Prompt 20: "You can borrow mine." (Doctor/OC, Zimmerman)

Episode: Post-"Endgame"

Author's Note: This story is a sequel to "Good luck."

Butterfly St. James remembered everyone who came to her shows, but some people stood out, and the Emergency Medical Hologram more than most. Not just because he was a fellow hologram, but because he always treated her with respect. Some men thought that because she was a hologram, they could get away with things they'd never do to a flesh-and-blood woman. When that happened, thanks to Felix, at least she could use her autonomy protocols to deactivate herself. The Doctor was nothing like those men; he was kind and funny and clever … and apparently full of surprises. That voice, for example.

"Whew," she breathed as the last triumphant note of "Con Te Partiro" faded from the air. She looked around, just to make sure there weren't actually red velvet seats or painted angels on the ceiling, which was a pity; that voice deserved them. The creaky old furniture, arcade games and pool table were still there.

The Doctor got up from the grand piano he'd conjured from the holosuite controls and took a bow, turning back from the fiery Italian lover into a short, bald and somewhat prim Starfleet medical officer. Butterfly found this a relief. He was much more real this way.

She got up from the table where she sat to watch the performances, hoping he wouldn't notice that she was still a little weak in the knees. They were alone, since the bar was empty. He was the last candidate on her list, the others having already gone to their docked ships or station quarters.

"Yeah, I'm not sure how well that's gonna match with my kinda music … " she said, recalling herself to reality. His face fell. " … But we'll make it work somehow. I'll give you a solo if I have to."

"Really?" He jumped down from the stage, beaming. "Does that mean I've passed?"

She hadn't planned to tell any of the candidates whether they'd passed until the end, but he had to know that he was too good a singer to pass up. Not just because he had superhuman pitch and precision, but because he let the music transform him as only a true artist could.

"Did I pass, he says." She chuckled. "Doc, if you ain't good enough for this place, neither am I, and then who'd introduce you to the crowd? Sure, you passed."

"I'm honored." He put his hand on his chest, where a human heart would be.

"Know any jazz standards? Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald?" Those were her fallback numbers for when she performed with Vic Fontaine, Felix's other holographic singer. It couldn't be that difficult to find common ground.

"Give me a title and I'll sing it on the spot. If I don't know it, I'll download it."

"Privilege of being us, huh?"

She patted him on the arm and they grinned at each other in solidarity.

"By the way … speaking of privileges … " He cleared his throat. "If you could have anything in the world you wished for, what would it be?"

"I … I beg your pardon?"

"I'm only asking because I'm curious. I'm sorry if that's too personal a question."

"No, no, 's okay. I just need a moment."

What did she wish for? She had good friends – Felix, her bandmates – and a career she loved, even if it did come with pushy fans and nasty critics. She was a hologram with all the limits that came with it, but also all the privileges. She was only two years old, but she knew that without the occasional fly in the ointment, she wouldn't know what she had to be grateful for.

She could wish for more time with this man, but that probably wasn't what he had in mind … or was it?

She caught sight of his Starfleet commbadge glinting on his chest and had another idea. More than once, when he'd stopped to chat with her during intermission or after the show, he'd told her stories of life on the USS Voyager. Felix hadn't programmed her to enjoy space – she'd started out with no opinion on it either way – but since meeting the Doctor, any song she sang that mentioned the open sky had started hitting her differently.

"I'd sorta like to see the stars," she said. "Just once. Seems a mite silly, living on a space station and all, but I've never even been outside the holosuite."

"It doesn't sound silly at all," said the Doctor fervently. "You deserve to see them. In fact … " He stopped. A peculiar look came over his face, as if he were struggling to say something. She was just starting to wonder if he might be malfunctioning, when he burst out: "In fact, you should see them. You can borrow my mobile emitter, Miss St. James, whenever and wherever you like."

He reached for his left sleeve, pulled off the thin silvery triangle and held it out to her, flickering as his program transferred to the holosuite. She knew exactly how that felt and she didn't like it; it only happened when Felix arrived to do maintenance, and it always made her imagine that this was how organics must feel in a hospital. His face was set, as if he found it uncomfortable too, but his hand didn't waver as he offered her the most precious thing he owned.

"You'd lend this to me?" she whispered, hand over her heart. "But … why?"

"Why not?"

"You don't even know me that well. For all you know, I could turn 'round and … I dunno … sell it to the Orion Syndicate."

"I have an extensive network of former shipmates who would stop you if you tried," he retorted. She had the feeling he was only half joking.

"This is the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me." She reached out for the mobile emitter, but drew her hand back. "But how're you gonna get home?"

"Simple." He pressed his commbadge. "EMH to Zimmerman."

"Zimmerman here. How was the audition? Woo her with one of your Italian ballads, did you?"

The Doctor blushed. Butterfly smirked.

"Lewis, please! Miss St. James is standing right here! You'll have to excuse my creator, he can be eccentric."

"Hah!"

"Pleased to meet you, sir," said Butterfly, using the commbadge as an excuse to step a little closer. "You must be real proud of your boy. He sure can sing."

"True. It's my voice, actually, except that I couldn't carry a tune in an antigrav container. Junior keeps surprising me." The old man's voice wasn't quite the same – it was a little worn down, as if from age or illness – but she could still hear that he was smiling.

"I'm calling because I need a lift back home," said the Doctor. "Could you come by the holosuite and pick me up, please? … With a storage cylinder?"

"What happened to your mobile emitter?"

"I'm sharing it. Don't worry. Doctor out."

An outraged gasp came through the other end of the comm line, but the Doctor cut it off with a sharp tap of his fingers against the badge.

"Sounds like you surprised him again," said Butterfly. "I hope he's not too mad."

"He's really quite decent once you get to know him. Most of his bravado is only for show."

"I'll keep that in mind."

He held out the mobile emitter once again, and she took it. It had an adhesive strip on one side, which she could stick to the inside lapel of her jacket without anyone knowing it was there.

"Thank you, Doctor." She gave it a pat to make sure it didn't fall off. "I'mma go take a walk round the observation deck … ooh, that came out so natural … and then I'll bring it back to you. I promise."

"I know you will."

The sensation of transference passed quickly. In a moment, she was aware of the emitter pulsing energy through her, making her feel warmer and more alert than she ever had in the holosuite or even Felix's lab, her place of origin.

If she had a heart, she imagined it might feel like this.