A/N: Disclaimer, see chapter 1

Chapter 7/9: Minutes

He leaned on the nearest wall. He needed a minute to catch his breath, just one minute. He turned his back to the bulkhead and surveyed the cargo bay with a critical eye.

The place was now crowed and just as busy as the Sickbay had been not even two hours ago. Cots had been set out and uninjured crewmembers were helping less fortunate ones. Tom was glad for their helping hands. Without the precious guidance of the EMH, Kes, Ensign Wildman and himself had been overwhelmed with the quantity and severity of the various injuries. At least, Voyager's seemed to have won its latest battle with the Kazon. The damages were extensive, but as far as Tom knew, everyone had been accounted.

There was still a lot to be done, but the worse was over. So, he could relax a bit, right? He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. It had gotten progressively strained as time went by. He had yet to ask Kes if the bacterial infection in his body had been irradiated. He tried not to worry about it too much.

The pain in his abdomen had settled mostly to a dull ache. Still, it would spike from time to time, causing nausea and leaving him drained. In the back of his mind, he could hear Doc rant about how his body was not fit for all this strenuous activity. He totally agreed, yet he did not know what he could do otherwise. Everybody well enough to help was required, and that included him.

Coming to think about being needed, it was time to get back to work. He would, in a minute. His mouth was a hot desert. He wet his dry lips, wishing for a drink of ice cold water. That would have to wait. He took a deep breath, and then opened his eyes. Pushing his body away from the wall, he felt disoriented. Everything tilted and the ground came into view. He felt himself falling. All went black, and stopped abruptly.

"I've got you. It's okay," a man assured him. "Paris, you're with me?"

He took a deep breath, "Chakotay?"

"Yes, it's me. Are you going to be sick?"

Oh, he hoped not! The last thing he wanted was throwing up on the Commander. Maybe a few years back he might not have cared so much. Today, he was determined to avoid it. For one thing, vomiting in his current condition had proven to be extremely painful.

"Let me help you," offered Neelix, as he rushed to assist.

Together, both men took hold of Tom and switched position so one was on each side of him. He swallowed a few times and concentrated on his breathing for another minute.

"Better," he reported at last.

"Okay, let's move you to a cot," said the Commander. "You did well today, Lieutenant. It's time for you to rest."

For once, Tom was not going to argue with the man. They were lowering him on the nearest cot when his midsection rebelled. Fire burned through his abdomen and flared up through his oesophagus. The last thing Tom Paris saw were red flames coming out of his mouth.

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End of chapter 7

May 2009