Chapter Text
Seven gets Hugh to eat a single meal in his assigned quarters before he’s too exhausted. He has to ask her to go with a promise that they will talk more after he can rest. Seven excused herself, promising they would speak tomorrow. He makes his way to the bed, and as he lays down, he closes his eyes.
Hugh wakes to the sound of a pinging. He rolls over on his side and blinks the sleep away. He knows, somehow, that it’s the door chime. Did he sleep? He doesn’t know, and it certainly doesn’t feel like it. It’s been a long time since he’s heard a federation one. The Romulan door chimes sound VERY different. “Come.” He manages to roll his still sore legs off the edge of the bed. Taking a deep breath, he eyes the door as his hands grip the bed tightly on either side of him.
Seven steps through the threshold, and the doors seal behind her. “Good Morning.” She smiles at him, standing casually, arms folded over her chest.
Hugh looks around and nods. “Is it?”
“Well, no, it’s more like the afternoon, but you needed rest. We’re going to go see the doc, and we’re going to get you squared away.” she nods. “Then we’ll go to my ready room and talk.” She nods. “If that’s alright with you.”
Hugh nods. “Yes, I have questions. Lots of questions, I think.” He sighs deeply.
“Once the Doctor takes a look at you.” She doesn’t make that sound optional.
“I have questions for them too. Some of my implants don’t feel right.”
“Well, don’t you worry, he’s a close personal friend of mine, and he’s dealt with implants like ours.” she beams, “Get dressed; I’ll be outside.”
Once alone, he runs his fingers through his dark hair and taps a few of the implants to make sure he’s all in one piece. He has to be; he needs to debrief with Seven and send some messages to the people he was working with in Starfleet. Three years is a long time to be away for anyone. The Queen wishes him to speak on behalf of the collective. There is so much to unpack there.
He stands up, makes sure of his footing, and goes to grab some clothing from the replicator. He wasn’t wearing much when seven brought him aboard. He combed through the computer and found some black slacks, books, and a dark green long-sleeved shirt. He is used to covering up his arms and back; due to having far more dermal implants than most XBs
He was one of the first borg ever reclaimed, and that was before the starship Voyager returned with Seven. Seven’s reintegration information was beneficial in reclaiming further borg from the collective. That's why he's alive; the memory cells that remain part of his overall brain were intact, and when he bled out, they kept going. He doesn’t want to think about it.
He gets dressed quickly and opens the door to meet Seven, standing with a yeoman across the hallway. “Yeah, take that to Mr. Barkley.” She looks up as the yeoman walks away. “Ready?”
He smooths out the shirt on his chest. “Yes, I think so.” He nods. “You said your doctor had experience with implants?”
“Yes, he was the one who did my reclamation and Icheb’s as well.” Her voice grows quiet.
“He’s the hologram from Voyager?” Hugh can’t help but ask.
“Correct.” They fall into manageable steps, around the corner to the lift, and up two decks before they step out onto a more busy floor. “This way.”
Hugh follows Seven as they maneuver around the droves of people milling about. “What is going on?”
“The crew is working on offloading supplies to the planet for both Doctor Soong and the borg on the artifact. They need matter cells for their replicators and power cells, the Queen wants to raise the cube, but they need more equipment before it can leave the planet's surface.” Seven takes a breath and shakes her head, “It’s a tall order.”
“I’ll say,” Hugh looks around. “It’s been down there a long time.”
“As long as you have been offline.” She doesn’t say dead; maybe, he thinks, that’s for the best. Being offline is much different from being dead, especially to a borg.
They turn into a pristine medical bay. “Doctor?”
The doctor rounds the corner, eyes in his Padd a moment before he looks up. “Hugh, it’s a pleasure to meet one of Seven's friends, please.” He gestures to a medical bed, and Hugh follows the hologram’s lead. “Give us a few hours, Seven, and I’ll let you know what we find.”
Seven nods and turns leaving them. “Are we looking for something?” Hugh asks.
“It’s an expression.” The doctor runs a scanner over him. “They said you’d been dead; Seven asked for me to give you a look over.” He replaces the scanner into the tricorder and taps away. “I just want to ensure that your physical body parts are not suffering.”
“I’m sore,” Hugh admits. “Stiff mostly. Implants feel wrong somehow.”
“From what the Queen sent over, you’ve been in an alcove for more than three years.” He makes a face. “Would be stiff too if I were in an upright coffin.” Hugh looks at him now, and something crosses the Doctor’s face. The doctor’s voice softens. “Forgive my bedside manner.” He puts a hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “That was unkind. Your blood pressure spiked.”
Hugh looks at the monitor and takes a breath. “I’m taking in a lot of information right now, Doctor.”
“You are.” The doctor agreed. “You’re undergoing physical and psychological stressors. In my opinion, the Borg could have done this better.” He clasps the tricorder shut. “Let's take a look at those insides.”
“You don’t think they did a good job?” Hugh lays still while a scanner seems to go over him.
“Oh, the work is perfect, but there’s a fine line between ‘we rebuilt you walk it off,’ and the finesse you might need. You need more recovery time than they gave you. Seven should have brought you straight here.” The scanner stops, and the doctor moves to the next machine with a frustrated sound.
Hugh stays quiet for the most part, looking around the room, noting the ceiling and all the panels in it. He doesn’t know what to say or do. The Doctor’s face looms over him. “To expedite things, I’ll let you rest a little more.” There is the pinch of a hypo, and then he doesn’t remember falling asleep.
Hugh wakes in the medical bay to the Doctor’s smiling face. “I think that should do.” The doctor offers a hand. Hugh takes it and sits up, legs off the side toward the doctor.
“What is the prognosis?”
“I pulled your scans from Starfleet Medical on Earth and compared them with today, aside from an extra memory core and a few nodes around the area of impact here-” a hand touches his collar near where he’d bled out. “There’s a little scaring, but I think I have managed to minimalize it.” he nods. “Otherwise, you’re the picture of health, physically.”
Hugh nods, “and my implants?”
"Are fine." The doctor folded his arms over his chest. “Though I think being offline, as you put it, for three years may have an emotional impact. I would highly think of finding someone to talk to, a professional not a friend.” He says, “You’ll have some historical catching up.” The doctor nods, “If you need me, you know where to find me.” He sets the tricorder down and turns to his office.
The moment he is inside, Seven walks in, and she smiles. “Ready to talk?” Hugh looks at his hands and reaches up to touch the new node just under his skin at his collar and nods. “Yes.” He hops off the bench and gestures to her. “Lead the way.”
To be continued