Medical Bay
Even the circulation of air can't quite keep the antiseptic smell from this room. Immaculately clean, the tiles of the floor are the same pristine white as the walls. Gadgets and gizmos abound. The highest medical technology available for all the races that might conceivably come to the station are present. A pair of beds near the door provide places for emergent cases, their bioscan devices ready for monitoring. Doors lead to rooms for surgery, short-term care, and long-term care. (OOC note: To set your room doing, try 'I'm <doing>'.)
Contents:
Tara, standing by the door.
Obvious Exits:
Short Term Care Chief's Office Elevator Lounge
You arrive from the Second Floor Elevator Lounge.
Tara carries... pizza? At least it appears and smells that way, from the two flat white boxes she settles on the reception desk as she flashes a polite smile at its occupant.
Kramer leans back in his seat with a yawn, then blinks. He smells food. It's coming from a woman in front of his desk. "Evening, Miss Valentine. You've got food. Will you marry me?" He quirks a grin then. "Here to see the Doc?"
Tara snickers, offering one of the boxes. "I hope you like pepperoni. And I wouldn't feed a husband." She nods, to the latter question. "If she's got time for pizza too?"
Kramer whoopses quietly, laughing as he accepts the box. "Okay, I'll just live in sin with you then," he decides, obviously teasing. If he were serious, he'd be bright read and tonguetied. "She should? She's been sequestered most of the day, pounding out the budget details. Go bang on her door."
Tara grins, taking the other box as she steps around the desk. "And I'll bet she didn't bother eating at all, too, if I recognize her type." Shave-and-a-haircut is tapped out on the door.
A soprano voice calls out, "Two bits! Wilkommen, bien venue, helloooo, c'mon in!" Someone's been working -way- too hard today.
Tara snickers, shaking her head as she slips in.
You walk towards the Chief Aleron's Office.
Chief Aleron's Office
Bright and airy, this fair sized office is far from pretentious, but instead useful. A large wooden desk faces the doorway, a pair of pointillism paintings in soft pastels flanking either side of the wall behind it. A second desk adjoins to the first, branching back from one side, upon which a terminal and keyboard rest. A pair of fairly comfortable chairs face the desk for visitors, wooden with soothing sand colored upholstery. On one side of the door is a simple brass coatrack, and on the other a bit farther down the wall is a full sized synthetic human skeleton. Along the right hand wall, a low couch covered in brown velour looks frighteningly comfortable, graphic print depictions of Stilvani and Edreeni internal anatomy framed neatly above it. Across the room is a single bioscan bed, much like the ones outside, just as the easily cleaned white tile flooring is unchanged.
Contents:
Clara
Obvious exits:
Medical Bay
You walk here from the Medical Bay.
Clara is indeed behind her desk, balls of paper littering the room here and there. Her lab coat is tossed over the coatrack at an odd angle, a pencil is behind each ear and one in her hair, which is coming out of its pins. A thick stack of paperwork sits on either side of the folder she's working in, and the room smells of coffee. Good coffee, thank goodness. "Valentine!" Clara sounds relieved.
Tara proffers the remaining box with a shy grin. "That's m'name, don't wear it out," she jests. "You, uh, mentioned you like pizza?"
Clara abruptly flips the folder closed and starts relegating stacks of paperwork to her other desk next to the computer, picking up penguin refugees and setting them atop the stacks as little tuxedoed guards. "Pizza is heaven, pizza is good, pizza is my friend, and I'm starving. Soda?"
Tara chuckles, moving forward to drop into a chair. "Sounds like a fair deal to me. No worries- I skipped the anchovies tonight."
Clara turns about to filch a pair of sodas from her fridge, one red, one blue, and scoots the blue across the desk. "Hey, I'm an island girl, fish are good," she offers with a laugh, producing a few small plates from the bookcase with all her coffee and tea stuff on it. "You have the -best- timing, too. I was trying to decide whether to fill out form J-291-C, or eat it."
Tara snickers, flipping the pizza box open- nice, friendly pizza: sausage and hamburger and mushrooms and pepperoni with loads of extra cheese- as she reaches for the blue. "Kramer indicated as much. I figure at budget time you probably waste away to almost nothing."
Clara just stares at the pizza for a moment as a drowning woman would stare at water, then hands over a plate reverently. "Close to the bottom of weight regs, yeah," she admits absently, something she'd -never- admit were she altogether together. She snags a piece of the pizza, twirling it to catch the cheese and inhaling a pleased sniff. "You do know there's a holiday for St. Valentine on Earth, right?"
