<USS Avalon> Re: Late For Work
- From: Rowanna Darkwolf <rowannadarkwolf@xxxxxxxxx>
- To: "avalon@xxxxxxxxxxxxx" <avalon@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Sat, 10 Sep 2011 19:53:20 -0700 (PDT)
whenever you're ready to write. :)
Own an original piece of Hannah's art.
www.cafepress.com/helpinghanstore
________________________________
From: Eric Koenig <ericneilkoenig@xxxxxxxxx>
To: "avalon@xxxxxxxxxxxxx" <avalon@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
Sent: Friday, September 9, 2011 7:37 PM
Subject: <USS Avalon> Re: Late For Work
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
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