"The
logistical challenges aside, Commander, I feel a large number of the crew will
take this as an invasion of their privacy," the Doctor said while
double-timing down the hallway after an upset Chakotay.
"Though
we may not agree, she is the Captain."
Sensing
he would not win this sort of territorial dispute with the man, the Doctor
asked, "Will you assist me in scheduling appointments that do not conflict
with the duty schedule?"
"Certainly,"
Chakotay said, thought the Doctor did not believe he was really paying
attention.
Slyly
the Doctor then asked, “What are you doing right now?"
"Nothing
that I can't reschedule to get these appointments made."
"I
meant could you come for your assessment now?"
Crossly,
he answered, "Doctor, I'm busy."
"Not
too busy to reschedule."
In
sickbay, the doctor had coyly arranged the chairs in what he determined to be
the least threatening and most reasonably intimate positions.
Unfortunately, Chakotay stubbornly refused to use his chair.
"Are
you certain you wouldn't prefer to sit?" the doctor asked, hopefully.
"Just
ask your questions."
"Okay.
Now, some of these may seem silly, but they are all necessary.
Do you suffer from any mental illnesses?"
"No."
"What
day of the week is it?"
"Monday."
"Where
are we?"
"The
sickbay of Voyager.
In the Delta Quadrant."
He
detected some negativity linked with that last statement, so he asked,
"Does that upset you?"
"What?"
"That
we're so far from home."
"Of
course it does."
"It
does seem pretty hopeless, doesn't it?"
Chakotay
narrowed his eyes and stated sternly, "The captain will get us home."
"Do
you trust the captain?"
"With
my life."
"Do
you have a strong friendship?"
"She
is my best friend."
"How
have you been sleeping?"
Chakotay
frowned at this comment, but answered, "Pretty well, I guess."
"I
guess?"
"Sometimes
I have these strange dreams."
"Tell
me about these dreams."
"They're
usually pretty violent.
Most of the time they are about Voyager."
"Tell
me about one."
"Well,
we're on the bridge.
On the viewscreen is a ship with a people we haven't met before.
We make the usual diplomatic overtures and they seem pleased until
something we either say or do suddenly upsets them.
Without warning, they begin firing.
Suddenly the ship is rocking, consoles are exploding, and people are
tossed everywhere.
The power goes out and the only light on the bridge is coming from the
fires and even that is dulled by all the smoke.
There is nothing I can do.
Then I look down at Kathryn.
She is lying on the floor, so I bend down to help her.
That's when I can see that half her face is gone… blown off in one of
the explosions.
At that point, I can't even breathe.
I'm frozen, afraid to even touch her.
Until they started to board the ship."
Chakotay's voice went from distressed to furious.
"They had weapons, but I just grab one of them.
I throw him down and start beating him.
I hit him and hit him, but it doesn't seem to be doing anything.
I know that if I can't stop him he'll start hitting me.
I keep beating him and all the while I'm getting angrier and angrier for
all the things they did to the ship and my friends and Kathryn.
That's when I gouge his eyes out…" He seems to catch himself.
"And that's pretty much when I wake up."
The
doctor wondered what he was leaving out, but said nothing on the subject.
Instead, he asked, "How do you feel when you wake up?"
"Shaky,
still angry, and then I'm thankful that it was only a dream.
Then I wonder if something like that is really going to happen."
"How
long have you been in love with her?"
"What?"
Chakotay asked, defensive and angry.
"How
long have you been in love with Kathryn Janeway?"
"That's
none of your business."
"Does
she know?"
"She'd
have to be a fool not to.
But she 'defines parameters' and 'maintains protocol' and essentially
shuts me out. Not
only does she keep me out, she doesn't let anyone else in."
Shaking his head, he said, "She's strong, but someday she's going to
break down. No
one can be strong like that forever."
"So
you worry about her."
"Of
course I do. She's
always putting herself in the line of fire.
I admire her courage, but someday she's going to go running off with a
phaser rifle and never come back."
"Do
you feel guilty for letting her go?"
"What
can I do? I’m
only her First Officer and best friend, but I have no control over her.
She’s going to do what she wants, regardless of the consequences."
The
Doctor pondered for a moment before moving on to a new line of questioning.
"How do you deal with your aggressive feelings?"
"Usually
exercise. I
box, sometimes."
"What
happens when you have to keep them inside to too long?"
"Lost.
A little spiritless."
"How
often do you feel this way?"
"Not
too often."
The
Doctor did not believe him.
"Who
do you usually box?"
"Holodeck
characters."
Raising
an eyebrow, the doctor probed further; "And when that gets boring?"
"I
go do something else."
"No,
I meant whom do you fight when the holographic characters get predictable?"
"No
one."
