We all masturbate, it's nothing to be ashamed of. It's also something most prefer to keep private. But sometimes, people forget to knock while we're in the middle of things, and awkwardness ensues.
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REACTIONS:
➊ EMBARRASSMENT Yeah, someone just caught you in a very private act and you kind of wish the ground would swallow you up. Now.
➋ ANGER How dare someone barge in on you without knocking! You'll give them a piece of your mind right now.
➌ EXCITEMENT/EXHIBITIONISM happens to be a major turn-on for you, so you'll just continue. Maybe even ask them to give you a hand, you never know...
➍ APATHY Big deal, it's not like they've been living in a bubble where they never knew masturbation existed, and if they were they had to find out about it sometime.
➎ SQUICK Either it was a family member who just walked in on you or you just feel so utterly dirty at having been caught doing something so personal.
➏ DELAYED reaction You didn't even notice they were there until after you finished.
➐ DERAILED REACTION Oh no you've been--what is that on their head? Wait, the world's ending now? D-did you just see that unicorn? Worry about being caught later, figure out what the hell is going on first.
➑ FRUSTRATION COME ON, EVERY TIME!
➒ RELIEF Thank GOODNESS someone came by! Otherwise you'd have had to stop and go grab that toy/pillow/remote for the annoying stereo yourself. Also they could maybe swap discs because this movie isn't really doing it for you. What do you mean it's inappropriate? It's not like you're asking them to watch.
"Computer, give me personnel files on Ensign Darren Jackson." Data begins piling across the screen almost too fast to read, and McCoy has to call for "speed at eighty percent" before it slows enough for him to skim it properly.
"Nothing particularly interesting in his past," he reports, "and Dr. Dehner's report says he's well-adjusted and, quote, 'jovial.' But that person was definitely targeting him, because there's lots of other people they could have just as easily drugged."
She leans in over his shoulder to read the display. "It could be something personal, then," she notes. "Something that wouldn't be in his file or medical records."
She pauses a moment. "I didn't see anything similar to this in the logs. But what if this is the first successful attempt? I'll search for reports of... what do you think? Sleeplessness? Hallucinations?"
McCoy starts a little, then nods, the idea taking root in his head. "Yeah - yeah, I think that's not a bad place to start. Expand the search, too - lucid dreaming, sleepwalking, any sort of sleep-related disorder or abnormality."
She pauses, touching his shoulder for a moment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. Especially since you're--"
...That's a little more than she meant to say, whoops. But at least the really tense didn't slip out, and thank God she got nowhere near because I interrupted you.
McCoy suddenly feels blood rushing into his neck and cheeks, but he stalwartly ignores it as he keeps watching the data scroll quickly across the screen. If he doesn't acknowledge a) that he's blushing, and b) that Christine walked in on him at a delicate moment, then neither of them happened.
"Thanks. Let me know if you find anything of interest."
"Yes, Doctor." Are they pretending no one's blushing? That's awesome, Christine can get on board with that, because shut up, her face is not totally red right now.
After a few minutes, she shifts her attention from her PADD back to him. "Dr. McCoy--there are two reports of crewmen sleepwalking on Deck 17. Their quarters are in the same general area as mine."
"Put them on the main screen." Once the data's shifted, McCoy takes a step forward, arms crossed over his chest, jaw set as he examines it. "I don't see a lot similar in their medical records except ... huh, that's weird. They both went on an away mission to Klavdia III, and so did Ensign Jackson."
She's at his shoulder again, reading, confirming the information. "You're right. I'll get them out of bed, we need blood samples. Do you think we should keep them for observation, too?"
McCoy frowns. "We've got the space, so I think yes. I'm going to cross-reference everyone who went on that away mission to see if any of them have shown anything else - Computer, cross-reference all personnel on the mission to Klavdia III, and highlight any sleep-related complaints or disorders in the last two months in their records." He waits as the computer starts compiling the data, and taps at the screen to expand files as they start to appear.
She pauses and then puts her hand lightly on his arm. "Will you be all right here if I go rouse those two and get them down here? I'll have security go with me."
"Yeah. I'll be fine." He glances at Christine, worry furrowing his brows. "Just hurry. I'll keep looking." He gives her a brief, crooked smile before turning back to the screen.
There's a brief pause at the communicator panel; Christine arranges for a security detail to meet her near the two crew members' quarters. Twenty minutes pass without incident, then two redshirts come in, escorting a young, drowsy ensign.
"Nurse Chapel asked us to bring him. And to give you this," one of the security officers says, holding out a vial--she took a blood sample in his quarters.
