The BLTS Archive - Plurality
third 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).

(c) Sasscat Bu-to-y 1999

---

She woke slowly, hearing the distant hum of thoughts she couldn't
understand.  Lying down felt strange, and she explored the bed for a
moment with her hand before realising it was a biobed.  That must be
why it felt so unnatural.

"Captain?"  The word echoed inside her head as Tom loomed into her
field of vision.  She jerked away from the mental contact, gasping,
and fell off the biobed.

"Ow-- damn, ow."  She pulled herself back to her feet and stared at
him silently.  He stared back, light slicing off the metal that framed
his eye, like a knife glint.

"Sorry," he said quietly.

The echo was quieter at this distance, but Janeway flinched anyway,
putting a hand to her head.  "Stop it," she whispered.

There was a subtle shift in Tom's stare, an edge revealing itself that
hadn't been there before.  His hand twitched against his medical gown;
the hand with the Borg framework.  The hand with the assimilation
tubes.

He held her eyes for several seconds, then turned abruptly and joined
Seven by one of the other biobeds.  Kathryn sagged against the wall,
shaking.

After a moment she felt better enough to think about how she'd got in
Sickbay in the first place.  The Borg had attacked, and she... she and
Tom and Seven had fallen into some kind of gestalt mind of their own.
The intoxicating intimacy, the exhilarating power, the wild thrill of
blasting that cube to pieces.  She started shaking again at the
memory.

"Captain," Tom said quietly, at enough of a distance so that she
didn't hear his voice inside her mind, "are you all right?"

She opened her eyes and took a soft breath to calm herself.  "Yes.
This is just going to take some getting used to."

"We will adapt," Tom said.  Her eyes shot towards him in time to see
him flinch from his own words.  "I mean, we can-- we'll--"  He shook
his head, flexing his left hand.  He ran his fingers over its
exoskeleton.  "I'll just need to get myself some gloves," he said with
a halfhearted smile.  "What do you think, Seven; black leather?"

Seven barely spared him a glance.  "My opinion is irrelevant.  Do as
you wish."

Tom looked taken aback.  "Seven?"

"I am fine," she said vehemently, coming about as close as she did to
actively sulking.  Janeway gave her a curious look.

"I, um..."  Tom hesitated.  "Let's talk," he said finally, starting
across the room as Seven followed.  He paused for a moment in surprise
as he walked through a forcefield, then shook it off and continued
into the Doctor's office.

Janeway walked over to the forcefield and touched it tentatively.  She
pulled her hand back when it snapped at her touch.  Well, it had been
worth a try.  Maybe Tom and Seven could get the forcefield down, so
she could-- do what, exactly?  If she was behind a containment field,
there had to be a good reason for it.  A reason which wouldn't be
helped by her trying to escape.  She shook her head, unsettled by the
thoughts that weren't quite her own.

---

"Okay," Tom said, perching one hip on the edge of the Doc's desk,
"what's wrong, Seven?"

She paced the small room in frustration, thoughts a blur on the edge
of his consciousness.  For a moment he thought she wasn't going to
answer, then she stopped and turned to him.  "When the Doctor and I
were removing your implants, there were... complications."

That much Tom knew.  It was pretty obvious that *something* had gone
wrong, or he wouldn't be standing here with metal still implanted in
his skin, while the captain's features were flawless.  Still, he
waited patiently for Seven to get to the point, trying to ignore the
echo of her voice in his mind.

"You regained consciousness," she continued, looking away.  She
resumed pacing again, and told the floor, "I attempted to reassure
you, but you insisted upon speaking to Seven of Twelve."

Seven of Twelve.  "The captain?" he asked dubiously.  He wrinkled his
forehead for a moment.  The movement startled him, the remains of his
optical implant flexing with his skin.  Creepy.  He made an effort to
shake it off, focusing his attention on Seven.  "You're jealous?"

Seven didn't answer the question directly.  "I am unaccustomed to this
emotion," she said flatly.  "I find it... disconcerting."

"Most emotions are," Tom said with a smile.  He slid off the desk and
caught her shoulders to turn her towards him.  "Seven, there is
nothing for you to be jealous about.  I promise."

Seven's metal-rimmed eyebrow lifted.  "When you became aware of her
presence just now, your pupils dilated, your skin flushed, and both
your heart rate and respiration increased."

Her words drummed through his head.  Tom bit his lip, letting his
hands slide off her shoulders.  He lowered his voice, aware that
Janeway was just in the other room.  "Perhaps I am attracted to her a
little... but I'm involved with *you*.  I--"  He hesitated, then
lifted his right hand to brush her cheek.  "I care about you, very
much, Seven.  You must believe me."

