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"Doctor, do something," I beg the hologram next to me.
"She is going to be fine, Commander," the Doc replies, clearly annoyed.
"She clearly is not fine."
The Doctor crosses his arms in front of his chest and sighs, as if I'm a stubborn child who has to be explained the same thing for the third time in a row. Maybe I am. Right now, though, I don't care. No matter, either, that he could receive a reprimand for this behaviour towards a superior.
"Nothing I could give her would alleviate what she is going through. I have given her the medication that will make her blood vessels swell back to normal size, but that is all I can do for now. Her body is fighting the infection and we need to let her body do its job."
I stifle my response, which would surely be unreasonable. In the last few years I've become a pretty calm and composed guy, hardly anything can bring the formerly angry warrior out. But seeing her like this? I can feel it stirring and enabling something in me that I had long thought gone.
Kathryn looks like she's dying. And I don't say that lightly. In theory, I've seen her in worse states, including - and I'd rather not think about this - dead. I know what it's like to see her die in my arms. And maybe that's part of the problem. My mind knows she will be fine. But memories are rising in my subconscious that I'd rather not relive.
Kathryn is leaning against the wall next to me, breathing heavily. Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen, the colour has drained from her face. Her trembling hands grasp at my shirt as if she is holding on not only to me but to dear life, and all I can do is draw circles on her back with gentle touches to remind her that I am still here, beside her.
"Captain, do you want to stay here or would you like Commander Chakotay to accompany you to your quarters and stay with you there?" The Doctor's voice is so much gentler as he speaks to her. He steps into her field of vision, bending his knees a little so he can look her in the eye. One of his hands rests on her upper arm, alerting her that this is him talking to her. Often enough I complain about the hologram's bedside manner, but right now I'm glad that he, of all beings, is our Doctor. His ability to learn is impressive.
Kathryn seems to gather all her strength as she speaks two words, "Chakotay, home."
After a few seconds of silence, I realise that was also a prompt for me and I reach for her belongings, which the Doctor has draped on the stretcher after Kathryn herself has refused to use it.
"I hardly believe myself I'm even suggesting this, but I'd recommend giving her caffeine, the form doesn't matter. That may help relieve the symptoms further. Also, put her in a cool and dark room. There could be hallucinations due to the fever, so it is really imperative that you stay with her, Commander. If that becomes a problem, you'll have to bring her back here. I'm keeping an eye on her vital signs, but if there's any change, I want you to call me. Understood?"
"Aye, sir," I reply, realising how much less sarcastic than intended that sounds.
"Doctor to transporter room one."
"Go ahead."
"Emergency medical transport. Commander Chakotay and the Captain from sickbay to the Captain's quarters. Copy?"
"On your order, Doctor. Transporter ready."
I put Kathryn's arms around my torso, accept the hypos the Doc offer me ("For the pain, but not for another three hours at least.") and nod at him.
"Energise," the Doctor says.
The moment we materialise in her quarters, she begins to moan. "I have to-,“ she begins, before urging me in the direction of her bathroom.
Fortunately, I have the presence of mind to understand what's going on. We are quickly in her bathroom, she kneels in front of the bowl while I hold her hair back. Not being an expert, it feels like she's throwing up more than she can possibly have eaten in the past week.
"I'm here," I whisper, because otherwise I feel completely useless. I hold her hair, stroking her head as gently as I can. Whenever she comes up for a breath in the meantime, I let her lean against me, close her eyes and just breathe while I hold her so tightly that I hope she doesn't have to use any of her own strength to stay upright.
"Don't leave," she whispers eventually.
I feel my heart break a little. If only she knew that I will always, always, stay by her side. Whatever happens, whatever it will take from me. Because, to be honest, by her side is the only place that ever feels like home to me. Even when she's sick and looks like death. Maybe especially then, because she allows the closeness between us, even if only for a short amount of time.
After a short time she breathes more calmly.
"Bed?" I ask.
She nods silently and attempts getting up on her own, but I'm quicker and just lift her up.
"You can't just pick me up like that," she complains. "I'm a grown-up person," she finally murmurs as she leans against my torso, visibly more relaxed.
I can't help smiling. "To quote my favourite person, 'I can and I will'." Before I can stop myself, I press a small kiss to her temple. She closes her eyes and sighs.
I lay her down in bed. It's been a while since I've been here. Usually it's some forgotten PADD that she has placed on her bedside table and that I urgently need. However, since our quarters are quite similar, I know my way around.
I help her out of her uniform, and tuck her in, even allowing myself to stroke her cheek, as it is clear she enjoys the small touches. After making sure the room is cool enough and as dark as possible, I replicate a coffee for her, sit hesitantly on the edge of the bed and place the beverage under her nose.
