Judgement – "Dammit Jim, I'm a doctor, not a security officer!"
by Lieutenant T'Pal & Lieutenant Bridget Stapleton
Post Details
::ON::
[Earlier in Box of Delights holosuite]
T'Pal didn't let up now. It was becoming easier to break through the other woman's defenses. Unexpectedly, she ducked a fast slice over her left, and using the momentum, she planted a hard kick firmly in Persimone's gut, sending her backwards. Following through she launched forward again immediately. This time her knife dug deep into Persimone's thigh.
Even as the blade was sliding in, the Bokkai grabbed T'Pal's wrist, holding her in position for a brief moment. Brief, but long enough to ram her own knife up under T'Pal's arm into the exposed armpit, and twist hard. The crystal knife glanced off the toughened muscle of the Half-Klingon's rib cage, and moved up. Persimone twisted savagely, and the edge severed tendons, missing the artery by nanometers.
[Now]
After her victory in Yolanthe's holodeck programme, T'Pal had to get to sickbay. It was a risk. She didn't want activity shown on her file to alert anyone, and Starfleet Intelligence HQ especially. She knew her file was flagged by her personal pain in the ass, Damon Block. His clearance level was too low to know that the Federation still contracted her, so thinking that she was nothing but an agent gone rogue, he made it is his personal mission to hunt her down. So far he had not gotten enough to arrest her. What he didn't realize was that he kept T'Pal on her toes and she used him to keep herself alert.
Her clothes hid her injury from passers by, so she made it to sickbay without drawing any unwanted attention to herself. Bracing herself she stepped into the well-equipped, large medical facility of the station and made for the reception area.
The intern had his back to the doors, organizing a large wall unit that held a bank of padds. He had heard the all-too-familiar hiss of hydraulics and he turned, padd in hand. Bajoran ridges deepened slightly as he smiled. "How can we help you?"
"I am injured, I need medical attention," T'Pal stated matter-of-factly, panning what she saw of her environment. She was uncomfortable there and it showed.
He picked up on her stiffened body language and tone of voice, noting that she was of Vulcan descent but with Klingon ridges. Nodding, he said in a well-practiced script, "Of course, we'd be glad to assist you." He continued speaking as he set down the padd and came around the side of his desk. "Here, let's get you to a triage room." He swept his arm in the direction she was to go. Had she been Human, he would have put his arm around her to guide her. But Klingon and Vulcan women needed no such reassurance, and so he refrained, choosing instead to walk alongside.
"Where is your injury?" he asked, once they had entered a curtained exam area and he had motioned for her to sit on the side of the biobed.
"Under my right arm," she explained tightly. She had the pain under control, but it now threatened to surface. T'Pal didn't give any information she was not required, so she didn't elaborate and also didn't move to remove her clothing. The loose jacket was easy to get on, but even she realized that it would be considerably more uncomfortable to remove.
"I see. Alright, you'll need to..." he paused as he bent over to retrieve something from a cupboard, his body blocking her view, "...put this on, and then we'll have someone in to see you." He set a vacuum-sealed sterile gown, still in it's laundering package, on the biobed next to her. "If you require any assistance getting into the gown, I'll be right outside," he pointed at the curtained wall before them.
T'Pal clenched her jaws, but the proud Klingon would not give in to the logic to ask for assistance. "Thank you," she said and nodded sharply, taking the gown from him. As he stepped out, T'Pal began the process of removing her jacket, slipping off the left arm first and then mavouvering out off her right arm, which she held completely still against her side with her elbow bent. It was excruciating even to open a gap wide enough between her ribcage and her upper arm to slip the fabric off. She bit her teeth hard on each other to prevent herself from crying out.
When that was done, she sat on the biobed for a few moments to use her Vulcan mental discipline to supress the pain or at least control her reaction to it. She had enough knowledge of anotomy to know exactly what was going on in an armpit. Once she had reasonable control again she tore her shirt and pushed it over her pants to the floor. With one hand she opened the gown, but looking at it and where her injuries were, she discarded it.
