Infinite Sadness
An EMH/7 Song-Fic by Seana Renee (seana...)

Category: EMH/7
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Seven realizes just how far she still has to go to regain her humanity. In a moment of intoxicated weakness, she turns to the Doctor. The aftermath of this encounter is more severe than either one could have anticipated.
Warning: Semi-nonconsensual sex, angst of all flavors
Spoilers: Season Six
Disclaimer: All things Star Trek: Voyager belong to Paramount. The story which remains is mine.
Distribution: Say the magic word.
Feedback: Tell me you love me, or at the very least, give a good reason for why you don't. Flames will be used to roast hot dogs for a barbecue in my backyard, to which everyone but the flamer in question is invited.

Notes: This story is based loosely on "Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness", written and recorded by the Smashing Pumpkins. All songs copyrighted 1995 chrysalis songs/cinderful music/cellophane star music.

"Time is never time at all
You can never, ever leave
Without leaving a piece of youth
And our lives are forever changed
We will never be the same
The more you change, the less you feel..."
- Tonight, Tonight

Seven of Nine sat alone in the holodeck, nursing her fourth drink at Sandrine's, the whole of her concentration focused on slowly becoming completely hammered for the first time in her life. She had removed the standard characters from the program and was seated in a far corner booth, with a glass and a bottle of vodka. 'It is somewhat humorous,' she thought to herself dismally, 'that I would choose to exercise my frustration concerning my inability to successfully adapt after four years of attempting to regain my humanity in such a stereotypically human fashion - "drowning my sorrows".'

Visibly disturbed by the thought, Seven frowned, her brow creasing. She poured herself another drink and downed it easily, wondering at how the taste of the formerly bitter, sour liquid had improved over the course of the evening. As she set the glass back down on the table and reached for the bottle again, she was startled to hear a door chime and looked up to see a rumpled Tom Paris enter the holodeck.

"Ensign Paris," Seven barked, annoyedly, rising to her feet, "I have reserved the holodeck from 2100 hours to 2230. You may check the logs, if you wish."

The weary pilot blinked at her in surprise. "I'm sorry, Sev, the program was open and I didn't think you'd mind. My shift just ended, I thought I'd stop in for a nightcap."

Seven threw back another shot while listening to Paris' explanation. She wiped the back of her hand over her mouth. "Lieu- Ensign Paris... I would prefer to be alone. Please exit the holodeck."

The former lieutenant held up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm leaving, Seven. Just..." he paused momentarily, eyeing her carefully, and the shifting his gaze to the quickly emptying bottle on the table. "Just take it easy, alright? I wouldn't want to see you get hurt."

Seven opened her mouth to respond, but Paris was already on his way out the door. '"Take it easy"', she thought, his parting words echoing in her mind. 'I have seen Ensign Paris imbibe three times as much alcohol as I have ingested tonight, and he suffered no physical harm.' With an almost indignant air, Seven readied another shot and spoke out loudly. "Computer! Initiate privacy lockout, authorization Seven-alpha-five."

Seven collapsed back into her seat and sighed, resting her chin on the back of her hand. Icheb, Mezoti, and the twins had been returned to their respective peoples, and she was alone again. Subsequently, Seven had finished her last regenerative cycle, and had been assigned crew quarters of her own by Captain Janeway. The woman who had once been close to perfect felt oddly clumsy and out of place while trying to emulate a 'normal' human routine.

Seven felt a disturbing ache in her chest when she imagined the four children, abandoned by the Borg. They would readapt to their own cultures with far less difficulty than she, and although she knew it was selfish, Seven was jealous. The ship's database held an overwhelming amount of information on Earth and Terran cultures, but no matter how much she read, she was unable to feel the planet's soil beneath her feet, to gaze out over the vast oceans Terrans seemed to love. It was at times like these that she hated the holodeck and its tricky mirages, and realized more than ever that she was really only by herself in an empty room.

