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
Clara is seated at a desk near a filing cabinet, leaned over a folder of paperwork. She seems to be penciling in numbers, referencing them from the computer screen.
Tara sidles up to the reception desk, casting a quick glance toward Clara before smiling wanly at whoever's at said desk, cleaning her throat. "Uh, excuse me...?"
Giani glances up from her own set of paperwork and brightens with a cheerful smile.
Then again, Giani's always cheerful. "Well, hello there. What can I do for you?"
Tara had to have an excuse to come bug the medics, right? Doesn't mean she's not uneasy about using it. "Well, Dr. Aleron checked my eye the other day," she stammers. "I, uh, can't remember if she said it's doing alright or not..."
"Hold on, honey," Giani suggests with a grin, then calls over, "Hey doc! Heads up! You gotta patient!" Clara peers up from her work, blinking to clear away the numbers dancing before her eyes. "Hrm? Oh, Valentine," she recognizes, rising to her feet as she flips the folder shut. "Afternoon, what can I do for you?"
Tara smiles, gesturing a bit sheepishly. "Um, couple things, really- I can't recall if you said my eye was doing okay, and, uh," the next words come out in a rush. "Canyougivemesomethingtokeepmefromdreamingforacoupleofnights?"
Clara trades a look with Giani after spending a moment deciphering that. "Hold my calls?" she murmurs at the nurse, then turns to scoop up her paperwork. "Why don't you come with me?" she adds to the other woman with an encouraging smile. "We'll see what I can do."
Tara hesitates a second before nodding, coming around the desk, mumbling something about successful ploys for blue cans. And she's probably got a bridge for sale somewhere too.
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
Clara walks into her office, laughing quietly and settling the folders on her desk before heading around to drop into the seat behind it. She leans down into the small fridge to liberate a blue can and slide it across the desk, then leans back in her chair. "You're having problems with bad dreams?"
Tara chuckles wryly, reaching for the can. "You know me too well, Doctor." Popping it open, she takes a drink before nodding, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "A little, yeah. Dreams I thought I'd gotten rid of a long time ago. I'm hoping they'll go away in a few days, but in the meantime I'm getting no sleep, and I almost ran into an asteroid this morning. That'd've been painful."
Clara's brows shoot up at this information as she steeples her fingers. "Not for long, it wouldn't have been. Tara, dreams usually -mean- something or are caused by something. They don't usually just go away on their own. I could sedate you, but that's not going to fix the problem. Can you tell me what they're about?"
Tara's nose wrinkles at the thought of sedation. "My... A battle I was in, several years ago, right before I bought the Phoenix. Funny, most kids think the life of a smuggler's exciting- well, it is that, but it's got its less than wonderful days too."
"Lots of kids think battle is romantic," Clara muses thoughtfully, then shakes her head. "It's not, not ever. It's messy and painful and traumatizing. Heros are the ones that survive," she adds. Opinionated? Naaaah. "What happened in the battle?"
"No, heroes are the ones that die," Tara says quietly. "Cowards survive." Taking another gulp of soda, she starts to pace a little. "Well, we lost the battle. We weren't expecting that cruiser to show up out of nowhere. Never did figure out how they tracked us down. We... I was wounded, not badly, really. Hurt like hell though."
"Not everyone who survives is a coward," Clara notes gently. "Injuries hurt, and there's no way around it. Battles cause wounds that well exceed the physical," she adds. "We were hurt?" she prompts. "There was a 'we' there, Tara."
Tara swings around to stare at you for a moment, then she starts to snicker. "Why do I bother?" she asks herself quietly. "You're astute, Doctor. Well, a /lot/ of us were wounded. Those of us who got away were lucky to do so. Sam... didn't. He was a hero." A note of pride touches her voice there.
Clara grins slightly at the initial question, then shrugs. "It's what they pay me to be," she explains, then inclines her head, smile returning to sobriety. "Sometimes it happens that way. Your husband?" she prompts again, extremely gently.