"Thanks. Ensign, sit." McCoy drops the vial into a machine that immediately starts scanning and analyzing it, and he turns to the ensign with a tricorder, doing much the same to him. While he does, he peppers the young man with questions about his sleeping habits and how they've changed recently. Being faced with the doctor's interrogation is bad enough when you're fully awake and prepared for it, but when you're half-asleep, it's another thing entirely.
Eventually, though, it comes out that he's felt 'restless' since the away mission, and his dreams have been 'weird.'
The doors whoosh open to admit Christine and a security officer half-carrying another security officer between them. And there's no second crewman, no sign of the man they went to get.
"He bolted," she explains, calling over her shoulder as they dump the redshirt onto a bed. She pauses for a moment, a hand going to her side with a sharp breath in, and then she's busy with the redshirt on the bed, the other one hurrying out of medbay to join the search.
"We were talking to him, everything seemed fine. I even got a blood sample. Then out of nowhere he flies at us. He got away. Security is searching the ship."
McCoy turns away from the still-slightly-stunned ensign he'd been shouting at just in time to see Christine clutch at herself, and he's crossing the room to her in three long strides, darting around her as she starts work on her patient.
"He hurt you." It's not a question, and there's something cold beneath his voice. McCoy is usually angry, but it's a hot anger, something bright and - in its way - almost comforting. This is not that anger. This is something new, something hard. Once he's confirmed it, he returns to his patient. "Any idea why he ran?"
"He kicked me when the security detail was trying to subdue him," she says, dismissive--not of him, he knows this, but of worrying about this right this second. Her patient first, then her own problem.
"I'm not sure, Doctor. One minute, everything is fine, the next, he's tackling the redshirts and running." She glances over at McCoy. "He's command division. Gold shirt. Roughly the same build as the person on the surveillance footage."
"Son of a bitch," McCoy decrees, returning his attention to his own patient, who seems relieved that the CMO's anger is no longer aimed solely at him. "So he's likely our guy then - Ensign Jackson, what the hell happened to you down on Klavdia III?"
It seems it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but there "was a fog," he admits finally, "kind of weird, and it was everywhere. It smelled really sweet."
"Computer," McCoy barks, "get me a report on Klavdia III. Everything you got."
The computer begins a recitation of the basic facts first: Class M planet, Earth-normal atmosphere and gravity, its mass, its rotation and orbit, the nearest sun. Then the geographic makeup, then demographics. Culture. Folklore. The fog.
"Computer," Christine cuts in. "Detailed information on stories about the planet's fog." And that elicits an old legend of something that lurks in the fog, that waits on that sweet scent to be taken into your lungs, where it then takes over your mind and body.
McCoy's been listening, and he snaps to attention, leaving the beleaguered ensign to slump in his seat, relieved for a moment from the rat-a-tat interrogation.
But the reprieve only lasts long enough for him to listen to the story.
"Ensign! Both of you - you need to tell us exactly what happened down there."
Haltingly, the story comes out - about whispers in the fog, feelings like there were "fingers out there, you know? Grabbing at you," and how there had been a time when the landing party had all been separated.
"That was when it was the worst," Ensign Jackson says. "It got so much louder then."
"It felt like I couldn't get away," the other ensign pipes up. "The next thing I knew, I was back at the rendezvous point waiting to be beamed up. The dreams started after that."
"This time loss. Have you experienced it again?" Christine asks.
"...Yeah, on board the ship yesterday. I was in the lab and then I was in my quarters and I don't remember anything in between."
Christine rounds the bed, reaching for McCoy's sleeve to pull him aside for a conference. The movement of tugging on him makes her wince slightly again. "I think they should be restrained until we know what's going on. Same thing for the third one once security tracks him down."
McCoy nods. "I think you're right. Whatever happened to them down there, it wasn't anything good - especially since it led to that guy messing with my patients." That, to the doctor, is the most cardinal of sins. "Computer," he calls up, "sequence 45 on beds 6 and 7."
It hadn't been his idea, giving restraints a euphemistic name, but it worked better than yelling, "Computer, restraints." That tended to make people panic.
It serves its purpose; the ensigns are both confined to their beds before they have a chance to fight what's happening. That's the point--restrain people who need it without upsetting them, be it further or at all.
"That should hold them. Meanwhile Security is hunting down the third one. So since things seem to be quiet for the moment..."
She turns toward McCoy, her hand going to her side again. "I'm afraid you have one more patient, Doctor. Your office, maybe?" Since everyone else present in medbay is a man and she has a sinking suspicion he'll need to inspect this injury.
