The Right Turn
The Right Turn
Summary: A Melia and Reighner production. Bonus: Micah comes in with a busted fist.
Date: 45 ACH
Related Logs: None


It's late evening in the Sick Bay and things are humming along at a nice clip. At first glance, there doesn't appear to be too many people in need of services. The staff, small as it is, is currently engaged in other activities besides helping injured. One alcove is curtained off, which might indicate a patient. What might catch attention fairly early on, however, is a pair of legs sticking over the edge of one of the beds. Whomever the legs belong to is draped over the the side, on her stomach, one leg bent up at the knee and the other straight out, for balance. The words that drift back, even though they're quietly spoken, appear to be a rather interesting melange of swear words. Only one or two are actual swear words. The rest seem to be the more polite counterparts.

Reighner enters, carrying a shoulder bag and wearing civilian clothes underneath his white coat. He seems tired, with slightly drooping eyes and a bit disheveled hair. He approaches the front desk and the nurse stationed there. "Hey." He scans his eyes further in. "Anything going on here?"

The nurse shakes her head, sliding over the cases that have come in. "They're all taken care of," she tells him quietly. "Though, the medic seems to be having some issues with the exam bed in alcove two." The poor nurse seems to be quite amused by…something.

Reighner raises his eyes to there. He takes a deep breath and shrugs off his bag. "Thanks. Put me on the on call sheet." He adds, with a hint of pleading, "Low as you can go." He stows the bag next to the desk and walks toward the alcove. His steps slow as he gets closer, taking the time to observe what he can.

The bent knee straightens and the straight leg bends as she attempts to keep her balance on the bed. As he gets another ten steps closer, he hears a triumphant squawk, followed by the sound of metal twisting metal, almost like a wrench. Now BOTH legs go up, bent at the knee, as she stretches just a little bit further.

Reighner furrows his eyebrows. He's too tired to take things in stride, so this strange situation seems to rub him the wrong way. He takes the last few steps and throws the curtain open, demanding as he does, "What the hell is going on in here?"

There's a mad scramble for her to get to her feet and when they both hit the ground, she's at attention with a wrench in hand, dirt smears on her forehead and cheek. "Tightening a bolt on the bed, Sir," she says, staring straight ahead. Yep, there's that "Oh, shit" expression again. "Engineering is shorthanded, Sir. I had time to do it on my own."

Reighner edges open both flaps of his white coat and puts his hands on his hips. He stares at Melia, judgementally, and doesn't say anything.

Melia glances over at the bed, a little helplessly, then toward Reighner. Yes, she's caught between duty and senior officer. So what does she do? She holds the wrench out toward him. "You can see for yourself, Sir," she says quietly. "The nut holding the joint in place was loose, which made the bed wobble. It is…at a difficult angle, however. The nut stripped slightly, so it took some work to tighten it."

Reighner's eyes drift to bed, then back to Melia. It's almost possible to see the rusted gears turning in his mind. His nostrils flare briefly, and he gets to motion, shrugging out of his white coat and taking the wrench. He squats down and peers at the underside, frowning. "Where is it?"

"Back here, at the top," Melia says quietly. She hasn't moved from the "attention" stance. "I had just gotten it tightened when you," there's another pause. It's as if she can't quite figure out how to say "scared the hell out of me." "Arrived," she settles on, finally. "If you turn it to the left, you can feel the strip. Watch your elbow when you try to tighten it. The angle for getting to it is wrong."

Reighner squints at the bolts dotting the bed. They all look the same. "At the…" He looks up and over his shoulder. "What are you doing up there?" He seems a bit impatient. "Show me." Not much for military decorum, this one.

She quirks a brow at him for a moment, then clambers to the top of the bed and bends down, dangling over the edge, rather like a little bit of a monkey. "This one here," she says, tapping it with her fingertip. "I'm interested to see if you have any luck with it from that direction. I didn't."
Reighner frowns some more. He gamely tries to reach the bolt, but only succeeds in tapping it with the wrench head. He braces a hand against the bed leg and leans in, but still can't quite get the tool to gain purchase. "Bloody hell," he mutters.

There's no grin of triumph as he can't reach it. "You might need a slightly different angle," she offers in a neutral tone, ever so helpfully. "Sometimes the angles matter more than the force."

