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[OOM: Gabriel Tam gives a speech to a cheerful crowd, and to a few surprise guests.

And things really, really don't go as planned.]

The door slams open, and Regan Tam runs through. For once, she's neither composed nor immaculate, though she was a short while ago; her hair is straggling, her face white and eyes wild. She grabs the door, holding it open.

The reason becomes clear an instant later, from the cavalcade that follows: Galadan, bearing an unconscious and blood-drenched Gabriel Tam in his arms. Gabriel's face and chest are laid open, deep awful wounds seared black at the edges. Beside him hurries Simon Tam, taut and intent; taking up the rear comes River, her skirt soaked with red and her hands streaked with it. She scans the room with a bodyguard's sharp paranoia, as the group hurries towards the infirmary.

[OOC: They're going to be heading straight for the infirmary and not likely to change course, but this is not at all plot-locked! Feel free to notice, to try to interact if you don't mind your character getting a very distracted response, or to have your character stop by to help or stare.

Also, warnings for a fair bit of gore in the above OOM.]

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"Simon! River!" No one related to River is going to be shocked by a teenaged girl with such preternatural calm or such a practiced reaction to savage injury.

She's conscious, too, that this what you might call a protective ring, and doesn't try to pass through. "Can I help?"

Simon knows what she can do.

Simon is scanning the room quickly too, but there is nothing of the bodyguard about his intent; he's hoping to see a colleague. He already knows, calmly and with complete certainty, that he won't be able to handle these injuries alone.

He nods to Yuna without breaking stride. "Please."

It's quite a parade. Guaranteed to draw the eye, one might say.

More than one eye, clearly, as Hawkeye Pierce is rising from his chair, quickly. "Simon?" he calls, and it's phrased as a question but he's already coming around the table.

Galadan's shoulders do not stiffen, but he does turn his head to regard both Hawkeye and Yuna.

His eyes are very cool, which may be something of a surprise given the bloody figure he is carrying.

"Are either of you healers that deal in matters beyond surgery and bonesetting?"

His pace toward the infirmary does not slacken as he asks the question.

"If so--"

His gaze flicks to Simon to regard his reaction, particularly.

"--I will have to request that you leave as much injury as allows him to remain stable and alive."

Conversation is just sounds, now, distant and almost irrelevant; it takes a second for the meaning to click.

When it does, Regan's head jerks around.

"Wh--"

She's not dumb. She's a politician's wife, and that means she's a politician.

But: "No," she snaps, white-faced with fear and fury. "We, we'll find a way to explain it. Heal him, damn it. He's dying!"

Simon's head swivels around at the same moment as his mother's, and his lips grow white.

"Request noted, Mr. Galadan," he says, in a formal toneless voice that adds in all but words and likely to be ignored.

"Summoner Yuna, Dr. Pierce -- with us, please? We'll need an IV hooked up, whole blood if we have it, and I'll want to run an internal scan immediately."

They're nearly to the infirmary by this time.

Galadan cannot fail to miss that tone, and his own becomes that much more iron-hard.

"It will be obeyed, Simon."

Beat.

"Unless, of course, you prefer that certain parties exhibit a renewed attention in the potential undeveloped skills your bloodline may possess."

There is no sly insinuation in his voice. This is simple fact, as the Wolflord sees it.

All the jostling movement, necessary though it may be, sends renewed agony through him, enough to have wrenched him back to a dazed sort of consciousness.

But at Galadan's words, Gabriel tries to speak-- and fails, choking for air. He coughs, once and then again, hard and wracking coughs that send a pinkish, bloody froth to his lips.

A low moan of pain comes from him, try though he might to stifle it.

Hawkeye shoots a sharp look at the party, but he doesn't waste time on questions or figuring out the politics of the situation, especially after the quiet sound from the wounded man.

"I'm just a simple surgeon," he says, ducking through the infirmary door ahead of them. "Dr. Tam, what's the blood type?"

"A neg," Simon says; it means nothing to her.

"I understand," she says, adressing Galadan. Since she approached she's been peering solemnly at him through the latticework of her staff; red and blue lights play on her face as she observes, and then she speaks quickly.

"He's dying, and if I use a spell he'll be completely healed. You'll have to use machina medicine on him. I'll get the poison." She shifts her grip on the staff, defining in her mind the volume of the spell, then swings it towards him.

