THIRTY-SIX: Distress

The briefing before the procedure had been simple enough; the attending doctor would use direct extraction through her vaginal walls, rather than opting to go directly through her abdominal walls or bladder. The decision, as far as Dagmar understood, was based on the idea that it would significantly easier to avoid damaging surrounding tissue, blood vessels, and organs.

Thinking about it too much made Dagmar feel shaky and light-headed, which only got worse when the lead nurse patiently explained the precautions they were taking to avoid such risks as tears, ovarian hemorrhaging, and other outright terrifying risks. The nurses noticed, because of course they did, and both of the subordinate nurses were quick to explain that she would be put under full anaesthesia for the procedure, that it would be as painless as possible. She'd be able to return to her home that same day, in fact, after a brief stay in observation while she recovered from the anesthetic.

Dagmar found herself ushered into the examination room to change, instead of a side room like a human facility might have offered. It was… uncomfortable, she supposed, for the long moment where she had to remember that these were Andorians and they honestly couldn't care less about her nudity. As with so many things before, the Human woman simply grit her teeth and got it over with, stripping quickly and slipping into the medical gown offered to her without a word.

It was cold, but when had Andoria ever not been cold outside of her specially designed little apartments? Dagmar shivered in silence; the Andorians in the room were well aware of her species' requirements, and they had already assured her they would be monitoring all of her vitals carefully. They wouldn't let her freeze.

The colours of the room were surprisingly sedate, a wash of beiges and browns with only the odd splash of greens of blues. It seemed strange compared to the usual clashing yet oddly harmonious patterns Andorians generally preferred. She supposed a medical examination room wasn't really the most appropriate place for wild tapestries or fantastic paintings, upon reflection.

The nurses briefed her further while the attending doctor, the grumpy one Dagmar had been seeing throughout the process, prepared the equipment necessary. It seemed odd that the doctor was the one checking the equipment, not the nurses – at least from Dagmar's perspective- and she asked about it.

"Doctor Thothahr Ch'shaororh… The doctor is…" A younger nurse began uncertainly, antennae alternating between flicking in agitation and writhing in discomfort. "Steeling himself, I believe the Terran phrase is. Is that the correct term?"

Ah. Dagmar nodded, both in confirmation and in understanding. That made sense, all things considered… she just hoped he wasn't fortifying his nerve with booze.

The Human woman changed the subject to better suit the medical professionals in the room, inquiring about the length of time for the operation and other technical details. Truthfully, Dagmar didn't need to know these things, but information wasn't what she was after; it was better, she honestly felt, for the attending professionals to be as at ease as possible before the procedure –so she prompted them to talk about things that skirted just far enough around the taboo they were breaking to be more palatable.

"The estimated length of time will be perhaps an hour at most for the procedure, and then perhaps two for your recovery. It will be…" The lead nurse seemed to struggle to find the correct words, antennae twitching and writhing in the erratic, spastic movements of ill-hidden discomfort. Eventually, the thin, willowy woman settled on. "Efficient."

The lead nurse was older, just edging enough past the prime of her youth to have deep lines at the corners of her eyes and a nearly matronly sort of demeanour that Dagmar found soothing. Her hair was cropped sensibly short and her angular, alien face was hard in places that Dagmar kept expecting to be soft and rounded.

"Thank you," Dagmar answered, offering a bow at her shoulders that would be classified as deeply respectful by any Andorian. "This is a difficult task – I thank you for your professionalism and for your care."

Dagmar took care, when the doctor finally swept into the room in his stark white uniform, to repeat the sentiment with a deeper bow – just slightly, not too much, mustn't offend the nurses- and thanked him as well. She thanked him by name, even though it was one of the harder names for Terrans to pronounce, and made damn sure she got it right. The gesture seemed to genuinely surprise the doctor.

"…I see." The attending physician -Doctor Thothahr - frowned, his antennae upright and flicking occasionally in what Dagmar tentatively identified as confusion or surprise. He recovered quickly enough, the usual acerbic attitude creeping back in mere moments later as he commanded imperiously, "Well? Arrange yourself, Human. I don't have all day!"

