A small idea that I picked up in an anxious, pre-exam result haze.

Thanks as always to Mrs Singing Violin for being my lovely beta, this would be rather awful if not for her.

[From 'The Voyager Conspiracy']

"What was this bizarre rumour I heard?" Kathryn paused, brow furrowed, glancing up at Chakotay across the table as she lay the dish down. "About half of deck five getting pregnant?"

"Oh, that. The Doctor was running generational projections on the Sickbay computer." Chakotay sighed, unfolding his napkin. "Tom Paris happened to glance at the monitor and jumped to conclusions. Wasn't long before Neelix was asking me if he could turn cargo bay one into a nursery."

"Word travels fast on this ship, huh?" She flashed him a crooked grin as she took her seat opposite him.

"Warp ten," he replied, dimpled smile spreading across his features.

Generational projections. The captain had been encouraging me to explore different pastimes. It was purely harmless speculation. I don't know what the fuss with Deck 5 was for. Only preparing for what, in time, may be inevitable. And it was interesting, seeing the generated images and comparing their likenesses. Also, it's notoriously inaccurate. The representations are only an estimate. There's no harm; they're only images.

Then why does this feel wrong?

Because they're your commanding officers, that's why. It's against Starfleet protocols. If she found out, she'd delete your programme and remove all the algorithms required for the projection programme. If he found out, you would only break him further.

You could always ask their permission...

It's the middle of the night; they're both in their quarters, as is Tom Paris. No-one will see this time. I'll delete it all afterwards; no-one will ever know.

Harmless, really. Only images.

Why did Lieutenant Torres install that subroutine so I could hear my thought processes?

Satisfied that he had won his internal argument, the Doctor set about calibrating the projection. It was risky, but he was intrigued to see what the children of Voyager's command team might look like. Nearly everybody saw the spark between them, and he himself had been witness to hushed, private conversations in his very own Sickbay. And then there was Paris, who had once subjected him to an afternoon describing, in detail, his betting pool. The Doctor sighed at the unfortunate memory as he overlapped their medical histories into the compiler, which proceeded to compare and select dominant and recessive genes. He activated the algorithm and waited for the image.

The likeness the programme created looked uncannily like Commander Chakotay, dimples and all.

A little boy, same colouring, same eyes. Yet, the hair was tinted red slightly and he had her nose. The projections were calibrated to depict a child of about five human years of age. The Doctor tilted his head slightly.

He asked the computer for another.

A little girl this time. Similar to the boy, but definitely inheriting more of the captain's frame and petite features. Her skin was paler too, and her dark hair was poker straight, hanging around her shoulders.

Entranced, the Doctor asked for a third projection.

Another boy, but this time with blue eyes. Not unheard of, blue being recessive to brown, but rare. His black hair held a slight curl, small spirals tumbling onto his forehead.

The Doctor turned to adjust the images as an idea struck him. He altered the ages of the first two children, setting it so that there were two years between each child: two sons, aged nine and five, and a daughter, aged seven. Surveying the images of the projected brood and the parents, the Doctor smiled wistfully. They were beautiful children, and together the five of them made a wonderful family. If only the captain would open her eyes. Reluctantly, though, he pulled himself away, typing in the codes to purge programme of any evidence of his meddling. He was halfway through the erasure process when Sickbay's doors slid open. Panicking, the Doctor shielded his viewscreen with his body as he turned to meet the entrant.

"Captain," he gasped, "it's 0300 hours."

"I'm fully aware, Doctor. I hope to be out of here as soon as possible."

"Please state the nature of the medical emergency." She rolled up the sleeve of her shirt, grimacing as the fabric grazed the sensitive skin of the rippled burn on her forearm.

"If I tell you that I had another argument with the replicator, need I say more?" The Doctor fetched a dermal regenerator and set to work repairing the wound.

"Please don't say that you took it apart again." He was awarded a death glare, and he sighed. "If you were any other patient, I would ask why you didn't call an engineer."

"But..."

"But you're the captain, you trained in science first, you know this ship and how it works better than most, and you're the most stubborn person on this ship."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment."

"Very well." He finished healing the skin, leaving it smooth and unblemished. "There you go, Captain. It'll be sore for a few hours, but other than that, you should be just fine. Return to Sickbay if you have any further issues."

"Thanks, Doc." She hopped off of the biobed and headed for the door. The Doctor turned his back as he returned the regenerator.

"May I suggest that you also leave the replicator alone until the morning and go to sleep?" He turned around to see her hovering by the door, her eyes glassy. Concerned, the Doctor grabbed a tricorder and approached her. "Captain?"

She waved him off, a strange smile playing across her features. Slowly, she took a step towards his work station. There were tears in her eyes. She placed a hand on his cheek and murmured: "Thank you, Doctor."

Confused, the Doctor followed her line of sight. The viewscreen was still active, showing the image of the little boy with raven hair and sky blue eyes next to images of his parents. She knew. Frantic, he stumbled over his apology.

"Harmless, I promise, Captain. I'm sorry, Captain, please. I did it all of my own conviction, no-one was meant to see. Please Captain, it's inaccurate speculation. I'll delete it straight away."

"Do me a favour?" The captain's voice was quiet as she reached out a hand, stroking a finger softly down the cheek of the image of the boy. Stunned, the Doctor nodded, slightly, stuttering his response.

"Of course, Captain."

"Can you," she swallowed slightly, nervous. "Can you save that file? Top security clearance, so that no-one else can find it?"

"It may be possible, yes."

"Good."

"Captain, what about Commander Chakotay?"

"No, don't tell him."

"Captain?"

"He'd misinterpret."

"Captain, I don't think-"

"Sometimes it's nice to dream, even if it's of an impossible future. Even if it is only 'inaccurate speculation'." As she turned to him, she allowed him to see her vulnerability, just this once. Her captain's mask fell back into place near instantly, her voice and features hardening. "This doesn't go beyond the two of us, understood?"

"Aye, Captain." The Doctor snapped to attention.

"And, from now on, you do not compile any more projections without the permission of the crewmembers involved, understood?"

"Yes, Captain."

She nodded curtly, turning on her heels as she headed out of Sickbay. "Goodnight, Doctor."

"Goodnight, Captain," he called after her. He glanced back to the image on the viewscreen and murmured, "Sweet dreams."