#briggs doc

[clearbun]

please see my vision please please please please

[aquietwritingcorner]

March Mildness Day 5: The Forehead Thing       Word Count: 1178   Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: PG/K+   Characters: Neil, Doc     Warning: Medical talk     Summary: Ever since the accident, Doc has noticed this peculiar thing that Neil does. She just doesn’t know why he does it.   Notes: This ties back to Day 5 of Febuwhump. Basically, there was an accident in R&D, Doc was seriously injured in the abdomen, and Neil had to jump in as the next most qualified person, even though he didn’t usually deal with things like organs. AO3 || ff.net

The Forehead Thing

The first time Doc had really noticed him doing it had been right before she had been taken back for the stopgap surgery there at Briggs. She wasn’t stupid. She understood that she had major, traumatic damage to her abdomen, and that Briggs’ OR wasn’t set up for this sort of thing. She had been scared that she might die then and there. The professional panic around her didn’t help things either.

And yet Neil had stripped off his bloody, bloody gloves, and put his hands on either side of her head. “You’re not going to die,” he had said to her. “We’re gonna make sure you pull through, alright? You just keep fighting too.”

She had nodded, in too much pain to do much more than that, and he had closed his eyes and tipped his head forward until their foreheads were touching. It didn’t last long, not even a second, but it made some sort of a connection there that she remembered, even though all of the pain and chaos and fear.

And then it had been over, he had pulled back, the anesthesia had been applied to her, and she knew no more.

The second time she had noticed Neil doing it had been right before she had been shipped off to North City. She was still in a gaze from the stopgap surgery, barely aware of what was going on around her, and things were moving fast. Neil was talking to people that she now presumed were the medical team, and he was talking fast. Doc was having a hard time keeping up with anything at that point.

But right before they loaded her on, Neil took her head in his hands like that again.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he said. “They’re going to take care of you. I can’t come. Briggs needs me. But its going to be okay.”

Again, he tipped his head forward and rested his forehead on hers for just a second before she was loaded up and whisked away.

North City had been a haze for a while. The trauma to her side had been extensive, and more than one surgery was required. Some parts of her couldn’t be repaired. They had to take her damaged kidney and stitch up her intestines as best they could. They were hoping that her liver would eventually grow back. But the muscle and skin that had been hit had been quite worrying, and she was probably going to have some sort of complications from that for the rest of her life.

She did remember, though, Neil coming to visit at one point, and before he left, repeating that same thing. He took her head in his hands, told her he was sure that she’d make a full recover and return to Briggs, and then touched his forehead to hers before he left.

She wondered why he did it.

“Doc? Hey—Doc!”

Doc heard Neil’s voice, and the alarm in it, but she didn’t look up at it. Instead, she stayed where she was, one arm curled around herself, the other gripping the desk with all her strength. Her teeth were grit, and she was trying to breathe through the pain that was rippling through her side.

Suddenly, his hands were on the side of her face again, and he was tilting her head up to look at her. “Okay, okay,” he was saying. “Okay, just hang on. Where’s the pain?”

“…my side,” she managed to get out. “Inside.”

Neil nodded. “Alright, I’m gonna take a look just hang on a minute.”

He briefly touched his forehead to hers again, and then his hands were at her side, pushing her clothes away to look. She could feel his hands on her side as he examined her, and then as he gently replaced her clothing.

“I don’t feel or see anyth—wait. Is that today’s soup?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, I bet that’s it. The lentils probably aren’t doing well with your intestines. Nothing to do but wait it out at this point.”

“Nngh—fantastic,” Doc ground out.

Neil sighed. “We can at least get you into a bed to ride it out. Get you some heavier pain meds on board. Come on. Easy does it. I’ll let the general know.”

Doc nodded again, and let Neil help her up and over to a bed, which wasn’t easy. He never wavered in his support, though, helping her over and helping her lay down. He left, coming back with a syringe, and injected her with something before covering her up.

