2237-07-04 - Injury and Ache

Some wounds hurt more than others. Even the sickbay can't heal these.

Date: 2237-07-04

Location: Sickbay - Vanguard

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 1191

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[** Condition 3 **]

Vanguard's sickbay is more of a clinic than a full-service hospital like Galactica's. By the door is a small waiting area for sick call, and just beyond that is an administration desk. A central hallway is lined with several curtained treatment areas. Long-term patients are usually transferred off to Galactica or a planetside hospital, but there are a few beds in the back that serve as a sort of infirmary. There are two surgical suites.


Having come into medical late last night from stopping the bombing run on Biscayne Bay, Mason is currently sitting in one of the beds. His shirt is off, though he's wearing a pair of scrub pants. His midsection is wrapped in bandages from a shrapnel wound, with a small bandage on his left pec as he is currently leaned back in the bed, trying to read a magazine, a wholly liquid diet set on the tray next to his bed.

Priya is in a flight suit as she strides into Medical before pausing a few steps in to the rows of beds, hesitating as her dark gaze swings sharply over the room. She could be looking for someone. She wasn't in run of Biscayne Bay and only just now is off duty and it shows in dark circles under her eyes. After a moment, Mason catches her attention enough to offer, "Head you got hit. Hope those look less like shit than the bandages indicate."

"Scars add character, ain't that the old sayin'? Or was it that girls like 'em?" Mason asks in mild amusement before lowering the magazine to consider the young woman addressing him. "Ya missed out on the party last night. Though I guess I'm the only one that brought back a souvenier." he admits as he reaches over to take one of the juices to sip from it. "Sorry. Guess I don't remember introducin' my self. Mason Beltran. Pilots call me Jar. Cause I barely fit in a Viper."

"If that's the case I've got too much damn character already," Priya quips, mouth barely lifting from its hard edge. One shoulder slants at the assertion that girls like them as if she has no opinion one way or another. Staring hard at him for a moment, her jaw clenches before she manages, "Didn't sound much like a party. Least you came back at all." Features pulling neutrally, she nods and doesn't bother to reintroduce herself. The combination of his name and callsign pull a slow, "Mason...Jar." Her Tauron accent thick with disbelief. It's probably not over his capability to fit in a viper.

It takes a few moments, but he remembers. "Yeah.. I remember ya now. Took yer voice to wake me up." Mason offers an apologetic look. "Sorry, Sweetheart." His Aerilon accent makes it sound so sincere, as he grins a little casually. "What, don't think it's fittin'? Suppose if someone could come up with another one, I'd consider it."

"It's that bad, hey?" The Tauron cracks easily about herself. His apology is met by a half-shouldered shrug again. It's as close as she comes to waving it off. "Jaw works. Helluva thing to have your first name be Mason though. Just brings to mind cannery at the farm. And you don't especially look like preserves," Priya offers. He's not quite wounded enough to be mashed up.

"Know how to make preserves." Mason points out. "Grew up on a farm, and all, so I know a bit about that. Though the only thing I really jar is sour mash." Alcoholic sour mash. Mason smirks a little as he sips from his juice and looks thoughtful. "So.. who gave ya Sweetheart as a callsign?"

"It'd probably take a grenade to look like them," Priya opines thoughtfully, leaning against one of the sick bay beds. "Won't be jarring much up here." It's a war and no a farm. The question causes her to blink at him a moment, shoulders heaving in an unspoken sigh. "Jigger and Soundbite. I think it was a joint effort."

"Just shows they got feelin's fer ya, Priya." Mason points out as he considers her. "Ya don't like it? I mean, callsigns ain't meant to be loved, but I think I'm missing some context on how ya ended up with it."

"'Bite possibly," Priya counters on the subject of feelings. A little protectively with a lift of her chin. "You walk around with everyone calling you Sweetheart - it can't help but be strange. I'm getting used to it.," she admits dryly with a snort of a laughter. "Think that's a story you'd get better out of other people. If the answer isn't obvious."

"Well, the answer ain't obvious. But it usually takes a clue by four for me to understand much anythin' bout anythin'." Mason admits. He's sitting in a bed, his chest exposed and bandaged as he has a few liquids on a tray next to him. Priya's leaning on a nearby bed as the two are casually chatting, though the difference in their accents might as well make it sound like they're communicating in different languages altogether. "Tell ya what, I'll make an effort not to call ya that, and just stick with callin' ya Priya, so ya don't feel weird or what have ya."

Another shrug answers that offer, if with a slight crook of a smile from Priya. "I don't really care. Tarsis. Priya. Sweetheart. Whatever. Just because I don't love a name doesn't mean I won't answer to it." It's a callsign, not a death sentence. "Well... a few Tauron slurs excepted." The Tauron ECO is still dressed in her flight suit as she leans, making her stick out amid the beds.

The war doesn't stop for grief, and so it is that Cate is on duty in sickbay today - a little hungover and a lot tired, as evidenced by the dark circles under her eyes and the tension on her face. She comes into Mason's room with a clipboard in hand. "Captain," is offered in dull greeting. The vaguely-familiar Priya gets a little nod as well. "Sorry to interrupt, just checking to see how you're feeling."

