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Titan
Seven stares into the reflective surface in her room and raises her fingertips to her ocular implant.
Still there .
As a Ranger, she made her time efficient in a way that adhered to her own parameters. In Starfleet, the parameters are defined. She doesn’t mind those too much. They’re familiar in a way that old songs are, maybe. She knows the tune, can slip within their bounds and work with them.
“Shaw to Hansen.”
It’s the other things that she struggles with.
She taps her comm badge.
“Yes, sir.”
“The engineering roster for this week’s a mess. Might need you to step in and help the new guy learn the way the Titan runs.”
Seven doesn’t say anything about her suspicions as to why this ship runs through chief engineers the way that Tribbles multiply. “Yes, sir. Anything else?”
“Nope.”
The connection ends unceremoniously. That’s the way most of her interactions with Shaw go.
She asks the computer to put on Ravel, changes out of her uniform and into soft leggings and her I ❤️ Paris t-shirt.
It’s worn. Like her , Seven thinks, then pushes the thoughts away. Dwelling on it won’t help.
Seven turns back to look at her reflection, touches her ocular implant, then the star by her ear, then the implant on her arm. Begins again.
I am Seven. I am Seven of Nine. I am here because this is going to inspire and help people, to see someone unconventional in this role.
She repeats it until the hammering in her chest stops. Every day, it gets harder to sit in this role, in this body. Or maybe in this uniform?
She must separate her body from the uniform. If she can’t…
She raises her fingertips to her ocular implant and begins again.
She’s done this every night since her first week on the ship.
Before
Seven stands in front of Raffi in her underwear and the I ❤️ Paris t-shirt. “It fits.”
“Of course it fits,” says Raffi, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her walk around. When she crosses within arm’s reach of Raffi, Raffi hooks her fingers into the thin straps of the underwear that stretch across Seven’s hipbones. “What I mean to ask is do you like it ?”
Seven blinks. “I have a friend named Paris.”
“Okay. So should I have gotten you an I ❤️ Raffi shirt instead?”
Seven doesn’t know why Raffi is laughing. Now that Raffi’s said it, Seven thinks that makes much more sense. “I will wear this shirt.”
“Even if I’m not around? Even when you have the choice of wearing something else?”
“Yes,” says Seven firmly, then looks down at Raffi’s hands and kneels on the bed on either side of Raffi’s hips: one knee, then the other. “Thank you.”
Raffi gazes up at Seven and, with her hands, pushes Seven’s hair back from her face. “You’re incredible,” she says, low in her chest. She strokes Seven’s cheekbone, then hovers her hand over Seven’s ocular implant. “Can I touch you here?”
Seven stares. “Why?”
Raffi turns to look at her own shoulder, where Seven’s circling her thumb over the contrasting sensations of bone and muscle under skin. “Why do you touch me there?”
“I like the way it feels.”
Raffi beams at Seven.
“Oh.”
“Only if you’re comfortable.”
Seven’s usually not comfortable, is the thing, but looking at Raffi’s face now, so full of hope and wonder and a third thing that Seven can barely parse, she feels like all she wants is for Raffi to touch her more and everywhere, over and over and over again.
Seven leans down and kisses Raffi, a little more roughly than she intends, judging from Raffi’s noise of surprise.
As she pushes Raffi back onto the bed, she finds Raffi’s hand and raises it to her ocular implant.
Titan
Seven knows that it is common for captains and first officers to develop a bond beyond words, but so far, she and Shaw have only accomplished one thing together that qualified for “special”. He had specially requisitioned for Starfleet’s finest to make her portable regeneration device even smaller, so it looked less like a clunky bracelet and more like a fine chain one, not that Seven would ever wear it out of her quarters. That’s not regulation.
The point is that it’s meant to minimize her as much as possible.
Seven finds beds comfortable sometimes, the fabric pressing against her skin in a way that held her, a little, maybe. Protectively, in a way that would be a defensive advantage. She’d never thought about it once until Raffi had told Seven under the stars one night about her philosophy of fabrics .
Seven’s fabrics are regulation, but she slides under the covers with her bracelet on and stares up at the ceiling.
And she spreads her limbs out on her bed as widely as she can, takes up space.
