Regret

by: Dacia

VOY J/7(sorta) R

WARNING: If you think that reading a story with lesbian themes and/or content might send your world spinning off its axis, or banish your fragile ego to a dark corner in your psyche, then perhaps this isn't the story for you.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Captain Kate, nor sadly, the stunning Seven of Nine. And most certainly, I do not own the Federation Starship Voyager, if I did, I wouldn't be driving a beat up Volvo (well ok, maybe I would, but only on Sundays). The aforementioned belong to Paramount, as do Chakotay, Tuvok and the rest of the gang. Please don't sue me for playing with other peoples' toys.

ADDITIONAL WARNING: I was in a really bad mood when I started writing this story, and determined to take everyone else down with me (it's ok, I feel better now). So, this story contains some rather depressing material, including a character death... sorry.

Kathryn Janeway stared blankly at the proffered padd, as though she did not even recognize the piece of equipment, refusing to acknowledge its significance; but a moment later, reason overrode the bleakness in her heart, and her mind regained control of her body. She took hold of the padd, automatically scanning the document for errors, mindlessly jumping through the bureaucratic hoops that Starfleet insisted on, that she insisted on.

The certificate was in order. She realized, perversely, that she'd been hoping, needing an excuse not to add her signature to the bottom; but like so many things lately, she'd not been left with a choice. Mutely, she keyed in her command code, and pressed her thumb to the bottom of the form, just like a commercial transaction, a common occurrence. She felt sick, dirty, as though she'd performed some heinous act of betrayal.

The Doctor's hesitant voice pierced the black veil over her thoughts.

"I'll see you this afternoon?"

She responded mechanically; the same response she'd given all day,

"Yes, of course."

And that was it. The Sick Bay suddenly felt too small, claustrophobic, she needed to leave.

Rather unsteadily, she thrust the padd out towards the bald man across from her, and as soon as he took hold of it again, she was gone. The quiet snick of the doors followed her departure.

The blue-shouldered hologram stared a moment longer in that direction, his dark eyes shining with substance-less tears before he turned to input the information in his hand; it took only a moment, and with a leaden sigh he issued a final verbal command,

"Computer, process information, and close patient file: Seven of Nine."

In the hall, outside Sick Bay, Kathryn Janeway had not made it very far. The corridors were thankfully empty, as she leaned against a bulkhead. Her head fell back against the drab wall momentarily, her face contorted in anguish. Then, she took a long, steadying breath, and the pieces of her command mask reassembled into a passable semblance of the whole. She pulled herself back upright, pivoted, and continued down the hall towards the turbolift. She had duties to attend to.

The bay was full, with most of the crew attending the service, the remaining few were manning the critical stations; but an open comm linked them all together.

Command colours rippled at the head of the crowd, the Captain, First Officer and the majority of the bridge crew were there, decked out in dress uniforms. Grim was the cast of most of their countenances, grim and sombre. Only the Captain's expression was different; it held no emotion at all. Her face was slack. Her eyes were lifeless, the eternal spark that lit them was muted, or extinguished. She responded only to direct inquiries, of which there were few. Though the crew tended to pull together in times of crises (it was one of their greatest strengths), they all kept a respectful distance from their Captain, even as they sought each others' warmth.

It was time.

The command crew parted to reveal the silvery casket behind them, and the Captain stepped forward to speak.

"Seven of Nine was not with us long… three years. But in that time, she touched us all. She saved this crew countless times, sacrificed for us. Yet, it was her ongoing quest to rediscover her individuality, her humanity, I think… that affected us the most…"

Even as the words left her lips, she felt herself drifting, distancing herself so that she could continue to speak. The crew needed to hear her, to know that life did go on, that it always would go on. Her words would be a balm to them, to help begin to heal their pain.

But who will heal mine?

Before she could begin to wrap her mind around that unanswerable question, she realized her speech was done.

