ways_infirmary | (no subject)

Then the doors slam open and Hank is there, carrying Goldy towards a table, hurrying as fast as he can.

Goldy blinks in the pristine white ambience of the lab.

"Do you think Kitty will let me keep the knife?" she asks lightly.

She hates hospitals with a passion. Rightly so after three months of rehabilitation from an axe to the head, a fall down an escarpment and a juggernaut ploughing into her.

He glances down at her with a hint of a smile as he lays her on the bed.

"Well, you can ask her soon. Computer, scan on, full spectrum. Paint me a picture."

A machine next the bed hums to life and a large computer screen dances with colors as it scans Goldilocks' body. Red appears next to her wounds.

Her chest wound glows bright red on the screen as he knife shows penetrating, just barely, a lung, the clustered but not unctioning well, nanites show also, around her spine. that coloration is more ambiguous.

He nods.

"We can do this. Hang on Goldy. I am going to get you fixed up rather fast."

"You're the boss," she replies after recovering from the latest in a series of wheezing bronchial coughs. One hand swipes fresh blood— bright with oxygen—from the corner of her mouth. And one unseen fist clenches at the bed clothes for a second, battling another bout of lancing pain.

He flicks a switch and the haze of a privacy screen appears around the bed. he begins stripping off ehr weapons. His musing smile as he shakes his head at her is a full grin by the time he is done. It does take a few mintues after all.

He takes a small plaser from a locked cabinet in the machine and slices Goldy's shirt away. He was in full doctor mode as he worked, bringing over a second device, a small wound targ and then grasping the knife.

He applies some painkiller soak to her skin around the knife, rubbing it in, so that it will soak into her muscles and blood and wiating a moment.

"This will hurt a bit."

With one smooth motion, he pulls the knife out and the targ is in place, moving along the wound, healing the lung first and neutralizing the blood therein before moving to the cut muscles around the wound. the work takes time, and he gently applies painkiller to every area.

When the muscles and tendons are fixed and most of the tissue repaied. he returns the targ to the drawer and then pulls out a skin sealer, but then hesitates. hje nods and seals the wound mostly, leavuing it just slightly unfinishe as he recognizes that some poisons must come out through the wound. Then he nods to her.

"It will take three days to heal and there will be a scar right between your breasts. But it will heal and you will be able to resume activity, if carefully, after that."

The painkiller helps a lot. Sure, the blade extraction hurts and she nearly blacks out at that moment. There are also winces and little yelps of pain to confirm other tough moments, but she's quite a resilient old bitch really. So, for the most part she manages to bite back most of the instinctive reactions to the surgery.

Once the worst is over, she actually tries to watch the fascinating procedure as much as she is able.

"Thank you," she offers woozily after he explains things. "Three days. Wow. The marvels of future technology."

Beat.

"What kind of activity, doctor?" she adds with a tiny smirk.

As he glances at the computr screen he gives her a wry look.

"At least three days off from ALL kinds of activity. That means bedrest for three days and then, if you behave yourself, you will be able to do... activities as you please. Sex, drugs, rock n rol, that is your get out."

He glances back at the monitor and frowns.

"I need to disolve the nanites still within you. So I will have to turn you on your side. But it wont hurt. This will be just using a device to basically tell the nanites to fall apart. Okay?"

"Three days!" she exclaims with mock incredulity. She let's her words hang there for a few seconds before cracking a lop-sided smile. "I think I can handle that."

She reaches down and unbuckles her belt. "Can you put my babies somewhere safe...?" There's a double holster under her back that is proving rather uncomfortable. Hank will see it when he turns her.

"And... what the fuck are nanites?" she says with a puzzled and slightly worried look.

He smiles to her.

"I knew I installed that weapons locker for a reason. I will put them and all yer other stuff away as soon as I am done with you."

Then he grins.

"Nanites are small little robots, very small, they can go into bodies and affect everything, they can even rebuild or reprogram your body in different ways. These looks inert now, but they are still applying some pressure and I need to get them out. It wont take long."