She opened the curtain, with no regard to her naked upper body. The slice up her ribcage towards her armpit was barely visible because her arm covered it, but the dark patch of dried and fresh blood told it's own story of more that was going on there than met the eye. Even if she had little regard for her other cuts and bruises, she still looked like a warzone.
"I am ready," she said to the intern.
He turned, expecting to see the woman standing there in an unflattering flower-print robe. What met his gaze was a rather well-endowed bare chest. Unable to speak, he gulped and drug his unwilling eyes away from the more than pleasant display of female anatomy, in spite of bruising and visible signs of bleeding.
Ma'am..." he trailed off. Hormones and images flooded his brain unbidden, and he had difficulty concentrating. "Ma'am," he started again, "I think we should get you covered up." Moving his eyes anywhere but her exposed flesh, he backed her into the curtained cubicle, blocking her from view of passers-by. After closing the curtain behind him, he immediately went to the same cupboard that had held the gown and pulled out a pristine white sheet. "I saw the blood," he said, a pink flush rising up his neck to his cheeks. "Let's try this." He wrapped the sheet around her bare back and shoulders so her chest was covered and she could still hold her arm tight against her body. He cleared his throat noisily and added, "I'll get Doctor Stapleton for you right away."
The sheet did little to deter his imagination, and he reversed direction to exit the cubicle hastily. He took off toward the nurse's station at a fast walk, tapping his comm badge as he went. =^= Doctor Stapleton, this is Garsen Ronoc, you know, from the front desk? =^=
=^= Go ahead, Garsen, what's up? =^= Bridget replied, smiling. She liked the young man; he was a good kid.
=^= Uh... there's a lady here in triage who's got this thing, she's .... there's an injury. In her arm pit. Looks like she's bled and ...=^= his voice trailed off as he answered a question from one of the nurses. Bridget could hear the conversation as the nurse took control of the situation. After Garsen finished explaining to the nurse, Bridget heard the man tell Garsen that he'd meet Bridget in the woman's cubicle.
=^= I got all that, Garsen, you don't have to explain. I'll be there momentarily. =^=
=^= Thanks, Ma'am. =^= Garsen broke the connection and felt foolish for reacting so strongly to just the sight of the woman bare-chested. It wasn't like he'd never seen a naked lady. He just hadn't seen one quite so beautiful, in a really long time. He made his way back to the triage cubicle, and as he approached he could hear the nurse talking.
"....to clean the wound so the doctor can get a good look in there," Garsen heard the man say. He knew the nurse was looking at... what he didn't want any more help looking at. So he decided to go back to his desk. It was safer that way. Sort of.
Bridget approached Garsen just as he'd turned away from the curtain. "In here?" she asked, pointing. The young man nodded silently over his shoulder, and she caught the blush on his face. She chuckled to herself as she pulled the curtain aside, seeing Bruce cleaning a rather nasty looking gash in the woman's armpit. She had to smile, now understanding what had gotten Garsen all stirred up.
"Ouch. That looks painful," she said as she entered. "I'm Doctor Stapleton. What's your name?" she asked, preparing the med-arch to treat the wound.
As the Doctor approached, the unwiling patient looked up and assessed her quickly. At least she didn't seem to have a young, over-eager MO. "TPal," she answered. The Doctor seemed like a friendly type of Human, who would like to make her patients more comfortable, probably with a little small talk. Although the doctor might not try that with her, as she would recognize that she was half Vulcan, and would probably know that Vulcans didn't care for it.
The nurse worked carefully but firmly and the blood got cleared away enough to reveal the slice up her ribcage towards her armpit, where Persimone's knife cut her on the way upwards and then the deep gash in her armpit. A Human would have flinched or would have needed a pain killer before something like this should be attempted, but T'Pal just sat there. Only clenched jaws revealed her discomfort.
