Title: Convalescence
Author: Dr. Jekyl
Series: Voyager
Codes: EMH, Troi, Zimmerman
Disclaimer: Paramount. Mmm. Yes. They own it - Voyager, and the characters. But what the hell. The story is mine.
Archive: ASC, others please ask.
Summary: A missing scene from 'Lifeline'. Potentially contains spoilers.
Deanna Troi sighed aloud and decided to give up sleep for now as a bad job. You'd think that after all these years she'd be able to unwind enough to sleep after a stressful case. Then again, she admitted to herself wryly, most stressful cases didn't run virtually twenty-four hours a day for the better part of a week without respite. And most stressful cases didn't require her to attempt to kill someone - even if the person in question was a hologram - to try to save another. Not that if Zimmerman had ultimately refused the Mark I would have been lost - Reg had backed everything up. Twice. He'd insisted on it, and with good reason: up until the point that Haley stepped in, she hadn't truly been confident that they could talk the antagonistic engineer around. Thank goodness for Haley.
She sighed again and slipped out of bed, pulling on a bathrobe before heading for the door. She'd been known to recommend a cup of warm milk and a good book as an insomnia cure, and there was some advice you could feel comfortable in taking yourself. Exiting the small guest room, she padded down the plushly carpeted hallway towards the main dining room - and found that someone else had had the same idea. She paused in the doorway, half hidden in the shadows.
It was Zimmerman, who (by rights) shouldn't have been out of bed. In fact, she was rather surprised he was capable of leaving it unaided; the last day and a half appeared to have burned up whatever small reserve he'd had left. When she'd last seen him, over five hours earlier, he'd looked like death warmed over.
He didn't look far from that state now, the low lighting accentuating the hollows and lines of his face. Zimmerman was, - what? - nine, ten years older than she? Yet he looked old enough to be her father - grandfather even. Now that he thought he was alone, he wasn't bothering to hide the way his hands shook as he took a long sip from his mug, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue before setting it down again with deliberate care. There was a long pause as he frowned down at the table, elbow on the surface, chin resting on his closed fist. With his free hand, he picked up something flat and rectangular from the table's surface, frowning at it for several seconds. Then, abruptly he snorted, his expression softening into a rare half-smile as he put it back down with the same deliberation as the coffee mug. He ran his fingers over its surface almost longingly. Then he sighed, expression fading, and turned to look directly at her.
"You plan on standing there all night?" he asked.
Deanna smiled wryly and stepped forward into the main room. "Not all night... just most of it."
Zimmerman grunted in response, reclaiming the coffee mug. She noted on the way over to the replicator that his hands were steady now.
"The EMH won't be happy you're out of bed." She gave into temptation and replicated a mug of hot chocolate instead of the plain milk.
"Let him be. I needed something to drink," Zimmerman gesturing with the half-empty mug.
"Why not ask Haley? I'm sure she'd be happy to..." she trailed off when he gave her a look that explained quite clearly that that wasn't an option. She smiled to herself and retrieved her own beverage from the replicator. He'd been a difficult patient from the start and obviously had no intention of changing his ways anytime soon.
He took another sip from the mug and then swapped it once more for the rectangular object, which he tapped on the table twice before resting it lightly against his chin. Taking up a seat across from the holo-engineer, she realized it was a picture frame, the back facing her. She was surprised - you'd expect a man in his line of work to use more modern methods of storing memories.
"That was very clever of you."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Your little scheme yesterday," he explained. His tone was mild but his eyes were piercing. "Very clever indeed."
"Well, as I explained to the EMH..."
"... traditional therapy wasn't getting you anywhere. I heard," he finished for her, pausing thoughtfully. "But it's funny, you know: I don't seem to recall ever agreeing to a counselling session."
Deanna took a sip from her own mug, then looked evenly at him over the top of it. "And I don't recall ever conducting a formal counselling session."
Zimmerman snorted in response, again swapping picture for mug, which he then held in both hands. She could feel his strange mix mild amusement and annoyance, his exhaustion - and, surprisingly, a faint hint of approval. It hung there, reassuring - while the EMH had taken the deception with good grace, she hadn't been sure how his creator would react. She'd actually expected at least a token outburst from him. Lewis Zimmerman, she was sure, would rate being manipulated somewhere very near the top of a very long list of things he didn't like.
