Archive of Our Own ^beta

It had been so long since she'd spent time with a crew on a starship, since she'd seen the same group of people for longer than a day or two at a time.

After Voyager returned to the Alpha Quadrant, life had been a whirlwind of Starfleet debriefs and media interviews and, for her and Icheb in particular, countless scientific and medical assessments. Tensions had still been running high following the Dominion War, and Starfleet had wanted to be absolutely certain they weren't letting in another threat so soon in the form of the Borg. At first, she'd had Janeway and the Doctor and the others at her side – for support, for advocacy, for whatever she needed.

But the bubble that held them all together in the Delta Quadrant couldn't hold up forever. Naturally, they drifted apart. While her former crewmates found their niches – climbing the ranks in Starfleet or returning to homes and careers elsewhere in the quadrant, Seven floundered without the familiarity and relative stability of life on Voyager.

As the years passed, she learned that being Human on Voyager was tremendously different from being Human on Earth. Icheb took to Starfleet life like he was born for it, made friends and connections as he graduated from cadet to science officer – she was proud of him. But for Seven, fitting in was not so easy. She had no home to return to, no plans or career aspirations now that she was no longer needed in Astrometrics. There had been some half-hearted offers from Starfleet, after they'd decided she was not a threat, but for all the skills she possessed, few were truly willing to commit themselves to working with an ex-Borg still developing her interpersonal skills.

Icheb had it easier, in the sense that he'd been liberated from the collective before he had ever become a full-fledged drone. She, on the other hand, had been complicit in the assimilation of millions. With the veritable fame bestowed upon Voyager's crew upon their return, there was little she could do to separate herself from her past. She had become too well-known, and most saw fit to avoid her on sight.

She was officially a Federation citizen, but Seven felt more out of place and without purpose on Earth than she ever had on Voyager.

For the first few years, she found herself living in an apartment provided by Starfleet, close enough to the Academy to see Icheb as often as his schedule allowed. She divided her time primarily between consulting with Starfleet, providing all the Borg-acquired intel they desired, and continuing her independent research into individuality or regenerating in the alcove installed in her otherwise-spartan apartment.

Early attempts to reconnect with her father's sister proved more awkward than successful, and left her feeling like little more than an impostor in the woman's home. Even before her parents had carted her off on that ill-fated research mission, it seemed she'd not been an easy child to get along with, and her aunt's memories of her were few and far between, laced with apparent confusion regarding her 'difficult' behavior.

What was left of the six-year-old that had been assimilated over two decades prior? Not much, by Seven’s estimation, and what did remain did nothing to make her feel like less of an outsider. So, although her aunt had been nothing but kind to her, Irene Hansen had been the first person with whom Seven cut ties.

After Icheb graduated from Starfleet Academy and received his first posting aboard a deep-space research vessel, Seven hadn't seen any reason to stick around. She left her position as a consultant at Starfleet – where she felt she'd already outlived her usefulness anyway – packed up the portable regeneration unit she'd developed, along with the rest of her meager possessions, and set off in search of the purpose she'd been missing since her old home in Astrometrics became just another stop on the U.S.S. Voyager Museum tour.

One by one, she let her contacts with her former colleagues and friends dwindle away until there was no one left. Janeway, the Doctor, Chakotay, Harry, Tuvok, Tom and B'Elanna, even Naomi Wildman. They had all become too busy to keep sending her messages that were starting to go unanswered more often than not. Sporadic communications with Icheb whenever his vessel was within range became the only direct connection she maintained.

As it turned out, Earth was even less welcoming of an ex-Borg outside the confines of Starfleet.

If they didn't know her from one of the many holoprograms or news reports that began running not long after Voyager first made contact with the Alpha Quadrant via the starship Prometheus (and exploded in quantity after the ship's successful return), her implants alone were enough to signal her origins. Most found her to be unsettling, it seemed, if not downright terrifying, and kept their distance as though she'd assimilate them if they got too close. Hatred was another reaction she received – less common than anticipated, but vitriolic when it did rear its head.

Murderer. Borg scum. Disgusting half-meat. Monster. She became accustomed to all the names. And then there were those who saw her only as a prize to be won. Whether their curiosity stemmed from carnal desire or scientific interest or greed for the bounty presented by her many implants, Seven found in her travels that she'd been nowhere close to ready to re-assimilate herself into humanity on Earth.

