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You knock on a door.
Tarrant calls, "Come in."
Clara lets herself in with uncharacteristic silence, holding a finger to her lips for quiet for a moment until the door clicks shut. "Hey there," she offers quietly. "Just came to check in on your progress. Hold on, I need to get my medical kit," she adds, and vanishes into the bathroom a moment with a swirl of skirt.
Tarrant is now officially confused, his brows arching. He takes a moment, and decides, no, this isn't just the drugs making things odd. "Do we have people napping in the hall?"
Clara returns to that comment with a field medical kit, somewhat battered, and laughing. The kit is battered that is, not Clara. "No, no one in the hall. Sorry about that, I usually wear this kit strapped to one leg." She moves to check the monitors, explaining, "I'm trying to be quiet, is all. There are some disadvantages to living with one of the only two men on planet that can force me onto medical leave."
Tarrant's brows lift still further and his voice drops a bit, "Ahhh, so I'm harboring a fugitive." He sounds rather amused at this concept. "What justice are you fleeing?" There's a pause and he explains, "I mean why medical leave?"
"A fugitive?" Clara muses, grinning at that. "I like that. I wonder if I can give myself sanctuary," she adds, mostly to herself. "Ah, Riley tossed me off duty for exhaustion. It's not like I didn't do twenty hour shifts as an intern. He worries. Now, how are -you-? Any pain or discomfort?"
"Sleep is a good thing. You and Corian should both sleep more. Neither of you are interns now." Tarrant is so helpful isn't he? These are such cheerful drugs. "Little cold, but no pain or anything, nope, nope, nope."
"I'm not much older than an intern, though," Clara retorts, highly amused. "Well, not -too- much, at least. Cold, hmm?" She opens the small kit and fits a tiny scanner together to bring into play. "No...no circulation problems." She moves to a small inset on the wall and presses her thumb to a pad to unlock the controls, then taps up the ambient temperature. "There, this should help. Are you usually sensitive to cold? Or just since being shot?"
Tarrant relaxes a bit as the room warms, half gesturing with a hand, "Always I'm afraid. Another matter of breeding. I wear coats everywhere as a rule, so as not to inflict my idea of appropriate temperature on other folks."
SECURITY> Riley attempts to duck, but is not quick enough and gets be-thwacked. Snickering he straightens up. "Yeah, one dose of insanity per trip. And getting married's pretty stressful too, I'm told. Very scary and all that."
Clara returns to the bedside to peer at the IV thoughtfully, than adjusts it slightly before tugging the chair forward and sinking into it. She gently attempts to pull your left arm up so as to examine the bandage, noting, "Then you yourself...you weren't genetically tampered. You're the product of such?"
Tarrant doesn't resist the attempt to lift his left arm, although he's not a lot of help either. "Yeah, my parents were gengineered. My sister and I are normal offspring. Well, I dunno if it's fair to call my sister -normal-. She's a sister."
Clara can't help but chuckle at that, intent on examining the healing. "I wouldn't have the first clue. I've no siblings of my own, or even cousins for that matter. May I ask questions about this...do you mind?" she asks, flickering a concerned glance upwards.
Tarrant shakes his head slightly, "S'long as you don't go telling the papers or folks like that. Corian trusts you." It's unsaid, but implied of course is, if she can, so can I. "No sibs? I dunno if I should envy or pity you."
Clara smirks slightly at that, shaking her head as she pats the bandaging back into place and starts to resnap the shirt closed. "I avoid media people like the plague. They ask me to do frightening things. But no, I'm just professionally curious. Your parents...human genes engineered?"
"Mostly, although there were some other odds and ends mixed in here or there when they were looking for a particularly troublesome effect to manage." Tarrant's eyes half track the re-snapping. "Do I get to go home now?" Yes, he's a one track record, but despite the fact he's exceedingly be-floppy, he has to ask.
Clara nods slowly, almost musing to herself, "Stilvani for heat-tolerance, Edreeni for longevity..." She shakes her head abruptly, although it's a motion to clear away thought, not an answer. Still... "No, you can't go home yet," she replies, laughing. "Why are you so eager to get back to the broom closet you've -said- you don't care for?"
"Snakes, and snails, and puppy-dog tails," Tarrant muses in return, an amused look in his eyes. "My parents and their class were designed for certain purposes. But the troubles ended, and so they kinda got turned loose. That was about eighty years before I was born I guess." He shakes his head slightly, "I'm paranoid by profession. No locks and not being able to move much is kind of a disturbing combination."
