April 29
"It is possible to overthink these things," Jean-Luc pointed out as Beverly pulled a long-sleeved shirt over her head, pulled her long red hair into a loose ponytail, then grabbed her purse and draped the strap over her shoulder.
Beverly gave a resigned shrug. "You're right, Jean-Luc, but a month ago Pat would have noticed that I had started to carry a shoulder bag and started to carry lipstick and a pen in my apron. The fact that she hasn't commented on either worries me."
"Maybe she hasn't noticed," Jean-Luc said. "From what I've seen of other women in this time, carrying a purse is quite common; now that we have the wherewithal to afford that type of thing, she might have expected you to secure one for yourself," he said.
"True enough – but apparently it is an accessory that societal protocol demands notice and comment amongst female friends," she countered. "Pat hasn't said anything. I was hoping she would have noticed it a few days ago, so we could have that conversation. Then I could put the tricorder and medkit inside without risking having her ask to see about the construction and features that the purse has. Now I'm going to have to take that chance," she sighed, looking at Picard worriedly.
"You're that concerned?"
"She's wheezing more with every day, and her stamina is non-existent," Beverly said. "She keeps saying she's going to see a doctor – but she never does."
"Do you think that even if you can make a diagnosis you'll be able to convince her to go to a doctor?" he asked.
"No – but I have to try," she replied quietly – then moved closer to him, settling into the warm embrace of his arms. "Thank you," she added softly.
"For?"
"Agreeing to let me do this. I know our resources are limited…"
"Pat is our friend," he interrupted, holding her tight to him. "More than that, she saved us, helped us to survive in this world, helped us find a home here… indirectly, she's helped us to understand that this is our home now, that this is our world – and our obligations must be to this time and place." He paused for a moment, then drew away slightly, looking into her sapphire eyes. " 'You begin saving the world by saving one man at a time; all else is grandiose romanticism or politics'," he murmured. "Gy was willing to risk his business and reputation to help Fred; how can we do less to help Pat?"
He tightened his embrace once more, feeling Beverly's grasp around him tighten in return. "I love you," she whispered.
He drew in a long breath, closing his eyes as her words filled his soul with contentment. "As I love you, Beverly," he said, drawing her into a long and passionate kiss.
She pulled away, smiling up at him. "I'm going to be late, Jean-Luc," she told him.
He glanced at the clock on the bedside table in surprise. "You have more than thirty minutes to get across the street," he protested, remembering how they had both awakened early, anxious to prepare for the day's clandestine 'mission' – a preparation that had only taken a few minutes more than their usual morning rituals.
Grinning, she reached for the front of his bathrobe, untying the belt. "For a man who prides himself on the correct usage of words, you don't listen very well sometimes. I said: I'm going to be late," she repeated, pushing him back toward the bed as she pulled the bag off her shoulder and reached for the hem of her shirt. "Unless," she added, hesitating before she pulled it over her head, "you have an objection, my dear captain?"
He grinned back. "None that I can think of, my dear doctor."
There were times when Jean-Luc could be expeditious, Beverly mused as she hurried across the still quiet street to the coffeeshop – and while she thoroughly enjoyed his efforts at making their love-making sessions into drawn-out affairs of physical and emotional passion, he was also becoming quite adept at what Pat would call a 'quickie'.
Virtually humming with satisfaction, she pulled the store keys out of her pocket, opened the shop and set about the morning routine of preparing the muffins, starting the large coffee brewers and writing up the lunch menus for the day.
It was almost an hour later when the door opened; expecting Pat, Beverly turned to greet her, one hand slipping to the scanner in her pocket – then hastily turned it off as she saw it was Jake from the graphic arts shop down the street, in for his usual coffee and roll.
He greeted her, handing over his travel mug before surveying the day's muffins. "No carrot muffins today?"
"Would I forget your carrot muffin?" she teased, heading into the kitchen, then returning and moment later with a paper bag. "Be careful, it's still hot."
Smiling, Jake reached into the bag, pulled off a piece of the muffin's crunchy top and carefully chewed it as Beverly filled his mug. "Where's Pat?"
