(Old) A/N: Recently wrote a fluff ficlett where Seven is pregnant with twins. Only today did I remember what that might mean. Then it wound up colliding with some cross-over ideas that had been floating around in my head.

New A/N: I'm just updating this to change one name.

This (mostly) disregards the re-launch novels.

I don't own "Star Trek: Voyager."

Seven sobbed into her husband's arms, while he held her silently. The Doctor watched them, searching for the words to comfort her. By all accounts, this wasn't the worst thing the doctors of Starfleet Medical had seen. Not even close. But the Doctor was close enough to Seven and Chakotay to realize how devastating this news was for them.

"Seven," the hologram tried, "Your children are perfectly healthy, mentally and physically."

Chakotay glanced at the Doctor over his wife. "They're worse off than ca-joined twins in the twentieth century. I'd hardly say 'mentally healthy.'"

"Plenty of species grow up with telepathic bonds with family members. Vulcans Betazoids,"

Seven sobbed, "We're not Betazoids, we're humans."

Chakotay added, "And telepaths aren't linked this closely, are they Doc."

The Doctor was silent. A Betazoid or Vulcan could access the thoughts of a close relative, sense their emotions, and occasionally "bleed into" each other's minds unintentionally; but none of them was fully linked, like their developing son and daughter seemed destined to be.

Why this occurred was a medical mystery the Doctor had begun working on as soon as the Borg children had come aboard Voyager—what, five years ago? Six? Azan and Rebi, the "Borg twins" as shipmates affectionately called them, had been telepathically linked. No one knew why. They hadn't seemed to mind. But he knew it had always bothered Seven. Yet, it hadn't all been doom and gloom.

"Azan and Rebi managed," the Doctor reminded her. "Tuvok helped train them in how to close off their thoughts from each other."

Seven shook her head, still buried in Chakotay's arms. "Azan and Rebi weren't born Borg." Sniffling, she finally lifted her tear-streaked face to look at the Doctor. "They needed only to, to regain their individuality. Our babies will never have it to begin with. By the time they're old enough to start learning how to protect their own minds they won't have their own minds. They'll just be one, with two bodies."

"But they're not linked to Seven?" Chakotay asked the Doctor, for the third time. "Just each other?"

"Correct," the Doctor sighed. "Borg nanoprobes simply appear to have this effect on twins. We still don't know why." In a futile attempt to console them, the Doctor added, "Like I said, they're healthy. And the genetic manipulation was a success."

"So at least they won't be sharing hallucinations," Chakotay muttered.

By this he was referring to the "crazy gene" in his family, which the Doctor had "turned off" in their twins.

Closing his tricorder, the Doctor said, "Your children won't be born for another three months. We've found our way out of worse situations in a far shorter time period, back on Voyager. As did Dr. Crusher on the Enterprise. I'll also contact any former drones working with Starfleet. I know there are at least two out there who are doctors." And probably far out of reach at the moment. "You have the best minds in the Alpha Quadrant working on this." Along with Q knows how many other medical emergencies and mysteries taking up their attention, the Doctor thought to himself grimly.

"We severed Picard from the Collective."

The Doctor, Chakotay and Seven were startled to see Dr. Crusher, current head of Starfleet Medical, standing in the doorway.

"If we could do that," Beverly assured then, "I'm sure we can find a way to sever your children's minds from each other."

Easier said than done, the Doctor thought.

Dr. Crusher ran a hand through her disheveled red hair. Three weeks ago, she'd promised Captain Chakotay and Dr. Hanson that she'd help their children retain their individuality upon birth. Next to some of the other problems her doctors were working on, separating mentally ca-joined Borg twins wasn't being considered "urgent." But she couldn't help feeling personally affected by this situation. Her memory kept taking her back to Captain Picard's assimilation. She'd used that event as inspiration for ideas to separate the twins, but so far, no luck.

The neural link used to sever Seven of Nine and Locutus of Borg from the Collective wouldn't work to sever these babies from each other, because that method involved calling up the individuals' buried memories, to "wake them up" from the Hive Mind. These babies had no memories to call back to yet, and in any case, their individual minds wouldn't be repressed and in need of calling up; just linked to each other.