Reighner unbuttons his collar and loosens his necktie deftly with one hand. "Yes, thank you," he says, dryly. But, man that he is, he still tries to reach it from his current vantage, and he pushes himself to get at it a little more. Unsurprisingly, he's still unable to get it hooked, and he pushes out a frustrated, "Damn it."

Mellie props her chin on her hand, both legs bending at the knee as she lay draped on her stomach over the bed again. Wisely, she says nothing, merely watches, lips twitching juuuust a little.

Reighner closes his eyes and roughly runs his fingers through his hair. He's just one or two more touches away from the mad scientist look. He shakes his head and stands, grunting as he does so. "Maybe you'd like to show me." He offers the wrench as a token of his manhood.

She reaches out to take the wrench, then slides down toward the foot of the bed. "Up here," she tells him, patting the spot she was just occupying. "You have to come at it from this angle, and make sure your arm is bent." She waits to see if he'll do it before holding the wrench back out to him.

Perhaps mercifully, Reighner declines to get hands-on again. He shows a palm to Melia and grumbles, "Just show me, please."

Zaharis heads through the front area of Sickbay towards his office, carrying a black file folder and with his handheld out in - surprise - his hand. He has a frown on his face as he reads over the billionth memo today, fishing his keycard from its place on his belt.

It appears to be a quiet evening in the Sick Bay aboard Genesis. The usual skeleton crew is about and it would appear that there's one patient in an alcove with an off-screen doctor. At exam bed number two, however, it would appear that…something else is going on. The first thing anyone looking over there would notice is the pair of legs in the air, knees bent, ankles crossed. The legs, well, seem to be metronoming, as if for balance. The legs belong, likely, to Mellie, who's dangling over the far side of the bed, wrench in hand. Reighner is standing beside the bed, hair standing just slightly on end, his tie askew, collar open. "It's easier if you're hands on," comes the slightly muffled comment. "That way you'll know how to twist it."

Reighner reaches across Melia to brace his hand on the gurney and leans over her, standing on his tiptoes, to look over her shoulder. His eyes are firmly focused on the wrench, face locked in a rictus of concentration, the white whale to his Ahab — he doesn't seem to be at all aware of his proximity to her or their possibly compromising pose.

Zaharis does glance over towards the exam room. Huh. But he's not going to ask, or at least not until this bomb that just went off in his inbox is taken care of. He swipes his keycard through the office door slot and steps in, muttering something to the duty nurse about notifying Fotilas.

"Place it like so," Mellie says, blissfully unaware of Zaharis' presence. "If you make sure to keep your arm like this," she demonstrates, which is fairly easy for her to do, given her small size. "Then you can apply the proper pressure. But be careful when you ratchet, or you run the risk of either jamming your elbow into the wall, or popping your shoulder. Can you reach?"

"Fine." Reighner reaches down to take the wrench from her. He tries again, bending his arm as illustrated. It's around this time that the hand he's using to tripod himself over Melia slips, and his upper body collapses down, along with a shout, "Gods!"

She makes the oddest little sound when he lands on top of her. It's a cross between a squeak (rather like that of a dog's chew toy) and an escaping of air. She doesn't squirm, but her swinging legs DO end up hitting his back, heels thumping down in reaction to being landed upon. And yes, the hummingbird is flattened against the gurney.

Reighner grunts when her shoes hit his back. The wrench clatters to the ground. He pushes himself off of her, post haste, and takes a couple of steps back, displaying both of his palms in a defensive posture. "Alright, that's enough," he says forcefully.

Mellie is currently lying flat on a gurney, on her stomach, draped over the middle of it. "YOU fell on ME," she squawks indignantly, scrambling, or trying to scramble, to her feet. It takes her a minute or two to untangle legs, arms and sheet, then she's on her feet. Her face is bright pink (likely because she was dangling upside down) and smudged with dirt in several places. "Of course, I think the wrench slipped. It didn't grab on tightly enough. Why don't I stand at the foot of the bed and you try it again, without me in your way?" Either she's trying to salve his male ego, or that's how it happened.

