circle7 | a small price to pay

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a small price to pay

Gladsheim, buffeted by both civil unrest and foreign tension, was abuzz with information. The locals were quick to say what was on their minds, and while it took some effort to pick out the useful information from the bias and the opinions, it was a skill that all scouting members of Circle Seven were well-trained with, and the picture had quickly begun to take shape as to the state of affairs down in the military planet. As far as habitable planets went, Gladsheim was actually on the small side of the scale - its population was barely five billion, as a good portion of the surface was uninhabitable anyway, covered with strict rock and mineral deposits that made it good for raw resources, but poor for refining plants. That was why Gladsheim relied on foreign weapon supplies - it relied largely on what the earth gave them to trade for firepower, and when supply had begun to run thin from exploitation, Gladsheim's military had obviously taken affairs into their own hands.

It could be said that the reconnaissance mission had gone off without a hitch. After all, they had gone in, ascertained the situation rather quickly, and they had all managed to get out in one piece. A scratch like this, thought Evan optimistically (maybe it was the drugs making him think crazy), was really a rather small price to pay. He didn't doubt that people paid higher prices for valuable information down in the Fourth Circle, in fact. All in all, his small team had performed admirably, and it would have been virtually impossible for anyone to have noticed that Aquilo trailing their progress. The Aquilos barely wandered far from their own planet given their biological limitations - Evan hadn't been trained to listen for their sound. They were lucky to have realized when they did, losing her before they returned to the trip. Like I said, he thought, without a hitch.

The lights had blared in Evan's eyes like a rhythmic flare (was the artificial lighting always that blinding?) Vaguely, he had been aware of Viana's voice as he was carried into the First Circle ship. He had been good until then, managing on his own feet, but either the relief got to him, or the blood loss did, and as soon as he was safely inside, his knees gave out. The next thing he knew, he was staring at the ceiling. "What?" he tried to say, but his mouth wasn't cooperating, and all that got out was a confused, "Nnn?" which technically sufficed, but was considerably less graceful. This wasn't his room.

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The pain registered, but it was slow, and it filtered through him like a steady trickle - which wasn't to say it didn't hurt. By the time Bentley was wrapping the bandages around his middle, Evan's fingers were digging into his white-knuckled fist, his brow damp with the control it took to bear the pain, even if the numbing agent was already in his system. He had been under the knife often enough that while the anesthetic took the edge off the sensation, the novelty of it had already worn off on his body, and it wasn't nearly as effective as he would have liked it to be. The very distant feeling of something poking around inside of him wasn't all that pleasant either.

"Mikey?" he repeated with effort, the drug slowing everything down. His words were slurred, his eyes still hazily sweeping around the ceiling, unable to focus, and vision swimming with the white tiles overhead. There was an exceptionally bright light hovering over his stomach, so he made a special effort not to look down. Evan let out a shuddering breath, feeling hot under the collar but cold at the same time. The artificial air was chilly against his damp skin. "Who's that?"

Bentley smiled under his mask, before tugging it off and setting it aside. Next, his gloves came off, snapping as they pulled off his fingers. "Your codename that time, if I remember correctly."

The doctor seemed to notice the pain, however, giving a concerned look down at Evan's hand. The dosage should've been enough to where the man would only feel a pinch or a prominent prod here and there, but nothing to make him sweat and strain that much. Reaching up, Bentley did Evan a favor, switching off the bright light now that he was done.

"We'll switch your painkiller, by the way," he said, not asking. "Once this one wears off a bit more."

Once the light was off, Evan seemed to relax. Both siblings seemed to fare better in the dark, or at least while not under scrutiny. His fist (and one half fist) relaxed, becoming lax on the bed beside him, and though his eyes continued to wander, they never fixed on anything. His vision felt...slippery; it couldn't stay on one thing for too long, and his eyes were mostly closed anyway, making everything blurry and fuzzy through his eyelashes. It took Evan a moment to respond.

"That's...good idea." He raised a hand, his left, the three remaining fingers on it curling into the palm in a lazy beckon. "Favor, doc."

At the very least, he was more aware now, it seemed. He had enough wits about him to recognize Bentley's voice, but perhaps people like him made a living off of being more alert than the average person, picking out clues from common chatter and extracting what information was actually valuable. It might have been the reason Evan was still here, as opposed to some body bag floating off in space, despite all the scars on his body. It wasn't the first time he had been shot, and it wasn't the last time he would survive - the Circle Seven members were made of tougher stuff.

