Wilma walked along the edge of the woods, enjoying this outing. The air was clear and fresh, birds were singing, and her favorite companion in the world walked just a few feet to one side. Yes, it had been too long since she had been on one of these exploration missions. Buck had talked her into it, saying that she needed a break from the Searcher and also that they could divide into two teams this way and explore twice as much ground, the two of them in one area, Hawk taking the shuttle on a few quadrants over after dropping them off.
She hadn't been able to refuse. She even hoped there might be something more than close friendship behind the invitation. He would be glad of the company, he said. It had been quite a while since the two of them had done anything together; her duties had been especially intense lately with two subsequent ambassador transport missions and all sorts of pomp and circumstance.
Buck looked over at her now and grinned. "See, I told you this was a good idea. You needed a break."
She couldn't quite give him the satisfaction of full agreement, even though she agreed. "It is nice here," she said. She edged over a little, seeing something on her left. The ground abruptly caved in, revealing a sinkhole about 25 feet deep, the bottom of the pit filled with gooey, black mud. "Ugh," she shuddered, imagining it down there.
Buck came over to inspect it. "That's natural, not created by some kind of people, but still, I'm glad we're on the top side. Looks sticky."
"Yes, it does." She took a few steps closer, though still a little distance back, and aimed her recorder, capturing an image of this. "Plenty of plant life and some birds, but otherwise, this planet seems to be uninhabited."
Buck started walking along the edge of the pit a little ways, working out size. Just when he was nearly 15 feet away from here, there came an abrupt snarl and a charge. Wilma saw the motion out of the corner of her eye and jumped, startled. In the next second, before she could even identify the charging animal, she felt the ground begin to crumble beneath her. Her quick movement had jolted loose a new piece of the edge. "Buck!" she screamed as she fell.
She landed in the bottom of the pit, right in the mud, which was indeed sticky. It probably cushioned her fall some, but she landed awkwardly, and she felt a sharp, searing pain shoot through her right ankle. It gave way, and she fell the rest of the way over. She struggled back to a sitting position. At least the mud wasn't quicksand and wasn't impossibly deep, but it was a good foot and a half thick, and the more she moved, the more plastered she got. She tried to push her way back to her feet, and her ankle refused to take her weight. It was hurting enough to bring involuntary tears to her eyes as waves of pain crashed over her. "Buck!"
The sounds from above started to penetrate her mind again. Snarling, battling, and finally a laser shot. Worry replaced petition. "Buck? Are you all right?"
After a few more moments, his head appeared over the edge above her. "Wilma! Are you hurt?"
"I've done something to my ankle. I can't put weight on it." She felt totally trapped and helpless down here in the mud. "Be careful of the edge. It's not stable. What about that animal? Did you get it?"
"Yes, whatever that was, I don't think he'll bother us again."
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. He nibbled me a bit but nothing serious." He looked around, obviously looking for a 25-foot-long solution. "Hang on a minute, Wilma."
"It's not like I'm going anywhere," she grumbled. She was feeling more and more uncomfortable, not just the ankle but her pride, sitting down here in the mud. She couldn't even blame the animal; it hadn't touched her, aiming more for Buck all along. She should have remembered in that first moment of being startled how close to the edge she was and not jumped even closer. It was the added stress that had made the edge crumble. She definitely should have made a better landing than her sprawling arrival down below. She ought to know how to take a fall by now.
She heard another couple of laser shots at a distance, and then a few minutes later, with a scraping, a fairly thick tree branch appeared, tilted, and started to descend into the pit. The cut-off log, still seared at each end with laser fire, was barely long enough and made a near-vertical pole when it hit bottom. Wilma again tried to get up and again couldn't put weight on her ankle. "I'm not sure I can climb that with this ankle, Buck," she admitted.
