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.
Clara, standing by the door.
Obvious Exits:
Short Term Care Chief's Office Elevator Lounge
Medbay seems to have calmed down for the night, except that someone forgot to tell Clara that. She's standing before a filing cabinet, rummaging through various forms in it and rather intent on what she's doing.
Tara comes quietly up to the desk, a small cardboard-like box in her hands. Instead of her usual leather jacket, she's wearing a short blue coat with a patch bearing a stylized 'V' over the breast pocket. "Working late tonight, Doctor?"
"Form 14-A...form 14-A...bother! I -know- I filed it here last year," Clara mutters to herself before all but starting as she spins about. A exhalation of relief and a distracted laugh precedes, "Not really. Just getting some paperwork done. What can I do for you?"
Tara grins, dropping the box onto the reception desk. "You like coffee, don't ya? I got this stuff as a tip this morning, and quite frankly, orange-flavored coffee really doesn't appeal to me."
Uh-oh. Coffee from a new source. Clara doesn't even let a moment of worry show through, though, but merely brightens appropriately in a smile, letting the drawer shut and lock behind her. "Coffee of -any- sort is worth drinking, unless it turns one green. Or purple plaid," she adds, as an afterthought.
Tara snickers quietly, leaning on the desk with folded arms. "That was still amusing, after he wasn't green anymore. Purple plaid? Do I even dare ask?"
"It's amusing now," Clara admits with a wry quirk of her lips. "Back then I was somewhere between terrified and furious when I wasn't too busy being doctorish. Nothing to ask, though. I just made up the part about purple plaid." She gestures at the back hallway. "I was about to break and get some tea. Want a soda or something?"
Tara grins, straightening up to come around the desk. "Hey, I'm always up for a soda. And I just offloaded way too much cargo- getting off my feet for a bit'd be nice."
Clara gestures affably for you to follow, then, and heads towards her office.
Tara follows. Anything for a blue can. My kingdom for a blue can!
Clara walks towards the Chief Aleron's Office.
Clara has left.
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 circles around her desk to drop into her chair, waving at one of the others on the other side before turning to swith on an electric kettle. She tugs a blue can from her fridge, then slides it across the desk during an absent glance at her terminal. "One blue can coming up. You were at work today, then?"
Tara mhmmms, trying not to look /too/ happy about the soda as she pops it open even before she drops into the chair. "Yeah, just a short run though, to the next system over. Brought in a bunch of exotic chocolates. You oughta smell my cargo hold."
For some reason, Clara distinctly looks as if she's about to burst into laughter at the mention of the cargo, and even flickers a glance at McCoy's empty station. She remains calm though, and turns back about to prepare a cup of tea. "I imagine it smells simply heavenly. I think I might have to be jealous. Ready to call it a day, then?"
The doctor earns herself a curious look for that almost-laughter, but Tara shrugs it off and nods, slouching a bit down in her seat. "Actually, it's amazing just how sick one can get of the smell of chocolate. Oh yeah, I'm ready for that alright. Specially since I never know what my schedule'll be day to day. But they said they wouldn't be needing me any more tonight- I might as well enjoy it, eh?" This speech is punctuated by several quick sips of cola.
"Here, here," Clara agrees, finally turning and lifting her teacup in a toast before taking a sip. "I may knock off for the night as well and actually be asleep before midnight for once." She tilts her head thoughtfully. "But I'm always available if needed to talk...was there something besides coffee...?"
Tara's eyebrows rise over her can, and she pauses to consider that. "I dunno about 'need'." Her mouth quirks in amusement. "Chatting's nice, though, I'll admit. I've enough of my own thoughts to chew on all day."
Clara leans back in her seat, taking a careful sip of her tea as if to measure the temperature. "Chewing on thoughts can get a little bland after a time. Sometimes it's better to share them," she offers gently.
Tara chuckles wryly, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "I dunno... Everything just seems so different. I mean, it's only been a /year/. Not very long at all."
"Aaaah, but a lot can change in just a year. An entire life can take a completely new direction," Clara suggests thoughtfully. "What seems to have changed for you?"
