The
Hen Night
By
Sazzy
Written:
January 2007
Codes:
J/7 (post-Endgame)
Rating:
PG
Disclaimer: They belong to Paramount and this is just
some fun! There’s no profit or personal
gain, but there is an all female relationship so don’t read on if that’s not your
thing.
Thanks:
To my beta readers as always.
p.s.
In case it doesn’t translate cultures, a “hen night” is a night out for a bride
before her wedding, which only her female friends attend (no men
allowed!). Typically (but not always)
it’s the night before the wedding itself and it’s common that everyone gets
very, very tipsy! I think the US
equivalent is a “bachelorette party”.
……………
The
incessant beeping of my alarm clock nags at me for a good couple of minutes
before I finally reach over and swat it off.
Rubbing roughly at my sleep-filled eyes, I finally open them to stare at
the ceiling. I’m not sure how long I
lie there, trying to motivate myself to move.
All I know is that it’s getting harder and harder to even get out of bed
these days. What is there to look
forward to after all? I got my ship
home, I got my crew home, what now for this Starfleet Captain…correction,
Starfleet Admiral.
My
head flops to the side to look at the discarded insignia on my bedside table,
four pips on a rectangular band. I’m
still not sure whether it was a promotion or a punishment. Having got Voyager back, I’m certain there
were those in Starfleet who wanted to see me hung out to dry for one of any
dozens of violations of protocol.
However, they could hardly court martial the victorious returning
captain, so instead they stuck me behind a desk. It’s funny really, I spent seven years trying to get here and now
I can’t wait to leave.
I
finally force myself to sit up, pushing back the warm covers. I pick up the small insignia, running my
fingers over it and concentrating on those four small pips. If I stare at them hard enough I might be
able to ignore the much more potent reason why I’d rather be anywhere but on
Earth, particularly tomorrow. It’s
hopeless of course; those thoughts are unstoppable. My only hope is to try and keep them at bay long enough so I can
get a few fortifying cups of coffee down me first. In search of that elusive first cup, I stumble out of my bed and
down the stairs. The house is quiet as
always, too quiet. There’s no constant
reassuring hum of the warp engines to sooth my senses. I’m still fiddling with the coffee machine
and hankering for the days of bad replicated coffee when the doorbell chimes.
On
the way to the door I check my appearance in the glass of the large framed
print of Voyager that hangs on the wall.
My hair sticks out over the deflector dish and I quickly smooth the bob
back into shape. Sometimes I wonder why
I ever got it cut, it was much easier when I could tie it back and be done with
it. Yet again I know the answer, but
don’t want to think about it, don’t want to think about her.
Pushing
such thoughts to the deep recesses of my mind to fester, I yank open the door,
ready to let my caller know exactly what I think of being disturbed so
early. The sunlight streams in and it
takes a moment for my eyes to adjust.
When they do I recognise the familiar figure of my former chief engineer.
“B’Elanna?” My angry thoughts are quickly gone to be
replaced with ones of dread. There can
only be one thing she’s here to discuss.
“Good
morning, Admiral, how are you?”
“I
haven’t had any coffee,” I answer grouchily as if that’s answer enough. Obviously it is from the look on B’Elanna’s
face. I can see she appreciates the
seriousness of the situation. I sigh,
realising I’m being hideously rude.
It’s not B’Elanna I’m angry with after all; it’s myself. “Come in,” I gesture inside, “It’s good to
see you.”
B’Elanna
follows me back to the kitchen, having the sense to keep quiet while I prepare
the coffee. This must be no small
effort for her, but she knows not to stand between a captain…an admiral and her
coffee. While she waits, she starts to
wander round the open plan living area, absently studying my furniture and ornaments. Thankfully the cleaner was round
yesterday. She stops when she reaches
the fireplace, looking at something on the mantelpiece. Too late I realise what I’ve left on display
there. I knew I should have just thrown
it in the fire.
B’Elanna
picks the single piece of card off the mantel and turns to me with it in her
hand. “You’re going then?”
“Is
there any reason I shouldn’t be?” I try
to sound nonchalant, though I can feel my pulse quickening already.
