[i]Collab with [@Stormflyx][/i]

As the rest of the team got themselves on their way under Paladin Moss's orders, only Dr. Kinsley and Lancer Brown stayed behind, and of course the hero of the hour, Chowder, remained sleeping in a cubby hold within the vertibird that he'd found. The doctor tracked them all as they left, standing in the doorway of the ship, her hands in the pockets of her fatigues, fingers idly twitching within the fabric.

When they were gone from her sight, she turned on her heel and made quiet steps back to Lancer Brown in the cockpit. Surely at the forefront of everyone's minds was the note that had soured the relative success of the rescue. That McDowell had been left behind. She'd already tried to soothe Grimshaw over it, and there was certainly a tension simmering between their Paladin and her fellow Senior Scribe.

Still, she and Brown had a task of their own, but she gave him a scrutinous look. Tracing him from head to toe with her watchful eyes. "Alright," she began, removing a hand from a pocket, placing it flat on the back of the pilot's chair. "Shoes off." 

Sami was lost deep in thought before the doctor once again came over to visit him at the helm. He blankly stared at the grating in the metallic flooring of the Vertibird, with thoughts of anger, guilt and despair rattling around inside his shaken mind. When the doctor snapped her orders, Sami shifted back to reality, startled at the command. As he came to and realised what she meant, he lightly chuckled and joked in reference to his stripping, "Wow. You get me alone for two minutes, doc…"

As he remarked, he unbuckled his boots, only to experience a fair amount of unexpected difficulty with removing the right one. Clearly, his ankle had swollen. What a battered and bruised bunch the squad had become, and they weren't even where they were meant to be yet. He winced and groaned as he gently but impatiently removed the brown leather casing that engulfed his pained leg. Eventually, it gave way, revealing a dark wool-covered blob that was meant to be his ankle and foot, noticeably larger than its unharmed sibling attached to his other leg. Presumably, Dr. Harper had asked him to remove both so she could compare what the injured foot was [i]meant[/i] to look like, but he did so because it was what she told him to do.

Removing the socks were much easier, though smellier. His rushed morning had not left him much time for showering, a reality that he regretted more and more as the comforts of his Prydwen cabin lay further and further behind them. Presenting his swollen ankle to the doctor for inspection, Sami looked upon her eyes, which were relatively soulless and solemn, even moreso than normal. He didn't know Kinsley's story, but she obviously had one to tell, and it didn't seem like a particularly happy one. He didn't probe her for it now, though. It wasn't the time. But Sami did feel the closest to her on an emotional level, having spoken to her the most. Otherwise, he'd only really had a chance to get to know Frank, and look how that turned out. He hoped that his choice of companions weren't correlated to their untimely deaths, not only because of how woefully misfortunate that would be, but also because he was very fond of the doctor so far. She was kind and compassionate, despite the fact her presumably tragic worldly experience was probably telling her not to be, and she was brave and competent and many other good things. But most of all, she was [i]human[/i]. Unlike the caricatures and gung-ho soldier types that made up the majority of the Brotherhood's ranks, Kinsley had something about her that Sami respected. She was different, and not like the others. Perhaps they were kindred spirits in that respect. 

"So, what's the damage?", the Lancer inquired, not expecting good news. 

“Well,” Kinsley began with a long sigh and a tilt of her head as she inspected him with narrowed eyes. “It isn’t broken,” - there was little optimism in her voice however, as she placed two fingers either side. It was incredibly swollen, more so than Grimshaw’s. “Probably not a fracture either,” her lips pursed. She wasn’t all that equipped to deal with it, and it’s not like they were in the best circumstance for her to be able to take her time. To x-ray him, apply a splint, some ice - have him on rest. 

No, they had a ship to fix and fly - potential dangers lurking. All that Kinsley could do was prevent it from being injured further, and treat it correctly in the quiet moments such as this. 

She couldn’t yet shake free the image of McDowell from her mind, the absolute hopelessness he must have felt had been written all over him during his last stand - but, he at least held the line. She tried to avoid thinking too much about how it would have been to have been in his position. That kind of violent death was not the kind she was drawn too, a quicker one was preferable. Still, McDowell had been their Knight Sergeant, and now he was under the rubble. What was on everyone's minds was of course, that Moss called it - and his manner of doing so. 

Would he call it on her one day?

It was a raw and confronting thing to think about, and now was not the time for her to be having such bleak and spiralling thoughts. She averted her gaze from Brown’s ankle while she grabbed more of the same bandage she had used on Grimshaw. She looked at Brown, the worry in his expression, and yet still he had something of a kindly energy about him. Like whatever the news was, he’d still carry himself with a spring in his step because that’s how he was built. That he’d take it on the chin and keep going for the sake of everyone else. Kinsley realised in that moment just how important he would be -- far beyond the skills he displayed as a pilot and mechanic. 

