Voyager: Bodies in Motion

**WARNING!** This story contains a consentual romantic relationship between women. If this offends you or IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, LEAVE NOW!!

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Paramount Pictures and other guys in suits who make more than I do. No infringment is intended.

Relationship: Janeway/Seven

Timeline/Spoilers: Non-season specific.

Archive: Please ask first.

Rating: NC-17 for lesbian activity.

Status: Almost finished.



                             BODIES IN MOTION



Kathryn cried out in pain as an arrow-like projectile hit her square in the chest.

“Captain!” yelled Seven, racing to her side and grabbing the other woman before she fell in the dirt.

The away mission had gone wrong from the beginning. What should have been negotiations for trade of mineral and produce goods had turned into an ambush. Janeway supposed she should have been suspicious when the planetary "representative" had insisted she come down personally to oversee preliminary negotiations.

Fluctuating graviton readings had necessitated a shuttle landing, and Janeway had decided to round out the landing party with Seven, Crewman Pommol from Security and Ensign Varetti as pilot. She'd figured a little experience would be good for the men, and she'd brushed off Chakotay's protests with hardly a second thought. The intents of their host had seemed innocuous enough.

Despite Varetti's initial nerves at playing chauffer to the captain, the brief flight had been by the numbers. They landed in a field marked for them outside one of the largest towns. Waiting for them had been a line of locals, ostensibly to escort them to the meeting place.
Their "escort" had quickly turned into an ambush. Whether by design or serendipity, the men had been cut down first.


Kathryn gasped hard a few times as if trying to catch her breath. “I’ll be alright,” she lied. Her chest felt like it was on fire, and she had trouble breathing at all. No longer able to stand from the pain, she clamped on to Seven’s proffered arm and used it to slow her decent to the ground.

Seven kneeled with her Captain, keeping the other upright with her own body. She felt the pressure from the Captain’s head against her chest, felt the body heat of the other woman, felt the shuddering each time Kathryn struggled for a breath. For the first time, Seven felt afraid.

Kathryn reached for the projectile in an attempt to pull it out, but the pain was too great to move it, and she turned her focus to trying to keep her firing arm steady. They may have gotten her, but she wasn’t going to let them take Seven without a fight. She quickly devised a rhythm of shuddering to breathe, steadying her arm, aiming, and squeezing the trigger. Breathe, steady, aim, squeeze.

Seven knew the effort it was costing her Captain merely to breathe and fire, and she determined to follow her example and not give up. She fired ever more quickly as the odds increased against them, daring desperation to take hold. If the Captain was going to go down firing, then so was she. But despite their efforts, it became apparent to Seven that they had mere minutes before being overrun.

“Captain…” she began, with finality in her voice.

“Call me… Kath…ryn.”

Seven swallowed a lump in her throat. “Kathryn,” *fire* “I think I should tell you” *fire* “you’re friendship has meant more to me” *fire* “than anyone else’s on Voyager.”

“What are you… trying to… say?”

Seven paused long enough to crane around so the Captain could look her in the eyes. “I love you, Kathryn.”

Their stare was broken by a near-miss and Seven straightened to resume the losing battle. After a moment, she realized that Kathryn had taken her left hand in what was sure to become her last act.

“Seven-“ she rasped.

“Call me Annika,” Seven answered gently, almost detached.

“Annika…I-“

At that moment, three humanoids in Starfleet uniforms materialized around them, each carrying transporter enhancement tripods.

“Get down!” she barked, as more projectiles raced for the new upright easy targets. Two went down before they could respond, leaving the third scrambling to set up the tripods himself. In desperation, Seven let go of the Captain and scrambled to assist, not bothering to postulate how the others had managed the transport feat.

For her efforts, Seven was shot in the shoulder, and she grimaced as she felt the pain shooting throughout her body. Somehow she managed to fire back and finish the tripod set-up as the sound of approaching boots and the triumphant grunts of their adversaries cascaded around her. Shooting a look at the crewman, she slapped her communicator the instant he was finished.

Without preamble, she barked, “Seven to beam directly to Sick Bay! Now!” She turned back and reached for the senseless form of her Captain, her friend, her more, as the beam took hold.


