Jet grabbed her sleeve, leaning intimately into her as she passed—and blocked her way, sliding his foot between hers with smooth grace.
"You can't trust him."
Jet's minty breath contrasted with the open captain's jacket he wore around his shoulders, his medals always pin-straight in order on his chest in comparison. He was so proud of those medals of honour.
They made Katara want to scoff.
If only others knew how he'd truly obtained them...
Katara's azure eyes sharpened as she focused on the blue-masked man the crew had quarantined in their sick bay. The captain and his away party came across him during an exploratory visit to the surface of Eleron, injured and unconscious, soaking in a puddle of (his own?) blood. He woke during transportation to their starship, and Captain Jet had decided it was better to sedate him 'manually', for everyone's safety. Now he was awake and confined to her sick bay, though no one was sure how lucid he was… or even who he was. The man had resisted dangerously when approached or asked to remove the strange blue mask he wore.
For now, the stranger was hunched over, one arm bracing himself while the other wrapped around his seeping middle. Possibly holding in his own guts.
Katara would have rolled her eyes at the display of practiced nonchalance while slowly bleeding to death... if she hadn't been so pissed off at her Captain at that point.
"I'm here to heal him, Jet. Back off."
She turned to the side to step around him, but he grabbed her forearm firmly.
Unbeknownst to Jet, behind him their patient-slash-prisoner's shoulders tensed as he watched them.
Her lips pressing together in a fine line, Katara glared up at Jet and jerked her arm free.
"Get out of my sick bay," she commanded.
"I'll be watching you," taunted Jet, the familiar scrap of compressed aluminium poking obstinately from between his lips.
With exaggerated movements he lifted his hands free of her and backed away towards the exit. His chestnut eyes never left her and burned holes in Katara's back as she approached her patient.
For her part Katara ignored him, her entire focus on the man bleeding through his haphazard bandages onto the elevated med-stasis bed.
"Can you fill me in on what happened, or do I need to check for myself?" she asked her patient, standing between his knees.
She lifted her tricorder, glancing between his bloody, torn clothes and the readings her scanner fed her. Her brows knit as the readings returned more and more serious.
"... anemia, heavy blood loss, heme level is at an eight instead of a healthy thirty two, or I'd even accept in the twenties, but an eight, as in single digits… severe contusions around your liver and kidneys… impact fractures in your left arm and leg near the…"
She looked up at him, nostrils flaring with anger.
"How are you still conscious?" she demanded, jamming her thumb down on the EMERG button on her tricorder. A faint beeping began to chime over the address system in the med bay, summoning aids and triage kits.
Frustrated at the man's lack of response, Katara gestured wildly in the air, the tricorder's diagnostics fading for a moment before returning full-force when they passed by her patient's increasingly leaning body.
"Is this a joke? Because I have had it up to here with patriarchal macho 'I'm too strong, I don't need medical assistance'-bullshit, and having to wait for nimrods like you to pass out and practically die on me before I can get close enough to assist you, and in case you haven't noticed, I have to deal with that on a daily basis outside my med bay, so if you're going to be a—"
The man wove to one side, then the other, like a slow pendulum gaining momentum.
"—can't believe he hit you to knock you out instead of sedating you. Though considering your condition, it may have almost saved you, but don't tell him that, since I'll never hear the end of it. But they again went went on an away mission without taking a medic and I can't believe—"
Behind Katara an intern parked one of the triage kits full of instruments and medications. Katara turned around to grab a laser-cutter to split the man's clothing and remove it from him when she felt a heavy weight slump against her back.
A heavy, wet weight.
—That soaked straight through her uniform.
She swore under her breath.
(She'd just received this particular uniform back from the hospitality deck.)
"No you're not."
Jet glared at Katara from across her desk. Two members of his security team, Longshot and Smellerbee, stood behind him… closer to the door.
"Care to repeat that, doctor?"
Katara leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.
"I just stabilized him an hour ago. No, you aren't interrogating him. He needs to rest."
"That man could be a rebel spy; he could be part of the anti-Federation—"
"He's unconscious, Jet. He isn't going anywhere to telling anyone anything."
"Did you remove his mask?"
"There was no need."
Jet's eyes narrowed.
"You're lying."
Yes, she was, partly to protect the man in her care but mostly to irritate Jet. To further that end, she smiled and shrugged her shoulders.
"I don't tell you how to run your bridge. You don't tell me how to run my sick bay."
To no one's surprise, Jet's lip curled in a perverse smirk as he looked Katara up and down.
"I'd be happy to tell you how to run a diagnostic on—"
"Sexual harassment is not tolerated on this starship, Captain," said Katara in clipped tones.
