Perfection

(in which Seven breaks, and decides to enter)

By jeny_nour

Once she had recovered from her failed cortical node, Seven found it

hard to spend time in her alcove for regeneration.

Nightly she roamed the ship's decks and corridors, restless. Unable to

shake the one phrase echoing in her feverish mind: "When we get to

Earth, I'll take you there."

Seven replayed in her own mind the husky tone and the look on the

Captain's face, how it lit up at the words, while her hand ran down

and back the length of her thigh. A thigh Seven had come to realize

was one she too longed to caress.

At the Captain's door Seven looked both left then right, Unsure, but

unable to suppress the need to do this. She inhaled to calm her

herself. With her Borg hand she manually cracked opened the door to

the Captain's quarters. She slid in and let the door silently close

behind her.

In the dim light she saw the Captain in bed. Seven moved forward in a

state of anxious suspense, nerves stretched taut like the canvas on a

frame in Leonardo's workshop. A most disturbing sensation. At the

foot of Kathryn's bed Seven reached down for the silk dressing gown

and brought the soft wrap to her lips, inhaling its scent. She moved

closer.

Gazing down on the woman who filled her every thought, a surprised

look came to Seven's face. She had not expected to find Kathryn on her

back, arms flung over her head and delicately crossed at the wrists.

A delicious shudder shook the Borg and left her covering her mouth.

Frozen. At the sight of Kathryn sleeping in this position, Seven had

uttered an involuntary moan of longing.

The Captain stirred, and then opened her eyes to find Seven in her

quarters. "Seven?"

She attempted to rise up on her elbow, but the Borg restrained her, a

soft hand on Kathryn's shoulder, "Please. Do not rise on my account."

It was then that Kathryn noticed the slip of soft pink in Seven's hand.

"Do you need something, Seven? Are you alright?"

"My only need is to— see you." The Borg let slip the dressing gown and

it pooled at her feet, only the tie remained in her hand. "Please.

Return yourself to your previous position. It was— quite pleasing to me."

The Captain smiled, "It is quite late, Seven. Were you having trouble

regenerating?"

"I do not wish to speak of me. I have been the center of your

attention for too long recently. Please." The captain studied the

Borg's face in the dimness, a quick look at the tie in her hand. Then

she smiled that smile again, the one that seemed to creep in every

time her eyes fell on this lovely creature.

"Well, we have all night, what is it you have in mind?" Slowly she

laid back, her arms positioned over her head, hands delicately crossed

at the wrists.

The Borg smiled and twined the tie in her hands.

"Perfection, Captain. Perfection."