<a class="link link--internal" href="https://bluemoonroleplaying.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=83335&amp;pid=2015179#pid2015179"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#dda0dd">Iona Knutesdottir<br/>
</span></a>The St. Anne<br/>Evening Watch<br/>Tagged: Dr. Khan<br/><br/>Regaining consciousness after the hard burn was less like waking up and more like fighting her way out of a drugged up nightmare.  Several times she moved towards consciousness, spurred on by the slow leak of adrenaline from the patches the Doctor had put on her, but the beating her body took screamed in defiance and she kept sinking back beneath the grey blanket of sleep.  Finally enough of the drug got into her system to defeat the pull of pain and Iona groaned and forced her eyes open.<br/><br/>A steady throb, a hard one, pulsed against the back of her head as one mother of a headache curled around the base of her brain and squeezed.  Without looking Iona reached down and for the second time today pulled out a strip of bubble derms, oval shaped orange lozenges lined up neatly in a row like soldiers ready to do battle.  She was about to peel one off one-handed when they were tugged from her fingers.<br/><br/>"Hey," she protested then groaned at the pain in the back of her skull.  "I need those," Iona said and pushed herself up onto her elbows.  Quarter-g, she decided, grateful that someone had dialed down the grav plates in the-<br/><br/>Clinic.  She was in the small excuse for a clinic aboard the St. Anne.  Forgetting the pain for the moment, or that she saw the gruff but oh so very valuable Dr. Khan with the strip of analgesics in her hand that she'd taken from the Captain, Iona sat all of the way up and almost lazily let her legs drift over the side of the bed and rest on the floor.  Lazy because moving too fast in low-grav just made you drift and bounce and look ridiculous.  Nausea swam in her stomach and she swallowed it back, knowing it was from the hard burn she'd suffered through and unaware it was an additional side effect of the patches the doctor had slapped on her.<br/><br/>She was back aboard the St. Anne, safe as she could be with her ship - her world - wrapped around her again and in control again.<br/><br/>"Water," she asked, commanded, and took the bulb of it from the Doctor and squeezed, holding a mouthful for a long moment before swallowing.  The side of her face felt stiff, sticky too, and she brushed a hand across it and saw dried blood flake off.  Her nose felt full, Iona realized, and when she blew it into a tissue clots and streaks on it told her she'd had one epic noseblood.<br/><br/>"I need," she said slowly, turning her face to look into Sonakshi's rounder one that was set with professional gruffness for her patient pushing instead of being poked at, "something for this headache, and I hurt all over, and I kind of want to throw up on you right now."  Iona shut her eyes and rubbed at the back of her neck, wishing it was being done by someone with strong, thick fingers instead.<br/><br/>"And can you give me a sitrep, please?" she asked.  "I assume since we're not thrusting that we're still in orbit?"<br/><br/>Who was keeping the crew together while she laid about in the clinic who knows how long?  Was everyone okay?  Iona desperately wanted to get out of the clinic, to get to the bridge and bring her crew around her and see each and every face, but she knew she wasn't ready for it.  Better to be late than weak, better to take time to clean up and look in charge than a bloody mess.<br/><br/>Oh Christo, Donovan must be having kittens.  The thought made a new wave of pain throb and she felt the need to throw up rise almost to the top of her throat.