CT scan is quiet and they do not need to wait awkwardly in the hallway, but they do demand the patient's name and medical record number! 

Which Marian has to scramble to look up, and this is the point at which she discovers the patient did not manage to get equipped with a hospital bracelet. She wants to melt into the floor out of sheer embarrassment, but apologizes politely, and Emma-the-resident rescues her by dint of having actually written it down somewhere she can find again. 

The patient coughs from the impact of being slid across onto the scanner bed, straining a little against the straps pinning him to the backboard - the first movement she's seen out of him.

Not that she properly checked for responsiveness herself, which would be a good idea to do before she's evicted from the room. Also she's now facing the serious problem that the hand restraints would usually be tied to the gurney, which the patient is currently not on, and she has no idea where or how to fasten them to the CT scanner base. Maybe she can find somewhere on the spinal board to tie them... 

The patient whose code name she still can't remember doesn't respond at all to being asked to open his eyes, but does grimace faintly when she pinches his nail, trying very halfheartedly to pull his arm away. 

This would normally be a good sign but right now is SUCH INCONVENIENT TIMING. Marian internally debates the merits of just going ahead and starting the sedative drug now - but his last blood pressure is already very borderline, she doesn't especially want to push it any lower. And his heart rate is up to 130 now.

Which could just be because he's in pain, but if it were only that she'd expect a higher blood pressure too. Is he bleeding internally...? She doesn't KNOW and the entire reason they're doing the scan is to CHECK and she wants it to be over now please.

She ties the restraints to the backboard, then lunges to grab the IV pump as the radiology technician starts moving it to the side. "Careful! Don't pull that - make sure it's got lots of slack on the tubing, please, that's his only IV line– One second, I'll tape it better." She has tape. Marian always has tape.

"Ventilator tubing too, please, try to get it in close so it's got more leeway when he goes in..." She hates scans so much. 

Emma-the-resident is trying to be helpful, but as a tiny baby doctor, she's very inept at it. The tech is more careful after that, though. 

They get everything set up, and vacate to behind the glass window. 

Marian reminds herself to take some deep breaths. She's irritated with her past self for failing to pay attention to the angle of the portable monitor; it's at the head of the scanner bed, but sloppily placed at an angle, and the glare from the fluorescent lights means she has to squint to read it. Also something must have jarred the stupid O2 sat probe out of position, because it's back to not getting a very good waveform. 

The senior tech is tapping away at things on the computer. "So what're we doing today?" 

"...I have no idea." God that's embarrassing. Why is today the morning of CONSTANT EMBARRASSMENT. "Uh, probably everything? - Emma, um, do you know?" She feels very awkward calling residents by their first names when they haven't discussed that, but MORE awkward about pointing out the backward nametag issue. 

"Uh, I think head, chest, abdomen? We don't know what happened to him." 

Except that some sort of giant explosion was involved, one that nearly made Marian crash her bike from miles away. This is not exactly reassuring. 

She waits. 

"...Do you have coffee?" she asks hopefully, after a couple of minutes. 

"- Oh, sure, Keurig's in back." 

Marian fidgets a bit, and eventually decides that she needs more coffee badly enough to be willing to take her eyes off the monitor for thirty seconds. To be polite, she offers to make one for Emma-the-resident too. 

Everything is darkness and fog and pain, and Leareth tries to claw his way toward the surface of it but he can't - can't move, can't see, for some reason it feels like he's choking, and breathing is unreasonably hard, trying to get a deeper breath doesn't work and just hurts -

- orient, where, what - but his thoughts are mud and glue and he can't make any headway... 

On sheer reflex he tries to Gate, without even having a destination, and it doesn't work - 

Marian stares vaguely at the stream of coffee filling the paper cup. There's a new annoying chime somewhere in the background– wait, what is that, it's not a standard alarm but it's familiar...

It's the stupid ED ventilator model, isn't it. 

She snatches up both coffees and speedwalks back to the monitoring room, because it doesn't quite sound like the scale of emergency yet that calls for abandoning coffee. 

"Your patient's coughing a lot or something," the tech says over his shoulder, sounding irritated with her about it. "We might have to redo this pass on the scan, too much motion artifact." 

"Oh. Uh, pause it a minute? I should go in and see what's up."

Whyyyyy didn't she get the portable suction, it's because she's an idiot that's why. 

Emma trails after her into the room. 

Her patient doesn't have a lot of range to move, being thoroughly strapped and tied down to the backboard, but he's certainly struggling hard against the restraints, if not very purposefully. He's also coughing a lot and fighting the ventilator, which is making its unhappiness about this loudly known. 

"Fuck," Marian says, eloquently. "God that alarm is irritating - where's the silence button -"

And she still doesn't have an O2 sat reading, probably because her patient won't stop trying to move his head even though he really really should not do that. She fumbles to turn on the IV pump, then remembers that the tubing for the propofol sedation isn't actually hooked up. Because she's stupid (okay, and partly because she sensibly wanted to have fewer tubes that might get yanked by a moving scanner bed.)

Emma, however, is rising brilliantly to the occasion, by ducking around to the other side. "Here, I can reach his IV port from here - pass me the tubing... Oh, did you still have the push syringe, I can give him a little extra while you sort that out." 

"Uh, sure, please." Marian is suspicious that this is definitely not how one is Supposed to do things, but then again nothing about this situation is how anything is supposed to be. She passes her syringe and vial across, then the trailing end of the tubing. 

It's still nearly impossible to think, but it's not a very complicated observation that something is badly wrong and he needs to get out of here now. 

Leareth tries to Gate again. 

"Eeeek what–" Marian yelps, as the floor inexplicably shakes, right at the same moment that she inexplicably gets static-electricity-zapped by touching her patient's arm. 

"Are you okay?" Emma squawks.