The New Doctor
By Lieuten Keen
Chapter 54
"I'm sorry I'm late!" Andie hit the double doors of Sickbay at a run. "I was writing a letter and…never mind…it's not important." She looked around at the group of people standing impatiently. "Was there a bad batch of breakfast?" she wondered out loud, puzzled at the crowd.
"You are supposed to be here early for the weekly allergy injections," Black told her curtly. "Now everybody's late for their shift and you have to call in and explain!"
"I'll get right on that!" Andie promised with a huff. She struggled to pull on her lab coat as she moved toward her computer.
"No, you administer the allergy shots," Black pulled her away from the work station and steered her in the right direction. "I'll start the medical notices." He shoved a handful of data pads into her hands and nudged her toward the first patient.
It was unfortunate that she had to handle Reed on an empty stomach. "Sorry I'm late," she apologized to him breathlessly as she juggled the pads.
"It isn't a problem," he lied through gritted teeth.
She checked her list. "Bromelin, right? Computer, continue audio playback from Andie's quarters." Soft strings filled the room. She filled a hypo with quick hands and pressed it into Malcolm's neck.
"May I offer a suggestion?" Malcolm just knew he was going to regret making this offer. As soon as he spoke, she tensed up and frowned. Already she was looking for ways to reject his offer.
"What suggestion would that be?" She queried briskly, keeping her hands busy with work.
"You should take this moment as an opportunity to present yourself to the department as the Chief Medical Officer. It will set you apart from the friendly crewman they've come to know." Particularly when you set a bad example by being late and disheveled, he thought, although he kept that part to himself.
"I am the Chief Medical Officer."
"Temporary. Acting. Chief Medical Officer," he corrected her through gritted teeth.
"I've been in charge of medical labs before," she mentioned inattentively, making notes in her pad. She seemed to be distracted. "I'll be fine. It's kind of you to worry about me."
Keeping his temper was another problem, but he was determined to do it, so he ignored her facetious tone. "I was not aware that you had some command experience," he said evenly. "This transition should be relatively easy for you then." He was almost successful in keeping the sarcasm out of his voice.
"It should," she remarked absently. Her head turned to peer through the gauze curtain as someone out there exerted an especially loud sigh of impatience. "Normally I would ask you to sit here for a few minutes to make certain there are no ill effects with the allergy shots, but I'm already running late this morning. Would you like to be excused?"
"I would," he agreed with relief, already scooting off the table and onto his feet. He'd been taking the same medication for four years now and had never suffered any undue effects.
"Try to work in someplace where people can see you and come back immediately if you feel ill at all." She stepped back to allow him to stand, already glancing down at her next assignment. "I'll try to be more punctual next time."
After she'd just done him a favor, it seemed wrong to continue to snub her. "Mozart?" Malcolm queried as she continued to be lost in paperwork.
Andie looked up with no idea what he meant.
"I never would have guessed that you were so cultured," he told her in a slightly warmer tone as he indicated the soft strings that were piped in through the speakers in the medical ward.
"I have culture coming out of my ass," she noted with a small grin, acknowledging his teasing for what it was. "Now, go away. You're bothering me." She shooed him away playfully with her data pad and moved to the next bed.
A little more than an hour later, the last patient waited for her behind the last curtained enclosure. Before slipping inside, Andie paused to call out to her nurse, who was just finishing up the last chart. "Ensign Black, I'd like you to make your way to the quartermaster and request several more data pads, the large ones, if you please. We're going to need them."
"For what, ma'am?" Black queried. He had known that sigh of relief at seeing the end of the early morning rush of people and paperwork had been premature.
"I'd like to conduct a full and complete inventory of all medical supplies on board this ship. We'll need the pads for counting," she told him as though this was perfectly ordinary.
"We conducted a full inventory before we left space dock," Ian pointed out. He wasn't looking forward to tidying up the normally orderly room that currently appeared as though a hurricane had hit it, and this new idea was sure to be time consuming and physically intensive. "And that was only a couple of months ago."
"Good, then you remember how it's done," she agreed without backing down. "And call me Doctor. Scoot!" she shooed him away, ignoring his irritated sighs as she pulled back the final curtain.
Trip rubbed a hand over his tired eyes as the last of his crew scurried into Main Engineering with a darted look of apology. Word got around; Andie had arrived late to work and was responsible for the ensuing tardiness of the crew. He couldn't blame her. That tale she told him last night had kept him awake long after she'd retired to her own quarters, and he was dragging through the day.
The world was supposed to be getting better! How could things keep happening in the world to make them worse? Every day seemed to be one more tragedy; each encounter brought more heartache. He wondered how she could drag herself out of bed every day.