"Very well," Seven said, nodding slightly.

He looked at her in surprise.  "'Very well'?  That's it; no fights, no
argument that I can't be attracted to you both?"

"Would you rather I remained jealous?" Seven inquired.

"No!" Tom exclaimed, then remembered to lower his voice again.  "Of
course not.  I was just... surprised."

She raised her eyebrow again, and he got the impression she was
sighing slightly.  "Monogamy is inefficient and contrary to the nature
of most species, including human.  However, it has been my experience
that it is more socially acceptable among this crew to express an
interest in only one individual at a time.  I assumed your interest in
Captain Janeway superseded our relationship.  I was mistaken."

"Oh," was all Tom could think of to say.  Now that he was getting used
to it, he found the echo in his head rather soothing.  It was sort of
like being able to keep a small, safe piece of the Collective.  Not
that he'd want a large piece.

After a moment he said, "We should probably... talk about this some
more.  Dinner tonight?"

"We may be required to remain in Sickbay," Seven pointed out.

Sickbay's doors opened loudly and he glanced through the window to see
the Doctor walk in.  The EMH took one look at Janeway sitting alone
and tapped his commbadge.  "Doctor to Commander Chakotay," he said
urgently.

"They're in your office," Janeway said, sounding bored.  Tom laughed
quietly and turned back to Seven.

"Let's find out," he suggested.  Seven nodded, and followed him back
into Main Sickbay.

"Never mind," the Doctor was telling Chakotay, sounding slightly
disgruntled.  "It's all under control down here.  Doctor out.  Mister
Paris, may I enquire as to just how you got out from behind that force
field?"

"Walked through it," Tom said breezily, with a wink at Janeway.  She
even smiled back, as he leaned against the wall.

"Hmmph," the Doctor said darkly.  "Well, would you mind walking back
through it?  I have some more tests I need to run."

"What kind of tests?" Janeway demanded.

"An electroencephalograph, maybe a bio-spectral analysis; nothing to
worry about," the Doctor said soothingly.

Tom gave him a sharp look.  "A *full* bio-spectral analysis?  You
still think we're under Borg control, don't you?" he demanded.

"Mister Paris, I just want to be sure that whatever happened to you on
the bridge won't--"

"Won't what?" Janeway asked dangerously.  "Won't make us a security
risk?"

"If it hadn't been for our actions Voyager would have been destroyed,"
Seven agreed vehemently.

Tom took a sharp breath and rocked back on his heels.  He put a hand
on the wall for support.  "Seven, do you hear it?" he asked, ignoring
the Doctor's stare.

Seven looked at him then cast her eyes up and to the left, listening.
"The Borg," she said with a nod.

Janeway slid off her biobed and walked to the forcefield.  "We've got
to get to the bridge.  Doctor, let down the forcefield."

"I can't do that," he said firmly, folding his arms.

"*Doctor*--" Janeway protested as the doors opened.

"I'm sorry, Captain.  Mister Paris, that won't do any good; Commander
Chakotay had your access codes deactivated."

Tom glared at him from the console set in the wall.  "We've got to get
to the bridge!"

"Why is that?" Chakotay asked from the doorway.

The ship rocked in answer and the lights dimmed.  Tom muttered a curse
and thumped the console.

"Chakotay, let us out," Janeway said angrily.  "We can fight them--"

"Keep an eye on them," Chakotay told the Doctor.  "I've got to go."

"Commander," Seven objected, moving towards him as Janeway called,
/Tom!/  "We have proven our ability to fight the Borg.  Why--"

Tom plunged his assimilation tubes into the console to interface with
the computer.  The Doctor flickered briefly and turned towards him, so
Tom switched his program off, then did the same to the forcefield.

Chakotay started drawing his phaser; Seven knocked it from his hand
and punched him out of the way.  Janeway was already crossing the
room, and took the phaser from Seven as the three of them moved into
the corridor.  Instructions scrolled through Tom's head - and yet he
wasn't Tom, wasn't even Six of Twelve...  He was one of the Three,
even if he wasn't quite sure what that meant yet.

The turbolift was waiting for them, and Seven started accessing the
computer as they waited in mechanical patience for it to reach the
bridge.  Tom could hear her entering new subroutines into Voyager's
database, ensuring the vessel's compliance for when they reached the
bridge.  It was unlikely that anyone else would comply.

The turbolift slowed and the doors finally opened on the bridge.  They
strode out with measured steps, Tom vaulting the safety rail in the
center of the bridge and stepping off the captain's chair without
hesitation.  It was the most efficient route to the helm, after all.
He pushed Batehart aside when the pilot didn't move quickly enough,
taking the seat - *his* seat - and stabbing his assimilation tubes
into the console for a more efficient interface with the computer.

