The BLTS Archive-Repercussions
by monkee (wiecek@earthlink.net)

---

Disclaimers: Paramount owns Star Trek Voyager and all its characters,
for whom assimilation is just another day at the office.

Author's Note: For me, the most interesting aspect of Unimatrix Zero:
Part One was the away team intentionally getting themselves
assimilated. I wondered what the repercussions of such an action would
be. I was enormously disappointed when Unimatrix Zero: Part Two didn't
explore it, but I guess that's the beauty of fanfic. We can do it
ourselves.

---
Skin
---

At first glance, sickbay appeared to be in total chaos. As Chakotay
looked around, however, he could see that everyone seemed to know
exactly what they were doing. It appeared that every trained medic on
the ship was in here, clustered in groups around three different
biobeds.

The most active team was working on Tuvok. The Doctor was with them -
he hadn't even looked up when Chakotay walked in, so he decided not to
bother him right away. B'Elanna was on the next biobed. From where he
was standing, he couldn't see much more than her face. He was
surprised to see how peaceful she looked. With just one glance, he had
the feeling that she was going to be all right - at least physically.
He stepped up to the third biobed, where Paris and two other medics
were scanning the Captain.

He nearly recoiled in shock when he saw her.  He forced himself to be
calm and professional, but inside he was raging at what they'd done to
her. It wasn't that she looked any worse than the other two - she
didn't. Perhaps it was because after seeing the holographic projection
of her from the Borg ship, he'd half believed that she hadn't actually
been assimilated. Or perhaps it was just because this was Kathryn
Janeway, and he just couldn't accept seeing her like this.

A voice behind him said 'Commander?' at least twice before it finally
registered. He managed to wrench his gaze away from Kathryn long
enough to turn and respond. He found himself facing the impatient
Doctor.

"What can I do for you, Commander?" he said.

"Report," Chakotay said, briskly, trying to sound as though he was
there in a completely professional capacity. The Doctor was clearly
not fooled, but humored him.

"Commander Tuvok is the only one in any immediate danger," the Doctor
said. "I've sedated all of them, of course. Removing the implants
isn't likely to be any more pleasant than the initial assimilation
was."

Chakotay felt bile rising in his throat at the very thought of the
'initial assimilation,' but forced himself to breathe deeply and
steadily.

"I'll give you a full report once things have settled down here," the
Doctor continued, firmly.  "Until then, I must insist that all
non-essential personnel leave. That means you. Commander."

Chakotay nodded and the Doctor returned to Tuvok's biobed. He didn't
leave right away, however. He was not one to be intimidated by the
Doctor. Everything was well under control on the bridge, and he really
did need to ascertain the away team's condition. And besides, he had
every intention of keeping out of the way. He turned back to look at
Kathryn again. Unlike B'Elanna, her countenance was not peaceful - she
looked tense, distracted. He wondered briefly if she always looked
like that when she slept. It wouldn't surprise him. Then his thoughts
returned to the trauma that she'd just been through. He knew he could
never completely understand what it had been like for her, and that
even if she wanted to, she couldn't tell him. It saddened him that she
would have to bear so much of this burden alone.

Paris was carefully manipulating some of the circuitry in the plating
on the side of her head. Without looking up, he asked, "How does
B'Elanna look? The Doc won't let me near her."

"Well, I'm no medic," Chakotay responded, "But I think she looks good.
All things considered, of course."

Paris nodded, and continued his delicate work. The medical team had
just removed part of the plating on Kathryn's shoulder, leaving a
small patch of skin exposed just above her collarbone. Without
thinking, Chakotay reached out and placed his fingertips on it. It was
warm, human, reassuring.

"Take care of her," he said, quietly.

"We will," Paris replied, sincerely.

Chakotay turned and left sickbay without another backward glance. He
couldn't do anything for Kathryn at the moment, so he'd have to be
satisfied with taking care of her ship. He wanted to schedule a
meeting with General Korok.