“You
tell me.”
I
could tell her…if I knew myself.
However, the truth is I still haven’t decided. I carry the drinks over and exchange one for the card. I look down to read the embossed writing on
it for maybe the thousandth time but it still doesn’t seem real.
You
are cordially invited to the wedding of Chakotay and Annika Hansen ( Seven of
Nine) on 14th April 2378 at 35 East Upper Street, San Francisco
When
it first arrived on my doorstep I thought it was some sort of sick joke. Unfortunately it is only too painfully
true. Chakotay and Seven are getting
married. That son of a bitch is
marrying my Seven.
Yet
I have only myself to blame; I waited too long and now it’s too late. It’s too late for anything but
recriminations and regrets. I try and
console myself with the thought that I was doing the right thing. I was waiting until we got home, until I was
no longer her captain. Little did I
know that someone else would swoop in before me; someone with less scruples;
someone willing to take advantage of a situation. A right bastard is an appropriate term I think. I realise my fingers are reflexively
tightening on the mug in my right hand, perhaps imagining it’s his neck they’re
wrapped around. I have to force myself
to relax them. It’s slightly worrying
how often I find myself descending into these venomous thoughts about my
ex-first officer.
I
haven’t seen either of them since the invite arrived, I wasn’t sure I could
trust myself in their presence. I still
see her in my mind though…constantly.
She’s never far away from my thoughts even now, when I would rather
think about anything else. I find
myself thinking about what she might be doing.
Is she excited about the upcoming wedding? Is she picking out dresses and flowers and music? Is she planning her wedding night, her honeymoon? Those last thoughts are always the worst.
She
must be busy, because she hasn’t contacted me either. Obviously she’s not bothered whether I come to the wedding or
not, or maybe she’s just assuming I will.
It would be the appropriate thing to do after all, the former captain
overseeing the marriage of two of her crew.
Yet I don’t really feel like being appropriate. For once I want to cast off all the baggage
of command and responsibility and be human.
I want to show my feelings, my pain.
I’ve considered all sorts of scenarios.
One
very appealing one, in my fantasies at least, is where I turn up at the moment
the priest is asking for any objections.
I dramatically throw open the doors to the church I shout that yes, I
have an objection - I’m in love with the bride! Everyone is utterly dumbstruck for a moment. Then Seven is running towards me and we dash
from the church together, hand in hand.
I
did say it was a total fantasy.
Alternatively
I’ve contemplated going and getting totally and utterly drunk to blot it all
out. Or maybe I could arrive with a
truly gorgeous guest of my own and make Seven as jealous as I am. That one’s complete wishful thinking too. Finally there’s the option of just not
turning up.
Of
course I know deep down that I will do none of these. I will go and I will smile and nod and shake hands and inside I
will be dying every second. I feel the
pain starting at just the thought of it, a horrible gnawing somewhere deep
inside. Eventually B’Elanna speaks up
again, having left me to my dark thoughts long enough.
“Anyway,
I’m not here to talk about that, at least not directly.”
I
feel a slight edge of relief. “What was
it you wanted then?”
“How
do you feel about hen nights?”
I
choke on my coffee for a second. “This
is the twenty-fourth century B’Elanna, not the twenty-first,” I tell her, “Plus
this is Seven we’re talking about. Do
you really think she’d want a hen night?”
And
do you really think I’d want to go? I feel like adding.
“Ah,
she doesn’t know what’s good for her.”
B’Elanna waves a dismissive hand.
“And who knows, six months back on earth might have turned her into a
party animal.”
Six
months? Is that all it is. It seems like a lifetime. I favour B’Elanna with a doubtful look.
“Ok,”
she concedes, “Unlikely I know, but still, we ought to give her some sort of
send off, don’t you think?”
A
send off to her life of boredom with Chakotay? I still find it hard to understand what she sees in him. I suppose he’s nice and kind, but
so…dull. “I’m not sure, B’Elanna. It’s a bit last minute isn’t it?” I add,
trying to inject some reason into my argument.
