trans_9 | "OW! That so totally hurts!" -- Charles Xavier

"Jesus, Mary, Joseph," Trudy said, feeling every inch of every muscle screaming at her as she climbed down from her X-wing. The G-forces she had been pulling were not at all comfortable and not anything she was used to for that long. Her stomach tried to express its displeasure at being back on a relatively unmoving surface so suddenly and Trudy swallowed hard to keep it in its place.

That's when she spotted Dustin. "Oh, hell, couldn't you have waited to get to the Medbay before you passed out?" she snarled at him, limping over. She whistled through her teeth as she got a look at the damage, nudging him with her foot to see if he stirred. "On second thought, it's probably a good thing you passed out. This would be a hell of a trip if you hadn't."

She had to take a few deep breaths to steel herself before she hauled his skinny frame up on her back with a grunt of effort, staggering slightly as she made for the nearest transport tube. He was light - practically weighed nothing at all - but even that little bit was an effort.

By the time they finally got to the Medbay and were greeted by the EMH, Trudy was ready to pass out. She laid him down on the bed. "Well, you want it in order of seriousness or from the top down?" she asked, and then made a face. "S'cuse me," she said, leaning over to grab the nearest empty basin before throwing up.

Dustin would’ve agreed with her if he was conscious long enough to do so—or rather, in any sort of state during those brief spans of cognitive activity to express his extreme displeasure at being transported in the manner which she had chosen. Once or twice he had attempted just that; the frail figure draped over Trudy’s back would let out a wheeze, thick eyebrows knitting together, jaw regaining some tension as he adjusted to his position, a stream of curses would buzz noisily around his subconscious and then he went limp yet again. By the time Dustin had been deposited on that cot he was in a state of fitful slumber, expression contorted and forehead dribbling with sweat. His lips were turning blue underneath the blood, his chest move erratically with each breath, ribs grating nigh audibly no matter how he moved—or was moved—to support them.

”At least you’re out of that ship,” came the reassuring thought through the misty haze of agony clouding the genius’s mind, and for a moment he seemed almost tranquil again, ”The ASIS wouldn’t set your shoulder and leg until you were put somewhere level, so that should be over with soon—barring any inconsistencies of course, but that’s what we have the phone for, right?—“

Oh good god, his phone! His backpack! Dustin’s eyes shot open, panicked; he made a motion to shift his head from its prone position on the left but all he managed was a weak neck spasm, cheek flopping against the thin bedding. A new layer of perspiration soaked what misaligned bangs happened to be in the way, creating thick strands of dark brown ringlets that stuck to his brow.

Presently, after some frantic gasping, Dustin found he had enough air in his one and a half lungs to express what was so dire. “—Where—where is—“ He paused and grimaced; right on target, carbon tendrils began appearing just under the skin of his mangled shoulder, outlining a crack in his clavicle, a spiral fracture at the top of his humerus. “—my phone, it’s—plugged into the steering—“

"Hey hey hey! Hold still!"

Luis was, at this point, trying to assess his condition-- an internal injury was beyond what he felt all right doing, but he could at least try to speed things along.

"Somebody will go get your phone, amigo. Quit moving."

Dustin obstinately ignored him, trying a more coordinated approach at shifting his head; the movement started in his foot, arced through his back and branched into his prosthetic, which found a firm grasp on the edge of his cot and pushed, lifting him just enough to where he could flop over and, glaring with bright green, bloodshot eyes, get a better idea of just who apparently had him under his jurisdiction. The face was vaguely familiar, not enough to ring any immediate bells in his delirious mind, but that wasn’t exactly what Dustin was concerned with. If he was where he suspected he was, then he already didn’t like this person.

No time like the present to ask, though, and Dustin had his priorities. He fell back with a wet sort of sound on the bedding and turned his gaze to the ceiling. “…Where am—?“

—Wait, no, that was a stupid question, he knew where he was. Dustin squinted his eyes closed as he attempted to gather his thoughts—and succeeded, though his memory slipped, and the location was a little off.

“—Where’s Clay?” Another pointed glare in Luis’s direction, though it was obviously unfocused. “Tell the front—Doctor Epps—They’ll know—“

Somebody was kind enough to pull her hair back over her shoulders and hold it out of the way.

