They'd forgotten the restraints.

He lay still, gathering his strength--vaguely wondering when he'd gotten his eyesight back--a new way to torture him, give it back and then taking it away? How many times could they do that before the nerves were beyond repair? Maybe they could clone more nerves--maybe they wouldn't stop the medical attention he got every few days--he might actually have to live with what they were doing to him for years--

He jerked upward, finding flesh under his hands, looking up into shocked brown eyes before he brought the man's head down sharply on the edge of the bed. Before he heard more than a grunt, he brought his elbow down on a vulnerable back and found the floor with his hands and feet, staring around the bright room.

It was supposed to be darker, he thought. With bright lights reserved only for him, to watch him with.

The air was clean. He didn't cough, didn't feel blood in his mouth from lacerated lungs. He drew in another breath, experimentally.

And he could hear again.

They were doing it--repairing him to do it all again, maybe start at the beginning, maybe do worse--maybe make him watch the Captain, maybe make him participate--

He found a wall, putting his back to it, feeling the loose sickbay clothing settling stiffly around him. The man was on the floor--hopefully unconscious.

Tom blinked against the brightness of the light, trying to see. Grey walls blurred, and he refocused on the man on the floor. The--

He didn't look Da'Oon. But they had lied before--they could trick him, were trying to trick him--he couldn't let them--

The doors opened, and he darted out, toward a biobed, glancing behind him to watch them appear.

He tried to remember how many of them there were, but the numbers didn't mean anything. He moved before the first could do more than blink, bringing him down on the floor, banging a head into the cool metal, hoping he'd knocked whoever it was out completely. He needed a weapon.

They wouldn't touch him again. They wouldn't touch the Captain again. They wouldn't get Voyager.

Somewhere, a voice was saying something. He didn't understand it, didn't care too--but knew what it meant--someone was calling for reinforcements, more of them, more to take him, take her, hurt them, ask those damned questions--

He'd kill them all. He had to find the Captain. If he was going to die, he didn't want to leave her alone. Not here.

They hadn't ever asked her a single question--and he wondered why they took it on faith that she didn't know.

They hurt her because of him.

* * * * *

"Lieutenant!"

B'Elanna shook her head, startled, feeling Seven sitting beside her on the small bunk. Slowly, she lifted herself on her elbows.

"He's conscious." B'Elanna blinked, trying to bring the here-and-now into focus, but it was so damned hard.

"I am aware of this, Lieutenant." Seven began to press a hypospray to B'Elanna's neck. "I will give you the inhibitor. It will block the contact--"

"No!" B'Elanna jerked away, one arm knocking Seven to the floor. She watched, her breath coming too fast, as Seven levered herself onto her knees, blue eyes watching her warily. "Don't you even think about it, Seven." B'Elanna closed her eyes, focusing on the feeling--the cold Sickbay floor, Janeway's voice--

Seven coming at her with that *damned* hypospray.

"No, Seven!" She threw one hand out, fingertips centimeters from Seven's chest, eyes fixed on the younger woman, trying to get enough air. She wasn't used to having so much oxygen--her lungs had been damaged for so long--

Seven paused, wary.

"The link cannot remain active while Lieutenant Paris is conscious. It will cause him confusion--"

"You dosed yourself, didn't you?" B'Elanna asked harshly.

"I did, when I first became aware of--"

"But it hasn't changed his link with me." B'Elanna tried to focus, find him again--but knew she couldn't, since Seven had the hypospray and apparently the determination to use it. "Don't, Seven. Get away from me."

"He will not understand what is happening to him," Seven said, keeping her distance but obviously looking for the opportunity. B'Elanna didn't want to give it to her.

"Seven--"

B'Elanna collapsed against the wall as Seven injected the inhibitor.

"You Borg bitch," she breathed. Seven shook her head sharply, sitting back on her heels, well out of range of B'Elanna's reach.

"The inhibitor will not block the link--it will merely--" Seven searched for a word--"keep it more distant. You must sleep, Lieutenant."

B'Elanna blinked, staring at the Borg, then looked inside herself--finding the link--active but muted--felt Tom as he was sedated temporarily--it could only be temporary, too many stims still overloaded his system, they didn't have much time--she could feel the echo of Janeway's touch to Tom's cheek on her own--and feel Seven's caution, radiating from the former Borg in waves.