“Alright, that should help.” He gave her a tight smile. “Just ride it out. I’ll be nearby.”

True to his word, Neil didn’t leave her throughout the next few hours as the lentils made their way past the part of her intestines that had been stitched back together. He brought her water, checked on her, and in general made sure she was as comfortable as she could be. But by the time it was over, Doc was exhausted, tired, and had no desire to move.

“Better?” Neil asked her as he brought her some more water.

“Yeah,” she said. “But I’m not moving.”

“I don’t blame you,” Neil said. “I talked to the general. She understands and says for you to take the rest of the night off. I told her I’d evaluate you tomorrow, let her know if you needed another day.”

“Thanks, Neil,” Doc said, turning her head to look at him better.

“Hey, no worries. You just rest. I’ve got this.” He reached out again and put his hands on the side of her face. “I’ll take care of things.” He leaned down, touched his forehead to hers, held it for a moment, and then let go, turning to leave.

Doc couldn’t help herself. “Why do you do that?” she asked.

Neil stopped, and looked back at her, a bit confused. “Do what?” he said.

“That thing,” she said. “The forehead thing.”

“The—oh,” Neil said. His cheeks started to turn a little red, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I, ah, I guess it’s just a thing leftover from growing up. My mom and grandmother used to do that to me when I was upset or sick or they were trying to comfort me. Sometimes I do it to people I care about. Friends, family, people like that. I can stop if you want.”

“No, it’s fine,” Doc said. “It’s actually very comforting. I just wanted to know why.”

He grinned at her, looking a bit abashed. “Yeah, well, there’s not that much to it, really. Anyway, you should get some rest. I’ll be in the office if you need anything.”

He made his way out of the patient area, turning off the light as he did to make it easier for her to sleep. Doc relaxed back in the bed, letting her eyes slowly start to fall closed. It was comforting, what he did. But it was more comforting to know that he considered her that close.

[illidria]

Hey @areyousanta, You like the Briggs Doc, dont you? This is for you! *runs and hides*

[inkuisitivskins]

[aquietwritingcorner]

Febuwhump Day 6: Hypothermia       Word Count: 1408   Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: K+/PG   Characters: Doc, Neil     Warning: N/A     Summary: Usually Doc is the one taking care of patients. She’s not used to being a patient.   Notes: N/A     AO3 || ff.net

________________________________

Hypothermia

Doc blinked. There were—were—were… hands… hands on her. Hands… they were warm. They felt almost too warm. Why would hands feel too warm? This was a question. It was a question she should be able to figure out. Her brow furrowed. Why would hands be too warm? What was something that had a symptom of hands being too warm? Maybe a fever? Yes, that could be it. Doc shifted, trying to raise a hand up to feel one of the hands.

But there was something in the way. What—oh. A glove. A thick glove. She wouldn’t be able tell anything through that. She tried to reach with her other hand to take it off, but it wouldn’t move right. Well, okay. If her arm wouldn’t move right, there were other ways to get a glove off. She brought it to her mouth, and bit on the edge, trying to pull it off.

“Wha—no! Doc, wait, don’t do that!”

Someone pulled her arm away, tugging the glove back on. No, why would they do that? How could she check to see if they had a fever with a glove on? For that matter, how could she do much of anything with gloves on? She pulled her hand away and went back to trying to get her glove off.

“Stop it!”

“Forget it! They’re opening the door for us, it doesn’t matter!”

Doc blinked again. What were they talking about? She wasn’t sure. Her brow furrowed as she tried to figure it out. But suddenly things were different and there were lots of voices everywhere and—and—and wasn’t she just standing?

She wasn’t anymore. She was lying down, and there were voices and hands on her and someone was leaning over her.

“Doc? Hey, you with us? Just hang on, we’re gonna get you all fixed up.”

