Work Text:
Before CT-8295 even opened his eyes, he was aware of the floating, rolling sensation in his stomach, chest tingling unpleasantly. It felt as if he were swinging in a hammock or in a tiny life raft on the turbulent waters of Kamino. That was what he’d been half-expecting to see when he opened his eyes rather than the crisp, white of the medbay, bright, cold lights staring down at him from the ceiling. Despite the fact he’d only been there once, on orientation a few rotations ago, he recognised where he was immediately.
CT-8295’s thoughts were sluggish and slow, as if he were wading through a thick bog with mud weighing him down. Whatever had landed him there, he concluded, must have been bad enough to necessitate drugging him to Coruscant and back. He hoped there was a cool story behind it, at least - not that he could remember what had happened himself. Maybe it was something he’d be able to take a name from once everything was a little clearer…
He blinked slowly, eyelids heavy and crusted, practically sticking together. Thoughts passed him by like waves on the ocean, none of them sticking around long enough for him to carry them through to their conclusion.
How long had he been asleep? How bad was the damage? He was alive, which tended to bode well, though the painkillers he was on told a darker story. What happened?
The monitor close to CT-8295’s head beeped, slow and constant. His hand itched and when he managed to turn his head, which felt like a led weight strapped to his pillow, he saw it was covered with medical tape securing his IV line in place. He wouldn’t be going anywhere in a hurry, then.
Casting his gaze further, he took in the rest of the medbay. There were a couple of other vod in his line of sight, both of them sleeping. The vod closest to him had half of his face slathered in bacta, angry, blistering burns visible beneath the translucent ointment. CT-8295 didn’t recognise him. The other, though, he thought he might have. Gearshift? Still new to the 212st, CT-8295 was having trouble remembering the names and ranks of everyone important. That task was made even harder with how floaty and sluggish he still felt. The trooper was in Ghost Company, he suspected, though didn’t know for certain.
Another cot in their row had a curtain pulled around, creating a private little nook for whoever was inside. Quiet voices floated to CT-8295’s awareness - a medic giving someone an exam. When he focused, which was a difficult thing in itself, he could make out faint shadows through the curtain as the medic moved about.
He’d ask one of them what happened when they came to check on him, he decided - how long he was going to be stuck there, when he could go back to learning the ropes of the battalion…
CT-8295 didn’t remember much of his first battle which truly wasn’t ideal in trying to turn it into a learning experience. He remembered blaster bolts flying in all directions, of course, and explosions. He’d been flanking to the north with the rest of Foxtrot Group. Then… then there was only pain. After that, a terrifying blankness.
CT-8295 allowed his gaze to shift down the bed to his legs. He remembered not being able to feel either of them at one point, dragging himself through the mud. They both seemed to be present and accounted for, however.
Sluggishly, he traced his eyes down each limb - one and then the other - before freezing.
When his gaze reached his lower left leg, just below the knee, the mound in the bedsheets gave way to… nothing.
Just empty space.
CT-8295’s mind ground to a halt. Even without all the medication clouding his judgement, this wasn’t something to process quickly.
He couldn’t wrap his head around what he was seeing - the empty space where his foot should have been.
CT-8295’s thoughts whirled around and around in his head like a terrifying carnival ride, gaining speed with each turn but bringing him no closer to resolution. The sights and sounds of the medbay seemed to fall away the longer he stared, the steadily increasing beeping sounding distant and muffled compared to the blood rushing through his ears.
His leg!
His foot!
Where was his foot?
Questions repeated over and over, CT-8295 not allowing himself the opportunity to dwell on a single one. It felt as if, in the space of a second, the medication had worn off; leaving CT-8295 alert and buzzing with adrenaline.
He wanted to run.
He wanted to bolt.
But for obvious reasons, he fucking couldn’t.
He felt dizzy.
The lights were too bright.
He was going to vomit.
Where was his fucking foot?
The room was spinning with CT-8295 in the centre, the rolling sensation getting even worse.
