DISCLAIMER: Donít own Star Trek: Voyager. Donít own the characters. Donít own Macbeth, for that matter. Just borrowing. No money involved.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

The Story That Dare Not Speak Its Name
By Jillo

 

Act V, Scene i—Walkin' after Midnight

"Tuvok, we've been at this for hours now, and I've seen no evidence of the Commander's sleep-walking. If you're so worried about her, why don't you just bring her to Sickbay?" The Doctor and Tuvok had just spent the better part of a third consecutive night hanging out in the hall near the Captain's quarters. Tuvok needed to confirm with another witness Seven of Nine's bizarre Gamma shift meanderings, which he'd witnessed, and the EMH was there to treat her if she was, indeed, demonstrating symptoms of an illness.

"I am not ready to confront the Commander yet, nor to alert her or the Captain to my investigations. To suggest that she report to Sickbay for treatment for somnambulism would be to reveal that I have been observing her," Tuvok replied.

"I see," the Doctor nodded. "Has she said or done anything while sleep-walking?"

"You may observe for yourself, Doctor," said Tuvok as the door to the Captain's quarters slid open and Seven walked through it.

Her eyes were open, but it was clear to both men immediately that she was not sensible of her surroundings. Rather, they were turned upon some inner vision, and then she began staring at her Borg-supplied left hand, turning it and looking at it from every angle.

"Why is she staring at her hand?" whispered the Doctor.

"This is her wonted action these past three nights, Doctor," replied Tuvok. "I have observed her look at her Borg hand for as much as a quarter of an hour at a time."

"I cannot get it out!" Seven cried in exasperation, staring at her implant-adorned hand.

"What's that she's saying?" asked the EMH.

"I do not know what she means, Doctor," said Tuvok. "We shall have to wait for more."

"Desist from clogging my implants!" Seven demanded. "Desist, I say! I shall never get this out! It is time! What? A Klingon and so frightened? No one shall question our power! But how could I have known the old girl would have so much fight in her?" At this point she had stopped staring at her hand and had raised her eyes, as if addressing someone in front of her.

"What do you make of that, Tuvok?" asked the Doctor with a knowing look.

Tuvok held up his hand to silence the EMH. Seven was speaking again.

"Voyager had a captain. Where is she now? What, will my implants never be cleared? No more of this, B'Elanna! You will ruin us both with your carrying on so!"

The Doctor again turned to Tuvok. "How did she know that Captain Janeway had put up a fight?"

"Indeed," replied Tuvok. "She speaks of things of which she should have no knowledge."

"And still my implants are clogged with blood! All the tools in Engineering will not clear these wretched implants. Oh! Targ balls!" Seven swore as she shook her left hand convulsively.

"Well!" exclaimed the Doctor, "I certainly never taught her that kind of language when she was under my tutelage. Hmmphh! I can see that Captain Torres's influence has been detrimental in more ways than one!"

Tuvok's expressive eyebrow shot up. "Indeed, Doctor," he observed dryly, "We shall undertake the rehabilitation of her manners while she spends the rest of our journey in the brig."

"Well," said a slightly chagrined EMH, "I simply think that such language is never necessary. Captain Janeway would have been hor—."

The Doctor's protestation was interrupted by Seven as she spoke again in her sleep.

"Get in the sonic shower! Put this nightgown on, and go to bed! I tell you, beloved, Tom is dead. He was incinerated in the explosion of the Delta Flyer! He cannot reassemble his atoms from the vacuum of space!"

"I've heard enough!" said the Doctor.

"Let us to bed, beloved. Give me your hand. What's done is done. We cannot bring the dead that we have sent on back to us."

Still shaking her left hand and staring at it in frustration, Seven of Nine turned and went back into the Captain's quarters.

"You say she has done this now three nights running?" the Doctor asked, turning to Tuvok.

"Yes, Doctor. Perhaps it would be wise to keep her under constant surveillance."

"Hmmm," agreed the EMH. "She has a troubled conscience. I suggest a suicide watch. Why not arrest her and place her in protective custody?"

"As I have said, I do not wish to alert Captain Torres to our suspicions. I have been in touch with Lieutenant Chakotay. He is preparing his attack. We will not act until he is ready."

"Well, morale is at an all-time low. I hope he decides that he's ready soon. I've been treating too many cases of depression lately."

