Enduring the Rescue

Posted on 24 Oct 2025 @ 2:01am by Lieutenant Commander Camila Di Pasquale & Commodore Harvey Geisler & Lieutenant Commander Joey Geisler

5,863 words; about a 29 minute read

Mission: Imposters Among Us
Location: USS Endurance
Timeline: July 8, 2390 || 1325 hours

On the bridge of the Endurance Captain Graham Holmes raised a glass of rare Earth champaign to his crew. "To the finest ship and crew in Starfleet, and to showing Commodore Geisler how it's done!"

He got a round of cheers before he sipped the crisp bubbly liquid. Just a sip, but it was as refreshing as he knew the look on Geisler's face would be sour when they met face to face again.

"Sir," the Comms officer interrupted his reverie and dream of victory over Geisler. "I'm picking up a faint distress signal." He worked to tune in the signal through the cosmic static. "It's Starfleet!"

"Where?" Holmes demanded, annoyed that his celebration was being cut short.

"Ops is picking up ...something," the Bolian Ops officer responded before getting coordinates from the sensors. "A possible decompression? It's close to the distress signal, Sir!"

"Lock in a course an engage, maximum warp!" Graham ordered, gritting his teeth but duty was duty.

The Endurance made a graceful turn in space and then went to warp.


* * *

Harvey shifted, his discomfort once again getting the best of him. Though its design was clearly for two people, the small escape pod provided function more than form. Two chairs with metal frames represented the only furniture. They sported little padding, essentially what appeared to be canvas straps to sit on, along with a harness to keep one in place for atmospheric entry.

Underneath Harvey's seat was a weapon and tool kit, featuring a single disruptor, flare, and what he assumed was a medpack and tricoder. Joey, in turn, sat atop a small case of emergency rations. What the pod sorely lacked besides a bed was adequate life support. The heating unit, which Harvey thought might have been damaged during their explosive escape, did little to warm the small craft.

What little comfort Harvey did find, a simple mylar blanket, he wrapped around Joey as he tried to make use of the limited medpack to treat her wounds. She would still need a fully-functioning medical facility upon rescue, but his efforts here would be enough to keep her going until the rescue.

"It's incredible," he muttered, taking a look at the tricorder screen for what he assumed was the hundredth time. "With all of these bruises, bruised bones, strained muscles, and everything else, I'm amazed you kept going for all that time."

Joey’s breath came in shallow bursts, each one a reminder of the pain she’d been holding at bay. Now, with the adrenaline draining from her system and the cold of space seeping through the pod’s shell, her body began to tremble. The mylar blanket rustled as she pulled it tighter around herself, her fingers stiff and pale.

She looked at Harvey, her eyes glassy but resolute. “I didn’t have a choice,” she whispered, voice hoarse and laced with the exhaustion she felt. “Every second I was there, every time I thought I couldn’t take another moment of their torture… I saw your face. I saw the kids. I kept hearing their laughter in my head, like it was chasing me through the dark.”

Her gaze dropped to her lap, where her hands clutched the edge of the blanket like a lifeline. “D'rimo, the Confederation... they took everything from me. My time, my strength, my peace. But they didn’t take my love for you... for our children. That’s what kept me alive. That’s what got me as far as it did."

Unable to make any further progress with the medkit, Harvey closed it and placed a hand on Joey's shoulder, being careful to avoid applying pressure to the larger wounds. "And that's all over now," he assured her. "Now we wait for someone to pick up our distress beacon and we'll get ourselves a chance to truly finish all of this."

What Harvey didn't share was that he hoped that the emergency beacon was functioning. Harvey could not be certain, but when he was modifying it to broadcast on a Starfleet frequency, it appeared that the unit might have suffered some damage when ejected from the command ship.

Pods like these didn't contain sensor units of any kind, so they only could work with what limited power the pod had, and whatever they could see out of the small viewport. Unfortunately, there wasn't a single planet or satellite in sight.

Joey leaned back against the cold metal wall of the pod, her breath fogging in the frigid air. The mylar blanket crinkled softly as she shifted, trying to find a position that didn’t aggravate her injuries. Her body ached in places she hadn’t even known could hurt, and now that the adrenaline was gone, the exhaustion hit her like a tidal wave.

