A/N: Oh, shark farts. I'm so sorry this took so long. My life has been an utter disaster until very recently. I almost married a sociopath, but let's not discuss that. Anyway, I haven't felt like writing at ALL, but I knew it would make me feel better, so here's the latest chapter at last. Please enjoy.
Disclaimers: See Chapter One.
P.S. I regret giving Simon the last name Moss. It always makes me think of "The IT Crowd."
Forget Me Not
Chapter Twelve
Simon Moss was hungry. He was also conflicted. He was tired of replicated food, but he was not in any mood to see or talk to anyone. And if he went to the galley, someone would almost certainly attempt to engage him in pointless conversation. There had to be some way to obtain fresh food without any social interaction. Why wasn't there some sort of food delivery arrangement on the station? Sure it wouldn't be that hard to implement.
He supposed he could take some work with him. A fork in one hand and a PADD in the other was, after all, the universal sign for 'Leave me alone'. He could only hope and pray that it would be respected.
Besides, there was always a chance that Jordan Starling would be there.
With a sigh, he snatched a PADD from his desk and tucked it into the pocket of his lab coat. As he made his way to the galley, he shook his head at his own stupidity. He knew he was barking up the wrong tree there. Despite her efforts to educate herself on the time she had missed, the station's transplant from the twentieth century was still utterly clueless about the present. That much was evident by her obvious high regard for the Doctor. The poor girl had never been told that holograms were not actually people, and it seemed nothing would convince her of the fact. Apparently even the knowledge that the EMH had withheld information about his involvement with her own uncle.
Oh, well. It had been worth a shot.
Still, Moss enjoyed her company. She had an odd sense of humor that amused him, and those big, stunning gray eyes of hers absolutely drove him to distraction.
In the galley, Moss perused the selection of victuals on offer for the day before settling on a salad that seemed relatively innocuous. Taking his tray to an empty table in the corner, he sat down and picked absently at his food as he typed away at his PADD.
It was not long before he was disturbed by the sound of a throat clearing itself. Grudgingly, he looked up at the cause of the interruption. Of course; Harry Kim. Another misguided advocate of the Holographic Rights movement.
Without ado, Kim slid Moss's tray to one side and set down a plate of... something. Moss eyed it with distrust. It appeared to be a dessert of some kind, but the filling was bright blue. It looked positively radioactive.
"What the bloody hell is that?" he asked flatly.
"We're calling it blue apple pie," said Kim, failing to specify who 'we' might be. "Don't worry, Reiya didn't make it. Jordan Starling did."
Moss had enough faith in Jordan's culinary prowess to be reasonably confident that she would not poison everyone on the station. Still, it was with a degree of caution that he brought a forkful of the dessert to his mouth. Slowly, his eyes widened with unexpected delight. It was sweet and tart, with a perfectly buttery crust. "That's actually quite good, isn't it?" he remarked, going in for another taste.
"Just like Mom used to make," Kim replied. "And it won't corrode your stomach lining. The only down side is, it turns your tongue blue. Better eat up. Jordan's in high demand now that everyone knows her food doesn't come with a free trip to the medical bay."
Moss chuckled around a mouthful of pie. The station's head cook had certainly sent him more than her fair share of victims over the years.
As he proceeded to devour the odd-looking but delicious confection, Kim gestured to the PADD he had set aside. "What are you working on?"
Moss swallowed before answering. "A request for a transfer."
For a moment the chief of Ops appeared taken aback. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said quietly. "You're a good medic. We'd hate to lose you."
"Oh, I'm not leaving Jupiter Station," Moss told him. "Just the medical bay. If I have to spend another day working for that smug, insufferable hologram, I'm going to give myself a lobotomy."
Kim huffed a laugh. "Don't let Jordan hear you say that. She'll offer to do the honors."
"The poor, deluded creature," Moss murmured sadly.
"Come on, Simon. The Doc's not that bad."
He snorted. "Agree to disagree. I still don't know what Commander Bhat was thinking when she gave the position of Chief Medical Officer to a computer program."
Kim gave a shrug. "Maybe because he was the most qualified person for the job."
