Posted by Lieutenant Bryson Kale (Psychiatrist) in Paging Dr. Kale- A New Patient

Posted by Captain Eela Dasca (Lt. Governor) in Paging Dr. Kale- A New Patient

Posted by Lieutenant Bryson Kale (Psychiatrist) in Paging Dr. Kale- A New Patient
Posted by… suppressed (5) by the Post Ghost! 👻
At the Starfleet Mental Health department on Oed, things were in a bit of flux, but nothing they weren’t used to. Their Head of Mental Health has transferred departments and they had lost one of their key practitioners. But as they awaited new staff, they were juggling case loads and making sure all their patients were covered.

One in particular was an unusual case in practice, not the least for the security requirements required for file access, but also the jurisdictional issues. Starfleet had handled their care, but they were not an active duty officer. A civilian hypothetically could be their practitioner, but they wouldn’t have the needed clearance to access the files.

Thus, a patient transfer request came to settle on the most likely practitioner who could check all these rather complex boxes: Dr. Bryson Kale.

He would have been forgiven if the name and position raised an eyebrow, but perhaps it made more sense than it seemed on the surface. His new patient (unless he objected) was Captain (Ret.) Eela Dasca- Lieutenant Governor of Red, and Commander-in-Chief of the Starfleet contingent on Oed.

Included in the request was the extensive personnel file from her time in Starfleet (forty years worth), as well as her patient files from her therapists here on Oed, both of whom had been active duty Starfleet officers. All in all, it was hefty. Perhaps that could be daunting to a newcomer, but it also showed that Dasca took her mental health seriously. She was not required to have regular sessions and she couldn’t be removed from her job if she stopped going. But she still requested a new therapist. Then again, she was a former therapist herself.

The added notes in her time from Oed included:

• intensive counselling following the aftermath of her ex-husband’s physical abuse: Eela has come to understand her ex is a narcissist and that their 40 year marriage was emotionally and psychological abusive. A restraining order is in place and has only a few months before it expires. A restriction from being in Oed space without prior approval is permanent (signed by the Governor himself).
• The murder of the man she was dating (Ambassador Mathis’ aide Dashiel Jones), and the subsequent life threatening Haliian condition (called Kusaaritz Syndrome). Her mind-body connection was broken, leaving her unable to feel or express any emotions. This was corrected, but in the aftermath they realized that Eela was telepathically connected to Jones when he was killed (the trigger for her condition), and though she could not sense his mind, felt what his body felt. She is still dealing with not only that experience but the understanding that over the years, she as an empath has borne witness to a lot of death and some part of it still resides in her body.
• increased stress due to the high demands of her role, especially given the negotiations happening with the Vren while the investigation into Jones’ murder continues.
• her estranged son has just arrived on Oed (as has her daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter been for the last 2 weeks). This is a wonderful thing but also brings up painful things that need to be worked through.
• a specialist has proposed a drastic surgical procedure that would replace her spinal fusion with a proper spine that would give her full mobility back. Though all surgery has risks, this one seems very straightforward, however the recovery period and rehabilitation will be extensive and require her to be off work (at least out of the office) for a couple of weeks, if not more. The timing will be key should she decide to risk this life-changing operation. She has not told anyone outside of her therapist about this possibility (since last conversation with patient). Her key medical care providers are aware of the option.

Dasca has been off work dealing with her grief while she celebrates a 6-day long Haliian celebration and her return to work coincides with the next stages in the Vren negotiations. Her adult children and her are open to family therapy as well, in order to work through the ramifications of their narcissist family dynamic and all that that has meant for each of them over the years as well as the family dynamic.

Her file notes that while she is willing to meet at the Starfleet Complex or Sacred Heart hospital (where she is there regularly for other medical appointments), most of her therapy has been conducted at her home where she is more comfortable doing this hard work. Appointments were arranged via Dasca’s Executive Assistant, Cort Belanger.

~Eela Dasca, Lt. Gov.

