p a r t t e n

"Captain!"

I turn to find the Doctor tagging behind me in the corridor. I look questioningly at him.

"You were summoned, too?"

I glance at him. "Icheb doesn't seem to have grasped the chain of command yet," I comment ironically, thinking that this seems to be a characteristic of all our various waifs, strays, and refugees.

The Doctor smirks. "Remind you of anyone we know?"

My answering smile fades when we enter the cargo bay. Icheb, panting and sweating profusely, is half-in and half-out of his regeneration alcove. I bite back an exclamation while the Doctor crosses swiftly to the Borg console that controls the technology.

I place my hand on Icheb's chin and lift his red, gleaming face so that his eyes meet mine. "Icheb?"

The Doctor answers for him. "He's disengaged his cortical node!" He sounds incredulous.

"How?" I bark, dropping my hand from the young Brunali.

Icheb's voice, although faint, clangs with triumph and vindication. "My alcove. I programmed it to disconnect my neural relays."

I touch his wet face again. I look towards the Doctor, still working frantically with the console. "Can you reconnect them?"

The Doctor makes a movement that in a human would be redolent of frustration. "He's locked me out of the controls!"

I stare at him and then at Icheb. I put both my hands on the boy's face, holding it rigidly. "How could you do this!"

His eyes meet mine. They are steady and cold with determination- and yes, even a touch of that Borg arrogance that has become so familiar to me in Seven.

His voice is equally implacable. "It was the only way I could prove to you that it would work."

I shake my head in unwilling admiration of his tenacity- and simplicity. Suddenly, he doubles over, groaning. I give vent to an exclamation, and the Doctor crosses to help me support him, for Icheb's a well grown sixteen-year old and no light weight when barely conscious.

"Doctor to transporter room! Three to beam directly to sickbay!"

The green-lit cargo bay disappears in a shimmer of molecules and light.

We rematerialise in sickbay, Icheb collapsed between us. Seven stares.

"What's wrong with him?" she demands, crossing to us.

I let her take my place at Icheb's side. "Icheb decided to perform a little operation on himself," I tell her as they move him towards the diagnostic biobed.

Her brows meet. "You have to reconnect his node immediately," she insists to the Doctor, to his obvious annoyance.

"I intend to!"

Icheb stirs weakly between them, and manages to raise his head. "No!" He leans forward and clutches the medical console. It's clear it's the only thing holding him up. "If Seven can refuse treatment, so can I!"

The Doctor tuts impatiently. "We don't have time for this!"

Icheb turns towards him with painful slowness. The triumphant light is still in his eyes. "Check your scans. I'm already adapting."

The Doctor rolls his eyes. "Some of your implants have adapted, but not all!"

"Then apply the resequencing technique I researched!"

Seven glares at both of them. "This debate is pointless. I won't accept the node!"

Icheb matches her, glare for glare. "And I won't keep it!"

I find myself admiring his ability to stand up to her. In this mood, she is formidable.

The Doctor is muttering something about someone 'using the damn thing' before it becomes defunct, but none of us are paying him any attention. Seven and Icheb are locked in their battle, and I am transfixed by them. Is this how Seven and I argue, I wonder.

"You're acting like a child!" Seven accuses- almost the worst insult she could have thought to throw at the young man.

"I'm trying to save your life!" Icheb snarls back at her.

Seven stands straight, in her 'dogmatic drone' posture. "Only because you've grown too dependent on me," she tells him, a touch of condescension in her tone.

Icheb is still hanging from the console, but his eyes spark fire at her. "You think I need to learn to rely on other people?"

"Yes." It's emphatic.

"What about you?" he hisses. "You've refused to rely on a single member of this crew." I flinch. That's true of Seven, but it's also largely been true of me.

"You hid your condition from the rest of us, you deactivated the Doctor, and now you're rejecting my help. You're the one who needs to rely on others." He turns to me. "Isn't that what people on this ship do? They help each other?"

"Whenever we can," I assure him, feeling like a hypocrite. I'm always willing to help. Accepting it, however…I wonder how much of Seven's intransigence is due to herself, and how much she's inadvertently picked up from me.

Icheb is still talking.

"If the Captain were dying you'd risk your life to save her, wouldn't you?" Seven's eyes flick to mine, and back to him. He turns on me a second time. "And when you respond to a distress call you're risking the life of everyone on this ship to respond to the aid of strangers!"

I look at Seven again, holding her gaze with mine. "He's right," I tell her softly. She doesn't realise I'm talking to myself as well as her. Her chin goes up.

"Captain, he's just a child!" she protests.

I smile at her, rather sadly. "I don't think he is, not anymore."

"Doctor!"

He shrugs. "Don't look at me."

"Please, just let us help you," Icheb whispers. He's dangerously close to total collapse, and Seven's eyes move, almost desperately, to meet mine, and then to the Doctor's, and back to Icheb. Slowly, very slowly, she nods.

The Doctor heaves a sigh composed equally of exasperation and relief. "Then let's begin."