"Alright T'Pal, it'll be just a moment." Bridget finished setting up the Med-arch and bent to watch Bruce. "Yeah, make sure that area right there..." she trailed off as she pointed, knowing he understood.
Straightening, she looked to T'Pal. "While Bruce is irrigating all the coagulated blood, let's get the paperwork out of the way." She picked up a padd, filled in the patient's name and added the mixed race to it. Definitely not the touchy-feely kind, she said to herself.
T'Pal twisted her head to see what Bruce was up to, but then realized that it was not possible and studied the Doctor. "Will this take long?" she asked. She had a prize she wanted to claim and she was in a hurry to do so.
Bridget looked up briefly from entering patient information into the padd. "No, it won't. At least, from what I can see it won't. But we'll know more when you're scanned by the Med-arch." She returned to her form, looking at the next question. "Full name and rank?" It was possible the patient was a civilian, but with the base being more than half populated by military and diplomatic services, and Bridget's observation of the patient's bearing, she would bet money T'Pal was in some sort of service or other.
"T'Pal," she replied. "And I have my own business," she anticipated the next question. She did resign her commission from Starfleet and from her Agency employers, so she didn't need to mention her background. Of course, she didn't look like a typical business woman, though she had the assets to proove that she was good at her particular trade. When the nurse finished his cleaning, T'Pal leaned back and swung her legs on the biobed so that the Doctor could scan her. She had not been under a scan for a few years, and had not given it a second thought, but now she wondered how many of her old injuries would show up.
"Right," Bridget said, typing 'self-employed' in one of the boxes before settng down the padd. "Let's get the scan done first and then we'll get that wound closed." She pushed a button on the med-arch, and a small, glowing wall of light appeared between the arch and the biobed. The scan proceeded slowly down T'Pal's body, and Bree watched the readout on the overhead display. Areas on T'Pal's body were highlighted by red dots: she had been shot more than once, there looked to be evidence of prolonged torture. Both arms had at one time been broken, and she'd had multiple broken ribs, some of which were improperly healed.
Inside Bridget's head, all sorts of alarms were going off. Who the hell ARE you? she wanted to ask. But her ingrained training prevented her from blurting out the question in her head. Instead, she said, "I see that you've had some major injuries in the past. I'll need to pull up those records." To the nurse she said, "Bruce, get 'er started, and I'll be right back." Deciding to look up the patient's records at the nurse's station rather than doing so right in front of her, Bridget turned and left the room.
"There is no nee..." T'Pal started, but the woman was already out of the treatment area and her jaws bulged with the Klingon's temper, tampered only by the fact that she knew that a fuss would create suspicion. "Qul'vath!" she said softly, rambling a string of curses relating to the doctor's mother, grandmother, greatmother, pets, plants, friends and acquaintances.
Out at the nearest nurse's station, Bridget pulled up T'Pal's medical records. Pages upon pages were sealed, which surprised her. She saw the length of the record, which was huge even for someone who was of Klingon descent, for whom medical charts were always larger. Bridget noticed there had been a record of military service attached, with deployment in the Dominion War.
Returning to the treatment area, Bridget pulled aside the curtain. Bruce was using a dermal regenerator, having already knit the muscles and tendons back in place. "Just how did you get this injury, anyway?" Bridget asked without preamble.
T'Pal's hard eyes found those of the Doctor, even from where she was lying down. "Holodeck. I turned the safeties off. The fight got a bit out of hand," she said casually. Through lowered eyelids she searched the Doctor's face for clues to gauge her reaction to what she had seen or not seen. "I am a Security Consultant, I need to my reflexes sharp," she said, for once adding information beyond questions, but with a distinct purpose. In this way, she hoped to distract the doctor from her record and satisfy possible curiosity.