Jet's eyelids dipped to half-mast as he held Katara's gaze.
"Not anymore," he murmured, his two simple words lilting and dripping with shared history.
Katara leaned forward, placing her palms down on the desk and standing.
"...Need I remind you I am the only person on this ship who outranks you?" she asked softly, evenly, with a hint of silk-wrapped steel. "You step out of line with that prisoner—who for all we know is an ally—and I'll have you confined for psychiatric evaluation. And we both know which side of that evaluation you'd end up on," she whispered.
There they remained, on either side of Katara's gray, round-edged desk, in a silent, deadly stalemate until Smellerbee and Longshot shuffled their feet.
"Captain," interrupted Smellerbee. "We're being hailed by an Agni Kai ship."
"Agni Kai?" asked Jet, not turning away from Katara.
The Agni Kai were a people known for their honour-driven, power-hungry society… they could give the Klingons a run for their Darsek. Theirs was a patriarchy with a long family line, though there were rumours of unrest in recent years. They rarely ventured into this quadrant, however.
And they never engaged a Federation starship battlecruiser without a reason.
(And that reason was never in peace.)
"Whose ship?" he asked.
"... The Dragon of the West," said Longshot.
The stirring of bedsheet linens and the nearly soundless pressure of bare feet touching the ground alerted Katara to her patient's change in status.
"Before you walk, I'm checking you over," she said, setting down her chart and standing.
With that she turned and approached the bed, only to find the shirtless man touching his masked face with hesitant, confused movements.
"Yeah, it's still there," she said, resting her hip against the end of his bed. She flipped open her tricorder and ran the diagnostic around him as it beeped and echoed back at her with results. "You were pretty fierce about it. Even I haven't taken it off. Which reminds me, you need to go wash—it and your face and head. There are towels in the shower stall, and a stool if you need it."
The man looked at her through his mask, his hands now at his sides, a little away from his body.
A ready stance.
"I won't peek," added Katara, satisfied with the diagnostic.
Well, not entirely satisfied, but she could tell the man was spooked and needed his space. She kept her hands where he could see them.
"And the rest of the crew is pretty busy up on the bridge with our guest at the moment, so it's better to do it now than when they get curious about you again."
He waited a moment before looking around.
"To your left," said Katara, gesturing behind her. She ratcheted shut her tricorder, slipped it into her hip holster and waited for him to make a move.
Like a wary animal, he shifted his weight foot to foot but did not turn his body away from hers.
She wanted to sigh, but couldn't blame him for being cautious considering the 'welcome' her Captain had given him.
She held out her hand.
"I'm Doctor Kuruk, by the way. Katara Kuruk. Lead physician aboard the Federation starship Avatar."
He looked down at her hand.
She waited a beat, then two. Her smile wilting, she pulled her hand back only to feel a gentle pressure against the inside of her wrist.
Her patient had taken the inside of her right forearm and clasped it against his.
She tilted her head before looking up at him and smiling.
"It's been a long time since I've seen that," she admitted, gently and slowly clapping her left hand over his right arm and holding it there in a traditional Water Tribe greeting.
"A very long time," she added wistfully.
He nodded, and looked towards the bathroom she indicated a moment before.
"This way," she said, releasing him after another half-beat of contact and leading him to the showers. "You can clean yourself up privately."
With her back turned, she missed the way he studied her back with care.
Meanwhile, in the Captain's Study
"Missing?" repeated Jet.
General Iroh, the 'Dragon of the West', nodded sadly over the aromatic steam of his jasmine tea.
"Yes. We have not heard from him in days. His family… I grow concerned," said the General. "Prince Zuko is an accomplished warrior in his own right. This maintained silence is unusual."
Jet glanced at the amber liquid in his tumblr, swirling it around before looking back at his guest.
"And you think he was headed in this direction?"
"Yes. He mentioned that he was coming this way, and that he would return shortly. When he did not return, we sent out search parties. I fear the worst," said the old man, rubbing his chin through his short, stocky silver beard.
"We are exploring this quadrant and the planets herein for the next while. We haven't encountered any member of the Royal Family," said Jet. "But we are happy to contact you if we come across any leads."
"I would be most appreciative," said the General with a small bow in Jet's direction.
"Please, it would be an honour to assist you," said Jet, the gears in his mind spinning wildly with his own agenda and plans.
If the Dragon of the West noticed the edge to Jet's words, he gave no outward sign.
Late that evening as she ran her evening rounds in the sick bay, the tricorder in Katara's holster chirped three times, then repeated itself again. A second later it did so again, more urgently.
