Misunderstood Medicine

“No,” he says a little louder, placing his hand on the Sniper’s shoulder.  “No, I don’t trust him not to just lop the whole thing off.

“I can… I can walk you through what you need to do.  It’s not… hard.  I can dress my wound after you’re done.”

The Sniper nods. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.” He stands, and sits back down. “Alright. I can do this.

“Right, so I gotta get at it, first. There’s no savin’ these trousers anyway.” He surveys Amelia’s cabinets, pulling out a pair of paramedic scissors. Gavin hesitates, scissors an inch from the Medic’s pantleg. “This right?”

“Yes, that’s right,” he whispers, sitting patiently while Gavin slides the Medic's pants off.  The Medic tries not to cry out when the Sniper moves his hand over the lump.  “Now go look for a knife, a pair of tweezers, something for me to bite, und… und something to hold the bullet.  And dressings.”

“Gotcha, mate.” He pulls a tray of tools from Amelia’s cabinet, taking out the ones that look familiar: two broad scalpels, a pair of forceps, a bottle of distilled water, antiseptic, a roll of bandages and gauze, surgical tape, and a small penlight.

Amelia’s sink is clean and deep, the Sniper scrubs his arms to the elbow as he’s seen Otto do. He sterilizes the tools in the scalding water, and lays them on a clean sheet of paper beside the Medic.

Gavin folds a soft gauze pad into quarters, pressing it into the Medic’s hand. “Don’t want you breakin’ any teeth,” he explains.

He weighs the scalpel in his hand, trying to gauge the first cut.

"I've never done surgery before, Doc. You sure you-"

"Just... be careful," the Medic sighs.  "Cut along the diameter and just pull the bullet out."

The skin parts easily beneath the scalpel. Blood wells hot along his fingers. The Medic squirms in his grip, the Sniper grits his teeth and deepens the incision.

Gavin folds another piece of gauze, pouring a little of the water over the wound.

He takes a hold of the Medic’s leg with his bad hand, picking up the forceps with the other. He holds the penlight in his teeth.

“Alright, Doc,” he mumbles around the light. “Walk me through it.”

“D-Disinfect it first,” the Medic stutters, ready to bite down on the gauze at any moment.  He gestures in the general area of the bullet, hands shaking.  “The bullet’s not very far in.  Find it, carefully pull it out, and then disinfect it again.”

“Shouldn’t you stitch it closed?”

“That’ll do more harm than good,” he replies through gritted teeth.  “Trust me.  Please, just get it over with.”

“You’re the doc, Doc.”

The Sniper angles his light with his tongue and takes a firm grip on the Medic’s calf. Taking up the bottle of antiseptic solution, he pours it liberally over the wound.  Kurt bites down hard on his gauze with a pained whine, trying vainly to stop shaking.

“You’re alright,” the Sniper murmurs, running his thumb over the Medic’s leg. “I gotcha.”

Gavin takes a deep breath, and picks up the forceps. He hesitates for only a moment before dipping the forceps into the wound. He pushes past the ragged flesh, the tool hits something hard, and for a moment, he can’t tell if it’s bone or the bullet.

“Shit,” he mutters apologetically, trying to angle his light to see the mess of shredded skin and hot, fresh blood. He angles the forceps again, they slide a little, wrapping around the bullet.

The grip is slippery, the Sniper bites the flashlight in concentration as he keeps a tight hold on the tool, easing the bullet free.

The Medic makes a strangled noise that sounds like a mix between a cry and a scream.  The bullet remains stubbornly in his calf, and the Sniper pulls harder.  Kurt’s following scream is muffled by the gauze, and his eyes squeeze shut with an onslaught of hot tears.

With a fresh spurt of blood, the bullet comes out. Gavin fumbles, and it falls out of the forceps’ grip and onto the ground with a clink.

With surprising speed, the Medic snatches his wrappings, tape and antiseptic.  He cleans the wound again with a grunt, and presses a healthy sized pad of gauze onto the wound.  Frantically, he motions for the Sniper to hold the edge of the bandages while he rolls them around his leg.  With shaky hands, the Medic tapes down the bandages tight.

He rips the gauze from between his teeth, and flops back onto the cot with a broken cry.  Fat tears roll down his cheeks, and he hides his face in his hands, ashamed and grief-stricken

“Gott,” he sobs, voice dismal and hoarse with pain.  “Warum ist das passiert?”

