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If you were to look at the Doctor straight on, for only a moment, he was the spitting image of Lewis Zimmerman. However, when he moved, when he spoke, what he said, revealed him to be an entirely different entity. They were minute differences, yes, but Barclay could see them.
There was Dr. Lewis Zimmerman, there was the EMH Mark I of Voyager, and there was also the EMH Mark I of Barclay's Voyager Program. They were all entirely different entities.
All Mark I's were based largely off of the personality, appearance, and expertise of their creator: Zimmerman. But, the Mark I in the Voyager program had also been endowed with the known experience of the EMH that served as Chief Medical Officer for years on the real Voyager. Barclay's Doctor was a copy of a copy, and yet, he was his own person.
Barclay liked the EMH. He had enjoyed his tenure on Jupiter station. Zimmerman was brilliant, he was also mercurial and curmudgeonly, but worst of all - he was human, all too human. Barclay didn't know how to act around other real, living, breathing people. The EMH was a welcome proxy.
It was difficult for Barclay to articulate the extent of his discomfort with humanoid company. Though, in all of his hundreds of hours of therapy, he had certainly tried:
Someone was looking at him, analyzing him in real time. They were watching his features tighten in anxiety, they glanced down when he moved his hands around noncommittally. They frowned at his rambling words, they raised their eyebrow at his abnormal body language. They watched him cave in on himself during every failed interaction, and they held that memory with them for the rest of their association, possibly beyond. It was a piercing, high-pitched, squiggly feeling, to be perceived, to be exposed. There was no pause program, there was no delete character. There was only humiliation and repercussions. Holograms were just better. Even if he could, he wouldn't dream of deleting them. He never had cause to erase their memory of their time together. They were safe. They were accepting.
Barclay had sworn off making holograms of real people back on the Enterprise. He hadn't done it again, recreationally, at least. That's why helping to develop the EMH Mark I was such a guilty pleasure. Where Zimmerman was cold and inaccessible, the EMH was challenging and curious. Zimmerman's mind augmented with the knowledge of thousands of other physicians and infused with the humanist ethical subroutines of Star Fleet had merged to create quite the personality.
Barclay could have introduced a line of code to make the EMH more deferential and considerate, but he didn't want to. He was fond of the brashness. Though it may have improved the Doctor's bedside manner to tone him down, Barclay refused to take away his fire. Barclay didn't want to condemn anything or anyone to go through life like he did.
And thus, the Doctor was born.
⁂
Barclay returned to the Voyager Holodeck program the minute that he had completed his mandatory report summarizing the week's progress. The report was brief, awkwardly worked, and lacked relevant detail. In the end, he had unabashedly gone through the text and added lengthy and unnecessary words so that it at least looked longer. Shoddy work, yes, but it had been a long, tiring day, and Voyager was waiting. Finished, he hit the submit button with a flourish.
When he walked through the holodeck doors, a weight was lifted from him. It was good to be home. However, before any hoverball or trips to engineering, there was something Barclay needed help with first.
When Barclay entered sickbay, the Doctor was sitting in his office and pouring over several datapads, his ample forehead was creased in concentration. Barclay approached slowly, waiting to be noticed. He shuffled across the economical, low-pile carpet.
"Please state the nature of the medical emergency." The Doctor said on cue, without looking up.
Reg fidgeted.
"It's insomnia, mostly, and-and some back issues." Barclay told him with uncertainty, feeling as though he were interrupting.
The Doctor quickly met his eyes.
"Ah, Mr. Barclay." The Doctor greeted him, his countenance warming slightly. He put down a data pad.
"Please, it's Reg." Barclay corrected him.
“Shmullus.” The Doctor introduced himself proudly.
“Oh, God… Is that what I have?” Barclay asked fearfully, cradling his abdomen.
“What? No. Just… nevermind. Tell me about the problems that you're experiencing.” He said.
Barclay approached his desk tentatively.
"Well, the pain makes it hard to sleep, and when I don't sleep, the pain is usually worse. But, I suppose I can't really sleep even when the pain is gone, only in very specific circumstances. I have a hard time relaxing when-" Barclay said, substituting the end of his thought with a vague hand gesture.
“You don't say?” The Doctor gave him a sympathetic onceover.