How else did a Borg drone become severed from the Collective? She thought of Icheb, a young Starfleet cadet and former drone, picked up by Voyager like Seven. The Collective had willingly severed Icheb and the other children aboard his cube from the Hive, after they'd become infected with a harmful disease. Someone at Starfleet Medical had come up with the idea of injecting one of the children with something that would be benign enough not to harm him or her, but be interpreted as enough of a threat by their joined minds for the other twin to break away. They tried it and failed. The doctors soon realized that in the case of Icheb, it had been the higher authorities in the Collective (for lack of a better term) that had made the decision to interpret Icheb's pathogen as a threat and sever him and his fellow "dronelinegs." With Seven and Chakotay's twins, there was no higher authority. They were just two drones linked together, with no queen.

And Beverly smiled to herself. Of course they have a queen.

"I'm glad Kathryn talked me into saving this thing," Chakotay said quietly, watching the Doctor apply the neural transceiver to Seven's neck. "I always wanted chuck that thing into the wall, but she told me it could come in handy. Makes a nifty paperweight too."

Seven stared into the light above her biobed, her heart pounding. Inside her, the babies were momentarily placid. Asleep, most likely. Her heart rate was uncomfortably high. Placing one hand over her stomach, she squeezed Chakotay's in the other.

"Sötnos," she said, the Swedish pet name her mother had called her father, that Seven had taken to calling Chakotay, "Your attempts at humor are horrific."

"Who said I was joking?" Chakotay replied.

Beverly Crusher watched the operation with intense gray eyes. The Doctor clearly shared her apprehension.

"This is highly experimental," the hologram warned. "I don't want to proceed unless we are one-hundred-percent positive no harm will come to the children. Or Seven."

"She'll be tapping into her children's thoughts," Beverly said, "That's all. The dangers of a neural link with a drone come from the danger of the Collective taking action, or from built-in failsafe devices. Which these children don't have, and which you removed from Seven years ago."

Seven swallowed, remembering the Borg failsafe device that had hindered her and Chakotay's' relationship until the Doctor had removed it.

Nervously, Seven said, "I'm still not certain how I shall go about ordering two infants to separate."

"We've been through this," Chakotay reminded her. "It'll be subconscious. Like lucid dreaming. No language, no words. Just feel it. Feel the need to separate."

The Doctor confirmed Seven was ready, then activated the neural transceiver.

A small gasp escaped Seven's lips.

"Seven?" Chakotay's grip on her hand tightened.

"It's just… as strange sensation."

Neural links usually were. But this one, particularly so. At the same time as she felt her dry, adult body against the fabric of the biobed, she was also feeling herself in two other bodies, pressed awkwardly against each other, floating in a warm void.

"I can feel myself inside my own womb."

The Doctor made a face, but said nothing.

Seven closed her eyes and relaxed against the pillow. She worked to do as Chakotay had told her, to erase words from her mind. Think in sensations, in primal urges. She tried to focus on the feeling of walking through a corridor on a starship, with the knowledge that an alien intruder might burst out from any corner. The fear, the need for flight or fight. The need to escape, and reach safety.

She tried for hours.

"I don't understand why it's not working!" the Doctor finally exclaimed in frustration.

Beverly slowly closed her eyes. "Because Seven's just another 'drone,' like the babies. Their small 'collective' doesn't have a 'queen,' Seven doesn't have any Borg authority, for lack of a better term, hardwired into her." She rubbed the back of her neck. "Data was able to send a command to the Borg Collective through Picard—Locutus—to tell the cube it was time to regenerate…but of course, that worked because the cube Locutus was connected to had built-in commands, programs that could be switched on and off…is there some way we could, I don't know, wire some kind of 'protocols' into Seven, that she could relay to her children?"

Chakotay exchanged a glance with Seven, then said, "I think you lost us both back at 'Locutus.'"

The Doctor sighed. "Seven isn't a computer, she can't just have protocols installed into her. Though," the hologram began pacing the room. "Maybe we could construct a computer, that could relay orders to the twins to separate! Initiate a neural interface between it and them,"

"I don't know I like the sound of that," Chakotay said.

