(A/N) Hey all, time for another update for Phase Two: Betrayal! Now, Casaric, our writer for Killian Jay, has gone AWOL of late, so this chapter has been written by myself, as we look for a replacement writer. Hopefully I'll have managed to capture enough of the character to keep you all interested! Gonna take this opportunity to try and address some of our reviewers now, and we'll see if I can't do this more often!

Stormy Cloudz: Don't worry, we certainly haven't forgotten about Texas, but she's not going to be around for a while yet. However, I think she'll be worth the wait. We're delighted to hear that you like Virginia, but Fate is a fickle mistress, and who knows what she has in store? ;)

PeopleLikezGrapes: Wash, too, will have his own time and place, but it's just not quite yet. Hang on in there, he's coming! I loved Massa too, but you'll just have to wait and see if vengeance is to be Virginia's!

OxesBox: I've got to compliment all our writers there, but Jerem deserves most of the praise. He's done a fantastic job with Penn to date, and you guys are going to love what's left to come, I promise!

Enjoy!

Chapter Sixty-Nine – Injuries Galore

Killian Jay – Sergeant, Medic

Written by NicKenny

"I'm a heart surgeon, sure, but I'm just a mechanic. I go in and I fuck around and I fix things. Shit."

― Raymond Carver, Where I'm Calling From: New and Selected Stories

Sergeant Killian Jay walked through the Recovery ward, having spent the last twelve hours in surgery, as injured Freelancer after injured Freelancer had gone under the knife, having returned from their "rescue mission." Seems like they could have used some rescuing of their own, Killian thought, shaking his head slowly. He glanced over at Maine, who was struggling with medics despite his bandaged chest, having taken a bullet to the chest during the battle, and damaged it further when he carried Virginia off the battlefield after she was injured at Penn's hands. He sighed and changed direction, making his way towards the huge Freelancer, remembering the time spent in surgery that had been required to remove the bullet.

Then again, while I've never rescued them from a battlefield, I put them back together afterwards, he mused, his thoughts growing cold as they moved onto the former-agent Pennsylvania, and all the times he had patched him up as the Freelancer had returned to the MoI, injured. Penn had been an absolute mess after that sim mission that had gone wrong, all that time ago, and if Killian hadn't fixed him up…well, a lot of things never would have happened.

But hindsight is 20/20, isn't it?

He pushed those dark thoughts aside and pushed his way through the other medics, motioning for Maine to sit back down. The giant agent growled at him, but he just frowned in reply. "If you tear your stiches you could bleed out, and remember the last time you took that risk? I've had it up to here with you Freelancers ignoring the medical instructions you receive, so until those stitches are ready to come out, I'm keeping you here under observation. "

"I'm fine!" Maine protested, but Killian was having none of it, and eventually, with a great deal of bad grace, Maine flopped back on his bed, frowning and muttering darkly under his breath, and while Killian couldn't make out exactly what the Freelancer was saying, he was pretty sure that he got the gist of it.

Killian nodded to the nearby medics, and they cautiously approached Maine, making sure that his stitches hadn't torn in the process of his attempt to leave, and changing the dressing on the wound. He glanced over at the other patients – Virginia, California, North, Nebraska and Colorado - and sighed, remembering the hours of surgery spent piecing them all back together. It had been a rough night, for him at least, given that they had spent it under a general anaesthetic, but he supposed yesterday had been a helluva lot harder on them.

After all, he had just eaten nachos and watched Grifball, while waiting for the Freelancers to return. Remembering that, he ran his lips over his teeth, realising that he hadn't brushed them since yesterday morning, and that a thin layer of fuzz had since grown over them, quite disgustingly. As soon as I complete my rounds, he promised himself, and surveyed the room, glancing over the other injured Freelancers with a concerned eye.

Virginia, of course, had taken a brutal beating at Penn's hands, and had blacked out as the Freelancers escaped from the facility. She had been the worst case – at moments it had been touch-and-go, and Killian had feared that the agent mightn't make it. However, it was starting to look like she was going to pull through, and Killian was glad of that, knowing that her sister had been waiting outside Recovery ever since the Freelancers had returned from their rescue op.

California had taken a nasty stab wound to his upper left thigh, a present from Lieutenant Ian Harper, after Cal and his team had rushed to support Carolina's. The agent had reputedly thrown himself at the enemy, seeking Harper's blood and swearing furiously, and resisted the others' attempts to drag him away as they retreated. Killian was really starting to worry about this agent – his sanity had certainly come under question since the reestablishment of the project, and he was proving more of a hazard to his own life and those of his teammates than he was to the enemies of the project.

That, of course, led him to North Dakota, who had suffered a slice across his left side as he and York tried to drag Cal away from the battle. Thankfully, the cut hadn't been too deep, but they had thought it wise to keep North and Cal at opposite sides of the Recovery ward. Sure, North seemed to be a pretty nice guy, and one of the few Freelancers that he actually considered a friend, but Killian knew from experience that people rarely reacted well to friendly fire. South, definitely, was to be kept away from the ward at all costs, given that she had already flipped out at Cal for putting Georgia into Recovery a couple of weeks back. She, like West, had been waiting outside, but after the fourth hour she had left, swearing at the guards on duty outside the room as she left.

Nebraska and Colorado had both suffered minor wounds, Nebraska requiring a few stitches for a shoulder injury, after a bullet grazed the skin. It had bled pretty badly, but the wound itself was not severe, and was quickly treated. 'Rado had been grazed by one of Harper's knives in the fight, but again, the injury was minor, and they were both ready to be discharged at any moment. In fact, they probably already would have been, if he hadn't received orders about an hour ago to keep all patients under observation for the time being. Alaska had already been allowed to leave a few hours previously, having suffered a mild concussion at Maine's hands after…well, getting on Maine's bad side. Thankfully, he displayed no worrying side-effects, but knowing Alaska he'd wind back up in here sooner or later.

