A Mind, A Body, and a Medical Report
Posted on Wed Aug 27, 2025 @ 10:09pm by Commander Tayanita 'Tay' Lio'ven & Lieutenant Kael "Vex" Tharien
3,343 words; about a 17 minute read
Mission:
Time After Time
Location: Infirmary, Deep Space 5
Timeline: MD017 - 1217 hours
The doors to Deck 6 parted with a soft hiss, and Kael Tharien stepped into the corridor with the slow, steady gait of a man trying not to limp on pride alone.
Back on active duty. Again.
His uniform was freshly replicated, crisp as command could ask for, but it felt like it still carried the weight of too many near-misses and even more second chances. Still, regulations were regulations—and before he could fully rejoin operations, he needed to clear medical.
Heading toward DS5’s infirmary, Kael rolled his neck and muttered to himself, “Bet the nurse is gonna love this part.” His last physical had involved two broken ribs, a low-grade concussion, and a sharp argument about Betazoid neural stress loads. That nurse had threatened to staple him to the biobed if he didn’t stop talking.
He smirked faintly at the memory, then paused just outside Sickbay, took a breath, and straightened up. Stoic face. Calm demeanor. Nothing to see here, folks.
The doors slid open. “Lieutenant Tharien reporting for a physical,” he said aloud, hands clasped behind his back.
Then, under his breath, “Let’s get this over with before someone tries to poke my brain again…”
Tayanita didn’t look up right away when he entered. She was finishing a report on one of the biobed panels, stylus moving in smooth strokes across the surface. But she heard the voice—brisk, rehearsed—and caught the quieter line that followed.
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
She turned then, slowly, and met his eyes with the kind of calm that didn’t flinch. “Lieutenant Tharien,” she greeted, setting the stylus aside. “You made it in one piece. That’s a promising start.”
Her gaze moved over him with professional ease—assessing the slight tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his gait. “I’m Doctor Lio’ven. Welcome to Sickbay.”
She gestured toward the nearest biobed with a tilt of her head. “You can relax. I’m not here to poke your brain. Not unless you give me reason.”
Her tone was light, but her eyes didn’t miss much. “Let’s get started. I’ll need a full baseline scan, and you can tell me how much of your chart is exaggerated dramatics versus actual injuries.” A pause. “And yes, I read the note about the nurse and the stapler.”
Kael stepped further into the infirmary, letting the doors sigh shut behind him with quiet finality. His posture was upright, his movements precise—measured, deliberate. The calm presence of someone long accustomed to walking the line between discipline and damage.
He spotted the doctor finishing her notes but offered no interruption. When she finally turned to address him, he gave a polite incline of his head.
“Doctor Lio’ven,” he greeted evenly. “It is customary, I believe, to begin with a standard evaluation of vital signs before determining the extent of the patient’s sarcasm.”
There was the faintest flicker of dry amusement in his tone as he removed his uniform jacket with practiced ease, folding it neatly and placing it beside the nearest biobed.
At her quip about exaggerated dramatics—and the unmistakable reference to the stapler—his brow arched slightly. A corner of his mouth twitched into a crooked half-smile, tired but genuine.
“Exaggerated? If anything, I suspect my chart is a rather conservative account,” he said as he eased himself onto the biobed with a mild, unapologetic wince. “But I’m happy to provide clarification. Supplementary anecdotes included.”
He leaned back slowly, letting out a measured breath. “And for the record, I did not provoke the nurse. She simply didn’t appreciate my observation that her osteo-regenerator was three models out of date.”
His eyes met hers, calm and clear, but not without that flicker of wry humor beneath. “Rest assured, I have no intention of challenging your medical authority—so long as we can agree not to involve any office supplies in the proceedings.”
Another breath, slower now, as if letting the moment settle.
“Proceed when ready, Doctor. Let’s determine whether Starfleet Command was justified in calling me fit for duty…” A pause. Then, a dry beat. “…or merely mostly functional.”
Tayanita arched a brow, amusement flickering in her eyes as she activated the biobed's diagnostic interface. The hum of the scanner rose gently around them, a quiet counterpoint to his commentary.
“Well,” she said, glancing at the readout as it began its sweep, “so far you appear to have all your limbs, no immediate neural dissonance, and a heart that’s still beating—albeit with a mild elevation I’ll generously attribute to your charm.”
