Burning Bridges
Whatever Happened To That Hot Floozy Doctor? (Part 2)
"Gentlemen! You can't go in there!"
"This is a sterile area you haven't gone through decontamination-"
"Doctor! Tell these men that-"
"I told them you would see them when you were done operating but they wouldn't listen."
Two of her interns were trailing two uniformed officers, marching across the small room directly for her. Taking a step back from her work, she called, "Stasis." A field came up around the operating table to preserve the patient and the progress she'd made, and she pulled her nose mask down, revealing red lipstick standing in jarring contrast to the world of white medical equipment. Holding up her gloves to indicate a handshake would be out of order she greeted the men, "Officers, I'm about two-thirds through a three-hour spinal here. I understand that whatever you have is pressing, but if there's any way at all we can put this off for just a bit, I'd appreciate it."
"Doctor Gunn, two members of the crew are missing, it is our highest priori-"
Well, seemed like Gavin Hortz knew what he was talking about after all. She cut the man off with a smile and a no-nonsense twang, "Ensign, in case you hadn't noticed, we are on a ship. They can't have gotten far. Now: I am gonna finish fixing this man's spine, and then I will meet you in my office. Magdela," she addressed one of the interns, "would you please show them there? Thank you, doll." Turning back to the table and pulling up her mask, she again called out, "Stasis," and the field dropped.
"You were the one to inform them of their daughter's mutation, correct?"
She was in her office sitting across from the two ensigns, one leg crossed over the other and leaning on the arm of the chair, out of scrubs and back in her lab coat. Trixie Gunn had learned early the truth of the world: that even the most authoritative of men usually had a small – not blind, per se, but dumb – spot to properly presented (that was to say confident) sexuality, and she knew how to exude that in her favor. Right now it entailed sucking absently on the back of a pen and making a considering humming noise; she noticed thyroid cartilage bobbing from a hard swallow in one throat. That was good. She wanted them too distracted to notice any nervousness (or gloating) on her part.
She removed the pen from her mouth with the faintest 'pop' and elaborated, "When Miss Reiker began to psychically express, she was brought to me for evaluation. That didn't take long," she gently traced the visible edge of her Sanctioning brand, fingertips lingering absently at her lapel. "So all that was left was to tell her parents."
"How did they take it?" The first ensign (Macklin, his name tag supplied)'s eyes were deliberately avoiding her and fixed to his report, pen poised to write.
"Better'n I expected, honestly," she switched the cross of her legs and tapped her cheek thoughtfully with the pen. "Quite starched in the britches, though," that caught his attention, and their eyes met over the desk for a second as the corner of her mouth slightly turned up, "so it shouldn't come as a shock."
Macklin was silent for a moment, gaze still locked with hers, until his partner (watching the interaction somewhat guiltily and obviously greener than the fields of her homeworld at investigating) stammered, "Perhaps they – do you think that –did they –"
"I offered visitin' rights, Ensign Hallsey, before the wyrdling was transferred to the Black Ship. I offered counselin' in a missive after that. Both were spurned. I haven't seen'em since. Now: if they're missin', I can guarantee it's not because of distress. I'm sorry, gents, but you're chasin' the wrong line."
Macklin met her eye for a long moment, and finally nodded. "If you can think of anything else…"
"I won't hesitate, darlin'," she assured him, and rose to walk them to the door. "And boys," she was smiling ever so sweetly, "if you ever barge in on a surgery like that again without intending to put the churgeon in question down, you'll be spending your peak years irrigatin' the onboard sewage. Clear?"
Ten hours, four surgeries, six cases of some awful rash being passed amongst the children, and three routine physicals for clearance forms later, Trixie Gunn was home from work. In a whirlwind of movement, she whipped her coat off, tossed it with careless accuracy onto a peg by the door, and threw herself bodily onto her sofa before noticing that the Throne Agent was still there. The blanket had been spread over the back of the furniture, unfolded, and she wasn't quite sure he'd actually moved in all the time she'd been gone. Far be it from her to begrudge the man a vacation, though.
She drew her knees up a touch, unbuckling the ankle straps on her stiletto pumps and toeing them off. "You, sir," she asserted, tossing the shoes through the tiny gangway into her room, "did the universe a favor."