“It
doesn’t have to be a big thing,” offers B’Elanna, “You, me, whoever else is
around San Francisco.”
It
seems B’Elanna isn’t to be dissuaded.
Maybe it would be good to see Seven for just one more time before she
gets married to him. I get the
familiar fluttering in my stomach at the thought of seeing her. “All right, but nothing outrageous, just a
few drinks.”
B’Elanna
grins. “Trust me.”
………….
All
the way to the bar I keep asking myself why I agreed to this. Was I experiencing a moment of temporary
insanity? It’s too late to turn
back now, though, I’m with B’Elanna and I know she’s going to make sure I get
to that bar one way or another. It’s
almost as if she too knows about my fears and doubts. She was lucky to get me out of my house at all; I spent so long
deciding what to wear. In the end I
settled on a simple white trouser suit – I wouldn’t want to be upstaging the
bride-to-be after all. I resolve that I
will go to the bar, stay for a couple, and then go home and drink or cry myself
to sleep. All this angst and we haven’t
even got to the main torture of tomorrow yet.
By
the time we reach the bar on the far side of the bridge, the butterflies in my
stomach have turned to a raging swarm.
As B’Elanna pushes open the door in front of me I fear that I’m going to
pass out. Holding my breath doesn’t
help.
The
bar is reasonably crowded and it takes me a moment to spot her. Then the people part as if instructed and
she is standing before me as gorgeous as ever; more gorgeous than ever. Her hair is down out of the permanent twist
it stayed in on Voyager, long golden strands falling over slender shoulders. On seeing her, my fears of any sort of
upstaging by me are shown to be utterly ridiculous. There’s no way I could have surpassed the stunning dark-blue
dress she’s wearing. It clings in all
the right places, but gives off an air of class and sophistication at the same
time.
She
hasn’t seen me yet, talking to Samantha Wildman as they stand by the bar. I consider that the evening might go more
smoothly if I can just stay away from Seven as much as possible and socialise
with the others. Yet as usual my
subconscious has other ideas, I find myself naturally gravitating towards her,
wanting to be in her presence.
She
senses my approach before I arrive, turning to fix her startling blue eyes on
me.
“Admiral,
it is good to see you.”
I
am frozen in a quandary of desire and manners.
What should I do – shake hands; embrace her; kiss her on one or both
cheeks? Relieving me of the need to
commit myself, Seven leans in and gives me a brief kiss on the cheek. I thank the stars that it’s dark in the
club, else the blush creeping up my face would be on display for all.
“It’s
good to see you too, Seven,” I reply politely, “How have you been?”
“I
am well, Admiral.”
I
almost laugh at the formal answer even though it would be entirely
inappropriate. I think it’s the
nerves. I really need that drink.
“And
Chakotay?” I force myself to say through gritted teeth.
“He
is well too.”
“Great,
I’m glad to hear it. No last minute
nerves about tomorrow then?”
Why
did I ask that? I sound desperate! Where’s that blasted barman?
Seven
looks slightly surprised by the question.
“No.”
“Ah
good, I’m sure it will be a lovely day.”
Could I sound any more inane if I tried?
“You
are coming then?”
“Yes
of course I’m coming.” Fabulous, now
there’s no backing out. I suppose
there’s always that fallback option of ‘urgent Starfleet business’.
“Only
we did not receive your reply to our invite.”
“Sorry,
I forgot with work and everything,” I answer vaguely. “There’s still room for me is there?” Say no, please say no.
“Yes,
there is room,” she replies evenly.
Damn. At least the barman has finally arrived to save me. “Can I get you a drink?” I ask Seven.
“A
water would be fine, thank you.”
Suddenly
there is someone else at my shoulder.
“A water?” exclaims B’Elanna, “A water?
For Kahless sake you can’t have water on your hen night.” B’Elanna turns to the barman. “Risan Sunbursts all round!”
Seven
looks worried. “B’Elanna, my capacity
for alcohol is still somewhat limited,” she tries to reason with the
belligerent Klingon.
B’Elanna
makes a dismissive tutting noise. “If
you can’t get drunk tonight when can you?
