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Chapter Text

"Captain's Log, Stardate 45442.7,

We have brought the Ullians to Kaldra IV as scheduled, where the local authorities will detain Jev until such a time as he can be extradited to his world. Though the past several days have been trying, it is a considerable relief that our actions will have prevented such incidents from occurring again.

Counselor Troi appears to have recovered from her ordeal, and has returned to active duty. Starfleet has ordered us to Alcheron V, to assist in the establishment of shielding and medical supplies to protect the inhabitants from escalating activity within their sun's corona. Unfortunately, the shielding will not be able to protect a majority of the planet's biome, but it will secure the colonists until such time that Starfleet can assemble an evacuation fleet. Still, given the planet's numerous unique species of flora and fauna, the loss is all but incal-"

"Captain Picard, please report to the bridge."

"Computer, pause recording." Climbing to his feet, Captain Jean Luc Picard tugged at his uniform jacket before stepping out from his Ready Room; the bridge crew were in a flurry of activity, but they didn't seem to be acting too urgently, nor did they seem concerned. The only exception, ironically, seemed to be Data; though the second officer always had excellent posture, his back seemed if anything stiffer than ever. "Report, Mister Data."

"Sensors are detecting an extremely high burst of chroniton particles, half a lightyear from our present position."

"Chroniton? A temporal disturbance?"

"That is a possibility, sir." Data replied. "Romulan cloaking devices have also been known to produce chroniton particles, though not typically in this concentration."

They were quite some distance from Romulan territory, but the possibility was nonetheless a sobering one; few Federation ships patrolled these outer reaches, and if there was a ship out there, or even a fleet, they could get far without notice. On the other hand, if it was a temporal disturbance of some kind... well, the Enterprise had encountered more than a few, and they had yet to be positive experiences.

Still...

"Data," Picard murmured, resting a hand on the back of the Ops chair; "Our schedule, how stringent is it?"

The android paused for a half second before replying; "If we were to investigate, we could spend two hours at the target coordinates and still reach the colony on schedule. Any longer and we would have to increase speed to compensate."

Picard sighed for a moment, then nodded briskly, striding back to his chair and taking a seat; "Helm, lay in a course for the coordinates provided by Mister Data."

"Aye, sir, course laid in."

"Engage."

* * *

It had been an interesting day so far.

"No, no, no, c'mon Sexy," the Doctor was currently imploring, frantically working the control console as the TARDIS bucked, whirred and groaned; "You can do this, it's just a teensy weensy little jumbo-sized spatial singularity sucking up a supernova into an abyss of temporal stasis, c'mon, you've handled worse in your sleep, you and I against the universe, we can do this together with inspirational theme music and-"

A sudden, vicious shake sent the Doctor flying, the breath blasted from his lungs as his stomach folded around the metal railing.

"Right!" Hauling himself upright, the Doctor lunged back at the console. "Plan Positive Reinforcement, not working. Plan Kinetic Impact-" he gave the side of the console a sharp kick, and yelped with pain. "OW. Not working either! All right! I can figure this out, just cross the wires, carry the infinity, reevaluate my life choices, invest in religion... no, wait! I absolutely, certainly have no idea how to get out of this! C'mon, the Silence want me dead, they're going to be right cross if I miss that appointment!"

He gave the console another kick, and the TARDIS gave a long, low groan in response, as if every molecule of its structure was groaning all at once... one last, titanic shake sent the Doctor tumbling head over heels, leaving him folded up in a mess of limbs against one of the railings. And then, suddenly, the turbulence stopped, the Control Room settling into the far more comforting trembles of regular travel.

Still sprawled on the floor, the Doctor gave a low, bruised chuckle.

"That's right! Take that, unbeatable quantum oblivion." Rolling over, the Doctor hauled himself to his feet, chuckling as he brushed the arms of his jacket... but the chuckle died when he saw a single purple light shining on the console.

"Well, that's... not good. That light's never been on before. What is that light?" Tongue flicking across his lips, he gave a lever an experimental flip, nearly stumbling to one side as the control room gave a hard shake, the steady grinding of the Time Rotor beginning to fade; "That's really not good. Ooo." The monitor had begun to flicked and blink with numerous symbols. "Flashing white neon triangles. And subsequent green strobing twos. That's very very not welcome, really, really... no idea what it means."

It was around then that the grind of the Time Rotor faded away all together, the cloister bell announcing their arrival. And then, a split second later, the lights flickered out, every single one, plunging the control room into pitch darkness. The deep hum of the TARDIS died away, not even the faintest sound filling the air..

The massive chamber became as still, and silent, as a tomb.

Abruptly left with no light to see by, and no idea where he'd left his screwdriver, the Doctor really just had one thing to say.

"Ohhhh... that's bad..."

* * *

"Captain, we are approaching the target coordinates," Data announced; "Sensors are detecting an object off the port bow."

"Take us out of warp," Picard instructed, "And bring us to five hundred thousand kilometers... Mister Worf, raise shields."

The hum of the Enterprise's warp drive faded to the lower thrum of the impulse engines as they inched towards the strange object, keeping a safe distance just in case it proved... well... unfriendly.

"I am scanning the object, sir," Data announced, fingers dancing over the console. "Beginning comparative analysis."

Picard nodded shifted in his seat a little, glancing towards Riker; "I just hope we gain some answers before-"

"I have identified the object."

Picard's mouth hung open mid-word for a long moment. "...that was even faster than usual, Commander."

"I cannot take credit, sir," Data confessed, blinking down at the readings. "The object appears to have English script on its surface that greatly narrowed the search. In addition, its dimensions and design closely mirror that of a structure commonly used in the mid-twentieth century by law enforcement of Britain, Earth. The most common term is 'Police Box."

The bridge was silent for a long moment.

"Data," Picard murmured; "This isn't an attempt to develop a sense of humor, is it?"

"No, sir," Data replied; "I am putting the object on screen now."

A split second later, there it was. Big. Blue. It even had the words 'Police Box' written across it, and though they normally looked like they were supposed to light up, the letters were currently dark... the entire object was. Once more, that confused, stunned silence settled on the bridge, as everyone tried to come up with some logical explanation to... well, explain that.

"We're over five hundred light years from Earth," Riker murmured. "Even if that thing was able to break free of Sol's gravity, there's no way it could drift out this far... or even be brought with anything short of warp velocity, not in just four centuries."

"Mister Data," Picard asked, "is it... possible... that the object may have been transported by some form of spatial disturbance? An errant bit of jetsam, as it were?"

Data paused for a moment before replying; "It is a possibility, sir. It would explain the unusual chronoton readings we detected at this location."

Picard and Riker both relaxed a little; things seemed to be making a bit more sense.

"This wouldn't be the first time we've seen temporal disturbances," Riker pointed out, drawing in a slow breath. "It could be that somewhere back in the twentieth century, a police box just went... missing... for no particular reason. Maybe something snatched it up, and deposited it out here... natural occurance, even?"

"Yes, but what? And why?" Picard mused. "What could have done that so cleanly, with no surrounding debris or other matter brought along? Why just one police b-"

"Captain."

Both officers turned to Ops, where Data was sitting, if anything, even straighter than usual; a sure sign he'd found something of particular interest.

"I have managed to compensate for the interference," Data explained, frowning- for him- as he studied the readings. "And I am detecting what I believe may be a life form."

"A life form?" Riker echoed. "Inside a wooden box in the middle of space?"

"Yes, sir. I am detecting no power emenations from the object, but... I believe there is a living person aboard. The readings are strong, with no evidence that the life form is in danger."

Picard hesitated for a moment, moving back to his chair before turning back to the viewscreen. "Could we beam the occupant aboard?"

"I would not recommend it, sir," Data replied, the sort-of frown deepening. "The spatial distortions make it extremely difficult to establish an accurate sensor lock. Attempting to beam someone from within, or even transport something aboard, would be extremely hazardous."

There was another long pause as they considered the mystery; Picard wasn't inclined to try and bring the object aboard just yet, not without at least a little more information to go on. But without even the transporters available, and no accurate sensor readings, they were rapidly running out of useful options.

"I wonder..." Picard frowned a little; "Mister Worf, open hailing frequencies."

There was a decidedly noticeable pause before Worf rumbled; "Aye, Sir. Hailing frequencies open."

* * *

Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring ring.

"Hrmm? The phone still works! OW!" There was some muffled Gallifreyan curses as the Doctor hopped on one foot across the control platform after rather thoroughly smashing his toes on his toolbox, sending the contents scattering in all directions. "Be right there! Don't... hang up..."

* * *

"We're hailing a wooden box," Riker pointed out softly, "A wooden box without any power readings."

"Something must be keeping the occupant alive, Number One," Picard replied, shaking his head. "It can't hurt to tr-"

Suddenly, the channel... clicked, and a slightly breathless voice came on. A slightly breathless, very British voice.

"Hullo?"

"...um..." Clearing his throat, Picard climbed to his feet; tugging at his uniform shirt as he spoke; "This is Captain Jean Luc Picard, of the Federation Starship Enterprise. To whom am I speaking?"

"Oh! Pleased to meet you. Not familiar with that ship. I'm the Doctor."

"The Doctor?" Riker and Picard exchanged glances before the captain asked the next obvious question; "Doctor wh-"

"Just 'the Doctor." The voice faded a bit, becoming a mutter. "Every single time, they ask that..."

The silence that followed was gaping; Picard was an accomplished diplomat, with a sharp mind and skilled tongue. But even he was more than a little flabbergasted with the sudden appearance of an old, blue Police Box in the middle of interstellar space, apparently capable of housing a single British individual despite the fact that it was made of wood.

"Scans of your... box..."

"It's not a box," the voice interjected, sounding more than a little offended. "I mean, all right, it looks like a box, is shaped like a box, has things in it like a box would, but it is not a box. This is a TARDIS. My TARDIS. My box-shaped, but not box TARDIS."

"...thank you. That clears up a great deal." Picard cleared his throat a second time before continuing. "We have detected no power readings from your... TARDIS. Do you require assistance? We could bring you aboard our ship until you make whatever... repairs... you require."

"Well, your readings are essentially correct, no more power. No more life support, but there's enough oxygen left in here to last me nine or ten years... I'm sure I could figure something out by then..." The musing voice became cheerful again. "But that'd be unbearably boring, so I gladly accept your offer for assistance, Captain! I'd come aboard myself, but... well... as you can see, I'm not currently blessed with a tremendous amount of mobility. Or light. I don't suppose you have room on board your vessel for my TARDIS?"

"Well," Picard replied dryly, "I think we can find space for it. We'll tractor your... we'll tractor it into our shuttlebay. We'll have you aboard shortly."

"Greatly obliged, Captain! See you shortly!"

"...indeed. Picard out."

A silent gesture towards tactical was greeted with a nod, and Worf began the methodical task of tractoring the strange not-box into the main shuttlebay. As they waited, Picard shifted a bit closer to Riker, lowering his voice as his arms folded across his chest.

"Thoughts, Number One?"

"...interesting day?" Riker offered ruefully.

"So it would seem," Picard agreed, sighing softly as he considered their options. They had a mission to complete, but he was reluctant to leave the area without a more thorough search, just in case it bore any other oddities... ideally something that could shed light on what was happening. "Begin a full sensor sweep of the area, see if anything else is drifting out here. If we can't find anything within the vicinity, resume course for Alcheron V."

"Aye, sir."

"Mister Data, Mister Worf, Counselor, with me," Picard announced, and the trio fell into step behind him as he moved to the turbolift. "Time to greet our new guest. Commander, you have the bridge."

* * *

"As sensors suggested, I am detecting a lifeform within the structure," Data said, eyes flitting along the tricorder's display. "However, the readings are extremely erratic... I am unable to offer any information as to the interior, only that its outer shell does appear to be... wood."

They had assembled in the shuttlebay only a few moments ago, with a pair of security guards posted just inside the doors... Worf was the only other one armed, however, and despite his request, Picard had told him to keep it holstered. Nobody had tried to directly touch the strange blue box yet, but as the seconds ticked past, they couldn't help but wonder when-

The door suddenly flew open with great enthusiasm; within, there was only darkness, the shadows too thick to offer any idea as to the interior. A half second later, its occupant stepped out, adjusting his bowtie, straightening his suspenders, and tugging at the hem of his coat in a gesture that caused Troi and Worf's eyes to flicker, briefly, to Picard.

"Right, hullo!" Slipping out of the box, the man tugged the doors shut and paused to straighten his suit jacket again, tugging at the sleeves and then scurrying over to greet the welcoming party. "Sorry about the wait, hard time finding the door in the dark, musta skinned my knees five times 'fore I found where I left my screwdriver; jacket pocket, as it turns out, really have to keep track of these things. So, I take it you're the Captain, then?" He finished, smiling brightly, his attention squarely on Picard.

Picard, who had opened his mouth to speak when the newcomer had emerged, had only gaped at the seemingly normal human in outdated clothing, and his speech hadn't exactly been restored by the man's rambling monologue. Still, when the man finally stopped talking, Picard found enough inner equilibrium to reply.

"I am Captain Picard," he replied cautiously, half-turning to gesture to the others. "May I introduce my Chief of Security, Lieutenant Worf, my second officer, Lieutenant Commander Data, and ship's Counselor Deanna Troi."

The man's attention had wandered from the captain; not towards the other three occupants, as he hardly afforded them a glance, but instead to the shuttlebay itself, his brow furrowing with obvious interest.

"Pleasure, right pleasure, wonderful architecture, very roomy in here, can't quite put my finger on the design style..." Handshakes were administered, first to Picard, then to Troi... when he reached Data, however, he paused, frowning a little as he squinted at the android.

"Huh. Odd. Curious eyes." Lifting the android's clasped hand mid-shake, he gave it an experimental sniff, then brightened; "Hmmm, various tripolymer composites, molybdenum-cobalt alloys..." Releasing the hand, he licked his own palm, smacking his lips before adding. "Ahhh, bioplast sheeting! Brilliant! Artificial lifeform, love those, always so nice to have a conversation with someone who understands half of what I'm saying most of the time. Pleasure to meet you, very much so, all of you, I'm the Doctor, as you probably heard."

"And, y-" He had moved on to the last person in line, but as he clasped Worf's hand and craned his head up to consider the scowling security chief, he paused. He didn't seem to be perturbed by the somewhat unfriendly expression... but the face itself did cause him concern. "...what're you?".

Worf stiffened a little at the question, obviously uncertain whether or not he was being insulted. But the genuine confusion in the man's eyes, to say nothing for the fact that his commanding officer was in the room, kept him from reacting... unfavorably, instead muttering; "I am a Klingon."

The Doctor nodded along agreeably, then blinked. "A what?"

Worf's lip curled a little as he all but growled. "A Kling-on."

"A Kling-ooon." He didn't just look confused now; he looked downright disturbed, eyes narrowing. "Right. Never... heard of them. That's odd."

"Now that the proper introductions have been made," Picard said slowly, "perhaps you could enlighten us as to just what you were doing out here-"

"Right, yes," the man muttered, "Very important to know who I am, where I'm from, but... Kling-oooonnnn..."

Suddenly, in a flurry of movement, the stranger yanked out a metallic wand and, before anyone could react, aimed it square at the imposing Security Chief. Just as Worf lifted his phaser, though, the device's green crystal tip glowed, buzzed... and, seemingly, nothing happened. It was that absence of effect that kept the security team from opening fire, but the man didn't seem in any way bothered by it, simply snapping his wrist; the wand lengthened slightly, revealing a tiny display that he studied solemnly, expression grim.

"Never seen this biological design before," the stranger mused, and then aimed the wand in Picard's direction. Once more, it buzzed that peculiar sound, but as Worf reached out to seize the Doctor's wrist, Picard motioned for him to stand down, correctly guessing what this odd fellow's intentions were.

Once more, the Doctor's wrist flicked back once the scan was finished, and his eyes feverishly studied the miniature display.

"Well, you're human, at least... artificial heart, incredible, you must be a killer at poker... and you..." A third time, the device buzzed, this time in Troi's direction... the readings only seemed to further trouble him. "...are not. Human, I mean. Not entirely. I've never seen... what are you?"

Troi was all but buffeted with waves of worry, frantic confusion, almost fear from this strange man, rising higher with every moment, and so she kept her voice as calm and gentle as she could. "I am half Betazoid."

"Betazoid." He whirled around to glance at the TARDIS, then whirled back to the increasingly uncomfortable group. "Never heard of it. All right. A room with a human and two races I've never heard of. This is a first. Ever." His brain suddenly switched tracks. "What year is it?"

"If you mean by standard Terran calendar, the year is twenty-three sixty-eight," Troi replied, but rather than settle the strange man, it only seem to fluster him all the more.

"...noooo, no no no... that can't be right..." The Doctor's eyes flickered back and forth as he took a half-step back, looking increasingly like a caged animal with every passing moment. "This couldn't possibly be 2368, I know 2368 like the back of my hand, had lunch with some very prominent people in 2368, and this is most certainly not... unless..."

When the Doctor trailed off, glancing back towards the blue box, Picard tried to urge him along; "Unless...?"

"...Oh no. This is even worse than I thought."

The entire group stiffened a little at that, but Picard took a careful step closer, both hands lifted as if the strange man were brandishing a weapon instead of a... whatever the hell that was.

"You're obviously upset about something," Picard said slowly, carefully, "but if you could just explain..."

The Doctor suddenly laughed; it was a brief, almost high-pitched, decidedly agitated giggle, his hands flicking outwards in a helpless shrug. Once again, the entire group tensed as the strange madman with his strange, blue box glanced all around the shuttlebay, his teeth clenched, breaths passing in a few sharp gasps before he replied.

"Well... I'm not, technically, supposed to be here."

Chapter Text

Things had progressed quickly from that initial meeting, as the initially hysterical Doctor had been escorted from the shuttle bay. With every moment that had passed, he'd seemed increasingly agitated; not outwardly loud or violent, but just growing tenser by each moment. He'd all but ogled a Vulcan crewmember they had passed, and when an Andorian had been spotted vanishing down a side corridor, the strange man had actually jogged off in pursuit.

Still, they'd finally managed to get him to sickbay for a quick examination, mostly to ensure he wasn't carrying any pathogens... only, from the way Doctor Crusher had turned several shades paler at the readings on her tricorder, clearly things wouldn't be so simple as that. Crusher hadn't let her own shock, or unease, leak into her bedside manner, however, and had been nothing short of courteous and every bit as soothing as Troi was trying to be.

And, sure enough, the strange visitor seemed to relax, bit by bit, with each passing moment, until he showed no signs of his prior unease.

Unfortunately, it was replaced with a sense of curiosity so strong, it bordered on Attention Deficit Disorder, which is why when Jean Luc Picard sat behind his desk in his Ready Room, less than half an hour after the stranger's arrival, the Doctor was not sitting across from him. No, instead the ancient, incredibly wise and unmeasurably dangerous Time Lord was... kneeling on the floor, peering under the Ready Room couch.

"I must say," Picard finally called down to him, "you seem far more relaxed than you did a short time ago."

"Yes, well," the Doctor replied, hopping back to his feet, head craning upwards as he peered at the ceiling with great fascination. "Situation like this, there was a fifty-fifty chance the universe was about to implode... but it doesn't look like it's going to any time soon, so I feel much better now."

Picard honestly wasn't sure to say about that, but something about the way the man wandered about with no apparent regard for his host was starting to grate on his nerves, just a little. It also seemed irritatingly familiar...

"You must understand... Doctor... that your appearance here is highly irregular, almost contradictory." Settling into his chair, Picard tried to look relaxed... difficult, given his guest had opted to instead pace back and forth across the room like an overexcited child. "You enter this sector within a vessel that, by all appearances and readings is a relic from Earth's past, not even spaceworthy, with clothing to similarly denote an older time period. You speak our language flawlessly, and even possess a regional accent common to Britain. And yet my Chief Medical Officer informs me that you are unlike any being we have thus far encountered, and the... device... you used to scan us blocks even the most detailed scans of its interior."

The Doctor smiled a little at that, slim shoulders shifting in a brief shrug as he replied; "Well, it's not always inclined to give up its innards... as for the accent, Captain, isn't 'Jean Luc Picard' supposed to be French?"

"...touche," Picard replied, leaning forward just a little and lacing his fingers together as he tried not to let the offhand reply irritate him; "Nonetheless, we know that your arrival was heralded with a sudden increase in chroniton particle emissions. That would suggest time travel, which is why I must ask... are you from our past, or our future?"

"Hmm? Oh, I'm from the past." The Doctor paused before adding distractedly; "Well, no, actually, I'm from the future. Well, at the time I came from I was in the future, originating from the past, visiting the future... or it might have been the other way around... but technically I'm from an alternate timeline, so I suppose the answer would be 'neither leaning towards the former more than the latter, if one... absolutely must... lean...'" Trailing off for a moment, he gave the couch a gentle gentle tap with his foot, then spun on his heels. "But that's not important in the grand scheme of things."

"Oh," Picard replied, sounding increasingly displeased by the moment. "I disagree."

"You're entitled," came the chipper reply, even as the Time Lord began to pace again, the words tumbling forth faster and faster; "But the vital question is 'why am I here?' I wish I could answer that one, Captain, but I can't. I didn't mean to come here; not sure I could have if I tried. Delighted to be here, mind you... but the doing of it is troubling... oh, what a lovely aquarium! Lionfish, no?"

"Yes, it's... troubling, why is it troubling?"

"Oh, well, because naturally there's... difficulties with..." Once again the Doctor's attention wandered, this time to a gleaming model of an older, bulkier starship. "this is a very nice model, is this of your ship?"

"A previous generation of this ship," Picard replied, his patience wearing thinner by the moment with each interruption. "Why is your arrival here troubling?"

"Well, the last time I ended up in a parallel universe, the Cybermen were trying to take over it," the Doctor mused, picking up a heavy book from the captain's desk, and brightening considerably when he saw the title. "The Complete Works of Shakespeare! Wonderful that the Immortal Bard made it to this universe, he was such a friendly chap. Terrible handwriting, though, I ended up transcribing Hamlet for him while he dictated."

Picard, whose mouth had been opening to sharply reprimand what was, yet again, a sharp detour from their original topic, paused for a full second as the Time Lord's words sunk in. He was torn between going through with his tirade, or submitting to what was admittedly considerable curiosity on just whether the visitor was telling the truth.

The tirade won out.

"I'm sure it's very wonderful," Picard began, his voice relatively mellow as his hands planted flat on the table, leveraging him to his feet. "And in other circumstances, I would be delighted to have a long discussion on that very topic, but I would nonetheless be very grateful if you would please have a seat and just focus for one second!"

The Doctor stopped. Simply stopped. All the good cheer, the excitement and energy bled from his frame, and slowly, deliberately, he turned to consider the Enterprise's captain. The eyes that had been just moments ago sparkling with mirth and delight had grown eminently cold and dark beneath his brow, and though he didn't make any overtly hostile gestures, his entire body seemed to tighten like a spring... and the very air seemed almost to thicken in response.

Jean Luc Picard was no stranger to adversity, be it a bar brawl against Nausicans, or a battle with the Borg. He had, indeed, even faced down a being who quite literally possessed Godlike abilities, all without allowing the dangers to deter or discourage him. But something about the simmering anger behind this scrawny, bowtie-wearing man's eyes was plain unsettling, and the Captain had the most unusual instinct to shrink back, and possibly hide beneath his desk.

But he wouldn't give into that urge. He'd be damned if he backed down, and so Picard's eyes only hardened as he met the Time Lord's gaze for a long, silent moment, both of them unmoving, both unspeaking, neither wavering.

In the end, it was the Time Lord who gave ground. The tension gradually bled out of the Doctor's posture, the cold anger in his eyes replaced with a little bit of embarrassment.

"You must understand," the Doctor explained, a bit chagrined as he fiddled for a moment with his tie, finally sinking down into the chair that had been offered. "This is all... well, new. Very new, brand new, in fact, and for someone accustomed to same old, same old each and every decade, that is... very... exciting for me. I have no idea where I am, no idea who you are, not the slightest clue what that large, ridged, somewhat irritable fellow who accompanied us is... I have so many questions, millions. I don't even know what to ask first, and I haven't had that feeling since I was very, very young. I suppose that means I'm regressing, just a little. I apologize, Captain."

Picard sank back into his seat just a moment later, and now that the guest seemed to have restrained himself, he let his own irritation fade, his expression softening a little. "I understand that this is disorienting, likely even more so for you than for us... but the safety of my ship, and crew, demand that I try to get to the bottom of this matter."

The Doctor's lips quirked upwards, just a little.

"I can respect that. Right!" Straightening in his seat, the Doctor held up both hands, making thoroughly unhelpful gestures as he spoke. "There are alternate universes, where events have played out differently from one another. Some are simple enough; one battle, won or lost, altering the broad strokes, such as a planet's allegiance, but leaving many of the details, such as the people who live on it, the same. Others, however, are far more removed from each other... where only the faintest similarities still survive. A race here, a planet there, but with far more that is different than alike. Most individuals that exist in one universe do not exist in the other, completely changing the face of reality.

"Now, travel to alternate universes of any kind is by itself very difficult, falling just below the realm of theoretical impossibility, but travel to a far more alien universe... the difficulty, and required power, increases exponentially. Just as it would be far more difficult to reach the Andromeda Galaxy than it would Earth's moon... Earth still has a moon, right?"

"Yes, it does," Picard replied dryly.

"Wonderful, love that big beautiful ball." Settling back in his chair a little, the Doctor's slim shoulders shifted in a bit of a shrug;

"In any case, I originate from a parallel universe... one vastly different, I think, from this one... though that is admittedly just a working theory, as I know very little about the specifics of this reality. My TARDIS was caught in the gravitational field of a sort of super singularity- think twelve black holes dancing the Charleston after a night of binge drinking, if that helps, though it's nothing like that- and in trying to pull out of it, I might have... well, punched through it instead."

Picard had stopped nodding along towards the end of the explanation, and by the time the Doctor was finished, he was just staring; "Why precisely were you so close to a... 'super'... singularity?"

"Oh, I was trying to surf it," came the casual reply, without a trace of smug pride to be found. "Woulda been the first in all of history to manage it, too! In one piece, anyway."

Picard considered the explanation for several long moments before giving a single, sharp nod. "Very well, if I am to take this story as genuine- and I will confess it seems almost too bizarre to be a deliberate fabrication- then the most obvious question is why you were simply drifting out here, if your craft is capable of space flight? Let alone flight through such adverse conditions?"

"Out of fuel. Sort of." The Doctor paused, hesitated, then sighed, coming clean; "The TARDIS is powered by, for all intents and purposes, the universe itself, drawing on the Time Vortex- don't even ask, take decades to explain-" he added when Picard's mouth began to open, "-but my TARDIS is calibrated for my universe. It's not that there isn't power available here... it's just the TARDIS isn't built to draw on it."

Picard was silent for yet another good, long moment as he chewed over the semi-helpful, semi-cryptic response. He was clearly considering whether he should ask what a 'Time Vortex' was, but anything that had to do with 'Time' was generally, he'd learned, to be avoided on principle. So instead he went with a more constructive, and far safer, question;

"Can your... TARDIS... be modified to function in our universe?"

The Doctor started to shake his head, then paused, considering the room, the Captain's terminal... even squinting at the communicator on his chest.

"Well, you're significantly more advanced than the humans in the last alternate universe I was stranded in," the Doctor mused, chewing on the tip of his thumb in thought. "While there is an... alternate... means of powering the TARDIS, it's something I'd rather not do unless absolutely necessary. Given the greater degree of seperation between our universes, I'm uncertain if it would even be enough to return to my reality. Still... I may be able to jury-rig something to draw power from this universe, but I'd need some time to think..."

Picard waited to see if the Time Lord was about to say anything else, but the Doctor seemed thoroughly wrapped up in his own thoughts now, eyes narrowed and fingers twitching restlessly. The moments stretched into minutes, and still the strange visitor didn't speak which, considering his previously jubilant behavior, was almost unsettling to behold.

"Well, in the meantime," Picard finally said, inadvertently causing the startled Doctor to jump slightly, "we can offer you accommodation on board the Enterprise, as our guest. And if it's answers you seek, then we can provide you with a library terminal that would allow access to historical and anthropological archives during your stay. Enough to give you firmer footing, at the very least."

The Doctor had been about to refuse the initial offer, his hand lifting to wave it away, but at the mention of the library access, he perked up.

A lot.

"I'd be delighted to accept, Captain," he announced, leaping to his feet, then pausing, then half-sitting, then straightening a little, until he was all but perched over the chair, clearly all but straining to get going. "Was there anything else?"

His irritation aside, a small smile nonetheless flitted over Picard's lips; where but moments ago he had seen a silent, wrathful figure, now to all appearances he was facing a schoolboy waiting to be excused from class. Still, there were too many concerns to completely erase the lines of worry across his brow, and even as he tapped his communicator, he was already outlining the staff meaning he'd be holding very, very soon...

"Mister Data, please report to my Ready Room."

* * *

"These quarters are equipped with full lavatory facilities," Data explained only a handful of minutes later, even as their newest guest admired his quarters.. "As requested, a terminal has been prepared that will grant you access to Federation historical and cultural databases. It should be noted, however, that any sensitive information will be restricted. The terminal, and the food replicator unit, are both voice-command enabled, so you need only make your request to the computer."

"Marvelous, absolutely marvelous," the Doctor all but cooed, craning his neck as he peered out the broad windows on the far wall; he could see the graceful sweep of the Enterprise's swan neck below his viewport. "Truly a lovely vessel, all the more so because you actually had to adhere to physics in its construction. Quite a project."

Data didn't really know how to answer that, so he settled for assuming it required no response. Still, as he considered the visitor, he experienced the closest equivilent he had to a niggling thought... a comparative analysis that had turned up an interesting question. Though he considered waiting until the staff meeting to raise the matter, the Captain had requested that he gather as much information on the visitor as possible.

"Sir, if I might pose a question..."

"Please, just call me the Doctor," the Time Lord insisted, holding up a hand to forestall Data's question, his attention on a painting mounted just beside the replicator. "I'm far too old to act old enough to be called 'Sir.'"

Data's head inclined, briefly, then tilted as another thought occurred; "Query; in Standard language interactions, it is generally considered incorrect to use the term 'the' when directly addressing an individual. Is the use of the adjective a requirement for your species?"

"No, excellent point, 'Doctor' will do fine, then." he amended, the hand waving in an vague gesture.

"Very well," Data agreed, immediately launching into his subject; "Doctor, several papers by a variety of accomplished and renowned linguists have noticed an unexplained and common usage of the term 'Doctor' within a large number of unaffiliated and unconnected planets spread across known space. What is particularly intriguing is that they nearly all share the same basic meaning in each language."

"That's the wonderful thing about languages," the Doctor replied cheerfully; "They're supposed to help us understand each other, yet we so frequently fail to understand them."

"An... interesting observation, Doctor," Data blinked, then continued; "Given you appear theoretically capable of temporal and spatial travel, is it possible that you, or a universal counterpart of yourself, could have provided the linear thread linking these cultures together?"

"It's possible," the Time Lord murmured, a bit of a grin crossing his face as he turned to consider the android. "I'm impressed that you pieced all that together so quickly, you're quite the credit to your creator. Be sort of comforting to know another Doctor's running about, though I imagine the reunion would be awkward... though suppose not as awkward as my last three reunions with my temporal counterparts... to say nothing for the two clones... how many languages share the word in your universe, anyway?"

Data blinked for a moment, accessing the relevant information he had gathered earlier. "Within the fourteen thousand, four hundred and thirty seven unique languages suitably known, discounting linguistic assimilation through cultural interaction... three hundred and twenty-eight."

The Doctor blinked. Just blinked. But the brief flicker of his eyes, the tightening of his jaw and the restless shift of his feet were a dead giveaway, even to Data.

"Is something wrong?" the android asked, head tilting.

"No. Well..." The Doctor paused, then muttered; "It's fewer than I expected."

"Is that troubling?"

"Yes. Sort of. I don't know." A brief giggle passed the Doctor's lips. "Never going to get tired of saying that."

With that, the Doctor whirled away and scuttled over to the nearby terminal, hunching over it and giving it an experimental tap with one finger. Data stepped a little closer, eyes shifting back and forth as if reading some invisible text as he processed the admittedly confusing conversation.

"Curious." Data finally mused. "You have said you do not know why you have arrived here, or how... and yet, rather than be concerned, you appear quite... happy."

"Oh, I'm sure I will be concerned, eventually," the Doctor replied breezily, even as he flopped onto a chair, bouncing slightly as if to test its cushions before leaping right back up to his feet. "I always get around to it, sooner or later. But right now I'm just enjoying the experience, to say nothing for the mystery. I always enjoy a good riddle, and a riddle that doesn't involve immediate, impending death and destruction is even better. And considerably rarer."

There was a long silence, broken only by the Time Lord's idle humming, before Data spoke again, his gaze unfocused, his tone curious.

"I have admittedly noticed a similar reaction from some of the ship's crew..." His brows lifted as he shook his head; "At times, they appear to draw great interest, if not pleasure, from difficult situations. Even if it presents an immediate obstacle to their purposes."

"And you don't understand why that is?" The Doctor asked idly, toeing the carpet.

"The subtleties of human emotion and behavior are quite beyond me," Data explained, "but it is something to which I have always aspired."

The Doctor stopped dead at that, whirling around once more to consider the android; the smile was gone, his expression more pensive than anything else. Slowly, he drew nearer, arms crossing over his chest as his mouth opened... then closed... then opened. He seemed to be considering how to phrase what was on his mind, and by the time he'd decided, he was standing right in front of Data.

"I have to admit," the Time Lord said quietly, his expression unreadable; "I haven't come across that many non-humans nowadays who share a terribly positive view on humanity, certainly never enough to aspire to be one of them. Would it bother you overmuch if I asked why you hold them in such high esteem? They seem a rather... simple species, at least when I've found them. Violent. Petty. You strike me as far more reasonable."

"On the contrary," Data replied, seeming to perk up at the opportunity to discuss it. "I function in such a way due in no small part to the initial programming imparted by my creator. I have no negative emotions, or egotistical self-concerns to hinder my actions, or impair my judgement... but this does not make me better. Less burdened, perhaps. Although humanity's history is notably filled with incidents of violence against one another, there are also numerous instances where they have sought to elevate themselves beyond base instinct. Beyond their programming. The existence of the Federation is a testament to that effort, and it is that ability to overcome that I seek to attain."

A slow, delighted grin crossed the Doctor's face, replacing the somber frown entirely. Stepping a bit closer, he reached out and clasped a hand on Data's shoulder, a low, knowing chuckle passing his lips; for just a moment, he seemed less the excitable child, and more the wise, approving grandfather.

"Mister Data," he announced, sounding quite proud; "For someone who claims to find the subtleties of humanity beyond him, I don't think I have ever met someone who has phrased them quite as well. I think you're going to manage just fine, and you won't need to be human to do it either."

Data considered this for a moment, then gave a brief nod. "Thank you, Doctor. Will there be anything else?"

"No, I think I'm all right." Pulling away, the Doctor's hands folded behind his back as he considered the room; "Thank you for your time, I'll just potter about for now."

"Very well. Good night."

Once the doors had hissed shut, the Doctor took a long, slow breath, his shoulders rising, and then slumping as the manic smile faded from his face. Drawing a hand across his jaw, his eyes flitted from side to side, considering the silent room for several long minutes; as much as he didn't want to admit it, the concern was indeed starting to set in. Still, it took him very little time at all to realize there wasn't much good worrying about things right now... not until he knew more about what was going on.

So, in the spirit of, well, keeping up his spirits, he meandered over to the wall-mounted replicator unit, considering its control schematic for a long moment.

"Replicator!" Pausing at the affirmative beep, the Doctor's brows lifted for a moment, then he shrugged, frowned in thought and then announced grandiosely; "Give me fish fingers."

"There are no culinary files available featuring aquatic craniate species possessing digits. Please re-specify request."

"...we're not going to get along, you and I."

Chapter Text

"One thing I've got to ask," Riker said, "is whether anyone else is getting the damnedest sense of deja vu."

The senior staff had assembled for a briefing in the Conference Lounge; though they'd had another such briefing less than six hours earlier, to fine-tune the logistics relating to their mission to Alcheron V, this one had been arranged for a much more specific, and far more unusual, reason.

Data frowned, just a little. "I will confess that many of our conferences are quite similar in layout; I've noticed that Lieutenant Worf has seated in that precise chair more than seventy five percent of the-"

"Not the meeting, Data," Riker corrected; "I mean, this... Doctor."

Picard was in the midst of massaging his temples with one hand, but he managed a wan smile; "I presume you're referring to our illustrious visitor not too long ago, Mister Rasmussen."

"Exactly," Riker agreed, spreading his hands as if in supplication; "Both of them very eccentric men in little ships, loosely speaking, that are supposedly capable of time travel. Both ending up on the Enterprise, both claiming they'd like background information, of one sort or another, both acting like they own the place, neither giving us a single piece of useful information, just more and more questions. Only Rasmussen turned out to be a con man from the past... so how can we be sure that this Doctor doesn't have some ulterior motive?"

Picard thought about it for a moment before replying; "I will confess, both have similarities..."

"Both talk too much," Worf muttered under his breath.

"...but at the same time," the Captain continued, "Rasmussen came with a seemingly legitimate, if unusual, explanation for his presence. He had an indisputably advanced vessel, knowledge of who we all were and of the Enterprise, enough evidence to create an adequate cover, as any competent conman would need. This Doctor, on the other hand, has a story, an origin, a very methodology and style that all seem to scream impossibility... it's as if he stepped from a child's bedtime story, a madman with a magic box. If someone wished to deceive us, there are certainly more reasonable ways to go about it."

"There is another possibility," Worf rumbled; "Q."

"The thought occurred to me, Mister Worf," Picard admitted; "Actually, the thought occurs to me whenever anything unusual happens. But it is unlike Q to work behind the scenes like this... he usually likes to flaunt his actions, proudly claim responsibility for them. This sort of deception would be uncharacteristic of him."

"So, what?" Riker asked, running a hand across his jaw. "We're just going to accept that we're being visited by a bowtie-wearing time traveler in a wooden box from another dimension?

"I think," Picard said slowly, "until we have evidence to directly contradict his story, we have to at least take some of what he says on faith... though we should not drop our guard just yet. Doctor Crusher, what precisely did your examination reveal? What is he?"

"I honestly don't know what to call him," Crusher admitted, settling back into her chair; "He seems perfectly human on the outside, but medical scans show a completely alien biology, unlike anything I've encountered before. Two hearts, cerebral activity completely off the charts, a metabolism that seems to require very little food... there are organs and neurological structures that I can't even begin to guess at, some of which might even hint at telepathic ability. Even a DNA analysis is raising more questions than it's answering. It's almost as if his genetic code's been repeatedly torn apart and stitched back together in a different sequence, as it's littered with fragmented genomes, and in a constant state of flux. Even more bizarre than that, however, are the trace amounts of radiation in his tissue."

"Radiation?" Picard stiffened a little; "Is it a danger?"

"I don't think so," she replied, shaking her head. "I ran an analysis on the energy pattern; there isn't an exact match for it, but it did include traces of chroniton particles... they're infused into every cell in his body, somehow. I can't even begin to guess as to the effect it would have on him, or how it got there."

"I see..." Clearing his throat, Picard turned to face his Chief Engineer; "What have you learned about his vessel?"

"Well, we're still not sure if it even is a ship, Captain," LaForge added, climbing to his feet and activating the wall monitor; a wireframe schematic of the strange box appeared. "Every scan we've tried running says it's just a wooden box... not even my Visor's picking up anything unusual, except for two things. First, the box is blue, but I'm not picking up any traces of paint; nothing lead-based, acrylic, anything to explain the color... it's as if the wood itself just grew that shade. For that matter, the grain of the wood doesn't match anything on file... it doesn't even seem to have a consistent grain, as if someone just decided 'wood' without specifying the species of tree it came from. No evidence of nails, bolts, not even adhesive... nothing to explain what keeps it together.

"Second is the fact that I can't pick up any sort of emissions or trace particles to clue me in as to what's inside. The door seems to have a primitive twentieth-century locking mechanism, but the lock... Captain, the first scan told me there were eight hundred and seven tumblers inside it. The second scan told me there weren't any at all. The third one said the door wasn't even there! I don't think we're going to be able to get past that lock without the key, assuming it even uses a proper key... and I can't say what would happen if we tried to force our way inside."

"If the door is indeed constructed of wood," Worf suggested, "a phaser could cut through it without difficulty."

"Captain," Data interjected before Picard could respond to that; "I would not recommend attempting to breach its hull. The spatial distortions I had previously detected are still present, and I cannot predict what would occur if we were to rupture its surface."

Picard nodded slowly at that, hands folded on the table in front of him. He was silent for a brief moment, then settled back in his chair, tugging at his uniform top as he came to a decision.

"Agreed. Besides which, our guest has shown no hostile intent as of yet. I believe breaking down his front door isn't warranted, not as things currently stand. For now, we'll keep him confined to quarters," Picard decided, "at least until we have a better idea as to just what he wants... or what he is capable of. Mister Worf, post a constant security detail around his vessel, have them remain alert for any activity that might suggest he was not the sole occupant."

"Aye, sir," the Klingon rumbled.

"Counselor," Picard continued; "we still have a little time before we reach our destination. I would like you to pay him a visit. You had said earlier that his agitation was preventing you from reading too deeply. If he's settled down, then I would like to see what you can learn."

"I shall do my best, Captain." Troi replied, inclining her head slightly.

"Excellent." Picard climbed to his feet, and the rest of the bridge officers followed suit. "The rest of you, prepare for our primary objective; I want the first engineering and medical teams beaming down within moments of our arrival. But first, lest anyone misinterpret, I would like to reiterate that this Doctor, though certainly a mystery, has shown us no hostility and, caution aside, should therefore be treated as a guest. With good fortune, we will soon learn more about him, and if his plight is genuine, hopefully we will be able to lend our assistance. Dismissed."

* * *

The door chime had the Doctor jumping just a little, head swiveling to the door. Clearing his throat and turning the screen deliberately towards the washroom, where it wasn't in the sight of the door, he climbed to his feet, tugged at his sleeves and then announced; "Um... come in?"

The doors hissed open to reveal Deanna Troi, and the shoulders of the two guards who had been assigned to flank the door on the outside. Stepping inside, she waited until the doors had closed before turning her full attention on the Time Lord, giving him a small, friendly smile, even as her extrasensory perceptions strained to read past the unpredictable energy that seemed to perpetually bubble on the surface of the Doctor's emotions.

"Doctor," she greeted, head bowing. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, much better," came the chipper reply, as he gestured vaguely to the screen, shifting to the center of the room. "Just been catching up on my reading, as it were. Would you care to have a seat?"

"Thank you," she replied graciously, shifting to settle onto the couch. The Time Lord chose the comfortable recliner just beside it, crossing his leg over his knee a bit awkwardly as his thin limbs sought to find some proper posture; at the end of it, he just looked like he's been stuffed into the plush cushions. There was a long, full minute of silence as the Doctor stared at her, clearly waiting for her to say something... but she just watched him, patient, clearly waiting to see what he would do.

"So..." the Time Lord shifted on his chair a little, lips quirking in a small smile as he realized he was actually feeling a bit uncomfortable; "...you're the ship's counselor. Are you really the only one aboard?"

"Yes, I am," she replied, inclining her head just once.

"Hrmm. Impressive." He paused, lips pursing, then pointed at her, eyes narrowing dramatically; "With over a thousand people on this vessel, your schedule must be dreadfully hectic."

"Sometimes," she replied, smiling widely. "I prefer to think of it as rewarding, or at the very least it keeps me from growing restless. I take it you've been utilizing the ship's library?"

"Mmhmm, fascinating, it truly is," the Doctor replied, settling back onto the plush chair; "I skimmed through your anthropological files, didn't want to embarrass myself in front of any unfamiliar races again, but the material was a bit dry. So much more exciting to meet new races face to face. I did very much enjoy your crew manifest and the service records within, however, always been a personal fascination of mine, life stories and the like."

"I see," Troi replied, nodding. "Whose service records did you examine?"

"Oh," he replied breezily, "all of them."

"The entire crew manifest?" Troi echoed blankly... even though she could sense no deception from it, she wasn't entirely sure if she could believe it. "And just how much have you learned from it?"

"Well, for one, Ensign Taggert in Engineering most certainly deserves a promotion," the Doctor replied idly; "Headed the last seven shipwide diagnostics, and helped coordinate the refit and repair after your encounter with the Borg? Absolute crime that she isn't a Lieutenant by now, no matter what 'discipline problems' she's been reported for."

"I'll... pass that on to Commander LaForge," Troi replied slowly. "I must confess, I am more than a little impressed."

"Oh, my people are quick learners, always have been. In fact, I do believe someone once described me as having 'Higher Alien Intelligence..." He paused right after that admittedly proud statement before adding in a mumble; "Well, 'Hair of An Idiot,' too, but if you saw her style of 'do, you wouldn't be taking her word for it."

Something about the way he said it suggested not just embarrassment, but a certain fond nostalgia... and she didn't have to be empathic to realize the very mention had saddened him. "Are you alright?"

"No, no, it's all right." The Doctor smiled a little, but it was a very small, very old smile. "They were just... better times."

Sensing that it was perhaps a subject that would not be received well, she chose a different tack.

"You spoke of your people... can you tell me about them?"

That proved to be a terrible mistake, as the sudden spasm of pain, guilt and anger that roared from the Doctor's psyche like wildfire at the subject all but froze the breath in her throat. Even though the Time Lord hadn't moved, hadn't spoken, hadn't even twitched... well, to Troi the emotional barrage felt as if he had lunged across the room to grab her by the throat.

"My people..." he replied quietly, his face seeming to age fifty years at their very mention, even as a hand awkwardly tugged at his bowtie; "With all due respect, Counselor... those were considerably worse times. I'd rather not discuss them."

"As you wish..." Troi had edged away in her seat a bit, as if seeking physical distance from the pain that leaked from him like pus from a boil... but as it slowly faded to a dull throb, she relaxed a little. "Your arrival here was accidental, wasn't it?"

"Hmm?" the Doctor shook himself slightly from his thoughts, turning his attention back to her. "Oh, yes... all considered, the fact that my atoms aren't scattered halfway across the galaxy is a very positive thing. Good day, so far."

"From what the Captain has told me, the very actions that brought you here could be considered reckless," Troi pointed out, hesitating for a moment before adding; "I hope you don't take offense, but in my experience, when people undertake such extensive risks, they either seek to brush against death for the thrill, or welcome it with open arms. Could either possibly apply to you?"

Something flickered in his eyes at that, there for just a moment before hidden behind the usual mischievous glimmer. She was obviously hitting far too many buttons, and she could all but feel the emotional wall go up, sealing his true feelings behind a shroud of enthusiasm and sparkling wit.

"No, I imagine death will find a way of reaching me without my help," he finally replied, trying to sound as casual as he could. "It reaches us all, doesn't it? It would be more accurate, I think, to say that I enjoy making my mark on history. Being the first to succeed at something like that would certainly have been a feather in my cap."

Troi nodded at that, but didn't look convinced, not quite... but just as she was opening her mouth to try another tack, her communicator chirped.

"Counselor Troi," Data's voice piped through, "Please report to the bridge."

"On my way." Getting back to her feet, she gave the Doctor another smile; "I'm sorry to leave so soon, but we're arriving at our destination; the Enterprise has an assignment to complete, and the Captain needs all senior officers present."

"An assignment?" The Doctor asked, putting on his best charming smile as he rose to his feet as well; "Mind if I pop up there with you? I do enjoy helping, and I might go natters stuck in this room all day. I was also hoping to speak to your Captain about the condition of my TARDIS..."

Troi smiled softly, but shook her head; "I'm afraid the operation we're undertaking is very delicate; all non-essential personnel are being asked to remain in their quarters until its completion. It should only be a few hours; I'd be happy to come back and resume our discussion afterwards, if you'd like. And I will be certain to inform the Captain that you wish to speak with him."

The Doctor's smile faded a little, but he nonetheless bobbed his head agreeably; "Of course. Thank you, Counselor."

* * *

By the time Troi had departed, the smile had faded entirely, replaced with a small, pensive frown.

"Non-essential..." he muttered, brow quirked. "Another first. Least she didn't look at the monitor."

All right, he had fibbed a little. Not even fibbed, just failed to mention that the crew manifest and approved anthropological database hadn't been the only information he'd been learning... though most other files were restricted, he hadn't had any difficulty, with some sonic help, bypassing their security measures and accessing the real treasure trove.

Technical schematics, star charts, even command codes and security procedures... in his defense, it wasn't like he was planning to do anything with them- though the schematics were giving him some thoughts about refitting the TARDIS for operation in this universe. Rather, it was the very fact that they were locked away, sealed behind access codes and firewalls... he'd always had a terrible weakness for secret things, and the more hidden a nugget of information was, the more obsessively he tried to possess it.

Besides which, as kind as these people appeared, he'd been in more than enough dangerous situations to know that an escape plan was always advisable.

He was learning, at a truly unprecedented pace, if only because it had been so long since there had been so much to learn. But this talk of some mission niggled at his curiosity, so it was with a grunt that he plopped onto the chair in front of the computer monitor, kicking up his feet and resting them on the desk.

"Computer! Show me all information relating to this ship's current assignment."

"That information is restricted to senior staff and all applicable personnel."

"Are we really going to have to do this every time?" Rolling his eyes, he lifted his sonic screwdriver, and it buzzed, hummed and clicked for a few long moments. "How about now?"

"Displaying."

"I thought so."

Information began to flick on the screen, files... first, the mission briefing, as well as some information on specialized personnel and equipment that had been transferred to the Enterprise during her last pit-stop for its completion. He flitted through it in minutes, filing everything away in his vast memory, but he was already getting a little bored... until he came across the last set of files.

They were scans of the Alcheron system's sun, displaying the elevated heat and radiation pouring from it, along with an analysis and theory as to the cause. Whoever had assembled the report had postulated that the development, though regrettable, was natural; the result of the star's self-consumption reaching a denser layer of fuel. But as the Time Lord's eyes flickered from that analysis to the details of the scans themselves- including one that the Enterprise's own sensors had just uploaded- he felt panic stir in his chest.

"Oh, no..." Licking his lips, the Doctor raised his voice, glancing up at the ceiling; "Computer, can you put me in touch with the bridge?"

"Affirmative."

"Do it!" He waited a few seconds before realizing it had probably been done before calling out; "Hullo up there?"

"Doctor, we are about to begin an extremely time-sensitive operation," came the slightly irritated reply from Picard. "I am afraid we don't have the time to discuss your vessel's care with you at the moment."

"Yes, understandable, utterly so, but if I just might have a quick little w-"

"I am afraid it will have to wait until we're finished here. Picard out."

"Damn." Jaw tightening, the Doctor leapt to his feet, head swiveling first left, then right... he started to pace back and forth across the room, muttering under his breath, fingers twirling his sonic screwdriver. And then, in a shrill, blood curdling high pitch, he approached the cabin door and screamed; "OH GOD SOMETHING'S IN HERE WITH ME!"

The pair of guards were through the door in a flash, phasers out, eyes swiveling alertly across the room... so alertly, in fact, that they completely failed to realize the Time Lord had pressed himself up against the wall, just inside the doorway. The moment they had stepped inside, he was slipping out, hand slapping the door control to shut it; out popped his sonic screwdriver, a quick pass over the control panel ensuring the guards would have a bugger of a time getting out again. Still, it wasn't going to keep them from using their little communicators to seek reinforcements, so the Doctor was off like a flash; backtracking the path Data had originally led him, until he found the turbolift he'd ridden down to this deck.

Stepping inside, he tucked his sonic screwdriver away in his jacket pocket, tugging at his collar as he tried to plan just how he was going to get his point across the most urgently.

"Take me to the bridge!"

* * *

"Captain, I sensed great... sadness from him," Troi was confiding, a mere moment after the Doctor's communique had interrupted their discussion. Seated on the bridge, the remainder of the crew were busy at work, beaming personnel and material down to the surface of Alcheron V's colony. "It is buried under layers of mania and determination, as if he were seeking simply to ignore the feelings, but they are there. When I spoke to him of death, I also sensed genuine fear at the concept... not simply unease at the idea of dying, but dread at its very mention. It could be that he considers himself in some form of mortal danger."

"From us, or someone else?" Picard asked, brow furrowing.

"I cannot say," Troi admitted. "But if you wish my overall examination... he is far, far more than he appears. And far more than he acts."

"Which is saying something, all considered," Picard muttered, settling into his chair. "Thank you, Counselor. After this operation is concluded, I'll report to Starfleet Command on the incident; perhaps they have information that could shed some more light. In the meantime, I'd like you to-"

"Security to Lieutenant Worf!"

Everyone on the bridge reflexively turned towards the Chief of Security, with Picard all but twisting in his chair to do so. Looking more than a little surprised at the sudden influx of attention, the Klingon cleared his throat before tapping his commbadge; "Worf here."

"Sir, our guest just broke out of his quarters."

"Broke out?" Worf's fingers tightened reflexively around the crescent railing above his console; "Are either of you injured?"

"No, sir, he didn't... attack... he sort of... tricked us. Sir."

Worf's brows were descending like thunderclouds, and his voice was little more than a growl; "Tricked you?"

"We thought that-"

"Close transmission," Picard barked, climbing to his feet. "Computer, location of the Enterprise's newest occupant."

"Most recent occupant is in turbolift 12-C," the computer replied primly.

"What is the destination of the t-"

The answer didn't come from the computer, but from the hiss of the turbolift doors, behind the Captain's chair near the Engineering console. Out burst the frantic, fidgeting Time Lord, bowtie askew, eyes very wide and flitting about before locking on the very, very angry Picard.

"CAPTAIN!" He announced, starting to make his way down the ramp; "It is vital that I speak with you imm- GAAWK!"

The final word turned into a strangled gasp as Worf wrapped an arm around the Doctor from behind, squeezing him across the ribs and half-hoisting him into the air. The Time Lord proved considerably more heavy than expected, however, and his feet slowly sank back onto solid footing, though no matter how sharply he wriggled, he couldn't break free.

"Doctor, this is highly outrageous!" Picard snapped; "I told you we would discuss this matter after the conclusion of our assignment! Mister Worf, take him back to his quarters, seal him in there if you have to!"

"You're making a ludicrously disastrous mistake!" the Doctor protested, heels digging into the carpet as Worf bodily dragged him back towards the turbolift. The Klingon's lips were drawn back in a snarl because, though he wouldn't admit it to anyone, this half-starved looking stick of a man was quite a bit stronger than he looked. Picard had already turned away, in the meantime, determined to ignore the gibbering intruder, but the man's next words stopped him dead in his tracks.

"And it's going to get every single colonist on that planet killed!"

Chapter Text

"Worf, release him."

As the Klingon's arm fell away, the Doctor tumbled rather unceremoniously onto the floor in a heap, but was on his feet again in a flash, straightening his jacket and trying to catch his breath. Lifting a brow, still simmering with anger, Picard's arms crossed over his chest as he gestures for the Time Lord to continue.

"Your plan," the Doctor panted, "to help the colonists compensate for the heightening levels of radiation emitted by their sun? It's going to end in horrific, all-encompassing destruction for every life down there."