"I see," Bridget said slowly, not believing a word of it. Fortunately, the holosuite records would show whether or not the safeties had actually been turned off or not. It was a situation for station security to follow up on, because everyone knew the safeties in public holosuites were not allowed to be turned off by patrons. She made a mental note to follow up on letting Security know. Bruce finished sealing the wound just as Bridget finished filling out the treatment form. Bruce told T'Pal that she could sit up, and when she did, Bridget handed her a padd and stylus. "If you'll just sign here, and here," Bridget indicated two signature lines, "we'll transfer a copy to your padd at the front desk."
This was exactly the reason T'Pal wanted to avoid any visits to an infirmary. She wanted to grab the woman's arm and threaten her, but knew that would only cause more problems. "Can we have a moment please..." she asked instead, indicating that she wanted to be alone with the Doctor.
Bruce looked from one to the other. "Sure," he simply said, leaving his instruments on a tray and silently making his way out of the exit. He walked a short distance from the curtained exam area, outside of speaking distance but not too far out, lest the doctor shout. He leaned against a bulkhead, propping a foot behind himself. Folding his arms, he leaned back his head against the cool metal and closed his eyes.
When they were alone and T'Pal was satisfied that no one could overhear them, she spoke softly to the Doctor, "I know that you would be concerned about my injuries and protocol would require you to report my injury to security..." she said "I know the security protocols on a Space Station, I used to be Chief of Security on the Starbase Portal in the Third Fleet," she said. "But, because of my line of work, I would like to request that you do not alert security. I am sure you saw that large parts of my record is classified and that is with good reason. I don't want unnecessary activity to show on my record. It could alert the wrong people," she explained. She told the absolute truth, without saying much.
Bridget looked silently at T'Pal, searching her eyes for signs of deception. After a moment she said, "You realize this is highly illegal and I could be thrown in the brig for it." Even though she asked the question, the softness of her tone betrayed at least a willingness to consider violating the rules in this case. It was that last part, about alerting the wrong people, that got to her. Bridget tried to imagine being in the Klingon's shoes; images of 20th century spy stories flitted through her mind. Men in expensive tuxedos with little 25 caliber Baretta guns in their hands, and buxom women in shape-hugging gowns with Russian accents.
"Thank you," T'Pal said. It seemed that the fact that she had breached the programming to disable the safeties didn't raise further alarms with the Doctor. After all, she was a Doctor not a security officer, which was a good thing right now. "I appreciate your understanding," T'Pal said as she started to get dressed. She needed to trust the woman, but somehow she realized she probably could. "I will make sure I won't have to visit you again."
The irony of the statement amused Bridget, and she let it show in a slight smile. "Well, considering all the damage to your body that your scan showed, I have the sneaking suspicion that you'd visit again if you thought you could do it under the radar."
Now dressed and straightening herself to her full height, T'Pal cocked her head ever so slightly to the side, the side of her mouth lifting in a half smile. "That might be so, it seems that you would need a little excitement in your life....I could provide just that..." she said, a hint of the dry sense of humor she did possess.
Bridget burst out laughing, in full appreciation of the rare warmth coming from the Klingon's smile. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass. Your kind of excitement could get me killed." Speaking of getting me killed, she thought, her laughter fading, I'd better find Bruce and give him the lip zip before he tells someone she was here.
"You're free to go," Bridget began again, and then remembered poor Garsen at the front desk. One more person she'd have to tell to be quiet. "There's a secondary exit to your right," she pointed with her arm outstretched, "so you don't have to walk past the front desk."
T'Pal's smile widened. "Thank you, Doctor, if ever you need me, you can find me at the Box of Delights," she said and was gone, making use of the suggested exit.