More listless than usual he handed out the day's assignments and sent his people to their work stations. At least T'Pol had heard the same story. Andie told him if he needed someone to talk to that he could consult either Archer or T'Pol. The Vulcan always offered him serene and thoughtful advice. The mere thought of consulting with her made him perk up. He felt a twinge of shame when he remembered the trouble he took to make T'Pol think he had a date last night.
Lizzie had always been taken care of. He made sure that her dates always got a good look at him, in order to scare them into treating her right. Trip couldn't imagine a world where Andie had nobody to look after her. And then she was dropped right in the middle of the definition of hell and expected to get along just fine. Just recently T'Pol had expected to pay a social visit to her mother and had been caught in an actual civil war as well, although the two incidences hardly seemed similar. T'Pol's mother had died, but at least the Vulcan was old enough to understand the reasons for it, and had people around her to share her loss. Remembering how hard his sister's death had hit him, he thought it probably didn't matter how old you were. Tragedies like that were never easy. That was the moment he realized he hadn't checked on T'Pol lately, or asked about her mental health. It was just one more sign that his world, still shaken on its axis from the terrible might of the Xindi, was still wobbling off-kilter. Trip shook his head and caught Hess looking at him with a concerned expression.
"You okay, sir?" she inquired politely. "You've just been standing there."
"I'm fine, thanks," he nodded. Rubbing a hand over his face one more time, he picked up a tool kit and prepared to climb into the inner workings of the ship to make some minor repairs and run a few diagnostics. It was all the work he thought he could handle for one day.
"Can't you do something?" Ensign Ian Black begged his friend Crewman Rostov. The men sat at a table for four in the Mess Hall at lunch time, although there were only three in their party.
"I don't know what you think I can do for you," Michael Rostov answered again. Ian had come out of Sickbay complaining about his new supervisor and Rostov was already out of sympathy for him, being freshly out from under the thumb of the odious Lt. Kelby.
"She's gone power mad!" Black insisted. "If you could talk to Commander Tucker for me, I'm sure he might be able to step in and rein her back!"
"I don't know," Travis Mayweather broke in with a mouth full. "I think a complete inventory will be extremely beneficial." He earned a dirty look for his trouble.
"We took inventory just a couple months ago when we left space dock!" Black repeated his protest.
"Since then a lot has happened," Mayweather pointed out, using his fork to punctuate his statement, and dribbling a spicy red sauce on the table for his trouble.
Rostov added "And she's new. She probably wants to make certain you're not an idiot and can count higher than your fingers and toes." His wide grin took the sting out of his words.
"Ha ha," Black snorted, unruffled by the teasing. "It's unreasonable! We're still recovering from a ship wide illness!" His curly black hair was more agitated than usual from all the finger brushing he'd been doing today out of frustration.
"She's the chief medical officer," Mayweather pointed out.
"Temporary. Acting. Chief." Black pointed out. "If she's not going to take the fragile health of the crew seriously then someone else should take over. Someone who won't need a week's worth of counting bandages right away."
"It's not like you're going to enjoy the task more if you do it later," Mayweather muttered, but Black would not be deterred.
"Mike, come on! You work for Tucker and she's got a personal relationship with him. You can help me exert influence on him to exert influence over her to stop this madness!" Even Ian had to wonder at his adamant insistence that Andie be removed to the point where he was close to tarnishing the reputation of the chief engineer as well. It's not like she called for ship-wide floggings! She was just settling in. There was something off-putting about her although he couldn't put his finger on it. He wasn't certain how he'd feel in the following days carrying out the orders of a woman who barely reached his shoulders when she stood up straight.
"What personal relationship?" Rostov inquired quietly after looking around to make sure they were still relatively unnoticed and Mayweather grew still just waiting to hear the answer.
"Someone saw her leaving his quarters early this morning," Ian admitted, wondering if he'd gone too far. "She had an empty bottle and he looked tuckered out, if you know what I mean." He thought about slapping his face to stop him from uttering anything further. Clearly his mouth didn't think he'd gone far enough and was happy to jump in and help hang him. Ian tried snapping his jaws shut, hard enough to make his ears ring. Just to be cautious, he shoved food into his mouth as well.
"Who saw her leaving his quarters?" Rostov asked, curious. "I thought he liked T'Pol?"
"Doesn't matter," Mayweather interjected with finality, sneaking a peek at the engineer dining at a nearby table with the armory officer. "Whatever they do is their business and not ours." He shoved another mouthful of food and chewed it while trying to look wiser than his years. It may have been his authoritative air, or maybe the crowded room but the other men lowered their volume.
"Even if she has some pull over him, it doesn't mean that I have the same influence," Rostov attacked his food with determination, but Ian stopped him before the fork reached his mouth.