He was staring at her with a sort of confused fascination and replied automatically, "The actions of the Inquisition are the will…" he paused, realizing that his answer had nothing to do with her comment, then shook his head and sighed. "What?"
Methodically flexing and pointing her toes and rolling her neck, she affirmed, "That man was a colostomy bag among douches."
He regarded her for a moment and rather matter-of-factly shared, "You know, I don't even know who he was. Or what he and his wife did." When she raised her brow at that he explained, "I never asked."
"Do you wanna know?" She had stopped all movement and seemed to be looking through him - inside him.
He seemed to think about this for a long moment, and finally, determined, nodded.
"Reiker," she supplied with a shrug, "both Lieutenants. They had a little girl. Awful clever, sweet as you please, itty bit of a thing… well, she started actin' funny at night, finally got so bad she tore up her room without layin' a finger on anythin' and then they figured somethin' was up. Brought'er over to me and it doesn't take more'n a glance to know she's just about burstin' with warp energy. No easy way to break it to 'em, but he acts like I told him mess is outta meatloaf on a night he's in with the misses, for all he cares. I give'em a chance to say goodbye, then, and he tells me he," she imitated a stuffy, accent-less tone, "shouldn't care to cause histrionics."
She had gotten up off the couch and moved into the kitchen, pulling out a few things with which to begin dinner when she at last continued, slower and more thoughtfully, "Thought fer sure the ma'am would come back later, but a week went by and not a peep from 'em, and when we finally docked for transfer I can't tell you how disappointed with her I was. Hoped they never bothered tryin' for another little'un if that's how they felt about the first. And now there's no reason to worry on that account." She seemed to find that inexplicably satisfying and began humming to herself as she stirred this with that, content to leave the story where she had.
Some minutes later, when she turned to him to ask if he preferred rice or mash, he was still staring at her, stunned. She imagined that this was the expression he'd had last night before shutting off the light in her room, and it lit a cozy little flame within that sense of satisfaction to keep it warm. Just as she opened her mouth, there was a buzz at the door. Curious, she wiped her hands on a dish towel and moved to address it, throwing a quirked brow and a quick gesture to get out of sight to her couch's current occupant. Carefully, she cracked the door to check who it was, and subsequently opened it less than half way, using her form to fill the empty space.
"Thad," she greeted her second intern with a warm, wide smile as she leaned against the door frame, "what can I do for you?"
"Doctor Gunn –"
"Trixie," she corrected with a friendly quirk, crossing her arms beneath her chest, "not workin' an' all."
He nodded dumbly for a moment before she raised both brows to prompt him and he scrabbled, "I just wanted to see how you were after those officers came. Are you in trouble?"
She laughed at that and assured him, "No, no, I'm fine. They just had a few questions –"
"About the Reikers?" His dark eyes were shining earnestly in his pale, olive-toned face.
"I forgot how quick scuttlebutt moves."
"I heard they're gone. One of the tech-priests noticed a blip in one of the surveillance logs that coincided with an air-lock opening and –"
"Thad," she cut him off, hoping that the man on her couch hadn't been listening too closely to the conversation, for the intern's sake. "Listen, I'm sure the staff'll figure out what happened to'em. Ad-mechs haven't reported any problems, so it don't affect us. I don't know 'bout you, but I don't want any more officers givin' me the probity. Just keep your nose outta it, right?"
He considered that, then nodded his buzzed head. After a moment of thoughtful silence he continued with a nervous, "Hey, since I'm here… are you going down to mess? I wouldn't mind the company, and maybe we could–"
"Sorry, darlin'," one corner of her mouth lifted ruefully, "already started cookin'. I'd invite'cha in, but I believe you might have a couple'a surgical reports to write up – I know I've got a few ta mark."
"Oh…" his hopeful smile fell, "yeah, yeah you're right. Of course I do. I'll um… see you in the morning, then."
"Have a good night, Thad," it might have hurt him if she hadn't been so genuinely nice about it. "Plenty'a rest."
"Whatever the doctor orders," he grinned before turning and retreating down the hall.
She carefully closed the door and turned to face her sitting room with her back pressed against the steel. The Throne Agent was standing in the hall with a pistol drawn. Eyeing it carefully, she informed him (unnecessarily, of course, since he must've been listening), "He's gone."
The man stared at her for a long moment and finally nodded.
