Chapter Text
“Bandage,” you said, holding out your hand.
A roll of black cloth was placed in your hand, and you gave it a quick frown as you used it to secure a pad of the same material to the thigh of the clone trooper you were working on. The medbay had been out of supplies for a while now. Any spare set of trooper blacks or other clothing had been sacrificed to make pads and bandages to treat the wounded. You turned your gaze on the man’s face, noting his pale complexion and the sheen of sweat on his brow.
“Bleeding’s stopped,” you told him. “You should be okay until the rescue team arrives.”
“Thanks, Doc,” the clone said.
You had to swallow past the lump his thanks raised in your throat. You didn’t deserve gratitude.
“I wish I could do more,” you said honestly, and turned away before he could say anything else.
The mission the 104th had been assigned should have been simple. Get in, extract hostages from a Separatist-held facility, and get everyone out. No one had expected the hostages to be bait for a bigger trap. As Commander Wolffe and the strike team—with you as the nat-born team medic—had been hustling the hostages to the waiting LAAT-i, three Separatist ships had exited hyperspace and opened fire on General Koon’s flagship, the Benevolence.
The Star Destroyer had been forced to wait for the LAAT-i to enter the hangar before it could attempt to escape. Far too many of the clone fighter pilots had died trying to fend off the Separatist ships, and the Benevolence had sustained heavy damage before managing to jump to hyperspace. After maybe ten minutes, the Venator had shuddered alarmingly and dropped out of hyperspace with alarms blaring.
As a medic, you’d rushed to help the injured. All too soon, you’d run out of bacta patches, then compression pads and bandages and everything else. It seemed like everyone on the ship, with the exception of the extraction team and the hostages, was hurt in some way. Now you stood in the medbay, looking around helplessly, trying to think of what else you could do.
“Hey,” a familiar voice said, as a hand rested on your shoulder.
You turned to see the 104th chief medical officer, Glaive. The top part of his armor was gone and what was left was streaked with blood. He gave you a wan smile.
“Everyone’s resting,” Glaive said. “There’s nothing else to do at the moment.”
“Are you sure?” you asked. “I feel like I should do more—”
“Sit down, and I’ll get you some water and a ration bar,” the CMO said. “We’ve done all we can do for now.”
You nodded numbly and started walking when Glaive gave you a gentle push. Instead of sitting through, you kept walking. Your steps took you out of the medbay. The hallway was filled with more wounded. You turned and shuffled carefully through the ranks of clones and nat-borns that lined both sides of the hall.
A tug on your hand stopped you.
“Hey, Doc, got any pain meds? My buddy’s in a bad way,” a trooper in a bridge uniform asked. A bloodstained bandage covered his right eye and most of that side of his face.
You shook your head and felt tears well up in your eyes. “I’m sorry.”
The clone managed to give you a lopsided smile. “It’s okay. I’ll ask someone else.”
You didn’t have the heart to tell him there probably wasn’t any more medication left on the ship. You just started down the hallway again, at a quicker pace. A few more troopers looked like they were going to stop you, but they subsided when they got a good look at the expression on your face.
As soon as you found an empty hallway, you turned down it and started running. You took turns blindly, just trying to get far enough away that when you started crying, no one would hear you. The men were probably low enough on hope already. They didn’t need to see one of their medics falling apart. Exhausted, you stumbled and dropped to your knees, scraping your palms on the rough deck plates. The tears started falling in earnest and you did your best to muffle your cries as they rose up in your throat.
Logically, you knew the attack on the Benevolence wasn’t your fault. But a little niggling voice in the back of your head insisted that if you’d found the hostages faster, if you’d had enhanced strength or stamina like the clones, if a thousand other little things had gone differently, there wouldn’t be so many dead and wounded on the ship. As the strike team medic, somehow it was your fault you couldn’t save everyone.
The clack of plastoid against the durasteel decking sent a jolt through you. You looked up to see Wolffe kneeling in front of you. He placed a bundle of cloth at his side, then pulled his helmet off and set it on the floor.
“What’s with the tears?” the commander asked, his voice gruff.