"Very good counsellor. Very clever. But it leaves one very large question unanswered."
"Oh?"
"Mmmhm..."
A pensive pause.
"Would you mind if I ask what it is?"
"No, not at all. The question is: Do I thank you," he started, then paused momentarily to take another sip from his mug, "or do I blow you and Reginald out the nearest airlock?"
Another pause, but the feeling she got this time was more akin to the calm before the storm than anything else. It would seem that he wasn't quite as taken with what had happened as she'd originally thought.
"If those are the only two options," she began slowly, "then I think I'll take the first one."
"Pity. I was rather fond of number two myself."
"Well, Reg doesn't deserve it - it was my idea. He was just - "
"A willing participant?"
"*Concerned* about you," she finished firmly.
He stared at her for some time, before sighing in apparent exasperation.
"You people never give up, do you?"
"Not if we can help it, no," she agreed, smiling.
"And I thought I was supposed to be the stubborn one."
"Normally I'd say yes, but I think this is one time you really wanted to be convinced you were wrong."
He gave her a long, assessing look.
"It would seem that I was... incorrect in my assumption that I'd gotten my point across to you during our previous conversations," he said coolly, "so, Counsellor, let me reiterate: You can psychoanalyse Reginald Barclay to your heart's content - lord knows he needs it. Haley is fair game if she has no objections. You can even try the EMH for all I care, but if you're going to try to dissect *me* - there's the door," he jerked the mug in its direction.
"Sorry," she smiled apologetically. "It's a force of habit."
"Then it's a habit I suggest you break if you plan on hanging around here any longer."
"Actually," she replied to the unspoken question, "I leave tomorrow afternoon."
"It's about time."
"...and the EMH returns to Voyager the day after."
"Even better. Living to the end of the week suddenly seems worthwhile."
It did too, from what she could sense. Before, while he hadn't really been ready within himself to die, he'd faced up to the reality of the situation as best he could. She suspected that Lewis hadn't been sure if he'd really had anything worth living for.
"It wasn't before?"
He ignored the question and sighed. "I suppose I'll have to clean up his data buffer before he goes. It's obvious that no one on that ship has any idea how to properly maintain a program of that sophistication."
"Oh?"
"The EMH was designed to run for 1500 hours, tops," he explained. "Of course, there was some leeway built into the system - about an additional week's worth, but he's been running continually for almost nine years. While they obviously expanded his memory and made *some* modifications to his buffer, it's been nowhere near enough - they've done absolutely nothing to adequately compensate for the increasing stress on his matrix."
Deanna hid a smile. Was that a genuine note of concern she heard? Then, something about what he'd just said clicked into place.
"Nine years? But hasn't Voyager only been lost for six..."
Zimmerman shrugged. "He actually has almost as many hours of run-time logged as Haley does - and she's been up virtually continuously for about 9 years, five months and... 3 hours. It explains a few things that have been puzzling me since he got here. Sensor logs for the time period seem to indicate a massive temporal distortion of some kind - there are two marked incursion dates," he explained, frowning. "Fascinating though the concept may be, the fact remains - his filing system is a such a mess, it's a wonder he can access anything at all."
"I see."
"And if you add *that* to the myriad of subroutines that have been tacked on to his matrix, apparently at random... it's an unstable mess at best," he reiterated. "The new subroutines themselves, half of them, well... Let's just say I'd give him three months before he suffered a catastrophic systems failure and had to be reinitialised. I know twelve year olds who could do a better maintenance job."
"I'll be sure to relay that sentiment to Lieutenant Torres," interjected an almost identical voice from the hallway.
Zimmerman winced almost theatrically and then sighed as the EMH approached the table.
"You do that."
An awkward pause.
"You're supposed to be in bed."
"Am I now."
There was a definite note of challenge in the engineer's voice, and the EMH didn't miss it. His eyes narrowed as he opened his mouth to reply. Unwilling to endure yet another argument between the pair - especially after matters had just been so freshly resolved between them - Deanna stepped in.
