Archive of Our Own ^beta

Banger hated the medbay.

Well, he didn’t hate the medbay, not really. Basher was a medic and Banger was in and out of his batchmate’s tender care enough times that it was practically a second home for him outside his bunk. But sometimes Basher wasn’t there to lovingly call him a di’kut while dabbing antiseptic onto his scratches from where he’d gotten into an unfortunate tangle with several stray tookas after accidentally stepping on one’s tail. And the other medics were nice and all, but sometimes they got… fed up… with Banger’s inability to keep himself intact.

They called him di’kut too, but it wasn’t in the same way Basher would say it, less vode teasing and more honest in their belief that he really was a walking buffoon. Tripping over his own feet to fall face first into doorways, running into posts because his mind was elsewhere, accidentally running into furniture or stepping on a massiff’s paw- the list went on and on.

Basher said he was simply naturally clumsy with poor spacial awareness. Some of the others told him he had Binks Disease, which Basher had to explain after Banger panicked that, no, it’s not a real illness, but just some cruel ribbing about how Banger was just as accidental-prone as Senator Binks.

Considering Fox wouldn’t put him on Senate patrol, he didn’t know for sure if Senator Bink was an equivalent comparison, but from the way Basher got broody over it, there was certainly some merit behind it.

This time, however, wasn’t Banger’s fault. One of the intakes for the drunk tank got rowdy and Banger had his wrist pinched up against the edge of a corner. It had started off as a sudden sharp pain that raced up his elbow, but then it had gone away beyond some occasional aching, so he’d ignored it since he had the rest of his shift to get through.

By the time it had been over, Banger could barely flex his fingers, his wrist was swollen and tender, and the needly tingling was taking over his entire arm now. It was also turning an interesting shade of purple after he risked peeking under the armor plating.

The problem wasn’t that he knew better than to dodge the medbay- Basher would come after his hide if they found out- but Basher wasn’t even in HQ right now, instead they were off at one of the Lower Level satellite posts. That left Banger dealing with one of the other Guard medics who did care for Banger like all Guard did for each other, but he got the impression they didn’t particularly like Banger either- mostly in part that he was a supply drain for all his little bumps and bruises that could be spent on worse injuries.

(There was also the fact that Banger tended to cause trouble while he was in the medbay as well, but that wasn’t his fault either! Basher knew better than to keep any tray of small and easily scattered items within his arm windmill zone. Or knew what he meant when he called things by their completely wrong name because it always got Basher to crack from their usual furrowed brow and stern frown. Who knew that most medics were so techy from having bacta be referred to as “the good goop”?)

A sharp, searing pain raced up his arm as he accidentally smacked it against a corner that had come out of seemingly nowhere. Banger sucked in his lower lip to keep himself from whimpering, shaking himself out of his head and gingerly tucking his injured wrist to his chest. Right, right, he had to focus. Basher wouldn’t be pleased if he simply went back to his bunk, because this wasn’t a simple bruise or minor cut or a sprained ligament. He knew about his own injuries and Basher’s commentary that his wrist was probably broken, or at the very least fractured. He couldn’t go swinging it around like normal, even if he didn’t want anyone else to see him and start asking questions as to why he was favoring it. Or try to bring a medic to him, which he didn’t want, because they always went to the closest medic and medbay and Banger was actively avoiding that one.

There were three medbays in HQ. Basher usually worked in the second one, and the first one, while closer, had seen enough of Banger as much as he had seen them. The third one was farther down, closer to the kennels, and typically tended to the ARF troopers and their animal partners. It was the safer option when Basher wasn’t around, because animals always caused a wide array of accidental trips and injuries that the medics that typically were on the clock usually just sighed and rolled their eyes when he came in, but otherwise it was just another daily occurrence for them.

Banger was unfortunate this time around when he stepped into the medbay, that it was already in disarray. Snaggletooth was bent over an occupied cot, back to the door and hands flying with the assistance of another medic to staunch the bleeding from a groaning ARF. A third medic was tending to a second patient, who was out cold on their cot and terribly pale. Both their patrol partners were hovering and getting in the way, which was snapping Snaggletooth’s already limited patience.

“New guy!” he barked at the room. “Take care of whatever fuckhead just entered! And you two! Go report to Hound!”

“But-!”

“Did I fucking stutter-?”

