AN- Greetings! I hope you have all recovered from Sunday/Monday? I haven't. I won't give any major spoilers away, but I will say leather and handcuffs (I may actually have died!) and reading a bit of this made me sad :(

Thank you so much for reading, favouriting and alerts. I very much appreciate it and also love to read reviews and comments. There will be smut, so hang in there if that's what you are waiting for!

Thanks to Mia Cooper for keeping me right, and I apologise that I have mucked about with it and probably made millions of mistakes since.

The insistent bleeping of the comm was what brought them back into the world.

Time had lost its meaning. Erin had missed her check in with the Doctor. She had done it religiously at first, but in truth she had no idea how long they had sat there on the bed, or when her fingers and his had knotted together. She gently untangled herself and shifted up to respond to the call. His thumb lingered over her palm a second longer than it ought to. Erin pulled herself up carefully.

"I need to get this, Ok?"

He nodded, but did not look up.

Culber sounded concerned. "How's it going in there?"

"Fine, Doctor, fine. Well not fine, but we're holding up alright. Stage two is on its way I think."

"How's the Captain doing?"

Erin looked back at the crumpled heap on the bed. He would not appreciate the scene going beyond the four walls that confined them. She sighed. What she felt was as blurred and unclear as the mind of her patient.

"He's doing as well as can be expected."

"Well as long as everything is ok. It sounds like it's settled down in there." It was true; earlier conversations had been largely shouted over the incomprehensible ramblings of a man freed of the shackles of social niceties. Lorca's perceptions of social mores were looser than most people's to start with.

"You must be tired. You've been in there almost 24 hours. Make sure you eat and rest when you can. Doctor's orders."

"I'll try."

Gabriel was starting to stir. Sitting upright, his eyes seemed clearer.

"All in one piece?" Erin asked, hopeful of a sensible answer.

"I think so, my legs don't want to do what I tell them though." He looked relieved she had said nothing else. The beauty of actually being drunk was sometimes it afforded you the grace of allowing you to forget whatever it was you said or did to embarrass yourself. He would remember, every minute and every word.

"Come on then. We should get you into bed."

A smirk twisted at the corner of his mouth, Erin couldn't help but mirror it.

"In light of some of your earlier comments, perhaps that was a bad choice of words, nevertheless it is the best place for you."

"I can only apologise if anything I might have said, was… offensive or inappropriate."

"Nonsense," she said in the most matronly tone she could muster, "but you are probably going to need some help."

She tried her best to be efficient, but it wasn't the most dignified of moments, single-handedly wrestling the increasingly immobile Captain out of a snugly fitted uniform. There were still notes of tension in the air, awkwardness that came from the unspoken truths: that he had bared his soul to a woman he barely knew; that the reddening of his eyes had nothing to do with his eye condition and that he had cried. Erin tried to lift the mood. She laughed as she dragged him out of his clothes, cursing his overly soft bed and telling him how much more manageable the whole thing would have been on one of those racks those of lesser importance were given to sleep on.

"You choose now to lodge a complaint about the comfort levels of your bunk," he finally smiled. "You might want to put that in writing, so I can ignore it at my leisure." Captain Lorca was evidently back to his usual self.

He had thrown away his jacket in a fit of temper with it earlier; similarly his boots had been lost along the way, having evidently also displeased him. She had managed to wriggle him free of his trousers with minimal contact, tugging at the ankles, encouraging as much shuffling as possible to spare them the awkwardness. Erin knelt on the bed to take off his undershirt.

"Is that strictly necessary?" he asked.

She would have sworn there was something flirty in his voice.

"You are going to burn up; trust me, you'll appreciate it soon enough."

In spite of her words, she hesitated. Her fingers brushed the bare skin of his stomach as she took hold of the fabric. He felt warm and firm. It was deeply inappropriate and she tried to hide it, but her breath hitched just a fraction at the contact. She swallowed and got on with it; the task only further complicated by her determination not to look.

"I'm pretty sure you threatened to take off all of your clothes earlier, I should have let you and saved myself a lot of work now." The delivery was light enough, the outcome was not. She tried desperately not to catch his eye, but was caught. Words were forming at his mouth, the air hung heavy.

"Owwww," he wailed, his yelp smashing the tension and snapping Erin back to nursing mode. "Is it meant to hurt this much? You failed to mention this was going to hurt."

It was true; she had glossed over the fact that stage two hurt like hell. The virus had moved on to the rest of his nervous system. Having been through it, she knew sharp pins and needles would shoot through every extremity, making the muscles spasm and ache. It would move around, hitting limbs without warning. As a child, she had sobbed as her mother held her tightly, until painkillers lulled her to sleep. She would willingly do the same.

"I thought you had enough to contend with. I can give you something for the pain, but it'll make you sleep. You should try and eat something first."

