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Harry lifts his mug up to his nose, brows furrowing. He glares at B’Elanna with open recrimination.
“You accepted the dare. It’s out of my hands now,” she says, lifting up her palms and leaning back on her chair.
Harry grimaces. “Here goes nothing.” He tips up the mug quickly and downs the content in five long gulps. He slams the mug back on the table, eyes tightly squeezed shut. He swallows again. “So—bitter.”
B’Elanna smirks. “Enough to make you gag. Unless you’ve been drinking that stuff since you were a little kid.”
“How can anyone make their kids drink that?” Harry makes a face, pushing the mug on the table further away from him.
“It builds character or something,” B’Elanna says with a shrug. “Facing adversities without showing weakness is a big deal in certain corners of Klingon culture.”
“I could think of a few less sour ways of teaching how to face life,” Harry replies. “Then again, it’s not like in the Federation there aren’t similar ideas. Anyway, how in the hell did you make this—tea?”
“It’s just a matter of marinating the fresh shoots of a thorny bush until all the bitterness leeches out. I had to use what Neelix had on hand, but it’s pretty similar to the stuff we made at the monastery.”
Harry gapes. “I keep forgetting you stayed at a monastery.”
“You know me. Still full of surprises.”
Harry shakes his head.
A comfortable moment passes between them. The Mess Hall is quiet, the rush hour between the alpha and beta shifts having died off. No time like the present for a last ditch effort, she thinks wryly.
“No chance I can convince you to try bouldering again?”
Harry’s grimace isn’t dissimilar to his just-tasted-something-horribly-sour face. “I’d rather not, sorry.”
“Come on, you weren’t so bad.”
“I might even believe you except I was so terrified the whole time I was up those walls that I don’t remember much else. I think it’s best if I leave it to people who don’t shake for an hour after they try climbing a wall.”
“Point taken,” B’Elanna concedes wearily.
“Why don’t you go with the engineering guys?”
“I already do,” B’Elanna replies. “They were the ones that introduced me to it.” Bouldering also happened to make Chakotay frown much less when she described to him her off-duty activities. He’d especially liked the fact that it was supposed to be a social activity. “But it doesn’t feel right to always be around the crew on their off-time. They deserve to relax without their boss lurking around.”
Harry raises an eyebrow. “Is that an excuse, or—“
“How would you feel if every time you went on Tom’s latest adventure Janeway was also there?”
“It’s not really the same thing, is it? Also, the Captain can’t stay entirely isolated from us. If she asked I’d tell her to come along.”
B’Elanna suppresses a groan. She wishes she were better at making Harry understand that being the head of a whole department is—different. She has to maintain some distance, or she won’t be able to keep giving orders and override disagreements. Maybe it is more for her own sake than the rest of the engineers, but so what. She needs to not spend so much of her time off duty with the same people she sees every day on the shift. Climbing sounded like the ideal compromise between a challenging hobby and her overbearing boss’ idea of a good pastime, but it turns out that doing it alone sucks out both the fun and what Chakotay thought was beneficial about it. She probably should just give up on the idea entirely.
The doors to the Mess Hall slide open with a soft hiss, and B’Elanna glances over, eager to be distracted from her gloomy thoughts. It’s Seven of Nine, of all people. B’Elanna isn’t even sure if she’s eating more than one solid meal per day, it’s difficult to say what she’s doing here. Neelix must be as surprised as she is to see Seven around, because he hurries out of the kitchen in order to greet her.
“Speaking of someone who used to spend a lot of holodeck time with the Captain,” Harry says, driving home his earlier point.
Annoyed, B’Elanna almost misses an important detail. “Used to?”
“The word around is that the Captain got a tendon injury for the second time in as many months and the Doctor has forbidden her to play Velocity for—either three or six months, depending on who you ask.”
“You sure are well informed,” B’Elanna observes dryly.
Harry shrugs. “People get chatty on the bridge night shift.” He pauses, and a small smile forms on his lips. He leans slightly over the table between them and says, “You know, Seven must have some free time left if the Captain is unavailable. You should ask her about joining your bouldering holoprogram.”
“Ha ha, very funny.”
“I’m one hundred percent serious.” Harry has the audacity to grin, and B’Elanna doesn’t like it one bit. “Actually, you know what. I’m making it my next dare. Go ask Seven of Nine if she’d like to go bouldering with you.”
“What,” she hisses, trying to keep her outrage to a volume that won’t cross the entire hall. “Are you insane?”
“Nope.” Harry crosses his arms, still grinning. “That’s only fair payback for the horrible tea.”
Dammit. And curse her past self too, for having started the stupid game of dares with Harry in a particularly low moment of her newly-found singledom. Her hands curl up in fists. She can’t back off the challenge. Harry would win the game, and she’ll look especially foolish because the dare only requires setting aside her mixed feelings about Seven for a moment and smiling a little while making an insincere invitation. She’s done both things before, though not at the same time. But it’s not as if Seven would like the idea of going to the holodeck together more than B’Elanna does, wouldn’t she? She’ll probably turn her down. And B’Elanna will look considerate for having made the effort to reach out, without having done much more than walk to the other end of the Mess Hall and ask.
Ha, Harry did not think this through. This is easy. She inhales deeply, fixes her gaze on Harry and a smile on her lips.
“Alright then,” she says. “Watch this.”
Seven is still talking to Neelix near the Mess Hall entrance, and B’Elanna tries to make her approach as nonchalant as she can. It’s difficult to not be obvious in a big room mostly empty of other people, though, and by the time she’s reached them they’ve both noticed her.
“B’Elanna!” Neelix greets her with his usual cheerfulness. “Did that beverage you wanted to make turn out alright with the leola shoots I gave you?”
“Surprisingly close to the original taste, actually,” she replies, making sure her smile is still plastered on her face.
“Glad to hear it!” He turns to Seven and explains, “Potent stuff, Klingon tea. I guess we’ve finally found something leola root is suited for.”
B’Elanna is tempted to mention that leola root would not pass muster as ‘Klingon tea’ anywhere in the empire, but that would derail the conversation entirely. Instead she fixes her attention on Seven, who is not so subtly eyeing the door now that Neelix is distracted. No time for pleasantries.
“Seven, rumor has it that you’re without your usual opponent for Velocity.”
Seven turns her attention to her, B’Elanna’s blunt opening seemingly not fazing her. “That is correct. The Captain won’t be able to practice the discipline for the foreseeable future.”
“So—you have some free holodeck time now, right?”
“A weekly two-hour slot, yes.”
“Perfect. As it happens, I’m without a partner for my weekly holodeck time as well. Would you be interested in trying a rock climbing holoprogram with me?”
Neelix’s sharp intake of breath is so comical that for a moment B’Elanna’s is afraid she’ll crack and just start laughing. She was right, this was really easy as dares went. And exhilarating. She could get used to the feeling of stunning people by saying what they least expect.
