It Was, All Things Considered, a Bad Day to Injure an Ankle, Part II
Posted on Thu Mar 12th, 2026 @ 1:01pm by Ensign Iozhara & 1st Lieutenant Ángel Martinez
1,401 words; about a 7 minute read
Mission:
The Menagerie II
Location: Sickbay, Deck 12, USS Astrea
Timeline: 1515 Hours
~Continued from: It Was, All Things Considered, a Bad Day to Injure an Ankle, Part II~
Martinez braced without meaning to, fingers curling into the edge of the biobed as the pressure shifted. They knew enough that it would not be pleasant...the sharp flare as the boot came free, confirmed it, and it made their breath catch, deep in their chest. Their jaw tightened, eyes closing for half a second too long, then opening again as they let the tension drain from their shoulders. They didn’t pull away. Just exhaled slowly, controlled, sweat standing out along their hairline as they nodded once. Ready for whatever came next.
"Even if there's no team, I'm sure you could start one," Iozhara said, her eyes glued to the foot. "Though, it's a rough sport with gravity. I do most of my climbing in zero-g or high-g but I'd be willing to give handball a try."
Martinez gave a small smile, watching Iozhara's face, the focus on it. "Maybe. Ships tend to have their own...set up. I've seen most through my service. Zero-g handball was the only one I was good at." They paused, the smile still there but faint now. "Or the only one that made sense to my body."
Iozhara set the boot carefully on the floor, where it lay like a shed skin. She let her hands linger for a moment longer--one to steady the calf, the other maintaining heel support. The sock had already slipped halfway down and was bunched damp. She slid it the rest of the way off in the most delicate way possible, folding it back over itself so it didn't scrape the skin.
Beneath, the foot was angry with colour: a deep red blooming around the ankle, swelling distorting the lines normally seen of the bone and tendon. Hovering one hand just an inch from it, Iozhara could feel heat radiating outward.
"It doesn't look good, Martinez," she said, leaning over to look at the medial shin area. "But thankfully we have twenty-fourth century medicine."
She reached for a tricorder and brought it online, the device hummed and chirped as she swept slowly from the toes to the knee, pausing at the syndesmosis, then again along the talus. She carefully rotated the foot a few degrees inward, watching Martinez for signs of additional pain.
Martinez’s breathing was tight, controlled. Their eyes were dark with discomfort....not the sharp grind of broken bone, but pain all the same. They met Iozhara’s eyes and held them. “Twenty-fourth century medicine’s nice.. when it works.” The words were taut, but there was the faintest smile playing at the corner of their lips. As if they had balanced before when modern medicine had departed the building and what options they had left were limited.
Iozhara closed the tricorder and set it aside on a nearby tray and turned to face Martinez.
"You have a grade three high ankle sprain," she said, looking at them directly and without any emotion. "Your anterior inferior tibiofibular ligament is completely torn, and the posterior ligament is partially torn."
"Great job, Martinez. Excellent. Never do anything halfway," Martinez said with a soft chuckle before they exhaled. "Right then, doc....I'm sorry, I don't think I actually caught your name?" or maybe they had, and it had slipped. The thought pulled a deeper frown than the pain in their foot ever had.
She turned her face toward the Marine, her eyes meeting theirs. "Nurse Iozhara," she corrected with a gentle upturn of her lips. "There's no need to apologize at all, Lieutenant. I can only imagine the pain you must be feeling."
Iozhara crossed to a bulkhead compartment between the biobeds and removed a different tray containing several other instruments, setting them on the bed. She reached for one--a rounded, clamp-like affair--and begin entering a series of commands. "This is a tissue regenerator," she said absently. "Lean back. I'll be clamping this around your ankle. It won't hurt."
Martinez nodded, leaning back as they let out a soft breath. "Nurse Iozhara," they repeated, voice gentle as they tried the pronunciation. They let her work, thinking about it. "Pain's not that bad. I mean...it's not like getting a knife in your leg, or cramps or that sort. It just...is, and you'll make it better. Simple modern medicine."
She inclined her head slightly, looking directly at Martinez now. "Um, you've had a knife in your leg?"
"I didn't put it there on purpose," they said and met her eyes, a small smile coming to them. "It was during the war. CQB..." they looked away, the smile there, but there was a slight hardness behind it. As if it took effort to give it. "Luckily we had a medic, patched me up quickly. It also didn't cut anything vital." That last mattered.
The hum of the tissue regenerator tickled her ears while she studied Martinez--not the ankle, nor the sweaty vest, but their smile. It was as though their smile was something they chose rather than something that had appeared unbidden.
"I've heard from some marines on board that you can't put a price on a good medic," Iozhara remarked. She gently tightened the clamp of the regenerator, watching Martinez's eyes for any signs of discomfort.
Martinez tensed, briefly, before they nodded. "It's true. During the war, we had Starfleet medical personnel as medics. Losing one was worse than losing a soldier...it didn't mean just losing the expertise..." their eyes met Iozhara's, briefly. "It was the gear too. Thankfully...it's...different times now."
The regenerator's hum softened as the first cycle completed. A new line of data scrolled across the small display. Ligament fibers knitting. Inflammation easing. The angry heat beneath the clamp was already beginning to cool. She adjusted the stabilizer around their ankle, her hands moving confidently and carefully. The swelling had already begun to settle and the skin no longer stretched so tight that it shone. Beneath the clamp, the invisible work continued.
"You were lucky back then," Iozhara added, after a moment. "The war took too many lives."
Martinez nodded, eyes fixed ahead for a brief moment, not truly seeing. Or feeling. The words echoed in their head. It had. It had taken many lives. For a moment there was a muscle in their jaw that tensed...and then they exhaled, slowly, eyes focusing again. "Still breathing," they said, words spoken softly. "A friend of mine used to say that if you're still breathing, you keep moving."
"Speaking of moving," Iozhara stepped back to check the readout once more. A satisfied looked crossed her face and she removed the clamp, replacing it with a thin compression wrap. "This will finish the work the regenerator started. You can walk--but I want you to take it easy for the next few days. No obstacle courses. No heroics." She smiled at the Marine. "Remember that your body will heal faster if you allow it the time."
Martinez tipped their head back and almost groaned. Almost. There was almost a sulk. But there was something a little playful in it as well and they looked at her and wriggled their toes. "Desk duty. If I suddenly start over-replicating hot drinks out of boredom...I am going to blame Medical..." they winked and whatever air of...something else...seemed to have disappeared.
Iozhara smiled warmly. "Think of it as a reset, of sorts." She met Martinez's eyes once again. "And if you decide to start that handball team, come and find me."
Martinez gave a nod of thanks and respect. "Will do, Nurse Iozhara," they said, and found that they meant it. Not just because they would most likely try and get people involved...but because this nurse had seen them as they were and done nothing except been honest...and yes, cut their boot off. Small price to pay for another name that they could remember.
1st Lieutenant Ángel Martinez
Marine Officer
USS Astrea
Ensign Iozhara
Nurse
USS Astrea
(NPC of JB Dorsainvil)
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