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

[cityship]

The battle against the Ohm raged on, and the casualties on the ground were mounting. Injured crew members got emergency treatment in the field, which largely amounted to patching them up so they wouldn't die sometime within the next fifteen minutes. After that, they were quickly picked up by shuttle and brought back to the ship, where they were sent to a medbay that was getting progressively more crowded.

The situation was growing increasingly dire, to the point that Stacy activated one of the AI's to help out.



"Please state the nature of the medical emergency."

Comments

[slainrobots.livejournal.com]

And then, apparently, he got dragged to the MedBay, where a bloodied and wounded and limping and &*$%in' tired Yoshimi finds him, eyes glazed enough that she skims over him when she first hobbles in.

Being guided to a free bed, an EMH probing the deep gash in her torso with some science-y looking thing that makes her uncomfortable because it looks like something GlobeTech would produce, Yoshimi tries her hardest to not imagine the thorough chewing out she's probably (hopefully) in for when Dustin learns that she hasn't had her gauntlets on her at all times and consequently has deeper injuries on her hands and forearms and upper arms than the last time she fought on or around this damn ship, because, surely, it'll be loud and angry and make her want to apologize, which she hates doing. Except that, several seconds after she's been seated and the buzzing, babbling doctor-person starts tending to her wounds and blood loss, her eyes focus long enough to realize that she knows that head of messy hair like the back of her own hand, and her heart leaps into her throat as she leaps off the bed, ignoring the cries of alarm and caution about that bloody mess that once was her side, ignoring the jabbing, angry bursts of pain coursing through her body.

"Holy shi--Dustin?"

[quark-assassin.livejournal.com]

And Dustin, having long since been filled with enough painkillers to down a small horse, was in the midst of a dreamless sleep when Yoshimi finally noticed him, looking surprisingly comfortable despite his condition, if not considerably more pale and blue in the cheeks. That AI Doctor fellow had done a good job of patching him up—well, aside from what the ASIS had already accomplished, but he was definitely healing faster and less fitfully. The blood was cleaned from his front, his chest was wrapped in several layers of cushy bandages, frail arm in a sling, leg and torso were propped on pillows for drainage purposes; the various alien monitors keeping track of his vitals showed that he was in a fairly stable condition at this point and was at least breathing regularly, more or less.

At least until he heard his name, and considering that it was preceded by an expletive his spike in heart rate was understandable. Dustin blearily opened his eyes, scanning either side of his bed with indecision. A moving figure with pink hair caught his attention.

“Yoshimi?” he croaked. A twinge of fear pulsed behind his irises as he registered another color—deep red. “—What are you—?“

[slainrobots.livejournal.com]

She considers letting the doctor-y person now hovering behind her, telling her that she really ought to lie down and let him finish, do his job, because yeah, her side hurts like mother&*$%ing hell pretty badly, but lkajfoijawefkjawfa LOTS OF BANDAGES. WAY TOO MANY BANDAGES. ON DUSTIN. WHO IS IN A HOSPITAL BED WITH BLEEPY MACHINES.

"What. happened." She's not even asking--no, it is an order. And yes, she's going to ignore that semi-articulated question. And the continuing-to-hover doctor-y person. And the "Sonofabitch, can you not poke that? That is kind of a very large laceration, and it hurts enough without you poking it! Go away!"

"Ow."

[quark-assassin.livejournal.com]

He stared at her for a few moments, eyes focusing steadily, but the intent look on his face masked the fact that most neurological impulses running through him currently were delayed by a round ten seconds, and thus the seriousness of her statement did not register at all. Instead Dustin settled with a simple reply, a non-answer that he figured she would be happy with hearing, because it was true and true things were good right now. Mmhm.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, leaning back into his plushy tower of pillows with the same curious squint, realizing that the AI was following around this pink-haired person and she was actually kind of bleeding. A lot.

“I think you should go lie down.”

[slainrobots.livejournal.com]

"That" she says, distressed expression turning into a pained glare, "is not an answer. I asked you what happened. And please don't tell me you got blown up or something, because that would be just peachy." And she throws her hands in the air and winces and hisses and again considers letting the doctor-y person do his job, the thought obviously seconded by Dustin's assertion.

Never one to take advice, she arches an eyebrow at him, clutching at her gaping, bleeding wound in an absentminded fashion. "I'll lie down when I want to lie down, Scruffy McJackass."

[quark-assassin.livejournal.com]

Dustin pretended to be distracted by something on the ceiling.

“…Maybe…” And he earnestly corrected himself. “—It was a little explosion though.”

[slainrobots.livejournal.com]

Aaand Yoshimi stared at him, face quite blank as she fought her instincts to not whap him upside the head, because surely that would just aggravate his injuries, and getting blown up is probably enough for one day. Probably meaning maybe.

"You know I never believe you when you say it's a little explosion," she intones, a hand coming down heavily on his apparently uninjured upper arm, eyes squeezing shut as she exhales very, very carefully. In Yoshimi Sign Language, this means "Thank &*$%ing Kami-sama you're alive."

[quark-assassin.livejournal.com]

Dustin continued to stare at the ceiling, mostly because he could feel that look Yoshimi was giving him and, therefore, he found it satisfactory to direct his visual stimuli elsewhere; secondly it was because he didn’t feel like moving around much, a fact that he attested to when a hand came down on his uninjured arm with just enough pressure to cause discomfort.

Or perhaps he simply wanted to watch her squirm. Dustin wasn’t feeling too fantastic anyways, what with being conscious and all, knowing that his compacted rib cage was grinding pleadingly with each breath and getting the occasional twinge from the ASIS while it adjusted the various splints holding him together. So it wasn’t that hard to fake a flinch and a set jaw.

“Which is funny, because they usually are,” he mumbled after the preceding theatrics, trying on a strained smile, “It’s okay, though, really. I’m not dead.”

Because he should be.

“I really think you should go lie down.”

[slainrobots.livejournal.com]

She twitches back when he flinches, frowning at him, knowing that he has more pain tolerance than that, but fully aware that he's allowed to feel pain when he wants to feel pain. She stands there for a second, not really knowing what to do, because she really wants to hug him, but that's obviously not going to work too well right now.

She winces.

"Well, yeah, but would you believe you? Actually, no, that's a stupid question." Rubbing at her eyes, behind which a devil of a headache is developing, she sighs. "Just... yeah. Thank you for not being dead."

The slowly growing puddle of blood on the floor at her feet is a bit worrisome, yes. She has the grace to look a little sheepish as she notices this.

"I've had worse," she says, determined to not admit that she needs to lie down, because that would somehow be related to admitting that she totally didn't need to come flying across the room like some crazed and concerned girlfriend. Oh wait.

[quark-assassin.livejournal.com]

The blank stare being returned said several things, mostly that Dustin was probably going to fall asleep in the next few minutes, partially that he agreed with Yoshimi’s sentiments about her question being, as she said, ‘stupid’, and partially that he was also extremely thankful that he wasn’t dead, because that would be unfortunate. The skeptical, kind of pained expression that followed was completely unrelated and was either honestly caused by discomfort or was from preparatory fear of the bit of snark that managed to sneak past his lax, drug-filled personal censors:

“…Well at least get that closed up so that you stop bleeding everywhere. Someone might slip.”