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting Harvey’s words settle over her like a balm. “Yeah,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s over… at least the painful part of it is.”

But even as she said it, her mind flicked back to the launch—how the pod had shuddered, how the hull had groaned under the strain. She wasn’t naïve. She’d felt the jolt. Something had likely gone wrong. She could feel it in her bones, just like she felt the bruises on her skin.

Still, she forced herself to look at Harvey, her sunken eyes searching his face for reassurance. “We’ll finish this,” she said, more to herself than to him. “We've come too far for me not to believe that there's someone out here, and after everything, I refuse to die like this."

Joey drew in a shaky breath, feeling herself start to fade toward the nagging grip of unconsciousness more and more with each passing second. She gave him a weak smile. “We’ll make it right. All of it," she whispered as her hand found his, squeezing it with what little strength she had left. “We just have to hold on a little longer.”


* * *

When the Endurance dropped out of warp, Holmes ordered a full stop and came to his feet. "Shields up! I want a full sensor sweep for that signal! Security, prepare torpedoes and phasers if needed!"

The Chief of Science, Ops and Security immediately set about their task and put the sensors of the Sovereign class starship to their full use, sans firing off any torpedoes or phasers. As of yet, no enemy ship had presented itself openly, but they had proven themselves to be cowardly and favored ambush tactics.

"Open a hailing frequency to that signal," Holmes ordered.

"Hailing frequency open, Captain," a Ensign responded.

"This is Captain Graham Holmes of the USS Endurance. Identify yourselves."


* * *

"Shit!" Harvey exclaimed, practically bolting upright. The pod was too small to stand, a fact that Harvey was very quickly and very rudely reminded when his head hit the ceiling.

Of all the people in all the quadrant, it had to be none other than Graham Holmes who came to the rescue. Being a prisoner and tortured had a way of humiliating a person, but this was nothing more than outright embarrassment.

Harvey grabbed his own chair and pulled himself back into it (an action simplified by the limited gravity provided inside the pod). From there he could tap the comm panel and reply. The moment the comm channel was open though, he paused. Should he reveal his identity? Would Holmes even believe the story he and Joey would soon tell. Or could he tell a partial truth until they were safely aboard in sickbay?

"We're Starfleet officers!" he decided to declare over the comm. "We just escaped G90B's custody. We know where they're headed next, and we need medical attention."


***

On the bridge of the Endurance,, Holmes did a double take. The clarity of the transmission wasn't clear, but whoever it was claimed to have knowledge of a very classified enemy code designation. "What is your Starfleet ID?" He demanded while he motioned to the Helm to get them closer to the source.


* * *

Harvey could not hold back his curse, but thankfully he had the mind to keep himself from uttering it over the open communications channel. He looked to Joey, offered a wince and a shrug before surrendering a sigh.

He hung his head, knowing exactly where this was going to go next. He keyed open the comm and said in a resigned tone, "Starfleet serial number Hotel-Gamma-zero-two-eight-nine-seven-Alpha-Echo-five-dash-Echo-dash-six-three-seven. Rank..."

Harvey squeezed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. How Holmes interpreted this final portion would set the tone for all that would follow. "Rank... Commodore brevet."


***

Holmes looked at his Ops officer who ran the identifier to confirm while a taste sweeter than any victory filled his mind. Geisler. Commodore brevet Harvey Geisler. The man who always ended up in deep crap and came out smelling like a rose and needed his help.

"Confirmed, Sir," the Ops officer responded. "Commodore Brevet Harvey Geisler."

"Get us to them now!" Holmes ordered as he began to plan what he would say to Geisler and to O'Connell when he got a chance to see the Admiral. This would be his moment to shine and put Geisler in his place back on his little cursed ship. All he had to do was use the information that Geisler claimed to have and present it to the Admiral first in a way that would make him the hero.

"Sensors have locked onto a escape pod," Science called out.

"Approaching coordinates," Helm reported.


* * *

Harvey was just staring at the comm panel's screen. His side was muted as he awaited the Captain of the Endurance to respond or say anything. A thousand thoughts went through his head. Was his disappearance reported? Did Holmes assume he was an imposter? Was the Endurance just going to leave them?

