Disclaimer: See Chapter 1. Thank you so much to snapeissexy and dettaarsvenska for reviewing.
And just so you know: I only concede to the wishes of the plot bunnies. I am not a medical practitioner, though I did a little research to make this as realistic as I could. All I'm asking is that you go with the flow. I obviously don't know what I'm talking about when it comes to medical matters.
Phlox was running another scan on Lucy when he glanced up and saw Hardister suppress a yawn. A few minutes ago, the girl's father had brushed her hair and teeth and cleaned her face. With Phlox's help, they moved her to a chair for about thirty minutes, part of the procedure used to prevent bedsores. The Denobulan was partially grateful that Hardister was a doctor and knew how to treat comatose patients, but the downside to that was that he knew how comatose patients were treated, knew exactly the level of care they needed, knew how helpless his daughter truly was. But still, in true Denobulan fashion, Phlox kept a cheerful attitude about the entire thing, telling Hardister once again that he was confident Lucy would recover.
A beeping from overhead proved his point, and he brought the data on the overhead screen to the human doctor's attention.
"See that? The activity in the cerebral cortex? It comes back up to normal, then drops again."
Hardister stared at the screen. "You mean she's experiencing moments of consciousness?"
Phlox nodded. "It seems so. I think this is a good sign that she'll be waking soon, but I've got several more scans to run before I can tell you anything."
Hardister nodded. "I don't want to get my hopes up if it's not what you think it is."
Phlox frowned at the man's pessimistic attitude. "I know this must be frustrating to you, and I have no authority to dictate how you feel about the situation, but for all our sakes...for Lucy, try to be optimistic. We're still not sure what happened to her."
"So I've noticed," the man said bitterly, but then guilt clouded his features. "I'm sorry, doctor, forget what I just said. I know you're doing everything you can for Lucy...and I'm very grateful."
Phlox clapped the doctor on the shoulder and returned to his desk to examine a sample of Lucy's blood while the latest scan was running, but halfway there, the comm beeped and he changed direction.
"Phlox here," he said quietly.
"Doctor," came Hoshi's voice, "you're needed at docking port 2. A Vulcan contingent is on their way to the ship, and they requested you join them."
So the doctors had finally arrived. "Acknowledged, ensign, I'm on my way."
He turned to Hardister. "I've been expecting this visit since yesterday. I'll be back shortly with some Vulcan doctors, but if anything should happen while I'm gone, don't hesitate to contact me."
The human doctor nodded, and Phlox left sickbay and strode through the corridors to the correct docking port, eager to see to T'Pol's treatment, hoping the doctors had something he could use.
…
Yuris nodded politely to Phlox when he greeted him at the airlock, T'Pol and Captain Archer at his side, but the young Vulcan avoided eye contact with the Denobulan when they sat down at the conference table. The captain was cordial, even buoyant, and T'Pol was detached yet polite, but Yuris could almost feel the accusatory thoughts from Oratt, like an oppressive heat that hung over one's body in the desert, undisturbed by wind or clouds. Oratt had made up his mind, that much was clear to Yuris. Strom was simply following in his superior's footsteps, and it saddened Yuris that his old colleague could be so callous and uncaring toward a member of his own species.
Oratt was pleasant at first, politely refusing nourishment and respectfully requesting T'Pol's presence for the meeting, but then his tone turned more serious, and Yuris stared at him, trying to conceal not only his disgust at his colleagues' subterfuge, but his concern about the outcome of this discussion.
"We've discussed your request," the senior physician began, and if Yuris had been anything but Vulcan, he would have been hard-pressed not to roll his eyes. They had certainly not discussed anything with him. "Unfortunately, we are still hesitant to share data regarding Pa'nar Syndrome," Oratt continued.
T'Pol was seated across from Yuris, and she looked markedly uncomfortable, and perhaps rightfully so. He would have liked to think that T'Pol was not infected, that she had been spared this, that she hadn't even gone near a melder...but that was a high hope. She glanced down toward Phlox before re-establishing eye contact with Oratt, but Phlox was only silent for a moment before speaking.
