Title: Massage
Rating: R (language, and some "suggestive" stuff)
Author: Baby Borg [Lea Cohodas]
Email: queen_of_the_borg@fcmail.com
Description: Exactly what the title says. Seven and Harry relieve a
little tension.
Note: I don't care if you like it or hate it, feedback is welcome. Just
don't tell me oh-so righteously that the *real* Harry or Seven wouldn't
do this. To those people, remember, this is fanfic, they are fictional
characters. Enjoy!



    "Seven, could you help me realign the dilithium matrix?" Whatever
B'Elanna Torres was expecting to hear as a reply, it most certainly was
not the sharp bark from below.
"I am busy!" A highly irritated Borg was a force to be reckoned with,
and Seven hoped that the Lieutenant knew this.
"Seven of Nine, you are addressing a superior officer!" Torres was about
to deliver the speech about protocol and rank and whatnot, but then
remembered her intense desire to smash Janeway's face in every time she
had heard it. Instead she softened her tone a bit, her own weariness
preventing
her from pursuing the argument. "It's okay, Seven. I can do it myself.
Next time, try to be a little more polite?"
"Understood." Seven felt her shoulder muscles bunch even more tightly
when she heard Torres' reply. It was a simple affirmative, nothing to
get upset about, but Seven did not like it. Did not like Torres. The
half-Klingon woman represented everything Seven couldn't have. She had
friends, she
had power. She was comfortable in social situations as well as on the
battlefield, or tinkering with the warp core.
Seven despised her because every time she saw Torres, Seven was reminded
of what she had lost.
Not only the comfort and efficiency of the Collective, but the warm,
loving life that had been callously ruined by the Borg. Seven hated the
Borg.

Seven hated the Borg.

She no longer pined for them. Her loneliness had been replaced by a
pure, unsullied rage that possessed her day and night. They had killed
her, in essence.

With a shriek of  rage and a few choice Klingon curses, picked up from
Torres when the warp core wouldn't cooperate, Seven flung her tricorder
against the wall of the Jefferies tube she was working in. It rebounded,
of course, and she knew even before she felt the pain that the
instrument had a 98% chance of rebounding directly back to where it had
been thrown. Which, incidentally, was exactly the space that Seven's
forehead was occupying.
This time the curses were not so eloquent. She had learned them from
Paris.
"That fucking hurt! You stupid piece of shit! You little shit-eating--"
Seven broke off her tirade when she realized that she was talking to an
inanimate object that was certainly not going to respond. It beeped of
course. It always did, for some reason or another. This time is
indicated that she had slightly elevated blood pressure and heart rate.

Not fucking surprising.

Seven was shocked to realize how quickly the habit had formed. She had
cursed intentionally a few times and it had become instinctive.

Evidently another idiosyncrasy of the fucked-up human psyche.

And there it was again.

Luckily, Seven knew not to try any of that in front of the Captain. Or
while on duty with anyone over an Ensign. Luckily, Jefferies tubes were
sound proofed.

Her shoulder twitched with yet another muscle spasm. She grunted in
pain. She would have to ask the doctor about this. Perhaps he could
prescribe a muscle relaxant.

She eased her way out of the tube and into Main Engineering. She was
nearly out the door when Lieutenant Torres' eagle-eye spotted her hasty
departure.
"Seven, where are you going?"
Even her light, friendly tone grated on Seven's already frayed nerves.
"I must report to Sickbay, I am damaged." Tense muscles weren't exactly
damage, but she was not functioning are her peak efficiency with them
distracting her.

B'Elanna studied the girl closely, and noted that an egg-sized lump was
forming on her forehead. She had probably hit her head on her way out of
the tube. And she certainly didn't seem happy about it.
"Okay, Seven, but could you give this to Harry when you pass
astrometrics?"
The Engineer handed Seven a PADD. Seven nodded.

*                               *                                *

Once in the corridor, Seven allowed herself to slump tiredly against the
wall. A crewman walked by and she straightened her shoulders to military
attention.

Astrometrics was only a short walk away, and undoubtedly Ensign Kim
would be thrilled to have her stop by. At least someone's day would be
brightened. She felt unreasonably satisfied in bringing joy to another.
It was remarkable how pain could make you more human.

Harry Kim's day was going roughly as well as Seven's. He too had injured
himself out of sheer stupidity. He had also worked up enough tension in
his back that he was afraid that he would snap if someone tried to talk
to him.


