3: Lieutenant Tom Paris
Tom flung regulations to the winds and quite literally ran from the turbolift to sickbay. At least Tuvok's not here to see, he thought wryly as he finally burst in.
The thought hung unpleasantly in his mind as his eyes fell on the scene within. Tuvok was lying prone on the bed while the Doctor worked feverishly over him.
Tom swallowed. "Doctor-," he began.
The Doctor glared at him. "Finally! Get over here and monitor Tuvok. The neuro-suppressant failed with him and I'm administering the antidote, but it needs to be carefully measured. Meantime, your girlfriend is giving my temporary staff a lot of grief!"
The Doctor's glare shifted from Tom to B'Elanna, who, blessedly herself despite the horribly visible Borg paraphernalia, was arguing strenuously as a nervous-looking crewman tried to get her to lie down. Tom tried not to show his relieved grin, and moved towards the irascible holographic doctor.
"Where's the Captain?" he demanded as the Doctor handed over. Further explanations were unnecessary. This scenario had been anticipated, and Tom, as well as a number of other crewmen, had been thoroughly drilled in the required procedures.
"I'm going to her now," the Doctor snapped. "She should have been treated before Torres, but she refused." The Doctor glared at Tom again as if the pilot was responsible for both the Captain's intransigency and B'Elanna's temper.
"Tuvok needed to be seen to first," the Captain rasped, and Tom glanced up, almost as glad to hear her voice as he'd been to see B'Elanna's struggles.
"Well, it's your turn now, Captain," the Doctor said condescendingly, and Tom bit his lips. Under normal circumstances the Doctor would never get away with that tone.
Now, the Captain was clearly too exhausted to protest. She grunted.
"Get on with it!" Tom heard her say.
Next, he heard the slight hiss of a hypo.
"Lie down now," the Doctor ordered.
"How long will this take?" The complete weariness in her voice distracted Tom from Tuvok, causing him to look up.
"Mr Paris!" the Doctor barked. "Pay attention to what you're doing!"
Tom returned the glare with interest and returned to Tuvok. The antidote had been given; all he could do was watch, and Tom didn't do watching well. His entire being cried out to be with B'Elanna, calming her as only he could, or with the Captain, whose faith in him had touched him more deeply than he cared to admit, even to himself.
After a seeming eternity, the Doctor returned to Tuvok, and Tom. He frowned as he looked at the readouts.
"This is going to take some time," he muttered.
Tom swallowed and looked nervously towards B'Elanna.
"For Tuvok?" he asked.
For an infinitesimal period of time, the Doctor's dark eyes softened. "Yes. But only him. He was fully assimilated, you see."
"And B'Elanna?"
"B'Elanna and the Captain should recover comparatively quickly, thanks to a combination of my suppressant and the antidote," the Doctor told him with something resembling his usual arrogance.
"How long?" Tom asked, knowing that the questions were unprofessional, especially in front of patients.
The Doctor evidently agreed, for the frown was back. "Mr Paris, you're a medic. It takes as long as it takes! Now, I'll take over here. Go and do something with that Torres before I'm forced to have her sedated!"
Tom grinned and obeyed, trying to ignore the muttered comments coming behind him. He thought he heard something about a half-Klingon Borg being the Doctor's worst nightmare.
Tom wondered what B'Elanna would do if she overheard those comments, or if some interfering soul decided it would be amusing to tell her. Her response, he knew, would be entertaining for him, but possibly disastrous for the Doctor. In a fit of magnanimity, he determined to keep it to himself. He owed the Doctor something, after all.