The Sickbay of the USS Century was alight with activity, far more than what could be considered the normal din of activity for the place. Nursing staff busily moved from patient bed to private recovery room, tending to the needs of those that had become wounded after a freak storm on an unnamed world. The staff took solace in the fact that even the most grievously wounded crewman could be labeled as serious rather than critical, and that none of them were teetering on the razor’s edge.

Lieutenant Commander Reli Odaim was chief among those who held such an opinion, perhaps all the more so because she was well aware of how deeply her patients agreed with such sentiments from her staff. While Reli generally appreciated that her Betazoid heritage gave her an edge in practicing medicine, there had been plenty of situations in the past where her insight into the thoughts and feelings of those she was treating were nothing but a curse. Despair and helplessness were emotions she had felt from many a Sickbay visitor in the past, and try as one might to blot them out there was no escaping them. She was sincerely grateful that those weren’t the prevalent emotions flitting about her department.

As she made her rounds through the somewhat crowded space, Reli couldn’t help but pick up fragments of internal monologues from the various patients she visited. Snippets of ‘what could I have done better?’ and ‘why didn’t we hear about that storm sooner?’ filled the minds of the men and women convalescing around the compartment. Rarely, Dr. Odaim would offer some words of comfort to people based one the fragments of thought that reached her, but even then she made every effort to avoid direct mention of what she had heard so as to minimize the discomfort her patients usually felt about having their private thoughts evaluated without their knowledge.

After several hours of examining patients had slipped by, Reli found herself back at her desk, tapping away at PaDDs to update patient charts with the most recent data on their condition. Such a task was, at least in Odaim’s mind, routine and afforded her the chance to drown out the disembodied thoughts around here and focus solely on the task at hand. She’d even joked a time or two that paperwork was the only time she couldn’t hear anything else because of how overwhelming it was on her mind. It was in the midst of such a lull in intrusive thoughts that her communications console beeped at her. Without looking up from the PaDD in her hand, Reli swatted at the respond button, allowing the call to come through.

“Buried yourself in charts?” the voice of Commander Abigail Peters filled the room.

“Mmhmm…”

Abby laughed at her friend’s almost automatic response, “I thought you might like to grab something to eat with me at the lounge on deck eleven.”

“Food would be nice,” Reli responded in a rather flat and distracted manner.

Peters watched her friend scribble away at the PaDD for a few more minutes before letting out a tired sigh, “Do I need to come get you?”

Odaim gave the woman a halfhearted shrug but otherwise showed very little indication that she’d actually internalized the question over what she was doing. With a small chortle, Abby ended the transmission. For her part, Reli didn’t even register that the call had come to an end as she diligently blocked out the world to focus exclusively on what was in front of her. That is, of course, until she felt someone grab her by the underside of her left arm somewhat roughly. Odaim looked up to find her friend and Executive Officer standing over her with a bemused smirk on her face.

“Came to get you,” the woman said while still smirking, “Let’s get lunch.”

Reli blinked a few times before remembering their rather brief call, “Oh… right… you did ask me to go to lunch.”

Setting down her PaDD and slipping out of her medical coat, Dr. Odaim followed Cmdr. Peters out of Sickbay after informing one of her nurses that she was stepping away. The pair got about halfway to the nearby turbolift before Abby started a conversation.

“How is everyone?” Peters asked, turning to look to her friend.

Reli shrugged, “About as well as they can be. No one is beyond our ability to treat, even in the worst cases, and most of them are in good enough spirits.”

“Most…” Abby repeated pointedly. Reli nodded at the statement but didn’t bother clarifying any further just then. She knew full well where Peters was going with her little jab at her wording and could have answered the underlying question before it ever left the other woman’s lips. But where was the fun in that?

As the pair stepped onto the lift, Abby finally remarked, “What’s the issue driving the morale down?”

“It isn’t any one thing,” Odaim responded almost immediately, “And no two people have the same concerns. And… in case you’ve forgotten, I’m not a therapist. The only time I actually use what I hear is when patients try to lie about how serious something is to save face. Otherwise, I try not to pay attention to what I overhear.”

“I know that,” Abby said in a tone mixed with equal parts defensiveness and exasperation, “But we don’t have any Betazoid counselors on the ship, so I can’t just ask someone else what’s actually eating the crew.”

