Take a Deep Breath

Posted on Fri Jan 16th, 2026 @ 2:08am by Kaelen & Evelyn Reynolds

Mission: Shackles
Location: Sickbay, S.S. Mary Rose
5120 words - 10.2 OF Standard Post Measure

Kaelen’s stride through the corridors of the Mary Rose felt noticeably lighter. His encounter with Delaney O’Callaghan had been a breath of fresh, if slightly chaotic, air; there was a revitalizing honesty in her brand of organized mayhem that he found far more palatable than the rehearsed transparency of the Rangers which often bordered on proselytizing. He found himself genuinely looking forward to pestering some his old Starfleet connections for her, or rather for Caliea. If he could leverage a few dusty favors to find the little one’s home planet, it would be a small but significant payment toward the mental ledger of his past—a way to mend a thread in the galaxy's tapestry rather than just going at it with Federation branded shears.

He consulted his PADD, noting that 'Medical Clearance' was one of the final, stubborn items remaining on his onboarding checklist. He had intentionally saved it for later in the day, hoping to catch the Chief Medical Officer at a quiet moment. Fortune seemed to be favoring him; the ship was currently in a stable orbit, and with the majority of the crew currently taking advantage of shore leave at the station they were docked at, the usual bustle of the Mary Rose had settled into a ghost-ship stillness. Which only emphasized the whirrs, croaks and groans of the vessel.

Case in point, as he reached the medical section of the ship, the double sliding doors of sickbay operated with a synchronization that could only be described as aspirational—the left panel glided open with a smooth, oiled grace, while its counterpart hesitated for a heartbeat before lurching forward with a mechanical shudder and squeaking protestation. Inside, the ward was a masterclass in pragmatic survival. It was a space that lacked the gleaming, white-plastic sterility of a modern Starfleet facility, opting instead for more of an aged hue, as if the walls themselves had opted for a sepia filter. The bio-beds were sturdy, vintage models with mismatched monitors, and the deck plating hummed with a specific, low-frequency vibration that suggested a life-support fan was nearing the end of its functional life after it already had exceeded its service life according to official maintenance manuals several times over. Yet, everything was orderly and well kept. Tidy and stocked. Kaelen quickly pushed aside the mental image of a living museum and people in Starfleet uniforms 1 size to small hurrying from door to door as if they had drank a pint of apple juice too many and were in a desperate search for the nearest lavatory.

The ward was deserted, the silence of the lunch hour feeling heavy in the absence of patients. Kaelen paused, his nostrils twitching. Over the ever-present, sharp tang of industrial-grade disinfectant that seemed to be a permanent fixture of every Starfleet sickbay he had ever set foot in, he detected a distinctly foul, pungent odor. it was an organic, heavy scent—something that, in Kaelen's experience, was usually associated with deep-space rot or a very poorly contained biological sample.

From the CMO’s office at the back of the bay, he heard an intermittent, sharp clack-clack of metal striking ceramic. It was an arhythmic, cold sound that, when paired with the encroaching stench, caused a rare flicker of genuine concern to stir beneath his ridged brow. He took two quick, silent steps toward the door. Unsure if he was about to interrupt something innocuous or stumble into a bio-hazard emergency, Kaelen simultaneously rapped his knuckles against the metal frame and pressed the 'open' button, bracing himself for whatever clinical catastrophe awaited on the other side.

It was not the first time, by a considerable margin, that Evelyn had used a lay-over as an excuse to disappear. If pressed on the matter, she would have been very swift to point out that stationing herself in her office hardly counted as hiding but the doctor had always been adept at pedantry when it favoured her and would have been hard-pressed to convince many that her choice of location wasn't intended to deter interruption. Typically, if the crew had an opportunity to step off-ship, they took it, which came with the caveat of most of them then avoiding any kind of medical intervention like the plague unless absolutely necessary. Sickbay was not a social hub; Evelyn was more than content with that reality.

As always, the solitude served its own purpose. Having inherited an adminstrative mess due to the swift rotation of personnel prior to her arrival, Evelyn had done very little to downplay the temptation to add her to the list of departed medical managers by nitpicking her way through every procedure that wasn't quite up to code and then hitting Gregnol up with the resource requirements to fix the oversight. There was little doubt previous doctors had done their best, and every indication that the Captain was only in a position to finance improvements due to more recent employment developments, but that really only explained the success rate of Reynold's constant demands, not the ongoing tenacity that sat behind them.

