Part 1

As the holodeck doors closed behind her, Seven of Nine began to make her way towards astrometrics. Her usual confident stride began to slow as she pondered the Doctor's reaction to her gift. He had seemed disappointed with the tricorder. A troubled frown appeared on her face as she entered the turbolift.

"Astrometrics."

No, it wasn't the gift that had disappointed him but something else. He'd tried to hide his initial reaction, but she'd seen the way his face had fallen, the sadness in his eyes.

The turbolift doors opened and she stepped into the corridor, but after only a few paces came to a halt. Was it something she'd done, something she'd said? She turned around and took two steps back towards the turbolift, but stopped again. An uncharacteristic confusion came over her, making it difficult to analyse the problem. Something had happened between them that made her strangely uneasy, but she was unable to pinpoint the source of this feeling. Stronger than the unease, however, was the growing pain she felt at having somehow hurt the Doctor; it seemed odd that this was affecting her so strongly, and she felt a vague fear that something was happening to her over which she had no control.

"Seven, are you okay?"

She turned to see Paris and Kim approaching, each holding long lengths of wood.

"Yes, Ensign Kim, I am."

"We're just off to Sandrine's for a little pool," said Paris. "Care to join us, if you're not too busy that is?"

"I am too busy." Aware that her tone was surly, she softened it somewhat, "But thank you."

"Are you sure you're okay, Seven?" asked Kim, concern plain on his face.

"Quite sure," she replied, again unable to disguise her irritation.

"Okay," said Paris slowly, sharing a look with Kim. "If you change your mind, you know where to find us."

Nodding slightly she left them at the turbolift and headed for astrometrics at a brisk pace, but she was unable to leave behind her anxiety and the image of the Doctor's face and the sadness in his eyes.

* * *

As the last chord died away, the Doctor rose from the piano stool and instructed the computer to end the program. Surrounded once more by the cold, sterile walls of the holodeck he sighed. Did Seven really feel nothing for him? Had he imagined the light that had seemed to come into her eyes during the last few days? They had danced cheek-to-cheek: had that really been no more to her than another social lesson? Was her heart as cold to him as the lifeless walls of the holodeck? No -- she had confirmed their friendship -- but hadn't she seen that he'd been trying to say so much more?

"Friends then," he muttered with resignation. "Computer, transfer EMH..."

At that moment he was interrupted by the entrance of Paris and Kim.

"Sorry, Doc," said Paris with his customary flippant tone. "We thought it was empty."

"It's all yours, ensign," he replied, eyeing their pool cues with disapproval, "But I hope you remember that you have a shift in sickbay in one hour's time."

"How could I forget?"

"Computer, transfer..."

He was interrupted once more. "Have you seen Seven recently?" asked Kim.

"Yes, just a few minutes ago, as a matter of fact."

"Did she seem okay to you?"

"Yes. Why?" His voice betrayed his sudden concern for her.

"She was just acting a little strange, that's all -- stranger than normal anyway -- standing in front of a turbolift gazing into space."

"I thought maybe you two had had an argument or something," Paris said softly, prompting a questioning look from Kim.

"No, no argument. In fact, we're friends -- good friends." He couldn't help letting a trace of bitterness enter his voice, and saw from the compassion in Paris's eyes that he understood. Ensign Kim, aware that something unspoken was passing between them, looked from one to the other, a puzzled frown on his face, but said nothing.

"Enjoy your pool, gentlemen. See you in an hour, Mister Paris."

* * *

Back in sickbay the Doctor sat at his desk, ostensibly working on his official weekly medical report, but actually pondering Ensign Kim's words. Had Seven divined his feelings for her after all? Had she feigned ignorance to avoid hurting him? A horrible possibility occurred to him: she had known, and had ended their social lessons to curtail any chance of their relationship deepening. It was bad enough that his feelings for her were unrequited, but that she should actively spurn him...

He was still pondering this possibility bleakly when he became aware of Ensign Paris addressing him. "If there's so little to do, maybe I could skip this shift. I was on a roll against Harry -- eight games in a row; a few more and I would've had enough holodeck time for a week in Tahiti with B'Elanna."

"There's plenty to do, Mister Paris," said the Doctor, attempting to pull himself together. "You could start with a re-calibration of the biobeds."

Paris nodded, but stayed where he was, a sympathetic look on his face. "I take it she wasn't too thrilled to learn how you felt about her."

"It never even got that far. She ended our lessons. In her words: 'There are no compatible mates aboard this vessel'. I must assume that includes me."

"Give it time, Doc. Maybe she just hasn't come far enough yet. Be there for her and maybe one day..." He smiled encouragingly. "Look at me and B'Elanna: didn't you once say yourself that we had the longest courtship in Starfleet history? Maybe you and Seven could break the record."

The Doctor managed a weak smile in return. "Seven's not Starfleet, and technically, for that matter, neither am I." An alarming thought suddenly occurred to him. "You haven't told anyone about my...predicament..." but the way Paris shifted awkwardly from foot-to-foot was answer enough. "Oh no," he groaned. "I suppose everyone from the bridge down to bathroom maintenance is having a good laugh at the love-struck EMH."

"Relax, Doc. I only told B'Elanna. Your secret's safe with us."

"How comforting," he said, rolling his eyes theatrically.

* * *

"REGENERATION CYCLE INCOMPLETE"

Gasping, Seven stepped down from her alcove. The dream was already fading, but a few fragmentary images remained and couldn't be ignored. Gritting her teeth and watching her augmented hand until the trembling stopped, she forced herself to gain some measure of composure. Her breathing steadied and the pounding of her heart slowed, but she couldn't rid herself of the feeling of claustrophobia that the dream had engendered in her. She closed her eyes and swallowed, still feeling the Doctor's arms around her, still hearing his voice whispering tenderly as they moved slowly about the dance-floor -- whispering things that she didn't want to hear. 'It was just a dream,' she told herself, but this failed to relieve her anxiety.

Feeling oppressed by the cavernous gloom of the cargo-bay, she exited, unsure of her destination but feeling a need to escape from the emptiness of her 'quarters'. After wandering the largely deserted corridors aimlessly for some time, she found herself at the doors to sickbay. The dull ache of loneliness filled her; she wanted to see him, to see his compassionate eyes, his patient smile, but she was afraid to enter, afraid of what might happen, afraid that she knew exactly what was developing between them and that she was powerless to resist.

