Chapter Text
It started with a pressure, heavy and leaden, that settled deep in La'an's chest. Like someone had reached in, wrapped a hand around her lungs, and squeezed. The sort of thing that was usually accompanied by a racing heart, and her vision narrowing itself to the barest pinpricks of light, and the distinct sensation that she might actually be dying this time.
Except she could breathe, and she could see, and taking stock of her body and senses did nothing. Nor did reciting the lessons of security, first forward, then backward. Or taking stock of the armory, drawing a mental map of what went where. Or going down the crew manifest, department by department.
She took a breath in, then out. Then another. It was shallow, uncomfortable, but the oxygen was entering her lungs. Intellectually, at least, she knew it was enough. Sickbay could probably help, but they would just give her a sedative; something to artificially soothe her central nervous system. To convince her body of what her brain already knew: that she was perfectly fine.
La'an chanced a glance at her nightstand. 0230. She had a meeting with Una and Pike in under six hours. She shoved her head back into her pillow, stifling a loud groan. There wasn't anything to be done about it, at this point. All she could do was keep breathing, and wait for it to pass.
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But by the time La'an had walked into Pike's ready room the next morning, the pressure hadn't abated at all. If anything, it had grown, spreading into a dull ache that made each breath feel conspicuously shallow and laborious. It had kept her up most of the night, and by the time 0600 rolled around, she had considered and dismissed the prospect of going to sickbay half a dozen more times. She couldn't afford to not be at her best right now. Pike and Una were preparing for a mission to broker peace talks with the Irvaidean people, a species whose interest in joining the Federation had been hampered by a generations-long civil war. And La'an, despite her fervent objections, had been charged with staying behind.
"We need someone on the ship to watch over everything," Pike said for what felt like the hundredth time, his tone making it clear that he would hear no arguments. "Someone who can act quickly in the event that things go south."
La'an couldn't help it, though. "Sir," she protested, doing her best to take a deep, steadying breath. It didn't work, and she instead found herself even more frustrated than before. "Lieutenant Spock is perfectly capable of taking action in an emergency. I am the ship's chief security officer. There are significant tactical disadvantages to both of the Enterprise's top commanding officers descending into a war zone without a security detail. If not me, at least let me send a contingent of my staff down."
"We need to make a show of good faith," Pike said, kind but unyielding. " I appreciate what you're saying, but appearing with armed guards won't accomplish that."
La'an was about to argue that a show of good faith wouldn't do anyone any good if he and Una ended up dead because of it, but Una cut in before she had a chance.
"La'an, we'll be careful. No unnecessary risks, I promise." It was the same measured, even tone La'an had seen Una use on everyone from ensigns to admirals. She hated how well it was working on her. Una met her eyes then, warm and full of understanding, and added, "And if anything happens, I trust you to get us out of there safely."
Suddenly the ache in La'an's chest worsened, clenching painfully. A wave of nausea roiled in her stomach, and she felt a familiar hot wave of pressure building up in her throat, forcing its way up against the back of her tongue. She needed to get out. Now.
"I need—" But she jammed her jaw shut, not trusting herself to finish the sentence. Instead, she gestured clumsily at the door and ran out, ignoring the stares of a number of bridge officers that followed her.
She barely made it to the bathroom in time, falling to her knees on the hard tile floor. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she vaguely registered the twin bursts of pain that shot through her at the impact. But all conscious thought was overwhelmed as she leaned over the toilet, retching.
At first, nothing came out.
And then, with a sudden, hacking cough that felt like dislodging a fistful of pebbles from her throat, something did. Something solid, and dry. La'an closed her eyes in relief, resting her cheek against the toilet seat for a few seconds. As the nausea subsided and her focus returned to her, she realized that something wasn't right. The acrid, acidic taste in her mouth that should have been there… wasn't. If anything, there was a faint floral taste in the back of her throat. She lifted her head, fighting the sudden weakness and exhaustion threatening to overtake her, and forced herself to look. Floating in the toilet bowl were a smattering of faintly glowing orange flower petals.
What the fuck?
That had to be bad. Perhaps she was over-tired. One lost night's sleep shouldn't have her hallucinating, but if she had contracted some kind of virus… something neurological, maybe. She groaned miserably. A trip to sickbay was the last thing she wanted right now.
