Doctor Deux

"Good morning."

It hovered there.

The sound of Kathryn Janeway's voice was distorted by real earlobes, real eardrums, cochlear nerves, a brain stem and temporal lobes. She sounded different than what he remembered and yet – at the very same moment – she sounded exactly the way he had always expected she would. His sight of her, too, went through much of the same distorting process; the outcome leaving her hair a little darker, her eyes oddly.

Yet, despite all of these changes, her genuine smile remained the same.

But that statement – that pleasant statement – was completely uncalled for. As far as the Doctor was concerned in his barely conscious state, the morning was marked by an extraordinary headache caused by a skull that wasn't yet used to the skin surrounding it.

He opened his mouth to say as much, but nothing come out but air.

Vocal chords.

He never thought he'd have those; he'd revisit that thought later.

After several tries, he managed a faint, "What?"

The Doctor found himself being assisted by both his Captain and the helmsman into a sitting position, and a significant amount of sensory input was gathered from that simple gesture alone.

Too much.

He felt dizzy, and became even more so when they began to explain the situation to him. Sentient planetoid, transformation, you're human so says your holographic self, your brain is now in possession of the mobile emitter, but don't worry, you've been given a clean bill of health.

He responded to this by promptly leaning over the side of the bed and emptying his already too-empty stomach on Thomas Paris' boots.

Not dizzy. Nauseous. A very honest mistake.

He heard his own voice speaking, coming from his own face behind the Captain's shoulder, and thought he might be sick again. Before that could happen, however, there was a cool palm being placed on his forehead, and then there was a small hand on his chest pushing him backward, "Breathe, Doctor."

Easier said than done (if this is what hyperventilation felt like, then he would never snap at a patient for doing it again); he wanted to stop but wasn't at all sure that it was possible.

"That's an order, Doctor. Breathe."

Something hissed against his neck, and air filled his lungs, a glorious feeling punctuated by three fresh coughs. Then everything went a welcoming shade of sedated black.

Time passed; he had little access to how much, nor did he care in his unconscious state. When he woke again, there was a medical tricorder hovering above his head. Tom was holding it with a faint expression of concern on his face; the other Doctor having retreated to his office with the Captain,

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" Tom's voice was marked with its typical levity, despite the gravity of the situation. Usually it was unwelcome, but at this moment it was soothing in its predictability.

"Your boots."

The tricorder was tucked away, apparently having delivered no bad readings, or if it had the pilot had missed them, "I'm a father; I've had worse. And really, you only had two choices."

"What were those?" The Doctor sat on his own, pressing a hand to his head and marveling in the new sensations. Was his pulse really in his fingertips? How distracting.

"To vomit on my boots, or the Captain's. I can't blame you for choosing mine…I can only complain loudly; she can put you in the brig. Trust me, I know."

The Doctor's throat constricted, and for the briefest moment he thought he might be hyperventilating again, but it was only a chuckle making its way through. Involuntary, of course, as organics – unlike holograms – did not get to choose when they wanted to laugh and when they did not.

(That was the true travesty of this situation if there was one: he could no longer pretend that Tom wasn't funny).

The pilot patted him on the shoulder, a friendly gesture that matched his friendly smile, "Congratulations, Doctor! You're a healthy four-day-old, fifty-three-year-old male. Your parents, a sentient blue planetoid, will be proud of you, no doubt. The only thing they seemed to have forgotten, besides half of your body's systems, was to give you a name…"

It wasn't as funny as the last joke, and the Doctor found himself narrowing his eyes.

"Too soon, Tom," it was Kathryn's disembodied voice floating over as she approached, "and I heard that joke about the brig. Don't think I didn't hear you laugh either, Doctor."

In one of the rarest forms of camaraderie ever experienced aboard Voyager, both men shared sheepish expressions. Despite the novelty of the experience, it was cut short by the Captain's order for Tom to go assist the holographicDoctor with cultures in the lab. There were several things Janeway needed to discuss with the newest member of her crew, many of which that did not require an audience.

