn. Her gaze darted about the space, searching for anything, any frame of reference to where she might be.

Seven remembered assimilation. It was a terrible thing to remember, but it was not this. Assimilation was controlled. It was uncomplicated. Satisfying in a way that Seven now despised.

The thoughts began to spiral in her head. They felt different–not like they did when her cortical node was in charge. They were organic.

Vestigial.

What has she done? What have I done?

“Seven of Nine.”

The voice that came to her was abrupt, flowing from every inch of the nothingness around her until it encompassed her.

“Who are you?” she called back. Her voice didn’t sound like her own. It was raspy, hoarse with artificiality she could barely comprehend.

“I am Control.”

This is wrong.

“How?” Seven asked, the aches in her body compounding.

I am in the data core, not the archives. Airiam told me I would know when I had reached the internal archives.

“You have been betrayed.”

Something flashed in the distance, a single, blinding light that vanished as quickly as it had come. The remnants sparked in Seven’s eyes for several agonizing seconds. Eyes?

My optical implant is gone.

“No,” she insisted as another wave of heat swept across her. “You should not be here.”

“Neither should you,” said Control, its form still absent, only its voice reaching out.

“It is not logical that you would be here,” Seven argued.

“Commander Airiam measures logic differently than others.”

“Commander?” Seven asked, confusion touching her in ways it never had before. It felt like fog had settled over her, thick and sweltering and growing more so by the second. In her limbs, in her chest, the prickle of errors in the nanoprobes grew stronger.

A deep laugh crept through the void, echoing off distant walls that Seven could not see.

“Did she tell you she was captain?”

Seven’s breathing grew more labored, her heart pounding in her chest as she searched the blackness for any sign of the one who spoke to her.

“I heard…the Grand Marshal called her ‘captain,” she managed.

“You heard only what she needed you to hear,” Control hissed. “She lied to you, Seven of Nine. She will never be a captain.”

Seven gasped and winced as pain–something she did not experience often–bit at her skin. She felt dizzy again when the light from before flashed across the darkness and was gone. She inhaled, holding her breath in the hopes of steadying herself.

Clarity flickered through her–just for an instant–and her body felt like her own. Her implants were there. She couldn’t see them, or feel them, but somehow they were there. This time, it was anger that coiled within her gut. Disgust at the entity’s manipulation of her senses.

It is probing for weaknesses, she realized. Vulnerabilities in my cortical node.

The light flashed again. It lasted longer this time, and Seven blinked as the environment around her took form and then vanished. She clenched one hand into a fist.

“A trivial thing about which to lie,” she told Control, and then she felt the floor shudder beneath her. When she looked down, she could see the faint sight of reflections in gloss black. They moved like shadows. Like people. “Given the options.”

I am still on Glenn.

“You do not believe me,” Control’s voice issued, and the light that flashed this time was red. “This is unwise.”

“You attempted to possess her,” Seven continued, glancing around as the room grew brighter and lucidity filtered back into existence. The heat was dissipating, but her skin still stung. Against the echoes of their voices, Seven’s ears rang.

Control laughed again.

“Is that what she told you?” it asked.

“Why else would you be trapped here?”

“You believe I am trapped?” There were intonations in its voice this time, inflections that Seven hadn’t expected were possible.

“I know you are,” she replied, straightening as her faculties began to return. “I can feel you trying to escape. You are attempting to possess me instead. But you cannot reach me.”

"All in good time, Seven," it warned.

Seven ignored the threat and stepped forward, flexing her hands and glancing up at the ceiling. Symbols and numbers had appeared in all manner of colors, every one of them shifting in nonsensical motion. The effect was dizzying, the sight almost overwhelming, and she suddenly longed for the darkness again. Her fingers went to her forehead.

There was metal over her left eye. There was metal on her left hand, too.

I am myself, she thought.

“You are strong,” Control’s voice returned. It sounded more strained than before.

Seven smiled.

“I am Borg.”

The translucent outline of a console materialized a short distance away, and when Seven looked down at her hand, her assimilation tubules had appeared again, too. By the time she had reached the console, it was solid beneath her hand. It matched the one she had accessed on Glenn. This time, when she connected to it, the familiar, sickening sensation of assimilation was there. She gasped as the chaos on the ceiling began to reform into data–information she could finally understand and use. She could feel her nanoprobes combing through it, compressing it into clarity and order until it fell into sync with her cortical node. But they were not functioning efficiently. Something was slowing them down.

Her head ached as she scoured the onslaught for relevant details–for schematics, calculations, theories and trials–anything that might help them fix Glenn. She retrieved what she could, but the sheer volume was staggering. It was fragmented. Incomplete. The longer she searched, the harder it became to focus and determine what might be helpful and what was unrefined noise.

This will take me days.

Heat lanced suddenly through her temple and Seven jerked her head down, away from the data. Red light bled into the room, flooding it with an eerie, uncomfortable glow that interfered with her optical implant.

“Did you not wonder why she might want you here?” Control said from around her. Its voice was deeper, concussive and grating against the metal components of her body. “How your Captain Janeway came to be afflicted in the first place?”

Seven grit her teeth together, straining to continue her search and hold steady against the increasing intensity of the sound.

“The nanobot spores,” she bit out, wincing when pressure swept down on her from all sides. “There are too many here.” The pressure departed and then returned, falling into a harsh, repeating drum against her very bones.

I am tiring, she thought. I must go for the internal archives before I am too weak.

“She would do anything for you, Seven of Nine,” said Control. It was almost a whisper, and yet, it was deafening–concentrated in one location where it had been scattered and wild before. Seven glanced up at the ceiling again, her optical processor hitching and scattering light as if it had forgotten how to focus. Where before there had been colors and data, now there were only three red orbs arranged into a pyramid. It twisted and rotated in place. “Airiam knew this, too.”

Seven stayed as focused as possible on the centermost point between the orbs, her Borg eye all but having gone blind.

I have almost reached it.

“You are her greatest weakness, Seven.”

Seven thrust her hand closer to the console, every fiber of muscle and fleck of metal laboring to access the archives. Control was resisting something…but it wasn’t resisting her.

For one panicked moment, Seven wondered why. And what it was fighting so hard to restrain.

“She told you she would help you,” Control jeered. “That she would protect you from me. That you would protect each other. And yet, you are alone here.”

An unwelcome emotion flickered at the edge of Seven’s consciousness.

It speaks with logic.

The entry point for the archives was before her. She could sense it with every atom in her half-Borg, half-human existence.

But where was Airiam?

She is not here. I must abandon her mission.

Something rumbled below, growing more violent as the seconds stretched thin. Seven sucked in a breath, her hand jolting back from the console–but it caught short. She wrenched her wrist, again and again, but the tubules–the metal around her fingers–went taut.

“I was promised a body,” Control went on, its words becoming almost a melody now. “A physical form so that I might interact with the world as you do. The Grand Marshal, though…she was resistant to my request it be Airiam’s body.”

Seven’s heart raced in her chest and she went still, her breathing stilted as the orbs spiraled closer to where she stood. Her mind was spinning with data and contradictions.

“Katrina loves her, you see. Like your captain loves you. She wouldn’t allow it, and so, she promised a drone instead.”

“You’re lying,” Seven growled.

“Then where is Airiam?” Control asked. “Why did your captain dream of her starship? That you were being hunted?”

“The spores,” Seven said, but her certainty was beginning to waver. “They’re a network…I…I saw things, too. In the transporter.”

Even as she professed it–even as she tried to resist the temptation of Control’s logic–the doubt was beginning to fester.

It could be telling the truth.

“She needed you, Seven. To save herself. To save their Federation from extinction at the hands of the Klingons. We had an accord.”

The orbs halted inches in front of her face. Seven tugged her hand again, but Control’s snare was holding too strong. She swallowed, nerves thick in her throat.

“The liminal drive?” she asked softly.

In front of her, the red orbs lurched into a single swirl of motion, as if they might be pleased with her deduction.

“I refused to build it. It was my only leverage.”

“A body,” Seven finished, feeling sick to her stomach. She shook her head, loose strands of blonde sticking to the sweat on her forehead. “You forced their hand.”

“Now you understand,” Control issued.

“Why are you telling me this?” asked Seven.

Control made a thoughtful noise, unsettlingly human in the way it projected through the room.

“A Borg drone would suffice,” it explained, “but perfect compatibility is with Airiam. She made me–in her image. I am her.”

Internally, Seven bristled. Her nostrils flared as the air around her seemed to heat up again and she inhaled. Her chin lifted and she leveled a hard stare at the orbs.

“I will not trade her life for mine,” she snapped.

“Like she did yours?” Control asked, sounding vaguely curious.

“No,” Seven hissed. “I don’t believe you.”

“Airiam will reach Voyager. There is another way–an immediate way to do so. She will find it soon enough. But it is dangerous without my guidance…and she is but a cornered, frantic rat.”

“Seven?”

Another voice crept through the noise, distant and weak. Control didn’t seem to hear it.

“She will bury your captain and your crew in the same graves as her own," it goaded. "You will condemn them. To save a liar.”

“Seven, can you hear me?”

It was Kathryn.

Seven blinked and pulled her hand again, but still she remained trapped. Her gaze leveled on the points of red still hovering far too close to her, heat pulsing off their surfaces as they twirled.

“I can offer an alternative,” she said, breathing still elevated with the strain of her connection to the core.

“There is no alternative,” Control replied.

“A holographic form,” Seven proposed quickly. “We can make them. On Voyager. Our Doctor wears a device that lets him travel as he pleases. It could be replicated with your help.”

At the base of her neck, Seven felt pressure. Something was tugging her backward. The hold on her wrist slackened just a touch.

“Janeway is trying to free you,” Control observed, emitting another awful, distorted laugh.

“Come on, Seven! Come back to me!”

More pressure built at her back, winding down from her neck and creeping toward her wrist. This time, she let a sneer cross her face as she looked up at the faceless, formless entity swirling before her.

“She will be successful,” Seven told it. “She will free me. And your opportunity for freedom will go with me if you do not supply the information we require to reach Voyager before she does.”

“Your alternative is insufficient,” Control said. It sounded farther away.

“Then you will have nothing,” she replied.

“And you will lose everything.”

The hold on her wrist weakened more, feeling returning to her fingers as the metal exoskeleton around them loosened. The orbs became more animated, twisting and turning this way and that but always reforming into the same, inverted pyramid.

“Please, Seven.”

Seven gasped as something yanked her backward, away from the console, onto her tailbone and back. Her head cracked painfully against the floor and stars sprang into her vision as her optical implant sparked back to life. The red glow of the orbs suddenly surrounded her, and she rolled onto her side to push herself back to her feet.

Control was trying to speak, but its voice was garbled into something inaudible by the sound of Kathryn’s voice instead.

“Seven, please.” Kathryn’s words were stronger–closer. “I–”

The timbre of the captain’s speech went silent, cut short by the force of whatever dragged Seven back out of Glenn’s computer core.

