Future's Present, Chapter 7
Natasha Yar's personal log
Beverly Crusher nailed me to the proverbial wall, last night.
She told me that I should get my AP field medical license, which would enable me to render advanced medical treatment. I could complete the didactic portion by correspondence, and more than half of my clinical hours could be completed here, as well. But the remainder would be completed on two different starbases. One would be on Earth, at one of four major medical facilities operated by Starfleet Medical, where I'd have one month on the base and another month responding to various emergencies. The other would be responding to field emergencies on an outlying starbase.
It's different. It's intriguing. I've always had the interest, but never pursued it. Dr. Crusher seemed very complimentary of my aptitude for medical, even offering to write a letter of recommendation for the program.
I'm actually thinking about doing this. But I have a tough choice to make. If I accept medical training, I would likely need to resign my position as chief of security aboard the Enterprise. If I'm going to be off the ship for more than four months, there's no way. Captain Picard probably would never approve a leave of absence that long for a senior officer.
So, I'm going to disappoint someone.
I'm conflicted, about a lot of things. I want to continue as chief of security, but this other opportunity is intriguing. I do want to learn more. But the decision I need to make . . . this is more for me to process than all I would learn through Starfleet Medical.
Now that I've been assigned to the best ship in the fleet, I would need to leave to fulfill Plan B. Doesn't seem like it's worth it, because the Enterprise crew is my family. I feel compelled to stay, to be here to protect them and take care of them. Beverly told me that I'm already a caregiver. "You already are watching out for the safety of others," she'd said. "You're already on the front lines. It's your instinct to want to help people."
I hope I'm doing the right thing. I wish I could speak with Will about this without risking trouble for both of us. He's got enough to worry about, already.
USS Enterprise, Sickbay, 0715 hours
Compared to most patients in Sickbay, Will Riker's recovery was slow. He'd been told how badly he was injured, how many times he'd been sliced apart with shrapnel. Still, it was frustrating to him to be recovering at a crawling pace, compared to other patients whom he witnessed sailing through their treatments.
Most were in and out within 30 minutes, some of them staying overnight for scheduled procedures so their dayshift duties wouldn't be interrupted. Rarely did anyone stay more than two days. But Will Riker's injuries, incurred when an improvised explosive device detonated three meters away, were catastrophic.
He was healing. Now he could sit up—but that hadn't been pleasant, at all. He'd only been allowed to sit up to a 45-degree angle, though he'd looked forward to moving more. Then realized how daunting that would be. Sitting up was an incremental process, leaving him so winded and dizzy that he immediately wanted to lie back down, again. Beverly Crusher assured him that this was normal and that the first couple of days were hard after such severe injuries.
"This is one step below rehabbing from coolant inhalation," she said.
He stared at her. "No one recovers from that."
"That's right, no one does," Beverly remarked. "You've got to understand something. Five of your internal organs had to be regenerated. You lost 80 percent of your lung function. You're sitting there with new lungs, a new liver, a new spleen, a new pancreas, and you'll be going though the rest of your life minus two meters of small intestine. It is going to take time for you to heal."
Will let his head fall back against his bed.
"How much time?" he said. "Realistically, when can I be back on the bridge?"
"It's not just a matter of what you can do physically, Will," she said. "Your brain sustained some concussive-force impact in the detonation, and there was some minor damage during the resuscitation. Normally, this wouldn't have been an issue, but it was widespread."
"So, I'm brain-damaged," he muttered.
She smiled. "Well, technically . . ," she began, with a wry smile.
He returned the smile with a grin of his own. "Hey, whatever happened to a physician's compassion?" he asked in mock outrage.
Now she laughed. "I have plenty of compassion, believe me!" Beverly replied. "You will be fine. Remember those emotional extremes I told you about? I'm glad to see you smiling, again."
"I'm glad to be smiling, and not be dead," he said. "Thanks for saving my life."
"A great team of people saved your life," she replied.
"You're being too modest."
"No physician saves lives alone, even if we like to believe that we do," she replied. "We might be able to tip the treatment scales, but if it weren't for a great team of people working with us, we wouldn't succeed. That's not something that many physicians believe, that we need others so much. But if it weren't for Miles O'Brien deciding to beam you straight in here, for Tasha Yar not waiting for the hovercot and hauling you straight up to the surgibed, for..."