---
Hovering
---

After completing the necessary scans and recording B'Elanna's vital
signs, which were good, Tom Paris allowed himself just a moment to
watch her sleep. Now that she was safe and whole again, the sick
feeling of desperation that he'd been carrying around for days was
finally beginning to abate. He honestly did not know what would become
of him if something happened to her - she was that important to him.
It was terrifying, but he wouldn't have it any other way. He bent down
to kiss her forehead, then gently tucked the sheet more snugly under
her chin.

He moved past the partition into the next section to scan the Captain
and smiled when he found Chakotay half-asleep in a chair by her bed.
The hum of the medical tricorder roused him.

"You know," Paris said, conversationally, keeping his voice low, "a
first officer could probably get in a lot of trouble for hovering over
his Captain like that."

Chakotay grinned. "I'm still acting captain," he replied, quietly,
"I'll hover if I want to. Just don't tell her about it."

Paris snorted and continued his scans.

"How is she?" Chakotay asked, sobering slightly.

"She's doing great," Paris said. "The Doc is going to remove the rest
of her implants in the morning, which, incidentally, is only a few
hours away. Maybe you ought to consider getting some sleep."

Chakotay scowled at him, but it was only a pale imitation of Captain
Janeway's patented 'look.' Paris hadn't meant to be overly solicitous
with his comment, but he knew it was exactly what the Doc would say if
his program hadn't been shut down for the night.

"It's just a suggestion from your acting first officer," he said,
raising his hands in mock surrender.

Chakotay smiled. "I've been meaning to thank you," he said, sincerely,
"for your support. I know we've had our differences in the past, but I
think we really pulled together well through all this."

"I agree," Paris said. "But don't think it was easy for me. You were a
surprisingly difficult captain."

"Don't tell Kathryn that, either." Chakotay said, laughing. "I'll
never hear the end of it."

Paris noticed the use of the Captain's name instead of her title, and
was surprised at how natural it sounded coming from Chakotay. He made
a conscious effort not to react to it.

"That's two you owe me," he said. Chakotay rolled his eyes.

"Get out of here, Chakotay," he said, kindly. "She's fine, and you
really should get some rest."

Chakotay sighed. "I guess you're right," he said. He stood, but
hesitated as he looked at the Captain. Paris purposely busied himself
with the medical tricorder, but watched Chakotay out of the corner of
his eye. Chakotay sighed deeply, then reached over and put his hand on
the Captains arm, letting it rest there for several moments.

Finally, he moved away. He turned briefly before exiting sickbay.
"Thanks, Tom," he said. "For everything."

Paris nodded in acknowledgement, then watched as the doors closed
behind Chakotay. He shook his head and smiled.

---
Very Brave
---

"Commander," a voice whispered behind him.

He turned to see Samantha Wildman standing uncertainly by the
partition which divided Kathryn and B'Elanna's biobeds. Naomi was with
her, looking a little pale and subdued.

"It's okay," he said. "Come in. She's still sedated. You won't disturb
her."

Relieved, Samantha stepped in, closely followed by Naomi.  Naomi, he
noticed, was holding an odd-looking stuffed toy. Blue, shiny.

"How are they all doing?" Samantha asked.

"The Captain and B'Elanna are both doing wonderfully," he replied.
"And Tuvok will be all right with time. The Doctor is quite pleased
with himself, as you might imagine."

Samantha rolled her eyes and chuckled briefly.  "I kept telling Naomi
that they were going to be fine," she confided, "but I think she
needed to see them for herself."

He glanced down at Naomi, who was staring intently at Kathryn's face.
"I was afraid she would still have metal on her," she said, softly.

"Almost all of the implants have been removed," Chakotay said, gently.
Naomi was usually not this tentative and intimidated, but he
understood. There was just something about the Borg that made even the
most stouthearted squeamish.

At that moment, they were interrupted by Ensign Celes, who was one of
the on-duty medics for this shift.

"Excuse me," she said, looking at Samantha, "but I wondered...We're
short-handed right now, and I need to run a level three neural scan on
Tuvok..."

