Kyle Reese stands still in front of John, waiting for John to strap on the heavy armored vest. John pulls the straps tightly, making sure it won't move during the battle. Kyle's been rattling off the plans for the attack for the past twenty minutes and John has just listened silently. It's a routine Kyle has before any battle, going over every single detail of the plan to make sure he has it correct. John just listens. He already knows every detail, but if it keeps Kyle calm and focused he doesn't mind.
John finishes tightening the vest and moves on to the shoulder armour, making sure its firm and in place. He notices Kyle has stopped talking and he raises an eyebrow, wanting an explanation as to why. Kyle is chewing his lip and doesn't offer a reason.
"Are you nervous?" John asks him as he pulls the final strap across Kyle's shoulder.
Kyle shakes his head and mutters "no."
John nods and steps back, making sure Kyle is fit for battle. He knows that going to fight is always risky and this might be the last time he sees his troops alive and that worries him. He knows Kyle has to stay alive, but he can't guarantee the safety of his other soldiers. All he can do is pray they make it. John gives Kyle a final nod before the two of them walk to the helicopter, which is waiting to carry them away.
Unbeknownst to any of the soldiers, buried deep in John's pocket is the small pouch of lavender. As he settles into his seat, while Kyle talks with the pilot, John reaches into his pocket and fishes it out. He raises it to his nose and breathes in deeply, letting the smell comfort him and calm his busy mind. Before anyone can see he stuffs it back into his pocket. The helicopter begins and John closes his eyes. Another battle about to begin, he wonders what the outcome of this will be.
Quinn listens to Miranda Andersons' heartbeat. It's steady and strong, but Miranda's face holds no emotion. She hasn't smiled, cried, nothing since losing her baby. She's shut down completely. Quinn takes the stethoscope and folds it back into her pocket and nods at Miranda, who slide off the table and leaves without another word. Miranda will be shut down for at least a few months and Quinn doesn't know how to pull her out of it.
Suddenly, she hears shouting from the hallway. Not just one person, many. Suddenly she remembers; the battle. The soldiers are coming back. Technically she was supposed to be done her shift but she knows they'll need all the help they can get. And she's right. About thirty people stream into the med bay, carrying soldiers who have a range of injuries. People are shouting at her, begging to help. Quinn can barely think before someone grabs her by the arm and hauls her over. When she looks to see who it is, she sees the panicked face of Kyle Reese.
"Help him!" he shouts. She pushes him away and sees John, being supported by two soldiers. He's unresponsive and there's blood all over his body. Quinn wastes no time and instructs the men to put John on a table and the first thing Quinn notices is how much blood is pouring out of large gashes on the left side of his face.
"Kyle get me a towel, please." She says, trying to keep her voice low and calm. She begins removing John's armored pieces and then his shirt, worried about what other injures he could have. Fortunately, there's only a few bruises and gashes on his abdomen, but nothing life threatening. How he manages to survive the machines time and time again, she doesn't know. But she's thankful, so thankful, he does.
Kyle runs back with a towel and Quinn presses it on John's face, soaking up the blood. There's a cut on his forehead, several on his cheek and one running through his lip and ending on his chin. These will leave scars, bad scars. But he'll be alive. Quinn knows she can't stop the bleeding without stitches. Tonight will be a long night.
When John wakes up, the first thing he notices is a searing pain on the left side of his face. His hand goes to touch his face, but someone grabs him. He turns and sees an exhausted looking Quinn sitting beside him. Her movements are slow as she pulls her hand back, there are bags under her eyes. Her hair is greasy and limp as it falls over her shoulders and her shoulders are sagged. She looks like she was awake for hours. It dawns on him that he may have been knocked out for a long time too.
"How long was I out?" he croaks. His throat is raw, dry and sore and it is impacting his speech.
Quinn tucks her knees up and leans her head on her hand, looking like she was trying desperately to stay awake and answer his question. "Um, you were out for about eight hours. I had to give you a sedative. Do you remember what happened on the battlefield?" she asks him.
John squints and tires hard to remember what happened, but his brain is so foggy. He remember reaching the camp, fighting countless machines like usual, but then he remembers seeing a machine appear out of the blue besides Kyle. He knew Kyle can't die. It would change everything. So John did the only thing he could; run forwards and throw himself on the machine. The gun was kicked away but the machine had a sharp blade protruding from its left knuckle, and it came in contact with John's stomach. Luckily, his vest stopped most of the impact but it still managed to cut the sensitive skin. But then the terminator punched John, making him lose his grip. Then the blade was on his face. He can't remember what happened after that.
"John?" Quinn asks again. He looks at her and just shakes his head, not wanting to tell her the story yet. She understands and then pulls herself to her feet.
"Okay. You should stay here for a while longer until your stitches are healed. I just wanted to make sure you woke up… I'm going back to my room." She says and yawns, stretching her sore arms.
"You waited the whole time?" he murmurs. Despite being asleep for so long, he's starting to feel drowsy again.
"Of course. You would do the same," she says. She begins walking to the door, but then John makes a noise and she stops.
"I need to go back to my room. The medical bay needs this table and I don't need to be on it any longer than needed," he says and sits up slowly, wincing as his stitches pull on his abdomen. Quinn looks at him and looks like she's about to argue, but he gives her the "just don't" look. She knows he's right, they need the table and it would be more efficient for him to return to his room. So Quinn walks over and gingerly takes on of his arms and drapes it over her shoulders. He looks at you and raises his eyebrow.
"What are you doing?" he mutters as she pulls him to his feet.
"Just lean on me. Let me help," she responds quietly. John leans his full weight on her and they begin down the hallway. It takes them a long time, because Quinn is too tired and John can't move too quickly because of his stitches.
"My face is going to scar isn't it?" he asks bluntly when they eventually meet his room.
"Yes. But scars add character." She answers. They push the door open and both stagger into the room. Quinn leads him to the bed and he lays down, wincing and groaning as his stitches pull. Quinn makes sure he's not bleeding and in a somewhat comfortable looking position before standing up. The movement makes her head spin and she loses her balance and falls to the floor. She hasn't slept in almost 22 hours, her body is weak. John sits up quickly and swings his legs off the bed, ready to drop to the floor to check on her.
"No, your stitches-"
"Fuck my stitches. Are you okay?" he asks as he kneels down. She nods and just mumbles something along the lines of "I'm tired". John slips his arm around her waist and carefully pulls her up to the bed.
"What are you doing?" she asks. Her eyes are closed and her voice is muffled by the mattress.
"Just sleep here tonight." He answers. She's rolled on to her side, her back facing him and he gets in beside her. Back to back, John is asleep almost instantly. Perhaps, for him, Quinn has the same effect as lavender does.