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Lt Commander Foster - On Madness and Sobreity


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((Main Sickbay - USS Constitution-B))

::The readings were going from 'dead' to 'mostly OK' - this was a good thing.  A very good thing.

On the other hand, Wyn Foster's body was going from 'fueled by drugs and adrenaline' to 'worst hangover he could remember in a very long time' at warp nine.

So when he spoke, it was with a soft lisping drawl that almost made him sound like a true Andorian.  Almost.::

Foster: Hey, hey... I think everything's OK.  Let's calm down.  Everybody good, everybody alive?

James: I think he's back with us now...for a while there, Nate, you wuzn't....

::He fixed his sapphire eyes on Nate, turning serious.  Wyn hated playing with life and death.  For some reason the miracles of modern medicine seemed to make most people downplay the seriousness of what went on under the biobed monitor.::

Foster: Seven seconds of flatline, Nate.  And I've played the game of getting oxygen to the brain before brain damage occurs.  I wasn't going to play it again!

::The human smiled, giving a thumbs up, and Wyn couldn't help but smile back.  There was something infectious about Nate's cavalier attitude.  That and the strange humor gave the little blue medic hope that maybe this time the same person emerged on the other side of death.::

Wilmer: Told you I could do it...

James: Oh! You complete [...]! ::She said through smiling exasperation.::

Foster: I would have called him something stronger than that...  ::He grumped, staving off an onslaught of nagging.  He had expressed concern before this whole debacle happened and it fell on deaf ears.  Saying more would only make him look like a dottering mother-in-law; and Nate was too good of a friend for that.::

Wilmer: I'm clear enough to know this isn't my bedroom, Doc. I guess things were that bad, huh?

::He nodded slowly, looking more serious than he wished once again.  This was supposed to be a stupid happy fun night of drinking where the worst thing to happen would be some impromptu vomiting and a bad hangover.  Not a full on sickbay emergency.::

Foster: I cannot stress how much I don't play around with a patient who has no heartbeat.  I'd rather overreact than bury someone.  Life support did a bang up job of getting everything regulated again.

Wilmer: Doc, please tell me I don't have to spend the entire shore leave in sick bay....

::Wyn perked a brow and an antennae at Wilmer, debating the answer which he already knew.  He wanted to chide Nate and remind him that he had already shot down the engineering repairs before the shock.  Oh well.::

Foster: Probably not.  But you'll remain here for overnight observation.  I want to make sure there's no problem with arrhythmia.

James: Yeah, mate, you listen to the Doc proper, yeh?

Foster: I'll try to make you as comfy as possible.  ::He paused, casting a glace towards James:: Nessa can even stay here if she likes.  I have a comfy chair you can sleep in.

James/Wilmer: ?

::He bobbed his head in an assent gesturing towards his nearby office.::

Foster: Yeah, I have a non-regulation recliner in my office.  It's very, very comfy.  But you have to be OK with Triberius sitting on your lap.

James/Wilmer: ?

::a hand wave, he was trying to make them feel at ease about staying the night.::

Foster: Triberius is the ::cough:: cat-tribble hybrid Liani made.  She said it was for advanced relaxation therapy.  ::shrug:: When she left I kept him.  He's an irritating ball of fur that loves to sleep on laps.  Not sure if I would call that the ultimate in relaxation but he's a decently sweet sort.

::And since Wyn had lost his oldest and most favorite tribble to a soul sucking monster, Triberius was the oldest pet and most constant thing left in his life.  He was more attached to the stupid furrball than he would ever admit.::

James/Wilmer: ?

Foster: No, I'm not going to be your bodyguard.  I'll let the nursing staff handle that.  I'm probably going home and nursing one killer hangover.  ::A thoughtful pause:: Speaking of, I'll have them treat you guys for hangovers, too.

James/Wilmer: ?

::He moved to his office allowing Nessa use of said comfy chair if she desired before taking his leave.::

Foster: I'll see you guys in the morning.

James/Wilmer: ?


((Foster's Quarters - USS Constitution-B))

::Wyn Foster dragged himself to his quarters feeling weak, shaky and sick.

This was supposed to be a fun night.  A relaxing night.  A night of teasing and innuendo and drinking.

What the hell went wrong?

As the door slid open he stumbled inside, looking at the darkness of the big room.  It was silent - he couldn't even hear sounds of breathing.  That meant Ozameen was out with friends - not unusual.  And Mark was... wherever Mark was.  And he didn't breathe.

God, it was quiet.

He walked in like a zombie, letting his oversensitive eyes adjust to the darkness.  The cold.  It felt good, in stark contrast to the achy sickness in his chest and limbs.  The whole conflict of sensation sent unpleasant chills across his skin as he stumbled towards one of the low cushions he called chairs and collapsed down into it.

That was when he realized he was shaking.

He just couldn't shake it.  Could not shake the feeling that every time someone died on his watch, and he brought them back to life that they were never the same person when they woke up again.  Could not shake the feeling that something terrible would come of this.

Breath caught in his throat as his entire body tensed and he caught himself before he screamed like a mad fool.  Instead he made a strangled sound, halfway between a muffled scream and a sob.  And in that instant, between soberness and drunkness, between hangover and sleep he opened a slim blue hand and slapped himself across the face to jolt his body into some sort of awareness.::

Foster: Why are you so paranoid?!  ::he yelled at himself in an impressively loud tone.::

::The darkness had no answer.::

::He cursed.  He called out every deity he knew and threw foul words at them.  He looked at the stars and called them names that would make his mother blush.  Well, probably make her blush - he never knew her.  He yelled and screamed at the walls until the reverberations made his antennae hurt.

And when all was said and done he didn't feel any better than he had before he started.  But his throat was sore.  Here he was, over on year after his transfer and not much better healed than the day he set foot on the Apollo.::

Foster: ::Sinking to his knees:: I am stupid.  I am so stupid...

::Both antennae perked up.  There was footfalls outside.  He frowned deeply - the bulkheads were pretty thick, meaning he had to have made a pretty good racket for someone to hear.

Maybe they didn't hear.  Maybe they were just wandering the halls...in the middle of the night... after a big tiring mission.

The chime rang.::

Foster: ::Muttering under his breath:: I really am stupid...  ::normal volume:: Who is it?

Any: ?

Foster: Nope, all fine in here.  ::A blatant lie, but hey, it sounded convincing.  Less so if one just heard his tirade, but Wyn was a decent actor.::

Any: ?

::He sighed.  He had to admit something.  Otherwise he seemed like a mad fool::

Foster: I'm a bit too drunk to be thinking straight and far too sober for my own good.

Any: ?

::His brain screamed 'do not open the door!'  But his heart screamed 'open the door, stupid!'  Anyone standing outside a locked door for a conversation this long was someone who deserved a bit of recognition for that fact at the very least, if not an explanation.  He sighed, and opened the door.

Wyn was not quite as much of a mess as he felt.  He was mostly put together.  There was some smears on his white shirt from the quick emergency transport, and big dark navy rings under his eyes from a far too high dosage of alcohol inhibitor (which was wearing off..) but otherwise he was looking fairly normal.::

Foster: Hi.  Welcome to my humble home.

Any: ?


Lt Commander Shar'Wyn Foster
Chief Medical Officer
USS Constitution-B
"Why do we fly?  Because we have dreamt of it for so long that we must"

~Julian Beck

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