Tara's eyebrows rise. A year ago having Clara that talkative would be a heavensent gift, but now... ah, missed opportunities. "Yep, sure do. I always found it rather ironic, though. But I do a mean Cupid imitation."
Clara never actually lets herself get much below that regulation limit though, considering it'd likely be noticed. She takes a blissful bite out of the pizza, then leans back to chew and swallow and basically appear to be thrilled. "It's a great holiday. The chocolate is always amazing."
Tara nods, tilting her head curiously as she reaches to snitch a piece for herself. "Chocolate generally is. What brought the holiday to mind? I mean, beside the name reference? Is it coming up? I don't generally keep track of Earth's calendar..."
Clara glances at the calender on her computer briefly, then shakes her head amidst another bite. "Just I was thinking you should be nominated for sainthood due to bringing food, and there's already a St. Valentine. But no, it's not for another seven months, actually."
Tara ahs, chuckling. And then she starts to snicker. Lots. "I'm dreaming this, right? I mean, you, nominating me for bring you food... This has gotta be some wierd dream."
Clara grins after finishing another bite, eyes only slightly glassy as she shrugs. "Life could be a a dream, sweatheart. Hello, hello again, sh'boom, sh'boom," she sings, then snickers. "Sorry, I've had far too much coffee today. The budget's nearly done, and I get silly about this time."
Tara's mouth quirks around the bite she takes from her slice. "Now, now, there's no such thing as too much coffee. Oh, I almost forgot- you're a groundpounder. Sorry, sorry." She winks. "Hey, nothing wrong with silly, in carefully calculated doses, eh?"
Clara cheerfully raspberries at this, then nods. "Groundpounder and native Terran both, and very proud of it, with no desire to be a spacejockey," she notes cheerfully. "What about you? What brings the pizza tonight? What can I do for you?"
Tara shakes her head a bit, swallowing. "Ah... you're the one who said I should stop by a few times..."
Clara blinks, then looks vastly chastened, even wincing before offering a sheepish smile. "I did, I know. I'm going to have to be honest and admit I'd be lousy at counseling tonight, since my mind is still wrapped around numbers a little. You're welcome to stay if just plain old chatting is alright? Goodness, I'd be grateful for the company."
Tara chuckles, turning in her seat to swing both legs over the arm of her chair. "Hey, that's plenty fine by me. Company's... a good thing. No, let me rephrase that- friendly company's a good thing."
"Excelling amendment," Clara decides, reaching out to snag a second slice of pizza and absently picking off the hamburger, but munching on it as soon as each piece is removed. Yes, the doctor has quirks. "Bad company's just scary and entirely unpleasant. Worse than bad situations."
Tara cocks her head, thoughtfully chewing. "I'm not sure they're entirely exclusive, really. I mean, I'm not sure you can have a bad situation without the bad company. The reverse is true, however."
Clara actually has to grin at this, taking a long pull from her soda then. "Outpost Seven," she notes distinctly. "Wonderful folks, most of them, even if they were mainly convinced I'm an utter quack. Horrible situation, though, since another few months there, and I'd never have to worry about weight regs again."
Tara peers in confusion for a few seconds before snapping her fingers. "Ah, that was when dear Mr. Lexington meddled in affairs he should not have, right? No pun intended." She makes a face. "I've never quite understood how politics and the military can get so mixed up. It's kinda scary, really."
Clara glances to one side at the mention of Lexington, then plucks a mushroom from her pizza and eats it while nodding. "That's when. I have to admit, null-gee basketball is fun, though. Doctors are horrible at sports, too. And it's simple...the government controls the military, theoretically. We work for them."
Tara snickers quietly. "Wish I coulda seen y'all playing that. Or filmed it, at least." She shrugs with a wry grin. "Yeah, well... there's the theory, and then there's stuff like /that/ that just shouldn't happen. Even my image of AF involves knights on shining armor, after all. Don't like seeing the armor tarnished." Her tone is turning somewhat absent, though, as she watches you with ever-narrowing eyes as she eats.
Clara takes a bite out of the actual pizza slice now, closing her eyes blissfully. "I'd no idea how hungry I was. Thanks, Valentine, this helps a lot." Still, Clara wouldn't be the doctor she is if she couldn't tell when someone is staring at her, and she reopens her eyes to regard you back, although in thoughtful near-innocence. "What is it?"
Tara gestures slightly, curiosity injected in her voice as she smiles near-innocently herself. "Does the Chief know you neglect yourself like this at budget time?"
Clara lifts a single brow, obviously not buying this tactic, but shaking her head. "Probably not," she answers honestly. "And I don't really, as much as it seems. I keep myself on supplements, and a lot of coffee. There was something else?"