She flipped open her communicator. "Lieutenant Noonien-Singh to Captain Pike." It came out as a hoarse whisper, her throat aching with every word.
Pike's response was immediate. "Everything okay, La'an? You ran out of here pretty fast."
In the background, a bit fainter, La'an heard Una chime in as well, not even attempting to disguise her concern. "La'an, what happened?"
In a flash the nausea was back, and La'an dropped her communicator to the floor with a clatter, throat heaving again. A few more petals fluttered weakly into the toilet.
"La'an?" Embarrassment flared as La'an realized Una and Pike had both heard her.
She forced herself to swallow around the solid lump that had formed in the back of her throat, picking her communicator back up. "I've contracted some kind of stomach bug," she choked out. "And I think it may be causing hallucinations. I need to go to sickbay."
"Do you need someone to accompany you?" Una offered immediately. "I can come—"
"No," La'an cut her off forcefully, ignoring the sick feeling that welled up persistently. Una would be worried. Everyone knew La'an hated sickbay, but Una understood that better than most. And the thought of Una seeing her like this was just… too much. "Just letting you know I won't be back to finish the meeting. Noonien-Singh out."
Call ended, La'an gripped the edge of the bathroom vanity and used it to haul herself upright, pausing only for a second as her vision whited out, then righted itself.
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"Lieutenant," Joseph said when La'an finally managed to drag herself into sickbay. "You look unwell."
That was probably an understatement. The walk from the bridge to sickbay wasn't a long one, but today it felt like it had taken a lifetime. La'an's stomach was still in revolt, her chest still aching. "I'm hallucinating," she said tersely. "And I need it fixed."
Chapel glanced her way from in front of a supply cabinet, where she appeared to be reorganizing a tray of hyposprays. She set the tray down and closed the cabinet, apparently deciding La'an was more interesting than organizational efficiency. "Not a self-diagnosis we hear every day," she said lightly. "But go on."
Joseph motioned towards the nearest biobed, and La'an reluctantly took a seat. "My chest hurts," she reported flatly. She knew the drill. Might as well make it as painless as possible for herself. "Started as pressure last night, and when I woke up this morning, it was sore. I made it about half an hour into my shift before I started vomiting."
"And?" Chapel pressed. "So far that sounds like a run-of-the-mill viral infection to me."
La'an glared at her. "And when I looked in the toilet, there was no actual vomit. Just flower petals."
"What kind?" Chapel asked, her attention fully on La'an now.
"Does it matter?" La'an snapped.
"It could."
"Glowing orange ones," La'an admitted, when Chapel's expectant stare didn't waver.
Chapel and Joseph looked away from her at the same time, meeting each other's eyes, both of their eyebrows raised. Well. They might think she was mad, but she could live with that. Maybe she was. As long as it was fixable, it didn't really matter.
"So," Chapel said slowly, as though she were still processing the information. "What makes you think this was a hallucination, exactly?"
La'an didn't have it in her to pretend Chapel's question wasn't as idiotic as it sounded. "Did you miss the bit about me vomiting bioluminiescent flower petals?"
"I didn't, actually." Chapel sounded almost amused now, and La'an felt the thin thread of what was left of her patience stretching, threatening to snap.
"People don't vomit flower petals."
"Not usually," Chapel agreed.
"Not usually?" La'an repeated, incredulous. Chapel had always been a bit off, a bit inclined towards the bizarre. But even she couldn't think this was actually real.
Chapel just shrugged. "I mean, I'll admit that it's a new one to me. But everything is new sometime."
La'an didn't miss the spark of curiosity in her eyes. "If you think you're going to write a paper about me…" she threatened.
"What we are going to do," Joseph cut in, glancing warily between La'an and Chapel, "is take your vitals, run a few scans, and hopefully send you home with an antiemetic. And if this happens again, please try to return a sample to us."
"You want me to retrieve the flower petals I'm vomiting from my toilet," La'an said flatly.
"Well, you could just puke in the cup," Chapel suggested helpfully, utterly unfazed by La'an's withering stare.
Joseph held out a specimen container. "Is that agreeable to you, Lieutenant?"
"Doesn't matter if it's not, does it?" La'an muttered. But she took the container anyway.
"Not if you want a diagnosis," Chapel said. Joseph shot her a vaguely disapproving glance, but didn't contest the statement.
La'an glared, but Chapel just shrugged. "Fine."