The exam table was cold against her skin, through the thin medical gown that had been supplied for her. The table was set up in a way that reminded her of old-world birthing rooms, with stirrups to keep her legs raised and out of the way. They seemed out of place, like a last minute addition, but Dagmar wisely didn't comment on that, following instructions wordlessly and without complaint.

She grew uncomfortable more than once as the initial set up was completed – discomfort from the cold, from feeling overexposed, especially from feeling overexposed in front of strangers- but never enough to speak up. When the nurses applied restraints to her legs and lower abdomen, the youngest of them was quick to explain that it was to prevent unconscious twitching or involuntary movements while she was under the effects of the anesthetic. It was… reassuring, actually, that they were taking so many precautions against accidental injury. Dagmar offered a tentative smile in response to show her acknowledgement, and even managed to only quietly hiss when the hypospray was pressed against her neck.

"I am apparently required to command you to count backwards from one hundred at this point." The doctor huffed. "You may begin now."

Dagmar didn't quite manage to get past ninety-seven.

She did, however, manage an amused snort instead.


When Dagmar awoke, it was to a sense of disorientation and sluggishness. She could hear the quite murmur of muted Andorian machinery in place of the constant beeps and hums of Terran equipment, and she had been moved to some a recovery bed from the feel of it. She tried to open her eyes, only to find them too heavy and unwilling to respond to her commands at all. Groggily, haphazardly, she brought a hand to her face – narrowly avoiding slapping herself in the process- and rubbed ineffectually at her eyes. She felt weak, barely able to exert any pressure with her hand at all, but the movement along was enough to draw someone's attention.

"She's awake!"

It was the voice of one of the nurses, the youngest looking one, Dagmar hazily recalled. Her tone didn't sound right. Shrill. Worried, maybe.

"Ms-ly," Dagmar managed to force out, slurring drunkenly. Whatever they'd dosed her with was hitting her a lot harder than she'd expected.

"Here – a mild stimulant." Something cold pressed against her neck, and a sharp pressurized hiss heralded the ever-familiar sting that followed a hypospray being activated. Dagmar made a displeased sound at the pain which, contrary to Dr. Phlox's commentary, was not milder when she wasn't tensed up.

Still, the stimulant did its job, waking Dagmar's heavy and loose body in increments until she could finally open her eyes and examine her surroundings. Her movements before the stimulant's injection had dislodged a heavy quilt that had been carefully tucked around her, and she took a moment to tug it further up her body again. The youngest nurse –the one with the hypospray- rushed forward to help, but the movements were oddly nervous.

Her guess had been right – she was in a recovery bed, off in a quiet corner of a room full of similar such beds separated by heavy curtains. The place was painted in alarming shades of yellow, red, and purple, bright and cheerful and terribly headache-inducing. Of somewhat more immediate concern than a headache, however, was the trio of nurses hovering at the foot of her bed. Each looked haggard and worried, as if they had come from a terribly trying surgery instead of a fairly routine procedure.

Well, Dagmar amended, routine for Humans.

The lead nurse, the same one that had briefed her, was watching her with hawk-like intensity, and cautiously asked, "How do you feel?"

The woman's manner puzzled and worried Dagmar in equal measure, and the Terran woman cautiously pushed herself into a more upright position. She stopped when a dull stab of pain throbbed through her pelvis, hissed, and settled for resting on her elbows instead. The pain caught her off guard, and Dagmar wondered at how daft she was to think that all of the bloating and misery would just magically go away right after the procedure.

"Sore," Dagmar admitted, shoving the thoughts aside for now. There was something about the way the nurses were watching her that made her feel alarmed, despite how fuzzy her head still was. "I'm just… very sore, mostly. Is everything okay? Were there any problems?"

It was meant to be more of a mild formality of sorts; she asked about the procedure, everyone smiled, and the nice nurses told her of course it had…

Only, they didn't.