::OFF::
A joint post from:
Ensign Bridget Stapleton
Doctor (General Practitioner)
Sickbay, DS5
&
T'Pal
Security Consultant of sorts
by Lieutenant T'Pal & Lieutenant Bridget Stapleton
Post Details
| Title | "Dammit Jim, I'm a doctor, not a security officer!" | |
| Mission | Judgement | |
| Author(s) | Lieutenant T'Pal & Lieutenant Bridget Stapleton | |
| Posted | Thu Sep 01, 2011 @ 4:58pm | |
| Location | Sickbay | |
| Timeline | BAckpost MD 37: 13hOO after Worthy opponent for a worthy prize |
[Earlier in Box of Delights holosuite]
T'Pal didn't let up now. It was becoming easier to break through the other woman's defenses. Unexpectedly, she ducked a fast slice over her left, and using the momentum, she planted a hard kick firmly in Persimone's gut, sending her backwards. Following through she launched forward again immediately. This time her knife dug deep into Persimone's thigh.
Even as the blade was sliding in, the Bokkai grabbed T'Pal's wrist, holding her in position for a brief moment. Brief, but long enough to ram her own knife up under T'Pal's arm into the exposed armpit, and twist hard. The crystal knife glanced off the toughened muscle of the Half-Klingon's rib cage, and moved up. Persimone twisted savagely, and the edge severed tendons, missing the artery by nanometers.
[Now]
After her victory in Yolanthe's holodeck programme, T'Pal had to get to sickbay. It was a risk. She didn't want activity shown on her file to alert anyone, and Starfleet Intelligence HQ especially. She knew her file was flagged by her personal pain in the ass, Damon Block. His clearance level was too low to know that the Federation still contracted her, so thinking that she was nothing but an agent gone rogue, he made it is his personal mission to hunt her down. So far he had not gotten enough to arrest her. What he didn't realize was that he kept T'Pal on her toes and she used him to keep herself alert.
Her clothes hid her injury from passers by, so she made it to sickbay without drawing any unwanted attention to herself. Bracing herself she stepped into the well-equipped, large medical facility of the station and made for the reception area.
The intern had his back to the doors, organizing a large wall unit that held a bank of padds. He had heard the all-too-familiar hiss of hydraulics and he turned, padd in hand. Bajoran ridges deepened slightly as he smiled. "How can we help you?"
"I am injured, I need medical attention," T'Pal stated matter-of-factly, panning what she saw of her environment. She was uncomfortable there and it showed.
He picked up on her stiffened body language and tone of voice, noting that she was of Vulcan descent but with Klingon ridges. Nodding, he said in a well-practiced script, "Of course, we'd be glad to assist you." He continued speaking as he set down the padd and came around the side of his desk. "Here, let's get you to a triage room." He swept his arm in the direction she was to go. Had she been Human, he would have put his arm around her to guide her. But Klingon and Vulcan women needed no such reassurance, and so he refrained, choosing instead to walk alongside.
"Where is your injury?" he asked, once they had entered a curtained exam area and he had motioned for her to sit on the side of the biobed.
"Under my right arm," she explained tightly. She had the pain under control, but it now threatened to surface. T'Pal didn't give any information she was not required, so she didn't elaborate and also didn't move to remove her clothing. The loose jacket was easy to get on, but even she realized that it would be considerably more uncomfortable to remove.
"I see. Alright, you'll need to..." he paused as he bent over to retrieve something from a cupboard, his body blocking her view, "...put this on, and then we'll have someone in to see you." He set a vacuum-sealed sterile gown, still in it's laundering package, on the biobed next to her. "If you require any assistance getting into the gown, I'll be right outside," he pointed at the curtained wall before them.
T'Pal clenched her jaws, but the proud Klingon would not give in to the logic to ask for assistance. "Thank you," she said and nodded sharply, taking the gown from him. As he stepped out, T'Pal began the process of removing her jacket, slipping off the left arm first and then mavouvering out off her right arm, which she held completely still against her side with her elbow bent. It was excruciating even to open a gap wide enough between her ribcage and her upper arm to slip the fabric off. She bit her teeth hard on each other to prevent herself from crying out.
