The Morning After

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There's a certain tang to the air here. It's a little more sour than the disinfectant at Camp Curahee, but the sharpness doesn't have the same sweet notes as what they used onboard the Hopeful. The scent is different, but the bright lights shining above you are the same as every other infirmary you've ever woken up in, and the voice speaking to you could probably be swapped without you noticing anything amiss.
"Easy, take it easy. You've been out for a while." 
You prop yourself up on your elbows, glancing left and right a little, before pushing yourself up properly against the pillows. There's four blank walls, a window at the far side of the room, and a seat on either side of your bed. The orderly - not a medic or a doctor, not now that you're stable - is perched at the edge of one. She's fussing over machines mounted on the wall behind you, muttering to herself. You feel as if you've walked in on something you shouldn't have.
"How long?"
"A couple of days of drifting in and out, a week of accelerated recovery before that. The others were on their feet earlier though, they're okay." 
The others. Kalis. 
You remember saving their lives, and them saving yours. Dropping into fire with nothing but faith in each other and the armour that clad you. Striking like lightning, a feather in the wind when pursued, making the invaders bleed for every step they took on the soil of humanity's oldest home.
You also remember the impact of the gauntlet against your helmet.
"Well, I'm up now. May as well get up and see them."
"See them?" Her face sours for a half-second. She already knows what you mean.
"The others. My team." Your friends.
"They're, not at this facility at the moment." 
"What does that mean?"
"They're not here." 
She tries to meet your gaze, but doesn't quite manage. 
"It's just me?"
She nods.
-----
For a few moments there's just the soft beeping of the monitors to your side, a gentle pulsing of blue light accompanying it. You'd be surprised at how steady it stays, in spite of everything. 
"What happened?" 
"Others were easy enough to treat, I think. Seventy-two hours of rest, fluids, some osteoknit for one of them. Spent that time making sure you were three-S before we could grow and prep the graft."
"I meant after."
"Oh." She swallows, follows it up with an awkward laugh that melts into a smile as she thinks back.
"Well, they waited. Big guy insisted on it. They sat here the whole time, didn't let any of us move them to proper quarters. We told them the beds here were needed and they couldn't use them, and they just carried them to another ward."
"Sounds about right, huh." 
"Almost like a bunch of big kids, really." You cock your head, a little curious as to just how close to the mark she is. "They got called away a little after that, though."
"Called away?"
"Yeah. Didn't catch much of the chatter, but uh... something like Fleetcom having had enough of licking their wounds, recalling all the Spartan teams they had-"
You sit up, sharply. "You know-?"
"Well, yeah. Gear gave it away a little." She rests a hand on yours. "But you don't need to worry about it, about anything. You're heroes, full stop, okay?"
"Okay." It takes a long moment for you to swallow that breath, but you do. "Thank you." 
"It's nothing." Her smile is warm, genuine. "Big guy didn't listen, though, still didn't want to go. They figured out that only one of you needed to report back, let them know you were still kicking."
"Lyzander stayed?"
"Did his damned best, he did. Helped out with carrying things, keeping an eye on patients if we asked, but this was the centre of his world. Slept on the floor, never asked for nothing. Everyone saw how much it meant to him, so we - we tried to put up a bit of a fight when the spook came for him."
"Put up a fight?"
She chuckles, throws up her hands. "Not like that. We just did what we could, argued that he was needed here to help, that you shouldn't wake up on your own. It didn't feel right, not when the two of you, when you were-" 
"We aren't." 
"Oh." 
You glance away from the orderly, across at the window. It's dark outside, but there's still a few fires burning in the distance, their faint glow silhouetting portions of the skyline. 
When you turn back, her face looks tired, starkly contrasted by the harsh artificial lighting. "It didn't matter much either way. Naval Intelligence hardly have time for our bleatings. Big guy, though, he practically got into a shouting match over the matter. Thought if that didn't wake you up nothing would."
"You tried, at least." He tried. Went out to bat for you, against the Office. And you never even stirred.
"I suppose so." 
She pauses, then gets to her feet, picking up a pad and tapping a few notes into it. Back to business. "We'll have a couple more checks, but the graft seems to be taking without any problems."
"Good. Need to be out as soon as I can, find out where they went."
"Hey, don't worry, we'll make a some enquiries. You don't have to be rushing out to deploy somewhere before dawn." 
This time her smile doesn't reassure you. This time it digs a pit into your gut.
"It's all over now, anyway." 
And then she ducks out of the room, and she's gone. And all you have are your thoughts, and the room's other occupant. 
The helmet still sits there in the other chair, gazing at you, looking you right in the eye with your own face.
This should hurt, it says. You should be hurting. But you're not.
Is there something wrong with you?
You don't really have an answer.