ST:TNG FIC :: "Doctor's Orders" [Beverly/Deanna, PG13]
Title: Doctor's Orders
Author: A. Magiluna Stormwriter
Email: stormwriter@shatterstorm.net
Rating: PG13
Focus/Pairing: Beverly/Deanna
Date Written: 11-12 November 2013
Word Count: 1574
Written for:
femslashex
Recipient:
cosmic_llin
Summary: A week of mandatory preparedness drills prompts Beverly to take drastic action to help a fellow crewmate.
Spoilers: Post-series AU in which Deanna and Will don't get married, but consider the entire series up for grabs.
Warnings: No standard warnings apply.
Website: ShatterStorm Productions - Not From Around Here
Link to: http://sff.shatterstorm.net/
Archive: ShatterStorm Productions & AO3 only…all others ask for permission & we'll see…
Disclaimer: "Star Trek: The Next Generation," the characters, and situations depicted are the property Paramount Pictures, CBS Television, and several other people or companies over the years. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "Star Trek: The Next Generation," Paramount Pictures, or any representatives of the actors.
Author's Notes: I jumped at the chance to pick up this pinch hit, as I love
cosmic_llin's work with this couple, so I wanted to take the chance to write something for her as a kind of thank you for that. Plus, I'll take any chance to write for my first femslash pairing ever. I don't write enough for them.
Dedication: My muses, as usual…
Beta:
shatterpath, as usual, but any remaining mistakes are totally on me…
"Doctor's Orders"
By A. Magiluna Stormwriter
It never fails. You want a night alone with the darkest chocolate you can replicate, the chance to wallow in the doldrums of your love life. And then some random alien species decides that they don't like the cut of your jib, as Will so often likes to say --and what, honestly, does that mean anyway? -- and you're in the middle of a battle of wills.
"Deanna?"
The sleepy sound of her voice startles you into sitting up. "Hmm? What's wrong?"
"You've been talking in your sleep for the last half hour." She shifts up onto one elbow to stroke gentle fingers through the hair covering your face. "What's going on behind those fathomless eyes of yours?"
The skin between your brows puckers in confusion as you try to figure out what you were dreaming about. You resist the urge to roll your eyes as that little voice in the back of your head, sounding so much like Will's teasing tones, offers the clichéd Physician, heal thyself platitude. A brief shake of your head is your only answer initially, followed quickly by a yawn.
"I'm not sure. I really don't remember anything beyond being denied chocolate." You laugh then, a self-deprecating sound that you're not even sure sounds utterly sincere. "Guess I just need to schedule myself an appointment with my chocolate source, hmm?"
Beverly chuckles softly and leans in to press a gentle kiss to your lips, fingers weaving more tightly into your hair to hold you close as your lips part for her questing tongue. The moan bubbling up from your diaphragm is easily swallowed in the languid heat of her tender ministrations.
**Senior staff, report to the bridge.**
"You've got to be kidding me," she groans, forehead resting against yours briefly before you both crawl out of the warm cocoon of your bed to slip into uniform and tame sleep-ravaged hair. All thoughts of dreams and lazy kisses in bed flee your mind as soon as that material touches your skin. After years of practice, it takes less than five minutes before you're both stepping out into the corridor to head for the turbolift.
*****
Your duties have you on opposing shifts for the next several days, thanks to the shipwide readiness drills that Starfleet Command has deemed mandatory. The attack that prompted the drills was over the moment the Enterprise showed up next to the Deep Space Nine wormhole. The Ferengi abandoned their standoff with the Jem'Hadar when the Enterprise dropped out of warp to settle beside the Defiant and the smaller Maquis ships.
Despite the fact that the Jem'Hadar left immediately and the Ferengi ship and its crew were taken into custody by the station, Starfleet Command wanted all ships to run the drills repeatedly and randomly for a full week. Data's positronic brain proved to be the Enterprise's randomizer, propelling the entire crew into several days of absolute insanity. The worst part is that you've suffered more than usual, given the emotional minefield that adrenalin and uncertainty can spawn. Your primary relaxation techniques aren't very effective when you've got nearly constant appointments interspersed with the preparedness drills.
"Only two more days," you mutter to yourself as you shuffle the PADDs on your desk, trying to remember which one you were working on before the need for caffeine overcame your better judgment. "And then I'm scheduling at least three uninterrupted hours on the holodeck to get some rest, Ship's Counselor's orders." You laugh at that, realizing just how insane you sound right now. Sleep deprivation tends to do that to you more and more as you get older. "And now you're talking to yourself. Fantastic. That'll go over well at your next performance review."
