TEXT ★ 004

[asouthron]

Obviously, I was not the only one affected by that damn Pagan holiday prank, but I am wondering:

Has anyone reappeared that didn't come out completely unscathed?

If so, please respond here, or come to the clinic. I would like to ask a few questions.


- Dr. McCoy

Comments

[asouthron]

I'm busy. I can't be distracted by talking into the console. This is more efficient!

[ Except it so isn't! SCREAM he has no better excuse. ]

[jirk]

But you can be distracted by typing? That means using your hands while you should be busy with them?

Yeah. No. What'd you do?

[asouthron]

Like I said. Busy. We can talk about this once I'm not neck deep in freaky Pagan voodoo, alright?

[ Whatever you do, Jim. DON'T COME TO THE CLINIC. And by that, go pester McCoy so you can laugh at this beautiful irony. ]

[jirk]

[Yeah, no. The avoidance is strong with this one. Luckily, Jim has an easy fix for this troublesome scenario. Chain of command.]

Bones. As your captain, I order you to tell me why you're typing instead of using video.

[BECAUSE ALL SORTS OF HORRIFYING SCENARIOS ARE RUNNING THROUGH HIS MIND OKAY. Was Bones turned into a tentacle monster is that a thing?]

[asouthron]

That's how it's going to be? You don't get what you want immediately, so you pull rank?

[ Ignore him. He's just defensive and hurt right now. And so woefully not a tentacle monster! ]

Fine, Captain. Come to the clinic and I'll explain if it's that important I need to drop what I'm doing.

[jirk]

[WOW RUDE. Jim stares at the feed with no small amount of bewilderment. Then, with traces of anger that Bones will no doubt recognize from their younger years in his tone,]

Bones, I watched you disappear in front of me. I thought you were-- [yeah no he can't say it outloud so he simply chokes it off and rubs at his face before he speaks again] -- And now you're getting mad at me for wanting to make sure you're okay? That's bullshit, man, and you know it.

text 1/2

[asouthron]

[ This text message takes entirely too long to write after multiple pauses, backspaces, and silent cursing. ]

Look, I'm just a little stressed right now. I want to get everyone back to the way they were and I haven't had much down time since this all began.

Really, I am fine. I'm

text 2/2

[asouthron]

I don't want to talk about this over the network. Just come to the clinic. I'll be there.

[jirk]

Fine.

[GUESS WHO IS MAD AS HELL and definitely needs to cool off before he shows up. This dude. But there he is, twenty minutes later, standing in the door. Annoyed. But here.]

[asouthron]

[ And guess who is equally irritated and embarrassed to all hell? Your CMO. Sitting at his desk sullenly like someone hit his dog. But real men don't cry, so instead he clenches his jaw and decides to be self-depreciating as he holds up a paper sign that says How can I help you? Also, before you even ask why it is so well-written for a doctor, Bianca and some of the other nurses made them for him. ]

[jirk]

[Squint.

Jim actually stares at him a little as he comes into the room. Ooookay then, is he supposed to be playing, what, charades? He frowns a little. And then it clues in - he can't talk. Thus the text.

Jim lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding and his expression turns relieved, to the point that he actually finds the nearest chair and sinks down into it, running his hands through his hair.]

You really had me going. All this, and you can't talk? That's it?

[asouthron]

[ That's it? mouths McCoy right back as if he can't have heard Jim right. That's it? Really? That's what Jim has to say about the fact that he has been mute for days and is completely incapable of fixing it?

His lips turn into a spasmodic mess as his frustration and impotence boils over in his reddening face, but cannot be ultimately exorcised. Not without a voice. Eventually his expressive face closes off into a tired scowl as he grabs a blank piece of paper and a pen. ]

Now you know. Since you don't seem all that concerned, can I get back to work?

[ Sure, it isn't some flesh-eating virus or some alien pollen stripping them of their defenses, but it is terrifying for McCoy. He can't--How is he supposed to perform optimally like this? What if a crisis hits them? How can he perform an effective triage if he has to waste time miming and writing everything down? ]

[jirk]

[He sighs, and comes to lean against the edge of Bones' desk, the chair he'd chosen too uncomfortable for his tastes. He folds his arms and gives Bones a level - and mildly exasperated - look.]

