Thank you everyone for reading and leaving such lovely comments and suggestions for the story. I truly do appreciate it and I love hearing from you guys so, so much! Enjoy the latest chapter and thanks for keeping up with the saga! J -Becca
"Doctor Picard?" Frank, the operator, looks mystified as he finishes the transport. I can't even imagine what utter train wrecks the three of us look like – not to mention the fact that my listless body is being held tiredly in the arms of my husband.
I look down at my blue long-sleeve shirt in the light of the airy transporter room. My eyes immediately catch the sheer vastness of blood that's caked on my arms. Large welt-like marks indented with red open flesh decorate my arms like zebra stripes. My veins are bruised and the skin around them is torn and raised. Red, crushed blood has dried gruesomely on my arms and collected under my nails. I look up at the man carrying me, noticing that I've decorated him in the colours of my own torture; maroon lines decorate his cheeks where I touched him.
Wesley too has been harmed; though the welts have been spared for my arms only, an ode to my almost-death – his still bear the gross wounds of poor catheterization. I don't think Jack wanted to be gentle, otherwise he would have at least allowed the EMH handle the needle. Looking back, though, I don't think the EMH wanted to be involved in torture and murder of innocents. He is, after all, a doctor. And though he is photonic, he's still bound by ethical subroutines that have been ingrained in his basic programming. I'm thankful for what I think was an oversight in the deletion of those subroutines by whoever was holding us.
"Frank," My voice is as unsteady as my legs. "Please don't tell anyone what you've seen." I know there are going to be questions about this later. "Is there any way that you can beam us directly to the A&E?"
He shakes his head, "You know that I can't transport within the hospital directly unless I have a direct order from HR."
I feel Jean Luc's warm breath on my left temple, "Please, Frank. We can't be seen like this – there will be too many questions."
The older man looks down at the console and fiddles with a few controls. He looks unsure, "Ok," he starts, still looking down. "But not a word and if anyone asks me about it, I'm going to have to tell them that you requested it."
I nod my head, "That's fine." I can make up a story later. Although, what's the use? This news might get around the hospital before then.
Frank looks up. "On second thought, Dr. Picard, I don't think you should do this. Not like you are." He looks around the empty transporter room. As he looks out the door, I can tell he registers someone coming. "If it's alright by you, I think you should go somewhere else." What does he know? And why is he helping us? "I'll beam you to Our Lady of Mercy." Before we have a chance to agree or object, another crystalline beam carries us away.
Our Lady of Mercy is a traditionally religious hospital two hours from our home. We're all still confused. What did Frank know? But, when I think about it, he was right to send us here. Staying at County General would have been like going back to Starfleet Medical. My intention in going to County was to see Hope – to have her personally look after me. In my drug-induced haze and overall state of shock, I hadn't gone through the ramifications of again being treated in the place that I work – too much gossip and idle speculation.
Rematerialising, we're given the same crooked look by the transport operator. He, though, says nothing. "Where is the A&E?" Jean Luc asks, tiredness shading his baritone.
He points, "Just down the hall. Do you…" He looks a little confused. "Uh, Do you need a stretcher?"
Dismounting the transport pad with a quickened step, "No. Thank you."
Wesley follows us wordlessly. I try to take his hand as he walks briskly beside us. But he won't look at me. With empty eyes, he won't look at anything other than the floor.
It's a large hospital and I'm grateful my anonymity. I pull my sleeves down over the cuts and bruises and shield my body in towards Jean Luc's as we make our way to the emergency room. Thankfully, no one pays us much attention in the hustle and the bustle of the hospital corridor. These white walls are a welcome respite from the darkness we were not long ago enveloped in and tortured by.
"We need to be seen immediately," Jean Luc asserts to the petite secretary, not currently paying attention to anything other than her console. She holds up her hand and responds automatically: "There's a wait of 2 hours to be seen." She hasn't looked at us; she's amused by something on the screen in front of her.
"Please," he begs. "My wife and son have been badly injured and," I hear the hitch in his voice that signals that the tears wrought by days of suspense and exhaustion, and torture are threatening to bleed through his forced-calm exterior. "We don't have 2 hours."
The petite brunette looks up, her attention riveted by the sheer bevy of emotion exuding from the countenance of such a staid, strong man. Then she looks at Wesley and I, worn and weary souls. "I'll be right back," She gets up and looks at us. "Just wait right there."
"Are you going to tell them what happened?" He whispers almost silently against my hair.
I turn my head to partially look up at him, "I think we have to. The EMH was right, I need a blood transfusion and they're not just going to give it based on my word alone – they don't know me here." I look down at my hands, whose palmar creases are purple. My nail beds are pale and I know from the pasty look of my arms that the scant amount of antidote to the drug hasn't counteracted the whole bolus that I was given. I knew I was severely anemic before I looked for the physical signs, but seeing them concretely only gives me more of a sense of panic and urgency.
"They're going to ask questions, though," I sigh.
He nods his head, his chin hitting the top of my head. "I know. And I'm not sure what to tell them."
I reach for Wesley's hand again in an effort to connect the three of us. With my right hand I grab it, but instead of responding to my touch, he remains unmoving and his hand is deadweight in my own. "Wes," I muster enough of a voice to appear well. "Wesley ple-"
"Come with me," A nurse in blue scrubs comes out and signals for us to follow her behind the barrier separating the rest of the patrons from the A&E proper. She ushers us into a small room at the back of the department, "Wait here and the doctor with be with you momentarily." Before leaving she hands us a padd, "And please do your best to fill this out in the meantime. And, uh, how many of you are patients?"
"All of us." Jean Luc starts. "But mostly my wife and son."
She nods, "I can see that." And with that, the door is shut leaving us alone in silence.