"I'm more than capable of moving under my own power. Ensign."

The dig at the end of her statement makes Tom reconsider what he's doing and why he's doing it.

He takes a moment to collect his patience. Reminds himself why he set out on this very selfless task.

"Captain," he begins, looking around the empty corridor. "Would you prefer to go see the Doctor? I think not. But if I'm wrong, feel free to tell me, and I'll let you to stumble under your own power to his waiting holographic hands."

He's tone is clearly insubordinate. But then, there's no protocol for dealing with one's intoxicated Captain.

Tom stares at Janeway until, finally, she relents.

Janeway's impairment might be a freak accident, attributable to effects of a nearby dwarf star slowly dying, but it's still not the kind of thing she'll want on the record. Not anything she'll desire her EMH to hint about to the crew, his growing subroutines now finding new and inventive ways around doctor-patient confidentiality.

"Are you really going to tail me all the way back to my quarters?" Janeway demands, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I have to treat you for the radiation exposure. It might not remove the effect immediately, but it'll speed up the -" A crewman passes them in the hallway, nodding with respect to both without slowing down. Tom releases the breath he was holding and tugs his Captain by her arm. "Come on. Let's get you to your quarters before anyone stops to chat you up."

She favors him with a sullen look, but doesn't resist. A small miracle, Tom decides, and tries not to think that he must have been worse than this, back in his drinking days.

Tom decided when he was younger that the funny thing about drunk people - sometimes, the terrible thing about drunk people - is the ability of intoxication to reduce someone's personality to its essential elements.

He snorts to himself, finding it appropriate that the intoxicated Janeway is pushy, impatient, more than a little bit spiteful, and, lest he forget, wildly (if unexpectedly) funny.

"Don't you think this is an inappropriate way to touch your Captain?" she snarks, glancing at the arm Tom's looped through hers.

"Inappropriate would be that crack you made about Neelix in the turbolift."

"You laughed!" she accuses.

"I did," he admits. "Which probably earns me a very special seat in hell, if it exists."

They arrive at her quarters and Tom waits for her to key in her code. It takes her a few tries, but Tom can't tell if it's because she can't remember it or her fingers keep hitting the wrong keys. The odds are fifty-fifty.

The doors slide open and Tom all but pushes her in. Pulls the medkit from over his shoulder and sets it down on the nearest table to start pulling out tools.

"We're here. Happy?"

"Thrilled. I assure you."

The sarcasm earns him a glare as she flops down on the couch and calls for the computer to lower the temperature by several degrees. She gives him a moment of merciful silence as he scans her with the tricorder and then goes to her computer terminal, calling up files by memory. He doesn't find what he's looking for immediately, and Janeway gets frustrated with the silence.

"So can you fix. . . this?"

"I think so," he sighs. "Something similar happened to Captain Picard's crew on the Enterprise, although I think in that case it was the collapse of a red giant that caused it."

"It's not fair," Janeway says after a slight pause, "Tuvok and B'Elanna didn't show any symptoms after being down there."

"I don't have to tell you that both of their physiologies are different than a human's."

"You're not any different," she points out, and the thought gives him new worry.

'I was down there a fraction of the time you and Chakotay were."

It takes Tom a few more minutes of searching and then he finds the files he wanted on the Enterprise-D. "Well, I was partly right," he whispers, as he scans the text. "It was because of a red giant. But it was polywater intoxication, not a side-effect of the radiation. Hmm."

Tom goes over the chemistry quickly. It's not difficult to understand, which makes it all the more hard to believe. Altered bonds of a few water molecules destroyed one crew, then brought the crew of Starfleet's flagship to their knees.

He reconsiders what he has with him by way of meds and tools. Surely not everything he needs to treat the effects of polywater intox, though he can likely replicate what is lacking.

He moves to the replicator, and Janeway perks up on her spot on the couch.

"I could use a cup of coffee," she calls. "Maybe a peanut butter sandwich, too."

"You and me both," Tom mumbles, but otherwise ignores her.

"What are you doing?" she demands, after a few minutes. He's been trying to bypass the restrictions on her replicator and he's having a bit of trouble.

"There are few compounds that I need in order to treat you," he says simply.

"Ones that aren't supposed to be replicated?"

"Ones that my authorization code won't suffice for," he confirms.

"What - what about mine?"

"No," he shakes his head. "Then there will be a record."

"So?"

"Do you really want that?" he demands.

She doesn't, Tom can see that. But she's still Janeway, however impaired, so she doesn't like the idea of him hacking Voyager's securities.

"If it really matters, you can add a note in my record for this. Not like you have to specify what I broke regs to replicate."

"You really think I care so much about regulation I would punish- punish you for helping me keep this off the record?"

He shrugs his response. Because he can't rule out the possibility, even though he knows better. Because he's still angry about things that have nothing to do with her behavior right now, and this is just a small way of paying her back.

She steps back, wounded, and slumps into the dining chair behind him. Continues to watch him as he bypasses the replicator protocol by protocol, replicating the materials he needs one at a time.

"Why are you doing this?" Janeway asks, and at first Tom ignores her. "Tom. Why are you doing this? Why are you protecting me?"

It's a good question, really. Because spirits know it was a tempting thought, letting her stumble through the ship for the whole crew to see. Saying things to crewmembers that she'll regret, and then having to file the embarrassment away, the next day, and then everyday after that.

To say nothing of becoming the subject of Starfleet gossip, assuming they ever make it home, as every cadet in the Academy has heard the story of Enterprise-D's mishap, and not because the lessons garnered from it are extolled in any classes.

"You deserve better," Tom decides finally. "Gossip about captains is hard to come by, but when people get it, it never goes away. And I know from experience -" He stops, craning his neck and thinking. "You just deserve better, ma'am."