He’d be decommissioned for this - that much was certain. Getting a limb blown off was a guaranteed death sentence, especially for a shiny like him without a specialism. A medic, they’d save - too expensive to replace. CT-8295, though, was infantry. As replaceable as they came.
His career would end before it had even begun. There was no coming back from this.
Who was going to inform his batchmates? CT-8295 had been the only one of them in the 212st. There was no way they’d know unless someone took it upon themselves to be the bearer of bad news. He hoped they told them all he died in the initial explosion rather than being saved only to get decommissioned later. There was glory in that, he thought, rather than being tossed out like rubbish.
The walls were closing in around him.
He had to get out.
He had to go.
CT-8295 reached for the IV on his wrist. He wanted it off, needed it off. In his mindless panic, he fumbled, unable to get a good grip of the medical tape. He’d rip it out if he had to, as long as he could get away.
A firm yet gentle hand enclosed around his shaking wrist.
There was a vod above him in medical scrubs, gripping both CT-8295’s wrists and preventing him from fleeing. CT-8295 struggled against him, though was too weak to put up a real fight.
It took several long moments for the vod’s soothing tones to breech through his haze of panic.
“Hey, hey - hey, vod, you’re alright, you’re safe. All ‘s well.” They assured him, though it wasn’t enough.
“My leg!” Was all he could choke out, as if the medic hadn’t already seen.
“I know, I know.” They still gripped onto his arms, CT-8295 rapidly losing what little strength he’d had squirming. “It’s gonna be a life-changing adjustment, but we’re not gonna let you be decommissioned for this, you hear me? I promise, vod. Take some deep breaths with me and then I’ll explain, yeah?”
The medic took deep, exaggerated breaths, making it as easy as possible for CT-8295 to follow along with them. He met their kind, patient gaze and stared back with his own wide, frantic eyes, pupils like pin pricks.
He did his best, but getting his breathing back under control was a frustratingly slow process. Surely the medic had better things to do, but he stuck with him until the room was no longer spinning. When they were sure he wasn’t about to dive for his IV a second time, they released their grip on his wrists and pulled over a wheeled stool to sit on so he wasn’t looming over the bed.
A few overwhelmed tears escaped CT-8295’s eyes, though he didn’t have the energy or wherewithal to feel embarrassed. He’d just lost a foot, damn it - he could afford to cry if he wanted to. Slowly, the beeping on the monitor next to him returned to a less frantic pace.
“I’m Fix,” The medic said once CT-8295 had regained most of his composure. “The CMO - we met a few rotations ago when you were being shown around, but I don’t expect you to remember that now. You got a name yet?”
CT-8295 shook his head.
He did vaguely recall that. He tried to commit Fix’s name to memory. “You’ve lost your left foot, I’m afraid, but I think you figured out that much already. Ideally, I would have liked to break the news to you myself, but oh well… for a lot of vod, this would be a career-ending injury.”
Fix pointedly didn’t say life-ending , but they both knew it was implied. “General Kenobi stopped you from bleeding out in the field yesterday and he’s taken a personal stake in things, it seems. You were one of the first people he asked about when he woke up and he’s already offered to fund having a prosthetic developed and fitted so you can walk again. He’s already approved it with the GAR, apparently, and authorised placing you on special leave until it arrives and you’re able to move with it well enough. So please try not to worry, vod, everything is being taken care of. We’ll find ways of keeping you useful while you’re recovering, too.”
CT-8295 was speechless. Since his first breath, since all of their first breaths, it was hammered into the vod that they were expendable - that there was always someone identical ready to take their place. Only General Kenobi was apparently going out of his way to keep him around with seemingly no benefit to himself.
It didn’t make sense. It certainly didn’t align with his view of the galaxy.
Fix gave him a moment to wrap his head around that, although CT-8295 was sure he never would.
“Want some water?” He shook his head. His stomach felt far too fluttery for that. “I’ve informed your batch that you were injured, by the way, they send their love… I told them you’ll be alright and that you’ll make contact with them some time in the next rotation.”
