Fic: Jenna's War I: Screw Up (3/6)
Title: Jenna's War I: Screw Up
Fandom: Star Wars
Rating: T, to be on the safe side
Genres: Gen, Action/Adventure
Summary: A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... there were also people who were neither Jedi nor smugglers nor bounty hunters nor anything else as glamorous as that. Private Jenna Melara, infantry soldier for the Alliance, was one of them. Here's her story.
A/N: Third chapter... and it seems like this just isn't Jenna's day... or week... or month. I do hope at least some people are reading it, though...
( Screw Up 1/6 )
( Screw Up 2/6 )
Three
The first thing I realize is the pain. My whole body seems to be hurting. It’s not blinding, but dull and just… everywhere. The next thing is the heat. My face feels like it’s on fire, my lips feel like sandpaper and breathing really is an effort. But something tells me I have to get up. I try to move my arm to lift myself up. Which is a mistake. A big mistake. My shoulder blades protest as do the arm muscles, my fingers… basically my whole upper body. And the heat is still burning down on me. I guess, a second try is mandatory, as much as the pain is speaking against it.
Incredibly slow I manage to move my arms and lift my upper body. When I put my weight on my wrists, I can’t hold back a cry of pain. A sharp bolt of pain from the right wrist jolts through my right arm. I’m not a trained medic, but I already had a broken wrist once. And this felt exactly like it’s feeling now. Great.
Gritting my teeth against the nauseating reverberation of the pain from the broken wrist, I sit up and automatically check myself for further injuries. The whole right side of my jump suit is singed, but obviously no skin is really hurt. Closing my eyes, I wait for dizziness or nausea, but nothing comes. And I still know what happened before my vision faded to black. So, maybe no concussion either.
Taking a deep breath, I open my eyes again and look into the direction I presume the box crashed. And I still gasp, even if I knew the sight might be horrible. The wreck is amazingly intact, considering what must have happened after I got out. It’s lying on the right side, with its stern slightly higher then the nose. All around it, blackened pieces of metal are lying, and there are thin lines of smoke coming from various places alongside the box. But what is most unnerving is the unnatural calm. No wind is blowing, and of course no other living being is around, so there’s just… nothing. Which means most probably that I’m the only one who survived the crash.
I take another even deeper breath, forcing myself not to start hyperventilating. I try to tell myself that everything will be okay, that I will survive this. And I try to remember what my instructors told me for cases like this. Which is… practically nothing. That what I remember, not what they told me. I’m pretty sure, they did say something about…
My head jerks up. A sound… I just heard a sound… straining to see if it comes again, I nearly hold my breath… And then I hear it again. A faint groan, only audible because of the almost deafening, all-embracing silence. Ignoring the still lingering pain in my body, I scramble up, trying to find the source of the groan.
And I wish, I hadn't. In my sitting position, I only had a general overview. What I see now is a lot harder to take. Some feet left of me I see a charred figure that used to be my Bothan platoon mate Tre’gar, and I try to swallow away the bile rising in my throat. But weak stomach that I am, I end up losing what was left of the ration bars I had for breakfast on the ride. Great, as if dehydration wasn’t one of your biggest enemies when being in the desert.
After several dry heaves, I try to steady myself again and avoid throwing glances to my left. Then, I hear the sound again, this time a little louder, and maybe even a little more articulate. And yes, a few feet in front of me, I see another figure. Hoping against hope I won’t have to endure something like Tre’gar’s mortal remains again, I make my way over to the source of the moaning.
It’s Xan. The right leg of his jump suit is bloodstained and the whole side singed away, with burns covering the skin underneath it and other parts of his body, but as I check his pulse, I feel it going. Too weak to be satisfying enough, but still taking a weight comparable to… say… the Mount Isar on my home planet off my chest. He groans again, this time moving his head a little to the side.
Carefully, I shake his shoulder a little and touch his cheek. After several more tries, he finally cracks his eyes open, and when they have focused enough, something looking like a smile slowly spreads over his face. His lips move, and he obviously wants to say something, but only coughing comes out. Water. Yeah, water would be good… I search for my canteen, all the while swearing under my breath every time the presumably broken wrist reminds me of its existence.
Finally, I take the canteen from my belt and open it with my teeth. Not saying anything, I slip my right arm under Xan’s head and nudge the bottle at his lips, all the while trying to ignore the waves of pain that are shooting through my arm. After some difficulties, he manages to drink a few swallows and then indicates through tilting his head a little that it’s enough for now. I take back the canteen and close it again with my teeth, while taking my arm back from under his head.
For a moment, it’s silent again, then he says in a slightly hoarse and strained voice, “Forgot your sun block again, Private?”
Startled as I am, I can only answer with a slightly ungracious, “Huh?” and another smile appears.
“Your face. It’s even redder than after our first day here.” A little panicked, I touch my face. It’s burning all over, so I’m sure I’m as red as a Mon Calamarian lobster again. But other than that, it seems okay. I try a grin.