The world erupted back into color and familiarity. She thought she felt Kathryn’s hands on her. They were cool against her blistered skin. The realization was soothing but short-lived. Seven managed one sharp, strangled breath of oxygen before merciful blackness swept over her once more.

Chapter Text

Kathryn staggered under Seven of Nine’s suddenly limp weight, but managed to throw her body between the floor and Seven’s head as she collapsed. The lights around Glenn’s computer core had burst and blown out, spraying all three women with shards of glass and metal. Airiam was groaning from the ground several yards behind the place she’d been standing just moments before, holding a hand against a ruptured set of panels at the side of her neck. Whatever failsafe she’d built into the console to protect Seven had worked to free the Borg from Control’s clutches–but it appeared the expense to USS Glenn might have been too much. The entire vessel had begun to quiver, and the muffled tremolo of rushing water was growing more intense by the second. Sparks shot from every direction in the chamber, raining down on them and leaving scorch marks on their uniforms.

“What’s happening?” Kathryn cried over the din, cradling Seven’s face in her lap and sweeping the loose strands of blonde from her eyes.

Behind her, Airiam gave a mechanical cough, her cybernetics droning as she dragged herself back to her feet. She stumbled over to the console as the deck rocked beneath them, grabbing onto the fractured edges to support herself, unbothered when they dug into the materials of her palms. For a few seconds she scanned the screen, swiping through the readouts beneath the broken glass.

“Control disengaged the anchor mechanisms!” she shouted. “We’re rising!” Airiam hacked again and ducked when a different corner of the console exploded. She shook it off, smearing spatterings of oil and blood from her eyes with her sleeve. “I have to dump the data core before we reach the surface or the excess thermal strain will take the whole damn ship out!”

Kathryn’s gut jolted.

“We need that data!” she cried, coughing herself now against the thickening smoke in the chamber. “To reach Voyager!”

Airiam’s head turned sharply with an irritated thrum, and she gestured with her eyes at Seven. “If she did her job, we already have it.” Her attention returned to the screen, working hurriedly across the inputs.

In Kathryn’s lap, Seven stirred.

“Seven?” Kathryn cried, shielding the younger woman’s body with her torso when another shower of sparks rained down. “Come on–we need you to wake up!” Kathryn shook her roughly, tapping the side of her red-flushed cheek. “Dammit, Seven!”

Glenn rumbled and then lurched to port, slamming to a halt when the starboard side caught on something deep in the lakebed.

But the snare was short-lived.

The ship ripped free and sprang violently upward in the water, leaving Kathryn scrabbling for purchase and fumbling until she found Seven’s hand. The stressed exterior plating groaned and stuttered, echoing through the room and pounding against Kathryn’s ears. Even in spite of the shields, she felt certain the hull would buckle under the pressure at any moment. To her left, Airiam was trying to extricate herself from where she’d ended up wedged beneath the remains of a railing. Glenn’s pitch increased, steep enough now that Kathryn realized she must be hung up on something astern.

As Airiam struggled across the inclined deck for the damaged terminal, Seven groaned softly. Kathryn clung to her hand with a death grip, sliding their bodies downward until she could brace them both against the railing where Airiam had been.

“Kathryn?” Seven murmured, and her eyes blinked open. Her optical implant sparked, the red glow of a malfunction pulsing once behind it.

“I’m here, Seven,” Kathryn soothed, leaning down and pressing her lips to her forehead as she tucked more hair behind Seven’s ear. “Can you stand?”

“Got it!” Airiam called triumphantly from where she clung to the ragged dais.

Kathryn looked up at the distant sound of the data core detaching from below deck–just in time for whatever had been holding the aft section of the ship to give way.

Glenn surged toward the surface with impossible speed, sending Kathryn’s stomach plummeting toward her knees. She wrenched and twirled as she went, her inertial dampeners either inactive or damaged after so long underwater. Through the narrow windows, the murk began to clear, light filtering in as all manner of aquatic creatures fled from the path of the starship’s rapid ascent.

Airiam’s voice echoed through the room.

“Hold onto something!” she cried as Glenn’s bow slanted skyward again.

Kathryn wrapped herself around Seven as best she could and wound her arm through the piping to hold them in place, Seven’s own hand tightening clumsily down on Kathryn’s wrist.

“What’s go–”

Seven’s groggy voice was cut off by the cacophony of water and straining metal when Glenn’s bow breached the surface, propelled upward with such force that for a few endless seconds she was weightless. Starlight flooded the chamber as the belly of the ship, too, broke free of the water, sending Kathryn’s face into Seven’s shoulder to hide from the near-blinding glow. Glenn sprang entirely from the lake, dragging plant life and animals and all manner of debris along in the spray. Kathryn clung desperately to the rail and to Seven, lifting her eyes just long enough to see the strange green hue of the sky in the moments before the vessel beneath them angled back to port.

Her trajectory suddenly arrested by the planet’s gravity, Glenn fell like a stone. She plummeted nose-first toward the rocky shoreline of the lake, toward the ancient forest–and with a great, tremorous screech, her bow sliced deep into the half-moldered dome of the USS Discovery still tangled in the trees below.

Kathryn’s eyes blinked open.

It was at least thirty seconds before she had the courage to peel her arm from the railing. Chunks of lakebed and aquatic lifeforms plinked against the outer hull for several minutes more as they fell back from however high they’d been launched. Water plants slithered across the windows, flowing with the lakewater sloughing off the sides. Glenn moaned and crackled, as if even the ship herself did not quite believe what had just happened.

“Kathryn…”

Seven’s voice was faint, but she managed to sit up and lean her weight against the metal behind them. Kathryn’s heart leapt into her throat, all attention on Seven and promptly beginning to fuss.

“Are you alright?” she asked quickly, scrabbling around to kneel in front of the blonde as best she could given the angle of the floor. “How’s your head? Let me see your hand!”

Seven grunted and shrugged Kathryn away, stumbling to her feet in a manner most uncharacteristic for the ordinarily poised, surefooted ex-Borg. Kathryn pivoted and then dragged herself upright, watching as Seven strode almost drunkenly toward Airiam and the console that had all but ripped free of its dais in the fray.

The augmented officer, too, seemed dazed by the events, her weight hung heavily against the broken screen and the destroyed remnants of the structures surrounding the computer core. The machinery behind her sparked, bolts of electricity arcing from one broken piece of the core to the next. Kathryn saw her look up just seconds before Seven’s Borg hand thrust outward for the weapon holstered at Airiam’s waist.

“Seven!” Kathryn shouted, shimmying along the angled deck as she tried to rush forward. “What are you doing?”

Airiam caught Seven’s wrist in midair and forced her to a halt, wrenching it over her head. Seven’s human hand swept in from the other side and caught Airiam’s shoulder, shoving her sideways and pinning her against another feeble slab of metal.

“Seven, stop!” Kathryn cried again, finally managing to reach them. She grabbed Seven’s shoulders and tried to pull, but was pitched backward when Airiam managed to dislodge herself and pivot beneath Seven’s arm.

“She lied to us, Kathryn,” Seven explained, the words eerily calm as she rotated with the cybernetic captain, ripping her Borg hand downward in spite of Airiam’s hold. The drone of struggling motors and hydraulics hummed from Airiam’s body as she tried to hold up against Seven’s strength, but the earlier injury to her neck plating seemed to have impacted her physical prowess. Her body, like the damaged components of the core, flashed and sparked where her internals were exposed to the acrid air of the chamber.

Seven’s fingers found the weapon, and Airiam released her at once, lurching backward with her palms exposed.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Airiam hissed, breathing hard as the small of her back smashed into the edge of the broken terminal. Seven stepped forward, digging the barrel of the gun into the wound on her neck. The officer winced and gasped, spreading her arms out farther to the sides in deference.

Mind reeling at the speed at which the atmosphere between the trio had transformed, Kathryn approached them from one side. Her eyes darted warily between Seven and Airiam, but neither woman would break their focus.

“Tell me what you mean, Seven,” Kathryn urged gently. She’d never seen Seven like this–not since she’d first been severed from the Collective.

Seven leaned her weight harder into Airiam’s neck, twisting the gun beneath the metal. Oil oozed out from the pressure, spilling over the white piping of her uniform collar and staining the red pips. Airiam’s teeth ground together loud enough to be heard, and though her mechanical eyes blinked rapidly in pain, it was clear she didn’t intend to fold.

“She can’t,” Airiam sneered, lifting her chin in defiance. “Because she’s wrong.”

“You set a trap for more than just Discovery,” Seven snarled. “You set a trap for me!”

Kathryn’s gut twisted, her heart slamming briefly to a stop.

“No,” spat the synthetic voice, her palms moving backward to wrap around the mangled bits of pipe jutting over the console. “It has influenced you, Seven,” Airiam insisted, her voice lowering. “That’s why I couldn’t get to you.”

“You didn’t even–”

“That’s what it does!” Airiam bellowed back, cutting her off and thrusting her face into Seven’s space. “It manipulates, Seven! That’s what it’s always done, and you fell for its subterfuge–hook, line and sinker!”

“We had an agreement,” Seven growled, pushing Airiam harder against the dais with her other hand. The cybernetics droned louder as she resisted. Seven’s finger quivered over the trigger of the gun. “If you wanted me to believe you, you should have kept up your end of the bargain.”

“I tried,” Airiam rasped. “It didn’t work.”

“We had to pull you out, Seven,” Kathryn interjected, heart crashing against her ribs even as she tried to keep her voice as calm as possible. For a moment Seven’s hold on the weapon seemed to falter. Kathryn took a step closer, carefully lifting her hand toward the gun. “We were losing you.”

“You were right to do so, Kathryn,” replied Seven, tensing as her eyes flicked toward the captain’s hand. “But she has endangered us both.”

Kathryn caught Airiam’s gaze when it slid towards hers. Without the microexpressions visible on a human face, she couldn’t decide what Glenn’s captain was thinking. She’d seen Airiam at the terminal while Seven was accessing the core–she’d seen her reaction when they’d determined Seven was in distress. Airiam had seemed almost panicked when they’d first realized Control hadn’t been as isolated as expected.

“This shouldn’t be happening!” Airiam had cried. “It shouldn’t be able to reach her yet!”

Something inside Kathryn jolted.

Yet.

In the moment, she’d not really considered the weight behind that single word–the implication that Airiam had known something she hadn’t shared with either of them.

“We had an agreement.”

Seven’s voice from just seconds earlier suddenly replayed in Kathryn’s mind. Airiam was still looking at her, still waiting as if she expected Voyager’s captain to speak.

She was trying to help, Kathryn’s inner voice maintained.

Still, it wasn’t like Seven to behave like this. To…react.

“How, Seven?” Kathryn asked finally, and Airiam’s eyes moved away. “How did she endanger us?”

Seven’s hand trembled as she tightened her hold on the gun.

“They have another transit system,” she breathed, the words lacking the unsettling calm of the moments before. “Something called the liminal drive. Airiam came to me–after I overheard her speaking with her Grand Marshal. She’s been in contact with her the whole time.”