And you can’t let your guests drink on their own.” B’Elanna thrusts a multi-coloured drink with
a fizzing sparkler sticking from it into my hand. “See, even the Admiral’s having one.”
I
don’t actually remember agreeing to the dubious looking drink, but B’Elanna is
like a force of nature when she’s in this mood. I’m starting to get a terrible feeling about this evening. Seeing that I have one of the elaborate
cocktails, Seven reluctantly accepts one from B’Elanna and takes a sip. The face she pulls shows exactly what she
thinks of it.
I
decide to intervene on her behalf.
“B’Elanna, if Seven wants a water I think we should let her, we don’t
want the bride to be too drunk to walk up the aisle do we?”
Before
B’Elanna can agree or disagree, Seven has taken one look at me and proceeded to
down the rest of the drink in one gulp.
“I
will have another.”
My
eyes widen. “Seven, are you sure that’s
a good idea?”
“I
do not believe you are my captain any more.
I do not take orders from you.”
I’m
stunned into silence. Where the hell
did that come from? One minute it’s
all forced politeness and then suddenly the cutting remark. Before I can answer she has taken her drink
and moved off to mingle with the other guests.
B’Elanna
sidles up to me. “Someone’s pissed at
you.”
It
seems so, though why is another matter.
I spend the next while pondering that as I watch the partygoers from my
position perched on a stool at the bar.
There are a good few of my old crew here, plus a few others I don’t
recognise. I suppose they’re new
friends or colleagues of Seven’s.
There’s a sense of sadness in my heart that she is off making them
without me, that she has another life now that I know nothing about. I could do something about that, I could go
and talk to her, but I don’t think I want to hear the details of that life, one
that I’m not part of.
So
instead I stay sitting morosely on my seat with just my drink for company. Occasionally an old Voyager crewmember comes
over for a chat, and I force myself to be upbeat and interested in what they
have to say. Meanwhile Seven keeps her
distance. I suppose I should be thankful,
but I’m not, I’m disappointed. What did
I expect though? Did I think she’d be
so pleased to see me that we spent the whole night reminiscing? In my dreams maybe. This is more like a nightmare.
The
door is looking more and more tempting.
My eyes are on it when I see a shifty looking man entering the bar. He’s wearing a long coat and a hat turned
down over his eyes. My wariness
increases as I see him approach B’Elanna and watch the two of them engaged in
hushed conversation. I get a horrible
sinking feeling in my stomach. She
wouldn’t, would she?
On
cue Seven is brought over to the pair of them.
I see that her previously immaculate outfit has now been added to, by
B’Elanna no doubt. Seven’s sporting a
veil adorned with tinsel and a large plaque with a big red ‘L’ on it is
attached to her back. God knows what it
signifies. I think B’Elanna’s been
spending too much time sifting through her husband’s collection of twentieth
century memorabilia. The gathering
crowd blocks my view and I slip off my stool and work my way through them to
the front. Seven is sitting on a chair
in the centre of the throng, but rather than looking perturbed like I thought
she might, she’s actually grinning and laughing along with the crowd. The drink that she swiftly finishes might
explain her overly relaxed mood. I know
this isn’t the real Seven, and part of me wants to leap into the centre of the
ring and rescue her from what I know is about to happen.
The
music starts up before I can move.
Then comes the shifty-looking man.
He sways over to Seven, gyrating his hips in time to the beat. His coat is quickly dispatched to show a
Starfleet uniform underneath. I bristle
at the sacrilege as he starts to provocatively peel off the tunic. To make matters worse he’s wearing one of
the old style ones, like we had on Voyager, with a red band across the top no
less. He leans down over Seven and
whisks the makeshift veil off. She
looks blearily up at him, her eyes having trouble focussing.
“Take
my pips off for me?” he asks suggestively.
Seven
snorts a laugh, but tries to oblige, fumbling at his collar. I’m painfully reminded of a time three years
previously when it was my pips in Seven’s hand. If only I’d said something then.
