Special thanks to Lona who beta read this for me and let me borrow the
picture. Also thanks to Crys for the Lenna Dell, and to tarlon and others
who made the boxing idea real. As always BSG belong not to me. I still
think this is PG. Please read at your own risk.
Chapter 4: Critical Condition and Chief Tyrol
The patient on the table is in critical condition and failing fast. Mark, Cassie and I are at the bedside. So far every intervention we have tried has only made things worse, not better. It does not look good. Ahh, yes, it's one of those days in the Life Station.
"What about another liter of saline?"
"We tried that. No response. If anything I think it made matters worse."
"An exploratory?"
"Hmm, that's a good idea. Cassie, please bring me the trauma tray."
"Umm, Doctor, remember the results the last time you tried that in this kind of situation?"
"Damn, Cassie, you're right. I know! Get me the defibrillator."
"Doctor, I really think that using the defibrillator now would be asking for trouble. How about an outside consultant?"
"A consult? Do you know someone on the Lenna Dell that has expertise with this problem? I'll make the call. Better yet I'll call CIC. I'm sure the Commander could pull some strings and get us a shuttle over to the Dell now. Get a com over here stat."
My long-suffering tech sighs and states, "I was speaking of someone in engineering. You know, like Chief Tyrol?"
We all look at my personal coffee grinder that lies on the table before us. It went on the fritz this morning. There are no replacements. If I can't get it fixed, my life is over. I may have to resort to drinking what little instant coffee is left. This is a disaster of unmitigated proportions.
"That's a great idea, Cassie. I wonder if the Chief is on shift now. I'll just take my machine down to the hangar bay. I believe that's where he usually is. If the man can fix vipers then he has to be able to fix a coffee bean grinder."
I pick up my machine and head out of the Life Station; my destination is the hangar bay. The corridors are somewhat crowded but I make good time. I enter the bay and make my way down the stairs, all the time scanning for the Chief. Hmm, the man is nowhere in sight. The hangar bay is alive with activity as the crew work on the remaining vipers and raptors. I snag a passing deck person. I believe her name is Callie. She is probably one of the few people I can look directly in the eye without tilting my head.
"Callie, have you seen Chief Tyrol? I have a problem that requires his urgent attention."
A look passes over Callie's face and then is gone. I have the feeling something is going on. Callie looks at what I am carrying and then says, "The Chief is not around now. How about letting me take a look at what you have and see if I can help, sir?"
We walk over to a table and put my coffee grinder on it. Callie looks it over then asks, "What is it?" That does nothing to help my confidence in her.
"A coffee grinder," I reply. I go over my coffee grinder's recent medical history. "It was working fine until yesterday. I noted a slight variation in the pitch of the motor but it still worked ok. I really didn't think anything was wrong until today after I put in the beans and turned it on. There was a high pitched whine and then it stopped working." I am about to continue when I notice the Chief exiting from a supply room. He looks around then leaves. Callie waves him over to us. If I didn't happen to be glancing over in that direction, I would have missed a certain raptor pilot, Lt. Valerii, I believe, exiting from that same room a few minutes later.
I glance at the Chief as he is examining my coffee grinder. His face is slightly flushed, and there is a certain air about him. I catch another quick glance at Valerii as she exits the bay. I put two and two together. My musings are interrupted when the Chief asks me a question.
"Why is it all wet and sticky inside, Doctor?"
"We used some saline to flush it out, I thought that maybe the grounds were clogging the mechanism." The Chief stares at me with horror in his eyes, and I decide not to tell him about the defibrillator. He looks it over and pronounces judgment. "Doctor, I can fix it, but you'll have to leave it here for a few days." What am I going to do? I remember there is an old mortar and pestle in a back cabinet. If repairs take too long, I may break down and see how well that would work.
Now what to do about the Chief and Lt. Valerii?
*********************************************************
It's later in the day and I am in one of Galactica's gyms. I am, believe it or not, using a punching bag. Now you may ask why would a doctor, a surgeon, want to do something like this? The blame falls on a certain devious, coffee-scrounging, Commander. The man is a menace.
We still dine together and work out at least three times a week. No, I have still not dealt with the topic of US.
It was about two weeks ago over dinner that he suggested I might want to include some boxing in my exercise program. At my look of astonishment he explained, "I'm not talking about sparring but rather using the weight bag, and maybe some shadow boxing."
