I went for the laundry room. I know that probably sounds crazy, but hear me out: Very few linens were kept in the clinic, and we were going to need blankets. The ruckus of my tearing down the hall was enough to alert anyone in the Compound's front rooms that something was wrong, but beyond that, I knew exactly what was needed and where to find it. Even now, I can't believe that I didn't fall and break my neck on those stairs, but it took me maybe thirty seconds, all told.
Blankets clasped against my chest, I skidded to a stop in front of the open door to the clinic. "He's new, I think… hypothermia. I could barely touch him, he was so cold," I breathlessly related, barely stopping to notice who I was saying it to before I took off again.
Back after we'd had that unexpected summer blizzard, I'd read up on hypothermia and frost bite just in case, but hadn't ever genuinely expected to apply that knowledge to anything. Knees back in the dirt, I immediately threw a blanket over the guy's shoulders and began to rub at his arms.
"The doctors are coming," I said, heart hammering in my chest and fingers trembling from adrenaline. For someone who was usually so cool about death, I definitely knew how to get worked up over somebody else possibly dying.
It almost hurts when she comes back; within seconds Mace goes from relief to confusion to pain. This is the second time in twenty-four hours someone has had to cover him in blankets and warm him up, and it hurts just as much as the first time did.
But he's grateful.
He doesn't understand where he is, or how he got here, or if he's trapped in the hologram room. He doesn't understand where this woman came from, the first new face he's seen in over sixteen months. He doesn't understand, but accepting it is all he can do.
A shift in the blanket exposes his hand again, and when she moves it close enough, Mace manages to catch her wrist in a weak grip.
More often than not, Lexie has found, clinic shifts tend to be pretty uneventful. Sunburns, hangovers, headaches, scrapes, typically it gets left to that, and a small smattering of other minor injuries. It's quiet as usual, Lexie sitting at the counter with a book she's only half-reading, when she hears the racket coming from the hallway; her eyes wide, she looks up at the doorway for an explanation, though it's more out of curiosity than any suspicion of medical help being required. It could be nothing. She's ready, she wouldn't be here if she weren't, but it could be nothing.
Then, of course, it isn't nothing. She's on her feet the moment she hears hypothermia, going to get the few blankets she knows they do keep around here (it won't hurt, she thinks, to have more ready, can barely process what's already being carried), and within seconds, running from the clinic into the hallway and out of the Compound, with a purpose she thinks she's only felt once since leaving Seattle. Later, she'll realized she's missed it, but for the time being, it doesn't so much as cross her mind.
"Alright," she says when she reaches the pair, breathless as she crouches at the man's side. "Alright, I'm Dr. Grey, Lexie, and we're gonna help you, okay?" Looking him over, she sees blood, other injuries that will need tending to in short order, but none of that will matter if thy don't warm him up. She wraps another blanket over him, hands at his back, his shoulders, whatever seems like it will help, like running on autopilot. That it's hypothermia, she has no doubt. Glancing up, she bites her lip. "And you just found him like this?"
"It couldn't even have been five minutes ago," I replied with a swift nod, my free hand clasping over the cold fingers holding my wrist. "I looked away, and when I looked back, there he was." Shifting my focus back to the familiar, if pale face of our new arrival, I offered a faint but encouraging smile.
"You're going to be fine," I promised. "I'm Shari and I don't know where you came from, but you're safe here and Lexie's going to take good care of you." Thank god for our abundance of idle medical professionals.
Twisting my wrist, I took the guy's hand between both of mine and rubbed gently; fingers and toes were the first to go, right? Toes. Crap.
"His feet," I said, but didn't wait for a reply before hopping down to feet clad in what was possibly the worst shoe ever for winter wear. I tugged off the sandals, tossed them aside and began rubbing at his toes, which was fairly surreal, I don't mind saying.
"You know, this is not what I had in mind when I asked god for a hot guy and a foot massage," I said, defaulting to humor if only because a little levity never hurt. My smile faltered, though, when I finally noticed the state of his leg, slowly trickling blood into the wet dirt.
"Lexie," Mace says, surprise only registering as a widening of his eyes. "And Cherry? Sh-Shari?" He doesn't understand where they've come from, but the concern and competence he sees in them relaxes him enough to hold off on questions he has no hope of answering when constant pain and cold are still dulling his senses.