"Yes, let us go," observed the security chief. "Unnatural deeds disturb sleep, and corruption above breeds discontent below."

 

Scene ii—Now Does She Feel Her Secret Murders Sticking on Her Hands

Captain B'Elanna Torres sat in her Ready Room, worriedly swilling bloodwine. She was adrift without her second in command. The distance she felt from her crew was now magnified without the enticing distractions formerly provided by Seven of Nine. It was almost as if she could feel the enmity toward her seeping through the closed Ready Room door.

"Ghuy'!" muttered Torres as she took another swallow. "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke."

The Ready Room door hissed open to admit the Emergency Medical Hologram.

"How does the Commander, Doctor?" asked Captain Torres, putting down her cup and rising from the couch. "Is she all right?"

"I'm afraid her troubles stem from psychological problems, rather than physical ones. She seems more in need of a counselor than a physician," the EMH reported.

The Captain cleared her throat and turned away, walking over to the table upon which stood the jug of bloodwine.

"Can't imagine what's troubling her," murmured Torres. "Can you sedate her?" she turned toward him again with a fresh cup of bloodwine in her hands.

"I tried that," the Doctor answered. "But Commander Seven's nanoprobes are working to counteract the effects of the sedative. To put it bluntly, she's stuck in overdrive and can't turn off. I worry that she'll burn herself out, both literally and figuratively. Perhaps she'd feel better if she unburdened herself to someone, as she seems to be bearing some crushing weight." The Doctor raised his eyebrows at the opening he'd left for the Captain, hoping she'd respond to the gambit.

"Stick to the body, Doctor, and leave the soul to someone a bit more, shall we say, incarnate?" sneered the Captain.

"Hmm." Unfazed, the EMH peered a bit more closely at the Captain's eyes and face and raised his medical tricorder to her, scanning it and nodding sagely. "Been indulging in a bit too much bloodwine, haven't we, Captain? I'd say your liver is well on its way to being the star attraction in a lecture to first-year medical students on how to recognize cirrhosis, to say nothing of your bloodshot eyes. Perhaps you have a bit of unburdening to do, yourself?"

"Dismissed, you photonic quack!" roared Torres. The cup of bloodwine shattered against the Ready Room door as it shut, the Doctor having just escaped before the wrath of the half-Klingon expended itself upon his holographic head.

"God-damned doctors!" muttered Torres as she paced in her small Ready Room. She stopped at the table and was about to pour herself another bloodwine but then paused, remembering the doctor's diagnosis.

"BaQa'!" she swore as she turned away from the table and continued her pacing. She was worried about Seven. How would she face the coming onslaught without her? Chakotay was out there. She stopped and stared out the viewport at the planet below them. She knew he was plotting her overthrow. She could feel it. She doubted she'd have much support from her crew. Sentiment was running against her and her first officer below decks, and she could feel all that she and Seven had hoped for and achieved slipping away from her. Now, even her lovely Seven of Nine was beyond her reach.

"But what have I to fear?" she railed. "The witches said that only one who is known to my beloved as I am can bring me harm, and Seven was a virgin when we first made love! And I will remain unbeaten until Captain Janeway returns to Voyager! Surely that should put my mind at rest!"

And yet, the Captain could not quell the fear and dread rising within her. Deep down, she knew that all of this was going to end only one way. Fuck it. She'd be ready for any and all contingencies. If she was going to go down, she was going to go down fighting. She slapped her comm badge.

"Ayala!"

"Here, Captain," the assistant security chief responded.

"My ready room."

 

Scene iii—The Bitch Is Back

Captain Torres looked up from her desk as her Ready Room door slid open to admit, not Lieutenant Ayala, as she had expected, but the EMH. The look on his face made her hearts plummet.

"Is it Seven?" she asked, rising.

"Yes," he said gravely. "I'm truly sorry, Captain."

"Wha--," she began and paused, her voice suddenly failing her. "What happened?"

"It appears that she committed suicide."

Torres collapsed into her chair, her eyes unseeing. "How?" she whispered.

"Tuvok found her in your quarters after hearing her scream. She had plunged her assimilation tubules into her neck. Upon examining her I found that she had re-implanted her cortical node. I can only presume that the violence of her emotions caused the failure of the node, and thus her own death."

"Oh, Seven," murmured Torres. "You were always too smart for your own good."