"She's running late," Beverly demurred.
"Good thing she's got you here," he replied. "Otherwise I'd have to head over the Dimples and get half a dozen donuts for breakfast."
"I can hardly blame you," Beverly replied, having indulged in the sweet pastries on a few occasions. "They're good donuts."
"Damn straight – but I'd eat all six of them before lunch. Between you, Pat and the muffins, I've lost twenty pounds," he said.
"I'm glad to hear it," she replied, the doctor in her delighting in the man's choice for better health. "We do make a sugar-free version, you know," she answered.
The expression on his face mirrored Beverly's opinion of the baked goods. "Thanks, but no thanks. No offense," he added quickly. "You know the joke: Why are people who eat health foods so skinny?"
She frowned and shook her head. "Why?"
" 'Cause health food tastes like shit," he replied. "So does that fake sugar shit. Gives me headaches to boot. Nope; I'll pick and choose my calories, thank you very much," he concluded. "See you tomorrow, Bev," he added as he took placed his money on the counter, grabbed the mug and headed for the door. "Say hi to Pat when she gets in."
Beverly murmured a farewell, then rang up the sale, thinking to herself.
This was an society of the overweight, she thought, who would deprive themselves of little in the way of indulgences; instead of moderation or self-control, they turned to science to find ways to limit the calories, using artificial sweeteners, fats that couldn't be absorbed, unhealthy diets and patent medications that did nothing to reduce their weight – except by reducing the amount of money in their wallets.
And we cater to that tendency, she sighed; we offer cream for the coffee, oversized muffins, chips with our sandwiches – and no one complains.
Not that I'm much better, she added; I put that cream in my coffee when I should be using the skim milk, she sighed, recollecting that her jeans had seemed a bit tighter this morning than they had been the previous day.
Then again, I am trying to gain weight, she reminded herself – and apparently doing so quite successfully. Now if I could get Jean-Luc to gain some more weight, she sighed.
Still, as she filled her coffee cup, she reached for the skim milk, adding a small measure to the cup, then took a sip.
Or perhaps not, she added with a shudder at the nauseating taste, pouring the mixture into the sink and putting the cup into the washer. Maybe I'll just learn to drink it black.
She turned to the door as it opened a second time – and smiled in relief as Pat entered, her face flushed with effort.
"I'd almost given up on you," she greeted her friend.
"Sorry I'm late, Beverly," Pat said as she pulled off her coat, heading for her office in the back. "Erin called and asked if she could pick up some hours this weekend and I was juggling the schedules to try to give her some time. I hope you don't mind: I told her to come in for the lunch rush, and you can take the afternoon off." She grinned wickedly at the redhead. "The school's closed tonight, and I thought you and John might want to keep breaking in that new bed of yours."
"Actually, we'll probably head over to the laundromat," Beverly countered. "It is Friday night after all," she added with a smile.
"Hmpf. What a waste of a perfectly good afternoon off," she grumbled, then turned back toward her office once again.
Seeing the woman's back turned, Beverly reached into her apron pocket to turn on the scanner once more, only to be interrupted by the door opening and a small crowd of people entering the store. Quickly turning it off, she smiled at them and began to take orders.
It seemed axiomatic, Beverly thought as the day progressed: whenever she had something planned that she wanted to do, the day filled with tasks that needed to be done.
Today, the stream of customers seemed unending; every time the store would empty out, Beverly would reach into her pocket to turn on the scanner – only to hear the chime of the delivery door ringing. The early spring weather seemed to lure the businessmen of the areas out of the offices and shops earlier than usual as well; the lunch rush, which usually started at eleven thirty was in full swing at eleven today, making Erin's request for extra hours – and her early arrival – almost providential, even as it made any possibility of Beverly's early departure unlikely.
And it was going to be equally unlikely that she'd be able to scan Pat while Erin was in the store, Beverly added unhappily.
Tomorrow, then, she sighed as she filled a bowl with chili, added a cornbread muffin and called out the customer's name.
