A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, faved, etc. And thank you to A Quarter Past for being my beta reader, and for doing such a great job! Now I'm off to pack for a week-long vacation. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.


Forget Me Not

Seven


There were times, the Doctor mused, when being a hologram was not all it was cracked up to be.

Of course, the advantages he had over organic beings were numerous and obvious. He did not age or become ill, he did not require food or water or sleep or even a breathable atmosphere in order to survive. He did not need to bathe or perform the usual mundane tasks to maintain personal hygiene. Although he sometimes participated in physical activities, he had no need of exercise. And he was not burdened by the limitations of flesh and blood; in theory, his program could be expanded indefinitely.

On the other hand, there were definite drawbacks. The Doctor could only exist in places equipped with holo-emitters, or with the assistance of his own mobile emitter. He had no sense of taste or smell, a fact which he still lamented from time to time. There had been a memorable away mission during his time on Voyager when, to preserve his program, Seven of Nine had temporarily downloaded it into her cortical node. Experiencing aromas and flavors for the first time had been exhilarating, but all too soon, his new gift had been snatched away. He would always miss the taste of cheesecake.

And then there was the issue of his lifespan. Immortality was the dream of nearly every sentient species in the galaxy, other than the Q. Barring some disastrous, irreparable damage to his program, the Doctor could technically live forever. With that knowledge, however, came the grim realization that someday, every one of his flesh-and-blood loved ones would die, while he would continue to exist. Indeed, the thought was such a dreadful one that he rarely allowed himself to think about it.

Perhaps one of the biggest disadvantages of being a hologram, though, was that he was acutely aware of his failings. When organics made mistakes, they could simply claim that it had been an accident, that they "hadn't been thinking." They were fallible beings, after all. But when the Doctor made a mistake, he could not blame it on a malfunction or a faulty algorithm. He could only blame himself.

For instance, he knew when he had sent the information he had found on Jordan Starling's family to her quarters, it had been the wrong thing to do. He knew that he should not have listened to her request, that he should have waited and broken the news to her in person. That he should not have allowed her to be alone. But he had done it anyway. And his program had been functioning perfectly when he had done it.

What was worse, he still had not told her the truth about her uncle. However, there had never seemed to be a good time, and it was certainly out of the question for the present. The news that her boyfriend had married her sister, scant months after she had been placed in cryostasis, was devastating enough. How could he tell her that her own uncle had built his fortune on stolen technology from the future and had nearly used it to tear a hole in the universe?

No, that particular bombshell would have to wait. In the meantime, he had to rectify his mistake, or his ethical subroutines would continue to torment him.

Leaving Ensign Moss in charge of the medical bay, the Doctor boarded a turbolift and made his way to Deck Eleven. It was just past twenty-two hundred hours, and he passed few people on the way to Jordan's quarters. He hoped she was still awake.

He pressed the door chime and waited. There was no answer. He pressed it again, but still no response. He considered hailing her, but as his hand reached toward his own combadge , the door slid open, and Jordan stood before him, rubbing her eyes.

Her hair was a tangled mess, and she was wearing a blue nightdress which showed a bit more skin than he was prepared for.

"Doctor," she said, her voice slightly husky, "is something wrong?"

The Doctor determined resolutely to keep his gaze focused on her face, and not on her pale, willowy limbs.

"I... wanted to check on you," he said when his vocal processor decided to start working, "to make sure you were all right. I hope I didn't wake you."

Jordan nodded, causing him to flush guiltily, "Yeah, I went to bed early. It's been a long day. But don't worry about it. Come on in."

She moved aside, allowing him to step into the room. It was dark, illuminated only by the light of Jupiter and its moons outside the window. He watched as she curled up on the sofa, tucking her legs underneath her. The Doctor took a seat beside her, already having rehearsed what he was going to say.

"Jordan," he said slowly, "I owe you an apology. When you asked me to find information about your family, I wondered if it might be too soon. After... finding out what I did, I should have listened to my instincts. And I certainly shouldn't have delivered the news the way I did. Can you forgive me?"

Her smooth forehead puckered at his words. "Forgive you?" she repeated. "There's nothing to forgive, Doc. I'm the one who asked you to send it to my quarters. I have only myself to blame for that. I did say I was ready."

