Chapter Text
The halo of light pouring into SM-14 is unlike any she's glimpsed before.
Blinding white. Concentrated. Stabbing through closed lids. It makes the pounding in her head so much worse.
"What hurts?"
Stupid question. Everything does. Smarting in her bones. A throbbing pulse from her bruised back. She’s moved into a flat position, and the pain only doubles. Like a fish torn out of water, the captain struggles to suck air past the congealed mess of blood on her face.
"Is that her blood?"
God, she hopes so.
The hangar is a fuzzy din of clashing commotion. Different from the mayhem inside the sub. More... human. There are people, lots of them. Maybe all of AT-5 crammed into a single space. Crowding, urgent, scurrying around. Bits and pieces of commands are shouted. Concerned murmurs float in one ear and out the other.
Then the oxygen mask is shoved over her mouth, and those first feeble breaths slice through sore lungs with stinging clarity.
Ava shoots upright with a heaving shudder nobody expects. Pangs crackle down her limbs like lightning bolts. Almost immediately: gloved hands, composed voices, gently pushing and instructing her to lie still.
"Don’t stress your injuries."
Why not? There's somebody else who needs much more serious treatment. She has to know they let him out. He deserves at least that much. One promise is all she's good for now if they're both about to die after making it to the surface.
"Simon..." Ava hates how much effort it takes just to say his name. "Where's Simon?"
Bursts of condensation cloud the mask. Red speckles stain clear plastic when she exhales. The harsh fluorescence hammering her eyes is nothing bigger than a penlight, yet it aches something fierce. She can't discern any faces. The sound of their confusion is plain enough.
"Who?"
"Must be the convict."
"He's-"
"They're working on it!"
"Out… Is he out?" The captain emphasizes, nails digging into the thin rubber of those closest hands restraining her.
Stammering up above. Not one of the medics confirms.
"Is he alive?!" Desperate frustration bubbles in her chest. "Tell me!"
When they don’t, she loses her patience. Ava starts writhing, kicking, craning her head. Trying in vain to escape the glare of the penlight, straining to look for SM-13. Because she has to see it. She has to see him. She’ll confirm for herself.
The captain catches sight of a crimson silhouette far off to the left: sickly rivulets of blood oozing untouched beneath the dim hangar glow. Her heart drops. The bite of a needle enters the crook of her good arm. The syringe is emptied, and she rages against the fading of that red shape like a dying animal.
She repeats the name of the man trapped inside until darkness swallows her whole.
*
Dilated eyes flicker. Pry open. Fall again. Clammy fingers curl against thin sheets. She tries to inhale through her nose, and there’s a sharp spasm of pain as the splint resists. Ava chokes, reflexively coughing on dry air when her lips part.
"Rise n' shine, Cap."
She groans, further roused by an irritated recognition. There's only one person on this entire damn ship who gets away with calling her that.
The captain claws herself back to consciousness one challenging breath at a time. She crudely focuses on the pale blob hovering in her half-skewed vision. It takes a minute before his features form properly.
"...Jack?" Ava rasps.
The welder flashes a weak grin.
It's been a solid couple of days since she last saw him. After the radiation flash, Ava had escorted him to medical and stuck around during his first round of precautionary chemo. However, between a hasty removal of her own tumors, trying to salvage the latest expedition, going down into the ocean herself...
Well, safe to say she hadn’t exactly gotten another chance to check up on him.
The captain studies Jack for any visible signs of recovery. He's wheelchair-bound, wearing a nasal cannula attached to a portable oxygen canister. She guesses the staff has probably drip-fed him a few more rounds of chemo; he's already skinnier than she remembers. The welder’s current complexion is maybe a full shade healthier than chalk.
Well. Any progress is good progress. Especially considering he should be long dead.
"I'm sorry," Ava offers gruffly.
It seems she's been repeating those two words a lot lately.
"Don't be." Jack waves a tired hand. "Ye gave me an order, Captain. Nothin' personal."
Except it was. She forced him to weld when he couldn't even stand. For all she knew, his last memory very well could have been sealing her inside a rusty coffin. Guilt seeps under sticky bandages, oppressively familiar. Her wounds sting like they’ve been rubbed with salt.
Ava blinks and his face warps; resettling as her good eye works hard to correct the interference. She tries to shift toward him, but that simple motion evokes another strangled hiss of pain. Muted agony ripples across her muscles; gnaws at her bones. Joints and tendons ignite from the slight pull. Her next words are also ones she’s been wielding a lot recently.
“Oh, fuck.”
The welder grimaces sympathetically.
“Aye…” He taps bony fingers on the armrest. “Docs are rationing painkillers for all non-critical patients. Savin’ em for the big guy.”
That grabs her attention.
The captain stares intently, expectantly, but Jack avoids it. He shuffles in his seat, demeanor turning to one of discomfort.
“Spit it out,” She orders amidst the uneasy silence that falls. There’s a noticeable wheeze to her voice that really kills its typical sternness. She watches Jack fiddle with the silicone tubing at the base of his throat.
“His surgery took twelve hours. Somethin’ went wrong halfway through.”
Ava stiffens.
“Nobody knows how or why yet, but he woke up from anesthesia when he wasn’t supposed to. Went all feral-like. Bit a chunk outta some poor bastard's hand, made another medic quit on the spot.” Jack releases a tight sigh, still dodging her intense gaze. “Staff said they finished the job, but medbay is gonna be understocked for a while. He’s comatose. They’re not takin’ chances drugging him with the general stuff anymore. Just heavy-duty shit from now on.”
Cocktail meds could kill Simon without any effort.
“...You are telling me that they’re using alternate sedatives.” She states, her tone cold enough to freeze water.
Jack nods, wincing at the furious clench of Ava’s jaw. The captain fumes, jagged edges of her scar creasing back and forth with agitated movements of grating teeth.
"David wants to talk to you, too. I, uh... I promised to grab him once you were awake," The welder mumbles, awkwardly angling his head down. He takes control of his wheelchair, carefully maneuvering to leave, when Ava glances over.
For a moment, her wrath lowers to a boil instead of spilling towards him.
"Thank you for staying, Jack."
He pauses and gives a wobbly smile.
"Ye did the same for me."