Moss waved a chiding finger at him. "Ah, you see, you're mistaken there," he corrected him. "An EMH Mark I is not a person. It's a piece of software, and an antiquated one at that."
"Not this EMH Mark I. Not according to Federation law." Kim shook his head, evidently uncomfortable with the subject. "If you're looking for someone to complain to, you've got the wrong guy. The Doctor is one of my best friends. You know that. He may be pompous, but he's the best damned physician I know. He'd do anything to help someone in need. Including you."
Moss rolled his eyes, but Kim just slapped him on the back. "Eat up while it's still hot."
As Kim turned away, Moss gave in to a sudden, immature impulse to stick his tongue out at his retreating back. Then he saw his reflection in the mirrored surface of the table and burst into a laugh. His tongue was electric blue.
Harry Kim was not usually one to brag, but he didn't think it would be wholly inappropriate if he were to take at least partial credit for Jordan Starling's recovering health. Obviously, he was not responsible for curing her cancer or restoring her ravaged immune system. But he had definitely had a hand in her rehabilitation in the form of their continued tennis matches. When he had first challenged her to a game, purely in an attempt to be friendly, he had been alarmed at her poor physical condition. Despite her admirable hustle, she had huffed and puffed all over the court on her thin, knobby legs, looking less like a human being and more like a stick insect in tennis shorts.
She had insisted on a rematch, even though he had beaten her effortlessly. He also beat her on the next game, and the next one, and the one after that. But she kept at it, and even practiced with holographic opponents between matches. And it seemed to be paying off. Her agility and her stamina were increasing, and she was gaining real muscle tone. At this rate, she might actually beat him soon.
Not today, though.
As the ball shot toward her, Jordan dove impressively to intercept it, only to miss it by a hair, landing flat on her stomach in the process. "Frig," she wheezed.
Kim hopped over the net and hurried over to her. "Are you okay?" he asked in concern.
She lifted her hand in a thumbs-up gesture. "I'm good," she said weakly. "Just managed to knock the wind out of me. Haven't done that since I was twelve, when I tried to skateboard for the first and last time."
He grasped both of her hands and pulled her to her feet. She immediately doubled over again. "Good game, Chief. I'm going to go die now."
Kim chuckled to himself. "You can't die yet. Not until after the party, anyway. How's the planning going, by the way?"
"Terrible," she answered with a snort. "Have you ever tried keeping a hologram in the dark? It's not easy. They're made of light."
Kim laughed again. As Jordan went to retrieve her towel to dry off, he wiped his own forehead and was surprised to find it damp. She had actually succeeded in causing him to break a sweat.
"You know," he said as she took a long pull from her water bottle, "I feel bad for saying this, but I don't think it even occurred to any of us on Voyager to throw the Doctor a birthday party. For a long time, we just took him for granted as a part of the ship's systems, instead of a member of the crew. I can only imagine how he must have felt, being invited to everyone else's parties, but never to his own. Now that I think about it, it's no surprise he felt like an outsider." He shook his head; they had been real jerks. "But you're really pulling out all the stops, Jordan. You're going to make us all look bad."
Jordan just shrugged. "Not really. I'll never be able to repay the Doctor for everything he's done for me. I just... want him to know that he's appreciated." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, distraction detail. Any problems so far?"
"I went over to his quarters last night for our weekly clarinet and piano practice. He knows something is up. I'm just not sure he knows what." He shot her a glance. "He's extremely concerned that you're spending so much time with Dr. Zimmerman."
"Oh, Lord," was her agonized reply. "He's not the only one. I'm semi-convinced he's trying to kill me. I told the Doc he's giving me lessons in holo-programming, but he was understandably skeptical. Apparently Zimmerman never helps anyone."
Kim nodded. "How much does Haley know?"
"She knows we're working on a present for the Doctor. She just doesn't know the present is for her, too." Suddenly she groaned, putting her head in her hands. "I'm such a hypocrite! I made the Doc agree that there wouldn't be any more secrets between us, and here I am lying to his face! Lying to his sister! Lies upon lies!"
Although Kim felt guilty for doing so, he couldn't help laughing. "Hang in there," he said, patting her on the shoulder. "It'll be over soon."
