Doctor Manhattan
"ɪ'ᴍ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀ ᴘᴜᴘᴘᴇᴛ ᴡʜᴏ ᴄᴀɴ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛʀɪɴɢꜱ."
- Joined
- Dec 8, 2020
- Location
- 𝔼𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖.
Stardate 37202.1
Captain's Log: Having just encountered three Klingon warbirds along Ceti Alpha Seven, we are lucky to have escpaed with our lives. Recommend commendations for Sever, Lucas, Giles and Jensen. We lost Danvers; I...was responsible. I ordered him on the last away team. It wasn't his rotation, he was on break but dammit, we needed people. I'll inform his family personally. Ahh...I've suffered some cuts myself, nothing to severe, in mild pain. I'm on my way to sickbay now. Hopefully not for too long.
Shutting off his communicator, Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise checked himself in the large, full-size mirror that he kept within his quarters. Sure, it was an antiquity of a bygone era; classic wood paneling, cracks and some stains that he hadn't yet cleaned on the surface. Still, he kept it around, and not merely to bask in his own reflection. While he'd readily admit to a large ego, he wasn't that self-concerned, nor that self-conscious. It had belonged to his mother, Winona, and therefore he treasured it. The mirror had been in his family for generations, and preserving something so ancient but with such sentimental value mattered to him greatly.
So he kept it here.
Glancing at the man in the surface staring back into his cool blue voids, Kirk wasn't sure whether he should wince, or be impressed. Yes, he cut a striking figure, and had always been popular with the ladies - perhaps too much so, if Pike's stern warnings were any indication. Smirking, Kirk's expression faded as he considered the real reason why looking into the depths of his reflection haunted him today, and that was due to his injuries. For the first time that he could remember, the man actually felt properly old. It was enough to drive anyone mad.
Sighing, at least even in his staggered pain he told himself it wasn't that bad. Danvers, god bless him, paid with his life. Kirk shook that and the discomfort away; looking down, all he saw was minor wounds that wouldn't require much treatment. Bones would understand - that was his nickname for Dr. McCoy, who absolutely hated the term. This only made Kirk use it more. Funny that way, it was just within his sense of humor to give the good doctor a bit of hassle.
Whenever it came down to business, however, Kirk proved time and again to be as sharp and shrewd as anyone in charge of a ship, much less (as in his case) the very flagship of the Federation itself. He'd always believed that he'd handled it with dignity. Perhaps today only felt moderately different. It was just the injuries talking, he told himself. A dash of blood here and there, nothing much, but he had to get it treated or he'd never hear the end of it.
Steeling himself up, Kirk made his way toward the turbolift, ignoring most of the crew generally as they went about their day and firing off a salute to Commander Evans, who sent one to him first. Typical. It was empty inside, besides himself, and as he stepped out briskly, he went straight to the main sickbay ward. "Dammit Jim, trying to kill yourself already? It's not even lunchtime," McCoy said drily, by way of greeting, which Kirk nearly laughed at before he caught himself. Was that cute nurse around? Hmm. Pondering that, Kirk instead extended his arm and replied, equally as sarcastic. "Lucky for you, Spock caught me before I could jump. So you'll only have to deal with these," the good captain chuckled, extending his hand. McCoy, for his part, smartly bit back his rejoinder, and scanned with the tricorder.
As the doctor got to work, Kirk swiveled around, casting his eyes around the room, which was unusually full. Damn this war. Damn those Klingons. Again, he thought of the nurse, and hoped she was near. He could use some good cheer.