“My people aren’t just counselors,” Reli rolled her eyes at her friend’s statement.

Peters shook her head, “I never said or thought they were! I’m just saying that knowing what is bothering the crew, and finding a way to address it quickly and competently is important in my line of work. So sue me if lamenting the absence of someone who can help me do that is offensive to you.”

Reli couldn’t help but laugh as the lift slowed and the doors parted, “I’m not offended. You aren’t the first and certainly won’t be the last person that thinks Betazed is a planet that cranks out counselors. And you aren’t wrong that it helps to know what people feel even behind the curtain of carefully chosen words.”

The pair exited the lift and headed for the lounge, which was a short walk down the corridor. As they did, Abby cocked her head to the side slightly and muttered, “I wonder what people think Earth churns out…”

“Lunatics,” Odaim responded with a smirk, “Earth churns out some of the most insane creatures to ever flood the galaxy. And the worst part is, I don’t think we’d be nearly as far along as we are without you crazy people.”

Abby laughed at her friend’s answer to her somewhat rhetorical question, “I really want to argue with you on that, but I can’t seem to find one that actually stands up.”

“Don’t even try,” Reli reached over and gave her friend’s shoulder a pat, “No one wants your people to change so badly that they’d ask you to defend your insanity.”

“Are you sure? I remember reading something at the Academy about the Q…”

“I really don’t think they count. I’m talking about those of us living in the same plane of existence as humanity.” Reli retorted.

“Oh… that’s fair, I guess. How did we get on this topic anyway?” Peters asked as the two women entered the lounge.

“You started it.”

“Huh…” Abby murmured with a shrug, “Guess I did. Well, let’s forget about all that philosophical nonsense and grab ourselves some lunch.”

“Now there’s a decision I can get behind.”

The pair approached separate replicators and ordered their respective lunches before finding themselves a quiet corner to sit and eat. There was a short lull in their conversation as they enjoyed their food, but inevitably the silence was broken and their chat resumed.

“Seriously though,” Abby began, as if to continue a topic they’d just spoken about, “What could I or the Captain do to improve morale for those that got caught in that storm?”

“Most of the negative thoughts and emotions are internally focused. I don’t know that you or the Captain have any stake in whether it will or won’t improve,” Odaim replied.

Peters grunted at the remark, “So it’s mostly just people living in their heads about it…”

“Basically.”

Abby leaned back in her seat, looking upward toward the ceiling, “I get that, though. I’d probably be a bundle of ‘what did I do wrong?’, ‘how could I have come out of that without being so banged up?’, and on and on… I feel bad for them, but you’re probably right, nothing I or the Captain can say right now will have any real impact on that.”

“Probably not,” Reli remarked, “But even if you can’t do anything about the underlying cause, that doesn’t mean showing face is a bad idea. Even a token gesture can have meaning for someone.”

“Yeah… but I can’t help but feel like token gestures alone are kind of hollow and easily misinterpreted,” Peters grumbled.

“You’re probably not wrong there, Abby, but doing nothing at all can be misinterpreted just as easily and with a lot more impact than showing up and being somewhat useless.”

Peters mulled it over for a while, poking at her food with her fork before sighing, “I guess I should talk to the Captain, see what he wants to do.”

“Is he not receptive to shows of compassion?” Reli asked.

“I don’t think it’s a lack of receptiveness, honestly… just a stark difference in culture. I won’t even pretend to be an expert on Gorn culture, but from what I’ve seen, their version of compassion leans toward leaving people to work through things on their own rather than the more Human way of coming together to work things out as a group. So in his mind, he is being compassionate by giving the crew their space.”

“So it’s more like you’re expressing how cultural differences are perceived rather than having to overcome some manner of stubborn refusal.”

Abby nodded, “Yes, exactly. The Captain has never really outright refused to do something counter to what he would consider ‘common sense’ when presented with sound reasoning. I just have to explain to him how the majority of the crew feel about things that run counter to what he is used to on a cultural or personal level.”

“I see,” Odaim nodded at that, “Then I suppose you probably should talk to him about how token gestures work. He may very well not have much of a grasp on that, even if he’s seen them before during his career.”

“Yeah…” Peters said with a bit of resignation, “I’ll meet with him after we finish lunch.”