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[Jasper Holliday]

Ranger Holliday liked his job most days. Good benefits, good pay, see the galaxy, make a difference, so on, so on. Medic quals were harder to get and keep, but that too was a challenge he accepted. He couldn't rightly complain about keeping fellow rangers alive in the field. There was just one complication.

The criminal gangs at war with the Consortium had an annoying habit of targeting any medics they could identify. Assholes, right? And that was how Jasper came to an ISC medbay and was taken in for treatment. Frankly speaking, as he was guided down a hall, Jazz looked like he'd been on the edge of some kind of explosion. Which was accurate, since he had. Assholes, as previously mentioned.

He'd also been shot, but somehow that felt like it sucked less than exploding. His ears still felt like they were ringing a little. But hey, the other guy he'd been dragging got out alive, so that was good news! Jasper hoped the gift basket included alcohol.

So there he was, arguing with a nurse about the need of a wheelchair or something, when he noticed a shock of white-on-white-on-white on the way through the room's doorway, a shape he momentarily mistook for the pale apparition of death itself. He squinted, thinking death probably was quite a bit more skeletal with fewer floral neck tattoos, before recognizing the figure's familiar face.

"Oh, hey man," Jazz greeted Rowan, a bit loopy off stimpack painkillers, and waved a bloody, bandaged-up hand vaguely in his direction. The nurse with Jasper sighed and got to setting it up in the room. This dumbass had walked himself into the lobby covered in self-administered first aid, and now he was stopping to chat? Seriously? She attempted to prod him along before he passed out or something.

@Sreeya

 

[Rowan Allaird]

Rowan was exhausted. Medical school was always tough, but attending one of the top in the entire galaxy made it that much tougher. He had to be well versed in all types of species, their physiology and nuances. He had to know everything about AMS, a curriculum that didn’t even exist in the past. It was all weighing on him to where he usually went back to his apartment and collapsed after heating up some instant dinner.

He was at an on-site clinic that saw an influx of wounded from border skirmishes between the syndicates and ISC soldiers or civilians. Rowan was checking the vitals of a twi’lek when he heard some commotion behind him. He politely nodded to the patient before looking over to spot a familiar face that greeted him. He wasn’t likely to forget those piercing eyes anytime soon. Rowan blinked dumbly a few times, frozen in place, before he realized he was being a bit rude.

“Oh! H-Hey,” He muttered awkwardly before walking over. Jazz was his name, he recalled at once. He looked like shit. Rowan realized he was grimacing a bit at the state of him before he wiped the look off his face, “What happened?” He asked before waving the nurse off. He sighed as he looked back at Jasper, “Look, you need to sit down…you don’t look so hot right now.”

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Jasper Holliday]

Jasper slowly blinked at Rowan's awkward reply, wondering vaguely if he'd done something to cause it. And that grimace- was it really all that bad? Jazz would look down to check but he was kinda dizzy and didn't feel like vomiting would help. He swayed slightly where he stood with the nurses' departure.

"I exploded," Jazz informed Rowan, wearing a grin that was halfway to a pained grimace in defiance of all reasonable logic. "Was exploded. Some Rodian asshole with a grenade launcher didn't like my dragging a Ranger to safety." He shrugged the shoulder that didn't have a blaster hole in it. "Gang skirmishes, you know?" They popped up mostly in ISC news since the rest of the galaxy's powers that be didn't give a fuck.

"Sit? Nah, I can walk." The ranger dismissively waved his bandaged hand and swayed so badly his shoulder thumped into the wall with a visible wince, since it was the shoulder he'd been shot in. He stayed there afterward as if he'd totally done that on purpose. "Not so hot, huh? What, they get my face, too?" He fired Rowan a bandaged finger gun, expression edging more toward grimace than a grin.

"Yeah, alright, fine," he grumbled after a couple more moments, although he still tried to get up off the wall on his own without help. It wasn't going too well.

@Sreeya

 

[Rowan Allaird]

How did the man have the energy to blab this much? He was practically falling apart and still somehow managed to be just as energetic as when he showed up for orientation. He could very well be on a picnic with the way he prattled on with a bright and shiny burn on him. Rowan eyed him curiously but let him finish speaking, resisting the urge to move forth as Jazz slumped against the wall.

“You’re…” Ridiculous, he wanted to say, but he had to remember he was technically a patient now. Rowan instead leaned forth to gingerly grasp a hold of Jazz’s less injured arm to sling it around his own shoulder. He supported the other man’s weight to help over to a bed, “I’m glad you’re okay,” He said very quietly as he set Jazz down. He drew back and eyed him for a moment before surveying his injuries.

“You’re gonna have to remove the shirt a bit,” Rowan stated calmly, “Let me help,” He reached over to help as much as he could, easing the clothing back as gently as possible to reveal the shoulder. It was a deep and nasty injury, and it extended past just the shoulder. Rowan quickly grabbed some supplies and began working on it, keeping his focus solely on the wound.

