NON REVERSABLE EFFECTS

CH17

I was right, this was shit topped with some more shit.

The scratches that they girl had done, were all but superficial—they didn't even need a bandage. Other things like the broken, bruised and cracked ribs meant other things. Along with the broken nose, the shoulder that I didn't know was dislocated, my knuckles and ankle. The lacerations caused by the other Quatonian were horrific compared—there was definitely going to be scaring—not to mention my neck. Frasier made me stay in bed for a few more days, resting and getting my strength back. After that it was a day in a wheel chair, then crutches after that.

I was finally free, but had to visit the infirmary on a daily basis to get my wounds cleaned and re-bandaged. I also had to take about three different kinds of pills—each bigger and gross tasting than the last—one was a pain killer, another was antibiotic to fight off infection and the other one was to help me sleep. And because now that I was human or an animal either, the pain killer effected me differently. Some days I was fine, others I was woozy and dizzy, sometimes sick to me stomach, then there were the times that it felt like I had taken the hole bottle and couldn't even get up out of bed. So I only took one when I was in some serious pain.

I tried—and wished—that I could stay in my room, but as it turned out I was under doctor's orders to do otherwise—that is after about a week of bed rest. So I had to leave my room, and because my ankle had been so screwed up, I had found out that surgery was done on it. The twist had been so bad, and with my weight on it, and the fact that I had fought—it tore some of the tendons, so Doc Frasier had to go in and repair them.

I crutched my way to the workout room where my physical therapy session was—I had to re-strengthen my ankle. I wore a sweater and pair of gym short, with one running shoes on, my other ankle wrapped in bandages. I had the hood up, my head and face deep in the cowl, and my tail—of which I still had no control over—tucked into my sweater. I still wasn't totally sure about the whole, half-human-half-tiger thing just yet. I had been fine with me transforming into a full tiger—I had three years to get used to it and Sebastian as a matter of fact. But now I was stuck in between, and Sebastian was nowhere to be found. I had tried to kel'no'reem while I was on bed rest, but couldn't quite seem to concentrate.

I kept my head down, my eyes trained on the thin blue line on the hall floor that would lead me to the gym. With my eye now stuck in tiger mode, I was constantly seeing the scents of everything—though instead of everything else that I was scenting being in black and white, they were in full colour. I wasn't sure if I would be able to turn it off or anything, being as effected as I was on the pain killers.

And as it so happens, with my head down, I didn't notice in time the "wet floor" sign, or the fact that someone had crossed paths in front of me without my knowledge. I crashed into them, the officer barely even stumbling at the contact—I on the other hand, suffered a different fate. The sudden stop, and my not so stable stance—what with my ankle and the need of the crutches, my shitty grip with my damaged hand and the fact that the floor was wet was my down fall.

I hadn't taken on of my pain killers, because I wasn't sure which effect it would have on my today, and I figured that I would need to be able to concentrate for my session. The grip on one of my crutches failed and fell to the floor, causing me to loose even more of my balance. I reached out, trying to grasp anything that might keep me upright, but there was nothing and my fingers could barely stretch out. My injured ankle hit the ground and a painful twang traveled up my leg, I let out a gasp. The surprise of it caused my grip on the other crutch to go, and it landed on the floor semi behind me. The balance on my one foot was not good, and the slick floor beneath me sent my foot out from under me.

I fell painfully on my back and on the crutch, my head and ankle seemingly hitting it as an after thought. I was still, all of my muscles tense, afraid of the pain that would come if I tried to move.

"Lieutenant?" I could hear the wince as well as the Kansas drawl. "Are you OK?"

I gave a pitiful moan in answer, looking up to see Colonel Mitchell not realizing until then that I had had my eyes squeezed closed. And as it was, a wince was the prominent expression on his face, and that of apology.

"Can you please get the crutch out from under me?" I asked through gritted teeth.

