Tis but a scratch

Posted on 31 May 2024 @ 3:13pm by Chief Petty Officer Katja Becker & Chief Petty Officer Lysander Octavio
Edited on on 15 Jul 2024 @ 7:10pm

2,215 words; about a 11 minute read

Mission: Episode 19 - Tomorrow's Galileo
Location: USS Galileo-A - Deck 3, Sickbay
Timeline: MD05 - 0900Hrs

[ON]

The cold was utterly tedious.

The frost conspired to layer itself on his perfect hair, cracking and fraying it. So many split ends. Heaven forbid.

Lysander rubbed the mirror in his quarters again, attempting to stop it from misting over. He just wanted to apply a little blush. Seasonal blush, you know, to compliment the whole cold theme the ship had going on. But no, even this simple necessity was being cruelly taken from him.

It had been different at Starfleet Command. Those decrepit old admirals may have been a diorama of the Federation's least couture individuals but at least they had some respect for the creature comforts. Frequent trips to the balmy Mediterranean, tropical islands of the Pacific... Fine vistas, excellent food and the wine... almost as good as Betazed's own.

Here though... so much for 'making a name'. It was ice cold and they weren't doing anything. Sure, he had the odd patrol. The odd check in to those insane prisoners... But where were the heroics? Where was his angle? He'd been presented with zero opportunities to impress Commander Tarin. It just wasn't on.

Even that fight they'd had hadn't lasted long enough to really get stuck in. The flimsy Romulans had just run away once they'd lost a single ship. At least the Dominion had been in possession of gravitas...

He sighed harshly, his breath once again misting up the mirror, which led to a petulant growl. He had to accept it. For the first time probably ever, he would not look perfect.

He span around and stomped across his quarters, and growled again, lashing out at the innocent coffee table with his bare foot.

...

He heard the crash before he felt the pain. The top of the table shattered and a large, jagged shard of glass had become embedded in his shin.

This was not an accessory he had hoped to sport today.

Agonising pain rushed up his toned leg, through his exceptional body, until it reached his formidable mind.

He screamed.

--

What felt like hours later (but what had really been around fifteen minutes) Lysander dragged himself into sickbay, moaning from the pain.

He looked around and saw a single individual was present and attempted to walk over to her before promptly collapsing on the ground.

Katja looked over--and down--at the gold colored man who currently occupying a spot on the ground. She grabbed a tricorder and flipped it open and walked over to his prone form scanning.

"Rough day, Petty Officer?" She inquired. There didn't appear to be anything acutely wrong with him, but the small pool of blood forming around one of his extremities gave her some insight.

"Looks like you kicked a table. You kicked a table didn't you?" She clucked like a fluffy hen, strangely amused by the situation. Those damned coffee tables were a menace. "Come on, let's get up - the biobed is right over there."

Lysander dragged himself towards the biobed, wincing with every movement. "I inadvertently struck myself on a coffee table," he attempted to mask his slight irritation at the woman depriving him of the opportunity to spin a tale of heroics, "The low power mode must have momentarily affected gravity in my quarters."

He hefted himself onto the biobed and sharply exhaled, glancing around the dimly lit room, "This lighting is terrifically inconvenient. One would think sickbay would have been a priority for more... regular illumination."

Katja snorted. What a pretentious little prick. "Quite inconvenient." She grabbed a pair of trauma shears and cut a small slit in the hem of his pants and then grabbing the tags cleanly tore the fabric up to the knee to better see the damage. A large sliver of glass stuck in his shin at an angle that would denote entry traveling upwards. She looked at him and raised a brow but said nothing. Reaching overhead, Katja turned on the lighting that could be angled directly over an area requiring better illumination - in this case his leg.

"The lighting is more than sufficient. In the war we made do with assessments under starlight." It all went back to that, didn't it?

Even through the pain Lysander's keen Betazed senses quickly attuned to complex feelings concerning the war. And for people of their timeline there was only one war it could have been, the same one he 'fought' in.

"The war," he said with what he knew to be an exceptionally world-weary tone, "you were there too?"

Katja looked the security officer up and down in an assessing manner and finally she smirked. "I was embedded with the 13th during the ground war in the Chin’toka system. Were you there?" She saw right through his bullshit.

He could sense that this one would be a hard nut to crack. The grievous injury was no doubt diminishing his usually exemplary people skills. He also looked terrible so his natural charms were at an all time low.

"I was too young to have served," he responded with copious sincerity, "But I did my part during the occupation of Betazed." His black eyes met with Katja's, "It is... not something I speak about often."

"That's for the best." Katja took that moment to grab a hold of the sliver of glass with a pair of tongs and jerked it clean out. "Shrapnel. Cool." She said with in a cheery tone of voice.

Lysander grit his teeth and exhaled sharply as the glass was gesticulated in front of him. This medic seemed to have a bit of a sadistic streak. No, not sadism, more like... sanguineous. It was too much to hope for someone who had a basic level of respect for his injury.

What approach would work he wondered...

"A relic of one of the many battles fought in 2417," he said dryly, but with a building smile, "the security officer and the coffee table."

"Shit, Petty Officer, by the time I'm done, you won't even have a scratch to point at. However, I am more than prepared to regale the tale of your valor at the Battle of the Table Top."

Katja chuckled at her own joke but realized she was missing the autosuture. "I have to grab the suturing tool, hang in there, sir." She added good-naturedly and turned to walk towards the supplies area of the sick bay. Her steps were measured but her gait was slightly...off. She wasn't gone for long before returning with the autosuture, a triumphant grin on her face.

