DISCLAIMER: Jungian consciousness yes. Fiscal ownership no. Storytelling tradition yes. Television rights no.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Another Very, Very Short Turbolift Scene
The lift door opened and B'Elanna peered down.
"How did you managed that?" There was awe in her voice.
Seven of Nine looked up and gave her a cross answer. "I am efficient," she said peevishly. She had stopped her fall through the floor at almost bosom height. Her arms were crossed in front of her, acting as a barrier to more impromptu travel. She was uncomfortable, unhurt, but stable. Then she complained. "My feet are dangling."
B'Elanna's expression softened. She looked back at the other engineers who had helped her to pry the door open. "Give us a moment, will you?" Then the Klingon leapt down until she was crouching in front of the beautiful ex-drone.
B'Elanna decided just to do it. After all, how often did one get an opportunity like this. It might be her only shot.
The half-Klingon leaned in quickly. A part of her noted the raised eyebrows, the change in Seven of Nine's scent and heartbeat. She disregarded that natural input enough to keep focus on her intent. She pressed her lips against Seven's, felt that stunned hesitation and then a gathering speed that made her pulse thunder.
It was hard to pull back.
She stared into glazed, vulnerable blue eyes. "Don't worry. I'll get you out of here."
Seven of Nine said for an entirely different reason than she might have meant earlier. "Hurry."
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