JDL | CDR Valeese, LCDR Stacker | "TBD"

Posted on Thu Oct 12th, 2017 @ 6:24pm by Commander Valeese Stacker & Commander James Stacker

Mission: The Round Table
Location: Sickbay | Cold Station Theta

Getting to medical, from intelligence, was normally a straightforward procedure. One simply exited the door, took a right, and went five frames outboard before catching a turbolift car that arrived in a matter of minutes. Today, however, was not normal: Stacker found himself thoroughly tested by the fact that it took over twenty minutes for a car to arrive. Courtesy of the engineers and their maintenance, whose memo he'd missed until he found himself standing in a corridor with an ensigns, three lieutenants, two civilians, and a Horta that quickly announced its intention to 'seek alternate transport.'

Much to everyone's relief.

It was almost as much of an equal relief when the doors, with the stylized double-snaked medical caduceus symbol from ancient Greek mythology, came into sight. Stepping through confirmed he had indeed found his way to the reception area of medical. "Lieutenant Commander Stacker to see the Chief Medical Officer, if she's available," he told the receptionist. "Routine physical."

"Looks like it's your lucky day, Commander." Valeese was just finishing with a patient and had left an exam room to grab a quick cup of coffee when her sensitive ears had picked up on the request. The fact that they were over a corridor and a half away at the time made no difference, a voice like that would have been clear as day even from the other side of the entire deck. She offered him a small smile, gesturing towards a clean, open exam room, "Have a seat in here and we'll begin."

"Thanks," he said with a courtesy nod to her, eyes going to the room as he walked through the door. Meticulously sterile, everything no doubt tucked away where it belonged; he'd spent enough time in a few sickbays to know that most were like this. Was it a bad thing that he was used to them, despite not being a medical officer himself? Mentally he kicked himself for the momentary lapse into indulgence and took a seat on the biobed, eyes going back to the Vorta in the medical-blue Starfleet uniform. Now that was something you didn't see every day ...

Eyes. Always eyes. While hers were different - shining violet in a world where blue, brown, and hazel dominated - they were relatively useless. She could see, but after three or so feet, her world became of blur of color and light only discernible and navigable with thanks to her keenly honed other senses, especially hearing and a little sixth sense merely described as over developed empathy. She could feel his eyes boring holes into the space between her shoulder blades, trying to figure out exactly why she was there and how she'd got there and, like the Commander had so eloquently put, whether or not she had a Founder hiding in a bucket somewhere. The thought made her smirk. This one was likely to be a tough customer, intel grey lined his well-toned neck, and something in his eyes threatened to make the baby fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

"This won't take long at all, just a few scans and a few questions. Let's begin, shall we?" Valeese smiled as she calibrated the bed and took hold of the tri-corder that would list the results of every analyses she requested. "Do you smoke, Commander? Starfleet has been noticing an upswing in the habit ever since the war. We're now required to ask."

It was an unsurprising question. In the special-operations community, where dwell times on the frontier were far below regular Starfleet units, people - humans and aliens alike - had done what they could to cope with the stress. Smoking, gambling, he'd even seen a man take up wood carving. Little idols from his homeworld's pantheon of gods. But as for himself and smoking - "No. I don't." Which wasn't to say that he hadn't flirted with the idea in the darker hours. A small part of his mind wondered whether that was still a good decision. Maybe a pipe someday...

"Oh good," Valeese nodded appreciatively, "Explains your excellent oh-two saturation. Good clean lungs, always a benefit." She prattled on a bit, checking off the little box, "How about drinking? Moderate? Excessive? Sometimes? Never?" This time she didn't bother to look at him. He was iron and she vaguely wondered if he'd lost his ability to smile somewhere along the way. Intel officers were rarely friendly sorts, friendships were weaknesses and left them able to be exploited for the sake of emotion. Her brow furrowed as she considered it. While she herself was mainly a loner, the lack of companionship or trust would inevitably drive her loony. Sneaking a quick peek back at him, this time to appreciate the picture of him, she decided that it was a waste of a life. Handsome man, quiet but showing signs of intelligence, pity indeed.

He'd been expecting the question, and thus being lost in immediate thought missed her peek. After eight years - almost nine - of service, one got used to the same questions being asked time and time again. The right corner of his mouth quirked, but only slightly, in amusement until he focused on the question. Then it flattened out again. God, when was the last time he'd had a stiff drink? It'd been at least - his brow furrowed in thought. "Um. Sometimes." Unusually for him, there was a slight note of pause there. He'd never really been a stiff drinker. Not like other personnel he'd served with, who seemed to take pride in getting hammered on a regular basis. But damn. Has it really been that long? His eyes blinked and he gave a slight shake of his head, looking back at her, unconsciously reverting to his normal ironbound self. "Definitely sometimes."

Another tick in the appropriate box and the Vorta smiled inwardly, "Thank you for your honesty, Commander, I'd hate to have to find out otherwise. You'd be surprised how many people lie." She drawled as she crab stepped to the side and pressed another button on the monitors near the bed, comparing notes with the tricorder she kept handy, "Any recreational use of drugs?" Of course not, not with vitals like his and numbers coming in that promised the man was at peak performance and entering the prime of his life without much to worry about. Such a waste.

That question did elicit a deep-seated chuckle of amusement, which came out as more akin to a rumble than anything else. It never failed. Every time this physical happened, that question always amused. What idiot, one might ask, was going to outright lie to a doctor in the middle of a sickbay about drug use? Yet he'd actually heard about it happening not once, but twice. One of them at a command he was stationed at... "No. I may be many things, but a drug user isn't one of them." The quirk in the corner of his mouth started to smooth itself out as he managed to get beyond the question, in his mind.

