Bedside Manner

Bedside Manner

Summary:	A day in Sickbay with the wounded. Snatch offers to bring stuff. Zaharis scares Quill about where Rhea's tattoo is. D'artanion learns some things the hard way.
Date:	71 ACH
Related Logs:	Boarded

Players:

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Recovery Ward Genesis - Deck 13
71 ACH 23817 Souls

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This is a large room holding over twenty bed stations for patients to recover after having treatment severe enough that they cannot immediately return to duty. Each station has various connections for medical equipment, a bed with collapsible railings, fold out table, adjustable positions and a privacy curtain.

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Zaharis is here. In bed. There's nobody around his curtain now, the area quiet. His little cup of water is on the side table, along with a tray of soft food that was barely touched, waiting for a nurse to come pick it up. The CMO is watching the wall just beyond his bed rail, quiet and still and bandaged.

Snatch trudges into Sickbay, not, evidently, here to visit her Cap'm, though she leaves a small book by the Doc's bedside and gives the Cap'm a looking-over on her way past toward Doctor Zaharis. "Han-han, Docter. Y'ns got a minnit?" she asks him, lifting a hand to scratch at the top of her neck, near where her stitches are itchy. She doesn't reckon he's got anywhere he's got to be but here, but she seems to figure it's polite to ask.

Zaharis' eyes move, looking at Snatch. The weeping, blistered burns on his face have begun to swell, forcing his left eye to stay half-closed. "Yeah," he says, talking mostly on breath. "What can I do for you…"

Rhea is dozing. There's little for one to do but sleep in the Recovery Ward, so she's been concentrating on that. The color's returning to her cheeks and she, generally, looks far better today than she did yesterday. Which is progress, in Sickbay terms.

Look him in the eyes, Mopsus Doe. Just look him in the eyes. Don't stare at the blisters. Mopsus Doe is even able to follow her inner voice's directions, folding her arms in a business-like manner. "We'ns war about t' git the aft part on thins here deck seal't off an' vented— git in thar an' git than thar cannot out on ourn hull, git uns paitched up proper. Whan'cher wan' us t' git don with whane'er ain't bolted down in thar lab thar?"

Zaharis' morpha-soaked brain has a bitch of a time with all that. If he notices she can't quite look at him he doesn't show it, silent while he makes sense of what she's asking him. Oh, it's something about work. The shift of gears is almost visible in his eyes as he tries to concentrate and pull up Official Bid'ness. "Ah…storage. Medical storage by the guest quarters on this floor. Extra to storage in sickbay on the Hera. Make sure it's locked down."

Rhea's eyes blink open. Fluttering. Taking a moment to adjust to the light of Sickbay. She looks half-surprised to be waking up here, even after a couple days. She shakes off the post-sleep fog, head rolling toward Zaharis and Snatch's voices. Eyes narrow.

Snatch bobs her head slowly, as her usual chin-jerk affirmative gesture still makes the back of her head ache. "Ou-ais, Docter," she replies in the most properly military tone she has at her disposal, then, turning the dial back on that tone a few notches. "Oh, an' yer Terrer sait y'ns maaht would laahk a book or aught from yer bunk. Ah'm alreaduns runnin' parcels fer the Doc o'er yonder," she looks back toward Quill. "Y'ns need aught at all jus' y'ns give min a holler, ou-ais? Ah reckon Ah owe yin a debt on thanks, keepin' watch o'er the Doc an' all 'an 'ar, ou-ais."

"No, I'm…fine." Zaharis clears his throat. "I can't…lift a book to read it." Part of the brown of his left eye disappears under the swollen lid as he shifts his attention towards Quill, then back to Snatch. "Sure. But he saved himself, PO, there's no debt."

"That you, Del Boccyo?" Rhea comes to completely, blinking away her residual fog. She's not as morpha'd up as Zaharis, and the stuff in her system dissipated while she was asleep. "Treating the CMO all right, I hope." She's just woken up. Snatch is by Zaharis bed and the two are talking.

Snatch smiles warmly at the Doctor, "Han, ou-ais, Docter. Still-as… y'ns need aught, y'ns jus' holler. M'a git back here once them ops o'er," she tells him, then turns as she hears her Cap'm calling her. "Ou-ais, Cap'm, c'est moi," she tells her gently. "A hain't head-butted 'im'n the gut agin, no frettin'," she adds, joking around a little. "How'ns yin?" she asks, the joking disappearing from her voice and replaced with a caring sort of worry.

Zaharis closes his eyes as Snatch moves over to Rhea. Talking and moving his eyes seem to wake up a red, burning heat in the seared skin of his cheek and temple, underneath the fuzzier warmth of opiates or whatever they have dripping into his IV. He opens and closes his left hand and then moves his wrist. Then the elbow. Clench forearm. Clench upper arm. The daily check of which muscles can move without jarring some burn or tear.

"No, I don't think so." It's a mumble, slurred and barely audible, but whatever dreams the Morpha brought Quill, he seems in disagreement with them. "No. I didn't sign that," another mumble insists. "That's above my pay grade." Must be a nightmare, as it seems bureaucratic in nature, but either way it slowly cedes ground to consciousness. The unsigned paperwork vanishes in favor of the familiar sights of the ward, and Quill blinks, looking around to see who's here.

