There was a line in front of the Red Cross bus parked near the Chiyoda City Hall. There were more students than she thought, but the majority of the queue was comprised of workers from the offices and other institutions. Whether encouraged by their superiors or perhaps their own altruism, the crowd was sizable. Jerry was among them, looking rather out of place, but he always had a knack for disarming the locals, just like the Ambassador.
The bus was small and likely only had two beds. Nurses were going back and forth between the waiting line and the vehicle, one manning the front and calling the next person, and another walking inside to check on the patients.
She didn't join, content to wait, content to just accompany him. Her lack of resistance when he asked her to tag along was not as surprising. Grim followed them, too, though he stayed up there, weaving among the clouds like Wildcat pilots outwitting the Zeros.
She didn't know what spurred her, but she rolled her sleeve up a little, just enough to reveal her right forearm.
Normally, nobody could see them unless they really squinted, but they were there.
And on the back of her hand.
Her elbow.
Her upper arm.
Anywhere you could extract blood from.
It was no coincidence—they had no doubts over it—that she and other KANSENs in the service of the USN had O-negative blood. Every single one of them.
Absolutely for last resort use only, the manual said. Contingency in the event that emergency triage was needed but the medical supplies and equipment were depleted, and there was no reliable or reasonable way to acquire more.
It happened more often than the brass would care to admit, right?
Pints after pints, with supplies seemingly never running out. Needles were poked, the bags were filled. And they didn't complain, because, after all, they had the means to replenish.
Whether that was a blessing or a curse was a question that never received an answer.
But nobody ever fought the system. Some grumbled, most didn't.
And she?
Well, it wasn't something that mattered.
It was service, nothing more, nothing less.
They had no need for medkits, then.
She was the medkit.
War assets hailed as miracles, whose origins had been buried under layers of secrecy and classified status—erasure of shame.
But now she was here, not bound by duty.
The line was thinning. Jerry was likely inside. She saw the banner more clearly now.
"Your Blood Saves Lives"
How about that?
It sounded poetic.
How many people had she saved by giving her blood away?
Even if it was dictated by her duty, and even if it was not always pleasant, not always smooth sailing, she had saved lives, and she had saved more than she could ever imagine.
Why couldn't she feel any pride or accomplishment from that?
Or were the words hollow?
Did her efforts amount to anything more than the sum of her parts?
And did that really matter?
Jerry emerged from the bus with a grin, his sleeves rolled up. He was sipping from a juice box that all the donors got.
"Ah, orange. Come to think of it, haven't had any orange juice for a while," he remarked, and looked at her.
"Sorry to keep you waiting. I guess it's a lot of work for the nurses."
He took a seat next to her.
"Are you okay? Feeling lightheaded?"
"I'll live. Thanks for worrying. And..."
She didn't like how his smile was tinged with a hint of melancholy.
"I know this might not mean anything, but...thank you. For coming with me."
"Oh, I'm, uh, you're welcome. You are a good man, Jerry. Donating is important."
"You, too."
"Huh?"
"You are a good woman, Enterprise."
Somehow, the words hit differently.
"You don't have to say it, Jerry."
"But I mean it. I know...how many would not have survived if not for you."
"That's...my duty, though."
"Yeah. That's the sad part, isn't it?"
He finished the juice and crushed the box.
"But back then...I'd rather bleed out rather than let you give me a pint."
She was glad she wasn't drinking or eating anything, otherwise she might have choked on it.
"Why?"
"You don't need to suffer. Not for me. Or anyone else. But I couldn't hate it either, seeing how my fellow pilots and the boys get to live and fly and fight another day."
He chuckled, but there was no amusement in his eyes.
"...You've had it rough, huh? And nobody bothered to check if you were okay. Nobody ever did. Nobody cared. You are a tool. A weapon. And no one bothers to ask."
Her hand moved before she could stop it, and squeezed his hand.
"You did, and you still do. Thank you."
He looked surprised for a moment, and then the smile returned.
"Ah, well, sorry. Didn't mean to make it awkward. Let's go back, shall we?"
"Sure. But first..."
"Hmm?"
"I...want to do this. Give. If I can. If that matters."
"...Go on."
He sounded hesitant, and his hands on her shoulders felt heavy. He trembled a little before letting go.
She approached the bus just as the last people filed out. The nurse waited for her to be seated by the registration desk and gave her a once-over.
She recognized the look. Apologetic and full of regret.
"Are you a...KANSEN? I'm terribly sorry, regulations...wouldn't allow us to accept your donation."
Of course they wouldn't.
The irony wasn't lost on her.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. Even though you have bothered to come here."
The nurse rose from her seat to bow, which only made her feel more uneasy.
"Ah, no, it's...I understand. I will leave."
She stood and bowed back, but before she could leave, the nurse caught her arm.
"Ma'am, please. Just...just take this. I know it doesn't matter, but please."
"What...?"
The nurse slipped a sticker, a cartoonish representation of a drop of blood, into her hand.
"Take it. It's...the thought that counts. Again, I'm truly sorry."
She didn't even know why she accepted the sticker, but the nurse seemed so sincere.
It wasn't worth much, but she felt something swell in her heart.
She closed her fist and held it close.
***
"I imagine they turned you down?"
She nodded.
"Figures," Jerry sighed. "Yes, concerns and all. Frankly, I think it's unfounded. Everyone I know who has received your blood has not mutated. Except for McAllister, but he has always been a weirdo, heh."
He let out a bitter laugh. She joined him on the bench. Grim descended from the sky and nuzzled her hand. She gently rubbed his head.
"Well, Skipper, still, you wanted to donate on your own terms. That's gotta count for something. And I think the nurse thought the same. She gave you that sticker, huh?"
"She did."
"See? Not entirely useless."
"...Yeah. I know."
She opened her palm and looked at the sticker.
"Not entirely useless," she repeated. "Not at all."
"That's the spirit, Skipper. Tell you what, donating or not, I'll buy ya juice. What would you like? Orange, or apple? Anything else?"
"Uh, thanks, Jerry. I appreciate the thought. How about we just...sit down and look at the clouds?"
"Hahaha. Yeah, why not? A good change of pace, wouldn't you agree?"
"Indeed."
She looked up at the sky and smiled.
"I think I'll have some orange juice, too."
"Coming right up."
He patted her on the back and headed to the nearby vending machine, and returned in no time, with one for her and a second helping for himself.
"Cheers, Skipper. Here's to a better tomorrow."
"Cheers."
The juice was cold and sweet, and her heart grew lighter.
His gaze would linger on mothers with their children, and the kids who would wave back at him. What he could be thinking, she couldn't even begin to guess.
And maybe, she didn't want to.
"...Jerry," she began, "I can't...give you...many things you may want or need...but...if you need it...I'd gladly give you my blood."
"Skipper, let's hope it doesn't come to that. But...you know what? You can...just stay, you know? It's enough. To just have you here."
"...Sure. Gladly."
"Thanks. And...Skipper?"
"Hmm?"
"You are a good woman. Always have been."
"...Thank you."
Maybe she deserved that one, after all.