Iziz

Unfortunately, there was no dresser in the bathroom. Dresden came out, wrapped in a towel and squeaky clean. The smell of death doesn't come off easily, but he was able to use the Force to force the particles that the soap wouldn't wash away from his skin. That was a plus. On the downside, the dresser was in the bedroom. There was no dignified way to retrieve a full outfit under these circumstances, but the former Shard managed to pull off the feat (mostly) with a little help from the Force. Or at least he got drawers and pants. That was a start. Back to the bathroom he went for long enough to dress, and then back into the wide world with jeans to cover up the naughty bits.

"How the hell do humans do this their entire lives?" he wondered aloud. Seriously, what the hell? There was no logical reason for the burning sense of embarrassment that was doing a good job of keeping him blushing. It's not like he hadn't seen humans in various stages of undress before (granted, they were usually shot to hell or conducting hygiene) and his HRD had been seen in similar conditions. It was...illogical. Annoying. Frustrating. He was the goddamn Robot Space Ninja. He should be in complete and total control of his body.

Focus, that's what he needed. Focus. Few deep breaths, turn the mind to something productive. Never before had so much willpower been devoted to the act of going to a dresser and pulling out a shirt. Dresden's entire world was bent towards that one task for the brief moment it took to pull out a plain black t-shirt and throw it on. But it helped. His body returned to a state of normalcy, and he was able to face the Major without being bright red.

"Alright, this is going to seem like a stupid question, but how are you feeling? I wasn't able to get you any painkillers while you were out. Didn't know what you were allergic to or if you had any philosophical objections. Once had a guy try to shoot me for giving him morphine after he had his right leg blown off at the hip once."

Hair. Out from und-oh shit. Dresden didn't mean to leave the Major lying on her impressively long hair, but, well, he had been in a rush. Bleeding to stop, bleeding to start, ect. Pretty major (teehee) mistake in hindsight, but one he could correct easily enough. The former Shard considered using the Force, but somehow, he thought that might be the wrong way to go. He could still remember the wide-eyed expression of the girl back in his shop as her pistol had been broken down into its constituent parts in midair. At the time he had thought it surprise, but now that he thought of it, there was very real fear there. And after what she had seen in the Zoo, further use of the Force would not likely earn her undying trust.

"Ah. Yes. Hair. Let's get that out of the way and I'll get your pill party started."

The room was oriented so that each wall faced a cardinal direction. The bed was wedged in the northeast corner, head towards the wall. It was a comfort thing for him, as the door to the rest of the apartment was on the opposite side of the eastern wall and opened inwards. Intruders coming into the bedroom would have to negotiate past the door and turn over 90 degrees to engage the bed's position, allowing the former Shard the maximum amount of time possible to respond. It was a smart tactical choice, but it presented problems.

Since most of the damage had been done to her right side, he would have to roll her onto her left. Simply sitting her up would still leave a fair bit trapped under her back and legs. So she had to be rolled, and if this was going to work at all, the most effective position was directly behind her, which meant crawling onto the bed. Lovely.

"Ok, this is going to be awkward, but it'll only take a minute."

Carefully, so as not to allow friction to tug at the bandages, Dresden eased the blanket off of her right flank. He left as much of the front of her body covered as possible in the hopes of preserving a bit of modesty and dignity. Once that was accomplished, he walked around to the foot of the bed and carefully mounted the mattress, doing his best to cause as little disturbance as possible. It was difficult to crawl without bouncing the cheap pocket spring mattress around like crazy, but before long, he was in the proper spot to attempt the maneuver. He had the Major bring her left arm out away from her body enough that, when rolled, it wouldn't have to support the weight of her entire upper body.

The former Shard placed his left hand underneath the woman's shoulder and the right one under her upper thigh, as close to her center of gravity (for the purposes of this operation) as possible without disturbing any of her wounds. He was kneeling next to her, his knees equidistant between the lift points.

"Ok, going to roll on the count of three. One...two...three..."

The move was executed smoothly and swiftly. Dresden made his his grip was firm enough to accomplish the move, but gentle enough not to cause any undue discomfort. His normally calloused hands were still soft after the extended soaking in the shower.

"Here we are."

Starting at the base of the neck, he carefully teased the hair out from under her body with his left hand, leaving the right on her hip for support. He hadn't really paid much attention before, on account of the time crunch, but it was clear that the Major was no stranger to pain and punishment. She had some truly impressive scars in some rather odd locations. It was actually kind of comforting, knowing he wasn't dealing with a first time GSW patient. Getting shot once was bad enough, but at least the second or third time around you learned a thing or two about what to expect. He also noticed that she was still covered in blood and muck, both of which would have to be cleaned off soon. The sheets were already pretty much ruined, though the mattress would hopefully be saved by the disposable pad he'd placed on top to soak up the blood if ever the need arose.