It wasn't until a rare well-meaning acquaintance pointed out the aspects of her demeanor that most people found disagreeable that Seven began to learn how to adapt, how to portray herself so that it was no longer so easy to pick her out as wrong, as ill-fitting of the world around her.

The cortical node modifications the Doctor had made shortly before their return to Earth made it easier to exaggerate the emotions people expected to see spelled out in her every facial expression and vocal inflection. She learned to rein in the habitual tics and penchant for routine, to make enough but not too much eye contact, to relax her posture, to be less 'robotic' in every way. She tried her best to be Annika Hansen, though that name still felt as though it belonged to a little girl long since lost.

Twenty years on and she felt she'd more or less perfected the act – the epitome of Human imperfection, with only the Borg implants left to suggest she wasn't quite what she seemed. Her time with Bjayzl, more than anything, was what solidified that perfect mask. While the Fenris Rangers in general weren't so discriminating – one of the reasons she'd been glad to join their cause – the woman whose web Seven had unwittingly been lured into demanded nothing short of her twisted definition of perfection. She buried Seven of Nine deep beneath the facade of Annika Hansen for Bjayzl's sake, and that was ultimately her downfall, in more ways than one.

After Icheb... Well, she had to adapt all over again, find the order and security of her Human mask amidst the chaos of her anger and despair. The person she presented herself as after that was not quite the persona she'd developed for herself before her failures cost Icheb his life, but it was enough. She was the xB, brought back from the Delta Quadrant; the Fenris Ranger, terrifying and dangerous but oh so good at her job; she was Annika Hansen, and she wasn't. She was Seven of Nine, and she was what she needed to be.

The individual she had become was so far from what she'd imagined back on Voyager, but she was an individual who survived.

Only in solitude did she ever dare to let the carefully-crafted mask slip. Only when she no longer had to put on an act did she permit herself to relax and become the mess of contradictions she truly was.

Relaxation for Seven was set shoulders and a rigid spine – when it was seventy-five percent metal, a casual slump took more effort than her natural stiffness. It was the rhythmic clenching of her right hand, the tap-tapping of metal fingertips against metal thumb on her left, the compulsory tilt of her head. It was a blank face, free of exaggerated affect, a quiet apartment, when her sensitive enhanced ears were feeling overloaded. It was wearing as little as possible, because sometimes the skin around her implants became too over-sensitized to tolerate contact of any sort. It was the way she still chose to replicate her preferred nutrition supplements if there wasn't some reason for her to eat real food. It was, simply, being unapologetically Seven, no filters needed.

She hadn't been truly herself around another person in so long, she sometimes wondered if she even could anymore.

It wasn't until she and the others began to settle into life on La Sirena that the thought of trying even crossed her mind.

Lying in her new quarters aboard the freighter, empty of personal effects save for the regeneration unit she'd appropriated from the crashed Artifact, her mind whirled in an attempt to reconcile the past several days of finally getting her revenge on Bjayzl, of fighting Romulans and saving Synths, of reconnecting herself to the Collective – Seven could hardly believe she was still here, still breathing and more or less in one piece.

The open wounds left behind by the cables that connected her to the Borg cube in the queencell had since healed, but the psychological wounds still festered. To experience the connection to the Collective again after so long, only to have it ripped away moments later as the re-assimilated drones were sucked out into space – it was jarring. Seven couldn't put words to the feelings that ran through her in that moment where the bittersweet elation of connection turned so suddenly to profound emptiness. With everything going on, she hadn't had much opportunity to reflect on it, though she couldn't say she was enjoying the chance now.

And to top it all off, her favorite leather jacket had been a lost cause, holes torn up and down the back. What a waste.

When the creeping thoughts and memories became too much, Seven pushed herself off her bunk and headed out of the room in the direction of what counted as a mess hall on this ship, hoping to find somewhere less quiet, somewhere that her walls would go up and her mask would settle and it would be much more difficult to let herself break down.

To her relief, the mess hall was not empty when she arrived. Soji was introducing Elnor to the wonders of french fries and peppermint ice cream in one corner, Rios and Jurati whispering over their dinners in another. Seven wandered over to the replicator and considered her options.

