Vigil
Posted on 18 Mar 2021 @ 9:54am by Commander Kasra Turan, MD & Commander Calliope Zahn & Lieutenant Commander Lance Quinn (*)
Mission:
M2 - Sanctuary
Location: Ardeshir Sick Bay
Timeline: Backpost— following Man of Many Hats
682 words - 1.4 OF Standard Post Measure
She heard it again, Lance’s proper accent, first in the way of a barely waking dream. She couldn't make out the words, just the meter of it, and the testy tone that was slightly more so than usual. He was worried. She wanted to tell him not to be, so she opened her eyes and tried to stir awake, hoping to catch him. Her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting in her alcove, and she realized the privacy field was switched on for her while she rested and thought Lance was on the other side of it, speaking low with another figure, their vague, blurred forms like an out of focus shadow puppet show as her lights were out while the nursing station on the other side was illuminated. Closing her eyes again, she strained to hear through the tired fog in her head.
“...so what you’re saying is it could be days - weeks, even - before she’s coherent enough to even hold a conversation? Know I’m here?” Lance was asking the doctor. “How on earth does something like this happen?”
“Vamiraxil is a hormonal suppressant and in small doses over a short period of time it can give an individual the baseline they need to control their hormonal and pheromonal output,” a soft-spoken, heavily accented voice explained. He clearly wasn’t native to speaking English. “Unfortunately, the prolonged use of it has, for lack of a better word, poisoned your wife to the point that her body is now having a hard time self-regulating,” he continued, “I have every faith your wife will fully recover. Physically and emotionally. For now, we take it one day at a time and focus on fully healing the after-effects of this particular pharmaceutical treatment.”
Lance took a deep breath. If this had been an engineering puzzle to resolve, he would have launched straight into a deep analysis of the problem and the resources required to resolve it. Medical matters were far less his forte. And so he felt, quite honestly, helpless. “Thank you doctor.” She would recover, he was told. That was good. But it would take time, and patience. Once again, that would be a strain for him, whilst cleaning up the mess Obsidian Command was still in. The Admirals would want their station fixed. He only wanted his wife fixed. “I think I’ll stay for a while, if it’s not too much of an inconvenience?”
“Nonsense, you’re welcome as long as you like,” Doctor Turan said, waving to the bio-suite. “I understand from Doctor Walker she was briefly conscious the day before yesterday. I would be good for her to see a familiar face if she does again,” he said, again gesturing for him to go sit.
Lance nodded once and returned to his vigil by the bedside, thoughts filled with how he would need to balance working on the station while ensuring her comfort and recovery.
While she had tried to listen, Calliope had instead drifted off again, neither entirely asleep, nor awake, but somewhere in the fitful suspension between, dreaming that she’d heard things or thinking that she’d dreamed things. Her sheets were tossed and her gown rumpled and her own fist was pressed into her cheek.
Lance stared at his sleeping wife with a strange sense of emptiness. In that moment she was a hole in his life; a gaping wound that needed to be healed. He needed her to be well again; to help him not lose track of the things that were meant to be important. Without Calliope, what was he?
Leaning over, he pushed a stray few strands of hair out of her cheek and tucked them behind her ear. It was a little unconscious habit he’d seen her do many times before. As his hand lingered, he leaned down and kissed her gently on the top of her forehead, then sat back down in the nearby chair and stared into space, hoping that the cosmos would align to permit him his wife back.
