My heart was pounding in my chest as I accompanied the Admiral to the EMH Doctor's lab at the Starfleet Med Research facility. As we entered I saw Tom Paris lying limp and unmoving on the central biobed. He was stripped down to his underwear, covered by a sheet, and icepacks were placed around his neck and his shoulders. I felt my fists clench involuntarily. To see Tom in this state was distressing me more than I had realised. It was scary how quickly it had all happened.
The EMH Doctor greeted us solemnly. "Thank you for getting him here so promptly.
"How is he?" I asked.
"His temperature is down but not stable yet," the Doctor told me gently. "I'm reducing his temperature by applying ice water internally."
I looked again over at the biobed and saw the two tubes that ran from the biobed control station, and disappeared under the sheet that covered the lower half of Tom's body. I tried not to think about were those tubes led, but the important thing was that this was getting Tom's temperature down. "Once I have him stabilised," the EMH continued, "I can we begin the drug treatment, which Samara is preparing as we speak." I glanced across the room to where the Vulcan student was working with her usual cool efficiency.
I nodded mutely.
When I noticed Tom's head move slightly and he sighed almost imperceptibly, it was Owen Paris who rushed to the patient's side. I felt as if my feet were glued to the ground. I simply watched as Tom struggled to open his eyes.
"Dad?" Tom's voice sounded weak.
The admiral leaned over his son's prostrate form, and cradled his head. "I arrived as soon as I could," he said gruffly.
I watched Tom raise an arm, grabbing weakly at the admiral's shirt as he attempted to sit up. "You have to listen to me," he begged. "We need to evacuate. We need to get everyone out of here." His eyes were lit with a frantic urgency.
"Don't be ridiculous! Nobody's evacuating," the Doctor replied abruptly ignoring Tom's demands, and pushing him back against the biobed. "Nobody's going anywhere, unless I tell them to!" He concentrated on scanning Tom's vital signs. "I may need to sedate him if his readings don't stabilise soon. Unfortunately the treatment will be less effective under sedation." He frowned.
"What's going on?" the admiral asked.
"As soon as Samara has it prepared, we are going to start Mr Paris on a course of drug 23, which has shown the best results in the drug trials with my other patients. It should reduce the extensive damage the virus is wreaking on his nervous and muscular systems."
"But what's this talk about evacuating?"
The Doctor sighed, rolling his eyes. "Mr Paris has been hallucinating," he explained quietly. "He thinks he's back on Turellia. He thinks he needs to save us from some kind of natural disaster. I'm surprised he seems to recognise you Admiral. He's under the impression that I'm one of the Turellian leaders."
"Thomas," the admiral took his son's shoulders. "We are not in danger. It's going to be alright, but you need to calm down."
Tom would not be placated. "No. You have to make him listen to me!" Tom's eyes were wide with fear. "The volcanic eruption will cause a tsunami… last time we lost 58 people. If it wasn't for Elliot and I… there would have been more… you have to listen! We have to get everyone out!"
The admiral was at a loss for how to comfort Tom in his delirium.
"Sam," the Doctor called. "We'll have to sedate our patient after all. Please load a hypospray and bring it over immediately!"
"Yes Doctor," Samara brushed past me as she approached fitting a canister to a hypospray. I stepped out of the way to allow her through. I was very conscious of my own helplessness. I may be a Starfleet Captain, but there was nothing I could do to fix this situation.
The Vulcan girl leaned over Tom, scanning carefully to determine the necessary dose. I could see Tom's focus shifting. "What are you doing?" he asked her wide-eyed, grabbing her hand before she could deliver the shot.
"The situation is under control," she faced Tom, perfectly calm as she pried his pale fingers from her slim wrist. "Your job is done Commander Paris. No one is going to die today. Congratulations on an excellent rescue." She smiled. I could see what she was doing. Instead of denying it, she was playing along with Tom's delusion. It seemed to work. Tom visibly relaxed.
