Star Trek: Voyager: Endgame

lost the doctor against the dim roomscape.
    “Her disappearance . . . remains a mystery . . .”
    The Doctor stood up quickly, before Tuvok became once again disturbed, and stepped out of the Vulcan's periphery. Perhaps it was the vision of himself that had triggered this outburst. Would the same thing happen if Tuvok had seen Paris or any others in the
Voyager
's crew? He was tempted to experiment, have each surviving member of the command crew visit Tuvok and test this theory.
    Haunted by the tidbit of reality he thought he had witnessed in Tuvok's manner, the Doctor stepped past the intern into the hospital corridor. “Record anything he says for the next twenty-four hours. Report to me if there is new data of any kind, anything that is not repeated.”
    “What does that mean?” Desperate, the intern hustled after him.
    “The door,” the Doctor reminded.
    “Oh! Computer, close and lock compartment 200B.”
    With a swish the panel closed behind them, sealing Tuvok in with his demons.
    The intern hurried to catch up again. “Do you have a procedure in mind? Is there some form of therapy—”
    “Not yet. I have to find more information. And I think I know just where to look.”
    * * *
    “Voyager
to Pathfinder—come in, Pathfinder.”
    “Doctor!”
    The Pathfinder lab was unoccupied, except for its dedicated professor, Mr. Barclay.
    The Doctor looked into the lab from the doorway, offering a grin before starting trouble. He could tell as Reg Barclay shot up from his chair and the pile of padds he was working over that Barclay was nervous and expected something like this. The reaction confirmed many suspicions—at least that the suspicions were justified, though still unclear.
    “I forgot about our golf game again, didn't I?” Barclay attempted.
    “Relax, Reg.” The Doctor strode down the aisle to the desk. “It's not until next week.” Of course, they both knew this had nothing to do with the golf game. “I'm here because I need to get in touch with Admiral Janeway.”
    Barclay's lack of a poker face was legendary. “She's out of town.”
    “I know. Did she tell you where she was going?”
    “I'm afraid it . . . never came up. Is something wrong?” Barclay rubbed his hands together.
    “I'm not sure. I paid a visit to Tuvok this morning. He had ransacked his quarters in a fit of rage. He's been disturbed, of course, for a long time, but never to this extent, so much that his attending physician deemed it necessary to bring me in immediately. I saw a glint of lucidity during which he seemed to think the admiral is in some sort of danger.”
    Barclay came around his desk. “You know better than anyone how confused Tuvok can get . . .”
    “Yes, but I've been worried about the admiral too.”
    “Why?”
    “Two days ago she asked me for a large quantity of an experimental medication. When I asky why she needed it, she said it was classified.”
    “Then you shouldn't be telling me about it, should you?”
    “I spoke to Director Okaro at Starfleet Intelligence. He assured me that the admiral hasn't been involved in any classified work since she began teaching at the Academy.”
    Though his hands gave him away by suddenly turning pale, Barclay tried to cover his nervousness with a joke. “You know how sneaky those ‘intelligence people’ can be. Maybe he was just trying to throw you off.”
    “Maybe . . . but still . . . she's been talking for months about how excited she is to be teaching with you. Then, just as the semester's starting, she goes away without even telling you where.” The Doctor turned and zeroed in on Barclay. “Don't you find that a little troubling?”
    “I'm—I'm sure there's—there's a perfectly reasonable explanation,” Barclay struggled. “I'm s-sorry, Doctor, but I have p-paper—papers to grade.”
    “You're stammering, Reg.”
    “S-s-s-o?”
    With his suspicions confirmed, the Doctor followed Barclay, who was trying to get away by looping around the other side of the desk as if he couldn't be found over there.
    “I haven't heard you do that in years,” he charged. “I think you
do
know where she is.”
    Barclay tried not to meet the Doctor's steady eyes. Being a hologram, the Doctor didn't even have to blink if he didn't want to and knew he could drill the truth out of the other man with a good long stare.
    “She's one of the most decorated officers in Starfleet history,” Barclay insisted, his voice shifting higher. “I'm-I'm sure s-s-she can