It was well after one when the crowds finally thinned and they were able to catch up on cleaning the store, filling the dishwasher with used plates, cups, bowls and silverware – and begin the hasty process of reordering supplies for the following day.
"If I can call it in by two," Pat said as she looked over the remaining ingredients on the shelves, "we can get it delivered this afternoon. Beverly, we're going to need a gross of eggs if we're going to do the breakfast omelets – and add three pounds of the chopped ham. Double up on the cheddar while you're at it. Erin," she continued, glancing at the college student who had joined the coffeeshop staff a few weeks before, "can you stay until the delivery gets here? He should be in by five. Teague can help you put everything away," she added, raising herself slowly as she pressed a hand into the small of her back, groaning softly.
"You okay, Pat?" Erin asked.
"My back's bothering me," the older woman muttered. "Must have thrown it our yesterday; it's been aching all day," she added, "and the ibuprofen's making me nauseous."
"Man," Erin agreed, "sorry to hear it!. My mom's always bitching about how her back's hurting… Pat? Pat?"
Hearing the sudden worry in the young woman's voice, Beverly looked up from the order sheet just in time to watch Pat slowly sink to the floor. "Pat?" she echoed worriedly, hurrying to the woman's side.
"My back…" she wheezed. "Hurts. Can't breathe…" she added, then slumped to the ground.
Beverly stared for a moment – then felt every emotion fade away. She placed two fingers along her carotid artery, then lowered her head to Pat's chest.
"What's wrong? What's happening?" Erin said, her voice rising in panic.
"I think Pat's having a heart attack," she replied, her voice flat with perfect control. "Help me get her onto her back," she said. When Erin didn't move, she raised her voice, calmly ordering,"Turn Pat onto her back , Erin."
The firm tone overrode the rising terror in the young woman; she knelt beside the woman, helping Beverly turn Pat over then straightening her legs. "She's not going to die, is she?" Erin cried.
Beverly ignored the girl for a moment, checking the woman's pulse again, then lowering her head to her chest. "She's not breathing and there's no pulse. We need to do cardiac resuscitation."
Erin looked at Beverly in undisguised panic. "I don't know how…"
"I do," Beverly replied then looked at the girl sternly. "I need you…"
"I don't know how!" Erin cried out, her hands rising to her face as she started to back away.
Beverly grabbed the young woman's hands, and met her eyes. "Listen to me, Erin. I need you to do exactly as I say. Call emergency services…"
"What? What are emergency services?" she replied, terror overcoming her.
Beverly thought desperately, trying to recall what term the locals used for the emergency medical service team. "9-1-1," she answered. "Erin, I need you to call 9-1-1. Now," she added, pushing the girl toward the phone as she turned back to Pat. She quickly checked the woman's heartbeat and breathing – and finding none, felt along Pat's rib cage for the right point and began to perform chest compressions.
Erin fumbled with the phone for a moment, then started to hand it to Beverly.
"You're going to have to talk to them," she managed as she continued the manual compressions. "Tell them we need an ambulance at the coffeeshop. Give them the address. Tell them Pat has had a heart attack. Tell them we're doing resuscitation."
The girl repeated the words, then looked at Beverly in terror. "They say they're on the way," she said. "They said I shouldn't hang up," she added.
"Okay," Beverly answered. "Just put it on the ground next to me."
Erin nodded mutely, setting the small device beside Beverly.
"Now, I want you to run over to the martial arts school and get John. Tell him what's happened and tell him I need him over here," she ordered.
Erin stared blankly at the doctor. "What?"
"I'm doing two hundred compressions per minute, Erin," she explained hastily. "I can't keep this up for long. John knows how to perform the technique; we can take turns until the ambulance gets here. Now go!" she ordered firmly.
Erin stared for a moment – then turned, yanked the door open and headed for the school.
As soon as the door closed, Beverly stopped the compressions, pulling the scanner from her pocket, flipped it on, and began to run it over Pat's chest.
