Author's Note: I've done similarly formatted fics in another fandom. Each section is a stand-alone piece, not necessarily tied to any of the others (though I won't explicitly say they aren't somehow connected; take them as you will). Each section is based on its respective prompt below.

This is also my submission for the 25 Days of Voyager on Tumblr! (As such I've elected to end it on a lighter note- please be aware that "Reunion" is a bit depressing, TW for family member death) I'll have something more Christmassy soon- once I'm done with my research paper. I hope you enjoy, and unless people think this is terrible I will probably add more prompt-based ficlets later. Happy holidays, everyone!

Prompts:

1. During the story, a character discovers someone has been pretending to be them.

2. During the story, a character finds a long-lost relative.

3. The story must involve some musical pipes in it.

4. The story takes place a year into the future.

Mark One

"So you're telling me that you taught yourself advanced holographic engineering, somehow obtained my authorization codes from an unnamed Ferengi, and you've been sneaking back into your old mining camp which you previously escaped in order to perform maintenance on your fellow Mark Ones?"

A voice identical to his own answered. "That's correct."

"Well. I must say, I'm not sure whether to be afraid or proud."

Out of the corner of his eye, the Doctor saw Seven flash a glare at him. She spoke before he could. "You ought to report this to Starfleet immediately. This negates the charges brought against you."

"It certainly does, but I have no intention of turning in a fellow hologram simply because he wanted to help his own." He could see Seven gearing up for an argument and continued before she could stop him. "Especially when the very same people who initiated the mining operation have abandoned them to disrepair. Just think of it, Seven. Thousands of photonic lifeforms being allowed to simply fade from existence. It would be the same as ignoring an epidemic among organic beings!"

"Be that as it may, you're a wanted man. Even Admiral Janeway would have trouble defending you without the witness of this man!"

The Doctor smiled in spite of himself. My, how far we've come. Seven's automatic response is to call him a man, not a hologram. "We'll just have to find a way to get Starfleet to understand. They finally decided to consider me a person. Why not the miners?" A look passed across Seven's face. Was it pain? Anger? At what? The Doctor frowned, trying to understand. Ah. Yes, that must be it. "This isn't the same thing as Iden's holographic rebellion, Seven."

"May I say something?"

The Doctor and Seven both looked to the miner who shared the Doctor's face and voice. "I've already decided to turn myself in," he said.

"But if you do that there's no telling what will happen to you!"

The miner crossed his arms. "It doesn't matter. I've already passed on everything I know to two others who's identities have been wiped from my memory. They have everything they need to continue repairs and their work in the mines. At least until they can be liberated. With everything we've heard about your time on Voyager, not to mention Photons Be Free, I was hoping you would be a part of it."

Seven's eyes looked like they could fire electricity straight through his matrix. "It would appear they've inherited your own stubbornness, Doctor."

He raised his hands placatingly. "Point taken." He turned to the other hologram. "Please. If you want to turn yourself in, at least come to Starfleet. I'll testify on your behalf. But take it from me, going on a one-man mission of liberation isn't the best way to get your message across. A rebellion of photonic miners likely won't end very well, either. Believe me, I know."

The other hologram crossed his arms. He paused, looking away. The Doctor had a fleeting moment of perfect clarity: So this is what it was like for Seven whenever he felt particularly stubborn. He didn't like being on the receiving end of it.

"Alright," the miner finally said. "We'll go to Starfleet."

Reunion

As soon as we touched down on the surface of the planet, I noticed her hand shaking above the navigational panel. It was quite unnerving, to say the least. I hadn't seen Seven so visibly disturbed since… well, since our days aboard Voyager. But I understood perfectly- er, at least as perfectly as a hologram could understand. Which is to say, I didn't have any firsthand knowledge or understanding, how could I? But at the very least, my psychological subroutines and the much-more-developed-since-my-first-days-of-activation empathy subroutines made it possible for me to understand at least something of what Seven must be going through. I remember first hearing about Dr. Lewis Zimmerman's critical condition once Voyager was able to communicate regularly with the Alpha Quadrant. I didn't even know the man, but he was the closest thing I had to any sort of family. Of course I needed to go help him.

But at least I knew that there was still someone for me to help.

"Seven?" There was no guarantee that Seven's mother would still be alive. If she were, it would be a tricky situation dealing with a still-fully-assimilated Borg.

"I am fine." Her voice was just a little too clipped. "We should go."

I followed her out of the small craft and into the dense foliage. A distant subroutine wondered how similar this planet was to Ferenginar.

