Tom Paris was on duty in sick bay. He was bored out of his mind, watching the Doctor putter around. All Tom was doing was handing Doc hyposprays and taking down notes. Every now and then the hologram would glance at him furtively, and Tom began to think that the Doctor had called him down for some other reason than just to be a research assistant.

After two hours, Tom decided to bite the bullet and ask the Doctor outright what he wanted. Tom stepped around and cornered the Doctor. "All right, Doc," he said. "Why did you call me down here?"

The Doctor started to puff up. "Well," he sputtered, "I needed some help with this experiment, and you were the logical choice, Mr. Paris. Although now I'm wondering if maybe someone else would have been a better choice."

"No, Doc," Tom said. "I've spent enough time with you, unfortunately, that I can tell when you've got something on your mind. What is it?"

The Doctor hesitated. "It's about Seven," he admitted.

Tom rolled his eyes but managed to avoid groaning. "What about her?"

"I want --" the Doctor began, but trailed off. Looking at him, Tom almost thought the hologram had lost his nerve. Finally, The Doctor gathered himself up and said, all in a rush, "I would like to ask Seven of Nine on a date."

Oh dear, Tom thought. To the Doctor, he said, "Why?"

"It would be another lesson in social interaction," the Doctor said stiffly.

"Oh, come on, Doc," Tom said. "You told her that her social lessons were over months ago. You've got a thing for her, don't you?"

"That's none of your business."

"Aw, Doc," Tom groaned, "you're in the company of a friend. What can it hurt to admit it?"

The Doctor seemed about to say something, but then paused. "I'm not programmed for this."

"I think you are," Tom pointed out, "or you wouldn't have fallen for Seven in the first place."

The Doctor sighed.

"So, Doc, what's the problem?" Tom asked. "You go up to Seven and ask her if she'd like to do something with you."

"That's the problem," the Doctor said ruefully.

Tom felt like rolling his eyes but decided that he'd done that enough for one day.

"I don't know what to do with her!" the Doctor spouted, frustrated. "And I don't know how to ask her! I'm just a hologram!"

Despite the fact that to most people, Tom didn't appear to like the Doctor, he was really very fond of the guy. They had spent a lot of time together, and once you got past the terrible bedside manner, the Doctor was a real nice guy. As Kes had tried to tell them all so many times, he was more than just the sum total of his programming. On their voyages, something had happened to him that let him grow beyond what he was meant to be. The Doctor wasn't simply a hologram anymore. And it hurt Tom to hear the Doctor revert back to the old ways of thinking. Tom knew it was something that the Doctor did to hide from the fact that there were some things he didn't know.

Tom grabbed the Doctor by his shoulders and lined him up in front of him. "Here, Doc," he said firmly. "This is what you do. You walk up to Seven of Nine, and you say to her, 'Seven, how about we do something in the holodeck tonight?' You be charming and appealing. She says yes, and then you go to dinner at Sandrine's. And I think you know what to do after that."

The Doctor shook his head. "I can't just do that."

"Look, Doc," Tom said, "Seven's a real blunt person herself. So I don't think she'll mind if you be blunt with her. Think you can handle that?"

The Doctor considered for a moment, then nodded.

Tom clapped him on the shoulder. "Get you to Astrometrics."

When the Doctor walked in the door of Astrometrics, Seven was hunched over a console, manipulating it. The console beeped and booped in response to her touches. Gathering up what nerve he had, the Doctor stepped closer. "Hello, Seven," he said.

"Doctor," she acknowledged him.

"What's that you're doing?" he asked.

"I am scanning Sector 67849 for verteron anomalies, as the captain asked me to," she said curtly.

"Well," the Doctor said, "I was wondering if maybe you'd like to take a break from scanning."

Seven looked up from the console. "And do what?"

"Eat something. At Sandrine's. With me."

"I do not require nourishment at this time." Seven returned to her scanning duties.

