The Heart Has Its Reasons

By Laura Schiller

A Star Trek: Voyager Fanfiction

Copyright: Paramount

"Commander, may I have a moment of your time?"

Tuvok, sitting cross-legged on the floor of his dimly lit quarters, paused to consider the placement of his last kal-toh rod before answering. He slipped it into a place at the top of the structure, which glowed blue for a moment before settling into an intricately patterned sphere.

"I am at leisure, Seven. Proceed." He pointed to the spot opposite him.

"I … require advice of a personal nature." Seven arranged herself on the carpet as best she could in her biosuit, curling her legs under her like a cat. "It is difficult to begin … "

Tuvok sat perfectly still, his face impassive, the violet robe he wore off-duty shimmering in the light of the candles scattered around his quarters. This image of Vulcan serenity was both comforting and daunting to Seven; if anyone could advise her, he could, but the thought of how absurd her predicament must appear glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth. The Captain was already ashamed of her, without even knowing the whole story. The Doctor pitied her. Would Tuvok, in his own way, do the same?

"I am attracted to Commander Chakotay," she said, characteristically blunt, feeling rather as she had at Lieutenant Torres' birthday party at the Paxau Resort when Tom Paris had dared her to jump off the six-metre diving board. "And I wish to learn the techniques your people use to suppress these emotions. If I cannot, both Voyager's safety and my life may be at risk."

She told him the whole story – her holographic fantasies, her lapse with the subspace mines, the Borg failsafe device and her refusal of the Doctor's offer to remove it - despite the almost feverish heat of embarrassment on her face, clenching her hands in her lap to disguise their trembling.

"Can you assist me?" she finished.

"I can," said Tuvok.

Her silent sigh of relief stuck in her throat when he added: "The question is whether I should."

"I told you why - "

He held up an authoritative hand. "Seven, how much do you know about Vulcan discipline?"

"Very little," she had to admit. "The Collective considered details irrelevant, since a drone's emotions are suppressed within seconds of assimilation."

"That is my point. Without the teachings of Surak, my people might never have progressed past the Bronze Age. You, however, are not Vulcan." His slanted eyebrows drew together sternly. "Your species has evolved quite differently, with the result that suppressing your emotions would be neither healthy nor desirable. The Borg Collective has done you enough injury in this way, without you adding to it." Something flashed in his dark eyes before he lowered them; the tone of his voice became drier and more formal than ever. Behind his own force field of discipline, she sensed the same fierce protectiveness that had driven him to mind-meld with her to save her from the Borg vinculum.

He also sounded uncannily like the Doctor: That's the Borg talking, not you. Or like Chakotay – like the Chakotay simulation, she corrected: Don't you see what's happening? Your fear is holding you back, just like hiding behind that metronome.

She resented their implications that she was afraid – all the more so because she suspected they were right. Piano music, arrhythmical and maddeningly lovely, echoed in her mind. The softness of silk and dreamcatcher feathers; the warmth of Chakotay's hands on hers over the wine bottle; the dimples on his face when he smiled – put a little more heart into it – it doesn't have to be perfect - real intimacy with another person, nothing's more relevant –

Not one second of it had been real.

"Commander, you of all people should understand!" Her voice came out alarmingly loud and shrill, making the nearest candles flicker. "My emotions are impairing my judgment. I almost allowed Voyager to be destroyed because I was not at my post. I am trying to be logical - " To her horror, a most illogical lump in her throat forced her to fall silent.

"Seven of Nine, listen to me." Tuvok's deep voice was as reassuring as a touch. It was the same voice that had sent her crawling out from under the central console of the Raven; struggling towards him through the crowd of assimilated victims inside her own mind; holding on to sanity in the Tsunkatse arena. "Youof all people should understand that the logical approach to a problem considers every possible solution before discarding them. Take this game." He gestured to the kal-toh sphere sitting between them. "You once achieved in one move what Ensign Kim had been attempting for three hours. As he would phrase it, think outside the box."

Her head spun. He couldn't be suggesting - ? "Clarify."

"Are you certain that Commander Chakotay cannot return your feelings?"

Her heart stuttered. She held her breath waiting for her cortical node to do the same; having it remain quiet was cold comfort under the circumstances.

"Impossible."

"Have you asked him?"

"No."

"Why not?"

