Diablo's

(in which games are played, and B'Elanna makes a cameo)

By jeny_nour

The striking woman slips through the holodeck's leather padded door,

smells the familiar tang of liquor, and the unfamiliar odor of

cigarette smoke. In the dimness, several eyes instinctively inspect

the new arrival.

Seven's creation: Diablo's, a women's bar, no classy Sandrine's here.

This is circa 1980's.

Seven waves from one of the booths, who is that- Oh my gods, B'Elanna?

Seven scoots over in the booth, commands, "Shove it, Spike. This is

Kathy. I told you about her."

Spike stares daggers at `Kathy', till Seven grabs the Captain's hand,

"Come. Dance with me."

`Kathy' ponders the feelings rising here: Dancing with Seven is the

prequel to sex. The lights, the drinks, the pulse. The starter

course; but she follows her love, and she dances, at this point not

caring what kind of public spectacle she creates, even in front of

`Spike'.

Kathryn slips her hand to the small of Seven's back, dips her toward

the floor, blonde hair dangling, back arched, face multi-colored in

the flashing lights.

Just as quick, she draws her upright, breathless, kisses her. One

more single spin, then lets her hand slip from Seven's, goes walking

off the floor on the last beat of the song. `That'll teach her. And

her pesky little friend, Spike, too.'

Seven only feels the welling of desire there on the dance floor she's

been abandoned on. Those eyes, they long to hold that soul in her

keep. Kathryn's hips, that tango-salsa move, making Seven wet just

pondering how soon she can get this evening to end.

Spike will fume, smelling of too many beers, she'll try cutting in

again. Look her dead in the eye and shout it, for both of them, loud

over the music; "No, Spike. Not this time."

"Is it this smoke, Kathy? I will return. There is something wrong with

my Corti- my contacts." The girl rises, Spike, following Seven to the

Ladies.

The sinks are deep, set in wide cabinets, the lighting muted, more so

than Seven expected. She finds she cannot lean close enough over the

sink to see in the mirror. The smoke has taken its unexpected toll.

"Damn," leaning up on her toes she tries getting closer. Spike comes

out of a stall and stands, staring in the mirror. Then she steps

toward Seven, and reaching down into the inside leg of one of her

boots she comes up with a cosmetics compact. A flat round one, empty

of powder, so it's only the mirror left inside it, hands it over, and

watches.

"Thank you." Seven says.

"That broad has it bad for you."

Seven smiles at how transparent they are, no matter the century.

"Maybe. I- am not sure."

"She's a beauty."

"Yes. She is something." Seven agrees, still feeling the dance floor

kiss from earlier.

Through the bathroom mirror their eyes meet and before Spike breaks

the eye-contact she warns, "You tell anyone where you got that compact

and I'll kick your beautiful little ass."

Some things never change.