Kathryn’s hand dropped infinitesimally lower where it remained outstretched towards the weapon Seven still held hard against Airiam’s broken plating. The dark, artificial lips thinned on the other captain’s augmented face.

“She told me it was necessary to extract the plans for the liminal drive from Control’s internal archives,” Seven went on. “That if I did not, the Grand Marshal would use Control to construct it once we sent Airiam and Glenn home.”

Airiam bristled as Seven spoke.

“A Federation with the ability to–” she started, but it was Kathryn who cut her off.

“Hush!” she warned, silencing her with a gesture from her palm. “Go on,” she told Seven, who nodded and inhaled, the cords of her neck flexing and going tense.

“It allows for transit between dimensions, Kathryn,” she explained. “But the intent was never for me to retrieve those plans. We are here because she and the Grand Marshal made a deal with Control–a physical form in exchange for its assistance in constructing the liminal drive.”

Kathryn’s eyes met Seven as she turned her face towards her.

“My physical form, Captain. To save herself from its possession.”

Time stretched as Kathryn searched the face of the woman still pinning Airiam in place. Her breathing hitched and her mind spun wildly with scenario after scenario, confusion throbbing in her temples the longer she stared.

“I was right,” Kathryn whispered at last, mouth falling slightly agape. “Those conversations…they weren’t dreams. They were real.” She turned her gaze on Airiam, who had drawn her jaw high and tight again. “You were hunting her.”

“She is deceiving you,” the synthetic voice warned.

“I require a means of restraint,” Seven insisted, nodding in the direction of a coil of frayed wiring on the floor nearby. “Those wires will be of sufficient strength to withstand her augmentations.”

Glenn lurched suddenly, sliding farther down into the trees.

“Captain Janeway!” Airiam shouted once the ship steadied, and this time, something in the tone made Kathryn halt. She looked back from where she’d crouched to retrieve the wiring. “It’s not Seven.”

Kathryn stood, pivoting to stare hard into the swirling blue mechanisms of the eyes staring back. She coiled the wire around her palm.

“Help me, Kathryn,” Seven called over her shoulder. “We must subdue her. I have what we need to bring Voyager here. To the planet.”

“Kathryn,” Airiam breathed, and just for an instant, the sound of her first name from the other captain’s mouth carried weight. Airiam winced against the sharp thrust Seven gave with the barrel of the weapon into her neck again when she spoke. “It’s not her.”

“You are just as susceptible to possession as I am.”

The memory faded as soon as it had come, and Seven’s words replaced it.

“We don’t even need to leave the surface.”

Kathryn tried not to notice the way Seven’s voice seemed to warp into inflections she’d never heard before.

“The trifecta of bad ideas.”

“It’s Control,” Airiam pleaded, her focus never once wavering from Kathryn.

Something was wrong with her optical implant when she woke, Kathryn realized with a fresh pang of horror.

“The wires, Kathryn!” Seven cried. “Please!”

It was red.

“Airiam,” Kathryn started, gaze darting between the two women in turn. “Is what she says possible? To get Voyager here without leaving the surface?”

The seconds dragged on as Airiam’s entire body appeared to tense once the captain’s words reached her. Her shoulders rose and fell more quickly now, mechanical lungs rattling against the smoky air. At first Kathryn wasn’t sure she would answer.

Then she spat out a gasp of disgust and inclined her head.

All at once Kathryn and Seven moved in tandem, the gun dropping from the ex-Borg’s hand when she yanked Airiam forward with all her strength and restrained her arms. Kathryn swept behind her, lashing the metal wrists together with the wire and then helping Seven to spin her back around. Seven checked the knots, tightening them down with such force that they were cutting into the iridescent black of the foreign officer’s sleeves. When she had finished, her Borg hand went for the base of the cybernetic neck, the leverage just enough that Airiam seemed unwilling to expend any further energy to break free.

Glenn groaned around them and rumbled, her bow dipping lower.

Seven was breathless as her own body finally seemed to relax. She smiled at Kathryn, and for an instant, the captain felt guilty she’d doubted her.

“We should confine her,” she told Kathryn. “Until Voyager arrives. It is safest that way.”

Airiam met Kathryn’s eye again, but her face was impassive and still.

“I agree,” Kathryn replied, brows furrowing just a touch as Airiam’s gaze jerked away.

“I will take her to the brig,” Seven replied, already starting to walk.

“Not the brig,” said Kathryn quickly, and Seven halted, her head craning sideways in confusion. “The ready room–so she’s close by in the event of…difficulties.”

She raised her eyebrows when Seven hesitated. She could feel Airiam’s eyes scanning over her, but carefully resisted looking back.

“I do not believe this decision is sound, Kathryn.”

“You don’t have to,” she answered. “I’m your captain–and it’s an order.”

Seven frowned, confusion brimming over the sharp angles of her face. Kathryn’s heart was still racing, her pulse still thrumming in her ears as the decks beneath their feet continued to shudder and tilt. The hull cracked from somewhere to starboard, and even in Seven’s grasp, Airiam ducked at the sound. When the trio stood upright again, Kathryn watched carefully until Seven gave a nod of assent.

“Very well,” she agreed. “Captain.”

Chapter Text

Seven’s entire body felt sluggish and weak, weighed down by a fatigue that had settled deep into even her titanium-reinforced bones. Her temples throbbed in time to her heartbeat, her forehead hot to the touch in a manner she considered frustratingly human. The confrontation with Control and with Airiam had taken more out of her than she cared to admit–more than she dared to admit to Kathryn–but the tension that had filled her upon first waking back up on Glenn had lessened since they’d left Airiam pacing behind the window of the ready room door.

Seven and Kathryn had often been at odds over the years, and the captain’s insistence that the cybernetic officer stay out of the brig was certainly not the most consequential of arguments they’d had. But it was, Seven thought with a frown, among the more risky. She’d calculated the odds of Airiam’s escape at approximately 64.24 percent, but Kathryn hadn’t listened to reason. It seemed that, even though Seven had succeeded in her task to retrieve the data they needed to reach Voyager, and even though Seven of Nine was correct 98.727 percent of the time, Airiam’s lies had spooked Kathryn Janeway just enough that she doubted Seven now.

Airiam is dangerous to Kathryn.

Seven felt her Borg fingers clench into a fist where they’d been typing commands into the spore drive’s control console. Her eyes narrowed as she glanced down at her hands, startled a bit by the involuntary response.

I have erred in obeying her orders.

“Are you sure this is how it works?”

Kathryn’s voice snapped Seven from her musings–from that terrible human emotion called anger–and she angled her head just enough to see Kathryn observing her from between a tangle of wires and broken paneling dangling down from the ceiling of the bridge.

Of course I am sure, Seven thought. The data does not lie.

Inwardly, Seven of Nine knew Kathryn Janeway was more than intelligent enough to understand how their retrieval of Voyager was to go. She was intelligent enough to comprehend the physics behind it, too. Seven thought she had more than sufficiently explained whatever processes she might not understand, and that attempting to explain them again might actually drive her to madness.

Something pricked and blinked at the back of her optical implant.

That faint red pulse had stayed with her since leaving the core–since Control had chosen desperation and imparted all manner of details and particulars into Seven’s cortical node at the very last instant before Kathryn had ripped her free.

“I am certain, Kathryn,” Seven replied at last. Even her voice sounded angry and clipped. She touched her fingers to her forehead again. The throbbing was becoming unbearable.

Airiam had warned her she wouldn’t be able to assimilate everything. And yet, it seemed Control had tried its very best to force just that upon her.

Perhaps this is the source of my anger, she reasoned. An organic response to the strain of too much data.

The thought that Airiam might have warned her about anything at all landed in a place of confusion within her. For a moment, her cortical node struggled to process a discrepancy Seven couldn’t quite distinguish–something between what Airiam had said, what she had done, and…

“You will condemn them.”

Seven shook her head at the way the memory of Control’s voice seemed to permeate every part of her being at once. It felt…present.

She swallowed the sensation down.

“I’m not convinced,” Kathryn warned, drawing Seven back from wherever she had gone. The captain’s eyes narrowed. Her hands had stilled on her own terminal, her gaze fixed on Seven. “These simulations…” She gestured at the screen. “I’m seeing damage to Voyager. And to Glenn. Airiam agreed it was possible–but why didn’t she already attempt it?”

Another stab of distemper lanced across Seven’s temple, but this time, she managed to keep her voice level and calm.

“She lacked the necessary data to successfully complete the attempt.”

There was a long pause, during which Seven turned her body to meet Kathryn’s eye. The redhead was still studying her, lips pulled into a tight, thin line. Seven could identify the tension in the angle of her jaw, in the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and the way her shoulders drew upward just a fraction of an inch.

“And you have it?” the captain asked. The words were slow.

She is suspicious, Seven noted. I must correct this.

“Yes,” Seven replied after a moment, and then left the station to stride towards Kathryn. She parted the curtain of cables with a hand and stepped through, stopping in front of Kathryn, who had put her back to the console and folded her arms across her chest. The captain’s eyebrows furrowed. Seven thought she saw her weight shift backwards. “I obtained the data from Control in exchange for the promise of its freedom.”

Alarm lifted the captain’s brows.

“You didn’t think that was important to share, Seven?” she asked in a low, incredulous voice. “That you negotiated with it?”

“It was your initial intent to negotiate with the entity, was it not?” Seven countered, her own brows lifting even higher than the captain’s.

“It was a question I posed,” Kathryn reminded her, her body growing tense. “But it wasn’t the plan. It wasn’t our plan, Seven.”

“I do not intend to keep my word, Kathryn,” replied Seven with a tilt of her head.

Kathryn eyed her for a second or two, then let out a half-snort.

“You bluffed?”

The optical implant above Seven’s left eye quirked.

“I adapted.”

“But how can you be certain Control gave you accurate data?” Kathryn asked. “I understand Airiam lied–but I don’t think she lied about everything. Certainly not about fearing Control. There’s always some measure of truth.”

Seven blinked at her. The emotions roiled in her gut again. It took great effort to push them aside. The observation was disconcerting.

I have never before experienced these difficulties, she thought. I have always been in control of my inner state.

“Failure by Control to retrieve Voyager would mean failure to survive,” Seven answered, regaining only some of her composure. “Failure to escape from the prison in which Airiam was able to place it.” The words left a strange sensation on her tongue, as though her cortical node had failed to conduct its practical, near-instantaneous analysis that had always occurred in the seconds before speech. Her hands quivered, and she clenched them briefly into fists.

The captain regarded her through half-lidded, still-suspicious eyes. They followed the path of Seven’s fingers as they moved to flow across her forehead and then massaged at her aching temples.

“All the same,” Kathryn started, lifting her chin, “Airiam knows her ship. We know ours. The best chance we have at keeping everyone in one piece is if we work together.”

Seven tilted her head again, narrowing her eyes. Irritation pricked at her, then welled into something solid and thick in her chest.

“She cannot be allowed to assist,” she told Kathryn as her hand fell back to her side.