"Hang on. I'm coming down." He started descending the branch, using side branches from the main as hand and foot holds whenever he could. Halfway down his journey, a side branch broke under his foot, and he toppled off himself and landed beside her. "Uff." He at least landed much more gracefully than she had, and he rolled over and picked himself up, now nearly as coated as she was. "Yes, it is sticky." He reached for her. "Now, then. Which ankle?"
"Right," she replied. His hands were infinitely careful as he probed it, but the examination ramped the pain up even more.
"Definitely a bad sprain. Hopefully it's not broken." He looked from her to the log. "Come on. Let's get up. Lean on me."
She hauled herself up with substantial help from him, and with her arm across his shoulders, they limped to the base of the branch. "We'll never be able climb it together," she objected.
"Sure we will. We just have to adjust the plan, that's all." His tone was bright, cheery, and reassuring. She tried to force herself to believe in him. Buck was at his best, after all, when things started going wrong.
He considered the tree, then shifted over in front of her. "Lock your hands around my neck. Carefully, please. I still have to breathe. Then I'll climb out with you on my back."
It seemed impossible to Wilma as she looked at the distant circle of sky above them. "You can't do that."
"Bad choice of words, Wilma. Don't you know by now never to say that to me? Come on. I can think of places I'd rather be."
She tried to scramble onto his back, but even with him bending over, she lost her balance, and they both toppled as he tried to save her. Once again, they hit the mud full length. Buck pushed himself up, wiping the sticky goop off his face. "You know, I am getting tired of this mud. Come on, Wilma. If at first you don't succeed, try, try again."
He moved over, crouching down, and she once again pulled herself onto his back. That time, she made it. With arms locked carefully around his neck, she waited. Buck wiped off his hands as best as he could on one of the few relatively unsoiled patches of his jacket. Then he reached up for the first side branch. "We'll be going slowly, because I'm going to be testing every one of these side branches gradually. I don't want another one to break and drop us back again."
She soon became aware that that wasn't the only reason he proceeded slowly. It was very difficult climbing nearly straight up with her full weight attached. There were also a couple of areas bare of side branches for a few feet where he simply had to climb the central trunk itself. She could feel his broad shoulders working, could hear his breathing. This was pushing him. Still, with nothing to offer herself, she tried to simply hold still and not disturb his balance any more than she already was.
Finally, after several minutes, they arrived at the top. "Can you scramble on over the edge?" Buck asked. "The branch is barely long enough for the pit; I wish I could have cut it another few feet longer, but it had a bad section just past this part. It was still the best log I could find. But there's not that much room for two people to climb over the very top locked together."
"I can make it." She could hardly refuse to try, not after his heroic effort on that climb. She gripped the edge carefully, remembering it crumbling, even though Buck had propped the tree branch in a different section from that which had given way earlier. Cautiously, letting her ankle dangle, she pulled herself up, and Buck gave her a push from behind. She heaved herself over the edge and lay there flat, coated in mud, hurting, and infinitely grateful to be out of that pit.
Buck scrambled on over the top himself and lay next to her for a minute, catching his breath. She held still, letting him recover; she knew that as soon as she moved, he would. Finally, he pushed himself up and looked over at her. "Whoof. I wouldn't like to do that regularly."
"Neither would I."
He reached out for her ankle, giving it an examination without the mud surrounding them this time, even though they both were still caked and filthy. "Yes, you did a good job on this. My mother always said that anything worth doing is worth doing well."
"I think your mother would have made exceptions." She sat up, still hurting and feeling like she wanted 100 showers. "Now what?"
"Now we call Hawk to come get us." He reached for his pocket, felt thoroughly, and then looked around. "There it is. My communicator must have been knocked out when that animal first hit me. He rolled me clear over." He stood and walked around the edge of the pit, picked it up, surveyed the broken instrument, and threw it down in disgust. "We'll have to use yours."
Wilma felt in her own pocket. Her expression gave the answer. Buck looked back down into the pit, into the thick mud. "It's down there, isn't it?"
"Must be. I guess it fell out when I landed and fell over. How are we ever going to find it down there in all that mud?"
