driftfleet | Meanwhile on the less violent fish ship....

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Meanwhile on the less violent fish ship....

Who: The Blue Fish Crew & Any Visitors
Broadcast: MAYBE
Action: SS Blue Fish
When: Beginning of July

[So in the past month, Aang & Katara may or may not have become an item, Sokka finished off all of puberty in under a week, Allen remained stuck in the puberty still, Toph won strangest pilot award briefly before she had to give it up to a pony, Hawke sassed everything and finally itemized with Anders, Beverly acquired a Starfleet issued puppy, and it turned out the cook is a flipping disney princess. Quite a time for the Blue Fish crew!]

[Well, it's time to check in with them again: AKA IT'S A MINGLE EVERYONE]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Yeah.

[nervousness? what nervousness? he picks himself up onto his feet like a good patient.]

Does it even feel weird or anything?

No, you won't feel a thing!

[She picks up the tricorder so she can read the results as she scans. He wasn't entirely lying: his metabolism is much more efficient than a human's and closer to a Vulcan's. However, he failed to mention the alcohol still in his system. The other drugs he's taking she can maybe work around but the alcohol... better metabolism or not, that's a bad combination. Looking back up at him, she keeps her tone of voice calm, non-accusatory.]

Nel, I can see that you have been drinking recently and I can't in good conscience prescribe you sleeping pills while there is alcohol in your system.

What?

[aaaand his face immediately falls. his excitement over being able to see his readings on the fancy device evaporates, and his ears lower a notch.

all that worry comes right back.]

...Why not? What do you mean?

It's simply too dangerous. Barbiturates with alcohol can be a deadly combination [She holds up a hand before he can protest], even for non-humans.

Now, that isn't to say I'm not willing to work with you. I am. I want to help, just not at the cost of my medical ethics.

[and she does catch him as soon as he opens his mouth, about to argue. so, he instead just... stands there in rapidly-growing despair.

it's the kind of thing where he's obviously not hearing the hope in her words. he's just hearing 'no' and that thought causes the chill of an overactive fear to prickle over his skin.]

It'll be fine, really--I know what I'm doing. And, just... what am I supposed to do without it? I can't sleep...

[She's wished for Deanna to be here so many times but she especially feels the loss now. This is more Deanna's realm of expertise and Beverly has no doubt she'd know exactly what to do and what to say. After a moment of thought, Beverly sets her tricorder down and pulls her chair around so that she's sitting closer to Nel, no desk between them. Sometimes the best thing you can do for a patient is simply listen... that is, if she can get him to talk. He doesn't always seem to do that well with direct questions.]

We'll figure out something, I promise. You don't have to deal with this alone.

[it's true, he doesn't do well with most direct questions--he either sidles away from them, answers with the barest answer he can get away with, or just outright lies.

something like this, though, he can't dodge easily. and having her sit down closer to him disarms him a little. so, he plops back down in his chair, looking defeated.]

Like what, though? ...Am I supposed to stop drinking or something?

Yes, that would help... though...

[She drifts off with a frown. A thought has suddenly occurred to her. She stands again and starts poking around her lab, getting more animated as she does. Finally, she stops fiddling with stuff and turns back to Nel with a smile on her face.]

I think I may have just figured out a solution!

[in the meantime, he quietly folds up himself on his chair--bringing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. generally just looking smaller and curling up, as the topic is making him feel kind of vulnerable.

he watches her buzz around the lab with vague worry.]

...Yeah?

[Seeing him curled up protectively like that... Beverly comes over and squats down in front of him, so that their faces are level to one another's and gently rests a hand on his knee.]

Yeah. There's a substance in my world, called synthehol. It smells and taste like regular alcohol, and you still get ... ah, pleasantly inebriated off it, but without any of the negative side effects of alcohol. Most importantly for us, though, is that it wouldn't interfere with the sleeping pills. I'm certain I could replicate the formula here in the lab. What do you say?

[his expression doesn't change much, but his ears perk up.]

So... if I drank that instead, I could get more pills?

You could.

[She smiles encouragingly.]

So then do you want to give it a shot?

[he nods, and the relief is pitifully overwhelming.

almost immediately, he looks like he's getting choked up on it, and he drops his eyes again. he takes big breaths and hugs his knees.]

Nel...

[Without really thinking, she reaches out and strokes his hair. Maybe it's not very professional, but she can't stand seeing him like this. He's just a kid, really, though no doubt whatever brought him to this point isn't something anyone should have to grow up with.]

It'll be alright.

[oop, and there he goes.

at the little gesture of affection, his face plunks down onto his knees, and his hunched-up shoulders begin to shake.

give him a minute, and he'll be able to choke out words through the oncoming tears, muffled as they are.]

I don't know how to do this...

[This is simply heartbreaking. She keeps stroking his hair soothingly, just like she would Wesley, any time he was upset.]

I know it's hard but ... you're not alone. I'm right here.

You're so nice to me...

[he lifts his face enough to try and wipe his eyes on the back of his arm, but... it really isn't going to help. so, he quickly gives up and drops his head down again.]

Ugh. How do you ever get used to this?

Used to what?

This.

[he sits up again, ignoring the mess that his face is, and gestures around himself.]

Pretending to be normal. Trying to just... be like everyone else is.

[Fortunately or unfortunately, she takes that "you" to be a general one, not one specifically applying to her.]

There's hardly anything "normal" about this fleet. Try not to compare yourself so much to everyone else, to what you think is their definition of normal because I guarantee you we as a group will never reach a consensus on that. Besides, everyone here has some sort of baggage, whether they talk about it or not. You've just got to focus on taking care of you.

But they all still just... talk all the time, and watch. I don't--

[a frustrated noise in his throat turns into a pathetic hiccup.]

I'm not used to it. I, like... try to keep smiling and stuff, and try not to bother anybody, and pretend like it's okay... but I can't keep doing it all the time.

[That little hiccup... be careful, Nel, or she's going to cry too.]

You shouldn't have to, and you don't, not around me at least. If you don't want to smile, then don't. If you want to cry, then cry. And if you just want to sit in silence, that's okay too.

But it's stupid, and I'm not supposed to-- ugh.

[another frustrated, disgusted noise, and he brings up balled-up hands to either side of his head and crunches his eyes closed. he's letting too much of what's stuck up in his head out, it's messy, but he can't make it stop.]

I'm sorry. I just... keep doing this. And getting people upset... and making people really mad...

Oh no, no, no, Nel. [Gently, but firmly, she moves his fists away from his head and folds his hands into hers.] It's not stupid. It's not stupid at all.

Yes it is. I can't-- everything is just all messed up now.

[he lets her take his hands because he's not about to fight her. not physically, anyway. with his arms kept away from his face, tears just leak pathetically down his face with nothing to stop them.]

... I'm a mess. Can't even sleep in my own bed...

[and his voice finally just breaks over the last word. curling up where he's at, his shoulders hunch up with the effort to keep his sobs tight and quiet in his chest.]

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