A simple ceremony, followed, whereby the casket was covered with a cloth emblazoned with the Starfleet's insignia. Chakotay and Tuvok were the ones to place the cloth. A short pause followed, where after everyone dispersed. Janeway did not linger, heading immediately for the bridge to discharge one final painful duty. Her command staff would join her, yet she would still be alone.

"Seven of Nine, born Annika Hansen, we consign your body to the heavens." Her voice faltered on the last word, cracking open, bleeding raw emotion.

She gave a terse nod to Ops, and watched Harry tap in a brief command. A moment later, the silvery casket shot into view. In a softer, tremulous voice she added,

"Safe journey."

All aboard observed a traditional moment of silence, their heads hung low. Janeway however, silently tracked the progress of the sleek projectile with her wane grey eyes, until the tremor in her hands and lips became unbearable. She spun away from the screen, her voice hard,

"I'll be in my Ready Room."

Chakotay caught her arm as she was leaving, lowering his voice for her benefit,

"Maybe you should take a few days… go back to your quarters."

His eyes were dark liquid, kind, but his words rankled. She didn't want any time to herself. What she needed most now, was work, and lots of it. She couldn't bring herself to be kind in return, and her tone brooked no further argument.

"I'll be in my Ready Room." she repeated coldly, disengaging herself from his light grip.

The doors swished open, and she stepped into the shadows of the darkened room. Her gaze flitted to her desk, but her feet moved her toward the large windows on the second level of her office.

The stars streamed past, each unique light beckoning, but it was the dark void in between that held her attention, drawing her down and in. Angrily, she pulled away; this was exactly what she didn't want to do, to lose herself in the rising tide of grief within her.

She stalked over to her desk, and sat down with purpose, setting her concentration on personnel reports, and departmental updates. She devoured the mindless work, making her way voraciously through the mounds of bureaucracy. Too late, she noticed the heading on the next padd. It was the incident report from Lacera Prime. She'd avoided dealing with it, but the details it contained were etched in her heart.

So stupid! How could this happen?

She held it for a moment, expressionless, and then carefully replaced the padd on her desk; she was done for the day anyhow. Time had passed without notice, and she was now well into her second shift. A heavy net of exhaustion lay over her mind, perhaps I'll be able to sleep, but she knew that wouldn't be the case. She left for her quarters regardless, not knowing where else to go, not wanting to stay put; not with that padd in the room, she had her own demons to contend with, without the benefit of any physical reminders.

She didn't turn on the lights when she entered her quarters, relying on the muted stars, and her own familiarity to help guide her. She found her nightclothes without difficulty, and changed quickly, her back turned to the mirror in her bedroom. She lingered, performing her ablutions, drawing some comfort from the nightly rituals. All too soon though, she was ready to slip under the covers.

The rasp of silk on satin played harsh in her ears as she settled under the sheets, and her own breathing seemed too loud, as though it were interfering with the natural quietude of the universe. She lay there on her back, trying to slow the beat of her heart, and calm her mind, but to no avail. Now, the thoughts she had pushed away all day, for many days, came rushing in, pouring through all the cracks and crevasses in her emotional armour.

She whispered, a verbal caress, "Seven…" and her mind cast back to six days prior, when Voyager had arrived at Lacera Prime.

...The tiny, but lush green planet had welcomed them, insisting on ritual gift-giving and feasting, and the crew had been delighted by the reception. The Lacerans were a technologically proficient race, but with a well-developed sense of spirituality, and appreciation for nature. A kind of balance and serenity infused their lives, and for a short time they had shared that infusion with the crew.

Voyager had made an agreement to exchange technologies and expertise with the planet, and an offer of shore-leave had been extended. Janeway had been only too happy to accept, they'd been too long between rest periods. She'd even gone so far as to take some time herself...

She resisted the impulse to close her eyes, as the memory of one shining afternoon threatened to overwhelm her; but the images flashed across her mind without her assent.