For a long moment, no one said anything. The two younger nurses glanced at one another and excused themselves – just a bit too fast to be anything other than a retreat. Dagmar frowned, feeling her brow crease with growing worry. Had something happened?

Worry flared to life in her belly, a tightening knot of anxiety settled just below her ribcage. Had something gone wrong? Was it the eggs – were they not suitable, not viable? Had something been damaged during the procedure? She didn't feel any additional injuries – just very, very sore. That was normal, though, wasn't it?

"There was…" The lead nurse seemed to wrestle internally with something for a moment before glancing about and stepping closer, moving to Dagmar's side and speaking in a low voice. "The procedure itself went well, only - do you not remember?"

Dagmar blinked a slow, uncomprehending blink without even realizing it. She frowned further, growing suspicious. "… How could I remember anything? I was unconscious."

Antennae writhed in open discomfort, and then, reluctantly, "You were, yes. We sedated you with the recommended dosage based on your Dr. Phlox's notes…" – a grimace, an apology without words- "Forgive me; this is difficult to speak of. You awoke during the latter half of the procedure, Miss Gunnarssen. We sedated you again as quickly as possible, of course, but you were in a great deal of pain. Doctor Thothahr wishes me to assure you that there was no damage caused by the incident."

Dagmar blanched, feeling strangely cold as her mind processed what exactly that might mean. "I woke up? Right in the middle of everything?"

The nurse nodded, and Dagmar saw that the Andorian was utterly drained from the experience. The slightly paler cast to her azure-blue complexion, the droop in her antennae, and the strained lines of her face – the signs were more subtle than in a Human, or maybe so alien that they were harder to identify, but they were there nonetheless.

Dagmar ran a hand through her hair – braided back, dishevelled now- and tried not to think of what she had might have awoken to during that missing hour. It was disturbing enough to be missing an hour even for a medical reason, one that she'd consented to at that, but… to find out something like that had happened and to have no memory of it? Was that better or worse than remembering?

Don't think about it, Dagmar coached herself firmly. If she didn't remember, she sure as hell wasn't going to go picking at the gap in her memory looking for trouble. She'd take the situation as it was – she was unharmed, the extraction was successful, and everything was fine.

"I'm sorry that happened – that must have been terrible for everyone." The Terran offered quietly, allowing some of the firmness in her mental direction to help her focus on the important things. The experience was a blank for her, but for the nurses and the doctor it must have been fairly distressing. "Is everyone alright? What about the ova? Were they okay?"

This, at least, was something the nurse was a little less reluctant to discuss. "Your concern is… welcome, but unnecessary – we will be fine. The ova were healthy and viable: twenty-six in total. They've been cryogenically frozen and are ready to be shipped first thing tomorrow morning."

The tension that had been slowly building in Dagmar's shoulders released, allowing her to slump a little in relief. Twenty-six seemed like a rather large number, but at least that meant that Varek and his wife would have quite a few backups should something go wrong with the first attempts.

"That's good." She murmured, apologetic and relieved at the same time. She hadn't missed the phrasing there, or the use of future tense and the marked hesitation, but drawing any more attention to the distress she had caused felt unwise. "I'm glad everyone will be alright. Thank you. I would be grateful if you passed on my thanks to Doctor Thothahr, as well."

The nurse offered a small nod, bowed, and left without anything further said.

Andorians weren't much for coddling, after all.

It was about four hours before the nurses deemed her sufficiently alert and free from the lingering effects of the anaesthetic. She'd spent most of it thinking about how best to get home in her current state, and then thinking about what she needed to do once she got back to work to catch up on missed time. It shouldn't be anything that some extra hours on the clock wouldn't fix, plus maybe working a bit at home after hours. Ambassador Thoris hadn't had anything significant planned either, last she'd heard – hence why she'd chosen this day for the last part of the donation process.

