Er… so here's the deal. This is my first fic in a very long time. And my first SGA fic ever. I've been rewatching the last couple of seasons of the show and I was struck by a strong desire to write a fic focusing on Keller (for the record, I also blame Nika Dixon's stories for this, since they were the ones to get me interested in Keller's character in the first place - I urge you to go read them). I originally had plans for a longer one, but this plot wouldn't get out of my head so I figured I'd do a one shot first to try and get a sense of how best to write her character. I still want to write that other one, though, so feedback on this particular point, my dear readers, would be awesome. And very helpful. But, really, feedback of any kind would still be very nice.
Now, for the standard disclaimer, I own nothing. I'm just borrowing characters and worlds here, and I promise not to harm them. Much.
And for the other disclaimer… this is a fic that deals with some medical stuff. I'm not a doctor, or a nurse, or an EMT. I tried to do some research, but I ask that you be willing to suspend your disbelief in case I've said something truly egregious. Also, while you can feel free to leave me angry comments telling me where I went wrong, I'd advise you not grit your teeth in annoyance. It's bad for your enamel.
"Step away from him."
Jennifer looks up from where she's kneeling. That voice is unmistakable. She's heard it countless times since arriving at the settlement. Yet, she's still taken aback when she sees the village chief standing only a few feet away from her, his elderly features blazing with angry determination. An expression that stands in direct contrast with the benevolent smile she's become so used to seeing him wear. She supposes it's only natural, given the chaos that surrounds them. But it's his words that give her pause; his words that make no sense.
"I'm sorry?" Her reply is just a courtesy – an acknowledgement. The man that lies in front of her is dying and she can't spare the time to be confused, to even consider what's being asked of her.
"Step away from him, doctor." Her title is added this time, emphasised. She doesn't understand why. There isn't anyone else they could be talking to. But it doesn't really matter. There's too much work to do. The man moans, semi-conscious, as she places her folded jacket underneath his burnt arm, elevating it as best she can, all the while digging through her backpack for some gauze to cover it. Already, a tourniquet has been tied around his left leg, just above the hole left by a projectile of some kind, but she's concerned by the amount of blood the man's lost already. He's well past the earlier stages of shock and if she doesn't get him to Atlantis soon, any chance of saving him will be lost.
It's then that someone grabs her shoulder, startling her. But as she turns around, she cracks a hopeful smile. If it's someone from Atlantis, they'll probably be able to take him off her hands, make sure that he's en route to the infirmary so she can go searching for more wounded. Even another villager could help with holding the man's legs to stave off shock while she goes and finds Evan and his team. But her hopes are dashed when she meets the man's eyes. It's definitely not someone from Atlantis and he's frowning menacingly as he roughly pulls her to her feet, dragging her a couple of feet away from the spot where she was previously kneeling.
"The hell…? Let me go!" she protests, and attempts to pull and claw at the hands that are now clasped around her shoulders. Her captor grunts in pain, but he doesn't budge. And she knows, deep down, judging by way he dragged her up with barely any effort and by the burly figure she discerns when she cranes her neck to the left, that resistance will get her nowhere. So she stops her struggles for a second and strains herself to get a better view of him.
She recognizes him from the village. Tall, proud and clean shaven. He's still frowning, and his jaw is set in grim determination, but he isn't looking at her. Instead his gaze is firmly set on the chief as if awaiting orders. It dawns on her then… the full implications of the words that she had all but ignored… the fact that this was probably what came of her refusal to acquiesce.
"I don't understand," she mutters. "He's going to die if I don't help him."
She says the last words slowly, as if speaking to someone who's a bit slow on the uptake. Because, while it should be obvious, perhaps the men cannot fully comprehend the gravity of the situation; of the man's wounds.
"Good. It's no less than he deserves." The words are spoken callously and she gasps, her eyes widening.
She wants to respond, to rebuke the ridiculous claim, but she seems to have lost the capacity to speak. She feels like a leaden weight has dropped into the pit of her stomach and her mouth is dry and cottony, still agape in shock.