Jordan just grumbled inarticulately. At that moment Kim's comm badge gave a chirp, which was followed by a familiar, musical voice.
"Meraab to Lieutenant-Commander Kim."
He pressed his comm badge. "Kim here. What's up, Reiya?"
"I'm having trouble with one of my refrigeration units. Could you possibly come and take a look, please?"
Kim did not exactly relish the thought of tearing galley appliances apart during his off hours. "I can send someone on my team to check it out," he told her.
"Are you sure you can't come check it out yourself?" Reiya asked, her tone sweetly persuasive. "There's dinner in it for you if you do."
As if that were an appealing incentive, he thought, his stomach twisting at the very prospect. He didn't know whether he should be flattered or terrified. Still, he couldn't think of a valid reason to refuse her.
"Sure, I'm on my way," he said warily.
"Thank you!"
Kim sighed and turned to Jordan, who had been listening to the exchange with an amused smile. "Duty calls," he said with an apologetic shrug.
"Have fun," she said with a little wave.
As he picked up his racket and moved to leave, she called after him: "Chief? Don't screw this up."
Bewildered, Kim just shook his head and exited the holodeck. After a brief detour to change out of his tennis clothes and put away his racket, he made his way to the galley. Reiya welcomed him effusively, like the Bolian ray of sunshine she always was. As she led him back to the kitchen, he had to admit to himself that he liked Reiya, a lot. Her cooking may have been enough to send a Klingon into a full retreat, but she was a lovely woman in all other respects. Even without hair or eyebrows.
After a few moments' inspection, he identified the problem with her malfunctioning refrigeration unit. "Looks like a couple of the evaporator coils have burned out," he said as he stepped back. "That's why all this frost is building up on everything. I'll see if there are any more in storage. It should be an easy fix."
"Thank you, Harry," said Reiya. "I appreciate it."
"No problem," he said with a smile.
"You hungry?"
Kim tried not to flinch. "Depends on what you're making."
Reiya drew back in feigned hurt. "Ouch. But fair point. Since I have no intention of inadvertently sending you to the Doctor, I'm not making you anything. We're going to the Bajoran restaurant."
"Oh." Kim wasn't expecting that. "That's all right, Reiya, you don't have to—"
"I like you, Harrison Kim," Reiya abruptly blurted, stunning him into silence. "An inordinate amount. I've done everything short of throwing myself at you to get you to notice me, but since you seem to be as observant as a bowl of tube grubs, none of it has worked. So I am asking you to dinner."
Too surprised to wonder how Reiya had learned his full name, Kim simply stared at her in shock.
"Look," she said quietly, "I know you have a thing for Haley, and I don't blame you. She's completely adorable. But I think you'll find I'm pretty adorable, too. If you give me a chance, you might be surprised. So what do you say?"
Words continued to evade Kim. He thought of Haley, and her obvious lack of interest. What was he gaining by pining after her? Here was a beautiful, sweet, funny, if a bit eccentric, woman, who for some reason was interested in him. Try as he might to think of any reason to say no, he kept coming up empty.
Suddenly he realized what Jordan meant by "Don't screw this up."
"Okay," he heard himself say. "Yes."
Reiya's smile was almost blinding.
"Good. Let's go."
"What about the evaporator coils?" he asked, as she took him by the arm and began to steer him toward the kitchen doors.
Reiya waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. I have about a dozen more in the store room. It'll take me about five minutes to replace them."
When Jordan Starling had first been diagnosed with sarcomatoid carcinoma of the lungs, she had set for herself the somewhat overly ambitious goal to read one hundred pieces of classic literature before she died. In fact, the original list had only contained twenty-five titles, but it had gradually grown into thirty, then fifty, then seventy-five, and finally an even hundred. The idea was that as long as there were still books on the list that remained unread, she would somehow avoid the fatal diagnosis she had been given. It was by no means the most sound reasoning, but it had given her something to do during hospital stays. By the time she had been placed into cryostasis, she had made it to seventy-eight.
