Vignette

by Jen

Hi, everyone.  I am a new subscriber to this list and am going to take the 
plunge and post a story ... but I am terrified (never written one before) so
please, if you have any feedback, be gentle!!

I am not sure if I have to do a disclaimer or anything, so just in case, of
course, these characters, etc, are Paramount's.



It was a final, desperate effort at self-preservation that drove him.  He had
loved Seven of Nine from the first moment he saw her; her stunning beauty had
effectively rung a death knell for his pride, his sanity, and his peace of mind.
Her pale body had invaded his thoughts at every turn, and  was never absent from
his fevered dreams.  He blushed to recall those dreams in the morning, but they
came every night just the same.  Later, her intelligence and her gallant, if
sometimes awkward, efforts to adapt to her new life had secured her place in his
heart.  But despite the grateful adoration she displayed for him in all his
fantasies, and despite the strong, confidant role he himself played in those
same fantasies, reality had proceeded somewhat differently.  In spite of his
eager attempts to get closer to her, in spite of the all-consuming infatuation
that was obvious to everyone with whom he came in contact, she had not warmed to
him.

He knew better, of course, than to expect that she would shed all her Borg
characteristics at once.  But her coolness, her rudeness - though he knew they
were not meant personally - struck him like a blow everytime he experienced
them.   Her apparent indifference  had humiliated and angered him.  And his
tentative attempts to reach out to her upon the few instances of weakness or
loneliness that he witnessed were rather sharply rebuffed.  He knew that he was
the only one on Voyager, except maybe Captain Janeway, who really tried to spend
any time with Seven, to cultivate a friendship with her, and he knew, if she
wasn't with him, she was often alone.   But for his own well-being, he had
decided, in despair, that he had to sever whatever relationship they had.  And
so he had struck out, in his hurt, and accused her of being cold, unworthy of
his time and affection, and destined to live a joyless, solitary life.  He was
unkind in his wretchedness, which was against his nature; the unblinking clarity
of her crystal-blue eyes and her lovely expressionless face had spurred him on
to greater cruelty.  Finally, Harry turned away, defeated, from his love.

And then, unsure of what he had seen, turned back.  A tear was making its way
slowly down her unlined face.  Seven of Nine put her hand to her face, wiped
away the tear, and, puzzled, looked down at her fingertip.  Her brow furrowed.

"Ensign Kim ... I ... I am leaking," she said, confused.

Harry made a choked noise that was half a sob, half a laugh.  His heart broke to
see her in tears, to see the unaccustomed uncertainty and bewilderment on her
beautiful face.  His heart rejoiced to see evidence of her humanity, her
vulnerability, and ...  Was it possible that she cried for losing him?  As
usual, he was torn between passion, exasperation, and tenderness for her.  He
said gently,

"Seven ... you're crying."

She frowned at him.

"Borg do not cry." she said arrogantly, making a visible effort to contain
herself.  And sniffled.

Harry, touched, longed to hold her.

"No, Borg don't cry."

 He moved closer.

"But humans do."

He did not touch her.  She stared at him and all at once her expression began to
crumble.  She was  young in her human life.

"We ... we are Borg ..." she said brokenly.  Her breath was ragged.  Suddenly
she wheeled around and started from the room.

All at once, Harry felt strong, stronger at last than Seven of Nine.  With all
her assimilated knowledge, with all her power, in this, he - Harry Kim, with his
inexperience, with his shyness and clumsiness - he was stronger than she.  She
was frightened, unused to her emerging emotions.  He almost laughed out loud to
realize that he felt protective of Seven.  Protective of a Borg ... that had to
be a first!  He grabbed her arm, pulled her toward him.  He trembled at the feel
of her and had to catch his breath at the wild excitement that surged through
him.

"Seven ... Seven ..."

She glared defiantly at him.

"Let me go, Ensign Kim."

He knew he loved her like he had never, would never, love anyone else.  He was
helpless against his feelings for her.  He took her other arm and drew her to
him.  As she tried to pull away, he said quietly and firmly to her,

"Seven, I will never let you go as long as I live."

She gasped, and he saw anger start to harden her flushed face.

"Seven .... please..."

His breath was coming hard now - waves of desire made him shudder and groan,

"Seven, I love you ... God ... I love you..."

Of its own accord, his hand slipped behind her long neck and tangled in her hair
- smoothly coiffed under his fingers - and the other went around her slim waist
and pulled her closer.   And then ... at last, oh God, at last ... his lips were
on hers, kissing her frantically, passionately.

"Kiss me back, Seven," he breathed.

"I ... I have never ..."

"Shh, darling.  Kiss me back."

He would die if she pulled away.

Then, her cool lips parted and he tasted her sweet mouth.  Unbelievingly, he
heard her moan; Harry could hear himself gasping her name, he couldn't help
himself.  He was hard as a rock.  Some faraway part of him was shocked at his
own behavior, but his need for her was so strong.  He held her tightly against
him.

Without warning, Seven of Nine wrenched herself from his arms; her eyes were
panicked.  She cried,

"What is happening to me?  I am not the same ... we are not the same as we were
before!"

And ran from the room.

Harry was left staring after her, out of breath, amazed, and smouldering in her
wake.


END