[ CLOSED ]
who ; nobletwo & thom_293
what ; Just, hangin' out. Stitching some wounds. Blood everywhere. But mostly, hanging out.
where ; Spartan haus.
when ; After Thom decided to be a show off with his jet pack, that ass.
warning(s) ; does descriptions of wounds and blood count
( She looks good but her boyfriend says she's a mess. )
what ; Just, hangin' out. Stitching some wounds. Blood everywhere. But mostly, hanging out.
where ; Spartan haus.
when ; After Thom decided to be a show off with his jet pack, that ass.
warning(s) ; does descriptions of wounds and blood count
( She looks good but her boyfriend says she's a mess. )
He catches that tremor, and reaches out with his good arm - now bare of the pressure suit - to lay his hand briefly on her shoulder. In a way, it's meant as reassurance, even if he can't find the proper accompaniment of words. He can guess where her mind has gone.
"Sorry for bleeding on the upholstery," he says lightly. If she's listening for it, the cant to his tone suggests that the apology stands for significantly more than that alone.
Until now, he's been mostly boneless and pliant, content to move under Kat's direction, but as she peels the suit away from his injury he tenses. The arm is swollen and mottled with bruising, and there's a weary ache emanating from it. As much as he doesn't mind the pain - papercut, remember? - it's still uncomfortable, like wearing something several sizes too small and being unable to escape the claustrophobic oppression of it. As soon as that arm is free, he wraps the fingers of his good hand around the wrist and manipulates the joint.
Worse is going to be getting the bullet out. It went in diagonally, so she'll either have to go in through the entry wound or drag him for x-rays so she can get a bead on the bullet's position and go straight through the muscle of his forearm to where it's undoubtedly lodged against the bone.
"Ah, no. Not yet. I'll go drop off a 5102-7C when we're done." That being, a combat zone mishap report. He's not really sure what else to class this as.
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Not the first time Kat's seen a wound like this, and aside from the bleeding, it wasn't a huge deal. A little better than what she expected, really, but as of late she's been expecting the worst of things any time she sets eyes on a little bit of blood. Her Spartans were like birds-- they liked to try and hide just how bad the situation was, usually. They were all guilty of this, herself included.
"I can speak to him for you." It's an open offer, if just because if anyone is good at crushing Carter under a heel, it's her. It's not that she thinks that Carter would be hard on him -- enough though considering he lost valuable equipment and probably should be given a time out -- it's more the fact that she's not sure how Carter will react.
Not that she really expects Thom to agree to let her do it.
"I need more light," she murmurs a soft command, her fingers tracing down his swollen and bruised arm. Kat shifts back, turning on an extra light, and then went to grab a flash light.
"Can you feel your fingers?"
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Thom laughs a little at that, and shakes his head. He loves you dearly, Kat, and appreciates the offer, but he's not hiding behind your insignia. "I'll talk to him." He's never been one to shy away from the firing line.
He takes the flashlight from her without a word, holds it on the injury as well as he can with the slightly awkward angle. "Not well," he admits. But the fact that his hand isn't completely limp is a good thing, at least. It means that, even if they've taken undue stress, no nerves have been severed completely. There's a procedure he's not a fan of: nerve reattachment. "I think it's just the trauma to the muscle itself. Might have winged the posterior interosseous, but sensation has improved about eight percent since it happened." Which, in his mind, ultimately means he'll be fine.
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Kat takes a cloth and wipes away more blood from the area, getting a better look at it with the light, then applies it to the wound directly.
"Hold that," she murmurs, and waits for him to do so before she turns to grab a sterilizing agent, pouring some onto some fresh gauze. She didn't really need to warn him that this was gonna sting like a bitch. He's a big boy.
"You should lay down."
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He realizes too late that it might have been an order, and gives her a sort of questioning look. He won't really argue if that's what she's suggesting.
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"Fine."
And that's that.
Kat moves quicker now and with more purpose, grabbing the alcohol. She could have just wiped away at the location, but nope, she opts to move Thom's hand away with the compress and dumps a load of it on, gauze cupped under the wound to catch the excess, and then she presses it up against it.
"You did well, by the way," she says. She means the work he did leading Noble while she and Carter were out of the picture. She was still bitter, somewhat, that she had been considered unfit, but at the same time she had appointed Thom and Six to pick up the slack and had been satisfied with her choice.
But, well, she was still praising him while stinging the fuck out of his wound and, by appearances, prepping him for bullet removal without anesthetic.
She loves you Thom. She really does.
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