“Define ‘rock climbing holoprogram’.”
B’Elanna blinks. Seven is watching her with something like curiosity, devoid of the haughtiness that seems to follow her everywhere. It’s kind of unsettling.
“It’s, uh, a training program with both indoor-gym and actual outdoors simulations,” she explains. “I plan to use the bouldering part the most, which is about climbing short distances indoors with minimal equipment. Very beginner friendly.”
When Seven nods in understanding the reality of the situation finally catches up with B’Elanna. Seven is actually thinking it over, and B’Elanna just gave her a goddamn sales pitch.
“I am—intrigued by this climbing holoprogram, Lieutenant. When would it be convenient for you to meet?”
Harry had wheezed with laughter for a good five minutes afterwards, while B’Elanna fumed. She hadn’t had the heart of faking a scheduling conflict, given she’d been the one to bring up the holoprogram to Seven—even Neelix wouldn’t have bought the excuse at that point.
But it means she’s stuck with a friendly holodeck date with Seven of Nine. Harry’s teasing throughout the week does nothing to ease her annoyance.
She starts irrationally hoping for something to happen, anything short of a Borg cube or a core breach that could give her the plausible deniability she needs in order to cancel with no remorse. Nothing comes along to save her, however, and soon enough B’Elanna finds herself on Deck 6, walking to Holodeck 1 in her usual regulation tank top and black climbing pants, small chalk powder bag and water bottle in one hand and climbing shoes in the other. She isn’t surprised when she sees Seven already waiting in front of the holodeck door.
They nod to each other in greeting, and B’Elanna takes Seven in. She seems to have done her homework on the replicated equipment, at least—she sports her own chalk bag as well as a pair of tight climbing shoes, which she judiciously did not wear to walk over to the holodeck. She is wearing a regulation purple undershirt and black pants too. The fact that they’re color matched is surprising, but makes them both look like they’re still in a kind of uniform. It takes away some of the edge from having Seven around while off-duty.
“Ready?” B’Elanna asks, as she punches the correct holoprogram on the screen.
“I am ready, Lieutenant.”
The doors open in what B’Elanna imagines is a typical climbing gym specialized in bouldering. She tries to remember how it looked to her the first time she’d entered it—a fairly wide winding route, at least twenty meters across, flanked by walls four meter high, on which are fixed a variety of colorful protruding shapes—the holds. The walls are divided in segments slanted every which way and on most of the flooring between them lies a thick navy blue mat, the only protection against falls in this particular climbing discipline.
B’Elanna supposes she should start from the beginning.
“So, what do you know about bouldering?” she asks, looking up to Seven.
“I have read about basic terminology and equipment, and some beginner techniques.”
“Huh. I’d have never guessed there were books written on technique.”
“Are books not to your liking, Lieutenant?”
Not even a minute inside and Seven is already at it. B’Elanna inhales and exhales, counting to five. “I like reading well enough, I just meant that I don’t think climbing technique is suited to being learned from a book. It’s much easier showing it in person, and trying it out for yourself.” She pauses. “Also we’re off duty. You can call me B’Elanna.”
Seven tilts her head in her usual acknowledgement. “Will you be showing me ‘the ropes’, then?”
B’Elanna’s eyebrows rise. “Sure, if that’s what you want. I think the holoprogram includes a coach, too, in case.”
“I will consider the option.” Somehow B’Elanna doubts she will. Seven eyes the mat. “Shall we change into our climbing shoes?”
B’Elanna takes a little satisfaction in the fact that Seven doesn’t know everything. “We should warm up a bit before we tackle a boulder, and I don’t recommend wearing those shoes more than absolutely necessary. They can be pretty uncomfortable when you’re not on the wall.”
They set out to do a fairly routine set of dynamic movements on the firmer part of the flooring. Seven doesn’t seem fazed by any of B’Elanna’s suggestions about what to do—she guesses Velocity required thorough warm-ups as well. So far, this session isn’t much different than going climbing with her crew. In the middle of a series of squats, though, B’Elanna notices the black glove on Seven’s left hand. It’s definitely nothing she’s ever seen recommended for climbing.
“Can I ask you about the glove?” B’Elanna says, once they’re done warming up, and are both struggling with their respective pair of tight shoes.
“You can.” When nothing more is forthcoming, B’Elanna understands that Seven answered the question literally, and it takes some more counting for her to not roll her eyes.
“I meant, why are you wearing one?”
“It is a protection the Doctor designed for my left hand implant,” she replies. The one with the assimilation tubules. Difficult to forget. Seven continues, “while it is made of a sturdy alloy, during physical activities that require a lot of friction there is a possibility that the connections between the implant and the organic part of my hand might rupture.”
That does not sound pleasant, and B’Elanna says so out loud.
“It is a rather complex repair as well,” Seven confirms, “so best practice is to prevent the eventuality of rupture entirely.” She holds up her left, gloved hand. “The Doctor maintains that this glove will produce the same amount of friction as human skin, although my personal experience is mixed.”
B’Elanna doesn’t mention that climbing is likely to belong among the cases where the glove won’t work just as well. Using chalk inside a glove sounds like a recipe for chalk soup, and without anything to aggressively absorb it the moisture collecting on her palms will likely make her hand slip inside the glove itself, even if it looks like a snug fit on her left hand. There are better, more helpful things to say, though.
“I don’t think you will have much trouble with this holoprogram. William Chapman climbs one-handed sometimes, now that he’s recovering from a shoulder injury. He seems to have no problem hanging out with the rest of his bouldering buddies.”
Seven’s eyes widen, and she gapes. Whoops, wrong thing to say.
“I mean, not that it’s the same situation as yours,” B’Elanna amends. She can feel herself getting tangled up in intricacies she’s not equipped to navigate, so she stands up quickly. “Let’s go.”
She brings Seven to a boulder identified by a series of amoeba-like magenta holds, one of the easiest she’s seen in the gym. B’Elanna improvises a complete novice lesson, which, being little more than a beginner herself, is kind of all over the place. She ends up repeating information Seven already knows, like the fact that successfully laying both hands on the top hold of a trail of the same color is called ‘sending a boulder’, or the specific name of concave, comfortable holds found in the beginner boulders (‘jugs’). She moves to techniques by starting to climb, explaining whatever comes to mind first from how to use the tip or the side of a toe to stand on a hold (and rely on the rubber of the shoe to do the rest) to the nuance of avoiding to pull close to the wall with your arms.
Part of her suspects that Seven wanted to see B’Elanna embarrass herself, but in the end it’s Seven’s loss. She’ll have to climb too now that she’s here, won’t she? When B’Elanna feels she has conveyed enough information she jumps off the wall onto the mat and says to Seven, “Your turn now.”
Seven hesitantly smears her right hand with some of the powder from her own bag and approaches the holds hanging at her eye level. She places her right hand on one and frowns.