Of all the team members, she knew Brown best. Or, she’d encountered him many more times than anyone else. Usually with a different woman each time, always smiling though. It was easier to be annoyed by that in the relatively safe confines of the Prydwen, where trivialities like that mattered. Here? Not so much. She was somewhat loath to admit it to herself, but she was glad that Brown would be the person she’d likely spend most of her time with. He wasn’t difficult, intrusive, or aggressive in any way, or on a power trip that seemed to be something of a commonality in the Brotherhood. Samuel Brown was so laid back, he was practically horizontal. Yet, she still sensed that something was amiss with him.

As she got to bandaging his leg, pulling tight for good compression, she glanced sidelong at him. “Your ankle will heal, and I’ll clean up your forehead there - is everything else alright?”

Sami looked up and into Kinsley's eyes, always assessing, forever diagnosing. She knew that something was gnawing at his mind. Was it that obvious?

If it was anyone else, he'd simply say 'I'm fine' and try his best to leave it at that. But he trusted Doctor Harper. And he couldn't trust anybody else to be anything but a good, loyal, die-hard Brotherhood soldier who might have court-martialed him at what he said next.

Sami huffed, shook his head slowly and leaned back in his chair, taking a defensive-looking stance, planting one hand on his knee to support his back. He swallowed and took a deep inhale that doubled as a sigh before replying.

"I just left a man to die. I didn't have much of a choice, I couldn't have refused, but I did it." Sami paused, but Kinsley didn't say anything, she simply listened to what was to come, so he continued. "And I feel fucking awful about it. McDowell was a big, angry man, and I don't think we'd have been best buds. But I effectively killed him."

"And Moss… Moss didn't even give a shit! He's said nothing since. [i] Nothing.[/i]" The Lancer was letting his emotions increasingly line his words as he ranted. "Not an apology, not a justification. Not even a 'these things happen squad, but we need to stay strong. [i]Ad Victoriam![/i]". He mocked the Paladin for that last part, even mimicking the salute. "It's like any of us are expendable to him, like he'd let us all die, head back to HQ and chalk it all up to 'bad intel'". 

Sami sighed again. "I thought the Brotherhood was meant to be different. I joined so I wouldn't have to look over my shoulder, because we watch each others' backs". He hesitated saying the next part, because the realisation had set in midway. "But if we're all as expendable as McDowell is, then I'd rather be back to surviving on my own. At least then there's not a false pretence of security and trust."

Rant over, Samuel waited for Dr. Harper's reaction. Perhaps he'd let too much of his mind slip. He considered the possibility that the Paladin was just within earshot, and what he'd do if he barged in with the knowledge of what Sami just said. But he didn't feel like he was the only one with these frustrations. At least he hoped so, otherwise this was going to be one lonely and potentially deadly mission for the Lancer. 

For a while, Kinsley said nothing. She simply let him level his breaths again, and when she was sure he was done she relaxed her posture and took a seat on the floor beneath him, sucking in a breath through her teeth. "Well I'm glad you didn't let that one stew." Her brow quirked up, and she tilted her head back until it touched the edge of the control panel. 

"It wasn't your fault, Brown," she said while maintaining eye contact with him. Her countenance somewhat stern - clinical. Like it was all she could do to manage her own feelings. A slight veneer of disinterest but her tone told a different story. It was warmth enough to take the bite out of the air around them. "You didn't let him die, you didn't kill him. It wasn't your fault. I need you to know that." Kinsley ran the back of her hand over her forehead again, blinking slow. 

"Moss… Is under pressure, no doubt. We're on this mission and we all know that it could well be a one way trip. McDowell knew that too…" Kinsley said with a forlorn sigh, trying to be as diplomatic as possible considering the situation. 

Brown wasn't wrong though, Moss hadn't acknowledged the grief that hung like a stormcloud, threatening to burst. Moss hadn't said a word about McDowell, and from what Kinsley could gather - the man had performed some heroics. She'd spent her life breaking awful news to families. She would forever be a part of their life, the first ripple of grief for them. There needed to be sensitivity in those moments. Seeing the Lancer so furious was unexpected, and his anger had been formed in a place inside him he probably didn’t like to dwell around in.

She turned her head to where Frank had been sat. They'd lost two people, two brothers - and not a damn thing had been done about it. 

