24. Warhead

"We've got to stop meeting like this," said the Doctor, bending over Seven as she opened her eyes.

She looked up at him from the biobed and reached out an unsteady hand. "Doctor … is it really you?"

"Yes, it's me. The weapon is … gone." He took her hand between both of his for a moment, then let go.

The Doctor's program had been hijacked for several hours by a sentient (and very stubborn) weapon of mass destruction which he had rescued from a deserted planet. The weapon had proceeded to take Voyager hostage and force the crew to transport it to its target; if it hadn't been for Ensign Kim's equally stubborn adherence to Starfleet values, plus the discovery that the war had ended three years ago, Voyager would be floating around in pieces by now.

"Now who's been mucking around with a dermal regenerator here?" the Doctor said lightly, using the same instrument to erase her 'injuries'. "Those plasma burns wouldn't fool a first-year medical student."

"Neelix," said Seven. "A ruse … to get me to Sickbay. I was to use my nanoprobes to disable the weapon … while Commander Tuvok … disrupted your – its holomatrix."

"And you went into neural shock," the Doctor concluded, feeling disgusted with himself as he read the results of his scanner. "Seven, what have I done? If I hadn't convinced Ensign Kim to beam that thing aboard … "

"It is in your nature … to assist the injured. Do not blame yourself."

"My nature? Hmph! You mean my programming."

At times like these, the Doctor felt sick to death of being a hologram. Of what use were sentience and free will if a push of a button could take them away? If another intelligence could grab hold of your body and mind as easily as he himself held that dermal regenerator, and force him to do things he'd never do in his right mind?

"Do not argue with me, Doctor, or … I shall become agitated," said Seven, the merest glint of humor in her blue eyes. "That would be detrimental … to my recovery."

"Of course, of course." He smiled in spite of himself. "I will comply, Seven of Nine."

His memory files gave him a sudden jolt; something about the sight of her on that biobed, perhaps, combined with the fact that the weapon had been made of the same technology as the new power nodes for their replicators. He went over to the replicator in Sickbay, ordered five yellow roses in a vase, and placed them on the computer terminal beside Seven's bed.

She raised herself up on her elbos, with his support, and sniffed. "Thank you, Doctor. They are … aesthetically pleasing. But you do not replicate flowers for every convalescent in your Sickbay."

"Oh. Er, that's not why I did it. I just remembered … it's your anniversary, Seven."

She blinked. "Explain."

"It's been two years to the day since you took on your first duty shift as a regular member of this crew. It's a milestone in your development. Two years and you've not only regained your individuality, evaded the Borg and saved the ship countless times, but you've grown into a brilliant, strong and kind-hearted woman … a woman I'm proud to call my friend."

Seven lay back down on the biobed and closed her eyes, either too tired or too overwhelmed to respond … but not before darting another glance at the roses.

"Ah – as you can see, they're yellow," the Doctor hurried to explain. "It's only red roses that symbolize – ahem – romantic love. Rosa rubifolia, as you would call them. Seven? Can you hear me?"

No response. He backed away, decideding that there would be plenty of time later to explain about the roses. He only hoped she'd heard his speech.