She wasn't hungry. It was a distraction she needed.

She tapped her commands into the interface and waited for her requested items to materialize, then took the bottle of bourbon and kal-toh board over to the nearest table and sat down. Looking at the jumbled structure on the game board reminded her of life back on Voyager, which once again brought the nature of her present situation into stark relief – all these years later and here she was, on another ship with another crew, however motley. With friends. La Sirena was smaller, more technologically advanced, her crew a fraction the size of Voyager's, and Seven herself was so far removed from the person she'd been back then, but the feeling was similar – the sense of togetherness, of people with a hard-forged bond working towards a common goal. She could feel it, and it was almost comfortable.

Seven was a few swigs of bourbon in and carefully considering the placement of her next t'an when Rios and Jurati passed by on their way up to the bridge, still whispering conspiratorially. A moment later, another figure entered, but stopped as they passed Seven's table.

"Feel like sharing?" Raffi asked as Seven looked up, optical implant rising up her face in question.

"Sure," Seven replied, offering a smile that looked much easier than it felt. If it were anyone else asking, she might not have offered one at all, but Raffi Musiker was something special, and Seven genuinely welcomed her presence. "Grab a couple of glasses."

When Raffi returned with the glasses, Seven poured them each a shot.

"Kal-toh, right? A Vulcan game?" Raffi asked, gesturing to the still-jumbled metallic structure between them.

Seven nodded and placed another t'an, watching as the structure became a little less chaotic. "Finding order in chaos," she said, recalling Tuvok's words from all those years ago. "Want to play?"

Raffi nodded, then lifted her glass. "Drinks first."

They tossed back their shots.

=/\=

Days turned into weeks on La Sirena, and Seven began to let herself feel more comfortable there.

The others helped. No one looked at her the way so many xBs were looked at these days – there were no signs of fear or revulsion or musings on how much her implants might glean on the black market. They didn't expect anything from her, or at least nothing more than anyone else was giving. There was a sense of safety and stability aboard La Sirena that her life had been missing for a very long time.

Raffi and Elnor, in particular, were the reasons behind her recent reflections on the mask she'd been wearing like armor for longer than the latter had been alive. The boy's earnestness reminded her of Icheb, a notion that was equal parts painful and comforting. She appreciated his easy friendship more than she could admit.

Raffi was a different story. What had begun as casual flirtations born from mutual attraction had begun to evolve into the kind of relationship Seven hadn't allowed herself to entertain even the idea of in over a decade, not since Bjayzl and the horrors that followed that lapse in judgment.

But Raffi was not Bjayzl. There was a comfortable acceptance between them that had never existed between her and Jay, a mutual acknowledgement of past hardships, mistakes and regrets. Neither expected the other to be anything other than what they were in any given moment. It was attraction; it was soft, responsive touches and quiet gasps in the late night or early morning; it was sweat-slicked passion after a high-adrenaline mission; but above all, it was respect, in any and every form needed between them.

And at some point, without Seven fully realizing it, a fundamental shift occurred inside her.

The mask she wielded like a second skin around every other being in the galaxy began to slip, ever so gradually, whenever she and Raffi were alone together. The flexing of her fist here, a lapse into monotonous speech patterns there. The Seven of Nine she'd buried deep poking her head out to test the waters, however unconsciously.

Time and attention revealed the truth. Raffi was safe, Raffi could be trusted.

For the first time in a very long time, Seven of Nine could be nothing more or less than herself, and she didn't have to be alone.

Raffi hadn't seen it right away, the changes so subtle at first that it took some time before she learned to pay attention.

The first time it clicked for her was after a phaser-fight on Kessik IV. The crew's attempt to acquire intel about an xB trafficking ring they were working to dismantle led to sprinting through the streets in an effort to avoid getting vaporized by the lackeys of a very angry Andorian who did not take kindly to what he perceived as an encroachment on his territory. Raffi and Rios, who'd been posing as traffickers, with Seven once again playing the bait and Elnor along for extra muscle, hadn't gotten very far into negotiations before all hell broke loose. By the time their near-deadly chase brought them back to the space port where Agnes could beam them out, all four were bruised, battered, and thoroughly exhausted.

Desperate for a shower to wash off the sweat and grime, Raffi had wasted no time grabbing Seven by the hand and pulling her through the ship to their quarters, leaving Cris and Elnor to explain what went wrong.

