[for Qui-Gon]
The clinic was orderly and quiet, my lastest attempt at luring stray penicillin spores was resting innocently on a shelf, and my shift was almost done. I finished my notes on my most recent patients (including a detailed drawing of the splint I had put on James Lennox's hand), closed my casebook, and stashed it in the bottom of my medicine box. I debated going to the kitchen for a cup of tea, but it was early evening, I hadn't been outside all day, and the prospect of a walk along the surf was vastly appealing. So I left the compound, heading for the shore.
The beach was deserted, which was fine with me after the bustle of the clinic, as I needed some peace to think. I took off my shoes and socks, rolled up my trousers, and walked out a short ways into the surf. The water felt good on my tired feet and the sound of the waves was soothing after the noise of the compound, and I dug my toes into the wet sand.
I had been so busy lately I had not had time to reflect on exactly what I was doing here. It seemed that no matter where I found myself, there were always people in need of medical attention, and despite the abundance of doctors here with more advanced training than me, I had done it again. And though I had only treated each of them a few times or less, I had come to care about what happened to them. Susan Delgado and Padme Naberrie, both so young and yet soon to be mothers in a strange world. Jim Halpert and William de Worde dealing with the aftermath of their kidnapping. And Banky Edwards, my first patient here, who I was still amazed was even alive. They had become important to me, just as my patients back home had, and if I ever had the chance to leave here, what would happen to them? It was not as though they would lack for care, there were plenty of doctors here even if we lacked equipment and medicines. But I felt responsible for them now, and I thought about leaving much less than I initially had.
As much as I was reluctant to admit it, I had come to care about someone who was not a patient, as well. I felt a sharp pang of guilt whenever I even vaguely considered it - it seemed so disloyal, so unfaithful, and so much like how I had treated Frank, long ago that it gave me a disorienting sense of deja-vu. I missed Jamie terribly, and more than once I had awakened in the middle of the night to find myself flushed and restless with the fragments of disturbed dreams. But I would be lying if I tried to say that the blue eyes I saw in those dreams always belonged to my husband, and that admission both disturbed and excited me. And I did not know what to do about it.
The beach was deserted, which was fine with me after the bustle of the clinic, as I needed some peace to think. I took off my shoes and socks, rolled up my trousers, and walked out a short ways into the surf. The water felt good on my tired feet and the sound of the waves was soothing after the noise of the compound, and I dug my toes into the wet sand.
I had been so busy lately I had not had time to reflect on exactly what I was doing here. It seemed that no matter where I found myself, there were always people in need of medical attention, and despite the abundance of doctors here with more advanced training than me, I had done it again. And though I had only treated each of them a few times or less, I had come to care about what happened to them. Susan Delgado and Padme Naberrie, both so young and yet soon to be mothers in a strange world. Jim Halpert and William de Worde dealing with the aftermath of their kidnapping. And Banky Edwards, my first patient here, who I was still amazed was even alive. They had become important to me, just as my patients back home had, and if I ever had the chance to leave here, what would happen to them? It was not as though they would lack for care, there were plenty of doctors here even if we lacked equipment and medicines. But I felt responsible for them now, and I thought about leaving much less than I initially had.
As much as I was reluctant to admit it, I had come to care about someone who was not a patient, as well. I felt a sharp pang of guilt whenever I even vaguely considered it - it seemed so disloyal, so unfaithful, and so much like how I had treated Frank, long ago that it gave me a disorienting sense of deja-vu. I missed Jamie terribly, and more than once I had awakened in the middle of the night to find myself flushed and restless with the fragments of disturbed dreams. But I would be lying if I tried to say that the blue eyes I saw in those dreams always belonged to my husband, and that admission both disturbed and excited me. And I did not know what to do about it.