He wouldn't have faulted Holmes if he selected that last option.


***

"This is Captain Graham Holmes of the Endurance, Commodore Geisler, if that's who you are," Graham said as he came to his feet. "Tell me why I should believe it's you when I last saw you on the bridge of the Black Hawk coordinating the battle safely behind our lines not an hour ago?"


***

Harvey blinked at the response. A battle? he asked himself. What sort of battle happened? He thumbed the microphone back on and replied, "Battle? The last engagement I was a part of when the Valcour was destroyed on our way to New Risa."


***

"You're not helping your case, whoever you are," Holmes said as the Endurance came within tractor beam range of the escape pod and locked on to begin retrieving it. "I seriously hope you have the proper authentication credentials when we get you aboard."

"Sir, there's a second person in the escape pod," came a report from Science.

"Who is in there with you, Commodore?" Holmes asked.


***

"My wife, Joey," Harvey replied, not hesitating in his response. At least, not until he considered revealing how long she had been held captive. In the interest of staying truthful, he added, "She's been held prisoner by G90B since before the Gaittithe was attacked."

Joey stirred at the sound of voices, her consciousness flickering like a faulty light. The cold gnawed at her bones, and every breath felt like it scraped against raw edges inside her chest. Harvey’s voice was familiar, grounding, but distant—like hearing someone speak underwater.

She blinked slowly, her vision swimming with shadows and stars beyond the viewport. The name “Holmes” registered faintly, and then the question: “Who is in there with you, Commodore?”

Her lips parted, dry and cracked, and it took a moment before sound followed. “Lieutenant Commander… Joelle Geisler…” she rasped, her voice barely audible. “Starfleet serial number… Tango-Delta-zero-three-four-seven-nine-Charlie-Kilo-two-dash-Kilo-dash-nine-one-two…”

She coughed, the effort wracking her body, and her hand weakly gripped Harvey’s arm. The cold combined with her injuries and the lack of adrenaline to keep her going was proving far too much for her. “Medical… we need… medical…” Her voice trailed off, but she fought to stay conscious, blinking slowly as if trying to will herself awake.


***

The sound of a second voice, female came through. It was strained and sounded far more pained that Commodore Geisler's and Holmes took action. "Beam them directly to Medical," he ordered Ops before he turned to Security. "Get a team down there on the double! Secure that escape pod in Cargo Bay One!" He barked orders as he turned the bridge over to the Executive Officer and headed for Medical.

The transporter Chief got a lock on the Commodore and Lieutenant Commander and as soon as it was established, she beamed them directly to Sickbay after alerting Medical of incoming wounded.

"Starfleet Identifier confirmed as Lieutenant Commander Joelle Geisler," the computer confirmed.


***

The shimmer of the transporter beam faded, revealing Joey sprawled across the biobed in Sickbay, her body limp and barely responsive.

Joey's condition was dire.

Her frame was gaunt, the sharp angles of her bones pressing against pallid, ashen skin. Her hair, once vibrant, hung in tangled clumps, matted with sweat and grime. The burns across her torso, shoulder, neck, and face were raw and angry—some barely scabbed over, others still weeping. Bruises bloomed across her bloody limbs like ink stains, and abrasions marked her skin in jagged patterns. Despite Harvey’s efforts with the medpack, her body bore the unmistakable signs of prolonged trauma and neglect.

Joey stirred, her eyelids fluttering open just enough to reveal sunken, hollow eyes. Her lips parted, dry and cracked, and she rasped out a single word, hoarse and fragile:

“Harvey…”

"I'm here!" Harvey declared, leaping off of his own biobed and beating the medical staff to her bedside. His hand found hers and he gave it a tight squeeze. "It's all right now," he assured her, moving his other hand to hold her forehead. "We're aboard the Endurance. In sickbay. They're going to get you better."

With her now in secure hands, his next priority was to convince Captain Holmes of two different dangers. The first being that the Black Hawk and the Task Group was under the command of an imposter, and that the entire quadrant was in very, very serious danger.

The Chief Medical Officer and several Medical personnel immediately moved in to try to separate Harvey from Joey. "Sir, calm down! We need to treat you both!"