"If anybody can get to the bottom of this, you can!" Black begged. "Look! He's going for more lemonade! Sidle up to him at the beverage dispenser and make it seem casual!" His thin arms actually pulled Rostov's chair out from the table with the large man still sitting on it.
Rostov sighed. He wanted nothing more than to finish his chicken enchiladas but it didn't look like he was going to get the opportunity to do that in peace. Not until he talked to his commanding officer. With another heavy sigh, he rose and took his glass to the drinks dispenser, avoiding a collision as Commander Tucker turned around rather suddenly. The two men spoke briefly before Rostov nodded and stepped around to fill his own glass.
"What did he say?" Black wanted to know when the crewman returned. His lean elbows were practically planted in his tamale in his haste to find out.
"He said to bite his shiny white ass," Rostov told his friend as he dropped his napkin across his thigh.
"Really?" Black looked taken aback.
"No, not really," Mike rolled his eyes as Mayweather silently chortled in the background. "But he should have."
"What did he say?" Black was nearly bouncing up and down in anticipation.
"He said he'd think about it."
Across the room, Trip was explaining his predicament to Malcolm.
"A full and complete inventory," Malcolm mused as he toyed with his food. Perhaps she had been listening to him after all. He thought of her pointed reminder that she'd been in charge of a staff before and wondered if it was her own methodology at work. She did seem confident of her own abilities. Too confident perhaps, and that seemed to be a standard trait. He would have glowered at her from across the room but she was nowhere to be seen.
"Yeah, apparently they're about to mutiny," Trip nodded as he bit into his taco with false gusto. "I guess I should say something to her about going easy on the medical staff, at least until they get used to her being in charge." He wasn't certain he wanted to see her yet, but he felt weird about attempting to avoid her. Of course, he felt equally weird about confronting her.
"Do you really think that's wise?" Malcolm queried. "By suggesting that she cave in to their demands, you would be undermining her authority."
"You sound like you agree with her decision," Trip looked at Malcolm dubiously.
Malcolm stifled a grin. He hated to go so far as to agree with her on anything, but in this case her plan might actually be…right. It nearly hurt him to admit that, even inside his own head. "I do," he finally said out loud. "To change position from one of the workers to the leader is never an easy task. Asserting her authority on some simple tasks would make that distinction very quick and painless. It's actually a sensible tactical maneuver."
"She's being a pain in their butts on purpose?" Trip mused. He used his hands to scoop the filling from his taco off his plate and back inside the crisp tortilla shell. "I guess it would be wrong to step in then." Trip looked at Malcolm's expression. "It killed you a little to admit she might be right about somethin', didn't it?" The attempted joke was half-hearted at best, but it was all he could manage at the moment.
"More than you know," Malcolm admitted with a small grin. Inventory was a brilliant plan really. Everybody hated to do it, but it was the perfect opening. He wondered how he could implement a full inventory count in the armory without seeming that he was copying the doctor. "Of course, now that you've decided to accept the task of speaking to the doctor, you've set an uncomfortable standard for the rest of the crew. There's no telling what they might ask you to do on her behalf in the future." His persistent needling of the engineer did not instigate the usual repartee he'd come to expect. It was as though Trip's mind were elsewhere.
Trip thought he might do a lot on her behalf, especially given what he now knew about her. Although any woman who could survive a full-scale civil war and thrive in an environment like Eckta's Reef probably didn't need much in the way of assistance. But in the interest of peace on board the ship he might make an attempt. There's no telling how many boots she might plant up however many asses before she was finished asserting her authority. She might need an extra hand with all the beatings she might administer; he stifled the chuckle that threatened to escape his lips. The rest of his lunch hour was spent in a more pleasant frame of mind as he and Reed contemplated what his response to Rostov's request on Ensign Black's behalf should be. Thoughts of helping her actually gave him the perfect idea.
Both men paused in their exit from the lunch hall, right next to Rostov's shoulder. "Good luck with that inventory today, fellas!" Trip pasted on a wide smile for the table in general before he slapped Rostov heartily on the shoulder. "And thanks for volunteering to help them out in Sickbay today! That is above and beyond the call of duty!"
"I…what?" Rostov almost choked on his flan.
"Your expression of concern that the medical staff might be overwhelmed was an excellent one. You can help out by assisting the inventory count down there. As a matter of fact, I'll walk you to Sickbay m'self in a minnit. Let me go tell Hess that you'll be reassigned this afternoon." Trip squeezed his engineer's shoulder tightly as he led Malcolm out the door. Malcolm did his part to remain straight faced until they were out in the corridor.
At the table, Rostov shot Black a very dirty look. Travis snorted with laughter around a mouthful of his third burrito as Black scurried away from his irritated friend.
