"Oh my God!"
Mal whirled around at Kaylee's exclamation, pistol in hand, ready to shoot whoever it were that was attacking.
There was no one attacking, though just the new passenger swayin' on her feet, shirt soaked through with blood, face dead white.
"Gan ni niang," he swore, running back down the gangplank. He made it just as the girl's eyes rolled back into her head and her legs gave out.
River caught her, keeping her from falling. She was taller from the girl, but they both looked to weigh about the same, and River stumbled a bit as the deadweight hit her.
"What the hell happened?" he demanded, scooping the girl into his arms. Her head fell limply against his chest, and her arms hung "She was fine a second ago."
"I don't know," Simon said, grabbing the girl's wrist. He tugged back to the ship, the doctor mask sliding over his face. "She just passed out. Well, I knew something was wrong before. Her hands were ice cold, her complexion was getting increasingly waxy as she was out there, and I could see her pulse slowing. It's boiling out there, and she was shivering like she was in the snow."
"Why didn't you say anything?" This was damn inconvenient, her getting all hurt and passin' out. If he were smart, he'd dump her back outside and just take off.
"Don't even think about it," River said in that creepfyin' voice of hers.
Mal turned his head and found her keepin' pace beside him, eyes cold and flinty. "I weren't really gonna," he replied defensively.
"Put her down," Simon said once inside the infirmary. Trusting Mal to follow his orders, he moved to the sink, rolling up his sleeves.
Gently, Mal set the girl on the bed. Gazing down at her for a moment, he reached out his hand and brushed her bangs off her forehead. Shock or not, shivering or whatever, she was sweating like she was made of water. Mal had her blood on his hands. It streaked over her sweaty flesh, red on white, like something out of a story his mama used to tell him.
"Captain?" Zoe stuck her head into the infirmary. "She all right?"
"She will be," Simon answered. He had gloves on now and was unbuttoning the soaked flannel the girl was wearing. "We can still take off, if Wash was wondering." He looked up at Mal almost challengingly.
"I ain't just gonna dump an injured girl out on the Docks, Simon," Mal protested, anger rising. What kind of monster did they think he was. He glanced at Zoe. "Take off when ready. We need to get this cargo to Dyton Colony."
She nodded and disappeared.
"I'll wait until we're in the air before I start to sew," Simon said as he set his instruments by the bed. "Can you help me get the shirt off?"
Mal nodded and finished unbuttoning her shirt. Underneath was a bloody bandage that looked as if it, too, had once been a shirt. Besides the wounds causing her to bleed, there were bruises on her torso, too.
"Woe de tian ah," Mal breathed. "What do you think happened to her?"
"Any number of things, but she didn't say," Simon replied.
Serenity lurched as Wash lifted off.
"Ah, good." Simon picked up his scissors and started to cut the bandage away when, with a gasp, the girl's eyes flew open.
She was a fast one, no doubt about it. The girl was almost off the bed before Mal realized she'd moved.
"Whoa, there," he exclaimed, catching her by the shoulders as she leapt off the bed. "Calm down. You're safe."
She groaned as her head fell heavily against his chest. "Right. Serenity. Safe." Slowly, like there were weights attached to her hair, she raised his head. There was a crooked sort of half-smile on her lips as she said, "I sort of hoped I'd still be unconscious for this."
"As did I," Simon said. He gently pulled her away from Mal and helped her lay back down. "Are you sure I can't give you something for the pain? Not even a local?" he asked as he slipped some kinda monitor on her index finger.
Camille laughed breathlessly, pain written across her face. "Local won't do no good; makes my skin feel like it's on fire. Just give me a minute."
"What?"
Mal didn't think he'd ever heard Simon sound so startled, and, truth to tell, he didn't exactly blame the boy. Camille's shirt was soaked red with blood. She was so pale, she looked dead, and she was asking for a minute? In another minute, Simon might be doing an autopsy instead of a surgery.
River came in and stood besides Mal. Her eyes were wide and she seemed more quiet and still than usual. As if sensing her, Camille opened her eyes. Her lips seemed to curl a little before her eyes fell shut once again. A wrinkle appeared between her eyes as her breathing slowed. She seemed to sink into herself, her chest rising and falling evenly. After about a minute, her face went slack, all hurt and tension melting away from it.
"She's ready," River said. Her hand was on Camille's forehead, her own eyes closed. It seemed to Mal that her breathing matched Camille's, and the blank expression on her face was the same as the girl on the table. It was creepy but, then, much of what River did and said was creepy.
Simon changed his gloves, slipping on a new pair, and then picked up the scissors again. "Mei mei," he said, cutting away the bandage. "Perhaps you should wait outside."
River bent over and pressed her forehead briefly against Camille's. When she stood again, she mouthed, "No," without making a sound.
