Page 20 of Mystic Wonderful

He kept thinking of how pale Gallo’s face had been, the way his lips had gone blue before his eyes rolled back.

Kept thinking about that first day in the mess, when he’d looked at Tris like he was a celebrity, his youthful face shining with open, boyish adoration.

If he survived…

If he got through this…

Tris would do better. He vowed that to himself, in the tense silence broken only by the ticking of the clock and the occasional rustling of fabric as Rose shifted.

He sensed her glance at him a few times, but otherwise she was good company. Anyone else would have asked him probing questions about the look on his face, the one he could see reflected in ghostly half-colors in the glass: that of a ruined man.

It took a long, long time, and Tris was glad that he couldn’t see all the details, that the shifting backs of doctors kept the worst of it from view. But then, finally a sheet was pulled up–

He tensed, stood, nearly fell from the weakness in his knees and the throbbing of his pulse, hands aching where he’d gripped the chair.

But, now, the sheet was settled carefully over Gallo’s chest, rather than over his face, as if he were…

No, no, not dead. The heart monitor showed a slow, steady jump of green. And the arm was bandaged at the stump – you didn’t bandage a corpse.

When the doctor came out and said they were moving him into recovery, Tris could only nod. He left, he had to leave, it was that or squat down on the floor and put his head between his knees to keep from falling over.

He passed Lance on his way out, but didn’t bother to stop and answer the concerned look sent his way. He just walked. Walked, and walked along the corridors of this unfamiliar base, until his legs finally gave out. Then he sank down against a wall and sat for a long time. Breathing.

He’d made a vow, and Gallo had lived, and now it was time to keep it.

Then he got back up, and went in search of the recovery ward.

~*~

Someone was screaming. A high, panicked howling that rippled with pain and terror. The sound wrapped all around him, spun him, until he was dizzy, and faint, and sick, blotting out the light, hurting his ears. Somehow, Francis knew that it washisscream, though he couldn’t feel it in his throat or chest; couldn’t close his mouth and silence it.

It faded, slowly, by degrees. Until it was only a dull roar like the ocean, the darkness giving way to layers of gray flecked with little starbursts and flashes.

Awareness returned, like a fog lifting. He could feel the slow heaviness of his own body, the dryness of his throat as he tried to swallow. Knew he was swaddled up in blankets, in a bed, that his head was elevated. Heard the beep and swish of medical equipment.Med bay, he thought.

And then he remembered.

The forest, the rain, Rose across the bank of the rushing stream. The pain. The sudden shocking cold of it, so swift and clean he couldn’t comprehend it until he’d seen his arm lying on the ground. It was the horror of that that had set him to screaming. The impossibility of it.

The conduits – the conduits were–

He bolted upright.

As best he could. Light burned his eyes when he opened them, and the drugs dragged at his body, made him unnaturally heavy and clumsy, so that it was more of a pitching forward, scrabbling to catch himself with hands against his knees.

Only one hand. The other was gone. His arm, when he glanced toward it, ended just past his elbow in a thick wad of clean bandages.

Francis gathered breath to scream, but his throat was too bruised. He could only whimper, instead.

Strong hands gripped his shoulders and eased him back to the pillows.

“Shh, shh, ease up. You’re alright.”

He knew that voice.

Francis blinked frantically at the grit in his eyes and let his head fall back so he could look up at the face that hovered just above his. But he couldn’t be seeing things straight, must be hallucinating, because there was no way Tris would be here with him now, pressing him, shifting a hand to grip loosely at the base of his neck, callused thumb rubbing over his pulse.

“Shh, it’s alright. You’ll pull your IV out.”

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