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possum-quesadilla · 2 months ago

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Hey all! Here is Cyrus’ backstory, including his human life and then his time as a demon up until his first appearance in Time’s Arrow!

Note: this is not meant to sympathize him, he sucks. Just wanted to share some backstory that’ll never come up in the fic!

TW: He grew up in the 1800s, where plenty of nasty stuff happened. Warnings for child labor, work incidents, mentions of homophobia and sexism, blood and violence, rampant substance abuse (including alcohol and drugs), gambling, murder, manipulation, emotional and physical abuse mentions. He’s a nasty dude.

Cyrus is a younger demon, having lived in America in the 1800’s. His real demonic name is “Sirius”, which is the brightest star in the night sky, also known as the “dog star”, and part of the constellation Canis Major. Canis Major is meant to be the hunting dog of Orion the hunter.

His human name was Jack Patrick Howard, and he was born and raised in Maine. His father was an immigrant from England, and his mother was a Maine native. He has a strong drifting accent (either Maine farming or cockney) that he does his best to cover up.

Jack grew up on a sheep farm with his folks, and was sent off to do small odd jobs for neighbors and local businesses by his father to make a quick penny for his poor family.

At the ripe young age of eight, he started pocketing half the money he earned from his odd jobs and just told his parents that people were paying him less.

At the age of thirteen, he took on a full time job in a factory and moved away from his parent’s farm.

He met a boy at age fifteen, and the two were seen as the best of friends by everyone around them. Really, he and that boy were dating, but that obviously was an issue back in 18-whatever.

That boy died mysteriously in a factory accident, purposefully caused by Jack when he realized people were starting to get suspicious of their close relationship.

Jack fled the factory shortly after, moving from job to job, drifting between towns. He became a grifter.

He worked a lot of odd jobs; factory worker, farm hand, logger, bartender, etc. He stole often and loved to spend the money on drinking and smoking and gambling, and he would just flee the town when he was caught.

Eventually, when he was 25, Jack got a letter: his aging parents needed help caring for themselves and the farm. So he traveled there, treated them all nice and sweet whenever company was over.

But once he’d settled in, he killed his parents and blamed it on their age/poor health. He inherited the farm and all their money, which wasn’t much.

Not able to hold down a farm by himself, Jack let his family farm go to ruin and then sold it for much less than it was worth within a year.

Jack continued to be a grifter, drinking and smoking his money away and stealing whenever he could, until he was about 33 years old.

That is when his crimes caught up with him.

A furious woman whose husband was driven to drink himself to death after their business went under due to Jack’s stealing their money and driving customers away came after him with a flintlock pistol while he was asleep.

He managed to escape, but not without grievous injuries.

Jack was going to die.

“I’d sell my soul for one last drink,” he said, as he hobbled along into the woods.

“That can be arranged,” a voice answered.

A demon named Canis came to him, offering up one last drink in exchange for his soul.

Jack thought quickly. He was always very clever.

He asked, instead, for the demon to retrieve an apple from a nearby orchard. He was too weak from blood loss to climb up and get one, and he would certainly exchange his soul if he could have just one last refreshing bite of an apple.

The demon grumbled but acquiesced, scaling the tree to get Jack an apple.

The man carved a crucifix into the bark of the tree with his pocket knife before the demon could come down.

Furious and trapped, the demon demanded he scratch off the cross and let him down.

Nope, not unless Jack got to drink and smoke and do as he pleased forever.

After much growling and grumbling, the demon agreed.

They shook on it, and Jack allowed the demon down.

Still quite angry, Canis said he would make him a demon, so that he could trick and scheme and lie for eternity. Sure, he wouldn’t “live” forever, but it was close enough. Jack hadn’t thought it through and set out the proper parameters of the Deal.

Canis had another stipulation: Jack would not get hellfire in his chest like every other demon. He would get only embers, and forever feel the chill of death unlike every other demon.

With that, Canis granted him his new name and led him down to the Netherworld.

Sirius.

