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@nightshiftmedic
{{ #nightshiftmedic }} chiaki suzuki. paramedic stationed in gotham city. medical prodigy. life has just started. what could possibly go wrong?
+. _ indie / nsfw / 20+ / +._ mutuals only / semi-selective / multi-ship +._all art by me unless otherwise specified +._ associated with : @dividedbybinaries / @twomindedsubject
+. links : about + backstory + verses
+rules under the cut+
Park Yuri – ( Gallery )
Emotions cluster and fragment across the strained lines of Chiaki's expression, gathering in wrinkles about his eyes or the downturned lines of his lips. Helena is careful in her attentiveness, letting the EMT process his feelings without direct intervention in the experience. Not yet, anyway. This man did not seem the type who appreciated having a scene made on his behalf, regardless of good intentions. Even mentioning his illness was something that seemed to be a source of discomfort. Shame? Most likely. She knew his type, because she was much the same. Pushing beyond the limits he tried to set for himself.
The brunette gives a gentle nod as she takes one last look across the waiting room. She shouldn't leave the nursing station completely unattended- but this was important. It would be inconvenient if this man became part of her caseload in the next few hours, or days.
She gestures with a wordless move of her fingers toward the line of doors just across from the nursing station. One of the unoccupied assessment rooms whose disinfection time had finished maybe ten minutes prior, a case of a young girl with uncontrollable emesis sent to the ICU for fluids and to free up an assessment room. When she opens the door for Chiaki, the smell of medical-grade cleaner and the faint fragrant reminder of human fluids lingers there.
Helena is mentally running through the symptom presentation she remembers about EDS, hypermobility and joint instability being the obvious. But the chronic pain, potential gastrointestinal and other automatic nervous system functions being potentially impacted, minor skin abnormalities and variations in the quality of connective tissue… Inflammation was often present, too.
The sweat could be a response to both inflammation and pain. Best to get his vitals, first, and assess the symptoms that are causing him the most issues in the moment- she couldn't take a detailed medical history without triggering paperwork that demanded payment. And that was best avoided, considering he would likely be sought out by his compatriots in ten or fifteen minutes.
“I'm going to take your blood pressure, put the pulse ox on you, and get your temperature. Tell me about what's worst about this current flare-up,” The nurse instructs with an even, practiced tone. She doesn't even bother bringing up the EMT's previous statement about not over-extending herself, beyond the low murmur of dry sarcasm as she attaches a blood-pressure cuff to Chiaki's forearm. “- -And your name. We don't work in the field that we do because we expect quiet moments sitting on our laurels.”
>. Like it was a second nature to him, Chiaki nudged effortlessly up on the hospital bed to sit down despite every protest that his body made.
"My team just call me Suzuki...But my first name is Chiaki."
There were no objections to having his blood pressure taken -- even very willingly placing his arm in just the right angle where he wouldn't have to worry about too much discomfort. Like, again, he could be doing this in his sleep. He just hoped Helena wouldn't get too concerned and order him to cut his shift short.
"What's worse right now...? Uh." Without a doubt; all of it. But Chiaki had to pinpoint something to make it easier for Helena to complete her assessment and send him back as soon as possible.
"I guess the correct medical term would be...fecal impaction. Before you ask, Yes -- I will take laxatives. No, I don't take them before a shift. Not interested in rushing to the bathroom every five minutes - then I rather just---"
Chiaki's words spilled on and on until he had to recharge a breath -- but the stabbing pain erupted again and forced him to wince as he bit his bottom lip -- suppressing the pain from making itself verbally known but with little success.
"...T-Then it's my s t u p i d, damn joints. The shoulders and elbows always get the worst of it during a stressful shift like tonight...I don't want the others to know. I just don't...---"
Right as the pressure on the cuff of his arm got to the brink of hurting, he waited patiently for the process to be over. Allowing his gaze to wander over the nurse's scarred face -- making a mental note to not stare too much in case it would make her uncomfortable.
"So yeah. Right now, I can barely tolerate the pain -- and I really need to go use the bathroom, but I can't."
A damn miracle he hadn't lost his mind already.
"...---That does sound like a pretty good Friday night, doesn't it?"
