Every once in awhile, Phil had an interesting case. Most often, this was related to landing parties -- encounters with alien flora or fauna, accidental brushes with unknown diseases, occasionally surly natives. But sometimes there was an interesting shipboard case, too. For instance, he'll never figure out how Crewman Meres managed to get a fork buried halfway into his thigh during a routine security drill. Or how Ensign Slowe ended up covered in semi-sentient goo in the labs. But he did figure out how Lieutenant Becker ended up straining his back -- hand-to-hand practice with Number One -- and he did figure out why Crewman Mu had to shave off all of her hair --an improperly used shower gel picked up on shore leave.
This was an interesting case.
Lieutenant Montgomery Scott, one of the last people Phil ever expected to walk into Sickbay, came in before his shift started, face an interesting shade of red, looking decidedly disheveled.
While Scott was not nearly as jumpy as he used to be, he usually had to be ordered through the doors by the Chief. He was a relatively infrequent visitor; minor knicks and cuts and scratches were not, in any engineer's mind, reason enough to bother putting down their tools to get fixed up, and Scott in particular was both annoyingly and admirably stoic in the face of even non-minor injuries that probably should be looked at, which usually led to Cait rolling her eyes and sending him to Sickbay to look either abashed or sullen, depending upon how much work needed to be done in Engineering.
What Scott never did, though, was walk in of his own accord.
"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?" Phil asked, picking up his tricorder while said lieutenant, whose fair face was turning evermore red, stood cradling his wrist.
Scott cleared his throat and pointedly looked anywhere but at Phil. "I think... I think I sprained my wrist, sir. Could ye fix it? I mean, before-- before my watch starts?"
"Sure, have a seat. Worked the afternoon watch, too?"
"No, sir," Scott answered, managing to lever himself up onto a bed with one arm, blushing so hard even his ears had turned red.
Phil's eyebrows made for his hairline like the fastest little furry caterpillars in existence, but he didn't comment, and firmly forced them back to their neutral setting. "Oh. All right. Let me have a look."
Scott obligingly held out his arm, and Phil scanned it. Sure enough, it was a sprain, though not a particularly bad one. Enough to interfere with work, though, so Phil went to get a tissue regenerator and a brace, and while he was busy fixing the wrist as far as it would go in one treatment, he was also puzzling over the abrasions his tricorder had picked up that Scott wasn't apparently bothered enough by to disclose. To Phil's mind, it looked a little like the lieutenant had taken a fall and skinned his knees and elbows. Which could account for the blush -- how does someone trip on a starship when everything's going right? -- though not perhaps the strength of the blush.
"All right, keep the brace on during work for two days, no lifting or weight bearing," Phil said, not allowing his idly curious thoughts to make it so far as into his voice, fitting the lightweight brace and then velcroing it closed. "Got it? Come back tomorrow so I can check on it."
"Aye, sir," Scott said, surprisingly demure given his usual impatience. "Thank you, sir."
"You're welcome," Phil said, automatically, and he was still chewing it over when the lieutenant beat a hasty retreat.
Interesting case, indeed. And then, it got even more interesting.
Yeoman Fiona Langley, one of the people least likely to get injured on a starship, came into Sickbay before her shift started, walking gingerly and looking decidedly disheveled, about ten minutes after Scott left. And when she looked up at Phil, she wasn't blushing, but she did look rather sheepish. "Doc? I think I might have pulled a muscle in my back," she said, smooth face drawn in a grimace. "Can you fix it?"
And in that moment, Phil knew the score.
"All right, Yeoman, have a seat and I'll see what I can do for you."
She managed to get up on the bed, her blonde hair half coming out of the girlish ponytail she usually wore it in, and tried to sit up straight, which just ended up making her wince. The scan revealed that she had, indeed, pulled a muscle. Not too badly, but enough that even with a round of regen, she'd probably need to take the night off.
"All right. I can regen the muscle fibers, but you'll need to call off tonight," Phil said, not having failed to note that Langley had also somehow, not-so-mysteriously, ended up with skinned knees.
"Yes, sir," she said, some of the tension on her face easing as she leaned forward. "I didn't even realize how much it hurt until I tried getting a shower."
"Mm. Well, it'll be better by tomorrow night, though I'd recommend you avoid any strenuous -- or overly enthusiastic -- activity," Phil said, running the regenerator over the pulled muscle in her back. "In addition, I'd also recommend from now on that you take more caution when it comes to starship carpeting. Next time you and a certain lieutenant cross paths, you might pass on that information."
Langley instantly turned pink, but she bit her lip around an entirely self-satisfied grin. "Yes, sir."
Rug burn. Kids in love. Case closed.
Chapter Notes: Phil Boyce solves a mystery.