Once she got the go-ahead, Dagmar carefully collected her things – a short endeavour, given that she hadn't brought more than the bare necessities- and changed out of the filmy medical gown. Walking was painful now that the last of the anesthesia had worn off, but bending at the waist to do something as simple as pulling on her clothes was much worse. She was tender and sore in entirely new ways, none of which were comfortable to think about for long. Dagmar had been spared the sight of the equipment used to extract the ova, but the fact remained that a giant needle had been-

No, no, no! Not thinking about it, not thinking about it, not thinking about it, Dagmar's mind veered violently away from the thought with an almost physical cringe.

Dagmar wondered idly if Vulcans had godparents, and if it would be in poor taste to demand to be one as payment for her pain and suffering.

Still, at least she wasn't freezing. The nurses had made a point of piling heavy thermal quilts onto her recovery bed and checking her vitals almost compulsively – not, Dagmar reflected, that she could blame them for being a little paranoid after what happened. It might be worth investigating if it was appropriate to bring the staff that had been working on her some sort of apology booze, actually. Then again, investigating meant asking Thelen usually, and Thelen emphatically did not want to know about any of this.

Tenderly, Dagmar padded out of the recovery room and out into the Lobby. Her pace was a little slower than normal, owing to both the usual bloated tenderness and a newer, sharper tenderness born from the invasiveness of the procedure itself – which she was very pointedly Not Thinking About.

She hadn't expected to be up and prancing about immediately after the extraction, but neither had she thought it would be quite so painful. She'd read up on the procedure, being an inherently inquisitive person, and Dagmar had learned that pain was expected, but to keep an eye on things in case something abnormal occurred, like excessive bleeding. Maybe she was so sore because she'd woken up during the procedure, Dagmar reasoned thoughtfully – she'd probably tensed up quite a bit, if the nurses' descriptions of her distress had been at all accurate.

The Human woman shuddered, and hoped that particular gap in her memory stayed vacant.

The nurses gave her a prescription, on behalf of the determinedly-absent doctor, for pain medication. The eldest nurse told her to let her body heal on its own, and to come back for a check-up in a few weeks.

The lobby of the clinic was completely empty – and Dagmar tried hard not to wonder why that made her so damn sad, unsuccessfully. Maybe some part of her had hoped, quietly and without her conscious permission, she'd find a friendly face waiting for her - someone to walk her home, and ask her if she was okay.

Abruptly, fiercely, she wanted Thelen to be there, to be awkward and strange about the whole thing but at least there. Or Shral, who was stoic and completely unreadable when she'd last seen him, but who had promised without words to come if she called – if it was an emergency.

Being lonely, alas, was not much of an emergency.

It occurred to Dagmar, despairingly, that she really needed to make more friends. Maybe branch out a bit, the next time Thoris went off-planet and try to befriending someone from a new species. After all, species wasn't really an issue for Dagmar these days, as long as nobody tried to eat anyone else, or start wars, or called her a backwards primitive. No cannibalism, respecting whatever passed for the space-version of the Geneva Convention, and decent manners. Was that really quite so much to ask for?

(According to some of the reports made public about the escapades of some ship called the Enterprise, yes. Yes it was.)

Eventually, the Human woman made it home – largely because Andorian public transport was actually quite effectively run, and there were several routes that ventured close to her quarters. Her progress was slow largely due to the tenderness and pain, which limited her strides somewhat in both length and speed. Nevertheless, a grand total of six and a half hours since she had left for her appointment that morning, Dagmar punched in her access code and shuffled into the warmth of her abode with a relieved sigh. She wasted no time in pulling off her outdoor gear – mask, gloves, and all- and dumping them on a little stand near the door with little ceremony. Her clothes were uncomfortable, with the bloating and tenderness, and it was good to be warm enough to not need so many of those layers anymore.

Her home was as silent and empty as the clinic lobby had been, but at least she was used to it being quiet in her quarters. It didn't feel so lonely, in comparison, but the dull ache from before still lingered behind her ribs.