The padd on Bryson’s desk was heavier than its actual weight should allow. Not physically — the brushed duranium frame was feather-light — but with the forty years of career history, the deeply personal traumas, and the tightly woven jurisdictional threads contained within.

Captain (Ret.) Eela Dasca.
Lieutenant Governor.
Commander-in-Chief of Oed’s Starfleet contingent.
Former therapist.

It wasn’t often a new patient file read like a cross-section of a colony’s political, personal, and medical history. The Starfleet security locks on the data were no surprise — they were the same subtle notification pings he’d gotten when accessing restricted xenogenetics logs during his science days. But what lay beyond them was different. This wasn’t lab data. This was a life lived under constant weight and expectation, documented in a blend of clinical detachment and deeply human observation.

He let the document close, the display dimming to a soft blue. The silence in his office was not empty — it was deliberate. He let the stillness work, sifting through his own reactions before shaping them into intention.

He could see why the request had landed with him. Reserve rank meant he could cross the clearance gap a civilian counselor could not. His psychiatric credentials gave him the grounding for the complexity of her experiences. And his own history — the loss, the recovery, the understanding of what it means to have one’s mind altered by injury — might offer a kind of empathy that wasn’t just professional.

It was tempting to start forming strategies immediately, but experience had taught him that this would be premature. First, there would be rapport. Trust. An agreement — not in writing, but in the mutual language of therapeutic work — that this was a space where nothing had to be performed.

He leaned back, gaze drifting to the framed print on his wall — an artist’s rendering of Betazed’s Lendara Plains in early spring. It was there he had first understood the concept of meeting the moment rather than forcing it. The same principle would serve here.

A quick note on his padd:
To: Cort Belanger
“Please let Lieutenant Governor Dasca know that I would be honored to take her on as a patient. I am available to meet at Sacred Heart, the Starfleet Complex, or her residence at her preference. For a first session, I suggest we choose the space she feels most at ease — the work will follow from there. Respectfully, Dr. Bryson Kale.”

He sent the message, the quiet chime of confirmation echoing softly in the room.

Then he set the padd aside and allowed himself a breath — a centering, quiet exhale.

The work ahead would be layered and demanding. But he had come to Oed V for exactly this — the kind of practice where experience and empathy could meet complexity head-on.

Bryson Kale, PhD
Psychiatrist

It was maybe forty-five minutes later when a reply came through in his written messages:

||Thank you for your prompt response, Dr. The Lt. Governor would prefer this first meeting to be at her home. Please be advised that there are security measures in place all new arrivals to her building. There is a security check-in in the lobby. They will screen you and allow up through the private lift that will take you right to her floor. Guards are at the door, but she will greet you herself. A larger security presence than usual is in effect due to recent events. Thank you for your patience and accommodation with these measures.

Attached are three slots in her schedule I can set aside enough time for the appointment. Select one and it will automatically book you in.

Lastly, Captain Dasca wishes to know if there are any dietary restrictions or allergies she should be aware of. She is of the mind that her sessions always are better if she has good food and beverages on hand.

Regards,

Cort Belanger, Executive Assistant||

The available times in her schedule were the next day first time in the morning at 0800 hours. The second two days later at 1000 hours. The third that same day at 1600 hours.

The address of her building was given and it was a modest twelve-floor building a block and a half from the Government Tower. Her apartment was the upper floor.

Cort Belanger, Executive Assistant to Lt. Gov.

The reply from Cort Belanger scrolled neatly across Bryson’s padd, his eyes catching on certain phrases — private lift, larger security presence, good food and beverages on hand. It was the kind of logistical detail that spoke to the realities of treating someone whose life was stitched directly into the political and operational fabric of Oed V.

He reread the three available appointment slots, letting them settle into his mind like pieces on a mental chessboard. The early morning the next day had appeal — before the day’s crises could take root, before negotiations or briefings could pull her elsewhere. It would allow for space, and perhaps, for a first meeting, that was worth more than an extra day’s preparation.