He's trying to look innocent but I can see wheels turning in his head. He may have the "Command Stare" but I am not without my own arsenal and give him the "Medical Stare of Disbelief". He still gives me innocent brown eyes. Damn, I can't break him. They must make battlestar commanders go through some kind of desensitization program. I fall back on logic and reason.
"Commander, what would be the benefits? I'm not really into contact sports. What possible added benefit does boxing have over what I do now?"
The change that comes over the Commander is amazing. He leans forward in his chair and begins talking. I sit there, completely in awe, only hearing about one third of what he's saying, as he becomes more animated and proceeds to give me a 20-minute dissertation about the benefits of boxing.
"...a great cardiovascular workout,..."
".. boxing develops hand-eye coordination..."
".. boxing is an excellent outlet for stress..."
"..it's also aerobic exercise."
I want to stand up shouting, "So say we all," but hold back. In the face of such overwhelming enthusiasm, how can a girl say no? By the way, I looked in the Commander's file, turns out he was Captain of the Academy boxing team. There is mention of a division title. Devious bastard.
So here I am alone in a gym with large red boxing gloves on my hands and hitting this bag. I have two motives for being here. First, I want to put in some extra time so that the evil menace to fleet society, the Commander, will quit laughing at me when we box. The second is more in the line of professional obligation.
A large man enters the room. He has brown hair and eyes. There's a certain aura of intensity that is always around Chief Tyrol. He is a man that throws himself 110% into anything he does. I have seen him inspire an entire hangar crew to heroic extremes under dire circumstances. I also locked him in my office until he had gotten the Col. Tigh issue under control. For a while after the fleet jumped away from Ragnar I was concerned that the good Colonel would meet his end in a dark, burned-out corner of the forward flight pod.
The chief is in standard Galactica gym clothes and carries a pair of red boxing gloves. He is very surprised to see me.
"Uh, sir, what are you doing in the enlisted crew's gym?" asks Chief Tryol.
"This is the enlisted crews' gym? I just started coming here because it's close to the Life Station. You're the first person I have ever seen here." I too can be devious when it suits my purpose. "Is it ok if I stay, Chief? I don't want, to make you feel uncomfortable. Oh, and drop the sir. If you want, you can call me Kylen, or doctor."
The Chief is a good man. He is intensely loyal to the Commander. As a matter of fact, I first met him when he approached me to see if I could help in obtaining the Commander's original viper. The Chief wanted to have his crew restore it and have it fly in the decommissioning ceremony. I had made calls to some friends at Picon Fleet and there you go. One rusted out Viper stowed away on a Colonial Fleet supply ship and then onto the Galactica.
I watch as he comes to a decision. He walks over to the bag I am using. He is assessing my technique with a critical eye. I continue to swing at the bag. At least he's not laughing.
"I didn't know you boxed, Doctor."
"I just picked it up about two weeks ago. The Commander thought it would add something to my usual routine."
I personally think the good Commander did it just so he could get some chuckles watching me try. My guy has an odd sense of humor. Where the hell did that come from? I shake my head and proceed with my plan.
"Do you box, Chief?" I already know the answer. I have fairly decent intel.
"Yes, sir. I was on the boxing squad in training and then at my last post before transferring to the Galactica we had an intramural boxing club. You need to put more of your shoulder into it, Doctor."
I adjust my swing and decide to try something. "You know, the Commander also loves to box. He was Captain of the Academy boxing team. Maybe you two should get together and go a few rounds."
The Chief is astonished. "I can't believe you just said that Doctor."
"What's so hard to believe? The fact that I would suggest that two grown men go into a ring and attempt to beat each other silly knowing full well I will have to patch them up when it's all over? Or the part about an enlisted man engaging in a sport with a ranking officer?" I turn my eyes up to the Chief and give him my best "I know all" stare.
I sense that the Chief has not picked up on my subtle hint regarding relationships between non-coms and commissioned offers. Oh well, subtly was never my strong suit. I decide to change tactics and be direct. Direct works very well for me.
"Chief, what is going on between you and Lt. Valerii?
"Nothing, sir."
I sigh and say, "Chief, I wasn't born yesterday. I saw both of you exit that storage room today. To be honest, that's not the first time I have seen it, and if I have, then others have too."
There is a moment of indecision, then the Chief states, "Sharon and I have been seeing each other."
"I suspected as much."
"Are you going to report us, sir?"
