Two of Two

by FFcrazy15

In which two of the Cerritos crew get assimilated by the Borg. (Eventual Marinler.)

5. Chapter 5: Nip It in the Bud

Summary: The four are sent on an away mission to a planet to take some readings on the paranoia-inducing pollen, armed with an inoculation; while there, however, an incident triggers Boimler's latent asthma—and some unwanted memories, from multiple members of the group. Meanwhile, Captain Freeman has a mandatory therapy meeting.

CW: Warnings for alcoholism/alcohol abuse, PTSD, flashbacks, some violence and gore, dubiously-consensual brain-switching. Obviously some of these are heavy topics and I tried handle them sensitively (while also keeping the characters in-character), but I haven't really experienced any of them myself, so I apologize for any inaccuracy in portrayal.

(Apologies also for the outright Migleemo character assassination to any bird-man therapist fans.)

---

The Beta Shift hallway onboard the U.S.S. Cerritos was shrouded in shadow, the only light coming from the stars and the glow of the nacelles beyond the window. The sounds of snores and gentle breathing from sleeping crew members filled the air, as the wee hours of delta shift had led even the night owls to turn in and get some much-needed rest.

All was not peaceful, however, for at the end of the hall a small disturbance had begun, in the form of an ensign having a particularly unpleasant dream. "No," Mariner muttered in her sleep, brows beginning to pinch together. A bead of sweat bloomed on her forehead and then rolled down the side of her face. "Come on, man, you don't wanna do this–" There was a shifting noise in the bunk below hers, but the noise wasn't enough to wake her. Her face contorted into a pained frown, and on the blankets her right hand gave a violent twitch. "Don't make me do this–!"

A shadow moved in the hallway, a robed silhouette appearing in front of the window—but at that same moment Mariner's hand gave a violent jerk. She abruptly sat up in her bed, gasping for air as someone began screaming.

It took her several seconds to realize that it wasn't her.

Lights snapped all over the hallway, people's heads poking out of their bunks as the screams continued; unseen, the robed figure slunk back behind the hallway corner, as Mariner scrambled to her knees and swung herself down into the bunk below hers. "Brad! Boims, c'mon, wake up!" She shook the man awake until the shrieks of horror began to turn into terrified gasps. "C'mon, it's okay, it's me–"

"Mariner–?" he choked, and then his face flooded with guilt. "Oh god, Mariner– I'm s–"

"Mariner?!" Tendi's panicked voice called out from the bunks opposite theirs; Mariner glanced over to see both Tendi and Rutherford were peering at them with fear. "Is Boimler okay?"

"He's fine," Mariner said quickly, positioning herself to block him from their view. "Bad nightmare, PTSD, you know the drill."

"Should we get help–"

"Nope, no, he's fine!" Mariner declared loudly, as more bunk-lights were turning on down the hall. "Back to sleep, everyone, nothing to see here! Computer, forcefield on A12003, maximum soundproofing." Immediately a privacy force-field appeared over the opening to the bunk, filling the hall again with silence.

One by one the lights turned off, as everyone decided they'd rather get their full eight hours than worry about a space-crazy crewman. Tendi and Rutherford watched for a moment as Mariner tried to calm down a panicking Boimler inside the soundproofed bunk, and shared an anxious look, but decided to give their friends some privacy as they both rolled over in their bunks to face the wall.

In the glass of the window, the reflection of Captain Carol Freeman, dressed in a pink housecoat and kerchief, exhaled a sigh of relief and slumped her shoulders. She turned to go, and then paused, glancing back at the reflection of her daughter and the young man. Unseen by anyone else, Mr. Boimler pinched the bridge of his nose with a shaking hand, heaving for air, as Mariner set a hand on his shoulder and pursed her lips. As if to reassure herself that she was really there, the captain's reflection watched Mariner for a long moment, before she steeled her will and walked away.

Beyond the glass the nacelles continued to burn their cold blue and the stars twinkled, and the dark side of a planet spun slowly, displaying a distant terrain of rolling plains and snowy mountains. On a hill in one of those meadows far, far below, a flower's yellow petals fluttered gently in the evening breeze, and then stilled.

---

Chapter 5: "Nip It In the Bud"

---

Although she had been making a consistent effort to become more amicable with her coworkers, it was still with some relief that T'Lyn noticed that the two redshirts were not yet present when she sat down with her plate of gespar fruit at their—now her—usual table the next morning. Ensigns Mariner and Boimler were friendly enough, but their constant bickering (it turned out that was less of a flaw than their relationship functioning properly ) and Mariner's perpetually high levels of energy were a lot to process first thing in the morning. "Ensigns Rutherford, Tendi, good morning," she greeted.

"T'Lyn! Hi!" the ever-friendly Orion chirped. "How'd you sleep?"

"Well enough, thank you. Curiously, it seems I have still not had my sleeping arrangements moved to the Beta Shift hallway."

"Oh yeah, it's all full up ever since the four of us got back," Rutherford explained. "Sorry, guess you're stuck having an off-schedule with the lights for a while."

"Actually, it has turned out favorably for me. The Delta-shifters are…spirited," she explained dryly. "Their being on-duty while I am resting has proven very beneficial to my sleep patterns."

Tendi repressed a giggle. "Fair enough. By the way, have you seen the view?" At the Vulcan's curiosity, the Orion shifted aside to reveal the panorama of the spacescape behind her. A large planet covered in green continents and turquoise-blue oceans, still half in darkness, hung suspended in the void.

"Fascinating. That must be K'Karee IV." The Vulcan pulled up the day's shipwide memo on her Padd and read it aloud: "Uninhabited, M-class, abundant in plant, fungi and microscopic life, but no natural fauna or sentient life observed." She glanced at the others. "I suppose if we are here instead of a science-support vessel, that must mean the Federation has plans to colonize it."

"Yup! It's a little out of Project Swingby's usual purview, but the orders apparently came from HQ directly," Rutherford said eagerly. "I heard Billups talking yesterday, apparently they're sending an away-team down to put up engineering equipment and take some readings, see if there's any unknown problems San Francisco needs to know about before sending the first colony ships."

"And it's supposed to be a really scientifically interesting place! The pollen storms down there are some of the most intense in the galaxy," Tendi said brightly, peering out through the window. As they watched, what initially looked like a large cloud or dust-storm was sweeping across the end of a massive continental plain towards the ocean; after a moment, however, as the cloud crossed the shore and began to swirl over the ocean, they saw in the illuminating dawn light that it was a shockingly brilliant yellow, not dusty-brown. In the part of the planet still shadowed in night, there seemed to be tiny flashes of light in the swirling darkness. "The reports from the First-Observation crew said they could even see lightning from the ship; that must be it."

"It is a fascinating phenomenon," T'Lyn agreed. "One usually only sees that much naturally-generated electricity from dust storms and thunderstorms, or volcanic emissions." She peered out the window at the vibrant greenery of the continents and glittering blue oceans. "It is certainly a very water-rich planet, much like your homeworlds."

"Yeah, I gotta ask, T'Lyn, what's it like coming from a desert world and seeing all these super green planets with nobody living on them?"

"Hm." She tilted her head, thinking over Rutherford's question. "I suppose the closest human word for it is…eerie."

"Really? Why?"

"To look upon the desert is to know your enemy by his face," she said solemnly, cutting into her chilled gespar with the side of her spoon. "Hunger, thirst, heat, and death. To look upon your worlds' apparently lush and lovely verdancy is to know that danger must lurk within, but not its nature or where it lies; everything from an unknown flower carelessly plucked, to an unseen predator lurking in the shadows, could be a threat. That way lies madness." She sounded so serious that Tendi and Rutherford fought to conceal their smiles, and T'Lyn raised an eyebrow. "You disagree?"

"Sorry," Tendi apologized. "Just that when you grow up on a forest planet, it seems a little silly to be scared of daffodils."

"Hm." T'Lyn seemed ready to respond when she paused and looked over the Orion's shoulder. "Ensign Mariner, good morning."

"Hey," the redshirt yawned, sitting down next to Tendi with a tray of food. "Sorry if I'm a little spaced today guys, didn't get a lot of sleep."

"Yeah, um, speaking of," Tendi began hesitantly, "how's Boimler doing? He seemed a little, um, out of it, last night."

"Huh? Oh, he's fine," Mariner said, apparently brushing this off. "Just some run-of-the-mill space-adventuring PTSD, it'll go away eventually." She saw T'Lyn mouthing the acronym to herself in confusion and added, "Post-traumatic-stress-disorder."

"Ah, khreya-riyeht-kashik, trauma-neurosis," she translated, and then frowned. "I…do not believe that syndrome usually resolves itself without professional intervention."

Exactly, a voice sounded in her mind. Mariner rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, that's why he's in therapy," she answered the Vulcan. "Being 'proactive about his mental health.'" She gave exaggerated air-quotes.

"Well that's good, right?" Tendi offered. "I mean, you know, if he's having nightmares–"

But Mariner snorted. "Yeah, maybe, if we didn't have the worst therapist in the fleet. Which is why I'm here, hanging out with my friends, instead of wasting my time with the creepy bird-man."

Do you mind? Boimler's voice echoed, annoyed. Also, kind of racist, Mariner.

What, he's creepy and he's a bird-man! Both of those things are true!

Halfway across the ship, Boimler shook his head and tried to clear his annoying bunk-mate/brain-mate/ship-mate out of his mind as the very therapist in question sat down in the chair across from him. "Good morning, Doctor."

"Good morning, Mr. Boimler! Lovely day for being planet-side, isn't it?" The same green planet was glittering just beyond the office window. "Can I offer you something to drink? Water, coffee? Maybe some nice grubs to snack on?"

"Uh– no, thanks, I'm good. I'm getting breakfast after this, so…" He trailed off, his heart already starting to pound at the memory of the previous night. I don't want to talk about it, he thought to himself. I don't even want to think about it, how am I supposed to talk about it?

Then don't, dude, it's none of his business.

He's my therapist, yes it is!

"So, Mr. Boimler, this is our third meeting!" the avian said brightly, apparently not having noticed his patient's inner dialogue. "I recall that last time you said you were dealing with intense feelings of guilt and displacement!" Boimler blinked. "So, how are you today? Any changes?" He tilted his head, eyeing his patient.

"Well, uh, I'm still kind of, you know, adjusting," Boimler admitted, digging his fingers into the fabric of his pants. "But, y'know, like I said last time, I'm still just really glad to be back."

"Mmhm, mmhm. You know, Mr. Boimler, I'm sensing that there's more to how you're feeling than you're letting on," the therapist said, peering at the ensign over his glasses.

Wow, what a great observation. Therapy's so effective.

Shut up, Mariner. "Uh– well, yeah, obviously. It's just hard to think about all that stuff when I'm still– you know, trying to get back to my life?"

"Well, that's what therapy's for! Don't you worry, Mr. Boimler; together, you and I are going to cut your psyche open like a fresh-baked slug pie and get into all that squishy, messy stuff that pours out!" Boimler opened his mouth, and then closed it again, feeling a little queasy. "Now, let's start with a basic checkup: how have you been eating? Sleeping?"

"I-I guess I've been eating fine, but I, um, had this one nightmare–" Boimler saw the therapist's eyes light up and immediately felt his heart jump into his throat. "A-Actually I don't think I want to start with that, can we talk about something else?"

"Bradward," the therapist sighed, shaking his head and tsking his tongue, "if you never face up to the trauma, it will continue to spoil your life! Like a fly caught in a bowl of soup—you humans wouldn't eat even the most delicious gazpacho in the galaxy if it had a fly in it, would you? Even if it had the freshest bell peppers and onions and the finest Andalusian olive oil, one little fly would make the whole thing inedible to you! You don't want your life to be inedible, do you?"

"I– sorry, what?"

Dude, I told you, he's a shit therapist. Let me get you out of there!

How would you even do that? –No, nevermind, that's not the point! Just leave me alone! "I mean, no, I don't want my life to be… inedible , it's just hard talking about it–"

Oh I'm sorry, do you think I'm listening in on this awful appointment by choice?

Brad ignored her. "–And I guess I just wanted to start with something easier, and work my way up to the bad stuff–"

"Well, if you don't want to talk about the Borg, we could always talk about your childhood traumas!"

"No, that's– oh, wow. That…might actually be worse. Somehow," he realized, unnerved.

Nope, no, sorry, the second-hand embarrassment is just too much. Don't worry, Bradward, help's on the way. "Guys, Boimler needs help; Rutherford, pass me your Padd–"

"What– no, Mariner, don't do anything!" he snapped aloud. The therapist blinked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Sorry; Mariner's just— being Mariner, and it's driving me up a wall–"

"Ah, yes, of course. Let's talk about your little situation, shall we?" the therapist said, flipping to a new page on his Padd. "How does sharing an interlink with Ensign Mariner make you feel? Suffocated? Stifled? Perhaps like two peas, stuck in an increasingly cramped pod?"

"You know, actually, yeah!" he snapped, trying his best to ignore whatever Mariner was doing with Rutherford's work Padd in the mess hall. "That's exactly how this f–"

"Ambient controls adjusted," a computerized voice cut him off as the lights in the office abruptly turned turquoise-green. "Simulating native environment: rainforests of Ornithopia."

A gush of rainwater abruptly descended from the emergency sprinklers, dousing both patient and therapist. "Oh!" Migleemo said, surprised but delighted, and shook his feathers.

