Undercover Doc - a Voyager ficlet
Fandom: Star Trek Voyager
Pairing: Paris/EMH
Rating: PG13
Summary: While posing as B'Elanna, the EMH is the victim of a romantic sneak attack from Tom.
Author's Note: This story takes place during the episode Renaissance Man. All dialogue and events come directly from the episode. I've only filled in the thought balloon by the Doc’s head. Also, this takes place soon after Body and Soul, where the Doctor kisses an alien male while in Seven’s body.
What I wouldn’t give for an uneventful day in sickbay. A nice, relaxing day of treating stomachaches from Neelix’s latest creation, defeating Mr. Paris’ schemes to avoid his medical duties, and providing my expertise and sage counsel to Voyager’s crew. I was programmed for medicine, not espionage. But Janeway’s life is in danger, and I must do everything I can to save her, even if it falls outside the realms of my programming.
I study my reflection in the mirror, confirming that my holomatrix has been modified. And immediately realize that I have come perilously close to making a monumental error: I’m not pregnant. “Computer, access medical file Torres Three and update holographic template.” A mistake that could have revealed my subterfuge.
The room blinks out of existence for approximately 1.4 seconds as my holomatrix reinitializes. I confirm that I am indeed pregnant and then walk briskly to engineering. I have only a short time in which to obtain the bioneural gel packs before Lieutenant Torres returns.
Once I near engineering, I access my internal chronometer. 4.73 minutes have lapsed since my conversation with Torres, so she should be on her way to Janeway’s quarters presently. I glance around the corner just as she exits engineering and heads down the corridor. Right on schedule.
After allowing a moment for her to reach a safe distance, I pick up the storage case and walk into engineering, trying to look natural. I am confronted by Ensign Vorik only a few steps inside the door.
“Did you forget something, Lieutenant?”
“I did, actually.” I smile at the young Vulcan, congratulating myself on my good fortune. I do need assistance, since I’m not overly familiar with engineering, and I seem to have stumbled upon an ideal candidate. “Where do we keep the spare gel packs?”
He looks at me oddly, but does not question my behavior openly. As anticipated, he answers without additional comment, keeping any suspicions to himself. “Locker Gamma Five.”
“Oh, of course.” And this Vulcan, unlike our chief of security, is not likely to compile a list of suspicious occurrences that could endanger my mission. Or engage in idle conversation that could make Torres suspect when she returns, as some of the other engineers might do. “Gamma Five.”
Since I have no idea where Gamma Five might be located, I smile vacantly until Vorik helpfully provides, “On the upper level.”
“I know where it is.” Although I feel somewhat callous, I respond with mild resentment and annoyance. “Ensign.” That seems Torres’ most likely response, and it’s not as if I need worry that I might hurt the man’s feelings.
I quickly turn away and board the lift to the upper level. I glance back down at Vorik, who has already returned to his duties. Hopefully, he will dismiss any lingering suspicions as irrational Human / Klingon behavior. Or perhaps, hormonally induced mood swings resulting from pregnancy.
I pat my stomach reflexively as the lift rises. Quite convenient, really, being pregnant. I’m allowed greater leniency, as people tend to humor any outbursts of temper. And even the strangest behavior provokes only an indulgent smile. Of course, it does make it a bit harder to navigate the ship, but that’s a small price to pay.
I stroll casually along the catwalk encircling the warp core, examining storage lockers until I find one with the appropriate markings. Gently lowering myself to the floor, I slide the drawer open. The gel packs are there, just as promised. I smile to myself as I unsnap my storage case and begin filling it. Everything is proceeding according to plan.
I have almost finished, when a familiar voice startles me. “You left me no choice…”
I instantly stand up, moving away from the incriminating gel packs, to find Tom Paris on the other side of the console. “Lieutenant.”
“Oh…?” He smiles at me, and then continues in an affectionately teasing voice, “We calling each other by our rank now?”
“Uh….” I’m his wife: I can’t address him as my medic. I make a pathetic attempt to cover my blunder. “You startled me.”
“Oh, sorry.” He comes around the console with some sort of metallic silver container. Thankfully, he seems too distracted by whatever he’s carrying to wonder at my phrasing. “Well, I thought since you didn’t have time for lunch under the stars, maybe you’d settle for the glow of the warp core.”
“How thoughtful.” I smile at him, pleased that he’s so attentive to his pregnant wife’s nutritional requirements. But I don’t have time for this. Lieutenant Torres could return at any moment to discover an imposter stealing her equipment and making small talk with her husband. “But I’m…” I can do no harm to their relationship, so I must end this encounter in an appropriately gentle manner. “Not hungry.”
But Paris is not so easily dissuaded. “Well… I’m sure the baby is famished.” He removes the lid of the container with a flourish, revealing several pieces of fried chicken. Deep fat fried, if I’m not mistaken, and literally dripping with grease.
