One of the weirdest things about his job was how fast shit went down sometimes.
Even coming down to the planet on this assignment had happened too damned fast. One second Greg's up in his quarters pacing the floor worrying about Pasha's shift ending, then he's getting called down to talk to Porter, and ten minutes later he's on a transporter pad and Spock tells some engineer to 'energize' and he's down on some fucking planet.
It was too fast, but he was used to fast. Day to day life on a starship was pretty predictable, but when shit went down in space it went down hard and fast and dangerous, and so Greg and guys like him were trained to snap into action, not ask questions, not delay.
You saw what needed doing and you did the job.
When Porter told him that some officers going planetside needed someone to watch their backs, Greg didn't hesitate. Wasn't his job to ask why they were going, wasn't his job to ask why he was picked for the mission on his day off when there were a dozen guards working shifts who needed some experience on-planet.
Sure as hell wasn't his job to ask Porter if he could take a minute and call up to his quarters to let his boyfriend know what was going on.
Yeah, he had plans, and some little pissant voice in his mind wanted to bitch and complain. But for all that it was quick and hard and unfair, Greg loved his job. He was damned good at it. So he went without question, and he watched the backs of the officers who were trying to do their own jobs.
Wasn't until he was down there and they were setting up all these pieces of equipment that he found out it wasn't an in-and-out kind of mission, it might even be a few days. It was harder then to shut up that bitchy little voice in his head, but he managed.
Spock and Scott had to fill him in on what the whole thing was about. He didn't understand most of it, of course, but he figured he understood the two most important points. One, to stay the hell where they were, because for some reason if they wandered out too far the ship would lose track of them and they'd be on their own. And two, none of them had a damned clue what they were looking for or what might come looking for them.
It wasn't any kind of normal mission, and he couldn't have said he was all that happy with it. It was one of those hurry-up-and-wait jobs, where he rushed to get down there then had to sit on his hands for hours or days while the science guys did science things. If something happened it would happen hard and fast, so he had to stay on his toes, but if nothing happened then that was hours of sitting on his ass on planet for nothing.
Not that he wanted anything bad to happen, but that was the trouble with his job – he was pretty much useless unless something went wrong. Security was the one group that everyone hoped never had to lift a finger.
At least he was down there with some pretty okay people. Spock he didn't ever have anything to say to, really, but McCoy was cool with him (even if he still owed him one for earlier that day with Sulu), and Scotty was a riot even if Greg never knew what the hell he was talking about.
For the first few hours down there on that planet – and it was a pretty normal, boring-looking planet for all the warnings he was getting about it – he stood back and watched the horizon all around them and let the other guys get their science on.
It was pretty calm, quiet. Daylight, reaching dusk as the hours went on, which felt weird since it was past dinner time on the station, but Greg didn't mind it. It was warm out, there was no sign of any kind of sun overhead but it was light and clear like an early fall day.
Behind him came voices every now and then, talking back and forth, a lot of stuff about readings and measurements and information packets. They were setting up all these boxes and scanners and shit, kind of walling Scotty into this three-sided cave of beeping sensors. Spock and Scotty seemed to be doing most of the work, McCoy only seemed to be sticking close so he could give Spock shit.
Greg stood by and watching the treeline – three sides of them were forest, and the fourth was a pretty wide-open stretch of grassy land that he didn't focus hard on. They'd see anyone coming for a mile down that way, but the trees were another story.
Trees were tricky on new planets. Sometimes the trees or undergrowth could be dangerous, sometimes the insects, animals. On strange planets it was hard to know what to listen for, what to worry about. On a lot of planets, earth too, it was silence that was a bad sign. When the animals shut up it meant something bigger and badder was around. But on some planets it was just the opposite, where things were mostly quiet until the animals starting sounding their little alarms.
Too dark, too many places to hide, too easy to get lost. He didn't like forests.
Eventually McCoy got bored with pissing Spock off and came around to chat with him – mostly about how the place gave McCoy the creeps – and they started to make some noise about setting up shelters and calling it a night.
And then, just like always with this damned job, everything went to shit.
It started with this high-pitched sound, this weird echoing whine like an alarm or speaker feedback or something, and then the forest on the left of them, closest to Scotty's little electronic cave thing, suddenly started moving.
Greg's whole job relied on awareness, observation, and action. It wasn't as simple as some people liked to think. Wasn't just a matter of seeing someone with a phaser and taking them out, boom. His job was to protect, and from one situation to another the best way to protect changed.
