Maternity by jamelia
K/7, P/T
"Quid Pro Quo"/"Satisfaction" AU
=/\=
"Seven, where are you? I can't find you! Help me! Help me!"
Greenish mist swirled around her, partially obscuring the Borg cubicles and cybernetic instrumentation lining the passageways as she stumbled towards Mezoti's plaintive call. Her skin flushed in panic. Where was Mezoti? Was someone holding her captive on this ghostly vessel? She had to find her.
Two figures suddenly lurched out of the mist from a side passageway, invading Seven's path. She recognized them: Mazani and Arebi of the Wysanti. Yet something was not right. Their faces were strangely familiar, but incomplete. They didn't sound at all like they should.
Seconds after Seven recognized the voices, the Wysanti faces melted away, rearranged into those of two others: Icheb's Brunali parents. "Go away, Seven of Nine! Borg bitch! You'll never find her! Do not interfere! You've stolen our son! Now we will use her to save our world. GO AWAY!"
From someplace deep within, Seven moaned, struggling to cry out, to strike out at Yifay and Leucon and stop their venomous rantings, but words would not come. Her arms would not obey her. Her strength was failing. She was powerless to save Mezoti. Her voice still echoed in Seven's ears, but every nanosecond, her calls became fainter, as if the girl was receding farther and farther away; yet Seven still could not answer.
Then the girl's cries shifted in timbre and resonance. A full-grown, adult drone's voice, well-loved, not frightening, but bringing indescribable pain, echoing in her ears as if he were somewhere even more distant than Mezoti. As if from some faraway place. Like a nebula. The nebula where he'd died, though he had been only days old. "Seven, please help her. Save her, even if you could not save me."
In torment, Seven mumbled, "Do you know where she is? Help me find her. She needs me."
The drones words became fainter, too, though Seven could still hear him clearly. "Those people do not treat her as she deserves. You should never have left her. Go to her."
Finally, she could feel her throat reverberate. Her voice came back. With increasing desperation, Seven called out, "Mezoti! Where are you, Mezoti? I'm coming. Coming to find you . . . find you . . . "
"Seven, are you all right? Is it your cortical node again?"
Seven gasped and opened her eyes. There he was. A Borg-like face, but not the other one. Not One. Icheb stood there, looking sternly at her. No, not a stern face. A worried face. Above the implant along his nose, his brow wrinkled with concern.
Beyond Icheb's head, the familiar environment of their cargo bay appeared. She still stood rigidly in her cubicle, but her regeneration cycle had been terminated prematurely. The device told her so. There was no green mist, no Borg vessel passageways. No Yifay and Leucon, threatening them. Mezoti's voice was gone. Mezoti was gone. So was One.
Shaking her head slightly to banish her momentary disorientation as visions shattered into reality, Seven stepped out of her cubicle, saying, "I am well, Icheb. Nothing is amiss. I experienced a dream while I was regenerating. Lieutenant Kim would deem it a 'nightmare.' "
"You are sure your cortical node is still working properly?" From Icheb's frown, she knew he was deeply concerned, as well he might be.
"It is. I feel none of the symptoms I experienced previously. It was . . . just a dream. A bad dream. Return to your cubicle. You must complete your own regeneration cycle."
"You are certain? I can call the Doctor to attend you."
"It is nothing. I am sorry to have awakened you, Icheb. Please, finish regenerating."
"I could communicate your distress with Lieutenant Kim, if you prefer."
She paused for a moment. She would prefer to see Harry rather than the Doctor, but then she remembered. "No, he has command of the bridge tonight. Do not disturb him, or the Doctor. I will be . . . fine."
Icheb gazed at her intently. She did not doubt he was still considering the advisability of communicating his concerns to Harry or the Doctor, despite her attempts to reassure him. After all the two former Borg had been through during the past few weeks, she could hardly blame him if he did choose to contact the EMH.
