I just want to sleep

She walked into Medical, she made it at least that far. Gave report. Offworld call, crash site with hostiles, two wounded from the planet, two to three from their team: Wash, who she was giving report on when Locus came partially to check on him and mostly to collect Felix, who she wanted checked out because he was nearly as close as Wash to the same grenade and must have hurt something, …and herself. 

“Chart number’s 2522, we need a type and screen but should come back O negative. Gross somatic trauma secondary to a frag grenade detonation, twenty meters distance, confined space. Lacerations all over, risk of concussive barotrauma, worst wounds are on the legs and shoulders and he's already down a couple units of blood, minimum.” She didn't break stride as they hit the bay doors to Medical, walking along with the stretcher while adjusting a sensor with one hand. “500 saline bolus during takeoff and it's been running wide open on the flight. Pressors and pain control on board, BP’s low, pulse is compensating…”

“Who's the other patient?” Grey had glanced over the rims of her safety glasses with a look that said she definitely already knew the answer.

“Me, sucking chest wound, but as long as the patch I've got on it holds, I can wait, besides I still need to do a head CT on–”

“Oh no you can't. Trauma 2.” She pointed. Oklahoma was still pointing out some numbers on Wash’s charting, which was up on a holo display above his chest. 

“I'm fine. Just a minute–”

“Now, Agent. Kansas, you take Washington.” Her tone left no room for argument. Even Locus glanced up at the sharp tone, closer to the stretcher than she'd realized with one hand against Washington's shoulder, talking to Felix about something she didn't have enough spare attention slots to follow. OK hadn't even noticed the two mercs meeting up and trading clipped mission details until, in the confusion, the crowd around the stretcher split and left herself and Grey in Trauma 2, and Felix, who she'd been about to walk down the hall to radiology, standing in the doorway. 

“You need something?” Grey was already grabbing supplies as she nudged Oklahoma toward the table. “We're a little busy.”

“He was close to the same explosion that caught Wash. Needs imaging and–”

“I asked him.”

Felix had shrugged at them. “Medic said I couldn't leave without a checkup.”

“I can see you after her. Or you can find someone else.”

Why was he looking at her like that? He'd seen blood before, he'd definitely seen her blood before… but he was staring at the place where it was wicking out onto the exam table paper from her soaked-through blacks, eyes widening as her plates were nudged apart, the soft, stretchy under armor fabric was cut away, and the patch was carefully eased loose, then replaced with a temporary valve with a soft but wetly audible pop. She heard Grey sigh in frustration over the rustle of PPE.

“In or out, Gates.”

…and because given the choice between the two directions, he'll always pick forward over back, she can hear the door click closed and his voice, one step nearer than a second ago, say “In.”

“Stand there, don't move.” Her voice is clipped, but there's a soft edge to it that OK’s only used to hearing when Grey is watching a procedure and appreciates someone's practice. It's the kind of tone she uses while she's walking a resident through a procedure, but has already become impressed with their sterile technique. It's not something you hear from her often, and since it's extremely high praise, she'd know– she's always hoping to hear it from over her shoulder as she works. “You get dizzy, sit before you fall.”

“I'm used to blood.” Her eyes flick open to make sure she isn't hallucinating. Nope. He's still here. 

“Not the blood we're worried about.” Grey is setting up the instruments and supplies to her left. Felix is on her right, a few feet away, which means she has a chance. 

“Get out of here. What are you even–” The valve is removed to prep the site. This time, when she inhales to talk, her chest spasms and locks up. Grey clicks her tongue. 

“Agent. Settle down.”

“Don't you have…” there, she can make it if she goes a few words at a time, “...something else to… do?” Breathing hurts, but she can always hurt later. “Training? preening?” pause, breathe, “...a nap?”

“We're not opening and closing the door again while I'm doing a sterile procedure, Agent. He's in. For the duration.”

“Have to get checked out before I can leave.” Was he that pale a minute ago? She had trouble keeping her eyes open, she can't remember. “Medic’s orders.”

“You're… gonna be waiting.” There's the skin prep. She keeps herself still for the swipe and scrub that feels freezing cold compared to the flushed, inflamed skin it's touching, but it's a near thing.

“Figured as much.” 

“Go get Kansas.”

“After this. Can't leave, remember?”

“Brace, Agent. We don't have time to numb.”

“Mhm.” as deep a breath in as she can get, and she's trying to hang onto the side of the table for stability. He's not supposed to see this, any of this…

“Gates.”

“Yeah?”

“Make yourself useful and put your hands here, and here.” Warm pressure on her right shoulder, pinning it to the table, and under her left arm, holding it up and out of the way. Her eyes fly open. His face is inches away from hers, and one of his hips is instinctively pinning hers down as he leans over from the side of the table, their respective armor plates almost locked with each other from the angle and pressure.

“I can… keep myself still, Grey.”

“And now you don't have to.” The drape is nudged under her ribcage and this is not how this is supposed to go. Her eyes meet his. Keep the civilian calm. Not a civilian, exactly. But still. She can do that. 

“Felix. Don't look.”

“I kill people for a living.” He sounds thoroughly unimpressed. “Remember?”

