"Who are you?" He demands incredulously. If Jean Luc were scared, you'd never know it. He's trained himself well over the years to keep his emotions in tight control. His iron jurisdiction over his countenance is what made him so highly sought after and so well respected.
I don't dare to speak, though. I proved myself cool under pressure when I was taken hostage on Rutia, but that was different; this is different. Then, I knew that the Jean Luc was hell bent on finding me. We had Data, Worf, Geordi and a whole litany of people that were solely focused on my rescue. In this moment, like I said, we're all alone. And, unless magic does exist, we're not going to be beamed out of here at the last moment…
The tall Vulcan states dispassionately, "So demanding, Jean Luc…" He pauses and something else, quite like amusement tinges his voice. "Patience… What is it after all that you humans call it? A virtue?"
He continues into the half-light. I scrutinize his face, looking for any hint of familiarity. But, I don't recognize him. "Where is Wesley?" I cower as he towers over us.
"Your son is being well taken care of." He chooses his words carefully as he inches closer and closer.
"We want to see him," Jean Luc stares, "Now."
An uncharacteristic smile tugs at the plastic features of the Vulcan's face. "Very well… I've learned not the keep a captain waiting…"
He walks in front of us, his black accouterment trailing stagily in his stead as he continues his slow plod into the haunting, demonic crepuscule that surrounds us. My legs feel leaden as foreboding and anxiety chill my blood further into subzero temperatures. Even the hand that I'm holding has lost its ability to comfort me; the sweat that has collectively pooled in our palms has turned to ice.
The halls are sparsely lit, leaving me to depend more on my sense of hearing to guide my way. The echoing footfall of our guide comes to an abrupt halt and in doing so another set of hydraulic doors hiss open. The light coming from inside, though dim, is enough to make my eyes sting momentarily as my pupils adjust. And for just a second, I'm blinded.
Oh god!
My insides lurch and jump sickeningly. How I wish that I could have stayed blind when I see the scene in front of me! I quickly let go of my husband's hand as I rush over to the chair at the opposite end of the room.
"Wesley!"
I clutch his still, unmoving form, "Oh God, Wesley!" My heart rate speeds to a deafening pace, its pounding blocking out any peripheral noise. I've been trained, though, as a Starfleet physician to keep a cool head in this kind of situation. Though frantic, I check for a pulse and look for the rise and fall of a breathing chest. My shoulders hang as I feel a thready, slow pulse through his damp, clammy skin. It's obvious he's been drugged; I knew that even before I laid hands on him. He's unresponsive, almost floppy against the chair. I wrack my brain for a chemical that can produce these effects; there are many of them and most of them illegal in the Federation.
"What have you done to him?" Jean Luc rages at the tall Vulcan.
The Vulcan's placid grin transforms lugubriously into a smile, "Now, now, Jean Luc. He's perfectly fine," he motions. "He'll clear the drug soon enough."
His gaze sweeps to Wes and me, and worry lines descend, "what drug?" No response. "Godammit, what drug? What do you want with us?" He's losing his patience and I see his calm mien beginning to unfold.
"Relax," the Vulcan uncharacteristically chortles in response, evincing clear amusement at getting a rise out of the normally imperturbable captain. "You'll know soon enough." He turns to leave and the doors once again open at his vicinity. He takes one last look at us, "Oh and Captain, don't cause us too much trouble… Mr. Gerhardt learned the hard way what happens you upset us."