“It is—rougher than I expected.”
“That is how you know the friction will hold you up,” B’Elanna points out. “It will hurt a bit at first, and you should probably stop as soon as you think your hands can’t take it anymore, but you can last a little longer every time.”
Slowly, Seven starts to climb. B’Elanna watches her carefully—Seven clearly remembers the way she had approached the boulder while explaining. Methodically, following B’Elanna’s earlier advice about pushing with the legs whenever possible, Seven reaches the top hold, ‘matching’ both hands on it.
“Not bad,” B’Elanna says, genuinely impressed. It figures that Seven would catch on quickly.
Seven looks down to her, biceps twitching with effort as she holds herself closer to the wall. B’Elanna can’t blame her for being a little scared, given that it’s her first time high up on a boulder.
“How do I come down?”
“You either climb back down or jump backwards to land on the mat. Probably a mix of both is the best idea, falling properly is another thing you have to learn.”
Seven does as instructed and she lands on her feet, recouping her loss of balance with two steps backwards. She turns to B’Elanna. “This is—exciting. Shall we try another one?”
Her cheeks are flushed pink, her eyes wide and bright. Her hair is already starting to escape her ponytail. B’Elanna isn’t sure she’s seen Seven quite like this before—hell, she’d thought Seven couldn’t get excited about anything— but she doesn’t mind Seven proving her wrong in this particular instance. B’Elanna crosses her arms on her chest and allows herself a small smile.
When Seven leaves, having taken turns on three more boulders, B’Elanna is surprised to realize that the session hadn’t been half bad. Climbing seems to fix both their attentions on the problem they’re facing, so the matter at hand overrides any awkwardness between them. It helps, too, that Seven seems genuinely eager to learn, no condescension to be found in her questions. It’s puzzling behavior, coming from her, but B’Elanna is not going to look a gift targ in the mouth. She can get used to this routine.
B’Elanna should begin to look for ways to repay Harry in kind for all that teasing.
“That hold is not meant for the right hand.”
Yeah, no shit. B’Elanna’s left leg is trembling with effort as she grasps futilely at a hold high up her head. The tilt on it is all wrong for the right hand, B’Elanna must regroup and check for an alternative. There’s another yellow jug a little ways over to her right side but damn it, she’s not going to reach that far, she’s sure of it.
“Swapping your feet on the lower right hold might be a viable strategy.”
B’Elanna clenches her jaw and squeezes her eyes shut, frustration and nerves getting to her. She tries to shift her weight on the right leg but she can feel the grip of her toe slipping. Her muscles are starting to hurt, too, the fear making her pull herself closer to the wall with her arms. She curses, at length, the entire chain of events that brought her to try and go to the gym with Seven, but it does nothing to help her situation. Eventually she gives up and jumps off the wall, landing on the mat with ease. With two more leaps she’s facing Seven.
It’s her fault, really, for not having established firm rules from the start, although she had hoped Seven would make the connection with what B’Elanna has told her more than once while working together. “Seven, I can’t concentrate if you’re constantly pointing out what I’m doing wrong. It’s not a good situation, starting to doubt myself while I’m up there. A second too late and I might slip from a hold.”
Seven’s brows knit. It’s just the hint of an expression, but she’s clearly confused. “On our first session, you’ve said that a fundamental component of this activity is to observe and gather information in order to reach the top, often with the help of a climbing companion. If I am not supposed to inform you of what I see, how can this ‘beta’ be achieved?”
B’Elanna sighs, raising the heel of a chalky hand to her forehead. “You generally discuss strategies before and after an attempt. I’m sure there are people who find running commentary useful, but I’m not one of them.”
“I see. I apologize for ruining your attempt.”
The apology is unexpected, and B’Elanna doesn’t know how to react. She’d thought it would take more convincing to get to this point.
“Do you wish to try again?” Seven asks, perhaps sensing B’Elanna’s uncertainty.
“I—no, I think I gave it a fair try anyway. Go ahead.”
Seven nods and approaches the wall, looking up at the trail of yellow amoeba-like holds. The boulder is laid out as an arch leaning left, unlike the problems they’ve encountered so far which were more straightforward vertical paths. Despite B’Elanna having tried ‘traversing’ before, she’s still figuring out how to read the different patterns and associate every hold to a possible movement of arms and legs. The only way of learning is to keep climbing, her engineers had said, and she believes them. Bouldering is not an intellectual exercise. Although—these are still problems to be solved, and everyone has their own approach.
Just as Seven is laying her hands on the lowest jugs, feet still on the mat, B’Elanna asks, “Would you like me to make observations as you climb?” She had not considered Seven could appreciate it, since it’s so far from what B’Elanna herself wants, but she can at least ask.
Seven looks back to her over her shoulder. “I am not certain. Perhaps we can test the idea.”
An experiment, huh? B’Elanna smirks. This is going to be a fun one. “Alright then, you can start and I’ll tell you what I think you can do better.”
Despite the many, many pebbles she could remove from her shoes when it comes to Seven’s unwanted criticism over the years, B’Elanna chooses the high road, offering suggestions only as she sees a real need for them. It is still a pretty thick commentary, given that Seven is an absolute beginner, and about halfway up Seven is struggling with the same stumbling block that interrupted B’Elanna’s ascent.
“Yeah, that’s definitely not a hold you can grab with your right hand,” B’Elanna says, allowing herself a bit of revenge.
Seven flashes her a look over her shoulders, and tries the foot swapping that she’s suggested to B’Elanna earlier. Her right foot slips and her gloved left hand doesn’t grip well enough for her to hang onto the wall with only that one point of contact. Seven falls down on the mat with a thump, luckily remembering to hold her arms in front of her body.
Dammit. B’Elanna rushes to her side. “Are you okay?”
Still sprawled on the mat, Seven looks up to her, eyes wide and chest heaving. She blinks, then holds her hands in front of her, examining them front and back. “I believe so,” she says, her voice betraying a faint wavering.
B’Elanna exhales. “Good,” although what she wants to say is more along the lines of ‘thank Kahless’. She offers a hand and Seven takes it, allowing herself to be helped up.
“I’m sorry,” B’Elanna says. “I didn’t mean to make you fall.”
“You did not make me fall,” Seven replies resolutely, straightening up. “My mistake was caused by my own overconfidence. But I understand now how you might find running commentary—disruptive.”
B’Elanna’s mouth curls up a bit at that admission, although there’s not much else that’s funny about this situation. She’s disappointed in herself for letting their long-running, one-upping contest get to her even as she was trying to be helpful. Seven somehow always manages to bring her tolerance levels to zero, and everything she does sets B’Elanna off. Why are we like this is a question she’s been asking herself for a very long time, and she doubts that voicing that question now would lead to any answer. If she’s not able to figure out a way to make this thing with Seven work, it’s going to be—a blow to her pride. She’s able to fix most of the ship, and yet her relationship with Seven is just beyond her capabilities, even when Seven seems willing to at least try.