Sometimes it meant taking out someone with a phaser, boom. But sometimes it was trickier. Sometimes there were a lot of attackers, a lot of people needing protection.
It was important that Greg, that any security guard, not get too caught up in thinking about how to go. It was important to take in everything, process it, and start moving all in a split second.
Greg was good at his job.
Too many of them. That was his first and last real coherent thought.
Too many of them – looked like the forest was moving but it wasn't. There were so many of them, coming from behind every tree and bush and dark shadow, that it seemed like the treeline itself was approaching them.
Too fast, too many. Had to be an attack. Too close to Scotty and the equipment, and Greg was running towards them even as he was pounding the communicator on his wrist.
Too many for him to fight. No choice. "Enterprise! Four to beam up! Now!"
Then his phaser was in his hand and he was taking them out. One, two, three. The closest ones to Scotty went down fast and hard.
Too many, though. Even as he heard another phaser starting to fire behind him he knew it wasn't enough.
Sometimes you fought, sometimes you fled. Protection could take either form.
"Now! Now! Beam us up, Enterprise!" Even as he called he fired. He ran.
They were strange creatures, kind of animal and humanoid all at once. Short, thin. Looked unarmed but as they got closer to Scotty their arms came out, their hands aimed to tear at him with fierce-looking claws.
Fuck. Greg was too far. The phaser couldn't go fast enough to take out all of them.
Plan B. When you can't get the people away from danger, get the danger away from people.
Scotty went down. His little electronic cavern filled with the fierce little shits.
Greg aimed a long phaser sweep over the mass of them even as he barreled towards the bulk of the group.
"Hey, you fuckers! Come here!"
There was no order to the mass of them. They shrieked in that high-pitched whine and it might've been a way to communicate. It took Greg reaching the edge of them and barreling through the first ones before they started mostly turning his way.
They were small, light. When he charged they bounced off him like they were made of rubber. Hands reached for him and claws scraped at him, but mostly he only had to shove and they went flying.
"That's right, you little shits, take on somebody who'll fight back!"
He drove through the edge of the group just until that whole sea of howling faces was turned to him, and then he turned.
Three quick bounding steps and then he was plunging through an undergrowth of thin green leaves and pounding into a cool, dark forest.
The squeal of their voices seemed to double in volume as soon as he was in the woods, and behind him came the thunder of a thousand quick, light feet all approaching at once.
He couldn't stall enough to look back. Couldn't make sure most of them were coming. Had no clue if Scotty was dead, if the others were in any shape to help him. He still didn't hear the whine of the transporters, though he knew that the last few seconds had taken on the deceptive stretch of adrenaline that meant it was probably still less than a minute since he called for beam-out.
Too fucking long, though.
Didn't matter. He was running and they were after him.
He hadn't let himself feel it at the time but more than a few of those little shits had got him with their claws. Couldn't worry about that, though.
His job was suddenly easier than it was a minute ago. He'd gotten most of the little bastards to come after him, he'd protected his team the best way he could.
Now all he had to do was come out of it alive.
The woods were dark and thick. There were these short, thick-stumped trees everywhere that kept him swerving again and again until he had pretty much hopelessly lost all sense of direction, and there were grabby strands of vines or roots or something growing close to the ground that grabbed his feet every other step and tried to slam him down.
Those shits that were after him, whatever the hell they were, were quick, but within minutes the steps behind him were quieter, further back.
No endurance, maybe. Shit, he wasn't about to complain.
Adrenaline kept him moving for a while, and those footsteps behind him, those occasional shrieking sounds, kept him moving even longer. Greg did a hell of a lot more weight-lifting than cardio, but he could run four or five miles before he started feeling it.
All he had to do was get these fuckers off his tail, then he could get his bearings, get back where he came from and get his ass out of there.
He had to shut off his communicator a while back when the ship started hailing him and those fuckers could hear the little voice bleeting from his sleeve. No point answering yet – the ship couldn't see him where he was, McCoy and Spock and Scotty had been really clear on that when they first filled him in on everything. Had to get safe, then he could think about contacting the ship.
But as the distance between him and those footsteps grew, the trees around him got darker and darker and his feet started stumbling more often.
Tired already, shit. Might've been something in the gravity on that planet – higher gravity wore a body out faster. Adrenaline was wearing off, too, maybe. It was fucking cold under those trees, but he was sweating so hard he could feel it drip down his skin under his clothes.
Okay, he had better stamina then those little shits, but this was their planet and he didn't have much doubt that if he stopped they would sweep over him soon enough.