Samantha nodded. "That's a lot easier with two people. I'd be happy to
help, that is, if..." her voice trailed off and she raised her
eyebrows at Chakotay.

"That's fine," he said. "Naomi can stay here with me."

Samantha and Celes bustled off, leaving Chakotay with the solemn
little girl.

"I don't know why I'm being so silly," Naomi sighed. "Seven and
Mezoti have implants and they don't bother me at all, because I'm
used to them. But I didn't want the Captain to have any. They wouldn't
look right on her, or B'Elanna or Tuvok."

"I understand, Naomi," he said, forcing himself not to pat her
shoulder. He didn't want to come across as condescending, because he
really did understand, all too well.

Naomi leaned against the wall, still clutching the toy in one hand.
She pressed her other palm flat against the surface behind her, almost
as if she needed the support. She bit her lip, and couldn't take her
eyes off Kathryn.

"She's very brave, isn't she," she said, in a wavering voice.

He felt tears well up in his eyes, and blinked them back. Very brave,
indeed. Such a simple statement from a child, yet there was so much
truth in it.

"Yes, she is," he agreed. "The bravest person that I've ever met."

"I'll never be that brave," Naomi said.

Chakotay smiled. "You're already pretty close, Naomi. I know you don't
believe that, but it's true. You'll see." He nodded down at Kathryn.
"I know that she thinks so."

Naomi's face crumpled, but she steadfastly refused to cry. Tactfully,
he pretended not to notice. When she looked to be getting herself
under control, he changed the subject, lifting one of the blue
creature's hands.

"Who's this?" he asked.

"It's Flotter," Naomi said. "I don't know why, but he always makes me
feel better when I'm afraid. I thought maybe...but it's stupid. I
don't know why I'm being so silly about this." She sounded completely
disgusted with herself.

"No, it's not silly," he said, firmly. "Here," he added, gently taking
the doll from her. He nestled it against Kathryn's neck and the side
of her face, then carefully tucked the silver sickbay sheet around it.

He grinned at the effect. "That," he announced, "is going to make her
smile when she wakes up. And I don't know about you, but I feel better
already, too."

Naomi snuffled a little, but had to laugh as well. "I guess so," she
agreed. And for the first time since she'd entered sickbay, he saw the
sparkle return to her eye.

---
Waking
---

She realized where she was immediately, before she even opened her
eyes. Sickbay didn't really smell any differently than the rest of the
ship, but sound carried there in a distinctive way, and the
ventilation ducts were positioned such that there was always a slight
breeze just above the biobeds. Without moving, she took stock of her
situation.

Her body ached everywhere, but she knew that the Borg armor was gone
because she no longer felt the weight of it. The skin on her face felt
tight, and she decided that those implants had probably been removed
as well. She concentrated, but couldn't tell whether or not she had
implants or nanoprobes lurking beneath her skin, or deep inside her
body. She probably did. After what they'd done to her, she felt like
she'd never be fully human again.

Her back hurt, but she didn't dare shift in any way.

Her ship. When the Doctor had sedated her, the red alert klaxon had
still been sounding. Had they sustained serious damage when the Borg
cube self-destructed? And what of Tuvok, and Torres?

Slowly, she opened her eyes. The ceiling above her swam into focus.
The seam between two of the tiles was not quite straight. Biobed
number three. She felt a surge of gratitude at the intimate
familiarity of her surroundings.

A dark head entered her field of vision; its face lined with concern.
Chakotay, of course. He smiled at her.

"Hi," she croaked. Her voice sounded hoarse, almost metallic. It
reminded her of B'Elanna's subvocal processor. She suppressed a wave
of nausea, and hoped fervently that the Doctor had been able to remove
the damned thing. It made her sick to think of how they'd all been
violated. She was briefly angry that she'd allowed Chakotay to bully
her into taking Tuvok and B'Elanna along, even though she knew the
mission would probably not have been a success without them.

