| [Jan. 22nd, 2010|02:53 am] |
The recovery unit was a place Ginta knew as much by sound and smell as anything. The lingering scent of gas anesthetics, sharp and bittersweet, made him want to reach for a mask to protect himself from a chemical attack. It had been like that in the war, sometimes, especially when they'd squared off against ninja from Rain. Men and women, ninja and civilians, grandmothers and school-children, choking on clouds of orange fog. The ninja had masks. The lucky civilians escaped with a cough, or took deep breaths and died where they stood. The unlucky...
But the soft beeping of a heart monitor was far from the desperate cries of battle. The squeezing of a blood pressure cuff wrapped around his biceps, hiding a crimson tattoo, hauled Ginta towards the surface of consciousness and away from best-forgotten dreams of the past.
He groaned and tried to open his eyes, and was immediately hit with a crushing awareness of his right leg.
"--moto-san, back with us? Sakamoto-san? Ginta-san?"
The breath caught in his throat. The groan stuttered to silence. The beeping continued, and the cuff started another cycle of inflation.
"Good. How are you feeling? I'm giving you a little more morphine now. Surgery's all done. Are you cold?" the nurse didn't wait for an answer, just carefully layered a pair of hot-from-the-dryer blankets over Ginta.
He was surprised to realize he was shivering.
"Good," the nurse said again, as if Ginta had answered her. He wondered what was good. There was a sound of swinging doors, and a scent of hot food cutting through the chemical atmosphere. "I brought pizza for lunch," someone said from across the room. Ginta felt suddenly ravenous and nauseated all at once.
Lunch time. It was lunch time. How long did that mean the surgery had taken? At least three hours, right? Maybe longer? Probably longer. If it had taken that long, was that a good thing, or a bad one?
The scents grew stronger, and Ginta choked on half a retch.
"Morphine making you feel a little sick?" The nurse again. Cold hands on his forehead. "I'll give you something for that, too. You just sleep a little more. We'll have you back in your room as soon as you've stabilized, alright? Your grandmother's waiting for you already."
Grandmother. He was late to see Grandmother. She didn't like to be kept waiting, but he couldn't seem to open his eyes. |
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