An eyebrow quirked at the sound of his amusement and it helped to elevate the corners of her own mouth. There was proof that he wasn't completely devoid of emotion or some form of passion, and that left Valeese feeling a bit more... Vindicated? Comforted for sure, he wasn't a sociopath in the strictest sense of the word - at least that would let her sleep easier at night. "Absurd, I know, but it still has to be asked and the little box that says 'no' given a check mark. If I felt you were a drug user... Well... We won't wander down that road. It isn't pleasant." She all but purred in her own amusement before tufting a little sigh and clearing her throat, "Anything I should know about? Headaches? Migraines? Aches and pains? A deep rooted belief that sentient puddles are coming to rule the universe? Caffeine reliance?" Each question, offer, was deadpanned and easily rolled from her tongue as she ended the diagnostic portion and began to tabulate the results.

He would've gone straight to answering her questions, were it not for the sigh. And the note of amusement. His thoughts temporarily, briefly, halted to make a note, eyes seemingly back to burning holes - professional holes of curiosity - in her as his head tilted slightly to the side. After that second or two of pause he collected his thoughts again. "I saw a Horta on the way here, so sentient puddles might exist. And there may be a note in my file about a recurrent eye problem. It's still there." He should know. Getting up at 0300 on the transport had resulted in momentary disorientation, when the starlight seemed to be occluded by a dark mist-like shroud in one eye.

"A Horta?" Her eyes flicked back to him, watching him watch her, "How fascinating. They always reminded me of under cooked meatloaf." She shrugged and found herself taking a seat on the rolling stool in the office, scooting it towards the biobed as they spoke, "There is, Commander, I was actually poking at that honesty button again. You passed the test," This time the amusement remained a little while longer, though not exactly at his expense. While she was certain there was something more to him resting beneath that stony surface, it wasn't her job to extract him from whatever safety blanket he'd created for his emotions. Instead, his eye became her target and she did what she could to ignore the rest as she leaned in, "My hands may be a little warm." She warned him as she touched his cheek and fuzz covered jaw, gently applying pressure to move his head in one direction or another to see how the light played in the eye. "An explosion did this? I don't see much that can be fixed just by looking. The question becomes whether or not you want me to go deeper? Does it trouble you enough to consider other options?" She asked, her nose twitching slightly as she compiled thoughts and reached for another instrument, one that would give her a better look at the inner workings of the eye.

No sign of a foreign object, no sign of any hint of a detachment to the retina or cataract or scar - at least not that she could immediately see. Just the galaxy like swirl of colors from his iris and the vague outline of his optic nerve as he focused on light and movement. "Could be pressure or degeneration of some sort... I still don't see anything that leaves me overly concerned." Valeese nodded as she released him from her touch and sat back, crossing her legs and settling in to take quick notes.

She was right: her hands were warm. In another day and age he might have taken note of it. Were he something more than what he was, here and now, he might have even enjoyed the lingering tactile sensation when she eventually let go of his cheek and jaw. "Well that's good," he replied, evenly and steadily. "I like my eyes. Other than ... this. Whatever it is. But like the file says it happens mostly at night, and sometimes in low-light conditions, and, well ..." he shot a meaningful look towards the ceiling, with its light fixture providing steady illumination, before looking back at her. The corner of his mouth quirked in amusement. A dark starbase? That'd be the day. "I think it can be left alone for the moment."

"Yes. Well," She caught the gesture, the meaning behind it, and couldn't help but allow him a wry little smile, "I'm inclined to agree with your assessment, but," Valeese shrugged, looking up briefly from her final pennings, "if it starts to bug you, you know where to find me. In the meantime, Commander Stacker, you appear to be in perfect health," even if you are a hard ass, she thought, "and free to go do the things you can't speak about to anyone under a certain clearance. My only recommendations are that you consider using a blinder at night to help rest the optic nerve, see if total darkness and lack of stimuli helps at all."

"I appreciate the release from purgatory, Doctor," he assured her in his most serious and grave tone, underscored by the quieter thumping of his boots as he got off the biobed. There was no telltale sign that he was joking, other than the brutally-large fact that this physical hadn't found almost a single thing wrong with him. "I'll see about replicating a blinder tonight." He did stop, momentarily, in the doorway, to look back at her with a slightly-amused look on his face as something clicked in his mind. "Oh, and do let me know if you see any sentient puddles on the station. Intel's down on Deck 60; I'll send a team up for ... exploitation purposes."

"I'm sure you do." She mused, saving her work and setting the PADD down. At least he wasn't expecting a sucker, and his brand of humor was slowly, but certainly, making itself known. The thought that he was wasted on a profession that left no room for that spark wasn't far from the forefront of her mind, especially when he paused mid-stride and recited what he had. It was hard for her to maintain her own poker face, but she managed by the grace of the Gods, "Yes yes," She nodded, "Of course. Commander Satie has already told me that flushing any additional sentient puddles was strictly forbidden. Looks like you get all the fun after all."

He gave her a nod, an eyebrow raised at the mention of 'flushing any additional sentient puddles', but content to let it slide. "Understood. On that note, I really should be getting down to intelligence. Exciting and clandestine things to do after all." His hand came up, rapping knuckles on the doorframe before he headed down the hall, tossing a parting shot in his wake. "Enjoy your day Doctor. Try not to kill too many civilians."

---

Commander Valeese
Chief Medical Officer
Cold Station Theta, SB-1170

Lieutenant Commander James Stacker
Chief Intelligence Officer
Cold Station Theta, SB-1170