"That's
not what a little birdie tells me, Commander."
"Then
just what does that little birdie tell you?"
"That
there are some... extracurricular activities going on in that holographic boxing
ring of yours.
You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
Chakotay
eyed him warily before asking, "This is all strictly confidential,
right?"
"Of
course."
"I'm
not in danger of being relieved of duty if I say anything, am I?"
"Not
unless your boxing gloves appear to you on the bridge again."
The
Commander shook his head at the doctor's attempt at dry humor, then began,
"A few of us go down there to blow off a little steam.
It's pretty harmless.
We use pads and mouthguards."
"And
someone must have replicated a dermal regenerator."
"Lots
of personnel have their own.
Even the captain does."
The
doctor squinted slightly and looked across his sickbay.
"What in the world does she use hers for?"
He paused momentarily before asking, "You mean that lots of
crewmembers have their own dermal regenerators?
Whatever for?
Why can't they come to me?
Do they not trust me?"
Chakotay
laughed briefly, then tried to ease the doctor's fears.
"I think there are some minor wounds the crew would not want to
bother you with."
The
doctor still appeared perplexed, so the commander continued with a slight grin;
"Well, I hear Tom and B'Elanna have one."
"Oh,"
the doctor said, apparently understanding.
He then restarted the questioning with, "So the only serious
injuries are the ones I know about."
"You
mean you've known all along?"
"Though
it may appear to be a dysfunctional way of dealing with conflict, I think it
serves a function in the social structure of this ship that cannot be
effectively addressed in any other way.
While I personally detest this sort of thing, I won't be the one to spoil
your fun."
Chakotay
nodded respectfully to the man who abhorred violence, but was willing to suspend
his own judgment for the sake of the crew.
He stood to leave.
“And
Commander, while this assessment may be over, I’d like it if you came in at a
later date to discuss the possible meanings of these dreams and to deal with
some of your pent-up emotions.”
Only
glancing back from the door, he said, “Anything you say, Doctor.”
Somehow,
that didn’t convince the Doctor.
"Hiya,
Doc," Tom Paris greeted enthusiastically upon entering sickbay for his duty
shift.
"Mr.
Paris, so nice to see you.
Since we have no patients at the moment, I was wondering if you would
come into my office for a talk."
"Oh,
my evaluation?
Sure thing," he said, smiling.
The
doctor was thankful for Tom's cooperative nature.
Not all of the appointments went as well as this.
"All
right, Tom, you know the drill.
What day of the week is it?"
"Tuesday."
"Where
are you?"
"Voyager's
sickbay."
"Where
was the first NASCAR race and when?"
Tom
smiled, "Daytona Beach, Florida on February 15, 1948.
Was that a real question?"
The
doctor smiled; "Not really.
Do you have trouble concentrating?"
"No.
Sometimes my mind wanders a bit when I'm bored, but I can always snap
back in an instant."
The
Doctor was grateful for this modifier, for all their sakes.
It wouldn’t do to have the pilot’s mind wander during a battle.
Continuing,
the Doctor asked, "How have you been sleeping?"
Tom
grinned devilishly; "Like a baby… when B'Elanna lets me."
"So
I guess I don't need to ask if you've lost interest in sex."
"No
way! And
the great thing is, she's just as interested as I am."
"I'll
remember that for her interview."
"The
only bad thing is that I don't think that she'd be into the things I used to do
before we got together.
She's more of a traditional sort of girl in that area."
"What
sort of stuff?" the doctor asked with his brow furrowed.
"Oh,
you know. I
used to be pretty wild.
The Delaney sisters and I used to have a great time."
"Both
of them?"
"Yup."
"At
the same time?"
"Sometimes.
Sometimes one of them would just watch."
Trying
to appear perfectly calm, the doctor carried on and said, "Do you think
about that a lot?"
Nonchalantly,
he responded, "Not much any more.
But back then I thought about it all the time."
"Did
you want to quit?"
"No
way. It
was the highlight of my week."
"Were
your thoughts and plans about it, and the moments right before activity itself,
hyped up and intense?
Also was there a letdown afterwards, where you feel drained or
flat?" After
the words escaped his mouth, he regretted their obvious textbook sound.
Tom
eyed him suspiciously, "That pretty much sums it up, except that I didn't
feel down after."
"How
did you feel about it?"
"I
enjoyed it. It
was exciting, that feeling that you're doing something 'bad'."
"Did
it go against your values?"
"Not
mine, but I wouldn't want my father or the captain to know, if that's what
you're asking."
"Have
you discussed any of this with B'Elanna?"
"No,
but I'm okay with what we do."
"Are
you? Do
you still fantasize about the things you used to do?"
"Well,
sure, sometimes."