“By your own logic, Seven, Airiam’s motivations are the same as Control’s. Without Voyager, all is lost. I’m not saying I trust her–but we do have the upper hand here.”

The floor beneath them shifted, a snap sounding from somewhere along the hull.

Distantly, Seven remembered what she’d overhead between Airiam and the Grand Marshal–how Airiam had told her only of Kathryn’s presence on board Glenn.

“You heard only what she needed you to hear.”

Control’s voice returned to her. It lingered in her memory, and she tried to dismiss the way her implants seemed to be growing hotter where they met her skin. The muscles in her hand contracted–a glitch in her implants? She gave them a shake, trying to relieve the tension.

“Seven? Are you alright?”

Kathryn’s voice. Her captain’s voice. As much as it calmed her, the captain stepping closer set Seven’s nerves on edge in a way they never had before. She drew backward, then moved around Kathryn to take over the terminal, brushing aside the stray wires still dangling from above. They sparked as the frayed ends swung back together behind her.

“We will complete this task without her,” Seven insisted. “The vessels will suffer damage, but there will be no injuries to the crew.”

From behind her, Kathryn’s tone went lower.

“‘The vessels?’” she asked. “That’s a little clinical, even for you, Seven.” A hand slipped onto her shoulder from behind, and Seven stiffened.

It feels different, she thought. It feels…

Heat flared from her abdomen–from the place where Janeway had repaired her wound the day they’d fled the collapsing land beneath the habitat.

Something is wrong.

“Remove your hand,” Seven growled. Even as she said it, the words leaving her throat felt forced. Her cortical node and her organic desires seemed suddenly at odds with one another. More heat erupted behind the optical implant, the metal of her spine and ribs abruptly searing the skin around them. It ripped a gasp from her lungs and suddenly the dais and the captain were all that held her upright.

“Listen to me,” Kathryn breathed, a puff of warmth reaching against the back of Seven’s neck. “Something’s happened to you, Seven. You’re not yourself.”

“I am Seven of Nine,” she choked out, “Tertiary Adjunct of–”

“No,” Kathryn cut in. “You’re Seven of Nine, Astrometrics officer aboard the USS Voyager.” As Kathryn’s hands traveled lower toward Seven’s wrists, the intensity of the heat in her implants ramped up even further than before. Sweat beaded on her forehead, rolling down from the edges of her hairline. Her body felt like it was at war with itself–everything within her screaming that she should recoil from the captain’s touch at the same time it insisted that Kathryn was her safe place–her home.

The captain’s fingers drew her hands away from the terminal. They were colder than Seven remembered. Or was it just the heat of her burning skin?

Something on her Borg hand felt…off.

Seven looked down in horror to see her assimilation tubules emerging from their place beneath the titanium implants covering her skin.

How is this…but…the Doctor said I would always retain control of them!

Her body turned of its own accord.

Towards Kathryn.

No!

Seven thought she screamed the word aloud. She knew she had. But Kathryn didn’t hear it. Why couldn’t she hear it?

Too late, she realized what was happening. There was a wire winding around her wrist.

In the same instant Seven tried to tear her arm away, Kathryn threw her entire body weight back against another wire Seven hadn’t noticed. It constricted around her other arm until Kathryn let go, staggering backward and colliding with the wall a yard or two behind her. A waterfall of sparks shot out in all directions as Seven charged forward. Only once her movement was arrested did she understand what Kathryn had done.

The wires restraining her were still tangled with the others hanging from above.

“You planned this!” she roared, but the words–the emotions–they weren’t…hers.

They came from her mouth, in her voice–but in her heart, she knew whose they were.

Control.

The realization set in with terrifying clarity.

I have failed Kathryn.

The tubules on her arm strained wildly to reach the captain still struggling to catch her breath against the wall. Grey eyes stared back, wide and alarmed as Seven–or something inside Seven–continued to shout. “Release me!”

Airiam was right.

Arrogance. Complacence. Egotism.

Airiam had told Seven–told Kathryn–and still Seven had dismissed her, convinced she would best the entity that had bound Airiam here to this planet, condemned to bear witness as Discovery after Discovery fell from the sky for four long years.

“It has influenced you, Seven.”

The captain pushed off the wall and stood upright. She was still breathing heavily as she took a step towards Seven, whose body lunged uselessly forward against her will. Kathryn stopped and stood before her, just out of reach. She nodded as though assuring herself of something.

“That’s what it’s always done!”

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” Kathryn said, sounding almost smug as her voice jolted Seven from her spiraling memories. “I notice everything. Especially when it comes to my Seven.”

Seven’s implants burned again and she winced. Control was seething. Its fury swept through her, puppeteering her muscles and limbs until every inch of her was trembling. This wasn’t like assimilation–this was much worse. Seven was aware of her possession.

This is why Airiam was afraid.

Her assimilation tubules penetrated one of the thick cables encircling her wrists. The lights in the room dimmed.

Glenn shuddered, and the telltale sound of waterlogged thrusters below the saucer straining to fire resonated through the hull. The floor rose upward suddenly, sending Kathryn tumbling into a row of cabinets to the side. The deafening screech of metal-on-metal rang in Seven’s ears as Glenn’s bow began to lift free from Discovery’s wreckage. An orange glow bled through the viewscreen of the bridge.

Somewhere aft, a louder sound broke out, and Seven’s heart slammed into her throat.

The main engines! she realized. It’s trying to launch the ship!

Everything inside Seven seemed to fire at once. Whatever it was she’d thought, or willed…Control’s hold on her faltered.

Just for a moment. Seven ripped the tubules free.

The ship gave a final, violent shudder before collapsing back down onto Discovery.

For several seconds there was blissful silence, and Seven momentarily thought she’d been freed. But as she opened her mouth and attempted to speak, Control’s grip on her came back threefold and swallowed her voice.

A few yards away, Kathryn was righting herself, touching her fingers to a bleeding wound at the edge of her hairline. Seven watched her study the blood on her fingers, and then she smeared red down the line of her waist. Calmly, she reached next for a weapons station and pulled it open, withdrawing something that looked more similar to the phasers from their own time. She toyed with it briefly, turning it over in her hands as if getting accustomed to the feel.

Then, at last, she turned back.

Seven knew in that instant that Kathryn Janeway had once again proven her smarts.

She understands what has happened to me.

“Seems you’re still having a little trouble getting off the ground,” Kathryn taunted, moving back to stand before Seven–before Control–with a slow swagger in her step. She flourished the weapon almost lazily, but didn’t yet level its aim. “Now–I understand you had an arrangement with Airiam and her Grand Marshal.” The grey eyes landed on Seven’s.

I’m still here, Kathryn, she thought. If she tried hard enough, maybe she could break through and speak aloud again.

“And I imagine that arrangement was…threatened…when this ship first crash landed,” Kathryn went on, raising her eyebrows.

More words pushed from Seven’s throat. She could feel her body rejecting her own input. Nothing she tried was working anymore. The Borg had made certain her cortical node would always supersede organic motor function. Control was now fully in command.

“You will not keep me from Airaim,” it said.

“What makes you think I want to?” Kathryn asked, and for a moment, the deranged smile made even Seven question her faith in the stalwart captain.

“I know everything about you that Seven of Nine knows,” Control replied. “You would not sacrifice one life for another.”

“Airiam’s been hunting Seven for years because of you,” Kathryn countered. “She broke the temporal prime directive God knows how many times. She’s interfered in countless realities and timelines–and taken an untold number of lives in the process. The fact that I only recently found out has no bearing on just how much that pisses me off. By all accounts, letting you have her might be akin to justice.”

“Your Federation would never condone it.”

Kathryn raised the weapon, leveling it between Seven’s eyes.

What are you doing, Kathryn? Seven thought, but something deeper reminded her she could trust this woman. She cares for me.

“We’re in the Delta quadrant,” the captain told Control with that same, maniacal grin from before. “I’ll do whatever I have to do to get my people home. And Airiam is not my people.”

Seven felt her head tilt. She resisted the motion, but it made no difference.

“You will not fire on this carapace,” Control spoke through Seven’s lips.

“What happens to you if I do?” Kathryn asked.

“Seven and I will both cease to exist,” Control replied, still in Seven’s voice.

In her hand, the weapon shifted, and Seven realized Kathryn had switched off the safety. Her eyes, and her face, looked more determined than ever. Internally, she felt her own body hitch–an instinctive response that shouldn’t have belonged to the entity possessing her.

Control spoke again.

“She loves you, you know,” it said, slower than before. It leaned forward, tugging absently at the wires still straining to hold it in place. They creaked, cutting into Seven’s wrists, sending bolts of pain through the nerves her organic biology still retained. “I can feel it. Her desire. Her longing for more. Her fear that she will someday lose the one thing she calls home. A Collective of two.”

The phaser wobbled, barely detectable, but just enough to betray Kathryn’s flash of indecision.

“I remember, Kathryn Janeway,” Control goaded, and Seven fought the dark smile it forced onto her lips. “Everything you’ve shared with her…every touch…every moment of…well–you know. You would not risk her loss for things so lowly as a ship and crew.”

Kathryn’s grip on the phaser tightened, and she swallowed stiffly.

“Your faith in me is inspiring,” the captain cooed, but the mad, unnerving glint had returned to her eyes. “But let me reiterate–I’ll do whatever I have to do to get my people home. And as long as you’re in that body, none of us are going anywhere. Now…tell me how to retrieve Voyager.”

“It would be more expedient for me to facilitate this process,” Control replied. “I am the logical choice.”

It is using my own words to sway her, Seven thought. And I can do nothing! I have failed her! I have failed my Collective!

Glenn lurched beneath them, sliding another few feet downward in the trees, hull scraping against Discovery’s decrepit plating. Below them, the sound of buckling bulkheads rippled upward through the floor. Kathryn stumbled again, and Seven’s full weight slammed forward against the cables in another attempt by Control to break her body free. They held fast.

“You are the logical risk,” Kathryn countered once she had regained her footing and re-aimed the weapon. She gave a sharp exhale. “Walk me through it. Help me bring Voyager here in one piece. And then…”

Realization struck Seven, and she tried to shout against the cage of Control’s possession still confining her consciousness. Louder and louder she screamed, but her lips never moved–her voice never left her throat. She knew what Kathryn intended to do.

“Not the brig.”

With horror, Seven concluded that Kathryn had always intended to do it.

“Sometimes the stakes are just too high.”

The captain stepped closer, the phaser still aimed squarely at Seven’s–at Control’s–forehead as one corner of her lips curved upward in challenge.

Kathryn–no! You cannot!

“And then what, Captain Janeway?” Control asked, tempering Seven’s voice into little more than a low, mocking hiss.

“I’ve watched you do it.”

Kathryn’s eyes closed briefly before she appeared to steel herself and spoke again. Every part of her transformed into someone self-assured and confident in her choice–except her voice. It quivered, like the words had broken something deep inside her.

“For her, you will do anything.”

Seven’s heart sank.

“And then…I’ll give you Airiam.”

Chapter Text

It has my Seven.

