"The Eighth Side of the Triangle"(4/?) by Susan Jameson
(DrBarnBarn@aol.com)
See part I for archive info, disclaimers, etc.



~~~~~

USS George Washington
In the Adriatic Sea

~~~~~

"Sir?" 

It was one of my corpsmen. There was a patient waiting to see me, he
said, hinting -- as politely as possible -- that I was beginning to
get a little behind. There were a lot of people waiting for sick call
today, he said, begging my pardon, of course.

Of course. I guess it was just too much to ask to have just one minute
alone to write a letter to Fox for the first time in days. It's not
enough that I can't even begin to say what I want to say to him ...

All right, Daniel, I ordered myself, that's enough of that shit.
You've got a job to do ... just one more entry in the endless parade
of unfamiliar faces with familiar complaints: My back hurts, I twisted
my ankle, my shoulder's sore, I think my finger's broken ... and, from
time to time, a really serious injury.

That's why the Navy wanted me to specialize in orthopedics. Take a
basically young, basically healthy population, give them hard, often
dangerous work to do, and it's not hard to figure out what kind of
medical care they'll wind up needing. Probably half the cases we see
in sick bay are orthopedic.

So guess who's the busiest doctor on the ship, not to mention the one
with all the division head's duties? 

You got it.

When I get back in the world, I'm going to find the former SMO, and
I'm going to put maple syrup and ants in his rack as a thank-you for
his having developed bleeding ulcers right before a major deployment
... 

With a sigh, I headed into the examining room to see what crisis was
looming now. For once, however, I found someone I recognized: Ensign
Kimberly "Fort" Knox, a member of the F-14 squadron, but off flight
status for now because of a fractured wrist. She'd taken a nasty fall
while disembarking from the aircraft on a pitching deck. The air wing
flight surgeon had asked me to track her progress and advise him when
I thought she could get back in the air.

So here she was, and here I was, and I was just going to have to wait
and e-mail Fox before I knocked off ... whatever time I knocked off.
Late. It was always late. 

Poor little old me, huh? I ought to bottle self-pity and sell it. I
could retire from the Navy.

"Ensign," I said, as pleasantly as I could. "I'll bet you're here
because you believe you ought to be back in the air."

"Yes, sir," she said. She was smiling; nothing unusual there, she was
friendly enough, or as friendly as a junior officer can be to a senior
officer. Something about that smile was different today, though.

I brushed it aside, though. I had other things on my mind. I took the
brace off her wrist and examined it, feeling for the growth of new
bone over the fracture and checking to make sure there were no
injuries to the nerves and that she could use her hand and arm every
bit as well as before. There's no such thing as "well enough" for
someone who does what she does.

"Looks good to me, ensign," I said, finally, as I picked up her chart
and made a few notes. "I'll tell Lt. Anderson you're good to go as far
as I'm concerned. If he signs off, you'll be up and flying by this
time tomorrow."

"Thank you, sir," she said, but she didn't move. That was odd, too. In
my experience, telling the airdales they'd be going back up was
usually enough to send them into a double-pumping, "yesssss"-hissing
fit of self-congratulatory mania, although they usually had enough
sense to wait until I'd left the room.

This one seemed about as interested as though I'd told her there'd be
meatloaf in the wardroom tonight. 

That's usually a sign of a patient who needs to talk about something,
but doesn't really want to talk about it. They always save it until
the end -- and it always winds up taking twice as long as it should,
because you have to pull it out of them, piece by piece. 

Well, if I had to, I had to. "Did you need to tell me something else,
ensign?" I said, trying to keep any trace of irritation out of my
voice.


"No, sir," she said, and then shook her head. "I mean, yes, sir, I
wanted to say... I don't mean to be impertinent, sir."

"Then I suggest you don't," I said, curtly. Given the choice, I'd be a
lot friendlier with my patients, but with the exception of the
admiral, the captain, the CAG and the XO, I outrank every last one of
them and I can't allow that kind of familiarity. It's a requirement of
my position, not a personal choice. 

"Sir, what I meant was," she said, and then stopped again. "I ... I
didn't know if you remembered meeting me before."

"No, I'm sorry, I don't," I said, and now I was letting my annoyance
show. "We can take this discussion up at evening mess sometime,
ensign. I've got patients waiting for me."

"No, sir, we can't," she said, so firmly that I was taken aback. "We
can't talk about it anywhere but here. There are things I want to tell
you that I can't let anyone else hear."

With a sigh, I sat back down on the examining stool. "Ensign," I said,
as calmly as I could, "if there's something you need to tell me as a
physician, I'm ready to listen. I do have to warn you, however, that
there's no doctor-patient privilege in the Navy. If you need to tell
someone something in confidence, you'd better see the chaplain
instead."

"Sir, please," she said, leaning toward me, and she seemed almost
upset. "I know you're busy, sir, and I know this must seem completely
inappropriate, but if you'll just give me two minutes, I can explain.
It's not so much that I have something to tell you, sir; it's that I
wanted to let you know that you could talk to me if you wanted to."

If I'd been startled before, I was absolutely dumbfounded now. There
was no time to sit and stare, though; Ensign Knox had stepped over the
line, and it was my duty to let her know it.

