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B’Elanna hadn’t known how good Seven would be with Miral.
It wasn’t that she was afraid, she’d stopped being afraid of Seven years ago, but more that she didn’t know how they’d mix. It seemed incomprehensible, laughable. A mishmash collage rather than a comprehensive picture.
Seven was fine with children but children were lean and strong. Children fell from trees and jumped over rocks, waving sticks in the air, shouting. When she’d been a child she remembered her mother coming up behind her and lifting her into the air, turning her upside down as if inspecting her.
“Such a small thing! Are you sure you’re mine?” She’d exclaim with faux incredulity and her human family members, the ones she’d rarely seen after her father left still whispered after her: Nena, Chiquita, Belanana
When B’Elanna held Miral she remembered that booming voice, those strong hands twirling her in the air and those warm summer days on earth where she’d sit in the shade with her grandmother as she tutted at the straightened hair which had earned her compliments from everyone else.
“Tu padre siempre ha sido un vago…” She’d frown, then repeat “buD!” in Klingon which she’d begun to learn a bit of because “Language is home and we share a home now.”
Seven had no such memories. When B’Elanna asked if she had any ‘childhood memories’ the blonde had told her that the collective had assimilated many children and thus she had countless childhood memories though, if B’Elanna wished, she could tell her the exact number.
“I meant your own memories,” B’Elanna had said - trying not to think about the horror of countless children lost to the collective, their lives taken before they had a chance to live them.
Trying not to think of a little blonde child in a pink dress being dragged away, being dragged away and herself at the same age eating fried plantains while her cousins played around her, her eyes watching as her father kept the same distance - his own eyes (on his wife) weren’t filled with love. He’d only smiled when he caught her looking.
“No.” Seven had told her, turning back to whatever it was she’d been occupied with.
This turned out to not exactly be true and over the years B’Elanna got more out of her. The memories were mainly snapshots, images warped by time and a child’s mind and fear like fire, melting everything together and forcing it to stay that way:
Running through a corridor. Two hands reaching out. A scream. A pink name, pink cloth. White with red inside - a birthday cake? Being held tightly. Singing that echoed. A shrieking crowd that she stood apart from. The hum of a ship while looking through a small window.
All of Seven’s memories seemed to be tainted by a sense of dread. Either extreme quiet or extreme noise. It was difficult to tell what had once been good.
“I do not require pleasant memories.” Seven had told her. “I exist here.”
They’d been sleeping together. Or more accurately B’Elanna had been lying awake with worry and Seven had been lying awake because she was uncomfortable lying down. She laid ramrod straight with her arms at her sides, hands balled into fists. When B’Elanna told her she could stand if she wanted Seven refused, saying “Romantic partners share a bed. Am I incorrect?”
“But we’re shaped by our past. Doesn’t it bother you? The Borg took everything from you. They took your name, your identity, your memories. They just took it and left you with it all mangled from their…their greed!”
“The Borg have no greed.”
“Of course they do.” B’Elanna said, thinking of the history lessons she’d had while living on earth; of men in geometric hats and white wigs advancing, coming on the horizon with rosaries and guns.
Resistance is futile.
“If they didn’t have greed they’d have stopped already but they won’t. They won’t be satisfied until every sentient being in the universe is part of their collective.”
B’Elanna could feel Seven’s Is-That-So-? expression without even looking. It was the seconds of silence followed by the cadence of her next words, she just knew she was giving her that look.
“Even that would not be enough,” Seven said.
When B’Elanna turned to look at her she wasn’t surprised to see that Seven’s wide eyes were already on her but it still made her twitch a bit. God, that shock of blue…
“The Borg have no greed because the Borg feel nothing. Though you are correct in the consequence, your theory on the motivation is flawed.”
“Then what?” B’Elanna asked, scooting closer to Seven. “What’s the motivation?”
Seven considered this for exactly two seconds before giving her answer, voice communicating absolute certainty in it. “Hunger.”
Hunger. Instinct. An imperative. B’Elanna took that answer to her dreams where they soured, waking her up in the early morning to find Seven still staring at her.
“I thought you’d have gone back to your alcove by now.” B’Elanna said, rubbing at her eyes. She froze, worried that Seven would take it the wrong way, like she wanted her to leave. “Not that-”
“You were in distress.” Seven answered, B’Elanna’s tone or whatever deeper implications her words could hold characteristically lost on her. “I thought it best to monitor the situation.”
B’Elanna blinked then settled down, moving so she was as close to Seven as possible. It was always a little strange to feel her warmth. To feel her heart beating.
“That’s sweet, but don’t you need to regenerate?”
“Your condition was more important.”
B’Elanna’s own heart beat faster. Seven had a way with words. All blunt and sharp without indecision or double meaning. She didn’t sweet talk but she didn’t lie to placate B’Elanna or ‘get her off her back’ either.