She sounded bitter, but not devastated. Indeed, other than her disheveled hair and slightly red eyes, she appeared perfectly fine, but the Doctor's conscience pricked him nevertheless.

"Still," he pressed, "I'm sorry."

He added gently, "How are you?"

Jordan exhaled; a soft, sad sound. "I'm... okay," she replied at length, staring down at her clasped hands. "I mean, I'm upset, but... that's not going to change what happened. Like Reiya said, history is history. I'll get over it."

The Doctor frowned. She was taking everything surprisingly well. Too well. He had expected any number of reactions, but hearing her say that she would 'get over it' had not been one of them. She had every right to be distraught. So why was she not?

"If you need to talk—" he began.

"No." She spoke the word forcefully. "Thanks," she went on in a calmer tone, "but I think I just need some time alone, to let everything sink in. Does that make sense?"

It did, of course. He understood the need for solitude and quiet reflection, all too well. But he also knew that prolonged isolation would do her no good; quite the opposite, in fact.

"I suppose it does," he said. Then he smiled as an idea occurred to him. "Why don't we go to the holodeck tomorrow? There's a ski resort program in Trondheim, Norway I've been wanting to try. How do fresh powder and hot apple cider sound to you?"

Jordan smiled in return. "That sounds amazing. Maybe another time. I'm spending tomorrow afternoon with Haley."

"I'm glad to hear it," he said sincerely.

"You're welcome to join us, of course," she added.

The Doctor did not feel quite right about insinuating himself into their time together, but he supposed he could look in on her, just for a few minutes.

"Perhaps," he said simply.

He rose to his feet, and Jordan followed him to the door. He still felt strangely reluctant to leave her alone, in these dark, empty quarters. "You're sure you'll be all right?" he asked one last time, lingering outside the doorway.

"Yes," she replied firmly. "But it was sweet of you to check up on me."

It was the least I could do, after ruining your day, the Doctor thought ruefully, but he kept it to himself. "Not at all," he said softly.

"Well..." Jordan took a deep breath and mustered a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Good night, Doc."

His heart — or the holographic equivalent of it — twisted in sympathy. "Good night, Jordan."

She stepped back from the door, and it slid shut with a hiss. The Doctor stood there for a while, staring at its smooth gray surface without really seeing it. She really had seemed fine; a little melancholy, but who could blame her? The fact that she was not in hysterics did not necessarily mean she was not grieving in her own quiet way, but she hadn't cancelled her plans with Haley. That was certainly an encouraging sign.

So why did he still feel as if he had let her down?


Jupiter Station's holography lab did not receive many visitors. This was because Lewis Zimmerman did not encourage them. He was a solitary man by nature; even as a child he had loathed group activities. He simply worked better on his own. With just a handful of exceptions, he regarded people as a distraction and a nuisance. Fortunately, people didn't much care for him, either.

Above all, he hated being disturbed while in the middle of a project. And today, he was working on one that would change everything. Not so much for society, but for two of the few people he actually did care about. If it worked, they would owe him their eternal gratitude in addition to already owing him their lives. It would not be easy, but he was confident he could pull it off. After all, he was a genius.

There was a small part of Zimmerman that wondered if what he was doing was frivolous. He doubted there were many other scientists at the top of their fields who would sacrifice so much of their free time on such a ridiculous endeavor. But he also knew how much it would mean to Haley, and especially to the Doctor. At the very least, it would stop his whining.

When had his life become so insane? He decided it had started the day the Doctor had sent himself through the Midas array and materialized in the middle of his lab. Prior to that eventful meeting, Zimmerman had been slowly wasting away from acute cellular degradation. The finest physicians in the quadrant had been unable to find a cure, and he had resigned himself to the inevitability of his imminent demise. And then that blasted EMH Mark I had shown up.

He was the embodiment of Zimmerman's own failure. The only reason he had not been decommissioned along with the other Mark I's was because his ship had been thrown halfway across the galaxy by means of some bizarre alien technology. The Doctor, of course, had no way of knowing he was the last of his kind still serving in a medical capacity. All he knew was that his creator was dying, and he believed he could save him. So he had his program sent all the way to the Alpha quadrant. Typical Mark I arrogance.

