Fortune's Spite
A/N: This is set just after the episode "Drone", and looks at Seven dealing with the loss of One.
Thanks, as always, go to my beta, Uroboros75, for their wonderful editing skills and encouragement.
Disclaimer: I don't own it, nor will ever claim to.
She's seventeen steps from Sickbay when the reality hits her – or more precisely, ignites a sharp pain in her chest, nestling amongst her ribs. She stops at the end of the corridor, leaning against it and draws in a breath, filling her lungs smoothly between the few shivers that run up her spine. She doesn't understand why her body is doing this, why it hurts so much. There's a terrifying lightness to it, a hollow quality that she's unaccustomed to. How could she feel lighter when her body hasn't changed?
She takes a step forward and finds her footing unsteady, the pressure against her feet uneven. Her skin feels heavy, crushing on the emptiness within her body.
She doesn't understand it.
She would go back to Sickbay if One wasn't still there, his cold and motionless face staring back at her…
She stops her train of thought sharply; she's never thought of someone's expression as cold before. Stern or authoritative, perhaps, but never cold.
She believes these bizarre sensations to be a sign that she needs to regenerate. If they persist beyond that, then she will consult the Doctor. She hopes that by then, he will be the only one to greet her in Sickbay.
She proceeds to Cargo Bay Two with due haste, ignoring any potential distractions on her way there, and enters to the welcoming hiss of the doors. She almost smiles at the soft green glow of the alcove with its wiry jade readouts, until the colour takes on another resemblance, one that sends more shivers slithering through her veins. Seven takes a sharp breath and feels her chest contract.
Why are you hurting me? She asks no one.
She is not accustomed to this sort of discomfort, the kind that comes with no discernible physical explanation, the kind that she's been told is rooted in emotional responses. It's a watery explanation, she finds, one that she could easily drain away if she felt inclined to do so. But at the moment, she doesn't; all she wants is to step into her alcove and forget about this ordeal entirely.
She squares her shoulders and walks up to her alcove, the few steps feeling like many more before she reaches it. She steps inside and orders her regeneration cycle to begin, her words trickling from her lips like a dull whisper.
She wakes at 0600 the next morning, troubled by images of rushing green rivers that swallowed everything that fell into their grasp. At the climax of her dream, she had been on the edge of succumbing to such a horrifying fate.
Seven rolls her shoulders twice once she steps out of her alcove, and then does a brief check of herself and her surroundings. Nothing is changed, which both comforts and disturbs her. The hollowness, though dulled like a well-used knife, is still present in her body. The confidence that she could slip into as easily as she would a pair of shoes is strangely absent, and it leaves her feeling unsettled and uncertain. The Cargo Bay itself is remarkably vast, and she notices for the first time, starkly empty. The hollow, empty space calls out for company, and Seven is only reminded of the same space now threatening to take over her body.
She knows almost instantly that she cannot stay here and makes for the exit. She swiftly heads for the nearest turbolift, where she barks out the order for Sickbay before the doors have even closed. She appreciates this closed space, one that doesn't allow for unnecessary burdens to crawl in with her. She inhales deeply, satisfied with the measure of composure that she can manage at this point.
When the turbolift opens onto deck five, there is no hesitation in her step. There is almost an illogical desperation to her urgency as she makes her way to Sickbay. She is relieved to find the room empty when she enters, and she squares her shoulders before looking for the Doctor.
Her search is short-lived, as the Doctor appears from one of the medical storage rooms only moments later.
"Ah, Seven," he says with a wide grin. "What can I do for you?"
"I have been experiencing some unpleasant symptoms," she replies bluntly. "I was hoping that you could remedy them."
The Doctor's grin inverts, and his eyebrows make a precise droop that indicates concern. For a hologram, he has a remarkable range of facial expressions.
"Just what…symptoms have you been experiencing?" he asks as he requisitions a medical tricorder from a nearby tray.
"Anxiety, mild tremors…and a strange, hollow sensation that seems to encompass my entire body. I could not discern a logical cause, and thus I came here."
"Hmm," the Doctor says as he reads the display on the tricorder. "Physically, there is nothing wrong with you. Although your CRH levels are elevated."
"CRH?" Seven asks.
"It's a hormone in the human body that releases corticotropin, often in response to grief. It's likely the cause of the anxiety you've been experiencing."
"Then suppress it," she orders.
The Doctor folds the tricorder shut and brings his hands together in front of him. "Seven, I know that yesterday was difficult for you, but you can't just sweep these feelings under the rug and forget about them. If you try to suppress them, they will only come back stronger, and I don't know how much of that your cortical node can handle!"
