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BRIMSTONE
The Horrible Patient
By Sylvana Lorrdain (via Hobbie Klivian)
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They say that doctors make the worst sort of patients.  I remembered 
hearing Wes talk about how bad Ton was at accepting help even with the 
major scrapes those Wraiths got into - but I always figured he was 
exaggerating.

I'm starting to realise he wasn't.  Why?  Because my girlfriend is an 
insane Backseat Medic.

That can be a term, right?  Backseat Medic.  Noun.  A Medic who refuses to 
just lie the hell back and let someone else take care of their wounds for 
them.

I hear the door to the cockpit area open and am about to glance up and see 
who it is when Syl decides, yet again, to scream at me.

"YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG!"

Woman's got a set of lungs on her.

"How can I be doing it wrong?" I'm amazing at keeping calm, honestly.   
It's what I've learned, being best pals with Wes for so long. Something 
about being calm in the face of insanity, I think.  Just my luck, I can't 
just put a Bacta patch on her and maybe stun her....

"YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE PUTTING <i>THAT</i> THING <i>HERE</i>!"

She's been like this since she woke up.  I was worried when she was 
unconscious - luckily it looks like she hasn't had a concussion.... now I 
wish she'd just go unconscious again.

Okay, yes, that's cruel - but at this moment, my headache's winning the 
argument.

"I am, if you would just sit still."

Sitting still isn't one of her strong points, to be sure.  She's crossed 
her arms and is glaring at me as I continue picking off bits of flak and 
gravel from what's left of her leg.  I did win that argument, by the bye.  
She had to agree that I could see more of what was down there than she 
could, at her angle.

Didn't stop her from trying to run the show anyhow.  I don't blame her 
much, though - despite being frustrated with her.  She's angry, she's in 
pain, and she just went through a piece of hell that I'm fairly certain 
she's not accustomed to, yet.

If she doesn't get kicked out of Terra Group, she'll become used to it soon 
enough.

Ah, blessed silence.  I'd better work fast - she's probably gearing up for 
another go.

I chuckle and shake my head, she snarls and glares.  It's pretty much the 
usual for this sort of confrontation.

As I grab one of the sterilised dressings and begin to attach it with a 
compression strip, I wonder - I <i>can</i> call it a 'confrontation', 
right?

"TURN IT AROUND <i>THAT</i> WAY!"

That'd be a Yes.  Well, back into the dogfight.  "How does that make a 
difference?"

"THAT'S HOW <i>I</i> DO IT!"

I decide to keep winding the strip clockwise.  "Well, I'm doing it this 
way."  Yes, it'll piss her off but, surprisingly enough, right now it's 
starting to get less frustrating and more amusing.

"I WANT YOU TO DO IT <i>MY</i> WAY!"  Something about the dirt streaks and 
the wild argumentative look on her face makes me want to smack her... or 
kiss her.  Haven't decided yet.

So, I just smile slightly.  "I always knew doctors made the worst 
patients."  It's the calm that's infuriating her.  I'm getting a kick out 
of this now.

"GAH!"  Looks like she's gearing up for another go.  She REALLY needs to 
calm down or the blood pressure'll make the bleeding start up worse again.

She really can't lose any more blood right now - I just got her out of 
shock when she started yelling, and I really don't want her to go back into 
it.

So, of course, I do what any hot-blooded male would do when confronted with 
his semi-insane spitfire of a girlfriend.  I kiss her.

The fight soon goes right out of her and she kisses me back.  When I pull 
away a few moments later she just looks away a bit.

I must be really good.  "Now.  Let me take over."

There is no more arguing about how her wounds are dressed and bandaged up. 
When I'm done, I give her a dose of painkillers and sedative... then hold 
her as she falls asleep.