"Subcommander T'Pol is not aware of my request, I'm...curious as to why you asked her to stay."
Yuris couldn't help but notice that Phlox had shared T'Pol's discreet glance toward him, and that he looked uncomfortable as well, though he was very skilled at hiding it.
"You're requesting information about a Vulcan disease," said Strom incredulously, "and you didn't discuss it with your Vulcan science officer?"
"That's correct," Phlox replied smoothly. "As far as I know, her expertise does not include medicine," he continued with an easy shrug. Yuris glanced over at his fellow doctors and saw immediately that Strom was not convinced, but Oratt was hiding his incredulity under a mask of neutrality.
"Are you familiar with Pa'nar Syndrome, subcommander?" the senior physician asked briskly, turning his gaze toward T'Pol for the first time. The woman raised an eyebrow, almost as if she were insulted. She and the Denobulan were playing their parts well, but Yuris knew this charade could only go so far.
"Of course," she said, almost haughtily. Oratt glanced down at the table as if to gather his thoughts, then captured her gaze again.
"Would you mind describing it?" he pressed, and Yuris was surprised at the gentleness in his voice. Strom's eyes were fixed on T'Pol, his gaze boring into her, as if by sheer will he could discover the truth from her. The irony of that was not lost on the young Vulcan doctor, but he only quirked an eyebrow and focused on their query once more.
T'Pol audibly breathed in a sharp breath with a gleam of amusement in her eyes, as if their question was some jest and she was waiting for the reveal. If only it were so...
"You're physicians," she said carefully, and it was her voice now that was tinged with incredulity. "Why would you need me to define an illness?"
"Please," Oratt insisted, his voice almost a purr, "indulge us." Yuris had a sudden thought that Strom and Oratt, but the latter especially, were trying to lull the subcommander into a false sense of security, with their soft voices and careful words. But thankfully T'Pol didn't seem to be convinced that this conversation was simply a medical debate, or fellow physicians collaborating and cooperating with each other. In fact, Oratt and Strom's plan of action was still unclear to him, and he had no way to warn Phlox or T'Pol that they were most likely being manipulated.
"It's an incurable degradation of the synaptic pathways," T'Pol said, a note of irritation in her voice. "It also affects the endocrine and immune systems."
"An impressive definition," Strom acquiesced, his tone even warmer than Oratt's. "Can you tell us how the disease is transmitted?" Yuris glared down the row at the middle-aged Vulcan.
"Through a telepathic practice," T'Pol stated ambiguously, apparently refusing to play his colleagues' game. They had danced through the pleasantries thus far, waltzing around each other with neutral expressions and easy voices, and though Oratt and Strom were dangling their bait in front of the subcommander, she wasn't biting.
But Oratt was insistent, forcing the bait to her lips. "And what practice would that be?"
The first part of their game was over; T'Pol could no longer dance around this, and Yuris was sure Oratt knew that fact.
"Mind-melds," she said plainly after a long moment's pause. "They cause a disruption of neuroelectric impulses in the mid brain, which can lead to the early stages of the Syndrome."
Yuris' eyebrows lifted for a moment, and his gaze drifted upwards to meet Phlox's, almost against his will, as if the Denobulan had some horrible control over him. Phlox was staring intently at him, the question they both were asking themselves burning in the alien doctor's eyes. Had Lucy been subjected to this?
Carefully, so his colleagues could not see, he shook his head minutely from side to side, and Phlox turned his glance to his hands, which were folded tightly on the table, a clear indication of the doctor's discomfort.
"Do you condone these acts, subcommander?" Strom pushed the issue, hiding his victorious purr underneath a guise of curiosity, and by this point, Yuris' stomach was beginning to roil in irritation. And it seemed he wasn't alone. T'Pol stood and calmly raised her eyes to glare at Oratt with cold disdain.
"I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me why you asked me here," she said slowly, her voice as frigid as a winter on Andoria.
"As would I," Phlox chimed, his tone accusatory. "Your questions to T'Pol seem inappropriate."
Oratt glanced at the Denobulan, then back to T'Pol. "Dr. Phlox has asked for data regarding the treatment of Pa'nar Syndrome. Did you have anything to do with that request?"