"Don't worry, I'm fine," she told Seven sharply, anger fading, and slowly lay back down. She watched Seven rise, ready to leave the cabin. "Don't you need to sleep?" It occurred to her to wonder how long she had been--out.

"I will regenerate after you have had sufficient sleep," Seven answered. She opened the hatch that led to the small bridge. B'Elanna reluctantly closed her eyes.

* * * * *

Janeway hovered over the biobed, watching the still face of her chief helmsman. The Doctor hovered over her shoulder, eyes on the patient. He couldn't remember ever seeing Tom so desperately still.

"The sedative won't last long, Captain."

"Get the restraints off him." Her voice was low.

"Captain, he became--"

"Get the restraints off him *now*, Doctor," she repeated coolly, running her hand gently across his sweat-beaded forehead. "He won't--" she stopped, her breath coming faster for a moment, before her control returned. The Doctor didn't move for a moment, then pressed in the command to release Tom.

"Captain, please step back." Tom twitched suddenly, making the Doctor jump

"He needs to see me when he wakes up."

The Doctor couldn't really argue with that. Nor, truthfully, did he really want to. Slowly, he retreated, noting the security personnel that had moved several feet closer to the oblivious Captain.

The Doctor knew this was the hardest thing he'd ever do. Watch Tom Paris die.

He hadn't found a cure. There was nothing in Starfleet Medical that was even close to this--he wasn't even sure it could be classified as a virus, though it had the same basic principles and physiology--he'd almost classify it as sentient--though that was ridiculous, of course. But its reaction to his treatments had left him baffled--and for the first time in his life, afraid.

Twelve days ago, he'd been sure he'd find a cure.

One day ago, he'd knocked his monitor off his desk in frustration, staring at readings that made no sense.

He couldn't save Tom. He didn't even know where to start. The damned thing infected everything--every cell in Tom's body.

An hour ago, he'd stared at the med scans untampered with by B'Elanna, watching the nanoprobes in Tom's bloodstream. They were cutting a wide swath in Tom's illness--but not nearly enough. He'd literally require assimilation to get enough to kill them all--and even them, the damned thing would lie dormant in his system, waiting for the nanoprobes to leave, waiting--

"Are the nanoprobes helping, Doctor?" Janeway asked softly.

"Yes." He wondered if he should tell her about their other side effects. "But not enough. They've bought him a few hours, maybe a day."

She didn't look up, her eyes fixed on Tom's face.

"Can you put him back in a coma?"

The Doctor gently placed a hand on her shoulder. The muscles tensed so suddenly, he instantly removed it.

"I don't think I should," he said softly. Grey-blue eyes jumped to his, and he met them, trying to hide his own fear, his concern. "It would be too dangerous now--and he has little time left."

"Unless B'Elanna finds the cure."

The Doctor didn't answer. The bitterness in her voice stopped him from letting her see his relief, that B'Elanna was doing something--that someone was doing something. A relief he knew most of the crew shared. Because somewhere between seeing Tom lying on that biobed for the first time twelve days ago and now, the Doctor's ethical subroutines had done some self-modification--because when he'd knocked that monitor onto the floor of his office in frustration, something within him, something had changed for him. He was a healer unable to heal--and he hated that.

Worse, he was a healer who couldn't heal the man who was his friend as well as his medic, the person that, other than Seven, he spent a majority of his time with.

"Is he in any pain?" she asked gently. Her hand went to his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, almost as if she needed to prove to herself that it was real.

"No, Captain. I was able to replicate an alternative to conventional Starfleet sedatives--something Mr. Neelix had in his database on his ship." He waited as she watched him Tom.

"How much longer until he wakes up?"

"Probably ten minutes. Captain, we should restrain him--"

"*No.*"

The way she said that was a good indicator that on this point, at least, the Doctor would not get his way. He ran the tricorder over Tom again, watching the brain activity readings--and knew he had to talk to the one person on this ship who'd been involved with something like this. He flipped the tricorder shut, knowing she wasn't watching him, and even if she was, he doubted she'd be interested in Tom's medical scans.

In fact, he thought she was speaking. He concentrated for a moment, trying to hear...