The worst part was that he was so earnest. Zimmerman had been criticized countless times for the brusque, irritable personality of the EMH Mark I, but somehow, this one had gained compassion, loyalty, and a genuine passion for his work. He even had friends; more friends than Zimmerman himself had. It had been humiliating to learn that the only Mark I to escape the fate of the others had done so in spite of his programming, not because of it. He had grown in ways no hologram ever had.

Even now, it was still hard to look at him sometimes — this younger version of himself, more friendly, cheerful, and full of life than he had ever been. And with a richer social life. But he had overcome a great deal to get where he was: the first hologram to be granted sentience, and the first to be made a Starfleet officer. And he had saved his life. Zimmerman was proud of him.

Not that he would ever tell him.

"Are you planning on taking a shower at any point today?"

At the sound of Haley's voice over his shoulder, Zimmerman nearly leaped out of his chair.

"Damn it!" he swore, quickly turning off his work station. "Don't sneak up on me like that, or I'll re-program you to wear little bells on your shoes. You think I won't do it, but—"

"I told you, Jordan Starling is coming this afternoon," she said, frowning down at her creator, her arms folded across her chest. "You promised you'd at least look presentable."

"That doesn't sound like me."

She glowered. "Lewis."

"Fine, fine." With a put-upon sigh, he turned in his chair to face her. "So. You and Freezer Girl are becoming fast friends. Good. You really need to get out more, Haley. I didn't install holo-projectors throughout the whole station just so you could spend all your time cooped up in here."

Haley raised a pale, skeptical eyebrow. "You're lecturing me about not going out?" she asked dryly.

"Don't give me that look," said Zimmerman, shaking a finger at her. "I designed that look."

She pursed her lips. "Just... be nice," she said, her eyes pleading.

"I am nice," he argued, causing Haley to snort with laughter.

"What?" he asked.

She just shook her head and left, laughing to herself as she went.

Zimmerman watched her go, then allowed himself a small smile. Then, with another beleaguered sigh, he rose and dragged himself off to his room for a quick sonic shower, because he was a sucker.

He had nearly finished dressing when he heard the door chime. Thinking it was Jordan Starling, he ignored it, assuming Haley would let her in. When the chime sounded again, he quickly pulled on his shoes and made his way to the door, muttering curses under his breath. What good was an assistant if he still had to do everything himself?

He opened the door, and was greeted by an unexpected and unwelcome sight. A tall, slim, statuesque blue beauty stood in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear. It was, of course, the station's head cook, Reiya Meraab. She was holding a covered platter, no doubt containing some inedible horror.

"Hi, Dr. Z!" she said brightly.

His hand moved toward the 'close' button. Unfortunately, Haley returned from whatever task had been occupying her and strategically placed herself between him and the door panel.

The woman addressed his assistant. "Haley, right? I'm Reiya. I've seen you a few times around the station."

"Of course," Haley replied. "Hello, Reiya."

"This isn't real," Zimmerman murmured. "I'm dreaming. Quick, Haley, slap me awake."

Reiya ignored the comment. "I hate being the bearer of bad news, but Jordan wanted me to let you know that she won't be able to come today. She's not feeling well. But she asked me to give you this." She held out the covered dish. "I think she called it blueberry pie."

Zimmerman eyed the object with suspicion, before taking it from her outstretched hands. "So you didn't make this?" he asked slowly, peeking under the lid.

"I hope it's not anything serious," said Haley. "With Jordan, I mean. Does the Doctor know?"

"I don't think so. She just said she was feeling run down, and needed to rest. Well, you know Jordan. She's much better than she was, but she still tires easily."

Haley nodded. "Yes, of course. Thanks for letting us know."

"No problem!" the woman chirped. "Have a great day! Bye, Dr. Z!"

She turned and left, striding down the corridor on her long legs.

Zimmerman shook his head. "That woman is an enigma. How can any species be that cheerful, living that close to the Romulans? It defies logic."

Removing the lid from the dish, he grabbed a fork and brought a mouthful of pie to his mouth. "Oh," he nearly groaned. "Hello, beautiful."

Haley watched him in amusement.

"Do you two need a moment alone?" she joked.

