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     Heather (Illusion) AMRN Staff Username: Illusion Post Number: 3364 Registered: 2-2001 Rating: N/A |
(Resurrecting this one, too) By Heather (Illusion) on Saturday, May 14, 2005 - 12:03 am: Edit Post Hi there! I'm going to write a few short stories and post them here. They will all follow the theme of an old character of mine going to the ship's counselor/therapist/psychologist to deal with their issues. Some may be lighthearted, and some may not. I hope you enjoy. If anyone else is interested in writing stories like this for their characters, please post them here too! (This is an unofficial thread and has not been sanctioned by Admin.) -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- By 2LT Dominic J. Sage (Flux) on Saturday, May 14, 2005 - 1:15 am: Edit Post Someone's been bitten by the RPG bug. >=D -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- By Heather (Illusion) on Saturday, May 14, 2005 - 1:25 am: Edit Post "I dunno, Doc," Bill said, knuckling roughly at his eyes. "I dunno what I feel anymore." "Well," said Dr. Sirtis, who really was a good doctor, and really was helping him, it was just that he couldn't seem to incorporate the breakthroughs he had in her office into his daily life... "Corporal? Are you paying attention?" "Er. Yeah. Sorry." "I know it can be embarrassing to see a therapist, Corporal Anderson," Dr. Sirtis said, "and I empathize with that. But if you want to make any progress, you're going to have to be here, fully engaged. I haven't felt that you have been particularly involved in these sessions. If you're looking for a quick fix, Corporal, I can't help you. But I can help you help yourself, if you put in the time." Bill scrubbed at his face with his hands, and lowered his forehead into his palms. "I'm sorry. I just get distracted. I feel like we can talk about it all day, but that nothing really gets accomplished." "And you're right." Bill glanced up in surprise into the straightforward gaze of the psychologist. "We haven't accomplished anything. All we've done is skirt the issues. Let me sum up what you've told me: "You met a girl who you thought you liked. You pursued her, and she seemed to be receptive, but when you got too close, she shied away. Eventually you discovered that she was dating another man, and you completely divorced her from your life. No, don't interrupt. Shortly thereafter you met a young girl who you have no interest in romantically--" Dr. Sirtis raised an eyebrow, and Bill spluttered, "She's fifteen!" "--and you took it upon yourself to give her a place to stay, your place, and since then you've been her self-appointed guardian and watchdog, hardly letting her out of your sight." "It sounds wrong when you say it like that." "Indulge me, Corporal. And lastly, there's the woman you met in the park, who practically threw herself at you, and to whom you've shown a somewhat lukewarm response. You took this woman--" "Melanie," Bill interjected. "--to the Admiral's ball, and it was there that you first saw your ex-girlfriend since you broke up." "Milla. And I don't know if I'd call it a breakup. I don't even know if we were really dating." "So things with Milla were unclear? You had no firm foothold?" "Yeah." "Sorry to be cliche, but...how did that make you feel?" Bill frowned. "I dunno. I mean, I liked her a lot. I was willing to put up with not knowing." "But then you found out about the other man. Would you say you were trying to protect yourself by not pressing her for a straight answer?" "I...um, I never thought about it like that. I mean, we hadn't been...together, or whatever, all that long. It just didn't seem appropriate to press. Yet." "Do you think you would have, eventually?" "...I don't know." "So you went from a situation of not knowing where you stood into being the guardian of a teenage girl." "Natalie." "You know exactly where you stand with her, don't you?" "Well...yes and no. I mean, she acts like she hates me, but I think I'm getting to her. Maybe." "But you can't debate the facts of the matter. That you are there to take care of her, and that she needs you to take care of her." "Well...she needs someone." "This, then, is better than what you had with Milla. Because you know what Natalie needs. You know how to take care of her." "No. Natalie's like...like a niece or something. She's got nothing to do with Milla, or Melanie, or my...my love life." "On the contrary. I have a theory. I think you subconsciously need to take care of people. This isn't a bad thing. But I think somewhere along the line you've let that need