War Scars

tw//bodily insecurities, mentions of sexual attraction/reproduction.

I'm trying my hand at second person even though it's not my preferred medium so... be patient please!
-Alex 🥀

It was going to be okay, you thought to yourself, though you knew it was in vain. The anxieties would continue to burrow at your stomach like little mites eating away at the lining, no matter what you told yourself. Physicals were always the worst, because every single time you had to lay out everything, every detail about yourself, in front of a doctor and just pray nothing was wrong with you. And worse than that, you always had to get partially undressed, so that the doctor could poke and prod you in the most intrusive of ways to check for skin cancer, or an error in your heart, or an irregularity in your spine. So, waiting on the sickbed in the far reaches of sickbay for Dr. Bashir to give you a checkup was nervous making, to say the least.

After several minutes of watching your feet kick aimlessly as they hung off the side of the bed, you lifted your head at the sound of footsteps outside. Dr. Bashir entered through the doorway and gave you a bright smile.

"Hi there, Lieutenant," he said brightly, "Sorry for the wait. I'm glad you finally came in for your physical, I really had to come after you for it."

"They're a little uncomfortable," you admitted.

"I know a lot of people find them unnecessary," he said gently, "but I have to make sure you're still fit for duty. Don't worry, it won't be long."

The doctor then began to read the questionnaire you'd filled out while you were waiting and occasionally probed you about your medical history. Once he'd gotten past the questions about your history with depression and your emotional health, he moved on to more questions about your physical health.

"Right. And you fought in the Dominion War, correct?" he asked as he reached the end of the paperwork. "I assume the scar on your back is the same?"

His casual tone bit at your pride and you hunched slightly at the reminder.

"Yes. It doesn't hurt anymore, at least," you sighed. Dr. Bashir nodded and made a quick note on his PADD.

"Good," he said gently, and then he began to move on with the examination. As expected, he asked you to take off your shirt in order to expose your back. He gently pressed a medical instrument against your skin, listening to your heart for any irregularities the tricorder might miss, checked for any unusual lumps, and modestly felt along the long scar by your spine.

"I know you don't like the scar, but you're lucky to have escaped that Jem'Hadar with this as the only testament," Bashir commented as his fingers pressed against its jagged edge.

"I'm aware. If Worf hadn't stabbed him in the back, he would have had the chance to plunge deeper," you murmured. The words felt bitter coming off your tongue, but they were true. You'd narrowly avoided death that day.

"We all have our horror stories from the war," Bashir whispered, and he let go to pick up a tricorder and give you a scan. It seemed everything checked out.

"Well, that's all. One of the nurses got your weight earlier, yes?" he asked. You nodded. "In that case, I hope I get a chance to see you before the next time you need a physical! You're free to go." He gave you an earnest smile and you huffed out a sigh, tugging your shirt back on. Too earnest.

"Thank you, Doctor," you said bitterly before you exited the room and burst out of sickbay. The doctor's comment on your scar tickled you the wrong way, it really did. You barely thought of the thing most days, but when it was brought up, you usually couldn't think about anything else other than how ugly you thought it was for hours afterwards.