Neil, her brain supplied. That was Neil and—and wait, wasn’t she just outside? This wasn’t outside. This was…wait, where was she? Was she… moving? She tried to sit up, to figure it out, but her balance was off. Before she could even try to get it back, she was being pressed down into… a bed? No, not a bed. She knew what this was, but the word just wouldn’t come.

Suddenly, she was being moved again, and things were happening quickly, quickly, quickly. She tried to move, tried to get up, but was once again pushed down. Neil came into her view again.

“Stay down,” he said firmly, “Don’t move.”

His voice was serious, and he only got that way, with that particular tone, when it was a serious injury. And… and he had directed it at her.

Sudden panic surged through her, and she tried, again, to sit up, this time with more success. She could hear the cries of those around her, but she was only focused on one thing—how injured was she? She suddenly realized she couldn’t feel her hands, or her feet, or, well, a lot of places. Neil was back with her, pushing her down, and she turned her face towards him. Her mouth worked as she tried to find the words to ask him what was wrong with her.

“Wh—wha… how… injury… can’t…”

She couldn’t make the words come out, but he seemed to understand what she was getting at. He guided her back down again, keeping his hands on her shoulders, and keeping his eyes locked on hers.

“Doc,” he said it slowly, making sure he had her attention. “You’re hypothermic.” He paused and waited until she nodded. “No injuries. But we have to warm you up.”

It slowly clicked with her. There hadn’t been people with a fever. She had just been too cold. And things weren’t making sense because she was too cold. Her brow furrowed as she thought, trying to pull up information—information she should know like the back of her hand.

“…Compress…” she said. “…fluids. Warm…. Inside out….”

“We’re already on it,” Neil said.

She belatedly realized that while he had been talking to her, people had been working on her. She felt, now, that some of her clothes had been removed, and warm dry compresses were being placed on her. It took her a moment to realize that someone had put one directly on her chest and another on her groin before covering her back up. A nurse was already putting one her neck.

Neil nudged her lips and she looked back to realize that he was poking them with the end of a thermometer. She obliged and let him put it in her mouth. It wasn’t until she felt a sharp prick that she realized someone else had her arm and was getting it ready for an IV. She almost opened her mouth to ask, but Neil reached over and kept it shut.

There was too much going on, and she was having trouble tracking it. Neil removed the thermometer, and he said something she didn’t catch. Something was put on her face, giving her warm air to breath. Her eyes tracked to the side, and she saw an IV bag hanging even as she felt something warm in her arm.

She struggled to understand what was happening. She knew that she should, but it was taking her too long to follow it. Warm, humidified air. Warm IV fluids. Warm dry compresses. Blankets piled on top of her. Active external rewarming, her brain supplied. Active core rewarming.

For… well, she wasn’t sure how long. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. But she laid there, trying to make sense of everything. Her brain felt foggy at best, and she still didn’t feel right. It took her a minute to realize it, but something felt wrong in her chest, and she suddenly realized that she wasn’t breathing quite right. She clumsily reached a hand out, trying to grab Neil, but succeeding in hitting him instead.

He turned towards her, worry in his eyes. “Yeah, Doc I know. We’re monitoring you. We’re going to take it a step further alright? Don’t worry, you’re going to be alright.” He stopped talking to her and started to talking to others. “Hey—I want a second-by-second watch on her vitals. We don’t want to risk rewarming shock. I think she’s slipping that way. Let’s ease up on some of this, slow it down. You—”

Doc lost track of what was happening somewhere in there, and, she supposed, fell asleep (or slipped into unconsciousness. She wasn’t sure which). When she next blinked awake, she felt much warmer and her brain seemed to be working a little better. She was still in sickbay, still had the IV in and the breathing apparatus on. But she felt warmer.

“Hey.”

Doc turned her head towards the voice and saw Neil. He looked tired.

“How ya feeling?”

Doc blinked again, her brow furrowing. “…Tired,” she finally said. “But not cold.” Her voice was a harsh whisper, but it was the best she could do.

