Taking a(nother) stroll... and wishing he hadn't...

Posted on 18 Oct 2016 @ 6:00pm by Captain Nathan Cowell MD & Ensign Daisy Peters
Edited on on 29 Oct 2016 @ 10:53pm

Mission: Prelude; Breakfast at Curmudgeon's
Location: Sickbay, Deck 7, USS Arizona
Timeline: MD -1: 1730hrs

An hour or so after his Chief Medical Officer had graced the space he called home away from home, Captain Nathan Cowell decided it was time to have another wonder down the corridors, only he chose to pick up on the deck he had stopped at, which happened to be Deck 7 where he had met with Lt. Seras and then decided to return to his office. As the Old Man walked out of the room, he noticed that the shift had changed over since his nap had begun, which meant most of the faces in the room were new and young.

“No asses in my seat, is that understood?” Nathan bellowed on his way across the compartment toward the turbolift.

Every man and woman on the Bridge let out a thundering “Aye, sir!” like a room full of cadets answering to an instructor. The Captain grinned to himself, though none of the crew could see him do so, and headed into the turbolift with purpose.

“Deck Seven,” the man roared at the computer, which jumped at the chance to please the commander of the ship.

When the lift deposited him onto the appropriate floor, the Captain resumed his stroll through the decks in the same tradition that had brought him into contact with the busy Operations officer earlier in the day. Nathan ambled down the near empty corridors until he happened across the name plate that read “Sickbay” on it and decided it was as good as any place to wander through for a minute or two.

The doors parted almost too eagerly at the presence the Old Man, and soon he was in the spacious compartment poking at things and digging through drawers like he owned the place… which he technically did.

Ensign Daisy Peters caught notice of an older gentleman in a red trimmed uniform and practically bounded over to him with the biggest and most personable grin ever before mustered inside the corridors of the USS Arizona. The aura of cheer and good will was a nearly tangible fog hanging like a cloud around her, which made the man she approached visibly recoil even before he saw her.

“Is something the matter?” she practically sang her query.

Captain Cowell turned slowly, the radiance of her unnatural positivity anathema to him, “Yeah… you.”

The woman blinked in a confused manner, “I don’t think there is… Do I look sick?”

“No, Bubbles… you’re just way too damn cheerful for this time of day…” the Old Man grumbled.

The woman’s face brightened up when she heard that she didn’t look sick and merely glossed over the rest, “What brings you in today, Captain? Are you here to see Doctor Hena? She went off shift a little while ago though… But I could call her back here if you like.”

Nathan sucked in a deep breath and politely replied, “Already saw her earlier. I just decided to take a walk and ended up in here. So why don’t you…”

The urge to tell her to fuck off a cliff and see how far she could fly gnawed at the man like a hungry dog on a milk bone. Even his face contorted through several visions of annoyance before he finally managed to finish what he started.

“Go take care of what you were working on. I can find my way around here just fine alone. There’s a good girl…” Capt. Cowell said in an obvious and patronizing tone.

“Ok!” the woman damn near chirped before resembling in near perfect mimicry a bird fluttering away.

“Fucking hell…” Nathan exhaled, the air around him still feeling dirty with the remnants of her ‘glowing’ personality. Several rather inappropriate thoughts regarding her bedroom habits and her inability to shut the hell up crossed the old man’s mind as he continued his self-guided tour free of molestation.

Even with the ship’s sickbay being as large as it was, Captain Cowell could still make the entire circuit through it in less than ten minutes, though if there had been any patients whatsoever the trip would have taken longer. When Nathan was back in the central alcove that housed the triage bio bed, the door slid open to allow a man to walk in wearing a mustard colored tunic showing visible signs of pain.

“What the hell happened to you?” Nathan asked, walking up to the man.

The young Petty Officer looked over and turned just slightly whiter when he found the Captain of his ship was in sickbay demanding answers for his injury.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” the man stammered, “One of the shipping containers wasn’t put on a grav sled properly and I think it might have knocked my shoulder out of line, and I’m pretty sure I have broken toes… it was my fault… I wasn’t paying attention.”

Nathan did what any doctor would do in his place and pointed to the bio bed without saying a word to admonish the man. When his patient was on the table where he’d been directed, the Captain popped open a medical tricorder and began to work.

“What’s your name, son?” he asked as he ran the scans.

“Petty Officer Styles, sir,” the young man answered, his voice shaky with pain.

“How long you been in Starfleet?” the elder physician asked as he moved the small tricorder attachment from the man’s shoulder to his foot.

“Three years and a couple months,” Styles’ tone started to become more relaxed as his mind became distracted by the line of questions.

“Well… you’ve gone and fucked yourself up pretty bad, son. I won’t lie to you. Your shoulder’s dislocated about as awkward as I’ve seen one and your foot’s about as put together as a bag of jello that’s been hit by a hammer,” Cowell announced.

The closing of the medical tricorder was enough of a familiar sound to send Ensign Peters leaping back into the room. When she saw the man on the table looking hurt, she disappeared for a moment before skipping back with reckless abandon.

“I just told Doctor Grayson you were here, Petty Officer, it shouldn’t be a minute before she comes to take a look at you,” the woman beamed politely.