Mitchell gave a nod and knelt down next to me. Carefully he wedged his hands underneath my back, and took most of my weight off of the crutch, leaving one hand beneath me; he used the other to pull the crutch out. He gently laid me back down.

"Any things else?" he asked. "Like maybe a medical team?"

I shook my head. "I have a thing." I told him. Yeah, there was no way I was going to do physical therapy now. Eventually I was going to get up, and when I got back to my quarters I'd just call in. But right now I knew what I had to do. With my good hand I reached into my sweater pocket and took out my pills bottle. I popped the cap off, and in turn popped a pill into my mouth, swallowing it dry. "What?" I said as Mitchell raised a brow at me. I didn't take a pain killer before my session so I could concentrate, but that didn't mean I could take one or a few afterwards. It took a moment for them to kick in, but when they did a slow smile spread across my lips. I had never actually drank before or smoke pot or anything like that, but this was probably what being drunk or high felt like—also one of the after effects of the pain killers.

And with that highness, the pain that was caused generally and from the fall disappeared. I started to get up. In a slight panic and not really knowing what to do, Mitchell helped me stand. Weight was put on the hand and on my ankle, but I felt none of it. Mitchell handed me the crutches, and I took them knowing that if I walked without them I, I would regret it later.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Mitchell asked in guilty concern.

"I'm fine." I told him, not even getting a bit annoyed at the fact that he had already asked that before—one of the perks of being high, I assumed. I started to crutch my way in the opposite direction of which I had been going before.

"Where are you headed?" he asked, keeping in stride with me. "I'll walk with you."

I didn't bother to tell him no, he would have made an excuse to walk with me any way, so I let it slide. We went to the elevator, and got out of the elevator in silence. When we got to my quarters, he silently fallowed me inside, shutting the door behind him and turning on the light as I sorta spaced out and forgot to. I got to the middle of the room and dropped my crutches, and stripped off my sweater. I had nothing underneath, except that of the bandages that covered a maximum amount of stitches underneath each, and a tail that was not under my control. I kicked of my shoe and the next thing to go was my short.

"Whoa!" Mitchell said in surprise, his eyes wide and his hands up.

I looked over my shoulder at him, my brows furrowed in confusion. The truth was that I sorta forgot that I was naked, and that he was standing right there—a superior officer no less.

"It does look as bad as it did when we were on the Planet," he said, his eyes slightly squinted as he put me under the scope. "Minus the blood, mind you."

I turned to him, my hands going to my hips as my tail swayed lightly behind me. "You didn't look to good either." I told him, a slight haze to my eyes. I put most of my weight on my uninjured leg.

"Minus the blood." he drawled, leaning back against the wall.

"He made you fight." I said, reminded of past sight.

Mitchell eyes turned thoughtful for a moment before he stared straight at me. "In a way, yes."

"If you didn't, you would be dead right now." I pointed out.

"Good point." he agreed.

"How'd you do it?" I asked so suddenly, I think he was a little startled.

He clenched his jaw for a second before it relaxed. "I snapped his neck." his tone of voice was void of emotion.

I felt a shiver travel down my spine. "I can still taste their blood in my mouth." my voice came out a whisper, my eyes locked on his boots. "Their blood is still under my finger nails." I looked up at him, my eyes wide and scared. "That was the first time that I killed someone—two within the same hour."

"You have to be strong, Lieutenant." Mitchell said, his voice confident. "I haven't known you that long, but I do know that you have a set of balls and I've seen how strong you can be."

A grin spread across my lips as I pointedly glanced down at myself, before looking back up at Colonel Mitchell. "Yes," I agreed. "I believe that I do have a set of balls." a snicker left my lips.

Mitchell shook his head. "How many of those pills did you take?" he asked me.

"One!" I laughed, hold up a finger.

"You're the kind of guy that gets drunk off one beer, aren't you."

I just smiled at him. "Beer isn't good for no kitty-cats." I giggled.