Zimmerman took another bite, resisting the urge to inhale it. "This almost doesn't even need coffee with it." He looked at Haley pointedly and added, "I said almost."

"The replicator's eight steps away," she said flatly.

He sighed, "Remember when you were actually my assistant?"

Her shrug was not nearly as innocent as she no doubt imagined it was. "My memory circuits must have degraded a little over the years."

"How convenient," he muttered.

He got a cup of coffee from the replicator and sat down, preparing to enjoy his unexpected treat. But within minutes, the door chime rang again. This time he steadfastly refused to get up, leaving Haley with no choice but to answer the door. The Doctor strode in, looking around in obvious confusion.

Zimmerman glanced up at him, his fork halfway to his mouth. "What's your problem?"

"Where's Jordan?" he demanded.

"Freezer Girl? She canceled." He ignored the Doctor's glare at his choice of nickname. "But she sent that Bolian over with some pie. It's... not bad," he conceded, causing Haley to snort.

The Doctor's brow darkened. "I had a feeling she was just putting on a brave face," he said, seemingly to himself. At his family's blank expressions, he explained, "She asked me to dig up some information on her family. I'm afraid that what I found may have been too much for her to handle."

"What's that?" asked Haley.

He sighed and lowered himself into a chair, resting his forearms on his knees. With his hunched shoulders and hanging head, he resembled an exaggerated portrait depicting dejection and remorse. Zimmerman wondered, not for the first time, just where he had gotten his flair for melodrama.

"The man she was romantically involved with married her sister," he said quietly, "just a few months after she went into cryostasis."

Haley gave a soft gasp. "Oh, no. That's awful."

Zimmerman winced. "Yikes. What a low blow. Poor kid."

The Doctor turned to him in surprise. "Lewis," he exclaimed, "I had no idea you were capable of expressing sympathy."

"Shut up," he growled. "I'm a misanthrope. I'm not a monster. Not toward cute brunettes who can make good pie, anyway."

Both of his creations rolled their eyes, but Lewis continued, "What about her uncle, the psycho? Have you told her about him yet?"

"No." The Doctor wearily rubbed his forehead, as if he were getting a headache — as if he were actually capable of getting a headache. "I know I should, and the longer I wait, the harder it will be, but I just can't. Especially not now. Not after this."

"You still think it was a mistake to revive her?" asked Zimmerman, sipping his coffee.

"I never said it was a mistake," the Doctor said in a defensive tone. "I had my concerns, of course, but... no. Whatever it was that made Henry Starling a cold, ruthless maniac, it seems to have skipped a generation."

Zimmerman regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. "Has it ever occurred to you that there may have been more to the man than that?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said the girl was frozen in 1996, right? The same year Voyager got trapped. The same year Starling intended to launch the timeship. Did you ever stop to think that maybe one of the reasons he planned on going to the future was to bring a cure back for his niece?"

The Doctor blinked. "I... I never thought of that," he admitted in a low voice.

Zimmerman snorted. "Obviously."

He set down his coffee. "Look, people may be stupid, annoying, and mindlessly cruel, but very rarely are they one hundred percent good or bad. Henry Starling may have been a cold, ruthless maniac, but apparently he cared about that kid. If he hadn't, she wouldn't be here now."

It was one of those rare moments Zimmerman lived for. He had actually succeeded in rendering the Doctor speechless.

After savoring the silence for a few precious seconds, he returned his attention to his pie. "Well, so long," he said, waving a dismissive hand.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, the Doctor rose to his feet. After murmuring a vague farewell, he drifted to the door.

"You know," Zimmerman couldn't help remarking, "it's too bad you can't eat this. It's really quite good."

The Doctor left with a sigh, and Haley gave her creator her most disapproving glare. But Zimmerman simply ate his pie, forcing down a chuckle of barely-suppressed glee.

Just you wait, my boy, he thought. Just you wait.


Discovering the computer's musical database had proven to be something of a mixed blessing for Jordan. On the one hand, she could listen to all her favorite musicians, after wondering if she would ever be able to hear them again. On the other hand, those same songs she loved also brought with them a flood of unpleasant memories.

