I am in a void. Nothingness surrounds me- I see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing.

I used to be afraid of this void- whenever someone would deactivate me, the void would mock me. Echoes of nothingness would ring in my non-existent ears, making it hard for me to resist the will to activate myself without purpose.

But I've gotten used to it.

Now it seems that, unconsciously, thoughts haunt me in my void. I suppose that's technically impossible- when I'm deactivated, I am nothing. There is nothing, I can do nothing- I can't even think.

But as I am reactivated into the land of the living, I seem to remember things I've sort of… reflected on while I'm, derogatory expression notwithstanding, turned off.

Pride in my singing was once something I inadvertently 'reflected on' commonly. Yes, thoughts involving pride do fly through my head. I mentioned this once to Seven, who raised a blonde eyebrow and told me she was not surprised.

Right now, though. Right now my thoughts (though that isn't quite the word, is it?) are different.

Voyager has just left orbit of my- I mean, the planet. This planet caused a lot of difficulties for us. It seemed to move in time several times more quickly than the norm, and the Captain decided my abilities would be useful for observation. They sent me to the planet for a few minutes.

Their time, that is.

I was there for about three years and four months.

The subconscious- yes, I suppose my program does have a subconscious- that floats aimlessly in the void that is deactivation dwells on the matter of my former family. Mariza. My former wife. I miss her so much- her dark eyes, her pale skin, her red hair. I know now that I'll never see her again, never see her laugh again. And yet her image…her feeling…her being is with me now, laughing, sleeping, holding her forehead against mine in the way that her species would kiss…

And Jason.

Jason got me through it. I thought that Voyager had given up on me. That I was lost forever, them being unable to retrieve me. Well, deep down somewhere, beyond all of that photonic energy, I knew that they were there, trying to save me. They hadn't given up.

But it was so much easier to believe that they had. To become a part of that species, part of the culture. Ironic, Voyager melded that culture, and I started to blend in to it.

But when I had a child…a little boy…an infant…well, I'm almost ashamed to say that I….well, forgot. I mean I didn't really forget…Voyager shone bright about me to remind me… but let's just say that I lost myself in the reality of quickly moving time.

The differences between photons and flesh-and-blood didn't really seem to matter on the planet- I won't say how it happened of course, but mating was very different in this sky ship based culture.

Jason was an amazing child. I see him, feel him in the void. Looking up to the 'sky ship', his little mouth in awe. Looking to my, his father, his hero… He hadn't been able to talk by the time I was taken back, but some of his questions didn't require words.

"….?"
"That's the Sky-Ship, Jason."

"…?"

I shift uncomfortably, feeling in this reenactment the same as I had at the moment. "I don't know why it's there, exactly…" Lying to your own son. Shame on you.

"…?"
"It causes the rumblings. But it doesn't mean to."
"……..?"

"What do you mean, how do I know?"

Voyager seemed like a distant reality by the time Mariza had Jason. It seemed like one of Mr. Paris's holonovels- it was there, and interesting to think about. But unrealistic. And a bit difficult to talk about. (Tom would've managed)

I had a routine- each day, I'd play with and teach Jason for an hour and a half, help Mariza with the cooking, check up on the local scores for the culture's fascinating sports. It was frighteningly normal.

How I miss it.

No Borg attacks. No seemingly all-powerful Caretakers, no Kazon. Just the rumble- erm ,earthquakes. And Jason. (I'm a doctor, not a baby-changing machine. I couldn't exactly say that to Mariza, though.)

Three years went by. It had seemed like over eight years had passed since my first activation. Voyager was there, watching over me- a former fantasy, a dream.

I was walking over to Jason one day. I'd just gotten into a minor quarrel with Mariza. We made up, of course, but he was crying. (It was a week after his first birthday.)

"I'll check on him," I said to Mariza, squeezing her hand. I got up and started to his room. And suddenly, I was on Voyager. On the transporter platform, back where I had been over three years ago. But to them, mere minutes had passed. My former life. My former goals were suddenly real to me again. I knew it wouldn't be right for me to dwell in the last few yea…minutes. So I put my valuable efforts into helping Voyager break orbit. I pretended that my experiences had all been part of a mere shore leave, that my disappointments were just minor cuts from an away mission, and my former life was just a shadow that I left behind as the sun moved.

I never figured out a metaphorical phrase for my family.

My relationships came back quickly. I felt guilty when I remembered my feelings for Seven of Nine and realized that, upon seeing her, there were still there. They were still very strong. I felt like I was betraying Mariza and resisted those feelings until II realized that by then Mariza was dead. I was a widower.

Still, I tried to block my feelings for Seven in respect for Mariza. But Seven and Mariza were from two totally different realities. My feelings for the former drone came back, as all of my assorted feelings for my friends and coworkers did. Resistance was futile….

I am being reactivated. My form starts to shimmer into reality. But one last reflection lingers, unwillingly, like a form stuck in time, as I materialize.

I never found out why Jason was crying.