Will looked away.
"Everyone played a part," Beverly continued. "Saving lives is only accomplished when every link in the chain is there. If one of those actions hadn't been done, you probably wouldn't be here, today."
"Even if Tash—Lt. Yar, even if she'd followed policy and waited for the hovercart," Will remarked.
"The hovercot," she corrected.
"Cot, cart," Will replied. "Whatever it is. It would have taken 30 seconds."
"As it was, you coded three times."
"I've heard that I 'coded'," he said. "What does that mean?"
"You were in cardiac arrest," she said. "You needed to be resuscitated, and you needed extensive stints in stasis to accomplish that. You were placed in protective stasis to preserve your brain function while we quickly repaired the damage to your vital organs."
"I thought stasis was only for dead people," Will muttered.
"Your heart rate, ventilatory effort and metabolism were placed in a holding pattern until we could stop the bleeding," she replied. "You had 78 wounds. If you'd been on another ship or unable to beam up within one minute, you would have been 'lethaled' on the spot. You would have been beamed straight to the morgue. I was surprised you were standing when you beamed in."
"I wasn't standing for long," he said.
"How much do you remember?" Beverly asked.
Will shrugged. "I remember the explosion, and I remember hitting my combadge. I don't remember standing up, but I must have. And I must have tried to breathe while I was being beamed up because the next thing I remember was choking and falling over in sickbay."
"Lt. Yar caught you," she said.
"I remember that," he said. "And then I looked up and Tasha was looking right at me. She was saying something but I don't know what it was. I kept looking up at her, I was smothering, and something was getting in my eyes, and then I must have blacked out."
Blood was in your eyes, Beverly thought. You were choking on your own blood. "You went into cardiac arrest," she said. "That's why you blacked out."
Will glanced at the wall.
"I know it's all been very overwhelming," she said. "You experienced death and lived to tell about it. I'm glad to see you're progressing as well as you are. I don't know what Tasha said to you last night, but it helped."
He looked back at her, but said nothing.
"Why do you two keep pushing each other away?" she asked.
WIll sighed. "It's complicated," he said.
"That's what she said, too," Beverly replied. "That's a great line."
"What else did she say?"
Just that, that it was complicated," she said. "It doesn't need to be. You're good friends who went through a prolonged ordeal away from the ship, and now this incident that occurred yesterday. I can see how much you care about each other, so I don't understand the distancing. It's almost as if you were teenagers again, afraid that Dad might walk in on you."
"There'd be nothing to see," Will shrugged.
"Just two friends being friends?" she asked.
"Something like that."
"You're being evasive, Will," she said.
On her way to the bridge that morning, Deanna Troi stopped by sickbay and found Will Riker reclining on his bed, speaking with Dr. Crusher. She sensed that they were in the midst of an important discussion, and didn't want to interrupt, especially since Beverly had a full day ahead. Six, new medical staffers had arrived overnight aboard the expected personnel shuttle, and would begin their orientation at 1300 hours.
While no one was happier about those new arrivals than Dr. Crusher, one of the nurses just getting off duty was relieved for different reasons.
"I liked the autonomy of being on nights, but much prefer dayshifts," Suravi Bhat remarked to Deanna. Bhat was stowing equipment for the oncoming shift. Her last night shift would be tonight, then she'd have 24 hours to acclimate back to days. "And that probably won't be very difficult."
"Will must have had a good night," Deanna remarked. "He looks well-rested."
"He did. He actually slept," Bhat said. "He didn't need to be medicated to rest. Lt. Yar visited with him briefly last evening, and I believe that helped him immensely. He needed that."
Deanna smiled, genuinely glad to hear that, having sensed shortly after her arrival back from her conference that Will and Lt. Yar had forced distance from each other, and also sensed that it wasn't their decision. She'd meant to discuss this with Will before the Sorian incident, so she was glad to hear that things seemed to be better between the two. "Commander Riker and Lt. Yar have a unique relationship," she replied.
"They seem to," Bhat remarked. "He'll need friends like that during his recovery. Now comes the second hard part."
