#Hospital – January 10, 2019

Oxaris is, as ever, laid up in her hospital bed with the bed- sheets pulled up to around her waist. She's in a room with several other beds, and a window that faces the forest. The only other patient is a none-too-talkative human in his 20s. Aside from six beds the room has some chairs for visitors, and tables by each bed. The room is quiet aside from the beeping of the monitoring equipment Oxaris is hooked up to. The

Turian specialist seems surprisingly content at the moment, a dimly lit datapad clasped between her hands which she is fervently reading. In fact, a very small, but somewhat underwhelming laugh escapes her. She scrolls the page down a smidgen more, before reaching to the nearby table and gingerly taking a glass of water.

Jason navigates the hospital halls in his usual attire: black cargo pants, combat boots, and a long-sleeved white shirt beneath his brown canvas jacket. After a brief stop by the front desk to find out her whereabouts, he makes his way towards Oxaris' room, navigating the oh-so familiar sights and sounds. It's hard to decide just what he hates the most. Is it the hollow clack of his boots on the hallway tile? Or maybe the occasional

muffled voice through a closed door that makes you wonder what kind of bad news is being delivered? Or perhaps it's that awkward moment when you pass someone else by in an otherwise-empty hall and can't figure out the proper greeting? Do you muster up a smile as you walk past? If they're in a hospital, it's probably not for good reasons. A loved one could be dying a few rooms away, so maybe they don't want you rubbing in your

smile! Maybe you should just keep your head low and avoid eye contact. Or go for the passing head nod, but keep the smile stowed away. And then there's the smell! That sterile, stifling smell. Drawing in a deep breath answers that question for him. Yeah, it's definitely the smell that he hates the most. Hospitals just suck. Which is a damn shame considering how much time he tends to spend in them. He pauses as he reaches the room

the turian is in, shifting his gift between arms. After all, you can't just visit someone at the hospital without bringing a gift, right? Flowers were his initial choice. They're the standard go to. But he's a recently married man! Is he allowed to buy other women flowers? Maybe just a basket of fruit. An idea which led him to realize that he knows absolutely nothing about turian fruit. What if they're all like that fruit from

Earth? The stinky one, whose name he can never remember? The one that nobody likes? Eventually he reached the golden rule. 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.' If he was laid up in a hospital bed? What would he want to see in the arms of a visitor? As he spots the turian laid up in bed, he offers her a lopsided smirk from across the room and holds up the bottle of turian brandy. Booze. The

answer is always booze. "There she is." he says.

Oxaris blinks and looks up from her reading, a genuine flash of surprise crossing her features. Which is quickly replaced by that ingrained response of 'Commander on Deck!'. She immediately begins to straighten out her posture, the datapad quickly forgotten as it falls onto the dulled blue of the hospital bed sheets. However, she is also quickly reminded of her injury that causes her to twinge in pain and a hand to raise

partly to her chest. Relax, Ortoratus, relax. You're recovering. She reminds herself quite sternly and manages to, for once, relax herself around a superior. She slumps a little in the bed, the turian equivalent to a smile appearing on her face, and a little nod to the strangely joyous Jason that has just walked into her room. "You expected me elsewhere?" She asks, a curious tilt of her head. But the lightheartedness

in her voice conveys her jest well enough. She motions for him to come sit beside her bed, her eyes falling to the bottle in his hands. She perks her brow-plate high, flicking her eyes up to meet his.

Jason crosses the room and sets the bottle on the nearby table. It's not brand name or anything. This is Aite, after all. But it's the best he could find on short notice. "To be honest? After what you pulled off back on that-..." his gaze slips towards the other patient in the room- only now noticing his presence for the first time- which causes him to lower his voice slightly given the subject content, "...Uhhh-... on that ship? I

wouldn't have been surprised if you were running the place." He offers a small snicker as he drops into the chair beside the bed, that lopsided smirk of his resurfacing. "Are they treating you alright here?"

Oxaris breathes a small laugh, her mandibles twitching with the action. She offers him a thankful nod as she takes the bottle and regards it for a moment, studying it with a critical eye. There's just some things you can't switch off after all. "I'm not planning on overthrowing medical staff," she muses. She lifts the bottle and gives it a little shake as she speaks, a wry smirk appearing. "Especially since they -are-

treating me pretty well. But I don't believe they're going to let me start drinking the hard stuff quite yet." She sets the bottle back onto the table and lays her hands on her lap, regarding her boss for a moment. "How are you holding up?"

Jason's smile persists and Oxaris' comment gets a snicker from him as he can't help but imagine the browbeating Halisi is going to give her if she walks in and spots the bottle. Her question causes his smile to waver, but only briefly. When it returns, he draws in a breath, considering it as he does. "Still breathing." he says. These days that's becoming a perk rather than the default, it seems. Another snicker accompanies his words,

but it doesn't come easy. It's not hard to deduce that he's still shaken by the whole ordeal, but he knows this isn't the time nor the place to let that show. It's not Oxaris' burden to carry. "Can't complain about that, right?"

Oxaris hums and, in a moment of levity and perhaps self-deprecation, says, "Actually, when you have your lungs melted by a rifle shot, you kinda can." She places a hand on her chest and manages a much more hearty laugh than she would normally allow herself. She clears her throat and offers up a small, sheepish shrug. Despite the ordeal that they have all only recently gone through, the turian is doing a rather good job of

trying to mask it. "And the others?" She asks, idly gesturing to the window in indication of the other Redrock members. "Are they recovering?"

Jason chuckles along and gives a few small nods to the turian's question. "They are." he says simply. "Think after that last outing everyone needs a little time to clear their heads. But they're alive." He falls silent, gaze lowering to his jacket zipper that he drums his thumb against a few times. A bit of discomfort creeps into his expression. "...That might not be the case if you hadn't-..." he stammers, drawing in a breath to try

and help get the words out that he came to say. He forces his gaze back towards the turian. "I'm sorry it took me so long to stop by." he continues with a sigh, giving a lift of his hand to gesture about the room, "I just-... I fucking hate hosptials." he admits with a hollow snicker. Quite the understatement. Not that she'd know that, of course. She has no way of knowing just how much time he's spent in them. That he practically

lived in hospitals after Niacal. Throughout Vasquez' recovery. "But-... yeah. Me and Linda are about to head off for a few days and I-..." another sigh. "I just wanted to-... I needed to say-..." his gaze shifts towards the floor. Towards a random, insignificant tile, falling silent for the moment as he considers his words. This sort of thing doesn't come easy for him. "...Thanks for coming back." he finally decides, his

voice cracking ever so slightly as the words leave his mouth. Unable to keep his mind from returning- even if only briefly- back to that pod. To that yellow, viscous fluid. To what would have happened if she hadn't come back. The statement sounds almost like a question. Like he's unsure which part of that entire crazy string of events he should even be thanking her for. Is it for pulling their asses out of the fire? For

stepping up and taking charge when the situation called for it? For having the focus and skills to make the whole wild plan work? But somehow that all pales in comparison to the knowledge that she- and the others- had an out. She had an opportunity to leave. To save herself. But she didn't.

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