Title: So Sayeth the Hologram
Disclaimer: I don't own them, dammit.
Summary: A Holodoc vignette. The poor Doctor has been rather emotionally battered this season, hasn't he? Mega spoilers for Human Error. Could even take place immediately following the tag.
So Sayeth the Hologram
Since I never held you, I hold you fast---
Rainier Marie Rilke
Imagine that you loved someone.
A fascinating woman-child, part warrior, part prodigy, part destroyer of worlds.
Imagine that she is in part your creation. Your surgical expertise separated the woman from the machine, and you take no small amount of pride in that. You tend her like an exotic flower, adjusting conditions to her unique requirements, nurturing the seed of humanity.
Your first date was a disaster. Your duets are a success.
Imagine that you tried to teach her to mingle in crowds, to converse pleasantly, to see the wonder in a microscopic strand of DNA, the root of life. You threw your hands up in frustration when she referred to you and yours as irrelevant, illogical, offensive. Her contrariness, her cynicism, her haughty Borg nature--they drew you like a moth to a flame, and you were content to let them be. You taught her all you could, sharing the knowledge gleaned from seven years of living and grieving and loving beauty in all its incarnations.
You thought the learning stopped there.
Imagine that humanity set its own course, that the woman-child began to blossom and leave you behind. In your egotism, you thought yourself the only teacher, but nature takes care of its own. You deal in blood and bones and biology, though you lack all. A woman's heart--her infant sexuality--these are houses you cannot enter, except to explain them in textbook terms from your program, an inner library that is woefully inadequate. She's leaving you behind, tiring of your time together at play in the fields of humanity. You can do no more than watch her go and pray she finds solid footing on this dangerous new ground. The object of her affections is the Captain's best friend, and maybe more.
A blind man could see it, and you have exceptionally fine eyesight.
Imagine that you discovered her fantasy world, and it didn't include you. You are hurt and wonder why. Perhaps because you lack the glib charm of a Tom Paris or the spirituality of a Commander Chakotay, who sees beyond this time and place. You had an understanding, an unspoken bond that she let go of in the light of expanding horizons. You wonder if it was ever there, really. Maybe you were lonely, and dreamed it all. You live on a ship where everybody has somebody--a best friend, a lover, a wife--but you are alone, marching outside the flow of time and mortality. Even your talents are not God given. Maybe you were meant to be one thing…a doctor on the starship Voyager; not a singer or a photographer or a lover. The Qomar--literally--didn't want to hear your song and dance.
She's going away from you, like Kes.
Imagine that she is walking down the corridor, always away from you, with that straight back and stubborn chin that first drew you, like a moth to a flame. You offered her surgery because the Borg left a calling card in her very physiology, and she refused. You offered her yourself, and she declined. You offered her friendship, and will never be sorry.
Imagine you were me.
Imagine that you loved someone that you could never have.