To The Bone

Posted on Mon Jun 16th, 2025 @ 2:56pm by Sergeant Jace Morven & Commander Cressida Vale MD

3,069 words; about a 15 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: Sickbay
Timeline: 2388

The familiar ache in his left foot throbbed quietly beneath the surface, the same dull, stubborn pain he’d carried since childhood. It was a weight he’d learned to ignore, but the doctor had suggested he repaired it.

Since then, he had noticed it more. Blocked it out, kept on with his day and duties, but it was more noticeable.

Jace Morven moved through the corridors of the USS Guinevere with measured steps, each one deliberate. The path to sickbay was no longer unfamiliar, no longer a test. Today, it was routine. For the doctor anyway, Jace had never come back to a sickbay for anything. When he was in one, it was either physicals or because he had been wounded. Both were come and go. This was different. He had an actual appointment scheduled.

He paused just inside the entrance to sickbay, eyes scanning the room. This wasn’t the quiet, guarded space he’d encountered before. No nurse hovering nearby, no ground forces troopers standing sentinel in the corners. Instead, there were more faces...doctors, med-techs, a handful of patients waiting, the low hum of medical machinery and quiet conversations filling the air.

It felt different. Less tense, but not less clinical. The bright overhead lights glinted off metal surfaces and white uniforms. The scent of the sickbay itself was sharp and sterile but not overwhelming. His body tensed instinctively, the echo of old habits kicking in. High alert...always high alert. But he wasn’t a loose wire anymore, not a wild animal ready to snap at the slightest threat. He had control. He knew how to hold back. How to breathe through the noise in his head. Or block it out.

He exhaled slowly, trying to steady the muscles in his shoulders.

No guards, no barriers. Just people doing their jobs. And him, here for a fix.

He stepped forward, eyes scanning again, taking note of who was present. No threat, just business.

Then he saw her.

Dr. Cressida Vale stood near one of the med bays, calm and composed as always. Her amber eyes met his with quiet acknowledgment — no need for words yet.

He remembered their first meeting clearly.

She’d been firm...no nonsense, direct. But she hadn’t treated him like a problem to be solved or a threat to be neutralized. Instead, there’d been respect. Quiet, steady respect. And more than that, a moment where she’d shown trust, just a fraction, but enough that it had unsettled him in a way he couldn’t name.

She’d expected him to do his part, to be still, to be disciplined. And he had, for the most part, except when his instincts had kicked in and betrayed him. But he had stopped himself. He had reacted, but not acted. Because she didn’t ask for blind obedience. She asked for trust, and gave some back in return.

That had been new. At least in a medical setting.

“I’m here for the appointment. Foot repair,” he said, voice steady, controlled. But he met her eyes, made a point of it. He had come back here out of his own free will, because she had shown him that trust.

It was business as usual now in sickbay, and for that Cressida was grateful. The normal work of treating minor injuries and illnesses, punctuated by more serious issues, ideally nothing life-threatening. Challenging enough to keep the mind sharp and the bedside manner honed, without being so challenging that it meant people were seriously hurt or sick.

She had actually been looking forward to this appointment. She had seen her patient in what she thought he might consider the worst possible circumstances: submitting to scans by a new doctor simply because it was mandatory, as opposed to being hurt or sick and genuinely in need of it. Now she could see him in more typical setting. A usual day with usual needs, albeit this one planned out. She briefly wondered if he would come in.

But he did. And that sign of trust, for that’s exactly what it was, warmed her heart.

Despite circumstances, this was a good one.

“Good to see you, Sergeant,” she told him. “The staff have prepared the surgical bay for us. Don’t worry, this will be a fairly simple procedure, but I thought you’d welcome the privacy.”

She walked him toward the open alcove where a more intricate biobed was most prominent, though it was reconfigured into a chair. “I’ll ask you to sit and remove your boots and socks, and either fold the left leg of your pants up to your knee or take the pants off too. Then I’ll walk you through the procedure.”

She activated a privacy field, which simulated a wall between the surgical bay and the rest of sickbay and muffled sound, but was fully intangible, which she took a moment to demonstrate to him by sticking her hand through. Either could walk through it if they wanted to; no one was trapped.

Jace followed her without hesitation: not out of obedience, but something quieter. Steadier. Trust wasn’t a word he liked to use, but it lived in the spaces between things now, in how he moved, in who he let close. He stepped into the alcove, eyes sweeping over the setup. Equipment. The privacy field. No physical walls. No traps. Just enough separation to make people feel safe, but not penned in. Smart. She’d done that for him. He noted it.

His gaze paused on her hand passing through the simulated field, then rose to meet her eyes. “Appreciate the space, Doctor,” he said. Short. Honest. No embellishment.

He moved to the chair and sat, the act strangely easy. No biobed, no forced vulnerability. He could breathe here. He didn’t need to fight the instinct to stay standing. Boots came off in a smooth, practiced motion. Socks next. Every step executed with habitual precision, like muscle memory, only quieter now, less braced. “You remembered,” he said after a beat, cuffing the left trouser leg to his knee. “That I don’t like being boxed in.”