His mind often raced at night. He was haunted by the misfortunes of his material life and enticed by the temptations of his holographic world. Every night this week when he laid down he was inundated by a jumbled mess of mental feedback that made him toss and turn. Strange though it was, the sparse occasions when he had napped on the holodeck were quite restful, a dream within a dream, perhaps, twice shielded from reality.
“Anxiety can cause tension that exacerbates musculoskeletal disorders, just as sleep deprivation worsens inflammation and reduces recovery. It also impedes the production of a neurotransmitter responsible for the pain threshold. I'm not surprised to hear that your ailments are linked.” The Doctor explained.
Reg nodded.
“You have neck pain, I presume.” The Doctor said, rose from his desk and approached Barclay.
“Yes.” He replied.
The Doctor circled Barclay and looked him over critically.
“Your posture puts too much pressure on your cervical spine, your head is tilted forward. Improving your posture is going to be an important part of resolving your back pain.” He said.
“Oh, okay.” Barclay murmured, feeling a bit self-conscious. He looked down at his feet.
“Look at me.” The Doctor ordered.
The abrupt request succeeded in making Barclay raise his head slightly and then look into the Doctor's soulful brown eyes.
The Doctor's expression was completely unreadable as he gazed back. He looked at Barclay as if looking through him, seeing something in him hidden.
The Doctor reached forward and cupped Barclay's face in both of his hands, tilting his head up. Barclay's heart fluttered in his chest. He raised his eyebrows in question, imagining that the Doctor was about to kiss him. Perhaps the Doctor had known all along that they were in a program. Maybe Barclay's love had released him from the limits of his programming and he had devised an unlikely but foolproof way for Barclay to stay in the holodeck with him forever.
The Doctor smiled.
“That's better.” He said. He let go of Barclay's face gently and stepped back as if nothing had happened, the spell abruptly broken.
Barclay's mouth opened but nothing came out.
“Try keeping your head upwards, like that, and your shoulders back.” The Doctor gingerly struck a pose and gestured to himself for emphasis.
Indeed, the Doctor had excellent posture, he always carried himself with grace and purpose. It was unimaginable that he should ever develop back problems like Barclay, impossible even. Technically, the Doctor didn't even have a spine. Figuratively, neither did Barkley. They were perfect for each other.
“Thank you, Doctor.” He said, his voice wavering.
⁂
The Doctor asked him to come back twice a week, once for chiropractic adjustment and once for counseling. Today was his counseling session.
“I have interpersonal problems, problems focusing at work.” Barclay said.
"From what I hear from the crew, you're a popular and valued member of Voyager. Captain Janeway herself speaks very highly of you.” The Doctor told him.
“That's just it, I feel great here on Voyager! It's everywhere else that's the problem.” Barclay exclaimed, then ran his fingers through his thinning hair.
“Everywhere else?” the Doctor asked, confused.
Of course, there was nowhere else. They were stranded in the Delta quadrant. To him, beyond these walls there was only uncharted space, not wires and holoemitters. To him, Barclay had no day job and no grueling responsibilities elsewhere.
“I just mean… before Voyager. I've had problems at my other posts. I guess I could say I dream about my other posts. I have to leave here and go to a dreamworld where I have no friends, no clue how to navigate work or society. I feel safe here on Voyager, here with you, but, that other place - it's real to me, it haunts me.” Barclay said.
“I'm very sorry for what you're experiencing, I’m sure you know, but I can't emphasize enough the high regard with which this crew holds you.” The Doctor said sympathetically.
"Well… they see me at my best." Barclay said solemnly.
“And, at your worst?” The Doctor prompted.
He had extreme social anxiety, a communication deficit, an attention disorder, maladaptive escapist tendencies, a smattering of phobias and now he was even beginning to suspect that he might have shmullus. Barclay was a mess.
“Just a little anxiety, I have-I used to have trouble talking to people.” Barclay told him.
“I see, social anxiety can be a difficult hurdle to overcome. You should be very proud of the progress you've made.” He said.
“Thank you, Doctor.” Barclay said. He was grateful for the vote of confidence, but he didn't feel as though rehashing his issues was helping. “Oh, that's the whole hour isn't it.” Barclay glanced to the clock.
“Ah. So it is. I could extend the session if you'd like.” The Doctor offered.
“Oh, no, thank you. I have to turn in early, anyway. I have an early shift tomorrow.” He said and stood.
“Well, in that case, I'll see you on Friday.” The Doctor said.