She shifts her weight on the mat from one leg to the other, unsure what to do. The silence stretches on awkwardly. B’Elanna has to say something or she’ll explode.
“Seven—”
“B’Elanna—”
They stare at each other in confusion. “You first,” B’Elanna says quickly, hoping Seven has something less gloomy in mind.
“If I can make a suggestion,” Seven begins, then eyes B’Elanna in an overly conspicuous request for permission that makes B’Elanna clench her jaw in annoyance. Tolerances, she reminds herself.
“Go ahead,” she says wearily.
“Your feedback was valuable. Your level of experience is greater than mine, and you’re perceptive. I would appreciate it if you continued to share your opinions with me.”
It’s not what B’Elanna expected at all. “Well, sure. I can do that.”
“Would you be willing to receive feedback as well?”
“I think so? I mean, I don’t expect you to never speak while we’re in the holodeck. As long as you’re not doing it while I’m climbing.”
Seven nods, acknowledging her words. “Then I propose structuring the way we exchange information. A game, if you will.”
This conversation is going in the wildest directions. B’Elanna crosses her arms on her chest, considering Seven. “I wouldn’t have guessed you’re the type for games.”
“You forget that I have been regularly spending time with Naomi Wildman.”
Is that a joke? B’Elanna is so surprised that she can’t help an amused huff, but that seems to be the reaction Seven was expecting because she continues, “In this game, the rules are as follows: every time one of us falls from the wall, that person has to identify the reason why they fell. The other person can agree or disagree with the assessment, then offers another piece of feedback.”
“Huh, that’s an interesting way of doing things.”
“It’s a strategy Commander Tuvok employs at times. I have found it useful in other contexts. Perhaps it can be of use here as well.”
B’Elanna tries not to wonder too much what Tuvok and Seven do on their downtime while on away missions—but she can see the traces of Vulcan discipline clearly enough in the rules Seven laid out. It sounds unforgiving, like most Vulcan habits, but rational as well. An opinion for an opinion. It could work. Maybe if she can reliably expect when Seven is going to criticize her, B’Elanna will finally stop reacting to every little annoying nuance of her behavior. Not to mention the value of putting into words what is not working in her own attempts at sending a boulder.
“This game does sound useful,” B’Elanna says. “I think we can try it out. See how it goes.” It’s not as if they have much to lose, she doesn’t say.
Seven nods, satisfaction emanating from her whole posture. “We can start whenever you wish.”
Oh, it’s on now. Because of course it is a game, therefore a contest within the larger contest of climbing side by side. Trying to delay its start might very well be an admission of defeat.
B’Elanna rolls her shoulders and stretches her neck, preparing for her next attempt on the yellow boulder. “No time like the present.”
That goddamn crimp will be the death of her. The small blue hold on her left is just so tiny—B’Elanna can’t really grasp it with her hand, only grip onto it with the pad of her fingers, and she has to rely on that friction alone if she wants to move her left foot up. Which she has to, because there are a few more holds before the top.
The gym around her is completely silent beside the environmental background noises. B’Elanna doesn’t need external clues to know that Seven is watching her every move. It’s a powerful incentive, one B’Elanna has relied upon to haul herself up through several tough spots in the past few weeks. There’s nothing quite like the prospect of having to admit to Seven that she failed an attempt because she was too afraid of falling, to just push B’Elanna a little farther. The new, more technical holds, though—she knew they were coming but it doesn’t mean she has to like them. They require using muscles she hasn’t developed much yet, and the risk of failing is high.
B’Elanna inhales shakily. Well, here goes nothing. She pushes up with her fairly stable right leg, rotating her left hip closer to the wall, allowing her just a little more reach. Now she can position her fingers on the horizontal edge of the crimp, chalk giving her a tiny measure of confidence in the friction but not much more than that. She can do it, though. The foothold for her left foot is just a little ways up and left. B’Elanna raises her leg and—she loses her balance entirely, falling off the wall with a gasp.
Next thing she knows, Seven is looking down at her, offering a hand. B’Elanna takes it, getting up from the mat with a less fluid motion than she’d like—they’re pretty far along the session. Her eyes catch the state of her own clothes and she grimaces. Her thighs are white with chalk on what are supposed to be black pants. They’ll have to go straight to the recycler.
Seven is implacable. “Why did you fall?”
“I wasn’t strong enough,” B’Elanna grumbles as she pats her legs, with little success in removing the chalk.
“We previously agreed that that is not an acceptable answer,” Seven points out.
“I lost my balance, okay?” she snaps, glaring.
Seven holds her gaze in silence, and B’Elanna exhales, closing her eyes. That’s not a good description of what happened and she knows that. “I thought I was doing okay on the crimp. I must’ve had a less solid overall position than I thought I had, so it’s not that I wasn't holding on the crimp correctly, more that the way I got there wasn’t ideal.”
“I agree with your assessment. However, I believe your position was less unbalanced than you think.”
B’Elanna opens her eyes again. Seven is walking off to the side of the boulder in order to grab the pole with a plastic brush on top. Holding it up, she points at a blue hold placed on the wall just a little over the jug B’Elanna had been gripping with her right hand just before she fell.
“This hold would have likely given you a wider base of support on the wall, as well as a lower center of gravity, and therefore more stability.”
B’Elanna wishes she’d seen that before, it’s so obvious now that she’s on the mat. But she supposes that’s why they’re still going strong with their little feedback back-and-forth. It works.
“That’s a good observation,” she says out loud.
“It is not such a large difference. I believe with your hold choices you would not have fallen if we had attempted this boulder at the beginning of the session.”
“You can still make use of it now that it’s your last turn. You could even send.”
Seven busies herself with brushing the chalk away from holds just over her head. “I will not have a strong contact on the crimp, and it is an obligatory move to get to the top.”
Her implant hand. Seven stubbornly maintains that wearing a glove has not been a disadvantage for her, though B’Elanna privately doubts that. The boulders are only going to become more technical and involved.
“I’m fairly sure the holoprogram can take your glove into account if you wish. For future boulders, I mean,” B’Elanna says out loud.
“Does Lieutenant Chapman climb with accommodations?” Seven asks, still brushing.
“Sometimes he does, it depends on how his shoulder is doing.” B’Elanna pauses, puzzled. “Does it matter? I think it would be a bit irresponsible of him to re-injure himself trying to send a boulder that’s impossible with the use of just one arm. It’s the same for you and your glove. I would not want to see you slip off and—get hurt.”
B’Elanna almost chokes on her own words. It’s true, she doesn’t want Seven to get hurt for no reason, but saying it out loud like that? She must be more tired than she thought if she’s running her mouth.