take you over. You're letting it interfere with your own personal happiness." "Wait. Are you saying that all I care about is being able to take care of someone?" "Well, how do you feel about Melanie?" "Er." Bill propped his chin in his hand. "I don't know." "You want to help her, right?" "Well...yes. She seems so strong...but inside, she's...I don't know. Something happened to her. I don't know what." "So you don't know how to help her." "No...I don't." "Does that frustrate you? Does that make it difficult for you to relate to her?" Bill blinked, slowly. "Come on. You can't be serious. So I put up with Milla's...Milla-ness, because I liked taking care of her? And that's why I take care of Natalie, because it gives me some perverse power trip? And that's why I can't figure out what I'm doing with Melanie, because I can't just kiss her and make it better? So you're saying I don't care about them? That I think of them as problems to be fixed?" Bill had risen out of his plush chair, but Dr. Sirtis remained seated, nonplussed. "Is that how you feel?" "No! No, it's not how I feel, damn it." Bill did not normally curse. His cheeks flushed. "Milla was--is--beautiful. And charming. She didn't understand how beautiful she was. She didn't get the effect she had on me. She's...cute. And she can do anything she wants in the world. She's got so much potential. She's smart, and witty, and any guy would be lucky to have her--" "Then why did you give up so easily?" "What?" Bill practically fell back into his chair. "Why, when you heard about the other man she was seeing, didn't you fight for her?" Bill stared. He was quiet for a long time. "Because," he faltered, "she knows better than I do what she wants. If she chose that other guy--" "Wrong," Dr. Sirtis said. "Tell me the real reason." "If she talked about that other guy all day to her bridge friends, then she wasn't thinking about me at all, was she? There was no point, was there?" "What does he have that you don't?" "I don't know, everything probably. I'm just a corporal, I mostly do desk stuff, I don't make a lot of money, I'm not particularly good-looking--" "That's debatable." "What?" "Nothing. Go on, please." "Argh. It's just...if she was with another guy, or pursuing another guy, then that meant she didn't need me anymore." "Didn't need you?" "She's beautiful," Bill said, shaking his head ruefully. "She just didn't know. I thought I could--" "Help her? Take care of her? Make her see her own beauty?" Bill was silent again. Then, finally, "Yes," he croaked out. "And so you helped her, treated her like a queen, and when she felt confident enough to be in a relationship...she chose to have one with someone else." "Damn it!" Bill said. "I'd never been the nice guy before Milla! You know that whole 'nice guys finish last' routine. Never me! I just didn't get involved like that. I was no Major Chiba, but I was no slouch, either. Had no problem finding women I liked, flirting with them, dating them...and if things didn't work out, I moped for awhile, but it was okay after that. I was okay after that. What is this?" "You don't believe that it didn't work out?" "I wish she'd just given me a chance! But I always felt like...like I was her fallback guy, her last chance guy, the guy she'd marry if she turned 30 and hadn't found someone else yet." "And you gave her no reason to think otherwise, did you? You did, as you say, 'put up with her'. You put up with much more than you would have put up with from other girlfriends, I imagine." Bill found himself blinking again. Then, finally, he said a word he'd used only twice before in his life. "Shit." (Message edited by Illusion on May 14, 2005) -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- By Heather (Illusion) on Sunday, May 15, 2005 - 12:13 am: Edit Post "So...Corporal Anderson tells me you won't sing anymore." Byron stood at the door, leaning on the jamb, arms crossed, eyes on the window and chin raised. Her face was frozen in a blank expression. She wouldn't move from this spot, wouldn't get any closer to this woman. And she sure as hell wasn't going to talk. Dr. Sirtis was quiet for a long time. Byron had to fight to keep her eyes away from the shrink. It was really annoying to have to be in here. She'd only just gotten here, too. This hour-long session was going to drive her nuts. "I take it you don't really want to be here." Byron could hardly suppress a snort. "Well, that's okay. You can just stand there all hour. We don't have to talk about anything. I get paid either way." "Hah!" Byron scoffed before she could stop herself. Bill would love to hear