I do not own Star Trek or any of the characters created therein. Please read and enjoy, and let me know if what you think of it!
JadziaKathryn: yes, Taurik is a bit unusual for a Vulcan. It's not that he's emotional, he's justsensitive to the emotional well-being of his friends. :) Thanks for the review!
shamelessplugIf you'd like to know more about the crew of the Temura, check out my first story in this series, First Impression/shamelessplug
"I can't do this!" Vesta thrust the PADD back toward Kincaide, flustered.
Kincaide took a wide step back and crossed her arms. "You can and you will, if you want to get better as quickly as possible."
Vesta narrowed her eyes. The doctor knew that's what she wanted more than anything, but to use it in that tone felt like blackmail. Vesta threw the PADD down on the bed where it landed and bounced slightly, turning over and sliding partially beneath the covers as though hiding from her.
"It's not that difficult," Kincaide's arms remained crossed, her stance defiant. Vesta knew she was fighting a losing battle; the doctor had the home field advantage, but still…
"Can't you give me some exercises that I can do alone?"
"There are some exercises that you can do alone there." Kincaide reached out for the discarded PADD, turning it over but leaving it on the bed. "Some of them require the assistance of another person."
"Who?" Vesta practically spat. To be laid up with an injury and visited by well-meaning but annoying shipmates was one thing, to have someone hold her while she re-learned walking was quite another. It was something she was not willing to concede to yet.
"We'll start out here, in sickbay. Either me or one of the nurses will assist you," Kincaide told her, already picking out the nurses she would assign to the task. Sometimes it was good to be the boss, especially when an angry Andorian was in your care. "We are all professionals here, Vesta. We only care about getting you fit again for active duty."
Well. There was really nothing Vesta could say to that so she kept her mouth shut, agreeing via her silence to start the first session that evening.
"She…I'm sorry, can you repeat that?" Commander Bohemir asked. He was seated on the slender couch in the captain's Ready Room, listening to a very tired Doctor Kincaide.
"She kicked him," Kincaide repeated crossly. "Nurse Otama leaned over to help her get back up and she walloped him in the face."
"At least her leg is improving," Captain Sovak ignored Bohemir's attempt to stifle a huge grin. Being Vulcan, Sovak felt no such inclination. In all honesty, he failed to see the humor in the situation at all.
"She kicked him with her good leg!" Kincaide almost wailed.
Bohemir stopped trying and laughed. The doctor gave him a look of disgust.
"Sit down Helen. Let me get you a cup of tea," Bohemir told her. She allowed him to request one from the replicator. Seated and sipping, she felt a good deal calmer.
"How many sessions does her will her therapy entail?" asked Sovak, stirring his own cup of Darjeeling.
"Twelve total. I don't know that you can count this evening's session as it only lasted 15 minutes and ended with me applying a hypostimulus pad to Lt. Otama's nose."
"What brave soul is next on the roster?" Bohemir asked, his grin fading to a warm smile.
Dr. Kincaide eyed him over her teacup. "I probably will take over," she told him. Once news of tonight's escapade got around the medical staff she might have a mutiny on her hands if she tried to assign anyone else to the task. "But that's beside the point."
"Oh?" Sovak raised his eyebrows.
"I can guide her through the motions, but if she doesn't want to do it, it won't work. She needs to be motivated."
"Perhaps I should have a word with her?"
"No, captain, I don't think that's necessary at this point. I really think once she starts the program I've designed for her and feels her strength coming back, she'll come around on her own."
"If you say so, doctor," Bohemir raised his cup in a salute to her.
Within three days Dr. Kincaide began to wish she hadn't said so. Working with Lt. Vesta was like working with a rock and a hard place. Literally.
The security chief performed every move that was required, but did so grudgingly and in stony silence. When left on her own to do solo exercises she exerted herself far too much and strained her already weakened body. These setbacks threw her into an emotional cycle alternating between depression and resentment.
This was the state of affairs that Taurik unwittingly walked into when he finally got around to paying Vesta another visit. Fortunately sickbay was empty when he entered so he had a moment to steel himself. He peeked in the doctor's office—no one there either. Folding his hands behind his back, he decided to wait a few minutes before trying another time.
Vesta's bed was easy to pick out, it was the only one with tangled sheets and two pillows propped against the tilted head; he ambled over to it. Something glinted from beneath the sheets. A PADD, he realized, his eyes focusing beneath cocked eyebrows. It was not in his nature—not in any Vulcan's nature, to be more precise—to snoop through someone else's things, so he ignored it.
A loud grunt and a very nasty Andorian word made him completely forget it, in fact. The noise came from the far side of the room, behind a glass paneled door marked "Physical Therapy/Assessment." Through the glass he could see Vesta struggling to her feet. The doctor tried to help her up but got her hand slapped away for her trouble. A lock of hair had come loose from Dr. Kincaide's disheveled ponytail and she had shed her long blue medical coat. She looked decidedly tired and frustrated, Taurik decided.
But she looked like the picture of emotional calm compared to Vesta, he realized. He had read human books where a protagonist or villain was said to "shoot daggers" from his eyes. Taurik had thought it to be simply a figure of speech, but the look Vesta was aiming at the doctor told him this was not the case.
Vesta finally made it to her feet—unaided—and the two women put themselves into position once more. The doctor, he saw, was holding Vesta's arms to steady her while the Andorian wobbled forward, trying to walk.
Suddenly Taurik understood Vesta's plight. To an Andorian, especially one with the rank of Chief of Security, to require assistance for a task as simple as walking was both a humiliation and an insult. Taurik's father had been an ambassador on Andoria for 17 years—how many times had he seen and Andorian refuse medical care for a trivial injury? They were a very proud people; Vesta's recovery would be difficult and longer than necessary because of it.
What should he do? He knew what he should do: leave it alone. It bothered him, though. She was being stubborn and making everyone in sickbay miserable. The entire medical staff was on the verge of packing Vesta into a torpedo and sending her off in the direction of the Klingons. Given her predisposition to both refuse help and insult the person offering it, why was he letting this trouble him?
Well…it must be because this was not logical behavior. Yes, that was it. He could live with that answer, although a tiny whisper in the back of his mind—the illogical part that he sectioned off and ignored—was amused when he came up with this reason. He smothered that little voice and turned his mind to the problem at hand.
What to do? He could confront Vesta, but—
"Dammit, you have to do this one, you pigheaded, mule-stubborn—"
The doctor's voice rang out from behind the glass door, then faded as she lowered her voice again.
What had he been saying? Oh yes, confront Vesta. Hmm. Seemed like others had that avenue pretty well covered and it wasn't doing any good.
That left being sneaky. Taurik shook his head. He was no good at being sneaky. Where should he start?
What would Jack do? he wondered. Jack had lied through his teeth, as the human saying went, to Una when they first met, letting her believe he was a thief and a smuggler. He had kept up the charade through their ragged adventures in an Orion slave market, an abandoned Vulcan science station, and a Klingon battleship. Yes, if anyone would know where to start, it would be Jack.
Taurik thought furiously, staring blankly at the foot of Vesta's bed. His eyes wandered and struck on the PADD lying in the sheets. He picked it up; it was filled with what he presumed to be her physical therapy regimen. As he read through the pages of exercises a vague plan began to form in his mind.
When the doors to the physical therapy room slid open and a sweaty, unhappy doctor and an angry Andorian stumbled through them, sickbay was empty once more.