"I'm sorry, Tom. I'm sorry, Tom. I'm so sorry--"

* * * * *

Seven watched B'Elanna sleep.

There were other, much more efficient activities she could be engaged in. Checking their coordinates again, perhaps recalibrating the sensors to maximum sensitivity--running diagnostics on their shields.

But she didn't want to do anything else. She wanted to watch B'Elanna sleep.

Humans--well, most humanoid species--slept. Seven had attempted the pastime, but found regeneration far more efficient, and had remarked to Captain Janeway once that if the crew of Voyager would have themselves properly implanted, their efficiency could be increased exponentially, since they would require little, if any, 'sleep'.

To this day, she still found some surprise that the Captain had spit out her coffee in a steady stream across her couch at the suggestion.

It was odd--she had been free of the Collective for so long. She'd regained her individuality, even learned to want it--she had somehow forgotten the sensation of not being alone in her own mind. Of the constant presence of another--not quite like the Collective, of course; full assimilation would be required to have that unity of thought--not to mention the loss of individuality--but this, this "compromise", was pleasant.

She no longer felt alone.

And when Tom awakened, there would be two fully-conscious minds with hers. Two other sets of memories and thoughts adding to her, changing her--never lonely. Never truly apart.

It reminded her of being Borg.

The alarms went off. B'Elanna's eyes opened instantly, and both women quickly left the small cabin to enter the bridge of the Flyer. B'Elanna sank down into the pilot's seat with familiar ease, fingers already moving over the keys.

"Is that what I think it is?" B'Elanna said crisply. "Evasive pattern Delta." Her eyes were on the viewscreen.

"If you are referring to the fact that the ship is a Da'Oon cruiser, you would be correct, Lieutenant," Seven said coolly, checking sensors.

"Scan them."

"Minimal shields, minimal defenses--a crew of fifteen." Seven tapped in another command. "We can easily disable them."

B'Elanna tossed Seven a grin.

"Nope. Let's see if we can't cut this little visit short--and see if they have part of what I want. Open a channel."

Seven hesitated, then nodded. B'Elanna leaned back in her seat, watching the ship.

"This is B'Elanna Torres of the Delta Flyer. Stand down your weapons. I wish to speak to your Captain." She turned her head towards Seven, a grin turning the corners of her mouth upward. "You think that'll work?"

Seven blinked. This was not B'Elanna's normal behavior.

"You require another injection of the neural inhibitor," Seven answered, wondering why it had worn off so quickly--and why she herself could still feel the effects of it.

"No." That was B'Elanna. "Not now, I can't fly this thing like Tom does. And we'll need it--shields up!"

The firepower was incredibly weak. B'Elanna blinked at the absolute anticlimactic quality of that shot--it was like throwing pebbles at a mountain.

"You said lousy weapons, Seven. You didn't say no weapons." B'Elanna leaned forward, checking the readings. "I guess they're not interested in talking. Why would a ship be so badly armed?"

Seven shook her head sharply, and B'Elanna's eyes unfocused for a moment.

"We entered Da'Oon territory," she said slowly, and she began to tap out commands, pulling up sensor data.. "We're approximately fifty thousand kilometers into its borders. Check our location again, Seven. If we've crossed the border, I'd have expected some sort of guard here--and there's nothing. That ship can't count as a guard."

Seven also noted this peculiarity.

"We are within fifty thousand kilometers inside the border," Seven confirmed. "You are correct."

"Is there any sign of another ship?" B'Elanna asked quickly. Seven checked quickly, then looked at B'Elanna.

"No."

"Okay. Charge weapons." A smile turned B'Elanna's mouth upward. "Let's give them some incentive to talk, Seven."

* * * * *

Chakotay walked slowly into Sickbay. The Captain was still seated by Tom's bed. He'd awakened--and it hadn't been pleasant.

To say the least.

The Doctor had not been sanguine about the effectiveness of this sedative, either.

He skirted the edges of Sickbay, trying not to attract the Captain's attention. However, at the door to the Doctor's office, he looked back.

She probably wouldn't have noticed if the Kazon led by Seska had entered. She stared down at Tom's face, barely blinking, one of his hands held tightly in hers. The look on her face--

He looked away.

"Commander. Come in."