"I do sense some impatience in him, for his recovery to magically be over," Deanna said, nodding in his direction.
"That will be his biggest obstacle," Bhat said. "I'm glad you're well-versed in neuropsychology."
"I am," Troi said. "This will be challenging, however, because Will and I know each other so well."
"My neuropsych rounds always were more difficult when I didn't know the patient well," Bhat remarked. "But I suppose it can be turned around on a caregiver if patients are personally acquainted prior to treatment."
"It can," Troi nodded. "If the counselor or caregiver allows personal bias to come before treatment. Still, it's helpful to know the psychological baseline of any patient before assisting with that recovery."
"I'm glad you're here for him," Bhat said.
Troi smiled, sensing something else. Bhat's eyes had been drawn elsewhere, behind Deanna, toward a certain security ensign who was waiting near the sickbay entrance. Julio Barajas was off duty that day, and had stopped by accompany Bhat to an after-shift meal. They had been dating since getting to know each other during the rescue mission to retrieve Riker and Yar from 21st century Earth.
"And I'm glad for you two!" Deanna said, prompting a flush of giddy embarrassment from Bhat.
"We do enjoy each other's company," she admitted.
While Deanna chatted with Suravi Bhat, Will suddenly had an impulse to come clean to Dr. Crusher about something that really wasn't any of Beverly's business...or anyone else's business, for that matter. He didn't realize that his ability to be discreet was somewhat impaired by his injury and recovery process, which tended to manifest in impulsiveness and hyper-emotionalism.
"—truth? Tasha and I don't really have a choice," Will admitted, keeping his voice low while spilling an order that normally never would have been discussed. "Captain Picard laid the law down shortly after we returned from Earth, said that such close friendships aboard the Enterprise was bad for discipline, smacked of insubordination, the way we were 'palling around' all the time off duty. And from that perspective, it does make sense."
Beverly Crusher's mouth fell open.
"It doesn't at all make sense!" she said. "The Starfleet of today is not the Starfleet it was when Jean-Luc began his service. I knew him then, and he's the same today. He wasn't thrilled about having families aboard the ship."
Will nodded. "Very true," he replied.
"But now you're facing a tough recovery, and not just in the physical sense," Beverly said. "You need people around you who know you, who can help motivate you. The next two days are going to be frustrating."
"I figured I'd be out of here by then," he said. "I'll be stuck in here?"
"No, you won't," she replied. "You'll be on cabin rest with medical staff making regular house calls while you re-acclimate. But that won't be for awhile. You'll need to work up to physical capacity to achieve that first goal. I know you're at a 45-degree angle now, but we'll be sitting you up within the hour, and you're likely to experience some weakness, even some lightheadedness."
"Can you give me something for that?"
"I could, but I won't," she said. "I'll medicate pain, at first, but I need to know how your consciousness is being impacted by the positional exertion. If you're moving too fast, it will do you more harm than good. I wish I would be more precise with predicting how you'll do. My advice is to take your recovery slowly, and don't push yourself too hard, no matter how much you want to get out of here. Physical therapy will be in later this morning, and after you're able to sit up some more, then the real work will begin."
"When can I take a shower?" Will asked. "I feel gross."
"Later in the shift, once you're comfortable sitting up and dangling your legs, we would allow you to have an actual shower," Beverly replied. "A real shower does feel much better than even the best, bed bath. And you had a bed bath yesterday afternoon, just before you were extubated."
"A bed bath..."
"Yes," she said. "Nursing staff gave you a bed bath during their Q-6 assessments," she replied. "It's standard procedure for bedridden patients, and trust me, you needed it. You were covered with blood."
Will sighed, and suppressed an impulse to cover his face with his hands.
"What's wrong?"
He shrugged.
"Don't be embarrassed," she said. "I stopped blushing 20 years ago. We don't think anything of it, and neither should you, except to enjoy the pampering while it lasts, because once the physical therapists come in, they'll be putting you through some rough paces."
"I can't wait," he muttered.
"That's the spirit!" Beverly said, a mock smile spreading across her face, though she was still very worried that Captain Picard evidently had tamped down on close friendships between senior staff members. That was news to her, and it was disturbing. She was about to say something more about it when Deanna Troi appeared at her side.
