Let go (Isley)

[Feena]

Long fingers rubbed little circles into the Archons temples. She eyed her caf dispenser with disgust. It was empty. Already. Just when she needed the caffeine the most. She was going to fall asleep at her desk again if she didn't get a hold of herself, and she could not accept that right now. She had to struggle on. It was expected of her.

The last conversation she had with her husband echoed in her head.

"You're killing yourself Feena. And the CIS is letting you."

He was right. Why did he always have to be right?
Her wrist chrono beeped. Time for her medicine again. No... That wasn't it. Not her chrono at all. She narrowed her eyes. She was being paged by the medical ward. Why now? Didn't they know how to handle things? She wasn't their Arch Curate anymore. She was the Archon! She had work to do. She had-

"Lady Archon?" A small holographic figure of a nurse appeared on her desk, "Your assistance is requested."

"Oh?" Her voice was flat, tired, almost disinterested, "Let me guess. Another politician, requesting personal healing from the Archon herself? Look, I don't heal boils and bloody noses."

There was an awkward silence at the white clad nurse read the data pad in front of her.

"Err... No, My Lady. The patient in question is-"



"-Isley Verd. Isley. Verd."
Feena repeated the name to herself as she stormed into the medical bay. She was in a foul mood and it was clear. She was running on two hours sleep, having been awake for about 28 hours straight before that. Sleep was hard. She had to check everything, every lock, every guard at her door, every window. And then, if she was lucky, she could take enough medication to make her sleep for a few hours. But the dreams... That was a hellish side effect. How many ways could someone die in a dream anyways?

"Well?" she snapped to the Nurse waiting for her at the end of the long white hall, "Where is the poor dear?"

@[member="Isley Verd"]

 

[Darth Metus]

The first clue that the Mandalorian was not on the battlefield was the blinding light. Up until having his helmet removed, Isley had been in a dazed stupor brought on by hastily-applied sedatives. The operation had gone...poorly: a covert mission behind enemy lines. They were surveying a potential threat on a world within Hutt Space and became compromised. In the ensuing battle, Isley had been all but gunned apart by a cadre of enemy troops. If not for the sacrifice of two subordinates, he wouldn't have been dragged to the dropship and evacuated...and that's when the guilt began to eat at him. "Why am I alive." he growled, more of a statement than anything. Upon attempting to sit up, he noted that he was laying upon a hospital bed...which was soaked with his own blood.

All about him, nurses frantically rushed to and fro. One adjusted the IV drip that was inside his arm, sending a fresh flood of painkillers into his system. Another attempted to shove Isley back upon the pillow whilst they tended to the main injury: a wellspring of blood which poured from his lower abdomin. "Archon! Please hurry! He'll bleed out!" cried one of the nurses, desperately attempting to catch the blood and apply pressure. Isley grit his teeth, glaring at the staff as they frantically attempted to keep him alive. "What happened?! Where's 01 and 02? Are they alive?" he began, his words coming out as a slurred string. "Dammit, someone answer me!"

@[member="Feena Mason"].

 

[Feena]

Oh good. He was bleeding. Feena rushed in pulling white gloves on both hands.

"Move aside," she snapped impatiently, "Is he sedated?"
A nod was given in reply.

"Oh good. Wouldn't want him thrashing about now."

She sounded calm now, gentle. Her patient was still very much awake, even if they had made his muscles weak as jelly. It was important to keep calm so your patient would think nothing is wrong. Healing was easier when the patient wasn't afraid.

"My, my, my, Mister Verd," she sighed, as if he were a child who had simply fallen down and skinned a knee, "You pulled me away from my office for this? That isn't more than a bug bite."

She leaned over , getting blood right on the front of her silky green dress. She did not have enough time to change. And now she had ruined one of her dresses. Such a shame. That stain would never come out now. Calmly and carefully, she placed one hand on his forehead and closed her eyes. With the other, she felt around using the force to find the most vital wound to work on. The eyes could be so deceiving. They could not see the damage below the flesh. But Feena could. That was the thing about most healers. They always worked on what was visible first. They never thought to heal from the inside.

Her other hand closed over the hole in his abdomen, trickling blood like a fountain. Ah yes. Of course the bleeding had to be stopped. Stomach wounds were tricky though. There was much that could go wrong. So much.

Mister Verd, you should know better than to get shot. Itisk tisk.

She smiled in her mind, smiled to her patient. She had to make him think all was well. But it was difficult. She wasn't exactly... thrilled to see him. She could only hope her fake cheerfulness could fool a dazed and injured man.
Little by little, she was searching inside, looking for the source of the bleeding, closing it off, restoring each damaged cell. It was hard work. Harder than the Archon made it look. Oh, she did so hate to have to heal like this. Nothing could heal a man quite like his own body, but sometimes, she just had to intervene. He would die if she didn't stop this.

@[member="Isley Verd"]

 

[Darth Metus]

"Feena." he breathed, willing some of his hostility to melt away. She was one of the few people in the entire Galaxy he considered a friend; and straightway he knew he was in good hands. The so-called "bug bite" would be patched up straightway and he could return to the mouth of hell. Knowing the men, they used his injury as an opportunity to regroup and were having all the fun without him..."I'm sorry that I pulled you away from paperwork and playing mommy to the nation. Next time, I'll just make sure to make it something worth your time." he growled, the frustration still very much evident within him. As each second rolled by, the flow of blood issuing from his wound slowed...until it ultimately ceased. Although awkward, there was a single thought that popped into the Mandalorian's mind as the healing went on.

Just over a year ago, he'd have killed to be this close to her.

Shaking his head, Isley looked at the women; his stained eyes brimming with impatience. The sedatives, the guilt, and the sheer embarrassment of getting wounded caused him to forgo gratitude. Instead, he began to stir, attempting to sit himself up despite the nagging of his body. He had lost a lot of blood, his head was spinning...yet despite these facts, Isley felt the urge to get out of the bed and run to the nearest ship. His subordinates needed him; and he had to find out if he had cost lives by his blunder. "For a bug bite, this is taking a long ass time. Could you please expedite this?! I've got a war to fight."

@[member="Feena Mason"].

 

[Feena]

The impatience was making Feena... a little less angelic than a second before. He wanted to run away. Again. Get away from her. She let a tiny spike of anger go. It was like a gamma-ray burst, rushing out from her, all the disappointment, all the anger, The feeling of being abandoned, all the fear she'd felt during the past year without him...
And then in an instant, it had passed and she was the image of serenity again. With a brilliant smile, she removed her hand from his forehead as he tried to sit up, the other hand still over his not yet closed wound. She reached out for a tranquilizer and in one swift movement, not even really looking, shoved the needle into his neck.

"You're not going anywhere, I'm afraid," she sighed, setting the needle back down, "Much as it... pains me to keep you from the next bullet that will probably kill you, I can't, in good conscious, let you leave yet. But don't worry..."

She lifted her bloody gloved hand from his now nearly closed wound and turned away from him with a disgusted expression on her face.

"You'll be free to kill again soon enough."

She removed her gloves and traded them out for clean ones, turned back to him with a fresh smile, as if the scowl had never been there,and started to bandage her patient up. That was all he was now. Just a patient. Not a friend. Just another faceless soldier, ready to go back out there and undo all the hard work she just did. She was starting to remember why she stopped healing on the battle field.
It was all so... pointless. All of it.

@[member="Isley Verd"]