I’m tempted to fly off the handle. I’m tempted to go up to the spaceship my lover calls a job and tell them to stick it. I can’t believe their bandaging job, and what they might consider clean. Even with new medicine in his generation, there’s no excuse for his condition when he appeared at my door. I can only imagine what else Ron has been put through. Do I really want to know? No, because I’m afraid I’d be sicker with other “treatments” he’s had. I would think his starship would take better care of their security and soldiers. One person can only be stitched and patched back together so many times before there’s nothing left. What next? Would they’ve given him a prosthetic arm or leg? Why must a culture equipped with phasers, starships, teleports and everything else not send out a machine to fight their battles? Why haven’t they invented an enhanced robot of sorts, a programmed enemy killer (thinks of Kroton and pauses). I’m not versed in how Starfleet might runs things, but I refuse to let my future husband be brought back in pieces.
I’m probably being selfish with the bitching. He’s doing what he has to for survival. It’s what he was chosen to do. I’ve got my own battle to fight myself. Who am I to say anything about his battles fought? I fought beside Angel, I’ve died and I’ve been brought back to life. Who am I to criticize his wounds? On the other side of the coin, if he’s here in my dimension I can watch after him, have visions if he’s in trouble. There are others that would help protect him. I’ve got to do what I think is right for our future together. Selfish or not, I’ve got to know what’s happened to him in the past. It may assist me in proving my point that he’s better off here with me.
DOC?!?! *Calls out for the holographic doctor*