They were left to themselves.

The Doctor, ever a doctor, took in the appearance of his Captain and friend with his new eyes. She appeared more rumpled than usual, as if she had slept in her uniform and then came to inspect the situation without bothering to change. To be fair, he suspected that, if he looked how he felt, his own appearance at the moment was much worse. Never had he felt more sure that his face was slipping down from the place it ought to be, or that his eyes were swelling to a size far too large for their sockets. He'd never had to worry about such things before because, prior to this, if his face fell off or his eyes had grown too big for their sockets, he wouldn't have felt it. Well, he would have felt it, but the sensation would have been vastly different as a hologram than as a human.

It would have been a nuisance, yes, but one that wouldn't be attached to actual pain.

Shaking hands raised to his cheeks, where he used his fingers to ensure that all was where it should be.

"How are you feeling?"

Kathryn was at his bed now, both hands pressed to its edge. Her eyes were watching the progress of his hands in their quest for self-examination.

"Human. I think?"

Insecurity set in, not for the first time. He'd been told he was healthy, and he knew what healthy meant. When he was able, he'd request the records of the damage done as well as what treatments he had undergone while unconscious. He'd speak to…his other self…and debate the implications of having his body's higher thought processes running through the mobile emitter. What if he were to accidentally deactivate it without meaning to? What then? Simple logistical questions. Technical questions about his health and what he needed to do and think about now that he had a pulse. He had no clear idea who he would speak to about the rest. The more…personal matters of emotions, mortality…the possibility of changing back.

If it was even a possibility, technically and ethically.

Her eyes were still searching his movements, the same intense stare he had faced down many times. Only this time, he felt blood heating his cheeks. He'd have to worry about the physiological repercussions of his emotions now too, he realized. Blushing, sweating, and tense muscles. The fact that he could no longer hide behind a bland facial expression – his chuckle at Tom Paris' joke doubtless being the first of many embarrassing revelations.

The prospect was daunting.

"Human isn't necessarily a good thing."

"I think I realized that when I vomited on Mr. Paris' shoes," the joke fell flat and he winced, even though it had earned him a rueful smile for his efforts.

"Fair enough," she fell silent only briefly before continuing, "The mystery surrounding the planetoid and your transformation was called to the attention of the senior staff while you slept. We've exhausted several avenues and aren't sure if we're nearing the right one. I know you've only just awoken, but I need to ask you if you might know how or why…"

Now that. That was the one thing he knew that he was absolutely sure of.

"…it asked."

This time he did not mistake his nausea for dizziness.

ii

"It's amazing, absolutely amazing,"

B'Elanna was pacing in front of Kathryn's desk, face and hands animated as she imparted what she had learned from the EMH's scans of the mobile emitter.

They had all been unsettled by the Doctor's admission that the sentient planetoid had asked him if he would like to be human, and that he had agreed to it, even though he had been unaware of its motives for doing so. Well, they had all been unsettled, with the exception of the engineer; she'd accepted the challenge much like a child would accept a large bag of candy.

Kathryn found herself pinching the bridge of her nose, not wishing to look unhappy at the younger woman's enthusiasm, but feeling a side of migraine accompanying her exhaustion regardless,

"Please," her tone was low and her words slow, "sit down."

The half-Klingon did, her hands still raised before her in excitement while she continued, "All of the mobile emitter's memory capacity has been expended. All of it. The auxiliary programming – all those dealing with appearance and physiological mimicry – were deleted during his transformation. I didn't know why at first, and it was hard to sift out the Doctor's knew brain functions from the emitter's programming, but then I compensated for the brainwave patterns and was able to decipher a few hints that enabled me to crack the coding..."

"The chase B'Elanna, cut to it."

"It's a message, Captain."

Kathryn lowered her hand and settled a leveled gaze at her engineer, "A message?"

"Yes!"