Tears threatened to spill down Seven's cheeks, and she turned her face upwards to blink them back. Grabbing the bottle in front of her, she shoved the glass across the tabletop, where it slid off the side and shattered on the floor. She tilted the bottle in the air, feeling the vodka burn the inside of her throat, and tried to shut the pain out of her mind.

"Welcome to nowhere fast
Nothing here ever lasts
Nothing but memories
Of what never was
We're nowhere, we're nowhere, we're nowhere to be
Nowhere, we're nowhere, we're nowhere to see..."
- Jellybelly

'Perhaps Ensign Paris' logic was not so faulty,' was Seven's last thought as she laid her head down on the table and closed her eyes, a dull ache throbbing behind her eyes and a sickly thick feeling of bile rising in the back of her throat. She began to cry, cursing her own stupidity, and coughed loudly, a choked sputtering. "Computer," Seven cried, her voice cracking, "Activate Emergency Medical Holographic program." She finished the command weakly, the loudness of her own voice hurting her ears.

The Holodoc materialized in Sandrine's in the middle of the dance floor. With his customary programmed smile, he inquired, "What is the nature of the--Seven?" His voice immediately grew serious and he rushed to her side, pushing her hair out of her face to look at her. "Seven, what's the matter?"

She pushed out of the Doctor's grasp irritatedly, confusing him. Hadn't Seven been the one who'd called him? He backed away from her obediently, and when her body lost his balance, Seven slid out of the booth, falling the the floor in an ungainly heap. A sickening crunching sound met the Doctor's ears, and he stooped down to find that Seven had fallen on the cracked shards of her discarded glass. Her left arm and the side of her face were slightly lacerated. Leaning close to her to lift her off the floor, Seven's head lolled close to his ear. "This is not real, Doctor. We are... nowhere."

Panicked, the Doctor called out in a voice which lacked his usual conviction. "Computer, two to beam directly to sickbay."

"My reflection, dirty mirror
There's no connection to myself
I'm your lover, I'm your zero
I'm the face in your dreams of glass
So save your prayers
For when you're really gonna need 'em
Throw out your cares and fly
Wanna go for a ride?"
- Zero

Consciousness came slowly to Seven of Nine. When she opened her eyes, she recognized the Spartan decor of her own cabin. She gave no thought to how she came to be in her quarters, tucked safely into her bed, but simply accepted that this was a good place for her to be. Her brain felt clouded... fuzzy, like one of Naomi Wildman's stuffed toys. She shifted her gaze too quickly and a lance of pain sliced through her head.

"I did not believe that it would ever be necessary to lecture you on the dangers of overindulgence, Seven." Her head drifted across the pillow towards the sound of the Doctor's voice. He was seated in an uncomfortable chair near her bedside, his hands folded calmly in his lap, watching her in the dim light. "You blood alcohol level is currently .195."

"Thank you for escorting me to my quart--"

"I had to beam you to your quarters, Seven," the Doctor responded flatly, "after you passed out in sickbay. You are in no imminent physical danger, but this was a stupid, reckless thing for you to do. I am disappointed in you."

For the second time that night, Seven of Nine began to cry. She replied, short of breath, "I... apologize, Doctor. It was never my intention to disappoint you." Over the last few words, a sob escaped her throat, and her shoulders shook with the intensity of her cries.

Overwhelmed by a sickening feeling of helplessness, the Doctor rose and positioned himself close to Seven, sitting on the edge of her bed. He cradled her in his arms, rocking her gently back and forth. She rested her head against his shoulder, her tears staining the blue fabric of his uniform. He heard her mumble something softly, but didn't catch it. "Did you say something, Seven?"

"Do you still love me, Doctor?" Her voice was tiny, free of any semblance of pretense of sarcasm. Without any superfluous explanation, it was simply the most efficient way of asking the question.

"I don't recall ever saying that I love you, Seven." He spoke slowly, weighing each word, because this was a dangerous place he had entered, and leaving it with both of them relatively unscathed was going to require care of the utmost precision.