CT-8295 relaxed a tad at that, breaking the news to his batch worrying him without even realising it. The galaxy began to come back into balance again and he had no way of knowing what he might have done if Fix hadn’t been there to talk him down.
CMOs, it seemed, were less scary than CT-8295 had been led to believe. But then again, the stories he’d heard weren’t from the perspectives of patients.
He might still have felt overwhelmed and unravelled, but the paralysing dread that sat over CT-8295’s chest like an anvil had eased.
-
“Stop looking at it.” Fever’s tone might have been harsh, but his eyes were kind. In the day since he’d first regained consciousness, CT-8295 had learned to take anything that came out of Fever’s mouth with a pinch of salt. His bedside manner was terrible, yes, but it wasn’t personal.
He didn’t follow the snapped instruction, however. He kept looking at the bare, bruised stump where his foot had once been as Fever went about cleaning the still-healing wound and changing the dressing. It was a horrid, mottled colour that made CT-8295 feel sick. He felt more so when he stared at the manual stitches digging into what remained of his flesh, bacta having not been enough to hold it together. Or so he’d been told.
With his stump uncovered and bare for the first time since receiving the injury, CT-8295 was finally able to see what remained of his lower leg. It was impossible to tear his eyes away from it. His stomach rolled as he took note of all the loose skin and muscle there. The parts that weren’t swollen were floppy and unsightly.
CT-8295 hated it, even with the solid rationale from the medics that they’d left it that way for a reason. The extra muscle and fat would act as a cushion for the remaining bone if he was planning on walking on a prosthetic. Otherwise, the bone would quickly grind a hole through his skin.
Wouldn’t that have been a lovely sight?
CT-8295 wanted to wriggle. He wanted to squirm. He would have given anything for the ability to get up and leave, to burn off all his excess energy, but he couldn’t.
“I can’t help it.” Was all he had to say in response.
When Fever began to apply a fresh coat of bacta to the surgical site, CT-8295 flinched at the chill of it. The sensations left in his stump would take some getting used to. For the most part, it was entirely numb. But every once in a while, pinpricks of pain would filter through where Fever was touching - no matter how gently he did so. It was as if his nerves were flip-flopping between being dead and operating at maximum sensitivity. It set his teeth on edge, even as he did his best to stay still and be a good patient.
Fever was his primary medic for the foreseeable future. Despite his bedside manner which was sometimes (often) lacking, he’d been taken good care of in the other’s hands so far. That being said, CT-8295 had found it to be excruciatingly boring. All he’d had to keep him occupied was dwelling on his injury. That, and the occasional comm calls from his batchmates when they weren’t busy with their own battalions and duties. His new squadmates had dropped by a couple of times, too, which CT-8295 appreciated - even if he wasn’t particularly close to them yet. Being stuck in the medbay for days on end certainly wasn’t helping that.
CT-8295 couldn’t help but look back down at his stump again.
Staring at it made him feel sick and panicky. He knew he should look away, but couldn’t bring himself to do so.
“Have you thought of a name yet?”
The sudden change of topic had CT-8295 blinking back up at the medic in surprise, his trance broken. “You could choose something to do with this,” Fever motioned down to his stump. “It was a memorable first battle, after all. For both of us.”
CT-8295’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline.
“You’re a shiny?” That didn’t seem to add up - not with how grizzled and battle-hardened Fever acted - as if he’d been to hell and back and survived. Maybe it was just that - an act. Medics were hardier than he’d thought, it seemed. Fever hummed.
“Yeah, I’m attached to Foxtrot Group, too. I don’t think I saw you on the ground. I got here a couple of months ago but I’ve been sticking to general practice so far while I settle in.”
The two of them shared a tentative smile.
CT-8295 knew that despite entering their first battalions at similar times, they weren’t the same age. Fever was older than him by at least that extra month. He would have completed basic training first before going onto medic training, meaning that he had several months on CT-8295 at least. But, age aside, in this they were in the same boat.
Fever cleared his throat and looked away. No doubt, he wasn’t too comfortable with personal talk - patient-medic boundaries and all that. That was fine by CT-8295. He was already planning on wearing down that crass exterior and making a firm friend out of him.
