A/N: My thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and added this story to their alerts. You guys are the best! I hope you enjoy the latest installment.
Disclaimer: See Chapter One. Also, I do not own any of the pop culture references in this chapter.
Forget Me Not
Chapter Fourteen
Even if the Doctor had not possessed perfect memory recall, it would have been difficult to forget the evening of his birthday party. Seeing all of his oldest friends — the people who had shaped his experience of humanity — was wonderful in itself. But to hear their recognition and appreciation of his growth and his accomplishments in their own words had moved him to his core. If that were not enough, they even gave him a touching assortment of gifts to celebrate the occasion: various books, a new set of paintbrushes, the latest model of holo-imager. Of course, they were not quite as impressive as his miraculous new taste receptors, but that didn't make them any less meaningful.
He had to restrain himself from devouring everything in sight. It was not just the endless flavor combinations that fascinated him, but the various textures as well. The way the smoothness of the goat cheese complimented the tartness of the blackberry reduction while contrasting the delightful crunch of the crostini was enough to make him swoon; or would have, if he were made of flesh and blood. It was a rather embarrassing moment when he discovered he had eaten eleven of them. Thankfully, nobody held it against him.
Still, he had better watch himself. If he was not careful, he might forsake all his other interests in favor of hovering around Jordan in the galley all day. Not that that would be an unpleasant use of his time.
Jordan Starling. The woman never ceased to amaze him. For evidently over a month, she had been scheming behind his back, contacting his old Voyager shipmates, arranging to have Tom Paris's Chez Sandrine program copied and downloaded into the station's computer, allowing Zimmerman to use her as a human guinea pig to test his holo-taste buds, spending the entire day in the galley preparing a selection of hors d'eouvres that she thought he would like — even using replicated proteins on the chance that eating real meat might conflict with his ethical subroutines. And the Doctor hadn't had a clue. And yet rather than be upset by the deception, he could only be in awe of the lengths to which she had gone in order to make the evening special. And all for him.
At one time, the Doctor had foolishly thought that being the one to introduce music to an entire planet was the highest honor he had ever received. But he had quickly learned that the superficial admiration of millions paled in comparison to the genuine appreciation of one true friend. Seven of Nine had taught him that. And now, it was being proven to him again. He may have had notoriety as the first holographic officer in Starfleet, but none of that fame had ever made him feel as valued, as loved, as that walking anachronism that was Jordan Starling.
And she said all she'd done was throw a party. If she only knew.
It was quite late by the time the celebrations started to wind down. Paris and B'Elanna were the first to leave, of course, as they had a young child to put to bed. As they moved toward the exit, Paris, who had Miral slung over his shoulder, fast asleep, clapped the Doctor on the back one last time.
"Don't be a stranger, Doc," he said. "You should come stay with us at the shipyards some time. B'Elanna can show you the designs for the new shuttlecraft she's been working on. She's an absolute knock-out."
"Sadly, he's referring to the ship, not me," his wife joked.
"Can't I be referring to both?"
"And bring that girlfriend of yours," she added, giving him a teasing jab with her elbow.
"Jordan is not my girlfriend," the Doctor corrected her for what felt like the tenth time that night.
Her only answer was a very B'Elanna-esque roll of the eyes, but Paris leaned in and whispered, "Not with that attitude."
The Doctor sighed and shook his head, but couldn't help smiling as he watched them leave.
Not long after, Admiral Janeway reluctantly announced her decision to call it a night. Before she left, however, she pulled him into a tight hug. "I'm so proud of you, Doctor," she told him, giving him a fond squeeze.
"Thank you, Kathryn," he replied sincerely, returning her embrace. "But I wouldn't be the hologram I am today if it hadn't been for your faith in me."
Janeway pulled away with a look of mock horror. "Don't try to pin that all on me," she said, eliciting a chuckle from the Doctor.
"The third Sunday in June," she added. "Clear your calendar. You, me, and that café in Buenos Aires." She poked him lightly on his chest. "It's been too long."
"I wouldn't miss it," he assured her.
"Just think," she added as she headed toward the doors, "this time you can actually order your own tres leches cake instead of coveting mine."
Harry Kim and Reiya Meraab were not far behind. The Doctor had been amused to find them orbiting around each other all evening like binary stars. They both paused on their way out to offer their best wishes to him. "Good night, Doctor," said Reiya, surprising him by bestowing a peck on his cheek. "Happy Activation Day."
"Thank you for coming, Miss Meraab," he returned.
"I told you, it's Reiya. Out of curiosity, how old are you?"
The Doctor opened his mouth to speak, but Kim answered her question for him. "He's ten years old," he said. "Already in the double digits. Our little bald boy is growing up."
The hologram did not bother to respond to his friend's unoriginal jibe — especially since Reiya had even less hair than he did. "You're forgetting the three years I spent on Sencraria, the time-displaced planet," he correct him dryly. "I'm actually thirteen years old."