Sickbay erupted into activity. Paris, the EMH, and four crewmen drafted by the Doctor immediately went into action as the seven members of the crew materialized. None of them were unscathed, and several lay senseless.



                   *                    *                    *                    *


Kathryn clawed her way back to the living, only to find something barring her way. A barrier to consciousness, an impenetrable mist. Drugs? She could get past drugs. She had to. There was some imperative nagging at her. Something she had to do before she could succumb to what her body was trying to force on her. Something important.

The instant she saw the Captain’s eyes fluttered, Seven vaulted off the biobed and shoved the Doctor aside with such force he crashed into some freestanding equipment.

“Really, Seven, you’d think you could maintain a certain level of decorum-“ But Seven ignored his protests, and reached her Captain’s side in a flash, gripping the prone woman’s arm.

The contact solidified Kathryn’s hold on consciousness, and she fully opened her eyes and drank in the vision of a wounded and worried, but breathing Annika Hansen.

“Captain,” stated Seven, trying to hold back her emotion.

“It’s ‘Kathryn’,” she corrected hoarsely, once she’d found her voice.

“Kathryn,” she whispered, reveling in the intimacy of the privilege.

Kathryn’s vision cleared somewhat and she recognized the smells and sounds of Sickbay. “We made it.” She was surprised, somehow. She hadn’t thought a last minute reprieve had been possible. She moved as if to rise up and caught her breath in pain.

“This has all been very touching, but if you don’t mind, I need to see my patient.”
Seven glared daggers at the Doctor but moved away, around to the other side of the biobed where she defiantly took up her post and Kathryn’s strong hand in hers.

“Seven, down there…” she looked Annika squarely so there was no question she was talking about her crewman’s revelation.

Seven held her breath. “Yes?”

“I know. And, Annika… I do too.”

Seven released her breath in a rush as tears came unbidden to her eyes. She hastily swiped at them with her free hand before adding it to her other clasping Janeway’s.

Kathryn gazed intently into those blue eyes and was almost surprised to see the brilliant smile there behind the worry. She wanted desperately to reach up and take the face of her protégé into her free hand, but the Doctor was in the way, and she couldn’t have managed the effort anyway.

“Now, if you don’t mind,” the Doctor glared at Seven across the form of the Captain. “My patient needs to rest.” He moved his arm to give the captain a hypo.

“No you don't!” started the Captain, catching sight of the offending instrument. “I’ll have your--” But she couldn’t stop the motion, and heard the tell-tale hiss before she could get out anything else.

“Hmph,” was his only response to her threat as Janeway dropped off into unnatural sleep once again. “Shouldn’t have come around in the first place,” he muttered to himself.

But Seven knew why the Captain had been stronger than the initial drugs, and she couldn’t be happier to finally have the truth revealed between them.

                   *                    *                    *                    *

Seven. Seven floating above her, just out of reach. Seven, her head turned away as if working at her astrometrics console, oblivious to the Captain’s presence. Kathryn called out, but the sound stuck in her throat. She reached out a hand, only to need it for balance as she felt the ground tremble and shift beneath her. She looked down, horrified to see her legs half swallowed in a pit of quicksand. She was sinking. Seven! she tried calling, but again, she was supernaturally silenced. She was up to her waist. Seven!

Seven half-turned, acknowledging her at last out of her peripheral vision. She began speaking, but it was Tuvok’s voice she heard, “You humans have a saying, ‘that which does not kill you makes you stronger.’ Curious,” she said tonelessly, her voice blending over Tuvok’s and taking over.

She turned around to face Kathryn completely, who was by now up to her armpits. Seven once again sported the skin tone and full implants of the Borg. “Your resistence is futile. Pity,” she stated, observing the floundering Kathryn with clinical detaction. “Goodbye, Kathryn.”

Seven! choked Kathryn soundlessly as the earth reached her neck, hissing in her ears. Filling them. Entering her mouth. Seven! Closing over her.

Her lungs rebelled at last and she gasped for the air that was not there, taking grit into her lungs, stinging her chest as she choked her last…

Kathryn awoke suddenly in pain, her hand clenched in a fist at her chest where the projectile had hit her. The memory of the dream lending itself to the burning sensation.