Drawing in a tremulous breath, she turned her back on sickbay and made her way to the mess-hall. On entering she saw that the room was empty, the lights dimmed.

"Nutritional supplement three-zero-beta."

Taking the cup of hot liquid from the replicator she sat with her back to the room. Her gaze was directed out of the window towards the stars, but she was seeing the fragmentary images that remained from her dream: the Doctor with her in crew-quarters that were evidently hers instead of her familiar cargo-bay; dancing in Chez Sandrine's, his arms around her, his lips softly brushing her cheek...

The hiss of the mess-hall doors opening startled her from her reverie and she turned to see Torres enter, mouth open wide in a yawn. On seeing Seven, she came to a halt, her posture stiffening.

"Oh, it's you," she said flatly, but with an undertone of hostility.

"Lieutenant."

"Doing some more late night research?"

Seven looked away, feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable at Torres's sarcasm. "I have apologised for having invaded your privacy, Lieutenant; I did not intend any harm."

"You never do," she replied pointedly, turning to the replicator. "Hot chocolate." Drink in hand, she remained standing, perhaps considering sitting elsewhere. "So why are you up at this hour?"

"I... had trouble regenerating."

Hearing the pain in Seven's voice, some of the hostility left her and she sat down.

"And you lieutenant."

"We had a problem with a plasma manifold."

"I see."

An awkward silence settled over them. Seven took a sip from her liquid supplement and grimaced, it had cooled and started to congeal. Summoning up her courage she turned to Torres. "At what point in your friendship with Ensign Paris did you realise that he had romantic feelings for you?"

"What?" Torres snapped, cheeks flushing with anger. "You never learn do you! If you want to study human mating behaviour consult the computer, but leave us out of it! I don't know why you can't..."

"Lieutenant," Seven broke in, voice hoarse with emotion, "I am attempting to solicit advice." Seeing Torres's open-mouthed astonishment she looked away, embarrassed at being seen in such a moment of weakness.

"Oh," said Torres after several seconds of silence, "Sorry." Her own embarrassment was clear. "I guess I'm more exhausted than I realised. So what exactly do you want... advice about?"

Still unable to look at her, Seven stood. "It is unimportant. I must regenerate."

"Wait." Torres left her seat and moved in front of Seven, placing a conciliatory hand on her shoulder. "I know we're not exactly best-friends, but if I can help..."

After a moment's hesitation Seven finally looked at her. "How do you know that someone is in love with you?"

"Well... I suppose you can't really be sure until they tell you... but you can kind of sense it... I guess."

"Sense it: can you be more specific?"

Torres frowned in thought; until recently, love was not something of which she had had a great deal of experience. "You can see it in their eyes; in the way that they have a special smile that's only for you."

"I see," she said slowly, trying to keep her voice neutral and not entirely succeeding. He did seem to treat her differently from the rest of the crew; she had noticed a warmth in the way he looked at her, in the way he smiled at her that seemed reserved for her alone.

"Seven, can I ask who we're talking about?"

"I would prefer not to reveal that."

If her emotions had not been in such turmoil, she might have noticed the careful way that Torres spoke, might have suspected that she knew more than she was letting on.

"Okay, but what about your own feelings? Do you love him?"

"No -- I don't know. I want no part of it!" She burst out suddenly in frustration, angry at her own confusion and emotional fragility. "Love is inefficient and irrational; it serves no purpose other than procreation; I do not wish to procreate; it is irrelevant!" Breathing heavily she turned and strode from the mess-hall, leaving Torres with a small, sympathetic smile on her face.

'It might be inefficient and irrational,' she thought, 'But you're wrong about the rest.'

Part 2

"Personal log, Seven of Nine:

"I have recently become aware of a change in the Doctor's behaviour; I believe he has developed romantic feelings for me. I am unsure how to proceed; I find myself ambivalent. I am afraid; my emotions are volatile; I believe that I... return his feelings.

"Computer pause; delete last two sentences."

"DELETED."

"Resume log entry.

"Although I cannot be certain of his feelings, I have decided that I must end all further social interaction with him, except when absolutely unavoidable.

"End log."

Taking a deep breath, Seven found herself free at last from the anxiety that had clouded the last few days. The loss of the Doctor's companionship would be painful, but it was necessary; she would resist any urge to seek him out, no matter how strong.

Squaring her shoulders she prepared to commence the day's work, but she had barely begun to move when she found tears threatening. She stopped and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

"I will resist," she said out loud, her voice low but vehement.

Hearing the hiss of the cargo-bay doors she opened her eyes to see the Doctor enter, his mouth spread in a wide smile.

"Good morning, Seven."

She nodded, but said nothing.

Slightly put-off by this, his smile began to falter. "I've found a piece of music that you might find interesting; written by Ludwig van Beethoven." As he warmed to his subject his smile began to widen again. "The Grosse Fuge. The complex counterpoint should give you plenty of intriguing mathematical... qualities..." He faltered to a halt as Seven's stony expression remained unchanged.

"No," she said blandly. "I have duties to attend to."

"Well, perhaps later then," he said, his voice hesitant, his face bewildered.

"Perhaps."

At her dismissive, almost contemptuous tone his eyes filled with pain and she felt as if her chest was being squeezed tight by some invisible force.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came. Shoulders sagging, he turned and walked from the cargo-bay, every sad step like a knife stabbing at her heart. As the doors closed, she let out a single miserable sob.

* * *

Over the next few days the Doctor's mood became increasingly grim. Three more times he tried to approach her, but on each occasion she seemed more aloof and unfeeling than the last; it was as if a wall of ice had grown up between them, and he could find no way to breach it.

The atmosphere in sickbay became gloomy and oppressive: gone were the dry jokes and wry remarks, no longer could he be heard humming the latest aria to take his fancy; instead he worked in brooding silence, sometimes snapping irritably at a patient to hold still, or just treating them to an angry glare.

Paris began to dread his shifts in sickbay. Much though he sympathised with his friend, he found the Doctor's black mood difficult to bear. All attempts at consolation were met with a snappish rebuttal or a tired "I don't wish to discuss the matter, Mr Paris". He talked the problem over with B'Elanna, but they could think of no way to bring about a reconciliation between the two. All they could do was hope that Seven would relent, but this seemed unlikely; she parried all offers of help or advice with a glacial calm, the Borg in her (that would perhaps always be a part of her nature) replying emotionlessly that she needed no help, that friendship was irrelevant, while underneath, hidden away for none to see, her heart was breaking.