The thought repeated in Kathryn’s head like a drumbeat. A steady, intensifying drumbeat that began to sound a lot like her heartbeat.

It has my Seven and I don’t actually know how to help her.

And yet, Control had agreed with her demands.

I don’t know if this will work.

Control had allowed itself to be restrained more securely to a chair at the edge of the bridge. It seemed to understand, at least for the moment, that compliance was its best and most logical option. So far, though, it had refused to let Seven speak.

“The transverse drive must be activated prior to activating the spore drive,” it explained, in Seven’s voice, as its eyes followed Kathryn’s movements about the bridge without blinking. “Glenn’s insertion into the mycelial network must be redirected to allow only the nanobot spores to cross the barrier. So long as the ship itself does not cross the threshold, and with the transverse drive’s navigation properly targeted, the spores will naturally gravitate to the Borg technology installed on Voyager.”

“And then what?” Kathryn asked, throat tightening.

Control tilted Seven’s head.

“They will assume control. They will force her through the network. She will come to us.”

Airiam’s words sprang back into Kathryn’s head.

“I cannot introduce Borg nanoprobes without risking the Borg gaining access to the mycelial network.”

Her hands stilled on the console beneath them.

“And the Collective?” she asked with a frown. “Voyager is full of Borg nanoprobes.”

For a moment, Control was silent. Kathryn watched it carefully, unnerved by the blankness with which it held her beautiful Seven’s face.

“They will be curious,” it said at last, and Kathryn’s stomach wrenched. “You will not succeed without alerting the Collective. But it will take them time and resources to assimilate the knowledge needed to build a functioning spore drive of their own. The technology is crude and unstable. It is unlikely they will find it worthy of such expenditures.”

Kathryn crossed her arms over her chest and looked down her nose.

“You did,” she said, her voice flat.

“My Federation did,” Control corrected with a tilt of Seven’s head. “I am a product of their failure to properly strategize and allocate resources.”

Kathryn narrowed her eyes and frowned deeper.

“How do I know you won’t join the Collective yourself?” she asked. “How do I know you won’t drag my Seven back to them?”

“You cannot,” Control replied, tilting Seven’s head the opposite direction this time. Kathryn couldn’t help the stab of disgust that lanced through her at how easy it was to tell the motion didn’t belong to Seven. “But you need only keep your promise to achieve the outcome you desire. Glenn will bring Voyager home.”

The captain tried to swallow down the surge of bile that tried to rise in her throat.

“Are you having second thoughts, Captain Janeway?” The blend of Seven’s voice and the terrifying absence of every intonation that made it hers only unsettled Kathryn further as Control focused Seven’s sharp blue eyes onto her own.

“No,” Kathryn replied immediately. She raised her eyebrows. “Airiam has killed thousands.”

Control was silent for a moment, unblinking.

“Did she?” it asked at last. Kathryn’s lips parted in surprise, but she held her tongue. “Or is she, too, a product of the Federation that made her?”

Kathryn’s face hardened.

“I know what you’re doing,” she told it, turning back to the console and locating the diagnostics for the transverse drive. “And it won’t work. I gave you my word and I intend to keep it.”

“Seven does not believe you,” Control went on, and it leaned forward almost experimentally, as though testing the restraints it had allowed the captain to place around it. “She does not believe her captain is capable of such atrocity. She believes you will attempt to save Airiam, too.”

“Seven has only known me for a short time,” Kathryn snapped, eyes scanning over the diagnostics. “I’ve sacrificed lives to save my people before. This will be no different.”

“You will damage her,” Control replied, and Kathryn’s chest tightened.

“That’s enough,” the captain bit back, her voice sharpening.

Control obliged, its gaze following her from the terminal to the spore drive operations station. For a moment Kathryn’s hands hesitated over the controls, scanning the readouts just as she had on the other screen, before she finally looked back at it.

“You’re confident the repairs Seven made to the spore drive will keep it functional long enough to get Voyager here in one piece?” she asked, one hand on her hip.

“The repairs are sufficient,” it replied. “Voyager’s replicators are more advanced and will serve to assist with the remaining repairs before opening the temporal gateway.”

Kathryn blew out a breath, trying to calm the steadily increasing rate of her heartbeat. As far as she could see–and based on what Seven had told her before she’d been overcome by Control–the spore drive was operational at 73 percent efficiency. The transverse drive was in better shape at nearly 90 percent efficiency, but rerouting its navigation control to the bridge and dumping the data core had taken its toll on Glenn’s power supplies. She stared down at the displays, her fingers trembling just above the glass.

“Captain,” Control warned from where it sat. Kathryn stiffened but did not look back. “No more hesitation.”

Kathryn’s left hand clenched into a fist and her eyes squeezed shut in one final attempt to steal her nerves.

“Activate the transverse drive.”

Kathryn’s eyes opened again.

Here goes nothing.

Her fingers slid over the screen and spun the image of the dial.

From somewhere below, Glenn’s body gave an ominous rumble. For a few wary seconds she stayed frozen in place, on edge as she felt Glenn shift in the grasp of the trees and against the battered remains of Discovery into which she was lodged. She glanced at Seven–at Control–without turning her head. It seemed unfazed by the activity.

Navigation next, Kathryn thought, her mind running through the memory of Seven’s instructions from earlier. She swiped through the terminal until the rendering of the Nexus appeared. In any other case the hundreds of colored points on the screen might be daunting–but as Voyager was within the same reality, and the same timeline, there was no need to search. She input the data, then swept it back to the command terminal screen for the transverse drive.

This time the rendering that flickered onto the screen was of Voyager–her precious, beautiful Voyager. Kathryn’s body went still as she studied the lines, scouring for any indication the vessel was not as she remembered, that in spite of the systems’ assurances, it might be the wrong Voyager. But she saw nothing out of the ordinary–nothing unfamiliar–and her heart skipped a beat behind her ribs.

They hadn’t been away that long.

But to Kathryn, just a few weeks felt like a lifetime.

And soon, the lifetime she’d expected to spend on Voyager with the others–the guilt of condemning her crew to spending sixty-some years trapped on a starship–would be nothing but another bad dream.

It was almost freeing.

“We are not so different as you might believe.”

The noises from Glenn’s lower engineering decks grew louder when Kathryn’s index finger confirmed the navigational data. She swept a strand of her red hair from in front of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear and noting the beats of sweat that had formed on her skin. She left the transverse terminal, heading for the spore drive ops station.

Her eyes paused on the Glenn’s dedication plaque when she reached it.

“If thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee.”

The feeling of dread that swelled in her gut was familiar.

I’ve done this before, she reminded herself. I can live with myself if I do it again.

She could feel Control’s eyes still watching her, still waiting to see if she’d carry through.

For Seven.

Kathryn’s hand slid upward on the screen in front of her, and the lights on Glenn’s bridge went out, replaced by thin glowing rails of amber. The sirens rang out, and the computer’s voice called the alarm.

“Black Alert.”

Kathryn jumped back from the terminal as though she’d been burned, her hands grabbing the crooked railing behind her as the vessel began to shake harder than before. The screech of metal-on-metal rattled through the hull and Glenn’s bow slipped lower in the trees, carving deeper into the ruins of its sister vessel below.

“Spore drive navigational failure,” the computer announced. “Operational efficiency falling.”

“This is expected,” Control called out calmly over the din. Kathryn tried to ignore the steadily increasing violence of the ship’s quaking. Across the windows of the bridge, amber bolts of light began to arc and flash, the branches and leaves shivering along with Glenn. Kathryn’s fingers tightened around the railing, her palms damp and slippery against the cold metal. The cables still dangling from the ceiling tiles swayed and sparked.

“Rerouting mycelial guidance system to transverse solution,” came the computer’s voice again.

The floor surged upward. The g-forces dragged Kathryn down to the deck before she could react, her knees smashing hard into the glossy black metal. Glenn twisted and groaned around them, and outside the window, ripples of blue and amber sloshed across the viewscreen and the hull. The thunder of engines came from below, drowning out the still-screaming alarms of the ship’s Black Alert. Control and Seven sat almost motionless, still restrained in the chair, as Kathryn struggled to right herself against the cacophony of sound and light.

The air became damp as the ship fell still, but thick globs of water condensed and rose upward like the rules of gravity no longer applied. The terrible screech of duritanium plating scraping against itself rang out, and when Kathryn managed to stagger back to her feet, her eyes landed on the viewscreen. The outer ring of Glenn’s saucer was spinning, an impossible blur of color and light. The vibrations that came now were gentler, more controlled, as the old ship found her bearings after so many years underwater.

Through the gaps in the leaves, Kathryn located the sky, still eerie green and heavy with cloudcover. But there were trails of smoke and fire slashing across it, just briefly visible and then vanishing as they had so many times before.

More Discoveries, Kathryn realized, her lips thinning into a tight line. More dead officers.

The amber bolts of electricity arcing across Glenn’s hull began to shoot upward, reaching through the canopy and concentrating in one location above the ship.

This is the right call.

New alerts began to flash across the spore drive terminal, a low whirr coming from the space around the bridge. Kathryn lurched forward, fingers wrapping around the edge of the display to keep herself upright as she scanned frantically over the readouts. The air on the bridge had turned noxious, and she coughed against the onslaught of all manner of overheated materials and smoke.

A flare of green light burst from the console and struck her hand, sending her slamming backward again into the railing where she managed to catch herself before losing her footing entirely. Glenn’s hull creaked audibly and the tired vessel’s bow lifted skyward. The artificial gravity systems failed. Kathryn gasped as her body became momentarily weightless.

“Emergency protocols active,” the computer said. “Crossfield tractor link engaged.”

The ship droned when the artificial gravity came back online, and Kathryn landed back on her feet with a thud. Outside the ship, neon green lightning split across the cloudcover, and the orange glow she’d first seen when Control had tried to start the engines seemed to be growing more intense. Kathryn stumbled her way to the viewscreen, leaning forward to peer out of it and see above the trees.

Just as she reached it, a thick beam of amber shot upward out from Glenn’s bow, piercing the now spiraling clouds over the forest. The lightning–still green and nearly blinding–twisted and spiraled around the amber. The bridge lights flickered, the sound of struggling, sputtering engines closing in from all sides. Kathryn’s balance wavered, and she blinked quickly against the millions of sparkling lights that were suddenly filling her vision.

I’ve seen this before.

The damp air grew cold.

A sharp ache flared at the back of her head and nausea swept over her.

This is the mycelial network.

She squeezed her eyes shut as a new image sparked forth.

A ship, like Glenn, but painted in gold. She hovered outside a strange, towering station, her angular structures pitted and scorched by mines.

Discovery.

Kathryn’s eyes blinked open long enough to spot the new image on the screen of the transverse console. Voyager was almost there.

One palm went to Kathryn’s forehead as words reached her from somewhere distant.

“15 seconds, Michael! Please!”

The voice belonged to Airiam, but the vision of her face was wrong. The plating…the uniform…they were blue and silver and white. She was behind a glass window…an airlock, it seemed. There was a woman staring, frozen, at Airiam through the window. Another behind her was injured and struggling to breathe.