When that was done, she sat on the biobed for a few moments to use her Vulcan mental discipline to supress the pain or at least control her reaction to it. She had enough knowledge of anotomy to know exactly what was going on in an armpit. Once she had reasonable control again she tore her shirt and pushed it over her pants to the floor. With one hand she opened the gown, but looking at it and where her injuries were, she discarded it.
She opened the curtain, with no regard to her naked upper body. The slice up her ribcage towards her armpit was barely visible because her arm covered it, but the dark patch of dried and fresh blood told it's own story of more that was going on there than met the eye. Even if she had little regard for her other cuts and bruises, she still looked like a warzone.
"I am ready," she said to the intern.
He turned, expecting to see the woman standing there in an unflattering flower-print robe. What met his gaze was a rather well-endowed bare chest. Unable to speak, he gulped and drug his unwilling eyes away from the more than pleasant display of female anatomy, in spite of bruising and visible signs of bleeding.
Ma'am..." he trailed off. Hormones and images flooded his brain unbidden, and he had difficulty concentrating. "Ma'am," he started again, "I think we should get you covered up." Moving his eyes anywhere but her exposed flesh, he backed her into the curtained cubicle, blocking her from view of passers-by. After closing the curtain behind him, he immediately went to the same cupboard that had held the gown and pulled out a pristine white sheet. "I saw the blood," he said, a pink flush rising up his neck to his cheeks. "Let's try this." He wrapped the sheet around her bare back and shoulders so her chest was covered and she could still hold her arm tight against her body. He cleared his throat noisily and added, "I'll get Doctor Stapleton for you right away."
The sheet did little to deter his imagination, and he reversed direction to exit the cubicle hastily. He took off toward the nurse's station at a fast walk, tapping his comm badge as he went. =^= Doctor Stapleton, this is Garsen Ronoc, you know, from the front desk? =^=
=^= Go ahead, Garsen, what's up? =^= Bridget replied, smiling. She liked the young man; he was a good kid.
=^= Uh... there's a lady here in triage who's got this thing, she's .... there's an injury. In her arm pit. Looks like she's bled and ...=^= his voice trailed off as he answered a question from one of the nurses. Bridget could hear the conversation as the nurse took control of the situation. After Garsen finished explaining to the nurse, Bridget heard the man tell Garsen that he'd meet Bridget in the woman's cubicle.
=^= I got all that, Garsen, you don't have to explain. I'll be there momentarily. =^=
=^= Thanks, Ma'am. =^= Garsen broke the connection and felt foolish for reacting so strongly to just the sight of the woman bare-chested. It wasn't like he'd never seen a naked lady. He just hadn't seen one quite so beautiful, in a really long time. He made his way back to the triage cubicle, and as he approached he could hear the nurse talking.
"....to clean the wound so the doctor can get a good look in there," Garsen heard the man say. He knew the nurse was looking at... what he didn't want any more help looking at. So he decided to go back to his desk. It was safer that way. Sort of.
Bridget approached Garsen just as he'd turned away from the curtain. "In here?" she asked, pointing. The young man nodded silently over his shoulder, and she caught the blush on his face. She chuckled to herself as she pulled the curtain aside, seeing Bruce cleaning a rather nasty looking gash in the woman's armpit. She had to smile, now understanding what had gotten Garsen all stirred up.
"Ouch. That looks painful," she said as she entered. "I'm Doctor Stapleton. What's your name?" she asked, preparing the med-arch to treat the wound.
As the Doctor approached, the unwiling patient looked up and assessed her quickly. At least she didn't seem to have a young, over-eager MO. "TPal," she answered. The Doctor seemed like a friendly type of Human, who would like to make her patients more comfortable, probably with a little small talk. Although the doctor might not try that with her, as she would recognize that she was half Vulcan, and would probably know that Vulcans didn't care for it.
