Guns & Roses

Chapter 44

[Hank]

Their appearance was unexpected, especially since he assumed they'd be a little further away still.

"Do you know anywhere, we can lay him down?" 2B asked, seemingly quite flustered. Hank nodded, leading them all down a tight corridor back toward the medical bay.

Sheriff's condition wasn't exactly well enough to be moved much, but he wasn't dying either. As far as he was concerned, Sheriff could manage.

He burst in, the rest in tow as Sheriff almost jumped out of his skin on the table. Grabbing his shoulder, Sheriff looked around in a dazed confusion. "Wha-?"

"Get up." With a moment's hesitation, Sheriff was up. The only good thing about his injury was that he listened unquestioningly, which Hank wasn't all too sad about. It was nice not being questioned for once.

As soon as Sheriff left the table Deimos was laid down on it. He wasn't exactly sure what was going on with him, but whatever it was, it wasn't good. His skin was pale, his breathing was shallow and his leg, which wasn't too bad last he saw, seemed to be badly breaking out with an infection, based on the pus plastered on and around the injury.

Immediately 2B went to rummaging around the drawers pulling out various bottles and pieces of equipment he didn't recognise. Without stopping he spoke back to them, "find somewhere for him to rest."

2B nodded his head to Sheriff, to which Hank just looked at Sanford. He'd spent far too long with that damn Texan, and he refused to spend a minute more with him. Unfortunately 2B added something else he didn't quite like, "and will one of you call hq while you're at it?"

While he didn't particularly like Sheriff, especially after all his whining in the cave, there was nothing he hated more than those radio people. They always wanted small talk, even if the situation was dire, and dealing with them was like punching down a brick wall; slow and painful.

So, he took Sheriff by the good arm and tugged him toward the door. There was a look of concern from Sanford but he didn't care at the moment. He was too busy getting out of doing that radio call.

For once, Sheriff was silent as they walked, which came as a pleasant surprise. He was obviously moping, which he didn't particularly care for, but still, a thought crossed his mind. If he did the whole 'what's wrong' scenario Sheriff would surely warm up to him, perhaps enough to let something slip. So, reluctantly, he forced the words from his mouth, doing his best to sound genuine.

"What's wrong." It still sounded a little more annoyed than he hoped for, but it seemed to do the trick.

"I dunno, I'm just..." Sheriff sighed, keeping his shoulder clutched tightly. "I think I got in over my head."

Raising a brow, he felt excitement build at the idea that he may let something slip this quick, "over in what?"

"This whole thing, I guess." Sheriff shrugged with his good shoulder, looking at the floor. "I-I thought it was just a security gig. I'd hang out, do my job and go, but then Nevada happened, and suddenly everyone was out for everyone. The people above me got killed an' I had to fill in for all of 'em, god knows I could hardly keep up with the workload. Then I had you after me, an' I had to start fearing for my life. I still do fear for my life! Then I had to..."

Tuning him out, he wondered how on Earth Sheriff put up with himself. Sure Nevada was rough, he'd definitely prefer to be somewhere else, but whining would solve nothing. All he had to do was do his job, get the improbability drive off, then he'd go back to whatever he did before. But come to think of it... What was he doing before all this?