Beverly fell into the ambassador as they hit the deck, hard. She grunted as the wind blasted from her lungs in the impact.
"Get off me!" he shouted, trying to push her off.
She let the hypospray slip from her sleeve into her hand. She kept her body limp, making it extremely challenging for the ambassador to throw her off from his awkward position below. She raised her hands, groping blindly for his face.
"Ow! What do you think you're—"
Beverly's fingers connected with his left eye socket and she, none-too-gently, pretended to pat down his face.
"Who are you?" she asked, hoping to prolong her disguise.
The ambassador growled.
"Get off me! And you," he paused, turning his head in Jean-Luc's general direction, "get my ship under control or I'll make sure you never see your precious doctor again."
The ship shuddered violently, matching the rage coursing through Beverly's veins. She slid her hand down the ambassador's jaw and located his carotid artery—or whatever the Shintori equivalent was—and pressed the hypospray into his flesh.
The hiss of the discharging drugs filled the sudden silence in the room.
"What ha—" the ambassador's voice cut off mid-word.
Beverly jumped off the Shintori's prone form and said, "Computer, lights, twenty-five percent."
Jean-Luc spent most of his time in total darkness; she didn't want to blind him.
A soft amber light filled the room and she rushed to his side.
"Jean-Luc, can you hear me? Do you understand me?"
"Beverly," he whispered through cracked lips.
She scanned the vines encasing him and her chest lurched. Separating him would be more complex than she imagined. She'd need more time than the sedative she'd hit the ambassador with would allow.
She placed her hand on his lower jaw—one of the few exposed pieces of flesh—and rubbed her thumb along his rough stubble. Anger made her fingers tremble. No one had shaved or cleaned him since she'd been dumped in the brig.
"I'm going to get you out of this, I promise," she said.
Jean-Luc let his head loll against her hand and sighed.
"But I'm going to need your help. Can you help me?"
He opened his eyes and met her gaze. "Anything for you," he said, the words so soft they were barely more than a breath.
She smiled for him. All her love for him, and her rage at the string of injustices perpetrated against him, mingled in the gesture, and once again she found herself near tears.
"I need you to hold the ambassador here," she said. "I need you to keep him from escaping."
He nodded and closed his eyes.
A mammoth fist closed over Beverly's heart as Jean-Luc grimaced in agony. She opened her mouth to order him to stop, but before she could form the words the vines on the floor slithered toward the ambassador's prone form.
They didn't move quickly. She guessed it would take Jean-Luc at least five minutes to force the closest tendril to make contact with the Shintori.
Beverly dug through the vines and clasped Jean-Luc's hand. She didn't want to ask more of him—he was grey and sweating from his current efforts—but there was no way she'd get through sickbay unaccosted without his assistance.
"Jean-Luc, I need you to do one more thing," she said, squeezing his hand. "Can you convince everyone on the crew I'm supposed to be out and about? Can you make them remember me as a Starfleet officer?"
He squeezed her hand and gave his head the barest of shakes. "Can't... do... both..." he said, and her heart sank.
Beverly ran her free hand through her hair and willed her mind to work. She had to get to the Jeffries tube outside environmental control if she was going to put a stop to the plants' psychotropic effects.
He opened his eyes and gripped her hand more tightly. "Sorry."
She smiled and shook her head, "No, Jean-Luc, you're doing more than enough. I'll get there on my own. I swear."
She gave his hand one last squeeze before stepping over the ambassador's inert body. Beverly grabbed the hypospray from the floor and hefted it. It wasn't the best weapon out there, but it would have to do.