"I am calm!" snapped Harvey in a hollow lie. He knew he wasn't calm. The staff knew he wasn't calm. But he also knew that he had to get out of the way for the staff to do their job, so he reluctantly released Joey's hand and retreated to the biobed he hastily abandoned.

The biobed scanner over Joey began its diagnostic and the screen began to list everything that was wrong with the young woman. A nurse came in with a hypospray loaded with a sedative for Joey and another dose for Harvey. "This is just to sedate you until we can get you treated."

Joey’s eyes fluttered open at the hiss of the hypospray being primed. Her gaze, glassy and unfocused, locked onto the nurse’s silhouette as it approached. Panic flickered behind her sunken eyes—not the kind that screamed, but the kind that whispered from deep within, fragile and desperate.

“No…” she rasped, her voice barely more than breath. “Please… don’t.”

Her hand twitched against the sheets, trying to lift, trying to push away, but her body betrayed her. The burns along her shoulder and neck flared with pain at the movement, and she winced, breath catching in her throat.

“I just got out…” she murmured, her voice cracking. “I can’t go back… not in my head…”

Harvey held a hand up to block the sedation. "The hell you won't," he fired at the nurse. "I refuse to be sedated or treated until I speak to your Captain."

The nurse stepped aside to help with Joey, but kept an eye on the man in case he lunged for the woman again.

At that time, Captain Holmes strode into Sickbay and headed for the center of the commotion. "What in the hell is going on here?" he demanded as Security came in behind him.

Harvey turned to face Captain Holmes. He'd only been dreading this moment ever since he'd heard the man's voice over the escape pod's poor excuse for a comm system, and sadly now the entire fate of the quadrant would hinge on this one conversation.

"Captain Holmes," Harvey said, choosing to stick with a formal approach for now. "The short version... my wife and I both were captured by G90B and tortured for information. We managed to escape so that we can warn you. They plan to detonate tricobalt devices inside the wormhole." Harvey then paused to watch the man's face, hoping for a sign... any sort of hint that would reveal that he could believe this story.

Joey stirred on the biobed, the sterile lights of Sickbay casting harsh shadows across her ravaged features. Her body was still, but her eyes—sunken, hollow, and rimmed with bruises—shifted slowly toward the sound of Harvey’s voice. Toward Holmes.

She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. But her gaze said everything.

There was no defiance in her eyes, no pride. Only the raw, unfiltered truth of someone who had survived something unimaginable. Her burns glistened under the light, her skin pale and mottled, her breath shallow. A person didn’t look like this for attention. No one chose to be reduced to a whisper of themselves.

Her eyes locked onto Holmes, pleading—not for sympathy, but for belief. For action.

As the Medical team descended on Joey with the latest technology, there were grim looks in their eyes as they set about repairing her body. The Chief Medical Officer saw the look in her eyes and he couldn't imagine what she went through. He looked at the display and began issuing orders to get her body repaired, replenished and looking like...he didn't know.

Holmes listened to Harvey but found it all hard to believe. However, he had verified Geisler's credentials and the transport scan revealed that he was who he claimed to be. "How did that happen? What was your last memory before that? The wormhole? How do you know all of this?" The questions built up, but each needed answers before he could ask more.

Harvey chuckled, amazed that Holmes went straight into a volley of questions rather than accusations. "My last memory was Stardate 67495.1. Captain Solvbakken rammed G90B and breached her core. G90B was wounded. We gave chase to a nebula. You didn't follow because you had orders to stick with the convoy."

Harvey paused for a second, expecting a sour glance from the Captain. "We followed G90B into the nebula and lost them. We found an alien craft that had been attacked by G90B and we brought them on board. While we treated the crew, I went aboard the alien craft, discovered that a clone was impersonating my wife, and she shot me."

Holmes blinked. "Clone? Didn't your vaunted Security Chief scan everyone on your ship and you're here telling me that your wife was a clone?" He gestured for Security to move closer. "Get your phasers out. If they make a wrong move, level three stun."

He looked back at Harvey, his expression and voice harder now. "If a clone fooled all that, why shouldn't I believe that you and your wife here are the actual clones hoping to throw us off of G90B's trail?"