Tara shakes her head after a few seconds' thought. "I'm not sure I can explain it. Maybe it's not 'everything' that's changed. Maybe it's just me. I used to be the one who'd spit in Death's face and flip him off, and now? Caution's practically engraved on my eyebrows. I'm jumpy all the time."
Clara thinks this over, then decides that the tentative approach to counseling may not be best this time, and asks frankly, "Do you think that's something you've developed since your injury?" She gestures at the eyepatch with her cup.
"Since?" Tara shakes her head. "Over several months would be more accurate, I think. I, uh, learned real quick to keep all my wits around me in that place."
Clara nods slowly at this, setting her cup on the desk but wrapping her hands about it. "Prison isn't daycamp, that's for sure. What was it like?"
Tara shrugs a little, her face carefully bland. "Every hour was fifty-five minutes of sheer boredom interspersed with a few minutes of pure terror. Everything's gray. And most folks aren't exactly what you'd call friendly, unless they wanted something out of ya. And then there's the guards..."
"I'd have been surprised to hear of too many friendly folk there, although I wish I could say otherwise," Clara admits quietly, voice carefully soothing. She's even fully awake now, and into counselor mode. "The guards...what were they like?"
Tara mmms, "Well, I guess they weren't /too/ bad. They had a job to do, after all, and they needed to maintain discipline. Problem there for a bit was, well, the Chief could probably confirm that authority figures and I have always had a way of clashing. And we, uh, clashed."
Clara's lips purse slightly, but not in reproval, but rather in sympathy. "We all learn to deal with authority in our own way, in our own time, Tara. It comes from an experience. Some have the experience young enough that authority never bothers them, others of us learn later on. What happened during the clash?"
Tara's jaw works for a moment as she stares at the can cradled in her hands. "Well, let me put it this way- solitary isn't any fun. Neither are bruises. For once though, I... just gave up. They won. I didn't have any /way/ to win. It's not like there was any place to run away to, y'know? Here, if things had taken a downhill slide, I could hop into the Phoenix and take off, but there..." A shake of her head.
"Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide," Clara muses quietly. "Theoretically, prison is a place to reform criminals rather than serve as punishment. Freedom is removed so that values may be instilled. The guards...they didn't...your eye?"
Tara looks up with a blink. "Huh? Oh, hell no. Warden woulda been furious. He's an okay guy. This was my reward for winning that last fight. Somebody didn't want me to leave in one piece."
Clara goes so far as to grimace in full disapproval now, shaking her head firmly. "-Entirely- uncalled for. I really do not understand some people. I take it they were people you knew already?"
Tara hmmms? "You mean before I got to prison? Nah. They're bullies who didn't like it when I 1) refused to bow and scrape to 'em, and 2) stood up for other folks they were abusing."
"The likes of which are everywhere, but concentrated and left to distill there," Clara decides thoughtfully. "What else brought about your change of view? Other things in prison? Things since you've returned?"
Tara arches an eyebrow. "Nah, nothing since I got back. It's just... Well, like I was in the bakery the other day, and somebody brushed a little too close behind me- I dropped my glass, whirled around, my hand went for a weapon I didn't have on me... Startled this poor little old lady half out of her wits, I think. And everytime I see a SecOff, or hell, anybody in a uniform for that matter, I run over the checklist in my head- Clothes straight? Hair up? Suitably cowed expression? Voice modulated to perfect patient politeness?" Annoyance flickers in her eyes. "I never used to be like that."
Clara leans forward to rest folded arms on her desk, head tilted with a rather serious expression as she listens. "Valentine, you know how I felt about you before you left. Can I make an observation, and will you believe it's objective? It's merely a thought, you can ignore it or consider it as you like."
Tara looks up, grinning somewhat wryly. "Actually, you always puzzled me, Doctor. I was never able to figure you out. I /think/ I'm finally starting to get there." She nods amiably, taking a drink from forgotten soda. "Observe away."