"Very well," Simon said distractedly. A mask of clinical detachment slamming over his face as he studied at his patient.
Mal wished he had such detachment. It wasn't that he were soft or nothing, or the sight of blood made him sick. He was a solider. He'd survived battle after battle before livin' through Serenity Valley, and you didn't get through an experience like that without developing a tolerance for this kind of stuff.
But, at the same time, there was a difference between seeing a solider injured in the line of duty, and an unarmed civilian beaten bloody by someone obviously bigger and stronger than they were. This girl looked like she'd been used as a fighting dummy.
"All right," Simon said as the wounds were revealed. "Good."
"Good?" Looked like most of her blood was on the outside and that weren't never good in Mal's experience. Course, it were just a few slices, not a shot or nothing worse; cuts were usually fixable.
"The cuts are clean," he said, prodding them gently. Fresh blood welled out, coating the gloves Simon wore. The smell of blood hung heavy in the air and Mal's head spun. He wondered how River and Camille stayed so unaffected, but, then again, they seemed to be in some sort of trance or something.
"Her stomach hasn't been punctured," Simon added, muttering. "There's some muscle damage, but it's not too bad." He turned and prepare a needle. "I should be able to sew her up without too much complication. I just don't like doing this without medication." Simon turned, a pensive look on his face. "Captain, I'd appreciate if you'd stay." He met Mal's eyes.
"Me? I ain't much good with surgery, Doc, you know that. I can dope 'em, I can tie 'em up, but I can't do much else."
"You can hold her down. There's nothing in her to either dull the pain or put her to sleep. Her request was no pain killers, and she's lost so much blood, I'm afraid a sedative might send her into a coma. I need you to hold her should the pain get to be too much."
Jayne would be better, Mal wanted to say. He had the stronger, brute strength. Or Zoe; she was a woman, and a hurt girl might feel better being held down by a woman. "Can't you use restraints?"
Simon shook his head. "I need whatever holds her down to be able to move easily and quickly. You can; I'd have to keep readjusting the restrains on the bed. And, besides, they wouldn't stop her torso from jerking. Mal, there's no time to argue."
"Right." She was bleeding to death, remember Mal? Why not talk about this a little more, get all her money instead of just what she owes for passage.
Tentatively, he put his hands on Camille's shoulders and pressed down. As he'd been when carryin' her before, Mal was surprised such a slight-lookin' little thing had such well-defined muscles in her shoulders and arms. The girl had power beneath her skin, no doubt about it.
Simon started sewing. Mal could feel the tremors in Camille as the needle sunk into her lacerated flesh, but except for some tightening in her shoulders and one, sharp intake of breath, she didn't react. It was like she was asleep. Or dead.
He shifted his weight and swallowed, thinkin' about that. But Simon wouldn't let her die; he was good at his job, and he weren't going to fail now.
River stayed where she was, her hands framing Camille's face. Mal took to watching her, wondering. The girl was strange, that was no question, but she'd gotten a lot better since she and Kaylee had started keeping house together, so to speak. River was coherent, suddenly--mostly--and she interacted with everyone almost like she was normal, except, of course, when she didn't.
He wondered why River was obsessed with this passenger was. Was it just that she was hurt? Was it some kind of sex thing? If so, Kaylee was in for a world of heartbreak, and the crew was in for a rough time. Everyone loved Kaylee. River, too. And even though there'd been problems when it became obvious that the girls were more than just friends--Jayne had been nothing but crude, Inara had been a strangely withdrawn, and Simon had walked around in a state of shock for weeks--they were both sweet and loveable and everyone liked seeing them happy together.
If they stopped being together because this girl... Mal was afraid the sunshine in Kaylee would dim. If that happened, fugitive or no, River was gone. He'd choose Kaylee over the Tams any day, especially if a Tam chose this stranger over crew.
It was a mistake for crew to get involved, that was for sure. He really shoulda cracked down on everyone to keep it from happening. Wash and Zoe were enough of a nuisance; now River and Kaylee'd followed their example, or at least close enough. Once they'd taken up together, Simon had started his major push for them to take a similar path. Mal had refused; standards needed to be maintained, gorramit. Besides; River and Kaylee might be happy now, but they were in for a world of unhappiness should something split them apart.
Mal was startled from his thoughts by a sudden, loud beeping. The monitor above Camille's head was flashing wildly, numbers and squiggly lines jerking all over the place. His heart rate spike as he watched them, trying to make sense. He was no doctor, but he did know that it was rarely a good sign when somethin' started beeping like that during surgery.
River gasped and let go of Camille's face. Her eyes were wide and panicked, and she brought her hands up to her mouth, biting back what sounded like a moan. "Hurts," she whispered. Then, louder, "Hurts."
