FANFIC!!! Quarter, Part 2
Title: Quarter
Style: Prose
Genre: Drama
Words: 966
Rating: R
Length: Ficlet
Pairings: None
Warnings: Surgery, Bodily Fluids, and Spoilers for OST!
Authoress: cassiopaya
Characters: Lt. Theodore Groves, Lt. Andrew Gillette, and Don Gutierre de Hevia y Valdés
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Dedication: All my NavyGirls!
Notes: The only logical conclusion to what happened to His Majesty’s Royal Navy.
Part: 2
***
Gillette sat on a stool next to Theo’s pallet and his good hand caressed the sweaty, shaved head; his bad arm was bound to his side. It was hoped that he would regain some use if it by keeping it still after the cirujano had sewn his muscles and skin back together.
***
All Andrew could hear was screaming as he waited for his turn to attempt to escape the butcher’s bill. He stood near the men who were too far gone to be given anything more than their last rights. Cradling the folded flag against his chest, he tried to block out the screaming, and his lips followed the Latin of the priests as he paid his respect to the soon to be dead.
It seemed as though Theo had been screaming for hours, but when Andrew noticed how suddenly quiet it had become it felt as though his whole being had snapped back into his body after floating for a bit in the haze after battle.
Somehow Andrew had crossed the camp in a second and was pushing back the canvas flap and bile rose in his throat to see Groves splayed out so still. Frozen, Gillette could not hear the soft weeping as the cirujano stitched shut the hole in Theo’s torso.
The last stitch in place and the burly men charged with holding men down stepped back from the table and Andrew was able to see Theo’s pale face as he wept exhaustedly. Gillette’s knees swooped out from under him and he crumpled and landed hard on his ass onto the dirt floor.
“Hombre impaciente,” the cirujano wryly said as he turned in Andrew’s direction. One of the burly men helped him back up and he stumbled towards the table. He reached out to rub away the tears from Groves’ cheek. “Oh, God,” Theo said in a child’s whisper.
“Did you get it?” Andrew asked the cirujano. “Sí,” he said and indicated the metal cup with the lump of deformed lead in it. Gillette leaned down to whisper in Groves’ ear, “It’s all right now, Theo, it’s out.”
“Oh, God,” Theo repeated, “It’s over…it’s…over. Thank…God…” “There, there, no more tears or these Spaniards will think the worst of us!” Andrew chastised softly, teasingly. “Andrew? I want…to ask…” “Yes?” “Can you...tell him…I want to…keep the…ball?” “Oh, Theo,” Andrew said in exasperation and looked at the cirujano.
Rolling his eyes to hide his grin, he plucked the bullet from the dish with a pair of tongs, opened his patient’s hand, and dropped the lump into Theo’s palm. Groves closed his hand around it so tightly as if he meant to crush it into dust and show that such a piddling thing could not kill him.
The burly men had come back with a pallet and Andrew had to step aside so that Theo could be transferred off the table and into a recovery tent. As they carried him out, Gillette placed the folded flag on his chest. It was his turn now and the cirujano patted the table.
Gillette removed his coat, vest, and shirt with assistance and lay down on his belly. The cirujano knew some English and Latin; Andrew was able to muddle through the two languages as the cirujano told him how he came to find the ball in Groves and remove it.
Andrew bit down on the leather as his parts were pushed back together and sewn into place. The pressure of the men holding him down while the cirujano worked was comforting and made it easier for him to decipher the story.
It took a long time to find the ball, the hole just kept going and going, but there was no exit wound. There was concern that the lead had bounced off a rib and ricocheted off into the body, yet there was no gushing of life blood in the belly cavity.
The teniente screamed fiercely as the metal was prodded about his insides to find the bullet - or at least the path where it had veered away. It went on for too long, the hole was too deep; and then an idea.
The men had shifted him to his side and a hand was passed over his back and there was a lump and a bruise. No hole, no blood. The cirujano took his scalpel and cut the skin and there exposed some bits of charred wool; with his tongs he pulled at the fabric and a nasty lump of a ball popped out.
The cirujano stitched one side, then the other. And the teniente wept in relief that he would no longer be impaled in the quest for a ball. Should there be no fever, it will be a fine recovery.
Gillette stood as his arm was bound to his side and the cirujano warned him no to use it if he ever wanted it to work again. Andrew wondered briefly what his odds were and then determined he was no better nor worse off than Theo.
A man lead Gillette to a tent and inside was Groves resting on the pallet. There was an empty pallet for Andrew, but he requested a stool. He was not tired yet and eased the flag from Theo’s hands and held it in his good arm. A stool was found and brought to him and Gillette sat down next to Groves.
The flag placed on his lap, he reached out to touch Theo’s head to see if it was hot. Groves had always been hot-headed, but now he was warm, and Gillette touched his face and swirled circles with his finger tips. It was something his mother had done when he was ill as a boy, and now he did it to sooth his friend and brother in arms.