"Doctor Zimmerman just wanted something to drink, Doctor," she addressed the EMH, before turning back to his creator. "And I'm sure he'll go back to bed as soon as he's finished it, won't you, Doctor?"
They both looked at her, noted her warning look and then eyed each other.
"Well, I suppose it won't hurt. It may even prove to be somewhat beneficial... provided it's nothing caffeinated, of course."
"It's coffee."
They looked at each other again.
"Well," the hologram began again, sounding somewhat forced, "as I said, I suppose it won't hurt. Too much."
"I was almost done anyway."
Yet another long, tense silence.
Finally, Zimmerman looked away and back down at the table briefly. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and then, to the surprise of both Troi and the EMH, raised the mug once more to silently toast the hologram. He drained it, placed it back on the table and then carefully eased himself upright.
He turned to face the EMH.
"Well?"
The hologram, realising that something was expected of him but unsure exactly what, hesitantly opened his ever-present tricorder. Zimmerman in turn treated him to an exasperated look, shook his head and turned back to Troi.
"Counsellor," he said by way of a goodnight.
She smiled back. "Good night, Doctor."
He glanced over at the now perplexed EMH, shook his head again and started rather unsteadily for his room - at the very end of the hall. They watched his difficult progress across the room and down to the midway point of the corridor, where he suddenly stopped and seemed to collapse against the wall, head bowed. She glanced up at the EMH. Concern written plainly across his face, he hadn't removed his eyes from his suddenly frail creator, and had even initially taken a few steps after Zimmerman. Now he turned back briefly, placed the tricorder on the table and nodded his own goodnight before setting off down the hall.
Deanna smiled back watched as he gingerly approached Zimmerman, offering his hand. The engineer stared at it for some time, deliberating, before accepting it, using it to lever himself back up and away from the wall. A few steps further and he seemed to give in to the inevitable, allowing the EMH to wrap a supporting arm around his shoulders. Moments later they disappeared into the cluttered mess that was Zimmerman's room.
Deanna Troi waited a beat to make sure that the door was completely shut before slumping back against her chair with a heartfelt sigh. So much for unwinding. She was even more tense now than she was when she'd first gotten up.
Next time, she told herself, she'd say no. No matter how interesting it looked on paper, no matter if it was Reg that was asking, no matter *what*, she'd say no. Even if a result like that gave her the sense of satisfaction she'd entered into the profession for in the first place. Even if she honestly couldn't think of anyone better qualified to deal with a situation involving an artificial life form. Even if it...
Oh, what was the point? She knew she'd take the next one anyway. She smiled wryly to herself and took a sip from her now almost cold hot chocolate.
The small, flat shape of the picture frame caught her eye. On impulse, she picked it up and turned it over. A serious-looking boy - no, young man - peered back at her, surrounded by a group of much older men and women. She recognised the hallmarks of the Daystrom Institute. The boy - who had to be Zimmerman - was caught in that physically awkward stage many human males seemed to go through, everything overlarge hands, feet, ears, knees... He clutched what appeared to be the first of the four Daystrom Prizes for holography he was destined to win to this date. She'd spotted the trophies themselves gathering dust in obscure corners of his lab - one, she remembered with some amusement, he used as a paperweight. Numerous others among the other awards he'd won shared a similar fate.
He had been and was still an innovator: the only man who'd ever seen a use for holograms aside from novels and simulations and games. She wondered what his childhood and early adulthood had been like for him to turn out to be so brilliant, yet so... fundamentally abrasive. And what led a man like him - so often infuriatingly self-centred and arrogant - to spend a large portion of his life designing and building something as completely altruistic as a virtual physician? She also wondered what prompted him to pull out the old photo tonight. Then, she caught herself. She didn't really have the time to start probing the underlying causes of Lewis Zimmerman's glaring personality defects - she left tomorrow, after all. Some other counsellor was welcome to try. They'd probably either give up or be sent packing within twelve hours, she thought with the allowed small hint of egotism, but they were certainly welcome to try...
So instead she finished the rest of her drink and recycled the two mugs. Then she picked up her previously discarded novel and went back to bed.
