ximilialog | Doctor, heal thyself

CHARACTERS: Megatron and Dr. Leonard McCoy
LOCATION: Infirmary
DATE: 12/1
CONTENT: In the aftermath of the mission, Megatron goes over himself to make sure the whole spark siphoning thing didn't do too much damage. Bones assists.
WARNINGS: Medical stuff.

The return to the station felt like a relief. It wasnt home, but it was safety. It was an end to the horrible, intrusive sensation of others wandering through dreams and memories. It also meant Drift was done with his idiotic, self-sacrificial plan and was mostly alive. The first thing Megatron had done was to immediately put Drift on an energon drip, then do as exhaustive an examination as he could. Drift had been battered, fading in and out of lucidity and badly in need of more fuel to rebuild his energy reserves. Megatron had also found some internal, sturctural damage as a result of the whole mess. Most of it would be healed by the other Cybertronian's self-repair systems, given time and rest. Megatron had given Drift an injection of self-repair boosting nanites from the small supply in his medical kit to hurry things along.

Once his patient had been seen to, Megatron finally allowed himself to sink down to sit against an examination table, his whole expression and bearing weary as could be. He sags a little, a long exhalation of air coming from his system before he looks up and across the infirmary at where Doctor McCoy is finishing with some of his other patients.

"Doctor McCoy, if you have a moment, I'm going to be giving myself a quick examination. It might be beneficial for you to join me, if only so you can get idea of what sort of thing I'd be looking for. And to give you an idea of what is normal and abnormal."

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Bones looks up immediately at his name, alert to potential crisis until Megatron's explanation processes. Right, okay.

"Yeah!" His voice sounds hoarse to himself, gravelly from a long day's overuse. Though his pace is brisk, his steps are heavy, his broad shoulders sagging, as he snags a PADD and stylus from the counter before joining the Cybertronian at the exam table.

"Is there anything you need from me before you begin?"

"Drift has some internal structural damage that requires rest to heal. Proper rest. If you can somehow keep him in the infirmary for a few days, it would be for the best since I can't be here all the time."

Megatron is tired. He feels it deep in his core, a frame-piercing weariness. Even though he spent so much time dreaming, all he wants to do is plug himself into and recharge. He can't, though. Not yet. So he turns his not inconsiderable willpower to making sure that doesn't happen.

"Not particularly. If you open my medical file to make appropriate notations, I'll explain the process as I go," he says and reaches into the open medical bag on the next bed. He emerges with a small, portable hand scanner that probably puts McCoy in mind of a medical tricorder--if a medical tricorder were sized for giant robots.

"...If it's not too awkward, I may need you to assist me in making one or two scans. If I had a proper medical suite, it would be simpler but I have to make do with the hand-scanner."

"Don't worry, he's not going anywhere." Famous last words, apparently, but they'll cross that bridge when they come to it.

Calling up the file-- extensive, he notes, with a mind to read it later with Megatron's permission --McCoy is quick with his actions, standing to Megs' side and ready to begin.

"Of course." Eyeing the size and heft of the scanner, he adds, "If you'll permit me, I can modify my tricorder to effectively scan your physiology as well."

Megatron has made sure to add his own copious notes to his medical history, if only because he knows it's a complex subject.

"Ah. You have a similar device?" He seems intrigued by the idea and leans over slightly to peer at the medical tricorder.

"Please do. It may make this entire exercise that much simpler."

He shows it to him–the small device tends to read like Greek to anyone unfamiliar with medical terms and anatomy, but Megatron has a leg up in those areas–then turns it back around, tapping away at settings, at data importation.

"I see a good twenty or so patients of non-human species back home, plus we never know who we'll find when we're out there. Some of my colleagues specialize in the care of a specific species, and travel from starship to starship, teaching what they know."

A clear, synthetic chime answers him from the tricorder, and he nods to himself, satisfied. "When you're ready for me, Megatron."

"A fascinating database of various species lifesigns, I am sure," Megatron agrees. He moves his fingers across his own scanner, intent on sending over what data might be needed--and then they are ready to proceed.