Had to find a place to hide, somewhere they couldn't get to him.
Tricky, since he didn't know anything about them. Hiding only worked if they relied on vision above their other senses. If they had anything like a Ferengi sense of hearing or a Tellarite's sense of smell he'd be fucked no matter what.
But his answer came after just a few more minutes, when his eyes caught on a barrel of a tree in the distance. It stuck out higher than most of the short little trees around it, and the branches were pretty high up off the ground.
He didn't pause, didn't bother thinking about it too hard. He didn't have enough options to not try one.
He hardly slowed down, tearing right towards the dark bark of the thick tree. Digging his feet in the last few steps he crouched and then hurled himself upwards with all the momentum he could keep up.
He snagged one of the bottom branches of the tree easily, and then it was just a matter of hauling his heavy ass up until he was off the ground, perched awkwardly on that branch.
Good strong trees, at least, and the branch hardly swayed under his weight. He grabbed at a higher branch, pushing himself up without taking even a moment to pause of get his bearings.
The footsteps were getting closer, but the higher branches were thick with leaves and he only had to push himself up a few more feet before he could barely see the ground under him.
There, finally, he came to a stop.
He crouched at first, holding himself as still as possible as he caught his breath and tried to slow his heart back down. The wind pushed through the leaves with the same dry paper rattling sound they made on earth, but he ignored it to focus on the footsteps down below.
He had no doubt those little shits could climb – those claws of theirs were thick and rough from use, and they seemed intractable. They could probably climb the trunks of these trees like jungle gyms when they wanted to. That meant his only chance in hell was for them to not look upwards.
They had fallen far enough behind that their chase was more scattered than it had been. When the footfalls got closer they also spread out, first coming from the left, then underneath him, then from everywhere.
Jesus, there must have been a hundred of the fuckers. They called to each other in those harsh screams of theirs, and each time it made Greg tense.
Perched in a fucking tree like Tom god damned Sawyer, Jesus. But none of the footsteps paused under that heavy trunk, and no alarms sounded. No claws bit into the bark or started coming upwards.
He braced where he was, shutting his eyes and focusing hard on quieting his breathing and keeping his balance. It took a long time – maybe it felt longer than it was – before they stopped coming, and then he was listening to their footsteps fade again off into the distance.
Jesus fucking Christ.
He didn't move much, just shifted around to a thicker, heavier branch and sat his ass down, leaning against the trunk of the tree as much as he could. It was awkward but less precarious than crouching, and he realized it was time to take stock and figure out his next move.
He didn't trust the communicator yet, so he left it off. He didn't know a hell of a lot about the planet, only that he was completely screwed unless he could get back to where they first beamed down. From that tree branch he couldn't even have said what direction to go back through.
He'd give it a while, an hour, and make his way down and see if there was some obvious path he could follow back. He doubted those thin little alien shits left much of a trail, but his dumb ass must have. Enough that he'd notice, maybe.
It was damned cold without the sun, and within minutes he was shivering, clenching his jaw tight to keep his teeth from chattering. Cold and dark by then, and he was probably crashing from the adrenaline rush.
Okay. So it was too dark to see much anyway, and he was wiped out from his little jog through the woods just now. Maybe he would just chill out on his branch or whatever, let his body get over itself enough to make a getaway.
He was still sweating, he realized as he shifted into a less awkward position, leaning back against the trunk enough that he could relax and not worry too much about falling. Still sweating hard, it was still creeping over his skin and dripping down his legs.
That didn't seem right to him, but his brain seemed to be going through the same chills his body was, and his thoughts seemed to go kind of slow and hazy.
Maybe he ran further than he realized. He didn't know and there wasn't much point in guessing, and anyway his entire body seemed to want to shut down instead of thinking about it anymore.
So he let his eyes shut and everything faded back and he only had time to hope he didn't come crashing down in his sleep.
His eyes snapped open.
Greg always woke up fast, since he was a kid, maybe thanks to growing up with four piece of shit brothers that no one wanted to fall asleep around.
Right then it was a good fucking thing, since if he woke up more like normal people he'd've probably rolled right off that branch without realizing.
It was still dark when his eyes opened, but lighter than it had been. Dawn was coming.
Somehow he was still pretty steady on that branch, which was probably a fucking miracle. His neck twinged with pain when he looked around - wasn't any real healthy way to fall asleep on a tree branch.
