"Happy birthday." (Doctor & Seven)

Author's Note: This story takes place during late Season 4.

/

"I could use your advice, Seven," said the Doctor, at the end of one of their social lessons. "What do you think of this as a birthday gift for Mr. Neelix?"

They were in his office in Sickbay, sitting at his desk. He turned his monitor around to show her the replicator pattern of a black-and-turquoise jacket.

"That is a Starfleet science uniform," said Seven. "Mr. Neelix is a civilian."

"No, it's not! I removed the insignia, see?"

"The resemblance is still obvious."

"Ugh, I was afraid of that." The Doctor closed the monitor self-consciously. "I've been trying to add some design subroutines to my program, but there simply isn't room in my holomatrix. What are you getting him?"

"I shall not be attending."

"But why not?"

From her tight jaw and ramrod-straight spine, the Doctor could already guess what Seven was about to say: "Because birthdays are irrelevant. Reproduction is a common biological process. Why celebrate it with sugary food and frivolous gifts?"

The Doctor couldn't disagree more. It was not so long ago that he'd been unable to leave Sickbay; back then, he would have been thrilled to be invited to a party in the mess hall like any other member of the crew.

"Seven, events like this are essential for keeping up a sense of community among individuals. When we celebrate the anniversary of someone's birth, we are showing them how much we value their contribution to the crew and their presence in our lives. Selecting a gift for someone, frivolous or not, is our recognition of what makes them unique. Although, as it happens," he cracked a smile, "I do agree with you about sugary food. Maybe I should give him a collection of healthy recipes instead … "

"My sixth birthday," she retorted coldly, "Distracted my parents to the extent they did not notice the Borg cube within scanning range."

The Doctor swallowed hard. He could picture it, candles still burning on a frosted cake as the Borg dragged the family away. It might not be logical for Seven to blame her assimilation on the party, but his psychiatric programming and almost four years' experience told him that trauma worked by its own rules.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to bring up such memories. You needn't go to the party if it hurts you."

She nodded brusquely. "May I return to Astrometrics now?"

"Oh. Yes, of course."

She was already halfway out the door when she turned back one more time and gave him a long look over her shoulder. "Doctor … "

"Yes?"

"Do you have a birthday?"

"I was activated on Stardate 48308.2." Most of his memories of that time were painful ones, although not in the same way as Seven's. His earliest recollections were of being stared at as a technological oddity, deactivated in mid-sentence, and thrown into a desperate triage situation where several officers died on his watch. His only comfort during those first weeks had been a woman who had since left the ship to ascend to a higher plane, whatever that meant.

"Kes always used to wish me a happy birthday on that date, but … well, wherever she is now, it's unlikely she has a comm system."

Seven said nothing, but the look in her bright blue eyes was unusually gentle before she turned away.

/

60 days later …

"Happy birthday, Doctor." Seven marched into his office and deposited a padd on his desk, poker-faced and monotone as ever. It was the most awkward way of delivering a gift he had ever seen. She still took his photonic breath away.

"Why … why, Seven, thank you!" He took the padd in both hands. "Is this a gift? For me?"

"Read it."

It was a file containing several lines of code. He was a doctor, not an engineer, but he had made a point of learning as much about his own program as possible. She had used Borg techniques - nothing invasive, just plain coding with an elegant simplicity that would make any Starfleet engineer envious - that, when uploaded to his matrix, would expand his storage capacity by a considerable amount.

"I could add all the creative subroutines I've ever wanted," he murmured in a daze of gratitude. "Design, photography, even writing my own holonovel … and you're sure it would work?"

"Lieutenant Torres assisted me. We ran several tests on the holodeck."

She'd asked Torres for help? Knowing how difficult the two women found it to work together made this gift even more precious to him.

"Whatever made you come up with this? I thought you considered birthdays irrelevant."

"I do," said Seven, "You, however, do not. You expressed happiness when you spoke of Mr. Neelix's party … as you are doing now."

She was correct. He was smiling.

She'd done all this work to make him smile.

"Selecting a gift for someone is our recognition of what makes them unique," he'd told her. Did she know what it meant to a mass-produced hologram without a name, to be considered unique?

"I am happy, Seven. It's a perfect gift."

As he sat back and let her upload the code, already planning what he would create once he had room, he considered that perhaps he should start with a gift for her.