Crusher was relieved to see Deanna. After witnessing what transpired between Will Riker and Tasha Yar the evening before in sickbay, Beverly had requested that the counselor stop by sickbay to speak with Will. She had thought at first that Will's emotional response to seeing his friend was the first stage of his neuropsychological recovery from such critical injuries. But after speaking with Will this morning, she knew that post-traumatic neuropsych reaction was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
Will was glad to see Deanna, and now he was carrying on as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. He was already acting like himself, again.
"Good morning," he said to her, his voice flirtatious. "Want to give me a bath?"
"I think I'll leave that task to the professionals," she replied, and Deanna's bemused expression told Beverly everything she needed to know.
He's avoiding the deeper issues, Beverly thought. She's onto him. Funny how he's Mr. Tough Guy around us, but when Tasha sat here last night he was overcome for several minutes and neither of them seemed to think it was a big deal.
After again warning Will against trying to sit up on his own before PT began later that morning, Beverly pulled Deanna into her office.
"I'm glad you're here," Beverly remarked, as she and Deanna walked together into the chief physician's office where they could talk without also informing everyone else in sickbay of their topic of conversation—their patient, who was trying to inch his way up in bed. That shouldn't last too long, Beverly thought. He'll get lightheaded and stop. Once PT begins, he'll decide within minutes that he's enjoyed as much physical activity as he can stand. That's when the real fun will start. Dr. Crusher anticipated a rough go with Will Riker. He could be as stubborn as he was ambitious.
"He's already beginning his neuropsych phase," Beverly continued, nodding in Will's direction. "I think he'll benefit from your help. I was especially glad to read of your neuropsychological counseling credentials. I'm also hoping you can shed some light on something he said, this morning. I was very troubled by it."
"What was that?"
"Some background . . . last night I spoke with Lt. Yar after the second away team returned from Sora," Beverly said. "By the way, I plan to issue a commendation for her assistance. She's got quite a bit of aptitude for medicine that she's overly modest about, but that's a story for another time. After our conversation, I had to practically force her to see Will before she left for the night. I thought that was odd."
Deanna nodded. "Commander Riker and Lt. Yar had quite a few ups and downs while they were stranded in the 21st century, and those seem to have carried over here, as well," she said. "When I returned from my conference, I sensed tension between them, but it didn't seem to interfere with their duties, so I didn't address it. I often sense minor tensions between members of the crew and have found that unless they can't solve it on their own, it's best for me not to interfere. In this case, I sense that their tension is from an outside source, not unlike that felt by children or subordinates who are afraid they'll get into trouble for breaking a rule."
"That's exactly what it is!" Beverly said, tapping her desk with her hand. "Last night, when Commander Riker woke up and saw that Tasha was sitting next to him, he actually cried. And she brushed tears off his face as if it were second-nature for her. At first, I thought he was beginning his neuropsych phase and that she just happened to be there when it began. That's why I called you to be here, this morning."
"But there's more to it," Deanna remarked, sensing there was more to this story. Her expression had softened not only at the thought of Will being so upset, but that she wasn't in sickbay when it happened . . . and a bit of jealousy that Tasha was the one present, instead.
"This morning, just before you came in, Will told me that he and Tasha were ordered to cool off their friendship, and it hit me that was why she was so reluctant to see him. She was following orders and she was afraid they would both get into trouble for interacting in any way other than for business, only," Beverly said. "That's very troubling for me, that Captain Picard would make such an order."
Deanna nodded. "This does raise some troubling questions for me, as well," she said. "This is a galaxy-class starship, full of families and couples, and times have changed. Starfleet is recognizing the inherent importance for sentient beings to have and nurture relationships during long deployments. I had understood healthy relationships to be not only acceptable, but encouraged."
"I would hope so," Beverly said. "I've got one of my top nurses carrying on with one of Lt. Yar's ensigns . . . not that this is a bad thing . . ."
"Nurse Bhat and Ensign Barajas are a good match."
"But it makes me wonder, what is acceptable in this new age, when families can reside aboard a starship, but apparently close friendships betweeen senior staffers is discouraged?" Beverly said.