When Seven said B’Elanna was important, she was.
B’Elanna raised her hand and cupped Seven’s cheek, holding her gaze.
“Why’re you staring at me? I look funny to you?” B’Elanna had asked once, half-joking and half-exasperated. She’d still been with Tom at the time and he’d been counting her ridges while in bed together which had led to an argument and her storming out of the room. Crazy. She was crazy, of course. Crazy Klingon bitch.
“Funny?”
B’Elanna threw a hand up, wandering around engineering. Why had Seven even been in engineering? To check up on her inferior work? Great. Now B’Elanna had to see if anything had been disturbed on top of if things were running smoothly.
“Funny, you know. Strange. Weird. Ugly.”
B’Elanna thought about grammar school. About turtlehead! turtlehead! turtlehead! and her cousins screaming when she tried to join in on their games, tripping over themselves in their great hurry to run from her, laughing; It’s a monster! It’s a monster! and Tom whispering to her that it didn’t matter that she was Klingon, he still loved her and the little anyway she sensed at the end of that sentence, unspoken but felt.
“Incorrect. You are beautiful.” Seven had said.
When B’Elanna had turned to her, wondering if she’d taken up humor (she’d been unable to imagine that Seven found anything beautiful at the time, her least of all - Janeway maybe or the stars she loved so much) but Seven had been staring as intently as ever, unsmiling.
“You think I’m beautiful?” B’Elanna had asked.
Seven blinked once. “Affirmative. You are extremely aesthetically pleasing. To be more specific-”
“I don’t need specifics, thanks.” B’Elanna had said at the time, rushing past her to the upper deck where she’d chalked the whole thing up to weirdness and continued to do her job, ignoring how hot her face had become, how she kept an ear out for Seven’s heels on the ground below, how her chest…hurt.
At the time she hadn’t known if she’d wanted to laugh or cry.
Later on Seven would go into specifics. Incredibly detailed specifics that would have B’Elanna’s head spinning. It made her self conscious at first, knowing Seven paid such close attention to her but over time it’d begun to feel…nice. Seven noticed so much and yet still found it all good enough to stay for, to want more of.
“Did I frighten you?” Seven asked, placing her own hand on B’Elanna’s cheek instead of over her hand. For some reason that gesture made B’Elanna smile. It was so awkward, so cute.
“I frighten myself sometimes.” B’Elanna said.
“That is not an answer to my question.” Seven said.
B’Elanna sighed and rubbed her eyes again, turning to look at the ceiling. Seven’s hand retreated back to her side of the bed. “...When we get back to the alpha quadrant…what are you going to do?”
“If we arrive in the alpha quadrant I will likely…” Seven paused and B’Elanna turned to look at her.
The ex-borg’s expression was troubled. Her hand curled and unfurled. She frowned.
“...I am unsure.” She finished, certain in even her uncertainty.
“Me too.” B’Elanna said. She’d thought for a long time that she’d live with Tom and then, when she found herself pregnant and unattached, she’d still had some sort of plan. Tom’s father was an admiral and Tom was certain he’d give her a place to stay, would speak on her behalf if there was any trouble. He’d told her so when they were still together but it was looking like the end, both of them hanging on purely out of personal spite - not towards each other, but the world.
Then Seven had become part of the picture. Really part of it and B’Elanna couldn’t imagine her not being part of it.
“Stay with me.”
Seven had looked surprised. “...You wish to continue our relationship even after reaching the alpha quadrant?”
“Of course. What, did you think I was just gonna kick you to the curb?”
Seven looked like she didn’t know what a curb was but didn’t want to ask. “Not in those terms.” she said, turning to look at the ceiling as well, hands on her stomach. “Many members of the crew carry on romantic dalliances out of a need for companionship. There are a limited number of potential mates on board. Scarcity which would be eliminated once the ship had returned to the alpha quadrant.”
B’Elanna frowned, sitting up. “Seven.”
Seven looked at her, continuing to lie down. Her expression was no longer troubled and she didn’t look sad, she seemed curious. But her words had made B’Elanna sad because they were words she’d thought before when she was with Tom.
Once we’re in the alpha quadrant he’ll leave you, he’ll find someone else, someone better. It won’t be hard.
It broke her heart to think Seven had been thinking that too.
Suddenly, she thought of something a Klingon family member had said after they’d arrived on her mother’s homeworld. “When the Klingon heart breaks it breaks twice.” She didn’t know if she had a Klingon heart or a Human one but she knew that Seven had it. Utterly. It was permanently tucked between her cool hands.
“Remember what I told you before? About us sticking together?”
Seven sat up and nodded. “Difficult patients.”
