Title: "The Pyx"
Parts: 1/1
Author: R.Schultz ( cousindream@aol.com )
Rating: PG-13, f/f sexuality
Series: Alternate Voyager
Code: F/F
Pairing: Seven of Nine/F
Disclaimer: Trek belongs to Paramount, this story belongs to me according to the Berne conventions, and everything else belongs to the rich guys who bought and paid for Congress and the White House. 6900 words long, December 2002. Written for the FFF.
Summary: Our ex-Borg is finding out what it means to be assimilated by the human collective. It is pain. It is life. It is discovery. It is dismay. It is joy. It is confusion.
Warning: This fiction treats female/female love and sexuality in a positive manner. If this offends you, go elsewhere. Some passages may fall foul of local legalized prejudices. Folk living in such locales cannot enter here. Go away.
Written for the FFF -- http://www.oocities.org/femme_fuhq_fest/ , and will be archived at the ASCEML.
Comments to R.Schultz ( cousindream@aol.com )
by R.Schultz
"Explain, please," I requested.
The Captain sighed, then motioned me to follow her inside her cabin. She is my mentor, and is patient with my curiosities. She slipped out of her tunic, detaching her rank pips. Dressed now in her issue underblouse turtleneck, she folded herself onto her couch. With a grin she patted a spot next to herself.
I remained standing.
"Sit," she said. "Please."
I did not need to sit. However, the Doctor has stated part of my assimilation process includes both pretense and courtesy. The Captain would herself feel more at ease if I did not stand above her and dominate the area. To stand would be confrontational.
Attempting a small 'smile', I sat beside her. Crossing my legs and lacing my palms over my knee. My mentor seemed to be more at ease when viewing me in this 'relaxed' attitude.
The Captain twisted and showed me a hard-copy book of printed pages. I had seen other such books in her presence. She enjoyed reading in this manner. Once I should have dismissed enjoyment as irrelevant, but I had come to identify a lack of stress as a form of enjoyment. I recognized I had come under stress as I am assimilated by the human collective.
Humans were imperfect. Prolonged stress lowered their efficiency. All on this vessel suffered from stress. It was therefore sound practice to seek to lower the harmful effects of prolonged stress.
The Captain read. Tuvok meditated. Chakotay meditated. Harry Kim played music on his clarinet, his 'licorice stick'. Tom Paris labored on the holodeck with ancient vehicles termed 'hot rods'. Megan Delaney copulated constantly. Jenny Delaney copulated constantly. B'Elanna Torres ....
All humans played some type of game, or sought inner peace. I also am human and I must seek enjoyment. Borg are always calm. Yet I am no longer part of the Borg collective. Enjoyment must become part of my assimilation process into the human collective.
"A trashy novel is a .... piece of fiction which has, hopefully, the ability to transport the reader out of her own body. No, not literally, but in a manner of speaking. Hyperbole.
"I read, and I become totally involved in the story, to the exclusion of my real life worries and tribulations. I escape my worries, which is why it's called escapist fiction.
"After spending a period of time reading, I am able to return to my worries. But by then I am then partially refreshed, for my mental burden is lessened. For a few minutes or hours, I was able to think on other things.
"Trashy writing in particular describes an especially simplified world. One in which the problems and cares of others are surmountable. This then allows me to feel that perhaps all cares may be surmounted. Illogical, perhaps, but the illusion allows inner relaxation.
"Trashy fiction is also frequently highly emotional. Even overwrought, romantic, melodramatic, improbable, even erotic. But the key word is still escapism."
The Captain placed her book back on her end table, returning to face me.
"It keeps my mind healthier than it might be.
"Do you feel a need to escape your troubles, Seven? I know you are far from loved, here, on my ship. Some still distrust you. A few resent your beauty, or resent your not being able to easily respond to their own tentative attempts to become friendly. But most of us accept you now, Seven. I want you to believe that.
"Which is one reason why I would like to invite you to our Christmas and Eid and Hanukkah and Tet celebrations coming up." She leaned forward, her hands warm on mine, a small smile curving her lips.
