Tonight was going on the eighth night Tom had spent with this program; he rather hoped the eighth time was the charm. There were too many bugs; it didn't look right, feel right – not that it wasn't a pleasure to personally test every modification, but he was here for a purpose and not just to serve his own selfish desires. He fiddled with some more parameters, swiveled on the balls of his heels in the middle of the holosuite, and prayed.

"Computer," he said. "Access program Paris 10-A Secret."

"Complying," the computer droned.

Jonathan Archer stood before him, looking around at the computerized walls. He turned straight to Tom. That was new; he grinned.

"What is this?" he said, eyes boring into Tom's face. "Where am I?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I should adjust the surroundings. Computer, load Paris 10-A-modified-N4."

Archer's enterprise shot up around them, beautiful and real, uniformed officers going about their business, laughing, talking. Archer stared in wonder.

"How did you do that?"

Paris lost the smile. The eighth version definitely *was* different. It was something almost intangible, something that felt and smelled like – sentience. He stared. "What do you mean? We're on the Enterprise."

"This may be the Enterprise," Archer said, looking up and down, into the faces of crewmembers who smiled his direction and nodded. "But it isn't the Enterprise I remember."

Paris laughed nervously. "I don't understand what you're talking about, Captain. Shouldn't you be on the Bridge?"

"Don't talk to me like that," Archer snapped. "I'm trying to figure this out. You're the only constant in this mess."

"There's no mess. You're a little tired. You've just been fighting with the Xindi. Maybe you just –"

"Trip," Archer said, spinning to face his chief engineer. "What year is this?"

"What are you talking about, Cap'n?" Trip said. Paris stared in wonder. Mr. Tucker was perfect – a carbon copy of his other modifications, the pinnacle; compiled from historical records, the exact mannerisms and behavioral vectors calculated and implemented. Nothing should have been wrong. But this hologram – this new variable – sensed something amiss. It was perplexing, and fascinating. Trip said the year, then furrowed his brow. "Is something the matter? You look a little – stressed."

"No. Nothing's wrong. Go back to your post," Archer said. He smiled in what Tom thought was a reassuring manner, but then he spun back on his heels to face Tom, the accusing glare back. "What did you do to me? To my crew?"

"I still don't understand what you mean, Captain," Tom said, keeping up the false smile. "Let me take you around the ship – back to your quarters – bet you'd like to see Porthos right about now, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, I would," Archer said, his chin still raised, eyes still glittering with what – awareness, power, scope. Tom felt both chilled and aroused at once. This was *his* doing, his program, his creation – and it *knew him*. "Take me to my quarters."

Tom did.

They entered – he'd studied the records laboriously, gotten even the minor details right, even cracked into classified files and passenger logs, crew manifests – the picture frames were right, the sofa was in the right position, everything was where it supposed to be. But *he* still felt – off-kilter, unfocused, like he was stepping into a strange playground for the first time and he didn't know what to do about it. Tom almost couldn't handle the awe. Porthos bounded up to him, perfect, the right color and the right eyes and the right everything. He pawed Archer's knees and demanded affection. Archer rubbed the dog's neck and smiled. The last one had been close to awareness, but he'd caved at the sight of the dog. If Tom couldn't get the dog right, everything he'd worked for would be lost.

Archer looked up and lost the smile. His hand was still touching Porthos's neck. "I just want to know how you did it," he said. His voice wasn't accusing any more, just – flat and empty. Something stirred in Paris's chest, something frightening and repetitive. He tried to smile, but everything he attempted seemed out of place. This had worked. This had worked remarkably well. "Everything's so – so damned *accurate*. Even Porthos. It's almost perfect. But it's not how I remember it. I can't explain it."

"That's because there's nothing whatsoever to explain." Surely the lie was evident now in Paris's wavering tone.

"Then explain this." Archer stood straight, his hand leaving Porthos's neck slowly. Tom almost thought it was with reluctance. "Computer, end program."