In their quarters, which were technically Raffi's except for the fact that Seven rarely used her own anymore except to regenerate and store extra clothes, Raffi made quick work of stripping herself down and jumping into the deliciously hot water of the real shower. Seven was a little slower to undress, but joined her soon after.

Exhaustion kept them from much more than a few kisses and gentle caresses, and less than ten minutes later, they were back in the bedroom and toweling off, slipping into sleep clothes, leaving still-damp hair to air dry.

As Seven sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders set and back ramrod straight, face inexpressive as a Vulcan's, that's when Raffi realized it for the first time. Her first thought was that Seven was uncomfortable, or perhaps in pain – but no, that wasn't right. She'd seen Seven after having a mek'leth buried in her thigh by a drunk, disgruntled Klingon. Pain for Seven was a small frown and tight fists, a clenched jaw, if she even showed her discomfort at all.

This wasn't Seven in pain, she was certain. This was a Seven who was too exhausted to put on her usual front. Raffi hadn't known it until now, but she'd seen this Seven before, too – when she'd walked in on Seven once while the xB was on a subspace call with a half-Klingon she'd later identified as B'Elanna Torres (Not that Raffi had needed to be told. Anyone who'd been in Starfleet at the time of Voyager's triumphant return became familiar with the faces of the ship's senior staff, at the very least.) 

Raffi remembered finding it odd at the time, for Seven to appear so stiff and disinterested while speaking to someone she later claimed to be one of her oldest and closest friends, even if they apparently hadn't spoken in some time, but she hadn't seen it as her place to comment or question it, and the incident had slipped from her mind.

But it wasn't for no reason that Raffi Musiker had been regarded as one of the best intelligence officers of her time, back before everything with Starfleet went to shit. She could put together pieces that others didn't even know to have on the table.

Granted, the pieces that made up Seven of Nine, the ex-Borg Fenris Ranger from the Delta Quadrant, were a bit more difficult to sort out than most, but Raffi liked to think that she was figuring it out, slowly but surely. And the Seven she observed after Kessik, sitting there on the bed, quiet and almost robotically stiff, Raffi knew that was Seven with her walls down, without the facade she'd clearly become so good at putting on. A Seven who was, it seemed, comfortable enough to stop pretending in Raffi's presence.

Seven's natural countenance could, less magnanimously, be described as inhuman. But Raffi felt she was getting to know Seven better than perhaps anyone else the xB had been around in a long time (and conversely, sharing more of her own self with said xB than she had with anyone in years), and she didn't see it that way at all. Here was a woman who had suffered so much, assimilated by the Borg at six years old, then ripped out of the only life she could remember and shoved back into a damaged human body, an individual who it turned out few were willing to accept, because of circumstances beyond her control. And yet, she had somehow managed to survive all these years in a galaxy that was against her, and she'd done it with admirable strength, had even risked her life on countless occasions for the sake of others.

It was clear to Raffi that Seven had needed to adapt to survive. Knowing Starfleet as she did now, she had little doubt that the xB had not been immediately welcomed with open arms upon Voyager's return to Earth. As enlightened as humanity and the Federation claimed to be, they were, in truth, often driven by fear, which rarely led to a favorable outcome.

So of course Seven must have had to figure out how to be as human as possible, to blend in with the 'normal' of the society she'd been thrust into. It must have been the only way for her to cope in a hostile world.

Not wanting to compromise the obvious progress being made in their relationship, Raffi had climbed into bed without a word after Seven laid down, wrapping a secure arm around Seven's waist as her own head sunk into the pillow.

As sleep reached out to claim her, Raffi made a mental note to watch for other such displays of trust from Seven in the future.

=/\=

Following her realization the night of the Kessik incident, Raffi began to notice all the little ways in which Seven dropped her defenses around her. The change in her speech pattern was most common, when formality slipped in and her tone became more monotonous, any jokes she made a little drier. Raffi wondered how long it had taken her to perfect the act she put on for the rest of the galaxy. Knowing Seven's intelligence and adaptability as she did, she assumed not very long, though it must not have been easy. Self-preservation made for a powerful motivator.

