Chemistry
By Laura Schiller
Based on: Star Trek: Voyager
Copyright: Paramount
Seven was used to Voyager's Sickbay. Since her unconventional arrival, she must have spent almost as much time here as in her alcove for various surgeries, scans, or social lessons with the Doctor. None of those procedures, though, had ever been quite like this.
"I've been guilty of an oversight, Seven," said the Doctor with uncharacteristic modesty. "When I said I could help you find the "man of your dreams", I should have stopped first to determine whether you are, in fact, attracted to men. Or to anyone at all, really. If you want to learn about dating, that should be the first step."
"It is a logical assumption," she said, settling down on the biobed. "I am female, as you pointed out." Of all the struggles she had and was still going through in pursuit of her identity, at least her gender had never been an issue. "Statistically speaking, I am most likely compatible with males."
"Still, it's quite thoughtless of me, especially in this day and age. I can't think what caused … never mind." He shook his head abruptly and began rummaging in his desk, where he took rather longer than his usual tidiness would warrant for pulling out a cortical monitor and a padd.
"It's pretty simple. You wear this … " He swept a stray lock of hair aside and pressed the cool metallic circle to the side of her neck. "And I'll monitor your heart rate, hormone levels and brain waves while you're looking at this slide show I've created." He handed her the padd. "The personnel at Mr. Neelix's Paxau Resort program were kind enough to pose for pictures. They thought it was for a swimwear calendar. I must admit, they turned out rather nicely. Go ahead."
He adjusted the bed so that she was sitting up, with the diagnostic arch over her lap, as she scrolled through the pictures. The whole situation was simply awkward. As for the holograms, posing by the poolside with their unnaturally perfect bodies – women with large breasts, men with chiseled abdominal muscles, a gender-neutral J'naii with the toned figure of a surfer, an Andorian thaan with highly arched antennae – they were no more attractive to her than Naomi's dolls.
She caught herself blushing, though not for the reasons he had expected. She hoped he knew her well enough to take embarrassment into account when evaluating his results.
The doors opened, causing her to switch off the padd and hide it with Borg-enhanced speed. The last thing she needed was for news of this experiment to spread around the ship.
It was Commander Chakotay, and he was out of uniform.
He had been boxing. The bandages around his hands made it obvious, as did the stains on the underarms of his T-shirt and the bruise around his left eye. He wore drawstring pants and sneakers. The gel had worn off out of his hair. His face and bare arms gleamed with sweat.
"Hello, Doctor. Seven. Do you have a minute?"
Seven's blush intensified. She was twice as glad that the Doctor's "swimwear calendar" was out of sight. This formidable man who had distrusted her from their first meeting was the last person on board whom she would have wanted to catch her looking at those pictures.
"Oh, Commander, not again!" exclaimed the Doctor, hurrying over with his dermal regenerator held out. "I have a good mind to let your boxing injuries heal by themselves from now on."
"It was either this or punch the Kadi ambassador. That would hardly be diplomatic." Chakotay blinked reflexively as the pointed tool came close to his eye, then hissed in pain at the motion. "He's Neelix's problem, though, not mine, so I'm keeping out of the way."
"Hold still." The Doctor held the taller man in place with one hand on his shoulder for a steadier aim at the black eye. "And forgive me if I don't accept diplomacy as an excuse."
There was real friendship and concern beneath his veneer of sarcasm, as Seven – who had been spoken to like this by the Doctor countless times – knew very well. Chakotay seemed to hear it too, because he relaxed and held perfectly still.
"If you saw the way this so-called monk leers at all the women on board, you might want to punch something too … but you have a point, Doctor. Next time I'll keep the safeties on."
The swelling faded bit by bit, until his skin turned its natural light brown and he could smile reassuringly at his colleague without wincing.
"There," said the Doctor. "You may go. I'd advise you not to read too much over the next few days, but I know that's no use."
So the Commander liked to read, did he? She hadn't known that. Not that it was relevant.
"True." Chakotay felt the skin under his eye with a cautious finger and gave a satisfied nod. "And thanks, Doctor. Good work."