"Mending. It's a repair job, like anything else. Just takes time," Rhea says. "Still getting used to laying still. Not in my nature. But, I can do the work. If you do what the doctors tell you, you get out of here sooner. Anyhow. Take it easy on the CMO. Doctors make horrible patients, so he might try and do something work-related. Don't let him get away with it." Quill's mumbling catches her ear. She snorts. Almost a laugh. Laughing is painful when you've been shot in the gut. She winces.

Snatch blushes a little as the Cap'm bans the Doctor from work… which is what she came in here pestering him about, after all. But she skirts nicely over that with a sort of confused 'ou-ais,' lifting her hand to the back of her head again. It itches, damn it. She's trying not to scratch. "We'ns all set t' seal off aft deck, Cap'm. Should ought have uns that thar hole paitched bah suppertahm," she assures the Cap'm, thinking that keeping her updated might be appreciated, "Canott seem't miss mos' on 'em major waarhrin' junctions. Ain't gone taik much t' patch the raist on't back t'gither."

Left shoulder. Zaharis slowly tenses the muscle, shoulder sliding up on the mattress towards his blistered ear. He stops with only a slight sound in his throat when it starts pulling on burns, and lets it relax again. Farther than yesterday. Elbow off the bed. The knot of bruising on the underside has its own strange weight. He raises his arm as far as it will go and lowers it back to the mattress.

Quill closes his eyes again, as though exasperated with this blurred line between reality and sleep. "Sir, I've never been on this many drugs in my life," he rasps, which seems addressed to Zaharis. "It's not… damaging, is it?" He pauses then to listen in on the updates Snatch is giving Rhea, burned features somewhat wistful. Oh, to be useful again…

"That's good," Rhea says, half preparing to ask more. But she forces herself not to. "The Captain is keeping things well in hand, I'm sure. You lot know your work." Reliable Engineering Captain. She leaves it in their hands. She snorts again at Quill, though she tries not to let her amusement drift to her gut. "Quill, you've spent, what? Your entire natural life in college? You expect me to believe This is the highest you've been?"

Snatch nods to her Cap'm gently, hand going back to her side. "Ah'd bes' ought git back to it, we'ns gone git 'er done on-taahm, Ah reckon. Han, Doc— y'ns needful on aught elts whan Ah git min back here?" she wonders.

"Huh?" Zaharis takes a second to realise Quill's talking to him. He turns his head on the pillow, that swelled left eyelid keeping him from seeing as far as he needs to. It's not Quill he's looking at but the man's IV next to him. "No, won't hurt you." Doctor instinct trying to kick on, like a car engine struggling to turn over. You can almost hear the sounds. "Feeling nauseous or anything?" He glances at Rhea and has to smirk.

"Good point," Quill dryly admits to Rhea, mulling it over. "This has certainly been the longest high, anyway. And somehow, the least fun. How're you holding up, sir? Sick of people asking that yet?" He seems briefly confused by Snatch's offer to bring anything /else/ up, then notices a copy of Medea that seems to have magically appeared by his bed. "You remembered, you brought it…" Quill smiles. "Thanks, Snatch. I think reading is about all I need, all I can manage. If that. We'll get you reading soon, here, soon as I can think again." As for the nausea question, he considers. "Well, not feeling like I'm ready to face eel any time soon. But nothing acute."

"Don't sweat it, Jesse. If Quill pukes on anything, I'm sure your intrepid medical staff will clean it up," Rhea says. "Relax. Let's tell my jig here some stupid old story from our ancient past. Make him feel young even though he's passed the thirty-mark." As for his question, she snorts. "Better than you. Anyhow, I'm mending. Less resistant you are to it, the sooner they let you leave."

"Ou-ais, Doc," Snatch simply agrees, her mind still on the work ahead, "Git benner, Cap'm, Docter," she calls to the others on her way out.

Snatch leaves for Sickbay [o].
Snatch has left.

Zaharis breathes before he answers Rhea, managing his air carefully. "What, like…that time you tried to perm your hair?"

"This is actually as old as I'm going to get," Quill notes to Rhea, when she mentions the passing-thirty thing. "Every birthday after this one is going to continue to be thirty-one. Or possibly twenty-seven, if I really start to panic." At Zaharis's revelation, Quill grins as broadly as his burns allow. "Details," the jig requests.

"I saw it in a magazine. You know. Back in the days of high-gelled bangs and Caprican techno-music. I'm sure you remember them, Quill. You *can't* turn back the clock. Hard as you try and wind it." Rhea smirks. "It was just after the two of us had met…you remember, Jesse? When we were all waiting for our next deployment on Picon? Ephraim…" She trails off, sadness creeping into her tone. She clears her throat. "Anyhow. My husband and I were still dating and he'd gotten us tickets to this concert. I wanted curls. I tried to save some money by doing it myself." She winces. "My hair eventually grew back. I've got good bone structure. I worked the short-cut, after they'd trimmed the burnt ends away."

Zaharis rolls his head carefully towards Quill, his brow-and-a-half arching up towards his hairline. Stage whisper. "She looked like a poodle."

"And the acid-washed pants with 'artistic' paint splatters on them? Yeah, I definitely don't remember those days," Quill wryly replies, to the High-Gel Era. "So regrettable. And at the time, so very, very awesome." There's another grin to the story, and at the poodle comment, he laughs — laugh, wheeze, wince. "Shit." Takes a moment to recover, but after he can breathe again, he wants to know, "Did you still go to the concert, perm notwithstanding?"

