a/n: I don't own it.

Triage

Meredith Vickers right leg had been crushed and she had received a severe blow to the head. These injuries would have killed her under normal circumstances.

The fact she was still alive life was due to, of all things, her own inexperience. The settings on her compression suit, which would have been adjusted in a hurry after she put it on, were far too high. It was a bit stiff and uncomfortable and if she had been moving around the planet for longer than ten or fifteen minutes she would have passed out from lack of oxygen. But she must have been knocked out quickly, possibly when her escape pod hit the planet, or when Prometheus had collided with the Engineer's ship. The abnormal compression settings and her unconscious state had preserved her oxygen longer. Additionally, the pressure provided by the suit had served as tourniquet of sorts for her leg. Under normal conditions she would've bled to death from her injury. David still couldn't be sure that she would make it.

He created a padded area where she should be more comfortable in a navigation pod and administered an anti-inflammatory agent from the first aid kit from the rover. He treated the wound on her head. Her leg was a lost cause. It had been completely crushed and he decided his best course of action was to continue the compression on her upper leg until she could get more comprehensive treatment.

Conscious of his questionable state of repair, he began to gingerly investigate the ship's controls. The ship was clearly superior to theirs and, if he was right, they should be able to reach Earth within a matter of weeks. Once they got closer he would have to gain enough of an understanding of the communication system to signal their home planet that it was the crew of the Prometheus and not an unknown alien visitor.

He began to think in terms of food and water for his human charges. There were some rations on the NR6 but not quite enough for the three weeks he estimated they would be in space.

He looked at Ms. Vickers. If one of the two humans had to be sacrificed to allow the other to survive it certainly made sense to him that the more severely injured of the two should be allowed to die. Additionally, it was his preference that Dr. Shaw live. Unfortunately, Ms. Vickers was his de facto master, after the death of Mr. Weyland. She was unlikely to sacrifice herself so that her healthier traveling companion could live.

It was a dilemma. David weighed his alternatives while doing reconnaissance in the rest of the ship. As he suspected, there was no food or water to be found. They had to consider themselves lucky that the ship's power source had survived.

When Dr. Shaw awoke, he was waiting for her with an injection of antibiotics and a small cup of water.

"David," she said, startled. He extended the cup of water and waited while she drank it.

"I'm sure you're quite thirsty but we have limited water and with the length of our voyage we have to ration our supplies." He continued to wait while she processed his words.

"Then there's no food or water on board?" she asked, comprehension dawning on her.

He shook his head. "If I may suggest, Dr. Shaw, your temperature is a few degrees higher than is healthy. I fear you may have…continuing side effects from your ordeal." She raised an eyebrow at his euphemism but he continued talking before she could take him to task as to whose fault "her ordeal" was.

"If you would consent I would like to administer an additional antibiotic." He waited patiently while she considered it and then she nodded. He pressed the plastic syringe to her arm.

"Ow!" she flinched as he pressed slightly too hard.

"My apologies, Dr. Shaw," he dipped his head slightly with embarrassment. "My fine motor control does not seem quite right. An issue with the damage I sustained at the hands of the Engineer." He saw the slight softening of her eyes with pity with relief.

"How is Miss Vickers?" she asked, gesturing towards the body of the woman.

"She has a crushed right leg and a rather bad concussion but she will undoubtedly live." He paused. "There is no hyper-sleep capability here because their ships are much faster than ours. Still, it will take a minimum of three weeks to get back to Earth."

Dr. Shaw didn't mention that there itinerary had changed. He thought he could see it in her eyes. At least, that's what he assumed was causing the flatness of her gaze. He thought back to the enthusiasm he had seen there in the past.

"I'm going to have to remove Miss Vicker's leg," he said on the third day of their voyage. "The tourniquet I applied to stop the bleeding is causing the flesh to necrotize and there are not enough antibiotics in the emergency kit."

"How will we…" Dr. Shaw's voice trailed off. She had been quiet and he had spoken to her only to give her rations and confirm that her temperature had dropped.

"I believe I can cauterize it but I will need you to tie off the major arteries," he held up his hands to remind her that his motor skills were not their best.

"David, I'm not sure that's the right thing to do," she said. She was looking at him with uncertainty. As if she wanted to say something but was fearful about his response.

"What is your concern Dr. Shaw," he asked. He kept his voice calm.

"I can't be certain I can trust you," she said, her voice tentative. "In fact, I know I can't trust you." Her voice picked up confidence at this sentence and she squared her jaw at him.

"Dr. Shaw," he said. "I am programmed to protect and obey members of the Weyland family. With Peter Weyland's death, his daughter, Meredith Vickers, becomes my number one priority. I am incapable of making a decision which is intended to harm her." He turned away from her and continued.

"There is a chance that she will be harmed by the removal of her leg. But it is 38% less than the chance that she will die if we do not remove her leg. To do so I need your help. I cannot seal off the artery. I need you to do that."

He stood facing the navigation console. Finally he heard her move behind him and then felt her hand lightly touch his shoulder.

"Ok," she said.

a/n: Not only is this extremely late but it's unbetaed. Also, I am neither a doctor nor an aerospace engineer. So please forgive my meandering about in their territory. Thank you for reading! J