About an hour later, she emerges in her nightgown, looking around the room for the ghost. Just as she begins to hope that it was all in her imagination, she calls softly, experimentally. "Bob?"
The skull's eye sockets light up orange. "Yes, Master," he drones heavily.
She scowls at being called this, but lets it slide. "What are you doing in there?"
"Sulking." There's a pause as he decides to go on. "I was trying to make friends. Like you wanted, like we agreed on. Perhaps you were partially right: you said that I wouldn't want to be friends with you. I think you just didn't want to make friends with me. I only thought...we're both all alone, it seems. I assumed you wished for friendship."
"That's not the issue."
"Please tell me what I can say to you. Why does it make you so angry? Is it wrong to be pretty?"
"It...suggests that it's all I want out of life. That I owe you something for saying it."
This is too much for him to wrap his head around while he's still in his own head. He whirls out and appears before her once again. "I must have heard you wrong. I thought I heard you say that by telling you that you're pretty, it's implying that it's all you want out of life." She nods. "Well, I don't know you very well yet, but since you captain a spaceship I would say you have many more important aspirations and concerns beyond personal vanity. So...I'm not saying these things because I'm after your body, and I don't mean to suggest that you're shallow. Can't I-"
"No," she answers shortly. "Just drop it, please."
"As you wish."
Janeway sighs, wanting to straighten things out. Something she'd always heard about not going to bed in the middle of an argument. "What sorts of reading materials would you like?"
Bob flinches at the subject change, but is pleasantly surprised that she may be granting his request. "Oh, anything! But I am partial to a good romance, if you know what I mean. That is, unless they've been outlawed by now."
With a short laugh, Janeway smirks, "No, I can get you a few of those. I've- well, I..."
An equally knowing grin crosses the ghost's face, "Aha! Let me guess, you'd buy them 'for a friend.' For your mother or maiden aunt. They're certainly not yours. Right?"
With a nervous grin, Janeway ponders the contents of her library. It's not all scientific journals and Irish poetry. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."
"Then why do they call it a guilty pleasure?" Bob counters smoothly.
"Touche."
This subject has cheered Bob right up. He smiles toothily at her, "Oh, I hoped I'd like you! I'm glad you're not as tightly-wound as you seem. Now listen, I apologize for taking liberties. I warned you I would have some bad habits to break. I'm used to saying what I think. I didn't mean it in the sense of a workman on the street, cat-calling raucously. I'll try to think of a better way to...make my observations."
Janeway nods briefly, rubbing her neck. "All right, all right." With a deep breath, she steadies herself, glad that they were able to clear the air. She heads for her bookcase and selects a book that she hopes Bob will enjoy. Giving the back cover a glance, she speaks aloud. "Computer..."
Beep!
"Data transfer, from my library to digital format. Use replicator history to confirm."
Boop-beep! "Title?"
Janeway pauses, blushing a little. "The Inconvenient Duchess"
Beep-boop!
A moment later, a large PADD appears in the replicator. Janeway takes it and offers it to Bob, who folds his arms and raises his eyebrows. To clarify, he passes his hand through the wall with a pout.
Understanding his difficulty now, she sets it down on the end table near his skull, hoping that will do.
"Hmm, perhaps something higher?" He demonstrates by assuming a hunched-over posture, drumming his fingers together in a fussy manner.
"I'll see what I can do. Tomorrow, maybe?"
Bob looks very pleased. "That would be...acceptable." He clenches his hands, keeping them close to his body to stop himself from reaching for her. "Thank you very much, my...Captain," he catches and corrects himself in time. The last thing he wants to do is make his new master angry again after she's been so kind. "Are you about to retire for the evening?"
With a glance at the chronometer, Janeway guesses, "In a while. It's still kind of early."
"Marvelous! We can get to know each other, then! I've probably bored you with my whole long and tragic history, I haven't found out anything about you, and I really must. If we are to be friends, that is."
Janeway can't help but be a tad bemused by his adamance that they are to be friends from the beginning. She remembers how long he must have been trapped in his own skull, alone and forgotten. What a treat for him it must be to have company again. Slowly, she sinks down onto the bed, wishing she could offer the ghost a seat. She gazes up at him, taking a moment to appreciate that she may seem just as odd to him as he does to her.