"Here, drink this. Doctor's orders."
"...this?" I only understand the last word of her sentence. Apparently she doesn't even recognise her favourite drink by its smell.
"Coffee. Doc said it might help."
She quips "I never thought I'd see the day". As I help her take a sip I think how absolutely incredible this woman is.
"Not good," is her hesitant conclusion.
I cringe. "Bathroom-not-good?"
"Yes."
"Let's go," I say more cheerfully than I feel, removing the blanket from her now shivering body and simply lift her back into my arms.
On the way to the bathroom I try to shake her as little as possible. To what extent I succeed is questionable. When we arrive in the bathroom and I try to help her stand, her body goes completely limp.
"Chakotay?" Her voice is no more than a whisper as her hands continue to cling to me.
"Kathryn?"
"I can't see," she begins. Her breathing quickens, her tone is panicked and I feel my heart begin to race as well.
Shit.
"It's like a, a ... a veil of smoke, I can make out shadows and nothing else." The panic in her voice was unprecedented. I've never seen her like this before and it would normally elicit a similar reaction from me. Just in time, I realise that it is now up to me to exude confidence. And afterwards, when she is safely in bed, to call the Doc in a state of panic.
"Look, we're both going to kneel on the floor now, alright. Trust me, I'm holding you, we can do this. Okay?"
"Okay," she replies weakly.
Somehow I manoeuvre us both into a half kneeling - half hanging position on the floor, directly in front of the toilet bowl. "We're right in front of it. I got you."
And again she threw up. If before I thought she would throw up more than she could have eaten, she just outdid herself. And, much worse, tears are now streaming down her face without any restraint. I hold her as tight as I can and yet feel how limp she is, how little energy there is in her.
In a quiet minute, with her leaning against me, huddled in my arms, breathing a little more steadily, I activated my communicator.
The Doctor responds promptly. "This is the Doctor."
"She isn't able to see anything anymore, just shades. She's completely limp, has no body tension left. I think she keeps drifting into unconsciousness and then coming back briefly."
The Doctor replies promptly. "Those are perfectly normal side effects. I know it looks bad. But, this looks much worse and probably feels much worse to her than it is. As a matter of fact, she should be in bed."
"Yes, she was until she threw up again."
"That's probably the pain. Her body just rejects everything, including the contents of her stomach."
I have to stop myself from raising my voice. "This can't be normal, Doctor."
"Commander, Captain Janeway is not the only patient experiencing these symptoms right now and unlike her, most of the others don't have the privilege of a first officer to personally attend to them, which is why they are all in my Sickbay. I am monitoring her vital signs and as soon as anything becomes critical, I will contact you immediately. But until then, I'll have to rely on you to stay with her and let her recover a bit. Doctor out."
"I can't," she begins, whimpering, before she starts to cry again.
"Kathryn," I whisper, hoping my helplessness doesn't show through. "I've got you. Lean against me. I'm here."
Her voice started softer and grew louder, becoming more agitated, squirming, more urgent with each passing second. Always the same word: "No!"
I don't know what she's going through, but suspect it will be the fever dreams the Doc warned me about. And honestly, I don't care. I've sworn to protect her. This condition? I swore I would never let it get to this point. And if it means I question her before every field trip from now on, then so be it. The much more realistic part of me knows that this will never be successful with her, but right now I need to feel like I have a semblance of control over it. I have sworn to carry her burden. And I will continue to try, as best I can.
"Do you want to go back to bed?"
She nods.
I carry her back to the bedroom, tuck her back in and place her communicator next to her head on the pillow. "Your badge is right next to your head with a standing link. I can hear every sound you make. I'll be next door in the living room, so if you need anything, I'll be right here."
I stroke her forehead, dabbing away beads of sweat with the towel I brought from the bathroom. She leans against my touch.
"Stay here," she whispers.
"I'll be right next door," I reply weakly, knowing full well that of course I would stay with her if she so wished.
"I need you," her voice is no more than a trembling whisper, but I will never be able to describe what this does to me. I don't even dare admit to myself that this is all I ever wanted to hear from her. I try not to get too carried away. In vain, of course. She probably won't remember any of this in the morning, but I'm sure I'll carry those three words with me forever.
"I'm going to hand over command to Tuvok and then I'll be right next to you. Okay?"
She nods.
I sneak into the living room and contact Tuvok. As usual, he doesn't dwell on formalities, answering my contact with a quick, "How is she?" The concern in his voice is not something I imagine, of that I am sure.
"She is quite sick and I need to stay with her. You have the bridge, contact me if anything is wrong, preferably via text so we don't wake her, should she eventually fall asleep. If you can take over the bridge and the day-to-day operations, I can work through the duty rosters and engine room reports."