Right now, she was entrenched in a mountain of paperwork of her own doing. Offering further training to the staff had seemed the only logical way to avoid the constant struggle to make sure the crew had sufficient medical coverage but accreditation came with its theoretical side and someone had to review coursework. More importantly, at least in regards to her current priorities, someone had to map out the next steps and make sure time and resources were set aside for the next round of modules. It involved a lot of reading, a lot of scheduling and, as it happened, a lot of cheese.

There hadn't been any time for lunch.

It was, therefore, a pretty mundane scene that revealed itself as the doors slid open, nothing more perturbing than a frowning woman, sat at a desk, staring at a screen whilst trying to cut loose a sliver of blue cheese without interrupting what she was doing. Very little changed as the interruption drew her attention, save the direction of her gaze, which adjusted mildly to invert her eyebrows upwards.

"Can I help you?"

The immediate rush of adrenaline that had propelled Kaelen to the door evaporated, replaced by the subtle, yet no less prickling embarrassment of unwarranted heroics. He froze mid-lunge, his hand still hovering near the door control, before he slowly straightened his posture. "Ah, yes, quite. My apologies, Doctor," he began, realization dawning that in his rush to mitigate a catastrophe, he hadn't bothered to so much as glance at the signage identifying who was on the other side of the door. He leaned back slightly, craning his neck outside the doorframe to squint at the small, brushed-metal nameplate affixed to the bulkhead, finally verifying the identity he had bypassed in his haste before sliding back into view. "Doctor Reynolds, I presume? I am Kaelen, the new diplomatic liaison. I am currently making my way through your vessel's rather exhaustive onboarding checklist, and I believe I am due for a formal introduction and a medical clearance."

He offered a polite, deferential nod, though his eyes couldn't help but drift toward the plate on her desk. The source of the "emergency" was now glaringly obvious, sitting in all its moldy, semi-soft glory. Kaelen’s ridged brow furrowed as his internal biological sensors confirmed that the "deep-space rot" was, in fact, sitting there, out in the open. He took a small step into the office. 

When Kaelen continued, his tone carried a hint of genuine Denobulan concern. "I must apologize for the intrusion into your... medical analysis, however, if I may be so bold as to ask—purely in the interest of safety, of course—is it customary for physicians to handle a sample as remarkably malodorous as this one without the use of any protective equipment? Or, indeed, to look in the opposite direction whilst wielding a blade? If nothing else, it is a fascinating display of surgical confidence."

As was customary where Evelyn was concerned, the shift in expression from reserved trepidation to mild amusement was nuanced enough that her features barely flinched. The thought process behind her eyes, however, told a different story, somewhat at her visitor's expense, though she was polite enough not to make an excessive amount of fuss about it. Instead, she trailed her gaze down to the plate and the offending knife still wedged partway through the next sliver, and very carefully finished the slice so that she could set the cutlery aside and extend the plate upwards for closer inspection.

"Quite an impressive sample of Penicillium roqueforti, stored under optimal conditions to avoid any risk of contamination. The smell is intended," she added, a single eyebrow flickering just enough to risk giving away the whole jest. "You can taste it if you like."

Kaelen’s eyebrows performed a small, rhythmic dance of their own—a Denobulan expression of dawning, amused comprehension. He had once spent a three-week summit on Tellar Prime where the primary delicacy was a fermented tuber that smelled like a damp radiator and tasted like old bathroom insulation; compared to that, a bit of moldy Earth dairy was practically a perfume. Albeit a revolting perfume.

"Ah, Penicillium roqueforti," he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue with a melodic, appreciative lilt, as if it meant anything to him - which it most decidedly did not. He moved closer, leaning in with the professional curiosity he applied when invited to consume things that would make a replicator go into emergency shutdown.

He looked from the plate to the doctor, his wide smile returning, though it was now tempered with trepidation. "In fifty years of diplomacy, Doctor, I have learned that the terrifying-looking offerings may hold the grandest rewards, or are simply as horrific as they appear. Regardless, It would be a significant breach of my own professional code to decline such a generous, if aromatic, invitation." With the slightest tilt of his head Kaelen accepted the small sliver of cheese. He held it up to the light for a moment, pretending to examine the blue veins with genuine fascination, whilst actually steeling himself for the gastrointestinal assault that might befall him, before popping it into his mouth.