"No. Our home worlds have been destroyed. Life is hard and is not going to get easier. Everyone needs a reason to keep them going, to get them out of bed in the morning." For a second my thoughts stray to a certain coffee- mooching, devious as hell, gravelly voiced commander, then I continue, "If what you and Sharon have makes you both happy, I say go for it. I would like to suggest that you try to be discrete and keep it off regular duty hours. However, you should be aware, if I noticed, most likely others have too. It's going to eventually have to be addressed."
I make a mental note to somehow discuss the issue of "fraternization" between crew members with the Commander so I can ascertain his position.
"Thank you, sir."
"What did I say about the sir thing? How did you and Sharon hook up anyway, if you don't mind my asking? You know there is a thing called doctor-patient privilege."
"Sorry, Doctor, and, no, I don't mind." He starts putting on his boxing gloves and I go to hold the bag. There is an economy of movement to his swing that speaks of experience.
His eyes are focused on his target as he beings to speak, "It started before the Cylon attacks. Sharon was a rook fresh from flight school. She was intense and nervous and wanted to know everything about raptors. The more seasoned pilots were on her case, just like they treat all the rookies. Sharon took the teasing to heart at first. I felt sorry for her and started spending time with her on the hangar deck going over raptor mechanics and stuff. She was easy to talk to. Before I knew it, the time I spent with Sharon became the high point of my day. One day we were both repairing a raptor and I needed to get a part from the supply room. Sharon came in to help and..."
"I get the picture. Still, it must have been difficult. Having a relationship with a woman who is an officer. Especially given the Fleet regulations regarding fraternization. You were both taking a big chance."
"We were both surprised that first time. Afterwards, we backed off for a while. You better believe we knew we were taking a chance. In a way it was good because about that time Sharon got paired with Helo, and he did a lot to ease her way in with the other pilots. We finally figured out we were both miserable apart. We talked it over for a long time, and eventually discretion became the word of the day. At least you don't have that problem with the Commander." He stops punching the bag with that last statement and looks me in the eye.
I feel as if Chief Tryol had hit me with his boxing glove.
I must have looked it. "Sorry if I overstepped the line Doctor."
I sigh, "Chief, it's ok, and I don't see any lines on the floor. The Commander and I are just friends. We happen to share some interests, and enjoy spending time together."
I have to admit Chief Tyrol has a great "Not Buying It" stare, but he's not getting any more information from me. I shrug my shoulders. Our impasse is broken by an overhead announcement: Dr. Salik to the Life Station, trauma category 1.
I am already moving for the doors and removing my gloves. As I run to the Life Station I have a stray thought. I think I'm going to go ahead and tell the Commander that Chief Tyrol boxes too. It would be worth it to get him off my back, even if it does make more work for me.
******************************************************
The Life Station is dark. I stand there, looking over my domain. I am still wearing my scrubs, and they have blood on them, the blood of a man who never should have died. There is no one to blame, no finger to point, no missed diagnosis, no medical stone unturned. I have sent my team to their quarters. They all did an excellent job. I sigh and look at my hands. They are clean, but I still see blood on them. Most of my staff has never worked in a cutting-edge Fleet hospital. I have, and I know what we USED to be able to do. I know that at a different time, on another world, this patient would have survived, I could have saved him. When did I go from doctor to medical quack?
We have lost so much, and I am so tired. Tired of making do with second, third or even fourth best. Tired of trying to ration antibiotics, anti- viral agents, vaccinations, pain medications, band-aids, and Lords know what else.
Even as I was telling my team they all did an excellent job, a small voice in my head was saying liar. I am still hearing that voice, and now it's screaming. I seem unable to move. A random thought runs through my brain saying I will be sharing quarters with Dr. Baltar and his invisible friend if I can't snap out of this. I am too tired to care.
A familiar voice interrupts my thoughts, "It seems all the work is done. How about I escort you back to your quarters?" I shake my head. I have nothing to say.
"Walk with me."
I feel a tug on my hand and find myself traversing the corridors of Galactica, being led by the Commander. The warmth of his hand is the only thing I feel. I am too numb to even try and figure out our destination.
Some of the numbness subsides when I realize we are in his quarters. I have only been here for staff meetings and never alone with him. While he rummages through a locker and drawers, I stand looking at "The Destruction of Scopolios". The horror pictured there seems appropriate to my mood. He must have gone into his private bathroom, because the next sound I hear is the shower starting. He re-enters the main room and walks over to me. "Go take a hot shower. I got you a towel, and found some old sweats you can change into once you're done."
