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‘Good news, Tim! In general, your health is fantastic!’
Tim groans. His head hurts in the way that usually means someone shot him in the forehead, he can’t breathe, and Marius’ voice is painfully loud in his ear. He tries to sit up, and fails, since the Toy Soldier is standing on his chest for… reasons, apparently.
Well, at least that explains why he can’t breathe.
‘What the fuck. Get off me, TS.’
The pressure lifts for a moment as the Toy Soldier lifts one of its feet. It’s wearing very spiky boots today, which is certainly not helping matters any.
‘No, stay there!’ Marius orders it. The foot comes down again. Tim groans. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Marius fiddling with… yep, that’s Nastya’s toolbox. He doesn’t want to know why Marius has it. He really, really does not want to know what Nastya’s going to do once she comes to steal it back.
‘What are you even doing with that? Or with me?’
Marius cries out in triumph, withdrawing a hammer from the toolbox and turning back to face him. ‘I realised I’d been very lax in my duties, you know? The Toy Soldier’s been wonderful in helping me to correct it!’
‘I’m Just Happy To Be Involved!’
‘Of course you are. And what duties might those be, exactly?’
‘I’m glad you asked! You see, it occurred to me that I’ve been ships doctor for several weeks going on millennia, and I still haven’t run any kind of physical wellness exam for the crew.’
Tim groans, letting his head fall back against the floor with a heavy thunk. ‘Please tell me you’re from one of those planets where all the doctors are overworked and checkups never last more than fifteen minutes.’
‘Don’t worry, we’re almost done. The only thing left is to check your reflexes,’ Marius says, hefting the hammer.
‘My reflexes are fine!’ he yelps, panicked. Marius whacks him in the knee, hard, and nods, calling out a cheerful ‘yes, they are!’ which disappears under Tim’s pained yell. ‘Now the other leg.’
‘Oh, fuck you, no no no-’ Tim squirms, attempting to escape from the Toy Soldier’s grip. Unfortunately, it is made of wood, meaning it is significantly heavier than he is, and does not have any nicely exposed tendons to dig his fingernails into and force it to let go.
‘I’m Helping!’ it tells him, cheerful as ever.
‘I hate you.’
‘No You Don’t!’, the Toy Soldier replies. The hammer comes down again, and Tim is a little bit surprised to discover that his leg isn’t broken. It still hurts, though.
‘Only because I hate Marius more,’ he grits out, through clenched teeth.
‘That Is A Very Reasonable Thing To Say, Mr Gunpowder!’
‘Thanks. Any chance you could get off of me, now?’
The Toy Soldier doesn’t respond. Luckily, Marius doesn’t move to hit him with the hammer again either, instead settling back on his heels, pulling out a notepad, and scribbling something incomprehensible.
Tim sighs, and lets his gaze drift to the ceiling. There’s an octokitten in the air vent- based on the colouring, he thinks it might be the one he named Arson. Cute little bugger. Kept stealing Ashes’ gasoline, a crime that Jonny ended up taking the blame for. Oh, that was a good day.
Next to him, Marius makes what he probably assumes are thinking noises- a series of overexaggerated hums and the occasional “ooh…”, interspersed with writing. Tim’s a little bit surprised to discover he actually knows how to hold a pencil… although tilting his head at just the right angle makes his notes look far more like a sketch of an octokitten than any kind of detailed medical report.
‘What’s the prognosis, Doc?’ Tim asks, aiming for cheerful and mainly hitting please just get this stupidity over with instead.
‘On the whole, it’s quite good, although there’s one serious issue to address,’ Marius says.
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. There’s no easy way to say this, I’m afraid.’
‘Marius…’
‘Unfortunately, you appear to have been shot in the head.’
‘Yes, that’s because you shot me!’
‘Did I?’ Marius blinks, looking legitimately startled.
‘One of you did, at any rate.’
‘That Was Me,’ the Toy Soldier contributes.
‘Ah! So we know the cause!’ Marius sounds delighted. ‘As for the treatment…’
‘It’s healed,’ Tim points out.
Marius hesitates. ‘Well, yes, but…’
‘Please don’t assign me some bullshit cure, Marius, you already know I won’t take it.’
‘But I’m the ship’s doctor!’
‘That doesn’t mean you know what you’re doing.’ Tim grits his teeth and, with a hard shove, manages to send the Toy Soldier toppling to the floor. He scrambles to his feet.
‘Look, if… you’re planning on doing this to everyone else, right? If I help you hunt down our crewmates, will you promise not to try and enforce any kind of health regime on me?’
Marius pauses, considering. ‘I guess I could use another set of hands for wrangling the others. One more reliable than the Toy Soldier, here-’
‘I’m Very Reliable!’
‘-Not if we want to keep you on side.’
‘That’s True!’
Marius frowns, running his metal hand through his hair, and then nods. ‘Sounds like a plan. Should we start with Brian, then? He should be up in the pilot’s seat.’
‘Lead the way.’ The Toy Soldier takes that as an order, even if it wasn’t specifically directed at it, and marches out the door.
Tim and Marius exchange a grin, and head off to join the hunt.