Recovery (Nash, Wilson, Ty + Lars)

[Mark DePaul]

[Hyperion Sickbay, 1742 Hours. 1 October 2003]

This thread is a continuation from here.




With the fight finally over and all the commotion dying down, the small band made their way to sickbay. With the assistance of Emma and Chris, Tyler and Lars hobbled down the halls, wincing in pain with each step. Leading the battered bunch was an unhappy DePaul, who was starting to realize the extra amount of work he needed to now do.

DePaul's quick assessment back ringside was grim. Bruises were forming, blood was plentiful, and one of them potentially sustained a broken rib. All in all, not a pretty picture. As he walked over to sickbay, Mark started to feel a preemptive migraine.

There was light murmuring behind him, no doubt from the fighters seeking to review their brawl, but the doctor readily ignored them until they reached their destination.

"Put one there, and other there..." Mark ordered to Nash and Wilson, and pointed to two available beds that were next to each other.

Gathering a stethoscope, flashlight, and bandages, DePaul jumped right in to his lecturing. "You know, most people come into sickbay because of an accident or something..." he began, "It baffles me that two numbskulls like yourselves are willing to make a cameo in my sickbay just to get the opportunity to beat the frak out of each other."

The danger out there in the blackness of space was real, and Mark understood it well. Intelligence reports coming back were ominous; not for Cylon activity, but because there was a lack of it. Growing up his parents told him about the First Cylon War, how it nearly destroyed both sides. His parents insisted that for as long as they are out there, the danger would always be real. It bothered Mark greatly then, that two men were willing to expend their energy on each other, rather than focus on the task at hand, rather than acknowledging the real dangers they faced.

DePaul sighed, and continued to work in silence, occasionally grumbling. Whatever the group had to say additionally he ignored it.

[Tyler Tremaine]

Tyler later went on record to say that he did not wince with pain at every step, as some other higher ranking officers had reported it. Sure. He was limping. And on occasion, when he twisted his ankle a certain way, it hurt a bit, and Emma made him put his arm around her against his will. He didn't need help walking for the gods sakes...

It wasn't like, he was in sever pain, or... had a black eye. One little blackout and everyones trippin.

Ty didn't want this huge ordeal over a nuthin fight. everyone was acting like they hadn't seen this all happen before. If he remembered right, Dupaul was the doc who'd stitched him back after that bar fight on Tauron, which again, he'd made a big deal out of it back then too....

Once they got into the sick bay, Ty relished the chance to sit dow... he sat down aggravatedly, as he was indeed, not hurt. And he said so, quite clearly. After some serious argument with a nurse over anastiesia, he settled back for the Doc to do his thing, and get them cleared up, and checked out. After all, him, Chris, Slim', Lars and Tati had some drinkin to do. Incidentally, he made a note to invite lars along. Gigantor didn't know it yet, but he would be there.

[Lars Engstrom]

Lars had learned long ago to play along with medical staff who wanted to check him out. Hell, they taught you that stuff in school, how to make sure someone wasn't hurt. After a fight like this, he pretty much knew what to expect. Check for facial fractures, concussion, internal hemorrhaging and damaged organs. It was all very simple. But it WOULD take time.

Keeping this in mind, Lars sat quietly on the bed he had been assigned, watching with some amusement as Ty fidgeted like a trapped cat.

After a time, he spoke to the pilot.

"Where'd you learn to fight like that?" He asked, casually, leaning back and wincing as he knocked a bruise. "I KNOW they don't teach stuff like that in flyboy school. You ever a marine?"

Before the man could answer, Lars was distracted by an orderly who wanted to take his blood pressure. HE obediently held out an arm, and then looked back at Ty, waiting to hear his response.

[Tyler Tremaine]

Tyler winched, clenched his jaw as any reasonable man would have, as a medic stuck him with a crochet needle. After she applied pressure to the cut across his chest, and then began to clean it. He stiffened his arms and sat as still as possible, as the unnecessarily long bowing needle was produced, but then he felt a little silly, when it was not brought to him. Maybe he wouldn't get stitches after all. Tyler hated stitches, was a tough soldier of course, he simply hated wasting essential supplies unnecessarily.