"Please say you'll come. Please? We'll all have a night at Sandrine's and a Holo Sleigh Ride, and other things. Exchange presents, maybe flirt or kiss, do things we might otherwise never do. It is a time for being other than we usually are.
"I know your last public dance attempt was less than successful, but won't you come anyways? Please? Perhaps not so much for your own sake as the sake of the others?
"It is a season where we may individually reach out and seek comfort and caring among our fellows whom we might rarely smile upon or feel forgiveness and caring.
"If most times many do not reach out to you, Seven, this is a time when we try a little harder to welcome others into our private circles of universe. Please come not for your own sake, but so the rest of us might see you and welcome you. We need the sense of community."
"I shall think on it," was all I promised. That was an evasion, but fully in keeping with the societal norms in the human collective.
"There is much more I must research. This Christmas season will be critical in my assimilation into the human collective. I must learn new protocols. Knowledge I have had. I knew so very much through my Borg memories. Yet my knowledge was unusable, because I did not grasp their meanings or know when to apply them."
"Ask questions," the Captain urged. "Not just to increase your own understanding, but for the benefit of the rest of the crew.
"When they can help you, talk to you, they themselves feel linked to you. They feel better, themselves, if they can help you. Humans are funny that way. And I very much wish for you to join the human collective, Seven."
She leaned to me, touching my cheek in a loving gesture. "If I can help you, please come to me," she said.
"I shall," I said. "There is much to understand about humanity which I do not understand."
"By the way," Janeway smiled at me, "it's been almost two months since I've had to forcibly separate you from B'Elanna and vice versa. Whatever you or B'Elanna are doing, keep up the good work."
There was pain. Almost all my newly acquired human emotions gave me pain. Especially her words. I failed to understand why humans were so proud of their ability to have emotions.
With that I rose and exited, giving a thanks to the Captain for her time.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Sure, Seven," Lt. Paris responded. "What do you wish to know in particular about Christmas?" He had been separated from B'Elanna Torres for eighteen ship's days now. His anger and hurt was diminished to the point where he was willing to help me.
I had taken to heart the Captain's suggestion that I seek help from the crew. Thereby allowing them to 'feel better' through the simple charitable act of assisting me.
Tom Paris is a fellow human in the collective. I feel sure he is capable of assisting me. His assistance should prompt him to accept me more fully.
"I am aware that giving 'presents' is a custom of the holiday," I explained. "Sources are uniform in explaining that the practice is a means of showing caring and regard to those closest to you as an individual.
"Yet I know from personal observation that a giver does not always regard the recipient highly. Is that not a dichotomy?"
He thought for a minute, then explained as best he was able. His natural instincts were to be flippant and irrelevant. Instead, he was reaching out to me. It was pleasing to know this. Pleasure was not irrelevant. The Borg are wrong on this.
"Very often a gift is given because the recipient believes they are DUE a symbol of Christmas. Or because by giving a present the giver averts .... displeasure .... from the one getting the gift.
"But most often, yeah, we give presents because we feel the need to show our love to the other. We feel they're something special and want to show this with something physical and concrete. Christmas is a time of the year when we've got an excuse to be generous.
"It also makes the giver feel good, usually.
"Christmas is a lot more than presents, though, Seven. It's supposed to be a time when we all bond closer to each other. Out here in the Delta quadrant we really need to feel support from each other.
"We're all we got, Seven. We need to feel down deep in our guts that we are a big family.
"We might complain, and even hurt each other. But we're family and we need to rely on each other in times of need.
"By the way, Seven, I know I have not personally been the nicest possible guy, to you. But I really do down deep appreciate the way you've pulled our collective chickens out of the hot grease, here, on VOYAGER. I wouldn't be here right now without your help."
With that he leaned forward, his face close to mine. He hesitated, allowing me to decline acceptance of his gesture, if I wished. As expected, when I did not object, he gave me a small kiss on the cheek.
I did not object. Helmsman Paris is often capable, if rarely efficient. At times his personality seems shallow, but I have learned to withhold judgment on my fellow crew humans. They continue to surprise me.
I did not care to copulate with Lt. Torres' ex-boyfriend and lover, but at times he was capable of very human flaws and human virtues. He had shown he was willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good of the human collective.
