A/N: I'm so sorry for the long hiatus. Writer's block plus stress plus family drama equals zero productivity. Also, I was sort of embarrassed that I'd gone so long without updating. But this story means a lot to me, and I'm definitely going to finish it. Even if it takes forever. Although I'll do my best to make sure that it won't!

My apologies to everyone for making you wait. And apologies to A Quarter Past for posting this latest chapter without letting you beta read it first. I was just so excited that I actually finished it!

P.S. I totally stole the name "USS Indefatigable" from the Horatio Hornblower books.

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

Forget Me Not

by Bad Octopus

Ten

For those unacquainted with Seven of Nine, it might have been a surprise to learn that she was not a social creature. After all, she was a former Borg. Since early childhood, she had been surrounded by fellow drones working toward the shared goal of perfection. A person might reasonably conclude that, after a lifetime of hearing the Collective's countless billions of voices echoing through her head, large social functions would not faze her in the slightest. That person would be wrong.

It was not that Seven was antisocial; she enjoyed associating with others, and appreciated the company of her loved ones. It was not small gatherings that made her anxious, that caused her palms to sweat and her heart rate to soar. It was crowds. The roar of indistinct voices and the close press of bodies invariably evoked unpleasant memories of the years of her life which had been stolen by the Collective. She knew it was an irrational response — that she was in no danger of being assimilated again. But it was difficult to convince her autonomic nervous system otherwise.

For that reason, Seven was reluctant to attend major social events, and tended to regard RSVPs with the same distrust typically reserved for rabid animals and Neelix's cooking. Thankfully, those closest to Seven understood her aversion to crowds. And so, when she and her husband had been informed that a member of their archaeological team was having what promised to be a large and boisterous birthday party, Chakotay, instead of insisting on her attendance or chiding her for her aloofness, had discreetly leaned in and whispered in her ear, "Get out while you can."

She knew she had married him for a reason.

In their modest home in Sedona, Arizona, Seven was determined to make the most of relaxing evening alone. After cataloguing the day's finds from the Chronowerx site, she had improved the efficiency of the sonic shower, tried her hand at a couple of recipes for traditional Vulcan dishes, and composed a letter to Icheb, who was currently serving aboard the USS Indefatigable as part of his Starfleet academy training. Now, curled in her favorite chair next to a window looking out over Oak Creek Canyon, she sat with a cup of rooibos tea at her elbow and a book in her hand, basking in the blissful silence.

The book was The Merchant of Venice, and she was less than enthralled with it. The general consensus was that William Shakespeare had been a genius, a pioneer of the English language. So far, his appeal was lost on Seven. If his writing was a reflection of his personality, she decided, the Bard of Avon must have been maudlin, melodramatic, and possibly bipolar. He himself could not seem to decide whether the play was intended to be a comedy or a tragedy.

Unfortunately, the book had been a gift from a friend. And Seven of Nine never started a project that she did not finish.

It was almost a relief when the silence was interrupted by the sound of an incoming transmission. Setting the book aside, she stood and crossed the room to the viewscreen, which stood on a shelf among a few pieces of Native American pottery. The alert at the bottom of the screen announced that the source of the transmission was Jupiter Station.

She answered without hesitation: "Doctor."

Her old friend and mentor smiled in greeting. "Hello, Seven," he replied. "You're looking well."

Seven frowned. "I cannot return the compliment," she remarked, with characteristic frankness.

It was a peculiarity of the Doctor's that although his physical parameters never altered with age or illness, his many and varied moods were always written clearly on his face. At the moment his smile appeared strained, and his eyes held some poorly-concealed emotional distress.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, allowing a touch of concern into her voice.

The hologram's forced good spirits vanished in an instant. "Observant as always," he muttered, almost to himself. "Let's just say it's been an eventful few days. Commander Bhat has just informed me that Jordan Starling announced her intention to leave Jupiter Station and return to Earth."

This was unexpected news. His regular reports on her progress seemed to indicate that she was integrating with the station's crew quite well. "She did not inform you of this directly?"

The Doctor shook his head. "No. She..." A pained look crossed his features. "We aren't exactly on the best of terms."

"Explain," Seven demanded.

With some difficulty, he proceeded to tell her that Jordan Starling had found out through a reporter about Voyager's involvement with her uncle, and that she had been furious and hurt that the Doctor had elected to withhold the information from her. Her reaction was understandable, Seven had to admit as she listened. Not only had he neglected to tell her the truth, he had prevented anyone else from telling her.

