Thank you for the comments! It's obvious that Barclay is a beloved TNG character so I promise not to beat him up too
much. 
The tale is nearing resolution but there are still a few bumps in the road yet. On with the story . . .
Sometime in 2373
USS Bluefin
Barclay opened his eyes then quickly closed them as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He waited a moment before opening one eye slightly.
Dr. Calvin Baxter smiled down at him. "Feeling better?" he asked.
Reg opened his other eye and glanced around. He was lying on a diagnostic bed in sickbay.
"W-what happened?"
"You experienced a sudden hypoglycemic event accompanied by a rather sharp drop in your systolic and diastolic pressure. In short, you fainted."
"Oh, great." Barclay covered his face with his hands. "As if I didn't have enough issues."
"Reg, when was the last time you ate?" Baxter asked gently.
Barclay spread his fingers so he could peer at the CMO. "Umm, I'm not quite sure. Probably back on Jupiter Station before I was sent TDY. My stomach doesn't do too well when I'm on a runabout, or under stress, or . . ."
Dr. Baxter chuckled and held up a hand. "I get the picture. I've given you something to help stabilize your blood sugar level and your blood pressure is back in the normal range. But you've got to
eat, Mr. Barclay! You can't help us if your blood sugar bottoms out again."
Reg sighed and stared up at the ceiling. "I-I don't think I'm helping at all Dr. Baxter. I'm just not able to convey my ideas effectively." He shook his head in resignation. "It's probably b-best if they send me back to Jupiter Station and find someone else."
The white-haired sawbones frowned. He placed his hand on Barclay's shoulder. "Now listen to me, Reg. I've seen what you can do first-hand. You've pulled this off before under tighter circumstances than these! Don't you quit on me now!"
The sound of the sickbay doors opening caused Baxter to turn before Barclay could reply. Captain Akinola glanced around before spying the CMO.
"I'll be right back," said Baxter to Barclay. He strode purposefully toward Akinola.
"My office.
Now!" said Dr. Baxter as he brushed past the Captain. Akinola blinked in surprise. The normally soft-spoken CMO was obviously in a bad mood.
Nonetheless, he followed Baxter into the transparent aluminum cubicle. The Doctor closed the door and whirled on Akinola, his eyes blazing.
"You need to cut that kid some slack,
Captain!" Baxter snapped in a biting tone - his "command" voice.
Once more, Akinola was surprised. He had grown so accustomed to the normally genteel manner of the CMO, that he tended to forget that Baxter was a former Admiral.
But
former was the operative word. The physician was retired from Starfleet Medical and now held the provisional rank of Commander and Chief Medical Officer on
Bluefin. Akinola's four pips trumped Baxter's three.
"Who pissed in your coffee, Doc?" Akinola kept his tone light but there was more than a hint of warning in his eyes.
Baxter would not be deflected. "Don't change the subject, Joseph! You and your cohorts have gone out of your way to give Lt. Barclay grief. I would have thought the severity of the situation would have dampened your misplaced disdain for the regular fleet!"
Akinola had enough. "That's enough!" he thundered. "Doctor, I respect the hell out of you, but you are
dangerously close to crossing a line. I suggest you back down - now!"
Instead, the white-haired CMO actually stepped closer to the Captain, placing his nose inches from Akinola's face.
"Or
what, Captain? Will you have me brought up on charges? Tossed out an airlock? Or will you just humiliate me, like you've done to . . ."
Without warning, Akinola gave Baxter a hard shove. The CMO stumbled backward, sitting heavily in his chair. He stared up at the Captain with a look of startled incredulity, his expression almost comical.
Akinola was horrified by what he had done. "My God . . . Calvin, I'm sorry . . . I don't know why . . ."
Dr. Baxter blinked and shook his head, as if to clear it. "It's alright, Joseph. . . " He frowned. "What the hell is wrong with us?"
"I know."
Baxter and Akinola turned. Lt. Barclay stood in the doorway of the cubicle. He still looked slightly pale, but he wore an intense expression.
"Lieutenant? Explain yourself." Akinola was torn between shame over pushing his friend and irritation at the interruption.
"We're in an area of space where the space-time continuum is very thin. It has an effect on most life-forms to some degree - anxiety, confusion, anger . . . even violence. It's a well-documented phenomenon . . . I should have anticipated it."
Akinola looked from Barclay to Baxter. "Is there anything we can do for it?"
Baxter nodded. "Yes, a mild sedative will help - nothing strong enough to keep us from functioning, but it should take the edge off."
The Captain let out a breath. "It seems I owe you an apology, Mr. Barclay. And you too, Doc."
Barclay shook his head. "You couldn't help it, sir. None of us could. But much longer without treatment and we could have a very serious situation."
Akinola nodded. "Understood. Doc - see to the treatment for the crew." He glanced back at Barclay.
"Do you feel like getting back to work?"
A crooked smile formed on Barclay's lips. "Y-yes sir, I do. In fact, this is the first real break we've had."
"How so?"
Barclay steepled his long fingers and tapped his lips. "This
has to be the right location for the time transference. All we need now is a strong enough ionic surge to recreate the conditions that brought Commander Strauss back to our time."
Akinola allowed himself a small grin. "Well, Mr. Barclay, I think we can accommodate you in that regard. How does a force nine tail-twister suit you?"
Reg swallowed. "Ah, f-force nine, you say? Um, that, uh, should do nicely."
* * *
Inga lay in her borrowed cabin, fingering the hypo-spray she lifted from sickbay. The cold aluminum cylinder would provide her a definite solution to this situation.
