2237-11-04 - For Healing And Protection

Aldrich visits Lyn in the Sick Bay and does some Gemenese stuff. Like you do.

Date: 2237-11-04

Location: Sick Bay -- Dauntless

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 1538

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Lyn is not happy to be in Sick Bay. Especially since there are a lot more Marines in here, thanks to the Virgons showing up late to the party, if at all, last night. Even now she's arguing with doctors that she can recuperate just fine in her own bunk since it was all just a pile of stitches and nothing critical. She's in one of those terrible hospital gowns as the place has been too busy with wounded to send someone to get her a change of clothes yet.

"No, really, I feel fine. I promise to not get out of bed until tomorrow," she swears up and down, when all she really wants to be doing is baking in the mess kitchen. Because she is ANGRY.

Aldrich has had a presence in the infirmary pretty much since everyone returned, and probably not only because of Lyn. He's another pair of hands in a triage situation, but they haven't needed him for awhile... And yet, here he is, still. He had gone out for reasons unknown, and is just returning with a basket to catch Lyn yelling at the doctor. He pauses a moment, startled, then rushes forward. "Lyn... /No/." He even puts a hand on her shoulder. It's probably about as assertive as he's ever been with her. But the paleness in his face suggests he's more worried and scared for her than anything. "You have to stay here." A glance is tossed toward the doctors, but then he focuses directly on Lyn. "Please?"

Lyn swings her head towards Al's voice and her angry face dissolves into a plain old tired and achy one. "Al, I'm really not that bad, it looked worse than it was. And they will probably need these beds for others," she says softly, her hand moving to cover his on her shoulder and squeeze it gently. Her protest is more feeble to him, she clearly needs to be in here, but something in her is screaming about how last night went down and she just can't THINK in this place.

Aldrich shakes his head, grimly. "Did you forget I've been working with the medics? It was /exactly/ as bad as it looked, so lie down before they tie you to the bed. I've seen them do it before." His smile lacks the humor it probably ought to hold. "I'll stay with you," he promises. "I brought some things from the chapel."

Lyn sighs, but she nods and lays back against the pillow. "I frakking hate being in here," she mutters, like a pouty teenager (or a morpho'd adult). "There's never any peace and quiet. Or privacy. My ass is frozen in this thing." Open back, the horror.

"I'll get you a blanket," Aldrich promises, gently, and once she's settled back on the pillow, he sets his basket on the floor so he can do exactly that. As he's spreading the extra blanket over her, he adds, "You'll get better faster if you do what the doctors ask and try to relax."

"It's hard to relax when the Cylons seem to have a real obsession with shooting me in the boobs," Lyn points out. Yep, she's drugged. "I mean I know they're amazing and all, but they aren't vital organs in the grand scheme of waging war on humanity." She settles in under the blanket a bit, grateful for the extra layer.

Aldrich smiles again, but it's another of those weak, forced expressions that really only covers his worry. "There aren't any Cylons here," he counters. "So your 'amazing boobs' are safe for the moment. You can relax." Once the blanket is in place, he goes back to the basket and pulls out a handful of incense sticks, which he proceeds to attach to the four corners of her bed. He even brought a roll of tape to accomplish this with. He's a weirdo, but at least he's prepared?

Lyn watches him curiously through drug-glazed eyes. "Whatcha doing?" she finally asks. She shifts a little in the bed with a wince at the tightness of all the stitches and bandages. That cylon and it's artillery buddy were really good at targeting center mass.

"I'm asking the gods for healing," Aldrich answers, a touch distracted by the task at hand. There might be a /touch/ more to it than that, because his voice hitches a little, and he swallows before continuing. "Don't worry about it. Just rest."

Lyn watches with a furrowed brow, because Al hasn't done this before and she's been shot up plenty of times. She lifts the sheet to make sure she still has all her parts because now his worry is infecting her. Seems like everything is there under the bandages. It all hurts so that's a good sign, right?

Aldrich continues what he's doing, because apparently he feels like this is important. With each stick of incense, he murmurs a quiet phrase, then he returns to the basket and exchanges a lighter for a small vial of something. He goes to drip it on her head unless she's protests, first. Hey, it's just water!

Ploink. Water hits her head and Lyn scrunches up her face in confusion. "Can I ask what that is for?" she requests, drippily.

At least it's only a little. Barely a drip! ...Or a couple. He murmurs another phrase, and then adds a concise explanation, "For protection." Then the water goes back to the basket. Her hair is going to smell faintly of flowers, now. He turns his attention back to her, finally, and asks, "Do you need anything else? A drink, maybe?"

"Some real clothes? My toothbrush?" Lyn requests quietly, lying back again. His worry has definitely infected her. She's not worried for herself, but for him. "Are you all right, Al? I'm going to be ok, you know."

Aldrich pulls up a chair and settles into it, cross-legged. A posture generally reserved for sitting on the floor, but on the floor he wouldn't be able to see her, so chair it is! He gives another tight smile. "I know. They're going to take good care of you. I'm just covering all the bases." He reaches down to pick up the basket and digs through it, to produce a small pink packet that he hands over. It has various hygiene supplies, probably intended specifically for people stuck in the infirmary, including a mini toothbrush and even a comb.