* * *

A week later Tom and B'Elanna were eating lunch together, discussing the problem once more.

"We've got to do something! I've got another shift in sickbay tomorrow and I don't think I can take anymore!"

"What the hell can we do?"

"Something must have happened. Seven can be cold, but I've never seen her like this."

"She's Borg. She'll always be Borg."

"No -- I don't believe that, and nor do you."

B'Elanna sighed. "I don't know anymore. Whatever's going on inside Seven's head, I don't think there's anything we can do about it."

"But she as-good-as told you she loved him."

B'Elanna shrugged sadly. "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I misinterpreted the whole thing. I don't know."

Tom's shoulders slumped in resignation. "I guess I'm just gonna have to get used to working in a morgue."

As B'Elanna reached across the table to pat his hand in mock consolation the doors of the mess-hall opened and Captain Janeway entered with Seven. They were having a conversation of sorts, but it was clear that the captain was finding it a strain to keep up her side in the face of Seven's monosyllabic replies. The wall that Seven had erected between herself and the Doctor had grown to encompass all of her crewmates; it seemed as if all the progress she'd made in her time aboard Voyager had been undone, that she had reverted to the drone she'd once been.

While Seven was being greeted by a distinctly forced laugh from Neelix, Janeway approached them.

"What the hell is going on with Seven and the Doctor?" she hissed. There was no anger in her voice, but her frustration was clear.

"Captain..." B'Elanna fidgted nervously and Tom's shoulders tensed, as if expecting a blow to fall.

Janeway leaned over the table, speaking quietly. "You two know something: now, out with it."

"Harry and his big mouth," Tom murmured, and instantly regretted it on seeing Janeway's glare. He sat up straighter and spoke quickly to avoid disaster. "Well, the Doc's kinda... um... well, he's sorta..."

"He's in love with her," B'Elanna broke in impatiently.

"In love!" Janeway looked over her shoulder at Seven as the former Borg turned from Neelix, lunch in hand. "And she found out," the captain whispered, putting two-and-two together.

B'Elanna nodded furtively as Seven approached, but she passed them without a word and sat at an empty table.

The captain looked on with an expression of deep compassion as Seven began to listlessly consume her meal, her head bowed over her plate, appearing to be oblivious to everything around her.

As if fate had taken a hand, the Doctor chose that moment to enter. He saw her immediately and halted, his face a mask of misery, but she was either unaware of him or chose to ignore him. It had been his intention to inform Neelix about certain vitamins that had been lacking in the crews' diet recently, but seeing her, all thought of his task-at-hand fled. The facade of indifference was beginning to crumble; he could see the loneliness in every line of her body, and he couldn't ignore that silent plea, no matter what she might say to him. He approached and softly spoke her name.

For a moment she didn't react and he thought she might ignore him completely, but she finally looked up. She said nothing, but he could see her struggling to maintain her detachment.

"Seven, we've got to talk."

"No." The icy indifference was gone; her voice was hoarse, barely under control.

"I know why you're doing this. I know you're afraid of..."

"No, please."

A part of him felt as if he was betraying her; it was his fault that she was suffering this way, but he had to press on, resolve the situation somehow. "The first time I fell in love I tried to convince myself that my program was malfunctioning; it took Kes to..."

But then she was rising, knocking her plate to the floor. "Stop!" she shouted, and the mess-hall fell silent, all eyes turned to them.

Janeway approached, sparing an angry glance at the Doctor, but it was lost on him, his eyes seeing only Seven and the pain her was causing her. He slowly backed away. 'I was her mentor, her teacher,' he thought with self-loathing, 'And look at what I've done to her. I've betrayed the trust she placed in me.' Turning, he fled from the mess-hall.

Around the room, conversations resumed slowly as Janeway placed a hand on Seven's shoulder, feeling the trembling of her body. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

"No," she said quietly, gazing downward at the smashed plate on the floor. "I need to be alone."

"You need a friend," said her captain gently.

Seven looked up at her, a certain amount of composure regained. "No," she said firmly, "In a while, but now I need to be alone."

Janeway smiled sadly and nodded her permission, watching as she exited the room, feeling impotent, but determined nevertheless to do something for her.

* * *

An hour later Janeway headed for cargo-bay two. She suspected that Seven wanted more time, but she had paced up-and-down her ready-room until her impatience had got the better of her. Seven needed her now, whether she realised it or not. She came to a halt as she entered the gloomy chamber and felt her heart sink at what she saw.

A small, sad figure sat at the foot of the alcove; her arms were wrapped around her knees, her feet turned inwards, her head bowed down; she looked like a lost little girl with nowhere to go, nobody to turn to.

"Oh, Seven," Janeway sighed softly.

As she neared her, Seven became aware she was not alone. She hurriedly stood, embarrassed at being seen with all her defences stripped away. She glanced at Janeway and then looked quickly away, but it was enough for the captain to see the red puffiness of her eyes and cheeks.

"You've been crying," she said gently.

"No, Borg do not cry." Despite everything, there still remained the stubborn spark of her spirit.

"No, but humans do."

Seven met her gaze and gave her a small, tired smile.

"The Doctor loves you." She said it as a statement of fact rather than a question.

"Yes," was the quiet reply. All the emotion seemed drained from her; there was nothing left but a weary resignation.

"But that's not what's frightening you the most, is it?"

"No."

Janeway moved to stand in front of her. Despite the fact that she had to look upwards into her eyes, it seemed as if the former drone was the smaller of the two.

"You love him."

There was the briefest of hesitations and Seven glanced away for a moment before replying.

"Yes."

A single tear spilled from her natural, human eye, and Janeway reached up to gently wipe it away.

"Why does it cause you such pain?"

Seven turned and stepped up to her alcove, placing her augmented hand on a small green-lit panel, almost caressing it.

"To become so dependant on a single individual... it is too much for me. I am afraid of what might happen. These feelings are so... powerful... I feel that I have lost all self-control. It is overwhelming me."

Janeway stepped up onto the base of the alcove and gently turned her around.

"You're afraid of the risk, afraid of being hurt."

She nodded mutely.

"But Seven, you're already hurting; it seems to me that you're already dependant on the Doctor. Don't you agree?"

She nodded again, and Janeway could see her lip tremble, knew that tears were suddenly near.

"I thought I could stop the feelings," she burst out, "But I cannot."

And then Captain Janeway was holding her in her arms as she sobbed on her shoulder, clutching at her as if she were a lifeline.