"Where'd you learn to fight like that?" Lars asked him, followed by, "I KNOW they don't teach stuff like that in flyboy school. You ever a marine?"

Griff grunted, and answered, "Bainbridge. Reaper squadron back over Saggit.. Hey!? He said sharply at the nurse who'd again produced anesthetics in the form of an elephant needle, "I'm bleeding enough already..."

"This will help Lieutenant," She answered irritated.

"I have enough holes in me specialist," He instantly retorted.

"Its your funeral" She said just as quickly, and the two shared a stare that tiptoed on swinging.

Finally, Tyler looked back to the Gunny, "What were we talkin about? Oh. Bainbridge, he was all about grappling," Ty answered, "Felt like it was better than weight lifting because of natural calisthenics and, HEY!" He jerked back as the **** ***** *** shot him in the chest with some powered needle gun thing, "Stop it!"

She rolled her eyes and set the gun down on the table, then walked to Depaul. Ty picked up the "shot" gun, and fidgeted with it.

[Mark DePaul]

The whole situation with the boxers was a mess, but nothing the doctor couldn't handle. After a formal analyzation of the two, he began recording some notes in both their medical records as the nurses began treatment.

DePaul didn't care for their boxing antics, but was intrigued by the conversation they started as the nurses worked. With a couple of sentences, Mark could easily grasp the inherent nature of the two patients: it was his job after all, to understand people. One doesn't obtain the position of Chief Medical Officer aboard a Battlestar by simply examining cases, rather, must also take time to note the informal and subjective qualities one could find in the people that are treated. As far as he was concerned, the two were completely opposite from the norm.

A man closer to his own age compared to his former combatant, DePaul was surprised by Lt. Tremaine. His age and rank implied experience and knowledge, but his lax approach to the whole situation was unexpected. Brash and a bit unfocused, Mark understood that this patient would fight him a bit on treatment, and seemed like the kind of pilot that preferred to be shooting at something. Pilots, both Raptors and Vipers alike, never gave him much trouble in the infirmary, but such was not the case with Tyler.

The Gunny Engstrom, frankly, was the complete opposite. The vast majority of marines that DePaul treated over the years seem to be anxious to leave sickbay; a marine himself, he understood what the training and experience of combat could do a soldier, and inspires one to want to fight even more. Sitting around wasn't his thing, nor his patient counterparts. Despite preconceptions and a high-octane fight, Lars was fairly calm. He gave his arm obediently as the nurse began treatment, and seemed well-versed in speech. All of these odd symptoms could be explained though, simply by acknowledging that he has medical experience as well. Combat medics must be armed with a solid amount of medical experience when treating soldiers, and must be equally level headed in the heat of battle, since they are the life-source of any squad.

Mark smirked. It was an odd pairing indeed.

"If you ever want to work on your martial skills, let me know. You leave your stance open a bit and could practice your breathing," DePaul chimed in, looking to the loser of the fight "...medically speaking of course" he added.

Turning back to the other patient, he frowned as Tyler began playing with one of the larger medical needles.

"If you don't want to stay here longer and get treated for a nasty infection, I suggest you leave that needle alone son" he hissed to the lieutenant.

[Emma Nash]

Emma had, at the Medical Chief’s request, helped Tyler to the infirmary. Smaller than him she was the perfect height to use as a crutch or simply a pillar to lean on. Not that Tyler had attempted to do either of those things. She practically had to force him to take her arm using one of her steely glares as motivation. Tyler had walked with his dignity still intact to the medic bay wincing here and there but clearly trying to hide his pain. Emma noticed such subtleties that others might not have. Rarely talking had its advantages.