Tara nods shortly. "Yeah. A more enigmatic man you'll never find. He just wasn't the smuggler type. But he was very very good at what he did. That year was the best I've ever had. However," she gets back on track, "I keep reliving the battle, at night. They say no good deed goes unpunished- well, this is my reward for trying to comfort Aliana the other night."
Clara sits up straight at that, distracted for just a moment. "Is Aliana all right?" she queries, obviously worried before she all but slaps on a wall of self-control again and leans back, concern still showing, but now for you. "Losing one's lifemate would be a trauma I can't even imagine, although I'm very fond of someone who has. How did you survive? Can you tell me the details of the dream?"
Tara blinks, and quickly nods. "Yeah, she's fine. She just hasn't seen her fiance in several weeks, and she's missing him and kinda depressed." Eyebrows arch as she takes an absent drink from the blue can. "Who lost... Er, never mind. Sorry, not my business. Well, like I said, I wasn't hurt that badly. And I had plenty to look forward to that kept me going. Details?" She shrugs. "Starts out, we're stopped for a nav check- our comp had gone a little haywire. And then the cruiser's just /there/, and they're doing the 'stand by to be boarded' crap. Obviously, when you've got a cargo hold full of contraband, heaving to is not an option. We try to run, but they're ready for us... I dunno who their gunner was, but he clipped our engines neat as could be. We fire back, and the battle was on. We were just... outclassed. I mean, Dyce put together a crackerjack crew, but that's really no match for AF equipment."
Clara nods slowly, a flash of relief showing in her eyes at that. "Rhys is a sweet person. We'll all be glad when he returns." She tilts her head while listening impassively, nodding here and there, and finally sighing. "No, outrunning or outgunning a Fleet cruiser's not the easiest. I'm honestly suprised any of you survived." She doesn't sound judgemental, but rather merely evauluative. "Something you said there...let's focus on that. You had plenty to look forward to?"
Tara nods her agreement with the evaluative statements, then goes very still. After a moment, she offers tightly, "We'd found out the morning before the battle that I was pregnant."
Clara leans forward to rest folded arms on the desk, expression significantly somber. "I see. I'm going to assume that was a joyous discovery," she offers quietly. "Expected or no. And the pregnancy? Did you go to full term?"
Tara chuckles wryly. "We were joyous, yes. Unexpected, but... it made our lives seem like something close to normal, y'know? We were real people too, not just bloodthirsty criminals or what-have-you." She nods shortly while finishing off the can, rocketing the empty toward the disposal. "Full term, yep. It was a perfect pregnancy. I didn't even get morning sickness."
"Everyone's people, Tara, even if folks aren't always on the same side. Outlaws, military, civilians, diplomats, family is a part of it all," Clara suggests with the merest of encouraging smiles that turns into a chuckle as she rolls her eyes. "I'm jealous," she mutters, then gestures at you carefully. "Perfect pregnancy is good, very good. And the infant? May I ask?"
Tara shakes her head slightly, though not at that last question. "Eight pounds, seven ounces, 21 and a half inches long. Greer was perfect. Everything was wonderful. I even thought about finding legitimate work. I even," and here she snickers, "Thought about sending a message of thanks to my dear former Captain. I was that deliriously happy. If I hadn't been cashiered, I'd never have had her, after all."
"He'd have been delighted for you, Tara," Clara assures, sounding actually fairly certain about that. "He seems to like children, to the best of my knowledge. And that's a -big- baby," she adds in one of those tones of a woman who understands, grinning. "But I'll be nice and not make references to the ooh-aah bird. Where is she now?"
Tara's eyebrows rise in an expression of amusement. "Perhaps he would have. And for a big baby, it was a fairly easy birth too." Sobering slightly, she shakes her head. "On a planet called Oorian. Dunno if you've ever heard of it? Most of the population is smugglers and such. She stays with some... friends of mine. They've got the patience to deal with her. Quite frankly, I don't."