"How do you know about our mission here?" Picard asked slowly, eyes narrowing as he glanced towards Troi; but she shook her head, denying that she had shared any details.

"Becaaause," the Doctor replied, exasperated. "I overrode all your security measures and extracted the information from your computer core."

"You WHAT?"

"That isn't the bloody point, Captain!" The Time Lord continued, steamrolling right over the wide-eyed Captain's anger. "I know what you think you're here to do, and I know you have the best intentions, but I studied all the data you assembled, and the sun is going wibbly, almost to the point of going wobbly!"

"We are aware that the sun's emissions are intensifying," Picard snapped, "And if you studied the restricted files more closely, then you would be aware that we intend to provide the colony with shield emitters and metabolic stabilizers to assist them in adjusting to the change, until a proper evacuation fleet can be assembled to take them to a more suitable world."

"But that's a terrible plan!" The Doctor protested, throwing his hands out wide. "Sure, you might have saved the colony, hugs all round, but most of the planet's biome'll be wiped out by the ensuing solar radiation! That's hundreds of species of animals, plants, all irrevocably lost!"

"We are aware of that, Doctor," Picard replied tersely. "But we are left with little option. There are over twelve thousand people down there, too many to evacuate in time."

"Well, seems a bit of a bittersweet win, then, doesn't it?" the Time Lord snapped, "And that's only if you saved them, which you wouldn't, because it isn't even going to bloody work, because you're wrong, entirely wrong, horribly, embarrassingly wrong about the sun's behavior now, and even MORE wrong about how it is going to behave in the very, very near future!"

"And I suppose in the handful of minutes you had with our data, you've formulated a superior theory?" Picard retorted.

"Of course I have! Why else would I come up here?!"

Picard was about to order the man thrown bodily from the bridge if need be, but his conversation with Counselor Troi brought him up short. So, instead, he counted to five, then asked as calmly as he could manage under the circumstances; "Have you really?"

"Captain," the Doctor said, trying not to sound patronizing and failing utterly; "A simple examination of the sensor data makes it abundantly clear that the rising radiation and photon levels that have been sporadically emitted from the system's sun are caused not, as your people have theorized, by a natural stage in its development, but are rather the result of a large chunk of phased dark matter, likely a small planetoid, that is interacting with the sun's magnetosphere and causing, as a natural result of such an interaction, an electromagnetic surge that is disrupting the inner composition of the corona, resulting in uneven stellar mass consumption and, as a natural byproduct of such consumption, vastly varying the output of the sun. Even worse, the planetoid is being drawn deeper and deeper into the sun with every moment, which will exponentially increase the electromagnetic fluctuations until stellar mass consumption reaches a critical point that cannot be regulated by stellar osmosis. A coronal mass ejection is imminent, one that will wipe that colony, and everything else I might add, from the surface of the planet, no matter how much shielding you stack on top of them. But disaster can still be avoided if we move quickly enough."

Picard opened his mouth to reply, then settled for passing it on to a higher power; "...Data?"

Data blinked, twice, before replying; "It is... possible, sir. A dark matter planetoid would not be detected by our sensors, and could have such an effect. In theory."

"More'n just theory, Data, this is the real done deal," the Doctor chirped, then started to flick his fingers, as if he were mentally tallying something in his head. "The pattern of the coronal disruption all but screamed 'Dark Matter Planetoid Violating Me' when I saw it. Dark matter isn't bound by the laws of gravity, so the odds of one randomly drifting into a sun are, pardon the pun, astronomical, let alone one in an inhabited system, but when it happens... anyway, give me an hour, a torpedo, access to your replicator, bring the ship fifty thousand kilometers into the sun's corona, and I guarantee that it'll be handshakes all round by the eighteenth hole."

"The Enterprise wouldn't survive a minute that deep in the corona," Riker protested; "The heat and radiation would tear our shields apart."

"Would they?" The Doctor paused for about half a second, lips puckering in thought as he once more finger-counter before snapping them sharply. "All right, give me five hours, a torpedo, access to your replicator and shield generators, and I'll give you both the solution and the tough nutshell to get close enough to use it, eh?"

Picard's mouth was a thin, pale line as he slowly began to shake his head; "Doctor, those people have very little time before the flares begin, I cannot spare the personnel for such modi-"

"Did I ask for people?" The Doctor's fingers snapped mid-word as a thought occurred to him; "Wait, no, scratch that, Data, give me Data too, this is a big ship, could use the help, lots of heavy stuff to lug around and he can listen to instructions better'n the lot of you without arguing incessantly, so that's a boon. Give me Data, and the things I need, and I guarantee you, Captain, that you'll save your colonists, and the whole planet to boot. You can still use the rest of your crew to work on that doomed failure plan of yours, too, all right?"

Picard's jaw worked as his eyes flickered to the viewscreen, and the lush, green planet below; when he finally spoke, strain and a hint of sarcasm were both prominent in his voice. "And I suppose in exchange for your assistance, you would appreciate that we offer our own immediate aid with regards to your vessel?"

The Doctor twitched noticeably, his own mouth thinning to a pale line; his body going from twitching and desperate to utterly still.

"You're only asking that," he replied quietly, "because we've just met, and you don't know me. I forgive you for that. I'm not asking for anything from you, Captain; just to help."

Picard eyed the unusually quiet Time Lord for a handful of heartbeats... and then, finally...

"Mister Data, assist the Doctor with whatever he requires. We will continue our own contingency plan in the meantime."

"Aye, sir." Data vacated the Ops console, just in time for the Doctor to intercept him, grab him by the arm and half-lead, half-drag him to the nearest turbolift.

* * *

"As close to the nearest shield generator as you can get me!" The Doctor ordered the lift once they have stepped inside, and as the turbolift shuddered into motion, he turned his attention to his comrade; "Data, I need you to get down to one of the torpedo bays, and remove the warhead from one of them. If I'm going to get everything prepared in time, I'll need to talk you through the modifications while I work on fortifying your defenses."

"Yes, Doctor," Data replied agreeably then, head tilting, added; "I presume you intend to use the torpedo being developed to, in some way, affect the dark matter planetoid you theorized. However, as I informed the Captain, our sensors are not calibrated to detect the presence of dark matter, nor am I aware of a calibration that could accomplish this. How is it you intend to find the planetoid?"

"Don't need to see it," the Doctor replied cheerfully; "Just need to track it by the fluctuations it's causing in that sun. Just follow the ripples inwards, and we'll know right where the old girl is."

"The surface of the Alcheron star is a constantly shifting nexus of magnetic force, energy and matter," Data countered after a moment to chew over the response. As the turbolift door popped open and the Doctor stepped out, Data inched forward a little to keep the doors from closing, calling out; "With significant 'ripples' occurring naturally. And is significantly larger even than Earth's native sun; Alcheron V's surface area could fit upon it over twelve thousand times. What makes you certain that you'll be able to isolate and pinpoint the location of a dark matter planetoid in such a vast area, using only electromagnetic readouts?"

"Because," came the grand reply, the strange man whirling around to face the turbolift, a mischievous grin on his face "I'm the Doctor."

Data paused for a split second, frowning; "That does not strike me as a valid explanation."

The Time Lord's grin faded a little and he cleared his throat, waggling a finger at the android even as he turned back towards the corridor.

"Just give it time. It will!"

* * *

Nearly six hours later, the Enterprise was somewhere it had never before been; deep in the corona of the Alcheron system's sun. Whereas normally the violent heat and radiation flares would have long since cooked the ship from inside to out, the new shielding that had been installed by the strange Doctor- who had spent over four hours sprinting madly from one shield generator to the next, even as he'd barked instructions over a commline to Data- seemed to be keeping the worst of it out. Now, with everyone assembled on the bridge, the Doctor's hands were jammed into his coat pockets, where he and Data stood near the aft science station.

The viewscreen had been shut off awhile ago, as there was simply too much energy and light to be filtered out of visual sensors, even with all the visual filters in place. So the bridge crew relied instead on sensor readouts, which admittedly left those in the center seats bereft of much first-hand information...

"External heat and radiation at critical levels beyond the shield grid," Worf murmured, shaking his head. "But all readings within the shield bubble are reading normal. Shields are holding, captain."

"Metaphasic shielding," the Doctor announced, a decidedly pleased glimmer in his eyes as his arms folded across his chest. "Brilliant little gem for anyone that wants to wander past superheated gas and lethal radiation- and, let's face it, who doesn't? It's nothing, really, I'm sure you'd have figured it out before much longer."

"Impressive," Picard replied, "but we're nearing your requested position, Doctor. What's the next step?"

"Glad you asked!" the Time Lord chirped, half-nudging the Klingon aside and ignoring the glower entirely as his fingers danced across the control padd. "Mister Worf, target the modified torpedo in launcher one to these... precise... coordinates, and extend shield diameter by another twenty percent. Not to stress, they'll hold long enough. The torpedo will, of course, be exposed to the full fury of the sun once it has passed beyond our shield grid, but we're counting on that. The thermal output of that sun, and wonderful cocktail of radiation, will trigger the necessary reaction in the specialized warhead Mister Data helped design, a split second before it is vaporized, which is all the time it needs."

"All the time it needs to do what, exactly?" Riker asked.

"Why, to give that planetoid the bum's rush, of course," the Doctor crowed; "Phased dark matter isn't affected by gravity, or normal matter, which means their direction and velocity remain largely unaltered, unalterable, in fact. One of the few things this planetoid's course would be affected by, however, is an inverted phasic polaron pulse, which the warhead will generate once activated. Properly placed, the pulse will effectively shove the planetoid away from the star's corona and send it on its merry way in the opposite direction, where it would drift for another million years before it even caught glimpse of another sun. With the intrusion gone, this sun will correct itself through stellar osmosis in a few days, and all wil be nice and rosy."

Given the Doctor's promised shielding seemed to be holding up to its guarantee, Picard honestly couldn't think of a reason to doubt this newest assurance. After a long moment, his head inclined briefly as he turned his attention to Worf, who had rather pointedly reclaimed his console, 'brushing' the Doctor aside. At the Captain's affirming nod, the Klingon turned his attention to the firing controls, entering the provided coordinates and growling;

"Firing torpedo."

The moments passed, silent... without the viewscreen to assist, the wait seemed almost agonizing, soft beeps filling the air as the Doctor and Data hunched over the science station in the aft of the bridge, watching charts, graphs and innumerable numbers flit by. Finally, a particularly loud 'breep' filled the air, sounding almost cheerfully positive, and at the sound, Picard straightened in his seat, eyes still staring forward at the useless viewscreen.

"Mister Data?"

"Sensor analysis compiling, sir," Data replied, "Sensors are unable to ascertain the status of any dark matter that may or may not be present... but the star's corona does appear to be fluctuating in response to the torpedo's detonation."

"Yes, yes, because it worked..." the Doctor frowned, eyes narrowed as he stared at the science station readout, then at his screwdriver's own miniature display. "At least, the planetoid's been blown clear... but these readings are a little worr-"

The rest was cut off by a sudden, deafening klaxon as the ship's tactical alert lights began to flash.

"Captain!" Worf barked over the alarms; "Automatic red alert has been triggered; thermal and radiation levels are increasing exponentially!"

"I am detecting fusion spikes in the star's corona," Data announced, fingers dancing across the science station's controls. "Coronal mass ejection is imminent; ninety-six seconds to release. We are not directly in its path, but... Captain, its estimated path will result in it consuming Alcheron V seven minutes after its emission, as well as everything on the surface. The shielding we provided the colonists will be inadequate to protect, as are our own. Nothing will survive."

"Helm, set a course for the colony!" Picard snapped; "We need to get as many people as we can off that planet before-"

"No!" The Doctor barked, squinting as the display on his screwdriver, "Keep us right where we are! I can fix this!"

"Doctor," Picard snapped, "your plan has failed, and-"

"No it hasn't, we were just a little too late to stop the worst of the flare-up!" All but sprinting across the bridge, coat jacket whipping around his thin chest, he half-braced, half-slammed into the rear consoles, eyes darting from the readings on the science station, to the android who manned it. "Data, do you trust me?"

Data hesitated for half a second, then gave a sharp nod.

Reaching into his inner jacket pocket, the Doctor tugged free his sonic screwdriver, and took a deep breath, pointing it square at the android. Hesitating for a moment, he mouthed an apology before activating it, squinting a bit as if expecting an explosion. The moment the screwdriver hummed to life, Data stiffened in his chair, head swiveling to face forward, his eyes buzz of the screwdriver grew higher, and higher in pitch until it was a near whine, and Data's head began to twitch sporadically as his eyes flicked from side to side, faster and faster...

And then, his hands began to dart across the Engineering console, fingers moving in a blur, the 'beep beep beep' of each struck key blending into a near drone as dozens, hundreds, thousands of lines of base machine code began to scroll across the screen, input at a dizzying rate. Lines of code turned into an energy wavelength, and less than half a minute after they had begun, the Doctor flipped off the sonic, tucking it back into his inner jacket pocket and jabbing a finger towards Picard.

"We need to activate your ship's deflector dish, everything it's got!"

Picard's eyes were focused not on the Doctor, but instead on Data, who sat twitching in his seat, not focusing, not reacting or speaking.

"What the hell did you do to him?!" Picard snapped; "What is it you're trying to accom-"

"Twenty-seven seconds to coronal mass ejection!" Worf barked.

"Captain," the Doctor shouted, "You're not exactly swimming in options right now!"

Picard's lips twisted as he considered the juttering, spasming Data for another long moment; then, whirling towards the viewscreen, he made his decision.

"Mister Worf!" Picard finally snapped; "Activate the deflector dish, full power!"

The Enterprise hummed, then howled; a bright, blinding light filled the room...

And then the world went away, for a time.

* * *

Consciousness returned, all at once, as the crew began to awaken only moments after that bright flash; one by one, the bridge called out that they were all right, with no serious injuries reported. Dazed and bleeding from a cut in his bald scalp, Picard nonetheless waved off Riker's offered hand, instead hauling himself to his feet under his own power, leaving Riker to help Troi instead. The bridge was nearly pitch black, the gloom broken only be strobing red emergency lights, and it was only grudgingly that the control consoles flickered back to life.

Coughing at the acrid smoke that hung in the air, Picard half-shuffled, half-stumbled back to his command chair, sinking onto it with a groan and tugging at his soot-stained uniform top. "Nngh... report..."

"Numrous systems are offline," Worf rumbled, slightly slumped against the tactical console; only a tight grip to the railing had kept him from flying across the room himself. "It would appear that command and control circuits throughout the ship have been disrupted by an electromagnetic pulse... extensive overloads... life support is stable, as is intra-ship communications and tertiary systems." Worf's fingers tightened around the console. "Captain, the pulse would be consistent with the aftershock of a coronal mass ejection."

Picard's tongue flicked across his dry lips. "...the colony?"

Worf shook his head, growling. "Sensors and communication are offline. I cannot ascertain the colony's status."

"Damn. Doctor, can you ex-" Turning to the science station, Picard hesitated when he realized the Time Lord wasn't there; in fact, he wasn't anywhere near the back consoles, and with a frown, the bridge crew began to look around, searching...

Until Riker called out that he'd found him, just behind the Helm console. The Time Lord crumpled on his side against the wall just beneath the main viewscreen, almost invisible under the dim emergency lighting. He wasn't moving, and between the angle of his head, and the dark confines of the bridge, they couldn't see his face clearly at all.

"Medical team to the bridge immediately!" Picard lifted a hand as Riker reached down towards the Time Lord; "Don't move him, Commander, we can't be sure how extensively he's hurt."

"Captain."

It took another moment to pinpoint the voice; Data, whose senseless body had been tossed near the after turbolift, was sitting up. As Counselor Troi knelt over the Doctor's body, watching for any signs of life, Riker and Picard quickly moved to help the disoriented android to his feet.

"Data." Picard said, keeping a tight grip on his shoulder to make sure he was balanced "Are you all right?"

"Yes, Captain..." the android's eyes flickered as he ran an internal diagnostic. "I am uncertain as to how, but I believe the Doctor interfaced with my sensory module and directly downloaded a series of instructions to my cognitive processors... it allowed me to create a new subroutine for the deflector dish, modifying its output wavelength to the Doctor's specifications. The direct flow of information overwhelmed my neural net, however, and required a system reboot to purge the code and restore system functions."

"Why did he use you?" Riker asked; "If he can interface with a computer system, why not directly download it to the Enterprise mainframe?"

"He needed the information to be processed through my knowledge of the ship programming; I do not believe he is suitably familiar with our coding methods," Data explained then, after a brief pause, added; "Yet."

"Captain," Worf announced, "Sensors are back online."

"Mister Data," Picard said gently, "If you're up to it..."

"Of course, sir." Resuming his seat at the Ops station, Data quickly called up the relevant data; when he next spoke, he sounded... quite surprised. "We has been blown free of the corona. The coronal mass ejection appears to have been... deflected... fifty-five degrees from its previously estimated course, sir, though I cannot say how this is possible. Its new heading will not place the colony in any danger, and it should dissipate long before it reaches any of the system's outer planets. The colony's electronic may be effected by the resulting electromagnetic pulse, as our own systems have been, but the colonists themselves will be unharmed... as will the planet's biome."

There was a very loud, very collective sigh of relief as everyone relaxed just a little.

"And the Alcheron sun?" Picard asked, still wary. "Does another flare seem likely?"

"The sun's output is already stabilizing," Data replied. "If it continues, it will return to its normal levels within approximately three days."

There had been plenty of stunned silences today; but this one was almost deafening as the bridge crew simply stared at the viewscreen.

"He was right," Riker marveled. "The lunatic did it. Incredible."

"Apparently so, Number One..." Picard's mouth twisted as he eyed the crumpled form. barking; "But at what cost to him? Where's that damned medical t-"

The turbolift doors hissed open a moment later, and a pair of medics stepped out with a stretcher between them; Crusher was right behind them, and after briefly making sure the rest of the bridge crew was standing and unharmed, she led her medics to the fallen Doctor. Her mouth was set in a grim line as she passed her tricorder over him, the readings obviously doing nothing to reassure her.

"Helm, set a course for the Alcheron colony, best speed. Engage." Joining the medical team by the crumpled Time Lord's body, Picard knelt beside the Chief Medical Officer; "Is he alright, doctor?"

"Well, considering I only started examining his physiology this morning, I'm not sure just how he is," Crusher replied, frustration brimming in her voice as she all but glared at her tricorder readings. "He's clearly been through a rough fall. He might have a broken rib, bruised kidney... if this even is a kidney... I'm just not sure. At the very least, his pulse... pulses... seem strong. I'll need to get him to sickbay, though."

"Make it so," Picard replied. "Do whatever you can for him, doctor. It would seem we owe him that much, and more."

* * *

It was a little over an hour before Sickbay reported that the Time Lord had regained consciousness, although it had little to do with their intervention. The Doctor's biology was so unusual, Crusher had been loathe to try much of anything; she simply wasn't sure what any drug, or regenerative treatment, would have on him. All she had been able to report for certain was that the man was a mass of bruises, inside and out, which was fairly mild considering he had been all but catapulted across the bridge, the only one who hadn't grabbed onto something in advance. Fortunately, though, he also seemed to be recovering at a rather surprising rate, and so it wasn't that tremendous a surprise when he finally awoke, groggy and mumbling something about ponds.

Stepping into sickbay a few minutes after the report, Picard couldn't help but marvel at the difference. A man who had such a short time ago saved an entire planet, tamed a rampaging star, and turned aside a blast of energy powerful enough to wipe out an entire world, was sitting on one of the biobeds. His suit jacket was missing, the shirt underneath torn and stained with soot; he was currently examining a medical took with considerable fascination and, with the exception of a single, dark bruise just above his jaw, he seemed fine.

"Doctor."

"Aaah, Captain. So good to see you." Setting the tool down, the Doctor turned in his seat to face his visitor; freezing for just a moment and baring his teeth in a grimace as his battered ribs flared up at the movement. The casual demeanor flickered, just briefly, a touch of concern in his eyes. "How's Data?"

"He appears to have recovered from your interface process," Picard replied. "None worse for wear."

"Good. Good..." The Doctor winced; "I'd be lying if I said that there wasn't risk in what I did to him, but-"

"-not exactly swimming in options," Picard finished wryly. "Mister Data concurs, and even I must admit, I understand your reasons. How are you feeling?"

"I'll be all right," the Doctor replied, giving his hands a cursory glance. "There's no glowing, so obviously I'm not that badly hurt..."

"...I see," Picard lied, brow furrowing. "I take it you're curious as to the status of the Alcheron star..."

"Well, we're still alive, and I'm not in your detention cell, so I'm going to assume it worked."

Picard's lips quirked, but for once they did so upwards, nodding. "Yes, it did. How...?"

"Oh, it's pretty simple," the Doctor replied, waving his hand slightly. "A spatial refraction effect caused by your 'deflector dish,' acted like a lens, altering the focus of spacetime in a localized area, so when the flare occurred, its passage through the altered region of spacetime caused it to, effectively, shift its orientation or, more accurately, the orientation of the universe around it. In that way, the mass emission's course was altered without... well, directly altering its course, which of course would have been impossible. Per se."

"...I see." Another lie.

"All's well that ends well, though!" the Doctor chirped, working his shoulders in their sockets. "So, what's the new plan, then?"

"Well, the Enterprise will remain in orbit over the colony for another week or so," Picard explained. "The solar flare caused a powerful electromagnetic pulse that has disrupted much of the colony's command and control circuitry. We'll make sure that they receive the assistance they require to restore their systems, and then set up a monitoring station to ensure the sun continues to return to normal."

"No rest for the wicked, is there?"

"No, I suppose not," Picard replied, pausing for just a moment before continuing; "In the meantime, I will assign a team of engineers, as well as Mister Data, to assist you with restoring your vessel to operational condition. The resources of this ship, at least those not currently involved with the colony, are at your disposal for the duration."

The Time Lord actually looked quite surprised at that, a delighted grin crossing his face as he reached out to enthusiastically clasp Picard's hand in a brief shake.

"Much appreciated, Captain." The Doctor began to hop to his feet, then gave a stifled grunt of pain and instead slowly eased off the biobed. "But if it's all right with you, I think I'll go lie down for a bit first. Have a bite to eat. Wait for the swelling to go down."

"Of course." Stepping to one side, Picard inclined his head as the Time Lord limped past; just as he neared the exit, however, the Captain called out; "Doctor."

Stopping with a wince as his bruised body protested, the Time Lord half-turned, brow raised inquisitively.

Picard's lips turned upwards in a small, warm smile. "Thank you. Very nicely done."

Returning the smile, the Doctor gave a brief, jaunty salute, wincing again as it drew another sharp sting from his ribs.

"All part of the job, Captain." His brows lifted as he added impishly; "Bit of fun, too."

Chapter Text

The Doctor had asked that a meeting of the engineering staff who had been assigned to provide assistance take place at 0900 hours, and it was just a few minutes before then that Geordi and his hand-picked team shuffled into the chosen conference room. The Doctor was nowhere to be found, not yet at least, and so the engineers took seats from themselves, falling into murmured conversation. They were all specialists of varying kinds, mostly to do with warp mechanics and a smattering of other fields; in truth, the Time Lord hadn't given any specifics to the sort of people he was looking for, and so LaForge had opted for as varied a skillset as possible.

The muffled conversation was cut short as the conference room's door swished back open.

"Right! Morning!" With a wide, manic grin on his face, the Doctor breezed into the room; he had replaced his tattered outfit with a fresh one, identical to the first, obviously replicated using the ship's computer, though the suit jacket still bore soot marks, suggesting he had chosen to wear the old one; that, and the fading bruise on his jaw, were the only bits of evidence on their rather stressful day. The outfit was complete, of course, with bowtie, which he adjusted proudly with one hand as the half dozen engineers openly stared.

"Uh, Doctor," Geordi finally asked, lifting a hand slightly; "I thought Data was joining us on the project?"

"Oh, I've been working with him for the past..." he glanced at his watch; "...three hours already! Time flies. Didn't want to wake any of you up, we're having a marvelous time. He's just working on the TARDIS console, preparing the interface slot I'll be using once the modulator is complete. True professional, real pleasure to work with him."

Geordi frowned a little, but then nodded; "All right. Well, I had some ideas about how we could incorporate our power systems, but I'd need to wait until a closer look inside your ship-"

"Oh," the Doctor interjected, shaking his head. "No."

LaForge's head tilted. "...no...? As in...?"

"As in 'No, nobody else is allowed in the TARDIS,'" the Doctor explained, chuckling a bit at the very thought, "certainly not with any sort of scanning equipment, that's just insane. Please don't take offense, but infusing Gallifreyan technology into a more primitive culture has rarely ended well, and I think everyone can agree that such matters are best approached in baby steps. You have an entire central philosophy around that concept. Data has already been ordered by Captain Picard to keep any observations he makes entirely to himself, up to and including deletion of the memory engrams, so the risk is minimized with him. Humans with scanners on the other hand, no, terrible, terrible idea. After all, just because I'm not the Doctor of this universe, doesn't mean I can't behave with just a little bit of responsibility when it comes to keeping the children out of the liquor cabinet."

"Long as we're not taking offense, right?" LaForge asked, scowling a bit.

"Absolutely spot on!" The Doctor replied, cheerfully missing the sarcasm. Selecting the chair at the end of the conference room for himself, he plonked down onto it, adjusting his jacket, then reaching into one of the pockets. Out came one PADD... then two... then three... then four... until he had a stack of five PADDs resting on the table. Finally, he pulled out one more item; a bulky, boxy device that was at least three times larger than the pocket he'd tugged it from. Leaning back, he stretched, twiddled his thumbs, rotated back and forth in the chair a couple of times, then kicked his feet up.

"All right, the work should be simple enough," he began, "I mostly need people to run messages, collect supplies, hold light here or there, and help me better incorporate the particulars of your technology into the modulator I'm going to design, since much of it will need your hardware. Also, if anyone knows how to make your replicator produce jammy dodgers-"

"Um, Doctor," LaForge interjected, leaning forward a little; "I don't mean to sound too... uh... but we're not exactly first-year cadets. Captain Picard wants us to help you, and I don't think it'd be too much to ask that you let us actually help in a way other than just running errands. We have our own fields of expertise."

There were nods all about the table, and the Time Lord considered that point, lips pursing before he snapped his fingers.

"You're absolutely right," the Doctor mused, "My apologies, I am accustomed to working in far earlier time periods, I obviously shouldn't discount your abilities! All right, anyone who has a background in trans-spatial biotemporal engineering, preferably with a minor in extradimensional singularity mechanics, raise your hand and you can join me for a tour in the TARDIS!"

The engineers glanced at one another, but otherwise nobody moved... certainly, nobody raised a hand.

"Anybody? Anyone at all?" The Doctor waited for a long, long moment before announcing; "Just me then! Let's move on. I had some thoughts as to how I might modify the TARDIS, but I am going to need a number of things. Three yards of optical cable, five pounds of duranium, fifty ounces of copper, half a pound of tin, a computational unit capable of at least seventy thousand processes per second, a programmable command and control interface, a ball to throw at the wall when I get stuck, aaand... oh, yes, I searched your database for a certain species of coral that is quite crucial, but unfortunately you don't seem to have an equivalent. However, I believe I know how to make up for this... do you have any..." he double-checked the PADD before sliding it, and another, to a pair of engineers. "'Dilithium' to spare?"

"Well, yeah," LaForge replied, shrugging; "We have about fifty kilos of raw dilithium ore in cargo bay three."

"Excellent, I need just half a kilo, delivered to Sickbay." Selecting a third PADD from the pile, he slid it across the conference table, along the bulky device he had brought in; "Give these to Doctor Crusher, along with the ore, ask her if she could have one of her people follow the instructions to the very letter. A single deviation from those instructions, and we'd have to start from scratch, and as this is a crucial ingredient, best it be ready sooner than later."

Sighing softly, LaForge nonetheless gestures to the remaining Engineers, who took their respective PADDs and left the conference room with whatever dignity they could muster. The Chief Engineer wasn't exactly thrilled with how things were turning out; though he considered himself a pretty easy-going guy, he had actually been extremely excited for the chance to solve a bit of the riddle that was this Doctor's big blue box... but it looked like that mystery was going to hold for awhile longer.

"Anything else I can get you?" He asked.

"Just to reserve one of your holodecks for a day or two," the Doctor replied. "I'm going through a lot of trial and error work, using and discarding a few hundred different tools, some of which haven't been invented yet, and it would greatly help speed things along. I already wrote a base program..."

Across slid a fourth PADD.

"...of course you did." Accepting the PADD, Geordi scrolled through it for a moment, frowning. "I don't see any tool parameters."

"Well, of course not, that would fall under 'no-no technology sharing,'" the Doctor replied, sounding almost offended. "Just said I wasn't going to do that. I intend to write the parameters on the fly, encrypt the files, delete them when I'm done, what have you. Anyway, I won't need anything terribly exotic until that crucial task in Sickbay is complete, and so the tools you have on file should be sufficient for now... actually, I'll mostly be using my sonic screwdriver, but they're very nice tools! Very... well built."

Geordi nodded slowly, trying to sound like the compliment he was accepting wasn't quite so backhanded; "...thanks!"

The Doctor sighed a little as he considered the Chief Engineer for a long moment; "I'd like you to understand, this isn't anything personal, or a slight to your intelligence... quite the contrary, actually, I consider you intelligent enough that I'm not comfortable letting you get a good look at the interior of the TARDIS. I've had hundreds of humans in the TARDIS, but only because they wouldn't be able to wrap their head around its mechanics if I gave them the bloody manual. You, on the other hand, could no doubt figure more than a few things out by yourself... to say nothing for the visual spectrum of your Visor.

"It's all right, Doc," LaForge replied, sighing a little but managing to set aside his disappointment. He supposed some mysteries would have to remain just that. "Like you said, we do have our own rules about non-interference... and I guess, from a time travel perspective, we're close to being a pre-warp civilization from your point of view. If things were reversed, I'd probably be taking the same precautions."

"I'm glad you see it that way," the Doctor replied, grinning as he hopped to his feet, moving towards the exit, even as Geordi stared at the PADD he'd been given... at least until the Time Lord spoke again. "Well?"

Looking up, LaForge cleared his throat. "...well what?"

"Weeellll," the Doctor replied slowly, eyes narrowing as if he couldn't believe he had explain this; "I am off to design a modulator intended to tap into the very essence of the universe. And Data spoke quite highly of you, so I thought you'd like to come with me to the Holodeck and assist. Or just watch. Honestly, I've been pottering about on my own for awhile, be nice to have someone to talk to, and Data will be in the TARDIS for the rest of the day. But, of course, if you're otherwise occupied-""

"No!" Geordi cut in quickly, shaking his head and half-stumbling to his feet. "No, no, absolutely I'd be happy to help any way I can!"

"Brilliant." Grinning, the Doctor whirled on his heel, stepping out of the conference room and calling over his shoulder; "Come along, LaForge."

* * *

"It's incredible, Jean Luc."

Picard and Doctor Crusher were both in Sickbay a little over an hour later, the former staring at a set of readouts on the wall monitor with absolutely no idea what they meant, and the latter focusing all her attention on what the readouts were referring to; a sealed containment pod filled with a pink-tinted, transparent, bubbling liquid. At the bottom, the chunk of dilithium crystal rested, the edges of it looking curiously ridged and covered in small craters. Attached to the side of the pod was the bulky device the Doctor had delivered to her, via a very irritated looking engineer.

"I'm following every instruction he gave me," she told him, shaking her head, "Though it took a little while to integrate his... device... into the containment pod. Whatever it is, something is definitely happening to the dilithium ore... maybe it's the subspace field, maybe it's the nutrient bath, maybe it's the blend of radiation that the device he gave me is generating, but the actual structure of the crystal is... changing... somehow. I couldn't even begin to guess into what, and I dearly wish Data were to take a look. In any case, according to the Doctor's instructions, it won't be 'ready' for a few more hours, but... Captain, I wish I could pick this man's brain. I mean, not literally. Well, a more detailed neurological scan would be nice, but... I honestly wonder what he's a Doctor of."

"I'd ask him," Picard replied, "but I suspect it would just result in more questions. Still, let me know when-"

"Bridge to Captain Picard." The voice piped through his commbadge, cutting off his next words. "We are receiving a transmission from Starfleet Command."

"One moment, Bridge. Doctor Crusher, may I use your office?"

"Of course, Captain," Crusher murmured, her eyes still locked on the readouts her tricorder was offering her.

Stifling a grin at her unrelenting fascination, Picard slipped into her office and settled onto her chair, turning the monitor towards him and tapping a control.

"Bridge," he instructed, "Pipe the transmission through to Doctor Crusher's office terminal."

A moment later, the face of Admiral Alexis Necherov popped onto the screen, framed in the background by the plain gray wall of his office in Starfleet Command's headquarters. His salt-and-pepper hair was immaculately groomed in a crewcut, his beard cropped short, and he looked every inch the authoritative drill seargent... and, indeed, he had been an instructor at Starfleet Academy for well over a decade, before being promoted to the Admirality.

"Admiral Ross, good to see you again," Picard greeted with a small smile. "How's San Francisco?"

"A little too quiet for my tastes, but I get by," Ross replied, his tone friendly, if a little businesslike "I just finished reading your report... quite a story."

"Yes, it's been an eventful couple of days," Picard noted dryly, "but given how things have turned out, they've been quite positive."

"Mmm, yes, it's fortuitous he was there to help." Ross's casual tones faded, leaving him quite intend as he leaned forward, hands folded in front of him. "Now, the report mentioned that his vessel is basically dead in the water until he calibrated it properly. Has he completed those calibrations yet?"

"No, from what the Doctor has told me, he will need at least forty-eight hours to complete his design," Picard replied. "Possibly more."

"Good, we have time, then." Ross murmured.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Picard said slowly, frowning.

"The USS Intrepid is en route to your location at emergency high warp," Necherov explained, "they should arrive within two days. They're preparing a very special set of accommodations for this man, and his... 'blue box,'... and once he's secured they'll transport him, and his vessel, back to Starfleet Command for debriefing. You are to hold your position until then, and give him no indication that we are coming."

Picard was stunned for a long moment, shifting in his chair and licking his lips as he tried to think of a diplomatic way to voice his displeasure.

"Admiral..." he finally said, head tilting and a slightly confused smile crossing his face, as if he thought the admiral were joking; "I have to confess, this strikes me as highly irregular, and contrary to the freedoms and rights outlined in the Federation charter. For that matter, I see no reason this behavior is even necessary."

"From the report you've submitted," the Admiral intoned solemnly, "this Doctor fellow was able to circumvent every security protocol and encryption code in the Enterprise's computer mainframe. He also designed, from scratch, an algorithm that was able to... 'bend the fabric of space-time,' in less than a minute, using your Commander Data to input it. Commander Maddox would love to know how that was done, as would many others in the Daystrom Institute. Jean Luc, while Starfleet is certainly grateful to his contribution in securing the safety of the Alcheron colonists, we cannot ignore the fact that this man possess a level of knowledge and skill that could prove very dangerous to Starfleet, if not the entire Federation. Particularly if it were to fall into the wrong hands."

"Admiral, I must protest," Picard countered. "The Doctor has done nothing to make himself our enemy-"

"He admitted himself that he all but stole restricted files, Picard!"

"And then afterwards used the information in them to save twelve thousand lives, and the entire biome of Alcheron V," Picard continued, raising his voice a little to . "His methods are, I agree, blunt and more than a little irritating, as is his apparent habit of cutting through every regulation one might think to levy, but the fact remains that if he had acted like a proper guest on this ship, minded his manners, and kept quiet, then there would be a lot of dead men on the conscience of every officer involved in the assignment, both of us included!"

Ross leaned forward just a little, jaw tightening; "I beg your pardon?"

"It was your department, Admiral, that advanced the explanation for the erratic behavior of the Alcheron star," Picard snapped, "and had we adhered to those expectations, it would have been a disaster. Say what you will about the Doctor, I may even agree with half of it, but maverick or no, the man performed an invaluable service for the Federation, and has given us no legitimate cause to treat him so ill as to abduct him and seize his vessel as contraband."

The Admiral's eyes were little chips of ice by now, and he opened his mouth to bellow right back... but, restraining himself, the heavy-set man just drew in a slow, deep breath and exhaled. When he spoke again, his voice was shielded with professional detachment, his eyes focused on the desk in front of him, not meeting the captain's gaze.

"Captain, I am ordering you to hold position until the Intrepid arrives. I'm also ordering you not to say a word of this to your visitor and, in the event he completes his refit, keep him from leaving the Enterprise at all costs. These orders come directly from Starfleet Intelligence, and though you do have a record for 'bending the rules,' this isn't one you should be testing... trying to wouldn't reflect well on you, or on your crew. Ross out."

The monitor went blank a moment later, and Picard couldn't help but fume as he leaned back in his seat, hands squeezing the arms of his chair.

"Damn."

Chapter Text

Thirty-Six Hours Later...

"So, let me see if I get this straight," LaForge said, arms crossed over his chest as he eyed the nearly-finished device the Doctor was fussing over.

The holodeck was bare at the moment, except for a single workbench in the center of the room. Over the past day and a half, various tools and devices, ranging from handheld to massive structures, had filled the chamber, offering a variety of functions... some obvious to the Enterprise's Chief Engineer, and some quite obscure.

At the end of all that work, though, there was the device; the bottom segment of it looked like any piece of Starfleet; burnished gray duranium alloy in a circular base, with a glossy black control pad on one side. The interior was a mess of circuits and even some old-fashioned wiring, a jury-rigged amalgamation of several generations worth of human and Federation technology.

The truly alien component was what was locked into the base; what had once been a hunk of dilithium crystal had since metamorphosed due to Doctor Crusher's guided treatment of it. Instead of a smooth, shimmering piece of crystal, it was misshapen, a pale white and orange tiny, covered in numerous tiny pockmarks throughout its surface. To LaForge's visor, the thing looked like quite literally nothing he had ever seen.

"Your TARDIS doesn't work because it can't draw on energy from our universe," LaForge started slowly, as if fully expecting to be corrected. "And the reason it can't do that is the materials its constructed from originate from your own universe, and it has a quantum signature that leaves it fundamentally incompatible with this 'Time Vortex.'"

"Mhm, good so far," the Doctor chirped distractedly.

"So this... coral... looking stuff..." his head tilted as he considered it. "Because it's made from raw materials in our universe, it'll draw the necessary power, and let your TARDIS do whatever it is your TARDIS does..."

"In theory," the Doctor chirped. "Truth be told, never attempted it before, never had the chance. Dunno if anyone ever has. Without your replicators, your dilithium crystals, I wouldn't have been able to jury-rig something to draw on its own supply of fuel... and let me tell you, last thing I want to do is go giving it my life force again; blase as I acted the first time, that's an absurdly risky thing to be tossing around. Now, because a TARDIS is grown from a species of pseudo-coral, I had hoped to find perhaps a planet with a similar supply but, lacking that, I decided that it would be close enough to use a fifth-dimension crystal lattice and make some very, very minor tweaks to its molecular makeup."

"Aren't you worried you're revealing the deep, dark secrets of time travel to me?" LaForge asked slowly, brow lifting.

"Well, let me put it this way," the Doctor chirped, clasping LaForge's shoulder with one hand and giving him a winning smile. "If you can deduce the complexities and inner workings of a TARDIS, from development to operation, based entirely upon the words 'She's grown from a sort of coral,' then you most absolutely deserve a TARDIS. But I'm not necessarily holding my breath... in all honesty, there are quicker, easier, if somewhat less effective, less accurate and far more risky means to achieve time travel. According to your historical database, your Federation's even figured out a few. We don't monopolize the concept... we just happened to find the most stylish way of going about it."

LaForge couldn't help but grin at that, but before he could continue the conversation, a repressed yawn pushed at him, his jaw straining and shifting as he tried desperately not to give in and let it out. Even though he was certain he'd repressed it completely, the Doctor didn't even have to look at him to notice, and the Time Lord's tongue 'tsked' lightly.

"Oh, go to sleep already," he scolded, grinning. "You've been up for over thirty hours, which is very impressive for a human, but I promise I won't leave without saying goodbye first... all that's really left now is some fine-tuning and tests before I plug this lovely thing in. So go! Rest."

LaForge started to protest, but it was cut off by another yawn, and so he had little choice but to surrender, laughing softly as he picked up his PADD. "All right, all right... I'll go lie down for a few hours, but you'd better not do anything really, really exciting without me, all right?"

"I shall do my very, very best," the Doctor replied, hunched over the device. "But since excitement has a habit of finding me, I can make no promises."

"We'll see." Chuckling, Geordi rubbed at his jaw, starting to move towards the exit. "Goodnight, Doc."

Once the holodeck doors had shut behind LaForge, the Doctor drew a deep breath, eyes narrowing. He'd actually been waiting for the Chief Engineer to depart for some time, though it wasn't because he didn't enjoy the man's company. He had a sharp mind, incredibly so, and the Time Lord had actually been careful not to be too liberal with the flow of information... but something had been bothering the back of his mind for some time, and he'd wanted some privacy to confirm it...

"Computer," he called out; "Create a data display on the far wall, and access the historical data I was reading earlier; change search parameters to between the mid-twentieth and mid-twenty-first century. Chronological order, usual rate."

The far wall of the holodeck shimmered, a massive monitor appearing; a moment later, a series of news clipping, historical files and other bits of information began to flit on the screen at a quick pace. Though nowhere near the rate a certain android officer could absorb information, it still passed by far more rapidly than any human could track, dozens of incident reports and articles passing within minutes.

At first, the Doctor only paid it brief attention, keeping an eye on them as he continued to tinker with his newest little toy... but as time passed, his work on it began to slow, and then stop, until his full attention was locked on the display. With every minute that passed, his expression grew more grim, his eyes more troubled. His fingers began to tighten around the edges of the workbench, and his lips pursed, weight shifting restlessly from foot to foot...

He was feeling trapped. Cramped. He needed to get out of this room, get some air... here he was on a starship, wanting some fresh air...

No. Not that. He wanted to be closer to the stars.

* * *

As it turned out, the place to find that view was a lounge the computer had called 'Ten Forward.' The Doctor had found it quickly enough, the single security officer who had stood guard over the holodeck escorting him there, before leaving him to go to the bar. Appreciative of the privacy, the Doctor was quick to claim a table closest to the vast windows, hoping that maybe if he let himself get lost in that view he could get his mind off the troubling things he'd dug up.

But that didn't last... he had brought a PADD with him, containing the same information he'd been reading earlier. And as much as he wanted to drink in the starscape, his gaze gradually dropped to the electronic device... until he was just as immersed in it as he had been on the Holodeck. So focused was he, he even lost track of the passage of time... yet another first.

"Hello there."

It wasn't until the voice sounded that the Doctor realized someone had even approached his table. Glancing up, startled, the Time Lord frowned a little at the dark-skinned woman dressed in blue, sweeping robes and a truly enviable hat to boot. Clearing his throat, he licked his lips and glanced about the room briefly, as if hoping she were maybe talking to someone else. No such luck; the lounge was almost deserted.

"Hullo." the Time Lord wanted to say he was busy, wanted to ask her to leave, but... well, he was a guest. "I'm the Doctor."

"So I've heard," the woman replied. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Guinan."

"Guinan," the Doctor echoed, then frowned. "You're not on the crew roster. What is it you do here?"

"Well, I guess you could say I'm the hostess." she replied, hands vanishing in the voluminous sleeves of her robe as she sat across from him, leaning forward and lowering her voice to a conspiratorial murmur; "I serve drinks, tend the bar, and I listen. And I have to say, in all the time I've done it, I don't I've ever seen someone with so much to hear that's been heard by so few. I thought maybe you had some things you would like to get off your chest."

"Get some things off my chest, you say?" the Time Lord muttered, returning his attention pointedly to the PADD with a snort. "D'you have a few hundred years?"

"I think I could spare the time," she replied, deadpanned.

The Doctor's eyes flickered upwards at that, startled... then they narrowed just a little, as if staring past her, through her, into something only he could see. That she wasn't human was only a mild surprise to him, and the fact that her race wasn't familiar to him wasn't a surprise at all... what did catch his interest was that, from her, he felt something that he hadn't felt in countless years.

A kinship.

A corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a small, sad smile; "Very old, very wise..."

"Very kind, and very lonely," she finished, the very same smile mirrored on her own face. "Somehow you seemed familiar."

The Doctor's arms folded across his chest as he leaned back in his seat, considering her for a long moment before asking; "I don't suppose you're a Time Lord that forgot to stare into the Untempered Schism?"

"I'm afraid not," she replied, "I don't suppose you're an El-Aurian with a few redundant organs?"

He actually chuckled at that, for a moment, a good, cleansing laugh under his breath. "No, I doubt it. Though with these alternate universes... who can say for sure? We could be fifth cousins, thirty times removed..."

Guinan smiled, then gestured to the PADD he held, brow furrowing with curiosity; "Most people come in here for the view... so what is it that's has you so fascinated this past hour that your gaze hasn't wandered?"

"Historical information," the Doctor replied, waving the padd slightly and trying not to show he was surprised how much time had passed. "On this... United Federation of Planets, and on Earth's development between the twentieth century and current times. I had hoped that I could isolate a point that would have told me where your universe differentiated from mine, but there are too many unexplained variables in this galaxy alone... for one thing, no signs of the Sontarans, the Daleks... not even any mention of Silurians, and they were Earth's original occupants! Instead, there are species I have never heard any hint of... others that seem almost parodies of threats from my universe. Don't get me started on the Borg, for instance..."

"Suggesting the differences happened long, long ago," Guinan replied; "Untold eons."

"Yes, and once my TARDIS is operational, I intend to pop over then and see what's what," the Doctor muttered. "Until then, I've been restricting my attention to Earth herself... and I'm, if anything, all the more troubled."

"What have you found?"

"My handiwork," he replied. "Well... the other me. This universe's me."

Guinan's brow arched. "So this universe has a Doctor, then? Strange there's no records or stories that made it to public consciousness..."

"Actually," the Time Lord replied, a bit grimly, "I think the term is 'had.' This universe 'had' a Doctor. I see evidence of some interventions, disasters averted... some of them I remember quite clearly from my universe, others just seem like something I would have done. But too few of them. At a certain point in my own personal timeline, one I have yet to pinpoint... there's nothing. It is difficult to tell when, of course, with time being rewritten again, and again... but sometime in my past, this Doctor simply seemed to vanish. Perhaps he died, perhaps he decided to stop interfering in humanity's affairs, but for whatever reason... the Earth was bereft of a Doctor... and yet..."

"...you're almost disappointed to see that humanity's done well for itself without him," Guinan finished for him. "Without you."

"Not disappointed, I'm not quite that monstrous," the Doctor replied a bit wryly, then shrugged, leaning back, ruffling his hair, and then leaning forward, an elbow resting on the table as the other hand gestured emphatically; "But it does make me wonder if at some point all my cavorting about, trying to keep the Earth from being blown to dust... held the planet back, in a sense. Kept it from developing as it should have, standing on its own two feet. This third world war I read about was a terrible, terrible tragedy, something I probably would have prevented entirely, had I been there-"

"Aren't you just a little full of yourself," Guinan interjected softly.

The Doctor's brow crooked, a wan smile crossing his face; "Am I?"

Guinan considered that, then shook her head, teeth flashing in a smile. "On second thought, maybe not."

"Yes, well, what if I had succeeded in stopping the third world war?" The Doctor threw up his hands. "There possibly wouldn't have been a first warp flight, no first contact, no Federation... humanity would have continued to plod along in a state of tension and infighting, and I probably would have ended up having to save them from the Romulans next. And then the Klingons, the Borg... countless threats, countless invasions I would have done everything to prevent. And in so doing, denied humanity the opportunity to learn from each experience, from each loss, and grow as a people. This Federation is the very epitome of what I'd dreamed humanity would become, a dream they so often seemed just short of reaching... because, perhaps, of me."

"Perhaps," Guinan replied agreeably, her eyes narrowing a little. "So what's kept you from giving them a chance?"

"Honestly?" the Time Lord frowned pensively. "...fear of failure."

"Yours, or theirs?"

"Aren't they one and the same?" The Doctor's chuckle was very quiet, very tired. "Mine, as a result of theirs... what happens if I give them free reign, count upon them to save themselves, and they can't? What if the next big threat I refuse to interfere in wipes them out? What if yet another race, because of me, is scattered into oblivion..."

"'Another?'" Guinan echoed.

The Doctor fell silent, head bowing, jaw tight. It was the same wall that he had erected when Counselor Troi has pushed at that painful spot, an evasion... the Betazoid had changed topics, not wanting to alienate him. The El-Aurian simply watched him, for a long moment, head tilted as if hearing something without overt sound... and then, after the long silence stretched into full minutes, Guinan spoke again, her voice soft, gentle.

"Captain Picard and I have been friends for quite some time. We confide in each other. A few years ago, he spoke to me of a being the Enterprise had encountered, living in a destroyed colony. It looked human, at first, but it proved to be a creature of incredible power, great wisdom... and it was a being that had destroyed an entire race, in a moment of anger... an act for which it was wrought with guilt and regret. Somehow, when I look at you, I remember that story."

"I don't see why... my crime is far worse," the Doctor replied, snorting, his eyes dark, only half-aware of what he was saying; "Lashed out in anger... anyone can do that. Dishes break. Furniture breaks, sometimes people, but always in the heat of the moment. There was no such rage to excuse what I did, no heat... I knew exactly what I was doing, when I did it. I was precise, calculating, and in no way afflicted by anger or disgust... though I well should have been. Worse, by far, was that it wasn't just some race, some strangers on a distant planet far removed from home... it was my race. My planet. My home."

"It takes something pretty serious to feel that way about your own people," Guinan replied mildly. "Something worse to know you should be feeling it, even if you don't."

"Yes, well..." The Doctor hesitated, for just a moment, one last niggling barrier keeping his secrets safe... until it gave way, and he let that darkness pour out. "They left me little choice, you see. A loathsome plan, made by the Council, in hopes of ending the Great Time War in victory... only it would have only been victory for us, for our race. Everyone else, enemy, civilian, everything in the universe would have been eradicated to achieve this ultimate victory. And the gain for us... a life of incorporeal existence, as echoes, ghosts, remnants of what once was. The Final Sanction, he called it; such a soft, clean name for something drenched in so much blood.

"And so I weighed the options. I looked at the Daleks, beings of pure, genocidal evil, dedicated to the elimination of any life form not itself Dalek. I looked then at my own kind... and could not for the life of me see the difference anymore. It was then that I acted. It was then that I killed them all. The Daleks. The Time Lords. They burned together, bound at the end as brothers by their wretched aims...

"So much destruction. So much death. All because I tried to do the right thing." The Doctor's jaw tightened. "Because I thought I was righteous. I wonder, did that make me any different than the rest of them?"

His thoughts were disrupted by the oddest thing; physical contact. Eyes focusing, he saw Guinan's hands resting on his; just the tips of her fingers, pressing lightly against the back of his hand, but something about that gesture was eminently comforting. When he met her gaze, he saw no disgust, no judgement, just quiet acceptance... and it nearly broke his hearts.

"Who can say for sure?" Guinan replied, giving a casual shrug; "All I do know is that you did what you could, with what you had. Who's to say humans wouldn't have died out if our Doctor hadn't been there at least some of the time? Who's to guess which species-ending disasters would have been bearable for them, and which wouldn't? No matter what happened, no matter what it cost, you still did everything you could to protect them. You should remember that, because sooner or later, you're going to come face to face with exactly what you never wanted to become."

"Oh?" The Doctor's brow quirked as he tried to snort. "What's that?"

"The man who stopped trying."

The Doctor actually stunned by that, his gaze falling away from the bartender, flicking away as he thought to himself... before sighing softly, climbing to his feet and, for the first time in hours, allowing himself to wince at the aches in his bruised limbs.; "Thank you for listening, Guinan... but I need to get back to work."

"Of course, thank you for visiting." Guinan replied, remaining seated as he began to move away... but then she spoke again, stopping him in his tracks; "Doctor, can I ask you one last question?"

Turning towards the El-Aurian, the Time Lord nodded, face unreadable; "Anything."

"Well, your actions destroyed your people to save others. You must have been have been very lonely, for a very long time afterwards, and I do think a part of you regrets it. So, if you went back to that moment, faced that same decision, knowing all you know, feeling as you do... would you kill them all again?"

The Doctor's lips spread in another sad little smile, and as he turned away to leave once more, he called back over his shoulder.

"In a heartbeat."

* * *

"So, you spoke with him, then?"

Guinan smiled a little at the sound of Picard's voice; she knew he was probably keeping tabs on the Time Lord's movements, just as she knew he would be coming down here soon after learning of the man's visit to Ten Forward. Although Counselor Troi was generally the one Picard turned to for counsel, and for good reason, he had certainly learned to appreciate Guinan's particular perceptions... and when she turned to glance at him, she realized he probably needed some advice himself.

"I know what you're going to ask me," Guinan said, sighing softly as she got to her feet. "Is he dangerous? Yes, more than you could imagine. Is he a threat to you, this crew? No. In fact, from the guilt that's pulling at your brow right now, it looks like we're a more a threat to him than he is to us. Care to fill me in?"

Picard's mouth thinned a little, but he told her about the communique from Starfleet, the confidential orders... everything.

"I won't let it stand," Picard murmured after the story had been concluded, his head shaking. "I'll fight this, Guinan. I won't let them simply abduct him."

"You really shouldn't bother."

Picard's head snapped up at those words, eyes widening with nothing short of shock. "Beg pardon?"

"You shouldn't bother," Guinan repeated, waving a hand as she moved to collect a pair of discarded glasses. "It's a waste of your time, Captain, looking out for one alien with an odd box by complaining to people who won't really care."

"I would make them care," Picard snapped. "I'm surprised at you, Guinan. I could file a protest, follow the Intrepid back to Earth, take this all the way to the Federation Council if need be. Beat down every door and shake every stodgy, settled desk-bound bureaucrat of an admiral by the lapels until I made them see that what they are doing is fundamentally wrong."

"You could, but it wouldn't matter," she continued. "By the time your protests had borne fruit, by the time the Federation Council ruled in your favor, the Doctor would be lost, swallowed up by less than acknowledged elements in Starfleet. You would hear a hundred heartfelt apologies, a thousand expressions of regret for this misunderstanding, this tragedy... but he'd be gone, and you would never, ever find him... at least not until they were done with him and tossed away what was left. They would have what they came for, and nobody would take the blame for it."

Picard, who had been shaking his head through most of her speech, found his denials fading as each of her words sunk deeper and deeper into his mind. His expression, which had begun so stony and determined, grew more troubled with each passing moment. By the time she had finished, his head was bowed, his face filled with equal parts anger and dejection.

"So," Guinan continued, moving back to the bar. "As much as you want to raise your protests, file your appeals, work through the proper channels with the proper forms, it's all just going to be a pointless waste of time. So, as I said... you really shouldn't bother."

Something about her tone tugged at his instincts, and when Picard glanced up, he saw that Guinan was watching him quite intently.

"You're right," Picard said, and his confusion was replaced with a spark of understanding. "The proper channels... all of that would be a waste of time and effort. Wouldn't accomplish anything at all."

"The Jean Luc Picard I know never wasted his time on something he knew wouldn't work," Guinan said softly. "Even when his instincts as an officer told him it was the only... legitimate... path available to him. And the Federation I first encountered, many, many years ago, would never have met refugees with confinement and interrogation."