"Thanks," she replies quietly. Falls silent as Tom finishes his work.

"Alright," Tom says, when he has everything. "I'm going to start with the antidote used by the Enterprise's CMO, and if that doesn't work, I'm going to have to fiddle."

"Fiddle fast," Janeway grumps, "I feel like I'm on Vulcan."

She's been sweating the whole time, but now she's perspiring profusely. She shed her jacket and turtleneck a while back, and now her wet undershirt clings to every centimeter of skin.

"Have a little faith," Tom teases, averting his eyes from her body, "I'm a fine fiddler."

"Is that what you tell all the girls?"

Tom shouldn't laugh, shouldn't encourage it, and yet he still chuckles. This side of Janeway might be irritating, but it's also a little bit fun. Even if he does have to take that Neelix joke to his grave.

"You just consider yourself lucky," he taunts, changing tactics.

"Because I had my conn officer to save my reputation?"

"That," he nods, "and because most of the symptoms among Picard's crew involved propositions of a very personal kind."

She pulls a sour face at the idea, but when he waggles his eyebrows comically, she gives in and starts to giggle.

"Hey," she says suddenly. "What about Chakotay! You saved me from humiliation. Who's saving him?"

Tom considers it one of her gravest signs of impairment, the fact that she's just considering this problem now.

"I asked B'Elanna to try to handle him," Tom informs her.

"Try?"

Tom scrunches up his face, weighing his next words. "I doubt it went well," he admits. "Chakotay. . . isn't the best drunk."

"I suppose there's a story there," Janeway eyes him.

"I'm sure you'll hear it tomorrow."

"No. I mean about you. You and Chakotay. Him being a bad drunk."

There is. And it's a story that ends with Tom's jaw being broken in two different places. But this Tom won't reveal to anyone, least of all Kathryn Janeway.

"You're smart enough to know I'm not tellin'," Tom winks. "For reasons you'll be thankful for, tomorrow."

Janeway huffs, then otherwise lets it go. Tries to sit still as Tom works at modifying the first two antidotes that didn't work.

"This is boring," she complains eventually, her head lolling back as she slinks down in her chair.

"So tell me a joke," Tom shrugs. "You were full of them earlier."

She does tell him jokes. Most of them inappropriate. He thinks that tomorrow she's going to regret the one about the Bolian and the Orion dancer, but the punchline makes him laugh so hard he gets distracted from what he's doing.

"Shit," Tom laughs, shaking his head and wiping tears out of his eyes.

"That's what the Orion said!" Janeway quips, and Tom starts to laugh even harder, folding over in his chair.

"You're a funny, funny woman," Tom says , after he recovers. "Wicked, and a wee bit demented, too. But funny."

"I'll take that as high praise. Considering the source."

She's smiling now, pleased with herself, and Tom smirks as he loads another hypospray.

"I should get you drunk more often."

"Know of many dying stars, do you?"

"I'll find them," Tom threatens. "Even if I have to enlist Seven to help me."

"I can't promise I'll allow the detour," she sighs.

"Detours are fun!" he convinces.

"You have to say that 'cause you're on what- what will go down in history as the biggest detour ever."

She says it with a facade of humor, but she isn't her controlled herself and Tom can see her anguish.

"Best detour I ever made," he shrugs, presses the hypo to her neck.

Tom gives it a second, then scans her with the tricorder again. He's barely through with the scan when he sees her eyes already clearing.

"How do you feel?" he asks.

"I'm fine. I feel a bit - oh." She grabs her head and Tom winces sympathetically.

"I should warn you that you are probably going to have the worst hangover of your life."

"I would tend to agree with you," she cringes, "as it's my first."

"You've never been drunk?" Tom asks, flabbergasted.

"Oh, have I ever," she corrects. "I was just gifted with good genetics and a forgiving constitution."

"Welcome to the world of the less gifted," Tom says ruefully, and hands her a glass of water. "Would you like something to eat?"

"Eat? God. No."

"It might help," Tom encourages. Tries to stifle his chuckle at the horrified look she gives him.

He sets to work at replicating her a hangover remedy. Turns around with a small omelette that he gingerly sets down in front of her.

"Just try a few bites. Medic's orders."

She does, slowly. And while she eats, Tom debates whether to inoculate himself.

"Shouldn't you?" Janeway presses, when he mentions it.

"Maybe. But I don't think this exact version of polywater intox can be contagious. And if I charge into Sickbay with this handy antidote and I'm inoculated, the Doctor is going to be very suspicious."

"Sickbay to Ensign Paris."

"Speak of the devil," Tom mutters, before hitting his comm badge. "Yeah, Doc."

"It appears the planet has had some kind of adverse effect on some members of the away team. I'm working on a solution but at the moment I'm having trouble controlling-." The EMH's sentence is cut off by a loud crash and what sounds like indistinct shouts. Janeway looks aghast, while the pilot schools his features. "I require your assistance immediately, Ensign!"

"On my way, Doc," Tom promises. Closes the line and looks to Janeway, "I'm sure in a minute he'll comm you to come in, too. Just tell him that you feel fine and are about to head to bed. When he objects, I'll volunteer to make a house call."

"It's that easy to be sneaky?" the Captain cocks an eyebrow.

"Sneakiness is one of my many talents," Tom replies, "I just use my power for good instead of evil now."

"Well," she says, a bit stiffly. "Thank you."

"Sure," he breezes, "and when I come back for that house call you can tell me who the sick bastard was that told you that joke about the Bolian."

"You don't want to know," Janeway shakes her head, and cautiously sips at her water.

"Tuvok?" he guesses, suspicious now, and Janeway makes a shooing motion. "Chakotay?" he asks, now outside of her quarters.

"Your father," she corrects, and Tom whips back around.

The doors close as Janeway favors him with a wicked little smile.