BSG fic: A Time of Need (pg)
Title: A Time of Need
Rating: PG
Word count: 541
Beta: none
Character: Doc Cottle
Setting: The Oath/Blood on the Scales
Warnings: none that I can think of
Summary: Cottle wasn’t about to stop working now.
Author's note: written a while back but never posted here
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“What in the ever-lovin’ frak is going on out there?” Cottle didn’t bother to remove the cigarette from his mouth or to look away from the broken arm he was setting. The boy’s mother had brought him in almost an hour earlier, frantic, her panic causing the boy - couldn’t be more than eight years old - to panic as well. It had taken nearly that hour to calm them both down so the arm could be set, a task that wasn’t any easier for the fact that the woman didn’t seem to speak anything other than backwoods Gemonese. Regardless, Cottle wasn’t about to stop working now.
There was another burst of sharp sound outside sickbay, and this time he looked over his shoulder, shouted, “Ishay! What the hell is all that noise?” Turning back to the boy, he saw that he was staring at him, eyes wide, so the rest of what the doctor was going to say was muttered under his breath instead. “Damned idiots need to settle down. I’m trying to work in here.”
“Oh, Gods.” Ishay sounded shocked. “Oh, dear Gods.” No. Make that frightened.
Cottle slapped the last plaster-soaked strip onto the boy’s arm more hastily than he would’ve liked, but it wasn’t too far from where he'd intended it to land. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Elliott, sir,” the boy whispered, and then flinched as another gunshot sounded, just outside the hatch. It was then that Cottle realized the rest of what he’d heard were also gunshots and possibly a percussion grenade, which was absolutely stupid aboard a ship in space.
He took the half-consumed cigarette from his mouth and stubbed it out on the metal tray next to the tub of thin, wet plaster. “Elliott, take your mother to the back of sickbay. Can you do that for me? I don’t want either of you to leave, just yet.”
“Yes, sir.” Plainly terrified, Elliott took his mother by the hand and all but dragged her to the far corner of the room while Cottle walked at a more sedate pace to where Ishay leaned beside the closed hatch. She shook visibly and about jumped out of her skin when someone pounded on the hatch from the other side, accompanied by yet more gunfire.
“Doc Cottle! We need you!” The shout and accompanying shots were muffled by layers of metal and insulation, but still clearly audible.
“Layne, honey,” he said, forcing a gentleness into his voice that he didn’t feel, “you’re going to have to undog the hatch. Whatever’s going on, there’re bound to be casualties.”
For a moment, her expression was just like little Elliott’s had been when he’d told him to go with his mother. From the corner of his eye, Cottle saw mother and son huddled together on a bed, both wearing the same wide-eyed expression. He looked back at Ishay, who took deep, long breaths to calm herself. She blinked at Cottle as if only just noticing he was there, that she wasn’t alone. “Doctor, our own people are shooting at each other out there.”
Cottle grunted and reached for the wheel, spun the hatch open. “All the more reason to open that hatch. They need us, Layne. There’s been enough death around here.”
Rating: PG
Word count: 541
Beta: none
Character: Doc Cottle
Setting: The Oath/Blood on the Scales
Warnings: none that I can think of
Summary: Cottle wasn’t about to stop working now.
Author's note: written a while back but never posted here
--------------------
“What in the ever-lovin’ frak is going on out there?” Cottle didn’t bother to remove the cigarette from his mouth or to look away from the broken arm he was setting. The boy’s mother had brought him in almost an hour earlier, frantic, her panic causing the boy - couldn’t be more than eight years old - to panic as well. It had taken nearly that hour to calm them both down so the arm could be set, a task that wasn’t any easier for the fact that the woman didn’t seem to speak anything other than backwoods Gemonese. Regardless, Cottle wasn’t about to stop working now.
There was another burst of sharp sound outside sickbay, and this time he looked over his shoulder, shouted, “Ishay! What the hell is all that noise?” Turning back to the boy, he saw that he was staring at him, eyes wide, so the rest of what the doctor was going to say was muttered under his breath instead. “Damned idiots need to settle down. I’m trying to work in here.”
“Oh, Gods.” Ishay sounded shocked. “Oh, dear Gods.” No. Make that frightened.
Cottle slapped the last plaster-soaked strip onto the boy’s arm more hastily than he would’ve liked, but it wasn’t too far from where he'd intended it to land. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Elliott, sir,” the boy whispered, and then flinched as another gunshot sounded, just outside the hatch. It was then that Cottle realized the rest of what he’d heard were also gunshots and possibly a percussion grenade, which was absolutely stupid aboard a ship in space.
He took the half-consumed cigarette from his mouth and stubbed it out on the metal tray next to the tub of thin, wet plaster. “Elliott, take your mother to the back of sickbay. Can you do that for me? I don’t want either of you to leave, just yet.”
“Yes, sir.” Plainly terrified, Elliott took his mother by the hand and all but dragged her to the far corner of the room while Cottle walked at a more sedate pace to where Ishay leaned beside the closed hatch. She shook visibly and about jumped out of her skin when someone pounded on the hatch from the other side, accompanied by yet more gunfire.
“Doc Cottle! We need you!” The shout and accompanying shots were muffled by layers of metal and insulation, but still clearly audible.
“Layne, honey,” he said, forcing a gentleness into his voice that he didn’t feel, “you’re going to have to undog the hatch. Whatever’s going on, there’re bound to be casualties.”
For a moment, her expression was just like little Elliott’s had been when he’d told him to go with his mother. From the corner of his eye, Cottle saw mother and son huddled together on a bed, both wearing the same wide-eyed expression. He looked back at Ishay, who took deep, long breaths to calm herself. She blinked at Cottle as if only just noticing he was there, that she wasn’t alone. “Doctor, our own people are shooting at each other out there.”
Cottle grunted and reached for the wheel, spun the hatch open. “All the more reason to open that hatch. They need us, Layne. There’s been enough death around here.”