Andie looked up from her work as Ian Black slipped into the medical ward shortly after the lunch hour. She waved him over when he snuck a glance her way. Leaving Lt. Truax with a leech pulsing at her neck, the doctor drew the curtain around the resting patient and faced her nurse, the sole voice of rebellion among the ranks of her newly acquired troops. Actually there may have been more dissension; Black's petulance simply made the loudest noise.
"I'd like you to count the tongue depressors this afternoon," she announced calmly.
"I've finished the tongue depressors," he said with certainty. He wanted to get out of the room before Rostov showed up.
Andie tilted her head way back to look him directly in the eye. "The count is inaccurate. I'd like you to count them again." She was extremely calm when she handed the pad back to him. She'd skipped lunch and her head was pounding. It was the only reason she wasn't shouting at him.
Being a tall, slender man, he towered over her slight form, but still he had to resist the urge to step back from her, even with her more reasonable tone. There was something uncomfortable in her eyes. "It is accurate!" he insisted.
"So how come the number you've listed on this pad is significantly different than the number I counted with my own two hands?" She looked up and stared at him, bluffing her way through her instinctive guess that he had short-handed some of the work.
"You counted the tongue depressors?" Ensign Black was surprised. Dread was beginning to form a cold knot in the pit of his stomach. He just spent the better part of an hour telling Rostov and Mayweather why he was better qualified to look after the department for the short time that Phlox would be gone. He had a sudden qualm that he had been incorrect.
"If I didn't know better, I'd suggest that you created a number out of thin air and injected it into this report because you don't believe an inventory is worthy of your time." Her voice was still very calm and it was making the hair rise all over his curly-headed body.
"Doc…I…" Ian fell silent. Her cool expression made him wish for a coat.
"It would be a shame to present these findings to the captain and explain that you ignored a direct request by your superior and falsified medical information on a task that you deemed less important. Unless you can think of a third option…."
"Cutler could do it," he suggested, thinking very hard of ways to get around this.
"Cutler is working on something else for me," Andie sighed. Cat and mouse games made her tired. "I know you don't think this is a necessary procedure…" she started to explain it all again, feeling like she'd lost the upper hand by trying to cajole him into doing his work.
"We've just got the crew back on their feet again!" Ian burst out. "It seems ridiculous to engage them with such a physically demanding task so soon! The crew should be resting!"
The double doors swished open and Andie whirled around with a frown.
Trip didn't look frightened at all, but he did eye the scene with some interest. "I'm here to make sure Rostov reports for duty, Doc," he smirked. Rostov was not any happier with his lunch companion after listening to Tucker lecture at him for several minutes in the corridor outside Engineering and was still shooting daggers at Black with his eyes.
"Report for what duty?" Andie snapped, shoving her hair back from her eyes with her hand.
"Rostov would love to help out with the inventory counts," Trip assured her. "Anything you need, you'll get from me." He tried to convey his sincere friendship and solidarity to her with his eyes, but only succeeding in making Andie wonder if he'd come down with a headache.
Cranial pressure gave the doctor an idea. A crafty look passed over Andie's features shortly before the storm of her temper evaporated into a gentle breeze instantly. "That's wonderful!" She enthused, clapping her hands together. "I wish I could use him, but Ensign Black here just volunteered to do the entire inventory by himself!"
"He did?" Three men looked surprised to hear that, none more than the nurse at her side.
"He did," Andie nodded firmly with a serious look at her pale complexioned foe. "He's very worried about the continued recovery of the crew and does not wish to over-exert them. He's going to do all the counting by himself today." Another sly grin crept across her face as she snapped her fingers with inspiration. "Come to think of it, I do have a task for Crewman Rostov!"
"You do?" Only the engineers seemed surprised at that. Black was gazing at the ceiling as though divine intervention could be summoned at will.
"One of my hand held scanners is acting…weird. Would you be so kind as to fix it?" She actually batted her eyes coquettishly when she asked.
"Yes, Ma'am," Rostov agreed enthusiastically. "Let me just go get a calibrator…."
"Oh no," Andie shook her head with false regret. "I'm taking a valuable resource from Engineering when I steal you away from Commander Tucker. I certainly can't take away any of his equipment as well."
"How do you expect me to verify your scanners?" Rostov asked. He knew it was a bad idea to ask as soon as the words left his mouth.
"I expect you can do it manually," she smiled sweetly. "You know how to do that, right?"
"Which scanner is it?" Mike sighed with frustration.
"Golly, I just…I don't remember." Her eyes were as wide as the deep blue sea.
"You expect me to check all of the hand scanners in Sickbay without a calibrator?" Rostov felt his day stretching out to eternity.
"No, I expect you to check all the hand held scanners on the ship without a calibrator," she confirmed, nodding vigorously. "I can't recall which scanner it was." She tapped her index finger against her cheek as though thinking very hard on the matter. "Very silly of me to forget."
