The logical course of action would have been to delete the program, but for once, logic deserted her. She could not bear to delete it until she had made absolutely certain of her feelings. Whom did she love – Chakotay, the Doctor, or a figment of her own imagination?

She knew her answer the second he walked in.

He was carrying a food tray and a vase of Antarean moon blossoms, cheerfully boasting about how he had smuggled them past Neelix. His bravado, his mischievous grin, and most of all, that hopeful look in his eyes as he handed her the bouquet, reminded her instantly of the Doctor. When she had been in Sickbay due to her broken cortical node, the Doctor had placed Neelix's get-well-soon flowers in front of her with just that look. Then he'd tricked her into a game of kadis-kot and she'd rolled her eyes at him, annoyance a safe distraction from panic over her impending death.

But she had lived, thanks to the Doctor's skills and Icheb's sacrifice, and it was up to her to use her new life well.

"I called you here to … thank you," she told the holographic Chakotay. "The past few days have been … memorable."

She had no idea how to break up with someone, but her body language must have spoken for her, because his face fell.

"You're ending this?"

"My 'personal life' has become a distraction."

"It's supposed to be a distraction!" The real Chakotay never raised his voice like that, never wore his emotions so clearly on his face. Or perhaps if he did, it was only alone with the Captain. "You're making a mistake!"

"No, I am trying to correct one."

She turned her back on him, finding it disconcerting to argue with this strange amalgam of two men she had created.

"Don't you see what's happening here? Every time you come close to experiencing real emotion, you back away. Like hiding behind that metronome."

"Your analogy is flawed."

But she knew it wasn't. This was an argument she'd had with the Doctor dozens of times – about music, about crew parties, about anything, but really, it was always about individuality. He was always challenging her to step out of her comfort zone, try something new, join the community instead of standing apart. If he ever used a metronome during their piano lessons – which he didn't, because perfect timing was part of his programming – he would have switched it off for her too.

Put a little more heart into it.

Now she remembered. It was the Doctor who had told her that, during their very first music lesson two years ago, singing "You Are My Sunshine". He had proceeded to demonstrate, in the most absurd way possible, so that anyone but a former Borg drone would have burst out laughing.

Then they had sung the piece together. It had been beautiful.

Pain stabbed through her head like a hot needle, and she swayed on her feet.

"I cannot function this way!" Not here. Not now. She could not have any more Borg components breaking down.

"You're not a drone anymore, you're human!"

The hologram swung her around to face him and shook her, only a little, but still enough to make her head throb viciously. There was a high, mechanical whirring in her ears, giving contrary evidence to his argument. She could barely make out his next words through it.

Her cortical node was failing - again. She was still a drone and always would be. She had no right to love anyone.

"Sickbay," she muttered into her commbadge. "Medical emergency."

Then she crumpled to the floor.

Before losing consciousness, she thought she heard Chakotay and the Doctor having a terse discussion over her head, followed by a "Computer, end program", and a hand stroking her hair.

But that might have just been her imagination.

/

"What exactly were you doing in there?" asked the Doctor, as soon as he had restored her to consciousness and performed a temporary fix on her cortical node.

Of course he saw through her lie about "research" at once, and unlike the Captain, didn't hesitate to call her out on it.

"I couldn't help but notice you'd created some quarters for yourself. A new dress … dinner for two … "

He paced around the room, clearly uncomfortable, as if seeing her in anything but her exosuit was the greatest anomaly in the Delta Quadrant, even though he had designed a whole line of clothing for their social lessons once.

That reminded her of Lieutenant Torres' reaction to her belated baby shower gift. "Was that Seven of Nine?" the engineer had exclaimed behind Seven's back, forgetting the range of her Borg-enhanced hearing, and Ensign Kim had cracked a joke about alien intruders. Were they going to react like this every time she did something even slightly unusual?

She told him the truth, forcing the words out with deep reluctance, unable to look him in the eye.

"Well … this is encouraging. You might be ready to pursue deeper relationships. I'm proud of you, Seven."

"Your pride is misplaced," she snapped.

She didn't want him to be proud; she didn't want him to act like a mentor. If he cared about her as anything but a student, he could never react so calmly to the news that she had written a holo-romance about another man … not to mention making herself ill, and letting Voyager nearly explode in the process.

"I take it Commander Chakotay is your … romantic interest?"

"He has many admirable qualities." But he is not you.

Instead of telling her the Commander didn't seem like her type, or asking her what qualities she meant, or even pointing out how borderline inappropriate it was to make a copy of the ship's First Officer for intimate purposes, all he did was commend her taste in interior design.

"Your quarters … they suited you."

She left Sickbay feeling more alone than she had after being severed from the Collective.

Though if she could have seen the look in the Doctor's eyes, as he dropped into a chair and ordered the computer to play "Someone To Watch Over Me", she might have changed her mind.