Light swarms up from the ground within a tightly defined shape, red shading to blue, passing over both Galadan and Gabriel with an immaterial hotcoldhotcoldhot, purging the poison that the sensor spell showed swarming through his body in a growing green stain.

They're inside the infirmary now.

River stumbles, for the first time; her arms wrap tight around her waist, palms pressed awkwardly to fabric. One deep shuddering breath, and her eyes squeeze closed.

When they open again it's to the glitter of tears, and she seems torn between glaring hotly at Galadan, watching her father bathed in multicolored light, and just huddling back against the high counter behind her.

"Poison," Simon repeats, turning away from the sink and reaching for a pair of surgical gloves.

It's a question, addressed to Yuna.

"Yes," she says. "He was poisoned. Now he's not." She's looking through the staff again, the same odd shifting light cast on her face, as if she were looking into a slowly-spinning lantern.

She flits a glance at River, but she can't relate well with River at the best of times. As much as her training tells her to keep everyone calm and optomistic, she doesn't have a clue how she could.

They need to hurry.

Galadan's lip curls, baring teeth, though that expression lasts only a moment.

He has never been fond of magic being worked upon him.

Still, Yuna has prevented Gabriel from degenerating from poison, so he will make no fuss. This time.

"Good."

He sets Gabriel down carefully, then steps back and away.

Toward River.

He is no healer at the best of times, and has little interest in being in the way.

It would be counterproductive.

He shudders violently at the feeling of the magic washing through him, hot-cold-hot and deep within

(fire burning inside him, searing)

and as Galadan sets him on the infirmary bed, Gabriel jerks convulsively, trying to bring up both hands to push away an attacker who is no longer present, turning his head as if to call out, struggling--

--and as he does, one of the deeper gashes along the side of his neck suddenly begins to bleed dark blood, much, much faster than before.

Hawkeye has the good fortune to glance over his shoulder. "--Simon," he says sharply, abandoning his search for A- blood. He snaps a clean towel out of nowhere on his quick couple of steps over to the bed, unceremoniously shouldering through anyone who may be in his way, and applies pressure to the patient's neck (but the blood is dark, stark against the white towel).

He looks up, face intent, looking for Simon. "It's a vein. I still don't know exactly what kind of equipment you've got in here for this--"

Simon's already got a particular drawer open, reaching for one of the medical devices from Dr. McCoy's world -- one of the handful whose function he fully understands, and which he will use in an emergency.

"Take pressure off the wound on my mark," he says, stepping close on the other side. His thumb finds the switch, brings the protoplaser to humming life; his other hand touches the control pad once, twice, setting it to venous repair.

She can't watch.

She's always had a strong stomach, been proud of it even, but this is Gabriel, this is her husband bleeding and gasping in horrible choking wheezes on the table, and she can't watch.

Regan turns away convulsively, one hand pressed hard to her mouth.

I will be as stone, she thinks. I will be as stone and as cool water.

She cannot afford to fall apart yet.

"River," she whispers, reaching out -- her daughter's face she can look at, and the look on it is tearing her apart -- and somehow she finds words. "It'll be all right, River."

Is she lying to her child again?

Whether she is or not, River comes to her; Regan holds her close, smooths her daughter's tangled hair while River stares beyond her shoulder, and prays.

She's not sure who all these people are, but that this is a tense and private situation, she understands. And what little she can do here, she can pass on. At only a small personal cost.

"Simon," she says. She slips something out of the wide yellow sash around her waist; it's a thin leather satchel he's seen before. First she takes a potion from it, a narrow vial filled with pale blue liquid.

"This should heal him completely. I understand why it's not a good idea, but, if it's necessary. And if he--if you start to lose him--"

"This is phoenix down." It's a tiny scrap of feather-shaped flame in a small glass jar. "If you start to, lose him, break it under his nose. It'll pull him back--stabilize him--and do a small amount of healing."

Hawkeye moved out of the way at Simon's nod, and -- he paused there, just for a moment, to watch the (impossible) device do its (impossible) work.

Wonder or not, though, Hawkeye Pierce is a doctor, and he does his job. He turns away, rolling up his sleeves with hands spattered with still-warm blood, and he goes on the hunt for an IV and a couple of units of blood.

The protoplaser isn't impossible; no more than artificial gravity, or the printing press. It's just ... very, very complicated. The theory behind it makes perfect sense.