Seven had seemed somewhat surprised by the invitation, when she'd ambushed her in Astrometrics. Kathryn had been certain to arrange both their schedules to allow for concurrent leave time, so that Seven wouldn't be able to use work as an excuse. Even so, the young woman's lips had parted in thought long enough for Kathryn's heart to scramble into her throat, and for self-doubt to creep in. In the end though, with an enigmatic upward curl to her lips, she'd said 'yes'.

They’d agreed to meet at the transporter pad the next morning, and when Kathryn arrived, she’d not been surprised to see that Seven had already beat her there. What had surprised her, was Seven’s clothing. The younger woman had been wearing a fitted sky-blue tunic, the colour matching her eyes, and a trim pair of durable looking tan slacks, with chestnut brown hiking boots on her feet. The greatest shock of all though, was not the other woman's departure from her regular attire, but rather, her unbound, honey blonde hair; it'd flowed in waves of silk over her shoulders, while her bangs were caught up in a loose barrette. She'd seemed so very young and beautiful, Kathryn had been entranced.

Observing the Captain’s mute state, Seven had arched the silver implant over her left eye, and questioned, with a slight amount of hesitation,

"The computer informed me that such apparel would be appropriate for a ‘casual’ hike on a planet correspondent with Lacera’s environmental factors. Is the selection flawed?"

Janeway had blushed lightly, embarrassed to be caught staring, especially with the coil of heat just below her stomach that was swiftly becoming unraveled. Hoping that the ex-Borg would not notice the shift in her colouring she'd responded,

"No. No, you look fine, the clothing is… fine. But, uh, one question, did the computer suggest the change in your hairstyle?"

Then, it was Seven’s turn to blush, an uncharacteristic pink glow infusing her features, and she'd replied, more demure than Kathryn had ever heard her,

"No, the change in the array of my hair was my choice."

She'd paused, her eyes downcast,

"You… do not like it?"

Sensing that her companion’s question was pivotal, Kathryn had chosen her next words carefully,

"I do like it, Seven, very much. It makes you look different, younger, softer."

The last was said in a whisper, that even the Borg’s enhanced hearing had difficulty picking up.

"Thank you, Captain."

The ex-drone then took a moment to inspect the woman opposite of her.

"You look different as well… but I find the effect aesthetically pleasing."

Kathryn had been wearing her own well-worn brown hikers, a beat up pair of denim pants that were once dark blue, but now, had faded considerably. She'd also worn a close-fit grey shirt that left her arms bare, and a backpack slung over her shoulder containing, amongst other things, a jacket just in case the weather turned.

Absorbing the compliment, Kathryn had tamped down on the heat that was threatening to rise in her cheeks again, and pivoted towards the transporter pad. With an elaborate flourish of her right arm, she'd intoned dramatically,

"After you."

With another quirk of her eye implant, Seven had stepped up, and turned to face the Captain, who was busy filling in their coordinates.

"I’m going to put us down about 15 km from the meadow, we’ll have a challenging walk though the hills, and then a lazy progression along the river to the dinner table."

"The dinner table?"

"Well, actually a dinner cloth. I’m having Neelix send down a picnic."

"A picnic… ‘a human dining custom traditionally held in an outdoor setting on a red and white checkered cloth. Usually accompanied by a wide variety of foods and occasionally members of the Family: Formicidae. The 'picnic' is often used as a romantic setting…’"She finished her recitation, her voice going up slightly in question on the last statement.

Janeway had forced herself not to blush again, wondering what was wrong with her.

"Right. All except that last part… and the ants. I don’t think the Lacerans have a comparable species."

Kathryn had hastily initiated transport in order to stem any further commentary on picnics, and they'd both disappeared in a dissolution of shimmering atoms...

Kathryn turned on her side, drawing her knees up closer to her body as she remembered.

