Warning: This has a serious *weird* warning. And a Very Bad Taste Alert. (I refuse to acknowledge I wrote this--really it was that person over there who wrote this...I was under alien influence? Ummm, I'm my evil clone?)
Disclaimer: My mood was decidedly not normal when I wrote this...But since I doubt Paramount would ever consider using any of these stories...
Special thanks: Becky, Norrie, Jackee, CB and her friend (for the title).
But today, she was struggling. Actually she always had to struggle--the Doctor had said, since she was practically perfect, she needed to do things that were hard for her...
And getting dressed was definitely one of those things.
She gave her catsuit a wicked glare, and returned to the process of doing her daily self-examination. Making sure the few Borg implants and nanoprobes that-were-still-within-her were functioning properly.
She looked at her breasts, encased in a device the Doctor had given her--something he called a wonder-bra--to support them. It helped immensely. Her breasts were big and heavy--and until she no longer needed the nanoprobes to survive, the doctor had been unwilling to do a breast reduction. They were apparently the reason so many of the males on the ship ogled her. She flipped open the top of her right breast and accessed the Primary Micro-nano-grid System check. The small probe she used to check showed everything was working. She hated this part. It always made her feel bitchy for several hours.
She performed a similar function on her left breast.
Satisfied that her systems were functioning properly, she closed the artificial skin and picked up her catsuit.
Mechanically she began to dress. First her right leg, then her left leg into her catsuit. Then she wiggled and squirmed as she pulled it up over her hips. Finally her arms, first the right, then the left, and now came the hard part. Pulling it up over her breasts. She took a deep breath and made herself skinnier than her corsets already had.
She struggled, and struggled. Wiggled and wiggled...
But still the suit would not go over her breasts.
"You will cooperate," she ordered the suit.
It did not comply.
"Resistance is futile," she said louder.
The suit refused.
She pulled hard, and tripped over her shoes.
Lying on the floor, she took another breath and pulled her suit hard. This time she was able to squirm and roll her way into the top of her suit.
She stood awkwardly and walked over to a chair and sat down, stiffly. She hated getting dressed. Clothing was illogical. A Borg drone wore armor not clothing. That was functional. This was torture. She put on the shoes. More ridiculous footwear...The Doctor had said something about keeping her humble.
She was Borg...Borg were not humble.
Finally she was dressed.
Seven stood in front of the bright lights and snapped her whip. "Today, I will demonstrate the amazing feats of my nanoprobes." She held up a gallon glass container. "Inside this container are 50 nanoprobes. Watch carefully."
The audience leaned forward to see these incredible creatures.
"They are small, very small. You must look carefully." She place the container on a table. "Watch as my nanoprobes perform the Dance of the Cygnets from Swan Lake." She again snapped her whip--and in the background came the appropriate music.
The audience whistled and applauded as they watched the microscopic nanoprobes dance around the jar.
Finally she snapped her whip and it was quiet. "Now, for our next act, my amazing nanoprobes will perform miracles. Bring in the dead guy."
Two scantily clad male assistants (Tom and Harry in fact) appeared with a stiff. They placed it on the table.
"Excellent, here is an alien I've never met--been dead for six months, yet we know he holds the secret for getting Voyager home." She held up a hypospray. "In here I have placed one-thousand nanoprobes. Watch..."
There was a drumroll as she injected them into the neck of the stiff. The beating drum continued for five minutes before his hands twitched. Then his legs--then he was twitching all over. Finally he sat up. "What?"
"You are alive, again. With help from my amazing nanoprobes and my superior intellect."
The alien looked at Seven and smiled. "Thank you. What can I do for you?"
"Captain Janeway asked me to ask you to help us get home..."
"Ahh. I don't want to help her. You on the other hand, saved my life." He grabbed her and kissed her. Thoroughly.
She shoved him away. "Forget it buster. It's too difficult getting in and out of these clothes."
The bridge was empty except for Janeway, Chakotay and Tuvok. The others were standing in a line outside that most precious of rooms.
"Hurry up in there!" Tom continued to pound on the door to the only Head on the bridge.
There was a muttering followed by a crash. "It is inefficient to hurry," the person inside the head said.
"Inefficient indeed." Tom looked at his good-friend Harry and grinned. "Women."
"Be nice Tom, she has to remove her outfit..." There was another horrendous crash and door quaked as something landed on it. Both men shook their heads. "And afterward she has to put it on again."
This time the noise from behind the door sounded like someone had kicked the door...Several times.
"Harry, Harry...Hey Captain, can we request a second Head?"
Janeway nodded. "I'll take it up with B'Elanna." She tapped her comm-badge. "Bridge to engineering."
"Engineering. Captain?"
"Good morning, Torres. We've had a request for a second head to be added to the bridge."
"There is a processing problem. I suggest you talk with Seven, her superior Borg knowledge would be useful in solving this dilemma."
"She is the dilemma..."
"Captain?" Torres sounded like she was trying not to laugh.
"It takes her over half-an-hour to...well...She effectively ties up the head while she is in it."
"Yes, that could be a problem. I will assign a team to work with her on this problem."
Janeway briefly wondered exactly *which* problem B'Elanna was referring to...But it wouldn't matter if it worked.
There was a resounding boom from behind the door that reverberated throughout the bridge.
Harry pounded on the door. "Seven, are you okay?"
There was no answer and no noise from within the tiny room for several minutes, then the door shook as if someone was beating it up.
"She must be getting dressed," Tom smirked as he controlled the urge to pace.
Harry looked at his watch, it would take approximately another 12 minutes before she was able to leave. He considered asking for permission to leave the bridge to...
There was crash followed by a scream and the sound of rushing water.
The computer announced the warning. "There is a broken water pipe on the bridge. Automatic emergency procedures are in effect." This was repeated twice before someone shut it off.
The door flew off the hinges and Seven stepped out of the room surrounded by a foot of water, her normally neat hair in total disarray and her suit, shrunken by the water lying on the ground.
"Clothing is irrelevant," she announced as she strode onto the bridge toward the lift. She ignored the fact that everybody (especially the males) were gaping at her in her almost undressed state. "Captain, I shall be in sick-bay."
Tom smiled slightly. Harry's jaw had dropped at the sight of his beloved's chest. The flickering lights revealed by the open flap were too much. Tom pressed a hand against his buddy's, back. "I've been telling you for nine months they couldn't be real."
"Well, a guy can dream, can't he."