It was enough, apparently, and he grinned at her. “Hey, glad to hear it!” His smile dimmed a little. “Do you remember what happened?”

“Um…” she had to try to think back. It wasn’t easy. “I was… hypothermic.”

Neil nodded. “Yeah. White-out conditions hit while you were out with a patrol. Somehow you got separated from them. Another patrol found you later, but you were already hypothermic at that point. They got you here, and we started up procedures.”

Doc nodded. “How bad was I?”

Neil frowned. “Moderate, edging towards severe. We got lucky—you never went into rewarming shock, although I had been certain you were about to head that way.” He shook his head. “If you had, I’m not sure—Well,” he cut himself off. “That’s a conversation for another day.”

Doc hummed. “…Thank you,” she said.

He grinned at her. “Anytime. I’m gonna send a nurse in here to keep an eye on you, but you rest. I’m going to go report to the general that you’re awake.” He reached over, putting a hand on her forehead. “You just rest, alright?”

Doc was too tired to argue. As much as she wanted to be up and moving around, she was just too tired. She nodded, and he smiled, leaving her there. Doc let out a sigh and closed her eyes, safe in the knowledge that she was in capable hands.

[aquietwritingcorner]

Whumptober 2021, Day 8:  Coughing up a Lung (pneumothorax/exotic illness/“Definitely just a cold”)     Word Count: 1002 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: K/G Characters: Vato Falman, Doc Warning: NA Summary: Vato Falman isn’t feeling so well. But it’s definitely just a cold, and he’ll be fine. Notes: N/A AO3 || ff.net

__________________________________

Definitely Just a Cold

Falman coughed, bringing up an arm to cough into his elbow. He could see the little puffs of breath that escaped from around his coat sleeve as the coughing went on, just hoping that his eyes wouldn’t water this time. That was never a good thing when one was out on patrol duty. It ended up freezing to the face and causing a whole host of problems.

“Geeze, Lieutenant. You’ve been doing that for a while. You sure you’re okay?”

Falman looked up at the man who spoke, lowering his arm as the coughing subsided. “Yeah,” he said back to the sergeant. “It’s just a cold.”

“You sure?” the sergeant looked a bit concerned. “You’ve been doing that for a while now.”

Falman nodded. “It’s fine, Sergeant, but thank you for your concern. Let’s make sure we’re staying vigilant, though. You know the general would have our heads if something happened and we didn’t notice.”

The Sergeant nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. Falman just mentally shrugged and went back to patrol. Sure, he had been coughing and sneezing a lot, and it was a tad harder to breath, but it was just a cold. It was just one of those colds that hung on a bit longer than others did. He was fine. It was definitely just a cold.

Falman continued throughout his day, finishing patrol and writing his report, He had traded some chapstick for a box of disposable tissue, and a little pile of it grew as he wrote. He turned it in, heading towards the cafeteria to get something to eat, settling on some warm soup. He made sure to sit on the corner of table so that he could turn and cough without coughing in anyone’s food. When he went to bed that night, he used another pillow to help prop himself up and slept that way, finding it easier to breath as he slept. The next day was similar, as was the day after that. His days just kept going in this pattern, with Falman hoping that the cold would go away soon and insisting to everyone that it was “definitely just a cold” when they expressed worry. He’d be fine. They didn’t need to worry.

One part of every week in Briggs was that at least three days a week, you were required to go and physically train. It could be pretty much any training, but General Armstrong insisted on her men remaining fit, ready, and vigilant. However, at least once every two weeks, the physical training was required to be some sort of hand-to-hand training.

Falman had been putting his off, hoping that he would feel a bit better, but it hadn’t happened. So, with a sigh, he resigned himself to fighting a bit while feeling a little under the weather.

At first, he seemed to be doing alright. But then he faced off again Castor, who was known for his quick, fast attacks. Falman could normally hold his own against Castor, at least for a bit but he had to be quick on his own feet. But as the bought went on, it started to become harder and harder, and he started to have trouble breathing. It allowed Castor an opportunity to get under his defenses and flip him, slam him down on the ground. Falman felt all of his breath leave him.

