The Hangover

Posted on Mon Jan 29th, 2024 @ 3:43pm by Commander Kevin Lance
Edited on on Mon Jan 29th, 2024 @ 3:43pm

Mission: Deep Space Nine
Location: USS Chuck Norris
Timeline: Before No Such Dr Exists

on:
{Sick Bay}

Kevin awoke to a pounding in his head like a dwarf with a mechanical sledgehammer trying to escape from within his skull. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton and his stomach roiled with an excess of alcohol and foreign foods that left him queasy. His discomfort was so great that he barely noticed the pain from his injuries. He rolled to his side and let out a soft moan.

“Good to see you returned to the land of the living,” a stern female voice addressed him.

Kevin forced an eye open against the blinding light. It took a moment to focus in on the woman standing over him in science blue. “Where am I,” he asked.

“In the medical bay aboard the Chuck Norris,” the woman replied as she removed an IV needle from his arm, “Commander Rodale said that there was a medical emergency. We were prepared for a full-scale surgical intervention but it turned out that the ‘emergency’ was merely an officer who had gotten into his cups.”

His eyes partially adjusted to the light, Kevin looked around. He indeed was in the medical bay. Mira was asleep in a biobed adjacent to his own. He was immediately seized with panic, “What happened to Commander Rodale?”

“Nothing unusual,” the woman answered, “HER injuries were much more in need of attention than yours. Of course, she thought that she was a better judge of the use of the ship’s medical facilities than Doctor Bashir and decided that self-administration was the best course of action.”

Doctor Bashir, Kevin didn’t recognize the name. Perhaps Star Fleet had assigned a permanent CMO while he was in the Gamma Quadrant.

“Up and at ‘em, Lieutenant,” the nurse commanded.

“Huh? What about my injuries?”

“They are healing well on their own,” she replied, “We did have to perform a complete dermal regeneration on your leg but whomever treated your wounds before did a relatively good job. The bruise on your face is beginning to fade and should be gone within the next two weeks. And I don’t have the time to cater to your hangover.”

“Then why am I still in the medical bay?” he asked.

“Because no one wanted to carry your fat ass to your quarters.”

“I’m not fat,” Kevin protested, a little wounded. The nurse looked at him askance. Truth be told, the lack of proper exercise facilities aboard the Chuck Norris were starting to have an impact on his physique.

“Alright, I’m going,” as he gingerly rolled to a sitting position, “Where are my clothes.”

“They were disgusting,” the nurse responded, “and I had them tossed in the replicator before they could contaminate my nice, clean ward.

He was still dressed in his underwear and it wasn’t too far to his quarters. “Thank you, Nurse…”

“Lancaster,” the woman answered before turning and departing the medical bay.

:off

Lieutenant Kevin Lance

Chief Flight Control Officer

USS Chuck Norris