You looked down at your scraped palms, little drops of blood welling up. “I couldn’t . . . I just . . .”
You hug yourself, gripping your arms tightly and curled in on yourself.
A scrape of plastoid, then strong arms pulled you against a broad chest. A sob broke free, followed by another and another. Wolffe held you close, stroking your hair and murmuring softly. At some point, the commander settled back against the wall and pulled you into his lap.
“Do you comfort all the weepy medics like this?” you teased, once you’d finally calmed down. You shivered. It was getting cold in the hallway.
“Only the cute ones,” Wolffe said.
You looked up at him and he in turn gave you an unimpressed look. “Glaive was fit to be tied when he couldn’t find you.”
He picked up a hydration pack and a ration bar from the bundle next to his helmet. You stared at the items, guilt welling up inside you once again.
“You should give those to someone who needs them more,” you said.
Wolffe rolled his mismatched eyes and dropped the hydration pack and ration bar in your lap. “Eat. Drink. Then you can get some real sleep.”
“I should get back to the medbay—”
Wolffe growled your name and you cringed. He let out a sigh and picked up the cloth, which turned out to be a jacket, and draped it around your shoulders. More tears welled up in your eyes and you wiped them away on the collar of the jacket.
“Whatever you’re feeling guilty about, it’s not your fault,” Wolffe said, his voice unusually gentle.
“My head knows that,” you said, wiping away yet another tear.
Wolffe nodded. “But you’re still beating yourself up.”
“Yeah.” You sniffled and huddled against him. It really was getting cold, and he was warm, even through his armor.
“I can’t tell you how to deal with your feelings,” Wolffe said, shifting you so you rested more comfortably against his chest. “But know that you don’t have to deal with them alone. Comet, Sinker, Boost, and the rest of the squad are there for you. Glaive will forcefully be there for you.”
You chuckled. There was no escaping Glaive when he thought someone needed his assistance.
“Thank you,” you said.
Wolffe shrugged. “I—”
The power in the hallway suddenly flickered then died, and you felt at least ten pounds lighter as the artificial gravity fluctuated.
“Kriff,” Wolffe muttered. His arms tightened around you as he fiddled with something on his vambrace and a moment later a little flashlight came on. “That’s another reason Glaive sent me after you. They’re shutting down life support to nonessential areas until the rescue ships arrive.”
“Are we going to make it until a rescue arrives?” you asked.
“Of course. But first we need to get back to where the heat and air are.”
Wolffe stood and set you on your feet and you swayed a little. The air was getting a bit thin. You juggled the hydration pack and ration bar as you slipped your arms into the jacket. The commander snagged his helmet and took your hand and practically dragged you through the hallways.
As you went, you loosened your grip on his hand, but Wolffe didn’t let go.
“Don’t want you floating off if the gravity fails completely,” he said. “My boots are equipped with mag-locks.”
You’ve had zero-g training. The hallways of the Venator wouldn’t be hard to navigate. Wolffe knew that. But you just nodded and curled your fingers a little more tightly around his as something warm bloomed in your chest.
The two of you came to a sealed blastdoor and Wolffe released you to tap a command into his vambrace again. A small aperture opened in the door, and Wolffe helped you through, then followed. You felt a little disappointed when he didn’t take you hand again, but you understood. The hallway was filled with people. You followed the commander through the hallways to the medbay where he stopped and turned to face you.
“Thank you for finding me,” you said.
“Of course,” Wolffe said, pulling on his helmet. “Don’t go running off again. Glaive worries.”
With that, he headed off down the hallway. You turned into the medbay and went to find Glaive.
“Oh good,” the CMO said when he saw you. “Wolffe found you.”
“Sorry I wandered off,” you said. “I guess I needed some time to myself.”
Glaive nodded. He seemed suspiciously unbothered by your absence, despite all of Wolffe’s talk of worry.
“It was kind of you to send the commander to look for me,” you said.
“I didn’t send him,” Glaive said. “He came looking for you then stormed off when you weren’t here.”
“Oh,” you murmured. That warm blossom in your chest grew a little bigger.
Glaive gave you a sly smile. “By the way, the commander’s jacket looks good on you.”