"...Tell Vi...get some sleep."

"You should, too," Bentley said, standing up. "Consider the message relayed. If you need anything, just hit that button the on the side of the bed. It'll call the nurse."

Giving Evan a light pat to his shoulder, he pushed the stool he was using aside, heading for the door where Viana was waiting outside.

Viana was indeed waiting - when Bentley opened the door, the girl was already standing there, fist against her hip, in an overly-obvious attempt at looking like she was doing a spectacular(ly terrible) show of keeping her cool. "What's the verdict, doc? If you've got the balls to come out here, that better mean everything's okay," she asked (warned), as if the threatening would make the chances of the latter any better than they were to begin with. "Well?"

Bentley laughed, with a tinge of nervousness - only because it was Viana, and it probably didn't matter whether her brother was living or dying, she could find an excuse to beat him senseless anyway.

"He's fine," he assured, raising a hand, as though that would stop the girl from attacking. "No internal damage that won't heal itself. Don't let him push himself too hard once he's out of here, though. It'll be a while." He turned, looking through the window at the lined up beds. Apart from Evan, only one other person was in the ward, and now they were both asleep.

"Evan said you should get some sleep. You're... welcome to stay here, if you prefer."

She could probably find a trivial excuse to beat him, but today, the good doctor had finally shown some mettle, and today, this man had helped save her brother's life. Viana could refrain, even if it was rare indeed for her to do so. A little tension in her small frame seemed to dissipate, and she let out a sigh when Bentley turned away. When she wasn't holding herself up to appear larger than she was (a disadvantaged predator's tactic, age-old and sometimes evolutionary), Viana did, in fact, look kind of tired, her weight sagging on her feet. She hadn't slept since Evan had been brought in, and considering that the reconnaissance team had only returned to base in the wee hours of the galactic morning, her body was sorely missing the rest.

"Not unless you've got a bed. If you say he's safe, then he's safe. If not, I'll wring your neck tomorrow, that's all." That's all, she said, her feet already sliding her toward the door. At the very least, she seemed to hold some semblance of trust in Bentley (or rather, in his profession).

Somehow, it didn't surprise Bentley that Viana's response to everything was violence - even worry for her brother.

Given the amount of patient beds (not really for guests) and only two couches out in the very small lobby of the infirmary, Bentley didn't bother to correct her, turning as she left. "G'night."

Actually, sleep didn't sound like a bad idea - but his shift wouldn't be over for another two hours. In some strange way, though, the Domenico siblings had become something like friends. ('Something' being a fittingly vague keyword.) He was concerned for Evan as well - not as much as a sister, a little more than a doctor. All there was to do now was wait.

An hour and about fifteen minutes later, after a particularly black cup of tea, Bentley made his way back to Evan's bedside. The painkiller should have lost its edge by now, unfortunately, but it made way for the back-up. From the looks of it while patching him up, it should help him fare a lot better.

Drawing a syringe from one of the many drawers, Bentley pulled the stool up and extended Evan's arm, beginning to sterilize a small patch of skin on the inner part of his elbow. "You awake there, Evan?"

Evan's fingers curled in, and he turned his head on the pillow toward Bentley, eyes half-closed. The painkiller had made him tired, but the pain had kept him up, and it looked like he was having trouble closing them that last remaining crack, stubborn as they were. He was just waiting for exhaustion to outweigh the discomfort, judging from the evened-out rise and fall of his chest. The hard part was over.

Without a hitch.

Glancing down at his arm and the syringe, Evan muttered a much more lucid, "Yeah," now that his body was running its course through the first painkiller. He didn't ask what it was, though he probably didn't even remember Bentley's promise of a new brand of painkiller from an hour ago. "Is Vi gone?"

"Left about an hour ago," Bentley said. The doc's eyes stayed focused on Evan's elbow as the needle slid into his skin, squeezing the liquid into his vein. Pressing lightly on the needle with a patch of cloth, he slid it out with ease, depositing the syringe on a metal tray next to the bed. Bentley finally looked up. "I'm sure she's getting some sleep."

Evan made an affirmative sound, looking neither unsurprised at the answer nor unsettled as he watched the needle embed itself under his skin before pulling out, leaving barely a hole in its wake. The painkiller would take a few minutes at least to work its way through his system, no matter how fast-acting. Evan let his head fall deeper into the pillow, until it was covering half his face, and looked up at Bentley with an echo of that easy-going smile he usually wore. "Y'can get some sleep too, doc. I think I'm good. Doesn't feel like anything's fallin' out of my stomach." He glanced down, but the bandages were blocking any sight of the wound, and blood, effectively staunched, hadn't blossomed out onto the outer layer of the wrapping yet. "It's a good job."

