(no subject)

[notabricklayer]

Bones McCoy is having a decidedly un-entertaining night. What was going to be a nice break from a ship that is becoming increasingly tense with their long-delayed shore leave being delayed once again has turned into a night of outbreak control and trauma injuries. He has just finished with a girl who managed to give herself one hell of a concussion on top of hearing loss, signing his name to orders to keep her down and quiet for at least a day of observation.

Now, where's that boy that came in with her?

Comments

[herr_bookman]

Autor raises a brow. "There are telepaths, you know," the boy says, tapping his foot on the bed. "And a singularly determined person could follow you rather easily." Not to mention cameras, soon. "But I don't doubt your sincerity, which is refreshing. Thank you."

He allows his foot to dangle off of the edge of the bed again. "In any case, you've your theory, and I've been treated. Quite well, in fact. May I leave?"

[notabricklayer]

Bones frowns - and makes a gut decision. Olga might mock him for those, but he's found that fairly often he's right on those. He'd rather cut the kid some slack now, and maintain that sliver of trust in case the kid gets in trouble again later, than hold his ground for a complete diagnosis and treatment now.

"Let me get you some guidelines on acceptable meals, Autor - you can't go on as you have been, or eventually you'll give yourself a deficiency I can't fix." He stands, tucking the file under his arm as he steps over to the computer and pulls up the handouts section.

[herr_bookman]

"Wait, really?" Autor blurts out before he can stop himself. "I appreciate that, Dr. McCoy."

Fluid pumps removed and handouts accepted, Autor shoulders his bag. With a nod to the doctor, the boy flies out to the bar to pick up an 'acceptable meal', comfy infirmary pajamas be damned. Really, this is the best he's felt in months, and he's starving.