You know, you should socialize more, the real Chakotay had said, inviting her to Neelix's cooking class. Might do you some good. It wasn't the first time he had said or done something kind for her in his quiet manner. She would never forget how he'd encouraged her work in Astrometrics during her first horrible weeks severed from the hive mind; taken up her cause with Captain Janeway over the Omega Directive; passionately argued with her about the value of history when they found John Kelly and the Ares 4 module; helped her cope with becoming guardian to the Borg children. She valued those moments all the more because he didn't patronize her, like the Captain or the Doctor – for all their excellent intentions – sometimes did; he had always treated her like an adult. But he had also kept her respectfully at a distance, and she knew why; their neural link sometimes still gave her nightmares, and so did his attempt to send her out the airlock.

"He fears the Collective," she said.

"He is right to do so," said Tuvok simply. "As are we all."

"Even you?"

"I was assimilated during the battle for Unimatrix Zero. It was not an experience I care to repeat."

Seven remembered seeing him in Sickbay, along with the Captain and Torres, after their mission. Seeing her crewmates, her friends, with Borg implants had been downright terrifying. They had taken that risk for her … for her and for Axum, whom to her lasting shame, she barely remembered. It was his leadership she remembered most, his modest, practical way of bringing people together. Chakotay resembled him in that.

"Yet I do not fear you," Tuvok continued. "You have proven yourself not only trustworthy, but a valuable asset to this crew. Several of us have had close encounters with the Borg. Commander Chakotay himself still possesses technology implanted by Dr. Frazier's Borg Cooperative four years ago."

Involuntarily, Seven's hand went to the back of her neck, where an explosion of pain had once been triggered by that very technology. He had spoken to her then, mind to mind, uncovering memories of her parents. He had called her Annika.

"I have served with the Commander since before we entered the Delta Quadrant. I know him well. If he still had apprehensions about you, he would avoid you – which he does not. On the contrary, I have noticed that he often walks to Astrometrics to confer with you when a comm message would have sufficed."

"You noticed that?" Seven blushed. She had noticed it too, always aware of anything that impeded efficiency, but sternly convinced herself that it was simply his human habit.

Tuvok must have guessed the question she was about to ask, because he gave her a pointed look not unlike the Captain's. "I am not a matchmaker, Seven. I cannot tell you what he thinks of you. Either approach him yourself, or process your emotions in the human manner. The choice is yours."

If he had told her to go after Chakotay, she might have refused out of sheer contrariness. Giving her the choice, however, was a gesture of such trust and respect that she felt determined to deserve it.

She was dizzy with nerves. The holodeck had been nothing compared to this. But then, no doubt, the Captain and the Doctor would tell her that was part of the appeal.

"Computer, time," she said, clearing her suddenly dry throat.

"The time is seventeen hundred hours and fifty-four minutes."

"The cooking class." She jumped to her feet. "Chakotay invited me."

"If we hurry, we can still arrive on time." Tuvok unfolded his legs, smoothed his robe, and left the room two steps ahead of her. She hurried to catch up.

The mess hall was already crowded, the counters piled high with raw food, the hot plate sizzling, the air resounding with laughter and jokes. Neelix bustled up to them with a grin that stretched from one whiskered ear to the other.

"Mr. Vulcan! And Seven! Welcome, welcome!"

Seven could not pay attention to Tuvok's sardonic reply. All she saw was Chakotay, looking absurdly charming in a blue-and-orange apron borrowed from Neelix. His smile was astonishing. She had only ever seen him do it subtly, small creases by his mouth and a twinkle in his eyes as they traded wry remarks about the latest ship's crisis. This time, his entire face lit up. His dimples showed – all of them. She had programmed his simulation incorrectly, she decided; it was in no way comparable to the real man.

He waved for her to take the station next to him. She was there in three long strides.

"I was afraid you wouldn't show," he murmured, under cover of Neelix's effusive greetings of the next people to walk in. "Didn't you have other priorities?"

"Nutrition is a priority," she retorted, smiling back at him in a way that felt more natural than all the Doctor's lessons on nonverbal social cues put together.

"Yes, well. No offense to Neelix, but if anything goes wrong, someone with your cooking talent wouldn't come amiss."

For a moment she froze – how did he know? – but, thankfully, she remembered the meals she had made for the senior staff earlier that year. "Exactly."

"I'm glad you came," said Chakotay, passing her a chopping knife, and touching her hand in the process. She had told herself that his kindness to her had been the result of pity, but there was no pity in those brown eyes of his tonight.

"So am I," she said.