The next evening she came home from work late, as usual, to find him still on her couch. She wasn't sure exactly why that surprised her, as that he had said that he'd be there until their next port; perhaps it was that aside from slightly awkward conversations, there'd been no interaction, or perhaps that despite the fact that she'd been requisitioned, she was still intimidated by Inquisitorial presence in her Throne-damned living room.
As she was heating up leftovers, she heard him from across the room, "Tell me about her."
She paused, looking over her shoulder with an eyebrow quirked. She had no idea what he was talking about, and demonstrated this with a slight shake of her head and a confused, "What abou' who now?"
"The little girl," he was staring at something distant, his strong brow slightly furrowed.
Still not understanding, she queried, "What about her?"
"How was she special?"
Trixie Gunn made a soft snorting noise and asked almost incredulously, "…Special?"
"What about this specific girl necessitated those deaths? Don't get me wrong, I'm relieved that they were no saints…"
Ah – she was beginning to follow where this was going. Contritely, she replied, "Now that I can't tell ya. My uh," she sniffed hard and forced her voice higher, softer, because it was threatening to crack. "My bet's on she'll bite it in the holds before the Oriens even reaches Terra," Throne it hurt to say it, even to think it, and she didn't want this man seeing that. She forced a smile and carried one of the reheated plates out to him.
As he took it he shook his head, "No, I don't think so. I've never seen a hit for a psyker's parents before. Watching orders, yes – to see if they pop out another one. No, I'm thinking you don't mur-" he cut himself off, but she knew his heart meant 'murder,' regardless of his correction to, "eliminate them unless they made something you don't ever want the possibility of repeating, regardless of how infinitesimal. Something seriously terrible – or, I'm betting, seriously special. My master is the cautious sort."
Her chin and brows both lifted at that. 'Cautious'? That was a new extreme of caution. Of course, she'd wanted to punch the self-righteous Lieutenant in the jaw until he grew a heart, but from what she understood, the Reikers had been tossed from an airlock. That was about as cautious as you got. She considered for a moment that whatever this shadowy, abrupt Inquisitor the Throne Agent served had done with the girl, something had led back to Trixie Gunn landing an improbable job with the Ordos. Distracted by this, she twisted the bottom of her hair a bit and asked, "What does he look for, then? Think is 'special'?"
Gavin Hortz scrubbed his face with his hand, perhaps not realizing it as a loaded question, "Typical things, really: he likes to see power, intelligence, strength, resourcefulness… they sound like your average qualifiers. He looks for the gold standard. And then, I think even more, he's got to see a desire – a need – to serve. It's what brought him and all his people in –"
He was continuing to say something, but she hadn't heard it. There was a sort of ringing white noise in her ears as she processed that, remembering holding the girl close, repeating the words the big man had crooned to her in the holds as she'd wept with fear for her life, the steel it had forged in her heart then, and in cobalt spinel eyes too big for the six-year-old's face when she uttered what had become the cornerstone of her faith. She could still smell the clean blonde curls she'd pressed her lips to and whispered fiercely to live and die worthily before crying out as the life was wrenched from her protective grasp. There was a hand at her shoulder.
"Hey," that unfairly attractive face was peering up into hers with something that resembled concern, calling her back to reality, "I didn't mean to upset you with that –"
"You didn't," she assured him with a small smile, her hand coming to cover his on her arm. "If anything, you gave me hope."
He looked unsure for a moment, as if he didn't really believe that; her smile spread, though, and the corner of his mouth twitched as the mistrust melted from his eyes. Finally, after a long moment, he took a big breath and nodded, leaving the air between them thick with that last spoken word.
A note from Your Friendly Neighborhood Geist:
Well, that was certainly the longest thing I've posted and it's still not done! I just kept realizing there was more and more I needed to mention in this interlude so it's growing and growing. Next part should be the last one, I swear, we're almost across this burning bridge/out of the woods/whichever awful metaphor you'd prefer.
Also, sorry this took so long, I've developed some pretty nasty bronchitis, so I've been on cough syrup with codeine and sleeping like Snow White, except instead of true love's kiss I've got work to get up for. I've also been working on the next chapter of Of Worth, which I'm not going to wait to post if I have inspiration to finish it before (Part 3).
So stay tuned for Romance(ish)! Action! Gratuitous Onboard Baddie-Murdering Sprees! and even possibly some Plot!
All the best, remember to review!
-G