The blue potion and the phoenix feather Yuna holds out to him, now -- those are impossible.

But so was the injury in the first place.

Simon nods at her. "Thank you. Could you -- there on the counter, please."

He'll use them if he needs to. Meanwhile, his hands are busy with stopping the bleeding, and next he'll need to do an internal scan --

"Yuna, you were able to tell there was poison in the wounds. Can you tell if there are any other internal injuries? Anything not immediately visible?"

She shakes her head. "No--only how badly injured he is. It's, a scale, of brightness. He's still very fragile, but I think--"

"Yuna." Kimahri stands--or rather, looms--in the doorway. "Time."

Yuna has a lot of practice understanding Kimahri. "Time is moving." It's happened before, when more than one of them was here.

"Door open." She nods. "I'm sorry I have to--the feather, and the potion, should do everything I could. I'm sorry!"

There is a large, blue, grunty catman. No one else seems to notice this, though, or think it strange, so Hawkeye keeps his thoughts to himself and focuses on the task at hand.

That task involves assisting Simon, for the most part; the other doctor assumed the lead role without a word, and Hawkeye doesn't question him. Not with the vibe that he's getting out of this room.

With the two of them working together, the gashes (they look, Hawkeye registers, like they were made by something very big and very angry) in the patient's face, shoulder, and deep into the muscle of the chest, are sutured. He is hooked up to an IV and given several units of blood.

Hawkeye's mental catalogue of the man's injuries just keeps getting longer and longer.

The broken ribs--marked by bruising, already beginning to turn sour colors--are handled with a supportive bandage, while a salve is applied to the second-degree burns on the shoulder and the side.

The worst of it is the internal damage. Simon's the man with the future knowledge, though, and the future equipment, and Hawkeye is more than happy to let him be the one to find a medication that will ease the patient's breathing.

Bruises, contusions, exhaustion, and some lower-level burns -- but the man's alive.

He's alive.

And, eventually, awake -- enough to squeeze Regan's hand, and smile with drugged grogginess at them all.

He looks like hell, worse than Regan's ever seen, and she's never been happier to see it.

Looking around the room, she whispers "It's going to be all right, River," and this time she really believes it.

Gabriel Tam has to be seen again back on Londinium; Galadan is adamant about that. And, even Simon has to reluctantly concede, he's right -- a concession Simon will make only once he's certain Gabriel is stable enough to be moved safely.

There's a particular hospital. Bajian Li and his people will get them there.

The wheelchair procession from the infirmary to the front door stops once, as Simon veers aside to where Zoe's sitting at the bar for a quick, quiet word. She glances toward the group in concern, and nods.

He rejoins the group as Regan opens the front door.

He's aware of River staying close by his side, of everyone's worry, and dazedly Gabriel thinks that he should find some way to reassure them all. He can't quite come up with anything well-thought-out, not much more than a smile and a squeeze of River's hand, or Regan's, but it'll have to do. He hopes it's enough.

As his chair is pushed toward the door, however, Gabriel catches his son's eye, and smiles with something very like pride.

"Jīngcăi," he manages, quietly. "A brilliant doctor."

And then they're through the door, which closes behind them, and heading down the corridor.

Anita Horst bursts into tears when she sees Regan, and Bajian Li's first lieutenant looks visibly disconcerted as he pats her awkwardly on the back. Li himself is gritting his teeth almost hard enough to crack them, but that doesn't stop him from looking relieved.

Minutes later, they're whisked away to the hospital-- location undisclosed, of course.

After all, things have changed.

Nathan didn't know most of the group, maybe heard a little in passing. He recognized River, and started to rise with a question. But then sat back down again. Nothing he could do here. Maybe Peter could help a little. He was the one who went against Dad's wishes to study medicine instead of law.

Nathan was just the elder brother, the golden boy who did what he was told. So he watched the group with silent concern.

The man being carried through the bar looks like hell.

He's unconscious, or very nearly-- but when he chokes, coughing violently as he fights for air, Gabriel's eyes roll back in his head and his dazed glance meets Nathan's, just for a moment.

Galadan, who is more alert than might be easily apparent, flicks a quick glance Nathan's way when he makes as if to rise.

When he settles back down again, the Wolflord looks away.

There are other matters of more import at the moment.

But he will remember Nathan's face--just in case.