"Of course it's a good job," Bentley answered with a smile. "And my shift doesn't end for another thirty minutes. But after that, I'll be sure to get some sleep. Patient's orders?" The doctor laughed. Perhaps it was because he was a doctor that it was less unsettling to see a friend (or something of the sort) hurt. Knowing the cause, the symptoms, and cure took an edge off that fear Bentley often experienced. Evan was going to be fine, and he had the proof. It was the things Bentley couldn't prove that scared him.

"I'll be back in a few hours to check up on you," he stated as he got up, leaving out the fact that he wouldn't be visiting as a doctor. "Hopefully you can get some rest now. Put you on a stronger painkiller."

It was, indeed, a good deal stronger. After a few moments, Evan could feel his eyes drooping, finally closing that last remaining gap before they were closed. Evan went lax against the medical bed, as if finally given into weariness after getting all his other concerns out of the way. No doubt his teammates had already reported their findings to Garamond by now. This was a temporary wound, and in time, it would heal. They hadn't lost anything of note, and had only gained information. As far as he was concerned, it was a successful mission.

It took more than a few hours for Evan to sleep off the tiredness, though, likely because of the potency of the painkiller in combination with the recovery process of his own body. Technological advancements had made it so that the healing of 'minor' wounds such as this rarely involved complications, and the process had sped up since the archaic Un-Unified Galaxy days, but the human body was still only capable of so much. Evan would probably have to refrain from strenuous activities for a few days, but thankfully, he was awake and alert by the time the next day's late afternoon rolled around.

Bentley had probably begun his 'working' hours in the morning, though there really wasn't much to attend to in the First Circle in terms of severe ailments. Evan woke peacefully - he was a still sleeper, unlike Viana, who woke and went to sleep and just about did everything violently. His dreams, if he dreamed, came peacefully and left just as calmly like the flow and ebb of waves. Even his nightmares never seemed to wake him (though that might have been more of a disadvantage than anything else). Blinking at the ceiling, he wondered what time it was - but the ceiling gave no indication of such things, so he spoke up.

"...What time is it?"

"Oh, you're awake." The voice was young and feminine, coming from across the room. There were some footsteps as she came closer, checking Evan's bandages. "About one in the afternoon. One moment; Dr. Foster told me to let him know when you woke up."

The lady left, shoes padding against the floor. Evan was given a few more minutes to admire the ceiling before Bentley walked in, dressed in his usual - a button-up and vest with nice pants, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. For the prosthetic being so controversial, he didn't hide it much. (So it could get ventilation, of course.)

"Hey there," Bentley greeted as he pulled up a stool. His usual smile was also in place, a bit softer as he spoke quieter, careful not to be too loud. "How're you feeling?"

Evan rolled his eyes toward Bentley, obviously having recovered his wits (at least now, he seemed to have control of his vision, rather than letting it swim around in a general forward direction). Evan smiled back, an almost automatic reaction, judging from the quickness of it. He began to shift, gripping onto the sides of the bed, as if to try to push himself up. "I'm fine, doc. Us Circle members, we're built of stronger stuff than that."

"I figured as much," he said, holding a hand up to signal him not to move too much. "It'd be disappointing if you all weren't." Bentley gave the bandages a glance over himself. Nothing had bled through to the top layer. Good.

"How's that painkiller holding up?"

Though he stilled, Evan had already pushed himself onto one elbow by the time Bentley's warning stopped him. He ran a hand over his middle, over the tender left wide with his hand, fingers catching on the slight ribs and bumps of the wrapping. "I can hardly feel it," he answered cheerfully, and it was difficult to tell whether he was lying through his teeth or not (that, perhaps, was also another skill one learned when working in the organization). "Pain's effectively killed, doc."

He wasn't exactly eager and ready to jump right back onto his feet, but he was a restless soul in the same way his sister was, but whereas Viana's feet could take her anywhere, Evan was satisfied with more earthly, small-scale wanderings. He just didn't like being confined to a bed, especially when he felt grimy and sterile. "I haven't showered since yesterday morning," he explained, sniffing at his own wrist, and though he couldn't really smell anything off-kilter, other than the lingering scent of blood, Evan was naturally a tidy person. "I wanna at least wash my face."