I answer, my voice a monotone as I look down at my hands, "It doesn't matter, the blood is still here. It never washes out."
He is standing close to me, and now I can feel the heat from his body. When he speaks, I hear concern, but there is no mistaking the tone of command in that low voice. It says do what I say, no questions. "Go, shower and change. Come out here and then we can talk. I shouldn't have to say this but..."
"....it's an order. Yes, sir." I reply.
If I was thinking clearly I would notice something I have never seen before: fear looking out from his brown eyes.
The heat from the water breaks some of my numbness. My motions become more purposeful and less robotic as I stand under that fall of hot water. The ice that had surrounded me is gone and in its place is ......
Kylen, what have you done? The first, last, and only time this happened was during my first year of training. To this day I still feel embarrassment at how I broke down then, and cried in the arms of my friend, another intern.
The present rushes in with startling clarity. What does the Commander think? What should I do? Where should I go? I want to run and hide. I should be strong and show no weakness. A part of me is saying he is calling the Lenna Dell right now asking for an expert to come over. Another part is telling me to go out that door and talk to him.
I turn off the water, dry off, and change into clothes that are way too big, but very warm and comfy. I take a quick look in the mirror and the term shell-shocked comes to mind. I open the door, and walk out into the main area.
The lights are turned down but not totally off. He has unbuttoned his day uniform top, and I can see the regulation tee shirts and his dog tags underneath. He walks toward me holding a small glass with a brown liquid in it. He hands the glass to me saying, "Drink it all. No questions." The liquid sears my throat and I almost gag. I don't hear him move, but he's now beside me. I can feel the warmth radiating off his body. He takes the glass from me, sets it down, then moves in close and wraps his arms around me in a tight hug. Lords that feels good.
I am enveloped in the heat from his body. His strong arms hold me tight. He is something solid and real and alive. Finally I begin to cry. My arms move to wrap around him without conscious thought, and I hold on for dear life. We just stand there, our arms around each other while I make a mess of his uniform. I'm not sure how long I cry, but eventually I run out of tears. I feel drained and blank.
He moves us over to his bed. He lets go and I start to feel cold again. He moves so that his back is up against the pillows propped on the wall and his legs are outstretched. He reaches for my hand and pulls me down against him, wrapping his arms around me.
"I should ..."
"Stay." "Sleep." He shifts position to pull up some blankets from the bottom of his berth. The cold begins to seep away. I close my eyes and fall into oblivion.
****************************************************
I am aware of being warm, and of being held. I'm in a bed, but it's not my own. The events of earlier come crashing into my mind. I am trying to figure out how to make a graceful exit and at the same time wondering where in the fleet I could hide. The arm holding me close squeezes me tighter for a second. "Go back to sleep."
I sigh, and, of course disobey orders, "Sorry about before. I haven't done that in a very long time. You must think..."
"I don't think anything. However, if you want to talk..?" he interrupts.
"We lost a man today, a man who should have lived."
"You did the best ...."
I raise myself up to look directly into his eyes. "No! I did what I could with the equipment I had. That is nowhere near my best." There is anger and frustration in my voice. I want to continue, but using his rank while I am in his arms seems so odd and impersonal. Some of my anger drains, as I ask, "What should I call you? I mean.."
"Bill," he says. There is a smile in his eyes.
I sink back against him. "Bill," I get a warm tingly feeling saying his name. "My posting to the Galactica was temporary. My regular post was the Trauma and Critical Care division at Picon Fleet Hospital. Do you know what that means? We had all the cutting-edge equipment and medications, and it was all there and ready to use at a moment's notice. If I had the resources of Picon Fleet Hospital, that man would have lived. Lately, I feel like I'm playing doctor. I'm so frustrated over what we lost, and what we have to do to get by. It's not something I usually think about, but this case just seemed to shine a big glaring light on the differences between what we had and what we have." I sigh and settle in a little closer to him.
I feel as if a little of the weight that has been hanging on me is gone. My spirits lift somewhat. I become aware of the steady beat of his heart and his slow respirations. He radiates heat better than any warmer we have in the Life Station. I can detect his scent all around me.
"You going to be ok?" he asks. I can hear and feel the low rumble of his voice.
"Yea, I think I'm going to be ok."
"Good. I would hate to break in a new CMO. Besides who would be around to get on my case?"
"I'm not going anywhere."
"I wasn't planning on letting you leave." There is relief in his voice. "Now get some sleep, Kylen."
