You head towards the Security Central.
Security Central
Unlike most of the rest of the complex, the security offices are designed for ease of use rather than aesthetics. Wood paneled walls and marble floors are not to be found here. Brushed steel and plate flooring take their place. The acoustics in this room are designed to muffle sound, so despite the metal flooring and the constant coming and going of security personnel, the area does not quite achieve a cacophonous state. A large bank of monitors takes up the bulk of the east wall. On each is displayed video from various security cameras as well as information garnered from customs and immigration. It is from here that security can keep an eye on most everything that happens in the Complex. There are always at least two uniformed guards on duty with nothing to do except watch the monitors. A broad desk is located near the entrance, with an officer present to handle queries.
Three arched doors lead from this area. One to the brig, one to private offices, and the third to the elevator lobby.
Contents:
Tally Board
Obvious exits:
Chief's Office Brig Elevator Lounge
You arrive from the Second Floor Elevator Lounge.
Tara wanders in, looking rather too tired to swagger. Leaning on the reception desk, she mumbles, eyes half-closed, to whoever's manning it, "I need Addison."
The rather disgruntled looking young man on duty gestured wordlessly towards the office door.
Tara nods, drawing herself up with an injection of self-assurance as she heads that way.
You walk towards the Chief Addison's Office.
Chief Addison's Office
This office is something of a haven from the chaos in security central. It only has one viewscreen, although there are controls to direct it to any of the observation lines. A large desk takes up the bulk of the room. It's a battered affair, and shows the signs of great age. It doesn't really fit in with the polished atmosphere of the Complex, but neither does the man it belongs to. Piles of paperwork, scattered datapads, and a lurking terminal take up the majority of the space on the desk, but somehow room has been found for several photocubes and a small plastic penguin. The floor is carpeted in institutional gray carpeting, and the walls are a slightly darker shade. It would be a dank hole of a room if it weren't for several large electronic maps on the wall, each aglow with various telltales and marker lights. In front of the desk are two uncomfortable chairs and one battered and exceedingly comfortable looking couch. A handful of bad noveldisks are piled at one end of the couch.
Contents:
Riley
Obvious exits:
Central
You walk here from the Security Central.
Riley is half leaned against his desk, trying to rummage through a drawer. In civvies again, he glances up somewhat surprised someone has come into his office. "Hey Valentine."
Tara drops onto the couch, giving a nod. "Niko give you my message?"
Riley blinks a few times, stifling a yawn. Managing to pull a small box at last from the drawer he straightens up with a mildly pained expression. "Message?"
Tara mhmmms. "I had to leave last night to track down Goldsmith. He's in the cargo hold of my ship, and the knockout drops'll be wearing off soon, so I'd greatly appreciate it if you'd remove him."
Riley is tired enough that he doesn't even -question- that. Instead he murmurs quietly into his comm unit a moment before tacking on. "Thanks."
Tara shakes her head. "Don't thank me. As much as I'd love to have you in my debt, I really hate violating my personal ethics. I hate being /forced/ to violate 'em even more."
Riley half slumps against the desk, letting take his weight. He is exceedingly zonked. "It was a potential mess."
Tara shrugs. "Your problem, not mine." A slight frown furrows her brow. "Didn't you get any sleep last night? I'd've thought the lady doctor would send you straight to bed."
"Got some," Riley mutters softly, "Not too long though." There's a steel edged pause, "Cold water makes things ache, see."
O innocence, let thy countenance be mine. Tara merely arches an eyebrow as if confused. "Cold water?"
From the shelf of scary things, Innocuous Penguin says "Haiiiil, Knight of the Woeful Countenance!"
>>OOC: Tara cracks up.
From the shelf of scary things, >>OOC: Innocuous Penguin sorries. It was required.
Riley isn't buying the look. He isn't buying it with a half off cupon on double discount saturday. He just looks zonked, and more than a hair annoyed. "Cold water." There's a pause. "I'm going out on a limb for you. Petty acts of revenge are not appreciated."
Tara neither confirms or denies her involvement in Riley-chilling. "Going out on a limb? Is that what you call it? And for heaven's sakes, are you planning on blaming me for everything that goes wrong in your little life?"
Riley doesn't get angry often. In fact, it might be difficult to tell he's angry now. He doesn't get angry in a nice polite yelling and fuming way. He gets angry in an darkly cold way. A deep seething vicious -nasty- cold. The kind of cold that makes you wonder why in the name of -all- that's anybody wants to go outside and freeze their breath in their throats and where'd the gloves go... "Ms. Valentine, I think perhaps you might find it educational to try pausing and thinking before opening your mouth in the future."
Tara blinks, a quiet "Aye aye, sir" slipping out before she pushes the flashbacks away with an annoyed shake of her head. "Truce, Addison. You're gonna stress yourself right into a fit of apoplexy if you don't calm down, and I don't want the doctor after me with her hypos."
The small box in Riley's hands is gently set on the desk. He does not anger swiftly, or often, but when he does he doesn't exactly calm down quickly either. He is all professional calm, the zonedness of before entirely gone. The only sign of anything other than sheer politeness is that decided flash of something in those green flecks in his eyes that speaks of the cold of deep space and being flash frozen with no air. "Was there anything else?"
Tara nods hesitantly. "Could you ask Lieutenant Gibb to get off my back? I don't know /why/ AF Supply is bugging me for paperwork on my cargo, but I'd appreciate it if she'd let up."
Riley pauses a half beat before replying in a near by the rote regulations quoting tone. He's not in the mood to give so much as an inch. Tara brings out the evil Captain in him after all. "Customs and supply requires ships manifests for everybody. There's no exceptions."
Tara inclines her head, yawning. Perhaps she's just tired; perhaps her mouth forgets to check with her brain on phrasing first. "Make an exception. I'll make it worth your while."
Despite the fact that ten minutes ago he would have not thought he could, Riley rises smoothly to his feet. Leaning forward slightly so that the knuckles of his tightly clenched hands rest on the desk he replies in a dangerously cold and low tone. There's no accent, there's no drawl, there's not so much as the veneer of civilization over a man who is deeply and completely furious. "Valentine. You may never have taken your oaths seriously, you may not have a scrap of honor in you, but I'll be -damned- if you'll sit in my office, on my couch and -profane- my oaths as an officer and a gentleman to the AF. If you leave, silently and fast, I -might-, I just -might- find it in me not to pitch you in the brig for attempted bribery. I -might- not come over there and do something you'll regret, but I'll enjoy very, very much. His voice lowers another bone chilling measure, "But I'm not making any promises."
Tara blinks, eyes opening a fraction further, then shrugs, propping her head on one hand, elbow on the arm of the couch. "Addison, I'm literally too tired, and in too much pain, to move. 'Sides, it's not like I was talking about money or somesuch. I was simply offering to help you out in the Underground now and then. What the hell, forget the manifests, I'll do it anyhow."
"I have managed," Riley all but murmurs, his voice only audible because of the deepening quiet of the room. "To do all right with the Underground for seven years. Now while I'll concede that I can never have enough help, right now I don't think I can imagine anything -you- can do to make up for the disasters you cause. You jump without looking and trip the rest of us up along with you. You have as long as I've known you. Nick could have been -killed-, may Peesh damn you." Ooh, see now he refers to Peesh a lot, but -that's- a new one. "I don't care if you're in pain. So am I. Deal with it. It's time you grew up and took responsibility for yourself and -think- before you leap. Pardon me if I don't hold my breath."
Tara winces hard. "If I'd really thought Niko'd be in danger, I'd never have sent for him. And I /did/ think about it, so don't lay that crap on me. Things... things have changed, Addison."
"Oh -have- they now," There's a hint of acid in the steel edge tone now. "What did you think Nick was going to do? Disarm the bomb? I'm just lucky the folks seem to have gotten an engineering degree at the same diploma mill -I- did. And -how- have things changed? You're a smuggler? This is an -improvement-?"
Tara shakes her head, trying not to turn /too/ red. "No, I thought he'd call in your bomb squad. But you were there and... well, that's sort of where things fell apart. /Not/ that I blame you for it," she adds hastily. "I shouldn't've smacked you. That part was my fault, and I very much regret doing it." The... well, yes, smuggler... pauses before responding, "Smu... covert import/export operations is a /game/, Addison. It's one of the few things I do well without screwing up. I don't ship drugs, or slaves, or a lot of other things- I do have /some/ honor left, thank you very much."
Tick, tick... Have you ever left a pot on a rolling boil with a lid on it? You know that quiet ticking sound of the metal heating? Riley's all but making that sound. "I don't like it when people play -games- that can damage this place and the people in it. This may be a foreign concept to you, the idea of me loving anything, but these people and this place are -mine-. I protect them, even the fluffyheaded ones. I've given you a lot of chances over the years Tara. They'd've had you in prison for life but for my intervention, I pointedly chose not to notice what you were setting up here, I didn't peg you for the explosives as I could have. I have every faith in you as a person and your ability to grow up one day. But transporting illegal goods is not grown up. Has it ever occured to you there's a -reason- substances are banned?"
Tara has the good grace to look embarrassed, fidgeting uncomfortably. "Ah, that's another reason I yelled for Niko. As I believe I mentioned before, I didn't know it was illudium when I brought it in. I was more than a little annoyed when I found I'd been taken advantage of. See, I don't generally ship explosives. Not unless it's for a good cause. I'm rather picky about the jobs I take."
Riley's reply is a bit less acidic, although there's definately the smell of fraying patience in the air. Not to mention he's still standing up and is probably in a fair chunk of pain doing so, which only feeds his temper. "-Any- banned substance is banned for a reason. I don't care if it's explosives, guns, or danged -toys-. They ban things because they can hurt people or the situation."
Tara nods. "/Here/, that's true. I understand that. The only things I'm likely to bring in here is luxuries your diplomats don't want to pay full price for. Their appetites bloody amaze me. Medicine, food for the Underground folks, stuff like that. But other places... you ever heard of Cartoch III?"
Riley sinks very slowly into his seat, careful not to let anything show on his face, although he's probably got to be hurting an awful lot to be sitting down. "Valentine, I don't worry about the other places. If I lived there, if -there- was what I had to keep in once piece, I would. But as it is I simply can't manage it. -This- is my place. I have to keep it from falling down around everybody's ears if I can. I have to maintain some semblance of order. Yeah, I know smuggling goes on. Yeah, if I know it's harmless I generally try not to see it. But what I see I can't ignore. Your little friend, stealing wallets... You, bringing up manifests... You frankly suck as a criminal. I'm the last person you want to see these things."
Tara snorts. "/I/ wasn't the one stealing wallets, remember? I didn't even want him doing it. And you'd be surprised how many Security types are bribable. I do just fine, thank you very much." She pauses before noting, "I will, however, keep such things from your eyes in the future."
Oh, is there a flicker of a troubled look in Riley's rather odd brown and green eyes? Is it remotely possible that Tara just kicked a major leg out from beneath his rather fluffily idealistic world view? Of course not, and that vague note of disquiet in his voice is just coincidence as he skips on past the second of Tara's comments and on to the last. "I'd appreciate that. I understand there's no black and white easy answers to things, but if you make it hard for me not to see..."
Tara is the very image of innocence, despite the grin threatening her calm expression. "See what? There's nothing to see. Now if I can just figure out what to do about Niko, I'm all set."
Riley looks a bit puzzled as he carefully leans against the chair's back, managing to pull off some semblance of normalcy in his movement by sheer dint of effort. "What to do about Nick?"
Tara nods, frowning slightly as she watches you. "Yeah, he seems to be a good sort. Except for that little bit about hating my guts at the moment."
"He is a good sort," Riley offers quietly. "And I don't exactly blame him for being angry with you. Getting one's leg snapped in an explosion is generally not good for the mood, eh?" Nor is having ribs busted for that matter, but he's a polite man and doesn't mention it.
Tara winces, noting, "I feel really bad about that. But he wasn't too happy with me from the moment y'all walked in."
Riley does not shrug, but his tone almost implies one. "I don't exactly blame him."
Tara glances up at you, half-amused, half-weary. "You're not going to help me with this, are you?"
"Why -should- I Valentine?" Riley's question is honestly curious, although it is quiet. "Why shouldn't he be upset with you? And why would I find him not being upset with you a desirable state?"
Tara shrugs. "Show of good faith on your part? And it /was/ an accident... granted, an accident caused by annoyance on my part, but an accident nonetheless." That last question makes her pause, a bit nonplussed. "Um, honestly? No particular reason I can think of. Cause he could use another friend?"
"I've seen what you do to 'friends'," Gee, Riley's pretty forgiving about averything else, but that one incident -really- seems to stick in his craw still.
Tara actually looks hurt at that response. "Long time ago, Addison," she says quietly. "I'm not like that anymore."
There's a pause as Riley gives that thought. "I'd be willing to concede that," he offers, "if you'd seemed to change in any of the other ways. I'm willing however to give you the benefit of the doubt I suppose. Nick's had a hard month though, I think he's entitled to rage a bit."
Tara's eyebrows arch. "A hard month? Is that why he wandered into the Vault several nights ago? It doesn't really seem to be his type of place."
Riley just nods, a measured expression. "Yes."
Tara's mouth quirks. "Is that 'yes, a hard month' or 'yes, that's why he went to the Vault'?"
"The former," Riley offers with a ghost of a ghost of an apologetic tone. "I couldn't say why he went to the Vault."
Tara nods slowly. "I won't push him, I suppose. Just... oh, I don't know, I certainly don't expect you to put a good word in for me." She looks mighty frustrated, despite her absent note of, "He thinks the world of ya."
Ow. See Riley is scarce going to put any belief at all into Tara's final statement considering the whole love pentagon mess, and that only elicits and exceedingly pained wince as those rememberances are brought up. "No, I'm sorry. I can't put in a good word for you." He sounds almost shaken.
Tara gives you a startled look, quickly suppressed. "/Now/ what'd I say wrong?"
"Nothing." Okay, that's not true, but Riley's not about to try and explain what Tara did say that got him on a bad train of thought lest he open up a whole set of ways for Tara to get at him.
Tara sighs. "One of these days, Addison, you're going to learn to trust me, believe it or not."
Riley considers this a while. He considers things a lot. He's learned that if you reply with your first reaction, you get smacked a lot more often. "I wouldn't discount the possibility. But I don't now, let alone with the details of my personal life."
Tara blinks. "Your personal life?" She thinks back for a moment, replaying the conversation. "You and Niko more than just colleagues?" Tara Valentine may be careless, foul-tempered, arrogant, and downright resentful of authority, but rarely has she been called stupid.
Riley pauses to consider the possible implications of Tara's comment and does not -quite- laugh, but it's a very near thing. He attempts to fix the point of confusion, "Nick's my assistant, and I would say a friend. He reminds me of my little brother. He's had some things happen to him that are my fault."
Tara ahs softly. "I can sympathize with that." There's nothing but calm sincerity in her voice.
Riley can buy that. Tara's done some things to Nick too after all. He just nods, "Anyhow, hence why I'm unhelpful."
Tara tilts her head slightly. "And yet he defended you when I, ah, made my opinion known. Interesting."
Riley looks more than a bit sheepish, "He's a good person, he really is. I was very lucky he got assigned here."
Tara grins faintly. "I'll take your word for it. Not about him being a good person- I knew that already. Too good, even, perhaps. About him being here."
"Is there such a thing as too good?" Riley muses, although the question is to himself as he answers it. "Yes, yes there is."
Tara gasps in fake shock. "My God, are you actually /agreeing/ with an opinion of mine? Oh, shatter my world, why don't ya."
Riley hmphs softly, scooping up a pen to toy idly with it, his eyes half glazed over with. "That's my job, world views shattered, fluffies tortured, all on call 24/7."
Tara's mouth quirks. "And you do it so /well/." She's teasing, really.
Riley accepts the comment with an amused nod and something of a shrug, "Hey, everybody has their own skills. I've trained long and hard to be this evil, you see." There's a pause and a bit of the humor trails out and is replaced by sadness, "Being a tyrant's hard work."
Tara peers at you, surprise in her expression. "God, don't do that. You're starting to make me think you don't like being a tyrant."
There's a definate hurt tone in Riley's reply, almost cutting in its sincerity. "Valentine, I am hu... a person too. I don't enjoy a lot of the things I've had to do over the years."
World shattered. Boom. Tara couldn't look more shocked, surprised, and confused if she tried. After staring, mouth open, for a moment, she clings to one fragile hope. "Buuuuut, you've threatened me several times in the last few days... said you'd enjoy it too."
Riley lifts one brow, looking more than a bit tired, "Don't tell me you've never entertained the thought of revenge and found it appealing? Never been frustrated and wanted to kick something?"
Tara glances away, abashed. "Okay, been there, done that. Though what you'd ever want to take revenge on me for is beyon... oh. Cancel that thought."
Riley murmurs quietly, "The things I -had- to do. The things I did on the Taggart...those were not revenge. I hated every moment of it. I fought becoming a Captain tooth and nail. I ended up in fact with half a page of censures for being -too lenient-."
Tara's eyes widen. "Too... too lenient?" A strangled laugh. "Oh God... Nuts. Totally nuts, whoever wrote those censures."
Riley hmphs softly at that, noding. "I'd have to agree, yes." Sighing he shakes his head, "You probably ought to go."
Tara gazes at you for a moment, still trying to reconfigure the notions in her head, before glancing down and nodding. Slowly she pulls herself to her feet. "Yeah. Starting to bleed on your couch. Don't need ya upset at me for that too."
"Bleed on my couch?" That manages to get Riley's attention despite the fact he looks like he's just waiting for you to leave to fall over. "Hit medbay, eh?"
Tara pauses before she reaches the door. "Better that than the clinic. Thanks." For what she's giving thanks, is questionable, but she's gone before she can be questioned on it.
You walk towards the Security Central.
Security Central
Unlike most of the rest of the complex, the security offices are designed for ease of use rather than aesthetics. Wood paneled walls and marble floors are not to be found here. Brushed steel and plate flooring take their place. The acoustics in this room are designed to muffle sound, so despite the metal flooring and the constant coming and going of security personnel, the area does not quite achieve a cacophonous state. A large bank of monitors takes up the bulk of the east wall. On each is displayed video from various security cameras as well as information garnered from customs and immigration. It is from here that security can keep an eye on most everything that happens in the Complex. There are always at least two uniformed guards on duty with nothing to do except watch the monitors. A broad desk is located near the entrance, with an officer present to handle queries.
Three arched doors lead from this area. One to the brig, one to private offices, and the third to the elevator lobby.
Contents:
Tally Board
Obvious exits:
Chief's Office Brig Elevator Lounge
You walk here from the Chief Addison's Office.
You head towards the Second Floor Elevator Lounge.
You head towards the 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
You arrive from the Second Floor Elevator Lounge.
Clara comes out of her office, shaking her recorder vaguely and heading for a supply cabinet. "Kramer! Where do we keep..."
"The extra power packs are one cabinet up and on the left, Doc," Kramer supplies almost on top of the question, then lifts his brows at the newcomer. "Doc? Incoming."
Clara lets the cabinet close and peers back, sobering. "Ms. Valentine... What can we do for you today?"
Tara gestures slightly, ignoring the blood starting to seep from beneath her jacket. "Addison told me to come here," she says, a bit defensively.
Clara almost doesn't respond to that, eyes flickering only briefly Security-wards as she gives a sharp nod and crosses quickly to assist, her hands far more gentle than her face. "C'mon, let's get you to a bioscan unit. What happened?"
Tara moves to wherever Clara takes her, not resisting. "Things got a little ugly last night. Knife got me."
Clara simply nods again, calling back to Kramer, "Prep OR and get my scrubs," before helping the other woman onto the bed. "Okay, let's see the damage," she requests.
Tara reluctantly unfastens her jacket- that's when the blood pooled inside splashes out, on both floor and bed. She mumbles an apology. "OR? Aw hell..."
Clara doesn't gasp, nor does she even flinch as her lab coat is splattered, but instead snaps out a command which results in an intern rushing over with a gurney before assisting Clara in helping the woman off with her jacket. "Okay, we've gotta get you up on the gurney, okay? I'm going to leave you with Jones for prepping, and he'll take you to OR. I'll change and be right in." She pauses and offers a small smile. "We'll get you patched up, Valentine."
Tara smiles weakly, mostly because Clara's being /too/ nice. "Gotcha, Doc."
Clara nods at Jones, who starts to assist Tara onto gurney, while she vanishes into her office. No, really! She does! A few moments later, she returns in scrubs to follow off towards surgery, shaking her head.
Tara finally gives up the mask, allowing the pain to show on her face. "Word of advice, Doc- always scout out the enemy before trying to kidnap their leader."
Clara moves to the side of the gurney, her mask dangling about her neck, and actually grins at at that as she follows its progress. "No kidding. One of the big rules of being infantry," she adds, heading in the proper direction.
Clara passes through the swinging doors to the OR that doesn't really exist.
You pass through the swinging doors into the OR that doesn't really exist.
Tara snorts, mumbling, "Never infantry. Jus' wanted to fly."
Clara shakes her head vaguely, working along side the nurse and intern to start hooking up monitors and various equipment. "I'll leave the flying to folks with the heads for it. I'll stick to being a groundpounder. Valentine? I'm going to keep you awake for this, okay? But you won't feel a thing."
Tara somehow manages to nod and shake her head at the same time. "Don't got a head."
Clara is focusing on starting an IV, then turns to lift a small metallic band to set over your forehead, lights instantly flashing across it from temple to temple. "Then what'd I just put the inhibitor on, hmm? Just relax now," she offers, adjusting calibration while the intern sets up the proper cloth barriers.
Tara nods, putting an effort into relaxing. She's strong-willed, but not when it comes to this much pain. "Okay, got a head. No brain."
"I think maybe you just forget to use it," Clara comments absently, tugging her mask into place and moving down beyond the tented cloth. "Feel this? You shouldn't, but if you do, holler."
Tara pauses, then shakes her head. "Feels good. Yeah, don't use it. Why didn't somebody /tell/ me 'bout him?"
Clara's eyes never flicker from her work, hands moving vaguely beyond the tent. "Laser scalpel," she murmurs, the intern handing it over and a soft humming sound following. "Him who?"
Tara's hand flickers in the direction of Security. "Ad'son. He ain't really mean."
Clara's eyes perhaps smile. Perhaps not...it's hard to tell when that mask covers everything but the eyes. "Is that a fact?" she replies, then murmurs, "Laparascope. It's fragmenting...get a clamp on that, willya?"
Tara yeahs, looking more than a little bewildered. "Said 'e didn't wanna do all those nasty things on the... the Taggart." She turns her head to regard Clara solemnly. "I b'lieve him, too."
Clara is silent for another moment, then holds out a red-stained hand to Kramer for some other instrument...sounds like some sort of resonator from the whining tone. "I would, if I were you. He wouldn't lie about something like that."
Tara uh huhs. "Never lied ta me, he didn't."
"Nor to me," Clara murmurs in agreement, hands busy somewhere beyond the cloth.
After a long period of silence filled by various clicks, snips and other sounds of reparation, then nods at the intern, mutering, "Incinerate."
Tara blinks, paling even further. "'ncinerate?" she squeaks.
Clara glances up briefly, a kind smile apparant despite the mask. "Part of your spleen, hon. You'll be fine without it. I was able to salvage most...you'll never know it was gone. Someone tried to play slice-n-dice with your innards, though."
Tara ohs softly, not really seeming to care in her drugged world. "Yeah... Goldsmith's boys. Nasty bunch," her voice turns scornful, "Even fer amateurs."
"Like amateurs that juggle the arms of experts trying to defuse a bomb?" Clara counter calmly. "Sonic transmodifier," she requests, then applies the appropriate instrument. "Nearly done...just hold on."
Tara winces, blushing a lot. "Shouldn't o' done that. Never smack a guy with a bomb, even if 'e calls ya Tara."
Clara is quiet for another moment, another humming filling the room. "Never smack Addison. Or Casymed," Clara corrects with a hint of steel in her voice, then sighs and straightens. "All closed up. Keep the inhibitor on," she notes to Kramer, garnering a look of surprise but no argument from the man.
Tara nods, then shakes her head. "Not never again, never ever... who's Casymed?"
Clara assists the two men with post-op count and cleanup, adjusting the drip to the IV, adding commands to various monitors. "Niko? The one with the blaster?" she comments casually.
Tara blinks. "Ohhhhh. Niko... why didn't ya say so in the first place?"
Clara leaves the intern behind to help Kramer push the gurney into short term care towards an empty bed, half smiling under her mask. "I'd like you to stay here for a while," she explains, not answering the question.
Tara's eyes narrow slightly as she senses a trap. "Eh? No... gotta get out... can't let th' Captain find us here..."
Clara gives Kramer a quick nod and the pair shift you to a bed before she tugs her mask down and smiles warmly. "Valentine, I personally guarantee you're safe here. You have my word as an officer. But if you take that inhibitor off, every bit of pain from what I just did to you is going to knock you out. Trust me."
Tara ohs softly. "Not good... worse'n the barrel... cam'flage..."
Clara sighs softly and brushes back the woman's hair while shaking her head. "Post Giani with her, Kramer. I'm going to change and debrief." She offers Tara one last smile. "I'll check back on you after a bit."
Tara nods, letting her eyes slip shut, though she doesn't sleep.
Clara slips out as a smaller blonde nurse slips in, murmuring directions to her before she vanishes out the door.
Clara heads out the swinging doors into the Medical Bay.
