He was home, the subtle heat of his nen growing as she tread closer. That was good… probably, a darker part of her mind whispered, and she blinked stubbornly. No, it was good. He could help. He was one of the few others with anatomical skills, and the closest. She wouldn’t have to threaten some naive surgeon this way.
She didn’t even have the time to will herself to raise her hand before a piercing bright light is shone from his dwelling, and she almost staggers back, snapping her eyes shut.
She laughed, a small, bitter sound at his words. He always was one to comment on the obvious. “No kidding.”
He lets her in, and so in she does stumble. She clicks her teeth at herself, knowing her weakness is a result of the blood she has lost already, and unfortunately not something she can control. “You open for business?” She questioned, already heading towards his basement, where she knew he kept his supplies. But her walk is weak, and her vision is blurring. She takes too long to move, and Feitan scooped her into his arms. She’s too weak to protest physically, so instead she does it verbally. “You don’t need to carry me,” she insisted. “I can walk.”
But he ignored her, and she is lain on his cold table when they reach the bottom. His work room appeared empty, which was lucky for her. She hated being in this state in front of him. It wasn’t rational, but she kept waiting for the moment he decided to make good on his words. He couldn’t be called her killer if she died of something like blood loss, could he?
Well, he’d find out if he moved slower.
She kept her eyes closed, unwilling to look into his eyes, but also to avoid the lighting in his room. It would pierce through her sight and leave her head aching if she let it.
Why was he wasting his anaesthetic on her, she wondered. He knew of her ability to ignore pain, to ignore injury and continue fighting. It was what made her valuable, it was what she’d trained so hard to attain. What was the point?
“No-one you need to concern yourself with,” she answered thickly. Her tongue felt heavy and awkward to use.
“You’ll tell me later.” Feitan wasn’t going to be alone in demanding answers after alerting their boss. Multiple people must have jumped Machi if they managed to gouge her stomach. The thought stoked his worsening displeasure. He might have quarreled the last time they saw each other, but whatever ill wishes he directed towards those who opposed him were hardly authentic.
He bypassed cauterizing her wounds, instead working quickly to stitch and reorient sections of her gastrointestinal system. During this, he simultaneously applied an emergency Enhancement technique to force tissue regeneration. “Nice lungs.” he complimented, lightly tapping the bottom of her open ribcage before sealing her belly from both sides. Two IV’s attached to Machi’s intact arm pumped life-saving blood and fluids into her veins. They had committed everybody’s blood types to memory for irregular instances like these.
“Still awake?” The shorter patted Machi’s cheek with a bloody glove as if encouraging her to remain conscious. “I’m going to break your arm again.” That was all the warning she received. A nauseating crack echoed throughout the room, followed by a second. He then utilized the same Enhancement technique on the fracture sites lining her arm and fingers.
His materials for constructing a plaster cast were upstairs, so he left Machi by herself momentarily to retrieve them. He rarely played medic, unlike his patient. “Don’t die. Chrollo will be sad.” Feitan reminded, returning to her side once ready. In reality, Machi’s death would devastate everyone—particularly those whose bones she set and strengthened long ago.
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