"I believe I was very clear about that," Phlox interjected.
"Yes," Strom said, his voice almost dripping with the pleasure of one who has engaged in a long and tedious debate and is now certain of his victory. "Your colleague on Denobula." His lips twitched upward into an indulgent, assured smile, then he continued. "Forgive us, doctor, but since there's a Vulcan serving on your ship, a fact that you neglected to mention to us," here Strom twisted the knife a little, his eyes gleaming victoriously, "we had to consider other possible motives for your inquiry."
Phlox seemed determined to keep the charade going, and though it seemed futile to Yuris, he conceded that Phlox had little in the way of options at the moment. The doctors were convinced that T'Pol was guilty of something, and nothing Phlox could say would change their minds now.
"What motive are you suggesting?" the alien doctor asked as if it were of no import to him.
Strom stared at the Denobulan for a split second longer, then quickly rose and maneuvered his way out from the row of seats, the PADD he had brought to the table now in his hand. He strode confidently and purposefully past Oratt and Yuris, then stopped at the head of the table, facing T'Pol with a dauntless gaze.
"Are you familiar with any of these names?" he asked, handing the PADD to the subcommander.
Yuris glanced up at Strom even though the older Vulcan's eyes were not on him, and suddenly Strom's abrupt exit from his office last night became all too clear. And T'Pol played right into his colleagues' hands, firmly taking the PADD and pressing her fingers to the surface of the thin device.
"They're Vulcan," she said finally after examining the list, her voice still irritated and cold, "I'm not familiar with any of them."
She handed the PADD back to Strom, and Yuris closed his eyes briefly before glancing at his superior on his left. Oratt's eyes were fixed for a moment on the PADD, then he shifted his gaze back to Strom, and Yuris did the same.
"They're melders," Strom explained. "Vulcans with the ability to transfer thoughts and memories to each other." The older Vulcan glanced away for a moment, then adopted an expression of a teacher reprimanding a disobedient student, toying with them before laying on a final punishment for their actions. "Do you know any melders, subcommander?"
"Not well," T'Pol replied evenly, and Yuris admired her refusal to be baited, "but I've met a number of them."
"Then I'll ask you again," Strom pressed, unaffected by her apparent apathy, "do you condone their behavior?"
T'Pol glared at him. "I don't understand what your questions have to do with the doctor's request."
"We find the behavior unacceptable," Oratt supplied, already labeling T'Pol as a melder or at the least a sympathizer, emphasizing the we, as in the 'proper' Vulcan doctors, "and since Pa'nar Syndrome is transmitted by these people, its cure is not a priority."
T'Pol turned to him with barely veiled anger. "You traveled up from the surface to tell Dr. Phlox you wouldn't help him?" she asked incredulity.
Oratt regarded her with an even, apathetic stare. "If you'll please show us to your sickbay," he said dismissively, standing. Yuris followed suit and waited for Dr. Phlox to rise as well, and the youngest Vulcan doctor made a point to walk side by side with the Denobulan all the way to sickbay. T'Pol saw them to the door of the medical facility, then departed with one last suspicious glare at Oratt and Strom, but the three Vulcan doctors and the Denobulan continued on into sickbay.
Yuris heard Phlox let out a delighted gasp at the sight before their eyes, and the young Vulcan raised an eyebrow. They had been told Lucy was still comatose, and her father was blocking their view at the moment, but it was obvious that the human girl was no longer gone from the world. But when her father turned around and regarded them with open despair, Yuris took that to mean that just because Lucy was no longer unconscious did not mean she was well.
Dr. Hardister backed away from the biobed to afford the Vulcans and Phlox a better view, and Yuris frowned openly at Lucy's dead stare. Her gaze was fixed on a nondescript spot on the wall opposite her, her hands folded tightly in her lap, her shoulders slumped, her hair shielding most of her face. Phlox turned to him with a confused stare, but then assumed his role smoothly and stepped toward Hardister.
"Why didn't you call me?" he inquired of the human doctor, his voice quiet.