In short, it had been a pretty long night, but Killian was just thankful that more hadn't been injured. Every time a pelican left the Mother of Invention with Freelancers in tow, he couldn't help but dread their return. The loss of Massachusetts and Michigan, and all the Project Freelancer personnel that had perished since the project started, particularly after the Covenant attack almost two years ago, had been more than enough to last him a lifetime.

There was only so much he could do, after all. His set of skills, while impressive, still didn't include the ability to resurrect the dead.

For now.

A couple of the others had suffered some small things – bruises, scratches, torn muscles and the like – but nothing that really required any serious medical attention. For now, all Killian had to do was monitor them, and make sure that they didn't die until the Director chose to send them out again.

What a job to have. No wonder he had risen so quickly in this section of Project Freelancer – no one else wanted the kind of responsibility he know had to deal with every day, and to be honest, he wasn't even sure if he really wanted it. There had to be easier posts out there, somewhere else in the UNSC. Maybe he could ask the Director for a transfer, but he regretted that thought immediately, realising that letters of recommendation weren't really the Director's area, and that asking him for one wouldn't be the wisest career move in the long run.

Speak of the devil, Killian thought to himself, as the Director strode into the room, passing through the sea of medics, clearly making his way towards him. Hopefully he was here to let Killian know that he could release Colorado and Nebraska, at least, but given that the Director could have easily have done so over the comms, or at least sent someone down with the message, he doubted it.

"Director," Killian acknowledged, snapping off a weary salute, not bothering to even try and hide his surprise. "You don't normally come down here."

The statement was laced with the unspoken question, which the Director frowned slightly at, displeased by the medic's informality.

"Normally, Sergeant Jay, we don't have six Freelancers in Recovery. As it is, I felt like it would be wise to check up on them, and make sure that their treatment was in hand. Their well-being is, of course, of paramount importance to this project."

Killian flushed slightly at the implied insult, but decided that losing his temper would be one of the worst things he could do in this situation. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" he asked, biting down on the reply that had formed in his head.

"Permission granted, Sergeant," the Director replied, nodding to Killian. However, there was a warning glint to his eye, telling him not to push it too far.

Killian swallowed nervously, but he had already come too far to back down now. "Perhaps, if you don't mind me suggesting it, the agents might be more efficient if they didn't take such stupid risks, and wind back up in here every second day. They're only human, after all, and sooner or later another one of them isn't going to pull through."

The Director stared at him for a moment, his glasses reflection Killian's features. He smiled wryly, and turned to look at Maine, sitting a few feet away from them. "Unfortunately, Sergeant, we are in the business of taking 'stupid risks.'" What is important, as it proved yesterday, is to ensure that these risks are not taken needlessly, and that when they are taken, that they are worth the risk."

Killian nodded slightly, knowing that what the Director was saying made sense, but at the same time, he didn't have to like it.

The Director continued on. "Dr Grace was a high level asset, and a priority target for the Crimson Sun. As a result, it became imperative that we retrieved her, and kept her from their clutches. That was the objective, regardless of however many agents were injured or killed in the process. Thankfully, you and your colleagues have proven to be competent in your field, and as a result, our operatives live to fight another day."

Killian turned back to him, frowning. "They're not just operatives, sir, they're people too. Loss of life has to prevented, unless it's absolutely necessary. Why were some agents held back, who could have helped with the extraction? Even if Carolina's team was intended to pull off a covert rescue attempt, they could have assisted Wyoming in stalling the main forces."

The Director's smile had faded at this point, and he viewed Killian seriously for a moment, his eyebrows drawn together and his eyes glinting darkly. "I would tread lightly, Sergeant," he warned, his tone vaguely threatening. "Personnel decisions are far above your station. You, and your kind, are here to patch our men and women up when they are injured, and nothing more. May I remind you that we are fighting a war here, and that lives will always have to be put in danger in situations such as those that we find ourselves in?"

"However," he added, and Killian's hopes raised for a moment, "I will take your suggestion under consideration. We would not want another casualty on board our ship, now, would we?"

He finished, and Killian gulped, fully understanding the threat implied in the previous sentence, and the Director turned away, clearly considering the conversation closed. However, clearly not quite sure that he had made himself clear, he paused to look back at the medic, and imparted one final warning. "I would keep these opinions to yourself in the future, unless you wish to risk reassignment, Mr Jay. There are several simulation bases in need of a good medic, or so I have been informed. Their mortality rate is far higher than that on-board this ship in some bases, I do believe. Even a medic with your skills would have a difficult time of it."

And with that he left, and Killian stood there watching him leave the room, the evident threat ringing through his ears.

Fuck, the sim bases, Killian thought, shivering despite himself. He couldn't imagine being marooned for months, or even years, on end, stuck with a bunch of brain dead, moronic sim troopers in a box canyon in the middle of some desert. If there was anywhere that Killian would consider his own personal hell, it'd be one of those. Knowing his luck, the Director would pull a 'cunt' card, and send him somewhere cold too, like Sidewinder. Now that was all he needed.

Y'know, sometimes I really don't like that man, he thought to himself, before shrugging tiredly and going over to recheck Agent Virginia's vital signs. The last thing he needed at this point was for her to flatline on him, not after the Director's not-all-that-implied threats. Then again, given that West probably would have strangled him with his stethoscope long before the Director even got word of the loss of one of his agents, perhaps he should just get his act together and refocus his priorities.

However, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of anger building within, which he ignored, immersing himself in his work, as he always did whenever the outside world got too hard to bear.

Let's just get to work at keeping them all alive, for now. That's my job.

After all, I'm just the fucking medic.