Every time someone thought, It can’t get much worse, things always and inevitably did. The phenomenon was scripted across media, in movies, in books, on television, was whispered through hospitals and police stations. Knuckles wrapped against wood the moment it was ever uttered, warding off the influx of bullshit that was always sure to follow.
Tucker hadn’t said it, but he was pretty sure someone had.
Standing at the mouth of the sickbay tent, he took a deep breath before slipping in. Sonia wasn’t supposed to get sick, and he tried not to think of standing in a graveyard with a woman crying while they lowered a coffin in the ground, but he couldn’t help it. Nope. Shove that back down. She’d be fine. Fuck yeah, she’d be fine.
And right now, he was going to make sure of it.
“When I said you were hot, I didn’t mean like a fever.” He sat down in chair next to her, a smile on his lips, water in his hand that he passed over to her. “Feeling any better?”
A.
Tucker hadn’t said it, but he was pretty sure someone had.
Standing at the mouth of the sickbay tent, he took a deep breath before slipping in. Sonia wasn’t supposed to get sick, and he tried not to think of standing in a graveyard with a woman crying while they lowered a coffin in the ground, but he couldn’t help it. Nope. Shove that back down. She’d be fine. Fuck yeah, she’d be fine.
And right now, he was going to make sure of it.
“When I said you were hot, I didn’t mean like a fever.” He sat down in chair next to her, a smile on his lips, water in his hand that he passed over to her. “Feeling any better?”