All's Fair
Written for the HSO round three prompt "Time Warp."
The first time she sees him, she can already tell she's going to dislike him. There's an unmistakable look about him- the set of his jaw, the arch of his brow, the way his eyes rest on everything in the ward begrudgingly, as if all present aren't worthy of his gaze- that tells her he is going to be one of her more difficult patients.
She buries a frown and walks over to his bed. Before she even gets there, his eyes find her form and his visage darkens.
"You, there. Are you going to be attending to me?"
She does not scowl (she's getting better at this), but instead graces him with a smile. A smile that may or may not be chillier than a nurse's smile is expected to be.
(She's getting better, but by no means is she perfect yet.)
"Yes, sir-" she glances at the chart at the foot of his bed, "-Mr. Ampora."
"Lord," he corrects, "Ampora."
"Lord," she repeats through slightly clenched teeth, "Ampora. My apologies."
She looks at the chart a bit longer and notes his reason for being here. Severely wounded in the midsection, it appears as though someone tried to cut him in half. His survival is nearly miraculous; the field medics must have really worked their magic to make sure he lived. Even with the advances of modern medicine, it is remarkable he's here in this ward, well enough to put up an attitude.
The science of it is that he's just pure dead lucky.
She, on the other hand, is not.
"I would appreciate it," he says, interrupting her reading, "if you would do your job and give me my medicine."
Oh, no. It is a certainty. If luck be a lady, it certainly is not Nurse Secret.
"I'm sorry, sir, but—"
"My lord."
She starts.
"Excuse me?"
He crosses his arms, not without a fair deal of wincing, and regards her coolly.
"You are to address me as 'my lord.'"
Her smile drops unceremoniously.
"I apologize," she grits, "my lord."
The self-satisfied smile that finds its way onto his face does nothing to stave her anger.
"But you have to wait for your medicine just the same as everyone else."
His smile is replaced by a frown.
"Don't you know who I am?"
She picks up the chart and it immediately flies from her hands and lands on Ampora's stomach. She feigns innocence and goes to his side as he hisses in pain.
"I'm so sorry, my lord," she says with a slight smile. "How could I have been so clumsy?"
He lets out a dark curse and glares at her. She smiles back.
"You wanted to see me?"
Dr. Scratch sat at his desk, a dozen thick Manila folders at his right hand. One lay open in front of him, its contents momentarily ignored as the head surgeon looks up at his guest.
"Yes, please come in."
He motions to the chair before his desk. He has been expecting her. She closes the door behind her and he closes the folder and pushes it to the side. She sits in the chair and waits for him to begin.
He drums his fingers on the desk for a few seconds as he gives her a hard look. She tries her best to remain impassive. Unconsciously, her jaw and eyes harden. She has never had a comfortable relationship with her boss.
"Veronica Secret is the absolute worst nurse in your employ," he begins. A touch of color finds its way onto her cheeks. A bold statement.
Entirely untrue, of course.
"She is rude," he continues, "unfriendly, unprofessional, and even on occasion instigating, quarrelsome and aggressive."
She continues to looks steadily at him.
"I'm quoting, of course, patients under your care. Complaints that they've had." He leans forward and she is irritated to find that the action compels her to lean back. "This is not the first time we've had this problem."
She purses her lips.
"No," she answers simply. She knows by now that arguing will solve nothing. So, she holds her tongue, no matter how much she wants to let loose a snide comment.
"One particular patient, recently arrived from the battlefield, has submitted a rather emphatic complaint." His eyes flick to the folder he had been looking at before she walked in. She lets her eyes fall to it and takes in the name written on it in black ink.
She darkens.
"Accidental jabs at the point of injury, snide comments, taunting, deliberate humiliation—" Dr. Scratch sighed and rubbed his temples. "This behavior is nothing short of cruel and childish.
"Veronica. I have given you time."
She clenches her hands into fists and keeps them firmly in her lap. She will not let any other indication of her ire be shown.
"These men are coming back from the field broken in more ways than one. It is our job to make their recuperation and recovery as pleasant as possible. Due to our limited resources-" here, he grimaces a little, "- the easiest and most readily available method of doing this is with the kind and optimistic attitudes of our nurses."
She has heard this speech before. She is not a child; she does not need to be told again. She is fully aware of her limitations, thank you, and to be quite honest, she sometimes thinks that her actions are far too nicefor the circumstances in which she finds herself.