She gazed at the small view-screen on the handle. The words glowed in red, warning that the safety protocols were disabled and the current dosage was lethal.
The words from a very old song suddenly came to mind . . .
Sail on, silver girl . . . sail on by . . . your time has come to shine, all your dreams are on their way . . .
She laughed. It was a cold, mirthless sound as she rolled the hypo-spray in her hand.
"Time to sail on, silver girl," she said to the hypo, and softly hummed the tune to the old song.
Strauss was not afraid. She was tired, though. Tired of this stupid situation, tired of feeling like part of a science experiment, but mostly tired of being a liability.
Every moment she stayed in this era, the chances of corrupting the time-line multiplied. She could not bear the thought of ruining her friends' future.
Better to end her own.
The initial hope she had that Lt. Barclay could find a solution had evaporated when she found him passed out on the wardroom floor. And she had not missed the expressions on the faces of the other officers.
It was time to stop fooling herself and do the right thing.
She examined the hypo-spray, placing her thumb on the trigger mechanism, and drew the device up to her neck.
The chime from the door caused her to pause. Her hand wavered as she considered ignoring the chime.
"Inga?" His voice was muffled, but Strauss recognized it as Dr. Baxter.
She considered ignoring him, but finally slid the hypo-spray up her sleeve.
"Just a moment," she said. She moved to the sink and splashed some water on her face. Glancing in the mirror, she was satisfied that all traces of tears were gone. She stood, facing the door.
"Come in."
Calvin Baxter entered, hands thrust in the pockets of his lab coat. Strauss thought he looked . . . relieved. He glanced around the cabin, as if he were looking for something.
"Hello, Inga. How are you feeling?"
"Fine," she said, flatly. "I was just resting a bit."
Baxter nodded. "Good, good." He turned so their eyes met. She felt somewhat uneasy under his scrutiny.
"Is there anything else, Doctor?" she asked, wishing he would leave.
"Yes, actually, there is one thing." He held out his hand. "Please hand it over, Inga."
Startled, she took an involuntary step backward. "Hand over what?"
His smile was sad. "Commander, surely you know every item in sickbay has a tracking device. We don't want important medical supplies or devices to go missing . . . say like a hypo-spray?"
She regarded him silently for a moment while he stood patiently, his hand open and outstretched.
For a moment, she considered pulling out the hypo-spray and jamming against her neck, but she thought it likely that he would be able to counteract the dosage if he acted quickly.
With a sigh, she extracated the hypo-spray from her sleeve and handed it to Baxter.
He accepted the device, glanced at the screen and grunted. "I always said we needed to upgrade these things. They are far too easy to hack." He glanced up at her, his expression sorrowful.
"I'm sorry you felt the need to use this, Inga. It would have been a terrible waste."
Her face flushed, not with shame but with anger.
How dare you! she thought,
You'll do the same thing in three years - the only difference is, you'll succeed!
Baxter misinterpreted the redness that spread across her cheeks. "We're all under the influence of this region of space, Inga, so I'll spare you any lectures. All of us have experienced various mood and behavioral changes, but we're on top of that. The good news is, all of the pieces of the puzzle are nearly in place - Lt. Barclay believes we can send you back to your proper time in about two hours."
Strauss blinked in surprise. "He . . . he's actually figured it out?"
The white-haired physician smiled. "Yes, my dear. In this case, it's a matter of us being in the right place at the right time. The space-time continuum is quite thin in this region, and there's a corker of an ion storm moving in. With your pattern still in the transporter buffer, Reg believes we can send you back from whence you came. I'll let him explain the fiddly bits.
Strauss forced a weak smile. "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not know."
He chuckled. "Yes, Reg has a way with the techno-babble, but he's a brilliant engineer Inga. I have every confidence he'll get you where you need to go."
He placed the hypo-spray in the pocket of his labcoat. "Best get this back to sickbay and 'disarmed' before someone grabs it by mistake."
"Doc . . ."
"Yes?"
She hesitated. She wanted to warn him about his future, beg him not to take his own life.
How can it hurt to let this sweet man live? Who would even know I violated the temporal prime directive?
"Thank you . . . for, you know . . ."
He patted his pocket. "Our little secret. Like I said, not your fault. I'll have the corpsmen coming round shortly with a very mild sedative for the crew - just enough to keep everyone on an even keel."
Inga nodded. "That's good." She was unable to hide the note of sadness in her voice.
His smile wavered slightly and his brow creased. "Is something wrong?"
She looked down, unable to meet his gaze. "You have been very kind to me, Doctor. I'm very grateful and very fond of you."
"Well, thank you for saying so. I've grown to be fond of you as well."
She looked up quickly. "Doctor, there's something I need to tell you . . ."
"Stop!" He held up his hand suddenly, his expression stern.
"But . . ."
He shook his head sharply. "No, Inga. I have a strong suspicion you want to tell me something about my future. You must not! Please - this is far bigger than you or me or anyone else on this ship."
She glanced down again, not wanting him to see the tears welling up in her eyes. "You're right, of course."
"Now that's better," he replied gently. He turned for the door. "It's best not to know the future, don't you think?"
If you only knew, she thought. "I'm just concerned about the next four years, Doctor. After that, I don't want to know either."
* * *
Barclay fainting in the face of all that hostility was just epic! I could so see exactly that happening. The utilitarian Bluefin is such a departure from the cozy, feel-good environment of the Enterprise-D, and this crew is so unwilling to give him the time and space to brainstorm his plans on a holodeck, that poor Reg just doesn’t know where to turn or how to cope. 