Tara shakes her head a bit. "Nope. I was just thinking of a little friendly blackmail," she smiles. "Can't have ya working yourself into a skeleton on me now, Doc."
Clara blinks at this owlishly, then snickers and shakes her head. "You and half my staff. It's mutiny, I swear. And what blackmail did you have in mind, hmm?"
Tara grins, looking slightly relieved. "Well, if I go tell the Chief a rather exaggerated story of how I found you practically passed out from hunger... or ready to eat paper..."
Clara blinks even more at this, then dissolves into laughter, having to swallow the last bite of her pizza lest the desk wear it. "Vile blackmail of the highest order! Do you have any idea what kind of torment he'd put me through? He's an evil, wicked man, you see."
Tara nods, looking rather amused. "Oh, I know exactly what he's like. I think I've got a pretty good idea of what he'd do. So here's the deal- you actually /eat/- and I'll check with Kramer- or I wander over there, brave Lieutenant Mayes' dirty looks, and have a talk with the Chief."
"You do realize I rank Kramer, even if he and I are both majors?" Clara notes with a grin, not intimidated in the slightest. "I could order him not to tell you a word," she explains. "Besides, I'll be done with the worst of it tomorrow, so there. Neener neener," she adds, ever so maturely.
Tara snickers, leaning way over for another slice of pizza. "But if I hear nothing from him, I'd be forced to conclude you're not eating, see." She cocks her head, tearing off the point of the slice with her teeth. "Seriously, Doc? Cause, uh, pardon my frankness, but you look like heck, and when you mention your weight going down that far... Well, it could be worrisome." Not to her, of course- Tara /never/ worries about anybody but herself, after all... right?
Clara waves a hand affably, then reaches for her soda again. "Not to worry, actually," she explains with a grin. "I shouldn't have said anything, but I hover down in that end of the weight range for my height anyhow. It's just a scary metabolic rate, is all. I take after my grandfather. He's nearly eighty, and I think he's been thin all of his life. I feel like heck too, though. Trying to make all the numbers works does a number on my mental processes. An accountant, I am not."
Tara nods ruefully. "Don't they give ya training in that sort of thing before sticking ya in a job like this? Really rather cruel of 'em... oughta make pilots chiefs. All we do is numbers."
Clara rakes a hand through her hair, coming up short against a pencil and several hairpins, which she methodically starts to remove. "Sure, I have training. It still drives me insane once a year. But I can write requisition letters just fine, which is why I was hired, I think."
Tara ahhhs. "Who'd've ever thought that skill would /really/ come in handy?" she grins.
"Doctor I'lon, that's who," Clara explains with a chuckle, indicating Honalee, or at least what her player vaguely remembers being Hona's last name? Something like that.
Tara blinks. "Doctor... who? A mentor of yours?"
Clara mmms quietly, tilting a hand from side to side as she takes another long sip of soda. "Yes and no? She's the former Chief of Medical here. She had me pulled in from the field as a replacement when she retired. I miss her terribly."
Tara ahhhs quietly. "Well, maybe someday you'll get a chance to see her again. Medical convention or somesuch. An official vacation." Yeah, like she really believes Clara'll take a vacation.
"Mmm, the sooner the better, certainly," Clara decides, oddly quiet at that before she shakes her head slightly. "I talk to her often enough via comm. I should likely call her tomorrow actually. She's an inspiration and a source of wonderful, if pointed, advice."
Tara arches an eyebrow at the odd quiet, nodding a little. "Sounds like a nice lady indeed. You're lucky." A grin tugs at one corner of her weary mouth.
Clara tilts her head. Tired, yes. Spacy, yes. But she recognizes various signs still. "Tired, Tara? Long day?"
Tara chuckles softly. "A little. Not a long day, exactly- just a lot of heavy cases to move. I'm muscle-weary, not tired. At least, I don't think so. It could explain why these amusing images keep popping into my head though."
Clara's brows quirk up, in fiantly worried amusement. "Amusing images? Should I ask? And any pulled muscles? I do physical therapy too," she offers, wiggling the fingers on one hand.
Tara grins. "I was just picturing the look on your face the first night I came down here after I got back. I could kiss Kramer for not warning ya who was waiting for ya." She flexes arms and ankles, shaking her head after doing so. "Nah, I think I'm okay. Just... well, it's different from weight lifting, y'know. Different effort."
"Vaaa-aalentine," Clara drawls, rather distinctly amused. "If you kiss my head nurse, he would faint from delight, and not get any work done. And are you really turning down a perfectly good backrub from a highly trained medical professional?" she asks, feigning shocked disbelief.