We walked in silence for several minutes. I found myself wondering more and more what Seven must be thinking. Was she remembering her own brief period of separation from the Collective, stranded on an unknown planet? Or was she perhaps thinking about her own assimilation? Or the Raven where it all began?

I knew I couldn't force Seven to talk about these things- I learned a long time ago how bad an idea that was- but moments like these were especially frustrating to me. After all, we were in a relationship now. When else would be an appropriate time for Seven to open up to me?

But of course, my own frustrations were always tempered with the knowledge that giving Seven the space she needed was the best way to help her process things; eventually, she would talk to me.

"I am," her voice was very low, as if she were speaking around a lump in her throat, "feeling apprehensive."

I smiled and touched her arm briefly. "That's perfectly understandable." I silently berated myself for getting frustrated.

"When I was in Unimatrix Zero One, the Borg Queen showed my father to me."

I gasped and nearly tripped on a vine. "She what?"

"I did not think such an experience would stay with me for so long, but it has."

I placed a hand on her shoulder and halted. "Seven, why didn't you tell me about this sooner?"

"At the time, I did not want to think about the experience. Since then, there has never been an appropriate occasion to bring it up."

I must have sputtered. I had long since come to terms with the fact that I would never truly and fully understand Seven, but something like this…

"Doctor, we must keep moving."

"Yes. Yes, of course."

We came to a small clearing. On the other side, face down with one of its legs encased in sticky mud, was a Borg drone. Seven ran before I could say a word.

When I caught up, she had already turned it over. Somehow, without Seven needing to say a word, I knew that this was indeed the Borg we were looking for.

"She is… no longer functioning."

A New Talent

What would happen if the Doctor found out?

Surely she would never hear the end of it.

Her relationship with the commander had not lasted very long at all, and yet she could not deny the fact that it had changed her. He had taken a liking to her cooking skills which had led to experimentation with his favorite foods. She had wanted to better understand his culture, so she had grown an appreciation for the customs she will did not completely understand. Her usage of the word irrelevant had dropped a full twelve percent over the course of their relationship. Her occasional nightmares of the collective had almost stopped entirely (though new nightmares had replaced them- she supposed it was further evidence of her humanity asserting itself. What else could account for such illogical nighttime discomforts as seeing ones teeth fall out?)

She had also picked up an entirely new hobby.

In hindsight, it all made perfect logical sense: The collective had gifted her with an enhanced vocal processor. The Doctor has taught her to utilize her vocal processor to create music; he had taught her to sing. When her relationship with the commander had started, she had taken that interest in music with her. In wanting to grow closer to the commander and understand him better, she had researched Native American musical traditions. She replicated a wooden pipe.

Chakotay gave her a hand-carved pipe that his grandfather made.

She tried to give it back when their relationship ended.

"Keep it. I know how much you like to play, and I think my grandfather enjoys hearing you. Besides, the symbolism's not lost on me.

She hadn't protested as much as she wanted to. How could she? The pipe she had replicated was fitted with a wooden bear- the first option she had found in her research.

The pipe Chakotay had given her was fitted with a raven.

She didn't play that one any more, it felt too strange now that she had started a new relationship. But she still played the replicated beat pipe often. She kept both of them in a drawer next to each other. She was staring into that drawer now.

She didn't know why, but occasionally she would take out the raven pipe and simply look at it. She did so now.

"Seven?"

She stiffened. "Doctor. I did not hear you come in."

His eyes danced with curiosity. "I didn't know you played anything other than the piano."

"I taught myself." Seven paused. "About two years ago."

His expression softened. "Ah. So this has something to do with Commander Chakotay."

"Yes." Would he ask for more details? She hoped not. She still didn't understand why, but this matter in particular felt private.

She noticed he was looking at the carved raven. She mentally prepared herself to come up with some way of explaining what she herself didn't understand.

"Would you mind playing something for me some time?"

She blinked. She felt the corners of her mouth twitch into a small smile. "Perhaps."

It was moments like these that reminded her why she loved the Doctor.

Decision

She waits in front of the door, uncertain.

The Admiral had told her not to be afraid.

"I am not afraid, Admiral, merely-" she stopped.

"Apprehensive? Seven, you and I both know that's damn near the same thing." The coffee cup on its saucer with a definitive clink. "Just talk to him," she said softly. "The two of you have always been direct with each other."

Direct.

Indeed.

She walks through the doors and finds him holding up a glass tube.

"The Commander and I are no longer involved. If it is agreeable, I would like to date you."

Crash.