"Hey. Risk-taking and bad hair-styles are what your twenties are all about," Rhea defends her choices. She nods. "Of course. It wasn't Caprican techno, though. Thankfully, I never went down that road. Ephraim's favorite Tauron jazz band was playing in the amphitheater in the center of the city, off-base. It was fun. I wore a bandanna." She squints at Zaharis. "I think I might've borrowed your scarf, actually. I looked very tomboy chic, Quill, I assure you. Frak, I was just a callow little ensign back then."

"Wasn't my scarf," Zaharis tells Rhea, keeping his scratchy voice low. "It was…what's her name's…left it my place and you decided that made it fair game. You never gave it back, either. Good thing she never noticed."

"Risk taking, bad hairstyles, and student loan debt, in my case," Quill remembers a decade ago. "How did you all meet? In the Navy, I assume?" There's a slight shake of his head at Rhea's latter words, "I can't imagine you as a callow ensign. I'm not even going to try, it would break all my paradigms."

"I was birthed into the world a captain, thirty-five and hard-core as an old Mercury Class engine, manufactured out of all battlestar parts and hair extensions. Born to repair ships and devour junior officer souls," Rhea says dryly. She's mellow now, out of ChEng mode. An affect the CMO has on her, but it may take some getting used to for someone who's mostly scene her working the engine room. She snorts. "I guess you could say we met in the Navy. Jesse and I have known each other for ages. He and my husband met in OCS, and Ephraim introduced us. We're practically inlaws." She snorts at said CMO. "If you can't remember her name, I sure as frak can't. She liked flannel, though. Maybe she got over you by meeting a nice girl."

"She only wore it around you because you were so frakking cold to her," Zaharis replies, his speech dry and lazily slurred. Mm Morpha. He looks back at Quill, half-closing his eyes. "Yeah, Ephraim was an old friend. Rhea and I are both mustangs, so we got to bond over stories of terror-filld enlisted days in three-high bunks, and shitty officers. Worked out."

"If I could breathe deeply, I would sigh in relief," Quill grins to Rhea's self-description. "Paradigms restored. Devourable junior officer soul, soothed." He listens with his eyes closed, amused at the description of this unknown, flannel-wearing, abandoner of scarves. He's jolted out of listening to their early military days, however, by a term unfamiliar to his civilian brain. "Mustangs?"

Rhea snickers. "I think we scared the frak out of Ephraim, with our bad-officer stories. The enlisted intimidated him in his younger days. He got over it, though. We trained him well…" A wistful smile comes to Rhea's lips. There's a note of sadness to it. She sighs, concentrating on the good memories. She nods to Quill. "Military slang. Officer who's come up through the enlisted ranks. We're a rare breed." She shares a faint smile with Jesse. The ChEng is proud of her roots.

Zaharis lets Rhea explain what a mustang is. He takes a brief pause to breathe. "Two tours enlisted." His eyelids unglue and he squints at the ChEng. "How many did they sucker you in for back then?"

Quill quirks a smile. "So if a mustang is an officer who worked his or her way up the chain the long, hard, and legitimate way, what's the term — other than the usual epithets — for someone like me?" He guesses, "Rocking horse?"

"I did my two, too," Rhea says, holding up a pair of fingers. "Had to put in my time to get all my benefits." She smirks at Quill. "I'm a mercenary. As I think I've told you. Only joined up to pay for college, and I was never *quite* able to escape." The rocking horse comment makes her snort, amused. Though she's careful not to laugh. Stitches and all. "Haven't heard that one. But I can start calling you by it, if you like.

"I was going to save your pride and say stallion," Zaharis smirks at Quill, good-naturedly. The expression is tight; his lips can't move much with the blisters at the corners. "But too late."

"If I like?" Quill laughs, softly. Carefully. "In my experience so far, the Navy isn't about what you like to be called, it's about what you /get/ called." Zaharis's smirk is returned, reciprocal. "Thanks, sir. Someday I will learn when not to keep talking, and the quality of my life will dramatically improve."

"Anyhow, you earned your rank, Quill, so don't sweat your thoroughbred status. I don't put much stock in pins, anyway. It's all about the work, and you do that just fine," Rhea says. "Relax. We're about as off-duty as we can get right now. Tell us a funny story about Virgon. Something involving a fraternity prank or the time the Pyramid team locked in a gym locker or…frak, I don't know. And you can call me Rhea." She's clearly intent on shifting his paradigms until his brain shatters with that one.

Zaharis doesn't follow suit with the first-name allowance, but he turns his head slightly on the pillow to see the JG better. On the spot, go.

"Fraternity, pyramid?" Quill tsks. "No, no… I was a hardcore nerd, I knew not these things." Was? Sure, Quill, use the past tense. "I can't even say I was engaged in epic class wars with the frat boys and jocks, they didn't bother us and their sum opinion of the engineering department was, 'huh?'" There's a bit of a smile, remembering. "Best story occurred while I was still in undergrad. There was one professor, universally loved and hated. Two sides of the same coin. We loved and hated him so much, when he was on vacation for a week we took his car apart, completely disassembled it, then hauled it up to his office and put it back together. Inside his office. It was beautiful. That car is probably still in there."

