Don't Panic

Part title

Rimmer pelted down the corridor and burst into their quarters, where Lister sat chewing on one of his dreads.

"Where is she?" Rimmer blurted out in a fright.

Lister simply jerked his thumb toward the washroom tucked away in the corner.

The hologram scantily raised an eyebrow. "Lister, if her problem is constipation, my advice to her would be to stop putting cheese on everything."

"No, man, it's serious. She's in there, latched to the sink."

Now he was really confused, if not worried. "She's what?"

"Yeah," he uttered in a nervous chortle. "Hands gripping the handles, forehead pressed against the faucet... Her breathing is a tad out of whack as well. I tried getting her to talk. Nothin', unresponsive."

"Locked in the bathroom, hovering over the sink... Did you give her a vindaloo?"

"No. She hasn't eaten anything for the last day and a half, actually."

It hit him. He remembered that she mentioned the reason she stopped eating last time was from her phobia taking over, which for the death of him he couldn't recall the name of. His stomach sank like a stone once he realised it had started up again.

He bounded to the washroom door and hastened to open it. As soon as he did, he found that Lister was right.

There she was, breathing heavily and practically mounting the vanity. She didn't move or speak — she couldn't; her mouth was clamped shut and her muscles had tightened up so much she felt she couldn't even lift her head without fainting. She wasn't even blinking.

Rimmer had never seen her this bad before; though he did recall her saying her attacks got pretty intense at times. Rimmer stared back at Lister apprehensively and asked, "How long has she been like this?"

"Dunno. A few minutes I guess. I wasn't keeping track."

He wanted to touch her for comfort but he knew it wouldn't be a good idea at the moment. Just approaching her was risky. She could feel as though she was being ganged up on, worsening her anxiety.

With a trembling voice — for the first time in a long time — he softly called out for her by her first name. "Aria? What's wrong? Talk to me."

She mumbled a string of incoherent noises. It was all she could manage.

"I-I'm going to put my hands on you now. Okay?" A hand more shaky than his words hovered over Aria before settling on her at last.

She felt the heel of his cold palm against the back of her neck while his other hand was lightly placed on her stomach; usually, she didn't like to be touched on her neck, yet she did not object this time. The sensation of his long fingers in her hair was almost helping.

She feels hot. Burning up, actually. Is this a fever? Rimmer worried. God, don't let this be some weird, mutated flu. I don't think I can handle her insane dreams becoming solid.

He gradually moved his hands away, then placed both of them on to hers and gently prised them off the faucet handles and pulled her back towards the front of him. His arms wrapped around her nicely.

But in the end, unable to stand in the same position any longer with limp legs, Aria had no choice but to fall into him, causing the two of them to plop down to the floor in the corner of the room, which knocked the wind out of the hologram.

They were wedged between the wall and the toilet. A cramped space, to say the least, but neither of them cared; she was too mentally and emotionally gone and he was too concerned over her.