She took a deep breath. She had to concentrate on the here and now.
"How am I doing?" she asked, trying to sound light.

"You're doing remarkably well, all things considered," he said. "The
Doctor has removed everything but the spinal clamps, and those can
come off later this afternoon."

Before she could even open her mouth to ask about the others, he
stopped her. "Torres is fine. The Doctor is with Tuvok now. His
recovery is going to be the most difficult, but none of the damage is
expected to be permanent."

She closed her eyes again and allowed herself a brief moment of
intense relief and gratitude. Absolutely amazing, in retrospect, that
all of them were going to come out of this relatively unscathed, at
least physically. Seven had told them that drones on tactical cubes
were seldom equipped with prosthetic arms, but the possibility had
lurked in the back of her mind throughout the entire mission. She
remembered the searing pain of the initial assimilation, and the
heart-stopping fear every time a drone approached her with any kind of
instrument - a fear that she couldn't even allow to reach her eyes.
The neural suppressant had saved their individuality, but it couldn't
prevent the horror of being self-aware during the assimilation
process. She shuddered, then felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Kathryn?" Chakotay was saying her name. She opened her eyes again,
wondering how many times he'd said it.

"I'm all right," she said, automatically. She wished desperately that
she could sit up, but she knew she really shouldn't move much at all
until those clamps were gone. She hated feeling so damned vulnerable,
lying there.

Chakotay shot her an affectionate look of skepticism. It irritated
her, for some reason.

"Report," she said, falling back on the familiar.

Chakotay frowned slightly. "Everything's fine, Kathryn," he said.
"Repairs are underway, and there are no signs of Borg vessels on
long-range sensors. Korok's ship is still nearby. They're also
conducting repairs, and the Doctor is giving them the information
they'll need to start removing their own implants."

"When will they..." she began, a hundred questions bubbling up in her
mind.

"No more," Chakotay interrupted, firmly. "Doctor's orders. Everything
is under control, and he doesn't want you involved in any of this just
yet."

She nodded slowly and sighed. She was probably lucky he'd told her as
much as he had. If he said everything was fine, everything was
probably fine. She was just going to have to let go, for now. As she
nodded, she felt something soft brush against her cheek, and saw a
flash of silver-blue in the farthest reaches of her peripheral vision.

"All right," she said, resigned. "No more ship's business then. But
maybe you could tell me what this blue thing is by my face?"

He grinned, and gently picked up the object in question and held it up
in front of her.

Did she really want to know what she was doing in bed with a small,
stuffed Flotter? Perhaps. She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"From Naomi," he explained.  Then he lifted Flotter's webbed hand and
made it wave to her.

She smiled broadly, started to laugh. Then, without warning, she was
crying. The mild amusement had evoked other strong emotions, and the
cumulative effect of the past few days hit her all at once. Despite
her emotional turmoil, she remembered to be grateful that she was
breaking down in front of Chakotay, and no one else. She knew he
understood.

And he did understand. He bent over the bed, awkwardly embracing her
head. He murmured, "It's all right," trying to sooth her as he would a
sick child, his fingers clasped firmly around the back of her head and
neck. He showed no signs of moving, nor did she pull away. For once,
she just let herself be comforted.

"Naomi says that you were very brave," he said, quietly.

The sound that emerged from her was something between a snort and a
sob, as if she still couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. "I was
terrified," she whispered, carefully bringing her hand up and resting
it on his arm.

"A perfectly reasonable response," he said. "I was, too, and I wasn't
even there."

They remained in place, but silent for a few moments. She breathed as
deeply as she could without hurting her back, and remembered Neelix'
traditional Prixin toast, 'We are in the arms of family.' Comforted by
Chakotay's reassuring presence, and clutching Naomi's stuffed toy,
she'd never felt it more acutely.

She didn't hear the Doctor approach, but knew he was coming when
Chakotay released her gently. Chakotay stepped back to let the Doctor
scan and question her. She held his gaze for a moment, thanking him
without words.

