Scene 7-IX

His boots echo loudly on the smooth tile of the main lobby, the doors just banging shut as he reaches the reception desk. He’s in full Fleet attire, as usual, from black boots to gleaming black leather collar around his neck, and he knows it’s intimidating, especially in a small town like this.

Hands coming to rest heavily on the desk, Jase fixes the receptionist with a cool look. “I’m looking for Luke Westerly.” He says, and watches as recognition and a tinge of fear play out on her face.

“I’ll page a nurse to take you to his room, Mr.—?” She says, one hand moving to the comms board half hidden from his sight.

“Lieutenant Charter.”

“Nurse Henderson to reception please, Nurse Henderson to reception.” She leans away from the microphone, hand uncovering the intercom button. “It should be just a moment Lieutenant.”

Jase nods and steps aside to get out of the way of the woman waiting behind him, small child wriggling in her arms. The boy has a stuffy nose, and a temperature, and it doesn’t take anything at all to just burn the flu right out of his system, the temperature already beginning to fade. The kid smiles, suddenly, and stills in his mother’s arms, and the sniffling stops. The young woman pauses, turning to look at her son, who pokes her cheek happily, and looks back at the receptionist in confusion.

“Lieutenant Charter?”

Jase turns, and nods, and the woman smiles, extending a hand.

“I’m Nurse Henderson, but you can call me Cathy.” She says cheerfully, and Jase takes the proffered hand, warily. “I understand you’re here to see Captain Westerly?”

“Yes.” Jase says, hand dropping back to his side.

“Follow me then,” She sets a brisk pace, despite her short legs, but Jase follows closely. “Do you work on the same ship?”

“I’m his doctor.”

They come to a halt in front of a pair of locked doors, and Cathy swipes an ID card through the scanner. They unlock with a click, and she pushes one open, gesturing for Jase to go ahead.

The hallway is a dreary dark grey, the tile black, such a sharp contrast to the sunny yellow and white of the rest of the hospital that Jase’s head jerks up from the middle distance, to look at Cathy.

“Almost there.” She says.

He waits half a step back when she again swipes her card, followed by a key in the manual lock, and she pushes the door open slowly, it apparently heavy. She leads the way in, holding the door for him, all the while moving in slow motion, and it’s hard not to just push her out of his way.

And then, it’s all he can do not to be violently ill all over the floor, because what the hell have they done? He’s at Luke’s bedside in barely a step, hands twitching, level with the blanket, because he isn’t sure what to do with them, and it’s a conscious effort not to turn on his heel and strangle Cathy until she collapses to the dark floor.

Instead, one shaky hand reaches out to trace an angry gash on Luke’s forehead, carefully sealing the cut and killing the infection festering in it. He smoothes Luke’s hair back gently, hand healing as it moves, soothing swollen flesh and bruised bone, seeking out the sickness of a concussion and cleaning it away. Fingers trailing softly down the side of Luke’s face, Jase lifts his chin ever so slightly to inspect the heavy welts presumably left behind by the leather collar identical to his own.

His other hand brushes against something cold and hard and jarringly wrong, and he looks down. “What the fuck is this?” He spits, two fingers slipping between the metal cuff and Luke’s wrist, and they slide in the cool blood pooling there, and he’s horribly nauseous.

Cathy comes forward to stand next to him, hands resting on the metal side bar. “He had to be handcuffed in case he woke up on his own.” She says, as though that explains everything, and Jase wants to hurt her, wants to take the blood on his hands and smear it all over her, because what have they done?

“I want the keys.” He says, and she hesitates, and he doesn’t even look at her. “Now. It’s not a request.”

She places a small key in his outstretched palm, and he carefully unlocks first one cuff, then the other, leaning across Luke to reach the far one. They fall away, slippery and red, and he wraps his hand around the wrist closest to him, cleaning the wound and closing it, and repeating it on the other, hands coming away heavily stained with dark, sick blood, and he wipes it on Cathy’s scrubs.