“If I’d really forgotten my sun block, there’d be blisters all over it by now. Believe me, I know all about a redhead’s curse.” Holy shit, what are we doing here? Our box crashed in the middle of nowhere, most likely leaving only us as survivors and with no protection from possible dangers than our rifles, and we’re talking about the color of my face?
My comment, though, obviously made Xanas laugh. Well, if that hoarse bellow he just made is supposed to be a laugh. When he’s calmed down again, I move to his right side to have a better look at his injuries. I’m a little afraid, because back home I always was a little squeamish about anything worse than a paper cut. But something tells me that this is not the time to get all girly.
“Xan?” He turns his head towards me.
“What?” Stealing myself with another deep breath, I pick on a piece of his sleeve.
“This could hurt a little now.” He turns back to look into the sky.
“Then get it over with fast.” I can see the pain in his eyes, and his face is uncharacteristically pale, even under all the tan I’m usually so jealous of. And here I thought a few bruises, strained muscles and a broken wrist were bad. Swallowing against the sinking feeling in my stomach, I use my left hand to peel the jump suit away from his left arm.
The sight almost makes me throw up again. The skin is severely singed, with dark edges and blisters all over it. That’s gotta hurt like hell, but Xanas isn’t making any other sound than an occasional hiss. Yet. When I come to the bloody patch on his leg and accidentally come against it when trying to peel away the jump suit, he cries out in pain, throwing a very loud “GODSDAMMIT!” into the sky.
Before I can apologize for hurting him, though, he gets a grip on himself and looks at me apologetically, saying “Sorry for that,” and giving me a lop-sided grin. Huh?
“Uh… you know, I should be the one apologizing,” I say, and he grins again.
“No, because I was told never to…” Suddenly he stops, as if he realizes he’s about to say something he better shouldn’t and finishes with, “Never mind. It was just the pain talking.” What the hell’s this about?
“If you say so. But… uh… we still have to do something about the leg and the burns.” And how I wish I knew what that was. Frantically I try to remember what I learned in my first aid classes. What did they say about burns? Oh yeah, make sure they don’t inflame. Cool it. No, scratch that, it’s too late for that. What else? Right, cover it with something sterile. Where the hell do I get sterile bandages from?
“You still do have your med pac, right?” I love it when people take advantage of the fact that I’m very easy to read and use it to startle me. But he’s right.
“Oh, yeah. Yes, I do.” I dig around my leg pockets and find the emergency pack. That will absolutely not do.
“Get mine, too. It’s in the pocket of the healthy leg.” His voice is controlled, and he’s speaking almost like a teacher would speak to a child. Great, now I have to hate him even when he’s maybe fatally wounded. Saying nothing as not to say something I might regret later, I reach over and get the med pac.
I check both pacs if everything’s still in the right shape, and am surprised positively. At least once I’m lucky. Both pacs are still complete, and the bandages, emergency bacta infusions and antibiotics shots are still whole and unscathed. I guess, first things first then.
“Xan? I’m trying to give you some antibiotics now. I just have no clue how to handle that stupid syringe.” He grins a little weakly, and then guides me through the whole process step by step. His voice is growing weaker and weaker, and he’s starting to lose focus, and that’s really worrying me. Because what I always remembered best about first aid training is what they told us about shock. Okay, what to do? Oh yeah, keep the patient from losing consciousness.
“Keep talking, Xan. I’m almost done here, but I could use a little company. Come on, stay with me.” I finish the shot and throw away the whole thing. Who’s gonna care anyway?
“You… want me… to stay with you, huh?” Goodness gracious, he’s going into shock, and he’s still making advances? Men.
“Yes, that’s true. Come on, tell me something about you. Why’d you apologize for crying out in pain some minutes ago?” While I try to keep him awake, I also try to figure out a way of moving him out of the sun without causing him too much pain.
“Mother… told me… always told me… not to swear in front of a lady… good grief, what are you doing?” So much for not swearing in front of a lady. But at least the pain seems to wake him up a little again. So does my pain to me. I decided to slip my arms under his and drag him into the relative shade the smoldering box wreak is casting on the ground. Not a good idea, at least that’s what the wrist is telling me. But I guess, I’m nearing the point where you just don’t care anymore.
“Getting you and me out of the sun. Be grateful for it.” Almost there. Just a few more steps. Come on, Melara, you can do that. Your mother would have single-handedly gotten the man out of the sun. With the injured hand, of course.
“I… am, actually. Even… if it’s… more for your sake than mine.” Even though I fully concentrate on not letting him fall to the ground ungraciously, I can very well imagine the slurred grin I heard in the comment.
“Cut it out, beach boy. Now, why did your mother tell you not to swear in front of ladies, huh?” I lean him with his back on the box’s wreak, very cautiously, and then allow myself to just sit down for a moment. Closing my eyes, I cradle my right hand and take a few steadying breaths. So maybe the point of not caring anymore might be away a few miles, still.