Once there Emma faded into the background. She retreated to the wall as she let the doctor examine the two men. She stood there silently watching the exchange between the Lars and Tyler. She found them both fascinating and amusing all at the same time. She couldn’t help but let a short laugh escape her lips however at Tyler’s protests to the shot in his chest. A smile then reached into her brown eyes as he began to play with a rather large needle and Mark chided him for it. She wasn’t sure if she should leave. She wanted to know that the two men were alright. They were talking and breathing, and one was playing with a medical tool, yes, they appeared to be fine. Still she did not want to interrupt and so she stayed against the wall, silent.

[Tyler Tremaine]

"If you ever want to work on your martial skills, let me know. You leave your stance open a bit and could practice your breathing... medically speaking of course" The dock said with his back turned still.

"Yeah Doc, you a fighter too..." He'd started to say, when Depaul turned around. His next statement cut Tyler off, and left him looking through wide eyes.

"If you don't want to stay here longer and get treated for a nasty infection, I suggest you leave that needle alone son"

Tyler just looked at him for a second... taking that one in, with all implications. He set the needle gun thing back down and then looked around for something sanitary, then settled on a towel that was nearby, along with some anti-bacterial squirts. Would it kill a potential super virus? No. Did it make him feel better? Yes.

He winked at Emma as she leaned quietly against the wall, and continued to sit patiently, waiting for the Doc to clear him, patiently picking up a pad that the nurse had left on the bed. He flipped the cover open, and began to read through the medical jargon, then he picked up a pen too cross off a few things he wasn't sure he needed checked...

[Mark DePaul]

The lieutenant stared at DePaul with hesitation, before finally setting the large syringe aside. Nothing deadly or fatal could have been contracted from that particular needle, but the doctor's antsy patient didn't need to know that. Satisfied that the pilot wasn't going to be much more of a distraction, he continued working.

"Used to be. Back during basic. A great way to blow off steam, boxing. Although I'd hardly what I just witnessed a formal boxing match..." Mark muttered in reply to Tyler, as he did some final tests. "Towards the end there that just seemed like wanting to beat the snot out of each other."

After patching up a most cooperative Lars the doctor turned back to the Lieutenant who, to no surprise, was in the middle of fiddling with some additional items in the infirmary. "Oh for frak's sake..." DePaul said frowning, and plucked the notepad swiftly from Tyler and beckoned over Nash.

"Here, hold on to this... and make sure he doesn't touch anything else. If he does, feel free to inject him with the large syringe" he ordered to her.

Normally the doctor would be light and easygoing, but after working a 15 hour shift and intending to only check on the infirmary, the recent change of events extended his work hours a bit longer. Now sleepy and grumpy, he kept a vigilant watch over both his patients so that they could cooperate and get out of there as soon as possible.

One of these days Davis and I should get in the ring...It'll be just like old times DePaul thought to himself as he finished patching them up.

After patching both of the combatants up a significant amount of time had passed into the night. A bit exhausted now, the doctor wiped his brow and asked one final question. "Now, is there anything else you need? Any other medical concerns or conditions I should be aware about? Asthma perhaps?"

Regardless of fatigue, Mark always strove to send his patients off in the best of health. Partially out of care for their health and saftey, and partially to ensure that they don't make frequent visit to his sickbay and give him excessive work.

[Viktoriya Gilyov]

Watching Griffin leave the ring covered in his own blood was a hard thing to stomach. Vik had wanted to follow, to make sure he was okay, but she'd lingered. The crowd had dissipated, and she'd gone back to her treadmill for a couple of reasons. Captain Striker was the first. The truth was, if she went, she faced his scrutiny. If she didn't, he'd have something to say about that... and, if she came in later, she'd hear it anyway. Beyond that... the fact that she didn't have a very close relationship with Griff made her question her right to follow him up to sick bay. They worked together closely by virtue of being in the same squadron. She considered him a friend... but, Vik was also the most alienated member of the squadron, someone who just hadn't melded well into an otherwise seamless (by her perception) family.