"A basic procedure a first-year cadet could have performed – but you're welcome."
Chakotay, turning to leave, caught sight of Seven, who was still sitting on the biobed with the diagnostic arch running and the cortical monitor on her neck. He had seen her and greeted her when he'd walked in, but now it seemed to register with him for the first time that she was going through some kind of medical procedure as well.
Dark eyes looked her up and down. "How are you doing, Seven?"
"I am fine, Commander."
"Everything all right with your … ?" He gestured to his own tattooed forehead to refer to her Borg implants.
There was an uneasy tone in his voice that hadn't been there when he'd spoken to the Doctor: concern, or more likely caution. Seven knew better than anyone how dangerous her Borg-induced medical problems could become for the entire crew, but she resented that he'd come to the conclusion so quickly. After she'd saved his life on the Demon-class planet, did he still think of her as nothing but a walking biotechnical hazard? (And why should it matter what he thought?)
"All my components are functioning within normal parameters."
"Routine maintenance," the Doctor chimed in hastily. "Nothing to worry about."
"I'm glad to hear that," said Chakotay, so gently that she wondered if she had been too defensive. Perhaps he was concerned about her health after all, in the normal way of one colleague asking about another, rather than a soldier assessing a potential threat. "Will I see you at the ambassador's reception?"
"Parties are irrelevant." Unless, of course, one was using them as an occasion to practice dating - in which case they loomed all too large in one's perspective. She hoped that, if her experiment went badly, the Commander wouldn't notice.
"No argument here." He rolled his eyes. "I wish I could get out of it, but … duty calls. See you later, you two."
"Take care, Commander," the Doctor called after him as he left.
Seven fished the padd with the swimwear photographs out from where she had hidden it under one of the biobed cushions. She was just about to turn it back on when another visitor interrupted.
"Hey Doc, got a minute? I wanna show you something … oh. Hi, Seven." Ensign Kim, who had bounced into the room wearing an eager smile and holding a data chip, stopped short and blushed. He had stopped doing that every time he set eyes on her, which was a relief, but it still happened. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, thank you, Ensign," said Seven, setting the padd down on the nightstand with what she hoped was an indifferent manner that would discourage curiosity. What had the Doctor called it? "Routine maintenance."
"Oh, good. Listen, Doc, I think I finally finished Echoes of the Void. Only took me another six months, but hey, it's my first composition!" Kim beamed at the slim plastic rectangle in his hands. "I could really use another musician's input before I let anyone else hear it, though."
"Very sensible of you, Ensign, I'm sure," said the Doctor, looking very flattered as he took the data chip. "Having programmed myself with the talents of the finest performers in the Alpha Quadrant, I'd be happy to share my expertise. Fair warning, though, I can be somewhat demanding as a critic. Several holographic soprani have told me so ... screamed at top volume, in fact."
Kim gulped, but squared his shoulders as if ready for a challenge. (Seven wondered how he would fare in a boxing match ... although he'd definitely lose against Chakotay.) "That's what I'm asking for. It's the only way I'll improve, right?"
"Exactly." The Doctor clapped Kim on the back in a fatherly fashion which amused Seven, given that the Doctor's activation and Kim's graduation were only weeks apart. "I'll listen to it at the first opportunity. Now, if you'll excuse me? Seven and I have some scans to evaluate."
"Right, yeah. Thanks so much, Doc. Good seeing you, Seven. Bye!"
Kim bounced out of the room again with the same cheerful energy as he had carried into it.
The Doctor inserted the data chip into his computer console and began to play it, evidently taking "first opportunity" literally. The final pictures for their experiment scrolled over the padd accompanied by the sound of a single clarinet.
Seven, who found the last Paxau Resort photos as boring as the previous ones, preferred to watch the Doctor from under her eyelashes. He had leaned back at his desk with his hands clasped behind his head, all but melting into his chair. He was always a sight when listening to music, even something as simple as Ensign Kim's composition. Every emotion he felt flickered openly across his face, as if he, like the clarinet, were a finely tuned instrument in the hands of the artist.
