Making Time, Part 1

Posted on Sun 11th Aug, 2019 @ 7:01am by Elizabeth Anderson M.D. & Lieutenant Damion Ildaran
Edited on on Tue 27th Aug, 2019 @ 11:16pm

2,330 words; about a 12 minute read

Mission: A Diplomatic Affair
Location: Damion Ildaran's Quarters
Timeline: MD-10, 1715

If it's important enough, you'll make time for it.

What do you do with a week's worth of unpicked tomatoes? Either make lots of tomato sauce, or make preserves out of them. Since Damion wasn't Italian, the choice was obvious: Make his Grandma's tomato preserves. He'd estimated he had enough tomatoes to fill eight pint-sized Mason jars. Damion cross-cut the skins and added the fruit to a pot of boiling water to blanch the skins off. It would take about 20 minutes, so he had time to make a call.

Damion tapped his wristcom. "Call Elizabeth," he told it.

"Dialing," the device cheerfully told him, as it always did. And, as always, Damion wondered why the word 'dialing' was associated with calling someone. He would forget to look it up, as he always did, because satisfying his curiosity on this small point never seemed important once he started talking to the person on the receiving end.

He'd barely spoken with Elizabeth in over a week--a week filled with long workdays and not enough sleep, which he was still trying to catch up on. Working with Zelda Alegari and her trio of alternate personalities was challenging. Morrigan, the stronger protector of the lot, only barely trusted him, and no farther than she could throw him. That she had engaged an attorney complicated matters. That her attorney was Ischemia Addams surprised him; Damion had thought she would choose one of the less expensive lawyers. He was relieved, though. Of all the ones he had visited, Addams seemed the best--sure of herself and genuinely interested in the case.

Elizabeth was on the stairs up to her apartment, having finished updating all her client files. Although she could do that anywhere, since it was her own internal database, she preferred to keep work in the work place, and her apartment for living. Momentarily, she smiled that even her own mind used the usual biological humanoid terminology, such as 'living', for all her daily activities these days.

When her com signaled, she saw the call was from Damion, and it made Elizabeth think how fortunate that she was done with everything she had to do, and could devote all her attention to him. She said, "Accept call," as she entered her apartment, slipped off her shoes and sat down on her dark leather-like sofa. She leaned back, tucked her feet under her, and waited to hear his voice.

"Call connected," his wristcom said into his earpiece, which meant Elizabeth wasn't currently seeing a patient. That in itself was good news.

"Hello, Elizabeth," Damion said, letting the smile that came to his face color his words. "It's been too long since we spoke. I have a whole twenty minutes to talk before my tomatoes are blanched. Might I impose? We can talk for longer if you don't mind listening to me cook."

"I have an even better idea, if you are home for the evening. Why don't I invite myself over to watch you cook? What's on the menu, anyway?" she asked. It was a little bold for her, but she hadn't seen him, as well as talked with him, for a week.

"I'm making tomato preserves, because it's either that or be buried in the things. By all means, come over. I feel as if I always show up at your door. I ought to entertain you more often. Just come on in; the door will admit you."

---

Not even stopping to comb her hair, Elizabeth slipped on her shoes and was down the stairs in a flash. It wasn't until she was on the tram that she realized one thing about her that hadn't humanized yet was thinking about her appearance ... she saw the word primping in the Terran dictionary was appropriate for what she hadn't bothered to do, but still couldn't bring herself to be concerned about it. Maybe it was as well if she didn't develop all the human traits.

Damion had said to walk in, so Elizabeth did, as the door parted for her when she arrived. "Damion?" she called out. "I'm here! Are you in the kitchen?" Well that's dumb. Where else would he make food?

"Yes, come on in!" Damion called out.

She left her shoes by the door and padded barefoot toward the room in question. "Hey, smells good in here - not quite like spaghetti sauce, but similar. What are preserves? The database lists jam as a synonym, but ... tomato jam?"

In the kitchen, she walked over and looked in the pot Damion was stirring. "Huh. Looks like ... tomato smash."

"But it's glorious tomato smash--with lemon slices, ginger, a bit of cinnamon, and tomatoes boiling in simple syrup," Damion said. "Or it will be, once it cools and we have toast or biscuits to eat it with. Preserves is literal. We'll cook this until it thickens, then transfer it into these sterilized jars here," he said, pointing to several pint-sized glass jars. "Then we'll vacuum-seal them and have preserves that will keep for a good two years unless you open them." He gave Elizabeth a sheepish look. "Grandma used to have some jars that were nearing two years old. I never had that much self-control. When she'd gift me a jar, I usually had it finished inside of a month--but it was a very happy month."

Elizabeth laughed, "Oh, ho, something new I've learned about you - no self control with Grandma's preserves! Now that is going to give me, pardon the pun, food for thought. And was this the only kind your grandmother made? A quick search shows me they can be made of almost any fruit ... and maybe some vegetables, too? That's harder to imagine, but I see something called ... piccalilli? That's a strange name!"

"She'd preserve green beans, too, but you don't use a great lot of sugar with them; you make a brine. Green beans, yellow squash, zucchini. Never heard of piccadilli." Damion gave the cooking pot another stir with a wooden spoon. "So what have you been doing all week?"

"Oh, a little of this and a little of that. Counseling a variety of problems. I've been surprised at how many people in Starfleet are worried about how it looks on their record to see a counselor," she said, leaning back against the counter. "I never realized it when I was within Starfleet, and I don't know how valid their concerns are, but there are enough of them that I think there must be something at the bottom of it. Were you concerned about meeting me? Though it was a little different, because you didn't come to my office, really. We mostly met out somewhere on Hermes, and now, of course, I'm not counseling you."

