Florrick closed his eyes.

For a moment, the silence of sickbay swallowed him whole. Then it changed. The hum of the Orion’s life-support faded, replaced by something softer. It was a familiar rhythm, the heartbeat of another ship. When he opened his eyes again, the light was different: warmer, gold-tinted, as though a late-afternoon sun was streaming through the forward viewport.

He blinked.

He was standing on the bridge of the Astra.

Everything looked right. The sleek white consoles, the wide captain’s chair, the faint scent of ionised air from the environmental filters. It all pulsed with comforting familiarity. But it was too still. The ship’s engines purred beneath the deck, yet no one was here.

No voices.

No movement.

“Hello?” His voice sounded small against the expanse of silence.

No answer.

He moved slowly across the bridge, boots echoing against the metal floor. “Alfie? Jordan? Captain Niro?”

Only the hum of systems replied. The readouts on the forward console flickered softly, but they displayed nothing he could understand. No contacts. No data. Only an empty, scrolling horizon of stars.

Then he felt it. The warmth, sudden and familiar, sliding around his waist from behind.

Strong arms pulled him back gently. A breath brushed his ear.

“Hey, you,” Jordan whispered.

Florrick froze. His heart clenched tight in his chest.

“Jordan?”

The voice was low, intimate, the one that used to fill the bunkroom they’d shared on the Astra. He turned slowly in the embrace. Jordan stood there. He was alive, smiling, eyes bright with that reckless, infuriating charm. He wore a Starfleet undershirt open at the collar, the way he always had, hair falling perfectly messily across his forehead.

Florrick wanted to speak, to ask how he was here, but the words got tangled somewhere between his chest and throat. He felt like he was choking and couldn’t catch his breath.

Instead, Jordan leaned in, pressing his forehead against Florrick’s.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured. “You have no idea how much. I need you so badly.”

Florrick’s breath hitched. “This isn’t real.”

“I don’t care,” Jordan said softly, “I need you. Doesn’t it feel real?”

The scent of him, that faint trace of aftershave, was painfully familiar. His fingers were warm. Every instinct screamed that this was wrong, that the Astra was gone and Jordan wasn’t here, but his heart, his traitorous, lonely heart, didn’t care.

“I shouldn’t—”

Jordan silenced him with a kiss.

It was gentle at first, tentative, as though asking permission. But when Florrick didn’t pull away, it deepened. The ship around them blurred into light and motion. The hum of the engines turned into a low, melodic pulse.
Florrick gave in. Just for a moment, he let it happen. The weight of Jordan’s body against his, the taste of warmth and nostalgia, the ache of everything they’d lost.

Then a sharp voice shattered it.

“What the hell is this?”

Florrick pulled back instantly. Jordan’s arms loosened.

Standing at the top of the bridge steps was Alfie. His expression was raw. He was filled with fury, disbelief, and heartbreak, all twisting together.

“Alfie, wait—”
But before Florrick could say another word, Alfie strode forward and swung. The punch connected hard with

Florrick’s jaw, sending him sprawling across the deck. The pain hit like static, sharp and white-hot.

He blinked, dazed, and the world around him immediately disintegrated. The light fractured, the hum of the Astra dissolving into the shriek of alarms.

When he opened his eyes again, he was back in sickbay.

The holographic doctor leaned over him, a tricorder in one hand and a hypospray in the other. “Welcome back, Ensign,” she said briskly. “You were thrashing in your sleep. I assumed it wasn’t a pleasant dream.”

Florrick groaned, touching his sore jaw. Though the pain had vanished, it was replaced by a phantom ache. “That’s one way to put it.” He took a deep breath through his nose and out through his mouth. He knew he had to pull it together. The crew of the Orion were counting on him. Florrick shook his head and rubbed his eyes before looking back at the EMH.

“Nightmares are a known side effect of prolonged neurogenic exposure,” she said matter-of-factly, scanning him.

“You should be grateful you’re not drooling on the floor like the rest of the crew.”

He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “How long was I out?”

“Just over an hour. During which time, I decided to be productive.” She snapped the tricorder shut and crossed her arms. “I’ve been reviewing the historical database for similar incidents. When Voyager encountered the Botha over twenty-five years ago, their crew was incapacitated in much the same way.”

Florrick blinked. “I remember that report. Didn’t the crew—”

“—generate a resonance burst from the warp core to disrupt the neurogenic field,” the EMH finished crisply. “Precisely. Unfortunately, our warp core is inaccessible. The Botha have secured engineering and are, shall we say, making themselves at home.”

Florrick’s brow furrowed. “So what’s the plan?”

