Disclaimer: Paramount owns everything associated with and is Star Trek.
No copyright infringement is intended.
Spoilers: Up until this point in Season Six.
Rated: R/NC-17 If you are under the age of 18, well you know the drill.
You have been warned.
The Lonely One
So alone, no longer any voices inside my head. At first the fear of being
alone overwhelmed me. It was Kathryn Janeway who helped me
understand the joy of being able to do something for myself, the joy of
understanding the nature of the human collective.
Why do I take everything, and turn it into a statement of gold? My
'logic' , to use a Vulcan term, only recognizes black and white. It ignores
the shades of grey that everything seems to really be. I exist as one, but
I want more. I ache for more, and after my weakness surfaces I berate
myself for failing in my task of oneness.
The Doctor is the worse cause of this ache, that words cannot describe.
I have yet to figure out how to deal with it. Over and over I am drawn to
the computer bank in search of a cure. While I physically ache, it is
more. It consumes me to the point of fear, bone cracking fear.
The fear of what I am becoming, the fear that no one would be willing to
help me ease this ache of loneliness. To borrow a phrase from Tom Paris,
I am "scared Shitless." Thus is the reason of my platonic kiss.
As my lips touched his cheek, I knew that it was a mistake. The instinct
called to wrap my arms around him, and never let him go. Am I going
insane to feel the things that I do about him? He only is a computer
program, and yet he is my dearest friend.
His fantasies scared me, not what they contain, but what they didn't
contain. He had me posing nude before him, like some medieval
examination of anatomy–clinical. Women on the crew fawned over him,
but one would expect to find one particular woman if his attention was
taken. One also would expect to see fantasies of a more sexual nature. I
may be Borg, but the Borg have knowledge of this. Thus I hide my kiss
as planktonic, because I fear him. I fear his rejection. I fear that he
wouldn't want me. I fear that he doesn't want anyone. Is he man or
Am I woman or machine? Are the feelings that tumble through me a
result of the cravings of my human flesh? I am strong. I am Borg, and yet
the little girl inside of me craves solace. She craves a smile from him, a
touch to the cheek. She is getting stronger, so much stronger.
Last night he took me dancing again. He said that we had spent too
much time singing, and their was something new that he wanted to show
me. What he had ended up showing me was a new dance, or more aptly
an old dance. I really should have told him to stop touching me, to stop
holding me as we moved to the music. I was lost the moment the music
started. When we dance, it is the only time that I feel his arms around
me. It's the only time I don't feel alone.
I realize that he is a hologram, but he feels so real. I can feel his breath
on my neck, his fingers brushing my back. My lips ache, hunger in a
way much different that when I crave food. I looked up into his eyes.
For a moment I thought I could see something, a flash. His lips quivered,
as if under the control of some great emotion.
If I had the ability, I would relive it again, but this time with a simple
hologram. With one, a mere puppet, one that wouldn't refuse me. I
guess that is the problem with needing a hologram. It makes it
impossible to replicate him, even just his looks.
Then I realizes something, even with a replica it wouldn't be him, the one
that makes me feel so alone. So I continued dancing with him, swaying
softly to the music. He pulled me closer, and his strength surrounded me.
Of all the people on the ship, all the people I call my family, he is the one
I feel closest to. It is the strangest thing, he makes me feel whole and yet
I have thought about talking to Captain Janeway about what I am feeling.
Perhaps she could explain it, but something held me back. It was almost
as if I was admitting a weakness, and I couldn't do that.
If I could only stop the dreams, then perhaps I could contain the fire. I
don't know where they come from, only that in the middle of the day I
The last one was the worst of all. I still can feel his hands on my flesh, as
I stood so closely facing the bulkhead. He orders me not to turn around,
not to face him. His chest brushes my back, as his hands trail so gently
over my shoulders. I can't help but want, need, and crave with a
desperation who has never tasted but has a million memories of such
Alone and mixed up, that's how I feel.
The Doctor paused the playback of Seven's log. In this he violated her,
but the Captain had asked him to inquire into what was troubling her. He
had tried asking her to dinner and dancing, but it left her even more quite
and unresponsive. She held her own council, at least now he knew why.
So he asked the Captain to look into her personal logs. The Captain had
given him permission. She had told him that given that they were
personal friends, it wouldn't be as much of an intrusion into her private
So the Doctor accessed Seven's personal logs. Part of him wanted to
jump for joy, happiness rising inside of him at the hint of her possible
feelings for him. He knew, however, that only she could work through
this problem–and given her past, it would probably be a long time until
she would face it.
