Prompt 95: "Good luck." (Doctor/OC, Zimmerman)

Episode: Post-"Endgame"

Author's Note: This story is a sequel to "I made reservations." Zimmerman's story with Leeta takes place in the DS9 episode "Dr. Bashir, I Presume".

/

"Please tell me you're not going out in public dressed like that," said Lewis.

"So what if I am?" the Doctor retorted, pausing by the door and rolling his eyes. "Lieutenant Torres gave me sartorial autonomy years ago."

Instead of his recently updated Starfleet medical uniform, or even the blazer and slacks he wore when off duty, he was wearing jeans, cowboy boots, a red and black plaid flannel shirt, and a Stetson hat. The outfit did no favors to his short legs and stocky figure, and the way he walked was all wrong, as if nothing fit the way he was used to. Lewis was no fashion plate, quite the contrary – Haley had to steal his lab coats sometimes when they needed ironing – but even he knew bad taste when he saw it, and this was the worst.

"Where are you going, anyway? To raise a barn?"

"If you must know, Butterfly St. James is holding auditions for a guest star on her show. I thought it would be appropriate to the dress according to the conventions of the country music genre. I don't suppose you could alter my accent as well?"

The half-shy, half-eager tone in which the Doctor spoke the holographic singer's name said it all. Lewis was all too familiar with the sound of his own voice when he was about to make a fool of himself over a pretty woman. On Deep Space Nine a few years ago, he'd as good as proposed to a Bajoran girl named Leeta who worked the dabo tables at Quark's Bar, after knowing her less than a week. She'd turned him down in favor of her boss's younger brother – a Ferengi – and that was neither the first nor the last in his long string of romantic failures.

"You really like her, don't you?"

"Yes." The Doctor sighed, took off his Stetson, and looked down at it as if he couldn't quite remember how the thing had ended up on his head. "And I have absolutely no idea what to do about it. Every romantic partner I've ever had was also my patient – and yes, Lewis, I realize how wrong that sounds, but there were extenuating circumstances. You programmed me to exist in only one room!"

"Well, I wasn't expecting you to develop a romantic side, was I?" As a matter of fact, that was one aspect of his own life Lewis would never have wished on the poor fellow. He still didn't understand how it had happened anyway.

"My point is, they needed me first, and then they came to like me. That is not what's happening here. Miss St. James is a hologram; if she's ever injured, heaven forbid, you or Reg would be the ones qualified to help her. I can't give her gifts because material objects don't belong in the holosuite, I can't offer advice or emotional support because she doesn't ask for it … but there's nothing I can do for her."

The Doctor gestured with his Stetson as he spoke, the brim flapping back and forth, but despite the absurd figure he cut, there was something very real about his frustration. Lewis thought of Leeta, so bright and witty, her talents wasted at the dabo wheel; she had seemed more interested in his offer to get her a job on Jupiter Station than himself, and he shouldn't blame her (even if part of him did). Charming drunken gamblers into wasting more money must be dreadful work. He hoped she'd found something better.

"You should count yourself fortunate," he grumbled. "If she doesn't need you, at least you can be sure she's not using you."

"But how do I get her to like me? … And please don't tell me to just be myself. That's what Haley said earlier, and I've never heard anything more unhelpful in my life. I'm always myself. I can't get away from being myself."

"Oh yes, you can," said Lewis, with a pointed look at the Stetson in the Doctor's hand. "You're doing it this minute. I'd listen to Haley if I were you, young man."

The Doctor looked down at himself, fidgeted a little in his too-tight jeans – was that a belt buckle with a stag's head engraved on it, seriously? – plopped the Stetson back on his head, and tipped it forward to cover his eyes in a gesture of deep embarrassment.

"Computer," he muttered, "Restore EMH clothing to standard."

He was back in his uniform in less than a second, holding his hand over a nonexistent hat. He lowered it quickly, still red-faced, but looking much more like himself.

"Now," Lewis smiled, "Good luck … I mean, break a leg at that audition."

"Thank you!"

To his astonishment – they weren't that sort of father and son, at least most of the time – the Doctor darted over to his desk, gave him a hug that almost knocked him sideways, and shot out of their living quarters like a photonic lightning bolt.

Lewis straightened his lab coat, laughed a little in the empty room, and began humming to himself as he got back to work.