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I really don’t understand why you are still scared of needles. You have a tattoo and I know that you know they used needles to draw it. Hope you weren’t too rude to that new medical doctor, try and be nice.
-Letters from Laura Taylor to Simon “Ghost” Riley
10/?
The last mission for the task force could have gone better. General Shepard told them to go to Denmark and to destroy a weapon’s cache, which sounded easy enough. However, it was like the Russian Ultranationalists knew they were coming because they were quickly ambushed at the doors. It was a bloodbath and field of empty bullet shell casings everywhere; bodies laying in their own blood and some of the task force had their own wounds. They didn’t bring Dr. Taylor with them which was a mistake. Gaz had been stabbed in the leg, Soap grazed by a few bullets, Price had a bullet sticking out of his hand and Ghost had a bullet stuck in his tattooed arm.
Ghost was the one who radioed the doctor, he pushed his finger to his ear, the fabric of his hood against the metal earpiece. His arm was stinging in pain, but he ignored it. He had his tan cape wrapped around his shoulders, he could use it as a makeshift tourniquet but it still had that sweet scent of roses. He couldn’t stain it with his blood. He had to ignore the pain; he needed the others to get medical care first.
“Doc, you copy?”
Silence and then, “Copy.” Her voice stirred something deep in the pit of his empty stomach.
“We need you to prepare whatever you need for medical treatment, we all got wounded.” He looked over to Gaz who was holding pressure to his leg, trying to keep the bleeding at bay. He wasn’t bleeding like crazy, but it was enough to make any soldier worry.
“How bad are we talkin?”
“Nothin’ serious. Just be ready for us.”
“10-4.”
The afternoon was spent tending to the task force, she had gone through three packs of sterile instruments. She will need to order more, it’s better to have more than not enough. Helping Price and Soap was easy enough, just a little of pain medication and she was able to patch them up good as new. Gaz was a little more difficult, she had to use a tourniquet, on his upper leg and have a sterile area because the knife had broken the skin, and was so close to major arteries and veins. She went through fifteen needles suturing at his muscle, and an artery that had nearly been slashed back together. She had gotten sprayed in the face with his blood a few times while trying to take the knife out as safety as she could, thankfully she had her glasses on. He would not be fit for duty for at least a week, and until he got the ok from her as well. The poor man will be limping for at least a day or two, but at least the knife was out of his leg. There was one person left and can she really say she is surprised that it is Ghost?
She was standing in front of the table with the framed photos of her family and unit, drawing up ropivacaine into a syringe, numbing medication. Hopefully he would show up before 6pm, she still needed to make notes on the others which could take at least two hours of her time.She removed the needle from the top, flicking the liquid in the syringe with her finger. The liquid fell from the tip of the hypo, traveling down the plastic tube.
“Put that away,” she heard a deep voice behind her, and she looked over her shoulder to see Ghost in the doorway. He had on his black skull balaclava instead of his usual full hood with the skeleton mask, and the same black hoodie that he always seemed to wear. She watched him as he walked inside, sitting on the exam table, his long legs hanging off and his black combat boots touching the floor. He wasn’t trying to hold any eye contact with her – she had noticed that with him.
“Are you really scared of needles?” she asked him with a raised brow, putting the filled syringe on the metal prep table that was to the left of her.
“I’m not,” he answered quickly, turning his head away from her. “Just don’t like it, is that a crime?”
She didn’t answer him, and pulled her roller chair from the table, sitting down and rolling over to him. Her foot reached over for the prep table, pulling it to her side. He held out his arm to her, the black sleeve of his hoodie up to his elbow. However, he was still wearing the black gloves on his hand, but that didn’t matter; she wasn’t worried about his hands. His lower arm was tattooed, and it was nicely done. Funny how people who get tattoos are so afraid of needles. A bullet was sticking straight out of his arm, ironicy on the face of the tattooed soldier. The site looked a little infected, a little dried blood, and some swelling; nothing too serious. However, she noticed other scars along the tattoos and some discoloration, like he was burned. The scars were random, as were the small patches of burned skin. She would have to make a note of this in his chart -- she was certain his chart said nothing about random scars and burns on his right arm.
“Not too terrible,” she spoke mostly to herself, and she touched his arm, but he quickly retracted it back to himself. Now, that annoyed her. She had to fix him.
