Title: The Relevance of Discretion.
Summary: Being involved in an 'intimate relationship' with Seven has its' problems.
Rating: T/7. Um, ahhh, R ?? (to be safe).
Warning: Sex between two women, and all that.
Disclaimer: No profit is intended in the writing of this story. Star Trek: Voyager and all its' characters are the property of Paramount and Viacom.
I would like to thank Meagan and Tracie L for their beta-ing, especially Tracie's advice regarding the vegetable.
Feedback to email@example.com. Archiving and downloading are OK, as long as you credit the author.
Captain Janeway struggled to maintain an outward display of professional attentiveness as she chaired the early morning staff meeting. She'd been up till around 0300 hours the previous night going over the crews' quarterly evaluation reports and now the workaholic captain was paying the price. Though to be frank, Janeway mused as she gazed around the room, most of her senior officers didn't seem any better. B'Elanna looked as if she was about to fall asleep at the table and even Harry couldn't muster his usual enthusiasm.
"It shouldn't be a problem," Chakotay was saying, looking rather bleary-eyed himself. "We can lock onto 75 to 80% of the galacite in the collapsed section provided we boost the annular confinement beam. The T'ba Corporation said they'd pay us with 5% of every ton we can recover, and their commissary department is willing to provide us with any other supplies we need."
"Do they have coffee?" thought Janeway, noticing that Lieutenant Torres had her elbows on the table and her head resting on her palms, pretending to study a padd. The Chief Engineer opened her mouth in an enormous yawn, quickly stifled when she saw the captain watching her.
"Astrometrics, anything unusual to report?" said Janeway, observing with wry annoyance that Seven of Nine was her usual efficient, immaculate self. In fact the Borg was positively glowing today, a slight but definite smile playing at the corners of the young woman's mouth.
"There is no unusual activity in the vicinity," said Seven. "Scans reveal only T'ba Corporation mining vessels, plus some asteroid prospectors from the independent companies. They present no threat. There are however several forms of interstellar phenomena on our future course which you will no doubt find intriguing Captain." There was no mistaking the perky tone in her voice.
"You seem unusually bright and cheerful this morning Seven."
"That is correct Captain. I am experiencing . . . happiness."
"Really?" said Janeway, sitting up in her seat. "Would you mind telling us the reason you're feeling so joyful? I could do with some brightening up."
A titter of laughter ran around the table.
"Last night I took a major step in my ongoing exploration of humanity."
B'Elanna, who'd been gazing sleepily at the table for the past twenty minutes, suddenly sat up straight, all fatigue vanished. She stared at Seven, a horrified expression forming on her face.
Janeway smiled fondly at her protégé; the 'Big Gooey Look' as the crew called it behind her back. Seven of Nine tried so hard to maintain an outward mask of disdain for all things human, but she was unable to conceal her child-like joy at each new discovery. "That's wonderful Seven. Care to share it with us?"
Seven's chest swelled an extra cup-size with pride, knowing the captain would be pleased with her social progress. In a clear crisp voice she announced, "Last night I experienced my first orgasm."
Around the table the jaw of every senior officer dropped to its' lowest point. The one exception was Tuvok, and if his eyebrows had shot any higher they would have been assimilated by his hair.
"Your first___what?" gasped Captain Janeway, desperately hoping she was in the midst of some caffeine-induced hallucination.
"Orgasm: the moment of most intense pleasure in sexual intercourse," clarified Seven, puzzled over why the captain's face had gone so pale. Hadn't she always encouraged her to pursue romantic relationships? "I found the experience of 'love-making' highly enjoyable, particularly the erotic sensations produced by my lover's fingers and tongue."
Janeway fought to maintain her equilibrium. "Well...that's very, er...interesting." The captain cast a desperate eye at Tuvok, silently pleading HELP ME!
The security chief leapt to her rescue. "Perhaps this is not the correct venue to dis__"
"No kidding? Who did you do it with?" interrupted Paris. "Don't tell me Harry finally got lucky."
"Mr Paris__" began Captain Janeway, her tone of voice giving clear warning of endless shifts scrubbing the plasma exhaust manifolds.
"Mr Paris is in error," said Seven. "I copulated with Lieutenant OUCH!" To everyone's amazement the Borg shot forward, hands clutching her shin under the table.
Tuvok frowned. "I am not familiar with any officer of that name."
"Seven, are you all right?" asked the captain, embarrassment instantly giving way to concern.
"Lieutenant Torres, would you kindly desist from kicking me!" said Seven, glaring across the table at the Chief Engineer.