"Come on, Seven," the Doctor pleaded. "You never do anything but stand here in Astrometrics and scan all day. It can't hurt you to get out and do something else once in a while. As a matter of fact, it's socially unhealthy for you to stay in here all day."

Seven looked up from the console again and regarded the Doctor with an almost wry expression. "If you turn this into another lesson in social interaction, Doctor, I will deactivate your program." At the Doctor's shocked look, she said, "A joke, Doctor."

"Ah, yes, well, I did tell you to make more of those," the Doctor murmured.

Seven pressed a last few buttons and then stood up. "I am ready to go," she announced.

Flustered, the Doctor sputtered, "Well, all right. If you say so." He crooked his elbow to her. Seven walked over to him and stood. The Doctor took her hand and showed her how to link elbows with him. They exited Astrometrics and entered the corridors of Voyager.

In due time, with little conversation, they arrived at the holodeck. The Doctor checked the status report and found that Tom Paris was donating them one of his holodeck hours, and that Sandrine's was already running. Patting Seven's hand, the Doctor stepped close to the doors, causing them to slide open. He and Seven stepped inside.

"Sandrine's," Seven commented.

"The one and only. This way," the Doctor said, leading Seven to a table. He pulled out her chair and she dropped into it. He then walked around the table and seated himself. "So . . . how are things going in Astrometrics?" he asked, by way of starting a conversation.

"I am doing my scanning assignment for Captain Janeway. I would be doing it still if you had not interrupted me. Why do you ask?"

The Doctor leaned forward. "It's called small talk. I ask you about things that you are doing. You answer me, and then ask me questions about things I'm doing."

Seven did something with her lips that could be interpreted as a curl. "My day in Astrometrics has been uneventful. How is the state of things in sick bay?"

"Very well, actually," the Doctor said, pleased at the opportunity to elucidate on his favorite subject. "Mr. Paris and I started a new experiment." He paused, giving Seven an opening to apply the skills she'd learned.

She took it. "What kind of experiment?"

"An interesting one, actually," the Doctor said. "We're studying the effects of alpha-T hormone on epithelial cells in Folian bloodwort."

"Fascinating." Seven had a masterful command of the use of sarcasm, and this was definitely sarcasm.

That was a blow to the conversation. The Doctor clapped his hands together. "I think it's time for dinner. What would you like?"

"Something nutritious, yet palatable."

"Hmmm." The Doctor got up from the table and walked over to a replicator. "Fettucine alfredo for the lady, and . . . chicken Marengo for myself."

"Unable to comply," the computer said.

"Why!"

"You have no replicator rations."

The Doctor quirked one corner of his mouth in a wry smile. After six years, some priveledges were still denied him. He tapped his commbadge. "Doctor to Tom Paris."

"What is it, Doc?" Tom asked.

"I need to borrow two of your replicator rations."

"That's right. You don't have any, do you?" Tom asked. "I should have thought of that when I started the program. Well, no problem, Doc. Hang on a second and I'll free those up for you."

After ten seconds, the computer annouced, "You now have two replicator rations in your account." It materialized the dishes, then announced, "Warning. You are out of replicator rations." The Doctor humphed and pulled the dishes out of the replicator. He set the pasta down in front of Seven and the chicken Marengo in front of himself. "Dig in," he said cheerfully.

Seven regarded hers balefully. "What do I do with it?"

"You twirl it on your fork and then put it in your mouth." The Doctor reached across the table and demonstrated. Seven watched him and then tried to repeat the sequence of motions. They worked and so the Doctor paid attention to his chicken.

Time to try the small talk again, the Doctor thought. "So, Seven, what's new in your life?"

"I eat. I work. I regenerate."

"No, no. Did anything interesting happen to you lately?"

Seven considered. "Yesterday I attended a staff meeting to discuss the state of the pulsar in Sector 67848. It is a periodic-length pulsar, the first we have encountered. Much of the senior staff wanted to stay and study it, bringing the data back to the Alpha Quadrant, but the state of supplies prevented us from doing so. Has anything of note happened to you?"