Rhea gets a laugh out of that. Which makes her wince. She exhales, nodding as she remembers. "Yeah, Delphi U on Caprica wasn't much different. I was pretty attached to the lab my freshman year. I went to all of one frat party. Mostly to observe the animals in their natural habitat." Another snort. She smirks. "That was a hell of a neat trick. Frak…I always liked Virgon. Well, the one time I visited it, at least. I was on a lay-over at little inland base, just before I left the regular ranks for college. I did Reserves during uni. Your home colony is where I got my tattoo, Quill. Be proud. Or something."

Zaharis smirks a little here, smiles a little there. Not that there's much difference between those two expressions. He lets the snipes have their geeky engineering moment, looking amused.

"Alarming, aren't they? The animals in their natural habitat. They're much like pilots." He should know, he went and got engaged to one. A quiet smile follows, "Virgon. Yeah. It is… it was a nice place. I keep thinking I should ask the pilots and the marines what it was like, when they went back there, and then… then I guess I wonder if I should just let dead things stay buried." He seems done speaking, then his brow furrows as something occurs to him. "How'd you manage to get a tattoo if you were only on a lay-over? Do I even want to know? Wouldn't you just have been there for a few hours?"

"Turned into a few days. Storms in the upper atmosphere were frakking with the DRADIS. Ship needed a full refuel stock, anyway, so we made the most of it," Rhea says. "I managed it the usual way. By getting very drunk with a group of so-called friends who thought it'd be funny. Well, I needed one anyway. Got to have some ink to keep up your Navy cred." She eyes Zaharis, smirking right back at him.

"What?" Zaharis snorts quietly at Rhea. "Mine's not hidden by my trousers, unlike /some/ people's."

"Ink. Navy cred. I'll add it to the to-do list," Quill murmurs, smiling wryly. "Or I'll start getting drunk with people more frequently. I don't —" Wait what? Quill blinks at the CMO's words, then attempts to stifle a surprised laugh. It comes out rather choke-like.

"It hurts less there," Rhea defends her choice of tattoo spots. "Fleshiest part of the body. I'd think, as a medical man, you'd appreciate my practicality." She winks at the CMO. She gives Quill an arch look. "Don't fear, boyo. I'm not nearly drugged enough to show you. And I never will be."

"Hey, I'm just helping your personnel appreciate you here, Rhea," Zaharis looks satisfied at Quill's reaction. Oh how he lives for torturing the ChEng every chance he gets.

"I am content to continue living in ignorance regarding your navy cred, sir," Quill assures Rhea, amusement belying the 'official' tone and the sir. "Appreciation, though, indeed. Consider the paradigms shifted." He closes his eyes, intending only a moment, which somehow stretches on. Mental flotsam about the CMO's and the ChEng's younger days join his erstwhile bureaucracy nightmare, and he's bound to be in for some interesting dreams.

Rhea makes an obscene gesture at Zaharis. With love. The ChEng and the CMO have a sort of rhythm. She smiles as Quill drifts off to sleep. "You're going to ruin him by the time he gets out of here," she chides Jesse gently. She's amused.

"I can hope." Zaharis smirks a bit, letting his eyes drift shut. Unlike Quill his breathing doesn't settle. He just rests, his eyes darkly circled. The left corner of his mouth is getting prone to drooling, the skin stiff from the burns. With the other engineer finally asleep he can ask. "How are you feeling?"

"It hurts like hell if I move. A little less if I don't," Rhea replies. "The morpha takes the edge off. Trying not to fog myself up too much, though. Trying to sleep as much as I can. No other way to deal with this kind of thing, frustrating as it is. I'm better than you." It's said gently. She can see how much pain he's in. "But, we'll mend, won't we now? Tough mustangs that we are."

"Bodies are meant to mend," Zaharis says, with the quiet conviction that doctors have. He keeps his eyes closed, talking on the breaths he exhales. "It's what they do. It's amazing, you know? How a body will repair itself."

"I'll take your word for it," Rhea says. No sarcasm. She's out of her element here, so she'll just go with him on it. "I'm just trying not to push. Worst thing you can do to a busted machine is make it do something it's not capable of. Not like I don't have things to keep me busy. Reed's theater was a nice little touch." She smiles, though there's a wistful quirk to it. "He's a sweetheart."

Zaharis replies, "I can't agree with that without sounding creepy."

Rhea smirks. Not replying to that. She's kind of introspective just now. "He's been really good with Reece through all this…I still haven't told him. The kid, I mean. About Reed and me. There always seems to be a good reason not to…" She sighs. "Or a good excuse, I guess."

"Really?" Zaharis' eyes remain closed. "I mean seriously…really? You think that kid doesn't suspect a thing? You've got to be kidding me."

"He's just a boy, Jesse. You think he's paying attention to things like that? And he's over on the Carina. It's not as if…" Rhea trails off. Sounds pretty thin when she puts it like that. She sighs. "I didn't finesse this very well with him, did I? I just…I don't want to hurt him. He and his father were so close…"

Stepping into the Recovery Ward, D'Artanion moves to the first of the occupied beds. As the patient is asleep, she moves quietly to take vitals and check medication doses without waking the soldier up. He'll get awakened to take his regulation sleeping pill later. Now? She just lets the natural sleep of a healing body work it's magic. A few notes are made on his chart and she moves to the woman opposite him. The process is repeated with the quiet efficiency of someone trying not to make a mistake. Like most of those serving the wounded, the woman is a hair or so on the 'tired' side. Still, when a soldier murmurs a greeting, she returns it, tone gentle.