It was strangely appropriate that Marvin Gaye's "Heard It Through the Grapevine" should be playing as she sat on her bed, leafing through her old journal. The more she read about all the wonderful experiences she had shared with Dean, the more it gradually dawned on her that they had all been lies. And the more the realization sank in, the angrier she became — not just at Dean, but at herself.

How blind she had been. How naïve of her to think that he had stayed with her all those years out of anything but a sense of obligation or guilt. All she had ever been to him was a millstone around his neck, weighing him down. But how could he ever break up with a dying girl? Why would he, when all he had to do was bide his time until she kicked the bucket, leaving him free to be with the woman he'd wanted all along?

Her sister. Her own sister.

Suddenly she couldn't seem to stop crying. Flinging her journal across the room, she brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her shins, her body shaking with silent sobs.

She had no idea how long she sat there before she realized that someone was pressing the door chime. Or, more accurately, leaning against the door chime. Jordan paused the music and scrubbed at her face with her sleeve in a half-hearted, fruitless attempt to clean herself up. Then, reluctantly, she dragged herself out of her bedroom and went to the door.

It was the Doctor.

"Jordan," he said simply.

The sight of him standing there, his eyes filled with pity and sorrow and compassion, was too much for her to bear. Wordlessly, she shuffled forward and buried her face in his uniform. His arms went around her, holding her tightly. In that moment, she forgot that he was a hologram, and that she was a four-hundred-year-old living fossil stranded in the wrong time. She was in need of comfort, and he was glad to give it. He was warm, and solid, and real.

After some time had passed, the Doctor gently led her over to the sofa and made her sit down. She watched as he went over to the replicator on the wall and, to her surprise, ordered a hot buttered rum.

As he pressed the mug into her hands, she looked up at him with raised eyebrows. "I'm surprised you're prescribing alcohol," she rasped, her voice hoarse from crying.

"It's synthehol," he replied, taking a seat next to her. "Harmless in small amounts, and with none of the deleterious after-effects of alcohol."

She took a sip, letting the hot, sweet liquid soothe her raw throat. It was quite possibly the best thing she had ever tasted.

"The way I see it," the Doctor continued quietly, "if I were in your position, and if I weren't a hologram, I'd probably want a stiff drink myself."

Jordan smiled despite herself. "Your insight into the organic mind is uncanny," she said, reaching out and giving his hand a grateful squeeze.

All too soon, though, her smile faded. "God, I feel such an idiot, Doctor."

She might have known he would try to contradict her. "You shouldn't."

"No offense, Doc, but please don't tell me how to feel," she muttered. It was difficult to speak past the lump in her throat. "You know why Dean and I never got married? Because he never asked me. I figured it was because... my health made everything so uncertain. He wanted to take it one day at a time. But apparently he just felt sorry for me. He stayed because he didn't want to be the guy who broke up with the girl with cancer."

"You don't know that," the Doctor countered.

She let out a bitter laugh. "How else do you explain it? I get put in cold storage, and six months later, he marries my sister?"

He tried a different tack. "People deal with grief in strange ways, Jordan."

"What part of 'six months later' are you not getting, Doctor?" she snapped, finally losing her patience.

The Doctor was silent. Evidently he had realized that what she needed was a listening ear, and that his attempts to play Devil's advocate were not as well-received as he had intended. He was a smart man.

Jordan shook her head, dragging her sleeve across her eyes again. "I thought he loved me," she murmured. "I thought they both did. But the whole time... they were just waiting for me to die."

The Doctor simply placed a hand on her back. She leaned against him wearily, resting her head on his shoulder.

"And poor Uncle Henry," she said, as he began rubbing her back in slow, comforting circles. "I can't imagine how Dad must have felt when he just disappeared like that. How does that even happen? Especially to someone so famous?"

The Doctor's hand halted momentarily, before resuming its ministrations.

"Ugh, why did I have to satisfy my damned curiosity?" she lamented. "I was doing so well. I was starting to feel like I could be happy here. Like I actually belonged here. And then I had to go and ask you about my family. I guess it's true what they say; ignorance is bliss."

There was another silence, and then the Doctor cleared his throat.

"Actually, it isn't," he said in a low voice.

Jordan raised her head to look up at him. "What?"