But...shit. As soon as he became aware of that little twist of pain, his spine spoke up loud and clear so he'd know just how wrong he slept. Then his ass got into it, numb and aching and cold from the hard, knotted branch.
Nothing a good stretch wouldn't ease, as soon as he was sure it was safe to climb down. And hell, he expected his legs to be pitching a bitch thanks to his little marathon hours ago.
Come to think of it, he couldn't really feel much from his legs at all.
Greg rolled his shoulders and neck awkwardly, grimacing, and blinked down at his strangely numb lower half.
His breath stuck in his throat, and something dark and grim curled up in his gut.
He'd thought he was sweating. Shit, he thought the run had tired him out so much he'd been dripping sweat.
Must have been from his charge at the whole crowd of attacking aliens, when he was trying to get their attention off Scotty. He'd run right through, yelling like an idiot and swatting at them like they were annoying little insects.
But they'd been swatting at him, too.
Blood didn't show on the black uniform pants, but those pants were fucking shredded in more than a few places and there wasn't much mistaking the thick, clotting red staining his legs through the tears.
Shit. Too much. He hadn't even paid it any mind at the time, fucking adrenaline kept him moving, kept him from even noticing.
That was why he crashed so hard. That was why he couldn't feel his fucking legs.
Shit. Shit, shit, double fucking shit.
Okay.
Well.
It was what it was.
Didn't change anything. He had to get down out of that tree and drag his ass back to a spot where the ship could see him and get him the hell out of there.
It made his stomach twist, looking at his shredded pants. Those weren't scratches, those were fucking deep, and he'd been laying there bleeding out for...
He could feel it, feel more, the longer he sat there. A strange rising worry made him aware of sharp stinging pain up his side, across the small of his back, up his sleeve, though the shirt hadn't torn so maybe that one wasn't so...
Jesus.
Greg felt his breaths coming out faster and shut his eyes for a minute, focusing.
He wasn't some hysterical child, damn it. Okay, he was hurt worse than he realized, but nothing changed, damn it.
Get down, get home. Those were the only two things he had to do.
He pushed his eyes open and looked out across the slowly lightening leaves in the heavy branches around him.
Focus, Harris, you fucking wuss.
He shook his head to clear it, and stared hard down at his shredded pants and bloody skin. Okay, whatever. He'd been hurt worse before.
He'd also been two minutes away from a sickbay at the time.
Greg blew out a breath, bracing himself. It was only pain, in the end it didn't even matter.
He reached out - neck and back and side and arm all screaming at the movement - and clamped his hand around a higher branch. Bracing himself, he started to turn himself on his branch bed and look around for the next lowest foothold.
Thirty seconds later he was still panting, still fighting the urge to puke down his shirt, and the ache in his back didn't stop him from driving his spine so far back into that tree trunk it was probably making him bleed harder.
Okay. Okay, moving wasn't a good idea yet.
Shit, who the hell thought climbing a fucking tree was a good idea?
Okay, he needed...what? Water, something to settle his stomach. A few good bandages and a fistful of pain killers. One of McCoy's miracle hypos. A week in bed.
And what did he have?
He pried his eyes open and waited for his vision to clear before he looked down at himself to take stock.
He had jack shit. A phaser in his belt that was probably all but drained of charges. Didn't even have his pack with him. Shit had happened too fast, he wasn't ready.
He couldn't even feel his fucking legs.
Panic threatened to well up again, and again he slammed it down into the shadows again.
He had a phaser. That was a start. Phaser at his belt, communicator on his sleeve, and...
His throat worked as he lifted his arm. Even his arms were too heavy, too slow. Blood loss, his mind told him more than happily. He'd been sitting there draining blood for hours now.
He told his mind to go to hell.
He drew in a breath and twisted the control, turning the communicator back on.
The voice was almost immediate, and quiet but so loud in the silence that he flinched.
"-in, Lieutenant Harris. This is the Enterprise, Lieutenant Harris, if you can hear this please respond."
He knew the voice. Uhura. Everyone on the ship knew her voice. She sounded lousy, though. Hoarse. Like she'd been calling for hours.
Right, the planet was behind ship time. Up there it was day shift, probably.
He waited another minute, through another recitation in Uhura's pretty, tired-sounding voice.
Nothing in the forest under him or around him seemed to stir.
Fuck it, anyway.
He drew in a breath and lifted his heavy arm close to his mouth. "Enterprise..." He winced and cleared his throat - he sounded even worse than Uhura did.