Once the cuff was off, Chiaki breathed out in relief. Glancing over to the brunette's soft eyes again, trying to put on a brave face -- ready to hear the verdict;; but not prepared to hear how bad it was going to be.<
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The attention that the stranger gives Chiaki feels neither predatory nor nurturing. Helena does not hold the disposition of a woman predisposed to motherhood, the kind that will stroke the back of one's knuckles while pet names pepper the air like misting rain. Nor does she linger as a perched predator, breath rattling like a snake's tail as its identified mouse nibbles at berries. She is merely attentive. In the way that a jumping spider assesses terrain, legs shifting back and forth, deciding whether to move or stay put.
The paramedic's visible signs of distress do not go unnoticed, although they are not overtly noted. The faint glint of sweat and fingertips imprinted upon the desk panel of the nursing station. The way he wordlessly nurses his shoulder, signaled by the awkward tilt in his posture that insists on supporting the aching limb against the length of his trunk. The stagger of his steps, betraying not merely the pain he is enduring, but the exhaustion that strains across every ligament and tendon in this very moment.
At first, Helena does not speak. She can tell the words of acknowledgment do not beg interaction, but merely play at expected niceties. More than anything, the nurse understands being so exhausted that performance itself was so taxing that the echoed nature of conversation felt grating.
She waits until she is offered something that begs a response. A question.
“There's this corner market two blocks from my apartment complex. It's the only place I consider walking to when it's close to 9 PM. The shopkeeper, Mister Baker, has a camera installed by the front doors. He always turns it down the road when I leave, to make sure nothing happens to me without him seeing,” The brunette answers slowly, that same willowy voice drifting at the ends, as if she were carefully measuring how harshly her voice might register to someone who is overstimulated or strained taut.
“I don't need to tell you how you look. But I wouldn't be doing my due diligence if I let you go back to your shift in this condition,” Helena begins slowly once more, voice drifting back in from that edge it had lilted to, testing the edges of Chiaki's potential defensiveness. “It would make me feel better if I could give you a quick once-over. You're no use to anyone if you hit the deck, just dead weight. Speaking from experience." She hopes that it will be received well from a fellow medical employee, one with under-eye circles as dark as his own.
+. The dreaded anticipation of hearing those words quickly made his pulse spike -- feeling a near collision of guilt washing over him. As much as he'd like to argue, Chiaki knew she was right. A silent gaze carried up from the floor with bated breath, over her scrubs -- glancing over the nametag on her -- Helena Reicher's -- chest before letting go and admitting defeat.
"...Yeah. Okay."
He didn't really have the strength to argue, especially with someone who was his senior in the field. But yet, Chiaki's body had a hard time catching up with his brain -- his jaw still moved sluggishly, slow to swallow the protein bar in his mouth.
"...But a fair warning. This isn't anything new, it's just..---" Me? Regular Chiaki, dealing with the impending reality of fate?
"...I got EDS. And tonight it decided to have the flare-up of a lifetime. I simply deal with it, you know?"
Around his colleagues, Chiaki always spoke very matter-of-factly when it came to medical diagnoses -- seeing no point in sugarcoating them for comfort, whether his own or someone else's. He wasn't looking for empathy, not to be pitied -- but to be simply understood so he could move on with his life.
For as long as it would let him, that was.
"...--Maybe we can go to an empty consultation room -- if there's one available. I would...rather not do this out here."
While he didn't care what his coworkers thought, he did care for his patients. And someone who was in full panic mode certainly didn't need to see him, their carer, be nursed back to health before their eyes. Then he'd rather pass out on his own, in an empty and dark room.
"Thank you...Helena --- Right?" The paramedic took a reassuring glance at her nametag again, although he had been staring at it moments prior.
"--- And don't feel like you have to do this...I know you nurses got it busy enough as it is on a Friday night." .+
continued from this +.@thatrudeengineer .+
+. "Eh...No. Not really."
Cut and dry, that was Chiaki's standard MO. Especially at work.
"...But I'll have to agree. It's good to see how both ships are run to get a proper perspective on things. I think you're going to like the night shift -- especially on a night like tonight."
With a finger pointed in the air, he aimed at the big, full moon in the night sky. Not only was it a weekend where everyone and their mother would be out partying until early hours of the morning -- but also the full moon was on full display. Which, according to most, brought out the 'crazies'.
"Are you superstitious, Linna? I wasn't when I first started working here; but here...I became a turned man."