When even the Petty Officer recoiled in horror at her cheerful demeanor, Nathan was visibly relieved, “It ain’t just me that finds Bubbles to be a nut ball…”

The young man looked up at the Captain and back to the woman he’d called Bubbles before saying, “I didn’t think someone could smile that much and not feel like an idiot… sir…”

Nathan let out a chuckle, “Welcome to the Arizona, son… we attract all kinds…”

Capt. Cowell turned to the nurse, who in turn looked up at him with those sweet doe eyes that made the El-Aurian wish he had some ice picks handy.

“How about you take your ass over there and fetch a damn osteo-regenerator instead of looking at me like this is your first day on the damn job!” Nathan growled.

Again Bubbles blinked at him, the information he’d just put out to her seemed to need a bit more processing time given all the space between her ears and her brain. When it finally clicked, the woman’s smile just got bigger.

“I didn’t know you knew about medicine, Captain,” she said without moving.

“Where the hell did they find this bimbo?!” Nathan lamented.

“I’m not sure, Captain,” Petty Officer Styles offered, “But they might want to put it on the list for endangered species habitats… she’s a special kind of stupid…”

Nathan looked over to the man for a moment, about to say something about respecting her rank, however, “When you’re right… you’re right… and son… you are damn right about that…” was all that managed to slip from his lips.

Ensign Bubbles looked back and forth between the men and just smiled, it was obvious she didn’t register not a single insult hurled at her and was just basking in the banter that she had inspired. The man on the bed didn’t look nearly as troubled by his injuries, which was the first step on the road to recovery.

“Bubbles!” Nathan hollered loud enough to make even the ball of positivity stop bouncing happily for a moment.

“Sir?” she asked innocently.

“Ostero-regnerator… fetch! Now!” the Old Man broke it down for her in words even he didn’t think she could possibly screw up.

Bubbles gave her Captain the most whimsical, and completely pathetic salute Nathan had ever seen in his life and sprang into action like someone had just pulled her string. Captain Cowell just held his head in abject disappointment.

“What in the name of all that is good in this Universe is that dipshit doing in the medical field?!” the Old Man almost sounded as if he was going to cry over just how completely horrible the situation was.

“Don’t feel so bad, sir,” Petty Officer Styles tried to help, “She could be the one flying the ship…”

Nathan’s head lurched up and gave the man a withering glare, “You shut your filthy whore mouth right fucking now!”

The shock of his comment did the exact opposite of what it normally would in any other situation… it made the poor man laugh. He practically collapsed on the bed in a convulsive fit of laughter. The Captain stood with his arms folded against his hips in displeasure.

“That shit ain’t funny son… not one little bit…” Nathan growled.

Ensign Peters came skipping back with the tool in her hand as if she had all the time in the world and there wasn't a thing going on except whatever drivel fluttering in her skull dictated as her reality. Captain Cowell snatched the tool out of her hand and set it onto the rolling table near the bed. If he thought it would have helped, the Old Man might have clubbed her with it just to rattle the marbles back into place...

"Turn on your stomach," Nathan said to the Petty Officer. The young patient sucked in a calming breath and did as he was told without saying anything, fits of giggles threatening to return.

"Bubbles!" Nathan roared, "Hold his left shoulder and back down where it is. Don't let him move."

The woman may have been the stupidest thing on two legs, but in a moment of clarity she said, "On it." Ens. Peters hurried to the bed and pinned the Petty Officer to it just as instructed. Nathan walked up to the opposite side of the bed and seized the man's wrist, then placed his free hand against the shoulder blade that was weirdly protruding.

"Try not to scream..." the Old Man almost whispered before suddenly and violently wrenching the man's shoulder in all the right ways to both set the injury and coax the very scream he'd mentioned. Petty Officer Styles shrieked in much the same way as one might expect a banshee from one of those old Earth fairy tales might. When his fit of laughter had been replaced with sobs of pain, the Captain let his arm go and produced a hypospray, giving the man an analgesic to soothe the soreness. The shattered foot was much easier to mend, the osteo-regenerator making short but effective work of the afflicted appendage.

"You can let him up now, Bubbles," the Old Man instructed, watching her let the man loose before adding, "Now scram, I need to talk to him... confidential like..."

"You got it!" Bubbles chirped and sauntered off.

Nathan returned his attention to his patient, "Keep your arm in a sling for a week. I'll put you on light duty for that span and if you're not feeling any better after a week, come back to Sickbay."

The Petty Officer nodded and slid off the table, clutching at his still sore arm before finding the Captain's hand rather tightly affixed to his throat, "Oh, and don't ever try to wish that kind of horrible fate on my ship again with those loose lips of yours. You say shit like that loud enough, people start listening and make that kind of hell a reality. Don't summon those demons, son... don't you dare fucking do it."

"Sorry Captain!" the man squirmed beneath Nathan's grip, "It won't happen again."

Capt. Cowell turned the man loose, "Good... now scram before the dumb shit comes back." Nathan practically knocked the Petty Officer over as he himself made a very hasty exit. Not even a few seconds after both men had departed, Ens. Peters returned to a vacant room.

"Where'd everybody go?" the woman asked, looking around as if them walking out of the door wasn't a fathomable option...