"Well, I grew up in Bloomington, Indiana," she begins, wondering how much detail to go into at first. Since Bob has only given her his most recent history, she assumes she can do the same for him. "I joined Starfleet about as soon as they'd let me..." She peters out abruptly, suddenly nauseated by memories. As if her brief words were an invitation, images fly up to the front of her brain once more. Dreadful memories, images she's long fought to suppress. Janeway brings a hand up to her mouth, swallowing hard.
"Kathryn?" Bob prompts, looking rather concerned. "You don't have to relive unpleasantness for me. Believe me, I understand. Some wounds don't heal. Don't reopen them for my sake." He looks her over; she's gone pale and faint, and her eyes are brimming with tears. The urge to intervene, to offer some help, is irresistible.
He stoops before her, asking softly, "Do you trust me?" She gasps sharply, looking up at him with streaming eyes.
After a short hesitation, she nods. "This might feel strange," he warns, reaching his hand through her forehead. Janeway gasps, her eyes now wide in alarm, but she doesn't jerk away from him. His spectral hand feels cool and soothing; it's as though he's gently pressing those awful thoughts back where they belong. She listens as he murmurs an incantation in what sounds like Old English.
"Hweorfan, hweorfan. Se geardagas is geardagas."
Tears stream down her cheeks as he helps to set her mind right again. Eyes closed in concentration, Bob chants the same strange phrases over and over, half-singing them. Tears run down his face, too, as he shares her pain. The foreign words sound comfortable and beautiful in his mouth. Then gently, he shushes her. She hasn't made a sound, but his intent was not necessarily to quiet, but to soothe. When he's done, he withdraws his hand and looks at her again.
"Better?"
Janeway nods shakily. "What was that? What did you say?"
"It translates to 'Back, back. The past is past.' I have very few powers left, but...some things are still within my abilities." He sounds almost embarrassed for doing such a simple spell.
"Thank you."
After touching her thoughts, seeing her dark patches and inner demons, Bob feels decidedly closer to her. Certainly more understanding. "I'm sorry," he tells her simply. "Will you be all right?"
"Yes, fine... Anyway..." Janeway sniffs, feeling much better now that those bad memories have been tamped down once more.
"Your past...it's all bad, isn't it?"
With a humorless chuckle, she drops her head down. "Seems like it sometimes. There have been good parts, though."
"Tell me about something you enjoy. What makes you happy?" Bob coaxes, truly wanting to see her happy now that he's seen the worst that's happened to her.
"I like nights to myself, hot baths, and weird conversations with dead people," she answers with a wry grin.
"Shall I go in again?" he offers, holding out his hand. She makes a declining gesture. "All I mean is, it seems you've been through the ringer."
This morbid observation actually makes her laugh, truly. "Oh, yes. I just..."
"You feel guilty about moping over your own tragic past." It's not a question. "My dear, you have every reason to 'mope' over these sorts of things." Then, Bob brightens, clapping his hands together as he has an epiphany. "I know! You might benefit from a good dose of schadenfreude! You know, when someone else's misfortunes make you feel better? Not that I'm trying to top you or anything. I saw, you've had serious problems! The fact that you're not in a lunatic's asylum and are in fact a successful, functioning member of society speaks volumes about your character!"
She smiles, feeling much more pleased with these awkward words of praise than she ever could have over his physical assessments. "Well, spending the last three hundred-plus years in your own skull can't have been a picnic."
"No, definitely not. Fortunately, my perception of time is different when I'm in. It could have been hours, it could have been days, but no matter how long it is, it's just a long time."
Janeway brushes her hand over her forehead where Bob entered it. It's true, she already feels better. She heaves a sigh, "Thanks again for that. It was weird, but...kind of nice."
"Sometimes weird is part of the job," he grins at her.
Janeway looks startled by his observation. "Where did you hear that?"
"Hear what? That weird is part of the job?" Bob asks innocently, unaware of the cause for her alarm. "Nowhere, really. Why?"
"I've said that same thing for ages. Did you...?" she trails off, bringing a hand to her forehead where he'd gone into her.
Bob immediately backpedals, hands in the air defensively. "I didn't get it from you. I didn't go in that far. That was entirely a coincidence, my dear, I assure you."
"Do you swear you didn't..." she can't even think of the word she's looking for.
"I swear on my own grave. I promise you, I didn't intrude. I was only trying to help." Bob gestures fluidly between them, stepping back toward her. "Look, my dear. You're captain of a spaceship, I'm a dead former sorcerer. Weird is part of the job for people like us!"
