Pieces of Ten
Summary: He'd one personal rule - don't touch his stuff. Seven will honour that.
Fandom: Star Trek: Picard
Characters: Seven of Nine, Liam Shaw
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Angst
Words: 1,514
Notes: Based on the alternative version of Shaw's death that Terry Matalis posted to X. Oneshot.
Then...
The door chime goes again and Liam gives up trying to eat his dinner in peace.
"Come."
He's not surprised to see Hansen in his doorway. He waves her in with his fork. She wanders into his quarters. The first time she's been in, and her curiosity is clear.
"Let me finish up and I'll give you a tour." He kicks the other chair out. "Sit your ass down."
An eyebrow wings. "My ass, Captain?"
"I'm off duty, I can use whatever terminology I want. Plus, these are my quarters."
She rolls her eyes and sighs, but she sits down. Then she helps herself to his Malbec. He coughs sharply.
Seven just shrugs. "I'm off duty as well, Shaw."
"True." He holds out his glass. She tilts her head, then a rare smile curves her mouth as she touches her glass to his. "To..." He frowns. "Being off-duty?"
"That's weak."
"Yeah. Still, drink up."
She does so, gaze drifting around the room again. This is the most relaxed he's seen her since she's joined his crew. She's more... rigid then he'd imagined when he'd told Tuvoc he wanted her as his XO. He remembers the Vulcan's surprise at the survivor of Starfleet's first battle with the Borg choosing an ex-drone, not just as a crewmember but his second-in-command.
He wonders if his choice is wise, but he wants someone who can challenge him. Who'll fill in the gaps his strait-laced approach leaves. She's not doing either. So he got her wrong or she's trying to be something she's not.
"Go on," he says. "Have a wander. I can tell that curiosity is killing you."
He watches her do so as he finishes his dinner. Of course, she goes straight to the shelves above his bed. He gets up as she reaches out to the top-most knife.
He slaps her hand away before she makes contact.
"Don't touch my stuff, Hansen."
Now...
Seven enters her code into the keypad and the door slides open. Air wafts over her, carrying the aromas of red wine and the woody citrus of his cologne. It's like he's just stepped out, not.. not...
She closes her eyes and steps inside. The lights are set low. His setting. She doesn't adjust it, even though it would help to see better. She trails her gaze around the room. She's been in here so often, but she remembers the first time. When the knifes he keeps above his bed ‑ so not risk-averse, then ‑ called to her. Her lips twitch into a brief smile when she recalls the way he slapped her hand away.
But then she remembers he repeating his words as the light faded from his eyes.
She's the captain now. She's supposed to take this room. Instead, she whirls and walks out, lets the door close and then seals it.
No one is touching his stuff.
Then...
Liam is going through personnel records. Hansen is supposed to be helping, but instead is stood at the display of his awards. Her expression is pensive. He leans his chin on a fist. "Shocked that I earned them?" he asks.
"No. I've read your record just as you have read mine."
"Love a woman who does the work." He frowns at the uppermost sheet. "Avery Foster, science."
"Hm, strong contender." She trails a finger along the shelf below one award. "Exceptional Performance of Duty. What for?"
"Dominion War. Reason I have the knives."
Hansen makes a soft sound that could mean just about anything. Liam puts Foster's file on his 'maybe' pile and picks up the next. "Scott Fletcher, tactical."
"No." She sounds just like him.
"Reason?"
"Have you read that file?"
Knowing that she has, he glances over the details and nods. "You're right."
Hansen turns and stares at him. Then she comes over and puts the back of her hand to his forehead. He laughs and knocks it away. She scrunches her nose and it's really fucking adorable. So is the way her eyes glitter with amusement. She's been aboard for a couple of weeks and off-the-clock their relationship is like this; playfully argumentative.
On the bridge, though...
He looks at the next file. "Arielle Cox, medical."
Her file states her name as Annika Hansen. She's asked him to call her Seven of Nine. He can't, even though he likes her. Part of it is the regs. Most of it is rooted in Wolf 359.
"Yes." She hasn't noticed his distraction, has wandered back over to the awards. "Granite Order of Tactics. Make your own Kobayashi Maru, Shaw?"
"That's for me to know and you to put that the fuck down. Don't touch my stuff, Hansen."
Now...
The Titan is in dry dock for repairs and a refit. Seven's caught wind of a name change and she's furious. There's not much she can do about that, but she can stop the designers going through Observation from taking his awards.
She murmurs an apology for touching them, but thinks he'd forgive her in this instance. She wraps each one in cloth before gently placing them in a box. She hugs it to her chest as she walks the distance from Observation to his quarters. She unseals the door ‑ she's the only one with the combination and she'll die before giving it up ‑ and she sets the box on his bed.
The cover is pulled up and tucked in. Obsessively tidy. Always a stickler for order. She's not changed it or the sheets. If she picks up a pillow, it'll smell of him, but she doesn't. She keeps her interference to a minimum.
She unwraps the awards and positions them on the same shelf as his knives. Then uses one of the cloths to dust everything down. She'll keep it neat and tidy.
And untouched.
Then...
He's been hurt before. Taken a shot before. However, Liam lies on the floor of the maintenance deck and knows he isn't getting up from this one. It's a reckoning that has been coming since the pointed at him and made him ten of ten.