"Thank you, Guinan..." Picard nodded slowly, tugging at his uniform top, eyes glittering with half-formed ideas. "You've given me a lot to think about."

"Hey," Guinan shrugged, leaning idly against the bar as she watched the Captain stride out; that small, enigmatic smile tugging at her lips. "I'm just trying to save you some time."

Chapter Text

Picard remained on the bridge for the next handful of hours, trying to focus on reports, crew evaluations, a handful of routine communiques from Starfleet... but in truth, he was waiting. Waiting for the call that would trigger the next phase in his duty. That call came a few hours after Data returned to the bridge from his work on the TARDIS herself, and when it did, Picard sat ramrod straight in his chair.

"LaForge to bridge," the Chief Engineer's ever-jubilant tones came through from Main Engineering, where he had been running a diagnostic even as their guest continued to toil in the holodeck. "The Doctor reports he's finished constructing the module. He'd like to install it to his ship as soon as possible."

"Very well," Picard replied, nodding. "Have the security detail escort the Doctor back to his quarters, Mister LaForge, and place his device in a storage case."

There was a pause before LaForge asked; "...sir?"

"You heard me, Lieutenant," Picard said firmly. "Do not say anything to alarm him, just bring him back to his quarters. Make certain you cut off his cabin from the main computer and internal sensors... we can't allow him to access our systems again."

"Aye, sir..." There was still more than a little confusion in LaForge's voice, but it was tempered by resignation.

"Picard out."

"Captain," Riker said, eyes narrowing, "what's going on?"

Turning his attention back to the report on the display in the arm of his chair, Picard's brows lifted, his tone casual. "Well, Starfleet has instructed us to take the Doctor prisoner, and deliver him, and his vessel, to the Intrepid. It should be arriving in a few more hours, at which point we are to hand both of them over, so they can return with him to Starfleet Command."

The entire bridge crew seemed to freeze at that, looks ranging between shock, incredulity and even anger crossing the faces of everyone except Data.

"Sir, with all due respect," Riker protested, not even trying to hide his own anger. "that's against the Charter. We should appeal the orders-"

"We have our orders, Commander," Picard replied sharply, cutting short any argument. "We will follow them as our conscience dictates."

Riker nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of confusion and irritation, mouth twisting. "...aye, Sir."

"Lieutenant Worf," Picard continued calmly, settling into his command chair. "Given Starfleet obviously considers this visitor a serious threat to our security, we can only assume that the object he has designed is similarly very dangerous; he claims it will render his TARDIS operational, but it could of course serve a far more nefarious purpose. In the interest of ship's security, I think it would be best if we moved the device from the holodeck to somewhere nearer a quick evacuation point, should it prove dangerous... such as shuttlebay two."

"Shuttlebay two? But, sir..." Worf paused for a moment, brow furrowed... and then understanding started to bloom among the bridge crew, Riker shifting restlessly in his seat as the Klingon security chief continued solemnly. "Aye, sir. I will have the... dangerous... contraband moved to the shuttlebay. Given the intruder's vessel is also within shuttlebay two, we would be able to eject both into space if it becomes necessary."

"Just what I was thinking, Mister Worf," Picard replied, nodding, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Make it so. For the safety of the security detail, move them out of the shuttlebay; have them guard the access points. Send a message to the Intrepid informing them that we have secured their prisoner, and will await their arrival. Mister Data, are you confident you've completed the modifications in the Doctor's TARDIS?"

Data's turned in his chair to face the Captain, nodding. "Yes, sir. The Doctor seemed confident that the vessel is prepared for his modulator."

"Excellent," Picard drawled, even as he climbed to his feet again, tugging at his uniform top. "Admiral Ross will be pleased. Commander Riker, you have the bridge... but just in case I am not at hand to take the Admiral's next communique, please pass on this message for me..."

* * *

"Captain," the Doctor greeted, lounging back in one of the chairs. "A bit unusual, forcing me back in these quarters... and you come armed, no less. Should I be worried?"

Stepping inside, Picard quietly instructed the pair of security guards to remain outside; he was indeed armed, a phaser clipped to his belt. Hands folding behind his back, he considered his guest for a moment, drawing in a deep breath as he prepared himself for what was to come. As requested, LaForge had completely isolated the ship's systems from the Doctor's quarters, limiting computer access... but also shutting off the room's internal sensors in the process.

"Doctor," Picard began solemnly, his face heavily lined as he took a seat on the offered chair, "I have been ordered to deliver you to another one of our vessels, and to deny you access to your own. Starfleet Command wishes to speak with you, and to examine your TARDIS in greater detail... they are concerned that your knowledge, and your technologies, could prove a threat to the Federation and her allies. Particularly if either were to come into the possession of one of our enemies.

"I would like you to know that I would do all within my power to fight these orders," he continued slowly, "to protest to Starfleet Command, but the Intrepid's impending arrival has greatly restricted my options. My concern that is that the faction we are dealing with shall have no scruples about... disappearing... with you once you are secured, in which case no lawful protest made to the Federation Council will help. In addition, if I arranged for you to leave openly, willfully disobeying my orders, my internal sensor logs would implicate my crew in what could be construed as an act of treason. That is a risk I cannot take."

The Time Lord considered his words for a long moment, the friendly glimmer fading from his eyes, replaced with chill vacuum. Climbing to his feet, the Doctor advanced just a couple of steps, arms folding across his chest, head tilted.

"Captain," the Doctor said after a moment, his tone without vibrancy or color; "I understand your position, and appreciate your coming to me. But in light of your rather startling honesty, I'd feel terribly guilty if I didn't warn you that I will be doing everything within my not-inconsiderable power to escape. From this ship, from the one coming, or from Earth if need be. I won't be going quietly with your people."

When Picard turned to face him, his face was studiously blank, the very picture of innocence; "Oh, I'm counting on it."

The Time Lord actually looked surprised at that... but then his lips quirked in a smile. "I see."

"Try and remain comfortable," Picard said casually. "The Intrepid will be arriving in four hours to collect you. Your TARDIS has been returned to the shuttlebay, as we cannot confirm it does not pose a threat to this vessel... as long as someone reacts quickly enough, we will depressurize the bay and vent it into space."

"I stand warned, Captain." the Doctor replied solemnly. "I will think most wistfully of my lost TARDIS, tucked away in that shuttlebay on deck... twelve?"

"Deck eleven. Your illicitly constructed device is there as well. For security reasons."

"Hrmm. Naturally."

Picard gave a single, curt nod. "Of course, there are security personnel guarding every access point, with orders to stun you should you attempt entry; for their sake, I cannot order them to override Starfleet's instructions. And though you slipped out of here quite easily the first time, they'll be prepared for such tactics now... without some form of leverage, such as a hostage, it is unlikely you would be able to reach your vessel unchallenged."

"A hostage...?" the Doctor's eyes narrowed a little, flickering to the phaser on the captain's belt... but he shook his head. "No. I have this thing, you see, about guns..."

"Commendable," Picard noted, before continuing slowly, "But it's either pretend you'll shoot someone, or you'll actually have to shoot several people on your way to the shuttlebay. My way is, you must agree, the lesser of two regrettable evils."

The Doctor's mouth opened to reply, then closed again. Settling back into his chair, he considered the point, that same mischievous glimmer starting to show itself once more as he gave a single, pensive grunt.

"Hrn."

* * *

"Security to bridge! The guest has taken the captain hostage, and has-"

"Escaped, I'm guessing," Riker interjected, seated in the center chair on the bridge, not even glancing up from the PADD he was reading. "We'll have someone down to get you out of his quarters soon. Riker out. Mister Worf, send out security teams to all decks, apprehend the Doctor, and send out a distress call to the Intrepid for good measure."

"That did not take very long," Worf muttered, even as he sent out the security alert and triggered the distress call, before turning his attention back to his diagnostic on the targeting scanners; "Perhaps I should double the frequency of training drills..."

* * *

Just outside shuttlebay two, the security team posted at the entrance had their phasers lifted, bodies hunched, but weren't firing... that was because the Doctor was, at the moment, hiding behind Picard, arm wrapped around the older (looking) man's throat, other hand pressing the tip of Picard's own phaser square to the side of the Captain's head. He was trying to give a threatening glower, but given he wasn't really feeling threatening, all he could really do was bare his teeth, scrunch his nose and wriggle his ears, like a cat trying to puff its fur out to look bigger.

"Drop your weapons, all of you!" The Doctor barked, trying his very best to sound menacing and threatening as he kept the phaser pressed to the side of Picard's skull, "Or I'll... phaser his... head off! Yeah! I'm a madman with a box! Capable of anything! ...RAWR!"

"A little overdone, Doctor," Picard murmured just quietly enough for the Time Lord to hear, his hands held up as he raised his voice to address the security personnel; "Do as he says! Drop your weapons! Step away from them!"

Glancing at one another, the security team set their weapons down and lifted their hands, palms outwards, stepping away from the shuttlebay door as one. Scuttling forward, half-guiding, half-pushing his 'captive' along with him, the Doctor slipped into the shuttlebay and whirled around, keeping the Captain perpetually between him and the security men. Though they left their phasers on the deck, they slowly followed the Time Lord inside, still presenting their hands, but all clearly looking for some opening they could take advantage of.

"Ah ah aaah! Any sudden moves, I make him dust! Dusty! Take you hours to sweep up all the Picard dust!"

The fingers of the Doctor's free hand snapped, and the TARDIS doors flung open in reply, revealing the pitch black interior as they neared the doorway. Just beside the TARDIS was a bulky silver case, the 'dangerous' modulator that Picard's orders had ensured were delivered.

"Would you mind?" the Doctor muttered.

"Mmm? Oh, yes, of course."

Awkward given the 'hostage-hold,' Picard bent down just enough to grip the handle of the silver case, hefting it with a grunt as he and the Doctor both scuttled backwards into the TARDIS, the security staff halting a half dozen steps from the blue box. Picard tensed a little, fully expecting that it would be at least a slightly cramped fit with both of them stuffed in the small box, but when they backed one, two, three, four and then five steps into the interior without hitting a rear wall, Picard's eyes narrowed with mild surprise..

"Kick the doors shut!" the Doctor instructed and, once the Captain had closed them with an extended foot, the interior of the TARDIS was plunged into total darkness. The Time Lord released him a moment later, muttering under his breath as he felt his way across the control room in the dark.

"Curious," Picard noted, keeping completely still since he couldn't see anything but the faint illumination coming from the TARDIS door's windows. Still facing the door, he didn't see just how far the Doctor had gone, his attention focused inwards. "Perhaps it's just the dark, but somehow there's more room in here than I expected... how long is this going to take, Doctor?"

"How long?" the Doctor shrugged flippantly, even as he started to carefully fit the coral-like top of the modulater into a slot beneath the TARDIS console, using the sonic screwdriver as a weak source of light. "A few minutes? Less? I mean, assuming this even works in the first place."

Picard's almost whirled around, but disorientation from the darkness stopped him, and he closed his eyes to fight off a brief wave of nausea; "What? You're saying there's a chance it won't?"

"Well, I mentioned that, didn't I?!" the Doctor called back, his voice punctuated by occasional sonic buzzes, both sounds curiously distant, "I mean, no plan is a hundred and ten percent guaranteed to automatically succeed on the first go, as much as I like to pretend otherwise, and a good chunk of this entire thing is theoretical, so there'd probably have needed tweaking assuming it was ever going to work in the first place which it might not have anyway! But of course, since I'm staring down the proverbial barrel, I guess it'll just have to work first go, no error, and-" a sharp 'buzz' cut through the air, "-OW."

* * *

Worf's sudden shout introduced a new wrinkle into the entire plan.

"Commander, sensors are detecting the approach of the Intrepid! They are less than five minutes from arrival."

"What?" Riker paled. "They're supposed to be four hours away."

"They are likely pushing their engines far beyond safety limits." Data theorized. "Their current speed is considerably greater than the Intrepid's top rated velocity. It is quite remarkable."

"Yeah," Riker muttered, jaw tightening. "Wonderful."

"Commander," Worf announced, "we are being hailed."

Nodding and drawing in a deep breath, Riker turned towards the viewscreen. "On screen."

The Excelsior-class ship's bridge appeared a moment later, a balding Starfleet officer occupying the center seat; he didn't look pleased at all, one hand tightly gripping the arm of his chair, the other balled into a fist just beneath his chin. In all likelihood, pushing the engines that hard hadn't been a prospect without risk, and his eyes flashed when he saw the transmission connect.

"Commander Riker," the officer greeted, lips thinning. "I'm Captain Charles Martins, USS Intrepid. We received your distress call just a few moments ago; it's regrettable that you couldn't keep your guest confined to his quarters, but fortunately we're ahead of schedule. We're going to transport security personnel to the Enterprise shortly to assist in re-securing him and his vessel. Please prepare to receive them and give them whatever assistance they require in securing entry to his ship."

"With all due to respect, Captain," Riker snapped, "the Doctor has taken Captain Picard hostage, and Mister Data has suggested that trying to breach his vessel could be dangerous, we can't just break in without risking-"

"I have my orders, Commander," Martins replied, shaking his head. "As do you. We're to secure the vessel and its occupant at whatever cost. We'll be within transporter range in two minutes, have your security people keep an eye on that ship in the meantime. Starfleet's going to hear about your performance, Riker. Martins out."

As the viewscreen flicked off, Riker cursed under his breath, climbing to his feet and tapping his commbadge. He couldn't directly warn the Captain without leaving a suspicious sensor record, but maybe the box wasn't completely sound proof...

"All hands, this is Commander Riker; the Intrepid is arriving early, and will be transporting security personnel aboard. All hands, prepare to receive the Intrepid personnel in one minute."

* * *

"Doctor, we are running out of time!"

"Ha!" The Doctor actually grinned, still sonicing the modulator. "Finally. Doesn't feel like a normal day unless someone says that!"

All at once, a low hum filled the air as the modulated began to slow softly, its shimmer muffled underneath the TARDIS console; the glow began to spread throughout the console, then the walls. Picard's protests, his concerns, died away as the sheer size of the control room finally came into view; the corridors branching off in all directions, a mass and volume that were entirely beyond his wildest expectations.

"This is... incredible..."

"Yes, yes," the Doctor replied impatiently, "Ooo, bigger, much bigger a box than you thought, we really need to skip all that now, because I have to get this old girl moving right quick before someone out there tries something incredibly stupid and dangerous."

"I should leave, then," Picard replied, if reluctantly, starting to move towards the exit.

"No, wait!"

Stopping dead in his tracks at the urgent shout, Picard whirled back around; the Time Lord was watching one of the TARDIS's hanging monitors and, just as he opened his mouth to speak, the control room gave a sudden, sharp lurch to one side, then to the other.

"I'm sorry, Captain," the Doctor replied, shaking his head., "Too late. Your overzealous friends are currently in the shuttlebay, blasting at us with those phasers... with considerable enthusiasm, I might add. I'm assuming they're from that other vessel you mentioned, but either way, if you open that door, you'll likely be killed, and the blast will get inside and probably just end up disabling my TARDIS all over again. Rather avoid that. But not to worry, I just need to make one quick little pit stop, and then I'll happily drop you off on your ship a few days after we've left."

"Pit stop?" Stepping away from the doors, he climbed up to the control console, peering over the Doctor's shoulder. "Where?"

"The only place I can go," the Doctor replied, hand finally closing on one last lever, eyes sliding over to Picard as a wild grin crossed his face; "Good grip, now!"

The lever was pulled, and with a deep roar, like a captive beast finally freed, the time rotor began to pump.

* * *

"Commander," Data said calmly; "The Doctor's vessel has vanished from the shuttlebay. I am detecting no signs of it inside, or outside the ship."

"Stand down red alert," Riker replied. "Get Martins' security personnel out of here, Mister Worf."

"With pleasure, sir," Worf growled, but before he could carry them out, his console gave a sharp chime. "Commander, there is a priority subspace signal coming in from Starfleet Command. Your eyes only."

"I don't we need to bother with the formalities, Mister Worf." Settling onto the center chair, Riker nodded. "Put it on the viewscreen."

Admiral Ross's face appeared a moment later, looking quite close to having some sort of cardiac distress. His eyes flickered slightly when he saw that he didn't have Riker alone, as hoped, but he didn't comment on that, obviously not ready to back down, or skirt the issue for which he'd called.

"Commander Riker," Ross greeted, his voice all but brimming with ill will. "Martins has informed me that you managed to lose your prisoner, and that your Captain got himself abducted in the process. I thought the Enterprise's crew were supposed to be the best, but apparently keeping one man in locked quarters for two days is entirely beyond you."

"You read the Captain's report on this Doctor," Riker replied. "If anyone could escape from a Galaxy-class starship..."

"Yes," the Admiral muttered, leaning forward. "I'm well aware of what Picard said in his report. Just as I'm well aware that Picard protested the Intrepid's arrival from the start. So, I think that this entire farfetched escape is nothing more than a cover for some ludicrous plan to set him free, against specific orders."

"An interesting theory, Admiral," Riker replied, brow furrowing. "Very troubling, though I can assure you, internal sensor logs will show we did everything in our power to secure the prisoner."

"You are to take the Enterprise to Starbase One for investigation and court martial," Ross snapped. "This is entirely unacceptable."

"I completely agree, sir," Riker replied calmly. "Which is why we'll be filing our own injunction with the Federation Council as soon as we reach Starbase One. Though we of course did everything we could to stick to the orders we were given, the orders themselves were completely against the Charter, and we won't rest until everything that happened here gets shouted from every rooftop in Starfleet Command. Plenty of room on the docket for another more court martial. Sir."

Ross's face reddened, then purpled, then paled as his hands clenched and unclenched, the options almost being visibly weighed and measured behind his eyes.

"Your orders to return are... rescinded," the Admiral finally growled, every word slow as if being pulled from his lips. "Return to your regular patrol. This entire incident is classified; I don't want to hear another word about it so much as whispered across subspace. Is that clear, Commander?"

"Crystal clear, Admiral," Riker agreed, hands folding behind his back as he kept perhaps the best poker face he'd ever managed firmly in place. "There was just one more thing..."

"Spit it out, Riker."

The poker face on Riker's face, if anything, intensified, his voice quite earnest.

"The Captain had wanted to make sure we offered our most... heartfelt... apologies for this regretful tragedy."

* * *

"We're here."

There was nothing jubilant in his tone anymore, no excitement. In fact, the Doctor seemed subdued, as if he were a condemned man walking to the guillotine. As he stepped past the Captain, making a beeline for the exit, he shuffled more than bounded "Come along, Picard. I've extended the TARDIS' air shield as far as it will go... we had better get this over with."

The world beyond was pitch black, illuminated only by the light emitted from the TARDIS herself, and that only a narrow swath of illumination that puttered out a handful of meters from the vessel. The ground was strewn with rock, dust, and little else; a chilling silence hanging in the air, as if the universe at large had simply ceased to exist; above them was nothing. No ceiling, no sky, no stars of any kind to lend this world stability, and as Picard followed the Time Lord outside, he felt his heart quicken, and his mouth dry.

"Doctor, where are we?"

"In your Federation's backyard, actually... relatively speaking." the Doctor's lips quirked in a small, nervous smile as he slowly led them from the light shed by the TARDIS's open door, deeper and deeper into the darkness. "I was admittedly surprised to discover your people had stumbled on this place, and quite impressed you showed the foresight and maturity not to let it destroy you..."

"Doctor," Picard replied urgently, "if we're in Federation territory, there remains a risk that your vessel's arrival will be detected by a nearby starship. That is how we discovered your arrival the first time, after all, by the energy signature it generated when it materialized."

"Well, I do appreciate your concern, Captain, but that's rather unlikely," the Doctor mused, even as he drew a deep, shuddering breath, looking more anxious by the moment.

"Why is that?"

"Well, for one, the planet actually generates its own rather extensive temporal distortion field, so one little TARDIS wouldn't be noticed. For another, the Federation hasn't been born yet. Neither have humans, for that matter. Or carbon-based lifeforms." He gestured to the surrounding darkness, the ink-black sky above. "Or stars."

Even with everything he'd seen, Picard wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "...how far back are we?"

"Hard to pinpoint," the Doctor replied, pulling out his sonic screwdriver, giving the surrounding area a quick scan, then checking the readings; "Most methods of measuring time are useless here, but I'd factor it into the billions of years, thereabouts?"

"...I see." Those words were rapidly becoming habitual, and something about being possibly the only living being in creation was downright unsettling... so much so, Picard didn't even think to question why this one planet existed. "What are we doing here then?"

The Doctor didn't reply to that, stopping dead in his tracks as he continued to stare into the shadows, more agitated than Picard had ever seen him... more so, even, than he had been when he'd first arrived. If he had to find a comparison, he would have thought the Time Lord was expecting some boogeyman to leap out at them.

"I know you're out there!" the Doctor finally called out, head swiveling, entire body turning this way, then that, lips twisting. "And you know full well I'm here too! No sun's no excuse, so show yourself and stop hiding!"

A sudden, booming voice filled the air, resonating like the words of God Himself.

"There was no intention to conceal."

The sudden flare of light that burst from the darkness ahead of them was nearly blinding, and both Picard and the Doctor had to shield their eyes for a long moment before they adjusted to the glare. The glow emitted all but lit up the world, as bright as day, but more impressive by far was what gave off that light. Only fifty feet away from them, it was little more than an ancient, oddly shaped arch of stone; shimmering sparks and swirls deep within it...

Picard recognized it; he had seen only reports, records and historical files. It had originally been encountered, many years before, by the original Enterprise, under Captain James T. Kirk's command, it had been one of the Federation's first recorded brushes with time travel. Though the device was silent, motionless, it seemed almost to shift in size and position, as if the very air around it rippled. Something primal, something instinctive deep in the Captain's chest, thrummed with awe, and fear, even as he breathed four words.

"...The Guardian of Forever."

Chapter Text

"Wait here," the Doctor murmured, tongue flicking across suddenly dry lips as he gave a nervous little chuckle, patting Picard on the back. "Do not get too close to it, under any circumstances; I know your people have discovered it before, but you'd be as well off standing in a puddle of petrol as you might be getting too close to it. Understand?"

When the Captain of the Enterprise nodded, albeit a bit reluctantly, the Doctor gave a brief, approving smile. With a deep, shuddering breath, the Time Lord seemed to draw upon some inner reserve of nerve, a confident swagger settling into his stance as he sauntered up to the Guardian, trying his very best to look directly at it without flinching.

"There you are," the Doctor drawled. "Do you know who I am?"

"Yes," the Guardian replied, its voice unconcerned, uncaring. "Time Lord. Doctor. But displaced. A stranger to this place."

"Smart as a whip, you are," the Doctor replied, but a lot of his bravado seemed... subdued. "You know why I'm here, then."

"Yes. The Time Lord seeks the Key. The Knowing. The Window."

"You did it once, for my people, a long from now, but a long time ago," the Doctor replied. "You probably did it for the Time Lords of this reality as well-"

"I have done it for all Time Lords, in all realities."

"Wonderful. Loads of practice, then. Can you do it for me, now? Give me... the Key?"

"The displaced Doctor should not pursue this course. The displaced Doctor may return to his own reality through the Arch."

The arch shimmered, and just like that, images began to flit across it, faster and faster; Cardiff, a Dalek saucer, U.N.I.T, the interior of Torchwood, countless places, people and events from his own universe forming such a tantalizing lure. Despite himself, the Doctor actually edged another step closer... but something, some deep, protesting cry deep in his heart stopped him in place, glancing over his shoulder to consider his big blue box.

"And my TARDIS?" the Doctor's eyes narrowed, just a little as he turned back to the Guardian. "Can I bring her through as well?"

"The TARDIS is incompatible with the Arch. It cannot pass through."

Despite his unease, the Doctor's lips twisted in scorn. "No deal."

"The displaced Doctor should reconsider."

"Why?" his breathing was growing a bit ragged, as if the fight-or-flight instinct were pulling at him. "Why d'you want me to leave this reality?"

"A Kindness to a fellow being of Time." The Guardian seemed almost to hesitate before continuing. "If the displaced Doctor does not depart, the displaced Doctor will seek answers all his own. The displaced Doctor will find those answers. The displaced Doctor will wish he had not."

"Answers? Answers to what?" the Doctor's jaw clenched. "To the differences in this reality? Can you tell me what happened here to make history progress so differently?"

There was a long pause as the arch hummed, seeming almost to process the request. When it finally spoke again, its tone seemed almost regretful.

"Such revelation is beyond the scope of my gaze," came the sonorous reply. "I display that which is. I display not that which has been."

"What?" the Doctor blinked, glancing at Picard before turning his attention back to the Guardian. "Of course you do, you've displayed the past before, according to the stories you won't shut up about it, so-"

"I display that which is. I display not that which has-"

"Right, right," the Doctor lifted his hands. "Whatever... you say. Whatever that means! How about the Key, at least? Can you give my TARDIS what it needs to function properly?"

"The Key is always present. The Arch will display. The TARDIS will learn. The displaced Doctor will leave."

"More'n happy to," the Time Lord muttered, turning away and starting to move back towards the TARDIS; his entire body was tense as if expecting he was going to be shot from behind. "Well, get 'er started, then."

* * *

The grinding of the time rotor mingled with the low hum of the Guardian's arch as the two structures engages in some mysterious communication. Images did seem to flash in the arch once more, but these were far, far more rapid than any human, Time Lord, or even android eyes could have kept track as, with dizzying speed, the Guardian imparted information on... well... everything.

Seated on a rock about halfway between the two temporal entities, Picard and the Doctor had both been silent for some time. Picard because he was absolutely fascinated by the flickering images, his attention fully focused on it as if hoping he might catch a glimpse of... well... anything. The Time Lord, on the other hand, didn't seem to be looking at anything at all, his head bowed, eyes unfocused, every line on his face suggesting grim discomfort. Eventually, the Captain noticed that, a bit of concern crossing his face;

"Are you alright?" Picard finally asked, startling the Time Lord from his near trance.

"No." The reply was unusually sharp, the Doctor's head shaking just once in emphatic denial. "I would rather do almost anything than come here, than face that... thing. My people are not enamored with it... there are stories, legends, about this structure. though no Time Lord has dared approach it in countless aeons. And believe me, when a race of fearful legend has its own fearful legend... well, it's something to be paid heed to. In the later years, it became forbidden even to tell such stories of this structure, to speak of it aloud... the name we gave it was stricken from all histories, removed from our own timeline, buried."

The Guardian's hum grew slightly louder, and the Time Lord reflexively jumped and glanced at it, only to wince and turn his head away again, looking almost ill.

"You keep averting your eyes," Picard noted softly; "Is there a particular reason for that?"

"Well, it's just uncomfortable for me to look at," he explained tersely, "Uncomfortable for any species with a strong sense of linear time's passage to look at. It's a fixed point, you see... not just in time, but in... everything... it has always existed, the same object, unchanging, as well as this world it sits on. It has existed even in times where no other planets have existed, no other speck of matter. It exists in all dimensions, not as counterparts like you or I, but as the same object, the same gate... in theory, if one were to find a way to destroy it- and I couldn't even begin to guess how- then it would cease to exist in every reality, every moment in time... and the changes to the timestream would be catastrophic.

"The Time Lords discovered it quite by accident, drawn to the temporal distortions it emits. They were young, the ability to travel through time only a recent development, raw and rough through crude TARDISes, facilitated by exposure to the Untempered Schism. They could only travel a few hundred years in either direction, and still relied on conventional space travel to explore the universe beyond our known borders. We were the first, you know, the first to master time... or so we thought.

"Imagine the blow to their overweening pride when they encountered this structure, on an world older than any they had ever seen, older than the sun it orbited. The structure was a mystery they could not resist, and they were determined to learn its origins. They built a mighty city around it, confident they would learn its secrets. A TARDIS was enhanced by it, made into a vessel capable of traveling to virtually any point in time or space... and with it, they intended to find those who had constructed this monument to time itself.

"They traveled back a thousand years; it was still there. They traveled back ten thousand years. It was still there. A hundred thousand. A million. A billion. With each jump, there were fewer species, fewer solar systems... fewer galaxies. Until they finally came to a great void, in the very beginning of all creation... this void, this time, where they were truly alone in all the universe.

"And it was still there. Still old."

"That must have been quite a shock to them," Picard noted, rather understating it.

"It terrified them," the Doctor confirmed grimly. "To find something they had no mastery over, no knowledge of... they fled from this world. Abandoned the city. Retreated from this structure en mass, running from it as fast as they could. They returned to Galifrey, my home world, and vowed never to speak of it again; after all, they had taken what we needed from it."

"That would explain the ancient city that is said to surround the structure," Picard replied pensively. "But why are we here? What are you seeking to gain from it?"

Giving the Guardian another brief glance, the Doctor pointedly turned away from it, facing the Captain squarely as he once more held up his hands to make entirely useless gestures to accompany his words.

"Like your transporter, coordinates are needed to travel through time and space, if you want to have any control over where you're going... knowledge of where planets are, at each moment in time. Lack of such knowledge is what restricted the Time Lord of the early days." The Doctor gestured vaguely to the thrumming Guardian. "That is how that structure enhanced the first true TARDIS; imbued her with incalculable knowledge; how every planet moved, every civilization developed, a knowledge that the first TARDIS then passed down to every subsequent generation, mine included. With that knowledge, a TARDIS could go anywhere, to any moment in time, without fear that it would materialize in the middle of a sun, or next to a black hole. With that knowledge, a TARDIS became like the Guardian itself; an object beyond time and space."

"But, like the power systems, that knowledge applies to your universe alone," Picard replied slowly, nodding as he began to- more or less- understand what the Doctor was saying. "And so you've come here to update your navigation, as it were... but how is it you knew the coordinates to arrive here?"

"As I said," the Doctor replied grimly, "this Guardian is a fixed point; it exists in the same coordinates at every moment. Quite literally, it is the only location that remains constant throughout the multiverse. You see why it's so bloody unnerving? Truly the immovable object, all roads lead to it... in any case, once the Guardian has uploaded its knowledge to the TARDIS' database, she'll be able to get around like normal."

"And how long would that take?" Picard asked.

"I can't be sure," the Doctor replied. "Could be days. Could be weeks."

The cloister bell sounded.

"...could be now!" Leaping to his feet, the Doctor ushered the Captain back into the TARDIS and slammed the doors shut gratefully, letting out a long sigh of relief now that the Guardian was out of sight. Scurrying over to the console, he quickly called information onto the monitor; "Aaaah, perfect. Everything I need, down to the coordinates of your ship's at every moment from it was build to when it cr- um, anyway, time to bring you back home, Captain. The drama from my disappearance should settle down after a week, so we'll swing by, drop you off, and be gone again before even Data can say a word."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Picard asked, and when the Doctor cast him a surprised glance, the Captain cleared his throat. "This universe is unfamiliar to you. Perhaps I could still be of help."

"I'm quite touched, Captain," the Doctor replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But you've already done enough for now; you need to tend to your crew in the coming months. There are going to be more than a few challenges in your path... besides, where I'm going to be going... well, let's just say this is going to be tricky enough without tossing in another unstable temporal element like you into the mix. I'll be back, though, not to worry."

"Where is it you intend to go?" Picard asked, his brow furrowing.

"Well, for one thing, I need more information on trans-dimensional travel," the Doctor mused, sighing as he considered the readout. "It's one of the few things the Time Lords didn't muddle about too much in, which has left a decided lack of information... however, fortunately, there do seem some first-hand incidents I can look into. At least some of the answers would seem to lie aboard the USS Enterprise."

Picard frowned a little, head tilting. "Aboard the Enterprise? I cannot recall an incident that would prove of much use to... trans-dimensional travel."

"Dear Captain," the Doctor replied, a hint of a smile crooking the corner of his lips as he began to mark in a new set of coordinates. "I never said your Enterprise."

Chapter Text

"First Officer's Log, Supplemental.

The Enterprise continues to remain in orbit above the Halkan homeworld, attempting to negotiate for the rights to harvest their dilithium reserves. From what the Captain has divulged, the Halkans are extremely hesitant to risk parting with it; not for reasons of greed or avarice, but rather for fear of what could be done with the destructive power that their dilithium could provide. Though I believe the Captain finds their intransigent nature frustrating, he also admires the basis for their stand; indeed, such a civilization would be welcome within the Federation for their principles.

Matters have been further complicated by the arrival of a passing ion storm; at current altitude, the Enterprise is being subjected to considerable turbulence and ionized interference. Although the risk is negligible, there have been reports of minor damage and system failures throughout the ship. The importance of securing this trade agreement, however, currently overrides such considerations."

* * *

"Report, Mister Sulu." Spock instructed quietly, hands folded behind his back as he stood next to the helm console, considering the swirling magnetic storm on the viewscreen.

"We are maintaining orbit with some difficulty," Sulu reported quietly, his eyes narrowing as he considered the readouts. "But the storm is intensifying, sir."

"Very well. When the captain checks in, we will inform him as to-"

Spock's musings were interrupted as the comm system sparked to life.

"Kirk to Enterprise."

"Spock here, Captain."

"Report on magnetic storm, Mister Spock."

"Standard ion type, Captain, but quite violent-" a rough shudder shook the bridge leading to a wry; "-and unpredictable. "

"Rough ride?"

"If we remain," Spock replied, which was as close to a recommendation as he would get.

"Stand by to beam up landing party. Plot an extended orbit to clear disturbance. Kirk out."

"Comply, Mister Sulu."

"Aye, sir," Sulu replied, carefully inputting the new heading.

"I will be in the transporter room," Spock announced calmly, even as he moved towards the turbolift, stumbling only once when the ship gave another sharp tremble. "Ensign Karra, if you would please send a transmission to Starfleet updating them as to our status, and the necessary delay."

"Yes, Commander," the communications technician, replacing Uhura for the moment given she was on the planet's surface, shifted her hand to her earpiece as she began to speak quietly, composing the necessary message.

Only moments after Spock had left, the turbolift doors slid open again; Chekov and Sulu were having a muffled conversation with each other, and so didn't look up. Karra did, and blinked with mild surprise when an unfamiliar fellow stepped out; dressed in a crisp, red Starfleet uniform, right down to the boots, his brown hair was nonetheless a little non-regulation, messier than it should have been. A repair kit was clenched in the man's right hand, the other behind his back quite casually, and he glanced about the bridge, looking both pleased and slightly nervous.

Though there were over four hundred crewmembers aboard the Enterprise, and as a result it wasn't as if she were close, personal friends with every single one, but still... this one looked completely unfamiliar.

"Hello," Karra finally said, her tone friendly, if a little confused. "Who are you?"

"Oh, sorry, where are my manners," the man replied, friendly smile in place as he approached Karra, extending a hand, even as Sulu and Chekov glanced over their shoulders, surprised. "John Smith. I transferred aboard during our layover at Starbase Five. New engineer, very excited to be here, the Enterprise, plum assignment, very plum."

"All right," Sulu replied slowly, "but what are you doing on the bridge?"

"I was told to come up here," Smith replied, frowning a little as he hefted his repair kit, his other hand concealed behind it; when the ship shuddered again under the ion storm's effects, nobody heard the faint 'buzzz' that sounded from behind it. "Nobody... told you I was coming? Something about the science station being down and not... working... right?"

Frowning, Chekov vacated his station for just a moment, moving over to the science station; he gripped the railing tightly as another sharp tremble buffeted the ship, then peered into the station's scope. The others watched him; Smith a bit anxiously, the other two just curious, and when Chekov finally straightened, the engineer drew in a deep breath.

"Wery little response from sensors," Chekov finally announced. "He's right."

"There is a repair order in the computer," Karra noted, brow arched. "Though nobody's signed it. That could be an oversight."

"...all right," Sulu finally said, gesturing to the station, eyes still doubting a little. "Help yourself, Mister Smith."

"Much obliged!" Smith edged over to the station, setting the repair kit down and popping open an access panel under the console. "Should be a simple enough matter, all considered, just fiddle around with..."

The rest turned into mumbling as the man tinkered with the inner workings of the console, falling quiet. The rest of the bridge crew stopped paying him much heed soon enough, turning back to their own tasks, and so nobody really noticed when Smith glanced back over his shoulder nervously. Upon seeing that they were otherwise occupied, the red-shirt engineer climbed to his feet and peered into the science scope, adjusting a series of controls on its surface. The moments stretched into minutes, until finally the communicator on the helm console gave a sharp breeeep.

"Spock to bridge," the Vulcan first officer's voice piped through. "The... landing party is aboard. Adjust orbit."

"Aye, sir." Sulu replied. "Adjusting orbit now."

"Spock out."

"Well!" The entire bridge crew jumped a little at Smith's loud proclamation, staring at him as he straightened from the science station and backing towards the turbolift slowly, smile firmly in place. "All fixed here! I'll just be going back to... Engineering to do various engineery things. Everyone's doing a spot on job, just really great, so just... carry on. People."

The turbolift doors finally, mercifully, closed before the man could babble anymore. Chekov and Sulu exchanged glances, and finally Sulu turned in his chair to glance back at the communications station.

"Karra, are you sure there was a repair order up here?" Sulu asked, brow lifted. "I could have sworn he was acting shifty."

Karra sighed and shrugged. "I checked it, and the crew roster for good measure; everything checked out in both."

Chekov chuckled a little; "We always get the crazy ones from Starbase Five."

* * *

Once the turbolift doors had closed, 'Smith' gave a long, low sigh of relief, slumping back against the wall just a little as he tugged irritably at his collar. It was a long moment before he remembered that these turbolifts needed manual control; grabbing the small handle on the back wall, he called up a mental image of the ship's layout, deciding on his next location. It wasn't until the turbolift was on the move that he began to laugh a little, a sort of nervous giggle.

"I can't believe that worked," he murmured, giggling a bit more before drawing in a deep breath.

It was going well so far; he'd dropped Picard off, in his own Ready Room, no less, and made his next stop the 23rd century. the Enterprise of this time period didn't have the means to detect the TARDIS' arrival, thankfully, which meant no alarms had been triggered when it had materialized deep inside one of the cargo bays. On the older Constitution class starships, with no replicators on hand and synthesizers providing relatively limited functionality, much of the foodstuffs, materials and spare parts had to be kept in storage, which meant the individual bays were actually many times larger than those aboard the Galaxy-class variety, and poorly lit to boot.

So he had tucked it deep in the back of the cavernous room, concealed behind stacks of ration crates. He would have set it on Invisible running, but he expected to be there for longer than the power reserves could hold up- the energy modulator wasn't a perfect replacement- and so he was mostly relying on luck. Lots of luck.

More specifically, he needed more information on exactly what had happened; not the events, because he knew those already. The Enterprise landing party, due to mysterious circumstances, ended up switching places, as it were, with their counterparts in an alternate reality due to a transporter accident, with obvious hijinks ensuing. The problem was, for some insane reason, the Enterprise hadn't thought to take measurements during even the second transport. The amount of scientific data on just what had happened to cause this dimensional shift was negligible, and if he hadn't been trying to maintain his cover, he might well have scolded the entire crew for being so careless.

So records wouldn't suffice. The Doctor had needed to board their ship, access their bridge and use their instruments for himself; the TARDIS had a variety of scanners of its own, all of which would be compiling plenty of data, but he didn't want to risk missing anything that the Enterprise's scanners might pick up. It had been risky, incredibly so; even though he had taken the basic precaution to break into their computer banks and insert some useful files, (their computer was even easier to manipulate than 1701-D's had been,) but he knew there was a chance they'd have refused to believe him. Or would have doubted it enough to check with a superior officer.

Still, he hadn't been caught, which was wonderful... except he wasn't done, not by a long shot. Even though he had programmed the sensors to record the return trip when they unloaded the mirror counterparts, he still wanted to gather a few more pieces of data. It would be tricky, incredibly so, and there was always a small chance someone would stumble on his TARDIS... but, well, where was the fun of playing things safe?

According to the report he'd read from the Enterprise D's computer, the mirror universe counterparts, like the party from the original universe's Enterprise, had tried to blend in with their new surroundings. Of course, given these particular people were considerably more ruthless and craven than those who normally occupied this reality, they weren't going to get away with it for long. But the Doctor wasn't interested in how things would turn out; he just wanted his chance to get close to those doppelgangers.

Grunting, he stripped off the red tunic, revealing a blue one beneath it. Quickly adjusting it here and there, he crumpled up the red one and, once the doors opened, started to step out... but when he saw that Spock and the imposter landing party were coming his way, he panicked just a little. With nowhere to stash the extra uniform, the Doctor settled for dropping on the floor in the turbolift, then stepping out with quick, confident steps, marching right past Spock and the landing party. Fortunately, the Vulcan seemed distracted by what he believed to be the 'real' Kirk, who at the moment was acting a little... erratic.

"The Halkans have refused to cooperate," Kirk was all but bellowing, even as he shrugged off a scowling McCoy's attempts to speak with a raised hand. "We can't let that stand, Spock."

"Captain, with all due respect," Spock replied, "The Halkans are well within their rights to refuse a pact."

"Well, yes, Mister Spock, we'll just let them keep it all to themselves!" the Kirk replied, spreading his hands out as he snorted, sarcasm dripping from every word. "It's not as if Starfleet has ordered us to secure it, they just wanted us to suggest it, to nudge them gently and panhandle for their generosity. Unless you forget, Commander, I am still in charge of this ship..." Kirk stopped, then, turning to face the Vulcan, "unless you're thinking you'd like to try and change things? That what this is about?"

"Captain?"

"I thought you were loyal, Mister Spock!" Kirk snarled, closing what little distance remained between them until he was eye-to-eye with his First Officer. Neither had noticed that the blue-shirted crewman who'd walked past was moving more slowly with each moment to remain in earshot. "But I guess it was only a matter of time before you started looking at my post. Is this why my protection isn't here?"

"Captain," Spock replied quietly, not flinching or backing away, lifting a single brow archly. "This is highly illogical. You are acting more irrationally than usual."

Kirk froze at that, his eyes flickering back and forth in thought... and then he backed off, arms crossing over his chest.

"Right. Of course." Clearing his throat, the mirror Kirk glanced away. "I must be tired. Very... hard day. My... apologies, Mister Spock."

"Perhaps you, and the landing party, should consider resting. The ion storm will last another few hours, minimum."

"Hmmm." Kirk straightened, not entirely able to keep the sneer from his face as he muttered. "I think I will. We'll give the Halkans an hour to decide. For their sake, I hope they agree."

"As you will, Captain."

As Kirk and the remainder of the mirror universe imposters vanished down a side corridor, Spock continued straight down the hallway, head bowed and clearly thinking hard. The Doctor, for his part, picked up speed again; he had a very specific destination in mind and, as fun as watching all this drama develop first-hand was, he was going to have to get a move-on if he wanted to get to Sickbay in time.

After all, information on the actual distortions that caused the shift in realities was only half the battle; an examination of the effect it had on the counterparts could also be very useful and, like before, the more measuring tools he had, the better. The blue tunic would, hopefully, let him seize a medical tricorder, and some other useful equipment, without drawing too much notice.

It was just a shame the real McCoy was currently stranded in a parallel universe; from the files on him, the Doctor would have found that meeting interesting, to say the very least.

Unfortunately, the Doctor was so busy congratulating himself for his brilliant plan, he failed to realize that Spock had entered the same turbolift he'd just vacated...

* * *

"Report, Mister Sulu," Spock instructed as he stepped from the turbolift, sounding almost distracted.

"We have moved to a higher orbit, sir," Sulu replied. "We are no longer being affected by the ion storm."

When Spock didn't reply, the helmsman glanced over his shoulder; the Vulcan still stood near the turbolift, holding a rumpled mass of red cloth in his hands.

"Is everything all right, sir?" Sulu asked slowly.

"There was a uniform top in the turbolift," Spock replied, the closest thing he had to a frown as he shifted to stand by the science console, fingering the fabric of the uniform as if thinking it would hold some secret. "Unusual."

The remainder of the bridge crew glanced at one another, a sense of mild dread starting to spread as his words sunk in. Another moment passed when they silently exchanged arguments as to just who was going to be the one to confess; when Sulu and Chekov turned back towards the viewscreen, the decision was made, and the communication's officer was forced to step in.

"Sir... there was a crewman up here earlier, sir," Karra said quietly, frowning as she tried to avoid looking away from the Vulcan science officer. "An engineer. It was unusual, but he had a repair order to restore function to the science station."

"The science station was undamaged, Ensign," Spock pointed out, a single brow lifting.

"Not when I checked it, sir," Chekov protested, getting involved now that the ice was broken. "It wouldn't function."

Considering that, the First Officer keyed a few commands into the science terminal, and bent down to peer into the scope, face intend. The others watched him for a long moment as he made minute adjustments, scanning through the ship's computer until he found what he was looking for.

"There is indeed a file for him in the crew roster," Spock finally said, straightening as his hands folded behind his back. Despite the apparent evidence supporting the man's existence, he still seemed unconvinced, and it was only after a brief hesitation that he moved to the nearest commpanel, keying it to life. "Spock to Engine Room."

"Engine Room, Assistant Chief Kale here, sir."

"Mister Kale, is there a John Smith listed amongst your staff?"

There was a brief pause before Scott replied, a bit surprised. "No, sir, I don't believe we have anyone by that name aboard. Why?"

Spock's brow furrowed. "A man dressed in an engineer's uniform was on the bridge earlier for a repair order that was filed without my knowledge; furthermore, his file is in the crew roster, Mister Kale. Are you certain you have no engineer by that name?"

"Well," Kale replied, "I know our staff pretty well, sir, and that name doesn't feel familiar at all."

"Fascinating," Spock mused. "Thank you, Mister Kale. Spock out." Arms folding behind his back, his head tilted as he mulled over it for a long moment, fully aware that the rest of the bridge staff were waiting for his order. "Normally, I would call the Captain for his decision, but the behavior of the landing party has been... erratic... since their return. I cannot be certain if these two incidents are coincidental, but in the event they are not... Ensign Karra, if you will please put out a security alert for a man matching this 'Smith's' description... quietly, please. If he is aboard, it is best not to alert him as to our suspicions."

"Sir," Sulu said slowly; "Do you think this Smith could be a threat to the Enterprise?"

"I am uncertain," Spock replied, then added firmly. "Rest assured, Mister Sulu. We will find out."

Chapter Text

"Sir, I found something."

"What is it?"

"An incident report, from the original Enterprise, under the command of Captain James T. Kirk, filed by First Officer Spock; reportedly, around the time of their encounter with mirror universe counterparts of their landing party, an individual identifying himself as John Smith mysteriously boarded the Enterprise before being apprehended."

"What did Kirk do with him?"

"...sorry, sir; the report doesn't seem to elaborate. It just says that there was an encounter. Starfleet never pressed for details."

"What is it with twenty-third century captains and independent streaks? Well, could it be him?"

"It's possible, sir. This Smith isn't recorded as possessing the same equipment, but according to Picard's personal logs, the subject did specify an Enterprise. And Kirk's was one of the most eventful ones..."

"...all right. It's all we have to go on. Prepare an operative. We'll extract the Doctor as soon as the timeline permits."

* * *

"I order you, Let me go!" the mirror Kirk spat, all but flailing in the grip of the two burly men as they dragged him down the hall, easily restraining his frenzied struggled. "Traitors! Spock, get these men off me! What is this?"

Suffice to say, the jig was up; when the mirror Kirk had tried to commandeer the bridge and order that the planet below be bombarded into submission from orbit, Spock had quickly relieved him of duty. It had been a quick step to security from there, and the 'captain' had been dragged, screaming and cursing, all the way from the bridge down to the detention level several decks down. The Doctor, who had been waiting for over an hour for this very thing to happen, had made a beeline for the proper section of the ship the moment Spock had announced he was taking command. Now, the Time Lord lurked behind the corner of one of the corridors, watching the little drama unfold.

"What are you doing, Spock?" the alternate McCoy demanded from inside the Enterprise's detention cell, but Kirk's ongoing rant overrode any hope of response.

"You traitorous pig! I'll hang you up by your Vulcan ears. I'll have you all executed!"

"This man does not know how to negotiate," the Doctor muttered under his breath as he watched them all but toss Kirk inside the cell. "Is everyone from his universe that bloody loud?"

"I think not," the First Officer replied calmly, "Your authority on this ship is extremely limited, Captain. The four of you will remain her in the Brig and in custody until I discover how to return you to wherever it is you belong."

"Has the whole galaxy gone crazy?" Obviously Kirk wasn't even trying to pretend he belonged anymore and, looking at his wild behavior, the Doctor marveled that he'd lasted so long without being discovered in the first place. "What kind of a uniform is this? Where's your beard? What's going on? Where's my personal guard?!"

Spock's brow lifted as he replied, quite honestly; "I can answer none of your questions at this time."

"All right, Spock." the fury in Kirk's eyes had faded, replaced with animal cunning; "Whatever your game is, I'll play it. You want credits, I'll give them to you. You'll be a rich man. A command of your own? I can swing that, too."

"Apparently some kind of transposition has taken place," Spock was musing, entirely ignoring the bribe attempt as he focused his full attention on the problem in front of him. "I find it extremely interesting."

As their, er, discussion continued, the Doctor eased back around the corner, drawing in a deep breath as he considered the medical kit he had 'borrowed,' and the tricorder inside. The device was truly ancient by the Enterprise D's standards, and from the Doctor's perspective it might as well have been made of wood... still, it would serve his purpose, to say nothing for being far less noticeable than his sonic screwdriver. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to gain access to the prisoners without being searched, the Doctor tugged his screwdriver from its hiding place, tucked under the waistband of his pants, and considered it for a long moment.

He quickly found a new hiding spot for his sonic screwdriver, tucking it into one of the ship's emergency supply cabinets... given he wasn't anticipating any emergencies in the near future, it seemed as good as place as any. By the time he had finished this, and peered back around the corner, Spock was gone... the quartet of mirror universe counterparts were talking among themselves in hushed tones, and a single security guard stood beside the forcefield, arms crossed over his chest.

"All right," the Doctor murmured, "here goes nothing."

Around the corner he went, moving with quick, impatient steps as he bore down on the guard with an intimidating scowl on his face.

"W-who are you?" the guard stammered when he saw the Doctor bearing down on him, eyes widening a little. "What are you doing here?"

"Who am I?!" the Time Lord snapped, looking every bit like an overworked bureaucrat as he scurried over to the forcefield, completely ignoring the scowling mirror counterparts as they spun around to glare at him. "I'm one of the unlucky sods trying to keep the medical department running now that its head's apparently gone all screwy. What am I DOING here? Nurse Chapel sent me down here to take medical readings; Mister Spock wanted these people scanned, and so I'm here with his express permission. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get this over with posthaste so I can go back to tearing my hair at trying to catalog the dopamine inhibitor vials, and-"

"Curious. I do not recall authorizing Nurse Chapel to send someone."

The Doctor froze in place, eyes widening just a little. Then, very slowly, he turned in place... to find Spock standing behind him, hands behind his back, flanked by a pair of security personnel with lifted phasers.

"What the hell is going on here?!" Kirk bellowed from inside his cell.

"Mister Smith, I presume," the First Officer greeted, completely ignoring Kirk. "If you will please hand Ensign Reynolds the tricorder, and step into the spare containment cell."

Sighing, the Doctor did as bidden; if he'd had his sonic screwdriver, he would have sought to disable the guards' phasers, increased power to the gravity plating beneath them to immobilize them, something... but without it, he didn't have much option. At least, nothing confrontational... stepping into the containment cell, an alternate plan began to form, even as the security guard activated the forcefield.

"We have been aware of your presence for an hour and ten minutes," Spock said calmly, standing on the other side of the field. "Considering the timing of your arrival with that of these alternate versions of the landing party, I calculated an eighty-five percent probability that you would, at some point, seek to make contact with these individuals. I must ask, however, for what purpose you have come aboard the Enterprise, and by what means you achieved this; our security systems did not detect any such intrusion."

"That's quite impressive," the Doctor replied grudgingly. "And a bit embarrassing for me... I don't often feel predictable... as for your questions, I can't answer them."

Spock's head tilted, just a little. "And why is that?"

A bit of a smile quirked at the Time Lord's mouth as he replied; "No starship may interfere with the normal development of any alien life or society."

Spock's mouth shifted in the tiniest of frowns... which, for him, might as well have been a brazen threat. "I am afraid I do not understand."

"Yeah, well... there is something I can tell you," the Doctor said. "Twenty-one-hundred and twenty-two."

"And that is?"

"The precise time you should send the lot in that other containment cell back," the Doctor replied. "To the same coordinates you beamed the original landing party up from; you're correct, there has been a transposition. Your Captain, and the rest of the landing party, are currently in a far more hostile reality... but, in approximately seventy-three minutes, they will attempt to reverse the effect. You must be prepared for that, or their attempt may well fail."

Spock's eyes narrowed, just a little. "And how do you know this?"

The Doctor shook his head. "I said, I can't tell you, not just yet... but, once you've brought your Captain back, I ask for a chance to speak with you both, alone. Consider my information a sign of good faith."

He honestly couldn't tell them too much; for one thing, any information they gathered on him would complicate his past self's dealings with the Enterprise D. If they discovered his name, his TARDIS, even his sonic screwdriver... it wouldn't matter if the Doctor succeeded in escaping; he would alter his own timeline, and Picard would greet the Doctor's arrival with considerably more suspicion. So, he was going to have to walk a very fine line...

"Ensign," Spock finally said to one of the security personnel; "Have Nurse Chapel send a medical technician to examine the alternate landing party; see if she can determine what Mister Smith was looking for."

"Yes, sir. Should they examine this Smith as well?"

The Doctor tensed... if they tried that, he'd have to go for an escape attempt, regardless of the risk. His biology would be just as recognizable to the future Starfleet as his TARDIS...

"No," Spock finally decided. "We will wait for the Captain's return before doing anything further with him."

With that, he gave the Time Lord one last, brief glance before striding away, his head down, no doubt already calculating the probability that the Doctor's advice was genuine...

* * *

A few hours later, a pair of security guards came to collect the Time Lord, leading him down a series of corridors and down a turbolift until they reached the Enterprise's main conference room. Stepping inside, the Doctor was mildly surprised to see that it was occupied only by Spock...

And Kirk.

One glance was all the Time Lord needed to confirm that this was the real one; no barely repressed scowl, no clenched fists, no unfocused violence. Well, almost none.

"Aaaah, Captain James Tiberius Kirk," the Doctor all but beamed. "I must say, it seemed like every second entry I came across in my research had five references to your ship's exploits, it's quite the pleasure to meet the man for whom a hundred uniform shirts gave their untorn conditions in service of."

"Um, thank you, I think..." Kirk replied, a little taken aback as he nodded to security; "You gentlemen can wait outside. As for you, Mister Smith, please, have a seat."

Choosing one of the conference room chairs, the Doctor plopped onto the seat with a content sigh, stretching his arms wide and stifling a yawn as he tested the rotational capacity of the chair, spinning it first one way, then the other, as he seemed to do every seat he ever took. A moment later, his legs swung up to rest on the table, ankles crossing as his hands folded behind his head. Kirk actually looked like he didn't know whether to be amused by the posture, settling for the former as he smiled just a little, leaning back in his chair.

"So," Kirk began; "Mister Spock tells me that you quoted from Starfleet General Order Number One, when he asked you the reason for your presence. He also told me you started running around my ship at around the same time my landing party went... missing. A paranoid man would think that there's a link there."