The earnestness of her friend's response calms her down. She takes a deep breath and runs her fingers through her hair. He was obviously trying to be funny when he alarmed her with his turn of phrase. "That's certainly true," she agrees.
Looking over at the nightstand, Janeway picks up the skull again. She gives it a pat and then clutches it close to her body. "I think I'm glad that Seven dug this out of storage now."
Taking a moment of silence to just enjoy being within her grasp, Bob stands over her with his arms folded smartly. "Now, there are a few rules regarding ownership of me. You can't go around telling everyone that you have a ghost living with you. I don't care if the High Council can't enforce it out here; I'd rather not chance it. Besides, then you get people asking stupid questions, making me walk through things or jump into bodies or do 'ghost stuff' for their entertainment. I was once a respected and powerful sorcerer. I won't be used as parlor-room entertainment." He sniffs stuffily, sounding as though he'd been forced in the past to exist under these conditions.
"Understood. Did other people do that to you?"
With a disgusted sneer, Bob rolls his eyes, "Yes. It was dreadful. No respect at all, I tell you. It's bad enough to be cursed for all eternity and bound to that wretched thing," he gives his skull a black look, "but to be reduced to a performing monkey is beneath my dignity!"
"Don't worry, I don't plan on telling anyone. No one would believe me anyway." Then, checking the time again, she stretches and stands. "I think it's time for bed. I have to get up at oh six hundred. Anything you need before I turn in?"
"No, I have no physical needs. Thank you."
"Want me to put your book out in the living room? Leave a light on for you?"
Bob thinks about it. "If it's all the same, I'd like to stay close by. First night in a new place."
"Do you have to stay in one place?" Janeway is confused: he sounds as though he would be rooted to whatever room she left him in.
"I can't go far from my skull. Part of my curse, you see. I'll tell you more about it tomorrow, if you'd like. It doesn't make for a pleasant bedtime story."
"I'll take your word for it. Good night, Bob."
"Good night, Kathryn."
He returns to his skull, resting on her nightstand. Being a ghost, he doesn't sleep, but he is lulled to a peaceful state by his new master's sleep-sounds. He ponders what he saw in her mind, what horrors and tragedy she'd endured. Unsure whether it's simply out of loyalty to his owner, or something else, Bob decides that he wants to help her. How he might do this remains a mystery.
Hours pass, and he reappears by her bedside, curiously examining her as she sleeps. Just he always did when watching Harry sleep, he feels a twinge of envy. He wishes that he, too, could lie down and drift off like that. Lay aside his cares and worries and simply dream until morning. Just rest. Bob squats down to eye-level with Janeway, balanced on the balls of his feet. He fancifully desires to touch her hair, to straighten her covers, to tuck her in properly. Such impossible thoughts warm him as he imagines they might be true. From what he's seen, he supposes that his new master is someone who needs to be looked after. Someone who needs to be shown kind, attentive care. In his mind and in his heart, Bob takes Voyager's captain as his charge. Satisfied by his decision, he is about to wisp away...when he sees the clock.
"6:14...she said she had to be awake at six. She must have forgotten to set the alarm," he ponders softly to himself. He's torn between the pleasure of watching her peacefully sleep, and her need to be ready for work. Gently, he brushes his fingers through her cheek. "Kathryn...Kathryn..." She shivers, pulling away from him and yanking the covers over her head. Undeterred, Bob reaches through the blankets and gives her another chilly sweep. "Time to get up, Captain! You've overslept!"
She jumps awake, struggling a bit. "Computer, lights!" The lights come up, glaring unsympathetically at the captain. "Time?!"
"It is 0615 hours."
"Dammit," Janeway mutters, then turns around to face her ghost/alarm clock. After taking a moment for her thoughts to form properly, she runs a hand roughly through her hair. "Thank you."
"Your servant, my dear."
Too groggy and panicked to be annoyed with his odd speech, she leaps out of bed and orders a cup of coffee from the replicator. In the few seconds it takes to appear, Janeway dashes into the bathroom, zooms through her morning preening, and emerges once again. Bob watches her knock back her first cup of the day with a look of astonishment, equally amazed at the replicator's ability to produce things on command and his master's ability to rapidly consume them. With lightning speed, she dresses, not even bothering to hide from the ghost. It's entirely possible that in her haste she's forgotten that she's not alone in the room. Bob stands back, watching her as though she's in fast-forward, zipping between the bedroom and bathroom until finally she's put together.
