My problem may be aquaphobia, but Hoshi's really is claustrophobia.
Which right now is damned inconvenient, to say the least.
I'm not in the best of mental places at the moment, so I don't feel morally entitled to lean on someone who's being asked to do their equivalent of me dunking my head in a bucket of water. Fortunately for me, and unfortunately for her, Trip, Travis and T'Pol have no such reservations. We are once more blessed with the company and command of our Acting Captain, who has returned from parts unknown with instructions from the real one – who apparently transmitted them via a very staticky holographic message from somewhere (or perhaps it's somewhen, though I'm sure she's loath to admit it) with Daniels, that pestilential bastard; and being the game lass our Comms Officer is, and realising that she really is the best (if not the only) hope we have of retaking the ship, she agrees to do it.
If we get out of this and the captain doesn't give her a commendation, I'll personally kick him in the ankle.
It's going to take time. First she's got to screw up the nerve to do it (and pity knows how long it would take me to take a deep breath and go for it if that water-bucket was standing in front of me), and then comes the sheer physical effort of crawling. It's not as though it's an empty space, either. There are all sorts of pipes and cables to make life additionally complicated and cramped, and I can imagine she may have to fight her way through a panic attack or two even before she manages to reach Phlox's office.
Then she's got to keep going and reach me.
Patience is hard. Especially in circumstances like this, when adrenaline is driving me to act and the waves of guilt are still slamming against the bulkheads I've managed to push back into place. If I can act, I'll be able to stop thinking. If I can stop thinking, I'll be able to act.
A vicious circle in action, and here I am, stuck waiting for a slip of a lass to rescue me, when it's my bloody job to be doing the rescuing around here!
Finally, the door opens.
Well done, Ens– bloody hell!
"Whatever you've got to say, I don't want to hear it. Just get me a shirt."
=/\=
Two of Silik's thugs, very brave and bold when there are two of them against one petite Vulcan who doesn't look as if she knows what day it is.
Phlox supplied hyposprays, mainly because we don't keep phase pistols in Sickbay. I could wish they were loaded with prussic acid, but knowing Phlox, it's nothing half that satisfactory.
Still, they work.
The petite Vulcan is displeased by how long it took us to arrive, particularly in view of the fact that one of the Suliban had a weapon pressed against her head.
Trip is probably not as apologetic-sounding as she thinks he ought to be. If we'd acted too precipitately – and I'll admit the temptation was there – the prick holding it might have had time to pull the trigger.
Then he turns to me.
We've already had this conversation.
He argued.
I persisted.
Finally he gave in.
Yes, Commander, I'm aware it could get pretty ugly.
Leaving the two of them there to start the rest of the plan, I walk away to start buying thirty minutes.