Stardate 2260.50
She'd been emotionally numb before, but this was emptiness on a scale she didn't know was possible. It was funny how the Vulcan doctor's simple confession could completely anesthetize her whole existence. Or maybe it was the sedative he'd given her.
Her memory was still hazy and she was still in crippling physical pain but she distantly recalled screaming. The skin on her cheeks felt taut, itchy, and swollen, but she wasn't sure if that was from crying or the residual effects of the radiation or both.
She tried to sit up despite the intense cramps in her gut. She gasped through the agony and managed to swing her legs over the side of the biobed and recoiled at the sight of her legs. Her clothing was gone and had been replaced by a fitted white shirt and shorts, but the skin on her legs and arms was mottled with shiny white and rough red scaly patches. She brushed her fingertips over one of the burns and though she felt an instant itching sensation, she didn't immediately recognize it as originating in her body.
She felt like she was in someone else's body, in someone else's life. They couldn't all be gone, could they?
"Please lie down," urged a quiet voice behind her.
"How did this happen?"
"Specify." Dr. Voris came around the edge of the biobed and stood in front of her.
"How did this happen?" she repeated, her words sounding jumbled.
His eyes ticked back and forth several times and he replied, "There was a Class 9 neutronic storm."
"I know," she spat, feeling her teeth wiggle around in her gums. "I was trying to make trialgenine, but…"
"You are a physician?"
"No. A paramedic."
"It is remarkable you have survived."
She blinked at him listlessly. Her friends and family were dead. Everyone was dead. Why was she still alive?
She closed her eyes and vaguely remembered rolling around on the floor of the Albret's clinic. How had that happened? She'd hit her head. Her hand instinctively went to her temple and faltered the moment it made contact. Her hair was gone.
She traced her fingertips over her scalp, feeling the strange bald curves. It was one thing to understand radiation killed hair follicles, and another to realize it had happened to her. Her hand fell back into her lap. What did it matter?
"Will you please lie down?" Dr. Voris asked, taking a step forward. "Your life is no longer in danger but you still require extensive treatment."
Dagny impassively complied, wincing as her body moved and twisted into position on the firm medical bed. He performed a quick tricorder scan and noted some things on a PADD. Dagny closed her eyes and let him work, wondering if she would wake up and discover this had been the worst nightmare of her life. The twisting of her stomach, the itching of her skin, and the dull ache in her head seemed too real to be a dream though.
She was extremely tired and even began to drift into a state of semi-sleep, but a sudden, violent twist in her gut made her gasp. "Lavatory? Where?"
"Yes," he replied, sliding his hand under her back to help her sit up.
Her legs fell over the side of the bed and she tried to stand but her body felt too exhausted to propel her forward. Dr. Voris seemed to sense the problem because he wrapped his free arm under her buckling knees and carried her to a side room with a small toilet and sink.
She barely shut the door before her bowels forcefully contracted, releasing streams of watery blood. It was misery, feeling as though the inside of her body was sloughing away. What began as a whimper quickly progressed into outright shrieks. She was dimly aware of the lavatory door sliding open and Dr. Voris kneeling down, giving her an injection in her neck, and explaining that this was normal because the radiation had killed the cells that lined her gastrointestinal tract.
She vomited down the front of his gray coat and fell into a fit of uncontrollable sobbing once again. She must have fallen asleep that way, because the next thing she knew she was staring at a sloped, smooth ceiling. There was a loud hum but she could just make out two voices speaking in the distance.
She smacked her chapped lips. She was incredibly thirsty. She was hot and her skin itched so badly it felt like it was on fire, but as she tried to sit up and scratch herself, she realized her wrists were in restraints and there was a glass dome encircling the biobed. Then she panicked.
She screamed and writhed against the tethers holding her in place and soon, the face of Dr. Voris appeared above her. "Remain calm, you are nearing the end of a cellular regeneration cycle."