Hardister bit his lip and glanced at Lucy, who continued to stare at the wall. "I was just about to when you walked in the door. She only woke up a minute ago and hasn't said a word. I've tried talking to her, but she won't say anything. Doctor, what's wrong with her?"
The man's voice had risen to near panic, and Phlox laid a careful hand on Hardister's shoulder. "As you so kindly stated earlier, I'm doing everything in my power to help Lucy. Now, perhaps our visitors wouldn't mind introducing themselves while I see to your daughter, hm?"
Phlox gestured purposefully toward Yuris and his colleagues, and Hardister obeyed the silent command after letting out a shuddering sigh. Oratt and Strom quickly introduced themselves, but Yuris simply nodded politely to Hardister and advanced toward Lucy. Her gaze had shifted to the floor, and he watched in confusion as she raised her hand and slowly tucked her hair behind her ear. Phlox had fetched his scanner and returned to her side, gently greeting her.
"I wish the circumstances were different for our first meeting, but I am glad to see you at least awake," the Denobulan said softly, smiling at her even though she didn't see.
Lucy glanced away toward the door, and Yuris was coincidentally standing in her line of sight. Her brow furrowed minutely in apparent confusion before her gaze slowly drifted up his torso. When her gaze locked with his, he expected for her lifeless hazel eyes to simply direct their attention elsewhere and pay him no heed, as would be consistent with a patient suffering from trauma. Lucy was exhibiting classic symptoms of acute stress disorder, and with that diagnosis, he expected her to continue dissociating with her surroundings, to be trapped in her own little world, as the humans called it.
He did not expect her hazel eyes to brighten with terror, or for her to shove Phlox's hand away and leap off the biobed, or for her to stumble backwards away from him, her eyes locked with his, her eyes wide with terror like a wild animal who has been cornered by hunters. He did not expect her to grab one of Phlox's instruments and hurl it at him. He caught it easily, remembering that Oratt, Strom and Hardister were all behind him, and he did not wish for them to be injured. He tossed the object aside without even registering what it was, and he watched in confusion and ever-growing worry as Lucy put several biobeds between them, then grabbed another instrument and gripped it tight as a makeshift weapon. She pointed it at him, her knuckles white her grip was so tight, and her wide eyes continued to bore into his, as if she were afraid that if she looked away but for a moment, he would pounce and devour her.
Hardister cried out when he heard the commotion and realized what was going on (Lucy had inadvertently knocked over a tray of instruments as she beat a hasty retreat away from Yuris), and Oratt and Strom turned their heads sharply at the noise. Hardister rushed forward, then stopped short of the biobed Lucy was now barricaded behind. His pace slowed, and he gently called his daughter's name. Her eyes did not move from Yuris, but the tension in her face seemed to ease slightly, and she lowered the instrument in her hand by a millimeter.
Oratt and Strom were whispering behind him, and after debating with himself as to what to do, he decided the best course of action would be to turn and walk away. Perhaps his absence would calm Lucy down, and without saying a word, he turned smartly on his heel and walked briskly toward the door.
Phlox stopped him with a word, but after Yuris turned and gave him a meaningful glance, the Denobulan nodded in understanding.
"We'll get her under control here," Phlox said quietly, quickly loading a hypospray, presumably containing a sedative of some sort. Yuris glanced past the alien doctor and observed as Hardister blocked his view of Lucy, then slowly held out his hand for the medical instrument. Lucy did not move a muscle.
"We'll be in touch, doctor," Phlox continued, bringing Yuris' attention back to him. The young Vulcan nodded curtly and continued toward the door, and Strom regarded him with a sympathetic glance.
"Where are you going, Yuris?"
"To the shuttle. It is logical to remove myself from her presence so she may calm down. I have inadvertently triggered something in her, and until we know exactly what that thing is, it would be wise for me to avoid her for the time being."
Strom raised an eyebrow, and Yuris could almost see pity behind his colleague's bright blue eyes, and finally the older Vulcan nodded to him. Strom glanced at Oratt, who nodded in agreement.
"Doctor," Oratt said, addressing Phlox, who looked up, "we will also be in touch with you concerning Ms. Hardister's condition, but we feel it would be best if we leave."
