As slowly and carefully as possible, I slip the tapered end of the pliers into the wound. I can feel my heart hammering in my chest and blood pounding in my ears as Ravok’s muscles tremble under my palm. Yet, there are no objections, no attempts to push me away, even though I can see the pain reflecting in his eyes when I briefly glance at his face. Ravok stays remarkably still despite the obvious pain I’m putting him through. His raw determination cuts through the air, a testament to his inherent grit.
His skin, previously a shiny charcoal gray, now holds a faint ashy undertone that quickens my heartbeat. However, he stays still, growling low and guttural. His eyes remain locked on me, watching me work with unwavering intensity, the glow in them dulling but never wavering. “You’re doing great. I need you to hold still, okay?” I whisper in a soft, soothing tone.
As I painstakingly and methodically work the old tool deeper, I can’t help but let out a sigh of relief when I feel the subtle plink of metal on metal. The bullet! The tension in my shoulders eases a little. “We’re close, Ravok… just a little longer,” I whisper, eyes darting sympathetically up to his face. Yet, I can’t shake off the sinking feeling of regret. Regret for the pain I am causing him, regret for this strange turn of fate that brought him to my doorstep.
I breathe softly, my focus entirely on the touch of metal on metal within the tight confines of Ravok’s wound. I give him a reassuring nod, my voice trembling slightly as I speak. “You’re doing great… Just a bit longer, Ravok.”
He responds with an acknowledging grunt. It doesn’t take a master linguist to understand that the grunt translates to a silent acknowledgment for me to do whatever I must. I take one deep,settling breath to steady my hands, then close the pliers around the bullet.
His growl grows louder, echoing off the cabin walls. I see his hands claw into the rough, cedar floor beneath him. However, beyond the unearthly growl, he holds his body completely still. Ravok is putting all his energy into not fighting me, to not pulling away.
“Almost there, just hang on a little longer,” I whisper, even though he can’t understand me.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I tug at the pliers, the foreign object resisting but slowly giving way. The metallic tang of alien blood fills my nostrils, mixing with the musky scent of Ravok’s unique aroma, an amalgamation of steel and spice.
With a trembling breath, I pull, and then finally, with a horrible squelching sound, the bullet comes free, slick with blood. The relief is immediate, yet fleeting, as I quickly apply a clean cloth to the wound, pressing down to staunch the bleeding. My heart pounds relentlessly against my ribcage, the adrenaline finally ebbing away, leaving sweat trickling down my temples, fingers trembling slightly as I examine the bullet piece. I hold it up, still gripped in the pliers, for Ravok to see. Then, I set the bullet and pliers on a waiting piece of gauze.
“It’s done,” I let out a weary sigh, brushing a loose strand of my hair away from my face while being careful not to smear any of his blood on me. “You’re going to be okay, Ravok.”
His shoulders slump slightly as if in relief that echoes through my entire being.
“Holy shit. That was rough,” I whisper to myself. I debate internally if I should stitch the wound closed but based on the healing rate of his other injuries, it seems unnecessary.
Carefully, I smooth a fresh, clean bandage over the seeping wound. “There you go,” I murmur, patting his shoulder reassuringly. I snatch my hand away, realizing I do not know ifhe is okay with casual touch. I shouldn’t assume. He’s a damn alien and who knows what is appropriate with him and his species.
I quickly clean up his chest. Then, turning away, I gather up the pliers, the bloodied gauze, and the bullet to dispose of them.
I feel Ravok’s piercing gaze following my every movement, his silent scrutiny as loud as spoken words. His eyes, hauntingly beautiful yet imbued with boundless intelligence, track my motions. It’s unsettling – it makes me feel a little like a science experiment. My imagination is being overactive, and the lack of sleep is definitely catching up to me.
With my nursing duties taken care of for now, I turn back to Ravok, my eyebrows knitting together in question. I mime eating, my hands pretending to spoon invisible food into my mouth. “More food?” I ask. His eyes watch the motion, but he shakes his head; the gesture somehow looks downright bizarre on such an alien being.
“Water?” I pantomime drinking from a glass and point towards the half-empty cup he’d drank from earlier. His gaze holds mine for a second before he gives an affirmative dip. A sigh of relief escapes me, and I go fetch the glass to refill it, feeling his gaze on my back.
Ravok takes small, measured sips as I help him hold the cup, my hands wrapped around his, as his thick throat contracts with each swallow. As I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, I’m amazed that an alien species can be so similar and yet so different from mine. Once the water is gone, I take a step back. His gaze is heavy-lidded, his alien features drooping slightly with exhaustion.
Gently, I readjust his position, removing all but a single pillow for his head. I press my hand against his forehead which wrinkles in consternation under my palm. His skin feels cool and smooth under my fingertips. I’m pleased that he doesn’t seem tohave a fever. Once I’m done, I back away, giving him the space he probably craves. Feeling the weight of the last day weighing on my shoulders, I sit on the couch where I can keep an eye on him while he rests.
I watch his eyes slowly close, the glowing orbs fading into dormancy. His breaths become deep and slow, and his face slackens. The harsh lines of pain and distrust fade away, and I can’t help but marvel at the sight. This alien, this creature of the stars, resting under my care. It’s a strange honor.
CHAPTER 21
Ravok
As soon as the projectile is out of my body, my nanites rush to the area to begin mending my torn flesh. It won’t take long now for my body to finish repairing itself.
Once Leelee has finished sterilizing and bandaging my wound, she insists on helping me onto the simple, makeshift bed she has constructed on the floor. I can’t help but notice the fatigue tugging at the corners of her eyes as she moves around the small room.
I consider her. This female, of a species I’d thought weak and insignificant, is exerting herself beyond exhaustion for an enemy she scarcely comprehends. The irony that her saving and healing me hastens her species’ doom is not lost on me. I skirt away from the thought that my people will wipe her from existence soon enough because of me. Curiosity erupts within me, intertwining with the bitterness and anger beneath my skin. The complexity of it all is a weight I’m not accustomed to carrying.
As she helps me settle onto the makeshift bed on the floor, I notice the skin around her eyes is sallow and darkened. Herbright eyes seem dimmed, reflecting the growing fatigue she can no longer conceal. Despite the barriers of species and birth worlds, it’s clear Leelee is exhausted.
Her movements grow slower, her lids heavy. I want to tell her to stop fussing and get some rest, but I cannot communicate my thoughts. I want to growl in irritation that my translator is not working. Once I am healed enough to move about, that is the first thing I will repair.
Leelee’s gaze lingers on my prone form before she slips out of the room. Her absence fills the space with an unexpected emptiness, and the quiet is too loud. After a short moment, she returns, her small orange meat stock cradled gently in her arms.
She shuffles towards me, the soft footfalls echoing in my heightened senses. Holding the creature out towards me, she exhales a single breathless word, “Mango.”
Her gaze is imploring as she stares at me, fiercely protective of the animal in her possession, “Dont urt im, okay?” Although her words are strange and somewhat garbled to my ears, I understand the message clearly.
