Chapter Text
My fingers were pressed hard against the asari’s wrist, checking for a pulse. Waiting. Waiting. There.
“She’s alive, but pulse is extremely weak.” I called out.
The surgical instruments were wheeled next to me as I set to work getting a blood transfusion ready. After a few moments of more waiting, feeling her pulse get a touch stronger, I started the real work- digging out the shrapnel as quickly as I could. Making sure to pause every few minutes to check her pulse.
After stitching her wounds shut, I waited with bated breath. Her vitals grew stronger with each passing moment. A breath of relief left me, and I motioned for her to be wheeled from the room.
Another table took its place, this one a male batarian. Again, gunshots.
Another batarian.
A turian.
A batarian.
An asari.
A turian.
Another turian.
Finally, after hours of delicate surgeries, I was able to clock out.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Professor Mordin.” I said with a little wave as I left.
...
I turned the corner, ignoring the sound of gunfire- even as close as it was- just wanting to get home.
Someone crashed into me, sending me to the floor. I looked up, watching as the person- turian- collapsed where they were. The distinct scent of blood filled the air. As gently as I could, I helped them to their feet, guiding them along with me. Picking up the pace when I heard voices calling out to “get that turian!”
I took them all the way to my apartment, which was far out of the zone I’d found them in, and sat them down on my office chair. Slowly, carefully, I took off their helmet- a male turian- before beginning the process of removing his armor. I had to cut through his undershirt, though it was already practically shredded with the amount of gunshot wounds he’d sustained. I’d have to look over his armor when I was done- if his body was in this state, the armor must be even worse. I’d have to clean off all the blood first, to see the actual plating beneath it.
Pulling my med kit out from the bottom shelf of my bookcase, I popped it open and wiped my hands clean with sanitizing wipes, before pulling on gloves. After grabbing my scalpel and a pair of large tweezers, I set to work.
...
I wasn’t sure how long had passed, but at some point, he’d fallen unconscious, and I sped up my ministrations as much as I was comfortable. Finally, I tied off the last of the stitches, clipping the thread free, and leaning back to look him over.
The front of his torso was littered with stitched incisions- he’d really taken a beating tonight.
I worked off the lower half of his armor, before guiding him to my bed and laying him down. Tucking him in. There wasn’t much else I could do, other than wait for him to wake up.
With that done, and the kit tucked away, I wipes his armor clean. It was destroyed. As if he’d taken a machine gun at pointblank range.
With one last concerned glance at him, spread out the mat I kept for when I had friends staying over, and settled in for the night.
...
I woke up before he did, going about making breakfast for both of us- thanks to my having turian and quarian friends, I had dextro food. Eventually, I heard a soft groan and some shuffling from the bedroom.
He came out and I pointed to the door next to the bedroom. “Bathroom’s right there.”
He didn’t move for a few moments, no doubt confused by the situation. The last he knew, he was dying in my arms in that hallway, I’m sure. If he even remembered that much.
After using the facilities, he slowly approached.
“I’m making dextro food, too.” I assured him, knowing he would be hungry after all that adrenaline last night. “You sit down and make yourself comfortable.”
He shuffled away, and I heard him sit on the sofa. Didn’t turn on the tv, and I felt his eyes on my back still. Watching.
When I was done, I plated the food and carried his plate, along with a water bottle, to him. Grabbing my own of both, I sat at the other end of the sofa.
He didn’t immediately start eating, so I glanced at him as I turned the tv on. “You need to build up your strength. Last night’s gunfight took a lot out of your body.”
Slowly. “You helped me.”
I nodded. “Yep. Lucky I was there, too, or you would’ve bled to death on that street.” I took a bite of my bacon.
He shook his head, his expression still guarded. “Why?” Suspicious.
“Because I’m a doctor.” A shrug. “It’s what I do.”
“You’re a doctor?” Parroting me, confused.
“Yep. I work alongside Mordin in his clinic.” I checked the time. “I’ve got about four hours left before my shift starts, but you’re welcome to stay here until then. I’d suggest getting new armor asap, though. That thing is ruined. It couldn’t protect against a speck of dust, in that state.”
Slowly, as if suspicious I’d poisoned it, he began eating. It was clear the moment his stomach overruled his head, because he started shoveling the food in his mouth.
“There’s more on the stove.” I assured him.
Moving with the careful steps of an injured man, he walked to the kitchen and refilled his plate.
A sigh left him when he’d finished the second helping. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” I smiled over at him. “I try to help out wherever I can.”
“What’s your name?”
“Emma.”
He paused, and I got the sense that he was sounding my name out in his head.
“You’re not curious about who I am?”
I waved it away. “That’s up to you to share. I don’t care one way or another. I help strangers all day, every day in the clinic. I rarely learn their names. If you don’t want to share, you don’t have to. There’s no pressure.”
...
He and I parted ways when I left for work, after having checked his wounds to make sure they hadn’t reopened or gotten infected or anything like that.
The day was another busy one- I saw seven patients, and they took up so much of my time, I clocked out almost two hours late.
...
Two weeks went by, before I found the turian slumped outside my door on my way home from work. With a bemused tilt of my head, I helped him through into my apartment. Removing his armor and patching him up again.
In the morning, I cooked breakfast for him again.
We sat on the couch, same as last time, and he ate quietly. A soft “thank you” before we parted.
...
Later that week, I found him holding up a batarian who was bleeding all over the floor outside my place. I ushered them in and set to work.
I put the batarian in my bed, the turian on the sofa, and I slept on the mat again.