“Because… it was proper for… never mind. And sorry for the… other swearing.” Impressive. He's in pain, most probably still on the verge of shock, and he can still be all secretive about whatever. And trying to be a gentleman as well.
“You’re forgiven, my dear,” I say in the tone my grandma used on us when she wanted to sound all old-school bourgeois and stuck-up. Which she basically was.
“Mel?” I open my eyes again and look at him.
“What?”
“That hand of yours… what’s… the matter with it?” Dammit. He noticed. I really should have made it less visible. He's got enough on his plate already to be worrying about me. As do I.
“It’s… nothing. Just a little sore. It’ll be okay in a few minutes.”
He shakes his head energetically. Well, as energetically as you can be when in his position. “Nonsense. Every time… you use the hand… which you try to… avoid… by the way… you… get all tensed up. What… is it?”
For a moment I consider to play down the whole thing again, but he’ll see through it, I’m pretty sure. I’m not bad at lying, but the hand thing maybe is a little too much to hide even for me. “It’s the wrist. I guess… I guess it’s broken. Hurts like hell.”
“Could be… sprained, then. Hurts usually more… more than being broken,” he says and coughs. Now look at that, there’s not only a gentleman hiding under the jump suit, but a medic as well?
“Whatever. Still hurts like hell.”
“Needs to… be put in a splint.” As if I wouldn’t know that myself.
“I know. I’ll get it done after I’m through with you. Deal?” For a moment, he looks like he’s going to contradict me, but something makes him change his mind. He only nods. “Okay. I’m going to have a look at your leg, now. It’s going to hurt, I’m sure. Just… try keeping on talking to me, okay? Tell me… why you decided to join the Alliance infantry. Yeah, that’s a good one. Tell me.” I crouch down beside his leg again, taking out my knife to cut the jump suit open.
“There’s not much to tell.” My ass there’s not much to tell. You’re just trying to be secretive again, mister.
“Then do it anyway. I need something to distract from what I might find. You don’t want me to faint, right?” He grins.
“You… won’t. Because you’re… stronger than that.” Good. Grief. He's still trying to make passes on me. MEN!
“Stop talking nonsense. Tell me why you joined the Alliance. And try to look into another direction, okay?” Good thing I remembered that as well. As long as people don’t see how bad it actually is, they are less likely to faint or go into shock. Gripping the knife a little harder with my left, I start cutting open the side of Xan’s jump suit.
“As you… wish, Madam. Though that’s really hard when it’s you doing the cutting.” Force, that man is lucky that I still mind hurting other people directly with my own hands. Because if I didn’t, I’d already have stabbed him for that remark.
“I said “Stop talking nonsense.” That was nonsense. Now tell me. Why. Did. You. Join. The Alliance? And why infantry?” Still cutting. And gritting my teeth every time he jerks.
“Because of… my family. When the… Empire was declared… My planet… declared their loyalty pretty fast. Good… would you mind… working a little faster?”
“I majored in journalism, not medical science, okay? So, your planet declared their loyalty. What then? Your parents were opposing and murdered?”
Something that could a humorless laugh escapes his throat. “No. They… cheered, like… everyone else. They were… good Imperial… citizens. And good son… that I was… I had to oppose them. In… everything they said… or did.” Nearly done. Need to peel away the fabric from the wound now. Gods, don’t let me alone here, will you?
“So you basically joined the Alliance because you just couldn’t get out of puberty?” This time a real laugh drifts over.
“Something like… that. But I also saw some things… and heard some things… they didn’t.” He doesn’t get further then because I finally had the guts to tear the fabric off, and obviously the pain made him speechless.
Okay, now don’t faint. It looks worse than it actually is. Really.
Which is hard to believe, actually. The leg under the fabric I peeled away, is one bloody mass. “What the fuck happened, Xan?” Like he actually knew. D’uh.
“Dunno. Shrapnel, I guess. Could get out before… before the box crashed, though.” I close my eyes against the assaulting image of Xan’s bloody leg, and try to get my breathing under control
“Well… lucky bastard. Now… I need to clean that up. I just don’t have any idea how to do it.”
A hand lands on my shoulder, and I turn to him. There’s an odd smile on his face. “Then don’t. Open… one of the bacta… infusions, pour the stuff on a bandage… and slab it on the wound.” Where the hell did he learn that? And why isn't he with the med service when he obviously knows so much about the whole stuff? “Come on, don’t… look at me like that. You can do that.”
Fine. I have no idea where he takes that knowledge from, but maybe he’s right. I do as he told me, all the time breathing shallow. “You know… you need to breath to… stay alive, Mel.” I don’t answer anything, because I fear that if I lose concentration I’ll faint. I’ve never seen such an ugly injury with so much blood, and at the moment it’s only sheer force of will that keeps me from succumbing to my nausea and dizziness.