The tempo was slow. The key was minor. That was all Seven would have noticed if she had listened to Echoes of the Void by herself. But the Doctor's wide hazel eyes were filled with such an intense look, something between awe and melancholy, that she understood exactly why Ensign Kim had given the piece that title. That was exactly how the whole crew had reacted to the Void six months ago, the first time they had seen the viewports empty of stars.
Seven envied the Doctor when he was like this. She wished she could surrender to her own feelings so fearlessly, just once.
The recording ended.
"Good heavens," said the Doctor, pulling his chair back upright and smiling ruefully. "That was … not half bad, for an amateur. I had no idea Mr. Kim was so talented. What do you think, Seven?"
I was distracted watching your face, she almost said. But if anyone needed to be guarded against vanity, it was the Doctor."The piece is simplistic from a mathematical point of view, but still aesthetically pleasing."
"Trust you to say so." He chuckled. "You're right, of course."
"I have completed the slide show." She held up the padd with its pictures of the Paxau Resort staff. "What do your scans indicate?"
Nothing, she supposed. Perhaps she was asexual. That would make her life a lot less complicated … although the memory of Lieutenants Paris and Torres smiling at each other over a bouquet of roses (and their cries of pleasure echoing through Deck Nine Section Twelve later that night) also made the idea somewhat disappointing.
"Hmm … " The Doctor peered at his screen and frowned. "Well, I've got a definite spike in the readings for Sergio, the lounge singer, and another upswing for the men's beach volleyball team. But then … one was when Commander Chakotay was here, and the other was when Ensign Kim's music was playing. Normally I don't allow random factors to influence the results of an experiment, but in this case, it might actually be helpful … it's not as if I could ask our colleagues to pose in their swim trunks."
"Certainly not." Kim probably wouldn't look much different from the holograms, but Chakotay in a T-shirt was already startling enough. As for the Doctor himself, how realistic was his body under that uniform anyway? (What was wrong with her? This experiment was already corroding her mental faculties and she hadn't so much as begun her first date.)
"Oh my, there goes your limbic system!" The Doctor laughed nervously and shut down the console, as if following her intimate thoughts like this was becoming too much for even his professionalism to handle. "I think it's safe to confirm that you are, in fact, heterosexual. Athletes and musicians, eh? For the sake of curiosity, may I ask which ones … ?"
Not Harry Kim, she knew that much - but the other two were even more out of the question. Chakotay disliked her, and the Doctor was trying to set her up with other people.
She was reaching her limit when it came to being embarrassed, and also being scanned. She pulled the cortical monitor off her neck and set it down on the nightstand with a decided click. "No, you may not!"
"Fair enough," said the Doctor, in that subdued voice that always reminded her how thin his layer of arrogance really was. "I apologize if I'm making you uncomfortable. This … this is somewhat uncharted territory for me too, you know. I've only had one girlfriend, unless you count non-sentient holograms, and that was three years ago."
His use of that word, and the way his shoulders slumped as he cleared away his instruments, made him appear very young in spite of wearing Zimmerman's middle-aged face. Was he thinking of her now, this lost girlfriend? How close had they been? Did having a holographic memory make it easier or harder to miss someone?
"That is still more experience with relationships than I have," said Seven, walking a tightrope between pity and envy and doing her best not to let him see either one. "And if I must talk to someone about … intimate subjects … at least I can rely on your confidentiality subroutine."
"I can assure you that what happens in Sickbay, stays in Sickbay," said the Doctor, using his quotation voice, although she couldn't identify the quotation. He winked.
At least this session had not been totally unproductive. Now she knew her sexual orientation, whatever that was worth, and the three men on board she could already discount as possible partners. Among all the single males who were left, surely at least one of them would be suitable? She would have to search the crew manifest to make sure. A tiresome activity, but then none of the important things in her life had ever been easy.
She thought of Paris and Torres. They were so at ease with each other, even when they argued. She wanted that. She thought of red roses and sighed