The BLTS Archive - Individuality first in the Collectivity series by Sasscat Bu-to-y (fitchett@netaccess.co.nz) --- Disclaimer: Paramount owns all. Archive: ASC and Sasscat's Home for Wayward P/7 Writers (obviously - it's been updated, btw). (c) Sasscat Bu-to-y 1999 --- Tom sat quietly in Sandrine's, cradling his drink and staring through the thick veneer on the wooden bar. He'd removed the holocharacters, even Sandrine herself, preferring to spend the evening alone. Alone and out of the brig. He sighed and rubbed his hand where the Doc had recently knitted the bone back together. Dammit, one of these days he was really going to push the captain too far, and then what? Still, at least she'd let him out of the brig today. It seemed she did have a sentimental side, after all. Sharp footsteps from behind broke his mood. "Ensign Paris." He sighed again and didn't turn around. "Hey, Seven. You're up late." "I regenerated earlier," she informed him, moving to stand by the barstool on his right. "I felt the need for companionship." "Normally I come here when I want to be alone," he said pointedly. Seven regarded him for a moment, then nodded. "I will leave." She stood and began to walk back towards the door. Tom frowned at his drink briefly and twirled round on his stool. "Seven, wait." She turned back towards him, a piece of glitter from her catsuit snagging the light and glaring into his eyes. "What did you want to talk about?" he asked. "I had no particular topic of conversation in mind." She hesitated for a moment then walked back towards him and perched stiffly on the other stool. Hmm, someone had been giving her lessons. "Perhaps we could discuss what is troubling you." "I'm not troubled," Tom said, turning back to his drink. "I disagree." Tom, who had been expecting a long list of evidence disputing his statement, twisted his head to regard her with mild surprise. "What is the nature of your distress?" she asked. He glanced at the grainy wood of the bar for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "I'm just... remembering something that happened a long time ago." "Elaborate," Seven insisted. "Four years ago," he expanded. "I-- We found a way to reach warp ten. Well, Harry and B'Elanna found a way, but I got to test it out. It was--" He shook his head briefly, eyes shining and a soft smile on his face. "It was like nothing you could imagine. I was *everywhere*. Every point in space, at every point in time; the whole universe shrunk to comprehensible size." He reached for her hand, as if he could explain better by touch. "It was *incredible*, Seven. But then--" his smile faded. "I can't go back. And I know that whatever I do on Voyager, whatever I make of my life, I'll never be able to experience anything like that again." He dropped his gaze, noticed her hand in his, and let go with a slight warmth in his cheeks. Seven was giving him that unnerving stare, eyes eerily steady. "I understand," she said finally. He gave a small, bitter laugh. "I doubt it." "I was Borg," she reminded him. "What you described was not unlike my own experience in the Collective. I was able to comprehend what many would consider unimaginable phenomena. And I, too, am aware of the fact that I cannot return." "You could, you know," Tom said softly. "I think the captain would let you, now." Maybe. "Perhaps," Seven said sceptically. "However, there is a human saying Commander Chakotay is exceptionally fond of." Her lips curled, ever so slightly, as if the idea of repeating a metaphor was abhorrent to her. "'You cannot cross the same river twice'. It is inaccurate and vague, but appropriate." Tom nodded and studied the bar again, tracing the grains in the wood. "Yeah. I know what you mean." "Perhaps," Seven repeated. Tom looked up at her curiously. "I have observed a certain... prejudice among humans, regarding the Borg. I doubt you truly understand my position." "Maybe not," Tom shrugged. "But I understand *my* position - at least I think I do - and that's pretty close." Seven inclined her head in acknowledgement. They were silent for a moment, then she started, "Ensign Paris--" He winced slightly. "Please, call me Tom. I get enough of that from the captain." "Tom," she conceded awkwardly. The name sounded strange in her voice, but not entirely without merit, Tom thought with a smile. He could almost see her making a little computerised subroutine in her head, changing his designation. "I... find myself attracted to you," she said, almost hesitantly. "I have been wondering about that," Tom said, with a soft wry smile. "Seven... No offense, but you have the emotional maturity of a child. I can't--" "That is not true," she said sharply. "You and all the crew discount my years among the Borg, as if to pretend they never occurred. The Borg are not without emotion, Tom, and I have spent over a year away from the Collective now." "Nevertheless," he continued softly, "it wouldn't be right..." "You do not with to enter into a relationship with me, because the captain will disapprove," Seven guessed. Tom smiled bitterly, remembering the distant ache in his hand. "I don't think the captain approves of much I do, these days." "She disapproves of your frequent altercations with Lieutenant Torres, if that is your meaning. I doubt she has much feeling either way for your other off-duty activities." "Yeah, well, pool and Velocity aren't exactly in the same league as--" As what? Having a relationship? Who was Janeway to regulate his personal life? Tom hesitated. "When Captain Janeway first removed me from the Collective," Seven said, in the disparaging tone Tom had come to recognise as signalling another discussion of the captain's hypocrisy towards the former Borg, "she informed me that I was to become an individual, to make my own choices without the strict regulation she believes is the case among the Borg. "Since that time she has overridden my choices time and again. She has demanded nothing less than unconditional compliance." Seven stood up, looking down at Tom with defiance blazing in her eyes. "This is one choice I *refuse* to permit her to take from me." There wasn't really a lot one could say to that, even if he'd still wanted to. Tom stood, abandoning his drink, and brushed her cheek just below the delicate metal that traced her eye. "Let's go to my quarters," he said softly, letting his fingers trail down her cheek and back to his side. A slight shifting of her body language that was the acknowledgement of his words, and they moved towards the door. "Computer, end program." --- Seven was sprawled on his chest in trusting rag-doll relaxation, lips still resting on the base of his throat. Tom stroked her back, tracing the contours of another implant, and reflecting. He'd expected to be the teacher - God knew Seven couldn't have had her usual realms of experience in this area - but it had been quite the learning experience. He'd learned that she wasn't really interested in kissing, but rather in following every line of his body and committing it to memory. He'd learned how fun it was to tease her until she lost patience, rolled him onto his back and commanded him to comply in sensual irritation. He'd learned the incredible sounds she made when her eyes were half- closed and she'd given up control, how beautiful she was with tendrils of hair curling round her face and brushing the metal star on her cheek. And he'd learned... His hand stilled for a moment in its endless spiral over the elongated implant on her spine. "I know why we never went back," he said quietly. He felt her eyelashes brush against his throat as she opened her eyes; sensed rather than saw her metal eyebrow raise. "Explain." "Something I forget a lot," he continued. Something he hadn't had a lot of reason to remember, lately, what with the whole B'Elanna mess, and the captain and the brig... Maybe it was time he started remembering again. "Because, Seven... being an individual doesn't have to mean being alone." --- continued in the second story in the Collectivity series 'Rationality'