His eyes flicked up to her. Not a challenge. Just recognition. A thank-you, if she knew how to read it.

“Few people appreciate being boxed in,” Cressida had to admit, “but you less than most.” She checked that he was ready and then nodded, ready to get to it.

“So, Sergeant Morven, today we will be performing an osteorestoration on the third and fourth metatarsals of your left foot.” She crouched and gently tapped the foot in question, so that everyone was in agreement that this was the foot being fixed. “In ancient times this might have been harrowing but we’re no longer in the dark ages. That said, it’s still a bit unpleasant. I’ll be putting in place a stasis field from your calf down, which will numb all feeling, but will not have any undue pharmacological effects. Once that is in place, I will use an osteoregenerator, but in reverse. It will rapidly — and painlessly — dissolve just enough of the bone to allow us to reset it properly, and remove any spurs that have developed as a result of the injury. Then we will regenerate the tissue in the correct place, and remove the stasis field. It will be a little bit sore for a few days afterward, which you can treat with replicatable analgesics such as ibuprofen or acetaminophen. I’m ordering light duty and no running or otherwise stressing your feet for forty-eight hours after this, but normal duty after that.”

She gave him a slight smile and nodded. “Any questions before we proceed?”

Jace gave a slow nod, eyes steady and clear. “Understood,” he said simply. No need to explain what the pain meant...it was always there, a quiet reminder he carried alone. He had glanced down as she mentioned the stasis field, the invisible boundary that would numb his leg. The idea of being trapped in his own body, unable to feel or move that part, sparked a flicker of unease...but it was fleeting. He’d learned to accept control being taken from him when it was necessary. This was one of those times. And he could deal with being uncomfortable.

His jaw tightened briefly before he relaxed his shoulders. Trust wasn’t blind, but it was growing. He flexed his toes beneath the cuff, feeling the familiar ache beneath the numbness yet to come, keeping it locked down.

“Light duty for two days. No running.” He met her gaze with a slight tilt of his head, acknowledging her care and the unspoken trust that came with it. He didn’t need to say it aloud, but he wasn’t about to push past the limits she set. “Ready when you are.”

“Then I shall begin,” Cressida said, wasting no time.

She pulled out a stool on which to sit and placed on his calf, 5cm up from his ankle, a metal device, which she activated, causing the green light on its middle to flash.

She tapped his foot gently. “Feel that?”

Jace had felt it the moment the field engaged...subtle, but unmistakable. That creeping absence, like the limb had been cut loose from the rest of him. Not pain. Just... nothing. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move, but something behind his eyes sharpened.

The kind of quiet alert that came when control was taken from him, even by design. His jaw shifted, just once. A breath drawn low and held there, anchored in the chest. He kept his gaze on the soft green light, steady, like watching it might give the sensation back. It didn’t.

But he nodded once, slow. “No, Doctor.” The words were flat, but not cold. Just contained. That tight economy of speech he defaulted to when something in him curled inward, checked its bearings. Then, after a beat, his eyes cut to he...not fast, not defensive. Just a flicker of acknowledgment. She’d warned him. She hadn’t dressed it up. And she hadn’t rushed the moment either.

He appreciated that. Maybe more than he could say outright.

Cressida nodded and activated her handheld osteoregenerator. A screen popped out from the side, which offered a clear view of her patient’s bones through his skin. “There it is. Beginning now.”

It took just a moment for bone cells in the affected area to start to break apart, the patient’s body already filtering out the dead tissues.

“It’s been a week since you’ve come aboard,” she said as she worked. “How are you finding the ship so far?” Small talk. It was an invitation. One he might reject (it was even likely he would reject it, she thought) but one which she felt compelled to issue. Not out of duty or obligation, but a sincere desire to reach out.

Jace watched the screen without blinking, eyes narrowing slightly as the bone structure began to dissolve...cells breaking down with quiet precision. It should’ve felt strange, watching a part of himself erased. Like a breach. A loss. But it didn’t. There was a logic to it. Breakdown. Repair. Nothing wasted. He understood that kind of work.

Then her voice cut through the silence. Calm. Measured. Not prying. A question. He didn’t answer right away...not because he was weighing what to say, but because the choice was his. She hadn’t filled the space with noise or expectation. She’d left room. That meant something.

He exhaled once. Not a sigh. Just control shifting to neutral. “It holds together,” he said at last, voice low. “Systems are clean. Command’s tight. People know their jobs. No drift.”

A pause. He glanced at her, just for a second. “It’s...steady.”

It wasn’t praise, exactly. But coming from him, it was close. Truth without flattery. Enough. He sat still a moment longer, shoulders firm but not tense, jaw working once like something wanted to catch in his throat and didn’t. Then: “You been stationed here long?”

He engaged! Cressida smiled at him as she continued working, the first step nearly completed. It wasn't the initial answer, which was already more detailed than she would have expected, but the question he asked back that made her happy.

