"Personal log, Seven of Nine:
 "I have recently become aware of a change in the Doctor's behaviour; I believe he has developed romantic feelings for me.  I am unsure how to proceed; I find myself ambivalent.  I am afraid; my emotions are volatile; I believe that I... return his feelings.
 "Computer pause; delete last two sentences."
 "DELETED."
 "Resume log entry.
 "Although I cannot be certain of his feelings, I have decided that I must end all further social interaction with him, except when absolutely unavoidable.
 "End log."
 Taking a deep breath, Seven found herself free at last from the anxiety that had clouded the last few days.  The loss of the Doctor's companionship would be painful, but it was necessary; she would resist any urge to seek him out, no matter how strong.
 Squaring her shoulders she prepared to commence the day's work, but she had barely begun to move when she found tears threatening.  She stopped and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.
 "I will resist," she said out loud, her voice low but vehement.
 Hearing the hiss of the cargo-bay doors she opened her eyes to see the Doctor enter, his mouth spread in a wide smile.
 "Good morning, Seven."
 She nodded, but said nothing.
 Slightly put-off by this, his smile began to falter.  "I've found a piece of music that you might find interesting; written by Ludwig van Beethoven."  As he warmed to his subject his smile began to widen again.  "The Grosse Fuge.  The complex counterpoint should give you plenty of intriguing mathematical... qualities..."  He faltered to a halt as Seven's stony expression remained unchanged.
 "No," she said blandly.  "I have duties to attend to."
 "Well, perhaps later then," he said, his voice hesitant, his face bewildered.
 "Perhaps."
 At her dismissive, almost contemptuous tone his eyes filled with pain and she felt as if her chest was being squeezed tight by some invisible force.
 He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came.  Shoulders sagging, he turned and walked from the cargo-bay, every sad step like a knife stabbing at her heart.  As the doors closed, she let out a single miserable sob.

***

 Over the next few days the Doctor's mood became increasingly grim.  Three more times he tried to approach her, but on each occasion she seemed more aloof and unfeeling than the last; it was as if a wall of ice had grown up between them, and he could find no way to breach it.
 The atmosphere in sickbay became gloomy and oppressive: gone were the dry jokes and wry remarks, no longer could he be heard humming the latest aria to take his fancy; instead he worked in brooding silence, sometimes snapping irritably at a patient to hold still, or just treating them to an angry glare.
 Paris began to dread his shifts in sickbay.  Much though he sympathised with his friend, he found the Doctor's black mood difficult to bear.  All attempts at consolation were met with a snappish rebuttal or a tired "I don't wish to discuss the matter, Mr Paris".  He talked the problem over with B'Elanna, but they could think of no way to bring about a reconciliation between the two.  All they could do was hope that Seven would relent, but this seemed unlikely; she parried all offers of help or advice with a glacial calm, the Borg in her (that would perhaps always be a part of her nature) replying emotionlessly that she needed no help, that friendship was irrelevant, while underneath, hidden away for none to see, her heart was breaking.

