2237-11-25 - House Call

Colin makes a 'house call' to check up on Stirling after her crash landing.

Date: 2237-11-25

Location: Northolt

Related Scenes: 2237-11-24 - Close Air Support

Plot: None

Scene Number: 1587

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One of the privileges of being a department head? Having a room to yourself. In Stirling's case, it's still one of the regular 2-bunk officer rooms that everyone else has... she just has the luxury of not having to share it. It's to this room that the CAG retreated after the mission and the requisite cleanup.

One of the privileges of being a doctor? Is pretending there are privileges to being a doctor. After glancing a familiar form passing unnoticed from the clinic, Colin had, perhaps fortunately, elected to keep his mouth shut. So it's a few moments later that a certain tall doctor peruses the halls outside the sleeping quarters. He still wore his white coat and blue scrubs, having failed to change between work and whatever current activity consumed his time. In his hand? There was a black leather bag. It was familiar in that television sort of way. All doctors simply had to own one. It was almost required. His path stops at a selected door, not dis-similar from any of the others. With a sigh, Gallagher leans against the doorframe and raps his knuckles against the wood gently. "It's Colin." His voice is low, quiet, and not meant to carry. "Are you accepting guests, Nyssa?"

The door opening is perhaps answer enough to the question, a slight smile on Stirling's face. "Colin. Of course - come in. Is everything all right?" Sad commentary on the CAG's social life that her natural assumption is that some catastrophe or another led up to the visit. She holds the door open for him. A split lip and a bruise underneath it where her face banged against the helmet is the only immediately visible sign of her ill-fated landing earlier. Her hair is down, a bit damp still after a shower, and she's wearing a CF mockneck shirt with her green fatigue pants.

"It looks like I'm doing a bit better than you. What in the..." Colin raises a hand, as if automatically moving to examine. About a second in, though? He remembers himself and lets it fall back down to his side. "I saw you slip out of the clinic. You looked like you could use a house call that wasn't exactly in front of your wing." The CAG had to appear bulletproof, after all. The doctor steps inside the room with a soft smile and an almost silent thanks. The bag? That, he continues to hold, surveying the space with a wandering eye. Finally, his gaze returns to her and that smile deepens. "And, it's been a while since I had someone civilized to chat with. My roommate... is... well, terrifying."

When she sees the bag and he explains, Stirling's smile turns to more of a smirk. "I was just making sure Wasp got situated," she says of the clinic evasion. "She wrenched her back. I'm all right. Though I'll let you convince yourself of that so I don't have to watch you fret all evening." She closes the door behind him. "It wasn't one of my better landings," she admits, a forced levity in her tone. "But since I had half an engine and a stick that didn't want to cooperate - I'll take it." The room doesn't look like she's spent much time in it, though there is the family photo of her, Eion and Max on the nightstand by her bunk.

"And your back feels fine?" Colin replies without bothering to mask the edge of worry in his tone. Doctoring was always different when the patient was a friend. He motions to the chair by the writing desk with a slight smirk, already moving to set his bag down on it's surface. "I know you get bored up there, but you don't have to execute thrilling heroics. You could nap." He doesn't reach for gloves, curiously. Instead? It's a cold compress and a tiny flashlight. "Dizziness? Shortness of breath? Headache? Sensitivity to light?"

Stirling sits down in the chair, taking his worry in stride. "My back's all right," she answers. Not entirely fine, but, well, bounce a multi-ton aircraft across the ground a couple times and there are bound to be some bumps and bruises. "I banged my wrist and smacked my chin on the inside of the helmet. I wasn't knocked out. I feel fine - just a little bruised," she assures him. "I don't think we'd fare too well if I napped through the dogfight, but I'll keep that in mind in the future," she goes along with it with an amused smile.

"I might have to prescribe it." Colin answers with a laugh. He leans his back against that desk first, reaching a hand gingerly for the wrist in question. His touch is light, with smooth fingers and an absolutely practiced precision to his movements. He feels, rather than looks, touching the metacarpals in her hand, the carpals in her wrist, and the joint between hand and radius. Nothing in the action seems to deter the man's calm expression. He does follow that arm up, though, touching the socket of her shoulder with those blasted fingers. "If you didn't feel fine, would you tell me?" The question comes with a slight raising of his eyebrows. A quiet smile plays on his face when his eyes meet hers. "Wiggle your fingers for me. And which finger am I touching?" Partially obscured by the angle, he touches the pad of her middle finger, eyes probing the lines of her face.

"It would be good for a laugh, at least," Stirling comments about his suggested prescription. She submits patiently to his exam, the only change in her bland expression being a tiny wince when he probes the wrist. "Yes, I would tell you," she says plainly. "I'm not one of my gung-ho flyboys trying to fly when they can barely sit up. I'm also not going to run to sickbay for every bump and bruise though," she points out with a smile. "The middle one," she answers, and waggles her fingers for him. "It's a little tender but it doesn't bother me that much." A beat, then she asks, "Why is your roommate terrible?"

"You're friends with a doctor." Colin says, removing his hands from her wrist and arm. Instead, they settle on her shoulders, feeling their way along the line of her muscles until they sit on either side of her neck. There? The area of attention is her cervical spine. "And one who is known to have been purchased for a combination of coffee and conversation. Wine isn't bad either." Satisfied, he looks at her lip, her chin, and runs a finger over her cheekbones to ensure they're not broken. "I think you're still in one piece, Major." The rank sounds absolutely alien on his lips. Having started life as a civilian doctor, Colin always had experienced difficulty adjusting to the military side of things. "My roommate? Ah. Yeah. She... seems to have a slight fascination with..." He fumbles his words, handing her the cold compress he'd removed from his bag with an absent pop to activate it. "Usually, when a guy says he's not interested in going to the club with you, it stays at that, right?"