[Intercom] Sergeant Browne, please come to the marine offices. If unavailable, dial 1291. Sergeant Browne to the marine offices.

Zaharis exhales slowly through his nose. "Rhea. Longer you keep it from him, the more hurt he's going to be when you do tell him, and you have to say it's been going on for all this time behind his back. This is reality, you've got to live in it. So does he."

"Yeah…" Rhea agrees softly. "I'll take a few hours leave when they spring me from here. Take him for a meal on the Carina. Have a talk with him." She sighs. Mulling on how she's going to phrase that. Nothing easy comes to mind. She distracts herself by letting her eyes drift around the ward. Watching D'Artanion approach. "Hey, Amalina," she greets the woman, with a somewhat wane smile. "So, do I get to properly call you 'Doctor' yet?"

The patient D'Artanion is speaking to asks a question. The woman slowly shakes her head. Her words might float to any listening. "Sorry, Private. I can't. But, I'll get one of the doc's for you. Won't be long." Turning, she masks her frustration with a slightly bland smile. Flagging down one of the doctors, she speaks quietly and gestures to the Private. Message delivered, she returns to her rounds of checking vitals and making notations on the charts of those she sees. Looking over at Rhea's greeting, the woman smiles, "Hey. Glad to see you awake." A shadow touches her gaze as she moves closer. "Uh. Not yet, no. I still need to take the exams. I was going to talk to the Doc about setting that up when things got… Uh… Messy." The Queen of Understatement strikes again. "Maybe he'll proctor the exam while he's stuck in here. It can't be more boring than what he is doing now."

Someone's talking about work. Zaharis does sometimes forget about the crushing amount of reponsibility that are sitting on others while he's in here, but it always bubbles back up again. His eyes open and he takes a sudden breath in, as though coming up out of water. "Oh, shit." He coughs and clears his throat. "I'm sorry, Gunnery Sergeant…I'm going to find some way to do it."

Rhea gets a smirk out of that. "Messy? Careful, Gunny. Laughing stings when you've got stitches in your abdomen." She looks mildly morpha'd, which no doubt takes the edge off the pain, and seems comfortable enough. Though she's careful to keep as still as possible. Her eyes shift over to regard Zaharis. "It'll keep, Jesse. Just relax and mend. You've got a good staff here. They'll take care of things. If nothing else, you can wait until you're in slightly fitter shape."

D'Artanion shrugs a little, "Don't sweat it, Doc. If you can't while you are here, I'll get one of the others to talk to you about it. I suspect that either Chief or Stitch'd do it if you wanted them to." Rhea gets a nod and a quiet smile, "And she's right. It will keep easily enough. Just thought it was a good opportunity to pin you down. Since… You aren't going anywhere any time soon." She moves to the side of Rhea's bed and begins going through the 'taking vitals' routine with her. "How are you feeling? Anything out of the ordinary going on that we should be aware of?"

Stuff to do, stuff to do. Crap. Zaharis barely moves his head as it nods but his eyes stay open now, watching the ceiling. All those little cracks in the paint.

"Well, I was shot by a Centurion. That doesn't happen every day," Rhea replies to D'Artanion. A little wry. She shakes her head. "I don't think so. I hope I can lose the sling in a day or so." Her right arm is bandaged, but it's more to keep her from jostling it than anything else. She was just clipped there. "It's painful. But, stomach wounds are. I'm trying not to let myself get too fogged with the meds, but it takes the edge off, and I take them when I need to sleep." She rolls her gaze back over to Zaharis. Some concern evident. "You should have Reed's laptop dragged over to your bedside. Put on some stupid vid. Makes the time go by faster."

D'Artanion makes a few notes about what Rhea reports and nods, "Can't say about when you will lose the sling, unfortunately. But, I'll ask someone to give you an update when they can." She half smiles, licking her lips, "No… It doesn't happen every day. We can be thankful for that at least." The woman is given a light touch to the shoulder that is both companionable and gentle. In case it is not welcome, it does not linger. Turning, she faces Zaharis and takes in that 'oh god there is so much to do' look. She lifts a brow and holds up her hand. Three fingers are extended and she waggles them a little, "Genesis to Zaharis. D'Artanion speaking…"

"Mine is here." Zaharis' hoarse voice answers Rhea. "Already watched the vids." No, the CMO wants to be able to work on it, and that's not happening from the way he has to lie. His eyes shift as D'artanion moves fingers in front of his face, one eye focused on her and the other half-hidden under its swollen lid.

Rhea smiles slightly at D'Artanion, reaching up to pat the other woman's hand before she withdraws hers. With her good arm, of course. Fortunately, she's a lefty. The ChEng is a touchy creature, so she doesn't mind. At Zaharis, she just snorts. Not that she chides up. There are professionals around to sedate him, after all.