Their movements are hard to keep track of so he lets them do what they will, too exhausted to care that he's putting his life in the hands of strangers.
"It's bright," he murmurs, looking up at the ceiling for the first time -- but there isn't one. There are clouds, white and brighter than he's ever seen before, and he squints, bringing a hand up to shade his eyes.
"I know, we'll, we'll get you inside soon," Lexie says, only half-aware of the words themselves. Were it more sterile out here, she'd think it better than the air-conditioned Compound, but they have to work with what they've got, and she can't do much for him otherwise. Still, she cracks a small smile at Shari's comment about foot massages, reaching for one of the man's hands as she does so, frowning at the sight of it. Just like the rest of him, it doesn't look good, the thumb making something in her stomach twist. Of all the ways for him to show up, she hates that it had to be like this, hates the mental list she's starting to keep of the things to take care of and what will be most urgent; it's one part of the job she's never shaken.
"Not exactly what I would have thought of, either," she adds, glancing up at Shari, trying to show without having to outright say how grateful she is for a comment like that. It's the kind of levity that helps, that makes it all feel a little less dire, and when dire is pretty much exactly what this is going to be, she suspects they'll all need it. Gently trying to warm his hands, careful around the thumb that, Jesus Christ, she isn't sure he's going to be able to keep, she looks down again and asks, "What's your name?"
"You can call me Flower if you want to," I replied, seeing as it didn't seem worth it to quibble over whether he got my name right when he was obviously disoriented and in pain. Adrenaline was still thumping quick through my veins, but I'd calmed enough to wonder where the hell this guy had come from. I didn't ask, though; once he was warm and patched up, I could do the happy and helpful Councilwoman thing.
Switching to the other foot, I cast a brief, squinting glance at the sky. "It's actually not that bad today." I made a mental note to look for some decent-looking sunglasses when I later went to find him something dry to wear.
"My name Mace," he says, and lets out a huff of a laugh, amazed at the idea of having to introduce himself to someone again. Even if he weren't still shivering with cold and trying to ignore the pain that had faded to a dull, constant throb radiating from his leg, Mace doesn't know if he'd remember how to interact with new people.
They might not even be real people. He might be dead, or he might be living out some fantasy in the holo room, or a million other things.
He has to look away from the sky when his vision starts blurring again.
"Okay, Mace," Lexie says, nodding once to herself. "Just try to stay with us, alright? Can you tell me what happened?" Knowing won't change what she has to do, see to his leg and then take care of his thumb, but it will at least help with the circumstances, give her some more idea of what she's dealing with and keep him focused on something. At the very, very least, she can't help being grateful that he isn't panicking. That would make this a hell of a lot more difficult. To Shari, she adds, "Can you keep doing that while I check his leg? I need to see just what we're dealing with here."
"Yeah, of course, just tell me whatever I need to do," I replied, and quickly shifted out of the way so that Lexie would have more room to inspect Mace's leg. My hands had moved to begin rubbing at his calf when it occurred to me that it might prove more difficult for Lexie if she couldn't actually see the injury.
"Sit tight," I said as I jumped up again, "I'm going to get you some scissors." The clinic might have had better tools for it, but I was more familiar with the kitchen. I banged back into the Compound and then back out again a moment later, shears in hand.
"Come on, Mace, you can be more lively than that," I prompted as I passed the scissors to Lexie and resumed rubbing at his non-injured leg. "Isn't it every guy's fantasy to have his clothes taken off by two beautiful women?" Yeah, it was silly, but I just wanted to keep him talking, keep him aware.
The last few disorienting minutes make the Icarus seem almost a lifetime away, and Mace has to consider what to say, and how to say it. While most of him is still numb, there are faint pinpricks of pain in his legs and feet that promise more to come. If it isn't his leg, it's going to be his body warming up again, and he wants to ask if they have anything to keep him blissfully passed out while it happens. But he knows they can't do that, and he doesn't want to close his eyes and see black ever again.
"'Course it is," he tells Shari, and manages a smile. A lick of warmth creeps up his leg. "I was trying to fix the ship," he says slowly, watching Lexie's movements as she hovers over him. "Had to dive in-- in coolant. And space."
He gestures with his hand, a blank expression sliding over his face when he sees it again. "I was in space."