"Take it easy, bonita. Why don't you grab a bed?" Luis offered, rubbing her back between her shoulder blades. "I mean... when you finish up here."

Trudy gave him a thumbs up while she was in the middle of retching, pathetically grateful for the grip on her hair. It wasn't like she wanted to get vomit in it, but she didn't have the coordination to hold it back right now.

When she finished, she spat into the basin a couple times, trying to get the taste out of her mouth. "I am not used to flying that hard," she said, and spat again. "I think the last half hour might have been a little much."

That was clearly an understatement - without her flight suit, the harness for the inside of the X-wing had left beautiful purpling bruises on her collarbones, her ribs, the insides of her thighs. She leaned gratefully into Luis and trusted him to steer her to the nearest bed. He was pretty good at that, after all. "Lemme take a quick catnap and I'll be back out," she said. "The G-forces aren't that bad once you get used to them."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I've never flown myself at all and I'd probably have started crying just after takeoff," he offered, and caught a glance at her bruises as he helped her over to the bed.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa-- you might as well get comfortable, baby, we'd better check you for internal with bruising like that."

Trudy grunted as she propped herself up on one of her elbows, watching him move around the medbay. "Don't start getting protective on me now that we just got friendly," she said mildly. "I know what internal bleeding feels like and I don't have it. General Antilles is going to nail my hide to the wall for not wearing my flight suit, but other than that I'll be fine."

She knew what internal bleeding felt like because being in combat usually resulted in it at one point or another. Two separate occasions, actually - once when she'd taken shrapnel while she'd still been in the Marines, and once in SecOps when a Na'vi warrior had thrown her against the side of her own chopper.

"A morphine drip would be nice though," she added.

"Hey, who's being protective? I'm just doing my job," Luis teased her, crossing his arms. He got to work prepping the area around her bed for the bed to have somebody in it.

"Well... sort of. Anyway, you're already here, and I'd rather look you over now than have you carried back here later with your insides all leaking. If you behave, I'll give you a morphine drip. How's that?"

Trudy scowled at him, clearly a little ticked off at being coddled - well, he could call it what he liked but she knew her limits and would only push herself beyond them when absolutely needed.

Unfortunately, now was when she was absolutely needed. "You're a sadist, how did I not know that about you before?" She did lay back, however, staring at the shifting ceiling. "On second thought, I can't really fly a fighter hopped up on painkillers, so how about you make sure I'm not bleeding and I go?"

She wasn't in any shape to go anywhere, really. She'd been pulling a series of ridiculous maneuvers with high G-forces and adrenaline spiking all over the place. Now that she was sitting still, she could feel herself starting to crash.

"I'm a sadist?" Luis said with mock horror. "Why, Captain Chacon, I'm hurt. You're one of the last beautiful human women in the universe, of course I've got to keep a careful eye on you." He was actually a masochist to be taunting a woman who could easily beat the hell out of him.

He pulled up a stool on her left side and pulled an IV drip out of the wall, taking hold of her arm and sliding it into a vein. "Just a little saline," he assured her, a boldfaced lie. "Now let's have a look at you. I love this job."

"I'm sure you do," Trudy said, amused. It's not like he hadn't seen her undressed before - but those kinds of thoughts were better suited to after the battle was over.

It was deeply weird in a way to be examined by a male medic - deeply weird because the military had been very careful to assign female medics to female soldiers, and deeply weird because this was Luis, who she had been dancing (and more) with less than a couple days ago.

Although some of that deeply weird feeling could have been that she was staring to get a little muzzy. "I think this adrenaline crash is hitting me pretty hard. You got a caffeine booster somewhere you can give me?" Nope, she was totally not catching on to the fact that there totally was morphine in her drip.

She probably would have been even more weirded out to hear Luis had no medic training-- but he had worked as a medical researcher for long enough that he knew all the ins and outs (heh) anyway, and as long as it wasn't life-threatening or necessitating surgery, he could wing it well enough to help out.

"Amiga, I am pretty sure there's no doctor in the world who'd inject straight caffeine into a patient," Luis teased her as he felt for any irregularities around her torso. "Just relax. You only get a few minutes off, you might as well enjoy them, sí?"