"Ensign," I said, sharply, but without raising my voice, "I'm going to
give you exactly sixty seconds to explain to me why I shouldn't
consider that statement unduly familiar and insubordinate."

"Sir, I'm sorry," she said, earnestly. "I'll tell you why, but please
believe that I mean you no disrespect, sir, and no harm at all.
Really. The reason, sir, is because we have met before, at Bethesda
and again about a year ago ... in Miami."

Miami. 

I think my body core temperature dropped 50 degrees when I heard that
word, because there was only one way -- one place -- this young woman
could have seen me in Miami.

"We met in Miami?" I said, and silently cursed myself, because my
voice sounded so strangled.

"Yes, sir," Ensign Knox said, and I could see that she recognized my
distress, because she went on quickly. "My home is in Miami. I had a
few days' leave, and I was there with my ... with Amy. You were there
with ... Fox. He's really gorgeous, sir."

All I could do was nod.

"I don't blame you for not remembering, sir," Knox went on. "I looked
different then. My hair was long, and I was a little heavier, and we
were all in civilian clothes, but I recognized you from when I was at
the Academy, when one of my roommates was at Bethesda. So when I
realized you were ... I mean, when I saw you at that club, I just had
to meet you. I didn't tell you I was Navy. I was afraid you'd be
upset."

"I see," I said. My mouth felt suddenly dry. "I'm sorry, I honestly
don't remember meeting you."

"I know, sir," she said, and she smiled at me again. "I think you were
celebrating something with your friends that night, Fox and that
pretty redhead. You weren't really paying much attention to anyone
else."

"Why are you telling me this now, ensign?" I said, before she could go
any further. I really didn't want to talk about that night, with her
or with anyone else.

"Because, sir," she said, looking down at the deck and then back up at
me, "I heard you talking to your boy ... to your friend on the phone a
few weeks ago. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, sir, I just couldn't help
... I could tell something was wrong, sir, and you still seem so
worried ..."

"I understand, ensign," I said, wearily. "So you heard me."

"Yes, sir," she said. "You sounded upset, sir. I just ..."

And then she did something really out of line. She got up from the
examining table, walked over to me and took my hand.

I shouldn't have let her. I should have jerked my hand away and
reprimanded her immediately.

I didn't, though, because that simple touch went through me like a
shot of warm brandy on a cold night. No one had touched me with
anything remotely resembling affection since Dana kissed me goodbye at
the dock.

Sometimes you forget how much you can want someone just to touch you
and say, "I care."

"Sir," Knox said, very quietly, "I know how it is out here, especially
when something goes wrong with someone back home that you love. It
hurts like hell, and you can't even talk to anybody about it. I don't
mean to pry, sir; I just wanted you to know that there was someone
aboard who understood. That's all."

For a moment, I just sat there. I was tired; tired beyond belief, from
long days with little sleep, from worrying about Dana, from the stress
of not being able to reach Fox, from hearing his voice and yet still
not being able to talk to him. 

Ensign Knox was right. It hurt, and I was lonely as hell. But that
didn't mean I could share it with her.

I stood up and gently disengaged her hand.

"Ensign," I said, quietly, "you are a very brave woman, and a
compassionate one, and the Navy is fortunate to have you as an
officer. I won't insult your intelligence by pretending I don't know
what you're talking about. I do; but while I appreciate your concern,
I can't accept your friendship."

"Sir, I'm not saying we'd be buddies or anything," she said. "I just
thought we could talk once in a while. I'm not in your direct line of
command, sir."

"Ensign, you're far too junior to me for any personal relationship to
be appropriate under any circumstances," I said. "And as far as the
chain of command is concerned, almost anyone on this ship could end up
in this sick bay under my command at any moment. Not five minutes ago,
I made a decision that affected your flight status. I'm sorry;
whatever my own inclinations might be, I just can't let it happen. I
shouldn't even be talking to you this way right now."

"But, sir," she said, clearly upset. I stopped her there.

"No," I said. "We can't talk this way again, Kim. Not ever."

"But that means you don't get to talk to anyone, sir," she said, and I
honestly think there were tears in her eyes.

"That's what it means," I said, as gently as I could. God, she was
young; young enough to think that there would always be a way to make
things right if everyone's heart was just in the right place.

I'm not sure I ever believed that, though; not even when I was young.

"It's not fair, sir," she said. "None of this is fair."

"Whether it's fair or not isn't up to me or you, ensign," I said.
"It's dictated by Navy regulations, and that means neither of us has a
choice in the matter. But," I said, seeing the tears well up in her
eyes again, "that doesn't prevent me from being very, very glad to
know that you're on this ship, and very proud to serve with you."

She gave me a smile then, but it was a discontented smile. "Will we be
able to talk in the wardroom, at least?" she said. "Neutral topics, I
mean, sir?"

"Very rarely, and only with others around," I said. "This is the last
private conversation we'll have. And that is an order, ensign."

"Aye, aye, sir," Knox said, coming to attention.

