Jenkins checked the wall clock as he silently crept along the corridor. It was just a few minutes past 2:00 AM, and, as he had hoped, the hospital was quiet. As he passed the Nurses Station he kept a wary eye on the nurse on duty, but she was absorbed in her trashy romance novel and didn't hear him pass by.
He continued down the hallway slowly as he checked the names on the doors, trying to remember which room exactly was Cassandra's. When he finally found it, he checked in both directions to make sure no one was about. The coast clear, the Caretaker turned the knob and slipped into the room like a wisp of smoke, closing the door carefully behind him.
Cassandra was just as he had left her earlier in the day, tucked into her hospital bed and hooked up to all sorts electronic medical gadgetry that Jenkins didn't even pretend to understand. She was asleep, of course; her medications she made sure of that. Without cosmetics, the young woman's face was alarmingly pale, with dark rings that looked like bruises beneath her closed eyes. Her beautiful red hair had had to be shaved off for the surgery, and her head was now swaddled in bandages. She looked so frail and weak like this, nothing like the lively, bubbly woman he had known these past three years. It hurt him to see her like this. She was looking at a very long recovery, and her doctors said that what she needed most right now was rest. Jenkins begged to differ.
He always felt a little foolish whenever he wore the Cap of Invisibility. It looked like something a Valkyrie with a bad sense of fashion would wear, and if anyone could actually see the tall, stern-looking man with it on his head he was certain that they collapse with hysterical laughter. But he would've gladly suffered such humiliation for Cassandra's sake if it would speed her recovery. Fortunately for his dignity, he had magic to do that.
He pulled a chair up to her bedside and sat down. He removed the awkward helmet and placed it gently on the floor next to him, then took Cassandra's hand and just sat with her for a moment. He was grateful and relieved beyond measure that they had gotten her to the hospital in time and that she had made it through the grueling operation. During all those long hours in the waiting room, all he could do was helplessly replay over and over again in his mind those last few moments they had together before the nurse took her away—the words they had exchanged, how frightened she looked, the feel of her small, cool hand as it slipped out of his, perhaps for the last time.
But she HAD pulled through, thank the gods. She had done the hard part, she had survived; now he was determined to help her with the rest.
He held her hand in his and covered it completely with his other hand. He sat straight, raised his head up slightly and closed his eyes as he began to focus his thoughts. After several minutes of intense concentration, he began to sing, very softly, so as not to attract attention from anyone who might be passing by the room. It was ancient healing spell, sung in a language that no one except Jenkins remembered anymore. The notes rose and fell and swooped like a swallow as he sang, his voice low, rich and hypnotic. As he sang, a soft, golden light began to seep from between his hands as it enveloped the sick Librarian's hand. The light traveled up her arm like quicksilver and spilled into her entire body, shining brightly as it did its work. After a few more seconds, the song ended, and with it the light faded and disappeared. Jenkins took a deep breath and opened his eyes.
He gently squeezed Miss Cillian's hand and smiled sadly as he watched her sleep. He wanted to reach out and touch her cheek, but he fought the urge. If only he were younger…
Jenkins brusquely shoved the foolish thought away and stood up. It was time for him to go before someone on the hospital staff caught him. He leaned forward and softly kissed Cassandra's forehead. He would have to return every night for the next three weeks and repeat the spell, but he didn't mind the lost sleep it would cost him. She would be completely healed much sooner than if they let modern medicine runs its course, but not so fast that suspicions would be raised. The doctors would merely think her an exceptionally resilient patient. She would also have the bonus of having her hair grow back much more quickly than would be normal. Cassandra would soon be her old perky self in no time, and he could hardly wait.
The old knight picked up his ridiculous helmet and slipped it back onto his head, melting into invisibility. He allowed himself one more touch of Miss Cillian's hand, and then silently stole out of her room.