"About two years now," she answered. "Chief Medical Officer for about eighteen months. Almost..."

The sound from the osteoregenerator stopped, though the screen remained on. "This next part will be uncomfortable even with the stasis field. Tell me right away if you need me to stop."

And with that warning given, she very gently pushed at the bottom of his foot, shifting the two broken bones so their pieces were properly aligned. The instant she could, she reactivated the osteoregenerator.

He went still the moment she warned him, eyes shifting: distant, but alert. The sensation wasn’t pain. Not exactly. Just... wrong. A quiet dissonance deep in the limb, like something had been moved that wasn’t supposed to be. The kind of wrongness that usually preceded injury. A pulled trigger. A snapped joint. But no sharp signal followed. Just that echo of displacement.

He couldn’t stop it. So he didn’t try. He let it happen.

Breath steady. Pulse up...barely. Three, maybe four beats faster than baseline. He tracked it, kept it in the back of his mind, then let it go when the generator reengaged and the feeling passed. He blinked once. Slow. Reset. Then his gaze shifted to her: face calm, focused. Professional. She’d smiled earlier. Not at him, but near him.

It had reminded him of the way Vel smiled sometimes when Jace did what he said. Not praise. Not command. Just... noticed. Trusted. It sat oddly in him. Not bad. Just unfamiliar. Like that dislocated feeling in his foot, only softer. He didn’t answer her comment about her time on the ship. Not because it didn’t matter. Just because he didn’t know what to say yet.

So he stayed silent. Present. Still. Waiting.

Cressida let go of his foot once everything was sturdy enough, so she could use both hands to steady the osteoregenerator. Those last few moments demanded extra precision.

"Aaaaaand we are done," she said after giving her work one last quick check. "I'm deactivating the field over your leg now. Feeling will come back suddenly, so take a moment to acclimate." She deactivated the device on his leg and gently peeled it off.

She stood up to address him at eye level. "Once you feel like you're able, gently get to your feet, but don't rush it. Like I said, it will be sore for a few days, but it shouldn't hurt. A dull ache, not a sharp pain, so if there is a sharp pain -- and you'll know right away when you stand -- tell me."

Jace didn’t hesitate.

The moment she stepped back, he stood: smooth, controlled. No pause, no testing. Just clean movement. The ache landed exactly where he’d expected it: dull, centred, familiar. Not sharp. Not wrong. Just there.

He stayed upright a beat, weight even, assessing. Then sat again, same way he’d moved before...efficient, without noise.

Left sock, then right. Boots followed, put on with the same practised economy as always. Trouser leg down, cuff refastened. Each movement clipped, precise. Not rushed...just no time wasted. The boot felt fine. Pressure evenly spread. No friction. Just that low pulse of soreness. Manageable.

“It’s solid,” he said, eyes still down. No fanfare. Just fact.

He stood again, this time fully kitted. His gaze met hers; steady, unguarded for half a second. “Thanks, Doctor.”

Not casual. Not automatic. Just real. And rare.

"You're welcome," Cressida replied, smiling up at him.

"If the ache lasts more than a week, come back," she continued, "but I expect you'll be running better than you have in decades before then."

She deactivated the privacy screen, opening the surgical bay to the rest of sickbay. "I hope to see you around, Sergeant. I'm in the gym most days, but I expect our schedules won't always align all that well. Still, I hope to bump into you there."

She turned away to start cleaning up but then looked back at her patient, her expression suddenly much more serious. "And if I find out that you've been pushing yourself too hard before your foot is healed up...I will find you." She couldn't help herself and started grinning.

He paused at that, his eyes flickering over to calculate her expression. The grin, the threat-not-a-threat, the edge of a joke.

His gaze caught hers for half a second, sharp and amused. “I bet you would,” he said, tone even but with the barest hint of dry acknowledgment. Then, after a beat: “Wouldn’t put gold-pressed latinum on outrunning you right now anyway.”

It wasn’t quite a smile, but something eased in his stance. A nod to the joke. And maybe to the fact that he saw her. Not just as a doctor, but as someone who moved like they could handle themselves.

Cressida nodded to him, an acknowledgment that, despite most outward signs, she knew they were on the same page.

"You're dismissed, Sergeant," she told him. And she went about tidying up her workspace -- a crucial step that she refused to ever skip, or force someone else to do. Her mess, her job to fix, no matter the rank pips. "Have a good rest of your day, Mr. Morven."

Jace shifted his weight onto his good foot and gave a brief nod...no flourish, no grand gesture, just the barest motion of respect and acknowledgment. His eyes met hers again, steady and clear for a heartbeat longer than necessary, before he turned away.

His steps were measured, deliberate, steady; no hurry, but no hesitation. As he passed the threshold of sickbay, he glanced back once, the corner of his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly -a subtle flicker that hinted at a smirk, but didn’t quite form one.

Then he was gone.

----

Commander Cressida Vale, MD
Chief Medical Officer, USS Guinevere

Sergeant Jace Morven
Platoon Sergeant, Federation Ground Forces Detachment
USS Guinevere

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