She returned to her task, finally peeling him out of the shirt. It was hard not to run her palms across his bare chest as she slid it up, even harder not to stare at the taut frame laid out on the bed. At least the lights were dim enough to conceal her almost lustful gaze. It felt utterly wrong, wicked even. This was her Captain, her patient, a man who had only just sobbed uncontrollably, the patch of her dress was still damp from his tears that had pooled there when she held him.

She was angry at herself for being so weak and unprofessional. Yet, she still felt electrified as her fingers lightly grazed the fine scars that traced telling outlines on his body, she still tensed as her thumbs barely brushed his nipples. It was beautifully awful. Avoiding all eye contact wasn't easy; he twitched under her finger tips, she wanted to put it down to the virus, but couldn't be certain. Breath hitched, she managed to shuffle him under the covers and out of sight as swiftly as she could and brought soup from the replicator, endeavouring to remind herself she was here to care for someone who was sick.

"If this tastes as bad as the last thing you gave me, I'm going to start getting paranoid you're trying to poison me." He was visibly wincing trying to adjust his arm, numbed by the pins and needles, to crook it over the covers and take the spoon.

"You might find this difficult. I could…"

"Absolutely not, I've got this," he snapped before she could say anymore. He took the spoon, only for it to clatter back into the bowl. He muttered and cursed, determinedly attempting it again, only to find the same outcome. He growled in frustration, mumbling clipped, but recognisable profanity through gritted teeth.

Erin allowed it to play out and let him huff. "If you want to eat, you are going to have to accept my help." Her patient conceded with a sulky gesture. "Now do you want the star ship noises or the choo-choo train?" She giggled. He tried to look annoyed but his face broke into a real, warm smile.

After he had eaten, Erin could see the pain worsening as he twitched uncomfortably, stifling yelps.

"I'm going to give you a strong painkiller," she soothed. "You'll sleep for a while."

"You know it's like a glimpse into my future. Being fed mushy food by a nurse, then getting drugged up for sleep. The retirement home is only just around the corner."

"You're not old," she said subtly pressing the hypo into his arm.

"I'm too old for…" he had drifted off. She patted the covers around him and resisted the urge to plant a soft kiss on his forehead as he slept.

Still and silent he slept for a few hours. Erin's stomach let out a low rumble; she was starving. She considered forgoing her usual healthy options, she craved carbs and sugar: comfort food. The smell of the soup still hung in the air and she decided it would do the job, served with thick hunks of warm crusty bread. It was polished off quickly, but still had not filled her. There was only one answer. Commanding the replicator, Erin inhaled the sweet aroma of a hot chocolate pudding. She ignored the machine's pleas to restrict sugary snacks, instead telling it to shut up.

Gabriel began to stir.

"That smells good," he mumbled, as he came around.

It must have been a deep sleep; he looked confused to find a nurse seated on his sofa, devouring cake. Dragging himself up, he flinched as he tried to stretch.

"Still feeling rough?"

"I've felt worse."

Erin's attention shot to her pudding to avoid his eyes, she had seen him much worse. At least his voice sounded brighter. She wondered if she should ask if he wanted to talk, but thought better of it.

"Any of that for the patient?" he nodded in the direction of her pudding.

She ordered more and brought it dutifully. "Do you need help?"

"I think I can manage," he said with a half-smile.

Erin hovered awkwardly.

"Sit," he gestured at the space on the bed.

Erin rather stiffly lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. Sitting primly, she smothered her hands over her lap and watched cautiously as he took a spoonful of pudding.

"Mmmm, God that's good," his mouth still half full.

"It's not quite real, homemade pudding though. My grandmother wouldn't have a replicator in the house. She said she wouldn't feed any of us fake garbage. My grandpa bought one and she chased him with a broom until he took it out of the house. Tough cookie, my grandma, I wish I was half as formidable."

"Six months of front line triage in the middle of a civil war, came out of it without so much as a scratch. I'd say formidable enough." Erin was surprised how familiar he was with her record.

"It wasn't like I picked it, it's not my ideal holiday. I just had to get on with it. You play the cards you're dealt."

He looked wistful. "My mother used to say that when I was a kid, she…" his voice trailed off and he noticed her grin. "What's so funny?"

"Sorry, it's just hard to imagine…"

"I have a mother?"

"That you were ever a kid. If you were I think your mother must have been a saint. I don't believe for a moment that you ever did as you were told. I bet you pulled girls' hair and ripped the heads off their dollies. And a jock- you were such a jock in high school."

He didn't deny a word of it, but laughed and studied her face. "I bet you were quite the prissy little Missy. You'd have cried and told your Mommy if I'd pulled your hair. Probably Homecoming Queen."

She shook her head, amused by his view of her. "Quite the opposite. I'm a colony girl, Captain. Grew up on the wild frontiers, outdoors. I did cry. Then I toughened up. Kids can be cruel." She looked sad for a moment, but recovered quickly. "If you'd pulled my hair, I'd have punched you in the face and you'd have been crying to your Mommy."

"When you were all pigtails and grazed knees I was a Starfleet Officer. I don't think I'd have gotten much sympathy."

