Today was the first day we had snow. I thought this was fitting, as cliché as it is.

Kathryn shivered, gathering the suddenly very thin seeming material of her pea coat tighter, pondering her unfathomable enjoyment of this most vile precipitation in her youth. She blinked furiously, her eyelashes batting away the barrage of snowflakes drifting helplessly on the furious gusts of wind that blew over the horizon, the shadowy silhouette of an ex-Borg barely discernible in the distance.

As she approached her, fully intending to drag the young woman inside, she couldn't resist the soft tugging at the corners of her lips, realizing that the Borg, against all logic, had stuck her tongue out and was catching snowflakes. She looked wonderfully innocent, her hair pulled back (at Phoebe's insistence) into two long braids, which were sticking out beneath the woolly expanse of her knit cap, complete with a bulbous puff at the top.

Ignoring the burning cold on her bare hands, she gathered a small ball of snow, and, after gazing one moment longer at the utterly adorable scene, hurled it at her oblivious head. It impacted with a dull thump and explosion of powdery white, and then, taking advantage of a momentarily stunned Seven, the older woman bound forward and leapt, knocking the ex-Borg into the immense fluff.

Seven, caught completely off guard for the second time, made a sound, high-pitched, girlish, and wholly uninvited, as she was tackled and driven into the snow beneath her.

"Was that a squeal?!" asked Kathryn, her voice thick with laughter.

"That was a rude and infantile tactic," grunted Seven, as she allowed herself to be pinned by the other woman, "which elicited a purely innate sound of surprise, most certainly not a squeal."

"Oh, I see," Janeway replied, chuckling softly, pressing her face to Seven, "but I bet I can make you really squeal."

Seven quirked a brow, gazing at the woman above her.

"You would not dare."

"You doubt me?"

Janeway grinned, lifting Seven's shirt, sliding her hands underneath and unleashing a barrage of tickling so terrible that the Borg Queen herself would pee a little. But Seven's bladder was tighter than an airlock, and she held strong underneath the relentless attack, shuddering and squirming but never uttering a sound for nearly thirty seconds, before unleashing a screech that echoed for miles.

"There!" shouted Janeway gleefully, "What do you call that?"

Seven's eyes narrowed, contemplating her revenge for a few seconds before grasping a handful of snow, reaching up, pulling Janeway's shirt open, and shoving it in. Kathryn screamed, attempting to stand up, but falling backwards into the snow with a tremendous puff. She pushed herself onto her knees and began to wildly ruffle her shirt, desperately trying to dislodge the frozen mass.

"It's in my bra!" she gasped, much to Seven's amusement, and ripped her shirt off, jacket and all, careening towards the house at full speed. "I'll kill you for this!"

Sitting, nestled into her lover, the fire blazing before them, Janeway suddenly remembered why winter was so lovely. She smiled, uttering a soft sound of amusement in her throat that earned a gentle kiss on the top of her head and a small inquiry from Seven.

"What are you thinking?"

Janeway snuggled back into the warm embrace, sighing softly before speaking, "Oh, just how much I love you."

"Ah," said Seven, "Even after I lodged snow between your boobs?"

Janeway chuckled softly, partially at Seven's use of the word boob, and partially at the earlier fond memories. She turned, gazing into Seven's eyes for a moment before pressing her lips to the ex-Borgs.

"I have yet to kill you for that," she muttered between kisses, "but I suppose something else could suffice."