He chewed slowly, his eyes widening as the flavor hit—a sharp, salty explosion that seemed to vibrate right up to his ridges. "Oh," he managed, his voice dropping an octave in genuine surprise. "That is... quite a.. robust... sensation. It has a remarkably decisive personality. I can certainly see why you would find it a suitable companion for administrative work, Doctor. It would be quite impossible to fall asleep while this is in the room for reasons beyond the smell."

"I think it falls under the category of acquired taste," Evelyn agreed, and though her demeanor didn't adjust quite enough to radiate a relaxation into convivial humour, at the very least she was no longer bristling with irritation at the impromptu interruption. "More an experience than a source of enjoyment but my father thought to send it and there will be expectations of a full critique eventually."

Setting the plate back down, the doctor flicked her terminal into standby and rose.

"You would know better than most that mild inconvenience is often better than prolonged conflict." It was, in a nutshell, not an unfair definition of diplomacy, at least under some contexts. Pausing a moment, arguably to see if the man would realise under his own volition that he was blocking the door back into the examination area, Evelyn then nodded in that direction to speed the matter up. "Shall we?"

"Spoken like a true tactician of the dinner table," Kaelen replied with a chuckle, finally catching the intent behind her nod. He took a hasty step backward, clearing the threshold and retreating into the main examination area. He was surprised to find himself feeling a minor surge of relief as the air grew thinner and the "acquired taste" behind the desk began to fade into the background.

He offered a light, amicable gesture toward the bio-bed. "If your father requires a second opinion for his critique, do feel free to include my feedback. I should think 'a courageous culinary confrontation' would be a fitting summary. Or, should the need for a formal joint communiqué arise, I would be honored to co-author a more detailed assessment of its... olfactory tenacity."

As he settled onto the edge of the bed, his wide, friendly smile returned, though it was now more contained, professional. He was keenly aware that the CMO’s time was a precious resource, and while he was eager to find a foothold of commonality with the crew, he knew when to pivot to the business at hand. "But for now, I suppose we should proceed with the more traditional forms of scrutiny. I promise my internal physiology is far less beset by fungi than your lunch, Doctor."

"Call me old fashioned," Evelyn replied, her attention diverted to the necessary callibration of her equipment to allow for yet another physiological variant to expand on the crew's current requirements. "But I typically prefer to leave the medical prognosis to the experts."

It took a considerable amount of time, patience and a certain amount of natural intuition to judge when Reynolds was joking. That her sense of humour veered slightly towards the reserved teasing of someone primed for playing her cards close to her chest didn't help interpretation, though any fair reflection would usually land on the fact that she wasn't exactly austere so much as just...subtle. She had certainly mastered the art of schooling her features in the midst of social interplay and, as such, seemed far more intent on frowning at the sluggish input delay than smirking at her patient's expense.

Denobulan. Not a physiology she was particularly familiar with but Evelyn viewed the challenge as a welcome change in routine and certainly something her two students could benefit from. There was a slight niggle of a previous sentiment she couldn't quite place, one of those fleeting and ill-formed preconceptions that suggested she had a bone to pick with Denobulans, though she'd have been hard-pressed to pinpoint exactly why. Something in a medical journal she hadn't agreed with perhaps; there were a few of them kicking about academia.

"Any prior illness or injury of relevance?," she asked while she waited, and with the question finally came proper eye contact. "Ongoing medical concerns?"

Kaelen remained silent for a heartbeat, his lips curling to a smile with quiet bemusement. It was a classic human paradox—the kind that had fascinated him since his earliest days in the Federation. The insistance on her medical expertise followed immediately by a request for the patient to provide the very data being scrutinized. He recalled a particularly stubborn Admiral on Starbase 128 who had once insisted that "the chain of command is absolute" while simultaneously asking Kaelen’s opinion on how to creatively interpret his own superior's orders in a manner that allowed him “the leeway to get the job done”. Humans seemed to exist in a permanent state of stating one thing while doing its precise opposite, a trait that could be as exhausting as it was endearing.