"Do you have any idea how long that would take?" Rostov reeled from the shock.
"Yes." Andie dropped the pretense of politeness as she smiled sweetly at him, although chips of ice seemed to reside in her gaze. "Yes I do. Also, I did not spend eight years in medical school so you could short change me on my title. I am not a 'ma'am'. I'm a doctor. Please remember that," she added cheerily.
"Better get started," Tucker slapped the younger man on his shoulder to get him moving. Rostov stumbled away with a dazed look on his face, passing by Ensign Black who still held a handful of tongue depressors and a data pad. The doctor glared in his direction, prompting Black to action.
"I'll double check the numbers here, Doctor," Ian gulped, gripping the thin sticks tightly. He disappeared into the back, following Rostov with his head down.
Trip looked at the little doctor. "How come you didn't tell me your hand scanners weren't working? I'd'a come right down to fix 'em." Now he felt guilty about her hand scanners! His head was beginning to hurt again.
"Don't be silly, Tucker," she blew off his concerns with a careless wave of her hand. "It won't be broken until he's done fixin' all the others."
A chuckle burst forth that he had no control over. "You've got a mean streak," Trip told her.
"You have no idea," Andie purred. She pulled a PADD out of her pocket. "Show me how to break this without damaging it."
It didn't take long to show her how to pop the casing open and detach a few wires at the back. "That'll take him a while to figure out," Trip assured her.
"Thanks," Andie grunted as she replaced the wires and the casing and dropped the PADD in her pocket. She stifled a yawn so big it made her eyes water.
"You okay?" Trip asked solicitously.
"I'm fine," she assured him easily.
"You sure? You're not feeling especially bad today…or anything?"
There was something extra in his tone, a certain tremor of pity that she recognized. Her expression hardened quickly. "I should never have told you anything," she growled in frustration. "I told Archer it was a bad idea."
"Actually you should have told me a long time ago!" Trip burst out, he looked around at the seemingly empty room before lowering his voice again. "I could'a helped you!"
"Helped me with what?" she demanded. "Everything that happened to me occurred a long time ago. I don't need your help with anything." She relented slightly at his stricken expression. "I'm the same person I was yesterday, Tucker. The difference is that you know more about me today. It's all just dirty laundry. It doesn't matter."
"Obviously the captain thought it mattered," Trip challenged.
Andie muttered something unintelligible under her breath.
"What was that?" he demanded. He thought he heard the words 'horse's ass' in there somewhere.
"I said, Archer was mistaken," she lied stiffly.
Trip was certain that was not what she'd muttered, but he let it go. "Well if you feel like sharin' anything else while you're on board, you be sure and lemmee know, all right?" he snorted indignantly. Then he turned on his heel and stomped out of the medical ward.
"Aye, aye, Chief!" She slapped a hand to her forehead in a mocking salute. Andie watched him go and rubbed her forehead to soothe the tension away before noticing that Truax had pulled back the curtain around her alcove and was watching her. "Is there a problem?" she asked solicitously, attending the armory officer.
"I think it's sleeping," Truax stated, waving gingerly at the annelid resting peacefully against the former hole in her neck.
Dr. Andie checked the invertebrate and the wound with her scanner and smiled. "That's good news for you," she assured the lieutenant. "You'll be back on regular duties shortly."
Truax just smiled noncommittally and remained silent. She nodded politely when she was dismissed and headed back to her quarters.
The doctor didn't have time to wonder what Barbra may or may not have heard before flopping back into her chair and staring at the computer screen until a sudden beeping called her attention away from her current predicament once again.
"Well how the hell'm I supposed to react?" Trip's voice raised another octave. Luckily he and his companions were having dinner in the Captain's Mess and the sound didn't carry to the rest of the Mess Hall.
"I thought it would be a good idea if you knew what you were up against," Archer said in what he hoped was a reasonable and soothing tone of voice. The fervor of his friend's ire was beyond his comprehension and he was trying his best to pacify him.
"Up against? You make it sound like she's some kind of enemy to overcome!" Trip shot back. He hadn't touched his steamed salmon and only using his fork to jab rice pilaf into neat piles and mounds.
"Understanding the people you work with can be very beneficial to your working environment," Jon stated carefully. That was something that both Admiral Forrest and Gardiner had said to him on more than one occasion. "Try to make an effort."
The engineer just turned around on T'Pol who sat in her accustomed place silently watching the spectacle. "You have anything to add to this discussion?" Trip demanded to know.
T'Pol finished swallowing the morsel of food before answering with equal care. "Several questions about Dr. Brainerd's skills were answered with the reveal of her history."
"You were worried about her skills? What'd she ever do to make you question that?" Trip jumped on the statement as though it was a juicy steak.