"So you still have contact with her?" Is that just the slightest hint of envy in Clara's eyes? Perhaps not, because her expression remains perfectly amiable and encouraging. "I've heard of Oorian, but only in passing. I'm afraid I've never been there. And there's nothing to be ashamed of in admitting you've not the temperment to raise a child. Better that then not admitting it and trying anyway. So you have a reminder of your husband to focus on, a piece of him that still lives." No, this isn't a horror movie. "This is good. And the dreams? Are they the crash sequence?"
Tara mhmmms. "It's... it's not easy, granted, but I do talk to her now and then, visit occasionally. I think it's a job requirement." Taking a breath, she nods. "Sam wasn't a pilot, but he knew the basics. By the time Ed- Captain Dyce, that is- decided it was time to bail, I'd been hit by shrapnel, lost some blood. I was of no use. Sam was hurt worse- he knew he wasn't going to make it. Half the bloody life pods had been disabled, so we had to make for the nearest planetoid. Ed... I didn't want to go, didn't want to leave Sam behind, but Sam made him drag me to a pod, and we got away. The cruiser went after the _Rainbow's End_. Sam got the ship landed in more or less one piece, but..."
"But not himself," Clara finishes gently, nodding once. "He was very, very brave, I'd venture to say." She falls silent for a moment to consider all of this, not exactly rushing to let hasty words be said. Finally, she asks, "How did you feel when you were dragged to the lifepod? What did you want to do?"
Tara shakes her head after a moment, casting a glance toward the fridge. "I'm not really sure I can explain it. I was just... devastated. I wanted to save him, I wanted to go down with him, I... I didn't want him to be alone. Lucky I was so weak or I'd've probably killed Ed. Thank God he understood. Poor guy had to knock me out, the hard way."
"So where was the cowardice in any of this?" Clara has to ask, although her tone is far, far more comforting that the words would have it seem.
Clara also goes about getting another soda from the fridge and holding it up in offering.
Tara blinks, staring at you. "We left! /I/ left! How could I /do/ that? Everybody was scared, talking about how we were all going to be captured..." Oh, blue cans do make a nice diversion, and Tara seizes the can gratefully to wet her dry mouth. "Captured? What's capture when he /died/ for us?"
Clara lifts a hand to quell the reaction, head inclining lightly as just a hint of authoritativeness creeps into her voice. Not judgemental, not even firm, just very, very certain. "No. You retreated, and one man chose to scuttle the ship. For the moment, I don't care if it was Fleet or smuggler, that's -not- the point. The point is, you tried to stay. You tried to fight, and you were injured, and your commander judged you unfit for battle. What good would you have done if you stayed?"
Tara takes a deep breath, getting control of herself. "Sorry," she mutters. "Didn't mean to yell at ya." She shakes her head. "Strategically, none, I know that. Though sometimes I think maybe I still could've gotten the ship to safety. I hadn't used all my tricks when we abandoned ship." She looks up at you. "But I could've been with him. He didn't deserve to die alone."
"No, it's all right. This is an emotion subject, and outbursts of emotion are to be expected," Clara offers with a faint smile. "But Tara, listen to me, and trust me on this. Everyone dies alone. I don't care if they're a hundred and twenty and surrounded by six generations of loving family, or going down in a ship. I've seen it too many times. Your husband died, I'm going to guess, far happier knowing his wife and unborn child would live."
Tara arches a dubious eyebrow. "Maybe." She doesn't sound like she believes it though. "I know I'd rather have somebody... hell, anybody... there when I go." The pilot nods at that last. "Yeah, well, that's about the only thing that kept me sane back then, I think, is hoping... forcing myself to believe that made it not quite as horrible."
"You couldn't have changed what happened. You went on and rather than escape into death, you forced yourself to live a life without your husband. The result was your daughter, his daughter," Clara summarizes soothingly. "I don't see any cowardice in that. I see a determination to live, and to do so in the face of pain. That's far braver."
