ways_infirmary | (no subject)

(no subject)

If it's not his imagination, there really have been more patients lately. Mostly injuries, rather than illnesses. Apparently unrelated. Statistical clustering, probably, and yet ... unsettling if he thinks about it for too long.

Right now he's got inventory to think about.

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Will backs into the infirmary carrying the wounded man.

"Huh, what the fuck," is Raspberry's succinct response to the infirmary. Then she spots Simon. "Hey you. Doctor-lookin' guy. C'mere and stop this fucking sack of beans bleeding into my hand, pretty please?" She shrugs her shoulders, a mute gesture at where her right hand is melded into a cuff around their unconscious burden's leg wound.

Simon's already seen them, and is heading over -- there's a quick nod to Will, whom he recognizes.

"Get him onto the table, please," he says. "Did either of you see what happened?"

(Though the rifle slung across the man's back, and the other armaments elsewhere about his person, may be a clue.)

"Nay, 'e came through the Front Door an swooned, did what I could to staunch the bleedin' 'fore carryin' 'im, Doctor Tam,"

Will says as he nods to Raspberry to lift the injured man onto the bed as quickly and carefully as possible.

"Take the rifle off his back," calls Simon from where he's quickly washing his hands in the nearest sink. "Cut the strap if you can't get it over his shoulder without moving his arm."

"There were some loud noises and shit where he was coming from, I think. Didn't pay much attention." Raz reaches over and casually rips the strap of his rifle in half breadthwise, letting it fall to the floor with a clatter. "For fuck's sake this shit itches, can somebody do something about this fucking thing? Or at least tell me I can let go?" She shrugs a shoulder at her right hand, still sealed to his leg and being bled into slowly, and scowls.

"In just a moment." His tone is just a little sharp, and it's one of authority.

Stepping up beside her, tugging on the second sterile glove, he gives her a nod. "Thank you, miss. You can let go now."

Will just watches the entire process, keeping one hand pressed on the shoulder injury as best he can while he waits to be told what to do.

"Fucking thank you," she says, releasing the cuff and stepping back. She shakes her hand vigorously as it springs back into shape, frowning at it and at the dark tendrils of blood swirling inside. "Fucking itchy," she mumbles. "Never been fucking bled in before..."

A quick double-take at the blood in her hand, and Simon glances up at her. "You might want to stay," he says, "and let me take a look at that after this patient stabilizes."

No, he has no idea at all what her physiology is like and he can tell that, but there's clearly just been a transfer of blood from the wounded man's system to hers and that can be dangerous.

In the meantime, he turns his attention back to the case at hand. Three bad bullet wounds, none with exit holes. Which means the bullets will need to be extracted.

Once Simon gets off the body armor and clothes between him and the wounds, he is going to find something unusual. True, the bullet wounds are bleeding, but not as much as they normally would. Especially the one in the left kidney, which ought to have proved fatal by now.

There's also a lot of metal embedded in the man's skin - not piercings or injuries, but silver filaments that seem to have grown on him like vines up a brick wall. There are pairs of circuit nodes above his temples and on his neck below the ear, sliver traces on his collarbones, and a grid of filaments on his left arm from the shoulder down to the wrist. There, the filaments break off into branches that trace the bones of his hand to his fingers, which are capped with metal. Paired sets of filaments, sloping downward and inward, are also on his pectorals, abdominal muscles and thighs.

Simon breathes something barely audible in Mandarin, staring at the intricate network of metal in the man's body.

"I ... I've never seen anything like this before."

The network of metal on the man's body gets a short prayer from Will as he looks at it,

"What is 'e?"

"Fuckin' gladly," says Raz, finding herself somewhere convenient to sit. "I don't think it should itch this fuckin' much."

"He's hurt," says Simon quietly in response to Will's question.

"Hand me that tray there, please."

The surgery takes some time; a little longer than usual, as Simon's checking the patient's readout every few seconds to make sure he's not disrupting something vital to the unfamiliar system. Will Scarlett hovers nearby, attentive and serious, and hands things when they're asked for. Raspberry sits on another cot, muttering about the itch in her hand where the wounded man's blood has notably not dissolved.

Finally the last fragments of bullet fall with a quiet click in the catchtray, and Simon starts to work on closing both the initial wounds and the incisions.

J.C.'s bleeding far less than he should: this is because the tiny machines in his blood and cells are acting like platelets, creating temporary dams against the flow of blood from his wounds. The removal of foreign objects from his body makes it easier for them to do their job.

But that's a stopgap measure. The wounds need to be closed up before the nanobots can do more than fight a holding action, especially where the wound in his kidney is concerned.

There's no time to be unnerved by the unnaturally fast healing process (though he does have a moment's thought of Peter Petrelli; is this how it works for him? -- never mind, not now). It's working in the patient's favor, but not fast enough to mean Simon's work is done.

It's another fifteen minutes before he steps back from the table and starts to remove his gloves. "Nothing else to do until he stabilizes," he says.

"Aye, Doctor Tam,"

Will nods, amazed at how quickly the stranger healed and the quick and capable way, Simon dealt with everything. Its a shame there are no doctors of Simon's capability in Sherwood or Nottingham, perhaps there would be fewer deaths.

"Great," says Raz. "Now can somebody tell me why the fuck this--" She pauses, wrinkling her nose. "What?--" Her nose twitches again, and in a rush, all the blood from her hand shoots up her arm, into her throat, and-- "Ah- ah- ah-CHOO!" out her mouth onto the floor in a splattering sneeze.

She stares at it for a long moment.

"...never fucking mind. I'm outta here." She starts for the door, stepping delicately over the splatters of JC's blood in her way.

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