In the morning, I made them both food.
The batarian insisted on washing the dishes for me, and I allowed him, watching with an amused smile. He was kind, showing his appreciation through chores.
...
Another few days, the turian was there with another turian.
...
Two and a half weeks later, he was by himself.
...
Whoever they were, I understood that they couldn’t go to Mordin’s clinic. I didn’t mind tending to them at my home- it would keep them from dying on the streets, after all.
I came home three days later, finding him there with yet another turian, this one different from the one before- along with a different batarian. They were both bloodied up.
It took some doing, but I was able to move between them- lots of glove changes and making sure I kept their blood off each other so I didn’t cause any reactions- but I managed it. Somehow.
By the end, I was exhausted. I’d operated on nine people today, late to clock out by almost four hours, and I’d just added two more to the list. It felt good to help, though, so I wasn’t upset.
...
The next time I saw him, a little over a month had passed. And he was standing by my door. Alone. Not a scratch on him.
I invited him in.
“I was going to order food tonight.” I told him. “Do you want anything?”
He quietly gave me his order, and I set it up. It would be here in half an hour.
Going to the kitchen, I grabbed us both waters, handing him one before sitting at the opposite end of the sofa from him.
“Good to see you, without you being on death’s door.” I joked, smiling a little, before taking a sip from my bottle.
A soft hum left him as he nodded. He’d never really been big on talking, but he seemed especially quiet tonight. I was curious as to why, but I didn’t want to push.
The food arrived, and I dished us up, handing him his plate. Taking my seat again, I began eating, the food so good after not eating all day- we’d been that stretched thin. No one had gotten a single break.
“You’re shaking.” He pointed out, voice low.
I felt my smile slip for a moment. “Ah. Yeah. It was a rough day at the clinic today. This is the first time I’ve eaten. I didn’t have time this morning, with errands I needed to run before my shift started. And I stayed later than usual, too.”
“I noticed.”
A glance at him. “Were you waiting long?”
Hesitation flashed in his expression, before he nodded. “I was standing outside for a few hours.”
“I’m sorry.” I sighed. “It’s really a good thing you weren’t injured, then, huh?”
I could’ve come back to a dead turian.
Another nod, refocusing on his food.
We sat in companionable silence, while the comedy show I’d landed on played in the background.
After I’d washed the plates, I turned to find him staring at me- not that I hadn’t felt his eyes on me with my back to him.
“I’m Archangel.” He finally said.
“Nice to officially meet you, Archangel.” I teased.
That got a chuckle out of him, and I enjoyed how his subvocals made it sound like music. More so than his usual tone did. Turian voices were always so nice to listen to, but his... I liked his a lot more. I didn’t want to read too much into that, though, so I always shoved the thought aside.
...
He’d left some time in the night- I’d fallen asleep on the sofa and woken up the next morning in my bed, all tucked in.
Every day, for the next two and a half weeks, I watched the news, catching snippets here and there about Archangel and his team doing this and that. It was no wonder they were constantly coming to me- Archangel wasn’t someone that could go to Mordin’s. And not for the reasons I’d originally suspected. He would be killed by anyone around that found out who he was, on sight.
Today, he waited for me again, with a wounded batarian- the first one he’d brought to me before. I got them inside and immediately started patching the man up.
Once again, the batarian took the bed, he got the sofa, and I slept on the mat. I refused to hear anything about him taking my spot instead.
The next morning, I cooked us food and, when it was time for work, we parted ways.
I couldn’t help but wonder how much longer they’d come to me, before either they or I didn’t make it in time.
...
Every time over the last year and a half that he showed up- whether it was injured, bringing someone else that was injured, or just himself- I let out a breath of relief. They were still alive. He was still alive.
Until he showed up tonight. He was bleeding so profusely, I was worried he’d need a transfusion. And he was angry. In a rage. Unlike anything I’d witnessed before, from anyone.
From what I gathered from his serrated words as he yelled and shouted, his men had all been killed, betrayed by one of the turians- Sidonis. A man I’d patched up countless times before for him.
He’d lost everyone, in one fell swoop.
Once his anger had extinguished to a flickering flame, I guided him to the bed, easing him down. When I went to pull away, I felt his hand wrap around my wrist. Softly, so softly I almost missed it, he asked me to stay.
“I’ll bring the mat in here.” I tried.
He shook his head, tugging me weakly forward. Toward him. “Stay.” His voice broke. “Please.”
I smiled softly, reaching down and stroking the back of his hand. “Okay.”
Sliding under the covers, I gently shifted him so his head was on my shoulder. He needed comfort- to know that someone was still with him. If I could give that to him, I would, without hesitation.
...
He was gone the next morning.
The longer that passed- six months, now, since I’d last seen him- the more I worried for him. I kept tabs on him through the media as best I could, but there was only so much people knew about him and what he was doing.
I felt dread swell in the pit of my stomach the longer time dragged on.
One morning, I woke up to a message from Mordin. It said not to come in to the clinic for the time being- there was a plague sweeping through the zone, and it would cut me off from my home if I entered.
So, without anything else to do, I went to Afterlife. Applied for the open bartender position in the lower level.
Open, because I’d called out the batarian bartender for poisoning his patrons- humans only- and another patron, a turian, shot him dead for it. That had been a couple days ago, and the position had yet to be filled, surprisingly enough. So, I snatched it up.
Between watching bartenders do their thing over the years and vids on the extranet that walked me through how to do everything, I passed their little tests with flying colors.
...
Another month and a half passed, before I heard it on the news.
Archangel was dead.