"That was exceedingly unwise, Doctor," she said. It was not an accusation or a reproof, but merely a simple statement of fact.

"Thank you, Seven, I am aware of that," he answered, rubbing his forehead. "The reason I'm telling you all this is because I'd like to request a favor."

"A favor?"

"I've tried to dissuade Jordan from leaving the station," he said. "It's too early; she's not physically or mentally prepared for the transition. But she won't listen to me. And I've forfeited the right to tell her what she should or shouldn't do."

He paused, as if attempting to compose himself. "When she does arrive on Earth," he went on after a moment, "she'll be alone in unfamiliar surroundings. I'm sure you remember what that's like."

"With vivid clarity," Seven intoned dryly.

"I was hoping... you might befriend her." At her raised eyebrow, he clarified, "You and Chakotay. She's going to need friends. And no one could ask for better friends than the two of you."

Seven considered his request, and decided it was not an unreasonable one. "I am not quite the ebullient individual that you are," she said, "but I shall do my best."

The Doctor seemed to relax marginally. "Thank you, Seven. I knew I could count on you."

She looked at him carefully, noting the melancholy that still darkened his features. "Will you be able to adapt, Doctor?" she asked, as gently as she knew how.

He acknowledged her attempt at empathy with a fleeting smile. "I don't have much of a choice," he replied. "She wants nothing more to do with me. And I have to respect her decision. I'm going to miss her, though. I was really beginning to..." He sighed softly. "Well. It doesn't matter anymore."

His voice was tight with remorse and self-reproach. Although Seven's own expression remained neutral, beneath her cool, impassive facade, her throat constricted uncomfortably. It was always difficult for her to see the Doctor like this. His default state was usually one of confidence and irrepressible enthusiasm. She had long grown accustomed to his smugness, his pontificating, and his irritating zest for life. But she had never gotten used to seeing him in pain. It was... unacceptable.

"May I ask you something, Seven?" he suddenly asked.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"Over the years, I've made some mistakes," he said quietly. "I've failed to live up to your expectations, both as a mentor and a friend."

Seven cleared her throat, attempting to lift his spirits with humor, just as he had taught her. "Are you referring to the time you joined a band of insurgent holograms led by a psychotic zealot, or the time you commandeered my body and consumed an entire cheesecake?"

"A full detailed list isn't necessary," he dead-panned, although her efforts succeeded in coaxing a small, wry smile from him. "What I want to know is... what made you decide to forgive me?"

Seven was silent as she processed his question. She was aware that she needed to choose her words with great care — not that she ever did anything less. Still, she knew her opinion was very important to the Doctor.

"You once told me," she said slowly, "that perfection was a laudable goal, but that it was unrealistic to expect it of others. Even I will never fully be able to achieve it."

He smiled again; an encouraging start.

"I have committed more than my share of transgressions," she went on. "Transgressions which you have been kind and generous enough to overlook. To hold your transgressions against you would be hypocritical."

She paused, wondering if should continue. "Jordan Starling may forgive you, with time. But you must not force it." Recalling a thought she had read mere minutes ago, she suddenly understood its meaning. "'The quality of mercy is not strain'd; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven.'"

The Doctor blinked at her. "Seven," he said with some surprise. "Have you been reading Shakespeare?"

"Grudgingly, yes," she answered with an annoyed flicker of her eyelids. "Admiral Janeway suggested that I should expand my knowledge of Earth literature."

"And?" he asked eagerly. "What do you think?"

"I think the man was a very inefficient communicator. He uses a hundred words when half a dozen would suffice. The two of you would have gotten along well."

At last she succeeded in eliciting a chuckle from her old friend. "Oh, Seven," he said, his voice warm. "Don't ever change."

"Likewise, Doctor," she said simply.

Harry Kim was on a mission. He had no idea how he was going to accomplish it, but that had never stopped him before.

As he strode the corridors of Jupiter Station, he found himself shaking his head. He wasn't the type to say 'I told you so' — well, okay, maybe he was — but he had predicted this from the start. But everyone always thought they knew better. He had lost count of the number of times his best friend Tom Paris had ignored his advice, and paid dearly for it. And now this. When were people going to start listening to him for a change?