"It could work," Seven mused. "Not on the actual Collective, of course. We—they adapted, to correct that weakness, after it was used against them. No drone can be so easily hacked anymore. But Kolopak and Erin Honovi don't have the Collective's 'protection,' so it may work on them." She placed her silver-caged hand over her stomach, staring into space. "But the computer you're speaking of would probably be immensely complex to design."

"To put it mildly," the Doctor agreed.

"Maybe," Beverly's eyes flared, "We don't need a computer to be that authority."

The Doctor looked at her. "Who else did you have in mind? The stubborn things won't listen to their mother."

His attempts to lighten the mood succeeded in lifting the corner of Seven's lips into a weak smile.

Beverly answered slowly, "If I'm remembering correctly…Locutus of Borg wasn't just any drone. He was designed to be the Queen's equal. When that failed, he was still different enough to issue commands, like an authority a step or two down from the Queen. It's why Data was able to use him to command the Collective in the first place. That would never have worked with an ordinary drone."

The Doctor almost stole a glance back at Seven and Chakotay, but stopped himself. Urgently he whispered, "Does Captain Picard still have that ability?"

"He just might," she nodded. "But he's not going to like being reminded of it."

Picard stared at his old friend on the monitor as she explained the situation, his Earl Gray tea untouched.

"I know that's probably the last thing you want to be reminded about, Jean-Luc."

Softly Picard replied, "That, and a few other things this…situation brings up." He finally went for his drink, which by now tasted more like iced tea. "That…Captain Chakotay…would be the one from Dorvan V?"

Beverly's face changed, just for a moment, and then she caught herself. But Picard could hear the silent oh shit that had probably gone through her head. "As far as I know, there's only one Chakotay of any rank in Starfleet." She looked away thoughtfully. "Actually, I think there's an admiral with a similar name…but he spells it with an 'e'..."

Picard's mind was now on Dorvan, the ugly, ugly politics of Dorvan. What he could remember of it anyway. The Enterprise had been on so many memorable missions, and for the last several years, the strongest was the Remus incident during which Data had died. But Dorvan, he could still remember those delicate negotiations with the Cardassians, like walking a tightrope… Picard squinted, struggling to remember the details. The impassioned tribal leader, who seemed as overzealous about his culture as some of Picard's relatives were about being French. The gruff Cardassian representative, Gul… something that sounded like "Omelet." All in all, hardly the most shocking or dangerous of the Enterprise's missions, but certainly one of the most uncomfortable…

A group of American Indians had left Earth, fearing cultural assimilation. That itself had been a controversial move, according to a Seminole security officer who'd been onboard at the time. The majority of Indians on Earth saw no conflict between their culture and modern life, and many considered this tribe little more than "new age hippies" trying too hard to be Indian. In any case, this group had settled on Dorvan V, and decided the planet had a spiritual significance with them that made relocation impossible. And of all governments to also lay claim to the planet, didn't it just have to be the Cardassians. Picard had worked out an agreement in which the Indians would live under Cardassian rule, a ludicrous decision looking back. When the Cardassians later changed their mind about the agreement (what a shock), what had followed was a massacre, and a number of Dorvans joining the Maquis. Including Chakotay.

Had Chakotay been living on Dorvan when Picard made those negotiations? No, he had to have been serving in Starfleet already. But he'd have had relatives there. And he'd grown up on that planet. Facing Captain Chakotay would be like facing Commander Sisko all over again.

"I know Chakotay would be eternally grateful if you did this for his children," Beverly said, jolting Picard out of his thoughts.

Picard nodded. "I don't suppose I'm exactly in a position to say 'no,'" he decided. "I'll order the Enterprise to set a course for Starfleet Medical. And on the way I… think I'll have a few words with Deanna."

Chakotay boarded the Enterprise unsure what to expect. As far as he knew, the captain had agreed to the procedure to help separate his children. Why Picard was asking to see him in his ready room, Chakotay hadn't the foggiest. He'd never met Picard in person, hadn't wanted to in fact, due to certain past events that made the prospect of such a meeting extremely uncomfortable. Picard likely saw Chakotay as little more than an unruly thorn in Starfleet's side. First Chakotay's tribe insisted on staying on a planet the Cardassian wanted, and then…the Maquis. By the time Chakotay was walking down the halls, he was feeling physically ill from nerves.