D'Artanion is not one of those who can sedate the CMO. She smiles at the man when his eye turns to focus on her. The look is almost one of those that is 'kindly' and 'professional'. The look is marred by the clear respect she holds for the man. Lowering her fingers, she goes about taking his vitals while she speaks, "I know how you feel. Gods know that I spend enough time in this ward. But, if I've learned anything at all from the experience it is that the more you fret over what you aren't doing, the longer it takes to be able to get back to it. Best thing you can do now, is…" She winks over at Rhea, then adds, "… heal."

Rhea leaves Zaharis to the medic, heading easing back onto her pillows. Might as well be a good example of this whole rest thing. She returns D'Art's wink, then tries to drift off. Rest. Maybe if she's good, they'll get her loose the sling.

"It will heal." Zaharis replies, simply. Most of it will, anyway. His face is not going to be the same after this, that's easy to see already. "There are just things that need to be done."

D'Artanion nods, "It will. Yes. But, it will heal faster and better if you don't worry and fret." Doctors. People who can't seem to take their own advice. She turns to watch Rhea drift off, then looks back at you, her smile a little soft, either for the woman now snoozing or the doctor she is looking after. Or both. "You probably recognize the lecture. I've heard you say the same things to others."

Zaharis coughs quietly. "Yes. But you can't stop someone from thinking. This is the reality we live in where there are things to do. And where I head a department that's already shorthanded. There's only so far you can go in telling yourself to relax…after that it's delusion."

D'Artanion nods, "True enough." She leans a bit against the edge of Rhea's bed, careful not to wake the ChEng. "And some of it is natural, certainly. But, don't forget that those who work in your department would move Olympus and Hades for you. They have and do work very hard to see to it that you don't have to worry. And, really? The way you behave here speaks to the trust you place in them. Worry too much and they will start to think that you don't expect them to be able to cope." She half smiles, knowing full well whom she is speaking to, "The best thing that you could do, for yourself and them, is make a list of what can't wait and give it to someone to take care of."

Zaharis doesn't say anything to that. His jaw is tense, no doubt just frustrated. But he's not going to take it out on someone standing next to him.

D'Artanion does note the tense jaw and shakes her head, "Maybe I should not have spoken that way. It isn't in alignment with protocol." Making a note on the man's chart, she reaches over to place it in the slot at the end of his bed. "Mine is not to reason why… and all that." Easing around to the other side of the bed, she checks the IV, flicking the container lightly with one nail. Nodding, she looks again at the doctor on the bed. "You're a good man, Doc. For whatever it's worth." Which, judging by the edge to her tone, isn't much in her own estimation.

Zaharis' blood pressure is a little high. Granted that could just be due to constant pain. There nothing's pleasant about the way he looks, the bandages and blisters. The left side of his mouth has become prone to drooling as the burn at the corner of his lips makes closing his mouth all the way painful, and forget licking his lips. "Thanks." He sounds a bit defeated in all this, but goes on. "Is anything going on on the ship?"

D'Artanion makes notes of the elevated blood pressure and the condition of the burns. "Mmm… Not a lot, as far as I know, Doc. People are reeling or healing, each to their need. There is talk of starting a sort of green house to grow fresh vegetables. I'm going to help with that, if I can get permission. Might be able to get some of the medicinal plants moved up on the list." Gently, she moves one of the bandages, then adds a note about the condition of the burns. "Someone will be in to change those shortly, I would imagine. The Marines are going to be doing more and better training in the MOUT. I'll be doing that with them."

Reed comes in from Sickbay.
Reed has arrived.

"If they're going to be growing plants to be intended as medicine," Zaharis replies, moving his mouth as little as he can, "Then let Lieutenant Craven know. He knows what we can and can't use and what there is a need for." He's lying in bed. What a shock there.

D'Artanion is leaning a little against the bed that Rhea is sleeping in. She nods, her jaw tightening in mute frustration. But, when she speaks, her tone is quiet, "Right. I'll do that." She lifts a small PDA from her pocket. Flipping it on, she makes a note, then lets it idle. "I'm not sure what they are going to grow, but thought it would be good to have an in." The room is a little on the dim side, for most of the patients are following Rhea's example. "Anything that you want taken care of? Or shall I ask the Lieutenant to stop in?"

Reed enters quietly, in his off duties. He approaches, looking about as he does so, footsteps quiet as he takes in the sleeping patients. As he walks toward the 'Major' section of the injured, he slows, till he's at the foot of Rheas bed, watching her for a moment before looking to D'Art and Zaharis.

"He will when he's able to." Zaharis coughs quietly. "We're down hands and I know he's busy. I don't intend to die while there's no attending around." A slight smirk, made twisted by his burnt lip.

D'Artanion nods, her expression closing into the 'polite medical professional' look that is reserved for moments when unpleasentness should be avoided. "Right." Thank the Gods that Reed pauses at Rhea's bed. D'Artanion glances his way and nods a greeting, "Evening, Major." Pushing up from the edge of the woman's bed, she slips from between the two to give the man room to be closer to his friend. And, incidently, closer to Rhea as well. She's considerate like that.

Reed smiles to D'Art. "Hello, D'Artanion." He says quietly, nodding and taking the place offered. He gives Rhea another long look, then turns to Zaharis, "So, you managed to sneak out to go boozing yet?" He asks, lightly.

"Thanks Gunny." Zaharis would nod, but that hurts. His eyes make a slow shift when another voice appears close by. "Was hoping you'd catch hints and sneak some in, Carter. Counts as soft foods, doesn't it?"

