A Web Serial by M.C.A. Hogarth
| 33. Close Calls. | 35. After-Action with Aliens. |
|---|
34. Slow Repairs
Sickbay, after action. Spots is standing over Fang2's bed when the corpsman appears behind her.
Spots. "How is he?"
Corpsman. "He'll be fine. You're supposed to be in bed 12, Private."
Spots. "Sorry about that." She lets him guide her back.
"You're limping, did you know?"
"I can feel it, yes."
"Hold still." The corpsman starts running a diagnostic. "You came out of there lucky. Usually suit failures break a bone or sprain something. How do you feel?"
"Like I've seen better days."
He nods. "You're going to be a solid bruise in a couple of days." He pauses at something on the monitor. "Uh... did you yank yourself out of that suit?"
"Sort of. Emergency eject."
"Emergency... Jesus! Lie down. We're going to need someone to have a look at the plumbing."
Spots sighs and lies down. As they're waiting for the doctor: "The repair shouldn't take long. You came away pretty clean, given the circumstances." A pause. "Doesn't it hurt?"
"I've had worse."
Spots exits the common shower in her PT shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants, pocketing her ring rosary, and finds Claws leaning on the wall outside.
"Claws? Shouldn't you be in bed?"
"Just got done checkin' in your suit, reckoned I'd wait up for you. How you feelin'?"
Spots smiles. "Worn thin."
"I figured. You good for a little air?"
"A little air?"
"Got a message while you were showerin'. Seems the Fiddler wants to talk to you, and Peaches wants us to make nice."
Spots sighs. "I was hoping to sleep."
Claws eyes her. "Wow, a complaint outta the cookie-bakin' mom. Maybe I should take you back to sickbay, this might be serious-like."
Spots laughs. "No, it's okay. Lead the way." They start down the corridor. "Claws?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. I wouldn't have gotten out of there except under your arm."
"Ain't nothin', Spots."
She stops, grasps his shoulder. "It was something to me. And to Fang. And Fang2—I saw him in Sickbay, that was a serious injury. He could have bled out."
He meets her eyes, suddenly angry. "You did your part too. You all did."
"Yes. But you pulled it together and made it work. So thanks." She shakes him a little. "Say 'you're welcome.' Or did that mother you profess to write to all the time teach you no manners?"
Claws coughs a laugh. "All right, all right. Don't be puttin' down my momma."
Spots waits, brow lifted. Claws covers her hand on his shoulder. "You're welcome." He pulls away, uncomfortable. "The Fiddler now, okay? 'Mother's Escort' insists."
"Yessir." She sways away from his elbow jab. "You missed."
"Fu—aw, hell, I can't say it."
Spots laughs.
| 33. Close Calls. | 35. After-Action with Aliens. |
|---|
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