Sending a Message

 Month 14 Day 26

1739 Hours

Della Harris

 "Is it true?"

Startled, Della almost dropped the tray of food she was carrying. She'd already heard that question half a dozen times in the mess hall, but still... Half angry, she turned to face the helmsman as he came up behind her. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

He stopped to face her, glanced at the tray of food she held. "Sorry, Della. Didn't mean to startle you. I just can't believe— Are the rumors true? Did Mac cancel the wedding?"

Della's mouth formed a thin line as she considered him. What does he care? He didn't want to marry her. Or has he changed his mind? Or are they really like brother and sister, and he's worried about her? Wish I could figure these 2 out. She gave up and sighed. "Yes, she did."

He let out a deep breath and shook his head in confused dismay. "Space," he muttered.

"You don't make any sense, Bugalu. You didn't want her to marry him, and now that she's not, you're not happy about that, either."

He grimaced. "The way I see it, the only thing that would be worse than her calling it off is if he had called it off."

This is a hopeless conversation. "I don't know if I agree with that. She may have been the one to call it off, but she is far from happy to have done it! To feel you have to call off a wedding when you don't want to is just... a tragedy, that's what it is!"

"That's got to be rough," he agreed. "She's got her door locked. Can you get me in?"

Della shook her head. "She's got her door locked because she doesn't want to see anybody. Let me emphasize that: She doesn't want to see anybody!"

"Anybody," he repeated. "You mean... not even—"

"Not even him!" Della insisted. "Or as she put it, especially not him!"

"Wow. That sounds like she's determined."

"Determined, yes," she agreed. "But she's still not happy!"

Bugalu took a deep breath and let it out. "Okay." He deposited a handful of flowers and foliage on the dinner tray. "Then take those to her." He turned away and then stopped. "Tell her they're from Smythe."

So now he's sending flowers to his 'sister'? What's up with that? And why have me say they're from Mr Smythe? He just is not making any sense. But Bugalu had walked off by then, and Della turned and made her way to the quarters she shared with Mac.

The door didn't open when she approached, and she rather testily identified herself. "Lt Della Harris." Once she was inside, she placed the tray atop her dresser, got a vase from her closet and some water from the bathroom.

She was still arranging the flowers when Mac woke up with a groan. "Oh! I am so stiff!"

Della tsked. "That's what you said at lunchtime."

"It's still true now," Mac answered, and looked at the flowers Della was arranging. "What's the occasion?"

Della tightened her mouth for a second. "I'm supposed to say these are from Smythe."

"Oh." The redhead didn't sound excited about it. She gave a deep sigh. "Send them back."

Della stared at her. "Send them back?" One doesn't send flowers back, especially onboard, where it's hard to get them in the first place.

"Yeah, that's what I said," Mac answered, and began inching her way into a slightly different position. "This isn't a little argument where he can send flowers and everything will be fine again." She winced. "Ow. What a day this has been."

"I can't send them back," Della blurted out.

Mac stopped trying to move and looked at her. "Why not?"

How dare Bugalu put me in such a ridiculous position as this! "Because Mr Smythe didn't really send them. Bugalu did and told me to say they were from Smythe."

"Why would Bugsy do such a thing?"

"Well, I certainly don't understand him! First he doesn't want you to marry Smythe, then he gets upset when he hears you've called off the wedding and sends you flowers that are supposed to be from Smythe, like he's trying to get you two back together or something!"

"I'll have to ask him what he's up to," Mac decided and raised her left arm, then let it fall to the mattress again. "That is about the extent that I can move. So I won't be asking Bugsy anything today. Maybe tomorrow."

The intercom sounded. "MacDowell? Are you in there? It's Dr Davis."

Mac started to raise her arm again, but Della pressed the button to open the intercom. "Yes, she is, Dr Davis, but she's not doing very well. Stiff and in pain, I think."

"That's why I'm here. To look in on her, change the bandages. Maybe a little physical therapy, if she's stiff."

"Okay," Mac answered. "Computer, open door." She looked at her roommate. "That answers that question. It's past shift change, if Dr Davis is on duty."

"Yes, and I brought you some supper. But tell me if you want something else. Chef Hamara heard you were under the weather, and sent chicken noodle soup. I'm not sure how you're supposed to eat that with your hands bandaged."

"Actually, it sounds good, but we'll see if I can manage it. And what the doctor says about it."

Dr Davis entered the bedroom from the living room. "Chicken noodle soup? Well, let's see those hands, see how they're doing. Maybe you can lift the bowl and drink the soup." She moved over beside the bed, gave a quick look at the vase of flowers. "Nice flowers."

"They're from Mr Smythe," Mac stated softly.

What? Why did she say that? I plainly told her it was Bugalu who sent them, that he told me to say Smythe had sent them. And she said she was going to ask him why!

"I see," Davis said, sitting on the side of Mac's bed. "Let me see your hands. And I think I neglected to mention that your shoulder will need some physical therapy for a few days."

"You told me not to move it."

"That's right. I don't want you to use it. Leave it to us medical types to move it, slowly and carefully."