The only light in the room was dim and golden - the bronze luminary in which it was enclosed casting odd-shaped shadows that loomed large on the textured walls. The simple tinny notes of a music box cycled over and over.
Daddy?
A gentle hand caressed her hair.
I'm here, B'Elanna.
I don't feel good.
I know, Little Bee. It'll be OK. Here's Toby.
She clutched at the toy, burying her face into his soft pelt. Then it hit - suddenly and without warning. An overwhelming need to empty both of her stomachs as quickly as possible. There was no time - no time to ask for the bucket, no time to aim her face away from the bedclothes, or Toby, or her father.
Toby!
Oh God, it's everywhere. Miral!
Daddy? I'm gonna be sick.
Again? Miral! Where are you?!
I want Toby!
You can't have him! He's covered in throw up!
Don't yell at me! I didn't want to be sick! It's not my fault!
The light flickered and the shadows changed, mutating into trees that towered around her. The music changed to a song of frogs and crickets. Moonlight illuminated her father's face - cold and remote.
You have to learn to be a little less sensitive, B'Elanna.
You're just like everyone else! You don't like Klingons!
You're twisting my words, B'Elanna!
Why don't you just leave?
B'Elanna jerked awake from where she'd passed out on the decking, her stomachs roiling. She tried to sit up, but could only manage to push herself onto her side. Then she erupted - bile, water, bits of ration bar. "Oh, God." She barely had the energy to push her face away from the vomitus.
Her body shivered even though she was covered in sweat. She looked around the dim shuttle. "Tom?" Where was he? Shouldn't he be done with the hull repairs by now? She spotted the blanket a half-meter away and managed to get to her knees, wanting nothing more than to find something, anything, that might make her feel warm again. But before she could get there, she felt her gut clench and she vomited again. "Shit." Her arms gave out and she fell back to the floor.
"Tom?" she tried again, alarming herself with how weak her voice sounded. He was just going to fix the hull and come back, right? A memory of shouting flickered into focus. Why won't you just leave? Why had she said that to him? Was he not going to come back? Had he abandoned her, alone and sick, on this frozen rock? "Tom!"
B'Elanna retched again and again, her stomachs too empty to produce anything but foamy bile and spit and flecks of blood. Her thoughts swirled as she moaned, alone, curled in a ball, desperate for anything to relieve her distress. She'd done it again. She'd chased him away. "I'm sorry," she groaned to the metal plating below her. "I'm sorry."
A rush of air swept over her, sending to new heights the sharp chill that seemed to permeate every centimeter of her body. B'Elanna cried out before she could stop herself.
"Sorry. That took longer than-" A sudden clatter of equipment falling to the deck. Footsteps moving closer. "Fuck. B'Elanna? Hey, B'Elanna?"
A warm hand cupped the back of her head. B'Elanna wasn't sure if she had ever felt a touch so welcome. "I'm sick," she whispered.
A gentle breath hit her face as Tom gave a near-silent laugh. "I can see that," he replied, his voice soft and kind. "Let's get you off this cold floor, OK?"
She tried to push herself up, but Tom quickly wrapped his arms around her. "Easy, now. You don't have to move. I'll do it. I've got you." He tucked an arm under her knees, careful not to jostle her still painful and now swollen leg, and lifted her off the decking. It occurred to her to struggle, to insist she could get up herself. But, for once, she didn't want to. Instead, she let her head drop against Tom's warm shoulder, nestling herself deeper into his arms.
He lay her on the bench of the shuttle and pulled away. "Tom?" she said, part of her panicking at the loss of contact, another part cursing herself for her need.
A gentle kiss was placed on her temple. "It's OK. I'll be right back."
She moaned and curled into herself as another wave of nausea hit her. There was a rustle of fabric and more footsteps. "Sit up a little, B'Elanna. Come on, I'll help you." Tom wrapped her in the blanket she'd lost on the floor and helped her lie back down before pressing a hypospray to her neck. "That should help with the fever. I'm going to give you another one for the vomiting."
He wasn't quick enough. She tried to sit up, to aim her face towards the floor as she felt the tell-tale convulsions of her stomach begin again, but she wasn't quick enough either.
"Oh, God," she moaned in dismay, regarding the former contents of her stomach that were now spotting the front of Tom's uniform. "I'm sorry."
Tom just smiled at her, and brushed the sweaty hair from her forehead. "It's just a little vomit, B'Elanna. I'll live." He pressed the second hypospray to her neck and went back to stroking her hair. "This is nothing. Haven't I ever told you about the time Chell decided to try out Neelix's Talaxian moonshine? It gave new meaning to the term 'rotgut.'" His nose wrinkled. "On second thought, maybe I should save that story for when you're a little further along the road to recovery." He kissed her ridges. "I'm going to get you some clean clothes to change into. Don't move, OK?"
Not a problem, as far as she was concerned. B'Elanna sank as far into the bench as she could, closing her eyes against the improving but still present nausea and a bone-deep ache. She groaned again when she thought of the repairs she still had to do. At least if Tom was done with the hull, she could share some of the work.
When he came back this time, Tom had a shit-eating grin on his face.
"What are you so happy about?" B'Elanna grumbled, her head still pounding.
"I'll tell you when you're feeling better," he replied, his eyes merry. "For now, let's get you cleaned up."
It should have been humiliating - how B'Elanna needed him to help her sit up, to peel off her damp and vomit-stained uniform like she was nothing more than one of Naomi's dolls. But somehow - the way he murmured reassuring words when her teeth chattered with the fever-induced chill, the way he dropped tender kisses on her hands and shoulders and knees before he covered them with fresh clothes - his actions turned out to be soothing, rather than irritating. They calmed her rather than caused her embarrassment.
"I thought you had left," she admitted, her face reddening with shame when she thought about her earlier negative assumptions.
"What are you talking about?" Tom's voice was soft as he wiped her face with a warm, damp cloth.
B'Elanna closed her eyes and sighed, leaning into his touch. "I thought you had left me alone. Because I yelled at you." The really weird thing, B'Elanna thought to herself, is I feel like I should be saying this to someone else.
Tom chuckled quietly, tracing her ridges with languid strokes of his hand. "We're on an asteroid, B'Elanna. Where would I go?"
"I don't know," she muttered, annoyed with him for laughing at her and annoyed at herself because he had a point. "You didn't answer me when I called you. I called you over and over again, and you didn't come."
"You did? I didn't hear you." Tom slid an arm behind her back. "Sit back up for a minute. This will be a lot warmer - and cleaner - than that blanket." A pause as B'Elanna felt soft, silky fabric envelope her in comfort and warmth. It was his thermal jacket – the one he'd worn outside to repair the hull. "Maybe there's something wrong with my comm badge."
B'Elanna felt herself drifting off, inhaling Tom's familiar and comforting scent from the coat that still carried traces of his body heat. Comm badge? "Oh," she said, her eyes blinking open again. "I should have hit my comm badge."
"That's one hell of a fever you've got there, Torres." He was laughing again. B'Elanna didn't mind so much, though. Tom had a nice laugh, really.
She remembered what else she had said, before he'd come back into the shuttle. "I'm sorry. For yelling at you. For not…"
"Shhh." Tom's voice was little more than a whisper in her ear now. "We'll talk later. Just sleep now, B'Elanna. Just rest. I'll be right here."
