Lieutenant Dhae’s personal log, mandated supplemental entry, stardate [REDACTED]: the situation is returning to normal. [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] have been delivered. I am going to ask Lieutenant Sakar to minimize my actions in this affair when he writes his report. Now I have to [REDACTED].

Some twenty minutes later, Dhae finally felt like he could breathe. The Romulan equivalent of adrenaline was wearing down and the whole exhausting affair was coming back to him. His side hurt where he had been hit by the Klingon wrench, but he could feel that nothing was broken.

Lieutenant Sakar, as it turned out, had some medical training, but he was mostly concerned with reattaching Kornatuv’s fingers. Iskander was communicating with the Commander, who had come back to their senses, and explaining what had happened. T’Vylin and Jibrolranki were at the door of the room, doing the same to anyone who came asking.

The canister of acetodestroteraphtalbenzoic acid had been discarded to the floor, now empty. Their adventure had been a success, the mushroom rendered ineffective. During the next days, he expected, they’d decontaminate the ship.

Z’Xak, the big spider who had unexpectedly saved everything, had remained for a couple of minutes in Atmospheric Control. Interpreting their expression was impossible, and they had said absolutely nothing. They had gone to the atmospheric sensor monitors, they had looked at what Iskander was doing, and had gone back into the Jefferies tube from which they had come. Dhae respected how they kept their mysteries, although he suspected that the Ukarimi didn’t even know that they were doing so. Did Dhae feel kinship with them? Probably not — weird untalkative big spider that they were — but he was highly appreciative of what they had just done.

Dhae decided to sit for a moment on the floor, and as he did his side hurt. He groaned, but started a small meditation exercise to ignore the pain, and closed his eyes.

When he opened them, Sakar was standing there, waving his cylindrical tricorder-thingie.

He smiled. “Am I going to make it, Counsellor?”

“The blow to your side was strong and the liver has been compressed” said the Vulcan. “I’m administering 3cc of nopratashu solution, which will ensure a good tissue decompression and regeneration. If the pain doesn’t subside within four hours, please report to sickbay.”

Dhae was suddenly too tired to be suspicious or paranoid. He let the Vulcan inject him with a hypospray solution without protesting.

Then Iskander sat next to him, side to side, their arms touching. Dhae for a moment relished this warmth.

“Are you good?” asked Iskander, quietly, his voice barely audible above the sound of pumping that pervaded Atmospheric Control.

“Now, at this moment, I’m only relieved” he answered. “Tomorrow I’ll be fine. What about you?”

Iskander smiled faintly. “I’m shaken that I have the capacity for so much paranoia in me.”

Dhae stirred. “When I left the bar, I did imply that the dinner party was my idea and that you weren’t as participative as I wanted. You looked hurt and I want to apologize.”

“There is no need. We all said and thought things we regret.”

Dhae breathed deeply. “You know what, Iskander? We’ll discuss that in bed. After you have removed the deadly booby-trap from our door.”

Iskander laughed tiredly, and they stood, helping each other.

“You know” admitted Dhae. “I didn’t enjoy paranoid Starfleet officers nearly as much as I’d have thought I would.”

Iskander nodded. “I’ll trust you on that.”