Humans are proud of their individuality, yet like any good drone, they are often willing to sacrifice themselves for the collective. Humans are multiplex and difficult to understand. Of late I also find myself difficult to understand.
"One more question, Lt. Paris," I asked. "I have observed givers labor to make their Christmas gifts a surprise to the recipient. Is this a standard human pattern?"
"Not always," he reminded me. "But, yeah, we humans like to surprise someone."
"Humans are often perverse," I observed.
"You betcha," he said in reply. He had just reached out to me. I find myself receiving pleasure when other humans did that.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Naomi Wildman was fitfully sleeping in my lap, making it a necessity for her mother and I to converse in low tones.
It was illogical, but young sapients in peaceful contact with me fulfilled some non-understood need in myself. I could recite many theories as to why that was so. Many seemed quite valid. Yet it still confused me to discover a sense of internal satisfaction and achievement when I merely held Naomi Wildman.
After these years on VOYAGER, my protestations concerning the irrelevance of pleasures were no longer valid for me. The Doctor opinioned that I was slowly being assimilated by the human collective. Obviously pleasures were relevant.
Which ones were relevant, however, was still largely unknown. Being human meant having almost no sureties.
Only a few values and pleasures were obviously now necessary for me. Holding Naomi was one of them.
As an ex-Borg, I knew my reproductive organs had been excised in the name of efficiency. It was illogical to feel maternal cravings. Yet from observable data, such feelings were now part of my human responses.
Humanity was full of contradictions and error. I might never become fully assimilated. I am become a vessel, holding humanity. That frightened me. I am illogical.
I felt warmed, however, to hold Naomi. Illogical, but satisfying.
Sam rose and took the child from me, telling me to remain on the couch. She said she would put Naomi to bed, and then she'd return and we would converse.
She was gone eight minutes and fifty-four seconds.
"Ask your questions, Seven. I'm more than willing to help you if I can."
"Describe love to me, Samantha Wildman. Please."
She stared at me, her legs crossed, one foot tapping in the air. A small smile came to her. I think I felt embarrassment. As well as being sexually excited. I perforce thought of the one who my thoughts and human emotions had indicated was the one I loved. Both emotions disturbed me. Emotions came unbidden, and at times when I was unprepared to deal with them.
"Do you think you might be falling love with someone, Seven?"
"I seek nothing more than information," I responded. "Sources use many ambiguous words. All of which fail to clarify. Perhaps you might bring clarity. Please?"
"Love is ...." she began, "losing control." She grinned.
"When you are IN love, you are not entirely the mistress of your fate.
"You constantly think of that other person. You wish to be always in the company of that person. Their opinion means a great deal to you. You value their judgment. To touch them does electric things to your mind and your emotions and your body.
"They become more important to you than yourself. Their needs become more important. Their whims or desires must be fulfilled. You are surmounted in your own mind and body by this other person."
I hesitated before asking. My face felt flushed. "Do you wish to copulate with that other person?"
"Yes," she managed. "Very .... It is one of the ways in which you lose control of yourself, for you want to give your body to the other and also, by the way, achieve great quantities of satisfactory .... orgasms."
I knew she had been clinical in her explanations, but it had been deliberately presented in a way I could understand. To a degree.
Her hand was on mine, she had moved to sit alongside me. It felt pleasurable.
"When you are IN love, Seven, you do not regret the loss of control. Rather you wish to lose control to a greater degree. It is a way of offering more of yourself to the one you love. You are become the gift you wish to give.... I'm sorry, I'm sure I'm making no sense."
Finally she asked the question I knew she must ask. "Tell me, Seven, if you can .... you certainly don't have to .... can you name the one you think you might love?"
I declared that I wished to maintain who my possible love, or loves, were, to myself. I must research further.
"There is nothing wrong with falling in love, Seven. It is very right. We all do it, unless we are so crippled inside we cannot respond to another person, we cannot trust them.
"You might be hurt in your love," she continued, "but I'd still recommend falling in love.
"Love is much MORE than having sex, by the way. It's perfectly okay if you do NOT immediately engage in .... copulation."
