AN: This is for Discord in the Garden, as a birthday gift, and a response to a challenge of hers, posted late one night over AIM: "Stop lurking and write a fanfic." "Haha. You're fuuuunny, Sydney." "No. I'm serious. Deadly serious. It's my birthday tomorrow, I want a story. STV. Characters, your choice. Pairing: Obscure. GO!"

Well, Discord, I'm a few weeks late for your birthday. But here's that story. And here's your obscure-as-all-hell pairing (although, something tells me you're going to approve of it). And who cares that I'm a beginner at STV, right? Who cares that my first story in this fandom happens to be one you demanded? :P Jerk.

Pairing: Janeway/Zimmerman (Yes, folks, you read that right). Excuse me while I go laugh.

Characters: A few you'll recognize from Voyager, and a few carrots from Deep Space Nine and TNG.

Written in five parts.

(I get bonus points for using the name of that damned country in the original fiction story you're always going on about, Sydney)


Part One: Anyone but You


When the USS Wellings left the side of the Cardassian transport vessel, she was limping and her crew was in poor spirits. They had been successful in protecting the other crew from the Breen, who had very little to argue with Starfleet over but much to say to the weakened Cardassia. Wellings had taken thirteen casualties of its own, as well as damage to its shield generators and hall breaches on more than three decks. The gratitude from the Cardassian captain was unfulfilling under the circumstances.

Starfleet science vessels had been more appropriately armed since the Dominion War, but Kathryn Janeway was used to her ship having a little more bite, a little more kick, and a little more…

"We'll make it to Deep Space Nine in one piece, Captain," the familiar face of B'elanna Paris greeted her on the other end of the comm line. Her features were blurred by the smoke from the engine room, but still visible "but I can only give you warp two. It will take us three weeks at that speed…"

The coffee Janeway had been enjoying before this mess had run cold, but that didn't stop her from cradling the cup in her hands, "We've faced worse, B'Elanna. Have you managed to restore power to the turbolift?"

"Cantle's team is on it now. Power should be redirected to them in an hour. But that's not why I'm reporting…"

"Oh? Did cargo Bay Two vent again?" It was meant to supply levity to the situation. Cargo Bay Two had plagued all of engineering since the ship's commission. A perpetual weak spot in the hall had made its continual decompression a joke of sorts. Much like Chakotay's ability to destroy any shuttle he threatened to pilot…

The severe light in her engineer's eyes indicated that this was no time for jokes, "No, Captain. I've managed to establish communications between sickbay and engineering. Nurse Trai has treated all minor injuries and has started surgery on Krema…she's requesting Tom's assistance…"

"She's got it," Janeway paused, noticing that the weight still had not lifted from the conversation, and then spoke softly "what is it, B'elanna?"

"It's the Doctor, Captain, his program…it was...severely damaged in the attack."


The atmosphere in the debriefing room was somber, and more than one of her senior staff were sporting bruises and lacerations they had stubbornly refused to have treated. Reports from tactical, security and Ops were no worse than she had expected, and all of the damage was repairable with the right equipment. It was the news being delivered by B'Elanna, who unsurprising supported the worst of the damage herself, that had dragged the mood down, "He'd transferred his program to the sickbay terminal, and when the Breen began to fire on us, one of their attacks blew the power coupling in the section. It fused most of the circuit relays," she stopped, uncharacteristically avoiding making eye contact with any of the others, "The Doctor was severely damaged. I won't know if we can salvage his program until we reach the space station. If what I can access of it doesn't degrade by then…"

Janeway felt the telltale tightening in her chest, the one that accompanied any bad news regarding the wellbeing of her friends or crew and nodded, "Do what you can…" it was all she could seem to say.

'Captain,' the cool voice of Tel'Tar, the ship's Vulcan operations officer, came through the bridge's communication channel, providing an ample excuse to change the subject.

"Go ahead…"

'A Cardassian Galor Class ship is approaching, they have hailed and wish to speak to you.'

It was Tom who caught her eye, his tired curiosity matching her own. It wasn't the vessel they had assisted, which had been a simple freighter, what it wished to discuss with them was beyond her.

Janeway sighed,"Put them through."

A pale grey face, giddy with false kindness appeared on the small screen in the room.

Janeway stood and approached it, resting her forearm on the bulkhead and a hand on her hip, "…How can I help you, Garak?"

"You remember me, Captain, this pleases me more than you could ever know, but this isn't about how you can help me. It's about how I can help you. It seems that your ship's engines are damaged, that your shields are in terrible disrepair and that your…"

"Garak," she warned. They were not friends, but her mission in this region had brought them into contact more than once, unfortunately. He was not a disagreeable man, and his attempts to rebuild Cardassia while establishing stronger diplomatic ties with Bajor were commendable, but his smile was disconcerting and his duplicity a legend.

"In short, Captain, we are traveling along the same coordinates. News of your kindness has already spread, and Gul Temar, the captain of this fine ship, has agreed to tractor your vessel to Deep Space Nine, should you require it of us. It seems...it seems his daughter was aboard the freighter you assisted. He'd be much obliged."

