Bruised

Seven breathes through the pain, bruises screaming against the stiff biobed, designed not for comfort, but efficiency– much like herself.

“You disobeyed my direct orders.” Janeway stands over her, looming larger than her small frame should allow.

“We needed the dilithium.”

“Not at the cost of your life.” Her voice stern.

Blue eyes search her face, this woman of many contradictions. Frustrating.

“Captain,” she starts, but Janeway’s hand finds her wrist and squeezes, freezing her tongue. At once her aches quiet, as if every cell is listening, rapt:

“Seven,” Janeway says, in half-captain’s-voice, half-whisper, “Do not ever do that again.”