File #002 audio;

[rightfootforward]

Shooting them doesn't seem to do nearly as much as I had hoped.

.....

The more advanced medical facilities are at the tactical simulation building, the Battle Dome, yes?

...




And perhaps someone could tell me what day it is as well?

Comments

welp, edited stuff because I misread something, ff

[bionically]

[Between the thunderous roaring of blood against his eardrums and his own shallow panting so loud in his ears, he barely hears his own voice let alone hers. He hyperfocuses on the feeling of her hand over his shoulder, willing himself to be more keenly alert and aware than his deteriorating condition permit.

Left foot, right foot. It helps to try to keep in rhythm.]

I’ll let you off at the door. [His voice is huskier and quieter than before.] And when I do, you can... go on ahead. I'll be right behind you.

hurrrrrrrrr slow for everyone orz

[rightfootforward]

[Right behind her meaning he'll likely collapse. Soldiers and heroes had one terrible trait in common - they never knew their limits. When she hears the tone of his voice, she goes quiet again until they get closer to the clinic - within earshot. Then she shouts out to the doctor, who she hopes is waiting inside.]

We have injured out here! Prep for surgery! Removal of intrusive object in shoulder, severe blood loss - triage necessary!

Captain, tell me your blood type. And put me down.

[geniustheveil]

[Ami opens the door almost immediately. Sound carries. For a second, she doesn't know what to make of the situation in front of her - the hurt leading the hurt. She settles for asking questions along the way, for clarity. She can get more information while they get inside.]

Come this way right away,

[bionically]

[As both a soldier and a war hero back home, perhaps this makes him especially daring. After the accident, he’s only felt keener on proving himself, on being viewed as more than just a young amputee, an unfortunate victim of a grenade blast on the field. At least he had served as more now than an oversized paperweight - but his efforts to transport Peggy didn't compensate for the poor judgment he'd shown while swinging.]

A. A-positive.

[He watches as the clinic door flies open, his steps slowing to a halt at last. But rather than smoothly sinking into a crouch as intended, he drops to his knees as if his legs had buckled beneath him, his head slumping forward while he waits for Peggy to climb off his back.

A quiet noise somewhere between a croak and a dry cough issues from him as if in some half-hearted attempt to speak, his jugular veins pressing rod-like against his skin. It hurts more than he’ll allow himself to admit, the sort of hurt that sucks the breath from his lungs – what little of it he felt he could sneak in, at least - and at its worst, threatens to have tears springing to the corners of his eyes in reflex and faster than he could determinedly blink them back. Back in boot camp, drill sergeants had tried to hammer home that pain was just a state of mind. Something, moreover, the enemy could and would be glad to use against you if given the chance.

Buck up, Spencer. Let’s go - on your feet.

He braces a hand against the outer wall of the clinic for support, tremblingly pushing himself up. But his body barely budges. Panting, he give in briefly to his crippling sense of weakness, half-absently touching a hand to a wet patch on his sweater - and all that flashes through his mind is how hard it'll be to get the stains out. Not that it matters when it would be cut away, anyway, once he got the chance to lay down.

A fierce shout escapes him as he tries again to stand, the bones in his legs feeling like wet noodles. It's a Herculean effort, and thank God the wall's where it is; he promptly leans against it, too spent to feel very grateful. In this moment of idleness, his gaze drifts to Peggy and it's then that he notices the blood spotting the side of her dress. Had it always been there?]

[rightfootforward]

[The door opens and a girl, younger than Peggy would have thought which earns her a point, comes out to lead them in. Spencer's display once she's on the ground does little to ease her worries and she frowns, turning to Ami. Business first. Triage. She was a nurse for two years, she knows these things.]

Is there anyone in there to help us get him inside? He needs immediate surgery for the branch in his shoulder - been pushing himself too far and the shock is wearing off. Blood type A positive. Is this place equipped for surgery? We won't be able to move him once he's inside. The weight of his prosthetics would be too much.

[She turns to look at Spencer and notices his gaze, covering the bloody patch on her dress with one arm.]

You first, Captain. My stitches and leg can wait.