Chapter Text
Miles Quaritch had barely stepped off the transport ship before he was sitting on another goddamn bed. Honestly, the science pukes and alien doctors needed to take a pill. He was fine. His new recombinant body could walk, talk, and throw a punch perfectly well. He could probably fuck just fine, too, if they left him alone for five minutes. The next person to prod him with a needle was getting their fingers snapped.
“Any numbness or tingling?” the nurse next to him asked, flipping through a blue screened tablet.
“Nope,” Quaritch said, taking a breath from the regulator hanging around his neck.
“Pain?”
“Nope.”
“Dizziness or fatigue?”
“Yeah, I’m tired of these questions.”
The nurse glanced up at him, glared, and looked back at her tablet. She flipped to another section of his chart before saying over her shoulder, “Winston, have you paged the Thorn yet?”
“She’s on her way,” another nurse said as he passed a flashlight in front of Corporal Wainfleet’s eyes.
“Somethin’ wrong with me?” Quaritch drawled, tail swishing in bored circles off the side of his bed.
“I can’t diagnose,” was all the nurse said, and walked away.
He sighed and rolled his eyes, resting his head back and staring up at the fluorescent lights of the ceiling as he took another deep breath of Pandora air from his mask.
“Colonel Miles Quaritch?”
He looked down, blinking. He must’ve zoned out listening to the drum of the med bay, mind wandering through memories that weren’t technically his. The human woman standing next to his cot was quite pretty, except for the fact that she was frowning. Her hair was pulled back into a neat bun. One of her hands was hooked in the pocket of her pristine lab coat. The other held a glowing blue tablet with his file.
“That would be me,” Quaritch said, tilting his head down in greeting.
“I am Dr. Astella Thornton, head of the avatar program here,” she said.
He extended his hand out of habit, a hand much larger and bluer than he was used to, but the woman was already looking back at her tablet and ignored it entirely.
“Sit up,” she directed, removing her stethoscope from around her neck.
Quaritch did, resisting the urge to grumble. If she was in charge of their new expensive recombinant bodies, she wasn’t a woman to be crossed so early on.
Dr. Thornton lifted the back of his shirt and slid her cool hand beneath, pressing the disk against his skin. “Breathe in,” she said. “Good. Out. Again. Again…” She moved the stethoscope around as he followed her instructions, having to stretch up onto her tippy toes to reach the upper part of his back while her other hand rested on his veiny forearm for stability.
“Hm,” she said, and it wasn’t a happy sound.
Quaritch’s ears twitched down. Shit. Was there actually something wrong with him?
“Any shortness of breath on your walk here?” Thornton asked, adding a note to his digital chart.
“No, ma’am.”
“Our scans show that you have a minor case of pleural effusion left over from the amino tank. A little extra fluid in and around the lungs. It’s nothing to worry about and should clear up on its own, but take it easy over the next few days and we will keep an eye on you.”
He blinked. “Well alright then.”
“Otherwise, you are in excellent condition,” she continued, swiping through a few more details on her tablet and nodding to herself. “The General has requested an audience with you, but she can wait until tomorrow once you’ve passed the first 24 hour observation period. All members of Project Phoenix will meet me in the outdoor compound in two hours, but you’ll be escorted to your rooms first and given something to eat.”
“Finally,” he muttered.
The doctor smiled, just slightly. “Do you have any other questions for me?”
“Why do they call you the Thorn?” he mused.
She blinked. “Pardon?”
“The Thorn. That’s what the nurse called you before you got here.”
Her shoulders tensed. It was clear she was making a great deal of effort not to turn around and sniff out who’d said it. “I imagine that it’s because some people consider me asking them to do their jobs properly as me being a thorn in their side," she said, loudly enough that her voice carried to her nearby employees. "I take this program very seriously, Colonel. The recombinant avatars fall under my jurisdiction. You and your squad are RDA property, and therefore you don’t so much as breathe without asking me first. Understood?”
Quaritch grabbed his regulator and lifted it halfway to his face. He raised his eyebrows, waiting.
Dr. Thornton sniffed in amusement and nodded dramatically.
He took a breath.
“Good boy. You’re already with the program. Gold star. I will see at 1400 hours,” she said, and turned on her heel. She walked a few cots down and took over for one of the nurses there, assessing an uncontrollable twitch Mansk was having with his hand.
Quaritch watched her go, ears slightly perked. He’d met his fair share of scientists in his life, few of whom he liked, but something about Dr. Astella Thornton gave him pause. He liked people who could bite back. He also liked to be in charge and in control, but something about being condescended to by her was borderline pleasant. At least something would keep him entertained until they were cleared to start their mission and hunt down Jake Sully. Until then, he was stuck here.
And Miles Quaritch hated waiting around.