It was no surprise that he collided with someone in the hallway. A Hispanic woman in a gold uniform, looking up at him with terrified brown eyes. Both of them were now covered in hot chocolate.

"Sorry," Chakotay apologized. "I was lightyears away."

The woman only gaped at him, her eyes now on his tattoo. "My god, you're Chakotay, Commander Chakotay!"

"Captain now, actually," he said conversationally, hoping to alleviate her social anxiety.

Her horror only seemed to increase and she hurried past him, muttering frantically to herself, "Why does this keep happening to me?"

Straightening his now cocoa-covered uniform shirt, Chakotay keyed the door chime to Picard's ready room.

"Come,"

The voice was powerful, commanding. And British. (Wasn't Picard French? Maybe he'd learned his English in Britain.) Chakotay entered the ready room, to see the legendary captain seated at his desk. In just that moment, Chakotay could see that Picard's command style was a far cry from Janeway's. Chakotay supposed he'd been spoiled from seven years serving under such a laid-back, maternal captain.

With an almost Vulcan-like motion of his eyebrow, Picard observed, "Ah, I see you've met Lt. Gomez. It's become something of a rite of passage among visitors of high standing to have her spill chocolate on them."

The humor went worlds to putting Chakotay at ease. "That explains her reaction when we collided."

"Have a seat," Picard said, rising from his own. "Would you like some hot chocolate? Or something else to drink?"

The last thing Chakotay wanted to do was seem indulgent. But a warm drink would go worlds to calming his nerves, perhaps. "Black coffee," he said finally. "Decaf."

Picard ordered it from the replicator, and himself some tea. Chakotay thanked him, as he handed him his mug.

Returning to his seat Picard said, "You must truly hate me, Captain."

Chakotay had to do a double-take. "What?"

For a moment, Picard's expression seemed scolding. But then Chakotay realized it was Picard's version of shame.

"The negotiations of Dorvan V. I assume you know who saw them through."

Chakotay shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "Yes, I know that. I, I always figured it was more the higher-ups in Starfleet behind that decision. You were just the spokesman."

Only after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence did Chakotay realize just how poor his choice of words had been.

Finally, Picard said, "I was in more control then than I was at Wolf 359. When I met with Commander Sisko as he assumed command of Deep Space Nine, he was clearly resentful." Realizing Chakotay didn't know what he meant, Picard explained, "His wife was killed at Wolf 359."

Chakotay suddenly realized how ironic this conversation was. The corner of his mouth pulled up into a wry smile. "My wife was a Borg drone for eighteen years. She can tell you a thing or two about guilt."

"I can imagine," Picard said quietly. "Or rather, I can't imagine. I still find it difficult to live with what I did for a mere week. Twenty years," he trailed off. "In order to undergo this procedure, I'll have to be temporarily re-assimilated."

"Not into the Collective," Chakotay said quickly, then realized how stupid the comment was. Of course Picard already knew every detail of the procedure.

"No. But I'd have Borg technology in my body again. My command node reactivated. I will do it, of course. It won't do much to compensate for what I did as Locutus, but I suppose it's better than nothing." Chakotay felt his lips part, as they often did when he was at a loss for words, while Picard went on. "I'd have liked to have had a similar kind of favor to do for Benjamin Sisko, but it seems that ship has sailed."

Sisko, Chakotay recalled, had vanished from the human(oid) plain of existence to join the Prophets of the Bajoran wormhole…or something. God, this was a strange profession.

Feeling a bit more daring now, Chakotay ventured, "Why did you call me here, Captain?"

"To apologize," Picard said.

"You've got nothing to apologize for." Chakotay wasn't going to say more, but feeling the need to reassure Picard, he added, "I wouldn't have integrated my crew into Janeway's if I'd had any venom against Starfleet. It was only ever the Cardassians for a lot of us. Most of us."

Darkly, Picard said, "Well I can certainly relate to that." His tone lightened. "I did have one question. In the Maquis, did you know a Ro Laren?"

