BACKLOG - JDL | Com Ivanova, Cmdr Archer - "All Good Things Come To Those Who Wait"

Posted on Thu Apr 16th, 2015 @ 5:52am by Admiral Rochelle Ivanova & Commander James Archer
Edited on on Sun Apr 19th, 2015 @ 4:57am

1,205 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: A Spot To Kill

The medbay was lit only by the lights from the medical equipment. Rochelle was lying peacefully in her biobed and the injury to her neck was barely visible due to the miracle of modern medicine. James decided to take this opportunity to try and relax for a few. Sighing he folded his arms over his chest and closed his eyes.

With the melorazine in her system finally starting to lose it's hold, Rochelle could feel the tingling sensation of consciousness beginning to run the circuits of her aching body. She coughed lightly as she struggled to wake, forcing her eyes open. They felt as if their lids were weighed down with lead balls, impossible to lift and yet still she tried, never getting them further open beyond the tiniest slivers of blue. Her throat was decided dry, almost sandy feeling as she huffed an exasperated groan that settled somewhere between pain and confusion. "Dear God..." She rasped, bringing a catheter impeded hand to cover her face.

Hearing Rochelle cough, James' eyes popped open. Looking at her vitals, which were normal, James decided to wait on calling the Doc. "Rochelle? Hey! How are you feeling," he whispered.

"Alive." She replied, trying to swallow the feeling of sand away. It was the second time that day, or at least she thought it was still that day, that she'd used that word to assure someone that she was still around and functioning. "James?" She asked, trying to place the voice that had spoken to her. It wasn't Rotek, and certainly not Landon or Almar or Amelia or or or... Her mind whirled with the last fighting gasp of melorazine's hold and she sighed softly, worrying her dry lower lip with her tongue and turning her head to look in his direction. She'd recognize the silhouette of his facial hair anywhere, blurry, heavy lidded vision or not.

James had a glass of water sitting on the table next to his chair. He grabbed it, gently placing the opposite hand beneath her head to lift her lips to the glass for a drink. "The one and only, he replied."

Not trusting her own hands, and having a desert residing within her mouth, Rochelle knew she had no choice but to accept his touch and aid. Never in her life had she been more thankful for the taste of water than she was at that moment. "Thank you." She said, offering the Intel officer a small, tired smile in return. "How long have you been here?"

Returning the glass to the table and glancing at the ships chronometer, James replied, "A little over 17 hours."

"Seventeen hours?" Her head spun to think she'd been out for such a long space of time. "I hate Atlantis Prime." Rochelle groaned and lay her head laying back against the comfort of her pillow.

James chuckled, "You and me both." He continued to smile, "You'll be happy to know that Kyym is in custody, we found Almar hiding in a Jeffery's tube, and both ships and crew are safe."

"Kyym being on this ship doesn't make me happy. Almar being found in one piece and the rest of the crew being safe leaves me ecstatic, but the idea of soon being back on our turf leaves me completely tickled." Rochelle's voice strained as as she struggled to try and sit up, far from content with her display of pained vulnerability. Try was the operative word. Failure became the reality with an indignant and tired sigh hot on her lips before they pursed and she settled for simply laying there before him. "I'd rather die then go back there again."

"Don't try and sit up yet," James ordered. "Kyym isn't on board. She's sitting in cell on Atlantis Prime." James grabbed another pillow, helped Rochelle lift her head, and tucked the plump object under her neck, "And you don't have to go back down. Any business you have left to conduct can be done so from the comfort of the Vindicator either by you or a representative of your choosing."

Her immediate reaction was to snap at his gruff order, flay him for attempting to give her any kind of medical advice -- but Rochelle couldn't muster the energy necessary to do much more than lift a brow. When he worked to maneuver the additional pillow behind her, the little firebird couldn't help but feel the heavy, churning syrup of mixed emotions slowly filter through her drugged system. There was relief, appreciation, and then ire at her own situation. "Commander Waterhouse was supposed to be working on a list of possible regents. I need that in my hand as quickly as possible." Ever the warrior, the woman refused to rest or allow her carefully collected hand slip from the reins of the mighty Vindicator even when her health demanded that she fall back and rest. It couldn't happen. Wouldn't happen.

"That can wait until the Doc releases you. Right now, you need to rest." James stood, "and you will rest. Even if I have to have Doc put you under again."

The ice blue of her half-opened eyes followed his face as he stood, "Don't threaten me, Commander. The sooner I get this done, the sooner we can leave this Godsforsaken place." She leveled with him, tipping her head as best she could to emphasize her point with a knowing look tainted by sleepy challenge. Exhausted simply by talking, she knew his demands that she rest would ultimately be followed whether she wanted them to or not. Rebellion simply wasn't in her immediate constitution, and not for lack of desire.

"It's not a threat. When have I ever threatened anyone?" James quipped, "and while that may be, Commodore, your health is more important. Right now both the Vindicator and the Illustrious are relatively safe. You need your rest."

"Not even five seconds ago." Rochelle stifled a yawn, allowing the drug smoked depths of her eyes to close. "I'll sleep... I expect it in my hands when I've moved out of ICU and not a moment later." Even ready to drop back beneath the ether, the little firebrand refused to yield to him or anyone else, especially not about the Atlanteans. "Sooner we get out of here, the sooner we get to Theta, the sooner I can talk--" Another yawn broke her verbal train, this time far from concealed as the gossamer veil of sleep began to fall over her frost burnt features, "to your father." She murmured, whisper soft.

"My old man isn't going anywhere and that PADD will be in you hands when you're moved."

"Mkay." The barely conscious Commodore cooed in response, her mind slowly fading to the comfortable darkness that only sleep could bring. "James?" She mustered on a quiet breath, unable to rouse beyond that warm, comforting veil of twilight, "Thank you..." Her voice trailed off as the sandman finally won the poorly fought battle and sank her deep under the surface of a much needed sleep.

James watched as Rochelle drifted off to sleep, "Anytime," he whispered with a smile.

---

Commodore Rochelle Ivanova
Commanding Officer
USS VINDICATOR, NCC 78213-E

Commander James Archer
Chief Intelligence Officer
USS VINDICATOR, NCC 78213-E

 

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