The BLTS Archive - Chained Melody
by DianeB

---

Written, oh gosh, sometime in 1999 and revised in May, 2004.

Disclaimer: Paramount owns it all. Always has, always will.
I accept this.

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God DAMMIT, Seven!"

The bridge reverberated with B'Elanna's disembodied outburst
and quite thoroughly shattered the quiet efficiency going on
till then. Tom visibly winced, as did Chakotay, and Harry
Kim actually ducked his shoulders at the sound. There were
snickers, as well, around the stations on the outside edge
of the bridge.

Kathryn Janeway, on the other hand, scowled like she had
just bitten into something profoundly bitter, rose from her
chair, tugged on her uniform in imitation of another
starship captain, and marched towards her ready room.

"Ensign Kim, you get Torres and Seven up here on the
double."

"Aye, Captain. Permission to leave. . ."

"No, Harry, not this time," she spat over her shoulder
through clenched teeth. "No more chances to fetch them
personally. Stay at your station and call them. They have
ten seconds." The door shut behind Janeway with barely a
sound and only served to raise her stress level a notch. Oh,
how she longed for a door she could heartily slam.

---

Janeway paced her ready room, counting. If they weren't here
by ten, she'd have their heads, she'd toss 'em in the brig
for the entire balance of the journey home, hell, she'd toss
'em out an airlock right now.

At that moment, the door signal beeped, indicating there
were person or persons on the opposite side, these
particular persons no doubt *not* wishing entrance.

"Come!" Janeway bellowed, and went to stand behind her desk,
her fingers at stiff attention on its surface.

Seven strode straight in, followed by Lieutenant Torres, who
was obviously trying to get in front of her, but at the same
time trying to make it look as though she was doing nothing
of the sort. They ended up shoulder to shoulder, with
B'Elanna on Seven's right.

Janeway released a sighing breath. She wondered what she
could do differently this time that would make some sort of
impression on them. Nothing had worked so far - in spite of
the occasional foray into politeness - and they continued to
bicker and pick at each other like schoolchildren. This last
incident indicated they were once again not playing well
together as they attempted to make repairs to the ship's
intercommunication system.

Janeway eyed them. They were silent, thank god, facing
straight ahead, but Torres kept stealing glances at Seven.
Seven was doing her best to stare ahead blankly, but her
right hand kept balling into a fist, giving away desires
more human that she would probably care to admit. Janeway
figured if she poked either of them with a pin, they'd
explode from the pressure. They suddenly reminded her of she
and her sister, Phoebe, as children.

Janeway came out from behind her desk, crossed her arms
behind her, and began to walk a slow circle around the two,
a picture of seething calm.

"Lieutenant Torres, would you care to explain your profanity
in engineering a few minutes ago that, by some spectacular
feat of intercommunications *mis*communication, you managed
to share with the entire bridge complement?"

B'Elanna's jaw tightened. "Yes, Captain. I was attempting to
make a sensitive repair to one of the communications panels
in engineering, *as assigned*, when Seven here determined it
was something she could do much better. She stepped in front
of me without so much as a pardon me, landed her fat foot
right on my instep and caused me to fall on my a--, uh, fall
backwards, taking the entire panel along with me."

B'Elanna was embarrassed enough to look away for a moment,
dropping her volume. "A communications channel must have
opened when I hit the floor." But the fire came instantly
back, as she raised her black eyes directly to her captain
again. "Point is, Captain, she ruined all my work!"

Seven rallied to the argument. "I merely saw a way to. .
.expedite the repair, Captain, and I proceeded with it. I
cannot help it if Lieutenant Torres. . .lost her balance."
She cast a disdainful look at B'Elanna, then rolled her eyes
forward again.

"See?" B'Elanna nearly choked with her effort to lay blame
on Seven, barely able to keep her finger from pointing.
"Look at her! She thinks she knows everything, thinks she's
above it all. Well," she snorted, "she might have the
technology, but she sure doesn't have the manners."

It amused Janeway to hear this coming from B'Elanna Torres,
but she kept the mirth from her face. She had to get through
to these two, and she was now at the point to give it her
final go.

"I have come upon an idea, one that I am truly sorry to have
to resort to, since we are supposedly all adults here, but
you two have given me no other choice.