Janeway tucks her shirt in, smooths her hair, and slips her feet into her boots. Then she realizes...slowly looks around, and sees her strange new ghost staring at her.
"Shift starts at 7?" he drawls in a bored-sounding tone, belied by the pert smirk on his face. When she nods speechlessly, he gestures to her timepiece which reads 0622. "At least this means you have time for breakfast. I do recommend something substantial. I know Harry would get so surly when he missed meals."
Not sure what to think of his mother-hen approach, she has to agree, mentally adding Bob to the list of the men in her life who seem committed to offering her lifestyle advice. "You, too, huh? All right, you've got a point. I think I even have enough replicator rations saved up for something decent."
She walks over, takes a moment to think about it, and orders a stack of challah French toast with strawberries. Again, Bob watches, entranced by her strange device and how little she thinks of it.
"Captain?" he ventures, recognizing that she's "on duty" now even if she's not on the bridge yet.
She looks up, her cheeks bulged out and syrup dripping from her lips. She swallows heavily and wipes her face. "Yes?"
"That thing over there...what sorts of things does it make?"
Despite being ahead of schedule, she's inhaling her breakfast as quickly as she can, and Bob wonders how she can even taste it. "Lotsh of shings," she answers, swallowing another giant mouthful. "You name it, and it can probably make it."
"Incredible. Are you sure you're not a sorceress?" Such a possibility heightens his interest in his master. It would make him feel more at home, at least.
Janeway grins, "Pretty sure. It's science, not magic." And with one final push, she's cleaned her plate. She recycles her dishes and hovers uncomfortably. "What will you do all day?"
"Oh, I'm sure I'll stay occupied."
"Is your book in a good place, or should I put it somewhere else?" She picks up the PADD and walks with it around the room, looking for a place that's closer to eye-level with her new friend. She props it up on a shelf by the viewport. "Here?"
"Perfect," he tells her. "Thank you." Realizing that his master still looks like she isn't sure what to do, he says, "Go on, now. I'll see you tonight."
After Janeway leaves for the day, Bob starts in on his book, grinning with anticipation. He finds the beginning rather draggy, dredging in unnecessary exposition disguised as foreshadowing and character development. He hopes this isn't one that his master really likes, because if so, she definitely has missed out on better ones! Making a mental note to request specific titles of his from home, he flips through pages at a time, skimming for the good parts. Deeming it adequate enough—perhaps it was one she got as a gift, or perhaps she simply chose a tame one to start out with because she didn't want to look too deviant—he walks around the room. Slowly, he gets an idea. He's heard her do it a few times now. Perhaps...
"Computer..."
Beep!
Janeway throws herself into her seat on the bridge, giving her command team a nod of greeting. She's already regretting having such a heavy breakfast when she isn't used to it. Her body rebels against solid nourishment after a nearly all-coffee diet.
Chakotay leans towards her. "Captain?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you all right?"
Pressing a hand over her mouth for a moment, she nods. "Fine. Just ate too fast this morning."
With his voice dripping with amused disbelief, Chakotay asks, "You ate this morning?"
She doesn't answer him beyond rolling her eyes and shaking her head. Then, in a loud voice, "Report."
"Sensors are detecting signs of a prewarp civilization. Satellites, probes, small ships," Ensign Kim announces.
"Plot a course around, Mr. Paris. We don't want to frighten the locals."
Tom taps the buttons on the helm, muttering, "The secret is to bang the rocks together, guys."
"Seven and I found a cargo case with your name on it yesterday," Chakotay admits casually.
Janeway blinks. Funny, Seven left that part out! "Yes, she brought it to me."
"And?"
Obviously miffed that the case was discovered by the two of them, and wondering what else they were doing at the time, she blocks his question. "And?" She mimics coyly.
The irritation is clear in her first officer's voice. "What was it?"
"A very belated gift...from Mark," she answers, laying emphasis on the giver's name. She watches him, looking for any signs of discomfort. He does look a bit irritated, which Janeway takes as a point in her favor. "Interesting thing, actually. An old human skull, and it's carved all over with these strange symbols. I like it," she announces decidedly. "Thanks so much for finding it. I'll have to send Mark a thank-you note the next chance I get."
The looks they exchange are rather chilly.
"So, why were you helping Seven clean out the cargo bay?" Janeway asks, giving him the chance to present their intentions as innocent.
"Well, four hands are better than two," he murmurs suggestively, letting her take that as she will. Janeway nods disapprovingly, then looks down in her lap. After a few uncomfortable moments drag on with them like this, Chakotay bites.