Physically, it was the rhythmic clenching of her right hand that Raffi observed from Seven most often. Either that or both hands clasped at her lower back as she stood upright and rigid, face stoic, giving the appearance that she was about to address a room full of stuffy Starfleet brass, rather than climb into bed with Raffi or head to the mess hall for breakfast with the rest of their motley crew.

It was the little things, as the saying went, and they only served to further endear Seven to Raffi. She'd been attracted to the ex-Borg Ranger from the moment she transported Seven off her exploding ship and onto the bridge of La Sirena. But as she'd gotten to know her, just casually as she helped them prepare for the Freecloud mission and then more intimately after they reunited on Coppelius, Raffi had come to appreciate Seven of Nine for much more than just her beauty or her obvious strength and bravery. She appreciated Seven's dedication to her goals, her sense of humor and her humility, the tender way in which she interacted with Elnor and occasionally Soji. She adored how attentive Seven was, and how deeply intelligent without making a show of it, and perhaps most of all, Raffi cherished the deep level of understanding and trust they'd found in one another.

Raffi knew that sentiment wasn't one-sided. They saw elements of their past and present struggles mirrored in one another, acknowledged each other's imperfections without judgment while nurturing strengths. There was a respect between them the likes of which Raffi hadn't experienced in so long, she'd forgotten how empowering it could be to share that kind of connection with another person.

Raffi wasn't sure what she'd done to earn having Seven in her life, but she knew Seven didn't feel like she deserved Raffi either, so she figured they made a good pair.

She mulled over these thoughts, not for the first time, as she lay with Seven in their bed, sweat cooling on heated skin, breaths evening out. They were due to take a shift on the bridge in less than two hours, but for now, Raffi was content to bask in this quiet moment with Seven.

Several minutes passed before either of them spoke. 

"Anything on your mind?"

To the untrained ear, Seven's question might have sounded disinterested, but Raffi knew by now how to pick out the underlying feelings whenever the inflection seemed to disappear from Seven's voice. In this case, she sensed that Seven was genuinely concerned by Raffi's extended silence.

Raffi shifted so her mouth wasn't pressed against Seven's bare shoulder and answered honestly, "Just thinking about you."

"Me?" Seven asked, and Raffi could practically hear the optical implant above her eye lift in question.

"You. And me. Us," Raffi elaborated. "How much has changed in these last several months."

"Changed between us?"

"And in general. But yeah, mostly between us." Raffi stroked a finger along Seven's collarbone. "I was thinking about how much it means to me that you trust me enough to let me see you, without any pretense."

She felt Seven tense, however slightly. If Seven's body hadn't been pressed up against hers, it might have been imperceptible. Raffi kept up the steady caress of her fingers down Seven's neck and upper chest, hoping to maintain the light atmosphere around them. She hadn't meant for her comment to put Seven on the defensive.

"Relax," Raffi whispered, and to her relief, Seven did.

"I apologize," said Seven. "I am... not used to this."

"To what?" Raffi asked, tilting her head up to get a better look at Seven's face. "Being yourself? Or talking about it?"

"Both." Seven sighed. "It has been a long time since I felt comfortable enough to truly relax around anyone else, or to even acknowledge that I could."

Raffi watched Seven's jaw clench, then relax, then clench again. "You're upset with yourself," Raffi observed, and it wasn't a question, but the short huff of air from Seven's nose was an answer. "Why?"

Seven was quiet so long, Raffi might have thought she'd fallen asleep if she weren't still staring at the tense lines on Seven's face, the blue eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling. Finally, Seven answered.

"I don't... want you to think differently of me. Or feel that the way I am without the... pretenses, as you say, means I am incapable of feeling–"

"I'm gonna stop you right there, honey," Raffi interrupted. "I didn't say what I did to call you out or make you feel like you had to explain yourself to me. Like I said, it means a lot that you're able to let down your guard."

Once again, she felt some of Seven's tension dissipate. "It doesn't unsettle you?" Seven asked. "When I'm... less than human?"

Raffi's heart clenched at the choice of phrasing, knowing Seven must have heard such criticisms in the apst. She sat herself up, so as to better impress upon Seven the sincerity of her next words. "Honey, you are as human as anybody I've ever met. The woman I've come to know behind these bulkheads is no less impressive than the woman I met before Freecloud. In fact," she added, smiling down at Seven, voice softening, "you're even more impressive."