"We aren't. We'll just head for the rendezvous point. Hawk is supposed to meet us in four hours, and hopefully, if those bird instincts are working today, he'll even be early. Come on." He helped her back up.
They limp-hobbled along as a 3-legged person. It was difficult, and the motion was making her ankle hurt worse. Wilma tried to keep going, making slow progress that was at least progress, but she was fighting back tears again.
"Here." Buck stopped and then turned. Reaching out, he swooped her into his arms. "This will be easier for you."
"But not for you. You already climbed that log with me, and I could tell how hard that was."
"Oh, I'm just counting this whole experience as my exercise for today. Keeps you nice and healthy to get a regular workout." He lengthened stride. "Besides, not only is this easier on your ankle, but we'll get there faster."
She gave up protesting. It felt good to be carried in his strong arms, even if the waves of pain were still making themselves known. Buck kept up a good pace now, but by the time they reached the rendezvous point, he was sweating, at least in what parts of him weren't covered with mud, and she could hear his breathing again. "I'm sorry, Buck," she apologized.
He set her down carefully against a rock. "It's not your fault. Blame that animal. He startled you."
"I still shouldn't have jumped like that so close to the edge. And I should have landed more in balance." She shuddered. "I feel awful coated in all this mud. I want a shower. And clean clothes."
"Yes, I think we could both use one. And these clothes might be hopeless. I doubt we could even Shout it out."
She didn't understand the reference but was too tired and in pain to question it. He reached out, stroking her cheek. "Hey. It will be all right."
"I know it's stupid, Buck, but the idea of going back onto the ship like this with everybody around and how far it is from the hanger deck to sick bay just bothers me." Her uniform was far more black goo than white, as was most exposed skin. She could feel the ick in her hair. He didn't look much better. No, she wasn't looking forward to the parade through the halls at all.
He stood up again, looking off to the left. "I've got an idea. Remember that warm spring we found this morning not too far away?"
She managed to follow that thought. "Yes. Yes, I do. Think we can wash up while we're waiting?"
"Long as the water's safe. My scanner fell out, too, but it's okay; it was just the communicator that got crushed. And the water is nicely warm, as is the weather, so we aren't likely to catch cold."
She started to attempt to stand, but he picked her up again and carried her the short distance. The water proved safe per the scanner, and he set her down in the shallow edge. "Here. Just lie back." He started washing her hair. She closed her eyes and relished the moment, even through the pain. He understood that it was her matted, dirty hair that had bothered her most of all, and he remedied it first. Once her hair was done, he washed off her face thoroughly, using his hands, and then started work on her body and the uniform. By the time he got down to the injured ankle, she was feeling much better, even if still hurting.
"Thank you, Buck. That's a big improvement."
"Yes. Now, it's my turn." He moved away deeper, plunging fully into the spring as if he were going swimming, then coming up shaking himself. He washed his own clothed self, top to bottom, then moved back over to her. "Feeling better?"
"Much. This even feels good on my ankle."
"I'm sure it does. Unfortunately, you don't need to stay in here too long. Cold is better for the first 48 hours, then switching to heat. Out you go." He carried her back out and then once again to the rendezvous point by the big rock. "There now. You still don't quite look your usual crisp self, and the uniform has a few tears, but at least you don't look like the Creature from the Black Lagoon anymore."
"Like the what?" She had to smile looking at him. He and his clothes were much cleaner now, but in addition to being totally wet, he also had a few tears in the cloth himself. She had no doubt that he pulled off the soaked and torn look better than she did, but she was feeling relieved enough to tease him a little. "Whatever the Creature from the Black Lagoon is, you looked like one yourself."
"I'm sure I did. That makes us a matched set." He sat down next to her, back to the rock. "How does the ankle feel now?"
"Still hurting." She closed her eyes. "I feel like such an idiot."