She'd tried to drop it by turning up the speed, causing her heartbeat to quicken and her breath to come in rapid, panting drags. If her gray tank had seen sweat from her prior workout, she'd totally saturated it this time. With every beat of her soles against the belt, she imagined where Griffin and his entourage would be moving through the ship. She was timing their travel by the seconds that went by on the treadmill, imagining which doors they'd be passing at 00:02:00, which corridor they were entering at 00:03:15... And then she worried about his prognosis. She thought he'd blacked out on the mat for a few seconds, but she'd have sworn that he hadn't. Pilots didn't have the luxury of unconsciousness. That was a good way to get one's wings clipped... and to a pilot like Ty, he'd rather be dead than grounded.

At last, she pulled the magnetic orange key from the bar to deactivate the machine, and wrapped the string and magnet around the bar for the next person. She made a quick stop in the bathroom to dab sweat from her face with toilet paper she'd dampened in the sink, though her skin was still flustered and her hair saturated. She wasn't sure why she'd bothered, what little it helped, but she casually slipped out and went down the hall toward the sickbay.

She slipped in cautiously, as if she was behind enemy lines. She'd been to the sick bay, but she didn't go any more than was necessary. In a time of war, there would have been blood, difficult but necessary decisions when it came to triage, and all sorts of macabre cases. Now, it tended to be the simplistic things: accidents, spars-gone-wrong, and routine complaints. It was still hard to go there and avoid imagining its intended purpose – at least, for Vik.

She'd passed curtain after curtain that partitioned off the patients, slipped easily out of the way of assistants and doctors, and finally found her way to the two battered contenders. She arrived in time to see Griffin relinquishing his hold on an apparatus with more needles than a heroine convention, and the other contender. She hadn't known that fighter personally. She hadn't really understood his name while the crowd had chanted it, but he was stained in her mind as the man who'd beaten her fellow Shadow Hawk. That wasn't a good thing. He was the reason for her worries surrounding Lieutenant Tremaine, and that immature part of her emotions pressed her to dislike the sight of him. As for Lieutenant Tremaine... she'd never seen him look that wild. Ever.

She'd seen Ty in his Viper, flying like he'd been born to a bird, and she'd seen him in uniform as well as his flight suit. The least composed he'd ever been around her was during down time, and that was all happy-go-lucky jokes and innuendo. She'd never seen a side of him that made him look like a warrior, but he did now. It was an impressive side to Lieutenant Tremaine she'd never had the opportunity to appreciate, and a sort of Wow moment when she'd gotten to appreciate the rugged side of him. It was attractive. It reminded her of her fiance aboard the Patrolstar Achilles: Lieutenant Luther Trenton, call sign Atlas. She'd found out one of his favorite quotes on Scorpia, and it seemed to fit here: every woman loves a caveman at times.

Vik slipped up quietly, as if she was intruding. She felt like she was. She waved silently toward Griffin, but waited for him to acknowledge her in the same silence and self-doubt. She didn't want to interrupt anything... and she certainly didn't want to call her right to visit Griffin into question anymore than it already was in her head.

[Tyler Tremaine]

"Used to be. Back during basic. A great way to blow off steam, boxing. Although I'd hardly what I just witnessed a formal boxing match..."

Tyler muttered, "No such thing," under his breath as the Doctor walked about doing medicinal work that went way above Ty's head. In truth, he liked Colonel Depaul, how could anyone dislike a man who spent his life working to keep men alive? That was all any of them did in the end, tried to keep men alive. Tyler's job was to protect life by destroying it though. He only knew how to take the body apart, not put it back together.

Oh sure, he had learned the basics, or honestly, he knew enough from the ORM courses back on Picon to stop a bleeding man from entering shock. But those classes had secretly about reverse engineering for Ty. The more he knew about the human body, the more he could hurt it... He paused thinking, and marveled at the Doc for a moment. Wonder how much the Colonel knows about killing...

It was a morbid thought, sure. But true. The Colonel probably knew more than anyone on board about hurting people. All that would come in handy if they ever needed to beat something out of a man one day, and Ty slipped the thought into the bowels of his brain for another time.