He had finished off the pudding and she took the dish. A streak of the thick chocolate sauce smudged her thumb. Without a conscious though she put it to her lips and licked it off. She remained oblivious until her eyes met his, intently watching the action of her tongue across the soft, chocolate smeared pad. She stopped and held his gaze, unable to resist she took her thumb into her mouth and then painstakingly and slowly withdrew it.

Instantly filled with regret, she jumped to her feet.

"I should top up your pain medication," she fumbled.

"I feel well enough to be doing something useful. I've had enough sleep."

Erin nodded. "I can give you something less powerful and I don't see why you can't be busy, provided you stay put in bed and drink plenty of fluids." She tried to be matronly again.

Reluctantly, she handed him his Padd and allowed him to work for a while. She settled herself on the sofa and read for a few hours. The room fell into companionable silence, occasionally he would groan in discomfort. Erin would adjust the pillows or apply pressure pads as he directed in largely single word exchanges. She refused to make eye contact.

Eventually, he drifted off to sleep and she removed the Padd and made him more comfortable, adjusting and plumping the pillows. Erin was exhausted. Pulling the chair up by the bed, she'd checked in with the Doctor and now all she could do was wait. She had drifted off into a dreamless daze, in the dark limbo between wake and sleep for a while, before coming to with a jolt. Making certain he was sound asleep, she made her way into the bathroom and caught sight of her reflection. Dark circles had formed under her eyes, blackened more by the melted eyeliner that had smudged and blended with the dark stripes under her eyes. Her hair was out of place and limp.

She sniffed at her shoulder. It felt like an eternity since she had showered and the last, she didn't even know how long had been physically demanding. Between chasing around her wild-eyed quarry then hauling him around into bed it beat any workout she had ever done.

She poked her head back around the door. Captain Lorca was out for the count and showed no signs of stirring anytime soon. A quick shower wouldn't hurt.

The hot water rained down and she let out a deep sigh. This was a surreal and confusing place to be, she mused. This ship was like no other, its Captain was like no other she'd ever come across. She had thought him intimidating on their first meeting, but underneath that bold exterior and obscene over confidence he was funny, flawed, and human. Under the drumming of the shower she allowed herself to be honest with herself; he was very attractive.

And tonight- was he flirting with her, just amusing himself out of boredom, or had no idea what he was saying or doing? Was she flirting back and encouraging it? Did he mean what he'd said in the bathroom? What would have happened if she hadn't slapped his hand away?

Erin's fingers instinctively returned to where he had brushed her cheek.

She tried to close the can of worms she was mentally opening. This was not going to happen. It was bad, unprofessional and against every rule, but the thought of it was tempting. She shook herself and instead scrubbed her fingers into her scalp with vigour.

Feeling fresher and cleaner she started to dress, before realising she had left her clean uniform laid on the sofa.

"Shit," she mouthed. She put on what she had, clean underwear and a fresh undershirt and scanned the room. The Captain was still, eyes closed, asleep. She pinched her lower lip between her teeth and weighed up the options. Her worn dress smelt awful, she really didn't want to put it back on. He'd never know. She could dart for the couch in a second. Feeling brave enough she scampered out and grabbed it. A voice stopped her dead as she picked up the gleaming white fabric.

"You know, Powers, we have talked about uniform and I let you have the dress, but those pink frilly things are definitely not regulation."

Flames of embarrassment licked at her face. Squeezing her eyes shut like a small child who believed they disappeared once they couldn't see, she clutched the limp material to her chest and fled back to the safety of the bathroom.

By the time she ventured out again, he had thankfully drifted back to into sleep. Erin scanned him; his temperature was starting to rise, his slumber less peaceful. He shuffled and groaned, uttering incomprehensible speeches and orders, his tone rising to an angry shout, then softening. Despite the cooling gel packs Erin had tucked around him and the best medication he had to offer, he grew hotter and beads of sweat formed on his brow.

"Come on, keep fighting, almost there," She whispered, softly mopping his brow with a damp cloth soaked in soothing lavender oil. The smell reminded her of home, and she wondered if its comforting properties were as much for herself as for her patient. Sometimes he would bolt upright, eyes wide, but not truly awake, crying out in terror and she would ease him back down. Other times he would whisper; unable to make out his words properly, she thought she caught the sound of her own name, but banished the idea quickly. His chanting became almost uniform, sounds melted less into one another.

They were names and ranks.

Erin didn't understand at first, until a familiar one sparked a memory. This was the crew manifest of the Buran. Every name, spoken without pause, committed solemnly to memory.

She sighed deeply. There was little she could do; he probably didn't even know she was there. She kicked off her boots and shimmied onto the bed beside him. He had tossed aside the covers as his temperature had soared. He lay on his side, knees pulled up into his chest and Erin curled up in the space behind him, pressing her head to his back, lightly stroking his arm and shushing him, until the nightmares subsided and she eventually drifted off to sleep beside him.