Katara cursed under her breath.
"Thank you, Aang," she murmured under her breath, kissing her fingertips before touching the instrument panel beside her appreciatively.
From his bed, the mystery patient watched her.
Katara looked at him.
"Considering the beating you took earlier, and lived, you won't go down without a fight, will you?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
The man scoffed under his breath, crossing his arms.
Her shoulder slumping as her brow arched, Katara couldn't help her rueful smirk.
"I didn't think so."
She looked around the sparse ward. There wasn't much time.
"Okay, time to hide in plain sight. Lie down and pretend you're asleep," she ordered, pulling out her tricorder and adjusting the settings and overriding them.
When he remained sitting upright, Katara gave him a poke in the chest.
"If you want to avoid being tortured as part of a half-assed 'interrogation', you need to lie back right now," she growled, pushing against him harder, with her full palm. "Down, boy."
To her surprise he caught her hand and held her wrist, gently, staring at her.
Then he brought her hand to his throat and cradled it there.
Anxiety trickling through her bloodstream at Jet's pending arrival and her patient's confusing gesture, Katara's brows knit.
"Your… your neck? Your throat—your voice. Is something wrong with your voice?"
He nodded.
Katara heard the doors on the far side of the sick bay swish open, the airlock hissing as they closed again. They were running out of time.
"You want me to heal your voice?" she whispered.
He nodded, and from beneath the mask she felt the fabric of the cloth head covering rub against the top of her hand where his chin brushed her fingers.
Katara bit the inside of her cheek and shoved him down with the hand holding the tricorder.
"Don't make a sound," she ordered, her tricorder beeping madly with the fluctuations of his heartbeat—until she muffled the speaker with her thumb, muting it.
Determined to arm and protect him with everything she could, she rushed the pulsing energy that flowed in her down to her arms and hands, closing her eyes. It was old healing 'magic', this, and few from her home planet even had the ability, let alone the skill, to manipulate it. It was draining and dangerous, and rushing was the worst thing she could do, but something about this man drew out her protective instincts and stirred her into action. Something about him held her focus and attention. Something about him reminded her of why, all those years ago, she left her home planet and ventured out to Starfleet Academy to become a starship medic and travel the stars to see the galaxy.
Something about him reminded her that she held her own rank, her own noble title and that yes, she was there to help and make a difference, even if it was only in one man's life.
She could do it.
Teeth clenched she focused, ignoring the sound of feet approaching while the cooling flowed from her fingertips into him.
As quickly as she could she knit the damaged tissues back together. Choked? Had he been choked, and part of his neck and throat were still damaged? She investigated further but was forced to pull back a bit as the curtain hiding her patient from semi-public view was torn to the side.
Behind her the shuffling of feet came closer, closer.
Come on, come on, come on, she thought, opening the gates of her healing chakra wider. Instead of soothing cool, a mild stinging, then burning took over. She would have burns on her fingers and palms after this but it would be worth it.
She stifled a wince as she felt the man beneath her hands tense from the force of the healing.
Please forgive me later, she thought in his direction.
And then she heard one of the guards behind her clear his throat.
"Something wrong, Doctor Kuruk?" drawled Jet.
Easing off, Katara straightened but didn't turn around.
"Damaged airway. It was affecting his breathing," she said.
"Did he wake up yet?"
"Not enough to answer questions."
"Funny, that's not what your intern said earlier."
"He hasn't said a word since he came to," said Katara.
A moment of silence passed.
"You wouldn't be lying to me, now would you, Dr Kuruk?"
Footsteps began circling her from behind, just outside the periphery of her vision.
The hand around her wrist, the hand she'd completely forgotten about, squeezed her tighter in warning.
I know, she thought his way. Don't let them intimidate you. They can smell fear. Trust me.
"No, I'm focusing on my patient," she said. She forced her shoulders to relax.
"Hm. Yes. Your patient. Who doesn't speak. Who is a remarkable survivor. And who happens to share the build and colouring of the Agni Kai."
Katara swallowed the hitch in her breathing.
"Spit it out, Jet. What do you want?"
"That's 'Captain Jet'," he reminded her. Warmth seeped into her back and minty breath wafted over her shoulder and cheek. "And I want to have a chat with our guest."
"He can't speak."
Jet pressed closer, his chest inches from Katara's back. He leaned his head over her shoulder to observe her healing before snorting.
"Someone ranks highly enough for you to use the tribal ways," he murmured knowingly. "Been a while since we saw that happen, huh?"
For good reason, thought Katara. Jet reminded her of so many unfortunate aspects of her past. Primarily, her poor decision-making when it came to trusting others and overestimating others' self control.