"Oh, there is," the Doctor replied matter-of-factly. "Just probably not in the way you're thinking."

"Is that so?" Kirk frowned a little, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"

"Well," the Doctor leaned back in his seat, hands spreading. "You more than likely are thinking that your little trip to an alternate universe was in some way caused by my presence, or actions I undertook, and I can understand the reasons. But in fact, my presence here did not cause your misadventure, but is in fact because of it... I wanted to gather information on what had happened to you, some clue as to how it had happened, for... independent purposes."

"But how did you know it was going..." Kirk paused as it clicked, and he leaned forward in his seat, suddenly very interested. "Time travel."

"Very good, Captain," the Doctor praised.

"That would explain his use of General Order One," Spock mused. "If he is indeed from the future, then his very presence runs the risk of contaminating the timeline; as would any information as to his exact origins or purpose. Just as the Enterprise avoids altering the development of a pre-warp civilization, perhaps he has a direction preventing him from directly interfering with us."

"On the other hand," Kirk continued, doubt still clear on his face. "What you're telling us could just be a very clever cover story, a way to avoid making up details... for one, Smith, isn't telling all this running the risk of changing the future? You told Spock how to get me and my people back, for that matter."

"I know a thing or two about timelines," the Doctor replied, shrugging. "And I have a good sense for how to avoid making too large a dent in them. For one, I knew your Mister Spock would successfully retrieve you, regardless of my assistance; my contribution simply would have saved him a lot of tedious calculations, though I'm guessing he made them anyway. I know that telling you I am from the future is in and of itself safe, as long as I reveal nothing of your personal future; I also know, Captain, the sacrifices you have made to preserve your past."

Something in Kirk's eyes flickered at that, his head tilting just a little a his gaze hardened; still, the moment passed, and he drew in a deep breath.

"So," he said, "you know a lot about us. Impressive. But considering the risks, I can't just let you go on your word alone."

"Well, there is a means to confirm what I'm telling you," the Doctor murmured, brow lifted. "I've learned quite a bit about Vulcans, you know, bit of a hobby; if you can't be certain that my words are genuine, then perhaps what we should do is read the intent behind them. A mind-meld could accomplish this quite handily."

Spock's brows lifted in surprise. "You are indeed well-informed on my race, Mister Smith. However, it is quite inappropriate to meld with non-Vulcans, and as such I cannot consider it a valid option.".

"Bullocks," came the response, the Doctor's finger jabbing forward. "You've already done it several times, always with non-humans, always for the purpose of some mission or another, and you're not even halfway through this five-year runabout!"

"He does have a point, Spock," Kirk said wryly. "And if he's telling the truth, turning him over to Starfleet could be more dangerous than letting him go. Melding with him could give us the answers we need to figure out our next step."

Spock considered that, head bowed. "Am I to assume that this is an order, Captain?"

"No, I won't order you to do it," the Captain replied, shaking his head. "I know how your people feel about melding with outsiders... and although you've done it before, I've always considered it above and beyond the call of duty. This isn't something I'm going to force from you."

Spock paused for a moment, before inclining his head. "In which case, I volunteer, Captain. You are correct, there are too many risks to do any less."

"Wonderful!" The Doctor's hands clasped together as he beamed. "This is turning out swimmingly. I'm a bit foggy on the mechanics of this whole melding, though, do we have to butt heads? Because, I'll tell you, I've been looking for a much less painful method of linking between-"

"I will initiate the meld," Spock replied, finally interrupting when he suspected their guest wasn't going to stop talking anytime soon. "Please simply relax... and be silent."

"Right, right, of course..."

Moving with deliberate care, Spock walked around their captive's chair, standing behind him and reaching down with both hands. His fingers quickly found the appropriate blood vessels and nerve points, although the Vulcan noticed they were placed slightly differently than those of most humans... drawing in a steady breath to prepare himself, Spock's eyes closed as he began to concentrate, intoning each word...

"My Mind, To Your Mind... My Thoughts, To Your Thoughts..."

* * *

The moment connection was made, Spock was lost.

The man's mind was ancient. Ancient, labyrinthine, and with a discipline that made mockery of centuries of Vulcan self-control; beneath the bumbling, beaming, rambling exterior of this strange man, the mind was sharp as a blade and unyielding as a mountain.

Although Spock was the one who had initiated the meld, he suddenly felt as if he were being pulled along, dragged deeper and deeper into flashing lights and swirling colors. Countless worlds flickered past, more than the Enterprise had ever witnessed, more than every ship in Starfleet had ever so much as drawn near to. Species strange and wonderful and terrifying, civilizations whose history could have swallowed that of every race in the Federation ten times over. Even after he had the information he needed, even after he'd confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt that this man had spoken the truth, Spock couldn't disengage.

But he should have.

Because with every moment that passed, every instant Spock did not pull away, bits of his own mind were chipped away, lost in the nexus of thought and emotion.

At that moment, the Vulcan was more vulnerable than he had ever been. Open and exposed through the meld, Spock could have become little more than clay to me molded into whatever shape the Doctor chose. This stranger could have implanted a thought, any thought, in the Science Officer's mind... or simply crushed his very being like an insect underfoot.

But he did none of these things. And then, mercifully, there was a withdrawal... not by Spock, but by this behemoth of a mind, who pulled away with all the care of a fond father, gathering up the fragments of the Vulcan's tattered psyche and knitting them back together. With practiced skill, the Doctor's mind finally untangled itself from the tendrils of Spock's mind, tendrils that even then reached out in supplication, not wanting to be removed from all that knowledge, all that experience, all that time.

And then, with thunder and ice, reality came crashing down.

* * *

Contact broke abruptly as Spock staggered back, hands lifting reflexively to clutch at his head, sweat beading across his skin from the brief, violent telepathic contact.; Kirk's hands snapped out to steady him, but the Vulcan waved him off, drawing on inner reserves, and a slow breath, to regain his inner and outer equilibrium. The Doctor, for his part, remained seated, head tilted, unruffled and clearly none worse for the wear; certainly, their exchange had been a great deal less uncomfortable for him than it'd been the time he'd tried it with one extremely untelepathic human.

Spock's dark eyes flickered back to the Time Lord as he finally uttered the only word that really suited the experience.

"...fascinating."

"Thank you," the Doctor replied.

Spock was silent for a moment as he considered what he had seen, heard, and felt. Already, much of it was fading, becoming less distinct, less specific. But enough detail remained for him to know the danger he had been in... and the consideration this man had shown. It surprised him, to say the least, that someone held captive and facing possible imprisonment wouldn't have used every available weapon. Tilting his head, he moved a few more steps away from the prisoner, and when Kirk naturally followed, the Vulcan lowered his voice to a near-murmur.

"He could have supplanted my will, Captain," Spock noted, "and in doing so, compelled me to convince you to release him. My word would undoubtedly have been sufficient to convince you. And yet he chose instead to help preserve my sense of self. He did not take advantage of my vulnerability."

"You've seen my mind," the Doctor called out from across the room, having heard every word. "You know why I didn't. Why I wouldn't."

"Indeed." Spock's brows lifted as he turned his attention back to Kirk, voice returning to its normal volume. "Captain, I am aware that he is an intruder. However, knowing what I do now, I can see no logical reason to keep him in our brig... and, of course, the risk to the timeline would be considerable."

Kirk, for his part, returned to the conference table, perching on the edge of it instead of taking a seat. Arms crossing over his chest, he mulled the matter over for a moment, glancing from the Doctor to Spock, and then back again; his lips pursed a little in thought, then he finally hopped back to his feet, decision made.

"I don't know who you are," Kirk began, hands spreading, "And my duty as a Starfleet captain won't let me keep this completely secret; I can't order my bridge crew to pretend they didn't see you, or my security staff to deny ever keeping you in custody. I certainly won't turn them against Starfleet Command in that way. But Mister Spock seems to like you well enough, and that sort of commendation doesn't come easily from him. That's enough for me. So if you promise to leave quietly, I'll make sure our report to Starfleet isn't too... specific."

"Really?" the Doctor's brow raised a little, mimicking Spock's typical gesture. "I'm surprised you'd get away with that."

"It would not be the first time the log has been... selectively entered," Spock replied, sounding almost wry.

"There would be questions," Kirk admitted, "but we're a long way from Starfleet Headquarters. Out here, you'll find that starship Captains have the authority to make their own decisions, and defend them."

"Well, I'll leave it to your expertise," the Doctor replied agreeably, then hesitated. "There is, however, one more little thing I'd like to ask for..."

"We're setting you free, and you're still going to ask for more?" Kirk actually grinned at that. "I'm starting to like you myself."

"As I said," the Doctor replied, "I came here for information related to the transporter accident that left you stranded in that alternate reality. The data could be quite useful, and I would be most grateful if I could take it with me when I departed."

Kirk hesitated, then glanced at his first officer; "Mister Spock?"

"The information is quite harmless, Captain," Spock replied.

"All right." Kirk nodded to himself, then smiled at the Doctor. "Promise not to make my day any more eventful, and Mister Spock will set you up with what you need."

* * *

Less than ten minutes later, the Doctor had returned to the cargo bay, having retrieved his sonic screwdriver from its hiding place. He had also acquired a set of data chips from Spock, containing all the information that he'd been looking for, and even some files on other magnetic storms that Federation starships had encountered, for comparative purposes.

"Good day," he murmured, drawing in a deep breath and smiling. "Very good day. Now, where'd I park?"

He'd sort of forgotten just how bloody huge the cargo bay was, and although he had a most excellent memory for finding things, the dim lighting wasn't helping any. Still, now that he didn't have to deal with impending capture, he was more than happy to wander about until he found it, and as he worked his way through the rows and rows of supply crates, he began to whistle a jaunty tune, an old Earth song about riding a donkey... legitimately riding, not the less savory interpretations.

Then came the next snag in his plan.

"Hold it right there." Before the Doctor could so much as twitch, a man stepped from the shadows of the cargo bay; dressed in the red tunic of a security guard, he leveled one of those old-style phasers in the Time Lord's direction. "This cargo bay is off-limits to all but supply technicians. What are you doing down here?"

"I think there's been a misunderstanding," the Doctor replied slowly, being very certain not to make any sudden movements- he wasn't looking to end this day by getting stunned. "I am down here with the permission of your Captain, and Mister Spock no less, legitimately this time, just use your little flip-thing and give him a call, he'd be more than happy to vouch for me, old chums we are, Academy buddies, grew up together, share blankets when we were tots, stole each other's toys- wait, do Vulcans have toys?"

"So," the man replied, eyes narrowed. "You're a friend of the Commander's."

"I just said that, didn't I?" the Doctor replied haughtily. "And don't think I won't report you!"

"Prove it," the man replied, tossing something small to the Time Lord with a flick of his wrist.

Reflexively, the Doctor caught it and opened his hand, curious. A small, cylindrical beacon with a flashing light on the very tip rested on his palm. It took him all of two seconds, and the sight of the grin on the human's face, to realize what this was probably for.

"Oh, damn."

He wanted nothing more than to drop the device, if not throw it away with all the force he could muster, but it was too late; he could already feel a tingle start in his chest, and a low hum fill the air. As the feeling of crawling ants spread across the Doctor's body, his rapidly disintegrating mouth twisted into a scowl, muttering even as he faded away in a shimmer of transporter energy.

"I can't believe-"

* * *

"-I fell for that."

When the transporter stream faded, the Doctor found himself facing no less than four security personnel, all dressed in unfamiliar uniforms, equally unfamiliar phasers pointed in the Time Lord's direction. Behind them, a bustling control room, complete with blinking lights, touchscreen controls... considerably more flashy than those of the ship he'd just left.

"Wonderful," the Doctor said a bit wryly, nonetheless lifting his hands very slowly. "Humans with weapons, there's a novelty."

Even as he spoke, his eyes flitted back and forth, considering his surroundings. This place was considerably more advanced than the original Enterprise... in fact, given it didn't match any Federation designs he recalled, the Doctor suspected that even Picard's ship would be considered an antique by comparison. He considered the possibility that there was another ship out there, perhaps hiding with stealth technology, but if that was the case, he couldn't imagine why they'd needed to 'tag' him to bring him aboard... how many other two-hearted lifeforms could have been on the Enterprise?

Licking his lips, he considered the pad he had was standing on... like a transporter in design, of course, but something about it tugged at him... a quick glance around the room, at the displays on various screens, confirmed it.

"Temporal transporter," he announced to one of the guards beside him, fingers crossing a little as he peered about the bridge, weight shifting from his heels to his toes, and back again. "What a dull way to get around. To say nothing for dangerous, how many times d'you lot get away with using that before the brain starts to go all knotted?"

"Captain," one of the security personnel said, trying not to look annoyed by their chattering guest... failing rather abysmally, at that. "Our... guest... has arrived."

One of the other crewmen, who was seated at a broad console halfway across the room. climbed to his feet, approaching the group with his hands folded behind his back. He was of average height and slim build, surprisingly young in appearance, with dark hair and a surprisingly friendly demeanor, given the circumstances.

"Doctor," the man said quietly, smiling. "I'm Captain Charles Ducane. Welcome to the Relativity."

Chapter Text

"Y'know, 'welcome to the Relativity' would generally suggest one act a bit more welcome-ing."

The Doctor was seated in a cold, uncomfortable metal chair, in front of an equally cold-looking table, in a small room two decks below the bridge. The walls were featureless, smooth white, and though there were no visible cameras or sensors, the Time Lord knew that he was likely being watched. A pair of security guards flanked the only exit, and just across the table, Captain Ducane sat in what looked like a far more comfortable chair, his head tilted slightly.

"Well, you'll have to excuse the accommodations," Ducane replied, frowning slightly as he considered the sonic screwdriver in his hand; security had removed it from the Doctor after a brief search, the device far easier to find given the form-fitting, outdated Starfleet science uniform he still wore. "But considering what we've learned about you, it was decided that we could take no risks."

"Aaaah, read up on me, have you?" the Doctor said, brow lifting and looking just a bit smug. "Interesting tale?"

"Yes, a very, very entertaining 'tale.'" Something about the emphasis on that last word drew a bit of curiosity from the Time Lord, but Ducane didn't seem inclined to elaborate yet.

"How did you lot track me, anyway? Does Picard know about this?"

"Oh, we're over five hundred years from Picard," Ducane replied, "and for what it's worth, he didn't betray you, at least not consciously. A personal log he made, three weeks after your initial encounter, just happened to mention that you'd told him you were going to search another Enterprise... slip of the tongue, really, but that log, along with hundreds of others from the Enterprise crew, became public domain about fifty years after Picard's death. Our analysts happened to link the mention with a very brief, very cryptic report made by Commander Spock of the original Enterprise, mentioning he'd been visited by a John Smith. I don't suppose that's your real name?"

"No," the Doctor replied, waving a hand slightly. "Just a quick little alias to get me around without raising too many questions."

"What is, then?" Ducane leaned forward in his seat, looking far less friendly. "Your name, I mean."

"Well, you can just call me the Doctor."

The captain smiled humorlessly. "No, seriously. I think we can just be honest here, one time traveler to another. We both know you're not the Doctor."

The Doctor's brow furrowed just a little, his own amusement replaced with just a little bit of confusion. "I'm... afraid I don't quite understand. I thought you'd done your research."

"Oh, I have," Ducane replied. "Not just myself. Learning more about the time traveler called only 'The Doctor' was actually a prime goal for the Temporal Agency upon its inception; finding you, learning more about you, your methods, your technology, your impact on our history. Ever since your escape from Picard's Enterprise, Starfleet had a perpetual interest in you, but one that was rather difficult to tend to, given time travel mechanics at the time were quite clumsy and somewhat inaccurate... we didn't have the means to observe or investigate without risking contamination to the timeline. As soon as we did, rest assured, we threw all available resources into it; I personally went on several fact-finding missions, in my younger years."

"Oh, good for you bunch," the Doctor replied, and though his tone was jovial, he was admittedly more than a little curious. "And what did you learn on your book report?"

Ducane climbed to his feet and began to pace the room, quite casually, hands folding behind his back.

"As you know," the captain began, "there are numerous stories of a Doctor across a hundred different worlds... most of these are snippets, little more than myths and legends. But they're there. What's also on file are the historical records you were examining, detailing incidents where some mystery man saves the day... and I'll confess, when our own analysts looked at them, twenty years ago, there were signs of possible involvement from a higher alien intelligence. It was then that our directive was made, a simple mission; to find the Doctor, and bring him in for an open discussion.

"So we went back," he continued, "further and further, to each incident we'd found on record, each hint that the Doctor had been there for a visit. Each time, our operatives found... nothing. No dilemma, no danger, and certainly no time-hopping hero coming to save the day. Reports that were filed, stories that were told, on hundreds of worlds, seem to have simply come from nowhere. Rumors. We never met anyone matching your description, or really anyone who seemed atypical of the population, even when we went to the specific time and place of a reported incident. You're the first encounter with any such 'Doctor' we've ever had, though I assure you, we've devoted a lot of time to finding him."

"Well," the Doctor replied, a small smirk hiding his growing unease. "You don't sincerely think that you'd be able to simply nab him, do you?"

Lifting a brow, Ducane didn't respond, simply gesturing to the Time Lord seated in front of him.

"That doesn't count!" the Doctor scoffed, arms crossing over his chest. "I'm rather out of my element here; if this were my universe, I'd be running temporal circles around you lot, and probably be stealing your lunch money as well. For lunch. In any case, I don't see what this has to do with anything."

"What I am saying," Ducane replied calmly, "is that there is no Doctor. No Time Lords. No 'Gallifreyan technology,' or any of these other things you spoke of during your visit to the Enterprise. There are stories, yes. Legends, tales, and as I said, even reports that were supposedly historical in nature... but we've examined hundreds of them, and haven't found any evidence that they ever happened. Not on Earth, not anywhere. So, would you like to hear my theory?"

"Not particularly."

"My theory," the captain continued, utterly ignoring the Doctor's snide comment, "is that you're not who you've claimed you are... you're just some unusually clever fellow with a time machine, who decided to pay a visit to a twenty-fourth century ship, and dazzle them with your brilliance. You found stories on a handful of planets of this 'Doctor' figure, and decided to adopt the persona as your own. The Enterprise-D crew did describe you as incredibly advanced, but... I think that in this timeframe, here and now, you're nothing too special."

"Is your ship bigger on the inside than the outside?" the Doctor countered, brow lifted.

Ducane smiled a little at that, but didn't seem convinced.

"They had Holodeck technology even in the twenty-fourth century." Ducane's hands spread slightly. "The senses can be fooled pretty easily. The mind, too; everything Picard reported during his 'captivity' could have been implanted memories. Your little stunt with the Alcheron star seemed quite impressive... unless you knew what would happen in advance, and therefore had all the time you needed to devise a solution. We're not exactly thrilled with your interference there, either... it took quite a bit of effort to restore the timeline after you'd intruded in it."

"Restore the timeline, what d'you-" the Doctor paused for a long moment, then his eyes widened, just a little. "You... you couldn't have..."

"'Rogue' asteroid," Ducane replied. "Completely destroyed the colony one week later, before anyone on it could depart. Safer than trying to interfere with the Enterprise's- and your- initial rescue. Fortunately, corrections of that nature are assigned to different ships altogether... it's not a duty I would have savored."

The Doctor fell silent at that, eyes flitting from side to side, his jaw tightening and entire body tensing almost painfully.

"So really," Ducane continued, considering his PADD, "the only concrete feats you've managed were to overcome a computer system that, by our standards, is antiquated, and time travel... which, as you see, we can do as well."

"I suppose, if you can call it that," the Doctor replied distractedly, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath as he tried to fall back on his humor. "I mean, a two year old careens around the living room and manages to avoid crashing into most of the furniture, and we call that 'walking'..."

"Very funny," Ducane replied. "Now, who are you really?"

"Haven't you been listening?" the Time Lord gave a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm the Doctor."

"If you're going to stick to this lunatic fairy tale, then-"

"Bridge to Captain Ducane!"

Stifling a sigh, Ducane leaned back, head tilting upwards just slightly. "Ducane here, go ahead."

"Captain, Operative Manning has contacted us from Kirk's Enterprise. He reports that he cannot access the interior of the subject's ship; and is requesting instructions."

"Damn..." Ducane paused for just a moment; "Can we beam the entire thing here?"

"We can't seem to get a lock on it; very strange readings coming from it, sir."

"...stand by. Keep the temporal shielding up. Ducane out."

"Fox in the henhouse?" the Doctor asked with mock concern, brow lifted.

"Looks like," Ducane said quietly. "It seems you've left a mess back where we picked you up... your ship is going to be discovered by the original Enterprise crew, sooner or later. By now, as far as the timeline outside this ship's temporal shielding is concerned, they already have. Eventually, the Starfleet back then would find a way in, and that technology could advance the Federation beyond a point it's ready to reach... to say nothing for the risks if her enemies found a way to get it as well. So, are you going to help us fix the mess you've made of the timeline?"

The Doctor laughed. Flat out; in Ducane's face, his own face reddening with forced mirth as the pair of security guards shifted restlessly, not exactly pleased with his reaction. Ducane, for his part, just sat there, waiting for the outburst to subside, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Ohhhh, this is rich," the Doctor chortled, leaning forward in his seat, eyes gleaming like chips of ice, "I didn't create the mess, you did! When you brought me here, you nits! I was just on my way out, perfectly prepared to meander on my merry way with none the wiser aboard that ship except for two lads who was perfectly happy to let me meander merrily. Then you lot waylay me and bring me to entirely the wrong time period, leaving the highly advanced and extremely mysterious TARDIS parked in their cargo bay! And now you're here, blaming me for it with all the narrow-minded, self-centered egotism of-"

"I think I get the point," Ducane interjected, lifting a hand.

"I don't care!"

The Doctor's voice was a bellow as he leapt to his feet, and the pair of guards raised their phasers, holding their fire only at Ducane's gesture.

"I'm not done talking," the Time Lord snapped, disgust curling at his lip. "Your people wipe out an entire colony, murder every man, woman and child on it for the sake of 'preserving the timeline,' and then manage to bugger it up yourselves! You accuse me of risking the integrity of your past, but if the human race has reached the point where it can callously, cravenly kill off its own people for some misplaced sense of temporal stagnation, then it seems to be your past could use some more bloody tampering!"

Ducane didn't respond, he didn't speak at all; but he didn't flinch from the Doctor's anger, didn't get to his feet. He just watched the captive quietly, evenly, not thinking to explain himself, or justify the actions of his people; after a long silence had passed between them, he said a single word.

"Done?"

Scowling darkly, the Doctor flopped onto his seat again. "Quite."

"All right," Ducane said. "What would it take to secure your help in getting your ship out of there?"

"Returning me to the Enterprise would be a very good start," the Doctor replied, head tilted. "I'm the only one who can access the TARDIS, and so if you want to get in, you'll just have to bring me along for it."

"I'm not about to fall for that," Ducane replied, smirking just a little. "And if you're as brilliant as you claim, then we both know you must have something planned for just this eventuality. A key under the mat, some sort of override... we can certainly negotiate if there is. Or you can spend a few months in the brig... the Relativity has enough supplies and power reserves to last years, even with temporal shielding raised."

The Time Lord squirmed in his seat just a little, eyes slipping away from Ducane, his thoughts all but printed across his face. While on the one hand, he probably would have liked nothing more than to punt the captain out an airlock, on the other, he wasn't exactly thrilled with the prospect of spending too long in confinement. With every passing moment, the defiance in his shoulders seemed to subside, his head bowing lower and lower, the anger in his eyes cooling and turning into quiet consideration.

"...fine."

Head tilting, Ducane leaned forward a little; "Sorry, what was that?"

"Damn you, I said fine," the Doctor snapped, not meeting Ducane's eyes. "There... is a way."

A slow smile spread across Ducane's face, one of quiet satisfaction. "Tell me."

"My sonic screwdriver."

Frowning slightly, the captain lifted the metallic wand slightly, brow lifting.

"Yes, that." Sighing a little, shoulders slumping, the Time Lord explained; "Awhile back I was stranded in the past without access to the TARDIS- long story, you don't care- but the point is I made sure to develop a recall link, which I of course included in the screwdriver. Much like anyone with the proper number can call it from any point in time, anyone with the proper frequency can summon it from any point in time... well, that's how it was supposed to work, anyway."

"Supposed to?"

"Well." The Doctor sounded almost embarrassed. "There have been some issues with the sonic not quite having the range to reach the TARDIS from any more than a hundred feet, or a hundred days. However, since you have a lad on the original Enterprise, it would be a simple matter to match the sonic's transmission through your link with him. The TARDIS, gorgeous thing that she is, has no such range issues, and would trace the transmission back to your ship, and come here in a flash of brilliance."

Ducane considered the Doctor for a long, long moment, as if trying to find any sign of deception, but the Time Lord didn't even meet his gaze, his eyes lowered and shoulders slumped.

"All right," the captain finally, nodding and offering him the screwdriver. "I'll go open a channel, and you can call your ship here."

"Well, I have conditions," the Doctor replied irritably, eyes narrowed as they flickered back up.

The captain snorted slightly, hardly surprised. "All right. Tell me."

"From what I can see of you lot," came the muttered reply, "you're utterly obsessed with keeping your timeline neat and tidy. Therefore. the less time travelers are about, the better... and so you are better off if I'm not here, in this universe, and I assure you, I am trying very hard not to be here. That's the entire reason I'm scurrying about like this. So, if I retrieve the TARDIS from the original Enterprise's timeframe, and bring it here, and if I color only in the lines you so dearly want to provide me, then I ask only that you help me find a way to return to my own reality. Your accumulated knowledge, resources... if we work together, the problem can rather handily vanish on its own."

Ducane's lips thinned as he considered it, fingers drumming on the desk for several long moments... and then, finally, he nodded.

"All right. I still think you're lying through your teeth about who you are, but I suppose the least I can do is give you a chance to prove yourself."

"Wonderful." The Time Lord hopped to his feet, startling the guards into brandishing their phasers a bit more excitedly. "Well, we'll need more room than this. To your bridge?"

* * *

Only a couple of minutes later, they stood on the Relativity's main bridge, the same place that the Doctor had initially been brought on his arrival. At Ducane's gesture, all of the guards that had been keeping an eye on the Doctor moved away, shifting to form a semi-circle about ten feet away, standing between the Time Lord and the temporal transporter. Clearly, the captain was half-expecting the Time Lord to make a break for it, but the Doctor's face had only resignation on it as he reached his hand out to the captain.

"Right then, hand it over."

"You do realize," Ducane said quietly, keeping the screwdriver just out of reach at first "that if the lights so much as flicker when you use this thing, or if you even twitch towards that temporal transporter, there are a half dozen very big, burly security personnel ready to tackle you to the carpet. Same if that blue box appears and you reach for the door handle."

"Oh, don't be daft," the Doctor replied, looking quite innocent as he reached out, pointedly snatching his device away and examining it minutely to make sure they hadn't scratched it. "You lot are so very advanced and knowledgeable, after all, I'm sure you have nothing to worry about."

"Uh huh." Sighing, Ducane turned to one of his junior officers. "Lieutenant Kale, open a channel to Operative Manning."

Nodding, the younger officer turned her attention back to her console, tapping in a command sequence. "Channel open."

"Operative," the captain said, glancing once more at the Doctor. "We're about to try something on our end. Keep an eye on the subject's ship, alert us to any change."

"Aye, sir, standing by."

Ducane once more glanced to the Doctor, gesturing for him to begin.

"All right," the Time Lord murmured, lifting the screwdriver and pointing it towards a spot midway between him and the security personnel; plenty of room for the TARDIS. The device buzzed to life, the pitch rising higher and higher with each moment. "I'm piggybacking your transmission... linking to the TARDIS... and uploading the recall sequence... just give it a moment to compensate for temporal lag, and-"

"Captain!" The voice on the other end was mingled with the whirring of the TARDIS's departure. "The subject's ship appears to be fading away, I think it's working!"

"Of course it is," the Doctor drawled. "Give it a few moments to reach us, Captain, and I'll park it right on your front lawn..."

Ducane, indeed, the entire bridge crew, turned towards the spot the Doctor had indicated, waiting quite patiently... and a grin did cross many of their faces when they heard that same whirring sound, this time on the bridge itself. But as the seconds ticked by, there was no sign of the Doctor's blue box, and indeed it didn't look like it would be materializing any time soon.

Turning to ask the Doctor what was taking so long, Ducane's words died in his throat as he realized that the TARDIS was, indeed, materializing.

More specifically, the TARDIS was materializing around the Doctor.

One of the security guards lunged, but even half-formed, the TARDIS' walls were solid enough to block the man's hands from getting at the Time Lord. Just before the TARDIS materialized completely, the Doctor lifted his hand to wave goodbye, smirking and mouthing just two words.

I lied.

A split second later, he vanished from sight, leaving only the imposing blue box in his place. Two of the security guards hurled against the door, pulling, pushing, throwing themselves against it and, when that failed, stepping back and drawing their phasers, setting them to maximum. Taking firing positions, they dropped to one knee and lifted their weapons, fully intend on blasting their way inside.

"No!" Ducane shouted, stopping the guards in their tracks. "We can't risk firing a high-intensity phaser blast this close to the temporal transporter! One stray shot could blow half the ship apart. Try and penetrate the interior with sensors instead, compensate for the spatial distortions and get me a set of coordinates, we'll get a boarding party aboard before this bastard runs for it, and-"

"Captain!" Lieutenant Kale now, her voice alarmed, and more than a little incredulous. "He's bypassing our security encryption and getting into our systems! Our databanks are being downloaded! I'm attempting to lock him out, but nothing seems to be-"

"Damnit!" Ducane dropped his original thought, paling as he moved to hunch over her console with her, fingers dancing across the controls. "Start a complete system reboot, see if that slows him down, and dump all nonessential files, full burn procedure."

"Trying, sir, no response from contr-"

And then, suddenly, every monitor on every deck throughout the ship, including those on the brig flickered and shut off their various analysis and displays... instead, they showed two more words.

Nothing Special?

Ducane's jaw dropped.

"Son of a-"

The power went out; lighting, computer monitors, propulsion, everything except for life support shut down all at once, the normal background hum of the Relativity's operating systems fading into an unnerving silence. There was a brief scuffle as crewmen throughout it moved to find flashlights and tricorders... and then, on the bridge, a whirring howl as the TARDIS' Time Rotor began to operate again, breaking the darkness with the pulsing, ghostly light atop the blue box as each flash caused it to fade more and more.

Within moments, it was gone, leaving a handful of very confused, very angry Starfleet officers behind.

Chapter Text

It took a little while for the Doctor's smug satisfaction, and his burning anger, to fade away... he had initially set a course back for the Alcheron V colony, fully intending to stop the newest catastrophe before it could take root. Hell, he'd go back to the Enterprise and seek Picard's help if he had to, for he had no doubt the starship captain wouldn't turn down the opportunity to save thousands of lives yet again. But as the hundreds and hundreds of plots and plans whirled through the Doctor's mind, a grain of something far less welcome began to wriggle its way in. The TARDIS had very nearly reached its destination when, suddenly, the Doctor pulled her to a stop, leaving her in deep space a few dozen light years, and a score of temporal years, from its destination.

Pragmatism had settled in because, put simply, he knew there was no point.

He could have stopped that asteroid, yes, he had no doubt. But this wasn't just some natural disaster to be averted... this wasn't even a lone alien attack to be thwarted. This was a coordinated, concentrated effort by a group of beings capable of Time Travel- more or less- and determined to ensure history came to pass the way they intended. The resulting struggle could last, from the perspective of those fighting it, forever, with both sides constantly changing time in a strategic battle waged in the shadows...

Indeed, as much as the Doctor hated to admit it, they had the advantage in such a situation. He couldn't risk crossing his own timeline too much, knowing the disaster that such a paradox would bring; but the future Starfleet had dozens, if not hundreds, of 'Time Agents,' all ready to go back and contribute to the destruction of the colony in a variety of exciting ways. It didn't matter how good you were at chess; if the other player got to move five pieces every time you moved one...

And this wasn't an enemy he could simply cast out, or destroy. They were humans, the future of mankind, and as much as he found their practices despicable, he also could see- very grudgingly- where they came from. They would kill him, if they had to, to end this. He didn't think he'd be able to do the same to them.

So it didn't matter how many times he saved that colony. The Starfleet of the future would just destroy it again.

Sighing softly, the Doctor ran his hands down his face, drawing in a shuddering breath as he all but forced himself to let go of his piqued temper, his hurt pride... because he had to admit, some of his ire was because they had interfered in the Doctor's actions, something he never really enjoyed. Instead, he turned his attention to what, if anything, had troubled him even more than the fate of the colony.

The fate of the other Doctor.

A perusal of the files he had 'borrowed' from the Relativity's computers confirmed much of what Ducane had said. These agents had devoted a rather flattering amount of resources to tracking him- the other him- down, traveling to points in time and space where the mysterious Doctor had been said to make an appearance. But every attempt had been a failure, with the catastrophe in question either having been averted by some other means or, in some cases, the catastrophes simply never having happened. So many incidents that, on the Enterprise-D's computer, had been claimed as fact had, by the twenty-ninth century, been complete debunked.

Indeed, a poor bloke named Gary Seven in the late nineteen-sixties had been accosted by these wankers for just that reason, which would have made it the second time he'd clashed with humanity's future. He had apparently hospitalized two Time Agents before everything was finally settled.

Perhaps one could have explained the lack of solid Doctor encounters as time being rewritten at some point, these disasters erased by a madman in a box, but if that were the case, why did the reports of them persist? It was as if the stories simply came from nowhere...

The Doctor did notice, however, that at the time of his meeting with the Relativity, there were still a little over a hundred 'rumored incidents' still unexplored. Head tilting, he started to scroll through them slowly, stopping about halfway down as one incident in particular leaped out at him.

"Oh, hullo there, gorgeous," he murmured, licking his lips as he found a rather tasty looking historical morsel, a police report; the testimony of some man deemed drug-addled by the authorities.

The man's testimony spoke of lizard people, ray guns, a mysterious item that may well be a doomsday weapon capable of killing all humans on the planet...

Definitely sounded like something the Doctor would be interested in. In fact, it all sounded a little like the Silurians, which would have made this the only reference he had found to the reptilian pre-human inhabitants of Earth for that matter. It was a slim thread, granted. But maybe the report had interested the other Doctor as well, because apparently somebody had come, saved the planet with advanced technology, and promptly vanished without another word. A pair, actually, a man and a woman!

Grinning with delight, the Doctor quickly keyed in a set of time-space coordinates and spurred the TARDIS into motion, the Time Rotor's grinding beginning to increase in speed as it careened through the vortex.

* * *

When he stepped out into the crisp air of night-time Detroit, at the beginning of the twenty-first century, the Doctor gave a reflexive cough; after having spent the last little while on utterly clean, hygienic starships, the taste of air pollution was both uncomfortable, and yet welcoming familiar. The streets were all but deserted at this time of night, populated by aging, silent warehouses and crumbling apartment complex, and as he adjusted his bowtine, he couldn't help but let a little smile cross his face.

"Much better," the Doctor murmured, tugging at his jacket and glancing at his watch to confirm the time. "At least this twenty-first century Earth doesn't look too different from mine. Now, where was that warehouse...?"

He had left himself a couple of hours worth of leeway to investigate this supposed incident, considering he honestly wasn't certain where to look first. He had parked the TARDIS about a block and a half away from the location the police had nabbed their eventual confessor, some drug-abusing bloke named 'Loomis.' From what the police report had said, this man had kidnapped several people and strapped them to tables in an abandoned warehouse, all apparently at the behest of these 'aliens.' He'd been found unconscious in a stolen car the morning after, and had been promptly charged with a really impressive list of crimes.

Anyway, first step was to track down where he needed to be, assuming this wasn't just some drug-addict's fever dream. Turning in a quick circle, the Doctor's sonic screwdriver buzzed as he ran a quick scan for any nearby non-terrestrial technology, giving a satisfied little hum as he studied the results. Much to his delight, there was indeed several readings indicating non-Terrestrial technology, in the very same warehouse this druggie was destined to be found in.

"There we are," the Doctor murmured, satisfaction written all over his face as he set off at a brisk pace, pausing occasionally to scan again. The readings were concentrated in one warehouse in particular, and as he drew nearer, the Doctor began to pick up other lifesigns... several of them human, and three decidedly not.

There were several entrances, most of them boarded up. A small device was affixed to the doorway of one of the entrances that hadn't been; it was clearly a scanner that would alert the occupants if anyone entered. A quick buzz with his screwdriver disrupted it just long enough to allow him undetected entry, at which point the Doctor decided it was time to prioritize. As he curious as he was to meet this aliens, he had to make sure the humans weren't in any immediate danger.

He found the humans soon enough, over half a dozen of them lying unconscious in a single room with IVs strapped to their arms. Moving quietly and carefully, the Doctor paused just long enough to scan the area- the alien lifeforms were close, but not too close- before he moved to the nearest human, a young woman. Checking her pulse with two fingers, he pried her eyelid open, peered into her sightless gaze for a moment, then finally passed his screwdriver over her, frowning as he examined the readings.

"Let's give you a checkup..." the Doctor frowned a little before giving a satisfied grunt, patting her idly on the arm as he spoke, quite pointlessly, to her unconscious form. "Sedated. Nothing serious. You'll be fine, when you wake up... but what are you doing here in the first place...?"

As the sound of approaching footsteps filled the air, the Time Lord's eyes widened, head swiveling from one side, and then to the other as he looked for somewhere to hide; in the end, he had to settle for pressing himself into a shadowed nook underneath a nearby metal stairwell, crouching behind a small stack of boxes and holding his breath.

Footsteps. Big, heavy, and then the faint sound of the doors swinging open. Though the Time Lord was very, very tempted to peek out and see what was happening, he decided- for once- to show an element of patience, ears straining to catch any possible detail. As it turned out, whoever was out there, they didn't give much consideration for secrecy, as one spoke up gruffly.

"Fifteen millilitres from the new arrival."

Some more sounds, shifting, rustling... and then the footsteps were receding, back towards the exit. As soon as he heard the doors swing open and shut, the Time Lord was on the move, slipping out from cover; at first, his eyes were locked on the doors, but as he started to cross the room, a flicker of movement caught the corner of his eye, his head whipping towards the source.

"Strange," he murmured, frowning.

He thought one of the humans, a male, had moved, but when he glanced back over, the man still lay there, eyes closed. The Doctor's eyes flickered for a moment to the door, then to the human, and though he considered subjecting the man to a scan as well, he realized he had more pressing concerns right now, such as the mysterious aliens and their equally mysterious agenda. Could they be Silurians? Was another Doctor about to arrive and save the day?

Moving quickly, the Doctor stepped out into the hall; faint voices to the left had him moving towards the source, keeping in a low crouch, sonic screwdriver out. He was perhaps halfway there when he suddenly heard footsteps closing in front behind; whirling around, the Doctor pointed his sonic forward, head leaning back when he realized he was staring down the barrel of a silver weapon of some kind.

It was the human male, who was decidedly not sedated, and pointing some extremely non-terrestrial technology back at him. Well, perhaps not non-terrestrial, but... certainly nothing fitting the time period. As the Doctor's eyes flitted from the weapon to the man's face, he realized something odd; the human didn't have the confused, twitchy expression of a man who's woken up with no knowledge of where he is. On the contrary, the Doctor suspected this human knew exactly what he was doing here.

"Hold it right there," the human growled, keeping the curious, silvery weapon raised as he squinted at the decidedly non-human screwdriver clutched in the Time Lord's grip. "Who are you? Did Daniels send you? Are you working with the Xindi?"

"Daniels?" the Doctor echoed, keeping his voice down, but not lowering his sonic... though he wasn't entirely certain what he intended to do with it; the weapon in the man's hand didn't look as compact or advanced as that of the Relativity's security force. In fact, it looked even bulkier than those on Kirk's Enterprise. "Don't know any Daniels... and Xindi? What the bloody hell's a Xindi?"

The human seemed to pause at that, dark eyes narrowing a little as the weapon wavered, just for a moment. The two began to circle each other slowly, hands still raised, until they each had their back to the corridor wall, feeling marginally more secure.

"You've never heard of the Xindi?" the human echoed, sounding almost incredulous.

"No," the Doctor snapped; he was starting to get seriously tired of people pointing guns at him. "I only got as far as 'W' in the anthropological database, only had a couple of days to poke through it, so I ask you again, what. Is. A. Xin-"

A sudden high-pitched whine filled the air as a bright energy bolt passed between the two men, striking the far wall in an explosion of sparks. The Doctor, and the human both dove in opposite directions, taking cover behind two sets of heavy crates before peering around the corner warily. Another blinding flash sent them scurrying back behind their various points of cover, but in the brief view, the Time Lord had caught the briefest glimpse of reptilian creatures moving across the room.

Pressing himself up against the crates, the Doctor drew a deep breath, eyes rolling a little as he called to the human; "...I take it those're Xindi."

"Yeah, that's a pretty safe bet!" The human snapped, peering around the corner and firing a blast from his phase pistol. "Look, if Daniels didn't send you here to help, then what the hell are you doing here? Who sent you? Whose side are you on?"

"Now?" the Doctor exclaimed, ducking further behind the wall as another energy blast sent off a fresh shower of sparks. "You want to interrogate me now?!"

"Well now seems to be as good a time as any!" the human bellowed, firing another quick pair of shots back across the complex "I've got enough enemies to deal with as it is, without turning my back to another!"

"Well, here's a thought!" The Doctor bellowed right back. "The ones trying to shoot you? Definitely the enemies. Let's just give everyone who isn't shooting at you the benefit of the doub- oh, sod this."

With that, the Time Lord all but vaulted over the cover he had made for himself, stalking down the hall grimly. As a Xindi popped out, weapon raised, the Doctor lifted his sonic screwdriver and emitted a sharp, high-pitched buzz, causing the alien weapon to explode in a shower of sparks. Cursing, the Reptilian dropped the weapon and tried to fall back, only to get drilled with a fatal blast from the human's weapon. A second and third alien were already in full retreat, and as the Doctor's arm snapped out, and a second weapon was disabled, but they vanished from sight a moment later.

Dropping to one knee beside the fallen Reptilian, the Doctor's passed over him in a quick wave; a glance at the readout elicited a sigh from him.

Not Silurian, clearly. And, worse, dead.

The human, meanwhile, had sprinted past him down the hall, and it was with several irritated mutterings that the Time Lord took off in pursuit. They soon came to a wide room, the far side of which was flanked by several makeshift lights, and in the center of which was a piece of decidedly non-Terrestrial technology; a nearby door hung ajar. The human examined the device for a brief moment, then began to look increasingly agitated when he couldn't find what he wanted.

"You let them get away!" the human snapped, hauling out a small device and flipping it open with a chirp. "T'Pol, they've headed out the west door... they've got the virus."

"Yes, well, we're not all quite as gung-ho about murder!" the Doctor snapped back, scowling as he gave the large, alien machine a cursory examination. "I've seen enough of those weapons you've got there by now to know there's a stun setting! Ever consider using it?!"

"You don't get it!" Shoving the Time Lord none-too-gently aside, the human was already going through the door, calling back as he ran down the corridor; "The biotoxin they're carrying's enough to wipe out half of Earth's population!"

* * *

Racc was one of the finest warriors the Reptilians had to offer; a brilliant tactician, as well as among the most physically powerful. It was for this very reason that he had been chosen for this most-crucial of missions, and he was well aware that its success could very well secure the safety of their entire people. So it was hardly a surprise that the sudden turn of events, with the intrusion of a human and a simian creature in a bowtie that smelled nothing like a proper human, had him already thinking of alternatives. His comrade Rokk and he quickly sprinted down a dank hallway, seeking freedom, or at least enough breathing room to find a proper place for ambush...

...but it turned out they were the ones to be ambushed, for as they burst out into the alleyway, a car parked nearby gave a sudden 'HONK,' a woman's voice rising in protest. Snarling, Rokk opened fire with his weapon, but though neither could see the dark interior well enough to tell if they'd scored a hit, the return fire suggested it hadn't been enough.

Rokk fell under that onslaught, leaving only an unarmed Racc to carry on the mission. But as the Reptilian burst into motion, sprinting down the street and expecting to be shot at any moment, he heard sounds of a struggle coming from inside the car. Perhaps their human collaborator had been captured, and was even now trying to slow these pursuers down... such service would earn him a slightly quicker death, at least.

It took some quick thinking, and quicker feet, but the Xindi managed to shake his pursuers, for a few moments at least. Climbing onto a rooftop, panting for breath, the Reptilian finally took cover behind an air conditioning duct, clutching the canister of biotoxin to his chest. His weapon had been disabled by the strange humanoid, and he had no spare. His battle prowess aside, he knew that he stood no chance against his pursuers and their own considerable technology.

But he still had the temporal beacon, his only means back to his time period. And the virus, while not entirely complete, could still land a devastating blow to the simian human scum... perhaps it would be better to 'take his winnings and leave,' as it were. Setting the canister down for a moment, Racc tugged the beacon from his belt and began to fiddle with it, seeking extraction quickly, before the humans-

A low whirrrr filled the air, and the beacon suddenly erupted into a shower of sparks. Snarling, Racc instincitively dropped the device and whirled in a complete circle... he didn't see anybody. At least, not until a low whistle caused him to glance up atop a nearby alcove that housed access to the building stairwell... on top of which, the strange-smelling human sat, waving a hand slightly.

"Sorry," the odd man chirped; "That just seemed really important, so I thought 'Better Break It.'" His hands popped out from behind his back, a long metallic canister held in them... it wasn't until Racc looked down at his feet that he realized the stranger had stolen the virus while his back was turned. "For that matter, I'm guessing you don't want this smashed either, just yet anyway, so I'd be nice and quiet unless you want to surv-"

With a growl, the Xindi lunged, starting to climb onto the alcove in pursuit.

"-oh, wait, you'd want to break it!" The Doctor's other hand snapped out, sonic screwdriver humming to life, and then rising to an abrupt squeal.

For Racc, there was only pain. Pure, blinding pain as the sound seemed to cut right through his mind, sending every sense into a cacophony of agony. Clutching both sides of his head, the Xindi staggered and dropped to one knee, drawing in deep, ragged breaths but refusing to voice his discomfort with so much as a grunt.

"Sorry!" The Doctor shouted to be heard over the sound, wincing as he hopped off the stairwell, keeping the wand raised as he drew closer. "I know it's uncomfortable, but you're not giving me much of a choice here! Why don't you just-"

Racc was a warrior without equal, bred and trained for battle... though the pain was overwhelming, the Reptilian marshaled his inner reserves of strength and then, with a savage roar, lunged forward all at once, a scaled hand lashing out in a backhand. The silvery wand was knocked clear out of the Doctor's hand, skittering across the rooftop, even as the Reptilian's other hand lashed out, grabbing the scrawny man by the throat. The supersonic squeal died the moment the stranger was disarmed, and it was with a growl of pleasure that the Xindi lifted with just a single arm, hauling the Doctor into the air until his toes dangled just above the ground.

"Wait," the Time Lord croaked, both hands clutching at the arm that was choking him, "you sure you don't want to discuss this a moment?"

A sudden arc of phaser fire came out of nowhere, catching the Reptilian square between the shoulder-blades. Arms flying out wide, the Xindi staggered, groaned, and toppled forward, breath rattling in his chest as the very last thing he saw was the mysterious man with the bowtie... scolding his killers.

* * *

"Are you alright?" the human male asked as he jogged over, a stern-looking woman in tow, but the Doctor was too busy feeling rightous to notice.

"I had the situation perfectly under control!" The Time Lord snapped at the new arrivals as he rubbed his neck gingerly, catching them both a little off guard... and making them very uncomfortable, as one of the arms he was waving had the silver container of potentially civilization-ending biotoxin clutched in it. "And for the second time, have you lot never considered using the sodding stun function?!"

"Wh-" the human's eyes flickered, quite nervously, to the container under the Time Lord's arm. "Stun doesn't work on them. We've tried before, they just shrug it off."

"Oh." That seemed to mollify the Doctor, at least a little, but then he just straightened a bit, voice stern. "Well, you'll just need to find a better stun in the future. Er, thank you... for stopping the choking."

"Any time..." Inching forward just a little, the human's eyes didn't drift from the container. "I don't suppose you could... put that down?"

"Hmm?" the odd man glanced at the cylinder, then waved a hand distractedly. "This is the virus you mentioned, then? Oh, don't fret, they didn't remove the container, this is just the external shielding. Durasteel containment pod, remarkably tough, I could throw this off the building and the interior contents would be fine, not a scratch on them!

"Not that I'm going to, mind you!" the Doctor added hastily, as his assurance had only seemed to alarm the pair considerably, causing them to take a half-step closer with weapons raised. "So be much obliged if you'd just lower the weapons and please stop looking like you're waiting to tackle me around the knees. You want the container? Here. You can hold onto it if it makes you feel safer."

The male all but snatched the virus pod away when he was offered, grimacing a little as he handed it to the woman.

"There, all better?" the Time Lord beamed. "So, who're you lot? Not those buggers from the Relativity, are you?"

The human looked, if anything, more confused "I'm Jonathan Archer, C- uh, this is T'Pol."

"Right, the one you warned about the Xindi..." the Doctor paused, blinking at the woman; her hair had done a remarkable job hiding those pointed ears, so much so he hadn't even realized she wasn't human. "T'Pol? Vulcan name, that. A Vulcan! Love Vulcans, extremely bright bunch, terrible comedians, but quick as a collection of whips tied together to make some sort of super whip... since when've Vulcans been capable of time travel?"

The woman's eyes flickered as she replied; "We... that is to say, I..."

"What she means to say," Archer replied, deadpanned, extending a hand to solemnly gesture at their surroundings. "Is that the Vulcan Science Directorate has deemed that time travel is impossible."

"...well, all right," the Doctor amended. "They eventually become a bright bunch. But seriously, impossible? That would put you lot as early as... the twenty-second... century... oh, hell, Jonathan Archer?"

Something about the names, combined with the time period, had triggered a recollection from his studies of Starfleet's history.

Archer's eyes flickered towards T'Pol, before looking back at the Doctor. "...yes."

After a long, disbelieving pause, the Doctor's arms sprang up as he turned around, marching off in the other direction and rambling as he started to climb off the roof, the other pair apparently forgotten.

"I can't bloody swing my arms without hitting Captains of the Enterprise! Enterprise this, Enterprise that, not like there weren't another thousand ships in sodding Starfleet over the two hundred year stretch to Picard, why didn't they ever stumble on anything remotely interesting in their journeys, or were they all populated by the laziest layabouts the human race could squeeze into a bloody uniform, for-"

Considering they had the virus, and the strange man didn't exactly seem a world-ending threat, Archer wasn't entirely certain what to do about him... or rather, if he should even try and stop the man from leaving. As the Doctor vanished down a fire escape, however, the captain sighed and tossed a small box to T'Pol.

"Tag everything for retrieval," he instructed, "I'm just going to see what our new, er, friend is up to."

Breaking into a jog, Archer reached the edge of the roof just in time to see the Doctor reach the sidewalk, where he immediately begin marching away, still waving his arms, still ranting about something or other. Quickly, the human began to take the steps three at a time, nearly losing his balance more than once as he sought to catch up to the meandering man... reaching the street just a minute later, he took off in a full sprint; as he neared a street corner, he could hear the most peculiar grinding noise, but it wasn't until he rounded the corner that he saw the source.

It was a police box. It was a disappearing police box.

Even for someone who had just saved the Earth- past and present- from Reptilian aliens, thanks to the help of an enigmatic 31st century time traveler and a rambling man in a bowtie...

That was just a little too weird.

So, bereft of alternatives, Archer said the only thing that seemed to fit.

"...huh."

* * *

"Well, that was disappointing," the Doctor muttered, even as he hopped up to the TARDIS control console, sighing softly as he tugged one of the monitors over. "I come looking for a Doctor, I end up finding a Captain. Again. I mean, what are the odds, I just happen to end up colliding with another bloody Enterprise bunch... this pair seemed to be grumpier than the rest, at that, which is saying something when you consider the permanent frown on Commander Spock's face..."

More troubling, however, was Archer's reference to 'Daniels.' Presumably the fellow was responsible for sending the pair of them back in time, which meant it was probably the same faction that had been so determined to slap a leash on the Doctor. Setting a quick 'course' towards the dawn of life on Earth, figuring it was as good a place as any to hide out until he'd made his next move, the Doctor turned his attention back to the monitor, fingers drumming on his console as he skimmed the remaining files. Nothing really leapt out at him, however, and after a few frustrated minutes he slammed a hand down onto the monitor, starting to pace.

"Damnit, all right, think Doctor, think, there's a reasonable, perfectly sane explanation for this..." Lips curling as he tried to fend off what he realized was a rising sense of panic. "Come on, come on... maybe there's nobody named the Doctor here? That Gary Seven lad, his servo was loads like a screwdriver! No, no, he wasn't a time traveler... unless he was lying... but he registered as human... chameleon arch? Ridiculous! THINK!"

And then he froze in place, a little nugget of information tugging at him.

"All right," the Doctor murmured, cracking his fingers and giving them a quick wiggle as he peered at the monitor.. "Different tactic, then! Don't look for mysteries that haven't been solved, look for mysteries that were solved with a different answer. Speaking of Archer... where, where, where... ah! Time ship... advanced technology... bigger on the inside than the... GOTCHA!"

Filled with new energy, new determination, the Doctor quickly entered a new set of coordinates, even as he muttered;

"Suppose I'm doomed to deal with every Enterprise..."

Chapter Text

It had been an eventful day for the Starfleet ship Enterprise; they had found an abandoned ship, out floating in the middle of space with no power readings and a dead pilot. Mysteries had compounded mysteries as they'd found a dead pilot, seemingly human, on board... and then discovered that the ship was bigger on the inside than the outside, with a hatch in the floor that had led down a long shaft. They'd found some sort of device down there, of unknown purpose or origins, but thankfully they had finally found some solid information; more specifically, in the portable database that Daniels, a former crewman who'd turned out to be some form of temporal agent, had brought aboard. In it, they'd found enough information to at least settle the question of the ship's origins...

Unfortunately, the approach of an unidentified ship was swinging things right back into complicated.

"Twenty thousand kilometers and closing," Travis reported from the helm as Archer and T'Pol stepped from the turbolift, his fingers dancing over the console.

Frowning, Archer turned his first officer as she studied the readings at one of the stations; "T'Pol?"

"The vessel's Tholian," she announced, glancing up. "They're extremely xenophobic. The High Command has had limited contact with them. Captain, it's unusual for Tholians to travel this far from their system."

"I'm getting unusual thermal readings," Reed reported as his console gave a sharp beep, near incredulity on his face. "It's awfully warm inside that ship... more than two hundred degrees."

"They're believed to be a non-humanoid species," T'Pol explained, rather inadequately.

Head bowing, Archer considered it for a long moment before making a decision.

"Open a channel." Slowly pacing forward, he waited until Hoshi hailed the ship before speaking; "This is Captain Archer of the Starship-"

He was interrupted by a sudden series of squeals, clicks and hisses, each one drawing a wince from the bridge crew. A moment later, a translated voiced piped through over the speakers.

"Jonathan Archer, please establish communication."

"Is there something we can do for you?" Archer asked.

More clicks, whistles... and then; "We were sent to retrieve the vessel."

Archer glanced at T'Pol, surprised and more than a little worried before continuing. "I'd like to know how you heard about that ship."