"Her knowledge of several languages, her dexterity with other cultures, even her familiarity with the Azorian people was a curiosity. I understand her better now." Which was more than she could say for the human engineer at any rate, she thought without speaking. Sitting here in this stifling environment, in this small room was almost more than she could bear. She already missed the hot, dry air of the Vulcan desert. Trip's futile rage was uncomfortably close.
Blue eyes darted from one superior officer to the other. Tucker felt trapped and felt frantic to get out of the little room that had suddenly become claustrophobic. One man had no right to make that kind of life-altering choice about another person without their permission, but André Brainerd had just snatched up his daughter and changed her life forever. Just like the Xindi had changed his life on the basis of false information without even talking to Earth first. The fight left him and his shoulders slumped. "You think its okay that nobody at Starfleet thought it pertinent to tell us about her before she got here?" he wondered glumly, poking his yellow squash into a paste.
"It is possible that Starfleet Command believed that she would be unfairly judged by her previous actions," T'Pol uttered in a room that had suddenly gone silent. She would have unfairly judged her own mother for joining in the rebel group known as the Syrannites if she had not spent time speaking with her mother before her recent death.
Without Trip's tirade, the room fell awkwardly silent as each member contemplated the new set of problems that might arise from their recently gained knowledge. Trip pretended to eat, T'Pol sipped her tea slowly and Archer pondered the question she had brought up. While he could understand why Starfleet might not want to advertise the doctor's background shenanigans, it didn't make any sense that they would not have sent a priority and secret message to him to prepare him for the new addition. A new addition that had been thrust upon him by Starfleet brass, not requested by his own hand, he remembered.
Her past as well as her presence continued to be something of an oddity. Dinner in the Captain's Mess Hall continued in relative silence.
Later that night, Reed thought that the doctor might finally have a few moments to spare and proceeded to Sickbay hoping that they might be able to have a quiet conversation to straighten out a few details. She wasn't in the medical lab. Feeling a bit uncertain, he tapped on the door to Phlox's office. When there was no answer, he used a computer to sort out her whereabouts. The computer seemed determined that the doctor was in the office adjacent to the medical ward. Reed knocked again, using the intercom to announce his presence. She still didn't answer.
Ignoring the way the hair rose on the back of his neck, he determined that there could be two possibilities: either she was ignoring him or she was not able to answer the door. Assault might be one reason for the latter; sleep might be a second, and more likely, candidate.
Out of frustration, he rang the chime again. This time the door opened. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her scrubs were wrinkled, but there didn't seem to be any further disturbance to her usually rumpled appearance. Unless you counted the big glob of matter dribbled on the bottom of her pant leg, he noted. Clear, viscous substances were not unusual in these quarters and he was pretty certain that he did not want to know what it was. Malcolm pulled himself upright and began with a greeting.
"May I have a few words with you, Doctor?"
"Are you feeling ill?" she inquired, unable to stop rubbing the bridge of her nose in exhaustion.
"No, I was hoping we might discuss a few things…"
He told! Andie was certain of it, and she was in no mood to continue the sordid little tale one more time today. "Do you mind if we reschedule for tomorrow then?" she asked resentfully.
"Actually…" Reed was all set to protest, but his eyes caught something in the background. A blanket was casually thrown over the back of the red leathery sofa in Phlox's office and topped with a pillow. It was clear that she intended to sleep here overnight, probably to be close to any medical incidents that might occur during the night of her first full day without Phlox. "Tomorrow would be fine," he amended quickly.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she agreed with relief. Her fingers were sticky from the epoxy she'd been using and she intended to have a long talk with Mags about that when next she returned to Earth. Luckily the blanket she'd found had been large enough to cover up the item she didn't want anyone to see. If Reed had come in, he would surely have noticed it.
"Sleep well," he acknowledged faintly, backing away from the door. He returned slowly to his quarters, pondering her deep and abiding sense of medical duty.
He managed to lie awake long into the night contemplating other tasks that he had performed with less attention to duty. Sleep did not come easily for him. He was going to have to have this talk with her sooner or later.
Little did he know that it was not her medical duty that kept her awake most of that evening.
Dinner the next evening was a special treat; Chef had pulled out all the stops and offered a tantalizing selection of sushi and sashimi cuisine. Hoshi manipulated her chopsticks with casual dexterity, grinning over Tucker's slightly clumsier attempts at wielding the twin sticks with efficiency.
"I can't believe you were ever good enough to make fun of T'Pol's usage," she giggled as Trip dropped a slippery lobster roll for the third time, before simply spearing it with the tip of one of the cultural utensils and lifting it to his mouth.
"I think Chef put an extra dash of peanut oil on the fish," Trip insisted. "It's not sticky enough to stay on my chopsticks." He dropped the sticks altogether and opted for a fork instead.