Seven puts down the brush and gives B’Elanna a long look. “I caused Chapman’s shoulder ligament injury.”
“What?”
“We were—dancing. Here in the holosuite, in a program of his choice, a restaurant. My attempt at a twirl was the catastrophic ending of a frankly terrible night.”
B’Elanna gapes, not quite believing her ears. “You tore Chapman’s shoulder ligament by dancing with him,” she deadpans.
“Yes.” Seven’s posture stiffens. “Just as my—enthusiasm at Velocity caused the captain a tendon rupture. Twice,” she adds, a bitter twist on her mouth. She fixes her gaze on B’Elanna. “I have become somewhat accustomed to the—burdensome nature of my body, in relation to most of the crew. I am wary of changing the parameters of this environment when until now we have been so evenly matched.”
B’Elanna is taken aback. It had not occurred to her that the two of them were fairly equal in more than just climbing ability, but Seven has a point. B’Elanna hates to think of herself as ‘stronger than the average humanoid’—the phrase is just the kind of inaccurate crap that seems to stick perniciously well to Klingons—but she has had her share of strife because of it. She always stood out among humans, especially as a child, when she couldn’t yet tell when people were falsely blaming her and her supposedly superhuman strength to clear themselves of any responsibility. Seven’s situation isn’t exactly the same, it’s more about Seven not having quite figured out how to fine-tune her interactions with others—but then again she’s had what, two years of Borg-free life? B’Elanna doesn’t blame her for wanting a space where she doesn’t have to hold back at all and nothing horrible will happen to the people around her. It explains a few other things, too.
“Is this why you accepted to try out this holoprogram with me?”
“Yes. And I had not yet found a suitable replacement activity for the Velocity holoprogram.”
That’s a candid admission alright. B’Elanna can’t even be mad, she had wanted to find a new gym buddy just as much, hadn’t she? And she only asked Seven because Harry dared her to.
“Look,” B’Elanna begins haltingly, fatigue catching up with her, “I understand why you’re wary of changing the parameters, but I don’t think you’re even going to see the difference all that well. The program will probably just tilt a few holds to be more horizontal and slightly larger to compensate for the glove. Nothing else will change, you’ll just be less likely to fall off because of that particular disadvantage.”
Seven averts her eyes towards a point in the middle distance between them. She suddenly appears—vulnerable, in a way B’Elanna is not used to associate with Seven. Her hair is sticking to the sides of her face after a couple of hours of intense physical activity and her comfortable attire is marked by white chalk powder everywhere. The Borg enhancements and prosthetics are just as mundane, really, a part of what makes Seven herself and how she interacts with the world, and yet they also mark her as different in the eyes of the crew. That kind of inescapable overexposure is something B’Elanna understands all too well.
“I will consider the option,” Seven says eventually, interrupting B’Elanna’s musings. “There is a chance, however, that I would gain an edge over you.”
“What, because I’m shorter?” B’Elanna sneers. Oh Seven, such an underhanded move. “Hold that thought until I learn to dyno properly—once I can jump from one hold to the next I’m going to destroy you.”
Seven’s eyes glint in the fluorescent glow of the gym. “I will endeavor to be prepared for that eventuality. Shall I attempt the last climb of our session?”
B’Elanna crosses her arms on her chest. “Be my guest,” she says, and it’s a taunt.
Chakotay catches her just as she’s heading out of Main Engineering, toolbox in hand.
“B’Elanna, there you are. Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Sure, but make it quick. I need to check the Delta Flyer’s stabilizers before launch.”
He narrows his eyes at their surroundings. “Can we use your office?”
What could he want that can’t be said in front of her engineers?
She leads him inside the room that’s technically her ‘office’, but which over the years has turned into a place for her and her crew to work on projects that require some concentration or crash in when needed. The cot backed against the far wall is pretty much part of the furniture now, and the desk has turned into a workbench, with tools, pieces of circuit boards and other assorted bits covering most of its surface. B’Elanna unceremoniously clears up enough space for her toolbox to lie on it.
“So, what’s the clearance level of this briefing?” She asks, turning to him and crossing her arms expectantly.
“There’s no briefing,” Chakotay says, “but I thought you might not want to discuss this in front of your crew.” He pauses, frowning. “B’Elanna, what is going on with you and Seven?”
B’Elanna flinches. “There’s nothing going on,” she blurts out. “Unless you mean the two hours a week we’re on the holodeck?”
“The time on the holodeck is exactly what’s worrying me. For weeks now you’ve both come out of it full of bruises and scrapes, and people are noticing. The Doctor said he even had to recalibrate one of Seven’s implants the other day.”
B’Elanna grimaces at that—in their last session, Seven had bit more than she could chew on an overhang, which had forced her to dangle from a hold with just one hand supporting her entire weight for way too long.
Sternly, he carries on, “I’m not sure I can allow whatever this is to continue, if you are just going to hurt each other.”
B’Elanna lets out a surprised laugh. “Chakotay, we’re rock climbing. In a holographic gym. I can’t believe this—did you think we were wrestling?”
“It’s hard to not think that, given the way you look out of the holodeck.”
“It’s just bouldering! I told you about it before. The holds on the wall are kind of rough so you can, you know, hold onto them. Sometimes you bump on them with your legs or your arms while climbing and you get a little scrape, or even a bruise. We fall off the wall sometimes too, but it’s very rarely from more than three meters from the floor, and there’s a thick mat under every wall.” B’Elanna is aware that she’s gesticulating, but she can’t help it. The situation is too absurd. “I admit that we both get—too cocky, sometimes, and that’s why Seven ended up visiting the Doctor. But it was nothing more than a stress injury, of the kind people get on holoprograms all the time.”
Chakotay’s frown is still in place as he considers her words. It’s just so unfair—B’Elanna’s blood feels close to the boiling point.
“I can’t believe you’re telling me off,” she continues viciously, “when you’re the one using a boxing holoprogram.”
“The goal of boxing is to not let your opponent hit you beyond what you can take, not to take the place of a punching bag,” he points out. Chakotay assumes an air of long-suffering forbearance that only has the effect of aggravating her more. “Is it just rock climbing, then? Nothing else?”
What are you, my mom? is on the tip of her tongue for possibly the millionth time in their acquaintance, but B’Elanna catches herself before she slips. It would only make her look defensive. Which she supposes she is, at least a little bit—perhaps because she’s not quite sure herself if her holodeck time with Seven is still just rock climbing.
Nonetheless, she makes eye contact with Chakotay. “Does your idea of climbing include me having a conversation with Seven or should I stick to hauling myself up a wall from now on?”
“Hold onto your sarcasm all you want but I was genuinely starting to worry. The Captain as well—I think she might be talking to Seven herself right now.”
“We’re not children, you know,” B’Elanna retorts, appalled.
“I’m still waiting for you both to start showing your actual age when you're around each other.”