that. The dip. He couldn't just leave her alone, could he? Nooooo, he had to send her to a psychiatrist to see what was wrong. Whatever, Bill. "Oh, who am I kidding," Dr. Sirtis said after a moment. "This is far too boring. If you aren't going to talk to me, then I hope you don't mind if I get some other work done." When Byron didn't respond, the doctor continued, "Computer, open saved document Spiritia Psychosis, continue dictation at end of file. "It has long been theorized by many otherwise well-respected scientists that this so-called spiritia is a quantifiable substance that can be manipulated through outside influences. This presented a convenient new excuse for mood swings, as the traditional scapegoat, hormones, have gone out of fashion." Byron heard the doctor snigger, and she forced her eyes to remain focused on the nondescript concrete wall of the building next door. "Computer, strike last sentence, end dictation. I just can't seem to take this seriously enough. Spiritia...what a bunch of hooey." Byron's lip twitched. Either the doctor was phenomenally stupid, or she was trying to bait her. Likely the latter. Bill had come out of his last session crying like a girl. Did tricks like these actually work on him? She smirked. Of course they did. She knew that firsthand. It was insulting, however, that the shrink thought Byron would be susceptible to the same elementary level of reverse psychology. Byron sighed, uncrossed her arms, and flung herself to the ground. Her fingers twitched automatically for the tiny music player on her wrist, then groped for a split second against bare skin. She'd taken it off days ago, but old habits died hard, apparently. Byron frowned and rolled over on her back to stare at the ceiling. "If I'm bothering you, you're free to leave," the doctor said. "No I'm not, and you know it," Byron snapped. Then she closed her eyes. Ugh. I fell for it. "I'm going to take a nap," she continued loudly, to forestall any further baiting. "Wake me when time's up." "I hope you don't mind if I listen to some music, then," Dr. Sirtis said mildly. No. You bitch. Byron's eyes squeezed tighter. Just ignore her. Just ignore her. Just-- When they begin the Beguine It brings back the sound Of music so tender "Shut it off," Byron snarled, leaping to her feet. "Shut it off now." She'd looked at Dr. Sirtis without meaning to. The shrink appeared only mildly startled, pressing the 'stop' button and wheedling, "But I thought your performance was so lovely. I wasn't able to attend the Admiral's Ball, but the CD has been quite popular--" "Oh, shut up," Byron seethed. "Just shut up." She found that she was shaking, and cast her gaze to the floor, resolutely turning her back on Dr. Sirtis. "Just leave me the fuck alone. Stop with the mind games." "I'm sorry, little girl," Dr. Sirtis said, her voice suddenly hard, "but as long as you are in my office you will just have to deal with my 'mind games'." "Shit!" Byron yelled. "You know if I try to leave, Bill will just make me come right back in. He's sitting out there, you know, like I'm an eight-year-old or something. Fucking shit, this is kidnapping and coersion." "It's no such thing," Dr. Sirtis said smoothly. "I just wanted to listen to some music. If that's so terrible, you don't have to be here." "Okay, look, bitch," Byron spat, whirling on the woman, "I'm in here because if I don't pretend like I'm trying to get over this 'depression', Bill will annoy me to death. You're well on your way to doing the same thing. I wish people would just leave me alone." "They probably would, if you weren't a minor," said Dr. Sirtis conversationally. Byron rolled her eyes. "As long as you're under eighteen, there will be people trying to look after you, Miss Ryan. You're a runaway. While there are some on this ship who would like to see your troublesome little rear end shipped back to Mars, there are others who believe something happened to you there, something that you need protection from. That is the only reason you are here, and if you continue to be uncooperative, the number of people on your side will grow fewer and fewer. We want to help, but we can't fix you. You have to help yourself." "You," Byron said, "are one sucky psychiatrist." She stalked away from the door, towards the window. Within moments she'd unlatched and pushed open the swinging glass pane. The opening was very slim, too slim for most people, which was probably why there weren't bars on the window. Well, that and they were on the second floor, and you'd have to be crazy to try to jump out. Byron stuck her leg into the gap and prepared to