"It is dangerous to you. Temporal radiation."

"Thanks for the warning," Archer replied slowly, "but we can't give it to you."

Another squeal, untranslated... and then the bridge shuddered, the entire ship rocking briefly.

"They've locked on to us with a tractor beam," T'Pol reported.

"We're losing speed," Mayweather added, a little less calmly.

"Hull plating," Archer instructed, turning towards Reed. "Arm the aft torpedoes."

"That beam's interfering with our targeting scanners," Reed replied grimly, shaking his head.

"Release us," Archer snapped, trying to keep the anxiety from his voice as he paced the bridge slowly, approaching his chair, "Or I'll destroy the ship in our launch bay."

There was no response, no reaction.

"Do you hear me?" Archer barked.

The ship shuddered again, more softly, as the Tholian ship released the tractor beam; a moment later, the ship broke its pursuit, sending off one last message of clicks, whirrs and whines that went untranslated. Frowning, Archer glanced at Hoshi, who was working the console to no avail.

"What did he say?" Archer asked.

"I don't know," Hoshi replied slowly, almost reluctantly. "But I don't think he was paying you a compliment."

Settling onto his chair slowly, Archer sighed, jaw set as he murmured; "I wonder if there's anyone else who thinks they have a claim on that ship..."

* * *

"Aaaand arrived!" The Doctor shifted towards the exit, then paused before turning back towards the console. "Should probably stealth her this time around, trying to be slightly more subtle about this, and I shouldn't be gone for too long this time..."

He had parked the TARDIS, now invisible and silent, in the same Launch Bay that the Time Ship occupied; the report on the entire incident that he'd extracted from the Relativity's stolen database had done wonders to help him craft his strategy, but there were curious gaps in it. For example, the report had mentioned that a dead pilot had been found on the ship, but there was no medical report, no autopsy details... only that an examination had been performed. So where was the report? There was similarly scant details on the composition of the Time Ship itself.

Therefore, the only thing he could do, like on Kirk's Enterprise, was to try and get it straight from the source; he intended to examine the ship first, and then find a computer access terminal to hack into for the medical files. With any luck, he'd only be there for twenty, thirty minutes, tops.

There was risk in doing all this; for one thing, this incident predated his encounter with Archer in Detroit, at least in terms of the Captain's personal timeline. He was very much trying to avoid making any noticeable ripples in the timestream, and being recognized in advanced of their 'first meeting' a year later would certainly count as that. Hopefully he wouldn't end up drawing the attention of the the Relativity's temporal hall monitors again.

Slipping out of the Police Box, the Doctor took a moment to scan the surroundings, confirming the room was empty before turning all his attention to the Time Ship. The TARDIS's stealth field fluctuated as he shut the door, then stabilized, leaving it entirely invisible; he would have a good few hours before the power reserves ran too low to maintain it.

"Hello, gorgeous," the Doctor cooed, starting to run his buzzing screwdriver up and down the scorched vessel, pausing for a moment to peer into the open hatch. "Hrmm... not a blue box, but maybe the chameleon circuit wasn't damaged in this universe... well, not damaged in a blue boxy way... dullest desktop theme I've ever seen, though, right cramped. Hatch there seems to lead to the spatial compression. I wonder if..."

A glance at his screwdriver had his eyes widening, and his priorities changing, as he realized a pair of lifeforms were just seconds away from entering the launch bay.

Without even enough time to get back to the cloaked TARDIS, the Doctor did the only thing he thought was reasonable; he slipped behind the Time Ship, pressing up against its curved surface and holding his breath as he heard one of hatches pop open. Footsteps clomped across the metal plating a moment later, a British and American voice carrying on some conversation they'd been having.

"Now if I had a chance to see the past, I'd jump at it. I always wanted to meet a stegosaurus," the American was saying.

"He'd probably make a quick meal of you," the Brit chortled.

"The stegosaurus was an herbivore."

There was some scratching and the squeal of metal on metal.

"If I could travel back in time, I know exactly what year I'd pick. 1588."

"Oh, no," the Doctor murmured under his breath. "Rubbish year, that, too much dust."

"What happened in 1588?" the American was asking.

"England defeated the Spanish Armada."

"I'm sure someone named Reed had a lot to do with that."

There was a loud snap, as if something was being pulled off the hull of the Time Ship... and then the Doctor felt a very peculiar sort of lurch, deep in the pit of his stomach, his eyes blinking repeatedly. By the time he'd regained his equilibrium, he realized that the very same conversation he'd just heard seemed to be... repeating itself.

"Now if I had a chance to see the past, I'd jump at it." The American, of course. "I always wanted to meet a stegosaurus."

"He'd probably make a quick meal of you."

"Oh no," the Doctor murmured, dearly wishing he had the privacy to take a scan with his screwdriver.

"The stegosaurus was an herbivore."

"It seems like we were just in here..." the Brit had said that, sounding puzzled... "If I could travel back, I know exactly what year I'd pick."

Both of them said the last part now; "1588."

"How'd I know you were going to say that?" the American asked, puzzled.

"Come on," the Doctor murmured, "figure it out..."

"I think we're spending far too much time together." the Brit finally replied, and both chuckled.

"Oh, you stupid sodding-"

Once more, the sharp snap of a plate being pulled off the ship, and once more...

"Now, if I had a chance to see the past, I'd jump at it."

"Ffor the love of..." the Doctor groaned.

"'I always wanted to meet a stegosaurus.'" It was the Brit who murmured it this time, brow furrowing.

"'He'd probably make a quick meal of you.'" the American echoed.

"'The stegosaurus was an-"

* * *

"I can't take it anymore!"

Both crewmen jumped as a strange man in a suit and bowtie burst out from behind the Time Ship, arms waving. Without the slightest hesitation, Reed hurried to the nearby wall-mounted security locker, tugging out a pair of phase pistols and powering the first of them to cover the strange man in the bowtie.

"Stop looping, damnit, snap out of it!" the Doctor clapped his hands loudly. "D'you have any idea how much I loathe repetition?!"

"Who the hell are you?" Tucker snapped, accepting the second phase pistol and aiming it square at the intruder.

"It's fine," the man insisted, only now starting to realize he might have been a bit hasty, the Doctor's body language trying for a far more casual, and far less threatening, approach. "Everything is fine, under control, I'm John Smith, pleasure to meet you both, or it would be if you weren't pointing a weapon at me- and it should be noted, stun affects me just fine, don't get any ideas to the contrary. Take me to your leader. No, wait, I can't go to your leader. Take me to your second-place leader. No, wait, not her either, where's the next step on the chain of command?"

"I'll contact the Captain," Tucker told Reed, edging towards one of the communication panels.

"No, no!" 'Smith' snapped, starting to step forward... and then toppling backwards as a heavy stun blast from Reed knocked him flat on his back.

Mouth opening, Tucker looked from the unconscious body to Reed, then back again.

"What?" Reed shrugged a little, brows raised. "You saw it. He moved."

* * *

"Ohhhh, he bloody shot me... wait til I get my... uhhhn..."

The Doctor's head swam as his bleary eyes opened slowly, a long groan passing his lips. When he realized that the ceiling above him was entirely unfamiliar, he sat up sharply... or tried to, stopped in place by thick straps that bound his chest, arms and legs to the bed underneath. Squirming, hearts pounding, he glanced around in a near panic, grunting as he strained against the straps to no avail... the sounds seemed to draw the attention of the room's occupants, however, as the privacy curtain was pulled away a moment later, revealing half a dozen people.

"Remarkable," Phlox noted, his hand still on the edge of the curtain as he considered the squirming Time Lord. "I've never seen anyone recover from a stun so quickly."

"I'm terrific all right!" The Doctor barked. "I don't suppose anyone is going to let me out of these things, I don't much like being tied down!"

Two more faces drew to his bedside, and a sizable lump formed in the Time Lord's throat when he realized that they were the two faces he would sorely have liked to avoid. Not only was the first Captain Archer, but the second was his first officer, T'Pol... the only two people on the bloody ship who were destined to meet him again in a year or so. He could almost hear the smegging timeline being rewritten. With a low groan, the Doctor's struggles ceased and he slumped back on the biobed, eyes closing slowly. This wasn't going well.

"According to Doctor Phlox," T'Pol noted, ignoring the request to be set free, "you're nothing like a human, your... clothes... and appearance aside. In fact, you apparently have two hearts."

"Everyone always gets melodramatic about the two hearts," the Doctor muttered, starting to fidget against the straps again. "It's really not that big a deal, I mean, the few times I've only had the one working heart, I assure you, it struck me as the greater crime by far."

"Who are you?" Archer snapped, drawing closer to the Time Lord's bedside. "What the hell are you doing on my ship?"

The Doctor's mind, which had been working overtime to try and find some believable explanation, snagged on just a tiny piece of information from their meeting in Detroit. Specifically, it was a name, mentioned only a couple of times, and not even with much background. Mentioning it was risky, disastrous if Archer hadn't even encountered the man yet, but... well... what choice did he have?

"Daniels sent me."

That seemed to work, as Archer's eyes narrowed just a little, taking half a step forward and glancing towards the security personnel.

"Reed. Wait outside with your men."

"Sir?"

"It'll be fine. That's an order."

Not looking entirely convinced of the wisdom of that move, Reed nonetheless filed out of the sickbay along with his pair of security personnel, leaving Archer, T'Pol and Phlox alone with the Time Lord. A gesture from Archer had the Denobulan remove the restraints from the Doctor, even as he shifted to stand at the end of the bed.

"So," Archer said, "Smith, right? If Daniels sent you, then I take it the faction in his timeframe's aware of what's happening here."

"Not all of it, not yet," the Time Lord explained, truthfully, sitting up as he switched smoothly to a blatant lie next, making it up as he went; "The temporal interference thrown up by that ship is making it difficult for us to see what's happening from our point in the timestream, so they sent me here to investigate. And prepare a report. And such.. I was down there, trying to take some readings, and when your crewmen came in, I sort of panicked and hid. I'm new to this. Young, fresh recruit and such."

"We have this under control," Archer insisted, scowling.

"Well, no," the Doctor replied, eyes widening a little. "You really don't. What you have is a very advanced, very dangerous piece of technology in your launch bay, and at least one species that is bound and determined to march over here and seize it by force. What you also have is absolutely no idea what you're dealing with, or any frame of reference with which to perform your analysis. Don't get me wrong, doing a rather bang-up job of it all so far, but you're walking a line so fine, all it takes is one slip to turn it into a self-made garrotte."

Archer's scowl only deepened, but after a long moment he finally growled; "What do you want, then?"

"Let me get a look at the medical data you've assembled on the pilot," the Doctor replied. "Please. It's important."

Sighing, Archer nodded to Phlox who, curiosity plainly stamped on his face, activated one of the nearby displays, turning it towards the Doctor.

Hopping off the bed, the Doctor checked the readings eagerly... but the smile on his face faded quickly when he saw what was there. "One heart, primarily human genetic structure... bit of Vulcan mixed in..."

"Yes, a most unusual genetic mix," Phlox confirmed; "Though not as unusual as yours, it's suggestive of several generations of inter-species breeding."

"We covered this before you even got here." Archer pointed out, scowling slightly. "We already know all this."

"Good for you," the Time Lord replied, lowering the sonic screwdriver as his head bowed. "...damn..."

"Is something wrong?" This was Phlox again, his obvious curiosity getting the better of him.

"No, just..." the Doctor sighed a little. "I thought it might have been somebody I've been looking for. I don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed."

"I suppose it would depend on whether you liked whoever you're looking for," Phlox pointed, a bit of an ever-present smile quirking the corners of his mouth.

"The jury's still out on that one," came the slightly wry response as the Doctor started to back slowly towards the exit. "In any case, I suppose there's not much I can do about it. You seem to have things well in hand, I'm sure my associates will collect their property soon enough, I really should be going now to report to-"

As the medical bay's doors hissed open, the Time Lord felt two pairs of hands grip him by the upper arms, pushing him right back in with a stumble.

"Or not," the Doctor murmured, "staying's nice too, friendly bunch..."

"Captain," T'Pol said quietly, eyeing the stranger with nothing short of outright suspicion. "Considering the ship has already been boarded twice over this vessel's presence, I believe it would be advisable that we prepare to destroy it. The unknown radiation it is emitting could prove harmful to our systems:"

"Destroy it?!" the Doctor exclaimed before Archer could even make his own protest, eyes wide as he pulled away from the security guards, leaning towards an increasingly irritable T'Pol. "That's a terrible idea! Destroying a multi-dimensional, spatially compressed vessel? Are you insane? You wouldn't want to be within half a lightyear of that, it's a miracle the ship hasn't gone and expanded as it is, but if you smash it up enough, you'll... no, no, no, let's not do that, all right? Let's find a happier answer, happier and far more sane, please! Like activating the beacon "

"Beacon?" Archer's head snapped towards the Time Lord, eyes narrowing. "What beacon?"

"Um..." the Doctor's eyes widened a little. It was too early. They weren't supposed to figure it out for another hour. Damnit. "I don't know. I'm just guessing. Beacon? Crazy talk.. I tend to say random words without particular rhyme or reason, Pumpernickel, oh there I go..."

"Perhaps the device Commander Tucker discovered in Engineering," T'Pol suggested, utterly ignoring the panic-ridden Time Lord.

"Smith," Archer snapped, "if you're really here to help, then I'd appreciate it if you actually contributed something concrete."

The Doctor froze as his mouth opened, and then closed, a hundred different thoughts flickering through his mind. Finally, however, he cleared his throat and bowed slightly.

"Of course, Captain," the Doctor replied, trying to look as humble and agreeable as he could manage. "My apologies. Allow me to see the device, get a gander, take some readings, and if it is a beacon- not saying it is necessarily- then I would be more than happy to help activate it."

He was lying through his teeth this time. He had made a dreadful mistake, one that could very well put the Enterprise in terrible danger. Even though he could have found some brilliant solution to save them from the inevitable crisis, likely leaving a destroyed, or very confused, Suliban fleet in his wake, that would draw far too much attention. So the only way the Doctor was going to be able to help them- quietly- would be to act precisely opposite to how he normally handled a crisis...

* * *

With Archer's permission, the Doctor had been permitted- under guard- to join Tucker in Engineering, leaving Reed free to see to the ship's defenses. As a pair of security personnel flanked the door, the Doctor 'ooohed' and 'aaaahed' over the singed, dented piece technology sitting inert on the table, sonic screwdriver flipping between his fingers as he peered at it. Right now, Trip seemed more interested in the newcomer, his arms folded over his chest as he watched the strange man, almost instinctively moving his hand to his collar, as if wondering what the hell the Doctor was wearing on his. Or, rather, why the hell he was wearing it.

"So..." Trip's mouth twitched a little before he finally caved in. "You really a time traveler?"

"Well, yeah," the Doctor replied, humming something to himself as he passed his sonic over the device..

"But that means... that is... you've seen Earth's future? Our future?"

"More than I would care to," came the muttered reply, but when Trip didn't say anything else, and after a moment the Time Lord sighed, rolled his eyes and mumbled; "Why d'you ask?

"Just somethin' Lieutenant Reed, our tactical officer, asked me." Tucker shrugged a little. "Not too long before you showed up, that is. We were talking about whether we'd want to know about the future, if we had the chance."

"Aaah, philosophy," the Doctor replied idly, arms crossing over his chest as he glanced towards the Chief Engineer before taking another scan of the device with his sonic screwdriver. "What was your verdict?"

"Well, I told him I wouldn't," Trip replied, shrugging. "And I meant it, mostly, at least not when it comes to my personal future. But I gotta admit... with the Klingons, the Suliban, all that's happened during our voyage so far, I sometimes wish I knew if things were gonna turn out all right for us. Humans, I mean. Earth."

"Mmhmm," the Doctor replied, distracted by his readings as he said; "Yeah, they turn out fine. Eventually. In less'n a century, mankind'll found a utopian society that will extend across the cosmos, bringing peace and stability to countless worlds and representing a beacon of light for all civilizations. Bumps on the road, of course, even after it's founded, but things will only continue to get better, for hundreds of years."

Trip's mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

Finally, he managed; "Um, great... but won't tellin' me all this, y'know, put the timeline at risk?"

"Nope."

"Just... nope? How d'you figure?"

"Oh, simple," the Doctor murmured, not even looking up from the readouts. "If you tell anyone what you've heard from me, if the knowledge falls into the wrong ears, then history as you know it will be irrevocably altered, and the lovely, utopian society you lot have in the future might very well be replaced with unending pain and suffering for your entire race, followed quickly by mass extinction."

There was a pause.

"Well," Tucker muttered, looking a little horrified, "when you put it that way, guess I'll keep from runnin' my mouth."

"I know," the Doctor replied cheerfully, giving him a brotherly pat on the back before focusing once more on the problem at hand. "Now! What we have here is a temporal beacon which, when activated, sends a signal to a specific point in time and space alerting whoever owns it that something has gone wibbly."

Tucker's nose wrinkled a little. "Wibbly?"

"Wrong," the Doctor clarified.

"Ah."

"Anyway!" Giving the beacon a poke with his finger, the Doctor continued. "This is actually a tremendously efficient system, because the laws of temporal analysis indicate that if you are capable of inter-temporal transport, are shielded from the effects of changes in the timeline, and are aware of a specific time and place of an important event, then you essentially have all the time in the world to accomplish it. All we will have to do is activate the beacon, and within moments, they'll be able to lock onto the beacon and, with any luck, their property, which should be tagged, I'm hoping."

"All right," Tucker replied, brows lifted as he drew a deep breath, letting it whoosh from his mouth. "So, how do we get it workin'?"

"Hmm?" The Doctor shook his head. "Oh, not a clue."

Trip stared at him for a good minute and a half, obviously waiting to see if the Time Lord was going to explain why. Instead, the Doctor's attention actually wandered, as he seemed to become far more interested in the humming warp reactor in the center of the room. Finally, Trip spoke up again.

"I thought you told the Cap'n you knew this sorta stuff like the back of your hand."

"Well, I do," came the slightly indignant reply, "but, and I don't mean to be catty, your technology is woefully underdeveloped at this point. At least last time I did a major project I had the benefit of a replicator-"

"What's a replicator?" Tucker interjected.

"Unending pain and suffering," the Doctor reiterated loudly.

"Right, right, forget I asked."

"My point is," the Time Lord sighed, "that I've already had fourteen ideas on how to accomplish this task, all brilliant, all certain to succeed, but tossed them all because I realized I didn't have the necessary equipment, and that building said equipment from scratch would take far, far too long to accomplish."

Trip fell silent as the Doctor continued to poke idly at the device, occasionally running his sonic screwdriver across it, but otherwise looking more like a tourist than a proper engineer. The frown on the Time Lord's face was hardly comforting either, but somehow, if Tucker had to make a guess...

Well, he'd have said the strange man just wasn't really trying.

* * *

Stepping out onto the bridge, Archer tried to let the tension bleed from his shoulders as he paused at T'Pol's station, just long enough for her to shake her head and murmur that there were no signs of pursuit.

"Hoshi, contact the Tal'Kir, let them know we'll reach the rendezvous point in a few minutes." Settling onto his chair, Archer's fingers tapped restlessly at the armrest, leaning forward in his seat as he sighed. "If Tucker and the Doctor can't figure that beacon out, I want to at least make sure that we get the ship as far from the Suliban, or the Tholians, as possible."

"Captain," Hoshi said, frowning a little. "there's no response from the Tal'Kir. I'm not even picking up their transceiver. It could be interference of some kind, but at this distance, I can't imagine anything short of an ion storm causing that much of a communications blackout."

Reed cleared his throat a little, turning his attention to his tactical console. "Anybody else having a bad feeling about this?"

"Since this started," the captain murmured, then tapped the communications command on his chair's arm. "Archer to Engineering. Trip, how're things going down there?"

"You honestly call these composite materials?!" the Doctor's voice could be heard babbling in the background, his words not directed to Archer. "Honestly, it's a miracle you lot achieved faster than light travel in the fir-"

"Cap'n," Trip finally came through, more than a little irritation seeping through the Chief Engineer's words, "We need some more time to puzzle this out. We're havin' trouble getting an interface set up, it's a bit tricky meldin' one of our energy cells with this technology." Tucker's voice lifted a little, as if he was calling to someone across Engineering. "And some people are just draggin' us down by whinin' constantly about it."

"It's not whining when I'm constructively telling you this is a terrible, terrible excuse for a particle converter!"

Archer sighed a little, rubbing at his face as he murmured, as calmly as he could; "How much longer, do you think?"

"Well," Trip replied, still raising his voice. "If someone would get out of the damned crawlspace-"

"You do realize these conduits need replacing, yes?"

"-then I'm hopin' it'll just be a couple of hours, Cap'n."

"Captain," T'Pol interjected, just a hint of concern creeping into her voice. "Several Suliban vessels are approaching. They will be in range within five minutes."

"Trip," Archer said quietly, "you've got ten minutes."

"Did he seriously say ten minutes?!" The Doctor's voice piped up in the background.

"No problem, Cap'n!" Trip replied.

"How is ten minutes not a problem?!"

"Archer out! T'Pol, go to maximum warp!"

* * *

A little more than five minutes after they had been given their warning from the bridge, the Engineering Bay- as well as the rest of the ship- began to tremble and rock as the Enterprise was bombarded by the pursuing Suliban vessels. Engineering staff scuttled about like worker ants, keeping the warp engines functioning, and sending damage control teams where needed.

"You know," the Doctor groused, gripping the railing near the warp reactor's stairwell as the deck lurched to one side beneath them. "It would be really nice if your Captain could keep the ship from shaking so incessantly, it's very distracting!"

"You can complain to him after we're done!" Trip snapped back. "C'mon, I think we've almost got it..."

"That's a blatant lie, and you know it!" The Doctor replied, teeth gritting as the ship shook once again, forcing him to brace himself up on the stairwell. "There simply isn't enough base material to construct a proper interface, at least not enough to regulate the energy through the device without making it turn into very pretty little sparks and useless sizzling smoke!"

Suddenly, the ship lurched with more violence than any before, actually sending the Time Lord, Trip and half the Engineering staff sprawling to the ground; several conduits an consoles throughout the room erupted into sparks, the lights starting to flicker for just a moment before flaring to life. Cursing under his breath, Tucker hauled himself back to his feet and hurried down one of the narrow spaces beside the warp reactor, checking on what damage had been done, even as the Doctor sprang upright, glancing about.

"Right!" The Doctor beamed. "Excellent."

"How the hell's this excellent?" Trip called from a nearby console.

"Nevermind, you!"

Before Trip could question the madman further, Archer's voice crackled over the intercom.

"Trip, we could use warp engines right about now!"

Moving back towards the end of the warp reactor, Trip shook his head. "The antimatter injectors are fused, I'll need a few hours to replace them!"

"How about weapons?"

"Every power relay on the ship's been scrambled!" the Chief Engineer replied, starting to stabilize the reactor's shielding.

"Then forget everything else! Get that beacon working!"

Tucker paused in the middle of his diagnostic, head tilting upwards a bit. "Sir?"

"Whoever built that ship might be able to send help."

"Aye, Cap'n." Returning to the table, the device, and the Doctor- the last of which seemed to be working with a great deal more enthusiasm now- Trp's eyes lit up with excitement. "Run a raw current through the entire thing, the beacon'd be turned on-"

"-for ten seconds before that unregulated current fuses half of the components together!" the Doctor pointed out, but he was grinning.

"-which would be long enough!" Trip continued, raising his voice a little to be heard, "Like you said, Doc, laws of temporal mechanics... time agents can detect the beacon from any point in time, then does it really matter if it shorts out after ten seconds, five seconds, one damned second? The signal would still reach them, whenever they are, from that five second time period, and from their perspective, they'd still have all the time in the world to work out where it's coming from!"

"Hmm." The Doctor frowned pensively, fingers drumming on the table as he thought about it... or, rather, pretended to. "Force a current through it. That's so primitive, it just might work."

"Gee," Trip muttered, scowling a little as he turned his attention back to the device. "Thanks."

"Anytime." Snapping his fingers, the Doctor waved off Tucker's hand as the Chief Engineer lifted one of his many tools, instead holding up his single sonic screwdriver. "All right! Let's get this done."

* * *

"I'm going to hold you to those four minutes," Archer was saying- for the second time- as they pulled the casing off of a torpedo in the Launch Bay, intent at getting the warhead out of it.

Having decided that they couldn't risk letting the ship fall into the hands of the Tholians, Archer and Reed had commandeered a torpedo and brought it to the launch bay, intending to destroy the vessel if it became absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, the safest and simplest method was to remove the warhead directly next to the damaged timeship, which seemed to be resulting in some decidedly unfortunate side effects... one being a time loop.

"It was only an estimate, Sir..." Reed paused, eyes flickering as his mouth thinned a little. "It's happening again. We've had this conversation before."

"You're right." Archer sighed slightly. "How far do you think we got last time?"

Reed shook his head. "I'm not certain."

Sighing, Archer murmured; "I think we may have removed the warhead."

"If time's not repeating outside the launch bay, the Tholians could be-"

A sudden, indistinct sound cut them both off as Reed took a single step back, eyes widening and face paling. Archer whirled around, just in time to see the entire time ship ripple with distortions, and vanish into thin air. Eyes widening, Archer's first thought was that perhaps the Tholians had beamed it off themselves, but common sense suggested that if they'd had the capability, they would have done it earlier.

"Bridge to Captain Archer," T'Pol said quietly, a hint of relief coloring her tone. "The Suliban fleet was destroyed, and the Tholians have broken pursuit, and gone to warp.

"The ship vanished, Sub-Commander," Archer replied, "Any chance they were responsible?"

"I do not believe so," T'Pol replied. "We detected no signs of a transporter beam. I believe they may have departed because they realized we no longer have the ship."

"Fortunate they're not the sort to hold a grudge," Reed muttered under his breath, drawing a wan smile from the captain.

"Thanks, T'Pol." Drawing in a deep breath and letting it out with a 'whoosh' of air, Archer gestured to the torpedo, silently instructing Reed to return it. "Try and contact the Tal'Kir, offer whatever help we can to them, and have Phlox prepare for potential casualties. I'm going to stop in Engineering, make sure we have that beacon to thank for... whatever just happened."

"Aye, Captain."

* * *

Less than five minutes after the last Tholian ship had gone to warp, the Doctor had announced, quite urgently, that it was time he went on his way, now rather than later. Trip had been more than happy to see him go, as a muttered, very testy report to the Captain made between gritted teeth had indicated. Given T'Pol was coordinating aid aboard the Tal'Kir, and was still in denial about the very concept of time travel in the first place, Archer ended up being the only one who escorted him to the turbolift. Stepping in together, the Doctor quietly asked that he be brought back to the launch bay, and though Archer did want to ask specifically why, he kept the questions to himself.

"So," the Time Lord said after a few moments of silence. "Think your crew'll miss me?"

"Well," Archer replied, "Trip's made it pretty clear he never wants to see you in Engineering, ever again. He said it was like being a tour guide for an ADD-addled ten year old on a sugar high."

"Well, what can I say," the Doctor replied, not seeming bothered by the comparison. "I express myself."

"You ended up complaining and distracting him without providing one useful idea, or contribution to the effort. Tucker's convinced he would have gotten it done faster without your help." Archer paused for a moment before glancing at the Time Lord. "You were stalling him deliberately, weren't you?"

The Doctor's head snapped around in surprise, and he instinctively opened his mouth to protest... but then just grinned ruefully. "Maybe a little."

"Well, everything worked out, so I don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but... why?"

"Well," the Doctor replied, frowning at his watch. "The Suliban would have wiped you out regardless of whether or not the time ship was sent back, so it wouldn't have been wise to activate the beacon before the Tholians dealt with them. That's exactly what happened during the original incident, but my arrival in the time stream sped things a little more than I anticipated, in terms of your work on the beacon. I was concerned he'd have finished it too soon, and I couldn't be certain you'd believe that it would be wiser to wait before activating it, so... I stalled, let things work out for themselves. You should congratulate your Commander Tucker for his idea; it's exactly what I would have done."

"Next time," Archer growled a little, though he couldn't muster much genuine anger. "Clue me in to what's going on."

"No promises."

A bit of a smile crossed Archer's face at that, albeit reluctantly, his head shaking just a little.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay for dinner?" the Captain asked, for perhaps the third time as they reached the proper deck, stepping out of the turbolift and making their way towards the launch bay. "Chef's told me he's preparing something special to celebrate somehow surviving two hostile fleets and a time paradox, and really, we at least owe you that much for your help... such as it was. Besides, our reason for being out here is meeting new life, and you qualify."

"Well, I would," the Doctor replied, clearing his throat as he glanced at his watch yet again. "But I really, really should be going, I mean, just look at the time!"

Archer's eyes narrowed a little at that. "You're a time traveler, why would the time bother you?"

All was essentially lost; he doubted there was any way the captain wouldn't report this incident. For that matter, he fully expected it would alter his own personal timeline, adjusting the circumstances of his meeting with Archer in the first place, and a change like that was bound to draw notice. He was actually quite shocked he hadn't been accosted yet, but wasn't about to hang around and tempt fate.

"I don't mean time in such silly measurements as a planetary spin cycle!" the Time Lord protested, subconsciously accelerating towards the launch bay door. "I mean as in designated event times! Lunch time. Cricket time. Tea time! Unnecessarily risky danger time, one of my favorites, second only to cricket time. In this case, my watch tells me quite clearly that we have just reached 'Depart The Enterprise Before Anything Goes Wrong Time,' which is somewhat less favored, but I have always considered myself very punctual, except for when I'm late or I don't want to go, and- oh, dear."

As they entered the launch bay, two things became immediately apparent. First, the TARDIS was there. Or, rather the TARDIS wasn't cloaked any longer, sitting there in all its blue, boxy glory. Second was the man who stood beside the time machine; not trying to touch it, or get in, but just... waiting.

The uniform this man wore was entirely unfamiliar, seeming to be a one-piece suit that, all at once, was the purest black even as it shimmered with a thousand colors. Every other feature of this man, from the receding hairline, to the average height and girth, said nothing but the most ordinary of things... but for the Doctor, who was quite accustomed to wearing so harmless a mask, it didn't fool him in the slightest.

It was Archer who spoke first; he didn't sound thrilled. "Daniels."

"Hello, Jonathan." Daniels smiled, just a little, then lifted a curved weapon, wincing. "Sorry."

"Wait, what-!" The rest was cut off by a grunt as Archer was knocked back by a compact, blue beam, slumping against the far wall, even as the Time Lord stumbled to one side, whipping out his sonic screwdriver and pointing it forward. Another man, in a similar uniform, stepped out from behind the TARDIS, a weapon of his own raised, but Daniel made a sharp gesture with his free hand, instructing the second time agent to stand down.

The Doctor was hardly going to lower his guard, and kept his screwdriver raised, prepare to turn up the gravity plating if he had to. Daniels didn't make any further hostile moves, however. Instead, he just looked at Jonathan's fallen body for a moment, gestured for his companion to tend to the man, then turned his attention to the Time Lord.

"Doctor, could I have a word?"

Chapter Text

"What... what did you...?" The Doctor's mouth opened, then closed as he looked from Daniels to the unconscious Archer. "Are you completely mad?! I thought you two were on the same side!"

The other man was kneeling beside Archer's fallen body, passing a scanner over the captain's head before pressing a small, round device to his temple.

"Relax," Daniels replied, fitting the weapon back to his belt before folding his hands behind his back, voice quite cheerful. "It's a neural suppressor. I just stunned him, and Simmons there will modify his memory a little. Nothing serious, just blurring the details of your face, removing any memory of your ship's appearance... we'll be doing the same to T'Pol when she's off her duty shift. This is the simplest way to prevent a significant alteration to the timeline due to your visit predating the Detroit incident. Far simpler than wiping the entire crew's memory of the encounter, at least. With any luck it'll be enough to keep the Relativity off your trail. Could we speak inside?"

"Oh, inside?" the Time Lord drawled. "Like you lot haven't tried to pull that one before. How do I know you're not just here to drag me back into a detention cell?"

"Well," Daniels said, blinking. "If we intended to make an aggressive move, I probably would have shot you too."

Sighing and narrowing his eyes a little, the Doctor hesitated, obviously considering making a dash for the blue box in front of him. Finally, however, he marched towards the TARDIS with narrowed eyes. His hand lifted and his fingers snapped sharply, the doors flying open as he slipped inside, leaving a slightly startled Daniels to follow in his wake. As they stepped into the TARDIS, rather unceremoniously leaving the Captain of the NX Enterprise behind in the launch bay with his mind-wiping medic, the Time Lord kept half an eye on Daniels, expecting him to pull some scanner out of his admittedly non-existent pockets at any moment.

"Snapping your fingers," Daniels murmured, actually looking a little surprised as he shut the door behind them. "Doesn't that seem like a poor security measure?"

"Not when it only works if I do it," the Doctor replied airily, quickly changing the subject as he hopped up the stairs to the TARDIS console. "So, 'Daniels.' Like multiple Daniels. There's a time paradox joke if I ever heard one. Not, I presume, from the Relativity. Unless there's more inter-ship bickering than I thought on there."

"No," Daniels replied, shaking his head as he wandered around the control room looking, for just a moment, like a wide-eyed little kid. "I come from the thirty-first century, not the twenty-ninth. Actually, I'm the reason they didn't find you here already, or in Detroit for that matter... Jonathan included both incidents in various reports to Starfleet, or rather, he'll be including them. But I pruned the records about a century later, thanks to a very selective data bomb; it'll also help keep Picard's Enterprise from learning who you are too soon."

The Doctor's mouth opened, and then closed... and then he just laughed, a helpless little giggle. Something about having one faction trying to drag him in for questioning, only to be stopped by potentially the same faction later down the timestream, struck him as ludicrously droll. Daniels, for his part, didn't seem to mind the laughter, instead ogling the control console as he waited for his host to finish.

"Well, I just wish you hadn't pruned this ship doctor's autopsy report," the Doctor finally scoffed, jabbing a finger at him. "Only reason I'm here in the first place is that the Relativity's Starfleet didn't know where, or when, the ship came from, or who took it back for that matter. I had thought..."

"I know," Daniels replied, sounding sympathetic. "I'm sorry for that, but it was decided that we should talk."

"Should we now?" the Time Lord's eyes narrowed, just a little. "Why would you hide me from the twenty-ninth century, anyway? Was only yesterday your great-granduncle five times removed or whatever was interrogating me just for dashing about in my box, minding my own, and occasionally everybody else's, business."

Daniels actually winced a little at that, leaning back against the railing as he held up his hands... it was clear he was trying to find just the right words to get his point across, and something about his mildly nervous appearance took the edge off the Doctor's ire. At least until he realized the entire appearance was probably crafted for that just that reason, then he just felt even more annoyed.

"We've gathered information about you since then," Daniels finally explained. "About your first encounter with Picard's Enterprise. It was enough to convince us that you were telling the truth, that you do come from another reality. And since that means you're not just some con artist with foreknowledge of, say, the incident with the Alcheron sun, coupled with the fact that you completely hacked the Relativity's computers in less than half a minute, that would put your intelligence somewhere at... well, we've decided you probably know what you're doing."

The Doctor couldn't help but chuckle a little at that, but it was a dry, humorless thing, and his eyes didn't grow any friendlier.

"Anyway," Daniels continued, "the Relativity was right, there is no physical proof of a Doctor having occupied this universe before, only stories, and that was why they assumed you were some charlatan. But we believe otherwise; the blue box, bigger on the inside than the outside, higher alien intelligence... even the medical scans taken by Doctor Crusher, all fits. You are, we now accept, a Time Lord. The only Time Lord we have ever encountered."

"Well, about time," the Doctor said, snorting as he stretched a little, trying to look as unconcerned as he could possibly fake. "Why is it you're here, then? Apologetic cupcakes? Because I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a sweet tooth..."

"We're here because we've learned a little in the past couple of centuries," Daniels replied, completely ignoring the verbal jab. "We've stopped simply monitoring events in the past, and started actually paying attention to time itself. Studying the fabric of it, how it flows, how it functions. We've gained not just knowledge, pure, cold facts, but also wisdom to temper it."

"So," the Doctor replied, lip curling just a little. "You fancy yourselves a new group of Time Lords, do you?"

"No," Daniels replied, openly and honestly as he shook his head. "We at least know enough to know that we're not on par with you, or the race you apparently represented once. We hope someday to be, to know time like you do, but the human race is still very much composed of children... only now we've at least admitted we have some growing up to do. But we've still learned enough to realize that something about this whole situation, with you, with our universe..."

"Is wrong," the Doctor finished for him, the sneer fading, his expression softening, just a little.

"Exactly." Daniels' hands spread out a little as he reached out towards the TARDIS console, hesitating before pulling away again, starting to pace slowly. "You're a perfect example. You shouldn't exist here, Doctor. Or, rather, either your counterpart should exist, or the stories about him shouldn't... there's a saying, that every tale, every legend has in it a grain of truth. But legends about the Doctor, the Time Lord... they don't come from a specific source in our universe, a certain event... they just exist, springing into being without any logical reason."

"And I'm not the only case, am I?" the Doctor mused.

"No," Daniels replied. "There are shadows, remnants of things that don't exist, never existed, and yet... someone remembers them. Something records their passage. Like a wake without a ship, and we have no idea why. We were kept busy, for a long time, with a... conflict, between various hostile factions, but recently we've settled that. So now we can focus all our attention on just what's so wrong with our universe."

The Doctor idly stepped from one side of the control room to the other, then back again, unusually silent, unusually subdued.

"Why me?" he finally asked, thumbs tugging at his suspenders. "Far as you know, I might still just be a fraud."

"All our resources, all our knowledge has gotten us nowhere." Daniels snorted, just once, sounding both amused and a little apologetic. "You seem the sort of man who gets things done, fraud or no. You certainly got things done on the Relativity. You're looking for answers. So are we."

"And," the Doctor mused, "I presume you want me to share them, should I find them. What do you offer in exchange?"

"Protection." Daniel explained. "We'll do everything in our power to keep your movements hidden. But you have to understand, if you make any major changes to the timeline during your travels, anything that ripples down to the twenty-ninth century, the Starfleet of that time period will send operatives to capture you. Now, records, reports, logs... we can keep those from reaching the twenty-ninth century, cut off their paper trail, so to speak. But if you're reckless, and they find you, you're on your own. We can't directly interfere with our own past's actions, not without complicating the timeline to the point of a paradox."

"Right, don't rock the boat overmuch," the Doctor murmured, sighing softly as he waved a hand idly. "Understood. Go on, then. Back to the ivory tower with you, we're done here."

The time operative's head bowed as he moved slowly past the Time Lord, descending the steps until he stood just below the raised platform. A hand went to his ear as he spoke quietly, for just a moment, seemingly into the empty air. He then turned back towards the Doctor, just a hint of sadness in his eyes. The Doctor, for his part, lowered his gaze, becoming very interested in his own shoes.

"Good luck, Doctor," Daniels said, and he seemed to mean it. "I really hope you find what you're looking for."

When the Time Lord looked up again, the operative was gone.

The control room was silent for moments, and then minutes, and then hours as the Doctor stood in the same place, the same posture, his arms folded across his chest and head tilted to one side. Not a muscle was moved, his eyes scarcely even blinked as he seemed to fall into himself, tears of frustration and dejection beading in his eyes. But, moment by moment, his gaze began to harden, his jaw began to tighten, and when he turned towards the console, he honestly didn't know what to do, or where to go now.

And so, hearts heavy, the Doctor returned to the one place he never thought he'd go again.

* * *

The same planet, at the beginning of time... no sun, no moons, and yet, inexplicably, both heat and air. It had been disconcerting enough when the Doctor had traveled here in the company of Picard, but it was far worse traveling here on his own. The moment he stepped outside, the Doctor could all but feel the emptiness pressing in all around him, the undeniable fact that there was absolutely nothing out there. Still, he was driven, and kept his gaze determinately forward as he marched out beyond the comforting light of the TARDIS's open doors.

Once again, he could see no sign of it. Once again, he spun to the left, then the right.

Once more, he called out.

"Show yourself!" the Doctor called out, spinning in place.

"As you wish."

Once more, that blinding flash of light, and once more the Guardian was revealed, the Arch glimmering as the starless night turned into blinding day.

"This is what you meant, isn't it?!" The Doctor called out, hands spreading wide as he approached. "When you said I'd be seeking answers, it wasn't on how to get back to my world, it was how this world had come to be in the first place. No Doctor, no Time Lords, nothing of who I was but myths and echoes, and I don't know why! You said I would find the answers, and that I wouldn't like them, but anything, anything is better than this damned mystery! I need to know! I need to understand what has happened here!"

"Such knowing will bring with it pain."

"Do you think I care?" the Doctor snorted. "I'm destined to die, killed for no purpose, murdered in the name of some shadowy prophecy! Any pain that could come to me from knowing, anything that I learn here, won't make the slightest bloody difference in what happens to me on that beach! So tell me! Tell me damn you!"

The silence stretched out for a long, long time as the Guardian seemed to consider the demand... the Doctor's eyes narrowed to slits, his breathing coming in short gasps, waiting, hoping...

"The answer is beyond me." The Guardian finally admitted. "I reveal only that which is. Not that which has been."

The Doctor's eyes widened as he stumbled back, just a couple of steps... then he started to chuckle, shaking his head, feeling that panic rising higher and higher.

"The same stupid line..." he muttered. "You keep spouting that same answer, as if it's somehow going to mean something! Maybe you don't really know the answer, which I'll admit terrifies me to no end. Is there anyone, anything in this entire universe that could tell me? Anything at all? Anywhere at all?"

"Those who understand the universe's mortal coil have since left it," the Guardian replied solemnly. "It would take ten thousand minds ten thousand years to understand the scope of what has been done, and what has been lost."

"Oh, well, as long as it isn't anything complicated!" the Doctor bellowed, stalking back towards the TARDIS. "Fine! On my own then. Just as I like it. You can sit on your lifeless rock til the universe ends for all I care!"

The Guardian fell silent and, as the Doctor left, it went dark again, patiently waiting the billion or so years until there was life enough to come visit its surface again. Storming into his blue box, the Time Lord slammed the doors shut and began to pace, back and forth, his hearts pounding in his chest, his hands tugging at his hair.

He had told a certain gold-eyed android, not too long ago, that he was never going to be tired of saying he didn't know. But that had been a blatant lie, he now realized, because he was beyond tired of not knowing. He was sick having the answers so far away, of having even the means to get those answers beyond his reach. What was the point of being able to go anywhere in time and space if there wasn't anywhere that could help?

"Bloody useless prattling..." the Doctor gave a sudden, wordless roar, kicking at the side of the control console. "Can't reveal that which has been, that's been its entire sodding schtick! Ten thousand years for ten thousand minds to figure it out, where am I going to find a big enough room of people who are bored enough to puzzle... out... something... oh."

The Doctor's fingers snapped suddenly as his eyes widened. "OH."

Sprinting back to the doors, he pulled them open and stuck his head out; "Forget what I said!" he called out to the darkness, jabbing a finger out and grinning. "You, you are absolutely fantastic, love the Guardian! Off I go, then! You have fun there!"

With a new spring in his step, the Doctor shut the doors, locked them, and then sprinted back up the control console. Dragging over the monitor, his fingers twitched and twirled as he scrolled through the Relativity's database, humming softly to himself. He had an inkling of an ideas as to just what he wanted, but truth be told he didn't enough specifics to get away with it... and it was going to be far too dangerous to simply rely on his usual brand of 'Making It Up As He Went Along.'

It was time to find some help. And to fulfill a promise he had made. But if he was going to keep from drawing too much notice, he would need to find the perfect point of entry...

And there it was; his eyes lit up as the incident report filed across the screen, a delighted grin crossing his face. But as he read the specifics, the grin faded, bit by bit, until the smile was gone altogether... in its place was simple, pure determination as he entered the proper coordinates. Flipping a lever, the TARDIS lurched hard as it dematerialized from the planet's surface, leaving the Guardian of Forever behind, for the last time...

Chapter Text

Soren's mad plans had failed, the desperate El Aurian killed in the explosion of his own missile. The solar system was saved, millions of lives spared annihilation from their own sun... but at what cost?

Picard's limbs ached as he scurried down the rocky incline, deeper into the canyon, not daring to hope, but not wanting to admit what had likely transpired. Kirk had succeeded, he knew that much, had gotten to the remote that had decloaked Soren's platform, had made this victory possible, but... the sound that had followed, the crumble of stone and screech of metal...

Picard hadn't seen what had happened, had been too focused, far too focused, on preventing the launch of that missile to witness it, and that lack of sight had given him hope. After all, Kirk had already thwarted death outright, survived seemingly impossible odds by coming back after being lost on the Enterprise-B, years and parsecs from this lifeless rock. Every hopeful thought in Jean Luc's mind prayed that Kirk had leapt free somehow, or ridden the catwalk down to the bottom, perhaps thrown himself onto a higher ledge before it finished its plunge.

But when Picard saw the twisted catwalk at the bottom of the canyon, and a glimpse of a white uniform beneath it, those hopes died.

Still, Picard hurried forward, tugging away a piece of debris, peering inside... and finding Kirk, bloodied, broken, but alive, pinned beneath the bulk of the catwalk. The former Captain of the Enterprise was still conscious, still aware of his surroundings, and when he saw Picard looking down at him, he blinked dazedly.

"Did we do it?" Kirk murmured, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed against the pain, voice soft and yet almost pleading. "Did we make a difference?"

"Oh, yes," Picard replied breathlessly, still half-hoping he could find some means to get Kirk out safely. "We made a difference. Thank you."

"Least I could do... for the Captain of the Enterprise..." Kirk's eyes flickered, for just a moment, as he added; "It was... fun..."

Kirk's head turned a little, smiling at Picard as if sharing some private joke... but Picard couldn't quite find it in himself to smile back. And then, the smile faded, bit by bit, the expression that replaced it a quiet mix of awe, and perhaps fear.

"Oh my."

They were his last words, and those narrowed eyes soon saw no more.

Picard knelt there, for a good long time, unable to look away from Kirk's body, unable even to climb to his feet, as if thinking if he left that body unguarded, something would steal it away. His reverie, his long, silent vigil, was broken when a sudden skitter of scattered pebbles sounded from above, causing the Captain to spin around, body tensing for an attack...

Only to find a very recognizable figure, standing above him on an outcrop of rock, with an even more familiar blue box behind him.

"...you..." Dazed and in more than a little pain, it took a moment for Picard to dredge the name from years past. "Doctor."

"Yes." the Doctor's eyes flickered to Kirk's body, a small sigh passing his lips. "I'm sorry. I really am. But I need you to come with me. I need your help."

"Yes, well..." Picard's lips thinned, jaw setting as he turned back towards Kirk, kneeling to curl his fingers under the bottom rim of the fallen catwalk. "To hell with what you need. I don't intend to leave him here like this."

The Captain gave a strangled groan as he tried to haul the catwalk away... but he had been through too much in the last couple of hours, and he was a sore, stiff mess, bordering on dehydration and covered in more than a few cuts and bruises. His first few attempts brought nothing but pained grunts as the catwalk didn't even twitch at the Starfleet officer's exhausted efforts.

"Captain," the Doctor said gently, starting to descend towards Picard. "A rescue shuttle will be here... it will take you too long to build a proper cairn for him yourself, it won't give us enough time to talk."

"So, what," Picard snapped without even glancing back, even as he gave the catwalk another hard pull. He groaned as his sore, battered muscles protested the strain, the words coming in choked gasps. "You're saying I should just leave him here, then?"

The catwalk shuddered and squealed, but refused to move, Picard's teeth gritting as he hauled with all his strength... and then, suddenly, it began to lift upward, off of Kirk's battered body. Staggering when the load lightened, Picard glanced to find the Doctor beside him, jacket removed, his own hands clamped to the catwalk's railings, teeth bared from the strain as he helped drag it to one side.

"I'm not saying, I'm asking," the Doctor corrected gently as they set it down, and Picard was more than a little surprised to see tears beading in the Time Lord's eyes.

"I'm asking you to let me help."

* * *

With both of them working together, it didn't very long to bring Kirk's body somewhere a little more appropriate, and to build a cairn of stones around it... the Doctor had spoken quietly throughout, telling him the fate of Picard's Enterprise, but assuring him that most of his crew had survived the saucer section's crash. Both were covered in dust and bruises by the time they had finished, the Doctor settling onto a rock to catch his breath. The sun had just begun to dip across the horizon as Picard set Kirk's Starfleet emblem on the top of the cairn, stepping away and taking a moment of silence for the fallen officer.

Finally, Picard drew in a slow breath, glancing at the Doctor. "Thank you."

"It was the least I could do," the Doctor replied quietly, his eyes still on the cairn. "I don't like to be in anyone's debt."

Picard couldn't help but notice the look on the Time Lord's face as he stared at the cairn, something that suggested... familiarity. "I take it you met him?"

"Once." the Doctor sighed softly, dusting off his hands as he climbed back to his feet, retrieving his jacket. "A long time ago, at least from his perspective. It was only a brief meeting, a single conversation... but it was enough to give me some idea as to why they told so many stories about him. He caught me on his ship, red-handed, and in the end chose to release me, on the word of his First Officer and nothing else. Good man, one who listens to their friends. I doubt he would have remembered me, at least not as anything but a brief, frustrating curiosity."

"It's a feeling I can relate to," Picard replied numbly, and the Doctor gave a little snort in reply, the tiniest of smiles.

"I deserved that, I imagine."

Picard's jaw tightened a little as his head turned to consider the Time Lord. "You knew this was going to happen. You must have, if you knew where to find me. The Enterprise's fate, Kirk's fate. Couldn't you have done something, come sooner, helped us against Soren's plans, prevented the destruction of the Enterprise? Couldn't you at least have saved Kirk?"

The Captain's voice rose steadily with each moment, and though he wasn't quite shouting at the end of it, he did step closer to the Time Lord, eyes glimmering with scarcely repressed anger. All the frustration, the fear and violence of the past couple of hours had driven Picard into a corner, the news that the Enterprise- his ship, his home for nearly a decade- had been destroyed was almost more than he could bear.

The Doctor, for his part, met the human's gaze levelly, not flinching, but not defiant either. In fact, he looked slightly ashamed.

"Actually, I considered it," the Doctor finally admitted, hands sliding in his pockets as he glanced at the ground. "When I first saw what had happened here, first read the report, I considered changing it. But unfortunately, there are factions out there that would rather I keep the timeline intact, and they would have taken whatever steps were necessary to ensure it... ironically, they're your very own people, a number of centuries ahead of you. Surely you heard about what happened to the Alcheron colony soon after our intervention?"

Picard nodded, head tilting. "Yes, I heard about the asteroid strike... it was a tragedy... but are you saying...?"

"Unfortunately, yes," the Doctor replied, shaking his head. "They were responsible for the colony's destruction; like cutting away a limb to prevent some perceived infection from spreading. If I had intervened, saved the Enterprise, even saved Kirk, they would have done everything in their power to reverse it... even if it meant killing him with their own hands. They could very well have ended up doing more damage in the process than has already been done. I'm sorry, Captain, but it's not a risk I could take... I'm here because this is one of the very few times in the years to come that I could visit you without anyone knowing. I imagine your own Starfleet would still love to get their hands on me, and your technology is capable of detecting my TARDIS's arrival."

"I see." Picard seemed a little mollified at that, or at least he took the Doctor at his word. "I'm sorry. My words, they were uncalled for."

"As am I," the Time Lord replied, his eyes drifting along the landscape. "And they weren't."

Giving Kirk's cairn another long look he finally sighed and gestured towards the TARDIS. "Well, come on, then. We should be underway before the rescue shuttle arrives. I trust you'll be able to return me here without drawing undue notice?"

"Well, Captain-"

"Please," Picard interjected softly, holding up a hand to cut off the Doctor. "Jean-Luc."

The Doctor actually gave a full smile at that, teeth and everything. "Thank you. Well, Jean-Luc, I can guarantee I'll get you back on the planet's surface less than a minute after you left."

"Good," Jean-Luc murmured as they reached the TARDIS's doors, slumping against the box as he took a moment to catch his breath "but precisely what is it you need from me?"

"Well," the Doctor murmured, wincing as pushed the doors open, laughing nervously. "I... I need to know everything you can tell me about the Borg."

Chapter Text

"Are you insane?!"

The Doctor and Picard had quickly boarded the TARDIS, with the former vaulting up to the control console to get them underway before the Federation rescue ships entered sensor range of the planet- no need to have his departure noticed, after all. Even as the Doctor was preparing a random course, the Captain of the now-crashed Enterprise was right behind him, looking a bizarre combination of furious and almost frightened.

"What? No!" The Time Lord paused, as if seriously considering it, before shrugging. "Well, possibly. Rather subjective concept, when you think about it."

Picard's mouth opened and shut several times before he got back on track, grabbing the railing as the TARDIS shuddered in departure.

"The Borg are an implacable enemy," Picard insisted, stepping up behind him, "one that excels in adaptation as well as assimilation. They pilfer the skills and knowledge of those they've converted, as well as their technology. If you were to be taken by them, assimilated into their Collective, all you've ever known, everything of which you are capable would become theirs to use as they please."

"Oh, no," the Doctor replied, even as he tugged one of his hanging monitors over. "Goodness knows the galaxy would be terrorized if the Borg gain my cricket skills."

"Doctor!"

"Captain," the Doctor said, whirling around and correcting himself as he rested a hand on the human's shoulder; "Jean-Luc. I understand your concerns, but believe me when I say that giving all I am to the Borg is the very last thing on my mind. I'm not that irresponsible. Well, not usually. But I've thought this through, in great and varied detail, and this is the only way; any other being who could tell me what I need to know is beyond my ability to contact, let alone coerce."

Picard scowled a little, his head shaking slowly; as the Doctor turned his attention back to the monitor. While he had to admit that the Time Lord did appear brilliant, and powerful in many ways, Jean-Luc knew better than most just how unrelenting and insidious the Borg could be... and the stakes involved, the risk of what would happen if the Time Lord were to be assimilated, was obscene. The Borg would, in all likelihood, become unstoppable, and the Doctor's great skill and knowledge could prove to be countered by his overwhelming arrogance, deserved or no.

"I am concerned that you are underestimating the Borg," he finally said. "Such overconfidence could prove fatal, for all of us."

"That's why I need you here," the Doctor replied, even as he called up a new file, frowning pensively at it as he reached behind to blindly pat Picard on the shoulder. "You are one of the foremost authorities on the Borg, the foremost authority in your timeframe, and have a keen tactical mind that shall be invaluable. You also have a healthy appreciation for how dangerous these Borg are, something I'm admittedly lacking... don't judge, they just seem like uglier Cybermen to me, and that's saying something. Finally, you're a very recognizable and skilled officer, which is certainly going to come in handy.".

"How flattering," Picard replied irritably, trying to get a look at the files... but they seemed to be encoded. "Exactly what are you doing?"

"Finding the next set of authorities," the Doctor replied distractedly, before glancing back at Picard. "You should get some rest. You can find some bedrooms up that passage over there, fifth corridor on your left."

"No, thank you," Picard replied tersely. "I'm fine."

"Aaah, always on duty," the Time Lord chuckled softly, before gesturing downward distractedly with one hand. "Go, seriously. I need some more time to review these records before I do anything 'rash,' and you've tumbled down a mountain twice today. Get some sleep. Nothing dangerous or exciting will happen beforehand."

