Personal Crisis

Month 16 Day 5

1244 Hours

Drake MacGregor

Drake was surprised by Smitty. The man not only held Mac's hand during her decontamination, he never uttered a word of complaint when his uniform got more wet than not as they sluiced warm water over her to wash off the remnants of the pink foam. He helped move her to a med bay gurney, and even used his free hand to help spread the blue glop that was the final stage of decontamination.

The back of her uniform wasn't the only thing that had dissolved from contact with the gas; the back of her head was now devoid of its brilliant red hair. Drake wondered how to break that to her. It would grow back, but he couldn't guarantee it would still be red.

She had taken the brunt of the gas on her back, the back of her head and the backs of her arms. All of that was now a dark pink, and some of the area blistered. It was good Smitty had been so prompt with the detox foam. Just as he was now thorough in applying the blue glop.

Mac jerked awake and her head flailed from side to side as she tried to see what was happening, then she groaned in pain and settled down on the gurney. "Smit!" she called in what sounded like panic.

"I'm right here," he told her firmly. "Hold still, so we don't accidentally rub this decontamination goo on too hard. You've got some bad chemical burns back here."

"Not that bad a burn," Drake corrected. "Thanks to Smitty's quick action with the detox foam. It'll be swollen and painful for a time. But this blue stuff works wonders, given a little time."

"MacG," she sighed in relief. "I wondered whose hands I felt."

"Dr Francine Lister is also helping," Drake explained. "We're almost done."

"Then can I get some clothes on?"

"Not yet," Dr Lister said. "This stuff needs time to work. You'll be confined to bed, on your stomach. The closest we can come to clothes will be a blanket, loosely wrapped around you."

"Sounds... nerve-wracking," Mac stated softly. And then, suddenly, Smitty had 2 hands free to apply the blue glop. Slowly, Mac raised her hand to lightly explore the back of her head. "I've lost my hair, haven't I?" There was the sound of tears in her voice.

"It'll grow back," Drake assured her.

She gave a short nod, and then sobbed, probably from the pain of moving skin that no longer had elasticity.

"Try not to move," Dr Lister told her. "In fact, sleep as much of the next 24 hours as you can. Tell the nurses when you're ready to eat, and they'll bring you something, probably a milkshake or soup. Something you can eat through a straw."

A few minutes later, they draped a blanket over her, then rolled the gurney into the intensive care ward of med bay. 2 nurses stood by to assist, and they quickly moved her from the gurney to a bed with a hole through it for her face. "The least you could do is have an interesting floor pattern," she jokingly complained.

"I can give you something to help you sleep," Drake suggested.

"Without Gaelund gravity?" Mac asked. "No thanks. I'll do my best to sleep, but no guarantees." She waved her hand a little on the side where Smitty stood, and he took hold of it. "Smit, looks like all the excitement is over, so you might as well go back to work."

"I should," he agreed, but made no move to do so.

"Don't worry, Smitty," Drake told him. "A few hours to let the blue goo work, a few sessions under the healing ray, and she'll be well on her way to recovery."

"Not the healing ray," Dr Lister said, and pointed to a particular light on the lower left corner of the display board. "Nurse Underhill, check to see if we've already run afoul of any contraindications, just by following emergency protocols. I'll check to see what we can do from this point."

"Yes, doctor," the nurse agreed, and all 3 women left the room. Smitty watched them in confusion.

Staring at the telltale light, Drake muttered to himself, "How did I miss that?" Then without thinking, he asked, "Mac, are you pregnant?"

She gave a deep sigh. "Pretty sure."

Drake used controls on the display panel to get more information. "About 5 or 6 weeks, then," he stated.

"What?" Smitty asked.

"I tried to tell you," she reminded him softly. "You're wrong, MacG. It's only 4 weeks.

"Four weeks!" Smitty dropped her hand as he took a step back.

Why the discrepancy? And why is Smitty having such a strong reaction? Don't tell me he still believes she was pregnant when he proposed to her!

"I know when I had sex," Mac whispered, and raised her head to look at Smitty. "I've been trying to talk to you," she pleaded.

Smitty stepped back again, confusion, disbelief and a host of other emotions racing across his face. He woodenly said, "I should return to work. When he wakes up, Colleen, introduce yourself to your roommate, Benedicto Facchini." Then he turned and left.

Mac sank back on the bed, completely deflated. "I waited too long," she sobbed.

Smitty's reaction completely baffled Drake, and so he turned to the problem of the medical discrepancy. "So, you've based your estimate on when you had sex?"

"Oh, who cares how far along I am?" she muttered.

"I do," he stated, and doggedly asked, "When was sex?"

She snorted. "The eve of our wedding day," she retorted. "But I cancelled the wedding because he still believed I was already pregnant, and he'd planned out our entire life without consulting me about any of it."

"Well, you're right, that was about 4 ship's weeks ago."

"So I don't know where you get 5 to 6 weeks," she returned sourly.

"Because pregnancy is calculated in Earth weeks, not ship weeks," he explained. "So that makes it 4 1/2 weeks. And it's also calculated from the first day of your last menstrual cycle, which might have been anywhere from 1 to 3 weeks before the sex. Our machine gives a guess based on how developed the fetus is." When she didn't respond, he gently asked, "Is that the only night it might have happened?"

"What do you want from me, MacG? That's the only time I've had sex."

"So there's no doubt Smitty's the father."

"No. None." Her voice was strained and hard to hear.

Drake reached out to pat her shoulder, thought better of it and patted her hand instead. "We'll get it straightened out," he promised.

"Go away, MacG."

He nodded, even though she couldn't see it. "Okay."

"But first," she added hurriedly, "could you hand me a tissue?"

He placed the requested item in her hand, then left the room, uncertain the tissue would be of any use, but certain the nurses would keep a close eye on her. I'd better find a way to get Smitty thinking. And thinking right, instead of listening to rumors.

"How's Mac?" Nurse Temple asked as Drake passed the desk with the read-outs from the Intensive Care Unit.

"Depressed," he answered. "And... well, you've seen her readout."

"Yes," she agreed. "Now her questions make better sense."

Of course questions. As sheltered as she's been, in some ways. "How long ago?"

"A couple weeks."

"Sounds right."

"How did Mr Smythe react?"

"Lousy" He shook his head and muttered, "Going to have to talk some sense into him."