The Rebellious Nurse
Eneith tiptoed inside one of the sickbay rooms, doing her best as to not disturb the poor man's slumber who resided in it. He had been here for months, and the nurse had grown fond of him, as well as accustomed to his silent, seemingly unending slumber.
Once he had awoken from his comatose state, pleading for water to quench his thirst in a hoarse voice laced with desperation, Eneith had felt something stir in her heart. As it was, another cry from the patient swiftly put an end to the budding of any suspicion in her mind. She had hurried to his bedside and called out for another nurse to bring what the man so desperately begged for, held his head up against her chest so he would not choke as he greedily gulped down the water once it was delivered, soothed his nerves when he realised the gaps in his memory, helped gather his strength in his weakened state.
His slumber was light and easy to disturb - he would wake up with a start, eyes darting around wildly, to even the smallest of noise if it somehow differed from the usual background noise. The fierce, slightly unfocused look had scared her to the core of her being when he had first been awoken from sleep when she had merely been bringing him breakfast. But this wildness always disappeared soon, and his face softened to a weary smile, and a slightly awkward silence as they both were aware of this strange occurrence. She fancied that he looked quite adorable, in a way, when he decidedly tried to avoid eye-contact with her during these times. It had began to be a game to her, to catch his eye.
Eneith glanced around briefly in the man's sickbay - only the bare necessities were allowed, bed, lights, night table, chair for visitors - and her soft lips curved up to a playful smile. She would not rouse him from his slumber today, for she had learnt to blend with the background - she had began to practice this skill soon after the first time she had inadvertently stirred him from his rest.
She walked beside his bed, casually, yet her slippers made little noise. The man seemed to continue his slumber, his breath deep and eyes closed, relaxed. Eneith found herself considering that Rolling her tongue nervously to moisten her lips, suddenly so dry, she carefully pulled off the cover to reveal his muscled body. He had been in quite a state when he had been brought here by that stern-faced woman, having been covered in wounds and bruises with only the most basic of bandages on them. Some scars had been left, as ordered by the healer in charge of the ward - as a reminder of things past, should the man ever awaken. Matron Trethano had very specific opinions regarding complete healing of wounds.
Eneith realised she'd been staring at the man's bare chest for quite a while now, too lost in memories of his sudden and odd arrival to recall the reason why she was here so early, when the moon still hung low and sunrise was a pale promise in the eastern horizon. She felt her face grow hot, and turned her gaze hastily to his legs - but what she sought for was not there, where it usually was, between his two feet.
The game had been simple - one night, he had tried to rise up, weary, to return his food bowl to the tray beside him. In his weakened state, he had lost his grip on the bowl and had fallen back on his back with a brief cry of surprise. Eneith had been near, and came swiftly to see what was wrong, but was met with what she did not expect - the patient sleeping under his covers, the tray on the small table at his feet. Nothing out of the ordinary.
It took her a moment to realise something was missing - the bowl, of course. She had kneeled and looked below the bed, but found only a few balls of dust. She'd thought it odd, but had shrugged it off, figuring another nurse had taken it away already, and that the man had merely had bad dreams once more.
The following morning, when she helped the man up from bed, the bowl had lain forgotten below his bedcovers. Much laughter was had, a blithe remark made to ease the man's embarrassment, and a game between nurse and patient born.
And now he had found a new place to hide his bowl - right above his... groin.
Eneith had never been one to shy away from challenges - bathing a gruesomely wounded man, helping patients with their needs with a bed pan and just giving discreet assistance to those who would be too proud to ask for it no matter how they needed it.
She held a tight grip to the thought that Mr. Fallaethenios Ing Sunshine continued to sleep, forcing herself to be confident about it, and reached her hand on the cold, hard surface of the porcelain bowl. Curling her fingers at the round edge of it, Eneith swallowed as the tips of her fingers brushed up, so briefly, against the coarse material of his pants. Forcing her hand to stay steady was surprisingly hard, and a flash of anger mixed with her sudden nervousness - she had mastered the technique, damn it, she had the steadiest hand with a needle on this ward!
Though it only took barely a few minutes if even that, Eneith had felt, and still remembered, each passing second with painful clarity as she leant her back against the wall outside his room. Her usual uniform felt stifling, as if she had suddenly grown too big for it, or the white cotton dress too small for her. Her cheeks felt hot, and her left hand bothered her - it tingled on the tips of her fingers. Eneith didn't want to think of the reason behind her odd reaction. Matron Trethano had very definite opinions about nurses smooching with patients.
She turned around, pressing herself against the wall as she peeked inside the room. Mr. Sunshine was sleeping, tucked under his bedcover, a single candle giving light beside his bed, and the porcelain bowl on the tray. Everything was where it ought to be, the nurse herself included. The sun rose from the east as the new day began, and Eneith found herself forming very definite opinions of her own.
She was especially nice to Mr. Sunshine that day when the Matron came to check on the patients.