With little reluctance, Chakotay entered the office, letting the door close behind him. Before he could speak, the Doctor did something that Chakotay had never seen before--he activated the opacity of the window that overlooked Sickbay.

"Doctor?" He shifted in his seat, watching the Doctor take his place behind the desk.

For a moment, the Doctor's eyes were fixed on the PADD held tightly in one hand. Then he looked up, and slid the PADD slowly across the surface of the desk. Frowning, Chakotay picked it up.

"What's this?" He glanced down at the contents. "Tom's medical report? I don't--"

"Read it." The Doctor sat back, watching him with an expression Chakotay couldn't decipher. Slowly, his eyes went down to the PADD. After a moment, he made sense of what he saw.

"What--"

"B'Elanna downloaded all the recorded information on your link with the ex-drone Riley," the Doctor said quietly. "She and Seven have apparently hooked themselves and Tom into what could be described as a kind of collective--though with some differences." He tapped something on his monitor as Chakotay skimmed the rest of the document.

"They used Tom's neurogenic experience," he breathed, scrolling to the bottom. "And Seven's documentation on Borg assimilation procedure." He scrolled back up, then met the Doctor's understanding eyes. "Seven--"

"B'Elanna did. She constructed two remote devices to link herself and Tom--before they left, Seven contributed nanoprobes to Tom's bloodstream, as I think you are already aware through my reports. What you may not know, however, is that those nanoprobes are keeping the link active between the three of them, if my scans of Mr. Paris' neural activity are any indication."

Chakotay went up to the information on himself and Riley, re-reading it slowly.

"They used my experiences as a template for what they wanted to do," he said, slowly. "I don't need to ask why--they wanted to find a way to get to Da'Oon space and thought Tom might know. Apparently, he knew something." He put down the PADD. "Does Tom know what they did?"

The Doctor shrugged.

"I don't know--he hasn't been conscious long enough or rational enough to discuss the situation." The Doctor's voice was dry, maybe with a hint of sarcasm, Chakotay really wasn't sure. "What I can tell you is that I can't block it--not without hurting Mr. Paris--and I can't remove the nanoprobes. They're working against the virus--I don't want to remove them."

Chakotay nodded slowly.

"Have you informed the Captain?" he said slowly. The Doctor raised one eyebrow and leaned back, staring into Chakotay's eyes.

"I think I just did."

* * * * *

"Shield are unaffected." Seven glanced up at B'Elanna, who nodded distractedly.

"Fire phasers, target their life support. Now."

Seven lifted her head, startled.

"Lieutenant--"

"I gave you an order, Seven. Do it." B'Elanna's voice was quiet. Almost casual. Seven, seeing the profile of the other woman's face, did not quite understand the little smile turning the corners of her mouth.

"Targeting their weapons or shield generators would be more efficient--"

"Seven, fire the damned phasers!" B'Elanna swung around in her chair. "They're fully charged and ready. Fire!"

You are allowing your anger--"

"Anger's all I've got now. Fire, Seven!"

Seven punched in the command--and watched the damage flare bright orange against the dark of space. B'Elanna growled something.

"Are their shields down, Seven?"

Shakily, Seven checked her readings.

"Yes, Lieutenant."

"Lock onto the lifesigns of one of them and beam him over." B'Elanna stood up, giving a glance to Seven. "To the cargo hold. Then raise shields and move us to a safe distance."

Seven rose, then paused.

"What are you going to do, Lieutenant?"

B'Elanna tilted her head. Even with the dampened link, Seven sensed--sensed something that disturbed her. Something--and it was gone, as B'Elanna walked to the door, tossing her answer over her shoulder like a crumb.

"Get some information."

* * * * *

"Are you saying you won't return her to duty?"

The Doctor shook his head slowly, almost surprised Chakotay had asked the question--though he shouldn't have been. The Captain's loyal First Officer--and friend. But the brown eyes skirted away before the Doctor could capture them, telling him more than if the commander had said outright he agreed.

"I'm saying she isn't fit to lead this ship right now, Commander. I've observed her since her return--and I do not think her mental state is such that she has the judgement to command this vessel."

That Chakotay didn't argue was not a surprise. He sat back.

"Has she talked about it to you?" the Doctor asked quietly, gently even.

"No." Reluctant.