Clara considers the monitor again thoughtfully, then makes a quiet sound of amused derision. "You, sir, are as bad a patient as my lifemate was. He hated being tied down too. I assure you, though, as evil as I am, I won't keep you here longer than necessary." She hesitates, then asks, "Then reproductive capability is extended along with the lifespan? Remarkable."
Tarrant chuckles rather sheepishly, but he doesn't point out that he's also less than thrilled because it gets rather lonely in a strange place off by himself for extended periods of time. He does look perhaps a bit subdued however. "My father's currently three hundred and something, mother won't admit to an age, both of them don't look much older than I do. So maybe I am only ten, really."
Clara's hands fold in her lap as she gives you that same intent gaze as she did last night, almost as if trying to see through to the pillow behind your head. "Sorry, but no. Medical records say you're in your seventies. Still...this is like something I've only read about in test journals. Do you know if they actually got the self-rejuvenating gene complex to work for your family? Or is it just slowed aging?"
"Just slowed. My Dad's friend Dex is somewhat older'n he is, and he looks older. And I look older now than I did fifteen years ago. It's just slow. Exept initial development which is actually faster. Full adult size by about twelve or so." Tarrant's words are almost musing, although he seems alert enough. He's more than willing to talk about whatever you like. It's a -person-.
Clara waves a hand almost dismissively, blinking slightly to refocus and grin. "That's within human norms, though. Goodness, I'm full Terran, and I was this tall at twelve. Granted, I looked like a stick, but that's beside the point. This is just fascinating," she adds, shaking her head. "How does this affect your relationships with others, knowing you'll well outlive them?" Oh, is she going to get it when Riley finds out she's in research mode.
Tarrant lifts his good shoulder slightly, almost a shrug. "Honestly I couldn't tell you. I don't think I've ever had anything that could be considered a normal relationship with anybody except my family. At least not one that would be effected by my lifespan. Even as a kid I never stayed in one place more than a couple of years, we moved. And with work now, well, the couple years spent on my last assignment, where I met Corian, was the longest I've ever stayed put. It was rather nice."
"Mmm. Almost a control set, then. Nothing to compare the situation to. Do you think perhaps your current feelings for Corian might be somewhat based on this being an initial case of extended proximity?" She pauses, then grimaces apologetically. "Scratch that. Evil question. Throw something at me if my mouth gets away with my brain, will you?"
Tarrant snickers softly, half waving a hand dismissively, "I will, but it's okay. Goodness knows you're not asking anything I've not asked myself. See, it wasn't just me and Corian assigned there, but about fifty folks. And I don't feel like this about any of the -rest-...Even folks I saw more often than I did Corian."
Clara half smiles in sympathetic understanding, nodding as she shifts sideways in her chair a bit. "Then it's not a unique situation. Not that the underlying reason would invalidate the current feelings...motive seldom does in this matter. I do wish I could be of more help somehow. She's...steadfast." Nice way to say stubborn, no?
"I'm not worried about it any," Tarrant replies after a brief contemplative pause. "I told her, what she chooses to do is her own road to take. As long as she knows I can handle the rest. When...well, see I was in Medbay when you told her she was pregnant. All I could think was that I'd been an idiot and not said anything, and there was somebody else. See, now, at least she knows. She may not, and likely doesn't feel like that about me. I'm certainly an oddball, not exactly the best kind of person to be knowing. But now I know that if she chooses somebody else it won't be because I just never had the courage to say anything."
Clara is silent for a moment as she mulls this over, then nods slowly before suggesting, "In Hellenic, there are three different words for love. Eros, filios, agape. Three different types. Sometimes its best to evaluate, or perhaps wait for others to evaluate, just which mixture of the three applies to current circumstances. For example, I could honestly say I love Riley's brother...but it would have little of eros in it, rather just filios primarily. Perhaps it is...she's still evaluating her exact feelings. These things are seldom clear." She hesitates, then smiles warmly. "I'm very glad to see you handling it as you are, though. Difficult, but very commendable of you."
"But it's not really all that difficult. Not like not telling her was. That was hard, heartbreaking." Tarrant half-twitches at a blanket's edge thoughtfully. "But now she knows, and she is still my friend despite my presumption, so the rest can be handled."
