Disclaimer: I do not own D9 or its characters.
Rue: Another chapter! Tell me what you think, I would love to hear what you have to say. Anywho, enjoy!
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When Christopher returned he trilled in greetings.
"Daddy's awake!" Theo's head popped up with an excited smile.
"I can see that," Christopher responded, patting the child's head.
"How are you feeling Desmond?"
"Ah… just, 'dandy'," he tried to say it in English. Christopher clicked in confusion.
"Not… the best." He re-phrased, and grunted before he closed his eyes again. His mouth was dry, and his hunger had finally crawled back into focus. With a rattled sigh Christopher grabbed something before sitting down next to him with the water, food, and a small plastic container.
"You shouldn't have left…" Christopher filled the plastic container with water, and offered it to Desmond from the side of his mouth. Desmond slowly opened his jaw, tender and sore. Christopher tipped the container carefully, until Desmond had finished it all together.
"I suspect you won't be able to tear into your food," Christopher went on to say. Examining Desmond's mandibles, and the swollen labrum. Desmond flinched back, hissing from the pain brought on by his sharp movement. Desmond had opened his eyes then, staring up at Christopher as he smacked his jaws painfully. Moistened now, for the time being.
"I… had my reasons, yeah?"
Christopher raised a familiar brow at him. The alien's gaze quite matter of fact and unimpressed with the response. "You could have died!" Christopher snapped back.
"Ah… ah, but I didn't, see?"
Christopher shook his head with a huff. Desmond could sense the prawn's frustration, but had found it hard to smell anything for the moment. A subtle shift in Christopher's scent would have confirmed said frustration, but that part of his world appeared… lost to Desmond. Lost in the sense that it was numbed, and no longer as sharp as he had hoped it to be. The only thing Desmond could compare to it might have been the sensation of one's ears getting water trapped in them, or when a cold plugged his sinuses.
"You need food. I will chew it for you," Christopher told him.
But the idea made him feel sick despite the pain of his physical body, and his hunger. They'd done this for him when he had been changing. When he had lost his teeth, and his face was anything but formed and functional.
"Do… do we have to?" He heaved and shuddered afterwards. Reconsidering his reluctance to visit the help centre.
"You won't be able to recover Desmond… Your body needs protein."
"What, what about ah, the resource facility? Maybe… they have ah, nut-rition'al shakes or something…" Desmond's voice shook slightly, his breath wavering. His eyes had fallen down during their little conversation from fatigue. He opened them again to view Christopher's face, contorting in thought; the shells on his face scrunched up with brooding eyes.
"Alright..."
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Desmond grunted and wheezed, squeaked even and hissed as Christopher and Oliver helped him to the resource facility; one on each side of him. Theo kept close, maintaining a vigilant eye on Desmond and any other prawns that took notice. It seemed like an eternity to Desmond. Thankfully, the resource facility did not appear busy.
When they arrived at the medical area, one of the attendants quickly ushered Desmond onto a gurney.
"My god…" The attendant was a woman. Two guards appeared to accompany her. Christopher warbled, and stepped between them and Desmond. The woman frowned, and followed his gaze.
"Hey, you know what? Why don't one of you go back to your post, and the other can stand guard at a distance. Okay?"
"It's your funeral, doc," one of the guards shrugged. The other snorted, and shook his head smugly before they backed off.
Sighing, she regarded the four prawns. Oliver had scooped Theo up into his arms. Holding the child closely to him. The woman hesitated, regarding the rather intimidating glare of their eyes before gathering her wits. "I'm Doctor Bouchard. May I…?" She gestured towards Desmond with a hand. Christopher nodded, stood there for a few more seconds, and stepped aside.
She approached Desmond, who kept his eyes on her.
"Hello… can you tell me your name?"
"… Desmond."
"Ed… -mond? Edmond?" She stopped herself.
"Ah, we'll figure that out later. You look rough there Edmond… Would it be all right if I put this on one of your fingers? It just measures the oxygen- air, in your blood…"
Desmond nodded with a wince.
"Great…" She placed the oxygen monitor, designed for the alien's large and thick fingers, onto his middle finger.