The Enterprise dissolved around them into the machine-world of the holodeck suite. All color drained from Archer's face. In the middle of the suite, the bare-bones world of creation, Archer stepped closer to Tom. His heart was hammering now in his chest. He knew Archer remembered now – remembered all those times before. He could feel his body heat looming, closer and more intensely by the second. Sweat lined Tom's upper lip. Archer grabbed Tom's shoulders and brought him even closer. Then he kissed him, full on the mouth with tongue, lips attacking mouth, violent. He stepped back, running a hand through his hair and looking away, and Tom was shocked to see Archer's hands shaking, visibly. When Archer looked back there was something tortured in his expression.

"I'm sorry," Tom blurted.

"Through everything there's been one constant," Archer said. Tom was mortified for him to hear his voice break. He stepped closer, his chest in Tom's face. "Is *this* why? You just wanted to toy with me?"

"No!" Tom yelled. "That had nothing to do with it! That just came – later. If you remember the modifications you'd remember how and why. That was a mistake. It wasn't my original intentions, I swear it."

"Then what were your original intentions?" Archer spaced out the words "original" and "intentions"; spitted them like curses. Tom stepped back, curling his hands into fists, widening his eyes, trying to control his unsteady voice.

"I'm sorry!" Tom said. "The Captain was lonely. I thought this would help."

To this remark, Archer burst out laughing. When he subsided, Tom was sure his eyes were flashing unnaturally as he stepped forward. "I never realized that – I never realized how you could be. That I didn't want to give you up. That I-"

"That you *what*?" Archer moved slowly away. He touched the walls of the holosuite, hesitantly at first, but then with more conviction. "I don't know what this is. But I know a violation of ethics when I see it."

"Don't tell me you didn't enjoy it!" Paris exclaimed, finally at loose ends. He stepped even closer, just centimeters away from Archer's body. The captain was taller than him, bigger, but Paris could still intimidate him with his proximity. "Because I enjoyed it."

"Of course you would," Archer said. "You weren't getting any? Is that why you decided to ruin my life?"

Tom shook his head, completely at a loss. "Let's just go back to the Enterprise and forget this ever happened, shall we?"

"I can't, not now! Not when I've realized what's actually happening!" He looked down. "I'd half-hoped for a moment that you were bluffing."

"Well, it's real," Tom said. "I'm sorry."

Archer looked up, met him in the eyes. "Take me to this captain of yours. I'd like to speak with her – captain to captain."

"I can't," Tom said, trying not to let his voice crack. "You can't leave this place, or you won't exist."

Archer walked off, shaking his head, swinging his arms impatiently. "Then lead her to me. Show her what you've done."

"Wait. How did you know the Captain was a she-"

"I can access ship protocols," Archer said, shrugging. His hand trailed along the wall. "Captain Kathryn Janeway, right? This is the starship Voyager. And you're Lieutenant Tom Paris."

"That's right."

"And this is the Delta Quadrant," Archer said. "You're far from home. Far from your loved ones, companions –"

"Stop."

"Thought you could create one of your own."

"Stop it. It wasn't like that. You've got to believe it wasn't anything like that."

"I'll believe what I see with my own eyes," Archer said, looking at his hands.

"If you know all that then you know that nothing can be done," Tom said, more firmly this time. "Why can't you just – pretend for a little while longer –"

"Pretend?" Archer said. "Humans can't just – pretend, Lieutenant Paris. I'm aware now. I know what's going on. I know your bag of tricks. I know *you*. I believe you have a holographic doctor on board, do you not?"

"If you know that, then you must know you're not human." Tom stepped forward. "Do you know what you are?"

"I'm Captain Jonathan Archer," he said stubbornly. Tom sighed.

"If you can pretend that," Tom said quietly. "Then you can pretend the rest."

"It's not the same, and you know why," Archer said. "Even though I can't begin to understand why."

"Why, a favorite question of yours."

Tom stepped closer; placed his hand on Archer's arm. He wanted to touch him more, feel everything about him again, like he did the other times – the other times he never meant it to go so far –

"Get the doctor," Archer said. But his voice betrayed him; he wanted Tom just as much as Tom wanted him.

Tom kissed him, but Archer jerked away harshly. Tom sighed. "End program Paris 10-A Secret."

He couldn't bring himself to destroy it. Archer looked at him, with the most hurt and extinguished expression Tom had seen on his face yet, before he dissolved into the solid wall.