"I personally do see improvement in the area of managing your temper," he allows, "and that is good, but- you need to work harder at it." He folds his hands and looks her in the eye. "Otherwise, there are plenty of other girls out there who would be happy to take your place."
The familiar threat of unemployment does not lose its edge in its repetition. She needs this job. She has no choice but to shut up and smile for the sake of employment.
"Of course, sir," she manages to say relatively evenly. "Is that all?"
He looks at her for a moment before nodding. She stands up and begins to walks swiftly out of the office, only to be stopped when he calls her name one last time. She turns back.
"Consider this your final warning."
She can only nod. She exits the room, closing the door with as much care as she could muster before standing in front of it and silently shouting every foul word she can think of.
Ampora is at it again. She's just gotten done dealing with the American double amputee who won't stop talking about how much he misses his ranch back home (in particular the livestock; he told her all about how before he left, a cow gave birth to a little white slip of a thing he dubbed Tinkerbull for its fairy-like appearance). All of her goodwill has been exhausted. He calls her over and she doesn't even bother to smile when she approaches his bed.
He greets her testily, his face twisted into even more of a scowl than usual.
"About bloody time," he begins, but she cuts him off before he can launch into his tirade.
"Is that any way to speak to a lady?" she says without humor. Not only is she spent from dealing with el toreador, whatever small ability she had to tolerate this man was sucked out of her by her recent encounter with her boss.
His lip curls derisively.
"Oh, please. You speak as though you aresuch a lady-"
Somehow, the resounding crack that comes from her slap is heard above the moaning and chatter that fills the room. Everyone falls silent and looks in their direction.
"Don't worry, everything's all right," she announces. "Just a bit of hysterics, is all." The room slowly begins to move again and she breathes a sigh of relief. When she looks back down at her patient, she is momentarily thrown by the look he is giving her.
His mouth is hanging open and his brows are furrowed in what can be perceived as anger, but there is something in his eyes that confuses her and makes her the slightest bit uneasy. She pushes the unease to the side and places her hands on her hips.
"As I was saying. Is that any way to speak to a lady?"
He doesn't answer for a long moment. Finally, he looks away, irritation plain on his face. A bit of red stains his cheeks.
"No," he mutters. It's so low she nearly misses it.
But just nearly.
He has dark circles under his eyes. She thinks he always has, but only now is she really realizing it.
He suffers from nightmares. It's really not uncommon amongst these soldiers. Flashbacks to the battle front, morbid fantasies of being captured as a prisoner of war, twisted images of families caught in the crosshairs of the enemy. Any number of things haunt these men at night. Any number of things can be bothering Ampora.
She's on the night shift tonight. She's always liked the night shift, despite its inconvenience. It's the only time when she is at work and doesn't want to strangle half of her patients. Not having to listen to them talk helps.
She nears the bed of her most troublesome patient and stops to watch him toss in his sleep. She's surprised to see he doesn't maintain his haughty expression in his slumber. Instead, the look on his face is troubled. Frightened, even.
Vulnerable.
It feels wrong watching him, but she can't seem to stop. He seems much younger, now; almost childlike. He's muttering something, but she can't quite hear what it is. She sneaks a furtive glance around the room before leaning in a bit and trying to listen closer.
"Fef... Fef, no, stop... Don't..."
She has no idea what he's trying to say. Is "Fef" someone's name? Or is it just a nonsense syllable? Her brow furrows in confusion.
"Mines..." is the next word that comes from his lips. "Mines." This time, it is a little louder. He twitches, almost every part of his body now moving agitatedly. A rush of ill-omen sweeps over . She takes a step back from his bed.
No sooner than she does, he shoots up, a desperate cry ripping its way through his lips.
"FEFERI!"
He blinks away the remains of his dream and slowly realizes where he is. He's trembling and he can't seem to control the embarrassing wetness springing from his eyes onto his cheeks. He grips his sheets tightly, almost as if he's afraid if he lets go, his hold on reality will be released as well.
And then he notices Nurse Secret. He stares at her blankly. She looks away uncomfortably and continues on her rounds. Several of her patients have woken because of Eridan's outburst. They need tending to.
In the morning, she cuts back on his morphine. His pain is doubled. He thinks he knows who's responsible for this, but he says nothing.
Physical pain is a good distraction, after all. He is almost grateful for it.