"A teenager!" Kim exclaimed, clutching his chest. "We're in for it now, Reiya."
"I don't get it."
As they left, the Doctor could hear the Chief of Ops expounding to his date on the widely accepted stereotype of the rebellious human teenager. Seven and Chakotay followed shortly, promising to visit again soon, and Icheb was right on their heels. Haley seemed to have crept out while the Doctor wasn't watching, but he was not offended; he knew she was not overly fond of parties. Barclay had apparently left, as well, but that was no surprise. Frankly, given the man's social anxiety, the Doctor was amazed he stayed as long as he had.
Jordan was nowhere to be seen, either. The Doctor would have liked to thank her again for all of her hard work, but he knew she had been very tired. More than once, he had caught her dozing during the party. He could not blame her for turning in.
Eventually, Sandrine's was empty save for himself and one other. Out of the corner of his optical sensors, he spotted Zimmerman at the bar, drinking from a glass which contained something that he suspected was not synthehol.
One look at his creator's glazed eyes as he drifted over to join him was enough to confirm it. "Where did you get that?" he demanded.
"I'm a man of many secrets," Zimmerman dead-panned.
"So it would seem," the Doctor replied, feeling a swell of affection toward the crusty old scientist.
He hesitated, unsure how to put his gratitude into words. "Lewis," he began.
"You're welcome," said Zimmerman, flashing him a brief look of acknowledgment. "Now leave me to drink in peace. I'm trying my best to forget that I saw Reginald Barclay and my assistant locked in what I can only describe as a 'squid-like embrace'."
The Doctor drew back in disbelief. "No," he rasped. "Reg and Haley?"
Zimmerman sighed into his glass. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. She's just about the only woman he can talk to without swallowing his own tongue." His eyes suddenly widened. "Oh, God."
"What is it?"
"I just gave myself a mental image."
The Doctor winced in sympathy, while silently thanking B'Elanna Torres for working out the bugs in his cognitive projection subroutines a few years ago. Unlike his quasi-father, he didn't have to conjure any mental images unless he wanted to.
"Well..." Awkwardly, he patted the man's shoulder. "Good night, Lewis. Just remember to turn the program off when you leave."
Zimmerman rolled his eyes. "I won the Daystrom Prize for holography, Sonny. I think I can figure out how to shut down the holodeck."
Shaking his head, the Doctor moved to leave, but Zimmerman stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked, gesturing over his shoulder.
The hologram looked in the direction his creator was motioning. There, curled up on the settee beneath the window in a dark corner of the bar, was Jordan, sound asleep under a blanket that someone must have thrown over her. The Doctor had assumed she had already gone back to her quarters. He wondered why he hadn't noticed her earlier; perhaps his peripheral sensors were malfunctioning.
"You know," Zimmerman said in an unexpectedly serious tone, "I don't like most people. But I like her."
The Doctor raised his eyebrows at the unsolicited compliment. "High praise indeed," he remarked.
Zimmerman still hadn't released his arm. "You almost screwed up a good thing," he went on in a low voice. "Don't do it again."
Unsettled, the Doctor nodded.
The scientist let go of his arm, and he quietly made his way over to the settee. As he gazed down at Jordan, her features outlined in silver by the artificial moonlight, he experienced an odd sensation. It was as if his entire holomatrix was positively humming. He had never felt anything quite like it before. It was almost... overwhelming.
Briefly, he allowed himself to review one of his memory files from earlier that evening, when he and Jordan had danced together — the way she had felt in his arms, the softness of her cheek against his. The vehemence in her voice as she had defended him against Ensign Moss. She was so small, so seemingly fragile, and yet there was a fire in her, a hidden strength that was truly formidable. Once, he had found himself on the receiving end of that fire, and he had no desire to experience it again.
She looked so serene, so peaceful, he was reluctant to disturb her. Although as far as he knew, she was no longer having bouts of sleep paralysis, he did not want to wake her too suddenly. Kneeling beside the little sofa, he gently touched her shoulder.
"Jordan?" he whispered.
Her eyelids fluttered, and then her eyes met his, pupils large in the dim light.
He smiled. "Are you planning to spend the night in the holodeck?"
The corner of her mouth twitched. "Is there any rule saying I can't?" she asked, her voice thick with sleep.
"I suspect you'd be more comfortable in your own bed," he said, rising to his feet and offering his hand. "Come on."
With an exaggerated sigh, Jordan threw off the blanket that was draped over her, and he pulled her upright. As they walked toward the doors, she caught sight of Zimmerman sitting at the bar and gave him a tired wave. "Good night, Dr. Z.," she told him. "Don't drink and drive."
"Beat it, pipsqueak."
She burst into startled laughter. "Wow," she said. "Love you, too."
They made their way to Deck Eleven mostly in silence, punctuated by Jordan's barely-suppressed yawns. At one point, the Doctor was obliged to adjust the strap of her dress, which had fallen down her shoulder. He was quite proud of the fact that he managed not to blush.