With a chuckle, Chiaki finally did the finishing touches. Wiping everything down with an antiseptic before closing the ambulance doors behind Linna, before leading her up to the front of the vehicle.
"I'll drive -- and you can just...admire the scenery. For now." .+
《 Body limp like a rag doll, Barbara was shifted onto the stretcher, and it was then that she began to realise her body felt a lot heavier than usual.
Dead weight.
It felt like dead weight.
The pain itself felt like an intense, searing heat that burned it's way through her body from the site of the wound. It was nothing like she'd ever felt before -- and after being smacked around by a whole range of Gotham's finest, she was well acquainted with various injuries and the pain that came along with them.
But this..?
"T-Ten.." the redhead managed, gritting her teeth as she lay there, trying to move her legs, wiggle her toes -- anything. "But my- I can't move my legs, I--"
God, she was trying not to panic, trying not to think of the worst, but right now that was near impossible. Maybe they were moving, she just couldn't feel it--
--But when she strained to look down, her face scrunched helplessly as she watched her legs fail to respond to her, like they were no longer a part of her body.
No longer hers.
"Fuck- f u c k--"
Tears were building again, forming a heavy blockade on her lash line that refused to move. She couldn't cry, not now, she had to be strong. She had to have control over something in this situation.
"Please call my dad--" 》
+. Chiaki witnessed his patients' pain daily. But that didn't mean that it got any easier to deal with.
Seeing Barbara coming to the dreaded realization stung in his chest -- the sound of her painful whimpers etched into his brain like carvings in a rock. Chiaki had to turn off the human switch -- making himself nothing more than a machine to perform a task.
"--- I know it's not easy right now --- But you need to try to stay calm, okay? Keep breathing. In through your nose, out your mouth. I will call your dad as soon as I can -- alright?"
The doors to the ambulance closed with a thud -- causing the vehicle to shake just for a moment before everyone got into their places. Chiaki sat in the back with another colleague, as the third paramedic took the seat behind the wheel. And then off they went.
"Check those vitals for me --." Chiaki moved around the narrow space, the moving ambulance like it had done a hundred times before -- gathering the oxygen mask, cutting up Barbara's clothes to assess the exit and entry wound of the gunshot -- anything to get that report back to the trauma center as quickly as possible.
"---We're going to get you something for your pain right now, Barbara. Keep trying to move your legs and toes as well --- whatever to keep your body alert." .+
⠀⠀⠀The young man's head tilted slightly to the side at the other's story - a stranger finding themselves in strange lands... He was reminded of the beginning of his own journey, leaving the confines of the forest he'd called home for all his life, out into the open fields of Hyrule. He couldn't help but relate that feeling of alienation, of isolation. ⠀⠀⠀"I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to," Link responded, shaking his head as he spoke. He truly didn't understand the motivations of the Gerudo-- he just assumed they were under the control of the evil king Ganondorf. ⠀⠀⠀"They don't like men. They're not exactly kind to men who come here into "their valley". Those carpenters were caught up in this whole mess, and I wanted to save 'em... Plus I need to--" ⠀⠀⠀"We're trying to find someone!" Navi interrupted, fluttering around Link's face, her tone far too rushed to be natural. His brow furrowed in response, swatting away at Navi to shoo her from his personal space. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀"What she said. We're looking for someone." Sapphire orbs shifted downwards towards the ground, arms crossing over his chest. "Plus, they took all my stuff... So I can't really get out of here until I can find an opening of some sort." ⠀⠀⠀He paused, before glancing back over at the other man. ⠀⠀⠀"Maybe we can help each other out?" ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
>. "You want...my help?`"
It wasn't often that he was asked to help with anything but medicine and care. But this, a prison break, was certainly something new to assist in. ...How could he even begin to say no?
"I mean -- Yes. Yes, absolutely. There must be some way out of here, someway to -- either pry that lock open or find another exit all together---"
Out of both curiosity and desperation, the traveling medic began to search through every nook and cranny for a way out. Feeling for loose bricks in the wall, moving the hay on the floor to the corners. Maybe -- perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. Maybe they needed a solid plan before going insane trying to find solutions.
And then, in the midst of his search -- he remembered something Link had said. Something that stuck out to him as slightly...odd. Chiaki turned around, hand on the wall as he glanced over his own shoulder. Quite somber in his gaze when he made eye contact with the hero.