Harvey exhaled slowly through his nose, his eyes remaining firmly on Graham. That was the person he expected, brash, phasers drawn, and ready to antagonize. It wasn't the first time a phaser had been pulled on him, and he wasn't even impressed that his blood pressure didn't rise.

"Yes, Commander di Pasquale scanned everyone on the ship," Harvey calmly answered. "She found a clone before she was transferred to Gamma Command. But our knowledge of cloning is limited to procedures within this quadrant and within our universe. The clone, well, clones aboard the Black Hawk came from material generated in an alternate universe."

He exhaled again, getting to the second part of the question. "As for whether or not my wife and I are clones and if you should believe us, that's up to you. But, the longer we stand here and argue, the more D'rimo and his Confederation -- that's right, that's who G90B really is -- have a chance at turning the wormhole into an interdimensional portal, bring in reinforcements, and exterminate both the Dominion and what's left of Starfleet in the quadrant."

Joey lay still on the biobed, the sterile hum of Sickbay surrounding her like a fog. The voices—Harvey’s steady, Holmes’s sharp—cut through the haze, each word landing like a stone in her chest. She was weak, her body barely holding together under the strain of her injuries, but her mind… her mind was still hers.

And it was furious.

She turned her head slightly, the movement agonizing, but her eyes locked onto Holmes with a fire that defied the brokenness of her body. Her voice came out hoarse, cracked, but unmistakably laced with fury.

“You think we’re clones?” she rasped, her breath catching. “You think anyone would choose this?”

Her hand trembled as she tried to lift it, but it barely moved. Still, her eyes never wavered. “You’re a dick,” she spat, the word raw and unfiltered.

She coughed, the pain slicing through her throat, but she pushed through. “Look at me, Captain. Look at what they did. The burns. The bruises. The weight I’ve lost. The nightmares I’ll never escape. No clone would volunteer for this. No imposter could survive it.”

Her voice faltered, but she forced one last breath into it. “You want proof? You’re looking at it.”

Then her head fell back against the pillow, her strength spent, but her glare lingered—etched into the room like a scar.

A Medical officer who had been standing nearby looked at Joey with black eyes for a long moment, his Betazoid senses and telepathy reaching out to her. After a brief moment of contact, he flinched visibly and looked at the man that was claiming to be Commodore Geisler for another long moment. "They're telling the truth, Captain," He said. "I need....I need to go be sick." He said before he turned and left for the head.

Holmes looked at Joey and listened to her words, not saying a word. He used every bit of experience in his years in Starfleet and as a human to sense that she was telling the truth by her tone, her expressions and her very sorry state of being. "I may be a dick, but I have to ask the dick questions. I'm sorry for that." Still, he didn't order Security to put their phasers away.

He turned back as the Betazoid medical officer gave his report and barely acknowledged as he made his hasty exit. He looked back at Harvey. "I'll need to contact Admiral O'Connell for something of this magnitude if it's the truth. We've been lied to a lot lately and lost a few ships and a lot of good personnel. Are you up to coming with me for a conversation....Commodore?"

Harvey's eyes did move away from the Captain this time. First to Joey, to see her struggling on the biobed, then to the security guards who kept their weapons trained on both he and his wife. "Don't be sorry, Captain. It's not easy protecting one's crew, much less being willing to trust me, of all people. As for coming with you, as long as your doctor won't hypo me until this is all finished, I'll be happy to."

"Come with me."

Holmes looked at his CMO "I'm commandeering your office," he said before he headed for the small office that the Chief Medical Officer normally occupied, a Security officer behind Harvey and pulled up a terminal,. He entered his code and sent a priority one message to Gamma Command addressed for Admiral O'Connell.

"You better hope to hell that he believes you more than I do, Geisler. I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt right now, but your wife had a rather convincing argument. If I find out you're lying, I'll throw you out the fucking airlock myself."

He turned the monitor so Harvey could be seen in the view when the Admiral's Yeoman answered.

"Fair enough," Harvey muttered, unable to refute the man.

Within moments, Petty Officer Tanika's face appeared on the screen, her chocolate complexion looking unbothered by what she believed to be a break in protocol. Her eyes had instantly recognized Captain Holmes, and she had opened her mouth to say something regarding the chain of command, but paused when she saw the individual sitting beside him. Tanika collected her composure and greeted, "Captain. Commodore."