She continued to hyperventilate and begged him to let her out in between ragged breaths and after an eternity, the restraints folded back into the bed and the glass dome retracted, sending a rush of cool air into her lungs. The panic and itching sensation faded but continued to linger.
Dr. Voris set to work with his tricorder again and Dagny realized most of her pain was gone. Her skin was still irritated and she had a dull headache, but she was physically feeling much better than she had earlier.
"Can I have some water?" she asked, her voice coming out as a squeaky rasp.
"Yes," he replied, making a final notation on his PADD and moving toward a compartment on the wall.
She looked down at her arms, taking stock of the layers of dead, peeling skin. She picked at one of the light scabs with her thumbnail out of curiosity and it flaked away to reveal a soft patch of smooth, pinkish-white flesh beneath. She held her arm up to study it closer and saw tiny rows of short, feathery blonde hairs. Her hair.
She ran her hand over her head, exploring the short locks that had sprouted during the cellular regeneration cycle. It was maybe about three or four centimeters long already. How long had she been unconscious?
Dr. Voris returned with a white cup full of room temperature water that she consumed in several gulps. Her throat was sore and her teeth and jaw hurt, but she didn't care. The tiny bit of liquid he'd given her seemed to serve only as a reminder of just how thirsty she was.
"More? Can I have more?"
He refilled her glass and took a seat on a small stool by the biobed. She swallowed the water and nestled the cup between her palms, twirling it slightly. Several moments of silence passed before they spoke at the same time.
"Are you sure they-" she blurted.
"How are you-" he began.
They stopped mid-sentence and Dagny capitalized on the pause to repeat her question. "Are you sure they're all dead?"
"I cannot be certain, but it is highly unlikely anyone else from the Albret survived."
"But how do you know? Is anyone looking for them? You rescued me, you know? If I made it, maybe they-" Her words stalled as visions of synthesizing the trialgenine, crawling to the bench, and injecting herself flashed through her mind.
"The current storm has made search and rescue operations impossible. You were only rescued because the wreckage of your ship came within transporter range of the Sekla. No organic tissues can withstand the high levels of radiolytic isotopes produced by this storm for more than a few minutes," he insisted. "I cannot explain why you are alive."
"I gave myself the trialgenine. All of it. I didn't have enough for everyone. There wasn't time. You can't store trialgenine; it doesn't last. I didn't have enough." Her chin quivered.
"I am aware trialgenine is highly unstable," he replied. "Can you recall how much you administered to yourself?"
"I think I made thirty doses? Maybe more? I hit my head and when I woke up I just put the canister in the hypospray and injected myself with all thirty milliliters without looking."
All those people she could have saved and she'd only saved herself. But if she'd taken the entire contents of the canister, why wasn't she dead of a trialgenine overdose?
"Do you mean to say you took approximately thirty milliliters of trialgenine or thirty milliliters of one percent trialgenine solution?" he asked.
"Wait, no, thirty microliters of one percent solution of…" She felt a sudden chill go through her body.
"For a patient of your body mass, thirty microliters is only-"
"One third of a dose," she finished, trying to understand what had happened. Had it been thirty milliliters or thirty microliters? Hadn't the database said microliters? Hot tears pricked her eyes as she struggled to remember.
"Thirty percent of one dose," he corrected, echoing what she was slowly coming to realize. "If you received a thirty percent dose, it would explain how you were severely impacted by the radiolytic isotopes but managed to survive."
She noticed a faint ringing beginning in her ears. She hadn't even synthesized enough trialgenine for one person; she wouldn't have been able to save anyone. And yet she was still alive. The tears crested the rims of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
"There wasn't enough time," she breathed, clutching the cup more tightly in her hands. "I don't know how they didn't see the storm on sensors…"
"The Sekla's captain has informed me that the particular composition of this storm would have made long- and mid-range detection exceedingly difficult. We were only forewarned by Starbase 2 following confirmed reports and subsequent distress calls from vessels caught in the storm."