Well. It looks like Micah blundered in during happy hour at sickbay. The pilot's still wearing his flight suit, unfastened to roughly sternum level with a t-shirt visible underneath. His hair's plastered to his skull, helmet head style, and he's sporting a somewhat bloody hand. His own blood, certainly, seeing as said hand has split skin at the knuckles. After hesitating a moment in the doorway, and clearly considering backing out, the Ensign is spotted by a nurse who bustles over and begins conversing with him in low tones.

"Look, forget about the bleeding bolt," Reighner says. He makes fists with both of his hands and strikes them down, as if his forearms were hammers. He feels strongly about this issue. "I'm going to make a service call and get a damn damage control team here." Looks like he's developed an affected machismo. "Just… carry on." He turns around and closes his eyes tightly, trying to calm himself down, as he walks back for the front, where he's sure to notice Micah.

And the little medic is left looking utterly baffled. "But I fixed it," she calls after him. "You didn't even get the wrench in there enough to losen it." Probably the exact wrong thing to say. Yep, she looks absolutely and utterly baffled. With a shake of her head, she drops the wrench into a drawer and begins the task of cleaning up the mess.

Micah is lurking near the front desk, by the time Reighner wanders out. His injured hand is being cradled in the right, and he's being mostly oblivious to the people passing in and out, the nurse that may or may not be asking him to have a seat for a moment.

Reighner leans down to pick up his shoulder bag leaning beside the front desk. His eyes catch Micah, or more specifically his injury. He straightens back up. "What happened, there?"

There's a quiet huff from the back of the sick bay and then Mellie's making the gurney ready for the next patient - who would appear to be Micah.

"Hurt my hand." That's from Captain Obvious over there. Micah tries to flex the fingers, and winces slightly. A brief glance recognises Reighner, and finds him clearly off-duty.

Reighner looks at the hand, then slowly up to Micah. It's clear that he doesn't believe him. Nonetheless, the doctor gestures over his shoulder. "Go on back to number two. The woman in there will get you set up."

Things appear to be almost ready for Micah. A tray is set up next to the gurney and she's in the process of scrubbing her hands and forearms, rather ruthlessly, truth be told.

There's a nod from the Ensign, and he slinks off in the direction indicated by Reighner. Where, it would seem, he rounds on PO Sullivan. "Hurt my hand," he repeats, in pretty much exactly the same tone of voice, one corner of his mouth quirking in an unconvincing smile.

Reighner takes the time to button his collar and straighten his tie. It's not a uniform, but it'll do. He flattens his hair with his palm and trails after Micah.

By the time Micah reaches Alcove 2, Mellie's got the warm, professional smile firmly in place. "Grab a seat," she tells Micah, moving to the side of the gurney. "Let me get it cleaned out a bit so the doctor can check it out and see if you need some stitches." She peers at the hand, briefly, considering it. "I'd hate to see the wall that pissed you off. If you're this bad, you must have obliterated something."

He's no delicate looking kid, that's for certain. "The wall's probably not doin' so well either," admits the pilot tersely. He shuffles closer to the gurney, but doesn't climb up. His hand, though, is offered for her inspection; the knuckles are bloodied and bruised, though nothing's obviously broken.

Reighner arrives. The first place he goes is to the rolling cart, where he withdraws a pair of latex gloves. He tosses another pair to Melia — hopefully she's paying attention. As he slips them on, he makes the introductions. "I don't think I ever got your name. I'm Doctor Reighner. This is Petty Officer Third Class Sullivan."

Mellie snatches the gloves out of the air and slips them on before she reaches out for Micah's hand. One hand reaches for the alcohol, for cleaning. "I do hope that wall doesn't choose to file a disciplinary report," she teases Micah, gently. Perhaps she's trying to distract him? "I doubt it, though. I've met walls. They start trouble ALL the time. Just like gurney bolts." She slides her eyes over to Reighner, grinning.

Funny, that. They've met so many times, it's probably easy to forget they don't actually know one another's names. "Ensign St. Germain," offers the pilot with a fleeting look toward Reighner. Another attempt at a smile when Melia speaks, this one wibbles a bit and then fades. "This one was definitely trouble. Took a swipe at me as I was passin' by, mindin' my own business, would you believe it?" Another little wince, but he holds as still as he can.