"Well, there are multiple sides to every impression, and every impression is biased," Deanna said. "I have always sensed in Captain Picard a need to maintain order. On Earth, Commander Riker and Lt. Yar's relationship had evolved into a very close one, more akin to brother and sister than anything else, regardless of what anyone might believe. They abandoned a chain of command because it brought too much attention that might have proven dangerous for them. Now that they're back aboard the Enterprise, their relationship was bound to change. It had to change."
"Surely that doesn't mean they can't even have lunch together once in a while, or have a friendly chat, or do that basketball exercise they seem to enjoy so much," Beverly said. "What is the harm in senior officers being friends?"
"No harm at all, as far as I'm concerned," Deanna said. "You and I are friends and we're senior officers."
"Well, I know he doesn't like families being aboard," Beverly said. "He told me that himself, over dinner, in Ten Forward, where a hundred other people—and families—were carrying on like anyone does. I've known Jean-Luc for years. He isn't bound by anything other than his obligation to Starfleet, and that dedication has made him such an outstanding captain. He loves this new ship with all it's bells and whistles, but is intimidated by the new rules that have come with it."
"Have you told him that?"
"I'd hoped you would tell him that," Deanna said, her expression wry. "You know him better than I do."
"He's being a hypocrite," Beverly said. "And we both know it."
"He's growing into his new role as a father figure to everyone aboard the Enterprise, Starfleet and civilian alike," Deanna said. "Captain Picard has much experience with command in Starfleet, but has never been a father. He is as intimidated as any new father would be. How many babies have you delivered in your career?"
She shrugged. "Hundreds," she replied.
"And how many of those new fathers had never before held an infant?"
Beverly looked away, recalling how her own husband was so leery of cradling newborn Wesley shortly after his birth. He's about the size of a loaf of bread, Jack had marveled. What if I drop him?
You won't drop him, Beverly had reassured him, though she'd had the same reservations when she first began playing the catching role as delivery physician during her internship at Starfleet Medical. Newborn babies are slippery, and all physicians and AP nurses learn the right technique to keep those slimy neonates from slipping from their grip during delivery. Beverly remembered how scared she was of dropping the first baby she'd caught, and felt great relief that she did not drop that baby—even if it would have only fallen 20 centimeters onto an antigrav mat that was part of the birthing chair. It was designed for that very purpose, so the only thing injured during a slip-and-fall scenario would be the physician's pride.
Beverly smiled as the figurative realization hit her.
"Captain Picard is afraid he'll drop the baby," she said. "He's afraid to lose control."
"Yes," Deanna replied. "We are, in a sense, his children. He wants his house in order, and wants his crew to be a well-disciplined reflection of their captain, even if 245 souls aboard this ship are civilian. He's still getting acquainted with his new ship, and these new rules he now must follow. He's still getting to know all of us, and learning about our needs as people."
Beverly glanced out her office door, overhearing Will Riker's predictable protests. Physical therapy staffers were helping him to sit up to a 60-degree angle, and he was begging to be put back down. It has begun, she thought. He wanted up, now he wants back down.
"Sounds like PT is beginning," Deanna remarked, a slight grin perceptible on her face.
"Remember, it'll be good for him," Beverly said. "Either way, you know how important it is that he works through his recovery emotionally and mentally, and not just physically. His body won't heal if his mind doesn't recover."
USS Enterprise, 1330 hours
Beverly Crusher started up the lift twice, and chickened out twice, hopping off on decks she hadn't planned to visit. She paraded around Engineering, attracting the immediate attention of Chief Engineer Logan, who was understandably curious about her presence there.
"Who's sick?" he asked.
"Oh, no one," Beverly said, and picked up her pace. Though she didn't absolutely dislike anyone aboard the Enterprise, Logan had a smarmy quality that really rubbed her the wrong way. She shared Tasha Yar's opinion that Logan was an arrogant ass—well, everyone shared that opinion. Geordi LaForge especially was not fond of him. "Just taking the scenic route to the bridge for my daily update."
"Kind of out of your way, isn't it?"
"It's helpful for me to review where things are throughout the ship," she said, even though she knew the ship by heart, by now. She hustled away, ducking behind a Jeffries tube entrance that many officers used as a ladder shortcut to other decks. Beverly wasn't fond of ladders, but eagerly took the ladder up, up away from Logan.