Clara inclines her head approvingly, reaching over to pat your wrist a moment and smiling warmly. "And friendship is perhaps the most glorious ability we possess. And Corian...she's a wonderful friend to have. I would venture to say you're a lucky man."
"I am far luckier than I deserve indeed," Tarrant replies, looking rather chagrined. "I... she wanted to go along on my little misadventure. I protested this idea, it was going to be dangerous after all. She said she could help. I went ahead and left, as I knew if I waited I'd end up giving in. A rather nasty piece of work, that. Then, well, things went oddly, and of course the people I work for weren't going to be any help. Corian was though. Even though I'd been stupid."
Clara smoothes her skirt nonchalantly, noting with quiet casualness, "Quite an adventurous life for a mild-mannered paper-pusher, Tarrant. If I remember right, the members of your organization that would visit my family when I was a child were seldom so...sedate."
Tarrant just gives you a wryly amused, if slightly fuzzy look. "Oh c'mon, I've long since assumed you have no illusions about my paper-pusherdom. Unless of course there is a variety of vicious attack paperwork that I am so far un-acquainted with. Which, as I have seen a great deal else, I would not discount the idea of."
Clara actually bursts into laughter at this, shaking her head affably. "No, I'd had my suspicions. Just because I'm Fleet, it doesn't mean I'm mindlessly innocent. I think I -have- some vicious paperwork, if you'd like to tackle it, though," she adds with a grin. "Just from what I've gathered from you in talking to you, your psych profile wouldn't keep you tied to a desk."
Tarrant half-grins at the laughter, looking pleased. "I'd really rather not be attacked by paperwork. I mean, imagine the papercuts. No, it sounds rather unpleasant." He half nods, "Although a lot of what I do is research and bookwork, I would probably go mad attached to a desk all the time. In fact this is the only assignment I've ever had where I had to pretend I -was- a paper-pusher. At least in whatever served for headquarters. The normal situation is that there's at least one place that's not be-secret-laden. The Complex is weird. And I've been doing this about fifty years, I think I can call it weird safely."
Clara folds her hands over her knees, smile remaining, but a full measure of utter solemnity in her eyes as she tilts her head. "I realize you likely can't tell me, but I'll ask anyway...why -are- you here, Tarrant? Are you here to harm someone? Protect someone? Someone was trying to hire someone to...Riley..." She closes her eyes a moment, unable to complete that thought still. "Can you tell me anything? Even just for reassurance?"
"I don't work here in the building as a rule. I just headquarter here. I really do work for the Interior Department, and there are offices down here." Tarrant pauses a moment, eyes half closing a moment before he re-opens them fully. "Someone attempted to contract me to assassinate Admiral Addison. I don't take work like that. It may come as something of a surprise, considering the topic, but I do have morals. I was the one who warned Corian, who I assume warned her brother."
Clara brings a hand to cover her face a moment, breathing almost slowing to a halt as she forces composure on herself. Finally, still not peeking over her hand, she says quietly, "Riley mentioned it, but he was too exhausted to be really coherent." The other hand joins the first for a long moment before she drops both and regards you solemnly. "Not everyone would have such morals..."
"No," Tarrant replies quietly, "But neither are most folks dirt stupid. Taking out such a target is one thing, hard enough. And with enough money, someone can buy an independent operator to try difficult hits. But anybody good enough to manage it would be good enough than to know better than to try. The money's no good if they don't survive the hit."
Clara half smiles at the assessment of her lifemate, nodding slowly. "Oversized goof that he is, he's terribly dangerous, yes. I don't have any false illusions of his skills." She sighs heavily and leans back to peer at the ceiling a moment. "Did you know his ship was held in hyper for several hours on a trip returning from Terra lately?"
"I was thinking more of the rest of Security, but true enough, he's dangerous as the rest." Tarrant pauses a beat, but nods, "An amateur attempt so to speak. I guess the would be contractors got tired of trying to find someone else to do it for them and made a try. Traffic control's too efficient, elsewise folks would've been using that trick for ages." There's a pause, "As bad as this all sounds, my primary job is not killing people, I would point that out."
Clara pulls her gaze from the ceiling to half smile, almost ruefully. "I believe you. I don't say I understand it, but I believe you. If it helps, I've had to eliminate someone before to, except in battle. Never again," she adds with a hint of steel in her voice.
