SATe [✔]

[19] perdu

We'd gathered in the infirmary after Cassiel had made a heated scene returning to the SATe base; each step coupled with a grunt or heave. Smith was gripping onto his shoulder as they walked side by side, forcing herself to stand upright. I could see that there was a poor attempt to cover her arm in cloth and that it was unlikely painkillers had been administered to her because a small brush at the material had her wincing.

I could see through the glass of the conference room that both parties had experienced an emotionally draining operation; that much so that I wanted to avoid leaving this room and inflicting them with the perils of conversing with an outsider. Yet Perry seemed to be opposed to such a notion, invading the conference room with an agitated expression and ushering me out. The reading I had been doing left unaccompanied on top of the table, a task I'd much rather be doing.

Cassiel was leant over one of the infirmary beds as Smith sat swinging her legs over the side. She seemed halfway between being perfectly alright and completely and utterly exhausted. Her arm was a mess; a long-etched line from one end to the other covered in various shades of blood, and a white line of stitching was fed between different points but didn't close the wound. Priestley had been hovering a needle behind her when we'd entered, seemingly taking a long pause as she waited for Cassiel to direct her.

"This might hurt," Cassiel had murmured as he nodded towards Priestley, who then pierced her neck slowly with the needle. Smith had clenched her teeth together, forcing herself not to flinch or move as the injection took place and the needle removed, "You'll feel better in a minute, okay?"

I think she'd nodded too early because there wasn't a single second between what he said and his action of physically pulling the thread from her arm. Smith had avoided staring at the wound, opting to look up at the ceiling as Cassiel worked. He was rushing. He knew fine well the level of blood that could be lost would pose as a problem.

"This work is entirely shoddy. It's a wonder it closed for a moment. They're passing as doctors but can't stitch?" Cassiel had said through gritted teeth. He was focused on both stitching the wound together and keeping the area clear of blood. I hadn't known him long, but I could tell this was him in his element. His eyes were large and intense, while his hands were steady and precise; each movement full of care. I could tell this was something he took a great deal of pride in, but more than that, the added element of a colleague was shrouding his work in a steeper amount of consistent high-level ability.

None of us had the words to reply; perhaps we should have because the longer he sat there, the more irritated he seemed to become. I had already noticed that the operation had a less than liberating air about it, but it seemed to rile up shades of anger in him.

"How many patients does that hospital care for daily that aren't getting the care they need? How many botched surgeries have there been? How many real doctors are in that hospital?" He'd initially whispered each question under his breath, the volume increasing as he went along. The words were not pointed at anyone who stood around him, but each one had an element of worry we couldn't help but feel targeted by. As a medical professional, he must have seen something that caused him alarm; which didn't surprise me given the state of some of the rooms and hallways.