The Shakes

It had been an extremely stressful first week on the station, and T'Pren's old Cardassian injuries had been acting up much more frequently than they had in years. She'd already gone through the supply of hyposprays that Regan had made her last time, a special cocktail they'd come up with at the Academy to help with the tremors that overtook her from time to time due to neurological damage. It wasn't incapacitating enough for it to be a concern for Starfleet, but it was uncomfortable...and it definitely made it difficult to do science-y things.

And here she was again, trembling slightly and out of her saving grace hypospray. The half-Vulcan was wearing black leggings and a long coral tunic with her hair down over her ears, clearly off-duty for the day. She slipped into the infirmary and looked around cautiously, trying to decide who or what was the new doctor and hoping to beat out the rush of new ensigns coming in for physicals.

The metronome steps of the doctor came from the surgery where Zíma 8 had been familiarizing themself with Dr. Ozan's notes.
"Hello Lieutenant Inabnet, how nice to meet you." they said with a placid and not quite genuine smile. The tireless perfection of their posture meant that their uniform ad nary a crease, as though it were still on display on a tailor's dress form.

Well, that was unsettling. T'Pren hesitated at first, trying to figure out just how she felt about...this. This whole situation. It was like suddenly finding oneself in an Asimov story. She hoped it was one that would end well for the meatbags.

"Hi," she finally said perfectly cordially. She found she actually was a little more calm than she usually was dealing with new people because...well, it was a different kind of new person. "I'm afraid I haven't had time to check the roster, so you have me at a disadvantage. Are you..." She looked around and found no other new faces. Yup. This must be the one. "...You're taking over for Doctor Ozan?"

"Yes," the android replied, holding out their hand for the young woman. "Doctor Zíma 8. I've just finished installing Doctor Ozan's station notes into my memory banks." His yellow glass eyes flashed over her form from head to toe in an instant. "Are you unwell? Or is it common for you to appear this confused?"

T'Pren's brows shot up ever-so-slightly at the questions, but she carefully told herself that probably it meant it with sincerity. It. He? They? She'd have to check the file before talking about the new doctor to anyone. As for whether or not she was well...she was definitely trembling visibly. "Ah, no. I'm not unwell. I just didn't know who was replacing R-- Ozan."

"Doctor Zima 8," she repeated, trying to decide if that should be shortened. Maybe not. Maybe it was just their name. "Well, if you're here for Doctor Ozan, you must be good at what you do. We're glad to have you."

"I am sure you are. All humans will be replaced by androids some day, you know." There was no change in tone. The doctor pushed up the back of the examination table and invited Pren to sit. "That was a joke," they added.

T'Pren stared at Zima blankly right up until he added his 'jk'. And then she started laughing maybe a little harder than was really appropriate for the joke. Because the whole situation was so surreal. "Good thing for me I'm not fully human then," she returned, and climbed up on the table like a good little lab rat. "I've had my exam, you know. I just ran out of my hypospray."

"Ah," the android took the lieutenant's trembling hand. "But you should not have run out so quickly. Do you find you need more and more for the same results? I do not wish you to become addicted."

It was simultaneously creepy as hell and really relieving to be touched by something that didn't send her a telepathic flash. T'Pren looked down at her shaking hand in Zima's and only managed not to blush at the idea of becoming addicted by reminding herself that the android probably didn't care, really, about the stigma of such things.

"Only since I came here," she confessed. "But I've also been in and out of a multidimensional rift twice. And I've been under a lot of stress."

Zíma gave her a calculated side-eye, telling her without words that they doubted her excuses. They turned and unlocked one of Dr. Ozan's medical replicators, pulling out a case of hyposprays. They pulled two out and showed them to Pren.
"Two per day at most. One to help you work. One to help you sleep." They gave her the case. "You have ten there. I will only give you another ten on the 5th day, and not before. And if you do run out, remember there are other ways to alleviate stress besides medication."

Now T'Pren was frowning and giving Zima a dubious look in return. "It doesn't alleviate stress. It alleviates my tremors. Surely that's in my file."

"Do your existing tremors not become agitated by additional stress?" Zíma asked in return.

"It doesn't help," T'Pren replied with an edge of irritation in her voice. "It doesn't help that I haven't been sleeping or that I've been retraumatized repeatedly this week in every possible way or that I was pulled into and pushed out of a multidimensional rift twice in one day. But they're not psychosomatic. It's neurological damage. If you don't trust the file, you can do the tests yourself."

Zíma listened to her with patience.
"One to help you work, and one to help you sleep. Careful you don't run out," they repeated. "Was there anything else you needed beside the refill?" The android made notes in a PADD, probably simply noting when the refill was administered, but possibly also noting her disposition and his suspicions of addiction.

Exasperated, T'Pren rolled her eyes and took the case. And because she was feeling frustrated and defiant, she pulled out a hypospray right then and administered it with a practiced hand to her neck. She stayed seated for the next minute or so while it took effect, holding out a hand in the air to watch for the shaking to stop. And then she breathed a sigh of relief.

"You're reporting to Ozan, right?" She didn't bother to make it sound innocuous. She was definitely going to send a subspace message and get Regan to fix this limit thing. She had science to do!

"Yes. Every day," Zíma said, more than used to people insisting on checking their work. "Rest assured she will be in her old post just as soon as she returns."

The half-Vulcan had a look of grim satisfaction as it was affirmed that Ozan was still in charge. She scooped up her case and dropped off the table, unable to stop herself from an agitated toss of her long hair. "Trust me," she told Zima dryly, "if I were going to be addicted to anything, it sure as hell would have to pack a harder punch than this."

"That *is* how addiction works, Lieutenant," Zíma reminded her nonchalantly, tucking away the PADD. "I'll see you next week."

T'Pren made a garbled noise in her throat that was somewhere between disgust and a good old fashioned 'augh' of the Charlie Brown variety. As she stalked angrily out of the infirmary, she mumbled to herself under her breath. "...ridiculous...completely...I'll show...addicted...right out...airlock..."