She squeezed the cup harder and closed her eyes. The Albret and her crew had been doomed from the beginning.
"Are you in pain right now?" Dr. Voris asked.
"My family is gone," she muttered, turning to look at him. "Everyone is dead."
"I understand your grief; I grieve with thee."
"How can you possibly understand what this is like?"
The words came out before she could really mull them over and several tense seconds of silence passed between them before she remembered she was talking to a Vulcan. He probably understood exactly what it was like.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I lost everything. I don't know what to do—I'm sorry."
"There is nothing to forgive," he replied.
She wept bitterly for a time and eventually laid back down on the biobed and curled into a ball. Everything itched and ached, which only added to her despair. Her father used to say today's tears could be tomorrow's laughs if only she would let them. He was always saying weird things like that, but he would never utter one of his silly little expressions ever again. She thought of her mother, of Erik, of her eleven brothers and sisters. How could she be all that was left of the Albret?
She was quickly reduced to a snotty, hiccupping mess and was on the cusp of falling asleep when she heard Dr. Voris ask, "Are you hungry?"
"Hmmm?" she mumbled.
"Are you hungry?"
"No."
"A diminished appetite is common for a time following radiation sickness, but you must eat."
She rolled over onto her right side and saw him standing beside the bed, holding a bowl. She stared at it disinterestedly.
"I'm not hungry."
"It was not a request."
There was a flicker of anger. Who was he to tell her what to do? It wasn't like he was her father… Intense sadness overrode her irritation.
She sat up, sniffed away a new batch of tears, and stared at the bowl in his hands. Spirals of steam emanated from its contents. She sighed and accepted his offering, surprised by how heavy it seemed and how fatigued she was just holding it.
She picked up the spoon and took a small sip. It was warm, watery, and bland, and after several spoonsful, she couldn't bring herself to eat any more.
"You will need to be on a restricted diet for the next fourteen days while you recover," Dr. Voris said, obviously noting her brief dining experience was drawing to a close.
Dagny nodded and let him take the bowl from her hands. Their fingers touched briefly and she noticed he was shaking. When he returned from depositing the unwanted soup in the matter reclaimator, she allowed herself to study his features for the first time.
He was average in every way. He had wiry black hair cropped in the usual Vulcan style, a slender stature, and dark brown eyes. They were kind eyes, for a Vulcan, but they were still cold and unaffected.
"I also intend to prescribe you a fourteen-day course of hemalexin to stimulate hematopoiesis and rebuild your immune system and erythrocytes," he added. "You may experience fatigue-"
"What comes after that?" she interrupted.
"Clarify."
"Fourteen days of continuing treatment and then what? What am I supposed to do? Where do I go? Everyone I knew was on the Albret."
"We were en route to Aldebaran prior to the storm," he replied. "I am sure the Federation social services office there can assist you with reestablishing yourself."
"Reestablishing myself? Like I'm just supposed to forget this happened and get on with my life?"
He blinked. "No."
She glared at him. His eyes were kind but remarkably sad. The expression reminded her of Tolik. Tolik, who preferred to end his life rather than face it alone.
"Why did you save me?" she whispered, peering into his dark eyes.
"It was my duty as a medical professional."
"What if I don't want to live?"
His shoulders rolled back slightly. "It is not for me to tell you should want."
"Another Vulcan doctor once told me suicide was illogical but there were exceptions in extreme circumstances."
Voris took a seat on the stool and glanced at the ground. "If you are contemplating terminating your life, I urge you to reconsider."
Dagny wasn't sure what she was contemplating. She remembered the pain of losing Aksel and Benjamin—her mother had been virtually bedridden for weeks after they died—but life went on because it had to. Her mother had given birth to Tilde and finally agreed that her family needed her and so the family had found a way to get by… together.