Haley kept pace alongside him, her face solemn and pensive. He had bumped into her on Deck Eleven, outside the turbolift. Since she rarely ventured into this section of the station, it was not difficult to guess her purpose. So he'd invited her to join him. "The more, the merrier," he had said, although it had obviously been a poor choice of words. He always did seem to say the wrong thing around her.

He cleared his throat and, perhaps unwisely, attempted to resume conversation. "How did you find out that Jordan was leaving?"

"The Doctor," was Haley's response. "He came by the holography lab last night. He looked like someone had just told him that opera was puerile and contrived. Even Lewis seemed concerned. And he doesn't like people to think that he cares about anybody."

Kim sighed. "I warned the Doc that this would happen. I told him that Jordan would find out, one way or another. He should have known that this would backfire on him."

"He knew," said Haley. "I'm sure he had every intention of telling her the truth, but..." She shrugged her shoulders. "The situation got away from him. Things spiraled out of control, and then it was too late to make amends."

He snorted. "You mean he was afraid that she would dismantle his matrix, subroutine by subroutine."

"She just might, if she knew how," Haley muttered.

Kim shook his head again. "Personally, I think she's being too hard on him. It's not like he set out to make her look like a fool. He was just trying to protect her."

"Yes, but that's precisely why she's angry," Haley replied. "After she was diagnosed with cancer, everyone around her did nothing but protect her. Her own boyfriend didn't even have the courage to end things between them, because he couldn't bear the idea of breaking up with a dying woman. To Jordan, this is just more of the same. More people treating her like a child who is too delicate to learn the truth about Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy."

"That they're conspiring together to make kids lose their teeth faster?" he joked.

Haley shot a censorious glance up at him. "This is serious," she said in a low voice.

Kim gave himself a mental kick in the pants. Just once, he wished he could hold a conversation with this woman without being obliged to extract his boot from his mouth every five minutes. "Sorry, you're right," he murmured, his ears burning with embarrassment. He cleared his throat before daring to add, "At least I have you to keep me in line."

She stopped him in mid-stride with a hand on his arm. "Harry..."

As he gazed down at her, he felt his heart begin to pound in his chest. "Yeah?"

The moment, of course, was shattered by the sudden appearance of a tall, slim figure rounding the corner and nearly barreling into them. On observing the two of them, Reiya Meraab's eyes widened. Without a word, she turned abruptly on her heel and started walking back the way she came.

Kim snapped out of his trance. "Hey, Reiya! Wait!"

"I'm sorry!" she called over her shoulder. "I didn't mean to interrupt anything!"

"You didn't," Haley assured her, unwittingly rubbing salt into Kim's wounded ego. "Come back, please, Reiya."

The Bolian hesitated, before turning again and trudging over to join them. Her tread was heavy, and her usual dazzling smile was missing, replaced by a dejected pout. "I guess you two are on Deck Eleven, Section Three for the same reason I am," she grumbled.

"Are you here to stop Jordan from leaving?" Kim asked her.

"Of course I am!" she exploded, throwing her arms in the air. Kim and Haley took an unconscious step back. "She can't go to Earth! She nearly fainted when I took her to the transporter room to pick up the last food shipment. The minute she sets foot on Earth and sees how different everything is, she's going to lose her mind!"

"It really is too soon," agreed Haley, though in a much more subdued manner. "She's not ready for such a drastic change. I'm a hologram, and even I found Earth to be overwhelming."

Reiya shook her head. "It's not just that. What am I supposed to do without her? I was just getting used to having extra help around the galley. And people really liked her food."

"Yeah, I was one of them," Kim said under his breath.

Thankfully, Reiya did not seem to hear him. "Besides," she went on, shoving her hands in the pockets of her short dress, "I... I like her. She's such a nice little human. I don't want her to go."

Kim nodded in commiseration. He had grown fond of Jordan Starling, as well. Despite everything she had endured, she managed to keep a surprisingly bright outlook on life. Which made her decision to leave Jupiter Station especially puzzling.

"I could just kick the Doctor," Reiya growled, baring her teeth in an unexpectedly feral gesture. "No offense, Haley. But why did he have to go and ruin everything?"

"Well," said Haley, "that's what we're here to fix."

Hoping he would not regret it, Kim reached out and patted the irate Bolian on her shoulder. "Cheer up, Reiya. We'll convince Jordan to stay. How could she leave someone like you?"