D'Artanion blinks, one brow lifting slightly. "Good to see you, sir. Whole and unhurt and lucid." She winks, then looks back at Zaharis. Both brows lift a little and she takes the thanks as a dismissal of sorts. Rather than move to the other side of the bed, she nods, "Any time, Major." Lifting a pitcher from the bed, she moves off toward the sink. Maybe she is going to bring the man back more water. On the way, she pauses to take another patient's vitals.

Reed nods to D'Art, "Well, as much as I get anyway." He looks back to Zaharis, and shrugs, "Eh, they're watching you too closely. So, what's been happening hereabouts while I've been working, Adele get here yet?"

Whether it was meant as dismissal or not, Zaharis' scratchy voice can't carry beyond his bed, so it's not going to get clarified. "She's here, yes. She's gone with Reece to get some rest. Can't say anything is happening here. Machines beep. Clocks tick."

D'Artanion makes a note on the patient's chart, then moves on to the sink. The pitcher is washed out carefully, then refilled with fresh water. Closing it, she turns and begins to walk back toward Zaharis and Reed. Now that she is holding something that Zaharis might consume, she does not pause at any of the other beds. The walk back is completed more quickly. Setting the pitcher down on a nearby table, she adjusts it a little and looks at the man, "There is water here if you want it, Major." Then, her attention lifts to Reed, "Would you mind holding his cup for him if he wants some? I can, if you would rather not, but I suspect that he would rather talk to you than me. I'm all full of cheerful advice and crap like that." She is smiling. Honest.

Reed nods to Zaharis, "Excellent." He edits the Morphaspeak slightly. Makes sense that way. He smirks, and looks at D'Artanion, nodding, "I can handle that much." He shrugs, "Cheerful advise is good, but sometimes it's just, too sunny. Don't take it personally." He looks back to Zaharis, "You know, I never pictured a role reversal like this, honestly."

Zaharis blinks slowly as he's relegated to something in the third person. "I'm right here, Gunny." As she tells Reed to hold the cup he looks at the blue straw and then away. "I know," he replies to Reed, in a quieter voice. "It's kind of embarassing."

Oddly enough, that isn't the part that has her bothered. No, she is used to dealing with sick people taking her cheerfulness as a challange. Looking down at the Doc, she nods, "You are, yes. But… you might not ask the Major if he's willing to assist. This way? You don't have to. Oh, I know it's not the best way to handle it. I could have taken him to one side and spoken quietly, but you would either wonder endlessly what I said, pester him to tell you or order me to. This way? You can tell yourself that I'm being unnecessarily rude. I figure you're enough of a professional to know it's necessary and enough of a human being to want to avoid it. Besides? Carter's your friend. Friend's like to help each other. It's human nature." More quietly, she adds, "But, I am sorry if I offended you, Doc. That wasn't the intent."

Reed looks at Zaharis as he speaks, and nods, seriously. He starts to say something, then looks to D'Artanion as she speaks, holding his tongue for the moment as he looks back to Zaharis.

"It's necessary to treat me as though I were a child?" Zaharis looks at her a moment. "I don't need to be condescended to, Gunny. I'm almost forty years old. I'm a doctor. I know my arm doesn't work enough to lift it. I may be in this bed but it doesn't mean everyone has to take the power of my care out my hands by treating me as though I'm incapable of decisions. Talk to /me/. I'm right here. I have a mind."

D'Artanion blinks at the vehemence in the Doctor's voice. She turns to reply, then pauses to think about it. Her expression faulters, then fades and she frowns, though the look is more inward than outward. Finally, she inclines her head to the man, "You are right." Her cheeks flame slowly with embarrassment, "I am sorry, Doc. I certainly did not mean to make you feel as though you were being talked down to." More softly, "I know that you have a mind, sir. You are one of the smartest people that I know." Stepping back from the bed, she glances at Reed, the distress in her gaze quickly masked. Looking back, she blinks twice, "Excuse me, sir." Again, she looks toward Reed, "Major." Turning again, she begins to head for the door.

Reed nods to D'Artanion. "Gunny." He replies to D'Art, then looks at Zaharis, and looks around, pulling over a stool, to sit. "Alone at last." He says to Zaharis, smiling humorlessly.

Zaharis didn't have the strength of voice for vehemence. He exhales as Reed sits, closing his eyes. "If you're about to lecture me too then please…stop."

D'Artanion leaves for Sickbay [o].
D'Artanion has left.

Reed shakes his head, "You have me confused with someone else. You're right, it's embarrassing, on a lot of levels. It's a horrible thing to be in a bed like this. Completely changes how people look at you. I swear if one more person asked me if they could get me anything I was going to throttle them with my urine tubing."

Zaharis makes a sound in his throat, a little bit of amusement. He doesn't answer for a while, then just says, "Can you hold that cup up for me, please."

Reed rises and gets the cup, pours the water, adjusts the straw to a jaunty thirty degree angle, and holds it for Zaharis. "Here ya go."

Zaharis grips the plastic with his teeth, taking three carefully small sips. He knows better than to gulp, no matter how thirsty he is. He clears his throat as he lets his head rest back, the corners of his eyes tensing. A shallow breath is held for a few seconds, then exhaled slowly.