Clara actually smiles faintly, shrugging. "Annoying brat turned infantry medic, that's about all there is to me," she suggests, then goes solemn again. "Okay, observation. Before you left, authority meant nothing to you, other than a set of rules to be evaded, broken, or ignored. Arrogance was your defence, your way of life, along with a sense of 'devil take the hindmost'. Compassion for your fellow man, while not missing, was at a minimum. Now...now you've nearly had your spirit broken. Nearly, note. Not quite. Your first thought is of what others will think of you. I say you need to find a happy medium. Remember that other people matter, that their feelings matter, but so do yours. Just because it's been rough, you're still a worthwhile person. Start over, start fresh. You'll find there's more than bullies and wimps in the world."
Tara listens quietly, nodding absently in confirmation here and there. "What others think of me? Hmmm. I'm not quite sure that's accurate... Not that it's /in/accurate, mind you. At least, I wouldn't bet on it being so. It's more like I'm worried what they'll /do/, not what they think." Her arms cross over her chest as she shrugs slightly, a weary smile gracing her lips. "Ah, I dunno. I just got back. It's gonna take a while, probably, to ease back in. Right now, uneasy seems to be the overriding mood."
Clara inclines her head to that, as if agreeing. "You have a point...but others act on what they think." She ventures an encouraging smile then. "There's no reason you shouldn't take your time, though, Tara. You've been through rather excessive circumstances. But don't let yourself slip into using arrogance as a shield again. I think you'll be tempted, but I hope you won't give in."
Ah, now, what's a Tara without arrogance? She doesn't seem to have come to that conclusion herself though. "Arrogance... as a shield? Is that what I do? Did? Was doing?"
"I could give you all the psych mumbo-jumbo, but trust me, it's a bore and a half," Clara notes, gesturing with her teacup and a faint smile. "But yes, arrogance is generally a shield that is used to prevent others from getting too close. No one gets close, no one hurts you."
Tara goes quite still for a moment. "Doctor," she finally comments with the faintest of smiles, "You're very, very good."
Clara's brows lift at that before she inclines her head equably. "I understand people," she says simply, reassuringly. "Usually that shield is there to prevent -further- hurt, though. Is that something that might be a consideration for you, Tara?"
Tara nods slowly. "Yeessss... It almost makes too much sense, really. It's also rather annoying that I didn't think of that on my own." She does, however, look more amused than annoyed.
Clara gestures with one hand, palm up to the ceiling. "Don't be annoyed," she urges with a smile. "There's nothing more difficult than diagnosing your own troubles. The don't even let me try that on myself," she adds, smile quirking to a brief grin. "Now, think back to what might have been painful enough that you needed to avoid that. And think of since then. Have you met people worth knowing? Worth taking risks with?"
Tara doesn't have to think long on either point. "Yeah, sure, I have. Not many, mind you- I'm picky. But yeah, there's been a very select few."
"Then I suggest to you that there are actually -more- people out there worth taking that risk on," Clara explains patiently. "There's nothing wrong with caution, but arrogance will drive the good ones away, and irritate the bad ones into being irritating."
Tara nods slowly. "I'll entertain that possibility. Not really sure I want to meet 'em just yet, though. Not til I... have found that happy medium you spoke of."
"I think you've already met at least one," Clara notes with a small smile. "G'ben?"
Tara goes silent for a few minutes, observing her can as she makes it dance along the arm of her chair. "Yeah," she finally admits. "He falls into that category, though I didn't know that when I took him in. He just... needed somebody."
"Being needed...it feels good, doesn't it?" Clara asks gently. "To have someone depend on you, and maybe you depend back? Just a little?"
Tara begins to grit her teeth, though she doesn't notice, her words coming out with difficulty. "I suppose so. Except that I failed /him/ too."
"Tara, Tara...raising a child is -hard-," Clara explains. "It's something people usually do with a partner. You got tossed into guardianship, even if it was voluntary. The past is said and done, and exactly that, past. Think you goofed? Fine, everyone does. Make up for it. Be there for him now."
