Nowhere to Run
Posted on Sun Nov 18th, 2018 @ 5:17pm by
Mission:
Run Afoul
Location: Murphy's quarters/sickbay
Timeline: During "Run of Luck"
615 words - 1.2 OF Standard Post Measure
It felt odd to Patrick, being alone in quarters that didn't belong to him and their owner was off tending to his duties. Yet the invitation had been there and the door had opened for him. Standing alone in the middle of the room, he recalled what had happened the last time he'd been here. Unconsciously, his eyes traveled to the floor, where Murphy had dropped after a hologram had shot him. At least the hologram wasn't here this time, much to Patrick's relief.
He sighed softly, crossing the room towards the bedroom. Now this place was so private, this wasn't a place he would normally cross into. Yet.. he'd been invited to stay the night and he ought to make himself comfortable. He tossed the book he'd been holding onto the mostly unmade bed, dumping a small bag at the foot.
Patrick had stopped by his own quarters to pick up a few necessities after leaving the holodeck. Even if he believed he probably would wake up without them, he sure wasn't going to bed without pajamas. Smiling to himself, he crossed into the bathroom, taking note of the small array of personal items that were displayed here.
He took his time to indulge his curiosity a little, after all one didn't often get such an opportunity to do so. Shaking his head, he stooped to pick up a pile of discarded running clothes, which he folded and put out of the way.
He felt a tremor pass through the deckplates as he stripped himself down. He paused, reaching for his pajama pants, wondering what this was about. He had just pulled up the pants when another, more violent tremor passed through. It was followed by the deafening sound of an explosion and the force threw the chef off his feet.
He felt himself flying through the air and he flailed his arms around, hoping to catch himself on something. His body connected with something and he felt something give, pain lancing out into his torso and down his arm. The pain was intense and his vision greyed out as a result. Crying out, he collapsed to the deck.
After an unknown length of time, the young chef stirred and groaned, trying to pull himself up. He was covered in debris of various sizes. Panic seized him as he recalled this was how Andrew had been killed. Fortunately, while he was buried uner it, he could get out from under the remains of the bathroom fairly easily. He nearly passed out again when he put weight on his left arm, so he shifted and wiggled himself out without using it.
Dusted, scraped in numerous places and his pants ripped in one of the legs, Patrick struggled to get out of the room. He was so focused on getting out that he didn't really think of even getting his shirt or his comm badge. He grimaced as his bare foot stepped into something and his own cry sounded muffled from the blast.
Dazed, confused and cradling his arm, Patrick somehow managed to find his own way to sickbay. A nurse caught him as he nearly fell over, taking note of the large bruise that had formed across the left side of his torso. She could also see his left shoulder was dislocated. "Doctor!" She called out as she led the young man to a bed.
Patrick allowed himself to be led. "Murph," he murmured, "where's Murph, is he alright?" Had the man come home? Was he buried somewhere? He looked at the nurse, panic in his eyes. "Where is he?" He asked before passing out a second time.
Patrick O'Malley
Injured chef
pnpc Lhaes