You're welcome, Mariner added, in a singsong voice, as Boimler pushed his sopping bangs out of his forehead and fumed.

---

"I don't know why you're mad at me," Mariner insisted, meeting Boimler at the door into the mess hall ten minutes later, who was now in a fresh shirt but still drying his hair with a towel. "Trust me, I did you a favor; that therapy session was a disaster."

"It was going fine until you decided to flood his office!" Boimler hissed, chucking the towel into the disintegrator.

"He was pushing you!" Mariner insisted. "He was way out of line!"

"He's a therapist! That's his job! –I think," Boimler added, realizing he didn't actually know what therapy was supposed to look like. Mariner crossed her arms.

"You're three sessions in and he's done nothing to help you; if anything you've gotten worse! I mean you weren't even thinking about that day in the medbay before last night, right?!" Brad bit his tongue. "Yeah, exactly! Nothing good ever comes from digging up trauma! And he spent your whole last session talking about cheese, even I know that's not helpful!"

"Okay, yeah, maybe he's not the greatest therapist in the galaxy—but what's my other option here, Mariner? Ignore all my bad memories like you do?"

"Yes! Exactly!" He ignored that, punching his breakfast code into the replicator. "Look if you're not going to stand up for yourself then someone has to! But hey, I guess fuck me for trying to look out for you, right?!"

Boimler opened his mouth to snap back, but paused and took a deep breath instead. "Look," he said firmly as he picked up his tray, "I know you were just trying to help. But this isn't your field, okay? It's not your responsibility to fix this, I-I don't even know if it can be fixed."

It's my responsibility if I'm the one who has to keep reliving your nightmares. He winced at her unspoken thought and turned away, but not before Mariner stopped him by the shoulder. "Brad– it wasn't your fault," she insisted aloud, low enough that no one else could hear, but he shrugged her hand off.

"We don't know that."

Mariner watched his retreating back as he headed for the table, and then sighed and ran to catch up. She sat down next to Boimler, who was pointing his fork at the engineer and saying, "Okay Rutherford, for the future, just because Mariner tells you to do something it doesn't mean it's a good idea."

"Right, sorry," the engineer said sheepishly. Mariner pouted.

"Aw c'mon, Rutherford, be cool!"

Their Padds pinged with their assignments, cutting them off. "No way," Tendi said, face lighting up. "Guys, I got assigned to the away-team again!"

"Same here!"

"Same. It must be our whole group," Boimler realized. "T'Lyn?"

"Assignment: Data Analysis, Bridge Science Officer Station." She frowned. "That's peculiar. I wonder why they would assign an operations officer to the science station?"

"Ensigns, Lieutenant." The group looked over to see Dr. T'Ana approaching them with a Padd in hand. "I'm guessing you've already seen the bad news."

"Bad news? This is great news!" Tendi bubbled. "Getting sent on an away-mission to an unexplored planet? "

"Yeah Doc, that's the dream," Mariner agreed.

"Yeah, well, none of you have chronic hay fever," the feline grumbled.

"Uh, can't you just get that genetically resequenced?"

"I wish. Hay fever doesn't count as a 'life-threatening condition,' so fixing it's not legal. Anyway…the bridge is sending you three down as guinea pigs to see how you handle the pollen. You see those massive storms down there, right? The big yellow clouds?" The five of them nodded. "Well, the biological composition of the flower it comes from is almost identical to the stuff on Archer IV; neat little example of convergent evolution."

T'Ana swiped a hologram of two almost identical flowers up into the air; the image zoomed in on the stamens to focus on the pollen, and then further to the chemical level. "The folks back at HQ think the same vaccine can be used for settling this planet. We're sending you down on the away-mission to test the theory and set up some monitoring equipment; Orions appear to be immune, so Tendi, you'll be keeping an eye on them and making sure the antidote is actually working and these three don't murder each other."

"As I recall, Doctor, no effective antidote was ever developed for Vulcan use," T'Lyn pointed out.

"There's not; you're gonna stay aboard-ship and run the other half of the mission. HQ wants us to collect data on the motion of the pollen particles and that freaky lightning business, so after these guys set up the equipment, you'll be taking the very first readings ever of this phenomenon."

Despite there being no visible change in her expression, T'Lyn seemed to perk up significantly at the doctor's explanation. T'Ana nodded to the humans and added, "The three of you, report to medbay at 09:00 and I'll get you all inoculated before you take the shuttle down; the interference in the atmosphere is pretty bad, so we don't wanna risk a transporter accident."

"Yes ma'am," Rutherford agreed eagerly, and T'Ana walked away. "Wow, this is so exciting! Tapped for two away-missions in a row!"

"I must admit, I am interested in seeing those readings," T'Lyn agreed. "I was never assigned to such important work on the Sh'Val."

As they continued to chat, Mariner surreptitiously looked over at Boimler, whose whole posture had suddenly gone very tense, looking down at his tray of food. Hey. You okay?

"I'm fine," he lied under his breath.

Brad–

"I said I'm fine, Mariner, now drop it." He stood up to go, taking his uneaten food with him; the three scientists, too excited by the mission to notice, didn't stop him, but Mariner added from behind:

Look, nobody gets where you're at better than me. He paused briefly, and she continued, Let me at least try to help, okay? My way might not be as by the books, but I promise, it works.

...Fine, Mariner. I'll come find you before we leave. But for now, I think I just need to be alone. He didn't wait for her to answer, dumping his tray into the recombinator and walking away.

"–Don't you think, Mariner?" Tendi asked, and the human woman blinked, turning back.

"Uh, what? Sorry, was, uh, talking to Brad."

"I was just saying it's probably a good sign that your Mom keeps assigning us to high-priority missions! Maybe it means we're going to be ranking up soon!"

"Uh, yeah, no, probably." She shook her head, trying to focus on Tendi enough to give Boimler some privacy—as much as she could, anyway. "I mean you know how the senior staff are, they like to keep things like that under wraps…"

---

Come on, you can do this…

The Cerritos's library was mostly empty, with the exception of a few alpha-shift scientists who were milling around, selecting Padds from the shelves and checking for relevant books. The soft blue light of the room and the abundance of potted plants were soothing, but Dr. T'Ana's message had definitely rattled him.

You can do this, he insisted to himself. Just get up and walk there. He'd gone to medbay a million times, he could do this–

[Scan]: The medbay's lights were dim, but the room was not empty. A lifeform was lying prone in the biobed.

He took a deep breath, gripping the table as his heart rate spiked, and then noticed that one of the science officers was giving him an uncomfortable look. He flushed and tried to offer a reassuring smile, but the girl just stiffened and walked away, making him wince. It didn't help that he wasn't totally sure whether it was because of the obvious Borg-ness or because he looked like a weirdo having a mental breakdown in a library.

She's right to be afraid of you, an insidious part of his mind whispered back. He flinched harder. If she knew–

Hey, Bradward, enough with the doom spiral, a voice interjected into his head, and he jumped. The girl, who was now several shelves away, startled as well and scurried away. Fuck. Screw her, we've got a mission to do. Meet me in Storage Closet 8.

He'd been so obsessed with his own problems that he hadn't been paying much attention to Mariner's thoughts, but now that he was, he knew immediately what she was planning. Mariner, I am not getting drunk right before a mission! he insisted as he headed out of the library and forced himself to walk to the turbolift.

You're not getting drunk, it's just a little liquid courage!

It's a workday! he scolded her as he got into the turbolift and reached for the button. I can't believe you'd even suggest– His eye landed on the button with its little caduceus symbol, and his body went cold.

Hey. Brad. Boims, buddy, come on. Mariner's interjecting thoughts startled him back to the present. Closet 8's on the same deck, so you're not really going to Medbay, okay? Just going to the storage closet. Nothing scary about a storage closet.

Not going to medbay. Just the storage closet. He took a deep breath and pressed the button.

That's the spirit. See you soon.

The turbolift ride to the deck was far shorter than he would have preferred, and by the time he stepped out he was already nervous again. Is that my heart pounding or the engine pulse? he wondered, and then immediately followed with: Oh god, I think it just skipped a beat. Can you get a heart attack from stress? I don't even know what a heart attack would feel like, how would I even know if I was having o– "Aack!"

A hand had reached out of a closet door and yanked him inside, shutting it behind him. "What the– what–"

"Dude, you are freaking out, okay, try to calm down," Mariner's voice insisted out of the darkness. He blinked twice and saw her come into view as his vision adjusted to the dim light. "I was thinking your name like, super hard, and you didn't even hear me!"

"Oh." He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. It didn't really work. "Well, I-I guess we found another way to ignore each other's thoughts…"

Mariner snorted and turned to the shelf, moving cleaning supplies aside. "Yeah, something tells me mind-numbing terror isn't a functional solution. Come on, we only have a couple minutes here." She seemed to find what she was looking for and pulled out a small black flask.

"I-I don't know about this," Boimler said uneasily. "Drinking right before a mission–"

"Dude it's fine, I have literally never gotten caught."

"Never gotten c—wait, have you done this before?"

"Hey, only like, once or twice!" she defended. Thirteen, it's been thirteen times.

"Oh my god, Mariner-!"

"Hey, don't judge me man!" she retorted. At his scandalized look she crossed her arms. "Look, it might not be pretty but my system gets results! Didn't you ever wonder why I'm not getting constant flashbacks to the Dominion War?"

"Because you repress your trauma under a shell of overconfident recklessness and high-functioning alcoholism?" he retorted bluntly.

"Yeah! And it works! I take aaaall the bad stuff that's happened to me, shove it in a little box, push that box way deep down inside, bury it in awesomeness and then drown it with booze!"

"That's– a lot of metaphors–"

"Look," Mariner cut him off, "I know what I'm talking about, alright?! Traumatized officers don't get to stay on starships, Brad, they get interrogated by a therapist, handed a medal of honor, and then sent home to have their breakdowns where the public doesn't have to deal with it! And I'm not letting that happen to you!" She unscrewed the top. "Now do you wanna go on the crazy space-adventure or not?!"

"Of course I do!"

"And do you really think you can get through a visit to medbay on your own?" She held the flask out to him.

He wavered, and then relented with a sigh. "Fine. Give me that." He took a swig from the flask and then immediately began to choke. "Holy shit that is not Romulan whiskey–"

"What? No, man, I don't drink the good shit for liquid courage. That's peppermint chech'tluth ; that way if anyone asks you why you smell like alcohol you can say, 'oh yeah, I just used mouthwash.'"

"You have a problem," he rasped, and she rolled her eyes.

"You sound like my mom. Come on, we've gotta get to medbay." At the sudden tension in his face she nodded and nudged the bottle. "Yeah, see, that's why I brought you here! Drink up buddy, we gotta go."

Soon enough they were walking quickly down the hallway towards medbay, Mariner guiding a tipsy Boimler by the arm and trying to ignore his inner crisis. What am I doing, going in drunk to work, this is bad, this is really bad–

"Dude, be cool," she hissed under her breath as the doors slid open, and then lifted a hand. "Hey, Dr. T'Ana!"

"Huh? Oh, there you two are. Get over here, I'll get your hyposprays ready."

Fuck, fuck, she's gonna know–

"She's not gonna know, just don't say anything!" Mariner hauled him forward; Boimler stopped in front of the doctor with his mouth clamped shut and eyes wide. T'Ana glanced him over and raised an eyebrow.

"What's up with him?"

"Um–" Boimler squeaked, but Mariner cut in:

"He's just very excited for the mission, you know how he is, little eager beaver here. Right, Boims?" She elbowed him, and he gave a quick nod and a grimacing smile, still not trusting himself to speak and trying very hard not to sway on his feet. T'Ana eyed him suspiciously, and then shrugged and walked over to the supply counter. "Alright, if you're sure…"

As the doctor began prepping the injector, Boimler found himself unable to not notice the setting. The alcohol was helping, but even so, the trilling of the screens seemed to be growing louder, and the antiseptic smell stronger–

"OW!" he yelped and turned to glare at Mariner, who stared back innocently, as if she hadn't just caused the sharp pain in his arm. "Did you just pinch me?! What's the matter with you!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I– you–" He was cut off by the feeling of a cold jet of air on his neck as Dr. T'Ana applied the hypospray.

"There you go." She did the same to Mariner and then checked the time. "You two better get a move on, Mr. Rutherford stopped in ten minutes ago so he's probably already at the shuttle bay by now."

"Thanks Doc." Mariner was already moving, pulling him to his feet. "Don't wanna be late, right Boims? Let's go."

For once, he agreed with her, and he headed for the door as fast as he could without running. As soon as they were out of the medbay he felt his shoulders slump. "Okay, that…wasn't great, but it's over," he exhaled as they stepped into the turbolift. "Thanks, Mariner."

"No worries, Boims, I've got you." He startled as he felt another hypospray on his neck, and immediately the alcohol fog cleared. He looked over in surprise as Mariner tucked the stolen hypospray back in her pocket. "What? Like I said, I've got a system. And now we have a whole day of scifi stuff and non-recycled air to look forward to!"

That's…true, he realized, spirits lifting. The worst was over and he'd gotten through it—though, he thought with unease, not in the healthiest way. "Listen, Mariner–" –I can't do this every time, okay? I need to be able to handle this the right way eventually.

"Sure man, whatever. It's a one-time thing." There was a sense of guilt in her thoughts that she was actively repressing, but before he could question her on it they'd reached the shuttle bay. There they were met by Shaxs, who was carrying a case.