Number fifty-six had been Herman Melville's classic sea adventure, Moby-Dick. At the time, there was a line that had been deeply impressed onto Jordan's mind: "There are certain queer times and occasions in this strange mixed affair we call life when a man takes this whole universe for a vast practical joke, though the wit thereof he but dimly discerns, and more than suspects that the joke is at nobody's expense but his own." She had remembered it particularly because it reminded her of a quote from her favorite book, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: "He felt that his whole life was some kind of dream and he sometimes wondered whose it was and whether they were enjoying it."
Both of these quotes now came back to Jordan as she sat at the work station in Lewis Zimmerman's laboratory, his holographic iguana draped bonelessly across her shoulders, while the man himself handed her an endless array of little foul-tasting strips of paper and recorded her reactions. Not three months ago, Jordan had crawled into a cryogenic chamber, not knowing when or if she would ever come out again, and now here she was, nearly four centuries in the future, aboard a space station orbiting Jupiter, being experimented on by a misanthropic genius in order to design a birthday present for a hologram. Whether she was living someone else's dream or else some cosmic practical joke remained to be seen, but she was convinced that life could not get much stranger than this.
With deep trepidation, she took the latest proffered strip and swiped it across her tongue. Immediately her face contorted into a grimace. "Oh, sweet Jesus," she exclaimed. "That tastes like... copper soaked in garlic."
"Very good," Zimmerman said, nodding.
She glared at him. "It was supposed to taste like that?"
"Of course," he replied simply as he entered his observations into the console. "I'm testing the accuracy of your taste buds. What do you think we've been doing this whole time?"
Jordan sighed. He was clearly enjoying this way too much.
"This is some sort of punishment, isn't it?" she grumbled, absently petting the iguana's scaly tail. "Ever since Alicia de Witt wrote that article about me, you've been jealous of my new-found fame. I've stolen your title of 'Weirdest Person on the Station'."
To her surprise, Zimmerman barked out a laugh, seemingly against his will. "Trust me, kid, you'd have to go a long way to beat me in terms of weirdness."
Jordan watched him for a moment, and decided she couldn't refute his claim.
"So what drew you to this?" she asked him at length. "Holography, I mean. Not your hermitic existence."
Zimmerman was silent, and Jordan assumed he had deemed her question too inane to answer. It wouldn't have been the first time. But at last he spoke, his attention still on the screen. "Escape. That's what a psychologist would say, isn't it? I choose to create my own universe out of photons because I don't want to face the real one." He shook his head in derision. "The truth is, though, reality is boring. And so are real people."
Jordan snorted. "Speak for yourself. If I wrote an autobiography of my life, I'd get thrown into a mental asylum for sure. Besides, who are we to say what's real, anyway? Everything we know could just be the fevered dream of a giant... space hedgehog. Or space iguana. Right, Leonard?"
"Space iguana," the lizard croaked helpfully.
"Exactly. Good boy."
"Ugh, I hate metaphysics," Zimmerman muttered. "Here, try this one."
Reluctantly, she did as she was told. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to identify what she was tasting. "Mangoes," she decided. "And... coffee grounds?"
"Close. Dirt."
Jordan stared at him. "There is something seriously wrong with you."
"Hence the hermitic existence." He inclined his head. "Not as hermitic as I'd like, of course, thanks to my pseudo-offspring."
She chuckled; she knew he was not talking about Haley. "I think you secretly love the Doctor," she teased. "Why else would you be doing all this for him?"
Zimmerman humphed to himself as he turned back to his console. "I could say the same for you," he said under his breath.
She blinked, taken aback. "Excuse me?"
The scientist gave an innocent shrug. "I would have thought you'd had your fill of physicians over the course of your extremely long life," he said, ignoring her annoyed look. "The fact that you choose to keep company with one, and such an obnoxious one at that, is very... telling."
Jordan could hardly believe what she was hearing. "You think that I... have feelings for the Doctor?" An incredulous laugh escaped her. "No offense, Dr. Zimmerman, but I'm not sure someone who avoids other people like the plague is exactly the best judge of them."
"Oh, I'm not a good judge of people, am I?" He swiveled on his stool to face her, his arms crossed over his chest. "How do you think I became a misanthrope in the first place? Nice try, Little Miss Popsicle, but I know people. All too well."
"Then you know," she countered, "that it is quite possible to be friends with another person without developing any sort of romantic attachment to them?"