Once the hair was out from under her body, he made sure to pull it all up so that, when he rolled her back over, it would be above her head and out of the way. He then carefully lowered her onto her back once more, hands in the exact same position. Mission accomplished, he leaned back against the wall for a moment.

"Better?"

Dresden frowned and shifted to a slightly more comfortable position, sitting on his rear with his knees pulled up to his chest, his arms out to the sides, palms resting on the bloodstained sheets.

"You know, I've been asking myself that same question. Ten years ago, hell, ten months ago, your worth would have been determined by your relative value in the grand context of the plan. Come to think of it, so was my own. Couldn't tell you how many times I sent myself on what should have been suicide missions and came out on the other side alive through luck or skill or Force knows what. Lives were a currency, and each one was only worth what I could get out of them. Some...some were spent more easily than others, I think."

The Shard's voice was soft, his expression troubled. His eyes were locked on a random spot on the opposite wall, but saw nothing. His mind was seeing the aftermath of a thousand battles played out all at once.

"I've had a lot of time to think about that since I ended up as a human. Still see their faces, you know. Not all of them. But the brave ones, the bright ones, the ones I sent to their deaths, knowing I was extinguishing bright futures. The ones that could have been something so much greater, they're the ones that haunt me at night. That's why I started drinking. I understand them better now. I understand their terror and their anger, how they must have felt to have this all powerful and unfeeling god look them in the eye and tell them that they were going to die. Intellectually, I know that their sacrifice helped keep civilization from circling round the drain for just a little while longer. I'd like to think I spent them well. I have to tell myself that, because I'm going to have to do it again, and if I get weak, if I falter, all those other sacrifices will have been in vain."

While his voice remained calm, though perhaps a little huskier than before, Dresden's eyes gave a glimpse into centuries of pent up pain and shame. His left hand fiddled absentmindedly with a lock of the Major's hair, though it was so far from her head that it wasn't likely she'd have noticed if she wasn't looking. He sure as hell didn't.

"God, why am I even telling you this? I've known you for maybe twelve hours, not counting the time spent on your musket. I don't know, maybe it's because, deep down, you hate you as much as I hate me. I'm still not very good at telling what others are feeling, but it radiates off of you like heat from a reactor. I think people have been telling you that you're worthless all your life, and you've done everything you could to prove them wrong, but that didn't stop you from believing it. Despite that, you're determined to make your mark, for better or worse. I found you shot to shit and bleeding out in a ditch, but damned if you didn't chop the bastards that did it into pieces for their trouble. That's strength. Stubborn, vengeful and bloody minded, but stronger than hell. It's fucking beautiful. How could I let that fade away? So until you get healed up, I'll move your hair and change your bandages and scratch your nose and all that jazz. Even if you turn on me later, and Diva seems pretty sure you will, it will have been worth it, because you are worth it. "

He seemed to realize that his left hand was fiddling with the Major's hair and extricated it gently.

"Ah, hell. I'm rambling and you've got a migraine. Sorry about that."

And then there was snoring. Dresden had to resist the sudden urge to facepalm. Probably better this way. Maybe she hadn't heard him get all sentimental and shit. He wasn't quite sure why, but for some reason, he cared what she thought about him. That was new. Not exactly pleasant either. The former Shard could understand that hormones and emotions were going to be a big factor in his life, what little there was left, but he had always figured they'd be easy enough to figure out with a rational mind and a bit of perspective.

"Fucking hell," he muttered. "How do they put up with this crap?"

Anyway, for now, there were a few problems that needed to be addressed. Since he was already in a position to do so, and since she was asleep and unlikely to be bothered by it, he summoned a container of disposal disinfectant wipes and, with his usual quick and efficient manner when it came to medical care, cleaned away the rest of the blood and grime. That alone would reduce the chances of infection dramatically. Some might find it odd that someone who dedicated their entire existence to the purpose of taking lives was so good at caring for the wounded, but often times the best warriors are also gifted healers. You spend enough time taking lives and you're bound to learn a thing or two about saving them.