"Wait...You said you're looking for someone. Who are you looking for...? Is it family? A...loved one?" .<
The irony of describing a hospital's emergency room as sterile is especially prudent in one such as Gotham General's ER at two in the morning. Sure, the surfaces had all been wiped down at some point within Helena's 12-hour shift, and messes weren't left alone long enough to be described as lingering. But the smell?
Particularly man-made.
This time of night meant that some variety of patients in the waiting room radiated the stench of some artificially fruit-flavored vodka that wasn't sitting well with the other multitude of shots of alcohol- amongst other things- roiling in the guts of the poor bastards seated with the posture of a question mark. Curled over emesis basins like a dragons over their hoards, some moan or mutter irritated curses, while others let their welling saliva pool from their lips into the plastic container perched on their laps to avoid the risk of upsetting their bellies further by swallowing it down.
Mixed with the consistent undertones of sweat that rose from the racing pulse and heightened blood pressure that came with symptoms of pain or distress, and the faint undertones of cigarette smoke that seemed to adorn the lips of most anyone old and aware enough to know that Gotham was a nightmare to live in, and the air could easily be described as sour. Fermented, even.
The thought makes Helena's stomach turn.
The monotonous lull of a late-night talk show playing on a rickety TV set, the occasional mutters and moans of patients waiting to be assessed, and the humming of the obtrusive overhead lights are interrupted by thunderous approach. A separate hall on the right of the ER, away from the main entrance, leads to the valet drive used by ambulances on duty. Wailing sirens hail its approach, and the inevitable promise of another sick or damaged body to pour onto the pile of yet-to-be-corpses that collect in the beds like childhood trinkets, abandoned and gathering dust, rustled by curious visitors but otherwise untouched.
The two RNs that remain behind the nursing station with Helena perk up, heads turning as they discard their cellphones and idling chatter in favor of trotting down the hall to meet the paramedics and their cargo. They knew Helena would stay back, because the other nurses on-shift tonight were already preoccupied with two other assessments, and no one wanted to tend the miserable folk waiting their turn to be seen, not with their stench and their heat and their intrusion.
The brunette didn't mind too much. She knew she would be less likely to upset the waiting patients, because at least she tried to offer empathy and attentiveness when time permitted. She wasn't perfect by any means, but nobody was. It was a terrible world they lived in, and most anyone just wanted to be heard.
She was good at listening.
When the erratic chattering from paramedic to nursing staff finally dies down, Helena can see that the injured adult strapped to the mobile gurney is wheeled away into one of the assessment rooms. The tired nurse stands from the nursing station and makes a pass through the waiting room. She checks on people who have been sitting or pacing, giving her best estimate as to when they will be seen, refilling cups of water or coffee, and taking notes of PRNs that anyone is asking for their assessing provider to consider for them.
By the time she returns to the nursing station, one of the paramedics has stepped into the open desk setup, looking worse for wear. Helena knows the tell-tale signs of strain, considering she wears them as part of her typical uniform on a daily basis. Eyes sunken into the recesses of dark circles indicating loss of sleep, a grimace so familiar one might call it RPF (Resting Pained Face), and slumped posture that screams I can't remember when I last ate or sat down and didn't have to think.
Wordlessly, Helena moves to the area that served as her station for the evening, fishing around in a faux leather tote bag that served as her survival bag. Less a purse, more a Mary Poppin's bag of whatever might be needed to make it on the streets of Gotham as a ‘lone soldier’, so to speak. Methodically, she shifts certain items aside to find the pocket of snacks, protein bars for hours requiring reason, and smiley face gummies for hours that require escape from the drudgery.
She approaches the paramedic in an attempt to be unobtrusive. Slightly at an angle instead of head-on, so as not to raise hackles unintentionally. She stops just a footstep within arm's reach, tilting her head down slightly toward the shorter man with tousled, shaggy locks and shaved sides. “Here,” Helena murmurs softly, holding out a Cookies ‘n Cream flavored protein bar by the crimped edge of its wrapper. “You look like you’re about to drop.”
