What the Heck were These Writers Thinking?
Disclaimer: Picture it, Sicily, 1922. I owned Voyager. I don't now. Get
over it, ya' big galoot.
A/N: This is my attempt to explain the complete duh - ness of the writers
during the last few episodes regarding the relationships of several
characters. Flames are expected.
Pairing: J/Q, P/T, D/7
The senior staff of the SS voyager clustered around a view screen. A voice announced, "The series finale of Star Trek: Voyager was brought to you by Neelix's Fine Italian Dining - the best pizza this side of the Zoob Nebula." "He finally learned," Tom said. Of course, he couldn't have learned while we were on the ship." The crew laughed, though some of them seemed rather unsettled. Captain Janeway smiled. "So, all pizza aside, what did everyone think?" Q spoke up, rolling his eyes. "It was terrible. They didn't even mention that I came back to Voyager, and Kathryn came to her senses and married me! How could they leave that part out?" "I hate to say it, but I agree with Q," Lt. Paris said. "That ending was crap! They only showed Miral for a split second." There was a delighted squeal from the Doctor's lap. "Crap! Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap!" B'Elanna groaned. "Tom, now look what you've done. She turned to the squirming toddler. "Miral, honey, don't say that word." The child looked perplexed. She said something that sounded vaguely like, "Buh Da - ee seh it?" "Yes well, Daddy's being an idiot." She intended that only her husband, not child heard her remark. But hear it she did. "Da - ee ibiot?" The Doctor grinned broadly. "What a clever child!" B'Elanna rolled her eyes. One two - year - old was enough. She might as well have three. Miral plopped onto her godfather's shoulder matrix. She was looking at a former borg drone. The image held no fear for her. The only experience she'd had with the borg was her parents' friend. She reached up a chubby finger and poked her in the nose. "Sebin!" Her blue eyes sparkled with the delight of her discovery. Seven of Nine raised one eyebrow, said nothing. The faintest smile curled at the corner of her lips. The Doctor frowned. "Yes . . . Seven." He passed the child back to her mother. "Would you?" Tom, B'Elanna, and Harry looked at each other uncomfortably. One didn't have to be one of the three nosiest crew members to know what was going on, but it helped. Harry leaned in and said what was on the minds of his friends. "What were those writers thinking? Chakotay?" "I don't know," Tom added, but Doc looked pretty upset. Why would they change the story like that?" "I don't know," B'Elanna this time, "But I hope it doesn't cause too much trouble." "Only one way to know," Tom reminded them. "Eve - drop!" The voice came from the tiniest Paris. Thanks to Godfather Doc and Uncle Harry, it had been one of the first words she had learned. She didn't know what it meant exactly, but it happened when Momma and Daddy had an "Adult Conversation" which they didn't like to do in front of her. Whenever possible, Doc and Harry stood outside the door and listened, usually placing bets. For a two - year old, Miral was very intelligent. (Where she got it from is anybody's guess (Rim shot)), and it looked to her like Doc, Seven, and Chakotay. Chakotay began what he knew would be a difficult conversation. "I'm very sorry, Seven. You know I have nothing to do with the plot development. These writers create us, but sometimes, they make us do really stupid things. Take this fanfiction writer for example. She's always making characters do really stupid things! (But not this: this really happened.) Anyway, all the writers care about is ratings. No one in their right mind thinks that I could ever be in love with you." He thought about that for a moment, then amended, "No offense." He smiled. "You know I prize your friendship very highly, Seven." "None taken," she assured him. "I also consider you a. . ." she mulled over the word, one she did not use often. "Friend." She turned to the Doctor. "I do not understand this plot development. The Doctor has been completely incapable of disguising his affection. His attempts to do so were absurdly transparent. How did the writers decide to 'match' me with Chakotay? It was an unsubstantiated conclusion." The Doctor was visibly annoyed. "All flattery aside, Seven, I think that was exactly the point." "Please clarify."
"Everyone expected us to be together." His voice faltered. He swallowed. "It was the classic Pygmalion story. Apparently, they thought it was too predictable, so they devised an alternative. They threw the audience the proverbial 'curve ball.'" Chakotay nodded, glanced between Seven and the Doctor, then, as if making some sudden realization, backed away. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go. . .uh, make up an excuse for leaving the two of you alone." He pondered that for a minute. "Yeah, that's it." The Doctor looked at the floor, not really knowing what to say. "You are doubtless facing difficulties conversing with me because you feel that you made a fool of yourself the last time we spoke." "Well, when you put it that way." There was more than a hint of irritation in the Doctor's voice. "I assure you, you did not." There was a softness in her voice that usually only the Doctor could hear. This time, it was quite audible. "I am used to individuals guarding their feelings from me. From the beginning you have been honest, kind." She smiled, just slightly. "I am not familiar with Earth literature. But I believe Pygmalion sounds. . .intriguing."