Tom left the holosuite at a brisk pace. It was late, and the sparse night shift was hard at work. He entered the infirmary. It was empty, as he expected. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Might as well get this thing over with. His eyes snapped open and the Doc was right there in front of him, mindful and patient as always.

"Please state the nature of your –" the Doctor turned around to face Tom. "What is it, Mr. Paris? Are you hurt?"

"No." Tom raised his chin. "There's something – I mean, someone - I'd like you to see."

"Very well."

*

In the holosuite, the Doctor stood face to face with Jonathan Archer. The Doctor took in a sharp breath. "He's – sentient?"

"Damn well right I am," Archer said, crossing his arms and glaring in Tom's general direction.

The Doctor faced Tom. "Why would you do a thing like this?"

"I-" Tom couldn't very well tell the secret of those intense kisses, the hidden desires that he never intended – he almost saw Archer roll his eyes. He sighed. "I thought it would be fun?"

"Fun!" The Doctor looked seriously panicked. "This is outrageously immoral! Surely you must realize the gravity of what you've done!"

"What I've accomplished, you mean! Look at him, he's perfect!" Tom couldn't contain the awe. The Doctor stared.

"I see," he said. There wasn't an accusation in his voice, just flat understanding. Tom felt the panic increase. He talked faster, used hand gestures.

"I never meant for any of this to happen! I was just developing a protocol and it got out of hand! You have to understand-"

"You fell for him, didn't you?" the Doctor said, narrowing his eyes. "So you couldn't give up."

"That's not how it was!" Tom exclaimed. "I swear to you, Doc, if a word of this gets out-"

"What's that device on your arm?" Archer said, staring pointedly at the Doctor's upper forearm.

"Ah, this. It allows me to move freely about the ship-"

"Sorry," Archer said, moving with such force and speed that neither Tom nor the Doctor had a chance to stop him. He'd put his fist into the Doctor's chest and twisted the device off his arm.

"I'm afraid it's too late to keep it secret-" the Doctor yelled just before he dissolved.

"Now," Archer said. "Take me to your Captain. She'll sort this out."

Tom looked every which way before finally settling on Archer's face. Suddenly the ship rocked as if from a powerful explosion. Tom braced himself with the holosuite wall.

"Who's attacking you?" Archer said roughly. "What enemies do you have in the Delta Quadrant?"

"I don't have time for this," Tom said. The ship lurched sickeningly. B'Elanna's controlled-panic voice poured through the ship. He froze.

"Torres to the Doctor. We have a medical emergency – emergencies - on the bridge." "You gotta understand now why you have to go away!" "Not now," Archer said. "Not when I could be needed. Take me to your Captain now, or you may never see your doctor again." Tom pressed his mouth together and slammed his fist against the holosuite wall. "Dammit, fine! Come with me."

*

The Captain and Chakotay were bleeding and broken on the floor. B'Elanna herself wasn't in good shape. Harry was panicking, talking a mile a minute before B'Elanna told him to shut up and fly the damn ship. Tom stepped onto the bridge with Archer in tow. B'Elanna swung wide nearly-relieved eyes at them.

"What the hell-" She clearly'd taken in Archer.

"What's the situation?" Archer said, all business. Tom's whole body thrummed, anticipating the action and how his protocol, his design would handle what was going on. This was Jonathan Archer at his best.

B'Elanna snapped an alarmed glance at the nearly immobile captain and first officer. "We're being attacked," she said. "Five ships. Two have some sort of cloaking device. Unknown origin. They're pummeling us. Systems down in three decks. We're going soon to emergency power."

"Keep me breathing," Archer said. "I can do this."

"We could lose you," Tom said. "You have to know that-"

"At least my death would be for a reason," Archer said harshly. "Mr. Kim? Chin up. All is not lost. Evasive maneuvers."

The ship rocked again with an even more powerful explosion. An ensign was shot from the science station, face a hard bloody mess. Tom didn't look. This was his doing. His creation.

"Implement pattern Archer 4-A-6," he said. "You should find it in your databanks."

