2. Imperfection
Icheb came to in Sickbay, with an excuciating headache and a general sense of exhaustion. He blinked up at the white ceiling, wondering how he'd gotten there; shifting his head sideways, which took a surprising amont of effort, he saw Naomi's Flotter doll on his nightstand along with a data padd signed by her. He smiled and was just about to reach for the padd when a sound distracted him.
Someone was crying.
Seven! He remembered. Seven's cortical node had been failing, and he'd insisted on donating his own, and they'd argued across a computer console about who should save whom, and if someone was crying here, in Sickbay, that would mean –
On the other side of Icheb's bed sat the Doctor, shoulders bowed, holding Seven's metal-laced hand between both of his and sobbing, audibly, in a way Icheb had never heard an adult cry before. Seven was still on the biobed, covered by a gray blanket up to her chin. She was not moving.
"Doctor … ?" Icheb wanted to shout, but all he managed was a slow croak.
The Doctor turned around. His face was, indeed, streaked with shining tears; even his nose was red. He was beaming from ear to ear.
"Icheb!" His voice was as delighted as a tear-choked whisper can be. "Thank goodness you're awake! She's going to make a full recovery, Icheb, you both are!"
"Really?" Icheb tried to sit up, couldn't, and settled for an answering grin instead. "Are you certain?"
"Absolutely." The Doctor placed Seven's left hand back on top of her right one, stood up from his chair, and went over to smooth Icheb's blankets and review the data on the screen of his biobed. "As soon as she wakes up and gets back on her feet, she'll have to regenerate for about six days. As for you, it looks like you'll need at least two weeks, since you disengaged your cortical node … and by the way, do you realize that once you've passed those Starfleet exams, you could be court-martialed for going against the captain's orders?"
Icheb ignored this, knowing the Doctor well enough by now to realize that his scolding was a sign of affection.
"If she's all right," he asked instead, "Why were you crying?"
The Doctor wiped away his tears with the back of his hand, regarding the holographic water droplets with a faintly embarrassed smile as if he'd forgotten they were there.
"I suppose it's my emotional subroutines … compensating, so to speak, for all that time they were blocked by my medical programming. If we had lost her … I don't know … "
The Doctor trailed off, watching Seven's unconscious form. Whatever he felt seemed to be too deep for words. Icheb felt the silence like a second blanket, wrapped around the three of them. There was no need to say anything.
"Anyway!" Determined to cheer up, the Doctor snatched up his tricorder to give Icheb another scan. "She pulled through magnificently, and it's all thanks to you. Did I mention your plan was brilliant, Icheb? Couldn't have done it better myself!"
This from the man wo had responded to the same plan with 'Absolutely not!'. Icheb could just picture Seven raising her blue eyes to the ceiling when he told her. And there was no doubt he would tell her. Once she was on her feet again, stern and loving, beautiful and strong. Mezoti, Azan and Rebi had left, for a safer, quieter life than that of a Starship. Icheb and Seven had only each other now, to understand about the Collective and all it had put them through.
"Oh, by the way, shouldn't I call you Mr. Icheb?" said the Doctor, distracting Icheb from this melancholy train of thought. "After all, you are a Starfleet Cadet in the making."
Icheb found it very gratifying, the way the whole crew seemed to take his acceptance to the Academy for granted; it made him feel a great deal less nervous – but he drew the line at pre-emptive honorifics, especially from the man who was the closest thing he had to a father.
"Please don't. 'Icheb' will suffice."