I wrote a thing!
This is a bit from that "Cody's accidental vacation" fic that I posted ages ago... don't know if I'll wind up actually using it, but it's been so long since I managed any sort of fiction, it's definitely worth a small celebration!
***
Cody's better than some--many, most--of his brothers at minimizing the time he's had to spend in med bays, but he's visited them often enough to know they're all functionally the same: shiny surfaces smelling of disinfectant, too-bright lighting that makes it impossible to sleep properly, ambient temperatures that are too warm or cold for the number of blankets provided, odd noises and interruptions and beds that always feel wrong. Even the sheets tend to be stiff and over-scrubbed, stinking of bleach; his sinuses always ache for the rest of the day whenever he has to spend more than a few minutes in one. The not-really-a-joke that gets passed through the ranks is that military med bays are designed like that so no one even thinks of malingering.
He's always scoffed more than laughed the few times it's been said within earshot of him, but his current situation is forcing him to reconsider the truth of it.
For one thing, 'med bay' really isn't the word for where he and the other injured troopers have been stashed by their--hosts? guards? Everything about the environment he's now in seems designed to encourage any inhabitants to relax: the bed is so comfortable, so perfectly balanced between 'soft' and 'firm' that he feels almost weightless. The sheets give off a faint soothing odor every time he moves; the pillowcase slides gently against his cheek; he is deliciously warm. The lights overhead are a soothing amber, and aside from occasional footsteps down the hall and the murmur of voices from the other bed in the room, the only sounds are of flowing water and birdsong, spilling in through the room's open window.
When he opens his eyes, the wall facing him is paneled in delicately-carved wood--flowers and faces and bizarre little animals--which continues up into the beams of a low-vaulted ceiling.
It may be partly the pain medication's fault, but Cody's pretty sure he never wants to leave this room again. Well, assuming there's a head attached.
***
Cody's better than some--many, most--of his brothers at minimizing the time he's had to spend in med bays, but he's visited them often enough to know they're all functionally the same: shiny surfaces smelling of disinfectant, too-bright lighting that makes it impossible to sleep properly, ambient temperatures that are too warm or cold for the number of blankets provided, odd noises and interruptions and beds that always feel wrong. Even the sheets tend to be stiff and over-scrubbed, stinking of bleach; his sinuses always ache for the rest of the day whenever he has to spend more than a few minutes in one. The not-really-a-joke that gets passed through the ranks is that military med bays are designed like that so no one even thinks of malingering.
He's always scoffed more than laughed the few times it's been said within earshot of him, but his current situation is forcing him to reconsider the truth of it.
For one thing, 'med bay' really isn't the word for where he and the other injured troopers have been stashed by their--hosts? guards? Everything about the environment he's now in seems designed to encourage any inhabitants to relax: the bed is so comfortable, so perfectly balanced between 'soft' and 'firm' that he feels almost weightless. The sheets give off a faint soothing odor every time he moves; the pillowcase slides gently against his cheek; he is deliciously warm. The lights overhead are a soothing amber, and aside from occasional footsteps down the hall and the murmur of voices from the other bed in the room, the only sounds are of flowing water and birdsong, spilling in through the room's open window.
When he opens his eyes, the wall facing him is paneled in delicately-carved wood--flowers and faces and bizarre little animals--which continues up into the beams of a low-vaulted ceiling.
It may be partly the pain medication's fault, but Cody's pretty sure he never wants to leave this room again. Well, assuming there's a head attached.