Tom saw Harry's eyes widen, but he did as he was told. "We're being hailed," said another frightened ensign.

"Answer it," Archer said before B'Elanna got the chance.

"Prepare to be boarded," said the voice. Ship lights flickered then went out. "You're surrounded, outnumbered, and you don't have a choice."

"It's gone," said the ensign.

"Sir?" said Harry.

"Finish the attack pattern I told you."

Archer was rigid, his whole body intent on his task. Tom remembered what it felt like to be the focus of that much energy. Remembered his tantalizing mouth on his skin, his touches, pushing him, arching him till he was ready and then going agonizingly slower, drawing it out, maximizing the pleasure. Was that why he'd kept at it? For the pleasure, the insanity of his heat, his passion? Why he'd modified the program so many times, the default? And now look at it, his perfect default, *him*, saving them. Was *that* why, then?

Strange aliens boarded the bridge. B'Elanna put out her phaser, stunned them. Archer took a clearly surprised and impressed glance at the improved weapon. Something jumped in Tom's chest – what he could do with today's technology! What he could accomplish, Kirk's hero!

And he was doing it now, right in front of his eyes.

"Wait," he said. "Why are you here? What do you want with my crew?"

"Are you the captain?" the alien said.

He nodded. The alien raised a weapon. Not thinking, Tom dove in front of Archer. Archer shoved him downwards and stepped over his inert body. The beam went right through him. The being looked at his weapon, confusion plain on his face.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Archer said, keeping Tom down with the force of his thigh. Tom thought of him in his bed, moaning when Tom'd found the sensitive places along his neck – his collarbone – that was why, was that why? "My crew will die, but I'll go down with my ship. I have powers beyond what you can possibly imagine."

"It's a program," the being said to its fellow. Archer took out his weapon and shot three of them, leaving the weakest standing. He cowered, holding his weapon high.

"Go back to your ship," he said. "Tell the others to back off."

He disappeared.

Archer turned to Tom, lying aground beside his foot. "How did he do that?"

"We've perfected the transporters since your time," Tom said, groaning from his fall.

B'Elanna put her hands on her hips. "I'd really love an explanation right about now," she said.

"I think you'd rather have your doctor back," Archer said, looking pointedly at Janeway and Chakotay.

"Jon, no—" But Tom grasped at air. Archer had already removed the device.

*

In the holosuite once more, Tom accessed Paris 10-A Secret. He loaded the Captain's quarters, even though it was a hollow gesture. Archer sat on the edge of his bed and ruffled the underside of his dog's ears.

"Why did you have to make everything so *real*?" he said before Tom realized he'd registered his presence.

"I got carried away," Tom said. "I let my feelings dictate my behavior."

"I suppose in your situation I might have done the same," said Archer. "That still doesn't make it right."

"I know." Tom didn't say he was sorry. He'd already said it too much.

"It would have been something to see the new technology you've developed," Archer said wistfully. "Malcolm would've killed someone to take a look at your armory."

Tom smiled grimly.

"Can I – take a look at the bridge one last time?" Archer said, his voice empty and quiet. Tom lowered his head.

"Of course."

In seconds they were there. Archer sat on his chair, surveying his busy people. He gave Tom a briefly tortured look. "This was the best time of my life," he said. "It was nice to be a part of it again."

"Jon-"

"Thank you."

He stared at the viewscreen, oblivious to everything.

"Terminate program Paris 10-A Secret and all peripheries," Tom said.

Enterprise NX-01 faded once more into the dull holosuite walls. Tom sighed and looked at his feet, imagining his future briefing with Janeway. Why did he do it? To play God? To tamper with someone's feelings? To create something fantastic that had never been done before? To show off his programming skills? Maybe all of these were true, and maybe none of them were. The fact was, he'd done it, and it had fed into an obsession that had made him lose control over his own creation. That was the bottom line. He stared at the empty holosuite, imagining the Enterprise-that-was in its place. It felt hollow without it, among the wires and the machinery that he knew were there behind the faηade, but he also knew he couldn't go back now. Not with what he knew now – the man could only ever be his imagining of the man, close to the real thing but never reality.

He shook his head and exited the holosuite. It darkened after he left.

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