B’Elanna nodded. “We’re gonna be difficult patients down there too. An ex-Maquis and an ex-Borg. We really gave the federation hell and I don’t think they’ll take too kindly to us. So we’ve got to find that kindness somewhere else.” She smiled at her partner, leaning in conspiratorially. “You want to find it with me?”
Seven blinked, slowly mimicking the woman’s movement and moving closer until their forehead were nearly touching. “I believe I already have.”
Despite her talk B’Elanna still hadn’t been sure of anything. She hadn’t been sure about where they’d live, if they’d even let Seven chose somewhere to live - would they lock her in a lab somewhere? Would they send B’Elanna to a prison like the rest of the Maquis? Would they take Miral from her? Would Voyager even make it to the alpha quadrant and would she and Seven both be alive, be together, if it did?
But now here they were.
“No no no!” Miral shouted, banging her fists on the tabletop.
“Yes.” Seven said, slapping her hand against it as well though without the toddler’s vigor.
“No!” Miral shouted again, grinning.
“I am immoveable on this point. You must eat your peas.”
“She’s as stubborn as you,” B’Elanna sing-songed, grabbing a carton of juice and tilting her head so she could drink without getting a glass dirty.
“No!” Miral exclaimed, bouncing slightly, clearly amused by whatever game she thought they were all playing.
Seven raised her eyebrow prosthetic. “I concur.”
Sunlight streamed through the wide windows of their apartment. It was on earth but in a section close to TlhIngan Hol. B’Elanna hadn’t been sure she wanted Miral to learn Klingon at first, had just been planning on Standard and Spanish but after her father had popped out of the blue asking for a second chance her mother had sent her a letter saying she wanted to reconnect and for some reason that word had struck her.
Reconnect. It reminded her of home.
Their home had many languages. It had Seven’s flat tone asking Miral how she slept, did B’Elanna want pancakes? She had recently learned how to cook pancakes and Tom rushing through the door (almost late but out of breath with the effort not to be) and chirping that they had to be off - it’s almost time for school! And Harry shouting up from the street not to forget her lunchbox and Tom quickly grabbing it, “I remember, I remember!” and Janeway on the comm asking them both if they had any insights into this new development and Tuvok’s son dropping by for a playdate with his daughter T’Meni, around Miral’s age (and both named after their grandmothers) speaking in Vulcan then stilted standard and Chakotay singing songs which he claimed to be ancient and sometimes were (and sometimes turned out to be covers of pop music, seven years out date) and B’Elanna’s mother’s voice booming on the stairs as she greeted neighbors and B’Elanna pleaded with her to quiet down! only to get laughter in response.
What it didn’t have, decidedly, was room for a father who always looked at his daughter crooked - squinting, trying to erase and erase until he could begrudgingly accept what he’d created. A man who could only see the value in his own child after she’d seemingly risen from the dead.
“A compromise; You will eat half your peas and receive an apple slice.”
“Appuh?” Miral asked, tilting her head.
Seven mimicked her movement. “Two apple slices.”
Miral reached out towards Seven, making grabby hands with a fierce expression.
“Peas first.” Seven said, raising the spoon to counter the girl’s movement.
B’Elanna smiled.
She’d worried once that Seven wouldn’t do well with a baby because babies required something gentle.
It’d once been incomprehensible, silly, the thought of Seven - the one who only spoke in short, blunt sentences and walked with military precision, the one whose grip often bruised and whose eyes bore a hole through whatever they rested on - being gentle. Seven had neither gentle manner nor memories, it was all cold lines and efficiency and dread.
Yet there they were, Seven and Miral, a beautiful portrait of love.
“Thank you,” Seven said. She had gotten into the habit of thanking Miral when she cooperated. She’d read it in a parenting book Tuvok had given her at her request which said it was better for development than overwrought cooing.
“Ah…ppuh.” Miral said, the pause making the words sound vaguely like a threat.
B’Elanna laughed, pointing. “That she gets from me.”
“Her overwhelming appeal? I agree.” Seven said, smiling very slightly. She was doing that more and more now. The smiling and the flirting (this new flirting which felt very natural, very Seven instead of Seven-trying-to-be-human which had always felt stiff with clear discomfort). B’Elanna had even heard her laugh once, a low sound which stayed quiet the entire way through.
B’Elanna wanted more. The flirting and the smiling and the laughing. She wanted more joy, more language, more home. She couldn’t get enough of it - of finally belonging somewhere. Unquestioningly.
“Oh, you.” B’Elanna said, dragging out the last word as she leaned down and kissed her cheek.
“Oh, me.” Seven said, dry as usual.
“No!” Miral shouted, banging her fist on the table. “Appuh!”
B’Elanna grinned, rolling her eyes as she walked over and hoisted the baby up onto her hip. “Alright, alright already!” She said with faux exasperation, shooting Seven a look as she walked over to the fridge. “We heard you the first time!”