"Please, go ahead." As McCoy begins the scan, the information that floods in is likely familiar to him, though with a slightly mechanical bent. There is still bloodflow (lines carrying fuel, coolant, and lubricant), a brain of sorts, there are still bones, synthetic muscle, connective bits and pieces... More worryingly there seems to be what looks like a wormhole or singularity somewhere inside of Megatron. It doesn't seem to be bothering anything but the scanner indicates that it's there, just hanging out.

Interestingly enough there is yet something akin to a heartbeat. The spark within his chest pulses regularly, energy scurrying through circuits and wires to to the rest of his body. There's another problem here: the pulse is supposed to be fairly regular, there's an arhythmic change to it where it seems to stutter and miss a beat every few seconds. It's slight, but possibly concerning according to the scan. That's on top of the spark just seeming to be worn out.

Bones spends a little while checking that singularity out, an aberration he's unsure of at first scan. But, if Megatron seems unbothered by it, and there appears to be no danger to the rest of them, the doctor moves on with the rest of his exam. The similarities of a Cybertronian's system versus a human's is fascinating, and oddly reassuring-- this is not a wholly unfamiliar being he'll be unable to assist in a real crisis.

Wrapping up, McCoy takes a breath.

"Well," he begins slowly, gathering his thoughts. "I'd say you have signs and symptoms typical of anyone who's survived a month out in the boonies under major stress, and without the best access to decent nourishment. You also have an arrhythmia in your spark, not at all shocking--if you'll pardon the saying--in light of your age, and what you've told me about your medical history thus far."

Pressing his lips together, he continues, hands on his hips, "And there's something I've never seen before."

"Considering that I had to siphon some of my own spark energy into that orb," Megatron says with a grumble.

"I am not surprised my spark is effected. I think some rest will help clear it up. And if not, well. I'm old. My circuits are worn out and my body has been rebuilt more times than I can think of," he continues, then pauses as Bones mentions something that he's never seen. There's a quirk of a brow.

"...The singularity, I assume?" He says as calmly as if Bones had discovered Megatron had two hands.

Bones has opinions on that move, but that's neither here nor there, and he keeps that to himself, picking up his PADD to jot down his notes.

His stylus hovers over the panel at Megatron's question, and he lowers both to eyeball him. "Is that... usual?"

"It is not," Megatron admits with a laconic shrug.

"I was badly damaged late in the war and a subordinate repaired me, nursed me back to health. He placed this singularity within my new body in order to facilitate freeing Sentinel Prime and Galvatron from the Dead Universe for his own purposes." It's a long story, Bones.

"On the other hand, it did prove useful. Eventually I was able to use it to siphon antimatter from the event horizon of a black hole. That I survived the situation that made such a thing necessary was only down to the crew of the Lost Light and their stubborn refusal to give up on anyone, no matter how hopeless a case."

"As you do," he mutters, siphoned antimatter- going right in his notes because, sure. Okay.

"We're only as good as our teams. The Lost Light sounds much like the Enterprise."

"Was the Enterprise also on a quest to find a semi-mythical set of antecedents and their supposedly utopic destination?" Megatron asks with a touch of laconic deprecation.

"And you'll have to give me an estimate on the amount of dramatic relationship moments and traumatized veterans aboard as well."

"Plenty. It's not a competition," he retorts, exasperated and also, baffled because: "I would've assumed a species that lives for millions of years would have figured out how to avoid dramatic relationship moments."

Okay, so he is teasing him for that latter half, the corner of his mouth drawn into a smirk.

"You are not the first human to say such a thing," Megatron observes with a wry smile.

"Nor will you be the last. Unfortunately longevity does not necessarily confer either wisdom or maturity. Rodimus is a prime example." Or Drift. Drift isn't great at being mature either but Megatron isn't going to drag him in front of Bones just yet.

"For all our nigh-immortal lifespans we are just as likely to be foolish, venal creatures."

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