"Back when I was twelve and my sister was eight, we fought
like cats and dogs, er, all the time. Our parents tried
everything to teach us to get along, but nothing ever worked
for very long.

"One morning, out of the blue, my mother informed me that I
would be baby-sitting my little sister all day. I had plans
to go hiking with friends, and Mother knew that, but she
explained that my father had been asked at the last minute
to attend a military function, one at which she was expected
to be at his side. I would have to live with it for this one
day.

"As you might imagine, I was just spitting mad. Phoebe, of
course, saw no problem with this arrangement. Even at eight,
she was already showing promise as an artist, so it didn't
bother her to have to stay indoors all day. She painted
while I fumed, and she made it worse by teasing me with her
paints, threatening to cover my computer screen with her
so-called artwork if I touched her."

B'Elanna, just this side of insubordination, interrupted.
"Excuse me, Captain, but what does this have to do with us?"

//Patience, old girl, patience//. "I'm getting to that,
B'Elanna. When our parents returned home, the results of our
day together were immediately evident: I had ripped all of
Phoebe's paintings to shreds and she, in turn, had painted
my computer, my journal, my dresser, the bedposts, and the
bathtub, just for good measure.

"This was the last straw for my father. I don't think I had
ever seen him so angry. He never raised his voice or his
hand to us, though." She paused for effect. "He simply tied
us together and told us we would stay together until we
could learn to get along. And that, ladies, is exactly what
I'm going to do with you."

B'Elanna blanched. Seven's expression didn't change, but her
right hand convulsed into such a tight ball that Janeway
could see the whites of her knuckles.

Splendid.

On a private channel that thankfully was working properly,
Janeway requested politely of her Security Officer, "Please
bring me a wrist restraint."

"Aye, Captain."

A moment later the door opened and Tuvok entered with a
metal wrist restraint in his hand. It was a basic model
restraint: a pair of two-inch-wide bands joined by a short
length of chain. Not so menacing, but more than enough for
Janeway's needs. She took it from him and dismissed him. One
could only guess at what might be going through his Vulcan
head.

Janeway stepped up to B'Elanna. "All right, (*click* around
B'Elanna's left wrist) you two (*click* around Seven's
right) will learn to work together or you will die trying.
I'll see you tomorrow morning." She glared at them a moment.
"Dismissed."

They had their first altercation right there in front of
Janeway. Seven turned to her left to exit and B'Elanna went
right. There was a momentary struggle, and then it looked
like B'Elanna settled to allow them to go left, since the
door was on Seven's left. They exited without further
discord. Janeway's eyebrow rose in a mixture of hope and
hopelessness. For a second she honestly wondered if they
would survive the day.

---

Out on the bridge, all eyes went to the ready room door and
then fast away when they saw the two women emerge locked
together at the wrists. With supreme effort, B'Elanna kept
her head high on their walk to the turbolift. She yanked
Seven's arm once in a display of control as they entered the
lift, and then the door closed on them.

"Hey, Tom," Harry hissed, as the lift doors shut, "I guess
this means you're free tonight, huh? How 'bout Sandrine's?"

Tom swiveled around in his chair and gave his friend a wide
smile. "Free? I don't think so. Did you see that? They were
*joined at the wrists*!" His blue eyes fairly glittered with
the possibilities.

Harry caught the look in Tom's eyes, and decided he'd better
insert a reality check before the man started washing his
sheets. "Tom, that was *B'Elanna and Seven*, for Pete's
sake! What are you, *nuts*?" His volume had gone up
considerably from where it had started and he nearly yelled
out that last.

"Boys," Chakotay cautioned, nodding his head towards the
ready room door.

Tom had taken the moment to reconsider. "I'll meet you at
Sandrine's at 1900," he said to Harry and swiveled back to
his station, visions of himself as the filler in a
B'Elanna-and-Seven sandwich still dancing in his head.

---

In the turbolift, B'Elanna snarled at Seven. "If you so much
as sneeze without asking me first, I swear I'll throw you
against a wall." She yanked her arm again, but this time
Seven yanked back, spinning B'Elanna completely around in
front of her and smacking her head into the turbolift wall
beside her.

"You will not. . .threaten. . .me, B'Elanna Torres."