...They'd spent an unforgettable day together, with Kathryn showing Seven the delights of a living, breathing planet, and taking new pleasure in rediscovering old joys. They'd walked through the sloping hills until they'd come to the river, following its meandering progression to the meadow. Seven had seemed particularly entranced by the rushing waters; at one point, crouching down like a small child to let the water slide through her open hand. The blonde had opened her mouth, a typically analytical expression fixed upon her face, but instead of speaking, her features had shifted and settled into a dazzling smile. Kathryn had rarely seen the former drone smile, and never such an openly delighted one. It had captured her heart, and set a low familiar buzz tingling through her fingertips.

The hike had left her with a pleasant ache of exertion, and they'd arrived approximately an hour before sunset at the meadow. Kathryn had been delighted to find Neelix had preceded them. Always ready to embrace human customs, the enthusiastic Talaxian had obviously gone to a great deal of trouble.

The two woman had discovered a red-checkered cloth laid out for them beside a tall tree with great leafy branches, oriented for a perfect view of the setting sun. Laying on the cloth was a wicker basket, which upon investigation had revealed a veritable bounty of traditional picnic fare, right down to the coleslaw; as well as a not so traditional bottle of champagne from the Picard vineyards back on Earth. Mr. Neelix must have deemed something worth celebrating to have included the last item, though Kathryn was uncertain as to what that could be. Perhaps he was just happy to see then both take some shoreleave.

The two women had shared the repast in comfortable silence, both seemingly content to enjoy the beauty of their surroundings and each other's company. Kathryn had caught herself staring several times during dinner, enthralled by every movement her dinner companion made; the hesitant way she approached her food, having never been faced before with the cutlery challenge coleslaw and potato salad posed; the smooth line of her throat as she swallowed a sip of champagne, being careful not to overindulge; and the way, every so often, her eyes would lift, and meet Kathryn's, completing a blue arc of electricity, before sliding away.

After dinner, they had sat with their backs against the sheltering tree, legs bent in front of them, almost touching, and watched the sun dip to touch the horizon. Seven, strangely enough, had been first to break the silence, with a curious question that was not as idle as it initially appeared.

"Where do you call 'home', Captain?"

Kathryn had turned her head to regard the younger woman, as she answered easily,

"Indiana, back on Earth."

Seven had digested this slowly, as though it were a particularly complex algorithm.

"And what makes Indiana 'home' ? " She'd questioned further, her eyes holding an earnest quality.

"It's where I grew up. I went to school there."

Kathryn had paused shifting her vision to the open meadow, not yet satisfied with her own reply.

"I suppose though, what really makes it home… is my family. The people I love live there."

She'd returned her gaze to Seven, whose face was bathed in the soft glow of the dying day, her eyes reflecting the amber hues imbuing them with her own light blue. The blonde's full lips had parted in thought,

"The people you love."

Her words were tinged with something… wistful. Her eyes had lifted to pin Kathryn, deep blue. She'd said after a moment, very slowly,

"Then Voyager, is my home."

The implication in Seven's words had warmed Kathryn, sending a delicious and surprised tingle throughout her body, but at the same time frightened her. She'd been alone for so long, closed off emotionally to the world around her. For six long years she'd been doing her best to keep 150 people alive and together, to get them home safely. She'd all but stopped worrying about her own individual needs the day Voyager had become stranded in the Delta Quadrant. That is, until a certain, former Borg drone had wormed her way into her heart. The blood had pulsed in her veins, as feelings long ignored boiled to the surface. But her head had overridden her heart, and the words she'd longed to speak had died on her lips.

Even so, she'd gathered enough of her characteristic strength to whisper in response,

"Perhaps a person can have more than one home."

And slowly, she'd breached the gap between them with a hesitant hand, and gathered the young blonde's fingers, intertwining them with her own.

They'd remained connected that way until the sun had disappeared completely below the horizon, and the night had slipped over them; and they'd been forced to return to the ship as the planet's surface temperature dipped below comfortable.

If only she'd known then, at that moment, that it would be their last chance. For the next time she'd seen Seven, it was already too late.

