Three days had felt like a very long time to Lonnie, when in reality she knew that it was hardly anything at all. In the grand scheme of things it was nothing, barely more than a drop in the ocean, wording that felt all the more appropriate given their surroundings. To her though, it had felt almost like an eternity, stretching on and on with no end in sight, one minute dragging into the next almost torturously.

And things had progressed, changing and adjusting in small ways that started to add up to more noticeable shifts as that time went on. The bruising around Lucas' neck continued to fade, Tony was returning more and more to his usual indomitably vibrant self, Jim was spending more time awake than asleep, and Tim was right on the verge of being released from med bay.

The fact that so many other smaller things were progressing and changing made the one thing that wasn't all the more stark and jarring, she knew. Their repair and return to the norm only highlighted that one thing's stasis, its stagnation, and that was eating away at her with small, vicious teeth that she could feel gnawing and grinding with every sluggish minute that passed.

Miguel had not improved.

For three days he had been in guest quarters, and nowhere else. People had been inside, of course, either to attempt to visit or to take him food, or in Wendy's case to check up on his condition. The visits had ended prematurely, fruitlessly, once it became clear that any kind of interaction was out of the question, and a majority of the food that was taken in came back out again a few hours later. Wendy assured them all that there was no manipulation or interference, at least in the psychic sense, but if anything that only made the whole situation that much more worrying.

Doctor Clarke was still working with Lucas to guarantee the successful removal of the device that had been inserted in the back of Miguel's neck. They were working primarily on finding the least invasive course of action, wanting to not only ensure that Miguel suffered no unpleasant after effects from the surgery but also guarantee that they removed every last trace of the device. They were close, they had said, almost completely confident in the procedure's success, but they all wanted to be absolutely sure. They weren't willing to take any risks.

Lonnie's concern, in which she was sure she wasn't alone, was that it wouldn't make any difference once it was over and done with, that the removal of the device wouldn't help Miguel at all. Physically it wasn't doing him any harm, or at least that was what they had all been assured by those with the experience and intelligence to guarantee such things, but mentally? Emotionally? That was something else entirely. Mentally, emotionally, Miguel was not only struggling, but defeated. Or that was how it seemed to her. Granted, she didn't know the Sensor Chief as well as Tim or Lucas or their commanding officers, but she liked to think she had gotten to know him well enough in the time that she had known him to know that he was hurting. Deeply.

The tray of food was balanced on one hand as she headed down the corridor, not yet in sight of the door to guest quarters but getting close. Soon she would round the last bend and a very familiar figure would come into view. If she was honest with herself the sight of that unmistakeable figure, that distinct face, would go a long way towards making her feel better. The thought felt selfish, something for which she immediately chastised herself, but there was no ignoring the fact that she did feel better when she came around that bend and saw Dagwood turn his head to look at her.

Almost instantly he was up off the stool that someone had given him to perch upon while he kept watch. "But I'm supposed to stand," he had said with a frown, and when his comment had been met with nothing but confusion and uncertainty he had gone on to elaborate. "It's called standing guard. I'm not supposed to stand?"

Lonnie couldn't help but smile. Dagwood did his best to return the expression, she noticed, saying as he did so, "Hi, Lonnie."

"Hey, Dagwood." She moved closer, noticing that he looked over the tray of food, something else that made her smile. "Here, I brought you this." She plucked an apple off the tray with her free hand and offered it out to him, prompting an actual, full smile with the gesture.

"Thank you." As always the genuine gratitude and appreciation in the simple statement reminded her so much of a child and she felt a rush of warm fondness for the man standing in front of her. If the world had more people like Dagwood, she had often thought, then it would be a much, much better place. "Are you going inside?" He was holding the apple in both hands, almost cradling it.

She nodded her head, glancing down at the tray, now minus the piece of fruit she had scooped up in the galley with the intention of giving it to the GELF who now held it like it was something precious to be treated with care. "He's not eating much," she told Dagwood, even though she suspected he had already noticed that for himself. He had taken very little time away from the duty for which he had been selected, not only because she knew he would consider it a very important job that deserved his full attention, but also because the man on the other side of that door was someone that Dagwood considered a friend. "I thought I'd stop by," she said, "see if I could change that."

Dagwood made a low, almost thoughtful sound in the back of his throat. "Maybe he only has a small stomach" he said after a moment, instantly transporting Lonnie back to that table in the galley, when she had plucked that banana from Dagwood's hands and stripped it of its peel so he didn't end up eating the whole thing. She smiled, but it was touched with a little of the sadness and regret she couldn't help feeling in the wake of the reminder.