“Get out.” He says, and she retreats quietly, apparently knowing better than to push him just then.

Luke’s tucked tightly under a blanket, something Jase would never have let them do had he been here, because when Luke’s sick, his skin is just that much more delicate, and just that blanket, stuck in place, would open sores when he moved underneath it. Jase pulls the edges out from under the thin mattress, and gently moves Luke’s arms until they’re resting at his sides, and tugs the blanket up so that it bumps Luke’s chin. He lets go of the scratchy fabric and runs his fingers across the welts on Luke’s neck, calming the irritated skin and mending the blood vessels.

Jase closes his eyes and washes the drug keeping Luke asleep from his veins, easing him into actual slumber. Blinking, he tugs open a cupboard, and then the one next to it, and this is what he’s looking for: blankets and such. Bending, he rifles through its contents, but doesn’t find what he wants, which doesn’t surprise him now that he’s realized he’s in the prisoners’ ward. He moves to slam the door closed, but catches it just in time, easing it in.

Jase sighs and scrubs at his face. Luke is whimpering and thrashing in his small bed, and he has a fever, which isn’t surprising considering the flu going around, and the complete lack of sterilization in this ward. Jase kicks his boots off, letting them scuff the floor, leaving behind heavy black marks, and he lowers one of the side bars, folds the blanket over, carefully resting his weight on his knees on the side of the bed, making sure it can hold him, and then he swings his legs up, careful not to jostle Luke.

The bed creaks ominously, but Jase pushes his feet under the blanket, and squishes up against Luke, gently easing an arm under his back, healing sores on his shoulder blades as he pulls him close, tucking his mop of sweaty, dark hair under his chin. Luke quiets, relaxes, and melts in closer, and Jase starts the slow work of mending the damage various opportunistic infections have done on his body, not to mention the battered and stretched muscles, and the bruised bone and broken blood vessels.

A cracked rib and a bruise in the shape of a handprint, and Jase feels fury flood him, his body tingling, and, and.

Luke whimpers again as his grip on him turns painful, and Jase forces himself to breathe.

He’s angry enough to do some serious damage to anyone he sees just now, so he doesn’t go storming out into the main hospital like he wants to, but hugs Luke closer still, sending a rush of cool, fresh blood to his cramped muscles, letting them soak in the oxygen it carries, and there will be hell to pay later.

A deep breath, and Luke’s lungs echo his own, expanding against the constraints of their diseased tissue. Jase soothes it, clearing the infection out, and almost immediately Luke’s heart speeds up as its oxygen flow near doubles. From there, his core temperature eases off slightly, the red high in his cheeks beginning to fade, and Luke relaxes further, some of the stress taken off his body.

It’s all so simple, and yet in the five days Luke had been here, they hadn’t been able to do anything for him. Which brings him back to the handcuffs; there is no way they’d used them as further protection from Luke waking up and hurting himself, or someone else, as he is sure they were more concerned about.

Jase had seen some construction workers on his way in, but hadn’t paid them much attention, whatever damage they were dealing with not noticeable from the front entrance. Possible, and admittedly probable, is that Luke got a little out of control, destroyed something, and they flipped. He drags a hand carefully up one of Luke’s arms, finding far too many burns and cuts and bruises and sores, things which are only too easy to heal or prevent. Similarly, his back and hipbones are rubbed raw, and Luke will be transferred to an actual room, or, if still to sick to be moved, it will be brought to him, in the form of comforters, down pillows, and fleece pads, and that’s not up for negotiation.

Luke sighs, softly, and Jase cradles him closer, seeking, finding, and healing any and every surface wound before digging deeper to bolster slowly failing kidneys, and he still has a lot of work ahead of him before Luke wakes up, just to diminish the pain.

The clock is thudding loudly, the tick of its second hand a counterpoint to Luke’s heart, and Jase closes his eyes, settling in for the long haul.

Previous: Scene 7-VIII

Scene 7-IX

Next: Scene 7-X