"Phasers," he said as they approached, opening it. "These are stun-only, hand over your standard-issues."

"Boot phaser," Boimler reminded Mariner as he passed his weapon over to the security officer.

"Aw c'mon, what if I need it?"

"We're not sending you down to a paranoia-pollen planet with killing weapons, no matter how good the vaccine is," Shaxs snorted. "Come on, ensign, hand it over."

Mariner obliged, albeit with grumbles, and then the pair headed to the shuttle. "Hey guys!" Tendi said excitedly as they piled inside. "Aren't you so excited? A whole day of sunshine and looking at flowers!"

"And carrying engineering equipment," Mariner reminded her.

"Aw there's gonna be four of us, how hard can it be?" Rutherford called as the shuttle hummed to life, tapping his badge. "This is Ensign Rutherford with the U.S.S. Joshua Tree to the bridge science station; you read us?"

"Bridge science station receiving," T'Lyn's voice responded. "We read you, Joshua Tree. You are cleared for departure."

"Over and out." He tapped his badge again and piloted the ship towards the bay doors. All four of them looked out the shuttle windows eagerly as below them, the large green planet glittered in the morning sunlight.

---

Bzzzz. "Captain."

Carol Freeman mumbled something and rolled over in her bed, a plait of hair escaping the wrap and falling in her face. After a moment she let out a snore. The buzzing came again, this time with a louder voice: "Captain Freeman, do you read me?"

"Hnn…?"

"Captain, this is Commander Ransom; are you alright?"

The woman furrowed her brows, and then abruptly sat up. "What–" She checked the time and swore loudly. "Shit!" She tapped the badge. "Jack, I'm here!"

"Glad to hear it. I was about to send Stevens down to make sure you weren't dead."

"My stupid alarm didn't go off– hang on, I'll be there in ten–" Even as she said it she knew this was a bad lie; the ship's computer handled all the wakeup alarms, and unless someone had tampered with it, it was never wrong. She must have been so out cold after wandering around half the night that she slept through it.

"...Right. See you soon, Captain, over and out."

Already in a bad mood, she got dressed as quickly as she could—("Stupid slow replicator!")—and washed her face. As she pinned on her rank pips, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Despite having been back on the ship for almost a month, her cheeks still looked hollow, and her eyes were still ringed by dark circles.

"Get it together, Carol," she muttered to herself as she headed for the door. It slid shut behind her, and there was silence in the apartment for a moment before the doors abruptly opened again, and she raced back inside to grab her combadge.

---

The Joshua Tree touched down in the middle of a grassy field dotted with clusters of yellow flowers, and ringed on all sides by blue snow-peaked mountains. "Wow," Tendi breathed, looking out through the windows. "It's so beautiful."

"It…really is," Boimler said softly, and Mariner glanced over at him with a smile.

See? I told you everything would be fine.

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. Yeah, yeah. You were right, like always, congratulations.

At the front of the shuttle Rutherford turned off the engines and tapped his comm badge. "Rutherford to Bridge; we've landed. All clear to disembark?"

There was a brief pause and then, with just a touch of static interference, T'Lyn's voice replied: "Acknowledged. You're cleared to disembark one at a time; Ensign Tendi, be on standby to handle a situation escalation."

"Ensign Tendi here, acknowledged."

With a nod from Tendi, Rutherford opened the the delicious smell of fresh mountain air and flowers wafted into the shuttle. "I'll go first," Mariner volunteered, walking to the door and hopping outside, whereupon she found a cluster of flowers. "Hey Tendi, this is them, right?"

"Yes, but–"

"No time like the present." Mariner picked a bunch and inhaled the floral scent, and then immediately sneezed and started coughing. "Bad idea! Don't do that!"

"You're not turning paranoid, are you?" Tendi called.

"No! I just–" she sneezed again, "–inhaled a lot of–" another sneeze, "–a lot of pollen!"

Tendi giggled and stepped outside after her, breathing in a deep gulp of air and stretching in the sunshine. "Rutherford, you're next!"

The engineer stepped outside and accepted the flowers from the still-sneezing Mariner, taking a more gingerly sniff. There was a slight whine from his implant, and then his eye-screen turned green with a positive ding! and he gave a thumbs–up. "All good over here! Boimler, your turn!"

The human stepped outside the shuttle and looked around, taking the impromptu bouquet from Rutherford. "Wow, it's even prettier in person," he observed, and then gave a nervous look at the bouquet. "Hang on, we're Starfleet. What are the odds of all three of us being safe?"

"Come on, man, stop wasting time," Mariner complained. "If you turn paranoid we'll phaser you and put you back in the shuttle."

Boimler gave her a flat look and then lifted the flowers to his face. He inhaled and tilted his head, then shook it. "Not feeling any different. Actually, these smell pretty g–" He coughed.

The group tensed. "–Pretty good," he tried to say again, but only ended up coughing harder.

"Boimler–!"

He sucked in a rasping breath and then leaned sideways against the shuttle door as he clutched at his chest, making a noise like a death rattle. "Help–!"

"What is it? Is he going paranoid?!" Rutherford demanded, but Boimler shook his head, his face turning red.

"Asth– asthm–"

Mariner's eyes flew wide. "You have asthma?!" Boimler just coughed harder in response and clambered back inside the shuttle as they followed. "How is that even possible, it's the twenty-fourth century!"

"I– had– asthma!" he wheezed, bracing against the console. "The doctors– fixed it– when I was a kid!"

"Then why is it back now?!"

Tendi gasped. "It must be because his human immune system is reasserting itself over the Borg implants! It must have re-triggered the symptoms!"

"Can we– quit discussing it– and get me a fucking hypospray?!" Boimler's face had now gone almost as purple as his hair.

"Oh! Right, right, sorry!" Tendi started digging through her bag as Mariner gingerly patted Boimler's back. "Here!"

As she applied the hypospray to his neck, Boimler visibly relaxed, still coughing and rasping but thankfully getting some normal color back to his cheeks. "Thanks," he wheezed, sitting down in his chair.

"You said your doctor fixed it when you were a kid, right?" Mariner asked; he nodded, gulping in air. "Tendi, can you do anything?"

Tendi shook her head. "Dr. T'Ana should be able to fix it once we get back to the ship, but I don't have the right supplies with me."

"Can you finish the mission?" Mariner asked. Boimler gulped down another breath of air and shook his head.

"Bad idea. No way of knowing– what's out there. Plus there's those– pollen storms."

"Oh, yeah. Better not to take the risk…"

They paused as Tendi shut the shuttle door and turned on the air recyclers; in the sunlight from the windows they could see yellow pollen motes already floating in the beams. She tapped her badge: "Ensign Tendi to Bridge; we've hit a bit of a snag down here."

There was a brief pause, and then T'Lyn responded with the kind of impassiveness only a Vulcan could muster: "...You have been on the planet's surface for two minutes."

"Yeah, turns out Boimler has asthma," Mariner said, tapping her own badge with an eye roll. "Can you guys beam him out of here?"

"My scans of the atmospheric distortion caused by the pollen indicate that that would not be advisable—unless the aim is to turn Mr. Boimler into a human-plant hybrid."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Tendi mused.

"Okay, so beaming's not an option; can we fly him back and then finish the mission?"

"Negative. Mission parameters direct that all three humans must remain on the planet for the full two-hour observation period, and a large pollen storm is predicted for this afternoon; the ideal solution is to delay the mission by a day and return tomorrow morning with another candidate."

"What? No," Brad coughed. "That would put the ship's schedule off by a whole day; we've got R&R on Risa next week and then a resupply at Vulcan the week after."

"Ooh yeah, you don't want to be the guy who got R&R cut short," Mariner agreed.

"None of us turned paranoid, and the setup location isn't that far away. You guys go ahead without me; I'll be okay so long as I'm in the shuttle."

Tendi frowned. "No way, I don't want to leave you alone in this condition. What if you have another attack while I'm gone? I'll stay here with you."

"Yeah, and Rutherford and I can carry the engineering equipment on our own," Mariner agreed, glancing at the engineer, who nodded.

"That is…not an ideal arrangement," T'Lyn said reluctantly. "I– Commander?"

There was another buzz as someone else joined the call. "You guys sure you can handle it?"

"We'll be fine, Jack. There's nothing on this planet except plants, it's a walk in the park." Mariner snickered. "Literally!"

"Terrible puns aside, if Ensign Tendi can confirm none of you are showing signs of paranoia, then you've got my go-ahead."

Tendi pulled out her tricorder and scanned the others. "The only one showing any distress signs is Boimler, Commander, and he almost suffocated to death just now, so…"

"Alright, if you think you can do it, I won't stop you. T'Lyn, send them the coordinates."

There was a ping on their workpads as the map appeared. "The setup location is approximately a forty-five minute walk east from your location," T'Lyn added. "Given that the soonest pollen storm will reach you in about three hours, and a setup duration of half an hour, you should have a safety buffer of approximately sixty minutes."

"See? We've got an hour, that's plenty of time," Mariner said, dusting off her hands and picking up one of the crates of engineering equipment. "Come on, Rutherford, let's do this."

"Okidoki. You guys sure you're okay?" he asked Tendi and Boimler, who nodded.

"We'll be fine, Rutherford. Go ahead."

"Speaking as one who has been caught in a sandstorm before, it is a singularly unpleasant experience," T'Lyn warned. "I imagine a pollen storm would not be any great improvement. If you are determined on this course of action, I would advise setting out immediately."

"Yeah, yeah, we're going. See you guys in two hours."

Tendi and Boimler waved the pair off as Mariner and Rutherford set out across the sunny meadow, before reluctantly closing the shuttle door. "Shame to be stuck inside on such a nice day," Tendi sighed wistfully.

"Yeah, sorry Tendi. I-I know this is kind of all my fault–"

"Huh? Oh, no! I don't mean to make you feel bad—don't worry, Boimler, we're going to have a great time!"

"Uh– we are?"

"Sure!" She beamed at him. "My job is to observe and report on the vaccine's effectiveness, so I've got plenty to do—monitoring your biosigns, taking blood samples, ooh and I get to observe a patient with an old Earth disease! This is going to be so much fun!"

It was about this point that Boimler suddenly realized just what he'd signed himself up for. Tendi may have been moved into SSO-training, but her background was still, at base, as a medic, and he'd just had a serious medical episode in front of her. "Doctor Tendi" was about to come out full-force—and if the way she was puttering around the shuttle (rearranging chairs and setting out first-aid equipment) was any indication, she had every intention of turning the Joshua Tree into a makeshift medbay.

Oof. That's not great, Mariner's sympathetic voice rang across the interlink. Can you keep it together until I get back?

I-I don't know—maybe I should just tell her what's going on–

No, dude, you can't. Remember what I said about getting taken out of service?

Tendi's my friend, he argued back, she'd never do anything to hurt me. He glanced over to see the science officer bouncing on the balls of her toes as she tested an emergency cauterizer, the live end crackling like a taser. I think.

She'd never do anything to hurt you on purpose, Mariner corrected grimly. Look I saw a lot of people get sent home to "recover" after the war because their friends thought they needed help. Tendi's a sweetheart, but she's also absolutely the type who'd force an intervention if she knew what was happening to you.

Fine, I won't say anything. He swallowed. So, um, any chance you brought that flask on the shuttle?

Sorry dude, the only alcohol in there is the antiseptics in her medkit. Even as he watched, Tendi pulled out a package of sterile swabs and beamed at him, positively giddy.

"So much fun," Boimler agreed weakly, giving her a thumbs-up.

---

"I'm here! I'm here." The rest of the bridge crew turned around in surprise as the captain hurried out of the turbolift. "What's the status of the away-team? Have they already left?"

"The away-team touched down twenty minutes ago, Captain," Lt. T'Lyn reported, and then added, "However, your presence is confusing. Is something the matter?"

"What do you mean, is something the mat– wait, hang on." Her eyes landed on the captain's chair, in which a certain security officer was currently sitting. "Shaxs, the hell are you doing in my chair?"

The Bajoran blinked. "Uh– you're not on-duty this morning, Captain. It says so on the ship roster."

"What?"

"Uh, Captain?" Ransom stood up. "Can I have a word in your ready-room?"

Bewildered, she followed her first officer into the privacy of her office and crossed her arms as the doors closed. "Jack, did you move my shifts around?"

"No, Captain, you did. You gave yourself the morning off two weeks ago."

"What? Then why did you wake me up?!"

"Because you gave yourself the time off for a medical appointment, and Migleemo said you never showed up." He handed her his Padd. Displayed right there on her calendar app was, "Capt. Carol Freeman: Reintegration and Wellbeing Check."

She groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose as it came back to her. "Damn it, I forgot about that. I can't believe HQ's actually making me do this, I'm 'reintegrating' just fine! Can't we just fudge the forms a little?"

"Uh, no, no we cannot," he answered, looking mildly amused. "Also, Shaxs told me he's got security cam footage of you wandering around the beta shift hallway in your bathrobe." The captain flushed and glared at him, and he raised his eyebrows. "Pretty specific sleepwalking, I'd say."

She grabbed the Padd out of his hands with a huff. "Fine. If that's what I need to do, then I'll see Migleemo, get a clean bill of health and be back in an hour!"

"Fine."

"Fine!" She turned heel and stalked out of the office, muttering to herself. Ransom followed, watching her go, and then shared a glance with T'Lyn, who raised an eyebrow and turned back to her station.