She finally finds her voice.
"I- why?" What could the man have done to deserve death? And such a death, at that? Bleeding out on the ground. The only explanation that comes to mind is that he is one of the raiders that attacked the village. But she is sure that is not the case: she saw him in the tavern that morning as she took a break from checkups to have some breakfast with Evan's team. He'd been chatting with the patrons from the village. He clearly is one of them.
"He's a coward," the man behind her explains, his voice a low growl and full of contempt. "He ran."
"From the raid?" She is aware of the high pitch her voice has acquired, and she hates herself for it. It makes her sound weak. And if she is going to talk some sense into these people, that's something she cannot afford to be.
The chief nods his assent.
"If he is not willing to fight for us, to die for us, for his people…. He has no place here."
"It doesn't mean you have to kill him!"
This is absurd. It's madness. Jennifer looks around her frantically, hoping to spot someone wearing the Atlantis uniform. Surely, someone must be around. She called for help through her radio when she found the man, and they aren't that far from the village. Perhaps if she calls again?
But it's impossible. Her attempt to raise her arm to her radio is halted in its tracks by the burly man. Worse still, it's interpreted as a renewed attempt to escape and she is pulled tightly against his chest, her arms pinned to her sides against his ribcage.
"Please, doctor, these are our ways. Stop struggling and we can go back to the tavern where my people will be gathering those in need of your help. Don't make this harder than it ought to be."
Jennifer lets her eyes turn once again to her patient. He's still breathing, but the sight of him causes her to sag in her captor's grip, and she feels tears of frustration building up, ready to spill. She's a doctor, damn it! She can't just walk away from him! It's her duty to help him. It doesn't matter what he's done. Certainly, a little fear on his part isn't justification enough to just leave him there. Hell, she'd been scared! A couple of years ago, she probably would've been running right with him.
She shakes her head.
"I just can't…"
They can't just hold her there forever, right? They'll have to relent at some point. Assuming her patient can live long enough for this to happen…
"Doctor, if you insist, you'll be no better than him in the law's eyes. You, too, will be put to death."
Jennifer freezes at this. Her captor shuffles a little and unsheathes a knife to prove that they're not joking with her.
She bites her lip and squeezes her eyes shut. She has no choice. She has to relent.
"Fine," she sighs. There's no more she can do. Not against an armed man that is probably twice her weight in muscle. But, as they say, hope dies last. The wounded man has been holding on better than she would've guessed. She need only find the rest of the offworld team and she knows she'll be able to come back unhindered. As long as he doesn't die in the interim.
"Fine," she repeats and the grip around her slackens. She steps away from the man and grabs her bag off the ground. Her eyes linger on the dying man one last time as the other two guys begin walking towards the village and she desperately wishes she could find a few words of her eyes meet his, she notices that they're glazed over in pain. She grits her teeth against the pang of guilt that gnaws at her and even as she takes the first step to follow the villagers, she can't help herself. Her hands dig into her medical bag until she finds what she's looking for, a small pill bottle.
She turns around and starts back towards her patient.
"Let me, at least, give him something" for the pain.
She never finishes her sentence. It occurs to her that moving first and explaining later had been a foolish idea. It occurs to her after the tip of the knife has already pierced her skin, moving through her shoulder like butter.
Time seems to slow down as she tumbles to the ground, a pained scream caught in her throat. She is dimly aware of some shouting around her. A shot, maybe. Evan's voice. She wants to yell at them. Tell them she's there. Tell them they need to help her patient. But she scarcely has the energy. Besides, she can't really bring herself to believe that help has arrived. So timely, yet so late.. It's probably just wishful thinking on her part. Her brain's way of dragging her attention away from the burning sensation in her shoulder, from the agony that she feels all over.
She's feeling cold and light headed now. She knows that she must be losing a lot of blood, very quickly.
Exsanguination. Such a funny word, really.
It strikes her as ironic that she's going to die from the same thing as the man she tried to save.
She never even knew his name.