ACTION TIME

[aphelionix]

The two days had come and gone since Locke stayed over at Weiler's. He was tipsy when Weiler had called that night and made their two day check-in rule - not that he forgot, but he couldn't stop the nagging feeling that something was off when he went to bed that night.

On the morning of the third day, he remembered.

The rule was to get out. He tried calling Weiler once, in case he had forgotten his own rule, but Locke was sure by now that it wasn't like him. It was all the sign he needed when the call went straight to voice mail. He headed right out the door of his room, only gathering his pistol and communicator. Through the bustling of the soldiers' morning routines, he managed to keep himself fairly blended in. No one seemed to be looking on him any differently. Locke was on the last stretch of the emergency escape route of Gladsheim's base - for Circle members, that was - when someone called his name.

His real name.

Comments

[tactician]

No response.

Had the wound gotten the better of him? Had it somehow infected and attacked his immune system? Was he- no, his breathing was still light but even, even if his sleep seemed pained by the furrow of his brow. It had to simply be the lack of sleep catching up to him, the pure exhaustion that came after running out of whatever supply of adrenaline he had.

Weiler didn't even stir.

[aphelionix]

Locke sighed upon realizing it wasn't more serious. He unbuckled Weiler, deciding to ignore the fact that he was asleep. Scooping him up was easy enough, apart from the pain shooting down his right leg. There was a small, empty cabin for resting just across the way. He brought the medical kit along too, having set it on Weiler's stomach. (Two birds with one stone.)

[tactician]

What Locke's voice didn't do, the jostling certainly did. Upon the sharp sting of pain it produced in his back, Weiler's eyes snapped open, awake and a little panicked. He instantly began struggling. "Mein Gott, you bastards don't-"

Then, he noticed where he was, who it was, and slowly stilled, looking perplexed. "Is there any particular reason why you are carrying me like a princess, Herr Locke?"

[aphelionix]

A flailing hand smacked him right in the face. Locke grimaced, but remained a steady grip on the man.

"You wouldn't wake up," he explained, setting Weiler down on the lower cot of two bunk-bed style ones. Not that he tried very hard to wake him up.

[tactician]

Weiler looked slightly irate, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Why would I need to wake up?"

[aphelionix]

"If we don't dress that wound, it'll get infected," Locke said, pulling the medical case off Weiler's lap. "And then you'll spend your vacation in the hospital recovering."

[tactician]

"In a hospital bed," Weiler pointed out, gingerly feeling around his back for the wound. It had stopped bleeding, but the blood and cloth had matted his shirt to his skin, and everything was still tender to the touch. He would much prefer it if he were under some sort of anesthetic when this happened, used to the conveniences of the modern man. "Which isn't entirely unappealing right now, actually."

He laid down on the bed, rolling onto his side with a yawn. "You can stitch up your own."

[aphelionix]

"It's less serious." Locke plopped down by Weiler, fishing out a sealed up syringe, some alcohol pads, and a solution of some sort. "It's going to be a couple more hours before we're there, anyway."

[tactician]

Weiler eyed the supplies with no little amount of suspicion. Not that he didn't appreciate the soldier coming for him (or so he said), but was Locke really qualified to do this?

"Just imagine," he agreed, "a couple entire hours of blessed sleep."

[aphelionix]

"Stop whining." Locke pulled something else out of the case before setting it aside. He grabbed Weiler's hand by the wrist, and before he could complain, slid a splint onto his injured finger.

[tactician]

There was something about the sudden and unwanted forcefulness of that that made Weiler jolt, jerking back on the bed and kicking the ground. "I said stop!"

[aphelionix]

Locke eased back at the outburst, looking at Weiler with about as surprised as an expression as he was capable of making. He released his hand.

[tactician]

Weiler stayed where he was for a moment, body laid out like he had been fighting to get away not even a moment prior (because that was what he had been doing), and blinked at Locke. Then, he seemed to come back to himself, sitting up and holding a hand out.

"I'll do it myself."

[aphelionix]

He dropped the materials into Weiler's palm, his brow tight.

"Sorry."

[tactician]

An easy smile slid onto Weiler's face. He chuckled as he turned down to inspect his fingers, very carefully splinting them and sucking in breaths between his teeth as he moved from one to the other. There were four broken fingers in all, but the damage wasn't too bad or permanent. "You just surprised me, soldier. Don't worry about it."

[aphelionix]

Locke was staring at his hands. Typical Gladsheim, using a method like that to draw out information. When they drew close to a handful of broken fingers, they figured the subject wasn't going to talk. They would've resorted to worse if Weiler hadn't escaped when he did. Which reminded him-

"How did you get out, anyway? Someone on the inside?"

[tactician]

"Something like that," Weiler said, keeping his eyes on his hands as he tilted his head. "I was in interrogation when there was a small sweep on the cell division of the ship. Call it dumb luck, but the guard interrogating me got up to check what all the noise was and bam, next thing I know, he's lying on the ground choking on his own blood. So I took his access cards and gun and made a break for it."

[aphelionix]

"I see," he said, with a small smile. "Ever the opportunist, aren't you?"

[tactician]

"I make a living out of it," Weiler answered, apparently somewhat closer to his normal self as he waggled four splinted fingers at Locke with a grin. "Are you happy now, Mutti?"

[aphelionix]

Locke rolled his eyes. He did feel a little bad, though, having realized exactly why Weiler had jerked before. "Not yet."

It was rather foreboding when he picked up the syringe again, looking at Weiler out of the corner of his eye...

[tactician]

It wasn't hard to notice.

Weiler laughed. "That's cute - are you worried? They didn't shoot me up with anything."

[aphelionix]

He frowned at it being called cute.

"I would've known," he said. "It still hurts, doesn't it? Your back."

[tactician]

"You could just kiss it better," Weiler offered, flashing teeth.

[aphelionix]

"That doesn't sound very sanitary."

[tactician]

He looked thoughtful for only a split second.

"You're right. Try here," he said instead, tapping the quirked line of his smirk. "Maybe it'll transfer."