Uninvited Guest

Posted on Mon Dec 23rd, 2024 @ 5:25pm by Lieutenant Ame Solis M.D. & Lieutenant Didrea Zade

Mission: Pandora's Box
Location: USS Athena: Sickbay
Timeline: MD03
4407 words - 8.8 OF Standard Post Measure

Given the immediate nature of the situation, everything seemed calm and steady. Other ships from the squadron had arrived over the last 12 hours, and whispers circulated about what would come next and who might stake a claim to the precious machine. Ame had read over the schematics of the doomsday device and could only imagine the levels of devastation it could cause - catastrophic loss of life on an unimaginable scale. It was a quiet reminder of what might lie ahead, and she intended to be ready for the worst.

In preparation, the Bajoran had opened the supply cupboard to review and restock emergency grab bags. She wanted trauma packs ready for rapid deployment, neatly organizing an assortment of hyposprays and vials on a trolley beside her. Crewman Zorak stood nearby, counting out batches for each pack, while Ame focused on calibrating the tricorders, her hands moving with precision. The quiet swoosh of the doors opening barely registered; visitors had been trickling through Sickbay all shift, and Myra was out tending to other tasks. There was nothing unusual about the sound.

But the faint hesitation in the footsteps drew her attention. A shaky breath preceded the arrival of a red command uniform stepping over the threshold. Ame’s head lifted to see a human male carrying a medium-sized storage box. He wasn’t a member of the Athena’s crew, but a visitor; a figure from the USS Spruance who had requested assistance from a skilled cybernetic specialist. It was fortunate for him.

It took the Doctor a moment to register who it was, and when she did, her body froze. Her hands lowered the tricorder, the device snapping shut with a clank against the trolley. “Wh—what are you doing here?” Her voice faltered, a tightness gripped her chest as she stared at the officer.

“Uh, hi.” His awkward smile tugged at his lips, hands too occupied with the box to offer a wave. Instead, he lifted it slightly, as if presenting proof of his intentions. “I got permission to come aboard for a cybernetic adjustment... and I brought you this.” He thrust the box forward slightly but didn’t step beyond the second set of doors.

“Oh! This must be Lieutenant Jackson Moore from the Spruance. He’s here for an optical cybernetic issue,” Crewman Zorak chimed in, his voice breaking the charged silence. His casual tone contrasted sharply with the tension radiating from Ame. With a sheepish smile, the Bolian scraped aside the set of vials he’d been counting. “Sorry, Doc. I forgot to let you know he was coming aboard...”

Ame’s eyes remained on Jackson, taking in the details of his familiar form. He hadn’t changed much. His sandy brown hair was speckled with a few streaks of grey, but the stubble on his jaw and the sharp line of his features remained the same. One blue eye met hers; the other, an ocular implant, gleamed faintly. A distinctive scar stretched above and below the implant, marking his cheek. He still carried himself with the same confidence she remembered, though there were subtle hesitations in his movements, an unspoken weight behind his careful choice of words.

The shock Ame was clearly expressing wasn't lost on Jackson, and he fidgeted again with the box as he brought it back toward himself. The poor crewman seemed to be the only one unaware of the stifling tension between them. He flashed a slight, awkward smile, "surprise?" Now that he thought about it, he didn't remember if Ame liked surprises or not.

“Oh, I’m well aware who this is Zorak.” Her eyes moved to the Bolian with a faint smile, “It’s fine, we’ve been busy. Take a break and stretch your legs.” Ame offered knowing it would be better to have the conversation without the chance of gossip being added to the mix.

It didn’t take much to convince the crewman that it was okay to disappear for a while. The Bajoran sucked on her tongue a moment as she attempted to find the right words. “Surprise? More like an ambush. You transferred into the squadron.” She moved around the tray and closed the storage doors. “What’s wrong with your implant?”

"What, I can't advance my career?" he asked with an awkward chuckle, his Texan drawl adding an extra layer of suave. Moving to a biobed, Jackson set the box near the foot of the bed before hopping up. He rested his palms behind him and leaned back slightly in an attempt to keep things casual, though the interaction was anything but. "It keeps glitching out or somethin'. Things will get blurry, or... orange, sometimes."