Oh, this one is a real low-hanging fruit. Yes, maybe the disagreements she and Seven have had in the past have been explosive. And very public. But that’s part of the problem, isn’t it? It’s the reason why B’Elanna can’t think of their bouldering sessions as just climbing anymore—it’s also somewhere far away from the crowd, with none of the expectations the rest of the ship puts on them. A place that challenges the both of them so thoroughly that it clears the field from the debris of any of their past interactions, and that leaves B’Elanna exhausted and with a feeling of accomplishment and exhilaration she’s been hard pressed to find in a very, very long time.
She closes her eyes, clenching her hands into fists. “Chakotay, listen to me. These holodeck sessions with Seven—I was trying to do what you’ve told me all along.” She can’t bring herself to meet his gaze. “Bouldering keeps both my head and my muscles engaged, and I’m spending time with other people off work. That last part has turned out to be Seven.” She sighs, struggling to explain that small bloom of not-awfulness that she’s been nurturing in her chest for a few weeks now. “I honestly didn’t know if it would work between us, especially at first, but—it seems we’re evenly matched, when we can just let loose. It’s turned into a good thing. A very good thing. Something I look forward to every week, actually.”
There’s a pause. B’Elanna glances furtively at Chakotay. His expression softens.
“I believe you. It’s been some time since I’ve heard you advocate for something that’s happening in your life.” B’Elanna’s confusion must be obvious on her face because he continues, “You usually just brush me off when I ask.”
“Oh,” she says dumbly.
He smiles, but only briefly. “I see that I rushed to the wrong conclusion earlier, and I’m sorry about that. But I was truly worried, especially about the bruising. I still am, to be honest. I don’t love that you’re using a holodeck program where you get hurt every week, even if you’re in a low-stakes environment.”
B’Elanna lowers her eyes. “Yeah, I can see why that didn’t look reassuring. I’m sorry, I didn’t really notice it because—” she hadn’t thought about the orbital skydiving holoprogram in a long while.
“As I said, I believe you.” He raises one eyebrow, and continues, “Still, I’d be a bad first officer if I didn’t advise caution to my crew, wouldn’t I.”
B’Elanna huffs at his attempt at a joke, and relents. “I’ll be more careful from now on, I promise. Sometimes Seven and I can get—carried away, I suppose.”
Chakotay makes a face and fixes his eyes on the bulkhead. “I really don’t want to know what you could possibly mean by that. Nope. Not images I want in my head. Please just keep it in the holodeck.”
His mock-chagrin is so funny that B’Elanna cannot help an amused snort, and soon he’s laughing with her. They’re still chuckling, tears in their eyes, as they re-emerge into Main Engineering to the confused looks of the crew on shift.
Seven is so, so close to sending. Just one hold remains, but laying both hands on it is not trivial, as B’Elanna has learned the hard way. Seven’s legs are shaking a bit in the effort to hold herself in place, and the muscles in her shoulders are taut, even though she’s clearly trying to keep her arms straight.
“You can do it,” B’Elanna yells from the mat. “One hand at a time and you’re done.”
Seven is too busy maintaining her place high up the wall to react to her words in any way, but B’Elanna can tell she’s still dithering. She’s afraid of falling—at that height, everyone would. B’Elanna certainly was.
“It’s okay,” B’Elanna says, moving on the mat to the likely end of Seven’s fall trajectory. “I’m here, I’ll catch you.”
With a snarl, Seven pushes herself up and brings her left hand to the last hold.
“Come on!” B’Elanna cheers on.
Seven lets out another grunt as her right hand matches the left. It’s a victory, but her legs soon give out—she dangles from the hold for a fraction of a second and she falls down, right into B’Elanna outstretched arms. Even when done correctly spotting is no joke and they both collapse on the mat with an ‘oof’, B’Elanna half sitting on her calves while Seven lies on her right side.
“Are you alright?” Seven asks, turning quickly to look at her.
“Yes, I told you I would catch you,” B’Elanna grumbles in response, as she props herself on her left hand in order to sit upright. Seven never crumples this easily, when she spots for B’Elanna. Which is just as often as B’Elanna spots for her, these days.
Apparently satisfied, Seven lets herself lie flat on the soft flooring, chest still heaving with effort. “I sent it.”
“You did,” B’Elanna confirms. It’s hard not to smile at Seven’s integration of climbing lingo into her vocabulary. It’s an odd clash with her overly formal speech. “Well done.”
“You—managed before me,” she retorts mulishly.
“Yes, well. You can’t win them all.”
Seven sits up, bringing her knees close to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs. It makes the muscles in her arms stand out, and B’Elanna is pretty sure that they weren’t so noticeable when they started out. Otherwise though, Seven is a mess. The hair tie at the back of her head is barely a suggestion for her hair anymore, her cheeks are flushed bright pink, the pads of her right hand’s fingers are angry red under a fading layer of chalk—most of which seems to have found its way on her formerly black pants.
“Would you like to try another boulder?” Seven asks, meeting B’Elanna’s gaze.
B’Elanna laughs. “I don’t think you realize how exhausted you look. And I’m tired too. No, I think we can stop here for today.”
Seven nods, then fixes her gaze on the middle distance in front of her, resting. Peaceful silence unfolds between them, something that just a few months before B’Elanna would’ve deemed impossible. Exhaustion and the many hours spent together are once again doing their magic. It’s just a recess between matches, of course, but it doesn’t mean B’Elanna can’t enjoy it.
Seven pipes up again. “I appreciate the encouragement while I climb. I believe I have not thanked you for it yet.”
Suddenly self-conscious, B’Elanna averts her eyes. “Huh, you’re welcome.”
She doesn’t really know exactly why she started doing it, or when. It just had seemed the right thing to do—Seven had confessed to suffering from moments of decision paralysis while on the wall, and a well placed ‘come on’ worked to snap her out of it.
“I'm afraid I will not be able to repay you in the same way,” Seven continues. “It seems that giving encouragement is an area where I am still—lacking.”
B’Elanna chuckles. Oh yeah, she has seen enough of Seven’s awkward attempts at flattery. Then again, those were all—outside. In a completely different context.
“You won’t know until you try, really,” she says wryly.
“I might make you lose your concentration.”
“In that case you’ll have learned what not to do.”
Seven takes it in. “Practice by doing,” she murmurs.
B’Elanna wonders if she’s just created a monster. Falling off the wall from laughing too hard doesn’t seem such a terrible prospect, though.
“I am accustomed to exploring new ideas by practicing scenarios,” Seven says, her voice deeper than usual. “It had not occurred to me that practicing could be applied to perfecting interpersonal interactions.”
B’Elanna tilts her head, curious. Seven is particularly chatty tonight, but B’Elanna is in no rush to get out of the holodeck, and has nowhere to go afterwards either except her own bed. She can indulge Seven a little.