***

A week later Tom and B'Elanna were eating lunch together, discussing the problem once more.
 "We've got to do something!  I've got another shift in sickbay tomorrow and I don't think I can take anymore!"
 "What the hell can we do?"
 "Something must have happened.  Seven can be cold, but I've never seen her like this."
 "She's Borg.  She'll always be Borg."
 "No - I don't believe that, and nor do you."
 B'Elanna sighed.  "I don't know anymore.  Whatever's going on inside Seven's head, I don't think there's anything we can do about it."
 "But she as-good-as told you she loved him."
 B'Elanna shrugged sadly.  "Maybe I was wrong.  Maybe I misinterpreted the whole thing.  I don't know."
 Tom's shoulders slumped in resignation.  "I guess I'm just gonna have to get used to working in a morgue."
 As B'Elanna reached across the table to pat his hand in mock consolation the doors of the mess-hall opened and Captain Janeway entered with Seven.  They were having a conversation of sorts, but it was clear that the captain was finding it a strain to keep up her side in the face of Seven's monosyllabic replies.  The wall that Seven had erected between herself and the Doctor had grown to encompass all of her crewmates; it seemed as if all the progress she'd made in her time aboard Voyager had been undone, that she had reverted to the drone she'd once been.
 While Seven was being greeted by a distinctly forced laugh from Neelix, Janeway approached them.
 "What the hell is going on with Seven and the Doctor?" she hissed.  There was no anger in her voice, but her frustration was clear.
 "Captain..." B'Elanna fidgted nervously and Tom's shoulders tensed, as if expecting a blow to fall.
 Janeway leaned over the table, speaking quietly.  "You two know something: now, out with it."
 "Harry and his big mouth," Tom murmured, and instantly regretted it on seeing Janeway's glare.  He sat up straighter and spoke quickly to avoid disaster.  "Well, the Doc's kinda... um... well, he's sorta..."
 "He's in love with her," B'Elanna broke in impatiently.
 "In love!" Janeway looked over her shoulder at Seven as the former Borg turned from Neelix, lunch in hand.  "And she found out," the captain whispered, putting two-and-two together.
 B'Elanna nodded furtively as Seven approached, but she passed them without a word and sat at an empty table.
 The captain looked on with an expression of deep compassion as Seven began to listlessly consume her meal, her head bowed over her plate, appearing to be oblivious to everything around her.
 As if fate had taken a hand, the Doctor chose that moment to enter.  He saw her  immediately and halted, his face a mask of misery, but she was either unaware of him or chose to ignore him.  It had been his intention to inform Neelix about certain vitamins that had been lacking in the crews' diet recently, but seeing her, all thought of his task-at-hand fled.  The facade of indifference was beginning to crumble; he could see the loneliness in every line of her body, and he couldn't ignore that silent plea, no matter what she might say to him.  He approached and softly spoke her name.
 For a moment she didn't react and he thought she might ignore him completely, but she finally looked up.  She said nothing, but he could see her struggling to maintain her detachment.
 "Seven, we've got to talk."
 "No."  The icy indifference was gone; her voice was hoarse, barely under control.
 "I know why you're doing this.  I know you're afraid of..."
 "No, please."
 A part of him felt as if he was betraying her; it was his fault that she was suffering this way, but he had to press on, resolve the situation somehow.  "The first time I fell in love I tried to convince myself that my program was malfunctioning; it took Kes to..."
 But then she was rising, knocking her plate to the floor.  "Stop!" she shouted, and the mess-hall fell silent, all eyes turned to them.
 Janeway approached, sparing an angry glance at the Doctor, but it was lost on him, his eyes seeing only Seven and the pain her was causing her.  He slowly backed away.  'I was her mentor, her teacher,' he thought with self-loathing, 'And look at what I've done to her.  I've betrayed the trust she placed in me.'  Turning, he fled from the mess-hall.
 Around the room, conversations resumed slowly as Janeway placed a hand on Seven's shoulder, feeling the trembling of her body.  "Come on, let's get you out of here."
 "No," she said quietly, gazing downward at the smashed plate on the floor.  "I need to be alone."
 "You need a friend," said her captain gently.
 Seven looked up at her, a certain amount of composure regained.  "No," she said firmly, "In a while, but now I need to be alone."
 Janeway smiled sadly and nodded her permission, watching as she exited the room, feeling impotent, but determined nevertheless to do something for her.

***

 An hour later Janeway headed for cargo-bay two.  She suspected that Seven wanted more time, but she had paced up-and-down her ready-room until her impatience had got the better of her.  Seven needed her now, whether she realised it or not.  She came to a halt as she entered the gloomy chamber and felt her heart sink at what she saw.
 A small, sad figure sat at the foot of the alcove; her arms were wrapped around her knees, her feet turned inwards, her head bowed down; she looked like a lost little girl with nowhere to go, nobody to turn to.
 "Oh, Seven," Janeway sighed softly.
 As she neared her, Seven became aware she was not alone.  She hurriedly stood, embarrassed at being seen with all her defences stripped away.  She glanced at Janeway and then looked quickly away, but it was enough for the captain to see the red puffiness of her eyes and cheeks.
 "You've been crying," she said gently.
 "No, Borg do not cry." Despite everything, there still remained the stubborn spark of her spirit.
 "No, but humans do."
 Seven met her gaze and gave her a small, tired smile.
 "The Doctor loves you."  She said it as a statement of fact rather than a question.
 "Yes," was the quiet reply.  All the emotion seemed drained from her; there was nothing left but a weary resignation.
 "But that's not what's frightening you the most, is it?"
 "No."
 Janeway moved to stand in front of her.  Despite the fact that she had to look upwards into her eyes, it seemed as if the former drone was the smaller of the two.
 "You love him."
 There was the briefest of hesitations and Seven glanced away for a moment before replying.
 "Yes."
 A single tear spilled from her natural, human eye, and Janeway reached up to gently wipe it away.
 "Why does it cause you such pain?"
 Seven turned and stepped up to her alcove, placing her augmented hand on a small green-lit panel, almost caressing it.
 "To become so dependant on a single individual... it is too much for me.  I am afraid of what might happen.  These feelings are so... powerful... I feel that I have lost all self-control.  It is overwhelming me."
 Janeway stepped up onto the base of the alcove and gently turned her around.
 "You're afraid of the risk, afraid of being hurt."
 She nodded mutely.
 "But Seven, you're already hurting; it seems to me that you're already dependant on the Doctor.  Don't you agree?"
 She nodded again, and Janeway could see her lip tremble, knew that tears were suddenly near.
 "I thought I could stop the feelings," she burst out, "But I cannot."
 And then Captain Janeway was holding her in her arms as she sobbed on her shoulder, clutching at her as if she were a lifeline.
 "It's okay," the captain whispered.  "It's all right; everything will work itself out in time.  Let it all out..."

...TO BE CONTINUED.