"Nor has she spoken to Tuvok," the Doctor told the commander gently. "And she spends a great deal of time alone--and her workstation shows she has watched the Da'Oon recordings several times."

Chakotay's head came up sharply.

"How did she get a copy?"

"How did anyone on the crew get a copy?" the Doctor asked, almost rhetorically. "There's no one on this ship who hasn't seen it. B'Elanna and Seven both had copies on their private databases--as Tuvok informed me when he discovered the Captain's copy--and numerous other crewmembers as well."

Chakotay didn't answer. His fingers dug into the PADD he still gripped, his eyes returning to it as if drawn.

"Most of the crew who served under Tom during the K'eya incident have watched it, Commander."

His head lowered.

"That explains how B'Elanna and Seven managed to get away with the Flyer so easily," he said--without surprise, just weary recognition. "How many of the crew helped?"

The Doctor didn't think he even needed to answer that question. He sat back, brown eyes fixed on Chakotay's face.

"Tell me the damned codes!"

The Doctor and Chakotay both stood up, startled, but Chakotay was first out the door.

The voice was Tom's.

Janeway was standing ten feet away, and reluctantly at that, two security officers blocking her access. Ayala was kneeling on the bed, holding Tom down as he struggled. The blonde head was thrown back, blue eyes wide open, but they weren't seeing a damned thing in here.

Chakotay thought Ayala was trying to talk to Tom, but couldn't be sure.

"Tell me what I need to know, and I'll let you live. Otherwise, I'll kill every fucking one of you, *p'taq*. Tell me *now*." His wrist slipped from Ayala's grasp, striking out expertly in a maneuver that had once resulted in Carey receiving a broken nose. Ayala, trying to get the other wrist under his knee, just as expertly ducked, grabbing the hand as it went by, dragging it down with some effort before pinning it under his leg. He grabbed Tom's head between his hands, meeting the blue eyes.

After all, the man had experience with B'Elanna's temper in the Maquis. He knew her tricks, her strengths--and her weaknesses.

"Can you give him another sedative?" Chakotay asked softly, stepping forward, but Ayala seemed perfectly content to keep his position, despite the strain.

"Calma, Tomas," Ayala murmured. "Todo esta bien. Estas en tu casa, con tus amigos. Calma, Tomas. Escucheme." His head came up briefly, to eye the commander. "I can handle him. No restraints. Doc, a sedative would be good right now."

"Easy or hard, your choice," Tom panted, staring straight up into Ayala's eyes. "Your choice."

"Tom doesn't know Spanish," Chakotay said, confused.

"B'Elanna does."

* * * * *

Seven jerked, gasping with the shock of the brief contact. It had been unexpected--she would need another treatment with the neural inhibitor soon--she opened her eyes to see her hand clenched in her lap, as if it had a handful of someone's shirt, ready to--ready to--

She concentrated briefly as the images came back, finding her center, the order she'd learned as an individual, balancing the conflicting points of view. It was harder than she expected--B'Elanna's anger was strong, trying to break through her. B'Elanna, so bitterly angry, taking such fierce satisfaction in being able to finally do something to avenge Tom--for revenge.

Slowly, Seven drew in a deep breath, and turned her attention back to the console.

* * * * *

They were holding him down again. And he didn't know what the hell they would do to him. And he didn't want to know.

He jerked against the people restraining him, trying to find leverage to get up, get away--but that had never worked before, and it certainly wouldn't now. The grip on his wrists grew tighter.

"Calma, Tom. Listen to me. Listen, Tom. You're on Voyager."

He *knew* that voice, though he didn't know from where. From Voyager, light-years away by now?

"Ayala?" No, it was the Da'Oon that hurt Tom, the one that would give him the information he needed to find the homeworld--the one he would rip to pieces to get those codes--

"I'll start removing fingers next," he said softly, meeting Ayala's eyes. "Don't push me, Da'Oon. Codes. Now."

* * * * *

:::Seven of Nine to Lieutenant Torres.:::

B'Elanna jerked, wiping her mouth, and touched her commbadge. She noted her hand shook and a knuckle was bleeding. Absently, she brought the cut to her mouth.

"B'Elanna here. What do you have, Seven?"