Crusher climbed up two decks to the edge of one of the ship's main thoroughfares, along one of the upper cabin decks. Already out of breath and hoping her lab coat didn't cause her to slip, she decided two decks was enough. This time, I'm taking the lift all the way to the bridge . . .
"Good morning, doctor," Deanna Troi stood idly beside the tube, almost as if she'd been waiting for her to emerge from it. How does she do that? Beverly thought.
"Good morning, counselor," Beverly said.
"You know, there is a positive aspect to your procrastination," Deanna remarked, a barely perceptible smile just beginning to emerge. "You're getting great exercise in the process."
"Sometimes, I wish you weren't empathic," Beverly muttered.
"I'll walk with you to the bridge," Deanna said, ignoring the jest, sensing that Beverly was glad to have run into her. "Have you thought about speaking with the captain during your daily briefing?"
"I've thought about it."
"And?"
"It'll depend on the mood he's in," Beverly remarked. "If he's in a good mood, he'll be more apt to listen to me. But if not, I won't even touch on the topic.
Deanna nodded. "That sounds like a great plan."
"Have you said anything to him, yet?"
"Not about Lt. Yar, no," Deanna replied. "But if Commander Riker's recovery could be assisted by her presence, then yes, I will say something. But only after your meeting with Captain Picard."
"I can't get you to change your mind accompanying me into the briefing?"
"It wouldn't be appropriate," Deanna said. "Captain Picard would know immediately that something is up if I were in there during a medical briefing, even if it involves neuropsychology."
"Now I'm glad you waited for me so we could chat about that," Crusher remarked, stopping along the right side of the corridor where they'd been walking. "We had to put Riker back on bedrest after his shower. He just got too lightheaded, even sitting up on the shower chair. Martinez was in there helping him, and Will was so weak that Martinez did all the work for him, then rinsed him off and got him back to bed. He nearly passed out."
Deanna sighed. "And now he's probably angry and embarrassed."
"That's putting it mildly."
USS Enterprise, Captain's ready room, 1400 hours
"—relieved to hear that he's doing so much better, doctor," Picard remarked. "He was quite gravely injured, from what I understand."
"He was," she said. "And now he's beginning his rehabilitation."
Picard nodded, remembering a time when he was younger, more hot-headed, stupidly arrogant, running his mouth in a bar. He got a knife in the chest for his trouble, and now had a replacement heart ticking along as a souvenir. Picard well understood the frustration that Will faced.
"I remember spending two, fun-filled days in a starbase sickbay, rehabbing from a heart replacement," he said, though Beverly knew all this, already. As ship's physician, she knew everyone's medical history. She had known Jean-Luc Picard had the replacement even when Jack still was alive. Picard had recounted the tale over a bottle of wine from his family's vineyard. He'd been a more jovial man then, well before the weight of command had taken hold.
She nodded. "Yes, I remember the story about how that happened," she said.
"It's not exactly something I advertise," he said. "However, I understand what Will is facing from the perspective of wanting to do more while pacing oneself to avoid further injury."
"Then perhaps it might help him to hear a motivational speech, sir," Crusher remarked. "He's being stubborn."
Picard brushed that aside. "Will Riker doesn't need a motivational speech," he said. "He needs a good, swift kick in the posterior, doctor. You said it yourself during your briefing. Perhaps I should send Lt. Worf to deliver that figurative blow."
"Lt. Yar would—," Beverly began.
He began shaking his head.
"Permission to speak freely, sir," Crusher said.
"I've a feeling you would, anyway," he said. "Granted, doctor."
"What is so threatening about senior officers being friends?"
He sighed. "Is that what this is about?" he said. "Shortly after those two returned from their inadvertant, time travel adventure, I saw them swatting each other with towels on C deck, as they were walking through the main corridor. That is neither professional, nor acceptable, doctor. Off-duty or not, they are looked upon as leaders by everyone else aboard this ship. Rumors were rampant, and I felt it imperative to put a stop to it."
"What of other friendships aboard the ship, sir?" she asked, hoping she didn't come across as flippant.
"Really, doctor—," he began.