"If the other person does not respond to your love by offering their own?" I finally managed to ask. I think the concept made me afraid. To be in love and not have that love returned made my body work swifter and harder. It was a painful emotion. I did not want to be afraid.
I wanted my would-be lover to love me.
Yet the sources had indicated this might not occur, regardless of one's own devotion. My own love might not be returned or enhanced by the other's love.
Samantha Wildman looked very pale now. "Then I would say you have a problem."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Megan Delaney was considered to be a non-intellectual person by many of the crew aboard this vessel. Yet I knew she was highly intelligent, and had become an officer in an exacting and arduous occupational specialty branch of StarFleet. She and her sister maintained environmental control, gravametric control, and the internal gravametric compensators. Despite the multiples of G-forces to which the inhabitants of this vessel were subject when it was in motion or stopping, no harm came to the crew.
Not a position for humans of limited capability.
Sources implied that they were adjudged less than they were because of their promiscuous sexuality.
I may eventually be assimilated into the human collective, but many aspects of human behavior struck me as illogical. Even stupid. Many male and a few female crewmembers availed themselves of the opportunities for copulation either of the Delaney sisters offered. Yet they thought less of the sisters because of the venue of affection they enjoyed.
Personally I found neither Delaney to be 'sex-mad' nor shallow. I also found their secret caresses and promises mildly exciting. I was daily reinforced in my belief that I might be either a lesbian or bisexual.
I was in love with another female. It hurt to be in love. Pain is relevant.
However, I loved neither Megan nor Jenny. The trashy books they had let me read were uniform in recommending my restricting my emotional and physical responses to the one I loved.
Megan and Jenny copulated frequently, but this was their pattern of dealing with stress, and being part of the human collective. Apart from their wish to copulate with me, they treated me without pretense or disdain. Some distrust lingered, but they consciously sought to treat with me as a fellow human.
They were willing to copulate, but were patient, and did not limit their discourse with me to sexual matters. They were more at ease in my presence than many aboard ship.
The Mess Hall was virtually empty, and Megan pushed another chocolate almond ball towards me.
Dual emotions waged war for control of my mind and body. Sweets like these were never fully digested in my system, for they were unnecessary for maintenance of my nano-probe enhanced organism.
However, I was slowly learning pleasure was not irrelevant. When I consciously allowed my taste buds to be pleasurably stimulated (or not), I could then taste what I ate. These balls were delicious. In addition, by concentrating my being I could find layers of sensation unknown to other humans. I am Borg.
It was a mixed blessing, I now knew. Chocolate had a greasy undertone. Too much sugar imparted a hint of dismay in my taste buds, and the almonds were especially hard to digest.
Nonetheless they were delicious.
Wine was not quite so delicious, but it had its attributes. As did hot sizzling animal-protein, salty thin-sliced fried potato bits and milk, as well as Neelix's puce-colored soup. I must limit my consumption of solid or liquid material, but if I wished I could now taste Neelix' quasi-nutritious material. I did not. His soups were not delicious.
Megan and Jenny had taken the opportunity of the Christmas season and a full reserve of material in our stores to replicate a taste treat. Everyone had large numbers of replicator ration points, and Megan and Jenny were sharing. They had shared before this. Samantha Wildman thought them generous. Willing to give and share without hope of reward or gain.
As stated previously, they were multiplex humans.
They had replicated clear goblets and filled them with golden tinfoil wrapped chocolate almond balls. They had spent much of the evening placing goblets of chocolate throughout the ship. They were doing a Christmas-type thing. Being generous with delicious material meant to be consumed.
Megan had explained, in her fashion, why she and her sister were wearing 'Santa-Claus-type' red-stocking-caps. It was a 'whimsey'. A means of physically reminding all who saw them of what the season was. It was a gay thing to wear, they said, and represented the spirit of giving.
"Explain the goblets," I asked.
"They are pretty things, aren't they?" Though still confusing, the concept of something being of value for its intrinsic beauty was an acceptable human 'whimsey'.
"When the season is gone," she said, "we presume many will keep one of the goblets as a souvenir of the holidays. Whenever they see them or use them, we hope they will be reminded of Christmas, and be made just a little happier thereby."