She heard him shift and then felt his hands, strong but gentle, on her leg. He picked it up and moved it, ramping up the pain a little, then propped it on his own outstretched legs, thus elevating it a little bit. She opened her eyes again. "That should help some at least with the swelling," he said. "I wish we had ice. Or cold water. On the other hand, as wet as we are, that might not be a good idea at the moment. We don't want to catch a chill." He released her leg and settled back against the rock again, slipping one arm around her shoulders. "You aren't an idiot, Wilma. Cut yourself some slack. That animal startled me, too."
"You weren't standing right on an unstable edge over a mud pit when he did. And you at least landed correctly when you did fall in."
"It's going to be all right," he replied. She settled against his side, enjoying the closeness even through the pain. She loved this man, had known it for quite a while, but every time she thought he might return her feelings, he dodged away again under a joke. Much as she respected and admired him, sometimes she wondered if he could truly be serious about a relationship. His long string of flings back on Earth had been painful to watch, even though all of them had seemed superficial even at the time.
On the other hand, there had been Jennifer. He had mentioned her that first day to Wilma, "a woman I cared about," though not by name. A woman, singular. She alone had been the picture he took on his ship. When he encountered the fake Jennifer months later, it had rattled him like nothing else she had ever seen.
Maybe the woman of the week phenomenon in those first months had been partly a reaction, trying to distance himself from the pain of losing Jennifer, of losing everything. But she wished she knew how he truly felt about her. She sighed.
Buck gave her a squeeze. "What is it? Just the general day we're having?"
"Partly. And this ankle really does hurt." That was true.
"We'll be back on Searcher soon, and they'll give you something for it. I hope it's not broken. That was a nasty fall. Strange as it sounds, I think we should be grateful for the mud."
She shook her head vigorously. "I'm finding it hard to be grateful for the mud." He laughed and gave her shoulder a squeeze.
This was almost like a dream she had had last night, the two of them sitting alone together, her propped against his strong body. The pain and her ankle hadn't been part of the dream, nor had the fact that they were both wet through, but still, aside from the ankle, this was almost comfortable. The temperature was nicely warm, and his presence was reassuring. "What did you dream about last night?" she asked, suddenly curious.
He tilted his head, giving her an odd look, but he didn't ask where the question came from. "I had two dreams last night. Far as I remember, at least. The first one wasn't a dream as much as a memory. It was from back when I was a kid, right after I had had my tonsils taken out. My mother brought me ice cream and was sitting beside me, telling me everything would be better soon." His voice drifted off into wistfulness. Wilma, watching his eyes go distant, forgot to ask what ice cream was.
"You miss them, don't you?" she asked. "Your family and friends back then."
"Of course I miss them," he answered.
"And Jennifer," she added, then wished she could call the words back.
He answered promptly, though. "And Jennifer."
"I don't think I fully realized at first how hard it must have been losing everything and everybody you knew, Buck. You're so adaptable. I forgot sometimes the feelings that must have been behind the smile." He was silent. He didn't retreat physically, but he didn't answer, either. "Do you dream about them often?" she asked, pushing just a little further.
"Yes." It was a flat answer, nothing more added, and that time, she heard the beginnings of a wall in his voice, a clear request that she drop the subject.
She obligingly backed off. "You said you had two dreams last night. What was the second one?" she wondered.
He tightened up in a different way that time, definitely not a purely pleasant memory. "I . . ."
"You don't have to tell me," she said, giving him an out if he really wanted it. "I just was curious."
The silence extended between them for nearly a full minute. Then he sighed. "I dreamed about you."
"Me?" And that dream was a bad memory for him?
At that precise moment, they both heard the shuttle engines, and Hawk came sailing over the horizon, a good two and a half hours ahead of schedule. As glad as she was to see rescue, Wilma found herself wishing that their friend's instincts had been just five minutes more delayed.
Buck moved her ankle over and stood up, definitely seeming glad of the interruption. The shuttle landed, and Hawk emerged. "Buck! Wilma! You didn't answer the communicators, and . . ." Hawk registered the fact that they were both wet. "What happened to you? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine; Wilma's the one who needs attention." Buck helped her up. "She fell about 25 feet and hurt her ankle."