“See you!” Barclay responded, scurrying away.
“Mr. Barclay, pleasant dreams.” He said.
⁂
Friday couldn't have come soon enough. The past days’ trials had made Barclay tenser than ever, but in this moment, he could scarcely remember what all the fuss was about. The Doctor was giving him the best massage of his life. He wasn't even aware that he had been programmed with that ability, perhaps the Doctor had installed the extension just for him. What else might the Doctor be capable of?
The Doctor wasn't just a hologram of a crewmember on Voyager, he was a hologram of a hologram on Voyager. He was a copy of one that had achieved far more than his original programming, and Barclay was giving his Doctor every opportunity to do the same. It was a shame that the Voyager program couldn't run 24/7. But, despite getting much leeway from his superiors at the Pathfinder project, there were some limitations. Barclay knew people were concerned about his Holo-Addiction relapsing.
Considering Barclay's affinities, it was ironic that he would have such a special relationship with a hologram of a hologram. Indeed, the Doctor was quintessentially hologramatic.
Even though the rest of Voyager were holograms, the Doctor knew that he was one. Everyone else knew he was too, as they blissfully went on believing that they were flesh and blood. He was set apart from the rest of the crew. Even though he was composed of the same energy and enabled by the same mechanism, he was different, confined, alienated. Or, maybe Barclay was just projecting.
What were the existential implications of being a heuristicly-enriched algorithmically propagated reproduction of a simulation of a real doctor? Did that mean that the Doctor was the closest to his real Voyager counterpart, or was he the farthest away?
Thinking about it too much made Barclay's thinking go foggy. He quit the line of thought and sank deeper into the biobed. Barclay lied still and enjoyed the waves of pleasure that washed over him as the tension in his shoulders faded away.
"Doctor… do you do house calls?" Barclay asked thoughtlessly, his voice muffled by the bed.
Barclay winced when the pressure on his back became momentarily rough.
"What an adorable sense of humour you have." Came the sarcastic reply.
The Doctor was confined to Sickbay, of course. Barclay had designed the program that way for realism. That's the way it was on Voyager. There was no technological reason why the Doctor couldn't move about the ship as he pleased, as this was the holodeck, and he, a hologram. Yet, Barclay had essentially imprisoned the Doctor here as to be faithful to the source material. A simple voice command could change that.
"Oh." Barclay chastised himself.
"Yes, oh." The Doctor said.
The Doctor didn't seem too happy about his mobility issues. Barclay couldn't blame him, if anything, he blamed himself.
"I mean, oh, they didn't tell you yet!" Barclay scrambled to formulate a coherent reason for the EMH to come back to his quarters tonight.
"Tell me what?" He asked.
"Well, I was keeping the project quiet, because, well, I didn't want to get your hopes up." Barclay said.
"How thoughtful of you. 'Get my hopes up about what, pray tell?" The Doctor asked. He had stopped the massage, and was now leaning over Barclay with his elbow between his shoulder blades. It was not an unpleasant sensation, but it left Barclay pinned face down on the table.
"Your, uh... Mobile Holographic Emitter!" He announced.
The elbow was removed from Barclay's back, and he floppily dragged himself into a seated position.
The Doctor was eyeing him expectantly, his thick brows climbing his face.
"What's that?" He asked, inferring from the name as to its function, but unwilling to let his hopes be falsely bolstered.
"Well, it's a new device that can, can basically let you leave sickbay, and go anywhere you want on the ship, or even off the ship!" Barclay explained.
The Doctor's eyes were wide.
"Well, let's see it!" He said excitedly, clasping his hands in front of himself.
"Uh." Barclay began. He would have to provide some sort of device. There were no Mobile Holographic Emitters in existence that he knew of, and any electronic stand-in would likely be easily recognized by the Doctor for what it was. It would have to be something nigh unidentifiable.
Barclay smiled.
"I'll go get it! Stay right here!" He said and sprung from the table, happily pacing into the corridors.
"As if I had much choice in the matter." The Doctor said to himself.
Barclay only walked until he was out of earshot.
"Computer, please reset all mobility parameters for character: the Doctor." He said.
Barclay began walking back to sickbay. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a butterscotch. He often kept a few sweets on him to eat while he was working, since he was inconsistent with meals. He removed its wrapper, folded it into a little rectangle and slipped it back into his pocket.
