Chapter Text
The New Republic was lacking many things, of which a proper hospital is one.
Doing the best that they could at their base, they blocked off one of the buildings and labeled it the infirmary, knowing that the chances of anyone coming back from a serious injury and living were simply too low.
Minor ailments they could handle, most of them mainly being injuries from training or their daily exercises. The soldiers could be in and out of the infirmary in a matter of a day. The medics of the facility could do the best that they could with the supplies on hand. It wasn't much, but until now it hadn't been a problem.
For this, Locus found it frustrating.
It shouldn't bother him whether or not the New Republic could properly give medical treatment to its soldiers- in fact, he should let things continue as are. More dead soldiers make his job much easier in the long run.
But he finds himself jealous of the proper medical facilities and supplies that the Federal Army had in surplus.
Approaching the makeshift hospital room that had been set up in the infirmary, he stands outside of the door.
He doesn't know what he's doing here.
Locus aims to go back, no one would know that he had gone down this corridor or this part of the base.
But the door opens, revealing a tired general in her civvies, holding onto a book.
"Oh," she sounds surprised as her eyes settle on his helmet. "Locus... I wasn't expecting to see you here."
As always, Kimball looks guarded in his presence. She's smart to be wary, but even her slight fear of him won't leave her completely intimated. She stands her ground well.
"Nor I," he states, words clipped. He doesn't move, a retreat at this point could be seen as a moment of weakness.
"Well," she sounds unsure, looking back towards the hospital room. "I've just finished visiting Captain Grif, he hasn't woken up yet, but..."
She looks down at the book she's holding in her hand.
"I thought that, if he could hear what we say, he might appreciate someone reading to him," she flushed slightly. "It's a silly thing to do, but it gives me some comfort I suppose."
He doesn't respond as he watches her. Even if he wanted to continue the conversation, he wouldn't know what to say.
Reading to a drug comatose man was a very silly thing indeed.
“But, I must get back to my duties,” she said while looking up at him. “Perhaps, if you’ve come to visit, you could read to him too?”
He doesn’t say anything, but she reaches out with the book as she offers, “You don’t have to, of course, but if you do you can just leave it in the room. I’ll be back for it tomorrow when I visit again.”
It’d be rude to not take the book from her outstretched hands, and while he doesn’t plan on reading it to the captain, he can at the very least leave it in the room for Kimball.
The book is worn out, but well-loved, given the state of its yellowing but intact pages. It could just be a book found in one of the many abandoned civilian sectors, but it could also be from Kimball’s own personal library.
Kimball mutters a goodbye and walks down the corridor, so he doesn’t think he’ll find out before she eventually meets the same end as her predecessors.
He’s alone once more when he decides, that perhaps, it couldn’t hurt to visit the captain.
Opening the door and slipping inside, the irritation that appears whenever he is reminded of the poor infirmary conditions reappears.
The room has a single folding chair placed beside a metallic surgical table, wherein the captain was laid down upon it. Apparently, a bedside table had been moved into the room, where a digital clock and a lamp had been placed onto it.
It’s empty and bare of anything, making the captain's situation much grimmer.
Settling the book on top of it, he opts to not sit on the chair and simply observe the comatose man standing up.
It is... illogical the way he feels about the incident regarding Captain Grif.
Soldiers get hurt. This is a fact, it is the basis of all conflict. Soldiers get wounded, they die if they are weak, they live if they are strong.
So, it should be no concern to Locus the way he feels guilty about the hospitalization of the orange SIM Trooper.
The Captain went back despite all orders to the contrary, for a private that he didn't even like very much. Prior to that day, Locus would have sworn that if given the chance, Grif would have undoubtedly let Private Matthews die.
He was the weakest link of the team, he annoyed his Captain with his constant need to please the older man.
And yet, despite everything pointing to the rational action, Captain Grif defied it- defied his own nature.
He turned around and ensured that the private would live at the cost of what could have possibly been his own life.
That. That was what perplexed him so.
Never before had he encountered a loyalty to even those he hated than the loyalty that exuded from Captain Grif.
It even made him uncomfortable, somewhat.
So looking down at the unconscious man, taking in all of his extensive burn wounds, the bandages that wrapped around his body on all the places where his armor had once been, an ugly feeling begins to burn in his chest.
Picking up the book again, he opens it to where Kimball had marked her spot by folding the upper right corner. His eyes skim the page, and it looks like a nonsensical story.