Tara sighs slightly. "I dunno. Maybe. Maybe not. In the end, it doesn't really matter, I suppose..." She trails off, and swings to peer at you for a moment. Clearing her throat, she draws herself up. "This, uh, all falls under that patient privilege you mentioned... right?"
Clara actually smiles at this, nodding once. "Entirely, Tara, entirely. The only time I'm required to break patient privilege in in the case of current danger to the Alliance or Fleet. So far, I haven't heard a thing I think bears reporting or repeating to a soul."
Tara lets out a sigh of relief. "Thank God. This isn't stuff I want everybody and their mother knowing. Not that I think you'd gossip, but..."
"But I don't even tell Riley more than the generics of who I talked to, not even as just someone who lives with him, promise." Clara tilts her head in thought. "I think all I've told him so far is that we've talked, and that you've had some hard times, and have a lot of thinking to do, and that you seem to be doing well. That's it."
Tara lets out a snort of laughter, dropping into a chair. "He's probably one of the few people I'd trust, actually, outside of conflicts between his duty and whatever screwups I've made." Elbows balanced on her knees as she cradles the can in both hands, she looks up at you. "So... anything you got that'll get rid of these dreams? Smashing into an asteroid would really be an ignomious way to go."
"Seriously," Clara agrees, turning to log into her computer and tap at the keyboard a moment. She studies the screen, then gestures vaguely. "Come around here and take a look. Is your medical file current and accurate? I'll need to know before I can prescribe anything." She glances over with a comforting smile. "And I will, don't worry. For short term use, only, though. It's better to fix the problem causing the dreams than to treat only the symptoms."
Tara meant ignominious back there. Knew it looked too short. Rising to coming around the desk, she peers over your shoulder, reading with soft mumbles as her eyes flick over the screen. "Up to date, yeah. Though it reminds me I need a new implant." She glances over sheepishly. "Doctor, I'm not even sure what the problem /is/. This is the first time it's really bothered me in years."
Clara taps another command in to check another stat, then nods. "Four and a half years, you most certainly need another implant. Still, that's an easy procedure." She taps through another few items thoughtfully, then waves at the chair again. "Go ahead and have a seat. If I prep a half dozen hypos, do you know how to administer them to yourself?"
Tara sidles back around the desk to settle into the chair again. "Sure, that's easy enough. Smugglers carry uppers and such a lot of the time."
Clara nods pleasantly enough at that, and turns about to liberate a hypo kit and several vials from a locked wall panel behind her. Busily prepping the various items, she notes, "For now, avoid all stimulants beyond simple caffeinated drinks like coffee, tea, or soda. None of the hyper-caffeinated sodas, please." She holds one hypo up to the light, then adds, "I've got some thoughts about what might be causing this, but there's no way to know just yet. Would you mind coming in to see me a few more times?"
Tara grins faintly. "No hyper-caffeine? Oh God, how -shall- I get by?" Yes, she's joking. "Eh? Doctor, if it'd stop these dreams, I'd kiss your lifemate's feet. Coming in will be no problem."
"If you kiss Riley's feet, I shall be terribly jealous and throw a vase at his head," Clara notes, with perfect aplomb. Then snickers. "Okay, maybe not. But he'd be more than a little nonplussed, I'll bet. Here you go," she concludes settling the hypos into a case and handing the case over. "Administer one to your neck one hour before bedtime, no water during that hour. Give me a buzz sometime later and we'll meet again, maybe grab pizza or something, okay?"
Tara snickers quietly, standing again to take the case. "Yeah, he would be." She listens carefully, nodding toward the end. "Oooh, pizza... you don't have to bribe me, Doc, really." She grins before moving toward the door, saying simply before she hits the threshold, "I really do appreciate this."
Clara nods with a grin, flittering her fingers. "Isn't a bribe. I like pizza," she explains. "Have a good evening, Tara. Call me if anything comes up."
Tara nods, closing the door gently behind her as she steps out. "You too, Doctor. Will do..."