Before
The best sex of Seven’s life is after they come back from 2024. Maybe it’s the way the emotions compound: loss and being and settling and relief. She doesn’t know. It’s not like it’s the first thing on her mind.
Seven learns that Raffi’s desire to be filled during sex comes from this way she wants to be held. It’s like being held on the inside and the outside, or something like that.
The point is that Seven is more than happy to comply with that desire.
“Seven,” moans Raffi. She drags it out in a way that makes Seven want to drive her hips forward into her harder, pin Raffi’s arms over her head by the wrists.
“Too hard?” asks Seven. She’s panting a little from the effort, and her fingers tangle into Raffi’s. She pushes Raffi’s hand up, and Raffi grasps her other hand and lifts it above her head too, so Seven’s pinning her to the bed.
Their strap today is wavy — “bubbly”, as Raffi says. Seven tries not to go too hard. Raffi can feel every rigid bubble. “Can you go harder?” asks Raffi, her eyes shut tight.
Seven squeezes Raffi’s wrists. “Yes.”
“I just want you,” groans Raffi. “Show me what you can do.”
It’s true that Seven’s held back in the past. From Raffi. From herself. And in this way, she kind of rediscovering what she can do, now that she can like the things she can do. But for a moment, she stops. She’s overcome.
Raffi wiggles her hand until her fingers are somewhat in Seven’s hand. Seven’s so deep inside of her. “Everything you are, okay?” whispers Raffi, her face contorted into a kind of pained joy. “I want it. I want you.”
Seven takes Raffi in: so open, spread, trusting for her. Seven knows she means every word, the way she’s been working to let Seven come to her. The way Raffi has always tried to and has recommitted to trying, since they have come back.
Raffi gasps when the tubules circle her wrists, lace between her fingers.
And Raffi?
Raffi does what she always has, with every discrete part of Seven that Seven’s ever revealed to her, mindfully or not.
Raffi grasps and holds on .
They’re both shaking as Seven sinks into Raffi, sinks onto her, grasps her beautiful body, full of weather and wisdom, and holds her close.
“Okay,” whispers Seven.
When she kisses Raffi, Raffi’s lips part, full of desire and emotion, tender desperation.
Seven starts to move again, and Raffi cries out into Seven’s mouth.
And she opens wider for her.
Titan
Seven curls around her pillow, a small and allotted indulgence, and her PADD beeps. From Sidney La Forge.
Hey Commander Seven!!!!!!! Just checking in. Wondering if you want to go to the holodeck sometime. I know you’re super busy, but just let me know! I can work to your schedule!!!!!! Maybe we can do one of the piloting ones again? ☺️☺️☺️ Let me know, sir!!!
Seven’s face feels taut.
She realizes she’s smiling.
Before
The sun sets over the California desert, empty plates forgotten on the table in front of them.
I like my porch, Raffi had said. I know the view isn’t fancy or anything.
I love it , Seven had said, taking in the way the complex colors of the dusk managed to glint and glimmer off the ends of Raffi’s curls.
Seven, her head tucked into Raffi’s shoulder, looks up as Raffi kisses every single one of Seven’s implant fingertips. She presses Seven’s fingers into the exquisite curve of her jaw and hums a low, comfortable note.
“Seven, my partner,” says Raffi slowly. Seven rolls her eyes and burrows into the curve of Raffi’s neck and shoulder. “My partner Seven.”
“You have a preference, do you?” asks Seven wryly, watching the sun cast its orange glory over everything it touches.
“I like them all,” replies Raffi, and squeezes her hand tightly.
Titan
“Shaw to Hansen.”
Seven sighs, feeling a little slow the way she does when her regeneration cycle isn’t complete. She gropes for her comm badge. “Hansen here.”
“Don’t mean to interrupt your sleep—“
He never says what it actually is, keeps so much professional distance between them.
Well, “professional” is being generous.
(He’s an asshole.)
Seven rolls her eyes.
“You and I both know that’s unnecessary, sir,” says Seven. “What’s the situation?”
Her fingers catch on the ❤️ print on her shirt. She’ll dress soon, of course. Begin her day.
In here, at least, she’s Seven. And that’s enough.
For now.