She looked over at him, her expression dry but not unkind. “And no sign of stapler-related trauma. A relief.”
Her hands moved with smooth precision, fingers gliding across the display as she made adjustments to the scan parameters. “For the record, I keep my osteo-regenerators current. But I do appreciate your attention to detail.”
She paused just long enough to meet his gaze again, the calm in her voice grounding the conversation. “Sarcasm aside, if something’s off—physically, mentally, otherwise—I’d rather hear it now than find it buried in a report later. Especially given your… colourful medical history.”
Then, a small, wry smile touched her lips. “But if Starfleet says you’re fit for duty, I’m willing to entertain the idea. Let’s just make sure your body agrees.”
She stepped back slightly, letting the biobed run its full scan. “Any lingering issues I should know about? Other than the chronic dry wit.”
Vex offered a half-smile—polished, faintly crooked, practiced. “Ah, chronic dry wit. A terminal condition, I’m afraid. Prognosis: entertaining at best, insufferable at worst.”
He let her words settle as the biobed hummed beneath him. The gentle scan shouldn’t have felt invasive, but the flicker of tension in his shoulders said otherwise. His gaze dropped briefly, then lifted—meeting hers again with a flicker less guarded than usual.
“I’m not your typical Vulcan, Doctor. You’ve probably gathered that by now.” A slight tilt of his head, not quite an apology, not quite a boast. “I don’t meditate on mountaintops. I don’t always suppress what I feel. And I’m... aware that makes me harder to calibrate than most.”
He was about to continue, but something shifted behind his eyes. Subtle at first, then sharp—a tightening just above his brow. Vex sat up a bit too abruptly, pressing two fingers to his right temple, as though steadying the pain before it could take root.
“Just a moment,” he muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing slightly. “It’s nothing.” But the way he exhaled through his nose suggested otherwise.
A pause, enough to let the moment breathe.
“As for lingering issues?” he continued, voice quieter now, tone less deflective. “I’ve been shot at, mind-probed, nearly disintegrated in a transporter malfunction, and sat through more diplomatic debriefings than any sentient being should reasonably endure. Most of the scars don’t show up on scans.”
The smirk faded, replaced with something more sincere—if still restrained.
“But I do keep moving. That’s the tradeoff, right? You walk it off long enough and eventually convince yourself you’re fine.”
Another breath. Not a sigh. Not quite.
“If I find I’m not, I’ll let you know. That’s the deal.” He tapped the edge of the biobed lightly with his fingers. “You read me into the medical files. I’ll read you into the rest. Fair?”
Tayanita didn’t answer right away. She watched him—his tone, his posture, the way his hand lingered near his temple even after he tried to brush it off. She’d seen that before. Not just the physical symptoms, but the pattern. The instinct to minimise.
“Fair,” she said at last, her voice calm but clear. “But only if you mean it.”
She adjusted the scanner range slightly, checking a few readings before meeting his eyes again. “You don’t have to prove anything in here. Not to me. Not today.”
Her gaze softened just a little, a subtle shift of tone. “Pain that doesn’t show up on a scan? That’s half my caseload on this station. You're not alone in that, even if it feels like it.”
Tayanita stepped back, letting the scan finish, then picked up a PADD and tapped through the initial results.
“Vitals are solid. Neurological readings are mostly steady, but I want to take a closer look at those cortical spikes that just registered. Could be stress, could be a little more.” A beat. “Not saying you’re not fit. Just saying we don’t need to pretend nothing’s there.”
She met his gaze again, steady. “Let me do my job. No heroics. No filters.”
And then, just a hint of dry humour returning: “If you want to impress me, keep sitting still until I’m done with the scan.”
Kael held her gaze a moment longer, then gave a slow nod.
a brief flicker of tension passed across his face—barely perceptible, but it was there. His breath hitched, just slightly, mid-sentence.
“So… fair’s f—” He paused, fingers twitching once against his thigh as a sharp, involuntary spasm flared behind his right eye. A subtle grimace crept in before he masked it, blinking hard once—twice.
“…fair.” The word finished a beat late, a touch thinner than the rest.
He brought a hand briefly to his temple—more out of instinct than intent—and let out a slow exhale, as though willing the discomfort away. “Apologies. Minor neural fatigue. Nothing new.”
