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It’s Tallinn who puts her foot down. “You two,” she says, pointing first to Raffi then to Seven, “back to the ship. Shower, bed, sleep. Meet me back here in six hours. Not a minute earlier.”
“But—”
Tallinn has already turned and walked down the hall by the time Raffi opens her mouth, but that doesn’t keep her from arguing. Seven’s hand on her arm—soft, sliding to hook around her fingers as Raffi surges forward—is what stops her.
“She’s right,” Seven says, gently reining Raffi back around. “We need sleep.”
Raffi starts to protest, but then closes her mouth when she notices the dark shadows under Seven’s eyes. She can count on one hand the number of times she’s seen those shadows: in the days after her stint as the Borg Queen, and now.
“Okay,” she consents, squeezing Seven’s hand. “Let’s go.”
There’s something disorienting about beaming onto a starship while wearing an evening gown. Raffi supposes she was too focused on the ludicrousness of their mission to register the juxtaposition as they got ready nearly a day earlier. But now, beaming back to La Sirena with the night’s adrenaline thoroughly depleted, she can’t help but notice the incongruous click of high heels against the deckplates.
And her feet. Gods, how they ache.
“I’m never wearing heels again,” she grumbles as she follows Seven into one of the cabins. Seven huffs in tired amusement and sits down on the bed to unstrap her shoes.
“Sleep or shower first?” Raffi asks, but Seven only shrugs and turns around so Raffi can unzip her gown. She drops it to the floor the second the zipper hits its end and steps gingerly over the puddled fabric. Raffi blinks at the sudden abundance of skin. Tries and fails to draw a breath.
Right, she thinks. Shower. Sleep. Those are the priorities.
She reaches around to her side and unzips her own outfit (the perks of jumpsuits, she thinks with a slight smirk) and starts for the bathroom with the sparkly material slipping down one shoulder. A quiet hiss of pain from Seven’s direction has her turning back before she’s reached the door.
“Oh my god,” she says. “Seven. What the hell.”
Seven glances up at Raffi’s stricken face and then down to where her gaze has fastened on the huge, purpling bruise spread across her hip and thigh. She presses her lips together and gives a tiny shake of her head. “It’s nothing,” she says, reaching for a nearby shirt.
“That’s not nothing,” Raffi replies, closing the distance between them in three long strides. “When did this happen?”
Seven pulls her hair free from the shirt’s neckline. “Somewhere back in the fascist future,” she says. “My balance isn’t what it used to be.” A flush rises to her cheeks and she steps to the side.
Of course, Raffi thinks, and it’s as if she’s suddenly seeing her, really seeing her, for the first time since this nightmare started. Of course her body is different now that her implants are gone. And not just her body, but her whole damn life. All of it taken away from her in the space of one breath, and none of them paying attention enough to realize she’s been hurting.
“Seven,” she says, stepping forward yet again, reaching for her hand. “Seven. Honey. I am so sorry. What can I do?”
Seven stays silent for a moment, still looking down and away. Then she gives another shrug, this time even smaller, quicker, and looks up and then away again. Raffi puts her hands on Seven’s shoulders. Seven closes her eyes, and Raffi can see the corners of her mouth trembling in an effort to stay in control. She reaches up to brush a thumb along Seven’s cheek, and suddenly Seven’s lips are on hers. The move disorients her at first, then sends up a flash of anger, because of course Seven would deflect by trying to distract her from her pain. But then she pulls back and catches a glimpse of Seven’s face—eyes closed, lips parted, that furrow in her brow that means she is in pain—and that’s when Raffi realizes Seven needs this. Needs her.
Raffi tilts her head and presses her lips to Seven’s again, this time not resisting at all. Seven gasps—a tiny sob-like sound that slices across Raffi’s middle—and brings her hands up to frame Raffi’s face, pulling their bodies so close that every inch of skin is touching. “Tell me what you need,” Raffi breathes between kisses, but Seven’s tongue only becomes more insistent as she uses one hand to push Raffi’s jumpsuit the rest of the way off her shoulders.
Raffi lets her, and then, once she’s stepped clear of the material, slowly backs Seven toward the bed. Seven stumbles a little when the backs of her knees hit the mattress, but Raffi catches her elbows and eases her into a seat. Seven barely lets her finish before she’s pulling her back down for another kiss, her movements frantic, cracked open with a deep and glittering grief. Raffi feels her own grief welling up inside her, tries and fails to push it down. Seven pulls off the shirt she just put on and scoots back on the bed and lies down so her head is on the pillow, tugs Raffi’s hand so that she knows to follow suit.
Raffi settles against her side and kisses her shoulders, jaw, lips, neck, tastes tears on Seven’s cheekbone and doesn’t know if they’re Seven’s or hers.