Okay, I’m done with the bacta thing, now it’s about wrapping the whole thing up. And I guess, if I thought, dressing the leg was bad, then I’ll certainly meet my match at wrapping it. The pain this must be causing to Xan makes me hesitant to go on and move the leg. He's already gritting his teeth. I have the bad feeling that he’ll be severely hurting them if I go on with what I’m doing right now. “Xan…”
“I… know. Just make it quick. I even promise… not to swear too much.” Against my will, I have to smile.
“You have my solemn promise that you can swear as much as you like. And I won’t tell your mum, you’ve got my word for that.” A snort is everything I get as an answer, but before I start to work on his leg, I have an idea. Pulling out my folded bandana, I shove it into his hand and tell him to put it between his teeth. Without asking, he complies, and I set to work.
It’s been at least ten minutes or longer now since I finished dressing Xan’s leg, and up to now neither of us has said a word. I guess that’s because at one point we nearly passed out at the same time. “Mel?” suddenly comes his hesitant voice, and without opening my eyes, I only say, “What?” Oh well, I guess that was a little too gruff for a guy who just had a medically totally inept screw-up dress his basically shattered leg.
“You didn’t fulfill your end of the… deal yet, you know.” What the…
“You just won’t let it rest, huh?” He grins and shakes his head.
“No. The wrist… handicaps you. You should take care of it.” I look at him again, surprised to see he isn't as pale as before anymore and his breathing isn't as labored. And even more surprised at the relieve that’s washing over me. Well, just have to ignore that, then. And go on looking for something, I could use for a splint or a cast.
“Okay, fine. You can handle just sitting here and doing… nothing but staying awake, right?” He makes a face that clearly indicates that he’s going to do something terribly to me if I don’t stop pampering him. What that should be, though, in his current state I have no clue.
Trying to ignore his indignant stares, I make my way into the cockpit. Or what’s left of it. Just before I’m about to enter, I hear Xanas calling for me. Oh well, so much for “Stop pampering me,” huh? Huffing, I still turn back and ask him what he wants. The answer, though, is slightly different from what I expected, “Don’t go there.”
I take some steps back to him. “What?”
He takes a deep breath, craning his neck to try and look at me. “I said “Don’t go there.” Trust me, you won’t like what you find there.” Trying to boss me around again. Trying to protect me. But I’ve had it now.
“Okay. Listen now, because I’ll only say this once. Stop it. Stop being a gentleman, and stop trying to protect me. Before I found you, I saw what’s left of Tre’gar. And ‘lo and behold, I survived it. I managed to dress your leg, although I used to faint at the side of more blood than a paper cut before joining the Alliance. I dragged you here even when the pain from my wrist started to make me dizzy. I. Can. Frigging. Take. Care. Of. Myself. Got it?”
For moment he says nothing, and I’m gripped by an almost out of scale hysterical fear that he’ll react just like Danna. And what’s even worse: He’d have any right to do it. But he just says,“Agreed. But don’t say I didn’t warn you,” and that’s it.
Without commenting on it, I resume my way to the cockpit. I know that every box needs to carry a medium sized first aid kit, and that’s what I’m looking for. Kicking debris and larger metal parts out of my way, I enter the cockpit. And want to flee from it immediately. The LT - or what’s left of him - lies across the floor, between the two pilots. A shrapnel the size of a vibrodagger lies embedded in his back, and there’s a puddle of dried blood surrounding him.
I know I shouldn’t, but I need to have a look at the whole cockpit if I want to find the first aid kit. But of course, when I look left from me, my first sight is the pilot. With his face completely devastated because obviously his console exploded right into it. Oh Force. With my knees about to buckle every moment and my hands shaking I take a grip on the door frame and try to steady myself. Okay, Melara, don’t say a word now. It’s a matter of pride. Say anything now, and you’ll reveal yourself as the ultimate sissy.
Alright, best way to avoid throwing up: Taking deep breaths until the nausea subsides. Which is a great idea in surroundings where heat speeds up the decay process. Okay, take the breaths through the mouth, you moron. There, it’s already better.
Breathing through my mouth and fervently trying not to look at the pilot’s, the LT’s or the co-pilot’s body, I search the cockpit as methodically as I can. And yes, behind the pilot’s seat, I can make out a white case with a blue ring on it. Let’s just hope the content isn't as old as the box itself. Gritting my teeth, I pry the case loose and drag it towards me. After standing up again, I shove it out the cockpit with my foot. When I leave the cockpit, I can’t help drawing some deep breaths again, happy to be out of it again.
So… now on with searching for something I can use as a splint again. But before I can shove the case over to where Xan is sitting - who just turned around to me and opens his mouth to say something - I hear another sound. Xan wants to say something, but I give him a wave to stay quiet. There, again. Sounds a lot like someone cussing. Xan smirks. “Seems we’re not alone anymore, after all.