Barclay reentered sickbay to find the Doctor waiting expectantly.
"That was fast." The Doctor remarked. "Do you have it?"
"Of course." Barclay assured him and walked over to hand the Doctor a small object.
The Doctor reached out to take it.
"Careful." Barclay warned.
He nodded as Barclay dropped the small, amber-coloured sweet into his palm.
The Doctor held the butterscotch reverently in his cupped hands with wonder.
"This is it?" He asked.
"Yes." Barclay said, hoping his ploy had worked.
Several silent moments passed.
The Doctor exhaled loudly, and looked to Barclay intensely.
"I've never seen anything like it!" He exclaimed with a smile.
Barclay laughed with relief. I was betting on it, he thought.
"How do I use it? How do I turn it on, I don't see an interface?" The Doctor asked in quick succession.
"Well, uh, it's already on. You don't even have to do anything. Just keep it close to you and you can go anywhere you want." Barclay said.
"I can just take it everywhere? There's no chance it might be damaged." He asked.
Barclay considered this.
"Well, ah, just don't get it wet... or hot. And, don't put it in a mass spectrometer! Also, you really shouldn't step on it either. Also, don't let organics hold it for too long, because it will get sweaty and... melt short circuit." Barclay instructed.
The Doctor nodded and put the 'device' in his pocket.
"Thank you, Mr. Barclay. You've truly outdone yourself." He said and put his hand on Barclay's shoulder.
Barclay looked away, blushing.
"Well, you deserve it. Actually, I'm sorry I didn't do it before." Barclay admitted.
"Nonsense!" The Doctor clapped him on the shoulder. "You should be proud that you have masterminded such a wondrous feat of technology. I'm incredibly grateful, Mr. Barclay- Reg."
"It was nothing." He shrugged bashfully
"Now, why don't we take it for a spin." The Doctor said excitedly.
"Sounds good! You're going to like Voyager, I mean, the rest of Voyager." Barclay walked with him to the doorway.
The Doctor took a tentative step into the hallway and patted himself as if to assure that he was still corporal. He looked around in wonder.
"Where to first?" Barclay asked.
"Where do most of the crew spend their time?" The Doctor asked.
"Well, there are a lot of busy places on the ship. There's a lot to do, a lot of work and a lot of recreational activities." He said.
"Where do most people spend their free time? Where do you go for fun, Reg?" The Doctor asked thoughtfully.
The holodeck was, of course, the correct answer. But, it isn't what Barclay wanted to say, and it wasn't what the Doctor wanted to hear.
"Why don't we stop by the mess hall, it's usually pretty busy this time of day." Barclay suggested.
"That sounds splendid." The Doctor said.
Barclay took the Doctor's arm and the two set off for the mess hall.
⁂
"Where to next, Mr. Barclay?"
They had had a grand time in the mess hall, celebrating the Doctor's newfound liberty with the rest of the crew. Barclay had created special holographic drinks for the Doctor to partake in; they were actually no different from what the rest of the crew always consumed, but nobody knew that.
"What if we went back to my quarters? I might have to sit down for a while, my back is acting up again. But, you could look around my place, we could... talk." Barclay suggested carefully.
It wasn't a lie. Given the hours Barclay spent hunched over a console or conduit, and his irregular sleep schedule, there was an ever-present ache in his back.
“I never finished your chiropractic adjustment, how could I forget?" The Doctor exclaimed.
"Oh, did you not?" Barclay murmured, feigning ignorance.
"Yes, I became so distracted by my new emitter that I entirely forgot about completing our session. Let's go back to sickbay." The Doctor said.
"Oh, I'm sure you don't want to go back to sickbay so soon. We could still go to my quarters, there's a, um, bed, for the massage, well, the chiropractic treatment." Barclay said. His mouth felt dry. He hoped that he wasn't coming on too strongly.
"Well, I had hoped to see your quarters... Yes, that sounds lovely, if it's alright with you." The Doctor agreed.
"Great, it's not too far from here." Barclay tried to suppress his excitement.
"Lead the way." The Doctor said.
The two men walked onward until they reached Barclay's unlocked quarters. The doors opened automatically upon their approach.
"Well, here's home." Barclay announced.
The Doctor looked around.