---

"Looks like this is the place," Rutherford said brightly as he and Mariner reached the top of the hill about an hour's walk later. He set down his crate and looked around; they weren't exactly in the mountains yet, but the hill that the observation crew had determined was an ideal spot for the data-gathering equipment was solidly in the foothills of eastern mountains.

"Shame we couldn't have landed closer," Mariner said, setting the crate down and rolling her shoulders as she turned her face towards the sunshine. "Why did we land the shuttle so far away, anyhow?"

"Shuttlecrafts let off a lot of energy," Rutherford explained as he started to unpack the box. "It would have contaminated the data samples; the cleaner the readings T'Lyn can get, the more useful they'll be for the scientists back in San Francisco." He wiped a bead of sweat away from his forehead. "That sun's getting pretty hot, my implant's fan is working overtime. We should get this set up and then find somewhere to cool down."

"I got some water, you want some?"

"Sure." She unstrapped her canteen from her shoulder and handed it to him as she continued to unpack. "How's Boimler doing by the way?" Rutherford asked as he took a gulp of water. "He's not going all, y'know, pollen-crazy, right?"

"Uh…" Mariner tilted her head, trying to think of how best to explain what was currently going on back in the shuttlecraft.

"Just hold still!" Tendi urged Boimler, who was backing away from her towards the console. "I promise this will only hurt a little!"

"No! You've already bioscanned me three times, swabbed my throat and ripped out a piece of my hair, we're done here–!" While he was gesticulating angrily, Tendi darted forward and clipped a little device onto his finger, which abruptly punctured his fingertip with a pin. "Ow! What the– we don't even use needles anymore, what the hell was that?!"

"I can't take a blood sample with a hypospray, silly!"

"He's fine," Mariner decided, turning back to the engineer. "Your girlfriend's just torturing him with medical devices."

"Really? Neat! She usually only does that doctor stuff with me!"

"My dude, phrasing. So how long will this take to set up, anyway? You need my help?"

"Nah, it's not that complicated," he assured her. "Go ahead and take a break, I'll call you when I need you."

As Rutherford began putting the components together Mariner drifted off down the hill to lean against a tree, enjoying the sunshine and keeping an eye on Tendi's antics to make sure she didn't carry things too far. She is definitely carrying things too far! Boimler immediately insisted upon hearing this thought.

"Too far in the 'she's being Tendi' way, or too far as in you need me to get you out of there?"

I– He broke off as Tendi pulled out something out of her bag that looked like a long white Q-tip without the fuzzy part. I think I'm okay for now. Probably. Just– can you talk to me for a bit?

She snickered. "Don't worry Boimsie, I'll hold your hand while she hyposprays you and we'll go out for ice cream afterwards."

He rolled his eyes. Or stop by Storage Closet 8? His internal dialogue sounded more bitter than he'd intended, and Mariner crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. ...Sorry, he admitted. It…really did help, but…

But, he still felt guilty. Mariner scoffed, but not unkindly. "Seriously, you're still worried about that? Boims it's fine, nobody found out."

I know. It's just…not the kind of thing I do, alright? He watched Tendi darting around the shuttle, shame creeping up inside. I'm not judging you for how you handle things–

"Uh, yeah you are dude, don't lie, I can tell."

Fine, okay, I am judging you! I don't want to live like you do for the rest of my life, Mariner! I want to work through this and get back to normal!

Mariner closed her eyes and leaned against the tree. She hadn't wanted to crush his spirits so quickly, but she guessed letting him hold on to hope wasn't going to do him any favors, either. Look, Brad, take it from me, she sighed internally, there is no 'working through this,' okay? There is no 'back to normal.' I know everyone tells you there is and that 'talking to a professional' and 'being open and vulnerable' will make things better, but it doesn't. It just—brings up the bad memories all over again.

Mariner–

The only thing you can actually do is try to forget. So if you want to do this their way, fine, go ahead and try. But if not, I can save you some time and pain and show you my way.

…I don't think I want to do things your way, he answered quietly.

Yeah, well…neither did I at first.

Their conversation was interrupted by Rutherford's call, and Mariner opened her eyes. "On my way!" She headed back up the hill, but not before adding, "By the way, I think Tendi's about to stick that thing in your ear."

"Wh– Tendi!" Mariner snickered under her breath as Boimler batted the medic's hands away. "What are you doing?!"

"It's just an earwax sample! Besides, I noticed you have a lot of buildup, a cleaning will help you hear better!"

"I can hear just fine! Leave my ears alone!"

It took Mariner and Rutherford another half hour or so to finish setting up the equipment and running the preliminary tests; by the time they were done the sun was no longer directly overhead, and Rutherford checked the time. "Little behind schedule," he noted, "but not too bad."

"Either way, we should get moving," Mariner decided, looking across the ring of forest around the hill to the meadow in the distance. The Joshua Tree was little more than a tiny white dot, shining in the late-morning sunlight. "Hand me my canteen, I need some water before we start hiking again."

"Sorry, I already drank it all," Rutherford apologized.

"Aw c'mon man, really?"

"Sorry! It's really hot out here!"

"Dude it's like, seventy degrees."

"Yeah, but I was working in the sun!"

They hoisted up the crates and began walking back, still chatting about the weather (and, on Mariner's part, watching Boimler bickering with the over-eager Tendi). Behind them on the hill, next to the newly-planted array of equipment, a yellow-petalled flower was swaying in the morning breeze. Its head bobbed on its stem once, twice, and then fell into a pattern as the wind sweeping down from the mountains began to pick up speed.

---

"Ah, Captain! I was beginning to think you were avoiding this appointment," Migleemo said in delight, looking at the woman in the doorway.

"Uh– no, no, of course not, I just overslept," Carol partly lied, stepping into the office. The truth was that she had found a number of excuses not to go directly to the therapist's office after her discussion with Jack—checking the away-team's progress on their combadges, visiting T'Ana in medbay, and even stopping by the warp core to chat with Billups—before she'd eventually worked up the nerve to take the turbolift to the administrative offices deck.

Not that she needed nerve for one little "wellbeing check," of course. She was fine. She just needed to make sure the brass back in San Francisco knew that as well as she did.

"Please, take a seat," the therapist said, sitting down in his armchair and pulling up her file on his Padd.

"I hope I'm not intruding on anyone else's appointment time," she said with a glance around, as if another patient might materialize on the sofa. No such luck. "I know I'm a little late–"

"Oh, no, not at all! I can always make time for the psychological needs of my captain! After all," he added with a chuckle, "the mental health of everyone else in the crew does kind of depend on you, doesn't it? Like one of your artisan Terran pizzas, it doesn't matter how fresh the toppings are if the crust can't support them!"

"...Glad to hear it. Well, since I'm here, I– uh, why is this couch damp?" she noticed as she sat down, patting her hand on the cushion.

"Oh just a little disruption in the ambient controls!" the therapist said, waving his hand. "Now, you've been back onboard the Cerritos for four weeks, yes? How are you feeling?"

"Fine," she said irritably. "I feel fine, that's what I've been trying to tell everyone! If HQ really wants me to feel better about all the bullshit I've gone through over the last year, letting me do my job and be a captain again is the best thing for it."

"Hmm," the avian mused, scrolling through his Padd. "Are you sure that's how you feel, Captain?"

"I think I would know," she said testily, crossing her arms.

"Because I have here a report from Lt. Shaxs that you've been wandering the halls during Delta shift," he said, failing not to sound smug. "Trouble sleeping, perhaps?"

"Oh fucking hell, has he told the entire senior staff?!" she complained. "What I do off the clock is my business!"

"Captain," he said, tsking his tongue. She huffed.

"Alright, fine, so I'm a little worried about Beckett, what mother wouldn't be! Sometimes I have trouble getting to sleep and just need a little reassurance, that's all! You try carrying someone around in your body for nine months and then not worrying about them every waking moment for the rest of your life!"

"Captain, it's entirely natural to be embarrassed," Migleemo said soothingly.

"I know, but I– wait, what?"

He continued on as if he hadn't heard her. "It means that, on a subconscious level, you realize that your fear is entirely irrational! You know that Ensign Mariner is safe, and that nothing bad is going to happen to her; there is nothing to be afraid of."

"I… you're right," she realized, and then felt sheepish. "I-I know it's silly of me, Beckett's a capable officer who can take care of herself—and imagine if one of the crew saw me walking around like that!—but it's just hard not to worry something's going to happen to her."

"And that was natural when Mariner was missing . But now you see you have nothing to worry about!" he reassured her. "It's all about changing your mindset."

"It…is?"

"Of course! That's the whole point of therapy: I point out where your mindset is faulty, and then you feel better!"

The captain nodded, exhaling. "Of course. You're right, this fear of Beckett going missing again—it's just a phobia." She straightened up: "I just need to pull myself together and change my point of view. This crew deserves a captain with her head screwed on straight, not one ruled by fear and self-doubt!"

"That's the spirit!" Migleemo encouraged. "Well, now that we've got that little misunderstanding taken care of, I feel confident I can give you a clean bill of mental health!" He tapped something on his Padd and sent the form off with a swishing sound.

"Ha! Take that, HQ," Carol snorted and stood up, brimming with the sudden burst of confidence. "Thanks, Doctor. You know, I think I really do feel better! I'm going straight back to the bridge, and if anyone has a problem with that, they can stick it where the sun doesn't shine!"

"Well, that's my job, Captain, I live to serve!" He escorted her to the door. "Goodbye now, take care…" He waved her off until she'd disappeared in the turbolift, and then pulled up his Padd. "Now let me see, who do I have next?" The rest of the day's patient roster was blank. "Nobody? Hm…"

He looked around the room, and then peeked his head out the door. Assured that there was nobody in the hallway, he announced to the empty office: "Computer, adjust environmental controls to Rainforests of Ornithopia."

Immediately the lighting turned blue and the sprinklers produced the same misty rain as that morning; the avian began to hum and sat down in his armchair with his Padd, opening up a good book.

---

"Okay! And now we'll just stick your blood sample in the tricorder and analyze it…"

Boimler bit back an irritated retort and sat down on one of the shuttle's benches, exhaling with relief. You'd think, he muttered internally, that someone with training in bedside manner would notice when someone isn't in the mood for a full checkup.

Yeah, you know I think it's a good thing T'Ana moved her out of medical into SSO training, Mariner mused in his head.

At least she stopped. How far are you guys?

Mariner squinted, peering across the field of waving flowers to where the Joshua Tree was shining in the distance. The wind had picked up and she was getting a little chilled despite the brightness of the sunshine. Hard to say, we're probably about half an hour out?

Good. He sighed out loud. Because I don't know how much more of this I can take.

Don't worry, I'll play interference as soon as I get back. "Hey, Rutherford," she called over her shoulder. "You're lagging a bit there buddy, any chance you can pick up the pace?"

"Sorry," he apologized, rubbing his head. "I think it's the heat, I've got the worst headache."

"Dude, it's really not that hot." She frowned and stepped back, peering at the sweating man. "You feeling okay? Is your implant acting up or something?"

"Hey, I can have normal problems too! It's not always my implant!"

Mariner held up her hands. "Okay, jeez, sorry." She was about to say something more when what was going on back in the shuttle caught her attention, as Tendi stood up abruptly from her chair, frowning at the tricorder.

"But this doesn't make any sense!"

"What now?" Boimler groaned. "I swear, Tendi, if you're going to shove one of those swabs up my nose again–"

"No, that's not it! I-I don't understand, according to your bloodwork you're incredibly dehydrated! And– hang on," she scanned the list. "I'm getting trace amounts of alcohol? But you were with us all of last night, you didn't touch a drop!"

Mariner!

Oh, uh, yeah, the woman winced, the sober-you-up hyposprays technically work by like, making your body process it faster? So you get super dehydrated.

And you didn't think our friend the medic would notice that?!

Unfortunately for him, Tendi was too monofocused to wait for an answer. "Replicator, I need an IV drip bag with 0.9% sodium chloride saline solution, an 18 gauge needle and portable IV pump!" The equipment materialized in the replicator's deposit tray and Boimler's eyes went as wide as dinner plates.

"Tendi, I'm fine!" he yelped, unable to unfix his eyes from the sight of the IV tubes. "I don't need a medic, I just need some water!"

"But you're seriously dehydrated!"

"I'm always dehydrated! It's a medical condition, I'll drink a glass and be fine!"

"But you're low on sodium and calcium too! An IV would be so much faster–"

Panic spiked through him: "No! I'm not letting you stick those tubes in my arms, okay, now leave me alone!"

Tendi blinked, surprised, and then with shockingly quick recovery whipped her tricorder back out. "Elevated heart rate, increased cortisol and adrenaline levels," she murmured, and then her face brightened. "Of course, no wonder you've been so combative! I can't believe I didn't see it before!"

"Um– I–"

"The vaccine must have failed after all!" Her expression of relieved certainty only made him panic harder as she picked up a hypospray and advanced. "Don't worry, Boimler, I'm just going to give you a nice little sedative and you'll feel much better–"

"No! Stop it!" He backed up into the console, but the medic didn't stop her advance. "Don't you put those tubes in me– GET AWAY FROM ME!"

"Just one teeny little sedative and then all that paranoia will go aw–"

"It's not paranoia, Tendi, he's having a panic attack!" Mariner's voice snapped out of the combadge. "Now back the fuck off and give him some room to breathe!"