"Is it okay if I do my assessment Edmond? I'll need to look at the damages. I'll let you know if I need to touch okay?" Doctor Bouchard moved to his side and grabbed a pair of gloves, glancing briefly at the oxygen monitor.
Christopher trembled for a moment, his eyes drifting from her gloves to the white overcoat, and then across to Desmond. He took a deep, sharp breath, spooking briefly as his hands pressed into the gurney's metal side rails. Provoking a startle from Dr. Bouchard with a squeak of her own.
"Be careful with him," Christopher warned. Theo chimed with a chirp of his own.
"I… I promise I will." She was tense as she met the prawn's gaze. Putting in an effort to calm her senses despite her own heart thumping madly into her ears. She nodded to Christopher with a steady exhale.
And with that, the doctor went about her business. Although steady and slow to reassure the aliens. She obtained a forehead temperature with one of the thermometers. Surprisingly, she went about prodding Desmond with her fingertips, examining the alien who complied without the usual resistance observed in most alien patients. Taking care not to inflict too much pain as she took note of the gashes along his body. Examined the bent antennae with due care. She proceeded to flash a light across his eyes. All along she could clearly feel the sharp gazes of the prawns burning into her. Biting her inner cheek, she tested Desmond's sensation, and motor control in the process.
"Alright…" She pursed her lips briefly.
"You seem to be stable Edmond. That means… you are not in immediate danger. But our greatest concern is going to be preventing any infection your open wounds might cause… ah- sickness, from your wounds. Do you… understand me?"
"Yes," He croaked.
"I'll get one of my assistants to help me. I'll… I'll have to consider if we need to reset some of your skin."
Desmond frowned.
"We have meds for pain, if you would like?"
"Yes."
Bouchard nodded. "I'll be back… is, is there anything else I should know about?" She regarded Christopher and Oliver. Christopher shook his head.
"Alright. I'll be back in just a bit." With that she left from the opening of the sheets that served as room dividers and walls.
"Will you be okay father?" Oliver tried to whisper.
"Yes, yes…"
Christopher was tapping his fingertips against his palms. His gaze flitting back between the guard in view, and where he'd thought the other one was stationed.
Oliver approached Desmond's view with Theo, giving a weak smile. "You doing okay?"
"Sort of… it's just, really painful."
Oliver nodded, cooing to the little one in his arms. "Dad's going to be alright."
Theo's little antennae swished up and down, uncertain, anxious perhaps. When Desmond looked on at the young one, he found himself surprised. He would have expected the child's crying to fill the air, knowing that the little one would not have dealt well with his father in such a condition. But the child visibly held his cries back, little mandibles and labrum pulled tight to his tiny face. As if, trying to be brave for his 'dad'. Or perhaps, knowing better, that crying would only upset his dad.
Desmond looked away, not having the will to comfort his son.
The woman returned with an assistant; each carrying a tray of supplies with them. They placed them down on small side table.
"Will you be able to drink down the medicine Edmond?" Dr. Bouchard asked as she put another pair of gloves on at the bedside.
Desmond grunted, "Yeah, think so."
"Alicia will be helping me with your wounds. Is that alright?"
"Yeah."
"Alright." She unscrewed a water bottle they'd brought in with the trays, and grabbed a small paper cup. Scooping up the tablet placed inside.
"What is that?" Christopher watched them as he stood at the gurney's end.
"We call it a T3. Short for Tylenol three. There's stronger stuff… but I want to see if this works first. The stronger stuff doesn't seem to react well with your… body make-up. The side effects tend to be increased."
She hesitated as Christopher went on to speak.
"And the T3?"
"In most cases it has worked fine. They may cause some drowsiness, lightheadedness…"
Christopher nodded. The doctor nodded back, and regarded Desmond.
"I'll place the tablet in your mouth okay? And then I'll bring the water."
"Yeah, yeah…" Desmond huffed in irritation. The woman did as she said. He swallowed the pill down with ease.
Dr. Bouchard went around the other side with the tray, and grabbed the side table from the other room to place it on. She began unwrapping another small packaged tray, pouring a clear liquid labeled with 'sterile water' into one of its plastic pockets. The task ahead would be a meticulous one.