"It's okay," the captain whispered. "It's all right; everything will work itself out in time. Let it all out..."

Part 3

The Doctor tossed the PADD onto his desk in irritation, once more unable to concentrate on the backlog of work that was slowly building up. Though an uneasy sort of truce now existed between himself and Seven, he found that he was more frustrated and full of self-recrimination than ever. True, she no longer snubbed him, but the close friendship that had slowly grown between them was now broken, perhaps damaged beyond repair, and it was this that he most regretted. Now, when they encountered one another, they were polite, professional; the intimacy they had shared was gone, and he felt a hollow place in his life that she had once filled. His pain was increased by the knowledge that Seven was even more isolated: while she was no longer the frightened ex-drone she'd once been, an object of hatred and suspicion for much of the crew, she could hardly be said to be surrounded by friends. Her social abilities had improved greatly over time, but he could see how keenly she felt the loss of his friendship, how lonely she was.

Sighing heavily, he picked up his mobile emitter. He needed companionship; sickbay was too empty and silent for him in his present mood. As he turned to leave his office he was startled to see her standing in the middle of sickbay looking at him. For the briefest of moments there was such a look of desperate yearning on her face he had to fight the urge to run to her and wrap his arms around her, to protect her from anything that could ever hurt her; but almost immediately her expression relaxed into the customary stoic calm that fooled so many of the crew into believing that she was cold and emotionless.

He replaced the emitter and moved from his office to approach her. "Hello, Seven. What can I do for you?"

"I'm due for my weekly medical maintenance."

"Of course." He picked up a tricorder and began his usual scans. "So how have you been?"

"Adequate."

"Mmm... no problems I should know about?"

"None."

He tried to remain detached, professional, but it was difficult with the tension seeming to fill the air between them. They both knew how they felt about one another now, but it could not be spoken of. For the Doctor's part, he knew that any attempt to broach the subject would only cause Seven more pain; and he knew that she could not speak of the powerful new emotions that she was experiencing for the simple reason that they filled her with fear.

"Ocular implant correctly aligned..." He struggled to keep his voice emotionless and business-like, but couldn't help glancing up at those beautiful, expressive eyes, wanting to drown in their depths. They made eye-contact and both looked away hurriedly in embarrassment. In his peripheral vision he saw her cheeks flushing and felt sorrow. Was that her first blush? It should have been a moment of celebration, one more step on her path back to humanity; instead... As he scanned her left arm to check her blood-pressure he saw her raise her right hand to touch her cheek, no doubt wondering at the strange heat in her face. At this point he should have been enthusiastically expounding the phenomenon of the blush-response, perhaps listing some of the species in which it occurred, maybe embarking on a detailed analysis of the physiological processes that lay behind it.

"Well, you're in good health, other than a slight reduction of erythrocytes in your blood. Have you been neglecting to regenerate again?" he asked, knowing that in all probability she was having difficulty regenerating rather than avoiding it.

"My duties have been somewhat extensive of late. I will make sure that I regenerate soon."

He sighed at her evasive answer, yet more proof of the loss of the trust that had once existed between them. "Very well, but I will have to monitor the situation; if your erythrocyte levels drop any further I'll have to take action."

She nodded and turned away from him. In the doorway to sickbay she hesitated for a moment, and he could sense the conflict of desires within her, knew that the impulse to come to him was warring with the impulse to flee his presence, to escape from feelings that she wanted no part of. Suddenly she was gone, but a small ray of light penetrated the gloom that had consumed him of late: perhaps she would find the courage to conquer her fears; perhaps, someday, she would come to him, ready at last to experience the depths of his feelings, and reveal hers in turn...

Abruptly he headed for his office. There was a backlog of work to catch up on.

* * *

Seven frowned in consternation as she left sickbay behind. In a single moment her resolve had crumbled; it had taken all of her considerable will-power to leave. Sighing fitfully she headed for astrometrics, each step becoming harder, the desire to turn back and go to him seeming to increase until she actually came to a halt. Several crewmen passed, glancing at her with curiosity or concern, but none spoke to her.

She felt trapped between two opposing forces: on the one hand the Doctor, offering companionship, understanding... love; and on the other the fear of what might happen to her if something was to go wrong. In a flash of self-revelation she suddenly understood the origin of her fear: the death of One. She had kept all the grief and anger hidden inside, and perhaps only the Doctor had ever suspected how deeply the events had affected her. Only he had seen the shock and distress as she'd turned away from the shell lying on the bed -- the shell that had contained the life which had become so important to her, but was now suddenly, incomprehensibly empty. Only he had seen her reeling about sickbay in confusion, unable to understand how the being she had started to think of as her son could be gone forever, could never be anything more than a memory now. Within minutes she had locked it all away deep inside, leaving only the weary resignation outwardly visible to others... and now she felt close to tears, as she always did on those rare occasions when her mind betrayed her in an unguarded moment and turned to contemplation of One's brief existence. She needn't have felt all that anguish and loss, except for the fact that the tender, compassionate nature that hid behind her mask of efficiency and self-confidence had been stirred, had started to feel the first awakenings of love... and now it was happening to her again. She couldn't bear the thought of somehow losing the Doctor, of going through that pain again; and yet, at the same time, she knew just how much she was denying herself by rejecting him. She could see no way out of her dilemma, and she sensed that either way, any free will she might exercise in the decision would be subjugated by her raw emotions anyway.

Two more crewmen passed, eyeing her cautiously, and she felt a sudden burst of anger. They could see that she was in distress: why did no one offer her assistance? Squaring her shoulders and drawing in a deep breath she resumed her walk to astrometrics, allowing herself to wallow in her resentment, drawing strength from it, letting it block out her self-doubt and confusion, even while knowing it was only a temporary solution.

* * *

On the bridge a relaxed, easy atmosphere prevailed. They'd had a quiet few days and everyone was feeling in good spirits -- virtually everyone.

"Admit it, Tuvok," Paris said with his usual gentle mockery, "Harry had you beat!"

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow, the barest hint of irritation on his face. "Ensign Kim did not 'have me beat', as you put it," he said, the inverted commas clearly audible, "The game was a draw."

"Ha! You had to play for a draw, 'cause he had you beat, and you know it."

"Playing to an impasse is a perfectly acceptable strategy, and I see no reason to discuss the matter further, ensign."

The Captain leaned towards her first officer and spoke sotto voce. "If I didn't know better, I'd say Tuvok was embarrassed."