Tara laughs quietly. "Ah, now, don't tempt me, Doctor. Though the look on the /Chief's/ face if he heard that would be worth it..."
Clara shrugs affably, utterly unconcerned. "Why? He wouldn't blink twice," she explains. "At least, I can't see why he would. He knows what I do for a living. And he moved in with me anyway, can you believe it?" she adds with a wry grin.
Tara chuckles. "/Doctor/... are you serious? A backrub, I mean."
"Serious as I get, ma'am," Clara agrees with an amiable nod. "Now, are you going to take your jacket off and go toss yourself face down on that couch over there, or do I write you off as an odd sort who actually refuses therepy?"
Tara blushes, and chuckles, rising to peel her jacket off. "Who'm I to go against a doctor's advice? Although," she notes as she lets herself down on the couch with a muffled groan, "This doesn't mean I'm /not/ an odd sort."
Clara climbs to her feet and heads over, snagging her doctor's stool from near the bioscan to drag over to the couch and have a seat on it before stretching her fingers out. "I never doubted it for a moment, although I'd use the word 'unique'. Lower back the worst? Or shoulders?"
Tara reaches down awkwardly to rub the spot over her kidneys. "Right here. Always was my weak spot. Unique. Yeah. I like that. Besides, I doubt the universe could withstand more than one o'me."
Clara scoots her chair to just the right spot, then sets to work, concentrating on 'seeing' more with her fingers as her eyes go primarily unfocused. "Hmmm...yeah, some strained muscles here. I'll let those stretch on their own for a few first," she decides, moving her hands up to start work on your shoulders. "More pressure or less?"
Tara groans, more in relief than anything else. "Uh... more? Just a little? Hurts, but it hurts good. This just," a muffled snicker is heard, "Seems so weird. I mean, we're sitting chatting like... well, y'know, amiably. Not quite in the doctor-patient thing. That's why a backrub seemed kinda odd."
Clara has no problems adding more pressure, far stronger by a fair sight than she appears to be. Then again, field medics end up carrying soldiers in armor back out of the line of fire, too, and she did that for a year. "Aaah, I'm always willing to be amiable, if I can get away with it. I can being a nasty bitch when necessary, but I prefer not to be. How's that?" she asks, working along each deltoid.
"Know that," Tara mumbles into her arms. "It's... Well, let me put it this way- you could open a massage parlor in the Underground and make a fortune."
Clara snickers slightly, working her way along various over-tensed muscles expertly. "Um, I don't think so. I'm not quite so innocent that I don't know what happens in massage parlors, and there are some things I'd turn red and faint from even thinking of doing professionally," she admits with a laugh.
Tara snickers, glancing back over her shoulder at you. "Seriously? And you a doctor too. I guess getting y'all a copy of the Kama Sutra for Christmas would be a not-good thing?"
Clara finally does blush, reddening significantly and shrugging. Uh-oh, she's also tired enough to speak her mind. "I've seen it before, in med school. I was horrified, to say the least. Riley's at least as proper as I am. Well, almost. He knows more, I imagine." Her hands make their way down before she tilts her head thoughtfully. "Can you take your shirt off, Tara? If you're not comfortable with that, I understand, but it's easier for me to evaluate how to treat each muscle."
Tara grins, making sure she's facing forward as she does so. "He is, huh? I'll have to remember that." -She's- not planning on enlisting... oh, the ideas aborning. Nodding amiably, she turns over and sits up to pull off her shirt. At least the scars from several years in a rough living revealed then are fairly old. "Doesn't bother me a bit, Doc. I mean, you /are/ a doctor, after all, and not even a male one at that." And she flops back down on the couch/bed thingie she's on.
Clara half grins at that, neither surprised nor dismayed by the scars. A doctor she is indeed, and a combat trained military doctor, so it's likely she has scars of her own. She traces one muscle along the side of the spine with a finger in evaluation, then sets on stretching it carefully. "He is indeed, although about impossible to embarrass. Well, not impossible, but I'm not giving away any secrets," she notes, a grin audible in her voice.
Tara laughs quietly. "Ah, I wouldn't give away any secrets, Doc." She'd use them in various amusing ways, but she wouldn't repeat them. "Ah, embarrassing him wouldn't be a good thing. Well, depending on the circumstances."
"I think a lot of it has to do with the bond we have, that he trusts me enough to let himself get embarrassed? I'm not sure," Clara admits, nattering on, very zoned, but hands just as sure as if she were wide awake. "I guess that topic doesn't fluster you much?"
