New Fic: Confidentiality

[jackwabbit]

Confidentiality

Fandom: Star Trek Discovery
Rated: G
Category: Angst. Grief & Recovery. Tracy & Hugh Friendship. Tracy & Paul Friendship. Culmets. I Live in the Tracy and Hugh are BFFs Verse and I Regret Nothing. Except That This is Sad. But Also Hopeful?
Word Count:1543.
Season:  Likely post-one and pre-two. Or early two. Sometime after “Will You Take My Hand” and before “Saints of Ambition.”
Spoilers: General Series Knowledge Only.
Summary: Doctor-Patient Confidentiality has its advantages for both sides of that equation.

-----

Tracy reviews the report again. It’s the fifth time, and it’s not like anything is going to change, but she does it anyway. 

And as expected, it reads the same. 

All crew members have current physicals and lab results on file save one. 

The one whose unique situation means that that’s even more critical. The one who, until recently, she never had to worry about, despite mandates that he be examined far more frequently than most. Even with his stubbornness about complying with said mandates. 

But there it is, in black and white, on her screen. 

Stamets, Paul, Lieutenant Commander, Engineering

Tracy sighs. She considers comming him, but knows any message would likely go unanswered. She’d send a message to his PADD, but that has even less chance of a reply.

So she does something she rarely does. Something she’s allowed, given her position, but that always feels dirty, no matter the circumstances. 

She connects to Discovery’s biometric data system, using her medical override codes to access all available information. 

At first glance, everything appears fine. Heart rate, respiration, blood pressure - it’s all within normal limits. 

She’s about to close the file, content that at least the ship’s navigator isn’t actively dying, even if she’s still concerned, when she sees it. It’s only an estimate, based on physical parameters rather than true measurement, but it’s rarely far off. 

She pulls up the previous values, and they confirm what she already knows. 

Stamets has lost eleven pounds. 

Tracy closes her eyes. 

She could order the Commander to report for a physical. She could order him to see a counselor. 

She knows she should do both. 

But she doesn’t.

She can’t.

Because he’s not the Commander to her. He’s not even Stamets right now. Right now, he’s just Paul, and she’s known Paul for a decade. And Paul is her best friend’s widower.

So she does the only thing she can think of. She calls out to the room.

“Computer, locate Lieutenant Commander Stamets.”

The response comes nearly immediately, and doesn’t surprise her. It does give her the slightest pause, though. He might legitimately be working. Perhaps it’s not the best time for what she has in mind.

But her doubt only lasts a moment.

Then she’s out the door and heading to Paul’s mycelial “forest” in engineering.

It doesn’t take her long to get there, and when she sees the limited staff present in the outer room, she suspects that she’s come at a good time after all. There is no flurry of activity. Everyone seems calm.

Still, before she enters the cultivation bay, she confirms her suspicions.

“Computer, are there any crew members besides Commander Stamets in this room?”

The computer answers in the negative immediately.

Tracy takes a big breath and lets it out, then speaks again.

“Then open this door. Medical override gamma-four-beta-nine.”

The doors swish open, breath lock be damned, and Tracy steps inside.

She finds him sitting in a corner, just watching his spores go by.

She doesn’t say anything, and neither does he.

She just sits down next to him, knees bent to her chest, and watches with him.

It’s a long, long moment before he acknowledges her, and it’s simple when he does.

“Tracy,” he says.

“Paul,” she replies.

They’re silent again for another long moment, then Tracy whispers to the air around them.

“He wouldn’t want this, you know.”

Paul doesn’t say anything, but Tracy hears his breath hitch. Then he sniffs and she hears several shaky exhales. Tracy doesn’t look at him. She doesn’t say anything. But she does extend her legs out in front of her and after a moment, she lays her hand on the one closest to Paul and taps it ever so slightly with her fingers.

And that’s when Paul breaks. He lets out a sob and falls sideways onto Tracy’s lap. His head rests on her thigh and she wraps her arm around his shoulder as he cries – and cries and cries.

He’s an absolute mess when he finally exhausts himself. There’s snot on his face and the leg of Tracy’s uniform is soaked through with his tears.

And finally, Paul rolls over to look up at Tracy. His red-rimmed eyes meet hers, which don’t look much better, and he doesn’t even pretend to not know what she means.