He was rewarded with a slow, bashful smile that lit up the woman's face like an exotic blue flower. "Thanks, Harry," she said gratefully.

For a brief moment, Kim couldn't remember what she was thanking him for.

Together, they made their way to Jordan's quarters. She answered the door, dressed in her clothes from the twentieth century — a pair of ripped, blue pants and a shirt advertising something called a "Magical Mystery Tour". She let them in promptly, but she was clearly distracted. Her hair was untidy, and she appeared frazzled and exhausted. From the various items strewn about the room, it was evident that she was still packing her belongings. She didn't seem to have much: some clothes, a few books, her tennis racket. It was sort of sad to look at.

After mindlessly offering them some refreshment, which they politely declined, Jordan invited them to sit down. "I know why you're here," she told them as they crowded together on the little sofa, "and it's good of you to come. But I've already made up my mind. It's time for me to go."

"Are you sure about that?" Haley ventured in her quiet, unobtrusive way. "Earth is going to be quite a change from Jupiter Station."

"I have no doubt that it will be a shock, at first," the brunette admitted as she perched herself on the edge of the coffee table. "But I can handle it. I've handled everything else that this century has thrown at me so far. I'll be all right."

"You can't go," Reiya said bluntly.

Jordan let out an incredulous laugh. "Why can't I? I have no reason to stay."

The Bolian blinked up at her, her mouth hanging open. "No reason?" she echoed indignantly. "What about us? We're your friends, aren't we?"

"Yes, of course you are," Jordan assured her, leaning over and squeezing her arm. "And I'll come and visit you all. I promise I will. But I just... can't stay here."

Her voice wavered slightly as she spoke. Kim could tell she was struggling to maintain her outward calm. He wished he knew what to say. His areas of expertise were science and engineering, not emotions. Still, he had to try. Something told him that she was making an enormous mistake, and would come to regret it — probably sooner rather than later.

"Jordan," he said quietly, "the Doctor was wrong not to tell you about your uncle. No one's disputing that. But he didn't do it to hurt you. He's not that kind of person. He was... misguided. Not malicious."

She sighed and looked away, her eyes shining with moisture.

"If you must blame him, then you have to blame all of us, too," he pressed. "We didn't tell you, either."

Reiya slapped him on the leg. "Speak for yourself. I didn't know anything about it, and if I had known, I would never have believed it. Voyager went back in time? Who would buy that?"

Jordan was shaking her head. "But I don't blame all of you," she said. "The only reason you kept the truth from me is because the Doctor told you to. Because he took it upon himself to be my nursemaid, instead of my friend."

She cleared her throat. "Well, I've had it with that overprotective crap. I'm not some infant to be coddled."

Kim watched with a sense of growing resignation as she stood up, taking a deep breath. "I appreciate your concern. But you don't need to worry about me. I will be fine." Her voice took on a cold, hard edge. "I'm always fine."

After several more fruitless attempts to get her to reconsider, they left her to her packing. The three stood for some time in the corridor in silent defeat. Kim heard a quiet sniffle, and was alarmed to see Reiya wiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her dress. She looked so despondent, so un-Reiya-like, that without thinking, he drew his arm around her.

None of them knew quite what to do.

In the docking bay at Jupiter Station, Jordan stood by a bank of windows, staring out at the ships coming and going without really seeing them. The shuttle she would be taking to Earth was not yet ready to depart. That was just as well. She wasn't sure she was ready.

Alicia De Witt had not yet arrived, either. The reporter had been surprised, to say the least, when Jordan had tracked her down and agreed to an interview, on one condition — that she be allowed to hitch a ride back to Earth with her. Jordan had come to realize that, if Alicia had uncovered the truth about her past, it was only a matter of time until everyone found out. The story might as well be published as soon as possible. She would be a news sensation for a while, but eventually the novelty would wear off, and she could enjoy relative anonymity. The public had a short memory that way. Alicia had known better than to argue.

A small ship docked, unloading a large group of aliens whose species was unfamiliar to Jordan. As they passed, she had to move aside the hard metallic suitcase which stood by her feet, filled with her meager assortment of worldly possessions. For being a resident of the station for a month, she did not have much to show for it. As she did so, her gaze fell on her hand, which was still clutching a small cylindrical object.