Tendi froze, and then abruptly shrank back. The certainty melted from her face as she watched her friend shaking and leaning on the console, panting for air. "B-Boimler?" He didn't answer her, just shook his head. "I– I'm so sorry, I didn't realize–"

"Shut up, just shut up," he mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. Tendi fell quiet. "I'm okay," he muttered, mostly to himself. "I'm okay, I'm okay–"

"Brad–" Mariner began nervously.

"I'm okay, I'm–"

---

[Scan.] The medbay's lights were dim, but the room was not empty. A lifeform was lying prone in the biobed. One of Two swept the room, the red sensor bouncing off countertops and medical instruments. Two other lifeforms were also present in small containers, and the primary drone selected them for review before turning to its adjunct. Advance, it ordered.

Two of Two approached the two containers, its ocular implants focusing with tiny clicks and whirrs. Classification, lifeforms [1/3] and [2/3], it reported, avian, non-sentient; reptilian, non-sentient. Unencountered species. No classification numbers assigned.

Hold position, One of Two ordered. Both drones waited, swaying silently in place, as the Collective sourced the answer from drones across the galaxy. After a moment, the answer arrived:

[Classification, lifeform [1/3]]: Archilochus colubris / "Ruby-Throated Humminbird." Species assignation: 13009. [Classification, lifeform [2/3]]: Correlophus ciliatus / "Crested Gecko." Species assignation: 13012.

Passively, One of Two observed that the most accurate reply had come from a newly-assimilated drone the squad of Digesti had created just two rooms prior. Ironic, Two snorted.

There was a beat of silence, before One received its order. [Verbally suppress.] It turned to the third lifeform in the bed and began to approach, relating the Collective's order aloud to the adjunct as it did so. "Irony is irrelevant." Verbally affirm, it added internally.

Two of Two's ocular implants spun, stopped, and spun again. "Irony…is irrelevant," it repeated. Reluctantly.

[Ignore. Advance.] One of Two approached the biobed. The lifeform was unconscious. Clear tubing ran from a bag suspended on a hook and transmitted an unknown liquid solution into the lifeform's veins. [Classify lifeform [3/3]] the Collective ordered.

One of Two did not need to source the answer from the rest of the Collective this time. Species 5618, sentient, female, of advanced age. Injured.

[Specify Term 4.]]

Approx. seventy to eighty Terran solar years. A brief pause for calculation. 25,000-29,000 standard cycles.

[Evaluate remaining lifespan.]

Approx. ten to fifteen Terran solar years; 3600-5500 standard cycles. In the corner, Two of Two turned to watch—without orders.

[Ignore,] the Collective advised. [Evaluate suitability for assimilation.]

There was a brief pause as data from across the Collective was gathered. The final result was unsurprising, and conclusive. Unacceptable, One determined.

[Dispose of the unassimilable organic material.]

One of Two turned to face its adjunct. Dispose of the unassimilable organic material, it ordered, before heading for the door.

…No.

It paused, and then turned back. Two of Two was twitching—resisting orders. The primary drone reapproached the adjunct. This lifeform is not suitable for assimilation.

It's not a 'lifeform,' Brad, it's a person! the adjunct pleaded. Come on, she's unconscious, we can just leave her here– we don't need to–

This lifeform is a security risk, One dictated, as the force of compulsion ticked up a notch in its brain. Its job was to make sure the squadron followed orders, and the Collective did not reward drones which could not do their jobs. One transferred the sense of compulsion to Two's brain, and the adjunct's facial muscles twitched, as if it wanted to grit its teeth. Dispose of the unassimilable organic material.

The adjunct was now visibly fighting to keep from raising its hand. Come on, man, you don't wanna do this, it begged. Don't make me do this–!

"Dispose of the unassimilable organic material! Comply!" One barked aloud, finally losing his—its—temper. The adjunct's face went blank again as the programming took over, and, as ordered, Two of Two raised its left hand and fired.

The pain of compulsion vanished as the mission parameters were fulfilled, and One felt itself bask for a moment in the euphoric feeling of having fulfilled its purpose. As it turned to go, leaving the smoking hole in the head of the disposed lifeform behind it, it felt Two of Two again claw back its tiny grain of individuality. Oh god. Oh god, what did I do, what did I…

A pointless activity. Resistance was futile; therefore, guilt was irrelevant. Why couldn't the adjunct just allow itself to experience the bliss of unified purpose? Why couldn't she just follow orders?

---

Tendi stared down at the man, at a loss for words. Boimler had sunk to the floor next to the console, clutching at fistfuls of purple hair and eyes tightly shut. "I– Boimler– I'm sorry, I-I didn't know–"

"It's not your fault, Tendi," Mariner's voice crackled over the comms, though she too sounded shaken. The science officer knelt down next to her friend, wanting to comfort him but unsure how. "Boimler's just– it's just something that happened when we were assimilated–"

"No." Both women stopped at Boimler's muttered protest. "Stop, Mariner. Stop covering for me."

"I'm not c–"

"Yes you are." He cracked his eyes open. "Just stop. I can't take it anymore, I need to tell them. I can't keep letting you carry this for me."

Mariner was silent. So were Tendi and Rutherford. Boimler took a deep breath.

"'Excretus of Borg, One of Two, of Squadron One of Twenty-Seven.' That's my…that was my designation." His eyes were fixed on the opposite wall as he hugged his legs, but he wasn't looking at anything physically present. "The Borg doesn't care about individuals, but it does use individual abilities when it needs to. Drones get assigned where they can best serve. And Ones of Two usually come from practical, methodical, and above all obedient hosts."

"Whatever happened, it wasn't your fault," Tendi said softly, but Boimler shook his head.

"Assimilations squads are usually deployed in groups of nine: seven Digesti and two Excreti, one for 'disposal' and one for coordination of the squad as a whole. Ones of Two evaluate individual lifeforms for their worthiness of assimilation, that's our whole job. We're the ones who make the final decision. Which means we have to embody the will of the Collective, without resistance…or else the drone population might become 'inefficient.'"

He saw the truth dawn on Tendi's face out of the corner of his eye, and Rutherford looked horrified next to Mariner. "Brad, you don't have to-" Mariner began, but he shook his head.

"It was our very first mission; I should have fought harder, I should have–"

"Brad–"

"It was this little explorer ship; we could have passed it by but it spotted us and that meant it was a target." Now that he was talking it was like he couldn't stop. "It was manned by human scientists, all young and able-bodied, good candidates for assimilation. Mariner and I cleared three rooms and left the Digesti to assimilate them, and then we went to check the medbay." His breath hitched and he shut his eyes again so he wouldn't have to look at Tendi; whether out of her own guilt or pity for him, Mariner did the same, and he was left in darkness.

"And there was this old woman…she must have been hurt or something, she was lying in a biobed…with tubes hooked up to her arms…" He squeezed his eyes tighter. "I-I looked at her and the whole Collective just knew that she wasn't worth assimilating. And I agreed with them! It wasn't even a hard choice!"

"Boimler–"

"Why me, Tendi?! I'm asthmatic! And weak! And I'm allergic to everything, hell, I'm allergic to sand! Fucking sand! Do you know how many sand planets there are in the galaxy?!"

"Um–"

"Why did the Borg think I was assimilable and not her, huh?! Why did I get to live when that old woman had to die?! Tell me what made Bradward Boimler more worthy of assimilation, and tell me why, why did it make me happy?!"

Tendi shut up, her eyes going wide. Out in the field, Mariner winced, hard. Boimler couldn't look at any of them, instead burying his face in his knees.

"I mean what is wrong with me, that I actually enjoyed being a Borg drone! Obviously looking back, what I was doing– but I didn't know at the time, I didn't!" he almost pleaded. "But it was just– euphoric, okay, I was part of something bigger than myself, a-and I was good at my job, I was efficient, I was in charge! I mean, i-is that really all it takes?! A little bit of authority and a place to belong?!"

"It wasn't your fault," Mariner's voice insisted over the comms as well as in his head. "I was the one who fired the shot, if anyone's to blame it's–"

"But you fought back! You never stopped fighting back! And I– I fought– for a little bit… a minute or two when they first assimilated me and then I… I just gave in…" He trailed off, burying his fingers in his hair again. "I just gave up," he mumbled. "I wasn't even myself anymore. And I was happy about that!"

"That was just– I-I don't know, biology, and your implants—look, you couldn't help how you felt! None of what happened was your fault!"

"You don't know that!"

"Yeah, I do, I was there! Brad, trust me on this, you can't think clearly while you're still dealing with survivor's guilt!"

"She's right," Tendi spoke up, at last finding her voice. "Y-You need to talk to someone about this—have you tried telling Dr. Migleemo–?"

"Of course I tried!" Boimler snapped, opening his eyes. "He's useless! You know what he told me when I said I'd killed people, he told me that 'I was a charcuterie board,' and 'it's not the board's fault which cheeses people put on it'! What is that supposed to mean?!"

Tendi, at a loss of how to help, didn't answer; Rutherford, who had been listening over Mariner's badge, spoke up: "Listen, Boimler—implants are crazy powerful. Even mine can make me act weird if it's on the wrong setting, and Borg implants are like a thousand times more sophisticated! Please," he insisted. "You've gotta trust us on this one, okay? We're your friends, we know you—and we know you would never have done that stuff if something else wasn't controlling you!"

"Look, Rutherford, I appreciate what you're trying to do, okay?" Boimler lowered his hands, his face a mask of misery. "But you're wrong. They took everything I was, and it turned out that 'what I was' was perfect for them. Mariner's right, there's nothing you or Dr. Migleemo or anybody can say that would make me feel better because I know what I did."

"Brad, that's not what I m–"

"And I know how it made me feel."

Silence fell between the four of them. Unable to meet Tendi's eyes, Boimler looked down at the floor, wrapping his arms back around his knees. Out in the fields, Mariner felt hollow. The other mind on the end of the interlink was filled with the exact sort of turmoil she's been trying to help him repress, and worse, all of the thoughts were now tinged with despair. There's nothing anyone can do and It's pointless kept repeating themselves like an echo, and she couldn't shake the feeling that this new refrain of hopelessness was her fault.

I was just trying to help, she thought weakly.

There was no response from Brad's miserable consciousness. She wasn't even sure he'd heard her. A stiff breeze from the mountains buffeted her back, and she shivered, listlessly listening to the roll of thunder in the distance.

But beside her, Rutherford frowned as if noticing something, and turned around. His face fell as a shadow crossed over it, the warmth of the sunlight vanishing from his skin. "Oh no."

Mariner looked back and then stood abruptly, eyes going wide. Inside the shuttle Boimler suddenly lifted his head as he saw what she saw; Tendi startled and then looked nervous, as if afraid there was more to his confession than he'd already said, but before he could explain their comms crackled to life with a fifth party.

"Lt. T'Lyn to the away team." There was an urgency in her voice that slipped through even the monotonous cadence: "I have just received the first readings from the array, and there has been a change in the wind patterns. You must return to the shuttle immediately and take cover; the pollen storm is approaching your location much more quickly than projected."

"Yeah," Mariner said nervously, watching the oncoming sickly-yellow clouds pouring over the mountains like massive fingers of smoke, flashes of lightning crackling in the billows. "I think we're looking at it."

---

The pair of ensigns fought through the blasting winds and fine yellow dust, trying to shield their faces and with their collars pulled up over their mouths. Despite having been walking for nearly ten minutes after the storm had swept over them, it was impossible to tell how much progress they'd made, as the world around them had turned yellow and a strange almost fog-like suspension partially obscured their vision. Mariner sneezed and blinked hard, pollen sticking to her eyelashes. She clicked her badge, and received nothing but static. "How– far– do you think–"

"Don't talk," Rutherford choked. "Gets in– mouth–" Mariner nodded and then stumbled over a rock. The good news was that the pollen wasn't scouring their exposed skin like sand when it hit them. The bad news was that it stuck to everything: blades of grass, clothes, hair—and the insides of their noses and throats.

"They're not going to make it," Boimler said nervously in the shuttle, turning to Tendi; her expression was tight-lipped and wide-eyed, though whether from guilt at her actions or fear for her friends it wasn't clear. He assumed it was probably both. "If they don't take shelter soon they're going to suffocate out there, the shuttle is too far away."

The science officer nodded tersely and pulled up a map of the area on her work Padd, scouring the terrain. Although there was still tension in the air between them from his breakdown, the immediate emergency was cutting through it like a knife—a very sharp knife, pointed directly at their friends.

That's the spirit, Boims. Always try to find the bright side. Mariner lowered her collar to choke and spit out a mouthful of pollinated saliva, only to be rewarded with a brand new coating of pollen on her lips. Thunder rumbled through the air and under her feet, and a crack of lightning touching down sounded from much too close a distance for comfort.

Don't worry about me, worry about staying alive. "Tendi–" She jumped and looked up at him, face still painted with guilt, "–how's that map coming?"

"I-I'm trying, but it's hard to tell what landforms these are from above." She zoomed in on the landscape. "I'll keep looking, just tell them to hold on–"

Out in the field, Mariner abruptly paused, an uneasy feeling prickling over her spine and a metallic taste coated her tongue. She looked over and saw that, unnoticed by the engineer, his hair had begun to stand on end. "Oh no. Rutherford, run–!"

CR-R-R-RACK! The world lit up white, and Mariner caught a split-second's flash of the engineer's body glowing like quicksilver before she was thrown head-over-heels backwards and slammed into the ground like a ragdoll.