Author: Dr. Jekyl
Series: Voyager
Codes: EMH, Troi, Zimmerman
Disclaimer: Paramount. Mmm. Yes. They own it - Voyager, and the characters. But what the hell. The story is mine.
Archive: ASC, others please ask.
Summary: A missing scene from 'Lifeline'. Potentially contains spoilers.
Deanna Troi sighed aloud and decided to give up sleep for now as a bad job. You'd think that after all these years she'd be able to unwind enough to sleep after a stressful case. Then again, she admitted to herself wryly, most stressful cases didn't run virtually twenty-four hours a day for the better part of a week without respite. And most stressful cases didn't require her to attempt to kill someone - even if the person in question was a hologram - to try to save another. Not that if Zimmerman had ultimately refused the Mark I would have been lost - Reg had backed everything up. Twice. He'd insisted on it, and with good reason: up until the point that Haley stepped in, she hadn't truly been confident that they could talk the antagonistic engineer around. Thank goodness for Haley.
She sighed again and slipped out of bed, pulling on a bathrobe before heading for the door. She'd been known to recommend a cup of warm milk and a good book as an insomnia cure, and there was some advice you could feel comfortable in taking yourself. Exiting the small guest room, she padded down the plushly carpeted hallway towards the main dining room - and found that someone else had had the same idea. She paused in the doorway, half hidden in the shadows.
It was Zimmerman, who (by rights) shouldn't have been out of bed. In fact, she was rather surprised he was capable of leaving it unaided; the last day and a half appeared to have burned up whatever small reserve he'd had left. When she'd last seen him, over five hours earlier, he'd looked like death warmed over.
He didn't look far from that state now, the low lighting accentuating the hollows and lines of his face. Zimmerman was, - what? - nine, ten years older than she? Yet he looked old enough to be her father - grandfather even. Now that he thought he was alone, he wasn't bothering to hide the way his hands shook as he took a long sip from his mug, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue before setting it down again with deliberate care. There was a long pause as he frowned down at the table, elbow on the surface, chin resting on his closed fist. With his free hand, he picked up something flat and rectangular from the table's surface, frowning at it for several seconds. Then, abruptly he snorted, his expression softening into a rare half-smile as he put it back down with the same deliberation as the coffee mug. He ran his fingers over its surface almost longingly. Then he sighed, expression fading, and turned to look directly at her.
"You plan on standing there all night?" he asked.
Deanna smiled wryly and stepped forward into the main room. "Not all night... just most of it."
Zimmerman grunted in response, reclaiming the coffee mug. She noted on the way over to the replicator that his hands were steady now.
"The EMH won't be happy you're out of bed." She gave into temptation and replicated a mug of hot chocolate instead of the plain milk.
"Let him be. I needed something to drink," Zimmerman gesturing with the half-empty mug.
"Why not ask Haley? I'm sure she'd be happy to..." she trailed off when he gave her a look that explained quite clearly that that wasn't an option. She smiled to herself and retrieved her own beverage from the replicator. He'd been a difficult patient from the start and obviously had no intention of changing his ways anytime soon.
He took another sip from the mug and then swapped it once more for the rectangular object, which he tapped on the table twice before resting it lightly against his chin. Taking up a seat across from the holo-engineer, she realized it was a picture frame, the back facing her. She was surprised - you'd expect a man in his line of work to use more modern methods of storing memories.
"That was very clever of you."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Your little scheme yesterday," he explained. His tone was mild but his eyes were piercing. "Very clever indeed."
"Well, as I explained to the EMH..."
"... traditional therapy wasn't getting you anywhere. I heard," he finished for her, pausing thoughtfully. "But it's funny, you know: I don't seem to recall ever agreeing to a counselling session."
Deanna took a sip from her own mug, then looked evenly at him over the top of it. "And I don't recall ever conducting a formal counselling session."
Zimmerman snorted in response, again swapping picture for mug, which he then held in both hands. She could feel his strange mix mild amusement and annoyance, his exhaustion - and, surprisingly, a faint hint of approval. It hung there, reassuring - while the EMH had taken the deception with good grace, she hadn't been sure how his creator would react. She'd actually expected at least a token outburst from him. Lewis Zimmerman, she was sure, would rate being manipulated somewhere very near the top of a very long list of things he didn't like.