B'Elanna had only just saved her nose from being smashed by
a well-placed hand to the turbolift wall, which she used to
push off to face Seven, conceding the point with a snarl.
"Yeah, okay, *pahtk*."

The turbolift doors opened onto main engineering. Tom had
wasted no time in getting word to this section. Absolutely
no one looked in their direction. Of course, the only way
B'Elanna could exit the lift without walking backwards was
either to cross back in front of Seven or make Seven cross
in front of her.

It was an easy choice for B'Elanna.

She yanked the wristband again and glared darkly at Seven.
Seven tilted her head and flicked her implant-brow,
conceding to B'Elanna this time, and crossed in front of
her. They walked out of the lift, and eyes that had dared to
observe this little tussle slid quickly away again.

The rest of the day progressed in this fashion. Every single
time they forgot and tried to go their separate ways, the
restraint reminded them they could not. Every disagreement -
and there were quite a few - had to be settled on the spot
and relatively amicably because they could not escape each
other. There was nothing they could do that did not require
a mutual understanding and allowance for the other,
including tasks of a more personal nature. It was humbling
for both of them, although they would die before admit it.
Aside from the two of them, very little conversation took
place in engineering that day.

After a while, the crew lost their fear of looking at them
and instead gaped openly at the sight of Torres and Seven
working out differences they were certain their
temperamental boss lady would have stormed away from hours
earlier. It crossed several minds that this would be a
mighty good disciplinary action for children back home.

However, at the present moment, the wristband was itching
B'Elanna like crazy and pissing her off to the nth degree,
especially because Seven seemed so cool about the whole
thing. But there wasn't a damn thing she could do until the
next morning except scratch and yank her arm every now and
again. Tom was gonna get a big earful when this was over.

By the end of the day, in spite of what looked like efforts
to the contrary, the women had become pretty adept at
twisting their wrists in the bands and dancing around to
avoid stumbling over each other, but none of that made much
difference when they got off duty.

---

Outside main engineering, two voices sounded together.

"I want to go to my quarters."

"I want to go to my alcove."

"C'mon Seven, you don't need that regeneration pod anymore.
The Doc said you're only using it as a crutch."

"Crutch?"

"Christ, you know. Something you hang on to to avoid getting
on with your life."

"Oh, you mean like what you do when you. . ."

"Oh, shut up! You want to go to your precious alcove, then
let's go. I'll give you half an hour." She dragged Seven to
the turbolift.

---

As Seven stood motionless in the regeneration pod, her right
arm hanging out towards B'Elanna's left, B'Elanna glanced
around the cargo bay. It was dark and cold. She shivered and
wondered how Seven could come down here by herself all the
time. She was human, after all. More human than B'Elanna,
who was starting to get the willies. She shivered again,
suppressing a strong urge to bolt, when Seven stirred.

"B'Elanna, what is wrong?"

"Nothing! Oh, well, okay, this place is giving me the
creeps. Can we go now? I'm hungry and I really gotta pee."

"Yes, I am finished, we can. . .go." She stepped down from
the alcove.

---

Just inside the doorway to B'Elanna's quarters, Seven came
up short at the sight of a huge bat'leth adorning one wall,
but B'Elanna did not stop. Anxious as she was to reach the
bathroom, she again forgot she was connected. She was jerked
to a halt with such force that she lost her footing and
found herself for the second time that day on her rear end.

"Honest to god, Seven, can you just give me a break?" She
climbed to her feet and gave her arm an extra-hard yank,
pulling Seven into the bathroom with her. As she sat on the
toilet, eye level with Seven's restraint band, she noticed
the slim wrist was bloody in a complete circle around the
top and bottom edges of the band. Her skin was translucent;
B'Elanna could see tiny blue veins just beneath the surface,
and the bright red blood stood out in sharp contrast. She
looked at her own wrist. The skin had not even been broken.
Klingon genes, she guessed. But the sight of Seven's ragged
wrist made her uneasy, in spite of her efforts to convince
herself that the woman had it coming.

"Seven," she asked, touching the top circling wound, her
voice barely above a whisper, "I did this to you, didn't I?"

Seven winced in a purely human response to the touch. "Yes."