Damion gave her a wry smile. "What I remember feeling then, given your nature, was that it was freeing. At that time, I was still new as a department head. I felt as if I always had to remember an etiquette book full of manners, just to keep from offending everyone in my department. I felt that I couldn't offend you, that you would take me as I was, and so meeting you for lunch that first time was a great relief. Over time, the etiquette simply became a habit, and I eventually forgot to feel nervous about it. Now, I don't even think of it--with anyone."

"It's interesting to look back, isn't it?" Elizabeth mused. "See how far we've come, individually and together. What I remember is how you sparked ... mmmm ... interest, I think is the closest word. For so long, I went along every day not noticing differences in humans. Oh, differences in problems, certainly, but I didn't see them as individuals with personalities and quirks. Then I started meeting you, and we had such far ranging discussions. My mind was ... grabbed by your differences."

"And mine was grabbed by yours," Damion said. "Perhaps you didn't feel you much noticed individual personalities. When we met, you astonished me. You liked lemon pie. You had personality. You were interested in things--really interested, not just as a means of assessment. What really floored me was your spirituality. And then, that afternoon in the Japanese garden holo-setting ... I felt I had spent the time with someone beautiful in spirit, someone I wanted to know much better, someone I felt I could never grow weary of talking to--and I haven't."

"Oh. I didn't realize ... thank you, Damion, for sharing that. It astonishes me," Elizabeth said, truly touched by his words.

Damion blushed. "It's the simple truth."

He cleared his throat. "Now, about seeing counselors--Since I'm required to see a counselor regularly, I see Graves or one of his staff once a month. Starfleet wants to know if its intelligence officers are going off book. That's why they like Betazoids so much as counselors; the brass want to be certain we're being honest with them. The day I drag my feet about seeing Graves is the day you'll know something is seriously wrong with me."

"Really? I didn't realize it was a requirement, but I can understand why it would be. The other danger is when you're undercover. It's a little like the ... what's it called, hang on a minute." Quickly Elizabeth zeroed in on the right database link, "Yes, Stockholm Syndrome. That's when someone kidnapped bonds with a kidnapper. I think it can happen to you, too, when you are buddying up to people undercover, even someone you know you will have to take into custody later ... or perhaps even kill. But you come to like them for one reason or another, or feel sorry for them, or perhaps understand how they came to live the life they do, make the decisions they make. Have you ever noticed that with any of the people you have to interrogate?" she asked.

Damion gave Elizabeth a momentary concerned look but went on.

"I experienced that during my time in Scotland," Damion said. "That was deep cover. I got to know some of the worst people in all of Edinburgh very well. And yes, I did get to understanding how they thought--not a comfortable realization, that. To experience Stockholm syndrome is to demonstrate you have empathy. I'm having to be very careful with that around Ms. Alegari now, to maintain professionalism. If any of her alternate personalities thought they could exploit me, they would--not because they're bad people, but because that's how they've learned to survive. I understand that because I've lived it. Tanith tried to feel me out on the tram ride back upstation from Orchids & Jazz, and I had to deflect her attempts. Destiny is nothing but exploiting weaknesses to escape a situation--in the flirtiest possible way, but that's still what she does."

"Umm, I sensed when you spoke of Zelda that you had concerns for her, not just about her, but for her. It's part of what's attractive about you, your empathy, your compassion. It would be so easily taken too far in some," Anderson agreed.

"Don't admire me too much. I use it as a double-edged sword when my work requires it," Damion said. He sighed. "But yes--I was and still am very concerned for her. What causes a person to dissociate? Far worse suffering than I ever dreamed of enduring. And then, on top of that, she has the great misfortune to fall in with whoever made her ring?" Damion shook his head. "'Tis more than any one human being ought to be expected to bear. I'm outraged for her. This sort of thing makes me glad I see Graves every month. If I had to keep all of that bottled up inside me, I'd have to find another line of work.

"Counseling is a relief. Why else do we have Counselors so readily available on our ships and starbases if the higher-ups don't actually want us to use them? Seems a waste of money, to me. I don't say there aren't prejudices among some few people, but what you suggest, I haven't experienced. Now, folk in Intelligence might be a special case; Fleet expects our job to mess with our minds--and we know it will."

"Um, good point, but possibly germane only to Intelligence or Security? And it could be one of many things that the Starfleet High Command thinks is necessary and someone local thinks is only another report to file," Anderson pointed out with humor. "Almost everyone understands that those in combat situations, which Intelligence surely is, have strains that, for example, an engineer or a science officer might not have."

"Intelligence, Security, and the Marine detachment," Damion agreed. "But even staff in other departments might experience things they need to confront. That tram derailment, for example. For me, the shift in thinking came when I became a department head.

"When I was a department head, I needed to know how my people were doing. I did not want to send any of them on a dangerous mission where anxiety could get them killed. Maybe that's what these people fear. I wouldn't hand out field assignments to my staff on the Hermes unless they were solid with you or Isbee. Unfortunately, promotions go along with field assignments unless you transfer out of field work and become an analyst. Most field operatives would rather slit their wrists than do that. That may well be what they're talking about. It's not that we think ill of people who need counseling; it's that good counseling takes time. Some conditions require a lot of recovery time, and ambitious people don't want to lag behind in their careers."

"Possibly," Elizabeth said thoughtfully. "I'll give that some thought and research with a few more probing questions to see what I discover. Thanks for sharing those insights."

"Glad to," Damion said. "I hope it helps."

 

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