Two injuries I obtained while you were taking care of Sam. The third happened the first day I we returned by an automatic weapon with low caliber but a mushroom effect. It's not deadly, but it's inconvenient.
... But, if the person who did take care of me in the first place is who I think it is. I might require your assistance.
(the container is open for once, maybe he had used whatever strength he had to open it and then find himself a place to sit. He's sitting on a workbench, shirt off and looking more tired than usual. Scars all over him, especially how he's wrapped up almost like a mummy with bandages.)
[ So maybe seeing Chief like this actually gives Joan something of a sense of perspective. Of what he's seen, what he's been through (and just how much a body like his can take compared to the normal person). She comes in and makes sure to close the door after her but stands at a distance. ]
[ She gives him the space that he needs to move around, quietly amazed by how large he is even without his armor on. Her mouth thins when Chief says "fine". Joan's sarcasm is a little too soft to be considered sarcasm at all. ]
You've got a funny definition of "fine". And by funny, I mean wrong.
I'm alive. (Maybe he even looks even more like a solider like this, right down to the odd dogtag that's around his neck. Even if it's a little stained with blood.)
You're alive because someone — who wasn't me, might I reiterate — gave you medical which I assume you didn't ask for. [ If he did, then he would have known who'd have done it. Or conversely, Joan would know since she would have been the one asked.
In theory.
A beat. ] How're your pain levels? And don't— [ Joan preempts him, holding up a hand. ] —say 'fine'.
(he swallows though, he knows this pain and frankly he's been through worse. he makes a gesture to the back of his head before sliding to the ground and turning himself so that she can see the inflamed Spartan neural interface. The back of his head is impossibly red, all down his spine and worse even as it seems that there's a transfer of data going up his spine.)
I don't know what to do about this. Nothing helps.
[ Joan's whisper curls up at the very end to make it a question because she's not entirely sure what it is that she's seeing. Not that she can't take an educated guess or two ("educated" here meaning a mix of medically-informed and having seen the Matrix once). Stepping forward she bends at the waist to examine the back of his head, her fingers experimentally feeling the inflamed back of his neck. ]
Spartan neural interface. (He says, instead of saying classified information.) It's so that we light up on friend-or-foe tags.
I would show Dr. Halsey, but I'm sure I'm already in trouble for being careless. (Getting shot he means. He might be subconsciously playing with the dog tag on his neck, as she examines him.)
And what makes you think you're not in trouble with me?
[ Joan retorts this almost absently under her breath, most of the edge winnowed from her voice by her own preoccupation with the neural interface. She wasn't about to let Chief off easily for what he'd done, but that doesn't keep the task at hand from being front and center. Joan's fingers continue to feel around, looking for swelling, inflammation, as well as some kind of foreign body under the skin. ]
Scale of zero to ten, [ she says, her voice not far from one of his ears as she works. ] How bad is the pain? Zero being no pain, one being mild pain, ten being the worst you've ever experienced. [ Before he can respond: ] Downplay your answer and I won't be able to help you.
I apologize. Dr. Halsey is more forward with her criticisms.
(His Spartan hearing picks it up, and he responds in kind. It's what he does, he gets shot at for people and he wasn't going to treat someone as a mission. Missions get completed no matter what the cost, and his friends aren't the cost - whatever he says about it.)
It's enough for me to notice it. (That says a lot, considering his pain tolerance.)
You can't remove what's under my skin, it's surgically grafted to my spine.
You don't want me to be more forward, trust me, [ she murmurs again, now quite aware that there was nothing she could do to stop him from overhearing it. Joan wonders if she should be playing the scenario different. Like good cop, bad cop or some other hackneyed trope from the movies in order to win Chief further onto her side. But those sorts of games were pantomime and not entirely forthcoming.
And Joan, she likes to be forthcoming. Straightening again, she sighs, placing a light hand on Chief's shoulder to get him to look at her. ]
Well, whatever it is, your body's rejecting it. Trying to fight it off like, like a virus. [ Her expression sombers. Joan doesn't like this part. ] I have to ask what you did. I know you're probably not going to tell me, but. It's my obligation to ask, and to just hope that you'll tell me.
It's not my place to tell you. There's nothing that can be done about it now.
(He gives her a look, like he trusts her but it's Cortana within him that's running rampant. He promised her that no one would find out how bad she got, and unfortunately for Joan it's still highly sensitive information.)
[ Joan looks at Chief for a moment and then exhales, both hands in he air in a motion that reads I give up. This situation might be different, the circumstances might be different, but given how little Joan is always provided to work with, it's just another stonewall. Business as usual. ]
Right, [ she says and doesn't take it personally though she does sound disappointed. (One step forward, two steps back.)
She takes a moment to walk away, to turn her back on Chief and count to five, assessing what she does know as best she can. Eventually: ] The way your body works, I'm not even sure traditional pain medication will work. And even if it did, you'd be taking a lot more than the average dose in order to combat your metabolism.
[ Falling quiet for a long moment, Joan looks up at the ceiling of the container before turning towards Chief again, her expression grim. ] As your medical consultant, I can't advise giving you meds for the pain. Supplies on the ship are limited and in all likelihood you'll burn through them like paper. [ A beat. It's not an easy thing to say, but Joan knows that she's right. ] Civilians need them more than you do.