He was fuming. He wanted to live forever, and now he was stuck in the Netherworld for eternity?

Now going by ‘Cyrus’, he immediately sought a way to scheme and climb the ladder.

Being on the bottom rung of the demon social ladder was horrendous. (May elaborate on that in another post if desired)

Being born a human was looked down upon among demonkind, despite the majority of them being born as humans.

He heard whispers of the Shoggoth spawn, and the power they wielded.

He then heard about a Shoggoth demon named Beetlejuice, and how he was unhappily married to a cruel demon named Rigel.

How he sought after attention and any crumb of affection by almost any means necessary.

He found his mark.

While Cyrus charmed and manipulated Beetlejuice, he searched for other ways to help him grow his power.

As he was schmoozing up a newly-dead in one of the waiting rooms, trying to strike up a Deal, Cyrus discovered something interesting growing from the carpet and the moldy corners of the ceiling: a strange little blue-leafed plant, with an alluring aroma.

It was called the ‘Tears of Prometheus’, and it grew in places where human despair was in great abundance.

Cyrus learned it had a wonderful warming affect on him when consumed, even more so when ground up and smoked.

It had other effects on the rest of demonkind.

It was highly addictive, but in very short supply.

Cyrus decided to seize control of that supply, plucking all of the plants and storing them away to grow himself.

His power and influence in the Depths grew rapidly overnight.

He was a nobody, a demon without even a building to his name.

Suddenly, he was rivaling the other higher level demons.

He had the power and influence he always wanted.

But he wanted more.

Cyrus convinced the members of his Cult to set up an exorcism ritual, and convinced Beetlejuice to lure his terrible husband at the time to it.

They watched him be Extinguished together.

Cyrus gained all of the Cult members that had belonged to Rigel.

(Cyrus does not have a Coven, only a Cult. He is hella sexist.)

Unfortunately for him, his little stunt got Beetlejuice in serious trouble with Juno, and he was cursed and banished to the surface.

So Cyrus waited for his return, all the while searching for another Shoggoth to steal power from, but he found none.

So he waited.

#loopjuice #cyrus the demon #loopjuice extras #time’s arrow #note: yes I straight up stole the story of stingy Jack for him! i love spreading folklore to young people!!#go read the story of stingy Jack younglings. it is the origin of a lot of Halloween traditions!#also yeah here’s the origin of the blue smoke! Cyrus is a drug dealer essentially. yippee.#not putting this in any main tags bc it is backstory for an OC for a fic #I’ve seen no one comment on the fact that he’s wearing Beej’s wool in the last chapter which is so funny to me #he grew on a sheep farm so he knows how to handle sheep! also manipulate #my family owns sheep farms and those guys are DUMB. love them tho

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ezrisdax-archive · 1 year ago

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you are weathered and worn your petals soft and torn (the fading color)

B'Elanna loved Seven. So much in fact she'd gotten the Klingon disease known as Hanahaki and had it removed. Too bad she can never let things go. (also here on ao3, please note the tags here in that this has a bittersweet/unhappy ending)

B’Elanna’s gaze swept over engineering but once again no one looked unfamiliar. She still had yet to run into the person that had caused a hole in her memory.

The tapping of shoes on the floor alerted her to a guest and B’Elanna turned to see who it was and ah-

She had no idea who the blond woman in front of her was. Clearly this woman had something to do with the Borg judging by the implants on her face.

Why they had Borg on the ship B’Elanna couldn’t begin to guess but she swallowed her confusion and turned to face the intruder.

“Can I help you?” She asked, arching an eyebrow at the woman.

“I am here to assist you. I took the liberty of going over your latest proposal and it need works.” There wasn’t any softness to the way she said it, point in fact.

B’Elanna gritted her teeth.

The nerve of this woman, just butting into her work without any say so.

And apparently she’d even been in love with her.

She always did have bad taste.

“I don’t need your help.”

And she doesn’t need her at all, B’Elanna thinks. Does this person even know what she did to B’Elanna?