She was struck by the thought of little Tilde, who was not yet two years old, slowly succumbing to radiation sickness. She would have cried in pain. They all would have. New emotional effusions wound down her face. She began to sob hysterically and wailed, "They're gone. They're all gone!"
He stood there and watched her cry, which only made her feel more angry and vulnerable. She pulled her knees to her chest and continued to suffocate herself in grief until and choke out agonizing confessions. "They're- gone. I couldn't- I couldn't save them. I have- no one- left."
Dr. Voris took a step forward and said, "Life is not an event; it is a process. Rarely will any one individual share your life with you from birth to death. Many of your losses are irreplaceable, but that does not mean you can never regain comfort."
She wasn't sure why, but she released her grip on her knees, leaned forward, and pulled him into a tight embrace. He froze but waited patiently as she continued to cry into his medical coat for several minutes. Hugging a Vulcan proved strangely soothing.
As she managed to get a tentative hold on her emotions once again, she considered everything Dr. Voris had done for her and began to feel overwhelmed at his kindness. He'd saved her life and cared for her when she was at her most vulnerable and she was telling him she wanted to die. What must he be thinking?
She pulled away and observed him through blurry tears. The look of intense pain in his eyes shocked her. It was so uncharacteristically Vulcan. It was beautiful, almost. She felt her cheeks growing hot and supposed she'd probably just made things even more awkward.
"I'm- I'm sorry," she mumbled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.
He didn't reply. He continued to stare at her and after several seconds had passed, she started to get the sense he was locked in some sort of deep internal conflict. She studied his dark eyes, wondering why he looked so torn, but before she could ask if he was ok, he did something that caught her completely off-guard.
He grabbed the sides of her face, sliding his thumbs along her cheekbones. She jumped slightly at the unexpected touch but instantly experienced a level of euphoria that she would have previously believed impossible, all things considered. Her grief had been overwhelming, but whatever this was threatened to devour her. Her sadness briefly melted away.
What was he doing? She looked into his eyes and shuddered. Dr. Voris no longer looked conflicted: he looked terrified.
What was he doing? She looked so lost and frightened. She was frightened, and hurting. He sensed profound emotional pain that took him back to the loss of his home world.
But why had he grabbed her? Why was he holding her still? He should release her, but something from deep within him refused to comply. Why didn't he have control over such a simple action? He needed to let her go, but it seemed important not to.
Her light blue eyes were shifting side to side and he could feel intense confusion radiating from her. He sensed she felt the same way he did: she wanted him to release his grip but also didn't want him to let her go.
Then something even more unexpected happened. Her eyes drifted closed and she leaned forward and gently kissed him. The cool press of her mouth rattled him and he nearly managed to free his hands from her face, but soon the sensation of her lips became irresistible. It was only then when he realized was he was doing. What he had done.
He was attempting to initiate a telepathic mating bond. He was trying to bond with her. He couldn't do this. She hadn't consented. She was his patient. She was emotionally unstable. She was human. Why had he done this?
It took everything he had to tear his hands away from her cheeks and when he did, a sharp gasp erupted from his mouth. It physically hurt to be parted from her. He couldn't breathe.
"I- I- I'm s-s-sorry," Dagny whispered. "I don't know why I did that. That was- I- that was very- it was so inappropriate. I'm so sorry."
She was apologizing to him? "It is I who must ask forgiveness," he blurted, unable to regulate the tone of his speech.
"What just happened?" She tilted her chin to gaze into his eyes.
Her eyes were so light blue they were very nearly clear. The urge to bond with her raced through his mind again, causing him to take several steps back.
"I am not myself," he choked. "Will you please excuse me?"
She blinked several times but didn't respond. The innocent and confused expression on her pale face was intolerable. He had just violated her in a terrible way and she didn't understand. He didn't understand.
His condition had deteriorated rapidly in these last hours. He wasn't certain if it was the radiolytic isotopes or some other variable that was accelerating his pon farr, but he was certain plak tow would be upon him within a week, maybe less. He turned on his left heel and stumbled toward the clinic door.