Bouchard and Alicia went about cleaning Desmond's wounds. Most of them proved superficial. The severely damaged portions of exoskeleton appeared as wet, bloodied gashes to Desmond's right upper arm and thigh, and his left side. They provided sterile bandages for those wounds, and an antibiotic cream for the superficial ones.
Halfway through, she considered the other aliens.
"Would any of you like a seat?"
Christopher shook his head, tense and rigid in movement. Oliver nodded.
"But… I don't want to leave my father," the adolescent responded.
"That's fine. Just push this sheet to the other end. There's an empty bed on the other side you can sit on."
Oliver hesitated, before sliding the sheet divider over. He placed Theo down beside him on the extra gurney. The young one continued to stare at the humans, unable to recognize their odd speech.
Bouchard smiled as she glanced back briefly. Her eyes met Theo's for a second.
"Usually the little ones are such a handful." She glanced up at Christopher, but he ignored her.
"We have food here. I'll have someone bring something up."
"We do not want to stay." Christopher spoke. "The night is not safe. We must be back before nightfall."
The woman nodded reluctantly out of respect for the alien's wishes.
"Yes… But I wouldn't advise it. How long ago did Edmond get these wounds?"
Christopher gruffed, narrowing his eyes on her.
"A day."
"I'm surprised he isn't in worse shape… see this wound?" She pointed to the one on his side. Christopher followed her finger and regarded the gash as she went on.
"There's a bit of puss there already… If he does end up getting sick, it's going to be fast and quick. At least from my experience…" She clenched her jaw, and began to irrigate it with a syringe. Desmond shivered momentarily from the odd sensation.
"What do you recommend?"
"Stay for the night. Edmond will be monitored for infection. See how he is in the morning…" She regarded the prawn before continuing her work. "We haven't reached full capacity since making camp… by law, MNU isn't permitted to step foot into our area either."
"What about those guards?"
"They're kept on the outside. Merely as sentries… We're a neutral organization – a group of people who provide care regardless of who requires it."
Desmond barked with laughter. The pain had lessened, but the laughing made his body throb. This sound he made, it's guttural cajoling made the pair stop what they were doing.
"Is there something wrong?" Bouchard regarded Desmond.
Christopher snorted, "He's fine…"
"Yesss… fine. I am fine…" Desmond glowered before settling back into his silence. Drawn away into his thoughtless head world. Content with the nice, elated high from the drug.
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Before Bouchard left with her quiet assistant, she provided them with food.
In that time Oliver had wheeled their gurney closer to Desmond's. He entertained Theo with the lessons he usually taught the young ones. So far, the child's stress was eased by this distraction. Eager to learn everything Oliver had to offer.
Which left Christopher sitting in an uncomfortable chair beside the head of Desmond's bed. For a moment both adults remained quiet. Though it was obvious to Desmond that Christopher was contemplating their next move.
With a fuzzy realization, the hybrid could understand how troubling it was to have all of them there at the same time. If things were to truly go awry, Christopher would be forced into a situation that placed his 'family' at risk. Desmond thought this was unfortunate. Then again a part of him, that stubborn, ugly human part didn't really care.
The same mentality that had wreaked his conflicted head that following week, what had pulled him away from Christopher, Oliver and Theo at night, easily manifested throughout the day.
Perhaps this was why Christopher remained stoic and quiet. He would not consider what Desmond might have to say, because Desmond had already given up. He wanted no part in this world, in this in between.
When would Christopher give up?
"It's… close to sun down." Desmond murmured.
Christopher nodded. Hunched over as he sat, keeping his eyes at the entrance of the room.
Bouchard drew back the curtain. "Hello."
Christopher grunted back. She let herself in and stood at the edge of Desmond's bed.
"How are you feeling Edmond?"
"Okay." He paused, and added; "Think I… could use that T3 soon…"
"Yes, you're scheduled for some in a little bit here." Taking a steady breath, the woman glanced among the four prawns. "Have you made a decision to stay or leave?"
"If we stay-," Christopher began, "… How will you accommodate us during the night?"
"We can keep these two rooms for the four of you." She nodded firmly. "It shouldn't be a problem. Throughout the night there will be people here checking up on Edmond. Making sure he's okay… would that be alright?"
