[Backsim] JP Lt Alex Storm and LtJg Roy Bancroft - You've Got Someone Now - Part II
Carter Schimpff
(( Engineering Room, USS Karnack – Callis I ))
(Beginning of Act III)
Roy’s gaze drifted downward for a moment, settling on the scorched deck plating between their boots as if confirming that gravity had indeed reasserted itself after several days of cosmic misbehavior.
It was an oddly reassuring thing, gravity. Reliable. Predictable.
Unlike whatever peculiar constellation of emotions had decided to assemble themselves in his ribcage at this exact moment.
Then the physician in him reasserted itself.
It happened the way old reflexes always did: quietly, efficiently, sliding back into control like a well-trained helmsman reclaiming the conn during atmospheric turbulence.
Roy’s eyes moved across her posture again: Shoulders slightly guarded, weight favoring one side.
The corner of his mouth lifted faintly beneath the unruly sprawl of his beard, the expression almost entirely hidden by the wilderness that had overtaken his jaw during the previous days.
Bancroft: Now then–
His hand rose with gentle deliberation.
He caught her forearm lightly, guiding it upward with the kind of careful authority that belonged to physicians and very old dance instructors. The fabric of her sleeve was stiff with sweat and grime; he peeled it back just enough to expose the pale line of her wrist.
Two fingers settled automatically along the radial artery. The motion was practiced, almost unconscious. Contact. Warm skin beneath his fingertips – and there it was: a pulse.
Bancroft: What sort of physician would I be if I didn’t take this moment to perform a brief checkup?
His brow furrowed slightly as he concentrated.
Her skin was warm – warmer than usual – and though he could not prove it under current field conditions, he would have wagered a modest quantity of latinum that her heart rate had increased the instant his fingers touched her wrist.
Curious.
Bancroft: Your pulse is elevated, Alex. ::eyes flicking up to hers:: Anything I need to know about?
Her heart fluttered in the wake of his touch…please don’t let him feel that. But like a child looking for and finding an answer in the wrong place, the lines around her eyes lost their etched nature and relaxed into a jovial quality with the accompanying lighthearted tone.
Storm: It’s not the first time you caught me with a rapid pulse.
He raised an eyebrow at her, the smirk at the corner of his mouth widening slightly.
Bancroft: In my defense, the last time I diagnosed you with an elevated heart rate, I found you not an hour later free-climbing a cliff on the holodeck…
One of her eyebrows arched, and she shook her head, but the dirt in her hair held it firmly in place despite the motion.
Storm: No. You’re wrong.
Her mouth twitched, and her eyes glimmered.
Bancroft: ::faux outrage:: I beg your pardon.
Storm: Now see, that’s why you’re a doctor—an excellent one—but not a Tactical officer.
Roy folded his arms across his chest, brows drawing together in theatrical suspicion – the universal expression of a man preparing himself for a lecture he already suspected he would not win.
Bancroft: This ought to be good. Why, exactly?
Beneath her sternum, her heartbeat surged harder with every second his fingers remained on her wrist.
Da-dum, da-dum, da-dum.
It echoed in her ears as it sprinted along like horses' hooves on the last straightaway of the race.
Storm: Because if you were versed in conducting investigations, you’d have noted that it was just over four hours later that you found me on the holodeck.
Roy snorted despite himself, the sound escaping before he could finish arranging the appropriate expression of professional indignation. Alex’s tone carried just enough mock seriousness to make the correction feel like a courtroom objection.
Bancroft: Of course, of course. In my defense, the chart entry for “free-climbing against medical advice” doesn’t currently include a field for “hours since the doctor specifically told you not to do something like this.”
He tilted his head thoughtfully.
Bancroft: I’ll have to bring that up with Starfleet Medical.
The earlier mischievous glint in her eye found a new language, softer, more subtle.
Storm: It would be hard to forget my evening ending with such a companionable silence while sitting alongside the Janaran waterfall. I couldn’t forget you calling me - friend. That night, you brought peace to my racing heart - simply by your presence.
Bancroft: It was a good silence, wasn’t it? I enjoyed that, too.
For a moment, she forgot about the downed ship, the creatures, the noise and banter of the reunions.
All she felt was the steady warmth of his fingers against her wrist.
Then, like an unannounced spot shower on a bright summer’s day, Alex’s eyes went wide and hovered there, until in a sudden movement, she twisted her wrist free of Roy’s fingers and with both hands, she grasped the console she had earlier leaned against. She arched her back as it tightened and spasmed. But, instead of releasing her, the pain tightened its grip and drove deeper into her lumbar. Alex turned her pinched face away from Roy and swallowed hard against the groan that tried to escape her lips.
Roy recognized pain – real pain – immediately.
A physician’s training did not teach him how to diagnose agony so much as it rewired the body to notice it instinctively: the tightening of the jaw, the microsecond pause in breath, the way a person’s spine stiffened as if bracing against an invisible hand.
He also recognized something else: there was almost nothing he could do about it in this moment.
And Alex Storm, of all people, would despise being reminded of that.
So Roy did what he had done for patients, friends, and the occasional stubborn captain for years.
He reached not for medicine – but for misdirection.
Bancroft: Look, I’ll admit my last line wasn’t exactly Shakespeare… but a full-body critique feels excessive.
It didn't happen all at once. First the lines around her eyes softened. Next her grip on the table loosened, then the tension in her back visibly eased.
When the spasm felt like - this time - she had suffered enough and finally released her from its grip, Alex lifted the back of her uniform shirt and jacket just enough for Roy to see several inches of tender pink puckered skin.
Her eyes slipped over her shoulder wordlessly guiding his gaze.
Storm: My gift from Callis I.
Roy’s eyes dropped to the exposed skin. What he saw beneath the lifted fabric was a jagged patch of angry pink, the surface tight and glossy where new skin had begun to form, bordered by irregular islands of darker blistered tissue that had only recently healed. The burn ran several inches across her lower back, the edges puckered and tender, and disappeared up her back, obscured by her tunic and shirt.
Under most circumstances he would have kept his expression carefully neutral. But this was Alex. For half a heartbeat he had to fight the instinctive wince that threatened to betray him. He forced himself to breathe once and pushed the reaction aside, letting the well-practiced machinery of clinical thought slide into place.
She was in pain, which was both bad and good. Bad, because Roy Bancroft had dedicated most of his adult life to the eradication of pain wherever he found it. Good, because it meant the nerves beneath the damage were still alive and functioning.
There would be scarring. That much was inevitable. But beyond the cosmetic damage, the prognosis looked mercifully uncomplicated.
Bancroft: Second degree. Believe it or not, that’s good news. ::softer:: I’m sorry this happened to you. I can patch this up, just as soon–
From across the room, Alex heard the names, “Storm, Bancroft” but when her eyes searched, she couldn't see the source. Just after, a hand waved them over. Alex dropped the back of her jacket, and without looking at Roy, said…
Storm: We should get going.
End Scene for Storm and Bancroft
===
Lt Alex Storm
Tactical Officer
USS Artemis
O240103SK2
And
Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft
Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205RB1