“Could you touch your toes for me, Lieutenant Charter?”

Jase just looks at the doctor standing next to him, clipboard held tightly against his body as he watches the lieutenant, and he just waves for him to continue.

Sighing, Jase complies, his loose white t-shirt sliding up as he locks his fingers under the sides of his feet. “Is this good enough?” He asks, voice slightly muffled by all the blood rushing to his head.

“Mhm, quite impressive.” Dr. Fyfer says, making a note on his clipboard. “Now, stretch up as high as you can.”

His knuckles brushing the low ceiling, Jase glares at the good doctor.

“Very good. Open wide.”

“What?”

“Need to take your temperature.”

“98.6.”

“Excuse me?”

“My temperature; it’s 98.6.”

“Oh, did a nurse already do that?”

“I’m life.” Jase says, flatly, crossing his arms against his chest.

Dr. Fyfer’s head jerks up from his surely fascinating notes to look at Jase, and then imitates a chicken on crack as it bobs back down, and then back up, all almost to quickly for the eye to follow. “So you are then,” He mutters, and then he’s making furious scribbles on his clipboard again.

Jase wonders how much trouble he’d get in from smacking him with it.

Fortunately for Dr. Fyfer, the door opens to admit yet another doctor. “How’s the physical coming?” Dr. Pearson asks. “Everything going well, lieutenant?”

“Get him out of here or I swear to god I’ll feed him that thing.” Jase hisses out of the side of his mouth, and Pearson smiles.

“I think that will be about enough Dr. Fyfer; I’m sure the lieutenant is getting tired of all these tests.” He says, and Fyfer, muttering to himself, wanders out of the room. Jase watches him go with a relieved look; half an hour alone with the man had given him a new appreciation for comas. “I assume there were no problems?”

“None. Can I go now?”

“Not yet; you were unconscious for quite a while, we need to make sure there won’t be any lasting effects.”

“You’ve kept me here for four days; what more could you want?”

“Your word that you won’t strain yourself for a little while longer.”

Jase pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily. He’s been cooped up in this one room ever since he woke up, with only the occasional trip down the hallway and back; if he doesn’t get out of here soon, it’s highly likely he’ll kill someone. And while yes, technically, this would be the best place to do it, considering, y’know, hospital, and they could probably do something about it, he imagines it would most likely still be frowned upon. Unless, of course, it’s Fyfer he chooses to sacrifice for the good of his sanity. “Look,” he starts. “You’re just lucky I haven’t made a break for the exit yet. I need to get back to my ship, sooner rather than later, and if I have to lock you in that teeny, tiny bathroom over there to do so, well, I won’t have much of a problem with doing that.”

“You can go very soon lieutenant. You just need to promise you won’t push yourself farther than you’re ready to go just yet.”

“The only reason they brought me to this place is because I was unconscious; you all seem to forget that I’m life: if I pull my stitches or whatever, I can deal with it myself.”

“I’m well aware of that; the problem is more if you slip back into the coma.”

“Shockingly, I’m not too concerned about that myself. Just about the only chance of that happening is if I get so fed up with you lot that I bash my head against the wall, so really, you’re only hurting me by keeping me here.”

Pearson rolls his eyes. “Just be careful.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Previous: Scene 5-II

Scene 5-III

Next: Scene 5-IV