Daydreamers: I own nothing and make no money off of it, just personal enjoyment.

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The Doctor had almost lost his life, or the semblance of life, and endangered the ship with his attempts to alter his programming. It wasn't the first time and it wasn't likely to be the last.

"You know," ruminated the Doctor, "as unfortunate as my experiments were, I am glad I had the opportunity to daydream for a while." He turned to the woman he was running a weekly maintenance exam on.

"Daydreaming is a frivolous waste of time," said Seven dismissively.

"Yes, I know you think so, but it doesn't have to be. The Captain said it helps humans understand scenarios in a different light." The Doctor smiled, gratified by Captain Janeway's words to him and her consideration in his deep embarrassment. It had been two weeks since his daydreaming experiments and the danger caused by his dreams were dealt with.

Seven finished her exam with Voyager's physician, managing to satisfy his need to chat without providing any of her own honest opinions. If he'd recognized her perfunctory answers to his self-interested questions, then he'd given no hint or pressed for explanation. If anyone were to have asked, the Doctor would have had to admit that her distraction had escaped his notice.

Being Borg, even part Borg, wasn't much like being human. Her Borg body required regeneration every few days, though she could sleep if she desired. She could think of several things at once, analyze and interpret data at a faster rate, and hold more information than any other human being. Thanks to her Borg implants she had extra strength, greater sensitivity to sensory input, enhanced stamina, and almost no frame of reference with which to relate to the rest of the crew. Seven was aware of all this, especially in moments like this. The Doctor prattled on about his foray into human experience and she could do nothing but listen and feel her own conflicting emotions then stifle those feelings until she appeared as robotically detached as usual.

Astrometrics was empty when the doors slid open for Seven's return. She was glad for the solitude.

Duplicity wasn't a natural component of Seven's nature, but she had lied and lied recently. There was a prickling of guilt as she thought about her most recent fib, the one she'd told the Doctor.

Despite her dismissal of his attempts to become more humanized, Seven too was guilty of daydreaming. She just hadn't had the misfortune of having her fantasies displayed for the whole crew. There was no way to fully articulate her gratitude for that. She could handle being the object of the Doctor's fantasy, her amusement and pragmatism overriding the majority of her embarrassment. However, she would not be amused if the crew knew her own mental conjuring.

The cultivation of her imagination had started with Captain Ransom's appearance, more specifically with the torture he inflicted on Seven. Captain Ransom had kidnapped Seven and the Doctor and ordered Seven to be dissected so he could get the encryption codes she'd used to disable his ship. She had been pulled mostly apart by the Doctor, whose ethical subroutines were deleted to make him compliant. It had been painful and drawn out, and Seven had been fairly certain she would die.

In the end, Seven had forgiven the wayward leader. She wasn't heartless and she'd seen for herself the danger he and his crew faced. What wouldn't she do for her own Collective, the humans who rescued her from the Borg? Her refusal to give up the codes even in the face of such a death proved she could comprehend Ransom's actions better than most.

How had Ransom led Seven to daydream?

Lying on the medical bed, being taken apart by her own friend, Seven had nothing to do but try to escape the emotional and physical pain. Without his ethical subroutines, the Doctor hadn't bothered with painkillers, not that any had been plentiful on the damaged ship. As she'd retreated into her own mind, Seven had plenty of opportunity to review Ransom's motives. When she'd exhausted the topic and realized her empathy, she'd had to move on to something else. Seven turned her mind to Voyager. She thought about the crew, imagined their faces and hoped they had survived and were safe.

Once a faucet in the mind is turned on, it's almost impossible to stop. Such was the case with Seven's daydreaming. She had enough control to keep her mind on her tasks and operate as usual, but on an increasingly regular basis she would review certain interactions she'd had with the crew and imagine how else the situation could have played out.

The doors slid open behind her and Seven glanced back to see Commander Chakotay. He smiled and she nodded, handing him her daily report; it was their ritual. It was a routine Seven had noted him repeating throughout the ship almost from the day she became an individual. Seven had quickly realized Chakotay liked to get away from his post and stretch his legs. So, he collected the reports of each section personally instead of downloading them from the computer. Though it wasn't the most efficient habit, Seven couldn't disparage the practice. The rest of the crew perked up when they saw him, taking comfort in his steady and amiable presence. Often they would talk about personal things or issues they didn't want put into a report. To her own surprise, Seven grew to enjoy his visits even if she rarely engaged him in conversation.

"How did your exam go?" Chakotay asked, standing a little away from Seven and glancing down at her report.

"I am functioning within normal parameters, Commander." She was already immersed in her work again. She tacked on a hasty, "Thank you for asking."

Chakotay nodded and, satisfied with the interaction, left to do the rest of his rounds. "I'll talk to you later."

Seven glanced behind her as the doors swooshed closed on his form. She sighed and wondered what would have happened if she'd engaged him in a complete conversation…