Reed winces, nodding, "Yeah, hurts going down, hmm?" He sets the cup aside for more when called for. "Well, burns, I didn't have to go through that, thankfully."

"It'll be alright. Body knows how to heal itself." Zaharis' teeth stay pressed together until he consciously relaxes his jaw. The bubbled blistering on the left side of his face is covered with a thin layer of gauze now, though from the way the skin's already starting to contract it's obvious it's going to leave ugly scars. "It's what we depend on every day of our lives."

Reed nods, "Yep, we're all thankful for it too, if we think about it." He looks over his shoulder, then back, "People being all supportive and helpful and shit like that?" He nods, "And you've got the problem of being a Doctor and seeing bedside manner for what it is."

Zaharis doesn't say anything to that. His eyes open again, looking at the ceiling. Part of the dark brown left iris disappears under a swollen eyelid that only opens halfway. "How is the Hera?"

Reed mmms, nodding, "Functional, but still too pretty. Snipes are still more concerned with the real work of repairs than giving her a makeover, but we're on the list. I can't really fault them. We're low priority. We're going to have Naval security with only two MPs heading them up on rotation." He considers, "As soon as I can get holding cells built."

"Mmmmhmm." Zaharis makes the sound rather than nodding. "Crew's working out alright still, then?"

Reed nods, "Yeah, very much so. Things are smooth. Crew knows the Hera, they're in uniform again and are pretty happy about that. Even my old PAS CIC people are happy about being back under my command for some ungodsly reason."

Zaharis makes that acknowledging noise again. He's quiet a second or two. "Seen Peters since the attack?"

Reed nods, "Mmmhmm. She's doing fine. I have her working over inventories, and we had a little chat about her being on the Hera now, I think that's all going to work out well."

"Alright." Zaharis doesn't explain why he asked, just moving on. "And Altair? Been surprised he hasn't dropped in."

Reed tilts his head, "He hasn't? Kind of surprises me as well. He's been over to the Hera, though we keep missing each other for the most part. He left me a bottle of brandy. Shipwarming present or something I think. Want me to hunt him down and kick him till he comes in and visits?"

Zaharis lets his eyes close, a faint smirk tugging at his lip. "No, no. Expect he's busy with, you know. People."

Reed smirks, and his voice sounds crestfallen, "But.. kicking lawyers.. come on.." He shrugs, "But anyway." Something occurs to him, "Oh, frak, the damage, were my intestines destroyed?"

"Carter, that was forty-some days ago," Zaharis replies without opening his eyes. "Your intestines have been fertilizer for a while."

Reed blinks, "Aww, damnit, well, I don't know, I thought they were in a jar somewhere, there's something morbidly interesting about that. You know I was close to them for three and a half decades."

Zaharis says, "No, no. Told you, we used them for an enzyme synthesis project and a bacterial study. Lot of cutting. Wasn't much left to put in a doggie bag."

Reed nods, "Yeah you told me that, but not that you pureed them to do it." He sighs, "I had some image of them making enzymes, I was gonna go visit them and say, 'Go, go, help the fleet.' You know, pep talk for my guts." He shrugs, "Oh well." He pauses, "How's Adele doing with this?"

Zaharis smiles a bit. "Sorry, assumed you'd figure. My bad." He clears his throat painfully, grimacing and opening his eyes. "Water, please?" As he waits he keeps talking. "Adele's…well. She's stressed."

Reed gets the water, and holds it, "Well, I can understand that." He says, careful as he holds the water to let him drink. "Much as I'm sure you don't need more offers from people, you want me to talk with her?"

Zaharis turns his head towards Reed to get to the straw and takes the same measured three sips as last time. "She could use some company that isn't in a hospital bed."

Reed takes the cup and sets it back on the table. "Okay, she's holed up in the local quarters?"

"Yeah." Zaharis' eyes flick towards the door. "Not sure if they put her and Reece on this floor or another one. Considering all the damage."

Reed nods, "I'll find them. No problem." He considers, "I remember talking with Rhea when I was laid up. And even in my recovery. Talk about embarrassing. Course, I didn't have any real basis for it, turns out, but that didn't stop me from being embarrassed."

"I'm sure it didn't," Zaharis replies in a neutral voice.

Reed looks across the room at something, frowning as he speaks quietly, in a low mutter "I remember, in my.. darkest moments, feeling like I was barely alive. Something that used to be a man of distinction. Scientist, CO. And when I finally got the bullshit cleared out enough to say, 'Frakit, I love you' and she loved me in return, and we had a relationship, I was.." He narrows his eyes, "Broken. Something that had been too damaged to hold the title of a Man." He glares across the room, "Laying there, in a little bubble of reality with everyone passing by." He takes in a breath, and shakes himself, "And I was wrong. And she was there." He smirks, shaking his head.

Zaharis listens to that and he does take it in. "I'm glad you were wrong," he says. "Sometimes I wish I were a fraction of the man you are." He coughs, turning his head away to do so. "Tired. Should put my head down before the nurses get all cranky with me."

Reed smirks, "You are, and you've got her, and she'll be there for you too." He rises, "Okay, get some rest, I'll talk to you later. And don't sneak out with Rhea. The booze smell will give you both away." He moves back and turns.

Zaharis smirks, turning his eyes to the ceiling. Have to find his little cracks first and count them all.