He gently applies a second painkiller, this one a ray like device that deadens the nerves all over her torso for a while. And with care he gently strips her of her shirt and turns her on her side so he can use a debriller to finish the nanites. The debriller probe touches her skin and there is a rumbly noise as the machine neutralizes the remaining nanites and breaks them down, so they will be eliminated. then he lowers her back down

"Now, there will be some stiffness and maybe some soreness there for awhile. You may need to ease into some strength training on your back. To get back to your previous strength. But you will get it back."

He gets some bandages out and settles them on her wound, using a bandage that seals to her skin solidly.

He finally steps back and nods then rumages in the drawer and pulls out a shirt that comes in two pieces. He slips it on her, each piece going over an arm and meeting in the middle of back and front to cover her completely.

He nods.

"If you have no objection, I will lower the privacy screen now. There will be a curtain you can control, for privacy, but this way if you want, you can see out. Okay?"

Goldy shudders uncontrollably at the thought of minuscule robots inside her. "Ewww! That fucking freak!"

Her skin still crawls as the doctor begins to work, and it will for many hours yet. "Fuckfuckfuck. We killed the creep far too cleanly," she mourns between wriggles of discomfort that have nothing to do with Hank's actions.

When he's done, she closes her eyes and rests her head back into the pillow, giving a nod of affirmation to his question. "Sure. Who else is in here? Anyone interesting?"

He nods.

"A few patients. A young comatose girl named Alessa. A woman named Paige in fro a few days from magically unflicted wounds. "

He smiles wryly and carefully.

"The way this place goes, I am sure things will be interesting. I can also get you a small laptop you can use and books if you like? Ah, and I will be right back."

He gathers her weapons together into a large bag and seals it, handing her the key that goes to the lock to the bag and then carries it to the back of the Infirmary where the newly installed weapons locker stands. He unlocks it and then places the bag carefully inside. He relocks it and comes back.

She lifts her head a fraction, glancing round at the other beds and screened in areas.

"Books will be fine," she says with a slight smile. "Thank you for everything."

She's silent for a little bit, letting Hank see to other things around the lab. Just thinking. Dealing with things.

"How was it for you in there?" she asks eventually.

He freezes for a second. Then he smiles, but it is strained.

"Oh you know, fun and games, almost get everyone killed and then entire time stream too, because the doomsday machine just had to have a brain. Then I learn the healer puppet I sent Max in to take out was a kid, or as close to as makes no difference. Luckily she managed to stop her without killing her, but..."

And his hands shakes some then. when eh speaks his voice is a little rough.

"It was a real bowl of laughs."

Faintly, "oh."

"That explains the little girl then." She hadn't thought to ask. "Kitty seemed confident that Rach and Mel got out..."

Even as she prepares to pose the follow up question, a enchantingly silvery melody (http://www.livejournal.com/community/ways_infirmary/13237.html?thread=546741#t546741) drifts into the ward. Goldy breaks off and curiously tilts her head towards the door.

*Perhaps it is the singing the current residents will hear first. Arithon's singing, or Alanna's quiet reassurances that everything will be if not all right, at least better. She holds the door as Arithon carries Rachel through. It shuts behind them, blocking out the noise of the bar.*

I suppose we just put her in an empty bed? I've only been in here once.

*She's still holding Rachel's hand, and the thumb that strokes the injured wrist is soothing.*

He doesn't want to put her down. A compromise is reached, Arithon settles on the bed and rests Rachel so that he's still holding her but she can relax. He's doing as told (mostly), but not answering Alanna in words.

Words would mean that the constant musical flow of love light warmth comfort life joy home return family would be interrupted.

