A few months later, in sickbay...

"Are those tissue samples ready?" the Doctor asks.

"Yes, Doctor..."

The past few months have been interesting. While medical technology has bounded forward immeasurably since your era, the human body hasn't, and the technology for aiding the sick is very user-friendly. It's actually been nice; while you spent your college years in a liberal arts school, you've now spent the past few months getting what you imagine to be the equivalent of a nurse's training from the Doctor. And while his love of opera has been trying, you've even managed to show him some of the musical merits of your era--he's especially taken a liking to post-rock. Who would've thought?

You hand him the samples and go back to running some blood tests, leaving half your attention free to read. You've gained a basic understanding of breakthroughs in physics and engineering, three hundred plus years of history, Vulcan philosophy, Klingon poetry (ugh), and more. You've taken a particular interest in the Borg, and have even gleaned a bit of engineering knowledge of Borg technology over your many dinners spent with Tom and B'Elanna. Still, the solitary Borg on board--Seven of Nine--has remained elusive, a shadow of a presence on the ship. The one time you did speak, she called you a "primitive," before walking away.

The Doctor approaches you. "Would you mind stopping by Cargo Bay 2, running a diagnostic on Seven's ocular implant?"

"Um...I won't. I can't speak for Seven..." you say, grabbing a tricorder from the Doctor. "Maybe you should do it. I mean, she doesn't seem to to totally hate you."

The Doctor nods, a knowing grin on his face. "Maybe..."

"What?"

He walks over. "Well...perhaps Seven is simply...afraid."

"Afraid?" you ask, shocked. "Of ME? C'mon, doc. She's much smarter, stronger, and--"

"That's just it," he says. "Maybe she is. But the closer we get to earth, the more you two are alike. No friends there, no family. Except..." he smiles. "Earth is much more a home to you than it ever was to her. You, a "primitive," who's thriving here in six months' time have managed to do something she still struggles with."

"What's that?"

"Being human," he says. "So go. And TRY to keep an open mind, even if she won't."

"Okay, doc," you say, standing up. "I'll try..."