I did make a stupid suggestive comment about trying romance, but either
it went right over Seven’s head or she chose to ignore the implied offer. I notice with some satisfaction that she
seems unable to unfasten the stripper’s ones, and in the end he discards them
along with his top. I don’t think I can
watch anymore as he produces some oil for Seven to rub into his now bare
chest. I don’t remember ever being such
a killjoy, but this is just grotesque.
I
slip back through the crowd to the bar, able to hear the whoops as more items
of clothing are discarded. Eventually
the music stops. I don’t bother to look
around until I feel a hand on my shoulder.
“Come
on, Admiral, how about a dance?” It’s
B’Elanna. Was I really expecting
anyone else?
“I
don’t think so,” I reply.
She
leans in to whisper to me. “Kathryn,
just get your ass off that stool for one minute and try to at least look like
you’re having fun.”
I’m
shocked. I don’t think I’ve ever heard
B’Elanna use my first name. Not to
mention the fact that she’s noticed my mood.
To fend her off I find myself agreeing, and we work our way onto the
crowded dance floor. We’ve only been dancing at a discrete distance from one
another for about a minute, when she guides us towards another couple. It’s Seven dancing with a man I don’t
recognise. Before I realise what’s
happening, B’Elanna has asked to cut in and whisked the man off, leaving Seven
and me alone. Unless we want it to look
totally awkward, there’s no option but for the two of us to dance
together. As if on cue the music slows. I could gleefully kill B’Elanna right about
now. Again it is Seven who is proactive,
taking my hand in one of hers and placing her other arm around my back. She doesn’t speak or make eye contact. I naturally slip my arm around her neck and
we are off.
As
we move around the floor I’m unable to speak either, too consumed by the raging
fire within me. I can feel Seven’s body
pressing against mine, feel the heat of her through the thin material of her
dress. A couple of time she stumbles or
steps on my feet, but I don’t care. I
know Seven is drunk and yet when she looks at me she seems suddenly lucid.
“Why
did you come here tonight, Admiral?”
I’ve
been asking myself the same thing over and over. “Because it’s your hen night, Seven,” I say out loud, “I wanted
to show my support.”
“Like
you have shown it the last six months?”
Ouch! The truth really does hurt. Especially when she speaks it.
“I’m sorry if I’ve not been able to see you much since we got back to
Earth, I’ve been…”
“Busy,”
she finishes for me, “Yes, of course you would be.” She doesn’t sound like she believes it, though. “It does not matter, I have had Chakotay to
support me.”
I
wince internally. How much more pain
does she want to inflict on me? I
would almost think she was doing it deliberately, but what would be the
point? She’s the one that got what she
wanted, I’m the one that should be bitter and twisted and miserable. And I am.
We
finish the rest of the dance in silence.
As soon as it’s over I go back to the bar and order a double whiskey.
…….
I’m
sure I resolved that I was going to politely excuse myself after a few drinks,
and yet I find myself still there at the last throes of the party. I should be well and truly drunk by now,
given the amount of alcohol I’ve consumed, but for some reason I’m not. I suppose the occasion is too sombre from my
point of view for my brain to completely let go. I wish it would, because I’m not sure how much more of this I can
take. Maybe I just like torturing
myself? I deserve it after all for
being such a coward. Or maybe I just
want to savour these last few moments with Seven, even if she is as drunk as a
skunk and has been ignoring me most of the night. I realise that she could be stuck with her head down the toilet,
throwing back up all those Risan Sunbursts and I would still want to be there,
holding her hair back for her and whispering soothing words.
The
only other hanger-on is B’Elanna, who’s heading my way now, swaying slightly as
she sashays across the dance floor.
“Time for the final surprise,” she slurs when she reaches me. She has to brace herself on my table to stop
from toppling over.
I
dread to think what this latest stunt is, but ask anyway. When she answers I nearly splutter my drink
all over the glass-topped table. “You
have to be joking,” I comment.
She’s
oblivious to my concerns though, her brain long-ago addled by drink. “It’s a tradition, where’s your party
spirit?”