"You did not. I simply ascertained it from your behavior towards me. Whether it was platonic, paternal, or... romantic, I cannot say, but I am certain that you loved me. I have lost that now, have I not?"

He was silent for a long time, and when he finally spoke, his voice was soft. "You have lost nothing, Seven." As he continued, his words grew hollow with forced lightheartedness. "With the possible exception of your reputation as one of the most faultless members of the crew." His attempt at sardonic humor did nothing to lessen her tears, which could have been expected.

"Please do not joke." Settling comfortable into his embrace and the calming rhythm of his movement, she tilted her head so that her mouth brushed the tender flesh of his throat, her breath deep and hot against his skin. "I experienced pain when I thought about losing you." She took his hand in hers and placed it just above her left breast. "Here. It 'broke my heart', Doctor."

Closing his eyes briefly, the Doctor struggled to maintain order in his thoughts. He had never been more aware of his own body, or hers, so unrelentingly soft and warm under his hands. "I should go," he said quietly, fumbling over the words. "You need to rest."

"I do not want you to leave. I want you to stay right here," she added in a playful tone of voice, stretching out the syllables, nuzzling her head against his chest.

"You are not thinking clearly, Seven."

She pulled away from him, looking steadily into his eyes. "I am thinking more clearly than I have in four years. I care for you very deeply, Doctor. I was... afraid... to tell you that before. You failed to confess your feelings towards me, so I was uncomfortable revealing mine to you." Leaning back on the pillows, she said simply, "I am now sufficiently comfortable."

"Seven... ," the Doctor breathed incredulously. "You amaze me." He opened his mouth to speak more, but was interrupted by Seven of Nine's warm mouth pressed firmly against his.

Breaking the kiss, Seven managed, "I now require you to stop talking, Doctor."

"The useless drags, the empty days
The lonely towers of long mistakes
To forgotten faces and faded loves
Sitting still was never enough
And if you're giving in, then you're giving up...
'Cause in your sad machines
You'll forever stay
Desperate and displeased--with whoever you are
And you're a star..."
- Here is No Why

Infinite Sadness
An EMH/7 Song-Fic by Seana Renee (seana...)

Category: EMH/7
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Seven realizes just how far she still has to go to regain her humanity. In a moment of intoxicated weakness, she turns to the Doctor. The aftermath of this encounter is more severe than either one could have anticipated.
Warning: Semi-nonconsensual sex, angst of all flavors
Spoilers: Season Six
Disclaimer: All things Star Trek: Voyager belong to Paramount. The story which remains is mine.
Distribution: Say the magic word.
Feedback: Tell me you love me, or at the very least, give a good reason for why you don't. Flames will be used to roast hot dogs for a barbecue in my backyard, to which everyone but the flamer in question is invited.

Notes: This story is based loosely on "Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness", written and recorded by the Smashing Pumpkins. All songs copyrighted 1995 chrysalis songs/cinderful music/cellophane star music.

"Time is never time at all
You can never, ever leave
Without leaving a piece of youth
And our lives are forever changed
We will never be the same
The more you change, the less you feel..."
- Tonight, Tonight

Seven of Nine sat alone in the holodeck, nursing her fourth drink at Sandrine's, the whole of her concentration focused on slowly becoming completely hammered for the first time in her life. She had removed the standard characters from the program and was seated in a far corner booth, with a glass and a bottle of vodka. 'It is somewhat humorous,' she thought to herself dismally, 'that I would choose to exercise my frustration concerning my inability to successfully adapt after four years of attempting to regain my humanity in such a stereotypically human fashion - "drowning my sorrows".'

Visibly disturbed by the thought, Seven frowned, her brow creasing. She poured herself another drink and downed it easily, wondering at how the taste of the formerly bitter, sour liquid had improved over the course of the evening. As she set the glass back down on the table and reached for the bottle again, she was startled to hear a door chime and looked up to see a rumpled Tom Paris enter the holodeck.

"Ensign Paris," Seven barked, annoyedly, rising to her feet, "I have reserved the holodeck from 2100 hours to 2230. You may check the logs, if you wish."