And then he couldn’t get it back.

He gasped for breath, trying to take in something, anything, but he was having trouble getting it in. It was like something was blocking his ability to breath, and he laid there, struggling to get any air in.

He could hear people calling his rank, his name, but he couldn’t answer them. He didn’t have the breath to. He heard someone calling for a medic, but it was hard to keep track of what was going on after a certain point. He was put on a litter and moved to the infirmary. Doc was waiting for him, asking him questions. He responded as best he could, wheezing out answers. She listened to his lungs and heart, gave him a battery of tests, and placed a face mask with oxygen and something else in it on his face. It helped a little, and as he laid there on the bed, propped up, he dozed.

It was a bit later when he was stirred from sleep by Doc standing beside his bed, preparing a few things.

“Doc?” he said, a bit breathily.

“You are an idiot,” she said to him, and he blinked at her. She attached a different thing to the line his air was being fed through, and he could taste a different flavor to the medicine flowing into his mask.

“What?” he asked, clearly confused.

She was reaching for his arm, preparing it for an IV. “You have bronchitis that is on the verge of becoming pneumonia,” she said.

“I thought I had a cold,” he said, surprised.

“You probably did—at first,” she said. “But then it settled in your lungs, turning into bronchitis, and because you didn’t get that treated, well, you’re on the edge of it turning into pneumonia.”

“Oh,” he said, not able to think of what else to say. It certainly explained the tightness in his chest and the shortness of breath he had been experiencing.

She put the IV needle in his arm, then hooked it up to a bag that was hanging nearby. “You’re going to stay here for a few days. I’m going to be giving you a round of heavy antibiotics and well as breathing treatments. But” she finished and gave him a firm look. “The next time you have a cold that just won’t go away, you had better come to me.”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” he said.

Her look softened. “Good,” she said. “Now rest. I’ll be back to check on you later.”

Falman nodded and leaned his head back. Maybe next time when people were worried about him, he should pay attention.

[aquietwritingcorner]

Febuwhump Day 5: “Let Me See”       Word Count: 724   Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: T   Characters: Neil, Doc     Warning: Blood, guts     Summary: Neil dealt with bones and muscles and nerves and steel. He didn’t deal with the squishy parts. But someone has to, and he’s the best candidate they have right now.   Notes: N/A     AO3 || ff.net

______________________

“Let Me See”

“Move! Let me see, let me see!”

The words broke out of Neil’s mouth with a command and authority to them that he didn’t normally use. He was never one for throwing rank around, and he usually got around to what he needed to do by virtue of being both the only one who could and being an expert in his field.

But this was different.

Research and Development was always a dangerous place to be in. Oh, sure, they had plenty of safety precautions and procedures, but just by its nature, it could be a dangerous place to be in. It was best to always assume as much. Because even with all of their precautions and procedures, accidents still happened.

Just like this one.

Neil shoved people out of the way, and they, at his words and actions, cleared a path for him. There was already so much blood, and he could see the way her hands were holding to her side. He could see—oh great mountain gods, was he seeing organs? She was in pain, and she was crying out with it, even though it seemed that the pain increased when she did. The men were looking to him for direction, and he was doing his best not to panic. He dealt with bones and muscles, not the squishy stuff inside.

That was her job.

But at the moment, he was the best they had, so he had better step up.

“Get a gurney down here now! Trauma unit! Have the OR prep! Inform the general! Call North City, have then send an ambulance! Hurry!”

People jumped into action, and Neil leaned over Doc. “I’m going to do the best I can, alright? I’m going to patch you up until we can get you to North City.”

Her breath was hitching, but she nodded, a minuscule thing, and he took it. And then he began his assessment.