"Can I do anything for you, Captain?" the EMH asked gently. In spite of all that he and Tuvok suspected of her, he couldn't help but pity her in her loss. He had repressed his own sorrow at Seven's death. There would be time enough to allow himself to feel the pain of all that had happened aboard Voyager later.

"Yes, Doctor, you can," stated Torres as she rose and walked around her desk to face him, fixing her glistening eyes on his. "You can load me so full of sedatives that I never awaken! Or you can take this phaser right now and shoot me where I stand!" She pulled her sidearm and held it out to him. "Can you make me a hologram, like you? Can you remove my hearts? Can you cut out the part of me that feels as if I'm swallowing shards of broken glass?" She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around her body and began to rock back and forth. The EMH knelt next to her and gently raised her. Then he walked her over to the couch, where they both sat down. He kept his arm around her as she continued to hold herself and rock, tears streaming down her face.

This was the sight that greeted Lieutenant Ayala as he entered the Ready Room.

"Forgive me, Captain," he said, dropping his eyes and stopping just inside the door as it closed behind him. "But sir, I have some news. . . ." He stopped as if unsure how to go on.

"Well, what is it, Ayala?" choked out the Captain. She sat back up and wiped her face. "Out with it."

"Chakotay and Harry Kim are aboard a big ship that's standing off to port, sir. They are demanding our surrender and that we prepare to be boarded!" He looked as if there was more.

"They can demand all they want, Ayala. Prepare to engage them!"

"But, sir!"

"What is it?" demanded Torres, standing and stalking over to him.

"I hardly know how to tell you this. . . ."

"Tell me what, dammit? What's got you standing so amazed?"

"It's what Chakotay said, Captain. I was at my station on the Bridge when the Birnamwud ship approached, sir. Then Chakotay identified his ship as the Kathryn Janeway!"

"You lie, p'taQ!" cried Torres.

"I swear on the lives of my sons, sir!" Ayala exclaimed. "What are you orders, Captain?"

Torres turned in shock and took a few steps away from him. "I shall stand unbloodied and unbeaten till Kathryn Janeway returns to Voyager! That's what the witches told me! And now the bitch is back." She slapped her comm badge. "Battle stations!" she cried. "Looks like it all ends here and now, one way or another. Come, Ayala! Sound the klaxon! Breach, hull! Melt, core! There's not a woman on this ship but she's a faithless whore!"

 

Scene iv—Now Cracks a Klingon Heart

Captain B'Elanna Torres sat in the command chair on the Bridge, the red alert lights glowing off and on at regular intervals, the comm system repeating over and over the message from the Kathryn Janeway, the renamed Birnamwudian ship, the command to surrender and prepare to be boarded. Torres sat in the chair, her legs spread, her uniform jacket open, and her chin resting on her fist. The two ships had so far exchanged phaser fire but neither had suffered any damage, their shields absorbing the blasts.

"Ayala! Cut that off!" Torres commanded as she turned in her chair. Her nerves were jangled enough without that incessant droning.

"Aye, sir," said Ayala from the Ops station, and the voice was suddenly silenced.

"What are they waiting for?" Torres pondered aloud. The Birnamwudian vessel was a warship, and she had the little scout ship outgunned. After the brief exchange of phaser fire, the two ships had remained in a holding pattern, each marking the other. "They could blow us out of space without working up a sweat."

"Since this vessel is carrying Chakotay and Harry Kim, we can assume that they do not wish to destroy Voyager, only to reclaim her," Tuvok replied.

Torres turned her head back toward the viewscreen, considering Tuvok's words.

"Helm! Get us out of here. They may be able to outgun us, but we'll outrun them. Warp 9!"

Instead of punching the order into the console, Ensign Jenkins looked over to Tuvok, who nodded his head almost imperceptibly. The helmswoman then punched in a different order. "Shields down, Commander," she told the Vulcan. The mutiny had begun.

"QI'yaH!" cried Torres, falling upon the hapless woman and beating her about her head and shoulders as she sat at the conn.

Before anyone could react to the Captain's fury, several men beamed over from the Kathryn Janeway, Chakotay and Kim among them.

"That's it, B'Elanna," said Chakotay, his phaser pointing at her. "It's over."

