An Apple A Day
Five
It was late, or maybe early, when Beverly finally returned to her quarters. She wasn't sure which. After she'd released a sobbing Sheila Wells into the care of Deanna Troi, Crusher had returned to sickbay. It was still a busy place, as there were remaining casualties to be cared for, and one less primary physician on rotation. But the staff was muted and dour. They offered little comfort to the ailing colonists in their midst. What Beverly wanted, what they all wanted, was time alone and with each other to grieve for Paul. But this was Starfleet, and that time would have to wait. They would steal it in covert, secretive moments when and if they could.
She'd avoided leaving duty as long as she could, circulating through the bay and into cargo deck III where they'd placed recovering non-critical patients. Finally she fallen asleep at the terminal in her office, where a duty nurse had woken her and glanced pointedly at the chronometer.
"I was just headed to my quarters." Beverly rose and smiled painfully at the young woman, laying a hand on her shoulder in thanks before walking quietly out the door.
Which brought her to the here and now, and to her quarters. Her message light blinked slowly. Unwilling to surrender yet to the call of her bed, she sat down and accessed her terminal. It was a simple written message from Jean-Luc.
"Beverly – I heard about Paul Wells. I'm so sorry. I will speak with Sheila tomorrow. Call anytime if you want to talk. I'll see you in the morning – JLP."
Crusher smiled ruefully, glad for the small comfort. Jean-Luc knew the pain of losing a crew member well enough, and knew there was nothing to be said to make it right.
Part of her wanted to go to him now, throw herself in his arms, and try to forget everything. The rest of her simply clicked off the monitor and headed into the bedroom. She stripped off her labcoat and laid it over her armchair. In her room, she removed her uniform and hung it neatly in the closet. Mechanically, she stripped off her socks and placed them in the recycler. She dropped her shining black boots in their place in the closet.
Still unthinking, she pulled on her pajamas and sat in front of the mirror to comb out her hair. She'd put it up for the surgery and it was still in an untidy bun, strands falling all about her face. She had no specific thoughts, only base emotions of void and sorrow.
She set down the brush, and again it clattered to the floor. Wordlessly she bent and replaced it on the counter. She stood, turned, and made her way to the bed, calling for lights down. She slipped into the cool sheets and lay still for an hour before falling asleep.
She stirred as her morning chime sounded, this time hitting the delay button. She could spare another half hour. Maybe dinner tonite with Jean- Luc instead of breakfast. The Captain would understand. She threw her arm over her head and dozed, falling into a deep sleep before her alarm rang again, this time more insistently.
She swung her legs over the bed, stood, and began stretching. This morning, every muscle was taut. It would take more than calisthenics and hot water to relieve this tension. It would take time.
Forty minutes later she tugged on her boots, pulled on her labcoat, and strode through her cabin door. Mere minutes later she walked into her office in sickbay. She sat down at her terminal and clicked it on. Her body felt as though it had never left the chair, and it resisted her at all the wrong places. Starfleet had invested in state of the art ergonomics for all of their equipment, but none of it had been made for continuous use. She began filling out the death certificate for Paul Wells. When she'd finished, she slowly drew down the monitor. She sat and gazed at nothing for another minute before she picked up the apple from Matthew that still sat on her desk. She turned it over and over in her long, delicate hands.
Sighing, she placed it back on the desk and stood. Whatever decision she was to make about her future, she would do it quickly. Beverly was tired of waiting and reacting to her life. Weakness and indecision weren't like her, and they weren't very Howard. It was going to stop today. Plastering a pleasant and confident expression on her face, she strutted out of her office and into the already bustling main bay. It was another day on the Enterprise, and she had patients to treat.
End
"It's another tequila sunrise, and this old world still looks the same, another friend."
Tequila Sunrise – The Eagles – Hotel California