Charles MacIntyre might have been master of the starship Republic, entrusted by Starfleet to be the voice of the Federation when none other could be summoned, tasked with preserving ship and crew for the betterment of all. But within Sickbay he was just one of many faces in the domain of the ship’s doctors.

And especially one in particular.

Though circumstances would conspire at least to give him some more equal footing than other captains might experience. Circumstances and a healthy amount of self-preservation as he stepped into the chief medical officer’s office with no warning but wielding an incredibly large cup of coffee in one hand and a muffin in the other.

Music, loud and jarring, echoing in his chest as soon as the door opened, spilled out into Sickbay. The change in acoustics had drawn Blake Pisani’s attention more than anything else, and she’d immediately slapped a button on a padd off to the side, bringing blessed silence to the office and sickbay itself.

“Who the hell…oh, you.” She’d started off strong and then immediately lost any steam. Eyes that had flicked up in anger immediately went back down in study of the material on two large padds she was parsing. “Bribes are acceptable,” she muttered, waving idly at a clear spot on her desk.

“Not bribes,” Mac explained as he set the food and drink down. “Merely looking after my chief medical officer. I’m of an understanding she gets cranky without coffee.” He even turned the cup so the handle was towards Blake for her own ease. “And the muffin was freshly baked.”

“Not replicated?” Blake asked, looking up, eyes narrowed and suspicious.

“I’m too afraid of Revan to try and ply you with replicated baked goods.” He sat himself down opposite Blake, taking a moment to get comfortable. “Ham and cheese with mixed herbs.”

“But what if I wanted a bribe?” Blake turned away from her reading to examine the savoury muffin, then ripped it in half with both hands, breathing in the fresh steam that rose from its innards.

“Foot massage after work?” Mac offered.

“Not much of a bribe when I can get that anytime,” Blake answered before a testing bite. The satisfied ‘hmmm’ said enough about the quality of the offering. The fact that she then offered one half to Mac said more as it was clearly an experience to be shared.

“Burgers and beer for dinner then?”

“As your doctor, no. As your girlfriend, I want a fried egg and pineapple ring in mine.”

Breaking off a piece of the proffered muffin, Mac took a nibble, nodding in contentment. It was pretty damn tasty, even if he couldn’t identify the herbs. It was either a mystery to solve or one best left untouched but enjoyed. “Fried egg and pineapple ring? So, no luck then, huh?”

“I’ve asked every single CMO that has gone pass if they have experience with…demigods, Polluxians…whatever, besides the point. Either nothing or nothing helpful. And Starfleet Medical just sent me screeds of text that aren’t helping either.” She glared at the padds before her like someone had defiled her desk in the worst way possible. “And to top it all off, Framheim’s staff haven’t gotten anything more from their scans than I did, which is a grand total of nothing.”

“Do I need to send Lieutenant Beckman back through the conduit?” Mac asked, getting to the gist of his visit finally.

“No,” Blake conceded, sounding absolutely defeated by that admission. “She’s feeling much better, at least in her own reporting. Every scan I have says she’s fine, but hell, since her awakening we’ll call it, all of her brain scans have been out of whack. I honestly can’t tell if she’s in pain or not unless she tells me at the moment. Cracking out some old-school neurological tests shows she’s got all her wits about her at least.”

“Any hints at what caused her to be sick all over the helm? Aside from sudden onset nausea and a migraine of; what was it; epic proportions?”

“Not a damn clue. Best I’ve gotten out of Willow is ‘space is wrong’. Though just after being dragged in here she did claim something about ‘the roads are shrouded and broken for a reason’. When I asked her about it, she just shrugged and said she doesn’t recall. Not surprising considering the painkillers we loaded her up with when she wouldn’t stop screaming.”

Mac picked at his muffin, digging out the chunks of ham while thinking. “I don’t like it. Just feels like an ill omen before setting off into an area that might as well have ‘here be dragons’ plastered all over it.”

“You’ve never believed in such things,” Blake said, ditching muffin for coffee finally. “Besides, Atlantis went ahead of us. We get to ride to their rescue.”

“If something prangs up Atlantis just after she got out of dock, and Republic wasn’t right there with her, I’m never going to hear the end of it from the Commodore.” He did smile slightly though as he looked up at Blake. “Kind of miss that boat.”

“Wasn’t there long myself, but was a good pack of folks.”

“Some of the best.”

“Terax was an ass though.”

“Oh, just the worst. But a good doctor who meant well.”

Blake was on the edge of taking a sip, hiding behind the mug now. “Not tempted to make a case for taking the centre seat over there?”

“And give up my shiny ship?” Mac tapped his foot on the deck twice. “Besides, the boss already made her call. Gave it to Kennedy. And you’ll never guess who he’s tapped as his XO for now.”

“Ra? Thought they’d have to pry him out of Engineering with a full security team.”

“Gabs.”

Luckily for Mac, Blake still hadn’t taken a sip of her coffee, else he’d have ended up wearing it. “No fucking way. Really?” Blake asked.

He merely nodded.

“All right, folks,” Commander Sidda Sadovu announced loudly as she stepped out of the conference room behind the bridge, hands clasping together as she stopped right behind the vacant captain’s chair. “The word is given. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Finally,” Matt Lake said from Sciences, looking even more bored than Cat Saez did subbing in the helm.

“Ah, I was just starting to make friends with Framheim’s quartermaster corps,” Trid chimed in. “The way ships were making last demands on them, I could have traded half our non-replicable probes for a quarter share in the station.”

“Oh, those were the days,” Sidda said wistfully. “But alas, we must behave, Trid.” She stepped around the chair now, descending the steps towards the helm and ops. “Be so kind as to inform Engineering we’re going to be putting Republic to the test once more.”

“We won’t catch them,” Cat said, looking over a display on the helm station. She’d drawn the unlucky straw for this shift amongst Republic’s other pilots, finding herself flying a ship versus sitting around and waiting, or flying simulator battles in starfighters. Not that there had been much flying as they had been slowly orbiting Framheim at such a distance the station was barely a distinguishable blob of light.

“Doesn’t mean we should be late,” Sidda said as she turned on Cat. “Besides, the quicker we get there, the quicker we can get the blue-shirts doing something besides wearing out the deck plates.”

“I can hear you,” Matt chimed in.

“Matt, hun, my wife can hear me whispering. If I say something, it’s because I want it to be heard,” Sidda said over her shoulder. “There’ll still be plenty to do when we get there.”

“Oh, no doubt,” Matt replied. “Just keen to get started.”

“Exactly!” Sidda agreed. “Cat, pursuit course for Atlantis, best possible speed and then some.”

“What’s the magic word?” the starfighter pilot asked as she started turning Republic on its course, clicking through confirmations from the computer and waiting just at the last one.

“Just push the damn button,” Sidda grumbled as she climbed back up to the captain’s chair, throwing herself into it with ease. “And who wants in on some action on Evan complaining about my choice of speed?”