Back in the shuttle, Boimler had leapt to his feet. "Mariner! Rutherford!" Tendi did the same, going pale.

"What happened?!" She tapped her badge. "Sam! Sam, can you hear me?!" There was only static in response.

Outside, Mariner pushed herself to her knees, cursing loudly and smelling the telltale odors of singed hair and cotton. Rutherford's body was smoking a few meters away, his shirt and the grass around him singed; she crawled over and pressed fingers under his chin, then exhaled in relief. "He's got a pulse, he's alive!"

"He got hit by lightning but he's alive, just unconscious!" Boimler told the panicking Tendi.

"What?!"

There was another rumble of thunder from the clouds directly above the pair. "Mariner, you've got to get him out of there, his implant's like a lightning rod!"

"Yeah, Brad, I know!" She hefted the unconscious man up into a fireman's-carry and wheezed. "Dammit, Rutherford, you're an engineer, why are you such a beefcake!"

Tendi scrambled frantically on her Padd and then let out a noise of strangled relief. "I-I think I figured out where they are; tell her there's a cave about a hundred yards from where they are!"

"I see it," Mariner announced, squinting through the flying pollen dust and coughing again. "We'll take cover in there; try to get word up to the ship that we need help!"

She managed to carry the man to the cave and set him down without dropping him before her back gave out. Outside the mouth of the cave the world was quickly darkening; another perfunctory tap on her combadged returned only more static. "Our comms still can't get through; what about you guys?"

"Any luck?" Boimler asked Tendi anxiously, who was typing commands into the console; she looked over and shook her head.

"The interference from the pollen storm is too intense. Can you still hear Mariner?"

"Yeah." He exhaled uneasily. "Yeah, the uh, the interlink works on a subspace frequency so it's not affected. I-I think they're stuck in the cave until the storm passes, though. Any advice for Mariner on how to help Rutherford?"

Tendi bit her lip. "Tell her to bandage any burns and make sure he keeps breathing; I'll keep trying to reach the ship." As she turned back around to type into the console, Boimler refocused his attention on what was happening in the cave.

Mariner finished tying the strips of torn uniform shirt around Rutherford's burns and then walked to the mouth of the cave, peering outside. The pollen was flying thick and fast now; she couldn't see more than a few feet beyond the cave. "Shit. This is bad," she muttered. "I don't know what lightning does to a cyborg implant but it can't be anything good."

"Yeah…" Boimler glanced over his shoulder at Tendi, who was wiping frightened tears out of her eyes as she messed with the distress signal controls. "We haven't got many options though. Just hold tight, I'm sure the Captain will get us out of here as soon as possible…"

Further into the cave, the unconscious man let out a little groan that went unheard by the woman, and then furrowed his brow and opened his eyes. For a moment all he saw was darkness, and then a screen and lines of blinking blue text began to appear in front of him:

[Welcome Back]

[Most recent memory file corrupted]

[Please select your file]

"Select my… what…?"

[File 1: February 6, 2380: UNCORRUPTED [LOCKED]]

[File 2: May 11, 2381: CORRUPTED]

[File 3: September 4, 2383: PARTIALLY CORRUPTED]

"Uh… um, F-File 1? I guess?"

[Please enter your passcode.]

"Passcode– um– t-try authorization Buenamigo-Alpha-3-1."

[Passcode accepted. Welcome back, Samanthan Rutherford. Reloading memory file. Emotional controls are currently at factory settings. Anger: 0%. Sadness: 0%. Fear: 0%. Surprise: 0%. Disgust: 0%. Happiness: 0%. No memories selected for suppression. Would you like to adjust your settings now?]

"What? No. What?"

[Acknowledged. Please stand by. Loading memory file: 15%...]

His vision fizzled pixel-by-pixel into an image of a stalactite-ridden ceiling. He was…in a cave? Where? What was going on?

"Ughh…" he sat up, rubbing his head, and then looked over at the sound of a voice. There was a woman standing in the entryway to the cave (some sort of command officer, if the color of her uniform was anything to go by), talking quietly to somebody he couldn't see, presumably through her combadge. He thought she looked vaguely familiar, but couldn't exactly place her.

[Loading memory file: 65%...]

He squinted, peering closer. The lighting from outside the cave was weird, and there seemed to be some sort of sandstorm going on, turning the whole world eerily sepia-toned—but even in the dim light, he could see the glint of a cyborg implant around her left eye. Samanthan reached up and felt his face; there was something metal covering his own left eye and half his skull.

[Loading memory file: 100%]

Suddenly it all came flooding back. The explosion. The implant.

Buenamigo.

"Hey."

Ahead of him the woman turned at his voice, surprised. "Oh good, you're aw–" She stopped at the sight of the phaser pointed at her. "Wh– Rutherford, what are you doing?!"

"Oh, so you already know my name," the engineer said in a clipped voice, eyes narrowed. "Interesting. Now, who the hell are you?"

---

"No response, Captain."

"Keep trying, dammit!"

The captain could feel the eyes of the bridge crew on her back, but she didn't care. On the right-hand side of the viewscreen the planet hung in the void, ensconced in its streamers of sickly yellow fog; four small red dots, all thoroughly in the heart of the storm, showed the last known locations of the divided away-team—only two of which were safely situated in the Joshua Tree. A grating buzzing from the speakers on the science officer station filled the otherwise-silent bridge; Carol hovered behind the infuriatingly stoic Vulcan, glaring at the control screen and listening for any tiny snippet of speech or sound in the static that could indicate the fate of the four ensigns trapped below.

"Captain, considering that the last thirty-two attempts to reach the away-team have not succeeded, it is highly unlikely that–"

"I didn't ask your opinion, Lieutenant, I gave you an order!"

"Yes, Captain." Lt. T'Lyn adjusted the frequency and pressed the button. "Lt. T'Lyn to the away team; do you read me?" She paused, listening. The static continued unabated. "No resp–"

"I know, I know!" Carol let out a noise that was somewhere between a growl and a shout of frustration. "Nevermind, this is pointless! Let's just beam them out of there!"

"Captain, that would be highly inadvisable. Due to the nature of the interference–"

"Fine, we'll send a shuttle down! Hell I'll go myself, Ransom, take the con!"

"You can't fly a shuttle in that stuff, it'll break the engines and knock you out of the sky," Ransom interjected, standing up, but Carol ignored him and headed for the door, barely aware of what was happening around her. Why was everyone so useless? Did she always have to do everything herself?! "Captain, I know you're concerned, but we need to wait and trust they can take care of themsel–"

"NO!" She rounded on him. "I can't keep doing this, Jack! I can't keep losing her over and over again until eventually she doesn't come back!" Tears were pooling in her eyes and she couldn't stop them. " You don't know, none of you know! You don't have children!"

She turned again for the door, but before she could reach it, the last person she expected spoke up:

"Computer, contain Captain Freeman to the bridge, CMO executive override." She turned and stared in shock at T'Ana, who looked back at her steadily. "Mr. Ransom, take the con."

"Doc–"

"She's been emotionally compromised. I'm removing her from duty, that means the command falls to you." Carol gaped at her, in a fury so intense all she could do was stare in shock at the physician. T'Ana stepped forward, extending a hand as if to comfort her. "Look, I know you're stressed, so let's just go somewhere a little calmer, alright–?"

"Get your hands off me," the captain hissed, shaking the touch off. There was a beat of silence as she looked around the bridge, breathing hard. One after another they all guiltily refused to meet her eyes, with the exception of the Vulcan lieutenant, who was watching her like a damn science experiment. She turned last to Jack, who winced and looked away even as he sat down in her chair.

Humiliatingly, the tears of panic slipped down her face. "Traitors," she seethed, and she turned and stalked into her ready-room. The doors slid shut behind her, and she was left in silence, heaving for air and staring out the window at where the yellow clouds were sweeping over the continent in a massive wave.

Beckett was down there somewhere, maybe afraid, definitely in danger. And Carol was stuck up here, watching it happen.

'Scan complete. The one who was known as Becket Mariner has been assimilated.'

'We are the Borg. Resistance is futile.'

She was shaking. The captain stumbled to her desk and sat down heavily, clutching at her chest, trying to breathe.

'Captain, the Borg ship is departing.'

'We can't risk a whole starship for two ensigns, no matter who they are! You know that.'

Her daughter was in danger. Again.

'The Borg has them, there was– there was nothing I could do.'

And, once again, she was powerless to help her.

---

Mariner gaped like a fish, staring at the barrel of the phaser. "Uh–"

"I said," Rutherford repeated aggressively, taking a step forward, and she took one back, "who the hell are you?"

"What do you mean, who am I? It's me, Rutherford, Mariner! Your friend!"

His eyes went wide, and Mariner thought for a second she was safe before his glare snapped back down. "You're lying to me! I thought I recognized you from somewhere, you're Admiral Freeman's daughter!"

"Uh–"

" Your dad's friends with Admiral Buenamigo, I saw your picture on his desk just last week! Is he in on this too?! Are you?!"

"Wait– last week – Rutherford, what year do you think this is?" Mariner realized.

"What?! What kind of question is that!"

Back in the shuttle, Boimler reached over and shook Tendi's shoulder. "Rutherford's awake!"

"He is?! Thank goodness–"

"No, Tendi, this is bad, something's wrong! He doesn't seem to know who Mariner is– shit!" He ducked instinctively as a shot raced past Mariner's head from Rutherford's phaser.

"Holy fuck, Rutherford, calm down!"

"That was a warning shot!" the engineer snapped. "You reach for that phaser again and you're dead!"

"I wasn't reaching for anythi–!"

"Yes you were! I saw you! Now start talking before I– what the hell?" His finger was brushing over where the mode switch should have been. "Is this a safety phaser?!"

"He's freaking out," Boimler told Tendi desperately, "I-I think he's lost some memories, Mariner can't get him to listen!"

Tendi gasped. "His implant! When the lightning hit him it must have wiped some of his memories—oh no!" She grabbed his shoulders. "Boimler: I think his implant must have been suppressing his paranoia response!"

"Yeah, Tendi, that would make sense!" Mariner snapped, forgetting the Orion couldn't hear her and keeping her hands high above her head.

"Who are you talking to," the engineer demanded, stepping forward. "Is that the lab? –Fuck, fuck, the explosion!" He rubbed his face and began to pace erratically, muttering to himself, though not without waving the phaser in Mariner's direction every few seconds. "I can't believe this, I told him the code wasn't ready, but he wouldn't listen—that's it, that's why he brought me all the way out here to the middle of nowhere! He's making sure I don't squeal to the authorities!" He turned back to Mariner, brandishing the phaser. "You're here to kill me!"

"Look," Mariner said tersely, stepping forward. "It's me, Rutherford, okay? Beckett Mariner! Yes, Admiral Freeman is my dad; I changed my last name years ago, you know that!" Rutherford glared at her, and she continued: "You're an engineering ensign on the U.S.S. Cerritos; we're doing an away-mission on an unexplored planet and you got hit by the lightning from that pollen storm out there, it must have fried your memory! This has nothing to do with Project Texas, you have to believe me!"

Rutherford stared at her for a long moment. Mariner held her breath. So did Boimler.

"If that were true," the engineer said coldly, "you wouldn't even know what Project Texas is."

He fired the phaser.

Mariner's body slammed into the cave wall, unconscious before she even hit the ground. Boimler let out a loud yelp and clutched at his heart as the crackle of pain flashed across the interlink and then, just as quickly, went dead. "What?!" Tendi demanded. "What happened?!"

"He shot her, I– Mariner! Dammit, Mariner, come on, wake up!" But there was no response from the woman's subconscious, not even passing thoughts. It was like an irritating buzzing noise that had been humming in the back of his brain had suddenly gone dead quiet. "Wake up, come on!"

"You guys share a consciousness, right?! Can't you wake her up?!"

"What do you think I'm trying to d–?!" He broke off as a light bulb suddenly went on in his head. There was one way he could wake Mariner up—or if not Mariner, at least Mariner's body. But the very thought was making him break out in a cold sweat. I can't. I can't do that again, not on purpose.

"Boimler!" He looked over. Tendi's panicked eyes were staring back at him, and he realized he didn't have any other choice. There was only one thing for it. Only one way out, and it's through.

"Two of Two, wake up! Comply!"

The programming took over, and a rush of ones and zeroes that somehow translated into coherent commands flooded the unconscious woman's brain. The eyelids opened. The body sat up, staring dead ahead. The problem was, the rest of Mariner's brain didn't wake up with it, leaving her staring sightlessly at the cave wall and doing little more than breathing and blinking.

"Shit. Okay, um–" Boimler took a deep breath and closed his physical eyes, focusing. Almost too easily, the feeling of the dirt cave beneath his—her—Mariner's-but-also-his hands became realer than the feeling of the shuttlecraft's treadplate floor, and the musty smell of damp cave more pungent than Tendi's antiseptics.

He turned Mariner's head with a deliberate act of will; Rutherford was pacing back and forth frantically in front of the cave entrance, mumbling to himself. He decided he had a spare moment to try to wake her up again; doing this without Mariner's consent unless absolutely necessary was definitely a one-way ticket to pain. Mariner, you there? Can you hear me?