"Very good counsellor. Very clever. But it leaves one very large question unanswered."
"Oh?"
"Mmmhm..."
A pensive pause.
"Would you mind if I ask what it is?"
"No, not at all. The question is: Do I thank you," he started, then paused momentarily to take another sip from his mug, "or do I blow you and Reginald out the nearest airlock?"
Another pause, but the feeling she got this time was more akin to the calm before the storm than anything else. It would seem that he wasn't quite as taken with what had happened as she'd originally thought.
"If those are the only two options," she began slowly, "then I think I'll take the first one."
"Pity. I was rather fond of number two myself."
"Well, Reg doesn't deserve it - it was my idea. He was just - "
"A willing participant?"
"*Concerned* about you," she finished firmly.
He stared at her for some time, before sighing in apparent exasperation.
"You people never give up, do you?"
"Not if we can help it, no," she agreed, smiling.
"And I thought I was supposed to be the stubborn one."
"Normally I'd say yes, but I think this is one time you really wanted to be convinced you were wrong."
He gave her a long, assessing look.
"It would seem that I was... incorrect in my assumption that I'd gotten my point across to you during our previous conversations," he said coolly, "so, Counsellor, let me reiterate: You can psychoanalyse Reginald Barclay to your heart's content - lord knows he needs it. Haley is fair game if she has no objections. You can even try the EMH for all I care, but if you're going to try to dissect *me* - there's the door," he jerked the mug in its direction.
"Sorry," she smiled apologetically. "It's a force of habit."
"Then it's a habit I suggest you break if you plan on hanging around here any longer."
"Actually," she replied to the unspoken question, "I leave tomorrow afternoon."
"It's about time."
"...and the EMH returns to Voyager the day after."
"Even better. Living to the end of the week suddenly seems worthwhile."
It did too, from what she could sense. Before, while he hadn't really been ready within himself to die, he'd faced up to the reality of the situation as best he could. She suspected that Lewis hadn't been sure if he'd really had anything worth living for.
"It wasn't before?"
He ignored the question and sighed. "I suppose I'll have to clean up his data buffer before he goes. It's obvious that no one on that ship has any idea how to properly maintain a program of that sophistication."
"Oh?"
"The EMH was designed to run for 1500 hours, tops," he explained. "Of course, there was some leeway built into the system - about an additional week's worth, but he's been running continually for almost nine years. While they obviously expanded his memory and made *some* modifications to his buffer, it's been nowhere near enough - they've done absolutely nothing to adequately compensate for the increasing stress on his matrix."
Deanna hid a smile. Was that a genuine note of concern she heard? Then, something about what he'd just said clicked into place.
"Nine years? But hasn't Voyager only been lost for six..."
Zimmerman shrugged. "He actually has almost as many hours of run-time logged as Haley does - and she's been up virtually continuously for about 9 years, five months and... 3 hours. It explains a few things that have been puzzling me since he got here. Sensor logs for the time period seem to indicate a massive temporal distortion of some kind - there are two marked incursion dates," he explained, frowning. "Fascinating though the concept may be, the fact remains - his filing system is a such a mess, it's a wonder he can access anything at all."
"I see."
"And if you add *that* to the myriad of subroutines that have been tacked on to his matrix, apparently at random... it's an unstable mess at best," he reiterated. "The new subroutines themselves, half of them, well... Let's just say I'd give him three months before he suffered a catastrophic systems failure and had to be reinitialised. I know twelve year olds who could do a better maintenance job."
"I'll be sure to relay that sentiment to Lieutenant Torres," interjected an almost identical voice from the hallway.
Zimmerman winced almost theatrically and then sighed as the EMH approached the table.
"You do that."
An awkward pause.
"You're supposed to be in bed."
"Am I now."
There was a definite note of challenge in the engineer's voice, and the EMH didn't miss it. His eyes narrowed as he opened his mouth to reply. Unwilling to endure yet another argument between the pair - especially after matters had just been so freshly resolved between them - Deanna stepped in.