Have I said how much I love his voice? My last thought as I drift off is that I love the sound of his voice when he says my name.
End
Chapter 4: Critical Condition and Chief Tyrol
The patient on the table is in critical condition and failing fast. Mark, Cassie and I are at the bedside. So far every intervention we have tried has only made things worse, not better. It does not look good. Ahh, yes, it's one of those days in the Life Station.
"What about another liter of saline?"
"We tried that. No response. If anything I think it made matters worse."
"An exploratory?"
"Hmm, that's a good idea. Cassie, please bring me the trauma tray."
"Umm, Doctor, remember the results the last time you tried that in this kind of situation?"
"Damn, Cassie, you're right. I know! Get me the defibrillator."
"Doctor, I really think that using the defibrillator now would be asking for trouble. How about an outside consultant?"
"A consult? Do you know someone on the Lenna Dell that has expertise with this problem? I'll make the call. Better yet I'll call CIC. I'm sure the Commander could pull some strings and get us a shuttle over to the Dell now. Get a com over here stat."
My long-suffering tech sighs and states, "I was speaking of someone in engineering. You know, like Chief Tyrol?"
We all look at my personal coffee grinder that lies on the table before us. It went on the fritz this morning. There are no replacements. If I can't get it fixed, my life is over. I may have to resort to drinking what little instant coffee is left. This is a disaster of unmitigated proportions.
"That's a great idea, Cassie. I wonder if the Chief is on shift now. I'll just take my machine down to the hangar bay. I believe that's where he usually is. If the man can fix vipers then he has to be able to fix a coffee bean grinder."
I pick up my machine and head out of the Life Station; my destination is the hangar bay. The corridors are somewhat crowded but I make good time. I enter the bay and make my way down the stairs, all the time scanning for the Chief. Hmm, the man is nowhere in sight. The hangar bay is alive with activity as the crew work on the remaining vipers and raptors. I snag a passing deck person. I believe her name is Callie. She is probably one of the few people I can look directly in the eye without tilting my head.
"Callie, have you seen Chief Tyrol? I have a problem that requires his urgent attention."
A look passes over Callie's face and then is gone. I have the feeling something is going on. Callie looks at what I am carrying and then says, "The Chief is not around now. How about letting me take a look at what you have and see if I can help, sir?"
We walk over to a table and put my coffee grinder on it. Callie looks it over then asks, "What is it?" That does nothing to help my confidence in her.
"A coffee grinder," I reply. I go over my coffee grinder's recent medical history. "It was working fine until yesterday. I noted a slight variation in the pitch of the motor but it still worked ok. I really didn't think anything was wrong until today after I put in the beans and turned it on. There was a high pitched whine and then it stopped working." I am about to continue when I notice the Chief exiting from a supply room. He looks around then leaves. Callie waves him over to us. If I didn't happen to be glancing over in that direction, I would have missed a certain raptor pilot, Lt. Valerii, I believe, exiting from that same room a few minutes later.
I glance at the Chief as he is examining my coffee grinder. His face is slightly flushed, and there is a certain air about him. I catch another quick glance at Valerii as she exits the bay. I put two and two together. My musings are interrupted when the Chief asks me a question.
"Why is it all wet and sticky inside, Doctor?"
"We used some saline to flush it out, I thought that maybe the grounds were clogging the mechanism." The Chief stares at me with horror in his eyes, and I decide not to tell him about the defibrillator. He looks it over and pronounces judgment. "Doctor, I can fix it, but you'll have to leave it here for a few days." What am I going to do? I remember there is an old mortar and pestle in a back cabinet. If repairs take too long, I may break down and see how well that would work.
Now what to do about the Chief and Lt. Valerii?
*********************************************************
It's later in the day and I am in one of Galactica's gyms. I am, believe it or not, using a punching bag. Now you may ask why would a doctor, a surgeon, want to do something like this? The blame falls on a certain devious, coffee-scrounging, Commander. The man is a menace.
We still dine together and work out at least three times a week. No, I have still not dealt with the topic of US.
It was about two weeks ago over dinner that he suggested I might want to include some boxing in my exercise program. At my look of astonishment he explained, "I'm not talking about sparring but rather using the weight bag, and maybe some shadow boxing."
He's trying to look innocent but I can see wheels turning in his head. He may have the "Command Stare" but I am not without my own arsenal and give him the "Medical Stare of Disbelief". He still gives me innocent brown eyes. Damn, I can't break him. They must make battlestar commanders go through some kind of desensitization program. I fall back on logic and reason.