The doors swept open and Lt Reed swept in. He filled a plate with food and turned, perusing the room slowly as though assessing dangers from the crew.
"Malcolm!" Trip waved Reed over.
The lieutenant nodded but finished his scan of the room before settling in at Trip and Hoshi's table. "Good evening," he greeted them respectfully, laying a napkin across his lap.
"You lookin' for anyone in particular?" Trip asked, shoveling a forkful of rice into his mouth.
Malcolm took his time sliding the chopsticks out of their sanitary paper slips and tapping them together before dipping them into his mixed vegetables with an expertise that Trip envied. The smallest portion of grain remained respectfully on the tip of Reed' chopstick until it was swept into his mouth and washed down with a glass of water. "I wanted to speak to Ensign Higgins about the torpedo launcher," he finally announced with a sigh. "The aft launcher has not been functioning at maximum efficiency and when I finally got down there this afternoon, I discovered the fungal elements had gummed up the spinning mechanism and had to be cleaned out by hand with medical contagion protocols." He looked down at his dinner with a slight grimace. "Then after a hard day's work I discover that dinner consists of bait."
Hoshi stopped in the act of biting into her shrimp at his words, frowning slightly at her dinner instead.
"I can't continue with repairs until the doctor designates the area as a safe environment," he fumed, consuming his food quickly, ignorant of the way he'd accidentally put the ensign off her food.
"I haven't seen the doctor all day," Trip confessed. The raw fish suddenly rolled uncomfortably in his stomach. He was still avoiding her.
"She hasn't been to the Mess all day," Hoshi announced. At the surprised looks the gentlemen gave her, she shrugged. "Chef likes me. He tells me stuff sometimes."
"I hope she's not wasting away," Reed responded politely.
"He says he sent her a lunch tray," she answered, lifting her shrimp again with relish.
"I should hope so," Reed continued to grouse. "Crewman Moreno was a few minutes late to his shift and he announced it was the doctor's tender mercies that made him so. She'll have to learn to keep to a tighter schedule if she's going to make it up to dinner over the next few days."
"Days?" Trip interjected. "Days before Phlox returns? I thought it was going to be more like weeks?"
"Weeks?" Reed exclaimed.
"It depends on how well he reacts to the treatments the Denobulans can provide," Hoshi offered informatively. "Dr. Ezme thinks he's doing quite well."
"You've heard from the Denobulans already?" Reed inquired. Suddenly he was all ears.
"Just a quick note to tell us that they'd arrived without incident," she answered. "He won't begin treatment until the Guild can take a closer look at him."
"I hope he has a speedy recovery," Reed nodded. Across the room he noticed Ensign Higgins sitting with several other women. "If you'll excuse me, I need to speak to someone." He rose and crossed the room while Hoshi and Trip continued with their meal.
"If Andie's not taking her meals up here, I hope Chef remembered to send a tray down for dinner." Hoshi was concerned about the doctor. She remembered what it was like to feel overwhelmed by her job and far away from everything familiar on Earth at the same time. It could be nerve wracking. "Maybe I'll stop by after dinner."
"That'd be nice," Trip murmured. He twirled a chopstick between his callused fingers. "I ought to get back to work." He pushed back from his table, fortuitously leaving a space open for the newly arrived Ensign Shannen to fill. Hoshi greeted her fellow communications operator warmly.
The second day had started off much the same way as the first. Having stayed late in Sickbay the night before, Andie had come through the double doors at a run, finding Mazaro waiting for her to work her magic with the dermal regenerator on his neck wound. The ensign was never one to spend a lot of time in idle chitchat and so the doctor got right to work. There was a long list of appointments for the crew waiting to see the doctor to get permission to return to full duties, and Andie was kept busy all day.
Crewman Cutler had put together a detailed report at Andie's request on all the creatures in Phlox's care, including meals and grooming procedures, in addition to keeping track of the individual science experiments with which Phlox filled up his free time. Andie remained in the ward all afternoon to familiarize herself with both reports. Chef sent down a bowl of soup, but it had been consumed many hours ago.
It was growing late when the double doors swished open and Ensign Sato entered, holding a tray.
"Can I help you, Hoshi?" Andie asked, leaning back in her chair to peek at the Comm. officer.
"I was going to ask you the same question," Hoshi grinned. She set down the tray and picked up a soggy leaf, which she added to one of the cages that littered Sickbay. Something inside grumbled and shook, then fell to silent munching. "Chef was wondering when you were going to pick up the creature's tray."
Andie sighed. "I guess I forgot about feeding the menagerie," she admitted. Rising she joined the other woman and they continued to drop food stuffs in the variety of glass and wire structures. "Thanks for stopping by." The doctor pulled a drawer out of the small stasis unit and removed a tray of vegetation, which she began to add to some of the other cages.
