A Moment To Breathe

Posted on 15 Mar 2026 @ 10:08pm by Lieutenant Commander Joey Geisler & Lieutenant Commander Kennedy Monroe M.D.

4,394 words; about a 22 minute read

Mission: Epitaph
Location: Sickbay
Timeline: July 9, 2390

Saying Kennedy and the rest of the USS Black Hawk crew had a lot to process was like saying the sinking of the Titanic was merely an unfortunate event. The chaos in Sickbay had abated somewhat thanks to everyone's efforts to get rid of the holograms that made Kennedy and the rest of the medical team feel like they were playing a giant game of "whack a mole," but even with that problem solved, Kennedy knew they were careening from crisis to crisis, seemingly one step behind the power curve.

When she'd learned what had happened to Joey and Harvey, she'd promised herself she would see to their needs as soon as she could, not just because as CMO, it was her responsibility, but because she hoped as someone who didn’t know Joey well, she could be a source of support without adding any extra pressure for Joey to avoid acting in ways that would perhaps unsettle those who knew her better. Kennedy knew what that kind of pressure after shock and trauma could feel like. No matter how loving and well meaning people meant to be, the expectations of those who still dwelt in what Kennedy would come to know as Before, the time that preceded trauma, could also feel like a weight around the neck.

Joey lay back against the pillows of her bed, her frame still gaunt, cheeks hollowed and dark rings shadowing her eyes. The hum of the equipment around her was broken by the laughter of Alison and Jameson, who sat on the floor with Eden, stacking blocks into precarious towers. Rico and Pequeno stood sentinel nearby, their ears pricked and bodies slightly tense, as if they understood their duty was to guard the fragile calm of the room.

When the door slid open, Joey’s gaze lifted. Despite her weariness, she managed a faint smile. “Doctor Monroe,” she greeted, her voice hoarse but warm. She brushed a hand absently across the blanket, as though grounding herself. “I’m trying to rest, like everyone keeps telling me.”

Kennedy smiled warmly, casting her eyes in the direction of Joey's extended family and offering them a small wave. She understood not all remedies were of the chemical variety and she was glad to see Joey was connecting with the ones she loved. Monroe also took note Joey mentioned she was 'trying' to rest and knew those words meant more than just being swarmed by her staff and well-meaning visitors. She could monitor Joey's vitals and brain activity, after all, and knew exactly when sleep eluded her and nightmares seemed in full force. Of course, all of that was understandable. The only question for Kennedy at this moment was whether Joey felt comfortable addressing her needs with her loved ones nearby.

"No worries. I know love and laughter are the best medicines around. When you're ready for a break, I'm sure you'll say the word," Kennedy answered. "Would you like me to just erect the privacy shield or is now a good time to send everyone to get the best treats from the replicator?" Monroe wanted to give Joey some semblance of control right now, even if it was over small things.

Joey’s eyes drifted first to Eden, then to Alison and Jameson, who were happily absorbed in their play on the floor. Rico and Pequeno lay nearby, their watchful presence a comfort she refused to relinquish. Her gaze lingered on them for a moment before she turned back to Kennedy, her voice quiet but resolute.

“Privacy screen, please,” Joey said, her tone carrying both gratitude and determination. “I’m not ready to let any of them out of my sight just yet. They’re my anchor right now, and I need them close.”

She shifted slightly against the pillows, her thin frame betraying the toll of recent days. The only reason Harvey wasn’t here was because he had a duty to the ship and crew. He was the commanding officer, and that was something Joey understood all too well.

Her eyes softened, though the dark rings beneath them spoke of sleepless nights. “I’ll rest easier knowing they’re here, even if it’s behind the shield.”

“Of course,” Kennedy replied sincerely. It only took her a moment to erect the privacy screen that would allow them to act and speak freely without others seeing or hearing them. This was important, not just as a matter of ethics but also because to heal, Joey deserved space and time to be perfectly candid without the worry of managing other people’s feelings, which was sometimes a consequence of love, whether it was healthy or not.

Monroe approached Joey’s bedside and offered, “I won’t ask how you feel as I’m sure you’re asked that a million times a day, including by the staff here, but it would help me to know if anything feels better or worse than before?” It was clear Joey wasn’t sleeping well, but she wanted to keep the conversation open ended for now.

