Epilogue

Chief Medical Officer's Log: The Lyetikovs have agreed that the cure is not the best plan for their son, at least until he's old enough to decide otherwise for himself. I've now contacted Dr. Trullian on Starbase 718 for a definitive diagnosis. With such supportive parents, I am quite confident that Misha will do very well in the future. Meanwhile, I have also learned of the reason for Lieutenant Green's habit of refusing to admit to injury. In retrospect, I can't say that I'm terribly surprised.

Ruthie and Dr. Crusher left the Lyetikovs' quarters and turned down the corridor. Ruthie smiled. "I'm glad that turned out so well," she said, rubbing her wrist.

"Yes," Dr. Crusher agreed. "I think Misha will do just fine." She turned to look at Ruthie. "Is your wrist bothering you again, Ruthie?"

"I'm okay," Ruthie replied quickly. Rather too quickly, actually.

Dr. Crusher rolled her eyes. "I've heard that before, Lieutenant."

"Really," Ruthie insisted. "It's just that Mr. Lyetikov has rather vice-like handshake," she observed wryly.

So that was it. "Hmm…go like this, Ruthie," the doctor requested, flexing her fingers out and then curling them into a fist.

Ruthie complied, somewhat stiffly, before yelping and grabbing her wrist.

"I think you had better come down to sickbay and let me take a look." The doctor's tone implied that this was not a suggestion.

"All right," Ruthie replied resignedly after a moment's hesitation. "Drat," she thought to herself.

"Deck 12," the doctor said as they stepped into the turbolift. The two officers stepped out as the doors hissed open, and turned into sickbay. Dr. Crusher picked up her tricorder as Ruthie hoisted herself up onto the examining table left-handed. "Honestly, Ruthie, why is it such a chore to get you to admit it when you're hurt? As long as you can even nominally still function, you tell me that you're fine."

Ruthie sighed. "I assume you want to know the real reason?"

"Of course."

"I really hate the noise of tricorders," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "It hurts to listen to, and it rings in my ears for an hour afterwards."

"Really?" Dr. Crusher asked, somewhat surprised. "You're the first adult I've met who could hear it." She peered at the readout. 'If I can keep her talking,' she thought to herself, 'maybe the noise won't bother her as much.'

Ruthie shrugged. "The tricorder frequency is high-pitched, but it's not outside the range of normal human hearing. Most people get used to filtering out background noise that they don't need. I can't do that, so I hear things like tricorders."

"How do you filter out background noise when you're trying to hold a conversation in a crowded room, then?"

"I don't." Ruthie raised an eyebrow.

"I see." Dr. Crusher set down her tricorder. "Well, there isn't any further bone damage; the break's healing normally. You probably just bruised a ligament." She picked up a nearby hypospray, checking to be sure that it was the one she wanted. "I'll give you some painkillers to help with that vice-grip handshake."

"Thanks," Ruthie said as Dr. Crusher injected the hypospray into her shoulder. "When can I get back to playing Frisbee on the holodeck?"

"In about a week, probably. But don't try it without seeing me first."

"Great. Looking forward to it."

"Something of an expert, are you?" the doctor asked.

Ruthie broke out laughing as she slid down from the examining table. "No, actually. I'm absolutely horrible at Frisbee, volleyball, and most other sports as well. But I enjoy them, so I play anyway. And on the holodeck, no one gets too upset if I miss a pass. That's actually how I got hurt in the first place—I dove for a pass and landed wrong."

Somehow, Dr. Crusher got the feeling that this wasn't the last time she'd be seeing the young lieutenant for holodeck related injuries. "I'm guessing this isn't the first time, and I doubt it'll be the last, either."

"Right, on both counts, I expect," Ruthie replied.

"If the tricorder bothers you, Ruthie, we could try non-digital diagnostic equipment." Non-digital tools were slower, and somewhat less accurate, but the doctor was willing to sacrifice speed and accuracy, if it would get Ruthie to come to sickbay when she got hurt.

"Thanks, but no thanks. Those are actually worse. Someone actually tried that once. One cold stethoscope, and I jumped so high I just about ended up joining the moon in orbit."

Dr. Crusher resisted the urge to snicker at the mental image of someone joining the moon in orbit. "I guess that's out, then." Her tone became slightly more serious. "But you need to come down here when you're hurt. I will pull you off duty, Lieutenant, if that's what it takes to get you to hold still. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes." Dr. Crusher was right of course. Ruthie knew this intellectually. But when she didn't have the energy to deal with the tricorder frequency, it was easier (if not particularly smart) to avoid the situation all together. It had eventually become a habit, so that, unless whatever she had managed do to herself hurt more than the tricorder sound, she would usually grab herself an Egyptian visa and head for the river of Denial. That was one habit which Dr. Crusher was clearly determined to break. Ruthie sighed. No sense trying to dodge this one.

"Glad I made my point." The doctor decided to change the subject. As a Mom, as well as a C. M. O., Dr. Crusher was quite capable of reading the riot act when necessary, but that didn't mean she enjoyed it, any more than her son or her patients did. "Got any big plans on Starbase 718, Ruthie?"

"Yep. Planning to spend some time with my older brother. Nick's stationed there, and we don't see as much of each other as we'd like. Haven't seen him in about three years."

"Sounds good. It's been a crazy couple of days. I'm glad everything's settled back to normal for a little while."

"Definitely," Ruthie agreed. She waved as she left sickbay. "As normal as I'll ever be, at any rate," she muttered to herself as she walked towards the turbolift. "As normal as I'll ever be."