Icheb gazed intently at Seven for another 15.37 seconds before nodding slightly to her. Stepping up into his cubicle, Icheb closed his eyes as his regeneration unit lights shone again with renewed power as the cycle reinitiated.
The green light from Icheb's unit was somewhat disturbing, considering the nightmare she had just experienced. The former Seven of Nine, Tertiary Annex of Unimatrix One of the Borg, but before that, Annika Hansen, daughter of Magnus and Erin Hansen, and now Ensign Annika Hansen to the crew when she was on duty, stepped out of her regeneration cubicle. Just two of the regeneration cubicles in Cargo Bay Two pulsed with the green glow associated with the Borg, although only the one Seven had stepped out of was crackling with energy discharges to show it was operating at full power. The one occupied by Icheb glowed, but only dimly. The other cubicles had been disconnected to save energy. No one else needed to use them. Azan and Rebi had left the ship to live with their grandparents on the Wysanti home world. Mezoti had gone with them.
Since he had donated his cortical node to Seven to save her life and had survived without it, the Doctor could not say for sure that Icheb required regeneration at all any more. Icheb remained in Cargo Bay Two with her by his own choice, more out of habit than need. He said he preferred sleeping while standing in his cubicle, with a minimal amount of power coursing through what remained of the Borg circuitry within his body. The energy seemed to be helping him recover from the surgery he had inflicted upon himself to save Seven. The Doctor deemed it only prudent for him to continue utilizing his cubicle, at least, for the foreseeable future.
Seven gazed intently at Icheb for several minutes, monitoring his life signs, observing his pallor. Icheb was making remarkable progress, as the Doctor had said, but Seven felt he still needed close supervision. His body had not yet completely healed from the trauma of his sacrifice. She owed it to him to make sure it did. Icheb was precious to her. She would protect him with her own life, as a mother would.
Seven found herself reluctant to return to her own cubicle to finish her own regeneration cycle. This was not the first time she had come to consciousness with this particular set of images overwhelming her, engendering emotions she did not wish to identify or even admit to anyone else. Over the past few weeks, the dream, or perhaps as she said to Icheb, the nightmare, recurred every few nights. Whenever it did, Seven could not calm herself down immediately to resume her cycle. Perhaps this was due to her own recent trauma, her need to adjust to the replacement cortical node Icheb had donated to her.
Evaluating a situation calmly and methodically, connecting to her Borg roots, usually brought a measure of calm to Seven. Abandoning her attempt to regenerate for the moment, Seven stepped down from the cubicle platform. As she leaned upon the computer terminal, she consciously slowed down her breathing, closing her eyes to allow herself to consider the last few frustrating, worrisome, and ultimately, wonderful months of surrogate parenthood. Usually, this exercise in contemplating her existence helped her to recover her Borg equanimity. She stood like this for more than thirty of the ship's minutes before giving up. Tonight it was not going to work.
She could go to Sickbay and speak with the Doctor, of course, as Icheb had suggested. However, she was certain her symptoms were not medical in nature, not this time. The Doctor was one of her closest friends on board Voyager, but his questions could be intrusive and a little too personal much of the time. Somehow, the subject of her sexual habits came up a bit too often for comfort. She needed another's presence tonight, and while Icheb was the closest thing to a son that she had, Seven had no desire to burden him with the details of this particular dream. For all she knew, he might suffer from nightmares very much like hers. He never had confided such a thing to her, but when she considered what Yifay and Leucon had done to him, she would not be surprised if his visions might be even more terrifying than hers.
She checked the time. In two hours, thirty-six minutes, she could confide in one who would be happy to listen to her dreams and help her interpret them (although, in truth, she was quite sure she already knew their meaning). And if necessary, he would gladly provide the warmth and comfort of his body as well.
At 0701, after consulting with ship's systems to confirm that Commander Chakotay now had command of the bridge, Seven contacted Lieutenant Kim and asked him if they could meet in the mess hall or his quarters for breakfast. She was sure of his answer. Harry was always willing to help.
=/\=