She'd rather not agree, but the sooner they reach the space station the better, "…and we accept."

"Very good, Captain," this was genuine.


"Captain Janeway, we weren't expecting you for another two months." The wide eyes of Colonel Kira were the first thing to greet her as she stepped through the airlock. It wasn't a sore sight, not at all, but she had suspected the commander of the station had better things to do than greet another Star Fleet officer on a routine repair.

"We would have made a reservation, but our subspace communicators were destroyed in the skirmish…" Janeway watched as Tom and B'Elanna disappeared around one of the corners. Deep Space Nine was a labyrinth; she doubted she would see them again that day.

The Colonel fell in step beside her, "That's all right, Garak of all people sent a message ahead informing us that they would be arriving with a damaged Star Fleet vessel in tow. He wouldn't give me a name, but I have a few methods of figuring out information of my own. My crew will help you with anything you need, and we'll find quarters on the station for anyone who needs them."

It was an unfortunate turn of fate, Janeway had always thought, that she had made it back to Federation space after Captain Sisko's disappearance. She'd met him only briefly when Voyager was docked here. News about the Dominion War that they were able to receive in the Delta Quadrant, especially news from the admiralty, had always painted him in a glorified light. Tactical genius, religious symbol of the Bajorans and a pivotal player in the war...she would have liked to have had a cup of coffee with him. It was a loss, but the two or three times she had spent in Kira Nerys company had always been pleasant, and the Bajoran was never short of stories to tell about her Emissary.

But hearing stories was not why they were here. The repairs to Wellings would be a simple matter, especially under B'Elanna's capable instruction. It was the repair of the Doctor that concerned her the most. He was still infuriating, still pompous, but he was still her friend and a damned good officer. Losing him now, after they'd all managed to settle in the Alpha Quadrant would be a shame. A painful one at that.

"Captain...Captain?"

"What?"

Kira smiled, all teeth showing, "I lost you for a moment."

"So you did," Janeway allowed her to take them around another turn, "When are we scheduled for those repairs?"

"Tomorrow, at o'six hundred hours. We had a couple civilian transports come in this morning that were badly damaged, all of our teams are working on them now," she explained. "It looks like the Breen vessel you fought off was dealing in piracy."

"Oh?"

"No worries, Captain, the Bajoran militia has broadened its security routes. We'll catch them, but until then, it looks like you and your crew have several hours to relax."

The Doctor's wellbeing was in B'Elanna's hands now. Janeway would check in with her in the evening, but until then, "I could use a strong cup of coffee."

"Quark makes a great cup of replicated raktachino...just don't tell him I said so."


Ten hours later, Janeway found herself across her desk from a ghost.

The resemblance was striking. The demeanor. The ego. No one could blame Janeway for mistaking the two. No one but Janeway herself (but she had been known to be rather self-deprecating as of late, so whether or not she blamed herself for anything was beside the point).

Dr. Zimmerman blinked at her from his seat. The Doctor's report from years before had painted the man grey and haggard, recovering from an illness that had nearly taken his life. So, to see the near exact replica of the hologram her crew knew and begrudgingly loved on the other side of her desk (brown hair, brown eyes, Starfleet uniform and a undeniable air of superiority) was not expected. Nor appreciated. He had interrupted one of her few conversations with Tuvok since their return to the Alpha Quadrant, cutting off her friend's report on Icheb's progress on Vulcan in doing so.

"You're what?" she asked, not bothering to hide the unhappy surprise.

"I'm here to help, Captain," he spoke to her as if he were dealing with a small child with a big attitude; a tone of voice she did not tolerate.

"Help?" they had only been docked at the space station for less than a day, the Doctor himself had only been damaged for a week. That wasn't enough time to get the message to Jupiter Station. Let alone enough time for him to travel the distance.

"Lieutenant Paris contacted me a week ago. She informed me that your EMH received damage during a confrontation. I was on Starbase 621, returning from a conference when I received the transmission. I debated over whether or not to help, I have a busy schedule after all, but the idea of leaving his care in the hands of a simple engineer was beyond reprehensible. Let's just say, Captain, that I owe him my life, unfortunately, and the sooner I can repay that debt, the better." The speech sounded rehearsed, as if he had taken a great deal of time trying to make it sound as if he had spent no time at all on it, and he continued to blink at her. His expression had become so bland near the end that even Tuvok would find it difficult not to be impressed.

Janeway actually found herself smiling. It wasn't friendly, that smile, nor did she want it to be.

"Dr. Zimmerman," she said lowly, her voice a mockery of amusement. Her time home had rejuvenated a part of her spirit she had feared lost after seven years in the Delta Quadrant, and it always did feel good to tap into the captain she had once been oh so long ago. She'd let B'Elanna deal with him...

Looking for all he world like he knew what she would say next, the man shifted in his seat and pursed his lips, nonplussed by her anger, "Yes, Captain Jane…"

"Get out of my ready room."


End, Part One