Automatically, his attention first went to her limbs. They were all intact, which was good! Although if he were honest, part of him would rather have had her injury had there. That he knew how to deal with. But he moved one. Her back and spine seemed to be alright, as did her neck and her head. No, the worrying part was the part that was bleeding profusely—her right lower abdomen.

Her hands were covering it, and he couldn’t get a good look at the wound itself. That was a problem. “Let me see,” he said, gently.

She shook her head, not moving her hands.

“Doc,” he said. “I can’t assess you, unless you let me see. So let me see.”

With what sounded like a strangled sob, she moved her hands. Neil heard some of the men who were still nearby gasp and take a step back. Neil had to swallow. The squishy parts were not what he usually dealt with. But he set that aside to do what he could to save her life.

He identified as many of the organs—or what was left of them—as he could. Her lungs seemed to be intact, which was good, and her heart wasn’t exposed. But her liver had been hit, and it looked like part of a kidney was damaged and he cursed aloud when he realized that her large intestines had been ruptured. That would release all kinds of bacteria into her. Not to mention the fact that he could see this all without having to open her up. That was the most disturbing thing about it all.

He could hear the gurney arriving and hear men guiding it. “Alright,” he said her. “We’re gonna put something temporary over this, to keep things in place, and then we’re taking you straight to the OR. I’m going to do what I can for you, and then we’re going to transport you to North City, understand?”

She nodded again, and he gave her shoulder a squeeze. The gurney pulled up right behind him.

“Alright!” he said. “Let get that stabilized and then move her! Let’s go, time’s critical here!”

The medical staff wasted no time, and Neil jumped right in, helping them. Within seconds they had her loaded and headed straight to the OR. Neil would do everything he could for her.

He just had to hope that it would be enough.

[aquietwritingcorner]

Sicktember Day 20: Doctor’s Visit/Check-up Word Count: 1244 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: K/G Characters: Captain Buccaneer Warning: Summary: Buccaneer gets a check-up from Neil and Doc over his new automail arm. Notes: AO3 || ff.net

__________________________________

Doctor’s Visit/Check-up

“It’s just not working the way I want it to.”

Buccaneer looked down his arm—his new, metal, automail arm. He was still having a bit of trouble remembering it was his, if he was honest. It still felt sort of foreign to him.

Neil and Doc were looking at it, and Buccaneer resisted the urge to shift in his seat. He sort of felt like a bug in a jar or something, although he knew that neither one of them would try to make him feel that way on purpose.

“Not work the way you want it to, how?” Neil asked, running a critical eye over the piece of hardware.

Buccaneer frowned. “Its… Its not responding right. It does sometimes, but then other times I’ll try to do something and it’ll go wrong. I accidently threw a glass of water all over Miles yesterday. I was lucky I didn’t hit the general. But I did shatter one of the general’s teacups when we were in her office.”

Doc and Neil exchanged looks.

“That all seems pretty normal, actually,” Neil said. “You’ve had the automail seven months now. Its still going to take some getting used to. I mean, we can check it out if you want us to, but you can’t expect to be completely back to normal yet, especially since you’ve only had it seven months.”

“Isn’t seven months long enough to have this thing working right?” Buccaneer pressed. “I’m tired of misfires! It makes me unreliable!”

“It’s going to take time,” Neil said. “Lots of it. You didn’t learn to use your flesh arm as well as you did in seven months, did you? It’s going to take time for you to learn to use your automail arm.”

Buccaneer frowned. “…I suppose that makes sense. But—I feel so useless! I can’t stay out long in the cold, I’m not reliable with a weapon. I can’t even be trusted to hold things all the time! What good am I going to be here if I can’t get this under control?”

“R&D is working on a new metal mix that should last longer in the cold,” Neil said, reaching out and running his hands over the arm, examining it. Buccaneer didn’t try to stop him. “And I’m working on some modifications that might can help as well.”

“Yeah?” Buccaneer said, his interest piquing.

Neil nodded and reached for Buccaneer’s shoulder. “Mind if I…?”