"Finally. I thought they'd never listen," he sighed, passing his hand over his eyes then through his sweat-drenched hair. When he looked at Samara again he seemed to see her more clearly and he smiled weakly. "God, I'm glad your here," he sighed, letting her gently press him back down on the biobed. "I didn't want you here, you know. I thought it was too risky. But I'm so glad you came."
"I apologise." Samara spoke with sincerity. "For not informing you of my placement. It was wrong of me. You were right Tom. I should have discussed it with you first. I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry too," he grabbed her hand. "God, I've missed you so much B'Elanna!"
"What did he say?" I gasped at B'Elanna's name. It seemed Tom was still hallucinating. Did he think the Vulcan student was his wife?
"Who's Balana? Samara demanded in alarm, catching my shocked gaze.
"B'Elanna Torres." Owen Paris replied impassively. "She's Tom's wife."
"I cannot stay here!" Samara pulled away immediately. Owen grabbed her, stopping her from leaving the room.
Seeing the sudden confusion on Tom's face, I rushed forward, taking her place by his side.
"Why not?" the Doctor demanded, surprised by Samara's sudden retreat. "His readings were almost stable!"
"What did I say? Why's she leaving?" Tom was frantic, and more than little confused.
"Tom, she's not…"
"Chakotay, she can't leave me!" He was going to pieces. "I can't do this without her. Not again… tell B'Elanna I need her," he pleaded grabbing my arm. His eyes were desperate and searching, his hand clammy against my skin.
"His readings are destabilising," the Doctor confirmed. We were losing him.
"Then sedate him already!" I raised my voice unintentionally. "I thought that was the plan!" I picked up the hypospray that Samara had dropped.
"Only plan B. The treatment's more effective without sedation," the Doctor explained, grabbing the hypospray from me and deactivating it. "Plan A is that we stabilise him another way. And I think we just found that way: Sam." He grabbed Samara by the arm, almost dragging her back towards Tom's side. "Did you not hear our patient? He said he needs you."
"He needs his wife!" Samara and I protested at once.
"His wife is not here," the EMH pointed out. "You are."
She was shaking her head.
The Doctor grabbed her shoulders. "Right now I don't care if he thinks you're the purple-headed people eater, if that's what he needs to believe to get through this!"
Samara narrowed her eyes. "You want me to play along. You want me to pretend."
"Yes! Which you were doing very nicely until you panicked!"
"Vulcans do not panic." Samara asserted.
"Then what would you call it?"
Samara said nothing.
"Please listen to me, Samara. I know you impersonate humans faultlessly. And it seems you can even pull off a human/klingon. Tom already thinks you're his wife. All you have to do is play along and give him the support he needs. I am confident that you are more than capable of that."
"That is not the issue."
"Then what is?"
"Doctor, the ethics of this situation are more complicated than you…"
"Samara," the Doctor interrupted, "I happen to know you took this placement, in part, specifically to help Tom Paris. Is that not so? Now help him. You're the only one here who can."
Samara wavered. She looked to the admiral for consent.
He nodded. "Do as the Doctor says."
Samara gave in. I relinquished my position and the Vulcan girl took Tom's hands again.
"What's wrong sweetheart?" Tom said. "You're not… you're not leaving?"
"Of course not," Sam's voice trembled slightly. "But you need to lie down. And you need to stay calm."
"Okay," Tom gave in. "But I don't understand what's happening."
"Don't worry about it for now. Just do as I say and everything will be okay," she crooned softly, her cool demeanour melting away. I even thought I saw tears in her eyes. But were they crocodile tears?
"Where am I?" his words were barely audible.
"You're at the medical labs, Tom. You're not well." Samara affected a slightly husky voice, full of emotion. "The Doctor's here. We are doing everything we can. And I'm definitely not leaving you."
Tom appeared to relax as he gazed at her dark liquid eyes.