Joey shifted slightly against the bed. Her voice was quiet, but steady. “The medical team aboard the Endurance… they did what they could. My burns, the worst of the physical damage—they took care of all that,” she said, fingers brushing absently over the areas those burns once were. “On the outside, I’m patched up. But the pain… it still lingers.”

Her gaze dropped for a moment, the dark rings beneath her eyes betraying the weight she carried. “I know it’s not real anymore. I know it’s just my mind holding on. But it doesn’t make it any easier to shake.” She looked back at Kennedy, her expression a mix of exhaustion and determination. "It’s the memories that hurt the worst.”

Monroe nodded silently. It wasn't always the wounds a doctor could see that were the biggest threat, but the ones they couldn't. With advanced technology, there weren't many physical wounds that could remain hidden these days, which only made the emotional wounds and their impact on a person's well-being that much more pronounced.

It was why Kennedy believed the best healers incorporated mind and body much more readily in their methods. Kennedy didn't believe she could be everything to everyone, of course, but she wasn't the sort of healer who was eager to say her work was done as quickly as possible. "I think psychological wounds can be the most daunting to endure. You know they're there, but you can't see their edges the way you can see a burn or a broken bone, so you can't whip out a dermal regenerator, and in a matter of moments, make them disappear. I wish I could give you a visual schematic all the bad memories so we could just vaporize them entirely, but the hurt you're describing isn't merely skin or brain deep, is it?"

Monroe had a sense of how Joey would answer, but the goal wasn't to receive confirmation. She wanted to give Joey room to talk without rushing to fix or offer solutions.

Joey let out a slow breath, her eyes drifting briefly to the privacy screen. Her twins were just beyond it, and they were safe with Eden looking after them. Rico and Pequeno were curled at their sides now, but even in rest, the dogs’ ears twitched at every sound.

“It’s not skin‑deep,” Joey said quietly. “Not even close.”

She shifted, wincing—not from physical pain, but from the memory of it. “What they did… it wasn’t just hurting my body. It was breaking me down piece by piece. Making me doubt myself and whether anyone was coming.” Her fingers curled slightly in the blanket, knuckles pale. “My burns and wounds healed. But the fear? The helplessness? That’s still there. It hits me out of nowhere, like I’m right back in that room.”

Her voice softened, almost apologetic. “I know it’s all in my head now. I know I’m safe. But my mind hasn’t caught up to that yet.”

She swallowed, eyes flicking again to her children—alive, laughing, whole. “I’m trying. I really am. But some wounds don’t show up on a scan.”

"Some wounds absolutely don't, but that doesn't mean they aren't seen," Kennedy replied. "I see them," the doctor reassured. "Your words are proof enough, but even beyond that, I can see you're struggling with sleep. Your scans certainly show all the markers of a traumatized body and mind -- the increased cortisol levels and other neurological changes, it's all there for people who know where to look and are willing to listen. It's also important to know these changes do not reflect a failure or weakness on your part. Your body and mind's responses to this trauma are absolutely normal. They allowed you to survive."

Monroe's tone took on a more emphatic positive tone. "I imagine it doesn't feel like it right now, but with the right support, you can heal from this. It's never going to be forgotten, but like any physical wound, your psychological skin will heal and leave a scar. The meaning you apply to that scar and how you come to see it depends a great deal on the support you're given, but also on the support you allow yourself to accept. Accepting help can be challenging for some, but with this, it's vital. Might you be able to do that? Talking about it with me or with T'Mari could be very helpful, as we've helped people down this road many times before."

Joey listened quietly, her fingers absently brushing the edge of her blanket, something that proved to be a coping mechanism for her, as Kennedy spoke. When the doctor finished, she gave a small but deliberate nod. “I can do that,” she said softly. “Talking to you or Lieutenant Rael. I know I need to. What happened isn’t something I can just push down and hope disappears.”