Kaelen leaned back as the bio-bed sensors began their low-humming sweep. "Technically speaking, Starfleet gave me a remarkably clean bill of health when I resigned a few years ago. And I assure you, it was not for lack of trying on their part. I believe I underwent more scans, probes, and esoteric bio sampling during my exit processing than I did when I first entered the Academy. It was as if they were convinced I must have picked up some exotic stowaway in my cellular structure—or perhaps they simply wanted to ensure I wasn't carrying any classified information in my marrow before releasing me back into the 'wild'."

He let out a soft chuckle, though his expression grew more thoughtful. "Then again, given some of the worlds I’ve visited, their caution was perhaps justified. Diplomacy frequently takes one into places where the local pathogens turn out to be even more aggressive than the local politicians. More than once I’ve had to negotiate the delivery of essential aid in the middle of pandemic-level outbreaks, where the 'diplomatic coercion' involved convincing the local leadership to accept Starfleet medical support before they succumbed to their own pride. It is difficult to maintain a clean bill of health when you are having talks in a plague-stricken metropolis."

He looked directly at her, his posture relaxed despite the flickering lights of the scanner. "But as it stands? No ongoing concerns, unless you count a slight, lingering aversion to fermented tuber from the Tellarite border. My last cortical mapping was within normal Denobulan parameters, and my immune system has proven itself remarkably resilient against everything from Cardassian flu to Rigelian swamp-fever. I am, as they say, fit for duty—provided said duty doesn't involve more of that Roquefort."

Had it been the focus of conversation, Evelyn would have been happy to espouse the benefits of seeking a patient's perspective as opposed to merely operating on empirical data and a clinician's interpretation of its context. She couldn't provide much by way of justification for leadership hypocrisy but in this case, at least, she asked because she wanted to know what he would tell her. What he knew already, what he was prepared to divulge, and more importantly, to provide a launching point for any discussions about specifics and the nuance of individual circumstance. She was not there to simply assess the crew's physiological status but their capacity to operate safely within the parameters of their own limitations. It might have been an unpopular opinion amongst her peers but Evelyn had always insisted that people were far more than the sum total of even the most comprehensive bio-scan; self-awareness and perception were powerful instigators.

Besides, it was always interesting to see what people would confess to. Slightly more concerning were the times where they genuinely didn't seem to realise.

It was not a topic raised, however, and may not have stood much chance up against the other information easily confirmed by a quick perusal of the man's onboarding details. There wasn't a lot of change to the doctor's outward composure, though in the presence of someone adequately trained to read body-language, it was probably too much to hope that Kaelan couldn't sense the way her energy retreated inwards. Cold, rigid walls descended and an aloofness Jake still liked to tease her about rendered Evie's calm response a complete charade.

Starfleet.

"I'll update your records to reflect an underdeveloped palate then."

It was, in every obvious way, a clear attempt at a mild joke at his expense. The tone it was delivered in was perfectly cultivated to convey that, her grounded posture unhindered by any palpable escalation in tension. A very well-rehearsed sense of all is well dominated the doctor's slight smile and yet, as her eyes darted to keep track of the newly-transmitting bio-data being gathered, Evelyn's auto-pilot failed to entirely cover for the internal floundering of a very angry inner-voice already scripting the conversation she intended to have with a certain member of the leadership team concerning the lack of adequate warning as previously requested. Advised, if one wanted to be pedantic.

What the hell was Gregnol doing hiring ex-Starfleet?

Which was to say, why the hell had Jake not told her Gregnol was hiring ex-Starfleet. A familiar flutter in her chest provoked agitation; Evelyn had never been very gracious about her shortcomings when it came to anxiety-control and certainly had very little time now for being reduced to a hyperventilating mess. The Denobulan's explanation struck several low blows, however, and it was difficult not to interpret some of the disclosure as a very deliberate attempt to align their previous pathways. Whatever she chose to say would be scrutinised and, suddenly, if it was deemed hypocritical to play dumb in the midst of information already at one's disposal then the shoe had slipped deftly to the other foot.

A good chess player didn't balk under an opponent's provocation, however.

"And now diplomacy has lead you here. Not the right place at all if you're coveting exotic pathogens; it's taken me half a year but the crew are finally vaccine-compliant."