She held a breath, pinching the bridge of her nose as her eyes closed tight momentarily. It was exhausting. Kinsley was exhausted. Everyone was already exhausted. They needed something for morale. [i]Brown[/i] needed something for morale. “If Moss can’t say something for our fallen, that doesn’t mean you have to be silent. Take that feeling you have here-” she brought a closed fist to her chest, her eyebrow arched and her expression harboured an altogether different kind of seriousness. “Take that, and use it to honour McDowell, and Frank too… To celebrate the lives they lived.” She then seemed to deflate a little after her words and she broke her gaze to close her eyes. “He didn’t die because of you. You didn’t kill him.”

The doctor's gentle voice soothed Sami's emotional irritation. She had tried to put a positive spin on it, of course, but she was trying to polish a fresh steaming pile of brahmin shit. He still felt guilty for his actions despite what she had said, but he knew he'd get over it, eventually. What mattered was going forwards, and making sure he never had to do such a thing again. 

Her last suggestions sparked an idea in Sami's head, something had to be done that wasn't particularly pleasant, that everyone else had neglected to do. Well, at least something that the Paladin clearly didn't give enough of a shit about to order its doing.

Frank was still slumped lifeless in the chair, his grey corpse stained red. Sami looked over to him, and he could feel Kinsley realising his intentions in his peripheral. Sami shook his head in disapproval of the loss of the pilot, the man whose quick thinking and flying skill had saved the lives of four members of his crew. He was a good man, and he deserved a decent funeral. As he considered this, Sami could feel the immense weight of the photograph Frank had given to him in his last moments. It was all a damned shame. 

Turning to Kinsley, he asked gravely "would you care to help me to move his body outside? The repairs can wait." 

"Of course," Kinsley answered quickly, bringing herself back around from her tired state with a shake of her head. "I'll try and take most of his weight," she offered as she stood up - placing gentle hands on Brown's ankle again, even bandaged as tightly as it was, it was still badly swollen. "Then after that I want you to keep your foot up. I'll need to see to your head too, but let's clear this first, okay?" Sami nodded in agreement, he wasn't going to argue with her. 

Kinsley gave him a smile, and it wasn't just for show. She was relieved to have calmed him [i]for now[/i]. A funeral was a good way to hold onto their humanity. "And Brown…?" She said, with a slight change to her cadence. The doctor realising she didn't need or want to feel so shy and aloof around the Lancer. "I'll have your back. Don't know just how much good that is, but I'll have it. Chowder too." 
Sami smiled at the promise. Sometimes, such words could be empty and insincere, but not in this instance. The doctor had a good heart, and he felt comfort in being able to confide in, and maybe even truly trust in her comradeship. And Chowder's loyalty was unarguably the most solidified certainty Sami had even known. The pilot glanced over to the sleeping canine, now so at rest and peaceful compared to his antics earlier that day. "I appreciate that Dr. Harper. But hopefully you won't need to."

Kinsley cleared her throat and moved behind Brown in the chair, placing a hand on each of his shoulders, "come on then, let's get to it… We'll even toast this hero off," she suggested in a whisper-like voice, rubbing the Lancer's shoulders some, as if it would relieve whatever anger may have been left - or maybe it was simply to make the man feel good before a shit job. 

They managed to carry Frank through a combined effort of lifting, shimmying, dragging and hobbling. But sure enough they managed to get the corpse to a digable patch of dirt. Fortunately, it had seemed to have rained here fairly recently, so the earth was moved easily enough. Sami did most of the shovelling, shrugging off Kinsley's protests that he shouldn't spend too long on his feet. He needed to do this, and the doctor had already done more than her fair share. They didn't have time for six feet, so they had to settle for three, give or take. No doubt molerats or ghouls would smell and find Frank's body anyway; this whole thing was more of a morbid formality than anything. 

They rolled Frank into the ditch, and re-covered the haphazard grave as quickly as they could. The late pilot's death was rushed, it was only fitting that his ritual of passing be the same, as sad as that may be. Sami struggled to find any words after the burial was finished, and neither could Kinsley. 
Instead, the doctor had offered the vial of vodka that she had stashed in her medical, and the two chinked bottle and mug as Sami finally found the courage to say something in memoriam. 

"To a good man'', he murmured, with a tear creeping out and trickling down his cheek. The two necked the vodka, it's warm sting a welcome feeling amidst the numbness the situation had fostered. Kinsley once again felt it necessary to place a supportive hand on Sami's shoulder as they turned and walked away, yet again accuracy assessing the need for a comforting human touch. 

Scratched into the makeshift gravestone were the words:

[i]Frank McCarthy. 
Pilot. Saviour. Father.[/i]