Buccaneer shook his head. “No, go ahead.”

Neil pressed the release points, expertly manipulating the arm and taking it off. He looked at the joining point on the arms itself, and then around the port in Buccaneer’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said, a little distractedly. “Part of the problem is the type of metal, of course. We need something that’s more resistant to the cold and won’t transfer the cold to your flesh as easily.” He ran his hands around the rim of the port. “When we find the right mix, that will mean replacing some of this to help.”

Buccaneer nodded. “Sure, that makes sense. But what else?”

“Well, that’s where it’s a little trickier,” Neil said. “The length of time you want to spend outside is longer than most automail users want to be. It’s longer than most people wanna be, to be honest. Even when we do find the best metal mix, keeping your flesh warm is going to be a challenge.”

He ran his fingers over the edge of the port, where it intersected and overlaid with some of his flesh. “If we could put some sort of insulating material here, it would help…”

Doc moved back over to look at where Neil was indicating and frowned. “The problem with that would be keeping the flesh healthy. Too much insulation there wouldn’t be good for it.”

“Yeah, I know.” Neil frowned. “The other idea I had was trying to find a way to warm it from the inside.”

“The inside?” Doc asked.

“Yeah, like, the body generates its own heat anyway. And automail is basically just a machine. Machines generate heat as well. If there was a way to increase that and disperse it to the outer edges of the flesh, then that would keep it warmer.” Neil said. He looked in the port. “Here and here… I have some preliminary ideas worked out.”

Doc frowned. “But what about when he’s not outside? Overheating the flesh could become a problem as well.”

“Yeah, I know,” Neil leaned back, considering. “We usually put in some regulators to help with that, so that the heat caused by the automail doesn’t hurt the outfitee too much. Its not like it’s typically a lot of heat anyway. The arm is powered by the nerves, so it’s mostly just heat from that and general movement that we have to worry about.”

Buccaneer listened to the two of them go back and forth. It was all very interesting, and he was definitely grateful for the two of them working so hard on it, but it didn’t really answer his question.

“This is great, but what about my lack of control?” he pressed.

Doc stepped back, hands on her hips. “That sounds like a problem that can be solved by physical and occupational therapy to me,” she said.

Neil nodded, running his finger along the inside of Buccaneer’s port before lifting the arm and clicking it into place. “Yeah. It basically boils down to practice.” His hands kept moving, and it was only seconds before Buccaneer felt the jolt of the nerves reconnecting. “Best thing to do is keep up the exercises that they gave you back in North City. I think one of the occupational therapists is scheduled to come up this way sometime next month. She can give you some more tips then.”

Doc nodded. “Yeah, she should be. She’s got a few people to check on. I think you’re one of her priorities, though, Captain.”

“In the meantime,” Neil stepped back, apparently satisfied with the state of the arm and the port, “Things that might help are practice. Come down to R&D some. We’ve got a lot of stuff that you can’t break that you can practice grip sensitivity on. And didn’t the General offer to train with you? You know how she is. You’re not likely to hurt her even if you’ve got a lack of control.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Doc said. “You might see what other hands-on jobs there are that you could do. You’ll be slow and clumsy at first, maybe even have lapses where you are anyway, but the practice will pay off in the end.”

Buccaneer sighed but stood up. “Thanks Doc, Neil. Other than that, how am I doing?”

“Great!” Neil said. “Your body is still taking to the implants well, and everything seems to be healing up. Hopefully we can get this new metal figured out before the skin starts to grow over the connecting port areas. I’d hate to damage that.”

“Just come back to see us next week, or sooner if there are any other problems,” Doc said.

“Will do,” Buccaneer agreed, and turned to walk out the door.

He was, honestly, a little disappointed that there wasn’t a quicker fix, but it sounded like he would just have to do some work. Well, what’s some more hard work? He’d make it. There was no other option. He was, after all, a Briggs Bear. And Briggsmen didn’t give up.