Her tone is a feeble attempt at humor, dry and light as a whisper through tree branches. Helena stands at five feet, eight inches, wearing gray scrubs that drape unceremoniously over her figure like straight edges trying to mimic a curve. Her dark hair is braided and wound into a tight bun on the back of her head, pinned into place so that it won't get in her way. Only whisps of her long, curling bangs remain, scattered about her head like baby hairs and frizz. The streaks of natural platinum blonde and the scarring that mars her features are the most noteworthy aspects of her appearance, but other than that, she was just a tired, average-looking doe-eyed woman.
But she had watched. And she had noticed.
+. All he needed was just a few minutes. A moment of solitude to gather his thoughts back in place, to get rid of the pulsating ache that spread from his shoulder blade, down his arm -- penetrating through his elbows like a million needles. How ironic -- for the paramedic to be in so much pain in the place where he's supposed to be the savior.
The feminine, soft voice cut through the white noise Chiaki had gathered up like a ball of yarn in his head -- effectively bringing his eyes to first glance up to hers -- and then to the snack in her hand.
"Wha--" Like a jumbling fool, he stood staring at it first -- not realizing she actually was giving it to him. But once the trail of thought snapped back on his head, he didn't even hesitate to accept the edible gift.
"That's...way too nice of you. Thanks...--"
The sweat that had pooled in Chiaki's grip onto the desk was wiped off on his pants -- picking the protein bar out of the nurse's hand with a small smile of his own. Still somewhat unbalanced, Chiaki found the nearest chair with a wobble -- sitting down with a pained groan. Why did his body have to flare up today out of all days of the week?
"I'll be out of your hair in a second...I promise."
Lies, lies, and more lies. But Chiaki didn't have it in him to sit down and let her hear all about how he had struggled to get the K-tape in place tonight before heading out, and tonight was anything but a slow-paced night. Gotham in a nutshell, unfortunately.
With the slowest chomp known to mankind, the EMT took a bite out of the protein bar. Perking up just slightly -- browsing over the brand on the plastic wrapper with a bit more energy than before. A shift that would be merely momentary.
"Mhm...That's good. Where do you get these from...?`".+
✞ · @nightshiftmedic : / &. / plotted starter.
“okay,” once they reach somewhere safe, stable, and high enough to be farther from their pursuers, huntress sets the paramedic down carefully, retracting her grappling hook right after. “they’ve lost us. we should be fine here for the time-being.”
gloved hands on her hips, the masked vigilante takes some time to reassess, recollect her thoughts, and regain her breath, inhaling and exhaling with gentle ease, schooling herself into nonchalance about the major wound on her left shoulder and upper arm — which she had to forcibly free from the mouth of a saurian man-eater with innumerable serated teeth not too long ago, resulting in heavy bleeding, being bitten deeply, and the worst of all — the fabric of her well-crafted suit getting torn at the seams.
“bastard got my suit, goddammit,” she murmurs, annoyedly surveying the damage on her shoulder pad, before turning to chiaki, asking with mild curiosity: “suzuki, kindly enlighten me on something: why were you in killer croc’s territory?”
>. Fine for the time being was a severe understatement. But right now, Chiaki would take that over anything that had to do with a row of sharp, oversized crocodile teeth in his vicinity.
"If I had known the road would cave in right above his lair, I would've taken another route to the hospital...I mean -- I've been telling them to fix those roads for months...But typical Gotham, right? ---....Goddamnit."
The medic's pulse had been spiking ever since he realized the 'detour' back to the hospital had brought him straight into Killer Croc's den in the sewers -- luckily, the airbag had gone off just in time...But the ambulance surely looked worse for wear once it hit the bottom. And he'd take the demolition of his vehicle over his own life any day of the week.
"If you hadn't been there to fight him off, though...I don't think I would've made it out in one piece..." Chiaki's lips formed into a groan -- massaging the joints in his elbows to carefully bring the ache down to zero.
"So...Thank you."
And now, with his survival still intact -- the focus was turned around back on her. Because out of the two of them; she was the one currently heavily bleeding and in need of patching up.
"--- We need to get that bleeding under of control...Do you have any first aid kits with you? I think you're going to need stitches, but -- I unfortunately wasn't able to pick anything up with me when I ditched the ambulance...".<
⠀⠀⠀The hedgehog seemingly fell silent in response to the human, eyes shifting to one side, as if unable to bring himself to look at his friend for a while. His brow furrowed, face shifting as his nose wrinkled upwards, before his entire face fell flat once more. That was until he suggested that the olive hedgehog leave.