A mild wince meets his examination of her neck. "That's a little sore," she confesses. "I've had whiplash before, though, and it's not as bad as that." A mild strain, though, from the rough landing. "And please - you don't need to call me Major when we're not on duty." The assertion about his roommate causes Stirling's eyebrows to shoot upward - amusement at the question mixed with friendly concern at his plight. "I've been out of the dating scene for quite awhile, but yes - I'd say that's how it should work. It's not one of my pilots, is it?" Said in a way that suggests an offer to deal with it, if it is.

"I think we've both probably matured a bit past that particular scene. But no. It's another doctor, unfortunately. She's... excitable." Doctor Gallagher reaches down into his bag and withdraws a notepad. It isn't a standard notepad, but one of those magical ones that translated scribbles into controlled substances. "I'm writing you five day supply of anti-inflammatories and muscle relaxers. As long as you take the latter at night, before bed? You should be okay to fly in the morning. Just make sure you've got six to eight hours between pills and piloting." He tears a sheet off the notepad and sets it next to him on the desk. Unlike most physicians? His script is flowing, neat, and absolutely legible. It was the type of handwriting schools no longer taught, with flowing lines and beautiful loops. The pad itself is tossed haphazardly back into his bag. His gaze, though, goes back to the young woman. "I try not to ever call you major, truth be told. The whole military structure deal is something I'll never get used to."

"I should hope we have," Stirling agrees. She eyes the prescription. "Understood, Doctor. Thank you. And I promise I'll only call you 'Doctor' when you're giving Doctor's orders," she says with a smile. She puts the icepack on her wrist and then says, "You could always switch bunks with someone. They're not being too particular about the room assignments. Or if you need to escape for a bit..." She motions to the bunk across the room. "You can be assured I won't try to stalk you into the club," she says with a light chuckle.

"If it was you? We'd tear the club apart. Can you imagine all those kids running away from our absolutely hip dance moves?" Colin laughs, shuffling his foot forward enough to offer her a raised, silently laughing eyebrow at the 'doctor' comment. That smile becomes a bit more bemused as he settles back and eyes the bunk. "You sure? I mean, this is one of the few perks of your position. It doesn't seem right taking that away." He looks back down at her. "We both know you work your butt off for it." And that was an understatement. She was one of few that put in the hours that he did. Medical staff was, unfortunately, always in short supply.

Stirling chuckles. "Speak for yourself - I'm not much of a dancer." She nods, though, when he asks about the bunk. "I'm sure. I don't miss being crammed into a ship's bunkroom with a half-dozen other officers, but on the flip side - solitude is overrated." She holds up a finger in a 'wait one' gesture, chuckling and clarifying, "That sounded wrong. I hope you know what I meant and aren't filing me away under 'crazy roommate'."

"No, I think I know exactly what you mean. Existing around someone else is nice. It staves off a bit of the thought that starts to consume you when you're by yourself." Colin crosses his arms over his chest, smiling in that calm and easy way that was so unique to him. It took no effort. No hesitation. There was just the quiet confidence in his stance. "As long as you're not stuck with a crazy lady who very likely stares at you while you're sleeping. I mean, who ALWAYS sleeps facing the other person in the room? It's weird-right?" He chuckles and shakes his head from side to side, finally allowing his gaze to come back down to her. There's quiet concern there. It's still latent in his gaze. But there's something else, too. A tired, happy, amusement.

Stirling smiles when Colin gets her intended drift and not the accidentally-desperate-sounding version she heard come out of her mouth. "Yes, exactly. And yes, that does sound incredibly unnerving. I think I would be shopping for another bunk as well." She stands up, smothering a mild wince, and retrieves two bottles of water from a mini-fridge by the door. One she holds out in offer to him. Assuming he takes it, she then looks like she's about to try to open hers. Then she frowns, remembering her sore wrist. "Actually, do you mind?" She holds it out toward him.

Colin is actually mid-way through opening his own bottle of water, having taken it with quiet thanks, when she holds the second one out. Without a word, he removes the cap from his and hands it over. It's only if and when she takes it that he reaches for the other. "Bunk shopping? Yeah, I think that's putting it lightly. I was going to say 'fleeing'. Or, maybe, 'begging for help'." The cap comes off the second bottle as easily as it had the first. He holds the water up in silent toast before touching it to his lips and taking a drink. His head turns, those green eyes venturing a glance out the window. At that? He sighs. "I hate this blasted planet. Have you eaten yet?"

Stirling swaps water bottles with him, then, since that works just as well. "Thank you." She offers a sympathetic smile at his bunk woes. "Well, I'm glad to be of help." His comment about the planet causes her to follow his gaze toward the window, then back to him with a curious expression. She doesn't press for details just then, however, instead saying, "I got a little something earlier. At the risk of sounding like a horrible hostess, I think I'd actually better turn in. Early flight tomorrow. Thank you, though, for stopping by. I'll leave the door unlocked if you want to grab a bite and then take the other bunk." She gestures toward it.

"I don't think any sane person could ever call you a terrible hostess, Nyssa." Colin's tone, distinctly that of Picon, seems to offer the statement in a quiet tone of voice. Because he had looked over at her to speak? He has to turn his eyes back to that window. "But... Yeah. I'll be back in shortly. You sleep well? And holler at me if your neck feels any worse tomorrow. I didn't feel anything weird, but necks are tricky." He stands back up to his full height, leaving the desk for the first time tonight. His hands find the pockets fo that white coat mid stride. A walk. That was exactly what the doctor ordered. Pun, of course, intended.


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