milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The thirst sneaks up on him, eeling and flickering between tiny gaps in the pain until it's wormed up to his throat: rough, papery, too difficult to ignore. His voice cracks, and at first he doesn't mind the discomfort. It's another distraction. He'll take it.

Soon, though, it escalates to where he can't think about much else but water. Just one glass of it and he'll be fine. Cottle wouldn't object; there's even a small pitcher close to his bedside that he can grab once he pushes himself up.

His IV line keeps getting in the way. Distracted, singleminded, Gaeta unhooks it so he can stretch his arm a little further. His fingers almost brush it -- nearly there --

When he overbalances and falls off his bed, tumbling through the surrounding curtains, he hits the wooden floor of Milliways instead of the metal plating of Galactica's sickbay. Gaeta cries out, half-strangled by pain; he tries to push himself up again, and can't.

[Plotlocked! There will be an open EP tomorrow.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Not far," she reassures him. "From the front door to the bar, and then maybe a quarter of that again. We'll be there in no time."

"Okay." He swallows. "Okay. Good."

One hand settles near the bowl of ice. Suddenly remembering, he turns his head to try and focus on Simon.

"I'm sorry," he repeats. "I didn't mean that. Not, um -- "

"It's all right." Simon gives him a small smile. "You've got other things on your mind right now."

They're edging past the bar now, and into the corridor.

"Speaking of which: can you tell me if you've been given any medication in the past day?"

"Um." He wrenches his thoughts onto this new track, with visible effort. "Yeah, they -- they've got me on a morpha drip. I think that's all it is, I know they were giving me that before I got back to Galactica."

He blinks muzzily at the change in scenery.

"Morpha," he repeats. "Is that an opiate, do you know?"

"I don't know."

Small, and miserable.

"Maybe? I..."

"It's all right." Quick, and reassuring again. "I don't think we have morpha in stock, but I can give you something else that won't react badly with it. I'll just need to run a very quick test first."

They've reached the infirmary by now. Cordelia's taken a few quick steps ahead to open the door; he gives her a nod of thanks as he steers the hoverchair in.

Gaeta chokes out another noise that's trying to be laughter and doesn't come anywhere close.

"Morpha's not working too well anyway," he says. "They can't give me a lot of it."

"We'll try and find something that works better, then. All right?"

With a little careful adjustment, the chair lifts to the height of the nearest patient bed.

It'd be easy just to let them take care of it: to go limp, and let himself be carried across the narrow gap to the bed.

He can't do that to them.

"Okay," he mumbles again, and struggles to move himself over to the bed.

"Hold on --" Simon puts a hand on his shoulder, presses him back. "Don't try to move. We'll take care of it."

A swift glance up at Cordelia; she nods back.

"But -- "

His haphazard attention flicks back and forth between them.

"You heard the man, Lieutenant."

Cordelia holds his gaze; her voice hasn't risen, but it's gone very firm.

(Any member of her family, were they here, would recognize her Survey Captain Voice.)

"Let him do his job."

Gaeta's mouth closes; the focus...doesn't return in full, but struggles into a slightly firmer foothold.

"Yes, sir."

She breathes out, and doesn't let the ache in her heart show on her face.

"If you can get his shoulders," she says to the doctor, low.

He tries to keep himself steady; the least Gaeta can do is not turn into a dead weight in their hands.

The notion becomes a lot more difficult when they lift him up. He knows they're doing their best, but he bites back a yell all the same as the pain in his leg -- what's left of his leg -- flares tenfold.

Quick and efficient, they settle him into the bed. As soon as they do, Gaeta buries his fingers in the sheets, reminding himself where he is, keeping himself from falling somewhere worse.

It doesn't take very long to take a blood sample and run it through one of Dr. McCoy's devices. The test confirms Simon's suspicion, finding traces of something that's definitely an opioid.

There are a few options for what he can do about the considerable pain remaining.

Gaeta doesn't flinch or protest when the needle goes in; he's almost motionless now, except for the labored rise and fall of his chest. After a moment, he closes his eyes. It seems a better option than staring at the ceiling.

"Alone she sleeps, in the shirt of man..."

It's barely audible.

Simon glances back at him for the space of a heartbeat.

This isn't entirely outside his experience, this reaction from a patient, when the pain gets too bad to manage any other way. He's seen people curse in a steady stream or chant prayers; seen the point where there's no way to tell the difference.
a sa te ka na e ku ta ma e
It's only the clarity of the tune, even with Gaeta barely singing above a whisper, that makes him doubletake -- and even that only very briefly. He has work to do.

He doesn't meet Cordelia's eyes where she stands by the bedside, one arm across her midsection, the fingers of her other hand loosely curled over her mouth.

"With my three wishes clutched in her -- " His breath catches. " -- hand."

His fingers start to drift closer to his leg, without his fully realizing it.

"The first that she be spared the pain, that comes from a dark and laughing rain..."

"Felix?" Quiet and calming. "I'm not sure I can find a medication that would be safe to combine with morpha, so instead I'm going to use a medical stun to apply a temporary nerve block at the base of your spine. While it lasts, you won't feel anything below the waist. Including the pain. Do you understand?"

The melody breaks off in an indrawn rasp of air. Gaeta pries his eyes open.

"Yeah," he says, once he can arrange his thoughts in the proper order. "I do. Yes, sir."

"Good." He nods. "This won't take long."

It doesn't. Indeed, the longest part is helping Gaeta roll onto his side, supported so as not to put undue pressure on his stump; a second later, a burst of heat flashes across his lower back, and when it dies away...there's nothing.

I can't feel my legs, he thinks in a wobbly seize of panic. They're both gone. Oh, gods.

He looks down. Exhales, slow and shaky, when he sees they're both intact -- or as intact as they're going to be, now.

Gaeta closes his eyes on another thin well of tears.

They help him roll onto his back again; Simon tests his good leg to make sure the numbness has taken full effect; Cordelia tucks the blanket back around him.

You're going to be fine, Simon tells him.