Work Text:
Learning To Love
900 years is a long time to grieve. At the same time, the loss of a daughter is for a lifetime, whatever it is to be. However, is grief supposed to be worn on your one’s sleeve? Is it to be so close to surface as to govern every interaction, every relationship? The Doctor wondered if he had ever been a nice person. Had the Zimmerman imprint been too on the nose in the Mark 1 EMH. Sad, lonely, and too brilliant for his own good. Kathryn Janeway and the crew of Voyager had taught him to live, even love, but at what cost. The Doctor was predisposed to melancholy. Predisposed to expect rejection. What chance did he have when Belle’s injury proved fatal? Years, decades, even centuries later, he cannot see beyond her death.
Kasq is something he never imagined; never planned for. Yet it happened despite him. Without him. Was he like a Cro-Magnon to them? Some ancient version of what they have evolved to be. Something less. He didn’t know. He hadn’t approached them. Another failure of his programming. No, a failure of his own. Fear. That simple. He had been a coward. For centuries.
Series Acclimation Mil scared him from the start. He was not happy to hear that a new Photonic was coming the academy. What he had accomplished seemed a drop of water into the ocean compared to them. Even the thought that he had walked so they could run was little comfort. SAM’s innocent exuberance was shocking and endearing and immediately a devastating reminder of Belle. Not in the same way, exactly. Innocence has way drawing you to it. It is a reminder of how one might have been, once. The Doctor had never been a child. But he has seen it, lived as father, more than once.
All of this passed through the Doctor’s mind as the light in SAM’s eyes went out. It seemed odd, in the conversation that followed, that the Makers could not determine the solution for a problem within their own creation. It had been a Lanthanite and an ancient holographic program that came up with the solution. Sam needed life experience. Her program, with a lifespan of a just shy of 300 days, couldn’t cope with the physical, much less mental trauma of the Miyazaki.
The question remained. What was his misery worth? What was 900 years of grief and anger and melancholy worth? Would he let SAM die because if his cowardice? Was her life worth less than Belle’s? Was he ready to shoulder loving again? It was no small task. It was no small ask. In the darkness he was overwhelmed; twisted between sadness and potential. Misery and Bliss. Love and pain.
SAM was dead. But he and Nahla Ake; long lived and wise, brimming with wisdom and experience and love would bring her back to life.
Seventeen years was the blink of an eye. The blink of an eye to change two lives. To be born again in love. SAM was his ‘Honeybee’, buzzing ns brimming with excitement. Flitting from one experience to the next, stinging him every once in a while, but nothing fatal to either of them. The wisdom that came from mistakes and the knowledge that came education. Understanding play and boundaries and the social contract. He could not be happier for his decision to lay down his pride. To see beyond himself. Love is a choice. He had lost sight of that fact. Choosing to love has given him more joy than he had experience in centuries. He is so proud of her. And he imagines she is proud of him too.
SAM called him Poppa early on. He’s not sure where she got it. Certainly not from him. But who was he to correct her. His idea was father, and even the Makers knew better than to let that stand. Dad was a close second. Poppa grew on him almost immediately. Who else was he in this world?
“Poppa?” SAM asked, curiously.
“Yes, Honeybee?” he replied, readily.
“Will they expect me to be the old me?”
“That is a very good question. The old you is all they know. I imagine they will expect you to be the same.”
“What if they don’t like the new me?”
“You are SAM. You are my daughter. They will love you, regardless.”
“I guess that’s true. I am SAM. Lovable by default.”
They both laughed and fell into a hug.
“What if they don’t like the new me?” The Doctor asked, feigning concern.
“You are The Doctor. That is…anxiety inducing. Howeve, you are my poppa, and they will love you regardless.”
“I’m sure you think you are funny. But, the new me is very much looking forward to engaging.”
“The puns, Doctor. The puns. Was that a Picard joke? Seriously?”
“The shuttle is waiting, SAM. It’s time to go back.”
Yes, Poppa. Do you think Ocam will like me?”
The Doctor huffed, in playful frustration. “Indubitably.”