"I get that you don't need friends, or family, or anyone but subordinates and Starfleet brass," Crusher said, her voice terse, direct. "But the rest of us who are still human do need each other. It's what motivates us to function as a team."
"Were your plea not laced with contractions, I'd say you sounded like Mr. Data," he remarked, but Beverly noticed something else. He wasn't angry.
"If it isn't interfering with their duties and doesn't violate regulations, it shouldn't matter where or with whom Starfleet officers spend their off-duty time," Beverly began, and stopped abruptly as the doorchime rang.
"Yes, come," he called out. The door opened, and Deanna Troi strode into the ready room.
"Counselor, what impeccable timing."
"Sir?" her brow furrowed slightly, though she had an inkling of what was on the table. She could sense it—inherent relief from both Picard and Crusher, that she was present.
"Did you have something to report, counselor?" Picard asked. Whatever her reason for being here, she may as well get it out of the way before I drag her into this discussion, he thought.
"Sir, permission to leave the bridge to speak with Commander Riker in sickbay," she said.
"Has his condition changed?" Crusher interrupted, though it was a pertinent question.
"Not really," Deanna replied. "It's just that he is refusing further physical therapy. He claims he's exhausted, but PT personnel are disputing that. They fear his frustration level has risen to the point where it's interfering with his therapy, and requested my assistance."
"This is hardly surprising, counselor," Picard replied. "He's been through quite the ordeal, on many levels. And on that note, Dr. Crusher and I were discussing Commander Riker and Lt. Yar's relationship."
"Oh, that," Deanna nodded. So, I did walk in here at a good time, she thought.
"And, I would appreciate your honest opinion on it, counselor," he remarked. "Please, sit down."
Deanna sat—rather stiffly—into the chair beside Beverly's. She hadn't exactly rehearsed her words, but she knew exactly what she would say, given the chance.
"Will Riker and Natasha Yar relied on each other during their time away from the Enterprise in a world that was, literally, foreign to them," she said. "They became very close friends in the process. As glad as they were to be able to return to their own time, this has been an awkward transition, and they're under the impression that they are not to discuss with each other how they're coping. No one else on the ship can understand how isolating this has been for both of them. I can sense that they are frustrated, and that they feel no one else truly understands that."
"What's your point?"
"Sir, I think that perhaps your initial order should be revisited, especially in light of all that's happened in the past several days," she said.
"What this ship doesn't need is officers fraternizing with each other!" Picard raised his voice. "It sets a poor example, it leads to unnecessary drama and conflict, which is exactly what is happening now. I don't want that to be a distraction."
"Commander Riker and Lt. Yar did not have a sexual relationship!" Deanna countered, a bit more forcefully than she'd intended. "They became close friends with ups and downs, and never crossed that line. They've both told me that, together and separately, and I can sense that they are telling the truth. Making the committed decision to maintain a platonic relationship, no matter how tempting it is to cross that line, takes a great deal of discipline, especially when two people are living together and sleeping in the same room for 21 months. We are on a long-term deployment, and there's a reason why Starfleet opted for the Enterprise to carry families. Sentient beings need companionship, and there's nothing at all wrong with friendship."
Picard regarded her silently.
"And frankly, sir, if fraternization between officers were really an issue, that needs to be addressed with around 300 or so couples who either are married, in committed relationships or engaged in various flings aboard this ship. It happens everywhere, but it didn't happen between these two. That is discipline."
"Counselor—"
"Not that I'm the one to be talking," she continued. "Will Riker and I previously were in a romantic relationship, and it hasn't impacted our working closely together aboard the Enterprise," she continued, forcing calm over herself. She could feel a flush creeping up her neck. "If anything, our previous relationship and current friendship does lend quite a bit of edge to our service as senior staff aboard our ship."
"That is does, counselor," Picard remarked, then glanced at Dr. Crusher.
"Sir, whether you want to admit it or not, every soul aboard this ship regards you not only as a captain, but as a father figure," Crusher said. "Lt. Yar took on the Level 10 because she felt she had let her skills deteriorate, and that she needed to redeem her abilities. She has a tremendous level of respect for you. She is so determined to regain her edge—and then some—that she took on a martial arts program that no human being has been able to master without being seriously injured. From what I heard from Lt. Worf, he's surprised she wasn't hurt worse than she was."