"I'm sorry." Her voice was a mere whisper.
He stiffened at her apology, wondering if she'd spoken the words aloud or if he'd sensed them through a newly formed mating bond. No, that was highly improbable. Though psionic telepathic contact was typical among bonded Vulcan couples, non-psionic telepathic contact was a rare phenomenon generally associated with the transfer of a katra and Dagny was human. He knew humans and Vulcans could mate—his cousins Ambassador and Commander Spock were obvious proof—but he was less certain to what extent a meaningful telepathic mating bond could be formed between a Vulcan and a member of another species.
"I'm sorry," she said again. This time he was certain she'd used her voice.
"I am sorry," he insisted, pausing by the door but unable to bring himself to look at her. "I must check the rest of the crew and shall return momentarily. Please excuse me."
He shuffled out of the clinic and as the door closed behind him, he took several ragged breaths and tried to regain his composure. What he had just done was unethical. Unforgiveable. Probably criminal.
Voris had all but begged Ambassador Spock to send someone else to care for her when he'd stopped by the clinic an hour earlier to report a status update. It was highly irregular for a male physician to provide personal nursing care to a female patient, but there was no one else. All twenty Vulcans aboard were male and Voris was the only one with any medical training. Without the complication of pon farr he could have easily accepted this unusual duty as the most logical course of action, but now his logic was failing.
He slumped against the wall and pulled at the collar of his shirt. His hands were quaking and his skin was clammy.
"Dr. Voris," called a resonant voice from the other end of the corridor.
Voris stood straightly and acknowledged the senior diplomat. "Ambassador Spock."
"Is anything the matter?"
Voris reflected upon his question but could not think of a decently appropriate response. "Is there any news about the storm?"
"Communication is still intermittent, but our most recent update from Starbase 2 informs us the wave front is beginning to dissipate," Spock replied, moving in his direction. "We should be able to resume course for Aldebaran in approximately four hours."
Four hours? They had been nearly thirteen hours from Aldebaran when they'd gotten caught in the storm and had been forced to stop the engines and initiate an inverse warp field. Four more hours of bombardment with radiolytic isotopes and then another thirteen hours until he would be free of the ship. "I see."
"Has your patient spoken since she regained consciousness?" Spock asked.
"She has," Voris explained. The ambassador had been present when she awoke during her third cellular regeneration cycle an hour before. "She has many questions that I am poorly equipped to answer. What will become of her when we reach Aldebaran?"
"Starbase 2 is aware of her rescue and assured me they have contacted the Federation Office of Health and Social Services there. They have asked that you forward your records so the hospital staff on Aldebaran can prepare to receive her."
"Certainly." His chart carefully detailed every moment since she'd been beamed aboard the Sekla seventeen hours ago. Even by Vulcan standards, he was a meticulous record-keeper, but he had almost no administrative information for her, aside from her gender, species, and name. And it was only a single name: he wasn't certain whether it was her given name or family name.
"I understand this task has been difficult for you," declared Ambassador Spock, folding his hands behind his back and taking several steps forward.
Voris wanted to claim he was managing the situation, but he wasn't. Images of her curious bright blue eyes staring at him as he held his hands tightly to her face trickled through his thoughts. "I have little experience with treating human psychological trauma."
"I can only ask you to make an attempt," Spock replied. "I shall arrange for your return transportation to New Vulcan when we arrive."
"Your concern is appreciated, ambassador, but I can make my own arrangements," Voris replied, disconcerted that the ambassador could clearly detect his diminished control. "I must check on the crew and your staff."
"Certainly," said Spock, standing aside. "Is she capable of speaking with me? Starbase 2 has asked for information to assist in notifying her surviving family."
Voris hesitated and held his breath. "Yes, she is conscious, though she is in a highly emotional state."
"Humans are a very emotional species," Spock agreed. "But these are very exceptional circumstances."
