“Shit,” I said.
“I think it’s a clean break,” Char said.
It was good news for my healing. But a break was still a break, and that meant I wouldn’t be able to do my job for a long while. Panic filled me as I wondered if I’d be sent home. The thought of leaving depressed me and I tried to push it from my mind as I watched Char move to check on our patients. Correction: her patients. Of which I was now one.
Mac returned not much later with every able-bodied man he’d been able to find on base.
I waved them off as they tried to help me, pointing toward the men in bunks instead.
“Not true,” Mac said when I argued that they were more important. “We need you with two good legs so you can continue to help guys like that.”
“But we need them to fight the war,” I said.
He rolled his eyes, grabbed my bag in one hand, and pulled me to my good leg with the other.
“Let’s go, Campbell,” he said, holding out his arms.
But I shook my head. “No way. I can limp my way back.”
But when I tried to put even the smallest bit of pressure on my broken leg, my eyes filled with tears and I nearly passed out.
“Whoa,” Mac said, reaching out to steady me. “Kate?”
I concentrated on taking in several long breaths before meeting his eyes.
“That offer still open?”
He grinned and held out his arms.
“Stop smiling,” I said as he lifted me.
“Oh hell no. I’m going to enjoy every bit of this. I might even parade you around the base.”
I smacked the back of his head and his laughter filled the air around us.
“Well, don’t you two look cozy,” Char said with a grin when we entered the hospital about thirty minutes later.
“Shut up,” we both said, Mac with a bit of a growl, me tearfully.
“Get her on the table over there,” Doctor Fischer said, pointing to an empty spot. Mac nodded and delivered me carefully to where he’d been directed.
“You’re gonna be fine,” he said.
I grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Thanks, Mac.”
“Anytime, kid.”
Char held my hand while the doctor examined my leg, a dose of anesthetic now flowing through my veins and making everything a little bit fuzzy, the pain of my injury nothing more than a bit of irritation and pressure.
“How bad is it?” I asked, watching as the wound was inspected and cleaned.
“As far as breaks go, it’s a good one,” Doctor Fischer said, scribbling something in a brand-new chart with my name on it.
“Good?”
He set the chart down and met my eyes. The look on his face spoke volumes.
“Good as in bad,” he said. “You’re going to need to stay off it for quite a while, I’m afraid. It’s going to require surgery and, while we could do a decent job here, you’ll be far better off and have a better prognosis if you have it done stateside with some therapy after to get you strong and back on your feet again.”