Harvey looked over to Graham, gesturing to him to finish what he started.

"Petty Officer Tanika," Graham began. "I need to talk to Admiral O'Connell immediately. There has been a breach of command and the task force is in danger!"

"A breach of command?" Tanika asked, looking again at Commodore Geisler. It was clear that the commodore lacked a uniform, and his appearance was quite disheveled. "Did something happen to the Black Hawk?"

"Yes," Harvey admitted, his tone more blunt than he intended. "The Black Hawk has been under the command of a clone since Stardate 67495.1."

Tanika looked at Harvey, then back at Holmes. "One moment please."

Harvey glanced over to Holmes and asked, "What is the stardate anyway?"

"Stardate 67516.39," Holmes confirmed.

The only thing Harvey hated worse than stardates was the math involved in translating them. "Eight days," he muttered. Eight long, grueling days he'd been held captive by D'rimo. But for Joey, whom Harvey could not see from the CMO's office, it had been three weeks.

Harvey was not able to dwell on that thought any longer as the screen before he and Holmes changed, revealing Admiral O'Connell. His face showed concern, and perhaps the slightest bit of anger. "Captain. Commodore. Miss Tanika shared that there was a breach of command. That's quite the accusation, so let's hear an explanation, starting with Captain Holmes."

With a grunt, Holmes outlined receiving the distress signal and possible explosion and sending the Endurance to investigate since it was a Starfleet distress signal. Upon arrival, he verified their Starfleet identifiers and brought them aboard the Endurance and scanned them via the transporter and a Betazoid that worked in Medical. "In short, Admiral, I think we've been played and that this is indeed the real Commodore Geisler and his wife, or very good facsimiles who honestly believe they are who they say they are. The Black Hawk has to be stopped."

"And it's more than that," Harvey stated, adding onto the report. "Yes, the Black Hawk must be stopped, but also you need to safeguard the wormhole. We've been held and tortured by a group called the Confederation, a Dominion-like power from an alternate universe."

Zachary raised an eyebrow. "Confederation? I remember this report. Was this when you crossed over to an alternate dimension during the Consortium Crisis?"

Harvey nodded immediately. "The one and the same. The Confederation is G90B. All of the attacks were to gather intel and tricobalt devices. Admiral, the Confederation plans to turn the wormhole into an inter-dimensional gateway to bring more over from their universe. They're out to target us and the Dominion. They must be stopped."

The Admiral considered the reports for a moment, his eyes locking on to Harvey's and then to Graham's. "All right," he said at last. "We do both. I'll pull everything in range to defend the wormhole. Thankfully, we've got a way to damage G90B. It'll be costly, but we should be able to stop them."

Looking to Holmes, he added, "But I'm just doing this as a safeguard. I'm not totally convinced you have the real Geisler. Captain Holmes, until this is sorted out, I shall recognize the breach and transfer command of Belvedere to you. Your orders are to stop the Black Hawk and apprehend all versions of the Geislers. Find out who's real, and then get every asset from Belvedere, including Black Hawk back to Gamma Command."

"Understood, Admiral," Holmes said and he really wanted to preen and crow about being given command of Belvedere while rescuing Geisler, but not in front of the Admiral. This was his time to show once again that he was the man fit to lead the task force. His task force. "We'll bring them in, Sir and stop them cold."

"See that you do, Captain." Then to Harvey, Zachary added, "For what it's worth, I hope you are the real you. And if you are the real you, then you and I are going to have a conversation when this is all done." With that, the screen went blank.

Harvey frowned, not exactly pleased with the outcome, but he hadn't expected anything less. Until it was definitively proven that he was the real Geisler, and that the other in charge of the Black Hawk was in custody, Harvey had little choice but to sit on the sidelines. "With respect, Captain, you may be in command of the Task Group, but that's still my ship out there. I'd like a fresh uniform and to sit on your bridge as we proceed."

"Get yourself checked out here first, then talk to Ops. As for you being on my bridge, I'd be happy to keep an eye on you," Holmes told him.