After the Doctor confirmed that her condition was stable, Chakotay
returned to her side.

"I'll be all right," she told him. "Why don't you go and take care of
my ship."

"Yes, Ma'am," he said, smiling. He squeezed her hand. "I'll be back
later."

---
Guilt
---

The room was dark, illuminated only by candles - perhaps a dozen
of them, arranged haphazardly on the floor where he sat. He was
kneeling with his hands clasped, his index fingers steepled in the
meditation position, wearing traditional Vulcan robes of deep blue. He
nodded in acknowledgment as she moved into the room.

"Captain," he said.

"Hello, Tuvok," she replied. She didn't want to push, or pry, but he'd
been released from sickbay two days ago and hadn't been seen since. "I
came to see how you were doing."

He unclasped his hands and folded them in his lap. He regarded her
steadily for several moments, his eyes dark, unreadable. He didn't
seem inclined to give her an automatic or pat answer, which she took
as a good sign. She sat down in a chair opposite him and waited.

"There is a certain ruthless logic to the collective," he said,
finally, completely disregarding her original query. "It is cold,
mechanical, and inherently evil, but there are rules, and they are
obeyed without question. There is the Borg way and there is the wrong
way. It is a binary way of thinking, and that kind of simplicity -
order - can be compelling. I believe that is why I, as a Vulcan, was
more vulnerable to the collective than either you or Lieutenant Torres
were."

She stirred, but he continued speaking, his voice taking on a tone of
mild disbelief. "I was unable to fight it - fight her, the Queen -
even as she assimilated knowledge of my family, my ship, my duties."

"It wasn't your fault, Tuvok," she said, firmly. "The neural
suppressant didn't work, that's all."

He looked sharply at her. "You should have disconnected me from the
collective immediately," he said, accusingly. "Your emotional
attachment to me nearly destroyed the mission, and the rest of the
away team."

She blinked, briefly taken aback by his harshness, and his abrupt
change of tone, but she knew he was right. To some extent.

"Perhaps," she agreed. "But I'm only human, Tuvok. And it was a
drastic step. I knew that disconnecting you would very likely kill
you. I wanted to explore other options first."

She fell silent, remembering how she had tried so hard to keep him
focused on her, on the mission, on whatever would help him maintain
his individuality. She remembered how, ultimately, her efforts had
failed. She remembered her own hesitation, and she remembered, with
startling clarity, every nuance of the act of lifting her hand to
sever him from the collective.

"When I finally did try to disconnect you...it was one of the hardest
things I've ever had to do," she said, quietly.

"Your feelings of guilt are illogical," he said, dismissively. "You
did your duty as a Starfleet Captain." He put a subtle stress on the
word 'you,' but she decided to ignore that for the moment. He was more
agitated than she had seen him in years.

"I know that," she said. "But that didn't make it any easier. The
bottom line here, Tuvok, is that the mission was a success. It
succeeded far beyond our expectations. We need to remember that - all
of us."

His only response was to resume his meditation position. She sighed,
remembering the Doctor's earlier wry assertion that Vulcans were even
more stubborn than a certain Starship Captain that he knew. In the
silence, she now noticed that the candles were not randomly arranged,
as she'd initially thought. There was a subtle pattern in their
relative positions, and their heights. The formed a rough circle
around a lamp on the floor, directly in front of Tuvok. Tuvok was
staring at the flame on the lamp, which burned bright and steady, a
calm counterpoint to the flickering candles surrounding it.

"Tuvok," she said, changing the subject completely, "What are you
doing?"

"I am meditating," he replied, his voice rougher than usual. "I am
attempting to purge the voice of the collective from my mind."

She noticed, with some alarm, that his hands were shaking. She stooped
beside him on the floor, and stilled them with her own hands. "Do you
still hear the voices?" she asked, deeply concerned for him.