She turned toward the nearest monitor, fingers flying across the controls. “The Orion’s deflector dish is linked to the same harmonic grid as the core. With a few modifications, we could simulate a similar resonance burst without damaging the ship.”

“That sounds complicated.”

“I prefer the term ‘elegant,’” she replied. “However, there’s a complication.”

Florrick sighed. “Of course there is.”

“The command systems are still locked under the captain’s override. Without access, we can’t remotely reroute control to this console. Which means,” She paused dramatically, “someone will have to make the modifications manually. From outside the ship.”

Florrick stared at her. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m a doctor, not a stand-up comedian,” she said flatly.

He let out a breath, rubbing at his temple. “You want me to go on the ship’s hull for a walk while we’re in the middle of a Botha invasion?”

“Yes,” she said pleasantly with a swift nod. “A zero-gravity walk to rescue your crew who are in mortal danger.”

Florrick shot her a look. “Are you sure you’re not a comedian?”

She smirked faintly. “Quite sure, Mister Florrick.”

He leaned back against the biobed, the weight of exhaustion pressing on him again. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t guarantee I’ll stay lucid long enough to finish. The hallucinations—”

“—are still active, yes. I’ve adjusted the neural suppressant.” She held up another hypospray, its vial a different shade of blue. “This iteration should last longer, perhaps an hour at most. Any more, and it could cause irreversible synaptic damage.”

“Sounds promising.”

“I did say ‘irreversible,’ didn’t I?” she said dryly.

Florrick chuckled under his breath despite himself. “You really are a comedian, doctor.”

She smiled thinly, then turned serious again. “Once you’re out there, I’ll monitor your life signs from here. The ship-wide holographic systems are down, so I can’t project myself beyond sickbay. But I can provide remote sensor interference. A little ‘noise’ to distract the Botha while you move.”

“And what if they finally get into sickbay and find you?”

“I’ll improvise,” she said coolly. “Now, if you’re done asking rhetorical questions, I suggest you prepare.”

Florrick nodded slowly, staring around the room. His reflection caught in the darkened monitor. The absurd Peter Pan tunic hanging off his shoulders, smudges of dirt and blood streaking across the fabric. He looked like a child playing at being a soldier.

He drew a deep breath. “Right.”

The EMH gave him his privacy as he began to strip off the costume, each motion deliberate. The fabric hit the floor with a dull slap. Beneath it, he pulled on the standard black Starfleet undershirt after replicating it. Its material was snug against his skin. It wasn’t the full uniform, no jacket, but his commbadge on his chest was enough to make him feel like himself again. He was a Starfleet officer, not some Lost Boy.

From the small emergency armoury along the bulkhead, he retrieved a pair of hand phasers and clipped them to his belt, one on each hip. A tricorder followed, then a compact medkit, which he slipped into the top of his rucksack. The EMH approached and handed him a final hypospray.

“The modified suppressant,” she said. “Administer when the hallucinations start to overwhelm you. But not before.”

“Understood.”

Next, she passed him a phaser rifle. He slung it across his shoulder, checking the power cell. The sound of the weapon’s charge cycle hummed softly, steadying him.

He glanced once at the EMH. “If this doesn’t work, what then?”

“Then we’ll both be offline,” she said briskly. “Try not to dwell on that.”

Florrick managed a half-smile. “You really know how to motivate someone.”

“I’ve had minutes to practice,” she replied.

He adjusted the strap on the rifle and crossed to the hatch. The emergency lighting cast a warm glow over the room, illuminating it in shades of amber and red. The air felt thick, charged.

The EMH stepped closer, her tone softening. “Ensign, be careful. And remember that the hallucinations exploit memory and emotion. Whatever you see out there, it’s not real.”

Florrick met her eyes. “That’s the problem,” he said quietly. “Sometimes it feels real enough to want to believe it.”
She didn’t argue.

He crouched by the access hatch, popped the manual lock, and pulled it open. The faint hiss of recycled air brushed past him, carrying the cold scent of metal.

“See you soon, Doc.”

“Don’t make me regret saving your life,” she replied.

He gave her a quick grin and then ducked into the Jefferies tube. The hatch sealed behind him with a soft thud.

The crawlspace was narrow and dark. He pulled himself forward on his elbows, rifle strapped to his back, his breathing slow and steady.

For a moment, it felt like the ship itself was holding its breath. Somewhere below, the Botha moved through the corridors like ghosts. Somewhere ahead, the deflector dish controls waited for him.

Florrick crawled deeper into the dark, the faint echo of laughter whispering behind him. First it was Alfie’s laugh, followed by Jordan’s. It was teasing him. It was all too familiar and impossible to ignore.

He closed his eyes just long enough to whisper to himself, “It’s not real. It’s not real.”

Then he kept moving.