"Of course it's possible," Zimmerman conceded. "Just not in this case. You've got it bad, kid, you just don't know it yet. You have my condolences, by the way."
Jordan shook her head. "All right," she said, throwing up her hands in mock surrender. "Keep your little delusion if it amuses you. I thought you wanted to work, not dish about boys."
Wordlessly, he held out the next strip to her. Meeting his challenging gaze, she snatched it from his grasp and touched it to her tongue. And then she grabbed a nearby bucket and spat into it, causing Leonard to fall from his perch on her shoulders and slither down her back onto the floor.
Zimmerman rubbed his hands together. "Now we're getting somewhere."
"I'm never bringing you pie ever again."
After making her escape, Jordan returned to her quarters, made a bee-line for her bed, and collapsed gracelessly onto it. Between her cooking, her history studies, her work with Zimmerman, and planning the party, she was absolutely spent. She'd had no idea that subterfuge could be so exhausting.
She really hated lying to the Doctor. It was exactly what she had been furious with him for doing. She just hoped he would understand, once it was all over. Really, it was all Zimmerman's fault.
Zimmerman. What a crackpot. His assertion that she had romantic feelings for the Doctor was patently ridiculous. Even if she were ready to date again, which she was most assuredly not, she did not see the Doctor that way. For one thing, he was not exactly her type. Not that he was ugly, by any means; she actually found him somewhat handsome, in an unconventional, craggy sort of way. True, he was a bit lacking in the hair department, but that was not really an issue. And not that appearances had ever been high on her list of priorities. Good looks meant nothing, if a man was not kind, intelligent, funny, open-minded, loyal, compassionate...
Admittedly, the Doctor did have all of those qualities.
But the bottom line was that he was her friend. She got along better with the hologram than with any flesh-and-blood person she had ever known. Why complicate that with feelings?
She shook her head. Zimmerman had just been trying to get under her skin. The man did have an unnatural talent for it.
After changing into some soft lounge attire, Jordan passed the time in front of her console, browsing through the computer's database. She was always on the lookout for new music. She had recently discovered an early twenty-first century rock group called the Black Keys, and she couldn't get enough of their work.
As she hummed softly along to the vocals, she suddenly received a hail on her comm badge.
"Doctor to Crewman Starling."
Jordan paused the playback. "Hey, Doc," she answered.
"I downloaded that film you recommended last week, The Princess Bride. Would you be interested in coming over and watching it?"
She felt herself smile, but felt the impulse to tease him. "That's okay," she said, pretending to be indifferent. "I still have eleven Beck albums I haven't listened to yet."
There was a rather long pause. "What?"
Jordan laughed. "I'm kidding. Sure, I'm on my way."
His only response was an exasperated sigh, before the comm cut out.
Still laughing to herself, Jordan got up, paused in front of the mirror to straighten her clothing, and ran a brush through her disheveled hair. She knew the Doctor wouldn't mind her casual attire. After stepping into her plush, blue slippers — a gift to herself — she left her quarters and made her way down the curved corridor to the Doctor's.
As she pressed the door chime, she was aware of an odd, fluttery feeling in her stomach. What the hell? she thought.
Before she had the chance to analyze the sensation, the door opened, and the Doctor greeted her in his ubiquitous Starfleet medical uniform. "Jordan, please come right in."
After staring at an older, much grumpier version of his face all evening, his warm smile was a sight for sore eyes. "Thanks for inviting me over, Doc," she said gratefully.
"Think nothing of it," he replied, stepping aside to let her in. "May I offer you anything?"
After Zimmerman's little torture session, odd food combinations were still very much in Jordan's mind. "I would like," she said slowly, "a glazed doughnut stuffed with coleslaw, please."
The Doctor eyed her strangely, as if assessing her mental stability. "...Really?"
"No!" she laughed. "But I'll take an iced tea, thanks."
The hologram shook his head as he moved to the replicator. "You are... an exceptionally strange young woman," he remarked.
"Flatterer."
He handed her a glass of iced tea, and she thanked him. "Before we start the film," he said as she sat down on the sofa, "I have something for you. Close your eyes."