“Have you thought of one then? A name? Maybe Toes?” When he only go a wide-eyed, startled stare off of CT-8295 in response, Fever snorted - the ugly, self-satisfied sound of a man who thought he was the height of comedy.
Or perhaps he meant it to be mean rather than a joke? CT-8295 wasn’t sure. He’d never had much luck reading between the lines, picking up on what people weren’t saying.
“Force, I’m kidding!” CT-8295 relaxed at that and Fever gave him the space to ponder the question.
“Well…” He felt shy, suddenly. Although he hadn’t shared it with anyone, there had been a name in the back of his mind for a few rotations now. “...I was thinking… Apex?” His shoulders crept up to around his ears, expecting to be teased like he’d seen brothers do on Kamino when they were finding their names. Fever, however, only gave a low, appreciative whistle.
“That’s a cool one. I like it. Wanna try it out for a bit while you’re in here, decide if you wanna stick with it, before you come out to the masses?”
Apex nodded.
Despite the bedside manner which really did leave a lot to be desired, Apex felt surprisingly comfortable around Fever. Perhaps it was the simple fact that he always knew where he stood with the other. Fever never pretended to like anyone he didn’t have to.
That extended to patients, too, which Apex had observed when Gearshift had returned to the medbay for a follow-up appointment. Fever had been cold and scathing, but without the usual humorous twist of his mouth as he did so. Apparently, according to Fix who Apex had struck up a conversation with on the night shift, Fever and Gearshift were in a feud about something. He hadn’t managed to find out why that was just yet, but he had time. He imagined that whatever it was must have been pretty serious for Fever to actively hate the other.
Once he’d been weaned off of his painkillers, Apex had come to the swift realisation that a lot of Fever’s dark jokes and teasing was carefully calculated to distract his patients from their pain, Apex and his missing foot included. He appreciated that more than he could say - and simply having a friend in the medbay whilst he recovered. Of course, he never told Fever that, knowing he’d get shy and bashful but cover it up with insults.
He was beginning to learn, also, that despite only being with the battalion for a couple of months, Fever was a beacon of gossip. And now that he had a captive audience in Apex, he was willing to divulge and teach the other all he could about the battalion and vod he hadn’t even had the chance to meet yet.
No one could resist opening up to a medic, it seemed. Although Apex suspected that by regailing him with gossip, Fever was riding the line of confidentiality particularly hard.
“You know Shrapnel?” Fever started after a long moment of quiet. It said quite a lot about Apex that the simple question was enough to have his interest piqued. He never would have thought he’d be into gossip, but there he was.
“Yeah?” Apex had seen him about, though only a couple of times, walking through the medbay and always looking a little lost. He was on light duties, apparently. Wherever he went, Fix always seemed to be lingering behind him, keeping an eye on the other. He was having a rough time of it, so Fever had told him, having graduated medic training and joined the battalion at the same time as Fever despite them belonging to different batches. The battle the rotation prior had been Shrapnel’s first, too. He’d gained a little more life back in his eyes since then, but Apex imagined it would be a long time before he was back to normal.
Fever smirked, more to himself than to Apex, as he continued to shather bacta over the other’s surgical site. Apex didn’t so much as flinch this time, too distracted as Fever continued.
“I heard he’s sweet on Tar from engineering. I think they’d make a good pair, actually. The poor guy is too soft to be shaking it up with an ARC or a Commando or something… That’s why he’s in general practice and not attached to a company.”
A little harsh, Apex thought, although he understood where Fever was coming from. Shrapnel certainly seemed… sensitive. Delicate. He might have been better suited to working on the bridge or in engineering compared to a medic role where vod were notoriously headstrong and assertive.
Apex hadn’t heard of Tar before, but he was willing to learn more about this hypothetical vod.
“Fix caught him hanging about the entrance to the medbay with first-meal packed up in a box so he and Shrapnel could eat together… He thinks it’s adorable, but as long as they keep that stuff off of the ward, I couldn’t care less.” Apex didn’t think that was true, Fever wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise, but he didn’t comment on it.