We should have noticed. Those words had been drifting through her mind regularly over the last three days. Longer, even.

"Maybe, Dag." They were the exact same words she had said to him that day, at that table, and the GELF seemed to recognise that. His own smile was much like her own, a little sad and sorry. "You're doing a great job out here," she went on, lifting her free hand and touching it to his arm. "Thank you, Dagwood."

He made another low sound, like a hum, head bowing almost sheepishly as he said sincerely, "You're welcome." And then he shuffled a little to the side, fully out of the way of the door, standing close to the stool but not quite perching himself back on its edge.

Lonnie gave him another smile, thankful and fond and full of a quiet but potent sort of relief, once again finding herself wondering just where they would all be if it wasn't for Dagwood. And then she stepped forward, knocking lightly on the door before popping it open and slipping inside.

Even before she had quietly closed the door behind her she noticed that the lights were down low, almost to the bare minimum. The room was lit, she realised, by a few of the lamps dotted around the room rather than the main overheads, a fact she confirmed with a brief glance upward. Part of her was tempted to flick those main overheads on, without asking at that, but then she stopped herself. She had to pick her battles, she knew, words she heard in her father's voice, turning her attention to the room in general in an effort to find its sole occupant.

At first she almost didn't notice him, he was sitting so still, and so quietly as well. He hadn't even turned his head to watch her enter, or to check she didn't tamper with the lights. Instead his head was angled down towards the table set in the centre of the room, the middle of which was adorned with a UEO emblem. Off to the side of that prominent motif was a glass of water, a little over half full, and a mug that she could see even at a distance was almost completely full.

She glanced down at the identical mug sitting on the tray balanced on her hand, holding what she suspected was a similar if not equally identical liquid. Had whoever brought him that untouched mug added honey, like she had? Possibly, but more importantly, did it matter? If she could get him to drink even a little of it she would count it as a victory.

For almost a whole minute she waited for him to notice her, or acknowledge her presence in some way, but when it became clear that he wasn't going to do any such thing she invited herself into the room proper and approached the seating area. He had chosen to occupy the couch more or less facing the door, a choice that didn't surprise her considering what had happened to him recently. At some point he had changed, or been encouraged to change she suspected, and instead of his uniform he was now wearing slightly loose-fitting clothing. Something he would feel more comfortable in, she could imagine Wendy saying by way of encouragement, but looking at Miguel then she saw anything but comfort. He looked, at a glance, like he was slouching, but she saw the subtle signs of stiffness in his shoulders that told her he was on edge. Waiting for something bad to happen. She had seen that readiness any time they had been out on a mission, that tension in his strong, broad shoulders and chest that told her he was ready to spring into action at the first sign of trouble.

It looked so out of place on seaQuest, in guest quarters of all places. She couldn't help but frown, even if only for a moment.

"Hey," she ventured, keeping her voice low, but even at a reduced volume she seemed to startle him. It wasn't violent, or even particularly obvious, but she saw the slight jerk in his posture and the sudden way in which he lifted his head told her that he hadn't really been present a moment ago. Miguel hadn't realised he had company. Lonnie let her gaze wander to the logo emblazoned on the table, where he seemed to have been focusing only a second earlier, but she couldn't see anything particularly captivating. "You okay?"

As soon as the words left her mouth she realised how stupid they were, but where Miguel normally would have lightly teased her for such a thing he only blinked tired-looking eyes and made a low, noncommittal sound, shapeless and without any real meaning. Of its own accord his gaze had lowered and drifted back to the table, and the badge upon it.

Making a choice, Lonnie set the tray down right on top of that symbol, effectively covering it and blocking it from sight. She allowed herself a moment of quiet satisfaction when it seemed to have the desired effect. Miguel blinked again, before lifting one hand to rub at his eyes, before he glanced up briefly towards her. "I'm not hungry," he told her, his voice a little distant, the words coming out sounding almost rehearsed. Not surprising really, considering how many times he must have said them by now.

"Well," she said, taking it upon herself to sit in the armchair across from the couch, "I don't believe that." When her words successfully brought his attention her way she showed him a small but distinct shrug. She held his gaze as long as he would allow it. "You forget how long we've worked together now?" The words were almost a challenge, albeit a light one, and she lifted her brows at him. "I know you. And I know your appetite."

People like Miguel and Jim didn't get to be in the physical condition they were in by skipping meals.

