4. Holes in the mud
"Scalpel" Emie got out of her reverie and passed Henry the small knife.
He pushed it on the man's chest, and she wiped the pouring blood.
Under the skin, the poor soldier had lived ten years long with a piece of wood in his body. And it was about to kill him.
"Emie, if you're going to day dream, I'd better ask someone else to assist me."
She snapped out of thoughts again, and wiped the blood once again. "Excuse me Henry. I was thinking about the circumstances which would bring a man to live with a piece of wood in his chest."
"Poverty. Don't wonder any longer."
She looked at him. He looked tired, but more at peace since he had finally won his war against whiskey.
He caught her gaze. "Well now. Staring at me, and not thinking about Pretty Eyes? Should I be flattered?"
She sighed and looked back down. "No. And stop calling Nicholls like that."
"Why? He does have pretty eyes."
She thought about the many other things Nicholls had pretty, but didn't say it. "If you say so."
He got the tiny piece of oak out of the man's chest. "There, beauty. Emie, ether and sewing kit. This man has many years to live yet."
"Thanks you, Dr Lennings. Perkins is a useful part of this company, and quite irreplaceable." The Major Stewart shook hands with Henry, and turned to Emie. "You too, Miss Tate. Thank you."
She waved his compliments away. "I do need your thanks. Henry did all the job."
The Major's eyes widened at the use of Henry's first-name, but he didn't comment and exited the tent.
"Oops. I think our dear Jaime now believes we are a couple, darling." He snaked an arm around her waist.
She kicked him aside with her hip. "Yeah, sure he does."
"Will you allow me, Miss?"
Emie turned around. Captain Nicholls was standing behind her, his cap under his arm, his bronze hair waving in the wind. She repressed the urge to pass a hand through them. He smiled a little and looked down at her luggage. "Do you need help?"
She gulped as silently as she could seeing the situation. "I would appreciate a hand or two, yes, thank you Captain."
She took two bags, and he took the other two, of course, the biggest of the four.
They silently walked up to Henry's and Emie's carriage. She put her bags at the back. Nicholls did the same.
He took his cap off again. "I was wondering. I've seen you operating. That's quite unusual for a woman that young, to be working with such...ease."
Emie stared at him. Was he trying to have a conversation with her? Oh my. "I'm not at ease at all, Captain. Where I come from, only one man out of twenty dies of his wounds. In here, everything is different. If I can save one out of ten, I am happy."
"Still, you do it without shaking."
"If you shake, the person you hold the life of dies."
His blue eyes finally met hers. She felt overwhelmed and completely out of space and time.
She forced herself to direct her gaze to his mouth. It didn't help. So she just turned around and pretended she had to check something in her bags.
"I will leave you to your friend, Miss Tate. Good day to you."
She turned around in enough time to meet his gaze again and see him walk away, slightly embarrassed by the look of it.
"Well, the man looks like a shy little thing."
Emie glared at Henry. "Stop it. I don't even know why he wanted to talk in the first place. It's as if he's been avoiding our presence since we arrived in this camp."
Henry chuckled. "Your presence, not mine. I've spent one or two evenings with dear Jaime and his Majesty of Good-looks."
Emie shot him a killing glare. "Not relevant."
"Oh, but yes, everything is relevant, on the contrary. The man is avoiding your presence, but not mine. That means a lot, doesn't it?" Henry looked up at her, sparks in his eyes. "The boy likes you."
"So what? He only has to speak up."
"Emie, dear, the guy's a soldier. Do you think he wants to embarrass himself with an annoying woman like yourself?"
She smirked. "You don't seem to be bothered by it."
He sighed. "Oh. But I am me, see, and that makes a big difference between the boy and I."
She took her beddings and came towards the spot she had decided to sleep on. "Oh, and stop calling him "the boy". He's older than you."
I don't know why I'm writing a love triangle. Really no idea. But so far, it works in my brain.
Review!
Oh, and, for those who'd wonder, I based Henry on Clint Barton in my fanfic What ifs don't change the world. Yep. That explains the "bottom" references... ^^