the halin/amara meeting. 2.4k words. set roughly 3 years before the actual start of actium
warnings: a complete misunderstanding of medicine and grammar
The clinic was empty for the first time that day.
Amara breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, slow and controlled, unlike the hectic work day she just finished. Ignoring the weariness in her shoulders and the ever louder police sirens, she rose from her chair, rolled up her sleeves, and turned on the sink.
One second. Two. The water finally burped out, flowing brown for a few moments before turning to an acceptable almost clear. Her lips curled at the sight. She still wasn’t used to frontier life and all of its dirt. The water was always crystal clear on her family estate on Earth. The food was edible, the birdsong familiar, every item had its own neat and tidy place. But here, lightyears away from her home, Amara could hardly make sense of all the filth. She could hardly make sense of anything through the haze of her work. The same factory injuries, the same patients, the same pleading looks when they confessed that they had no money to pay for the treatment. She would just sigh, eyes trailing over their grimy work clothes before telling them not to worry about it.
If only Father could see her now.
She put her hands under the running water and tried to forget that she was proving him right.
The ring of the shopkeeper’s bell dragged Amara from her thoughts. “I’m sorry, but we’re closed. You’ll just have to wait until morning,” she grunted as politely as possible, too focused on the speck of dirt under her nail to look up at the intruder.
“Damn. Just like that, huh?”
Amara rolled her eyes, ready to unleash her exhausted fury on whatever delinquent had decided to single out her clinic that night. Mouth open and pointer finger raised, Amara spun on her heel, only to freeze at the sight. A massive woman, almost as tall as the doorframe, was holding a dripping bundle in her arms.
The only way to describe the woman was broad. She had a broad face with high cheekbones, complimented by her wide nose. Her long hair was held back in a disheveled braid, sticky with what Amara really hoped wasn’t what it appeared to be. In her muscular arms, hairs raised from the cold, was…
Amara gasped. That was a person wrapped partially in a jacket, not a bundle like she had previously thought. The red landscape of her face was broken when her eyes opened to focus on Amara. In contrast to her protector, this one was scrawny, made even more apparent by the way her soiled clothes clung to her wet body.
The taller one spoke up. “This is the clinic, right?”
The injured woman in her arms leaned back, craning her neck to see the sign outside. Weakly, she lifted her arm and gestured to it. “If not, you’re doing some false advertising,” she groaned, her husky voice barely above a whisper. The tall one rolled her eyes at the comment. (The attempt at humor? Amara had no idea.) She just stood dumbfounded as the injured woman turned her bloodied face back to her. “If you’re still closed, I can find somewhere else to bleed out.”
The tall woman shifted her weight. “You’re mouthier than usual, boss.”
“Yeah? I’m also deader than usual.”
“That’s enough,” Amara commanded, finally regaining her senses. “On the table. Now.” Tall, Dark and Terrifying responded immediately, setting her companion down with a gentleness Amara didn’t expect. Amara snapped on a pair of gloves and scurried over to the woman on the table, suturing kit in hand. She set to work, doing her best to ignore her patient’s hisses of pain as she cut away the damp clothing. Red stained her fingers as she removed the shirt and spotted a large gash along the woman’s abdomen.
The tall one rolled her shoulders. “Most of that isn’t hers,” she all but growled, her dark eyes burning beneath her lashes as she looked down on Amara.
“Millie,” the injured woman grunted, not bothering to open her eyes. “Where are your manners? Don’t threaten the pretty doctor.”
Millie instantly relaxed, letting out a bored yawn as she plopped down on a waiting chair. “Sorry, boss. Habit.” Her hawk’s gaze settled on Amara again. “Just want to make sure we all understand how this should go.”
The injured woman finally cracked an eye open, her mouth tilting up as Amara started to clean her wound. “Don’t worry about Millie. She’s just protective.”
Amara, despite her better judgement, threw a glare over to Millie. “She looks dangerous to me.”
“Never said she wasn’t”
The woman sighed again, giving into whatever internal battle she was having. “Don’t let her hear this,” she whispered, loud enough for Millie to roll her eyes into the back of her head. “But she’s actually a sweetheart. Sometimes. This line of work just requires some… toughness. But we’re not in the business of hurting innocent people.”