Picard was about to protest again, but it was cut off by, of all things, a yawn. After the last handful of hours, the fact that he was out of imminent danger was indeed having an almost soporific effect on him, and as much as he wanted to deny it, he could feel his tired muscles begging for some rest. Still, a second protest was halfway out his lips before another yawn ripped through him, this one loud and wide... until, flushing, Picard relented.

"Very well." Starting to slowly move towards the indicated corridor, Picard turned back; "No thoughts of confronting the Borg until I return?"

"Cross my hearts. Both of them."

Grunting at that, Picard finally surrendered altogether, climbing the second staircase in search of some rest.

* * *

Picard had no idea how long he slept... the room he'd found was of fair size, equipped with a double-bed, hairbrush, some knick-knacks and spare clothing. Considering some of the clothing clearly belonged to a woman, Picard had been initially curious as to who else had been aboard, but fatigue had quickly laid those questions to rest, and he passed out still in his rumpled and dust-streaked uniform. When he awoke, he felt better rested, but there was still a dull ache throughout his stiff, sore body... and a fainter pain in the pit of his stomach. Too much had happened in the last few days for him to simply dismiss... the loss of his brother and nephew still weighed heavily on him.

Still, he wasn't going to languish in bed all day, and wasted no time in returning to the control room. He was quite surprised, upon arriving, to see that it appeared empty... the Doctor's familiar jacket was draped over the back of a chair, but the man himself was nowhere to be found. Some faint hissing drew his attention, however, and Picard descended to the bottom level.

The Doctor, he soon realized, was indeed in the room, but instead of being at the controls, he sat in a harness in the dimly lit space underneath, fiddling with tubes, wires and innumerable items. His suspenders had been tugged off his shoulders, and the hiss of something that sounding like a welder mingled with his cheery hum as glowing sparks tumbled lazily to the ground. As Picard descended the last staircase, the Time Lord paused in his work to peer at the human, looking like some bizarre raccoon due to a pair of round, black goggles that obscured his eyes from view.

"Morning!" the Doctor paused for a moment before shrugging, tugging the goggles down around his neck and glancing at his wristwatch as he stood up; "Well, afternoon. Evening, ish. You slept like a stone."

"Did I?" Picard asked, blinking as he rubbed at his scalp. "Surprising."

"Not at all," the Doctor countered, his attention wandering back to the underbelly of the console. "The hum of the TARDIS, better than a mug of warm milk and honey."

Picard didn't really know what to say in response to that, and so remained silent as the Doctor finished whatever he had been doing, connecting wires here and there, sonicing a few spots, and then tugging his suspenders back into place. Giving his screwdriver a quick flipping toss and then tucking it into his pocket, he wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand and stepped past the Starfleet officer with a friendly smile and a pat on the shoulder in passing.

"So," Picard finally said, following him back up the stairs to the controls, "what did I miss?"

"Oh, not much," the Doctor replied idly, tugging his jacket back on before adding; "I mean, there are a few Borg drones aboard somewhere, they slipped away when I ignored your advice."

"What?!"

"Kidding." Grinning at the decidedly unamused glower on the Captain's face, the Doctor flipped a lever, sending the TARDIS into a shuddering, grinding whirr through time and space. "In all seriousness, I've been waiting for you to wake up before I started our journey... we're not off to anywhere dangerous, mind you, not yet. I'd considered paying the El-Aurians a visit during their assimilation by the Borg, but considering both Soren and Guinan were present there, would've been a temporal quagmire..."

Picard's mouth curled a little at the mention of Soren, and he reflected that it probably was fortunate they weren't going to that time period... he might not have been able to resist the urge to throttle the El-Aurian scientist.

"Where are we going, then?"

"Temporally speaking, not very far," the Doctor replied. "Quite a distance spatially, though, by Federation standards at least..."

The cloister bell sounded a moment later, announcing their arrival. Slipping past Picard, the Doctor threw open the doors, revealing the black void of space beyond it... even though he knew the Time Lord wasn't suicidal, Jean-Luc couldn't help but flinch when the opening was made, as if half-expecting to be sucked out into space. Even after all this time, he sometimes forgot that this odd box was just as advanced, if not more so, than any Federation ship of the line.

"Well, where do you think we are?" the Doctor asked, moving past Picard and towards the other end of the control room.

Stepping up to the opening a bit nervously, Picard stood at the very edge, marveling that he could see no sign of a forcefield, no indication that there was anything but empty space ahead of him... aside from the lack of death, of course.

"Well," Picard said slowly, "We seem to be in the middle of nowhere."

"Absolutely, middle of nowhere," the Doctor agreed cheerfully, his voice echoing slightly and mingling with rustling as he searched a large box on the far side of the room. "But we're not the only ones out in this particular middle, no, there's a ship out there, and by now they've no doubt detected our arrival, much as your ship did on our first encounter. They're probably en route, might even have dropped out of warp by now!"

And then the Doctor was there in a flash, bustling past the Starfleet Officer with a cylindrical tube in one hand. As he reached the open doors, he gave the tube a flick with his wrist, expanding it into a long spyglass; tongue pressing to the corner of his mouth, the Time Lord held it up to his eye and peered through one end, humming under his breath. To Picard, there seemed to be nothing but stars, stars and yet more stars...

"There she is!" The Doctor announced, nearly making Picard jump. "Beautiful."

"There what is?" Picard asked, squinting at the starscape but still unable to see anything.

The Doctor soundlessly offered the spyglass, which Picard accepted and lifted to his own eye. The Time Lord's hand moved to gently tilt the other end of the scope, helping to angle it properly, and before he knew it, Jean-Luc saw her... a ship, seemingly motionless against the backdrop of stars. She was a Starfleet vessel, that much was clear by her design, but the configuration didn't look like anything with which he was familiar.

Picard wasn't certain what was more surprising; the ship's appearance, or the powerful magnification of the seemingly primitive spyglass. He couldn't even have begun to guess how far away that ship was, and yet every detail was clear... even though there wasn't any nearby sun to offer the necessary ambient light. He almost considered asking about the spyglass' design... then decided he wasn't likely to get a useful answer.

"I am unfamiliar with the ship class." Picard finally noted instead, frowning slightly.

"Well, they were a fairly new design in your time period," the Doctor replied.."We're a handful of years in the future, by the way, but to be specific, that vessel is an Intrepid class."

"Intrepid class..." Picard's eyes narrowed, just a little as he lowered the spyglass. "Aaah, yes, I do remember reading a report on the new commissions. In fact, one of them went out of contact during a mission in the Badlands last month... during her maiden voyage, I believe."

"Mmhmm, USS Voyager, that's the one out there," the Doctor replied cheerfully, drawing a curious look from Picard.

"I take it she was recovered, then?"

"No." The Doctor paused. "Well, yes. Sort of. Eventually. It's a rather long story, you'll find out soon enough, but in the meantime! They know we're here, they're probably sitting there wondering what a wooden box is doing in the middle of space... no doubt looking at us on their viewscreen, but I'd say they're keeping a distance of... a billion kilometers? Not close enough to see us clearly on their fanciful viewscreen. But any minute now they'll probably-"

The Doctor's phone began to ring.

"Ha!" The Time Lord gave Picard a cheerful pat on the back before climbing up to the control console. "Love you Starfleet types, always ask questions first and shoot later. Except for that one unpleasant Brit I met a day ago, but- oh, I'll tell you about it later." Snatching the phone off the hook, he pressed it to his ear, holding it in place with his shoulder as he operated the TARDIS' controls. "Hullo!"

Stepping up to the control console a bit more slowly, Picard couldn't hear the other end of the discussion, and had to settle for watching the Time Lord fiddle with a knob, even as he spoke as casually as if he was discussing the weather.

"Pleased to meet you mum, I've come a long way to have a talk. Yes, I'm aware that I'm in a blue box. No, quite fine, not in any danger, however, I would like to arrange a meeting of the minds, as it were, might I bring my ship aboard? No, your transporter won't be able to lock onto me. Oh. Well, I understand your caution, but I do have someone here who can vouch for me!"

With that, he held the phone out to Picard, who just stared at it blankly.

"Well?" the Time Lord asked.

"...well?" Picard echoed.

"Vouch for me!" the Doctor said, brow lifted as he wiggled the phone slightly.

Scowling a little, Picard accepted the phone and pressed it to his ear... leaning back when the Doctor's head pressed nearly to Picard's shoulder so he could listen in. After an awkward moment of silence, Picard finally said; "Hello. Who... to whom am I speaking to?"

The voice on the other end was female, authoritative... not exactly amused, either.

"This is Kathryn Janeway, Captain of the Federation starship Voyager. To whom am I speaking?"

"I am Jean-Luc Picard, Captain of..." Picard paused, winced, and murmured a bit less certainly; "...the Federation starship Enterprise."

The silence was engulfing at that, so much so that the Doctor inched even closer, causing Picard to lift an elbow to fend him off..

"Excuse me if I don't take your word for it, 'Captain,' but it's a little surprising to find the commanding officer of the Federation flagship out here, without his ship, in the middle of the Delta Quadrant."

Picard's eyes widened at that, and he snapped a glance at the Doctor, who just shrugged sheepishly and mouthed a reminder; Long story.

"I realize that this is highly unusual, Captain Janeway," Picard finally responded, "for both of us, I assure you, but I am Jean-Luc Picard, and I will subject myself to any test you require to prove my identity. My identification code is Picard-Four-Seven-Theta, but... I'm a few years behind the times, apparently, and I can't be certain it's still valid. My presence here is due entirely to an entity that should have been among your initial briefings when you took command; the Doctor."

There was another pause, the telltale click of the other end's audio being muted... likely discussing the issue amongst themselves. When the transmission resumed, Janeway's voice was a little uncertain, tinged with both suspicion and concern.

"Are you a captive?"

"No, not at all," Picard replied firmly. "I am here of my own free will, though I am admittedly uncertain as to why I am here. Captain, I should tell you now, due to the Temporal Prime Directive, I would appreciate if you would refrain from mentioning anything you might know of me following the... following the loss of the Enterprise-D."

"If what you're telling me is true," Janeway pointed out a bit wryly, "your being here makes that a moot point."

"Quite. Nonetheless, in the interest of minimizing the damage..."

"All right. Are you telling me I should allow this Doctor's ship aboard?"

"Well," Picard said, glancing sideways at the Doctor, who was still all but on top of him. "I assure you that the Doctor very much wishes a face-to-face meeting, and I am willing to vouch for him, if you will accept my word. Permission to come aboard?"

"...very well," Janeway finally replied, after the briefest hesitation. "Permission granted. Given the readings we're getting from over there, we're not sure we can get a transporter lock. Would you like us to tractor you in?"

Before Picard could even answer, the Doctor made several grabbing motions and finally snatched the phone back, nearly taking Picard's hand in the process.

"I can bring my ship aboard yours, mum," the Doctor chirped, then blinked at the response, clearing his throat as he gestured for Picard to shut the TARDIS doors. "Right, 'Captain.' Sorry. In any case, d'you want me to park on the bridge? Mess hall? Holodeck? ...shuttlebay. Wonderful. Never seen one of those before... right! Be there in a tic."

Hanging the phone up with great gusto, the Doctor began to zip about the control room as Picard moved to close the doors as asked. If he'd had to guess from the Time Lord's behavior, Jean-Luc would have wondered if maybe the Doctor had been waiting quite specifically for Jean-Luc to wake up before undertaking this journey... and, given how much the Doctor seemed to dislike waiting, he was clearly just a bundle of excited impatience by now.

That impatience did raise one question.

"Doctor," Picard said, as the Time Lord scurried about the control panel, making minute adjustments to accomplish the relatively delicate 'hop.' "If you had a record of Voyager's position, could you not have simply brought us directly aboard their vessel? This all seemed a bit of an indirect way to gain their attention."

"Oh, absolutely," the Doctor replied, pausing just long enough to give Picard a grin as the Time Rotor began to grind to life. "But I'm just a little tired of having phasers pointed at me, and I know you lot have a record on me after my first visit. Besides, I'm actually counting on their cooperation as much as I am yours, so I wanted to make a positive first impression. It's part of the reason I brought you; I thought having the legendary Jean-Luc Picard might keep me from getting stuck in the brig."

Anything else he might have said was interrupted as the cloister bell sounded, announcing their arrival. Half-dashing, half-sauntering down the stairs and across the room to the front doors, the Doctor flung them open and started to step out... only to freeze in place when he saw the welcome that awaited him.

There were a handful of Starfleet personnel; Captain Janeway, her Chief of Security, Tuvok... and four additional security personnel, arranged in a loose semi-circle around the entrance to the TARDIS. The former two didn't exactly look welcoming. The latter four were all aiming phasers in the Time Lord's direction.

The Doctor sighed, and lifted his hands slowly, muttering under his breath as he slowly exited the TARDIS.

"So much for that plan." Raising his voice as he stepped out to call back to Picard; "Close the door on your way out, will you?"

* * *

"One tea, Earl Gray, hot, and one coffee, black."

Picard sat in front of Captain Kathryn Janeway's desk in her Ready Room, shifting a bit restlessly in his seat as he frowned, scarcely paying attention as Voyager's CO brought a pair of mugs from the replicator, even though he was the one who'd requested the tea. It wasn't until the strong aroma hit his nostrils that he glanced up, murmuring a brief thank-you as he accepted the offered cup, his gaze now studying Janeway quite shrewdly as she settled into her own seat across from him.

It had taken less than an hour to get everything sorted out... well, more or less. The Doctor had been quite promptly whisked away to the brig, despite Picard's protests and the Time Lord's very vocal complaints every step out of the shuttlebay. The Captain of the Enterprise- such as it was- had been himself brought straight to sickbay, where he'd been subjected to a thorough examination by a balding doctor with a rather abrasive bedside manner. Scans had been performed, blood and tissue samples had been taken, all while Picard had answered a steady stream of questions relating to his career and history, even going so far as to discuss Boothby, a mutual friend of both COs during their respective Academy years.

Finally, he had been cleared- conditionally- by the (holographic) Doctor, who had assured Janeway that the man was physically human, matched Picard's genetic profile, even had his artificial heart... but that he still wanted to check for any signs of brainwashing or other neurological tampering. He didn't believe that Picard was a threat, however, and so he wasn't placed in confinement. Still, a guard was waiting just outside, ready in case anything went wrong.

Also, The alien Doctor was still being kept in the brig, for the time being at least.

"I'm sorry for the cold welcome," Janeway noted a bit wryly, even as she brought both mugs over. "We encountered a cell operated by a race we refer to as Species 8472 last year. They were training to impersonate key Starfleet officers, in preparation for a covert infiltration of Earth. We talked them out of their plan, but we couldn't be sure you weren't something similar, not until the... not until our Doctor confirmed it."

"Not to worry, Captain," Picard replied, smiling briefly as he lifted his mug to take a sip. "I well imagine I'd be taking the same precautions, in your place. However, as for the Doctor's- my Doctor's- current... accommodations... I do have to ask if it's really necessary."

"Well," Janeway replied, head tilting curiously, "considering what's on record about him, and that official procedure on encountering this Doctor is to have him stunned and thoroughly sedated, I think I'm being fairly generous. I'm surprised, actually, that you're speaking out in his defense; wasn't it your ship he broke out of?"

Picard actually bristled a little at that, his eyes narrowing minutely as he leaned back in his seat. "It really wasn't so simple as that."

"Wasn't it?"

Picard was just about to explain, rather sharply, the entire mess, but he froze, mouth open. The fact that the Enterprise and her crew had avoided difficulties with Starfleet Command following the Time Lord's escape had been the illusion that said escape hadn't been knowingly aided by any of her officers. To simply admit that they had indeed allowed, even facilitated, the Doctor's escape, could have consequences... as frustrating as it was not to be able to speak openly, he decided he would have to keep that one secret close to his chest.

It was, therefore, a bit of a surprise when Janeway's lifted brow and stern frown suddenly melted into a small, knowing smile.

"You aren't the first Captain to bend the rules," she said quietly. "And if you are Jean-Luc Picard- and aren't brainwashed- then I think I can trust your judgement. Still, I was CO of the Billings when you encountered him, we were only a few sectors from the Enterprise when he escaped. Spent three weeks scanning asteroid fields and nebulae for a blue wooden box, all while being told that the man in it had acted against the Federation, had outright attacked the flagship's Captain and taken him hostage."

"Well," Picard admitted a bit sheepishly, hands spreading, palms upwards. "He did, admittedly, hold a phaser to my head. But it was my idea."

"And I'm willing to believe that," Janeway replied. "I just want my Doctor to finish his analysis before we do anything else."

Picard drew in a long breath, then let it out in a whoosh of air before nodding.

"You mentioned," he finally broached, seeking a less confrontational topic, "that we are in the Delta Quadrant. Perhaps it's wise I not ask for the specific details as to how you traveled so far, but might I ask for how long you've been here?"

"Over six years," Janeway replied, eyes flickering slightly with some undefinable emotion. "It's been a long journey, but we've made tremendous strides in that time. And I think it would be safe to tell you that coming here wasn't our choice... we're actually just trying to get back home."

If anything, this topic struck Picard as an even worse one, and he shifted in his chair a little, using a long sip at his mug of tea to buy him a moment to consider what she had said... and just what he should tell her in reply.

"Captain," he said slowly, thinking it best to settle the matter here and now. "these circumstances are a bit uncomfortable, for both of us, I would imagine. As far as anyone in my time period is concerned, Voyager is still out of contact, and I am concerned with what would happen were I to return to my time and divulge-"

"Actually," she interjected, chuckling a little to set him at ease, "I do understand. Temporal Prime Directive, and you'd be surprised how many times I've run into it these past years. For what it's worth, we maintain regular contact with Earth now, thanks to some ingenious work on both sides. And although I have sometimes considered trying to find some way to undo what's happened, to change things... these past years have a lot that I wouldn't want to give up. A lot of civilizations we've helped, and a lot of individuals... Seven, for one."

"Seven?" Picard smiled a little, confused. "A curious name. One of your crewmembers?"

"Yes," Janeway replied a bit distantly, still distracted with her own thoughts. "She came aboard a couple of years ago, when we liberated her from the Borg Collective."

Her musings continued for a moment or two longer before she realized that Picard hadn't spoken again. Re-focusing, she looked up at him... to find him frozen in place, his mug of tea lifted halfway towards his lips, his expression all but etched in stone and his eyes filled with a mixture of shock and revulsion.

It was then Janeway belatedly remembered Picard's own pioneering encounters with the Borg... and wondered how she possibly could have forgotten.

"I'm sorry," she said, eyes widening; "I should have been more delicate about-"

"No," Picard interjected, clearing his throat and holding up a hand, trying to give her a comforting smile as he set his mug of tea back down. "Please, you don't need to apologize, I was just caught off guard. In fact, it's certainly welcome news to hear that someone has been freed of their influence, to say nothing for the feat it must have taken to secure her in the first place. Might I ask how it came about?"

Janeway shifted in her chair a bit, now feeling a little uncomfortable herself. Considering her fellow Captain's abduction, assimilation and subjugation under the thumb of the Collective, she realized she wasn't thrilled about recounting the tale of how she had deliberately sought to forge an alliance, however temporary, with them. Without much alternative, and certainly with no intention of deceiving him, she cleared her throat and pressed on.

"Well... it started when we reached the edge of Borg-occupied space..."

Chapter Text

It had been a little over an hour since the Doctor, Picard and that blue box had first arrived aboard Voyager, and a bit less than that since the Time Lord had been confined to the brig. After receiving the holographic Doctor's more detailed report on Picard's physiology- more specifically, confirmation that he indeed seemed to be who he claimed- Janeway had decided that this left the Time Lord himself as the only real mystery. So, leaving the Captain of the Enterprise with Chakotay, under instructions to report to the Astrometrics Lab, the Captain of Voyager was making her way down to the brig to see about questioning their mysterious guest properly.

No sooner had she stepped off the turbolift when she was intercepted by the balding Chief Medical Officer, who had perhaps the most enthusiastic grin she had ever seen on his face. Eyeing him with mild surprise- she hadn't actually requested that he accompany her- it started to make a lot more sense when she noticed that he was carrying a large medical kit at his side. Judging from the size, it probably had fewer hyposprays and cordical stimulators, and more diagnostic tools and medical sensors.

"Doctor," Janeway greeted a bit wryly, glancing down at the kit, then back at him with a lifted brow. "You do recall I told you that we wouldn't be conducting any medical examinations?"

"Yes, Captain, and I understand that," the Doctor replied eagerly, clearly restraining himself from all but clinging to Janeway's shoulder as he followed her down the corridor, "but the information from the Enterprise's initial examination is simply fascinating, and if I could just have some time to place him under a simple, basic micro-cellular series, I think that the information gleaned from it could-"

"Contaminate the timeline," Janeway replied sharply. "Temporal Prime Directive, Doctor, any information we learn from him due to his interference could have disastrous consequences."

"But, Captain-"

Janeway stopped in place, head down and a hand on her hip as she fought the urge to order him back to sickbay.

"Doctor," she finally murmured, holding up her other hand to cut off any further pleas, "if you find that you absolutely must, for the sake of your professional curiosity, then by all means, run every scan you would like on him, and every test that he consents to. But whatever you learn is not to be put in a report, in so much as a biology thesis, and it is certainly not to be submitted to Starfleet on any future transmissions. Are we clear?"

The Doctor nodded, once, trying to look properly chastised. "Of course, Captain."

"Good." Janeway started marching down the corridor again, sighing softly when she heard the Doctor hurry to follow.

As they stepped into the brig, the security guard on duty stood up, inclining his head towards the Commanding Officer respectfully. Gesturing for him to stand down, Janeway turned her attention to the brig's occupant; lying flat on his back on the narrow cot, the Time Lord's hands were behind his head, gaze on the ceiling, both feet restlessly twitching. They had confiscated his jacket, his sonic screwdriver, and (just to be on the safe side) his shoes, leaving him in suspenders, shirt, pants, bowtie, and socks. He gave no sign that he noticed their arrival... but as Janeway drew closer to the forcefield, he suddenly spoke, slowly.

"You know," the Time Lord said sternly, gaze still locked on the ceiling, "the only thing saving you lot from the position of 'Worst Welcome' is that the last bunch literally shot me. Hardly sets the bar very high for you, does it now?"

Janeway's brows lifted, her tone mimicking his; "Well, I'm very sorry you find our brig uncomfortable, but you showed up in the middle of the Delta Quadrant with a Starfleet Captain and about a dozen warrants for your arrest, so I thought that maybe we shouldn't give you the VIP tour just yet."

"Well, all right, then," the Time Lord replied, swinging his legs over the bunk, sitting up and holding up his wrists as if inviting shackles, his voice rising to a melodramatic wail; "You've got me. However could I have allowed myself to be so easily captured, to spend the rest of my days behind bars? Oh woe, woe be to the Doctor. Go ahead! Do it! Lock me away, take me to the nearest Federation Starbase for processing... oh, wait."

"Funny," Janeway all but growled.

"You're not the first one to tell me that," came the flippant reply, even as he hopped to his feet, adjusting his askew bowtie and shifting his slim shoulders before stepping up to the forcefield. "Well, you've kept me stewing in here for awhile now, you've no doubt poked and prodded poor Jean-Luc to make sure he isn't some devious clone or copy, and by the sounds of the low humming coming from behind you, one of your people is now actively in the process of scanning me."

Spinning around, Janeway's eyes widened a little when she saw that the Doctor had been trying to use her back as cover to operate his tricorder. When her gaze met his, the EMH cleared his throat just a little and tucked the device behind his own back instead, apparently trying to pretend it had never existed to begin with... but she could still hear the scanner humming...

"Doctor," she said sharply, "this is not the time for-"

"Wait," the Time Lord interrupted, eyes narrowed for a moment before a delighted grin crossed his face as he pointed at the EMH. "You're him! The Doctor!"

The holographic Doctor seemed taken aback, then flattered. "You've heard of me?"

"Heard of you?" The Time Lord snorted, waving a hand as if the question were absurd. "Of course, you're a bloody legend in the database I, um, borrowed! Finest physician who's ever walked on two legs, be they flesh or photons, absolute truth, advanced half a dozen scientific fields single-handedly, helped humanity develop a greater appreciation for the individual rights and freedoms of photonic lifeforms, how could I not have heard of you?"

The holographic Doctor's surprise was replaced by a wide, pleased smile as he stepped up to the forcefield; "Why, thank you, and I must say, what little information is in the databanks about your arrival aboard the Enterprise proved most interesting, it is a real pleasure to meet you."

"Mutual, absolutely mutual," the Time Lord beamed, voice falling to a sardonic lilt. "Well, I'd shake your hand, but I'm currently sealed away in a prison cell, so..."

"Oh, I'm sure the Captain will agree to release you before too long," the holographic Doctor replied cheerfully, even as he studied the readings on his tricorder. "She has been known to let Starfleet protocol play too strong a hand in her decisions, and-"

"Doctor." Janeway snapped.

"Yes?" The response came from both Time Lord and hologram, heads tilted at identical angles, both looking only mildly curious.

Janeway was beginning to feel a very familiar headache brewing. Cradling her forehead in her hand for a moment, she took a deep breath, then tilted her head back and let it out slowly, wondering if maybe she could just load this stranger back into his box and send him on his merry way... along with the Chief Medical Officer, perhaps.

"If you want to be released," Janeway finally said, keeping her voice as even as possible as she turned her full attention back to the Time Lord. "I'm going to need to know exactly why you're here, exactly what you're planning, and why you seem to need us to do it. We might not be within range of a Federation Starbase, but if I think you're an unnecessary danger to this ship, or this crew, then I have no problem letting you spent the next few decades in here waiting for trial."

"I see why Jean Luc's the one who's considered the acclaimed diplomat," the corporeal Doctor replied archly, arms crossing over his chest, "And, for the record, I had every intention of telling you my plan from start to finish, were it not for the pointed weapons. Although first I really should get down to your Astrometrics Lab, run some long-range scans..."

"No need," Janeway replied. "I've already sent Chakotay, and Captain Picard, to assist Seven of Nine in finding any signs of Borg activity. So you can just sit there and tell me absolutely everything I want to know."

"Oh. Splendid." The Doctor cleared his throat. "Put a traumatized former Borg drone in the same room as a far more adjusted former Borg drone. That's bound to work out wonderfully..."

* * *

Picard could feel every muscle in his body tensing to steel bands as they drew nearer and nearer to the Astrometrics Lab. Voyager's first officer, Chakotay- apparently a former Maquis, no less- had attempted brief small talk with him, but had given up when it became clear the former Captain of the Enterprise was too distracted to engage him. Considering what Chakotay knew about Picard's past dealings with the Borg, he couldn't quite say he blamed the man... but part of the reason he was coming along was to make sure things didn't get out of hand.

The cavernous doors to the Astrometrics Lab slid open as both officers stepped inside. Picard seemed to relax just an iota when he saw that the lab was not some twisted Borg chamber, but instead looked like a quite sensible, Federation standard room... that relaxation vanished in a snap when the room's sole occupant turned around, however. Perhaps the surprise on his face was due to how human she looked. Perhaps it was rather due to the handful of implants she still wore, and indeed, his eyes flickered to them one by one, jaw tightening.

Seven looked no less surprised, as she hadn't been informed who had been aboard the curious blue box yet. Confusion clear in her own eyes, Seven then uttered perhaps the most disastrous word she could have.

"...Locutus?"

Picard had come here, entirely, to see this liberated drone for himself and to assure himself, above all else, that there was no cause for the feeling of tension that had knotted his stomach into a ball. But when he heard that cursed name spoken, his temper flared before he could even think of reigning it in, his face flushing and hands clenching into fists; the change in temperament so drastic that Chakotay actually instinctively stepped closer, as if preparing to grab the older man if he attacked.

"I am not Locutus," Picard barked, eyes flashing.

"Seven," Chakotay interjected, his own voice low and deliberately calm as he kept himself half-imposed between Seven and Picard. "This is Jean-Luc Picard, from Earth... he came aboard just a short time ago, on the ship whose chroniton emissions you picked up."

To her credit, Seven didn't flinch at Picard's sharp tone, simply lifting a brow; still, after a rather tense stand-off, her expression softened, just a little.

"I apologize," she said, quite sincerely. "I was unaware you were aboard; in my surprise, I reacted instinctively."

Picard drew a quick breath, and even managed a tight smile. "I should be the one to apologize. I understand more than most how difficult it can be to separate from what you once were... and I was only a drone for a short time. Please, think nothing of it, and accept my own apology."

"The Captain wants us to scan for any Borg activity," Chakotay explained, relaxing a little, though his tone made it clear that he still wasn't entirely thrilled with the idea. "Have there been any signs of ships or transwarp conduits in the past while?"

Seven frowned minutely as she turned back to her console; "The Captain had requested I modulate the sensors to search for any singularities or naturally occurring rifts," she replied. "It will take some time to properly calibrate the Astrometric array to detect transwarp signatures."

"I see," Chakotay murmured, nodding. "Captain Picard has had some... experience... with Borg technology. He wanted to know if he could assist."

Seven only inclined her head in agreement, and Picard gave the First Officer a brief nod of his own before stepping up to the platform with her. Though he clearly looked wary about leaving the pair alone, he had preparations of his own to make for whatever was coming, and so it was a bit of a sigh that Chakotay left them to it, striding from the Astrometrics Lab, glancing over his shoulder as he departed.

Picard's time with the Borg had been brief, and though he retained every haunting memory of the atrocities he had committed during that short tenure, much of the base knowledge- their technology, their methodology- had since faded from his mind. Still, he retained enough knowledge to be of some help, recognizing several of the configurations and components used in the Astrometric array as being of Borg design; for several long minutes they were both silent, the room filled only with the sounds of controls being manipulated.

Finally, though, Picard couldn't bear the silence. Clearing his throat, he carefully broached one of the few subjects they had in common, even as he watched her from the corner of his eyes for any signs of discomfort.

"Your Captain was good enough to tell me of the circumstances in which you were assimilated," he said, "and your eventual liberation. It can't have been easy for you, being separated so suddenly from the Collective."

Seven nodded, turning back to the console. "Yes, it was... a difficult transition."

"But you endured," Picard pointed out. "And may I say, you've clearly made an incredible recovery."

Seven glanced at him, as if seeking some sign of sarcasm or scorn, but when she found none, she simply inclined her head.

"Thank you," she replied, turning back to the modifications, "but I would credit the success to Captain Janeway, the Doctor, and the crew. They... were very helpful, during my return to individuality. And very patient."

"Yes, well..." a crooked smile crossed Picard's face at that. "My crew... my friends... had to be more than a little patient with me as well. More patient than I've been with others. There was one drone, once, and my initial wishes were to have him... destroyed, or turned into a weapon to use against the Borg. Had it not been for that same crew, I likely would have done it without a second thought, and slept very well afterwards, convinced there was no wrong in destroying him, or those he represented..."

"You are referring to the offshoot," Seven surmised. "Third of Five."

"Yes," Picard replied softly, the smile becoming smaller, sadder, his head bowed and thoughts inward. "Although he seemed to prefer Hugh... I suppose my point is, Seven, that your Captain is an exemplary officer... and, I think, has conquered challenges that I may well have proven unequal to."

Seven considered the older man's words, his hunched shoulders, his subdued, contemplative expression... just as she opened her mouth to speak, however, the console gave a sudden trill, drawing their attention

"The calibrations are complete," Seven reported, fingers dancing over the controls.

"Excellent," Picard replied, clearing his throat. "How long to run a proper scan?"

"For a full scan, forty three minutes," Seven replied, already beginning it. "But we may find a Borg signature before that."

"I see." Picard nodded, then began to step away from the Astrometrics platform. "Well, if you don't mind... I'm going to go find something to eat."

Seven glanced over her shoulder at Picard for a long moment, but then simply inclined her head. "You will find the mess hall on deck two, section thirteen."

"Thank you." Spinning on heel, Picard left the Astrometrics Lab... seemingly in quite a hurry.

Someone else might have been inclined to press him on what he had said, on what he was clearly thinking. Someone else might have spoken to Janeway about it, or the Doctor. But Seven, who knew more than most about the sort of dark guilt that always best left to one's self, simply turned back to her scans, and pushed Picard's burden from her thoughts.

* * *

"I'm in Hell."

Tom Paris really couldn't come up with any other explanation; he had been performing his side duties in sickbay for a little over an hour, mostly cataloguing the Doctor's newest collection of biological samples from their last away mission- the EMH bordered on a hoarder when it came to them- when the turbolift doors had swished open. In had strode the Doctor... well, the Doctors, as both the hologram and the Time Lord (who had reclaimed his shoes) were in the middle of a very animated discussion. Captain Janeway, who had clearly chosen to release their guest from the brig, didn't seem to have accompanied them.

It only took about three minutes for Paris to figure out why.

"-and then," the holographic Doctor was saying as he led their guest across the Sickbay in the other direction, towards the stasis units, "it turned out that a rather hostile race known as the Vidiians had actually removed his lungs. So without much time before Mister Neelix asphyxiated, I crafted a holographic representation of his entire respiratory system and projected it inside his chest cavity to provide his body with the required oxygen until a donor could be secured."

"Brilliant, that's just brilliant," the corporeal Doctor beamed, even as he paused just long enough to poke curiously at a wall mounted diagnostic unit. "There was this one time where, just using neuro-electrical interfaces, I patched the software of about a hundred trillion tissue repairing nanogenes to reverse a manufacturer's defect that had caused rampant cellular mutation in its subjects. This caused them to turn from gas-masked zombies back into their original state."

"Neuro-electrical interfaces?" the Doctor's eyes widened appreciatively. "I was working on a thesis paper on the use of humanoid neural structures as nanotechnical interfaces without the need for artificial technology."

"You finish it! I read it yesterday!"

"Did you?! How was it?"

"Oh, absolutely riveting."

"Why, thank you, Doctor."

"Oh, not at all, Doctor. Now, about the emitter-"

Their voices finally, mercifully, faded as they vanished into the morgue, no doubt to marvel over the stasis chambers. With them gone, Paris let out a low, pained groan, mingled with a sigh of relief that he finally had some time to himself, and some blessed silence to perform his duties. That silence lasted about two minutes before his communicator gave an audible chirp, making the startled Lieutenant jump slightly before tapping his comm badge.

"Paris here."

Janeway's voice piped through. "How's our guest doing with the Doctor, Mister Paris?"

"He's... fine, Captain," Paris winced a little as he glanced towards the morgue, before asking hopefully; "I don't suppose you need either of them right now?"

From the hint of amusement in Janeway's voice, she understood exactly what he was thinking. "No, not yet. Just keep an eye on them."

"...understood."

"Janeway out."

Sighing, Paris muttered; "So much for that idea," before turning his attention back to his work. The blessed silence in sickbay lasted about five minutes before the doors to the morgue hissed open again, heralding their return.

"I have to say," the holographic Doctor was saying as they re-emerged from Sickbay, bustling past Paris, "it is an absolute pleasure to finally encounter someone with a similar passion for xenobiology to mine. The rest of the crew is more interested in civilizations and cultures than the inner workings of a Talgaran liver. The only one with comparable knowledge would be Seven, and all our discussions on the matter seem to begin with 'before they were assimilated.'"

"And I have to say," the corporeal Doctor echoed, "that it is a delight to encounter someone who is so well versed in the particulars of solar cellular mutation, especially considering in my universe there's only... a dozen or so... known races..."

The Time Lord had trailed off, glancing back over his shoulder at a scowling Paris as if noticing him for the first time. Actually, in truth, this was legitimately the first time he'd noticed that there had been anybody else in the room, and try as he might, he couldn't remember if he had seen the bloke before. Clearing his throat, he leaned a bit closer to the EMH, lowering his voice to a whisper that was nonetheless loud enough to echo through Sickbay.

"Not to alarm you," he murmured in hushed tones, "but there appears to be a very dour looking chap glowering over there."

"Aaah, ignore it," the holographic Doctor assured him, gesturing idly to Paris as they approached him; "He does it all the time. Meet Lieutenant Thomas Eugene Paris, my medical assistant."

"A nurse?" the corporeal Doctor echoed, delighted as he turned towards Paris, extending a hand.

"Well, just a few shifts a week," Paris interjected quickly, a tight smile on his face as he instinctively shook the hand. "I'm actually Voyager's-"

"I knew a nurse, once," the Time Lord was already reflecting, completely ignoring Tom's attempted correction as he turned back to the holographic Doctor. "Bigger nose, had a habit of getting himself killed with surprising regularity, but otherwise a good chap... bit on the negative side sometimes. 'Oh, why do we have to jump down that chasm?' "Oh, is the sun supposed to be that close?' "Oh, my leg's on fire.'"

"Mister Paris is much the same," the hologram replied agreeably.

Opening his mouth to protest, Paris finally let it slam shut as he instead turned his attention back to the diagnostic readings, eyes narrowed as he plotted vengeance. Maybe he would modify the Doctor's appearance subroutines so he spend the next week wearing nothing but purple, highlighted with pink polkadots... and lots of frilly bits...

"Janeway to Sickbay."

The holographic Doctor tapped his commbadge, oblivious to Paris' schemes; "Sickbay here, Captain."

"Doctor, would you please inform..." Janeway paused before continuing slowly; "...the other Doctor... that we've detected a Borg sphere on long-range sensors, and are moving to intercept. We'll reach it in a little over twenty hours."

Glancing at the EMH for permission, who gave it with a nod, the Time Lord leaned a bit towards the holographic Doctor, bending down to speak unnecessarily close to the holograph's commbadge.

"Excellent, Captain," the Time Lord chirped. "I don't suppose we could call one of those briefing things?"

"We'll have our 'briefing thing' in an hour," Janeway replied dryly. "Mister Paris, please report to the bridge once you have finished with the Doctors."

"Yes, Ma'am," Paris replied, sighing softly as he decided his vengeance probably wasn't worth a week of restricted privileges. Not yet, anyway.

Turning towards the holographic Doctor, the Time Lord lifted his hands a little, apologetic smile on his face; "I don't want you to feel left out of the briefing, understand, but it would actually be much more of a contribution if you could prepare things down here during the conference; time might be a bit of a factor in all this. Your efforts are really the lynch pin that hold it all together."

The hologram's chin lifted just a little with clear pride. Paris just rolled his eyes.

"You can count on me," the EMH replied solemnly.

"Brilliant," Grinning, the Doctor clasped him on both shoulders, then whirled around to face Paris, pointing a finger; "You, nurse,-" Paris' initial protest at the title quickly drowned out by the Doctor's voice, "where can I find Jean Luc? We need to discuss strategy, strategize as it were, with strategic planning."

Jaw working, Paris took a deep breath, then tilted his head back; "Computer, where's Jean-Luc Picard?"

"Jean-Luc Picard is in the mess hall."

"Wonderful! Mess hall. Off I go, then."

With a spring in his step, the Time Lord scuttled out of sickbay, the guard standing outside automatically falling into step behind him as he emerged. There was a brief silence in the room then, the EMH looking quite pleased, and Paris just a hair away from looking murderous.

"Well!" The holographic Doctor exclaimed, clapping his hands together before turning towards the diagnostic table. "There's a lot to be done. I could use your assistance, Nurse Paris."

"Oh, don't you start!"

Chapter Text

Captain Jean-Luc Picard had been in the mess hall for a little over ten minutes now, seated at one of the rear corner tables, where he could get some privacy. As it wasn't peak hours yet, the mess hall was only about a quarter full, and the junior crewmembers had left a respectful buffer of empty tables between the Enterprise's Captain and the conversation of the rest of the room. It was apparently something that Picard appreciated, as he seemed to be spending his time idly eating with one hand, and reading something with another.

The Time Lord was in the mess hall as well, for a few minutes, and seemed quite interested in peering at the various (largely untouched) dishes that Neelix had set out on the counter. When the Talaxian had asked what he'd like, the Doctor had muttered that he was still perusing, so instead Neelix wandered over to one of the tables opposite to Picard's. Only two occupants sat at this one; the first, B'Elanna Torres, was staring incredulously at the second. The second, Harry Kim, was being stared at because, even though he sat in the chair facing away from Picard's table, he nonetheless felt it necessary to swivel his head and body around to glance at the Starfleet Captain every ten seconds.

"So," Harry said nervously, after his fifteenth swivel-glance. "Why do you think he's here? Think he's staying? Should we talk to him?"

"Harry," Torres chided, a little bemused; "You're not exactly a fresh graduate anymore, I thought we gotten past all... this!"

"Yeah, well," Kim replied, exasperated, "It's a little hard to act like same old, same old when a living legend shows up on the ship... might as well be Kirk! I mean, how can you not be even a little interested in talking to him, he's Captain Jean-Luc Picard."

"I know who he is, Harry!" Torres retorted.

"Well, I don't," Neelix chimed in, openly curious as he briefly glanced back to see if the Doctor looked any closer to deciding.

"No, no," the Chief Engineer protested, "don't ask him-"

It was too late, as Harry turned in his chair to face Neelix, clearly pleased to find an audience. "The man was in command of two exploration ships, the Stargazer and the Enterprise, the last of which was the flagship of the entire fleet... in fact, don't tell him, but the Picard of this timeframe's in command of the Enterprise's successor, according to our updates from Earth. which is one of the most advanced ships ever built. Still, even from the year he came from... he's helped save countless worlds, developed the Picard Maneuver, made first contact with dozens of alien species, and-"

"Then go talk to him," Torres said, cutting off the tirade. "He's sitting right over there, across the room, maybe the only chance you'll get."

Kim was starting to look more and more like a cornered deer. "You think I should?"

Torres managed to nod convincingly enough.

Kim shifted in his seat a few times, then finally stood up all in one motion, nodding with all the forceful determination he could muster.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm going to do it."

"Okay," Torres replied agreeably.

"I'm going to talk to him."

"Go talk to him."

"I'm going."

And indeed, after another fifteen or twenty seconds of determined nodding, Kim got going, starting to stride across the mess hall with confident, firm steps... steps that became smaller and considerably less certain the closer he drew to Picard's table. He could see that the Captain of the Enterprise was occupied, reading something on a PADD as he sipped a mug of something; a half-eaten, replicated piece of cod set to one side. The sight of Picard's distraction should have been enough to convince Kim to change course, but somehow his legs weren't responding... the traitorous limbs bringing him right up to the Captain's table, where Kim stood in awkward silence.

Finally, Picard glanced up, all but feeling the eyes staring at him; mild surprise crossing his face as he lowered his PADD.

"Hello." Picard blinked, setting down his mug. "Can I help you, Ensign?"

"No." Kim shook his head quickly. "I mean, I was hoping I could help you, Sir. Perhaps top off your mug?"

"Thank you," Picard replied slowly, "but that won't be necessary, Ensign...?"

"Oh. Kim, Sir," Harry replied, "Ensign Harry Kim. Operations officer."

"I see." Picard set down the PADD, fingers folding in front of him as he nodded along, trying to figure out just what the young man wanted... when Kim didn't actually seem forthcoming on saying anything else, he picked a random question. "For how long have you been the Ops officer, Mister Kim?"

"Since I was assigned to Voyager, Sir," Kim replied, nodding quickly even though the question wasn't the 'yes' kind. "It's been my first assignment, Sir."

"Indeed." Picard actually seemed a bit intrigued at that. "A bridge assignment immediately following graduation, your credentials must have been very impressive."

"Thank you, Captain," Kim replied, seeming absolutely buyont at the very light praise. "I was valedictorian in my Graduating Class. Interstellar Honors, Sir."

"Were you now?" Picard almost said 'impressive' again, but realized he'd just be repeating himself, and settled for; "Congratulations."

"Thank you, Sir." Kim panicked briefly as he realized he might be sounding vain, immediately trying a course correction. "I mean, it was over six years ago, not really that important these days, I don't want you to think that I'm trying to be in any way bragging about it. And I would have most certainly applied to the Enterprise for assignment, I was just interested in the newer designs on the Intrepid. Not that the Enterprise-D was old! No, I mean, the refits kept her in tip top before she crashed on-"

"Ensign," Picard finally interjected, holding up a hand and looking both irritated and a little amused.

"Uh..." Kim cleared his throat. "Yes, Sir?"

Picard had originally been intending to gently reprimand the junior officer- after all, he had basically interrupted Picard's work, for apparently no reason than to stammer. But on seeing the younger man's slightly wide-eyed expression, the Captain decided that perhaps, as he was a guest, it would be more appropriate to... moderate... his reply a little. So, fingers folding in front of him, he found the most diplomatic route possible... something made all the easier by a new arrival, right behind Kim.

"I understand that you are no doubt very curious as to my purpose here," Picard said, as gently as he could manage, "and it will all be explained in the briefing; however, I am afraid that I have a prior engagement."

Following the direction of the Captain's extended hand, Kim looked behind him and nearly jumped out of his skin to find the corporeal Doctor, beaming, just a foot or so away, clutching a very big bowl of whatever Neelix had come up with today. The odor from it was not very appealing, to say the least, but even standing there, the Doctor was shoveling mouthfuls of it down his throat with a truly impressive amount of gusto.

"Oh!" Clearing his throat, Kim's head bobbed agreeably as he started to retreat. "Of course, Captain. Sorry, Sir."

"No need to apologize, Ensign," Picard replied, managing through sheer force of will, and decades of diplomatic experience, to keep a straight face. "Carry on."

"Aye, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

Flushing a deep, beet red, Kim whirled around on heel and scurried back across the mess hall to his table. Neelix was gone, and had probably been the one to give the Doctor his big bowl of food. Paris, just returned from the bridge, had taken a seat of his own there, beside his wife, the latter of whom was currently in the process of hunching over the table, shoulders shaking with silent laughter, face hidden by her hair and arm.

"Not a word," Harry muttered, sinking into his chair.

To his credit, Tom was trying not to grin. Failing utterly, of course, but still trying. "What happened?"

B'Elanna could only give a raspy squeak from under her arm, the half-Klingon clearly still in the grip of uncharacteristically intense hysterics.

"I... went to talk to Captain Picard," Harry replied, a bit unnecessarily given Tom had clearly seen part of it.

"Oh." Paris nodded agreeably, though his own shoulders were starting to tremble a little; his next word was higher pitched. "And?"

"And I rambled about how I was valedictorian..." Kim's jaw tightened as he muttered; "I'm not sure, but I might also have accidentally suggested the Enterprise-D was... old..."

That did it. B'Elanna, who had only begun to straighten up, had to once more fold down across the table, fresh squeaks and repressed gasps passing her lips as laughter took hold again. With the table occupied, Paris had to settle for lowering his head and covering his face with one hand, lips clenched tightly, face almost as red as Harry's and shoulders shaking violently as he and his wife both tried not to howl with laughter right there in the mess hall. A few snorts filled the air, but only loud enough to draw some very odd looks from the nearest crewmembers.

"Yeah, yeah, very funny," Harry muttered. "Like to see you go talk to him instead."

"Ohhhh, no," Paris managed to protest through his choked laughter, "I've been stuck in Sickbay with that Doctor guy way too long to go near him now."

* * *

"Looks like you have a fan," the Doctor noted as he settled onto the chair opposite Picard.

"Wonderful," the Captain replied a bit dryly, glancing towards the table Kim had retreated to. He did a bit of a double-take, the second man at that table striking him as familiar, but he finally shook it off, setting the PADD to one side and eying the Doctor's lumpy, unidentifiable meal with a lifted brow. "What... is that?"

"Hmmm?" Halfway through chewing a mouthful, the Doctor swallowed, then shrugged. "Not a clue! The way Mister Neelix pronounced the dish's name, I was initially concerned he was choking on something... I'm reasonably certain it used to have something to do with a vegetable. Possibly a fruit. In any case, it's actually remarkably good, would you like to try some?"

A forkful was offered, and the decidedly unappealing aroma wafting from it causes Picard to lean away, grimacing; "No, thank you."

"Suit yourself." Chewing on the newest morsel with delight, the Time Lord's chin gestures to Picard's PADD, even as he asked with a full mouth; "Whatcha lookin at?"

"Biographical information," Picard replied, "on one Annika Hansen... or, as she now calls herself, Seven of Nine. Her parents were among the first humans to encounter the Borg, a prospect I would have thought absurdly foolish... but in any case, she was assimilated from such a young age, spent most of her formative years as a drone, it is nothing short of remarkable that any element of individuality survived. Even Hugh became more of a variation of Borg, a self-conscious drone, but Annika... Seven... appears to have regained much of her humanity."

The Doctor nodded along, even as he chewed his latest bite, brow raised; "And so, what does that tell you?"

"Nothing in particular," Picard replied quietly, setting the PADD to one side and settling back into his chair with a sigh. "But it has given me a perspective I didn't really consider before. She spent most of her life as a Borg drone, from childhood... if she was able to return from that, to recover her individuality... then how many others could do the same, if given that opportunity?"

"A fair question," the Doctor replied, a bit of a sympathetic smile on his face quickly replaced by another large bite of his dish; "But I imagine it's not so simple as that. Seven, by all accounts I've read at least, appears to be a remarkable individual."

"Yes, quite," Picard replied. "But if even five percent of the Collective can be saved... that would be millions and millions of individuals, waiting to be set free, more free than even Hugh and his faction had been. Individuals for whom the virus that had been designed to be transmitted through Hugh may well have stripped that opportunity. Captain Janeway has reported that in her encounters, more than a few Borg vessels have been destroyed, if only to preserve her crew, justifiable so... but how many individuals could have saved from those ships?"

"So," the Doctor said, head tilting. "Are you thinking then that violence is not the way to deal with the Borg? That an overture of peace should be extended?"

Picard seemed to consider that... but only a few seconds passed before he was shaking his head, snorting at the admittedly absurd notion.

"The Borg are our most lethal enemy," Picard replied slowly. "To show them compassion, kindness, generosity, would only be greeted with violence, subjugation... they would likely never surrender, never negotiate, never stop trying to consume everything within reach. Captain Janeway herself made it clear that the moment the Borg were out of danger from Species 8472, they broke the pact and tried to assimilate Voyager. Any future attempts at diplomacy would likely end the same way. By all objective measurements of worth, or danger, the Borg must be eliminated, utterly. And yet... if we were to find a way to destroy them all, to scatter their ships, annihilate their structures, how many potential individuals would be lost?"

"Hmm." The Doctor nodded slowly, idly poking at his mulch-colored meal with his fork. "Balancing the lives that would be consumed by not battling the Borg against the lives that would be irrevocably lost by destroying their ships and drones. Certainly a difficult proposition; so what conclusion have you drawn from it?"

Picard could only spread his hands, a bit helplessly.

"To keep fighting," he replied, some of his uncertainty slowly being replaced with steely resolve. "As much as I wish- and I do- that the Borg could be in some way reasoned with, there has been too much evidence that they seek only conquest, new resources, new species to add to their Collective. Guinan once said that we may one day reach a point where the Borg would consider us worthy of such dialogue... but I can't imagine they'd let us develop that far to begin with, not without forcing some inevitable confrontation."

"So, destruction, then," the Doctor replied, brow arching. "Total genocide, as it were."

Picard's mouth twisted a little at that. "If it were a race, then yes... but if anything, they seem the very embodiment of genocide, of a pestilence... destroying entire cultures, entire species, leaving one amorphic mass of flesh and machine in its place. I hope that we can one day find a method to free the drones from the Collective, but until then, we must do everything in our power to limit their spread. When one... civilization... must be destroyed to save countless others, when that one civilization is knowingly and deliberately putting those countless others in danger, does that somehow make it right?"

The Doctor frowned a little at that, then shook his head, a soft sigh passing his lips.

"Necessary, perhaps," the Time Lord replied quietly, eyes unfocused, meal temporarily forgotten. "Crucial, unavoidable, required. But never right."

Any further discussion was cut off as the comm panels in the mess hall beeped to life, Janeway's voice filtering through a moment later.

"All senior staff and relevant personnel, report to Briefing Room in five minutes."

Across the mess hall, Paris, Torres and Kim were already climbing to their feet, and after making certain they had left- he didn't really want to share a turbolift with the overly enthusiastic Ops officer- Picard climbed to his feet as well. The Doctor, for his part, remained seated, working to demolish the rest of his meal, even as he waved a hand idly for the Captain to go on ahead.

"No worries," he assured the Captain through a large mouthful, "I'll be there in a jiffy."

* * *

The senior staff, (with the exception of the Chief Medical Officer,) Neelix, Seven and Captain Picard had all been in the briefing room for a little over fifteen minutes, and what little small talk they had begun quickly puttered out as they waited for the Time Lord to arrive.

And waited. And waited. And waite-

"Sorry, sorry I'm late," the corporeal Doctor said, bustling into the briefing and making a beeline for the wall-mounted display; he was still in the process of chewing something, and swallowed before continuing. "Just wanted to prepare some information for this, took a bit longer than expected... keep in mind, much of the relevant data will be dispensed on a purely need-to-know basis, the only ones with full disclosure are Captains Janeway and Picard, just to be on the safe side."

Tapping a quick series of commands on the display, he called up several images; an archived schematic of the last Borg Sphere Voyager had encountered, a navigation chart detailing their newest target's course, and a string of what looked like programming code. Turning towards the assembled officers, whose irritation at the wait was replaced with mild curiosity, and a bit of trepidation, the Time Lord gestured proudly to the screen.

"So," the Doctor began, tapping the monitor again to enlarge the Sphere schematic. "That is our target, a Borg sphere, long-range vessel, lightly armed. It is currently traveling at low warp, along a path that will intercept our own in about twenty-one hours. That it is not using its transwarp drive would suggest it is on some sort of reconnaissance mission... hopefully the drive is undamaged."

"Why?" Kim asked, "Are we planning to retrieve a transwarp coil?"

"Need to know basis," the Doctor replied airily. "Anyway, the ship is unshielded along its outer hull, as most Borg scout ships are, which will make boarding her quite simple for your transporters. Once aboard, I intend to gain access to their databanks and use it to break into the Borg computer code, as it were, which will allow me to create a backdoor for me to use at my leisure. With it, I could gain access their subspace network, and all the data contained within it, from the comfort of Voyager. Then I return and we run away really, really fast."

"What kind of information are you looking for?" Paris interjected, blinking.

"Need to know!" The Doctor reminded. "Now, the Away Team for this will be small, very small... actually, I'd rather go alone, but your Captain insisted otherwise. Since I will have all the technical knowledge needed to succeed, I would therefore appreciate only those with very good aim... Mister Tuvok, I believe you would be more valuable at your post, but could you assign, perhaps, two security personnel to assist me?"

"Four," Janeway interrupted grimly.

"Fine, fine, four," the Doctor muttered. "In any case, we get in, I install the back door, we get out. Questions? Concerns?"

There was a brief silence as the bridge officers glanced at one another.

"Well," Torres finally said, leaning forward in her seat, "one problem I can think of right away is that, considering our past encounters with the Borg, they're not as likely to just let us beam aboard this time. They might try to lock a tractor beam on us the moment we get close to them."

"Very good," the Doctor replied, snapping the fingers of one hand and pointing at her. "That is why you and I will be spending the next several hours making some very extensive modifications to your ship's power distribution network; when we cut levels down to only essential system, we should read as a far more primitive, less potent vessel, the sort the Borg wouldn't be interested in. Since a majority of computations are carried out by the Hive mind, nobody will be 'looking out a window,' as it were, to visually recognize us."