Hawk came up at once on the other side, and supported between the two men, Wilma limped onto the shuttle. Buck settled down next to her, letting Hawk be the one at the controls as they took off.
"How did you get wet?" Hawk asked. "Did she fall into a stream? And you, too?"
"The pit she wound up in was full of thick, sticky mud. By the time I helped her climb out, we were both pretty covered. So we washed off in a warm spring we had found this morning." Hawk nodded, understanding that.
"By the time you helped me climb out?" Wilma repeated his line in disbelief. "Buck, you were the one doing all the climbing there."
"You helped," he insisted. "You held still. You're the best partner I could ever want in the 25-foot log double scramble. " He gave her shoulder another squeeze, then moved past her to the copilot's seat, calling the Searcher and requesting a medical team on the hanger deck when they arrived.
From that point on, the afternoon blurred into a string of images for Wilma. The journey from the hanger deck to sick bay did indeed draw looks from everyone they passed, even if most of those looks were of concern. She thought she would be eternally grateful to Buck for getting rid of the mud that had coated her. Once she was at sick bay, Dr. Goodfellow gave a thorough examination of her ankle and heard a brief synopsis of the accident.
"A sprain," he announced after interpreting some scans.
"At least it's not broken," said Buck. He had stuck with her all the way.
"Yes, yes, although it will take a few days to start to feel better and take a few weeks to get back to normal." Dr. Goodfellow pulled out a syringe. "This is an anti-inflammatory and a painkiller, my dear. You can rest here tonight in sick bay, and tomorrow, I'm sure you'll feel more like yourself. Now, let's get some dry clothes for you. You need some, too, Buck," he added.
Wilma suddenly wanted to spend the night in her own cabin, not here in these impersonal surroundings. She wanted to begin to feel like Wilma again, even if injured, not like a patient. "Can't I just go back to my cabin, Doctor? I'm not hurt otherwise. And I'd really like to take a shower and sleep in my own bed tonight."
"Well, yes, I supposed we could do that. Of course, I want to check you tomorrow. You aren't hurt anywhere else, are you?"
"No. I landed on my feet, sort of. That was the problem. I should have tried to roll."
"All right, my dear. Now, let's see. I do want you to keep your weight off that ankle." Lieutenant Paulton had wrapped it in a supportive bandage, and now she appeared without request, holding a set of crutches. "Thank you, thank you. You're ahead of me as usual. Always have just what I want." Dr. Goodfellow held them out to her.
Wilma took them and then slowly, helped by Buck, slid off the bed and onto her good foot. Balancing carefully, she took a few steps. "I'll go with you to make sure you get settled in your cabin," Buck said. "Thank you, Hawk."
By the time they arrived at her quarters, her ankle was hurting more again from the walk. Buck opened the door for her, then parked her on the couch and carefully unwrapped her foot. "Thank you, Buck," she said. "I'll feel a lot better for a shower." She stood again and started heading for the bathroom.
"I'll wait here," he said. "In case you fall or something. And once you get out, I'll rewrap that foot."
The shower was paradise, though she followed Buck's recommendations earlier on the planet and didn't let her ankle stay in the hot water too long. Dressed in clean clothes and feeling halfway herself again, she limped back out. Buck was still here, and the contrast with herself struck her.
"You ought to go take a shower and get clean clothes yourself, Buck," she said as he finished wrapping her foot.
"You sure you're all right for a while?"
"I'm fine. Actually, I'm starting to get hungry. Could you pick up a few food discs and bring them here after you change clothes?"
He grinned. "Now you're sounding a little more like yourself. Be back in a few minutes."
He reappeared promptly, looking much better and less bedraggled himself, and they ate food discs together, which she knew was a sacrifice on his part. He hated them. Still, she didn't feel up to navigating the main crew lounge tonight.