"Sorry, I can't let you get up yet." Bentley stood, giving him a stern look that was more reminiscent of a doctor. "You might not be in pain, but if you get up, something inside there could rip back open."

Walking to the other side of the room, the sound of running water begun to filter through the sterile, quiet room. Bentley pulled a hand towel from a drawer, soaking it in warm water, then wringing it out so it was more damp than drenched. Unfortunately, Evan would have to settle for this. Grabbing a spare dry towel, he sat by the man's side again, holding out the wet cloth.

"Besides, it's me Viana will murder if she finds out I let you get up and hurt yourself worse." Although Bentley grinned, the corner of his mouth twitched. He fully believed that.

Judging from the lack of response on Evan's part, he fully believed it too. Accepting the towel gratefully, Evan laid himself back own and all but dropped the piece of cloth onto his face, letting the warmth of it seep into his face. The air in space was always chillier than most, and never humid. Sometimes even just this was a respite in and of itself. Breathing in, he raised his hands to wipe his face down, from the hairline down to his shoulders - anything past that, and he might disturb the bandages Bentley had worked so hard on.

"Thanks, doc," he said, once finished, handing the towel back by one corner. It had cooled quickly in the brisk room air, rendering it useless to hold onto. Evan settled back with a sigh. "How long do I have to stay here? All this sitting around is killing me."

A poor choice of words perhaps, but it got the point across.

He seemed to get the irony, laughing quietly.

"Standing up and walking around is what'll kill you," Bentley corrected, taking the towel and folding it. "We'll see how you're doing in a week. Even then, your amount of walking may be limited."

Plopping the cloth into the tray, he handed Evan the dry one. Bentley stared at the bandages for a moment, remembering why Evan had gone to Gladsheim in the first place. The doctor was on a need-to-know basis; the details he was told were vague. He only knew about the stolen weaponry because he treated a wounded Circle member. Sometimes he overheard them talking about their missions - this was one of them. Evan must have been undercover if he only got away with one gunshot wound. Gladsheim didn't take prisoners unless they were valuable, and never let offenders get away. A narrow escape, most likely.

"So, apart from getting shot, how did things go?"

"Despite getting shot," Evan corrected, voice muffled from the towel in front of his face. His fringe had gotten damp from the towel, and he mussed it dry before pulling it away, leaving his hair a small mess - but Evan wasn't exactly the type to worry about something like that in a situation like this. "It went well. Got in, got the information, got out. The official report's probably with the boss by now. We just didn't expect Gladsheim's military to employ any Aquilos mercenaries. Those people usually don't wander away from their home planet."

"An Aquilos?" he repeated, eyebrow raised. Even in Circle Seven, Aquilos members were a rarity, despite their diverse crew. (In fact, Bentley's quite sure he's never seen one on board.) His brow creased in thought. There must be something special about Gladsheim's new soldier, then. "Strange. Though I have heard they can be an aggressive bunch when provoked."

Naturally, Bentley also wondered if his brother played a role in all of this. Being a commander, it was a possibility; though he wasn't sure if he wanted to share that with Evan yet. The doctor eased in his seat, sighing and staring nowhere in particular. "What are they up to, exactly? That is, if you can let me know."

Evan gave him a measuring look for that, but if he found anything strange about the question, he didn't voice it. Watching Bentley, he answered, "You know, the norm. Government and military are at odds. None of them's got any money, so it's basically a matter of whoever's got the most resources. That's why they gave us a hit-and-run. It boosts their morale and with that reputation hanging over the government's head, it lowers the enemy's too. Two birds with one stone, you could say."

"Make sense," Bentley said, nodding, noting Evan's careful wording. This was probably information everyone knew. "Also making it look like they stole from the bad guys." In reality, though, Bentley wasn't sure he thought of Circle Seven as bad guys - they were hospitable, and an admirably loyal group. Even if they liked to take people without permission. (He'd always be bitter about that - at least, the means in which they did it - but it's not like it wasn't to his own advantage.)

"Well, I'm glad you're all right. Mostly, anyway," Bentley said, smiling again. Circle Seven had everything under control, he trusted. His brother wouldn't be anything to worry about.

Evan laughed, shaking his head. "Making it look like they stole from people who couldn't report to the big, bad enforcements and make them come after Gladsheim, you mean. You're one of the 'bad guys' too, now, doc."

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gonna have to timeskip some

unless you want to play out some viana too!

Ope good call.

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okay now we timeskip (and edit a bit shh)

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gonna need to timeskip again dunna dunna dun

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