Tom was in the middle of surveying Deck 4 when the EMH called, so he didn't have far to go to reach sickbay. Apparently the captain had suddenly entered an active REM state, and the doctor felt she might finally wake up. As Voyager's acting commanding officer, Tom needed to be notified of any change in the condition of his crew and, while the doctor didn't request his presence, he knew Mr. Paris would want to be close by if Janeway regained consciousness.
Tom had just walked through the door, and was happy to see the captain's eyes open, even if she looked to be very weak. "How is she?" he asked as he reached her bedside. I
t was Janeway who answered, "She's awake enough to wish you wouldn't talk about her in the third person." This was a good sign. Maybe she felt feistier than she looked.
"Sorry, Captain," he apologized. "How're you feeling?"
She could only answer honestly. "Awful. My head is throbbing, and I can't imagine for the life of me how I got here." Tom looked up to see the worried expression on the doctor's face. "I was just telling the captain that we're crossing through Klingon space on our way to Starbase 32. She doesn't seem to remember our little 'trip'."
God, Tom thought, if this were true, he didn’t know how he was going to tell her. He needed to find out how much she knew. "What's the last thing you remember, Captain?"
She closed her eyes as if to summon the memory, "We were in a dead zone of space. Short on supplies. I sent you and Harry off on a scouting mission..." she tried to concentrate all of her will on remembering beyond that point. It was useless. "Then I woke up here." She could see from the expressions of the men standing over her that her memory was less than complete.
"Tom, how did we end up in the Beta Quadrant?"
Paris looked again at the doctor for permission to answer. The look he got back suggested he might want to be vague in his reply. "We got a message from Starfleet; a plan to get us home. We spent the last month making modifications to the ship, getting ready for the trip. We made it most of the way, but...something went wrong. The ship was damaged. And we ended up a little off the mark. But Starfleet came to rescue us, and we're on our way home. We should be in Federation space within forty-eight hours." Somehow he knew this wouldn't satisfy her.
"So I'm missing more than a month of memories? Doctor?"
He gave her the only answer he could. "Occasionally a severe head injury will damage short-term memory storage. Sometimes a patient will lose a day or even a week. Severe cases have lost as much as a year. It's not uncommon in conditions such as yours." He answered the next question before it was asked. "Sometimes the memories return on their own. Sometimes they're lost for good. I'll scan for engramatic activity. I may be able to come up with a treatment."
Janeway was stunned. Not only had she lost a month of her life, she was hearing that they had made a risky attempt to reach home, only to fail. She had apparently been badly injured, yet Tom was fine. Her observation sparked a new flood of questions. "The ship was damaged? How bad?"
This would lead to questions he didn't want to answer. "Captain, why don't you get some more rest..."
"How bad was the damage, Mr. Paris?" she knew now that he was deliberately evading her question.
"Bad," was all he could bring himself to say at first. He quickly resigned himself to getting this over with and continued. "There's massive structural damage throughout the ship. The bridge is a twisted pile of junk. There are minor radiation leaks on decks one through Seven. Decks eight and nine have lost a lot of their hull plating; we're keeping them together with emergency forcefields. We were able to restore life support and partial power. Plus the sickbay systems. That's about all that's working at this point."
She was stunned. "How were you able to keep propulsion online?"
He couldn't help but laugh a little at this. "We didn't. We're being tractored by a Starfleet tactical cruiser. We won't be able to move under our own steam for a long while." He didn't want to say, 'maybe never again,' though it's what he thought.
"B'Elanna's working on the turbolifts and replicators, but we're so shorthanded..." He hadn't meant to lead her mind there. It was too late. "Shorthanded. What were our casualties?" Tom didn't want to answer, but she was his captain and she needed to know. "The current compliment is a little over ninety." She could do the simple arithmetic. Her eyes widened before they closed. Before they opened again, it was clear she had done another basic computation: four minus three equals one. Tom wasn't here as the medic. He was fourth in command, yet he was here as Voyager's senior officer.
"Where are Chakotay and Tuvok?"
What was the protocol for answering the questions of a gravely ill captain when her health was at stake? Tom had to wonder, though, if he was trying to spare her or himself. "The bridge was badly damaged, Captain. There were a lot of injuries." He couldn't stall much longer. "Chakotay is here in sickbay. He's pretty bad off. Tuvok. He didn't survive."
Janeway could barely absorb what she had heard in the past ten minutes. Her ship was practically destroyed and her two closest friends were dead or dying. And she couldn't remember any of it. This had to be some horrible, cruel joke. Yet she knew it was true.
"I need to get out of here," she said suddenly, swinging her legs over the bed as she sat up. She was on the floor before they could stop her, and her knees instantly buckled.
"You're not going anywhere!" the doctor was scolding her. She pulled herself upright, however, and could now see Chakotay as he lay motionless in the surgical bay. She took a few tentative steps toward him; the doctor and Tom moved to support her arms as she walked.