His expression was somber, his eyes betraying a hidden pain. "I'm going to tell you something," he said slowly, "that I haven't told many people. Not Harry. Not even Lewis or Haley."

She nodded, her own eyes wide.

"When Voyager was still in the Delta Quadrant," he began, "we happened upon a planet that was displaced in time. Its rate of rotation was so fast that every second that passed on Voyager was the equivalent to almost a full day on the planet. While we were investigating, the ship got caught in its gravitational pull, causing geological disturbances to the planet in the form of severe earthquakes. Eventually the inhabitants realized that Voyager was causing the seismic activity; they even sent a message to the 'Sky Ship', asking us to please stop destroying their planet."

Jordan shook her head, confused by his apparent non sequitur. "All this is fascinating, Doctor, but—"

"I'm getting to the point. Please be patient."

She fell silent, holding in a sigh of frustration.

"We decided we should go down to the planet, to gather sensor readings, see if we could find a way to break orbit. The only problem was, none of the crew could survive the stress caused by the time differential. None, except me."

He gave a small shrug. "So I went. It was only supposed to be for a few seconds, but... they lost my signal. By the time they were able to beam me back to Voyager, three years had passed on the planet."

It took a few seconds for the Doctor's words to sink in. "You were there for three years?" she asked, not bothering to conceal her surprise.

The Doctor nodded. "I altered my physical parameters to blend in with the inhabitants. Within the first few days I was there, I happened upon a woman who was in labor. The father was out of the picture, and she was terrified. I delivered the baby, and she was so grateful, she wanted to name him after me."

He chuckled in remembrance. "I panicked. I blurted out the first name I could think of, which happened to be from a ridiculous old film my friend Tom Paris had forced me to watch, called Jason and the Argonauts. So, she named him Jason."

Jordan knew the film of which he spoke, and couldn't help smiling at the idea of anyone referring to the Doctor as 'Jason'.

"The woman, Mariza, soon figured out that I had nowhere to go and no idea what to do, so she very irresponsibly offered to let me stay with her. She always was far too trusting."

The Doctor suddenly looked away, a slight pink tint coloring his cheeks. "I suppose it's not hard to guess what happened next. We were both lonely, and craving companionship, and we grew to care for one another. Eventually we married. And even though I wasn't Jason's father, I loved him like he was my own."

Jordan felt as though she were seeing the Doctor with new eyes. She had never thought of him as just a hologram; he was too kind, too genuine, too unique to be merely a product of human engineering. But at the same time, she had never thought of him as a man with needs, and had certainly never pictured him with a wife or a son. And she was ashamed at herself for underestimating his capacity for love.

"I always knew I'd lose them," he said softly. "I — both of us knew that as long as we could see Voyager up in the night sky, they were still looking for me. We knew it was only a matter of time until they found me and brought me back."

The Doctor swallowed. "And then one day, they did. And I never saw Mariza or Jason again. Even if I could have convinced the captain to send me back, they would have been long gone."

The quiet, resigned manner in which he spoke of his loss nearly broke Jordan's heart. "Oh, Doctor," she whispered.

He patted her back comfortingly — after recounting such a devastating experience, he was still comforting her. "I still wonder what became of them, after I left," he confessed. "If Mariza ever found love again. If she had any more children. What sort of man Jason grew up to be. But I'll never know."

"I don't know what to say," murmured Jordan, gazing at him through her tears.

"You don't have to say anything. I just want you to know that I understand. I understand what you're going through. That's why you can believe me when I say that ignorance is not bliss."

His meaning was clear. She knew what had become of her family. Not all of it was welcome knowledge, but at least she knew. The Doctor would never know what had become of his family.

"I'm so sorry," she said miserably.

The Doctor's lips curved in a soft smile. "Don't be. They loved me, just like your family loved you."

Her head sank to his shoulder again. For a while they sat together in silence. And then, slowly, Jordan wrapped her arms around the Doctor's waist. His hold on her tightened, and as she grieved for her lost family, he mourned for his.


A/N: In my other Voyager story, my interpretation of what happened to the Doctor in "Blink of an Eye" was slightly different than here. But I figured that this version is as likely an explanation as any other. Hope it made sense, anyway. Okay, that's my last end note. Probably.