"Well I don't see any NEED for us all to know about your sex life!" replied B'Elanna, dark eyes flashing with anger. Her fingers were gripping the surface of the table so hard they'd turned white at the knuckles.
"Come on B'Elanna," Paris couldn't resist teasing. "There's no need to get sore just because Seven got lucky last night and you didn't." He'd planned a romantic dinner just for the two of them at Sandrines, but his wife had called saying she couldn't make it. Tom wondered which lieutenant Seven had succeeded in 'copulating' with. It couldn't be Chapman surely? He hadn't noticed the ex-drone hanging around anyone last night. In fact the last time he'd seen Seven of Nine was when B'Elanna had her cornered in the turbolift and was threatening to rip off the Borg's arms and beat her to death with them. He'd gotten out of there pretty damn quick before things got bloody.
Seven turned to Paris with a smug smile. "Actually, Lieutenant Paris, you are in error. Lieutenant TorARRRGH!" she cried, grabbing her other shin.
"All right children, that's it!" snapped Janeway, deciding this whole business had gone far enough. "Seven, I'd be glad to discuss your new . . . experience in a more DISCREET setting, but that will have to wait. Lieutenant Torres, I want a word with you right now! The rest of you, dismissed!"
"Seven, please state the nature of the medical emergency," said the Doctor as the Borg strode into sickbay. The EMH was running a micro-cellular scanner over the contents of a Petri dish, humming cheerfully to himself.
"I am damaged. I require repair," stated the former drone, pulling down the neck of her biosuit to reveal a circular bruise.
The Doctor leaned in close, his eyes widening. "Seven, that looks like...a bite mark!"
"That is correct. I sustained this injury last night while copulating with another crewmember."
"I see," said the Doctor in surprise, as the doors hissed open and B'Elanna Torres rushed through. "Seven we need to talk!" she blurted out.
"Not now lieutenant. Seven is currently my patient; you can talk to her when I've finished." He picked up a dermal regenerator from the table and switched it on. "So, who's the lucky man?"
"I do not understand."
"Whom did you 'copulate' with?" Doc asked, his eyebrows dancing suggestively.
"Seven!" said B'Elanna, who was giving all the outward symptoms of a severe panic attack. "Maybe you shouldn't discuss your private life with someone who's likely to gossip about it to the entire ship!"
The Doctor bristled. "I assure you lieutenant, that as Voyager's Chief Medical Officer I am perfectly capable of maintaining a confidence!" He turned to his patient. "So who was it, Seven?" he said eagerly.
"Lieutenant Torres and I had___"
"A DISAGREEMENT!" shouted B'Elanna, even though Seven and the Doctor were only half a metre away. "But Captain Janeway talked to me about that and I heartily apologise for kicking you during the briefing and that argument last night in the turbolift and I'd like to make it up to you over dinner. Or something," she added hastily, when the Doctor cast a puzzled look at her.
Seven raised an eyebrow. "I have already stated that apologies regarding the incident in the turbolift are not necessary, especially after you used your fingers to manipulate___"
"The turbolift controls!" babbled the young engineer. "Yes good thing I fixed them or we'd have been stuck there forever!"
"Actually I was thinking of when you used your tongue to___"
"Chew you out!___I mean get angry with you but the Captain's put me right on that and now I really need to talk to you in PRIVATE!"
"Lieutenant Torres are you all right?" inquired the Doctor, frowning. "You seem a bit agitated. You're not going through some kind of Klingon pre-menstrual tension are you?"
Seven gave him a superior smile. "Actually Doctor, I believe Lieutenant Torres' agitation stems from her lack of sleep last night. The lieutenant and I spent the entire night making___"
"The turbolift work!" roared B'Elanna, stabbing her finger down on a console. The Doctor's program promptly shut down, the dermal regenerator dropping to the floor.
"It appears I am not the only one who requires lessons in civility," Seven said, annoyed by the ill-mannered treatment of her holographic friend. "Computer, re-activate EMH."
The Doctor appeared in a flurry of protest. "What the__"
"Computer, de-activate EMH!" growled B'Elanna. The Doctor vanished again.
"Computer, re-activate EMH!" said Seven.
"__hell do you__"
"Computer, de-activate EMH!"
"Computer, re-activate EMH!"
"Computer, de-activate EMH!"
"Computer, re-activate EMH!"
"Computer, de-activate EMH!"
"STOP!" said B'Elanna. "All right, but DON'T mention what happened last night! To anyone!"
