Sam Jack Dunn woke with a start.

He found himself in a small room, with tiny blinking lights and the whirr of machinery his only company. A dull ache in his wrist caused him to look down, and the size of the tube in his arm caused him to raise an eyebrow. His eyes followed the tube up to a machine that rested behind his bed. A bacta IV, from the looks of it. Something like that was reserved for serious internal injuries. What the hell had he done on that station to need bacta injected directly into his bloodstream?

“So, you’re awake.”

The words crossed the small space between the man whom was standing at the doorway to the room, and Sam’s own ears. Though his facial features were silhouetted by the bright light of the hallway, Sam recognized the voice that had greeted him only too well. He slowly eased himself up on his elbows until he was in a sitting position, noting with a sense of pleasant surprise that it didn’t’ hurt so bad. The worst of his injuries were past him, then. The corner of his lip tugged in a sardonic smile as he lazily saluted.

“Sir, I wasn’t expecting a bedside vigil.”
His voice grated at his throat as it rose from his mouth, causing Sam’s smile to turn into a slight grimace for a few moments. He’d obviously had a bacta tube down his throat recently, if his throat lining was so screwed. He couldn’t help the cough that followed his words up his throat, but he managed to cover it behind his hand. He noticed that the red skin grafts he had received after his first mission at a Stormtrooper had finally faded to a pale colour. Thank crikey for that, at least.

He blinked a few times to get the last of the grogginess from his mind. In the presence of the man in front of him, Sam Dunn was going to have to keep a very clear mind. As much as he enjoyed seeing a friendly face, he knew that there was a perfectly good reason the two were having this conversation. Sam’s visitor didn’t just stop by and visit every injured trooper, after all.
“You were almost dead when we found you, you know. I think the only thing keeping you alive was sheer bloody-minded stubbornness. I’m surprised. Pleasantly so.”

The man spoke idly, as if he was discussing the weather, or the latest gravball results: Certainly not something as important as a man’s life. Sam took the hint, though – he owed his life to the man standing across the room. This simple fact surprised him. He had left his duties to his visitor when he had transferred to the Stormtrooper Corps – cutting short what would have been a promising career for the chance to wear white armour. Surely, the Captain owed him nothing. Why go to all the trouble to save his life? Sam knew he would find out.

“You’re more useful to me alive than as a corpse on the front lines, Dunn. I’ve always valued your service, and I require it once more. The Empire needs you more amongst the stars than it does on the ground.”
Once again, the man spoke softly, with a mild, gentle manner that was nothing but polite. The fact that he didn’t phrase his words as a question made everything abundantly, clear, though. He had saved Sam Dunn’s life, which meant that Dunn now owed his visitor. If they were willing to save his life, he was willing to follow orders.

“Your will be done, Captain Grey. What are my orders?”

OOC:

Sam Dunn awakens to find himself in an Imperial Medcenter, and discovers that his last operation with the Stormtrooper Corps killed him - or would have, were it not for the intervention of Captain Grey.

He now owes the director of Naval Intelligence a personal debt, and it appears that the Captain has a use for him in the Navy.

Word count, 610 words. Total count, 1210 words.