She hadn't been sure that the Doctor would come to see her off. She hadn't even been sure she wanted him to. But shortly after Harry Kim, Reiya, Haley, and Simon Moss had said their goodbyes, she had spotted the hologram among the crowds milling about the docking bay. Her stomach had twisted into knots at his approach, but instead of urging her to reconsider her decision, as the others had done — as she had feared he would do — he simply held out his hand. In his open palm was a hypospray.

"It's called melorazine," he said in answer to her confused frown. "It's a sedative and muscle relaxant. Inject this every night before bed, and you shouldn't have any more bouts of sleep paralysis."

Slowly, she took the hypospray from him. "When you find a new physician on Earth," he went on, "be sure to tell them about your condition, so that you can continue to receive the proper treatment. There's no reason why you should have to live with it if you don't have to."

Jordan swallowed a lump in her throat, moved despite herself by his concern. She tried to tell herself that it was simply part of his programming, even though she knew it was a lie.

"Thanks," she managed to reply.

The Doctor opened his mouth, then closed it again. "I... I won't try to prevent you from leaving," he said with apparent difficulty. "And I know you're tired of hearing this, but... I'm sorry. I truly am. And I... I wish you all the best."

He may not have been actively trying to convince her to stay, but he certainly wasn't making this any easier.

"Doctor..." She sighed. "Look, I may not be happy with you, but I want you to know that I'm not ungrateful. I really do appreciate everything you've done for me. I just wish..."

"So do I," he murmured. He extended his hand. "Goodbye, Jordan. Be well."

She reached out and grasped it, feeling its warmth and strength one last time. "Goodbye, Doctor," she replied as steadily as she could.

As she watched him leave, Jordan's vision grew blurred, and she blinked rapidly to clear it. Well then, she thought. That's that.

She really did wish things had been different. Leaving had not been an easy decision, by any means. She had come to care deeply for the Doctor over the past month, as well as Reiya, Kim, Haley, and the others. But the Doctor had betrayed her trust. In the end, he had proved to be no better than her boyfriend, her sister, her uncle, or any of the countless others who had kept her in the dark. She could have sworn he was different, though. How could she have been so wrong about him?

With a sigh, she sat down on top of her suitcase. She kept telling herself it was better this way. Starfleet had been wanting her to come to Earth since she first woke in the twenty-fourth century. She would answer their questions, give Alicia her interview, and then maybe travel for a while before deciding what to do with the rest of her life. Perhaps she could even visit other Federation planets. The possibilities were endless.

And she would come back to see her friends on Jupiter Station. Maybe one day, she might even be able to forgive the Doctor. But not for a long time.

She did not know how long she sat there, looking at her old, scuffed ballet flats, but gradually she became aware that she was not alone. Expecting Alicia, she looked up. Instead of the red-haired reporter, she was surprised to see Lewis Zimmerman glowering down at her.

"So," he said without preamble, "you're running away?"

Jordan raised her eyebrows. "Are you here to stop me?"

Zimmerman scoffed. "No. You're a grown woman. You can do whatever the hell you want. If you want to go, go."

"Thank you," she answered dryly. "I will."

She clambered to her feet, noting that Zimmerman made no move to help her upright. What was he doing here? she wondered. Had he come to say goodbye? That didn't seem likely. He wasn't exactly the sentimental type. Besides, he barely seemed to tolerate her presence.

"But if you are leaving," he went on, watching as she picked up her suitcase, "it should be because you want to. Not because someone hurt your feelings. That's what a child would do."

Jordan blinked at him, affronted. "You just said I was a grown woman."

"Correct. And running away is what children do."

She could hardly believe the man's audacity. Then again, she could. "Are you serious right now?" she asked incredulously. "Is this your way of defending the Doctor? Because you kind of suck at it."

"Of course I'm not defending him," said the scientist, waving a dismissive hand. "He's an idiot. He should have been honest with you from the beginning, and I told him that." He shook his head to himself. "How did I manage to create a hologram who's even more stubborn than I am? Poetic justice, I suppose."

Unconvinced, Jordan folded her arms over her chest. "So you left your laboratory for the first time in my recollection, and came all the way here to tell me that the Doctor is an idiot?"

"No," Zimmerman argued. "I mean, he is, but that's not why I'm here."

Jordan suppressed an impatient sigh, wishing he would get to the point.

"I came here to offer you a little perspective," he continued. "Do you know why he didn't tell you?"

"Sure," she said bitterly. "He didn't want me to be angry with him."