"I did," Chakotay said. "Still do on occasion. Laren always spoke well of you. She's head of DS9 now, isn't she?"

"She is. I met with her when she first became the station's chief of security…"

The conversation lightened significantly, and eventually turned to Seven. Chakotay found himself recounting their entire relationship, from him attempting to blow her into space to their wedding. They eventually wrapped the conversation up, with Picard telling him, "I'll see you this afternoon then."

Chakotay nodded. "See you then."

Picard met with Chakotay and Annika "Seven of Nine" Hanson right after lunch. Picard was startled by how young the woman looked. She wouldn't have been out of place in the long line of beauties Number One had stumbled burned through before settling down with Deanna. The cybernetic implants on her face were a disturbing reminder of how less lucky she had been than Picard himself had. (Apparently the longer one was assimilated, the more permanent some of their implants became.) Her story would have been tragic for anyone to hear, but for Picard, who remembered seeing assimilation first-hand, at his own orders, it was something else entirely.

"Dr. Hanson," Picard stuck out his hand, "It's an honor."

Shaking his hand, she replied, "Likewise." Hanson's voice implied a maturity beyond her years.

His eyes momentarily went to her abdomen, and he considered saying something, but what? Congratulations on the babies that may or may not ever be able to live a full life? I'm sorry? Instead, he settled for straightening his shirt, and saying to Beverly, "Shall we get started?"

"If you're ready," Beverly said, the Voyager EMH standing silently beside her.

Hanson lay down on the bio-bed, folding her hands protectively over her stomach. Chakotay moved to stand over her, and took a hold of one of her hands. Picard took a seat on the bed next to her. The doctors left to prepare the nanoprobes.

"Chakotay tells me," Picard found himself saying, causing the couple to glance up at him, "He tells me you've often found relief in using your, your Borg implants to save lives."

Hanson's face moved thoughtfully, in an almost Vulcan-like expression. "It's an immensely gratifying feeling. You will likely feel liberated, at least in some part, from your guilt."

My god, Picard realized, she speaks like a drone. She'd been raised by them. And yet her soul was so undeniably human.

The holographic doctor injected a hypospray into Picard's neck, warning him, "You may feel a tingling sensation."

Picard gripped the edges of the bed, as a familiar feeling he'd relived in so many nightmares and anxiety dreams overtook him. He could feel the Borg nanoprobes flooding his body. He tensed, as small blots of liquid metal began to sprout around various parts of on his face, limbs, and torso, hardening into implants. A Borg wheel erupted on his cheek.

"Remember Jean-Luc," Beverly reminded him, "We'll remove all the implants with no trouble."

Picard replied with a tiny nod, not feeling he could speak at the moment if he tried.

In the back of his brain, he felt a change. The microscopic node placed there by the Borg, one of the only implants Beverly hadn't been able to remove, was now activated. He was certain of it; he was beginning to feel an exhilaration, a sense of command and power, that terrified him. In his nightmares, this feeling was always followed by the voices of the Collective, and he held his breath for several moments, waiting for those voices. But they didn't come. Picard relaxed. The horrible part was past.

"Applying the neural transceiver," the hologram said.

"Do you have a name?" Picard asked curiously, trying to distract himself from the feeling of a metallic insect piercing his neck.

"I'm still working on that," the EMH replied. "I'm opened to suggestions."

Picard was about to make some, when his thoughts were interrupted by someone else's. He felt two other minds, unburdened by any complex thoughts or feelings. They were placid, or had been moments ago, now interrupted by a slight irritation (the presence of feelings they didn't understand, or have any particular interest in). The feeling was similar to being connected to the Borg, but at the same time, worlds away from it. The passiveness was certainly reflective of the minds he'd been connected to as Locutus; but these two lacked the drive one would sense from any Borg drone, as well as the bank of complex information it would carry. It was a light, ethereal feeling.

"I'm connected to the twins," Picard announced.