It took all her strength not to roll her eyes at him. “You’re free to do what you want.” She peered into the box with a feigned disinterest, it was the research papers she’d told him to hold onto not days before. Her eye twitched as an unwanted smile tugged its way to the corner of her mouth. Was this his way of showing he still cared? Or just an excuse to show up unannounced? Her fingers curled around a neural monitor and scooped up a tricorder in the other hand.

A moment of hesitation followed. Ame faltered, her resolve teetering as she processed their proximity. When was the last time they’d been this close? Scenarios she’d rehearsed countless times in her mind came flooding back—she’d imagined herself snapping, her voice shaking with frustration, shoving him away while she let loose the torrent of grief and anger she’d buried deep. But this wasn’t the place for that. He’d brought this to her sanctuary, her place of work, and there were professional boundaries she had to maintain.

Another step forward brought her directly in front of him, closer than she wanted to be. With practised efficiency, she pressed the monitor against his temple, the soft click breaking the tension between them. The tricorder flicked open in her other hand. “How long have you been seeing blurriness?” she asked, her voice steadier than she felt. As the device began to scan, she risked a glance at his face, his easy charm making her stomach twist. This wasn’t fair.

The closeness reminded her of how they’d met. How he’d disarmed her with that same effortless charm during a rescue mission. She’d been young then, fresh from training, and he’d been one of the last survivors from his ship. Back then, his vulnerability and quick wit had captivated her, pulling her in like gravity. But now, with the clarity of hindsight, she couldn’t help but wonder how many others had been drawn in by that. Was she just another person who fell for his act, or had it been real for him too? The thought twisted in her chest, a potent mix of bitterness and lingering affection. How easily he could stir emotions she wished she’d buried was infuriating.

Jackson gave her a tense smile. He wasn't sure what to think, being so close to her again. After what he did, a rather impulsive decision on his part, he expected her to slap him, or chew him out, or something. Instead, she was as calm as ever, at least from what he could tell. She was choosing to focus on work instead of catching up, which wasn't quite the woman he knew but he understood the detachment. "About a week. Tried to fix it myself, can clearly see how well that worked. You know how hard it is to fly a starship with one eye closed?"

Despite his easygoing demeanor, deep down Jackson knew he messed up with Ame. He broke her heart, and it would be a lie to say he didn't feel some kind of remorse. There were times where he wanted to say something, but he was never good at expressing his inner thoughts, and whenever he did manage to spit it out, it only seemed to make things worse.

Ame sucked on her tongue, her eyes narrowing at his attempt to deflect with charm. “Because we both know how much of a *renowned* cyberneticist you are,” she quipped dryly, “Let me guess. You tried turning it off and back on again?”

The Bajoran moved closer without thinking, pressing herself against his legs to get a better look. The instinct to assess and fix overrode the invisible wall she’d built between them. She couldn’t ignore the way her proximity to him felt—both unsettling and painfully familiar, it flickered across her face for a beat. “Any knocks? Hits? Magnetic anomalies? Or did this just… start out of nowhere?”

She caught herself leaning in closer still, her clinical precision now driving her every move. No signs of flickering or damaged segments in the iris. Her eyes drifted down to the tricorder trickling back data as the implant attempted to focus and provide visual information to him.

Jackson's breath caught in his throat. It felt like not too long ago when they would be this close, holding each other or simply enjoying each other's presence. Even if her image was blurry through the implant, his good eye more or less made up for it. She was just as beautiful as he remembered, and it took him a second to remember that she had even asked a question. "Uh..." he quietly cleared his throat, "smacked it playin' raquetball. The ball gave me a black eye that I think would have even impressed you." Despite the joking words, his tone didn't carry as much of that humor now, instead becoming slightly softer, as if speaking normally would disturb the stillness of Sickbay.

The look of disbelief was thwarted by a quiet snort from the Doctor, “Wow. Your CMO must really love you. Uh-” Ame’s choice of words knocked it out of the park. “This thing is barely holding together,” her flustered tone softened as her concern pushed its way to the surface. “Let me guess—skipped your last maintenance? And then decided to play engineer and to top it off bludgeoned by a raquetball?” A sharp edge of frustration bled into her voice, but she stopped short of scolding him.