"Towards the end there that just seemed like wanting to beat the snot out of each other." The Doc said, half muttering.

He fixed up Lars first, who seemed strangely detached, and mostly unspoken. Hell, if his body weren't physically present, you might not have known he was there. Tyler silently narrowed his eyes in thought on that one, and then went back to his physical report on the pad, checking off things that looked unnecessary. "Echocardiographic images," He questioned aloud. Tyler had a theory about medicinal practices, if he couldn't pronounce it on the first try, it was unnecessary... So, Check. No need for that.

He started to read off another one, but got held up on the pronunciation, and was already in the process of checking it off, as per SOP, when Depaul turned towards him, and let out, "Oh for frak's sake..." In exasperation. He took the checklist from Ty with a fast pluck, and turned to Emma, and gave her a particularly nasty instruction that made him grimace a tad... And that will be the end of toying with Depaul...

He winked at the ECO, and then turned to see none other than Miss "I harbor no emotional commitment to my squadron" herself slip in through the opening in the curtain. She quietly waved at Tyler, and he nodded his head towards his bed, and patted the mattress beside him, mouthing the words,Me casa es su casa. It would be nice to have someone in here who wasn't threatening to stick it to him, or hadn't already done just that, not mentioning gigantic marines or anything.

The Colonel finally saw to his own injuries, as he quietly spoke with Gilyov. "Now, is there anything else you need? Any other medical concerns or conditions I should be aware about? Asthma perhaps?" Depaul asked.

"No sir. If you're good. I'm good." He said, standing, and popping his back. "Preciate the once over Sir." Then let out a yipe as a stitch in his chest clipped open. Tyler ground his teeth, and the nurse apologised as a fresh bead of blood trickled down his chest. Then... he sat back down.

[Viktoriya Gilyov]

She was relieved when Ty waved her over, miming the words Me casa es su casa. She shared living space with Tyler, so that sentence was accurate in more than one sense of the word. Captain Striker's crew's quarters operated more like a dorm room. It was as much home as the gray walls and corridors everywhere else along the Hyperion. This was their shared home.

She moved away from the wall and moved closer to Griffin, coming to stand by his side. Her blue eyes flicked over him briefly, his flustered and sweaty skin and his stitches... Griff was pretty hot, she couldn't lie. It was a side of him she had never gotten to see in action. She didn't think of Griff as a boxer, but he'd come dangerously close to kicking Lars's ass. Actually, he'd come dangerously close to murder, and she'd seen it... it was hard to imagine he was the same man she shared space with in their crew's quarters.

”Dude, I'm glad you managed to block all those hits with your head. If he'd hit you anywhere else that hard, it would have killed you.” She made her quip gently, smiling at Tyler. She couldn't help but look over his wounds, and imagine his expression and his poise when he'd been ready to jab a killing strike into Lars's throat. It was difficult to reconcile this man with that. ”Are you alright, Ty?”

Worry was a normal emotion for someone from the same squadron. It wasn't everyday that Fox found herself praying to the Pantheon that Tyler wouldn't be declared unconscious. He looked perfectly content, and he wouldn't have been if they'd wanted to chart anything he could have had his wings clipped for. Vik would have rather died than be grounded, and Tyler was too natural a pilot not to feel the same way. She felt safer in the black with him around, and all their squad mates would agree and attest to that fact.

She didn't want to plop down on the bed beside him unceremoniously, namely because she was afraid the doctor might object to that. She didn't know this doctor, nor how anal he would be about her proximity. She did, however, stand close to Tyler. She was more than willing to be there for him. In fact, she felt guilty for not joining the initial entourage. But, she'd made an appearance, and she hoped that counted for something. It must have: Tyler had, after all, called her over. He was her squad mate. She was willing to do whatever it took to assist him, to comfort him through anything painful he had to endure – although, from what little she'd witnessed, it looked as though everything was in order and they were just going through further formalities with testing. Ty was strong; he would be fine.

