Phantasms

*****

A pounding on his door and Trip's voice urgently calling him over the con jolted Jon from a tangled mess of dreams. A bleary look at the chronometer informed him it was 0730. Stumbling from his bed, almost tripping over the sheets, he staggered to the con, reaching for the door keypad at the same time.

"What is it, Trip?" Jon motioned one of the security men to come in as he spoke to the Commander.

"You better get down t' the mess hall, now, Cap'n. Hoshi's been beatin' up on Deschamps, accusin' her of screwing around with you. She seems t' think you're her husband. Malcolm's got her in hand, but you need t' get here, fast."

Stunned, Jon couldn't believe his ears, but the grim, nodding face of the security officer told him this wasn't a joke. Pulling on a pair of shorts and a shirt, Jon ran to the mess hall, impatiently waiting for the lifts.

He could hear Hoshi before he got to the hall doors; it still didn't prepare him for what lie within. Half of the large room was in shambles, tables and chairs overturned, the food covering the carpet. A few of Cecelia's friends were holding her up, she had a split lip, a bleeding cut over one eye, and what would eventually become some lurid bruises. She seemed in shock, staring at Hoshi in amazement.

Hoshi, on the other hand, was cursing a blue streak in six different languages, barely held back by one of Malcolm's more burly security officers. Her hair was a mess, her face a dull red; she was livid.

"Hoshi!" Jon made his way through the debris. "What is going on?"

At the sound of his voice, Hoshi had slumped back against the security officer. "You! You son of a bitch! She's the reason we fought, wasn't it? You're cheating on me with her!"

"Cheating?" Trip came up next to Jon, his puzzled gaze going from Hoshi to Jon and back again. "You two seein' each other?"

"I'm his wife, you great Southern prat!"

Jon winced, running his hand through his hair as the room went silent. Finally reaching Hoshi, he rested his hands on her shoulders. "Hoshi, I'm not—"

"You are! This morning I woke up early and thought if you were feeling better we could make love. I kissed you, and you called to her! You kissed me back, grabbed my ass, and called her name!" Hoshi's knee swiftly came up, catching Jon smartly in the groin. He gasped, waves of searing pain rolling though him. He keeled over and she kicked out, hitting him under the chin.

"You bastard! I hate you! How could you do-- " Hoshi's angry litany was suddenly cut short; glancing up through dancing spots Jon could see T'Pol behind Hoshi, the Vulcan's hand at the unconscious woman's neck.

"Take her to Sickbay, as well as the Captain and Lieutenant Commander Deschamps."

The security officer nodded at T'Pol's orders, swinging Hoshi up in his arms and winding his way out of the mess hall, Cecelia and her friends soon following. T'Pol, Malcolm, and Trip knelt down beside Jon, waiting as the pain dulled. Trip held out his hand, when he was ready Jon reached out and grabbed it, letting himself be pulled upright.

"Mind tellin' us what that was all about?"

"Later," Jon wheezed, limping toward the door. Trip put one of Jon's arms around his shoulder, gratefully Jon leaned against him.

"How much later?"

"Later later."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jon watched as Phlox injected a still unconscious Hoshi with the hallucinogen's counteragent, then moved over to the biobed where Cecelia was sitting.

"She'll be fine, Captain," the corpsman said, putting his instruments away and leaving them alone.

"You're married?" Cecelia asked evenly.

"No." Jon shook his head. "Hoshi somehow was exposed to a hallucinogen, and she thought we were married. I don’t know why."

"Is, or was, there anything between you?" Two pairs of clear green eyes met each other, both frank and open.

"Nothing. On my end, at least. It was suggested that there might be some feelings other than friendship on Hoshi's part, which would have fed the hallucination, but I never encouraged it. I consider her only a friend."

Cecelia nodded, glancing down at her hands, then back over to where Hoshi was lying. "You were really dreaming of me, in… that way? Even with her there?"

Jon nodded back.

A small, self-depreciating smile tugged at the corner of Cecelia's mouth. "Kinda feeds the ego, doesn't it?"

Jon half smiled back, hugging her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hoshi stared at the ceiling, fingers plucking agitatedly at the blanket covering her. She remembered everything, although it was through a haze. Her eyes closed in shame, mortified at what she had done and how far she had gone.

"Hoshi."

He hand clenched the blanket at the sound of his voice, then smoothed out the wrinkles. "Captain." She kept her eyes on the pebbled ceiling, resolutely not looking at him.

"Feeling better?"

"Physically, yes."

"Hoshi…" She cringed at the kind tone of his voice.

"I'd rather not talk about it right now, sir. There might be some touch of hero worship in the way I look at you, but trust me, there's nothing more. I don't love you."

She saw him nod out of the corner of her eye, then to her relief he left. Voices were heard outside the curtain, and the second person she didn't want to see came in.

"Hi Hoshi."

"Hey Travis." This time she looked over, watching his beautiful face.

He eventually spoke, breaking the silence. "I'll do it if you don't want to, Hoshi. Call it quits," he added.

"I don’t love him," she said, almost desperately.

Travis frowned, wary. "Then how come…"

"Phlox said the chemical wasn't made for humans. So I had a different reaction to it than what it should have. Whatever that was supposed to be," she laughed weakly.

He smiled back, uncertain. "Sure?"

"Sure."

Travis leaned toward her hesitantly; Hoshi reached up, bringing him to her. Closing her eyes, she lost herself in the kiss.

Because she didn't love Jon.

She didn't.


*****

Fin