Chapter Text
1
Seven and Raffi are in their quarters after a very long, very trying day.
They’re Seven’s quarters, technically, but nobody who shares their deck with regularity is under any delusion about how often Raffi’s quarters are actually occupied.
As the one of them who had borne the brunt of the day’s physicality – no firefights, but plenty of running and scrambling – Raffi lies on the couch, eyes closed, head resting on Seven’s thigh. She’s content to listen to Seven’s heartbeat and take in Seven’s scent and enjoy the comfort of captain’s quarters couches and generally let the challenges of the day seep out of her bones. Seven cards one hand through her curls, occasionally letting go to flip the page of the book she’s reading.
‘Want to read to me, baby?’ Raffi’s voice is sleepy.
‘Are you sure? It’s poetry,’ Seven warns. Raffi’s more of a pulp romance and thriller kind of girl.
‘Everything’s poetry when you read it.’
Seven chuckles. ‘Uh huh.’
But she does read to her, reads the poem she’s just turned to, one that she’s read before but enjoys watching unfold on the page every time nonetheless. She thinks that Raffi has fallen asleep, but when she gets to ‘I’m immoderately / in love with you’, Raffi’s hand reaches up and strokes her wrist before bringing it to her lips.
‘Same,’ she murmurs, even as Seven keeps reading. When she finishes the poem, Seven sets the book aside and pulls Raffi up to kiss her.
‘I know.’
‘When did you get into reading poetry, anyway? Can’t imagine it’s a big part of Borg life.’
‘Like so many things,’ Seven says, ‘it’s Janeway’s fault. On all fronts. I’ll tell you about it sometime when you’re not five minutes from complete unconsciousness.’
‘Fair. Well, remind me to thank her some time. I like my romantic poetry-reading captain.’
‘I’m glad.’