The woman seems taken back by the sudden vitriol in her voice.

“Very well, Lieutenant. I will submit my ideas to the Captain.” She straightens up even more and then walks away.

“You do that,” B’Elanna muttered as she did.

She should probably figure out the woman’s name at least.

When she was a kid and her mother first moved them back to the Klingon homeworld B’Elanna had buried herself in their house to avoid talking to the other children.

They thought she was too soft. Too human.

All she had was her mother and she couldn’t get her thoughts out to her without an argument.

But she still cared as she watched her mother cough out flowers one day.

“Did you eat flowers?” B’Elanna asked, confused. She replicated her mother some water and passed the cup to her.

Miral took it but set it down, too busy looking grimly at the petals around her.

“It’s called Hanahaki Disease.” Miral told her. “A Warrior’s disease.”

And that was all she would say.

The next day B’Elanna hacked into a library database to find out more about it.

Unrequited love.

Even in the cold medical books there was some wistfulness about it; talking about past Klingons who had braved out the disease and beaten it. Their redundant systems were made to take this the book had boasted. The only species who could survive such a thing that came from unrequited love.

There in the footnote of the book was a statistic about how many still died.

Another note mentioned a cure but in a disdainful way that only Klingons could. You could cut out, you could forget everything about that person, not just the feelings. You could be weak.

It took her weeks to bring it up as her mother suffered every night.

“Is it dad?” B’Elanna asked, bracing herself for another fight.

Her mother didn’t answer.

“Please.” B’Elanna’s voice broke. “Please get the surgery. Please forget him.”

There was nothing.

“I need you still.” B’Elanna tried, choking back her tears. Those weren’t the way to convince her mother.

The next day her mother returned and said nothing about her father, but never coughed again either.

The victory felt hollow.

“…if you get to this log then I’m sorry. This must be confusing but let’s face it. There was nothing else to do but forget Seven.”

On the screen her past self talked in her personal log, the last one before the surgery.

She’d woken up in sickbay completely unaware why until the EMH had told her he’d cut the roots out of her and she’d recover fine.

He’d shown her it even, holding it up in a sealed container like a trophy of some sorts.

“I had to search in the darkest parts of my database for this, Klingons are surprisingly reluctant to talk about it.” He had said. “Are there any other ailments that belong to them I should know about?”

B’Elanna had been too shocked to answer, staring at the roots that still dripped with her own blood.

Her father was right.

She was her mother’s daughter after all.

Despite that the disease was gone B’Elanna still though she could taste the blood in her mouth.

She woke up with the breath tight in her throat that morning, like her body was still used to coughing and seized up in preparation.

“You don’t look better.” Harry said, squinting at her from across the table. “I thought you got checked out by the Doc.”

Her log had stated she had told only the Doctor and Janeway. But it felt odd she hadn’t told Harry or Chakotay.

Of course in her position she probably wouldn’t have; both of them would have dragged her to talk to Seven, to do anything else but make a rash decision.

“Still recovering.” B’Elanna waved off his concern. “Just don’t expect me on away missions any time soon.”

She still had to catch up with notes after all least she forget something and slip up.

Harry frowned at her.

Whatever he was about to say next was cut off when a shadow fell over the table. They both looked up to see Seven standing there.

“Lieutenant Torres. Ensign Kim.” Seven greeted. “I see Lieutenant Paris is late once again.”

“You know how it is, pull up a chair Seven.” Harry nodded his head to the seat next to B’Elanna.

Seven’s lips pursed and B’Elanna tried not to snort in amusement.

“Come on Seven it’s not that complicated, he means join us.” The words fell easily from B’Elanna’s lips without thought.

“I am not unfamiliar with the meaning.” Seven replied, taking the seat next to B’Elanna. “I was merely speculating if I was as welcome here as I was in engineering.”

B’Elanna winced when Harry’s eyes widened and he looked at her.

“I was just having a bad day yesterday.” B’Elanna said quickly, taking a sip of her coffee to hide her embarrassment. “And also there’s nothing wrong with my proposal.”