(He says as if it's a good enough treatment for him. He reaches for his shirt, pulling it over his head and even wincing as he's sure that he just opened himself up.
He glances her, a little ashamed at the predicament.)
[ For all that Joan might be frustrated with Chief at any given time, she doesn't actually enjoy watching him suffer. She doen't realize what he's doing until he's actually doing it, her immediate attention on his bindings. ]
Hey, hey— [ She lifts both hands in an easy now kind of gesture. ] That's not an invitation to make things worse.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
he has feelings under there somewhere
If it wasn't you-
pics or it never happened :|
Injuries like, oh I don't know, gunshot wounds.
halo 4.
... But, if the person who did take care of me in the first place is who I think it is. I might require your assistance.
touché
What do you need?
no subject
no subject
I do want you to trust me, which I have to ask this: will Cortana not knowing endanger you in any way?
[ Because if it did, Joan's not sure she can keep that promise and she wants to be upfront about that. ]
no subject
no subject
Five minutes.
[ She's there in four. ]
(ACTION.)
Joan.
(ACTION.)
Chief. Everything all right?
(ACTION.)
(He'll try to close the door behind her. Tony Stark's container isn't too far away and realistically, he doesn't expect Tony not to be a busy body.)
Fine. (He says even though it looks like he's been shot three times at close range.)
(ACTION.)
You've got a funny definition of "fine". And by funny, I mean wrong.
(ACTION.)
That's all that matters.
(ACTION.)
In theory.
A beat. ] How're your pain levels? And don't— [ Joan preempts him, holding up a hand. ] —say 'fine'.
(ACTION.)
(he swallows though, he knows this pain and frankly he's been through worse. he makes a gesture to the back of his head before sliding to the ground and turning himself so that she can see the inflamed Spartan neural interface. The back of his head is impossibly red, all down his spine and worse even as it seems that there's a transfer of data going up his spine.)
I don't know what to do about this. Nothing helps.
(ACTION.)
[ Joan's whisper curls up at the very end to make it a question because she's not entirely sure what it is that she's seeing. Not that she can't take an educated guess or two ("educated" here meaning a mix of medically-informed and having seen the Matrix once). Stepping forward she bends at the waist to examine the back of his head, her fingers experimentally feeling the inflamed back of his neck. ]
What is this?
(ACTION.)
I would show Dr. Halsey, but I'm sure I'm already in trouble for being careless. (Getting shot he means. He might be subconsciously playing with the dog tag on his neck, as she examines him.)
(ACTION.)
[ Joan retorts this almost absently under her breath, most of the edge winnowed from her voice by her own preoccupation with the neural interface. She wasn't about to let Chief off easily for what he'd done, but that doesn't keep the task at hand from being front and center. Joan's fingers continue to feel around, looking for swelling, inflammation, as well as some kind of foreign body under the skin. ]
Scale of zero to ten, [ she says, her voice not far from one of his ears as she works. ] How bad is the pain? Zero being no pain, one being mild pain, ten being the worst you've ever experienced. [ Before he can respond: ] Downplay your answer and I won't be able to help you.
(ACTION.)
(His Spartan hearing picks it up, and he responds in kind. It's what he does, he gets shot at for people and he wasn't going to treat someone as a mission. Missions get completed no matter what the cost, and his friends aren't the cost - whatever he says about it.)
It's enough for me to notice it. (That says a lot, considering his pain tolerance.)
You can't remove what's under my skin, it's surgically grafted to my spine.
(ACTION.)
And Joan, she likes to be forthcoming. Straightening again, she sighs, placing a light hand on Chief's shoulder to get him to look at her. ]
Well, whatever it is, your body's rejecting it. Trying to fight it off like, like a virus. [ Her expression sombers. Joan doesn't like this part. ] I have to ask what you did. I know you're probably not going to tell me, but. It's my obligation to ask, and to just hope that you'll tell me.
(ACTION.)
(He gives her a look, like he trusts her but it's Cortana within him that's running rampant. He promised her that no one would find out how bad she got, and unfortunately for Joan it's still highly sensitive information.)
What can I do for the pain?
(ACTION.)
Right, [ she says and doesn't take it personally though she does sound disappointed. (One step forward, two steps back.)
She takes a moment to walk away, to turn her back on Chief and count to five, assessing what she does know as best she can. Eventually: ] The way your body works, I'm not even sure traditional pain medication will work. And even if it did, you'd be taking a lot more than the average dose in order to combat your metabolism.
[ Falling quiet for a long moment, Joan looks up at the ceiling of the container before turning towards Chief again, her expression grim. ] As your medical consultant, I can't advise giving you meds for the pain. Supplies on the ship are limited and in all likelihood you'll burn through them like paper. [ A beat. It's not an easy thing to say, but Joan knows that she's right. ] Civilians need them more than you do.
—I'm sorry.
(ACTION.)
(He says as if it's a good enough treatment for him. He reaches for his shirt, pulling it over his head and even wincing as he's sure that he just opened himself up.
He glances her, a little ashamed at the predicament.)
(ACTION.)
Hey, hey— [ She lifts both hands in an easy now kind of gesture. ] That's not an invitation to make things worse.
(ACTION.)
I've been taking Biofoam for granted.
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