Kaelen felt the temperature in the room drop—not literally, but in the way the air seemed to thin between them. It was a sensation he knew well: the tactical retreat of a personality into defensive fortifications. The jab about his palate was delivered with expert precision, but the energy behind it felt forced, a sharp edge meant to keep him at a distance. He recalled Delaney’s subtle warnings about the crew's cagey nature regarding their pasts; it seemed the doctor had a vault of her own, and he had accidentally caused it to slam shut, encase itself in concrete and hurl itsef down an oceanic trench.

To Kaelen, however, locked doors were infinitely more fascinating than open ones. He didn't feel the need to push, not yet, but he tucked the observation away. Sunlight, he often found, was the best disinfectant for such shadows, though he suspected Evelyn preferred the sterile, filtered light of her sickbay.

"Vaccine-compliant? Truly a remarkable feat of organizational persistence. Though I must admit, I do not miss the side effects of Starfleet’s more... experimental vaccination protocols. Or the inevitable quarantine that followed. It’s quite difficult to maintain a diplomatic posture when one is dealing with a localized rash and a forty-eight-hour lock-in, despite it evidently stemming from space suit chafing due to a slightly misaligned moisture wicking subroutine." He paused, his smile turning warm and reflective. "Still, I always tried to capitalize on the enforced downtime. It gave me the perfect excuse to catch up on correspondence with my relatives back on Denobula. The birthday greetings alone for my extended family are quite the time investment, you see. If I don't set aside a full day for it each month, I’m liable to be disowned by at least three aunts."

Shifting his tone back to a light, observational register to bridge the gap she'd created he continued. "Curiously enough, I’ve just spent a considerable amount of time with the many pages of Miss O’Callaghan’s onboarding questionnaire, and I don't recall a single query regarding my immunization status. Or even my preference for needle versus hypospray."

He offered her a conspiratorial wink. "Instead, I was asked whether I’d prefer a phaser or a very firm opinion in a crisis. Tell me, Doctor, purely for the sake of my own medical education: I noticed a rather probing inquiry regarding one's 'reaction to unexpected gravitational shifts in a vacuum.' Is that meant to screen for inner-ear sensitivity, or is it a psychological test for the inevitable panic of a venting atmosphere? And the question about 'ideal ambient temperature for napping'—surely that indicates something about my metabolic efficiency, or does it just identify who is likely to steal all the blankets in the event of life-support failure?"

One of the causalities of recent upheaval was Evelyn's capacity to switch off her own irritation, or at least set it so far to one side that it had no chance of impacting the present moment and could be safely relegated to the privacy of a muttered tirade behind closed doors. She had been born capable of intentional composure, calm yet never placid, controlled yet far from indolent. It was of no small amount of frustration that the knack had slipped a little in the past year or so, to such an extent that it was possible for situations to arrive at a point where she couldn't actually trust herself to speak. Silence wasn't much of a refuge when it was just as likely to broadcast more than was comfortable but, as per usual, the universe hadn't asked her opinion before yanking the rug out from under her.

The man's elaboration rattled the cage, a metal cup dragged along the bars to provoke a reaction. It seemed, Evelyn rationalised, just a little too coincidental that he should focus so heavily on aspects of his career that ought, by natural parallel, prompt her to speak up about her own. It was a neat bit of maneuvering, she could hand that much to him. Now, if she said nothing, it would be blatantly obvious once he found out through other means, should he not already know, that she had intentionally avoided disclosing just how familiar she was with the protocols he was complaining about; she had instigated them plenty of times in situations almost exactly like the one Kaelan was describing. Any potential to feign circumstantial omission was obliterated, and there she was, the bug under the microscope left to decide which way she intended to scurry.

She didn't trust his diversionary tactics either.

"I think you will find, as most of us have, that Ms. O'Callaghan has very little need to seek input from the rest of us when it comes to creative interrogation techniques. It's not a medically-sanctioned questionnaire, if that's your concern. Thankfully, she hasn't decided to try and share the responses with me yet."

"Well, perhaps there is an opportunity there for some inter-departmental synergy," Kaelen suggested, his voice retaining a bright, helpful tone. "Given the depth of some of the questions, a bit of professional medical rephrasing could turn a 'creative interrogation' into a truly robust screening tool. I’d be more than happy to help facilitate a consultation between yourself and Ms. O'Callaghan to, shall we say, 'formalize' the process."