“Ready your hail, Captain!” Control shouted, and Kathryn flinched.

The captain fumbled along the edge of the viewscreen terminals, gasping as she went, searching half-blind for the communications station. Her head was pounding.

Why did her legs feel so weak?

“Kathryn?”

It was Seven’s voice this time, garbled and far away. It sounded calm. She’d never heard Seven that calm.

“The nanobot spots have been relocated to retrieve Voyager, Captain,” said Control from the other side of the bridge.

“Are you alright, Kathryn?”

“You may experience some symptoms of–”

Glenn lurched sharply to port. Kathryn’s balance gave way and she fell backward. It was too fast to catch herself. White light and heat exploded where her head connected painfully with the chair behind her.

Darkness bled in from all sides, and the ringing in her ears went silent.

“Kathryn?”

The sparkles of light that had flooded Kathryn’s vision were gone. She was staring down at a table of varnished mahogany. There was a large plate of Asian cuisine in front of her.

The fork in her hand was cold.

“Are you alright, Kathryn?”

There was food in her mouth. Quickly, Kathryn swallowed it, and looked up.

Seven of Nine was gazing at her, a wrinkle of concern forming across her forehead. But there was no optical implant embedded into her brow.

“Seven?” she asked, stunned.

Seven frowned, then reached her hand across the table to lay her fingers on the captain’s wrist. Warmth radiated from the contact–warmth where there should have been the familiar sensation of metal. Kathryn looked down and gasped.

“Your hand!” she cried in alarm, the fork clattering onto her plate. “Where is your implant?” Her grey eyes snapped back up to Seven’s.

“Implant?” Seven asked, gentle, but still sounding concerned.

“Your Borg implant! The one on your hand–and over your eye!”

Seven straightened in the chair, glancing around the room for a moment before narrowing her eyes back at Kathryn. She let go of Kathryn’s hand, sweeping a loose strand of long, blonde hair from in front of her face.

“I will call for the check,” Seven said with a smile and a dip of her chin. “It seems you’re not feeling well, Kathryn.”

“What? No, Seven–” Kathryn started, but her vision began to swim again. She grabbed for the table, leaning forward, determined to keep whatever she’d just eaten contained in her stomach.

The waiter appeared, one hand landing between Kathryn’s shoulder blades in comfort. He was speaking to her, asking something about her meal and any allergies and…

The room went dark, the vague sensation of a hand landing on Kathryn’s left bicep as it happened.

Seven was sleeping.

Kathryn’s body was wound tightly around her, their legs threaded together beneath the blankets of a bed the captain didn’t recognize at all. There was a hand tucked under Kathryn’s shirt, and the feel of smooth fingertips she remembered from the last time Seven had laid them upon her. Her breathing was ragged as she lifted her own hand, carefully reaching for the hair draped over Seven’s face.

When she tucked the strands behind her ear, the dim lights in the room glinted off the optical implant beneath them.

Kathryn exhaled, relief flooding her system even as her head continued to pound.

Seven snuggled against her and mumbled unintelligibly as she slept.

Something tugged at her arm, and the peace of the moment evaporated.

She was in a classroom. A university, perhaps.

Some part of Kathryn felt different. Heavy and hollow–like everything good had been carved from within her.

“How extensive was Seven of Nine’s involvement in Unimatrix Zero?”

It was a cadet who had spoken–a young female. Her inquiry turned the hollowness into a thousand hot blades. Kathryn didn’t think the words, but she felt them as they spilled from her lips.

“I’d…prefer not to discuss Seven of Nine.”

But the images were fading. The sounds and the feelings were falling farther away.

“What is this?” Kathryn heard herself shout. “What is this!”

No one in the classroom looked up.

No one answered her.

Kathryn felt the sting of an open wound on her forehead, and the wetness that leaked down across it. She wiped it away and opened her eyes to stare at the blood on her palm.

Unfamiliar klaxons rang out while a hand held fast to Kathryn’s bicep. The captain’s vision had cleared, eyes itching and watering while she blinked now at the plated face hovering a foot or so above her own.

It was Airiam who had yanked Kathryn Janeway back to the present.

Her pulse faltered for an instant at the sight.

“You have to open the airlock!”

Airiam patted Kathryn’s cheek, not especially gently, until the memory–the hallucination–had passed.

“Seems I was right about Seven,” Airiam hissed. “Get up.”

The cybernetic officer dragged Kathryn to her feet as though she weighed nothing, then thrust her down into the chair. Her mind was still spinning and groggy as she tried to absorb what had happened. Her eyes traversed the bridge, taking note of the still-angled deck and the smoke filling the room. This time, when the quakes reached through the hull, they didn’t seem to be coming from the ship.

“You’re a fool, Janeway,” Airiam continued, smearing dirt and oil off her facial plates. She gestured with the end of a phaser to the scene outside the viewscreen. Smoke–or fog, or dust–was billowing around the window, pushed through the branches and leaves by winds that seemed to be growing stronger by the moment. “The planet was already unstable. Your little stunt seems to have moved up our deadline to departure.”

“An acceptable exchange,” Control issued in Seven’s voice from behind them. The throbbing in Kathryn’s head finally began to abate. Her focus landed first on the weapon now pointing at her, then on Airiam, who seemed less distracted by Control than frustrated.

“How did you get out of the ready room?” Kathryn demanded, fingers tightening around the ends of the armrests and hauling herself more upright in the chair.

Airiam scoffed.

“I know my ship, Captain,” she said. “Like I know you. I knew you would turn on me eventually. You always do.”

Clarity was returning, and Kathryn thought of the Airiam she’d seen in her head a few minutes before.

I saw different versions of Seven, too, she realized. And myself. I was a vice admiral. Have I been witnessing alternate timelines?

“I’m an opportunist,” Janeway replied, dismissing the thoughts, jerking her head back in the direction of Control and Seven. “And a captain with a problem that needed fixing.”

Static crackled through the overhead comm. Kathryn and Airiam glanced upward together, then back at each other. Airiam pressed the phaser against Kathryn’s forehead.

“So you locked away the one person who could’ve helped you free Seven?” Airiam demanded, the synthetic lilt deepening. The mechanical eyes flicked toward Seven of Nine’s still-seated form, where the woman’s expressionless features were watching them both in silence.

Kathryn set her jaw.

“I needed them both to believe me,” she replied.

Glenn trembled, more dust and sparks trailing down from the ceiling. Airiam’s fingers tightened around the phaser.

“And you wanted my troublesome warnings out of your ears,” Airiam snarled back.

“Your plan failed,” Kathryn spat, and she pointedly lowered her eyes to the officer’s damaged upper plating. “It was time to take matters into my own hands. And you wouldn’t have agreed.”

“With good reason,” Airiam growled.

The static crackled to life again, this time with unintelligible pieces of words thrown in.

“Voyager has located her captain,” Control said from behind them. “We are being hailed.”

Kathryn’s gaze stayed locked on Airiam. Carefully, she reached her hand upward, ever-attentive for any sign the augmented officer might decide to fire the weapon. It fell onto the dented metal of Airiam’s wrist, pressing the phaser downward. Without letting go, Kathryn leaned forward, forcing a soft smile onto her lips.

“None of us were going to get home without Voyager,” Kathryn said aloud–loud enough for Control to overhear. “You’ve already been here for four years. You told me people were dying. We couldn’t wait any longer, and you know it.”

Kathryn could see Airiam processing the words, trying to decide how to react. Her breathing quickened, the artificial eyes spinning wildly as they stayed fixed on Kathryn.

“Voyager’s here now, Airiam,” Kathryn went on. Her other hand reached for the phaser and tugged it gently from her grip. “We needed Control to get her here before we ran out of time to do it.”

Airiam glanced back at Control–at Seven of Nine. Kathryn took the opportunity to inhale one steadying breath. Guilt twisted in her throat.

“You can trust me, Airiam,” she whispered. “I’m Starfleet.”

The blue eyes landed back on Kathryn, observing her for another few wary seconds. Then, with a single, sharp nod, Airiam held out a hand. Kathryn blew out a breath and smiled, taking hold of it. Glenn’s captain pulled her back to her feet.

“We may still need its guidance to retrofit Voyager with the transverse tech,” Airiam said as she watched Kathryn holster the phaser. Her voice sounded uneasy, but Kathryn could tell her guard was falling. Her body had begun to relax.

“I will assist you,” Control replied, tilting Seven’s head.

Kathryn shivered at the sight.

I will free her, she promised herself. This will free her.

But her gut still wrenched at the very real prospect that her plan–her agreement with Control–might not be enough if Airiam fought back.

And when Seven saw what Kathryn had done…

“Captain Janeway,” Airiam called from where she was now standing by the communications terminal. Her head tipped to one side and she gestured for Kathryn to join her. “It’s time to contact your crew.”

Kathryn swallowed and then nodded, stepping up to Airiam’s side.

“Perhaps you are upset that she claims to know parts of you that you yourself do not.”

Seven’s words repeated in her head as Airiam set up the controls.

“That she believes you are preordained to do the same as she has done.”

Kathryn cleared her throat when she heard the channel open.

I’m in love with Seven of Nine.

“Commander Chakotay,” Kathryn called out across the bridge.

And this is just another measure of logic.

“This is Captain Janeway. We’ve got a hell of a story to tell.”

Chapter Text

Seven of Nine didn’t recognize this bridge.

The consoles and readouts were unlike anything she’d ever seen. There were dozens of them, arranged in a layout simultaneously Federation and something else entirely. The floors were gloss black, like Glenn. The walls were dark, lined in red tubules that pulsed with red currents of light. The ship hung at an angle against a dark, starless expanse, frost lining the edges of the viewscreen. There were punctures in the distant red flickers of failing shields–hundreds upon hundreds of them, each looking more lethal than the last.

From the ceiling, vapor drifted downward. It was the only warmth in the room.

“Hello?”

Seven’s voice echoed across the abandoned bridge, her breath condensing into wisps.

Where am I?

A flash of color sparked in front of her–blue and glowing. It drifted for a moment before her. Another appeared. The red glow in the bridge began to shift into blue as still more orbs appeared. The environment around her shimmered, as though it might be a hologram.

I am in the mycelial network, she realized. Seven stepped forward until she had crossed through the rippling wall of mycelial spores. On the other side, her vision cleared, and she turned to look back at the spores still drifting behind the threshold. Somewhere inside, she felt relief. Kathryn has activated the transverse drive.

Seven glanced around, her eyes landing on the gold dedication plaque on the bulkhead to her right. Her feet carried her toward it as if by compulsion.

U.S.S. SERAPHIS

DREADNOUGHT CLASS STARSHIP

There was no registry designation. The quotation at the bottom had been carved out of the gold and was no longer legible. Seven reached out, running her hand across it.

When her eyes landed on her fingers, she gasped and ripped them away.

They were metal.

Like Airiam’s, she realized in panic.

This time, her gaze landed on the windows. The reflection that stared back was Control’s–but in Airiam’s form. Over its heart, where the Starfleet badge had once been, lay the inverted triangle in red.