~*~
TBC in Chapter 4.
Fandom: Star Wars
Rating: T, to be on the safe side
Genres: Gen, Action/Adventure
Summary: A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... there were also people who were neither Jedi nor smugglers nor bounty hunters nor anything else as glamorous as that. Private Jenna Melara, infantry soldier for the Alliance, was one of them. Here's her story.
A/N: Third chapter... and it seems like this just isn't Jenna's day... or week... or month. I do hope at least some people are reading it, though...
( Screw Up 1/6 )
( Screw Up 2/6 )
Three
The first thing I realize is the pain. My whole body seems to be hurting. It’s not blinding, but dull and just… everywhere. The next thing is the heat. My face feels like it’s on fire, my lips feel like sandpaper and breathing really is an effort. But something tells me I have to get up. I try to move my arm to lift myself up. Which is a mistake. A big mistake. My shoulder blades protest as do the arm muscles, my fingers… basically my whole upper body. And the heat is still burning down on me. I guess, a second try is mandatory, as much as the pain is speaking against it.
Incredibly slow I manage to move my arms and lift my upper body. When I put my weight on my wrists, I can’t hold back a cry of pain. A sharp bolt of pain from the right wrist jolts through my right arm. I’m not a trained medic, but I already had a broken wrist once. And this felt exactly like it’s feeling now. Great.
Gritting my teeth against the nauseating reverberation of the pain from the broken wrist, I sit up and automatically check myself for further injuries. The whole right side of my jump suit is singed, but obviously no skin is really hurt. Closing my eyes, I wait for dizziness or nausea, but nothing comes. And I still know what happened before my vision faded to black. So, maybe no concussion either.
Taking a deep breath, I open my eyes again and look into the direction I presume the box crashed. And I still gasp, even if I knew the sight might be horrible. The wreck is amazingly intact, considering what must have happened after I got out. It’s lying on the right side, with its stern slightly higher then the nose. All around it, blackened pieces of metal are lying, and there are thin lines of smoke coming from various places alongside the box. But what is most unnerving is the unnatural calm. No wind is blowing, and of course no other living being is around, so there’s just… nothing. Which means most probably that I’m the only one who survived the crash.
I take another even deeper breath, forcing myself not to start hyperventilating. I try to tell myself that everything will be okay, that I will survive this. And I try to remember what my instructors told me for cases like this. Which is… practically nothing. That what I remember, not what they told me. I’m pretty sure, they did say something about…
My head jerks up. A sound… I just heard a sound… straining to see if it comes again, I nearly hold my breath… And then I hear it again. A faint groan, only audible because of the almost deafening, all-embracing silence. Ignoring the still lingering pain in my body, I scramble up, trying to find the source of the groan.
And I wish, I hadn't. In my sitting position, I only had a general overview. What I see now is a lot harder to take. Some feet left of me I see a charred figure that used to be my Bothan platoon mate Tre’gar, and I try to swallow away the bile rising in my throat. But weak stomach that I am, I end up losing what was left of the ration bars I had for breakfast on the ride. Great, as if dehydration wasn’t one of your biggest enemies when being in the desert.
After several dry heaves, I try to steady myself again and avoid throwing glances to my left. Then, I hear the sound again, this time a little louder, and maybe even a little more articulate. And yes, a few feet in front of me, I see another figure. Hoping against hope I won’t have to endure something like Tre’gar’s mortal remains again, I make my way over to the source of the moaning.
It’s Xan. The right leg of his jump suit is bloodstained and the whole side singed away, with burns covering the skin underneath it and other parts of his body, but as I check his pulse, I feel it going. Too weak to be satisfying enough, but still taking a weight comparable to… say… the Mount Isar on my home planet off my chest. He groans again, this time moving his head a little to the side.
Carefully, I shake his shoulder a little and touch his cheek. After several more tries, he finally cracks his eyes open, and when they have focused enough, something looking like a smile slowly spreads over his face. His lips move, and he obviously wants to say something, but only coughing comes out. Water. Yeah, water would be good… I search for my canteen, all the while swearing under my breath every time the presumably broken wrist reminds me of its existence.
Finally, I take the canteen from my belt and open it with my teeth. Not saying anything, I slip my right arm under Xan’s head and nudge the bottle at his lips, all the while trying to ignore the waves of pain that are shooting through my arm. After some difficulties, he manages to drink a few swallows and then indicates through tilting his head a little that it’s enough for now. I take back the canteen and close it again with my teeth, while taking my arm back from under his head.
For a moment, it’s silent again, then he says in a slightly hoarse and strained voice, “Forgot your sun block again, Private?”
Startled as I am, I can only answer with a slightly ungracious, “Huh?” and another smile appears.
“Your face. It’s even redder than after our first day here.” A little panicked, I touch my face. It’s burning all over, so I’m sure I’m as red as a Mon Calamarian lobster again. But other than that, it seems okay. I try a grin.