"Thank you," Lexie says, genuinely grateful both for the scissors themselves and Shari's speed in getting them. She's careful when she begins cutting the leg of his pants away not to move him too much, not wanting to aggravate any injuries before she can see the extent of them; it's enough already to know that they're there, that this is probably not going to be too simple. Times like this, the less eventful clinic shifts seem beyond worth it. However many doctors there might be around this place, speed can make all the difference, and therefore so can knowing exactly where to go.
When enough fabric is out of the way, she makes a point of not wincing at the sight of his leg, which isn't a whole lot worse than she expected, but still not good. "Space, wow," she says, focused when she looks up at him, though her mind is still racing. With a cut that bad, she wouldn't rule out the possibility of more damage, and she already can tell she needs to suture it. "And how, how did you hurt your leg?"
Once Lexie had the pants leg cut open and could properly inspect the injury, I turned my attention to the rest of what Mace had on. Two layers of wet shirt. Those had to come off, and I swear I wasn't just trying to get the guy naked. It had been way too long since I'd had first aid training on this, but a warm environment and dry clothes stuck in my memory. He was way better out here than inside in the A/C, even if it meant laying in the dirt, but those shirts needed to go so his chest could warm up and he could breathe better.
"Okay, Mace, you've got a choice, here. While Lexie takes care of your leg, I'm going to try and get those shirts off. If you're okay with it, I can gently pull them off. Otherwise, it's going to be the scissors." I scrambled around so that I could kneel directly in front of him. "What's it gonna be?"
"The mainframe. I c-couldn't get out fast enough, it was too cold. Got caught." He closes his eyes and lowers his hand as he talks, grimacing when cloth falls away from his leg. Mace takes a few seconds to breathe through the pain before he answers Shari's question.
"Scissors," he says, feeling childish as he realizes he last thing he wants to do is move and cause himself even more pain.
"Right," Lexie says, holding out the scissors for Shari to take even as she does. There's a lot of muscle there, blood vessels and bone, and with something as heavy-sounding as a mainframe, she'll have to make sure there aren't further injuries there, ones less visible. "I'm going to need to -- this cut on your leg, it's pretty deep. I need to clean it, to avoid infection, and it looks like I'm probably going to suture it, too. There's a clinic just inside, but I can, I can bring supplies out."
I'd opened my mouth to offer to get the supplies instead, then immediately realized that I would have no idea what to get. Scissors in hand, I began cutting my way through the fabric over Mace's closest arm instead, careful to keep my hands steady, as they were still wanting to tremble from that initial surge of adrenaline.
Once both shirts were cut on one arm, I shuffled closer to work on the other arm, a process made more difficult by the awkward way Mace was laying. The last thing I wanted to do was ask him to move if I didn't have to.
"So when you say space, you mean you were just out in space, no ship or special suit or anything?" I asked as I ducked closer, my eyes flicking briefly to his and then back to snipping fabric. He really looked exactly like Steve.
Blankets clasped against my chest, I skidded to a stop in front of the open door to the clinic. "He's new, I think… hypothermia. I could barely touch him, he was so cold," I breathlessly related, barely stopping to notice who I was saying it to before I took off again.
Back after we'd had that unexpected summer blizzard, I'd read up on hypothermia and frost bite just in case, but hadn't ever genuinely expected to apply that knowledge to anything. Knees back in the dirt, I immediately threw a blanket over the guy's shoulders and began to rub at his arms.
"The doctors are coming," I said, heart hammering in my chest and fingers trembling from adrenaline. For someone who was usually so cool about death, I definitely knew how to get worked up over somebody else possibly dying.
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But he's grateful.
He doesn't understand where he is, or how he got here, or if he's trapped in the hologram room. He doesn't understand where this woman came from, the first new face he's seen in over sixteen months. He doesn't understand, but accepting it is all he can do.
A shift in the blanket exposes his hand again, and when she moves it close enough, Mace manages to catch her wrist in a weak grip.
"Th-thank you," he says, forcing the words out.
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Then, of course, it isn't nothing. She's on her feet the moment she hears hypothermia, going to get the few blankets she knows they do keep around here (it won't hurt, she thinks, to have more ready, can barely process what's already being carried), and within seconds, running from the clinic into the hallway and out of the Compound, with a purpose she thinks she's only felt once since leaving Seattle. Later, she'll realized she's missed it, but for the time being, it doesn't so much as cross her mind.