:::The Da'Oon ship has fifteen minutes of breathable air left, Lieutenant.:::

"Thanks, Seven. Torres out." She clicked the channel closed and pulled an overturned chair toward her and turning it right-side up so she could sit down. "Now, anything you want to tell me? Your wife is over there, isn't she? Seven did a quick decryption of some of your open database--unfortunately, no codes, but I take what I can get. And a--daughter or a son?" She leaned back, eyes fixed on the man. "Codes. That's all I want. Then you can go home, we'll even give you the means to get your life-support up. You use thorium based engine design--and we do have thorium, thanks to Seven's little improvisation." She watched him struggle on his knees, trying to breathe through the swelling of his throat.

Da'Oon's either had extremely high pain thresholds or she just happened to get the shallow edge of the gene pool. An hour and a half, and he still wasn't talking.

"Your time is running out," B'Elanna said. "And in this, at least, I have more time than you do. Just give me the codes. Your database doesn't have the medical information I need to cure him--and would *that* ever have been convenient--so this will have to do."

He pushed himself up, his bruised eye swelling orange. Interesting. She studied him for a minute, deciding where her next blow would land.

"I--can give--you--the codes." His voice was strangled, and she supposed the swelling--not to mention the yelling--must be causing it. She walked to the small desk in the corner and picked up a PADD, tossing it to him, enjoying the way he cringed as it fell, exactly one meter in front of him. Frantically, he typed out the code.

"Make yourself comfortable. You're coming with us."

His mouth gaped inelegantly, but before he could protest, she removed the hypospray from her tunic and, taking two steps, jammed it against his back. He slumped down, and she tossed the hypospray lightly before returning it to her pocket. Bending, she picked up the PADD from between his fingers and the floor, touching her commbadge as she walked.

"Torres to Seven. I've got it. Send over the thorium to repair their life support." She paused to look back at the man on the floor, trying to decide how to restrain him in case the sedative wore off too quickly--she'd send Seven back to do it.

:::Should we offer to assist in their repairs?:::

B'Elanna let the door open onto the Bridge, looking straight into Seven's waiting eyes, hands clenched on the PADD that shook in her hand. Her voice was a whisper.

"Let them rot."

* * * * *

"It won't last long, Chakotay. They stimmed him so high, I'm surprised it works at all." Janeway picked up the PADD, reading the information. "Can we break the link?"

"The Doctor says not unless we give him a neural inhibitor--which could have a negative effect on the nanoprobes in his system."

Janeway turned her head to the bed, staring at Tom--unrestrained, but with Lieutenant Ayala and Ensign Henna within centimeters, eyes never moving from him.

They'd helped lead the mutiny against the K'eya.

She circled Sickbay, staring down at the PADD, perhaps trying to make sense of it--but her eyes flickered to Tom every few seconds, as if to make sure he was still there.

Chakotay remembered what she had told him--and very little at that--about their method of getting their prisoners. Transporters.

Maybe once she had turned her back, if only for a second, and he had disappeared.

"Do you know where they're going?" Janeway asked shortly, tossing the PADD to a biobed casually. He wondered if she had read a single word on it.

"I assume Da'Oon space," Chakotay answered, and received a glare that should have had some heat--but didn't. "They plotted their course in Astrometrics--Megan Delaney is decrypting Seven's codes now, but it may take awhile. Da'Oon space is vast. They'll be heading toward the homeworld, so we need to find the coordinates they got from Tom."

"Who can't give them to us," the Doctor said from his office door as he walked out. "Even if he wakes up--I'm not sure how much he'll consciously remember."

"Hopefully none of it," Janeway replied. Chakotay's eyes went down at the odd tone in her voice, trying to define it, but slowly approached her. And no, it wasn't his imagination--she drew back, keeping a full five meters between them. Eyes fixed on him warily.

"I've set a course to follow them," Chakotay said, not mentioning Baytart's undeniable enthusiasm for the change in course--maybe too much enthusiasm? Where had he been when Seven and B'Elanna planned their little excursion?

"Captain, he's waking up." Ayala's voice, quiet. The Doctor, only paces away, was already moving, medical scanner in hand. Janeway quickly moved to his side.

"Tom?" She reached out, touching his shoulder gently--carefully. "Tom, it's the Captain. Can you hear me?"