"Your friends are all lovely," she said as they stood together in the turbolift.
"I'm glad you like them," he replied, and meant it.
"I do," she went on. "Especially that Tom Paris guy. I think he's seen even more old monster movies than I have. Although I couldn't believe he'd never heard of Mystery Science Theater 3000. I mean, what a philistine."
The Doctor chuckled. "I suppose that makes us both philistines."
"Nah," she answered with a wave of her hand. "You're just a kid. Paris, on the other hand, has no excuse for his ignorance."
"Far be it from me to contradict the elderly."
Jordan laughed again, shoving him playfully on the arm. "Wise-ass."
Outside her quarters, the Doctor found himself secretly hoping she would hug him, and she did not disappoint him. "Good night, Doc," she mumbled sleepily into his shoulder.
Of its own accord, his hand came up to rest on the back of her head, fingers sinking into her dark hair. "Good night, Jordan," he said quietly, his eyes drifting shut. "And thank you again, for... what might very well be the most wonderful night of my life."
"Any time," she murmured.
After what felt like a long time, but according to the Doctor's internal chronometer was only a few seconds, she released him and stepped back.
"Sleep well," he told her.
"You, too." At his raised eyebrow, she winked. "Just kidding."
He watched, as if from a distance, as she went into her quarters, and the door closed behind her. On the other side of the bulkhead, he could hear her little dog barking at her arrival, and her own muffled voice as she greeted him: "Hi, Jack! How's my good boy?"
Impulsively, the Doctor pressed the door chime. A moment later, the door slid open again, and Jordan stood in the threshold, looking somewhat bemused.
"Doc?" she inquired. "What's wrong? Forget something?"
"I'm sorry," he said in a hoarse voice.
She frowned in confusion. "For what?"
"For this."
In a swift move, he slipped his arm around her and pulled her close, leaning down and covering her mouth with his. She made a small sound of surprise, but soon recovered and began returning his kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. His tactile response sensors buzzed as he ran his hands over her soft, smooth shoulders, causing her to moan softly against his lips. Never once breaking the kiss, she grabbed the lapel of his jacket and tugged him backward with her into her darkened quarters, and the door whispered shut after them.
And then the Doctor blinked, and the cognitive projection vanished from his vision, leaving him standing alone in the empty corridor.
With a sigh that caught in his holographic throat, he turned and walked away, shaking his head.
"Request denied."
Simon Moss blinked. "Denied?" he repeated. "Commander, I... I urge you to think the matter over carefully before you come to a decision."
"I assure you, Mr. Moss, that I think every matter over carefully," Akshara Bhat replied evenly.
The medic sat in front of her desk, staring at its sleek, mirrored surface. He seemed to be struggling to control his emotions; several expressions battled for dominance on his pale face. "With all due respect, ma'am," he said, "I have served aboard Jupiter Station for eight years. I have shown myself to be a competent, reliable officer. I think I deserve some consideration."
"You have also shown yourself to be disrespectful, disagreeable, and have experienced professional conflicts with everyone you have ever worked with," Bhat pointed out. "Given your record, I'd say I have been extremely lenient with you, but enough is enough. This is the third time you've requested a transfer."
She leaned forward, lacing her fingers together in front of her. "I realize the Doctor has a... forceful personality. But during the time he has served on this station, I have not received one complaint about his conduct. The only person here who seems to have a problem with him is you. I will not reward you for your inability to work with others."
Moss's jaw tightened. "I know I've been... difficult in the past," he admitted, with evident reluctance. "It was during a time in my life that I would rather forget."
"It was a hard time for all of us in Starfleet," Bhat said quietly. "Don't forget, Simon, I was there, too. You were not the only one who suffered a loss."
"And yet you still allow the Doctor to continue his dangerous experiments with Borg technology," Moss fired back.
The commander shook her head. How many times would the man insist on having the same conversation over and over again? She had known him long enough to know that arguing with him would accomplish nothing. This time, she refused to let herself be baited.
Nevertheless, she was compelled to correct him for the sake of accuracy. "The Doctor is Starfleet's leading expert on the application of Borg technology in the field of medicine. His work is nothing short of revolutionary."
"He is a machine," he persisted. "Machines break down. What if he experiences a malfunction while he's messing about with those damned nanoprobes? He could bring the entire Hive down on us!"
A less composed commanding officer might have snorted at the ridiculous postulation. Bhat merely said, "I find that rather unlikely."
"Why do you defend him?" he asked incredulously.
"Why are you so adamant in your disparagement of him?" she countered, arching an eyebrow.
"Because he isn't a person, Akshara," he exclaimed. "He's a medical encyclopedia on legs, for God's sake."
Bhat was a reasonable woman, but even her patience was not limitless. "He is a decorated officer who has distinguished himself both in medicine and in his service to Starfleet," she said firmly. "His experiences and his unique perspective have made him an invaluable asset to this station. Whether you like it or not, he is the most qualified person for the position of Chief Medical Officer."