A wicked grin creased Chakotay's face. "Perhaps you two should have a rematch."

"Yeah," Paris chimed-in. "My money's on Harry."

Kim looked across at the Vulcan. "What do you say, Tuvok -- rematch?"

For a moment he didn't reply, seeming to consider his options; then he firmly spoke a single word. "No."

The bridge erupted into laughter, which Tuvok didn't deign to acknowledge, merely looking down at his displays. A few seconds later, however, he looked up at Kim, his annoyance palpable. "Ensign, are we not receiving a transmission?"

Gulping, Kim worked at his station. "Captain, we're receiving an automated distress signal -- audio only."

The atmosphere immediately became subdued and disciplined.

"Let's hear it," the Captain ordered, rising to her feet.

"...trapped. Please... help us..." Though distorted by interference, the desperation in the voice was clear. "This is Foreman Kresk of Kargon mining colony sixteen. We urgently require assistance: we have dozens of casualties and one-hundred-and-twelve workers trapped. Please... help us... This is Foreman Kresk of..." At a signal from Janeway, Kim switched off the transmission.

"Can you get a fix on their position?"

"Yes: a binary system... four light years away."

"Open a channel."

"Channel open."

"This is Captain Janeway of the Federation Starship Voyager responding to your distress call." After a few seconds of silent tension she turned to Kim. "Are they receiving?"

"I can't tell." He frowned in concentration as he worked, but was unable to amplify.

"Keep trying to raise them.

"Tom, set a course, maximum warp." Janeway turned briskly to Chakotay. "I'm going to see if Seven knows anything about this. I'll be in astrometrics if there are any developments."

Chakotay nodded, barely suppressing a grin despite the situation: Kathryn thrived on an emergency.

* * *

"Species six-eight-three-nine: Kargon."

On the viewscreen various data cycled: tables, diagrams; a bulky, muscular depiction of the species rotated through three-hundred-and-sixty degrees.

"Technologically similar to the Malon; heavily industrialised; their economy depends on their dilithium-mining operations."

"I hope they're a bit more friendly than the Malon."

"They are non-confrontational, but do have strong defensive capabilities."

"The message mentioned trapped workers... a cave-in perhaps."

"A reasonable assumption."

"We'll need phaser-drills, medical teams..." Janeway turned her back on the viewscreen and leaned against the console, her searching gaze suddenly making Seven feel uncomfortable. "You may have to work closely with the Doctor."

Swallowing, Seven looked away; realising she was fidgeting nervously, she forced herself into a rigid posture. "Your point." Her tone was harsher than she'd intended, but she knew that the Captain would realise that she wasn't being deliberately contentious.

"Can you handle it? We could be going into an extremely dangerous situation; I need everyone working at peak efficiency."

"My... problems with the Doctor will not affect my abilities." Suddenly she was feeling the same heat in her face that she'd felt in sickbay. Seeing Janeway's look of surprise she put a hand to her cheek, but couldn't feel anything amiss. "Captain, what is wrong with my face?"

Janeway smiled warmly in a manner she recognised as maternal. "You're blushing."

"Blushing." She had observed the phenomenon on occasion, but couldn't keep the incredulity from her voice.

Janeway patted her shoulder. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

Seven sighed. It seemed that her self-control was continuing to deteriorate. Would she become as undisciplined as Lieutenant Torres? She shuddered inwardly at the thought.

"Seven..." Kathryn paused, wanting to offer her advice, ease her mind somehow, but not sure what she could say that hadn't been said before. "You know your feelings for the Doctor aren't just going to go away."

Seven's shoulders slumped as she replied in a small, almost plaintive voice. "Perhaps... eventually they will."

Kathryn suddenly felt deeply moved that Seven was letting her see her in such an unguarded moment. She squeezed her shoulder gently, trying to show that she wasn't alone. "Perhaps... but you don't really want that do you?"

Seven closed her eyes momentarily before replying so softly it was almost a whisper. "No, I don't."

Kathryn waited, knowing that she wanted to say more. The younger woman looked so forlorn she had to resist the urge to hug her, knowing it would only increase her discomfort.

"The Doctor's existence seem so... fragile. His life is totally dependent on the technology that sustains him. What if that technology was to fail? I... I would lose him."

Kathryn knew how difficult it had been for her to say those words, and she found herself momentarily taken aback. She hadn't realised how concrete -- how specific -- Seven's fears were; and she felt slightly foolish at being surprised: Seven's nature was steeped in order; her every utterance, even the way she moved was filled with a precision that she'd come to admire as elegant, even if some found it intimidating. It suddenly seemed thoughtless of her to have assumed that Seven's fears were nebulous or half-realised, and it was with a guilty start that Kathryn remembered that her protégé had already lost someone important to her, and with that, she finally understood why Seven was so reluctant to give in to her desires.

"Chakotay to Janeway."

Reluctantly she tapped her comm-badge. "Go ahead."

"We've made contact with the mining colony."

She could see Seven's relief at having something other than her own problems to worry about, and she felt an obscure sense of shame, as if she'd somehow let the younger woman down.

"We're on our way."

Part 4

Seven found her concentration wavering, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The Doctor was sitting on the other side of the briefing-room table, two places to her left, and she found that her gaze was constantly focusing on him, apparently of its own volition; she would look away only to realise a few minutes later that she was once again staring at him. The situation wasn't helped by the fact that the Doctor seemed to be suffering from the same difficulty.

"With the power grid down, we have no way of ventilating the lower levels," Foreman Kresk was explaining from the viewscreen. "We estimate that within three hours toxicity-levels will become fatal. I have sixty-four men down there that are certain to die unless you can..."

"We'll be at your position in thirty minutes," Janeway interrupted. "We'll do everything we can to help.

"B'Elanna, your top priority is to get their reactor back on-line."

Kresk spoke bleakly. "Captain, I doubt there's anything you can do with our reactor, not unless you can work miracles."

"My Chief Engineer has been known to work the odd miracle from time to time, Foreman. As for the remaining trapped men, we should have less difficulty: Seven of Nine has made a preliminary analysis of your schematics..."

How would it feel to have his lips pressed against hers? It was hard to believe that the act of kissing could evoke any kind of pleasure, and yet she felt a sudden powerful desire to experience it; to taste his lips, to feel his tongue...

"Seven!"

Everyone in the room was staring at her, and she felt a kind of resigned-dread, knowing what would happen even before she felt the heat in her cheeks begin.