Harvey grunted. He knew he was in no position to argue, and Holmes had every right to refuse Harvey's request. "Very well," he replied, already thinking about his kids, his ship, and even stopping D'rimo once and for all. At least for the first time in days he didn't have to worry about Joey as she was in very capable hands. "I'll be up there shortly. Don't engage my ship without me."

Holmes gestured for a Security guard to follow Geisler. "Don't let him out of your sight. Here. Ops for a uniform. Bridge." He paused and looked at Harvey. "We're going to move your wife to the trauma ward and do everything for her....Harvey."

If it were any other time, Harvey might have commended Holmes for the ever-so-brief and rare display of sympathy. But Harvey was wiser than that. Even though he wore a bloodied and tattered uniform, his sense of duty in his joint roles as husband, father, and Starfleet commander were all returning to his senses. Still, there was no reason for Harvey to poke through Holmes' humanity and brief lowering of his ass-chewing demeanor. "Thank you, Graham." Humanity beget humanity after all. With a nod, Harvey stood and left the office bound for the main sickbay.


* * *

In the trauma ward, the Chief Medical Officer, Commander T’Rel, a stoic Vulcan with decades of trauma experience, stood at the head of the bed, issuing orders with calm precision. Her eyes, though unreadable, flicked over the diagnostic readouts with practiced intensity. Joey’s vitals were unstable—her blood pressure dangerously low, her hydration levels critical, and her nutrient profile showing signs of prolonged deprivation. The biobed’s scanners painted a grim picture: second-degree burns across her back and shoulders, deep contusions on her ribs and thighs, and signs of repeated electrical trauma.

Around her, the medical team moved like a well-rehearsed symphony. Nurse Lieutenant Marisol Chen gently cleaned the matted, greasy strands of Joey’s hair, her touch tender despite the urgency. She whispered reassurances, not expecting Joey to hear them, but unwilling to let silence be the only language spoken. Ensign Thavok, a young Andorian medic, adjusted the intravenous nutrient line, his antennae twitching with concentration as he calibrated the flow to avoid overwhelming her fragile system. A dermal regenerator hummed softly in the hands of Dr. Riya Das, who worked to seal the worst of the burns while avoiding areas where infection had already begun to take hold. The smell of antiseptic mingled with the faint, acrid scent of scorched flesh—a reminder of the cruelty Joey had endured.

Commander T’Rel activated the cortical stimulator, her voice low but firm. “Begin neural scan. We need to assess for trauma-induced synaptic degradation.” A holographic overlay shimmered above Joey’s head, revealing erratic neural patterns—evidence of sleep deprivation, pain conditioning, and possible psychotropic exposure. Dr. Das frowned, noting the irregularities. “She’s been through hell,” she murmured.

Joey’s eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, unmoving, unblinking. The sterile white panels above her blurred and sharpened in turns, a rhythm dictated by the haze of medication coursing through her veins. The pain, once a constant scream in her nerves, had dulled to a distant throb—like echoes in a canyon. It was a relief, yes, but also a danger. Relief meant rest. Rest meant sleep. And sleep meant slipping back into the nightmare.

She couldn’t let herself go there. Not yet.

Her body was failing her, every limb heavy with exhaustion, every breath a labor. But her mind—fractured, fragile—clung to the present. To the voices around her. To the quiet hum of the dermal regenerator. To the soft cadence of Nurse Chen’s reassurances. To the firm, logical commands of Commander T’Rel. To the sound of Harvey’s voice somewhere nearby, anchoring her to reality.

She wanted to speak. To tell them she was still here. That she hadn’t disappeared into the dark. But her throat was raw, her lips cracked, and her voice didn't seem to want to work.

So she stared at the ceiling, willing herself to stay awake. To stay here. Because the moment she closed her eyes, she knew what waited: the cold cell, the electric bite, the interrogators, the silence that screamed louder than any torture.

Her fingers twitched, a silent protest against the pull of unconsciousness. She wasn’t ready to let go. Not until she saw Harvey. Not until she heard someone say they were truly safe.

The holographic neural scan shimmered above her, painting a picture of chaos. But beneath it all, Joey fought—not just for her life, but for her mind. For the pieces of herself that hadn’t been broken. For the chance to feel whole again, someday.

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