“While sound in it’s logic it could be improved upon.” Seven looked uncomfortable, her hands gripping the side of the chair like she wasn’t sure what to do with them.

A flash of anger came and went. She took a breath that was too sharp against her still healing lungs and started coughing at the sensation.

“You do not appear to be well.” Seven said, her hands which a second ago were so glued to the chairs side were now pressed against B’Elanna’s back and shoulder, holding her up.

“She’s not as bad as she seems.” The personal log in her mind offered. “Could use some more tact but I suppose I’m the last one who can comment on that.”

That log was a year after Seven had come on board.

Had she started falling for her then?

B’Elanna looked at Seven from the corner of her eye, trying to see what it was that had driven her past self to be so in love with this woman.

Cool blue eyes met her own but B’Elanna couldn’t get any reading of emotion from them.

The coffee tasted like blood when she went for a sip again.

“Like I told Harry.” B’Elanna’s lips felt numb as she talked. “I’m still recovering.”

She was always making up for her own mistakes.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there when you woke up but the Vidians refused to meet with anyone but me.” Janeway passed her a cup of tea, herbal in nature.

The smell of the flowers made B’Elanna feel sick.

“I understand Captain and really, I’m fine.” She set the tea down and refused to look at it.

Janeway hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing but B’Elanna knew her well enough to know she was concerned.

“And how are things with Seven?”

B’Elanna froze.

“I didn’t think I told you who the feelings were for.” B’Elanna said carefully.

“No.” Janeway replied easily. “You didn’t.”

She reached over to rest a hand on B’Elanna’s arm and squeezed comfortingly. B’Elanna had the strangest desire to start crying.

“But I’m not blind, B’Elanna.” Janeway’s voice was soft, easing the blow. “And I’m here if you need to talk, like I told you before.”

“Thank you Captain.” B’Elanna swallowed hard, blinking fast to keep the tears out.

“Take all the time you need.”

Janeway was nothing like her mother when she got down to it.

B’Elanna thought of Miral anyway.

When she had started at the Academy there were still only a few Klingons around.

B’Elanna had chose not to talk to them.

“You don’t want to see them at all?” Maxwell asked her, a padd propped in his lap for studying. “C’mon BLT, not even a little?”

The nickname gave her a rush of affection like it did every time.

“I’ll pass.” B’Elanna said. “I’ve had more than enough of my share of Klingons.”

Maxwell didn’t need to know that included every time she looked in the mirror.

He didn’t need to know they wouldn’t accept her anyway; there wasn’t a point to trying.

“Maybe you should get out of the Alpha Quadrant then.” Maxwell joked.

“If only to get rid of you.” B’Elanna said back, deadpan but with a smile.

He just didn’t get it.

No one could.

Seven was annoyingly tall.

It was one of the things that struck B’Elanna when she came into engineering again with another padd for B’Elanna to go over.

“I’m not taking the warp drive offline for your experiment Seven.” B’Elanna groaned, looking over the padd.

Seven frowned at her.

“You have before.”

That’s because past me was stupidly in love with you, B’Elanna thought but didn’t say.

“That was then, this is now.” B’Elanna said instead.

She can breathe easier each day, her lungs returning to how they were before all this began. Idly she wondered what type of flower it was that Seven had her choking on. The doctor had removed the petals and thrown them out, all she had seen was the roots and her logs don’t provide any reference.

“I fail to see what has changed.” Seven stated.

“You failed to see a lot.” B’Elanna muttered, her desire to shoot back faster than her ability to stop herself.

“To what are you referring?” Seven is looking at her with that unreadable face again. She’s as smooth as the rocks on Qo’nos.

Once as a child B’Elanna fell onto them off a cliffside.

The Klingon homeworld didn’t have many hospitable places and the landscape was no exception.

She’d broken her arm that way and walked home while stubbornly fighting tears least someone in the street notice and scoff at her lack of resilience.

Now B’Elanna had fallen a different way and this time broke her heart.

