MIND

by jeny_nour

Now is a slow time for Voyager. The Doctor has restored B'Elanna and

the Captain, as well as Tuvok, to health after the trials on the Borg

Cube and on Unimatrix-0.

Liberty has been piped and only a skeleton crew remains on board

under Janeway. What with the removal of the Borg hardware, and the

residual soreness from the spinal clamps, she is more than happy to

remain aboard with Nelix, the Doctor and Seven while the rest of the

crew explore the planet they have stopped at for R & R.

For Janeway something seems askew. Not a thing she can quite put a

finger on. Not something she can define or get a grip on. Perhaps it

is not the discomfort of the removed hardware as much as the lingering

effect of the mind-meld Tuvok preformed.

Janeway's thoughts are now filled with unbidden scenarios of Seven. Or

is it simply the memory of sickbay and Seven's hand reaching out for

the Captain's arm? She worries that words won't suffice now that she

finds herself once again at the door to Astrometrics.

"I believe we have something to discuss."

"Yes?"

Janeway leans on the console and stifles a groan, "I'm not sure where

to begin. I've been— receiving images."

"Receiving, Captain?"

"Yes. In my mind's eye. Not ones of my own making. It's a bit,

unsettling, frankly. I keep seeing you— and me."

"Seeing us?" The Borg's eyes come away from her work to search the

Captain's face. "Together?"

Janeway exhales and plunges right in, "We're kissing. That is, you

reach for me and kiss me." She paused, "Long and lingering. I seem to

be picking up on your thoughts. I believe it's from the mind-meld."

Seven's hand nervously reached to touch her ocular implant, which is

there, unlike on Unimatrix-0. The Captain continues, "Ever since these

visions I've been hesitant to join you here."

"That is understandable."

"But we do need— something— to clear the air."

"To what end, Captain?"

Kathryn notices then that there are no protestations. No denials. She

makes a point of instigating direct eye-contact with Seven, "Since

your— our— the kiss, I've been walking around as though I have no

hands. Tongue-tied, scarcely inhaling in your presence."

"I see."

"I've stopped being myself, Seven."

Nelix continued stirring his stew, "Well, there are several words and

phrases that can have multiple meanings, words that, can't, or rather

shouldn't be taken literally, Seven." he explained his views on the

topic she had brought up after trouncing him once again at Kotis Kot.

"'Not being yourself" is one of those phrases."

The Borg pondered her own argument for textualism, the theory of

textual interpretation according to which the meaning of a word is

fixed by the text itself and the linguistic conventions governing it.

Saying only what was meant. It was her idea of perfection. "I am

referring to the concept that is opposed to intentionalism, which

claims that the meaning of a word is fixed by the intentions of its

speaker."

"Intentional or not, meaning is based on context, or even subtext.

That's the beauty of languages. But forgive me, to speak

`metaphorically, this is a bit above my head. Perhaps the Doctor, or

the Captain can make a better argument than I have." He looked at her

beautiful, yet puzzled expression, saw the quite rise of her chest,

and the tightening of her jaw and felt the need to try for clarity

again. "Consider the word, er- ravishing."

"Ravishing."

"Yes, as in `stunningly beautiful'." Nelix busied himself with the

fire under the pot, hoping he wasn't being too forward. "Well, um,

that is, if that was my intention, in using that word." He held up a

dripping spoon, "Ravishing can also mean enchanting: or held

spellbound, or heavens forbid, it can even mean um, uh," his whiskers

trembled, he grew red near the ears, "—the act of raping. Depending of

course on the speaker's intention. Which is my point, you see?"

Seven's head tilted, she blinked. Her mind suddenly no longer on her

theory. "Ravishing." She repeated, "Yes, I see."

(to be continued...)