"Something med school did not cover
Someone's daughter, someone's mother
Holds your hand through plastic now
"Doc, I think she's crashing out"
And some things you just can't speak about"

- Taylor Swift, "epiphany"

/

The Doctor hardly looked up from his armchair when Harry walked in.

The chair and a sofa diagonal to it were literally the only things in the room, exposing the bare metallic grid on the walls and floor in a way most holodeck programs never did. Harry supposed it was the Doctor's way of facing up to his holographic nature. It looked like the bleakest counsellor's office one could imagine, and Harry was tempted to back out and shut the door.

"Um ... hi, Doc." He perched on the edge of the sofa.

"Mr. Kim." The Doctor glanced at him and away again with grim resignation. "I should have known I'd have to face you eventually."

"I ... wait, what?"

"There's nothing worse you can say to me than I've already said to myself." He smiled darkly. "So go ahead."

"No, that's not ... " Harry stammered. "Look, I - I came here to thank you."

The Doctor recoiled in his chair, eyes wide, as if this actually were the worst thing Harry could have said. "In heaven's name, what for?"

"For not letting us forget Jetal." Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. "We told ourselves it was for your good, but it wasn't - it was disrespectful, to you and to her. You were the only one of us to honor her memory, even when you didn't know who she was."

It had been one of the most surreal things in an admittedly surreal voyage, seeing her file missing from the crew manifest, knowing B'Elanna must have hacked into the medical records to erase her from there as well (he never would have thought one of his best friends would be complicit in something like this, but weren't they all?), and speaking of Ahni Jetal in furtive whispers, as if she'd been a criminal. Even Seska had been given more respect than this.

"A fine lot of good that does, since I'm the one who killed her - "

"Oh, will you just stop?" He could have kicked himself as soon as the words were out, but he couldn't help it. The Doctor was not the only one whose nerves were raw lately. "You don't think I feel guilty sometimes, for the same reasons you do - because I'm the senior officer and you treated me first? As the senior officer, maybe I should've moved faster when that alien attacked. Maybe I could've stopped him - "

"Ensign, don't be absurd!" The arrogance in the Doctor's voice was more welcome than Harry had ever thought it would be. If he could scoff like that, at least he had some fire left in him. "As you may recall, my memories are now in perfect working order, and I cannot see how you could have possibly prevented the attack. The idea of blaming yourself for something beyond your control - "

"Yeah, see, I know that. Sometimes, anyway. If I don't get to blame myself, neither do you."

The Doctor fell silent for a while as if to consider this, but then sighed and shook his head. "Easy for you to say, but that's not how it feels. I distinctly recall my decision-making process. I took several factors into account: you were the senior officer, you stayed conscious longer, Mr. Paris was assisting me and would have been inconsolable ... and, well, I'm simply better acquainted with you than I was with Ms. Jetal. It's all very logical, but ... " He held up his hands like a set of scales. "Who did I think I was, weighing two lives against each other like that? No life should ever be more valuable than another. The very idea is abhorrent to me."

"And in the abstract, I'd agree with you," said Harry, "But we don't live in an abstract world. Sometimes there's no right answer, no matter how hard you try. That's what being a person is like."

For the perfectionist ops officer, this had been one of the most painful lessons of his career so far. Trying hard might have been enough to get him through the Academy, but it wasn't enough to escape the Delta Quadrant, to earn a promotion, or to get a lover to stay with him. His problems sounded small right now in the face of the Doctor's, but he at least hoped he'd learned from them a little.

"What if," the Doctor whispered, "I don't want to be a person anymore?"

The sound of that voice reminded Harry sharply of B'Elanna, during the worst days of her depression when she could hardly even join in their discussions about the Delta Flyer. They had all been negligent back then; they had noticed much too late that something was wrong. He had no intention of repeating that mistake.

"That would be a pity, because we don't want to lose you."

"Even if I'm useless?" The Doctor looked down at his hands, which were trembling in his lap. "Even if I can no longer trust myself to make decisions? Even if I break down again and put everybody's lives at risk?"

"There is no such thing as a useless sentient being," said Harry. "This isn't Ferenginar. You said it yourself, we try not to judge the value of a life. Since your program could travel to Earth last year, maybe Pathfinder could send us another EMH the same way ... I mean, that's what I'd do. I couldn't speak for the Captain, of course, but if you ask her, I bet she'd say the same."

"Do you think so?" The Doctor frowned. For all his talk about not trusting himself as a doctor, he appeared not to relish the idea of being replaced by a newer model. Gratitude won out over pique, however, and the frown smoothed over. "You would really ... keep me? Irrespective of my worth?"

He sounded so uncertain that Harry had to blink to clear a stinging sensation from his eyes. He remembered panicking over his Starfleet entrance exams as a teenager, and how his mother - usually every bit as ambitious for him as he was for himself - had smoothed his shirt and kissed him on the forehead. I'll be proud of you no matter what, she'd told him. Had anyone ever said that to the Doctor? Kes might have, but she was gone.

"We'd keep you," said Harry. "No matter what."

The Doctor gave him a shaky smile.

"Part of me does want to go back on duty," he said. "Very much, in fact. I worry about all of you. But how will I know if I'm ready?"

"I wish I knew," Harry said ruefully. "There are days I still don't feel ready to get out of bed, and just do it anyway."

The Doctor looked up at him with the eyes of a child who wonders how adults can live with themselves. Harry would have given a great deal to have a better answer for him.

"Look, would it help if you start small? Here, try scanning me." He stood up and approached the Doctor's armchair, arms held out as if for a standard tricorder scan.

"What, now? Well, I - I suppose I could ... " The Doctor stood up too, eyed Harry critically, held one hand to his forehead and felt his pulse with the other. "Hmm ... well, really, I'm not surprised you have trouble waking up in the morning. Even without a tricorder, I can tell that you're sleep-deprived. Go to bed, my friend. Doctor's orders."

"Yes, sir." Harry smiled and nodded on his way out the door.

Doctor's orders. So he did still see himself as one. It wasn't a cure by any means ... but it was a healthy sign.