The next ship's morning found the Doctor at his desk, unnecessarily rewriting a report for the third time and almost wishing for a new crisis to take him out of his own thoughts.

He couldn't even distract himself on the holodeck, since the Captain had confiscated his mobile emitter. He had disobeyed her direct orders, after all. As a Starfleet officer (even if he'd never actually chosen the job), by rights he should have placed the ship's safety above one person's, even if that person was the captain and his friend. But as someone programmed to uphold the sanctity of life, could he really have allowed the pirates to kill Kathryn?

Either way, there had been no real solution to the problem. He was lucky they had all gotten out alive.

But if he could delete the memory of Seven's appalled expression, he would.

He must have stared at the doors a million times over the past four years, waiting for her, whether because she had an appointment, or because he just wanted to see her. But it had to be now, when he almost dreaded meeting those sharp blue eyes of hers, that she suddenly walked in.

He noticed instantly that her color was very high, and there was something different about the way she moved. Her hands hung loose at her sides instead of being clasped behind her back, and her hips swayed a little as she walked; not provocatively, but more like a woman than a drone. Some tight spring of self-control inside her seemed to have been released. Perhaps this was only the next step in the change that had been slowly taking place since the removal of the failsafe – or perhaps …

Don't tell me this is about Commander Chakotay.

"Please state the nature of the medical emergency," was all he could think of to say.

"I wish to cancel our social lessons," said Seven, briskly as always, but with the startling hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. "Indefinitely."

"Yes, well … " He made a pitiful attempt at sounding casual. "I can see how continuing them might not be the best idea."

If it really was Chakotay who had wrought this transformation, if they were a couple now, it would make perfect sense if she preferred not to spend too much time alone with a foolish hologram who was in love with her. Maybe Lieutenant Paris could even take over her medical care from now on.

He was about to ask her if his theory was true, but before he could say a word, she put both hands on his desk and leaned forward, so that their faces were only inches apart.

"When I first came aboard, you were my teacher," she said, her blue eyes brighter than the sky of any planet he could imagine. "I will always be grateful for your guidance then. But from now on, Doctor, I would rather learn with you than from you. I want to learn about love … together."

"Seven, what are you saying?" he whispered, so filled with hope it was almost painful. "I thought … I mean, it was Commander Chakotay who set off the failsafe."

"That character was no more Commander Chakotay than I am Three of Eight from your holonovel. His best qualities were the ones that reminded me of someone else."

"And who is that?"

But he had a delightful idea of who it might be, and her smile confirmed it.

"Someone who brings me flowers when I have not asked for them. Someone who speaks to me through music as if it were our personal code. Someone who never allows me to hide from my problems, but always insists on confronting them. Someone who adds "a little more heart" to my life."

"Our first duet." He rose to his feet and circled the desk, so that they were face to face. "You remember that?"

"Of course. Stardate 52648.0, Cargo Bay Two. "You Are My Sunshine.""

"And you're mine."

He could hardly believe she was real, standing there with the familiar fluorescent lights striking a glow from her golden hair. But when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, she was as warm and solid as could be. He could feel her pulse quicken, her temperature rise. He could have calculated the exact results, but instead he gave himself up to the sensations.

What a strange and lovely paradox they were, he thought. Both of them part machine, and yet never more human than in each other's arms.

"Hey, guys. Should I come back later?" an amused Tom Paris interrupted.

Seven gave the intruder a triumphant smile, while the Doctor drew himself up and tried - unsuccessfully - to glare.

"Really, Lieutenant, hasn't anyone told you that being too early for work is in almost as poor taste as being late?"

"You know, I've always been kind of sorry about that bet we made," said Tom. "It was a stupid joke, really. I never meant for anyone's feelings to get involved ... but isn't it lucky they did?"

"Well, if you want to make it up to me, Mr. Paris, you can always take over Sickbay for the day."

"Darn. I walked right into that one, didn't I? Oh, well. Anything for love."

Paris strolled over to the desk chair which the Doctor had vacated, plopped down into it, and put his feet up on the desk. The Doctor was too happy even to scold him as he watched Seven's elegant hands dance across the console keyboard. Since the Captain still had the mobile emitter, it was up to her to transfer him to the holodeck. He wondered which program she had chosen - Sandrine's? The Paxau Resort? Fair Haven? - but in the end, it wouldn't much matter. Romance, he had learned, was about more than just the surface of things. Anywhere she was, even this Sickbay, would always be a romantic place to him.

Although a comfortable bed would no doubt be an asset.

"Oh, and Seven?" were Tom's parting words. "B'Elanna says Qapla'."

The medic saluted them jauntily as they left the room in a shimmer of light.

/

Author's Note: This story was requested by Acorntree144, and inspired by her beautifully intricate D/7 fan videos on YouTube. You can find her there under the name Camelot836. One video in particular corresponds to this story: "Doctor/Seven/Chakotay - When I'm with him I am thinking of you."