"Pleasure." Reighner pointedly ignores Melia. Soon, he'll live that one down. He laces his fingers together to test his gloves. He remains standing, looking down at Micah's hand and Melia's ministrations. Sometime during the cleaning, he wiggles his own fingers and glances at the pilot. "Do that for me, please."

"I could stamp on your foot," Mellie tells Micah after a moment. "If you'd like. All you have to do is ask." Then the doctor is giving orders, so she quiets. Her lips twitch, however, as she tries not to look at the good doctor.

Micah's eyes linger on Reighner a moment when that politesse is offered, then lower again. Once Melia releases his hand, he wiggles the fingers as instructed; there's a 'mmf' of discomfort, but no bone breaking through skin. The second knuckle, however, is looking a little swollen.

Reighner nods slowly. "Sullivan, check to make sure he has feeling in all his fingers." He departs from the pair, then, and returns to the rolling cart to retrieve a prescription pad.

Melia offers Micah her hand, palm up, as well as a smile. "I'm going to roll your fingertips," she tells him quietly. "Then I'm going to scrape the fingers with my nail. Let me know when you feel something." A pause. "But no peeking, please." She waits until she gets his hand before starting.
Micah shifts his attention back to the petty officer and that smile of hers. "Aye," he murmurs, hand settling against her (much) smaller one. "Sorry 'bout the mess." As if it isn't her job to deal with bloody people.

Reighner rips off a page from the prescription pad and returns it to the cart. He uses the cart as a table to fill out the sheet.

"Oh, it's no bother at all," she tells Micah brightly. "You'd be surprised at some of the messes I get to deal with. This? This is a delight compared to other ones. I could tell you horror stories about the messes doctors made. You'd think those men have nothing better to do." It's clear she's keeping up a running pattern to distract Micah as she does her check. "Though it's been wonderful here. The doctors are all very careful about cleaning up after themselves."

There's a mumble now and then from the Ensign, to indicate that the nail scraping is felt. Otherwise, he's rather quiet as she does her best to 'distract' him; save for an attempt at a chuckle that seems more for the woman's edification than his own mirth. "It's not goin' t'need surgery, right? Just the pain meds, and I can get back to flying?" This seems of rather crucial importance to him. Typical pilot.

Reighner comes back with the prescription. "Well, that depends." He looks at Melia.

"I'm sorry, Sir," she tells Micah with a patently fake smile. "The wall gets to keep the finger. It got claimed in the disciplinary action. Assault with intent to dent is a very serious charge." She pats the hand gently then nods at Reighner. "Full feeling in all five digits," she tells him quietly.

Micah doesn't even crack a smile at the joke. Once she releases his hand, a little of the blood is wiped off on the leg of his flight suit, and he turns back to the doctor expectantly.

Reighner tucks the prescription into his white coat. He looks from Melia to Micah. "Then no, no surgery." He quickly examines the pilot's hand, looking at it this way and that, before releasing it. "It's nothing serious, everything should heal up in about a week. You'll be getting an anti-inflammatory to keep the swelling down." He pats Melia on the shoulder, a little more roughly than expected. "She'll gauze you up to let those cuts on your knuckles heal. You can take it off in a couple of days."

The paw to the shoulder has her stumbling just a little, but there are no jokes, no sidelong looks. She's slipped back into professionalism. She turns toward the little rolling cart, getting the necessary supplies.

"Great," mutters the pilot, relief evident in the sag of his shoulders. "Ta, doc." Reighner's flashed a quick smile, and he drops into a chair near the gurney with a squishing of his flight suit, to await Sullivan's return.

Reighner removes his gloves and tosses them. Probably not at Melia. He takes out the prescription and hands it to Micah. "So we're on the same page, regulations say I need to write up your visit here, but I think we'll all be fine with you having punched a wall."

"Self-defense," the PO mutters as she comes back. It's not quite clear who she's talking to - or about. Once the gauze is prepared, she pulls out a bit more and some alcohol. "I'm going to reclean this before wrapping," she tells Micah. "Don't get it wet. Three days you need to keep it on."

