McCoy was having lest than an interesting evening in the medical bay this evening, but as he started to finish the mound of paperwork he'd let pile up over the past few evenings of working constantly, the doors slid open and a redhead in a redshirt and overalls, carrying a bloody towel, stumbled in.
"Whoah, there. What the hell happened to you?" Bones practically growled as he stood up from his desk and walked over to help the injured crew member. "Let me see that, come'ere," he added, motioning her over, his southern accent heavier than normal in his exhaustion.
"There was a bit of an incident with a drill bit," she said, carefully peeling the rag aside to reveal a still heavily bleeding gash in her hand; "Don't ask. Any chance I can get it fixed?"
SIghing, McCoy led her over to one of the biobeds. "Take a seat. I've got to grab a few supplies," he murmured before walking over to the closet and grabbing a hypo for the pain and a few things to wrap the wound. As he walked back over, his eyes met hers. "What's your name, darlin'?" he asked as he held up the hypo to forewarn her of the prick in her arm.
"Okay," she replied, taking a seat on the nearest biobed. She picked at the drying blood as it crusted around the gash and grimaced. "Uh, Fran. Fran Lynch. You're Dr McCoy, right?"
Comments 14
"Whoah, there. What the hell happened to you?" Bones practically growled as he stood up from his desk and walked over to help the injured crew member. "Let me see that, come'ere," he added, motioning her over, his southern accent heavier than normal in his exhaustion.
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