Lieutenant JG Amelia Semara - In Every Way That Matters, Part 2

[Max]

(( Shuttlebay, Deck 2, USS Khitomer, En Route to Alpha Trionus II ))

Inside the mostly-empty expanse of the shuttlebay (aside from the shabby, falling apart Ouachita), Amelia was already halfway to the large doors. She only made it to a stack of crates when Othin's husky voice stopped in her tracks.

Othin: Where are you going?

Amelia stopped and stared up at the looming Klingon nurse.

Semara: To sickbay?

Looking at the toothy Klingon nurse and all her muscle, it was a question rather than a firm answer.

Othin: I need your marrow.  Not you.

Semara: But Tori...?  :: Faltering :: Can I see her?

Othin: No.

Semara: Why not?

Othin: Because.  :: Beat :: Now.  Your marrow.  Here is fine.  :: Motioning to a crate ::

The lack of answer from Othin was met with all kinds of possibilities in Amelia's mind.  Tori was too sick.  Tori was contagious, somehow.  Maybe some doctor-patient confidentiality thing.  Then the one that stuck: Tori simply didn't want to see her.  Her eyes flashed a few times, unwilling to let that idea win just yet.

Semara: Yes, 'course.  As much as you need.

Amelia simply turned and sat, oblivious to the mild numbing agent injected into her hip and the discomfort of a rather forceful extraction of a small bit of bone marrow destined for her daughter.  The procedure was startlingly quick.  Ordinarily, fascination with the process and the biology would have kept Amelia chattering the whole time, but not now.  Othin seemed perfectly fine with silence.

Othin: Done.  If you notice swelling or bruising, remember pain brings honor.

If Amelia didn't know better, that sounded suspiciously close to something other than Othin's trademark mean disgruntlement.  She made a mental note: swelling or bruising?  Go to sickbay.

The Klingon stalked off, marrow sample in hand, and Amelia was alone.

In the quiet, it all came crashing down.  The knot in her stomach balled up and twisted until her chest tightened, then her neck, then every muscle in her face clenched until the tension was squeezing tears out.  She couldn't even be sure what she was crying about.  All of it, really.

Between the spasms, she fought with her breath to reclaim herself.  Going back in the shuttle like this wasn't an option.  The last thing she wanted to hear was another theory how Tori wasn't hers, however right or wrong it might be.  If Tori wasn't her daughter, why did this hurt so much?  Why would she give her own marrow without even a single question?  Why did she want to just hold Tori and feed her and beg her to find some other way out of this madness?  Why did she need reconciliation before Tori was torn away from this timeline the way Amelia was in another?

Every question just meant another tear rolling down her cheek.   For a moment, she let her mind crawl along that connection she'd had to Tori ever since she'd come aboard.  It was still there, no longer pulling at her, but it was stretched out and weak now.  It would have been trivial to just a little further and actually make telepathic contact.  What if the first time was why Tori was in sickbay?  Her fingers tightened around the crate's lid clamp until they ached and she had to let go.

She had to do something.  She wasn't wanted or needed in sickbay.  May as well soldier on with the shuttle - there might be an answer in there.  Maybe not to any of her questions, but to someone's.

She wiped her face, took a full breath, and pressed her badge.

Semara: =/\= Semara to Ohnari. =/\=

Ohnari: =/\= Response =/\=

Semara: =/\= Othin was just here... :: Beat :: Just... :: Hesitating :: Tell me she ain't dyin'? =/\=

There was nothing to be done about the waver in her voice, or the way it rattled from recently crying.  Talia would understand.

Ohnari: =/\= Response =/\=

Semara: =/\= No, no, it's okay, I understand, I just... I needed to know that much.  Lemme know if there's anythin' else I can do? =/\=

Ohnari: =/\= Response =/\= 

Semara: =/\= Thanks.  :: Beat :: And Talia?  Tell Tori - =/\=

Tell her what?  Maybe it was easier for Connor or Talia to see things more clearly.  They had no inexplicable telepathic connection to their child from the future.  But the moment she had the thought, she knew that wasn't true.  The resemblance was so clear, the influence of all of them...

Semara: =/\= Tell her I'm here if she wants.  :: Beat :: And I'm thinkin' of you, too...  Talk soon? =/\=

Ohnari: =/\= Response =/\=

Semara: =/\= Okay.  And thanks again.  Semara out. =/\=

Back on her feet, the spot in her hip bone was already coming back to life and starting to ache.  Amelia marched over to the replicator.  First, it was a glass of water to calm her scratchy throat.  Then it was a tissue to blow her nose.  Finally, it was a set of makeup to clean up her stained, smudged face.  An indulgence, perhaps, but an important one.  Momma had once said the right makeup was like warpaint - a woman could face almost anything if she was still feeling pretty.

It was hard not to laugh at the silliness of it in the tiny makeup mirror even if, in truth, the short ritual of it did make her feel that little bit more powerful and poised again.  Did Amelia's future self ever share that morsel of wisdom with Tori?

Right - back to the shuttle.  One more breath.  One more step.  Out of an abundance of caution she knocked as she re-entered the Ouachita.

(( Inside the Ouachita, Shuttlebay, Deck 2, USS Khitomer, En Route to Alpha Trionus II ))

She didn't allow time for questions about how she got back so quickly, perhaps because it wasn't the time, or maybe, more simply, because she needed to believe she could do this.

Semara: How are we doin' with those logs?  How can I help?

Michaels / Zerva: Response

Tag / TBC...

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Lieutenant Junior Grade Amelia Magnolia Semara

Science Officer - Special Projects

USS Khitomer - NCC-62400

A239710MA0