Mariner's higher brain functions gave a mumbled protest in response and, metaphorically, rolled over to go back to sleep. Great. Clearly she wasn't going to be any help, he'd have to do this on his own. He checked his waist and found that Rutherford had already taken Mariner's phaser, and then pushed himself upwards and onto his—Mariner's—feet, trying to ignore the horrifying feeling of controlling someone else's body. I can do this. I can do this…

"–Come on, come on," Rutherford was still muttering, looking anxiously out into the tidal wave of yellow pollen; he stretched a hand out and watched the yellow powder stream through his fingers like water through a sieve. "What even is this stuff, sand?"

"It's pollen, like Mar– I told you," Boimler answered, deciding that now was not the time to try explaining Borg secondary interlinks to his phaser-wielding friend. Rutherford whirled around at the sound.

"What the– how are you awake already?!" Boimler ignored him and straightened up, rubbing his head with a wince; Mariner had cracked it pretty good on the cave wall when she'd been shot, and the fact that he was jury-rigging consciousness through two different brains wasn't helping the headache. "Hey! Stop moving, I'm warning you!" Rutherford lifted the phaser again, and Boimler immediately put his hands in the air.

"Fine! Fine, I'm not moving." Rutherford still looked like he might shoot him anyway, so he launched into explanation: "Look, I told you before, we're on an uninhabited planet doing an away-mission; we got caught in the storm and had to take shelter in this cave." It felt weird to be talking in Mariner's voice, but he didn't have time to worry about it. "That stuff out there is pollen grains, they cause paranoia and aggressive behavior; we all got vaccines, but yours doesn't seem to be working. You want proof we're not on earth, just look outside!"

"That's– okay, maybe I can't explain what's going on out there," Rutherford said stubbornly, pacing away from the entrance and agitatedly running his free hand through his hair before pointing at Boimler with the phaser. "But that still doesn't answer how you know about Project Texas unless you're in on it! And what is this thing on my face, what did Buenamigo do to me?!"

"I know because I was there, with you, when the whole Project Texas thing went down two years ago; you were one of the people who helped stop it!" At the engineer's disbelieving face he continued: "When your first engine was destroyed, Buenamigo put that implant on you to suppress your memories and then stole your coding. It all blew up in his face a few years later!"

"A few years? No– no way, that doesn't make sense, th-the engine exploded just this morning!" He looked scared for a moment before his eyes flashed as he landed on what he thought was a flaw in the woman's argument: "And if this implant is part of some big coverup, then explain why you have one too!"

"This is a Borg implant, it's got nothing to do with Project Texas," Boimler insisted. "Mar– Boimler and I got assimilated last year, you and Tendi helped rescue us!"

"I fought the Borg? Yeah right, if you're going to lie to me at least come up with something a little more believable! And who's 'Boimler' and 'Tendi?' –If those even are real people!"

"Tendi is your girlfriend," he explained, trying to be patient. "And 'Boimler' is a friend of yours. They're back in the shuttlepod we took down here right now, and believe me, I'm sure they're very worried about you!"

Rutherford hesitated, and then shook his head. "This is stupid; you're obviously lying to me! I don't know how you woke up so fast, but I'm getting the hell out of here!" He took a step towards the mouth of the cave but Boimler stepped in front of him. "Look I'm not playing around lady, now move or I'll make you move!"

"I can't let you go out there! That pollen storm is generating a ton of electricity, and you've got a huge metal plate fused to your head! You'll get killed!"

"Better than staying in here with you! I don't know what Buenamigo's put you up to but it can't be good! If I can't trust my own memories, my own mind, then– then I can't trust anything!" He tried to step around her, but the woman got in his way again, holding out her hands as if to stop him. "Ohoh you are really asking to get phasered again!"

"You can trust me," Boimler insisted. "I'm your friend, Rutherford, I know you!"

"Yeah? Then prove it."

Rutherford aimed the phaser directly at his face, and Boimler scrambled for a response. "O-okay, um, I know your hobbies! You like building model ships, and playing Diplomaths!"

The other man flushed. "Shut up, no I don't!"

"Yeah, you do! And I know that your middle name is Eugene, and that you hate– no, wait, you really like pears, and you used to do illegal podracing when you were at the Academy!"

"Anybody could find out that stuff!" He stepped forward, sighting down the barrel. "You're not making a very good argument here!"

"W-wait, hold on! I can prove this, I can!" Boimler's eyes (or rather, Mariner's) lit up as he hit on something. "You don't believe me, fine, then how about this: I know that, until you met Tendi, there was only one person in this world who ever really listened to you."

Rutherford's eyes widened, and the phaser's barrel dropped by an inch. Encouraged, Boimler kept going: "I know that you grew up in a really big family and you always felt like nobody ever had time for you. And that everything you cared about always came second to your siblings and cousins!"

He stepped closer, still holding out his hands: "Except, once a week on Sundays, your lola would bring you to church with her really early in the morning and then take you out for champorado, and she'd talk to you for hours. You said she was the only person before Tendi who let you talk about your projects for as long as you liked…and I know that when you're upset, or feel like nothing's going right, you still get the replicators to make champorado for you. Because that way it feels like she's still here with you."

Rutherford stared at him, stunned. The phaser by this point had lowered enough that it was pointing at Mariner's torso rather than her face. "...I-I've never told anyone about that," he admitted. "Why would I tell some random chick like you?"

"Because we're friends," Boimler insisted, taking another step forward. "And as your friend, I am asking you to trust me, because right now you…" His eyes widened in realization. "...You…can't trust your own perception of yourself. Your implant is making you believe things about yourself that aren't true; you need an objective, outside perspective."

"What are you, some kind of a therapist?" the engineer snorted, but the woman across from him just gave a rueful smile.

"Ha. No—but it probably wouldn't hurt to see one." She nodded to the implant. "Look, I bet if you check your implant you'll have a bunch of memory files stored in there, right? What's the most recent one?"

Rutherford hesitated, and then focused on the file options he'd seen before. They appeared again with little effort. "Uh…looks like…whoa. 2383? There's no way that's right, h-how could I have lost four years of memories?"

"Well, a really smart engineer once told me that 'implants are crazy powerful,'" the woman said with unexplained irony. "Is the file damaged?"

"I don't know—um, implant-thing? Can you scan the file?" There was a little ding inside his head. "I-It looks like it's still 99% there…" He glanced uneasily at the woman, still unsure whether he should believe her.

"Look, I know this all sounds crazy, but I promise you, I'm your friend. So please–" She turned her hand so it was palm-up. "Give me the phaser and try loading the memory file. I swear, everything will make more sense afterwards."

Rutherford wavered, looking down at the phaser in his hand, and then back up at the woman in front of him. Then he blew out a sigh and shook his head. "You're lucky future-me apparently trusts you so much." He put the gun in her hands and stepped back, watching as she carefully set it down on the ground. "You said I have a girlfriend?" She nodded again, and the engineer tilted his head, considering it. "Is she cute?"

The woman half-chuckled despite herself. "Yeah, man, she's cute. And, if she was here, I know she'd tell you it's all going to be okay."

"Agh…fine. It's not like things are going that great for me right now anyway," he reasoned. "Maybe future me's got his life more figured out. Implant, load that last memory file."

"Loading most recent memory file," a computerized voice said inside his head, accompanied by the same blue lines of text. "Adjusting to preset emotional controls. Please standby."

"Standby for wh–?" The eye-screen went dead, and Rutherford fainted, collapsing forward. Boimler hurried to catch him before he could hit the ground.

"Oof," he grunted. "You weren't kidding Mariner, he's heavy."

Hm? Whazzat?

"Well, look who's finally awake. Can you take your body back now please?"

Wh– oh, shit. "I got him, Boims, you can let go."

Back in the shuttlecraft, Boimler opened his eyes and exhaled. Tendi was watching him anxiously. "What happened? Is Sam okay?"

"I-I think so. He loaded the memory file and passed out again, but I'm pretty sure he'll be fine when he wakes up." He looked over to the shuttlecraft dashboard, where sheets of yellow pollen were pouring over the window. "I think he just…needed some help."

---

Her breath was coming in wheezes, and Carol felt lightheaded; she didn't seem to be able to get enough air. She had no idea how long she'd been sitting like this, struggling to breathe or even just to stay upright in her seat; time and space had stretched and felt strangely meaningless, like she was somehow both the person struggling to stay afloat in the ocean of terror as well as an impartial outside observer. The observer knew she needed to get her shit together, go back out there and apologize for her shockingly unprofessional behavior. The drowning woman was just trying to keep her head above water.

You failed her. You're failing her all over again, you're failing your crew, they're going to take away your command– what if Beckett's hurt, you didn't protect her, you made her go down there–

(As if from a very long ways away she heard a faint swish-swish, like a door opening and closing.)

You failed her just like you always do, as a mother and as a captain! HQ was right, you can't handle it–

("Captain…?")

Of course you can't handle it, you're crying in here like a little bitch while your daughter's dying on that stupid planet and there's nothing you can do, just like when they took her away, just like every other time you weren't there for her–

She couldn't breathe. Maybe she was going to pass out. She needed to call for help, she needed to just reach up and tap her badge and call for–

And then she felt a hand take hers.

My mind to your mind. My thoughts, to your thoughts… She felt the gentle press of another consciousness: someone else's lungs inhaled, filling with air, and instinctively she matched them with her own.

I am here with you. You are not alone. Another breath. Somehow it felt like the world was slowly expanding; the raging ocean of fear was cresting and then spreading out, meeting calmer tides.

A problem confronted by two minds is half the burden. Let me help you.

"I'm going to lose her again. I-I can't protect her… I'm failing her again, I'm failing everyone…"

"You are not a failure," a voice said quietly, echoed by the same sentiment, somehow, in her head. "You are merely afraid. But the odds are very likely that Ensign Mariner will return safely. This is not the same as before."

"I-I don't know what to do, I'm so scared–"

"Focus on your breathing. Stay here, in this moment." The captain took a deep breath, and then another. "Good. Continue."

The lightheaded feeling began to fade and her racing heart began to slow as she followed the voice's instructions. One at a time, different sensations began to come back to her: the grain of the polymer of her desktop. The hum of the engines. The warmth of someone's hand holding hers.

She opened her eyes; immediately, Lt. T'Lyn withdrew her hand. "Please pardon my presumption, Captain, but you were clearly in distress." If the green tinge to her expressionless face was anything to judge by, she seemed as awkward about the situation as Carol felt. "I assure you I did not probe your mind, only the upper layers of your thoughts."

"I, uh…" The captain looked around the office, feeling somehow as if she'd been somewhere very far away. Everything was just as she'd left it; the quiet hum of the engines was still rumbling under her feet, the computer still displaying its last application. She checked the time on the screen and saw that she'd been in the office for less than ten minutes.

"...Thank you, Lieutenant," she said, shoulders slumping with embarrassment. "And I apologize; acting like this in front of a junior officer–"

"There is no reason to apologize. Your… concern for the fate of the away-team is, if perhaps not entirely logical, eminently understandable. You have nothing for which to be embarrassed."

"The hell I don't," she snorted. "I just got emotionally compromised in front of my whole senior staff; no wonder Admiral S'Tess thought I couldn't handle my command." Her voice turned dour again: "Maybe she was right."

"You have been through a traumatic experience. Having a strong reaction to reminders of that trauma is not abnormal."

"But I should be able to handle this!" Carol said in frustration, rising to her feet. She was aware that the lieutenant was watching her, but the emotions she'd been repressing for weeks on end had finally started to bubble up and she couldn't stop them. "Beckett's back, she's fine! It's been almost a month and I still can't get through the night without having to walk down to her hall and make sure she's still in her bunk! And every time she goes missing, I lose my grip all over again! I've been trying to send her on away-missions so I can get used to it, but it's just making things worse!"

"You lost a member of your family, you were not sure if she had survived," T'Lyn pointed out. "Even though she has returned alive, what you experienced was still real grief."

"But I should be over this, I should be–"

"Should you be? Your experience of loss, fear and uncertainty persisted for nearly a year. Your mind became accustomed to them, much as one's body becomes accustomed to the sensation of artificial gravity—and just as one requires time to reacclimate to walking on land, so it is with the mind reacclimating to more peaceful circumstances. Carol turned back to face her, surprised, as T'Lyn added firmly: "I do not think you are weak, Captain. I think your psychological state merely requires time to adjust to the new paradigm."

Carol stared at her. Then she sat back down at her desk. "How did you– that was exactly what I needed to hear." She frowned. "My own therapist didn't know what to tell me. How could you know exactly what to say?"

The younger woman raised an eyebrow. "My husband is, to use the human term, a psychiatrist. I merely stated what I thought he would say in this situation."

"Oh. Really?" The lieutenant nodded. "I-I guess I didn't realize Vulcans 'did' therapy."

"It is not a common career path—but if my people were as purely logical and unaffected by traumatic events as we like to believe, he would not be as overworked as he is."

The deadpan joke at last managed to elicit a slight quirk of the mouth from the captain, who exhaled. "Well, either way—uh, thank you. I-I'm sorry, again. A junior officer shouldn't have to see her captain acting like that."

"Perhaps. But perhaps a captain should not have to handle everything on her own. Nevertheless," she inclined her head slightly, "your secret is safe with me."

They both looked over as the door opened again. "Captain," Ransom said urgently, and then stopped, noticing the situation. "Uh– am I interrupting something?"

"No," Carol said quickly, standing. "What is it, Jack? Is it about the away team?"

"Yes Captain." He gave her a relieved smile. "We've got good news."