"There's a lot of pressure when you're learning on the job," Hoshi went on. "I had a hard time when I first came on board. I found that leaning on the crew helped me get through it. T'Pol was especially helpful."
The doctor looked ruefully amused as she rose from setting down a bowl of feline supplement in front of an imperious orange nose. "Are you giving me a pep talk or considering reporting me to the first officer?" She nudged Jojo toward her own bowl with a gentle toe when the female seemed inclined to steal from her male counterpart.
"A little pep never hurt anyone," Hoshi flushed at getting caught.
"I appreciate the offer. I just need to get settled," Andie sighed. She added a leaf to a growling cage, looking around wistfully. "I never realized just how much Phlox does everyday. He makes it look so easy."
"Well, he doesn't sleep much," Hoshi admitted. "That goes in the other cage," she reminded the physician.
The moment was interrupted as the double doors swished open again to admit Ensign Cutler, carrying two cups of something that steamed. She saw Hoshi there and audibly gulped. "I didn't know you had a patient, Doc," she turned to exit.
"No worries," Andie called out. "Hoshi just stopped by to wish me luck."
Cutler turned around. "Oh, I …uh, I brought a fresh cup of coffee," she stammered. "I didn't know if you could use a refill."
"That's very thoughtful of you," Andie smiled, taking the mug. "Thank you for the reports you left on my desk. I was just going over them."
The double doors swished open again, allowing Corporal Parsons to enter. "Hey! I just…" She noticed the other two ladies and changed the last part of her sentence. "…didn't know there'd be a crowd. We're going to need a bigger plate." She held a plate with a pile of oatmeal cookies as she took in what was turning into a crowd of females loitering in the medical ward.
They all began giggling at the same time. "Now it's a party!" Andie announced, taking the plate and setting it down on a table. "Thank you," she said with honest sincerity. Now that the creatures had all been fed, there was a lessening of the restless noise that had grown in volume. Andie felt like she could think clearly. "Hey, Ian!" She waited until he poked his head out of the alcove where he chose to work. "That count will wait until tomorrow. Go home. I'll get some extra help from the science department tomorrow if you have no objections."
"That would be great, Doc. Thanks! And good night!" He solemnly dashed out the door as though he was afraid she might change her mind. He was followed by another rash of giggles at his plight.
Just about an hour after dinner Reed entered the medical ward once more. He tried not to cringe when he entered the room; his personal phobia of doctors was nobody's business but his own. However, in spite of the hour, the doctor was not alone. She had drawn a few chairs into a circle and several females giggled and sipped beverages and snacked on goods procured from the Mess Hall. It made his appearance here more uncomfortable than necessary.
He almost walked back out.
"Can I help you, Lieutenant?" Andie inquired. She excused herself and moved to stand closer to Reed, dreading the talk that he so desperately wanted to have. If she hadn't been avoiding him, she would have sent the ladies home by now, but she was hoping their cheerful presence would preclude any deep and disturbing conversations he might wish to incite.
He could feel his cheeks flaming as he leaned forward and whispered his distress in her ear. Andie was relieved to find his presence here was a medical one after all; spicy cuisine did not sit well in his stomach.
For his concern that she might announce his disturbance to one and all, Reed felt guilty. She just nodded and gestured at him to follow her. Inside the privacy of the doctor's office, with its solid walls and closed door, she administered a hypo spray that settled the contents of his stomach in seconds.
Reed forced a polite grin. No matter what had passed between them before, she seemed content to be polite and cheery and not mention anything else. "Thank you for attending to the aft torpedo launcher with such prompt diligence," he forced the words out. The report clearing the launcher of any residual fungal outbreak had been on his desk in the Armory when he had returned from dinner. Obviously she had skipped a meal to attend to his request.
"No worries," she accepted his gratitude nonchalantly. "Anything else I can do for you?"
"No, thank you," he acknowledged. They stepped out of the office and Reed could hear the ladies chortling over some tidbit of gossip with much amusement. "He's crazy!" Cutler giggled, and Parsons slapped her on the back, unable to comment further if her laughter-reddened face was any indication.
Perhaps it was just Reed's imagination, but he thought they sobered up instantly upon seeing him re-enter the room. The sparkling eyes, the lips clamped tightly closed, and the lack of any other noise reminded Reed of times when his little sister would have friends sleep over. They always seemed to burst into giggles when he was around, and clam up when he stopped to greet them. The crewwomen aboard his vessel were doing the same thing to him now.
Malcolm nodded politely and exited the room swiftly, wondering which male on board might have garnered such attention. He was concerned that the attention-getter might be him.
Dr. Andie wouldn't have said anything about his medical or psychiatric status, would she?
It was another restless night for Malcolm Reed.