“Go away Seven, I have work to do.” B’Elanna turned away from her, ignoring the question.

For a second she though Seven would push the issue and then she heard the telltale footsteps of Seven’s boots as she walked out of engineering.

Out of B’Elanna’s life once again.

“You’ve been different.” Chakotay mentioned later when B’Elanna sat down for their weekly dinner. While they were both on alpha shift Chakotay’s responsibility as second in command meant he often worked later.

Since the mission home had began they’d agreed to at least having a weekly dinner to catch up on everything.

Seska had once been invited to it to.

The less B’Elanna thought about her the better.

“How so?” B’Elanna asked, her voice controlled in a way she wished she could always do.

“Just…something different.” Chakotay rested his chin on his hand, elbow propped on the table and squinted at her like he could discern what it was.

“Fine you caught me.” B’Elanna said drily, “Tom lost a bet and had to give me all his replicator rations. It’s amazing what a week without eating spaghetti made out of hair will do to you.” She finished with a smirk.

That part was at least true. Tom had foolishly bet that he’d win the ping pong tournament.

Chakotay huffed and rolled his eyes. “Well can’t say I don’t blame you for feeling better then. That cough you had was worrying.”

“I’m fine Chakotay.” B’Elanna assured him. “Full bill of clean health from the Doc and everything.”

Chakotay hummed. “And the arguments in engineering with Seven?”

“We always argue.” B’Elanna offered but it felt faint.

“I heard you the other day.” Chakotay shot down any hope she had of getting out of the conversation. “It didn’t sound like your usual argument. You sounded out for blood.”

Why shouldn’t she. Hadn’t Seven been the one to make her bleed first?

“I don’t see why I have to accommodate everything for her.”

“B’Elanna.”

“Look, just-” She stopped, trying to think how to end this. “I’m just working through something and don’t need Seven looking down over my shoulder all the time.”

“I thought the two of you were getting closer.” Chakotay leaned back in his chair. “It certainly seemed that way.” There was a glint in his eyes that hinted to more and B’Elanna had a sinking feeling that as with Janeway she’d been found out.

“Maybe you just read the situation wrong.” B’Elanna retorted. “It happens.”

Like with her thinking someone could love her.

The gap in her memory and the pain that had existed in her lungs was proof enough. The disease mocked her. Just another Klingon legacy she didn’t want.

Chakotay sighed and B’Elanna relaxed. She knew that sigh, that meant he’d let it go for now at least.

“Maybe you should try opening up to her again.” Chakotay said, his final say on the matter for the time being.

“I’ll try.” B’Elanna promised falsely.

She’d never do that again.

She’d also never been good at letting things go.

Why, she wondered, why Seven. What was it about her?

Was it how she kept up with B’Elanna in banter and intelligence? Was it the way B’Elanna kept wanting to see Seven unravel from her kept up appearance, just a little? Was it the moments when the ship was in danger and B’Elanna could relax just by having Seven near her, ready to go with any plan provided?

So far no else aside from Chakotay seemed to notice that B’Elanna’s words to Seven had more bite.

“Don’t you have a Unimatrix to do back to?” B’Elanna snapped one day.

Seven did that thing she hated, where she clasped her hands behind her back and stood just a little bit taller than usual over B’Elanna. “I do not seek to return to my old Unimatrix.”

Why, why, why?

“I don’t see why not, you’ve made it clear you don’t enjoy it here.”

“On the contrary, I am perfectly fine right where I am.” Seven said, like B’Elanna’s words were nothing.

“Because Voyager is the only one that will take you?” B’Elanna shot back.

“You misunderstand, I was referring to the current location at this time. But yes,” Seven paused and there it was. The crack in her armor. “Voyager is the only one that will accept me as an ex-Borg. You yourself once stated that.”

“I did?” B’Elanna asked without meaning to, too struck by Seven looking hurt.

It looked wrong, it felt wrong. It wasn’t as vindicating as she wanted it to be.