"Okay," Tom leaned in close as she caressed his cheek. "Whatever you say… as long as you stay." The Doctor confirmed that his readings were stabilising.
My heart, on the other hand, was pounding. Samara had never met Torres, yet somehow, I could almost see her through Tom's fevered eyes. There was something of B'Elanna's spirit in her, a pride and a stubbornness, that allowed Tom, in his confusion, to delude himself into believing she was his wife. If the real B'Elanna Torres could see this scene, I had no doubt she'd want to rip the little Vulcan impostor's throat out. But she couldn't. The real B'Elanna Torres was light years away, working on that desolate worn-torn transport base, oblivious to her husband's plight. If only I had told her when I'd had the chance.
As Tom's condition stabilised, the Doctor brought over the medical wrist device containing the drug treatment. Samara helped Tom to sit up.
"Tom, we need to start this treatment now. We'll keep you on this treatment until the fever subsides. This drug will cause you to feel groggy, but it will reduce the long-term effects of the fever."
"The fever? The epidemic is spreading isn't it? Has someone told Elliot what's happening?"
Samara frowned quizzically.
"Give me his hand," the Doctor said.
Tom began to panic as the Doctor fitted the medical device to his wrist.
"It's okay," Sam comforted. "We need to do this."
"Promise me you'll tell Elliot what's happening," Tom begged. "B'Elanna I know you don't like him but..."
"He'll be informed," I broke in. "I'll see to it that your friend is informed Tom, I promise." Here I was making another promise I did not understand. But it worked and Tom allowed the Doctor to activate the wrist device.
Tom gasped as the potent drugs were delivered into his bloodstream.
"It's okay, Tom," Samara reassured. She held his gaze while the Doctor monitored Tom's levels and adjusted the drug release rate to keep his vital signs stable. Tom groaned, "I feel strange," he said, before closing his eyes and collapsing heavily against a surprised Samara.
"When will he stop hallucinating?" I confronted the Doctor aggressively. "When will he realise that Sam is not his wife?"
"It's difficult to determine." The Doctor admitted. "Even when he's not feverish, I sometimes find Mr Paris's grip on reality tenuous at times," he quipped, rolling his eyes..
"This is hardly the time or place for humour, Doctor."
"A matter of opinion," the Doctor reasoned. "What matters most is that we have Tom stabilised and that the treatment is working."
"I agree. But I need to know - how much of this will he remember?" I demanded.
"It's hard to say for sure. He may have vague memories of what is happening now. However it is unlikely he will remember the events preceding his collapse."
I groaned audibly. He would not remember meeting me at the hotel. He would not remember that I had found B'Elanna. He would not remember where she was. But he would remember this. What was going to happen when the fever cleared and he realised it was not his wife at his side, but his former student? I'd made a mess of things. Screw Tom's insistence on telling Torres himself. Screw B'Elanna's denial of wanting to sort things out with Tom. I knew she still cared about him. And what about Miral? I'd made the wrong call, and this was the result. I punched the bunch with my fist, almost welcoming the physical pain that spread through my hand.
"Chakotay!" the Doctor grabbed a regenerator, but I pulled away, breathing hard.
"I'm fine," I insisted, leaning against the bench, swearing under my breath.
"I can see that," the Doctor was sarcastic. "Captain, I think you need to take a walk."
The Doctor's suggestion irritated me, but the truth was I suddenly realised it was exactly what I wanted to do. Maybe he was right. I needed some time out. "Fine." I turned brusquely to exit the lab. I hardly noticed Owen Paris's wife arriving to join her husband. Another woman had arrived with her, and slipped through the door behind her just as I exited. I literally ran straight into the familiar figure.
"Kathryn!" I gasped. "What are you doing here?" The moment felt surreal, as though I too was hallucinating.
She looked so calm in the midst of chaos. "Owen asked me to bring his wife here, now that Tom's condition is stable," Janeway explained, her forehead creasing in concern. "How are you?"