The nurse worked carefully but firmly and the blood got cleared away enough to reveal the slice up her ribcage towards her armpit, where Persimone's knife cut her on the way upwards and then the deep gash in her armpit. A Human would have flinched or would have needed a pain killer before something like this should be attempted, but T'Pal just sat there. Only clenched jaws revealed her discomfort.
"Alright T'Pal, it'll be just a moment." Bridget finished setting up the Med-arch and bent to watch Bruce. "Yeah, make sure that area right there..." she trailed off as she pointed, knowing he understood.
Straightening, she looked to T'Pal. "While Bruce is irrigating all the coagulated blood, let's get the paperwork out of the way." She picked up a padd, filled in the patient's name and added the mixed race to it. Definitely not the touchy-feely kind, she said to herself.
T'Pal twisted her head to see what Bruce was up to, but then realized that it was not possible and studied the Doctor. "Will this take long?" she asked. She had a prize she wanted to claim and she was in a hurry to do so.
Bridget looked up briefly from entering patient information into the padd. "No, it won't. At least, from what I can see it won't. But we'll know more when you're scanned by the Med-arch." She returned to her form, looking at the next question. "Full name and rank?" It was possible the patient was a civilian, but with the base being more than half populated by military and diplomatic services, and Bridget's observation of the patient's bearing, she would bet money T'Pal was in some sort of service or other.
"T'Pal," she replied. "And I have my own business," she anticipated the next question. She did resign her commission from Starfleet and from her Agency employers, so she didn't need to mention her background. Of course, she didn't look like a typical business woman, though she had the assets to proove that she was good at her particular trade. When the nurse finished his cleaning, T'Pal leaned back and swung her legs on the biobed so that the Doctor could scan her. She had not been under a scan for a few years, and had not given it a second thought, but now she wondered how many of her old injuries would show up.
"Right," Bridget said, typing 'self-employed' in one of the boxes before settng down the padd. "Let's get the scan done first and then we'll get that wound closed." She pushed a button on the med-arch, and a small, glowing wall of light appeared between the arch and the biobed. The scan proceeded slowly down T'Pal's body, and Bree watched the readout on the overhead display. Areas on T'Pal's body were highlighted by red dots: she had been shot more than once, there looked to be evidence of prolonged torture. Both arms had at one time been broken, and she'd had multiple broken ribs, some of which were improperly healed.
Inside Bridget's head, all sorts of alarms were going off. Who the hell ARE you? she wanted to ask. But her ingrained training prevented her from blurting out the question in her head. Instead, she said, "I see that you've had some major injuries in the past. I'll need to pull up those records." To the nurse she said, "Bruce, get 'er started, and I'll be right back." Deciding to look up the patient's records at the nurse's station rather than doing so right in front of her, Bridget turned and left the room.
"There is no nee..." T'Pal started, but the woman was already out of the treatment area and her jaws bulged with the Klingon's temper, tampered only by the fact that she knew that a fuss would create suspicion. "Qul'vath!" she said softly, rambling a string of curses relating to the doctor's mother, grandmother, greatmother, pets, plants, friends and acquaintances.
Out at the nearest nurse's station, Bridget pulled up T'Pal's medical records. Pages upon pages were sealed, which surprised her. She saw the length of the record, which was huge even for someone who was of Klingon descent, for whom medical charts were always larger. Bridget noticed there had been a record of military service attached, with deployment in the Dominion War.
Returning to the treatment area, Bridget pulled aside the curtain. Bruce was using a dermal regenerator, having already knit the muscles and tendons back in place. "Just how did you get this injury, anyway?" Bridget asked without preamble.
T'Pal's hard eyes found those of the Doctor, even from where she was lying down. "Holodeck. I turned the safeties off. The fight got a bit out of hand," she said casually. Through lowered eyelids she searched the Doctor's face for clues to gauge her reaction to what she had seen or not seen. "I am a Security Consultant, I need to my reflexes sharp," she said, for once adding information beyond questions, but with a distinct purpose. In this way, she hoped to distract the doctor from her record and satisfy possible curiosity.