Small, dark hands push the hair away from her face, and he murmurs the songs of the people he knows well enough to sing; Alanna distilled into notes, Mel translated into melody, Rachel as Arithon sees her: guardian of the fire of hearts, Arithon himself (although does anyone see themselves properly?), a vague theme that is more-or-less Hank (he doesn't know the Beast well enough to make it clear), and it goes on. He starts adding people she doesn't know, that she should. The golden story of Bianca, the green/black of Sanluin, the true green of Avar s'Ffalenn. Bernard's red, Tonks' pink, Sunny, Ingress, Tom Riddle...and more.

Everyone he knows.

::Don't leave.::

She's has grander entrances, but as it stands, she's almost glad to be carried in in a horse blanket. She's shielded, by Arithon, and her face is buried in eth blanket, so she can probably be forgiven for not greeting people.

Of course, she won't forgive herself but that's another story.

She's settled on the bed, still held, still anchored, and this is good even though she seems to float just barely above the surface rather than let her body rest upon the bed's support.

::Shouldn't have left...:: she agreed quietly, the darkness yammering at her mind once more with that simple statement. But, from somewhere, perhaps from the song, perhaps in some unbesmirched corner of he rown soul, she find a hint of gratitude, of emotional warmth.

::Thank you:: that sending is strong and clear. Almost bright, not with flame but with temperence. ::All of you::

Hank moves across the room and nods to both Alanna dn Arithon before his scanner is out and running and his eeys are racing across Rachel.

"Alanna, Arithon. Good to see you."

His vocie is distracted as he concentrates on the readouts.

"Nice to see you back home again, Rachel. Can you tell me what is wrong?"

As he speaks his display lights up in lurid blacks and reds and his eyebrows rise to their limits.

Goldy doesn't recognize the owner of the exquisite voice, nor can she see Rach initially from her recumbent position. However, Alanna's presence is enough to confirm the identity of the blanketed figure, and she assumes the other must be Arithon, for Hank had detailed the team to her prior to their assault on the Manse. She knows of him.

After a little struggle, she manages to prop herself up on one elbow, just watching as they lay her friend down. Though the unfamiliar man's ballad has an infectiously sweet and calming timbre, tired blue eyes remain full of compassion and concern, ignoring the dull protests her injury makes.

::No need for thanks. Welcome back, Rach::

She glances to the knight as Hank makes his inquiry, also seeking some kind of reassurance.

*Alanna nods to Hank, giving him a look of what isn't wrong? as she lightly squeezes Rachel's hand.

quietly,* It's what friends do.

*When she notices Goldy, her eyes go wide. She tries for a reassuring smile, and mostly succeeds.*

Arithon isn't stopping his song, not for anything. Rachel doesn't have the capacity for walls? He will be her walls. He will stand between her and the noise, as well as between her and the silence.

There may not be much man in the little man, but there is a hell of a lot of Bard.

He doesn't try to push her onto the bed, or convince her not to use energy. He just gives her what he's got, and lets the others deal with her physical wounds.

And of physical wounds...what the doctor is to polite to say is "Huh?"

Rachel knows. She knows exactly what those scanners should be saying to Hank. She likes it no more than he. But...she's not going to worry about that. Not right now, no, she's back. She's...safe.

Safe, it has a wonderful taste to it. For now, she wants to believe it.

::I'd forgotten...:: she murmured into the minds around, exhaustion, pure and undiluted lapping out to announce its' presence.

And, no matter how the scanners scream and say this isn't possible, no matter how she may look, she lays her hea don Arithon's shoulder, Brother, Protector, and lets her eyes close, Alanna's hand still held tightly, another life line.

Without looking at her, Hank's arm snaps up and points at Goldy. His voice, however is kind and quiet.

"Back in your bed completely, Goldy. I know you care, but hurting yourself wont help. I am working. Please."

Then Hank smiles seeing Rachel's reactions, and his mind goes into darkmode, solid strong and deep, all cares and worries sent away as he moves forward, tools appearing out of pouches as he approaches her. Glasses slide over his eyes as diagnostic readout flash across them and he nods.

"Rachel, I need you to stay awake a little longer. I have to bandage more of your wounds before I start working."

He places a hand gently on her shoulder and lifts slightly.