She gently grabbed at his arm again and he pulled away, nearly flinching; like her touch burned him. She leaned back in her chair, exhaling loudly, her hands running down her blonde braided hair. This was going to be more difficult than she thought, but what else did she expect from him? Did she really think he was going to sit there nicely and let her work? She stared at him past her lashes, but the man was staring straight ahead, avoiding looking at her. Which was unlike him, he was someone who seemed to enjoy eye contact.
“I need to get that bullet out of your arm or else it’s gonna get infected, the wound will turn green or gray with pus, smelly pus, right? Then, you probably won’t let me drain it because you won’t even let me do a routine trea-”
“Alright!” He nearly shouted, annoyed, his other hand running down his masked face. “Just….be fast.”
“Thank you for letting me do my job,” she sarcastically said, and turned away from him in her chair.
She rolled over to a crate filled with medical supplies and pulled out a size 6 glove, sterile basic instruments like a scissor, hemostat and a needle driver, silk ties, packing iodophor, and a skin suture. She grabbed a few random blue towels in the crate as well, and then rolled back over to the prep table, laying the towel on the metal table and one beside his wounded arm. Then, she opened the sterile instruments using the sterile technique as well as the skin suture and silk ties. The gloves were placed beside the sterile equipment, open and ready for her to put on sterilely. She pushed the table back to his side; she was ready for small surgery or more like DIY surgery. First, she needed to inject the numbing medication so he wouldn’t feel her tugging at the bullet. She didn’t cause any unnecessary pain to him.
However…this may be more difficult than she originally thought it would be. The other men had been talkative to her during their treatment, even poor Gaz. They were distracted by talking. But Ghost barely spoke to anyone – especially her. He was a man of little words, or just one sentence to conversation. He won’t be able to distract himself during this. Perhaps, she will need to use some skills she learned in her residency years.
“You want to know something?” She paused to put the syringe on the table. She leaned back in her chair, reaching over to the table to grab an alcohol pad. He turned his head slightly to her, but not giving her his full attention. At least she was peeking his interest. “I didn’t know how to swim before I joined the navy.”
He turned his head toward her, even with his mask on she could swear he was raising a brow at her. “What?”
She nodded, “It’s true. I am from a land locked state so I never saw the ocean until I was in college. Most kids from my school always dreamed of going to the beach. Sure we had lakes, but the ocean….it’s totally different. My parents tried teaching me to swim at the community pool but they weren’t the best either. We couldn’t afford the swimmin lesson the other kids got.”
“But why join the navy then?”
She shrugged her shoulders, tearing open an alcohol pad in her tan hands. “I thought it sounded better than the army.”
He narrowed his dark brown eyes at her causing her to smile slyly at him. She gently rubbed the wound with an alcohol pad causing him to flinch. She slowed down the motion, hoping it would calm him down. He felt so tense under her touch, which won’t be good if she tried to stick him with a needle. He needed to calm down. The veins on his arm were sticking out, showing how tense he was feeling. Slowly, he started to relax just slightly under her touch, that was good enough for her.
“Anyway, I had to face my fear of swimming during basic training.” She started to speak again, and he turned his head away from her, looking straight ahead. Perfect. She grabbed the syringe again, holding it in her hand. “During basic, the drill sergeant asked who was the best swimmer and of course basically everyone raised their hands except for me. It made me stand out and not in a good way. “She pressed the needle into his skin, her other hand gently stroking his tattooed hand, trying to get him to relax. He tensed up, she kept stroking his arm, her thumb rubbing over the tattoo. The tenseness in his arm, slowly relaxing.
“Because I stood out and the sergeant called me to the front and asked me ‘ why aren’t you the best? ’. I remember how sick I felt and I said something stupid like ‘I don’t have an answer ’. “ she slowly started to inject the numbing medication into his skin to numb the area. He wasn’t reacting; perfect.
“Then he asked me straight ‘you can’t swim, can you? ’” She quickly removed the needle from his skin. As if it was never there. She gently stroked his arm, to distract any thoughts that a needle was ever there to begin with. She looked down to his arm, and saw his gloved fingers were nervously moving on the chair’s arm.
“Then he told me to go to the edge of the pool which I did” she pressed the needle to the other side of the wound, not pushing the needle in just yet, the other hand still stroking his tattooed skin. “He told me to jump in and I couldn’t, I froze. I was terrified. I thought if I jumped in I would instantly drown.” She gently pushed the needle into his skin. “And do you know what he did?”
“He pushed you?” Ghost asked, his voice was low and almost soft.