"Yeah, come on." McCoy holds out his arm to her, both because he's a good Southern boy and because Christine might need some help walking if her side is hurt as badly as he suspects it is. This way, she'll just look like she's taking his arm, and her walking won't be too affected by her injury.
It's a bit of a face-saving move and she knows it. But she'll damned well avail herself of it, too, grateful for his indulgence and good manners. "Thank you."
She slips her hand around his arm, leaning into him gently.
McCoy gruffly instructs one of the other doctors and three of the nurses to keep an eye on the new patients, and comm him as soon as the third one is brought in. Once that's done, he leads Christine slowly back to his office, where, once the door is closed, he helps her to a seat and goes for his tricorder.
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bakerstreet2013-05-11 06:59 pm
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"Nothing particularly interesting in his past," he reports, "and Dr. Dehner's report says he's well-adjusted and, quote, 'jovial.' But that person was definitely targeting him, because there's lots of other people they could have just as easily drugged."
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She pauses a moment. "I didn't see anything similar to this in the logs. But what if this is the first successful attempt? I'll search for reports of... what do you think? Sleeplessness? Hallucinations?"
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She pauses, touching his shoulder for a moment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. Especially since you're--"
...That's a little more than she meant to say, whoops. But at least the really tense didn't slip out, and thank God she got nowhere near because I interrupted you.
"...I'll get on that search, Doctor."
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"Thanks. Let me know if you find anything of interest."
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After a few minutes, she shifts her attention from her PADD back to him. "Dr. McCoy--there are two reports of crewmen sleepwalking on Deck 17. Their quarters are in the same general area as mine."
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She pauses and then puts her hand lightly on his arm. "Will you be all right here if I go rouse those two and get them down here? I'll have security go with me."
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"Nurse Chapel asked us to bring him. And to give you this," one of the security officers says, holding out a vial--she took a blood sample in his quarters.
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Eventually, though, it comes out that he's felt 'restless' since the away mission, and his dreams have been 'weird.'
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"He bolted," she explains, calling over her shoulder as they dump the redshirt onto a bed. She pauses for a moment, a hand going to her side with a sharp breath in, and then she's busy with the redshirt on the bed, the other one hurrying out of medbay to join the search.
"We were talking to him, everything seemed fine. I even got a blood sample. Then out of nowhere he flies at us. He got away. Security is searching the ship."
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"He hurt you." It's not a question, and there's something cold beneath his voice. McCoy is usually angry, but it's a hot anger, something bright and - in its way - almost comforting. This is not that anger. This is something new, something hard. Once he's confirmed it, he returns to his patient. "Any idea why he ran?"
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"I'm not sure, Doctor. One minute, everything is fine, the next, he's tackling the redshirts and running." She glances over at McCoy. "He's command division. Gold shirt. Roughly the same build as the person on the surveillance footage."
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It seems it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but there "was a fog," he admits finally, "kind of weird, and it was everywhere. It smelled really sweet."
"Computer," McCoy barks, "get me a report on Klavdia III. Everything you got."
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"Computer," Christine cuts in. "Detailed information on stories about the planet's fog." And that elicits an old legend of something that lurks in the fog, that waits on that sweet scent to be taken into your lungs, where it then takes over your mind and body.
"...Doctor."
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But the reprieve only lasts long enough for him to listen to the story.
"Ensign! Both of you - you need to tell us exactly what happened down there."
Haltingly, the story comes out - about whispers in the fog, feelings like there were "fingers out there, you know? Grabbing at you," and how there had been a time when the landing party had all been separated.
"That was when it was the worst," Ensign Jackson says. "It got so much louder then."
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"This time loss. Have you experienced it again?" Christine asks.
"...Yeah, on board the ship yesterday. I was in the lab and then I was in my quarters and I don't remember anything in between."
Christine rounds the bed, reaching for McCoy's sleeve to pull him aside for a conference. The movement of tugging on him makes her wince slightly again. "I think they should be restrained until we know what's going on. Same thing for the third one once security tracks him down."
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It hadn't been his idea, giving restraints a euphemistic name, but it worked better than yelling, "Computer, restraints." That tended to make people panic.
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"That should hold them. Meanwhile Security is hunting down the third one. So since things seem to be quiet for the moment..."
She turns toward McCoy, her hand going to her side again. "I'm afraid you have one more patient, Doctor. Your office, maybe?" Since everyone else present in medbay is a man and she has a sinking suspicion he'll need to inspect this injury.
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She slips her hand around his arm, leaning into him gently.
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"How's it feel?"
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