"Mannion! You are to go immediately to Matron Watson's office. You are not here to follow Nurse Boyle's instructions; you are here to follow mine!" The words were flung across the ward with venom, the Sister's voice carrying down the row of beds. The victim of the harsh treatment was a young nurse, her hands shaking as she stood holding the tray of medications, her gaze on the floor.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"I don't care if you're sorry or not. To Matron with you!" With that the elder woman stormed out of the room, her habit whipping about her ankles as she left.
"It's not the bloody war, she doesn't need to be so cross anymore," one of the older nurses whispered, trying to lighten the mood of the younger but failing. The girl took a steadying breath before putting her tray back into the pharmaceutical room, straightening her uniform and disappearing out the doors, her tiny frame dwarfed by the immense hallway on the other side.
"Someone didn't have enough sugar in their tea this morning," Patrick muttered, earning himself an elbow in his ribs from his fellow physician, the other man rolling his eyes as he went to grab the next chart that needed seeing to.
"Better watch out or Sister Helen will be after you next," the blond man teased, ducking away to the far end of the ward. The day passed without any further incident, the young woman not returning to the ward until Patrick was already ducking out, heading down from paediatrics to the maternity unit. He vaguely noticed that her eyes seemed a little red rimmed but he didn't have time to consider it, already trying to debate how much time he had to complete his rounds before heading home, the exhaustion of the last few weeks and constant patients catching up with him.
It wasn't until he was finally bundled in his coat and slipping out of the building, an hour later than he had hoped, that he saw the woman again. She was huddled in on herself on one of the benches along the drive, face buried in her hands and shoulders slumped, her back shaking.
"Is everything all right?" he asked, crouching down next to her, trying not to wince at the icy wind that flared up around them, the snow that had been gently falling picking up in its intensity.
"Yes, sorry," she replied, sitting bolt upright as she tried to wipe at her eyes, the redness that surrounded them a stark contrast to her pale skin and the snow landing on her dark coat. She glanced at his face for only a moment before she dropped her eyes back to her lap, wringing her fingers together and causing the wool of her gloves to crunch against itself.
"No you're not," he contradicted, sitting down on the bench next to her, resting back against the wood and fixing her with a stern expression, waiting for her to tell him what was wrong. When she didn't respond he leaned towards her, placing a hand on her shoulder in a comforting gesture. "Tell me?" he asked, voice soft in the winter darkness, the only light coming from a weak streetlamp a few meters away and the remaining glow from the hospital windows.
"There was a baby that died," she whispered, accent thick amid the snow. "He died this morning. Sister Helen asked me to assist Nurse Boyle with the proper procedures of washing and wrapping him. I've not been here more than a few days and I just... he was so little... I couldn't... and Nurse Boyle said she could handle it on her own so she dismissed me. But then Sister Helen found out that I didn't do what she asked and Matron told me that if I don't learn to control my emotions that I have no place here and I've not got anywhere else to go." It seemed that once the words started to flow out of her she couldn't control them anymore, nearly tripping over her own voice to unburden herself of the day she'd had, her tears returning full force. He rubbed her shoulders when she curled in on herself again, her arms wrapped around her tiny waist, body shivering through her sobs. He let her cry for a few minutes before he felt her relax slowly, breath hiccupping into the night.
"I know it's no real consolation, but it will get easier. Death will always be a horrible event, but you will learn to cope with it in time – as much as any of us have. Besides, Sister Helen is a beast at the best of times, she even scares us doctors," he said, giving her a wink and trying to garner a smile from her. She laughed hollowly, scrubbing the tears from her face as she sat back against the cold wood, looking up at the sky, her blue eyes still misty.
"You're the first person to treat me like an adult and not some ignorant child since I got here last week. The nurses all view me as the quiet, idiotic, Celtic trainee, and my classmates just don't... see me; at all," she murmured, sighing into the darkness.
"It might take a little while, but I know you're going to make a fine nurse Miss-?" he replied, standing up and shaking the snow from his coat.
"Mannion," she hastily answered, watching as he took two cigarettes from his coat pocket, placing both in his mouth as he lit them before offering her one. She took it with only slight hesitation, inhaling it and letting it remind her of home. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name Doctor-"
"Turner," he supplied, "you'll be all right, you're smart and you care, you'll get the hang of things quickly, I guarantee it." Grinning, he starting to walk off towards the road, tucking one hand into his pocket while the other remained on his cigarette. As he reached the corner he turned back. "Welcome to London. And for the record Nurse Mannion - I see you."