Before you can even think to reply to yourself, and further solidify that whole insanity idea, the door chimes. A frown creases your forehead as you try to remember if you have an appointment now or not. If it's an actual appointment, you can follow the notes in your PADD for assistance until the raktajino kicks in again. If it's a drop-in appointment, you're kind of on your own. The door chimes again, and you scrub at your face in an attempt to perk up a bit.
"Come."
"I hope I'm not intruding."
Just the sound of her voice sends a soothing balm across your sleep-deprived nerves. You've only seen each other at the senior staff meetings this past week, and neither of you were able to do more than occasionally meet each other's eyes for a few seconds. Any other communication has been messages sent back and forth, still work-related, but that's it.
"No, of course not." You smile, scanning your schedule to see that this hour is actually appointment-free, then stand to meet her halfway across the room. "I was planning to use this hour to catch up on a few reports, but I'll gladly take the distraction of your presence. Unless you're here in an official capacit--" The word is cut off as your jaw cracks from the intensity of the yawn hitting you.
"Oh, I'm here in an official capacity, but not in the way you think." She grins when you frown in confusion, a finger tracing along one cheek only faintly dusky from the embarrassment of your yawn. "I am here to inform you of the immediate removal from duty of one of the ship's crew for medical reasons."
Your brain churns, trying to place who it could be. You can't remember seeing any reports that would indicate such extreme measures, particularly since there haven't been any serious injuries during any of the drills. Before you realize it, she's gently pressing your shoulders down, forcing you to sit on the couch. There's a brief flare of fear that something's happened to Will, something you haven't been informed of yet, but you don't sense that kind of emotion from Beverly.
"Before you start overtaxing your brain any longer, let me ease your suspicions," she says, handing you the PADD. "At the urging of both the Captain and First Officer of the Enterprise, the Chief Medical Officer has determined that a medical relief of duty is warranted for one Commander Deanna Troi. Said relief of duty will last for a minimum of twenty-four hours, extended at the recommendation of the Chief Medical Officer if warranted."
"What?" You stare at her, nonplussed. "How have I been derelict in my duties to warrant--"
She stops any further words with a gentle finger against your lips. "Let me finish. At the recommendation of the Captain and First Officer, the Chief Medical Officer has also been relieved of duty for the same timeframe. It is the determination of the Captain and First Officer that both the Chief Medical Officer and the Ship's Counselor have performed above and beyond the call of duty during the preparedness training drills to the point of personal physical and emotional detriment."
"I--"
"Deanna, everyone can see how hard you've been working, in particular, and how worried I've been about you because of it. So Jean-Luc decided to add a bit of realism to the last two days of drills by taking the two of us out of the equation. We're not to leave our quarters for at least twenty-four hours, regardless of the summons for senior staff." She smiles and replaces her finger with her lips briefly. "So finish up what you're doing and then we're going to get some sleep. You have five minutes before I call Worf to throw you over his shoulder and bodily remove you from this office." The gentle smile is replaced with a mischievous smirk, and you realize that she'll do just that, if only to let the spectacle fuel the rumor mills a bit.
"Fine." You stand and walk back to your desk, mind already on the ability to stretch out next to Beverly for proper sleep and relaxation. A few flicks of your fingers against the PADDs in front of you saves any changes you've been making to those particular files, then you leave your desk the ungodly mess it is for now. "All done." When she pouts, you chuckle. "You wanted to call Worf down here, didn't you?"
She shrugs nonchalantly, but you can see the amusement twinkling in tired blue eyes. "The thought may have crossed my mind."
"Will it get me into bed and your arms faster if I let you do it?"
"No, but it's amusing to consider the idea." She reaches for your hand, then touches her comm badge. "Chief Warren, initiate predetermined site to site transfer for myself and Counselor Troi."
"Aye, Doctor."
The familiar shift of the transporter's energy transfer overwhelms you for a few seconds and, when the sparkling fades, you find yourself in the living room of your quarters. Without hesitating for more than a second, Beverly tugs you into the bedroom and begins to strip you both of your uniforms. Her movements are perfunctory but gentle, and then she settles next to you in the bed. You mold your body to her side automatically, cheek resting over her heart, and she begins to comb her fingers through your hair.
"Sleep now, Deanna. We'll worry about other ways to relax you later. I believe chocolate and a full body massage are on the agenda." She waggles her eyebrows knowingly at you, making you chuckle softly. "Doctor's orders, of course."
