Lt. JG T’Fearne - Lowering the Shields
Teayl Thorn
T'Fearne: Very well. I will comply. We can have that conversation if it becomes necessary. ::pause:: This is my private medical information, yes? Am I afforded the courtesy of handling this discreetly? Are you required to notify my CO or command staff?
Beck took a moment to consider not just her words but the concern behind them. His pursed lower lip gave her the impression he was contemplating something distasteful, but the emotions seemed not quite right for the situation, oO Unreliable again! Oo She discreetly held her breath while he was thinking.
Beck: 'Yes', to the first and second questions. 'I'm not sure yet' to the third.
She exhaled slowly through her nose. He didn’t rush her, didn’t fill the space with reassurances or false certainty. There were too many unknowns, and he treated that truth with respect. None of this was his fault or doing; it was merely a matter of protocols that they were both required to follow.
T'Fearne: ::after a beat:: Perhaps you should. I’m concerned about the safety of the crew. I could be a risk factor here.
Her own words landed harder than she expected on her ears. A knot tightened in her abdomen, and she unconsciously folded her arms around her torso, hunching forward slightly. Her body betrayed the emotions she often suppressed. Beck’s earlier caution had echoed her own fears.
The world dimmed.
The hum of Sickbay, murmured conversations, the beeps and clicks of equipment—faint emotions drifting from patients, nurses, the compartments of the ship around them—went quiet. T’Fearne’s drawing inward seemed to have the effect of cutting her connection to the other emotions in the room and the ship around her. There was just grey silence and gnawing fear that there was something wrong with her, that perhaps as a hybrid there had always been something wrong with her. An inevitable flaw waiting for the right stressor to surface.
Then—a gentle touch on her shoulder.
Colour bled back into her world again, not overwhelming, just a wave of steady and normal.
She pulled up from the spiral.
Beck: I'm not concerned, if it's any consolation. Whatever this is, I am certain we're getting out ahead of it before it can become a real problem. But I need your confidence, too.
That sounded good.
She swallowed her self-pity, then lifted her chin. Drew in a slow, deliberate breath and squared her shoulders. The posture helped, but what steadied her more was sensing how much her crewmate was on her side. She wasn’t alone in this.
T'Fearne: ::nodding slowly, exhaling:: I can do that.
He withdrew his hand but not his support as her dark gaze locked back on to his chocolate brown one.
Beck: We'll get through this together, T'Fearne. I'll make sure to lay out a full plan for diagnosis and treatment as quickly as I can, starting with setting you up for the initial range of scans. I suspect I will need to do a little bit of research, but I would not be at all surprised to find there may be a temporary solution available to help keep things under control.
T'Fearne: I appreciate your thoroughness, Doctor, and your discretion. ::shrugging:: I suppose it might all be a non-issue. Speculating about outcomes that have not yet occurred is inefficient.
He offered a hand to help her down from the biobed, and she reached out to take the aid without hesitation, hopping off the bed to stand straight.
Beck: For now, I would like you to return to your quarters and get some rest. Have a good meal, something you really enjoy, put on something comfortable, then come back this way in about an hour and we should be ready to get started. ::nodding at the door:: We'll do it in the Xenobiology lab, since the biobed there has been modified specifically for this sort of thing. Sound good?
It did, it sounded like a form of meditation, almost.
He didn’t realise that “Put on something comfortable” for a Betazoid might have a different connotation, but she knew what he had meant.
T'Fearne: ::a faint, rueful smile ghosting across her lips:: That sounds unexpectedly pleasant. I’ll do that.
He nodded.
Beck: Once the scans are done, assuming we don't see anything crazy caused by the s-waves, I intend to clear you for duty. I'll see you here again in an hour.
T'Fearne: ::with renewed resolve:: Understood. I’ll be back. Thank you, Doctor.
As she walked away towards the exit, the realisation struck her—like a zap from a phaser set to stun.
She had been striving so hard to protect the Ronin. To be the shield. To anticipate threats. To intercept danger before it reached her crewmates. In doing so, she’d worn herself thin—frayed at the edges in ways she hadn’t allowed herself to see.
The Ronin wasn’t strong because she never needed help. The ship was strong because it gave aid, and because its crew trusted one another enough to accept it.
T’Fearne could do that.
She made her way to her quarters, by way of the Musashi Lounge, a bento box in hand and a plan to relax. What ever came of the scans, she would let her crewmates help.
[End Scene for T’Fearne]
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Security Officer
USS Ronin - NCC-34523
R240107T14