The blue eyes opened briefly--closed again. Blinked slowly, then opened fully, looking up at his audience.

"I'm guessing I'm not dead," Tom said finally, a little grin turning his mouth. His eyes went to the Captain, and the blue clouded. "What--"

"Tom, how much do you remember?" She moved closer, almost pushing Ayala aside.

Tom blinked, and his face drained of what little color he possessed.

"I remember." His voice was quiet. "Up until they left us on--what planet was that, anyway?" He raised himself on his elbows, sucking in a hard gasp before laying back down. "That wasn't a good idea." Another grin, though one that didn't reach his eyes. "How much damage?"

"I've fixed the physical injuries," the Doctor answered, still staring at the medical tricorder. "But there are some--complications. You've been exposed to a virus, Ensign."

"And it's not like anything you've ever seen before," Tom said helpfully. "And I have days to live." He shook his head. "You told me that he only had a few weeks--then it became a few days--" Tom broke off, eyes going wide. The Captain reached for his hand, and he flinched, jerking away, staring between them. "What's wrong with me? Why did--I didn't--"

"I need to explain, Tom," Janeway said softly, taking his limp hand, squeezing the long fingers gently. "Don't excite yourself. There's a perfectly good explanation--."

Before she could get any further, the blue eyes rolled up, and Tom's body jerked on the biobed. Ayala was already in place--no one even mentioned trying restraints again in front of Janeway, grabbing the shoulders to force him down. The Doctor began to run another scan, and Chakotay watched his eyes go wide.

"I need a sedative," he said. Sam Wildman, assigned to Sickbay, was at his side in an instant, carrying the correct hypospray. "I don't understand, this should be working," he mumbled as he applied it to Tom's throat. His body jerked again, his hand loosening from the Captain's. "Damn it, restrain him! I can't--" Another jerk, blue eyes opened again--and they looked straight up into the Doctor's.

"B'Elanna, the Da'Oon male is awakening."

* * * * *

* * * * *

Chakotay moved to help Ayala, glancing at the Doctor as he began to make adjustments to the biobed.

"What's wrong, Doctor?" he asked as he got hold of Tom's shoulders.

"He's having a seizure," the Doctor answered tensely. "I'm not sure why. Ensign Wildman, double the dose on that last hypospray--I need to get him sedated *now*."

"I don't *know* who I am!" Tom whispered. "I can't--I can't--"

Chakotay, from the corner of his eye, saw Sam dart for the replicator. Beside him, Ayala grunted with the effort. Tom's body convulsed, almost throwing Ayala, who braced a knee on the surface of the biobed to get some leverage and bore down his entire weight on Tom's shoulders, leaving Chakotay to hold his legs.

"Doctor--" Chakotay managed breathlessly.

"Not right now, Commander!" The Doctor was at Tom's shoulder, hand outstretched for the hypospray Samantha slammed into his palm. Without another word, he placed it against Tom's neck. "The link is causing some sort of imbalance in his neural pathways."

"If it's affecting him, it could be affecting Seven and B'Elanna," Chakotay answered, feeling Tom jerk again. Ayala was talking to him in Standard now, though Chakotay couldn't pause to hear what he was saying. Sweat had broken out across Tom's forehead and the dark blue eyes were wide and boring into the ceiling of Sickbay.

"I don't know," Tom said again, almost in response to Ayala's quiet words. "I don't know."

* * * * *

B'Elanna found the correct dose of the neural inhibitor and pushed it against Seven's neck. The Borg collapsed, sweating, eyes wide, against the floor of the Flyer's bridge.

"Seven?"

Seven lifted her head experimentally.

"Yes." She sat up too suddenly, and required B'Elanna's help to keep her position. "I am well now, Lieutenant."

"You don't look well." And she didn't. B'Elanna helped her to her seat, noting the way the former Borg leaned against her--something she knew Seven would never, ever do under normal circumstances. "What happened?"

"The link--I could hear the Doctor," Seven answered. "The link is upsetting Tom's neural pathways--"

"What the hell does that mean?" B'Elanna demanded, leaning forward, almost nose to nose with the taller woman. Instinctively, she felt herself retreat.

Seven searched her store of Borg data, and came to the obvious conclusion.

"The reaction I am experiencing is similar to a failed assimilation."