Seven swallows once, her throat feeling coarse and rough. She feels displaced, as if she has lost a critical connection that she once had.
"Then would it not be wiser to simply remove them?" she asks tersely.
The Doctor sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. "Seven…"
"Please," she asks again, a hint of desperation sneaking into her voice.
The Doctor slumps, looking almost as if air were leaking out of his form. "I can give you something for the anxiety," he replies. "But your other symptoms are not something that can just be cured with common medicine. They are things that will take time."
"That is unfortunate," she replies in frustration.
The Doctor lets out another sigh, one noticeably longer than the others, and goes to retrieve a hypospray. "You'll still be able to perform your duties, but should you feel overwhelmed at any point I want you to report to Sickbay, understood?"
Seven nods as the hypospray presses to her neck, relaxing slightly as the cool rush of medication fills her system.
"And Seven," the Doctor adds.
"Yes?"
"If you ever need anything, you know where to find me," he says with a slightly sad expression, one that hints that he knows something that he isn't telling her. She decides not to ask him about it.
She nods once, and then exits Sickbay.
By 0730, she's in Astrometrics, running geophysical scans of a G-type star system that Voyager will be passing through, searching for any potential resources that could be of use to the ship and crew.
The pain has calmed to a slight disturbance in her concentration, causing her to a make a rare error where she would usually make none. She pushes the thoughts aside and focuses on her work, ignoring the pain and its accompanying hollowness. A few more calculations later, she notices another error, one that will severely affect her calculations if not corrected. She makes the correction swiftly and pauses in her scans.
She should not be acting like this. She does not make mistakes.
She looks up at the simulation of the fourth planet in the system, an M-class planet with the potential for large dilithium deposits. Seven had been pleased with the increasing probability of such deposits with each calculation that she made. She only has a few left to complete before submitting her report to the captain, but it is not that which draws her to the image of the planet.
This planet is but one of unnumbered many in this galaxy, and in a universe with no finite bounds, it is a miniscule speck on the backdrop of existence. This planet will exist for a time, and through one catastrophic event or another, its existence will be terminated.
She realizes with a sudden clarity that this planet's life, much like her own, has a finite span. There will come a time where she will no longer exist. As a drone, this notion did not trouble her; she simply saw it as part of the life cycle of a drone in service to the Collective. When one falls, another is there to replace it. On Voyager, it is not that simple. Each life is treated as a unique entity, one that is irreplaceable.
Her time, like any other biological organism in this universe, is limited.
The last notion frightens her, fills her with a defeaning silence that she cannot break. It clouds everything that she knows, sweeping over her rational thought and logical processing to make way for something that she doesn't understand, something so overwhelming that she has to grip the console to keep herself standing.
It takes her a moment, maybe more, before she can stand on her own again. It's strange and altogether startling how strong these emotions are, to the point where they affect her physically. She remembers the Doctor's words from just before she left Sickbay, but promises herself that she will finish and deliver this report first.
The final calculations are double-checked before Seven computes the final probability simulation. Even so, she still checks over the simulation parameters number by number to ensure that she hasn't made any errors. With her confidence restored and her report complete, she downloads it onto a PADD and exits Astrometrics to deliver it to Captain Janeway.
The ride to the Bridge is pleasantly uneventful, and Seven is thankful for the lack of intruding sensations as she presses the call button on the Captain's ready room.
"Come in." Janeway replies over the comm.
Seven enters briskly, finding Janeway propped up in her desk chair, a report in one hand and cup of what Seven assumes is coffee in the other. Her computer sits on one corner of her desk while a pile of other reports lies on the other. Seven counts six others in the stack, excluding the one presently in Janeway's hand.
"The report on the G-type system that we will be passing, Captain. I've calculated a probability of 75.43 percent of there being substantial dilithium deposits on the fourth planet in the system."
Janeway raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Sounds promising." She scans through the first few lines of Seven's report, then looks back at her. "No environmental hazards, no toxins in the atmosphere," Janeway's grin expands into a smile. "Seven, I'd say you found the jackpot."
"Captain?" she inquires.
"It's an old Earth saying," she replies as she takes another sip from her cup. "It means you've gotten lucky and found quite a lot of something."
"I see," Seven says, unimpressed.
"I want you take an away team down to the planet for excavation. Take B'Elanna and Harry, along with any other personnel that you need."
The sudden assignment ushers in a new wave of concern in Seven, partly because she wasn't expecting it, and partly because it feels so sudden, so fast. One day they are helping a new Borg drone find life outside the Collective and the next they are back to usual business, as if the events of the previous day were simply forgotten.