B'Elanna leaned toward her, "Terraquads and terraquads of information. It looked like it might be star charts, data on spatial and sub-spatial anomalies, even information on species. Thousands of them. The test results were like a preview, I can't go through any of it until we download it from his emitter, and even then I'm sure that half of it won't make any sense to me."

"We'll jump that hurdle when we get to it, B'Elanna." Kathryn knew Seven would be able to help catalogue and decipher any information the engineer couldn't.

Harry and the Delaney twins could assist with the star charts, if there were any.

"Yes, Captain."

"Was there more?"

B'Elanna nodded, "I wanted to know why the planet gave all this to the Doctor and how, since everything we have on it suggests it has almost no ability to transfer information. So, I ran some tests and I think I have the answer…"

The migraine seemed to be melting away, and Kathryn began to feel some of the excitement her engineer was exuding,

"Well," she prompted, finding that she had begun to lean forward as well.

"The Doctor's human body was created without many of the elements it needed for survival. We know that this is why we almost lost him, but we didn't know why he was formed that way. I asked both Doctors for permission to look over the early reports and then combed through Harry and Seven's. What I discovered was that the Doctor was made entirely of the elements found in the planet's atmosphere, no more, no less.

I looked further to see how he was able to speak to the planet's atmosphere. All of their reports say that he was, and I'm inclined to believe that he was telling you the truth when he said that the planet asked him. He is theatrical, but he isn't prone to malfunction or deliberate falsehood. So, I ran a few more tests; the results are on the padd I gave to you."

B'Elanna reached forward and scooped up the device, calling up the information she wanted her captain to see. "There."

Kathryn took the padd and began to read it over, wary of what she might see, as B'Elanna continued to speak:

"The mystery element they originally went to study in the planet's atmosphere makes up nearly a third of the alloy in the Doctor's mobile emitter. My guess is that the planetoid was able to make a stable connection using their similarities. A mind meld, if you will, although Lt. Tuvok might argue that the process is different. The Doctor's mobile emitter was the perfect storage space for the information the planetoid wanted to share, but the Doctor's own programming was taking up too much of its memory…"

The connection between the data and the situation began to form without the engineer's help. Kathryn felt her eyes widening with the realization, "Are you telling me that the planet made the Doctor human so that it could turn him into a message courier?"

"Why not?" B'Elanna posed the question with a shrug of her shoulder. "The additional functional space of the human brain would be enough to ensure the survival of both data sets. The Doctor's programming had the DNA makeup of hundreds of humans on file, even Dr. Zimmerman's…if he said yes to the planet, then I don't see why it wouldn't do its best to create a human body for him. It didn't do so well in the end, but at least he's alive and the message has been delivered…"

"This is all in your report?" Kathryn focused on the PADD. She would definitely want a second opinion on this theory.

"All of it. There are still a lot of questions that need answers, including the motive behind the information transfer, but…"

"…but for now we have the most important."

B'Elanna nodded.

iii

The EMH's early fears had been correct – the mobile emitter could not be removed from the human Doctor's brain for fear of losing too many of his memories and functions in the process.

Even if the threat did not exist, Kathryn had agreed that they could not possibly ask the Doctor to part ways with what was left of vast medical database that was supported by the technology. It had been the core of his identity for the eight years of his existence, whereas the freedom of mobility had only defined the holographic Doctor's for a little more than four. To take medicine away from him would be tantamount to a crime as far as Kathryn was concerned, as well as a failure of judgment from both his friend and captain.

Seven likened the emitter's new purpose to her own cortical implant, explaining that removal might not just result in the loss of a great deal of information, but quite possibly his life. The EMH, however reluctant to part way with his freedom of movement, was inclined to agree.

The inevitable question of whether it would be true death if they could simply reactivate him once the emitter was removed was also raised. This line of questioning was almost instantly abandoned when they took the time to philosophize over its implications. The Doctor was human, for better or worse, and he would stay that way. Besides, the holographic Doctor's ethical programming would not allow him to do the procedure, nor could he authorize another to do the surgery.