I nodded at her. "Dismissed," I said, and then I turned away, damning
us both to our continuing isolation.


~~~~~

TO: reillyda@washington.navy.mil
FROM: jmreilly@scrippsmercy.org
SUBJECT: Dana

Daniel,

I talked to Dana on the phone last night, but I can't say I got much
more from her than her usual, "I'm fine." She sounded pretty good,
although of course I don't know her as well as you do. She said she's
not improving much, but she doesn't think she's lost any ground
recently, either.

I wish I could give you a better impression. This kind of CA is so
rare; in all my years in oncology, I doubt I saw it more than three
times. Since you and I have never played games with each other on a
professional level, I have to tell you that none of them survived.
However, if anyone can pull off a remission, it's Zuckerman, so don't
give up yet.

I know this is hard for you, especially since you're used to knowing
what's happening with the course of someone's illness every step of
the way, and now you can only wonder where Dana's illness has
progressed. Dana is simply not talking about this, and I'm afraid
we're all just going to have to respect that, much as it hurts. 

Daniel, I've heard more than one person who's worked with you say that
if they had to be told they had a terminal illness, they'd want you to
be the one to do it. I can easily believe it. I know you, and I know
how compassionately and carefully you would deliver the news. God
knows, I've never envied you that job; but I know it's taught you a
lot about how people react to being confronted with the news that
"someday" has become "now."

But then, I know a little about it, too. I've cared for hundreds of
terminal patients, through everything from their first chemo until
their last breath, more times than I care to remember, and I think we
both know that Dana's reaction isn't uncommon; nor, I think, is it
unhealthy. She's just holding herself together the best way she knows
how. 

You said she sent you a letter telling you she needs you, and that
worried you because Dana almost never talks that way, and I'm sure
that's the truth, but I wouldn't take it as a sign that she's falling
apart; it's more a sign of what you mean to her, and how she trusts
you, as a fellow physician and a dear friend. That she was tired and
sick just meant she could let go enough to say it.

Danny, try to hold on, for her sake and for your own. You can't be her
physician; you couldn't even if you were there. But you can be her
friend and send her your love whether you're at home or at sea or
halfway around the world, and that's what she really needs. Keep
writing to her, call her when you can, and send whatever emotional
support you can to Fox, because she needs him desperately even if she
won't say so openly. I'm afraid this is going to be harder on him than
anyone will ever know.

In the meantime, try to take care of yourself, too, while you're
taking care of the rest of the world, and remember that whenever you
need a friend, I'm here. You do know that, don't you? My thoughts and
my prayers are with you every day and every night, as is my love.

Love always,

Jill 


~~~~~

TO: scullydk@fbi.gov 
FROM: reillyda@washington.navy.mil 
SUBJECT: Navy life


You have got to be making that up. Tails, I can believe. I've seen
them, although not perhaps as long as you described nor ever really
functional. But shape-changing? Uh-uh. Not once. I hope we're going to
get a full description of this in the medical literature? There ought
to be some benefit to the world of medicine from having had a forensic
pathologist on the case. 

I have to tell you, though, I laughed out loud when I read about Mr.
Van BlundHt's (see, I put the H in) activities with the ladies from
the fertility clinic. I'm sure it's not one bit funny to the families,
and the lawyers will be laughing all the way to the bank, but somehow,
out here in the ocean, it was funny as hell. I was laughing so much I
had everybody in sick bay --doctors, corpsmen and patients -- coming
around to see what the hell was up with Dr. Reilly today. They
probably checked the narcotics locker twice after they left -- I
haven't exactly been noted for laughing a lot, to put it mildly.

Need I say I disagree with Mr. VB's assessment about whether a certain
person is a loser, or can it just go without saying what my opinion is
on the subject? Of course, your de-tailed suspect wasn't exactly in
possession of all the facts, was he?

As far as the last report from Jon Zuckerman, I guess no change is
about as much as anyone can hope for at this point. He's not likely to
start on a more aggressive treatment until there's some indication
that it's necessary; it's possible there's a spontaneous remission in
the works, and no one wants to mess with that by giving drugs as toxic
as the ones he uses, believe me. I know it frustrates you, but
sometimes the best treatment is just to watch carefully and wait to
see what happens. 

And yes, I also know that it makes you a little crazy not knowing
exactly where I am. I would tell you if I could, believe me, but I
can't. Just know that I'm all right, I'm doing what I need to be doing
-- which, last time I checked, is what you were doing, too -- and that
every day that passes brings us one day closer to my return. 

You'd just better be planning a really quiet, private place where we
can meet when I get back, because I'm not going to want to wait long
to get you in my arms again. Thinking about being able to kiss you
hello instead of goodbye is what gets me through all this.

I have to go ... it's almost time for evening mess, and if I'm late,
I'll have to go ask permission to join, and I hate that. There's
almost nothing these butterbars ensigns like better than watching some
old guy with scrambled eggs on his cover have to go beg the mess
president for the privilege of dining on mystery meat.

Think about me when you go to sleep tonight, and know that I'm
thinking about you, too -- not just then, but always, because you're
so much a part of me. We'll be together soon, I promise you.

Love, 

Daniel


END "The Eighth Side of the Triangle"(4/?) by Susan Jameson
(DrBarnBarn@aol.com)