He was Locutus again, and they were his drones. But the last time he'd had this power, he'd also had a more powerful authority that he answered to. Locutus of Borg hadn't made any decisions without first relaying them to the higher functions of the Collective, to the Queen. (All of which had taken a fraction of a nanosecond.) Here, Picard had full reign. The immense power he had made the babies' minds seem so much more fragile, like dry insect wings resting on his fingertips. Without thinking in words, he sent these "drones" the simplest command he could think of; sever.

The hologram scanning Hanson's stomach announced, "The link's been severed!"

Picard let out a breath.

"You did it Jean-Luc," Beverly congratulated, removing the neural transceiver.

Chakotay and his wife looked at Picard as if they would have attacked him with hugs, were they not paralyzed with awe.

"Let's get started on removing those implants," Beverly said to Picard, who hardly heard her.

Annika Hanson had been right about the relief.

"I wish there was something we could do to thank you," Chakotay said.

"Yes," Picard replied humorously, "So you've been telling me for three months."

Captain Picard was on the wall monitor of their living room. Seven sat on the sofa holding their sleeping son. Chakotay held their daughter, slowly pacing the room.

"Chakotay worries excessively about the wellbeing of others," Seven said. "I've been assuring him, the action in and of itself has already done worlds for you."

"That it has," Picard agreed. "You were more right than you could possibly know, Doctor."

"Off-duty, you may call me Seven."

Picard looked like he wasn't sure how he felt about Seven going by her Borg designation, and made a point to change the subject. "What are their names?"

Looking at the son in her arms, Seven answered, "Kolopak Magnus Hanson." She glanced at Chakotay, holding their daughter. "And Erin Honovi Hanson."

"Beautiful names," Picard said. "Beautiful children."

That they were. Both had thick black hair. Erin Honovi had received Seven's gray eyes, while Kol's, appropriately, looked solid black. (Chakotay had hoping for that.) They had minimal Borg implants, only those types that initially sprouted when nanoprobes first entered the body. Most weren't visible under the children's clothing, and those that were, both Chakotay and Seven found endearing. Erin had a pair of attached Borg wheels on her cheek, one smaller than the other, that her parents referred to as her "binary star." Kol had a long silver web stretching across the back of his neck, ending in a shape under his ear that resembled an old Kirk-era Starfleet badge at a sideways angle.

"Is Magnus Latin?" Picard asked.

"Yes," Seven said. "It was my father's name. Kolopak was Chakotay's."

"And Erin Honovi's named after your mothers?"

"Correct," Seven said.

Picard mused, "I suppose with their enhanced physiology, they'll have a few advantages."

"Total recall among them," Seven said. "I expect they'll learn words quickly."

"I should've stayed with the Borg longer," Picard joked darkly, "I could do with some photographic memory…That was a terrible thing to say."

"We told Borg jokes every day on Voyager," Chakotay shrugged like it was nothing. "I guess it was something of a coping mechanism out there in the Borg's home quadrant."

"With how quickly they'll learn," Seven gazed down at her son, "They might be entering universities or being assigned to starships before they're out of their teens."

This, for some reason, seemed to make Picard's lip curl, as if he were reliving memories even more revolting than the Borg. "Yes… I might suggest university, for a teen genius. Well, I must be going. I've a staff meeting in a few minutes." Good byes were exchanged, along with some more excessive thank-yous, before Picard signed off with, "God willing your children grow up healthy and intelligent and…stay off my bridge."

A/N: The issue of Borg doctors was tricky, as I'm working on a "fan series" (for lack of a better term) with a former Borg doctor. But it's nowhere near developed enough for me to include him in this story, so I just gave him the vaguest of mentions and the excuse of being out of reach.

The name of Chakotay's mother is never revealed onscreen. I found the name Honovi, which (according to the Internet) is a female Hopi name. (If this is incorrect, do correct me.) The "Voyager" writers considered making Chakotay a Hopi (ignoring his made-up, New Zeeland-esque tattoo), so I made it my head-canon that he has Hopi in him. (Along with every other tribe the writers dropped into the décor of his quarters. One of Chak's ancestors got around.)

I read on Memory Alpha that the movie "Nemisis" implies Beverly Crusher is now head of Starfleet Medical. I don't remember the movie well enough to confirm this, but I liked the idea and ran with it.