Tara shakes her head slightly, forehead buried on folded arms. "Not much flusters me. Haunting the equivalent of the Underground on almost every planet I've been on in the last decade or so has a way of hardening ya to it, I guess." There's a slight pause, then she asks sheepishly, "Er, which topic did you mean, specifically?"
Clara works her way along the muscles indicated earlier, the ones strained by lifting, touch firm but gentle enough not to hurt. "Oh, just...men. Things like that," she murmurs, starting to blush already.
Tara ohs, shaking her head again. "Men, in general... sex... all that stuff doesn't bother me none. I was always kinda, um, wild, though, even as a teenager. Experimented a lot."
"Really?" And here we discover that despite her experience, Clara really is terribly innocent in some ways. She sounds awed. "Before you got to the Academy even? Goodness, I didn't even date until my senior year." There's a pause, then a wry chuckle. "This is one reason most men I went to school with call me Ice Princess. What was it like?"
Tara laughs. "It was... Well, it was fun. The whole sex and drugs and rock'n'roll bit. Granted, I did some pretty stupid things back then. Stupider than in recent years, I mean. Never went steady with any particular guy. Most of 'em bored me to tears. But the muscleheads were always the best in the sack, cause they're the ones all the girls flocked to. There's something about a dangerous guy that's just a little more thrilling."
Clara actually smiles at that, tired enough to relax a bit and distracted by working out the various muscles. "Drugs, never had much interest. Rock music...I'm infantry. It's required listening before a drop," she jokes. "And dangerous men...-highly- alluring. I'll have to agree on that one."
Tara chuckles wryly. "Yeah, well... Always been a rebel. Thing was, I /knew/ doing drugs was stupid. Didn't even particularly enjoy it much. Ended up learning how to fake it though. Ah, now the men... I mean, picture this guy, six feet tall, black hair halfway down his back, the brightest blue eyes, riding the loudest, noisiest hog you've ever seen, and he's all dressed in black leather... Dang, I think I'm drooling."
"Or six-three, blonde pilot, arrogant as all get out, and completely sure of himself and in control," Clara agrees, although with a laugh. "Him, I don't drool over, not anymore. Or six-eight of cool control, and a head for tactics in battle that can do a series of commando rolls in his sleep." She peeers at the ceiling, then snickers. "I sure hope he's asleep right now."
Tara nods with a grin, snickering at the last description. "Ah, now, he's not the dangerous type. Well, not in the same way. He's authority, not the antithesis of such. Still, he /is/ rather drea..." She breaks off in a cough, censoring herself sheepishly. "Gods," she snickers, "Me too!"
Clara laughs out right and pauses in the massage to poke at your back lightly. "You're more than welcome to look, but I don't share well, sorry," she teases, then resumes her way back up to your neck, using her thumbs to smooth along the tendons there. "It must be genetic, though. Niko's just as tasty as Riley is, for all that he and I never got serious. I am glad he found Ela, though."
Tara snickers, nodding in agreement. "In that case, I'll look a /lot/." She glances over her shoulder briefly to wink. "Yeah... And Casymed's nice too. Y'know he joined me for pizza last night in the Fruvous? Just met there by chance, but we ended up having a nice little chat. Y'all are almost scary that way. But you're right, he /is/ tasty, even if he's a tad too... clean cut to match my image of the ideal man..." *blink* "You and Niko had a thing going on?"
"Not exactly the current gossip anymore, no," Clara replies with a grin. "Relax, you've got some overtensed knots here. Yeah, Niko and I dated a bit before Riley and I realized that we both had it bad, and were just about tearing ourselves up trying to ignore it. It was a mess for a while, but it worked out for the best." She pauses, then asks matter of factly, "You do prefer men, then? I didn't know...I knew you were acquaintances with Kyara..."
"Emphasis on 'prefer'." Tara's voice is amused, if anything. "But I do like variety, and I don't limit myself to one gender. Kya... well, with women it's never been a matter of just sex. It's gotta be somebody I, uh, care about, even a little." A pause before she goes for the blusher. "She's great in bed, by the way."
Clara shakes her head at this, oddly enough not even blushing, but chuckling. "She was so, so shocked to find out my level of inexperience, bless her heart. I can't imagine sex with anyone without caring about them, so I can understand that at least. Still, when it's good, it's good. I...can't apologize for telling her the things I did, Tara. I meant them at the time. But...I'm glad that's something you enjoyed with her."