Tara pales slightly beneath her tan, and she flounders for a retort. "I /know/ raising a child is hard," she says bitterly. "And I know all too well how difficult it is without my husband. I'm doing the best I can- that's all I've ever done. But it's never enough!"
"And you'll never think it is enough," Clara responds, staying fully calm and soothing. "That's why the rest of us help, because we -know- it's difficult. I couldn't raise a child, so I applaude you for the attempt, Tara, and offer what assistance I can give." She pauses for a beat, then prompts with utmost care, "Your husband?"
Tara blinks. Did she say that? Oh dear. Now definitely annoyed at herself, she goes for a nonchalant shrug. "Ah, what the hell... Yeah, I was married- lemme think here- about six years ago. Anyways, I do appreciate y'all helping out with G'ben." Oooh, real smooth segue there, Tara. "Especially while I was gone. He's done better than I would've expected," she admits.
Clara's brows lift at the rapid glossing over of the information before she leans back in her chair again, abandoning her cup to steeple her fingers. "Amazing how life can change, how -people- can change in just one year, let alone six," she muses. "G'ben was already well on the way to being where he was when you had to leave. You gave him the push he needed."
Tara blushes, hurriedly lifting the blue can to hide the reddening. "I gave him the /opportunity/. That boy'll never need pushing, not with his enthusiasm."
"Tara...relax," Clara offers soothingly. "I'm not here to judge you, or jump to conclusions. You only have to tell me what you -want- to, and none of it leaves this room. You're protected by patient privilege."
Tara looks up with mixed startlement and amusement. "Patient privilege? We're just chatting..."
Clara holds a finger to her lips, making a 'ssssh' sound. "I know that, you know that. But I get a kick out of pretending to be all official. Don't tell anyone, okay?"
Tara suppresses a snicker, her mouth twitching in amusement. "Oh, your secret's safe with me. You're protected by soda-giver privilege."
Clara rubs at her eyes for a moment, echoing the laugh. "Thank goodness. Sometimes I worry that people might find me out, and I'd be banished."
Tara nods, leaning forward a little to peer at you. "Tired, Doctor? You do seem to be, these days."
Clara shrugs vaguely, grinning and shaking her head. "A little tired, but it's not a big deal. Just up a little too late, back up again a little too early. It's nearly budget time, so paperwork abounds."
Tara grins faintly. "It comes around all too soon, doesn't it- just like taxes. That's one thing I don't envy y'all, the paperwork. Sometimes it amazes me that things can actually get done despite it."
"Uuuugh, taxes are evil," Clara announces. Thus is her heritage revealed. "That's why I have a full staff," she adds. "If it weren't for them, I'd be utterly helpless. We all make a good team."
Tara grins, swinging one leg up over the arm of her chair to let dangle idly. "That's one good thing about this last year- I didn't earn jacksquat. No taxes to avoid this year. Or rather, I can avoid 'em honestly. I tell ya, it's a real pain when you buy expensive jewelry, fine wines, et cetera, when the occupation you claim does not support such stuff." She nods agreeably. "Well-meshed, I take it? i've seen that happen before, and it still surprises me to this day that a bunch of people can blend together into a unit so well."
"I grew up with all that fancy stuff," Clara explains, nose wrinkling. "About all I can handle still is a dismayingly expensive taste in alcohol, and an itch to go sailing once in a while. The Galactic Revenue Service guys were regular visitors back home. Granmere would always fix up tea when they came to visit." Uh-oh...she's rambling again. "And I can't claim credit for the team. My predecessor gathered these people, and provided amazing guidance. My job is to stay out of their way and let them do what they're good at."
Tara blinks at the outpouring of information. "Ah, well, at least y'all didn't have to come up with excuses for your possessions. GRS only accepts the 'it was a gift from my parents' so many times before they crack down. Still, I'll bet the paperwork for your taxes is... was... a real monster." She chuckles quietly. "Smart thinking. Micromanaging makes for unhappy team members, and the occasional mutiny."