"I apologise, Captain. What..."

"Your analysis."

Captain Janeway was frowning at her and she looked down at her PADD, trying to ignore her burning face, trying to convince herself that no one would notice and failing miserably. "The gallery in which the miners are trapped runs parallel with arterial shaft eight for twenty meters; I believe that it would be safer and more efficient to bore through at this point than to attempt to clear a way through the obstruction."

Kresk was unconvinced. "You want us to dig another tunnel in an area that's already unstable."

"We will brace the passage sufficiently," she replied, a hint of accusation in her tone, "And our phaser-drills will cause a minimum of geological stress."

"This seems a foolish proposal to me. I won't risk anymore of my men needlessly."

"And I won't risk any of my crew needlessly, Foreman," Janeway said forcefully. "If Seven says it's the best option, then it is. If you prefer, you can always wait for the relief ship."

"We can't afford to wait that long, it'll be at least eight hours!"

"Then do we proceed as Seven suggests?"

Kresk was silent for a moment before replying grudgingly. "Very well."

"Good.

"Doctor, assemble a medical team and brief them on the situation.

"Seven, I want you to maintain constant scans for signs of geological instability."

Kim spoke up. "Captain, we won't be able to get accurate readings from orbit, the rock density is too great."

"Then you'll have to beam down to the site, Seven."

She caught the Doctor looking at her with a worried frown, and knew that he was concerned for her safety.

"B'Elanna, we'll need pattern enhancers..."

Strangely, despite her confidence in her own capabilities, it was comforting to be aware of the protectiveness he felt towards her. In that instant, below the level of conscious thought, she came to some measure of resolution, and it was only when he tentatively smiled at her that she realised that something had changed within her. She would not give up his friendship, no matter what else might happen; it was too important to her - he was too important to her.

"Thank you, Captain. I appreciate your help."

Janeway nodded. "We'll contact you again, Foreman, when we're ready to beam down."

As they filed out of the briefing-room to their various assignments, Seven joined the Doctor and spoke softly to him. "I do not wish our friendship to end." As he smiled at her, his eyes filled with warmth, she felt a fluttering in her stomach.

"Neither do I, Seven."

* * *

The tunnel was hot, warmed by the phaser-drills as they blasted a way through the dense rock, and bathed in their orange glow. Periodically the drills would stop and the engineering team would carefully place the braces and portable forcefield generators needed to prevent further collapses. Slowly they bored their way through the tons of rock lying between them and the trapped miners. As Seven continued her scans she heard Commander Chakotay call her over the din of the drills and looked up to see him approaching with Foreman Kresk.

"How much longer, Seven?"

"Approximately fifteen minutes. Commander, will Lieutenant Torres be able to repair the reactor?"

"Yes, she thinks she'll be able to bring it on-line within an hour."

"Your Captain was right," Kresk said, admiration in his voice, "She can work miracles."

"Voyager's crew is efficient."

Chakotay looked mildly surprised at Seven's rare words of praise. "The Doctor's treating the reactor-workers who were injured in the explosion, but he'll be finished soon. I'll let him know we're almost through here. Are there any signs of instability?"

"No, the area is safe at present."

"I apologise for doubting you, Seven of Nine," said Kresk gruffly.

"No apology is necessary."

As they turned to leave, Seven resumed her scans. The Doctor arrived shortly with a medical team, and they waited tensely for the drilling to cease.

Thirteen minutes later they'd broken through to the gallery, and cautiously they entered, scanning for lifesigns. As the medical team advanced through the rubble and wreckage of machinery, Seven supervised the placing of pattern enhancers. The darkness was cut by the beams of wristlights and filled with the cries for help or the groans of pain of injured miners. As the Doctor and his team ministered to those most in need of immediate treatment, the less critically injured were transported to sickbay to be treated by Paris.

A part of her looked on with cool objectivity at each new discovery: someone with a crushed leg, in shock and almost unconscious, but likely to survive; someone with a severe head injury, dying even as the Doctor tried desperately to save him; another corpse, to be dismissed as unimportant. She realised that she was retreating into Borg-like dispassion and, surprising herself, she fought to retain her feelings of distress, suddenly needing to assert her humanity in the face of such tragedy.

Meter-by-meter they slowly moved through this tenebrous hell, and Seven found herself in the grip of a dull horror. Something about the suffering and trauma around her reminded her of an assimilation site, and she found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on her scans.

At some point in their nightmarish journey Torres apparently succeeded in bringing the reactor back on-line, for suddenly pockets of sickly yellow light winked in to existence at intermittent points along the walls of the tunnel, some flickering and crackling, most inoperative or destroyed, but enough remaining to accelerate their pace. Seven, though, found herself wishing for a return to the darkness. Nearby lay the lifeless body of a miner, crushed to death beneath a large metal stanchion, and Seven was unable to tear her gaze from the knob of bone protruding through rags of flesh where the arm should have been. A touch on her shoulder startled her and she turned to see the Doctor looking at her with concern.

"Are you all right, Seven?"

She swallowed, trying to relieve the dryness of her throat before replying. "You have more important matters to deal with."

He hesitated for a moment, his face filled with compassion, before nodding and moving away to resume his work.

It seemed as if they'd been advancing along the tunnel for days (in reality her internal chronometer told her that less than two hours had passed) when her tricorder showed the first signs of geological instability. She rechecked the readings but there was no doubt. Searching the gloom, she located the Doctor treating an unconscious miner as a crewman used a phaser to cut away the beam beneath which he was trapped. As she approached them she opened a comm-link.

"Seven of Nine to Commander Chakotay."

"Chakotay here," came the distorted response.

"The area is starting to become unstable."

"How long do you have?"

"Ten minutes, fifteen at most."

"Then it's time to get our people out."

"Acknowledged."

The Doctor completed his work and the miner was freed. As pattern enhancers were placed around the Kargon, he looked at her grimly. "We can't leave yet, there are still five people unaccounted for."

"We have no choice, the tunnel is in imminent danger of collapse."

Ignoring her, he studied his tricorder. "I'm getting faint lifesigns up ahead... two of them. We're not far from the main cave-in now... there's still time to get to them."

This time it was she who placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We've done all we can."

"No, we can't just leave them!"

Seeing the anguish in his eyes she felt pain for him, but spoke firmly. "We have to go now, before more lives are lost."

He looked away from her, and she knew the burden of guilt he was feeling at abandoning those two lives. "Very well," he murmured softly, still not looking at her.