"No," he said. "But they may be there, hidden, with my other dark
thoughts. I must control them." He wrenched his eyes away from the
flame, and his hands away from hers, and looked directly at her. He
spoke forcefully, and sounded almost angry. "I failed in my duty as
your chief of security," he said. "I jeopardized the mission, and I
nearly destroyed you. If the Queen had ordered me to kill you, I would
have done so without hesitation. I cannot accept that."

"I thought you said guilt was illogical," she said, softly, but
firmly. "Vulcans have been assimilated before. What makes you so
special? Did you think your devotion to duty, or your friendship with
me, would be enough of a defense? The only defense you had was the
neural suppressant, and it - didn't - work."

He glowered at her defiantly for a moment, but then his shoulders
sagged slightly, and she saw something in his eyes change, soften. She
knew he couldn't argue with her logic - it was flawless, for once.

"You are correct, of course," he said, finally, his voice almost
returning to normal. "Captain," he added, "I appreciate your concern,
and your efforts, but this is something that I must confront alone."

"All right, Tuvok," she said, rising to her feet. "Let me know if
there's anything I can do to help you. Anything." She forced eye
contact, and added, with fervent sincerity, "Do what you need to do to
get through this. But please, get through it. I need you back."

She started for the door, but he called her back after she'd only
taken a few steps. "Captain," he said, rising smoothly from the floor.
He walked across the room and returned holding another meditation
lamp.

"Please," he said, offering it to her. "Take this. I want you to have
it. Perhaps it will help you with your own recovery."

She hesitated, briefly. The lamp looked ancient and genuine, not
replicated. She didn't want to take a family heirloom. But she
couldn't refuse, either. It was clearly important to him that she
accept it.

"Thank you, Tuvok," she said, warmly, taking the lamp. She reached for
him and took his hand, clasping it briefly before she turned and left
the room.

---
Flame
---

Once she was authorized admittance, B'Elanna walked into the room with
surprisingly little hesitation. She'd only been here a handful of
times in the six long years of the journey, but tonight she just had
to come. It seemed almost like an instinctive drive - to be in the
company of someone who truly understood.

Janeway was sitting on her couch, and barely even looked up to see who
had entered. B'Elanna's presence apparently felt natural to her as
well. She was staring into the flame emanating from a small, clay lamp
on her coffee table.

"What is that?" B'Elanna asked.  It looked vaguely familiar to her.

"I went to see Tuvok," Janeway replied. "He just...handed it to me."
She shook her head. "Tuvok," she added, "is a mess. Well, as much of a
mess as a Vulcan can be, I suppose."

B'Elanna sat down on the couch beside Janeway, subconsciously
mirroring her position - arms folded, eyes focused on the flame.  "I
think I'm a mess too," she announced.

"Well," Janeway said, almost philosophically, "that makes three of
us." They sat in silence for a few minutes.

"I thought," Janeway said, finally, "that it might be a little easier
for you. Since you have Tom."

"It does help a little," B'Elanna admitted. "His presence is
comforting, especially at night. And when we make love - it's the only
time I really feel...anything." Under any other circumstances, she
would never have considered sharing any aspect of her sex life at all
with Janeway, but this seemed more like a necessary exchange of
information. Janeway nodded, unfazed by the revelation, and B'Elanna
continued. "But mostly...I know he means well, but he can't possible
understand, no matter how much he wants to. And he hovers, and he
walks on eggshells around me - it's...irritating." The last word came
out almost as a growl, and she felt guilty, but she had to be honest.
"And I can't even yell at him, because he's trying so hard, and his
intentions are good, and..." She sighed. "Well, I think you probably
know what I mean."

Janeway snorted and her eyes automatically went to the pale pink rose
sitting in a vase at the other end of the coffee table. She'd come
pretty close to snapping at a certain overly solicitous first officer
several times today. She didn't know what he wanted from her. No, she
did know. He wanted her to be vulnerable for him, and she couldn't do
it. Not anymore.  The first flush of anger at their violation, and
relief at their rescue, was long past, and now she just felt numb. She
couldn't cry anymore. She just wanted to get past this, and move on.