"Seven?" Janeway asks, and Seven looks up to see a new expression of concern on her mentor's face. Seven realizes that she hasn't replied to Janeway's orders…or kept track of how long she's been silent.
"Are you alright?" Janeway adds.
"Yes, I'm fine," Seven replies swiftly.
"Are you sure? You've been through a lot in the last few days. If you're not up to this, I'm sure Commander Chakotay would be more than willing–"
"No," Seven interrupts sharply. Janeway looks mildly shocked, but then her expression settles. "No," she repeats a little more gently. "I will take the assignment."
Janeway nods, setting her coffee cup down on the desk. "Alright."
There's a long pause between the two of them, one that Seven isn't sure if she should interrupt or leave to expand in the space before her.
Janeway, apparently fed up with the lack of chatter, brings the silence to an end for her. "Seven, I don't know what's troubling you, but I don't want your duties to be affected by it. If you need some time, all you have to do is ask."
"Time is not something I have to waste, Captain," she replies.
Janeway folds her hands in front of her, her face taking on a soft, stern quality that reminds Seven of another woman from long ago, one that exists as nothing more than a blurred image.
"Seven…there isn't going to be an easy way out of this for you. Nothing like this ever is. One was a unique individual, and…no one will ever replace him. But in order for you to continue on, you have to grieve; you have to make peace with these feelings or they will break you down. And I know that neither I nor any of your friends on Voyager want to see that happen to you."
Seven swallows, the motion more difficult than it had been before. She feels the hollowness festering beneath her skin, spreading through her veins. She presses her teeth lightly into her lower lip to prevent her body from trembling.
"You are correct that the past few days have not been easy," Seven confides, "but these experiences are something that I wish to deal with on my own. I mean no disrespect to anyone, but there are some things that I would rather work through privately."
"Of course," Janeway says. "The away mission won't be leaving for another forty-eight hours. Hopefully, that will give you some time."
Seven nods and hopes that Janeway detects her wish for dismissal.
"Dismissed," Janeway says gently.
Seven turns to leave, but just before she reaches the threshold of the doors she hears Janeway speak.
"Seven."
Seven looks back over her shoulder, seeing Janeway with her cup of coffee perched in her hand once more. "There are always people to turn to. All you have to do is ask."
Seven gives a single nod of understanding, and then exits the room.
She enters Sickbay to find the Doctor seated at his desk, intensely studying the contents of his computer screen. His focus shifts immediately when Seven enters the room, and his expression takes on a noticeably softer tone.
"Seven, back so soon?" he asks in attempted surprise.
Seven remains at the door, slightly unsure of what she's even doing here. She had left the Bridge and made her way here, as if something was driving her to Sickbay. She remembers this longing for a sense of safety, and Sickbay was the first place on the ship meeting that requirement that came to mind.
She doesn't have to say anything for him to know that she's here for a reason, so he moves his computer aside and silently motions for her to take a seat across from him. Seven sits down slowly, her body feeling fragile, vulnerable, as if she's stepping out onto a foreign stage to do something that she has never done before. It's frightening and a little overwhelming, but there's a part of her that needs this, that requires her to do this.
"What can I do for you?" he asks softly.
Seven tries to square her shoulders, but the motion feels odd and lacks a sort of truth to it. She's not trying to put on some sort of face, but she finds it extremely difficult when there is only one face that she has even known.
"You said, earlier," she begins slowly. "That if I ever needed anything, I would know where to find you."
The Doctor gives her a single, deep nod. "Of course."
"You mentioned that these symptoms of…grief would take some time for me to process. I am uncertain as to how…I am supposed to process these emotions."
The Doctor sits quietly, and Seven wonders for an instant if he is studying her. When he doesn't speak, she realizes that he is waiting for her, letting her tell him what exactly is happening.
"I don't want…to feel like this," she whispers.
The Doctor folds his hands in front of him before he replies, and when he does, his voice is calm and gentle.
"These feelings are never something that anyone wants to feel, Seven. I think that if anyone could find a way to make these things less…painful, they would. The unfortunate reality is that…there is no simple cure. I wish I could tell you something more soothing, but I can't. I suspect that the best way for you to work through this is to channel your feelings into something you are passionate about, something that you truly enjoy."
"I have already tried that," she replies grimly. "It resulted in corrections having to be made to my astrometrics report this morning."
"I see," the Doctor says, trying and failing to hide his surprise. "Was that because of these…symptoms you've been having?"
"Yes," Seven replies.
"Do you feel like your abilities are…hindered by them?"