Seven threw up a forcefield as someone saw Harry drawing a phaser.
At the same time the Borg cube redoubled its attack, and Tom/Kathryn/
Seven were forced to use focus all their concentration on evading the
buzzing voices.

/Six of Twelve./  The voice wound sinuously into his head, from
outside his bond with the other two.  /You are alone./

No.  No, he wasn't alone.  He focused on the bond, showed it to the
voice.  /See?/

/Three,/ she said scornfully.  /I have millions... *trillions* of
companions.  Remember what that was like?/  Briefly she thrust the
voices at him, a burst of ecstacy just long enough to throw his
concentration.  The ship rocked.  /Why did you leave us?  We gave you
everything./

Divide and conquer.  He shook his head, felt the captain's strength
flow into him.  /Go away,/ he said with renewed confidence.

/He's ours,/ Kathryn and Seven echoed, emphasising their words with a
vicious attack on the cube.

/You're killing us!/ the Queen cried, throwing the pain of burning
drones into their bond.  The three of them flinched, faltered in their
attack.  Third of Eleven, Five of Six - the suffering of each single
drone was flung in their faces, in Tom's face.

/It doesn't have to be this way./  She was directing her words at Tom
again.  /Rejoin us.  You will be strong... powerful... perfect...
Everything you've always wanted.  You're already more intelligent than
you were before - we gave that to you./  _And you killed us for it,_
was the unspoken addition, accompanied by the screams of her drones.
He wavered, and she pushed her advantage.  /*We* won't turn on you for
growing closer to perfection.  I only want what's best for my people,
what's best for you./

/No!/ he cried, fleeing from her words into the heart of the computer.
He wouldn't betray Voyager, wouldn't, wouldn't, wouldn't.  /Leave me
alone!/ he flung the words at her with all the strength Voyager could
exert, burrowing deeper into the computer core to hide from the cries
of thousands of drones.  He could feel his bond with Janeway and Seven
dissolving; let it go so he could turn the ship around and get them
away from the voices... the pained, accusing voices...

Somewhere, deep in the heart of Voyager's systems, he trembled.

---

"It's no good," Kathryn said, shaking her head and standing to walk
back across the bridge.  "He's gone inside the computer; I can't reach
him."  She waved her left hand at Seven - no Borg implants, no way to
contact Tom.  "Seven, could you...?"

"I can try."  Seven moved past Kathryn to the helm, face strained with
the toll battling the Borg Queen had taken on them all.  She sounded
tired, both aloud and in the echo in Kathryn's head.  Especially in
the privacy of Kathryn's head.

"Thanks," Kathryn said softly, brushing a hand over her face.  In the
back of her mind she could feel Seven interfacing with Tom's neural
transceiver, setting out in search of him.  She wished her luck.

"Commander," she added in the same casual tone, dropping her hand, "if
you ever try and lock us in Sickbay again, I'll have your commission."

Chakotay folded his arms.  "I did what I thought was right," he said
quietly.

"Well, it wasn't."  She glanced over at Seven and Tom - what was left
of Tom - then at Tuvok.  "How's the ship?"

"Not as well as it fared during our last encounter with the Borg.
However," he consulted his console briefly, "the damage was somewhat
less than would normally have been expected.  Due, no doubt, to your
own actions."

"I'm glad someone realises it," Kathryn growled softly.  Chakotay
didn't respond.

"In addition, Voyager seems to be assisting in our repair efforts."

Kathryn looked at him, startled.  "How so?"

"You will recall that, in our first encounter with the Borg, they left
much of their technology embedded in our systems."  Kathryn nodded.
"Built into all of their technology are auto-regeneration systems, and
it is the remnants of these which are assisting in Voyager's repair.
I believe Mister Paris is somehow coordinating their efforts."

Kathryn looked back at Tom's body.  "Well, at least he's not wasting
his time in there," she said, the words catching slightly in her
throat.

"Captain," Tuvok said softly.  She turned to meet his gaze.  "You and
Seven are both extremely persistent.  I have no doubt that we will
soon be suffering from Mister Paris' inappropriate humour once more."

She smiled faintly.  "Thanks, Tuvok."  He nodded slightly in response.

"If you don't mind me asking," Harry said from his console, "why is
Tom... in there?"  He waved a vague hand at the helm console.

Kathryn closed her eyes briefly at the memory of a thousand voices
screaming.  "The Borg have started playing dirty," she said, moving
to her chair in steps as clipped as her words.

"Captain?"