"I'm sorry." It was all B'Elanna could think to say.
Finished with her toilette, she rose and with her free hand
pulled up her underwear. She started tugging up her uniform
pants, trying to keep still the hand that was bound to
Seven, but the pants were cooperating even less than they
had during the day, so she just abandoned them, letting them
fall back down around her ankles and kicking them off. She
was at home now, she might as well try to get comfortable.

"You want to change? I probably have something around here
you can wear."

And then, of course, they ran into another snag. How the
hell do two people get completely out of clothing when
they're joined at the wrists? *Screw it*, B'Elanna thought,
and they cut their way out. Seven's catsuit proved to be a
bigger challenge than B'Elanna's uniform, but in the end,
B'Elanna was able to get it off her, and was relieved to see
there were undergarments beneath it. Modified, to be sure,
but at least Seven wasn't naked.

B'Elanna opted to stay in Starfleet-issue bra and panties
for the time being, but Seven asked if she could wear the
black sweatpants that hung on a hook in the bathroom. That
done, they stood together in silence in the bathroom, not
sure what to do next. B'Elanna was uncomfortably aware of
Seven's mangled wrist. Her stomach chose that moment to
rumble, providing her a welcome diversion.

"Shit, Seven, I'm starving, but I'm out of replicator
rations till next month and you can be sure there's *no way*
we're going to be the evening's entertainment in the mess
hall."

"Then we should have Neelix deliver something here."

That had not even occurred to her. "Oh, yeah, good idea."

---

When Neelix arrived with the food, it was all he could do to
keep his mouth shut at the sight of them. Aside from the
fact that the entire ship was abuzz with what had happened
on the bridge that morning, he had also overheard Tom
talking to Harry about them in the mess hall. He had thought
at the time that Tom was being particularly vulgar and
insensitive, but looking at them just now, he realized Tom's
description was right on the mark and wondered when the
lieutenant had had the chance to get a look at them.

He was pulled from his ponderings by the feel of eyes upon
him. Two sets. Positive/negative. "Neelix?"

"Ah, yes, ah, oh, yes, Seven, B'Elanna, uh, everything you
requested." He placed the tray on the table in front of them
and stood back, marveling at the way their bound arms moved
in harmony. Then he noticed Seven's wrist and could no
longer keep quiet with regard to their predicament.

"Seven, my dear, your wrist." He reached for it and was
surprised when B'Elanna protectively brought her left arm
into her lap, taking Seven's injured wrist carefully with
her. To his further surprise, Seven spoke.

"It is. . .fine, Neelix, thank you for your concern." She
fixed him with that cold Borg stare of hers that never
failed to set his teeth on edge.

"Ah, yes, well, if that's all, I'll be going." They made no
motion to see him out, so he crossed the room alone and
exited without another word. B'Elanna snorted, picked up a
forkful of rice with her free hand, held it up to the
closing door, and then put it in her mouth.

Seven copied the action, actually chewing and swallowing the
rice, and then returning the fork to her plate. She spent
the rest of the time watching B'Elanna eat. Her bound hand
remained in B'Elanna's lap.

When B'Elanna finished her meal, she pushed her plate back
and spread out a napkin, bringing Seven's wrist onto the
table and taking a hard look at it. Dried blood had caked
around the wounds, and fresh blood was still seeping out
around that. The whole thing looked incredibly sore, and she
was amazed that Seven could refrain from reacting to the
pain she must be in. The entire universe would know if *her*
wrist looked like that. Was Janeway aware this could happen?
There were no holodeck safeties in real life. She decided
she couldn't stand the look of it any longer.

"C'mon, I want to clean this out."

In the bathroom, B'Elanna grabbed her washrag, soaked it in
warm soapy water and began applying it as tenderly as she
could to Seven's wrist. It was somewhat awkward, what with
having to reach across her body and her left wrist and then
work around the band itself to get at the wounds, but she
managed. She was making good progress when she heard a faint
sound from Seven and flicked her dark eyes into Seven's
face. What she saw there startled her. Seven's human eye was
brimming.

"Seven! Oh my god, am I hurting you?"

"Yes."

B'Elanna threw the rag down.

"I am. . .sorry, B'Elanna. I have been. . .trying for many
hours to maintain control, but I am. . .unaccustomed to a
continued sensation of pain." One tear slipped down her
cheek, and she suddenly looked very fragile.