---

"So you really don't remember anything?" Tendi asked

Rutherford shook his head, and then winced and rubbed his neck. "Ow. No, not really. I remember us all talking to Boimler, and then you called–" He nodded to T'Lyn, who was sitting next to Tendi at his bedside, "–and said the pollen storm was moving in. After that, it's a blank."

"That is not surprising," T'Lyn said, peering at his implant with a slight tilt to her head. "Vulcan auxiliary emotional processors are very powerful pieces of technology; sending several million volts of electricity through it could certainly have some unusual impacts on the user's memory."

"Yeah, no kidding," a voice said somewhat dreamily, drawing their attention over to the adjacent biobed. "That de- efinitely wasn't the Rutherford I'm used to dealing with." He let out a little giggle.

Tendi gave a sympathetic wince. "I'm sorry again, Boimler, really. I-If I hadn't gone so overboard…"

"S'okay, you didn't know." He waved a hand vaguely, staring up at the ceiling with extremely dilated pupils. "Besides, it's hard to be mad at anyone on this stuff."

"Well, if you're mad at me after the sedative wears off, I'll understand." Tendi patted him on the shoulder.

"So you said that the 'old me' popped out?" Rutherford asked; Boimler looked over and nodded blearily. "But I don't understand, I thought I'd lost those memories for good!"

Boimler shrugged. "I guess your old memories must still be hidden in your brain somewhere. Maybe you suppressed them for some reason, or your implant did."

"But why would I suppress my own memories?"

"Genuine memory suppression is rather rare, to my knowledge," T'Lyn spoke up. "It is more common for those who have endured painful experiences to have excellent recall of the events. However, the specific nature of your implant does lend credence to Mr. Boimler's theory." Rutherford looked confused, and she explained, "You must recall that on Vulcan, there is even less tolerance for emotionally distraught behavior than among other species. An emotional processor is sometimes used, among other reasons, to mechanically suppress undesirable memories, allowing the wearer to function more easily in our society."

"But that's horrible," Tendi said, before she could stop herself. T'Lyn raised an eyebrow.

"It is a controversial technique, yes—one of which I admit I do not approve. A proponent of the treatment, however, might state that the alternative is worse—to allow the victim to continue experiencing the unpleasant memories could be considered cruel, especially if they begin to affect the individual's ability to live their life."

"Yeah… yeah, uh, speaking of…" Rutherford glanced at Boimler, and then back at T'Lyn. The Vulcan apparently realized that she had trod on sensitive ground and stood up.

"I have yet to complete my duty log for the day, and as you might imagine I have a great deal to report. Good afternoon, ensigns."

They watched her leave the sickbay, and then Rutherford turned back to his friend. "Boimler, listen—about what we were talking about before the storm hit–"

"It's okay, Rutherford, I…think talking to 'old you' helped me figure some stuff out." Boimler sighed. "I just wish there was someone else I could talk to about this stuff than Migleemo. Like I don't want to be mean but–"

"It's okay, man, I get it. He's kinda self-absorbed," Rutherford agreed. "S'why I got out of my mandatory counseling after the whole Texas-class thing as fast as I could." He reached across the distance between the beds and set a hand on the other man's shoulder. "But if you ever need to talk, your friends are here for you, even if we're not professionals."

Boimler looked grateful. "Thanks man. I appreciate it."

Over near her office door, T'Ana finished running a medical tricorder over Mariner's face and nodded, satisfied. "You got a goose-egg on the back of your head, but thankfully no concussion, so you can go whenever you want. Mr. Boimler and Mr. Rutherford are gonna have to stay for a few more hours though."

"Does Boimler really have to stay? I mean he was just a little dehydrated."

"It's not the dehydration I'm worried about. Asthma's a bitch of a disease, anything from dust to perfume can set it off. I wanna run some tests and make sure he doesn't have a reaction to any of the normal stuff we have on the ship."

"Well the sedative you gave him seems to be working, but still…" Mariner glanced over her shoulder to where the two men were lying in adjacent biobeds, Boimler with an IV bag hanging over his head. She could sense through the interlink that he wasn't panicking, but she couldn't help feeling a little overprotective after the day's events.

"Why didn't he just tell me he has a new medbay phobia," T'Ana grumbled, scrolling through her Padd. "I could have given him a sedative this morning—hell, I could've made a bunk call!"

"Sorry, Doc. I-I kind of pushed him down another road."

"Yeah, your little peppermint booze trick," the doctor snorted. Mariner's face fell. "Oh come on, you don't think I noticed him smelling like a bottle of catnip schnapps and a sobriety hypospray going missing? How fucking stupid do you think I am?"

"I mean when you didn't say anything–"

"I assumed you two had been up late drinking or something! I didn't think you'd have him do shots just to get through a fucking hypospray!" She looked like she was ready to read Mariner the riot act, but stopped when her Padd dinged. "Fucking finally. Hey, Ensign Tendi, I need a word with you. You," she added to Mariner with an evil eye, "scamper."

"Right, cool, sorry again," Mariner said, giving her finger-guns and slipping away.

The doctor rolled her eyes and then turned to Tendi as the Orion approached. "Listen, I got a favor to ask," she began. "You spent some time manipulating the genes on that freakish dog of yours, right?"

"Um, yes? Wait, was I not supposed to do that?"

"Eh, technically it didn't start out as sentient, so it was just a crime against nature, not against the Federation," the doctor waved a hand. "But that's not the point. Boimler's childhood pediatrician just sent me his records, the kid had so many congenital health problems he could be a damn textbook study. If your theory about the Borg nanobots fucking around with his DNA is right, then he's going to need to get his shit resequenced all over again. Think you can handle it?"

"Of course! And honestly, I need to do something to make things up to him," she sighed. T'Ana frowned, and Tendi's shoulders slumped. "I…went a little 'mad scientist' on him today, and it put him into a really bad place. I-I didn't even realize I was doing it, if Mariner hadn't told me off…I just feel terrible."

The doctor softened. "Well, you wouldn't be the first blueshirt to cross a moral line in pursuit of science." Tendi winced. "Look, yeah, you've got some trust to rebuild there, but I think Mr. Boimler will forgive you."

"You do?"

"Sure. Just don't go around sticking people with lancets anymore." Tendi chuckled despite herself. "Now, human gene editing is a lot more regulated than dog's; here's what you need to know…"

As the doctor and science officer continued chatting in the corner, Mariner approached the biobeds. Rutherford had already drifted off, his mechanical eye powered down to a single line of pixels, but Boimler was still awake. "Hey," he said blearily as he noticed her.

"Hey. You feeling okay? Sedative still working?"

"For the most part. It's weird though, not having you in my head," he said, with an unfocused smile that still somehow managed to be teasing. "I'd almost gotten used to you."

"Well, you're still in mine," she said with a shrug, sitting down next to him. "I think that's how the whole 'intoxication' thing works, it only gets turned off for the person who's actually getting drunk, not the other way around."

"Huh." He squinted at her. So you can hear this right now?

"Yeah man, and you are high as a kite. I gotta get T'Ana to give me some of that stuff," she chuckled.

I wish you wouldn't joke about that.

Mariner blinked, and then sighed. "Look, Brad–"

"Mariner, you really scared me today," he said bluntly. "I really scared me."

"...I know. I'm sorry, I swear, I was just trying to help you."

"Right. That's the scary part." He managed to push himself up on one arm, meeting her gaze with a valiant effort at clarity. "Yeah, your advice was bad, but you were giving it to me because you thought it was good. And I don't just want to be okay myself, Mariner. I want you to be okay, too."

She scoffed. "C'mon, Boims, I'm fine–"

"No you're not," he interrupted. "Mariner—they made you kill people, and you haven't talked about it with anyone. Not even me."

Her eyes flickered away. "…I've killed people before, Brad. At least this time it wasn't on purpose."

"I know. And that's why I'm worried about you." She looked back as he set a hand on her arm. "Look, I'm not stupid, I know by now I can't make you do anything you don't want to do. But—at least think about talking to someone, okay? For me, if you can't do it for yourself."

Mariner hesitated, and then nodded. "I'll…think about it. I promise" She reached up and squeezed his hand, and then stood up. "See you once you've sobered up."

He lifted his fingers in a drowsy farewell and lay back down, and she left the medbay deep in thought. "Bridge," she announced as she stepped inside the turbolift. She wanted to honor her promise, but if that was going to happen, something would have to change. And she had a pretty clear idea of what.

---

The ready-room was quiet and blessedly empty, with the exception of the captain herself. At this point it felt fair to say she was hiding; after Jack had told her the away-team was alright and she'd gone down to the shuttle bay to watch the ensigns be brought safely back onboard, she'd retreated to her office again, too embarrassed to face the rest of her senior staff.

Emotionally compromised. In other words, HQ-speak for "can't handle it." T'Ana had cleared her to go back on-duty tomorrow morning, but the captain couldn't help but feel her CMO had been a little hasty. For as comforting as T'Lyn's advice had been, the fact was she'd botched her role in the mission— two missions in a row, now, she thought uneasily. Oh, she knew she'd never been a Picard or a Janeway, but she had been at least competent at her job before, right? Maybe resigning her commission was the best move forward…maybe she was being selfish, staying in the chair because she couldn't imagine being happy anywhere else.

Her Padd pinged, interrupting her thoughts, and she unlocked it. There was a message from T'Ana on the front screen: "Just got done in sickbay. Some of us are getting lunch together, you coming?" Carol hesitated, long enough for another message to pop up: "btw I know I'm not the best at bedside-manner, but if you ever wanna talk, I'm here."

Carol bit her tongue, and then sighed ruefully and marshaled her nerve. She couldn't hide in her ready-room forever, after all. "Be there in a minute," she murmured as she typed, and then hit send. A moment later T'Ana responded with a thumbs-up.

She was just about to stand up to leave when the door dinged, and she blinked in surprise. "Come in," she called. A moment later Mariner walked inside, looking deep in thought. "Beckett." She immediately felt her insides clench up; nobody had told her daughter what had happened on the bridge, had they? She didn't think she'd be able to live that down.

"Mom, listen—can we talk?"

"Uh– sure," she said, trying to keep a poker face and sitting back in her chair. "Pull up a seat."

Mariner did so, moving the chair for visitors that usually sat unused against the far wall, but didn't sit down right away, instead gripping the back of it. Carol frowned. "Beckett–?"

"We need a new therapist," Mariner blurted out, and then winced. "Wow, okay, so that sounds even more entitled out loud." She sat down in the chair and explained: "Look, I think I really messed up today."

Carol set down the Padd, concerned, as Mariner continued, "I-I almost convinced Boimler to stop going to therapy, and then he had a breakdown and…ugh…" She dropped her face into her fingers. "I thought I could help him handle this shit on my own and I can't. Maybe I… maybe I can't even handle my own shit on my own."

Her mother pursed her lips, and then reached across the desk, setting a hand on her shoulder. Mariner peeked through her fingers, and her mom gave her a rueful smile. "It's not easy for the women in our family to admit we need help. But I think it's time we admit we're in over our heads here."

"I just don't know what to do," Mariner confessed, lowering her hands. "Mom– listen, I know I'm way out of line here, asking you to reassign a senior staff member, but–"

"Migleemo's out of his depth." Mariner looked surprised, and the captain waved a hand. "I'm sure he'd do fine with another Cali-class ship, but we're…dealing with some heavier stuff than usual," she sighed. "And honestly, Beckett, after some of what you saw on DS9 you should've been seeing a therapist years ago–"

"What, c'mon, I'm fine–"

"You're a traumatized war veteran," her mother said bluntly. Mariner grinned.

"Yeah, but I make it look good, right?" Her mother half-chuckled despite herself, and her daughter's grin turned sad. "Probably a good thing I stop trying to give Brad advice. But I don't know where else he's gonna go for it."

"I've…got a plan," Carol said vaguely, standing up. Mariner frowned, confused, and did the same. "I can't tell you more until I know it'll work, but I've got an idea to get us a more qualified counselor on this ship without ruffling Migleemo's feathers—er, metaphorically speaking."

"Wait, for real?"

"We'll see. Until then, don't tell anyone—well," she snorted, "as far as you can." Mariner snickered and stood.

"Thanks, Mom. I knew I could count on you."

Touched, her mother cleared her throat and blinked hard. "Uh– thank you, Mariner. I'm…glad you feel that way."

Apparently not having noticed anything, her daughter grinned and waved, and then headed out, the door sliding shut behind her. Carol took a deep breath, and then looked down as her Padd pinged again.

"Jeez how long does a turbolift take? Are you coming or not?" She chuckled to herself and set the Padd on the desk, heading out after her daughter in search of good company. Maybe being a little more open and vulnerable with the people she trusted was the right approach, after all.

---

FOOTNOTES:

K'Karee IV: A "k'karee" is a Vulcan species of snake (not strictly canon, since it's according to memory-beta), so I felt it made sense as a name for a constellation/star system.

Chech'tluth: strong Klingon alcohol.

Champorado: Filipino chocolate-flavored rice pudding, usually eaten as a breakfast food. (Also I 100% headcanon Rutherford as a semi-practicing Filipino Catholic, sue me.)

Memory suppression: As near as I can tell, my portrayal here is accurate that trauma memories are more often very easily recalled than suppressed, but if anyone in the comments knows better, let me know.

---

A/N: I probably won't be updating this story as soon as I did this time, but the plot-bunny was running me ragged and I had to finish this chapter before I can do anything else in my normal life.