Once that was done, there was still the matter of the filthy sheets, which needed to be changed. After some thought, Dresden gently crawled off the mattress, using the Force to prevent the movement from reaching the Major's slumbering form. The sheet change was a delicate operation, calling upon some of the most precise telekinetic work the former Shard had ever involved himself in. First came creating a telekinetic surface with the exact same texture and support as the mattress and sheets. Then he used that surface to gently life the Major off the bed by just a fraction of an inch, enough to quickly change out the sheets and mattress pad with a clean set. The surface of the clean set was heated up to the exact same temperature of the one it replaced, and then the Major was gently lowered back down. The whole sheet changing operation took about a minute from start to finish.

Next up came the headache cocktail. The isometheptene was a common enough vascoconstrictor that could in fact be found in his medical kit. The dichloralphenazone he also had, mainly used as a mild sedative. It was good for treating the sort of insomnia that frontline soldiers often found themselves with after returning to the rear. Both were in liquid form. Acetaminophen he also had, but only in pill form. He figured that could wait until she woke up. During the sheet change operation, he had been able to measure the Major's weight to within a microgram, so it was a simple matter to whip up a cocktail using dosing charts based off of BMI. Once mixed, he loaded the appropriate dose into a syringe and injected it into the appropriate receptacle in the IV line. Simple enough, he thought, and it should be enough to keep her asleep long enough for a quick run to the store for fifteen minutes.

Fourteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds later, Dresden was back with some basic groceries (his fridge was mainly stocked with alcoholic beverages, as he generally bought his food a meal at a time) and a couple of changes of comfortably loose fitting clothing for the Major when she woke up. Nothing fancy, and no undergarments, as the corner store didn't have anything that would be considered appropriate to buy a relative stranger, much less one recovering from gunshot wounds, but it would be better than nothing.

Soon the sounds and smells of cooking began to waft from the kitchen. The former Shard had no idea if the Major was the sort to eat red meat, but after losing that much blood, it was important that she kept her iron levels up. To that end, he had also purchased some spinach and broccoli, as well as a few other odds and ends. Before long, he had a passable excuse for beef stir fry going, and was working on a vinaigrette for the spinach-based salad he had prepared.

"Uh, gimme just a minute."

Dresden hurriedly finished what he was doing (it was mostly done anyway,) washed the residue of cooking off his hands, and came into the bedroom. He frowned on seeing the Major sitting, but as she had nothing more than severe bruising in the abdominal area, it shouldn't be too much of a problem.

"You clothes, I'm afraid, were completely ruined. Between the gunfire and treating your wounds, they didn't stand much of a chance. I, erm, I'll replace your suit as soon as possible. I've got several of the best tailors and haberdashers in the galaxy on Dressel, and we can get someone shipped out here to fit you within a day or so if you'd like."

He retrieved a clear plastic bag with the contents of her pockets from on top of a writing desk in the opposite corner.

"Anyway, this is everything I could find in the pockets. If you had any hidden transmitters or gadgetry, I really do apologize, but the whole outfit was a biohazard, and it was shot to rags to boot. I can replace any commo gear you might have had in there in about the same timeframe."

The former Shard brought the bag over to the Major, dashed back into the living room, and came back with a shopping bag. In it was a package of plain white t-shirts that should be loose enough not to cause any undue discomfort, two sets of gym shorts and a set of sweatpants, all along the same lines.

"Best I could do on short notice for replacements. You're more than welcome to my stuff if these don't work. We're about the same height, so most of it should fit."

A part of him knew he must look ridiculous, running around like a chicken with his head cut off to make sure his guest was taken care of. That part thought he came across as a cross between a lovesick schoolboy and an overly perky nurse. The rest of him stuck its fingers in its proverbial ears and shouted neener neener neener I can't hear you over and over again, because it really didn't care what that part thought.

The part that wasn't bickering considered the best course of action over the next few minutes. Clearly, the Major was the independent sort, so she would probably appreciate the chance to start doing things for herself as soon as her body would allow. Dresden just had to strike a balance between independence and letting her do some damn fool thing that would end up getting her hurt even worse.

"Um, if you need help getting dressed, please let me know. Your right quadriceps is quite badly damaged, so it would probably be best if you don't try walking on your own yet. My combat cocktail works quickly enough that you should be able to hobble about with a cane after a day or so, but it's critical that you don't put any weight on it until then. In the mean time, I'll bring you lunch as soon as the rice is done."

And with that, he headed back into the other room. At least for a moment. His head popped around the corner, just long enough to ask a question.

"I keep meaning to ask: what's your name? I mean, your real name. I can't bloody well keep calling you the Major in my head, you know."