Sixty Seconds Later - Part 2
Doctor Herman Cottle enjoyed a certain level of autonomy when it came to the cylons on New Caprica. They rarely bothered the tent they laughing called a clinic in an official capacity, sick humans were of little interest to the annoyingly healthy cylons - he even suspected that some of them were afraid of the bleach-stenched tent. Perhaps that was why the cylons lacked so much in the medicines developed to deal with the many afflictions of the human race. Sedatives they gave out like candy but just try and get your hands on antibiotics - they didn't exist anymore. Local flora offered some alternatives but for the most part they lacked the resources to test for useful medicinal properties.
He was just lamenting that very lack of resources again when Galen Tyrol burst through the tent flap with a small, auburn-haired woman in his arms. 'What happened?' he thundered, brow contracting as he realised who it was. 'Put her down here.'
Tyrol laid her gently on the operating table. 'Frakking cylons shot her. We must have lost forty people.'
'We need blood and lots of it,' he barked at the nearest medic after peering under the blood soaked dressing. 'How long's she been unconscious?'
'I dunno - five, ten minutes, maybe,' answered Tyrol, looking slightly bewildered after their mad and gods-blessedly obstacle-free dash here.
'Alright, go on, get out of here. I've got work to do.'
'You'll let me know..?'
'Out!' he ordered, starting to scrub in as several medics descended on Laura, cutting off her clothes and hooking her up to the machines.
Tory hadn't been there when they'd taken Laura Roslin the second time. Okay, so she hadn't been there the first time either, but Laura hadn't been shot the first time. She felt a swell of indignant fury at the Cylons but the bulk of her rage was directed at Gaius frakking Baltar for his part in all this crap. She'd been moving in political circles long enough to recognise a puppet government when she saw one and every puppet government needed a puppet president who could legalise mass murder with the stroke of a pen.
This was all Admiral Adama's fault (Tory was very fickle with the targets of her anger): she wasn't sure how he'd done it but Roslin had been full steam ahead with the rigged election until his little visit. And look at them all now! As if this planet hadn't been hard work before the Cylons moved in… Well, he'd just better get them off this rock as - FINALLY - planned.
It was nightfall as she approached the clinic, checking over her shoulder for Cylon spies. Though there was still an hour till curfew, she wouldn't be surprised if they arrested her on some trumped up charge considering her closeness to Roslin and today's debacle. She slipped inside the tent and headed for the cloud of smoke that was Doc Cottle. 'How is she?' she asked without preamble.
Cottle could appreciate the brevity. 'Alive,' he answered, tapping his cigarette in a metal kidney-bowl and looking older than his years with the weight of his fatigue. A year and a half ago he'd discharged Roslin from his infirmary on Galactica in the fervent hope that she would never have need of his services again. Little did he know that today he'd be wrist-deep in gut, desperately trying to sew her back together even as she flat-lined on his table. It just didn't seem gods-damned fair.
He had a soft spot for the former president - not that he'd ever admit to it. Until the attack on the Colonies he'd never had to treat a long-term illness like cancer, never had to stick with a patient as they were slowly robbed of their life and Roslin had been his first, and so brave…
He found that he preferred treating combat wounds: either, A, he could do something for them or, B, their suffering did not last long.
'When can we move her?'
Cottle's eyebrows reached for his hairline. 'Move her? She hasn't even regained consciousness yet!'
'If the Cylons find her here they're going to finish what they started. We need to get her to a bunker as soon as possible.'
'Move her now and you'll finish her off. The next twenty-four hours are critical, she needs to be monitored. Anyway, the Cylons aren't interested in this place.'
'They might get more interested after what happened today,' she warned.
He shrugged. 'You may be right about that - but she's not going anywhere until tomorrow at the earliest,' he said, matter-of-factly, stubbing out his cigarette. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I have patients to tend to.'
'Wait,' said Tory, sounding slightly less sure of herself. 'Can I see her?' Cottle cast a suspicious eye over her. 'I promise not to kidnap her,' she said, holding up her right hand as if she were being sworn into office.
Cottle scowled and led her over to an area completely obscured from view by green screens, leaving her with a curt, 'Don't touch anything.'
Tory had no desire whatsoever to interfere with the tubes and wires trailing off the gurney, in fact she was staying far, far back so it wasn't even a possibility. Laura looked small and pale in the bed, all trace of the ferocious leader gone, replaced with this all-too-fragile human being. Tory didn't know what to do with herself, like most people she wasn't a fan of hospitals and her gaze flicked from the heart monitor to the bags of blood and saline and back to Roslin several times before she shook her head and left.
She'll be fine, she told herself as she hurried away to update Tyrol.
AN: So short, so sorry. If I say please, will you review?