"I was under the impression from Will Riker that he was even more angry at her than I was after her Level 10 stunt," Picard mentioned.
"Oh, he was," Crusher said. "I was there when he let her know it while she was confined to a sickbay bed. I was also there last night when she finally had a chance to speak with him just after he was extubated, and he made considerable progress while she was there. She was a motivating force for him, and I think she'd have the same impact now. Commander Riker needs that, whether he knows this or not, especially now that he's pulling his 'refusal of treatment' stunt. And I knew that he would do this! He has such a stubborn, prideful temperament that makes rehab an absolute nightmare—not for him, for us! If he won't do it, he won't do it."
"Well, I can order him to do it," Picard said. "And I can send in reinforcements: A doctor who can reassure him that he is physically sound and won't drop dead while exerting himself; a counselor who can reassure him that rehabilitation isn't forever and that he will recover; and a certain security chief who knows him well enough to push the right buttons."
Both Crusher and Troi smiled at the same time.
USS Enterprise, rear tactical station on the bridge, 1430 hours
I should call, Tasha thought. Just to see how he's doing. The thought had crossed her mind throughout the morning as she stood at her Tactical station on the bridge. But like Dr. Crusher, she found other things to do to put it off. He's probably a bit embarrassed about last night, she told herself. Besides, he's busy with PT.
She picked at her lunch, then returned to duty, finished an hourly security sweep, and found a seat at the bridge's rear tactical station, where she could have a semi-private conversation. She commed through directly to the speaker directly over Will's bed.
"Good morning, sir," she said. "How are you doing?"
"I'm doing lousy," Will had replied, and Tasha knew immediately what was going on. He'd just been through physical therapy, and either was tired, or frustrated, or both.
"Did I call at a bad time?" she managed to say.
"Anytime is a bad time," he snapped.
"What do you mean by that?" she asked.
"It's not your business, lieutenant!" he had replied, raising his voice.
"Would you like me to stop by later?" she replied, trying to keep her voice even while saving face.
"I don't really care if you stop by again, or not," he replied, and then cut off the channel.
Tasha stood dumbfounded, now embarrassed that everyone at the tactical station had heard that exchange. The absolute last thing she wanted to do was to let anyone in on their business. She glanced over her shoulder, and saw that Dr. Crusher and Captain Picard were standing by the lift. She didn't think they'd heard the exchange. If they had, they'd have said something by now.
But she knew that at least one other officer had heard it, almost certainly. She glanced sideways at Worf, who abruptly looked away. But Worf wore his emotions on his sleeve, and Tasha could tell he was troubled—though she didn't know which part of that conversation bothered him, the most.
"What?" she finally asked, a bit more forcefully than she'd planned. But that was fine with Worf, who took terse conversation as intention, and therefore, took it more seriously.
"I do not know enough to comment on the situation," Worf said.
Good answer, she thought, but realized he was entitled to some explanation. "He's just frustrated, hacked off at everyone and everything, and I happened to call when he needed to vent. He outranks me, so I'm not going to worry about it."
I'm not supposed to be worried about it, anyway, she thought. What Will does isn't my business. But if they were still on Earth, she'd be right in his face. She missed those days, now, even when he was irritated at her. She did her best to disengage her mind, and refocus on the sector the Enterprise was warping through—even if it was devoid of anything that could distract her.
"Lieutenant Yar," Captain Picard's voice was close, right behind her.
She whirled around. "Yes, sir," she replied, noticing only then that Dr. Crusher was no longer on the bridge. Deanna was standing beside him, instead—and her dark eyes, as always, were impassive.
"I've been informed that a sickbay patient of your acquaintance would greatly benefit from your motivational expertise," Picard said. "And based on the comm conversation I just overheard, he also needs your firm foot placed solidly against his recalcitrant posterior."
Tasha barely suppressed a huge grin, even as Deanna's broke through. She hardly knew what to say in response.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Picard said, as intense as ever, though she knew he was teasing her.
"Yes, sir," she said, a grin spreading across her face as she walked past enroute to the lift. "Thank you, sir."
"Thank you, lieutenant," Picard nodded, watching as both Yar and Troi hopped onto the lift. "We need our team back together."