"Nothing's over, you pitiful p'taQ!" cried Torres, releasing her stranglehold on Jenkins and pulling her own phaser. "You can't touch me! I fear only one known to Seven as I was, and that's no man! Take your pathetic mutiny and ride your 'Kathryn Janeway' away." She sneered at him. "I'm guessing that's the closest you'd ever got to being inside her, you insignificant Qa'Hom!"

Chakotay smiled coolly at her. "Who needs Janeway when I could put it to Seven of Nine?"

Torres paled. "You lie!" she whispered.

"Oh, it was a hologram of her, true, but close enough. Didn't you find that little starburst implant on the inside of her left thigh to be delicious? I remember how much she liked it when I focused my attention there." He watched Torres as she took in the implications of his revelation. She was standing as if struck dumb, unable to react.

"She's dead now, isn't she?" Chakotay goaded. "Too bad. But my program is still in the system. She used to squirm when I looked at her at times around the ship—in the mess hall, across the table during a briefing, whenever I got her alone. I used to give her this little smile as I looked her up and down. It made her very uncomfortable. I'm going to miss that."

"Die, taHqeq!" roared an enraged Torres as she closed with Chakotay in desperate hand-to-hand combat. She wanted to rip his beating heart from his chest and eat it over his lifeless body.

Torres slowly backed toward her Ready Room and she and Chakotay exchanged blows. She knew that she could take the larger but inherently weaker human, but she was losing the desire. What did she have to look forward to, even if she prevailed over him? A lifetime in the brig? Exile on some barren rock in the Delta Quadrant? Nothing seemed worth the effort without Seven by her side. And how could she look at Chakotay knowing he'd tormented Seven with his lascivious leering? Oh, Seven, she thought. I will be joining you soon. When she could get them both inside the Ready Room, she could let it all go. She'd be damned if she would be killed before that pack of mutineers on the Bridge.

As the Ready Room doors hissed shut behind them, B'Elanna Torres dropped her arms, closed her eyes and breathed deeply. It will be but a moment, my love, she thought, and I will hold you once more.

 

Scene v—All's Well That Ends . . . Well, That Ends, Anyway

The Birnamwudians and Bridge crew alike stared at the closed Ready Room doors. After a moment, Harry Kim turned to Tuvok.

"It's good to be back home, Commander," he smiled.

"Indeed, Ensign. I find it gratifying to have you back aboard Voyager safely." He paused a moment. "I regret the loss of Lieutenant Paris." He knew that the helmsman and Kim had been friends.

Kim lost his smile. "Yes," he said. "I'll miss him."

"We shall be mourning many losses for many days," replied the Vulcan. Though he would never reveal it to anyone, he was thinking of Seven.

At that moment the Ready Room doors swished open, and Chakotay walked through carrying a gruesome trophy—the dripping severed head of B'Elanna Torres.

"Jeez, Chakotay. Couldn't you have just taken her scalp?" asked Harry Kim, who'd turned a bit green about the gills at the sight.

"My knife slipped," replied Chakotay. Then he raised the hideous trophy high and looked around the Bridge. "Thus to all over-sexed half-Klingons and their fiendish Borg bombshell XOs. Tuvok," he turned to the highest-ranking officer left. "The ship is yours."

Tuvok took a few steps until he was standing by the command chair. "I shall continue Captain Janeway's quest to return this ship and her crew to the Alpha Quadrant. As we make our way toward that goal, let us remember our debt to the Birnamwudians, our absent comrades, and the lessons that our recent experiences have taught us—violent passions lead to violent ends, and Renaissance tragedy with science fiction is not a good blend."

 

And Then Some

Tuvok paused and there was a moment of portentous silence, the only sound the distant hum of the warp core. Then the silence was shattered by the sudden eruption of applause and cheering.

"Bravo! Bravo!" said the tall, dark-haired man who had just materialized on the Bridge among them, wearing a Starfleet admiral's uniform. Then an entire seating section of similarly-attired beings appeared, many of them holding what were once known as opera glasses in their hands. They appeared to be sitting in chairs arranged in three rising rows, and many were applauding enthusiastically.

"Q!" cried Chakotay. "You've done this?"

"And it was magnificent!" replied the unctuous being.

"But how could you let us, let us murder each other like this?" Chakotay was almost inchoate with rage.

"Oh, they're all right," waved the Q. "Here they come now."