Full cardiac arrest, she determined as she read the information. Damage to the heart muscle from obstructed coronary arteries. Prognosis: none, she thought. Unless she could restore blood flow to the heart, the muscle would die – and while Beverly didn't know much about the medical procedures of this time, she knew that there was little chance they could get Pat prepared and into surgery in time to save her life.
Standing, she hurried to where she had left her purse, fished out her tricorder and medkit and began an intensive scan of her friend – then reached into the medkit.
Two cc's of medrazine, she prescribed, then injected the fluid into the artery at Pat's neck then began to resume the chest compressions.
As the medication reached the obstructed vessels, it should quickly begin to break down the obstructions she knew; within minutes, she should see the blockage clearing.
One eye on the scanner, she continued pumping Pat's chest – then glanced up as the door chime sounded.
"John!" she called out.
He started to hurry to her side, Erin right behind him – then seeing the tricorder, he hastily turned. "Erin, we need someone to wait outside for the ambulance. Can you do that?"
The relief on the young woman's face was unmistakable; it was evident that the last place she wanted to be was inside the shop where her boss was lying on the floor, possibly dying. She pulled back and ran for the door.
"John," Beverly said as he took his place opposite from her, "I need you to take over compressions."
She glanced significantly at the phone lying beside her, then looked meaningfully at her medkit.
He nodded his understanding, moving his hand directly atop Beverly's, then continuing her efforts as she pulled her hands back.
Reaching for the kit, she prepared a second hypospray, measuring the fluid carefully, then pressed it to Pat's neck.
It hissed softly – but whatever reaction Beverly was expecting didn't occur.
Clearly surprised, Beverly glanced at the hypo, ejected the cartridge, pressed a new one into place – then pressed it against the woman's neck once more.
A moment later, she heard what she had been expecting: the soft sigh of an exhalation, then the faint draw of a small inhalation.
"Stop the compressions, John," she ordered, then pressed a finger to the side of Pat's neck – and looked at him, nodding slowly.
"I've got a pulse," she said.
At the sound of the door bell, the two looked up, then quickly moved back as the EMTs hurried to Pat's side.
Beverly unobtrusively pushed the tricorder and medkit out of the way as Jean-Luc kicked the empty hypo and cartridge under the counter. "She went into cardiac arrest eight minutes ago," she informed the technicians. "I began cardio-pulmonary resuscitation as soon as I confirmed the absence of respiration and heartbeat."
The tech nodded as he placed a stethoscope against Pat's chest. "I've got a heartbeat: thready – but it's steady. Let's get some numbers, get a line in and prep her for transport. Call this in to Delnor and let them know we're coming in," he said to the others with him – then looked up at Beverly. "We'll take it from here, ma'am," he told her.
Beverly nodded, slowly standing up, then reached for the phone. "The technicians are here," she informed the person on the other end of the phone. "Thank you for your assistance," she added before closing the phone and handing it to Jean-Luc.
"You need to call Gy. Tell him what happened and where they're taking Pat," she said.
He reached to take the phone - then noticed that Beverly's hand was trembling.
"Beverly?" he asked worriedly.
"I'm okay," she insisted. "I'm going to go sit down," she added quickly, making her way to Pat's office.
He stared after her for a moment – then quickly punched Gy's number into the phone.
A soft knock at the door drew Beverly upright in Pat's chair; smoothing back her hair, she called out, "Yes?" - then smiled as Jean-Luc entered the room.
"Beverly? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she said. "Just recovering from the rush of adrenaline. And don't ask if I always have this reaction to these situations: I don't – but it took me some time to overcome the response. My first rotation on triage made me seriously doubt if I had what it took to be a doctor; I was fine – until everything was handled, then I'd lose my lunch. Fortunately for you and me, I haven't had lunch today, so we were spared that. Have they moved Pat yet?"
"They're preparing to do so now. I'm going to get the car, and we can meet Gy over there..."
"Not us," she interrupted. " You."
He raised a brow.
"I can't leave Erin here alone, Jean-Luc," she said quietly.
"You can close the shop," he pointed out.
