JDL | Cmdr Rush, Cmdr Valeese | "Not Chocolate"

Posted on Fri Nov 10th, 2017 @ 5:22pm by Commander Valeese Stacker

Pensive silence made up the majority of a lunch shared by the two doctors, and Mic would be the first one to say that that was perfectly alright in his book. Trauma, both physical and emotional, worked its way out in many ways. The bruising would long fade, but what existed in the soul would often sit and fester long after the last tinges of angry purples, greens, and yellows had been absorbed by the body. The mere fact that she’d accepted his presence, let alone been the one to call him and ask him for his company, meant more to him than could be described by words and words alone. The woman wanted to understand and heal, and that resonated deeply within him. Things would have to move at her pace, though, he refused to push when things were still so fresh and wild and unruly within her.

The sight of the bruises, the striations that had come along with her artificially healed muscle tears, pained him to see. They stood out against her pale skin and the thin straps of her tank top did next to nothing to disguise or cover them. They were there, wide open, for him to observe and trace with his quiet, practiced eyes. How anyone could have wanted to hurt someone as precious as her made little to no sense to him. Could they really see her only as a Vorta? Could they not see the soul living and flickering vibrantly behind those wide, innocent violet eyes? Heartbreaking, really. “So… Melts… Your opinion?” He asked, grabbing a napkin to remove any stray bits of cheese from his mouth and beard.

Valeese looked up from where she was in the middle of navigating what he’d called a ‘panini’. Hot turkey, prosciutto, three different types of cheeses, sundried tomatoes, basil pesto… All pressed and heated on bread she couldn’t quite describe but left her mouth indelibly happy. “I should have been born human… And somewhere in the general region of Italy.” She smiled, resting her elbows on her knees. Sitting on her couch ‘Indian Style’ had been a far better idea than setting the table in order to eat these works of art. He’d been right when he’d called them comfort food, then again… Mic was always right when it came to things that left her warm and fuzzy even in the aftermath of things that left her prickly, hurt, and downright distressed. Another bite of the trophy in her hand seemed to emphasize the fact that she was enjoying both her lunch and the little session they were having. A talk between friends, yes, but with a purpose other than nourishment and the enjoyment of company.

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Mic answered after a swallow of soda, his head shaking emphatically as he recovered from the fresh sting of carbonation, “You should have been born exactly as you are, Lee, no different. It’s not your fault that people around you are blind to everything but the physical manifestation of what they contrive to be…” He searched for the word as he fished a bit of tomato off the wrapper in his lap.

“Evil?” She piped up, “Ugly? Dangerous? Traitorous? Parasitic?” More adjectives, all of them having been thrown her way at one point or another in her life, flew from her mouth without abandon. “It’s more than just the Bajoran creeper, Mic, it’s every time an officer walks into my office or sees me in the corridors.” Her voice was flat as she spoke, almost defeated, and she shrugged as if kissing the notion goodbye – the Gods, and the witchdoctor, would know that it remained behind as a black cloud.

It was the Australian’s turn to sigh, “Whatever they see you as is because they don’t have the fortitude or the creativity or the open mind necessary not to paint everyone with the same brush.” The wrapped in his lap crunched slightly as he sat the remaining bit of his sandwich down to facilitate the motions of his hands as he spoke, “Humans are classically notorious for bias and prejudice, actually, you know that. You’re a book worm. Before we had aliens to turn their noses up at, we went to war against and alienated members of our own societies for no reason other than physical and cultural differences, some so minute it’s ridiculous. None of it was right, we’re ashamed of it, but yet we do it all again. Most of the core world cultures are similar in that regard, you know? Elitist in thinking they’re superior to one another…” His eyes rolled, and a disdainful snort passed through his nostrils with a shake of his head, “I blame it on our common ancestor. Has to be a genetic trait that triggers something in our brains and short circuits as a multi-species wide personality flaw.”

“I can… Appreciate that? I guess? But that doesn’t solve the fact that I feel lost and uncomfortable every time I step out on the promenade or the fact that I keep my back against a wall and note my escape options every time I’m near Commander th’Zarath.” Her turn for shrug number whatever.

“Commander th’Zarath?” He asked, “Really?” Mic perked up with both eyebrows raised, “You’re afraid of the Andorian Engineer?”

“You would be too if he was three times your size and looked at you as if he wondered what your corpse would look like decorating his bedroom floor.”

The Australian choked on a bit of turkey and quickly finished his bite of food, reaching to grab one of the Vorta’s delicate little hands, “No no no, listen…” He cleared his throat of any remaining bits trying to obstruct his airways, “The more you hide from people like him, like the Bajoran, like the merchants and whatever, the more they think you have something to hide. You don’t!” He smiled brightly, squeezing the hand he held, “You’re a wonderful person, Lee. Someday they’re going to see you as you really are. Just be you, don’t hide, and if necessary… Take a stand and make it known how you feel.” Patting her hand, he released it, “Now… Allow me to indulge you with a different kind of depression chaser…” He added, pulling a cover off another container on the coffee table in front of them.

Valeese peeked over at it, digesting what he’d just said and realizing it was meant to be stored away and not responded to or challenged. It was his order for ‘treatment’ – an attempt to cure her insecurities and blues… With luck it would come to pass that it would work. If not? Her shoulder ached at the thought. “Not… Chocolate?”

“Not chocolate." Mic grinned, grabbing a spoon, "Close your eyes, open your mouth and just experience the wonder of tiramisu, Lee. Call it a trust exercise.”

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Commander Mitchell ‘Mic’ Rush
Chief Counselor
COLD STATION THETA, SB-1170

Commander Valeese
Chief Medical Officer
COLD STATION THETA, SB-1170