“A pregnant woman shouldn’t eat this kind of food! Do you want to give me an arterial occlusion?” Realizing that this seems an unlikely response from B'Elanna Torres, I belatedly control my outrage and shut my mouth before revealing myself further. At least I remembered to say ‘me’ rather than ‘her.’
Paris makes a dismissive noise, laughing off my justified concern. “One drumstick isn’t going to kill you. Besides…” And to my distress, he moves closer to me, backing me up against the control panel. “I won’t tell the Doctor…” I’m too preoccupied by my observation to take offence at his intended deceit. I examine him closely, amazed by the sudden change in his demeanor. He has a decidedly seductive smile on his face, and his entire stance alters as he leans toward me in an apparent state of arousal. “If you won’t.”
By now, he is so close to me that my perceptual subroutines are overwhelmed by a wealth of new data. There is a slight elevation in the ambient temperature from the proximity of his body. The blue of his eyes is made electric by the reflected glow of the warp core. My sensory subroutines register a slowly increasing pressure from the press of his body against my protruding stomach. My simulated skin registers a curious tingling sensation wherever his soft breath caresses it.
I suddenly realize that he intends to kiss me. No. To kiss his wife, B'Elanna, who I’m pretending to be. I quickly attempt to distract him before exacerbating my deceit further, placing my hand on his. And in the process, I collect more data: the feel of his skin on my own. “You know…” I direct his hand, using it to place the lid back over the chicken with an emphatic clang. I remind myself that I have felt his skin on mine repeatedly during the performance of my medical duties, and that it has never provoked an unusual reaction from me before. “This all looks so delicious.” I smile fondly at him, determined to escape without causing harm to their relationship. “Why don’t we save it for a romantic dinner this evening?”
“All right.” Finally, I have found a distraction that appears to be successful. “1900 hours.” He points a finger at me in feigned threat. “But if you’re not there, I’m sending security after you.” At least if Lieutenant Torres does not arrive, Tuvok will pursue her instead of me.
“I’ll be there. Sweetheart.” And I narrowly avoid calling him Lieutenant again.
“Sweetheart?” Apparently, this is not a typical appellation either. Just what kind of sobriquet does she use? “Well, aren’t you getting affectionate in your third trimester.”
He leans in close for a kiss, and this time there’s nothing I can do to distract him. I instinctively tense at the intimate contact, but force myself to relax. There’s no reason for him to suspect that I’m not who I appear to be. And since I am after all supposed to be his wife, I do nothing to prevent the kiss.
And it’s not a chaste affectionate kiss either. This is as passionate a kiss as I have experienced in my activation history. Long and slow, with a smoldering intensity that I could never have imagined. And then his tongue is in my mouth, enflaming me as our tongues touch. Telling myself that I must maintain my disguise, I push back boldly, prolonging the contact. His hand comes up to my back, pulling me close. Then stroking down and along my arm.
When he finally breaks contact, my internal chronometer informs me that this single kiss lasted for a full 5.39 seconds. And almost immediately, his lips are against me again, in a second short kiss. Simple and quick, it lasts just long enough to suggest things to come. And then he smiles at me, so open and loving that it causes my autonomic response subroutines to falter, producing a slight irregularity in my simulated heartbeat. His voice full of promise and mystery, he adds, “I’ll see you later,” and then is gone.
I close my eyes and try to compose my thoughts into some semblance of normalcy. When I finally open them again, I realize that I’m still smiling foolishly. Amused and a little annoyed by my lack of control, I shake my head and slowly lower myself to the ground. I quickly close the container with the gel packs safely stowed inside.
The chirp of a com badge interrupts my somewhat confused thoughts. “Kim to Chakotay. Can you come to astrometrics?”
I access my vocalization subroutines and modify them to match Commander Chakotay’s template before speaking. Tapping the com badge hidden on my ankle, I calmly reply, “Harry, I’ll be right there. Chakotay out.”
I walk nonchalantly out of engineering without incident. I take the turbolift to astrometrics, waiting until I’m alone to pause the lift and reinitialize my holomatrix to Chakotay’s template. I adjust the waist of my uniform, taking a moment to adapt to the sudden absence of my swollen stomach. I morbidly consider keeping this form, since Seven seems to prefer it to my own.
I violently push the thought away. Maybe I should give up on Seven anyway. I’ve done everything within my power to woo her, and yet she shows no interest whatsoever. Or to be more precise, she shows absolutely no interest in me and creates a holodeck version of the Commander. Perhaps I should focus instead on the possibilities life seems to be suggesting to me. Although I’ve little need for religion, depending instead on the guiding principles of my role as a healer, I have to wonder if the universe is trying to tell me something. This is, after all, the second time I’ve kissed a man this year.