"I see," Bridget said slowly, not believing a word of it. Fortunately, the holosuite records would show whether or not the safeties had actually been turned off or not. It was a situation for station security to follow up on, because everyone knew the safeties in public holosuites were not allowed to be turned off by patrons. She made a mental note to follow up on letting Security know. Bruce finished sealing the wound just as Bridget finished filling out the treatment form. Bruce told T'Pal that she could sit up, and when she did, Bridget handed her a padd and stylus. "If you'll just sign here, and here," Bridget indicated two signature lines, "we'll transfer a copy to your padd at the front desk."
This was exactly the reason T'Pal wanted to avoid any visits to an infirmary. She wanted to grab the woman's arm and threaten her, but knew that would only cause more problems. "Can we have a moment please..." she asked instead, indicating that she wanted to be alone with the Doctor.
Bruce looked from one to the other. "Sure," he simply said, leaving his instruments on a tray and silently making his way out of the exit. He walked a short distance from the curtained exam area, outside of speaking distance but not too far out, lest the doctor shout. He leaned against a bulkhead, propping a foot behind himself. Folding his arms, he leaned back his head against the cool metal and closed his eyes.
When they were alone and T'Pal was satisfied that no one could overhear them, she spoke softly to the Doctor, "I know that you would be concerned about my injuries and protocol would require you to report my injury to security..." she said "I know the security protocols on a Space Station, I used to be Chief of Security on the Starbase Portal in the Third Fleet," she said. "But, because of my line of work, I would like to request that you do not alert security. I am sure you saw that large parts of my record is classified and that is with good reason. I don't want unnecessary activity to show on my record. It could alert the wrong people," she explained. She told the absolute truth, without saying much.
Bridget looked silently at T'Pal, searching her eyes for signs of deception. After a moment she said, "You realize this is highly illegal and I could be thrown in the brig for it." Even though she asked the question, the softness of her tone betrayed at least a willingness to consider violating the rules in this case. It was that last part, about alerting the wrong people, that got to her. Bridget tried to imagine being in the Klingon's shoes; images of 20th century spy stories flitted through her mind. Men in expensive tuxedos with little 25 caliber Baretta guns in their hands, and buxom women in shape-hugging gowns with Russian accents.
"Thank you," T'Pal said. It seemed that the fact that she had breached the programming to disable the safeties didn't raise further alarms with the Doctor. After all, she was a Doctor not a security officer, which was a good thing right now. "I appreciate your understanding," T'Pal said as she started to get dressed. She needed to trust the woman, but somehow she realized she probably could. "I will make sure I won't have to visit you again."
The irony of the statement amused Bridget, and she let it show in a slight smile. "Well, considering all the damage to your body that your scan showed, I have the sneaking suspicion that you'd visit again if you thought you could do it under the radar."
Now dressed and straightening herself to her full height, T'Pal cocked her head ever so slightly to the side, the side of her mouth lifting in a half smile. "That might be so, it seems that you would need a little excitement in your life....I could provide just that..." she said, a hint of the dry sense of humor she did possess.
Bridget burst out laughing, in full appreciation of the rare warmth coming from the Klingon's smile. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass. Your kind of excitement could get me killed." Speaking of getting me killed, she thought, her laughter fading, I'd better find Bruce and give him the lip zip before he tells someone she was here.
"You're free to go," Bridget began again, and then remembered poor Garsen at the front desk. One more person she'd have to tell to be quiet. "There's a secondary exit to your right," she pointed with her arm outstretched, "so you don't have to walk past the front desk."
T'Pal's smile widened. "Thank you, Doctor, if ever you need me, you can find me at the Box of Delights," she said and was gone, making use of the suggested exit.
::OFF::
A joint post from:
Ensign Bridget Stapleton
Doctor (General Practitioner)
Sickbay, DS5
&
T'Pal
Security Consultant of sorts