He tapped a note into the scheduling field:
0800 hours, tomorrow — confirmed.

A second message to Cort followed, deliberate and concise:

To: Cort Belanger
Subject: Appointment Confirmation

Thank you for the details. I will plan to arrive early to accommodate security procedures. Please let the Lieutenant Governor know I have no dietary restrictions or allergies. I appreciate her hospitality, though the most important thing she can provide is whatever setting she finds most comfortable for our work.

Respectfully,
Dr. Bryson Kale

He set the padd down and leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. There was an awareness — not pressure, exactly, but weight — that came with knowing the person on the other side of tomorrow’s conversation was as practiced in this work as he was. A former therapist. A patient by choice, not mandate.

He didn’t need to map out every question, but he reviewed the key threads in her file: trauma, grief, ongoing negotiations, family complexity, a guarded surgical consideration. Each one could dominate the room if it wanted to. His role tomorrow would be to notice which ones tried — and which ones stayed silent until invited out.

On the far wall, the early afternoon light from Oed’s pale sun slipped across the framed print of the Lendara Plains. He let his eyes rest there for a moment longer than he needed to.

First sessions weren’t about solving. They were about meeting. And tomorrow, he would do just that.

Bryson Kale, PhD ∆
Psychiatrist
Oed V

In the modern and clean building, the security desk was set to the left in the large open lobby. From there, one could see the sets of lifts, with one set farther at the back on its own. To the right was a hallway and large windows that showed a glimpse of a pool. The junior grade Lieutenant working the desk, a Denobulan female, smiled. “Good morning,” she said.

“ I just need to do a quick screening. Will only take a moment,” she said, pulling out a scanner and doing a quick sweep of Bryson. She logged in the time and results into the computer and gave a nod. “You’re all clear. Captain Dasca’s apartment is on the twelfth floor and that back lift will take you straight up there. We’ll let her know you’re on your way up.”

Up the lift, Kale would step out into an entry way in front of a large door that was flanked by two CCDA agents. The small upper floor had only the one penthouse apartment.

Her apartment was essentially a giant rectangle broken up into visible and hidden spaces. Immediately in a large foyer, which had a closet to the right and another door on the left that led to a storage room. But there were also two comfortable arm chairs in a floral pattern on either side of a console table. On the walls were a couple of art pieces: a delicate pencil drawing of some sort of shop with jars of items on shelves behind the counter, and a watercolour style painting of an aurora sweeping over the night sky, illuminating a lush looking hillside. The sight lines from the front door looked right into the open plan dining room, which held double doors amongst the span of floor-to-ceiling windows and led onto the large patio that spanned two-thirds the length of the penthouse. There were no buildings right beside hers that blocked the view, so one could see the central part of the colony in and around the Government Tower.

The dining room had a solid wall on the left (the kitchen was on the other side, and it was divided from the living room on the right by two smooth pillars and a transparent fireplace. A long hallway bisected the entire place, passing in front of the foyer. The hard floors were a black matte stone with white veining, and the walls were painted a light taupe colour that added warmth.

Partially dressed for work, Dasca appeared at the open door in black trousers and a high open-necked shirt in a vibrant floral print of blues, yellows and greens. Traditional embroidered soft soled slippers called sheru adorned her feet. In truth, she was not exactly looking forward to this. Not because she didn’t want to do the work anymore, but simply because it took effort and energy to rebuild that therapeutic relationship and Kale was her third therapist on Oed. Too much had happened and she was tired of having to fill in the backstory, but without that backstory, those precious details, there was no way for him o help her move forward.

Her dark hair had thin streaks of silver and she had tossed it into a loose twist at the back of her head, secured with a large metal pin with filigree top. Intense hazel eyes took in the latest person she was inviting into the depths of her life and psyche. “Dr. Kale, please come on in,” she said, stepping to the side and sweeping her hand towards the foyer. She was sincere in her greeting, even if there was reticence behind it all.

~Eela Dasca, Lt. Gov.