⠀⠀⠀Eyes crossed back over to Chiaki, an eyebrow arching upwards as the words lingered in the newfound silence. Mal's mouth hung open for a few moments, his own words clawing to escape his throat, but they refused to budge. Nothing came past his lips except his breath, and even that felt forced.
⠀⠀⠀A heavy furrow overcame his brow, before it settled into a stoic, almost defeated look. As if Malachite was just numb now. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀"I would if I could," he almost muttered, eyes once more shifting away. They landed on his hands, palms facing the ceiling in the hedgehog's lap. Fingers flexed, curling up into small fists against the sheets of his bed.
⠀⠀⠀"I can't walk, Chi. How the hell am I supposed to get out of here? Fly out the damn window?" An anger sat beneath his words, a venomous vitriol spat with each syllable-- but the hedgehog didn't mean it. Not really. He was just tired, fed up, and he'd all but given up hope. Only two people had been kind to him so far, and one of them was gaia-knows-where, totally unable to help. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
+. Not going to lie, the hedgehog's words stung. Not because he didn't understand the amount of tremendous pain he was in; but for the fact that his need for things to be better was so great. It was hard to come face to face with the bitter truth, especially for someone whose whole life revolved around hope.
"Y-Yeah. --- You're right. I'm sorry..."
Giving up wasn't his strong suit, however.
"There must be something we can do..."
The hand left a fogged-up imprint upon the glass that divided them as he began to pace slightly back and forth -- intensely watching the hallway and security cameras. In his other hand, his ID card was fidgeted with. Debating if it would be worth getting into trouble.
He could claim it was an emergency. The subject had somehow ended up needing medical assistance. Just something to excuse his presence behind doors he shouldn't be.
...Ah, screw it.
"I'm --- I'm coming in!"
He had seen his supervisor enter that password many times -- so after sliding his ID through the lock slot and entering the code, the doors mechanically slid open, allowing him entry.+
《 Shot. That's right, she was shot.
And help was coming.
Help. Batgirl needed help.
But she wasn't Batgirl right now - Batgirl could handle anything, could push through the worst hardships and still come out the other side shining.
No, right now, she was Barbara Gordon - and Barbara Gordon had been shot. What a cruel joke. 》
《 A hand grabbed hers, squeezing it to offer support whilst she lay there broken on the floor. It should've been a nice gesture, it should've been comforting - but all Barbara could think about was those nasty, godforsaken gloved hands tearing at her clothes, manic laughter ringing out all the while.
Disgusting. She felt disgusting.
Another whimper left her, her hand shifting away from comfort, trembling as she took in the question asked.
Anyone she could call...
"..Dad --" That was it, he was all she wanted. "-- I want.. my dad.."
After a moment she realised the stranger probably didn't know who that was -- or maybe he did, but was too polite to assume. Gathering enough strength to speak again, Barbara tried again.
"Commissioner Gordon.. d-dad.."
Bruce -- or, Batman, as it were -- would surely find out later. Something about that future conversation filled her with dread, but that wasn't worth thinking about right now. what mattered was--
"Nghh-- f u c k.." 》
+. As he had assumed, she was related to the commissioner. Father and daughter. Although he had never really been properly introduced to the commissioner before, they had definitely met during work. And now...their paths were going to cross again. This time in the least pleasant way possible.
"We're going to call him as soon as possible, alright? But first, we're going to get you the help you need."
Still deep in work mode, Chiaki kept steady pressure on Barbara's gunshot wound;; watching the stretcher finally come into his peripheral. He made sure to bring as many of her belongings as she'd need for the trip and hospitalization, prioritizing the phone and wallet.
" --- We're going to lift you, okay? Ready? 1...2...3---"
With all hands on deck, they moved their patient to the stretcher -- making sure to strap her in before getting a fast move on to the ambulance waiting outside. The cops standing by on the pavement and in the road, trying to hold back the curious crowd, took quick notice of the patient's familiarity -- but Chiaki paid them little mind.
"---- Move!"
Right now, she was his priority. Not to stand and gawk at the wounded.
"Barbara -- Focus on me. I need you to tell me about your pain. Rate it for me -- 1 to 10. 10 being the worst pain you've ever experienced."
At the angle and location she had been shot, the risk of paralysis had to be taken into consideration. The longer they waited, the more damaging this could be.+