As Fever finished up with the bacta, he sighed heavily and retrieved his datapad. “I just need to take some measurements if that’s ok. Now the swelling has gone down a bit, we can use the dimensions to order your prosthetic for next time we touch down. It’s not going to be completely accurate, but we can make alterations once we have it onboard.”
After a nod from Apex, he produced a tape measure from one of his many pockets and began to measure his stump and lower leg, shifting him around gently and writing the results down on his pad. Apex stayed quiet as he let the other work, feeling less flighty at the protest of someone touching his leg than before.
“We’ll get you up on crutches tomorrow to help prevent atrophy in your other leg while we wait.” Fever stated as he finished his work. “You’ll be on light duties for the foreseeable future. Captain Gregor has agreed to come down tomorrow and walk you through some admin forms so you’ll be able to start helping out with those. I know he’d really appreciate another set of hands, you can handle that, can’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Good.” Fever nodded. “Can’t go embarrassing me and all of my hard work getting you better in front of the Captain.”
There was something about the comment that sounded a little off to Apex’s ears, though he couldn’t put his finger on why. It didn’t land the way Fever had been intending. There was something there, though he had no idea what. Did the two of them get along? He wouldn’t have put it past Fever to have a feud with his commanding officer.
-
“-and then this box at the bottom fast tracks an application. That means it won’t need to be approved by a senior officer unless it falls into one of the categories we went over earlier. If it does, it gets flagged automatically.” Apex nodded along with Gregor’s explanation. He understood the general gist of what he was saying, but knew it would take a long time for him to truly wrap his head around the requisition forms and their many variations. He truly had no idea how much admin was involved with command posts, and had developed a newfound respect for his senior officers because of it.
When he said as much to Gregor, his Captain laughed.
“This is just the tip of the iceberg, unfortunately. You can’t help with anything more than a level three clearance.” ‘ That’s fair.’ Apex thought. If making himself useful meant filling out requisition forms to source new blacks, blankets and even shaving supplies, then so be it. The speed with which a battalion could get through all of these things in a single month had been difficult to believe.
“It’s easy once you get the hang of it, and your help will be really valuable once you’re up to speed. I’m planning on making a case to get you assigned to the bridge or an admin post permanently once you’re up for it - if you’d like, of course.”
Apex wasn’t particularly enthused about being put in a non-combat role for the rest of his life, but he guessed that even with a fully functional prosthetic, the chances of him being allowed back into the field were slim. A month ago, that would have shattered his world, but the loss of a foot had done that for Apex already. Now, he was beginning to make peace with his limitations, grateful that he was there to suffer them at all when, in a different battalion, his fate may not have been the same.
Gregor must have been able to sense his thoughts on the topic. “If you decide you don’t like it, we can try something else when you’re feeling stronger. For the time being, I do really need your help with these though.” Apex didn’t doubt that if he wished for it, Gregor would do all he could to get him assigned somewhere he liked. Engineering, maybe? Electronics?
“Of course, Sir.” He smiled back. “It’s not that I don’t want to work on the bridge, it’s just…” Apex trailed off, unsure of how to articulate himself or even what he was feeling. Committing to such a different role was still a daunting prospect.
“I think I get what you mean.” Gregor finished for him, ever patient. “Once you’re up and mobile with the prosthetic, we’ll find something that will be a good fit for you - something you enjoy.”
Apex appreciated the sentiment more than he could say. It was a far-cry from what he’d expected to happen that first time he’d woken up, overwhelmed and panicked out of his mind.
“Right,” Gregor took a deep breath. “Onto declaration forms…” He flicked to a new page on the datapad propped up on Apex’s lap. This form looked just like the rest of them. “Any time we take goods off of the ship, for our own consumption or as aid to civilians, we normally have to declare it. Only, each system has different agreements on what needs to be declared and how to do it.” Apex got the sense that Gregor found this just as mind-numbing as he did. “Section A-”
Gregor paused as movement caught his eye. The both of them turned to watch Shrapnel wander up the row of beds, coming to a stop a short distance away and staring vacantly down at an empty bunk. His hands hung listlessly by his sides, brown eyes dull and lifeless.