He followed the thought. "I'll bring us breakfast here tomorrow. It might not be food discs for me, but you can have your bland tastelessness things if you want. That way, you won't have to go down to the lounge until you're a little more used to those crutches. Now." He reached for Dr. Goodfellow's syringe. "You are going to go to bed and sleep all night, and any dreams have to be pleasant ones. Understand?"
She wondered again about his second dream, but she didn't ask. She was indeed getting sleepy now that she wasn't hungry, and she felt absolutely worn out by the day. She climbed into her bed, and Buck stayed there with her like a guardian of the cabin until she fell asleep.
Wilma opened her eyes. A quick look at the chronometer led to a second disbelieving one. She had slept for a solid ten hours. She couldn't believe it.
She sat up, and her ankle protested even that motion. Gingerly running her hands over it, she took an assessment. Swelling and pain both definitely still present, though at least no worse since last night. Dr. Goodfellow had said it would take a few days to begin to really improve.
Buck. Her last memory was of him sitting next to her, talking softly to her, his hand on her arm. His voice had carried her off into rest. Of course he would have gone to his own cabin to bed at some point; he had to be as exhausted as she was after yesterday. She was still amazed that he had managed that climb with her as a deadweight handicap. Still, she was surprised that he hadn't shown back up yet. He had promised her breakfast, after all.
She got her shaky balance positioned with the crutches and limped over to the communications panel, calling his cabin. There was no response. So either he had left already and forgotten about her, totally out of character, or he was so soundly asleep that he didn't respond to her voice, also totally out of character.
Or he was on his way to her cabin now. She got dressed and waited five and then ten minutes. Nothing.
Feeling annoyed with him, even though she knew that was unreasonable, she limped out of the cabin. The road to his quarters seemed unusually long, and she still felt out of balance and awkward on these things. She was tempted to try walking normally, but her ankle was hurting even without weight.
Finally arriving at his quarters, she activated the door chime. No response. Getting tired of standing and feeling even more ruffled, she used her administrative override on the panel. The door opened obediently, and she came in.
He was here. All lights were off, but his presence unmistakably filled a room, even when he was asleep. She reached for the light panel, then hesitated. She would at least give him a more pleasant awakening than that, even if he should have been up and at her cabin an hour or two ago. She crutched toward his bunk, knowing the layout well enough and dodging the dim shapes of the furniture.
"Buck," she called. Nothing. She let a joking tone take over her voice. "I thought I slept late this morning, but you're winning the prize. Come on, Buck, wake up." She reached out to grip his shoulder.
In the next moment, all teasing vanished, and she jumped sharply. He was hot, burning hot, as hot as he had felt back when he had Cygnus fever. She shifted her hand from his shoulder up to his forehead. He was burning up. "Computer, lights!" she ordered urgently. The room lit obediently, and she got her first good look at him.
Buck's eyes were closed. Sweat stood out on his forehead, and his breathing was rapid and shallow. "Buck!" She shook him, still with no response, then limped as quickly as she could over to the com link. "This is Colonel Deering. We need a medical team in Captain Rogers' quarters at once."
With help summoned, she returned to his side. He seemed completely unconscious, and the fever was blazing. With icy fear, she remembered for the first time since their rescue the animal's attack from yesterday and Buck admitting, "He nibbled me a bit, but nothing serious." She had been too caught up in waves of pain from her own injury to return to that topic later during the long wait, but he hadn't mentioned it again either. His clothes once the mud had been washed off had been torn in a few places, but she hadn't seen blood and had put it down to his scramble into and out of the pit. Hers had been torn, too. Of course, any blood hidden beneath the mud was most likely washed off at the same time.
Trying to remember the location of the rips, she started out feeling along his left arm and quickly found the spot that was even hotter than the rest of him. She rolled his sleeve up. It looked horrible. Teeth marks were filled with pus, and red streaks ran out from the bite up his arm toward the shoulder.
"Buck!" She shook him again, getting almost violent with it. There was absolutely no response.