Pairing: Paris/EMH
Rating: PG13
Summary: While posing as B'Elanna, the EMH is the victim of a romantic sneak attack from Tom.
Author's Note: This story takes place during the episode Renaissance Man. All dialogue and events come directly from the episode. I've only filled in the thought balloon by the Doc’s head. Also, this takes place soon after Body and Soul, where the Doctor kisses an alien male while in Seven’s body.
What I wouldn’t give for an uneventful day in sickbay. A nice, relaxing day of treating stomachaches from Neelix’s latest creation, defeating Mr. Paris’ schemes to avoid his medical duties, and providing my expertise and sage counsel to Voyager’s crew. I was programmed for medicine, not espionage. But Janeway’s life is in danger, and I must do everything I can to save her, even if it falls outside the realms of my programming.
I study my reflection in the mirror, confirming that my holomatrix has been modified. And immediately realize that I have come perilously close to making a monumental error: I’m not pregnant. “Computer, access medical file Torres Three and update holographic template.” A mistake that could have revealed my subterfuge.
The room blinks out of existence for approximately 1.4 seconds as my holomatrix reinitializes. I confirm that I am indeed pregnant and then walk briskly to engineering. I have only a short time in which to obtain the bioneural gel packs before Lieutenant Torres returns.
Once I near engineering, I access my internal chronometer. 4.73 minutes have lapsed since my conversation with Torres, so she should be on her way to Janeway’s quarters presently. I glance around the corner just as she exits engineering and heads down the corridor. Right on schedule.
After allowing a moment for her to reach a safe distance, I pick up the storage case and walk into engineering, trying to look natural. I am confronted by Ensign Vorik only a few steps inside the door.
“Did you forget something, Lieutenant?”
“I did, actually.” I smile at the young Vulcan, congratulating myself on my good fortune. I do need assistance, since I’m not overly familiar with engineering, and I seem to have stumbled upon an ideal candidate. “Where do we keep the spare gel packs?”
He looks at me oddly, but does not question my behavior openly. As anticipated, he answers without additional comment, keeping any suspicions to himself. “Locker Gamma Five.”
“Oh, of course.” And this Vulcan, unlike our chief of security, is not likely to compile a list of suspicious occurrences that could endanger my mission. Or engage in idle conversation that could make Torres suspect when she returns, as some of the other engineers might do. “Gamma Five.”
Since I have no idea where Gamma Five might be located, I smile vacantly until Vorik helpfully provides, “On the upper level.”
“I know where it is.” Although I feel somewhat callous, I respond with mild resentment and annoyance. “Ensign.” That seems Torres’ most likely response, and it’s not as if I need worry that I might hurt the man’s feelings.
I quickly turn away and board the lift to the upper level. I glance back down at Vorik, who has already returned to his duties. Hopefully, he will dismiss any lingering suspicions as irrational Human / Klingon behavior. Or perhaps, hormonally induced mood swings resulting from pregnancy.
I pat my stomach reflexively as the lift rises. Quite convenient, really, being pregnant. I’m allowed greater leniency, as people tend to humor any outbursts of temper. And even the strangest behavior provokes only an indulgent smile. Of course, it does make it a bit harder to navigate the ship, but that’s a small price to pay.
I stroll casually along the catwalk encircling the warp core, examining storage lockers until I find one with the appropriate markings. Gently lowering myself to the floor, I slide the drawer open. The gel packs are there, just as promised. I smile to myself as I unsnap my storage case and begin filling it. Everything is proceeding according to plan.
I have almost finished, when a familiar voice startles me. “You left me no choice…”
I instantly stand up, moving away from the incriminating gel packs, to find Tom Paris on the other side of the console. “Lieutenant.”
“Oh…?” He smiles at me, and then continues in an affectionately teasing voice, “We calling each other by our rank now?”
“Uh….” I’m his wife: I can’t address him as my medic. I make a pathetic attempt to cover my blunder. “You startled me.”
“Oh, sorry.” He comes around the console with some sort of metallic silver container. Thankfully, he seems too distracted by whatever he’s carrying to wonder at my phrasing. “Well, I thought since you didn’t have time for lunch under the stars, maybe you’d settle for the glow of the warp core.”
“How thoughtful.” I smile at him, pleased that he’s so attentive to his pregnant wife’s nutritional requirements. But I don’t have time for this. Lieutenant Torres could return at any moment to discover an imposter stealing her equipment and making small talk with her husband. “But I’m…” I can do no harm to their relationship, so I must end this encounter in an appropriately gentle manner. “Not hungry.”
But Paris is not so easily dissuaded. “Well… I’m sure the baby is famished.” He removes the lid of the container with a flourish, revealing several pieces of fried chicken. Deep fat fried, if I’m not mistaken, and literally dripping with grease.