Her gaze drifted toward the privacy screen where Alison and Jameson were still playing, Eden’s soft chatter mixing with the occasional thump of a toy. Rico and Pequeno still settled beside them, ever watchful. The thought steadied her, and when she looked back at Kennedy, there was a quiet certainty in her expression. “I won’t be doing this alone,” Joey continued. “I’ve got a pretty solid support system. No matter how bad it gets, I’m not without people who’ve got my back.”

She exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. “So yes. I’ll talk. I’ll accept the help. I owe that to myself—and to them.”

"I'm pleased to hear you say that," Kennedy replied. She hoped Joey would be open to accepting more than just help for her physical wounds, and she believed it was likely given what a dedicated officer and mother she was. Still, she knew command level officers could be uncomfortable appearing vulnerable in any way, and even if that wasn't a factor, the sheer desire to avoid additional pain could be enough of a barrier. "In the meantime, what would you say about trying something mild to help you sleep? I don't want to impede your mind's ability to process this experience on its own, but I think the lack of consistent sleep is the greater threat to your well-being at the moment. We can always adjust things as needed, but how does that sound?"

The moment Kennedy mentioned sleep, the monitors beside Joey reacted before she could. Her heart rate spiked sharply, blood pressure climbing in tandem. Joey’s eyes widened, and she shook her head hard, almost instinctively, fingers tightening around the blanket.

“No… no, I—” She swallowed, trying to steady her breathing as she forced herself to meet Kennedy’s eyes. “I can’t. Not yet.”

She shifted against the pillows, the movement small but tense. “Every time I start to drift off, I’m scared I’ll fall straight into a nightmare. And once I’m in it…” Her voice thinned, trembling at the edges. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to wake up. That I’ll get stuck there, reliving everything.”

Joey glanced toward the privacy screen where her twins played on the other side of it, grounding herself in the sound of their soft chatter. Rico and Pequeno lifted their heads, though she couldn't see it, sensing her distress.

“I know it sounds irrational,” she murmured, “but the fear feels real. Too real. And I don’t want to risk going to sleep unless I know for sure that I can wake up.”

Kennedy's eyes moved to the monitors as soon as she registered the spikes in her peripheral vision. The surge of adrenaline wasn't ideal, but it wasn't life-threatening, and just as quickly, she noted Joey was doing her best to center herself.

Monroe raised her hands up in reassurance. “Rational or irrational doesn’t factor in when the point is to feel respected and safe, two things that are critical if the goal is to keep you healthy. We just need to work together to find a solution that gives you some relief before lack of sleep does more damage. Are you experiencing the same recurring nightmare or are they always different? I know talking about such vivid nightmares is the last thing you might want to do, but the more you can talk about them, the less power they have over time. These nightmares are your mind’s way of trying to make sense of what happened to you and all the thoughts and feelings it evokes. if we can help you process all of that and give you what control we can, the less overwhelming these nightmares will get. Maybe we can start by meeting with T’Mari and coming up with a plan together?”

Joey closed her eyes for a moment, forcing herself through a slow inhale… then another… then one more. Her pulse, still elevated on the monitor, began to ease back toward something steadier. When she opened her eyes again, some of the panic had receded, though the rawness lingered in the tight set of her jaw. “I… I hear what you’re saying,” she murmured, voice low but no longer trembling. “And I know you’re right. Talking about it will help. Eventually.”

She shifted slightly, grounding herself with a glance toward the privacy screen where the twins’ soft chatter filtered through. Rico and Pequeno had settled again, though both dogs kept one eye open, as if sensing her distress. “But I can only do it when I’m ready,” Joey continued. “It’s still too new. Too raw. If I try to force it right now, I think it’ll just make everything worse.”

She met Kennedy’s gaze, steady despite the exhaustion etched into her features. “I will talk about it. With you, with T’Mari… with whoever I need to. Just… not yet. Not today.” A quiet breath escaped her, this one steadier than the last. “When I’m ready, I’ll say so. And I’ll follow through.”

Kennedy nodded. “That’s fair. The last thing any of us want to do is force you to do something you’re not ready for, and I appreciate your honesty. In return, I’ll always be honest with you. If or when we reach a point where your lack of sleep has compromised your well-being too severely, I will be upfront with you and we can decide on a plan together. I’m not going to lie to you and say that in the beginning, your symptoms won’t intensify when you start to talk about things, but I can promise it’s only temporary and it will get better. You’ve already done the hardest thing, which is to survive and make your way back to us. If you can do that, you can do this. You have people in your corner, every step of the way.”