Was that the bed his batchmate had died in? Apex couldn’t help but wonder.
It was then that he realised Greogr had likely not encountered Shrapnel before and may not have been aware of the other’s difficulties. Unlike Fever, he rarely worked with the infantry outside of the medbay.
He looked to Gregor, finding the Captain seemingly nonplussed at Shrapnel’s staring.
Would he react badly when he found out the mental toll the battle had taken on him? Would he report it to the higher ups? Get Shrapnel decommissioned, maybe? Yes, he was helping with Apex’s recovery, but losing a foot and having what looked like battle-shock were very different things.
As much as Apex knew, rationally, that it wasn’t the case, that Gregor wouldn’t do that, he couldn’t help the way his hackles began to rise in the vod’s defence.
Just as Gregor inhaled, no doubt to ask Shrapnel what he was doing and if he was alright, Fix appeared from around a curtain. His eyes flicked from Apex, to Gregor, before settling on the other medic.
“Hey, Shrapnel, why don’t you go on break? There’s a fresh pot of caf in the break room.” He said kindly, putting himself in the other’s line of sight but making no move to touch him. Shrapnel blinked once, and then again, before appearing to pull himself out of wherever he’d been lost in his head.
With a stiff nod, he wandered off again in the direction of the break room, still looking a little vacant.
Gregor’s questioning expression was turned to Fix who simply sighed. “Shrapnel is one of my shinies, besides Fever. He had a batchmate die right off the bat and he’s taking it pretty hard… I’m monitoring the situation and supporting him as best I can, but it’s tough.” This felt like a conversation Apex shouldn't have been privy to, concerns shared between senior officers. Neither of them seemed to object to his presence, however.
When Gregor made a sound of understanding and sympathy, Apex relaxed, no longer worried on Shrapnel’s behalf.
“What company is he attached to?”
“None.” Fix replied. “He’s in general practice but it was all hands on deck, remember?” Another agreeing hum from Gregor. “He was deployed down with everyone else for initial triage.”
“Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”
“Appreciated, vod,” Fix smiled with a nod. “But he’s my responsibility. Thank you, though.” With an incline of his head and another smile shot in Apex’s direction, Fix turned and went in search of his wayward medic, no doubt to offer reassurance and a listening ear over a mug of caf.
Gregor breathed deeply through his nose as he watched the CMO leave before turning back to the datapad, no doubt looking to resume his previous monologue. He opened his mouth but, once again, before he could continue, a different medic caught his daze.
Fever breezed down the row of beds, distracting the both of them, though likely for different reasons. He didn’t so much as spare them a glance and came to a stop by the bed next to Apex’s where a vod was propped up. Wooley, he’d introduced himself as.
“How we doing over here?” He asked, already beginning to run his blood pressure cuff and stuff an oxygen monitor onto his finger. From what Apex could gather, he’d come in with the beginnings of a chest infection after inhaling pollen from an unknown plant. Apex had been present for Fever’s near-terrifying lecture that followed. Wooley, it seemed, had taken Gearshift’s side in the feud that he still hadn’t gotten to the bottom of.
As the medic wrote something on his datapad, Apex noted, interest piqued, that Gregor had turned his swivel-stool around to face Fever completely, even as the other man continued to not so much as glance in his direction. He’d never considered himself gifted at reading people, but it was impossible to miss the way Gregor had perked up the moment Fever had come into view.
“Good to see you’re feeling better, Fever.” Gregor said, interrupting the other’s work. This was interesting, Apex thought, and continued to watch the exchange with rapt attention. Wooley looked just as confused as Apex whilst Fever blinked rapidly, as if surprised at being addressed.
“Yes, well…” He sniffed and Apex got the impression that the air of nonchalance around him was entirely forced. “None of us were at our best after… that.” Apex thought he was referring to the battle, though it was difficult to be sure. He wasn’t sure of anything in their conversation, really.