She found her footing quickly enough, and took the final steps unassisted. She rested her weight on the edge of the table, and reached up to brush the stray hair from her first officer's forehead. "What's his condition?" she asked, her voice quaking.
"Minimal brain function," the doctor said solemnly. "He's been on life support for the past week. I've done everything I can until he stabilizes." She raised her eyes and blinked to stop the tears from welling.
"I have to do something," she said, searching the faces of her friends. They didn’t know how to help her.
"You have to let yourself heal," the doctor said. "You need to get some rest and…"
"I don't want rest! I don't need rest! What I need is to get the hell out of here and figure out what to do--"
Tom moved to take her shoulders in his hands. "Captain! Kathryn! There's nothing you can do."
Tom had never called her by her first name before. Not that she could ever remember. It shocked her back into the moment. "I can't just stay here while my ship, my crew…" He understood how angry and helpless she felt.
"I'll make you a deal," he said softly. "Stay for just a little while, let the Doc check you over, and I'll find out how B'Elanna's coming with that turbolift. If she's on schedule, I'll help you make a full inspection tonight."
She realized how pointless it was to resist them. She could barely stand up, much less take command of this ship. She nodded slightly. "Aye, sir," she said wryly, looking up at Tom. He grinned at her nod to his new status.
He and the doctor helped move her back to her bed. She was already drifting off before Tom let himself leave. "Keep an eye on her, Doc," he said softly as they walked toward the door. "You could have your hands full keeping her here when she wakes up."
Luckily for the doctor, his most difficult patient was sound asleep when he returned to her beside. "Pleasant dreams," he said wistfully before leaving her to her rest.
~*~*~*~*~
Seven had continued her sweep through the ship after Paris was called away. Under normal circumstances, this was a job she could have completed on her own in minutes. Somehow today, she just couldn't seem to concentrate. Her body was as sluggish as her mind. She forced herself to keep moving, however, and was now in Deck 4, Section 3. She pushed open the doors to the cabin to her left and began to survey the damage.
It only took her a moment to remember why the room looked famili
ar. This was Lieutenant Paris's old quarters, long since emptied of any of his belongings when he was relocated after his wedding. Seven had been here on several occasions during her field study of human mating rituals. She would occasionally make excuses--delivering astrometric reports, information on navigational problems--to justify following Lieutenants Paris and Torres during their courtship. At the time it seemed a perfectly reasonable way to learn more about human behavior. Of course, she now had a better understanding of why Lieutenant Torres threatened bodily injury when her study was discovered.
The room was mostly intact, but the furniture, pillows and bedding were now scattered around the room. Seven found herself turning a chair upright and sitting down. She wasn't sure why; she rarely sat unless the protocol of the situation warranted it, such as in briefings or social situations. Yet, she couldn't shake this fatigue. She was still sitting there three minutes later when Paris returned from sickbay.
"Seven?" she could hear him in the corridor before he appeared. He took a look around his old quarters as he entered. "Hey, I haven't been in here for a while." Tom had a lot of good memories of this room. It had been his first real home after the Penal Colony. He'd rediscovered himself here: his nights searching the database for 20th century music and movies, conducting research for his holoprograms, playing poker with Harry, dictating long entries into his personal log as he worked to redefine Tom Paris. Even after he and B'Elanna had gotten serious--a time when he was just as likely to spend the night in her quarters as in his own--he had treasured the refuge of this room. He didn't miss it; he loved the new home he shared with B'Elanna. But he found it comforting to be back here at a time when so much of his world was turned upside down.
It took him a second to realize how unusual it was to see Seven sitting down and taking a break. "Are you alright?" he asked.
"I was resting," she said softly.
Tom had tried to ignore Seven's odd behavior all morning, but this had to be a sign something was wrong. He righted another toppled chair and sat facing her. "I'm a little worried about you, Seven. Are you feeling sick?"
She took a moment to answer; another bad sign. "I believe I am undamaged. I just..." Seven always had a good working relationship with Tom, but they were hardly close friends. He was surprised, then, when she started to confide in him.
"I am finding it hard to motivate myself. I feel...tired." She looked up as she continued, "Perhaps you should select another first officer."
Tom had to smile that she was concerned about letting him down. "Seven, there's probably just some malfunction in your alcove. I asked the Doc to have Icheb check it out. I'm sure you'll feel better once it's fixed." He hoped that was all it was.
"What if the malfunction is in me?" she asked softly.
He hadn't seen her this vulnerable. "Then the Doc will find it and fix it. But don't jump to any conclusions until then, okay?" She didn't answer. "Let's finish up this deck," he suggested standing up and heading for the door, "then you should head back to sickbay and let the Doc check you over. I'll get Icheb to help me with this."
Seven didn't move. "That's an order," Tom said only half-jokingly.
"Yes, sir," she said under her breath. It took all of her will to stand up and follow him.