Moss gave a scornful laugh. "I can't believe what I'm hearing. You're just as brainwashed as the rest of the dolts on this station."
And there it was; the end of her patience. "You are perilously close to insubordination, Mr. Moss," she warned him in a low voice. "At the moment, you are an ensign. If you wish to remain that way, I suggest you return to your post and find a way to coexist with your superior officers. And reflect on why it is that all of your misfortunes seem to be everyone's fault but your own."
She held Moss's piercing blue gaze for a long moment. He was the first to break. "Yes, Commander," he answered.
Bhat nodded. "Dismissed."
She waited until he had left his office, then permitted herself an aggravated sigh. She was more tolerant of Moss's behavioral quirks than another commanding officer might be, but at times he really got on her last nerve. She simply could not understand his seemingly unwarranted animosity toward the Doctor. The hologram had never treated him poorly or abused his position of authority. For her part, Bhat had always found him to be rather pleasant; at least, compared to his creator. Although she had been unable to attend his birthday party, she had given him a book of poetry by Sarojini Naidu, and he had been very appreciative.
He had certainly worked miracles on Jordan Starling. When she had first arrived, the young woman had been at Death's door. Initially, Bhat had been concerned that transporting her to Jupiter Station before reviving her had been a mistake, that the shock would be too much for her to cope with. But now, a little over three months later, she seemed to be thriving. She was in good physical health, she had made friends, and had found a niche for herself in the galley. She had even made herself known by her signature dishes; her "blue apple" pie made from Bolian polekos was a particular favorite among the residents.
Still, three months was too long for a woman from the twentieth century to be cooped up on a space station. She would undoubtedly benefit from some shore leave. Bhat resolved to speak to the Doctor about it. He might as well use the opportunity to take some time off, as well; he had not left the station in almost a year. Ensign Moss could handle things well enough in the medical bay while he was gone.
If he found himself overwhelmed, he could always activate the backup EMH.
Bhat almost felt guilty for smiling at the thought. Almost.
The comm badge on her uniform gave a chirp, which preceded the deep, booming sound of her husband's voice: "Talmadge to Bhat. Come in, Bhat. Are you reading me?"
Bhat smirked as she pressed her badge. "What are you doing?"
"You busy?"
"What do you think?" she asked dryly.
He gave a chuckle. "Right. Ask a stupid question. What I should have said was, are you too busy for lunch in the galley?"
The thought was tempting, albeit unrealistic. She still had to finish reading all of the department heads' weekly reports, as well as prepare to receive a delegation of Vulcan scientists arriving the next day. Her meeting with Moss had put her behind schedule.
"I really have a lot of work," she said regretfully.
Her husband picked up on the hesitation in her voice, and deftly set his hook. "The assistant chef made more of her blue apple pie."
It was enough to reel her in. "I'll meet you there," she replied with a smile.
As she left her office and headed for the turbolifts, she suddenly had a terrible realization. If Jordan Starling were to go on shore leave, the galley would be left in the hands of Reiya Meraab again.
She made a mental note to hire more cooks as soon as possible.
There could be no more putting it off. Kim needed to see a doctor.
At first, he thought his sore throat and itchy mouth were just a reaction to something he'd eaten at the Doctor's party. But Jordan had assured him that nothing she had prepared contained any of his allergy triggers, and even if it had been a food allergy, it would not have lasted this long. Then he wondered if the water content in the air had become too low, causing his throat to become dry. A diagnostic of the station's environmental controls had revealed no malfunction; and besides, no one else seemed to share any of his symptoms.
It was with immense relief that Kim finally finished his shift in Ops and made his way to the medical bay. He must be coming down with a bug, he decided. The biofilters were designed to prevent pathogens from being transported onto the station, but they were not infallible. Whatever it was, it did not seem to be too serious. At any rate, the Doctor would make short work of it.
He found the hologram at one of the many lab stations in the medical bay, performing some kind of experiment with a batch of nanoprobes and what appeared to be the eye of some unidentified creature. The Doctor sat watching raptly through the electron resonance scanner, failing to notice Kim's arrival.
"Hey, Doc," he said, causing him to start slightly. "Sorry, I didn't know holograms could be jumpy. Do I want to know what you're doing over there?"
"Merely achieving yet another medical milestone," the Doctor replied in a smug tone, turning in his chair. "I'm modifying these nanoprobes to rebuild severed optic nerves. If all goes well, it could change the way physicians treat patients with eye disorders. Instead of relying on optical implants, we may actually be able to help the defects to correct and heal themselves."
"That's pretty amazing," Kim had to admit. Although he was not entirely comfortable with Borg technology, he would still be the first to acknowledge its benefits. After all, it had saved his life.
"Your voice sounds a bit hoarse," the Doctor observed, standing up and plucking a tricorder from an instrument tray. "Are you feeling unwell?"
"Now that you mention it. Raw throat, itchy mouth, pain while swallowing."