Evelyn didn't answer. Her gaze remained fixed on the primary monitor, her fingers manipulating the controls in a manner that had the telltale signs of restrained annoyance. The conversation, if it could still be called that, effectively died there. The next fifteen minutes were occupied by the cold, mechanical hum of the scanners and the occasional sharp beep of the bio-bed's diagnostic computer. Kaelen made a few more attempts at small talk—commenting on the vintage charm of the medical equipment and asking if the ship's life-support fans always sounded like a choir of drowsy honeybees—but his observations were met, at best with the kind of monosyllabic acknowledgments that suggested the Doctor was currently viewing him as little more than an overly talkative biological sample.

Finally, the scanners gave a final, conclusive chime. Waiting a few seconds for the doctor’s permission to rise, and receiving none, Kaelen took it upon himself to slide off the bio-bed, straightening his tunic with a sharp flick of his wrist. He stood there for a moment, hands clasped behind his back, his wide, serene Denobulan grin firmly in place. He looked at Evelyn, his head tilting just enough to catch the light, his eyes twinkling with a knowing, unsettlingly calm intensity.

"Is everything... quite alright, Doctor?" he asked. The question hung in the air, its weight ambiguous—it was a standard patient’s inquiry into their health, yet the way his gaze lingered on her, steady and patient, carried a distinct, unspoken subtext. Or did it? Before she could formulate a response, not once abandoning his cheerful persona, Kaelen reached into his satchel for his PADD. "Provided my underdeveloped palate does not prevent me from commencing my duties, would you please sign off on my onboarding form, Doctor? Or do you require anything further from me today?"

Snatching was bad manners, a concept drilled into Evelyn since infancy. Such lessons had absolutely no bearing on the speed with which she took the device from him, nor was there any disguising the fact that the flourish of certification came at a pace that suggested the doctor couldn't wait to get it over and done with. None of it was polite but neither was dissolving into a paranoid mess and Evelyn was absolutely certain she preferred being considered a prickly bitch than failing to maintain her composure amidst the slow disintegration of her equilibrium.

"We don't need to see you for every bump and scrape but any injury that requires even basic treatment should be lodged. It's a simple process, you can access the portal through your staff account. If you develop any symptom that may be reminscent of infection, no matter how minor, you should report to sickbay for evaluation."

An eyebrow quirked, the faintest twitch of wry sarcasm.

"Early intervention is the most effective way to control infectious spread, we can hardly operate a ship with half the crew on bed-rest."

Evelyn handed back the PADD.

"With any luck, I won't need to see you very often."

Kaelen wasn't the only one who could whip up a subtext when it suited.

Accepteing the device, his thumb grazed the edge of the screen as he confirmed the digital signature. He understood perfectly well that he would get no further today; negotiations, establishing diplomatic relations in general, often occurred in stages, and a strategic withdrawal was at times the prerequisite for a successful second contact.

"I shall endeavor to be the very model of a healthy, vaccine-compliant crew mate, Doctor," Kaelen replied, sliding the PADD into his satchel with a nonchalant flick. "You have my word that every protocol will be observed with the utmost Denobulan diligence. I wouldn't dream of contributing to a ship-wide outbreak."

He straightened his tunic, his wide grin returning with a fresh, puckish energy. He stepped toward the exit, pausing just long enough to glance back over his shoulder. "And while we may not 'need' to see each other for medical reasons, I am suddenly quite motivated to work on that ‘underdeveloped palate’ you mentioned. If you ever find yourself in need of a second opinion on your father's provisions, perhaps you could help me... broaden my horizons? I've always found that the most complex flavors are best explored and discussed in good company."

He gave a small, deferential nod, his eyes twinkling with a double-meaning meant to prod at her remaining defenses. "I look forward to our next consultation, Doctor. Hopefully one with a bit more music involved. I have been given to understand the Mary Rose holds a formidable karaoke night—I do hope to see you there."

Without waiting for a response, Kaelen turned and vanished through the sliding doors, leaving the silence of sickbay to settle around Evelyn once more, punctuated only by the remaining aroma of blue cheese.