Tomiko looked up as a tall woman right out of some dime novel story about the Wild West on ol' Earth that Was strode into her infirmary, a bottle of whiskey sloshing softly in her right hand.  The medic's eyes glinted with a hard light and her hand lightly caressed the combat knife at her side as she saw the brown coat swirling about the gunslingers form.  Brown coats weren't as uncommon as one might imagine, the earthen tone often as much a result of poor hygiene as any conscious decision.  But given how this one carried herself . . . she was certain there was only one reason she wore it.<br/><br/>For just a moment she was back<em>there</em>.  The screaming trails of rounds passing close over her head as she fought to save Corporal Wallace, the grenade having taken his arm and a good bit of his chest.  The last ditch defense of the Vale outpost, her pistol barking as it downed several of the charging soldiers.  Her knife flashing, burying itself into soft flesh as she screamed her banshee howl of rage as a pair of shots to her leg and side taking her down.  All of it combined in one horrific moment, her eyes reflecting the ghosts that tormented her for that bare breath before returning to their normal opacity.<br/><br/>It was with a short, not quite trembling breath that she calmed herself; managing to put a half smile on her face as the gun slinger approached, nodding to the bottle of whiskey "Any of that for me, hon?"