Lyn takes the packet and pokes through it, seeming satisfied at least. She sets it on the side table. "That'll do, thanks Al." She looks at him more seriously. "When was the last time you slept?" she asks, sincerely.

Aldrich raises an eyebrow slightly. "I'm sleeping now, can't you tell?" he replies, dry as a desert. "It's a Gemenese thing. You wouldn't understand."

"I'm worried about you. Someone said you went on a fire and brimstone tear in your sermon," Lyn points out. "That doesn't sound much like you, so maybe they were mistaken." Her sweet peaceful preacher?

Aldrich snorts faintly, but at least his smile is genuine, even if it's weary. "They tried to kill you," he points out, quietly. "And everyone else who was down there. By neglect this time, rather than actual action, but does it really make a difference at that point? We shouldn't be playing politics with them."

"Fucking VRN," Lyn says with a sigh. "We should have adjusted our own mission specs to consider that they weren't going to back us up, though. That was on our brass as much as it is on them. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst, and all that," she murmurs with a grim expression. "It's not a great situation, with people choosing to fight each other instead of the Cylons. But that can't stop us from doing our part in ending this war."

Aldrich shakes his head, and his eyes narrow. "If we have to plan for the fact that we can't trust our allies, they aren't our allies. And if we know what they're doing and we don't stop them, then we're as bad as they are." He presses his lips together after that, and glances down toward the foot of the bed. "But you shouldn't be worrying about this. You should be focused on healing."

"Pretty sure they stopped being our allies the moment that shit went down on the surface," Lyn points out, "no matter what the brass say. They knew there were extremely bad feelings on both sides, and it's their job to anticipate that, and cover our asses. Not that it would have helped me much. I got hit with the artillery fire shrapnel right after we cleared the first wave."

Aldrich shakes his head a little, lips pressed together as though he disagrees in some way, but he keeps the thought to himself. Instead, he focuses on the fact that she is wounded. "And that is why you should be resting. Are you sure I can't get you anything else? A snack? A pillow?"

Lyn ponders if she is up for eating, but the pains in her abdomen seem to say no. "Don't think I'm up for food yet. Maybe something to drink?" she requests. Maybe giving Al something to do will help the man as much as it helps her.

Aldrich nods a little and unfolds from the chair, on his feet before she can finish the request. "A drink it is. I'll get a pitcher of water. I'll just be a minute." And off he goes. He returns quickly enough with said pitcher, along with a cup and flexy straw. After partly filling the cup, he holds it up where she can reach the straw without needing to move too much.

Lyn sips, grimacing a little at even the slight movement. Nothing like having stitches in your abdomen for making you actually behave and lie down, right? "Thanks," she murmurs, wearily sinking back against the pillow. "How many did we lose?" she asks.

Aldrich leaves the pitcher and cup on the bedside table where he can easily fetch it again if she wants it. "You don't need to worry about that," he answers, as he returns to the chair. "Just focus on getting better, okay?"

"I'm not a child, Al. Just tell me. I need to process this while I'm in here," Lyn insists. "Otherwise I'll end up at Doc Anders trying to process it later after a breakdown." She kind of has a point.

Aldrich frowns a little, but it's a frown of concern rather than displeasure. He hedges for a moment, but finally sees reason and relents. "There were a lot of serious injuries, but if we don't lose anyone else... Seven on the ground, including Sergeant Allen. There were a couple of the air wing that got shot down, I think, but I haven't heard if they've been recovered, yet. I've been in here."

Lyn nods. "Yeah I saw Allen get hit. With 7 bodies, I'm pretty sure they'll start another inquiry about the Virgon Navy's delayed reaction. This is going to get ugly. Might be time for the CF to get us the hell off Sagittaron."

"Maybe it's time for the CF to do something more than just expressing their displeasure at the Virgon Navy's behavior," Aldrich retorts, but then catches himself and folds his hands over his ankles again, palms up. A gesture normally reserved for meditation, but perhaps he needs a touch of peace just at the moment. "Are you okay? I mean... emotionally. Is there... Well, I know there's nothing I can do, but..."

"No, Al. I'm all right in that respect. Frustrated, sure. Mostly I'm just tired of political conflicts in a fight for frakking survival. I'm really glad you weren't down there. You're a rocket magnet, remember?

Aldrich smiles weakly. "But I'd rather it had hit me than you. Perhaps if I had been there..." He leaves off with that, and shakes his head. "I'm just glad that you're alive. We'll worry about the rest later, okay?"

"Ok. I'm gonna sleep now, I think. Morpha is kicking in. Promise me you'll get some rest?" Lyn requests, reaching a hand for his.

Aldrich takes her hand. "Promise," he replies, quietly, but it's very possible he has his fingers crossed on that one, since he seems pretty comfortable in that chair. "Sleep. You need the rest."


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