Sighing, Dagmar went to her bedroom and began to strip down to her underwear, feeling strangely grimy. It was a relief just to ditch her pants, as tender as she was, but the grungy feeling persisted nonetheless. Something about not being in command of her body, even for a medical thing, made her feel like she desperately needed a shower, or maybe a bath. She was just about to step into the adjoining bathroom to see to just that when a nearby console chirped loudly.

Despite the fact that she was quite alone, Dagmar made an inquiring noise, turning and grabbing a robe as she went to investigate. A few key-presses later, and Dagmar discovered to her surprise that it was a notification for a message received. It was unsigned, but the origin was listed as a terminal in the same building as her own office. Three guesses, she thought wryly.

It read simply: 'Inform me when you have returned to your quarters.'

Thelen, Dagmar thought with some amusement, would have just asked if she was well outright. By process of elimination, it had to be either Thoris or Shral, with the latter looking to be a likely suspect. Thoris was her employer and superior; he cared if she was well because she was the sole Terran under his care, but beyond that couldn't have cared less about her personal life as long as it didn't embarrass him in some way. Shral, on the other hand, had more or less agreed to be her emergency contact, hadn't he?

Besides, Ambassador Thoris was far too arrogant to leave a message unsigned.

Transferring to a hand held PADD, Dagmar resumed her slow shuffle to the bathroom and set about getting ready for a bath as wrote out a reply: 'I am home.'

Almost immediately, another beep sounded out. Dagmar took the time to turn the water faucets for the bath on before looking at it.

'Report on your condition.' The new message read bluntly with typical Andorian arrogance. Maybe someday she'd grow fond of it, if only in some abstract sense.

In response, she wrote vaguely: 'The procedure was successful.'

The next message was reproachful, almost: 'Insufficient. Report.'

Huffing a little laugh, Dagmar set the PADD down. Of course that was insufficient. Shral, Dagmar reflected, would not be content with anything less than a proper status report, quite conveniently forgetting that as a civilian Dagmar didn't really know what a status report was actually supposed to look like.

He could wait a moment, Dagmar decided, cautiously stripping out of the last of her clothes as the bathtub filled. The sooner she got into the tub, the sooner she could be rid of the grimy, oily feeling that clung to her skin. As she was about to discard her underwear at the last, however, her gaze caught on a smear of red.

She had blood on her thigh.

No – thighs, she corrected half a second later. She had been bleeding. Dagmar abruptly broke out into a cold sweat, feeling strangely ill.

She hadn't noticed anything on her underwear, black as it was, and there was nothing on the outside of her pants at all, but the evidence presented itself clearly enough on her skin. It wasn't much, not even as much of a smear as she might get during a particularly messy monthly menstruation. Really, it shouldn't have been a big deal… Only Dagmar wasn't menstruating, not yet, and that meant she started to think about the things she was supposedly Not Thinking About, like where the blood was really coming from and what had caused it.

Dimly, Dagmar was aware that this was a kind of reactive shock – before her head filled with cotton and cobwebs, and thinking suddenly became very, very hard.

A wave of nausea hit her like a physical blow, sudden and roiling in her belly like curdled milk – strong enough to leave her doubled over, gripping the cold countertop of the bathroom sink with her eyes squeezed firmly shut.

Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it – like a mantra in her head, the frantic skittering of her thoughts to anything and everything else. She repeated it over and over again, until her stomach settled by fractions and inches. She kept her eyes closed and continued taking slow, deep breaths through her mouth for a few moments longer, forcing herself to calm down until her hands were shaking only a little.

Goddamn, that had caught her by surprise.

She'd known, intellectually, to expect a little bleeding. She'd effectively agreed to have a small puncture wound – and Dagmar stopped thinking about the details when her stomach clenched warningly. It made sense that there would be blood; the research she'd done had told her it was normal, expected even, and only really worth panicking about if it was a lot of blood or the bleeding didn't stop after perhaps a day or two.

What a stupid thing to get sick over, she reproached herself cruelly. What a stupid, silly thing. This needed to stop – this flailing about from one incident to the next, crying over ridiculous things or getting faint over a bit of blood. So what if she was bleeding a bit? She did that every month – just pretend, she told herself firmly, angrily, that it's the same thing.