Aboard VOYAGER work had always to be done, with no pause for a 'holiday'. Holiday was a concept rather than a period of time where work might be avoided altogether, allowing rest and recuperation. Human regeneration did not always involve rest. Despite the opinions of others I found both Delaney sisters remarkably efficient and precise.
"You used the term Pyx for these goblets," I reminded Megan. "Is that not the receptacle you use in your religious rites to hold the transmutated flesh and blood of your messiah?"
"The Eucharist," she returned. "Yes, but it is also a vessel for holding gold and other precious things. Maybe the use of the term is wrong, but we both like to think of the holders of our little gifts as a Pyx. They are, in a very tiny, tiny way the holders of something precious.
"Our .... regard, our caring for the people on this ship.
"Things of value. These chocolates hold our .... our expression of love for our crewmates. It holds important, precious things, Seven. As said, Jenny and I may be guilty of mis-use of the word, but we don't think so.
"Besides, whenever someone asks about the word, we are each given an opportunity to talk about what it means to us."
She pouted then. "A lot of the males on this ship don't listen to us. Because they can talk us into their beds, they think we don't know anything."
Patting my hand, she rubbed my leg with her one foot. "You don't treat us like dummies. Seven, and we appreciate it.
"Won't you have another chocolate? I LOVE that little dazed look you get on your face while you chew on it."
Megan is in error. I do not get a 'dazed' look on my face.
The appropriate human expression was that she twisted my arm.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Ensign was one of those allowed to become serving members aboard VOYAGER. Though technically guilty of murder during his time on the EQUINOX, he and a few others had abandoned their previous vessel to serve with us.
In all probability he was emotionally still an outsider aboard this ship. He was my choice as information source.
"Ensign Noah," I asked, "might you spare a few moments to answer a few questions for me?"
We were essentially alone, here in bometrics hydroponics garden deck. He looked about, and I told him I had chosen a moment when computer had said we might be alone from other curious humans.
"I seek understanding. I am a human female, for all intents and purposes, but I am unsure about my place in the human collective.
"Will you please assist me?"
He agreed, and I deliberately edged closer to him. I could detect a heightened body temperature and faster heartbeat. I edged closer and I now touched him with my breasts. I was close enough to him to kiss. He was emitting pheromones.
"I have been told many times I am an attractive female, and data sources confirm that I fit into that narrow arbitrary group. You agree?" He did. He shivered and I believed he was beginning to achieve an erection.
"Therefore it would not be difficult for you to both function as a human male and wish to copulate with me, is this correct?"
He laid a hand on my arm and put his lips close to mine. When he touched his lips to mine, I was able to comprehend the speed with which the male of the species was able to be ready for copulation. He was already fully erect. I could tell by the way in which his .... prick .... poked me in the belly. Only our clothes prevented immediate availability.
"No, no, Seven," he quietly stated, "I would LOVE, just LOVE to love you...."
"Copulate," I corrected.
"Please," he whispered, "I want to love you. You are not a damned piece of meat, you are a beautiful woman, you deserve to be LOVED! A woman such as yourself is a beautiful work of art, Seven, you deserve to be given LOVE, not just a little .... fun."
Human patterns were illogical, but in this case these and his many other words fit source data. Human males were capable of many phrases, many of which were absurd. Yet he was attempting to be poetic. Poetry is a means of communicating. It does not match simple conversation.
I deliberately allowed myself to enjoy his word patterns. It might be illogical, but the words had emotions behind them. I needed to experience emotions if I were to be assimilated by the human collective.
When his hands began to touch parts of my body, I let him.
Oddly enough my belly tightened, my groin moistened, my nipples hardened, my breath came faster and my heart-beat increased.
When he .... fondled .... my groin, I jerked closer and moaned in his ear. I was also emitting pheromones.
He answered all my questions, including those I had not yet said aloud.
Sex was pleasurable. Pleasure is not irrelevant. I am indeed a sexual being. Sex gave me pleasure.
I told him I was searching for data. Not a lover. He was extremely disappointed. I presumed he had thought I might go to his small lower-decks cabin and we might copulate there.
I could not tell him I was 'saving myself' for my true love. I was not assured that my would-be lover would love me back. The universe is such an unsteady place. I hurt to contemplate it.