Hansen is kneeling beside him, back to active fire. What the actual hell? He ought to yell at her, but her eyes are wet and she stares at him helplessly, one hand tight on his. She cradles his head with the other. The realisation that what he feels isn't one-sided comes too late. But there is nothing that he can do now. Bar one thing.
"You have the conn, Seven of Nine." He sees her eyes widen at the name he should have been using all this time. That he's not because he's a stubborn ass. He squeezes her hand. "Don't touch my stuff."
He grins at her sigh of disbelief, then everything goes black and he knows... nothing.
Now...
It's three weeks on, and Seven cannot shake the memory of Liam dying. Even though she's taken measures that perhaps she should not have. But she was incapable of leaving him - of letting him leave her - when she can do something about that.
Yet he's still unconscious. Has been for those three weeks. Starfleet wants to move on. She... can't.
Can't let them into his space. Can't let them take him to Medical.
Cannot let them touch him or his stuff.
The Malbec bottle is already open. Technically, she's not subverting his final order. He'd probably glare at her, though. Slap her hand away from the bottle. What she would give to feel that smack. To see the flicker of annoyance as she challenges him, because she would, because she loved the sparks between them.
She sits on his bed. Smells him. Almost feels him. She covers her face with her hands and breaks down.
Then...
"Are you really supposed to have a crate of Malbec?"
Liam chuckles at Hansen's question. She keeps finding his little bends of the regulations, delighting over each one. He leaves her clues, because he enjoys the way she needles him, as if she's uncovered something scandalous. Because he enjoys spending time with her.
"I won't tell if you don't."
"Maybe I will." She's grinning at him, which she hasn't ever done before, and is close to invading his personal space. "If Starfleet kicks you out, do I get the Titan?"
He barks a laugh and pulls her against him before he thinks it through. Her eyes go wide but she doesn't push back. Doesn't yell at him. Just stares up with a flush on her cheeks.
This isn't a bend, but a break. He refuses to blame it on the wine because that demeans them both. And it's clear that Hansen wants this as much as he does; she arches beneath him and whispers his name and he groans hers. Says "Seven" and smirks at how she reacts to the name she wants to hear. The way her cheeks redden further and her eyes darken with passion.
Neither of them stop, but she's always been reckless. Him, not so much, but if he's broken one rule, then he might as well make it two. None of it leaves this room anyway.
"I take it," she says, laughter in her voice as her right hand skims down to his groin. "That I'm allowed to touch this?"
"If there's a God, touching and more."
She does more, and she leaves the scent of herself ‑ of them ‑ on the sheets.
Now...
Seven wakes with a jolt. The Titan is still in dry dock and most of the crew is off ship, but that's no excuse for falling asleep on his bed. For trying to hold onto the various pieces of him. For touching the things that he forbade her to, but he started it by touching her heart. Touching her and branding her as his.
She gets up and smooths the cover down. Swallows the lump in her throat. Then she hurries to the door and unlocks it.
And freezes at the sight of him, arms folded as he leans on the wall opposite. She'd not heard that he was awake, never mind up and about, and she'd be thrilled if he wasn't staring at her with that unreadable expression. It's the mien of the asshole he often was, especially where she was concerned.
"What did I tell you about touching my stuff, Hansen?"
Are they really back to him using that name? She glares back at him. "Fuck you," she snaps. "You left me."
"Ohk says that I was dead for two minutes and twenty seconds."
"Three weeks ago, Shaw. She told you that as well, I bet."
He continues to stare at her.
She sighs.
"I touched your awards because otherwise Starfleet would have taken them and put them in a fucking museum or something. I didn't mean to fall asleep on your precious bed, but be assured that I straightened the covers."
"Hm." He pushes off the wall and takes two strides across the corridor, crowding her back against the door. That close... "And the Malbec?"
"I didn't know..." She looks away. She hasn't know if he would wake up. Or if he'd hate her for saving him with nanoprobes. She doesn't know what he is now that she's the captain of his old ship, the new name regardless. "You said that one was for us."
"Us," he repeats, and the corner of his mouth pulls up. "There had better be enough left for my glass, if it's for us."
Seven meets his eyes. Her heart jumps at what she sees there. She cannot pretend annoyance any longer, not when she came so very close to losing him altogether. She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him. Hard. He finally unbends – again – and returns it measure for measure.
Most of the crew is off ship and those still aboard know to keep away from Captain Shaw's quarters. Seven has been as insistence about that as she has been about no one touching his stuff. So she knows no one will see them go in together, though perhaps it doesn't matter when he's probably still listed as injured. And she is captain as well, which puts them on a par in terms of rank. If she cares about the regulations. Given that Liam doesn't seem to, she cannot bring herself to be bothered.
She pushes him up against the door, herself up against him. His reaction is more than blown pupils and she wonders if he's cleared for this sort of thing. Then realises who she's thinking of here, and of course he'd not have found her if he was not.
"Do I have to ask for permission again?" she asks, grinning as she fondles the hardness in his pants.
"Was thinking about that." He has the little furrow that means he really is, and Seven finds it adorable. Hell, she finds him adorable. Even when he's being a dick. Maybe especially so. "And I reckon no. I think you ought to be allowed to touch whatever the fuck you want."
F I N