The weary pilot blinked at her in surprise. "I'm sorry, Sev, the program was open and I didn't think you'd mind. My shift just ended, I thought I'd stop in for a nightcap."

Seven threw back another shot while listening to Paris' explanation. She wiped the back of her hand over her mouth. "Lieu- Ensign Paris... I would prefer to be alone. Please exit the holodeck."

The former lieutenant held up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm leaving, Seven. Just..." he paused momentarily, eyeing her carefully, and the shifting his gaze to the quickly emptying bottle on the table. "Just take it easy, alright? I wouldn't want to see you get hurt."

Seven opened her mouth to respond, but Paris was already on his way out the door. '"Take it easy"', she thought, his parting words echoing in her mind. 'I have seen Ensign Paris imbibe three times as much alcohol as I have ingested tonight, and he suffered no physical harm.' With an almost indignant air, Seven readied another shot and spoke out loudly. "Computer! Initiate privacy lockout, authorization Seven-alpha-five."

Seven collapsed back into her seat and sighed, resting her chin on the back of her hand. Icheb, Mezoti, and the twins had been returned to their respective peoples, and she was alone again. Subsequently, Seven had finished her last regenerative cycle, and had been assigned crew quarters of her own by Captain Janeway. The woman who had once been close to perfect felt oddly clumsy and out of place while trying to emulate a 'normal' human routine.

Seven felt a disturbing ache in her chest when she imagined the four children, abandoned by the Borg. They would readapt to their own cultures with far less difficulty than she, and although she knew it was selfish, Seven was jealous. The ship's database held an overwhelming amount of information on Earth and Terran cultures, but no matter how much she read, she was unable to feel the planet's soil beneath her feet, to gaze out over the vast oceans Terrans seemed to love. It was at times like these that she hated the holodeck and its tricky mirages, and realized more than ever that she was really only by herself in an empty room.

Tears threatened to spill down Seven's cheeks, and she turned her face upwards to blink them back. Grabbing the bottle in front of her, she shoved the glass across the tabletop, where it slid off the side and shattered on the floor. She tilted the bottle in the air, feeling the vodka burn the inside of her throat, and tried to shut the pain out of her mind.

"Welcome to nowhere fast
Nothing here ever lasts
Nothing but memories
Of what never was
We're nowhere, we're nowhere, we're nowhere to be
Nowhere, we're nowhere, we're nowhere to see..."
- Jellybelly

'Perhaps Ensign Paris' logic was not so faulty,' was Seven's last thought as she laid her head down on the table and closed her eyes, a dull ache throbbing behind her eyes and a sickly thick feeling of bile rising in the back of her throat. She began to cry, cursing her own stupidity, and coughed loudly, a choked sputtering. "Computer," Seven cried, her voice cracking, "Activate Emergency Medical Holographic program." She finished the command weakly, the loudness of her own voice hurting her ears.

The Holodoc materialized in Sandrine's in the middle of the dance floor. With his customary programmed smile, he inquired, "What is the nature of the--Seven?" His voice immediately grew serious and he rushed to her side, pushing her hair out of her face to look at her. "Seven, what's the matter?"

She pushed out of the Doctor's grasp irritatedly, confusing him. Hadn't Seven been the one who'd called him? He backed away from her obediently, and when her body lost his balance, Seven slid out of the booth, falling the the floor in an ungainly heap. A sickening crunching sound met the Doctor's ears, and he stooped down to find that Seven had fallen on the cracked shards of her discarded glass. Her left arm and the side of her face were slightly lacerated. Leaning close to her to lift her off the floor, Seven's head lolled close to his ear. "This is not real, Doctor. We are... nowhere."

Panicked, the Doctor called out in a voice which lacked his usual conviction. "Computer, two to beam directly to sickbay."