“Still…” the scalpel brushes her skin and she tenses up. His grip adapts to it. Her pulse does something it's definitely not supposed to that she chooses to write off as anticipation of pain.

“I'll be fine.” she watches his gaze flick over to where Grey is carefully slicing between one rib and another, then back to her face, eyes a little wider than before. She's setting her jaw before the clamp can slip inside and start to open, watching his eyes. Manage the person in the room who's the most inexperienced, she can do that.

“It's… okay. This is… gonna hel—” There's the clamp. Her eyes cross from the pain, watering at the edges, and by the time she blinks them clear, it's gotten hard to talk. Then the clamp opens, a layered series of wet, ripping, tearing sounds, and her vision fills up with stars. As they clear, she watches Felix’ eyes jump to the side, nearly flinch, and then flicker back to hers.

“Told you–”

“Stop talking, Agent.” Grey's voice has thoroughly lost that approving soft edge, going flat and hard instead, the tone of *you know better than that*.

Her mouth moves silently, because if she worries about keeping a trained killer from fainting at the sight of blood, she doesn't have to worry about the chest tube that she can't do anything about. Eyes over here. Don't look.

“You don't look, either.” She can't place his tone, especially not with Grey sweeping her finger into the wound, pushing into the cut tissue and moving around. There's a twitch and what she knows from experience is a visible bulge in her intercostal skin. It's creepy the first fifty times you see it, and she has a feeling this is in his first five. What starts as a silent laugh cuts short when she coughs, tasting blood, and she can tell some made it onto her lips because instead of cutting to the side when Grey sharply tells them both to be still, his eyes drop to her mouth for just half a second. She shakes her head slightly. Nothing to worry about, perfectly normal.

I do this for a li– she only gets halfway through echoing his words back to him before the next phase of the procedure starts, a tube with a guidewire sliding into the newly created hole along with Grey’s gloved fingers, and she freezes up again from the pain. Keep her eyes on the civilian, for lack of a better term, and keep him calm, and she tries, but her expression isn't locking into the cool, collected mask it normally does. Felix has now, she's absolutely sure of it, gotten a lot paler than normal, and he's working hard on looking calm, just like she is. Not something she's seen him have to do since… well, since she was in Grey's place, and he was in hers, and… shit, this room is probably a PTSD minefield. It's alright, she starts. You're safe. Deep breath i–

There's another sound that's horrible the first few times you hear it, a wet, sucking pop, one last spike of pain, and then instant relief. The vitals monitor stops beeping in the one specific way that means low O2 sat, although the rest of the abnormal value orchestra keeps playing. Air floods into her lungs, and gets coughed back out again from the shock, each exhale blood-flecked and rough. Some of it gets on those shiny, polished plates and she winces. 

“Sorry–”

“Don't. Move. Oklahoma.”

“Y… yes ma'am.” 

“That includes speaking.”

Just a nod. She's setting the water chamber up– they're smaller and lighter now than civvie models, a little module about the size of a datapad that gets taped down on her side– and the grip on her shoulder and under her arm loosens. She watches him pause and look over to Grey for direction and that's got to be a hallucination of some kind. When has he ever waited for instructions from anyone but Locus or Price?

“Not yet. Still have to suture.”

“Got it.” Something has happened to his voice. Something probably related to a trauma trigger or forty-seven. She could kick herself if she wasn't currently being held down.

“Good instincts. We'll make a medic out of you yet.” The gentle tug of stitches being tied off barely registers compared to everything else. “If hurting people and being good at it ever gets boring, you let me know.”

“Not… uh, not likely.” A hard swallow and a glance towards the door. She knows that look.

“Go… go on. Incision’s closed.” She manages it without a cough this time, but he just shakes his head. 

“Grey's not done yet.” 

“You look like you're gonna pass out.”

“Well, I'm not. That would seriously cut into my preening time, remember?” With the worst of the hardware out of direct play, he seems like he's getting some color back. She has to be careful with laughing, but cracks a grin, and from the slight metallic taste, can tell it's red tinged. Oops.

“I'm fine. Really. Had a lot worse.”

“Yeah?” something in his gaze shifts, something she'd miss if she wasn't trying to hold eye contact and keep him calm. It's an angle of view almost like someone hearing news from the front line they do believe, but do *not* like. 

“Oh, yeah. This is a pretty normal…” she pauses as the dressing is smoothed down. “...Tuesday.”

It doesn't seem to help the expression. If anything, that calculating angle gets a little worse. 

“Done!” Grey finally pulls back, taking the drape and supplies with her.

“Felix? …you can let go.”

“Huh? –yeah.” His hands come off a little suddenly, leave places that start to chill unpleasantly to match the rest of her skin. Medical is always freezing. “Yeah.”

“You can go now.” She nods toward the door. “Procedure’s over, I'm fine, go get some fresh air, come back for imaging within two hours. Sorry about all this.”

“...Grey?”

“Gates?”

“When does that come out?”

“Couple days.” she glances over her shoulder and OK can see the glint in her eye that means she's going to make someone ask for something rather than reading their mind and silently planning along. “...Should I call you?”

“No!”

“Yeah. Call me.” The door clicks closed behind him. Footsteps fading, much slower than they should for someone rushing out of a room that reminded them of their last near death experience.

“You are not calling him.”