In the back of her mind, she replayed the usual questions, the ones from the last two evals. What kept you from confronting him directly? Do you believe your marriage was worth fighting for? What does disconnecting from your husband protect you from? She focused on the tricorder’s readings, ignoring the ache of old memories stirring at the edges of her mind. He’d brought this to her—to her sickbay—and as much as she wanted to keep the professional boundaries intact, her drive to fix him even when she knew there were others who could, kept pulling her closer.

The readings showed no nerve inflammation or detachment of the implant, and there was no swelling or bruising remaining to the surrounding soft tissue. She stood against his legs, looking at the implant and his face a moment, process of elimination suggesting that a recalibration and software check would likely resolve the issue, if not a micro alignment of the neural connection would. Carefully she raised a hand toward the side of his face, “May I?” The words stuck, she’d never have asked before.

A quiet, breathy chuckle came from Jackson at her words, giving an expression that suggested her line of thinking was well within the ballpark of what actually happened. The moment, the very air between them, felt intimate, but not like how it used to. It was tense, uncertain. When her hand hovered near his face, that urge to feel her fingers cradle his cheek left his skin tingling. It wasn't like this before, and he didn't realize how much he missed that feeling until after they separated. "Yeah, go ahead," he finally answered her, shrugging away his thoughts. His usual charm creeping back in, he added, "better you than me."

There was no warming of hands as she carefully ran her fingers around the orbital socket with gentle sidesteps. No lumps, no bumps, but she watched for any sign of tenderness. Her thumb swept down under his eye and across the lower section of his scar. Years ago it would have been a sign of affection, now her face wavered and quickly she withdrew her hand, stepping away to regain the poise that cracked and crumbled in front of him. No divets or indentations.

She could only turn away and clear her throat, taking the beat to run her hands over her face, tricorder still in hand. A futile attempt, but she had a job to do. Son of a Car- Ame caught her internal voice and turned back with a short sharp exhale to finish what she’d started. "How often are you getting blurriness and colours?"

It was a time gauge, recalibration would take time but what was the point in sending him back if it didn't resolve? Doing a micro-alignment was delicate and time-consuming if it wasn't needed. Given the circumstances, he needed to be precise and not crash a ship into a moon because he had limited depth perception.

"Ame." Jackson didn't immediately answer her question, instead watching her struggle to keep her professionalism. It didn't help with their proximity. They couldn't avoid the elephant in the room forever, and he took in a slow breath. "If you need a minute, I get it. This is a little awkward for both of us. The implant's not gonna get any worse if it doesn't get fixed for a few extra seconds." His direct words weren't meant to be abrasive, rather they aimed to acknowledge a rather messy marriage that fell apart and the trust that went with it.

His words lingered, drawing her focus back to the tricorder in her hand. She’d just done a recalibration with NVeid two days earlier—textbook, straightforward, no complications. But this wasn’t textbook. Her eyes flicked down to the device, its readout a steady stream of data from the neural monitor. “Awkward’s one word for it,” Ame replied dryly, her professionalism straining to reassert itself.

“But this isn’t about me, is it? It’s about making sure you can still pull off those fancy manoeuvres without hitting something, or worse, getting hit.” The words came out sharper than she intended but still tinged with concern, so she paused, exhaling softly to steady her tone. “Blurriness and colour distortion—how often?” She glanced up briefly, her eyes scanning his face for any hint of hesitation. A few seconds more wouldn’t change two years, but she needed him to cooperate now.

With a decisive snap, she closed the tricorder and clasped it in front of her. “You brought this to me, Jackson. So let me fix it. It’s what I do. And we both know there’s no time to waste, you’re going to have to get back to… wherever it is you came from.” She gestured vaguely, the name of his ship escaping her, though her point remained clear. “Whatever’s chasing after that world-ending weapon won’t wait for you to get your depth perception sorted.”

Her thoughts flitted briefly to how many times recalibrations had been personal and intimate with this man, back when they weren’t just colleagues or strangers. Rarely had they been done in sickbay. It had always been somewhere private, somewhere they didn’t have to watch their words or actions. And now? Now he was skipping routine checks and trying to fix it himself, as if it were just another system to patch up.