“We’ve been getting a lot of Rangers this way,” He explained quietly, “I fear they’re moving closer to here,” The action was only several miles away at this point. Unless reinforcements arrived, the syndicates would take this entire encampment and city.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Jasper Holliday]

Jasper snorted with amusement when Rowan interrupted himself, something he immediately regretted since it hurt his shoulder. Still grumbling to himself he accepted the other man's help in getting to a bed, not looking up from the floor. Settling down against the sterile sheets with a groan, he looked up at Rowan, brows dropping a little.

"Yeah, man. Me too," he admitted with a sigh before pulling his face into a grin. And then back to grumbling as he needed help with his shirt. "Suppose I will, huh Doc?" At least he could unbutton the front with the hand that only had a bandaged cut from shrapnel on it, fumbling a little but managing. He hissed as the uniform shirt came away from the blaster wound. It'd been cleaned half-decently, but not much else yet.

Even with stims, a deep injury getting poked at was still hot shit of an experience. The Ranger forced himself to sit very still; it wasn't the first time he'd been shot, and probably not the last. "Please don't tell me this shit'll need surgery," he groaned. Jazz kind of needed two working shoulders.

His head turned to Rowan, glancing over the incredibly serious professional look on the Arkanian's face. "Well-" Jazz grimaced, going to dismissively wave a hand then flopping it back down on the table when the movement got his injury touched harder than Rowan intended. "They're, uh..." he cleared his throat. "They're moving closer, yeah."

There was a short pause before a small half-grin. "But don't you worry your pretty white head, Doc. Patch us up, we'll hold 'til people show up." It was hard to tell whether this was confidence or bravado, coming from Jazz. "We Rangers are pretty shit at giving up." When exactly backup would show was less certain, but there was fighting all over and skirmishes didn't work on timetables.

@Sreeya

 

[Rowan Allaird]

Rowan stared at the wound for a moment, gaze flicking over when Jazz remarked about not worrying about it. The Arkanian’s face flushed a bit, but he focused intently back on the wound, “It might not need surgery, but will need some extra care,” He said as he applied more bacta and gauze to patch him up, “Depending on how this looks in a few hours, I’ll be able to tell,” Rowan stepped back from him, eyeing him curiously for a moment.

“Th-thank you…for everything you’re doing,” He said meekly. It took a lot of guts to be in the frontlines, guts he certainly didn’t have. The clinic saw some soldiers die from their wounds, others were sent home in bodybags. Even so, casualties were far lower on the ISC side because of the droid presence. The President’s early investments into a droid defense force was paying off hugely.

“Get some rest, Jazz,” He said to the Ranger, managing a faint smile. As he was on the clock, Rowan couldn’t linger too long by one patient. Even as he walked away, he couldn’t help that subtle feeling of elation upon seeing him again.

—​

The night passed without event and Rowan was back to making the rounds at the clinic. He had checked on a few patients and was going to make his way over to Jazz when the sounds of explosions erupted nearby. It was enough to rattle the ground and he could hear a ringing in his ears. There were shouts and screams all around and he could near a commotion outside the tents.

“What’s going on?!” Rowan shouted at one of the nurses.

“The militia forces broke through the line!” She shouted back.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Jasper Holliday]

Jazz clicked his tongue and sucked his teeth irritably. 'Extra care' sounded not good and like less time doing what he needed to do. His eyes flicked to Rowan's face and back to the ceiling, blinking when he saw the barest hint of pink. What was that about? "My shoulder's in your hands then," he said resignedly, not actually annoyed with Rowan but that he'd been shot in the first place.

An odd expression formed on the Ranger's face when Rowan stutteringly thanked him, like it wasn't sure what expression to make at first. His bandaged hand tapped uncomfortably against the bedsheets for a moment before he was able to summon something closer to his usual attitude. "Yeah, well. So long as I can keep good people like you safe, eh Rowan?" Jasper flashed a genuine smile at him before going back to staring at the lights overhead.

After Rowan left, he tried to get some rest. Doctor's orders, right?

-------
​

Well, he'd tried, but half his body hurt and he'd kept waking up. The bed was still better than a blown-out building, though, for which his spine was thanking him. He was just in the middle of stubbornly trying to get his uniform shirt back on with only one arm when a big boom rocked the building, knocking him off the bed's edge in a storm of Llanic curses. Jasper pushed to his feet and grabbed his gunbelt, slinging it awkwardly over his good shoulder and drawing his Python.

Ranger Holliday ran-slash-slid-slash-limped into the hallway, fully shirtless save for bandages and bacta patches and multiple tattoos on display, wearing only his socks and battle-worn uniform trousers. Enough people were yelling about the syndicate attack for him to get the idea. Jasper stuck two fingers in his mouth and blew hard, letting out a whistle loud enough to echo.

"Everyone, get to the inner rooms!" he shouted over the noise and slight ringing in his ears. "Away from windows and outer wall, come on, let's go!" Impish bravado vanished in the face of an emergency, he barked orders and slipped right into his role of a Ranger. Marching down the hall toward, although still with a noticeable limp, he grabbed the younger man's arm. "Rowan, I need you," Jazz stated emphatically.

"Help me put this fucking belt on and find me some stims." He needed to get closer to front and get the noncombatants out safe.

@Sreeya