"It's nothing, Kathryn. It was a joke. And a crude one," he admits quietly. "We're not doing anything: you know that. She's just trying to be human."
Janeway looks up at him, hoping he's being honest. She nods...and figures she needs to retract her claws, too. "Really, thanks for finding it. It was nice of you to help Seven out with that." Then her stomach rumbles loudly. She squints her eyes shut, trying to will the unpleasant sensations away. "Ungh..." she groans. Suddenly all eyes are on her...and then it happens.
She retches, and a warm, wet splat heaves up and onto the thin gray carpet. She groans again and opens her eyes, seeing the pink and yellow tie-dye puddle near her feet.
There's a collective wrinkling of noses and disgusted sounds from all parties. Somehow, as though he knows that it falls to the low man on the totem pole, Ensign Kim jumps up.
"I'll get it." He runs down, sidestepping the mess, and goes out into the hall to the bathroom as Commander Chakotay and Lieutenant Paris rush to the captain's side. She attempts valiantly to maintain her image of authority by unsuccessfully shooing them away. Ensign Kim comes back with a bucket and some rags and begins to clean up after his captain.
While the unpleasantness is cleared away, Chakotay snakes an arm around Kathryn's waist, and he and Tom half-lead, half-carry her to her ready room. She tries again to wave them off, asserting that she's all right, but they hear none of it. Chakotay practically pushes her down onto the couch while Tom replicates her a glass of water and a bucket. As Chakotay kneels next to her, placing his hand on her chest to prevent her from getting up, she keeps repeating that she's fine, growing more and more humiliated by the situation. When Tom returns with the water and bucket, Chakotay gets up and replicates her some ginger tea while Tom checks her forehead for a temperature-
"Get out, both of you, or I'll have you thrown in the brig! Out!"
Chakotay pauses for a moment to shoot her a look of abject concern as he deposits the tea on the coffee table, but obediently, both men scurry out.
Once they've resumed their positions, Chakotay taps his badge. "Chakotay to Sickbay."
"Doctor here."
"We need you on the bridge. Captain Janeway has fallen ill."
That's all the EMH needs to hear. He grabs a medkit and clips on his mobile emitter. "I'm on my way."
The Doctor wields his medical tricorder over the captain, doing his best to ignore the snarl on her face. "Now, Captain, it's nothing to get upset about. Just to be on the safe side, you know. The commander is right, though," he observes, nodding at the tea Chakotay has replicated. "Ginger does have beneficial properties as far as digestion goes. I'd finish that if I were you," he advises. "Why don't you take a personal day? Take it easy for once."
"Doctor, for the millionth time, it was indigestion. I'm fine," she growls.
Examining the tricorder's readouts, he allows, "It seems so. Well, glad it was a false alarm, hmm?"
"Doctor..." Janeway sounds positively dangerous now.
The EMH rolls his eyes, looking the very picture of the ill-used martyr. "If you have any other episodes, call me." And with that, he leaves.
Finally relieved of the clutches of her well-meaning crew, Janeway heads to her desk, using her prescribed "recovery time" to get some work done. She rubs her forehead, feeling a headache coming on.
Nothing exciting happens for the rest of the day, and soon she returns to her quarters. She stalks in, still with a black cloud over her head, and so is completely unprepared to be greeted by an exuberant ghost-
"Captain, you're home! Excellent! You would not believe the day I've had!" Bob stops, pulling himself up short when he sees her less-than-enthusiastic expression. "Oh dear."
"Oh dear is right," Janeway agrees with a shadow of a grin.
"Bad day?" He safely assumes. She nods wearily. "Care to air it out?"
With a sneaky smile, like a child trying to keep a secret, Janeway spills. "My first officer made a crude remark about him and a much younger crewman, I threw up in front of the entire bridge crew, I've had a headache all day but have been avoiding the doctor because of the 'I told you so' he'd probably deal out. And of course, I got lectured and coddled like a child for not taking care of myself. I'm just glad its over."
"Sounds ghastly," Bob replies, wrinkling his nose disdainfully, feeling genuine sympathy for his master. The indignities she's forced to endure!
Unable to disagree, Janeway nods. "Tell me about your day. Sounds like it was much better than mine."
It's as if he's been waiting for her permission—he resumes gushing! "Your computer-lady contraption can hear me! It responds! Look! Watch this! Computer, consult your records for playback...for...oooh, I wonder if my book is on here!" He looks like a kid at Christmastime, with his eyes wide and his hands clutched up to his face.
