Chapter Text
I was floating, drifting through the murky darkness like a soap bubble slowly rising through a bathroom filled with too much steam. The darkness was comfortable, cozy, a warm blanket on a cold night. My body was immobile and numb, completely disconnected from my mind. But I didn’t want to move. I didn’t need to. Here, in the dark, I was content to drift, to go where the swirling mist took me. I could stay forever in this warm blackness, forever suspended in it’s comforting embrace.
Come in, Doctor.
A familiar voice invaded the silence of my dark world, rough and distant. But it was meaningless to me and I ignored it.
…infection has passed.
Infection?
It sounded like a word I should know. It seemed important, like something I should remember. Infection… I rolled the word around in my mind, trying to understand it. My mind raced as I struggled to remember, but everything was so foggy and I was so tired. It would be so easy to fall back to sleep, and it was tugging at my mind, calling me like a siren’s song. But a distant portion of my mind knew that an infection would need to be cured.
Yes, there had been an infection on the ship. In the gel packs. And to cure it, we’d had to heat the ship. I remembered transferring all power to the engines; we hadn’t had enough power to initiate the plasma burst without taking every system offline and transferring the power to the warp engines.
My barely-conscious mind registered the fact that the infection had passed and we needed to get life support back online.
I grasped a sliver of consciousness. “Mister Kim, start getting our systems back online…” but that was all I got out before I slipped back into the darkness, too tired and too weak to fight it. It dragged me under, deeper than before, and my body surrendered to its pull.
***
I was floating, a leaf borne upon a lazy creek on hot summer’s day. I was home. I could feel the Indiana air. I could almost smell the season’s first cutting and I knew that in a moment, I would round the bend and see my mother’s garden, the rope swing in my favorite tree. My mother would hug me tight, my father would swing me around and lift me onto his shoulders, and everything would be alright.
Kathryn.
That familiar voice again, prodding and insistent. I ignored it, hoping it would go away, and drifted towards home.
But the gentle creek turned into a ragging river, the warm Indiana day morphed into a frightening thunderstorm, and I was tumbling over river rocks, tossed about like a ship on the ocean.
Kathryn. The voice echoed through the darkness. I knew that voice.
“Mark.”
Kathryn.
But Mark called me Kath. He always had. Something must be wrong.
“Mark.” My voice was rough and slurred like a sleepy crow, my body too tired to properly form the sounds of his name.
Paris!
Desperate to see Mark, my lethargic mind struggled towards consciousness, kicking and flailing in the murky depths of sleep. I was drowning in it, pulled under by a riptide. But Mark had called me Kathryn and something was wrong. I needed to get to him. I tried again to pull myself from sleep, opening my eyes an olympic effort. Finally, I was able to crack my eyelids, but the blurry faces peering back at me were not Mark. The first was too dark and he did not have Mark’s grey hair.
Lord Burleigh?
The other was his sandy-haired son, Henry, but older. That didn’t make any sense. I hadn’t gotten that far into the program. Henry was still a child.
Both were soaked like they had been out in the rain. I would have to get Henry into the bath and put him to bed. Where was Mrs. Templeton? That was her job. I didn’t want to tend to Henry. I wanted to end the program. I missed Mark.
Disappointed, I closed my eyes and felt myself slip back into the darkness.
***
I was floating, teetering, suspended on a buoyant bed that rocked with idle waves lapping against an enameled dock, the top bubble on a bathtub’s tower of suds.
Had I gotten Henry into the bath after all?
No. I remembered ending the program. Mark must have drawn me a bath and I’d fallen asleep in the tub. Wouldn’t be the first time.
“Mark?” I called. Maybe he could join me. I smiled in anticipation. There was nothing better than lazy moments in the tub, Mark situated behind me or seated on the teak stool next to the tub (which he claimed was his favorite seat in the house), his hand trailing teasingly through the bubbles.
Kathryn!
His voice was frantic as he called back and the gentle waves turned violent, crashing against the sides of the tub, threatening to spill over and carry me out to sea.
“Mark?” Where was he?
Something cool was touching my face. It was shocking in the dense heat of the bathroom.
No, it’s Chakotay.
I shook my head, the movement slow and syrupy. “Chakotay’s gone.”
I’m right here.
I felt a pinch on my neck and my soap bubble popped.
***
“Captain.” That was definitely Chakotay’s voice.
That’s when my sluggish mind realized that he’d been saying “captain” all along, not “Kathryn.” The two words sounded far too similar even when I was alert.
Blinking away the murky disorientation, I took a deep, involuntary breath as I realized everything had been a dream. I wasn’t floating, or drifting, or teetering. I wasn’t going home; Mark and I did not live together; and there was a hole in my chest now that the memories were dreams.
I was on the bridge, seated in my chair, and my head was throbbing in time with my heart. Paris and Chakotay were kneeling before me, wet hair plastered to their sweaty faces. I could feel my own hair limp with sweat, disorderly flyaways curling in the humidity that was so thick it seemed a solid thing invading my nose. Chakotay was holding an emergency cold pack to my head and Paris was repacking a hypospray into the emergency med kit. Something cold and damp was draped across my neck beneath my collar, and I could feel two more cold packs beneath my arms inside my shirt. My jacket was gone, my turtleneck discolored with sweat and condensate.
“Welcome back,” said Paris with a weary smile. His jacket hung open with his sleeves pushed up, and even in the dim red-alert lighting I could see the sweat painting his own turtleneck.
My head lolled to the other man, and I winced as a lancing pain shot through my skull.