The EMH began scanning him with the medical device. "When did you first notice your symptoms?"
"A few days ago. Actually, it was after your birthday party. I thought I might be having a reaction to something I ate there. I'm allergic to peanuts and avocado, you know. But Jordan said she hadn't used either in anything she made that night. And anyway, it would have gone away by now."
"Hmm." The Doctor consulted his tricorder for a moment before closing it, an odd sort of smirk on his face. "And how long have you been romantically involved with Reiya Meraab?"
Kim blinked, caught off guard by the question. "I don't see how that has anything to do with this," he said, feeling his ears grow warm.
His friend arched a disbelieving eyebrow. "You don't? Harry, you're dating a Bolian. I'm assuming you paid at least a marginal amount of attention during your exobiology classes at the Academy?"
Kim merely frowned, not following.
The Doctor blew out a noisy sigh. "The Bolian digestive system is highly corrosive," he went on. "It's what allows them to eat certain foods which should not be consumed by... any human... ever."
"What's your point?"
"Harry, Harry, Harry." The Doctor gave him a despairing look. "Do I have to spell it out for you? Saliva is a part of the digestive system."
"So?" All at once, his meaning became clear to Kim. "Oh," he blurted, feeling like an idiot. "Ohhh, boy."
"'Oh, boy' indeed," the hologram agreed wryly. "Not to worry, however. It's easily treatable."
Kim watched, increasingly embarrassed, as he moved to a cabinet in the wall and opened it, revealing an array of different colored liquids in clear vials. He selected a vial and loaded it into a hypospray. "This inaprovaline compound should take care of the irritation," he said, "as well as prevent future flare-ups. But you'll have to continue receiving injections for as long as you and Reiya are seeing each other."
As he pressed the hypospray to Kim's neck, the latter sighed. He had only just embarked on this relationship, and it was already more complicated than he had anticipated. "What am I getting myself into, Doc?" he lamented. "I mean, are humans and Bolians even... 'compatible'?"
"Of course," the Doctor replied. "Just be sure to come see me before you decide to do anything more than kissing."
Kim groaned, pressing his hands over his eyes.
The Doctor appeared amused by his discomfort. "There's no need to look so mortified. It's simply a small difference in anatomies; quite minor, when compared to, say, humans and Ktarians. It's all just part of life. Well," he added with a shrug, "for you organics, anyway."
Lucky bastard, thought Kim. On the positive side, his throat irritation was already beginning to fade.
"So," the Doctor went on conversationally, replacing the vial with the others. "Aside from the unpleasant physiological side effects, how are you two kids getting on?"
Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Kim couldn't stop a smile from taking over his face. "I really like Reiya," he said. "She's sweet, and clever, and a lot of fun. She's always surprising me. I kind of wish she had hair, though." His eye caught the light glinting off of the Doctor's smooth cranium, and cleared his throat. "Not... that there's anything wrong with not having hair. Just a personal preference."
The hologram shot him an annoyed look. "You know, many Bolians find hair to be messy and unhygienic," he pointed out loftily.
"Reiya happens to like my hair," Kim said with a grin, earning a snort from his friend. "To think, all this time I was chasing after Haley, and Reiya was right there in front of me."
The Doctor smiled. "I'm happy for you, Harry. Although, if I'm being brutally honest, if given the choice of seeing my sister with you or Reg Barclay, I would have preferred you. As much as I like Reg, he's... what I would call a 'work in progress'."
"Hey, even fixer-uppers need love," said Kim.
"Very true."
That reminded him of something he had been meaning to ask the EMH. "So what's the deal with you and Jordan?"
The Doctor turned and eyed him strangely. "Interesting segue," he remarked.
"No, I'm serious. There's something going on between you two."
The Doctor seemed unfazed by the allegation. "There's nothing going on," he said matter-of-factly. "We're just friends."
Kim nearly laughed, before managing to rein it in. "I don't mean to contradict you, but I saw you two dancing together at Sandrine's. That was definitely not a 'just friends' dance."
This had an unexpected effect on the Doctor. He went very still, and his gaze grew distant. Kim watched his throat work as he swallowed. "It's complicated," he said at last in a strained voice.
Kim sighed, his suspicions confirmed. "It always is with you," he muttered.
"What's that supposed to mean?" the hologram asked sharply.
"Come on, Doc," he said, exasperated. "You've never been able to tell a woman how you feel about her."
"I'll have you know, I was very straight-forward in expressing my interest in Denara," the Doctor said indignantly.
Kim resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Okay. But that was one time. What about Seven? I mean, you kept your feelings for her to yourself for years, until the moment you thought your program was going to decompile. And then you blurted it out in front of most of the senior staff."
The Doctor glared at him. "Refresh my memory," he said in an acerbic tone. "Which one of us was it who failed to express his romantic interest in a woman until after she had died, and her body was reanimated and genetically altered by aliens?"
The mention of Lyndsay Ballard was like a punch to Kim's gut. Still, it was a fair point. "Touché," he conceded. "But you know I'm right."