Tara looks over her shoulder, faintly confused for a moment before comprehension dawns. "Ah, that was then, this is now." She lays her head back down. "And whatever you told her, it was probably the truth far as you knew. No worries, Cla... Sorry. Doc." She snickers. "Stilvani don't have any problems with sex, no. I can imagine her reaction, yeah." A slight lifting of her shoulders. "She's a good memory. Unless it's got to do with G'ben, though, I'm staying away from her. She doesn't need me screwing things up for her, not now." A brief pause. "With women it's like that. Men, now them I can go for without caring about 'em. DeMario's an okay guy, but I don't consider him more than an aquaintance, for example."
"Sheesh, has everyone slept with DeMario but me?" Clara grouses goodnaturedly, obviously not bothered in the slightest. "And I don't mind being called Clara, by the way. Doc, Clara, hey you, whatever works." Her hands move to the lifted shoulders to return to work on the stored tension. "I...appreciate you leaving her be, though. She's at the Academy now, and I want her to do well, desperately." She pauses for a moment, working at a knot, then notes with amusement, "She was surprised, yes. My background is a little inhibiting. Two men, and no women. Thankfully, one of the men got fooled into keeping me," she notes with a grin.
Tara laughs quietly, sighing in relief. "Thank God. I keep having to /think/ about calling you 'Doc'. DeMario... I was drunk that night. Or maybe he was. Maybe both of us. I'd rate him about a 6.5 in bed." She nods slightly. "I want her to do well, too, believe it or not. I'm famous for the grudges I keep, but it's impossible to stay mad at that girl. For somebody so worldly when it comes to sex, she's incredibly innocent. /Two/?" She looks back, almost in shock. "Only /two/? And Addison doesn't mind?"
Clara's brows lift at the question, although in faint amusement rather than dismay. "Just two, Riley being the second. He didn't mind, no. He..." She flushes slightly, raking a hand through her hair at the memory. "He was terribly patient the first time I panicked, even. I wasn't exactly expecting him to make me feel like that, physically at least. We'd been in love for months at that point."
Tara's eyebrows rise. "Panic?" She does, somehow, sound sympathetic. "Lord I can't imagine that. But he's... a good man, to work you through that."
Clara considers you for a long moment, very thoughtfully, as if guaging something internally. "I had issues to work though. The first man...was...forceful? Not mean or anything." She reaches up to attempt to rest your head back down again to work at the scalp muscles. "Anyway, he left me with a parting gift, then when he found out about it, headed for the hills. I never wanted a man to touch me again. Riley taught me other wise."
Tara frowns slightly. "Forceful... has its place, when it's welcome. Sounds like you were a bit too young... and I don't mean in years... for that though. Now Addison..." There's an abrupt blink, and she twists around to stare at you with wide eyes, a hunch lurking in them. "Parting gift?"
Clara pulls her hands away, shrugging with a faint, undisturbed smile. "Some of us weren't brave enough to keep our children. It's public record that I have a halfblack for AWOL, and easy enough to find if you dig deep enough how long I was gone."
Tara sits up slowly, eyebrows rising. "Uh, you'll note /I/ didn't keep my kid either, Clara, and I can guarantee I'm far less brave than you. And... well, that's about the best reason I ever heard for earning a halfblack." Sure, she'll dig, next chance she gets. She's curious. "That explains your remark the other night- about being jealous about my not having morning sickness."
Clara shifts from her stool to the couch now that there's room, chuckling. "Precisely. You have any idea how hard it is to hide morning sickness from DIs? Thank goodness I was a med student before I started to show. Labcoats hide a lot."
Tara's eyes widen even further. "You were still in training? Good grief..." She's is /awe/. "A trick even I never dared! Oh man..." She shakes her head. "Uh, I take it you did more than give your kid to friends?"
Clara tips her head back to stare at the ceiling, shrugging. "I have connections," she admits vaguely. "I went to a private hospital at seven and a half months, finished the term, delivered, held her, and then she went to her parents." She peers over with a lopsided smile. "I admit to being a little jealous that you still see your daughter. Bless his heart, Riley even offered when I mentioned getting pregnant again last night."
Tara closes her eyes. "Yep, braver than me." She opens her eyes, shaking her head slowly. "Don't be jealous. See, the shrapnel that hit me in that battle hit /Greer/ too. Didn't know it til several months after she was born, though. She's... got problems." Eyebrows rise, and she offers a tentative grin. "You suppose he'd let met babysit?"
Clara's brows furrow at the information as she reaches over to rest a hand on your arm comfortingly. "Oh, Tara, I'm so, so sorry...is there anything I can do to help?" she offers, perfectly serious, then has to smile. "Um, you can babysit a rabbit? We're not having children. It's not the best idea."