"And if they do?" Seven asked archly. "If this is a scouting vessel, it is possible the Queen has vested interest in its data, and is actively monitoring its telemetry; in that case, it is unlikely your modifications would be sufficient to fool her for long."

"Well..." the Doctor shrugged. "There is admittedly some risk."

"Some?" Seven echoed, displeasure etched in that one word.

"All right... considerably some." Coughing, the Doctor shrugged again. "Believe me, I'd much rather do all this from a distance. A considerable distance. But I need to be in there to create the necessary backdoor, or I would never get through the multiple layers of encryption... as much as I would hate to admit it, their security protocols are simply beyond my ability to break, remotely at least."

"Your capture would be disastrous," Seven insisted; "The Borg are aware of your existence, and of your capabilities. Your assimilation is considered a high priority."

"...really?" The Doctor coughed a little, looking almost morbidly curious. "How high a priority?"

"Any vessel that succeeds in assimilating you is to immediately return to Unimatrix-01 for the purpose of dismantling and examination."

The Doctor's mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened; "...oh. Good to... know... dismantling... fun..."

Janeway cleared her throat a little, drawing focus back to her.

"I am aware that the risk here is considerable," she said softly, "but the Doctor's plan does offer a considerable opportunity. Access to the subspace network used by the Borg could offer us an unprecedented amount of information; their ship positions, facilities, transwarp conduits... maybe information that could help us get home. I understand your concerns, but if this is to succeed, I'll need everyone at their best; Mister Paris, you're to begin programming an approach vector to get us close to the Sphere without drawing too much attention."

"Yes, Ma'am," Paris replied, nodding.

"Mister Tuvok, prepare an analysis of the Sphere's tactical capabilities; if we need to fight, I want to make sure we're ready; Captain Picard will assist you. Torres, help the Doctor in the necessary ship modifications, then prepare the warp drive for emergency velocity... if we manage this, we might need to get away quickly. Neelix, keep an eye on the crew; I can't imagine the prospect of going near the Borg again will be well received."

As nods answered each order, Janeway settled back in her seat; "Are there any more questions?"

"Well... I have one."

All heads swiveled towards the surprising source; the Doctor himself, who was staring at Paris with mild confusion on his face.

"...why is the nurse going to be flying the ship?"

Chapter Text

"Captain's Log, Supplemental,

Voyager is on an intercept course with the Borg Sphere; its course hasn't changed since we first detected it, which hopefully means it has yet to consider our approach noteworthy. The Doctor and our Engineering department have been working tirelessly to adjust our energy signature, and we've cut power to all nonessential systems. With any luck, that will be enough.

Although the Doctor seems completely confident in his plan, and Picard is claiming full faith in him, something tells me that I'm not being told everything. Certainly, while the plan seems reasonable on the surface- as reasonable as trying to break into the Borg Collective's subspace network could be- I'm not entirely convinced. For one, the Doctor has made repeated requests not to be accompanied by any security personnel, something that seems unnecessarily reckless.

For another, I can't help but question why he needs our ship in the first place; Picard suggested that his TARDIS has the ability to transport through energy shields, solid matter… could it not just take him where he needed to go? The Doctor has insisted it is to be certain the Borg cannot assimilate it… but the fact that it's in my shuttle bay just makes Voyager feel like too much of a target.

I've been weighing the risks of this plan against the potential gain, and though the circumstances are not ideal, I can't deny the benefit this could bring… to the Federation at large, and to our voyage home. I can just hope that this decision, and this course, doesn't cut that voyage short."

* * *

She considered continuing, but her Ready Room door chimed a second later.

"End log," Janeway instructed curtly before calling; "Come."

The Doctor stepped in, sonic screwdriver twirling between his fingers as he glanced around the Ready Room with the brief interest he seemed to have in pretty much everything. Janeway, for her part, didn't speak first, allowing the Doctor to satisfy his curiosity until her guest finally turned his slightly confused gaze towards her.

"You wished to see me, Captain?" the Time Lord asked, hands now sliding on his pockets, brow raised.

"I did," Janeway replied, setting down the PADD. "How are the modifications coming along?"

"Oh, swimmingly," came the chipper- too chipper?- reply, the Doctor's shoulders shifting in a carefree shrug as he gave her a boyish smile. "Your crew, grand bunch, follow instructions to a 't' when needed, minimum of fussing about. We'll be more'n ready by the time we reach the Sphere, you have my word on that."

"Lieutenant Torres tells me the conduit modifications are impressive work," Janeway replied, settling onto her chair with a casual air that rather immediately put the Time Lord on alert. "But you haven't made any modifications to our shields, engines, or weapons."

"Well, me and weapons…" the Doctor's hand waggled in an uncertain gesture.

"I understand your distaste for them," Janeway replied, spreading her hands, still sounding perfectly reasonable. "But if we're not able to get close enough to the Sphere without triggering a hostile response, if your camouflage doesn't work-"

The Doctor interjected, looking a bit annoyed. "It will."

"If it doesn't," she continued, a bit of an edge creeping into her tone. "Then this entire ship is going to be put at risk; we can likely evade the Sphere, maybe even destroy it, but without a significant tactical advantage, we'll have no means to disable it just enough to accomplish your objective."

"As I said," came the stubborn reply as the Doctor lifted a single admonishing finger, "it will work."

There was a long, tense moment as Janeway stared at him, clearly not putting much faith in the Doctor's assurances. Finally, she gave a single, curt nod, but when the Doctor turned to leave, she lifted a hand to stop him.

"I've made a small change to the original plan," Janeway explained, spreading her hands. "Lieutenant Commander Tuvok will be leading the security team that accompanies you aboard the Sphere."

There it was, clear as day; brief surprise across the Time Lord's face, irritation, and then a diplomatic smile.

"Captain," came the friendly, if nervous, reply, "that's hardly necessary, I've been roaming lethal corridors for considerably longer than your species has been in space. I assure you, I'm more than capable of completing the infiltration without your Security Chief. His place should be on the bridge."

"If your camouflage is as effective as you assure me," Janeway replied tersely, "we won't need a senior tactical officer, will we? Besides which, Mister Tuvok thinks it would be wise to have someone with more extensive experience with Borg vessels join you, and he has considerable tactical expertise. I agree with his assessment, and so if you want our help, then he'll be accompanying you."

The Time Lord seemed prepared to argue the point further, but after a few seconds, his mouth snapped shut, a thin smile on his face as he gave a single brisk nod.

"Right." The Doctor cleared his throat as he started to edge towards the doors. "Wonderful. Anything else?"

"As a matter of fact, there is." Climbing to her feet, she advanced slowly until they were all but nose to nose.

The fact that she had to look up didn't seem to bother her in the slightest, and by contrast, the Doctor looked more than a little unnerved by the proximity, leaning back just a little with a decidedly displeased frown crossing his face.

"I know you probably mean well," Janeway said slowly, eyes all but boring into his, "but I want you to keep in mind what's at stake here, the least of which is this ship, and this crew. We've gone along with your plan because there's potential in it, but sometimes one of the most valuable traits for a commanding officer is knowing when to cut and run. My people are coming with you to make sure you don't put yourself, and this entire quadrant, in harm's way, but I'll be damned if you put them in any either. Whatever you think about this data, it isn't worth their lives, or yours. Is that clear?"

The Time Lord's ire seemed to soften a bit as he considered the words, head finally inclining ever so slightly.

"You have my word," he replied softly. "I guarantee your people will return safe and sound."

"Thank you." Stepping away from him, she nodded towards the door. "Dismissed."

With a jaunty little salute, the Doctor whirled around on his heels and vanished out the door. His prior irritation seemed to have vanished, but that brief glimpse had been more than enough to fuel the Captain's suspicion as to just how confident- or honest- he really was.

As the doors hissed shut behind him, Janeway settled back into her seat and tossed the PADD to one side. Something about all this was unnerving her to no end, but no matter how much she thought about it, she couldn't pinpoint any concrete reason to call off the mission… nothing concrete had changed, after all.

Not yet.

* * *

The atmosphere on the bridge was tense, the eyes of every officer locked on the viewscreen; the Borg Sphere was displayed, steadily growing larger as Voyager closed the gap between them. It hadn't shown any sign of noticing, or rather caring, that they were drawing close, as beyond a cursory sensor scan, it hadn't reacted to their presence.

Still, with every passing moment Janeway expected to hear that their weapons had armed. And once glance at Picard, seated in Chakotay's customary chair, showed he wasn't any more pleased to be so near; his face was pale, and his knuckles white as he clutched the arms of the chair.

"Five billion kilometers and closing," Paris announced; "We'll be in transporter range in five minutes."

Climbing to her feet, Janeway glanced over his shoulder with a curt nod. "Janeway to Engineering, report."

"The modifications seem to be working," Torres replied from Engineering. "Power output is at twenty percent, and our signature's being scrambled… we're having to tap into auxiliary power to maintain warp speed, and we won't be able to go any faster at current levels."

"Understood," Janeway replied. "Prepare to go to full power if necessary."

"Yes, Captain. Torres out."

"Chakotay to Away Team," the First Officer spoke next, "we'll be intercepting the Sphere in a few minutes. Stand by for transport."

Down in the transporter room, Tuvok tapped his commbadge, keeping an eye on the distracted Doctor.

"Understood, Sir."

Tuvok nodded towards the handful of security personnel assembled, and they shuffled onto the transporter pad together, performing final checks on their phasers. The Doctor had protested the inclusion of weapons, but only briefly, as he seemed to accept that he wasn't going to be swaying anyone's decision on that front.

The Doctor himself was unarmed, naturally, without even his sonic screwdriver; he had insisted on leaving it behind with Picard, in fact, apparently unwilling to run the risk that the Borg might acquire it. Admitting that there was a risk of anything falling into Borg hands hadn't exactly filled the crew with confidence, but the Doctor hadn't acknowledged the hypocrisy, continuing to act supremely self-assured.

"Remember what we discussed, Doctor," Janeway's voice piped through chidingly.

"Of course, Captain," the Time Lord replied cheerfully, adjusting his suit jacket. "You can count on me."

The next few minutes stretched out in silence, the security personnel shifting restlessly, constantly checking their equipment to ensure they were functional. While nobody looked thrilled at the prospect of boarding a Borg ship- with the obvious exception of the Doctor- the security personnel bore their anxiety stoically enough, looking more determined than frightened.

Finally, the word was given.

"Away Team, we're in range."

Nodding towards the transporter operator, the Doctor jabbed a finger at him; "Disintegrate."

The transporter operator, fingers poised over the control, paused just long enough to stare incredulously at the Time Lord.

"Energize," Tuvok clarified, sounding- for him- a little irritated.

As the hum of the transporter filled the air, the Doctor snapped his fingers.

"Energize, right, that sounds-"

* * *

"-loads more appealing!"

The Away Team materialized in one of the Sphere's many unremarkable corridors, facing different directions with weapons drawn. The beam-in point was near the Sphere's outer hull, as interference had prevented them from getting a very accurate sensor lock of the core, but the Doctor had assured them they wouldn't need to go too far to find an appropriate access port.

Tricorder out, the Doctor spun in a slow circle, eyes locked eagerly on the tiny display… and when it gave a chipper little beep, he nodded, satisfied.

"All right," the Doctor said quietly, "I want you lot to stay here and… secure the area or something."

The security personnel glanced at one another, surprised- and perhaps a little relieved- but Tuvok only frowned.

"Do you intend to infiltrate the ship's interior unaided?" the Vulcan asked.

The Doctor waved a hand casually over his shoulder, still eyeing his tricorder. "I'll be fine."

"Doctor," Tuvok replied persistently, drawing an irritated sigh from the Time Lord, "the beam-in point is only lightly populated by drones, and possesses no security measures. Our support will be needed far less here than it will be further into the complex. I must therefore insist we accompany you… unless you have a reason we should remain here?"

The Time Lord's mouth opened, then shut, and opened a second time before he muttered reluctantly; "Nothing reasonable comes to mind."

"Then we will accompany you," Tuvok reiterated.

"Dandy." Glowering, the Time Lord whirled away and began to make his way down the corridor, tricorder held out in front of him. "Come along, then."

Weapons half-raised, they moved deeper into the Sphere, security personnel constantly watching their surroundings. The only one who seemed completely unaware of the world around him was the Doctor, whose eyes remained glued on his tiny little tricorder screen, running multiple scans of their surroundings.

A pair of drones emerged from around a corner and began to approach the group. The security team stiffened, but stepped out of their path, accustomed to their customary behavior. Sure enough, the drones marched right past them, seemingly unaware of their existence, even as the Doctor finally tore his eyes away from the tricorder, following the drones a few paces down the hall and getting almost close enough to touch so he could ogle their implants. Tuvok whispered for him to stop, and the Time Lord reluctantly did, still peering at the departing drones as he returned to the security team.

"Just a bit curious is all." The Time Lord gave a satisfied grunt, once more leading the way. "See, nothing to worry about."

"Voyager to Away Team," Janeway's voice piped up, the transmission crackling just a little. "We've lost our transporter lock on you. Report."

Tuvok glanced towards the Doctor, who winced and shrugged.

"Mostly nothing," the Doctor replied sheepishly, studying his readings. "The central core seems to be generating too much interference beyond this point. Nothing I can do about it, but it only extends this far; we'll still be able to beam out of our original entry point."

Even behind stoic Vulcan calm, Tuvok seemed to scowl just a little as he tapped his commbadge. "Captain, the Doctor tells us that the interior core is too heavily shielded; all measures will be taken to ensure we have an open path to return to the transport site if necessary, and we will keep you apprised."

"Very well. Voyager out."

They continued in silence, pausing or shifting aside on occasion to allow drones to filter past on their usual duties. The corridors grew more twisted and labyrinthine the further in they went, and the background hum of the Sphere grew louder with each passing moment. Though the security team tensed more and more by the moment- with the possible exception of Tuvok- the Doctor looked more as if he were a tourist on the beach, even stopping here and there to get a closer look at a particular component or control panel.

The first obstacle came when the Doctor stopped in front of a section of corridor, lifting a hand to signal for the others to stop. The reason became clear as one of the drones filtered past; as it stepped through an archway, the air around it sparked and rippled, a wall of light appearing for just a moment.

"Forcefield," the Doctor said quietly, "I suppose they're tired of having folks run willy-nilly through the important bits."

"Is there an alternate path around it?" Tuvok asked, stepping to one side as an oblivious drone moved past.

"No," the Time Lord replied, frowning at the tricorder as his fingers danced across it. "But might be a way through it. One of the advantages of a subspace network is that absolutely everything seems to be wireless... there's some low-level encryption I should be able to bypass without raising an alarm... accessing internal sensors... security measures... and..."

The forcefield snapped off.

"Ah! There we are."

With a satisfied hum, the Doctor gestured for the others to follow with one hand, even as the other continued to hold up his tricorder, head tilting from side to side as he tried to pin down where he had to be. The Central Plexus would be too heavily shielded, and too well guarded, but he didn't need it... all he needed to find was a suitable concentration of command and control interfaces, something that would look like a fair place to try installing a backdoor program.

Finally, they found such a thing; likely intended as a power regulator, the computer banks were located in a small, rectangular chamber with corridors branching off on three sides. The walls were covered with Borg control panels, but the processing hardware itself was quite innocuous, looking like the same featureless, dark metallic mesh box that most of the ship looked like, but the Doctor could detect plenty of busy processes at work in its circuitry.

Better yet, it seemed to link to the Central Plexus, perhaps suggesting the Collective regulated the ship's reactors. Either way, it granted him a way into the Borg's network.

"Take up positions," the Doctor instructed quietly; as Tuvok and his team moved to keep watch over the corridors, the Time Lord began his preliminary analysis of the computer banks, frowning and trying to figure the best way to proceed.

"Doctor," Tuvok called quietly. "I do not wish to needlessly hasten you, but under the circumstances, how long do you believe you will need?"

"No idea," the Doctor murmured, turning his attention back to the tricorder and beginning to write the first sequence of code. "Here goes nothing..."

* * *

The One of the Borg sensed this clumsy intrusion as if it were a jab in the arm; nestled not in Her inefficient humanoid body, but instead in the infinite banks of the Collective mind, She turned a small portion of Her attention to this curious infiltration. It took mere nanoseconds to trace it, to a Sphere that was running a scouting mission far beyond the borders of Borg space. A brief review of its logs revealed that a ship classified irrelevant had approached the Sphere a little over half an hour ago; that was all the information available, as the protocols aboard the Sphere had deemed the vessel too unimportant to even monitor.

Curious, She accessed external sensors, and quickly determined the power signature was falsified. Compensating, She adjusted to visual sensors instead... only to be greeted with a disgustingly familiar sight.

Voyager. Naturally.

Had She a head, it would have tilted as the One considered how best to handle this. Attack outright? Seek to assimilate, or to destroy? Perhaps contact it first, make it clear that it had been detected, that its little landing party had been found? Intimidation was irrelevant, yes, but there was nonetheless a small, secret part of her that delighted in it... even as She juggled those ideas, she turned her attention towards the intruders aboard Her Sphere, studying them with the internal sensors.

The Vulcan security officer. A handful of humans. No Janeway, more's the pity. But there was one other occupant, one who did not match any of Voyager's crew manifest. A being, indeed, who wasn't even human, as two hearts betrayed the man's true nature... two hearts...

Had the One a heart of Her own, it would have frozen in shock, then swollen in joy.

It was Him. HIM.

The One abandoned all other processes that demanded Her attention, tossed aside any considerations and began to focus the full might of Her mind upon that one Sphere, that one small, insignificant vessel... and the very significant creature aboard it. A creature that promised to bring a level of biological and technological distinctiveness that the One could scarcely have dreamed possible; a new era, a new age. She knew enough, from the stories of countless assimilated worlds, to know just what He was... just as She knew that He shouldn't exist.

But He did. He was here. HERE. And She would never let him leave.

Had She lips, She would have smiled with delight. As it were, the deep cavernous multiplex mind echoed with dark, delighted laughter.

* * *

"...uh oh."

The Away Team looked up sharply as the Time Lord's discouraging murmur.

"What is it?" Tuvok asked, eyes narrowing slightly as he shifted a bit restlessly, glancing back out into the hallway.

"Weeeell..." the Doctor cleared his throat, head tilting to one side as he glanced over his shoulder, "It appears that a scattering field has been activated."

Tuvok's hand tapped his commbadge quickly; "Tuvok to Voyager." A long pause, and no reply, prompted another tap. "Voyager, please respond."

"No good," the Doctor replied, shaking his head sharply as he started to tap quickly on the tricorder's controls. "Communication's blocked, and I sincerely doubt they could even manage a sensor lock on us through this shielding. I'm trying to access the Sphere's internal sensors, but something's locked me out again. I think we might be in-"

"Sir!"

One of the security guards called out, and Tuvok's eyes widened as he saw no less than seven drones moving down that one hallway alone. A call from the other two entranced confirmed that they were being surrounded, with too many drones clogging each hallway to offer even the faint hope of breaking past them. Jaw set, the security personnel began to open fire, and the first drone dropped, then the second, the third, fourth, fifth...

Only for the phaser beam to be absorbed harmlessly by a forcefield generated by the sixth. For every drone they had disabled, two more seemed to arrive, an unprecedented number that swarmed the corridors, drawing closer, closer...

But then, suddenly, it bounced back as a forcefield sprung to life, first over one entrance, then over the other two, keeping the Borg at bay.

"I've activated the forcefields surrounding this chamber," the Doctor reported, fingers dancing over the tricorder keys as he glanced from side to side, tongue pressing to the corner of his mouth, "re-modulated it so they can't just pass through, and encrypted the access protocols. It should keep them out... I'm trying to disable the scattering field, but there look to be five redundant systems generating it, so it's going to take me a little while to..."

A low hum started to fill the room, the ship itself, seeming to permeate the very air, mingling with the crackles of the drones trying to push through the forcefield.

"The ship's transwarp drive is activating," the Doctor murmured, paling. "There must be a node nearby. If the ship jumps to transwarp, Voyager'll never be able to find us."

"Can you prevent it?" Tuvok asked urgently.

"No, it's wired into a completely different subsystem, I wouldn't be able to..." the Doctor's eyes lit up as he considered a nearby panel. "There is something I can do, though."

"What?"

"Keep a promise." Reaching the control panel, his fingers started to dance across it in a quick flurry of motion.

Before Tuvok could even guess as to the Doctor's intentions, let alone stop him, there was a sudden distortion as the Sphere's transporters beamed Tuvok and the security team away. The Time Lord, however, did not vanish, and deliberately so… Voyager would just become a priority target if he returned there now. It seemed he was committed to this course.

The Doctor gave a satisfied grunt as he pulled away, popping open his tricorder once more and considering the readings; already, an external force was starting to dismantle the encryption he'd placed over forcefield control, and he quickly set to randomize the encryption, trying to stay one step ahead of it.

Unfortunately, he was limited not necessarily by his intellect, but by his tool; whatever was working on the other end, it was interfaced directly to the Sphere's systems, writing counter-code at literally the speed of thought. Relegated to punching all his brilliant ideas into a physical interface, the Doctor was simply too slow to keep up.

"All right, then," the Doctor growled, his fingers dancing across the tricorder, and then the Borg control interface, then the tricorder again, moving in a near blur, but losing ground all the while. "I'm not leaving here without that data, so why don't you give it up right now before you start to make me really cross... no, no, don't you dare try to drop the forcefields... don't you bloody dare..."

There was a sudden crackle as the forcefields shut off. Nearly two dozen drones began to file into the chamber, moving slowly, mechanically, inevitably towards the Time Lord. Head swiveling first in one direction, then the other, the Doctor automatically began to reach for his sonic screwdriver... then began to laugh helplessly when he remembered he had left it behind.

"Right, Doctor, brilliant idea, that!" he snapped, even as he backed away, fingers still dancing with near desperation now; transporter control was completely blocked off now, he couldn't have so much as beamed to another part of the Sphere. One by one, the systems he had broken into were re-sealing themselves, and as the seconds ticked by, he realized that he wouldn't have enough time to-

A cold hand closed around his wrist, tightening to the point that the Doctor could feel the small bones in his wrist scraping together; the tricorder fell from his nerveless hand as he tried to pull away, then push past. But another pair of hands were gripping him now, by the shoulder, and then by the scalp, pushing his head to one side...

And then, pain. Just a pinch at first, a pair of them at his neck... but as he felt something foreign flood his blood vessels, spreading throughout his body, his limbs seemed to burn with unending fire. The Doctor managed one last scream of rage, of pain, of pure denial, before the world itself seemed to filter away, reality losing color, and then shape, and then light... his legs failed him, and the Time Lord had some brief sensation of falling before the cold and the darkness took him away.

* * *

The Sphere vanished in a flash of green radiance as the ship jumped to transwarp, leaving Voyager far behind. On the bridge, Kathryn Janeway stood and slowly approached the viewscreen, as if expecting the ship to come back at any moment. Seated in the First Officer's chair, Picard could only clutch at the armrests and stare blankly at it, disbelief etched on his face.

When the silence on the bridge was broken by the hiss of the turbolift doors, the entire bridge crew jumped, just a little... whirling around, Janeway's eyes widened as Tuvok stepped onto the bridge.

"Tuvok." Relief and confusion mingled in Janeway's voice as she glanced briefly back towards the viewscreen; "What the hell happened over there?"

"The Borg detected our intrusion," Tuvok reported grimly, "It appears the Doctor was able to return us to Voyager, but he himself did not accompany us during transport. It is possible the Borg were able to prevent his own escape."

"Or he knew we'd be a target if he returned," Picard interjected, twisting in his seat to glance at the Chief of Security. "Were they able to capture him? Did you see if they overpowered him?"

"I did not," Tuvok replied, shaking his head. "However, the chamber we were in had been surrounded by a large number of drones. It is unlikely he will have been able to successfully evade them, and he remained unarmed. Unless he found some manner of ending his own life... Captain, it is safe to assume that they have assimilated him."

Janeway considered that for a long moment, eyes glimmering with building ire. "Anything else?"

Tuvok shook his head, and at Janeway's nod, he resumed his post at Tactical. Voyager's Captain settled back into her chair and sighed, rubbing at her forehead as she thought things through; acutely aware that Picard was watching her like a hawk. Finally, decision made, she stepped towards the conn.

"Mister Paris," Janeway instructed, "resume our previous heading."

"Belay that," Picard interjected, climbing to his feet and turning towards Janeway, "We cannot leave."

"I beg your pardon?" Janeway snapped, head twisting to consider her fellow CO with disbelief and irritation mingling in her voice. "Whatever his suicidal plan costs the quadrant in the long run, I won't put this ship at any further risk just to see if the Borg decide we're still a worthwhile target."

"I am aware of the risks, Captain." Picard's jaw tightened. "But we have to hold position, at least for the next few hours. He may return, to depart now would be foolish."

Janeway glowered at Picard for a long, long moment, but her fellow Captain did not waver, his gaze fixed. The bridge crew- with the exception of Tuvok- shifted uncomfortably in the ensuing silence, Paris' hands hovering over the Conn station as he waited for some confirmation…

"Mister Paris," Janeway instructed, voice tight. "Get us the hell out of here. Maximum warp."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"I want to see you in my Ready Room, Picard."

"Captain Janeway-"

"Now."

Spinning on heel, Janeway all but stormed into her ready room, the doors hissing shut and leaving the bridge in complete silence.

Picard turned towards the helm, where a course was already being entered, and he even considered trying to pull rank... but considering how ineffective other officers' attempts to commandeer the Enterprise had been in the past, he knew it would likely just get him confined to quarters. Still, his own temper was beginning to simmer, and it was with a grim face and squared shoulders that he stepped into the other Captain's Ready Room, more than prepared to battle this out if need be.

* * *

Yes. YES. They had HIM. He was THEIRS.

Every circuit hummed and sparked with excitement as the One sent its loyal Sphere an immediate command; ignore Voyager, the vessel was inconsequential. Direct all resources to returning to Unimatrix-01. Seal Him in a restraining cell. Even post a pair of loyal drones to watch him at all times, should he somehow attempt escape. With those commands given, the One fell deeper into the subspace network, communicating directly with the microscopic devices that were even now permeating his cells.

The One was impressed; His body was resistant, highly so, to the nanoprobes, His very cells fighting back tenaciously. Left on a Sphere, without additional support, it was unlikely that they could have assimilated Him, as much of Her influence was muffled by distance. But once He had been brought to Her, once He was within Her full grasp... Her own nanoprobes could resume the work, and break down His biology utterly. For now, she sent the probes a directive to keep the subject unconscious, and to focus all its energies on multiplication... to deny His body's efforts to cast them out.

His analysis, and His assimilation... all in good time...

Chapter Text

The battle began as soon as the Ready Room doors had hissed shut.

"What the Hell were you doing?" Janeway barked, turning as soon as they'd entered the Ready Room to confront the Captain of the Enterprise.

"Offering you alternatives," Picard replied tightly, his voice quieter, but hardly submissive.

"Alternatives?" Janeway swept her arm towards the bridge door, "you questioned my orders in front of the bridge crew, when you should know damn well that, as a guest on my ship, any concerns you have should be brought to me in privacy. I expected you to declare mutiny right there and then."

Picard scowled, but finally gave a short, curt nod.

"It was bad form on my part," he admitted, "but Captain, leaving the Sphere's departure point is a mistake, one that will only serve to guarantee the Borg acquire what they're looking for."

"So, what do you suggest?" Janeway asked, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "That we sit there for a week and wait until the Borg decide to drop a Cube on top of us?"

"The alternative," Picard snapped, "is to do nothing and allow the Borg to assimilate all the knowledge in his possession and use it to vastly increase their power. Whatever the cost, whatever the risk, we must retrieve him before they can complete the assimilation process."

"And how do we do that?" Janeway countered, hands spread wide. "We have no transwarp coil, no way to catch up with that Sphere, and even if we did, his capture was a 'top priority' according to Seven. I wouldn't be surprised if they've surrounded him with an entire fleet. Voyager wouldn't be able to get within a light year of that ship."

Picard's mouth opened to reply, but he finally just shut it, frustrated. Pacing, he scarcely noticed when Janeway settled into her chair, elbows resting on the desk and hands cradling her head for just a moment. Inspiration struck the Enterprise's Captain soon after, though, and when he whirled towards her, it was with fresh purpose.

"His TARDIS," Picard said. "Temporal Prime Directive be damned, I can't imagine the Starfleet of the future would have intended for the Borg to get their hands on all the Doctor's knowledge. If we can gain entry, somehow glean its controls, we could use it to intercept that Sphere. Or, at the very least, sent you a warning a week ago so we'll both know to keep him locked in the brig."

Janeway frowned pensively, fingers drumming on her desk. Trying to break into a highly advanced alien timeship was probably a bad idea. Trying to operate said vessel without any clear indication on how it functioned might well prove disastrous.

But then again, if the Borg managed to tap into the Doctor's mind… could anything else be worse?

"Very well," she agreed. "I'll have B'Elanna and an Engineering team assemble in the shuttle bay; hopefully we can find some way to gain access without resorting to force. In the meantime, I'll need you to remember anything you can about how he controlled the-"

Before she finish her instructions, however, the EMH's voice piped through the comm speakers.

"Doctor to Captain Janeway."

Sighing, Janeway tapped her commbadge. "Janeway here."

"Captain," the EMH said gravely, "I was just informed of the Doctor's captivity by Mister Paris. As I am presuming that a rescue mission is unfeasible, I simply wanted to confirm whether or not I should discontinue my assignment."

"Doctor, now isn't the-" she paused, blinked, then echoed; "-your assignment? What assignment?"

Voyager's Doctor paused as well, speaking a little more carefully. "The construction and calibration request the Doctor had given me to complete by 2100 hours."

Janeway glanced at Picard; "Do you know anything about this?"

Picard only shook his head, shrugging slightly.

"Captain," the Doctor said, sounding more confused by the moment. "I was under the impression that I was working with your express knowledge and permission. I was assured as much by the Doctor before he went to attend yesterday's briefing."

Janeway's fingers drummed on her desk, nails clicking against its surface as she tried to figure out just what the hell was going on. When the answers weren't forthcoming, she decided to chase them down herself.

"Doctor," Voyager's Captain interjected, climbing to her feet. "We're on our way down. Continue whatever you're doing until we get there, Janeway out."

Picard fell into step behind her as they emerged from the bridge and headed straight for the nearest turbolift. Their quarrel was all but forgotten in the wake of this curious new puzzle…

* * *

It was cold… dusty. The Doctor coughed as cloying particles filled his lungs, rolled with a groan… dazed, his eyes flickered open, reluctantly.

Crumbling stone walls surrounded him on all sides. In a flash, he sat up, gasping for breath, eyes wide and flickering from side to side; his memories were a jumble, his mind racing with confusion and panic. Leaping to his feet, he staggered as his legs functioned only reluctantly, slumping against one of the walls. He tried to speak, to make some protesting sound, but the dust filled his lungs again, and he coughed, and coughed…

The memories began to flicker back, slowly, as the coughing subsided. He remembered brutal years of the Time War… the seemingly inexhaustible Dalek fleet, the resurrection of the Master, countless horrors and travesties. And then the worst of it, knowledge of the Time Lords' plan to achieve victory. Their Final Sanction… and his desperate, likely insane plan to stop them.

The Time Lords had learned of his plans, his pilfered weapon, and he had fled to his one remaining refuge. But he had been struck before he could escape, wounded critically before the TARDIS had taken him to the place he had hidden the weapon, an old Gallifreyan ruin on the edge of the Medusa Cascade. But even as he had sought to make the finishing touches, he had slumped to the ground, died…

Regenerated.

His hands lifted to brush across his scalp, and he was only mildly surprised to find that his formerly thick, plentiful hair had been replaced by mere stubble. His ears felt unusually prominent, and when he stood, he felt slightly taller… but any thought to adjusting to his new body, or even getting a look at his new face, faded as he glanced at the device that dominated the center of the ruins.

It was little more than a bundle of wires, cables and components, salvaged from a half dozen different races. It had taken him months to build, and even now a few pieces lay scattered about, needing to be slotted in. Thanking the fates that he wasn't missing anything, the Time Lord began to get to work finishing the machine.

Only a few minutes into the task, he paused as a tingle of static energy buzzed through the air. Knowing what was coming, he turned just in time to see ten thousand glittering particles coalesce, forming a massive, semi-transparent head. The projection of President Rassilon flickered, solidified, then looked down at the younger Time Lord.

Rassilon's translucent face frowned for a moment, confused. "…Doctor?"

"So happens it is," the Doctor replied coldly, and even his voice emerged differently, a Northern Gallifreyan accent. "One of your lads got off a lucky shot. I'd congratulate him with what time he has left."

The President's expression darkened dangerously.

"Surely you cannot blame him," Rassilon scoffed. "Your intentions for mass murder are-"

"My intentions?" the Doctor echoed, actually bursting into disbelieving, bitter laughter. "Don't play the victim, Rassilon, I know all about your Final Sanction, your plans for this universe."

"Then you should also know that the Daleks are spreading our forces too thinly," the President insisted. "With the Skaro Degredations, the Horde of Travesties, we cannot hold back our foes any longer! The Final Sanction is our only option, the only way to see that justice is done and that we preserve what matters!"

The Doctor only snorted, turning his attention back to the device and starting to plug in a pair of cables. A sudden plume of smoke jetted from one of the nozzles, and he waves his arm to dispel it, holding his breath as best he could as Rassilon's face drifted closer.

"We have no choice, Doctor," the President repeated, fury brimming just beneath his voice. "For the greater good!"

"You're insane," the Doctor coughed, even as he renewed his work, making the final few connections, slotting the necessary components. "You and all those who think to follow along with this plan! The universe is not ours to do with as we see fit, there are countless billions of races across all of Time and Space that will cease to exist if you pursue this madness!"

"Countless species," the Prime Minister echoed scornfully. "Little more than flashes in history, brief flickers that could never hope to compare to our eternal flame!"

"They have as much a right to exist as we do, if not more so!" the Doctor snarled, groaning as he turned one last component into place then whirled around to confront his fellow Time Lord. "Rassilon, we did battle with the Daleks so that we might prevent them from destroying all life!"

"You naive fool!" Rassilon boomed, "We fought the Daleks to ensure the stability and authority that our civilization has built for countless eons! I will not allow you to send our cities crashing into the flames for the sake of a savage and primitive collection of infantile species!"

The Doctor's eyes glittered as he leaned forward, hissing; "Fantastic. Stop me if you can."

Spinning back towards the device, the Doctor approached it… but his steps slowed, the hand that reached towards it grew still. Sending perhaps his foe's doubts, the projection's eyes narrowed and its voice grew silky, knowing.

"Can you really do it?" When the younger Time Lord gave no reply, Rassilon continued softly, almost kindly. "Could you perform the one act that will destroy your own kind? Entire worlds, star systems, galaxies, the Medusa Cascade, snuffed out in an instant by that godless weapon you seek to wield, and your people consigned to oblivion for all Time."

"And if I don't," the Doctor snapped back, but something in his voice seemed reluctant. "Everything, everyone will cease to exist. Irrevocably."

"You know not what would come after the end," the chiding voice replied. "When the Daleks are no more, when we have once more reclaimed our status and dominance, we can seek to right the unfortunate but necessary wrongs perpetrated for Victory. Join your people, Doctor, come with us into the glow of true enlightenment."

The younger Time Lord gave no answer, as he had none. He had worked so hard, so long to make this happen, to find the one Moment that could end things. But now that he stood here, with everything prepared, he couldn't help but question the path he had chosen. For a long, long moment, there was temptation. Temptation to submit, to return to Rassilon and rejoin his people.

Temptation to stop trying.

All at once, the Doctor whirled around, sonic screwdriver aimed at the projection. "Goodbye."

Rassilon's face swelled in size and flashed as it advanced in a rush, bellowing.

"NO!"

But as the Doctor's screwdriver buzzed, the projection disintegrated into countless particles of light, fading into nothingness.

Even as the projection faded, the Doctor was approaching this technological child of his, and its heart; a small key, slotted into an interface, surrounded by diodes and cables. It had taken him months to construct a cradle that could harness it… and, as it turns out, it had even cost him one of his lives. All that effort, all the preparation, to harness an ancient Gallifreyan artifact.

The Great Key of Rassilon. Ironic, that it would be used to destroy him. The Doctor's hand closed around the small key, such a simple, tiny thing… his tongue flicked across his lips, and his eyes shut.

Finally, decisively, he turned it.

All at once, he could hear the Moment beginning. The Key began to pulse in his hand, and a low hum filled the very air, and every particle in the Time Lord's being. The weapon began to glow, brighter and brighter, and sparks filled the air as countless connections and cables overheated… but they each served their purpose long enough, and the hum began to turn into a high pitched whine.

Stumbling away from the weapon, the Time Lord had no thought of escape. No consideration for finding a way to avoid this fate. Slumping back onto the floor, knees lifted, head pressed between them, he closed his eyes and waited so very patiently to die with his brethren.

But then, even as the whine became an unbearable shriek, another noise cut in. A low, familiar grind…

"No," he mumbled, even as the sparks and flames faded behind walls that shimmered into being around him, "leave me with them…"

If he was heard, the plea was ignored, and the Time Rotor churned, his magic blue box whisking him away, even as the man inside shook and trembled and begged incoherently to be sent back. The interior shook and rocked from side to side, and all the while, beneath the misery, beneath the rambling sobs, some part of him listened to innumerable voices in his mind, crying out in fear, in pain…

And then the TARDIS gave one tremendous shake, and all at once, the voices were silenced.

He lay there, slumped on the deck just below the control column, for what felt like an eternity. But when the TARDIS gave one last, gentle tremble and the cloister bell sounded, he sat up all at once, eyes dry and darting from side to side.

Climbing to his feet, each step uncertain, he slipped over to the door and pulled it open; he was greeted by near darkness, and a sharp, so-very-familiar scent.

He could smell earth. Not just earth. He could smell Earth.

Tongue flicking across his lips, he slipped out of the TARDIS, scarcely noticing as the door slowly shut behind him. All around him were walls, with hard-packed dirt and stone and cement… he was underground, he could feel it.

There were buckets around him, tools, machines… and a single rickety wooden staircase across the chamber, leading up into the light. Legs wooden, steps uneven, the Time Lord climbed them in a daze, eyes squinting as he emerged into the open air; all around him were unfinished walls, the mere skeleton of a building in progress. Nearly tripping on loose bricks and hard packed soil, the Doctor staggered out onto the sidewalk, ignoring the curious stares of pedestrians as he shuffled forward.

"They're all gone," he murmured, wandering aimlessly down Totter's Lane. He didn't know where to go.

He had nowhere to go.

"I'm the only one left."

* * *

The dream was broken as the sound of heavy, metal boots approached; groaning, the Doctor's bleary eyes opened for the first time. Across from him, the sprawling expanse of a Borg ship's corridor, where he had been left unconscious… a pair of Borg drones were only now approaching him, and he couldn't hear the background hum of the scout ship's engines, suggesting they had reached their destination.

"Oh, right…" the Doctor coughed, and for a brief moment, he could have sworn he felt dust in his lungs. "…this is still happening."

He grunted with a mixture of pain and irritation as unyielding, cybernetic arms gripped him under the armpits on either side, the pair of drones hauling him upright. A low hum filled the air, and the disorienting feeling of a transporter swept over the Time Lord for just a moment; his makeshift prison cell soon replaced with yet another unremarkable Borg corridor. Even so, he knew where he had likely been brought.

He was, after all, apparently quite high on their priority list.

"Are we there yet…?" the Time Lord mumbled, slumping between the two drones as they marched him down one corridor after another. "…how 'bout now?"

Sometimes he walked under his own power, but more often than not he was dragged along by the expressionless drones. The nanoprobes burned throughout his body, and the further into the complex he went, the more he could feel them stirring to life, infecting him bit by bit. Before his dazzled eyes, an implant burst through the skin of his left hand, spidery metal limbs stretching out from the puncture.

"Ew…" he murmured, and then, all at once, the cold arms had released him.

Unable to fight gravity, the Doctor plummeted forward with a pained grunt, falling facefirst to the deck. His head was throbbing, his limbs icy and hearts beating frantically, and the Doctor lay there, all but helpless, only able to peer at the bottom of the far wall, eyes dazed.

At least, until a pair of dark boots stepped in front of them.

Panting for breath, sweat beading on his skin, the Time Lord's neck craned as he peered up into the cold, dark eyes of his eager hostess.

"Hello, Doctor," the Queen greeted, serene, powerful… smiling. "So glad you could join me."

* * *

Janeway and Picard wasted no time getting down to Sickbay, where the holographic Doctor and Seven had both been toiling on the Time Lord's mystery project. As they entered, the first thing that drew notice was the cobbled-together bundle of components and diodes scattered across the diagnostic bed on the far side, with the Chief Medical Officer and Seven both busily working on it.

"Report, Doctor," Janeway snapped, approaching them.

The Doctor straightened quickly, looking a bit nervous as he gestured to the device. "Well, our guest asked me to get this device running, shortly before the briefing was scheduled. He assured me that he had spoken to you about it, and when I realized I could use some help in integrating and calibrating it, I asked Seven to join me. Didn't he… speak with you about it?"

"No," Janeway muttered, moving around him to get a closer look at the device. "He didn't."

Picard, whose interests in the sciences were decidedly more societal and archeological than purely technical, finally gave up trying to guess at the purpose the gadget served. Reaching out to touch one of the components, a glossy black emitter node, he glanced up at Seven.

"What is it?"

"The device is a multiphasic emitter," Seven informed them solemnly, brow arched as she continued the work, apparently unperturbed that the entire senior staff had been unaware of it. "Once calibrated, it will generate up to fifteen hundred Ci's of omicron radiation."

"And the Doctor requested that this be prepared?" Janeway asked slowly, eyes narrowing. "But he didn't need it to be ready until a few hours after the Away Mission?"

"Yes, Captain," the EMH replied, clearing his throat. "I was under the impression he had cleared everything with you before proceeding, but-"

"He wanted it ready for after the Away Mission?" Janeway pressed, ignoring her Chief Medical Officer's self-defense entirely. "Did he say why?"

The holographic Doctor cleared his throat. "No, Captain."

Janeway's lips thinned as she considered the device. "What could he have been planning to do with it… speculation?"

"The particles can function as an alternative source of power," Seven said slowly. "However, the energy required to generate omicron particles artificially exceeds what they would produce. Generating them as a source of energy would be extremely inefficient."

"Doctor, he wanted it built here," Janeway murmured, glancing about Sickbay and starting to pace as she tried to work out the puzzle. "Are there any medical applications for omicron radiation?"

"Virtually none," the Doctor replied, brow lifting a bit. "Most humanoid species wouldn't be able to survive exposure to even the smallest concentrations of omicron radiation; it's highly toxic."

The room fell silent as they stared at this final, frustrating enigma.

Was it a clue that things weren't as they seemed?

Or some unexplained part of a plan that had already ended in failure?

* * *

"How are you feeling?" The Queen asked, the concern in her voice made mockery by the words themselves.

"Oh, you know," the Time Lord murmured, making a brief, futile effort to at least sit up. "Bit warm in here. Terrible décor. Sort of hungry. D'you lot have a washroom?"

The Queen's lips flickered, brief irritation passing her face. "Jokes, Doctor, in this place? Do you not know what you face?"

"Well, I heard you were bald," came the breezy reply, slightly offset by the fact that he couldn't quite lift his head. "I have to say… if this sort of humidity does that to my skin… then I'd be much appreciative if someone could open a window…"

"Funny," she hissed.

"….why does everyone keep saying that…?"

"Your tricks won't work, Doctor," the Queen informed him pleasantly, the ire fading from her face as she regained control. "If you think you can court your own death by provoking me, you don't understand my dedication to the Collective. Your assimilation will be our crowning addition, your knowledge will bring us all the closer to perfection."

The Doctor gave a dry chuckle, managing to lift his head slightly, a brow raised.

"You want my voice nattering in your head for all eternity?" he croaked. "Have you thought this entirely through?"

The Queen only smiled at that, and at her silent command, the pair of drones reached down to haul him upright once more, drawing a startled grunt from the Time Lord's lips.

"Why, yes, I have," she murmured. "And once every drop of information has been drawn from your mind, I intend to secure your vessel and acquire its secrets… assimilating Voyager will be a happy side benefit. With your knowledge, and your technology, the Collective will spread throughout Time and Space, bringing perfection to every civilization in existence."

The Doctor's eyes flickered, mingled with anger… and fear.

"Well," he said, "sounds like somebody has a busy day planned."

The Queen's lips stretched in a wide, predatory smile as she leaned in, just inches from the Doctor's ear. He could smell her decaying, coppery breath as she whispered to him, and the prick in his skin as her own assimilation tubules buried themselves into his neck.

"I do. So let's begin."

And as she leaned away, the Time Lord felt her will focus upon the fresh dose of nanoprobes multiplying within his blood… and as the fire spread throughout every limb, he could only groan and slump forward in the drones' grasp, weak, vulnerable...

* * *

Finally, it was Picard who spoke up.

"Doctor," he murmured, "you said most humanoid species would be unable to endure exposure at any level. Would a Time Lord be as vulnerable to omicron radiation?"

The hologram considered it. "Well, I don't have enough information on his biology-" a rather pointed glance at Janeway was made as he said this, one greeted by rolled eyes, "-but if I were to hazard a guess, based on what we have on record, he may be able to tolerate higher levels than most humanoids, perhaps considerably so. A small number of species possess some resistance, such as the Maltarans, the Denobulans, Species 847-"

"Yes, yes," Picard interjected, lifting both hands. "But if one possessed the necessary resilience, what purpose could the radiation then serve to their biology?"

"I couldn't start to guess!" the Doctor replied irritably, scowling. "Even the species that have resistance don't expose their people to it for no reason, I don't see why any sane biological organism would willingly blast itself with-"

"Nanoprobes."

This was from Seven, head tilting as her eyes flickered back to the emitters. "The intra-molecular processors possess a vulnerability to omicron radiation that the Borg have thus far been unable to adapt to. As the radiation is fatal to most species, it has not proven a deterrent to assimilation, but at sufficient concentrations, it could eradicate them and Borg components quite efficiently."

It took a moment or two for this to sink in, but when it did, the implications struck everyone at once.

* * *

"It's almost time," the Queen breathed between the Time Lord's screams, "your cells are remarkably resistant to the assimilation process… it will take days to add your biological distinctiveness to our own… but the cortical implant is nearly complete. Your mind shall become one with the Collective. You will share with us all your secrets, and all your power will belong to us."

The Doctor's head had slumped forward, and his struggles had slowly faded throughout the process, his limbs twitching sporadically. Still, at her mocking words, his head lolled, shifting from side to side in a weak denial.

"You think you can overcome?" she marveled, reaching out to almost tenderly stroke his hair. "You have lost. There is nothing more you can do, Doctor, submit to the inevitable. Resistance is futile."

"Yes," the Doctor mumbled, head hanging lower; his shoulders heaved and shook, silently and rhythmically. The Queen's smile, so wide, so confident, seemed to shrink just a little as the silence turned into small, whimpering sounds, sounds so unlike what she expected to hear.

The Doctor was softly, delightedly laughing.

And when he looked up, the implants sprawled across his face seemed, even to Her, unsettling and alien, emphasizing his thin features. And his eyes sparkled like little gems as his teeth flashed in a small, knowing little grin, head tilting ever so slightly to one side.

The Queen look puzzled, then shocked… and then, backing away, her hands slipped up to her head, and she began to look truly frightened. Even as she retreated, the Time Lord's lips curled in all the more delight, his voice little more than a rasp.

"It will be."

Chapter Text

In Voyager's Sickbay, the mood ranged between amazement, confusion, and outrage as the full, deviously deceptive nature of the Doctor's recent actions came to full light. The holographic Doctor, for his part, was looking rather like a small child who had been caught lying… maybe even a little hurt that someone he had been getting along with so well had all but tricked him.

Still, in the wake of this revelation, things suddenly didn't appear so bleak.

"He expected to be captured," Picard muttered, head shaking. "His insistence on going alone, his offhand command hoping that their transwarp drive was functioning... he planned to be taken by them."

Janeway's eyes widened, but in her case, it was entirely outrage. "He's insane."

"Yes," Picard could only agree. "Completely."

They fell silent again, Seven and the EMH waiting for the Captain to come to a decision on how to proceed, and Picard simply marveling at the Time Lord's sheer, unbridled cheek.

"I never should have let him leave the brig," Janeway growled, tapping her commbadge and trying not to sound as if she were prepared to maim. "Janeway to Bridge."

Chakotay's voice piped through, sounding a bit cautious at her tone. "Bridge here, Captain."

"Reverse course," she instructed crisply. "Take us back to where the Sphere went to transwarp."

There was a pause on the other end, and when the First Officer spoke next, he sounded more than a little surprised. "Captain?"

"I'll explain when I get up there, Janeway out," she insisted firmly. As the lights dimmed and the ship's status shifted to red alert, Janeway turned towards the CMO, gesturing to the cluttered components. "Doctor, when will the omicron emitters be ready?"

"They should be calibrated within the hour," the Doctor replied, clearing his throat. "I apologize for not having told you what was being done, but the Doctor had told me he would be infor-"

"It's all right," she interjected, lifting a hand and turning towards the door. "You're not the Doctor I plan to have words with. Prepare sickbay for any casualties afterwards, and Seven, I want you on the bridge once this is finished."

"Aye, Captain," the relieved hologram replied, turning back to the emitters with Seven.

Stepping out into the corridor, Janeway was a tightly coiled ball of fury. Picard, falling into step slightly behind her, seemed to be flickering between amusement, irritation, and more than a little worry. Neither spoke a word as they entered the nearest turbolift, except for Janeway, who barked for them to be taken to the bridge. The turbolift began its journey, and the next few moments passed in stony silence.

Finally, Janeway burst out; "Why the elaborate act? Why didn't he tell us his plan?"

Thinking very carefully about how to phrase his reply, Picard licked his lips, clearing his throat. "Perhaps because if we knew that he was planning to essentially feed himself to the Collective, you would never have let him leave the brig… and I would never have let him leave the TARDIS."

"Well," Janeway growled, "I guess I'll know better for when I throw him right back in."

* * *

The Queen was lost in the cold, dark silence of oblivion; the voices she had come to rely upon so much, the comforting din of the Collective, had grown all but silent. She could hear the faintest murmurs, muffled, in the air, but she could not hear the words, feel the drones… it was as if she had been sealed in a tight, padded room, locked away from the world outside.

She staggered, slumped to the ground as her own mechanical body ceased to respond to her commands, and opened his mouth to speak, but a sound of pure, unintelligible despair was all that passed from her lips.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor murmured, his tone mockingly concerned as he approached her. "Are you feeling a little lonesome?"

With the Queen's voice silenced, the nanoprobes in the Doctor's body had slowed to a near crawl and the drones had been quite reasonable in releasing him… he had regained much of his strength, though he knew sooner or later they would complete the job.

"What…" the Queen's head twisted, from side to side, scanning the room with such confusion. "What have you done to me…"

"Given you a little break," the Time Lord murmured conspiratorially, leaning a bit closer. "I had a very hard time breaking your security protocols enough just to access the forcefields… I knew you remodulated the encryptions surrounding the Collective's primary subroutines far more quickly than I could crack it. I wouldn't have been able to decode them quickly enough, not with a tricorder, not even if I had my sonic screwdriver."

"Inferior technology," came the sneered- and predictable- reply, the Time Lord mouthing along to those two words in perfect sync as he rolled his eyes. The Queen had stopped trying to move, and settled instead for looking haughty and formidable… something difficult to accomplish, given she was on the ground.

"I needed a faster interface," the Doctor continued as if she hadn't interrupted, smirking even as a single finger tapped his temple, ignoring the soft tug at his mind as she once more tried, and failed, to wrench back control. "As it so happens, you lot were kind enough to provide me with one."

The Queen's eyes widened, flickering to his head, understanding and horror slowly dawning.

"Bingo," the Doctor murmured, grinning with dark delight as he shrugged. "A Borg Cortical Node. Operates, quite literally, at the speed of thought, and connects a freshly assimilated bloke directly to the Collective. Normally, you can drain the knowledge from him and copy it to your databanks-"

"The same will be done to you," the Queen insisted stubbornly.

"Oh, but no," the Doctor murmured, looking all but manic… and, of course, very pleased with himself. "See, the link functions both ways… and once I was able to input data at your pace, well, it was actually embarrassingly simple to rewrite the Central Plexus' base encryption and disconnect you from it, lock you out much in the same way I myself was locked out."

Of course, it wasn't so simple as that- it never was- for even as the Doctor was inputting his own data into the Collective, the Borg's Hive Mind continued to try and subjugate his own will, their innate instinct to assimilate too deeply ingrained for him to completely neutralize. He was able to fend them off, keep his individuality, but the concentration required was immense. He wouldn't be able to keep the effort up forever, and when his focus faltered, his mind would be lost to the Collective.

The Borg Queen, largely helpless, glanced towards the two drones that had brought the Doctor in. She desperately, frantically reached out towards them with her mind, trying to command them to help her, to move, to do anything.

"The Drones don't listen to you, mum," the Doctor murmured as he spread his hands wide, eyes hidden by the shadows cast across his face. "I decided that it was high time your Collective got accustomed to the commands of someone a little less melodramatic, and besides… who wouldn't want to be King for a Day?"

The look he received in reply was one of pure venom, unable even to move her own robotic body.

Ignoring her entirely now, the Doctor turned away and crossed to the far end of the room, his head lowered, eyes closed as he clearly seemed to be concentrating on something. He could hear the Queen, of all things, vocally commanding the pair of drones to assist her, and when that proved futile, she finally turned her ire back to its cause.

"What is it you intend?" The Queen demanded, jaw tight. "Our destruction?"

"I need to borrow your monolithic hive mind," he replied distractedly, waving a hand distractedly over his shoulder as his eyes slowly flickered shut. "I knew you would be only too delighted to offer it yourself, but I find hijacking far less socially awkward than asking a stranger…"

She seemed about to speak again, but could only shudder; even though she had been stripped of nearly every connection to the Collective, she had enough awareness to feel the Time Lord's influence spreading across the subspace link like a digitized plague, infecting ship after ship, bending loyal drones to his own will. Never before had she felt so helpless, so inadequate to the task of preserving her Collective…

"You will fail," she spat at him.

"Maybe," the Time Lord admitted, his eyes distant, and then slowly closing. "Time to find out…"

* * *

The Doctor's mind plunged into the Collective, influence spreading faster and faster over the subspace links that bound every ship together. It was so much more than a cold, calculating exchange of binary; he could truly hear every voice, sense every captive mind and the wealth of knowledge buried in them. The nearest vessels were used as launch pads to fling his influence further and further from the Unimatrix, and within mere moments, he had spread himself out along their sprawling network and become their King.

And as his mind intruded on the Collective, their incalculable ranks began to grind to a halt.

On a dozen worlds under siege, on thousands of Borg vessels and occupied systems, for several long minutes, millions upon millions of drones halted their activities. Maintenance, disassembly, assimilation, all were stopped at once as each and every drone lifted their head upwards. One last, whimsical command had the monotonous, sonorous voice of the Collective utter one word through that incomparable Hive mind.

"Geronimo."