The Sniper clambers onto the cot, squeezing in beside the Medic. He pulls Bauer’s head into his chest, one arm tight around the Medic’s back, the other carding through his dark hair.

“Hey...” Gavin hums into his hair. “We patched you up good, you’re gonna be fine.” He repeats it like a mantra, holding the Medic tight.

He buries his face into the Sniper's chest and just sobs, German curses and spites pouring out of his lips without filter.  After a few minutes, he slowly grows quiet in the Sniper's arms, lying still and allowing Gavin's ministrations to calm him down.  The darkness faded from the corners of his vision, and his breathing evened.

"... I need new trousers," the doctor whispers, too comfortable for his own good.  "And my crutches.  Von Stross probably wants to talk to me.

"Gavin... Thank you," he mutters into the other man's shoulder.

The Sniper brushes a lock of hair from the Medic’s temple, pressing a kiss to his feverish skin. “Don’t worry about it, mate. Hold tight.” He shucks off his flak vest, covering the Medic with it. The weight of the ballistic nylon almost feels like arms around his chest.

He’s gone for barely ten minutes, and when Gavin returns, he juggles clean trousers, a pair of crutches, and a hot thermos of coffee.

“You looked like you could use a little pick-me-up,” the Sniper explains, pouring the Medic a cup. The coffee is light and sweet, with more milk and sugar than he usually takes.

"Medbay's still chaos. Might be a while before the Doc can chat." He sits down heavily beside the Medic. "'m just in the way there."

He drains his cup quickly.  The caffeine slowly begins to work his over taxed body, and he pours himself another cup.  “He kicked me out.  I feel like I should go back, but I don’t know how much I’d help.”

With some effort, he gets to his feet again with the crutches.  The Medic’s wounded leg shakes despite not being rested on, but he is able to easily ignore it.

"Catty, liebchen, please wake up," the Medic begs.  He shakes her shoulders gently, trying to get her to stir.  She groans, and her eyes finally flutter open.

"Oh, thank god." He scoops her up into his arms and hugs her tight, despite his left leg trembling in pain.  Despite sleepy confusion, she reciprocates while her head rests on Bauer's shoulder.

That's when she realizes where she is.  "Did I die?"

"You did,” he says tersely.  “For god's sake, don't scare us like that!  I mean, you shouldn't have gone in the first place." He bites his lip, sorry that he had gotten so short with her. She scoots back onto the floor, and he sighs.  

She realizes she doesn't feel nauseous or achy anymore.  "I... I'm sorry I went, but...it was something I needed to do.”

"You have no reason to apologize.  You did something incredibly brave and saved my sorry ass," he says with a smirk.  He rests one of his hands on hers, looking her in the eye gently.  "But… I know you're pregnant, Catty. I wasn't going to shout it out to everyone."

"I didn't want to keep it," she says shakily.

"You have no reason to feel guilty about seeking an abortion.  You're a grown woman who works constantly and can make her own decisions, and the battlefield is no place for a child.

"I just wish you came to me about it.  I can find you a clinic, an OBGYN, something."

"I... I was scared.” She looks away from him and curls in on herself slightly, busying herself by wringing her hands.  “So scared.  I didn't... I don't..."  Suddenly, she remembers  a long forgotten Respawn rule.

Anything not a part of your template card (injuries, piercings, tattoos, etc.) will be removed in the Respawn process.

"The Respawn, Bauer. I... I don't think I'm pregnant, not anymore."

The Medic squeezes her hand, and looks at her again, concerned.  She doesn’t shrink away or flinch, but the sadness and confliction in her eyes is easy to see and hard to bear.  Bauer wishes he could do something, anything, but he knows all too well that he can only help so much with mental problems.  He swallows down the memories of Dietrich’s taunts, and focuses on her before the voices come back.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

The statement surprises her just a little.  She doesn’t answer immediately; she instead pulls a box of cigarettes and her lighter from her pouch.  He watches as she quietly lights up and takes a puff.  The smoke swirls in an interesting pattern as she exhales it, and she watches it as it dissipated into nothing.  Her fingers clutch to the cigarette like a lifeline as she finally opens her mouth to speak.

"Do you mind if I go see Tim and Amelia?"

"Not at all.  We can go together.  You'll have to help this old cripple up, though," he jokes lightheartedly.