He ached as well. He recalled her look, while they danced. He had been
so close to giving in to what he had wanted, to kiss her. How could he
know that she would see his fantasies, his day dreams? How could she
not understand that he was so unused to this type of thinking,
processing, that he was too embarrassed to even think of any women
locked in a passionate embrace with him? Would she know how much it
hurt not to have any woman look at him in that way? They just looked at
him like he was a program, something less than a man.
It was a curse that Dr. Zimmerman had left him with, all the feelings and
desires of a human male. He was just realizing the ramifications of
having the same male desire. He wanted her. He too was tired of being
He heard the pain in Seven's voice, the emptiness. He felt the same exact
way. He shut off the PADD, and grabbed his holo-emitter.
"Computer, Locate Seven of Nine." He told it.
"Seven of Nine is in holo-deck two." The computer replied.
"Is she alone?" The Doctor asked.
"There are no other life forms in holo-deck two." The Doctor could
almost hear the subtle irony in the computer's female voice, almost as if
she was laughing at him. He knew that wasn't the case, and yet given
his own position–who he was.
He walked out of Sickbay, on his way to holo-deck two. At least he
could provide her some company, and see if she wanted to talk. He
would never leave her to face the emptiness alone.
Seven sat in on the floor in the middle of the Da Vinci program. She
pulled her legs up, hugging her knees. She rocked back and forth,
humming. It was thus that he found her. He swore that he could hear
her humming "You Are My Sunshine."
The Doctor walked quietly over. She seemed not to notice him. He
placed a hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright Seven?" He said, with
a note of concern that he didn't bother to hide.
"I am alright Doctor, I just needed some time to myself." Seven replied,
not looking at him.
"Seven, whatever it is you need to talk about it. You need to let me know
what is going on, so I can help you." The Doctor told her softly.
"I do not require your assistance at this time Doctor." Seven spat, still
unable to meet his eyes.
The Doctor didn't know where the urge came from, but he couldn't resist
the temptation. His hand reached out to caress her unblemished cheek.
Slowly he turned her face towards him. "Are you sure Seven? You
haven't been yourself lately."
"I appreciate your concern, but I really need to be alone right now."
Seven emphasized each word, but the Doctor could see a certain amount
of desperation in her eyes. She didn't pull away from his touch.
The Doctor trailed his fingertips over her cheek. Such softness, it
beckoned to him. He watched her eyes dilate, a simple physiological
response to his touch. "I don't think you need to be alone right now,
Seven. I know I don't wish to be alone." He told her.
Seven pulled away from him, standing. So concerned he was for her
emotional needs, that he hadn't realized that she was barefoot. She
padded over to the large window that opened up onto the pastoral
country side. She placed one hand up on the hard wood molding that
surrounded the large portal. "I can't deal with this now doctor, I need
you to leave." At this point she practically yelled at him.
The Doctor walked up behind her, not touching her. "No, as a friend I
can't leave you like this. Who will you talk to?" Again he reached up to
place a hand on her shoulder from behind. "Seven, you have been
slowly getting worse for weeks, and you haven't been talking. It's time
to at least recognize that there is a problem." She still refused to
comment. "Damn it Seven! When I see you in pain like this, it tears me
"Please don't Doctor." Her voice was soft, much like the little girl that
had been assimilated. Her words told him that he shouldn't care, that it
Tapping into strength that the Doctor didn't know that he possessed, he
turned Seven around, forcing her to face him. "You think that I can
control what I feel? I can't Seven, I care, you're my..." His voice trailed,
"friend." It was almost as if he wanted to say something else.
"It's not your problem Doctor. I am sure after a few days that it
disappear." Seven attempted to turn around, to keep him from seeing too
deeply inside of her.
The Doctor tilted her chin up. Pausing for a moment to drink her in, he
ran his thumb over her lower lip. Seven quivered in response. Her lips
parted slightly, and he swore he could here her heart rate increase.
"I know what you are going through, Seven. I go through it too." The
Doctor whispered, leaning closer and closer. He hadn't wanted to push
this, but it was surfacing in her whether he liked it or not. Fear rose
inside of him somewhere in location of where his heart would have been.
Seven moistened her lips, fear in here eyes. Her breathing increased.