"Well, I don't know any Tauran slurs, so unless yer givin' lessons..." Mason starts, when Cate arrives, and he glances towards her, taking a long look at the woman that approaches. "...rough night?" he asks, a frown touching his features before he looks himself over. "Just took the gods word that a sucking stomach wound is their way of telling me I might not want to fly reckless all the time."

There is no return offer to educate Mason in Tauron slurs, simply an arching eyebrow in response. As Cate enters, Priya stands upright with her hands folded respectfully in front of her. The nod is returned a little awkwardly, the ECO looking worn but in better shape than the Doctor. Her tone in standard is careful, even formal as she says, "Doc. When you have a chance - I'd like to speak to you privately." She does nothing to comment or interfere with any kind of medical care, removing herself from the immediate vicinity so Cate has more room.

There's a flash of pain on Cate's face when Mason asks about her night, but she clamps it down quickly enough. "Yeah," she answers, before breezing right past it to focus on the medical care. "Sounds like you should take their advice." She goes to take Mason's blood pressure and temperature, glancing over when Priya addresses her. "Sure." Once the vitals are jotted down on her clipboard, Cate motions to the dressings. "I'll change those out in a bit, let you finish visiting with the Ensign. Morpha keeping the pain manageable?"

"Doin' well enough. Ain't any complaints.." Especially when Mason notices Cate's expression. He's not even going to dare complain about anything as he turns his attention to the others. "Go ahead and do the change and then you two can chatter." he offers, because he's realizing that something he's missing.

Priya nods and leans as casually as she is able against one of the other beds. She lets Cate simply work.

"Yes, sir." Even as borderline-flippant as the comment sounds, the fact that Cate is sir-ing anyone is testament to how out of sorts she is. She dons a pair of medical gloves and quietly gets to work snipping through the existing bandage so she can remove the dressing and examine the wound. "No sign of infection, that's good." As she works, she wonders tautly, "You bring any of the frakkers down last night?" A glance to Priya includes her on the question as well.

"I did.." Mason responds as Cate works on the wound. "...stopped them from reachin' a major civilian area.." he comments as he glances to Priya, concern etching on his face as his attention returns to the medic on him. "Thanks for the assistance."

Priya's eyes drop as Cate glances at her, mouth twisting bitterly. "I wasn't on duty. I frakkin wish I had been."

Cate looks away when Priya's eyes drop, offering Mason a little nod. "Good." It's a terse reply, without enthusiasm. She falls quiet then, diligently changing the bandages. When she's finished, she chucks the gloves and used supplies into a waste bin. "Just push the call button if the morpha starts to wear off or you need anything else."

"Will do, Corporal. Thanks." Mason offers again, and doesn't seem to know what else to say. Emotions are hard. He considers for a moment, and turns his attention to Priya. "I'm gonna get a bit of shuteye. I'll talk to ya later, alright?"

"Sleep hard, Jar," Priya bids, laxly waving in a way that could double as a terrible salute. She nods and shifts towards the door. Her gaze slips towards Cate as if waiting on permission to speak.

"Rest up, Captain," Cate offers, before giving Priya a little nod to acknowledge her earlier request. Cate steps out to the corridor outside the infirmary rooms, and waits. One hand clasps her opposite elbow, exhibiting her undercurrent of anxiety. "What do you need, Ensign?"

Silently following Cate's gesture, Priya formally folds her hands behind her back as she walks. Her thumb rubbing against the ribboned edged of a scar on her hand. "Corporal," she begins, Tauron accent thick and dark at the edges with remorse but not pity. "It's not... anything I need. Just what I wanted to offer. I am sorry for your loss, for Tucker's death." The words drop seemingly loud in the quiet corridor. "He was a damn good man and..." She hesitates - something else on the tip of her tongue - shifting awkwardly.

Cate visibly steels herself when Priya starts to offer her condolences, though it's easy to see her composure fraying around the edges. She gulps, then nods. "Yeah. He was," she agrees in a voice struggling not to break. "Thanks."

Tongue tied at the utterance of thanks, Priya nods and closes her eyes a moment. Bowing her head, she speaks softly and slowly as her dark eyes linger on Cate. "I am sure you knew - but... he kept a piece of you with him. When he flew. Folded over his heart, every time he took to the sky." Swallowing, her jaw tightens. "I'm sure - in Flat's mind - you were with him even then." Her hands tighten their grasp on themselves, her composure otherwise sound. "I just.... wanted to make sure you knew."

The kind words are too much for Cate's fraying composure, and her face crumples. She can't speak, her throat too tight, and her jaw works as she struggles not to break down sobbing. Despite her efforts, tears do spill over and down her cheeks. She wipes at them hastily, not one for public displays of emotion. Bobbing her head a bit, she finally says in a tight voice. "Thanks for telling me. Excuse me." She turns to flee.

"<<Of course.>>" Despite herself, Priya slips into Tauron as she watches Cate with her head bowed. She doesn't make any motion to stop the other woman from fleeing, letting her deal with her emotions with a modicum of peace.


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