Ensign Bryce Tagren-Quinn - Rebuilding
Kara Argyropoulos
((Flashback - Unidentified Federation Medical Vessel))
“We’re losing–He’s coding.”
“Quick, chest compressions–now! Move that–”
“Defib initiated.”
A flurry of movement. Movement unseen.
Sounds of machines, unheard.
Falling. Falling into darkness, dragging under. Comfort. No pain.
Nothingness.
Nothing–
A flash, a jolt—weight from above.
“He’s back, blood pressure–”
Heart pumping. Blood. Breaths. Oxygen.
Sleep, in and out. Feverish. Dreams, of a dark-haired daughter, a face that could not be seen. The swell of emotion from being called dadda, a life unseen. Forward still, a son. Names that once were, faded away by time.
Time.
Later, the man in the bed couldn’t remember anything more than vague fragments of a life not lived, no details revealed. Still, the accompanying feelings associated with the immersion were not unreal. Were they dreams? Nightmares? The rational brain stumbled and searched for answers just as his body succumbed to the torture brought forth by being reinserted into the tunnel-bed. The pain ripped through like wildfire scorching every inch, sensations of heated joints and tearing muscles.
Screams flooded the medbay, and vitals were constantly observed. A silicone piece was given for him to bite down on (how barbaric—couldn’t they have given a sedative, but there were reasons), but blood from dry lips and tongue emerged anyway.
Time.
Slowly, the pain searing through his body dissipated. Labs were compared from pre-Rogue World and tracked along with treatments. The ranges started to get more acceptable, though, inside, despair took root. He followed through physiotherapy robotically, going through the motions with a half-heart, mind occupied and drifting by the activities beyond the ship’s hull–to the system that needed help.
And he couldn’t.
His heart reached out, left wondering, though he caught tidbits from the medical staff. It became a thing, eventually, where he would inquire, and they would share information. They even had him examine some of his labs and asked him for his medical opinion on things, even included him in some medical banter and the like–but yet, there was pity in some of their eyes.
Pity.
Later, when Elyia arrived and found him in a moment of weakness, she chased away his company and shouted at him.
Elyia: You didn’t call me back.
Tagren-Quinn: I–I couldn’t.
Elyia: You didn’t call me BACK!
Her eyes grew wide and watery and glowed an eerie shade of green. A head hung in shame, unable to meet her gaze. He sat, dressed only in sweatpants, back to the headboard. The scar on his shoulder was visible. The scar on his abdomen was visible.
Yet, the wounds and scars within–
Elyia: That is a load, and you know it! Do you know what I have been through? What it took to get here?! ::She pointed behind her, towards some obscure place beyond the gray wall.:: I got the call as your next of kin ::Her hand then flew towards her chest::, and I instantly started making plans to get out here. Frantically. Just–just–just–in case you–you–you–yyooouu—
Her voice lost its steam and trembled measurably, preventing her from finishing the sentence. A look stolen in her direction, and he could see the heartbreak on her face.
Elyia: You were ignoring your family. When I heard you were doing better and didn’t even call me back, that you weren’t the one telling me the good news—
The first line was cast into the black hole. The first one that seemed to matter anyway.
A tether.
Reeled in further by stories of his nephew.
Reeled in further by additional news about the system.
Reeled in further when there were no more signs of the Rogue Planet.
The fog began to clear slowly, but the damage left in its wake was done.
Elyia: We just keep moving forward, Bry. We are sometimes limited, and we are but only mortals. Do you see the rebuilding efforts? All the medical officers? Focus on that. People are coming together. Our perception of chaos can be differing, almost always viewed as a constant, but so are the hearts of people. Look for the people. Look for those whose hearts are there, even if they couldn’t be.
And he knew. Deep down, he knew. But when left drowning in the inability to help, when injury became all-consuming, it was hard not to slip into the darkness.
Ensign Bryce Tagren-Quinn, M.D.
Medical Officer
USS Gorkon (NCC-82293)
T238909AT0