As usual, however, he couldn't enjoy being right. Not when his friend was experiencing such obvious emotional distress. "Look," he said quietly, "if you like Jordan, just tell her."
The Doctor sighed in frustration. "It's not that simple," he argued. "She's my patient."
"And?" Kim fired back. "So was everyone on Voyager. So is everyone on this station. That doesn't mean you have to keep them all at arm's length. Doctors and patients have relationships all the time, and regulations state that they're not prohibited unless they result in misconduct or interfere with the chain of command. In this case, your ethical subroutines basically guarantee that there would be no misconduct, and chain of command doesn't even apply because Jordan's not a member of Starfleet."
The Doctor was shaking his head. "You don't understand," he said. "Jordan and I have a unique dynamic. She isn't just another patient. I revived her from cryostasis. I removed the cancer that was killing her. In many ways, you could say she owes her life to me. I would never..." His voice faltered, and he tried again. "I would never want her to agree to a relationship because she felt... obligated to do so."
Kim nodded slowly. "I can understand that," he murmured.
"Not that it matters," he added bitterly, returning to his chair and sitting down with an air of finality. "Jordan has made it painfully clear that she doesn't see me as anything more than a friend."
"Did she tell you that?"
The Doctor gave a sour laugh. "She was so repulsed at the very thought of it that she sliced her own hand open."
Kim frowned. That was what was bothering him? "Wait, wait," he said. "I was there in the galley when that happened. Jordan cut her hand because Reiya told a dirty joke about holograms and it caught her by surprise."
"But..." The EMH hesitated. "But she said Reiya had been teasing her about me. Implying that we were an item."
"That's true," conceded Kim. "But I wouldn't say she seemed 'repulsed'. Annoyed, maybe. Reiya can be a real kidder. Sometimes she doesn't know when to let up."
The Doctor absorbed this new information for a moment. "Be that as it may... I nearly lost her once, before I had even begun to appreciate what a wonderful friend I had in her. I simply can't risk losing her again, no matter how I might feel about her." He gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders. "I'd rather have her as a friend, than as nothing at all."
Kim sighed. He understood the Doctor's position more than most. Perhaps that was why he felt compelled to divert him from this course of self-defeat he was currently on.
"Doc," he said quietly. "I get it. Trust me, I do. I felt the same way about Lyndsay. I thought if I ever told her how I really felt about her, I'd drive her away. So I kept my mouth shut, suffered in silence for years. Until one day... I did lose her. On a routine away mission." He paused to clear his throat and collect himself. "If it hadn't been for the Kobali, I never would have seen her again. I never would have had the chance to tell her the truth."
The Doctor said nothing, but Kim could tell he was listening intently. "Don't make the same mistake I did," he told him. "Aren't you the one who's always saying that life is too precious, too fragile to waste a moment of it by wondering what might have been? Do you really want to miss your moment with Jordan?"
The hologram knitted his brow. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. "Well," he said at last, "Commander Bhat did suggest that I should get Jordan off the station for a while, for some shore leave."
"That's perfect!" Kim exclaimed. "You can tell her then. Take her somewhere romantic, like Risa."
The Doctor's eyes bulged. "Risa?" he repeated, his nose wrinkling in distaste. "Are you insane? She'll think I'm some kind of pervert!"
"Okay, not Risa," he said, holding up his hands. He racked his brain for a moment, and then it came to him. "I've got it. How about Ganymede? I went there last year. There's plenty to do there, the scenery is amazing, and the auroras there are even better than on Earth."
The Doctor folded his arms over his chest as he considered it, before nodding slowly. "Ganymede," he murmured to himself. Then he passed a hand across his face. "I'm probably making an enormous mistake."
Kim raised an eyebrow. "I don't know, Doc. Jordan slaved away all day in the galley, making a whole smorgasbord of foods just for you. She put up with that old crank Zimmerman for weeks, helping him to put the finishing touches on your new taste receptors. Do you really think she would have done all that, if she didn't feel something for you?"
"Do you think so?" the Doctor asked, with a mixture of disbelief and hope.
Kim clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Like I said, Doc. That was not a 'just friends' dance."
"Hey, computer? How are you supposed to train a holographic dog?"
"Please rephrase the question."
Jordan sighed.
Although Jack was without a doubt the best present she had ever received, she was having a hard time getting the little terrier to respond to basic commands. Being made up of photons as he was, he was not motivated by the promise of treats, so she couldn't gain his obedience through bribery. So far, all of her attempts to teach him to sit, stay, and shake hands had only earned her a blank, albeit adorable stare.
She tried again. "So the Doctor gave me this dog. But he's a hologram. How do I get him to, for instance, roll over?"
"Access to the Emergency Medical Hologram's behavioral subroutines is restricted," the computer intoned.
Jordan couldn't help laughing. "No, I don't want the Doctor to roll over!" She chewed her lip thoughtfully for a moment. "Okay. This holographic fox terrier that is currently in my quarters. Am I allowed to access its... behavioral subroutines?"
