Iris nods, looking around but seeing none. Wiping her cheeks she stands up, grabbing his hand.
"I'll...I'll go find one."
She tries to keep her head down, wanting no one to see that she'd been crying. It seemed to be all she could do these days, feeling suddenly so alone and abandoned in this world. After a few minutes she snags a pad of paper and a pen off a nurses desk, shoving them into her pockets before someone noticed. Heading back, she continued to keep her eyes casted down, until she got back to his makeshift room, the walls only curtains hung from the ceiling, since they only had one wide main floor to use as the medbay. The more serious patients got actual rooms, although at the moment she'd seen only three. The rest were piled into the large foyer, curtains set up to divide them.
"Here," she murmured, handing him the items and sitting down, looking away so he couldn't see her tears. She felt foolish now for crying, thinking he was asleep the entire time.
Dakota dressed and left, smiling to herself as she reported in to Mavis, her mind swirling with images of the beautiful naked bombshell waiting back at home for her.
Andre Fernandez was second in command of the rebels, and on duty with patrols when he saw the two men stumbling close.
"Men," he called, his Spanish accent very light so his words were pronunciated perfectly, as his patrol squad forming a line like Dakota had taught them, "Hold your fire, but if any of you see a weapon, shoot first, ask later."
They watched them pause, but the french they spoke made no sense to the Spanish rooted man, who'd grown up in Brazil, only to move to America in his teens.
"Anyone here speak french?" he asked, looking at his squad. When no one answered he grabbed his radio, calling it into his boss, "Miller, you there? We got two UN soldiers here, one's white flagging us. They speak French though."
Dakota's voice crackled through the radio, "I'm here Fernandez, with Mavis. She's sending a translator now with me. Do not let your guard down, be there in five."