Frowning, Jordan did as she was told. She felt the Doctor take the glass from her hand, and heard him set it on the table beside her. And then, to her surprise, he dropped something fuzzy and squirming into her lap.
With a gasp, she opened her eyes. "A puppy!?"
"A wire-haired fox terrier puppy, to be precise," said the Doctor. "Research has proven that owning a pet can be highly therapeutic. They can raise oxytocin levels, lower blood pressure, and relieve stress. Obviously, a space station isn't the ideal environment for an organic pet, but fortunately a holographic one seems to produce the same effects."
Jordan was too overwhelmed to speak. Her family had always had dogs when she was growing up. She had assumed she would always have one, but when she had gotten ill, pets had been out of the question; the possibility of contracting a zoonotic disease of some kind was too great a risk to take. At a time in her life when a furry friend would have been especially comforting, she had been forced to settle for an aquarium. While fish were beautiful, they were not exactly cuddly.
The animal she now held in her arms was without a doubt the most ridiculously adorable dog she had ever seen. Its curly coat and floppy ears alone made her heart tighten almost painfully in her chest. Was the Doctor trying to kill her?
The hologram apparently took her silence for displeasure, because he went on, "Another advantage he has over an organic dog is that if you don't like him, you can simply delete him."
Jordan was aghast at the very suggestion. "How can you even say such a thing about a fellow photonic?" She covered the dog's ears. "Don't listen to him, sweetie."
The Doctor sat down beside her in obvious relief. "I know these past months haven't been easy. I thought you might benefit from having a little companion to greet you when you come home. I hope you like him."
Jordan just shook her head in amazement. "Come here, you big lug," she said thickly.
Moving the puppy onto the cushion beside her, she leaned over and hugged the Doctor tightly. He gladly returned her embrace, placing one hand on her waist, while the other cradled the back of her head. She smiled into his uniform-clad shoulder, enjoying the slight warmth of his holomatrix.
After a moment, she pulled away. "What's his name?" she asked, gesturing to the dog.
He gave an awkward chuckle. "I'll leave that up to you. He is your pet, after all. In case you hadn't noticed already, I'm not the best choice when it comes to picking a name."
Jordan scratched the little terrier's ears pensively.
"I hope you don't take this the wrong way," she said slowly, "but... I just can't imagine you with a name. I mean, you're the Doctor. That's what makes you you. I think, if you had a name, it'd make you less... special, somehow."
She looked over to find the Doctor blushing slightly. "Well. You're very kind." He cleared his throat. "So, what are you going to call this furry ball of photons?"
"Hmm." She smiled at a sudden thought. "What's your favorite opera again?"
The Doctor frowned. "I thought you didn't like—"
"I don't," she said firmly. "What's your favorite?"
"La Bohème. But—"
"Ah, La Bohème, by Giacomo Puccini," she mused. "Unfortunately, I know it well." She held up the wiggling puppy. "He looks like a Giacomo, don't you think? Jack for short."
The puppy licked her chin, and she laughed. "Holo-drool. Nice. Authentic."
The Doctor regarded her with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. "Jordan. I'm touched."
As she returned his gaze, Jordan felt a swelling of affection. "He's perfect, Doc. Thank you." She took his hand and squeezed it, and his blush deepened. "So let's start that movie, huh?"
"As you wish," he replied easily.
That bizarre, fluttering sensation returned as she stared at the Doctor. "Have you... seen it already?" she asked uncertainly.
"No. Why do you ask?"
Slowly, Jordan shook her head. "No reason," she said vaguely.
As the film began to play on the viewscreen, Jordan sat beside the Doctor, sipping her tea, as the puppy swiftly dropped off to sleep in her lap. The Doctor quickly became enraptured by the movie's quirky appeal, chuckling at the grandson's constant interruptions. It was some time before Jordan realized she had begun watching him instead.
He really was not unattractive. His nose was a bit large, and his mouth a bit wide, but somehow he made it work. There was something almost appealing about the lines around his warm brown eyes. It was a face with character, she decided. Not that she would say the same about his creator's.
She especially liked his voice. And his hands. Even his silly turned-down smile.
Jordan swallowed, feeling her face grow warm.
Damn you, Lewis Zimmerman, she thought.