"Access to Starling Therapy Companion Program One-Beta is unrestricted."
"Wow, you weren't lying about sucking at names, Doc," Jordan murmured. "All right, computer. Access that program and modify it to include all the commands commonly taught to non-holographic dogs. Sit, stay, lie down, roll over, shake hands, all that stuff."
"Please specify 'stuff'."
She shook her head in defeat. "Just those five commands will do for now," she told the disembodied voice.
There was a sequence of beeps. "Modifications complete."
Here goes nothing, she thought. "Jack," she said to the dog, "sit."
The puppy sat back on his woolly haunches.
"It worked!" Jordan exclaimed, scooping the animal into her arms and giving him a squeeze. "Thanks, computer!"
Feeling quite pleased with herself, she decided to reward her ingenuity by accessing the musical database and treating herself to a few guilty pleasures. She was seriously wondering whether she could persuade Harry Kim to learn the saxophone part in "Careless Whisper" when the door chime sounded, and she was obliged to pause the music.
"Come in!" she called.
The door opened, and the Doctor stepped inside. "Good evening, Jordan," he said cheerily as the dog proceeded to bark and jump all over him in excitement.
Jordan smiled, trying to ignore the now familiar increase in her heart rate that always accompanied the sight of her friend. "Hi, Doc," she said as she picked up the puppy. "Sorry about Jack. I'm still figuring out how to program him with manners."
"Not a problem," he replied, waving a hand. "I didn't by any chance hear you singing in here before I came in, did I?"
"You'll never know, will you?" she retorted with a cheeky smirk.
"You would suppress my natural curiosity?"
She rolled her eyes. "Please. You're just trying to figure out what vocal register I sing in, so you can rope me into a duet. I hate to break it to you, but you grossly overestimate my musical prowess."
The Doctor simply shrugged. "You can't blame a hologram for trying," he said, unrepentant.
Jordan grinned and shook her head as she set the dog on the sofa. "You are shameless," she told him. "By the way, this is officially the first time I've ever gotten to ask you this: May I offer you a refreshment?"
His eyes widened at the question. "Absolutely!" he said eagerly.
She laughed. "What would you like?" she asked, moving to the replicator on the wall.
"Surprise me."
"Oh, snap," she said, casting him a look. "Don't ever say those words to a chef. You're a novice, though, so I'll go easy on you this time."
After a moment's deliberation, she requested two mugs of Hong Kong-style milk tea and handed one to the Doctor. As he gratefully accepted it, she noticed him gazing at her with a rather odd smile.
"What is it?" she asked, feeling herself blush. "Why are you smiling?"
"You say 'please' and 'thank you' to the computer," he observed. "I find that very..."
"Don't say 'cute'," she warned him jokingly.
His smile widened. "Endearing," he said, his voice warm.
Jordan's blush intensified as she met the hologram's expressive brown eyes. "It doesn't cost anything to be polite," she said sententiously, lifting her nose in the air. "Now shut your yap and drink your tea."
"Yes, ma'am," the Doctor said with a chuckle. As he took a sip, his dark eyebrows grew together. "Oh," he exclaimed. "Oh, my. This is wonderful."
Jordan felt a rush of affection for him that squeezed her heart almost painfully. "It's just black tea and condensed milk, Doc. But I'm glad you like it. So," she went on, sitting down at the little dinette table and gesturing for him to join her, "what brings you here?"
The Doctor's features took on an injured expression. "Tired of me already?" he asked in a low voice. "I'm hurt, Jordan. I thought we were friends."
Jordan quickly set down her mug of tea and reached for his hand across the table. "Doc, of course we are! I didn't mean..."
She trailed off as the Doctor began to snicker. "I'm only joking," he assured her. "You tease me so often, I thought it only fair to return the favor."
"Why, you little..." Jordan shook her head, unable to suppress a smile. "Okay, I suppose I deserved that," she conceded. "But seriously, what's up?"
He took another sip of his tea, and Jordan couldn't help thinking it was still odd to watch him consuming actual matter. "'What's up' is that I'm here on a house call," he said. "Protocol requires that you undergo a full physical and receive a clean bill of health before you leave the station."
Jordan blinked, not sure she had heard him correctly. "I'm leaving the station?"
He stood up and removed the medical tricorder he kept in a pouch on the waist of his uniform. "Jordan, you've been on Jupiter Station for over three months," he said as he scanned her with the device. "And as much as I've enjoyed having you here, I can plainly see how much stress you've been under. In short, you need a break. So I'm writing you a prescription for shore leave. Please stand up for a moment."
She rose to her feet, and she tried her best to appear unconcerned as the Doctor proceeded to place his hands on her neck and abdomen, palpating her glands and organs. "Shore leave?" she repeated as evenly as she could.
He nodded. "How does two weeks on Ganymede sound?"
"Ganymede?"