"I'm not the only pilot on the Spruance, darlin'," Jackson pointed out. The 'getting hit' part almost felt like a warning, or maybe even a promise if he didn't tell her what she wanted to hear. "It's been actin' up for about a week." There was no doubt that he was tense from the recalibration as well; these used be done in privacy, so it felt like he was exposed in the sterile environment of sickbay.

If her eyes narrowed any further, they’d be closed. "Wow… Are you sure it’s not your ego blinding your implant? Because I don’t have a check for that." Her nostrils flared as she fought the urge to make a snide remark or, worse, a compliment that might fuel his self-assurance. What used to be playful banter in the comfort of their quarters now felt sharp and almost hostile. She breathed out a slow, controlled exhale. "What I’m trying to say is this—don’t endanger your career progression over something like this," a beat, “Or anyone else.”

Carefully, she collected her tools, adjusting the output of the neural link to the biobed rather than the tricorder. "How many times a week? Today for instance," she asked, her voice calmer now, but still carrying a weight of concern. "I’ll do the calibration and we can take some time. We’ll make sure this gets fixed." Her words resonated with something deeper than the technical fix at hand. Do you believe your marriage was worth fighting for? Ame didn’t know the answer then, and she wasn’t sure now. But she had fought. She had stayed put on a Starbase with Research. She had opened up to him. And she wanted to fix things. I want to fix this.

God, he forgot about that sarcasm. It was probably the most impulsive thing about Ame, which was what had attracted Jackson to her. Shifting his weight, he brushed his hair with a hand as he recalled his steps. "Probably about five times so far today. I have the bruises for evidence. On average it's about twelve times a day, usually for 5-10 seconds but the longest has been ten minutes."

A faint smile tugged at her lips. “Thank you.” His description painted a troubling picture. Twelve errors a day, some lasting minutes. It was far beyond the tolerance for such a sensitive piece of equipment. Her brow furrowed as concern seeped into her expression. She arranged the tools neatly on the bed beside him, alongside her tricorder and a PADD, her movements methodical. The command line took a moment to link with the neural monitor, the steady blinking indicator keeping pace with her mental checklist before she looked back at him.

The memory of post-mission body checks lingered, her teasing fingers prodding at a bruise, a stolen kiss, and the comfort of erasing his pain with a dermal regenerator. Those moments were part of a life they no longer shared, and whatever had once been playful and private wouldn’t find a place here. Clearing her throat, she focused on the task at hand. “When you’re ready, I’ll deactivate the implant.” Her voice softened. Surely, at least one calibration in the past two years had been conducted properly. He couldn’t seriously expect every adjustment to be done with a little extra intimacy, could he?

Jackson nodded in response, lowering his hand to rest against the biobed. "You want me to lay down for this first? I'm usually fidgety when it comes to calibrations," he offered. The words recalled their shared past more than it provided a doctor with patient-specific information. He usually lacked the patience to sit through a calibration, and he remembered many a time where there was more than one chin grab as a reminder to keep still.

Ame paused, considering his response. It was reassuring, in a way it suggested he’d had at least one calibration done properly in the past two years. But she also knew how to manage the most restless of patients, and an idea sparked in her mind. A sly smile curved her lips as she raised a finger, silently asking him to wait, before retrieving a small holoemitter used for calming children or discussing treatments with them.

“Criss-cross applesauce,” she said, using his own words with a faint glint of amusement as she placed the emitter on the bed. “Staring at the ceiling isn’t exactly great for focus or perception.” With a light toss, she handed him a PADD, her tone light but firm. “Pick something. Preferably something appropriate for the situation.”

At the sight of the children's distraction tool, Jackson gave her a look of amused disbelief. "Seriously?" he asked her, reaching out to catch the PADD. That was the intent, anyways; the PADD sailed past his hand and plopped onto the bed next to him. Picking it up, and making sure he gave it a good glare for not landing in his hand, he looked at it for a few seconds before deciding on a classic: American football. He then re-positioned himself to sit cross-legged as she requested. It felt silly, but if it helped her do the calibration faster, then he could tolerate it.