Voris had lived among humans for five years during his fellowship and had faced the entire spectrum of their emotional outbursts—anger, grief, joy, fear, embarrassment. He was familiar with humanity, but the ambassador was accustomed to it. His mother had been human after all, and he'd lived among them for decades during his service in Starfleet.
Voris nodded and proceeded to the small central bridge, where he scanned his fellow Vulcans for signs of radiation sickness. He'd performed scans on himself and the ambassador during the ambassador's visit to the clinic an hour before and they had both been healthy. His trialgenine inoculations appeared to be functioning well. He had no reason to believe the crew or the ambassador's staff would have become ill during that time, but it was still necessary to monitor their health. It was also a convenient excuse for removing himself from Dagny's presence.
It took him less than ten minutes to perform a scan of the eighteen people on the bridge, and when he finished, he dreaded the idea of returning to the clinic. In the absence of a mate, he required intensive meditation. But he had a mate. He thought of T'Rya but pictured Dagny's face in his mind.
He stopped halfway down the corridor, so startled by the idea of Dagny as his mate that he dropped his tricorder and shattered the glass screen. Dagny wasn't his mate: she was his patient. His human patient. He doubled back to his earlier musings. What kind of bond could be formed with a human?
He'd never given it serious consideration.
It had always seemed peculiar that his Uncle Sarek had taken a human wife, but he'd never stopped to contemplate the nature of their mating bond. It would be inappropriate to speculate about the private lives of his relatives in that manner. Perhaps he should. Or perhaps he shouldn't.
Her wrung his hands and turned in a circle. He should return to his quarters to meditate. He sped along the corridor and nearly turned the corner into the small row of sleeping compartments when he heard Ambassador Spock call his name.
"Dr. Voris, Miss Skjeggestad has asked to speak with you."
Who? Probably Dagny. No, certainly Dagny. He was angry at his inability to perform elementary deduction. There was only one female aboard the Sekla and Ambassador Spock had just been speaking with her. Of course he was referring to Dagny.
"Of course." His words were little more than a strained garble.
He collected his damaged tricorder, turned and composed himself as best he could, and proceeded in the direction of the clinic. He nearly passed the ambassador without speaking a word, but when they were within a meter of each other, Spock asked, "Dr. Voris, are you capable of performing your duties until we arrive at Aldebaran?"
Voris clenched his jaw. "I do not know."
Had she told Ambassador Spock what he'd done to her? Should he tell the ambassador what he'd done? Even with his failing logical faculties, he knew lying about such a thing, even if by omission, was illogical and unethical.
"Ambassador, I-"
"She continues to require extensive medical care, and you are the only one on board qualified to provide it," Spock interrupted.
"I fear that if I continue to treat her, I may cause her further harm," Voris argued, looking down at the floor in shame.
He was not referring to physical injury—even in the throes of plak tow, it would be nearly impossible to deliberately hurt one's mate. Voris swallowed hard, closed his eyes, and corrected himself. Dagny was not his mate.
"She informs me she is tired," Spock replied. "Perhaps it would be prudent to allow her to rest for a time. Perhaps you should do the same."
Voris nodded. He was fairly certain he was beyond sleep. He would probably eat or sleep little until his pon farr could be resolved, but he was in desperate need of meditation. Yet his patient's needs had to come first. Dagny needed to be monitored continuously for signs of infection or spontaneous cellular degradation following regeneration therapy.
"I shall follow your recommendation," Voris said, taking a deep breath and meeting the ambassador's eye.
"And I shall keep you informed of any relevant changes to our status," the ambassador replied.
They parted ways and Voris watched Spock turn into the bridge before he headed in the direction of the clinic. He took nearly a full minute to scrape together an outward appearance of composure, and when he entered, he found Dagny curled in the fetal position on the biobed.
She sat up when she heard the rush of the door. She'd clearly been crying. She'd cried quite a bit since her rescue, but now the presence of tears in her eyes elicited a novel physical response in Voris. There was a pull in his gut and a rush of anxiety that he could barely control.
