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11 June 2009 @ 12:08 pm
Fic(let): Archaic Diseases  
Title: Archaic Diseases
Characters: Laura Roslin, Kara Thrace, Beverly Crusher
Pairing: A/R, possibly C/R ;)
Summary: Cancer? We cured that two hundred years ago.

Notes: SHAMELESSLY for racethewind10



The light above the bed dims and I stop squinting at it. I can even lower my hand from my face as the tall redhead fusses over me. She's prettier than Cottle. High cheekbones, delicate hands and bright blue eyes that bore into me whenever I fidget.

I fold my hands over my stomach, feeling strange in the bright blue gown they're making me wear. Starbuck's blind jump brought us to an unlikely place, this galaxy full of aliens and pretty little ships with beige ceilings. This ship, the Enterprise seems small, only one third the size of Galactica.

I remember teasing Bill that size does matter, until he explained to me that the pretty Enterprise, she looks a little like a toy compared to the old Bucket, has technology that can cure cancer.

He wouldn't let me go over alone, no matter how trustworthy the gentleman captain, Picard, seems to be. Starbuck stands in the corner, arms folded and expression harsh.

I smile at her when the doctor in blue disappears for a moment.

Starbuck slinks over, pistol at her side. "She hasn't even done anything," she whispers. "Just collected a lot of information."

Shutting my eyes reminds me how tired I am but I smile anyway. "Might be good to start with information," I tease her. "How's Lee?"

"Negotiating his heart out," she informs me. "Finding us a colony world where we'll stay out of everyone's way." She reaches for my shoulder and I catch her hand.

"Did you know they don't even have fighters on this ship?" she shakes her head. "Seems frakked up to me."

"Different world," I sigh and watch the redhead return.

"You have metastasized breast cancer," Doctor Crusher reports with strange calm, as if she's telling me I have a skinned knee. "It has made significant inroads into your limbic system but it's nothing I can't fix." Her smile brightens up the beige and I'm suddenly fascinated by her lips.

"We barely even see cancer anymore," she continues to explain as she motions for me to sit up. Starbuck takes one hand and the doctor takes the other. I pass her shoulder and I can smell the feminine scent of her hair. How long has it been since I smelled anything but metal and sweat?

"Oh?"

"We cured it two hundred years ago," Doctor Crusher explains with a shrug. She presses something to my neck. "Synthetic T-cells will bolster your immune system."

Another hiss and I realize she's injecting me with her archaic miracle cure. I can't even feel the needle. I touch my neck.

"Hypospray," she lifts the device and hands it to Starbuck for examination. "Shouldn't hurt."

"It doesn't," I nod.

"This," another hiss at my neck and the doctor's smiling again, "will help repair the lost muscle tissue. This one will encourage calcium uptake in your bones. This is for the damage to your organs from the steroids."

"Got anything for her hair?" Starbuck teases and I grin, staring with soft jealousy at Crusher's long red-gold hair.

"It will grow back?" I ask.

Crusher tilts her head, surprised. "I can grow it back now if you like." Her lips play with a smile and I watch her long fingers refill the hypospray device again. "Should only take a few minutes."

She presses metal into my neck and it hisses again. "Be right back," she promises and disappears. The long blue lab coat prevents me from getting a look at her legs. Perhaps it's the alien drugs in my system, perhaps it's sheer the giddiness of survival- whatever it is, I'm fascinated by the figure underneath the coat.

Starbuck touches my knee and draws my attention. "Check it out," she murmurs as we stare at my skin. The yellow-gray pallor is already fading away and the skin's starting to pink.

I stretch my arms and the motion doesn't make me dizzy. I can taste the inside of my mouth and even my lips feel more alive. Crusher returns, carrying an odd device in her hand.

"You walk like a dancer," I observe as she reaches for the scarf covering my head.

The doctor's cheeks flush pink and I wonder what I've said.

"Our little secret," she begs with a finger over her lips. Her eyes glint and I want to hear the story.

Starbuck nods to me, apparently satisfied that this woman poses no danger. "I'm going to report to the Admiral," she announces calmly. I did wonder how long Bill would want her to stay.

"I'll escort the president up to the observation lounge," Crusher promises Starbuck and her fingers are cool against my scalp. She slides off the scarf with a surgeon's gentleness. Her fingers are separate, cool points of contact and I wonder how buried my senses had become in the fog of dying. "This might itch a little."

Something hums and the itching creeps across my head in tiny droplets like a rainstorm. Her cool hands run over and over my head, smoothing the hair back as it starts to grow. The electrical hum is soft. I want to hum with it and watch her meditatively slip into the rhythm of what she's doing.

My hair grows, months of growth slipping by like time is frozen for the rest of me. It starts to cascade down in auburn waves and her hands keep it back, out of my eyes as she stimulates the roots. The itch becomes a pleasant one, a vague sensation of healing, like an old scar being rubbed.

"You'll have to tell me when to stop," Crusher requests, holding a length of hair in front of my face. "How long was it?"

"Thirty more centimeters?" I guess, shrugging as I reach out to touch my hair. The last time I felt it, it was dead and sloughing off on my pillow. Now it seems to have new life in it, the same glow that surrounds this woman and her pretty little ship.

She squeezes my hand, sending warmth down my arm. "Must be strange," she muses. "You were ready to die."

I return her smile and nod. "Of course I was," I admit as she returns to growing out my hair. "Cancer is still a death sentence in my corner of the universe."

Crusher eases a tangle out of my hair. "There's life in you yet," she promises. "Your vitals are strong. You might be a little light headed--"

I stop listening as she slips off her lab coat and guides me over to a mirror. Touching my face is like touching a memory made flesh. There's color in my cheeks, eyebrows over my eyes and my hair--

Gods. My hair.

Crusher's arm slips around my shoulders as I wipe the tears from my eyes. "We can take a moment, if you need--"

I shake my head, studying the lines of her body in her tight blue and black jumpsuit. She should definitely leave the coat off. I reach for her face, surprising myself with my boldness. The heat of her skin is incredible and I can feel the softness of tiny hairs along her cheek.

"I'll go change."

She nods, tapping her fingers against the shining computer screen on the wall. Bill hates their computers. He thinks it's almost as bad as a base ship, so many computers everywhere.

"Doctor?" I ask, turning back and glorifying in the feel of carpet beneath my feet. How long has it been since I felt my toes?

"Madame President?" the title has lilt in her voice.

"I'd like you to call me Laura."

She nods, crossing her arms over her chest. "Beverly."

I form her name with my lips and nod. It suits her. I turn towards the changing room and the promise of clean clothes. My hair hangs over my shoulders, heavy and thick. The tears return to my eyes and I don't bother to wipe them aside. These are good tears.
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Ariestessariestess on June 15th, 2009 07:27 pm (UTC)
Wow! I think I just fell in a new kind of love for these two women that I adore. This was a beautiful story. It read well enough for both fandoms that if someone didn't know ST:TNG, for example, they could get a good enough sense of it from this story.

Great job!

Is there any way I can archive a copy of this on ShatterStorm Productions?