"Please," She begged, both of them unable to tell what she was begging
"Seven, I'll never hurt you." The Doctor pledged. He saw something
flash in her eyes.
"Please," Seven begged again, glancing towards the door. Then she
gave into the feelings she didn't understand. She reached up and ran
her hand down his cheek.
The Doctor smiled warmly in response, and pulled her close to him. He
placed a soft kiss on her cheek, not wanting to push her. Just as his lips
touched her cheek, she turned her own lips making contact with his own.
Seven hungered, her lips craved the touch of his. She didn't understand
it, but the feelings running through her seemed to short out her
processors. All she could do was feel.
The Doctor took the initiative, running his hands up through her
hair–freeing it. Fire through silk, his finger slipped through her tresses.
Liberated, he brushed his own lips back and forth across hers. Her
feelings raging like a fire out of control, she put her hand behind his head
and pulled his face closer. Hungry, she nipped at his lower lip.
The fire raced down Seven's body, pooling it the pit of her stomach.
Something was wrong, but his hands clinging to the back of her neck
forced the thought out of her mind. Lips locked, and she felt the urge to
open hers. His tongue slipped between them, interlocking with her own.
She heard him groan in response.
Satin velvet, her tongue felt like satin velvet across his own. Her
heartbeat stole her very breath that she managed to slip in between the
hungry matting of their mouths. Her hands trailed down over his chest,
seeking more. She wanted more, she could barely breathe. She needed
him. He had reduced her to a quivering mass of nerves unable to
function properly. Is this what it was all about?
Surprised, Seven pushed him away from her. For a split second she
looked up into his eyes, almost as if she was seeking meaning in the act.
Then, as if some random evidence had finely linked itself together, she
knew. Her eyes widened, and the Doctor reached to her.
Fear washed over him, as the Doctor watched her turn and run out of the
The Doctor realized even before he asked the computer where she had
run too. She would run to the only place that she felt safe, cargo bay 2.
He entered through the door, and glanced around. The doctor caught
her staring right back at him. "Leave." Seven commanded him. "This is
my private space, and I do not wish you in here at this present time."
The Doctor refused to leave, instead he took a step forward. "I can't do
that Seven. I can't leave you like this."
"Then how would you leave me Doctor?" Seven's tone was implied
more than the mere meaning of the words.
"Seven, I am sorry. I thought that I was helping." The Doctor replied.
"Helping?" Seven asked incredulously. "It's only made it worse. I can't
walk without hurting. I can't breath without craving."
The Doctor slowly approached her. "Seven, it's not how it works. You
have to give into it, before it gets better." He stopped standing in front
"What if I don't want to give into it." Seven backed away.
The Doctor shook his head, not quite believing their conversation. "You
don't have to do anything you don't want to Seven." He turned as if to
leave, the paused. "However desire isn't something you can keep
running from." He began to walk away.
Seven's voice stopped him. The slightly muffled sound, stopped him
dead in his tracks. "Don't leave me."
The Doctor turned around to see Seven facing away from him leaning
into the bulkhead. He walked towards her.
Seven could feel him approach. Her breath quickened, as she felt his
hand brush over the sensitive skin at the back of her neck. She shivered
at his touch. "Don't leave me alone." The hollowness of her voice cut
him down to his most basic programing.
"I will never leave you alone, Seven. For as long as you need me, you
will never be alone." The Doctor whispered into her ear.
Seven froze, unknown feelings rising up inside of her. She craved to lean
back and let him enfold her in his arms, but something stopped her. This
unnamed fear froze all of her muscles, only the sharp gasp of her
breathing could be heard above the subtle hum of the ship.
Almost as if the Doctor instinctively knew her fear, he placed his hands
on top of hers, his chest flush against her back. Again, he huskily
whispered into her ear, the soft hot breath brushing over the sensitive
skin. "Be very sure of this Seven."
Finally Seven was able to put fragile thoughts into words. "Show me
how to relieve this ache inside of me." While her words were that of a
command, her voice held a timidness that the Doctor had never heard
Holding her still, the Doctor leaned forward and brushed a kiss across
Seven's neck. She shivered in response to his lips. His hands trailed
down the back of her arms, around them, and over her belly. She moaned
as he continued to caress her.
"I want," Seven's voice trailed into that of a moan.
"I know what you want." The Doctor whispered. "I know how to help
"How?" She asked, her lips hungering for contact. She turned her head
to face him, as his body kept her pinned against the bulkhead.