Original post @ Dreamwidth with
comments. Commenting is welcome on either post.
Author: A. Magiluna Stormwriter
Email: stormwriter@shatterstorm.net
Rating: PG13
Focus/Pairing: Beverly/Deanna
Date Written: 11-12 November 2013
Word Count: 1574
Written for:
femslashex
Recipient:
cosmic_llin
Summary: A week of mandatory preparedness drills prompts Beverly to take drastic action to help a fellow crewmate.
Spoilers: Post-series AU in which Deanna and Will don't get married, but consider the entire series up for grabs.
Warnings: No standard warnings apply.
Website: ShatterStorm Productions - Not From Around Here
Link to: http://sff.shatterstorm.net/
Archive: ShatterStorm Productions & AO3 only…all others ask for permission & we'll see…
Disclaimer: "Star Trek: The Next Generation," the characters, and situations depicted are the property Paramount Pictures, CBS Television, and several other people or companies over the years. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "Star Trek: The Next Generation," Paramount Pictures, or any representatives of the actors.
Author's Notes: I jumped at the chance to pick up this pinch hit, as I love
cosmic_llin's work with this couple, so I wanted to take the chance to write something for her as a kind of thank you for that. Plus, I'll take any chance to write for my first femslash pairing ever. I don't write enough for them.
Dedication: My muses, as usual…
Beta:
shatterpath, as usual, but any remaining mistakes are totally on me…
"Doctor's Orders"
By A. Magiluna Stormwriter
It never fails. You want a night alone with the darkest chocolate you can replicate, the chance to wallow in the doldrums of your love life. And then some random alien species decides that they don't like the cut of your jib, as Will so often likes to say --and what, honestly, does that mean anyway? -- and you're in the middle of a battle of wills.
"Deanna?"
The sleepy sound of her voice startles you into sitting up. "Hmm? What's wrong?"
"You've been talking in your sleep for the last half hour." She shifts up onto one elbow to stroke gentle fingers through the hair covering your face. "What's going on behind those fathomless eyes of yours?"
The skin between your brows puckers in confusion as you try to figure out what you were dreaming about. You resist the urge to roll your eyes as that little voice in the back of your head, sounding so much like Will's teasing tones, offers the clichéd Physician, heal thyself platitude. A brief shake of your head is your only answer initially, followed quickly by a yawn.
"I'm not sure. I really don't remember anything beyond being denied chocolate." You laugh then, a self-deprecating sound that you're not even sure sounds utterly sincere. "Guess I just need to schedule myself an appointment with my chocolate source, hmm?"
Beverly chuckles softly and leans in to press a gentle kiss to your lips, fingers weaving more tightly into your hair to hold you close as your lips part for her questing tongue. The moan bubbling up from your diaphragm is easily swallowed in the languid heat of her tender ministrations.
**Senior staff, report to the bridge.**
"You've got to be kidding me," she groans, forehead resting against yours briefly before you both crawl out of the warm cocoon of your bed to slip into uniform and tame sleep-ravaged hair. All thoughts of dreams and lazy kisses in bed flee your mind as soon as that material touches your skin. After years of practice, it takes less than five minutes before you're both stepping out into the corridor to head for the turbolift.
*****
Your duties have you on opposing shifts for the next several days, thanks to the shipwide readiness drills that Starfleet Command has deemed mandatory. The attack that prompted the drills was over the moment the Enterprise showed up next to the Deep Space Nine wormhole. The Ferengi abandoned their standoff with the Jem'Hadar when the Enterprise dropped out of warp to settle beside the Defiant and the smaller Maquis ships.
Despite the fact that the Jem'Hadar left immediately and the Ferengi ship and its crew were taken into custody by the station, Starfleet Command wanted all ships to run the drills repeatedly and randomly for a full week. Data's positronic brain proved to be the Enterprise's randomizer, propelling the entire crew into several days of absolute insanity. The worst part is that you've suffered more than usual, given the emotional minefield that adrenalin and uncertainty can spawn. Your primary relaxation techniques aren't very effective when you've got nearly constant appointments interspersed with the preparedness drills.
"Only two more days," you mutter to yourself as you shuffle the PADDs on your desk, trying to remember which one you were working on before the need for caffeine overcame your better judgment. "And then I'm scheduling at least three uninterrupted hours on the holodeck to get some rest, Ship's Counselor's orders." You laugh at that, realizing just how insane you sound right now. Sleep deprivation tends to do that to you more and more as you get older. "And now you're talking to yourself. Fantastic. That'll go over well at your next performance review."
