Flight

(in which Seven walks away, again)

By jeny_nour

The Captain had raised Seven that evening in astrometrics and

requested her presence in her quarters, appealing to the Borg's

superior vision in helping to find her missing pip. And that being the

work of a moment the Borg turned to go.

Janeway stood, feet wide, she spread her hands, "Stay. Please."

But once again the Borg, clad in blue this time, Janeway's favorite,

simply delivered another haughty stare, "I am not finished with

today's tasks." She noticed Janeway's look of disappointment. And

judged there was more to be said, but all that came out was: "In

astrometrics." And she turned to leave.

But this time the Captain hurried ahead of her, slipped in front of

Seven, caught the door just before it opened and locked it behind them.

"Do I have to say that's an order, Seven?"

Seven, arms crossed, reflected on this directive. Then she returned to

the captain's desk and leaned there, hands now behind her, facing

Kathryn, because of the directive, and the feeling that had arose as

she stood so near, adjusting that pip, she felt strangely compelled to

choose this stance.

"I'm sorry, Seven. I— you don't know what you do to me." She searched

the Borg's eyes, "Do you?"

"No. I do not. And I do not think you are sorry—exactly."

The Captain pondered Seven's observation, and her own next move,

extended a hand, "Truce?" She watched Seven consider her hand, a grim smile

at the corners of her mouth.

As if they were magnets, Janeway walked toward Seven and risked drawing her

into her own arms.

Slowly, Seven turned the Captain around until she was facing her desk,

unzipped her trousers, and unhurriedly slipped her had in as she

inhaled the scent at the Captain's neck, "I want you to be— fulfilled."

"I know," The Captain arched her back, moaning, "I know."

"No, not want, really." Seven's breath in the Captain's ear, "I am

just — uncertain. A part of me finds I— love you, Kathryn."

"At this moment, I don't want you to love me, Seven. Though we may

well be on that vary road." The Captain leaned into her, gritted her

teeth, fingers reaching deep, she hissed, "I want you to fuck me."

"Yet, I judge that I— do love you."

The Captain thought: Can I believe her? She let loose a ragged breath,

ready to scream. "No. You don't. Not yet." Seven's hand moved quicker,

harder. Sure.

"I do."

"No. No, you don't." Then The Captain came, with Seven's hand moving

deep inside her.

They watched each other's faces reflected in two sets of blue eyes,

still panting.

Seven smiled, sad, touched the Captain's heart with just one

fingertip, spoke to their reflections, low, a secret, "Just because I

am unfamiliar with this terrain," she reached to re-straighten that

pip, her knuckles lingering at the captain's jaw line, "Does not mean

I can not be shown the way."

She moved to unlock the door and, once again, she walked out.