"Doctor Zimmerman just wanted something to drink, Doctor," she addressed the EMH, before turning back to his creator. "And I'm sure he'll go back to bed as soon as he's finished it, won't you, Doctor?"
They both looked at her, noted her warning look and then eyed each other.
"Well, I suppose it won't hurt. It may even prove to be somewhat beneficial... provided it's nothing caffeinated, of course."
"It's coffee."
They looked at each other again.
"Well," the hologram began again, sounding somewhat forced, "as I said, I suppose it won't hurt. Too much."
"I was almost done anyway."
Yet another long, tense silence.
Finally, Zimmerman looked away and back down at the table briefly. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and then, to the surprise of both Troi and the EMH, raised the mug once more to silently toast the hologram. He drained it, placed it back on the table and then carefully eased himself upright.
He turned to face the EMH.
"Well?"
The hologram, realising that something was expected of him but unsure exactly what, hesitantly opened his ever-present tricorder. Zimmerman in turn treated him to an exasperated look, shook his head and turned back to Troi.
"Counsellor," he said by way of a goodnight.
She smiled back. "Good night, Doctor."
He glanced over at the now perplexed EMH, shook his head again and started rather unsteadily for his room - at the very end of the hall. They watched his difficult progress across the room and down to the midway point of the corridor, where he suddenly stopped and seemed to collapse against the wall, head bowed. She glanced up at the EMH. Concern written plainly across his face, he hadn't removed his eyes from his suddenly frail creator, and had even initially taken a few steps after Zimmerman. Now he turned back briefly, placed the tricorder on the table and nodded his own goodnight before setting off down the hall.
Deanna smiled back watched as he gingerly approached Zimmerman, offering his hand. The engineer stared at it for some time, deliberating, before accepting it, using it to lever himself back up and away from the wall. A few steps further and he seemed to give in to the inevitable, allowing the EMH to wrap a supporting arm around his shoulders. Moments later they disappeared into the cluttered mess that was Zimmerman's room.
Deanna Troi waited a beat to make sure that the door was completely shut before slumping back against her chair with a heartfelt sigh. So much for unwinding. She was even more tense now than she was when she'd first gotten up.
Next time, she told herself, she'd say no. No matter how interesting it looked on paper, no matter if it was Reg that was asking, no matter *what*, she'd say no. Even if a result like that gave her the sense of satisfaction she'd entered into the profession for in the first place. Even if she honestly couldn't think of anyone better qualified to deal with a situation involving an artificial life form. Even if it...
Oh, what was the point? She knew she'd take the next one anyway. She smiled wryly to herself and took a sip from her now almost cold hot chocolate.
The small, flat shape of the picture frame caught her eye. On impulse, she picked it up and turned it over. A serious-looking boy - no, young man - peered back at her, surrounded by a group of much older men and women. She recognised the hallmarks of the Daystrom Institute. The boy - who had to be Zimmerman - was caught in that physically awkward stage many human males seemed to go through, everything overlarge hands, feet, ears, knees... He clutched what appeared to be the first of the four Daystrom Prizes for holography he was destined to win to this date. She'd spotted the trophies themselves gathering dust in obscure corners of his lab - one, she remembered with some amusement, he used as a paperweight. Numerous others among the other awards he'd won shared a similar fate.
He had been and was still an innovator: the only man who'd ever seen a use for holograms aside from novels and simulations and games. She wondered what his childhood and early adulthood had been like for him to turn out to be so brilliant, yet so... fundamentally abrasive. And what led a man like him - so often infuriatingly self-centred and arrogant - to spend a large portion of his life designing and building something as completely altruistic as a virtual physician? She also wondered what prompted him to pull out the old photo tonight. Then, she caught herself. She didn't really have the time to start probing the underlying causes of Lewis Zimmerman's glaring personality defects - she left tomorrow, after all. Some other counsellor was welcome to try. They'd probably either give up or be sent packing within twelve hours, she thought with the allowed small hint of egotism, but they were certainly welcome to try...
So instead she finished the rest of her drink and recycled the two mugs. Then she picked up her previously discarded novel and went back to bed.