I
wonder where B’Elanna’s will be in a minute when she tries her crackpot
suggestion on Seven, and gets a borg fist in her face for her troubles. If B’Elanna wants to risk it though, then
it’s her call, who am I to argue? If my
mind were slightly clearer I might be opposing it more vehemently, but the
drink is affecting me slightly more than I realised and I’m keen to see what
happens either way. I nod my assent to
B’Elanna and we seek out Seven who has finally given up battering her way
randomly round the dance floor and is slumped on one of the bar stools. She doesn’t look her best and for a second I
think about holding B’Elanna back, but the other woman has already collared her
target.
I
follow them on out the back entrance to the club. In her drunken stupor, Seven stumbles on the steps and I react
without thinking, reaching out to catch her arm. She glances at me and for a second I see the old Seven, looking
to me for help and guidance. Then the
moment is gone. B’Elanna has taken hold
of her other arm and is dragging her along, coming to a halt by a bank of iron
railings that mark the edge of the cliff that looks out over the bay.
Seven
is only dimly aware of her surroundings, swaying slightly as she peers at
B’Elanna. “Is this where the wildfowl
are?” she asks.
“Wildfowl?”
“Yes,
you know, chickens,” clarifies Seven, “For the hen night.”
B’Elanna
makes an effort to hide her laughter but it’s futile. Once she’s composed herself she takes Seven’s arm again. “Come on Seven, just sit here a moment,” she
suggests.
Seven’s
in no fit state to argue. She
obediently plops her bottom down on the cold concrete in front of the fencing.
“Now
just put one arm round here,” instructs B’Elanna, indicating one of the
railings. Seven does mutely as
instructed. Her head lolls onto the
railing, resting against it.
I
feel that since she can’t defend herself, it’s down to me. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” I ask
B’Elanna, “Isn’t it a bit dangerous leaving her out here?”
“Don’t
be stupid, we’re not going to leave completely.”
I’m
not sure I like being called stupid by my former subordinate, but let it pass
this time. The voice of reason in my
head points out that it’s not that inaccurate a description given the
circumstances. How old are you
exactly? It asks me. Eighteen? I ignore it. “So I
presume you came prepared?” I ask B’Elanna.
She
produces a pair of sturdy looking handcuffs.
For some reason I was expecting pink and fluffy, but I should have known
better with a Klingon. I kneel down to
help prop Seven up as B’Elanna attaches them.
Suddenly I feel the cold snap of something around my own wrist and then
B’Elanna is swiftly standing up with a wicked grin on her face. I try to follow suit, only to find that the
cuff around my left wrist is attached to one around Seven’s right and we’re
both secured to the railings.
B’Elanna
starts to edge away and I put on my best command tones to halt her. “B’Elanna!
You get back here now and undo these things!”
The
imposing voice doesn’t seem to be working tonight though. B’Elanna’s still smiling. “Sorry, but as you said we can’t just leave
her out here on her own.”
“Then
you come back her and freeze your ass off – it was your blasted idea!”
B’Elanna
continues to back away. “I thought you
two might like to chat,” she remarks cryptically before turning on her heel and
disappearing into the early morning gloom.
I
stare incredulously after her. How
could she do this? I don’t want to
be here sitting on a hard and shockingly cold pavement; I want to be tucked up
in bed, nursing my growing hangover with some strong coffee. There is a small moan from beside me and I
reconsider my position. Maybe I do want
to be here.
Seven
is still slumped against the railings and for a moment I wonder if she’s
actually asleep. Does she even sleep
now?
“Seven,”
I try quietly, gently shaking her shoulder with my free hand, “Can you hear
me?”
A
pair of groggy blue eyes tries to focus on me.
“Captain?”
It
sounds good to be called that again and I don’t bother correcting her.
Seven’s
eyes are now wandering around our location.
“Where is B’Elanna?” she asks, “Why are we attached to this fence with
restraints?”
“Don’t
ask,” I reply, deciding it best to deflect from my involvement in the
situation. “Do you think you can break
the cuffs?”
Seven
pulls ineffectually at the steel bindings with her borg hand for a couple of
minutes before giving up. “My
nanoprobes do not appear to be functioning correctly,” she comments in some
confusion.