However, the trashy escapist novels Captain Janeway read were of one mind in this. My true love should be the first one to have my body. Many sources also said she should be the only one to be given my body.
However, he was voluble in his gratitude when I proposed becoming a fellatrix and taking his 'dick' into my mouth. I was quickly bent in front of him. He found the act physically gratifying.
My entire body felt as if electric currents were running over it. My groin was wet from sexual excudations, and my nipples ached. Sex pheromones filled the air, many of them mine. I felt an uncharasteric weakness in my knees.
It excited me to perform this task for Ensign Lessing. As I had not yet declared my love for my .... 'heart's-mate' .... there was no conflict. I did not love Ensign Lessing. I allowed my taste buds to encompass his taste. It was unpleasant. After that I neutered my taste sensations.
He came quickly, and kissed me frequently after completion. Data sources referred to them as 'blow jobs'. He has appreciated this service I performed. Performing the act was also satisfactory on a number of levels.
It pleased me to give satisfaction to another human being. He was also a fellow crewmember. Other emotions were also discernible within my new human matrix. It pleased me to be a female servicing a male. I was a sexual being. It was also both a means of 'dominating' our relationship, and at the same time being 'subservient'.
Humanity is a multiplex collective. The Borg were simpler.
He wishes for more, but I am firm in my denial. This once and once only we were sexually close. I will not give him any more oral sex once I have given myself to my one and only true love. Sources in trashy escapist novels the Delaney sisters read were adamant about this. One cleaves only to one's heart's-mate once the uniting has occurred.
Again I feel fear that my love might not be returned.
I left hydroponics secure in the knowledge that I could physically respond to sexual foreplay. Sexual pleasure is not irrelevant.
I left hydroponics afraid and in pain. She might not love me.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres was putting an access plate back in place, when I came to her. The Jeffries tube was limited in space, but it had the value of being private.
"Lt. Torres," I said, "I seek data from you. May I engage you in conversation? Sources indicate you may give me much usable information on human mating patterns and protocols."
"Mating patterns, eh?" she questioned. "Since I can't keep Tom Paris from cheating on me, I don't know as how I could be considered a reliable source. But go ahead, shoot. One thing, though, why me?"
"Many humans evade questions. Many also fail to be truthful. Despite our differences, you are rarely evasive or untruthful."
"Why thank you, Seven .... I think. But there's still plenty of other people you could approach for your 'data'. Why me?"
"I wish to discover whether or not I am attracted to same sex partners. I think I am .... perhaps .... in love with another woman. I match the profile norm for a woman in love, and a woman in love with another woman. It is immensely confusing and painful. Therefore I seek data. You are known to be a female who enjoys same sex copulation."
I had never seen Lt. Torres face become that particular color before.
It was obvious I had 'pushed the wrong buttons' with Lt. Torres.
"Seven...." she began.
"Please. B'Elanna. I think I am in love and I seek nothing more than clarification."
"What would you know about Love, Seven?" she asked.
"Almost nothing," I admitted.
"Yet every time I am near this person I feel pain. Pain because I know I am not closer to her than I am. Pain because I must eventually leave her presence.
"I do not like pain, B'Elanna. I am allowed to call you B'Elanna, please? When I was a Borg I did not feel pain. Not like this.
"Now I am in constant pain. I cannot bear to be near her. I cannot bear to be away from her. The data sources almost uniformly state I am in love.
"I did not know love meant so much pain.
"Every time she puts her own life in jeopardy, I feel the strangest and most alarming pain. I am not sure I would survive her death, or even her serious injury.
"Please help me understand, B'Elanna. Please help me not to hurt so much and so constantly.
"Please...."
After several long minutes the Lieutenant calmed her agitation. Then she let one hand steal over to where it lay atop my own hands. "Does she love you back?" she asked.
"I believe she does," I replied. Her physical signatures are all heightened when we are near. We often have confrontations, but I know her eyes follow me as I walk or stand.
"On many occasions I have detected the musk of physical arousal and strong emissions of appropriate pre-mating pherenomic tells."
"How romantic," B'Elanna said.
She laid on her side in the Jeffries tube, gazing up at me.