"This is Lieutenant Harris...repeat, this is..." His voice crackled out from under him. As fucking useless as his stupid bleeding fucking legs.
He sagged back against the trunk, arm sinking, but he sucked in a breath. "Enterprise...come in, please."
The words seemed to echo around the bridge for a moment, or else Pavel was just imagining some sort of tunnel, some echo chamber that kept that hoarse voice dwindling.
Then Kirk snapped to life, slapping the panel of his chair and answering in a voice that Pavel could the smile in. "Enterprise to Harris. We hear you, Greg. Jesus Christ, man, you took your time speaking up."
Pavel held his breath, looking up into the air as if Greg's voice would appear visibly overhead.
"Sorry, sir. Been distracted."
He swallowed and moved back down the ramp away from the doors. He wanted to be happy, to crow in triumph and beam the way the captain turned and beamed at him.
But he couldn't.
It was Greg, yes, but he sounded...
Kirk didn't waste time, even through his splitting grin. "Okay, Harris, give us an update. Where the hell are you?"
There was a pause. Every second of it thumped hard like Pavel's quickening heartbeat in his ears. He had to press his lips together to keep from yelling out.
Kirk's grin vanished in the space between one of those thumping heartbeats. "Harris, report. What's your status?"
A strange rasping sound came out of the speakers, like the communicator being dragged across something rough.
When Greg answered his voice was lower and harsher. "No idea, sir." There was a scratchy rumble that Pavel almost didn't recognize as a chuckle. "There's some trees around. That help?"
Kirk shot Pavel a frown.
In that look Pavel had the instant and stark realization - his voice over the speakers changed nothing.
All it told them was that Greg was alive. While that was enough to make Pavel feel light-headed with gratitude, it wasn't enough to find him, or to bring him home.
Greg's voice rasped over the speakers. "Captain. The landing...Scott, and..."
Worse with every passing word. Pavel's nervous relief was draining away under the same clenching fear he'd carried with him all night.
"They're alive," Kirk answered, grimness in his voice. "A little banged up, but Scotty'll be on his feet soon and the other two already are."
Another pause, another heavy silence.
A hand caught Pavel on the arm, and he jumped.
Hikaru looked back at him with solemn eyes, squeezing his arm gently. "Say something."
Pavel shook his head, though every instinct made him want to jump to Kirk's chair or Nyota's station and make Greg answer them.
But...there was an order to this. A procedure. If he broke that, if Kirk let him break that, it meant something horrible. It meant that the grimness in Kirk's face and Hikaru's eyes meant that Pavel wasn't letting himself realize something. Sometime in Greg's voice, or...
No. That was impossible. Five minutes ago Pavel had been on his way to sneak down there and rescue his lover however he could, or die trying.
This, this standing on the bridge still warm and safe, listening to Greg's wretched-sounding voice get softer and weaker...
No. That wasn't an alternative to his earlier plan. That wasn't something he was prepared for.
Another heavy rasp from the speakers above them, and Greg's voice croaked overhead. "Sorry, sir, I...I don't think-"
Pavel heard it then. The thing in Greg's voice. It wasn't the pain or the exhaustion. It was resignation.
"Captain...could you...tell..."
Pavel was at Kirk's side, somehow, in the next heartbeat. He pushed Kirk from his way, grabbing the controller on the communication panel and holding it as if his life depended on it.
"Greg."
There was a rush of air from the speakers and a very distant sound. As if Greg had answered Pavel, spoken Pavel's name, from far away from his communicator.
Pavel spoke clearly, firmly. Somehow, though his thoughts were wild, his words were focused. "Greg, you will stay where you are. We will come find you. There are...plans, we're making plans, and we will come down for you. If you can't...if you're stuck where you are, it doesn't matter. We will come to you."
There was no answer.
He clutched the panel that much more tightly. "Answer me, Greg. We're coming. We will find you, I promise you that. And you know that I wouldn't lie. I will find you. Do you hear me?"
Air hissed overhead, distant sounds.
"Pasha..."
It wasn't any louder than a murmur.
Pavel fought to stay focused. He stared down at the control panel intently. "Tell me you understand, Greg. I'll find you. I promise."
Another hand, a firmer hand, landed on Pavel's arm.
He didn't turn, didn't care what sort of objections Kirk wanted to voice. He didn't speak, though, even when the silence ticked by, moment after moment.
After a hideous long silence, Greg spoke finally. And perhaps Pavel was imagining it, but he seemed to sound somewhat stronger.
"Tell you what...I'll meet you halfway."
