Belladonna And The Curmudgeon
Posted on Jan 08, 2016 @ 12:38am by Lieutenant Eve Dalziel
Edited on on Jan 08, 2016 @ 12:39am
Mission: Promethean
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“Belladonna and The Curmudgeon”
(Continued from “Briefing”)
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Location: USS PHOENIX
SD: [2.6]0105.1946
Scene: Corridor
By the time Captain Kane had ended the meeting, most of Eve’s early morning fatigue had worn off, leaving a myriad of questions and concerns. Granted, her Intel street cred hadn’t been in active use for some time, but if her profile was being shared or sold on the black market, any ideas of resuming that life were deader than Arthur Embry. That wasn’t a prospect she was looking forward to, so the luck of being assigned to the ship that was chosen to hunt down the thieves was welcome news.
Thinking seemed overrated, though, as she had chosen to focus her more immediate attention on the CMO. A medical frigate should have been the safest place for the injured, but surprises were par for the course, especially unwelcome ones. His resolute self control had been admirable, but she didn’t want to see the man build an emotional fortress around himself.
And as if on cue, Foster turned around to stare at Eve, who thought she had been at a discreet distance. As usual, his eyes were frozen daggers.
“Miss Dalziel,” he said pointedly, “why in the fuck are you following me like a bad habit?”
She opened her mouth, trying to come up with some excuse. The truth was her office was just down the corridor. But pretense had never really been a thing with the two of them and there was no point in starting now. “There’s nothing in the Starfleet brochure that says I’m not allowed to care about you.”
“You’d be better off if you didn’t,” he said solemnly, smartly turning away and entering Sickbay proper, once again trying to retreat into the shadows of his department.
She trailed after him. “You have every right to be upset. You and Phia have a history.”
Cade walked around for maybe half a minute, attending to creature comforts, letting her words ruminate. Then he took a sip of the coffee he’d replicated, grimacing at its bracing richness. “The only thing I’m upset about is that this drink isn’t spiked.”
The dark haired woman shrugged. “So, fix it.” She’d half expected to trail him to the Vulgar Tribble and later end up having to scrape him off of a barstool anyway. Cutting out the middleman was kind of appealing, especially with all the detox drugs she could lay hands on without stepping away.
Foster huffed and took another sip, willing himself to enjoy it. “From now on I only drink when I’m celebrating,” he grumbled.
“Celebrating?”
“Only good things.” He raised his cup in a mock toast. “Like Edgerton’s defeat. Making it back to Earth as heroes rather than traitors. My goddamn birthday.”
“It’s not your birthday, is it? Exactly when *is* your birthday?”
Cade inscrutably took another sip of his coffee. “Ask the ‘Annalee’s bloody Horror’. They have that information.”
“Annabelle’s Lament,” she corrected him.
“Might as well call it ‘Hansel and Gretel’s Lament’ because they left a trail of radioactive breadcrumbs for us to follow.” He looked to the Counsellor and grimaced. “I’m surprised you don’t see at least a shred of humor in that. Stop it with the resting bitch face and have some coffee with me.”
Not one to generally disobey orders, she did as instructed, and soon they were sitting side by side on a biobed. “This wasn’t the reaction I expected from you.”
He cocked an eyebrow, trying to look disinterested and failing miserably. “Oh really? You didn’t expect me to react like an officer? Like someone who took an oath to Starfleet?”
“Not really, no,” she said, deadpanning into her double-strong double-cream double-sweet double-everything.
“I’ll admit it, the Captain’s original decision to offload Phia and the others didn’t sit well with me. But where we were headed, hell, where we’re still headed- we’re going to see conflict and combat. She’d be dead here too if something bad happened. Kane may be a hardass, but he’s got to worry more about the thousands of living souls on the ship, not one incapacitated one.”
“Who the hell are you and what did you do with Cade Foster?”
“I’m turning over a new leaf.”
“Don’t give me that crap. This is me you’re talking to. This isn’t about a leaf or two- it’s more like a whole forest.”