“This… line of work?” Amara almost slapped herself for the nervousness that seeped into her voice. There. The wound was clean enough. She reached for her needle driver. “If you say some bullshit like ‘If I told you, I’d have to kill you,’ I’m letting you bleed out.”
Millie chuckled behind her. “I like her.”
“Of course you-” The patient’s quip was cut short as Amara started stitching.
The previous quiet seeped back into the tiny clinic. Amara settled into a rhythm with the woman’s breathing, drawing the needle back and forth across her tanned skin. Soon, Amara was tying off the suture and scanning for any other wounds. “You aren’t injured, are you?” she called over her shoulder.
“Nah.” She could hear Millie’s boots against the linoleum flooring as she spread her legs. “I’m pretty good at not getting stabbed. Unlike some of us.”
The woman on the table scoffed, instinctively reaching up to push her bangs back before groaning at the action. “I pay you to stop me from getting stabbed, dipshit.” There was no bite in her voice, just tired affection.
Satisfied that there were no other life-threatening wounds, Amara turned her attention to cleaning the smaller scrapes. Her mind wandered as she cleaned a small cut under her patient’s false rib. So Millie was this woman’s employee, though they seemed much closer than that. And employee for what purpose? Something criminal, no doubt. The exact type of delinquent her father thought she would join up with as soon as she left Earth’s atmosphere. Whatever it was, it was better not to know.
Amara could barely keep the questions trapped behind her teeth.
She could hear Millie suck in a breath, ready with another jab, before she suddenly stood up. “Hm? Yeah. Understood.” Amara fully turned around to look this time, watching as Millie pressed against something in her ear. She turned away from the window, lips pressed in a thin line. “Erin said they’re heading this way.”
Amara turned back to her work. “The people who did this to you? Lovely,” she spat.
The woman tensed under her hand only for a moment, but it was enough to send a coil of anxious nausea to Amara’s stomach. “Can you take care of it?”
Gun in hand (since when did she have that?) Millie made her way to the clinic door. “Yeah, yeah. I got it.”
The patient croaked. “Millie? Sorry about your jacket.”
The thing was draped over the back of another chair, almost dripping red with how saturated it was. Millie just sighed. “It’s no problem, Halin. You can buy me a new one later.” She turned back, concern barely hidden in her eyes as they raked over the doctor and patient, before hardening to obsidian. “I’ll be back soon.”
The bell on the door finished its chime, leaving the pair in a thick silence. “She won’t lead them here. You have my word on that.” There was that smirk again. “She’s the best of the best.”
“And apparently you aren’t, since you’re on my operating table and she isn’t.”
The patient - Halin - barked out a shaky laugh. She shook beneath Amara’s fingers as it racked her body, her face contorted in a weird mix of laughter and pain. “There’s quite a few people who would agree with you on that.”
Amara opened her mouth to question that statement, but thought the better of it. Instead, she grabbed a fresh cloth and started wiping Halin’s face. Dried blood and muck stained the linen as she cleaned, revealing a myriad of scars on the skin underneath. Burn scars, mostly but also nicks and scrapes that indicated a life of toil. She had seen it often enough on her everyday patients to recognize it.
“How’d you get these?” Amara tapped her gloved finger on Halin’s burned cheek.
Halin shrugged. “Ex girlfriend. She was nowhere as pretty as you, though.”
Amara made no effort to resist rolling her eyes. Humor as a coping mechanism: she had seen it many times before. “Calling me pretty won’t give you a discount, you know.”
“I thought this was a free clinic.” Halin raised an eyebrow.
“For the stress you’re putting me under? No way.”
The conversation continued for a while longer, Halin throwing increasingly incomprehensible compliments and Amara meeting them with half-hearted insults. Eventually, Halin was as clean as Amara could get her with towels and her soiled clothes were replaced with one of Amara’s few remaining hospital gowns. Halin’s babbling ceased as she drifted off, pain and exhaustion finally taking her. Amara watched her for a few moments before settling into her own chair and turning to the moonlit windows, ready to hand her off to Millie.