If Tuvok is confused by the fact that I'm with Kathryn and staying there, he doesn't let on. "That sounds like an efficient solution. Contact me if I can be of further assistance." I understand what he's not saying. Sensing how much Tuvok cares about her, too.
"I will. Thank you, Commander. Chakotay out."
I grab my PADDs, everything I need and slip back into the bedroom. Kathryn's eyes are closed, but her irregular breathing tells me she hasn't fallen asleep yet.
I remove my jacket and shoes and carefully position myself next to her on the bed, nice and proper on the duvet. She immediately slides closer and presses her head against my side. I position myself a little more comfortably and look at her.
"Are you okay?"
"I am now," she replies wearily. There are so many things I want to say in response, but it takes me all of 15 seconds to see that she has fallen asleep. All the better.
A few hours later, I have finished all my tasks and even started a few additional ones. Tasks that you don't get to do if there's always someone calling for you. Or other things that being the first officer on a ship with over 120 people means. Just as I was also processing leave requests and handing out holodeck privileges for the next four months, she moves.
"Hey," I whisper softly.
She opens her eyes and a wave of relief washes over her. "I can see you," she simply says.
"Good," I smile. I need to stop myself from giving her another kiss this time, because right now she has her consciousness back. And the things I want so badly to do, I can't do. Shouldn't have been doing all along, if we’re being honest. I don't want to take advantage of her condition, but at the same time I have a strong feeling that that's exactly what she wants. A little bit, at least.
"How are you?" I ask instead.
"Tired. A bit of a headache. I feel pretty shitty," she admits.
"Any signs of nausea?"
"Negative. I'm so sorry you had to do that to-"
I place my hand gently over her mouth. "Don't you dare apologise for that."
She nods and rests her head against my side again. "What time is it?"
"Almost midnight," I reply, glancing at my watch.
"The last time I remember it was fifteen hundred," she murmurs confused.
"That's when you started showing symptoms. A lot has happened since then. You should probably try to get some additional sleep. Doc told me to keep you in bed as long as possible."
I wince, hoping she's too exhausted to catch the unintentional innuendo.
"If anyone is up to the challenge, it's you," she replies and I have to deliberately take control of my own breathing. Does she know what she just said? Probably not. Even if we don't talk about that, I probably have the best chance, realistically, of giving her any orders. Except, of course, the Doc himself and Tuvok. The Doc with his certain rank privileges that I myself don't have and Tuvok with certain friendship privileges that Kathryn and I haven't gotten to yet. So if I approach it objectively, logically if you will, those two have a much better chance of keeping her recovering in bed. Literally. Unless we talk about that. Then I hope, still and against all better conscience, that I would have the best chance. But that was nothing more than a hunch. And completely inappropriate, now that I come to think about it.
"Chakotay?" Her voice pulls me out of my musings.
"Mhh?"
"Don't do this," she states softly.
"I'm not doing anything," my answer is defensive.
"Oh yes you are. And please don't do it, there's no point. Now put the work away, it's midnight. Let's get some sleep. I'm afraid I can get used to sleeping next to you very easily," she continues in a whisper.
My heart does things I can't quite place. My mind knows that the situation is an exception. That she feels like shit and like most people in her state she needs a friendly face around her. Tomorrow, when she is recovered, everything she said under the influence of her sickness will be forgotten. And well, there's nothing I can do about it.
"Good night, Kathryn," I say as I put my stuff on the bedside table.
I slide down a tiny bit so that I'm actually lying down and I can feel sleepiness wash over me right away. Nevertheless, I keep a safe distance and stay on the blanket.
I hear her annoyed moan as she finally lifts her duvet invitingly. The intimacy of this gesture touches me and being close to her does all sorts of things to me.
I stick to my plan to keep a respectable distance between us, out of fear, probably. Fear of tomorrow and fear of getting too used to it over the course of a single night. Kathryn, on the other hand, doesn't seem to worry about it at all. The moment she got sick all her parameters and worries apparently vanished, because as soon as I'm under the covers she's snuggles up to me, her head on my chest, her arm around my waist and her legs tangled with mine.
I think of parameters and the distance she usually so carefully keeps between us and part of me wants to keep that distance. Part of me is afraid of the letdown when tomorrow it's all over. But the other part? The one that can't put into words how much it touches me to see her clinging to me. That part makes sure that I don’t just break free from her embrace. Not when she looks like she needs me. Not when it actually feels like she needs me.
I think about how I'll most likely have to live with her anger tomorrow. Looking at her, sleeping peacefully, snuggled up to me, I realise it's probably worth it.