"Commander, what would be the benefits? I'm not really into contact sports. What possible added benefit does boxing have over what I do now?"
The change that comes over the Commander is amazing. He leans forward in his chair and begins talking. I sit there, completely in awe, only hearing about one third of what he's saying, as he becomes more animated and proceeds to give me a 20-minute dissertation about the benefits of boxing.
"...a great cardiovascular workout,..."
".. boxing develops hand-eye coordination..."
".. boxing is an excellent outlet for stress..."
"..it's also aerobic exercise."
I want to stand up shouting, "So say we all," but hold back. In the face of such overwhelming enthusiasm, how can a girl say no? By the way, I looked in the Commander's file, turns out he was Captain of the Academy boxing team. There is mention of a division title. Devious bastard.
So here I am alone in a gym with large red boxing gloves on my hands and hitting this bag. I have two motives for being here. First, I want to put in some extra time so that the evil menace to fleet society, the Commander, will quit laughing at me when we box. The second is more in the line of professional obligation.
A large man enters the room. He has brown hair and eyes. There's a certain aura of intensity that is always around Chief Tyrol. He is a man that throws himself 110% into anything he does. I have seen him inspire an entire hangar crew to heroic extremes under dire circumstances. I also locked him in my office until he had gotten the Col. Tigh issue under control. For a while after the fleet jumped away from Ragnar I was concerned that the good Colonel would meet his end in a dark, burned-out corner of the forward flight pod.
The chief is in standard Galactica gym clothes and carries a pair of red boxing gloves. He is very surprised to see me.
"Uh, sir, what are you doing in the enlisted crew's gym?" asks Chief Tryol.
"This is the enlisted crews' gym? I just started coming here because it's close to the Life Station. You're the first person I have ever seen here." I too can be devious when it suits my purpose. "Is it ok if I stay, Chief? I don't want, to make you feel uncomfortable. Oh, and drop the sir. If you want, you can call me Kylen, or doctor."
The Chief is a good man. He is intensely loyal to the Commander. As a matter of fact, I first met him when he approached me to see if I could help in obtaining the Commander's original viper. The Chief wanted to have his crew restore it and have it fly in the decommissioning ceremony. I had made calls to some friends at Picon Fleet and there you go. One rusted out Viper stowed away on a Colonial Fleet supply ship and then onto the Galactica.
I watch as he comes to a decision. He walks over to the bag I am using. He is assessing my technique with a critical eye. I continue to swing at the bag. At least he's not laughing.
"I didn't know you boxed, Doctor."
"I just picked it up about two weeks ago. The Commander thought it would add something to my usual routine."
I personally think the good Commander did it just so he could get some chuckles watching me try. My guy has an odd sense of humor. Where the hell did that come from? I shake my head and proceed with my plan.
"Do you box, Chief?" I already know the answer. I have fairly decent intel.
"Yes, sir. I was on the boxing squad in training and then at my last post before transferring to the Galactica we had an intramural boxing club. You need to put more of your shoulder into it, Doctor."
I adjust my swing and decide to try something. "You know, the Commander also loves to box. He was Captain of the Academy boxing team. Maybe you two should get together and go a few rounds."
The Chief is astonished. "I can't believe you just said that Doctor."
"What's so hard to believe? The fact that I would suggest that two grown men go into a ring and attempt to beat each other silly knowing full well I will have to patch them up when it's all over? Or the part about an enlisted man engaging in a sport with a ranking officer?" I turn my eyes up to the Chief and give him my best "I know all" stare.
I sense that the Chief has not picked up on my subtle hint regarding relationships between non-coms and commissioned offers. Oh well, subtly was never my strong suit. I decide to change tactics and be direct. Direct works very well for me.
"Chief, what is going on between you and Lt. Valerii?
"Nothing, sir."
I sigh and say, "Chief, I wasn't born yesterday. I saw both of you exit that storage room today. To be honest, that's not the first time I have seen it, and if I have, then others have too."
There is a moment of indecision, then the Chief states, "Sharon and I have been seeing each other."
"I suspected as much."
"Are you going to report us, sir?"