She sighed slightly, knowing he couldn't see it.  "The Queen showed us
what we were doing.  Every time we attacked..."  She kept her voice
steady.  "When a drone was caught in an exploding plasma conduit, or a
burning corridor...  Whatever they felt, we felt."

There was a sharp intake of breath as Harry realised what that meant,
or thought he did.  "And you... you kept firing?"

"As I've been trying to explain to Commander Chakotay, we have no
intention of letting the Borg destroy Voyager."

Chakotay finally seemed to have had enough and walked down from beside
Tuvok's console.  "Why do they keep coming after us?  What do they
want?"

Kathryn laughed slightly.  "She thinks she can make us help her
assimilate Earth."

"That would at least assure us of a swift return to Federation space,"
Tuvok said mildly.  Kathryn shot him a glare that said that wasn't
even remotely funny.

"Captain," Seven said, disconnecting from Tom's neck.  "I've located
Tom, but he is... somewhat upset.  I will require your assistance if
we are to persuade him to return of his own volition."

Kathryn nodded, glad that Seven had recognised the harm they could do
if they forced Tom back.  She stood and walked down to the helm,
resting a hand on the back of Tom's chair.  "What do you want me to
do?"

"Reach out to his mind, the way you do when we are under attack."

Kathryn hesitated, unsure how to reproduce the instinctive melding
Borg attacks had forced on them.  She tried, futilely, to slip past
the smooth walls of her own mind, but only ended up thinking in
circles.  "I can't."

/Like this./  The touch of Seven's mind was feather-soft, and Kathryn
caught her breath.  Crystal blue eyes reflected her wondering face
twice over, the echo so much more bearable when it had no spoken words
to actually echo.  There was no attack to force her into command mode,
and she let herself melt into Seven's caress.

/Now find Tom.  I have already constructed a path for us./

Awkwardly Kathryn cast her mind out, acutely conscious of the clumsy
way she trampled through the computer in Tom's direction.  Seven was
travelling beside her, elegantly skimming the circuits.  And then,
/Tom,/ Kathryn called gently as they reached him.

He gave the impression of being curled into a ball, although she knew
his physical body was sitting perfectly straight.  /It hurts.../

/I know, Tom.  But it's okay, they've gone./

/It doesn't have to hurt anymore,/ Seven agreed, broadcasting _love/
warmth/security_ with her words.

As she grew accustomed to this way of talking, Kathryn could sense
(see?) glowing tendrils of thought travelling from Tom as he helped
the ship, (hear?) his need to make it better, heal *something* in
return for what they'd done.

/She'll find me,/ he whispered, edging backwards, deeper towards the
chittering regeneration systems.  Kathryn had a horrible premonition
of him becoming... *regenerated* by the systems he was guiding,
transformed into a subsystem of the computer itself.

/Please come back,/ she pleaded, wishing she could figure out Seven's
trick of filling her words with almost tangible reassurances.  /We
won't let her hurt you./

/What about *them*?/  The drones.  Kathryn didn't have an answer for
that one, could only push back the memory and watch helplessly as he
edged further backwards.

/We can be stronger,/ Seven assured him, catching him before he moved
too far away.  /I can help you both.  We can learn to block them out.
The Queen will learn that it's futile to persist./

/But we'll still be *killing* them!/ Tom cried in anguish, and flung
himself backwards.  Kathryn felt herself being dragged along as Seven
followed, and soon got lost in the maze of circuits they were
travelling through.

/Tom!/ Seven called after him.  /*Tom*!/  He didn't slow down, didn't
even 'look' back.  Seven began to flag; Kathryn wondered if it was the
dead weight she had to carry, if that was even a relevant analogy.

Seven mustered her strength, flung, /I love you,/ into the blackness
in front of her.  _pleading/anxiety/fear_

/what do you want from me?/  A tiny whisper at the edge of their
perception.

/Please return with us, Tom.  We need you./

/ithurts./

/Mister Paris,/ Kathryn drew herself up, /you have a duty to your
crewmates.  The Borg are at war with the Federation.  Casualties are
to be expected./  Biting off the words, concern making them harsh
enough for her tactic to succeed.  /Are you going to abandon your
responsibilities?/

A long silence, then Tom creeping towards them tiredly.  _relief_ from
Seven, then _exhaustion_ as she turned to regard the long path back.
/Captain.../

/I think we require your assistance,/ Tom muttered lightly.

/I don't even know the way,/ Kathryn protested.

/Then we're trapped here./

/Don't be ridiculous.  Show me - the first section?/  Seven pointed it
out to her, and she pulled herself along the circuit towards it
determinedly.  /Come on, just til there, then we can rest.  It's not
far./  Not far to one, no, but there were so many...