“I’m not sure you can ever ‘perfect’ interacting with other people,” B’Elanna muses. “A lot of the whole ‘being social’ deal does not hinge on what you say or do, and you can’t change that. But it’s true that the more you actively spend time on an interaction the easier it gets, usually, like—if you’ve never written a happy birthday card it may seem like a chore, even if you know how to write and how to replicate a card. But if you’ve been writing one every year for all your friends you don’t think much of it. It may even be something you look forward to, because it’s become how you tell your friends you’re thinking of them. It’s like learning a new language, in a way, it’s not enough to know the grammar perfectly, you have to actively speak it if you want to get better at it. And once you do, you may realize you love it.” She pauses, her own rambling bringing her to a small lightbulb moment of her own. “People are a lot like languages too. The more time you spend speaking with them and listening to them, the easier it gets to be with them.”
“I see,” Seven says. “I begin to understand the reasoning behind the idea of ‘dating’. It is a formalized way to spend time together with another person.”
B’Elanna makes a face. “Yeah, I suppose it is. The thing about practice, though—you have to know what you’re really practicing when you’re spending time on something, or it won’t count towards your goal. Most people’s idea of dating is just small talk over a meal, and going on random dates with people you’ve never met before ends up being an exercise in—polite indifference. I mean, take my opinion with a grain of salt,” she amends quickly, “but that’s how I see it.”
Seven shakes her head. “I share your discomfort with the custom.”
“Is this because one of your dates ended up in sickbay?” B’Elanna teases.
Seven sighs, rather theatrically. “Is your disillusionment due to the end of your relationship with Tom Paris?” she deadpans.
Ouch. B’Elanna walked right into that one. Her irritation swells up, though more at herself than at Seven. And even more than that is reserved for Tom.
“I actually thought Tom was an exception.” B’Elanna sneers at her past illusions. “That’s why I said that being with other people it’s never something you can perfect. You can’t control what they’ll do, and sometimes it’s hard to control yourself as well.”
Silence blankets them again, and B’Elanna is left to reflect on what exactly she’s practicing right now, beyond climbing on the holographic simulation of an artificial rendition of several large rocks. It’s undeniable that bouldering is an activity she now loves, and spending more time with Seven has made being with her easier. She wouldn’t balk at the idea of calling Seven a friend now. A friend that B’Elanna tries to catch every time she falls and who does that same thing for her, and with whom she shares frank discussions about dating too now, apparently.
Before B’Elanna can follow up on that last thought, the holodeck buzzer warns them that their time is ending in five minutes. She gets up, leg muscles straining pleasantly under her own weight, and offers her right hand to Seven like she’s done a hundred times in past months. Seven takes it, but her upward momentum is larger than usual and B’Elanna’s hand ends up dragging her right into B’Elanna’s space, flailing.
B’Elanna’s left hand is quick to grab Seven’s side. “I got you,” she says, steadying Sevens until she regains her balance. The averted incident has her pulse quickening, and when she looks up Seven is staring at her with a grave, intense expression. It’s as if it’s Seven that’s holding her in place and not the way around and it’s—hot. B’Elanna can’t look away as the heat spreading through her body lays waste of any brain she has left.
Eventually she remembers to breathe, takes her hands off Seven and steps back.
“Whew. I thought I’d fall too,” she says, the first thing that comes to mind. Her heartbeat doesn’t show any sign of slowing down and B’Elanna has no idea where to look. She can’t risk meeting that gaze again, or she might—
“Thank you for catching me,” Seven says, and B’Elanna hears her as if she were speaking from very far away. “Once again.”
As B’Elanna grabs her water bottle and her chalk satchel, she has to wonder if her definition of friend also includes ‘someone that makes her act like a hormonal teenager’.
She is going to invent a reliable form of time travel just so can go back and kick her own ass into not following through with Harry’s stupid dare.
B’Elanna is not dense. Of course the possibility had crossed her mind before—how could it not, with the kind of intense feelings Seven always seems to stoke in her? They’ve traded rivalry for friendly competition, but the all-consuming quality of their interactions hasn’t changed. It doesn’t take much of a leap to get from there to unfulfilled sexual tension.
Her own wording makes her groan with embarrassment. The Incident—the way Seven had managed to pin her down just by looking, and the way now B’Elanna wants to be pinned down by her more—could be just a symptom of the fact that she hasn’t had sex in a while. That she misses the intimacy of having a partner while her current most probable trajectory is remaining alone until Voyager is back to the Alpha Quadrant. She’s sure as hell not going to settle down for ‘good enough’ again, and that immediately disqualifies 90% of the crew that doesn’t belong to the Engineering department, which is automatically excluded.
Lying on her bed, B’Elanna stares at the bulkhead above. Does she have moral objections about Seven? Not really. Her allegiance is clearly with Voyager now, and she is returning to Earth with them. Seven is interested in romance, too, though her way of going about it has been less than ideal.
Is Seven more than ‘good enough’? The Seven that she meets in the holodeck every week might be, but the Seven outside of it—B’Elanna frowns. When was the last time they’ve fought? Seven was in Main Engineering two weeks earlier to discuss power fluctuations happening in Astrometrics, but they’d solved the problem with some very mild back and forth. B’Elanna can’t find recent examples of their former volatility. Their relationship has changed everywhere. There’s not much distinction between their outside and inside selves anymore. Her heart makes a stupid leap, and she drags her hand on her face in chagrin.
She remembers, then, her conversation with Chakotay. She’d thought he’d been joking about not wanting images in his head, while maybe he’d seen something that had escaped B’Elanna’s notice all along. She has to stuff her face into a pillow after that.
Would they make a game of everything if they got together? Would it be too much? There were moments of stillness between them now, but would they be enough to not turn whatever there was between them into the messiest wreck this side of the Milky Way?
She’s getting rather ahead of herself, she isn’t even sure that Seven is interested in her. B’Elanna can probably try to find out, though. There, an actionable path at least.
She wishes that was enough for an uninterrupted night of sleep.
It’s as if the gravity plating had suddenly reversed its polarity, and B’Elanna had no way to stop walking on the ceiling. It’s impossible for her to hear Seven’s gravelly voice greeting her in front of the holodeck door without a shiver. Whenever Seven is spotting her, or helping her up, B’Elanna is painfully aware of every square centimeter of skin that’s in contact with Seven’s. Half of their sessions is following closely from below as the other puts all of her skill and effort into reaching the top—B’Elanna’s mouth has never felt drier than when watching Seven hoisting herself up on an overhang, deltoid muscles conspicuous as she competently pivots her whole body to the next hold. The frustration of being reduced to a mass of unfulfilled wants makes B’Elanna climb so sloppily in comparison and every time she’s back on the mat there Seven is, relentlessly asking ‘why did you fall?’.
Why indeed, B’Elanna thinks ruefully. This is the kind of thing she enjoys reading in romance novels. Experiencing it directly? Not so much. It’s excruciating.