"So what do you want me to do about it, Seven? Do you want to give me love notes to pass to her in secret? I'm not a mail person, and I'm not very good at holding some overwrought lovers hands. So what do you think I could help you with?"
"I wish you to kiss me. I must be sure that I become physically excited when kissed by another female." She was surprised by my request.
"What about the other gal?" she asked. "Just because you can be bi, that doesn't necessarily mean the other gal can be. Or lesbian.
"She also might be wonderfully attracted to women in general. But she might not care for you. What do you do then?"
"I shall suffer great pain," I replied. "I see no way to avoid pain if my estimations and judgments are in error."
"You mean it, don't you, Seven?"
"Will you please kiss me, B'Elanna Torres?"
"Why me, Seven?"
"There is none other I might trust in this matter. You are known to enjoy .... loving other women.
"You are honest.
"You are truthful.
"You would not willingly cause me more pain than I already possess."
"We fight constantly," B'Elanna reminded me. "I'm sure I cause you quite a lot of pain. Considering the number of times I've wanted to knock your block off, I might cause you one hell of a lot more pain some time in the future.
"I can't say I'm the one you should be talking to about this. The Delaney sisters also do girls. Can't you talk to them, play around with them and kiss one or both of them?"
"I must kiss you," I persisted. "I have many lives worth of data available to me. Large libraries of data, speculation, and fiction. Information I have. All the information available indicates I am indeed in love, and in love with another woman.
"Data I have. I need to be touched emotionally.
"I need to be touched in my heart. You are best for that. We are sapient females together.
"Data suggests you would not willingly hurt me. Not in this matter. Not in an affair of the heart.
"I must trust someone in order to proceed further in acquiring my humanity.
"My heart tells me I can trust you."
"I still don't know if I should get involved in this, Seven," she said. "Can't you approach your .... your love, directly?"
"That is what I am doing," I answered.
"I had hoped to proceed at a more gradual pace. To present you with my love as a Christmas present. A surprise Christmas present.
"Obviously that is no longer possible."
Her mouth hung open, and I found it a beautiful mouth. Her warm soft olive-toned skin glowed in the uneven light of the Jeffries tube. He dark eyes were access panels to her mind, and I did not hold the codes to reach that mind inside her. I moved my arm and hesitantly laid my hand on hers. I thrilled to the warm of her hand. I inhaled the acetic beauty of her body. Also the flowery soap she used to clean herself, and the lime of her shampoo.
I could smell myself being excited by being near her,
I hurt so terribly.
"It is you I love, B'Elanna. I experience pain when I am near you. I experience pain when we are apart. I experience pain when we argue, for I want to hold you tight instead. I experience pain when I wound you, for I want to kiss your pains away instead of giving you new ones."
She was stunned.
"Will you kiss me, B'Elanna Torres?"
I crouched forward, shaking. Her face was nearer to mine. She had small lines in her face, the marks of stress and strain. He eyes were darkness. She was older than she was. She was beautiful.
I could access the memories of Borg. I could access the data from computer. I remembered every word in the trashy novels I had been reading. I knew how to kiss. I knew a thousand thousand ways to kiss. I knew how to successfully copulate in the manner of lesbians. I was capable of giving multiple orgasms to B'Elanna every time we copulated.
Data on this I had.
I did not know how to kiss her. I was afraid and in pain. My body shook, and my own scent embarrassed me. Embarrassment because I theorized as a half-Klingon B'Elanna was quite capable of detecting my outflux of pheromones.
I could smell hers. She was aroused and ready to copulate. With me. I shook worse than before.
Our lips met.
There was a Biblical reference to being cursed and cast down to burn in the fires of Hell for eternity. I fell.
I knew great satisfaction and much joy. I was sore afraid.
My metal hand was behind her head, holding her tight to me. Our tongues touched, our tongues clashed, our lips worked each other.
I was in love.
I was in pain.
I wanted B'Elanna to be my heart's-mate.
She broke off our kiss, her eyes busy on mine.
She wanted to .... Not copulate. She wanted to love. Ensign Lessing had the appropriate phrase in his mouth when he spoke to me. I must love this woman. She wanted to love me. The pheromone signatures were obvious.
