Infirmary (Chuck and Bones)

[andinfluencepeople]

Chuck hits the red button outside the infirmary, because that's what he was told to do.

Then he sits down on the chair he dragged out, and rests the weight of his head on a hand, helmet on his lap and bottle of Coke down by his feet.

Comments

[notabricklayer]

"Good - 'cause there doesn't seem to be any." Sure, there's the roster he's seen floating around, but when this place tends to pick and choose your visits at random, he's not convinced that's a viable option.

And he really does try to just not think about the potential for infectious disease spread. It's a nightmare.

"My name's McCoy, Leonard McCoy - what's yours, son?"

[andinfluencepeople]

"Chuck Hansen, with Striker Eu--" his voice breaks off for a moment, then he sighs. This habit is going to take forever to break. "Eureka, but I guess-- I'm in from 2024 - well, 2025. January."

Uncertain: "I died a couple hours ago, which is apparently completely normal around here?"

[notabricklayer]

"Seems to be a popular fad." McCoy agrees. "Well, since you're here and seem to be alive enough to be going on with, why don't you tell me what's brought you in today."

Though he suspects the evidence of a brawl recently might be part of it.

[andinfluencepeople]

"Yeah," he says, "it's not the dying. I woke up outside, and met a guy who -- well, I thought he was this wanker I know, but he might've... been an old-time-y pirate or sailor or whatever."

There's a moment's silence while Chuck tries to process this. "I thought he was picking a fight, right? And I just died so I wasn't exactly patient about it. Got slammed into a rock, and he took off, I guess -- he wasn't there later. I don't think I blacked out, but I also don't really know how long I was out there. Took me at least 20, maybe 30 minutes to get up on my feet, if the sun sets like a normal one. I took a couple paracetamol," he adds, "once I got in. Light hurts, ... thinking hurts. I don't think it's that bad? Like, I don't feel like I'm going to throw up anymore. I've been concussed before, so I know my boss's right in saying I had to get checked, but it never fucked me up for more than a couple days before, so.

"'Messed me up,' sorry."

[notabricklayer]

"Well, you certainly know how to charm a fellow." McCoy sighs, getting up to fetch his tricorder. "Any double vision? Hearing problems?" Other than whatever led this boy to think that some pirate was a friend of his. Or a not-friend of his, as the case may be.

[andinfluencepeople]

"It's all right now." Chuck watches the doctor sort of doubtfully.

"What's that?"

[notabricklayer]

"So what you mean is 'yes, doctor, but I'm not experiencing either of those at the moment'." Bones clarifies, letting his tricorder whir to itself. "This is a medical tricorder, and it's telling me exactly what you've done to yourself."

[andinfluencepeople]

Chuck holds very still, but he still looks incredibly suspicious.

The tri-corder diagnoses something called a type II concussion on top of previous concussion damage, which really pisses Chuck off until Doctor McCoy tells him it can be -- that it will be, even if Doctor McCoy has to personally enforce it -- fixed.

Actually, that pisses him off too, because of course he wants it fixed with whatever weird advanced technology this place has, but he wants to sleep first. Still.

They manage to get his armor off after finding a screwdriver with the right head, and send it off with a waitrat to be taken to a room for him. He feels a little exposed in his black bodysuit this leaves him in but it's no more revealing than a set of pajamas.

After that, well. Doctor McCoy gets his way. Which is, in the end, a good thing.