“If I’d really forgotten my sun block, there’d be blisters all over it by now. Believe me, I know all about a redhead’s curse.” Holy shit, what are we doing here? Our box crashed in the middle of nowhere, most likely leaving only us as survivors and with no protection from possible dangers than our rifles, and we’re talking about the color of my face?
My comment, though, obviously made Xanas laugh. Well, if that hoarse bellow he just made is supposed to be a laugh. When he’s calmed down again, I move to his right side to have a better look at his injuries. I’m a little afraid, because back home I always was a little squeamish about anything worse than a paper cut. But something tells me that this is not the time to get all girly.
“Xan?” He turns his head towards me.
“What?” Stealing myself with another deep breath, I pick on a piece of his sleeve.
“This could hurt a little now.” He turns back to look into the sky.
“Then get it over with fast.” I can see the pain in his eyes, and his face is uncharacteristically pale, even under all the tan I’m usually so jealous of. And here I thought a few bruises, strained muscles and a broken wrist were bad. Swallowing against the sinking feeling in my stomach, I use my left hand to peel the jump suit away from his left arm.
The sight almost makes me throw up again. The skin is severely singed, with dark edges and blisters all over it. That’s gotta hurt like hell, but Xanas isn’t making any other sound than an occasional hiss. Yet. When I come to the bloody patch on his leg and accidentally come against it when trying to peel away the jump suit, he cries out in pain, throwing a very loud “GODSDAMMIT!” into the sky.
Before I can apologize for hurting him, though, he gets a grip on himself and looks at me apologetically, saying “Sorry for that,” and giving me a lop-sided grin. Huh?
“Uh… you know, I should be the one apologizing,” I say, and he grins again.
“No, because I was told never to…” Suddenly he stops, as if he realizes he’s about to say something he better shouldn’t and finishes with, “Never mind. It was just the pain talking.” What the hell’s this about?
“If you say so. But… uh… we still have to do something about the leg and the burns.” And how I wish I knew what that was. Frantically I try to remember what I learned in my first aid classes. What did they say about burns? Oh yeah, make sure they don’t inflame. Cool it. No, scratch that, it’s too late for that. What else? Right, cover it with something sterile. Where the hell do I get sterile bandages from?
“You still do have your med pac, right?” I love it when people take advantage of the fact that I’m very easy to read and use it to startle me. But he’s right.
“Oh, yeah. Yes, I do.” I dig around my leg pockets and find the emergency pack. That will absolutely not do.
“Get mine, too. It’s in the pocket of the healthy leg.” His voice is controlled, and he’s speaking almost like a teacher would speak to a child. Great, now I have to hate him even when he’s maybe fatally wounded. Saying nothing as not to say something I might regret later, I reach over and get the med pac.
I check both pacs if everything’s still in the right shape, and am surprised positively. At least once I’m lucky. Both pacs are still complete, and the bandages, emergency bacta infusions and antibiotics shots are still whole and unscathed. I guess, first things first then.
“Xan? I’m trying to give you some antibiotics now. I just have no clue how to handle that stupid syringe.” He grins a little weakly, and then guides me through the whole process step by step. His voice is growing weaker and weaker, and he’s starting to lose focus, and that’s really worrying me. Because what I always remembered best about first aid training is what they told us about shock. Okay, what to do? Oh yeah, keep the patient from losing consciousness.
“Keep talking, Xan. I’m almost done here, but I could use a little company. Come on, stay with me.” I finish the shot and throw away the whole thing. Who’s gonna care anyway?
“You… want me… to stay with you, huh?” Goodness gracious, he’s going into shock, and he’s still making advances? Men.
“Yes, that’s true. Come on, tell me something about you. Why’d you apologize for crying out in pain some minutes ago?” While I try to keep him awake, I also try to figure out a way of moving him out of the sun without causing him too much pain.
“Mother… told me… always told me… not to swear in front of a lady… good grief, what are you doing?” So much for not swearing in front of a lady. But at least the pain seems to wake him up a little again. So does my pain to me. I decided to slip my arms under his and drag him into the relative shade the smoldering box wreak is casting on the ground. Not a good idea, at least that’s what the wrist is telling me. But I guess, I’m nearing the point where you just don’t care anymore.
“Getting you and me out of the sun. Be grateful for it.” Almost there. Just a few more steps. Come on, Melara, you can do that. Your mother would have single-handedly gotten the man out of the sun. With the injured hand, of course.
“I… am, actually. Even… if it’s… more for your sake than mine.” Even though I fully concentrate on not letting him fall to the ground ungraciously, I can very well imagine the slurred grin I heard in the comment.
“Cut it out, beach boy. Now, why did your mother tell you not to swear in front of ladies, huh?” I lean him with his back on the box’s wreak, very cautiously, and then allow myself to just sit down for a moment. Closing my eyes, I cradle my right hand and take a few steadying breaths. So maybe the point of not caring anymore might be away a few miles, still.
