Author's Note:
The feedback you guys gave me on the last chapter was just amazing, I'm grateful people took the time to offer their opinions on what I had to say - I really appreciate it.
That being said, I'm always looking to hear more from my readers, so if you've any suggestions on where you want to see this story go, or if there's anything else you'd like to see me write about, then please do let me know in the comments, I'll be more than happy to see what I can do.
Without further ado - onto the story!
Beverly pushes something into her neck, and it is a very sudden rush of energy into the ends of all her fingertips, like she has been sleeping all the time she's been awake; a clearing fog in her mind beginning now to make sense.
She's no idea what it even is, so she'll just stick with medicine, as it reminds her so much of any number of herbs she crushed, drank or inhaled in her youth, to pull open her mind and extract the pain.
It was her mother's suggestion, and she wishes she had that opportunity now again.
But Beverly, whose hands are so unlike her mothers, would likely not allow it, full of the prudishness of any human, with none of the liberty of her mother either.
"You should have been by earlier, God knows how you managed to concentrate on anything, let alone paperwork,"
Deanna nods along, not really engaging to say much herself, her eyes tracing Beverly's movements around her in the room - she appears distinctly nervous.
"I am sure you have nothing to be nervous about Doctor,"
She counters, not willing to dwell, and the woman turns around to regard her with a kink in her eyebrow.
"You can be really irritating at times, Troi, you know that?"
Beverly responds with jest, but it is clear that she is in fact fussing over the appearance of her Sickbay, flitting her eyes about the room before taking the tricorder from her pocket and moving again to the bedside.
There are a few moments of silence whilst she scans the girl, and all the beeping noises become irritating too, until it is shut over harshly, and the wand falls along with her arm at her side.
"I just don't want him to think we're running half a show here,"
Half a show.
Deanna frowns more so to herself, never understanding enough of this ludicrous language to ever appreciate what is idiom and what is not - just so long as she does not become part of any show.
"I do not believe anybody could ever judge you incompetent, Beverly, you have the most contemporary Sickbay in the fleet,"
She tries to soothe her nerves, then turns her eyes upwards to watch where the Doctor has begun to chew on the nails of one hand.
"This Doctor will be jealous of you, I am sure,"
She says certainly, a positivity made up in her voice that she does not truly feel, but the only way for this to go well, or to at least make sure Beverly is in her corner, is to have her as relaxed, as confident as possible. These feelings grow a little in the woman, along with a distinct gratitude.
The Doctor huffs out a breath, steadier.
"Listen to me,"
She shakes her head and her hair tousles in the ringlets she has cut it shorter into, bouncing around just above her shoulders in such a way that she might look younger if it weren't for all the lines in her face drawing up into a frown between her eyebrows.
"I should be asking how you are, not complaining,"
Her eyes are so blue, but they are not blue like his, and Deanna finds more grace somewhere inside herself to just smile, pretend like nothing is worth asking of her anyway.
"I am fine Beverly, you're not being a nuisance,"
She finds herself reassuring, but it seems that the doctor has moved on from this concern, and back into her role as a doctor, and not a friend or a patient - it unsettles Deanna that she cannot share time with all three.
"Did you get enough sleep last night?"
Beverly asks her now, drawing the tricorder and wand back into action with two reanimated arms, focusing her right hand and it's flashing end around the crown of Deanna's head, where there are light hairs that have managed to escape confinement.
The question draws a blank in her, still full of missing pieces past the point where she had cried into her Captains embrace, not even sure when they had parted, let alone when she had found her way into bed. Maybe, he had even seen her there.
"I'm not sure,"
She hears herself say, then refocuses her eyes when she realises that was no kind of answer at all, looking up to Beverly again, though the woman seems too focused on her readings to consider it an inadequate answer.
"Well your psilosynine levels are still a little low after yesterday, but that's understandable,"
Crusher dictates, not really understanding much of yesterday at all.
"Otherwise, your brain chemistry is actually very pleasing,"
She goes on, then looks back into Deanna's eyes, alarm in her own at how she maybe has made herself look like too much of a biology buff, and not enough of a caring physician. Deanna only smiles though, knowing all too well how the woman is engaged in a deep love affair with medicine, and thankfully, not just the Human body.
She has seen doctors in the past who could not make sense of her mixed biology, called it a miracle of nature, or a freak - either way, it was enough to put her off.
Beverly focuses back on moving the wand down her body.
"I'm not happy with your heart rate though, it's very uneven, and your blood pressure is far too high for my liking -"
She says, pausing as she circles the wand over Deanna's stomach, a strange wonder coming about her.
"Baby seems completely healthy though, good blood flow, steady heart -"
"Mmmph,"
Deanna cannot help but groan when the child moves to adjust itself, kicking out its legs as it goes, like toes made from knives.