He was still holding her gaze when he said, almost blandly, "You don't know me." He broke eye contact then, those unexpected words in that uncharacteristically flat tone still hanging heavily between them as he dropped his gaze first to the tray and then off to the side.

Maybe it was his jaw, she told herself, part of her knowing that she was trying to justify that tone. Wendy had told them that she had advised Miguel to keep speaking to a minimum as a result of the hairline fracture, something that she could only treat with painkillers and patience. Just like his ribs, Lonnie reminded herself, noting once again the subtle stiffness in the way Miguel was sitting on the couch. How much pain was he in?

She couldn't help but frown as she lifted her gaze back to his face, taking in for the first time the shadow of stubble across his jaw and the almost haphazard tumble of curls he had made no effort to keep out of his eyes.

The pain was greater than any of them could understand, she saw in that stubble and unkempt hair, in the loose clothing and slightly awkward posture, the averted gaze and almost lost expression. It was a kind of pain the likes of which none of them had ever experienced, she saw, and hopefully never would. Miguel Ortiz was one of the strongest people she knew, and yet as she looked at him then she saw very little of the man she had met all those months ago, the man she had come to understand and appreciate both on the bridge and off.

Lonnie didn't let herself stop to think about what she was doing as she rose from her seat and moved quietly around the table between them, before lowering herself to sit beside him instead. She noticed immediately the way he stiffened even further, hearing the slight but definite catch and hitch in his breathing as the unconscious effort strained his tender, battered ribs. It would have been easy then to retreat, put herself at more of a distance, but instead she closed it even further by taking one hand and setting it on top of his.

Miguel reacted, not violently but abruptly enough that she had to remind herself, forcefully, that she was in no danger. Almost reflexively he tried to pull his hand away but instead of allowing him to withdraw she caught his hand with her own, deftly sliding her palm against his and twining their fingers. Instinct took hold of him again and he held her hand in return, almost as if she was a ledge to which he had to desperately cling if he hoped to have any chance of surviving.

His head turned to her, an almost wild look of confusion and panic on his face for all of a few seconds before his eyes met hers and he seemed to come crashing back down to earth, and reality. His hand tightened on hers, almost uncomfortably so, but she didn't even so much as flinch. She just let him hold on.

For what felt like a very long time he just looked at her, his eyes searching her face for some sort of lie or trick or deception, or perhaps for some sign of resentment or disappointment. But Lonnie had none of that for him. Instead she had only regret, remorse, and understanding. Patience, hope, relief. And shame. She had let him down, they had all let him down, and for that she was so very far beyond sorry.

His voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper, when he spoke, uttering one single word. "Why?"

Again Lonnie found herself transported back, not to the galley before they had known something terrible was happening to one of their own but after it had already happened. For a moment she was back in that abandoned little room, looking up into the same eyes before her now, believing it to be someone she knew and cared about when in reality it had been something else entirely.

Him, and yet not.

Her own voice was quiet when she replied, echoing her words in that moment in that room but speaking them for him now. The real Miguel. "I think you know why."

His expression shifted, twisting into something confused and bewildered, before it softened. But it was weighted with sadness as well, his brow furrowed with a frown. In the low light of the room Lonnie saw the first shine of tears in his eyes. The stiffness started to slip from his shoulders, not quite melting but on its way, and he gave his head the subtlest shake from side to side.

"You know," she said, practically whispering herself, still holding onto his hand between them and looking back into those eyes which had become fixed on her face, just as they had been fixed on the table when she had arrived. Her eyes started to sting a little as well, and she lifted his hand, bringing it closer to her. Bringing him closer, even if only in part. "You know why."

And she knew that he did. She could see it in his eyes, and feel it in the grip of his hand. She could see it in that crease in his brow and the small shake of his head. There was denial there as well, Miguel trying to tell himself that it wasn't true, it couldn't be true, not after all that had happened, after all that he had done. But it was. And he knew.

"I'm not going anywhere," she told him then, keeping her voice quiet and seizing the opportunity to slide that little bit closer to him along the cushion. "I'm right here," she said, "and I'm going to stay." She lifted her other hand, touching it gently, lightly, to the side of his face, above his wounded jaw and the pain that it was causing him. "As long as you need me," she told him, looking right into his eyes. "I'm going to stay right here."

No matter what happened, no matter where else she was supposed to be, this was where she was meant to be. This was where she needed to be. Everything else be damned. Lonnie would face the consequences, whatever they might be, later. When this was done. When he was better.

Until then she wasn't going anywhere.