Pavel grinned at that, relief escaping him in a rush of air that was almost laughter. "See you soon, then."
Silence came from overhead, and Pavel knew that Greg wouldn't answer. Not this time. He sounded as tired as a person could sound, he needed to rest.
He stepped back, shaking off Kirk's hand, his smile still in place.
Kirk and Hikaru were nearly side by side, looking back at him with grim faces and solemn eyes.
Pavel faced them. "I do not lie to him," he said firmly.
Kirk shook his head, though he looked as if it pained him to do it. "I can't send another team down. Not until we can-"
"This is Starfleet orders?" Pavel asked.
Kirk frowned. "They're my orders, Pavel. We've lost one officer already, and four more are lying in sickbay. I don't leave my people behind, but we are not going back down there without more information about this-"
"I regret to inform you, sir, that I have decided to resign my commission from Starfleet."
Kirk's jaw snapped shut, but he seemed more frustrated than surprised.
"Pavel..."
Pavel didn't even turn to Hikaru. "I have enjoyed serving with you, but my resignation is effective immediately. And now, as a civilian, I am requesting my right to transport from this vessel onto the nearest habitable planet."
"Pavel," Hikaru said again sharply. "Knock it off. The Captain's right and you know it - we can't just keep sending people down there to get attacked."
Pavel looked over at him then. "You can send me."
"For God's sake, Pavel, no one is going to-"
"Where do you think I was going after I left here? Do you truly think I came up to the bridge during a shift to thank you for your friendship as a way to make conversation?"
Pavel didn't enjoy it, the way Hikaru's skin was paling, but he enjoyed even less when the people who knew him best failed to take him seriously.
He included Kirk in his next words. "There isn't a sensor or a panel on this ship that I don't understand. There is nowhere you can shut me away that I can't get out of, and there is no guard you can place on the transporter rooms that I won't get around. Send me down there willingly or I will send myself down."
"Pavel...you're going to go down there and you're going to get killed." Hikaru spoke more softly then, perhaps remembering that Pavel was, at best, mulishly stubborn. "That won't do Greg any good, and you know it."
"Sitting here until the mysteries of a planet's atmosphere have become clear enough to resolve won't do him any good either. You heard him, Hikaru. He is..." Hurt. Exhausted. Giving up, perhaps, for a moment there before Pavel spoke to him.
Weak and wounded, and knowing how Greg hid his own weaknesses so carefully from everyone, Pavel had no doubt that he was worse off than he sounded.
Greg would die if left alone. Pavel was certain of it, and he knew his Grischa.
He met Hikaru's eyes. "I will meet him halfway, one way or the other."
Hikaru's lips thinned and he looked away, jaw clenched.
Kirk let out a breath suddenly. "Fuck, kid, when you want to be a pain in the ass you really don't fool around."
Pavel's eyes turned to Kirk, neutral and steady.
Kirk shook his head after a moment, mouth twitching just slightly on one end. "Okay. Before you go resigning from the damned fleet...Spock, Sulu, let's have a quick conference down in sickbay. Maybe Scotty got some information from the sensors before those things cut the job short. Maybe we can come up with some sort of plan that doesn't involve death or dishonorable discharge."
Pasha.
Jesus, for some reason...Greg had been trying to stay so damned professional, so on-duty, that he hadn't let himself think about Pasha too hard.
Suddenly, just from hearing his voice over the communicator, Greg's mind was completely turned towards him.
He'd been a second away from telling Kirk that he didn't think he was gonna get out of those trees on his own, but...come on. Shit. He was scratched up, he lost some blood, he was stuck in a damn tree. So fucking what?
Pasha was out there waiting on him. Pasha wanted him, and Greg never let Pasha want a damned thing without trying to get it for him.
So what did he need? Bandages, pain meds, water.
The water would be on the ground, some place or another. The pain meds...eh. He was a big tough security guard, what the hell did he need an aspirin for?
Bandages were less easy to skip over, but the minute he realized that he also realized that if he used his head for a minute he had some options there.
He didn't want to lose the pants - they were torn, yeah, but running around the forest on a strange planet bare-assed just wasn't gonna do it for him.
His shirt was another story.
The undershirt was too thin, and if the day didn't warm up he'd get pretty damned cold without his uniform jacket on. But he didn't hesitate. Finding the place up his side where one of those shits had nailed him with his claws, he clenched a cold fist around the tear in the jacket and started the slow, painful process of shredding heavy Starfleet-issue fabric into makeshift bandages.