No Joke
No Joke
Summary: Micah's in Sickbay after the pepper cigarette incident.
Date: 62 ACH
Related Logs: You Can Choose Your Friends
Players:
Micah..Zaharis..Eve..

Recovery Ward Genesis - Deck 13
62 ACH 23817 Souls


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.


Eve is in the recovery bay that Micah has been stuck in, and she's leaning back from him where he's half poised on the edge of the bed. Her duty shirt is clasped to her chest, her cheeks a nice rosy color at this point. Maybe that can be attributed to her dash up here to make sure he was okay. "Tomorrow." She promises, her smile a few watts shy of blinding.

Zaharis moves down the rows of beds, wearing the particular shade of dark blue scrubs that only he and Thad wear. He's carrying a chart with him and this doesn't quite seem like normal rounds. No, unfortunately for Micah the CMO has a goal in his step, and that goal is the pilot's bed.

Micah looks to have been jabbed by a needle or two, judging by the bandaids slapped on his arm. There's also an oxygen machine nearby, and a nurse somewhere that was at some point on upchuck duty. But pilots are often resilient creatures, so they're not rid of him yet. Settling back again with his arms folded behind his head, he starts to flash her a grin— which falters a little when Zaharis seems to be coming in his direction.

Eve tucks her heair behind her ear, turning as she sees Zaharis approach. "Doctor. Don't worry. I know, I know. I'm scooting." She's holding up a hand, palm towards the CMO in capitulation. "Consider me vacated. I gotta go eat anyways, I'm starving."

Zaharis nods to Eve as he reaches Micah's bedside, tucking the chart under his arm. "Have a good dinner, Lieutenant." His dark eyes turn to Micah. "Ensign. How are we feeling?"

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

The shift from playful, to professional is almost visible. "Doin' much better, sir." The 'though I can't speak for you' doesn't quite pop out. He probably considered it, though, given the royal 'we'. "Lieutenant Sloan told me I should be carryin' one of those.." Uhh. "..pens." That explains it well.

Zaharis answers simply, "Epinephrine?" He looks at the pilot's face for recognition of the term.

Micah snaps his fingers. "Aye. That's it, sir."

Zaharis replies, "It's an option. Has someone explained to you about your allergic reaction?"

Micah looks mildly confused at that. "Explained what, precisely, sir? I have a pretty good idea what triggered it, though I don't rightly know.. how. Sir."

Zaharis ahhs quietly. "A doctor hasn't spoken with you at all since you were admitted?" He's just checking first.

Micah studies the Major silently. All trace of humour seems to have vanished. "Lieutenant Craven brought me in, sir. I wasn't much in a mood for talkin' at the time, though. There somethin' else I should know?"

Zaharis reaches over and pulls the rolling stool close to Micah's bed, sitting down. "You were saying Lieutenant Sloan was talking about epi pens, so I wasn't sure if someone had told you what happened. You had an allergic reaction to black pepper. From your chart I see you were aware of the allergy. Have you been prescribed pens before?"

"Aye, sir." There's a small nod from the pilot, as to the allergic reaction. "Like I was tellin' the el tee, if it flowers, ah'm probably allergic to it." Meaning, according to his chart, anything in that family of peppers. Then, "No, sir, I-" He runs his tongue along his teeth. "Well. Yes, sir. I stopped botherin' with 'em. Not hard to avoid, here."

Zaharis nods, flipping Micah's chart open and scribbling on the last page. "Ensign, is anyone else on the ship aware of your allergy?"

Micah tips his chin toward the door. "Lieutenant Sloan, now. Lieutenant Craven." He shakes his head slightly to indicate most likely no-one else.

Zaharis makes another note, then looks back at the younger man. "Lieutenant Craven said the attack happened in berthings. Assuming you weren't eating at the time…" He smiles slightly. "…what were you doing when you began experiencing symptoms?"

The doctor's watched for a moment or two by a pair of odd eyes. Odd, as in they don't match. "Smoking, sir." he supplies. He's looking a little dubious. Who laces cigarettes with pepper, anyway?

Zaharis nods. "Are you a habitual smoker?"

Micah starts picking idly at one of those little bandaids. "Aye. Habitual as I can be, with the shit they call cigarettes on this ship." He pauses. "Ah'm not goin' to have to quit, am I? I can't cold turkey quit, I tried that, sir."

Zaharis laughs. "No, no. Well, I mean. Quitting cigarettes is better for you overall, but I won't preach at you." After all, he smokes like a chimney. "The cigarette you were smoking at the time, was it out of your own pack? Or did you get it from somewhere else?"

Micah seems visibly relieved at that, and draws his arms around himself as if to stop the fidgeting. The doctor's capable of laughing? It silences him a moment. "Well, yes and no, sir." Pause. "It was a gift." The way he says that last word, with a small frown, he's probably rethinking it. More like a trojan horse.

"A gift from who?" Zaharis voice remains easy, nothing suspicious or tense.

Micah shakes his head, grimacing a little in universal 'no frakking clue'.

Zaharis tilts his head. "How did it get into your hands, then?"

Micah sighs quietly. "Showed up in my bunk one afternoon, when I got back from CAP. I assumed it was from E- Lieutenant Sloan. Maybe Ensign Novella." He loses that battle with not fidgeting, and rakes his fingers through his hair. "Probably someone's frakked up idea of a practical joke, sir."

Zaharis smiles a little. "Well, we'll see. Alright, Ensign, we're going to keep you here overnight. Allergies like yours have a tendency to have a secondary reaction within hours of the original attack. So we're going to hang onto you and make sure everything's cool. Before you go I'm also going to run some tests and make sure epinephrine's still appropriate for you."

Overnight? Flail. It's sort of an inside flail, though, and stifled a bit better than St. Germain's usually prone to. "Aye, sir." He seems unhappy, but he's a pilot. No pilot likes being stuck in sickbay when they might need to take wing at a moment's notice. "Thank you, sir." He even returns the smile, faintly.

"You're welcome. Need anything, just hit the little button and we'll take care of you. You'll be out in no time." Zaharis taps the plate next to the nurse call button, and stands up. "I'll be around to check on you in the evening."

Micah watches the doctor as he rises, and another small nod's given. The smile lingers, shadowed at the corners of his mouth. "Ah'll try not to need anythin', sir. Figure there's people with bigger problems than a few sneezes." Which is putting it a little lightly, perhaps, but it might just be for the sake of his own ego. He ticks off a salute nonetheless.

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