Tara shakes her head with a slight smile. "Not unless you can reconcile the sweet docile half of her with the part that likes to pull kittens apart. It's like dealing with Jeckyl and Hyde. Shrapnel- just a tiny pellet- hit what would become her brain. She's a brilliant child, amazingly smart, but... Well. Told ya I didn't have the patience to deal with her, eh? If it was just child-rearing I was opposed to, I wouldn't have taken in G'ben." Eyebrows rise again. "Rabbit? Y'all got a hutch up there?" She pauses before offering, "I think y'all'd make great parents... Think I can see what you're saying though. Circumstances..."
Clara's brows furrow even further as she considers this information, blinking slowly. "Um. I...don't know what I could do...without meeting her," she notes tentatively. "I'd just assumed it was that you were older now, and better able to care for a child." She glances down, smile returning a bit sadly. "Riley would make the most amazing father, but yes. Circumstances. The Fleet waits not on family."
Tara considers that for a moment. "If she could be cured..." she whispers. "It'd be worth it, dealing with her, uh, moods, for a while." She glances up with a blink, coming out of her reverie, and nods quickly. "Yeah. That and... Well, God knows Addison's not the safest person to be around."
"There's a lot of things I can't cure...no one can cure," Clara notes soothingly. "But, there's a reason I have the training I do, and that I'm a counselor. If nothing else, I can at least evaluate her emotionally and see what to do from there." She peers up at the ceiling briefly, chuckling. "Oh, I'd trust Riley entirely. But there are people I don't trust."
Tara nods slowly. "You, uh, wouldn't mind taking a look at her? I mean, the doctors we had available on Scully's Planet weren't exactly the cream of the crop, y'know?" She blinks. "Oh, no, I didn't mean /Addison/ was dangerous. But he's in a dangerous position. The man's got a bounty on his head the size of a cruiser."
"Of course I would," Clara agrees simply. "I can't really leave Linnae, but if there's a way for her to come here, I'll certainly evaluate her, and probably call in a neurosurgeon from the Academy to help," she adds, then goes very still, eyes darkening. "There's still a bounty out for him?"
Tara's mouth quirks. "I do have my ship. Parole officer isn't too bad a guy- he'll let me pick her up, I think. Especially if, say, the local AF CMO'd write a recommendation for it?" she wheedles, then blinks. "Still? I just heard about it since I got back. How long...?"
Clara nods slowly. "Recommendation I can do," she agrees absently, but already descending into the bristly mode that's a cross of combat training and a woman protecting her mate, although this time the effect is rather obviously not directed at you. "A while," is all she'll admit darkly. "-Damn-," she mutters, turning away, exhaustion not letting her keep up the anger for long. "Why can't they just leave him alone?"
Tara's eyes widen at the reaction. "Um, I wish I had an answer for that. If it helps, I told the ones that offered me the job exactly what they could do with it."
Clara's jaw clenches again as she swallows once, nodding slowly and not looking up. "Thank you," she offers sincerely. "One less contract is one less attempt. I just don't understand, is all. He does such an amazing job, he's smart, he's affable, and still this?"
Tara leans sideways, trying to catch your eye. "I'll keep my ears open," she says quietly, and sighs slightly. "Because he's impeccably honorable, and does such a damn good job. He can't be touched or corrupted any other way but by removing him completely. Hell, I never realized myself just how... how /strong/ he is, until the day you took out half my spleen."
Clara actually chuckles at that, glancing up to meet your gaze. "My lifemate, Superman? He's not perfect, but he is very, very good. Those are all reasons that I love him, actually. And he is very, very strong. So long as he eats his chocolate," she adds, trying for just a hint of humor. "I'm....look, I'm sorry Tara. You didn't need me to unload on you like this. I just get so -angry- at the idea..."
Tara's head tilts slightly. "So the bit about the chocolate's true. Sounded like sci-fi to me at the time." She shakes her head quickly, instinctively reaching out with one hand. "Hey, it's okay. You can't unload it on him, and /you're/ the shrink around here- if you don't unload it on me, you just gonna keep it bottled up? That's not healthy- even /I/ know that much. And... well, I don't want him dead. It may sound weird coming from me, but... great balls of fire, I want to protect him as much as you do. Well, maybe not quite as much, but as much as I can without being in love with the guy."
Clara doesn't seem phased in the slightest to have a shirtless ex-smuggler reach out to her. She doesn't move away, but actually offers a wan smile. "I've heard this before. Riley and I had a huge fight about me keeping things bottled up before we got together." She tilts her head curiously. "Why? Why should you protect him?"