Then he smelled it. Sweet, fresh, and very subtle. It could only be one
thing. Her. His mood lightened immeasurably just by the proximity of the
former Borg. Unfortunately, it only increased his tension. As much as he
liked Seven, he really wasn't in the mood for another Borg/Human
efficiency vs. emotion debate. They were just too tiring.
"What can I do for you, Seven?" He injected as much false cheer as he
could into his voice.
"You needn't do anything for me, Ensign. I have brought data on the
amount of dilithium left in the matrix. Lieutenant Torres wants you to
scan for planets with deposits." She looked down,  "But first you must
get the laceration on your hand repaired. It could become infected."
He sighed, there was almost a note of caring in her voice, "It's okay,
Seven, it's not bad."
She looked at the injured limb once more, "On the contrary, Ensign, it
is approximately six centimeters long, and three centimeters deep. By
the Doctor's medical texts, that constitutes a visit to Sickbay. It is
also bleeding profusely, you must conserve your fluids. I am going to
Sickbay as well,
as I have injured myself. You will come with me." It was more of a
command than a request. And Ensign Kim had no choice but to obey.

*                                    *                                *

"Good morning! In what pointless escapade have you injured yourselves
this time? Saving the ship again?" The Doctor's irritating sense of
humor was more than either of them could take, and they nearly doubled
over with the pain in protesting muscles.
"Hmmm....Contusion on the forehead........Laceration of the
hand......All done!" He ran the regenerator over the wounds as he
diagnosed them. He held up the tricorder, "This is interesting,
excessively high tension levels for both of you. I would recommend a
massage."
Harry paled visibly at the thought of the Doctor's steely, cold hands
clamping around his already aching muscles,  "Is there some alternative?
I don't want to stay in Sickbay for a massage, Doc."
The hologram snorted, "You seriously think I am going to waste my
valuable time and experience on a few sore necks? Of course not! But
what I am doing is reserving holodeck time so that you and Mademoiselle
de Neuf can massage each other." He chuckled quietly at his own humor.
Seven of Nine gritted out through clenched teeth, "Doctors should not be
funny."
"I agree." That from Harry.
The Doctor appeared out numbered but still managed a few more sarcastic
remarks as he shooed them out of Sickbay and into the holodeck,
initiating program 'anti-stress-one'.

He then ushered them into the separate dressing rooms and gave them
terry robes to wrap around themselves.

They emerged, Harry slightly embarrassed, and the Doctor lay Seven out
face-down on the table, he pulled her arms out of the sleeve and rolled
the robe down until it covered only her lower-body.
Only the Doctor's truly unarousing presence kept Harry from embarrassing
himself.
"Okay, just position your hands here," The Doctor directed Harry, "And
rub in a circular--" The Doctor was rudely interrupted by an irritated
Ensign Kim.
"I know how, Doc. I've done this before." He placed his hands on the
smooth, soft skin of her shoulders and gently rubbed at the tension. The
Doctor, in a surprisingly human moment of consideration, took this as a
cue to leave.

*              *    *
Seven of Nine was experiencing a strange sensation. Instead of tension
building steadily, and painfully, in her muscles, it was being kneaded
away. An unexpected gift-- and from Kim, no less!--. Her shoulders and
neck were now pliable putty under his strong hands, and she pressed her
face against the wood of the table. Moving down her back methodically,
not missing one muscle, he reached the small of her back. Those
wonderful hands took a return trip, and all too soon, he was done.
"All finished, Seven. Feel better?" Harry had been luxuriating in the
feel of her soft skin-- so sweet and warm-- when he had realized that he
had nowhere to go. He was done, finished, Kaput. There wasn't a spot on
her back that was no thoroughly relaxed, and unless he wanted to go
lower-- not a very gentlemanly thing to do-- he had to stop. The up side
of this being that now it would be him who was without stress.
"The Doctor's prescription for treatment of an excess of tension proved
effective as well as pleasant. I will now do the same for you."
With that she pushed him none-to-gently onto the table, and began the
procedure. Any fear Harry might have had about an unexpected bout of
Borg strength crushing his back was instantly dispelled by her firm, but
gentle touch. She worked slowly down, stopping in the middle of his back
to work on a few tough knots.

Seven looked at the golden expanse of skin beneath her fingertips.
Ensign Kim proved to be well muscled and firm under his uniform. She was
using different pressures, trying her palms, the backs of her hands, and
her knuckles against his skin. Learning him, in essence. What techniques
provoked the best responses, what hurt him, what he liked. Alas, soon
she reached the small of his back. She had gathered by the way her
massage had ended that it was not customary to move below that level,
and so she reluctantly traced her 'steps' back to his shoulders.

She had stopped.

It took Kim a few minutes to break out of the near-trance her
unexpectedly talented hands had put him in. As he stood and turned
toward her, he saw the undeniably human look on her face. She was
happy-- very happy-- and quite at ease with him. He decided it was
finally time to make his move.
"So, Seven, would you like your front massaged too?"

THE END
 (C'mon, if I hadn't stopped, this would have gone way beyond PG-13)