The Doctor strode calmly out of his office, notified of the change in her condition by remote.

By the time he reached her side, the pain had receded to a dull ache, and she wondered how much was real and how much had been imagined.

“About time,” he observed, more to himself as he took some final readings, “you’re behind schedule.”

She only looked around the empty Sickbay as if looking for something… or someone.

He frowned slightly when she neglected to take the bait and match him with a barb of her own. It was unlike her to be so preoccupied as to miss the opportunity.

“She left several hours ago at my order.” He pretended not to observe her reaction to his elementary guess.

Janeway turned to him and gave him a hard look. “I was going to ask about the status of the other members of the away team,” she retorted.

The Doctor pretended not to notice the look. “You’ll be happy to hear that all the members of both teams survived long enough for me to patch them up and send them on their merry way. You, my dear, have been my most recalcitrant patient.”

Janeway glared at him and the Doctor realized he had just crossed the line of doctor/patient familiarity. “See for yourself,” he said hastily, scooping up a nearby padd and shoving it into her hands. Testy when she’s lovesick, he noted to himself wryly.

Her curiosity got the better of her and she lowered her gaze to peruse the padd. It contained both medical and mission reports, courtesy of Commander Chakotay, who no doubt knew she’d want the update as soon as she regained consciousness. The report of the ambush was terse and told her nothing she didn’t already know. The medical report confirmed that the injuries of both teams had been extensive, but attended to.

“Doctor to Commander Chakotay,” announced the Doctor into the air once his double-checks had been completed.

An assault of clanging, shouting and general ruckus assailed the airwaves. “Chakotay here. Computer, freeze program.” The din fell silent immediately.

“You wanted me to alert you when there was a change in the Captain’s status.”

There was a pregnant pause as the first officer let that sink in. “Yes,” he said, failing to cover his anxiety.

“There’s been a change: she’s awake.”

The relief was evident in the commander’s response. “On my way.”

The Captain eyed the Doctor suspiciously as the channel closed. “You enjoyed that,” she saw fit to accuse.

“I don’t know what you mean,” lied the Doctor blatantly with feigned offence. “By now the commander should have full confidence in my capabilities as an excellent triage surgeon or he would have nothing to worry about.”

She raised an eyebrow, unfooled.

“However, I should advise you,” he went on, “despite my superior abilities and Seven’s excellent nanite programming, there are some things even I can’t fix. You have micro-skeletal rib scarring that can only be repaired by natural means. I expect you’ll be sore for a few days – longer if you ignore my orders of 48 hours of complete bed rest.”

“Consider it ignored.”

The Doctor shrugged in an exaggerated show of defeat and turned to walk back to his office.

Kathryn finished reading the brief report, then called on the Computer for the time. It was well into the early morning.

Shortly thereafter, a sweaty Commander Chakotay entered Sickbay and made a beeline for her biobed. Kathryn put the clues together and guessed he’d been partaking in one of B’elanna’s Klingon “calisthenics” programs.

He pulled up a convenient chair and pushed a hand threw his damp hair.

“Isn’t it a little late for exercise?” prodded Kathryn.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said truthfully, omitting the reason, which Kathryn could easily guess and was touched by. “How are you?” he asked.

She waved a hand to downplay her condition – and soreness, which she wasn’t about to admit. “I’ll be fine.” She tapped on the padd demonstrably. “Now maybe you can fill me in on what isn’t in this report.”