Seven's ocular implant rose in obvious doubt, eyes finally drifting away from the ceiling to meet Raffi's. "You're serious."

"As a Red Alert." When it seemed Seven wasn't going to say anything further, Raffi continued. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm guessing not a lot of people were ready to welcome a former Borg with open arms when Voyager returned to the Alpha Quadrant. You became who you needed to be to get by, then you went and joined the Rangers, and I'll bet in all those years, there hasn't been much room in your life for trust." She sighed and stroked a finger down Seven's jaw line. "But I hope you can trust me now when I say that whether you're putting on your act out there or being your stoic, beautiful self in here, I've never questioned your humanity. Maybe it looks a bit different than others', but it's who you are, and that person is pretty damn incredible."

Seven, still looking somewhat doubtful, brought up her right hand and pulled Raffi's left away from her face, lacing their fingers together. "I do trust you. You are always honest about your thoughts and feelings, and I admire that about you. There is no uncertainty regarding where you stand on a matter. It’s something I appreciate about Elnor, as well."

Raffi chuckled and squeezed Seven's hand. "You say the sweetest things, babe."

Undeterred, Seven continued. "With most humanoids, it is difficult to determine their true feelings or intentions, as they often deliberately conceal them. Though my ability to understand people has improved over the years, it was something I frequently struggled with on Voyager, and it often impeded my attempts at social development. They would tell me one thing, then turn around and say another, and if I pointed out the contradiction, it was I who was in the wrong."

"Mixed signals?"

"Yes. After I was severed from the collective, I was expected to regain my humanity, to divest myself of all things Borg, yet I was inescapably still Borg in many ways, and I was constantly reminded of that. Even as I grew into my individuality, it seemed I would never truly be human in all the ways expected of me, but I could not go back to being Borg, either."

"It kind of sounds like you regret your time on Voyager."

Seven shook her head. "On the contrary. I appreciate much about my experiences aboard Voyager. Without their intervention, I would likely still be a drone. Or dead. And knowing all I do now, I wouldn't go back and change that, given the choice." Seven paused for a moment, and Raffi waited patiently, stroking Seven's thumb with her own.

"You were right, though. When we returned to the Alpha Quadrant, there were many who did not take kindly to me being Borg. Picard had his history with the Borg, of course, but he was assimilated as an adult for a relatively short period of time. I was essentially raised by the Borg, so my history and resultant way of being was apparently harder to accept. Eventually, I learned how to meet certain expectations in order to be... less threatening, or offensive, or however it was I made other people feel. I... adapted."

Seven's lips quirked upward at her own joke, and Raffi's followed suit, but both dropped as Seven continued.

"The problem is, I've been changing myself for so long, I'm not sure I even know who the real me is anymore. Especially after... After Icheb's death, I became who I needed to be to survive."

Raffi squeezed Seven's hand again. "That's understandable, honey." She could certainly relate. After her choices cost her her family, Raffi hadn't wanted to be herself anymore, either. She'd just gone about it in a different way.

"I doubt I'll ever feel or be fully human by most definitions."

"Eh, humanity's overrated," Raffi quipped. Arm tiring of holding her up, she let herself drop back down lay against Seven's chest, but kept their hands linked. "Besides, need I remind you of what I said earlier?"

"You do not. I have Borg-enhanced memory. I could repeat every word either of us has said in the last ten minutes," Seven stated drily.

Raffi laughed. "Fine. Then you remember that I said you're one of the best people I've ever known–"

"Those were not your exact words."

"–and no matter how it presents itself, your humanity is one of the most beautiful things about you, Seven of Nine."

"I suppose now would not be the time to mention that my full designation is actually Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero-One."

Laughing, Raffi sat up again so she could look Seven in the eye. "I love you," she blurted, instead of the teasing remark she'd intended to say.

She froze, but Seven spoke before she could decide whether to elaborate or backtrack.

"I love you, too."

Raffi couldn't help the grin that spread across her face in response, and swooped down to press her lips against the more understated smile on Seven's.

When she pulled away for air a moment later, it was only far enough to whisper, "You know, we still have an hour left before we're expected on the bridge."

Seven raised her ocular implant and offered a smirk in return. "What did you have in mind?"