Lysander smiled his winning smile, internally glad he'd found a small vein of rapport with the woman. Her diligent work was also appreciated - a scar from such a foolish altercation would not do at all.

He glanced at her legs as she approached, "Are you... also injured?"

Katja's expression shifted to something rather neutral, which for her was unusual. She began focusing on suturing the gash left from the glass for a moment before answering.

"Injured? No. Starfleet fixed me up. The finest of bio-prosthetics, and it works most of the time."

Lysander propped himself up on his elbows and watched Katja's meticulous work. "I am sorry for your loss," his tone had unexpected sincerity to it. He nodded to her work on his leg, "Thank you for not leaving a scar..."

Katja looked at the Petty Officer with an unreadable expression after his condolences on the loss of her leg. She had never had anyone note it's loss in such a manner before. "I'm one of the lucky ones...and no worries. This is an easy thing to fix up - no need leaving a scar if can be fixed 'good as new.'"

"'Good as new'..." Lysander repeated the phrase in a slightly ethereal manner. He was as unblemished an individual as there could be. No scars, no picks, no deformities. Was that perfection? To not be worn by life, to be sublime. A chill ran down his spine - why was he thinking about this at all? It wasn't like him... Not at all. He had the strangest sense that he was not himself. But he had to be... didn't he?

"How..." He began, hoping to quell the odd sense of existential dread that was beginning to creep into his mind, "How did it happen... your leg?"

"My leg? Ah. Right. I was blown up a little." Katja sighed. "The LT took a shot and was pinned down by enemy fire. I really, really liked that guy and I was going to be damned if I was going to allow him to die out there alone...so when the heavy's weapon jammed I ran out to drag his ass back behind cover. I wasn't fast enough."

Katja jabbed a hypospray into the meat of his thigh, administering a broad spectrum antibiotic and an analgesic. "Any other questions, Ensign?"

Lysander cocked his head, unusually interested in this other person when he would typically focus all of his substantial mental energy on himself. To lose a limb in this era would normally be a scary idea indeed. But... he found himself fixating perfection again - surely iconic flaws are superior to the unblemished flesh of one's birth? Was the loss of a limb somehow... additive?

He shook his head slightly in an attempt to vanish the strange line of thought. Composing himself, he gave a toothy smile, "Well only one, Chief, how can I thank you for fixing me up?"

"Fixing people up is a satisfactory award in of itself...however...I would never say no to a bottle of wine or spirits." Katja grinned. Once all of this nonsense settled down she was going to work on building a still, but in that interim what stores she had were going to run out...maybe Lysander could help? It didn't hurt to ask.

Lysander's mind kept trying to drift back to the subject of limbs, and whether they would be better off removed, but the mention of wine refocused him. He gave a short humourless laugh, "Would that I could, would that I could..." His empathic senses picked up a certain... interest, no, desire within the woman. Wine. Alcohol. Interesting.

"I amassed a vast collection of bottles on my travels of the Galaxy before coming here, Chief, but when I arrived Commander Tarin saw fit to have them seized and locked away," his tone said all that needed to be said about how he felt about this scandal, "I believe they are under lock and key somewhere aboard." He waited a beat or two, "Though I can't imagine in the current climate..." He raised an eyebrow, "They may be under less lock and less key right now..."

"Why then, they are almost asking to be liberated." Katja chimed back with a small chuckle, but deep within she was very interested.

Lysander sat fully upright, his black eyes sparkling. Finally something interesting to do while the scientists and engineers fussed over the timeline!

"Well indeed, it is almost a moral imperative in times of... low morale as these." He grinned, "I've always been under the impression that alcohol can be considered... medicinal?"

"Oh absolutely. The higher proof stuff is excellent at cleaning wounds. I like the way you think, Petty Officer." If nothing else, Katja was having an enjoyable moment in what had quickly become quite the Scheiße assignment. "I happen to know how to jimmy ship doors, you know." Katja added with an impish grin.

Lysander let out a thrill of laughter, "I could examine the manifests, as a security precaution of course." He winked, "To ensure that all personal effects are in good order." He nodded, brimming with satisfation at the whole idea.

It was quite enough to keep his whole mind off all of those sublime thoughts about the beauty of mutilation.

"Perhaps once I have some idea of where the... morale stimulating supplies are, we can make some arrangements?"

Oh! Delightful! Katja refrained from doing a dance of celebration, but just barely. Oh nothing was set in stone, but to have a plan in place to attempt to procure that which was a rather rare commodity on this blasted dry vessel? Katja's day was suddenly looking up.

"Well, you know where I live, Petty Officer. I look forward to hearing about how you successfully discovered your missing supplies and perhaps a brilliant plot to liberate your kidnapped items."

Lysander enjoyed the thrill of Katja's emotions. An unlikely ally on this drudgery filled ship. "I shall be in touch," he gingerly got to his feet, happy to feel no pain at all from his wound, "and if I end up battling another piece of furniture you will be my first port of call!" He snorted then laughed a lyrical laugh. He was so droll.

"Lucky me!" Katja called after Octavio, but after he left, she felt a 'spring' in her step that had nothing to do with the shocks in her leg malfunctioning. She was making connections...possibly useful connections. She could almost taste the 'victory.'

[OFF]

--

Chief Petty Officer Katja Becker
Medical Officer
USS Galileo-A
[PNPC Sera]

&

PO1 Lysander Octavio
Security Officer
USS Galileo-A
[PNPC Vala]

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