"I'm so sorry for earlier," she mumbled, looking at his knees and chewing her lip. "I don't know what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking."
Her physical appearance had changed drastically in these last hours. She'd come to him on the fringes of death, covered in burns and soiled clothing. Then much of her skin had peeled away and she'd lost her hair and several of her teeth, but after exhaustive efforts to reverse the effects of the radiation damage, she almost looked healthy.
He'd easily been able to regrow her lost teeth while she was sedated using stem cell therapy and the three rounds of cellular regeneration had repaired her skin and stimulated the regrowth of her hair follicles. Her new hair was nearly six centimeters long already and would continue to grow at an accelerated rate for several weeks. It was now more golden than chestnut and did not appear to be as thick as it had been, but she was still quite beautiful.
"Please say something," she begged.
"You need not apologize to me," Voris replied. "I should not have- touching you in such a way- it was… wrong. It was highly inappropriate and I hope you have not suffered as a result."
"It might sound strange, but for those few seconds, I actually felt better," she said. "Like I forgot about everything else."
Voris blinked several times and looked away. She evidently had no concept of what he had done and if she was not offended by it, he couldn't see the logic in explaining it to her, which would likely only traumatize her further.
"Anyway, thank you for saving my life," she mumbled.
"You are welcome."
"Can I ask- what happened to my clothes?"
"They contained high levels of kappa and lambda radiolytic isotopes. I incinerated them."
"Oh," she squeaked. "Well, I was wearing a necklace, and-"
"I retained your amulet," he interrupted, moving toward the inorganic decontamination unit. "You also had in your possession a copy of The Teachings of Surak, which I also preserved."
When he returned the items to her, he noticed water forming in her eyes again. "Thank you," she whispered, gently tracing her thumb over the blue stone.
He fought a strange compulsion to touch their fingers together and soothe her by means of a finger embrace. That would be unacceptable. She was not his mate.
"This is all I have left," she added, staring up at him.
He glanced at the book in her hand and replied, "I find Surak's teachings are a useful guide in times such as these."
"Oh, I've never read it: I can't read your language. Ever since I got this book, I thought it would be interesting to learn, but there was never time." She sighed heavily and turned the book over in her hands. "I guess there will be time now."
Tears flowed down her face and Voris looked at the broken tricorder in his hands. He should perform a molecular scan on her, but he would need to repair his equipment first. He turned to locate a replacement screen but faltered when she asked, "Will you please stay? I know what I did earlier was stupid but I don't want to be alone."
He shuddered at the thought of remaining in close proximity to her but it was not an excessively unreasonable request. At least from her point of view.
"I must make repairs to my tricorder," he explained, holding up the device with the cracked screen.
"Oh, yeah, sure…" She nodded, turning her attention back to the book and necklace in her hands.
Voris located a replacement screen and spent the next several minutes installing it. When he turned back to Dagny, he saw she had laid back down facing the wall and was flipping through the book's pages.
They didn't speak a word to each other as he ran a quick scan of her vital signs and noted it in her chart. Many of the readings remained abnormal, but she was continuing to improve. Her eyelids were beginning to droop and her hands had stopped flipping the pages of the book. She was on the cusp of sleep and though he wanted to retreat to his quarters and enter a period of focused meditation, he thought of her request to remain by her side.
She was nearly asleep. Surely he could manage to sit in her presence for several minutes until she made a complete transition into sleep. He took a seat on the stool and watched the slow rise and fall of her chest.
"Dr. Voris?" she mumbled.
He jerked at her sound of her voice. "Yes?"
"Thank you. For everything."
Voris swallowed his guilt and replied the only way he knew how. "You are welcome."
He watched her sleep for the next several hours, observing her twitches and snores and moans. He wanted to leave, for her sake and for his, but he was utterly beholden to her.
What had he done?