"No. Our home worlds have been destroyed. Life is hard and is not going to get easier. Everyone needs a reason to keep them going, to get them out of bed in the morning." For a second my thoughts stray to a certain coffee- mooching, devious as hell, gravelly voiced commander, then I continue, "If what you and Sharon have makes you both happy, I say go for it. I would like to suggest that you try to be discrete and keep it off regular duty hours. However, you should be aware, if I noticed, most likely others have too. It's going to eventually have to be addressed."
I make a mental note to somehow discuss the issue of "fraternization" between crew members with the Commander so I can ascertain his position.
"Thank you, sir."
"What did I say about the sir thing? How did you and Sharon hook up anyway, if you don't mind my asking? You know there is a thing called doctor-patient privilege."
"Sorry, Doctor, and, no, I don't mind." He starts putting on his boxing gloves and I go to hold the bag. There is an economy of movement to his swing that speaks of experience.
His eyes are focused on his target as he beings to speak, "It started before the Cylon attacks. Sharon was a rook fresh from flight school. She was intense and nervous and wanted to know everything about raptors. The more seasoned pilots were on her case, just like they treat all the rookies. Sharon took the teasing to heart at first. I felt sorry for her and started spending time with her on the hangar deck going over raptor mechanics and stuff. She was easy to talk to. Before I knew it, the time I spent with Sharon became the high point of my day. One day we were both repairing a raptor and I needed to get a part from the supply room. Sharon came in to help and..."
"I get the picture. Still, it must have been difficult. Having a relationship with a woman who is an officer. Especially given the Fleet regulations regarding fraternization. You were both taking a big chance."
"We were both surprised that first time. Afterwards, we backed off for a while. You better believe we knew we were taking a chance. In a way it was good because about that time Sharon got paired with Helo, and he did a lot to ease her way in with the other pilots. We finally figured out we were both miserable apart. We talked it over for a long time, and eventually discretion became the word of the day. At least you don't have that problem with the Commander." He stops punching the bag with that last statement and looks me in the eye.
I feel as if Chief Tryol had hit me with his boxing glove.
I must have looked it. "Sorry if I overstepped the line Doctor."
I sigh, "Chief, it's ok, and I don't see any lines on the floor. The Commander and I are just friends. We happen to share some interests, and enjoy spending time together."
I have to admit Chief Tyrol has a great "Not Buying It" stare, but he's not getting any more information from me. I shrug my shoulders. Our impasse is broken by an overhead announcement: Dr. Salik to the Life Station, trauma category 1.
I am already moving for the doors and removing my gloves. As I run to the Life Station I have a stray thought. I think I'm going to go ahead and tell the Commander that Chief Tyrol boxes too. It would be worth it to get him off my back, even if it does make more work for me.
******************************************************
The Life Station is dark. I stand there, looking over my domain. I am still wearing my scrubs, and they have blood on them, the blood of a man who never should have died. There is no one to blame, no finger to point, no missed diagnosis, no medical stone unturned. I have sent my team to their quarters. They all did an excellent job. I sigh and look at my hands. They are clean, but I still see blood on them. Most of my staff has never worked in a cutting-edge Fleet hospital. I have, and I know what we USED to be able to do. I know that at a different time, on another world, this patient would have survived, I could have saved him. When did I go from doctor to medical quack?
We have lost so much, and I am so tired. Tired of making do with second, third or even fourth best. Tired of trying to ration antibiotics, anti- viral agents, vaccinations, pain medications, band-aids, and Lords know what else.
Even as I was telling my team they all did an excellent job, a small voice in my head was saying liar. I am still hearing that voice, and now it's screaming. I seem unable to move. A random thought runs through my brain saying I will be sharing quarters with Dr. Baltar and his invisible friend if I can't snap out of this. I am too tired to care.
A familiar voice interrupts my thoughts, "It seems all the work is done. How about I escort you back to your quarters?" I shake my head. I have nothing to say.
"Walk with me."
I feel a tug on my hand and find myself traversing the corridors of Galactica, being led by the Commander. The warmth of his hand is the only thing I feel. I am too numb to even try and figure out our destination.
Some of the numbness subsides when I realize we are in his quarters. I have only been here for staff meetings and never alone with him. While he rummages through a locker and drawers, I stand looking at "The Destruction of Scopolios". The horror pictured there seems appropriate to my mood. He must have gone into his private bathroom, because the next sound I hear is the shower starting. He re-enters the main room and walks over to me. "Go take a hot shower. I got you a towel, and found some old sweats you can change into once you're done."
I answer, my voice a monotone as I look down at my hands, "It doesn't matter, the blood is still here. It never washes out."