"Seven," she said, "let me think on this, will you?"
She wished to have sex with me. I wished to have sex with her. To love her.
She rejected me.
Inside I knew pain. Captain Janeway should never have severed me from the Borg. As a drone I did not know this pain.
I turned and retreated from B'Elanna. My face was dry. I did not cry. I hurt too bad to cry.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Noah Lessing was a good dancer. Thanks to the EMH my dancing skills were greatly enhanced. As we danced he talked with me. He wished to be my heart's-mate. I told him that was impossible as my heart was given to another. He was sad, but kept up face-saving pretenses in my company.
He was agitated when I said we could still be friends. Searching my data banks, I discovered that the phrase was a 'cliche'. It was also frequently used by female humans who wished to finish their relationship with a human male. Or female.
I did not wish to give him pain and told him so. We danced two more slow dances. I soothed his pain as well as I was able to.
I danced once with Harry Kim and pretended I did not feel the tumescence of his erection. Him also I gave pain to. All without wishing to do so. He was not my heart's-mate.
I pretended to sip a little punch. Chakotay gave it to me. He also wanted my body. He valued me for more than my body, was the phrase most often used in the trashy novels of the Captain and the Delaney sisters.
During previous Christmas celebrations it had been irrelevant to me whether or not fellow crew members wished to copulate with me. This Christmas I knew what pain was. I .... spurned .... them, and gave them pain. It hurt to pain them.
B'Elanna was there with Miral, her baby girl. In a pretense of normality, I made many cooing noises at the child. B'Elanna allowed me to hold her. When our bodies touched fleetingly, I felt as if I had been burned. It was a wonderful sensation. It hurt me.
Our eyes met many times in the course of the night. It hurt to be unable to hold her or kiss B'Elanna. Therefore I busied myself with other things in an effort to not look at her.
I failed.
Therefore I went on another HoloDeck sleigh ride in the snow. It was cold, and I needed the thick blanket to maintain a pleasing comfort level short of my nanoites increasing my metabolic rate. Tom Paris sat next to me. He wanted to copulate with me.
Perhaps being 'beautiful' was not always an asset.
Mr. Paris talked, I casually rejected his caresses made under the cover of the blanket, and he ceased his untoward advances. Once we had achieved this new interpersonal equilibrium, the sleigh ride became more pleasing. When we sang, I whispered the songs' words to him so he could join in the chorale. I knew them all.
The pain seemed to lessen.
The Christmas celebration was in its terminating stages when we returned. My ordeal was nearly at an end.
With her child in a backpack, B'Elanna appeared in front of me.
"Where I am, so goes my baby. You know we are a pair, don't you? Mothers don't have the sort of options young females feel are theirs by divine right."
I sang the body electric to be so close to her.
"Miral is a straight-up total pain in the ass, sometimes. Sometimes she makes me feel like an angel come to earth, but she can be beautiful or ugly in a second.
"Think you can be a mother, Seven?"
"As I need only a minimal regenerative cycle each night, it would be possible to be able to take much of the physical burden from you."
"That ain't what I asked, Seven."
"I do not know. I shall endeavor to be a good one. Much of the process should be capable of heightened efficiency."
B'Elanna sighed. "I can see you're gonna be a pain in the ass to live with too, Seven."
She looked around and then opened her arms to me.
"I accept your proposal, sweetheart." We kissed. We barely brushed lips. Then she pulled my head tighter and fed herself to me for four minutes and eleven seconds.
"What the hell. Shut up and give me this dance."
I gloried in her body, in her scent, in my own hard nipples as she casually bit them through my catsuit.
"I love you, B'Elanna," I whispered in her ear.
"I love you too, Seven." We danced, we kissed, she bit me on the neck until blood ran down my throat. I groaned loudly in pain and in bliss.
I lifted her by her ass so we could kiss better. She squealed to be held up against me in this fashion, and wrapped her arms hard around me.
After another kiss, she asked; "Is everyone watching?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Good," she said.
We were dancing under the mistletoe. Her body was encased in the Pyx of my love. She was a treasure, worthy of a heavenly jewel case. I was in flames.
END