She wished she could say something to ease his pain, but found herself uncharacteristically at a loss for words. The desire to caress his face, to press herself against him for their mutual comfort was suddenly strong, and she backed away alarmed. She didn't want to deal with those feelings yet, and this was hardly the time to be distracted by such things. Putting the situation with the Doctor aside for the moment, but vowing that she would deny how she felt no longer, she oversaw the task of transporting the remaining survivors to sickbay; once this was completed it was time to evacuate the rescue teams. As they beamed up in parties of six she kept a wary eye on her tricorder; the strain on the area seemed to be accelerating, and by the time the penultimate transport had been accomplished she estimated they had five minutes left. As Ensign Mulchaey stepped into the ring of pattern enhancers she looked around for the Doctor, and with the first stirrings of panic saw that he was gone.

"Ensign Mulchaey, has the Doctor transported yet?" She knew he hadn't, but felt compelled to ask, clinging to the hope that she had somehow missed his departure.

"I don't think so."

She knew where he'd gone of course, and her breath began to come in shallow gasps as her panic mounted. "The Doctor is attempting to rescue the remaining two miners; I must follow him. You will report what has happened to Commander Chakotay once you are aboard Voyager."

"Are you sure that's..." began Mulchaey, but Seven had already turned away and started up the gallery in the direction she was sure the Doctor must have gone.

As she stumbled her way through the lurid landscape of rock and twisted metal, she re-calibrated her tricorder to register lifesigns. The first of the two remaining miners was not far ahead, but she knew it was hopeless, there just wasn't enough time. Why was she doing this? Words from what seemed an age ago came back to haunt her: 'Love is inefficient and irrational...'. What could be more inefficient and irrational than her pointless death? But it didn't matter; nothing mattered to her anymore except him.

Twenty meters ahead she saw him crouching in the spectral halo of a flickering light. Drawing closer, she saw him reach down and close the eyes of the miner, and as he did so, she felt, rather than heard the walls of rock all around begin to groan. Grit and fragments of stone began to rain down, and at that moment he looked up to see her, his eyes widening in horror. She saw his mouth forming her name, but his voice was obliterated by the resonant crack of shearing rock. And then she knew no more...

She became aware of a hand holding hers and a tender caressing of her cheek, and she lay in a warm state somewhere between waking and sleeping, not caring where she was, existing only for his gentle touch. Then the pain began to insinuate into her semi-conscious haze, and she opened her eyes. Instantly he stopped his caresses, though he continued to hold her hand. His face was furrowed with worry but he gave her a small smile.

"Don't try to move yet."

"Am I badly damaged?" She was surprised at the weakness of her voice, and looked down the length of her body, fearing massive trauma, but she could see little in the press of darkness, and realised that their sole source of illumination was her wristlight propped on a rock beside her.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine."

"I assume we're trapped."

"I'm afraid so." He looked away, ashamed. "I'm sorry, Seven."

"Apologies are irrelevant," she said as angrily as her weakened state would allow. "Because of your actions four people might die instead of two."

He sighed heavily. "I don't really count."

"Self-pity is also irrelevant." Her anger, though, faded as quickly as it had arrived. "You do count," she added softly.

He smiled at her gratefully and opened his mouth as if to speak, but he became embarrassed. She knew what he wanted to say and, for the first time, she wanted to hear it.

"Doctor, I..." She stopped, her heart suddenly pounding, realising the enormity of what she'd almost done - there could be no going back once she'd spoken those words aloud - but to die here without ever having admitted her feelings to him... He reached out and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand and she shuddered. Almost immediately a ripple ran through his body with an electrical crackle, and she felt fear tighten her chest. "The mobile emitter?"

"It was damaged. My program's destabilising."

She struggled to sit up, but he restrained her.

"You're too weak."

"Let me see."

He leaned down so that she could examine the device on his arm, flickering again as he did so.

"Perhaps if you deactivated yourself..." She felt her self-control, her ability to think slipping away.

Smiling sadly, he retrieved a hypospray and placed it in her hand. "If the pain gets too bad, use this. Try to avoid it if you can though."

"No!" she gasped. "You can't leave me... I need you!"

The flickering had become almost continuous now, and she heard his words as if from a great distance. "I'm sorry. Whatever happens, Seven, somewhere, somehow I'll be watching over you."

And then he was gone.

She watched as the emitter clattered to the ground and let out a single wordless cry of anguish. Oblivious of the pain she struggled to a sitting position and retrieved the piece of technology, but her hands were trembling so badly she couldn't operate the tiny controls, and there was nothing she could have done anyway. Her mind couldn't focus; she didn't know what to do; she couldn't think of anything but the gaping hole that had suddenly opened in her life. Clutching the emitter to her shuddering breast she tried to force herself to regain control, but instead found herself sobbing convulsively. How could she live with this pain? How could she live without him? At that moment she wished she'd never been freed from the Collective.

A wave of dizziness overcame her and she lay back down, still clutching the emitter to her breast. Feeling more lonely than she'd ever felt before she desperately clung to a single thread of hope: perhaps he could be saved - he had to be saved.

They broke through to her two hours later. The sarcastic remark about disobeying orders that had been on Torres's lips died when she saw Seven. As Paris knelt beside her and quickly scanned her, she held out the emitter to the engineer.

"Bring him back to me... please."

* * *

She sat at the foot of her alcove waiting, feeling drained and weak. She'd regenerated for three hours; Paris had suggested a whole day, but she'd refused to regenerate at all. The Captain had finally ordered her to her alcove, but had relented enough to allow her to set the cycle for three hours only.

And now she waited.

Torres had said that it might be possible to recover his program, to reconstruct the damaged code, but that it would take time. It had take four hours and twenty-three minutes so far. As soon as her regeneration cycle had ended she'd gone to the science lab, but her presence had quickly started to irritate Torres, and when the Lieutenant had snapped angrily at her to stop breathing down her neck, she'd retreated to her cargo bay.

Four hours and forty-seven minutes: she felt strangely blank, neither hoping nor fearing. Was she repressing her emotions? She didn't know or care. She seemed wrapped in a deadening cocoon.

Waiting... waiting...

After five hours and eleven minutes she became aware of a voice addressing her.

"Neelix to Seven of Nine."

"Yes."

"We're all in holodeck two, and there's only one person missing from the party."

"Party?" she asked dully.

"Well, I thought we needed it after the day we've had."