"Do I hear an echo?" The Doctor smiled. "Yes, Ganymede. Jupiter's third Galilean moon. It was terraformed by humans in the late twenty-second century. The moon's abundant iron and silicon deposits made it an ideal choice for a mining colony. More recently, though, it's become more of a tourist spot. The landscape is a volcanic one, closely resembling that of Iceland on Earth. It even has its own auroras around the equator. Harry tells me they're quite lovely. Take several deep breaths for me."
Jordan breathed in and out as the Doctor assessed her lung functions, feeling slightly light-headed at his close proximity. "You've never been?" she asked, attempting to focus on the conversation.
"No. This will be my first time."
Her breath caught in her throat. "You're going, too?"
"Of course," the Doctor replied. "You didn't think I'd drop you off on an unfamiliar moon all by yourself, did you? Someone needs to make sure you actually use the time to relax. Besides," he added as he stepped back, to her relief, "I've been meaning to visit myself for a while now. Mr. Moss is more than qualified to fill in for me. As a matter of fact, he'll probably revel in my absence."
Jordan couldn't think of anything to say. Two weeks alone with the Doctor. Part of her was thrilled at the thought, but another, much more rational part of her screamed that it was a terrible idea. There was no way she could successfully pretend for two whole weeks that she was not steadily falling head over heels for the hologram. But how could she tell him no? He sounded so enthusiastic about it. And it was a chance to get off the station for a while, to feel solid ground under her feet. Not to mention see an aurora for the first time in her life.
The Doctor noticed her hesitation. "Of course, if you'd prefer to go alone, I would understand," he said, not quite succeeding in hiding his disappointment.
"No, I..." Suppressing a sigh, Jordan offered him a smile. "I'd love to go. With you."
He returned her smile. "Excellent. You'll be pleased to know you're well enough to travel. However, I did notice you're carrying a lot of tension in your neck and shoulders. You've been sitting hunched over your personal console, haven't you?"
"No." At his skeptical look, she rolled her eyes. "Okay, yes. I'm very hunchy. You can blame Instructor Jaavek for assigning me a five thousand-word essay on World War Three this week."
"Well, I suggest you try to be less hunchy," he told her, "unless you want to have scoliosis by the time you're thirty-five. Fortunately, I am programmed with an extensive array of massage therapy techniques. If you'll permit me?"
Jordan stared up at him blankly. He wasn't proposing what it sounded like he was proposing, was he? Sweet Jesus, he was. Oh, by all means, Doc, she thought, feeling a hysterical laugh threatening to escape. Put your strong, manly holo-hands all over me. That won't be awkward at all.
"I couldn't ask you to do that," she said, quite diplomatically, in her opinion.
"It's no trouble," the Doctor insisted, undeterred. "My hands don't get tired, remember? Have a seat."
He gestured to the dinette chair. Nervously, Jordan sat down, and he stood behind her and moved her hair out of the way. As he began to massage the tightness out of her shoulders, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down firmly on it. It felt incredible. So incredible it was all she could do not to slide right out of her chair and into a puddle on the floor.
"Try to relax," said the Doctor, working his thumbs in slow circles on her trapezius muscles. "Do you feel all these knots? They're called myofascial trigger points. They're often caused by stress and poor posture."
Despite herself, Jordan laughed softly at this. "I get it, Doc. I'm the next Quasimodo in training. No need to rub it in."
His deft fingers pressed a spot at the back of her head, making her gasp. "You've been experiencing headaches right here, haven't you?" he asked.
"How did you know?"
"It's a common side effect of myalgia of the trapezius. The muscles around the occipital region of the skull become strained as well. You should have come to me sooner."
She gave a shrug. "I've been busy. Besides, I didn't want to bother you."
She heard him sigh. "Jordan," he said. "You could never be a bother to me. I want you to feel you can come to me for anything."
Jordan smiled. "That works both ways, you know," she answered, turning and looking at him over her shoulder. "Not that there's much I could do for you."
Her heart skipped a beat as the hologram graced her with one of his lovely, wry, turned-down smiles. "Actually, I was hoping you might give me a cooking lesson some time," he admitted.
"I'd be happy to," she said a little breathlessly.
Gently, the Doctor turned her head around again and resumed his ministrations. Slowly, she allowed herself to relax. Her eyes blissfully shut, she said, "So tell me more about Ganymede. What is there to do on Jupiter's third Galilean moon, anyway?"
"I haven't the faintest idea," said the Doctor. "I suppose we'll find out, won't we?"
As he worked his tireless, magical hands down either side of her spine, Jordan swallowed.
"I suppose we will," she replied, her heart beating faster.
A/N: Sorry-not-sorry about the Doc's "cognitive projection". Every writer is allowed exactly one Dream Sequence Scene per story.
Also, fun fact: There's a Mystery Science Theater 3000 reference in an episode of DS9. On the list of businesses in the Promenade Directory, there's a shop called Tom Servo's Used Robots. That makes me happy.