Well, at least she was trying. Swallowing a bite of chicken and wishing he had taste buds, the Doctor said, "Unfortunately, not much. The experiment is about all that's going on." Brightening, he said, "Well, the captain has promised me that I may go on another away mission."

"Interesting."

A moment of silence fell between them. The Doctor pushed his chicken around on his plate and then looked up at Seven. "Do you ever think about getting back to the Alpha Quadrant?" he asked.

"It is not a possibility I like to contemplate."

Ignoring that, the Doctor moved on. "I wonder what they'll do with us."

"You will probably be permanently deactivated. I will become a test subject."

"Now, now, Seven, don't be so pragmatic," the Doctor chided. "I'm hoping for a commission and a berth on a starship. You . . . well, with your engineering skills, you could easily make chief engineer somewhere."

"I do not wish to join Starfleet."

"Well, you could always retire to Earth," the Doctor offered. "Find a job somewhere, get married, raise a family."

"I do not wish to raise a family. Besides, what are the chances that I will still be alive when Voyager returns home?"

"That's true," the Doctor acknowledged. "I'll still be around. Besides, I hope that Voyager gets home soon."

"I do not care one way or the other."

The Doctor shoved his chicken around some more. "I wonder if you're the only one among the crew that feels the same way."

"Doubtless I am not." Anticipating the Doctor's "Why?" she said, "Many of the Maquis are wanted as criminals in the Alpha Quadrant. They are actually better off out here. Why should we assume that they, too, wish to return?"

The Doctor sighed. "But they've done such good work out here. The least Starfleet can do is reward them with pardons."

"A criminal is still a criminal."

"Look, Seven, I don't want to argue with you," the Doctor surrendered. "That issue opens a metaphorical bucket of worms."

"Very well." Seven took another bite of her pasta and then pushed the plate away. "I have finished."

"All right." The Doctor picked up his plate and hers and returned them to the replicator.

When he made it back to the table, Seven was standing already. "I must return to duty," she said. "This has been . . . enjoyable."

"No, wait, Seven," the Doctor said. "Let me walk you back to Astrometrics. It's only proper."

"Very well." Her standard reply to everything. He crooked his elbow again and she took it. They exited the holodeck and wended their way through Voyager's corridors. The Doctor couldn't help strutting a little. Here he was, walking through the halls with the prettiest woman aboard Voyager on his arm. He'd seen more than a few pretty women pass through his sick bay, but Seven was the loveliest. Now, the captain was beautiful, and B'Elanna was stunning, but the Doctor knew that both of them weren't right for him. For one, Janeway was the captain -- liasons strictly forbidden -- and B'Elanna and Tom Paris were an item.

Seven was the only one that he stood a chance with, because she, like him, was an outsider. She kept herself separate, not joining in the holodeck parties and the poker games. And while he could join in the parties and poker games, and often did, he knew that most of the crew viewed him as little more than a talking tricorder. Even after all these years, there were still some people that called him it.

But, enough rambling, and they were back at Astrometrics. Seven let go of his arm and moved toward the doors, but he pulled her back. "Can we, ah, do this again sometime?" he asked. Smooth, Doc, smooth, his inner voice said to him.

Seven paused and considered the offer. "Yes," she said finally.

The Doctor could have jumped up and down for joy. Seven turned away again, but he snagged her arm again. "Seven . . ." he said.

"Yes?" she asked.

The words a kiss were on his lips, but something made him stop. It just didn't seem right. Although physically Seven was a twenty-something, emotionally she was an innocent. No, this wasn't the place for a kiss. Two or three dates later, but not now.

"Hope your scanning goes well," he said.

She nodded. "It shall." The doors closed on her backside, heading for her console again.

The Doctor swaggered away, feeling like the luckiest man alive. He'd managed to swing a date with Seven. All was right with the world. He might not have had the courage to tell her he loved her, but that would come later. Much later. Maybe even not at all.

But he'd found the courage to ask her to dinner. And that was a start.

He was waiting for the end, whatever it would be.

~end~