She was aware of Tom and Seven moving slowly in the same direction,
and lent them a little of her strength.  /Look, we're nearly there
already,/ she said, and even managed a brief burst of _encouragement_
before realising she was doing it and forgetting how to in surprise.

/Where's the next section?/ she asked casually, waited for Tom to show
her, then moved on steadily.  /Okay, let's go./

/What?  You said we could rest!/

/It's only a few steps,/ she said scornfully.  /Come on, you can
manage that much.  Just a little bit further, not much at all.  Where
will the next one be afterwards?/

/You've got to be kidding,/ Tom groaned.  /You really expect us to
tell you?/

/If we stop now we'll never get started again,/ Kathryn said; let them
absorb that before continuing.  /It's not that bad; just focus on one
section at a time.  Don't look at the whole trip in one go.  Take it a
piece at a time.  Just like getting back to the Alpha Quadrant./

_overwhelming distance_

/Bad analogy,/ she admitted.

/You think?/  But Tom gathered himself, forging onwards wearily, and
step by step they drew closer to the helm and their exit.

---

Tom sat in the mess hall and poked listlessly at his food.  He'd gone
beyond hungry a day or two ago, into a state of constant aches in his
stomach, reminding him this wasn't healthy.  But still he couldn't
eat.

Couldn't sleep, either, dreams haunted by visions of dying drones or
assimilating the captain, or that bizarre thing the other night about
ice cream and pizza.  Since his time in the computer he'd just grown
more and more tired.  And Seven...  She'd just regenerated for longer
than usual, and turned up the next day bright and chipper.  That night
- he flushed again at the memory, of not being able to perform, of
walking out on her, of her not coming back.  She probably thought he'd
lost interest altogether.  Shit.  He'd go and find her, but it was a
touchy subject and he just... didn't have the energy.

"Time," he muttered dully.

The computer speaker nearest him announced, "The time is oh-eight
oh-eight hours."

Late.  Tom let his spoon rest on the edge of his plate and walked out
of the mess hall.  He wondered when the next Borg attack would be -
there was bound to be another one; the Queen wouldn't give up that
easily.  He hated this, the not knowing.  Wished she'd just get it
over with so he could wonder when the next one would be, and the next
one...  It would be easier just to take a shuttle, go to her and make
her leave Voyager alone...

That thought, at least, roused him out of his zombification.  There
was no way he was letting that bitch win.  She was the one responsible
for her drones' deaths, *she* was the one who'd been controlling him
when he'd assimilated the captain.  Telling himself that over and over
was the only thing that kept the guilt at bay.

He leaned against the turbolift wall.  It was moving, so he must have
ordered the bridge at some point.  He turned his head, stared blankly
at the strip of lights flowing downward, and then let his weight fall
forward as the lift stopped, putting a foot in front of himself to keep
from falling.

He staggered anyway, grabbed at the doorframe with his left hand.  A
soft hiss of dizziness escaped his lips.

"Tom?"

Kathryn...  /help me/  He leaned against the wall, discovered his hand
was caught in a claw as if he was still holding the doorframe.  The
metal exoskeleton was locked in place.  /helpme/

"Tom, are you all right?"  The words thudded into his brain; he
grasped them desperately, pulling energy from her until he was strong
enough to see her sway and go white.  "Janeway to Sickbay," he heard,
felt her block him out of her head, and then the drumming in his own
head overpowered her voice.

---

"He's suffering from extreme exhaustion.  It's a miracle he didn't
pass out days ago.  If I'd been allowed to run the tests I wanted to
the last time you were in Sickbay, I would have been able to predict
this," the Doctor added pointedly.

"All right, Doctor," Kathryn said sharply, "there's no point in laying
blame."  She leaned a hand against his desk, still weak from the
amount of energy Tom had drained from her.  "Will he be all right?"

"Of course.  It's just a matter of reactivating one of the other
regeneration chambers."

"Regeneration," Seven repeated, her words laced with extra strength as
they slipped inside Kathryn's mind.  Kathryn smiled gratefully at her,
standing a little straighter.  "Shouldn't normal sleep suffice?"

"Apparently not."  The Doctor reached for the computer terminal on his
desk and turned it to face them.  Kathryn studied the screen; a red
and blue representation of a human body, with grey strips covering
large portions of the figure.  "As you can see, the ensign's body
still contains many Borg implants.  As it stands, they've had no way
to recharge themselves since he was first cut off from the Collective.
Essentially, he's been running on emergency power since then."

No wonder he'd virtually collapsed on the bridge.  Kathryn winced in
sympathy, glancing through the window to Main Sickbay where Tom was
resting.  "Is he safe to transport?"