"Alright," she says when she reaches the pair, breathless as she crouches at the man's side. "Alright, I'm Dr. Grey, Lexie, and we're gonna help you, okay?" Looking him over, she sees blood, other injuries that will need tending to in short order, but none of that will matter if thy don't warm him up. She wraps another blanket over him, hands at his back, his shoulders, whatever seems like it will help, like running on autopilot. That it's hypothermia, she has no doubt. Glancing up, she bites her lip. "And you just found him like this?"
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"You're going to be fine," I promised. "I'm Shari and I don't know where you came from, but you're safe here and Lexie's going to take good care of you." Thank god for our abundance of idle medical professionals.
Twisting my wrist, I took the guy's hand between both of mine and rubbed gently; fingers and toes were the first to go, right? Toes. Crap.
"His feet," I said, but didn't wait for a reply before hopping down to feet clad in what was possibly the worst shoe ever for winter wear. I tugged off the sandals, tossed them aside and began rubbing at his toes, which was fairly surreal, I don't mind saying.
"You know, this is not what I had in mind when I asked god for a hot guy and a foot massage," I said, defaulting to humor if only because a little levity never hurt. My smile faltered, though, when I finally noticed the state of his leg, slowly trickling blood into the wet dirt.
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Their movements are hard to keep track of so he lets them do what they will, too exhausted to care that he's putting his life in the hands of strangers.
"It's bright," he murmurs, looking up at the ceiling for the first time -- but there isn't one. There are clouds, white and brighter than he's ever seen before, and he squints, bringing a hand up to shade his eyes.
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"Not exactly what I would have thought of, either," she adds, glancing up at Shari, trying to show without having to outright say how grateful she is for a comment like that. It's the kind of levity that helps, that makes it all feel a little less dire, and when dire is pretty much exactly what this is going to be, she suspects they'll all need it. Gently trying to warm his hands, careful around the thumb that, Jesus Christ, she isn't sure he's going to be able to keep, she looks down again and asks, "What's your name?"
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Switching to the other foot, I cast a brief, squinting glance at the sky. "It's actually not that bad today." I made a mental note to look for some decent-looking sunglasses when I later went to find him something dry to wear.
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They might not even be real people. He might be dead, or he might be living out some fantasy in the holo room, or a million other things.
He has to look away from the sky when his vision starts blurring again.
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"Sit tight," I said as I jumped up again, "I'm going to get you some scissors." The clinic might have had better tools for it, but I was more familiar with the kitchen. I banged back into the Compound and then back out again a moment later, shears in hand.
"Come on, Mace, you can be more lively than that," I prompted as I passed the scissors to Lexie and resumed rubbing at his non-injured leg. "Isn't it every guy's fantasy to have his clothes taken off by two beautiful women?" Yeah, it was silly, but I just wanted to keep him talking, keep him aware.
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"'Course it is," he tells Shari, and manages a smile. A lick of warmth creeps up his leg. "I was trying to fix the ship," he says slowly, watching Lexie's movements as she hovers over him. "Had to dive in-- in coolant. And space."
He gestures with his hand, a blank expression sliding over his face when he sees it again. "I was in space."
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When enough fabric is out of the way, she makes a point of not wincing at the sight of his leg, which isn't a whole lot worse than she expected, but still not good. "Space, wow," she says, focused when she looks up at him, though her mind is still racing. With a cut that bad, she wouldn't rule out the possibility of more damage, and she already can tell she needs to suture it. "And how, how did you hurt your leg?"
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"Okay, Mace, you've got a choice, here. While Lexie takes care of your leg, I'm going to try and get those shirts off. If you're okay with it, I can gently pull them off. Otherwise, it's going to be the scissors." I scrambled around so that I could kneel directly in front of him. "What's it gonna be?"
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"Scissors," he says, feeling childish as he realizes he last thing he wants to do is move and cause himself even more pain.
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Once both shirts were cut on one arm, I shuffled closer to work on the other arm, a process made more difficult by the awkward way Mace was laying. The last thing I wanted to do was ask him to move if I didn't have to.
"So when you say space, you mean you were just out in space, no ship or special suit or anything?" I asked as I ducked closer, my eyes flicking briefly to his and then back to snipping fabric. He really looked exactly like Steve.
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