Chakotay offered me a bottle of water with his free hand. “Can you drink?” he asked and moved the cold pack to my temple.
I nodded slowly, instinctively chasing the cold against my skin as a cat chases a stroking hand. But when I went to take the bottle, my arm didn’t move. I tried again. Finally, Chakotay pressed the rim to my lips and tipped it until I felt cool water on my tongue. Realizing how thirsty I was, I swallowed greedily. Some of it spilled and dribbled down my chin but I didn’t care. I was too thirsty and the cold water felt good sliding down my skin. I could have drank the whole bottle but Chakotay pulled it back.
“Take it easy.”
“You’re severely dehydrated, Captain,” said Paris. “You passed out from heat stroke.” He waved the scanner of a medical tricorder over the length of my body. “Your core temperature is returning to normal.” There was a note of relief in his voice.
It was echoed in Chakotay’s eyes as he pressed the bottle back to my lips. This time, I could get my arms to work and I reached up to hold it myself as I drank, but Chakotay pulled it from my lips before he relinquished it.
“Slowly,” he ordered. Then softer, “You gave us quite the scare there for a minute.”
I blinked blankly at him and did not respond. Even if I could get my throat and tongue to form words, I didn’t know what to say in the face of his sudden concern for my wellbeing. Later, when my mind was more solid, I would be both angry and relieved by his sudden change in demeanor. Angry that he had made us suffer his tantrum, and relieved that he’d gotten over whatever pain or anger he’d been carrying about Seska. But then, I hardly knew what to make of the man gently holding a cold pack to my head.
“Transporters are back online.” Ensign Kim’s slightly panicked voice came from behind me.
“Thank you, Ensign,” said Chakotay with a quick glance to Operations. “We’re all good here.”
I said a quick mental prayer of thanks that no one had decided to carry me down to sickbay. Medical emergencies are no time for ego or modesty, but I don’t think my pride could have taken that.
Now that I was more alert, shame curled in my gut, turning the water sour and further heating my already flushed cheeks. Heat stroke! It was a rookie mistake. I was not some green cadet out on her first maneuvers. I was a captain, experienced, and with full knowledge of what dehydration and excessive heat can do to the body. It was an avoidable mistake, one that never should have happened, and one I needed to ensure never happened again. The resources required to save my life—this time—were minimal but nevertheless unaffordable in their non-necessity.
Chakotay moved the ice pack back to my forehead. I knew from the way his brown eyes roamed my face that he didn’t miss the new color burning in my cheeks. To hide it, I took another slow swallow of water, my weak arm trembling with exertion.
“I want you to stay here for a few minutes, Captain,” Paris said, drawing my attention to where he knelt, closing the med kit. “Then take it easy for the next few hours. As soon as you can, take a cool shower. I gave you a saline injection, but make sure you keep drinking water.” His smile said he knew he’d be lucky if I did just one of those things in a timely manner.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” I forced out, the words roughened by my parched throat. My entire body still felt weak and achy, and for a moment, I considered doing exactly what he suggested.
Paris nodded and stood to return to his regular duties.
I turned back to Chakotay. “Report.” I didn’t get as much force behind the word as I wanted and it came out like a weary sigh, which, I suppose, is closer to how I actually felt. To make up for it, I raised my free hand to indicate he should give me the ice pack.
Almost reluctantly, he handed it over. “All essential systems are back online. Crewman Gerron and Tuvok were taken to sickbay with minor injuries. They were in the cargo bay when a plasma conduit blew.” At my concerned look he quickly added, “They’ll be fine. A few other crew members reported dizziness and other minor heat-related issues. And the captain gave us a little scare.” He paused to smile softly at me. “But no other casualties. The infection is gone.”
I managed a nod in reply. Thus reassured, my next priority was standing regardless of what Paris had suggested or how I felt. I weighed my desire to stand against the possibility of falling back into my seat and decided to risk it. I set the cold pack and bottle to the side and allowed the cold packs under my arms to to slide out of my untucked shirt. The one on my neck I left in place: it would not hinder my range of motion, and besides, it felt good.
Seeing my intent, Chakotay rose and stepped back. When I felt the carpet beneath my feet, I realized I was barefoot. I spared a moment to silently bemoan the indecency of that fact before I stood shakily, managing to remain standing with only minor dizziness. Walking proved another matter. I wavered but Chakotay’s hand on my elbow kept me upright.
“Alright?” he whispered. He was standing close enough that no one except Paris would have seen my stumble, and Mister Paris was facing the helm.
I answered with a grateful look and turned slowly to face Ensign Kim. Chakotay’s warm presence at my shoulder was a steadying comfort despite the oppressive heat still permeating the bridge.
“Mister Kim, how long before the rest of our systems are back online?”
Ensign Kim looked up from his station with a tired but genuine smile. “Less than two hours, ma’am.”
“Very good, Ensign,” I said, Then to Chakotay, “Dispatch repair crews to the cargo bay as soon as the environmental systems clear the gas.”
Chakotay reached down and picked up the water bottle I’d abandoned. “Already done, Captain.” He handed it to me and without thought, I took it. “Your crew has repairs in hand. Why don’t you follow your medic’s advice, and rest?”
I don’t remember what I said in reply. I might have teased him about giving me orders. Or I might have snapped out a reprimand about there being too much work to do. I could not for the life of me tell you which. The only thing I remember about that moment, standing there with him on our darkened bridge, half dressed in a soaking uniform, is looking down at the bottle of water clutched in my hand and realizing that we had somehow cured more than one infection that day.