wriggle. "Wait! You can't jump from there, you'll break something!" "Better than staying in here." "Wait. Please. I'm sorry if I hurt you. I just thought you were the type who scoffed at friendliness. I thought you needed 'tough love'. I didn't mean to make you feel trapped or helpless." "Oh, ha, ha," Byron began to say, but when she glanced scathingly at the doctor she saw that there were genuine tears in the woman's eyes. "Oh, what the fuck," Byron sighed. "I don't believe this." She continued straddling the window. "Look. If you want to help me, then you do it my way. I'm not talking about singing, or my supposed 'depression'. I won't listen to music or entertain any theories or speculation about spiritia. And I refuse to be subjected to your horribly inept mind games. Bill's a dupe. You can get to him easy. I'm different. And I can take care of myself." "I'm beginning to see that," Dr. Sirtis said in a muffled voice, dabbing at her eyes. "I'm sorry. I won't try to trick you again. Please come back in. We can talk about anything you want, if there's anything you want to talk about...?" "Not really, unless you know of a way to get Bill off my back," Byron said dismissively. "I could petition the city to have you taken away from Bill and placed in regular foster care." "Um, thanks but no thanks." Byron dragged her leg back into the room and shut the window. "So Bill's okay, in general?" "Not really, but he's better than some stupid foster home." "What is it that he does that you don't like?" "Watching me all the time, taking me everywhere he goes when he's not on duty, trying to get me to follow a fucking curfew, acting like he's my fucking brother or something. If I wanted a brother I'd've--" Byron stopped, then sighed in exasperation. "Bah. I just want him off my back." "Well, how do you think you might get his mind on other things? Does he have any interests?" "No, he's just a big workaholic. There's this girl he's been kind of dating, but she's psycho, and not in the good way. In the way you can't predict. He'd be better off if she'd just go the hell away." "What does she do that is so 'psycho'?" "Oh, you know--mood swings. Violent ones. She was a prime suspect in those murders for awhile because she's so nuts. They might still suspect her, I dunno." "Has she ever threatened to hurt you?" "Oh, yeah. All the fucking time." "Has she ever followed through?" "She doesn't follow through. She's too spacey for that. But she has physically assaulted me. Right in front of Bill. He didn't say anything to her. He's probably afraid to." "Natalie, this is very serious," said Dr. Sirtis, wide-eyed. "If someone is hurting you, I need to know their name so I can contact the authorities. I can help you, I can make you safe, but I can't do anything unless I know her name. We can look into this, hire a lawyer, bring charges against her, and get her away from you. No one has the right to hurt you, Natalie. Just...tell me who she is." "Oh, sure," said Byron, unable to keep the broad grin from her face. "Major Melanie Melissa Masterson. The Third." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- By Heather (Illusion) on Monday, May 30, 2005 - 2:23 am: Edit Post [Co-written with guess who? :D] The office was small but not cramped, and tastefully decorated with art pieces from various worlds in soft, soothing colors. A window overlooked the park below. There was a desk towards the center of the rear of the room, flanked by bookshelves, and at that desk sat Dr. Marina Sirtis, a Zolan with curly black hair and dark eyes. There were several comfortable chairs of various shape and size scattered around the room before the desk, including a stereotypical psychiatrist's couch. "Come in," Dr. Sirtis said, rising. "Have a seat. Would you like some water?" As she moved towards the water cooler at the front of the room, she closed the door softly behind her current appointment. "No," Major Melanie Melissa Masterson III said. It was a short and curt response. She wasn't sure what was going on, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know. She had problems enough. Being spirited from the Retribution and shipped back to Earth for a heart to heart with shrink was not good. The fingers of Melanie's left hand were locked in a pain twisted cramp. She could feel it in the muscles of her forearm as well. It was utterly distracting, nearly as much as the dull throb at the stump of the same arm. The throb was real in every sense. She'd decided against taking her pain pill today, as it made her spacey, and she wasn't going to be getting any more of them. Addictive substances