"Of course they are," Seven snaps. "I have never made an error in my calculations, and if these symptoms cause me to make errors that could potentially jeopardize Voyager, there could be far more serious consequences."
"But that's all hypothetical, Seven," the Doctor says. "The likelihood of that happening is extremely small. You've done so much for Voyager. Don't you want to continue that?"
"I do. But what point is there in continuing something that is tarnished by errors?"
"Because it shows that you haven't given up," the Doctor replies. "There was a time before you joined the crew where I was in a very similar situation. I had created a holographic family in order to have something outside of my life in Sickbay. For a time, things were peaceful and remarkably pleasant. Then I made some adjustments to the program, on the recommendation that it would make things more realistic. Naturally, the dynamic changed, and my family life became chaotic. Just when I had thought that I had finally figured out how to manage this new situation, my…daughter, was involved in an accident. She died."
Seven sits there, quietly astounded by the Doctor's story. She cannot begin to fathom the emotion that he experienced, and just how his holographic matrix would have processed those sensations. From what she can discern, this grief is something that is deeply embedded in his persona, regardless of him being a hologram. There is some symmetry in their experiences, a line of common ground that they can both stand on where others potentially could not. To know someone who has gone through something akin to her own situation is remarkably comforting, and in way, it relieves some of the tension and pressure she had felt before. She had thought that she would have to accept the solitude of being the one individual like herself on Voyager again, but perhaps that is not so.
Perhaps she can find something here.
"How did you react to her death?" Seven asks cautiously.
The Doctor's expression tenses, creases weaving across his face. "At first, I felt it best to forget about the simulation entirely. Then, upon recommendation of Lieutenant Paris, no less, I went back into the simulation."
Seven stares blankly at him. "Why would you return to the source of your discomfort?"
"To say goodbye," The Doctor replies. "I learned that, in grieving, you grow closer to those that you care about, and often, having those that are close to you nearby, helps with the process."
Seven remains quiet, processing this new information, and altogether a little baffled as to how she should respond. There is a part of her that feels compelled to make an official and appropriate farewell to her former comrade, but another part of her wants to retreat to the Cargo Bay and forget about all of this.
"Is One still here?" she asks gently.
The Doctor nods slowly. "Yes. I can show you to him, if you'd like."
She knows that there will be no way to reverse these events should she choose to go forward, but she doesn't want these emotions to affect her duties any further, so for the sake of the crew, and her own sanity, she will do this.
"I would appreciate that," she says.
The Doctor stands, and with a gentle touch on her forearm, he directs her to the morgue in one of the adjacent rooms. Seven has never been in this room before, and her first impression is one of darkness and solemnity. There are two hatches in the wall inside, each lit by a blue strip that runs up the center of the hatch. The Doctor presses a key on the panel next to the nearest hatch, and it hisses open. What Seven deduces is a metal slab slides out, with One's body on it.
Seven feels her body tense almost immediately. Seeing One's body is a second confirmation of a fact that she had never wanted to accept, and is now realizing that she never had. One lies on the table completely motionless and quiet. It's frighteningly peaceful. His face reminds her of a sleeping human, except that One will never wake.
"I'll give you some privacy," the Doctor says, and leaves her there alone.
For an instant, she wishes that he hadn't left, but there's a certain decency in the act – and, she realizes quickly, a certain kindness in leaving her on her own than staying by her side.
She reaches out her right hand, the one free of Borg technology, and places it on One's shoulder. The plating there is cold and smooth to the touch. Seven doesn't reach for his face, because part of her knows with a haunting certainty that his face will be just as cold.
She takes a breath to steady herself, her hand remaining on his shoulder.
Goodbye, she says wordlessly. She doesn't have to say the word for it to be significant, as One will never hear it. It fills her with a subtle and yet fulfilling relief, a calm that she had misplaced for a time and is now finding again. This, though only a step, is taking her on the path she should have chosen days earlier.
She looks at One a final time, then removes her hand from his shoulder. She must not prolong this. She must fulfill her duties, no matter how difficult they prove to carry out.
Seven presses a bright blue key on the nearby console – the same one that the Doctor had only minutes before – and the table withdraws. The hatch draws up behind it, quietly sealing shut. Seven looks at it once, and then with a sharp finality, leaves the morgue.
As she passes the Doctor's desk, his eyes glance up from his monitor, a motion that he tries and fails to hide from Seven. She nods to him and speaks a "thank you" before leaving Sickbay.
As she walks out of the room, a wave of decisive clarity sweeps over her, revealing a part of her that has been irrevocably changed by the events that have come to pass.
In time, perhaps she will understand why.
Fin