When they enter, Will just watches, he starts to rise to aid, but hears the other doctors and know there's little he could do to help.

So he quietly prays for peace to the wounded man, who he knows in his own time would be dead by now.

River's gaze darts back and forth across the room as she hurries after the others, and for a moment her eyes land on Will.

She says nothing, but her chin tips almost as if she's listening to something at a distance, and her hand lifts for half an instant. And then her head turns again, and she's moving on.

Mia is terribly worn from her own troubles, but they haven't gotten that bad.

Yet, an ominous little voice in her mind tells her.

So whatever she can do to help, little as it may be and whether they want her to or not. As far as she's concerned, she still owes Simon.

Soft murmured words from the Guildmaster and everyone should feel a bit more secure. A few more and Simon should start feeling stronger any moment now.

If anyone asks her, her quiet answer will be, "For protection and endurance."

Galadan knows well the feel of magic not his own being worked upon him.

This, at least, is not harmful.

But he casts a sharp look at Mia regardless.

He will seek her out later.

There is often no telling who is friend and who is foe.

Cast as many sharp looks as you like, Mia doesn't care.

She's been in enough battles to know that injury doesn't wait for permission. And if she was in the least bit helpful, it'll be worth anything that may come later.

At the sound of the door, Mary Anne looks up.

When she sees Galadan, she's on her feet.

When she sees River, anything she might have said dies in her throat. She's got no earthly idea who half of those people are or what in hell happened, but the two she knows are her friends, dammit, and its obvious something hit the fan.

It's equally obvious they don't have time for questions.

She stays standing (useless and frozen) until the infirmary door closes behind them.

River looks to be doing her best to watch the entire room at once, wild and wary as a cornered animal.

Her eyes meet Mary Anne's inhumanly bright blue, and she sucks in a breath; for a moment she's tenser, poised and ready for some explosion from the room or Mary Anne or herself.

And then it fades into a faltering recognition, and with it an instant's vulnerability, as whatever's been keeping her moving with this sharp efficiency cracks and stutters for a moment. Her lips move -- Mary Anne, perhaps, with no sound, and the distracted ghost of affection -- and then she's hurrying after Simon again, with her fierce stare and bloodstained ruin of a dress.

She raises a hand (empty palm means I have no weapons no sign to stop just a sign that I saw you I see you I wish I could help you) and almost smiles. It's all she has time for.

She hopes it's enough.

Galadan's gaze cuts sharply from River to Mary Anne and back.

He inclines his head in a bare nod, then returns his attention to getting to the infirmary as swiftly as possible.

There will be time for conversation later.

Sariel was at the bar a second ago.

Sariel now isn't. She's on her feet, but frozen in place and staring--they're moving fast, and that's the infirmary they're heading for and oh, God but that man looks like a vengeful Klingon cornered him in a dark alley. Or like Lieutenant Hagler if wounds had been external - and her mouth twists in revulsion, and her eyes slide away, landing instead on a tangle of dark hair and a blood-soaked skirt, and actions any career security officer would commend in a second.

It's half a shocked, sickened second before the identity clicks home; she's the real thing, she's a friend, and right now is not the time for lavender. all she says is, "River? My *God*, River!"

There's a taut, intent focus in River now, in sharp and perhaps unsettling contrast to her usual distracted manner. She's still River, still with that tangle-haired grace that's just a little off, but right now all her attention is narrowed to the room, her father, her family.

A few seconds after Sariel says her name, River's head turns. Her eyes land on Sariel with a blank wariness that fades an instant later into recognition. But she doesn't pause, or say a word; just glances quickly at Sariel, and then hurries on.

some people are security, and some aren't. Sariel will connect River's intensity with the faces of certain officers she serves with later. Right now she's preoccupied, attention snagged by the blood and the procession and the unspoken urgency - River's not the one being carried. Still. Somebody is, and how does she know if any of the blood on River's clothes is her own?

She doesn't follow, as they're headed to the infirmary and it's most certainly not anywhere she's supposed to be, never mind she'd be nothing if not horribly underfoot. She doesn't belong in there.

Sariel's not looking at her fingers when they lace together. she doesn't know Gabriel Tam from Adam, but that's her friend hurrying by and soaking in blood, and if her mouth is forming half-whispered words in a language other than English... well. A girl can pray in French if she feels like it.

There's going to be much worrying over River later.

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