Unable to resist Seven's lips, the Doctor met them hungrily with his own.
As their lips tangled, his hands went behind her to unzip her body suit.
Until that point she had always thought of her clothing as functional and
efficient. As her body seemed to swell beyond the confines of the suit.
She ached, desired, hungered, craved.
The Doctor continued to meet her lips with his own. He nipped her lower
lip, and he forced his tongue into her mouth. Seven swore that she could
taste him, something clinging to him, something that reminded her of
what she would call home. She groaned as his hands slipped inside of
the suit, over the bare skin of her belly.
Even though there were several Borg implants in the Doctor's way, he
maneuvered his fingers around them. One hand trailed up to gently
enfold a breast, the other traveled downward. He felt the dampness
before he even made contact with her pubic hair, hair that he had
stimulated into growing.
Seven arched unconsciously towards his hand. "Shh, my little one.
Relax, and let yourself go." The Doctor whispered.
"Please, the ache increases," Seven moaned.
"Close your eyes," All the Doctor wanted to do was to tear off the
offending clothes, and sink himself inside of her. Wisdom forbade him
from doing something so rash. Instead he settled for simply giving her
what she wanted. He slipped his fingers between her wet folds and
began to rub.
Seven jerked in his arms, and the Doctor held her in place. There were
certain advantage to being a hologram, any normal man might have a
problem containing her strength. He continued to rub, biting the skin on
Seven didn't understand what was happening to her. Pleasure
heightened some of her senses, while dulling others. It was almost as if
the Doctor's actions were shortening out her microcircuits. Part of her
felt like she was flying, and part of her felt as if she was dying. One of
his hands slipped up to pinch her nipple gently.
Higher the Doctor pushed her, but he still felt Seven holding back. "It's
okay, little one, you need to give into it. You need to let yourself go.
Give into it." His kissed her neck. "Don't be afraid."
At first it felt like malfunctioning circuit, but as the feeling began to grow
in her lower regions she knew that she needed to go farther. Wave after
wave of pleasure pushed her higher, until she could no longer put
together a coherent thought.
The Doctor knew that it hit Seven, when she began to convulse
frantically in his strong arms. She groaned his name, collapsing her
entire weight onto him. He slowly lowered her to the ground.
"I never told you that I really wanted this to happen." Seven whispered
into his neck.
"You didn't need to. I will always be there for you Seven. We are two
birds of a feather." He kissed her hair, then her eyes, and finally placed a
soft kiss on her lips.
"Computer end program." Around Seven Cargo Bay two disappeared, as
did the Doctor. She sat in the middle of the holo-grid, alone, and
Seven of Nine
I look upon the Doctor differently now. His eyes that follow me only
increase the desire that I have felt. At least now I know the name to the
feeling. I wonder if he realizes that things have changed. I want to have
the same experience that I had with his replica in the holo-deck, with him.
As Tuvok would say, this desire isn't logical. It isn't efficient, but when
I am with him I don't feel so alone. It's almost as if he is another part of
me, another being trapped between humanity and the machine. I can't
answer the question if he or I are machine or man, but perhaps our
friendship helps separate us further from the machine we call ourselves.
Part of me fears telling him of the growing feelings inside of me.
However, I do know that I won't be able to stay away from him, even if
only a replica. It's a weakness I can't fight.
It's only a matter of time before the truth comes out.
Chief Medical Officer's Personal Log
I can't stop looking at her. I am continually amazed at how she came
apart in my arms, but then again she didn't know they were truly my
arms. Can you imagine my surprise at the computer routing me into her
holo-program? At first I thought she called me to help her out, but it was
after reading her logs that I realized that she would have never left them
so unencrypted as to allow anyone to access them. Furthermore the
Captain would have never given permission.
So I accessed her program. She wanted a holographic representation of me to
force her to face her fears concerning sexual intimacy. I should have told her
that it was really me, but my selfish side gave in. That voice niggled at the
back of my mind, telling me it was wrong to see her this way at the moment of
I still can't believe that it wasn't some mis-programmed memory, a fluke.
Maybe now that she is over her fear, something will happen. I shouldn't
get my hopes up though. A beautiful ray of sunshine would never
dream to shine for me.
This is the true joy in life, the being used for a
purpose recognized by yourse as a might one . . .the being
a force of nature instead of a feverish, selfish little
clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world
will not devote itself to making you happy."
...George Bernard Shaw..........