The Doctor considered this briefly, then decided, "I wouldn't
recommend it.  He's extremely weak; the disruption to his system would
likely do more harm than good.  An anti-gravity stretcher will have to
do."

Kathryn nodded at Seven to get one, and walked out into Main Sickbay.
"Tom?"

He stirred slightly on his biobed, one eyelid fluttering open.  The
other was frozen half-closed beneath its metal eyebrow.  "C'tain," he
murmured.

"You're going to be all right," she assured him.  "Your implants are
running a little low on power, that's all.  You're going to
regenerate, and then you'll be fine."

He jerked, fixing his eye on her.  "No."

"No?" she repeated incredulously.  "Why not?"

"'M not," he took a ragged breath.  "I'm not Borg.  I *won't*--"  His
good hand dug into the side of the biobed, his knuckles turning white.
Kathryn thought she could see small flecks of black, then wondered if
she was just imagining them.  "Please," Tom whispered, "don't make
me--  I'm *not* one of them.  I'm not."

"I know that," she insisted, letting her hand fall lightly on his
where he clenched the bed.  She twined her fingers into his, forcing
him to relax his grip.  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Seven
enter the room, trailing the stretcher behind her.  "You'll die if we
don't do this, Tom.  It's just a different way of sleeping--"

He shuddered, hand convulsing tightly around her own.  "Don't wanna be
Borg..."

"You won't be," Kathryn reassured him.  "But you need to regenerate.
Just for a little while."

/why can't I.../ and he was pulling her towards him, sapping at her
strength.  She gasped, struggling uselessly, his need overwhelming her
like she was being assimilated all over again, drowning in his empty
eyes...

/"Stop!/"

She felt her mind being wrenched free, saw Seven standing between
them, a protective arm curled around Kathryn's waist.  "Draining her
will not make you any stronger," Seven insisted.  Kathryn was acutely
conscious of the taller woman's proximity, her scent, the touch of her
hand on Kathryn's hip.

"Don't want to..."  Tom sagged, exhausted, against the biobed.  Seven
softened slightly, taking his hand and leaving Kathryn feeling gently
bereft.

"It's necessary, Tom.  If you don't, you will," she faltered briefly,
then settled on, "'kark it'."  Kathryn looked at her incredulously.

But it did the trick.  Tom wheezed a laugh, and nodded fractionally.
"Hey...  I guess we know whose quarters, the mural's going in..."

Mural?  Kathryn made a mental note to ask about it when Tom was
better.  She reached past Seven to pull the stretcher towards him.

"Stay with me..." he murmured.

"Of course, Tom."

"Both'f you."

Kathryn looked at him in surprise, then nodded.  "Both of us."  She
touched his cheek briefly.  "It'll be all right, Tom.  I promise."

---

The cargo bay was empty when he woke up.  Tom fought back a brief wave
of panic, then registered the PADD on the computer station in front of
him.  He stepped out of the regen chamber, feeling small tubes hiss
away from his lower back, and picked it up.

          Tom,

            Playing Velocity, holodeck two.
            Doctor's orders, or we'd have stayed.
            Back as soon as we can.

                          Kathryn


He let out a small sigh of relief, then blinked at the PADD.  Kathryn?
She actually *signed* it as Kathryn?  He tapped the PADD against his
hand thoughtfully, then put it back down and headed for the door.

Regeneration hadn't been as bad as he'd expected.  He hadn't dreamed,
although that could have been due to his exhaustion.  After all, he
seemed to remember Seven saying something about bad dreams once.  And
he hadn't turned into a drone again, either, or gotten an insatiable
urge to assimilate somebody, or...  In fact, he felt better than he
had since... since he'd first been assimilated, he realised.

He brushed the metal tracing his eye with his left hand, surprised and
a little uneasy to find he'd gotten used to the way it flexed with his
skin.  Tom splayed his fingers in front of his eyes, studying the
lattice implanted in his hand.  Hadn't gotten around to replicating
those gloves, after all.  He doubled back along the corridor and
stepped into his quarters, heading into the bathroom to study his
reflection.

Unreadable blue eyes stared back at him, set in too pale skin that
reminded him he wasn't as much healed as he felt.  Woven strips of
metal framing one eye, embedded in bone but somehow flexible.  A shape
set at the very end of his cheekbone that was more like a squashed bug
than Seven's stylised starburst.

He rubbed the shape, feeling its rough-polished texture beneath his
fingers like a silver scab.  His fingers curled, almost of their own
accord, to dig beneath its edges, prying it from his cheek.  Slicing
pain was the only answer to his efforts, and in the mirror he could
see blood pooling on the top edges of the implant.