“Because… it was proper for… never mind. And sorry for the… other swearing.” Impressive. He's in pain, most probably still on the verge of shock, and he can still be all secretive about whatever. And trying to be a gentleman as well.
“You’re forgiven, my dear,” I say in the tone my grandma used on us when she wanted to sound all old-school bourgeois and stuck-up. Which she basically was.
“Mel?” I open my eyes again and look at him.
“What?”
“That hand of yours… what’s… the matter with it?” Dammit. He noticed. I really should have made it less visible. He's got enough on his plate already to be worrying about me. As do I.
“It’s… nothing. Just a little sore. It’ll be okay in a few minutes.”
He shakes his head energetically. Well, as energetically as you can be when in his position. “Nonsense. Every time… you use the hand… which you try to… avoid… by the way… you… get all tensed up. What… is it?”
For a moment I consider to play down the whole thing again, but he’ll see through it, I’m pretty sure. I’m not bad at lying, but the hand thing maybe is a little too much to hide even for me. “It’s the wrist. I guess… I guess it’s broken. Hurts like hell.”
“Could be… sprained, then. Hurts usually more… more than being broken,” he says and coughs. Now look at that, there’s not only a gentleman hiding under the jump suit, but a medic as well?
“Whatever. Still hurts like hell.”
“Needs to… be put in a splint.” As if I wouldn’t know that myself.
“I know. I’ll get it done after I’m through with you. Deal?” For a moment, he looks like he’s going to contradict me, but something makes him change his mind. He only nods. “Okay. I’m going to have a look at your leg, now. It’s going to hurt, I’m sure. Just… try keeping on talking to me, okay? Tell me… why you decided to join the Alliance infantry. Yeah, that’s a good one. Tell me.” I crouch down beside his leg again, taking out my knife to cut the jump suit open.
“There’s not much to tell.” My ass there’s not much to tell. You’re just trying to be secretive again, mister.
“Then do it anyway. I need something to distract from what I might find. You don’t want me to faint, right?” He grins.
“You… won’t. Because you’re… stronger than that.” Good. Grief. He's still trying to make passes on me. MEN!
“Stop talking nonsense. Tell me why you joined the Alliance. And try to look into another direction, okay?” Good thing I remembered that as well. As long as people don’t see how bad it actually is, they are less likely to faint or go into shock. Gripping the knife a little harder with my left, I start cutting open the side of Xan’s jump suit.
“As you… wish, Madam. Though that’s really hard when it’s you doing the cutting.” Force, that man is lucky that I still mind hurting other people directly with my own hands. Because if I didn’t, I’d already have stabbed him for that remark.
“I said “Stop talking nonsense.” That was nonsense. Now tell me. Why. Did. You. Join. The Alliance? And why infantry?” Still cutting. And gritting my teeth every time he jerks.
“Because of… my family. When the… Empire was declared… My planet… declared their loyalty pretty fast. Good… would you mind… working a little faster?”
“I majored in journalism, not medical science, okay? So, your planet declared their loyalty. What then? Your parents were opposing and murdered?”
Something that could a humorless laugh escapes his throat. “No. They… cheered, like… everyone else. They were… good Imperial… citizens. And good son… that I was… I had to oppose them. In… everything they said… or did.” Nearly done. Need to peel away the fabric from the wound now. Gods, don’t let me alone here, will you?
“So you basically joined the Alliance because you just couldn’t get out of puberty?” This time a real laugh drifts over.
“Something like… that. But I also saw some things… and heard some things… they didn’t.” He doesn’t get further then because I finally had the guts to tear the fabric off, and obviously the pain made him speechless.
Okay, now don’t faint. It looks worse than it actually is. Really.
Which is hard to believe, actually. The leg under the fabric I peeled away, is one bloody mass. “What the fuck happened, Xan?” Like he actually knew. D’uh.
“Dunno. Shrapnel, I guess. Could get out before… before the box crashed, though.” I close my eyes against the assaulting image of Xan’s bloody leg, and try to get my breathing under control
“Well… lucky bastard. Now… I need to clean that up. I just don’t have any idea how to do it.”
A hand lands on my shoulder, and I turn to him. There’s an odd smile on his face. “Then don’t. Open… one of the bacta… infusions, pour the stuff on a bandage… and slab it on the wound.” Where the hell did he learn that? And why isn't he with the med service when he obviously knows so much about the whole stuff? “Come on, don’t… look at me like that. You can do that.”
Fine. I have no idea where he takes that knowledge from, but maybe he’s right. I do as he told me, all the time breathing shallow. “You know… you need to breath to… stay alive, Mel.” I don’t answer anything, because I fear that if I lose concentration I’ll faint. I’ve never seen such an ugly injury with so much blood, and at the moment it’s only sheer force of will that keeps me from succumbing to my nausea and dizziness.
