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You find yourself hopelessly in love with Seska.
You only know when she smiles at you one day and suddenly you feel warm and you can’t stop thinking about her lips for the rest of the afternoon. You go to sleep that night smiling, thinking of her warm looking face and the way her arm casually slung over your shoulder, anchoring you to her. You curl up and wish she was in your bed and not in the one only a few feet away.
This really wouldn’t be a problem if she wasn’t determined to be with Chakotay. And you weren’t blind; you saw the way he looked at her. You pretend that it doesn’t break your heart over and over again.
So you keep quiet. It was your own little private secret. Just for you.
“So, do you have a thing for anyone?” Seska asked casually, lying on her back and staring up at you with wide, interested eyes.
Yeah, did I forget to tell you that I’m madly in love with you? “Uh,” you stammer and flush a deep red.
“Ooh, do tell,” Seska inquired, sitting up and leaning forward. Your shared space was small and your knees were almost touching, your foreheads grazing each other. You could kiss her, you think. She quirks an eyebrow and your heart flutters. You feel stupid because she just looks at you and you melt. It’s pathetic, really.
“Chakotay,” you blurt out in a whisper, feeling scandalous. “I didn’t want to tell you because – “
“Because of me and him,” she finishes for you. Seska just smiles and you return the gesture, though hers is compassionate and yours is nervous. “It’s alright.”
“I’m sorry if this makes things awk – “
“Not at all,” she says, reaching out and placing her hand on yours. You wonder if she can feel how flushed your skin is. “I…I won’t be so obvious around you. I don’t want to hurt you, B’Elanna. Your friendship means a lot to me.” She squeezes your hand, then stands and leaves.
Little did she know that every word she said was placing the stake on your heart and hammering it in.
You suppose it could be worse. She could hate you. But she does care about you. As a friend.
You sigh and lay back on your mattress. You really are hopeless.
“Seska?” you ask into the darkness of your quarters.
“Yeah?” You can hear her rustling the sheets as she turns around to face you, even though it’s too dark to see anything.
“Have you ever thought about…girls? Like, have you ever liked a girl?” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can decide if it sounds stupid or not. But you have to know if there’s any way in hell she might love you someday.
“Not really,” Seska answers and you feel a knot in your stomach twist a little tighter. Then, with a giggle, she asks, “Why, B’Elanna? Got a thing for a girl?” You can hear her smile and it breaks your heart.
“Kind of. Just thinking.” A pause. “Night, Seska.”
You roll over onto your stomach and hug your pillow, feeling your insides clench. Worst fears confirmed. She doesn’t even like girls.
You throw back another shot of whatever obscure alien ale it is you ordered. Seska is beside you, nursing a larger drink. She looks at you over the rim of the glass as she takes a sip and drunk only partly with the alcohol but mostly intoxicated with her, you almost lean in to kiss her, but you stop yourself before you do something you’d regret. Her friendship means too much to you, even if you want to grab her face and kiss her and kiss her and kiss her. She licks her lips and you’re thankful you’re sitting because if you were standing, your knees would have given out on you.
You put down the shot glass and slide around the small, round booth to sit beside her instead of staring at her from across the table. You suddenly need her near you. You slip an arm around her hip and lean a head against her shoulder. She hums appreciatively and slings her own arm across your shoulders.
It hurts, but it feels so good. You think you could deal with this heartbreak if you could just hold onto these little moments. You close your eyes and let yourself just enjoy the feeling of her arm around you and her chin resting on your temple.
Even interstellar rebel-terrorists aren’t immune to everything.
Namely, the flu. Humans had thought to have eradicated that disease centuries ago, but a new strain had recently made itself known and you’re not happy. You’re not much of anything except sick, really. Klingons are not often sick, but when they are, it’s bad.
Your head feels like it’s full of cotton and your nose won’t stop running and you’re dizzy when you stand. Even so, you’re the best engineer the Val Jean has, and you can still work even if you have to take a break to blow your raw nose every thirty seconds. You just have to do your work sitting down or else someone might have to pick you up and carry you back to yours and Seska’s quarters at the end of your shift.
Finally, Seska puts her foot down, grabs you by the collar and drags you to bed.
You wish you weren’t sick and that she would do this another time and for different reasons. You grin through your haze of medicine at the thought. You don’t let it hurt; you can always hope.
She pulls off your shirt and you think about making a suggestive remark and dammit, you wish these were better circumstances, but you’re too tired and sick to say anything coherent beyond the mumbled thanks you say into her shoulder. You feel a more comfortable pajama top slide over your head and your pants come off and pajama bottoms come on. Then she lays you down and you want to pull her on top of you.
She leaves you for a little while, but she comes back with soup and water and you eat it slowly and thank her but not in the way you want to.
“You should have broken more than his nose,” Seska whispers into your ear, leg pressed up against the back of yours.
You can feel her breath on your neck and her body against yours and it makes your skin crawl. Sort of like how it used to, with goosebumps and nerves and a skipped heartbeat. But now you feel like there’s something insidious behind her words. You feel bad about what happened with Carey – though, you don’t see yourself admitting that to him or Janeway or anyone else anytime soon.
You shrug and walk away.
Maybe you’ve stopped hoping and maybe you’re not as hopeless as you thought.
There she is, trying to make excuses, halfway pulling the alien device out of the port. You put your hand on her wrist. “It has something to do with, um, being able to live with yourself.”
“That doesn’t sound like you. You’ve changed.”
Her words cut like dull knives, slow and painful. You cringe. But, your reply isn’t stuttered and it’s more than you would have been able to say to her two months ago. “If that’s true, I take it as a compliment.”
You stand up and go to find the captain. Your knees aren’t weak as you walk away.
There was a time when you never could have imagined yourself disagreeing with Seska and siding with a Starfleet captain on something like this, a moral issue. Normally, your principles were well-aligned. But, maybe you had changed. Maybe Janeway and Starfleet had brought out something a little more human in you while Seska was used to an overly-Klingon B’Elanna.
I have changed, you think. I don’t think I’m in love with her anymore.
But deep down, you still have feelings for her. You just don’t want to act on them anymore.
0200 hours. Most people in their quarters, fast asleep, or on duty, also asleep. But where are you? You’re on the damn holodeck, trying to get reddish hair and fake Bajoran features out of your mind with laps around the old Academy track. It reminds you of a time when you thought you were going somewhere, when you thought your life had purpose. Most importantly, it’s a relic from a time well before you met Seska and it remains untarnished by her. It’s clean except for your sweat and that’s the way you like it.
But for right now, all you’re doing is lying on the track you had the holodeck conjure up, sweating profusely and breathing heavily.
And crying. You’re crying. You wish you weren’t because she’s not worth your tears, but you’re fucking crying and you can’t stand it. At least the tears blend in with the sweat and if anyone were to ask, you have a good excuse. Nobody has to know you were crying over a spy.
You miss her. Seska. You miss how she used to play with your hair and her laugh and you can almost forget that she was a Cardassian spy.
Her betrayal cut you deeper than you let on. It left you wondering what was real and what was fake and what was a little of both.
The holodeck doors open. Janeway is standing there, hands on her hips. She’s wearing running shorts too, and a uniform tank top. You sit up and wave a greeting.
Janeway sits next to you, hands you a water bottle. You take a drink.
“Are you alright, Lieutenant?” she asks as your breathing slows. It’s funny how she can say so much in only four words.
“I’m just missing a friend,” you reply, wiping at your cheeks.
“A friend?”
“Almost more.” You push yourself off the track and help the captain up. “What are your plans for this evening?”
Neither of you question in more detail what demons you’re running from at two am, but you’re thankful for the company.