Her Astrometrics officer had suffered a 'technological mishap' the Lacerans said. Though their description was dry, they had been genuinely saddened by the incident. Seven had been evaluating some of the Laceran's unique bio-technology, exploring the feasibility of incorporating it in Voyager's systems, when she had suddenly collapsed.

Janeway had arrived only seconds after the accident, in time to witness the younger woman's last breath from across the room, rushing to her for an emergency medical beamout. It was too late.

They'd discovered afterwards, a fatal positive feedback loop had been initiated in Seven's nanoprobes by a random power fluctuation in the Laceran's biological interface. No one could have predicted it, or prevented it. Nothing like it had ever happened before in planet's history, and the Lacerans had shut down the facility where the accident occurred the following day, pending further safety inspections. They'd been so supportive...

Janeway blinked several times rapidly, refusing to shed any tears, and rolled onto her back.

How could this happen?

It was a hollow, angry question; one with no answer, and that made her even more angry. There was no vengeance to be had, no wrong that could be righted. She needed something to hold onto, something to focus on, but even the self-destructive road of guilt lay closed to her, there was nothing I could do. All she had left to her were regrets, a fool's inheritance. The anger receded like the tide.

I should have told her. Why didn't I tell her?

She lay still for a time, as images fought for supremacy in her mind. Those of Seven, her gold-spun hair lying loose and brilliant across her shoulders; of full lips parted in a delighted smile. Kathryn could still smell the delicate scent of lilac, imbued with a slight metallic tinge, uniquely Seven's. She tortured herself with ghostly sensations, imagining things that never were. Imagined burying her face in that shining, soft hair; of tracing the sloping contours of Seven's lips, of having her questing fingers pulled into the warmth concealed by those same lips.

Almost of its own volition, her hand swept down the length of her body, pausing over the tightening nipple at her left breast, feeling the heat rising through the fabric. An unbearable tension had built inside her, and her hand continued its path down her torso, until it encountered the bare strip of flesh between her camisole and pajama bottoms. Her fingers lit upon the quivering muscles there, while in her mind she pulled Seven closer; her hand caught in the fine blonde hairs at the back of her neck, leaning in to taste her lips gasping in surprise.

Her fingers slipped under her waistband, and the final barrier to the center of her tension. Her world shifted, and now it was Seven's hand on her, moving between her legs, heightening her arousal. Her long fingers slipped through the warm folds, unpracticed but gently increasing the rhythm. Kathryn's hips left the bed, as all the muscles in her body tensed. In her mind's eye she saw Seven, her warm smile, the one that had so captivated her on that last day. That last day… the last day…

Reality came crashing down. The image distorted. Seven's smile melted away, and the scene changed completely. She shuffled through a series of memories; of Seven slumped over the Laceran console, of the funeral that afternoon. Her mind then settled on one black image. Kathryn now saw Seven as she'd last seen her, laid out on a bio-bed in Sick Bay, looking to all the world as though she was sleeping, while the low buzz of the Doctor's voice tickled her hearing.

"I'm sorry, Captain. There's nothing we can do… the damage is just too extensive."

Her eyes flew open, and she numbly removed her hand from under her waistband, resting the appendage on her bare stomach. The tension in her body remained, but her desire was gone. A brief flicker of futile anger welled within her, but just as quickly, it died. She seemed incapable of sustaining any emotion anymore.

She shifted her head slightly to the side, to gaze out the window once again, her eyes shining, but dark; and this time she did not resist, when the infinite void lured her in, enticing her into the wide black expanse, cradling her in an empty promise of succor. But before the stars winked out, and she succumbed to the allure of nothingness, she resurrected the words that had died on her lips days before, despairing at their lateness,

"I love you, Seven."

And though her voice was soft and broken, her words rippled through the ship, out into the void, and came to wash over a speeding silvery light as it journeyed through the heavens.

The End

Please take a moment to:

She enjoys most of the major food groups, including Criticism and Praise, however Flames and Hate Mail give her indigestion.

There's no place like home.