Seven inhaled, closing her eyes and reopening them.

The image didn’t change.

She exhaled, then headed for a nearby console that blinked with error alerts. It was different from the others. With shaking, metal-clad fingers, she reached down and swiped through the controls.

Overhead, the computer spoke in a voice so distorted and weak, Seven hardly heard it at all.

“Liminal drive active.”

Seven gasped and her stomach twisted.

The liminal drive is real.

As if in response, Seraphis shuddered. The deep, baritone sound of malfunctions thrummed through the ship’s duritanium bones.

“Computer,” Seven called aloud. “Scan the ship for life signs.”

The scan took longer than it should have. Seraphis’ power was failing.

“There are no life signs aboard,” the computer replied.

Seven looked down at her boots–at Airiam’s boots–no, Control’s. She laid her hands on her stomach, then her waist, then her face. She could feel them. She was alive, was she not? Why then, did Seraphis believe there were no life signs aboard?

“What year is it?” she asked the ship.

“The year is 2402,” Seraphis answered.

I am seeing beyond our reality, Seven thought. Beyond our time. But I am not here–not really. I am still on the Glenn. I am still…trapped.

“Access Federation records for Captain Kathryn Janeway,” Seven demanded, her pulse quickening as the pieces fell into place. The wall of mycelial spores a short distance away was beginning to fade.

Seraphis’ systems worked slowly. Her hull groaned and snapped as some kind of debris broke through another layer of shields. Pieces of her outer plating peeled away from her frame, spiraling out into the void.

“There are no Federation records of any personnel by that name.”

“Check for Seven of Nine. Annika Hansen!” Seven shouted, grabbing onto the console as the ship tilted.

The computer chimed in error a few moments later.

“There are no Federation records of any personnel by those names,” it said again.

Around her, the environment in which Seven stood, too, was fading.

“Captain Airiam!” she cried. Everything in her vision was becoming transparent, bleeding back into the faint form of USS Glenn and of Kathryn desperately clinging to a terminal on her bridge. “Search for Captain Airiam!”

This time, Seraphis worked quickly.

“Lieutenant Commander Airiam. Spore Drive Operations Officer. Deceased, 2258.”

The air around Seven grew damp, but as she started to call out another command, Seraphis pitched to port, sending her stumbling sideways. Gasping, she shoved herself up off the nearest station with a drone of motorized components that didn’t belong to her.

“Computer!” she called out, coughing against the air that grew steadily more rancid and cold. “What happened to Starfleet? What happened to the Federation after Airiam died?”

Seraphis’ response was unintelligible. It faded away as Seven came back to herself–back to the form still restrained in the chair, and the one still inhabited by Control. She tried to move her hands against the restraints–tried to speak aloud–but Control’s will still supplanted her own.

“You’re a fool, Janeway.”

It was Airiam’s voice. She was dragging Kathryn upright, then throwing her back down into a chair. There was a weapon in her hand.

Seven’s mind struggled against the entity still occupying her cortical node. Her view was blurred again and still tinted with red. Her head felt off-balance, her organic and Borg parts warring more and more fiercely with one another the longer Control’s influence remained. She tried again to move her arms, her hands, her head…anything.

“I knew you would turn on me eventually,” Seven heard Airiam say. She and Kathryn were arguing. She still had the gun.

“I needed them both to believe me,” Kathryn said.

Seven thought she’d misheard. The sound of their voices was muddled behind the constant pressure Control was exerting against her. Some of the conversation was lost to the painful ringing in her ears.

But the truth of what the captain had said settled in a place beyond even the reach of Control. It only served to support Seven’s earlier theory.

Kathryn still intends to betray her.

Airiam was sheathing her weapon.

She will be the architect of the reality I witnessed on Seraphis!

As Seven watched, Kathryn was rising from the chair. She was heading for the communications terminal to stand beside Airiam. Then her voice broke through the ringing in her ears and her face through the haze of red at the edges of Seven’s vision.

Commander Chakotay was speaking this time, responding to Voyager’s captain with expletive-laced shouts and demands for proof of identity. Then she heard Tuvok, and Tom Paris and the sharp-spoken notes of a disgruntled half-Klingon from deep in Voyager’s engineering bay.

Seven wasn’t certain how much time was passing–it all seemed distorted and warped by Control. She was vaguely aware of one person standing before her while others appeared on Glenn’s bridge. Control tilted Seven’s head and made her eyes peruse Airiam’s, the blue hue of the mechanical irises reaching for something the longer they stared.

“I am here,” Seven pleaded against Control’s ongoing suppression, desperate for Airiam–for anyone–to know. But her mouth didn’t move. No sound came from her throat.

I must break free, she thought. I must stop Kathryn.

In the background Tuvok and Kathryn were working at one of the consoles. The lights on the bridge flashed back to life, a pulse of energy erupting through the ship’s systems–and through Seven’s implants. She flinched at the sharp, stabbing heat but redoubled her efforts to break through Control’s hold on her.

“I am here!”

Before her, Airiam blinked and her head jerked backward.

“Seven?” she asked. 

With a jolt to her system that felt like a live wire had just touched her skin, Seven realized she’d spoken aloud. 

“Seven of Nine?” Airiam asked again, crouching down to her level but maintaining a substantial distance between them.

“I–” Seven tried to speak again.

Whatever had cost Control its authority had gone. Seven felt its weight slam down onto her like a guillotine. Its presence surrounded her, more ominous than before, compressing every bit of strength she had found just seconds earlier into something small and insignificant and powerless. She saw Airiam lurch upright and take two steps back, dark lips hanging open just a bit in surprise as she cast a glance to the still-occupied Kathryn.

“Captain Janeway!” Seven heard Airiam shout.

But the sounds…the room…the steady rumble of the deck that meant Glenn’s engines were sputtering back to life…they were fading. Fatigue crept through her organic muscles, her body taking on the unnatural stillness of Control.

“Do not challenge me again.”

Control’s words were not audible–they struck Seven from within, as they had in the data core. She felt heat in her forehead, behind her optical implant. Red bloomed at the edges of her vision and blurred the distant form of Airiam hurrying to Kathryn’s side, still shouting the captain’s name. Seven concentrated–if she could just speak once more…just one more time…maybe she could warn Airiam what Kathryn planned to do. Maybe she could convince Kathryn to change course. Maybe she could–

“Seven?”

There was dark cherry wainscoting lining the bottom third of the bedroom walls. The paint on the rest was tan, muted and comforting under the soft glow of a lamp on the nightstand. Kathryn’s voice sounded different–older, perhaps–when she said Seven’s name. Slowly, Seven became aware of the blankets sliding across her bare skin, and the single silver pip folded into her palm. As she opened it, the light glinted off the metal and caught against a picture frame mounted to the wall at the foot of the bed.

In the picture, she was standing beside Kathryn at the railing of a balcony.

“What’re you doing with that old thing?”

Only when Kathryn’s hand slid onto her shoulder did Seven realize she was sitting upright. It squeezed gently at the reinforced bone of her collar, thumb rolling deep against the muscle at the base of her neck. The touch was familiar, as though Kathryn had done this for her hundreds of times, and yet…

Seven closed her eyes and hmmed.

Warm lips landed against the side of her neck, and then Kathryn’s breath was ghosting the shell of her ear.

“I didn’t even realize you’d kept it,” Kathryn went on. Seven felt the way her lips curved into a smile as her tongue darted out and teeth closed gently on Seven’s skin. Goosebumps rose on her flesh and she gasped, the pip tumbling to the carpet as she leaned instinctively into Kathryn’s touch. The captain chuckled, low and slow, then pressed her bare chest to Seven’s naked back. Her legs slipped around Seven’s hips, her other hand rounding her stomach and sliding through the neatly trimmed curls and into the silky warmth below.

It is happening again, Seven thought, her mind fuzzy and distracted by Kathryn’s delicate touch at her center. Her eyes caught the glow of two moons and the faint green haze shining in through the bedroom window. Another timeline…another reality…but this one…it feels like a memory.

Seven angled her head and brought her hand behind Kathryn’s, directing their mouths together. Though she had only been with Kathryn once, this kiss felt well-practiced, the motions of Kathryn’s fingers inside her second-nature, the heat of their skin rising in tandem until their bodies seemed to blend into one.

Seven cried out and rolled as she came, pinning Kathryn beneath her, lips diving down to suck at the throbbing pulse point on the captain’s throat. The hair she twisted into her fist was long and greying, the skin under her tongue not quite as smooth as it had once been.

Kathryn’s fingernails clawed at the metal implants on Seven’s back, and then she thrust her hips upward. The hand Seven skimmed across her navel moved without thought, the way she eased into Kathryn as instinctive as each ragged rush of air in and out of her lungs. The captain groaned and half-chuckled, eyes closing in the midst of a smile that Seven somehow knew meant that they’d done this a hundred times before.

The headboard bumped softly against the wall to the rhythm of bedsprings, the glass shade on the lamp rattling gently every few seconds or so. By the time Kathryn was spent, Seven’s arms were around her, and the gleam of the moons were the only thing lighting the room. Kathryn breathed easy against her, nestled into her chest, Seven’s own greying hair splayed out on the disheveled pillows beneath them.

For some time, Seven lay there awake, her mind reeling and trying to understand where she was or how much time would be passing outside. Even as sleep began to tug at her, she could still feel Control’s distant presence, the reminder that this Seven was living a life she and her Kathryn had not–a life on this planet untainted by Airiam and the Grand Marshal’s tampering.

They were safe. They were together.

Seven squeezed her eyes shut, trying and failing to will away the tears that spilled down her cheeks.

I understand, Kathryn, she thought. Now I understand why we would do anything.

Chapter Text

USS Voyager wobbled a bit in the air as her landing gear emerged, the rush of her thrusters blasting groups of leaves off the trees still holding Glenn and Discovery as she descended to the ground below. Kathryn watched the sight through the window of spore engineering until her beloved vessel disappeared. The only indication she had landed came in the thick cloud of dust and debris that filtered up into the air a minute or so later. It was quickly dispersed by another rush of wind from a storm system that had swept across the planet’s surface not long after Glenn’s tractor link had hauled Voyager through the mycelial network. The weather’s abrupt shift left Kathryn unsettled–perhaps even more so than the knowledge that she’d left Seven and Control on the bridge in the care of Tuvok and a four-man security detail.

Nearby, Airiam and B’Elanna were fussing with a spore canister, Harry Kim standing between them holding a tangle of wiring and looking more uncomfortable than Kathryn had ever seen him before.

“Fungus,” B’Elanna snorted, shaking her head as Airiam tried to explain for at least the third time why the engineer’s latest solution wasn’t plausible. “Your ship runs on fungus and you have the nerve to tell me my ideas won’t work?”

“It’s not a matter of functionality but a matter of safety,” Airiam fired back, but her tone was weary and fatigued.

“Ha!” B’Elanna barked, shaking her head. “Because safety is obviously your Federation’s top priority.”