A shadow suddenly loomed over Banger, nearly causing him to jump out of his skin. He hadn’t noticed a forth medic even being in the room, and now that he was craning his neck to look up at the blank, emotionless bucket staring back at him, he could only wonder how he managed to miss them.

Banger only vaguely recalled Basher saying they were receiving a new medic, but the Guard rarely get any more information than that until after the arrivals showed up. He’s assumed, like the last three troop deliveries, that the new medic would just be another shiny fresh off Kamino, but he was dead wrong.

This medic was several inches taller than everyone else in the room, further still by the full kit they donned. The armor wasn’t new, not with the scratches and dents and clearly recently replaced sections of plastoid, but they didn’t have time to paint on the Corrie Reds either, leaving it white and bare. Their broad shoulders and perfectly straight posture was all too familiar- right down to the kama.

Banger wondered if Fox knew they’d be receiving an Alpha-class. Probably not- he would’ve heard someone commenting about it by now if anyone had known.

The tall medic tilted his head, and it took Banger a moment realize with a jolt that they were gesturing for them to take up the nearby cot.

“Oh! Sorry,” he managed to stutter out, kicking one of the feet of the privacy curtain stand before he managed to nearly dive into the cot instead of sitting down like a normal person. A large hand caught him before he could go face first into the wall, easing him back up to his feet as if he weighed nothing to them. He could feel his ears burn, barely able to do more than mumble a thanks before he plopped down onto the cot.

The curtain rattled along the metal tracks as the medic slid it closed, not that it would do much good other than provide a faux sense of privacy, but Banger was a touch relieved. He’d rather feel trapped between flimsy walls with an Alpha-class towering over him than watch Snaggletooth smear blood all over the place.

The bucket was still on even now, as the medic gazed down at him. Banger’s own bucket had come off the moment he’d gotten off shift, slipped to his belt and forgotten about. Almost everyone shucked off the buckets the moment they stepped foot into the safe confines of the restricted areas of HQ, and even shinies preferred to be out of their shells than stuck within them. But this medic either didn’t know he could take it off of didn’t want to, but that was okay. There were a few shy shinies who’d preferred to wear it until they got more used to the vode around them, and Fox liked wearing his because then he could make faces at natborns and not get caught.

…Well, they’re new. Maybe they just didn’t notice.

The medic had a hand held out to him, palm up and quietly waiting. Banger stared at it for a moment before understanding they clearly noticed him holding his wrist to his chest and wanted to see it but not reach out and grab for it like some medics did, eager to get their hands on the root of the problem without the patience. Nor did they immediately shove a scanner under his nose, as was common with medics as well. It was… odd.

“Got it pinned on a corner wall while grappling with a drunk trooper,” Banger explained weakly as he set his aching wrist and numb fingers into the awaiting hand. The large fingers were surprisingly gentle as they popped open the clasps and removed the pieces of plastoid. “At least I didn’t trip on the stairs this time again, huh?”

The attempt of humor went over the giant medic’s head as they remained completely silent.

…Right, they’re new. They wouldn’t know about Banger’s near daily mishaps with stationary objects. And non-stationary objects. All objects, really.

Peeling back his sleeve revealed the horrid colors his wrist had taken. His fingers almost refused to uncurl when the medic eased his gauntlet off, and he sucked in a hiss between his teeth at the movement.

One of the medic’s thumbs smoothed across his now bare palm, almost apologetically.

“’s okay,” Banger mumbled, which was rewarded with another stroke across his palm before the medic went to pluck the scanner from their belt after examining the bruising with a visual look-over. Or, he assumed that’s what he was doing. It was hard to tell with him standing so still and black visor hiding their eyes.

The results- as the medic was kind enough to rotate the scanner to show Banger directly instead of speaking- confirmed his suspicion of having his wrist broken. It made him grimace, because the Guard, despite having thousands of souls under their umbrella and thousands more serving under Fox in his duties as Marshal Commander, they didn’t own a functioning bone knitter. Which meant he would be subjected to splinting and bacta wraps for at least two weeks, which limited his already sparse job rotation. He was going to end up on camera-watching duties with Linkup, he just knew it. Trapped in a small room at a desk, or stuck on his bunk with a datapad. It was going to be so boring.