"Arithon? If you can, I need her to keep from sleeping for a little longer. Soon she can pass out and it will be okay, but not yet."

He glances up to Alanna.

"If you could post a note for her friends with Bar? Please? Let them know she will be, at her discretion, available for visitors tomorrow? And also, let Archie know we are back?"

Then he smiles at her.

"You and Arithon did a damn good job. Duty shines in you."

Goldy gives Alanna a slight smile. "Paralyzing nanites and a knife of Kitty's. Nothing to worry about."

::And as for you... we'll talk later:: she thinks as clearly as she can.

She continues to petulantly ignore the doctor's request at first, but it soon becomes obvious that focus on Rachel is going to prevent any prolonged or detailed interaction. So she lays back down with a sigh, part relief and part weariness.

"Did Mel make it back?" she asks the flourescent strip light above her. Or at least, that's where she is staring.

*Frowning, Alanna gently runs her forefinger over the back of Rachel's hand.*

I want to stay until she's asleep, but after that, yes. I will leave a note. *She colors slightly, biting her lip.* And I'll be back to visit, certainly. If you need my Gift, let me know.

Arithon's eyes request that one is left for his wife as well. Anyone intending on prying him out of this room for the time being would have better luck recreating the anvil chorus using their head and a brick wall.

He nods, slightly, to Hank and shifts the tone enough to keep Rachel awake...if in that drowsey state where things aren't quite real enough to hurt. Like a Vicoden fog.

To entertain her (and perhaps the others around) he gives a musical rendition of a technophobe and a toaster. Specifically one Arithon s'Ffalenn meeting a modern kitchen.

Those amongst who can cook will no doubt cringe.

There's a sigh, a mental caress as Rachel actually sits up slightly, lifting her head. She feels lucky that shaking seems beyond her, she'd hate be shaking.

::They're not back yet...:: she answered Goldie. ::We got seperated in the streams...:: she should have been worrying about that. Should have been.

And Hank is right. She can't sleep yet, shouldn't have tried. Really shouldn't have. She's grateful for Arithon's distractions, they help as she begind to peel the horse blanket off slowly, making sure no fibers stick in the "ribbons" cut into her arms and shoulders.

It can't be comfortable, being near Rachel for this, shields or no shield the sheer sorrow at seeing her own arms again, truly seeing them, is sudden and momentary as she cuts off the sending once more to simply concentrate on the task at hand.

And this is also where being a telekinetic comes in handy...because she's still holding Alanna's hand tight, and maybe only the red headed knight and Ari can hear the low whimpers...

He glances askance at Alanna. He starts to insist but shakes his head. She has done what he asked and helped Rachel a lot already, he is sure, and she might come in handy. He doesn't say all that however. In fact, he speaks just two words.

"Very well."

His eyes are intent as he pushes out his thought and concentrates, his mind focusing in on first task. A list forms in his mind. It is long. At another time, it would be terrifyingly long. Now, it doesn't matter. He will do it all. And he will succeed. She has been brought back this far. Now he needs to finish the job. He grimaces at the marks on her arms and shoulders and at her sounds of pain.

He lifts one hand and presses a button on his wristcom and a privacy shield shimmers into place, obscuring the bedspace from all around. It is as if Alanna, Rachel, Arithon, and he inhabit a small world.

"My scanners give me a good idea what is wrong with you, but I have to see it to treat it, and that means getting the clothes blanket off, then washing you off."

He speaks out loud as he centers his thoughts. The fear and panic, pain and guilt, and everything else, is pushed away, and he steps forward again. His eyes flick to Arithon and hold there.

"Arithon, I don't want to disturb what you are doing, but I need you to move. She needs to be flat on the bed and where I can clean her and work. If you want to stay, you can, in fact she probably needs you. To help her, though I need her flat."

As he speaks, he is the professional, a man speaking to another man. He nods to him, then he presses one finger gently to the center of Rachel's forehead and sends in his thoughts, gently.