Joey let Kennedy’s words settle, her expression softening in a way that hadn’t come easily since her rescue. She drew in a slow breath. “Thank you,” she said quietly, but with unmistakable sincerity. “For being straight with me. For not pushing. And for… for seeing what’s going on even when I’m not saying it out loud.”

Her gaze drifted briefly toward the privacy screen where her children played behind it, then back to the doctor. “I know you’re doing more than just patching me up. You’re helping me find my footing again. That means more than I can put into words.”

She shifted slightly, exhaustion still etched into her features, but there was a flicker of determination beneath it. “I promise I’ll do my part. I’ll keep working at this. I’ll talk when I’m ready, and I'll try not to shut anyone out when it’s time to take the next step.”

A faint, tired smile touched her lips. “I made it back. I owe it to myself—and to everyone—to keep moving forward.”

Kennedy's smile met Joey's. She was pleased they were able to come to an understanding that honored their needs. She was also satisfied Joey truly understood Kennedy's sincere desire to help her, not merely because it was her obligation and responsibility as CMO. "I know your family will be most pleased to hear you say that. Now, other than be my nosy doctor self by examining you, is there anything else you'd like? Maybe something small to eat or drink?"

Joey let her shoulders ease a little, her gaze drifting toward the privacy screen where the soft murmur of her children playing with their cousin filtered through. “A drink would be nice,” she said, her voice quiet. “Tea… if that’s alright.”

"Sure," Kennedy replied, walking over to the replicator. “Perhaps some chamomile? Unless you have another preference?“

"Chai, actually,” Joey said, settling back against her pillows. “A warm chai tea sounds perfect... if that's okay.”

“Sure,” Kennedy replied. The request was fulfilled easily enough and as she passed Joey the cup of warm liquid, she asked, “Mind if I take some scans? I’d like to take a closer look at how you’re healing.”

Joey wrapped her hands around the warm cup, letting the rising steam brush her face before bringing it to her lips. The first sip was slow, deliberate. The chai’s heat spread through her chest and down her arms, loosening something tight inside her that she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

She exhaled softly, the tension easing from her shoulders as she lowered the cup to her lap. “Go ahead,” she murmured, nodding.

The medical instruments were palmed easily and Kennedy had soon lost herself in their soft whir, making sure to keep an ear out to assess Joey's reaction. She knew the scans themselves weren't painful, but Monroe also knew as she gently lifted blankets to view what remained of Joey's injuries herself, she was potentially adding to Joey's feelings of vulnerability, and the doctor didn't take that lightly. Injuries sustained in the heat of battle were one thing, but injuries caused by violence designed just to demonstrate cruelty were another thing altogether.

Joey tensed the moment Kennedy lifted the blankets, a faint shiver running through her despite the warmth of the chai still lingering in her chest. She tried to stay still, tried to breathe evenly, but the monitors betrayed her—her heart rate ticked upward, blood pressure edging higher in a subtle but unmistakable spike.

She kept her eyes fixed on a neutral point on the ceiling, willing herself not to flinch as the cool air brushed over skin that still remembered pain even if the wounds themselves were mostly gone. The burns had faded to pale, healed patches; the lacerations and bruises were little more than shadows now. But the hollowness in her cheeks, the sharpness of her jawline, the way her collarbones stood out starkly beneath the gown—those told the real story.

Three weeks. Twenty‑five pounds gone. And on someone her height, it showed in every angle of her face and frame.

“I’m okay,” Joey murmured, more to convince herself than Kennedy.

"You're doing just fine, Joey, and I promise to be as quick as I can." As she scanned Joey's injuries from the bottom up, Kennedy was reassured and yet she wasn't. She was confident in the state of Geisler's healing tissues and knew time and possibly a few more treatments would all but erase the physical traces of those injuries, but she knew the mind-body connection was a powerful one, and being sleep deprived and traumatized wasn't exactly conducive to the proper processing of nutrients either.