B'Elanna settled back in the couch. "I have to keep busy," she said.
"It's the only way, for me. When I sit down quietly, or try to sleep,
I keep hearing my own voice, with that damned vocal subprocessor."

"Me too," Janeway said, quietly. Her ship, her crew, her fault.
Always. The sound of that vocal subprocessor haunted her.

B'Elanna shot her a quick glance before turning her attention back to
the flame. "Hey, I volunteered, remember?"

"I know," Janeway sighed. "And I needed you there. But I still hear
your voice. And I see my hand reaching up, over and over again, to
disconnect Tuvok from the collective - to kill him."

B'Elanna drew a breath, preparing to tell her Captain that she did
what she had to do, that it was all right. But after a moment, she
changed her mind and exhaled slowly. Janeway didn't need consolation
or reassurance, just understanding. She leaned back on the couch,
getting comfortable. The movement brought her arm into contact with
Janeway's. She half expected her to pull away, but she didn't.
Instead, she simply continued starting at the flame, mesmerized.

"It's funny," Janeway said, breaking the silence and nodding towards
the table, "I think it actually helps."

B'Elanna tilted her head and looked appraisingly at the lamp,
considering this. "You're right," she agreed. "I wonder why that is?"

"Maybe because it's so steady," Janeway said, thoughtfully. "The flame
doesn't move unless the air around it does. It doesn't flicker like a
candle. It's...calming. It centers you."

And it did. The flame barely changed shape, but it almost seemed to be
breathing. It was a palpable, strong, soothing presence in the room.
B'Elanna wondered, idly, what would happen if it suddenly vanished.
She had a feeling they'd both feel lost without it.

But for now, it was there. Giving them strength, and peace.

---
Personal Log
---

Personal Log: Commander Tuvok

It has been one standard month since the Captain, Lieutenant Torres
and I returned from the Borg tactical cube. I, personally, have
experienced a gradual improvement over time, both physically and
mentally. It is my belief that the Captain and the Lieutenant are also
recovering steadily.

The three of us have been interacting together socially more than we
had in the past. My shared meals with the Captain have become more
frequent, and yesterday I joined Lieutenant Torres on the holodeck for
some Klingon martial arts exercises. Perhaps it is the shared
experience of being Borg that causes us to seek each other out. Unlike
myself, the Captain and Lieutenant Torres were both able to fully
maintain their individuality while in the collective, but I still find
myself more comfortable with them than with my other shipmates. I
suspect that they have also found this to be true.

We are not, however, associating with each other to the exclusion of
all others. Lieutenant Torres still spends the majority of her
off-duty time with Lieutenant Paris, and the Captain, as always, has
the support and friendship of Commander Chakotay. I, of course, have
my meditations and mental exercises to center me. And perhaps more.

Vulcans do not often forge close friendships with members of other
species. Until now, I had believed Kathryn Janeway to be my only
genuine friend among the crew. I am beginning to realize that I may
have been mistaken.

The humans refer to it as 'reaching out,' but whatever the term, I
have observed that various crewmembers have been making an unusual
effort to engage me in conversation, and to inquire about my well
being. Last week, for example, Ensign Kim challenged me to a game of
kal-toh. In the past, I have always been the one to approach him.
Perhaps my rank or my demeanor intimidated him, and prevented him from
making any overtures on his own. Now it would seem that his reticence
has been overcome by his desire to assist in my recovery. I may not
always understand human emotions, but I have become adept at reading
them. His offer was sincere.

And Mister Neelix has increased his clumsy attempts to engage me in
banter - sharing obvious puns, and offering me overly spiced Vulcan
dishes. Oddly, I find his efforts...not unwelcome.

Ultimately, I believe that all of us from the away team will prevail,
and perhaps even grow stronger. Triumphing in the face of adversity
is, after all, the traditional Vulcan way. It is also, I have found,
the Human way. Most importantly, however, it is what Captain Janeway
would call 'the Voyager way.'

---
The End