“R-right, right.” Seri nods hastily, mentally kicking herself for forgetting entirely about the first aid kit. She eases Jura back against a bulkhead, sitting her back carefully.
She swivels around, an undercurrent of panic still rippling viciously, and hurries to the first aid hatch, retrieving as much bacta as she can. Returning, she kneels beside Jura, fussing with the dressing. There’s nothing for it, she realises, and tears a strip from her already too-tight shirt, the under-swell of her breasts nearly spilling free from the now reduced covering.
She prepares the strip to act as a new bandage, carefully unpeeling the old, and applying the bacta packs as gently as she can.