B'Elanna's whole body went still, eyes blank.

"The Borg have botched assimilations?" Seven did not find fault with the shock in the half-Klingon's voice.

Seven nodded reluctantly.

"When we first--began--there were problems with finding the correct technique for assimilation," Seven explained carefully. "There were--reactions."

"Like this?"

"Yes. From my memories of the Collective, I believe that this is what we are experiencing."

"The neural inhibitor--"

"It will not remain effective. Resistance to the drug is already being formed."

"So what will happen to us if this--if this continues?"

Seven didn't want to consider that, but she had to, because Lieutenant Torres' question required an answer.

"The logical conclusion will be either full assimilation, or permanent brain damage."

B'Elanna drew back. The brown eyes went wide.

"What the hell do you mean, full assimilation? You mean--this damned thing actually--it will be--"

"Permanent. Yes. It will be permanent."

B'Elanna stood up, prowling the room in long, graceful steps, eyes down. Seven straightened in her seat, wiping her forehead with one shaking hand. She observed this phenomenon with interest, as she did the rate of her heart as it slowed, the sudden dizziness that accompanied the deceleration.

Adrenaline aftermath.

"How far are we from the Da'Oon home planet?" B'Elanna asked abruptly, turning to face Seven with an unreadable expression on her face. Seven examined the data briefly, then turned her gaze to B'Elanna.

"Six hours, Lieutenant. We'll reach the defensive grid in five hours, fifteen minutes."

B'Elanna nodded slowly, then turned back to the pilot's seat, watching the stars outside.

"Go regenerate until we arrive," she said curtly.

* * * * *

B'Elanna watched the stars go by.

It was comforting--and she understood so much better now why Tom loved to fly.

Hell, she understood more than she'd ever dreamed about Tom. Knew things she couldn't even begin to put together into a pattern, random thoughts and images.

She remembered the first time he'd asked her out--felt his nervousness beneath the cool amusement he always seemed to radiate--his disappointment but lack of surprise when she said no--and that clear attraction born long before she even knew he'd noted her existence.

God, had it been that long?

She chuckled to herself, wondering if she'd ever have believed him if he told her.

Those memories gave her warmth. They could possibly be all of him she'd ever have again, and she wanted every one of them. Every moment, every memory, every emotion.

Tom could die before she returned.

She tried not to think about it--but it was possible. Even probable. He might die before she could get the cure back to Voyager--hell, he might die before she could even find someone who had the cure--or she could die out here if that sterling example of Da'Oon idiocy of a space cruiser was the exception not the rule, and Tom would die without the antidote--or--

And every time she thought of it, anger flared anew.

The thought was unacceptable. Tom would not die. She would not fail.

B'Elanna grinned a little at the thought. Their Da'Oon guest was unconscious in the hold--she knew Seven had bound him and given him another dose of the sedative--and she was on course for the Da'Oon homeworld, because somehow she *knew* that what she wanted was there.

They'd given him a virus. They hadn't been content to torture him, to break him, to tear him to pieces in the most barbaric, the most horrifying way possible--they had sent him back home so his crew could watch him die.

As a warning.

There were things she knew about them now, though. Things that she hadn't known even when possessed by a K'eya herself.

But what she didn't understand, what she couldn't understand, was why the Da'Oon had gone after Tom.

The Da'Oon had imprisoned the K'eya on that planet for unspecified crimes--even B'Elanna's K'eya possessor hadn't known why, it had been so long ago. Made it impossible for them to leave without corporeal form. Yet--yet they tortured Tom for them--not so much for the codes, that was an added perk--they tortured, they were trying to *kill* Tom for what he had done when he killed the K'eya who infected the crew.

For murder.

And B'Elanna didn't know why. Oddly enough, it didn't matter. They had hurt him. They had put him through ten days of hell. They'd healed him--and done it again, and again--and if Harry hadn't found the warp signature, if he hadn't found--

They had found them. They'd brought them home. They just needed two more things.

B'Elanna needed that cure. And she needed to look straight into the Interrogator's eyes when she killed him. She wanted him to know he would die--and why--and for whom.

Most of all, she needed to *see* his knowledge of why, reflected in his eyes. Let him know who he would died for. And to see who would kill him.

Because that was closure.