I am going to work on you, and make you as better as I can. There will be some pain, but I will do my best to not hurt you. The conscious thought is followed by a soundless wave of comfortlovecare.

It may not be the best news, but there's a warmer smile as she feels Rachel's reply. It's very difficult to stay focused on concerns in the presence of Arithon's soothing harmonies. Goldy cares, but she's also confident that the Slayer will return safely somehow, delayed as she may be. Kitty had sort of guaranteed it after all.

Kitty cat. She's so cool.

She relaxes into the bed and the low melody, closing her eyes and only keeping one ear on the movements and occasional hushed words from the other station. Sleep finds her before the privacy screen is even raised, and it is deep and dreamless.

He shifts only enough that she can lay flat, with his hands on either of her cheeks. He could hold butterflies in them, but they never lose contact.

As much as he can, Arithon takes the pain for her rather than letting her feel the snags and tears. Its nothing, to him, and she's suffered enough.

There is singing, of course. Every instance where he saw her smile is turned into a song. The time they met out in the water, a soaking little pirate and a floating girl. That's a loved memory of his.

She's not hurting, no, but the sheer watching is painful. She knows what humans look like, inside and out....and it's not like this.

No, as the crimson velvet peels off, she closes her eyes,working by "feel" to help now. She doesn't want to see the results of this game...

"I know you've gone away, my little Lost one...but let's see just how far you'll take this charade hmmm? How long will you...operate?"

How far indeed?

It's...beautiful, in a macabre way. Artwork, perforce done in shades of red and white in places. The human body only holds so many shades on the outside, ah, but inside...layers upon layers of red running from pinkish white to crimson and deep hearts red. All those colors are here, across her back a garden of carefully layered muscle, skin, and rib bones.

A tree and a woman with long blowing hair, staring off into the distance, each detail of each leaf exact and painful, the woman's dress done with careful curls and exact lines...

But such care doesn't last everywhere. Rage is a common thing among those who wish to display dominance and cannot break a person farther, they cause damage irreparable...or nearly so.

Her legs are a collection of deeper skinnings, no care taken to line shape or symmetry, just utter destruction without separation from the tendon or bone...

Her belly? That took care. Care not to slice the intestines with each bold stroke, care not to spill out those precious organs, care not to reveal too much rib...care to crush her fingers and toes without breaking skin...

Ah, but then back to the shoulders and arms, ribbons, care free ribbons that arch back into the branches of the tree on her back. Such care, such tender care, to leave her such reminders...

And Rachel...Rachel is lost amongst the memories once more, biting her lip and letting no sound escape, eyes firmly, firmly closed.

With a horror that he walls away, Hank sees what has been done and slams away his walls of anger and rage as well. Now he must be the Doctor.

With careful and gentle hands, Hank begins to wash her, gently sponging her skin and wounds, with water and materials designed to hurt as litlle as possible and not infect those wounds. When he is done, he steps back for a moment and nods.

He strips off his bloody outer clothes unselfconciously, slipping into doctor's gown and gloves, and goggles that enhance his vision. Everything except his patient is put away from his mind now. Nothing else matters

Hank pulls a table out of the monitor machine, and, as he concentrates, it is almost as if his hands are moving faster than the eye can see as he draws out tools and equipment he packed for the mission and now will wield them here and now to save her life.

A blood moving unit, breath generator, skin desensitizer, painkiller salve machine, probes and delicate laser controls, nerve stimulators, nutrient pump and energy infuser, detail fusrers, bone rebuilders, skin meshers, three targs, and a lot more.

This will be a long operation.

Very long.

With one last glance at the others, he begins.

Arithon's anger and rage are locked tightly away. He'll deal later. This will probably involve giving his caith'd'ein a swords lesson, and we'll hope that Ramon gets a lot of sleep tonight.

He sings her cool healing and distance from the pain, quiet comfort and the fact that she is safe and they are fixing her pains.

And he doesn't let go. No matter how long, he doesn't let go and he doesn't stop singing.