In truth, it was his home away from home. It probably didn't look like a normal officer's quarters, but the Doctor wasn't a normal officer, so he likely wouldn't know to judge. The amenities were sparse, as Barclay didn't really live there, but the room hosted a variety of mementos: gifts from crewmates, awards, and other things Barclay didn't have in real life. Hoverball equipment from games with Tom Paris adorned a table next to a miniature prototype of the original warp drive. In the corner of the room sat a 20th century four-cylinder engine from the Wright Flyer. Barclay had added it for visual interest.
“It's lovely, you have very unique decor.” The Doctor said.
“Thanks.” He shrugged, looking down with a goofy smile.
“Remember what I said about posture, Reg.” The Doctor scolded.
“Oops” Barclay tried to correct his stance.
The Doctor eyed Barclay critically.
“You're looking unbelievably stiff. I think we'd better make use of that officer-sized mattress.” The Doctor said. He cracked his knuckles.
Barclay nearly choked. With barely restrained excitement, he sat down on his bed.
"Make yourself comfortable." The Doctor told him.
"Shouldn't I be telling you that?" Barclay joked.
"Should you?" He asked.
Had Barclay been facing him, he might know whether the Doctor had really missed the irony, or if he had asked the question playfully. Alas, he was already face down on the mattress with the Doctor behind him. Again, all thoughts melted away under the Doctor's skilled touch. He had another fifteen minutes of bliss.
As the Doctor's strokes became broader and gentler, Barclay knew their session was coming to an end. He felt a bit lightheaded, and it wasn't from his blood redistributing itself downward as he had originally feared.
Barclay knew that his blood sugar must be dangerously low. He had been in the holodeck for the last 5 hours without stopping for a meal.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a butterscotch, quickly unwrapped it one-handedly and popped it into his mouth. There was a loud crunch as he bit into it, hoping it would give him a needed burst of energy.
Barclay noticed that the Doctor's leisurely strokes had stopped. He turned over and saw the Doctor's face twisted in a horrified and confused expression.
"Oh." Barclay said, realizing his blunder.
He swallowed the sweet bitterly.
“Mr. Barclay… did you just eat my emitter?” the Doctor asked slowly.
Barclay felt as though time stood still. His brain whirled, clawing for an explanation.
“What? No. These?” Barclay pulled out another butterscotch and showed it to him. “Neelix made them to commemorate your Mobile Emitter. He must have forgotten to give them out at the party. They look just like it, don't they?” Barclay said in a shrill and strangled voice.
The Doctor blinked.
“My compliments to Mr. Neelix.” He said with a chuckle.
“You should have seen the look on your face.” Barclay joked weakly. He felt queasy.
Barclay laughed, all he could do was laugh. He had half a mind to ask the computer to change their setting to the top of the Eiffel Tower so that he could throw himself from the top of it. That, and it would be a romantic place for a date. Although, he knew the Doctor liked opera. Perhaps he would appreciate a locale in Italy over one in France, but Barclay didn't know what the tallest Italian monument was.
“I hope you haven't eaten too many of those, you look sick.” The Doctor noted.
“No, no. I'm alright. I'm feeling much better now, actually, thank you.” Barclay shifted his shoulders around now that he was able.
The Doctor looked wistful.
“...And, thank you, for treating me like a real person.” He said.
Barclay was surprised by the abrupt shift in conversation.
“You are a real person. You're just as real as the rest of the crew, maybe more!” Barclay said with sympathetic offense. He felt angered that anyone would ever imply that he wasn't real.
“Yes, I know. But, I suppose that I just wanted to say that I appreciate your friendship. I've enjoyed our time together today. It's difficult to express. You're not perfect, not by far, but, when you look at me, you see me. I'm real to you, and you're real to me.” The Doctor said.
Impulsively, Barclay took the Doctor's face in his hands and kissed him.
When he pulled back, the Doctor wore a stunned expression that made Barclay's heart waver.
“I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me!” Barclay stuttered, getting off the bed. He'd really done it this time, he thought.
“Mr. Barclay, I'm afraid I'm not programmed for romantic relationships.” The Doctor told him firmly.
“I'm…” It was pointless to apologise a dozen more times. “I think I'll just leave now.” Barclay said, his face burning with shame.
The Doctor quirked an eyebrow.
“Leave? These are your quarters.” The Doctor pointed out. “Besides, I was rather looking forward to expanding my programming.” He said.
The Doctor smiled and Barclay, collapsing onto the bed beside him with relief, copied the expression.