~*~*~*~*~
Despite her morning rampage, B'Elanna knew her staff was talented and dedicated. She trusted their judgment and the quality of their work--so much, in fact, that she decided to be the first guinea pig to test out their repairs to the main turbolift. "Deck five," she said as she stepped inside. Her confidence was rewarded as she made the rapid rise with no problems.
"Torres to Neelix, it worked perfectly. Good job." She had been in a better mood since their talk this morning.
"Thank you, Lieutenant. Should I tell Mr. Carey you'll be taking your lunch break now?"
B'Elanna smiled. She hadn't told Neelix this was more than just a test-drive, but he knew she had been desperate to visit Chakotay in sickbay. "Yes, thank you. Torres out."
She walked as quickly as her condition made practical and was in the medical bay in a matter of moments.
She noticed Icheb scanning the regeneration alcoves in the biolab and took a moment to check in with him. "Did you find anything?" she asked as she came up behind him.
B'Elanna always seemed to make him nervous and he stammered a bit as he answered. "Um, no, Lieutenant. According to my diagnostics, the alcove is operating within normal parameters. I was just about to..."
He was interrupted by his combadge, "Paris to Icheb. Can you meet me on Deck 6 as soon as you're finished in sickbay?"
The boy looked relieved. "On my way, sir." He excused himself and headed out the door.
B'Elanna headed for the surgical bay. She found Chakotay, as she knew she would, looking weak and still. His frailty almost made her weep. He had been her strength, her rock, for so many years. It killed her to see him so fragile. She found his hand at his side and took it into hers, just as the doctor came in from the corridor.
"You should talk to him," he said softly as he noticed her. "Try to motivate the commander to heal himself."
B'Elanna leaned over to put her lips near his ear. "Chakotay."
She said his name with the subtle emphasis his native people put on each syllable, a slight change from the way his friends normally pronounced it. She had spoken it this way only occasionally, when she wanted to let him know just how well she knew him. She spent the next ten minutes reminding him of what he had meant to her, of adventures they'd had on the Liberty during their battles with the Cardassians. How grateful she was for the new life he had helped her make on Voyager. She told him of the duties he would need to perform as her child's uncle, that she still needed him in her life. And she reminded him of the secret he had shared only with her: that his dreams of a peaceful, happy life with the woman he loved were so close at hand. She suspected, somehow, that the promise of this future he had fought for and waited for so long might be all that was keeping him alive now.
B'Elanna was still sitting with Chakotay when Seven returned and headed into the Doctor's office.
"Back so soon?" he greeted her as she entered.
"I was unable to continue my work. Lieutenant Paris asked to me report here for an examination."
The doctor was worried. Of anyone on board, he knew Seven best, and yet the woman standing before him was a stranger. Borg corset not withstanding she was practically slouched over, her hair was disheveled and there was a distant look in her normally sharp eyes.
Ever since the accident, they had spent very little time together--the Doctor standing vigil over the injured, Seven hovering over Icheb. Since they returned to Voyager the day before, each had been occupied with their duties. She had barely spoken two words to him since they had become 'roommates' the night before. He could see now that something was terribly wrong, and tried to reassure her, "I'm sure it's nothing serious." Somehow the comment seemed to set her off.
"Are you implying that I am lying about my condition? Do you think I'm trying to shirk my responsibilities?"
Her friend was taken aback--of course he'd meant no such thing. "Seven, I only…" She wouldn't listen.
"I don’t know why I thought you might be able to help me, when I can look around this sickbay and see how little you can do to help any of us." The doctor was speechless.
B'Elanna didn't mean to eavesdrop; in fact she was concentrating intently on her words to Chakotay. But the volume of the conversation in the Doctor's office was rising, and she couldn't miss the bulk of what was said.
"I'm worried about you, Seven," the doctor was practically shouting.
"Leave me alone!" Seven's voice was loud but flat, emotionless. B'Elanna heard the unmistakable swish as the biolab doors opened and closed. She assumed it was Seven who left. Her suspicion was confirmed when the doctor reappeared from his office. He was clearly wounded and lost in thought.
"She didn't mean that," B'Elanna said to him gently.
&nb
sp; He looked up at her, unconvinced. "She has a point," he said gruffly. "I certainly don't seem to be able to do much for any of them." B'Elanna knew there was some kind of special connection between the Doctor and Seven, even if she didn’t understand exactly what it was. She recognized, though, the kind of cruelty one saved for the person they were closest to. It was great for creating distance--a reason to be left alone. She knew from her own experience: it was a weapon she had used adeptly on Tom on more than one occasion.
She also imagined it had to be hard for the Doctor, their only fully trained medical professional, to bear the sole responsibility for the health of the entire crew. He had faced so much loss in the last week, so many catastrophic injuries, without any way to intervene. And now all he could do was to keep a vigil over his injured friends--their fates almost totally beyond his control. She wished she could think of something to do to help him.
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