"Haven't paid taxes in...almost ten years," Clara admits, having to think. "Military pay doesn't have to worry about it, and I've only worked one civilian job." She half smiles, eyes slowly starting to glaze, although from impending exhaustion rather than boredom. "Mutiny I get anyhow, though. They gang up and toss me out of here on vacation. Evil medics," she mock-grumps, smirking.
Tara snickers quietly. "Ah, medics are a breed apart, even in the military. They're not your average soldier. Luckily for you." She nods knowingly, slurping down cola, and tosses the emptied can toward the trash. "And, luckily for you, you've got a nice warm Admiral to go curl up with and zonk out."
Clara flaps a hand lightly, then reaches for her teacup to drain the last measure of it. "Mmm, he's long out cold by now. I'll send a note home, then crash down here," she decides around a yawn. "Tara? Thanks again for the chat. I swear, a year ago, I'd never have believed it if someone would tell me we'd be chatting so amiably now. Thank you."
Tara rises to her feet smoothly, gazing intently at you for a moment. "Never, ever waste an opportunity to be with him, even if he's so asleep he doesn't stir when you crawl into the bed," she advises with quiet calm. "You never know what's going to happen tomorrow that might take those opportunities away." At that last, her expression turns mildly amused. "Me neither. I'm not quite sure why you're thanking me for it though."
Clara's eyes widen at the chiding for a moment before she nods thoughtfully, reaching over to snap off her computer and rise to her feet. "I think you may have a point," she agrees quietly. "Maybe curling up in my own bed would be beter." She shrugs then, returning the amusement. "Thank you for trying, and for letting me be honest with you. I'm not always nice when I'm honest," she clarifies.
Tara nods with an approving smile. "Do pardon my directness. It's.. a subject I feel quite strongly on." She lets out a rueful laugh. "Might as well get used to it now, while there's still no chance of me flying too far off the handle at you."
"I'm an open shoulder and a friendly ear if it's a subject you decide you want to talk about in more detail later," Clara offers carefully, doing her best to be offering without prying. "And no worries there," she adds, grinning sleeping and starting for the door, tugging off her lab coat to hang on the clothesrack. "I'm a short fuse myself. It's why Riley and I have soundproofed quarters, so folks don't hear us yelling at each other. Well, that and the drums."
Tara pauses, actually considering the offer. "Maybe someday. Never have absolved it all, really." Her stride is somewhat quicker as she moves toward the door. "Y'all really yell at each other? I mean, loudly? I can't remember if I've ever seen him get loud due to anger or not. Drums?"
"Whenever you're ready, of course," Clara agrees, rubbing at her eyes. "I won't push." She chckles quietly then, shaking her head. "Mainly I yell, he stays calm. Usually. There's been a few times it turns into a shouting match. He wins those. Mm-hmm. My trap set. I play the drums," she explains, snapping out the light and heading into Medbay.
Clara walks towards the Medical Bay.
Clara has left.
You walk towards the Medical Bay.
Medical Bay
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.
Clara, standing by the door.
Obvious Exits:
Short Term Care Chief's Office Elevator Lounge
Tara snickers quietly. "Okay, that makes a bit more sense with the impression I got of y'all." She nods pleasantly to the desk nurse as she passes. "You gonna make it upstairs alright, Doctor?"
Clara rests her hand on a nearby desk, whose occupant smiles up at her affably before returning to work. After making sure she's steady, she resumes heading towards the doors. "I should, yes, but thank you. Our apartment is just on the third floor, not far at all," she adds about another yawn.
Clara heads towards the Second Floor Elevator Lounge.
Clara has left.
You head towards the Second Floor Elevator Lounge.
Tara nods, trying not to look dubious. "Alright then. I'm off for a shower and a bit of reading before I hit the sack. Y'all have a good night, Doctor." She starts to turn toward the general housing wing, pausing only to offer a muffled, sheepish, "Thanks" before hurrying down the hall.
"Splendid idea," Clara agrees to the idea of a hot shower, then half smiles to herself at the final 'thanks'. She watches after the other woman for a moment, then inclines her head. "You're most welcome," she murmurs, then turns to make her only slightly unsteady way up the stairs to home, to lifemate, and most importantly, to sleep.