Bryson stepped across the threshold with a slight incline of his head — not overly formal, but deliberate enough to acknowledge the significance of being invited into someone’s private space.

“Lieutenant Governor,” he said, his voice even, carrying a note of warmth beneath the professional cadence. “Thank you for welcoming me.”

His eyes took in the foyer as he set his duffel-sized satchel gently at his side — the art on the walls, the choice of furniture, the visible expanse of light spilling through the dining room windows. These were details that spoke without words. Some part of him filed them away, not as evidence, but as context: the balance between function and expression, comfort and openness.

He adjusted his stance, letting his shoulders ease back from the residual tension of the security check. “I imagine this is a process you’ve had to repeat more than you’d like,” he continued, a faint, rueful curve at one corner of his mouth. “So let’s make this easy. Please, call me Bryson. Doctor is correct, of course, but in here I’d rather we leave the formalities at the door.”

Her expression softened into a warm smile. “Good. That’s always my preference as well. In here, I’m Eela.”

For a moment, his dark Betazoid eyes met hers — not pressing, not prying, but steady. His empathic sense was tuned gently outward, not to pull, but to be available should she allow it.

“Wherever you’d like to begin, that’s where we’ll begin,” he added simply, leaving the sentence open enough to let her shape the first step.

Bryson Kale, PhD
Psychiatrist

She didn’t block his assessment, letting him sense the fatigue and weight that she carried, but also the layer of joy that could rise to the surface far more easily these day.

A tiny smirk tugged at her lips. “We begin with a getting ourselves drinks. Feel free to leave your bag in the foyer or bring it with you.”

“The kitchen is this way.” Eela said. Turning very precisely and slowly on the ball of her foot to avoid vertigo, she veered left into the hallway. The right side of the available wall space was taken filled with framed images that documented the six decades and of Dasca’s life. Family, friends, three quadrants of travel- the highlights of much of her life where there. The images on display were deeply important, like those of all her grandparents and her late parents, or her promotion ceremony when she made Captain. There was nothing from her wedding, but there were some new additions to her collection that a observant person might recognize as being from her time on Oed, including an image of her, her daughter, son-in-law, and grandaughter from the welcome banquet for the Vren delegation that happened recently. Eela was beaming, standing tall and proud in a beautiful magenta gown.

On the left side of the hallway was filled with recessed bookshelves entirely full of books with protective doors. Some looked newer and many appeared old. There was poetry and many volumes of literature in a myriad of languages. This all seemed to be works of fiction.

The hallway led to the side of the apartment with the spare rooms, her office and the family area that included the kitchen, that was open plan to a small casual eating area and a cozy sitting nook. The room immediately at the T of the hallway was clearly a workout room that had a massage table still out in the middle. A large fractal style painting in greys and yellows was hung prominently on the right wall. Next to that room was her office and library that had a large standing desk in the far right corner and the left side was covered in more of the recessed bookshelves. A spiral staircase sat near the middle of the room and wnent down somewhere.

She hung a right at her office and stepped into the large and well appointed kitchen. In the floor to ceiling windows that spanned the whole side of the apartment, the spacious patio looked lush with plants, though from this angle, a sitting area and pergola covered in a flowering vine blocked most of the view.

The kitchen had a large island that separated the ‘hall’ from the cooking area. She moved to the counters and pulled a kettle over. “I just boiled some water, so I can make coffee, or teas- I have a variety. I also have lia in the fridge.” She stopped and turned to him, a quizzical look sweeping over her face. “I’m trying to figure out how to describe it and the best I can come up with is if jestral tea and a mai tai had a non-alcoholic baby.” She grinned, her hazel eyes lighting up. “It’s an adventure, what can I say.”

~Eela Dasca, Lt. Gov.

Bryson let his satchel rest just inside the foyer, unhurried in following her down the long hallway. His gaze lingered briefly on the framed images that marked out the decades of her life — family, Starfleet, milestones, the recent banquet with her daughter and granddaughter. The absence of wedding photographs registered too, though he filed it away without judgment. What was present seemed far more intentional than what was not.