But the delivery was too smooth, too practiced. The kind of answer you give when you don’t want a follow-up.
Tayanita’s eyes flicked from his hand at his temple to the cortical readings scrolling past on the display. The spike was there—brief, but clear enough to register. She didn’t comment right away, just let the scan run a few seconds longer.
“Minor neural fatigue doesn’t usually do that,” she said at last, her tone even, not accusatory. “Not the hesitation. Not the spasm.”
She adjusted the scanner settings, focusing the field over his temporal lobe. “With your physiology—Vulcan control pathways, Betazoid telepathic centres—you’re running a more complex network than most. It makes you sharper, but it also means things like sustained telepathic pressure, heightened stress, or even low-level subspace interference can hit harder than you expect.”
Her gaze returned to his—steady, but touched with something quieter, more perceptive. “And I’m guessing this isn’t the first time. You’ve got the kind of answer people rehearse.”
Tayanita moved to the console, inputting a more detailed neurological profile. “Let’s run a deeper scan. If it’s nothing, you lose a few minutes. If it’s something, we catch it now—before it decides the timing for you.”
She paused then, watching him for a beat longer than the question required. “Sometimes the body says what the mind doesn’t want to. And sometimes,” she added, a faint knowing curve to her lips, “you can hear it in more than just the readings.”
Her voice softened a fraction. “Fair, remember? I’m just asking you to keep your side of the deal.”
Kael held her gaze, jaw tight for a beat too long before he exhaled through his nose—quiet, conceding.
“You don’t miss much, Doctor,” he said, tone still dry but carrying the edge of something more honest. “I suppose that’s why they give you the big chair and the fancy scanner.”
He shifted slightly on the biobed, the composed posture softening just enough to suggest he wasn’t entirely hiding behind it anymore.
“You’re right. It’s not the first time.” He offered a faint shrug, casual on the surface. “Field work doesn’t always come with time for rest or reflection. You learn to stay sharp however you can. Authorized use, strictly by the book… until the book starts collecting dust.”
Kael gave a half-smile—wry, maybe even a little charming. “I prefer to think of it as strategic adaptation. Though I’ll admit, the line between coping and compensating gets a little… blurred.”
He nodded toward the console. “Go ahead, Doctor. Let’s see how deep the damage goes.”
Then, with a flicker of that old wit returning: “Just try not to be too impressed by the mess.”
Tayanita’s mouth quirked in a faint smile. “You don’t always need technology to notice things,” she said, eyes steady on his. “The scanner confirms what I already saw when you walked in — the way you hold yourself, the pauses between your words. Machines just make it harder to argue.”
She turned her attention back to the console as the deeper scan finished its cycle, her fingers moving with unhurried precision. The readings told their story — and to her, more than just the clinical one.
“Your neural patterns aren’t in freefall, but they’re running hotter than they should for someone sitting still. It’s not only about fatigue. It’s about load — what you’re carrying, and how long you’ve been carrying it without setting it down.”
Her gaze returned to him, the scanner temporarily forgotten. “You could push through it, keep running the edge until something gives. But you already know where that road ends.”
She set the PADD aside. “The non-medical solution? Find one place — one person — where you can stop performing. Doesn’t have to be here. Doesn’t have to be often. But it has to be real. That’s how you start bringing those readings down without me waving a regenerator over your head every few months.”
Her voice softened, and for a moment there was something in her tone that felt older than her uniform. “That’s centuries of trial and error talking. And maybe a little of the El Aurian way of listening — the kind that hears what isn’t said as clearly as what is.”
She gave the faintest shrug. “You don’t have to take the advice. But ignoring it tends to leave scars you can’t scan for.”
Kael was still for a long moment after she spoke. Not out of resistance—but out of consideration.
When he finally responded, his voice was calm, precise. Vulcan.
“Your assessment is… logically sound. Sustained neurochemical stress, left unchecked, will compound. Adaptation is not a solution—it is a delay.”
He paused, eyes drifting to the monitor before returning to hers, and with it, his tone softened—more textured. His Betazoid half beginning to show through.
“But what you’re asking for… something real—” His voice caught slightly, not with emotion, but with restraint. “Authenticity is a difficult thing to locate in a life built around shadows and silence. In Intelligence, connection is a liability. Even trust is rationed.”
