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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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."

"I'm a doctor," he corrected, still grinning, "pulled into a bad guy place completely against my will."

"You're a doctor," Evan agreed, nodding slowly. "Working for the bad guys and patching them up. I believe it's a crime by association, unfortunately."

"No, no," Bentley said, waving a hand. "I'm just doing my job. Besides, where am I supposed to go? I'm a hostage here. Can't very well throw myself into space. Well, I guess I could hijack an escape pod..." He raised a hand to his chin in thought, stroking his goatee in that typical thought-provoked manner.

"You're safer here than you would be if you quit, now." Evan smiled when he said it, but there was a hint of dagger-edged truth to that. The Organization, loyal as they were, took defecting just as seriously as other smaller-scale mafia-esque organizations. Evan hadn't quit Circle Seven, and he wasn't planning to any time soon, but he had run away from a group before, and paid for it. The joking tone seeped back into his voice as he continued - conversation flowed easily with him, from one topic to another, weaving everything he needed to say neatly into his words. "Besides, I'd say you have a pretty bad case of Stockholm Syndrome if you actually consider yourself a hostage."

The man smiled, eyes closing for a moment as he rested an ankle on the opposite knee, rubbing his forehead. If Evan didn't know better, the motion might have seemed shy.

"Ha, I imagine so," he conceded, voice soft. Bentley paused before he looked up again. Evan wasn't completely off the mark. "It's not so bad here, really."

"'Not so bad?'" Evan repeated, somewhat incredulously. "It should be better than that, after all the hospitality we've shown you, doc." (Viana excluded.)

Oh, he considered that, definitely. Bentley's expression went flat. "A certain someone keeps me from getting too comfy."

"That's too bad," Evan said, almost too nonchalantly. "Maybe you should have a talk with them. Work out your differences."

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gonna need to timeskip again dunna dunna dun

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