Chapter Text
The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to the cool air of the med bay. A cleanliness that did little to mask the odour of human biologics and recycled air.
Simon lay on the cot, his eyes fixed on the flickering light panel above. His eyes momentarily squeezed shut, fingers aching as they curled around the sheets.
His body was a map of bruises and wrapped flesh, a testament to the events that had shifted Simon's and those in the station's reality.
Every muscle ached; however, there was a deeper pain, silent and building with each forced, steady breath.
A rhythmic beep from a nearby monitor pulled Simon back to the present. He was safe, he was back on the (somewhat) stable ground. But most importantly, he was alive.
The logical part of his mind recited these facts to anchor himself.
But the rest of him was floating adrift.
The door creaked open. Pulling Simon from his mantras, his body flinching, sending a fresh spike of pain through him.
Footsteps, measured and assured, approached.
Dr.Qyin, the chief medical officer, who, by all means, was rather young for such a position…had it been in another life where creatures didn't lurk, and stars still twinkled of course.
Regardless, Dr. Qyin's gaze was calm and observant, which missed little as he looked between his chart and the actual patient.
"Con- Simon," Qyin began, his voice low and professional, "hourly check time, let's see how the new dressing is holding up."
He received no response. Simon's chest rose and fell in a slow and shuddering motion. His gaze remained fixated on the blemished ceiling above. Water stains spread like dark, chaotic maps, ones that Simon was more keen on following rather than the tangible figure beside him.
Qyin set his clipboard on the nearby table and leaned over the bed rail. His fingers gently probed the edge of the gauze that wrapped around Simon's forearm. Clean, no visible seepage.
He was about to update his notes when Simon finally turned to him.
It started in his chin. A slight tremor then it spread to his lower lip, cracked and dry, began to quiver, trembling like a leaf in a storm.
Qyin's gaze lined up with Simon's. No longer was there that dulled vacancy they had been met with when they first pulled him from the hull.
No, now they were drowning. Huge, dark pools of unadulterated terror, welling up with tears that spilled over without a sound, tracing paths through the grime and dried blood that still smudged his cheeks.
Simon's breath hitched.
And then a singular word, one so softly spoken it was almost swallowed by the unsteady humming of overworked systems.
"M-mama."
It wasn't a question. It was a plea. Shattered, desperate, and so utterly broken. The voice was Simon's, but the tone was stripped of every hard edge Eden and life of imprisonment with the COI had given him.
Qyin froze, his fingers inches away from his clipboard. His professional mind raced for an analytical answer: concussion, prolonged oxygen deprivation, moderate hysteria due to whatever god-forsaken creature he had met.
He knew the textbook answers; he knew how to give proper dosages of medication to counteract symptoms, how to set dislocated jaws back into place.
But this was different. This was a mental regression, a total, involuntary retreat of a shattered mind's hopeless, last ditched attempt to protect itself.
Telling this man, this battered man, that his mother was most certainly dead would be like kicking a puppy. It wouldn't heal; it would only further damage what was already hurting.
Very slowly, Qyin lowered himself. He didn't sit in Simon's space; rather, he knelt beside the cot, bringing himself to eye level with Simon.
When he spoke, his tone had transformed. Something softer, melodic. A tone saved for a feverish and frightful child.
"Oh buddy," he murmured, his tone a gentle balm, "Mama's not here right now. She is just at the trade station. A good long jog from here," Qyin said, one hand gesturing to the closed door, "she'll be back."
"Sh-she will?" Simon's voice was small, so terribly young.
Qyin nodded. Then he reached out, not to check the other bandages but to delicately place his hand over Simon's trembling one.
"She told me to look after you until she gets back. She said you had to be a brave boy. Can you do that for her? Can you be her brave boy and let Dr.Qyin make sure your body isn't too full of ouchies?"
Qyin held his breath as he saw Simon searching his face, looking for a lie but only finding a calm and sure certainty.
Simon sniffled hard before slowly and with painstaking effort that spoke of his mental state, he lifted his other hand, letting it lie limp within Qyin's reach.
Relief, bittersweet and heavy, washed over Qyin.
"That's it, what a good boy, so brave," Qyin murmured as he leaned back for a moment to grab the nearby supplies, "let's see how this arm's yuckies are doing."
He kept his movements slow and predictable, unwrapping the gauze with a tenderness one reserved for the preservation of something fragile.
Simon watched him, his glassy eyes now fixed on Qyin's hands with the trusting attention of a toddler.
A sharp inhale came from Simon as Qyin applied a thin barrier of cream.
"I know buddy, it doesn't feel good but, it's going to make sure no yucky bugs make their home there."
Simon blinked slowly nodding as he took in the words, translating them into his own, sound logic.
"No...no wan' buggies."
A small smile crossed Qyin's lips before ducking back down to continue the dressing.
"Annnnd there we go," Qyin said as he finished the final wrap of the fresh dressing, "all done. Thank you for being so brave," he added, and on pure instinct, he gave Simon's hand a small pat.
Simon didn't smile, but his shoulders, which had been coiled tighter than a radiator, had lessened. He pulled his newly bandaged arm close to his body, cradling it.
His eyes grew heavy-lidded, the initial adrenaline and emotional state were crashing, pulling him back into his previously exhausted state.
"Mama…soon?" he whispered, the words slightly slurred with impending sleep.
Qyin nodded, fingers brushing the locks of damp hair from Simon's face.
"Yes," Qyin said, the lie sitting heavy on his tongue.
As he stood, his hands gently lifted the thin sheet, "but for now, let's get some sleep so those mean ouchies can heal up and you can have some fun dreams, okay?"
Simon slowly nodded as he nuzzled against the pillow. Within moments, his breathing evened out into the deep and slow rhythm of sleep. The ghost of the pout still visible on his near peaceful face.
Qyin remained by the cot for a minute longer as he observed the sleeping man. Nothing in the manuals told of this reaction or how to help.
But then again, no one had written for scenarios such as this.
The doctor's hand lingered on the cot as he began to walk away.
Now, to figure out how to keep up the charade of an ever elusive Mama to an injured little boy.