                   *                    *                    *                    *

Seven was encased as if in ice. Her eyes were closed, and yet somehow she could see. Unable to move or blink, she observed faces passing above her. Faces from the crew. Tuvok, Paris, Kim, the Doctor, Torres. Even Neelix, Naomi, and Sam Wildman. They passed almost in processional above her still and frozen face, each murmuring words she couldn’t hear, each bearing an air of distinct sadness and loss. I’m dead, she realized. Then, I can’t be dead; I’m here. I’m right here! she tried to say, but her face wouldn’t move. Her chest wouldn’t rise. Her eyelids refused to flutter. Finally, at the end of the procession, was Captain Janeway. Kathryn was looking down as she approached the still form of Seven of Nine. In her hand was a small bouquet of white flowers. The others passed beyond Seven’s vision and disappeared altogether. Still Kathryn paused, eyes down. Slowly, with deliberate determination, the captain forced her eyes up until they met her own. At first, Seven felt a lunge of hope. She sees me! She can save me! The captain hesitantly stretched out her free hand to stroke Seven’s cold face, and Seven’s hopes faded as Kathryn’s eyes welled with tears. Seven felt her heart freeze in fear as the captain dutifully placed the bouquet down with finality and turned away. Seven slammed the fists of her observing self against an invisible barrier. I’m here! I’m still here! But not a flicker moved across the still form of her other self, and finally, her vision faded.

“EMH to Seven of Nine.”

Seven’s eyes flickered open, vaguely registering the dimness of Cargo Bay 2 and familiarity of her regenerative alcove. The scene battled with the other recent images for predominance in her consciousness. Her mind felt crowded. She had been dead, but she hadn’t. But everyone thought she was, and then Kathryn had stroked her face.

Seven swallowed, a curious feeling in her gut joining the strange images and emotions bombarding her. As reality sunk in, she realized her hand was touching her own face where the captain had in her dream. Self-conscious, she lowered her hand and took a deep breath. “Go ahead, Doctor.”

“I thought you’d like to know, the captain has awakened and is out of harm’s way.”

Seven paused, thoughts racing before settling on the material at hand. The captain was in satisfactory condition. She would survive. She would recover. She was safe.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she replied, allowing nothing to be revealed in her tone.

The channel closed and Seven released a breath she felt she had been holding for hours.

With this revelation behind her, she believed she could resume a full regeneration cycle without the distraction of such disturbing images.

Idly, part of her consciousness reminded her that if it had not been for that creative threat she had made earlier on the doctor’s person, she might not have convinced him to notify her of changes to the captain’s condition -- the only concession she would make to leaving Sickbay. She must remember to thank Lieutenant Torres for being the author of that most interesting explicit vow.

                   *                    *                    *                    *

“Forgive me, but despite the Doctor’s 'lessons' I find I am unable to collate certain proper responses in human interrelations.”

Gripping her fists tightly at her sides in her loosing struggle for control, Kathryn forced enough rational thought to her brain to tie up the conversation. Please let this “lesson” come out right, she begged whoever was listening. She stepped still closer until a mere hairsbreadth separated their breasts. She could feel the aura of Seven’s bodyheat as she knew the drone could, and felt her body respond, winding her tighter than she thought possible. “When the interrelations are mutual and private, like this,” Kathryn began, flicking her eyes from Seven’s to the succulent mouth and back again. “Analysis becomes irrelevant and only instinct needs to exist.” Her hand, which she had somehow forced relaxed, reached up to take careful hold of Seven’s chin. Looking in her crewman’s eyes one last time to check for signs of doubt, she closed the distance, and let her lips settle on those opposite.

Seven’s nerves were on overload with information on sensations new to her and she froze momentarily. Inexplicable warmth and something else cascaded through her. It was illogical. It was also very erogenous. No analysis, she scolded herself, using the Captain’s words to guide the last vestige of her conscious thoughts, there will be plenty of time for that later. Just instinct.

As the sensations flooded her mind, instinct guided her to moan against her captain’s mouth; to advance savagely into the embrace and crush her captain’s breasts; to raise her arms and encircle the other woman. Pure living energy like a warm, erotic electricity drove all thought away and she reveled in what remained. The feel of Kathryn’s hair in her twisting hands. The grind of her captain’s body into her own. The sensation of a warm tongue invading her mouth.

Conscience dictated that Kathryn pause to check on whether Seven had changed her mind. With difficulty, she extracted her mouth from Seven’s and gazed at the woman in her arms. Seven’s eyes were closed in the manner that could only signify blissful consent. Not two breaths had passed when she heard a response from Seven that made her catch it again.

“Please,” Seven begged, in a breathy whisper.

Seized with a shock of erotic energy at the request, Kathryn was only too glad to comply, driving them both against the console in her earnestness.