The door to the Bridge swished open, and in trooped Seven of Nine, B'Elanna Torres, Tom Paris, Crewman Snodgrass, Crewman Jones, and, finally, Captain Janeway. Each held a bouquet of roses in his or her arms, and each looked stunned. Not to be left out, the Doctor blinked into existence on the Bridge, as well. Then Samantha Wildman, Jennifer Delaney, and Megan Delaney walked onto the Bridge from the turbolift. "What's going on?" asked Jennifer.

Tuvok noticed that the Birnamwudians, as well as the former Captain Torres's severed head, were nowhere to be found. He checked the sensors, and, as he had suspected he would, found no large ship standing off to port.

The newly re-animated crew members slowly became aware that what they'd experienced, though it had felt real, had in reality been something like a dream. Yet the memories of their experiences remained.

Captain Janeway took a deep breath to calm herself. The Q had gone too far this time. She strode to where the tall Q dressed in the admiral's uniform stood and paused in front of him.

"Oh, Kathy, it's so good to see you up and about again," he smiled. "I hated to see you go so early in the production, but that's what the script called for."

"Am I to understand," she began slowly, "that you have put us through some kind of play for your entertainment?"

"Macbeth," he replied. "It's so delightfully bloody. All those 'vaunting ambitions,' all that violence. But I must say, I hadn't realized what adding a lust-filled half-Klingon and a beautiful ex-Borg into the mix would do," he smiled as he looked over at Seven of Nine and B'Elanna Torres. Both women suddenly found they could not look the other in the eye. "What an unexpected pleasure, right, crew?" He turned to the bank of Q sitting and observing the proceedings. They all nodded enthusiastically, and a few began fanning themselves with what appeared to be programs. One had raised his opera glasses and had trained them on Seven of Nine.

He walked over to where B'Elanna was standing. "You were stunning, 'Captain' Torres," he told her, bowing slightly at the waist. "I must confess that I had no idea that you tended that way." He nodded his head toward Seven.

B'Elanna crossed her arms over her chest. "Get lost, you pervert!" she snapped.

He chuckled and moved away from her and over to Seven of Nine. "And you!" He picked up her right hand and kissed it, lingering over it and looking up at her. "Exquisite, my dear."

She pulled her hand abruptly away from him and linked her hands behind her back, trying to find some normalcy in a situation for which she had no frame of reference.

"Once again, you were all marvelous! Simply marvelous!" He led the other Q in another round of applause. "You're welcome on our stage anytime."

"That's enough, Q," said Janeway acerbically. "I think we're going to need another little talk on the misuses of the power of the Q Continuum. I can't believe that I have to point out the impropriety of manipulating mortals into heaven only knows what kind of situations against their will or even knowledge."

"Oh, Kathy! That reminds me," said Q, going up to her. "I've found the most wonderful novel in Voyager's databanks." A leather-bound book appeared in his hand. "We'd love to see it acted out some time. It's called The Story of O."

Captain Janeway paled. "Come on, Q, let's have a chat in my Ready Room." She looked around at her crew. "As you were—before the play, that is. We'll do some debriefing as soon as I set a few things straight with our guest here." She turned and led the still-chattering Q into her Ready Room.


It was a few weeks before B'Elanna could work up the courage to approach Seven of Nine and talk about what had transpired between them while they were under the Q's power. They had successfully avoided one another in the days following their disturbing experiences. The crew—especially those who'd experienced violence and death—had been ordered to receive psychological evaluation and counseling from the EMH, who'd had some reprogramming done on him prior to the sessions. They'd all accepted that they were not to be held responsible for their actions during that time, from about the moment when they'd begun to have strange and untoward impulses and desires. And while everyone had settled back into their usual routines, not a few crewmembers had lain awake at night and pondered the significance of their behavior or tried to dispel disturbing memories of death and dying. It would take some time, they'd all been assured by the EMH, but more than one crewmember had been noticed going about his or her business with haunted eyes.

B'Elanna, perhaps more than most, had felt the need for atonement and absolution. Captain Janeway had finally taken her into her Ready Room and talked with her at great length, reassuring her that no one, herself especially, held her accountable for what had happened. After much heartfelt encouragement, she'd finally persuaded B'Elanna that the extra duty shifts and additional work she'd taken on in an awkward attempt at penance were unnecessary and, if anything, made the crew uncomfortable around her.