The recessed shelves of books drew his attention as well. Fiction, layered and diverse. A different kind of archive — not of facts, but of lived imagination. He found himself quietly appreciating that she’d made room for both kinds of memory in the same corridor.

Stepping into the kitchen, he took in the light from the windows, the greenery spilling across the patio beyond. It struck him how much it resembled the hospital gardens at Sacred Heart, but softer, less curated. A personal oasis, not an institutional one.

Her description of the lia drew an easy smile to his face. “That might be the best invitation I’ve had all week,” he said, tone warm, letting a hint of humor thread through. “Though now you’ve set the bar rather high. If it tastes like jestral tea with delusions of a mai tai, I’ll consider it an adventure worth the risk.”

“Most adventures usually are,” Eela said with a smirk. The quips came naturally- they always had- but even after recent events her humour had never quite dissipated.

He moved toward one of the stools at the island but didn’t sit yet, instead allowing her to set the pace. “Tea, coffee, even brandy all have their own meanings depending on when and where they’re offered. Something tells me you don’t serve lia lightly.” His eyes met hers again, steady but not invasive. “So yes — let’s begin with that.”

Bryson Kale, PhD
Psychiatrist

A smirk played on her lips as her eyes lit up. “I don’t, but since we are both psi-positive and both highly trained to assess people, our being able to suss each other out quickly is not a surprise, now is it?”

Eela moved over to a tall cupboard and pulled open to the door to reveal the fridge. Stooping, she reached for a large glass pitcher with a lid, and as she rose, her anti-grav brace let out a quiet whir as it helped her motion upwards.

She set the pitcher (which was etched with tiny flowers and filled with a pale orange liquid) on the island and grabbed a couple glasses from a cupboard behind her. In the next cupboard she pulled out a couple small white plates and set them on a tray already rested on the back counter along with a white box. “Grab the pitcher, will you?” she said as she set the glasses on the tray and carried it out of the kitchen.

Veering to the right, it was clear that there was a passageway down this backside of the apartment that paralleled the front hallway and led along the floor to ceiling windows. At the open patio door, Eela stepped out.

The patio was essentially a large L-shaped space that Eela had divided into rooms of sorts. The doors opened out onto a dining area and cooking area. To the left was a large pergola with a sectional and large coffee table. To the right was a pair of lounge chairs, and beyond that disappeared out of sight. The sides of the patio were protected by an almost imperceivable glass like structure that served to protect Eela from any attempts to intrude on her space or threaten her safety. A necessary precaution. Amongst all of it were raised beds set at a different heights, with many such that Eela wouldn’t have to bend too far. Everything was lush, in bloom, or producing fruits or vegetables. It was a riot of colour, with no specific theme. Eela just grew what she wanted and loved.

She headed for the pergola and set the tray down on the coffee table that was sat in front of a L-shaped sectional. From beneath the shade of of a lightly scented purple flowering vine, they could admire the various views of the city. They weren’t so high up that they could so over the city, but Sloane Square was in view and if one were to stand at the blocked-in railing and looked up, the tall Government Tower rose above them a block-and-a-half behind them.

Opening the box, she smiled at the variety of breakfast pastries from various cultures and took a seat, pouring them each a glass of the lia. “These come from my favourite store slash cafe, Quill and Parchment Books. It helps that I am close with the owner, so I barely have to give an order. I just tell them that I want treats for a certain time of day.” Amusement played under the surface at her calling her and Karilan close. An understatement, but also inadequate.

Eela lifted a glass of juice and sipped without any ceremony. The familiar burst of floral and citrus hit first followed by a sweet nut and slightly earthy taste. It was layered and complex, but equally refreshing. She let out a sigh as she smiled and carefully leaned back against some pillows. She had done therapy out here before and she chose her sanctuary since he had specifically asked her to ensure she was somewhere she was comfortable. It was hard to beat this patio.

~Eela Dasca, Lt. Gov.