The senior staff of the SS voyager clustered around a view screen. A voice announced, "The series finale of Star Trek: Voyager was brought to you by Neelix's Fine Italian Dining - the best pizza this side of the Zoob Nebula." "He finally learned," Tom said. Of course, he couldn't have learned while we were on the ship." The crew laughed, though some of them seemed rather unsettled. Captain Janeway smiled. "So, all pizza aside, what did everyone think?" Q spoke up, rolling his eyes. "It was terrible. They didn't even mention that I came back to Voyager, and Kathryn came to her senses and married me! How could they leave that part out?" "I hate to say it, but I agree with Q," Lt. Paris said. "That ending was crap! They only showed Miral for a split second." There was a delighted squeal from the Doctor's lap. "Crap! Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap!" B'Elanna groaned. "Tom, now look what you've done. She turned to the squirming toddler. "Miral, honey, don't say that word." The child looked perplexed. She said something that sounded vaguely like, "Buh Da - ee seh it?" "Yes well, Daddy's being an idiot." She intended that only her husband, not child heard her remark. But hear it she did. "Da - ee ibiot?" The Doctor grinned broadly. "What a clever child!" B'Elanna rolled her eyes. One two - year - old was enough. She might as well have three. Miral plopped onto her godfather's shoulder matrix. She was looking at a former borg drone. The image held no fear for her. The only experience she'd had with the borg was her parents' friend. She reached up a chubby finger and poked her in the nose. "Sebin!" Her blue eyes sparkled with the delight of her discovery. Seven of Nine raised one eyebrow, said nothing. The faintest smile curled at the corner of her lips. The Doctor frowned. "Yes . . . Seven." He passed the child back to her mother. "Would you?" Tom, B'Elanna, and Harry looked at each other uncomfortably. One didn't have to be one of the three nosiest crew members to know what was going on, but it helped. Harry leaned in and said what was on the minds of his friends. "What were those writers thinking? Chakotay?" "I don't know," Tom added, but Doc looked pretty upset. Why would they change the story like that?" "I don't know," B'Elanna this time, "But I hope it doesn't cause too much trouble." "Only one way to know," Tom reminded them. "Eve - drop!" The voice came from the tiniest Paris. Thanks to Godfather Doc and Uncle Harry, it had been one of the first words she had learned. She didn't know what it meant exactly, but it happened when Momma and Daddy had an "Adult Conversation" which they didn't like to do in front of her. Whenever possible, Doc and Harry stood outside the door and listened, usually placing bets. For a two - year old, Miral was very intelligent. (Where she got it from is anybody's guess (Rim shot)), and it looked to her like Doc, Seven, and Chakotay. Chakotay began what he knew would be a difficult conversation. "I'm very sorry, Seven. You know I have nothing to do with the plot development. These writers create us, but sometimes, they make us do really stupid things. Take this fanfiction writer for example. She's always making characters do really stupid things! (But not this: this really happened.) Anyway, all the writers care about is ratings. No one in their right mind thinks that I could ever be in love with you." He thought about that for a moment, then amended, "No offense." He smiled. "You know I prize your friendship very highly, Seven." "None taken," she assured him. "I also consider you a. . ." she mulled over the word, one she did not use often. "Friend." She turned to the Doctor. "I do not understand this plot development. The Doctor has been completely incapable of disguising his affection. His attempts to do so were absurdly transparent. How did the writers decide to 'match' me with Chakotay? It was an unsubstantiated conclusion." The Doctor was visibly annoyed. "All flattery aside, Seven, I think that was exactly the point." "Please clarify."
"Everyone expected us to be together." His voice faltered. He swallowed. "It was the classic Pygmalion story. Apparently, they thought it was too predictable, so they devised an alternative. They threw the audience the proverbial 'curve ball.'" Chakotay nodded, glanced between Seven and the Doctor, then, as if making some sudden realization, backed away. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go. . .uh, make up an excuse for leaving the two of you alone." He pondered that for a minute. "Yeah, that's it." The Doctor looked at the floor, not really knowing what to say. "You are doubtless facing difficulties conversing with me because you feel that you made a fool of yourself the last time we spoke." "Well, when you put it that way." There was more than a hint of irritation in the Doctor's voice. "I assure you, you did not." There was a softness in her voice that usually only the Doctor could hear. This time, it was quite audible. "I am used to individuals guarding their feelings from me. From the beginning you have been honest, kind." She smiled, just slightly. "I am not familiar with Earth literature. But I believe Pygmalion sounds. . .intriguing."