"Wrong." Zimmerman pointed a finger in her face, startling her. "He didn't want you to be angry with your uncle."

Jordan took a step back, her irritation growing by the second. "Well, that's touching, but he still shouldn't have hidden the truth from me. I'm no stranger to bad news."

"Good," said Zimmerman bluntly, "because you're about to hear some more. Sit down."

He gestured to a nearby stack of shipping containers. Jordan shot him a peeved look, but seated herself on one of them.

"You should know, first of all," he said, "that it wasn't the Doctor's idea to revive you. In fact, he had some serious doubts about waking up the close relative of a man whose biggest claim to fame is nearly tearing the universe a new one. But he did, because he's an idiot." He rolled his eyes. "And because he's virtuous, compassionate, all the things I never programmed him to be, blah, blah, blah."

Jordan smiled despite herself.

"Now. Imagine how he felt when he realized that this young woman had no idea what kind of a man her uncle was. And make no mistake, kid. Henry Starling was a bastard. He was greedy, callous, opportunistic, and completely heedless of the consequences of his actions. He didn't give a damn about the future. All he cared about was making himself even more obscenely wealthy than he already was."

As difficult as it was to hear her uncle being described in such unfavorable terms, it was also something of a relief. Somehow, she instinctively knew Zimmerman was right. He was definitely not the type to sugar-coat the truth or spare another's feelings. In a way, it was exactly what she had needed to hear.

"But like I said," he went on, "this young woman — this very nice, gullible young woman — had no knowledge of this. In fact, she thought her dear old uncle was the cat's pajamas. Considering everyone she ever knew was dead, and her memories were quite literally all she had left, it's perhaps not surprising that her physician decided not to traumatize her further by telling her that her uncle was a psychopath who tortured him for information."

He suddenly snorted. "Not that it did him any good, the coward."

Jordan sat up straight, not certain she had heard him correctly. "What was that last part?" she asked sharply. "Did you just say 'torture'?"

Zimmerman arched an eyebrow. "So, Sonny Boy didn't tell you that little tidbit? Can't say I blame him. I don't really like talking about it either, to be honest."

In an instant she shot to her feet. "What do you mean, my uncle tortured him?" she demanded, her heart in her throat.

Zimmerman looked at her narrowly. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Dr. Zimmerman!"

"All right," he said, wincing at her shrill tone. "After Voyager was pulled back into the past, your uncle abducted the Doctor. Transferred his program from the ship's computer with his fancy-pants twenty-ninth century technology. He was after Janeway's command codes, and he thought he could coerce the Doctor into giving them up." He shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat. "When that didn't work, he... accessed his tactile response sensors and subjected him to pain far beyond what any flesh-and-blood person could endure."

Suddenly Jordan began to tremble. Her stomach felt like it was made of lead, and it had become difficult to breathe. She wasn't sure if she would scream, or vomit, or pass out. She might even go with all three.

She felt Zimmerman's hand on her arm. "Hey," he said quietly. "You okay, kid?"

She gazed up into his heavily-lined face, so like his creation's. "Uncle Henry did that to the Doctor?" she said unsteadily.

Zimmerman let out a long breath, looking tired. "Now do you see why he didn't want to tell you?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, of course." She passed a hand over her face. "Oh, God. I've been pretty stupid, haven't I?"

He tilted his head thoughtfully to the side. "Well..."

At that moment Alicia De Witt finally decided to turn up, her own suitcase in hand. She did a double-take when she saw Zimmerman standing beside Jordan.

"Are you ready, Miss Starling?" she asked.

"No," Jordan exclaimed, a bit too loudly. "Sorry," she continued in a calmer tone, "I changed my mind. You can still have your interview, but... I've decided to stay."

Ignoring Alicia's flurry of bewildered protests, she turned to the scientist. "Dr. Zimmerman... thank you."

He gave an indifferent shrug. "Don't thank me. I don't care what you do."

Jordan smiled. "I know you don't," she said fondly.

In his office, the Doctor sat at his desk with a PADD in his hand, attempting to distract himself from the events of the day. His recent conversation with Seven of Nine had inspired him to revisit Shakespeare's works. Despite her complaints about the Bard's tendency toward verbosity, the Doctor found his language to be wonderfully expressive and artistic. And his poetry was nothing short of rapturous.

