#tismine

"Of course," Seven says, nodding sharply. "All real processes have a margin of error. As long as those errors remain within the specified tolerance, they are unimportant."

Kathryn sighs. She isn't sure whether she's going about this badly, or whether all those years working for Borger King really have deprived her young employee of any sense of-- well, of humanity. Taste. Preference. Respect for individuality. Anything besides the rote adherence to numbers. She tries again. "But that's just it, the errors aren't unimportant. They're not even errors. They're-- flourishes. Like the touches on a painting. Everyone has their own signature."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why should it matter whether an individual's 'signature' is discernible? Do you not wish your coffee to be predictable? Especially for someone with a caffeine addiction, such as yourself, it seems desirable to have access to a coffee supply with minimal variation. That way you are never surprised."

"But I don't want my coffee to be predictable."

"No?"

"No," Janeway says firmly, looking Seven right in the eye. It's time to get philosophical here. "I don't want my coffee to be predictable, I want it to be dependable. There's a difference."

"Elaborate."

"Seven, you are always on time, aren't you?"

"Yes?" Seven looks puzzled as to the significance of the question.

"So, you're dependable. But, do you do exactly the same thing each day? Every minute, as you complete your assigned tasks?"

"No. I am not confronted with the same situations from day to day."

"Wouldn't it be boring if you were?"

Seven looks slightly uncertain. "It would not be challenging to mental faculties. I am capable of a high degree of adaptability. It would be... inefficient for me to waste that on repetitive labor."

"Exactly. That's the difference. Seven, you're dependable, but you're not predictable. You adapt. You react. You have traits that define you, but they don't make it possible for me or anyone else to know precisely what you're going to say. Sometimes," she smiles warmly, "you surprise me."

Seven folds her hands behind her back, brow furrowed. Kathryn can almost see the gears turning in her head. "And such... variation-- with themes-- is what you desire in coffee."

"Exactly!"

The young woman gives Kathryn a look that seems to indicate she understands, but does not approve. Or rather that she understands the what, but not the why. Seven thinks for a moment, then straightens her tight gray suit jacket (why she even wears that to work is beyond Kathryn-- they don't have a dress code beyond "wear solid colors and no flip flops, no, not even you, Tom") and nods sharply.

"I will endeavor to amend my performance to these standards," she replies, looking quite serious about it.

Kathryn shakes her head in something akin to despair as she walks away.

---

The next morning, as usual, Kathryn brews the first cup of espresso herself, for herself. It's a ritual. She needs to taste the stuff, sliding down her throat hot and bitter, to savor it in her mouth and convince herself that yes, it's still good. The very best. It's always the very best.

But that morning, it's better.

Kathryn opens her eyes wide with surprise, the dark liquid held on her tongue almost scalding her before she thinks to swallow.

"That's stronger than usual," she says, taken aback. "Why is it--" and then she turns around, to see Seven standing next to her behind the counter, arms folded primly behind her. Her silver earrings, and that one incongruous eyebrow piercing (it raises so many questions for Kathryn, not least of which is what would it feel like to run my finger tips over it) gleaming as brightly as the metal of the espresso machines under the shop lights. She looks... a little worried.

"Did you do something?" Kathryn asks her, a little more demanding than she probably intended.

Seven neatly avoids a flinch, but does so very obviously. Kathryn bites her tongue, tries to smooth her voice out. "It's good," she says, grinning a little as she holds up the small glass. "It's very good. What did you do?"

"I determined that the pressure in that espresso machine was 5.3% off from manufacturing standards."

Kathryn has no idea how she got two significant figures for that measurement, but also knows it isn't the most important question.

"And you fixed it? You must have taken the whole thing apart to..." she trails off, looking at the beautifully shined machine, and then back at Seven, who she now notices has slight bags under her brilliant blue eyes, and whose austere face looks tired. She stares. "Were you up all night?"

"Only until 3:49 a.m.," Seven replies, a little defensive.

"Seven-- not that I'm not happy for the improvement, but I really can't have my employees doing overtime without my knowledge! There's liability, I have to pay you, and you-- even you know it's not 'efficient' to go without sleep! What on Earth inspired you to do a thing like that?"

The crease between Seven's eyebrows deepens, and she leans forward a little, into Kathryn's space. Annoyed. "You said the coffee had to be made with-- you said it had to have individual variation. I had previously assumed that you were content with the current state of the machine, that it met your standards for adequate coffee production. I would not have tampered with it, except that you seemed to be interested in... experimentation. I have no skill with this 'art' of brewing on which you place such a high value." She says the word art a little more harshly than the rest, the emphasis marking it as her enemy, something she can't yet conquer. Seven does not like to lose, and Kathryn feels her disappointment as a light blow to the gut. "But I do have skill with machines. I thought it best... I thought it best to express my-- my self in that manner."

With that, she leans back on her heels, and stares straight over Kathryn's shoulder at the wall.

"... Seven," she says, after a long pause.

"Yes?" Seven's tones are clipped.

"Thank you." Kathryn puts the glass down on the counter, and walks over toward her. She stares at the fine arc of the silver embedded in Seven's brow as it un-creases a little, relaxing, the soft hiss of breath and Seven inhales. Kathryn thinks she ought to have a hard time keeping her eyes off Seven's chest when they stand so close--like about half of their customers do, like Kathryn herself does at random other times of the day, watching Seven from across the room-- but to her surprise it's mostly easy. Because this way she can see Seven's eyes up close, and the full curve of her lips. Which right now are slightly pursed, as though... waiting for something.

There are twenty kinds of warning bells going off in Kathryn's head, and at least five of them sound like her own voice reminding her about workplace harassment and the risks of associating with one's employees. So she doesn't-- well. She doesn't do anything untoward. But she does put a hand on Seven's arm, and smiles up into her face, honest and open. And Seven seems to pitch forward a little, into the touch.

You said the coffee had to be made with--

The end of that sentence had been easy enough to hear. Maybe not so easy to act on, but it was there. And Kathryn can't force the matter but she is determined to draw it out, to get Seven to say it herself. Eventually. For now, she gives Seven's arm a squeeze, and then turns back toward the espresso machine.

"Come here," she says, beckoning. "I'll show you how to make a latte."

---

When Seven tastes the latte a few minutes later, the delicate leaf foam pattern Kathryn drew stretched out as she sips, she lets her eyes drift closed for just a moment. She looks as though she's trying to block out everything in the world but the coffee-- as though she thinks she can go from novice to connoisseur faster if she only tries harder, does better.

It's not going to happen, of course. These things take time. But it's time well spent as far as Kathryn is concerned. Because Seven's long delicate fingers are arrayed meticulously on the white porcelain of the mug, and she leans her whole head forward as though she's about to dive right in, and she savors. And she's beautiful, and she's doing it because Kathryn asked.

And, well.