The Borg King began to gather the Collective's knowledge, and it was vast; the Borg as they were now had not existed for more than a handful of centuries, their rise to power meteoric as a result. But although they were for all intents and purposes an infantile race, the species that they had assimilated over the centuries had been far older, and far wiser, and the wealth of their wisdom was stored, unused, in vast databanks throughout the Collective.

The Borg King compiled it all; faster and faster the data flowed, star charts mingling with sensor records, gravitational studies, subspace analysis from millions of assimilated scientists and researchers. The subspace link that comprised the Collective had never before been so active, so full of the din of voices, all knowledge flowing towards Unimatrix 01. The Guardian had said that it would take ten thousand minds ten thousand years to find the answers, but the King had at His command billions, if not trillions, all unified on a single purpose.

And throughout that din of information, the King worked like a conductor, organizing and driving the work, throwing every ounce of His own considerable brilliance into the task as the Borg began to analyze the information assembled. The strain of it was slowly building, as even His mind was close to being utterly overwhelmed by the endless cacophony of reports, figures and calculations that bombarded him from all sides, but He did not waver, only pushing the Collective to greater and greater speeds, forming a mathematical model of reality itself as the minutes stretched into hours...

And then, there it was. So much chaos, so much confusion, crystallized into a single, perfect Truth that shocked him to his very core. For the first time since he had reached this universe, the King understood exactly what had brought it about… and, as the Guardian had predicted, he wished dearly that he had never gone looking for it; what he wouldn't have given, at that moment, to strike it from his memory...

Horrified, revolted by what he had seen, the Borg King commanded the entire Collective to rest, to enter a regeneration and diagnostic cycle all at once, and then he withdrew, leaving behind the endless tapestry of voices and knowledge, and returning to the darkness.

* * *

Gasping, the Doctor staggered as his consciousness thudded back into corporeal form, brushing the sweat from his brow and wincing as a metallic implant scraped across his skin. Tears stung his eyes, not from physical pain, but from an emotional and mental distress that was beyond words, beyond expression… his next breath was a slow, shuddering one, a sharp clearing of his throat restoring some semblance of equilibrium.

It was then he remembered he had an audience. Slowly, he turned towards the Borg Queen, and all the superiority in Time and Space didn't prevent her from shrinking back, just a little, when he approached.

"I should destroy you and your lot," the Doctor murmured, lip curling. "Set the reactor of every Borg ship to self-destruct, and command every drone to shut itself down. But you still have purposes to serve, and believe it or not you will bring benefit to those you'd sorely wish to destroy. Your time is coming… I've seen it written."

The Queen managed a cold smile, eyes glittering. "If that were the case, such foreknowledge will be all we need to avert that fate."

"Oh no," the Time Lord replied quietly, and a hand lifted, the tips of his fingers pressing, almost gently, to the waxen skin of her forehead. "See, I have no intention of letting you keep it."

What he did next was a violation; not of the body, but of the mind and spirit as the Time Lord broke through the Queen's barriers, filtered into her thoughts, and bid her to sleep. It was a kindness, perhaps, for as her mind shut down for a diagnostic cycle, he ripped all memory of their encounter from her thoughts, stripped the Collective of even what little information the Borg had compiled on him. Everything that could have led her to him, anything that would have even suggested Voyager's complicity in his assault upon her, all was seared from her consciousness, irrevocably destroyed.

As she lay on the deck, unconscious and not to awaken for many hours, the Doctor finally pulled his thoughts away. Drawing a deep breath, he winced as he felt a sharp pain, in his chest… the nanoprobes, not entirely subservient to his influence, were still working away in his body.

Though his new access to the Collective was able to slow their process, it took an enormous amount of concentration… he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep control over the Cortical Node. Or, more importantly, how long he could keep it from controlling him.

Time to leave.

Turning his thoughts to the very same ship that had brought him here, the only vessel in the Collective he hadn't forced into a regeneration cycle. A single thought beamed him aboard that ship, and another bid the vessel to jump back into transwarp, returning the way it had come.

* * *

Voyager had returned to the Sphere's last known coordinates a little over six hours ago, and had been waiting ever since for any sign of activity. Though the first couple of hours had been tense, each subsequent one had been replaced with fatigue and a growing sense of hopelessness.

Picard had been excited by the revelation of the Doctor's alternate plan, as it had infused him with fresh hope that the Time Lord would prevail. But each subsequent hour made that hope dimmer and dimmer, and though he had started out sitting on the edge of his seat, he was now settled back against it, almost slumping as he stared at the viewscreen.

"Mister Kim?" Janeway asked, for perhaps the seventh time since they'd arrived.

Kim shook his head. "Sorry, Captain. I'm not picking anything up on sensors."

Janeway only nodded, no longer seeming even surprised.

Seven, who was operating the auxiliary console directly behind the Captain's chair, spoke up. "At transwarp, the Sphere would have reached Unimatrix 01 seven hours ago."

Picard spoke up next; "We know that he was expecting to be captured, however."

"We do know he was planning to be assimilated," Janeway replied through gritted teeth, fingers drumming on the arm of her chair. "But we can't be sure that he was able to carry out whatever plan he had after that. He could have underestimated the Borg for all we know, and whatever trick he intended to use might have failed, in which case they'd have finished his assimilation by now... another ship might be on the way to assimilate us, as we speak."

"I considered that possibility," Jean Luc admitted, "but-"

"Captain, with all due respect," Janeway murmured, "you haven't encountered the Borg's central intelligence. Though I promised not to reveal too much that would contaminate the timeline, I can tell you that if anyone had the willpower to subdue the Doctor…"

Picard frowned a little, but only nodded, unable to find a proper reply. Janeway, in the meantime, turned her attention back to the viewscreen stoically; the crew had been on duty for nearly eleven hours, but as long as they remained so close to a conduit's exit, she wasn't willing to relax their guard in the slightest. Still, she made a private decision that if they saw no signs of activity in the next half hour, they would have no choice but to assume the Doctor had failed and-

Her thoughts were interrupted as the Ops station gave a sharp chime, signaling a sensor lock. The entire bridge seemed to swivel towards Kim's station at once, and Kim himself was completely focused on the new readings.

"Captain," he said, excitement mingling with anxiety. "I'm picking up a surge in tachyons, it might be a transwarp conduit opening."

"Mister Tuvok," Janeway barked, "Ready weapons, target the center of the emissions."

"Weapons standing by, Captain," Tuvok replied.

The moments stretched into small eternities all their own as the bridge crew waited… and then, with a shimmer of green radiance, a Borg Sphere burst into view, decelerating to a halt just off Voyager's bow. The chaotic, yet oddly uniform design of Borg ships made it all but impossible to determine if this was the same vessel that had come before…

"Mister Kim," Janeway murmured, "Analysis?"

"No sign they've powered weapons, Captain," Kim replied, but before he could continue, his console chimed again. "We're being hailed. Audio only."

"Open a channel."

The audio signal on the other end was filled with laborious, gasped breaths, and several moments passed before the man on the other end even spoke.

"Captain…" the voice was slurred, rasping, but it was most certainly the Doctor. "I once more ask for permission… to come aboard."

Janeway glanced towards Picard, who could only shrug, before eyeing the Sphere on the viewscreen. "Doctor, we had good reason to believe that the Borg were able to capture you… why did they return you here? Were you able to escape assimilation?"

"Escape?" the Time Lord murmured, then stifled a grunt. "More like delayed…but these nanoprobes are persistent little things… I have minutes at the most, too little time… to extract surgically… please, just let me… beam to Sickbay… you lot can toss me back in the brig afterwards, if you'd like…"

Janeway's jaw tightened; lowering shields to allow transport would leave them dangerously vulnerable. If the Doctor were lying, the Borg could send dozens of drones to Voyager in mere moments. On the other hand, if he were telling the truth, every moment that they delayed gave the Collective that much more of a chance to absorb his knowledge and abilities…

Finally, realizing they had little choice, she murmured; "Lower shields."

The Doctor's chuckled wearily, relieved, even as Tuvok moved to comply. "Much obliged… recommend… you get well clear… once I come aboard… boom…"

As the audio channel shut off, Janeway and Picard climbed to their feet and moved towards the rear of the bridge. Voyager's Captain barked over her shoulder to the conn, even as Tuvok joined them in the turbolift.

"Mister Paris, get us clear of that ship, best speed."

"Yes, Ma'am."

* * *

They were halfway to Sickbay when the Bridge called.

"Bridge to Captain Janeway," Chakotay's voice sounded through her communicator. "The Borg ship has self-destructed. It looks as if it set its own reactors to overload."

"Understood, Commander," Janeway said as she, Picard and Tuvok emerged from the turbolift. "Resume our previous heading, maximum warp."

"Do you think that we can expect the Borg to dispatch new ships?" Picard asked, worried.

"I don't know," Janeway replied tightly. "But I'm not taking any more unnecessary risks."

When they finally reached Sickbay, a pair of security personnel were waiting outside. The doors had been sealed shut, and the air tingled with the suggestion of a containment field… enough, thankfully, to protect those outside from the deadly rays of the omicron emitter.

As for inside… there was screaming, the Doctor's, sounding clearly even through the sturdy sickbay doors; resistant to the radiation, perhaps, but it was clear that the exposure was still agonizing to him. Even furious as she was, Janeway winced at each sound, turning her attention to the security staff.

"Our Doctor is in there as well," one of the guards informed the captain, glancing towards the door. "He said the radiation wouldn't affect his mobile emitter."

Picard's jaw clenched as he eyed the doors, flinching as the Time Lord emitted another bellowing scream.

"How long is it going to-?"

His question was cut off as the doors finally hissed open; the holographic Doctor looked slightly surprised to see so many people outside waiting, but he stepped to one side, gesturing for them to enter. Janeway instructed Tuvok and his security team to remain outside before she and Picard entered Sickbay.

The walls of the medical sensor were streaked with dark burns here and there, a few of the unshielded consoles shattered by the violent radiation surge. Several of the lighting bars had failed, leaving the room in near twilight, and towards the back of Sickbay, there was a shadowy figure slumped on the ground, propped up against the side of main diagnostic bed.

"You can't approach yet," the holographic Doctor advised when Picard began to advance. "He is still radiating trace amounts of omicron radiation… for safety, I erected a forcefield around the diagnostic bed."

The former Captain of the Enterprise nodded before turning back towards the slumped figure, drawing nearer. His breath caught in his throat when he saw that the Doctor's hands were covered with burns, his body sporadically shifting and twitching as he seemed to be paying no attention to the activity in front of him, but his head was lowered, his face not visible.

"Doctor," Picard murmured, kneeling in front of the forcefield, trying to see beneath the Time Lord's hanging brown bangs, "are you alright?"

"Captain…" the Time Lord stifling a cough. "Jean-Luc, sorry."

"No offense taken," Picard murmured, "though you could have let us in on your plan."

"If I had," the Doctor mumbled, "whatdyou think you'd have done?"

Picard considered that for a long moment before deadpanning. "Advised Captain Janeway to keep you locked away for the good of the universe."

"Pfft…" the Time Lord snorted, finally lifting his head; his eyes were heavily lidded, the implants on his cheek and forehead replaced with puckered, red burns. "Alarmist."

The holographic Doctor passed through the forcefield and administered something from a nearby hypospray, passing his tricorder over the slumped Time Lord. Finally, the Chief Medical Officer nodded grimly and glanced up at the others.

"The radiation has cleared."

"Computer, drop the forcefield," Janeway barked, and once the wall of energy flicked off, both she and Picard move to hoist the Doctor under the arms, grunting as they hauled him up onto the biobed. "Doctor, will he be all right?"

"I'll be fine," the Time Lord mumbled, stubbornly keeping himself propped up into a half-seated position.

"I'm not so certain of that," the holographic CMO countered, jaw set as he firmly pushed the Time Lord down. "The omicron radiation may have faded, but you've suffered significant organ damage. I'm also picking up traces of a new energy signature in your cells… I'm uncertain as to its nature, but it appears to be saturating your genetic code."

"Oh, damn…" the Doctor coughed, and lifted a hand, squinting; he could have sworn, for just a moment, that he saw a golden glow.

"Thought I could take it… and I'd just… gotten used… to the steering…"

"What do you mean?" Picard asked.

"Bit of a long story," the Time Lord replied, and then began to giggle quite deliriously. "Really long story. Really, really, really, really, real-"

The rest of what was probably going to be an unending litany of 'really's was interrupted as Sickbay was suddenly filled with a brief flash of white light, and a very familiar chime. As one, the security team, the holographic Doctor, and both Captains whirled around towards the source, mouths agape at the intruder.

The intruder who leaned so casually against the doorway to Sickbay, arms crossed over his chest, dressed, of course, in a Starfleet uniform..

The intruder who answered by that one, damnable letter.

"Q?!"

* * *

"You sent Q?!"

"Yes, what about it?"

"Do you seriously think that, of everyone in the Continuum, he's the one who should be dealing with this?"

"He's the one who's been keeping an eye on the anomaly since it arrived, and he insisted that he'd be able to handle it. Besides, you have to admit, he'd be uniquely qualified to get it under control."

"Control? Q can't even keep his own son from terrorizing half the galaxy! How could you possibly think he was a suitable choice, Q?"

"Q, I know he's had a long history of rabble rousing, but you're the one who decided to restore his powers and rescind his excommunication from the Continuum, remember?"

"Yeah, and he started a civil war afterwards. Brilliant move on my part."

"Let's just give him a chance."

* * *

Both Janeway and Picard had blurted the intruder's name at once, and both glanced at one another when they did; Picard with considerable surprise, and Janeway with a bit of a shrug that suggested it was a long story.

"Q, what are you doing here?" the Captain of Voyager finally barked, Picard just too startled by their apparent familiarity to take charge himself.

The immortal, for his part, only shrugged. "What, Kathy, an omnipotent cosmic being can't stop by to say Howdy? And just think of the opportunity! Both of my favorite scowling Starfleet superiors in the same space!"

"Q," Picard snapped, already feeling that familiar headache, "this is not the time for your intrus-"

"So you're the infamous Q."

That was the Doctor mumbled, who, ignoring the Chief Medical Officer's protests, had braced himself against the biobed and staggered to his feet, swaying heavily.

"The one and only," Q replied, sketching an elaborate bow. "Well, sort of. The handsomest one, and only."

The Doctor didn't seem amused, in fact his teeth flashed in a near snarl as he began to lunge towards the immortal. His limbs failed him after only half a step, however, and when he pitched forward, it was only the quick reflexes of Picard that kept the man from toppling facefirst onto the deck.

"Doctor, do not act rashly," Picard cautioned, gripping the slumped Time Lord by the shoulders to steady him… but his eyes widened when he realized that the Doctor's skin was glowing faintly. "What on Earth-?"

"Why are you here, Q?!" Janeway repeated, back turned to Picard or the Doctor, not seeing the glow.

"Oh, nothing to worry about, Mes Capitaines," Q replied airily, waving a hand, but his casual demeanor seemed forced. "It's just that the dear, rambling Doctor here learned a thing or two about us during his little field trip, and has a bone or two to pick as a result, isn't that right boy?"

"Matter of fact, I do," the Doctor mumbled, shrugging away Picard's hands and managing to teeter on his own two feet; his eyes were jaundiced, and the glow was strengthening.

"Doctor, what is happening to you?" Picard demanded, and when Janeway finally turned to see for herself, she instinctively stepped back.

"Oh," Q said dramatically before the Doctor could reply, throwing up both hands, "surely you don't believe that I'm going to let you find that out, Jean Luc? He's about to go through a very private moment, so if it's all the same to you-"

"It is not all the same to me!" Janeway snapped, but Voyager's crew, and Picard, began to back away from the Time Lord as the glow began to turn into a searing, yellow light.

"-I'll be taking him somewhere a little less crowded." Eyes glimmering, Q lifted a single hand and, before anyone could protest, snapped his fingers.

The world was flooded by pure, white radiance and a single, echoing chime.

* * *

"Uh oh."

"What?!"

"Q's… well, he's disappeared."

"Disappeared?! Disappeared where?!"

"Well, if I knew that, I wouldn't have said disappeared, would I?"

"Leaving him and the anomaly alone is NOT the way I wanted this to go, Q!"

"Well, then, stop ranting and help me find him!"

* * *

The Doctor's senses returned gradually, and he awoke to find himself sprawled in a seated position. His eyes opened slowly, squinting as bright light flooded his vision. Even when they adjusted, it was only a little easier to see… he seemed to be surrounded, on all sides, by light, with no signs of walls, ceiling, or even a solid floor on which he cast a shadow.

Turning, he saw that he was propped up against the base of his own TARDIS, the blue box closed and locked. Climbing to his feet, he grunted, expecting pain… and a little startled when he felt none. Glancing himself over, he could find no signs of bruises, burns, not even soot stains… he was dressed in his full suit and bowtie, crisp and clean as if it had just been washed and freshly ironed.

A pat at his pockets confirmed he had his sonic screwdriver, his heat-sensitive glasses, psychic paper, all the things he had left behind on Voyager. Another, more hesitant pat at the top of his head confirmed his hair was even brushed… more importantly, it was the hair he'd always had.

Without a mirror, he had to settle for pawing at his own face, but it still felt… well, familiar.

Had he not regenerated after all?

"Oh, look who's awake."

Whirling around, the Time Lord's eyes narrowed when he saw Q standing a few feet away, hands folded behind his back and overall looking quite pleased with himself.

"I suppose I have you to thank for this," the Doctor said, gesturing to himself.

"Oh, just a little tailoring service that I'm only too happy to provide," Q said magnanimously, idly curling his fingers against his palm to examine his nails. "As for the medical care, I finally got to know you, bit of a waste if you went and changed on me all over again."

The Doctor moved in a slow circle around the void, glancing about… he could feel no sense of time, space, it was as if they were quite literally nowhere. Although unnerving, it was only a brief distraction, as he turned his attention towards his TARDIS, running a hand across her surface.

"Picard?" He asked, expression studiously blank. "Voyager?"

"All returned to where it should be," the immortal replied, chuckling softly. "I was very good about making sure that Janeway and her loyal band of misfits've completely forgotten you showed up on their doorstep. I'd do the same to Jean Luc, but sometimes it's just more fun watching him struggle with the ethical quandary of knowing the f-"

"I know what you are."

Q paused mid-word, brow lifting at the interruption… but he didn't seem surprised. "Do you now?"

The Doctor's lip curled just a little as he growled; "Yes. What you once were."

The Starfleet-uniformed entity's head tilted as a snap of his fingers summoned a comfortable chair. With a content sigh, Q plopped onto it and propped up his feet, gesturing towards the silently furious Doctor.

"Oh, do go on then," Q drawled, brow lifted. "What, oh great savior of the cosmos, did I used to be?"

The Doctor's eyes were little more than chips of ice as he drew closer to the thoroughly unconcerned immortal, staring down at him in silence. When Q gestured again, mockingly so, the Doctor finally spoke, two words spat out in unrestrained disgust.

"Time Lord."

Chapter Text

In the middle of nowhere- literally- Q's delighted laughter echoed through the void.

"Finally!" Q declared, throwing up his hands. "I thought you'd have figured it out ages ago."

"Perhaps I should have," the Doctor murmured, shaking his head. "But I couldn't quite bring myself to consider it… not until the Borg's collective knowledge showed me this place. A layer of reality, superimposing itself over another. A newer reality, the universe of the Federation… and, underneath it, something older, scarred, hidden. This."

The Doctor's hand swept out expansively, gesturing to the silent radiance that surrounded them on all sides. Q, for his part, just nodded along agreeably, studying their surroundings as if he were intending to build a summer home there.

"I brought Jean Luc here once," Q chortled softly. "Told him it was the Afterlife. Little did he know how literal I was."

The Doctor could only stare at their surroundings; somehow, he had always thought that that a universe annihilated would have been blackness, but this made a sick sort of sense. With no matter in all existence, energy reigned supreme, illuminating every particle of the void in its eerie glow.

This place was limitless power, yet barren land all the same. Not a speck of matter would ever form here of its own accord, life would never take independent form. Not even energy would concentrate or coalesce, remaining uniformly distributed throughout all existence, for all eternity. The universe the Doctor had experienced, full of stars and species and ships, had been built upon this incomparable graveyard, knitted over the emptiness like a bandage shrouding a wound.

"Afterlife," the Doctor murmured, "After life… so, you actually did it. The Final Sanction. This universe's Doctor couldn't stop you."

"Oh, this universe's Doctor completely failed to stop it from happening," Q replied mockingly, throwing up his hands. "It was really the most pathetic thing, failure on every conceivable level… it's only great kindness on the part of the Continuum that it isn't chortled about during polite conversation."

"Like you'd have any place to do so," the Doctor snorted, glancing sharply at him. "I'd imagine he was a better man than any of you lot."

Q smiled, but this was one seemed a bit more subdued. "More sanctimonious, I think, but better's pushing it."

The Doctor's eyes tore themselves away from the void, focusing on the smug entity who was even now leaning against his TARDIS.

"All that," the Time Lord murmured, "out there, the Federation, the very universe… where did it come from?"

Q shrugged, spreading his hands in a mockingly apologetic gesture as he circled the TARDIS, studying it with clear interest.

"Just renovations on our part," he replied idly. "It didn't take long for a universe of complete emptiness to get really boring, so we decided to stretch ourselves, see what we could accomplish with out newfound omnipotence."

"Not very much, it would seem," the Doctor snapped. "These new races you cobbled together? What about the Silurians? The Sontarans? Countless species that existed before, could you not have restored them?"

"Impossible," Q replied, waving a hand dismissively. "Even for the Q. The Guardian itself couldn't even tell you about what 'Was,' not for this universe, as it was completely wiped from all existence. Our omniscience didn't extent to the way things used to be either. Besides, even if we just copied from another, intact universe like your own, we couldn't bring back every race that had existed; too much time, too much work to coax a billion different worlds on the same paths they used to travel. We just let life largely develop as it wanted, for the most part."

The Time Lord's head bowed as he absorbed that, but his head started to shake, denying it, a hand lifting and finger extending towards his smug host.

"But not humans," the Doctor said sharply, "There are still differences, big ones, but mankind is still here, in many ways similar to how it once was, at least as far as the twenty-first century. How can that be?"

"Oh, just a pet project, really," the omnipotent entity replied, chuckling, and yet the laughter seemed almost bitter. "Even getting one race to develop in more or less the same way required an enormous amount of effort… we had to create an entirely different progenitor, the Preservers, boost Earth's technological development by flinging a time ship into its past, so much work to get things as close to right as possible. One of my colleagues, may he rest in peace, was specifically assigned to helping your precious Earth develop just… right…"

The Doctor continued to pace, faster now, fingers flexing, hands clenching and unclenching as his hearts pounded. He tried to think of some angle, some proof he could present… even with the evidence of the Continuum's- of his own people's- crimes laid bare, some part of him still sought to deny it. And then it sought to prevent it, to stop it, to somehow go back and undo what had been done.

But he couldn't. This was the old universe, what was left of it; everything, at every point in time, had been irrevocably annihilated. There was simply no way to travel to the Time War, because in this universe, the Time War- and the races involved- had never existed.

And even if he could… he'd just be consigning the Federation, and every other race in this new universe, to its own destruction.

"And the differences?" the Doctor asked, voice hollow. "The Federation?"

"Well, we tried," Q responded, sounding a bit exasperated. "But after humans got out into space, the universe was too different for them to develop as they once had, so the more interference arose from outside races, the more things spiraled off the track. The Eugenics Wars, for one, would never have happened without the meddling of that one extraterrestrial idiot, Gary Seven. Besides... we might have created a convincing substitute, but they're not the humans you know and love."

The Doctor wanted to laugh at it, the absurdity, that things could have changed so irrevocably over one little difference in the timeline.

"Why?" the Doctor asked, voice rising. "Why all the effort, then? If you could only make a 'substitute,' why even try?"

"A favor," Q finally said. "To the man who made all this-" a sweep of his arm towards the white, empty space, "-possible."

The Time Lord fell silent, head bowed. His hands were slowly clenching into fists, and though he tried to calm himself, tried not to do anything rash- for once- he could feel a helpless, undeniable rage building higher and higher. Every moment in this echoing emptiness was mocking him, and he could almost hear the voices of countless lives that would never, ever be.

"It's time for you to go back," Q was saying, turning towards the TARDIS and resting his palm flat on its surface. "It won't be long before the others think to look for us here. I've imbued your ship with enough power to go back where you came from. You can stay in this one as long as you'd like, we won't force you to leave… but I think you and I both know that this universe has lost its luster, hmm?"

Q was just starting to turn back around when the Time Lord all but charged into him, slamming the entity back against the TARDIS with a loud 'SLAM.' Q was surprised, irritated, but obviously unhurt, and he made no attempt to break the Doctor's hold, rolling his eyes slightly at the infuriated Doctor's hands clenched in the fabric of his Starfleet uniform.

"Who were you, Q?" the Time Lord's lip curled, and he gave the thoroughly unconcerned omnipotent a brief shake. "The Master? Rassilon? Your people are immortal, you must have been part of it, must have joined in, maybe pulled the switch yourself, so tell me, who are you?!"

His last, shouted words echoed in the ether as Q stared down at the Time Lord. All trace of mockery had left his face, any amusement long since faded. In its place, there was pity, and though the Doctor didn't see it, deep in the entity's gaze lingered no small amount of shame.

"Come on," Q said quietly, lifting a hand until it was between his and the Doctor's face. "Haven't you figured it out yet?"

Q's fingers snapped together, sharply.

And the TARDIS' doors swung open in response.

The Doctor's eyes widened, slowly, as he released Q, stumbling back a few staggering steps. His hearts felt squeezed, prepared to burst, and his breath exploded in a gasp. His mouth opened to speak, but no sound came out, and all at once the Time Lord felt caged, trapped here in this empty, silent graveyard.

He had to go.

He wasn't paying attention to the pitying look on Q's face, not seeing anything as he stumbled into his TARDIS and slammed the doors shut, leaning against them as he locked the deadbolt.

As the Time Rotor began to grind to life of its own accord, it almost drowned out the Time Lord's furious scream.

* * *

The TARDIS had fled from that pure, white emptiness the moment the Doctor had stepped inside, seeking the relatively soothing expanse of space; it had been an instinctive move, a revulsion of the blank slate she had been stranded in. They were still in this alternate universe, however, having yet to make the final leap that would return them to the Doctor's own reality. Q had told the Doctor it would be simple, completely safe no doubt… all the Doctor had to do was set the course.

But he couldn't move. Standing at the TARDIS' doors, he hadn't shifted from that spot since he'd entered. He could only stand, fists clenched, forehead resting against the door.

The Guardian of Forever had been right, so very right. This was an answer, a truth that he wished he had never found. Had he the capability, he would have stricken the knowledge from his mind… lacking that ability, he could only wallow in it, anger, disgust, and misery mingling.

Finally, his head lifted, and he brushed aside tears as he climbed up to the control platform.

It was past time he went home.

Shifting towards the control console, he began to input the course Q had somehow programmed into the TARDIS' knowledge banks. The power required was far greater than the TARDIS should have been able to provide… but he suspected the omnipotent entity would imbue his vessel with whatever energy was needed to let it reach its destination.

But just as he was about to pull the lever and return to his own universe, an errant thought struck him. Something he had read, a tragedy that had been learned of only in passing.

He hadn't been able to save this universe, far from it. But perhaps there was still something that could be salvaged.

A favor to repay. A friend to help.

Jaw setting, the Doctor entered a new set of coordinates. Two little detours.

It didn't take long for the TARDIS to reach the 31st Century, appearing about halfway between Saturn and Jupiter in the Sol system. Powering down the Time Rotor, the Doctor then began to potter about, packing scattered tools away and generally preparing for the return trip home while he waited for his presence to be noticed. And he had no doubt it would be; his arrival had probably set off every temporal sensor in the system, and it was only a matter of time before someone responded.

It took longer than the Doctor expected, but when he eventually turned to find a familiar Time Agent standing in the TARDIS' control room, he realized the likely reason for the delay.

"Daniels." The Doctor turned, arms crossing over his chest and a small, less-than-friendly smile spreading across his face. "They must have gone to a lot of trouble to bring you all the way back home."

"The agency prefers to keep things simple," Daniels replied, stepping up onto the control platform. "You and I already have such a good rapport, seemed a waste to send somebody else."

"Mmhmm." The Doctor gestured to the Time Agent with one hand. "My congratulations for your wonderful protection, wasn't bothered by a single twenty-ninth century busybody during my time on Voyager."

Once again, Daniels seemed quite fascinated with the control column's layout, and he didn't reply right away, seeming far more interested in studying- without outright touching- the innumerable switches, buttons, levers and faucets.

"Thank you, though it didn't seem necessary," Daniels finally said, tone quite conversational. "You vanished from Voyager, and your presence there was wiped from the timeline soon after; temporal shielding was the only thing that preserved our memories, and it almost wasn't enough. But we didn't detect the cause of your disappearance. Still, I take it you found what you were looking for?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I did."

"Wonderful." Nodding, Daniels stepped forward, hand extended. "Please share."

The Doctor only chuckled.

"Afraid not." The Time Lord's lip curled a little. "My price has just gone up."

Daniels froze, hand still extended. "We had a deal."

"I lied," the Doctor replied quietly, shrugging. "Been known to do that. I have the information you want, and I'm willing to share it- though, believe me, you'd be better off not knowing- but I'm not delivering it out of the goodness of my heart. There's something I need from you lot, a very small thing, but you're not getting the information I've gleaned until you provide it."

Daniels began to circle the central control pillar, running a hand across its surface as, facing away from the Doctor, he asked quite casually. "Where is the information?"

"It's in my mind," the Doctor replied, tapping his temple. "My people have some limited telepathic ability, I could share the knowledge with you… it would hurt quite a bit, you might end up with a broken nose if my aim's off, but you'd learn everything I did. And better yet, you'd know for certain I was being honest, rather than having to take my word for it."

Daniels' head tilted as he turned towards the Time Lord; his expression quite neutral, but eyes gleaming dangerously. "We have telepaths too, you know… we might just extract it ourselves."

"Oh, certainly, you can try and take it by force," the Doctor replied, shrugging a little as his head tilted. "But I'll fight the attempt with my dying breath, and any damage to my wonderful mind that is made in the process might just wipe the information you want."

The gleam was replaced by frustration as Daniels shifted from foot to foot. "What do you want?"

"I want your help," the Time Lord replied quietly. "Your clever assistance. I know you lot can shield temporal changes from detection, to an extent at least, it's the only way you lot can keep from having your passage through time set off every alarm in the twenty-ninth century. You used those tactics to hide my presence on Voyager, least til all memory was wiped from her crew-"

"We're very curious as to who did that," Daniels interjected, but the Doctor rolled right over him.

"-and I want you to use those same skills to hide a deliberate change I intend to make." Lifting a single finger, the Doctor's brow quirked. "Just one little alteration to the timeline, the damage would be quite minimal… and maybe even beneficial to the thirty-first century, in the long run."

Daniels' mouth twisted, clearly not remotely pleased with the demand, but he didn't refuse outright. Still, after a few moments his head began to shake, doubt clear on his face.

"It wouldn't be easy," Daniels explained slowly. "And there are changes that would just have too drastic an effect on the timeline to hide. If you're thinking of saving the Alcheron colony, or even Kirk-"

"No," the Doctor replied, shaking his head. "I know that it would alter too much, make too much… noise… for it to ever be hidden from your predecessors. The change I have in mind, I believe you'll agree, is much smaller, and will have a much more limited effect on the timeline. Again, beneficial, but not so easily noticed."

Daniels' lips tightened as he shifted from foot to foot, clearly considering it. The Doctor, for his part, remained motionless, hands in his pockets, brow lifted. He wouldn't be moved on this; if they refused, he would do everything in his power to leave them without the information they wanted. If they tried to press the issue, he'd quite willingly die before letting them extract an iota of truth from his lips, or his mind. Whatever it took to get this done.

Fortunately for everyone concerned, that wasn't necessary.

"All right," Daniels finally replied, nodding slightly. "If it's at all possible, we'll hide the change from our predecessors. Where do you plan to make this change?"

Eyes glimmering with purpose and mischief, the Doctor smirked.

"Oh, just a little house in Europe."

* * *

Picard stumbled as the bright, white light of Q's power faded, leaving him in relative twilight. Staggering forward, he let out a muffled curse as his knee banged into something heavy, teetering backwards and nearly falling over entirely. He had just regained his balance when a voice chimed in, a disdainful, irritatingly familiar voice.

"Oh, please, it's painful just watching you.."

A pair of fingers snapped, and the overhead lights flared to life, revealing the room around him; unfamiliar Starfleet living quarters, with a couch, two chairs, food replicator, desk… the bulkheads, adorned with paintings and three large viewports.

And there, sprawled on his back across the couch, was Q, hands behind his head, peering up at the ceiling.

"Q," Picard snapped, one hand gripping his throbbing knee. "What happened? Where are the others?"

"Oh, Mon Capitaine," Q replied, waving a hand about. "The dear Doctor's departed, and as for Voyager, they're in the Delta Quadrant, just beginning the trip home… to avoid complications, had to wipe your little visit, but I decided to let you, and only you, keep your memories of it. We both know how very responsible you are."

Picard climbed to his feet, glancing about the cabin; it was fairly large, but nowhere near as big as his own aboard the Enterprise. The décor, the very shape of the bulkheads and viewports, suggested he was on a completely different ship.

"And where am I, then?"

"You're on one of your charming little space boats," Q replied idly. "The Far-something. I took the liberty of skipping you past the boring stuff and stuck you in your timeline after you'd finished picking over what was left of your beached whale of a ship. You're on your way back to Earth for what is sure to be a really exciting three weeks of court hearings. Always fun when you lose a ship, isn't it?"

Being cheated of that last look at the Enterprise was more than enough to send a wave of fury rolling through Picard, but as always, he clamped down on it. When it came to Q, even the option of throwing a satisfying right hook was essentially useless. Instead, he drew in a deep, calming breath.

"Does anyone know about my departure with the Doctor?" he asked. "My disappearance?"

"As far as they're concerned," Q explained, "there was no disappearance. You were found on the planet, joined them in salvaging what was left of your ship, even had a disgustingly philosophical chat with Riker on what used to be your bridge."

Picard couldn't help but wonder what the discussion had been about, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to ask Riker without arousing suspicion. Though he was eventually going to tell his senior staff what had happened, there were… time-sensitive… elements that he'd have to edit out, to prevent contamination of history.

The knowledge that Voyager was, even now, stranded in the Delta Quadrant, eventually to be declared lost… the secret would be a terrible burden, and he couldn't help but wonder if Q permitting him to retain his memories was intended as a kindness, or some cruel joke.

"And what are you doing here, then, Q?" Picard finally asked, glowering. "Come to gloat, perhaps?"

"I'm surprised at you, Jean-Luc," Q said, brows lifting as he shifted onto the couch. "I'd have figured you had all sorts of annoying, big, life-changing questions to ask me. 'Why are you here?' is really the most boring one I can think of."

"I'd ask the more interesting ones if I thought for a moment you'd provide a useful answer," Picard replied through teeth gritted, his fists clenching at his sides.

"Well, try it!" Q's arms spread wide, gesturing to a nearby chair. "I'm an open book. Ask me anything, I might be inclined to answer."

Picard hesitated, half-expecting it to be some kind of trick. But considering there were, indeed, innumerable mysteries he wanted solved, if there was even a chance Q would be up front, he really couldn't pass up the opportunity due to his own pride. Knowing he might only get one chance, he selected the question that had been bothering him for the longest, even as he settled onto the offered seat.

"Were you responsible for the Doctor's arrival in this universe?"

Q applauded, so very slowly, staring up at the ceiling. "Oh, well done, Jean-Luc, I'm quite impressed. Yes, it was me."

"Why?" Picard demanded, "why put him through all of this, why toy with him in such a manner? Is it not enough to bully the denizens of this universe, you now have to begin abducting residents of other realities to assuage your boredom?"

Q actually looked insulted at that, his lips twitching with displeasure as he sat up a bit to look at Picard. His reply was oddly defensive, as well.

"It was necessary," Q snapped. "He needed to be shown the truth, for his own good."

"For his own good?" Picard retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Like when you exposed us to the Borg?"

Q looked ready to clash horns with Picard, per the usual, but something stopped him just as his mouth was opening to make his usual arrogant reply. His eyes flickered with something strange, subdued, and he slumped back down onto the couch so abruptly that Picard almost thought he was looking at a different person.

"He didn't tell you the sort of place he was in before he came here, Jean Luc," Q replied, and his voice was so muted, so lacking its usual flamboyance, that Picard actually found himself listening. "The mindset he had reached. Hopeless. Helpless. Pathetic. If he had stayed as he was, continued down that road, he would have been gunned down on a beach, gone without a whisper."

Picard couldn't remember the last time he had seen Q so open, so strangely unassuming. When he had lost his powers, perhaps, and had tried to reach out half-heartedly… something Picard had interpreted as his usual deceit. But this time, not even his usual distrust could keep the Captain from suspecting that this unpredictable, thoroughly aggravating entity had come looking for someone to… confess to.

"You're saying that there were those, in his universe, who were going to kill him?" he asked.

"Worse," Q replied, snorting. "He was going to let them. Just lie down and accept it."

Picard's brow furrowed; he hadn't known the Doctor for long, but considering what little he had seen of the man, the thought that the Time Lord would 'let' anything happen seemed outright preposterous.

"Why?"

"Because," Q explained, not even sounding exasperated by Picard's confusion, "he decided that staying and fighting it would do more harm than good, and that ultimately there was nothing he could do to escape his fate. That if he just gave up, stopped trying, everyone would be all the better for it."

Picard shook his head slowly, realizing just how little he knew of that madman in a box who had come essentially crashing into their lives. Counselor Troi had hinted to some sadness, some fear of death, but in all this time, he had never thought to press the issue. Perhaps he should have.

"Well," Picard finally said, "what were you trying to do?"

Q's lips quirked in a small smile. If Picard didn't know better, he'd almost have thought it was sad.

"Show him what happened when he stopped trying," the omnipotent entity replied, shrugging and lifting a finger upwards. "At that one moment he should've tried even harder, no less. Even for time travelers, there are decisions that can't be taken back, moments that can't be rewritten, by anyone, or anything. Myself included."

Picard couldn't say anything about that, the very prospect of time travel still one he had trouble wrapping his mind around. Q didn't seem to need him to say anything, however, and the silence that passed was almost companionable. It was the omnipotent being who finally broke it, giving a dry little chuckle as he glanced at the former Captain of the Enterprise.

"Don't worry," the omnipotent said, though Picard wasn't feeling particularly worried. "You won't see me again, Jean Luc. It's why I'm here. One last visit before we part ways, for the better." Looking back up towards the ceiling, he frowned pensively, adding, "Not to say I'm entirely done with this little slice of the universe… more ships to visit, after all."

"Like Voyager," Picard murmured distractedly. "Captain Janeway."

"Hell of a mortal," Q said with a cheerful sigh. "Gives Vash a run for her money… though not saying much, Vash was always running for her money. Still, can't let the wife hear, not unless I want to raise little Junior all on my own."

The thought of Q procreating was beyond terrifying, and the idea that somehow had wanted to mate with him almost unimaginable, but Picard didn't rise to the obvious bait, jaw tightening as he settled instead for glancing out the viewport. Realizing he wasn't going to get a rise from his old rival, Q climbed to his feet and began to dust himself off, clearing his throat and making a big show of preparing to depart… clearly waiting…

As it turned out, he didn't have to wait long, as Picard finally spoke again.

"Q."

"Yes, Mon Capitaine?" The omnipotent turned back to him, brow raised.

Picard's hands spread, a bit helplessly. "…why all this effort to help him?"

"Why, Jean Luc, don't you know?" He waggled a scolding finger, and a trace of that roguish grin crossed his face. "I always look out for myself."

A snap of the fingers and, with a blinding flash of light, Q was gone.

* * *

Picard sat there, in the dark of his cabin, for an immeasurable amount of time, shifting restlessly in his chair. Somewhere, far in the back of his mind, he knew the implication of those words, knew what was being suggested. Guinan had told him, eventually, of the Doctor's tale on how he had been forced to destroy his own people, all to save the universe from his own people. a race driven by the desire to become gods at the cost of all life. He knew that the Time Lords had been trying to become… and knew now that, in his reality, they had clearly succeeded.

But his mind avoided the full brunt of that conclusion. Rather than grasp the terrible extent of Q's involvement in the single greatest act of mass murder imaginable, rather than admit that everything Picard knew was built upon the bleached bones of an entire, gutted universe, he simply let his mind go blank.

As he did, he could feel memories filtering into his thoughts… the hours between his time on Veridian III, and his appearance in his cabin. He was aboard the Farragut, he realized, one of the ships Starfleet sent to retrieve the crew, and he felt relieved, even a little grateful, when the memories of his last moments aboard the Enterprise's bridge gradually took form.

He wasn't certain how long he sat there, in the dark, trying so very desperately to hide from the truth and focusing instead on these newer, less devastating memories. But when the comm speakers in his cabin chimed, he jumped slightly.

"Bridge to Picard." It was Hathoway, the Farragut's first officer. "There's a subspace call for you, from Earth."

Clearing his throat, Picard moved towards the small monitor on his desk, feeling his joints and muscles all but creak in protest. "Thank you, Commander, please send it down here."

His mind was still distracted by what he had learned, all that had happened. Even though he had gained the memories of those hours he had missed, some part of him still wanted to check on his senior officers, to ensure they were all right… whatever Admiral was seeking to contact him would have to settle for a short talk.

All thoughts of dismissing the caller flew from his head, however, when he saw who was on the other end.

His lips, disbelieving, murmured a single word; "Robert…?"

"Jean Luc." His brother gave him a critical eye before pronouncing disapprovingly; "I heard your crew managed to steer into a planet. You look terrible."

"I…" His hands reflexively shifted to grip the edge of the desk; had he not been seated, he might well have fallen. "Robert… how… you should be… it's not…"

"Get knocked on the head?" Robert asked, brow lifting, still trying to look quite haughty. "Or has something got you by the tongue?"

"The…" Picard drew a deep, shuddering breath, trying to get his thoughts into some semblance of order. "The fire…"

Robert's eyes widened with surprise. "How did you hear about that?"

"Starfleet… contacted me…" Picard cleared his throat, briskly, shaking his head. "How did you survive?"

"Survive?" Robert snorted, eyes narrowing. "Your Starfleet must've told you a fanciful tale for you to ask that. Was only a little fire in the kitchen, Mon Dieu. Far more damage was done by that hooligan who vandalized the house-"

"Hooligan?" Picard leaned forward. "What hooligan?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Robert snorted. "Bloody madman, he seemed. 'Swhat woke me up, this lunatic running around outside, singing Gilbert and Sullivan at the top of his lungs while throwing stones through my windows… bit fortuitous, suppose, cause when I got up to chase him off that I found Rene had left the oven on, careless child. Fortunately, I was able to smother the fire, and all we got's a singed counter-top to show for it."

"Yes," Picard echoed numbly. "Very fortunate. So you never saw the vandal?"

"Just a glimpse 'fore he ran off yodeling," Robert replied, snorting. "Not enough to give the authorities much to go on, though mark my words, I ever see him around my vineyard, I might well throttle him. Dressed so very oddly, like the tutor Papa hired to educate you, one of those hideous tweed jackets, and some bizarre accessory around his neck."

"A bowtie?" Picard suggested dazedly, mind reeling.

Robert shrugged. "Whatever it was, looked ridiculous. Suited the loon nicely."

Picard didn't have anything to say to that, and could only sit there, staring blankly at his brother's face. It seemed that a thousand thoughts flickered through his mind, but nothing stuck for long, just an unending din as his jaw hung slack. Noticing his brother's odd behavior, Robert leaned forward a little.

"Jean Luc?" The usual gruff exterior had faded, replaced by clear concern. "Are you all right?"

"I…" Clearing his throat, Picard nodded, regaining his composure. "Yes, of course, Robert, I'm fine. It's just… it's been a hard few days."

"Hrm." The gruffness returned as Robert snorted. "Well, that's what happens when you surround yourself in all that space-faring nonsense. Lose touch of the simpler pleasures in life. Fine food, fine wine… since your starship's little more'n a rubbish pile, I assume you'll come looking for a place to stay?"

Picard opened his mouth, automatically, to refuse becoming an imposition, but hesitated.

"Well," he finally said slowly, "If you wouldn't mind…"

Robert grunted ill-naturedly. "I'm certain we could find some way to accommodate you, for awhile, long as you don't eat us out of house and home…"

Picard nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "And… Rene…?"

"Oh," Robert muttered, "don't think he's forgotten about your little trip together. All I hear about now is Starfleet Academy this, Starfleet Academy that, can't wait until he gets it over with so he'll stop asking when you're coming to vi-"

Picard wasn't going to be able to keep himself contained much longer; he could barely see the terminal screen now, his brother's face little more than a blur.

"Robert, I have to go," he interjected, voice rasping. "I'll contact you again in a few hours, if that's all right."

Robert looked a bit surprised at the sudden dismissal, but nodded.

"Oh, all right, big important things to do, eh?" The mocking tone faded as, for a moment, Robert Picard nodded. "It will be good to see you again, Jean Luc. It has been too long."

"Yes. Far too long. Goodbye."

Cutting the channel, and unable to keep it back any longer, Picard rested his head in his arms and cried.

Only a short time ago, in his quarters aboard the Enterprise, he had sobbed at the news that his family, the last of the Picards- his precious nephew among them- had perished in a fire, one that had gotten so out of control only due to his brother's blind loathing of the very technology that might have detected, and suppressed, it. He had felt shameful even letting those emotions flow, feeling the misery overcome his impeccable control, and had done everything he could to stifle them.

Now, in his temporary quarters aboard the Farragut, he sobbed again, louder than before, his body bent over the desk and his head hidden by his arms as his shoulder shook with heavy, unrestrained sobs. But these tears were far more welcome than those that had come before, and he did nothing to try and stop them. Tears of joy were a kind far rarer, and never to be dismissed so readily.

In the darkness of his cabin, Picard thanked the very stars the Doctor hadn't stopped trying.

* * *

The TARDIS gave one last shudder, and then grew still as the cloister bell rang… somehow, the sound seemed lighter than usual, almost as if gladdened by the return to a reality far more familiar.

At the controls, the Doctor's gaze wandered to his surroundings. He could already feel the difference, as if having settled into a hot, soothing bath; he was well and truly home, the unfamiliar, disturbing reality left far behind. He knew he could never return to it.

He also knew he never wanted to.

Without any particular destination in mind, the Doctor let the TARDIS drift in space, settling onto a chair and leaning forward. The chance to save Jean Luc's family had, briefly, injected a bit of simple joy into his mind, but it had been a pleasure that faded quickly. Somehow, saving them only reminded of the countless that had simply ceased to exist, all because his counterpart had failed them in the worst way possible.

His head bowed, his eyes closed, and for nearly an hour he simply pushed back the bile, the tears, the rage and horror at knowing that he had come so very close to becoming that very same bitter, omnipotent being. What had prevented it?

Perhaps the difference had been the regeneration itself; there was no guarantee a Time Lord would achieve the same form in every reality. Had the Doctor of that time period simply become one less willing to make the difficult choice, one more tempted by the easier option? Had that Doctor simply been wired differently, to have given up in such a way?

Given up…

Fresh shame flooded him. His trip, through the singularity, that insane ride that had preceded his first appearance on the Enterprise, that had been intended as his one, last adventure. He had left Craig Owens' home only the day before that, and had been fully planning to attend that fateful meeting on the beach, to meet his death quietly and with whatever dignity he could muster.

He had been ready to give up.

Head lifting, he considered the Stetson he'd left hanging from one of the control levels. Clearing his throat, he climbed to his feet and picked it up, palm brushing it slowly as he considered the fabric. Not quite a Fez, but he was actually becoming quite attached to it. Tongue prodding the corner of his mouth, he carefully placed it on his head, ensuring it was angled quite rakishly.

"So," the Time Lord murmured to the empty air, tugging the brim of the hat into place as a familiar, but long missed fire began to burn in the pit of his stomach. "The Silence want me dead, do they?"

Jaw setting, the Doctor began to input a series of fresh coordinates, the Time Rotor beginning to whirr to life as the TARDIS lurched into motion. He was going to need information, quickly… and he happened to know an excellent place to start searching for it.

"Let's find out why."

* * *

Q could feel the Doctor's departure, as if the universe had released a held breath in relief. All had been returned to the balance, and he had already wiped all the knowledge the 31st century humans had acquired as to the acts of the Continuum. But he had waited until they'd helped the Doctor save Picard's brother and nephew before doing so, ensuring that this change would remain permanent.

A favor of his own to repay, perhaps.

Drifting near a nebula, formless, the omnipotent entity could only mull over what he had done. Not just bringing the Time Lord to this reality, but what he had done to make that reality possible. In the old days, the Time before this Time, mankind in the twenty-fourth century had remained instinctively a violent, selfish race, still just as likely to quarrel amongst themselves. The humans that the departed Doctor had to protect had regularly sought to betray each other, or force their will upon the races that surrounded them. It had taken thousands, even tens of thousands, of more years to achieve any form of enlightenment.

But not these humans. This iteration of mankind, so lovingly restored from oblivion, was simply… wrong. Because they were far, far too right, far too soon. Independent, clever, and so strangely dedicated to peace; they were nothing like the mankind that had come before, and the fact that they might have been considered objectively superior did not shake the feeling that they were wrong. They weren't real. Just… artificial copies, poor forgeries.

And so he had tested them. Prodded them. Sought to find some remnant of their savagery, some trace of barbarism that would remind him of those that had come before. To suggest that not everything in them had been destroyed.

But those efforts had been in vain. These humans had beaten every test, overcome every obstacle, when the Mankind that once was would likely have either fallen before the threat, or destroyed one another.

The humans he had known, the men that had come before, were gone. This newest breed was braver, nobler… and a constant reminder of what had been done to the very fabric of Time. An ever-present reminder of his sins, and his One Great Failure.

And so, in the privacy of his own prestigious mind, Q dredged up a memory he had kept buried for so very, very long.

* * *

It was cold… dusty. The Doctor coughed as cloying particles filled his lungs, rolled with a groan… dazed, his eyes flickered open, reluctantly.

Crumbling stone walls surrounded him on all sides. In a flash, he sat up, gasping for breath, eyes wide and flickering from side to side; his memories were a jumble, his mind racing with confusion and panic. Leaping to his feet, he staggered as his legs functioned only reluctantly, slumping against one of the walls. He tried to speak, to make some protesting sound, but the dust filled his lungs again, and he coughed, and coughed…

The memories began to flicker back, slowly, as the coughing subsided. He remembered brutal years of the Time War… the seemingly inexhaustible Dalek fleet, the resurrection of the Master, countless horrors and travesties. And then the worst of it, knowledge of the Time Lords' plan to achieve victory. Their Final Sanction… and his desperate, likely insane plan to stop them.

The Time Lords had learned of his plans, and he had fled to its building place… but he had been struck before he could escape, wounded, critically so, before the TARDIS had taken him to the place he had hidden the weapon, an old Gallifreyan ruin on the edge of the Medusa Cascade. But even as he had sought to make the finishing touches, he had slumped to the ground, died…

Regenerated.

His hands lifted to brush across his scalp, and he was only mildly surprised to find that his formerly thick, soft hair was now shorter, a bit thinner. His jaw felt more square, his face narrower, and when he climbed to his feet, he was considerably taller than before… but any thought to adjusting to his new body, or even getting a look at his new face, faded as he glanced at the device that dominated the center of the ruins.

It was little more than a bundle of wires, cables and components, salvaged from a half dozen different races. It had taken him months to build, and even now a few pieces lay scattered about, needing to be slotted in. Thanking the fates that he wasn't missing anything, the Time Lord began to get to work finishing the machine.

Only a few minutes into the task, he paused as a tingle of static energy buzzed through the air. Knowing what was coming, he turned just in time to see ten thousand glittering particles coalesce, forming a massive, semi-transparent head. The projection of President Rassilon flickered, solidified, then looked down at the younger Time Lord.

Rassilon's translucent face frowned for a moment, confused. "…Doctor?"

"It's me," the Doctor replied coldly, and even his voice emerged differently, sounding harsher, a bit nasally. "One of your goons shot me when my back was turned, bit of a coward's tactic."

The President's expression darkened dangerously.

"Surely you cannot blame him," Rassilon scoffed. "Your intentions for mass murder are-"

"Oh, shut up." the Doctor retorted. "Stop pretending, Rassilon, I know what you're planning to do. The Final Sanction?"

"Then you should also know that the Daleks are spreading our forces too thinly," the President insisted. "With the Skaro Degredations, the Horde of Travesties, we cannot hold back our foes any longer! The Final Sanction is our only option, the only way to see that justice is done and that we preserve what matters!"

The Doctor only snorted, turning his attention back to the device and starting to plug in a pair of cables. A sudden plume of smoke jetted from one of the nozzles, and he waves his arm to dispel it, holding his breath as best he could as Rassilon's face drifted closer.

"We have no choice, Doctor," the President repeated, fury brimming just beneath his voice. "For the greater good!"

"And what a lot of good you're planning," the Doctor scoffed, even as he renewed his work, making the final few connections, slotting the necessary components. "Your grand plan is to pretty much kill every living thing that isn't Gallifreyan so we can maybe live after everything else is gone?"

"Inconsequential," the Prime Minister echoed scornfully. "Their sacrifice is necessary, crucial, to ensure the survival of our civilization!"

"You're wrong!" the Doctor snapped, groaning as he turned one last component into place then whirled around to confront his fellow Time Lord. "Rassilon, we've been fighting the Daleks to save everything, not destroy it!"

"You naive fool!" Rassilon boomed, "We fought the Daleks to ensure the stability and authority that our civilization has built for countless eons! I will not allow you to send our cities crashing into the flames for the sake of a savage and primitive collection of infantile species!"

The Doctor's eyes glittered as he crossed his arms, smirking; "Great. Give it your best shot."

Spinning back towards the device, the Doctor approached it… but his steps slowed, the hand that reached towards it grew still. Sending perhaps his foe's doubts, the projection's eyes narrowed and its voice grew silky, knowing.

"Can you really do it?" When the younger Time Lord gave no reply, Rassilon continued softly, almost kindly. "Could you perform the one act that will destroy your own kind? Entire worlds, star systems, galaxies, the Medusa Cascade, snuffed out in an instant by that godless weapon you seek to wield, and your people consigned to oblivion for all Time."

"Yeah," the Doctor snapped back, but something in his voice seemed reluctant. "And if I don't, everything else dies instead."

"You know not what would come after the end," the chiding voice replied. "When the Daleks are no more, when we have once more reclaimed our status and dominance, we can seek to right the unfortunate, but necessary wrongs perpetrated for Victory. Will you abandon this mad quest, Doctor, and return to your people, will you help us reach our greatest glory?"

The younger Time Lord gave no answer, as he had none. He had worked so hard, so long to make this happen, to find the one Moment that could end things. But now that he stood here, with everything prepared, he couldn't help but question the path he had chosen. For a long, long moment, there was temptation. Temptation to submit, to return to Rassilon and rejoin his people.

Temptation to stop trying.

Gradually, the Doctor turned, lifted his head towards Rassilon, and drew in a deep breath.

And then, he said the word that he would regret for the rest of his endless existence.

"Yes."

THE END