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A little fishing in a turbolift
By Katrina


It was towards the end of the Beta shift. Things were beginning to quiet down as "evening," descended upon the ship. Lights lowered in the corridors, sound softened and the usual rush of people, which was common during the early part of the shift, slowed.

Seven of Nine waited patiently for the turbolift. The captain had invited the young woman to join herself and a few select others on a fishing trip. She had set specifications for appropriate costumes for the adventure and thus, Seven of Nine was dressed in "shorts, shirt and tennis shoes." She also had on a hat with a brim and carried a fishing rod, sans string. That string and lure had been provided by the program.

It had been an interesting venture and Seven of Nine had enjoyed the solitude of the lake, which the captain had chosen. But there had also been a certain amount of tedium involved. The Borg had admitted, when pressed, that she preferred Klingon holo-novels, since they were more... energetic.

The captain had quipped that perhaps they ought to stick to velocity from then on. Seven had agreed. Though she knew that the older woman would want to try another holographic adventure at another time. It was the nature of humans to enjoy variety.

The turbolift door opened, finally, and Seven of Nine stepped in before it registered that there was a very irate Klingon on board. The doors had shut and the lift had continued its originally queued journey. "Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres," Seven greeted the other woman. It wasn't exactly cordial, but Seven had found that it sufficed.

When she realized that the Lieutenant wasn't going to answer, Seven stepped further into the lift and then turned around to face the door. A part of her processed what she observed, another processed possible protocols for response. Finally she fell back on the Doctor's instructions. "How are you?"

She said it without even looking at the Klingon as a formality.

"You want to know how I feel, Borg. I'll tell you. That rotten, no good, son of a..." Seven of Nine was not ready for the language that followed next, as B'Elanna Torres started off.

The ex-drone abruptly held up a hand. "Wait," she commanded.

The Lieutenant stammered to a halt. Seven of Nine halted the turbolift and blocked it from traveling. Then she turned to the Klingon and gave B'Elanna her full attention. This meant, of course, that she took her usual stance, but it also meant that there was eye contact. "Now. I am ready to listen."

B'Elanna opened her mouth to start again, but her train of thought had been seriously derailed when she'd finally registered Seven's attire.

"You look different."

"The captain wished to go on a fishing trip. But that is unimportant. You are more important than my state of dress."

B'Elanna blinked. "I am?"

Seven of Nine nodded. "You are." Then she continued. "I am prepared to listen to you ...." she searched for the proper word. "... cuss about Tom Paris now. Please continue."

B'Elanna started and then stopped. She grimaced. "It's... he's..." She took a really good look at Seven. She was registering every curve and pleasant swell. "You look really, very nice."

Seven looked down a herself and again fell back into protocol. "Thank you. Do you not wish to discuss Tom Paris then?"


Seven of Nine observed several data points about B'Elanna in that moment. First she was dressed in a skimpy black dress with heels. Second, her breathing, scent, heartbeat and eye dilation had altered. Finally, there was the way that B'Elanna was staring at Seven.

Borg weren't known for prevarication, but at the same time she recalled that abortive attempt to communicate with others on board.

Still it might be interesting to see if Klingons responded differently.

"Lieutenant Torres. Are you attracted to me?"

There, the cast was made.

The Klingon swallowed and looked up at the Borg.

Seven expected... she wasn't sure what to expect. Humans tended to lie when she asked that question, but their lies or their prevarications were often interesting and "off the cuff." They usually spoke before they realized that they had moved into denial. B'Elanna Torres had yet to speak and it was as if she were evaluating the question, rather than the questioner.

Or maybe she was evaluating both to arrive at an answer.

Finally she took the bait and answered. "Yes. I am."

Seven felt a warmth of affection spread in her chest. "Then," she started reasonably. "Why are you worried about Tom Paris?" She looked at the Klingon, up and down. "You are beautiful and a worthy potential mate. If he is too stupid to treat you well, then he is an idiot. On the other hand, if you wish company for the rest of the evening, I am available."

Seven wasn't sure, but she thought the Klingon stopped breathing for a moment. The B'Elanna leapt at her. Seven instinctively dropped the fishing rod and caught the smaller woman in her arms. The Klingon's legs wrapped around Seven's waist. Her arms wrapped around Seven's shoulders. Her face was just inches away from Seven's face.

"Have you ever kissed anyone Seven?"

Seven of Nine contemplated the question. "Clarify please? There are many types of kisses. When I was a child my parents..." Her mouth was suddenly, abruptly covered by the other woman's. Seven's eyebrows rose and then her eyelids closed as pure sensation took over. It was over much too soon, but Seven did have a reply. "No. I have never kissed anyone like that before."

"Good," said the Klingon roughly. B'Elanna overrode the turbolift halt and lock and gave it a new destination. "Do you want to come to my place and kiss like that some more?"



"B'Elanna, I will kiss you any where and any time you want," the beautiful blonde said most sincerely.

"That's what I was hoping you'd say." Then the Klingon laughed and kissed her Borg one more time for luck and it was Seven of Nine who was caught.

The End

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