"What the hell are you doing?" Tom muttered to himself, dropping his
hand.  Ripping half his cheek off wasn't going to solve anything.  He
rinsed his fingers, watching the red stain go pale and drain away as
the pain in his cheek subsided to an odd tingle.  He found a washcloth
and dabbed at the blood, bracing himself for the sting of fabric on
torn skin.

It never came.  Frowning, he wiped the blood away, until he could see
clearly the unblemished skin beneath.  He let the cloth tumble to the
sink, running his fingers over the junction between metal and flesh.

Nothing.  There was only the stained washcloth to suggest the entire
incident had even taken place.  He shuddered as he realised what had
to be responsible; the tiny robots crawling through his body, doing
god-knows-what to him as they went.

He left his quarters and set off towards the turbolift, aware of a
need to see Seven's sparkling-soft smile and the wicked glint in
Kathryn's eyes.  He rubbed his back as he walked, feeling the roughly
sculpted contours of the implant on his spine.  Implants all over him.
He had a sudden urge to rip them all off, see blood stream over his
fingers and clean, clean skin beneath.  At last it would be human
blood-- but it wouldn't, it would be filled with crawling invisible
nanoprobes.  He walked faster.

At last, he reached the turbolift.  He touched the panel beside it
impatiently, waited for the lift to arrive.  He stepped inside as soon
as the doors opened, and let a genuine smile escape him as he greeted
the lift's inhabitants.

"Hello, Naomi," he said solemnly.  "Hey, Sam.  Deck six."

Naomi looked up at him with a dazzling smile.  "Hello, sir.  We're
looking for a babysitter," she informed him earnestly.

"Really?"  He looked at Sam.  "When do you need one?  Maybe I could
help out."  It would certainly help keep his mind off things.  He
found himself looking forward to the prospect.

"Oh, that's okay," she said, too quickly.  "We--  I've got someone in
mind."

His eyes dropped to where her hand had crept around Naomi's.  A slow
chill spread through his stomach.  "I see," he said quietly.  Samantha
looked away.

The doors opened, and he stepped out without saying goodbye.

It didn't take him long to reach the holodeck, fueled by loneliness
and a strange, detached feeling.  The arch refused to let him through,
and he glanced at the console beside the doors.  A bluish light told
him a level one lock-out was in operation, which could only mean...

Velocity indeed, he smiled.  He could see how all that running around,
getting sweaty in short, tight dresses could easily lead to something
more... which, knowing Seven and the captain, probably meant there was
more to it than that.

He rested his hand flat on the door, as if that would make it easier
for him to hear them, but nothing filled his mind except Sam holding
Naomi's hand and people avoiding his eyes.

He dropped his hand and turned away, walking aimlessly along the
corridors until he found himself outside the mess hall and remembered
that he was supposed to eat.  And Neelix, at least, would meet his
eyes.  He went in.

"Ah, Tom!  I trust you're feeling better?"

Tom grinned to himself as he approached the kitchen.  "Much, thanks,
Neelix.  What's on special today?"

"Weeell," Neelix made a show of surveying the various dishes set out
on the bench.  "There's devilled woodfrock, Rokeg blood pie - I don't
know why but it's proved rather popular with the Bolians - and of
course your very favourite Alfarian hair pasta."

Tom laughed at that, shaking his head.  "You've got to be kidding if
you think I'm going to eat that again.  Actually," he lowered his
voice slightly, "do you have anything with... leola root in it?"

Neelix blinked at him.  "I think there must be something wrong with my
hearing.  I could have sworn I just heard you ask for leola root."

"Okay, okay, no need to rub it in," Tom groused.  "It's just that,
well, things... taste different since I--" he gestured vaguely at the
implant around his eye.  "And leola root...  Well, it's not as bad as
it used to be."

"Well, I can say this for the Borg: they have extremely cultured
palates," Neelix said in delight.  "Very well, Tom, I'll see what I
can come up with."  He disappeared into his store-room, muttering,
"Who would have thought it?"

Tom tapped his fingers on the kitchen bench as he waited, until the
flashing of the framework on his hand in the light caught his eye and
he froze.  Maybe gloves wouldn't be such a bad idea.

"Hi," someone said from behind him.

He turned slowly, immediately recognising the voice, and looked at her
warily.  "Hi."

"So, I..."  B'Elanna looked away, then back at him in a kind of grisly
fascination.  It made Tom feel like he was a shuttle wreck.  "How...
are you?"

"How *am* I?"  She nodded and he stared at her incredulously.  "Well,
let's see.  I was assimilated by the Borg;  I assimilated the captain;
I was cut off from the Collective - which let me tell you is *not* a
pleasant experience.  Oh, and half the crew think I still want to
assimilate them.  How's that for a start?"