There was something there, as he’d suspected the day before, though he knew now wasn’t the time to question them on it. He’d badger Fever about it later, he decided. As soon as Gregor left.
“Well, I’m happy to see you’re feeling better.” Gregor shrugged, disarmingly genuine compared to Fever. “I was wondering if you had time to-”
“I’ve got a lot of things I need to be focusing on right now.” Fever cut him off. Interrupting a senior officer? That was ballsy, even for Fever. “Looks like you’re busy, too. Maybe another time.”
Without another word, even to Wooley which Apex thought was odd also, Fever strode over to the medic’s station at the end of the row, busing himself with something there. Gregor deflated a little, though didn’t seem particularly put out.
The entire interaction was stilted and bizarre, if you asked Apex. Which no one did. Fever obviously didn’t hate the Captain - he would have made it abundantly clear if he did. But still, he’d been quick to shut down whatever Gregor had been about to ask him.
“Ok, so.” Gregor swivelled back around to face him again. Was he blushing? “You need to remember to tick this box at the end of each form, otherwise the drop-down menu won’t appear and-”
Apex was only half listening. He kept Fever in his peripheral vision and noted the way the medic kept glancing over at them now Gregor’s attention was elsewhere. He wasn’t glaring as Apex had been expecting. He might have even called the other’s expression ‘doe-eyed’ if such a thing were possible for Fever.
Did he… did he have a crush on Gregor?
No. That couldn’t be possible. Fever wasn’t capable of it. It wouldn't be right. The galaxy would sooner fall apart.
-
“If I manage to get from here to there,” Apex motioned to the weight rack about twenty metres away with his head. “Then you have to tell me what the fuck is going on between you and Captain Gregor.”
Apex had been badgering Fever about it for the past few days to no avail. Each time he’d brought it up, Fever had ‘conveniently’ been late delivering his next dose of painkillers as punishment. Now, though, on the verge of being discharged and becoming an outpatient, Apex reckoned he was safe to broach the topic again.
His prosthetic had arrived the afternoon prior, Apex and Fever spending the better part of that evening and the following morning making sure it fit comfortably and carrying out any alterations. They’d even managed to rope Tar from engineering in to help. Fever may or may not have been blackmailing him to do so, but that was by the by.
Now came the next bit - trying it out and learning how to walk again.
If all went well, Apex would be discharged by the end of the day on light duties working on the bridge. He would only need to come in once a day for physical therapy with Fever, left to his own devices the rest of the time. As much as he was grateful to have made it this far, the thought of navigating the ‘real world’ once again was a daunting one. He’d miss Fever’s constant presence, for one, even if they’d still speak regularly.
He was grateful that Fever had made sure the ship’s gymnasium was relatively empty for his first attempt at walking again. At least that way if he fell on his ass, it wouldn’t be with an audience. Yes, there were a few ARCs training at the other end of the room, but they had the good sense to keep to themselves and not pry.
With one hand, Apex clutched at the railing that ran along the length of the wall, the other fitted onto a crutch. He’d used two to get there, not putting any weight on his prosthetic just yet. But Fever had insisted that the other would learn best by doing , only using one. He stood mostly on his good leg which was quaking with the effort as the two of them spoke.
Fever sighed, unimpressed.
“If you can do it without holding onto the railing , then sure.” They both knew that would be a tall order. No doubt that was why Fever seemed so smug as he said it. Apex was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a quitter.
“Deal.” Fever arched an eyebrow, but didn’t try to talk him out of it. He simply watched, hovering close by, as Apex braced himself and lent heavily on his crutch before beginning to put a little weight on his prosthetic.
Tentatively, he shuffled forwards and the pair fell into a focused silence, jokes falling by the wayside for a while. Fever moved with him, hands out and ready to steady the other if needed.
Apex took his first step. It was a small, off-balance thing, but at least it was something.