”You looked great out there, Ty. One hell of a fight.” This she said seriously, and she meant it in all sincerity. He'd looked great fighting – in more than one sense.

[Tyler Tremaine]

Tyler joked with Fox for a few minutes while the nurse restitched his chest, catching more skin under the needle this time than the last. He chuckled a bit at her jests.

”Dude, I'm glad you managed to block all those hits with your head. If he'd hit you anywhere else that hard, it would have killed you.” She joked.

"Thats hilarious Fox. Lets put you in the ring with him, see how you fair.." He teased back, wincing a bit form the needle. Having a long bowing piece of steel woven through one's chest was never a pleasant thing, but having it done twice in as many minutes, well. That just plain hurt.

”Are you alright, Ty?” Vik asked, looking somewhat serious.

Tyler looked at her for a brief moment, then went back to looking at the nurse's work as she finished. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Tyler asked without looking at her, though his voice was indignant.

"Because you look terrible," The nurse said for Fox.

"No need for yur bullshit, jus' patch me up doc..." Ty quipped. She smirked as she drew the last pull of the needle, then looped it with a practiced hand, and smiled an evil grin at him, as she yanked the sewing thread free. Ty gave a grunt.


As the nurse finished her work entirely, and told him he was cleared on her end, Vik looked at him seriously, and in an even tone told him, ”You looked great out there, Ty. One hell of a fight.” Ty worked his right arm around his shoulder, then his left as he eyed her somewhat curiously. It wasn't a Fox thing to say to be honest. She was never a.. team player. Not that she didn't do her job. No she did that plenty, and quite honestly, better than most. She would probably be better than himself at this point, age may not seem like a factor when you start thinking of experience, and Tyler was no pussy. But still, a few extra years did things to you that you weren't prepared for. A few years ago, he'd have recovered from these wounds in days, a week at the outside, without medicine. Nowadays, Tyler took the medicine. It was the only way he could continue to preform at the level he deemed worthy. But each year, even in his excellent condition, it got just a little bit harder.

"Thanks.. Fox..." He said as he stood, then grabbed his shirt off the bed and slid it on. "You gonna join us tonight? Some of the guys were gonna get together an do some drinkin. I think just us vets, Sam was suppose to come along, but someone said he was gonna be headed dockside. We got an extra seat."

While he walked for the door, he stopped one last time, and thanked Lars for beating his ass, then nudged Vik to go with him.

[Viktoriya Gilyov]

Never too late to learn how to be part of the family.

Those words sounded in her head in an extremely obnoxious memory. They came before she could turn down Ty's request that she join the group for drinks. She and Captain Striker had an agreement. He wouldn't make her life hell if he saw her putting forth an effort. She could tell from the way Ty's expression had changed, a quizzical furrowing of his eyebrows while he considered her and puzzled her new behaviors... she hadn't been much for making an appearance in her down time. Now here she was, timidly trying to show her support for her fellow Shadow Hawk... and likely making it seem awkward in doing so. She felt awkward in doing so. The way he'd drug out his response, Thanks.. Fox..., made it apparent that he wasn't accustomed to anything like this. Captain Striker had promised her a change for a change, and she would give him that.

Besides... she did miss the sense of family.

Stop being stuck on who you were and find out who the frak you are.

Captain Striker was a nagging S.O.B., even in memory. She nodded to Griff and smiled. ”Sounds fun. I'll go.” It didn't sound that convincing in her head. But she would go. She wanted Striker to lay off her, and she knew that buried beneath all his bullshit, he had a point. Besides, it's not like she'd end up getting frakked in a storage room somewhere if she got wasted. What were the odds of that?

She followed along behind Tyler, the two Shadow Hawks leaving together, fading from the scene like bagels. Or something.