She mumbled something vaguely like agreement and waved a hand at him, closing her eyes and trying not to yelp as his fingertips came in contact with one of the bruises on her ribs - one of those may have been cracked-

Then her eyes slid open again as she abruptly realized that she didn't feel very much pain at all when he prodded at her. And then she realized that her brain felt wrapped in a wool blanket. "I can't even believe you," she said, staring at him. "You drugged me, you conniving little bitch."

Don't take it personally, Luis - she actually sounds kind of admiring.

And a good thing he did, too, since he didn't miss that little yelp of pain. He couldn't be sure, but sharp pain in the ribs was usually not an especially good sign.

"I beg your pardon," Luis retorted. "You asked me to drug you, remember?"

"And then I changed my mind right after, it doesn't count at all," Trudy said. Her speech was getting a little slurred, and that was the point where she decided she wasn't going back into the cockpit. Right now she was more of a danger than a help.

"Ahh, whatever. I'll go through the computer later and see how many I actually blasted." She glanced up at Luis, raising her eyebrows with a grin that she thought was flirtatious but actually turned out pretty goofy. "You know if you had wanted to play doctor there are nicer ways to ask."

"You're beat half to hell and I wouldn't be surprised if this was a cracked rib. I think you've done your part for the team," Luis said, trying to console her out of deciding it was a mistake of him to keep her here and taking it out on him later.

He grinned back at her. "Sorry about that. I have to try to be a little professional. But I'll get you a drink once you're back on your feet-- is that more what you had in mind?"

"I'm not the worst one that got brought in today, believe me," she muttered, flinching just a little as he worked on her side - yeah, that rib was cracked. "Had to hold 'em off two disabled pilots and those fuckers are fast, man, you don't even know. I thought the X-wing was fast when I first got in it but those shrikes, they're something else."

Everyone had a different reaction to morphine. Apparently Trudy's reaction was to babble incessantly.

"I believe you," Luis said. He'd seen them. He just left them for the real medics to handle, taking over on the less severe cases like this one. All he knew about the battle was the kind of injuries coming in. He couldn't help but be relieved that he wasn't in the thick and would likely never be, but at the same time...

That looked like all the injuries on her, and there wasn't much he could do about the bruising. But he might as well keep her company for now anyway, until the dosage on her drip was finished.

"I can hardly imagine what it's like down on the front lines."

"Hell on earth," Trudy said heavily. The morphine was making her lethargic, slowing down her limbs and making her feel like everything she did was through a layer of thick syrup. She felt her eyes sliding closed. "Hell on earth," she repeated. "I like you here patching me up, not there getting shot at. 'M sure you like the same thing, so stay your butt in here, 'kay?"

"No need to worry about that, baby," Luis assured her quickly, shaking his head. "I'm a nerd with a very healthy evaluation of my own abilities. Definitely not a soldier. I'd only get in the way down there."

He turned down the drip a little bit, since it was almost where it needed to be. She'd be ready for a nice nap here pretty soon. "I've brushed a little too close to death for my own liking. I'm sure you can relate, Ms. Soldier."

"'S Captain," Trudy corrected, out of long habit more than anything else. She reached out and patted whatever part of him was in easy reach - his thigh, it felt like. Moving took effort, but she hadn't quite gone all the way under yet. "Don't get shot," she admonished, even after he had just told her he had no plans to get shot. "Wouldn't be as fun if you were full of holes."

He smiled a little awkwardly. "Remind me to tell you about the time I was," he joked. "But thanks for the sentiment."

Luis pushed his glasses up his nose and crossed his arms. "But you take care of yourself too, you got it? I meant what I said about beautiful women."

Trudy laughed a little, his words registering but only barely. "'S my job to get shot full of holes," she said, flippant. "Fly fast, shoot things, get shot full of holes. Comes with the territory."

She yawned hugely and closed her eyes again. It felt very nice, drifting in a mess of morphine and adrenaline crash. She was asleep within a few seconds - she wouldn't be going out to fight any more Ohm today.

"OW! That so totally hurts!" -- Charles Xavier

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