Micah avoids looking directly at Reighner, while the man speaks. He seems about to argue, maybe reiterate his case that the wall attacked him, but they all know what really happened. It's hardly surprising, given the pilot's demeanor. "Ta," he murmurs again, model patient now while Sullivan prepares gauze and alcohol and starts dressing those battered knuckles. There's a nod to say that he understands what she's telling him.

Reighner doesn't say anything else, falling back into his hawkish supervisory role. He stuffs his hands into his pockets.

The little PO has a very gentle touch and a quick, efficient way of getting the job done thoroughly. If it takes a few extra seconds to get it done right, well, so be it. Before long, Micah's hand is wrapped in a slightly different way than one might expect. The way the gauze is wrapped and taped, it gives him full use of the hand on the controls of a plane without fear of anything catching. "Alright, Sir. You're all set," she tells Micah, looking up with a warm smile. "And don't forget the anti-inflammatories."

It's odd perhaps, but the petty officer's ministrations have Micah settling into a rather quiet trance for those few moments. He seems almost startled when she speaks again, and stares at her blankly like his mind's working double-time to process it. "Right," is mumbled after a significant pause. Another experimental flexing of his fingers, a little smile when he realises it won't compromise his handling of a viper stick. "'ppreciate it.." He begins pushing to his feet.

Reighner seems impressed by the gauze job. He takes a half-step back to give Micah room to stand. "You take it easy, St. Germain," he says, tone telling in a sort of 'try not to do it again' sort of way.

Mellie simply dips her head to Micah before turning to the job of cleanup. Apparently her excess of energy CAN work in her favor from time to time. She's hella efficient when it comes to making the alcove ready for the next patient. Chances are she's got the fastest turnover of rooms in the sickbay.

Right, and the current forecast says that Hades has a high likelihood of freezing over. Micah ticks two fingers off his forehead as he passes by Reighner, and then ambles on out of sickbay.

Reighner crosses his arms and turns to Meila. "Where'd you learn to wrap like that?"

Mellie darts about, putting things away. "Five older brothers," she explains. "And a mother who believed that a young woman needed to learn how to be a proper wife and mother. Dad taught me healing. If you wrap the way you want to wrap, they'll be back in short order. If you wrap to what they're going to be -doing-, you have a happier patient and less problems." It sounds like something she had to memorize.

"Dad's in healthcare?" Reighner asks. He absently pushes the visitor's chair that Micah used back next to the gurney. See, at least he's doing something.

She steps around him in the agile dance performed between medic and doctor. The doctor -always- leads. "Not…in so many words," she says with a little smile, glancing up at him briefly. "Gemenese. Fundamentalist, conservative family, which meant modern medical care was pretty much verboten. Dad was from another colony and brought HIS beliefs with him. He taught me herbalism and some of the fundamentals."

Reighner makes an ahh noise. He cants his head speculatively, keeping Melia in view. It seems to be a struggle. "So, naturally, you joined the military."

"It was either that or give into my mother's decision that I needed to be married and popping out babies for the gods," she replies lightly, laughingly. Though there's very little mirth in it. "It was my only other choice. When I announced my intention, my mother made plans to have me kidnapped and…compromised the night before my swearing in. She paid one of my brothers' friends handsomely. Dad got wind of it and…changed her mind." Wry humor there.

The severity of her mother's response seems to take Reighner by surprise. "Are, uhh, are those views common within the Gemenese?"

"Only in the most conservative, fundamental segments," she explains, offering him a wry little smile. "See, by doing that, she'd ensure that I was married off to a good family and that I'd be producing babies within a couple years. Children are the will of the gods, and it is our responsibility, as the gods' vessels, to carry out their will." Her nose crinkles a little and she grins at him. "I'm dedicated to Aphrodite and Asclepius. As if that wasn't obvious."

Reighner returns Melia's smile with a slight one of his own. There's a moment of silence, as his eyes linger on the PO, before he glances at his wristwatch. "I'm going to sleep. The front desk has orders to page me if anything comes in."

Melia gives him a bit of an odd look, then smiles, a little uncertainly. "Good night, Captain," she says quietly. "Rest well. Hopefully there'll be nothing to call you in for."

Reighner grumbles something under his breath and walks away. He picks up his shoulder bag at the desk, trades a few words with the charge nurse, and leaves.

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