Title: o' lonely fox, couldn't recognize you
Summary: She got sick, once. Pre!RhysNoshiko
Author's Note: This is really quick and isn't very interesting BUT I HAD TO OKAY. Title comes from the poem "O Fox, Are You Left Alone When All Have Gone Extinct!" by Bijay Kant Dubey.
/
Look, don't kill that fly!
It is making a prayer to you
By rubbing its hands and feet.
– Kobayashi Issa
/
She got sick, once.
It was his fingers – those long fingers that had dipped into her people's bodies. They were helping fingers and he often had dark lines underneath the nail bed where the nail should have been white. Was it blood? Was it the blood that ran through her and her brothers and sisters and the soldiers?
She asks him, on inspection day. He is checking her for chicken pox.
He blushes when he asks her to open her mouth and right before she opens wide enough for him to see her tonsils, she asks him, "Is it blood underneath your fingernails?"
He blushes more and she wonders if she is being too forward with him – too brave, too irrational, Noshiko, her mother used to say, brushing her long, dark hair. But the man is nice. He does not yell and saves her from getting in trouble as often as she should, and sometimes, he smiles at them when none of the other soldiers look. He has saved plenty of her people from death and he has apologized to every person whose family member he could not save.
So she asks and does not think much of the consequences, and after blushing and stuttering, he smiles at her, "It's dirt."
Her heart stops and skids. She opens her mouth as wide as it can go, trying to get the assessment over with as soon as she can.
His eyes widen as if he has realized her interpretation and shakes his head. He puts the thermometer in her mouth and explains quickly, "Garden. I... I garden."
She sighs and screws up the reading, so they have to do it again. If it were another guard, she might have gotten slapped. They don't like her, much. They like the sight of her too much – she can feel it. They stare at her body and her pretty Japanese features and they detest that they dream about bringing her home to their mothers, because she is the enemy, or so they seem to believe. But this man – he does not stare at her body, nor does he slap her. He gardens and saves people she has grown to love out of ethic pride and he looks like he'd appreciate to hear the haikus she memorized as a child.
He takes her temperature again and she does not mess it up this time. When he checks her temperature, she is ninety nine degrees (the extra degree makes her blush) and he warns her to look for any bumps or discomfort.
"What's your name?" she asks on impulse. Her body shifts toward him, her dress shifting to give him the view of her prominent collarbones.
He swallows and looks at her straight in the eyes. She can see that he is trying to maintain the coldness of a soldier. It amuses and delights her that he is unable to be cruel, while, as of late, it seems to be that it is eerily easy for her.
"Rhys," he says. He extends his hand but then retracts it quickly.
"I'm Noshiko," she says, even though he did not ask.
His eyes are too expressive to belong to a soldier. She watches his irises dance and she smiles coquettishly. He blinks too fast and mumbles, "Uhm, so don't be shy to find me if something is wrong. You know, I mean. If you feel like you may have chicken pox or anything, really. Just find me." He looks desperate to get away, embarrassed and flushed, fingers running through his hair in discomfort.
"Don't worry," she says calmly, that secret smile dancing on her lips. "I'll find you if I need you."
He blinks rapidly again and tumbles out of the room, much to her delight.
A fly buzzes by her ears, but she does not swat at it. She is thinking of haikus that she could read to him – ones about flowers and the earth. She dreams of excuses to go talk to him and what she shall wear and if he will lay his fingers on her skin.
She got sick, once.