This elicited a throaty laugh from the Doctor. “Believe it or don’t, I couldn’t care less.”
“Is this Cade Foster, 2.0?”
“Giving it fancy names spoils the mystique.”
“I see.”
“Don’t you have better things to do than visit grumpy old men? Half the crew should be on Section Eight alert. And the other half are probably charging their weapons.”
She smiled. “I don’t think it’s *that* bad... now that we’re on the winning side.”
“That’s bold talk coming from a Spook like you. When are you going to go rogue and kick some information terrorists’ asses?”
She raised an eyebrow, but she was still smiling. “Someone’s gotta be the straight man around here.”
“A voice of reason? A good deed in a weary world?”
“Yes.”
Foster laughed again, louder this time. “You’re in pretty deep, Eve as in evening. I think you need a shovel.”
“Maybe I was premature on this ‘whole new Cade’ bandwagon.”
“If I changed too much nobody would recognize me,” he quipped. ”But listen. Maybe this ship, this ‘Annabelle’s Lament’, needs a very evil, raw-boned woman to round out its crew.”
“I’d like that. But don’t you remember- they have our records. *My* records.”
He placed his hand on her cheek like a sculptor studying a piece of uncut marble. “You underestimate me. I can take this silk purse and turn it into a sow’s ear. You’d be so menacing people would back away just on principle alone.”
“And I appreciate that, I really do. But you’d have to turn me into a… a pygmy marmoset if I had any hopes of infiltration. Your skills as a surgeon are above reproach, but that’s still a tall order.”
“Speaking of tall... you’d be the tallest pygmy marmoset in existence.”
“Now you’re just being a tease.”
“That was my nickname at the Academy- Doc Tease.”
Lieutenant Dalziel laughed and groaned. “Are you trying to make me leave?”
Cade walked to the replicator for more coffee, doing a hackneyed step with his good leg. “Not at all. This is our dance, my dear lady.”
“What do you mean?”
‘We’re both too smart to get involved sexually. Well more to the point, you’re too smart and I’m too jaded. We obviously think too much alike to be adversaries, unless it’s in a war of wordplay.”
“I still think you’re a sexist pig sometimes.”
He waved her off. “A minor detail.”
“You just proved my point. Remind me again, many times have you been punched in your chauvinistic face?” She thought she saw him flinch.
“Too many, I assure you.”
Her mouth twitched between a smile and an attempt to look serious. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up such bad memories. Please, continue.”
“In a nutshell- I’ve grown accustomed to your oddly pale face brightening the corners of my home now and again.”
“Are you calling me a friend?”
“Pedestrian terms like “friendship” are lost on me, Eve. But if recent events have had any indication, I have to stay this new course and endeavor to act like a decent human being, and you know what a strain that puts on me.”
Eve chuckled. “I do.”
He put his coffee cup down and squeezed her hand, his voice losing some of its volume and its bravado. “Thanks for being there. It helps to have someone in your life that makes you hate yourself a little less.”
“That sounds almost inspirational.”
“‘The Counselling department: Keeping things from sucking out loud.’ I suggest you make some t-shirts and bumper stickers right away.”
“No coffee mugs?!”
He looked down into his second empty cup. “Ah, good one. We could’ve used those.”
Her comm badge chimed with a warning about her first appointment. It was in ten minutes. “So, Doc, duty calls. Any more parting words?
“Listen lady, I’m done with all this flowery horse shit. You just got the best recommendation you’ll ever receive from me.”
“That’ll keep me warm and fuzzy for all of three minutes.”
“That’s about the same time as a shot of whiskey. All without the hangover risk.”
“What am I supposed to do for the rest of the day?” she asked with a wink as she showed herself to the door.
“I’m just a Doctor, Dalziel. I am *not* responsible for your joy. You’re the professional. You figure it out.”
=/\=
NRPG: Some die-alogue material provided by “House”.
Susan Ledbetter
Writing for
Lieutenant Eve Dalziel
Counsellor
USS PHOENIX