"Have
you tried to introduce small components of your fantasies into your relationship
with B'Elanna?"
"Oh,
she wouldn't go for that."
"She
seems like a passionate person.
What if you just brought it up as a neutral subject in conversation?
You could gauge her response that way.
If it's positive, try leaving some silk scarves by the bed; she might
take the initiative.
You never know, she might be thinking the very same thing."
Tom
smiled and said, "Thanks, Doc, I think I'll give that a try."
He then stood to go.
"We
aren't finished."
"There's
more?"
"Just
a couple more questions.
How did you get along with your parents?"
"Fine.
Well, I was always in trouble with my father.
Then again, everyone was always in trouble with my father."
"Even
your mother?"
"Yeah.
None of us could ever do anything right."
"How
was your parents’ relationship?"
"They
were always grumpy around each other.
I don't think they ever had sex.
Maybe if they paid a little more attention to each other, it wouldn't
have been so hard for them to pay a little attention to me."
In
the ready room, Janeway was once again staring out at the stars.
"How
are the assessments going?" she asked the Doctor.
"Whom did you recruit to help you?"
"Crewman
Togam, who has three years of psychology from the University of Victoria."
She
paused, then asked, "Why didn't she complete her degree?"
"She
said she was worried that she'd be arrested by the 'Thought Police'.”
“And
she’s the one you have assessing the crew’s mental health?”
“I’m
sure she was just joking.
I’ve noticed over the past few days that many of the crewmen most able
to cope with this extremely deep space assignment have developed distinct
personality quirks.
For example, Ensign Parsons has memorized the entire Kregthor opera,
though he does not speak a word of Klingon; Crewman Robertson refers to herself
entirely in the third person and Crewman Yosa, in times of great stress,
spontaneously breaks out into song.”
The
Captain shook her head.
"They certainly have a strange sense of humor.
Let’s hope that’s the extent of it.
How much more time do you need?"
"With
the extra help, we should be finished in four days."
"Good.
I expect a full report."
"As
full as I can make it, without violating anyone's confidentiality."
"Of
course. I
just want to know the general mental health of the crew."
They
both stood a moment, saying nothing.
"Anything
else?" she asked.
"When
are you going to make an appointment?"
"I
assure you, I'm fine."
"Your
orders were clear.
I expect to see you Thursday at 09:30."
At that, he spun on his heel and left before she could object.
B’Elanna’s
quarters were disorganized and dimly lit, which the doctor noted was perfectly
normal for the Chief Engineer.
"Hit
the pillow," he ordered.
"I'll
do nothing of the sort," B'Elanna proclaimed with the usual amount of
indignation.
"But
it's part of the exercise."
"It's
a stupid idea."
"I
want you to unleash the anger that you are not usually allowed to express."
"What
good will that do?"
"Just
trust me. The
pillow is your mortal enemy.
Now hit it."
She
shook her head then feebly went through a striking motion.
The
doctor shook his head and said, "That was pathetic.
Are you going to ignore everything I have to say?
Will I have to make this an order?
I don't want to have to talk to the captain about this, but..."
Suddenly,
from somewhere deep within her torso, Torres began a growl, accompanied by a
motion that was too fast for the eye to follow.
The result was that the doctor, with no actual mass, was flung back.
Unfortunately, his mobile emitter, which actually possessed mass, tended
to stay in the same place.
The two separated and the doctor disappeared.
"See,
now you're getting in the spirit of things," said a disembodied voice that
filled her quarters.
"Of course, if you had come to sickbay like I asked, I could be a
little more useful at holding this pillow."
Torres
thought for a minute, then said, "How about a compromise?"
On
the holodeck, the doctor was having second thoughts about this active form of
assessment and therapy.
"Catch!"
B'Elanna yelled.
The
doctor turned around just in time to be struck in the chest by the butt of the
Bat’leth that B'Elanna had thrown to him.
"Ah!"
was all he managed to squeak out as he fell backwards into the dirt.
Torres
bent double in laughter.
The
doctor appeared indignant.
"I'd appreciate it if you'd stop laughing at my expense.
Would you chortle at another crewman’s misfortune that way?"
She
shook her head and replied, "No, but any other crewman would have been
injured. Only
your ego was bruised.
Pick up the Bat’leth and let's get started."
"Okay,
but I want you to know that I detest violence in any form."
"Objection
noted. Now
this program is a little something I use when I need some light exercise.
Computer, engage program at level one.”
Five minutes later, the doctor was running for his life, followed by a Klingon warrior, a Romulan soldier, and a Bolian seamstress. Yelling as he jumped from ledge to ledge, the doctor conceded his position: “All right, Lieutenant! I pronounce you fit for duty. Now, shut this thing off, if you please!”