"I can - but Erin needs someone with her until she comes to terms with what happened. She's young, and I don't think she's ever seen anything like this. I'll admit that this is more Deanna's field than mine, but I can do a little hand holding until she calmed down. And..." She hesitated, "I'm going to have to run the shop for a while, Jean-Luc," she continued, reaching for his hand. "Pat has had a major heart attack, and even with what I did, she's going to need time to recuperate – and that recuperation does not include working at the coffeeshop. It also doesn't include worrying how her business is going to make it if it closes for even a little time. No; I'm going to have to keep this running until she's recovered."
He studied her for a few moments – then nodded. "Quite right," he agreed.
She looked at him for a few moments, then lowered her voice, drawing him closer to her. "Jean-Luc, I think we have another problem."
"Which is…?"
"When I replicated the drugs for the medkit, I only replicated the ones I thought we'd need," she explained.
"Clearly they were the correct ones," he countered.
"They were – but that's not my point. Jean-Luc, when we decided to use the replicator to produce medications you and I might need, I first checked the standard meds in the shuttle's first aid kit. One drug that wasn't there - but that you might need - is medrazine. Fortunately it also is quite effective in alleviating the blockages that can cause heart attacks - and I was able to treat Pat with it.
"Cordrazine, on the other hand, is a standard drug. There was a full vial in the ship's med kit - and I used some of it on Pat."
He nodded, knowing the reputation of the drug as a highly dangerous – but highly effective – cardiac stimulant.
" Jean-Luc, the cordrazine didn't work."
"What do you mean, 'it didn't work'?" he asked blankly.
"You saw me; I gave her 2 milligrams of cordrazine IV – and there was no reaction."
"You gave her two drugs," he pointed out.
"I gave her a second dose of cordrazine," she countered.
"And it did work," he objected. "Maybe she just needed larger dose."
"Excuse me? Do I tell you how to run a starship? Then don't tell me how to care for my patients," she said indignantly. "Two milligrams IV could raise the dead. She didn't react – until I gave her a second dose…"
He looked at her with an expression of vindication.
"…from a different vial - a vial I replicated when with the medrazine," she said. "Jean-Luc, I think the same entropic effect that affected the shuttle's power systems and our biological systems may have affected the drugs that were in the ship's medkit in a similar manner; I'll check them when I get home tonight, but I think they suffered a breakdown of their structures on a molecular level. If I'm right, they are, for all purposes, useless."
He drew a deep breath, taking in the significance of her words. "And if they are useless?"
"Then we need to decide what drugs we want to re-replicate – if any. Replication of medications is energy intensive and it will make a significant impact on the power reserves we have for the replicator. We've already used a substantial amount of those reserves on the drugs I made earlier; from here on out, we're going to have to pick and choose carefully. Fortunately, I already replicated the ones you might need," she added.
"What about the medications you might need?"
Beverly smiled. "My heart isn't from four hundred years in the future; I can probably muddle through with the drugs that are currently available for most – if any – problems I might encounter."
He opened his mouth to object; as his lover, he wanted nothing but the best for her – but as her former captain, he knew her assessment of resource allocation was accurate.
"The good news is that any vaccines we have taken should remain effective since they triggered long-lasting immunological effects rather than transitory chemical ones," she added. "We're protected against most of the endemic diseases of this time as well as those of our time."
One of the paramedics knocked on the door, and the two hastily fell silent as he pushed into the room. "We've got her stabilized and we're going to take her to the hospital now."
"I'll follow you there," Picard informed him, then waited until the man left before looking back at Beverly. "I'll call you as soon as I hear anything," he added, kissing her gently on the top of her head. "Try not to work too late," he added. "You're going to be putting in enough hours in the days and weeks to come."
"I was the head of Starfleet Medical, remember? I know how far I can push myself."
"And then you go past that," he reminded her. "That's why they wanted you as the head of Starfleet Medical – and why every captain in the fleet wanted you as his CMO."
"Except you," she reminded him.
"Including me," he disagreed. "But I wanted you as something more than just my CMO, Beverly. I have since the day I met you. I just wish I had let you know long ago how much you meant to me."
"Then why don't you tell me… tonight?"