She frowned at him, folding her arms defensively.  "I was just trying
to show a little friendly concern--"

"Oh, you were," he said sceptically.  More like she wanted to rub it
in his face.  Bitch.  "Well--"

"Here you go, Tom," Neelix said cheerfully, putting a tray beside him.
"There's no problem here, I hope," he added pointedly.

B'Elanna was looking at the tray in amusement - laughing at him,
dammit. "Leola root?"

He clasped his hands behind his back and assumed his best deadpan
expression.  "I find its high nutritional value... appealing."

She looked between him and the tray uneasily, then slowly backed away.
Tom shook his head in irritation, turning back to Neelix.  "Thanks,
Neelix.  This is just what I was after."

Neelix was frowning after B'Elanna.  "You know, Tom, you may have been
through a lot recently but that still wasn't very nice."

What, Neelix was taking *her* side now?  Tom flushed defensively.
"She was annoying me."

"It sounded to me like she was just being concerned."

Friendly concern?  B'Elanna hadn't said a friendly word to him since
the break-up.  More like condescending pity.  "That kind of concern I
can do without."

Neelix shook his head slowly.  "No one can do without friends, Tom."

Tom pushed away from the bench angrily.  "I don't need you to tell me
how to run my life," he snapped.  "And I don't need pity from you,
from B'Elanna - from anyone!"  He turned and stalked out of the mess
hall without listening to Neelix' response.

---

Kathryn followed Seven into the cargo bay, feeling inexplicably like
she was a teenager again, sneaking home in the middle of the night in
the vain hope that her parents wouldn't notice she'd missed curfew.
As her eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting she saw that Tom was out
of his regeneration chamber, sitting cross-legged on the floor in
front of the mural Seven had explained was a symbol of the seriousness
of their relationship.

"Tom?" she called.  "How are you feeling?"

"Crappy," he snapped.  She could feel the truth of it through her
transceiver, the bond between the three of them slowly growing
stronger.  She still wasn't sure how she felt about that.

She heard Tom sigh slightly, and he swivelled around to face them.
"I'm sorry.  I woke up, I took a walk..."  He made a face.  "It didn't
go well.  I even yelled at Neelix."

"That *is* drastic," Kathryn said dryly, and was relieved to see the
corners of his mouth turn up.

"Yeah, well...  How was Velocity?" he said, changing the subject with
a smirk.

/He knows,/ and Kathryn wasn't sure if the thought was hers or
Seven's. She shifted uneasily.

"It was satisfactory," Seven said, straight-faced.  Oh, Kathryn hoped
she meant that innocently.

"Uh huh."  Tom stood up and walked over to them.  "I tried to work on
the mural," he told Seven, "but I couldn't... get in the mood."

"That doesn't necessarily mean that you be unable to get in the mood
at some other point in time," Seven said, her words laced with...
what?  _tentative reaching out_

Tom smiled in relief.  "Exactly."

"Am I missing something here?" Kathryn asked curiously.

"Yes," Tom said.  Neither of them seemed inclined to elaborate,
smiling into each other's eyes.  Suddenly Tom broke the gaze, staring
directly at Kathryn.  "I wonder..."

Somehow she knew that his comment was directed at Seven, and waited
for the other woman to say, "What?"

"The third part of the mural, the computer-generated part."  Tom
cocked his head, studying her.  "Maybe Kathryn should...?"

He called her Kathryn.  That alone was enough to make her feel like
she was floating.  But the soft appraisal in his eyes...  It was a
look she'd never seen on him before, not directed at her.  She felt
very... warm.  Blanketed.

"Perhaps," Seven said, sounding a little surprised that she hadn't
thought of it herself.  "Kathryn?"

Oh, oh wow.  They were both calling her Kathryn.  This was too weird.
And inviting her to paint part of their mural, the one that was
supposed to keep them together...  Kathryn felt her mouth go dry,
licked her lips a little and said, "I'd... love to."

"Do you know what we're asking?" Tom asked, glancing at Seven for a
moment before looking back at her nervously.

Kathryn nodded, tentatively reaching out to touch Tom's face.  When he
didn't dissolve into dust under her fingertips, she kissed him,
tasting his mouth sweet on hers.  And then kissed Seven, warm and
confident.  "Yes," she said, looking at them both.  And then, because
there didn't seem to be anything else to say, laughed a little and
repeated, "Yes;" softer, gazing at two pairs of beautiful blue eyes,
ignoring the cheesiness of what she was saying, "with all my heart,
*yes*."

For the first time in days, she felt completely, utterly, happy.

---

End -- Collectivity series