“I
wonder why,” I mutter under my breath.
“I guess we’ll just have to wait until someone comes past to get
help.” I don’t like the thought of it,
but know I don’t have much choice short of gnawing my own hand off. I’m not that desperate…yet.
Seven
rests back against the railings again and I find myself studying her, not for
the first time in my life. Even with
her slumped drunkenly on the floor I can’t help the huge swell of love and tenderness
in my heart. Why did I ever let her
go? I laugh internally at the
irony, because at the moment I couldn’t let her go even if I wanted to…which I
don’t.
A
cool breeze wafts up over the bay and through the railings. I shiver involuntarily. At least I had enough sense to grab my coat
before we came outside. Seven on the
other hand is still in just her dress.
She must be cold. The urge to
draw her close is strong and I’ve moved before I’ve even consciously thought
about it. However, as I try to edge
nearer, my left hand catches on the railings, the cuffs clattering noisily
against the metal. Seven’s head jerks
up.
“Do
you like me, Captain?”
“What?”
I ask stupidly, taken aback by both the question and the suddenness of it. I gather myself. “Of course I like you.
We’re friends aren’t we?”
“Friends,”
she repeats. She sounds vaguely
disappointed.
There
is silence again for a moment and I wonder what prompted the strange
question. Why would Seven think I
don’t like her? Especially when it
couldn’t be further from the truth.
Seven
is staring off through the railings, out into the fog. “I was waiting you know.”
Obviously
I’ve had too much to drink, because my mind is having trouble understanding
where this conversation is going or even what the topic is. At least Seven is talking to me,
rather than biting my head off like before.
“Waiting? For what?”
“For
you.”
Now
I’m really confused. I knew those five
whiskeys were a bad idea. “When?”
“Back
on Voyager.” I realise Seven’s had a bit
too much too, because she’s not making much sense. She’s also got that distant, distracted tone of a mournful
drunk. “I was so convinced….” she
trails off for a second before finishing abruptly, “…but I guess I was wrong.”
I’m
lost in this conversation, all I can do is go with the flow and see if all
becomes clear at some point. “Convinced
about what?”
Seven
laughs. Seven actually laughs. I didn’t even realise I had made a
joke.
“Maybe
it was mere wishful thinking on my part,” she continues with an edge of
bitterness I’m not used to hearing in her voice, “To try and justify my own
feelings. They were so overpowering
that it seemed inconceivable that they would not be returned.”
Somewhere
deep down my brain is telling me I know what she’s talking about, but I can’t
quite get to the answers through the surface haze. “What feelings?” I ask to
clarify things.
“You
are really going to make me say it?” asks Seven. There is an odd, almost manic edge to her voice. She is still not looking at me, making a
point of keeping her eyes fixed on a distant point in the misty bay. “Today of all days?” she continues, “Even
when it is futile?”
“Seven,
it’s late,” I sigh, rubbing at my temple with my free right hand, “Or should I
say early, and my mind is a little foggy to tell you the truth. Can you please just tell me what the hell
you’re talking about?”
Her
face swings towards me so she’s staring right at me, blue eyes now piercing in
their intensity. Any suggestion of
drunkenness is gone. “I am talking about
the fact that I was in love with you; that I still am in love with you.”
I
think my mouth hangs open for a good minute before I finally manage to
speak. “But…Chakotay…?” My mind has frozen and it’s the most
articulate thing I can formulate. Even that
comes out as a croaky whisper.
“What
about Chakotay?”
“You’re
marrying him!” I remind her
emphatically. Given her statement of
seconds before, something suddenly occurs to me. “Seven, do you actually love him?”
“Of
course I do not love him.”
Her
candour is shocking, considering she’s meant to be marrying the man in a few
hours time. “Then why are you getting
married?”
“Because
I cannot have you.”
Again
I am speechless. My mind is trying to
tell me that here at last is my chance.
Seven is telling me what I’ve only dreamed about hearing and yet no
words are forthcoming from my own lips.
It all seems so unreal.