"Very active,"
The Doctor continues, smiling now, as if she has forgotten everything of inception and intent, using that part of her that is a mother to enjoy the reminder of when this had been her. She is so caught in that place, in fact, that she often fails to notice how Deanna does not seem to share the sentiment, does not have any joy for the movement that causes only pain in her tired body.
Beverly flips the tricorder shut, satisfied in her assessment.
"I guess you've been better than you are, but then you've also been worse,"
She says, tucking the tricorder into her coat pocket and pursing her lips as if she about to do some telling off, the demeanour of a disappointed parent, even, waiting at the root of her tongue.
"I'm getting tired of people bringing you in hurt, Troi, you should be being more responsible now,"
She chastises, and Deanna's face is immediately softened into sorrow, not for herself, but for how Beverly still does not know how to put herself in the same shoes.
"I cannot stop doing my job, just because of this,"
The girl is loath to say pregnant, not really certain if that is how she would classify the experience, feeling all too often that she is not even herself anymore, that she has no control, that she is just a vessel to be used.
Before Beverly can call her out however, there is a noise at the door to the private room, and she turns her whole body swiftly round to regard the Nurse who stands in the new opening.
"Dr Schreiber is here,"
He says urgently, as if they all have been briefed on his importance, on what he has to offer, and even his pointed ears cannot prevent a look of mild terror from filling his eyes as he waits for a response.
"Already?"
Beverly exclaims, then clears her throat and smooths out her coat, standing up a little straighter.
"Of course, of course, send him in,"
She tells the half-vulcan, who offers a clipped nod before disappearing back into main Sickbay, and it is as though Beverly has now completely forgotten that there is anybody else to consider of the room, that she has not yet asked if this is okay. Deanna makes no effort to smooth out her own dress, sure that at some point somebody will make her lift it anyway, and she fixes a sceptical smile to her lips.
It takes only a few seconds for her to understand why the Doctor is so flustered, when eventually a tall figure appears through the door. He is physically imposing, upon first glance, and the second shows her how he is perhaps older than he looks, with a well-groomed beard grown of greying hairs.
He is a blonde, with locks that part in the centre and fall almost to his ears, long all over, but still arguably well-kept; his eyes are blue, more noticeably like ice as he comes closer under the lights, and his jaw is a sharp square, as though it could cut glass.
"Dr Crusher, it's great to finally meet you, I've heard wonderful things,"
Schreiber says, extending a firm hand to the woman, with a voice that resounds from deep in his chest and reverberates in the space, authoritative, yet somehow made soft. The accent is strange, a peculiar blend of these places he has learnt the language from, different than his birthplace, but laced with it all the same. Something of America finds home between his two front teeth, but at the back of his throat there is the timber of England, charming, but twisted so that it does not remind her of the comforts she has come to know.
The industrious Germans, she has been told, and this seems to be the substance of the man.
"Please, call me Derrick, Doctor, can't stand the name Schreiber myself,"
He says with an almost too-wide grin, and there is a feeling deep within her mind that he is trying too hard, doing too much to please Beverly, for simple access to her.
Crusher nods along, infatuated with him and his endearing face, blind to a tingle of unrest that he has bred.
"So, ready to do some work?"
Derrick offers, peering around her head to where Deanna sits still, with her short legs hanging over the edge of the raised bed, hands folded now in her lap.
"Why has she not been changed into a gown yet?"
He asks in a lower voice, a more serious voice, maybe even a little flinch of irritation able to poke through his facade. Beverly seems again not to notice, and in an uncharacteristic way, she whispers back to him.
"You'll see, she's not exactly a model patient,"
They trade in conspiratorial smiles.
"Well alrighty then,"
Derrick moves briskly on and past Beverly, and he is unusually trim in the skin tight uniform, but Deanna refuses to be impressed by this, now that he is turning his work upon her.
"So Deanna - can I call you Deanna?"
He begins, and there is presumption in him that unnerves, greats on her.
"Counselor Troi is fine, Doctor,"
She tells him shrewdly, aware that he has taken no time to introduce himself to her individually, to consider her as a person and not a project. The man's lips then thin along with his widening eyes, and he draws out his next word like a child would, disguised only by the age of him.
"Sure,"
Then, a pause as Beverly catches up to them with curiosity, but the tension is recovered quickly, for her sake.
"So, Counselor, I'm told you're quite the mystery, mind if I take a look?"
Derrick is asking, but not really taking permission before he reaches his hands up to either side of her neck, fingers pushing along all the muscles tensing there. All she can do is nod, a vague kind of movement given how he shifts his ministrations now to up under her jaw, feeling along the bones and sinewy tissue, for something she just can't fathom.
"Have you noticed any swelling in the cervical lymph nodes, Doctor?"
