Pileup on the Promenade [OTA]
In a consulting room in Starfleet Medical, a dark haired man (well, it was greying at the temples, now) in a wheelchair and an Admiral’s dress uniform, looked up.
“Is that all?”
The silver-haired man in the medical blues raised an eyebrow. “What were you expecting, Chris? Fireworks? A twenty-one gun salute?”
“Five guns would have done,” the Admiral quipped, before his expression became serious. “Seriously, Phil,” he said. “I’ve been through all these months of physio, and you and Sarah poking at me like some giant lab rat.” He paused, looking at both doctors in the room. “And now, you say I’m done?”
“I call it the magic of modern medicine Chris,” Phil Boyce's colleague said. She handed him a cane. “Courtesy of Bob and Jon,” Sarah April added with a grin. “Now, why don’t you give it a test drive?”
Slowly, Admiral Christopher Pike got up out of the wheelchair that had been a constant in his life for the past few months, ever since what they were now calling the ‘Nerada Incident’. To his surprise, he found that by leaning on the cane, he could actually support his own weight. Encouraged by this, he began to take a few steps towards the open door, both doctors watching him like a hawk.
It took all his concentration to move, so Chris didn’t look back as he stepped out of the office. If he did, he might be surprised to find that the doorway and office had completely disappeared. He might also have noticed that the corridor he was now standing wasn’t like anything in Starfleet Medical - or if it was, then the décor had instantly changed to dull and grey looking.
No, what his attention was drawn to was the unmistakable sound of a Starfleet transporter, and a figure slowly materialising. As the figure solidified, Pike had just enough time to dimly register that it was male, and dressed in Starfleet uniform, before the beam faded away…and the person landed on top of him.
With a thud, both ended up on the floor of the promenade, amidst a tangle of legs and arms (and much cursing).
((Pull your Starfleet officer of choice out of the pile, or tag both!))
“Is that all?”
The silver-haired man in the medical blues raised an eyebrow. “What were you expecting, Chris? Fireworks? A twenty-one gun salute?”
“Five guns would have done,” the Admiral quipped, before his expression became serious. “Seriously, Phil,” he said. “I’ve been through all these months of physio, and you and Sarah poking at me like some giant lab rat.” He paused, looking at both doctors in the room. “And now, you say I’m done?”
“I call it the magic of modern medicine Chris,” Phil Boyce's colleague said. She handed him a cane. “Courtesy of Bob and Jon,” Sarah April added with a grin. “Now, why don’t you give it a test drive?”
Slowly, Admiral Christopher Pike got up out of the wheelchair that had been a constant in his life for the past few months, ever since what they were now calling the ‘Nerada Incident’. To his surprise, he found that by leaning on the cane, he could actually support his own weight. Encouraged by this, he began to take a few steps towards the open door, both doctors watching him like a hawk.
It took all his concentration to move, so Chris didn’t look back as he stepped out of the office. If he did, he might be surprised to find that the doorway and office had completely disappeared. He might also have noticed that the corridor he was now standing wasn’t like anything in Starfleet Medical - or if it was, then the décor had instantly changed to dull and grey looking.
No, what his attention was drawn to was the unmistakable sound of a Starfleet transporter, and a figure slowly materialising. As the figure solidified, Pike had just enough time to dimly register that it was male, and dressed in Starfleet uniform, before the beam faded away…and the person landed on top of him.
With a thud, both ended up on the floor of the promenade, amidst a tangle of legs and arms (and much cursing).
((Pull your Starfleet officer of choice out of the pile, or tag both!))