were only prescribed for limited durations expect in extraordinary circumstances. Losing an arm wasn't extraordinary enough. The finger problem was a bad sign, so said the docs. Not because she could feel them when they weren't there. That was fairly common in the first year after an amputation. It was the fact that she could feel her whole arm. Normally Phantom limb syndrome resulted in feeling parts of the missing limb. In cases where the whole thing was "present" chronic pain usually followed. "I'd like you to tell me why I'm here, Doctor." Dr. Sirtis filled a paper cup with water and carried it back to her desk. "Please, sit. You'll be more comfortable." The doctor settled herself, took a sip of water, and finally looked up into the major's eyes. "Standard procedure, I'm afraid," she said with an apologetic smile. "You've experienced tremendous pain and loss. I'm here to help you work through that, if I can." Ah, the old "standard procedure" line. This has gotta be worse than I thought. Melanie moved to the offered chair, taking care as she sat. She didn't want to bump the stump, a habit she'd seemed to have picked up in last week. The marine didn't feel much coming from the outside, and that was good. She had a sense of something--coming from the Doc, maybe--but nothing else. She was almost certain that her emotional state was her own. She was even willing to admit, privately, that getting away from her former command was a blessing. All of the pity rolling off of her people had gotten to be damned annoying. "I'm an old hand with pain and loss, Doc. I'm missing more parts than most people notice off hand. But I'm guessing you know that, right?" "I've seen your file, yes," Dr. Sirtis responded, leaning back and folding her hands in her lap. "You have had trauma--great trauma--in your life before now. But that was then. Whether or not you were able to cope successfully with pain in the past, the fact is that you have serious trauma now. You lost your arm, Major Masterson. That isn't something you just 'get over'. "That is why you're here today. With my help, and with the help of your doctors and physical therapists, you have every chance of living a normal life again. But you must realize that it isn't going to come easily. Nothing worthwhile ever does." Melanie wanted to bristle at that. As far as she was concerned, nothing worthwhile ever came along at all. At least not to stay. She wanted to shout that at the silly woman's face. It wasn't the first time that had happened, and probably wouldn't be the last. Melanie had heard that one from two different shrinks. She clenched her fists--even the one that wasn't there--and then released them. A deep breath and she met the doc's eyes. "Fine," she said. "Play it that way, Doc. I'm game. You've read the file, then you know I've played this before. I know the rules, I know how it works. If you want to pretend this is SOP, I'll play along, but remember, with both know it ain't." She surprised herself with a smirk. "So, the first thing is getting me to realize I got a problem, right? I don't think I do, but I'm open to new ideas. Where do you wanna start?" "Well," Dr. Sirtis said, and Melanie felt a spike of annoyance, though nothing showed in the doctor's body language, "let's start with what you think I think your problem is." "My problem? Other than my propensity for bodily injury? Well, I'd say it was the voices in my head, but there aren't any." She was definitely smirking now. If it had to be stupidity, she decide to enjoy it as long as she could. Besides, there was a certain thrill to coming with in an inch of the truth and sashaying back to coolsville. "Maybe my problem is that I've got weak defenses. You know? Weak will." Melanie leaned forward and her voice dropped to conspirator's whisper. "Or maybe..." she made a quick check to the left and the right, "Maybe, I'm a bitch." Dr. Sirtis grinned. "That's pretty clever! Humor is a tried and true defense mechanism, but not everyone is witty enough to pull it off." There was enthusiasm in her voice, but Melanie knew better. The annoyance had faded away, leaving a sense of resignation behind. "It's good to be able to joke, and it's especially good to be able to make jokes at one's own expense. It's always best not to take ourselves too seriously. "Tell me, how did you deal with your first psychiatrist?" "I gave him detailed advice on how he could perform unnatural sex acts on himself," the Major lied. That had been the first on her public record. Her first had been juvey, and that information was strictly unavailable to a military Doc, unless this