Shaking herself, pushing away from the counter, Dagmar scowled at her haggard and pale reflection.

The PADD beeped again, insistently, and the noise startled Dagmar. Glancing around, she found it just outs of arm's reach on the floor; she'd knocked it over, apparently. Shral had sent another message, a repetition of the previous one's command. It had been nearly fifteen minutes since she'd last replied.

With faintly trembling fingers, because her body hadn't quite gotten her internal memo to toughen up like a big girl, she wrote: 'I'm in pain, but that's to be expected. I'll be fine with some rest.'

A bath, some food, and some rest – then she'd be fine, Dagmar told herself firmly, as if will alone would make it so.

She set the PADD down on the floor beside the bathtub and climbed in, resolutely ignoring the glimpse of ruddy-smears she caught in the mirror. The heat was intense, a sharp contrast against her sweat-chilled skin that hovered just at the edge of her tolerance. It seeped into her muscles as she sank into the deep-bottomed tub until the water reached her chin, and damp hands smoothed her hair away from her face.

The water had a distinct scent, caused by some mineral or blend of minerals that was unfamiliar to her, and it reminded her a little of a childhood memory to a hot spring, a naturally occurring one, that she had once visited with her family. The memory didn't hurt, like some did, and maybe that was because it was old and worn even before Dagmar had been brought to this time. It was a half-remembered thing, with foxed edges like an old baseball card, mostly a collection of images and scent-memories and the vague feeling of contentment. If she struggled, she remembered that the hot spring had a hotel near it, or beside it, or maybe built on top of it, and that the water had smelled of sulfur.

Funny, that the water of an ice planet, so completely different and distinct from her home world, would make her think of that.

Dagmar shifted, leaning back against the slanted edges of the bath and, as always, feeling a little like she was in a swimming pool instead of a proper tub. It was so much bigger than it needed to be – large enough to fit four people, as per the usual Andorian quad-mentality. The empty space made her miss her Terran apartment's little cubicle of a shower, which she'd previously thought was a bit small.

Andorians had showers, same as her fellow Humans back on Earth did, but they were more like afterthoughts, things installed to accommodate the tragedy of someone too busy for a proper soak. Baths were the norm, being more communal and were better able to accommodate many individuals at once. Moreover, they had an abundance of natural hot springs deep within the city depths, many of which were part of ancestral lands belonging to particular keths. From what Dagmar understood, some of the communal baths in those levels could easily be the size of her quarters, if not larger. There was an entire system to it, apparently, in those ancestral hot springs; a chamber for cleansing, one for soaking, and one for what was probably -to Andorians- a refreshing ice-bath meant to be hopped into before drying off and leaving. It reminded her of the Japanese bathhouses she had heard about, in her time, but never actually managed to see for herself.

One of her many regrets; the things lost to time.

Chances were that Dagmar would never see the inside of such a place. They weren't sacred or anything, but they were often found near the hearts of ancestral Andorian holdings and thus quite closely guarded by the keths that possessed them. She, a Human and a clan-leader of her own micro-keth, would have to be invited personally by someone of equal or greater rank just to get into such a holding, never mind about exploring the baths. Besides – there was also the issue of the naked communal bathing. Andorians didn't care about public nudity, but generally speaking Andorians also didn't have to worry quite so much about freezing to death without their clothing.

Dagmar snorted and reached out to the edge of the tub where a mild cleanser stood, and began to set about scrubbing the clinic from her skin and hair.


A/N: I'm back, and after a very long absence, at that! I've gone back through this story and changed a few things around, in response to the wonderful constructive criticism I've received - primarily, chapters 5 and 11, which both needed a little reworking.

I'd also like to take the time to shamelessly promote a wonderful new fic inspired by this one, called "Traditions" by the lovely IDIC26. It's only four chapters long at the moment, but well worth the read thus far.