“A pregnant woman shouldn’t eat this kind of food! Do you want to give me an arterial occlusion?” Realizing that this seems an unlikely response from B'Elanna Torres, I belatedly control my outrage and shut my mouth before revealing myself further. At least I remembered to say ‘me’ rather than ‘her.’
Paris makes a dismissive noise, laughing off my justified concern. “One drumstick isn’t going to kill you. Besides…” And to my distress, he moves closer to me, backing me up against the control panel. “I won’t tell the Doctor…” I’m too preoccupied by my observation to take offence at his intended deceit. I examine him closely, amazed by the sudden change in his demeanor. He has a decidedly seductive smile on his face, and his entire stance alters as he leans toward me in an apparent state of arousal. “If you won’t.”
By now, he is so close to me that my perceptual subroutines are overwhelmed by a wealth of new data. There is a slight elevation in the ambient temperature from the proximity of his body. The blue of his eyes is made electric by the reflected glow of the warp core. My sensory subroutines register a slowly increasing pressure from the press of his body against my protruding stomach. My simulated skin registers a curious tingling sensation wherever his soft breath caresses it.
I suddenly realize that he intends to kiss me. No. To kiss his wife, B'Elanna, who I’m pretending to be. I quickly attempt to distract him before exacerbating my deceit further, placing my hand on his. And in the process, I collect more data: the feel of his skin on my own. “You know…” I direct his hand, using it to place the lid back over the chicken with an emphatic clang. I remind myself that I have felt his skin on mine repeatedly during the performance of my medical duties, and that it has never provoked an unusual reaction from me before. “This all looks so delicious.” I smile fondly at him, determined to escape without causing harm to their relationship. “Why don’t we save it for a romantic dinner this evening?”
“All right.” Finally, I have found a distraction that appears to be successful. “1900 hours.” He points a finger at me in feigned threat. “But if you’re not there, I’m sending security after you.” At least if Lieutenant Torres does not arrive, Tuvok will pursue her instead of me.
“I’ll be there. Sweetheart.” And I narrowly avoid calling him Lieutenant again.
“Sweetheart?” Apparently, this is not a typical appellation either. Just what kind of sobriquet does she use? “Well, aren’t you getting affectionate in your third trimester.”
He leans in close for a kiss, and this time there’s nothing I can do to distract him. I instinctively tense at the intimate contact, but force myself to relax. There’s no reason for him to suspect that I’m not who I appear to be. And since I am after all supposed to be his wife, I do nothing to prevent the kiss.
And it’s not a chaste affectionate kiss either. This is as passionate a kiss as I have experienced in my activation history. Long and slow, with a smoldering intensity that I could never have imagined. And then his tongue is in my mouth, enflaming me as our tongues touch. Telling myself that I must maintain my disguise, I push back boldly, prolonging the contact. His hand comes up to my back, pulling me close. Then stroking down and along my arm.
When he finally breaks contact, my internal chronometer informs me that this single kiss lasted for a full 5.39 seconds. And almost immediately, his lips are against me again, in a second short kiss. Simple and quick, it lasts just long enough to suggest things to come. And then he smiles at me, so open and loving that it causes my autonomic response subroutines to falter, producing a slight irregularity in my simulated heartbeat. His voice full of promise and mystery, he adds, “I’ll see you later,” and then is gone.
I close my eyes and try to compose my thoughts into some semblance of normalcy. When I finally open them again, I realize that I’m still smiling foolishly. Amused and a little annoyed by my lack of control, I shake my head and slowly lower myself to the ground. I quickly close the container with the gel packs safely stowed inside.
The chirp of a com badge interrupts my somewhat confused thoughts. “Kim to Chakotay. Can you come to astrometrics?”
I access my vocalization subroutines and modify them to match Commander Chakotay’s template before speaking. Tapping the com badge hidden on my ankle, I calmly reply, “Harry, I’ll be right there. Chakotay out.”
I walk nonchalantly out of engineering without incident. I take the turbolift to astrometrics, waiting until I’m alone to pause the lift and reinitialize my holomatrix to Chakotay’s template. I adjust the waist of my uniform, taking a moment to adapt to the sudden absence of my swollen stomach. I morbidly consider keeping this form, since Seven seems to prefer it to my own.
I violently push the thought away. Maybe I should give up on Seven anyway. I’ve done everything within my power to woo her, and yet she shows no interest whatsoever. Or to be more precise, she shows absolutely no interest in me and creates a holodeck version of the Commander. Perhaps I should focus instead on the possibilities life seems to be suggesting to me. Although I’ve little need for religion, depending instead on the guiding principles of my role as a healer, I have to wonder if the universe is trying to tell me something. This is, after all, the second time I’ve kissed a man this year.