At least B'Elanna had been right about the amount of pain
Seven could take. "No one should be come accustomed to pain,
Seven. I'm sorry, too." She raised her free hand and wiped
away the tear, then looked down at Seven's wrist. It was
cleaner, but had not stopped bleeding.

"Does that feel any better?"

There was silence for a moment and then, "Yes." And, almost
as an afterthought, "Thank you."

They left the bathroom, and since B'Elanna was not so keen
on letting Seven's arm dangle, she cradled their wrists in
her free hand until they reached the couch and sat down.

A few drops of fresh blood had dripped into B'Elanna's palm,
and without thinking, B'Elanna lifted her hand to her mouth
and licked off the warm blood.

Seven watched her, eyes round with curiosity.

The taste of Seven's blood stirred something feral and very
Klingon in B'Elanna. She brought the bound wrist to her
mouth, twisting her bound hand in the restraint to support
it. She placed her lips on the hot broken skin above the
band, slipped her tongue gently down in between the band and
Seven's flesh. Blood mixed with her saliva and she tasted
copper. She wanted to tear the band off with her teeth. She
moaned and her breathing went ragged.

"B'Elanna. . .I sense in you a growing desire."

B'Elanna lowered their wrists and raised her head, eyes
glazed, nostrils flaring, jaw tight. "What are you now,
Seven? An empath?"

"No, I believe I was merely stating the obvious."

This response took the intensity out of B'Elanna and she
relaxed against the back of the couch. "God, you're so
literal! I guess your senses are correct in this case, but
you sure know how to crush a mood!"

"I was. . .assimilated as a child. I have no knowledge of
sexual practices, human or otherwise. I thought at one time
that Ensign Kim. . .wished to. . .copulate. . .but he
advised me I was mistaken."

"Oh, I'll just bet he did," B'Elanna huffed in amusement,
"and ran screaming down the corridor as he said it, too."

"No, he tried unsuccessfully to explain. . ."

"Never mind!" B'Elanna reached for Seven's hand, the one
covered in Borg implants. She had never had a reason to do
this before and was surprised to find the metal tractable.

"Your hand, it doesn't feel like I expected it would. It's
very soft."

Seven's bound hand stroked B'Elanna's naked thigh. It was a
weird feeling, what with her own hand trailing along.

"You are softer than I expected as well."

If there could possibly be a situation both as awkward and
as erotic as this one was developing into, B'Elanna was hard
pressed to think of it. No one could accuse her, however, of
being a stupid woman. She wasn't about to let this
opportunity pass just because it might prove a little
awkward. Hell, the eroticism was already more than making up
for it! Just the thought of what she was about to suggest
quickened her pulse.

She raised her hand to the back of Seven's head and released
the tight twist of her hair. It cascaded down around her
hand in a waterfall of blonde softness. Running her fingers
through it and drawing the alabaster face closer, B'Elanna
spoke. "Come, Seven, let's go to bed."

---

The sound of a communicator's insistent beeping brought
B'Elanna to wakefulness. Seven was right up next to her,
sound asleep, her lips pursed in a perfect pout. The beeping
continued. B'Elanna reached into the nightstand at her
beside for her extra communicator and slapped it.

"Torres here."

"Lieutenant Torres," the Captain began cordially, "good
morning. It is so good to hear your voice. I trust that
Seven is not a corpse by your side and that I will get to
hear her voice as well?"

She glanced at the sleeping woman beside her and flushed,
nearly unable to respond. "No, er yes! Uh, Captain!"

To Janeway, B'Elanna sounded flustered but almost cheerful.
Perhaps this worked as well for she and Seven as it had for
she and Phoebe. She wondered if their wrists ached as much,
too.

"I trust," Janeway continued, "you two have had enough time
together to reconcile your differences and that the crew
will no longer be subjected to daily battles or be cursed on
the bridge."

Sometime during the captain's little speech, Seven had come
quietly awake, and before B'Elanna could respond to Janeway,
had placed her hand directly into the triangle of wiry black
curls at the juncture of B'Elanna's legs, fondling in a most
*educated* way. B'Elanna lost all vocal ability.

"That is. . .correct, Captain," Seven finished for her.

---

The End