“I believe as you phrased it as we were ‘outsiders together’.” There was another pause. “But that was a joke.”

Then she turned and walked out of engineering and B’Elanna pretended she couldn’t see the tension in Seven’s shoulder as she held on to her perfect image.

Oh, she thought.

She’d been wrong.

Someone was like her after all.

The air in the shuttle was humid and sweat dripped down B’Elanna forehead as she tightened the bolt of the panel.

“Any luck?” She called out to the front of the shuttle where Seven was attempted to restart the controls.

“While luck has nothing to do with this situation I have not been able to repair the controls. The code appears to be stuck in a loop.”

B’Elanna cursed in Klingon.

“I do not believe that sleeping with a targ will help either.” Seven said drily.

B’Elanna couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

“Some days I think a targ running wild in engineering couldn’t do any worse than whatever the Delta Quadrant has for store for us that day.” B’Elanna sighed and leaned back to rest against the opposite side of the shuttle wall.

“Perhaps that is just our luck.”

Whether she meant to or not Seven was funny in a way that made B’Elanna laugh.

Was that why she fell in love?

Sometimes she wished she still had the disease. At least then she’d have her answers and not be left with this itch in the back of her mind when Seven was around.

It was a problem B’Elanna desperately wanted an answer to.

“Take a break Seven.” B’Elanna said, shutting her eyes and tilting her head back. “Just a little while and then we can switch and look at our problems with fresh eyes.”

“That sounds like an ingredient Neelix would procure.” There was noise as Seven took a seat across from her but B’Elanna didn’t open her eyes.

She made a face. “If Neelix ever adds eyes to dishes remind me to steal Tom and Harry’s replicator rations.”

“You may have mine.”

B’Elanna cracked an eye open. “You’d eat that?”

“No.” Seven said. “I’d merely request the use of the kitchen to make something else.”

“That’s just because Neelix is a pushover for your big blue eyes.” B’Elanna snorted.

“My eyes are not significantly larger than anyone else’s onboard.”

“Can we just stop talking about eyes.” B’Elanna pleaded, finally looking at Seven properly.

Her hair was pulled out of her usual style, the crash disheveled her in a way B’Elanna hadn’t seen before.

Or maybe she had and just couldn’t remember.

It’d been weeks since her mouth had tasted like blood. Now all that was left was the lingering taste of decay.

Now there was dust she could taste from the crash but it felt distant in the face of Seven looking open and vulnerable in a way that was new to her. It wasn’t a bad look, just a bad circumstance. For a split second B’Elanna was tempted to brush her thumb over Seven’s cheek to wipe away the blood.

“You are staring.” Seven stated, looking back at her.

B’Elanna shut her eyes again.

The silence fell around them.

Maybe, B’Elanna thinks as she looks at Seven, the flowers were yellow carnations.

Rejection.

Or cyclamen for resignation.

Daises for never telling or belledonnas for silence.

Perhaps they were delphiniums to match Seven’s eyes or borages to match her bluntness.

In the end though B’Elanna thinks they were aloes.

Tough to bloom, tough to grow.

Full of grief.

Seven doesn’t look at her at all while she works.

“So are we going to talk about it.” Harry asked as he deposited her back in her room.

She’d been cleared by the EMH to leave but he’d asked Harry to keep an eye on his ‘unruly’ patient for a few hours.

“The crash? It was a malfunction in the engine that-” B’Elanna stopped at the look Harry gave her. “I don’t know what else you mean.”

“I mean you and Seven.” Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “B’Elanna we’ve had this talk before.”

Of course they had.

“I know you hate her but the tension between you two is driving me insane.”

“I don’t hate her.” B’Elanna said.

Wouldn’t life be easier if she did.

“I just…”

Harry raised an eyebrow and B’Elanna felt her hands shake.

“B’Elanna?” He asked and rested a hand on her shoulder.

“I think I made a mistake.” B’Elanna admitted softly.

“What?” Harry sounded confused but she didn’t look up at him. “You just said it was a malfunction with the engines.”