"You-you know perfectly well what I'm talking about!"
"Are you referring to what we did in the turbolift, in the corridor, in the sonic shower, in your bed, or in Jeffries Tube 47-Beta at 0615 hours the next day?"
"All of the above! I like to be a bit discreet with my relationships, OK?"
Seven of Nine raised her ocular implant in an expression of profound amusement.
"Well all right . . . more discreet than I was with Tom. I'm married, for Kahless' sake!"
"Marriage implies extreme monotony, limiting ones' romantic interactions to one individual. Since last night I've realised the advantage of variety in intimate relationships. Especially after the variety of positions we adopted."
B'Elanna put her hands on her hips in unconscious imitation of the captain and glared at Seven.
The tall blonde sighed. "Very well, lieutenant. I shall refrain from mentioning your name in connection to our . . . intimacies."
B'Elanna let all her tension out in a long gust of breath. "Good."
She turned to exit, then paused.
"1930 hours, Holodeck Two?"
"The zero gravity simulation?"
"I will comply."
B'Elanna smiled and walked out the door.
"Computer, re-activate EMH."
An annoyed Doctor materialised. "What's going on?"
"Apparently," answered Seven, a sour look marring her perfect features, "nothing worth talking about."
"Hmmm," thought Neelix as he rummaged through his supplies. "We're running out of instant shuttlecraft." He turned around and yelped as he found himself face to chest with a six foot Borg.
"Crewman Neelix. I require your assistance."
"Certainly," the Talaxian cook said, rubbing his hands together in his eagerness to please. "What can I do for you?"
"I require the following. Five bananas, a half dozen eggs, one medium-sized tin of maple syrup, a half dozen banana pancakes, a large bowl of whipped cream - parameters: 'none of that replicated shit', your entire stock of strawberries, and a large vegetable of oblong configuration."
"Well," muttered Neelix, scratching his whiskers. "We've run out of strawberries I'm afraid. As for the vegetable - it would help if I knew what you wanted it for. Is it some kind of salad?"
"I require it to assist me in sexual gratification."
Neelix blinked, then blinked again. "Ah, Oh...kay." In truth it wasn't the first time Voyager's 'morale officer' had fulfilled such a request, though he'd never thought he'd hear it from the aloof Borg. Samantha Wildman always needed something after seven years away from her husband, and he'd once caught a certain captain sneaking out of his storeroom with an interestingly shaped carrot. He winked at Seven. "How about a nice leola root?"
His suggestive chuckle trailed away before Seven's cold stare.
"Um, alright, forget the leola root. Actually, now that I think of it . . . " He opened up the fridge, groping around inside among the various human and alien edibles. "I might have just the thing you need. Ah! Here we are."
Seven's eyes widened as Neelix pulled a large, knobbly cucumber out of the fridge. "I was growing this especially for Captain Janeway," he said proudly. "But when she took up with that hologram . . . well, you know. Is it suitable?"
"Its' dimensions are flawless," the Borg said huskily, her face rapt with the same awe she had previously reserved for the Omega molecule. "It is . . . Perfection." Seven shivered inside at the thought of the sexual pleasure she and B'Elanna would receive from this impressive vegetable.
"If you don't mind my asking," Neelix said innocently. "It seems an awful lot of food just for yourself." He cursed mentally as B'Elanna Torres entered the mess hall. Seven was unlikely to share any secrets with her Number One sparring partner looking on.
He was wrong. "I have been informed by . . . a friend that various foods can be used in intimate relations with ones' partner," said the Borg. "We intend using them to___"
Neelix was amazed to see a look of sheer panic appear on B'Elanna's face. The lieutenant dived at the food counter, grabbed the nearest piece of fruit (an apple) and shoved it in Seven's mouth. Seizing her by the arm, she hauled the stifled Borg out the door so fast they momentarily appeared in two different places at once, proving against all laws of physics that the Picard Manoeuvre could indeed be performed without the use of warp engines.
Neelix stood there gaping, holding his cucumber.
"What was that all about?" he wondered aloud.
The mess hall doors slid open once more and Lieutenant Torres stormed through, fire in her eyes. Neelix cowered fearfully against the counter as the torrid half-Klingon marched straight toward him. He raised the cucumber in defense only to have it snatched from his hand. The terrified cook shut his eyes, desperately hoping that someone would find his battered body in time to give him emergency treatment.
The hiss of the doors made Neelix open his eyes again. The mess hall was empty.
Even his prized cucumber had disappeared.