"Ahh, but you're a doctor," Tarrant muses half absently, "It's a different psych profile indeed. I'm a lunatic. It's different."
Clara lifts a brow, humor finally reasserting itself. "There's more to it, but that's essentially it. That oath to do no harm, and all that." She watches you a moment, then notes thoughtfully, "Why do you think you're a lunatic, Tarrant?"
Ahh, the joys of random drug inspired conversation. Tarrant half-smiles, "Well, call me crazy, which I do... But somebody who regularly engages in acts they -know- to be wrong would seem to have some sort of dysfunction certainly. I live by the ends justifying the means. Not precisely sane."
"Do you randomly choose targets? For that matter, do you choose your targets at all?" Clara asks simply, almost as if discussing choosing flavors of ice cream. "How do you know that part of the genetic tampering didn't involve empathic dampers to allow your family to control reactions to such activities?"
"I choose to some extent, insamuch that I retain right of refusal to any assignment. But it's not just killing, although that's obviously the worst of it. But phone taps, interruptions of privacy, various underhanded and below board activities." Tarrant pauses a moment, "Still, even if I were altered in such a fashion, would that make it any less wrong? I know what I do is immoral. I feel guilt. But I do it anyway, the ends justify the means."
Clara takes the time to consider your words, then carefully asks, "What would be the results if you did -not- perform your duties? And disregard the idea that someone else would fill your shoes. What would happen if -no one- kept clandestine watch and maintenance?"
"I honestly don't know..." Tarrant pauses a moment. "Consider white tailed deer. If un-checked, their population will overbreed, damage crops, and in fact starve themselves to death. A horrible mess. Obviously hunting to control their numbers is right and proper." There's another brief pause, "Except... And there's always an except. If you let that happen, if you let the crops be damaged and the deer die, their population will maintain itself in the end and there will no longer be too many without hunting them."
Clara inclines her head at the analogy, one brow quirking. "This is true enough, except in the second scenario, the crops are a second victim, rather than just those that do damage. Do you believe that what you do ultimately helps society?"
"Yeah, weeding out the deer. The system's right in my opinion. A marvelously wonderfully idealistic idea. But single people ruin it for the rest." Tarrant is quiet a moment, absently tugging the blanket up. "The colonies, goodness willing and the creek don't rise, should be all right. But these people, they exploit them. Screw things around. Ruin the idea for their own gain."
Clara rubs at her forehead a moment, then notes quietly, "You deal with healing the macrocosm, then. I deal with healing the microcosm on the extreme. Steps are taken where needed. And I have seen the colonies exploited. I can't fault what you do." She smiles wistfully. "I have...familiarity with the colonies orbiting Terra."
"I'm just a lunatic. Easier to process it that way. Easier to be insane than simply evil." Tarrant half-chuckles to himself, "More style to it anyhow."
"If you prefer to style yourself such, I really can't prevent you," Clara agrees, a hint of amusement flickering through her gaze. "But as a professional counselor, I'd have to say you're imminently sane, and simply perform a duty that disagrees with your cultural morals. I cannot tell you if you do right or wrong." She would say more, but is interrupted by a tap at the door followed by a nurse wheeling in a tray of food.
"Now Clara, you're not supposed to go knocking the basic tenants of peoples existences out from underneath them. It's hardly polite..." He trails off as well, realizing why you trailed off. He glances briefly at you with a decided, 'Uh-oh, caught' look.
Clara rises slowly to come just close enough to rest a hand on your shoulder, smiling down warmly. "It's what they pay me for. Don't puzzle it for now, friend. Just eat your dinner, and rest," she suggests. "If you're good, I'll let you out tomorrow afternoon for good behavior."
Tarrant is hardly about to make any kind of protest when the carrot of escape is being dangled. "I'll behave, honest. You go catch come sleep before the powers that be descend on ya'."
The nurse on the other hand, unfortunately Kramer, gives Clara an almost baleful stare. "Doooc...what're you doing with this patient? The Chief signed the orders, y'know."
Clara winces as the powers that be do descend, and mutters to Tarrant, "And there's man number two that can throw me out. Enjoy your dinner," she offers before being herded out and scolded simultaneously by her Head Nurse.
Tarrant stifles a quiet snicker as you're herded out, shaking his head and murmuring a comment on the excessive stubbornness of folks around here.