Leave a “Nurse Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character healing yours. (Nate & Atherton for that good Garlean medic healing)
(I flipped who’s treating whom because it made more sense and I felt like it.)
“We had some…complications.”
Complications was putting it lightly. The group of refugees Atherton ushered onto the airship looked more than a little shell-shocked. The Duskwight himself was cradling his left arm. The sleeve of the uniform he wore to pose as a Garlean soldier was torn off and fashioned into a makeshift bandage tied about his bicep. Red was slowly seeping into the fabric; whatever was under there was going to need some attention.
“Sit d-down.” Nathaniel emphatically gestured to a bench on the deck. “K-keep pressure on it and I’ll get everyone settled and the ship in the air.”
Atherton sunk into the indicated seat with a grateful nod. He was more than ready for this operation to be over. Everything had gone so well until an observant officer noticed Atherton’s axe. Unfortunately, said officer also knew every soldier stationed at the outpost…and none of them carried an axe. Cover blown, all Atherton could do was keep the alerted soldiers busy as the refugees fled. The Duskwight was able to buy enough time, but not without payment.
As he waited for nan Graevus’s return Atherton silently resolved to start carrying something a bit more standard-issue in these parts. He’d be less practiced at using it, but if it helped him avoid notice, the chances of him actually needing it were low.
The sudden reappearance of Nathaniel with a small bag of medical supplies knocked Atherton out of his contemplation. A glass of foul-smelling liquid was forced into the Duskwight’s good hand. “Drink th-this. It’ll help w-with the pain.” Atherton grimaced but followed directions. The flavor was even worse than the smell. Atherton’s stoic facade cracked into an expression ridiculous enough to solicit an amused chuckle from Nathaniel despite the situation.
“S-sorry.” Back to business, Nathaniel carefully untied the sleeve turned bandage. Beneath was a jagged cut, likely from a vibrating gunblade. He tutted, this was a nasty one. He set to work cleaning the wound with careful light touches. Taking full advantage of his meticulous attention to detail, Nathaniel fastidiously applied local anesthetic then went to work stitching the wound. Despite all the things Nathaniel endured during his military days, he had to admit some gratitude for the training it gave him in field medicine.
Atherton for his part, did his best to stay out of Nathaniel’s way (once the Duskwight’s initial attempt to poke at the wound was swatted away). He watched as Nathaniel worked, keeping quiet minus the occasional grunt or hiss when something particularly tender was prodded.
Stitching done, Nathaniel padded the wound with gauze and tied a clean bandage around it. “I’ll s-spare you the lecture on k-keeping it clean and n-not aggravating it.” He smiled up Atherton. “You’re s-smart enough to know b-better.”
Atherton rolled his eyes. Few people were as adept at using his pride against him as nan Graevus. “Of course. If nothing else, Nevivi would never let me hear the end of it.” He lightly touched the bandage with a pensive look. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to not need this next time.”
Nathaniel clapped the Duskwight on the back. “Even if you d-do, I’m happy to p-patch you up. We’re a-all in this together.”
A small genuine smile flitted across Atherton’s face. He nodded then turned his attention to the refugees. Despite the fumbled cover and resulting fight, everyone was accounted for. Mission: success.