He asks, now still in his movements and heavy on her pulse, measuring it by the feel of what thrums there, looking not into her eyes at all, and rather over at Crusher who stands off-side slightly, as if she is a player in a game Deanna wishes not to play.
"Yes, actually, a week or so ago we had an issue with kidney infection, but it cleared up fairly quickly and there've been no recurrences so I'm hopeful we won't see another,"
Beverly explains, taking from his cue to speak of her as if she is not in fact in the room with them both, as if she is just a case study.
The man stops his counting, removes his fingers now from her to hold hands out in front of himself.
"Good, and this heart rate has been consistently thready since day -?"
"Uh, three,"
Crusher responds promptly.
"There's been issues regulating blood pressure too,"
She adds, and he hums a low response.
"Yes, I read through the files,"
The comment is only slightly passive aggressive, and comes out quiet enough that it does not reach her, but Deanna is bothered by it on her behalf, as he turns back to regard her face, not in any personal way but rather as though she is the subject of study.
It seems he is judging the symmetry, then without warning, he takes the pads of his thumbs to the orbits of her eyes, firmly pushing down on the bone,
She does not want to tell him that he hurts the skin there, because it is red already, and he ought really to know.
"And there have been no signs of facial palsy?"
Schreiber calls back, not looking away now as his fingers traverse along to the hollow cheeks, and the bones that hold scaffolding to her face, pushing with force enough that her head rocks along with the motions.
"None at all, thank God,"
The Doctor tells him, clearly relieved, but Deanna has no idea what this is supposed to mean.
"No neurological issues - seizures, migraines, that sort of thing?"
He continues to ask, reaching around now in a loop of her bones to the pits at her temples, and rolling his thumbs there too, and surely it must be that he can feel the tension. Deanna tries hard to look him in the eyes as he works, hoping that at the point he finally can meet her stare, he will see that he makes her uncomfortable, that she is a person after all.
"Nothing reported,"
Beverly says plainly, but it is the special foothold she has in the woman's mind that tells her this is possibly back-handed, that she has chosen her words specifically to cover whatever Deanna chooses not to disclose - a wise move, she surmises.
"Excellent, so no issues with vision or water retention, no signs of pre-eclampsia?"
Now it feels as though he is pushing too hard on the point, forgetting that Beverly is a doctor too; Deanna looks over to her when she responds, knowing she is a better Doctor.
"None at all,"
"Hmmm,"
Derrick murmurs. His hands clasp in front of his chest again.
"So it seems the pregnancy is bulletproof then, if only the same could be said of you Counselor,"
He says smiling, but it is something of a sneer, and it does not sit well inside her.
"I hear you've had a couple of unfortunate run ins lately?"
He stops smiling, fixes the expression into a frown, and still it is strange and foreboding and full of that sneering quality that tells her he is rather enjoying himself here.
She does not desire to open her mouth to explain herself to a stranger.
"It's been part of my job, Doctor Schreiber, I imagine you can understand that,"
Deanna tells hims, measured and well-reasoned and perfectly polite, yet somehow Beverly manages to raise an eyebrow at her, as if she could be more accomodating, when he has intruded.
"Given what's happened on my Ship, I guess I can,"
Schreiber reasons, unphased, reaching for his tricorder where it is clipped into his side.
"But I am not pregnant, Counselor,"
He adds, chastising, and she chooses not to go on.
The tricorder begins to trace up and down her body, just as Beverly had done a few minutes ago, however with more force now, and the woman peering instead over his shoulder, a secondary and not the lead.
"So for the minute Doctor, I wonder if I might take some samples of my own, blood, urine, amniotic fluid, that sort of thing?"
Derrick asks the Doctor, turning his cheek on Deanna without considering what her response will be, assuming the permission is not hers to give, and lies instead with her physician, as if this is common. For the first and only second, a stumble occurs in Beverly's mind, she experiences trepidation, though it is fast filed away and disregarded.
"Yes of course, if it'll provide more insight I don't have that'll help us out here,"
"Absolutely,"
He responds almost too quickly.
"What I'll be doing then is just taking the sample, a brief history and completing a physical work up, then I'll spend some time with the data and hopeful I'll be able to offer some suggestions for patient care,"
Beverly nods along with him, enthusiastically, as he addresses only her, and she cannot see how Deanna swallows harshly at the thought of another amnio, the first time being quite enough for her to know she does not desire a second. But something tells her, despite any arguments she may offer, there is no discussion here..
"Excellent,"
Schreiber turns back to Deanna before Beverly has even finished letting go of the word, and he fixes her now with a leer, poorly disguised in the way he looks instead to the throbbing veins at her neck.
He regards her as if she has been skewered by a needle and pinned to a wooden board, her ribs flayed open like the spread wings of a butterfly, her frantic heart exposed.