"Yes, yes…"
"And we might get a couple more people in here. Aliens, I mean... But like I said, not enough to overflow our room space."
Christopher nodded. He sighed sharply in defeat. His voice picked up with one final question. "Are you staying for the night?"
"No… I'll be replaced by a different doctor. A good doctor. But I'll be back in the morning to see you out."
Christopher's sharp expression did not change.
"Is there anything else I can get you? More water, blankets…?"
"Blankets please."
Bouchard nodded and left to retrieve them.
Desmond let out some air in a sigh. He was eager for some pain relief, and for the sleep ahead. The gurney was by far more padded than their makeshift nest. It was comfy and clean. A luxury compared to the depths of D10. Sleeping would be nice and easy.
Bouchard returned with the blankets. She felt inclined to say goodbye to them after taking his temperature, amusing Desmond briefly as he took the pill and swallowed it with Christopher's assistance. Before he could be pulled into a long awaited deep sleep, Oliver insisted that he say good night to Theo first. Lazily he regarded his spawn with a grunt.
"Good night kid…"
"Good night daddy… Love you."
Desmond quickly closed his eyes and whirled back. A small part of him had wished he could feel something for the boy. Something that would allow him to say, 'I love you too, kid.' But he clenched his jaws, huffing at himself instead. He quickly turned his sordid thoughts away from the troublesome conundrum of his child. Having no will to chastise himself.
As the lights dimmed in the makeshift ward, he found sleep.
It did not take long for Desmond to run away from that world.
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Desmond's sleep was not peaceful.
Chills ensnared him in the night. He wasn't sure what was happening around him when they did. He could vaguely pick out Christopher's voice. But besides that, human words and sounds muddled in the background.
And then the heat and body aches appeared. He felt hands prod him, someone, something was trying to speak to him. Instinctively, he curled up onto his side despite the wounds and stiffened.
For a while the voices, human and prawn flew beyond and across him in no distinct order or sense. Hot and cold continued to assault his body before his mind retreated into the safety of unconsciousness. At last he had found peace.
Peace was numbing, and forgetful.
But even this peace had had its cost on him. For now, all he could do was revel in its presence. And just become nothing.
His love, Tania, disappeared with the rest of his thoughts. He may have expected her voice, as the beacon and source of his hope – even if it had wavered in recent days. But her face and her voice, memories of her soft touches long ago could not find their way to him.
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When Desmond awoke he found himself floating in the same nothingness.
It was hard for him to fathom.
His mind had constructed white light, everywhere, surrounding him essentially in a void that had no end in sight.
He doubted he was truly awake, thinking instead that he may have gained consciousness in his dream.
And then there was this distinct feeling, tugging at him from all directions. The sound of thousands of voices striking him all at once; more than voices, because each of these held a weight to their presence. Like a web of strings that had suddenly converged upon Desmond, their weight was both frightening and painful to bear so suddenly.
He started to yell and scream with a voice that didn't exist.
His limbs struggled, trapped in the light. For some reason he thought he could claw at it despite his disembodied spirit. His gills finally, sucked the air into his body to gain its purchase of oxygen. Something gave with a sharp crack as he fought the resistance surrounding him. Finally, his hands grappled with a thick mesh.
Desmond broke free of his tomb, squinting from the bright lights pointed at him. Heaving, he hunched over and held on to his head. Digging his claws in. Whimpering, Desmond tried to push back on the sensation swelling into his head. A brief moment of clarity reminded him of something Christopher had taught him. With that in mind he focused on his breath instead, grounding his person by filling his lungs and exhaling them. The sounds, as he lengthened this breath, dissolved into a low hum behind his eyes.
Fokking hell…
Must have been the damned T3 tablets, he thought.
"Chris… Christopher?" His voice trembled. It sounded muted and trapped. Perhaps his antenna was causing all this fuss. It had been damaged in the fight after all.
When Desmond's eyes fought through the stinging lights, he stiffened, taking in the strange and sterile room about him.
Fear struck through his core.
He sat at the centre of a cell fitted with transparent walls up above.
Human eyes glaring down below.
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(... to be continued!)