"What's goin' on?" Mal asked, stepping back.
Simon was very calm and controlled. He was facinatin' to watch in the infirmary, all the insecurity and awkwardness he had in real life gone and replaced by this confident and cool professional. The startlin' in the boy was one reason Mal enjoyed having him aboard; it was interesting to see how one person could contain so many different faces underneath the same skin.
"Her blood pressure's dropped," Simon said, setting down the needle. He grabbed a computerized pad and a cotton swab from the counter. Carefully, he swiped the swab through the blood pooling on the girl's stomach, then smeared it on the pad. After a few seconds, the computer beeped; Simon nodded and crossed the room to the cooling unit, from which he removed a bag of plasma. "She's lost too much blood; I need to get her stabilized."
"Will she be okay?" Mal asked.
"She should be," Simon replied as he opened a drawer and pulled out some tubing and another needle.
"Pain," River was whispering, hands on her own head. "Cut. Bleed. Stand and watch, good soldiers fight on, don't die, don't drop. So small, so tired, have to keep going, don't stop or they hurt you. Hurt and it's not the end, when you get to the finish line, they just hook you up and hurt some more. Cut into skin, screams get you hit, don't make a sound, don't make a sound, good soldiers don't make a sound." She stopped talking suddenly, a low keening sound replacing the words. Trembling, River crouched on the floor, covering her ears and rocking back and forth.
"Kaylee!" Simon yelled as he hooked Camille up to the IV.
Mal heard feet pounding on the metal deck, and then Kaylee appeared, face smudged with grease. "What... River!" She started crossing the room to her, but Simon's voice interrupted her path.
"She'll be fine. Give her a dose of her medication and take her out, please."
Kaylee nodded and went to get River's medicine. Everyone on the crew had been trained to administer the stuff, just in case there was an emergency and Simon wasn't there. They could all recognize the signs, too, although, usually, River was good at knowing when she was close to the edge.
"So much pain," River moaned as Kaylee injected her.
"It's okay, sweetie," Kaylee said, kissing her on the cheek. "Simon's going to take care of her. Everything will be fine." Kaylee helped River to her feet, arm tight around her waist.
River shook in Kaylee's arms, her tear filled eyes on Camille. Still babbling about pain and bleeding and good soldiers, she let herself be led from the room.
"What was that about?"
"It's River," Simon said, obviously concerned. "When she gets like that, I don't know what's going on in her mind. Are you thinking about war or battles?"
"A bit, yeah."
"Maybe she was getting it from you." He adjusted the tube running to her arm, then pressed a button on the computer. "There." Blood started flowing into Camille even as it continued to seep out of her wound.
Mal shook his head. "I'm beginning to regret we took this girl on," he said. Blood wasn't exactly cheap. It wasn't that he thought it was wasted, because the girl obviously needed help, but what if the job went bad and they needed more blood for his crew?
"Don't worry, Captain," Simon said with that dry tone in his voice. "She's the same blood type as I am. I'll refill the pint myself when I'm sure she's okay. The rest of the crew will just have to try not to get themselves injured for an hour or two after." His eyes were twinkling when he glanced up at Mal.
"We'll do our best, but I make no promises," he responded.
Simon just snorted. "You do that." He picked up the needle again.
With a sigh, Mal leaned back over Camille and placed his hands on her shoulders. She looked like she was unconscious, she was so still. Plus, with the blood loss, she had probably blacked out.
Then, her eyelashes fluttered. "Doc!" Mal started, but Simon was already sinking the needle into her skin.
Camille gasped, eyes flying open. Her face twisted in sudden agony and a low groan was wrung from her throat. And, all of a sudden, Mal was straining against her, trying to keep her down, all the while saying soothing words, like calm down and your safe and it's gonna be okay, even though he knew that safety wasn't the problem here.
"Hang on, Camille," Simon said, not stopping. "I've only got a few more."
She nodded, eyes dazed and wild. "Okay," she gasped. Sweat rolled down her face; Mal wanted to wipe it away, but he was too afraid that if he let go, she'd sit up and hurt herself more.
"Breathe deep," Mal said, not knowing what else to say. It always seemed, though, that whenever he was hurting worst, people were always telling him to breath.
Camille smiled and gave a breathless laugh before taking his advice. She reached up and grabbed his biceps, squeezing as she breathed. The girl was strong, Mal'd give her that. She was being sewed up with no drugs, and she was squeezing the hell out of his arm.
"Bet you're regrettin' turning down the drugs, ain't you?" he said.
"Not really," she gritted out. Her back arched suddenly, eyes flying wide.
"Hold her," Simon snapped.