"The one on the PADD?"
"No, the one I wrote! Computer, search for a grimoire penned by Hrothbert of Bainbridge."
beep!
"There is one file by that author."
"It's here! She has it!" He points gleefully at the ceiling. "Computer? Could you read it to me?"
A second later, a deep male voice begins narrating his old spellbook. Bob listens, enraptured! He turns to his master and whispers excitedly, "Harry burned a rare copy of this! I thought it was gone forever! Another must have survived, been preserved!" Then, he addresses the ceiling, "Computer, skip ahead. Chapter 9."
Janeway watches and listens, trying not to laugh at the man's excitement. The words are completely incomprehensible, as it is read in original Old English with a good smattering of Norman and Latin throughout. After a little while, he orders it to stop, wheeling on Janeway once again as though he has unheard-of news for her.
"I found it can play music as well! Do you like Tchaikovsky, Captain?"
"Oh, yes, he's one of my favorites," she admits, glad they have similar tastes, despite growing rapidly exhausted by her new friend's excitement.
"Wonderful. Computer, play the Sleeping Beauty Suite, and...what the hell, dub in Mary Costa in the appropriate parts." The room then fills with music, and both parties relax and enjoy it. "I remember when this first came out. Any musician worth his salt would try to duplicate it. Playing it in the streets, in the cafes, everywhere. Anyone who could hold a violin or play a flute."
As Janeway takes a seat comfortably, now very glad it's the end of the day, she gazes up at Bob. "I wish you could sit down. It must be awful to have to stand all the time."
"Yes, it would be nice. Still, I'm used to it. It's not as if my legs get sore." He does look a bit jealous as he watches his master lounge cozily.
They listen in silence, just floating away with the music. Janeway even appreciates the vocal dub that Bob requested. As it reaches its conclusion, Bob sighs heavily, pacing again. He fidgets nervously with his hands and he looks like he has something on his mind.
"Kathryn?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you suppose the computer knows what happened to Harry?"
Janeway sits up, rubbing her forehead and stretching her legs out. "Might not be much, but we could check. She stands, leads Bob over to her computer at her desk and turns it on. "Computer, check database for records of..."
"Harry Copperfield Blackstone Dresden. Wizard. Early twenty-first century. Chicago, Illinois, North America...planet Earth."
They smile at each other when the computer tells them: "Searching..."
A minute later, a familiar picture is displayed. All it says is a birth date and a death date. Bob's suspicion is confirmed—he'd casually sent Bob to his skull one day and never made it home. Still, he wonders how he managed to end up here. He doesn't recall the passage of time in a clear way. Once he's in his skull, it all becomes muddled. He stares at the information on the monitor, awed by its simplicity. All it boils down to was a picture, the beginning, and the end. Harry was so much more than that. Bob realizes then that he was hoping to find more, something to give a proper memorial for the man he loved. He sighs. It's all futile anyway. Even if they discovered that Harry had risen through the magical ranks to supplant Ancient Mai herself and be the greatest wizard the world has ever known, he'd still be just as unreachable as he is now. Just as gone. Bob supposes that Harry would have appreciated the simplicity of it all. At least they have proof he existed.
"That's him?" Janeway asks, hoping to break the silence. Bob nods with a stifled sniffle.
"He looks nice," she comments.
"He is—he...was. He did his best, even if he couldn't manage to profit from it," Bob remarks with a touch of his old snark. He grins at his little joke since no one else is there to appreciate it.
Janeway looks between the screen and the ghost, feeling kind of awkward now. "I'm sorry nothing more came up."
"It doesn't matter. It wouldn't change anything, anyway," Bob observes, turning away from the sight of his old master. "Thank you for looking."
"I didn't mean to bring you down. You were having such a nice day."
"You didn't ruin it for me, milady. I'm glad to at least know this much."
"Well, I hate to be rude, but I have work to do. Need anything to keep you occupied? How did you like that book?"
Feeling it would be unjust to criticize her gift, Bob fibs, "Enjoyable enough. Different. I browsed through the library and found a few others. I hope you don't mind. The computer lady even told me how to get rid of the first one and put a new one on the PADD."
Smirking a little at how quickly her ancient friend has learned to use the computer, Janeway tells him, "I don't mind." Then she settles in at her desk to read through a stack of reports.