He is standing close to me, and now I can feel the heat from his body. When he speaks, I hear concern, but there is no mistaking the tone of command in that low voice. It says do what I say, no questions. "Go, shower and change. Come out here and then we can talk. I shouldn't have to say this but..."
"....it's an order. Yes, sir." I reply.
If I was thinking clearly I would notice something I have never seen before: fear looking out from his brown eyes.
The heat from the water breaks some of my numbness. My motions become more purposeful and less robotic as I stand under that fall of hot water. The ice that had surrounded me is gone and in its place is ......
Kylen, what have you done? The first, last, and only time this happened was during my first year of training. To this day I still feel embarrassment at how I broke down then, and cried in the arms of my friend, another intern.
The present rushes in with startling clarity. What does the Commander think? What should I do? Where should I go? I want to run and hide. I should be strong and show no weakness. A part of me is saying he is calling the Lenna Dell right now asking for an expert to come over. Another part is telling me to go out that door and talk to him.
I turn off the water, dry off, and change into clothes that are way too big, but very warm and comfy. I take a quick look in the mirror and the term shell-shocked comes to mind. I open the door, and walk out into the main area.
The lights are turned down but not totally off. He has unbuttoned his day uniform top, and I can see the regulation tee shirts and his dog tags underneath. He walks toward me holding a small glass with a brown liquid in it. He hands the glass to me saying, "Drink it all. No questions." The liquid sears my throat and I almost gag. I don't hear him move, but he's now beside me. I can feel the warmth radiating off his body. He takes the glass from me, sets it down, then moves in close and wraps his arms around me in a tight hug. Lords that feels good.
I am enveloped in the heat from his body. His strong arms hold me tight. He is something solid and real and alive. Finally I begin to cry. My arms move to wrap around him without conscious thought, and I hold on for dear life. We just stand there, our arms around each other while I make a mess of his uniform. I'm not sure how long I cry, but eventually I run out of tears. I feel drained and blank.
He moves us over to his bed. He lets go and I start to feel cold again. He moves so that his back is up against the pillows propped on the wall and his legs are outstretched. He reaches for my hand and pulls me down against him, wrapping his arms around me.
"I should ..."
"Stay." "Sleep." He shifts position to pull up some blankets from the bottom of his berth. The cold begins to seep away. I close my eyes and fall into oblivion.
****************************************************
I am aware of being warm, and of being held. I'm in a bed, but it's not my own. The events of earlier come crashing into my mind. I am trying to figure out how to make a graceful exit and at the same time wondering where in the fleet I could hide. The arm holding me close squeezes me tighter for a second. "Go back to sleep."
I sigh, and, of course disobey orders, "Sorry about before. I haven't done that in a very long time. You must think..."
"I don't think anything. However, if you want to talk..?" he interrupts.
"We lost a man today, a man who should have lived."
"You did the best ...."
I raise myself up to look directly into his eyes. "No! I did what I could with the equipment I had. That is nowhere near my best." There is anger and frustration in my voice. I want to continue, but using his rank while I am in his arms seems so odd and impersonal. Some of my anger drains, as I ask, "What should I call you? I mean.."
"Bill," he says. There is a smile in his eyes.
I sink back against him. "Bill," I get a warm tingly feeling saying his name. "My posting to the Galactica was temporary. My regular post was the Trauma and Critical Care division at Picon Fleet Hospital. Do you know what that means? We had all the cutting-edge equipment and medications, and it was all there and ready to use at a moment's notice. If I had the resources of Picon Fleet Hospital, that man would have lived. Lately, I feel like I'm playing doctor. I'm so frustrated over what we lost, and what we have to do to get by. It's not something I usually think about, but this case just seemed to shine a big glaring light on the differences between what we had and what we have." I sigh and settle in a little closer to him.
I feel as if a little of the weight that has been hanging on me is gone. My spirits lift somewhat. I become aware of the steady beat of his heart and his slow respirations. He radiates heat better than any warmer we have in the Life Station. I can detect his scent all around me.
"You going to be ok?" he asks. I can hear and feel the low rumble of his voice.
"Yea, I think I'm going to be ok."
"Good. I would hate to break in a new CMO. Besides who would be around to get on my case?"
"I'm not going anywhere."
"I wasn't planning on letting you leave." There is relief in his voice. "Now get some sleep, Kylen."
Have I said how much I love his voice? My last thought as I drift off is that I love the sound of his voice when he says my name.
End