was exactly what Melanie thought it was. For a med eval in a criminal case her visits as a kid were easily unsealed. The slight shift through annoyance from nervousness was a serious improvement. Melanie was used to making people nervous. The trick now would be to keep the resignation separate from her own good mood. As she'd told Bill so long ago, she didn't feel things as other people's emotions. It was as if she had a split personality and was feeling conflicting sets of her emotions concurrently. The key to telling the difference was that for normal people, like the Doc, the feeling was weaker than her own. On impulse she decided to throw the Doc a bone. "Why don't you tell me why I'm really here, and we can get to some serious work? You might strain yourself if you keep acting that enthusiastic." "You're really here because you lost your arm in battle, Major. It is standard procedure for personnel who've experienced such great trauma to be psychologically evaluated for fitness to continue in UN service. Given your past, it is especially important that I have no doubts about your mental state before I sign off on your paperwork. "You're giving me every reason not to sign those papers, and instead to recommend you be removed from your command, at least temporarily, while you undergo intense therapy. So far you have demonstrated signs of anger management difficulty and paranoia. I am aware of the issues you've had in the past; this was never going to be a one-time interview. But I am not one of those doctors who believes people incapable of change. Just because you had issues before doesn't mean you have them today. I am learning the bulk of what I need to know about you right now. "Now, Major...if you aren't paranoid, then that means there is some other reason you might be here besides your loss of limb. If I am going to approve your return to UN service, then I need to know what that reason is, so I can include it in my evaluation. I don't make decisions when I don't have all the facts." Melanie was picking up something like strong determination from the woman. If nothing else, she was very committed to what she was saying. Melanie blinked. "Fine," she said. "I don't know what you're talking about, but fine. I have issues, Doctor. I have them, and probably always will. I made peace with that, a long time ago. The Corps seems to like me this way. The only problems I haven't handled yet are based on the fact that no one likes to be around me. A girl gets lonely." Melanie's eyes darted to the window. She didn't like opening up to shrinks. She hated it every time, but she also wasn't about to go into the truth of the matter. She figured the same old lie would work here... Maybe. Last time she'd used it, it hadn't exactly been a lie. She hadn't really understood the truth. "If you wanna know how I feel about the loss of my arm, welcome to the effing club. I don't know how I feel. Numb? Annoyed? It hurts." She looked back, and locked eyes with the woman behind the desk, "but don't call me paranoid, please. You get to be perfectly outwardly normal. Whatever quirks or miswirings are in your head, people don't see 'em. I haven't been in a dozen chairs like this because I can't hack my job. I've been here because people can't file me in comfy mental slot, and that scares 'em. I scare 'em. So if I think there's something up, it's because there is almost always something up. For this to be a simple psych-eval would be weird. Last time i was in one of these it because they thought I might have killed my XO." So much for not getting infected with Doc's resignation. "Maybe, I'm just tired of people being paranoid about me." She flopped back on the couch... And bumped her stump. Dazzling sparks of pain flared through her shoulder and all of the muscles on her left side clenched. Everything caught, and for an instant her breathing stopped. The pain was sudden, there and then gone. Her body relaxed, and her breath came out in a whimper. "Sorry," she croaked. Dr. Sirtis was quiet for a moment. Finally, she asked, "So you are not perfectly outwardly normal because you enjoy making the people around you uncomfortable?" "No. I. Don't." Melanie sighed. "I don't even try to do it, okay. It just happens. It's the way things are. It's a fucking universal law. I'd rather be like everyone else. I'd rather not have this crap in my head okay?" "What 'crap' is that?" "I'd rather not say, Doc," Melanie said. "Fact is, If I tell you, you'll write me off as nuts. Since it seems you're gonna do that anyway, I'd rather keep the embarrassment to a discreet minimum. I'm mean, does it