“But…earlier…?”
Well,
this is progress, I’ve managed a whole different word after the stupefied
“but”.
Seven
is staring at her right hand, chained to mine through the railings. “I was trying to prove that I did not
require your attention, that I did not need you. I wanted to show that I am happy without you.” She glances back at me momentarily. “I am not happy without you.”
The
sadness in her voice is all the more remarkable given whom it is coming
from. She continues in the face of my
continued silence. “It was the same
back on Voyager.” She looks away again
as she recalls it. “I wanted so much to
be with you, but you always remained just out of reach. There were suggestions of something more,
enough to keep me hoping, but in the end I had to face the fact that it was
pointless. Obviously you did not feel
the same for me as I did for you. So
when Chakotay suggested dating I determined that it might provide useful data
on the subject of relationships.
Possibly I was also hoping to provoke a reaction from you. Yet still you did nothing. You did not appear to be displeased in any
way. So I continued dating him, and one
thing led to another and here we are, getting married.”
Speak,
damn you, speak! “Seven…I…”
“It
is all right, Captain…Admiral.” She is
aware enough to correct herself this time.
“I realise you cannot return my feelings. I should not have unburdened myself to you. I give you permission to forget I ever said
anything.”
Now
it’s my turn to laugh. She looks
perplexed by the outburst.
“Forget? How could I forget
anything you say?” Suddenly the dam has
burst and I know there’s no holding back.
“Oh, Seven, what the hell have we been doing all these years? It would be hilarious if it wasn’t so
painful.”
“I
do not believe I understand.”
I
need to tell her now. This is the
moment. My heart is thudding hard
against my chest as I take her one free hand in mine. I swallow for a second and clear my throat to make sure the
words come out crystal clear. “I’m in
love with you too, Seven. I have been
for years.”
Seeing
the look of utter shock on her face I can see she had no inkling. How she was unaware I’ll never know. I thought I might as well have had it
tattooed across my forehead all these years – “I love Seven” in blaring
letters.
“Those
suggestions you spoke of, you didn’t imagine them,” I tell her, “They were very
real, evidence of my feelings that I couldn’t hide despite my best
attempts. I was in love with you on
Voyager, so much so that I knew I couldn’t admit to it while I was still
required to be your Captain, be everyone’s captain.”
“And…you
still love me?” She asks it slowly as
if she’s afraid to get to the answer and hear a negative response.
“Yes.”
“Then
why did you let me engage in a relationship with Chakotay?” she asks in some
consternation.
“I
don’t control you, Seven,” I try to explain, “You can do what you want, and I
thought you wanted to be with him. I
had no right to object even if I desperately wanted to.”
“I
wish you had.”
“So
do I,” I agree ruefully.
“I
cannot marry Chakotay,” she states suddenly, “I will cancel the wedding, tell
him I no longer wish to be with him.”
A
tiny part of me feels sorry for him, but only a tiny part. I’m certainly not going to try and dissuade
her. “Try to be gentle,” I simply
suggest.
A
small smile curves at the corner of her lips.
We both know of her propensity for plain-speaking. The silence descends again, but this time it
is not dark and oppressive, this time it is rich with possibilities and
potential. Finally the burden that I’ve
been carrying with me for years is gone.
It seems only right that I should shuffle closer along the
pavement. Leaning in the final
distance and pressing my lips to hers seems entirely natural too. I have absolutely no idea how long the kiss
lasts. It seems like an eternity but at
the same time not long enough. When I
do finally pull back Seven is staring at me with such eager expectation that I
feel my breath catch.
I
clear my throat and whisper huskily.
“You know if we weren’t chained to these railings I’d take you back to
mine now and show you just how much I love you.” The suggestion is heavy in my voice and I know she realises what
I’m talking about. I can see it in her
eyes, she wants to just as much as I do.
Suddenly
there is a wrenching noise and then my left wrist pops free of the
railings. I rub my numb arm and look
incredulously at her. “I thought you
couldn’t break the cuffs?”
Seven
merely looks back at me, quirking up a single eyebrow. “I lied.”