[Roger Davis]

As the pilot stepped out of the door, a voice called, "Tremaine." Waiting against the wall was Major Davis dressed in his Duty Blues. It was funny. The two men had actually gone to the Academy together, same year and everything, then attended flight school together as well. Tyler had been way up at the top of the class while Roger barely earned his wings. Now, eleven years later, Roger had ended up two ranks ahead of his more talented classmate. Of course Roger had changed careers to something that turned out to be more suited to his character, and Tyler had also had the misfortune of being assigned under very talented pilots, sort of blocking any serious room for promotion.

"Griffin." he then said switching to the callsign. "Zero Bingo" had actually been the first to come to his mind, but Davis quickly corrected to the new callsign that Tyler had been using the past decade. "I didn't think you'd be the type to get in a fight that might restrict your flying." Roger cocked his head to the side and took a closer look at the injuries that were visible. "How many stitches, Tremaine? You'll be lucky to be able to fly at my level." That was old-man insider code for "you'd fly like shit". The wings that Roger, a marine, wore on his chest were more a curiosity for most. Tyler, however, knew very well the difficulties Roger had in earning them and how that future in a Viper was then over before it started.

[Tyler Tremaine]

Tyler walked out of the infirmary and saw a body leaned up against the door in his peripheral. He didn't register it might be someone for him until they called his name. Ty stopped and turned, then straightened and saluted, saying, "Major Davis Sir, good evening." The major was another of the Hyperion's many crew that Tyler knew better than most. In fact at times, he felt that he'd been blessed somehow, to have known the best and brightest of every star in the fleet, and that his predestined shoulder brushings were how he was landed here in the end. Davis was like Bainbridge. The man had a plan, and he was executing it. Not like Bainbridge in aspiration perhaps. But he was on the rise.

Tyler joked with him sometimes in more private settings, by giving him the honorific, 'General Davis'. It was all in fun of course, but there was some truth to the jests. Tyler believed that Davis did plan to be a General one day, and in his present course, he may well. The fourth division General was a Major on the Atlantia once upon a time, and while the Hyperion wasn't the flagship, it did carry that kind of weight. Entirely too many high eyes hit this ship, and almost all operational reports were picture perfect for a reason. Around here, you did your job to the letter, and you got to see tomorrow. Screw up, and it was back to the Battlestar Eunuch. Tyler shuddered inside at the thought of being bounced from the roster, on the inside at least, this was his chance to step it up, and start climbing that latter finally, like Major Davis here.

"Griffin. I didn't think you'd be the type to get in a fight that might restrict your flying." The Major said addressing the gash in Ty's chest. It was a further reminder to him of why he hadn't yet started that ladder climb... "How many stitches, Tremaine? You'll be lucky to be able to fly at my level."

In college, they'd known more 'of' each other, than what Tyler would have called full on friendship. The campus was large, but it wasn't that large. They ran with similar crowds, and they were both going to flight school later on at the same Naval yard, so, yeah, they knew each other. Roger hadn't been a 'frat boy', but it was fair to say, that he'd been a tad more lenient prior to being the HOIC.

Even in flight school, Davis had been a diligent student, and he would have made a good Raptor pilot, but saying that to any Jock was like pouring salt on Tyler's chest wound, and then saying your welcome. Davis had been a fine pilot, he just didn't have a head for guns. The guy could handle all sorts of pressure that made Tyler want to crack, but when it came to flying... Well, each to his own Ty supposed. Davis wasn't the first to D.O.R., and he wouldn't be the last, but it was still a shame to see him go. Tyler admired him for the courage to make that self-admonition, while that decision simultaneously separated them by a wide margin. How could any man who'd been in a Viper, go back to the ground and not miss it thoroughly?

It wasn't a subject Ty would ever broach, even casually, but then again, Davis wasn't a blowhard ethier. He was smart and calculating, like Bainbridge, and he had a plan. So to say that Ty was anything like Davis was initially a compliment, unless you were bringing up the exact subject of combat flight. And to that end, Ty understood his meaning with absolute clarity. He smiled awkwardly for a moment, with his eyebrow raised a bit in frustration, and then answered, "Nine stitches Sir, I'll be fine."