Okay, I’m done with the bacta thing, now it’s about wrapping the whole thing up. And I guess, if I thought, dressing the leg was bad, then I’ll certainly meet my match at wrapping it. The pain this must be causing to Xan makes me hesitant to go on and move the leg. He's already gritting his teeth. I have the bad feeling that he’ll be severely hurting them if I go on with what I’m doing right now. “Xan…”
“I… know. Just make it quick. I even promise… not to swear too much.” Against my will, I have to smile.
“You have my solemn promise that you can swear as much as you like. And I won’t tell your mum, you’ve got my word for that.” A snort is everything I get as an answer, but before I start to work on his leg, I have an idea. Pulling out my folded bandana, I shove it into his hand and tell him to put it between his teeth. Without asking, he complies, and I set to work.
It’s been at least ten minutes or longer now since I finished dressing Xan’s leg, and up to now neither of us has said a word. I guess that’s because at one point we nearly passed out at the same time. “Mel?” suddenly comes his hesitant voice, and without opening my eyes, I only say, “What?” Oh well, I guess that was a little too gruff for a guy who just had a medically totally inept screw-up dress his basically shattered leg.
“You didn’t fulfill your end of the… deal yet, you know.” What the…
“You just won’t let it rest, huh?” He grins and shakes his head.
“No. The wrist… handicaps you. You should take care of it.” I look at him again, surprised to see he isn't as pale as before anymore and his breathing isn't as labored. And even more surprised at the relieve that’s washing over me. Well, just have to ignore that, then. And go on looking for something, I could use for a splint or a cast.
“Okay, fine. You can handle just sitting here and doing… nothing but staying awake, right?” He makes a face that clearly indicates that he’s going to do something terribly to me if I don’t stop pampering him. What that should be, though, in his current state I have no clue.
Trying to ignore his indignant stares, I make my way into the cockpit. Or what’s left of it. Just before I’m about to enter, I hear Xanas calling for me. Oh well, so much for “Stop pampering me,” huh? Huffing, I still turn back and ask him what he wants. The answer, though, is slightly different from what I expected, “Don’t go there.”
I take some steps back to him. “What?”
He takes a deep breath, craning his neck to try and look at me. “I said “Don’t go there.” Trust me, you won’t like what you find there.” Trying to boss me around again. Trying to protect me. But I’ve had it now.
“Okay. Listen now, because I’ll only say this once. Stop it. Stop being a gentleman, and stop trying to protect me. Before I found you, I saw what’s left of Tre’gar. And ‘lo and behold, I survived it. I managed to dress your leg, although I used to faint at the side of more blood than a paper cut before joining the Alliance. I dragged you here even when the pain from my wrist started to make me dizzy. I. Can. Frigging. Take. Care. Of. Myself. Got it?”
For moment he says nothing, and I’m gripped by an almost out of scale hysterical fear that he’ll react just like Danna. And what’s even worse: He’d have any right to do it. But he just says,“Agreed. But don’t say I didn’t warn you,” and that’s it.
Without commenting on it, I resume my way to the cockpit. I know that every box needs to carry a medium sized first aid kit, and that’s what I’m looking for. Kicking debris and larger metal parts out of my way, I enter the cockpit. And want to flee from it immediately. The LT - or what’s left of him - lies across the floor, between the two pilots. A shrapnel the size of a vibrodagger lies embedded in his back, and there’s a puddle of dried blood surrounding him.
I know I shouldn’t, but I need to have a look at the whole cockpit if I want to find the first aid kit. But of course, when I look left from me, my first sight is the pilot. With his face completely devastated because obviously his console exploded right into it. Oh Force. With my knees about to buckle every moment and my hands shaking I take a grip on the door frame and try to steady myself. Okay, Melara, don’t say a word now. It’s a matter of pride. Say anything now, and you’ll reveal yourself as the ultimate sissy.
Alright, best way to avoid throwing up: Taking deep breaths until the nausea subsides. Which is a great idea in surroundings where heat speeds up the decay process. Okay, take the breaths through the mouth, you moron. There, it’s already better.
Breathing through my mouth and fervently trying not to look at the pilot’s, the LT’s or the co-pilot’s body, I search the cockpit as methodically as I can. And yes, behind the pilot’s seat, I can make out a white case with a blue ring on it. Let’s just hope the content isn't as old as the box itself. Gritting my teeth, I pry the case loose and drag it towards me. After standing up again, I shove it out the cockpit with my foot. When I leave the cockpit, I can’t help drawing some deep breaths again, happy to be out of it again.
So… now on with searching for something I can use as a splint again. But before I can shove the case over to where Xan is sitting - who just turned around to me and opens his mouth to say something - I hear another sound. Xan wants to say something, but I give him a wave to stay quiet. There, again. Sounds a lot like someone cussing. Xan smirks. “Seems we’re not alone anymore, after all.
~*~
TBC in Chapter 4.