“I know,” he mutters. “But what am I supposed to do?”

Tracy regards him sadly for a moment before answering.

“Have breakfast with me tomorrow.”

Paul’s eyebrows lower and his forehead creases into the look of confusion Tracy knows so well.

“Paul, you have to eat,” she elaborates.

Paul shakes his head minutely, and Tracy sighs.

“It’s either that or sickbay,” she says. Then, after a pause, she offers a small shrug and continues, “and I could use the company.”

Paul blinks at her, registering her own tear-stained cheeks, and fresh tears form in his eyes. But he doesn’t cry. He just gives Tracy the slightest nod.

Tracy gives him a sad smile in return, and Paul sits up again slowly. He runs his uniform sleeve under his nose like a little kid, then scrubs a hand over his face, getting mucus all over with both gestures, and Tracy’s smile grows fond.

This was the Paul Stamets few know. The one who would only agree to eat with her if it was about her. The one who cared about everyone else more than himself. The one Hugh had absolutely adored.

Tracy can’t help but reach out to him now. She brushes a lock of hair away from his forehead. The fact that Paul tolerates it from her without so much as a look speaks volumes, but Tracy checks in anyway.

“You okay?” she asks.

A mirthless chuckle is her only answer.

“Yeah, alright,” she says. “Dumb question.”

Paul gives her a conceding look, but still doesn’t say anything.

Tracy nods sadly.

“Me too,” she whispers.

Paul presses his lips together as tears threaten again.

“So,” he croaks out, trying and failing for false bravado, “breakfast?”

“Breakfast,” agrees Tracy.

Suddenly, Tracy’s communicator chirps. The noise startles both her and Paul, but they recover quickly. Tracy shoots Paul an apologetic look, but he waves her off, gesturing for her to take care of it.

Tracy flips open her comm and, as she expected, she is summoned back to sickbay. She is still on shift, after all. She lets her nurse know she’ll be right there, then closes the comm and glances at Paul.

“Gotta go,” she says.

Paul nods in understanding. “Yep.”

Tracy releases the smallest sigh, her heart breaking as she wonders how many times he’d done the same to Hugh through the years, as she gets to her feet.

Paul moves to do the same. “I should probably get back, too,” he mumbles.

Tracy stills him with a hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him back down.

“You should stay. At least for a little while,” she says.

Paul gives her a puzzled look, and she merely gestures to his face in response.

“Oh,” breathes Paul, taking another swipe at his face with one hand. “Right.”

“Yeah,” says Tracy quietly. “Take some time. I’ll make sure you get some privacy.”

“No need,” replies Paul, a touch of snark sneaking into his voice. “The door’s DNA-coded, remember? Only Tilly can get in. Well, Tilly and pesky doctors.”

At this, Paul finally gives Tracy the annoyed look she’d been expecting since she arrived, and it pulls a tiny smile out of her. She refrains from pointing out that Tilly might be nearly as likely to come check on him as she was and instead runs her fingers once through Paul’s hair as she withdraws her hand from his shoulder.

Paul pulls slightly away from her touch and rolls his eyes.

Tracy almost giggles in relief at the familiar action, but she manages to reign it in.

And since Commander Stamets is reappearing, she figures it’s time for Doctor Pollard to do the same.

She spins on her heel and heads toward the door, throwing an order at Paul as she does.

“Oh six hundred, Commander.”

Paul groans, and Tracy smirks. She knows full well Paul is not a morning person.

But the doors swish shut behind her before she can hear any retort.

-----

Somehow, Paul is only about five minutes late the next day.

He doesn’t eat much, but Tracy doesn’t push.

What she does do is arrange for a private medical screening in his quarters, once she realizes sickbay is just too much for him.

And if that becomes their new normal and eventually it becomes a habit for them to have dinner once a week, so be it.

They tell themselves it’s due to the required frequency of his exams.

They tell others nothing.

Not when Paul puts away the holo of Hugh and Tracy that has been on the bookcase for years after it destroys her professionalism one night. Or when Tracy vows to never utter the words “doctor’s orders” to Paul ever again, because she had once promised to do no harm.

Not even when Paul starts eating almost normally and Tracy starts to smile every now and then.

After all, doctor-patient confidentiality exists for a reason.