And self-discipline.
Some nights she still woke from nightmares and memories from when Jet was addicted to the tribal healing she used on him. She had nearly sworn off employing it after that, but refused to give up another of her traditions just because he had perverted its intentions. She had given him up, instead.
It didn't go well.
"Go away, Captain. He isn't in any shape to answer questions. Or live through an 'interrogation' session," repeated Katara.
"Well, perhaps he wasn't the one I came to question?"
Jet's chest bumped into Katara's back, and he lowered a hand to her hip to hold her steady.
"Perhaps," he continued, "I had a few questions for you. Like why you insisted we stop in this quadrant." His voice turned hard, his hand squeezing her side.
Katara's heart fluttered in her throat from a combination of anger, disgust and fear.
"I told you. I had a feeling," she hedged. The same feeling that had warned her of Jet's arrival.
The Avatar spoke to her in mysterious ways. (She referred to the ship as 'Aang' in her mind. The name stuck.) She couldn't explain it, but she felt a kinship with this vessel. It was the only reason she hadn't abandoned it after her horrendous 'relationship' with Jet had ended on such a sour note, especially since Jet didn't seem keen on letting her go completely, either. More than once she'd packed her bags as they'd made port, and planned her escape. Something always came up, however, that prevented her from leaving.
It was Aang, the Avatar, which had sent her signals to travel to this quadrant. She'd made up a flimsy reason about needing supplies for medical research, but when her last excuse had just about dried up they came across this mystery man.
Why Aang had directed her here, she didn't know.
But there had to be something going on, and it centered around this man faking sleep in her arms. With the visit from General Iroh, the Dragon of the West, Katara was even more sure that there was more going on than met the eye.
"Your 'feelings' have led to too many coincidences, Katara." He turned his head towards hers, lips caressing the shell of her ear. "We need to talk."
Control your breathing and don't tense up. He's trying to rattle your cage, she told herself, but when she felt his other hand settling on her other hip, her teeth clenched so hard they felt like they were about to crack inside her jaw.
"Let. Go."
"You're in cahoots with the Dragon of the West, aren't you? You're helping him somehow. Trafficking fugitives? Information? Blackmail? What is it, Katara?" demanded Jet, his voice getting louder and angrier with each ridiculous accusation.
"No."
"Don't lie to me, Katara," hissed Jet through his teeth. His spittle spat across Katara's cheek and she resisted the urge to wipe it away. "You know I don't like it when you lie to me."
"You're paranoid and delusional. I have nothing to hide! I've been here in the sick bay all day. I spend every day here. I don't interact with anyone!" For their own safety at this point. "Now I need you to leave because I am trying to heal an injured man!"
"You set this up. You set everything up! This is a trap, isn't it? It's a trap for the Avatar. Well, no one's taking my ship away from me!"
"No one is trying to take the ship away from you," said Katara as Jet's eyes gleamed wildly, his control fraying. "No one set anything up. I wanted supplies, unfortunately my hunch that they would be here was wrong. I was wrong, Jet. Is that what you wanted to hear? I was wrong."
Like a balloon deflating, Jet's heaving chest slowed, his eyes and shoulders relaxing.
"... I knew it," he said, scoffing under his breath. He took a step back while Katara ducked her head and hid the shaking breath she inhaled to calm herself.
"Tomorrow morning I'm taking another away team down to the surface. Since you always insist on us taking a medic, be prepared to leave at oh-seven hundred hours on the auxiliary transporter pad," said Jet, releasing Katara's sides.
"Are there any particular—"
"Just be ready," he said, stepping back and walking away.
Katara waited for the curtain to shift aside again, then for the sick bay doors to whoosh open and shut, leaving her alone with her patient once more.
It was only then that she noticed the way the supine man was stroking the sensitive skin of her inner forearm with his thumb and fingers to calm her trembling.
"It's okay. He's like that," she said, and immediately berated herself, mentally, for making excuses for him. "No, wait… just…"
She sighed.
Then she stretched her neck, rolling her head to the side and releasing her patient.
"Come on."
She stepped back and led him to stand.
"I don't trust him or his 'security team'. You'll sleep in my quarters tonight where I have a bit of protection to offer, at least," she said. Aang would protect her. Hopefully that protection would extend to her new 'guest'.
Once more she looked up at his naked chest and the ghoulish black eyeholes of his blue mask. Her smile was wry and tired.
"Let me see if I can find you a uniform to wear, at least…"
AN: Part 1 of 2. Part 2 posted later this weekend or week, depending on my free time! (This was written for a very dear friend of mine who requested some Zutara and a love triangle.)