((Later: Shared Passenger Suite))
::Sitting on the sofa, head tilted back, all Bear could taste was the solid copper drip of blood running down the back of his throat. Eyes stinging, sense of dignity all but gone, ego thoroughly dented, he attempted to inhale through his nasal cavity and regretted it immediately.::
O. Marshall: Ow.
Sienelis: This is what your people call karma.
::She dropped the first aid kit in his lap with more force than was strictly necessary, and deposited herself onto the seat next to him. Prosthetics yanked off at the first opportunity, Valesha was still in the grubby overalls she'd worn to the courier's quarters. Hands with bruised knuckles cracked open the case, and she pulled out a hypospray, sending the drugs into his veins with a pneumatic hiss.::
O. Marshall: Karma hurts.
::The drugs, however, were wonderful. It wasn't his first broken nose, and he doubted with his track record, it would be the last in his lifetime. Swallowing metal once more, he tried to look at her in the periphery of his vision, endeavouring not to move his head too much.::
O. Marshall: Did you get them all?
Sienelis: No thanks to the bottle of Romulan ale one of them tried to crack over my head. ::She snorted, exchanging hypospray for dermal regenerator.:: That was a criminal waste, you realise. Would have done more for you than that hypospray.
O. Marshall: Is this your way of saying I owe you one? ::He winced at a piercing pain scuttering across his bruised cheekbone.:: It sounds like that's what you're saying
Sienelis: Then it must be. ::She flicked on the regenerator, and in the absence of anything looking particularly worse than anything else, started at the top of his nose and began to work her way down.:: Hold still.
O. Marshall: I am holding still. You're the one moving. ::He sniffed again, a wad of congealed blood hitting the back of his throat. His subsequent grimace said it all.:: At least while having my face rhythmically kissed with fists, you got the job done.
Sienelis: Maybe leave the kissing of your face to Lena, in future. ::She pressed her lips together in a show of annoyance, to hide the undercurrent of concern.:: How's your head? Any dizziness? Nausea?
::He went to shake his head, realised that was not a good idea, and settled for a verbal response instead. Underneath the skin of his nose and cheek, he could feel the tiny patchworks of skin and capillaries knitting back together. Always an odd sensation. He wondered where the pirate had got to.::
O. Marshall: Gladly. And no. No nausea, no dizziness, just blood and pain. This hard head of mine has served me well once more. ::He went to smile, and again, thought better of it.:: How about you? Take a few blows or only dish out that Romulan fury?
Sienelis: I think I need to pick some glass out of the back of my neck. ::As well as a few bruises under her overalls, but they weren't worth the mention. She paused in her ministrations, and prodded his nose with her fingers, feeling along the lines of bone and cartilage.:: That's back in one piece.
::Taking an experimental inhale, it still stung, but it didn't come alongside a flinch this time. Nose no longer in harsh disorder, Bear tilted his head to the side and felt the bones pop in an osteo-symphony. Straightening once more, he grabbed one of the pillows from the sofa and chucked it down between his feet.::
O. Marshall: Come on. Let's have a look at you.
::There was indecision, but only for a moment, logic winning out over reluctance. Untangling her legs, she shifted herself down onto the cushion and unzipped the overalls a few centimetres, pushing the collar back to expose her bloodied neck. Bear grimaced at slivers of Romulan manufactured glass that had stuck into her green-toned flesh at odd angles. Small and large, it looked painful.
::Slipping out a sterile pad and tweezers from the medical kit previously dropped on the source of his procreation abilities, and the dermal regenerator off to the side on the couch cushion, he started with the bigger pieces first. Take it out, wipe down the area, set the light going.::
O. Marshall: They really do build Romulans to last, don't they?
Sienelis: We're destined to reign over the universe, if you believe the propaganda. Can't be weaklings when that kind of future needs achieving.
::There was an underlying scorn that said everything that needed to be said about her opinion on that matter.::
O. Marshall: I believe that they believe it. ::He chewed his lip at a particularly nasty looking slice made by a passing shard rather than an embedded one.:: Hold still, this might sting a bit.
::Even with the dermal regenerator on full whack, running over the wound, fusing all the necessities back together with scientific wonder, cleaning it out first to make sure there was no lingering debris made it look agitated and like a deep sea green. Soon, he had a sterile pad full of Romulan ale glass fragments and passed it to her over her shoulder.::
O. Marshall: Souvenir.
::After taking receipt, she peered down at the bloodied, crystalline splinters in her hand, idly pushing the shards around the pure white pad with a light touch. A bleak smile caught her lips as she considered the fractured remnants.::
Sienelis: My life in metaphor. ::She huffed, and it was very nearly a laugh. She plucked out one of the large pieces, watching the light glittering off its razor edge.:: Do you ever think about not going back?
O. Marshall: Back to the Gorkon? ::He didn't wait for an answer before continuing, using the distraction to finish off the dermal regeneration, the patina of her blood slipping back beneath her skin.:: Are you having second thoughts?
Sienelis: I guess I'm just wondering if it's a fight worth squaring up to.
::He paused for a second, watching one of the cuts heal with perfect precision, considering the predicament she was in. Going back, facing the music, probably prison… he wasn't sure he'd have the bottle to do it.::
O. Marshall: Would you regret it if you didn't?
::A frown pulled her dark eyebrows together while she considered the question. She might regret failing Reynolds, for not following through on her side of their deal and leaving the Admiral to take the flack for allowing her to escape. She would regret passing up the chance to see Chris again, likely as it was that he would rather she did. That said...::
Sienelis: I might regret it if I do.
O. Marshall: Then you're in a bit of a catch twenty-two situation, there. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. ::He shook his head with an accompanying sigh.:: If it makes you feel any better, I hated being away from Starfleet for so long.
O. Marshall: Because it felt like home.
::That gave her pause. Starfleet had never been some childhood ambition — growing up in the Star Empire, she'd never even considered such a foolish idea — nor could she say she'd ever felt truly at home as a member of its ranks. Though perhaps, of late, she'd been getting there. Eventually, she just shrugged, wincing a little as the movement pulled at the healing skin of her neck.::
Sienelis: Doubt I'll get any choice in the matter, anyway.
::It seemed to be a recurring theme since that night on the beach. Pulled and pushed this way and that, moved and manoeuvred by others, not able to make her own damned decisions in any of it.::
O. Marshall: I doubt you will. ::He doesn't say that if he tries to return to the Gorkon without her, he's courting death with a certain Russian, and instead places the dermal regenerator down on the sofa again. Prodding his fingers into the healing skin, it holds firm.:: There, you're all healed up. Physically, of course. For the emotional, we've got bad vodka.