PL: Under Protest

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PL: Under Protest

Postby Tavey » Mon Apr 21, 2014 12:29 pm

PL: Under Protest
Set two days after the events of "Hypochondria."

“I cannot believe that you gave them Desoxyn.” Jonesy landed in the chair on the other side of Ceja's desk with a thump. He looked exhausted. In order to be sure that there were no carriers of that all too deadly virus, Ceja had pulled all the crew back in again for another round of very specific tests. It hadn't been pretty, and there may have been the odd death threat or two thrown across the sickbay in her general direction. All in good fun, naturally. She hoped.

“It worked, didn’t it?” she replied. “I didn't give anyone a dose high enough to cause addiction. Just enough to kick start their systems properly.” She regarded Jonesy with no small amount of sympathy. Her usually bright and cheerful second in command was slumped in the chair with his eyes rolling closed as he tried to stop himself from falling asleep.

“Get out of here Jones. Get some rest.”

“Not until you do.”

“I got some sleep..” She began to protest. Jones raised one hand abruptly.

“What, yesterday? That doesn't count. You've been up for thirty six hours now.”

“Checking up on me?”

“I'm beginning to understand that it's the most important part of the job, since my department head has a bad habit of running herself into the ground on occasion.” Jones sagged a little further. “And I do have authority to send her to bed if needed.” He yawned, rubbing his eyes with one hand. “Which I am far too sensible and attached to my very life to exercise.”

“I should give you a dose,” Ceja muttered, watching Jones’ head nod forward again.

“You haven't..” Jonesy said, bolting upright and staring at her in horror.

“What? No! Don't be absurd. Sheer determination and a few catnaps in here. Not.. what was it that it used to be called? Methamphetamine? Now, last time of telling. Go away. Go to bed. Shoo.”

“Shan't.” Jones sounded petulant. He tapped his finger on the desk. “Unless you go too. Four hours. With a strict promise that Novar and Krump will contact you immediately if there's another case.”

Ceja shook her head. “Can't. Not until I know it's all gone. Far too quick acting, and far too deadly. Most of the people who died didn't even have the chance to call for help.”

Jonesy leaned back in the chair, crossed his arms and his ankles, and closed his eyes. “Right, then I stay here with you until you’re ready to go. Wake me up when you need me.” He shifted, grimacing, in the chair. “Bit uncomfortable though. I’m going to be in agony...”

“That’s blackmail.” Ceja sounded affronted.

“Finest kind. Besides, you’ve already got the antidote, or antivirus, or put-your-brain-right combination of medical brilliance set up and ready to go. What’s the problem?”

“Put it like that, and well.. nothing. I give in.” Ceja closed the documents on her screen, and stood up. “Bad habit to get into, blackmailing the department head.”

“Safer than pulling rank due to said department head’s need for a few hours of sleep. And a chance to see her partner not on a biobed, or dying, or.. wait, you two only ever get to see each other when you’re dying or on a biobed. How exactly does that work? You know, when you... I’m leaving!! I’m leaving!”

Jonesy left her office, only to pop his head around the door a moment later. “You agreed.”

“Fine. Under protest of having been coerced.” Ceja sounded a little sulky. “And if you tell anyone, you’ll be wrapping bandages for weeks."

“Under protest from the other side of the entrance to sickbay. Come along Doctor, your bed is calling you.”

"Oh Bother." Said The Borg. "We've assimilated Pooh."
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