“Not that.” She laughed but it was a hollow noise. “I should have just let it go.”

“B’Elanna you’re not making sense, should we go back to the Doctor?” His hand tightened on her shoulder, worry lining his tone.

“You ever fall in love with someone you shouldn’t have Harry?” B’Elanna asked, hoping her nonchalant tone could throw him off in any way.

When he was too quiet she finally glanced up.

“Tell me what’s going on.” Harry requested, his voice soft and eyes full of pity.

“Why should I?” B’Elanna tried to dig her heels in, desperately avoiding the conversation. Her lack of filter had gotten the better of her again.

“Because I think if you don’t it’s going to eat you alive.”

He didn’t know how true that was.

But maybe he could.

"It's not the flowers." B’Elanna said in her personal log, her breathing labored and harsh. "It's the stems." B’Elanna had never seen herself look so disappointed. Look so defeated. Some Klingon she made. "The Doctor isn't bad at treating me per say but it's times like these I miss Kes. I spent too long looking up flower meanings, I bet she would have helped." B'Elanna's shoulders fell on the screen. "I'll miss Seven, even if I can't remember her." Her lips twitch in a pale imitation of a smile. "Maybe I'll even still love her." You did this to me, B’Elanna thinks looking at her reflection on the screen. She's suffering in the consequences and can't tell if that hurts worse. Idly she wonders what it would have been like to try to outlive it, to have kept the love she had for Seven deep in her veins, to let the roots destroy her and come back even stronger. Except she wasn't sure she could. At least it made her feel.

“First off you’re an idiot for not telling me.” Harry scolded when she finally spilled the whole story. “Second of all…were you sure?”

“First of all,” B’Elanna shot back, “Respect your elders.” She ignored Harry’s squawk of disbelief at that. “Second of all, “She continued in the same vein as him, “You really think Seven could have been in love with me. Seven.”

“Well maybe you could have asked first!”

B’Elanna shot to her feet and began pacing. “Oh this is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you, Starfleet. You think talking it out could have fixed this? There is no fixing this. Cutting it out hasn’t even worked.”

Harry paled.

“Do…do you have the disease again.”

“No.” B’Elanna said, stopping where she was.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “But you think you might.” He realized it slowly. “You think you might fall in love with Seven again.”

Her cheeks felt hot.

“It’s just…she’s just…I feel this need Harry. To figure her out. To have her see me.”

“See you?” Harry tilted his head, frowning.

Her heart panged in response. While she did love her friend once again he didn’t get it. He didn’t know what it was like to beg the galaxy to see you for what and who you were and get nothing back time and time again.

Or, her eyes flickered to the pips on his collar, perhaps he did just in a different way than herself.

“You know how you want and deserve that promotion?” B’Elanna asked, sitting back down next to Harry and pressing her shoulder against his. “I feel that way with Seven. And I’ve been going through my logs and I can’t see the moment it changed for me where I wanted that but I understand what my self wanted.”

They were silent, taking comfort in each other for the moment.

“You probably don’t remember this and maybe your logs didn’t say,” Harry began finally, “But when you and Tom didn’t work out you started spending more time with Seven.”

Her logs hadn’t mentioned it and B’Elanna turned to look at him. “Oh?”

“I asked you about it once and you told me something about how Seven wasn’t that bad.”

B’Elanna’s lips twitched. “High praise.”

“From you? Maybe.” Harry teased. “But I thought it was nice, you and Seven work so well together.”

“In our jobs, sure. In anything else…” B’Elanna trailed off with a huff. “I wasn’t cut out for this Harry. I can barely manage a friendship.”

She could barely manage her family, even when now it was just her.

“You’re better than you think.” Harry said and opened his mouth to continue but her door suddenly chimed.

B’Elanna groaned, “Doctor if that’s you then I swear I’m resting and-”

The door opened to show Seven.

“And that’s my cue to leave.” Harry stood up. “Think about what I said.” He told B’Elanna as he rushed past Seven with an awkward grin plastered on his face.

