Prompt 35: "After you." (Doctor & Kim)

Episode: "Workforce"

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In the course of his duties on Voyager, the Doctor had often had cause to be thankful that he didn't need to sleep, but rarely more so than in Quarran space. He'd been on duty almost non-stop, it felt like; his first real turn as the Emergency Command Hologram had drained him considerably, and so had treating 85 cases of memory alteration back-to-back. As an organic, he would have collapsed from exhaustion by now. Even as a hologram, he was more than usually grateful for the rare chance to put his feet up and have the sound system play Schubert.

Naturally, it was at this moment that another patient chose to walk in.

Naturally, out of everyone on board, it had to be this one.

"Hey, Doc."

"Ah, Mr. Kim." He swung his feet down from his desk and put on his best professional smile. "Please state the nature of the medical emergency. Don't tell me you've been into the falah nectar again."

"Don't even mention that stuff, please." Kim gulped and put his hand over his stomach. "But it's not that. I'm not here as a patient. I, uh … I was just wondering if you had time to talk."

The Ops officer looked as tired as the Doctor felt. He had dark shadows around his eyes and his normally sleek hair stuck out in all directions. The Doctor didn't know whether to feel sorry for him or irritated. The ensign had been getting on his nerves for days, the least he could do was take better care and stay out of Sickbay.

"Do I have time to talk? Ensign, I'm not the one whose schedule is cause for concern. It's 2400 hours. Have you been working double shifts again?"

"What? Someone has to. It's no big deal." Kim shrugged defensively. "Only until the rest of the crew's fit for duty."

"Still, you shouldn't overextend yourself."

"I know, Doc! Stop lecturing me!"

Not this again, thought the Doctor, bracing himself for another round of bickering.

Harry Kim was usually so pleasant, so much easier to get along with than certain other senior officers such as Lieutenant Paris. He was prone to anxiety, but nowhere as severe as Crewman Telfer's; it was usually enough for the Doctor to reassure him. They were both musicians, both hopelessly in love with Seven of Nine (too hopelessly to even think of each other as rivals), and both very young men (even if one of them looked over fifty) thrown into danger early and expected to learn on the fly. Normally, Ensign Kim was one of the Doctor's favorite people. Lately, however, it felt like they couldn't even walk into a room together without jostling for precedence.

How in the galaxy had that happened?

"Look, I'm sorry," said Kim, rubbing his hand over his eyes as if to rub away sleep. "I know I'm being rude. It's just … the last few weeks … "

"Tell me about it." The Doctor rolled his eyes.

"I was so jealous of you for getting to be in command, you know. Even temporarily."

"You were?"

Jealous? Of crawling through Jefferies tubes and having pointless arguments with a computer that couldn't understand him? Of fearing that the ship would end up dead in space and his program inactive forever, or at least until Quarran salvage crews picked everything to pieces? Of not knowing where the crew was, if they were dead or alive, or how he could possibly help them? Well, thank you very much.

Still, Kim's behavior made a lot more sense now.

"I just feel so … stuck," said the young man, waving his hands in frustration. "Am I gonna be an ensign for the rest of my life? Tom got demoted because he blew up a freakin' factory and he still gets to be a lieutenant again – please don't tell him I said that - "

"Confidentiality, remember?"

" – But me? I mean, there was Derran Tal … " He blushed. "But other than that, I've worked so hard to do everything right. But as far as the seniors are concerned, I'm still the baby of the bridge, and always will be."

"You feel unappreciated? Taken for granted? Trapped within the limitations of your place on board?"

Kim let out a sigh that seemed to deflate him like a balloon. "Yes."

The Doctor looked around at the pale blue-gray walls of Sickbay, where he had been trapped for almost the entire first three years of his existence, having to force his way into crew briefings via a video screen and sheer bravado, even though as Chief Medical Officer it should have been his right. He thought of his mental health crisis after choosing to treat Ensign Kim over Ensign Jetal, and how instead of supporting him – as they would, and did, support any other shipmate through something like this – the senior crew had opted to erase his memories instead.

"Well." He sighed too. "I certainly know how that feels."

"At least you get to expand your programming," said Kim ruefully. "I don't."

"Ensign, if I may make a confession?" He beckoned the young man forward and into the chair opposite his desk. "I've never been so relieved as I was the moment the Captain took command again. Being the ECH was nerve-wracking, and considering I don't even have nerves, that's saying a great deal."

"Yeah?"

"Indeed."

"Oh God, me too." Kim slumped into his seat. "Remember when I tried to run that alien ship I called the Nightingale? Worst. Captain. Ever. I lost track of how many times Seven had to Chakotay me."

"Oh, you can't have been that bad. I didn't realize our first officer's name had become a verb, by the way."

"You know, follow the captain into the ready room and talk some sense into 'em … It's a lower decks saying."

"I see." They smiled at each other ruefully.

"Guess neither of us is ready for the big chair, huh?"

"I suppose not."

This fact was much easier to accept, the Doctor admitted, when you had a friend sitting opposite you in solidarity. The walls of Sickbay stopped closing in and became reassuring, almost homelike. It helped that his Schubert piano collection was still playing in the background.

Kim, who due to the pause in the conversation was noticing the music for the first time, brightened up and began swaying his spiky head to the beat. "I know this piece. Ave Maria, right?"

"Why, yes. I find it soothing."

"I play it on clarinet, you know. Hey, you wanna come down to the holodeck and jam for a bit?"

"Really? At the risk of being accused of lecturing again, you really ought to rest."

"C'mon, Doc, I'm too wired to sleep yet," Kim wheedled, in exactly the same tone little Naomi would have used. "What's that you always say about music being therapeutic?"

And then he used that look. The Doctor had an impressive pair of puppy dog eyes himself when the occasion required (Thank you, Dr. Z), but Ensign Kim had turned it into an art form. Much as he might complain about being the baby of the bridge, he certainly knew how to make that image work.

I cannot believe, thought the Doctor with fond exasperation, that this man is twenty-one years older than I am.

"Oh, very well. Thirty minutes, maximum, and drink some chamomile tea at the end of it." He made a show of rising to his feet and attaching his mobile emitter.

"Deal."

"After you," said the Doctor when they reached the office doors.

"No, after you."

They caught each other's eyes and laughed at their own absurdity as, with a light shove between the shoulder blades, the ensign propelled the chief medical officer out the door.