As if that wasn’t enough, she has no clue whether Seven might feel the same or not because her perception is so skewed by her emotional red alert. B’Elanna might have caught Seven stealing glances while she warmed up. Seven might have held onto her a moment too long. Or it could be all in B’Elanna’s head, where she collated meaningless coincidences into a pattern.
“I believe your fall was due to distraction, more than any technical mistake,” Seven tells her, on the second session since The Incident. Her eyes are so full of genuine concern, it makes B’Elanna mad at herself for being the cause of it. “It seems to have—become a pattern. Is there something worrying you?”
B’Elanna flares her nostrils. The truthful answer would be ‘yes, it’s you, and the fact that I can’t pin you to the wall while we fuck the living shit out of each other’, but that’s out of the question.
Her last attempt on the purple boulder they’ve been projecting had truly been laughable, all because Seven has made good on her idea of encouraging B’Elanna while she tried to send—a simple ‘I believe in you’ had made B’Elanna’s knees so weak that she couldn’t move anywhere at all afterwards.
The most annoying part of the whole situation is that it’s not just attraction—B’Elanna could put a lid on it if it was. No, B’Elanna cares about Seven. She has started caring about her many, many bouldering sessions ago, and now she can’t stop herself. She can only try to carry on as usual, and hope these feelings will become manageable eventually.
“Let me try again,” B’Elanna says, stubborn.
“If you wish,” Seven replies dubiously.
“What, you think I can’t do it?”
Seven blinks, clasping her hands behind her back. “I believe this boulder is firmly within your abilities to send. It is what I have tried to convey previously.”
“So what’s the problem then?”
Seven glares at her. “You are unwilling to discuss the underlying reason for your current state of mind. I have tried to ascertain what is preoccupying you several times today as well as in our previous session, without much result. You are free to keep your own counsel, of course, but I believe this is what is holding you back.”
B’Elanna winces. Her eyes fall on the mat as her hands curl into fists at her sides. Now she’s done it. Seven has noticed. Of course she has noticed, with the way B’Elanna has been acting. And it hurts. Seven is right that this hell is of B’Elanna’s own making but there’s nothing B’Elanna can say to her that would make this better, and she can’t change what she feels. She is breaking this thing apart because she cares so much, too much, and it’s the wrong way and she can’t stop. She can never stop destroying everything around her. Story of her fucking life.
She whirls around, eyes stinging, and stomps away towards the exit.
“B’Elanna,” Seven cries out from behind her. “What is it that you’re practicing right now?”
That stops her right in her tracks. What? B’Elanna turns to look at Seven, ten or so meters behind her.
“Some time ago you pointed out that it is necessary to be aware of exactly what a person is practicing through a specific action,” Seven explains. Her voice wavers with effort. “So what is it that you’re practicing now?”
B’Elanna opens her mouth, closes it. She can’t believe Seven would throw B’Elanna’s own works back at her now, of all times. Shouldn’t they be past the petty comebacks? But there was no hint of condescension Seven’s voice, and even at a distance she doesn’t look anything but—tired.
So what is B’Elanna practicing right now? Avoidance, Chakotay would probably say. Cowardice, her mother would chime in. Self-preservation, she could counter. Or leaving something good behind because she couldn’t face the possibility of rejection, like she did with the Academy.
It’s a pattern. One she’s been repeating over and over. No wonder it’s so easy to slip back into it.
She stomps back to Seven.
“How the hell did you know?” she demands, once she’s right in front of her.
Seven flinches away from her, but it’s just an involuntary reaction. She straightens up and says, “Please clarify.”
“Why did you ask me about what I was practicing? How did you know that I—that I do this. That I avoid stuff. Especially if there’s the possibility I’ll be rejected,” B’Elanna admits through gritted teeth.
Seven holds her gaze steadily, her expression betraying some emotion B’Elanna can’t identify. “Do you expect to be rejected?” she asks softly.
It’s as if she’s in some kind of truth particle field—she can’t lie. B’Elanna averts her eyes. “Usually, yes.”
Everything is still for a very, very long time. Or perhaps it is just a beat, but the effect is the same. B’Elanna has spilled out such a colossal truth about herself that she doesn’t have the strength to cling onto it anymore.
B’Elanna has to make the leap. She’s not going to forgive herself if she doesn’t. It’s exactly like climbing—she can only make the attempt to reach the next, more difficult hold, because if she stays in one place for too long she will fall down for sure, and it will be the same thing as having jumped off in defeat.
B’Elanna gulps down the lump in her throat and looks up to meet Seven’s gaze—which is not so cool anymore. She is shaken, in fact. The sight pierces B’Elanna’s chest more thoroughly than any arrow.
“Seven, I—I care about you,” B’Elanna mutters, heart beating madly. “And I’m attracted to you to the point of distraction. I did not plan for this to happen, and it made me afraid because I don't want to lose this,” she says, encompassing with her arms the hologram around them. “I’ve come to love spending my time here with you. I’m only asking you to consider still climbing with me even if—you turn me down.”
“You do not have to ask,” Seven murmurs.
B’Elanna’s heartbeat spikes. “I don’t?”
“No. I was—convinced I had angered you, B’Elanna. With my own behavior.” She pauses. “I have been looking for excuses to be in your close proximity for quite some time now.”
Of course they were running in circles around each other. B’Elanna isn’t sure whether to laugh or break down crying.
“In case it was not clear, I'm attracted to you as well,” Seven says, in a good approximation of dryness despite her obvious nerves.
B’Elanna laughs. She has to, because Seven is still so unmistakably herself even as her poise is showing cracks. B’Elanna finds out then and there that she would not have Seven any other way, occasional condescension included—B’Elanna can and will always give her tit for tat. And there are so, so many new exciting possibilities for retaliation now. Grinning, B’Elanna wraps her arms around Seven’s midriff and she tackles her down onto the mat, Seven gasping as she falls.
“I haven’t hurt you, have I,” B’Elanna asks with a sudden surge of anxiety. She props herself up on palms and knees, straddling Seven’s hips, trying to ignore the itch of her hair draping her face.
Seven watches her with half-lidded eyes. Her hair has also fallen haphazardly on the navy mat all around her head, and it gives B’Elanna the impression of—the corona around a star. She has to remind herself to keep breathing.
“You have not hurt me, B’Elanna. I will ensure to be vocal if you do, but I hope you recall from the many hours we trained together that I am not fragile either.” Seven’s voice is deeper now that she’s lying on her back. Whether the tone or the promise in her words, it sends a shiver down B’Elanna’s spine.
“I think I’m going to kiss you now.”
“It would be disappointing if you didn't.”
Oh, they’re going to turn everything into a contest alright, B’Elanna thinks dimly as she reaches down to bite Seven’s cheek in retribution. And it’s going to be glorious.