Janeway's calm, soothing voice and loving tone finally broke through the half-Klingon's protective shell, and B'Elanna had begun to accept that the crew did, indeed, hold her as much a victim as any one of them had been.

Eventually she and Tom resumed their easy friendship, and she was able to get past the nasty business that had transpired between Chakotay and her. If she rode Jennifer Delaney a little hard in Engineering now and then, it was nothing more than Jennifer, herself, thought she'd deserved.

That left Seven.

Rumor had it that Seven had, if anything, become even more Borg-like, behaving much as she had during her first year on Voyager, keeping everyone at even more of a distance than usual. She'd even retreated from the Captain, and no amount of counseling by her or the EMH could get the ex-Borg to open up about what she'd experienced.

So it was with more than a little trepidation that B'Elanna walked into Cargo Bay 2 and found Seven of Nine at work, as usual, one evening after her duty-shift.

"Lieutenant Torres," said Seven, turning from the console. She clasped her hands behind her back and regarded the Chief with an unreadable expression.

"Hey, Seven," began B'Elanna. "I've been wondering, you know, how you've been since, well, since the Q thing." She stopped and ran her hand along the console to give herself some place to look other than at Seven.

"I am functioning within acceptable parameters," replied Seven coldly. There was an uncomfortable silence. "Have you been sent by either the Doctor or the Captain?" she asked.

"No," said B'Elanna, turning to look at the ex-Borg. "I just thought that we should talk."

"Is there a problem with the warp core?"

B'Elanna blinked. "No, why do you ask?"

"Is there a problem with Voyager's bioneural circuitry?"

"No!" B'Elanna was getting angry at the woman's deflections. "There's nothing wrong with the ship! I wanted to talk to you about what happened between us!"

Seven abruptly turned away from her and resumed entering data into the computer. "What happened between us is irrelevant. We were not to blame for our actions. I do not see the need to discuss it."

"Well, I do!" cried B'Elanna, going up to the exasperating woman and turning her to face her. "We can't continue to avoid each other forever. We've got to come to terms with what we did so we can look each other in the eye, for Kahless's sake!"

"I do not know what you mean, Lieutenant," said Seven as she turned her eyes upon those of the Chief of Engineering. "I have no difficulty looking you in your eyes." As if to prove her point, she looked directly into B'Elanna's eyes.

B'Elanna held her gaze. She was determined to win this stare-off or to prove to the infuriating ex-Borg that they needed to clear the air between them. They continued to look into one another's eyes until finally Seven slid hers away. She looked down at her hands clasped before her.

"Perhaps you are right, Lieutenant," she conceded, turning away from B'Elanna slightly. "I do not know what to say to you." At this point she turned her head and looked at B'Elanna with unhooded eyes for the first time since the Q had left them. B'Elanna was taken aback by the confusion she saw in them.

"To be honest, I don't know what to say to you, either," confessed B'Elanna. "But rest assured that because we, I mean, even though we, you know, did . . . what we did, doesn't mean that we have to keep, you know, doing it . . ." she trailed off, running her hand through her hair. This was proving to be more difficult than she had anticipated.

"Indeed, Lieutenant!" Seven was quick to pick up the thread. "We are under no obligation to continue with our . . . physical relationship now that the Q have gone, especially as neither of us is of a mind to pursue that aspect of our relationship further." Seven was feeling better about things now. Perhaps she had been wrong about the need to discuss one's feelings.

"Right!" agreed B'Elanna. "That's what I think, too." B'Elanna stood with her hands linked behind her back, a variation of parade rest. She and Seven could now return their relationship to its professional footing.

She was about to turn and leave when their eyes met again and flew away from each other's. Then B'Elanna unclasped her hands from behind her back and brought them to her hips.

"So, do you want to fuck, or not?" she asked archly.

Seven's head whipped around to face her. "That depends, B'Elanna. Will you wear your red uniform?" she smiled.

"I will if you will," replied B'Elanna, looking Seven up and down with a seductive smile. "That was some biosuit, Seven."

"Acceptable," said Seven, resuming her Borg posture, hands behind her back, her head tilted to the side. It was her usual position, yet now she looked more relaxed somehow. "May I use the replicator in your quarters?"

"Sure thing, Seven," said B'Elanna taking Seven's arm as they leisurely strolled out the door and into the hall toward the turbolift. "You can replicate anything you want to—except for bloodwine. I'm off it for some reason."

The End

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