Phlox nodded and turned to watch Hardister run his hand over his daughter's hair, and Yuris' last picture of her was of her face, pale as death, tears streaming freely down her cheeks, but no trace of grief in her blank expression. She had backed all the way to the wall, then slid down the surface to the floor, and her father was kneeling close to her, combing her hair back from her pallid cheeks. She made no indication that she knew he was there, and she had resumed her blank stare at nothing, oblivious now that Yuris had removed himself from her line of sight. He sighed and turned to his colleagues, who preceded him out the door.
It wasn't until they were aboard their shuttle and clear of the Earth vessel that anyone spoke. Oratt turned to Strom and made certain he still had the PADD T'Pol had touched, and Strom held it up with a triumphant nod. But the triumph drained from his face when he turned and saw Yuris' contemplative expression.
"Yuris?" Strom said softly, tilting his head and leaning slightly forward in concern. The youngest Vulcan closed his eyes briefly.
"I believe she is suffering from acute stress disorder," he said carefully. "Though as to why, I do not know."
Strom glanced down at the PADD in his lap, then looked up again at his colleague. "Have you discussed her basic physical with Phlox?"
"Yes."
The middle-aged Vulcan shifted in his seat, as if uncomfortable. "Did he check for signs of...violation?"
"Of a physical nature? Yes, and the tests were negative. If you wish to confirm this fact, I'm sure Phlox would be happy to send you his data."
"I will handle this case, Yuris," Oratt interjected abruptly. "And I do not believe Phlox will be her physician for long."
Yuris sighed to himself and closed his eyes to meditate briefly before they landed. It was foolish of him to think that Oratt could have ever had good intentions toward the subcommander if there was any chance she might have that terrible disease. It was foolish to hope that his superior might have a burst of compassion and share what little research he and his colleagues had done. The medical community, of course, had made minimal progress on finding a cure for Pa'nar, but suspects or liars or accomplices or no, Yuris believed Phlox and T'Pol deserved the truth. Had he not just witnessed the most deceitful, most manipulative manner of obtaining private information, and without a patient's knowledge? Just because T'Pol was suspected of having Pa'nar Syndrome, of being a melder, her medical rights, her right to privacy as a citizen of Vulcan were suddenly rescinded? The thought made the white-hot anger return, and Yuris let out a calming breath and focused on a solution.
He could contact Phlox and arrange a meeting to discuss this matter further, but he quickly dismissed that option, as Strom and Oratt would most likely prevent anyone at the conference from contacting the Denobulan doctor if it was discovered he was lying, and the two would also most likely keep Yuris busy with other, more pressing matters. But if he went directly to the victim, directly to T'Pol...but this was only if T'Pol had Pa'nar Syndrome, which they had yet to confirm. Phlox was definitely lying about his motives for obtaining information on the disease, but as of that moment, T'Pol was blameless. The doctor may be banned from the conference for dishonesty, but even if the subcommander were discovered to be suffering from the disease, he would find a way to help her. He owed her that much...she deserved that much, as a Vulcan, as a potential victim, as a person.
…
"Is it definitive?" Yuris did not believe in an omnipotent being, or the human concept of luck, but he found himself hoping that the evidence was faulty, that the scanner was malfunctioning, that his own eyesight was betraying him.
"Unmistakably," Strom said firmly, seemingly unaffected by the fact that he had just condemned T'Pol and her career. "She's suffering from the Syndrome."
Yuris was at least glad Strom did not have that triumphant tone in his voice as he damned the subcommander, and the younger Vulcan turned away as Strom turned back to the screen, seemingly fascinated by the magnified strand of T'Pol's DNA.
He closed his eyes and breathed out as silently as he could. He would contact T'Pol tonight and arrange a meeting; as he had told himself in the shuttle, she deserved all the facts. He was relieved that at least she wasn't part of the minority. Then her career would most certainly be in shambles, though there wasn't much she could do now but return to Vulcan, face her trial and live her life as an outcast.
But perhaps it didn't have to be that way. He would see her tomorrow, he decided, and he would do the little he could to help this newest victim of Pa'nar.