Lowering the blankets and smoothing them back in place, she offered, "I'd like to re-examine your burns in another day or so to see if more treatment is called for, but in the meantime, we'll keep giving you antibiotics just in case. How's your appetite these days?"

Joey drew in a slow breath as the blankets settled back into place, the faint tremor in her muscles finally easing. The monitors still showed the slight spike in her vitals, but they were already beginning to drift downward again as she focused on steadying herself.

“My appetite is... okay, I suppose,” she admitted, her voice quiet but honest. She shifted her grip on the warm cup of chai, letting the heat seep into her palms. “They didn't feed me much, or often. Just enough to keep me from dying. I wasn't useful to them dead. I know I need to eat... to put back on the weight I lost. It’s just… going slower than I think we would all like.”

Her gaze dropped briefly to her hands, the bones more prominent than they used to be, before she lifted her eyes back to Kennedy. There was a flicker of determination beneath the exhaustion in her expression—fragile, but real. “I’ll get the weight back. Just… one step at a time.”

"Exactly," Kennedy encouraged. "It's going to take time for your body to get used to real food again. Even if you had your full appetite, I wouldn't want you eating too much, too quickly. We're keeping you well hydrated and nourished via supplements, and it's enough you're trying to eat and drink when you can. Are you holding things down when you do eat and drink? Any hesitation to try new things to eat and drink?"

Joey lifted the cup again and took a small sip, letting the chai’s warmth soothe her. When she spoke, her voice was soft but clearer than before. “I’m keeping things light for now,” she said. “Small portions, nothing too heavy. I don’t want to overwhelm my system after… everything. But what I am eating, I’m keeping down pretty well.”

She shifted slightly against the pillows, the movement slow but controlled. “Drinking hasn’t been an issue at all. Water, tea… that all goes down fine. I’m just easing my way back into real food. I'm sure your staff would like me to eat a bit more.”

“Oh? Is anyone from my team giving you a hard time about that?“ Kennedy asked. “If so, I’ll put out a gentle reminder to everyone to be more patient. No matter how eager any of us are to see you well, it’s not fair to put our expectations on you. I can imagine that feels like a lot of pressure.“ Of course, Monroe knew there was a good possibility Joey‘s mention of what her staff may have wanted was simply a reflection of Joey‘s own feelings,, an indication of projection, but even so , Kennedy wanted to address the possibility her staff could be even unintentionally leaving Joey thinking she was letting somebody down.

Joey let out a small breath, the kind that wasn’t quite a laugh but carried a hint of warmth. She lifted her gaze to Kennedy and offered a tired but genuine smile. “No—no one’s giving me a hard time,” she assured her, shaking her head lightly. “Your whole team has been amazing. Really.”

"I am relieved to hear that," Kennedy replied, a small knowing smile gracing her features. "If that should change or you start feeling pressure from anywhere or *anyone,* send them my way. It's important to remember going slowly can equal going fast in some situations. Now, before I take my leave to let you rest, is there anything else I can do for you? I expect we'll be seeing a lot of each other so if you'd like me to change my hair or my make-up or something just to give you more variety to look at, say the word." Monroe was clearly teasing but besides family, she knew laughter could be the best medicine, and she wasn't above offering a little self-deprecation if it might help someone feel just a bit better.

Joey let out a soft breath, the corners of her mouth lifting into a small but genuine smile. The worst of the tension had eased from her shoulders, and for the first time since Kennedy entered, there was a hint of something lighter in her expression. “I’m okay for now,” she said, her voice warm but tired. “Really. You’ve done more than enough, and it's certainly appreciated. I think I might try to relax a little bit while I watch the twins play.”

Kennedy nodded. "I like that prescription. If you need anything, any time, just holler for me. It's no trouble at all."

Joey eased back against the pillows, letting the last of the tension finally slip from her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said softly, sincerity warming her voice. “Really. I appreciate it.” Her eyes fluttered half‑closed, hopeful to finally feel peace once more. “If I need anything, I’ll call."

She shifted just enough to get comfortable, pulling the blanket over her lap as the room settled into a gentle quiet. Her kids’ laughter drifting to her ears. She missed that more than anyone would ever know.

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