His voice seemed unusually cheerful. Only one person missing...

"I know you're not keen on parties, Seven, but as your Moral Officer, I'm ordering you to attend."

"Acknowledged," she replied in a tremulous voice, her heart suddenly pounding.

She took a deep breath and stood, hardly daring to contemplate what this might mean; but what else could it mean? Slowly she walked from the cargo bay, her legs feeling weak and barely able to support her. It seemed as if she was in a dream, and she was hardly aware of her surroundings until she was standing before the holodeck doors. She was suddenly afraid, and her nails dug into her palms. What if she'd misinterpreted Neelix's words? No, it wasn't possible; he might not be aware of the depth of her feelings for the Doctor, but he certainly knew how close a friendship they'd developed; he wouldn't be so thoughtless as to cheerfully invite her to a celebration if the Doctor wasn't...

She seemed frozen, unable to enter, and she suddenly realised that what she most feared was seeing him again. She would have to admit to him how she felt; it couldn't be ignored any longer, not after what they'd been through. Steeling herself she stepped forward and the doors opened to reveal Chez Sandrine.

* * *

"So what does it feel like to come back from the dead?" Paris clapped him on the shoulder, grinning inanely while Torres snorted into her drink.

"Mr Paris," he began, rolling his eyes, ready to deliver a devastating quip, but was stopped by Paris nudging him with his elbow.

"She's here."

Nervously he turned and watched as she began to make her way through the modest throng of celebrants to where they stood at the bar. He could see the tension in her body and noted with anxiety that she kept her gaze directed at the floor. It was only when she reached them that she looked up at him, and he realised that she was as nervous as he.

"Well, Seven, you certainly look better than the last time I saw you." Silently he cursed himself for making such a ridiculous comment, but she smiled shyly.

"So do you, Doctor."

They were saved from an awkward silence by the arrival of Neelix, chuckling in his idiosyncratic wheezing way. "You made it, Seven! Now we're all here, and the band is ready to play..."

"Band?" she interrupted.

"Well, metaphorically speaking. There wasn't room for a band and the dance-floor."

She looked in the direction he indicated and cocked her metallic eyebrow at the sight of the raised, empty floor.

"People just can't resist interfering with my program," Paris sighed.

"There's always room for improvement, Tom."

"Especially where your cooking's concerned," he muttered into his glass.

Neelix shot a withering look at him, belied by the merriment in his eyes. "Computer, begin Neelix Party Music Four."

At the sound of raucous wind instruments and crashing percussion Torres barked out laughter, almost spilling her drink in the process.

"Neelix, Neelix, Neelix," said Paris pityingly, "You expect people to dance to this?"

"You don't like it?" Neelix looked bewildered. "This is traditional Klingon victory music."

"It is?" Torres said, her voice dangerously low, glaring at him so that he chuckled nervously.

"I thought the crew needed to let off a little steam, and no one lets off steam like... like..."

The Doctor gave vent to a long-suffering sigh. "Computer, run program Doctor Dance Alpha One."

There were audible sounds of relief around the room as the harsh cacophony was replaced by the muted tones of a languid dance-band.

"Well, I better see to the finger-food," said Neelix, offering a final nervous wheeze in Torres's direction before making off.

As Paris started trying to cajole Torres into dancing, the Doctor gave his full attention to Seven. "You look tired. Perhaps you should regenerate; I understand you were told to regenerate for at least twenty-four hours, and I agree with Mr Paris for once."

"I would prefer to remain here... with you."

At her timid response he felt a sudden swell of joy, and did his best to quell the enormous grin that threatened to break out on his face, only partially succeeding. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt this once."

He felt an overwhelming desire to draw her close, to enfold her in his arms, and was suddenly at a loss as to what to do or say. He sensed that she wanted him, but he was suddenly afraid of pushing her too fast. As the silence lengthened he started to wish that Paris would butt-in with one of his irritating jokes, but he and Torres were busy with each other now. He started to look round the room, desperately hoping to catch someone's eye, or perhaps searching for inspiration.

"Doctor, I..."

He almost jumped at the sound of her voice, but as she swallowed in embarrassment and fell silent, he felt a sudden calm come over him, and knew what he had to do. "Computer, play "Someone to Watch Over Me", instrumental version." In his peripheral vision he saw Paris look up curiously at the sudden change of music. "May I have this dance?" Seeing the anxiety on her face and the way she started nervously eyeing her crewmates, he held out his hand. "Don't worry about them, you dance beautifully."

Reluctantly she let him lead her out onto the raised floor. He could feel the tension in her as she placed her hand on his shoulder, both of them aware of the sudden lull in the surrounding conversations; but as they began to move slowly to the music, he felt her relaxing, drawing closer to him until her cheek was nestled against his. He was vaguely aware of other people joining them on the dance-floor, but his world suddenly narrowed to the feel of her warmth, the soft touch of her breath on his ear, the gentle friction of her body moving against his. He felt at once intoxicated and strangely tranquil, and it seemed as if he'd at last come home after many years of voyaging. Without conscious thought he murmured softly, "I love you, Seven," and suddenly, realising what he'd said, the warm haze of the past few minutes was blown away by his rising panic. He waited with dread for her to stiffen and back away, a look of accusation on her face; but as she remained relaxed against him, his panic began to give way to confusion. Long seconds went by and he started to doubt that he'd actually spoken aloud, or wondered if perhaps she hadn't heard him. As he frantically tried to recognise some clue as to what she was feeling, he felt her stir slightly and heard her whisper. "I know." He waited expectantly for more, but when she said nothing further he felt completely perplexed: this was the last reaction he would have expected. Having no idea what he should do now, he continued to lead her through the dance, trying to imagine what she was thinking, but his mind seemed frozen with bewilderment and trepidation, and he found himself mechanically following the steps and totally unable to form a coherent thought. Then, as the last bars of the song approached, he felt her lips brush his ear and heard the words he so desperately needed from her.

"I love you, Doctor."

She moved away from him slightly, and he saw that her eyes were open wide, her lips slightly parted; he'd never seen her look more open or more beautiful. As he leaned forward she drew in a soft, shuddering breath, and then their lips met.

* * *

In a cosy corner of Sandrine's, Kathryn watched with shining eyes and a sweet smile as the room fell into an astonished silence. She turned to see Chakotay grinning at her with a twinkle in his eye as he leaned conspiratorially towards her.

"They grow up so fast, don't they, Kathryn."