“What do you need?” she asks again, fingers tangled in those long blond curls.
Seven closes her eyes and shakes her head, presses her lips against each other till they whiten and still. “Please just help me forget,” she whispers.
And that’s when something cracks in Raffi’s chest. Cracks hot and cold and wide and open. Because how, she wonders, can she possibly do that. But Seven is looking at her with that split-open expression, and Raffi’s lungs feel suddenly too small for air.
Seven rolls closer for another kiss, all wet heat and sharp inhale. Raffi leans into her hunger, leans into her hurt, lets Seven’s pain wash over her like a numbing balm. I’ve got this, she wills Seven to understand. I’ve got us. I’ve got you.
She slides a hand down Seven’s neck and shoulder, down her side to the curve of her hip. Seven stiffens and Raffi realizes her hand has landed on the bruise. She moves quickly, curling her fingers over the back of Seven’s thigh instead. Seven undulates into the touch in a way Raffi knows hurts; she can feel Seven’s hipbone knocking into her own and winces in sympathy but lets it ride, reasoning Seven knows her limits better than Raffi does. Seven’s right leg is fully hooked over Raffi’s hip now, their bodies flush, Seven rocking against her with an urgency that shocks.
Where has this been this whole time? she wonders, then brushes the thought away. What matters is that Seven is here, now, asking, needing, doing things that Seven almost never does well. She rolls them so Seven is on her back and Raffi hovering above her, leaning down for a kiss here, a kiss there, trailing around and down. Seven arches her back to snap off her bra, then tosses it to the side and pulls Raffi’s mouth down to her breast.
Raffi closes her lips over the peak of her nipple, sighing as she feels the tension melt from Seven’s body. Seven’s hand slides up her back and shoulders and comes to rest on the nape of her neck, holding her in place. What do you need? Raffi had asked her, and here is Seven telling her the only way she can. Raffi tongues her lightly at first, gradually adding more suction as Seven’s fingers dig into her neck. She settles a hand on Seven’s ribcage, fingers gripping her skin so she too can hold her in place.
Seven groans and arches into her mouth. Raffi slides her hand off Seven’s ribcage and down the curve of her ass, careful not to touch her hip and the bruise blooming there. She stops, waiting, fingers just barely hooked under the waistband of Seven’s underwear. She looks up. Seven nods and lifts her hips so Raffi can finish undressing her, then lets her legs fall wide.
For a minute, Raffi just hovers, smoothing her fingers over Seven’s unbruised hip, brushing her thumbs along the insides of her thighs. Seven closes her eyes and relaxes into the touch, releasing a shaky breath that Raffi knows holds a lifetime of tears. She wishes what she’s doing was enough for this woman. Wishes she could reach inside and scoop up all her hurt. But Elnor is dead and Seven’s implants have been stolen and the world might end tomorrow and this is all they have: bruised hips, salt-stained cheeks, their urgent hurting hands.
Raffi presses a kiss to first one thigh, then the other. Savors the tiny sob that rises out of Seven’s throat, not because it’s there, but because Seven trusts her enough to let it out. She pulls her head back slightly and Seven’s hips follow her down.
“Please,” she breathes, and it’s the third time she’s said that since this whole adventure started. Raffi kisses her thigh again and again, then once more, inching closer to that pulsing center. When she finally arrives, Seven freezes beneath her, but then, as Raffi begins to explore, sighs and settles into the touch.
They have fucked plenty of times before—more than Raffi really expected, if she’s being honest with herself—but in all those times she has never lost sight of the miracle of Seven trusting her. To be allowed to see her this way, naked, vulnerable, broken open on the sheets—it’s almost more than Raffi can bear.
Seven continues to writhe beneath her, her breaths slowly morphing into long, ripped-loose moans. Raffi can feel her nearing the edge and is startled when Seven pulls Raffi’s left hand from her side and presses it to her hip. Her bruised hip. Held down hard.
“Are you—” but she doesn’t even get the word sure out before Seven has gulped a frantic “mm-hmm” and guided her head back down. It takes only seconds for her to shudder into orgasm and from there untangle herself from Raffi’s embrace and curl into a fetal form.
Raffi moves back up beside her and tugs her fingers gently through Seven’s sweat-soaked hair. “Are you ok?” she asks, and Seven nods, but in doing so curls tighter and buries her face in her hands. Raffi eases down on the pillow and pulls her close. Seven unfurls enough to allow the embrace, and then her shoulders begin to shake with sobs. Raffi holds her, feeling tears leak from her own eyes, and curses the fates that dealt this woman such a fucking unfair hand.
“I’ve got you,” she whispers. “I love you. No matter what.” She doesn’t need to hear the words to know Seven’s said them too.