This poem he was currently reading, for example. It was one of the songs from Twelfth Night, from Act Two, Scene Four:

"Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me be laid.
Steal away, steal away, breath,
I am slain by a fair cruel maid—"

Abruptly he slammed the PADD face-down on his desk.

Maybe not that one.

The Doctor sighed as yet another wave of remorse flooded his emotional subroutines. How could he have been so stupid? Why couldn't he have been forthright with Jordan from the start? What had made him think that concealing the truth would lead to any other outcome?

Not that it mattered. She was leaving, and he did not blame her in the least for her decision. Still, it was only now beginning to dawn on him how much he would miss her. Perhaps because she was from another era, she had no preconceived ideas about holograms, and was therefore one of the few people who had never treated him differently because he was photonic and not flesh-and-blood. There had been times when he was with her that even he had forgotten he was a hologram.

But that was not why he had grown fond of the youngest niece of Henry Starling. She was kind, compassionate, intelligent, eager to learn and try new things. She had suffered terrible losses and disappointments, and yet her experiences had not made her bitter. She was determined to take advantage of the second chance she had been given and live her new life to the fullest.

And it was more than likely that he would never see her again.

She was probably off the station by now. He had not stayed to watch her leave; he doubted she would have wanted him to, anyway. He hoped she would be all right.

"Computer," he said, knowing he was only torturing himself, "locate Crewman Starling."

"Crewman Starling is in the medical bay," the artificial voice intoned.

The Doctor sat up sharply. "What?" he blurted.

There came a knock, and he whipped around in his chair to see Jordan standing in the open doorway, holding her suitcase.

"Hey," she said quietly. "May I come in?"

The Doctor rose to his feet, half-wondering whether his cognitive algorithms were malfunctioning. Surely this was not actually happening. "Of course," he heard himself say.

As she stepped into his office, he suddenly realized he was staring most impolitely. With an effort, he forced himself to get a grip. "I thought you would have left by now," he said in a carefully neutral tone, clasping his hands behind his back.

Jordan lifted one of her slim shoulders in an awkward shrug. "I kind of got talked out of it," she replied.

The Doctor did his best to ignore the surge of hope and relief he felt at her words. "By whom?"

"Dr. Zimmerman, of all people." At his surprised expression, she quirked a small smile. "That cantankerous old geezer really loves you."

As the Doctor struggled to absorb this information, Jordan cleared her throat. "Look, I... I'm sorry I was so hard on you," she said in a low voice. "You didn't deserve it."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Jordan," he told her firmly. "Your reaction was completely justified."

But she was shaking her head. "No, it wasn't. I have no right to be angry, after what my uncle did to you."

The Doctor drew in a simulated breath. So Zimmerman had told her everything. That insufferable old crank.

Jordan's gaze softened. "Oh, Doc," she murmured sadly. "Why didn't you tell me he tortured you?"

Did she really have to ask? "Because I didn't want you to hate him," he said simply. "And I knew you would, if I told you."

"Don't you hate him?" she pressed.

The Doctor hesitated, considering her question. "I used to," he admitted at length. "But I don't anymore. If Henry Starling hadn't reverse-engineered stolen technology from the future, then you wouldn't have been put in cryostasis. And I never would have met you. And I am glad I met you, Jordan."

She smiled, and he went on, heartened by her response. "It has been a joy and a privilege, getting to know you this past month. I've enjoyed your company, and I value your friendship. I hope I never give you a reason to doubt that."

He watched as her large gray eyes began to shimmer. "Can I hug you?" she asked tentatively.

The Doctor came forward, and she dropped her suitcase on the floor and met him halfway, all but throwing herself into his arms. He returned her embrace as tightly as he dared.

"I am sorry, Jordan," he murmured.

He felt her place her hand on the back of his neck. "Don't you worry your little holographic head about it," she told him. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me. All is forgiven."

The Doctor's eyes slipped shut at her words. "Just promise me one thing," she said. "No more secrets, okay?"

"No more secrets," he agreed. "You have my word."

Jordan drew away slightly to poke him on the chest. "And stop treating me like a child, for heaven's sake. I'm older than you are. Quite a lot older, in fact," she added with a smirk.

The Doctor chuckled, but inwardly his relief was almost overwhelming. He hadn't realized how important she had become to him, until he had come close to losing her.

As he gazed down into her smiling face, he recalled another pearl of wisdom from Shakespeare:

Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel.