Great log! Now when do we get beamed over and when does Dr. Mahler get let in on the juicy details!? ________________________________ From: Rowanna Darkwolf <rowannadarkwolf@xxxxxxxxx> To: "avalon@xxxxxxxxxxxxx" <avalon@xxxxxxxxxxxxx> Sent: Thursday, September 8, 2011 11:45 PM Subject: <USS Avalon> Late For Work Late For Work Moreya, T’Leara 2011:09:07 T'Leara adjusted her tunic and fastened her long hair tightly to the top of her head, then headed out. She got as far the door when her stomach gave a maddening lurch, sending her running back again. No way around it. She was going to be late. Moreya was looking around the staging area for the away teams, doing a quick mental census of the science staff who had been assigned for the mission to the Andromeda station. One was missing. She tapped her combadge, saying quietly, "Location of Lieutenant T'Leara." "Lieutenant T'Leara is in her quarters." Moreya frowned. This was unusual, even knowing how short her acquaintance with the Vulcan was. She turned to Skyler and said, "I'm going to get Lieutenant T'Leara. We'll be back shortly." T'Leara leaned heavily over the edge of the sink, splashing cool water on her pale face and patting it dry with shaking hands. This would not do at all. Straightening, she noted Gracie waiting patiently with a cup of ginger tea. "No time, Gracie. I am already quite late." she told her shortly, righting her appearance and starting yet again for the door. Moreya arrived at the door and pressed the chime. T'Leara opened the door just as the chime went off. Stopping just short of actually allowing herself to appear startled, she inclined her head in greeting. "Commander." she said curtly, knowing full well she must now be inexcusably late if her immediate superior had actually come looking for her personally. "Good day, Lieutenant," Moreya replied pleasantly. "I was concerned that you had not yet arrived at the staging area, so decided to come look for you. Is something the matter?" As she waited for the inevitable denial, she took a long, deep breath through her nose, as subtly as she could manage it. She already realized this would likely be a much more reliable source of information about the young Vulcan. "No, ma'am." T'Leara replied, reasoning that there was nothing of immediate concern now that she was quite finished losing her breakfast. "I fear I have no excuse for my tardiness." "May I come in?" Moreya asked. It had been a while since she had picked up the combination of smell and pheremones that she could perceive now, radiating invisibly from the Lieutenant. But she had been a doctor long enough to recognize them well enough. T'Leara hesitated a moment, then nodded, knowing it would do no good to argue their tardiness now. "of course, ma'am." she said, stepping back to admit Moreya to her spartan quarters. "Lieutenant, I told you before that I cannot make you trust me. Though I wish you would, I cannot count it against you. I can, however ... request that we have an end of your lying to me." Her tone was far more gentle and kindly than the words themselves would have suggested. "You do, in fact, have a very good excuse for your tardiness, do you not?" T'Leara's expression registered clear surprise for the blink of an eye before her Vulcan composure took over again. "One supposes that it is a matter of perspective, commander." she said quietly. "I have an excuse. Whether or not it is, in fact a 'good' one is as yet open to to debate, I presume." "In my book, being violently ill is an excellent excuse for being late to a meeting," Moreya replied. "Not to mention the reason for your being ill. Have you discussed this with any of the medical staff?" "I have ," T'Leara answered, "though not at length. I should prefer not to have it … examined … further." "You would prefer not?" Moreya's voice clearly displayed her puzzlement. "But why .... wait a moment." Moreya held up one hand, then took another deep breath. And then, the pieces clicked into place, and the Deltan's jaw set hard, though her voice remained mild. "Did you ever make that report to Security, Lieutenant?" "I did not," T'Leara replied honestly. "There would be no point." "Why not?" T'Leara balked. To answer this question would require her to admit what had happened and why. Finally she settled on, "I have no interest in revisiting it, and there are none left to punish for it. It is done." Moreya sighed. The energy lent by seven hours of sleep had abruptly evaporated, leaving her as tired as she had been before. "So, someone else knows about this. And I have to admit I am pleased to know that I will not have to hunt down a rapist. I have an exceptionally low opinion of that ilk." T'Leara cringed at the word 'rapist', abruptly tired herself. This time, when Gracie offered tea she did not refuse. Gracie offered a cup to Moreya as well. T'Leara was surprised to discover she was shaking. Why did the thought of the entire affair still affect her so? "Nurse Withers ran the scan which determined my ...condition. He suggested several courses of action should I desire to attempt to preserve it." she swallowed hard, then blew out slowly. "I do not. "Aside from the obvious fact that my work would suffer, I have no interest in prolonging either of their lines. " her voice caught in her throat, and she cleared it quickly, the contents of her cup abruptly demanding her full attention. Moreya allowed herself a moment to fantasize dragging T'Leara bodily to the Counselor's office. It wouldn't do any good to try, that she knew. She sighed. "Who is the medical officer assigned to your team?" she asked. "Marine Medic Reese," T'Leara replied quietly, her voice even more devoid of emotion than usual. “I should prefer he and the rest remain uninformed, however. I assure you I am quite recovered from my earlier illness." "I am sure you are," she replied. "However, the root cause is not over ... and it could reach its ... resolution at any time." Moreya drained the cup and set it down. "I could simply ban you from leaving the ship until it does. I do understand your desire for privacy, Lieutenant, believe me, I do. But I can't allow you to risk your health over it. “I can give you three options. One: you go on the away team as presently set, but Mr. Reese must be informed of your condition -- not the cause, simply the fact. I trust him to keep the matter confidential. Two: you tell me a medical officer you do trust to tell about your condition, and we shuffle the away teams to put you with that individual. Three: you stay here. The record will show that you are ill, no details beyond that." T'Leara was clearly displeased with all three options, but knew enough not to argue. She could think of no medical officer she particularly trusted over any other and had no desire to stay behind. "I understand," she replied at last. "I shall inform Mr Reese." She rose and straightened her tunic, her face a mask of absolute Vulcan calm. "I trust I may report as previously ordered?" "By all means, Lieutenant, and thank you. Please take care of yourself." Moreya stepped aside, to allow her to lead the way out. T'Leara nodded curtly and headed again for the door, determined not to show any further weakness than she already had. Moreya followed, allowing herself a silent sigh. Of all the conundrums in life, the one she liked the least was figuring out how to help someone who clearly needed it, but steadfastly refused to believe they did. It gave her headaches, and she thought she could feel a new one settling in behind her eyes. Own an original piece of Hannah's art. www.cafepress.com/helpinghanstore