Her gaze flicked to the biobed’s readout, confirming the implant's connection to the monitor before she perched lightly on the edge of the bed. Powering down the implant was straightforward, but she paused, ensuring the adjustment didn’t leave him off-balance. Her hand rested briefly on his arm, steadying him out of instinct. “All good?” she asked, her tone calm and professional, as she swapped her tool for a finer, more delicate instrument. Retrieving the PADD with her other hand from his lap.

The commentary of the football game spilt softly from the mini holo-projector she’d set up beside him, punctuated by bursts of crowd noise and the sharp bark of the announcer’s voice. Ame glanced at the flickering holographic players, their movements crisp and fluid in miniature, before refocusing on the neural monitor beside the implant. It processed data quietly as she worked, streaming updates from her PADD.

Careful not to lean too close, she sat beside him, shoulder brushing his just enough to accommodate the calibration. Her fingers moved deftly, ensuring precision while her mind wandered briefly to the sport playing out between them. She didn’t share his enthusiasm for it and had never quite grasped the appeal, but watching his expression as the announcer called a particularly exciting play offered a fleeting insight into what it meant to him. She was grateful for the limited peripheral vision he had with the implant being offline.

Her focus returned as the final sequence was completed. He’d need to stay for monitoring once the calibration was finished, just long enough to ensure there were no lingering complications. “I’m bringing it back online,” she said evenly, glancing at the PADD one last time before her fingers hovered over the interface. She anticipated a sway or wobble, it must have been jarring.

Her words pulled Jackson's attention away from the game, and a second later the sudden ability to see again came with a wave of distorted depth perception. The implant, now repaired, had to do its own calibration, which involved focusing the lens until it matched the good eye. It usually meant that his sense of balance went out the airlock for about two seconds in the meantime. As if catching himself from falling, he swayed, quickly grabbing the edge of the biobed with one hand and her outstretched arm with the other. "You'd think I'd get used to that," he said with a chuckle.

Ame turned slightly, her arm brushing his as she placed her hand on his back, steadying him instinctively. “Maybe you’d finally get used to it if you showed up for checks like you’re supposed to,” she murmured, the familiar chiding tone almost masking the concern flickering in her eyes. Her gaze lingered on his implant, searching for signs of strain, her fingers unconsciously curling against the fabric of his shirt before she caught herself. “Any orange splotches this time?” she asked, her voice softening as she tilted her head.

Once the implant finished its internal calibration, everything came into focus again, and Jackson cautiously let go of his supports. He looked around a little, his gaze eventually lingering on her. "No, It looks normal." There was a moment of silence as he watched Ame, taking in every detail of her presence. Slowly, he took in a breath. "Look... I really appreciate this. I know it's rather abrupt, but..." His eyes flicked down to his hands for a second, "well, you do it just right, Ame." There was another pause as he swallowed the nervous butterflies in his stomach. "I-I know it's just you doin' your job and all, but as thanks I'd like to take you to dinner, if there's time. It's also been a while, so maybe we can... catch up?" He followed his question with a shrug, as if the 'catching up' part were up for discussion.

Catch up? The words lingered in her mind, leaving her momentarily speechless. Thankfully, the awkward silence was broken by the tactless hum of Zorak, who had returned from wherever he’d stowed himself, now rummaging through hyposprays and trauma bags with oblivious cheer. “I- I can give you an hour, at most, to make sure there aren’t any further issues.” Her gaze shifted downward, tracing the edge of the biobed as she took a careful step back, mindful of his balance and depth perception. A flicker of doubt crossed her mind, was this the right call? But her duty of care took precedence, even if the situation felt precarious. “We can talk then,” she added as she bent to retrieve the box he’d left at the foot of the bed.

Cautiously, Jackson slid off the biobed, keeping a hand on the edge in case his balance decided to go. The implant constantly adjusted as it honed in on what the good eye preferred, but it was usually fast. Even now, the implant's efforts to focus were very subtle, barely noticeable if one were looking straight into his eyes. "An hour," he agreed. "It's a date." Giving her his classic Texan smile, he made sure he wasn't going to make a fool of himself before heading out of sickbay.

Maybe there was a chance to make things right.