(His pointed look at Kathryn while saying this let her know that he was remembering the Tuvix incident – the look was dually noted).

The efforts of Seven and B'Elanna, together with both Doctors' input, allowed them devise a way to remove much of the information given by the planetoid and upload it into the ship's computers. The procedure had to be done carefully in order to ensure that none of the Doctor's programming would be taken with it, as that too was similar to human neural pathways.

"Imagine if someone went in and erased months of your memories, or entire areas of knowledge…" had been the example used.

Meanwhile, B'Elanna was working with the EMH on a procedure that would allow her to access the emitter directly and remove or block the Doctor's ability to activate and deactivate himself, given the potential consequences and their likely finality.

As for the organic Doctor himself, he was fairing as well as could be expected, considering the major trauma he had gone through. All those involved were doing their best to treat him with rather more sensitivity than they would a science experiment. Kathryn rather thought they were succeeding in that regard.

They treated the holographic Doctor with the same degree of friendship and respect as well, while acknowledging that the situation would like create many awkward situations for everyone concerned. Kathryn suspected that a great number of those moments would involve herself – as both their Captain and their friend, she would have plenty of opportunities to do or say something that would leave one or both uncomfortable or insulted.

The reverse was also true, as both men would have to flesh out their new respective roles, both on duty and off.

Kathryn also promised herself that she would do her best to help them all preserver, even if that meant working through those moments with stubborn abandon.

"Be careful, Kathryn," Chakotay turned away from Ready Room replicator and handed her a fresh mug of coffee before settling on couch near her.

Her eyebrows quirked inquisitively when he didn't immediately elaborate, "I'm trying to be."

Chakotay chuckled warmly, a sound Kathryn missed every time she was allowed to hear it, and ran a finger along the rim of his teacup, "Both Doctor's will have questions that can't be answered quickly and then abandoned. They'll want thorough answers and may ask for them more than once. They'll also need our patience. Perhaps they'll need that more than they'll need our will to see the problem resolved."

There was no quick solution to this was what he was meaning to say.

Despite her desire for one, Kathryn was inclined to agree, "Our first test of their social identity is nearing much quicker than expected."

No one questioned that Chakotay's job of scheduling the duty rosters had become more difficult. Tom's ear to the rumor mill had, however, also brought up the inevitable question of how the Doctors' friends would treat them in the coming days. There were just some dilemmas that could not be avoided, and as Kathryn was learning, that was one.

"Really?" Chakotay's curiosity seemed to be getting the better of him.

Her expression grew colder but it had no effect, "I…" she took a sip of her drink and tried once more, "I'm supposed to have coffee with him – one of him, anyway – tomorrow. We scheduled it before the incident. It all feels like it was a world away...literally."

Chakotay did not need to ask which hims she was referring. While he felt sympathy for all those involved, he could not stop the small laugh at her expense. Leave it to the ship's Captain to have to set the precedence on the Doctors' social life.

"I'm sorry," he said, half in response to the situation as well as for his mirth.

"What do I do?" The very fact that she ignored his slight suggested that this truly bothered her, "Do I reschedule and show everyone that it is okay to run away from the problem? Do I have coffee with both at the same time? Different times? Do I..."

He was chuckling again.

"Why are you laughing? This is serious matter, Commander."

Brown eyes looked everywhere but at her as Chakotay tried to tame his amusement. Finally, he gazed at her specifically, his dark face having grown very stoic. Serene. It clashed splendidly with the burgeoning anxiety Kathryn could not help but feel.

Eventually, he set his cup aside and turned to grasp her free hand in both of his.

"What do I do?" Kathryn asked, feeling ridiculous for having even uttered the words.

"I don't know," Chakotay responded gravely.

The corners of his mouth turned upward only moments later, "But I can tell you that I don't envy you."

Blue eyes narrowed at him, torn between being swayed to join him in his amusement or to berate him for his audacity.

Kathryn's lips quirked tellingly.

Before he could see her smile, however, she mustered up a passable glare, "Get out."