Tara blinks at her own hand, and reaches for her shirt. She was going to do that anyhow, see. Uh huh. Right. "Yeah, that's a good question. Well, for one thing, I owe him, big time. You ever heard him talk about Balance? He told me about that once. And in the big scheme of things, I'm in debt to him so far I don't know I'll ever catch up."
Clara lifts her own hand to squeeze yours before pulling it back to allow shirt gathering. Evidently she really isn't phased a bit. It's a doctor thing. "Balance?" she repeats, then ahs. "Melanti'i, yes." She pauses, then wrinkles her nose and lets out an entire paragraph in Kashidian, as if reciting. "It's complicated, but I have a really basic understanding of melanti'i. Mine is joined with his." She half smiles at the idea of debt. "Does he think you owe him anything?"
Tara squeezes in return, blushing a little. She really /is/ trying to be comforting. The Kashidian makes her eyes widen before she pulls on her shirt, buttoning slowly. "Melawhat?" She shakes her head slightly with a rueful grin. "Maybe it's the same thing, I dunno." A lift of her shoulders. "I don't know. But /I/ feel like I do. And... There's more to it than just that. Ironically enough, even when I hated his guts, when I tried to make him hurt, he was the one person I could depend on. And when I bled on his couch, he sent me over to you to get patched up instead of booting me out into the cold. And... just all /sorts/ of things he's done." She's really rather at a loss to explain it well, and it shows.
"Melant'i," Clara repeats, probably not spelling it right because her player's brain is polenta. "The sum of one's self in synthesis in relationship to and dependent on the environment and circumstances. Glossary entry courtesy of Aleron," She adds with a faint smile. "I can't explain much of it in Standard, actually, or even in Kashidian. I'd need another thirty-five years of study like he's had. But what it all boils down to is that he never would have let you bleed to death. He's a good person, and he knows what's right for himself, and for me from our a'trezla bond."
>>OOC: Tara checks the handy dandy dictionary. "Ayup, right spelling." :)
Tara boggles slightly, not understanding the explanation much at all. But it's got a sense of rightness to it, and she nods. "Something like that, yeah. Half an hour after he threatened to make me do some bleeding himself, he still did that. He's..." She pauses, changing what she had been about to say. "Well, all I know is I don't want to disappoint him. Killing him would do that, I'm pretty sure," she deadpans before smiling wryly. "He's taught me some stuff, or made sure I learned it, one way or another. Yeah, he's a good guy. Good guys are supposed to come in first. I'm about a half-good guy. We're the ones who're supposed to make sure guys like him win. And I'm not making a bit of sense..." she realizes.
"I think we've both been rambling at each other for about an hour now," Clara agrees, albeit with a warm smile. "Why don't you get some sleep, hmm? Hopefully that massage will keep the lactic acid from building up in your muscles and knotting them worse. Drink a glass of water when you get home," she prescribes.
Tara nods, sliding off the bed with a blush. "Best pizza I ever bought," she grins wryly, reaching for her jacket. "You get to take the leftovers home. Water, gotcha. Might not even need the dream stuff tonight, not this relaxed. And my back does feel a hell of a lot better- thank you for that. Oh..." She pulls a scratchpad and stylus from the inner pocket of her jacket, scribbles quickly, and tears off the note, letting it float to the desk. "That's the name of my dear parole officer. If you could maybe jet that recommendation to pick up Greer over to him sometime the next couple of days, I'd appreciate it."
Clara accepts the paper before circling her desk to slip the pizza into her fridge before shutting off her computer, and rubbing her hand through her hair. She offers a weary smile and nods, coming back around to walk you to the door. "I'll take care of it in the morning. Right now, all my body can think of is being horizontal next to something warm and security goonish, preferably Edreeni tall."
Tara laughs quietly. "Hey now, don't be tempting. That sounds awfully good right now." Giving you a wink, she pulls on her jacket, straightening the collar, and moves for the door.
You walk towards the Medical Bay.
Clara walks here from the Chief Aleron's Office.
Clara has arrived.
Clara chuckles, waving a hand dismissively. "Nope, don't be, trust me. I kick in my sleep," she explains, obviously taking it the wrong way, but as a joke. "G'night, Tara."
Tara snickers at the remains of a pizza box in the disposal near the reception desk as she passes it. Laughing, she waves in return. "Night, Doc." Nope, no calling the nice doctor lady by her first name in front of other patients. "And remember- eat, or blackmail. And get some sleep too!" With that admonition, she's gone.
You head towards the Second Floor Elevator Lounge.