I am concerned, jackass. But we can work with it, and find a way to fix it. It's not like you're suddenly allergic to oxygen or-- turned inside out or something.

[By the slightly disconcerted twist to his mouth, these are both possibilities he entertained on his way over there.]

[asouthron]

[ Are you kidding? he squawks in silence, remembers like someone jsut slapped him in the face, and proceeds to curse up a mute storm as he writes another furious note. ]

Allergies and inverted anatomy I can fix.

[ The implication? This, he can't fix. ]

[jirk]

[Jim wets his lips. Exhales. Next thing you'll be telling me you can bring people back from the dead. But no. That's angry, and bitter. And unfair a little, too, given the fact that the guy can't currently talk. Jim knows, he knows his anger at Bones is displaced for that. He doesn't need to grab the guy and shake him and say, why me? It's survivor's guilt and it's dragging him down like a rusted iron anchor. But it's not Bones' problem. He did what he could, he did everything he could, and Jim knows it.]

My point, Bones, is that it's not fatal. And it's not permanent. No way is it permanent.

[asouthron]

[ Ha! His mouth opens for a laugh, but, as usual, nothing comes out. ]

Says who? You? Did you take a class on nefarious magical bullshit while you were here?

[ McCoy shakes his head and tries to think of something to do that's a little more productive than yelling at his best friend via pieces of paper. After a few moments, he crushes the bitter message up into a ball and fumbles with more constructive words for his anxiety as he stares at a new piece of paper. ]

[jirk]

Yeah, well. Maybe I did.

[He sighs.]

Look, we got interrupted the other day, and I'm pretty sure you were only half the way through all your - completely barbaric, thanks - check-up. So if you want to do your duty as my CMO, get on it already.

[HE SHIFTS A LITTLE UNCOMFORTABLY, looking down and then back up with a rough clearing of his throat. Come on, Bones, you always feel better when you're jabbing him with things, right? Look at the sacrifice he's making for you. Look at it. This is the Jim Kirk equivalent of this gif.]

[asouthron]

[ Wh... What? Did he just-- Did that--? Was there--?

His eyes bulge comically before narrowing into suspicious little slivers. Oh yeah, he'll be getting his medical tricorder, Jim, because he's pretty sure you're suffering from acute head trauma.

Or you are using your diplomatic skills and wrangling McCoy into a position without him even realizing it. Either way, he's up and with a tricorder in hand! He runs it over Jim's head dramatically like he's looking for a missing screw. Yeah, it's an old joke, but sometimes the old ones are the best ones. ]

[jirk]

[Jim gives him a hand gesture that's rude in at least three different alien cultures, and folds his arms with a dramatic roll of his eyes.]

The only medical complaint I've got is a serious pain in my ass. Maybe you know him. Six foot, tries to sneak Andorian flu cultures into your food if you call him 'Lennie'?

[asouthron]

[ Just the mention of that name makes his face twitch. Andorian flu cultures might be a bit of a dramatic overstatement, but anyone who attempts to give him a nickname (outside of Jim) finds him or herself in dire need of burn ointment after his glare literally melts the flesh off their face.

A quick rifle through his kit produces a hypospray with the same antibiotic blend that broke on him the last time they attempted this. He dials in the correct dosage before standing up to face his friend properly, but an irrational part of him is almost hesitant to try this again. It's not like this whole thing started because he tried to stab his friend for the umpteenth time, but what if it had?

No. It hadn't. Science isn't the villain here. It's magic! MAGIIIC!

He puts a hand on Jim's shoulder to keep him in place while he drives the hypospray into that scrawny neck of his. But really, the hand is just to make sure he still remains in the corporeal world. Unresolved issues? Who, McCoy? ]

[jirk]

[Jim endures this with the stoic dignity of a man who's the captain of Starfleet's best and fine--

No, that's a bold-face lie. He grimaces and squirms and generally fusses, but at least he holds semi-still and attempts patience while McCoy manhandles him. At the hand on his shoulder, he says nothing. He gets it.]