Mal dropped his elbow across her solar plexus, holding her down. His arm pressed against her breasts, tugging at the thin bra she was wearin'. "Sorry," he said, glancing down.
"Just don't try to take advantage," she said, half-smiling up at him. "I'm not that kind of girl."
He smiled down at her, heartened by the fact she could still joke, even now. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Good." Her hand slid up his arm until it was behind his neck. Still digging into his skin with her nails, she squeezed her eyes shut.
Her breathing grew regular again, although she made little gasping moans every few minutes. Simon had finished up with the first cut and moved to the second. It was smaller, but no less painful. It seemed like the stitching went on for eternity, but finally, finally Simon said, "Done. You can let her go."
Mal unclenched his fingers from her shoulders and stepped back. He was embarrassed to see faint bruises forming where he'd held her. Either she had really thin skin, or he'd been holding a bit too hard.
"It's because of the blood loss," Simon said, as if reading his mind. He picked up the scissors again. "And she looks like she bruises easy to begin with. Don't worry about it. Camille, are you still with us?"
Camille's eyes opened. "Yeah," she said, voice heavy and drowsy. "I'm still here."
Simon smiled at her and cut the straps off her bra carefully. "How do you feel?"
"Awful." She winced as he carefully pulled her bra strap off, baring her breasts and revealing yet more bruises and a few scrapes. "How many stitches?"
"Ten on the cut across your stomach, seven on the one on your side. How did you get them?"
Mal flushed as Camille met his eyes. He'd been staring at her breasts--the only part of her torso not completely purple. Quickly, he averted his eyes, cursing himself for being such a sha zi. It weren't like he'd never seen breasts before, and it weren't like she was displaying them for show, neither. She was hurt and her doctor was taking care of her.
"Fight," Camille said. "Boyfriend."
"Boyfriend or master?" Mal asked, embarrassment making him blunt.
Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not a slave."
He looked back at her. "It's all right if you are. I don't hold with slavery and have no problem helping one out and getting her set in a better life. But I want to be told up front what I'm getting into. It's better all around, ain't it, Doc?"
Simon shot him a look, but simply answered, "Of course, Captain. Besides, if you are a slave, you probably have a tracking implant that needs to be removed. I can take it out, but don't' want to risk it until you've recovered."
"I am not a slave," she said again, voice icy cold.
"I'm glad to hear it," Mal told her. "Anyone comin' after you? Boyfriend, boss? Boyfriend's guards or whatever?"
"No. No one's coming after me. I won the fight." She said it with a sense of finality, her face stone.
Dead then. He wondered how much of the blood was hers, then dismissed the thought. It didn't really matter but, if he had his guess, she'd done a good job of cleaning the bastard that did this off herself. The rest was all hers.
But someone was dead. "How can I be sure the Alliance won't be on our tail now? You killed a man. They don't look kindly on that sort of thing."
She snorted. "The Alliance only cares when one of them gets killed. My boyfriend weren't exactly what you'd call high class. More like, someone that they wouldn't mind getting rid of." Her eyes fell shut and she went still once more.
"What's with the pain killers?" Mal asked. "Why didn't you want 'em?"
"Have a bad reaction to them," she said softly. Sleepily. "Either put me to sleep so I can't wake up for days, or send my heart into overdrive. A doctor... taught me... pain management. Hypnosis-like. To get through pain. I..." Her voice trailed off and face went slack.
"I think that's all you'll get from her right now," Simon said adjusting the IV. "She'll be out for a few hours yet."
"Call me when she wakes up."
"Promise you won't interrogate her to death," Simon said. Mal forgot how protective he could be over his patients when the crew managed to stay healthy for a stretch. "She's just been through a traumatizing experience. I know how important it is to keep the Alliance off our tails better than anyone, but look at her. Does she really look like a threat to them?"
"Did Saffron look like a criminal mastermind? Does your sister look like assassin material?" Mal retorted.
Simon paled. "We don't know that's what they were doing to her."
"No, we don't. But, fact is, she looks sweet but she's been a danger to us before. Maybe this girl ain't all she seems, neither."
"Or maybe she's exactly what she seems. How many girls in the galaxy are trained assassins and how many are being abused by their boyfriends?"
Mal frowned and looked at the sleeping girl on the bed. "I understand fightin' for something you believe in, trainin' soldiers, and stealin' from them that have too much when they're those that don't have nothing. That I get. What I don't understand is beatin' on the one you're supposed to love. That don't make no sense to me."
"Humans rarely make sense," Simon said. "And almost nothing is ever fair."
"Yeah," Mal said, shaking his head. "You got that right, Doc." He looked up at Simon. "Call me when she wakes. I'm going to check on the cargo." Turning from the bed, he left without another glance behind him.
(Gan ni niang motherfucker)