"My reflection, dirty mirror
There's no connection to myself
I'm your lover, I'm your zero
I'm the face in your dreams of glass
So save your prayers
For when you're really gonna need 'em
Throw out your cares and fly
Wanna go for a ride?"
- Zero

Consciousness came slowly to Seven of Nine. When she opened her eyes, she recognized the Spartan decor of her own cabin. She gave no thought to how she came to be in her quarters, tucked safely into her bed, but simply accepted that this was a good place for her to be. Her brain felt clouded... fuzzy, like one of Naomi Wildman's stuffed toys. She shifted her gaze too quickly and a lance of pain sliced through her head.

"I did not believe that it would ever be necessary to lecture you on the dangers of overindulgence, Seven." Her head drifted across the pillow towards the sound of the Doctor's voice. He was seated in an uncomfortable chair near her bedside, his hands folded calmly in his lap, watching her in the dim light. "You blood alcohol level is currently .195."

"Thank you for escorting me to my quart--"

"I had to beam you to your quarters, Seven," the Doctor responded flatly, "after you passed out in sickbay. You are in no imminent physical danger, but this was a stupid, reckless thing for you to do. I am disappointed in you."

For the second time that night, Seven of Nine began to cry. She replied, short of breath, "I... apologize, Doctor. It was never my intention to disappoint you." Over the last few words, a sob escaped her throat, and her shoulders shook with the intensity of her cries.

Overwhelmed by a sickening feeling of helplessness, the Doctor rose and positioned himself close to Seven, sitting on the edge of her bed. He cradled her in his arms, rocking her gently back and forth. She rested her head against his shoulder, her tears staining the blue fabric of his uniform. He heard her mumble something softly, but didn't catch it. "Did you say something, Seven?"

"Do you still love me, Doctor?" Her voice was tiny, free of any semblance of pretense of sarcasm. Without any superfluous explanation, it was simply the most efficient way of asking the question.

"I don't recall ever saying that I love you, Seven." He spoke slowly, weighing each word, because this was a dangerous place he had entered, and leaving it with both of them relatively unscathed was going to require care of the utmost precision.

"You did not. I simply ascertained it from your behavior towards me. Whether it was platonic, paternal, or... romantic, I cannot say, but I am certain that you loved me. I have lost that now, have I not?"

He was silent for a long time, and when he finally spoke, his voice was soft. "You have lost nothing, Seven." As he continued, his words grew hollow with forced lightheartedness. "With the possible exception of your reputation as one of the most faultless members of the crew." His attempt at sardonic humor did nothing to lessen her tears, which could have been expected.

"Please do not joke." Settling comfortable into his embrace and the calming rhythm of his movement, she tilted her head so that her mouth brushed the tender flesh of his throat, her breath deep and hot against his skin. "I experienced pain when I thought about losing you." She took his hand in hers and placed it just above her left breast. "Here. It 'broke my heart', Doctor."

Closing his eyes briefly, the Doctor struggled to maintain order in his thoughts. He had never been more aware of his own body, or hers, so unrelentingly soft and warm under his hands. "I should go," he said quietly, fumbling over the words. "You need to rest."

"I do not want you to leave. I want you to stay right here," she added in a playful tone of voice, stretching out the syllables, nuzzling her head against his chest.

"You are not thinking clearly, Seven."

She pulled away from him, looking steadily into his eyes. "I am thinking more clearly than I have in four years. I care for you very deeply, Doctor. I was... afraid... to tell you that before. You failed to confess your feelings towards me, so I was uncomfortable revealing mine to you." Leaning back on the pillows, she said simply, "I am now sufficiently comfortable."

"Seven... ," the Doctor breathed incredulously. "You amaze me." He opened his mouth to speak more, but was interrupted by Seven of Nine's warm mouth pressed firmly against his.

Breaking the kiss, Seven managed, "I now require you to stop talking, Doctor."

"The useless drags, the empty days
The lonely towers of long mistakes
To forgotten faces and faded loves
Sitting still was never enough
And if you're giving in, then you're giving up...
'Cause in your sad machines
You'll forever stay
Desperate and displeased--with whoever you are
And you're a star..."
- Here is No Why