She nodded, chuckling to herself. “Sure did. Right into the 12 deep foot side of the pool and I remember how scared I was when I fell in. I could see the light from the water fading away from me. I thought I was going to die, right there. Inhale some water and my lungs would fill with water and I would drown” she slowly started to inject the remaining pain medicine into his skin. He wasn’t reacting, thankfully.
“But something in me told me to move my arms and legs toward the light. I must have looked ridiculous in that state,” she quickly put on the size 6 gloves sterilely, and reached over to a hemostat, gently pulling on the bullet stuck in his arm. He wasn’t reacting, so the medicine must be working. It was definitely stuck. She put the hemostat on the blue towel and reached for a silk tie, tying off small vessels and cutting them out of the way. “I made my way to the surface and looked around, everyone looked so much further away. I was probably dog paddling or something.” She pulled at the bullet, and it was slowly moving in the wound. She had to pull harder but didn’t want him to react, so she kept moving her hand to the left and right, slowly pulling it out. “The drill sergeant was screaming at me to get back over to them now or else. And you and I both know the else was serious.”
“So,” she kept pulling gently, watching for any signs of discomfort from him. “I dog paddled over to him.” She pulled again, the bullet slowly coming out of the open wound. “And do you know what he said to me when I made it to the edge of the pool?”
He shook his head, “No.” The bullet slid out from the wound, and she pressed her index and middle finger on the wound, to stop any bleeding, but thankfully no blood came out. She placed the bullet on the blue towel and loaded the skin suture on the needle driver.
“He said ‘an old dyin dog could swim better than me’ “. she said and he chuckled, causing her to look up at him and pause suturing his skin. Ah, so he does have some life under that dark exterior. She quickly sutured the skin back together, pulling gently at the suture causing the skin to move upward, but he wasn’t reacting to it. She cut off the end of her tail of the suture and put the needle on the blue towel.
“Why are you tellin’ me this?” He questioned her as she pulled off one glove, his gaze was finally on her instead of the wall. She held his eye contact, his dark brown gaze felt like it could see right through her and into parts of her soul she tried to push down, deep down. It made her uncomfortable, but she also was interested at the same time. Like a child who knew touching the stove was dangerous, but the curiosity got the better of them every time.
“Maybe I just wanted to talk to you," he blinked at the statement, and she raised her gloved hand, holding the bullet in her thumb and index finger. "But t was a good distraction."
Ghost blinked, his dark brown eyes widened in surprise and looked down to his arm. “You’re done? Already?"
She stood up and put the bullet back on the blue towel, discarding it. She walked over the medical boxes, searching for a tegadrem to put over the closed wound. "Amazing what a doctor can do, right?" She finally found one and took it in her hands, walking back over to him. She stood in front of him, his knees touching her lower stomach as she fiddled with the plastic dressing. For once, he didn't pull back and in the back of mind she worried he was going to kick her in a reflex. His head was lowered, staring down at his combat boots. She peeled back the clear plastic of the tegaderm, gently putting it over the sutured wound, pressing down on it with her thumbs and index fingers, applying pressure. The veins in his arms started to rise up again, he was feeling tense, but he shouldn't be; the treatment was over. She was tempted to ask him what he could be possibly tense about, but she doesn't. He let her do the treatment without having a meltdown or having a violent breakdown like other people had with her in the past, but honestly, she isn't sure if she can picture him being violent with her. Perhaps she is wrong, but he doesn't seem like the type. At least not with people he knows and works with on a daily basis.
"Don't take this off for at least two days." She gently started to rub the plastic into the closed wound. His knees gently pushed into her stomach, and she took a step back, giving him space that he so desperately wanted and needed. She was basically leaning over to him now, causing a small strain in her upper spine. "On the third day, come and see me and I will make sure no infection spreads or anything. But you are fit for duty."
She released his arm, walked away from him and threw the remanding plastic in the trash by the table. He quickly stood up and made a bee line to the door, like he did after his physical but this time he stopped and turned toward her. He was silent, and she picked up her iPad that was on the table, opening his chart.
"Thanks for telling me that story," he spoke, and she turned her body to face him, lowering the iPad. Did he just thank her? A small smile was drawn on her lips, her lashes covered her green eyes but then she looked over to him: giving him her full attention.
"Thank you," she replied, his dark brown eyes were on her -- only her.
"For what?" He questioned. The air between them was growing tense, but not in a dread feeling more like electricity between them; pulling them apart but also together.
"For listening," she said simply, and his dark eyes softened just so slightly, and he looked away from her. He walked out the door and gently closed it behind him, leaving her alone in her office.