The prosthetic felt alien to him now, but he’d been assured that, in time, it would begin to feel like an extension of himself. It was lighter than his foot had been, made of dura-carbon which was stronger than plastoid and less prone to cracking. It would certainly survive the force of an explosion, even if the rest of him wouldn’t. It made his medical scrubs hang off of his hips at an odd angle, Apex having persuaded Fever to lend him a pair rather than traversing to the gym in his patient gown, ass exposed for the whole battalion to see.
Another cautious shuffle. Apex counted himself amazed that he was still upright after several metres, not even needing to grab the handrail for support. The steps he took on his prosthetic were short and quick, not quite trusting it yet. It didn’t bend beneath him, though, as he’d been fearing, meaning the foam they’d lined it with was working well.
He stumbled a little, one of Fever’s hands coming to rest on his bicep, but recovered quickly. Apex appreciated the touch, even if Fever wasn’t helping to stabilise him.
It gave him the confidence to step a little further the next time, knowing Fever would be there to catch him if he pushed too far.
The weight rack was close by - only a few steps away.
He could do this. Not only to get dirt on Fever but for his own peace of mind as well. If he could do this, the rest of the ship wouldn't seem so scary.
Apex was beginning to sweat, breathing hard, but he tried not to let how easy this would have been for anyone else to bother him. He knew, coming that day, that it would be a challenge. Fever had been a miracle in managing his expectations, in that regard.
When he reached the weight rack, Apex was shaking like a leaf. Still, he’d made it , surpassing both of their expectations.
“Well, fuck. I didn’t think you’d be able to do that.”
Apex snorted and grinned, all teeth.
“ Ha , now you have to divulge all.” It was still difficult for him to catch his breath.
“No, I don’t.”
“You’re backing out? Going against your word? I thought better of you - would you really do that to a sick patient?” Even as Fever narrowed his eyes and his lips curled into a sneer, he helped Apex to a nearby bench and pushed him to sit.
“You’re not sick, you’re an asshole with one leg.”
“One foot.” Apex insisted. If he was going to be insulted, it better have been accurate. “Now tell me.”
Fever sighed through his teeth with a sharp, whistling sound. He looked around the gym, ensuring the ARCs were still well out of earshot, before sitting too.
“The Captain and I… After that battle, I wasn’t doing so good. He found me, sorted me out and… we uh…”
“Fucked?”
“No!” Fever shot back, far too quickly to be convincing. He sighed again before reining in his voice. “We, uh… He jerked me off…” Fever looked away with a deep frown and ruddy cheeks. “Didn’t even get hard doing it, and it makes me feel like…” He trailed off.
Apex hummed. No doubt, Fever felt as if he’d taken advantage of the Captain. Or, at the very least, that he didn’t like Fever back. Even so, he doubted things were as cut and dry as Fever was making them out to be.
“Have you spoken to Captain Gregor about this?”
“What is there to say?” Fever replied bitterly. “That he gave me a hand-y and wasn’t into it?” Apex recalled the way Gregor had acted in the medbay and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that assessment wasn’t true. Likely, something had happened and Fever had taken it personally. Despite his hard exterior, Apex got the sense that the other was deeply private and perhaps a little insecure.
Reading people, it seemed, wasn’t that hard, after all.
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” Fever forged on. “It was a one time thing. It didn’t- I mean- It didn’t mean anything to either of us.”
That was a fat, filthy lie if ever Apex had heard one. But he doubted Fever would handle being called out on it very well at all.
“I’m sure it’ll all work out.” He settled on, diplomatically.
“There’s nothing to work out.” Fever snapped. “Everything is fine .”
“Clearly.” Apex risked a smirk, only to be met with a glare in return. Fever looked as if he were chewing a particularly aggressive wasp.
“Right.” He slapped Apex on the thigh harder than he needed to, and stood hastily. “You do that again, and I’ll discharge you. Then you can just meet me here for morning sessions until you’re able to walk without an aid.” He motioned for Apex to join him along the railing again, evidently having had enough of their conversation.
Apex only smiled and tried not to seem too smug, aware he’d hit a nerve. He was going to enjoy observing how things unfolded between the pair.