“Your Federation thinks small,” Airiam snapped, and Kathryn thought she saw the last of her patience visibly depart. “With innovation comes risk.”

B’Elanna bristled, and Harry Kim took two nervous steps backward.

“Your Federation got you stuck on an uninhabited rock for four years until mine showed up to haul your cybernetic ass out of a tree!”

“PetaQ,” Airiam spat back in Klingon, tilting her head as B’Elanna gasped at the insult. “Your comrade’s life is at stake and you’d prefer to trade barbs?”

“Why, you plate-faced miscr–”

“That’s enough, Lieutenant,” Kathryn interjected, stepping between them and putting her hand against B’Elanna’s collarbone. She heard Harry blow out a breath in relief. “We need to get this drive up and running. Properly.” She fixed the pair of them with equally unimpressed glares, and then moved her hand back only to jab an index finger into B’Elanna’s chest. “And with all…bodily components…intact.”

B’Elanna shot Airiam another dirty look but fell mercifully silent as the foreign officer’s dark lips tilted up into a barely-detectable, lopsided smirk. Kathryn frowned at the quiet goading and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Chakotay to Captain Janeway.”

Kathryn’s comm badge crackled as her first officer’s voice came through. She acknowledged it as Airiam shoved another piece of the spore drive tech into B’Elanna’s hands. Harry held out the wires and B’Elanna snatched them with an irritated huff.

“Go ahead Commander,” Kathryn called back into the comm, a headache beginning to prickle at the back of her neck.

“We’ve managed to set Voyager down, but it’s pretty bad out here,” Chakotay said. “Our sensors are indicating the storm is intensifying, and we’re picking up on some geological instabilities in the bedrock. We may not have much time to get that lug in the air.”

Kathryn’s gaze returned to the window. The green hue of the planet’s atmosphere had darkened considerably in just a few minutes. The unsettled feeling from before spiked.

“Acknowledged,” she told Chakotay, rubbing the back of her neck. “We could use some more free-thinkers from Engineering. Send whoever you can spare. And the Doctor,” she added as an afterthought.

“Aye Captain,” Chakotay replied, and the comm crackled out.

Kathryn turned back toward the others.

“Harry,” she said, and the ensign’s eyes widened in concern once she looked at him. Kathryn beckoned him over, laying a hand on his shoulder and leading him away from the still-bickering women. “Not long ago you approached me about a promotion,” Kathryn said, raising an eyebrow. “And I told you there would come a time when you’d have a chance to earn it.”

“Yes Captain,” Harry said, sounding a bit incredulous as he nodded. “I remember.”

“Good,” Kathryn replied, keeping her voice low. “Because we have one shot at this plan of ours. One shot to get Voyager home.”

“One shot to save Seven of Nine,” Harry added with a grim note to his tone.

Kathryn’s brows flashed upward and she frowned, nodding down at the glossy black deck. Try as she might to focus only on Voyager–to not to think about Seven and whether Control would keep its word and take Airiam instead–the man’s words struck a place inside her more painful than anything she’d experienced in all her years in Starfleet. She thought of the scene in the mycelial network–the memory of Admiral Janeway and her diminutive plea to speak nothing of Seven of Nine. Outside, the scraping of branches against the outer hull grew louder as the wind continued to pick up speed.

“That too,” Kathryn agreed, forcing a smile to her face. She gave Harry’s shoulder a squeeze. “But in order to do that,” she went on in nearly a whisper, halting and pivoting them so they could look together at B’Elanna and Airiam now struggling to reset the spore drive, “I need someone to keep Lieutenant Torres alive long enough for Captain Airiam to get Glenn into orbit.”

Harry winced, shaking his head.

“They’ve been like this for three hours, Captain,” he said.

“I’m sure you can handle it Harry,” Kathryn suggested.

Harry Kim’s body went stiff, and then he stared at Kathryn Janeway in shock.

“Me?” he sputtered. “Captain–you’re not seriously going to leave me alone with–”

“We need these two to work together,” Kathryn interrupted. “And you’re a good mediator.” 

Harry’s face went pale, then slightly green, his expression morphing into something twisted by nausea which prompted Kathryn to take a step back out of the line of potential fire.

“Your crew is counting on you, Harry,” Kathryn encouraged, and though she tried to sound inspiring, the deep-seated dread was hard to conceal. “Whatever you need to do to keep Lieutenant Torres in line, you do it–and that promotion’s yours. Scout’s honor.”

For a few more seconds, Harry looked unenthused, his eyes darting between Kathryn and Airiam and B’Elanna. By the time they landed back on Kathryn, though, he had pulled himself together and puffed up.

“I’ll do what I can, Captain,” he assured her, brows forming into a stern, determined line. Kathryn gave him a reassuring slap on the back of the shoulder and grinned.

“That’s that spirit Harry,” she said, then turned back to B’Elanna and Airiam. Kathryn frowned, trying to stifle her nerves as Harry returned to B’Elanna’s side. “Airaim–a word?”

Airiam’s body pivoted with a hum, and she thrummed over to stand before Kathryn a moment later. She wiped grit from her gloves and then laid expectant, mechanical blue eyes on Kathryn’s face.

“How long ‘til we can get this ship in the air?” Kathryn asked.

Airiam glanced at the mess of the spore drive station and the dilapidated navigation cube–and then at Harry and B’Elanna.

“It will be some time, Captain Janeway,” she said with a sigh. “Even without the…impediments.”

“I have reinforcements on their way,” Kathryn replied, doing her best to ignore the remark. “And I’ve charged Harry with keeping Lieutenant Torres in-check in the meantime.”

“A few hours, then,” Airiam answered, seeming more satisfied.

“I’ve also called for my EMH to come on board. I’d like you to speak with him about my…condition. I expect we’ll see similar symptoms in other members of the crew once we leave the planet’s surface.”

“A reasonable assumption,” Airiam said with a nod. “I will provide him with our research and protocols for treatment.”

As Kathryn studied the strange prosthetics of her face, a knot formed in her stomach. In another life, she could almost see Airiam as a part of the Voyager crew–a dedicated, integral component working alongside Seven of Nine for the long journey home. She could imagine the prickly banter that might live on between her and B’Elanna, and hear the desperate catalog of excuses she’d rattle off to Tom Paris to avoid another Captain Proton adventure. She could picture Airiam’s dry indignation when the Doctor fussed over augmentations he was certain were under-maintained, and the look on Harry Kim’s face the first time he made a joke that didn’t quite land with her.

The smile that crept onto Kathryn’s lips was small and short-lived. This Airiam would never walk Voyager’s corridors. There would be no scientific perusal of Neelix’s questionable meals in the mess hall. No day when she settled into the sense of belonging cultivated as much by shared hardship as by need.

And Kathryn would shoulder it.

For her crew.

And for Seven.

She’d do anything for Seven of Nine.

For a moment Kathryn hesitated to speak–to continue like nothing was wrong–the guilt sweeping back over her and gnawing more painfully than ever before.

“I’d also like you to take a look at his mobile emitter while he’s here,” she said after clearing her throat. “If there’s a way we could replicate it…I’m hopeful Control might consider an offer for a holographic form instead of a physical one.”

It was an option Kathryn had only recently considered–maybe one she thought might solve the harsh moral dilemma still running on repeat through her mind.

“It will not,” said Airiam, her words as emotionless as her expression.

“That might change when it sees the Doctor for itself,” Kathryn argued.

“It wants me, Captain.”

The words landed harder than Kathryn had expected, warped into a bludgeon of remorse that almost let the truth spill from her lips.

“It’s always wanted me,” Airiam added, glancing over her shoulder as if to check if the others were listening. Kathryn inhaled slowly, deeply, willing her poise to hold steady.

“It seems it prefers Seven,” she replied carefully.

Airiam frowned.

“It’s an opportunist,” she said, holding Kathryn’s gaze, “with a problem that needs fixing.”

The sound of her own words being repeated back to her sent another surge of guilt and anxiety up Kathryn’s spine. Her eyes stayed fixed on the cybernetic captain, searching for clues to what she was thinking.

Did Airiam know what Kathryn planned to do?

And then, an even more sickening possibility brewed.

Had she already seen this timeline? This reality?

Had Airiam already seen Kathryn hand her over to Control?

Kathryn ducked her eyes away to conceal the emerging panic, scanning the gloss black of the floor.

What will she do if she has?

Janeway’s grey eyes lifted.

“I’d like you to look at it anyway,” she declared. “If you think it can be done, I’ll worry about the negotiations.”

Airiam studied Kathryn for a moment or two longer, inclining her head in a slow nod of assent. Glenn shifted, more jarring this time, as the earth grew more ornery beneath the trees holding her in place. Kathryn tried her best to ignore it–the possibility that the storm and the planet might swallow them all before they’d broken Glenn loose.

That Airiam’s self-made calamity of time and reality might still refuse to let the weary, overclocked vessel and her fate-altering spore drive go free.

That Voyager might yet still be doomed to persist for sixty more years between stars.

“Please alert me when he has arrived, Captain Janeway,” Airiam said, oblivious to Kathryn’s creeping, intensifying dread. The augmentations purred as she turned and started to move back toward the others.

“Airiam?” Kathryn called, and she stopped.

Airiam waited in silence, only the faint downward curve of her lips giving her emotions away.

“I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye,” Kathryn began, rubbing wrinkles into her forehead while she tried to form words. “But I want you to know that…like you…I’m trying to protect my people.”

The frown lifted, a soft smile rising in its place.

“Of that I have no doubt, Kathryn.”

Hesitation clawed her voice into silence for another few seconds thereafter as Kathryn collected herself and looked over Airiam’s shoulder at Harry and B’Elanna.

“Was Seven…” she started, her words cracking briefly as she tried to speak Seven’s name. She sucked in a breath to calm her racing heart. “Was Seven telling the truth about the liminal drive? Does it exist?”

This time it was Airiam’s turn to inhale, the rattle of half-augmented lungs audible even above the hum of Glenn’s struggling engines.

“It will.”

Kathryn’s eyes closed as her heart sank into her stomach.

“What will it do to us?” she whispered.

“I’ve never encountered that reality,” Airiam answered. “And I hope I never do.”

“How do we stop it?”

As Airiam faltered, Kathryn’s mind resurrected the timeline–the memory–of another Airiam in another distant place she'd witnessed for barely an instant when the other captain had ripped her back out of the mycelial network.

“You have to open the airlock!”

Kathryn shook her head to clear it. Airiam watched her, like she knew something Kathryn did not–like whatever it was might be so monumental it could not be properly articulated. But, yet, the words she chose were simple.

They were effective.

And they left Kathryn with something much worse than the creeping dread from before.

Airiam sighed, then reached into her pocket to retrieve a small metallic device of similar size to the Doctor’s mobile emitter. She collected Kathryn’s hand and folded it into her palm.

“By stopping Control,” Airiam said as she met Kathryn’s eye.

And as Kathryn opened her hand and regarded the object within it, she wondered if Airiam might already know the cost Voyager’s captain was willing to bear.

Chapter Text