Another night without dinner at the clinic.
A few days later, Amara was in the same scrubs, in the same chair, in the same clinic, splinting the same broken arm like she had done a hundred times before. When she was finished, she gave him the same spiel on how to care for it and that, no, payment was not an issue, just try not to get yourself injured again. Luckily it was a slow day with patients and the weather was surprisingly pleasant, the system’s sunlight finally filtering through the smog to light up the building. She stretched as her patient got up, her back releasing a satisfying pop as the door chimed open.
“Excuse me.”
She breathed in through her nose, then out through her mouth, and plastered on the most energetic smile she could manage. “Good morning!” she started, turning to the door. “How can I-”
Halin was too busy toeing at a rusty stain on the floor to acknowledge her greeting. “Shit. Could have sworn I didn’t bleed that much.”
Her companion, a plump woman with ginger hair, surveyed the clinic with wide eyes, the shopping bags in her arms rustling against each other as she turned around. A deep flush krept up her skin as she spotted Amara, and she quickly adjusted the bags to wave a free hand. “Sorry! Good morning! I didn’t mean to ignore you. I mean I didn’t-”
Halin elbowed her lightly, her own arms occupied with a couple different bags. “Esther. You’re fine.” She turned her gaze to Amara, looking her up and down with barely concealed curiosity. Her dark eyes, previously clouded with pain and caked with blood, felt like they were taking note of every atom in Amara’s person. Finally, she spoke. “Good morning.”
Amara resisted the urge to shrink away, instead crossing her arms and sending back a piercing look of her own. “Should you really be walking around in your condition?”
Halin blinked before her lips quirked upwards. “What condition? I thought you patched me up beautifully, Doc.” She removed a bag from her arm (rather slowly, Amara noted) and set it on the bed. “Had to buy Millie a new jacket, if you must know. And give you your payment.”
Payment? Amara had mostly been joking. She might be low on funds and supplies, but underworld blood money was never the answer. Still, her curiosity got the better of her. She reached for the paper bag, wincing at its heft as she pulled it closer to her.
That was a fuckton of money.
Amara rubbed her eyes. The size of the stack didn’t change.
“I- I can’t-”
“What, it’s not enough?” Halin frowned. “You need more? If so, I can only start offering physical favors.”
The redhead coughed something into her elbow that sounded suspiciously like “gay.”
Halin adjusted the bags on her arm, grimacing slightly. “I meant like a heist, or a forgery, or whatever you doctors get up to. We don’t usually do hits, but we’ll make an exception if they’re an asshole.”
Amara didn’t comprehend a single word she said. She swallowed thickly. Had the pile grown bigger? Shakily, she closed the bag and pushed it away from her. “Where’s Millie?” she managed to croak out.
Halin grinned, eyes flitting to the window before settling back on Amara. “She’s fine. Just getting some well earned rest.” Esther nodded in confirmation, now seriously examining the handwritten “wash your hands” sign taped next to the sink.
In through the nose. Out through the mouth. “I can’t accept this. I have no idea where you got it, or who can track it back here.” Amara fully pushed it back into Halin’s space.
For a few moments there was no sound, save the rustle of Esther’s bags and the embarrassed sorrys that followed. Halin cocked her head to the side, eyeing the bag and Amara. Seems like a few days of rest had really sobered her up. “I’m honestly offended that you would think it’s traceable.” Her eyes flickered to Esther for a moment before boring into Amara’s. “How many people work here?”
“‘Work’ is a strong word,” Amara scoffed. “I’m hardly paid. Another doctor and I switch every other day, and I have a volunteer from the hospital swing by when they’re available. But nothing set in stone.”
Halin hummed, licking her lips as she opened the bag of money. “I think this would be enough to hire some more hands, don’t you think? Give you some time off? Good thing this anonymous donor fancies themself a humanitarian.”
Amara raised her chin. “What do you want?”
Ah. So that was it. Halin sauntered forward as well as she could with the bags and bruises, coming to a stop right in front of Amara.
#the odyssey
#art
#ao3
#star wars