“Just my luck,” he sighed noisily as the medic returned from their quick venture out of the safety of the curtains, splint and wrappings in hand. “The one time it isn’t even my fault, I break my damn wrist and now I’ll be stuck on something boring while it heals. Basher is going to be so mad when they find out.”

Mad and ready to pry names out of people. The trooper that caused the injury was too inebriated to mean hurting him, but that wouldn’t stop Basher from dishing out their own justice. The last thing he needed was seeing his vod behind bars because they decided to have a row with some drink-happy frontie.

The medic’s head tilted once more, like a puzzled avian creature while their hands carefully wrapped the sticky bacta bandages around the splints. Just being with them for more than a few minutes, and Banger was starting to pick up more on the subtle body language- enough to guess what the medic was asking.

“Basher’s my batchmate,” he explained, eager to latch onto a familiar and happier topic. “They’re a medic as well, but usually for Medbay 2. I usually go to them but they’re down at a satellite posting today and I kinda annoyed the medics from Medbay 1 to the point of unofficially banning me unless it’s a life or death situation, so here I am!”

He couldn’t help but grin, gesturing with his good hand at the emphasis of being here and not anywhere else. He also managed to smack the medic right in the bucket as he did so, causing him to immediately jerk his hand back and sat on it, face growing hot.

“Sorry.”

A soft sound pricked at his ears, too low for the vocoder in the helmet to pick up, but close enough in person to hear the almost amused huff of breath that escaped the medic. Which was weird, because most people didn’t like getting wacked.

But then again, Alpha-classes were, in general, weird. Just look at 17 and his dumb parachute kama.

Banger was still trying to place this medic on the weird scale in his brain when a sling entered his vision.

“Ugh,” he groaned, shoulders slumping as he made a face. “Do I have to?” But he was already reaching for it, knowing exactly what the medic would say- or, rather, stare blankly at him until he complied. It wasn’t the first time he wore a sling, and it wouldn’t be the last. Still didn’t like it, even as tucking his arm into the holder really did help alleviate some of the tingling in his fingers.

“Well, guess that’s done with.” Banger slid off the cot and onto his feet, eager to escape this weird limbo he’d found himself in that was a medic who wasn’t Basher but oddly tolerable anyway. “I know the rules- behave, no heavy lifting, don’t pick at the wrappings. Rewrap every day. Basher can take it from here.”

Banger didn’t have a chance to try to sneak around the medic when something else was held out towards him. He blinked at it, then stared at it, words blurting out of his mouth before he realized he was speaking-

“Is that chocolate?”

It wasn’t just chocolate. It was an entire karking bar of it, weaseled out from one of the medic’s many pouches along their belt. They gently wiggled it back and forth, and Banger only hesitated for a moment before he cautiously took it. Then swiftly stuffed it into one of his own pouches to hide from grabby, grubbly little hands that wouldn’t think twice but try to take a piece.

“…Thank you?” He didn’t meant to sound confused, but he was. And grateful, but mostly confused. No one just… gives away whole bars of chocolate like that. Sweets weren’t exactly an everyday occurrence. Sure the Guard had connections with bakers and candymakers and all sorts within the Lower Levels, but most treats were coveted with the fierce protectiveness of a brooding dragon by their owners. Rarely were they shared unless through bets, bribes, and in Banger’s case, shared with his batchmate.

Why was the new medic giving him some rather expensive chocolate?

He didn’t get any answers. Instead, the medic simply nodded towards him and parted the curtain again, allowing him to see the rest of the medbay. The concerned ARFs from before had vacated the room, their companions lying on their cots both out cold with IVs hooked up. Snaggletooth was dumping powder onto the floor to soak up the blood so the handful of toggled-together mousedroids could clean it up easier, his red-brown gaze honing in on Banger with a curl of his scarred mouth to expose sharp teeth.

“What the fuck did you do this time, Banger?”

“Nothing!” Banger yelped, already halfway out the door before Snaggletooth could get into his head to hunt him down for sport. “Bye Snaggletooth! Alpha-medic sir!”

Basher wasn’t going to believe that Banger went to the medbay and came out with a whole chocolate bar and a possible new medic to go to when they weren’t around, and not once got yelled at or resulted in getting called off his current posting to take care of Banger’s ass.

In Banger’s book, he and the unnamed medic were friends for life now.