Before you can even think to reply to yourself, and further solidify that whole insanity idea, the door chimes. A frown creases your forehead as you try to remember if you have an appointment now or not. If it's an actual appointment, you can follow the notes in your PADD for assistance until the raktajino kicks in again. If it's a drop-in appointment, you're kind of on your own. The door chimes again, and you scrub at your face in an attempt to perk up a bit.
"Come."
"I hope I'm not intruding."
Just the sound of her voice sends a soothing balm across your sleep-deprived nerves. You've only seen each other at the senior staff meetings this past week, and neither of you were able to do more than occasionally meet each other's eyes for a few seconds. Any other communication has been messages sent back and forth, still work-related, but that's it.
"No, of course not." You smile, scanning your schedule to see that this hour is actually appointment-free, then stand to meet her halfway across the room. "I was planning to use this hour to catch up on a few reports, but I'll gladly take the distraction of your presence. Unless you're here in an official capacit--" The word is cut off as your jaw cracks from the intensity of the yawn hitting you.
"Oh, I'm here in an official capacity, but not in the way you think." She grins when you frown in confusion, a finger tracing along one cheek only faintly dusky from the embarrassment of your yawn. "I am here to inform you of the immediate removal from duty of one of the ship's crew for medical reasons."
Your brain churns, trying to place who it could be. You can't remember seeing any reports that would indicate such extreme measures, particularly since there haven't been any serious injuries during any of the drills. Before you realize it, she's gently pressing your shoulders down, forcing you to sit on the couch. There's a brief flare of fear that something's happened to Will, something you haven't been informed of yet, but you don't sense that kind of emotion from Beverly.
"Before you start overtaxing your brain any longer, let me ease your suspicions," she says, handing you the PADD. "At the urging of both the Captain and First Officer of the Enterprise, the Chief Medical Officer has determined that a medical relief of duty is warranted for one Commander Deanna Troi. Said relief of duty will last for a minimum of twenty-four hours, extended at the recommendation of the Chief Medical Officer if warranted."
"What?" You stare at her, nonplussed. "How have I been derelict in my duties to warrant--"
She stops any further words with a gentle finger against your lips. "Let me finish. At the recommendation of the Captain and First Officer, the Chief Medical Officer has also been relieved of duty for the same timeframe. It is the determination of the Captain and First Officer that both the Chief Medical Officer and the Ship's Counselor have performed above and beyond the call of duty during the preparedness training drills to the point of personal physical and emotional detriment."
"I--"
"Deanna, everyone can see how hard you've been working, in particular, and how worried I've been about you because of it. So Jean-Luc decided to add a bit of realism to the last two days of drills by taking the two of us out of the equation. We're not to leave our quarters for at least twenty-four hours, regardless of the summons for senior staff." She smiles and replaces her finger with her lips briefly. "So finish up what you're doing and then we're going to get some sleep. You have five minutes before I call Worf to throw you over his shoulder and bodily remove you from this office." The gentle smile is replaced with a mischievous smirk, and you realize that she'll do just that, if only to let the spectacle fuel the rumor mills a bit.
"Fine." You stand and walk back to your desk, mind already on the ability to stretch out next to Beverly for proper sleep and relaxation. A few flicks of your fingers against the PADDs in front of you saves any changes you've been making to those particular files, then you leave your desk the ungodly mess it is for now. "All done." When she pouts, you chuckle. "You wanted to call Worf down here, didn't you?"
She shrugs nonchalantly, but you can see the amusement twinkling in tired blue eyes. "The thought may have crossed my mind."
"Will it get me into bed and your arms faster if I let you do it?"
"No, but it's amusing to consider the idea." She reaches for your hand, then touches her comm badge. "Chief Warren, initiate predetermined site to site transfer for myself and Counselor Troi."
"Aye, Doctor."
The familiar shift of the transporter's energy transfer overwhelms you for a few seconds and, when the sparkling fades, you find yourself in the living room of your quarters. Without hesitating for more than a second, Beverly tugs you into the bedroom and begins to strip you both of your uniforms. Her movements are perfunctory but gentle, and then she settles next to you in the bed. You mold your body to her side automatically, cheek resting over her heart, and she begins to comb her fingers through your hair.
"Sleep now, Deanna. We'll worry about other ways to relax you later. I believe chocolate and a full body massage are on the agenda." She waggles her eyebrows knowingly at you, making you chuckle softly. "Doctor's orders, of course."
Original post @ Dreamwidth with
comments. Commenting is welcome on either post.