matter if I get command back? I'm a cripple. I can't fly, can't carry a rifle, can't fight." She fished in her uniform for her meds, and awkwardly popped the bottle top with one hand. She dropped a pain pill into her palm and set the bottle on her belly, to maneuver the cap back on. "I'd like that water, now, if it's not a bother." "You're depressed," Dr. Sirtis said. "You have indicated to me that you don't care if you get your command back or not, and I believe that that is not the response you would normally have--as a Marine, as a fighter. You are still trying to deal with the loss of your arm. And right now, your best way of dealing is by running away. Running away from your command, and running away from your other issues. I am here to tell you that you will never heal unless you stop running and start doing what you've been trained to do. Fight." She rose and moved towards the water cooler, passing within arm's reach of Melanie. "It is not disgraceful to accept help in this kind of fight. From friends, from family, from me. What is disgraceful is pretending your problems don't exist, or deciding not to deal with them. That not only hurts you, but also the people who care about you. And, of course, it means you are pretty much worthless to everyone. Once you get past your initial shock and disappointment, you'll realize that worthless is not something you want to be. No Marine would decide to be worthless. Major." That stung. No punches pulled here, huh? Melanie thought, as she gingerly rotated to a sitting position. "I am not depressed, Doc. I'm melancholy. And yes, us Jar-heads are cleared for words that big. You might even say I'm just accepting what I've got in front of me." She bounced the pill on her palm. "You say I should fight? Fighting has to have a purpose, or it's just random violence. We Marine officers keep that one close, because a good troop, tough enough and determined enough to be a real marine, is usually not too bright. It'd confuse 'em too much, weaken their resolve. So it's up to us Officers to know when to fight and when to fall back. To know which times when the wind says 'fall back' you gotta fight and when the signs say 'fight' you gotta fall back. "You ever heard the old saw, 'won the battle but lost the war'? It's like that. Only this is a battle I can't win." "It is true that you won't be able to fly again. I don't know if your doctor has discussed prosthetics with you, but even the best artificial limbs have not been judged sound enough for military piloting. You are grounded. And that is a severe blow. "But your military career is not over unless you decide it is." Dr. Sirtis had by this time made it to the water cooler. She filled a cup and brought it back to Melanie. "If you give up here, where do you think you will go?" "Doesn't matter where," Melanie said. "Thank you." She balanced the paper cup between her knees and popped the pill and dry swallowed, then washed it down with the water. "See, here's the deal. I got something I'd rather not share. You won't sign off until I do. If I do, you won't sign off. Simple." She looked out the window again. Not for the view, which wasn't very inspiring, but from a compulsion she didn't quite understand. "Maybe you're right, and I have given up. When I came in here, I had no intention of even hinting at it. Now it's out there, because of me. Maybe I did decide it's over." "However, it's really too early for you to have decided anything. You haven't even given yourself time to heal." Dr. Sirtis resettled herself at her desk. "And honestly, I think that is about as far as we're going to get today. You've already made progress, but it's going to take time, and pushing it any further today would be counterproductive. "Thank you for being honest. I'll see you again in two days. If you have any concerns or problems in the meantime, you know how to reach me." "Yeah, sure," Melanie said, standing. She was almost sorry it was over. Almost. She realized at the end, that she did want to tell the doc about it. A little. For that off chance that maybe someone would understand. So she wouldn't be alone with it. Sure, Bill knew, but that probably scared him as much as everything else about her did. And the one person she wasn't going to seek out was Bill Anderson. Not because she didn't want to, but because she was almost certain that Byron was still on the ship. If the lovely Miss Ryan was still aboard, she had Bill attached to her hip, and Melanie did not want to see Byron. Being this close to the girl was an annoyance, getting any closer would be...bad. "See ya next time, Doc." |