Style: Prose
Genre: Drama
Words: 966
Rating: R
Length: Ficlet
Pairings: None
Warnings: Surgery, Bodily Fluids, and Spoilers for OST!
Authoress: cassiopaya
Characters: Lt. Theodore Groves, Lt. Andrew Gillette, and Don Gutierre de Hevia y Valdés
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Dedication: All my NavyGirls!
Notes: The only logical conclusion to what happened to His Majesty’s Royal Navy.
Part: 2
***
Gillette sat on a stool next to Theo’s pallet and his good hand caressed the sweaty, shaved head; his bad arm was bound to his side. It was hoped that he would regain some use if it by keeping it still after the cirujano had sewn his muscles and skin back together.
***
All Andrew could hear was screaming as he waited for his turn to attempt to escape the butcher’s bill. He stood near the men who were too far gone to be given anything more than their last rights. Cradling the folded flag against his chest, he tried to block out the screaming, and his lips followed the Latin of the priests as he paid his respect to the soon to be dead.
It seemed as though Theo had been screaming for hours, but when Andrew noticed how suddenly quiet it had become it felt as though his whole being had snapped back into his body after floating for a bit in the haze after battle.
Somehow Andrew had crossed the camp in a second and was pushing back the canvas flap and bile rose in his throat to see Groves splayed out so still. Frozen, Gillette could not hear the soft weeping as the cirujano stitched shut the hole in Theo’s torso.
The last stitch in place and the burly men charged with holding men down stepped back from the table and Andrew was able to see Theo’s pale face as he wept exhaustedly. Gillette’s knees swooped out from under him and he crumpled and landed hard on his ass onto the dirt floor.
“Hombre impaciente,” the cirujano wryly said as he turned in Andrew’s direction. One of the burly men helped him back up and he stumbled towards the table. He reached out to rub away the tears from Groves’ cheek. “Oh, God,” Theo said in a child’s whisper.
“Did you get it?” Andrew asked the cirujano. “Sí,” he said and indicated the metal cup with the lump of deformed lead in it. Gillette leaned down to whisper in Groves’ ear, “It’s all right now, Theo, it’s out.”
“Oh, God,” Theo repeated, “It’s over…it’s…over. Thank…God…” “There, there, no more tears or these Spaniards will think the worst of us!” Andrew chastised softly, teasingly. “Andrew? I want…to ask…” “Yes?” “Can you...tell him…I want to…keep the…ball?” “Oh, Theo,” Andrew said in exasperation and looked at the cirujano.
Rolling his eyes to hide his grin, he plucked the bullet from the dish with a pair of tongs, opened his patient’s hand, and dropped the lump into Theo’s palm. Groves closed his hand around it so tightly as if he meant to crush it into dust and show that such a piddling thing could not kill him.
The burly men had come back with a pallet and Andrew had to step aside so that Theo could be transferred off the table and into a recovery tent. As they carried him out, Gillette placed the folded flag on his chest. It was his turn now and the cirujano patted the table.
Gillette removed his coat, vest, and shirt with assistance and lay down on his belly. The cirujano knew some English and Latin; Andrew was able to muddle through the two languages as the cirujano told him how he came to find the ball in Groves and remove it.
Andrew bit down on the leather as his parts were pushed back together and sewn into place. The pressure of the men holding him down while the cirujano worked was comforting and made it easier for him to decipher the story.
It took a long time to find the ball, the hole just kept going and going, but there was no exit wound. There was concern that the lead had bounced off a rib and ricocheted off into the body, yet there was no gushing of life blood in the belly cavity.
The teniente screamed fiercely as the metal was prodded about his insides to find the bullet - or at least the path where it had veered away. It went on for too long, the hole was too deep; and then an idea.
The men had shifted him to his side and a hand was passed over his back and there was a lump and a bruise. No hole, no blood. The cirujano took his scalpel and cut the skin and there exposed some bits of charred wool; with his tongs he pulled at the fabric and a nasty lump of a ball popped out.
The cirujano stitched one side, then the other. And the teniente wept in relief that he would no longer be impaled in the quest for a ball. Should there be no fever, it will be a fine recovery.
Gillette stood as his arm was bound to his side and the cirujano warned him no to use it if he ever wanted it to work again. Andrew wondered briefly what his odds were and then determined he was no better nor worse off than Theo.
A man lead Gillette to a tent and inside was Groves resting on the pallet. There was an empty pallet for Andrew, but he requested a stool. He was not tired yet and eased the flag from Theo’s hands and held it in his good arm. A stool was found and brought to him and Gillette sat down next to Groves.
The flag placed on his lap, he reached out to touch Theo’s head to see if it was hot. Groves had always been hot-headed, but now he was warm, and Gillette touched his face and swirled circles with his finger tips. It was something his mother had done when he was ill as a boy, and now he did it to sooth his friend and brother in arms.