“You hardly said anything!” B’Elanna called out to him.

Coward, she thought sourly.

“Ensign Kim appears to be in a hurry.” Seven commented idly, still standing in the doorway.

B’Elanna rolled her eyes. “Come in Seven. Did you need something?”

Seven walked forward, the door whooshing shut behind her, and cleared her throat. “I came to see how you were feeling.”

“Good as new.” B’Elanna quipped, her smile as fake as Harry’s was a moment ago.

Seven stood there, unmoving.

“Seven?” B’Elanna asked, standing up with a flash of worry. “Are you okay?”

“I am undamaged.” Seven replied. “Our shuttle trip has left me no more worse for wear. I…apologize for not coming to see you sooner, I had to assure Icheb and Naomi I was intact.”

It was almost funny how matter of fact Seven said it, like it wasn’t proof of how far she had come. Like it wasn’t a show of how soft she could be. All too easily B’Elanna could remember walking into the mess hall to see Seven diligently playing kadis-kot with Naomi with the same intensity that she applied to everything else important to her.

There was an ache in her chest at the knowledge that that had never applied to B’Elanna.

Would never apply to B’Elanna.

“You didn’t have to stop by Seven.” B’Elanna said, turning away from Seven, trying to distance herself yet again.

“On the contrary.” Seven tucker her hands behind her back. “I have determined why you have been so awkward with me the last few months.”

B’Elanna raised an eyebrow. “I’m the awkward one?” She couldn’t help but reply sarcastically.

“You had the Klingon disease known as Hanahaki and your feelings were towards me.” Seven said, cutting off all thought to B’Elanna and leaving only panic.

How would her past self feel knowing Seven had robbed her of her breath yet again in a completely different way.

B’Elanna swallowed, waiting for Seven to say more but she just looked at B’Elanna without a word.

“And?” B’Elanna finally said, curling her hands into fists at her side so she didn’t feel the desire to claw at herself. The air prickled against her skin, too hot and cold all at once and B’Elanna for the first time missed the sharp air of Qo’nos because at least breathing that in would mean she wasn’t here in this conversation.

“I am-” Seven began and B’Elanna felt the calm recede all at once.

“Don’t.” She cut Seven off. “We’re fine now. It happened. I dealt with it.” She tilted her head up at Seven, stubbornly daring her to say anything.

The problem was Seven wasn’t one to back off and Seven was always one to challenge her.

It was something she liked about her.

“I see.” Seven said, meeting her gaze cooly. “Should it begin again I request to know.”

“What?” B’Elanna asked taken aback. “Why?”

“There are several Borg technologies designed to have helped Klingons when we discovered the disease upon assimilation. I can assist.”

The worst part was B’Elanna knew she meant that genuinely.

It was meant as sincere help.

Seven cared in her own way. Just not the way B’Elanna wanted her to.

She felt cold in both her embarrassment and anger, a child all over again with no words she could say to fix this situation.

“Great.” B’Elanna said, carefully devoid of emotion. “Thanks Seven, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Seven nodded at her and turned to walk out, leaving B’Elanna alone in a room that felt too dark for the brightly fluorescent lights that shone down on her.

Her throat itched painfully and her eyes watered as she suddenly coughed. The relentlessness of it forced her to bend down, gasping for air without mercy.

Lamprocapnos.

The pink heart shaped petals mocked her, covered in blood and spit and in her in hand.

Rejected love.

B’Elanna shut her eyes, leaning against the closest wall and slowly sliding down it. The petal fell from her hand and she raised her palms to press against her eyes, sending stars skittering across her vision.

“Computer,” She started with a shaky voice. “Start personal log.”

“Recording.” The computer helpfully responded.

“If you’re seeing this you made the mistake again,” B’Elanna huffed a laugh, broken and tired as it was. “You have to stop.” To what she didn’t say.

She’d figure it out.

Survive again.

And again.

#b7 #b'elanna torres #seven of nine #b7 fic #beej writes #trek femslash

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