Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek Voyager and all its characters, including Leonard, the best of the bunch.

~*~

Commander Chakotay strode into sickbay, his face reflecting his intense concern for the only patient within.

"The Captain's status?" he asked.

"She's still unconscious," the Doctor replied. "And I'd like for her to stay that way for now. The modifications that the Queen made to her implants made it far more difficult for me to remove them."

"B'Elanna and Tuvok?" Chakotay asked.

"I've released them to their quarters. I expect them both to make a full recovery, at least physically," the Doctor said. "Of course," he added, in his best no-one-ever-listens-to-me voice, "I can't even begin to guess at what their emotional recovery will entail, as no one in the records has ever INTENTIONALLY allowed themselves to be assimilated."

"Noted," Chakotay said, tersely. "About the Captain..."

"I'm removing her from duty for at least three days," the Doctor said. "And for now, she really needs to be kept quiet. No unnecessary shocks. No unnecessary visitors. No reports. And absolutely no coffee."

"Understood," Chakotay replied, wincing. If ever a woman deserved her caffeine...

The Doctor waited expectantly for Chakotay to leave, but he did not.

"Commander?" he asked.

"I'd...I'd just like to sit with her for a while," Chakotay said.

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Suit yourself," he said. "But remember, I don't want her disturbed in any way."

"Understood," Chakotay said.

"Well, if you'll excuse me, I have some reports to prepare," the Doctor said. He turned towards his office, but nearly tripped over a barely moving object on the sickbay floor.

"Leonard!" he scolded. "What have I told you about getting underfoot?" The Doctor moved to a console, tapped the controls, and Leonard dematerialized, only to rematerialize moments later on one of the biobeds.

Chakotay watched, mildly amused, then turned his full attention to his Captain. He heard the Doctor enter his office and begin dictating medical reports to the computer. He sat down next to her biobed and, after glancing over at the Doctor, who was not paying attention, took Kathryn's hand. It felt too cool, and her skin was pale. He sighed, and felt nearly all of his strength ebb away from him. He'd been operating on adrenaline only for the past week.

"Kathryn," he whispered, intensely. "I should never have let you do this. I don't know what the hell I was thinking. I know you can't hear me, but I just want you to know that I will NEVER let you do something like this again."

With his other hand, he reached up to gently stroke her hair. The Doctor had been able, thank God, to stimulate her hair follicles. Her hair was loose now, framing her face, probably past shoulder length – and it was beautiful. He hoped she wouldn't cut it again. He'd only gotten a glimpse of Kathryn as a bald Borg drone, but it was enough for him to know that the more hair the woman had, the better. Sure, it was a shallow observation, but he couldn't help it. Kathryn's hair was one of his weaknesses.

With another sidelong glance towards the Doctor's office, he leaned in closer to Kathryn. "I can't say this to you when you're conscious, as much as I want to. I understand why I can't, but I won't let the opportunity pass me by now. I love you, Kathryn."

He brushed his lips quickly against hers, then left the room. The Doctor glanced up as the Commander left, but wisely chose not to mention the tears in his eyes.

~*~

Several hours later, Kathryn Janeway slowly regained consciousness. Groggy, she didn't bother to open her eyes. She attempted to assess her status while keeping her eyes shut tightly. She was cold as hell, and something was wrong. The other voices – they were gone. She was no longer Borg. The mission had been a success. She inhaled – sickbay. She must be in sickbay. Yes, she could feel that she was on a biobed. There was a slight breeze – she must be underneath one of the ventilation shafts. The breeze felt nice. The movement of the air brushed through her hair. Hair! She had hair again!

She had an odd feeling – like someone had said something to her, but she couldn't remember who, or what had been said. It was a nice feeling. Warm.

She was happy not to be Borg anymore, and definitely happy to have hair – on the Borg cube, she'd caught a glimpse of her reflection on one of the relay panels. She'd nearly blown her cover by gasping aloud. God, she'd wanted her hair back. She swore to herself that if she ever got her hair back, she would never cut it again. She was deeply grateful to have hair again. Still, she felt a little shaky. She decided to open her eyes. Maybe the Doctor could fill her in on her condition.

At first, the light was far too bright. It took several moments for her eyes to adjust to the stronger level of illumination. Gradually, her surroundings began to come into focus. First the ceiling, then the lights. Slowly, carefully, she turned her head. Someone was on the biobed adjacent to hers. She squinted until the form came into focus. But it was...it couldn't be. Could it? It was some kind of giant lizard. Was she dead? Was this her spirit guide, come to lead her to eternal rest? No, it was...she tried to remember. It was Paris. Paris? No, that couldn't be it, either. Paris wasn't a lizard, right? She was so confused. She remembered something about Warp Ten. Warp Ten was a bad thing. But Paris wasn't a lizard anymore, so what was this lizard doing here? Maybe she was hallucinating. That must be it. She lifted her head and studied the lizard carefully. Everything looked a little clearer now. It was definitely some kind of reptile. And it didn't look like a hallucination. Suddenly, the lizard spoke.

"I love you, Kathryn," the lizard said.

~*~

The Doctor scurried out of his office as the Captain's head slumped back on her pillow and all of her monitors began screaming at once. As he began to try to stabilize her, he was far too busy to take any notice of his pet, who was chortling quietly, as only a holographic iguana can.