There was a flicker of something more vulnerable then—unspoken, but felt.
“I don’t fear honesty, Doctor. I fear what follows it. That once I set the weight down, I may not be able to pick it back up again.”
He exhaled slowly, fingers folding once over the edge of the biobed. “I’m surrounded by strangers. Assigned to a station orbiting a world no one truly understands. My title has changed, my uniform still fits… but I’m not convinced it still belongs to me.”
Then, with a subtle but intentional shift, he looked up—his eyes meeting hers directly.
“And yet, you see it. Me. Not just the readings. Not the file. That... matters more than you think.”
A brief pause.
“So if you're asking whether I can find something real here, I don't know. But I know that in this moment... I’m not hiding.”
And he said no more, simply letting the truth settle between them—silent, unguarded, and real.
Tayanita held his gaze for a long beat, the quiet between them carrying more weight than any monitor reading. “Not hiding,” she echoed softly, as if testing the words for herself. “That’s not nothing. For some people, that’s the start of getting their feet back under them.”
She turned the display toward standby, letting the scan end without fanfare. “I’ve spent most of my life around people who thought carrying the weight alone made them stronger. Most of them burned out. A few found a way to set it down without losing who they were.” She gave a faint shrug. “It’s not about putting it down forever. Just enough to remember you can.”
Leaning a hip against the console, she let her tone stay even, conversational. “You don’t have to trust easily here. Hell, I wouldn’t, in your line of work. But rationing it doesn’t mean starving yourself of it entirely.”
Her eyes softened just slightly, but her voice stayed steady. “You don’t have to decide today if this is the place you find something real. Just… don’t rule out the possibility before it even knocks.”
She straightened again, picking up the PADD. “For now, your scans are clear enough to pass you for duty. But if you ever need somewhere to put the weight down, even for five minutes, you know where Sickbay is. No appointment, no questions.”
Kael rose from the biobed, the stiffness in his posture eased—if only slightly. He collected his jacket and folded it over his arm with practiced precision, then lingered for a beat longer than necessary.
“I won’t rule it out,” he said quietly, revisiting her earlier words. “The possibility.”
He looked at her again—not just as a physician or a superior officer, but as someone who had seen him without the layers. Betazoid empathy met El-Aurian wisdom in the space between their gazes, unspoken but undeniably present.
Then, with a faint, inquisitive tilt of his head:
“You know… I've always been curious about the similarities between our people. The Betazoid inclination to feel everything, and the El-Aurian gift for hearing what isn’t said… There’s a convergence there. A kind of listening the galaxy doesn’t always value.”
A pause—thoughtful, not performative.
“If you ever find yourself off-duty and in need of a distraction, I’d welcome a conversation. Perhaps over coffee—or something stronger, if Sickbay doesn’t frown on the occasional indulgence.”
The corner of his mouth curved, subtle but sincere. “Strictly academic, of course. Cultural exchange. Possibly some smug telepathic superiority thrown in for flavor.”
He gave a half-step back, offering her one last look—open, steady, and unmistakably genuine.
“No appointment. No questions. Just... possibilities.”
Tayanita’s smile was small but real, the kind that didn’t need to reach for more than it meant. “Possibilities,” she echoed, letting the word settle between them as if weighing it for its truth.
“I’ve learned over the centuries that the best conversations usually start with those. The rest… unfolds when it’s ready.” She reached to set the PADD back on the console, her movements unhurried, deliberate.
“Coffee I can do. Something stronger… well, there’s an old Oneida saying about knowing when the fire is for warmth, and when it’s for burning. We’ll see which the moment calls for.” There was a glint of quiet humour in her eyes, but the weight of her meaning was clear.
She stepped aside to give him the clear path to the door, but her voice followed him with an ease that carried both welcome and warning. “Cultural exchange sounds like a fair bargain. Just don’t be surprised if I hear more than you plan to say.”
Her smile lingered, softer now. “Safe travels, Lieutenant Tharien. And remember—you don’t have to wait for a crisis to stop in.”
A Post By
Commander Tayanita Lio'ven
Chief Medical Officer
Deep Space 5
Lieutenant Kael 'Vex' Tharien
Chief Intelligence Officer
Deep Space 5
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