Chapter 20

Lily

My breath hitches, and trepidation coats my insides like a cold sweat, but I force my trembling hand to steady. Slowly, carefully, I press my hand against his chest, cupping his wound between my thumb and forefinger, feeling the warm strength of his pectoral under my palm.

With a deep, drawn-out breath, I grab the old needle nose pliers I found in an abandoned toolbox in the garage. At least the pliers aren't rusty, I suppose. I have never wished more for the sterile hallways of an ER and the adequate tools my job usually provides. But now, in this cramped cabin with an interstellar life-form lying on a rug, my nursing abilities are being tested like never before. It's not lost on me that I'm almost in this alien's lap, but I push away the awareness and focus on the task at hand.

As gently as possible, I spread open the wound. The raw red of flesh greets me. Ravok's body stiffens, his glowing eyes squeezing shut as pain rips through him. However, he doesn't utter a single sound of protest.

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 if he 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 to have 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.